The arena fell silent.
No sponsors. No fireworks. No noise, except for two sets of breathing.
This wasn't spectacle. This was scripture being written in sweat and blood.
Damien Thorne vs. Auren Valebright.
A rematch not between fighters—but between ideologies.
One: Perfected in glass tubes, simulated over thousands of lifetimes, tuned by neural sync and logic trees.
The other: Forged through failure. Sharpened in underground cages. Refined by pain.
Their last war had gone thirty minutes.
This one might rewrite time.
The fight began like chess. Now it was turning into jazz.
Auren's strikes became looser, more human. Without AI guidance, he started to move with something approaching… freedom.
And yet—Damien had been free since day one.
He welcomed the shift.
And then, he showed them something new.
Twenty-six minutes.
Damien's footwork changed. The crowd didn't recognize it.
But old fighters watching from distant planets did.
A squared stance. Rear foot at a perfect 45. Lead foot planted firm. A high guard, tight and disciplined. A style not seen in centuries, now reborn in a boy with golden eyes.
"That's a peek-a-boo guard…" one commentator whispered. "No—he modified it. That's something else."
A hybrid stance. High guard from Tyson. Balance from Foreman. Rhythm from Ali. But beneath it all—Damien's own creation.
He wasn't copying the past. He was building upon it.
Final two minutes.
Auren grinned, blood trickling from his chin. "You were holding back."
Damien adjusted his guard. "So were you."
They surged in.
Fists met forearms. Shins cracked against thighs. Breaths turned to growls.
They weren't fighting for a title anymore.
They were fighting for the right to define the future.
Final 30 seconds.
Auren's body was failing. Adrenal glands depleted. Internal temp spiking.AI offline. Neural strain rising.
Damien's ribs were cracked. Vision blurred. Heartbeat pounding like a war drum.
They stared at each other.
Then moved—one final time.
TEN SECONDS LEFT
Auren launched a high knee into a spinning elbow—a signature move he'd never shown before.
But Damien ducked, pivoted, and with a torque from the hip drove a rising cross counter straight into Auren's solar plexus.
Not enough to kill. But enough to shut down the nervous system.
Auren dropped.
Bell rings.
Silence.
Then chaos.
Winner: Damien Thorne.
But he didn't raise his hands. Didn't celebrate. He just stood there.
Breathing.
Watching Auren being lifted by med-bots.
Not as an enemy. But as a rival who earned his respect.
The entire galaxy now had an answer.
It wasn't AI. It wasn't fusion. It wasn't synthetic blood or carbon bones.
It was will.
And Damien Thorne had more of it than any simulation could measure.
In the depths of Null Sanctum, an alert was triggered.
SUBJECT 000_HEIR DETECTEDCOMBAT LEVEL: UNCALCULATED
INITIATE PHASE II
They didn't see a boy.
They saw God in flesh.