Two minutes and thirty seconds.

Jaxson was completely exhausted. His lungs burned, gasping for air in the oppressive heat. Sweat poured down his face, blinding him. His arms felt like lead weights. His knuckles were bruised and swollen inside his gloves. He leaned forward, panting heavily, his hands resting on his knees, staring in sheer horror at the dirt-caked boots of the old man.

He had thrown over a hundred full-power strikes. Strikes that had knocked out heavyweight contenders. And the farmer was still standing exactly where he had started, breathing normally.

"Ten seconds!" Marcus yelled, his voice trembling. He was staring at the phone screen as if it were a bomb counting down. "Jaxson, do something!"

Jaxson roared, tapping into his deepest, most primal reserves of energy. He lunged forward for a final, desperate assault, throwing a wild, looping overhand right. He didn't aim for the body as the rules stipulated. Blinded by rage and ego, he aimed directly for Elias's temple, intending to knock the old man unconscious and salvage his pride.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The timer sounded exactly as Jaxson threw the illegal headshot.

Time seemed to dilate, slowing to a glacial crawl for everyone in the square. The crowd gasped as they saw the massive, gloved fist hurdling toward the unprotected head of the old farmer.

But Elias was already moving.

For two minutes and fifty-nine seconds, Elias Thorne had been a passive, unmoving object. A mountain absorbing the storm. But as the timer rang, the contract was fulfilled. The three minutes of submission were over.

As Jaxson’s fist sailed toward his head, Elias’s eyes widened, a terrifying, cold fire igniting within his irises. The hunched, fragile posture vanished in a fraction of a second. Elias slowly, deliberately, straightened his spine. Vertebra by vertebra, the old man uncoiled. He seemed to grow three inches taller, his chest expanding, his shoulders broadening, blocking out the sun. The illusion of the frail farmer shattered, revealing a dormant apex predator of unimaginable lethality.

Elias moved with a speed that defied human biology. He didn't step back. He stepped in.

His calloused left hand shot up, catching Jaxson’s incoming wrist with a grip like a hydraulic vise. The sheer force of the parry stopped Jaxson’s punch dead in its tracks, sending a shockwave of agony up the fighter’s arm. Jaxson’s eyes widened in sheer panic. He tried to pull his arm back, but he was trapped, anchored to a man who felt like he was made of solid granite.