Chapter 321: The Battle For Revenge

Beside Ares, Liam had already shifted his attention to the fighter’s opponent.

Rocky stood inside the cage, his upper body bare beneath the glaring lights. His broad shoulders and thick arms were covered in dense, tattoos covering his well-defined muscle, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths. Every movement displayed the strength he had built through years of training and brutal competition.

His muscles looked as hard as stone.

Against an opponent like him, her slender frame appeared almost fragile.

Ares’s jaw tightened.

He knew Lara’s capabilities better than most people did. He had seen enough of her to understand that appearances could be deceiving. Still, knowing what she was capable of did little to ease the cold knot forming in his stomach.

Why would she, as Nemesis deliberately put herself in danger without telling anyone?

And that infuriated him.

His hands curled into fists, the tendons standing out across the backs of his knuckles. For several seconds, he remained motionless, his gaze fixed on Rocky.

Then he reached for his phone.

His fingers moved swiftly across the screen as he typed a short message.

Ares:Stand by. Do not let Nemesis get hurt.

He sent it without another word.

His expression remained impassive, but his eyes had darkened.

He would not interfere with Lara’s fight unless he had to. He knew better than to underestimate her, and he certainly had no intention of humiliating her by treating her like someone incapable of defending herself.

But if Rocky so much as crossed the line and put her life in genuine danger, Ares would make certain the consequences were immediate.

No one was going to hurt her.

Not while he was there.

Several rows away, General Leonard Norse remained engrossed in the replay of Rocky’s previous fights.

The general had watched the champion dismantle his opponents with the calm efficiency of a seasoned predator. Every punch, every counterattack, every calculated movement revealed the experience behind Rocky’s formidable reputation.

Yet Leonard had placed his bet on Nemesis.

So had the Zuvels and his sons.

Perhaps it was the fighter’s composure. Perhaps it was the absence of fear in the way Nemesis stood inside the cage, waiting for an opponent who outweighed him and possessed considerably more visible muscle.

Or perhaps it was simply a soldier’s instinct.

Leonard had spent too many years on the battlefield to judge an opponent by appearances alone.

Sometimes, the most dangerous person in the room was the one everyone underestimated.

A faint smile touched the general’s lips.

Let’s see what you’ve got, Nemesis.

Nemesis stood with his back straight, his hands resting loosely at his sides as he waited for the video presentation to end.

The giant screen above the arena continued to replay the highlights Rocky’s fights over the past three years. Every knockout, every perfectly timed counterattack, and every opponent crumpling beneath his strikes and kicks flashed across the screen.

Too many opponents.

Too many victories.

Not a single defeat.

The replay ended.

The arena lights swept across the octagonal cage, and the announcer’s booming voice rose above the restless crowd.

The challenger was ready.

The champion was waiting.

And among the spectators, the three Norse brothers watched with growing suspicion, while Ares silently prepared to never give Rocky the chance to hurt Nemesis.

....

Rocky looked at Nemesis with scorn in his eyes.

The slender fighter waiting in the opposite corner was simply another challenger who would eventually learn why no one had been able to defeat him in three years.

At least, that was what he believed.

Then came the signal.

Three sharp, metallic clangs rang through the arena.

CLANG!

CLANG!

CLANG!

The sound cut through the crowd’s roar like a blade, signaling the beginning of the fight.

In an instant, the atmosphere changed.

The spectators continued shouting, but inside the fighting area, the world narrowed to two men—or rather, one massive champion and one deceptively slender opponent.

Rocky moved first.

He surged forward with startling speed for a man of his size, his powerful legs driving him across the mat. His right fist shot toward Nemesis’s face in a straight punch, carrying enough force to make the air whistle.

The attacks came fast.

But Nemesis was faster.

He tilted her head just enough for Rocky’s gloved fist to slice past his cheek, missing by mere inches.

He did no counterattack nor any wasted movement.

He simply slipped out of range.

Rocky immediately followed with another strike.

Nemesis evaded it.

A third punch came from a different angle.

He ducked beneath it, his movements fluid and economical, as though he had anticipated the attack before Rocky had even thrown it.

For the first several seconds, Nemesis did nothing but dodge which infuriated Rocky.

He neither rushed forward nor attempted to trade blows with the larger fighter. Instead, he moved just beyond the reach of his fists, studying his footwork, the rotation of his hips, the positioning of his shoulders, and the rhythm of his breathing.

Every strike told Nemesis something.

Every adjustment revealed another detail.

To the spectators, it looked as though Rocky was driving him backward, forcing him to retreat beneath his relentless assault.

But Nemesis was not retreating in panic.

He was observing...measuring...waiting.

Rocky’s punches were powerful, but power alone was never enough to determine the outcome of a fight. What mattered was timing, precision, and the ability to recognize an opening before it disappeared.

And Nemesis had always excelled at finding openings.

Then Rocky launched another combination, forcing him to pivot sharply to avoid a hook that would have caught his jaw had he been even a fraction of a second slower.

For the first time, something flickered behind his eyes.

Recognition.

He improved a lot.

The thought came with a trace of surprise.

Rocky had been formidable before, but the fighter standing before him now was different. His combinations flowed more smoothly, his recovery between strikes was faster, and he adjusted his angles instead of blindly pursuing her.

He was no longer relying on brute strength alone.

Someone had helped him refine his technique.

Or perhaps he had spent the past three years refining it himself.

Either way, the man in front of him was considerably more dangerous than he had anticipated.

A faint smile touched the corners of Nemesis’s mouth beneath his mask.

Good.

For the first time that night, he felt a flicker of genuine excitement.

At least this won’t be boring.

Rocky threw another punch.

Nemesis slipped past it.

But this time, instead of retreating, she stepped forward.

Just half a step.

Barely noticeable to the untrained eye.

Yet the instant he entered Rocky’s striking range, the champion’s expression changed.

Because for the first time since the bell rang, Nemesis was no longer moving away from him.

He was moving toward him.