"You! You're up!" he barked.
Prince Logan sighed and stood, wiping the sweat off his brow. He gave Nathan a look.
"Stay sharp. Watch everything I do."
Nathan nodded, even though he didn't feel ready for anything.
Logan was led away, and not long after, Nathan heard the crowd cheering and screaming. The fight lasted barely five minutes.
By the time the guards returned, Nathan knew it was his turn.
He was chained and dragged through the cold hallway, his feet scraping the floor. His heart thudded wildly. His hands trembled.
When they opened the giant gates to the iron ring, Nathan's breath caught in his throat.
There he was.
His opponent.
A giant.
Much taller than any creature Nathan had ever seen—an Elf with bulging muscles, skin like stone, and eyes that gleamed with amusement as he looked at Nathan.
The crowd roared with excitement.
Nathan froze for a moment, feeling like an ant. His legs felt weak. His palms were sweaty. He wanted to run. To scream. To hide.
But then…
A small face flashed in his mind again. His daughter. Her little voice calling him Daddy.
He gritted his teeth.
I can't run.
I won't run.
He stepped into the ring, even though every part of him told him not to.
The Giant didn't wait. He reached out with one massive hand and lifted Nathan like a toy. His grip was like iron, squeezing Nathan's ribs tightly.
Nathan gasped, his vision blurring. He couldn't breathe.
The Giant lifted him close to his face and laughed—a deep, cruel sound that echoed across the chamber.
Panicking, Nathan threw a punch at the Giant's face.
Nothing.
Not a flinch. Not even a blink.
The Giant frowned, annoyed, then hurled Nathan to the ground.
BAM!
Nathan hit the iron floor hard. Pain shot through his back, his spine, his shoulders. He curled up, groaning.
The Giant threw his head back and laughed again, towering over him like a mountain.
The crowd laughed with him.
Nathan clenched his fists. His whole body hurt. But somewhere deep inside, something else was waking up—something stronger than fear.
He remembered Sara's voice. Her soft encouragements. His daughter's tiny arms around his neck.
"I have to live. I have to see them again."
The Giant reached down again, trying to grab him.
Nathan rolled out of the way, just in time. Gritting his teeth, he swung his leg and kicked the Giant in the shin.
Nothing.
No reaction. The Giant didn't even notice.
Nathan stood, breathing heavily, and backed away.
Think. Think. You're not stronger, but maybe you're faster. Maybe you can outsmart him.
He ran to the edge of the ring, climbed up onto the ropes, and then launched himself into the air. He landed on the Giant's back and began punching—fists flying, landing blow after blow across the Giant's neck and shoulders.
"Come on… come on…" Nathan gasped between punches.
But the Giant didn't even stumble.
He simply reached back with one hand, ready to swat Nathan off like a fly.
The moment the Giant tried to grab Nathan from behind, instinct kicked in.
"Move, move!" he whispered sharply to himself as he ducked and spun to the side.
The Giant's huge hand reached out again, his fingers like thick iron rods. But then—something sparked in Nathan's mind. A wild idea. A chance.
He grabbed the Giant's wrist with both hands, twisted it behind his back, and then—without hesitation—bit down as hard as he could.
The Giant roared, shaking and trying to rip his hand free. But Nathan didn't let go. His jaw clenched tighter, his whole body shaking with effort.
The crowd gasped.
And then—finally—the Giant dropped to one knee, groaning in pain.
Nathan saw his chance.
With a scream, he leapt onto the Giant's back and used the monkey style Logan had taught him. Fast, unpredictable moves. He jabbed at the Giant's neck, one strike after another. The Giant tried to block, both hands flying up to guard his throat.
Nathan didn't stop.
He swung a leg and kicked the Giant straight in the face, causing him to stumble. Then, with the edge of his hand, Nathan struck the back of the Giant's neck, followed by a full-body leap that landed him on the Giant's shoulders.
CRACK.
Something snapped.
Nathan kicked again—hard—on the other side of the Giant's neck.
And just like that… it was over.
The Giant collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud.
Nathan stood over him, panting, shaking, his fists still raised—ready to fight if he got up again. But the Giant didn't move.
The referee stepped in, knelt beside the fallen warrior, and checked for signs of life.
After a few seconds, he rose and pointed to Nathan.
"Winner."
The crowd fell into stunned silence. Then, murmurs. Gasps. Disbelief.
Nathan could hardly stand. Every breath hurt. Blood trickled down his side, but all he could feel was… relief.
He was still alive.
As they led him out of the iron ring, Nathan clutched his stomach, gritting his teeth. A strange smile curved his lips.
He limped back to his cell.
Logan stood by the bars, waiting.
"You did it," he said quietly.
Nathan nodded. "Yeah… I did."
The next morning came too quickly. His body still screamed in pain, but this time, Nathan walked into the ring.
No one dragged him. He didn't stumble.
He stepped forward.
Ready.
He stood alone in the center of the iron floor, and then, the gates opened.
Two opponents entered.
One was another Giant—just as huge and terrifying as the last one. The second was an Elf, taller than Nathan, with four hands. Four.
Nathan swallowed hard. His heart pounded.
But he didn't back down.
As the bell rang, all three launched into the fight.
The Giant came first, roaring like thunder. But this time, Nathan wasn't alone. The four-handed Elf darted forward, attacking with quick kicks and precise punches. Nathan focused on his Eagle style, aiming for sharp, clean strikes.
Together, they circled the Giant. Hitting high, then low. Left, then right. The Giant tried to fight them both off, but he was overwhelmed.
After a brutal exchange, the Giant finally collapsed.
The crowd erupted.
But the fight wasn't over.
Now, it was just Nathan… and the four-handed Elf.
The Elf lunged first, using all four fists to strike. Nathan struggled to keep up, dodging and blocking as best as he could.
One punch caught him in the ribs. Another grazed his chin.
"Focus, Nathan," he told himself, panting.
He changed styles—switched to kickboxing. A sharp kick to the Elf's side, a jab to the jaw. Then, he dodged under the next punch and delivered an uppercut straight to the Elf's nape.
The Elf stumbled, off balance.
Nathan didn't waste the moment. He switched again—this time to the Five Animals style. His fingers jabbed at the Elf's eyes.
The Elf cried out, blinded and stunned.
Nathan flew forward and pushed him to the ground. His body moved on its own now—muscle memory, fear, and fury all blending into instinct.
He slammed the Elf's face with punch after punch.
He couldn't stop.
His fists rained down.
Even when the Elf stopped moving, even when he stopped breathing—Nathan kept going. He couldn't hear the referee calling him back, or the gasps from the crowd.
It wasn't until two guards pulled him away that he snapped out of it.
He blinked. His arms dropped. His chest rose and fell in hard, fast breaths.
The referee lifted his hand.
Winner. Again.
Three wins.
Three battles.
And Nathan—once weak, once mocked, once broken—had survived every single one.
He leaned against the wall of the ring, blood dripping from his hands. His heart full.
Nathan could hardly believe what had just happened. His body ached, his hands were bruised, and yet a wide smile stayed on his face as he was dragged back to the prison cell.
"I won," he whispered to himself, still trying to catch his breath. Then, louder, almost like a child seeing snow for the first time, "I won! I actually won again. That's three matches now!"
Prince Logan, already waiting inside the cell, gave him a proud look. Nathan's joy was infectious, but Logan's mind was elsewhere.
"This next match," Logan said suddenly, his voice low and firm, "it might be our chance."
Nathan blinked, still panting. "Chance for what?"
"To escape," Logan answered simply.
Nathan froze. "What?"
Logan gave a slow smile. "My magic… it's coming back."
Nathan's eyes widened. "Your magic?" he echoed, like he wasn't sure he'd heard right.
Logan nodded. "Yes."
Nathan stared at him, then glanced down at Logan's hands. "Wait, but I thought… I thought you lost it. Isn't that why you were even here?"
"I did lose it," Logan said. "When the Goblins poisoned me, it vanished. For a while, I couldn't even feel it inside me. But now… it's slowly returning."
Nathan still looked unsure, until Logan held out his hand, snapped his fingers—and a tiny flame flickered to life above his palm.
Nathan's mouth dropped open. "No way."
The little flame danced for a second, giving off warmth, before Logan blew it out.
Nathan leaned closer, eyes shining. "Can that… can that little fire get us out?"
"Not yet," Logan admitted. "The flame's not hot enough. But soon. Once it's strong enough, I'll melt the cell gate. Then we free the others and fight our way out."
Nathan's heart pounded. "Wait—was this your plan all along?"
Logan's expression turned serious. "My original plan was different. I was going to wait for the right moment—when the guards were weak or distracted—and attack. Even without my powers. But now, with the fire coming back… things just got easier."
Nathan sat down heavily on the stone floor, trying to take it all in.
"So the next match," he asked, "you think that's when it happens? That's when we make our move?"
Logan nodded. "Soon. Maybe not during the match—but afterward. Once the fire's strong enough, I'll melt the bars, one gate after the other. But I'll need your help."
"Mine?" Nathan asked, startled.