The deafening roar of the crowd echoed in his ears.
Zane's breath came in sharp, ragged gasps, his chest heaving beneath the strain of his battered body. The crowd roared, a mix of awe and disbelief at the tenacity on display. His vision swam, a haze of pain clouding his thoughts, but he refused to give in. Each drop of blood that fell from his wounds was like fuel for his spirit, igniting something deeper within him.
The opposing fighter, a towering slab of muscle, swayed uneasily in his corner of the octagon, his face set like stone. He realized he had exhausted every ounce of fight within himself, but he believed his opponent was in the same position. However, Zane was far from done. He had nothing left to lose and nothing to go back to at home. Thus, he resolved to go all in.
Even if it was the last thing he did.
As the round was about to commence, the referee scrutinized him, but Zane dismissed him with a wave, as though attempting to divert attention from his battered state.
"I'm not finished yet," Zane growled, his voice hoarse and resolute. Clenching his hands, Zane ignored the pain shooting through his body and clenched his fists ready for the final round.
The referee's nerves were starting to show. He felt an unsettling unease about allowing the fight to continue, but the bribes he had accepted to ensure it went on, no matter the cost, weighed heavily on his mind. Reluctantly, he made his decision—the fight would go on, even if it meant someone could be seriously hurt.
Zane's vision flickered with flashes of memories: his father's gruff words, his coach's looks of encouragement, the long nights of grueling training, the sweat, the pain, the sacrifices. This—this was what it was all for. This moment. This fight. Zane Carter was more than just a man; he has become the manifestation of the indomitable will of mankind.
For the past 25 minutes, Zane had been pushed to the absolute limit. Every punch he threw felt like it drained a piece of his soul, and each kick sent waves of exhaustion through his body. His opponent, the monstrous Alex Pereira—nicknamed "Poatan," meaning "Stone Hands"—was no better off. But Zane's body was fading faster. The toll of this brutal fight had cost him 20 pounds of muscle mass in just 25 minutes, and the blood oozing from the gashes across his face and body left him feeling like an empty vessel.
This was it. The UFC's BMF belt. One of the most coveted prizes in the mixed martial arts world. And he was about to claim it—no matter the cost.
Ding ding! The bell rang for the final round, signaling the continuation of the fight. Zane's movements were sluggish, his body resisting every motion, pleading for rest. Yet, there was one thing he knew with absolute certainty—he would never surrender. Not now, not ever!
He could feel his body shutting down. His heart beat slower with every passing second, each pump a fading drumbeat that threatened to fade into silence.
But then, the bell rang.
With a growl, he pushed off from the cage, his legs like jelly but still carrying him forward, ready to throw whatever he had left into this final round. The crowd screamed his name, and Zane, broken as he was, took the first step of no return.
A final round. Just one more round to prove that he was the best.
Zane dug into every ounce of his willpower, his breath shallow and ragged. With blood dripping down his face and his limbs heavy as lead, he knew this was his final chance. He lunged forward, throwing a desperate haymaker that connected with Pereira's jaw.
Pereira staggered, his eyes wide with shock, but Zane's vision was tunneling. He didn't have the strength to finish this fight. But somehow, in the depths of his soul, he found it—the sheer will to take his last steps.
With his body screaming in pain, Zane drove forward, his knees buckling, his vision spinning, but he managed to twist his body and land a devastating elbow. Pereira dropped, and the referee stepped in, calling the fight.
Zane's slamming heart slammed against his chest as the crowd erupted into deafening applause. His vision blurred as the referee raised his hand. The BMF belt. He had won. But it was too much. His legs gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the canvas. Blood pooled around him, seeping into the fabric of the mat.
With his last breaths, Zane accepted it—the victory, the pain, the exhaustion—everything. Completely drained, his body beyond saving, he let out a primal, guttural roar. A crazed, victorious grin spread across his face as life slowly slipped away from him. It was a strange peace. His body was wrecked, but in that final moment, he felt something else—something almost supernatural.
Then, Zane's eyes shot open. He stood. The roar of the crowd grew louder, but it wasn't coming from the arena. The noise was in his head. His body was no longer lying on the canvas. He wasn't exhausted. He was standing—alive—in a place that felt utterly unfamiliar, almost holy...
Confusion flooded Zane as he glanced around, his eyes widening at the sight of swirling galaxies and titanic clouds of gas—vast formations that are known to only be possible in the far reaches of outer space. Suddenly, unknown alien symbols flickered into existence before him, their meaning clear. The world around him was alive with bright, shifting colors, a place with unlimited potential.
"You've died, Zane," the symbols spelled, raising a brow, Zane started looking for its source, a projector maybe? But nothing was before him.
"This is not the end. Not for you. Not yet." The symbols read.
"What... What is this?" Zane whispered, his voice low.
"This is your second chance. An alternate universe. You'll fight again, but with new rules, new advantages, new abilities," the symbols continued to change. "And this time, you'll do it right. This time, you'll reap you're harvest. A journey meant solely for you."
For you are glorious!
Zane blinked, trying to process. "Second chance?" he repeated, his mind struggling to comprehend. "What do you mean?"
"You'll see," the symbols replied cryptically. "You'll fight again, but stronger. You'll conquer what you couldn't before. The next time, death won't be the end. It'll be your tool."
A rush of understanding swept through Zane, the very air around him hummed with a supernatural energy. He had lost everything just moments ago, but now, in this strange place, he felt something new—power. For someone so in tune with his body, Zane felt the exact moment he changed. He was no longer the man he once was. Now, the only thing left to do was figure out what these powers were—and, more importantly, what they could do.
Zane grinned, that same crazed smile creeping across his face.
He wasn't done yet. Not ever.
With a deep breath, Zane clapped his hands. "Well, let's get on with it, mystery-floating words. Or are you going to keep me here forever, monologuing... no response?" Fine, I'll find my own way out of here. Zane shrugged and took a step forward.
Then, it happened. The universe shifted around him. Instead of gasping in surprise, Zane simply laughed. He had absolute confidence—he'd already died once. What was there to be afraid of?
He was ready to do it all over again—only this time, he wasn't just armed with strength.
He had cheats. He had a plan that boiled down to one thing: wherever the wind took him. And nothing, not even death itself, would stop him now.