Jake gasped for air, unable to speak, his body refusing to obey his
commands. He frantically slapped his left hand against the dirt in
submission. "I yield! I yield! Get off!"
Arthur immediately released the pressure and stepped back. The
oppressive force vanished, leaving Jake gasping and trembling on
the ground.
The silence in the dirt lot was absolute. No one cheered. No one
spoke. They simply stared in awe at Arthur Pendelton, the quiet
soybean farmer who had just dismantled a professional fighter in
less than ninety seconds.
Arthur calmly walked over to where he had left his boots. He sat
on a nearby wooden crate, dusted off his wool socks, and slowly
began to put his heavy work boots back on. He tied the thick laces
with the same meticulous precision as before.
Jake groaned, rolling onto his back. He stared up at the relentless
sun, his nose bleeding, his shoulder screaming in pain, and his
reality entirely fractured. He slowly sat up, clutching his neck,
looking at Arthur with a mixture of terror and profound confusion.
"Who... what are you?" Jake stammered, his voice lacking any of
its former bravado.
Arthur finished tying his boots and stood up. He dusted off his
denim overalls and adjusted his flannel shirt. He looked exactly as
he had twenty minutes ago—a tired old farmer.
He walked over to Jake, offering a calloused hand. Jake hesitated,
then took it. Arthur pulled the massive young man to his feet with
surprising strength.