Of course, Joe felt pain. The sharp, searing agony of a fist slamming into his jaw, the heavy ache in his ribs, it was all crystal clear. His senses weren’t dulled, and this wasn’t some convenient, secret superhuman power he’d suddenly unlocked after taking the Vow.
But something had been broken, something fundamental had shifted inside him during the endless, grinding ordeal required to earn that Vow. And what had been broken was fear .
He had spent weeks, countless days and grinding, exhausting hours, facing Aron, a relentless, methodical killer, who was constantly trying to take his life. The sheer, overwhelming pain of being hit by Aron, the sheer terror of facing his unpredictable arsenal of brutal weapons, had become Joe’s normal.
Now, standing in this Pit, facing a fast, angry boxer named Razor, Joe realized it. Not a single hook, jab, or uppercut thrown at him was capable of generating true fear. He wasn’t saying the punches were weak; he was saying they were manageable .
He was realizing it more and more with every blow he took.
’He has to be bluffing,’ Razor thought, his eyes narrowed, the mockery draining out of his grin. ’That punch was a clean hit, and with all the body shots he took before, his legs have to be weak! He has to fall!’
Razor threw another punch, a heavy straight aimed for Joe’s nose. And Joe did the unthinkable. With zero hesitation, he snapped his head forward, driving his forehead directly toward the incoming fist.
The two collided with a wet, sickening thwack . Razor immediately felt the blinding pain shoot down his knuckles and up his wrist. He wasn’t sure if he’d fractured something, but the sheer, unnatural hardness of Joe’s skull was a devastating counter-strike.
Before Razor could recover, Joe threw another jab. Razor instinctively threw an uppercut, connecting right on Joe’s chin. Joe’s head flung back violently, but he merely gritted his teeth, stepped forward, and landed his own jab, cleanly, crisply, right on Razor’s face. It was sharp, a perfect hit. It lacked the crushing power of Razor’s strikes, but the impact sent a sudden, disorienting lightness into Razor’s head.
"So you can take a few hits, huh? You’re saying my punches are weak?" Razor screamed, his voice edged with panic and fury. "Well, we will see about that!"
Razor charged again, a whirlwind of desperation. He dodged Joe’s retaliatory jab, quickly delivering a practiced one-two combination: one shot to the gut, followed by a vicious hook right at Joe’s face.
Joe’s face swung to the side again, blood splattering from his split lip onto the grimy Pit floor. Yet, his feet remained anchored. They never moved back. This time, he was the one who threw two blindingly fast jabs, connecting cleanly with Razor’s face once more.
"Ahhh, you will fall!" Razor roared, trying to play Joe’s game. My hits are stronger, he convinced himself. I can feel them land! Joe had already taken a high level of damage, and right now, Razor was delivering two hits for every one of Joe’s. Surely, Razor calculated, Joe would fall first.
But this was Razor’s biggest, final mistake: trying to match Joe in the desperate, brutal game of attrition that Joe had chosen to play.
Up in the stands, Wolf finally understood, a sense of awe mixed with professional worry crossing his face.
"I see what you’re trying to do," Wolf murmured, watching the carnage below. "I can’t believe you’re relying on it so early on. Or maybe ’relying’ is not the right word, but trying to perfect how to use it to your advantage... but do you really want to use it this way?"
The fight was a bloody, relentless mess. The crowd could see Joe’s head snapping back again and again, but something amazing was happening. As Joe consistently absorbed the hits, he was inexorably pushing forward, getting his own punishing punches in. Razor’s face was beginning to show the devastating cumulative effect of Joe’s jabs, the skin splitting, swelling starting to distort his features.
And then, it happened. Something the crowd only realized a split second too late.
Razor’s back hit the Pit wall directly behind him. The entire time, even though Razor was throwing more punches, Joe had applied an unbelievable amount of relentless, forward pressure, maneuvering them across the small arena until they were in this inescapable position.
Before Razor could even raise his guard or pivot, he saw the straight fist coming toward his face, a missile launched from Joe’s shoulder.
"Ah sh, "
The fist slammed right in. With the solid, unyielding stone of the Pit arena wall keeping his head still, the force was absolute. The impact completely extinguished Razor’s consciousness. His body slid down the wall, an inert, bloody heap.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we have ourselves a winner!" the announcer’s voice boomed, shattering the momentary silence.
The crowd erupted in cheers. Even those who hadn’t bet on Joe couldn’t help but cheer for the sheer, brutal intensity of the fight and the heart Joe had shown.
Joe didn’t look like he was enjoying the moment. He simply turned and walked back, his shirt soaked, wounds already decorating his face and body.
"Haha! I won!" Chad shouted, pumping his fist. Then his eyes met Vivian’s across the arena, and his voice immediately quieted. He repeated the phrase in a hushed, nervous whisper. "I won..."
Vivian was biting her nail, her usual cruel composure momentarily shattered. She hadn’t expected this outcome. After Joe was attacked, she doubted the other main contender, Wolf, would leave an opening so easy to exploit. The money had automatically transferred to Chad’s account.
"Well," she scoffed, regaining her cold edge. "I guess it’s not a big issue. With how much damage he had to have taken in that fight... he’s surely done for now. He won’t be able to fight again."
However, that wasn’t the case at all. Wolf watched Joe walk away, a knowing, almost predatory grin spreading across his face.
"Well, I guess having the ability of superior healing isn’t so bad after all."