Chapter 2 - The DismantlingRay’s face flushed a deep, furious crimson. "Get him! All three of you, break his legs!"
The three fighters charged simultaneously, trying to overwhelm me with sheer numbers. One threw a heavy right hook aimed at my jaw, another attempted a high kick, while the third tried to grab my waist from behind.
It was chaotic, uncoordinated, and foolish.
I dropped my center of gravity two inches. As the heavy right hook cut through the air, my left arm executed a hard palm block, deflecting his wrist while my right elbow drove straight into the fighter's exposed sternum.
CRACK.
The sound of fracturing cartilage echoed through the gym. The fighter let out a wet, strangled gasp as the air was violently forced from his lungs. Before he could double over in pain, my right hand grabbed his hair, pulling his face down while my left knee rose violently to meet his nose.
Blood sprayed across the canvas as he collapsed onto his knees, clutching his ruined face, sobbing in agony.
Without breaking momentum, I spun on my left heel. The kicker was already midway through his strike. I didn't try to block the leg—I caught the underside of his ankle with my left forearm, lifted his leg higher than his balance allowed, and drove the heel of my boot straight into the kneecap of his standing leg.
SNAP.
A sickening, wet pop echoed through the room. The kicker let out a blood-curdling shriek as his knee joint hyper-extended backward at an impossible, grotesque angle. He fell to the mat, clutching his shredded ligaments, screaming in agony.
The fourth fighter—the one who had tried to circle behind me—stopped dead in his tracks. His hands were trembling, sweat pouring off his forehead, his face pale as a ghost. He looked at his three broken teammates lying on the floor, then looked up into my eyes.
I took one slow step toward him.
The fighter dropped his hands, took two steps back, and dropped flat onto his stomach, covering the back of his neck with his arms in absolute, terrified surrender. "I'm out! I'm out! Don't hit me!"
I stepped over him, my flannel shirt barely rumpled, my breathing steady and calm.
I turned my head toward the cage.
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Dustin and Ray were standing side by side, their faces completely drained of color. The arrogant, mocking smiles they had worn five minutes ago were gone, replaced by the stark, terrifying realization that they were locked in a room with a predator who operated on a level of violence they couldn't even comprehend.
"Now," I said softly, flexing my calloused hands, "it's just the three of us."
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