The punch had rattled me more than I wanted to admit. My vision was still slightly doubled, jaw throbbing despite Pain Resistance working overtime.

Mark was circling again, that focused expression never wavering. Whatever act he'd been putting on before—the mania, the instability—it had been just that. An act. Bait to make me underestimate him.

And I'd fallen for it.

We clashed again, and I felt the difference immediately. He wasn't just switching combat styles anymore. He was reading my responses, adapting to my patterns, using his Job Switcher title to counter whatever approach I tried.

I went for a boxing combination—he switched to something defensive, absorbed the hits, countered with strikes that forced me back.

I tried grappling—he became a jiu-jitsu specialist, reversing my attempts and nearly getting me into a submission hold.

This wasn't working. I was skilled, yes. Had multiple jobs and integrated portfolios. But Mark's versatility was matching me move for move. I didn't matter how many fighting styles I knew because when attacking only one of them would be used. And if it's ever a one job vs one job scenario then Mark automatically wins since he can always perfectly counter it. Every strike he threw was feeling heavier and I was having trouble going on the offensive, so I focused more of defense while thinking about what to do.

Strategist kicked in, running through options.

Full Profession Sync. The ability that had let me overwhelm Hugo. That made every skill flow together perfectly, turned me into something beyond what any single job could achieve.

But the cost. Twelve hours of disabled System afterward. If I used it and failed—if Mark somehow survived or escaped—I'd be helpless. Vulnerable. A sitting target for whoever came next.

Too risky. Especially when I didn't know if Samuel's forces had secured the building yet.

Scan was also a possible option. I could analyze Mark's current job, see what skills he was using, maybe predict his next move.

But it required focus. Attention diverted from the fight itself. And with Mark switching jobs constantly, any information would be outdated within seconds. Despite how much I wanted to use it, it was a pointless ability in this scenario.

We traded blows again. His elbow caught my ribs—already bruised from the earlier exchange. My counter strike hit his shoulder, but not hard enough to do real damage.

Behind us, muffled through the walls, I could hear ongoing combat. Samuel's forces still engaged with Mark's security. The fortress hadn't fallen yet. I couldn't count on backup arriving in time.

So what? Stall? Try to outlast him until help arrived?

Mark seemed to read my hesitation. "Thinking?" he asked, breathing hard but grinning through bloody teeth. "Calculating? That's your problem, Reynard. You think too much. Strategy. Planning. Always three moves ahead. So tell me Reynard what is your master plan this time? You got the confrontation you wanted, don't tell me you didn't plan your victory? Reynard this is exactly why-"

He lunged, strikes coming faster. "Sometimes you just have to act!"

I defended, blocked, countered when openings appeared. But he was right in a way. I was calculating. Trying to find the optimal solution instead of just committing to one.

Then it hit me. A memory surfacing from practically a year ago. That island that we landed on after our sabotaged plan crashed and we had to fight the government.

Subject 3829.

System Disabler.

The job title that could shut down someone's System entirely if you saw them. Or at least severely weaken it if you knew their general location.

I'd encountered it. Felt its effects firsthand when 3829 had targeted our group. The sudden weakness. The loss of enhanced abilities. The feeling of being normal and vulnerable.

Unfortunately both 3829 and 3830 were dead now. But I'd been there. I'd witnessed the title in action. I'd experienced it.

And I had Temporal Job Copy.

The ability to copy any job title I'd encountered for twenty-four hours.

Mark was still attacking, rambling while he fought. "You think you're better than me? Think your way is superior? You're just scared to admit what we are! What power means! What—"

I stopped defending. Let his next strike through my guard—a calculated sacrifice. The hit rocked me but gave me the split-second I needed.

Temporal Job Copy activated.

[JOB TITLE COPIED: SYSTEM DISABLER]

[DURATION: 24 HOURS]

[EFFECT: TARGET SYSTEM SHUTDOWN/SUPPRESSION]

Mark's next punch was already coming. I looked directly at him—making eye contact, making sure the title registered him as its target.

And activated System Disabler.

The change was immediate.

Mark's punch, which should have had the force of an A-Rank Boxer behind it, hit like a normal human's strike. Still hurt. Still had weight behind it. But the enhancement was gone. Now he felt more like a desperate man than a fighter.

His eyes went wide. "What—"

I didn't give him time to process. Went on full offensive, every combat skill I had flowing together without his enhanced abilities to match them.

Jab. Hook. Each one landing clean because he couldn't dodge with superhuman reflexes anymore.

His blocks were sloppy. Desperate. The kind of defense someone used when they suddenly didn't have System-enhanced perception telling them where hits were coming from. In fact it was safe to say that Mark had never been in a fight without his Job Switcher. I doubt he understood or even knew how to fight without it.

"Do you feel it?" I asked, driving another combination into his guard. "That's normal, Mark. That's what it's like when your System turns off. You never realize when you have your System that without it you truly are just… human."

He tried to counter, tried to switch jobs like he'd been doing all fight. But it didn't work. The title change happened—I could see the moment of recognition in his eyes—but the skills didn't come with it.

"You're not used to this," I continued, pressing the advantage. "Not used to fighting without the System holding your hand. Without enhanced reflexes. Without supernatural endurance. In fact your nothing without your System. A fraud who relies on his trauma and what NovaCore did to you to accomplish his goals."

A kick to his leg buckled him. A strike to his solar plexus folded him over. An uppercut snapped his head back.

He hit the ground hard, scrambled back, blood streaming from his nose and split lip.

But he was laughing.

Not the manic laughter from before. Something darker. More genuine.

"Is that it?" Mark gasped, pushing himself up. "Is that your big move? Turn off my System? Make me fight like a normal person? I expected more from you Reynard"

I advanced, guard up, ready to finish this.

"You think this hurts?" Mark continued, wiping blood from his face. "You think this is pain? Reynard, I was tortured for years. Experiments. Tests. Things Hugo did to see what would break me. What wouldn't. This?" He gestured at his battered body. "This is nothing. At least grab a taser or something to make the pain more noticeable."

I hit him again. Clean shot to the jaw.

He laughed through it. Spat blood. Kept talking.

"You can't hurt me worse than they already did. Can't break me. Can't make me feel anything I haven't already felt ten times worse."

Another combination. Ribs. Face. Kidneys. Professional targeting meant to incapacitate.

Mark took it all. Fell to one knee. Looked up at me with that scarred face and those eyes that had gone somewhere beyond pain. It's like he was getting high off his own adrenaline. His pupils dilated, his breathing became erratic and his smile felt incredibly forced. Like he was forcefully pulling his muscles to keep it in shape regardless of what his body wanted.

"Do your worst," he said. "Beat me to death if you want. I've been dead inside since they made me. Since Hugo decided I was worth experimenting on. This is just…" He laughed again. "This is just finishing what he started."

I kept hitting him. Controlled strikes. Professional violence meant to end the fight without killing him if possible.

But Mark wouldn't stay down. Kept pushing himself up. Kept taking hits. Kept laughing that broken laugh.

Eventually, though, biology would win. Even someone as mentally damaged as Mark couldn't stay conscious forever under this kind of punishment.

He'd pass out. Had to. The body would shut down to protect itself from further trauma. Even the toughest of men eventually fall.

I just needed to keep going until that happened.

So I did.

Hit after hit. Mark's defenses getting weaker. His laughter quieter. His body shutting down piece by piece despite his broken mind refusing to quit. There would be tiny bursts where his emotions would heighten, his body would try to fight back before being shut down instantly. After all that exactly what they were 'tiny bursts'. Nothing more and nothing less.

Eventually, I thought grimly, maintaining the assault. Eventually you'll pass out. And that's all that matters.