Chapter 402: The Arm Pendulum
"The nerve cord—!?"
Inspector Morio Sonoda's eyes bulged as he stared at Masaki Meguro's right arm.
He saw a strand of biological tissue being yanked out of the open wound. It was
only as thick as a pinky finger, a milky-white cord marbled with traces of blue
and purple.
Gulp.
Sonoda swallowed hard. He wasn't a medical student and couldn't name the
specific branch of the brachial plexus, but human instinct told him that having
a "string" pulled out of one's body was a catastrophic event.
Though he had read the classified reports a hundred times, this was the first
time Sonoda had witnessed it in person: [THE CORD-CUTTER] using his signature
technique on a human specimen!
Destroying flesh with finger-blades and severing internal nerves.
It was surgical, exquisite, cruel, and terrifying. While it inflicted a level of
agony that would stop a heart, its most practical effect was immediate: Meguro's
right arm had lost all function. It dangled uselessly, refusing to rise.
"Eh...? Dad? What happened?"
Meguro's expression remained vacant, his wide, bloodshot eyes staring at his own
limb. He used his left hand to poke at the right arm, finding it limp and
unresponsive. He swung his body back and forth, the arm flopping like a wet
noodle.
"Why can't I throw him? I used Judo... I used the move... but he won't fall...
uuuugh..."
The display of technical mastery was magnificent, but the result didn't surprise
Ren Shiroki. No matter how "non-human" Masaki Meguro was on the inside, he was
still draped in human anatomy.
To a man like Kosho Shinogi, Meguro was nothing more than a particularly rabid
beast.
Kosho Shinogi had been personally scouted by Mitsunari Tokugawa to become an
Arena fighter.
Years ago, during the traditional San Fermín Festival in Pamplona, Spain—the
world-famous "Running of the Bulls"—while the crowds were sprinting for their
lives from the charging herd, Kosho Shinogi had stood alone in the center of the
street.
Facing a massive, one-ton fighting bull, Kosho had driven a spear-hand into the
beast's neck, using his fingers to find and rip the spinal nerves of the animal.
He had dropped a charging bull with his bare hands.
Tokugawa often reminisced about that day; it was a testament to the absolute
"Rank" of the Shinogi brothers' technical lethality.
"Hmph."
Kosho held up his left hand, his index and middle fingers extended like a fork.
Deep crimson blood dripped from his fingertips. He looked at the dazed Meguro
with cold, clinical eyes.
"Judo is undoubtedly one of the top-tier systems for ground-fighting and
grappling. Your movements have merit; you possess a natural talent for the
throw."
"But your 'Combat' is immature!"
Kosho slowly lowered his hand, maintaining a light, knife-edge guard. His eyes
were as sharp as a scalpel.
"If you want to prove me wrong, then come. Try your best to pin this Karateka to
the earth."
Saw Paing's desperate pressure had worked on Ren, but against Kosho's technical
wall, Meguro seemed to be malfunctioning.
"How... it hurts... it hurts... why... why can't I move...?"
Meguro's vacant mumbling gradually transformed into a manic fervor. A savage
roar erupted from his throat, saturated with technical ecstasy.
"IT FEELS... SO GOOD—!!"
Meguro exploded forward, his feet kicking up a spray of blood and dust. He swung
his functioning left arm toward Kosho's shoulder with terrifying velocity.
Clap!
Kosho didn't even shift his weight. He parried the hand with a casual flick of
his wrist.
"GRAAAH!!"
Meguro hissed, using his 195cm frame to his advantage. He unleashed a flurry of
wild clawing and striking with his left hand, his feet shuffling forward to
close the gap. He ignored the dead weight of his right arm dangling at his side.
Watching this, Katsumi Orochi mused, "Is he trying to use the left arm to
distract Kosho and set up a trip? Does he still think he can force a ground
game?"
Katsumi's analysis was rational, but he wasn't in the line of fire. He hadn't
felt the sheer, irrational insanity of "Boy M."
"HEYYYAHH!!"
Meguro suddenly whipped his upper body to the left. Using the centrifugal force
of the rotation, he swung his useless, paralyzed right arm forward like a flail.
—What?!
Sonoda and Terae watched in shock as the right arm—lacking any internal muscle
control—became a Human Morning Star.
THUD!
The "Head" of the flail—Meguro's heavy fist—slammed into the side of Kosho's
face. The impact was enough to dislocate Kosho's jaw instantly.
"—!"
Kosho's jaw hung open at a sickening angle, but his eyes remained locked on
Meguro. Without a heartbeat of hesitation, he clamped both hands onto his own
chin and shoved upward with a sharp clack.
In a single frame, Kosho had manually reset his own jaw.
Sonoda stared, horrified. "He just... hand-cranked his face back into place...?"
"HA! HA! HA! HA—!!"
Meguro's demonic laughter echoed through the dojo. Based on the Toyo agent's
explanation, the dopamine was currently flooding his brain in response to the
damage. Every broken bone was a hit of the purest drug imaginable.
But as he laughed, the crowd saw the cost. Meguro's left arm had also gone limp.
The nerve cord on the inside of his left bicep had been ripped out during the
last exchange.
Masaki Meguro—The Crying Man—had lost the use of both arms.
"Cutting you is almost too easy," Kosho sneered, mocking the beast. "A predator
that can't feel pain only feels a false sense of security. How can your
'Pleasure' stand against my fingers?"
"You convert pain into joy? Is that it?"
Kosho's long hair drifted in the wind. "That level of 'Hunger' is something
every Arena fighter possesses. We get excited the moment we lock eyes with a
rival. We feel like a virgin on his wedding night every time we step into the
Pit!"
"We don't need to shout about it. The 'Manic Hunger' is part of our DNA. If you
think your 'Pleasure' makes you special, Meguro... you're still a child."
Meguro likely didn't hear a word. The dopamine overload had pushed him into a
state of total high-frequency frenzy. He hissed and snarled, his tongue lolling
out. Even with both arms dangling like dead branches, he lunged again.
He's still going for a Judo entry?!
Sonoda and Terae couldn't understand it. Without hands to grip the gi, a throw
was impossible.
But then, the unthinkable happened.
Zip!
As Meguro reached Kosho, he suddenly unhinged his jaw. He lunged forward like a
rabid dog and bit down with bone-crushing force on Kosho's right bicep sleeve.
That was his "Grip." He didn't need fingers. His teeth were his meat-hooks!
"GOTCHA!"
Meguro's voice was muffled by the fabric, but his intent was clear. He twisted
his neck and hips with violent torque, performing a shoulder-throw using only
his neck and jaw strength.
THUD!
Kosho was slammed onto his back. Meguro followed him down instantly, straddling
the Karateka's waist in a full mount.
"KILL! KILL! KILL!!"
Meguro's face was a mask of gore, bloody tears geysering from his sockets. He
ground his teeth—crunch—and arched his back, preparing to drive his skull into
Kosho's face.
BOOM!
The sound of the impact echoed through the hall.
"—!"
Sonoda and Terae winced, but Ren and Katsumi saw the truth.
Kosho Shinogi had moved. With a microscopic tilt of his head, he had allowed
Meguro's headbutt to miss, the giant's forehead smashing into the reinforced
wooden floor. The impact pulverized the expensive floorboards, but Kosho
remained untouched.
He missed?
Meguro was a lunatic, but his combat instincts were flawless. He wouldn't miss a
mounted headbutt at point-blank range.
Unless...
The crowd looked at Meguro's neck. Two deep gashes had appeared on either side
of his throat. Two white "Strings" dangled from the wounds.
During the scramble for the throw, Kosho had reached up and severed Meguro's
Optic Nerves.
Masaki Meguro was now completely blind.
The manic beast was swinging in total darkness. He had aimed his headbutt based
on a position that no longer existed in his mind.
"Ah... ahhh...!"
Meguro stayed pinned to the floor, his forehead buried in the splintered wood.
He let out a low, pathetic series of grunts. He tried to rise, but his legs
refused to fire.
Kosho had severed the Femoral Nerves in his inner thighs as well.
Whoosh—
Kosho easily shoved the massive, paralyzed body off him. He stood up, looking
down at the bleeding, blinded heap with a look of utter boredom. He straightened
his posture, his expression returning to its cold, sharp baseline.
He cracked his neck. "Even the lowliest rookie in the Pit would have put up a
better fight than this. Your 'Joy' is a lie."
"You don't feel the pleasure of battle. You're just a common, filthy serial
killer. Nothing more."
Kosho flicked his fingers, a few droplets of blood spattering onto the sand.
The Match is Decided!!
☆☆☆
-> 30 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Hollowborn
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you