The mont Donovan hit the ground, Thane did not wait.
The giant rolled toward the abandoned weapon.
His battered hand closed around the wooden mace.
For a brief instant, Donovan’s eyes widened as he saw Thane hurl it.
The weapon spun end over end through the air. It crossed the white boundary line.
Landed outside the arena and slid across the stone.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. The ssage was obvious: no more weapons or advantages.
Donovan slowly climbed to his feet, sweat drenched his clothes.
His chest rose and fell heavily, his arms felt heavier than iron.
The noble stared at the mace lying beyond the arena boundary.
A terrible realization settled into his stomach. He was afraid.
He was afraid of fighting Thane barehanded again. Yesterday’s mory still haunted him.
That single punch. That impossible strength. That feeling of being launched through the air.
The worst part was that he had perford better today, far better.
His mace had landed dozens of strikes. His techniques had worked. His strategy had worked.
The damage inflicted upon Thane was greater than everything he had accomplished during their previous battle.
And yet, the giant was still standing. Bleeding, bruised, exhausted, but standing.
Across the battlefield, Thane wiped blood from his eyes.
His vision blurred. Every breath hurt.
His arms felt like stone. His ribs scread whenever he moved.
But he remained upright. Then a voice exploded from the stands.
A voice so loud it cut through thousands of spectators.
"THANNY!"
The giant froze. The crowd flinched as every head turned.
"IF YOU LOSE TO THAT CONTEMPTIBLE BUMBLING BUFFOON, I’LL KILL YOU WITH MY OWN HANDS!"
Silence befell the arena. Absolute silence.
Thane’s soul nearly left his body. He knew that voice. He knew it better than anyone.
Slowly, very slowly, the giant looked upward.
And imdiately regretted it. There she stood.
Tall, terrifying, with arms crossed.
Eudora. His sister.
The woman who had spent most of their childhood treating him like a training dummy.
Even from this distance, her glare felt frightening.
Thane swallowed. The crowd followed his gaze.
Many spectators imdiately noticed her unusual height.
Several judges did as well. Etno’s eyebrows rose slightly.
Athenok looked interested. He was one of the few who knew her identity.
None of the others recognized her.
Yet everyone instinctively understood sothing at first glance.
That woman was dangerous.
Beside her stood another familiar face.
Max. Unlike Eudora, he looked genuinely worried.
His hands gripped the railing tightly, his eyes never left the battlefield.
Thane suddenly did not know where to look.
The crowd. His sister. Max. Or the referee.
Anywhere would be fine, but not Eudora, he decided.
Unfortunately, confusion during a fight was dangerous.
Donovan saw it imdiately and acted. The Drevlorn noble exploded forward.
Fast, without any sort of hesitation.
A textbook takedown attempt. He shot low, aid for the hips.
The sa maneuver that had worked monts earlier.
The crowd gasped. Donovan’s timing was perfect.
His angle was perfect. Everything was perfect.
Except Thane was paying attention now.
The giant’s instincts took over. As Donovan reached him, Thane’s arms moved.
His hands closed around Donovan’s body.
The Drevlorn noble suddenly realized sothing was wrong.
His feet left the ground. The crowd erupted as Donovan’s eyes widened.
For a brief mont, he found himself staring at the sky.
Then gravity returned. The giant lifted him completely.
As though he weighed nothing, and then rcilessly slamd him into the arena floor.
BOOM.
The impact shook the battlefield.
Dust exploded upward. Several spectators winced.
The stone beneath Donovan cracked. Pain exploded through his spine.
Yet the noble reacted instantly, with training and experience.
His arms wrapped around Thane’s neck, one leg hooked, then the other.
The hold locked into place. A triangle choke, perfectly executed.
The crowd imdiately recognized the danger.
Donovan squeezed with everything he had left.
His thighs compressed and his grip tightened.
The blood flow of Thane was restricted.
His face reddened instantly as pressure was applied. Veins bulged along his neck.
His vision darkened. The world narrowed.
Air beca precious. Every breath beca difficult.
Donovan gritted his teeth. "Collapse."
The word barely escaped him. His own body hurt, his ribs scread, and his head spun.
But he maintained the hold. Just a little longer, a little longer, and Thane would fall, he told himself.
The giant’s eyes turned bloodshot. The crowd watched nervously.
Even Max stood up.
Many Bentram supporters looked horrified.
Then Eudora spoke again. "PICK HIM UP, THANNY!"
Her voice echoed across the arena. "AND SLAM THAT SON OF A BITCH!"
The entire stadium heard it.
Max looked at her, wondering why she had not been given that "cursing gives bad breath" lesson.
He ca to the conclusion that perhaps she did not give a damn about lessons or breath.
Donovan heard it too. His jaw tightened.
He ignored it. He ignored her words too.
The hold was secured. The giant was fading, and victory was seconds away.
He only needed to maintain pressure, just a little longer.
To his misfortune, Donovan forgot one thing. A crucial thing.
Thane’s monstrous strength.
In every battle, strength mattered, and Thane possessed far too much of it.
The giant’s legs trembled and his body swayed.
The choke continued. His vision darkened further.
Then he stood. The crowd exploded in anticipation again. Thousands rose from their seats.
Donovan’s eyes widened. He inwardly said, It’s impossible. No... how can he... nobody should be standing in that position.
The giant staggered forward, gradually taking one step and then another.
His legs looked ready to collapse, his face had turned crimson.
Yet he kept moving, kept standing. It was not re victory at this point. It was a battle of pride.
Fear finally entered Donovan’s heart.
The noble of Drevlorn Dynasty imdiately attempted to release the hold.
But it was too late, far too late.
Thane grabbed him and lifted him.
Then he gave a grunted roar, a cry full of pain and lack of air.
Thane slamd Donovan downward. It fell like a stone descending from a waterfall, or like a lumberjack’s axe, powerful and fast, slicing logs when it connected.
BOOM.
The choke shattered instantly. Air exploded from Donovan’s lungs.
His grip disappeared, his thoughts vanished beneath overwhelming pain.
Before he could recover, a shadow appeared above him.
Thane.
The giant raised one fist. The crowd collectively held its breath.
Then the fist descended.
BOO...
Donovan’s head snapped sideways. Several teeth flew across the arena floor.
Blood sprayed. The Drevlornian noble’s eyes lost focus.
The giant raised his fist again. The crowd scread.
So cheered. So looked horrified. So even looked away.
The second strike fell.
CRACK.
The impact sounded worse. Much worse.
Donovan’s nose collapsed, his cheekbone shattered.
Blood covered half his face. The arena fell silent.
Even the most enthusiastic spectators stopped cheering.
Because the fight was over. Everyone knew it.
Donovan’s body twitched weakly. Thane stood above him, breathing heavily. Blood covered his own face. One eye was swollen.
His clothes hung in tatters, yet he remained standing.
The giant looked down at the unconscious noble.
For a mont, nobody spoke. Then Thane finally broke the silence.
His voice was not loud, yet the entire arena heard it. "This was for Conor Jury."
Silence followed. Heavy silence.
The mory returned instantly. Conor surrendering.
The illegal strike with the mace.
The blood that had dripped from his face, and now the very sa Donovan who caused him such pain was going through it himself.
Many spectators slowly rose to their feet. One after another, then applause began.
Not roaring cheers. Not celebration.
But respect. Simple respect.
Even so of Donovan’s own countryn lowered their heads.
Because whatever else had happened, the debt had been repaid.
And for the second ti in two days, Donovan Young had fallen before Thane.
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