breath. He was operating purely on
instinct and the ingrained muscle
memory of countless hours in the quiet
courtyard.
He wasn't trying to win anymore; he
was trying to survive. He was a reed
bending in a hurricane, yielding to the
force to avoid snapping.
Marcus, sensing the shift from
resistance to survival, intensified his
assault. He abandoned all pretense of
technique, swinging wild, looping
punches intended to decapitate. The
crowd, sensing the impending kill,
whipped themselves into a frenzy.
"Finish him!" they chanted, a
collective roar that vibrated through the
floorboards. Marcus grinned through a
bloody mouthpiece, relishing the role of
the executioner.
He stalked Leo, pinning him into the
corner. There was nowhere left to run.
Marcus unleashed a barrage of strikes, a
terrifying combination of elbows and
heavy crosses. Leo slipped the first two,
but the third—a devastating right elbow
—caught him flush on the temple.
The world tilted sideways for Leo.
The noise of the crowd faded into a dull
ringing. His legs turned to water, and he
collapsed against the cage, sliding down
to the mat.
The referee moved closer, preparing
to call the fight. But before he could step
in, Marcus pounced. Instead of stepping
back, the champion dove onto his fallen
opponent. He wasn't satisfied with a
knockout. He wanted submission. He
wanted to break the boy's will
completely.
In a fluid, practiced motion, Marcus
slipped his thick arm under Leo’s chin,
wrapping his legs around Leo’s waist to
secure the position. It was a rear-naked
choke, locked in tight, deep, and utterly
inescapable.
Panic flared in Leo’s chest. The air
was cut off instantly. His vision began to
narrow, dark spots dancing at the edges.
He clawed weakly at Marcus’s
monstrous arm, but it was like trying to
pry off a steel cable. The pressure was
immense, crushing his windpipe and
halting the blood flow to his brain.
Chapter 4
After the Bell