The heavy impact of the punch sent Arnold reeling back. For a split second, his body tensed, and his fists clenched tight enough to turn his knuckles white. The opening was right there. He could see it in the way Maisen's shoulder dipped, leaving his chin exposed. With one counter, Arnold could have ended the match. He could have turned the tide, reclaimed his pride, and taken the title.
But he didn't.
Instead of striking, Arnold let out a long, slow breath and lowered his guard. His muscles went limp. Maisen's next punch landed hard against his jaw. Then came another, and another. The crowd in the stadium erupted into a confused roar. People were standing up, shouting, unable to comprehend why the untouchable fighter had suddenly turned into a punching bag.
In the audience, Ayelen jumped to his feet, his face pale with shock. "No... this isn't right! Arnold, what are you doing?" He started to push through the crowd toward the ring. "He can win this! Why is he just standing there?"
Before he could take another step, Miyara's hand clamped onto his arm. "Stop, Ayelen," she said. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were shimmering with a deep, painful worry. "Something is wrong. Look at him."
Inside the ring, the final blow connected. Arnold hit the canvas as the bell rang, signaling the end.
"The winner and new WMMAC Champion—Maisen!" the announcer screamed into the microphone.
The stadium shook with cheers, but Arnold simply lay there for a moment with a faint smile on his lips. It wasn't the bitter smile of a loser; it was the quiet, peaceful look of someone who had completed a difficult task. He climbed out of the ring without a single word to the press or the fans.
Maisen didn't stay to celebrate either. He grabbed the gold belt with trembling hands and sprinted out of the arena as if his life depended on it.
Outside in the parking lot, Ayelen and Miyara finally caught up. Ayelen grabbed Arnold's shoulder and spun him around, his voice shaking with frustration. "Why? Why did you lose? You had him, Arnold! You were the stronger fighter!"
Miyara searched Arnold's face, waiting for an explanation. Arnold didn't look at the trophy or the stadium. He only looked at them and said quietly, "Come with me."
The Hospital
The three of them arrived just in time to see Maisen disappear into a private room. He was still clutching the championship belt, his knuckles white against the leather. On the bed lay a young boy. He was tiny, his skin a sickly, translucent pale. He was motionless from the neck down, kept alive by a hum of machines and a web of plastic tubes.
When the boy saw Maisen, a tiny, fragile smile touched his lips.
Maisen fell to his knees by the bedside, his breath coming in ragged sobs. He held the gold belt up high so the boy could see the light reflecting off the metal. "I did it, bro," Maisen whispered, his voice shattering. "I won. Just like I promised."
He leaned closer, pressing his forehead against the boy's small hand. "Please... you saw it, right? Now you have to get well. Please get well soon."
The little brother looked at the belt, then up at Maisen. His lips moved with agonizing slowness, his voice nothing more than a ghost of a sound. "…Congrats…"
He took one weak, shivering breath. Then, the sound of his lungs stopped. The monitors beside the bed flatlined, the long, piercing beep cutting through the room like a knife.
"No..." Maisen's eyes widened in horror. He jumped up, grabbing a passing doctor by the shoulders. "Save him! Please, you have to save him! I got the belt! I did what he wanted!"
Doctors and nurses swarmed the room, pushing Maisen back. They worked with frantic, practiced movements, but the silence from the bed grew heavier with every passing second. Finally, the lead doctor stopped and slowly shook his head.
Maisen stood frozen by the bed. The silence was absolute. He reached out and gently laid the heavy championship belt over his brother's chest. "You are the real winner, bro," he whispered, his tears splashing onto the gold plates. "You're the best brother I could have ever asked for."
In the doorway, Miyara covered her mouth, her eyes overflowing with tears. Ayelen looked down at the floor, his anger completely gone, replaced by a hollow ache in his chest. Even Arnold looked away, his jaw tight.
"His last wish was to see his big brother become the strongest," Arnold said softly, looking at Ayelen. "I think you understand why I lost now."
Ayelen didn't answer. For the first time in his life, he realized that winning wasn't always about the person standing at the end of a fight. Sometimes, losing was the only way to truly win.
Just then, a doctor stepped out of a nearby office and caught Arnold's eye. "Arnold, could you come with me for a moment?"
Inside the quiet office, the doctor sighed and adjusted his glasses. "I heard what you said out there. I feel for Maisen, I really do. Cancer is becoming far too common these days." He folded his hands on his desk and looked at Arnold with a sudden, sharp intensity. "It isn't a disease that spreads from person to person, but still... take care of your family."
His expression turned grim. "And Arnold? Don't trust people too easily. Not in these times."
Arnold nodded slowly, feeling a chill crawl up his spine. "Thank you, doctor. I'll remember that."
As Arnold stepped back into the hallway, a sudden, sickening thud echoed through the corridor. Ayelen had collapsed.
"Ayelen!" Miyara screamed.
Nurses rushed forward with a stretcher, and within seconds, Ayelen was being wheeled toward the ICU. Arnold stood paralyzed, his mind racing to make sense of the sudden collapse. Miyara was shaking violently, her eyes fixed on the swinging doors of the unit.
"Stay here," Arnold told her, his voice low and commanding. "I'll find out what's happening."
He walked down the corridor, but the hospital felt different now. It was too quiet. The air felt thick and heavy, like someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the hallway.
Then, a scream ripped through the air. It was sharp, cold, and full of pure terror. It came from the room right next to him.
Arnold burst inside and felt his blood turn to ice. A creature was crouched in the center of the room. It was hideous—a twisted, broken thing with limbs that bent at impossible angles. Its face was a nightmare of melting flesh and hollow eyes. It was hunched over a nurse, feeding on her like a starving beast.
Arnold stepped forward to intervene, but a security guard appeared in the doorway, casually leaning against the frame with a cigarette in his mouth, watching the horror as if it were a television show.
Before Arnold could speak, the creature moved. It didn't run; it flickered, passing through Arnold's body like a freezing mist. It lunged at the guard, sinking into his skin. The man's scream was cut short as his body began to twist and pop.
Bones snapped loudly. Skin tore open as something grew from within him. Within seconds, the man was consumed from the inside out, leaving nothing but a mangled heap of meat and cloth on the floor.
Arnold stumbled back, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "What... what is this?"
His mind flashed to Ayelen in the ICU. He turned to run, but a cold, slimy hand clamped onto his arm. The creature had reformed, its grip tightening like a vice.
A flash of silver cut through the air.
A stranger appeared from nowhere, his movement too fast for the human eye to follow. With a single, sharp slash, he severed the creature's hold, cutting Arnold's arm clean off at the elbow. Arnold stared at his own limb falling to the floor, but before the scream could leave his throat, the stranger moved again.
Using a strange, claw-like technique, the man grabbed Arnold's falling arm and pressed it back against the stump. A surge of warmth flooded Arnold's body, and in an instant, the arm was restored. No scar, no blood, as if the injury had never happened.
The stranger didn't stop there. He turned to the creature and delivered a series of precise, devastating strikes that reduced the monster to nothing but dust.
The room went silent. The stranger turned toward Arnold, his face hidden in shadows, and held out a small, metallic object that looked like a button.
"Take this," the man said. His voice was calm, but it carried a weight of absolute authority. "Just accept it, Arnold. We don't have much time left."
Arnold stared at the device in his palm. His heart pounded against his ribs. As he looked at the stranger, a sudden, violent flash of memory hit him. A forgotten scene from years ago. A voice he hadn't heard in a lifetime. A face that should have been dead.
His eyes widened in realization. "You..."
• CHAPTER 7 ENDS •