Dallas Cowboys Stadium. First Quarter. Time: 12:45.
The electricity wasn't generated by cheering fans; it was the raw, dangerous energy of a conflict that defied the sport's intent. This wasn't football; it was a televised assassination attempt sanctioned by the very league that was supposed to protect its players.
The Cowboys' defensive formation was less a scheme and more a bizarre, predatory lineup, with the three MMA champions—The Bone, The Eagle, and The Hammer—lurking like big-game hunters.
High in the stadium, Dr. Sophie Vance gripped the railing of the booth, her knuckles white. Her voice crackled urgently in Levi's helmet, laced with medical terror: "Levi, listen to me! Their target isn't the ball, it's your joints! Your right elbow and left knee! The torque is what matters! Do not let them lock you down!"
"Don't worry, Doctor," Levi replied, a thrill running through his veins that had nothing to do with adrenaline and everything to do with challenge. "Let's see if my Diamond Form can break their Jiu-Jitsu itself."
The ball snapped. Levi took the handoff, initiating the play. The regular Cowboys linebackers, terrified by the tales of the "Ambulance Parade" and the machine explosion, scattered instantly, unwilling to commit to a frontal impact.
This left the path clear for the specialist.
Suddenly, Jon "The Bone" Tavares, the joint lock expert, materialized. He ignored the ball carrier's feints, slithering low like a snake, his movements economical and lethal. Tavares executed a perfect, illegal takedown maneuver, hooking Levi's leg and instantly dragging him to the muddy turf.
Levi crashed down hard. Before he could react, Tavares, using the gravity of the fall, swiftly transitioned. He secured his legs around Levi's right arm, locking the elbow joint against his pelvis. It was a textbook, devastating Armbar variation, aiming directly at the delicate fulcrum of Levi's elbow.
Tavares arched his back, putting immense, bone-snapping pressure on the joint. "KAFU! KAFU!" Tavares roared, the sound of exertion raw and desperate. He wasn't just leveraging his weight; he was transferring years of specialized martial arts torque into the single point of weakness.
The immense pressure slammed into Levi's elbow. Even through the System's powerful pain filtering, the unique, insidious agony of a joint being forcibly extended beyond its natural limit was agonizing. His elbow muscles groaned and trembled. Tavares knew any normal human arm would have already snapped in two, the cartilage tearing, the ligaments popping like rubber bands.
"Break!" Tavares screamed, applying his final, furious weight, his face a mask of primal aggression.
The Diamond Resonance
Just as despair threatened to overwhelm the 49ers sideline—Sophie had her hands over her mouth, watching the potential career-ender—Levi's eyes went cold.
[SYSTEM PROMPT: DETECTING S-GRADE TORSION ON HOST'S BONE STRUCTURE.]
[PASSIVE: DIAMOND RESONANCE ACTIVATED. HARDNESS AT CRITICAL LIMIT!]
Levi's muscles did not relax to absorb the torque; they did the opposite. They hardened further, contracting into iron around the bone. This was not a technique; this was the sheer, immutable defiance of pure Diamond Form against the principle of torque.
Tavares's face went ghastly white. He wasn't bending flesh; he was trying to bend a solid, immovable cylinder of highly compressed carbon. The System's passive ability, the Diamond Resonance, initiated a tremendous counter-force, transferring the full impact of the torque back through Tavares's own arms and joints.
CRACK!
Tavares screamed a sound more visceral and horrifying than any tackle impact. It was the sound of his own body protesting against the impossible load. His own elbow joint ligaments instantly tore by the sheer, unyielding resistance of Levi's arm. He had tried to break a diamond and had, instead, shattered his own hammer.
He released the lock, collapsing instantly to the mud, clutching his now-useless right arm. The arm, moments ago a weapon of surgical precision, was now a dead weight of agony.
Levi slowly rose, testing his perfectly fine right arm with a casual rotation of the wrist. The ultimate joint lock, the career-ender, had become his new badge of honor.
He looked down at the writhing UFC champion. "My bone," Levi sneered, his voice loud enough for the field microphones to catch, "is harder than your pride."
The crowd, originally cheering the MMA hit, fell into stunned silence. The first legal weapon of the NFL's counter-attack had failed spectacularly. Levi was not just invincible to impact; he was invincible to manipulation. He was a perfect, unbendable structure.