The month of training had been brutal. Aryan had pushed his body beyond its limits, muscles burning, lungs aching, fists bruised. Master Kael was relentless, ensuring that every strike Aryan threw carried purpose, that every dodge was precise. Rohan trained alongside him, though he was already a seasoned fighter. The two had grown stronger, but Aryan knew it still wasn’t enough. If he wanted to survive what was coming, he had to be much more than strong—he had to be ruthless.

As the days passed, something within Aryan began to shift. His reflexes sharpened, his stamina increased, and his instincts became animalistic. There were moments when his vision blurred, and for a brief second, he felt like he was in another place—another version of himself fighting battles he didn’t remember. He shook it off, focusing only on what was ahead.

The Day of the Underground Tournament

The night air was thick with anticipation as Aryan and Rohan made their way through the dimly lit alleyways of the city. The location of the underground tournament changed every few months to avoid law enforcement, but Rohan had the right connections to find it. They arrived at a rusted iron door, guarded by two massive men with scarred faces.

Rohan turned to Aryan. “Whatever happens in there, keep your face hidden. If anyone finds out who we are, it could get bad—real bad.”

Aryan nodded and pulled the mask over his face. The black fabric covered everything but his eyes, making him feel like a ghost. Rohan did the same, adjusting his mask before stepping forward.

The guards looked them up and down before speaking. “Names?”

“Ghost,” Rohan answered, his voice deeper than usual.

Aryan hesitated before replying, “Shade.”

The guards exchanged glances and then stepped aside. The door creaked open, revealing a narrow stairway that led underground. The moment they descended, Aryan felt the energy shift.

The underground arena was nothing short of chaos.

People lined the walls, shouting, placing bets, laughing as blood stained the floor. Fighters warmed up in the corners, wrapping their fists, stretching, shadowboxing. The scent of sweat, alcohol, and iron filled the air. Above them, a massive screen displayed names of the fighters, their odds, and upcoming matches.

“This place is insane,” Aryan muttered under his breath.

Rohan grinned. “Welcome to the real world of fighting.”

They walked toward the registration desk, where a man with a cybernetic eye glanced at them. “Newcomers?”

Rohan nodded. “Yeah. Enter us both.”

The man smirked and tapped on a futuristic-looking tablet. “Names?”

“Ghost.”

“Shade.”

The man raised an eyebrow at Aryan. “You sure you’re ready for this, kid?”

Aryan met his gaze without hesitation. “Yeah.”

“Alright, then. You’re in.” The man handed them each a slip of paper. “You fight when your name is called. No weapons. No rules. Just don’t die.”

Aryan clenched the paper in his hand, his heartbeat steady. He could feel it—the storm brewing inside him. This was it. His first real step into the darkness.

The Arena Floor

Aryan and Rohan moved through the crowd, eyes scanning the competition. Fighters of all sizes and backgrounds surrounded them—some covered in scars, others too calm to be ordinary. Then, amidst the chaos, Aryan’s gaze locked onto a single figure.

A man stood across the arena, wearing a sleek black mask. Unlike the others, he wasn’t warming up or speaking to anyone. He was simply watching. Watching Aryan.

A chill ran down Aryan’s spine.

“Rohan,” he whispered. “That guy—”

“I see him,” Rohan muttered. “Keep your guard up. Something about him feels… off.”

Before Aryan could respond, a booming voice echoed through the arena.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WELCOME TO TONIGHT’S UNDERGROUND BATTLE!”

The crowd erupted in cheers.

“FOR OUR FIRST MATCH, WE HAVE A NEWCOMER!”

Aryan felt his stomach tighten as the screen above flickered, and his name appeared.

SHADE vs. TITAN

Rohan let out a low whistle. “Damn. Titan’s a monster. He’s won his last eight matches. Be careful.”

Aryan took a deep breath and stepped forward. The crowd parted as he entered the makeshift arena. Across from him, his opponent loomed—a giant of a man with arms thick as tree trunks and a wicked grin on his face.

Aryan clenched his fists. This was it.

The fight was about to begin.

To be continued…