Chapter 318
It was the third and final night of the mixed martial arts competition.
By now, one name had become the talk of the entire arena.
Nemesis.
The fighter had dominated the first two nights of the competition, defeating three opponents each night—and he had done it without appearing to break a sweat.
Tonight, however, he would face his greatest challenge yet.
A fight with the defending champion and the owner of the training school and the arena.
Rocky.
The moment Nemesis stepped into the ring, the crowd erupted.
He wore an all-black tracksuit, the hood pulled low over his head, and a black mask concealed most of his face. Nothing about him revealed his identity. Not his age. Not his expression. Not even the slightest hint of emotion.
Only his eyes were visible.
Under the spotlight, they were cold…focused…unshaken.
When the spot light caught his eyes again, they looked like a pair of glowing obsidian orbs.
For two nights, he had dismantled every fighter placed in front of him.
On the first night, his opening opponent had been a welterweight with nearly sixty kilograms on him—a powerful brawler who had boasted that he would knock Nemesis unconscious in the first round.
“Look at his slender body. He looked like a sissy. I’ll beat him with just a punch and a kick.” he ridiculed.
He never got the chance.
Nemesis had spent the opening seconds studying him, moving just outside his reach and allowing the larger man to waste his strength throwing heavy punches.
Then, in a blink, Nemesis changed his rhythm.
A feint. A sidestep. A precise strike to the ribs and a kick.
The welterweight crashed onto the floor.
Before he could recover, Nemesis had him trapped in a submission.
The referee ended the fight.
The second opponent was faster and more experienced. A former kickboxer known for his vicious low kicks.
Nemesis barely allowed him to land one.
He read every movement before it happened, checked the kicks, disrupted his balance, and turned the man’s own momentum against him.
The fight ended in the second round.
His third opponent that night had lasted even less.
By the time Nemesis walked out of the ring, the crowd had gone from amused to stunned.
But the following night, the organizers had decided to test whether his success had merely been luck.
They gave him three more fighters. All bigger, stronger, and experienced.
But none of them could stop him.
The first went down after a brutal counterattack. The second was forced to submit. The third lasted barely a round before Nemesis caught him in a chokehold and ended the fight.
He fought six opponents and achieved six victories.
Not one of them had managed to push him to his limit.
What frightened the spectators was not simply that Nemesis won.
It was how easily he won.
He never fought like a man desperate to overpower his opponent.
He fought like a man solving a problem.
His slender form was a disadvantage. That was what everyone thought.
But he observed. He calculated, and he waited. And when he moved, it was with terrifying precision.
Now, on the third night, there was only one fighter left standing between Nemesis and his ultimate goal.
Rocky.
The owner of the fighting arena himself.
Rocky had come to Calma because his boss wanted him to and because of his own ambitions. A former professional boxer, he had later become one of the pioneers who helped popularize mixed martial arts in Azuverda.
When he arrived in Calma, he immediately established his own MMA training center.
And what better way to promote his school than by sponsoring a major competition?
Of course, there was more to the tournament than publicity. With thousands of spectators placing bets on the fights, the competition was generating millions.
Officially, Rocky was the sponsor. Unofficially, he was only the face of the operation.
The real financiers were Anton Trillo and Artemio Fuegerro, and they were taking the larger share of the profits.
Rocky didn’t mind.
As long as the money kept flowing—and his reputation remained untarnished.
But tonight, something had changed.
Rocky stood outside the ring, his eyes fixed on the young man waiting inside.
Nemesis.
He had watched recordings of all six of his fights. He had replayed them several times.
At first, Rocky had been impressed. Then intrigued.
Now, he was cautious.
The young man wasn’t particularly tall.
Compared with the fighters Rocky had faced throughout his career, Nemesis was much shorter.
Yet somehow, he had defeated men considerably taller, heavier, and more muscular than himself.
It wasn’t brute strength. Rocky knew strength.
He knew boxing. He knew the fundamentals of mixed martial arts.
But Nemesis’s fighting style was different.
He combined techniques from different disciplines in a way Rocky had never seen before.
He didn’t simply react to his opponents. He seemed to anticipate them.
Every movement had a purpose. Every retreat was bait and every opening was deliberate.
And the most unsettling part was that Nemesis never appeared rushed.
Even when surrounded by danger, he remained calm.
Rocky narrowed his eyes.
Who the hell is this kid?
He had studied every available video of Nemesis’s fights. He had even broken down his movements frame by frame.
Still, he couldn’t find an obvious weakness. And he couldn’t tell who he was.
He must be a foreigner and not a fighter from Azuverda.
But Rocky refused to back down.
He was last year’s champion. This was his arena. His competition.
The belt was his. No one could take it from him. At least not yet.
If he refused Nemesis’s challenge now, the crowd would never let him live it down.
More importantly, where would his dignity be if he surrendered his title without even trying?
Rocky stepped into the ring.
The roar of the crowd intensified.
The referee checked both fighters before stepping back.
Nemesis remained completely still.
Rocky raised his fists.
For the first time that night, the arena fell strangely quiet.
Two fighters stood across from each other.
One was the reigning champion—a seasoned fighter who had built his reputation through years of blood, sweat, and brutal victories.
The other was a masked stranger who had appeared out of nowhere and demolished six opponents in two nights.
Rocky stared into Nemesis’s unreadable eyes.
Something about that gaze made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
He couldn’t explain why.
But for the first time in years, Rocky had the unsettling feeling that he wasn’t the hunter tonight.
He was the one being hunted.