Na continued exchanging blows with Evon, but the longer the fight went on, the more difficult it became to make meaningful contact. He blocked well, reacted at the right moments, and even anticipated certain openings. Yet every time he committed to a strike, especially when he tried to use the full speed behind his compact punches, Evon simply wasn’t there. Not a single clean hit landed.
Evon, on the other hand, seemed to be getting more invested as the fight progressed. Na could tell from the subtle shift in his posture. At first, Evon had treated the fight casually, testing reactions and measuring distance. But as minutes passed, he began slipping into something more deliberate, a style Na recognized only as a series of strange feints.
Evon’s signature method of fighting was subtle enough that an untrained observer wouldn’t even notice what he was doing. In fact, the more skilled an opponent was, the easier it was for Evon to manipulate them. His entire style revolved around creating traps, patterns of movement that invited attacks, only to punish the opponent the moment they tried to take advantage of what they thought was an opening.
The complexity of those traps depended entirely on the opponent’s level.
Against inexperienced fighters, Evon made the openings obvious. He would throw exaggerated kicks, spinning his entire body until his back momentarily faced his opponent. But he wasn’t off balance. The moment an overeager fighter rushed forward, Evon used his momentum to snap backward, striking with the back leg or spinning fist.
Against skilled opponents, the method shifted. The traps became microscopic. A slight delay in a punch. A deliberate misstep. A shoulder dropped half an inch too low. A hand extended just a fraction longer than normal. Evon could fabricate bad habits mid-fight, lure his target in, and then strike the exact moment they committed.
He even had the ability to mimic entire fighting styles, just long enough for someone to believe they’d found a weakness. The moment they took the bait, Evon broke form completely and countered.
Na realized this only after he thought he had secured a controlling position.
"Got him!" Na’s mind flashed in a burst of confidence as he shifted forward. He had stepped into the inside angle, ready to stomp directly on Evon’s instep. It was a classic close-quarters maneuver, simple but highly effective. If he pinned Evon’s foot, he could limit his opponent’s mobility and force a clinch where Na’s compact strikes excelled.
He brought his foot down,
, but only hit the canvas.
Evon’s foot had slipped away with a perfectly timed shift. Instead of being pinned, Evon almost hopped forward, sliding inside Na’s guard in one fluid motion.
Before Na could retreat, Evon’s fist shot upward.
A heavy blow cracked straight into Na’s nose. His head snapped back from the impact.
Aron, observing from the side, murmured under his breath, "That person is skilled. Extremely skilled."
But inwardly, Aron’s thoughts spiraled deeper.
Those movements... that timing... he fights exactly like the Black Hand.
If he isn’t a member, then he’s been trained by one of them. And that means this fight might be far more dangerous than Na realizes.
Na didn’t fall for the trap once.
He fell for it again.
And again.
And even more after that.
Evon continued presenting openings, fake stances, deliberately slow steps, telegraphed jabs, and Na continued trying to take them. Every time he attempted to strike, Evon maneuvered out of danger and punished the attempt with pinpoint accuracy.
Na couldn’t understand why this was happening. The frustration built in his chest until his breath grew heavy.
Why? What is going on?
I don’t feel less skilled than him... so why does he keep catching me?
Why am I falling into every trap?
Evon, meanwhile, felt a different emotion rising, not frustration, but boredom.
I thought this guy might be more interesting, Evon mused as he parried another strike, but he’s nothing special after all. I suppose I’ll just use the exoskeleton and end this fight quickly. I still have business to handle after this, anyway.
But just as Evon decided to finish things, his expression sharpened.
Something shifted.
A warning instinct flared in his mind.
Evon immediately lifted both of his arms, forming a reinforced guard.
A punch collided with his forearms, so powerful that the impact vibrated through the entire cage. The force lifted Evon clean off the ground and sent him hurtling backward. He flew through the air until his back slammed against the metal bars with a metallic echo.
The entire audience erupted.
"WHAOOOO!"
The host nearly dropped his microphone. His whisper came out half-excited, half-vindictive.
"Yes! That’s what you get for being cocky... both of you need to take some hits tonight. I was starting to think the big guy wasn’t going to do anything."
Na remained in an overextended pose, arm fully thrown from the force of his punch. He grimaced, not because of injury, but because of fear.
He had gotten too frustrated.
Too careless.
Too emotional.
His punch had been faster, heavier, and far less restrained than anything he’d thrown so far.
Did I... hit too hard?
I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to land one clean strike. I didn’t mean to go that far.
Evon rose slowly, shaking out his arms. His forearms throbbed, but the reinforced exoskeleton beneath his jacket had absorbed most of the damage.
He grinned.
"What was that?" he demanded, excitement finally replacing boredom. He rolled his shoulders. "So you were hiding your strength this whole time. And your speed."
Evon’s eyes narrowed with genuine interest.
"That punch wasn’t normal. You can’t be an ordinary fighter. Are you... actually one of them? A superhuman?"
As Evon’s grin widened, electricity flickered through his posture.
If his suspicion was correct,
Then this was the perfect opportunity to push the exoskeleton to its absolute limit.
***
*****
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