Chapter 18:
The lights in the arena seemed brighter than usual as Jack prepared for his next match. His body was still aching from the bruising quarter-final, and the adrenaline had barely begun to wear off. Yet, standing there, pacing in his corner, he felt something different in the air. It wasn't just another fight. There was a heaviness in his chest that wasn't there before. He couldn't shake it.
Across the cage, his opponent, Nate "The Razor" Brooks, stood leaning against the fence with a smirk on his face, his arms crossed as if he didn't have a care in the world. He was known for his trash-talking and mental games, always looking for a way to get inside his opponent's head before a fight. Jack had seen it before, but he'd never been a target for it—until now.
As the referee called them to the center of the cage, Jack could feel Nate's eyes on him, sizing him up. Jack kept his focus, keeping his breathing steady and ignoring the small taunts Nate threw his way during the referee's instructions. But just as they were about to touch gloves, Nate leaned in, lowering his voice so only Jack could hear.
"I wonder how Ethan felt… when Rico cracked his skull open," Nate said, his grin widening. "Bet you were watching from the stands, huh? Must've been hard, seeing your brother die like that. Bet you could've stopped it if you tried harder."
The words hit Jack like a sledgehammer to the gut. His body went cold, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white beneath the wraps, as his mind flashed back to that horrible night—the night Ethan died. He could see it again: Rico's elbow crashing down, Ethan's body collapsing, the ref waving the fight off as his brother lay motionless in the ring.
"Focus," Jack told himself. "Keep your head clear."
But the anger was already there, bubbling up from the depths of his soul.
The bell rang, signaling the start of the match. Jack launched forward faster than he had in any fight before. He barely registered Lena's voice from the corner, telling him to keep calm, to control the pace. He wasn't thinking anymore. The only thing running through his mind was what Nate had said.
The fight became a blur. Jack's fists flew faster than they ever had. He cornered Nate almost immediately, unloading a flurry of punches and kicks. Each strike landed with a force that surprised even him. His opponent barely had time to react, stumbling back as Jack pressed forward with relentless aggression.
"Come on, Ghost! That all you got?" Nate taunted between grunts of pain, even as blood trickled from his nose.
Jack felt the anger twisting in his chest, tightening with every word Nate spoke. He threw a vicious uppercut, sending Nate sprawling against the cage. Jack followed up with a knee to the ribs that knocked the wind out of Nate. It should have been enough. The ref could have stepped in right there.
But it wasn't enough for Jack.
As Nate tried to recover, Jack rushed him again, grabbing him and slamming him to the mat. He mounted him, raining down punches, his vision narrowing as the rage took over completely. All he could see was Nate's smirking face, all he could hear were those words about Ethan's death, echoing in his mind like a broken record.
Ethan… dead.
Ethan… because of Rico.
Jack's punches grew wilder, more violent. He could hear the crowd screaming, the ref shouting something, but it was all drowned out by the thunderous roar of his own fury. Nate's face was a bloody mess beneath him, but Jack didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not yet.
Then, out of nowhere, hands grabbed him, pulling him away. He struggled, fighting against the grip, but the voices grew clearer now. The ref was pulling him off, his face filled with concern and disbelief. The fight was over—Nate had tapped out, or maybe the ref had stopped it. Jack couldn't even remember. He barely realized what had happened until he was standing in the middle of the cage, breathing hard, covered in sweat and Nate's blood.
He had won. But as he looked down at his opponent, who lay crumpled on the mat, groaning in pain, Jack didn't feel victorious. He felt hollow.
Lena was by his side in an instant, her expression grim as she grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the chaos. "Jack," she said quietly but firmly, her eyes searching his face. "What the hell was that?"
Jack looked away, unable to meet her gaze. His heart was still racing, the anger still there, coiling like a snake inside him, but now it was mixed with something else. Shame. He hadn't fought like himself. He had fought like a man possessed by rage.
"He… he said things about Ethan," Jack muttered, his voice hoarse. "I just—"
"I don't care what he said," Lena interrupted sharply. "You lost control. You could've seriously hurt him, Jack. This isn't why you're here. You're not in this for vengeance, remember? You're supposed to be fighting for peace."
Her words hit Jack like a slap to the face. He knew she was right, but that didn't make it easier to swallow. The entire time he'd been training, he had prided himself on his discipline, his ability to stay calm under pressure. But tonight, he had let it all slip. He had let Nate's words get to him in a way nothing else had before.
"I know," Jack said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just… I don't know what happened. I couldn't stop."
Lena softened slightly, though her disappointment was still evident. "Jack, I understand how hard this is for you. But if you keep letting this anger control you, you'll never find the peace you're looking for. You'll destroy yourself in the process."
Jack hung his head, guilt gnawing at him. He felt raw, exposed. The anger, the grief, everything he had been trying to control for so long—it had all boiled over in a way he hadn't expected. He wasn't sure if he could trust himself anymore.
Lena sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Look, it's not too late. You've come a long way, Jack, but this is where you need to make a choice. Are you going to let your brother's memory push you to violence? Or are you going to honor him by finding peace, the way you've been trying to?"
Jack looked up at her, the weight of her words sinking in. He had spent so long chasing something—justice, closure, revenge. But the lines had blurred somewhere along the way. He wasn't even sure what he was fighting for anymore.
Lena squeezed his shoulder. "This isn't the end. But you need to get your head straight. Rico's still out there. If you go into that fight like you did tonight, you'll lose—not just the fight, but yourself."
Jack nodded slowly, the realization settling in. He couldn't keep fighting like this. He couldn't let his anger define him. If he did, then he would never find the peace he so desperately needed.
"Alright," Jack said finally, his voice steadier now. "I'll get it under control. I promise."
Lena gave him a nod of approval, though there was still a hint of worry in her eyes. "Good. Now get cleaned up. We've still got work to do."
As Jack walked away from the cage, he felt the weight of the night's events pressing down on him. He had come so far, but in some ways, he realized, he still had a long way to go.