Chapter 5

The Devil's Deal

The air in Logan Drake’s office was thick with the scent of stale coffee and something heavier—doubt. His desk, once a battlefield of scattered papers, was now a minefield of unfinished business. Notes were scribbled on scraps of paper, some half-crumpled in frustration, others buried beneath empty coffee cups. A whiteboard, covered in chaotic scrawls, loomed over the room, its red marker ink smudged from Logan’s restless hands.  

Across from him, Grizz leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, chewing on the end of a toothpick. His broad frame settled into the chair with ease, the shadow of his weathered bandana obscuring any hint of emotion on his face.

Against the wall, Colton Hayes stood with his arms folded, one boot braced against the peeling paint. His skeptical gaze flicked between Logan and Grizz, watching like a man waiting for a car wreck to unfold.  

Logan exhaled, pressing his fingertips against his temples. "We’ve got Glenn Sterling. We’ve got you, Colton. Big names. Big personalities. But we’re still missing one marquee name—the name."  

Grizz’s toothpick shifted between his teeth. "What’re you thinking?"  

Logan hesitated for a fraction of a second, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "Elias Rhodes."

Grizz froze mid-sip of his coffee. His jaw tensed as he set the mug down, his expression darkening.

"Titan?" he muttered, his voice edged with disbelief. "Are you outta your damn mind?"

Colton let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "Now I know you’ve lost it, Logan. That’s not just playing with fire—you’re dousing yourself in gasoline."  

Logan didn’t waver. "He’s also the biggest draw in the business. The guy sells out arenas. If we want this tournament to be bigger than big, we need him."  

Grizz leaned forward, his eyes cold. "The kind of guy who’s poison backstage. A walking disaster. Hell, there isn’t a locker room in the country that doesn’t have a Titan meltdown story. He’s trouble, Logan.

And I’m not gettin’ involved in this one."  

Logan held his ground. "I’m not trying to fix him. I just need him for one night. Three fights….max. That’s it."  

Grizz chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "You don’t get it. There is no ‘just one night’ with Titan. The man’s a ticking time bomb. You’re handing him a platform and praying he doesn’t light the fuse."  

Colton finally spoke again, his voice even but firm. "I’ve fought guys like Titan. You think you can control him?" He shook his head. "You can’t. And if he goes rogue, it’s your ass on the line, not his."  

Logan took a slow breath, fingers gripping the edge of the desk. "I hear what you’re both saying. But this isn’t about what’s easy—it’s about what’s necessary. Titan’s name gets people talking. He brings

eyes to this tournament. And that’s exactly what we need."  

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.  

Grizz exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head like a man seeing a wreck before it happened. "You’re hell-bent on this, aren’t ya?"

Logan nodded, though his certainty felt heavier now. "I am."  

Grizz stood, adjusting his jacket with deliberate movements. "Alright, kid. You wanna do this? Fine. But I’m out on this one. I want nothing to do with Titan."  

Logan blinked, his stomach tightening. "Grizz—"  

"No." Grizz’s voice was firm, final. "I’ve done my part, Logan. I put my name on the line for you, made the calls, got you fighters. But this? I can’t stand behind it. If you bring Titan into this, you’re dancing with the devil."

He turned toward the door, his boots thudding heavily against the floorboards.  

Logan’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke. "Grizz, I need you. You’re the one who made this possible."  

Grizz stopped in the doorway but didn’t turn around. His voice, when it came, was quieter, heavier.

"You don’t need me, kid. Not for this. If you’re set on signing Titan, go ahead. But don’t say I didn’t

warn you."

And with that, he walked out.  

The door clicked shut.  

The room felt emptier without him.  

Logan slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. Across the room, Colton finally broke the silence. "You sure about this, Logan?"  

Logan nodded, though the weight on his shoulders felt unbearable now. "I have to be."  

Colton studied him for a beat, then smirked. "Well, at least you’ve got balls."  

Logan let out a dry laugh, but the sound felt hollow. "Let’s hope that’s enough."  

The Monster Awakens

A year.

It had been a full year since Clayton Reed had walked up to Cade Mercer outside that dingy gym, flashing his wolfish grin and spinning promises of glory. Three hundred sixty-five days of relentless training. Of breaking and rebuilding. Of becoming something more.

Cade stood in front of that same gym now, though it hardly felt the same.

Maybe it was because the walls seemed smaller now. Maybe it was because he had become something larger—something that barely fit inside the cage they’d built for him.

He didn’t just look different. He felt different.

Before, he had been a dominant athlete—a powerhouse among wrestlers, a kid with freakish size and natural ability. Now? Now, he was refined steel, hammered into something sharper, something deadlier.

The echoes of punching bags and distant grunts filled the air as he wrapped his knuckles, his hands moving with the practiced ease of a man who had done this a thousand times before. His body—bigger, stronger, more defined—was a reflection of the war he’d put himself through.

And Clayton Reed had been there every step of the way.

Across the room, Clayton leaned against the wall, his suit pristine despite the sweat-stained air. As always, he was smiling—the smile of a man who had placed a winning bet and was watching the payout unfold.

Ethan Carter sat nearby, scrolling through his phone with his usual smug detachment, while Brent Norris stood with his arms crossed, watching Cade with the quiet scrutiny of a craftsman inspecting his best work.

Clayton finally spoke, voice laced with satisfaction.

“Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it? You walking out of this gym, trying to figure out what you wanted. Now look at you—Cade Mercer, the Juggernaut.”

Cade finished taping his wrists before glancing up. “I remember. You told me I was wasting my time.”

Clayton’s grin widened. “And was I wrong?”

Cade didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The last year had been proof enough.

Ethan smirked, leaning forward. “Media’s already calling you the next big thing. Guys are pulling out of fights just to avoid being the first name on your highlight reel.”

Brent nodded. “It’s not just hype. They know what’s coming.”

Cade rolled his shoulders, feeling the weight of the past year settle into his bones.

Clayton stepped forward, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a folded envelope. He handed it to Cade, watching as he opened it.

The first thing Cade saw were the words at the top:

Strike Force Legends: One-Night Tournament.

His eyes scanned the names beneath it. Glenn Sterling. Colton Hayes. Titan. And now—Cade Mercer.

Clayton’s voice was smooth, confident. “You’re in. One night. One tournament. MMA versus pro wrestling. Winner takes half a million.”

Silence stretched between them.

Cade read the names again, jaw tightening. Sterling. Hayes. Titan. These were men with legacies. Men with names that meant something.

And he was supposed to walk in and take everything from them.

Cade released a steady breath, his nostrils flaring slightly, folding the paper carefully before stuffing it into his bag.

“So this is it.”

Clayton placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice dropping slightly, taking on a more fatherly tone. “Not just a debut, Cade. This is your coronation. You’ve spent a year becoming the Juggernaut. Now? Now, it’s time to show the world.”

Ethan leaned back, his smirk never fading. “And let’s be honest, kid. These other guys? They’re yesterday’s news. Titan, Glenn Sterling, Colton Hayes—they’ve been around, sure. But you? You’re the future. All you gotta do is walk in, crush whoever’s in your way, and walk out a legend.”

Brent gave Cade a slow, measured nod. “They’re not ready for you.”

Cade held their gazes, his heartbeat steady. He had changed. He had sharpened himself into something ruthless, something inevitable.

But there was still one question.

“And what happens if I lose?”

For the first time, Clayton stopped smiling.

He stepped closer, his voice softer now, but more dangerous.

“You won’t.”

Cade didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Because the truth was, Clayton wasn’t lying.

Cade Mercer had never been afraid of a fight. But now? Now, he was something else

entirely.

He wasn’t walking into that tournament hoping to win.

He was walking in knowing he would.

Because monsters don’t wait. They take.

The Temptation of the Unknown

The late afternoon sun hung low over the Florida coast, its golden glow spilling across the ocean and into the windows of a high-end beachfront restaurant. Inside, the lively chatter of conversation mixed with the clinking of silverware and the occasional burst of laughter. The place was packed—locals, tourists, businessmen—but one table, cordoned off by a velvet rope, was noticeably isolated from the rest.

At the center of it sat Titan.

He was leaned back in his chair, his massive frame relaxed but unmistakably imposing. A half-eaten steak sat in front of him, alongside a towering stack of empty plates, the remnants of a man who indulged in everything to excess. A tumbler of bourbon rested in his hand, ice clinking softly as he swirled the amber liquid. The World Heavyweight Championship sat on the table next to him—not around his waist, not draped over his shoulder, just sitting there like a trophy on display. A symbol of status.

Waitstaff hovered nearby, throwing nervous glances his way but never approaching unless summoned. Even in a room full of people, Titan was an island.

The front doors swung open, and Logan Drake stepped inside. He was all business—trademark wrinkled suit, loose tie, the look of a man who operated in gray areas. His sharp eyes scanned the restaurant quickly, locking onto Titan. With the confidence of someone who belonged anywhere, Logan brushed past the velvet rope, ignoring the watchful gaze of a nearby waiter.

Titan didn’t look up as Logan approached. Instead, he took a slow sip of bourbon, savoring it. “You’re not a waiter,” he muttered, setting the glass down. “So, either you’ve got my next drink, or you’ve got something worth my time.”

Logan pulled out a chair and sat down, unfazed by Titan’s theatrics. “Elias Rhodes.” He extended a hand. “Logan Drake.”

Titan glanced at the outstretched hand but didn’t take it. Instead, he smirked, lifting his glass again. “So, you know my name. That’s a good start. What do you want?”

Logan dropped his hand, unfazed. “I’m putting together a one-night tournament. Wrestlers versus fighters. No weight classes, no scripts. Just pure competition. The only way to win? Pinfall, knockout or submission.”

Titan exhaled a quiet laugh, finally looking at him. “No scripts?” he repeated, amused. “You’re taking all the fun out of it, Logan.”

“Maybe.” Logan leaned forward slightly, voice steady. “But it also means no one can say your title was handed to you. No one can say you didn’t earn it.”

Titan’s smirk faltered—just for a fraction of a second, but Logan saw it.

He pressed forward.

“You’re the World Heavyweight Champion, right?” Logan’s tone was even, deliberate. “But you and I both know that title doesn’t mean what it used to. It’s not about who’s the best anymore—it’s about who sells the most tickets. Aren’t you tired of being ‘scripted’ as a champion? What if you could prove to the world, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you really are the best?”

The restaurant seemed to quiet around them.

Titan studied him.

The charm, the bravado—it didn’t disappear, but something colder settled beneath it. Logan had touched something real.

Titan leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying this is your shot to shut everyone up. The critics. The wrestlers in the back. The fans who think you can’t do it for real. This is your chance to stand in a ring with fighters, not entertainers, and make them all regret doubting you.”

An uneasy hush filled the room, the offer looming between them like an unmovable force.

Titan exhaled through his nose, reaching for his glass. He took a slow sip, letting Logan wait. Finally, he set the tumbler down and smirked.

“Alright.”

Logan blinked, momentarily surprised by how quickly Titan had agreed. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Titan’s smirk widened. “Hell, I might even let some of your ‘real fighters’ make it to the finals—give the fans a little show before I put ‘em down.”

Logan straightened, adjusting his tie. “Good. Then let’s talk competitors.”

Titan gestured lazily. “Who else have you got?”

Logan leaned forward. “Glenn Sterling. Colton Hayes. And—”

Titan laughed. Loudly. The kind of laugh that turned heads.

“Glenn Sterling and Colton Hayes?” he repeated, shaking his head. “The Golden Boy and Mr. MMA? You’ve got a washed-up prima donna and a meathead who thinks he’s a real fighter.” He tilted his head, grinning. “Is this supposed to impress me?”

Logan didn’t react. He just watched, waiting.

Titan rubbed his chin, still smirking. “You know what? Fine. Sign me up.” He leaned back in his chair, lifting his glass once more. “This is going to be a cakewalk.”

Logan extended his hand again.

This time, Titan took it. His grip was firm, confident.

“Welcome aboard,” Logan said.

Titan’s smirk widened. “Don’t thank me yet.” He took another sip of bourbon. “Just make sure there’s a trophy. I like trophies.”

Logan gave a short nod before standing. He had what he came for. But as he turned to leave, something about the way Titan spoke, the way he had dismissed the competition so easily, left a nagging thought in Logan’s mind.

Titan had agreed quickly.

Too quickly.

As Logan made his way out of the restaurant, he couldn’t help but feel both relieved and uneasy.

Titan was in.

But whether that was a blessing, or a curse remained to be seen.

Signed, Sealed...Stolen

Logan Drake dropped his keys onto the kitchen counter, the metallic clatter echoing in the silence of his apartment. The lingering aroma of burnt coffee and forgotten takeout clung to the room, a testament to the past few days spent buried in negotiations. He should have been elated. He had pulled off the impossible—Titan was signed.

Titan. The most dominant, bankable name in the combat sports world. The kind of signing that could define a promotion, could put this tournament on the map before the first punch was even thrown. Logan had spent months working angles, making the right calls, earning this.

But as he sank onto the worn-out couch and grabbed the remote, the weight in his chest told him something was off.

The email from Victor Blackwell had been short and direct.

Let’s wait until we’re closer to the event to announce. Timing is everything.

Logan had stared at those words for longer than he cared to admit, trying to decipher the logic behind them. He had pitched it perfectly—use Titan’s signing to generate buzz, drive ticket sales, and set the tone for what Strike Force Legends was becoming. It was a win across the board.

So why hold off?

He let out a long breath, switching on the TV, hoping for some background noise to push the lingering frustration away. The screen flickered to life, broadcasting a live press event. A familiar logo filled the screen—one that made his stomach tighten. Peak Media Group.

And then he saw them.

Victor Blackwell. Titan. Shaking hands.

The camera caught every angle, every calculated movement. Titan stood towering, an unstoppable force of nature, his chiseled frame a monument to combat sports dominance. And next to him, standing in his tailored suit, wearing a grin that wasn’t his to wear, was Victor Blackwell.

A microphone was placed in front of Victor, and he delivered the words that cemented the knife in Logan’s back.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my great pleasure to announce that Titan has officially joined the Strike Force Legends tournament. Peak Media Group is committed to delivering the most electrifying competition in combat sports, and bringing in an athlete of Titan’s caliber is just the beginning."

Logan felt his breath hitch. His mind raced.

This was his moment. His signing. His deal. And Victor didn’t even know Titan. Didn’t understand the weight of what he had just taken.

Victor had found a way to take the spotlight for himself.

The words from the email made sense now. Victor had no intention of letting Logan control the narrative. The moment had to be his. Peak Media Group’s.

Logan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped tight. His jaw clenched as Titan shook hands with Victor again, cameras flashing, reporters firing off questions.

This wasn’t just about the announcement.

This was a message.

Victor Blackwell wasn’t just Logan’s boss—he was the man who owned everything.

Including the spotlight.

And if Logan thought for even a second that he was going to be the one shaping the future of SFL, he had just been reminded exactly who was really in charge.

Burn Baby Burn

The steady buzz of the arena pulsed through the backstage hallways, a distant, restless energy that never truly faded. Even here, behind the curtain, Titan could feel it—the murmur of fans waiting, the weight of anticipation heavy like a crown.

But for the first time in his career, he didn’t care.

He walked through the poorly lit corridors with his usual swagger, the World Heavyweight Championship slung over his shoulder, but it felt different tonight. The belt that once felt like an extension of himself now felt like dead weight.

Everywhere he walked, eyes followed him. Wrestlers leaned against walls, taping their wrists, stretching, and whispering. The air around him was heavy with unspoken words.

They knew something was coming.

Titan ignored them. He had a destination.

He stopped in front of a door marked "Promoter – Roy Daniels." He didn’t knock. He never knocked. Instead, he pushed the door open, stepping inside with the same unshakable confidence that had made him the biggest draw in the business.

Roy Daniels sat behind his desk, buried under paperwork, his shirt wrinkled from hours of stress. His office was cluttered—old posters from past events, stacks of unsorted documents, an untouched cup of coffee going cold. Roy looked up, his eyes narrowing as Titan stepped inside.

“Elias,” Roy started, straightening. “What—”

Titan cut him off.

With zero hesitation, he tossed the World Heavyweight Championship onto the desk.

The belt landed with a dull thud, knocking over a stack of papers. Coffee spilled, spreading across contracts and expense reports.

Roy’s jaw tightened. He looked down at the championship, then back up at Titan. “What the hell is this?”

Titan crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. “It’s the belt, Roy. You can keep it. I’m done.”

Silence.

Roy blinked, struggling to process what he had just heard. His hands clenched the arms of his chair. “Done? Done with what?”

Titan shrugged. “All of it.”

Roy’s face reddened. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He shot up from his chair, palms slamming against the desk. “The pay-per-view match against Havok is around the corner. We’ve spent four months building this thing. Four months. Just like you wanted. And now you’re saying you’re out?”

Titan didn’t flinch. “That’s right.”

Roy’s nostrils flared. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, pacing behind his desk. “Elias, do you have any idea what this does to us? To me? We’ve promoted this match everywhere—TV spots, interviews, ads, posters—you are the goddamn main event! You can’t just walk away.”

Titan smirked. “Watch me.”

Roy stared at him, breathing heavily. His frustration was boiling over, but Titan? He was calm. Detached.

“Is this about money?” Roy’s voice was measured now, trying to salvage the situation.

“Because if it is, we can work something out. I’ll get you more.”

Titan shook his head. “Not about money.”

Roy exhaled sharply. “Then what? What’s bigger than headlining the biggest pay-per-view of the year?”

Titan chuckled, shaking his head. “Roy, my legacy doesn’t need cementing. It’s already set in stone. Havok? This company? They’re not on my level. You should be thanking me for carrying this place as long as I did.”

Roy’s hands curled into fists. His voice shook with anger. “You arrogant son of a—” He stopped himself, breathing hard, trying to keep control.

Titan smiled. “Careful, Roy. You don’t want to say something you’ll regret.”

Roy sat back down, gripping the edges of his desk. “You’re gonna regret this, Elias. No one’s gonna want to work with you after this.”

Titan pushed off the doorframe and took a step closer. “You think this is the first bridge I’ve burned, Roy?” He smirked. “It won’t be the last. And let’s be honest—you’ll get over it.

You always do.”

Roy glared at him, shaking his head. “This is why no one trusts you. You pull stunts like this, and you wonder why people call you a backstage cancer.”

Titan grinned. “You say that like I care.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a near whisper. “You know what they also call me? The biggest draw in the business. And that’s all that matters.”

Roy was fuming now. “You’re screwing over everyone, Elias. The fans. The boys in the back. Havok—do you even care?”

Titan paused for a moment. Not long. Just long enough. Then, slowly, deliberately, he tilted his head.

“Nope.”

And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving the championship behind.

The energy of the arena grew as Titan made his way through the backstage halls. The air crackled with anticipation, charged like a live wire. Fans were waiting. The show was still happening. The world was still turning.

But for the first time, he wasn’t part of it.

He passed by wrestlers in the hall—some glaring, others watching in stunned silence. One of them was Havok.

Havok stood just outside the gorilla position, fists clenched, chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths. He looked ready for war. But the moment his eyes met Titan’s, his expression twisted into something else—anger, confusion… betrayal.

Titan smirked, barely slowing his stride. “Sorry, kid. Guess your big moment isn’t happening anymore.”

Havok didn’t speak. Didn’t move. But his eyes burned into Titan as he walked past.

Titan didn’t look back.

The belt was no longer his problem. The match wasn’t his concern.

He had bigger things lined up.

Because for Elias Rhodes, it was never about loyalty. Never about legacy.

It was about being the center of the universe.

And if he had to burn everything down to stay there?

So be it.

The Lone Road Ahead

The night before the tournament, Logan Drake sat alone in his office, bathed in a soft, tired glow, felt more like a cage than a workspace. The quiet felt almost predatory, like something lurking just beyond reach. Colton Hayes was gone—off preparing for the biggest night of his career. Without his presence, the room felt cavernous, every shadow stretching wider, every noise magnified.  

Logan stared at the event card sheet, his tie hanging loose, shirt sleeves rolled up. The once-crisp page was smudged with fingerprints, coffee rings marking the passage of too many sleepless nights.  

Across from him, Grizz sat in his usual chair, cradling a coffee cup that had long since gone cold. He hadn’t said much all evening, just nodded while Logan ran through logistics for the hundredth time. Normally, their silences were comfortable. But tonight, it was different. Tonight, it felt like a goodbye.  

Eventually, Grizz set his mug down and stretched with a sigh. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, slinging it over his shoulder.  

"Welp," he said, as if commenting on the weather. "This is it for me. I’m signing off."

Logan frowned. "Wait—what?"  

Grizz adjusted his bandana. "Yeah. I’m done, kid. Tomorrow’s your big day, but I won’t be there.”

Logan’s chest tightened. "Grizz, what the hell are you talking about?"  

Grizz sighed. "I told you from the start—I’ve been in this business a long time. I know how it goes when suits get involved. Titan, Peak Media, the whole damn circus… You’re dancing with the devil, and I’m too old to watch you burn."  

Logan shot to his feet. "You can’t just walk away now! Not after everything we’ve built!"  

Grizz met his gaze, his face unreadable. "You don’t need me anymore."  

"That’s not true," Logan said, his voice raw.  

Grizz smirked. "Sure it is. You just don’t want to admit it."  

He turned to leave.  

Logan’s voice dropped to a whisper. "I don’t know if I can do this without you."  

Grizz paused in the doorway. He didn’t look back, but his voice was steady. “You don’t need me. You never did."

And then he was gone.  

The silence left behind was suffocating.  

Logan slumped back in his chair, his stomach churning. He reached for his phone just as it buzzed.  

The name on the screen sent a ripple of unease through him.  

Victor Blackwell. 

He hesitated. Then, he opened the message.  

From: Victor Blackwell  

Subject: Tomorrow  

Logan, I won’t be able to attend the event due to prior obligations. However, I’m sending Sebastian to oversee the finer details and ensure everything runs smoothly. 

Good luck tomorrow.  

Victor.  

Logan stared at the screen.  

The words felt less like encouragement and more like a warning.