When Stephen threw his punch, he already knew there was a chance this would happen. It wasn’t a surprise, nor was it something he hadn’t considered before. In fact, from the moment he had unlocked his Vow and begun using its power in real combat, he had been painfully aware of this exact weakness.
Being a superhuman didn’t mean his body was invincible.
All of Stephen’s natural attributes, his speed, strength, and reactions, had certainly increased, but not to an overwhelming degree. His Vow didn’t transform him into an indestructible monster. Instead, it placed a single trait above all others.
Speed.
Speed was the core of his power, the one thing his Vow prioritized above everything else. His movements were faster, his strikes sharper, and his reactions pushed beyond human limits. However, the density of his bones, the durability of his muscles, and the raw toughness of his body hadn’t risen at the same rate.
And that imbalance came at a cost.
Throwing a punch at such extreme speed meant generating far more power than his body was naturally built to withstand. Against ordinary opponents, it wasn’t a problem. Against someone like Jett, someone with a body as solid and resilient as steel, it was a different story entirely.
When Stephen’s fist had slammed into Jett’s side earlier, the impact hadn’t just transferred force outward.
It had sent it right back into him.
’I rushed the fight,’ Stephen thought as pain throbbed violently through his shattered arm. ’That’s why I kept going for the same spot. I knew my body would break down eventually... I just didn’t think it would happen this soon.’
His forearm hung uselessly at his side, twisted at an unnatural angle. The bones inside had already failed him, fractured beyond what sheer willpower could ignore. Each movement sent waves of agony through his nervous system, threatening to overwhelm his senses.
But even then, Stephen didn’t lower his guard.
’With one broken arm... no,’ he corrected himself. ’I haven’t lost yet. I still have one good arm. I still have something left to use.’
Across from him, Jett threw his head back and laughed.
"HAHA!" Jett’s booming laughter echoed across the platform. "It looks like I don’t even have to touch you. I could just stand still, and you’d end up doing more damage to your own body than you ever could to me."
Despite the mocking tone, Jett’s words weren’t entirely true. His side pulsed with dull pain, a lingering reminder of Stephen’s earlier blows. It was the first time in a long while that Jett had felt genuine discomfort during a fight, and although he didn’t show it, he was well aware of it.
Still, the situation was clear.
Stephen was the one breaking down.
"Hey!" Stephen shouted, his voice rough but defiant. "I still have one arm left. And I can still smash your face in."
Without hesitation, Stephen charged forward.
Pain flared through his body, his stamina already dangerously low, but he forced himself onward. He couldn’t afford to look weak. He couldn’t afford to hesitate. The moment he showed signs of exhaustion or injury, Jett would exploit it without mercy.
Stephen knew that much.
When he threw his next punch, he increased his speed just slightly, trying to strike faster without pushing himself over the edge. However, the blow never landed. Jett blocked it cleanly, his massive arm moving with deceptive speed.
Stephen recoiled and immediately shifted position, narrowly avoiding a counterstrike. Jett’s attacks came heavy and relentless, and Stephen found himself barely slipping past them in time.
Two thoughts raced through his mind.
’I’m more tired than I thought,’ Stephen realized. ’Controlling how much I accelerate my body... it’s harder than it looks.’
His breathing was uneven now, his chest burning with each inhale. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes and blurring his vision.
’And there’s another problem,’ he admitted silently. ’A mental block.’
Stephen hesitated to use too much speed. The fear lingered in the back of his mind like a sharp blade.
What happens if I break my other arm?
This fight was far from over, and Stephen wasn’t willing to lose it, not after everything that had led him here. If his second arm failed him, there would be nothing left. No way to strike. No way to defend himself.
’I need to create an opening,’ Stephen thought desperately. ’Just one chance. If I can land a clean hit to his head, maybe, just maybe, I can end this.’
He began using every trick he knew.
Stephen threw feints, small half-movements designed to draw Jett’s guard toward certain areas. He twisted his shoulders, shifted his weight, and made it look as if he was once again targeting Jett’s injured side.
Jett reacted instantly, his body moving to block the expected strike.
This was it.
The perfect opening.
Stephen redirected his momentum and swung toward Jett’s head instead.
But the moment his fist moved, Jett saw through it.
With terrifying precision, Jett caught Stephen’s punch mid-motion, his massive hand clamping down around Stephen’s fist like a steel vice.
"Fast," Jett said calmly, tightening his grip. "Really fast. But I’ve been through more fights than you can imagine."
Stephen struggled, but the grip was unbreakable.
"When you’ve fought as long as I have," Jett continued, "you learn to tell the difference between real attacks and fake ones. I know when you’re committing... and when you’re bluffing."
Darius watched from the sidelines, a faint smile appearing on his face. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous earlier. Stephen’s speed had been abnormal, borderline terrifying.
But now, he could see the flaw.
The speed came at a cost.
’You said the other one was trouble and this was easy,’ Darius thought, glancing at Jett. ’You almost had me worried.’
Darius lowered his gaze and opened his palm. Resting there were three pills, each a different color.
’But now that you’ve got hold of him,’ he thought, ’you should finish this.’
Stephen struggled harder, but it was pointless.
No matter how fast he was, once Jett had a solid grip on him, escape was impossible.
"First," Jett said, his voice cold, "let’s get rid of this annoying fist."
He tightened his grip and squatted slightly, applying crushing pressure. Stephen screamed as the bones in his hand cracked loudly, grinding against one another in a sickening sound.
Jett didn’t stop.
Using Stephen’s broken hand as leverage, he lifted his entire body off the ground and slammed him downward with overwhelming force.
The platform beneath them cracked on impact.
Stephen’s vision exploded into white as pain consumed him completely. Jett released his grip, stepping back as Stephen lay crumpled on the floor, his body barely responding.
"Still groaning," Jett observed calmly. "Still moving."
He looked down at Stephen without pity.
"That’s a good sign. Now," he said, "it’s time to finish this."