The underground arena roared with anticipation. Alexander stood under the blinding overhead lights, his opponent already in the ring—a monstrous figure, taller, heavier, his knuckles scarred from years of breaking men apart.
Carver's voice echoed through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight's final act. Let's see if our fallen king can still stand."
Alexander barely heard the crowd. His focus was on one thing—ending this. He lunged first, a brutal right hook meeting his opponent's jaw. The man staggered, but he was built like a machine, unfazed. He came back swinging, fists colliding with Alexander's ribs, forcing the air from his lungs.
Eve was somewhere in the audience. He could feel her eyes on him. And that was all the strength he needed.
The fight stretched on, both men breaking, both refusing to fall. Until finally, with a last burst of rage, Alexander delivered the knockout punch. The crowd erupted.
Then the gunfire started.
Carver smirked from the balcony above. "Did you really think I'd play fair?"
Alexander, bleeding, barely standing, wiped the blood from his mouth. "I don't need fair. I just need you dead."