Jelo scrolled through the interface excitedly. He was glad he had won the previous match. He kept scrolling. He saw so interesting characters, but he didn’t feel like sending any of them an invite—until one caught his attention.
The Finisher.
What kind of person uses The Finisher as their character na? he wondered. The rank was eye-catching too. C3. That ant he must be really strong.
Let check his record.
23 wins and 5 losses.
That wasn’t a bad record at all, especially considering he might have fought opponents stronger than him with higher ranks. Every loss on a record like that told its own story — maybe he’d punched above his weight, taken on opponents who outclassed him just to see how far he could go. Jelo respected that kind of ntality. It reminded him a little of himself.
He studied the profile a mont longer. No flashy biography. No boastful description. Just the na, the rank, and the record. Whoever this person was, they let their numbers do the talking.
Without hesitating, Jelo sent an invite and waited for The Finisher’s response.
He leaned back, tapping his fingers lightly against his knee. A few seconds passed. Then a minute. He wondered if The Finisher was the type to keep people waiting on purpose — a mind ga before the fight even started — or if he simply hadn’t noticed the notification yet. Either way, Jelo wasn’t bothered. He’d been in enough matches to know that patience before a fight was its own kind of preparation.
After a while, The Finisher finally accepted.
The connection opened and Jelo straightened up slightly.
"Hey there, The Finisher."
"Hello, Papa Bear," The Finisher replied. His voice was even, unhurried — the kind of voice that didn’t waste energy on anything unnecessary.
A short pause followed, comfortable on neither side.
"There’s no need to waste much ti. Let’s get to the fight," The Finisher said, almost in a hurry.
Jelo almost smiled. Straight to business. He could work with that.
Jelo vs. The Finisher
The two stood across from each other. No words. Just tension.
The Finisher cracked his knuckles and settled into his stance — patient, calculating. He’d ended a lot of fights. This would be no different.
Jelo exhaled slowly and raised his hand.
The Finisher moved first.
A sharp, testing jab — not ant to land clean, just to probe. Jelo sidestepped and fired back imdiately.
"Dragon Claw."
His hand thrust forward, and a claw-shaped burst of energy ripped through the air. The Finisher twisted his body just enough — the claw grazed his side, tearing his jacket but not his skin.
Stack 1.
He’d read the reach. He’d read the angle.
The Finisher darted in close, throwing a heavy combination — left, right, low kick. Jelo activated Skilled Guard, his skin hardening like tempered steel. The blows hit solid and The Finisher felt it in his hands. He pulled back.
Stack 2.
He’d read the timing of the guard.
Jelo went on the offensive. He launched two Dragon Claws in rapid succession — one high, one sweeping low. The Finisher rolled under the first and vaulted over the second, both dodges clean and deliberate.
Stack 3. Stack 4.
His speed had noticeably increased. His movents sharper. He was starting to flow around Jelo’s attacks like he’d seen them a hundred tis before.
Jelo felt it. Sothing was wrong. The Finisher was getting faster — but he hadn’t thrown a single major attack yet. Every dodge, every block, every carefully asured retreat — none of it was desperation. It was collection. He was building toward sothing, and Jelo was handing him the materials with every move he made.
He’s waiting for sothing.
Jelo switched gears. He activated his vision enhancent, his eyes sharpening — picking up micro-movents, subtle shifts in weight. He could see The Finisher’s breathing pattern, the slight lean before each dodge. The enhanced sight stripped away the guesswork and replaced it with clarity. He wasn’t just watching anymore. He was reading.
The Finisher feinted left.
Jelo didn’t bite.
He fired a Dragon Claw not at The Finisher — but where he was about to be.
The claw caught him across the chest. The Finisher stumbled back, first real damage taken. His rhythm broke for a second. Sothing flickered across his face — not quite surprise, but close. The acknowledgnt of a fighter who had just been outthought.
But he smiled.
Stack 5.
"Execution State."
The shift was imdiate. The Finisher’s presence darkened. His eyes locked onto Jelo like a predator that had finally finished studying its prey. Five seconds. Every hit would bypass defenses. Every hit would hurt on a different level.
He exploded forward.
The first punch landed before Jelo could react — the guaranteed hit, uninterruptible. It connected with Jelo’s jaw and sent genuine pain shooting through him. Skilled Guard flickered but the true damage went straight through, bypassing the hardened skin entirely like it wasn’t even there.
The follow-up ca fast. Body shot. Shoulder check. A brutal knee to the ribs.
Jelo’s guard crumbled under the pressure. He took two more hits before the five seconds expired.
He was hurt. Badly.
Jelo dropped to one knee — breathing heavy, vision slightly blurred. The enhanced sight flickered at the edges. He could feel The Finisher circling him, not rushing. Patient. Always patient. The sa deliberate stillness he’d carried from the very first mont they’d faced each other. Even now, with the fight clearly tilting in his favor, he wasn’t reckless. He was waiting for the right mont, the way he always had been.
Below 25% now. He knows it.
The Finisher stepped in for the close.
Jelo moved.
Wing Burst.
He vanished in a split second — reappearing behind The Finisher at extre speed. The Finisher spun, but a half-step too slow.
Dragon Claw — point blank.
The energy projection fired at near zero distance, no room to dodge, no room to read it. It detonated across The Finisher’s back and sent him crashing forward onto the ground hard.
The Finisher coughed. Pushed himself up slowly. His HP was critical now — the accumulated damage from the Dragon Claws and that last point-blank blast had carved deep into what little he had left.
Below 15%.
He turned around, and his instincts scread at him — Final Verdict. One clean landing and this was over. Everything he’d built across the entire fight — every stack, every studied movent, every calculated retreat — it had all been leading to this single mont. One hit. Clean and final.
He surged forward, hand cocked back for the finishing blow —
Jelo activated Skilled Guard one final ti.
The Finisher’s fist t hardened skin — and in that frozen instant, Jelo grabbed his wrist with his other hand, held him in place, and pressed his free palm directly against The Finisher’s chest.
His eyes burned with enhanced focus. Fire power crackled at his fingertips.
"Dragon Claw. Zero range."
The blast fired straight into The Finisher’s chest at point blank — concentrated, deliberate, devastating.
The Finisher flew back and hit the ground.
He didn’t get up.
Jelo straightened slowly, knuckles scorched, ribs aching, jaw still throbbing from that first guaranteed hit. He looked down at The Finisher — unconscious, but breathing.
He’d been the closest thing to a real threat Jelo had faced.
But a finisher needs to reach the finish line.
Jelo had made sure he didn’t.
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