From Bullets To Billions Chapter 630: The Last Resort

A direct hit had sent Max staggering back, sending waves of piercing agony surging across his whole body. Yet he refused to stay down; with a swift tactical roll, he leaped back onto his feet, steadying his stance as he eyed his two adversaries.

"Oh, still standing? I figured an ordinary guy would drop unconscious from a blow like that," Ramon remarked, surprise coloring his tone while he fiddled with his suit's controls.

Max swiped the blood from his nose using the back of his hand, yet he kept a grin plastered on despite the wound.

"Maybe I'm not just your average joe. You see, I've made it this far for good reason," Max retorted, his gaze flicking between the pair of bosses.

Max's Vow held one of the top edges over his teammates' powers due to its broad enhancement style. The rest of the group boasted massive boosts in one key trait—Wolf's mental prowess, Joe's quick recovery, Na's immense power, Stephen's blazing quickness, Darno's unbreakable skeleton—but Max's lacked any narrow specialty.

Rather, his Vow granted him across-the-board upgrades to every stat, as long as he'd raked in plenty of cash. His latest haul had pumped up his toughness immensely, letting him shrug off blows that would've demolished any normal fighter. That said, even with such resilience, he sure didn't plan on eating too many straight shots from that exoskeleton.

"That smile won't last!" Darius bellowed, charging ahead. He unleashed a vicious kick that Max blocked, then Max fired back with a punch right away.

Simultaneously, a fist hurtled at his face from the flank. Max swung to deflect it, but connected only with empty space. Arms now yanked from guard, Ramon pounced on the chance. Closing in fast from close range, he slammed a brutal blow square into Max's stomach at the ideal moment.

All air exploded from his lungs, Max fighting the urge to vomit and double over from the force. Gritting past the excruciating hurt instead, he lashed out with a leg in frantic retaliation. The kick clipped Darius's jaw just enough to make him stagger away.

Max retained impressive speed and packed real punch in his strikes. He understood that any tiny gap meant he had to exploit it fully.

"Two on one... isn't this whole setup kinda low?" Max taunted, grasping for a breath. "I'd buy it from a sleaze like Ramon, dragging his whole crew to jump us, but not you, Darius—a guy who boasts about fair fight tourneys."

This round, Ramon lunged first. Max dropped low, slipping under the attack completely. After those provoking words, he'd half-anticipated Ramon biting first, so his focus sharpened on him.

He drove a tight, penetrating fist in Na's signature heavy manner, smashing Ramon's chest. But no satisfying thud came; a metallic ring echoed instead, fiery pain exploding in his knuckles.

"Body armor under there or what?" Max pondered, his hand pulsing with hurt.

Before retreat, Ramon clamped Max's wrist and hurled him with machine-driven might. Max soared through the air, slamming into nearby chairs and bleachers. Wood splintered and metal buckled beneath him, his frame scraping against the stands' sharp ruins.

Without his superhuman edge, bones would've snapped for sure from that crash.

"I doubt I could take Ramon solo," Max mused while clawing to rise. "Beating both? Near impossible. Smartest play: eliminate one quick, and Darius is the softer mark."

Decision made, Max hauled himself from the shattered bleachers.

"Still kicking!" Ramon shouted. "Perfect. I'm only now figuring out how to sync every part of this exoskeleton together."

Those words sparked a thought in Max to hit Ramon before he synced the suit fully, but since he'd landed real damage on Darius, the Black Hound chief stayed his priority target.

Leaping back to the stage and floor, Max geared up to unleash everything. Arena cameras tracked his every action relentlessly, feeding the battle to the control room.

"That's the full rundown so far," Vivian reported, filling Aron in on the arena chaos from the gym.

It matched Aron's worst fears exactly. Max was getting hammered hard.

"Time's against us, and I won't improve enough today to join his scrap," Aron pondered, gripping his wounded flank. "Only one move left. Been holding this for crises just like now."

With a trembling hand, Aron fished out his phone and dialed Warma.

"Remember our chat? Make it happen," Aron commanded into the device, voice steady against the ache. "Shift every penny of my funds to Max Stern’s account."

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