evaded, slipping punches by millimeters. She didn't want to end it in forty-five seconds this
time. She wanted Marcus to watch his prized fighter be dismantled systematically.
For two rounds, Elara put on a masterclass in striking defense and counter-fighting. She
chopped away at The Anvil's lead leg with punishing low kicks. She opened a cut over the
champion's eye with a lightning-fast jab.
The crowd, initially cheering for the champion, fell into a stunned murmur. Elara was a
ghost. Every time The Anvil swung, Elara was already gone, leaving a devastating
counterstrike in her wake.
In Marcus's VIP box, the smug smile had vanished, replaced by a deep, pulsing vein in his