The bell rang, a startlingly clear sound that cut through the tense silence of the octagon. Shane moved with caution, circling the imposing shape of Zabit Askorov. The air in the arena was thick with expectation, the crowd holding its collective breath.
Near the lower rows a fan leaned forward gripping the railing.
"Here we go," he muttered.
His friend beside him whispered back,
"That Albright guy is fast. Watch the counters."
Zabit possessed a grounded, professional menace; his family's legacy was clearly etched into his fighting style, a blend of inherited knowledge and raw power that Shane could respect, even as he prepared to face it. They stalked the perimeter, neither man willing to give the other the advantage of a head start.
Zabit's corner shouted from the outside.
"Control the center!"
"Push him!"
Shane's own corner stayed quiet, trusting him to read the moment.
As they closed the distance, Zabit's eyes locked onto Shane's, clearly preparing for a close-quarters grapple. Shane shot out a quick, snapping jab, intending to establish range, but instantly pivoted the strike, snapping his elbow down in a sharp, unexpected arc.
The point of bone connected with a sickening crunch just above Zabit's right eyebrow.
A thin line of crimson welled up immediately.
The crowd gasped.
"Did you see that elbow?!" someone shouted.
Zabit blinked, momentarily stunned, but quickly retreated, shaking his head clear.
He wiped the blood with the back of his glove.
"Good," Zabit muttered under his breath.
He reset his stance.
He was tough; one unexpected strike wouldn't end this dance.
They circled again, the tension ratcheted tighter.
From the outside Olaf watched with narrowed eyes.
"Clean strike," he murmured quietly.
Jessalyn followed the motion of the fighters carefully.
"He reads angles quickly," she replied softly.
They moved forward once more, and this time, the clinch locked solid.
As their massive frames bound together, Shane's foresight screamed, not about the fight, not about Zabit's next move, but about a completely different disaster unfolding elsewhere.
His internal visualization showed thugs—Apex Negativa's clumsy pawns—swarming the secure room where the children were kept.
Harry (Thor), Erin, Emma, and the other youngsters were in imminent danger.
Shane fought to concentrate, forcing his system to transmit the security alert to Olaf, Oscar, Saul, and Veritas Alpha.
He needed them moving now.
Inside the VIP area Gary suddenly stiffened.
"You feel that?" he whispered.
Amanda frowned.
"Feel what?"
Gary looked toward Olaf.
"Something just changed."
In the clinch, focusing inward while trying to manage the external threat was overwhelming.
Zabit, sensing the brief lapse in focus, executed a perfect hip toss, sending Shane tumbling to the canvas.
The crowd erupted.
"OHH!"
Zabit swiftly landed on top, establishing a dominant position.
His corner shouted immediately.
"Pressure! Pressure!"
"Finish it!"
Shane immediately pulled guard, buying precious seconds to confirm his team had received the distress call before he could engage his system again.
⸻
Olaf, back in the staging area, felt the message resonate through their private consciousness like a shockwave.
Saul blinked as the alert appeared.
"What the—"
Oscar's voice cut in sharply.
"Kids."
Nearby resting, Jessalyn stiffened; her own foresight was screaming not about the ring, but about the imminent rush toward the octagon steps.
She stood instantly.
"Something's wrong."
Ben and Cory, positioned ringside to capture the glorious rise of their friend, immediately split up.
Ben adjusted his camera.
"Stay on the fight," he muttered.
Cory nodded and moved after Olaf.
"Document everything," Ben added.
⸻
Olaf led the charge directly to the secure room.
They found the door being violently assaulted by several thugs trying to splinter the wood.
One thug shouted,
"Break it!"
Another slammed a shoulder into the door.
Inside the room Emma had pulled the children behind a heavy table.
"Stay down," she whispered.
Erin stood near the door gripping a metal chair.
"If they get in—"
Emma shook her head.
"They won't."
Outside the fight was ferocious but brief.
Olaf, galvanized by the threat to the children, struck with fury.
The first thug flew backward.
The second hit the wall with a brutal thud.
His returning strength lashed out, and the operatives were subdued instantly.
Cory's camera whirred, capturing the righteous anger of the celestial and the easy dispatch of the attackers.
Olaf was incandescent; attacking innocents, especially children, was unforgivable.
Saul looked down at one unconscious attacker.
"Wrong place," he muttered.
"Wrong god."
⸻
Back in the ring, Shane, no longer distracted by the immediate mortal danger to his people, found his tactical edge return.
He used the superior leverage of his guard position to reverse Zabit, scrambling quickly to gain the dominant top position.
The crowd roared.
"YES!"
For a brief moment, Shane perched on Zabit's back, searching desperately for a fight-ending submission, but Zabit was too slick, too well-defended by his relatives' training.
They broke apart as the round ended, breathing heavily, exchanging a few sharp blows before the bell saved them.
The referee stepped between them.
"Break!"
Both fighters retreated to their corners.
Zabit wiped blood from his eyebrow again.
"You hit hard," he said calmly.
Shane nodded.
"So do you."
⸻
Olaf's tactical team—a few security personnel—secured the perimeter around the children's room, while Saul and Veritas Alpha remained stationed nearby just in case the initial assault was a probe for something larger.
The rest began retreating toward the octagon.
Veritas Alpha glanced down the hallway.
"This was a probe," he said quietly.
Saul nodded.
"Testing the response."
⸻
Round two began with renewed intensity.
Shane and Zabit engaged instantly, a pure, brutal exchange of power.
Shane threw a looping, wide overhand left, an attack that carried significant rotational force, but Zabit, anticipating the power, ducked low and outside just enough for the strike to whip harmlessly past his ear.
As Zabit attempted to capitalize on the momentum of Shane's near miss, driving forward to seize control, he walked directly into a perfectly timed spinning back kick.
Shane spun through the air, driving his heel into the center of Zabit's face.
The impact was devastating.
Zabit flew backward, hitting the canvas hard and remaining completely inert.
The crowd exploded.
"HOLY—!"
Shane moved immediately to follow through, instinct taking over, raising his fists for the finish with hammer blows, but the referee was far faster.
The official dove in, waving his arms urgently, calling the fight.
Before the referee could even fully signal the TKO, chaos erupted.
A massive wedge of thugs and agitators, seemingly materializing from the crowd and corridors, swarmed the ring apron.
Fans screamed.
"What the hell is happening?!"
Olaf and his crew were still seconds away from reaching the octagon steps.
Seeing the threat materialize before he was officially declared the victor, Shane couldn't risk a delayed reaction.
He launched himself over the top of the cage in a single, fluid motion, landing outside the cage.
The crowd gasped.
"Did he just—"
He activated his Super Speed skill.
He held back, not going full sonic, aiming for controlled speed that wouldn't shatter eardrums, but the sheer velocity was enough to make him a terrifying blur.
He ripped through the charging thugs, snapping them down left and right with precise, non-lethal strikes.
Looking up, he saw Freya—Jessalyn—fighting fiercely near the crowd barrier defending herself with practiced ease.
His friend, Mike, had waded into the fray, doing his part.
Gary, true to form, was physically shielding Amanda and the younger members of their group on the nearby perimeter.
Oscar, along with several roofers from Albright Roofing, were engaged in raw, desperate brawls with the closest attackers.
Shane knew he had to end it.
Hesitation was death.
He tapped his system, activating Super Strength in tandem with his controlled Super Speed.
To the crowd, it was a single, startling boom, followed by a visual distortion—a fleeting blur—and then Shane was visibly closer to the edge of the octagon, breathing hard, while dozens of thugs lay splayed across the floor, motionless but evidently subdued.
The crowd roared in stunned approval.
But as the cheers began to surface, Shane heard a piercing scream erupt near his people.
He spun towards the noise, his heart sinking.
There, near the area where Gary and Amanda were sheltering others, Mike was on the ground, a pool of dark blood spreading around him, a cruel knife still embedded in his side.
Shane didn't pause to rationalize—the system was already demanding action.
He accessed his skill menu, saw the reassuring glow of his recently acquired Skill Reset, and clicked Time Travel.
The world warped.
The booms faded, screams recoiled, and the scene snapped back four minutes.
Shane was back in the octagon, Zabit weaving cautiously before him.
The quest timer felt irrelevant; the horrifying knowledge of what was about to happen was the only reality.
This time, he didn't hold back anything.
He went all out from the initial second.
Full Super Speed and full Super Strength—the reset was active, meaning he could use them even though they had been taxed moments before the rewind.
He moved like an absolute phantom.
The fabric of the arena seemed to tear as he broke the sound barrier several times in rapid succession.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
He eliminated the specific thug who, in the previous timeline, had stabbed Mike, striking with cold, focused rage.
There was no mercy, only elimination.
He stopped his final, devastating move just outside the door leading from the cage area, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his fury spent.
Every single thug was down, and none of it had been gentle.
Silence descended on the arena, profound and absolute.
The crowd blinked, trying to process the impossible sequence.
Shane was there, then a blur, booms, then Shane returned to the octagon, and now all the attackers were down.
Zabit, slowly coming back to consciousness on the canvas, stared.
"What… just happened?"
His relatives were frozen in bewildered disbelief.
The silence shattered as the crowd erupted.
Olaf, having rushed back from securing the children's room just moments after Shane's rewind completed, was beside him instantly.
He guided Shane back inside the ring, keeping his voice low.
He whispered to the announcer, who nodded shakily, and then leaned toward Jessalyn, giving her instructions for the interview.
Finally, turning to Shane, Olaf delivered the strategy for the lingering public relations fallout.
"Roll with it. Don't explain the celestial mechanics. Just say you think it must have been the adrenaline. They won't want to disbelieve you if you give them the next best logical answer. If you tell them the truth, they will call you crazy."
Olaf added that he would claim any unexpected sonic booms were a malfunction of the arena's new sound system.
Shane and Zabit stood center stage.
The referee raised Shane's hand.
Shane immediately turned to Zabit, bowing deeply in respect.
"You are a vision of professionalism and a great fighter," Shane said, placing a hand on Zabit's shoulder. "Thank you, and thank your family for their help with that situation."
Zabit, clearly still dazed by the whole affair, managed a confused but genuine congratulations.
Jessalyn approached with the microphone, ready to initiate the interview and, more importantly for their plans, allow Shane to declare his political intentions.
As she stepped alongside him, their arms brushed.
The contact was electric.
Jessalyn's eyes went wide, a flicker of ancient recognition crossing her expression.
Shane's own eyes mirrored hers, but his system dinged frantically, a cascade of notifications flooding his internal view.
Rewards for finding Freya, for saving his people, for winning the fight, and oddly, a reward for completing the quest, "Become more than a businessman."
As he internally swiped the deluge of system updates away, he saw Jessalyn's stunned face again.
His foresight flared to life, unbidden, presenting a series of highly suggestive mental images—visions rated firmly X.
He grimaced, glancing from her to the crowd.
You love distracting me, don't you?
he cursed the system internally.
How am I supposed to think clearly with those images fresh in my mind from my foresight!
He could feel his own face heating up simultaneously with hers as they both recoiled slightly from the unintended connection.
⸻
"If you enjoyed Shane's journey, please drop a Power Stone! It helps the Common Sense Party grow!"