Chapter Twelve (Part 2): The Prophet Bleeds

"You still think dying is a weapon? It's a warning. Keep ignoring it... the loop will teach you why."

The cage was smaller than usual. Circular. Rusting at the joints. It creaked every time someone moved too hard against it—like it remembered the violence soaked into its bones.

Kane stepped in first.

No walkout song. No flair. Just a man in black trunks, buzzed hair, and eyes that didn't blink when they should have. The crowd didn't cheer. They didn't boo. They watched. Quiet. Like they already knew what was about to happen.

Blaze followed, fists clenched, heart steady. He knew what Kane was.

Not just a fighter. A former looper.

Someone who had once died over and over—and then stopped. The power gone, the memories remained.

Dutch's voice echoed in Damien's head:

"He fights like death taught him everything, and then left."

The bell rang.

Kane didn't rush. He didn't throw feelers or test jabs.

He walked. Calm. Head tilted. Reading.

Blaze struck first—a low kick, fast and clean. Kane checked it without flinching. The sound was sharp, like bone meeting bone.

A jab. Another. Kane slipped both. Countered with a palm strike to the chest that knocked the wind from Damien before a right hook grazed his chin.

It wasn't power. It was precision.

Blaze stumbled, looped.

Ten seconds earlier.

He circled wider this time. Threw a fake kick, then a spinning back fist. It missed. Kane ducked low, swept Blaze's legs, and drove a knee into his ribs as he fell.

Crack.

Blaze choked. Air gone. Loop.

Third round of death. Third attempt.

Blaze adjusted. His brain mapped Kane's movement—but Kane changed. Every time. Slight angle shifts. Unreadable counters.

It was like fighting a ghost who remembered his own deaths better than you did.

"You're relying on the loop," Kane said mid-fight. "I'm relying on truth."

Another knee. Another slip.

Loop.

After the sixth death, Blaze felt the edges of his mind fray. His hands began to shake.

The crowd had no idea he'd died six times already. But Kane? He knew. He could see it in Damien's hesitation.

"I told you," Kane whispered, slipping behind him in a clinch. "The loop is loud. It makes your movements... lazy. Predictable."

He suplexed Blaze. Hard. The mat cracked.

Loop.

Tenth reset.

Blaze tried a new tactic—non-reaction. He stayed grounded. Let Kane come to him.

Kane obliged. Swift elbow to the nose. Blaze blocked. Counter-punched. Landed a body hook.

A spark.

Blaze surged forward.

Combo. Uppercut. Jab. Leg kick.

Kane fell.

Blaze moved in—but Kane grinned through the blood and twisted like a snake. Takedown reversal.

Armbar locked.

Blaze tried to slip. But the pain—real.

He looped.

Twelfth time.

Now Blaze was desperate. Sweating. Wobbling. Kane kept talking.

"You see it now, don't you? You're not using the loop. It's using you."

Blaze threw a wild shot. Missed.

Kane punished him.

Liver shot. Elbow to the temple. Sweep. Mount.

Blaze reached to loop—but too late.

Black.

Ten seconds earlier.

Now Blaze was panicking. He looped before the hit landed.

That's when Kane knew.

He started to trap Blaze's instincts. Purposefully missed, baited, and shifted.

Every loop became shorter. More frantic. Less strategy.

More fear.

Seventeenth death.

Blaze landed a punch. Kane fell. Crowd roared. Ref moved in—

But Kane swept the leg, rolled, and slammed Damien into the cage.

This time, Blaze didn't loop.

He couldn't.

Something froze. His thoughts stalled.

Too many loops. Too fast. Too much panic.

Kane towered over him, breathing calm.

"This is how I lost it," he said softly. "The loop. It burns out. Not all at once. Just... one missed moment at a time."

He grabbed Blaze's arm. Snapped it clean.

Crowd screamed.

The ref called the fight.

Blaze lay there. Arm broken. Chest rising unevenly.

And Kane leaned down.

"This was mercy. I didn't kill you." "Why not?" Blaze coughed. "Because next time, I want to see what you become... without the loop."

He stood. Raised his own hand.

The Witness flickered in the lights above. Watching.

No joy. No sorrow. Just interest.

Later that night, Blaze stared at his cast.

He hadn't looped since.

Hadn't felt it.

Damien sat across from him.

"You lost." "Yeah." "What did you learn?"

Blaze looked up, eyes bloodshot.

"The loop never made me strong. It just made me soft in the right places."

Damien nodded.

"Now we see who you are when it's gone."

Blaze didn't respond. Instead, he stood and walked to the window. Outside, the city pulsed with light and noise—cars, sirens, the hum of life continuing.

"He fought like he had nothing left to lose," Blaze said. "Because he didn't," Dutch replied. "He'd already lost everything in the loop. That's what made him dangerous."

Blaze exhaled slowly.

"He told me something. Before he walked away. He said the next time we meet, I won't be the same person."

Damien poured a glass of whiskey, slid it across the table.

"He's right. You won't. This fight didn't end anything. It started something else."

Blaze looked down at his cast, then clenched his good fist.

"If I can't rely on the loop, I'll have to become something else. Someone who doesn't flinch at death. Someone who doesn't need rewinds to win."

"Then maybe," Damien said, "you'll become the one the Witness is really watching."