Legacy's Wake

Temoshí staggered to his knee, exhaustion weighing heavily on him. His chest heaved with each strained breath, his hand clutching at his heart, feeling the painful rhythm as if it, too, had been set against him. The flames that usually coursed through his veins now felt like an unbearable curse, turning inward and scorching him at every move.

"Being this unlucky feels... unnatural," he muttered to himself, grimacing. "I can't even fight properly anymore. Every time I try to strike, I slip or get burned. It's like the fire I control is the one trying to destroy me instead of my enemy." He could feel the heat searing through his body, his skin tingling with the remnants of self-inflicted burns. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

The puppet, its towering form looming above him, slowly began to move forward. Each step was slow but heavy, and every creak of its mechanical joints echoed like a death knell. The strings holding it taut vibrated with tension, its eyes fixed on him with a terrifying intensity. Its enormous fists clenched as it approached, ready to slam down with enough force to crush him into the floor.

Temoshí forced himself to rise, his body trembling, fighting against the overwhelming fatigue. The mechanical titan loomed closer, and his heart raced in sync with the approach of certain destruction. Every part of him screamed to push back, but he felt helpless, bound by the misfortune Aurelio had cursed him with.

His mind raced, trying to find a way out, to summon the strength to break free from this twisted game. What can I do? What do I have left?

The puppet raised its fist, its massive arm swinging down with a horrifying speed. Without thinking, Temoshí threw himself to the side, narrowly dodging the blow as the ground cracked beneath the impact. The force of the strike reverberated through the arena, and he could feel the shockwave rippling through his body.

But even as he dodged, the weight of his misfortune held him down. His own body betrayed him, his movement faltering as his foot slid on the smooth floor.

"No..." he grunted, struggling to regain his balance.

The puppet didn't wait. Another swing came, this one faster than the last, its fist coming down with deadly intent. Temoshí barely managed to roll out of the way, his head spinning from exhaustion and the increasing pressure of the fight.

Each attack felt heavier, more relentless than the last, and he was running out of ways to fight back.

"What's the point?" he muttered under his breath. "Everything I do... ends in failure." His voice cracked with frustration and fatigue. "This damn luck... it's got me trapped."

With another heavy swing, the puppet's fist came down, and this time, Temoshí could only raise his arm in an attempt to block it, feeling the impact reverberate through his entire body. The force knocked him to the ground, and he barely managed to roll out of the way before the puppet's foot stomped down where he had been.

"Shit... this isn't just a fight anymore..." Temoshí gasped, the pain in his chest intensifying. "This is me against everything. Every step, every breath... it's a gamble."

Aurelio's voice echoed through the speakers, calm and taunting. "You're starting to understand, aren't you, captain? Every move you make is a roll of the dice. The luck isn't with you, and that means every step you take brings you closer to the edge."

Temoshí's grip on the floor tightened, the burn on his palms stinging. He could feel his body giving way to the exhaustion, the weight of the fight slowly crushing him. But in his mind, a spark of resistance still burned.

I can't let this be the end. I refuse to go down like this.

"I won't let luck decide my fate... I'll make my own path, even if it's through hell itself."

Temoshí's body trembled from exhaustion, the weight of his misfortune bearing down on him like an unrelenting storm. But despite the fatigue, his mind raced, searching for a solution, for any way to turn the tide in his favor. He stared at Jactur, the mechanical titan looming before him, its giant fists raised in preparation for another crushing blow.

"Luck's pretty quick on someone's rear, that's for sure," he muttered under his breath, the words tinged with frustration and resolve. "But what if the misfortunes were slowed down by a mile within the atmosphere? Maybe that's exactly what needs to be done."

He straightened, pushing himself upright with a grunt of pain. His body screamed at him to rest, but there was no time for weakness. Not now. Not when his crew was counting on him.

With a deep breath, he flexed his arms and stretched, his eyes never leaving the puppet that slowly made its way toward him, each step heavy with the promise of destruction.

"Maybe I wasn't strong enough to take down Onnamon by myself, but that made me end up in the Holy Arches thanks to Etuna's divine hood…" he muttered, his thoughts momentarily drifting. "This is probably a perfect time to use what I learned."

His hands, still shaking from the strain, gripped the air before him, and suddenly, the surroundings felt… different. The atmosphere itself seemed to bend, the weight of the world around him suddenly slowed, as though time itself was answering his call. A subtle hum, barely audible, began to vibrate through the air, and for an instant, the world around him—Jactur, the arena, even the faintest tremors in the floor—slowed to a crawl.

Time was now his ally.

He saw every mechanical joint of Jactur's massive form in precise detail—the grinding gears, the whirring chains, the wooden limbs that creaked and groaned under the weight of the puppet's own sheer size. The slow-motion world around him was like an artist's canvas, and he was the brush, ready to paint his own masterpiece.

With a deep breath, Temoshí moved.

Like a bolt of lightning, he shot toward Jactur, his legs a blur of motion as he propelled himself forward, every movement in perfect sync with the slowed time. As he dashed, a powerful trail of fire erupted from his body, trailing behind him like a blazing comet streaking across the sky. The flames licked the air, fierce and untamed, as if they were in perfect harmony with his every step. The ground beneath him smoldered, and the very atmosphere seemed to crackle as he moved, the fire forging a path of destruction wherever he went.

The puppet's enormous arms swung toward him with agonizing slowness, but Temoshí danced around them effortlessly, a fluid blur of controlled speed. His eyes locked on the wooden chest of the puppet, the exposed heart of the creation, a vital weak point that held the secret to ending this fight.

His hand shot out, a fierce energy radiating from him as his palm collided with Jactur's cold, splintered chest. For a brief moment, the world felt as though it held its breath. Then, with a powerful surge, Temoshí summoned his flames.

The fire that erupted from his palm was different—deeper, hotter. The orange glow flickered, but something shifted in the air, as if the very fabric of space was bending to his will. The temperature around him spiked, the heat building and crackling in his chest. The flames twisted and churned, before suddenly surging with impossible intensity, pushing forward with a force that seemed to rip through the very atmosphere.

In that moment, the time around him snapped back into place.

As the flames surged, they ignited in an azure blue inferno, a color so intense and pure it seemed to pulse with life. The explosion of fire was like a tidal wave of heat, the flames moving faster than sound, faster than light. They tore through Jactur's wooden form in an instant, the intense heat searing the puppet's chest as if it was paper in the hands of a master. The wood cracked and splintered, and in an explosive burst of blue fire, a massive hole erupted through its chest, tearing apart the mechanical beast from the inside out.

The force of the explosion blasted the puppet backward, its limbs flailing as the fire consumed its body. Every inch of its wooden form was eaten away, the mechanical joints sparking as the intense blue flames turned it into nothing more than ash and shattered parts. The once mighty puppet, a symbol of mechanical precision and destructive power, was now nothing but a pile of burning wreckage.

The fire raged, twisting and contorting with a life of its own, scorching the puppet's remains into nothingness. The intense blue flames still burned brightly in the air, illuminating the arena with their fierce, unstoppable energy.

Temoshí stood in the center of the devastation, his chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face, his eyes wide with the aftershock of the blast. His body trembled from the sheer force of the flames and the exertion it took to unleash such an attack, but his gaze never wavered.

"No way misfortune will beat me..." he muttered, barely able to catch his breath. "I control my fate, not you, Aurelio."

The silence in the arena was deafening, broken only by the lingering crackle of the last embers of the destroyed puppet.

Temoshí quickly turned toward the television, his fist clenched in a mix of frustration and defiance.

"You hear that, Aurelio?!" he shouted, his voice filled with both anger and unwavering confidence. "This luck game of yours ends here! I'll bring you down, no tricks, no luck—just me and my strength!"

Aurelio sat in the room, his posture relaxed but with visible irritation. He tapped his foot impatiently, a low grunt escaping him as his frustration grew.

"A weak pirate like him took down my greatest masterpiece," he muttered, almost to himself. "How in the world did he manage to tap into the Forbidden Technique of Tempo? That's impossible—only a select few can even comprehend it… Damn it."

To be continued...