Chapter 76 - Chapter 75 – The Monster Is About to Be Released

The team at the Saints Laboratory had grown accustomed to extraordinary sights, but nothing prepared them for what happened that morning. It was supposed to be a routine strength-testing session. Instead, it became a moment that left even the most jaded veterans staring in disbelief.Yogan walked toward the platform, chalk dust drifting from his palms like white smoke. The barbell waiting for him was already loaded with plates until it bent slightly at the ends: one hundred and ninety kilograms. For a professional mixed martial artist, that number alone was eye-popping. He wasn't a specialist powerlifter, and yet he moved like one—only faster, more explosive. Everyone in the room knew how rare it was to combine that much raw power with the kind of speed that had made Yogan famous.He crouched, set his grip, and began to pull. Slowly but smoothly the bar rose from the floor. His back muscles, rock-hard and deeply etched, seemed to swell and tighten like coiled springs. One rep, two, three—each executed with perfect form, the plates clinking softly at the top. He lowered the bar with the same control, eyes calm, as if this feat were nothing special.Daniel "DC" Cormier, himself a former Olympic wrestler and known for his prodigious strength, stopped mid-conversation. His usual easy smile faded into open astonishment. DC weighed more than 250 pounds in the off-season, yet even he felt dwarfed by the power on display.> "Oh my God… Yogan!" DC blurted, circling him twice as though inspecting an alien specimen. "You're not eating chicken breast—you're eating nuclear fuel, right? Your strength is on the level of a top-tier cruiserweight boxer! If Anjos tries to match you pound for pound, it's practically suicide!"Yogan simply smiled, wiped his hands, and rolled his shoulders. He could feel it in his own body—the difference wasn't just numbers on a bar. His speed hadn't dropped as his weight rose; if anything, his strikes had become more explosive, his footwork sharper, his torso and legs generating a new kind of torque. Every punch he threw now carried a penetrating force that made heavy bags sound like muffled cannon fire."How terrifying," one coach whispered under his breath, "will Yogan be when he doesn't have to starve and dehydrate himself, when strength, speed, and stamina all line up in perfect balance?"That question lingered in the air like an electrical charge. Every member of AKA felt it: the sense that a new creature was taking shape before their eyes. A monster they had built but perhaps could not fully comprehend. And in less than two weeks, that monster would be unleashed in Las Vegas.---Countdown to Las VegasWith eleven days left before UFC 196, the city was already vibrating like a live wire. The desert sun beat down on glittering hotels, neon signs flickered against an endless sky, and the streets pulsed with high-stakes gamblers and fight fans from around the world. Tension hung over the Strip, a mixture of dry heat, adrenaline, and rumor.To stoke the final flames, the UFC scheduled its last major pre-fight press conference at the T-Mobile Arena. By mid-afternoon the venue was packed wall to wall with cameras, journalists, and celebrities. The four names everyone was talking about—Yogan, Rafael dos Anjos, Conor McGregor, and Nate Diaz—would appear on the same stage for the first time. The air crackled before they even walked out.As soon as the fighters sat down, natural rivalries erupted. Conor and Diaz launched into their trademark routine—middle-finger salutes, barbed jokes, and theatrics so over-the-top they almost eclipsed the two men actually scheduled to headline. Anjos tried to maintain a champion's composure but Conor's jabs found their mark, and soon they were locked in a heated exchange that had security shifting nervously at the edges of the stage.The press conference teetered between comedy and chaos. Questions were shouted, insults traded, flashbulbs popped. Through it all Yogan sat like a silent mountain. He wasn't indifferent—his eyes were alive, almost playful—but he watched the circus with the detached focus of a chess player studying his opponents' openings. A king at court, amused by the antics of jesters.No one guessed how quickly the stage would change.---An Earthquake in the Fight WorldOne day after the chaotic yet carefully scripted press event, the entire MMA world was rocked by news that felt like a magnitude-eight earthquake. TMZ Sports broke the story first; minutes later the UFC issued a grim confirmation. Lightweight champion Rafael dos Anjos had suffered a freak accident during a wrestling drill at the Kings MMA gym. He had slipped on a sweat-slick mat, twisting his foot and fracturing the fifth metatarsal bone on his left foot.Nevada State Athletic Commission doctors examined him and concluded he would need at least six weeks of rest and rehabilitation. The champion had no choice but to withdraw from UFC 196.The announcement detonated across social media. Fans who had already booked flights and hotel rooms for Las Vegas flooded comment sections with disbelief and anger. Memes spread, hashtags trended, podcasts erupted with speculation. The fight of the century—a main event promoted worldwide at the cost of tens of millions—was gone, just eleven days before showtime.Inside UFC headquarters, chaos reigned. Dana White was reportedly so furious he knocked over an expensive mahogany desk in his office. Staff down the hall heard him roaring:> "Damn! Damn! Damn! Find me a replacement—now! Every lightweight in the world, I don't care! Call them all!"Matchmakers Joe Silva and Sean Shelby scrambled, phones glued to their ears, working through every ranked fighter on the roster. But the list was grim: injuries, recent fights, incomplete weight cuts—no one seemed ready to step in on such short notice.---Desperation Breeds an IdeaDana White paced like a caged animal. The biggest card of the year was collapsing in his hands. Then, almost as if a lightbulb flicked on, he stopped and barked into the phone:> "Call Conor's team! Tell them the opportunity for revenge has arrived! Right here in Las Vegas! Yogan versus Conor rematch! This fight will break every PPV record we've ever had!"For a heartbeat the room fell silent. Everyone understood instantly: if such a fight could be booked, it would dwarf the original main event in hype and revenue. A rematch between Yogan and the sport's biggest star—unthinkable, irresistible.Calls were made. Negotiations began. But an hour later the answer came back like ice water poured over Dana White's head. Conor's manager, Audie Attar, spoke politely but firmly:> "Conor is eager for a rematch with Yogan, but it needs to be a well-prepared, perfect fight. He will not accept a rushed bout with only ten days of preparation. That would be unfair to Conor, to Yogan, and to the fans who deserve a true event. We look forward to launching the fight of the century with full preparation in a few months."Dana slammed the receiver down, knuckles white. She knew it was an excuse. Conor's camp had not forgotten the devastating knockout Yogan had delivered last time. They would never risk stepping into the Octagon again without months to prepare for the storm he had become.Time bled away. The main event of UFC 196 teetered on the edge of cancellation. Ticket holders demanded answers. Broadcasters called hourly. The UFC war room felt like a sinking ship.---The Stockton CallThen, as despair thickened, Joe Silva blurted out:> "Dana—what about that crazy guy from Stockton? Nate Diaz? Hasn't he been running his mouth on social media all week?"Dana's eyes lit up. Of course. Diaz, the perpetual outsider, the fighter who had taunted Yogan during the global conference call, the man whose name alone stirred controversy. If anyone would take a fight on absurdly short notice, it was Nate Diaz.Within minutes a call went out. Somewhere off the coast of Mexico, Diaz was sprawled on the deck of a yacht in Cabo San Lucas, sipping tequila under the sun. He answered lazily, speakerphone crackling with gulls and waves.> "Who am I fighting?" he drawled."Yogan? Okay. How much?"And just like that, the monster Yogan had been forging in secret would meet the sport's most unpredictable brawler on the grandest stage possible. What had begun as a routine strength test in a lab had turned into a storm barreling toward Las Vegas. Eleven days to go.The monster was about to be released.---