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when Segura reached out and grabbed her by the hair. The Executioner was grinning, as if he intended to make the second Tyrant Girl an offering to a crowd just starting to realize that things had veered off-script.
    Segura yanked Tess toward him, twisting his hand to aim her face upward for the lights. He paid Michael no heed whatsoever, so his attack caught the giant utterly by surprise.
    Holding the Tyrant girl by the hair had left Segura’s arm bent awkwardly at the elbow, a weakness Michael exploited by looping in and around him. He clamped his right hand on the giant’s wrist while jamming his left hand directly under Segura’s elbow.
    Then pushed down with his right.
    And up with his left.
    Segura’s arm snapping at the elbow was as loud as a gunshot. His fingers jerked open, and Michael seized the opportunity to shove Tess protectively behind him.
    The crowd roared its appreciation, loving the show, the spectacle.
    Segura’s eyes had filled with uncertainty, trepidation even, sweat coiling across his upper lip. The sensation of potential defeat, of being hurt the way he had hurt so many others, unsettled him to the point where Michael thought for a moment he might yield, give up the effort, then and there.
    But just a moment.
    Because the giant’s eyes found Michael in their grasp and bulged with rage. The pain in his shattered elbow joint must’ve struck him in that very moment because he uttered an inhuman wail as he lurched across the ring. Michael left himself positioned to shield the second Tyrant girl, placing him at an odd angle to mount a defense. Still, he was able to deftly duck under a blow from Segura’s good arm, never anticipating the blow from the giant’s injured arm that followed immediately. It smashed Michael in the right shoulder, stunning him as he whirled away.
    The crowd uttered a collective gasp, more murmurs rising through the clutter of faces continuing to grasp this wasn’t a show at all.
    Michael felt a stinging burst of pain and then a stiff numbness that made his arm drop like a lead weight hanging from his shoulder. The sense of it being detached from his body was no more than an illusion he fought through, aware that Segura was stalking him across the ring. Bouncing up and down on bare feet with both good arm and bad, incredibly, held up in a punching position. Rage filled his eyes and in that instant Michael understood all too well how Segura had managed to remain undefeated through so many bouts. There was something feral in his gaze that unleashed itself in the ring. Segura couldn’t bear not to emerge the clear and dominant victor, even in a charity exhibition, unable to separate that out in the part of his brain that rendered him invincible in a title contest.
    Michael moved about the ring in rhythm with the giant, shadowing his motions, dimly aware of the frames of Segura’s entourage crumpling in Alexander’s wake. Alexander now fighting to open the cage door still pinned by Kim’s unconscious form. Beyond that, the dim lighting in the arena beyond turned the sea of faces into an endless mishmash of indiscernible features lost in a swirl of emotions.
    Michael twisted away from a high snap kick that managed to clip his ear, stinging him with pain anew. A kick for the knee from the giant’s other leg followed which Michael deflected. Segura followed up with a wild series of roundhouse blows Michael first parried, then countered with a quick flurry of strikes among feigned kicks to lure the giant to defend his lower half, shrinking his size in the process. The next moment found Michael behind the giant, lashing a kick to the back of his right knee, buckling it and then missing with a follow-up blow when Segura leaped into the air, spinning round to face him anew when he landed. He carried his broken arm stiff by his side, flexing the fingers to keep the blood flowing, and ready somehow to use it again if necessary.
    Michael