The fist, darkened by the shadows of the room, came toward him abruptly. His eyes couldn't keep up, but his old body still knew how to sway; Olete stepped aside, twisting his frame, his jaw grazed by the knuckles of Gantz's hand. Blood began to drip onto his shirt. The threat and adrenaline forced him to focus entirely on the shadow with burning eyes as another punch arrived. This time, his body betrayed him—his back locked mid-twist. He raised his hand to protect his face before the fist slammed into his arm.
He felt as if he'd been struck by a steel bar. His arm lost all strength as his body was hurled backward, landing hard in the chair and making it rock. When he regained his senses, a black boot was flying toward his face; he ducked, but the foot hit the backrest, flipping the chair and sending him crashing to the floor.
Unwanted memories surfaced from the depths of his consciousness as his fists clenched against the rug. Gantz grabbed Olete's collar, trying to hoist him up, when a flash passed, striking Gantz's chin and making him stumble back.
— "Nobody!" Olete roared, rushing at Gantz with arms raised and hands open. He grabbed Gantz's shoulders with a vice-like grip and hurled him toward the bookshelves. The impact sent dozens of books cascading over Gantz as he struggled to rise, his eyes trembling in shock, unable to believe a mage possessed such raw physical strength.
Olete gasped, his steps heavy as he walked toward Gantz. His eyes were bulging and darkened, his mouth twisted in rage, while the blood on his chin now smeared across his face, giving the man an air of primal savagery. He grabbed Gantz's head and lifted him off the ground, squeezing with all his might; his sleeves tore as his muscles expanded. Gantz felt the pressure on his skull—it felt like his head would explode at any moment. His nostrils bled. His tail swung, knocking Olete's legs aside and making him fall sideways as he tried to regain his balance without letting go of Gantz.
His head throbbed. He wiped the blood flowing from his nose with his arm. As Olete rose, Gantz delivered a kick to the man's ribs, sending him tumbling across the blue rug and smashing nearby chairs.
Gantz's leg throbbed. I thought that was fat on his stomach, he thought, beginning to walk toward the man, who was now rising quickly. Both grappled in a mess of clinches and strikes, punches landing on each other's faces as they seemed to dance around the room. Blood flew everywhere, staining everything in sight. External sounds could be heard—there was some sort of commotion outside—but both were too consumed by each other to care.
Their faces grew more bruised and bloodied with every blow. But while Olete was losing strength and speed, Gantz—fueled by his vengeful fury—punched harder and harder. As Olete tried to break free, something ignited inside Gantz, making him grip Olete's clothes tighter as he rained down more blows, even as his own arms began to feel like lead.
— "Tough... bastard!" Gantz grunted, delivering a final punch before his strength flickered. One of Olete's eyes popped out of its socket; blood and what looked like tears flowed as the man slumped to the floor, babbling as he tried to shove the extracted eye back in.
Gantz swayed, arms hanging limp, his body hunched forward as he recovered his energy. Olete regained his senses faster than expected. Ignoring the pain, he grabbed his own eye hanging loose and ripped it away with a brutal yank, snapping the optic nerve. As he tossed the bloody tissue aside, blood gushed. A bestial roar erupted from his mouth as he stood; he grabbed the iron poker from the fireplace and swung it against Gantz's head. It echoed with a dry metallic clink before being parried by the black tail.
Gantz staggered back, trying to steady himself. The madman rushed him with the poker in hand. His tail whipped the air before lunging, but Olete threw himself to the ground, rolling to Gantz's left and delivering a sharp strike to the center of his knee. Losing his balance, Gantz collapsed. Olete wasted no time, swinging again at his face. The attacker's face was a nightmare: covered in blood, with a dark hole where the eye used to be and an expression twisted with hate.
— "DIE! DIE! YOU ABOMINATION!" he roared, brandishing the poker.
The heavy strikes shattered the floor, tearing the rug and splitting the wood underneath. Splinters flew as Gantz dodged frantically; he felt like a fleeing insect before a man who seemed to ignore exhaustion. As he rolled, his tail took advantage of the last strike to grab the poker and rip it violently from Olete's hands. He used the tip of the iron to pierce one of Olete's feet before tossing the metal upward, where it pierced the ceiling and remained embedded.
Olete screamed with all his might, reflexively grabbing his foot as he fell back. Dark blood pumped out, staining his shoe and the hem of his pants with the thick liquid. Gantz pounced on the man, grabbing his neck in a furious grip. Olete let go of his foot to fight Gantz's arms; his face turned crimson as he struggled desperately. Saliva dripped from his mouth as he suffocated, his eyes rolling back. He felt the pressure in his brain demanding oxygen. Time seemed to slow as his body gradually relaxed, his will faded, and the vision in his remaining eye began to blur.
Then a blast rang out. Gantz fell to the side as a woman screamed, clumsily wielding a gun and pointing it at Gantz. Olete regained consciousness as he rolled away, crawling while his wife fired more shots at the man trying to get off the floor. The bullets pushed Gantz back until he fell in front of the fireplace, motionless.
The woman continued to pull the trigger relentlessly until she realized the gun was empty. She dropped the pistol and ran to Olete.
— "My love! What did he do to you?" Her hands shook in panic as she tried to think of how to help him. Olete babbled, and Silvia leaned her ear toward his bloodied lips.
— "The gun... the gun... didn't... didn't die..."
Silvia's face turned pale. She remained crouched for seconds before trying to turn, but Gantz grabbed her hair. She let out a piercing scream as he lifted her by her hair. His chest was bruised purple where the bullets hit, and a patch of hair was missing where the first shot had grazed his skull.
Olete whispered from the floor, watching his wife being dragged like a sack of potatoes. His fingers clawed at the floor frantically, his nails snapping off from the force. Gantz dragged her and, in a blind rage, hurled her into the chimney. The fire exploded into combustion as the screams were deafening. He raised the guardrail and went to Olete, ignoring the shrieks and the smell of burning flesh as skin tore like charred cloth.
He stopped and looked at Olete—shirtless, covered in blood, hands trembling. He looked in the direction the man was staring, trying to crawl toward his beloved. And all Gantz could feel was disgust. Disgust for Olete, disgust for what he had just done—and he saw Olete reflected in his own tearful, vengeful eye.
With a leap, he pounced on him, hammering his face with both hands like a sledgehammer until the skull cracked and the blood flowed like a broken dam. His hands filled with brain matter and gore as his strikes punched through the head and into the ground.
He raised his head and screamed, but he didn't know if it was out of relief, rage, or frustration.