Both fighters were at their limit due to their physical injuries. Yet, despite this obstacle, they continued their deadly—and even beautiful—fight to the death. Kura thought of his teammates on this mission, his family, and his friends with every strike he delivered to his opponent.
"For them, and for everyone in this country… I'll win this fight!"
Kura thought this while his opponent had similar thoughts. Humaitá was fighting for his people, his promises, and his own family.
"For them, I will defeat this boy!"
The fight was intense. The flames covering the terrorist's body seemed as hot as the Sun itself, and the brightness was greater than that of a star close to its captive planets. Fighting while looking directly at Humaitá was nearly impossible for young Kura—just as it was impossible to trade blows with him without suffering third-degree burns that turned flesh to charcoal in mere moments.
Kura's idea was to use his electromagnetic shields, focusing them on both arms, hoping that the magnetism would repel the moisture from Humaitá's body and the heat of those fiery attacks.
"This has to work! Or… at least, I think it will!"
He put this tactic into action when he saw a kick coming—a roundhouse kick with the calf of Humaitá's left leg aimed at smashing his skull. Kura raised his electromagnetically-charged left arm between the kick and his head. It looked like the defense would succeed—until the heat of the flames passed through his shield, severely burning his forearm, charring the flesh and part of the muscle to the color of barbecue coals.
"Shit, this hurts like hell!"
Kura screamed. The pain from the burns was unimaginable for a normal, untrained person—enough to cause unconsciousness. But even through the screams, he noticed something on Humaitá's leg—the one that delivered the kick. It was burned.
"H-he's burned?!"
The boy distanced himself as much as he could and analyzed his enemy from head to toe. He saw burns all over Humaitá's body. Humaitá, however, couldn't afford to stand still and give his enemy time. Every second that passed pushed his body closer to becoming complete ash.
"Sorry, kid. But I'm going to kill you!"
The Tapajó tribesman charged again, his moves blending dance and capoeira-like strikes. During the advance, he spun 360 degrees on his axis, moving rhythmically with nature, and launched another kick—this time aimed at Kura's ribs—using the burned outer edge of his foot. A movement resembling the "armada" technique from capoeira.
"Shit!"
Kura thought as he leapt back, narrowly avoiding the kick, though the heat still scorched the left side of his chest.
"You son of a—"
Kura countered with a close-range assault, knowing long-range moves were useless against someone whose reaction speed nearly exceeded lightning. He struck with an open-palm blow, targeting Humaitá's chest, his hand crackling with electromagnetic energy just seconds before the hit—amplifying the impact and sending his opponent flying.
"Fly away, Firestarter!"
Kura grunted, still enduring the pain from the burn on his hand. The tribal warrior was hurled eighty meters away. Parts of his body were already turning to ash—his arms nearly gone, legs and torso blackened and charred. Humaitá staggered back up, vomiting blood that quickly evaporated from the heat.
"Whoa, whoa, easy there, big guy… careful not to lose that hand!"
Humaitá mocked upon seeing the condition of Kura's hand—almost entirely burned. He charged again, this time not with a kick but a double-fisted punch aimed at Kura's face and neck—a crushing blow meant to pulverize his skull from chin to forehead.
Kura reacted quickly, throwing his body backward and dropping to the ground to dodge. He then swept Humaitá's legs with a magnetically charged kick to his right leg. The combo, combined with the failed punch, tore away more of Humaitá's flesh and muscle, already fragile from burns.
Yet, despite this, the warrior used the "Aú", a capoeira cartwheel, to avoid falling—managing to stay upright just a few meters away.
"Close one! You've got solid tactics… pity they're so easy to read."
Humaitá said, eyeing Kura's shin, which was charred to black. Kura, though struggling, rolled up from the ground and stood, albeit unsteadily.
"At least I'm not hiding behind some weird little fire to fight!"
Kura shot back, taking up a karate-style fighting stance—completely defensive, eyes locked with his opponent's like two animals dueling for territory.
The fight resumed viciously. Kura went for another magnetic slap to Humaitá's chest, this time laced with electricity, hoping for a quick finish. Humaitá dodged but still took a glancing blow that cracked several ribs.
His face showed a mix of disappointment, disgust, and respect. He had found the attack useless—until he felt the damage. Still, he retaliated with a powerful kick to Kura's shoulder, aiming to tear off his arm. Kura tried to repel it using electromagnetic force, but it wasn't enough—some of the blow still hit him, and Humaitá began pushing through the magnetic barrier.
In desperation, Kura increased his magnetic power and fired a massive electric current, launching Humaitá's leg and body backward. He didn't stop there. He then used his magnetism to pull Humaitá toward him, slamming him violently to the ground in a move resembling the sumo throw "Hiki-otoshi".
Time skipped slightly. Both fighters were exhausted and battered. Kura slowly raised his left hand, speaking loudly and resolutely:
"This fight won't last much longer… so let's end it with this move!"
The terrorist responded with nothing but a smile, silently agreeing as he began to dance in perfect rhythm—his final ritual.
"Then go all out, right?"
Kura focused all his power into the palm of his hand—his most powerful strike yet. They stared at each other, then launched their final attacks.
To them, it felt like everything moved in slow motion, though to outside eyes, it was over in a split second. Humaitá's foot met Kura's electrified palm, triggering a shockwave that dispelled flames and halted their powers momentarily.
The explosion hurled both fighters apart. A massive dust cloud rose.
Kura stood, his arm completely destroyed—bones shattered like glass, two fingers dangling. The smoke cleared—Humaitá was still standing, body still ablaze.
Kura gave a soft smile—calm and accepting.
"Yeah… I lost. My body's wrecked. I can't go on. Just finish me. I lost."
But then something unexpected happened.
Humaitá collapsed. His leg and foot were just as wrecked as Kura's arm. Smiling gently, he spoke:
"No… I lost. Even if I won, I'd die anyway from using this form. I reached the divine flames of the Sun… and the price is my life."
As his body began turning to ash, something fell from his pocket—a photo he'd used for motivation at the fight's start. Kura picked it up. The metal casing was melted, and the edges burned, but he could still make out the image.
"H-hey! Don't do anything to that photo—it's all I have to deal with this pain!"
Even in agony, Humaitá was more desperate about the photo than his own death.
"These people… are they your family?"
Humaitá wasn't expecting compassion. Still, he answered calmly:
"Not exactly. The boy and the wolf-boy are my sons. The others are just villagers. I'll miss them in the afterlife."
He was calm—already at peace with his fate. Kura stared, feeling a mix of guilt and sorrow.
"This process… it hurts, doesn't it?"
The tribal man appreciated the honesty, replying in kind:
"Yeah… it hurts physically from the flames… but more from knowing I'm leaving my sons behind. And my people… for those I don't even like."
His voice was weakening—half his body had already become ash. Kura looked at him, raised two fingers like a pistol, and fired a gentle electric bolt to numb Humaitá's pain receptors.
"Look… I can't fix your emotional pain. But I can at least help with the physical part."
Humaitá was surprised. His enemy no longer saw him as a threat—but someone worth saving.
"Don't give me that, kid… I deserve to suffer. That was the cost of this technique!"
His voice cracked with anger but softened again as he smiled and closed his eyes.
"But still… thank you. I owe you for this. And one more thing I won't be able to repay…"
With only his neck and head left, he whispered:
"Go to my village. Take care of my son. Give him a peaceful life… Can you do that?"
Kura was stunned, silent for a moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he said:
"You have my word. I promise."
Humaitá gave one final smile—and then was reduced completely to ash.
Kura gave him a final act of respect—not with tears, but with a military salute, offering an honorable farewell.
No mourning, no regret—only respect and pride for having faced a true warrior. He looked to the sky, as the wind carried Humaitá's ashes upward.