The roar of the crowd was deafening, but my mind was silent.
The girls were worried. I could feel it in the way Sienna clung to my arm, her fingers digging into my sleeve. In the way Camille's usual smirk was absent, her lips pressed into a thin line. In the way Alexis, normally so clinical, so thodical, had her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her nails biting into her palms.
"Kane is brutal," Sienna whispered. "Rey, please be careful."
Camille swallowed hard, her eyes darting between and the pit. "Stryker was a veteran. A monster in his own right. Kane crushed him like an insect. He—" she stopped, unable to say it.
Alexis inhaled sharply. "He killed him."
I closed my eyes for a mont. I had seen it. Kane's ruthless efficiency. The way he dismantled Stryker, piece by piece, without hesitation or remorse. The blood, the broken body, discarded like garbage.
A sigh escaped my lips. My girls—my team—were right to worry. But I wasn't. I wasn't afraid.
I was angry.
Not at Kane, specifically. Not at Ragnar, either. No, it was the sheer arrogance. The unchecked brutality. The way these n fought without care, without thought for the consequences.
When Ragnar threw Vera's body at us, sothing inside snapped.
That could have hit Sienna. Camille. Alexis.
It could have hit the operations team working behind .
These n didn't care. They fought like they owned the world. Like they were untouchable.
I was going to remind them they weren't.
They thought strength alone made them untouchable, but they had forgotten one thing—monsters can be outmaneuvered.
As I stepped toward the pit, my operations team stood waiting for . The n and won who had been working tirelessly behind the scenes, making sure everything ran smoothly. My people.
One of them, a stocky engineer with oil-stained hands, clapped on the shoulder. "Give him hell, boss."
"You've got this," another grinned, his hands seeming to shake from either excitent or dread. "That freak doesn't stand a chance."
Milan, always the strategist, hesitated. "Reynard, listen, Kane—"
Anthony's hand shot out, stopping him mid-sentence. "No need," he murmured. His sharp eyes studied , narrowing slightly.
As if he saw sothing.
Sothing more primal.
I smiled. "I'll be back soon."
I stepped into the pit, and the world sharpened.
Everything was clear. Too clear. My detective instincts worked in harmony with every job I had mastered. I could feel the slightest tremors in the air. The way the dust shifted under Kane's weight. The micro-expressions on his face, the way his stance adjusted ever so slightly.
My body thrumd with energy. Strength from my construction work. Stamina from firefighting. The precision of an astronaut. The conditioning of a boxer.
Every word spoken around was amplified by my lawyer job, as if I could predict what would co next.
Everything was at play.
Kane cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. His body, a mountain of corded muscle and tattoos, was prid for destruction. His eyes glead with savage delight.
"Don't disappoint ," he growled.
I didn't respond.
"Quarterfinal match! Kane "The Bull" Morrow versus Mr. Beetle"
The buzzer sounded.
He charged.
Fast. A blur of muscle and power.
Death Charge.
I stepped to the side, the attack missing by inches. Kane's montum carried him forward, his foot digging into the dirt as he pivoted—
Only for my fist to sink into his ribs.
The impact sent a shockwave through his body, forcing a grunt from his throat. He staggered, but his endurance was monstrous. A lesser man would have crumpled. He did not.
A gleam of excitent flashed in his eyes.
He ca again. Faster this ti. Fists flying, a relentless assault. Punches, elbows, knees—each blow a calculated attempt to overwhelm .
I didn't let him.
I weaved through his attacks effortlessly, my feet light, my body fluid. Dodging, sidestepping, tilting my head just enough that his strikes passed harmlessly by.
A right hook aid for my temple. I leaned back.
A crushing grip reached for my arm. I twisted away.
A knee strike to my gut. I caught it, flicking him backward like a toy.
Kane landed hard, breathing heavily. His nostrils flared.
He was beginning to realize.
We weren't fighting on the sa level.
The fight dragged on, but I controlled every second of it. Kane's strength was terrifying. His endurance, monstrous. He was getting faster, adapting, closing the gap between us.
But it wasn't enough.
I ignored his words. His taunts. They ant nothing. His fists were his real language, and I understood them better than he did.
Every move he made inford my next action. His footwork, his breathing, the way his muscles tensed before a strike. He was fighting with instinct.
I was fighting with absolute control.
He lunged. A wild uppercut ant to break my jaw.
I caught his wrist mid-motion.
His eyes widened in shock—
Before my knee drove into his gut.
The air exploded from his lungs, his body curling inward. I let go, allowing him to stumble back.
It was ti to end this.
I moved.
Faster than before. Faster than him.
Kane barely had ti to react before my fist buried itself in his ribs once more. A hook to the temple. A jab to the jaw. A brutal shot to the liver.
He was reeling.
And then—
I ended it.
A hook. Precise. Devastating.
The mont it connected, the sound echoed like a gunshot.
Kane's body stiffened. His eyes rolled back. And then, like a puppet with cut strings, he collapsed.
Silence. Deafening silence.
Then—
"MR. BEETLE WINS!"
The crowd erupted. Cheers, shouts, cries of disbelief. I barely heard them. My gaze had already shifted.
To Ragnar.
He was watching , lips curled into a smirk. The sa arrogant amusent in his eyes.
I stepped toward the edge of the pit, lifting my chin slightly. My voice was steady. Unshaken.
"You better entertain in the finals."
Ragnar's smirk widened.
And then, he laughed.
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