The moment Mark’s words left his mouth, Daniel vanished again—his body a blur of motion, wind rippling around him. This time, Mark didn’t wait for the attack to come to him.

  Instead of staying on the defensive, he let his shadows expand, stretching across the ring like creeping tendrils, feeling for movement, searching for a pattern. Daniel was fast, but speed meant nothing if Mark knew where he would be before he got there.

  A shift in the air. A whisper of pressure.

  Left.

  Mark reacted instantly, twisting his body as Daniel’s fist skimmed past his ribs—a near miss. This time, Mark didn’t just dodge.

  He countered.

  A shadow tendril lashed out from his feet, aiming to trip Daniel mid-dash. The sudden obstacle forced Daniel to adjust, his foot catching for just a fraction of a second—but that was all Mark needed.

  He lunged forward, shadows coiling around his arms, forming solid gauntlets as he threw a precise, heavy strike.

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  Daniel barely twisted out of the way, his grin flickering for the first time. “Well, well. You have been training.”

  Mark didn’t respond. He wasn’t thinking anymore.

  He was moving.

  Daniel came again—a flurry of strikes, his wind-based acceleration making his movements nearly impossible to track. Mark’s eyes flicked between them, predicting, reading the flow.

  Right.

  Left.

  Sidestep.

  Strike.

  Their movements blurred together—Daniel, a storm of speed; Mark, a relentless force of control.

  And then…

  The mistake.

  It wasn’t anything big. Just a second—a fraction of hesitation.

  For the briefest moment, Mark’s focus wavered. Maybe it was overconfidence. Maybe it was something else.

  But in that split second, Daniel capitalized.

  A sharp gust of wind slammed into Mark’s gut, knocking the breath from his lungs. Before he could recover, Daniel was already behind him, his next strike sweeping his legs from beneath him.

  Mark hit the ground hard, shadows unraveling as the match-ending chime rang through the air.

  Match Over. Victor: Daniel Gale.

  Daniel stood over him, breath steady, hands on his hips. “Aaaand that’s why you don’t get cocky.”

  Mark groaned, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah...”

  Daniel offered him a hand, still grinning. “Gotta say, though… you almost had me.”

  Mark hesitated, then took the hand.

  Almost.

  But almost wasn’t good enough.