A Black Belt Champion Picked a Quiet Man for a Fight to Amuse the Crowd — He Smiled: “Are You Sure?”
Chapter 5
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Derek's vision was swimming, his back screaming in pain, but his ego was mortally wounded. The silence of the crowd was a physical weight pressing down on him. He, Derek "The Viper" Lawson, had just been effortlessly dumped on his back by a middle-aged accountant without the man even making a fist.Rage, pure and blinding, eclipsed whatever tactical sense Derek had left. He rolled to his feet, ignoring the referee who was waving his hands to pause the match. Derek let out a furious, animalistic roar and charged at Thomas, abandoning all technique: he lowered his head, swinging wild, heavy haymakers, intending to tackle the older man and beat him into the canvas.Thomas watched the chaotic charge with a flicker of genuine disappointment in his eyes. "I see," Thomas murmured.As Derek lunged, throwing a chaotic right hook, Thomas moved with terrifying precision: he slipped to the outside of the punch, completely avoiding the line of fire. But this time, he didn't just evade. Thomas's left hand struck out like a striking viper, his fingers hooking behind Derek's tricep. At the exact same moment, his right hand chopped upward, the blade of his palm driving precisely into the brachial nerve just below Derek's armpit.Derek let out a sharp, choked gasp as his entire right arm instantly went dead, hanging uselessly at his side like a piece of wet rope.Before Derek could process the sudden paralysis, Thomas had pivoted sharply: he slid his left leg behind Derek's knees, grabbed the back of the champion's collar with his left hand, and drove his right palm firmly into the base of Derek's neck.With a sickeningly smooth application of opposing forces, Thomas folded Derek in half.The champion crashed face-first into the mat, his nose smacking against the blue polyurethane. But Thomas wasn't finished: as Derek hit the floor, Thomas dropped his weight, pinning Derek's left arm against the mat with his knee. Simultaneously, Thomas gathered up Derek's deadened right arm, weaving it behind the champion's back in a complex, agonizing joint lock.Thomas leaned forward, applying just enough pressure to bow Derek's spine backward, locking his shoulder, elbow, and wrist into a singular circuit of excruciating pain.Thomas was barely breathing heavy. He knelt over the reigning champion, his knee buried in the man's ribs, holding him completely immobile.Derek tried to thrash, tried to muscle his way out, but the geometry of the lock was absolute: every millimeter he moved sent a blinding flash of white-hot agony through his shoulder socket."Tap," Thomas said quietly, his voice perfectly steady. "Tap the mat, Derek."Derek ground his teeth, blood trickling from his nose onto the blue canvas. He looked out at the crowd: the frat boys were staring, mouths agape; the vendors had stopped selling; everyone was paralyzed in shock, witnessing the impossible."I said, tap," Thomas repeated, and shifted his weight by a fraction of an inch.Derek let out a strangled, high-pitched scream, his free left hand slapping the mat frantically: smack, smack, smack.The buzzer sounded, loud and jarring, breaking the spell that had fallen over the arena.The buzzer's echo seemed to linger in the rafters—a harsh, electric sound that finally shattered the stunned silence of the Chicago Metro Sports Arena.