Just a single clash of fists triggered an effect like a high-yield explosive. The arena, already mostly destroyed by earlier matches, was completely leveled.
The stones flung into the air must have injured countless unlucky spectators.
The dust blew away in an instant—that was from the second collision between the two—and the shockwave let everyone finally see the fight itself.
Kurama, though badly hurt, still propped up Yusuke Urameshi. Thankfully, Koenma set up a spirit barrier in time; otherwise those closest would have been caught in the blast and injured.
Yusuke clenched his teeth. Unwilling as he was, he knew he truly couldn't intervene in a fight like that.
He couldn't help recalling Charles's words: because his resolve was lacking, he couldn't fight. He would never let that happen again.
In the ring, Charles raised a hand and clamped it around Younger Toguro's fist. The veins along Toguro's arm throbbed furiously—he was using everything he had.
Kuwabara spat out a mouthful of grit. "So it's even?"
More observant, Kurama shook his head. "Toguro lost. Look at his other hand."
Kuwabara glanced over. The arm Toguro had used to meet Charles's first punch hung at his side; his fingers were charred black, his arm striped with ruptured muscle fibers.
Given Younger Toguro's regeneration rate, the fact it hadn't fully healed yet showed how severe the damage had been.
The contest of strength also broke in one direction. Charles twisted his palm, wrenched Toguro's arm aside—
"Fire Dragon's Hooking Claw!"
Flames coiled down his leg as Charles whipped a kick into Toguro's abdomen.
A pillar of fire punched through Toguro's body and obliterated the stands behind him. Blood sprayed from Toguro's mouth, yet he still threw a punch to force Charles back before glancing at the hole in his gut.
Muscle fibers snaked across, stitching shut a basketball-sized cavity. Toguro lifted his head to Charles and flashed a strange smile.
Fifty years ago, Younger Toguro had been chosen as a guest for the Dark Tournament.
He'd been invited by the yokai Kairen, who, while extending that invitation, killed and ate all of Toguro's students. Toguro himself had been beaten to a pulp.
Under that hellish lash, he shed his skin and, at the tournament, defeated Kairen.
"I'm not afraid of stronger people appearing. I'm afraid that when they do, our bodies will already have declined."
That's what Toguro told his lover, then wished to be reborn a yokai who wouldn't age.
To sell your soul for strength—though it was his choice, he never believed it was the right one. So he yearned for someone who could deny him. That would be his salvation.
Toguro felt that Charles's words earlier weren't only aimed at Yusuke; they were meant for him as well.
So he knew Charles was different. While Charles pursued power, he hadn't taken the path Toguro had.
All the better; only Charles's defeat would completely negate his choice.
No words were needed. The surge of demonic aura from Toguro's body told Charles everything.
Charles felt Toguro's death wish clearly and answered it.
The fire wreathing Charles flickered, then roared higher.
Shenlong Temple's secret Four Symbols Fist—Ultimate, Qilin Form!
An all-out release at one hundred percent—yet the aura Charles unleashed with Qilin Form was leagues more terrifying than Toguro's.
Koenma's pupils dilated; the spirit barrier he'd erected began to melt, and he had to pour in more energy to keep it up.
Spirit World's yokai rankings ran A, B, C, D, E—but A wasn't actually the peak of yokai power; it was simply the strongest tier Spirit World could manage.
Anything beyond that was lumped into S-class: untouchable. And of course, there were higher and lower within S as well.
In Koenma's eyes, the power Charles was exuding was definitely upper S-class.
A human holding that kind of strength—this exceeded his understanding.
"So that's his true power?"
Yusuke on the side stared at Charles, fists clenched tighter. Facing Toguro, he could still say he hadn't lost, but he knew that if he faced Charles as he was now, he might not even be able to stay on his feet.
Once Charles released his magic, the whole arena became a giant furnace. The ground at his feet even began to melt.
Under that pressure, every inch of Toguro's muscle tensed. He roared, and those exhaust-pipe-like vents at his back drew in a massive wave of demonic aura to fuel the force he needed to push back.
Knowing he couldn't afford a stalemate, Toguro attacked first.
Fresh craters bloomed across the battered floor—each one a hammer-blow from Toguro's fists.
Charles had already vaulted into the air to avoid the barrage, then brought a leg down like a war axe.
Ignoring the pain of a snapped clavicle and torn muscle, Toguro reached up to seize Charles's calf and whirl him.
The next instant, he saw his five fingers turned to charcoal.
Hiei narrowed his eyes in the rear. He'd seen a lot as a famed thief in Demon World, but he couldn't recall flames this fearsome.
Even his own demonic black fire might not compare.
Toguro didn't quit. His ruined hand reformed at once, but still couldn't catch Charles before he pulled away.
He stamped down—stone shattered—and, unfazed, launched another chase. A storm of fists poured out, a vow to land a hit.
Charles flipped to ground, drew his arm back. Against the whirlwind, he threw just one punch.
"Blazing Dragon's Collapse Fist!"
For an instant the flames drew tight—only to burst out more violently. As Charles's fist shot forward, fire erupted with it.
Toguro's storm collapsed on contact, like a dirt levee against a tsunami, swept away in a breath—Toguro himself swallowed by the blaze.
The fire peeled back. Charles held his punching stance; emptiness yawned beyond his knuckles.
That single blow had smashed into Toguro's fists—then his arms vanished.
Then the punch drove into Toguro's midsection, and the struck area winked out of being. Such was its terrifying force.
A semicircular bite was missing out of Toguro's left side—fully a third of his body gone.
Charles frowned. Toguro didn't heal the wound to his chest and belly. He poured everything into regrowing one arm.
The arm sprouted, then swelled grotesquely. Blood burst from the distended limb, but Toguro didn't care—he swung it anyway.
Madness.
Anyone looking at him now could only use those two words.
Charles also knew this was Toguro's last strength. He answered in kind.
He gathered every flame into his fist; red scales shimmered faintly along his forearm as he punched.
A big fist and a small one met. There was no titanic shock like the first exchange—this was absolute crush.
Toguro let out a wild, pained bellow as his arm shattered inch by inch, blood jetting from what remained of his body.
Even wrung dry, he couldn't halt Charles's fist, which pressed forward bit by bit until another huge void opened in him.
Charles exhaled, slowly released Qilin Form, and drew back all the fire.
Toguro stood there, then toppled the moment Charles turned away. He never hit the ground—his form crumbled to ash and drifted into the air.
And so ended the man who had been blaming himself all along.
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