all technique, resorting to sheer brawling. He

lunged, trying to tackle Arthur to the ground

where his size advantage would be

insurmountable.

Arthur sidestepped the takedown attempt

effortlessly, his hand resting briefly on the back

of Marcus's neck, pushing him face-first into the

turnbuckle. The crowd roared. This wasn't a fight

anymore; it was a masterclass in evasion and

control.

Chapter 5: The Turning Point

Two minutes down. Marcus was panting

heavily, sweat pouring down his face, mixing

with a small trickle of blood from a busted lip

he'd earned biting his own cheek in frustration.

The reality of the situation was settling in. He

was being humiliated by a man who wasn't even

trying to hurt him.

Desperation breeds cruelty. Marcus realized

he couldn't hit Arthur conventionally. He needed

underground, a weapon forged in violence and

honed by years of discipline.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.

The crowd fell dead silent, feeling the sudden,

oppressive weight in the air. The temperature

seemed to drop. Marcus's laughter died in his

throat as he looked into Arthur's eyes.

There was no anger in them. Only a cold,

absolute void.

"You shouldn't have done that," Arthur

whispered.

Chapter 6: The True Champion

Before Marcus could even process the threat,

Arthur moved. It was no longer the defensive,

evasive dance. It was an assault. A masterstroke

of kinetic violence.

Arthur stepped inside Marcus's guard with

blinding speed. He delivered a brutal, precise

liver shot with his left hand. The smack of flesh

on flesh echoed like a gunshot. Marcus gasped,

his eyes bulging as his body instinctively folded,

the pain paralyzing his diaphragm.

But Arthur wasn't done. As Marcus bent

forward, Arthur’s right elbow came up in a

devastating arc, catching Marcus flush on the

jaw. The sound was sickening. Marcus's legs

turned to jelly, and he began to collapse.

Arthur caught him by the collar before he hit

the ground. He didn't want Marcus unconscious;

he wanted him to understand.

Holding the massive fighter up with one

hand, Arthur delivered three rapid-fire strikes to

Marcus's ribs, precise and calculated to cause

maximum pain without permanent internal

damage. Marcus cried out, a pathetic, wheezing

sound, completely helpless against the

overwhelming force.

With a final, effortless sweep of his leg,