There was one major weakness to Darno’s fighting style, and it was something he had always been aware of, even before becoming a superhuman.
Tackles.
Grappling.
Wrestling techniques.
Darno’s martial art had been built for one primary purpose, to defend against strikes. Punches. Kicks. Straightforward attacks that relied on momentum, speed, or raw power. Against those, his style excelled. It didn’t matter if the opponent was stronger, heavier, or faster. As long as the attack followed a predictable striking path, Darno could intercept it.
Block at the perfect moment.
Redirect the force.
Counter immediately.
That was the essence of what he had been taught.
By hitting the right points at the right time, Darno could throw off an opponent’s balance and strike back while they were still recovering. If his timing was flawless, the counterattack didn’t just stop the opponent, it used their own weight and momentum against them. Their force combined with his precision, turning defense into offense in a single fluid motion.
That was what Darno had been aiming for when he taunted Jett.
He wanted Jett angry.
He wanted him charging forward.
He wanted him throwing punches with everything he had.
That was the fight Darno knew how to win.
However, grappling was different.
If an opponent didn’t strike but instead rushed forward, wrapped their arms around him, or tried to tackle him to the ground, things became far more complicated. Even if Darno knocked their hands away, their body could still crash into him. Weight mattered. Mass mattered. And Jett had plenty of both.
Of course, Darno wasn’t completely helpless against grappling. Over the years, he had learned techniques designed to prevent being grabbed, sharp strikes aimed at sensitive areas, pushing an opponent’s head downward so their momentum was forced into the floor instead of into his body. There were even methods to slip past grappling attempts entirely.
But now, with his Vow in place, those options were limited.
He couldn’t dodge.
He couldn’t step aside.
He couldn’t retreat.
He had to defend, and only defend.
And against someone like Jett, someone who outweighed him by several classes, someone whose body had been built for crushing opponents, those limitations were dangerous.
When Jett closed the distance, Darno reacted instinctively.
His knee shot upward, aiming straight for Jett’s face.
It was the fastest response he had, the most direct counter available.
But Jett anticipated it.
At the last second, Jett shifted his head to the side, the knee barely missing his jaw. In the same motion, his arms wrapped around Darno’s waist.
The grip was immediate.
Powerful.
Relentless.
Darno felt his feet leave the ground.
From above, Darno lashed out, hammering his fists into Jett’s back. It was the only place he could reach with full swings, the only angle available to him. Each strike landed cleanly, echoing through the room.
But it wasn’t enough.
Jett didn’t slow down.
He lifted Darno higher, then drove him down.
The impact shook the entire floor.
A loud crack rang out as the reinforced surface fractured beneath them. Dust and debris burst upward as Darno’s body was slammed into the ground once again, this time pinned beneath Jett’s massive weight.
The crowd erupted.
Some shouted in excitement.
Others gasped in shock.
This was what they had come to see.
From the sidelines, Max stood up immediately.
It’s exactly as I thought, he realized grimly. Jett was strong enough even before the Vows. With just two of them fighting, it won’t be enough. I’ll need to step in too.
Darius noticed Max’s movement at once.
He didn’t expect Max to be a fighter, he had assumed he was just another wealthy gambler, but he didn’t like him moving at all.
"You said I wouldn’t get a single penny from you," Darius snarled. "Then I’ll take every last penny from the Billion Bloodline myself!"
At his signal, several members of the Black Hounds began moving toward Max.
Meanwhile, Darno was still pinned to the floor.
"So you’ve got a tough body," Jett laughed, raising his fist. "Good. Let’s see how long you can take a beating!"
His fist came down hard, smashing into Darno’s head.
There was nowhere for Darno’s head to go.
The floor absorbed the force, and Darno’s skull took the full impact.
If this had happened before his Vow awakened, there was no doubt his skull would have cracked instantly. Even now, pain exploded through his head, his vision blurring as a sharp ringing filled his ears.
Jett drew his fist back again.
Another punch.
Another.
Relentless.
Darno forced his arm up at the last second, knocking one of the blows aside. Jett’s fist slammed into the floor instead, cracking it further.
But Jett adapted immediately.
One of Darno’s arms was pinned under Jett’s knee.
The other was seized in Jett’s grip.
That left one free hand. One more punch. Jett wound his arm back. That was when it happened.
A blur.
A sudden, lightning-fast movement. A leg shot out from the side and smashed into Jett’s face. The impact was devastating. Jett’s entire body was thrown backward, his grip breaking instantly as he crashed onto the floor.
"AHHH!" a scream rang out.
Stephen collapsed to the ground, clutching his knee.
Darno scrambled free and got to his feet, staring in disbelief at the sight in front of him.
Stephen, both arms shattered, body battered beyond reason, had somehow intervened.
"It’s been a long time since I threw a kick," Stephen said through clenched teeth. "I knew I’d have to throw it at full speed to get that bastard off you."
Darno glanced at Stephen’s leg, already swelling unnaturally.
"My guess is you don’t just have two broken arms now," Darno muttered, "but a leg to go with it."
Stephen gave a strained grin. "Then make it worth it. Take him out."
Darius’s expression darkened.
He had thought Stephen was finished. He had been wrong. Stephen had stepped back into the fight, and that changed everything. Darius turned sharply toward Max and nodded.
The Black Hounds charged. The first attacker swung.
Max leaned back effortlessly, the punch missing his face by inches. In the same motion, Max stepped forward and drove his fist into the man’s chin.
Instant knockout. The second attacker lunged.
Max kicked upward, his foot slamming into the man’s head.
The third barely had time to react before Max leapt onto the table, vaulted forward, and drove both knees into two attackers at once, sending them crashing to the floor.
Max landed smoothly.
He straightened, tapping the side of his mask.
The digital display shifted, changing into an expression of pure fury.
"The Black Hounds," Max said coldly, "have no idea who they’re dealing with."