<b>Chapter </b><b>64 </b>
I stood in the center of La Corona’s dirt arena, my eyes scanning the thirty–five mercenary leaders who formed a loose circle around me. Their faces were weathered maps of violence–scars, broken noses, and cold eyes that had witnessed the worst humanity had to offer. Each was a legend in Venezu’s underworld,manding groups that specialized in everything from hostage extraction to political assassinations.
And they all wanted me dead.
The crowd’s murmurs washed over the arena like waves against a shore–disbelieving, excited, confused. I rolled my shoulders, feeling the pleasant anticipation of violence humming through my muscles. It had been too long since I’d fought at full capacity. Too long since I’d shown the world. what I was capable of.
“Little girl,” one of the mercenary leaders called out, his voice carrying a thick Russian ent. “There is still time to walk away. Even Nobody never faced more than thirty–three opponents.”
I smiled, feeling the desert heat against my skin. “I’m afraid you won’t have that luxury. For over a year, you’ve been stepping on Titan Defense Group, stealing our contracts, attacking my men. It’s
time to settle that ount.”
The crowd’s whispers grew louder. In the stands, I caught sight of Xavier and Ryan watching with undisguised concern. Further up, in the VIP section, Connor was frantically whispering to Ethan Haxton, who sat perfectly still, his eyes never leaving me.
“She’s fucking insane,” someone shouted from the crowd. “One against thirty–five? They’ll tear her
apart!”
“Isn’t the record thirty–three? Nobody’s record?” another voice called out.
Thergest of the mercenary leaders stepped forward–a mountain of a man with tattoos covering his neck and arms. He cracked his knuckles, the sound like breaking twigs in the sudden quiet.
“I’ll start,” he growled. “I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like to break a woman’s neck.”
The othersughed, a harsh sound that echoed around the arena. I remained still, my breathing even, my heartbeat steady, I felt nothing but anticipation–the calm before the storm.
The big man lunged, his fist aiming straight for my face. To everyone else, he must have seemed fast for his size. To me, he moved like he was underwater.
7:59 Fri, <b>Sep </b>19
<b>93 </b>
I caught his fist mid–swing, my fingers closing around his meaty hand. His momentum stopped instantly, his eyes widening in shock. Before he could react, I twisted his arm at an angle the human body isn’t designed to bend. The crack of his radius breaking echoed through the arena, followed by
his scream.
I didn’t pause. Pivoting on my left foot, I delivered a precise kick to his temple. He dropped like a
stone.
The crowd fell silent.
“Who’s next?” I asked quietly.
They came at me in waves after that. Two, then three at once. I moved between them like water, each strike calcted for maximum damage with minimum effort. I wasn’t just fighting–I was sending a message.
A Brazilian mercenary leader tried to tackle me. I sidestepped, grabbing his cor and using his momentum to m him face–first into the dirt. A woman with a spider tattoo on her neck attempted a roundhouse kick. I caught her ankle and dislocated it with a quick twist.
“Holy shit,” someone whispered in the stands. “She’s using blind spot attacks.”
“What’s that?” another voice asked.
“It’s a technique where you strike from angles outside the opponent’s visual field. The brain can’t process the defense fast enough. Nobody was famous for it.”
I smiled as I heard this. My old reputation preceding me.
By the tenth opponent, the remaining mercenaries had begun to understand the gravity of their situation. They started coordinating, trying to surround me and attack simultaneously.
I responded by increasing my speed. To the observers, it must have looked like I’d been holding back -which I had been.
Fifteen minutester, twenty–five mercenary leadersy unconscious or groaning in pain around me. The remaining ten had formed a tight circle, their earlier confidence reced by grim determination.
“Together,” one of themmanded. “She can’t take all of us at once.”
They rushed me simultaneously, a coordinated attack that might have overwhelmed a lesser fighter.
7:59 Fri, Sep 19
But I wasn’t just any fighter.
I dropped to one knee, sweeping my leg in a wide arc that took down three of them. As I rose, I caught the arm of a fourth, using him as a shield against two others. My elbow connected with a fifth’s sternum, the crack of bone audible even over the crowd’s gasps.
Within seconds, nine of the teny defeated at my feet. Only the Apex Tactical Group’s leader remained standing, blood streaming from a cut above his eye.
“You’re good,” he admitted, circling me warily. “Better than I expected.”
I didn’t respond, conserving my energy. I could tell from his movements that he was more skilled than the others–a genuinely dangerous opponent.
<b>93 </b>
He feinted left, then struck right, his fist grazing my cheek as I turned just a fraction too slow. I felt a smile spread across my face. Finally, a challenge.
We exchanged blows for nearly a minute, testing each other’s defenses. The crowd had gone
savor this moment–my public reemergence as the fighter I truly was.
Finally, I decided enough was enough. I caught his punch, twisted inside his guard, and delivered three rapid strikes to pressure points along his torso. He staggered back, his nervous system temporarily scrambled.
“It’s over,” I said.
He shook his head, backing away. “Not quite.”
I sensed the movement before I saw it–his hand slipping to his boot, extracting a tactical knife. The de glinted in the sun as he lunged toward me.
I sidestepped effortlessly, grabbing his wrist and applying precise pressure. The knife dropped from his nerveless fingers into my waiting hand. In one fluid motion, I spun him around, the de now pressing against his throat.
“In front of me, you want to y with knives?” I whispered in his ear. “You’re a century too early.”
I released him with a push, slicing the de across his wrist as he stumbled forward. Blood sprayed from the shallow but precise cut.
7:59 Fri, Sep 19
“I could have severed your artery,” I said loud enough for everyone to hear. “Remember that.”
The arena was absolutely silent. Thirty–five of Venezu’s most feared mercenary leadersy
defeated around me. Some unconscious, others clutching broken limbs, all thoroughly beaten.
<b>93 </b>
I turned slowly, facing the stunned crowd. Blood spattered my face and clothes, but I hadn’t broken a sweat. My breathing remained even, my posture rxed.
“From today forward, anyone who dares to mess with Titan Defense Group or cause trouble on our turf will end up like them.” I gestured to the groaning men around me.
I walked over to the Apex leader, who was clutching his bleeding wrist, and lifted him by his cor
with one hand. The crowd gasped as I tossed him toward his team members in the stands.
“And for those who stole Titan’s cargo,” I continued, my voice ice cold, “return it. Double. Don’t make
mee collect it personally.
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