The blade came from behind.
Silent.
Precise.
Deadly.
In the middle of chaos—metal clashing, bodies falling, engines roaring somewhere in the distance—there existed a moment so still it felt unreal.
That moment was aimed at Rylan.
I saw it.
A VK member, different from the rest.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
Too calm.
Too focused.
His fingers tightened around the knife.
His steps were measured.
Not like a fighter.
Like a hunter.
And his target—
Rylan.
My chest tightened.
"RY—" I tried to shout.
Nothing came out.
Fear strangled my voice.
The blade rose.
Just inches away from Rylan's back.
And then—
Rylan moved.
Not because he saw it.
Not because someone warned him.
Instinct.
He shifted slightly to the side, mid-fight, as if his body had sensed death brushing against it. The knife sliced past him, grazing his shirt, tearing fabric but missing flesh.
The VK member didn't panic.
That was the terrifying part.
He adjusted.
Instantly.
The blade turned again—this time aiming straight for Rylan's ribs.
Rylan reacted fast.
He grabbed the attacker's wrist mid-motion.
Their eyes met.
And for the first time—
Rylan's expression changed.
Not anger.
Not excitement.
Suspicion.
"You're not like the others…" Rylan muttered.
The man didn't reply.
He smiled.
A slow, unsettling smile.
Then he twisted his wrist in an unnatural angle, forcing Rylan to loosen his grip. The knife slipped free again, flashing under the stadium lights as it aimed for Rylan's throat.
CLANG!
A steel bat intercepted the blade.
Sean.
"Oi," Sean said, breathing heavily but steady.
"Pick someone else."
The attacker stepped back.
Still calm.
Still silent.
He looked at them both.
Measured them.
Studied them.
Not like opponents.
Like targets.
And then—
He disappeared.
Not ran.
Not escaped.
Disappeared into the chaos.
"Who the hell was that?" I whispered, finally finding my voice.
Rylan didn't answer.
His eyes were scanning.
Not the battlefield.
Not VK.
Him.
But before anything else could happen—
Something heavier arrived.
Heavy footsteps.
Slow.
Confident.
Each step echoed louder than the fight itself.
And one by one—
People stopped.
Not because they were told to.
Because they felt it.
Dominic Vance.
The Beast of VK.
The ground itself seemed to acknowledge his presence.
The air grew heavier.
Every sound dulled.
Ryan's voice trembled behind us.
"That's him…"
Fear spread.
Like a silent wave.
But not to Rylan.
Rylan picked up the steel bat again.
Then another.
The memory of the bent one still fresh.
And he walked forward.
"Stay back."
Two words.
Cold.
Certain.
No one argued.
The clash was immediate.
Rylan struck first—a clean, brutal swing aimed at Dominic's temple.
Dominic caught it.
With one hand.
And this time—
He didn't just stop it.
He threw it away.
The bat spun across the ground, useless.
Gasps echoed.
Rylan stepped back.
Quickly.
Another bat lay nearby.
He picked it up.
Eyes narrowing.
Dominic smirked.
"Kid… you've got guts."
And then—
He attacked.
Fast.
Heavy.
Unstoppable.
He rushed forward, grabbed Rylan by the neck—
And slammed him to the ground.
The sound cracked through the stadium.
Before anyone could react—
Dominic started punching.
One.
Two.
Three.
Each hit heavier than the last.
Brutal.
Relentless.
Then—
He grabbed Rylan by the head—
And threw him.
Rylan's body hit the ground hard enough to echo.
Silence followed.
But only for a moment.
Because Rylan stood up again.
Slowly.
This time—
Serious.
Dark.
No smile.
No madness.
Just focus.
The fight escalated.
Rylan attacked relentlessly.
Fast.
Precise.
Unpredictable.
He knew one thing now—
He couldn't win without a weapon.
So he used it.
Every strike calculated.
Every movement sharper.
But Dominic—
Dominic countered effortlessly.
Strong.
Controlled.
Unshaken.
He blocked.
He absorbed.
He responded.
Like nothing Rylan did truly mattered.
This wasn't a fight.
It was domination.
Until—
Sean joined in again.
No hesitation.
No fear.
He rushed in from the side—
A clean kick aimed at Dominic's head.
At the same moment—
Rylan struck low.
A perfect combination.
For a split second—
Dominic moved back.
Just a step.
But enough.
Enough to shake the battlefield.
Hope returned.
Briefly.
Fighters paused.
Eyes locked onto the trio.
Three against one.
And still—
It didn't feel enough.
Because Dominic…
Wasn't going all out.
Not yet.
And that realization hit harder than any punch.
"...We're not even pushing him," Sean muttered.
Rylan didn't reply.
But his grip tightened.
Because he knew.
Deep down—
They were fighting a wall.
Not a man.
And somewhere in the shadows—
The knife holder watched.
Still.
Silent.
Patient.
His eyes weren't on the battlefield.
They were on Rylan.
Waiting.
Not for chaos.
Not for an opening.
But for the perfect moment—
To end him.
And that moment…
Had not come yet.
[TO BE CONTINUED]