Stephen’s body slammed into the floor with a force that sent a dull, hollow sound echoing across the fighting platform. The impact wasn’t clean or controlled, it was violent, uncontrolled, and devastating. His back struck first, followed by his shoulders, and then the rest of his body collapsed into the ground like a broken doll.
Pain exploded through him all at once.
His vision blurred instantly, stars flashing in his eyes as his entire body trembled from the shock. The floor beneath him felt cold, unyielding, and impossibly hard. His lungs seized for a moment, refusing to draw in air, and when he finally managed to breathe, it came out as a hoarse, broken gasp.
If Stephen had been a normal person, a regular human without enhanced physical abilities, there was no doubt in his mind that he would have died on impact. At the very least, his spine would have shattered, his organs ruptured beyond repair. Even now, lying there, he couldn’t be certain his spine was intact.
All he knew was pain.
Blinding, overwhelming pain.
His arms were useless. Both of them.
One forearm had already been shattered earlier in the fight, the bone unable to withstand the force his vow-enhanced speed had produced. The other hand, his fist, had been crushed completely. Every attempt to move sent sharp, screaming agony through his nervous system. His fingers wouldn’t respond, his wrists burned, and even the slightest twitch felt like knives digging into his flesh.
To push himself off the ground was impossible.
Even shifting his weight felt like trying to move a mountain with broken limbs.
Jett stood over him, towering like an executioner waiting to deliver the final blow. He hadn’t rushed. He hadn’t panicked. Instead, he looked down at Stephen calmly, as if the outcome had already been decided long ago.
"Do you give up?" Jett asked, his voice steady as he prepared to strike again.
The crowd watching had already drawn their conclusions.
To anyone else, the fight was over.
The winner was clear.
There was no need for another blow, no reason to push things further. Stephen was broken, defeated, unable to continue. Yet those words, do you give up
They struck at Stephen’s soul.
Hadn’t he already given up so much?
He had given up his dream once, choosing money over hope.
He had given it up again when he accepted that he would never fight for himself.
He had sworn a vow that permanently killed his chance at becoming world champion.
Everything he had ever wanted had been stripped away.
And now, lying on the ground, unable to even stand, Stephen felt a crushing fear grip his heart.
If he couldn’t fight anymore...
If he couldn’t win here...
Then what was he?
What use was he to Max?
What purpose did he serve?
"No..." Stephen said, forcing the word out through clenched teeth, his voice shaking but loud enough to be heard. "I can’t give up."
With nothing but sheer will, he rolled his body onto his side. His arms screamed in protest, nerves firing uncontrollably, but he ignored them. Gritting his teeth, Stephen drew his legs underneath him.
Using only his legs, only the remaining strength in his lower body, he pushed himself upright.
His knees trembled violently. His balance wavered. Sweat poured down his face as every muscle in his body strained just to keep him standing. He didn’t use his hands at all; he couldn’t. They hung uselessly at his sides.
The sight shocked everyone watching.
Stephen was standing.
But how was he supposed to fight like this?
"You should have stayed down!" Jett snapped, stepping forward and throwing a heavy punch straight toward Stephen’s body.
Stephen tried to move, but his body refused to respond fast enough. Pain surged through him, dragging his reaction time down. Standing alone was already pushing him past his limits.
If I have to use my head... Stephen thought wildly. If I have to ram into him, I’ll at least break his fist in the process!
He leaned forward, throwing his head toward Jett’s incoming strike,
, but it never landed.
A hand suddenly grabbed the top of Stephen’s head, fingers gripping his hair firmly as his momentum was halted. At the same time, Jett’s fist was knocked violently aside, the force of the deflection sending his arm skidding away.
The impact was so powerful that even Jett staggered back a step.
The crowd froze.
Someone was standing inside the fighting area.
Someone who wasn’t supposed to be there.
"And people say I’m the stupid one," Darno said casually, his voice carrying clearly across the platform. "If you let that fist hit your head, even you would’ve died. Guess that means you owe me a favour now."
Darius’s eyes widened in disbelief as he jumped to his feet. His gaze snapped toward Max’s seat, and that was when he realized something was wrong.
Darno was no longer by Max’s side.
He had entered the fight.
Even more shocking than that, however, was the fact that Darno had managed to block Jett’s attack so effortlessly. Despite being physically smaller, he had knocked Jett’s strike away with raw power alone.
"Stop!" Darius shouted immediately. "What are you doing? Interfering in a match is against the rules!"
"Right, right, I understand," Darno replied, shrugging. "But this guy already lost, don’t you agree? And I’ve got orders to protect anyone belonging to the Billion Bloodline group."
Darno glanced down at Stephen briefly before continuing.
"If this fight kept going, he would’ve ended up dead. So why don’t we just say this is the end?"
Although Darno’s words were true, there was more behind his decision.
He had wanted to step in earlier. He had been watching Stephen struggle, watching his body break apart piece by piece. The only reason he hadn’t acted sooner was because he had been waiting for orders.
Orders that had finally come.
Max had told him to move.
"You can’t just decide things like that yourself!" Darius roared. "We make the rules here! You’re a guest, and you’ll act like one!"
He pointed directly at Darno.
"You’re disqualified from this fight, and from every tournament we host from now on!"
Then Darius turned toward Max, who was still seated calmly, wearing his strange mask.
"Are you not going to say anything?" Darius demanded. "It doesn’t matter. You’re disqualified as well. I’m ordering you to return all the money you’ve won tonight, including this fight!"
"You really should have learned to control your people better."
Max remained seated, unmoving.
Then, slowly, he shook his head.
"I’m sorry, Darius," Max said calmly. "I can do anything but that."
His voice was steady. Confident.
"After having all this money... I’m afraid I won’t be giving it back. Not a single penny."
The room fell silent.
"I’m not going to let you, or your group, take my money."