allendalepharm Page 107
Page 107
The instant they separated, Victor delivered a concealed right uppercut that passed between Radok's arms and slammed into his chin!
Radok's head snapped back, but he managed to throw a counter-attack right hook while staggering.
The boxing glove grazed Viktor's brow bone, leaving an immediate bloodstain.
Blood streamed down Viktor's eyelashes, blurring his vision in his right eye.
Victor shook his head, and salty, fishy liquid splattered onto the boxing ring.
"Damn it..."
Victor cursed under his breath and wiped his eyes with his boxing gloves.
Radok's condition isn't much better either.
His left eye was so swollen he could barely open it, and the corner of his right eye was torn, with blood flowing down his cheek and onto his neck, gleaming a dark red under the spotlight.
But that unsettling smile still lingered on his lips, as if the pain were merely some kind of stimulant.
"Do you like the taste of blood, big guy?"
Radok gasped for breath, his voice sounding as if it were being squeezed from deep within his chest.
Viktor laughed: "I love it! I'm going to take your head off and put it in formaldehyde to admire it!"
But Victor felt his strength begin to decline, and his arms gradually felt as heavy as if they were filled with lead.
But he knew the guy opposite him wasn't much better off—Radock's breathing had become rapid and shallow, and each punch he threw wasn't as sharp as before.
Viktor decided to take a gamble.
He pretended to protect his injured right eye, deliberately exposing his left eye.
As expected, Radok took the bait and unleashed a powerful right hook!
Just as the fist was about to hit, Victor suddenly crouched down, causing Radok's fist to glide past his head.
Losing his balance, Radok staggered forward, and Victor seized the opportunity, delivering a perfect left hook from below, which once again landed precisely on Radok's chin!
Radok's body fell backward like a puppet with its strings cut, but just before hitting the ground, he managed to brace himself with his hands!
The entire audience gasped in shock.
"My God! He refuses to fall!"
The commentator's voice was already hoarse.
Radok knelt on one knee, shook his head, and blood and sweat drew an arc in the air.
The referee begins the countdown: "1...2..."
Radok shoved the referee aside, ignored the referee's advice, and tried to get up.
Viktor stood in the center of the boxing ring, his legs feeling slightly sore.
He couldn't believe that this guy, who was almost 140 pounds lighter than him, could still hold on after being knocked down three times by him.
Radok's eyes were unfocused, but his body seemed to be driven by some kind of instinct. When he counted to '5', he grabbed the rope, struggled to stand up, and then his eyes regained their clarity—Victor seemed to see Rocky, who had taken several punches from him last time and was unharmed.
Are people using cheats in batches these days?
The referee checked Radok's condition and then waved to signal him to leave.
Viktor immediately lunged forward, but Radok suddenly made a nimble sidestep and at the same time delivered a vicious liver punch to Viktor's old wound!
The excruciating pain caused Viktor to bend over, and his vision went black for a moment.
Radok followed up with an uppercut, and Razor came out again. Victor felt a sharp pain in his jaw, and his braces almost flew off.
But Viktor did not fall.
His neck muscles, thicker than his head, absorbed most of the impact, and his chin was stronger than steel.
But Viktor simply took two steps back, leaned against the ropes, shook his head, and regained his senses, grimacing and clenching his mouthguard.
"Iron chin! Viktor's iron chin is truly legendary!"
The commentator exclaimed excitedly, "That's Viktor taking two razor blows head-on now!"
A look of disbelief flashed across Radok's face—his painstakingly mastered technique was countered by a fat man with just three layers of chin armor?
In the instant he was stunned, Viktor suddenly launched a counterattack!
A right straight punch pierced through Radok's defense and landed squarely on his nose!
Although Radok reacted quickly, his long reach provided the answer. Upon contact, blood gushed out immediately, and Radok fell backward. But at the last moment, he grabbed Victor's shoulder, and the two of them fell to the ground in the boxing ring together!
When Victor pressed forward, he punched Radok several times in the abdomen. Radok was unable to exert enough force and was suppressed throughout the entire attack.
The referee quickly separated them and ordered Radok to return to the neutral corner.
Victor also took a few steps back, feeling his breath like red-hot iron rolling in his lungs.
He looked across at Radok, who was trying to stop a nosebleed with trembling hands, while his team frantically pressed ice packs against the back of his neck.
Stand up! You can do it!
Radok's coach roared in his ear.
Radok's gaze gradually focused. He spat out a liquid mixed with blood and saliva and stood up unsteadily.
Viktor also adjusted his breathing, preparing for the final attack.
Just then, the emergency bell rang.
"End of round!"
The referee raised his hands to separate the two.
Viktor glanced at Radok with resentment, then turned and walked to his corner.
His vision was blurred by blood, and his ears were filled with the screams of the audience, but he knew clearly that in the next round, he had to finish off this invincible opponent.
Radok slumped on a stool in the corner, while his team busied themselves like they were treating a wounded soldier.
But when he looked up at Victor across from him, his eyes still burned with an indomitable flame.
"It's not over yet..."
Radok muttered in an almost inaudible voice, "I'm going to be the boxing champion! And it's not over yet!!!"
······
When the bell rang for the fifth round, the air in the entire stadium seemed to freeze.
The dust particles dancing under the spotlight stood still in the air, and the shouts from the audience turned into a buzzing sound.
Victor could hear the throbbing of the veins in his temples, mixed with the creaking of the referee's shoes against the canvas table.
Viktor and Radok dragged their weary bodies to their feet from the corner. Their boxing gloves felt as heavy as lead, but the fighting spirit in their eyes was even more intense than at the start of the match.
Viktor moved his right hand, which was swollen to the size of a bun, and the sharp pain in his knuckles made his mouth twitch involuntarily.
The straight punch that landed on Radok's iron-like forehead almost broke his finger bones—or perhaps they already are.
Sweat mixed with blood drew shocking trails on the boxing ring, forcing the referee to frequently wipe the soaked surface.
When Victor looked down, he saw a dark stain on the canvas—it was Radok's nosebleed from the third round, splattered like ink.
The edges of the bloodstain had dried and turned black, but the center was still sticky and bright red, leaving a long trail as they walked back and forth.
"Move! Move! Don't let him get settled!"
Frankie's hoarse roar came from the corner of the rope. Victor blinked his eyes, which were stinging from sweat, and a bloodshot glint appeared at the edges of his vision.
He felt pain all over his body, but he didn't know exactly where the pain was coming from.
It could be a tear in the intercostal muscles, a contusion in the chest muscles, or simply a burn in the lungs due to lack of oxygen.
He clenched his teeth and tasted the sweat mixed with the rust of copper.
The 300-watt spotlight scorched his back, and sweat crawled like ants on his wounds.
The wound on his triple chin began to bleed again, and warm liquid flowed down his cheekbone to his chest.
Viktor rubbed the leather surface with his boxing gloves, and a patch of crimson immediately spread out.
In the opposite corner, Radok was pressing an ice pack against his brow bone; the three-centimeter-long wound was torn open by his straight punch in the second round.
Viktor noticed that Radok's right hand was trembling slightly—after four rounds of intense attacks, even Razor was starting to lose steam.
"Let's wear him down! He can't handle as much as you!"
Frankie's voice echoed in his ears, encouraging Victor without even knowing what he was saying: "Your fat will turn into heat and absorb his punches. You are invincible!"
Victor patted his round waist, the fat that Frankie cursed every day, now encasing his battered internal organs like a natural shock absorber.
As Viktor took a step forward, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his right leg muscle.
I strained my inner thigh muscle when I fell in the fourth round, and now every movement feels like being cut by a knife.
This battle left too many marks on this body—a broken nose, deformed knuckles, and dislocated ribs.
But at this moment, all these pains became fuel, burning into an inextinguishable flame in his eyes.
Chapter 87 The Decisive Victory in Ten Rounds
Radok launched the first attack, tentatively aiming a jab at Victor's face.
Viktor dodged to the side, smelling the rosin mixed with the stench of blood on his opponent's gauntlets.
Radok immediately followed with a dive, and a left hook came from a tricky angle.
Viktor instinctively bent his arm to block, and with a muffled thud, his forearm bones went numb from the impact.
"Counter now!"
Frankie's roar pierced eardrums.
Taking advantage of the moment Radok retracted his fist, Victor threw a hook at Radok's ribs.
The dull thud of leather hitting muscle elicited gasps from the front-row audience.
Radok grunted, took a half step back, and the beads of sweat he shed traced glistening arcs under the light.
The two engaged in a tense and intense exchange of blows, with Viktor successfully turning the technically skilled Radokora into an ugly physical confrontation—this is common in heavyweight matches, where technique is not the most important factor, and even a knockout cannot completely finish off the opponent.