And somewhere in the ashes, a legend was born. Not of revenge. But of a man who refused to break, for the love of a friend who could not speak.
Behind them, the warehouse burned—taking Garland’s empire with it.
Their fight lasted fifteen minutes. Kham dislocated his own shoulder to escape a lock, then reset it against a wall with a scream. He used the environment—pipes, broken glass, even a burning torch—to finally shatter The Tombstone’s iron will. When the giant fell, the crowd fell silent. on bak 3
Kham stood over him, bleeding, barely breathing. Then he turned, walked to Kohrn, and unchained her with shaking hands. The elephant nuzzled his face, gentle as morning rain.
Kham answered with his fists.
Garland watched, unimpressed. “You still don’t understand. The elephant is already broken.”
What followed was not a fight. It was an execution. Garland was faster, more precise, a master of angles and elbows. He broke Kham’s nose. Cracked his jaw. Three times he knocked him down. The crowd roared for blood. And somewhere in the ashes, a legend was born
“You can’t save the elephant,” Garland sneered, watching Kham from a balcony as chains rattled below. “You can barely save yourself.”