"Start"
Nolan rolled his shoulders, loose and restless, his dark eyes sharp with fire. His stance wasn't polished—it shifted with every breath. The streets had carved unpredictability into him, every bruise and scar a teacher harsher than any master.
Across from him, Lex stood tall and composed. His feet were planted with deliberate precision, knees bent just enough to spring. His hands hovered in perfect guard, his chin tucked down. Years of drills had shaped him into a blade—clean, efficient, mercilessly exact.
A hush fell. Then Nolan lunged first.
His fist tore through the air in a wild hook, aiming for Lex's head. Lex didn't flinch—he pivoted, letting the blow pass, and answered with a jab so sharp it snapped Nolan's jaw to the side. The sound cracked like stone breaking.
Nolan staggered, but instead of folding, he grinned through the pain. He crashed forward, shoulder slamming into Lex's chest, dragging him into chaos. Elbows, knees, fists—they collided in a storm of raw violence. Nolan's strikes were ugly, desperate, but each carried weight born from hunger and survival.
Lex twisted free, his body flowing like water. An elbow dug into Lex's ribs—clean, controlled. Nolan hissed, stumbled back, then charged again. His knuckles split on Lex's forearm as he landed a blow, finally catching Lex with a savage strike across the jaw.
For a heartbeat, Lex's polished form wavered. Nolan pressed forward, his smile wide, spitting blood as his fists rained down. The crowd's silence grew sharp.
But Lex's eyes hardened. He dropped low, ducking beneath a wild swing, and in one smooth motion swept Nolan's legs from under him. Nolan hit the floor with a grunt. Before he could rise, Lex pinned him, his weight crushing down like iron. A sharp strike landed on Nolan's temple— Then another. And another.
Lex stood slowly, chest rising and falling, his eyes calm and steady as if he had always known the outcome. Not arrogance,—just discipline.
Nolan lay on the ground, laughing breathlessly through bloodied lips.
"You fight clean," he muttered, voice hoarse.
Lex looked at him exhausted and said "Thanks, You are not so bad yourself"
Nolan chuckled a little and Both got down from arena.
The crowd exhaled. Silence turned to murmurs.
Just then Professor's voice came
"That was a very good spar, Both of you. Nolan, You lack a proper training but you make it up by not giving a chance and your unpredictability. And Lex, You have proper discipline but give much to much space and time to opponent.." He said in serious but appreciating tone.
After the crowd settled down.
Professor again announced the next spar
"Rank-2 Phoebe Frostbane vs Rank 50 Solace Wright" He said with a confused expression
and Immediately asked Sol
"Are you sure, You want to spar with a student who's top of the class"
Sol looked around and found Phoebe looking at him with a smile that said 'You better'.
With that Sol surrendered his fate, And nodded at professor, who showed a little concern but shrugged and said in a loud voice
"Same rules"
As Sol and Phoebe arrived at arena. The crowd started talking, Some were poking fun, while Some were genuinely praying for him to get the beating of his life.
"Look, He's gonna embarrass himself"
"Bro's gonna get wiped out in a minute"
Some were even cheering for him saying
"We pray for you"
"All this just to impress a huzz out of his league"
"As a fellow simp, I support the cause"
'Hey I am not a simp, If anything she dragged me here' Sol said fuming inside.
But the next second his mind became calm
'I guess that was my passive ability, anyway lets focus'
With both of them on arena, They took stance.
The training hall buzzed with anticipation, every eye fixed on the two figures standing in the ring.
Phoebe stood tall, her hair tied neatly back, her expression alight with excitement. Her stance flowed naturally, her body loose yet poised like a dancer ready to strike.
Solace, on the other hand, looked rigid. His fists were clenched too tight, shoulders hunched with tension. He'd learned the basics—how to block, how to throw a straight punch—but compared to Phoebe's fluidity, he seemed carved from stone, unmoving, heavy.
Sol decided to see her stats before the match starts
----------------------------------------
Name: Phoebe Frostbane
Age: 18
Essence Rank: F
Stats: F
Affinity Threads (Potential):
1) Thread of Eye: Layer-1 (Potential)
2) Thread of Frost: Layer-7 (Potential)
3) Thread of Time: Layer-5 (Potential)
4) Thread of Hunger: Layer-5 (Potential)
Layers Unlocked
1) Thread of Eye: Layer-1
Abilities:
1) Your Eyes become sharper (Passive)
2) Can see others Affinity Threads (Active)
2) Thread of Frost: Layer-1
Abilities
1) Frost resistant: You are resistant toward damage from Frost particles and coldness. (Passive)
2) Icicles: Can form Icicles to attack, These Icicles are as strong as Rock and cold as 0 degree C. (Active)
3) Thread of Time: Layer-1
Abilities:
1) Your cognition ability and perception speeds up. (Active)
4) Thread of Hunger: Layer-1
Abilities:
1) Eat to heal small wounds faster.
2) Can go longer without food.
----------------------------------------
'Man, She's OP'
Just then,
The signal came.
Phoebe stepped forward lightly, almost skipping, her movements smooth and playful. Sol lifted his guard, stiff arms forming a clumsy shield. She tested him with a sharp jab to the midsection. He blocked it, but barely—his defense rattled from the sting.
"Not bad," Phoebe said with a grin, eyes sparkling.
Sol didn't answer. He lunged forward, throwing a straight punch. It was powerful but telegraphed. Phoebe swayed aside, her body slipping past with ease, and tapped his ribs with a counterpunch that knocked the wind from him.
He staggered but stayed on his feet. The crowd murmured. Phoebe tilted her head, amused. "You've got guts."
She pressed forward this time. Her kicks came in sharp arcs, each one precise, her balance never faltering. Sol managed to block one, his forearm ringing from the impact, but the next slipped past, striking his thigh and forcing him back a step.
Sol swung again, desperate to land a solid hit. Phoebe ducked under, pivoted, and her fist cracked against his jaw. He stumbled, blinking stars from his vision. His stance broke—now it was clear he was fighting just to keep standing.
But still, he didn't give up. Sol tightened his guard again, his breath ragged, and charged, aiming low this time with a clumsy tackle. For a moment, Phoebe's eyes widened at the sudden change, but her training held. She shifted her weight, stepped aside, and let his momentum carry him past. Her knee came up hard into his stomach.
The sound of air rushing from his lungs echoed in the hall. Sol dropped to one knee, coughing, the fight ripped from him.
Phoebe didn't press further. She stood relaxed, lowering her guard, though her eyes still shone with excitement. She said softly, "You fight too heavy. You've got to flow, Solace."
The match was called. Phoebe,
As he staggered to his feet, clutching his ribs, Sol caught her smile. Not mocking—encouraging.
Almost everyone Knew the outcome,
He had been beaten
'I need to get strong, If I am not even on their level, Then How am I supposed to fight infuture' he cursed himself and went towards the crowd to sit.
Almost everyone was looking at him with pity
They whispered among themselves
"That was brutal, No??"
"Yeah my man got put down"
But Sol ignored them and sat towards the end of the row.
The professor again announced next pair, and everyone quickly forgot about him.