CHAPTER 764: CHAPTER 764: THE MARGIN OF EFFORT

Damon prepped Elias like he was about to walk into a warzone.

He didn’t sugarcoat anything. This wasn’t about motivation.

This was about details. Elias was about to face Thami Zulu, a fighter who didn’t care how pretty your technique was if he could crash right through it.

"You’re not fighting a tactician," Damon said, taping Elias’s wrists himself. "You’re fighting a man who will keep swinging until someone breaks."

Elias nodded, calm as ever. He didn’t talk much before fights.

That wasn’t his way. His strength was in control, in the fact that he didn’t need to hype himself up. His mind stayed clear, even when everything else got loud.

Damon leaned in. "Zulu’s going to charge. He’s going to brawl. You’re going to feel his weight every time he makes contact. That’s his game. He wants you to trade. He wants you off balance."

"I won’t trade," Elias said, adjusting his gloves. "I’ll make him chase."

"That’s it," Damon said. "You don’t get points for being brave. You get points for being precise. Punish him every time he overcommits."

The rest of the team watched from the edges of the prep area.

Ronny was still cooling down from his victory, wrapped in towels and half-smiling at the monitor showing replays.

But even he looked over now and then. Everyone knew Zulu was different.

This fight wasn’t about dominance. It was about margin.

Elias didn’t have to win every moment. He just had to win the ones that mattered most.

Damon kept the final instructions short.

"No ego. Just read him. And when he swings wide, make it cost him."

Elias bumped fists with Damon, then turned for the tunnel.

The horn would sound soon, and when it did, chaos would meet structure.

Both fighters entered the cage with sharp focus, each absorbing the noise in their own way.

Thami Zulu walked with a cold expression, his chest rising with every step.

He didn’t look at the cameras, didn’t smile. His focus was fixed on the cage, and nothing else.

Behind him, Ivan’s team cheered in their native tongues, a mix of pride and pressure in their voices.

Zulu bounced on his toes, then stepped forward and slapped his chest once as he entered.

It wasn’t for show, it was routine. It was readiness. His hands stayed loose, but his shoulders were tense.

Every part of him looked like it was built to crash forward and break whatever stood in front of him.

Elias Murad was the opposite.

He walked in smooth, calm, and focused. He didn’t break stride, didn’t rush his entrance.

Where Zulu had tension, Elias had control. He looked at the cage like it was a familiar space, like he’d been visualizing this moment a hundred times already.

His team shouted support, but he didn’t react to them. His eyes were already on Zulu.

They took their corners as the referee stepped in to issue the final instructions.

Zulu paced side to side, eyes locked, breathing through his nose. Elias stood still, hands on his hips, watching every movement, already calculating.

The referee stepped forward and signaled both fighters to approach the center.

Elias and Zulu moved in, eyes locked from the first step.

"Alright gentlemen," the referee began, holding a firm tone to cut through the noise outside the cage. "You both know the rules. Protect yourselves at all times. Listen to my commands at all times. If I say stop, you stop. Clean fight, no cheap shots, no knees to the head of a grounded opponent. You touch gloves now if you want."

Neither man moved.

They just stared.

Zulu stood with his shoulders rolled forward, chin slightly tucked, his mouthpiece already in place.

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t blink. His arms were relaxed, but everything about him said power and pressure.

Elias didn’t flinch either. He had one hand behind his back, the other loose near his waist.

His breathing was steady. Calm. His posture was clean, balanced. His eyes never drifted.

They didn’t touch gloves.

Zulu took one step back first.

Elias didn’t move until the referee gestured to return to their corners.

The tension didn’t break. It only settled deeper in the cage. Two different energies. One boiling. One quiet.

The ref looked at both corners, raised a hand—

"Let’s fight!"

The horn sounded.

The moment the horn rang, Zulu surged forward.

Not with a jab or with a slow feel-out.

He bounded.

His footwork was wild but purposeful, like someone sprinting toward a door already halfway open.

His shoulders twitched, his head bounced side to side, and his hands stayed low, taunting Elias into panic reactions.

Elias didn’t panic.

He took a quick step back, raised his guard, and circled out as Zulu feinted a flying knee and instead came in with a wide overhand that barely missed.

The crowd immediately reacted.

Zulu looked like chaos, but every strike had weight behind it. He faked another hook and threw a spinning back kick that clipped Elias’s arm.

"Fast," Elias muttered under his breath. But not unpredictable.

He kept his base. Stayed upright. Watched for habits.

Zulu pressed again.

He switched stances mid-stride, threw a front kick with the right, then lunged with a corkscrew left straight that connected to Elias’s cheek.

Elias slid with the blow, rolled with it, and immediately fired a sharp low kick on the exit.

Thud.

Zulu grinned.

He charged again, this time throwing elbows from odd angles. A right vertical elbow followed by a body jab, then a quick level change as if he might wrestle. He didn’t.

Instead, he uppercutted from the hip like a street fighter.

Elias blocked the first. Slipped the second. Landed a knee as Zulu came in wild.

Zulu ate it and laughed.

He threw a heavy hook to the body, then another to the head. Elias caught the arm, clinched, and turned him into the cage.

But before he could set anything up, Zulu exploded out of it with a shoulder bump and a hammerfist on the break.

Elias covered up and stepped back to regain distance.

Zulu wouldn’t let him.

He launched a side kick that blasted against Elias’s ribs, then sprinted forward, jumping with a knee that barely missed and smashed into the cage instead.

It looked reckless.