In the days following Jazz's rescue, tension coiled tighter around Malachi. He knew Hex was regrouping, wounded pride fueling desperate measures. Marcus intensified Malachi's training, sharpening his lyrical arsenal, preparing him for a brutal final confrontation. Taz provided constant updates, reporting Hex's relentless attempts to rally support.
"Hex is dangerous right now," Marcus warned solemnly. "He's lost face, respect. He'll come at you harder than ever."
Malachi's jaw tightened resolutely. "Let him. I won't stop until that motherfucker's broken."
Marcus nodded grimly. "Be ready. The next battle won't just be lyrical—it'll be psychological warfare."
The city vibrated with anticipation when news broke of an unprecedented showdown at The Coliseum, a vast, abandoned amphitheater infamous for its ruthless rap battles. Malachi arrived early, adrenaline surging, his heart pounding like war drums. The air inside was thick with hostile expectancy, every face shadowed with malice or excitement.
Hex stood waiting, calm yet menacing, the scars of defeat fueling a cruel resolve. He fixed Malachi with a venomous glare. "Tonight, you die publicly, Malachi. No second chances, no mercy."
Malachi stepped forward, unflinching. "You've said that shit before, Hex. Time to put your money where your mouth is, punk-ass bitch."
Hex launched his attack ferociously:
"Malachi, your punk-ass luck runs out tonight,
I'll murder your rep, end your pathetic fight.
Sister barely escaped—next time she won't,
Tonight I bury your ass deep, motherfucker, don't gloat.
You fucked with the king, I'll slit your throat clean,
Tonight's your funeral, bitch, final scene."
The crowd roared wildly, hungry for blood. Malachi retaliated fiercely, voice sharp and deadly:
"Hex, your empty-ass threats just echoing fear,
Your reign collapsing fast, motherfucker, clear.
You playing tough, bitch, but your mask slipping quick,
Tonight your lies unravel, pussy, getting sick.
Threatening family? Bitch, you desperate as fuck,
I'll shatter your throne, motherfucker, tough luck."
Hex's eyes flared angrily as he lunged forward again, desperate and vicious:
"You little half-breed clown, struggling identity,
Tonight your world ends, bitch, harsh reality.
Your mentor's washed-up, your crew weak and scared,
I'll rip your dreams apart, motherfucker, unprepared.
Tonight your downfall public, humiliation sweet,
Malachi Rivers, dead in defeat."
Malachi stood his ground defiantly, words slicing deep:
"Hex, your bullshit played out, rhymes tired and weak,
You hiding behind threats, bitch, afraid to speak.
You attacking my crew? Yours already deserting,
Tonight your pride crushed, motherfucker, it's hurting.
Your dad rotting inside, momma drowning in shame,
Hex, you nothing but a bitch-ass pawn in this game."
Hex staggered visibly, humiliation reddening his face as Malachi stepped closer, relentless:
"You built your empire on fear, lies, and deceit,
Tonight I burn it all down, motherfucker, defeat.
Your crew sees your weakness, Hex, they turning away,
Tonight marks your end, bitch, welcome doomsday."
The crowd exploded in deafening cheers. Hex, broken and furious, stumbled back, eyes blazing with hatred. "You'll regret this, Malachi."
Malachi met his gaze, unwavering. "I regret nothing. You fucked with the wrong one."
Marcus and Taz moved swiftly, flanking Malachi protectively. Marcus's voice was firm. "You've done it, Malachi. But stay vigilant. Hex is cornered and desperate—he won't play by the rules anymore."
Malachi's expression hardened, eyes fierce with resolve. "Let him come. Tonight's battle proved I ain't afraid. He started this war—I'll finish it."