IMPERIUM:Earth’s Champion

Bakari charged.

Orion could barely move. His lungs burned, his vision blurred at the edges. His body felt heavy, dragged down by the sheer weight of reality pushing back.

He had pushed Imperium to its limit.

He was seconds away from collapsing.

And Bakari knew it.

The Nigerian champion was faster now. His body had adjusted, learned the way Orion fought. He was no longer second-guessing.

He was moving with certainty.

And his next punch—

Orion knew it would be the last.

A fist like a meteor, coming straight for him.

There was no time to dodge.

No time to think.

So Orion did the only thing he could.

He cheated reality one last time.

Instead of dodging, Orion reached into existence itself and pulled—

Not to erase.

But to rewrite.

The hit landed.

Orion felt the sheer, crushing power of it—felt his ribs crack under the force, his body nearly folding from the impact.

But he wasn't thrown back.

Because he had erased the moment where he would have been sent flying.

Bakari had punched him with everything.

And nothing happened.

For the first time, the Nigerian hesitated.

His brow furrowed. "What—"

Orion moved.

In that single, perfect moment—

While Bakari's body was still recovering from the force of a punch that never landed correctly—

Orion grabbed the fabric of the fight itself.

And tore it apart.

The ground beneath Bakari's feet vanished for half a second.

He stumbled—his stance, his momentum, all of it collapsed at once.

Orion forced himself forward, despite his body screaming in protest.

He grabbed Bakari by the shoulder—

And erased the moment where he was still standing.

Bakari fell.

It wasn't a stumble. It wasn't a misstep.

It was a complete, absolute break in motion.

His body didn't even have time to react.

And in that instant—

Orion brought his fist down.

Straight into Bakari's temple.

A single, brutal impact.

The Nigerian's eyes flickered. His body twitched—

Then he collapsed.

The moment Bakari hit the ground, the world stilled.

Orion's breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. His vision swam.

Then—

The Voice spoke.

"Victor: Orion Graves."

The words echoed across the arena, searing into the air like an undeniable truth.

Orion barely had time to process it—

Before the world blinked.

Fort Eisenhower – The Moment After

Orion blinked.

One moment, he was standing in the middle of that cracked, sun-scorched battlefield, aching, exhausted, victorious.

The next—

He was back.

Back in the cold, fluorescent-lit halls of Fort Eisenhower.

No transition. No warning. Just a sudden, instant shift.

And the very first thing he heard?

"Graves!"

Monroe's voice, sharp and urgent.

He barely had time to process before she was in front of him, gripping his shoulder, scanning him with narrowed eyes.

"You good?" she asked.

Orion exhaled, his chest still burning from the fight. "Been better."

Monroe didn't look satisfied. She gave him a once-over, checking for injuries. "You don't look like you're dying. That's something."

"Gee, thanks," Orion muttered.

Then—a sudden rush of footsteps.

A flood of agents, strategists, military officials.

The moment they saw him, the room exploded.

"Graves, can you confirm your status?"

"Did the fight take place in another dimension?"

"How does it feel to win a match in the tournament?"

Orion barely had time to register the avalanche of voices before Monroe shoved a hand forward, stopping them.

"Back off," she snapped. "Give him a second."

The crowd halted.

Orion let out a slow breath, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. His whole body still ached—but at least he wasn't dead.

Then he noticed Agent Carter approaching, his face unreadable.

"Graves," Carter said, calm as ever. "Congratulations."

Orion exhaled. "Yeah, thanks. Can I get a bed and maybe, I don't know, ten hours of sleep?"

Carter's lips twitched slightly. "Unfortunately, no. We need to debrief immediately."

Orion groaned. "God, I hate it here."

Monroe smirked. "Get used to it, superstar."

Orion blinked. Superstar?

Then Carter confirmed it.

"Your identity has been disclosed to the public," he said simply.

Orion's stomach dropped.

"…What?"

Carter folded his hands behind his back. "The moment your fight was broadcast, your name was revealed. The entire world knows who you are now, Orion."

Silence.

Monroe tilted her head. "You didn't really think The Voice would keep you anonymous, did you?"

Orion clenched his jaw.

He had been so focused on the fight, on surviving, that he hadn't thought about what happened next.

And now?

Now he was a celebrity.

-United States – Media Frenzy

The internet had exploded.

Every major news network was covering his victory.

BREAKING NEWS: ORION GRAVES – THE AMERICAN CHAMPION

"THE KID WHO BENDS REALITY": ORION GRAVES' FIRST WIN IN THE TOURNAMENT

WHO IS ORION GRAVES? THE TEENAGER REPRESENTING THE U.S.

Social media was on fire.

@fightanalysis: Orion Graves just went up against a guy who could one-punch a tank and survived. What the hell is this tournament?!

@worldwatch: Bro just decided physics doesn't exist.

@gravesfanclub (already created): Orion Graves = best champion. He's gonna take this all the way.

And outside?

People were already gathering.

-New York, D.C., everywhere.

Some chanting his name. Some protesting. Some just staring at the sky, trying to make sense of it all.

Orion Graves wasn't just a fighter anymore.

He was a symbol.

Fort Eisenhower – Reality Sinks In

Orion leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples.

"So let me get this straight," he said, exhaling sharply. "I win one fight, and now I'm basically a household name?"

Carter nodded. "Correct."

Orion groaned.

Monroe smirked. "Enjoying the attention?"

"Oh, yeah. This is exactly what I wanted," Orion muttered.

Carter continued. "It's not just fame, Graves. Your role in this tournament makes you a national asset. The government is fully invested in your success now."

Orion raised an eyebrow. "'National asset?' That sounds like another way of saying government property."

Carter gave him a look. "It means you'll have resources. Protection. Funding."

Orion tilted his head.

Then something clicked.

The U.S. wanted him to win.

They were treating him like an investment.

And if that was the case…

"Alright," Orion said, sitting up. "Then we need to talk terms."

Carter blinked. "Terms?"

Orion grinned. "You want me to fight for the U.S.? Then let's make it official. I want a contract."

Monroe raised an eyebrow. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious." Orion folded his arms. "You're asking me to risk my life. The least you can do is make it worth it."

Carter studied him.

Then—he nodded. "Alright, Graves. Let's talk."

Over the next hour, Orion laid out his terms.

First, money. If the U.S. wanted him to put his life on the line, they were going to pay for it. And not some government salary—millions. He wasn't here to be used like a disposable soldier. If he was going to be their champion, he was going to be compensated accordingly.

Second, protection. His family, his friends—everyone he cared about. No threats, no risks, no 'leverage' being used against him. If they expected him to fight, they guaranteed their safety.

Third, autonomy. He wasn't going to be owned. No orders, no handlers dictating his every move. He wasn't a soldier—he was a player in this game, and he would play on his own terms.

Finally, resources. If he was going to win, he needed everything—top-tier training, private facilities, access to specialists, whatever it took to push Imperium to the next level.

When he finished, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

Carter studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded. "I'll take this up the chain. Expect a response soon."

Monroe whistled. "Damn. Kid walks out of one fight and starts making demands like a CEO."

Orion smirked. "Hey, if I'm fighting for this country, I might as well get something out of it."

14 Days Until the Next Fight

The negotiations weren't finalized yet, but that didn't matter. Training had to resume.

For the next two weeks, Orion threw himself into it.

His body was healing, but his power was evolving.

Each time he pushed past his previous limit, he felt something unlock.

Small changes were becoming effortless.

What had drained him before barely affected him now.

And every time he got stronger, he started to feel it—the beginnings of something far greater than what he had first believed possible.

This tournament wasn't just about winning.

It was about becoming something more.

And when the next fight came?

He'd be ready.