The Last Bargain

Chapter XLVIII: The Speed Of The Warrior

Zento's feet barely touched the ground as he moved, the air around him whipping in violent gusts as he danced around Bishamonten's massive swings. The hulking god of war stood firm, his towering form covered in gleaming, ancient armor that shimmered with divine energy. Each step he took caused the ground to tremble, the very air vibrating with the power he wielded.

The naginata in Bishamonten's hands moved with the force of a hurricane, slicing through the space where Zento had been just moments before. But Zento was already gone, a blur of motion that no mortal eye could follow. He zipped around Bishamonten's flank, striking quickly at the exposed joints in the god's armor with lightning-fast blows.

But each punch Zento landed felt like striking solid iron. Bishamonten's armor absorbed the impact without so much as a scratch.

"Come on, big guy," Zento muttered to himself, his breath coming in quick bursts as he dodged another swing. "You've got to have a weak spot somewhere."

Bishamonten grunted, his expression a mask of calm fury as he reset his stance. He swung the naginata in a wide arc, aiming for where Zento had just been. But Zento was faster, his body blurring as he dashed to the side, appearing a few meters away, unharmed. With his unique ability to ignore the laws of inertia, Zento could accelerate and decelerate almost instantaneously. It made him nearly impossible to hit—and Bishamonten was starting to realize that.

"Is that all you've got?" Zento taunted, a grin forming on his lips. He was trying to keep his spirits high, though he could feel the strain building in his muscles. Maintaining this speed for long periods took its toll, and the longer he dragged this out, the more vulnerable he'd become.

Bishamonten's glowing eyes tracked Zento's movements with growing focus. The god's massive frame shifted slightly, and for the first time since the fight began, there was a glimmer of something behind his stern gaze—calculation. He wasn't just attacking wildly anymore. He was learning.

"You rely on your speed," Bishamonten said, his voice a deep, rumbling growl that echoed through the battlefield. "You think it makes you untouchable. But speed without strategy is nothing."

Zento's grin faltered. He could feel the shift in Bishamonten's approach. The god's swings weren't as reckless now—they were tighter, more controlled, as though he was adjusting to Zento's rapid movements.

Zento dashed in again, this time aiming for a quick strike to Bishamonten's side, hoping to find a gap in the armor. But the moment he closed in, Bishamonten's naginata was already there, blocking his strike with almost supernatural timing. Zento's eyes widened as the blade stopped inches from his face, the force of the parry sending a shockwave through his arm.

He leapt back, his heart pounding. That was too close.

Bishamonten's mouth curled into a small, knowing smile. "I see it now. You rely on patterns. Your movements follow the same rhythm."

Zento cursed under his breath. Bishamonten wasn't just relying on brute strength anymore. He was studying Zento's movements, anticipating where he would go next. And that made him dangerous.

"You've got to be kidding me," Zento muttered, his mind racing. He circled around Bishamonten, his speed still incredible, but now he could feel the weight of each movement. His muscles were starting to burn, the heat building up in his cells from moving at such speeds for so long. He was fast—faster than anyone else—but even his body had limits.

Bishamonten raised his naginata again, this time not swinging wildly, but waiting. He was patient now, his eyes tracking Zento's every move. "You are fast," the god said, "but even speed has its limits. You cannot outrun strategy."

Zento knew he had to change his approach. The battle had shifted, and if he kept moving predictably, Bishamonten would cut him down the moment he slipped up.

"Alright," Zento muttered to himself, his breath coming faster. "New plan."

He darted forward, but this time, instead of closing in for a strike, he faked a punch and pulled back at the last second. Bishamonten's naginata swung where Zento had feinted, the blade cutting through empty air. Zento used the opening to dash around to Bishamonten's blind spot, landing a quick blow to the back of the god's armored leg before retreating again.

Bishamonten grunted in irritation, but Zento could tell that even the small hit had an effect. He was chipping away at the god's defenses, slowly but surely.

"You're not as untouchable as you think," Zento called out, his voice laced with mock confidence. He knew he was pushing it, but he needed Bishamonten to keep underestimating him, to think that this fight was still in his favor.

But Bishamonten was far from rattled. His eyes gleamed with newfound intensity. "You're fast, but speed without foresight is doomed to fail. I have fought battles across eons, and you are nothing but a flicker."

Zento was about to respond when Bishamonten moved—this time with a speed that shocked even Zento. The god's naginata swung in a wide, sweeping arc, cutting through the air with terrifying force. Zento dodged, but the blade was too close, forcing him to pivot sharply. As he did, he felt a sharp pain in his leg as Bishamonten's weapon grazed him.

Gritting his teeth, Zento pushed through the pain and zipped backward, creating more distance between them. He glanced down at his leg, where a thin line of blood trickled from the cut.

He's learning, Zento realized, his heart pounding. He's starting to predict where I'm going to move.

Bishamonten stood tall, the naginata resting against his shoulder, his posture relaxed yet intimidating. "Your movements are predictable. You dodge in the same directions, follow the same patterns. You cannot win this battle by relying on speed alone."

Zento's mind raced. Bishamonten was adapting, and now Zento's advantage was slipping away. His speed was still unmatched, but if the god could anticipate his movements, it wouldn't matter how fast he was—Bishamonten would cut him down.

He needed to change his approach. He couldn't keep darting in and out with the same pattern. He had to disrupt Bishamonten's rhythm, throw off his timing.

Zento wiped the sweat from his brow and steadied his breathing. I can do this, he told himself, pushing down the doubt that had crept into his mind. I've always been faster than my opponents. But this time, I need to be smarter.

He dashed in again, this time moving in a zigzag pattern, deliberately avoiding any predictable movement. Bishamonten's eyes followed him, the god's naginata swinging to meet him, but Zento faked left and then shot right, slipping past the blade. He aimed for Bishamonten's back again, but just as he moved to strike, Bishamonten spun, his massive hand lashing out and swiping at Zento.

Zento barely managed to dodge, the force of Bishamonten's swipe sending a gust of wind past his face. That was close.

"You're learning," Bishamonten said, his tone almost amused. "But so am I."

Zento cursed under his breath. He couldn't keep this up forever. His muscles were already starting to burn from the heat generated by his rapid movements, and if he pushed himself too hard, he'd risk slowing down—something he couldn't afford to do.

I need to end this soon, Zento thought, his mind racing as he circled around Bishamonten once more. But how? The god's defenses were nearly impenetrable, and Zento's speed advantage was slipping away with every passing second.

He needed to find a weakness, some way to break through Bishamonten's armor before the god could fully adapt to his movements. But the longer he fought, the more dangerous the battle became.

Bishamonten grinned, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Come, mortal. Show me your best."

Zento's heart pounded in his chest as he prepared for his next move. This time, he had to be perfect. One mistake, one miscalculation, and Bishamonten would crush him.