CHAPTER 258: AN URGE OF POWER

After having his arm broken, his dominant arm, no less, Max was finding it incredibly difficult to keep up the fight against Dud. Every movement felt sluggish, every dodge a second too slow, and the pain pulsing from his injured limb was impossible to ignore.

It appeared even Dud had gained confidence. No longer relying solely on his grappling skills, he was now using his fists and legs to dish out brutal, punishing strikes. Each hit was more devastating than the last, and Max could feel the damage piling up.

Getting hurt in a fight affected someone more than they usually expected. It wasn’t just physical, it was everything. It messed with your head, shattered your concentration. It robbed you of your ability to breathe properly, and it made calling upon your strength feel like trying to lift a mountain. With every heavy blow, it felt like Dud was hammering away at more than just Max’s body, he was chiseling away at his will.

Max’s thoughts spiraled in every direction. His breathing was ragged, his vision blurred, and somewhere deep in his mind, a question kept ringing: How am I supposed to solve this? How do I get out of this mess?

In that haze of pain and confusion, only one thing crossed his mind, relying on others. Depending on someone else to step in.

But he crushed that thought almost as quickly as it came.

"Relying on others..." Max gritted his teeth, shaking his head. "I can’t believe I actually thought of that."

He clenched his jaw tighter, feeling fury rise from deep within him.

"The leader of the White Tiger Gang relying on people? What a joke. I guess... I guess I really did start doing that in our later days."

His mind raced as memories surfaced, those final moments before everything fell apart. He had stopped pushing himself. He had started trusting others to handle things, stopped sharpening his own edge.

"When I think about it," he thought bitterly, "that was probably the beginning of my downfall. I got weaker... complacent. While everyone else who did things for me, they kept getting stronger."

Max’s remaining hand clenched into a tight fist, his knuckles pale and trembling. But then, something shifted.

He started to feel something.

It began as a strange, subtle stir in his core, rising like heat from a furnace deep in his belly. Slowly, it intensified, spreading outward through his body, rushing through his limbs like an electric pulse.

It was almost like an adrenaline rush, but it wasn’t that. It was something more. Something deeper.

The pain in his body began to fade, the sharp aches dulling as if washed away. His breathing became clearer, and an unfamiliar strength started fueling his fingertips, coursing into his muscles like a flood.

"This feeling..." Max’s eyes widened. "I’ve felt it before. But how? Why now? Why would I be feeling something like this at a time like this?"

Then, in his breast pocket, he felt his phone vibrate.

He didn’t have time to check it, not with Dud standing right in front of him, but that buzz was all the confirmation he needed.

The only person this could’ve been... it has to be Aron, Max thought. He must’ve done something, without my permission, of course. But whatever gamble he took... it seems like it’s paying off.

That realization didn’t bring Max anger. Instead, it ignited something else, focus. Resolve.

Right in the middle of that thought, Dud came charging in again. He was relentless, a wild grin on his face as he assumed Max was still too broken, too slow, too easy to punish.

But this time, Max wasn’t looking at the ground.

This time, he lifted his head.

There was something different in his eyes, an intensity, a spark that hadn’t been there before. Dud didn’t notice it. He was too caught up in the rush of dominance, too busy enjoying the fight.

Big mistake.

At the exact right moment, Max’s body snapped into motion. He lifted his leg and delivered a sharp, clean side kick. The move was precise, almost surgical. A fast snap, nothing flashy, but effective.

Dud had been prepared for a sluggish move, something weak and easy to counter.

But not this.

The kick struck him dead center in the stomach.

Thud!

Dud grunted, all the air whooshing from his lungs as his body hunched forward, folding over the impact.

What the hell? Dud’s thoughts raced. That kick came out of nowhere. Am I imagining things? No... that was faster than anything he’s done before.

That moment of hesitation cost him dearly.

Max wasn’t about to waste it.

He knew this second wind, this surge of energy, wouldn’t last long. He had to take full advantage of it, and that meant keeping the pressure on.

Leaping forward, Max launched into the air. With all the force he could gather, he swung his arm down hard, bringing it crashing into Dud’s forearms just as the other boy tried to raise them to defend.

Crack!

The sound wasn’t bone-shattering, but it was enough to send a deep vibration down Dud’s arms. The damage had been building all night, Max had been targeting those arms again and again. Now, the pain was catching up.

Dud staggered, his arms twitching uncontrollably, muscles refusing to obey like they used to.

He can’t lift them properly anymore, Max realized. I’ve been hammering those arms all night. The damage finally added up.

Max wasn’t in a position to deliver a strong follow-up, his dominant arm was still broken, and his balance was off from the jump.

But he wasn’t going to stop.

Drawing his one good arm back, he twisted at the waist and swung it forward with all the torque he could muster. The back of his fist connected flush with Dud’s cheek.

Smack!

Dud stumbled backward, the taste of blood instantly flooding his mouth. He could feel the metallic tang of iron as his body crashed into a nearby table, sending it screeching across the floor.

His head was spinning. Not just from the hit, but from confusion.

No. I’m definitely not imagining it... Dud thought, wiping his mouth. He’s gotten faster. Stronger. He’s breathing different. It’s like... he found a second wind.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he stared at Max, who stood before him, bloodied, bruised, but somehow burning brighter than before.

Is this what people talk about? Dud wondered. That last surge of strength when you’re desperate? When there’s nowhere to run and nothing left to lose... is this what happens?

Because right now, Max looked like someone who had nothing left, except the will to win.

He could see Max charging straight toward him, eyes blazing, steps fierce with purpose.

In that moment, Dud reacted quickly. He reached out and grabbed a nearby chair, hurling it forward with all his might.

Crash!

The wooden frame struck Max mid-run, and part of it clipped his already injured arm. Pain exploded through his body like a jolt of electricity, and he flinched, his momentum stalling for just a second.

But a second was all Dud needed.

Max launched into a kick, aiming low, but Dud was already on the move. He dropped, rolling across the floor in a smooth, instinctual motion. Before Max could land or regain his footing, Dud kicked upward from the ground, his foot smashing directly into Max’s shin.

Crack!

Pain shot through Max’s leg like fire, spreading upward through his entire body. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it. The only option now was to keep pushing forward.

Snarling, Max lifted his foot, going for a stomp to pin Dud down. But Dud was too fast, too agile. His legs whipped in tight arcs, matching Max’s attacks with rapid kicks of his own.

Even though Max had gained a second wind, Dud’s strength was still raw and brutal. He wasn’t down and out, just caught off guard earlier. Now, with that shock wearing off, he was fighting back harder.

As Dud sprang up from the floor, he didn’t hesitate.

He unleashed a flurry of punches, quick, wide, furious.

"You damned brat!" Dud bellowed, swinging his fists from side to side like a storm.

Max moved to dodge, arms coming up instinctively. He managed to block some, evade others, but not all. A few punches slipped through, hammering into his side, right where his broken arm was weak and exposed.

Every hit felt like a drumbeat of failure.

Damn it... damn it! Max screamed in his head. If I had gotten this surge of power earlier, before my arm was shattered, maybe I could’ve handled this. Maybe I could’ve turned the tables. But like this? I don’t know if I can make a comeback at all...

Dud roared again and threw a heavy punch, breaking through Max’s weakened defense and slamming into his one good arm.

Immediately afterward, a powerful kick landed in Max’s ribs, forcing him to stumble backward. He twisted with the impact to absorb the damage, but it still knocked him off balance.

He staggered sideways, completely off center, until his back slammed into the table on the far end of the room.

Max’s breath was ragged. His vision blurred. He felt his energy slipping again, despite the earlier boost. He was in desperation mode now, pure survival.

As he reached out to steady himself on the table, his hand brushed against something.

A bottle.

It rolled off the edge, clattering onto the floor and cracking.

Wait a second... Max’s eyes narrowed as an idea formed in his mind.

Acting on instinct, he grabbed the fallen bottle and smashed it down against the edge of the table.

Shatter!

The top broke clean off, leaving jagged, sharp edges where smooth glass used to be. Max held the neck of the bottle in his hand, the improvised weapon now gleaming dangerously under the dim lights.

He wasn’t the type to rely on weapons in his past life. That wasn’t his style. He had always fought with his fists, always proved himself the hard way.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to use one.

He had grown up in a world where knives were the go-to weapon of choice for people on the streets, cheap, lethal, and easy to hide. You didn’t have to be rich to get your hands on a blade. Just desperate.

Max had been trained not only to survive them, but to beat those who used them.

And the best way to understand how to defend against a knife...

...was to learn how to use one yourself.

He shifted the jagged bottle in his grip, adjusting it like he’d done a hundred times before in back-alley drills.

"There’s one thing..." Max muttered under his breath, his voice steady now. "One thing that can always turn the tide of a fight..."

He raised the broken bottle, the sharp edges catching the light.

"...A weapon."