Stephen’s attack failed for the first time since the fight had begun.
The moment his fist drove forward, it didn’t land where he intended. Instead, it struck against something solid, Jett’s arm, already positioned to block the blow. The impact reverberated up Stephen’s knuckles and into his forearm, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his bones. Before he could process it fully, he felt movement.
Jett was reaching for him.
Stephen reacted on instinct. He twisted his body and sprang backward, his feet skidding slightly across the platform as he created distance between them. The retreat was faster than his usual movement, driven by his power rather than pure footwork. His chest rose and fell sharply as his heart began pounding harder in his ears.
Sweat had already begun to form along his brow.
’I nearly got caught right there...’
The realization hit him with a cold clarity. That moment had been dangerously close. Too close.
’It’s almost like I’m fighting against a heavyweight world champion,’ Stephen thought grimly. ’One solid grab, one clean hit, and the fight would be over immediately.’
He swallowed, steadying his breathing as he kept his eyes locked on Jett. The man stood tall, unmoved by the exchange, his expression calm but focused. There was no wasted motion in the way he stood, no unnecessary tension. Just quiet pressure.
’If I didn’t have my Vow just now... he would have caught me.’
That thought lingered longer than Stephen liked. It wasn’t comforting, it was terrifying. Because Jett had noticed something too.
Jett now knew where Stephen was aiming.
Stephen wiped a bit of sweat from his cheek with his shoulder, rolling his neck once as he tried to reset himself mentally. This fight wasn’t just about strength. It was about endurance, timing, and decision-making, and right now, time wasn’t on his side.
The longer the fight dragged on, the worse it became for him.
Each burst of speed, each enhanced movement used to escape rather than strike, drained him faster than normal. His body was stronger, faster, and more explosive than before, but that didn’t mean it was limitless. His stamina was being chipped away piece by piece.
Stephen stepped in again.
This time, he relied purely on his fundamentals. He moved close, slipping past Jett’s reach without activating his power, using angles and footwork to stay just outside the worst of the danger. Jett’s arms swung toward him, heavy and deliberate, but Stephen ducked and shifted with practiced ease.
He was close enough now.
Stephen twisted his body, preparing another strike to the same spot on Jett’s side.
Then he stopped.
Just for a fraction of a second, he noticed Jett’s arm moving downward, already anticipating the attack. Stephen pulled his punch back at the last moment, refusing to commit, and slid away instead.
His jaw tightened.
’If I don’t strike, this goes nowhere,’ Stephen thought. ’But if I keep going for the same place, he’ll keep blocking it.’
The problem was painfully clear. Jett’s body was built to absorb punishment. Anywhere else Stephen struck would be meaningless, except for two areas.
The head.
And the sides of the body where the liver was located.
Stephen knew better than to go for the head. Jett’s height and reach made it a gamble at best, suicide at worst. That left only one real option.
The same spot.
Again.
Stephen shifted his stance, deciding to change things slightly. If Jett was reading him too easily from one side, then he would attack from the other. Even a small adjustment could create an opening.
He went in again.
But Jett wasn’t slow.
Stephen felt it immediately, the subtle shift in Jett’s posture, the way his weight redistributed, the slight movement of his arm. Jett had seen it. The twist of Stephen’s foot, the turn of his hips, it was all there, clear as day to someone experienced.
Jett blocked the opposite side just as easily.
Stephen pulled back, frustration burning in his chest.
Jett didn’t need to worry about most attacks. His endurance was absurd, his body dense and powerful. As long as his head stayed protected and his sides were guarded, Stephen had nowhere meaningful to strike.
Stephen clenched his fist.
There was no room left for hesitation.
There was only one thing he could do now.
He stepped in once more, twisting his body with full commitment. This time, he didn’t hold back. At the moment his fist drove forward, he activated his power fully.
Explosiveness surged through his arm.
His punch accelerated unnaturally fast, far beyond what his muscles alone should have been capable of producing. The strike dug deep into Jett’s side, landing with a sharp, hollow impact that echoed across the platform.
"ARGH!"
Jett gritted his teeth, his body tensing as pain shot through his side and down his arm. The reaction was immediate, and undeniable.
Stephen saw it.
Just for a moment, Jett’s expression changed.
’It worked,’ Stephen realized. ’He felt that.’
Jett took a half step back, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Stephen with renewed focus.
’He’s different,’ Jett thought. ’There’s something strange about him now. How can someone his size hit this hard?’
The fight continued.
Stephen didn’t give Jett time to recover. He circled him, staying light on his feet, avoiding the powerful swings that came his way. Each time Jett attacked, Stephen slipped past or pulled away just in time, conserving what little stamina he could.
Then he struck again.
Another enhanced blow slammed into the same spot on Jett’s side. This time, the grunt that escaped Jett’s mouth was louder. The impact was visible, his body shifted from the force, the sound of it drawing gasps from the crowd.
They were stunned.
This was Jett.
A man they had seen dominate countless fights without ever being pushed like this.
’I can’t stop now,’ Stephen thought fiercely. ’Not when everyone’s relying on me.’
This fight wasn’t about him.
Not anymore.
It was for Max. For Darno. For everyone standing behind him.
Stephen drove forward again, striking once more, but the power behind the blow wasn’t enough this time. Jett felt the pain, but so did Stephen.
His arm screamed in protest.
Fatigue crept deeper into his muscles, his breathing growing heavier. Each enhanced strike demanded more than his body could comfortably give.
’I might only have two more hits like that in me... maybe less.’
He had to end this.
’I have to hit harder,’ Stephen screamed internally. ’Hard enough to make him fall!’
He twisted his body once more, pushing everything he had left into the strike. The punch slammed into Jett’s side with explosive force.
"ARGH!"
The sound was louder than before. Even Darius, watching from the sidelines, couldn’t hide his surprise as his eyes widened.
But Jett didn’t fall.
He staggered slightly, yes, but he stayed upright.
"I guess I need to be more careful with you than I thought," Jett said calmly.
Then he noticed something was wrong.
Stephen hadn’t moved.
He stood there, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face. His arm hung unnaturally at his side.
Broken.
Stephen’s fist had shattered earlier, the damage now unmistakable. The bone in his forearm was fractured, no longer able to support his hand. It dangled uselessly, pain radiating through him with every heartbeat.