Mukund walked toward the arena and opened the gate.
Bright sunlight fell on his face.
He saw Kiara ma'am and Kshitij standing with serious faces. The crowd was still buzzing from my match, but now their attention shifted to the next fight.
Mukund reached his position.
Kshitij cracked his neck. Rolled his shoulders.
"I don't know how Purv lost to that loser," he said, loud enough for the front rows to hear. "But I'm going to win this round."
"You talk too much," Mukund said. Straight face. Cold voice.
Kiara ma'am lifted her hand. Both took their positions.
"Everyone ready?"
Silence.
"And... begin. "
In the blink of an eye, Kshitij was in the air.
A flying kick aimed straight at Mukund's face.
Mukund glided back. Dodged it by inches.
Kshitij's kick landed on the ground—cracked the stone—and he delivered another kick as soon as his feet touched down.
Mukund grabbed his leg.
And punched him in the abdomen.
Kshitij's eyes went wide. He grabbed his stomach, stumbling back.
"When did this weakling get so strong?" he hissed.
Mukund didn't answer. He moved in for an elbow strike.
Kshitij dodged. Barely.
He jumped back, creating distance.
"Shit... I need to hit him from a blind spot."
He started circling and maintaining distance. Looking for an opening.
Mukund didn't let him breathe.
Ice spikes erupted from the ground—one after another, faster than before, sharper than before. Kshitij dodged, weaved, and rolled. But he couldn't get close.
A yellow charge gathered in Kshitij's hand. Lightning.
He vanished.
Appeared behind Mukund.
"Now you're done for!"
He swung his hand toward Mukund's back—
Mukund grabbed his wrist.
And slammed him into the ground.
Crack.
Ice spread from Mukund's palm, freezing Kshitij's arm to the stone. Kshitij twisted, broke free, rolled away.
Mukund kept attacking. Ice spikes. Ice waves. Ice everywhere.
The crowd was screaming.
Kshitij kept dodging.
But the ice was getting thicker. The arena floor was disappearing under a layer of frost.
Finally—
Kshitij stopped.
Panting.
Exhausted.
"Are you done with your useless attacks?" he asked, forcing a smirk.
Mukund didn't answer.
Kshitij looked around.
The whole stadium floor was covered in ice. Thick. Glossy. Reflecting the sky like a frozen lake.
"Thanks to your Squirtle friend," Mukund said quietly, "I was able to cover the stadium in ice in no time."
Kshitij's smirk faded.
"So... what are you planning to do with this?"
Mukund didn't answer.
He took a step forward.
Then another.
Walking on the ice effortlessly. Like it was solid ground. Like he'd been born on it.
Kshitij tried to copy him.
His foot slipped.
He fell.
Face-first.
The crowd erupted in laughter.
Kshitij pushed himself up, his face red. "You—"
"You can't move on ice," Mukund said. "I can."
He kept walking. Slow. Steady.
"Ice isn't just my power. It's my ground."
He stopped in front of Kshitij.
"On normal ground, you're faster. But here? On my ice?"
He smiled and adjusted his glasses.
"You're not touching me."
____________________________________________________________________________________
Trayaksh and Prayan walked through a long, empty corridor.
The lights were dim. The walls were gray.
Somewhere in the distance, the crowd still roared from the stadium, but here—
Here, it was silent.
Trayaksh walked ahead, one hand on his chin, deep in thought.
Prayan followed behind him. Silent. Observant.
Then Prayan placed a hand on Trayaksh's shoulder.
Trayaksh turned around immediately.
He already knew what Prayan wanted to ask.
"What do you think?" Trayaksh said. "What could Tapish's power be?"
Prayan shrugged.
Trayaksh started pacing.
"His power defeated Prabhave that easily. If I had understood it sooner, I never would've let this happen."
He kept muttering to himself while Prayan listened quietly.
"Think... think..." Trayaksh tapped his forehead. "How did he stop someone as strong as Prabhave? And how did he drain his Prana?"
He kept walking.
"Invisible force? Pressure manipulation? Muscle paralysis? None of that explains the Prana drain."
He suddenly stopped.
"When I observed carefully..." he muttered, narrowing his eyes, "I saw Prana flowing in a straight line. Linear. Like a connection."
Silence filled the corridor.
Then—
"Ah."
Trayaksh snapped his fingers.
"I got it."
Prayan raised an eyebrow.
Trayaksh slowly turned toward him.
"I wasn't planning to do this."
A grin spread across his face.
"But now I don't have a choice."
Prayan tilted his head.
"We're going to do what Shri Krishna did in the Mahabharata."
He paused dramatically.
"We break the rules to win."
Prayan instantly slapped a hand against his forehead.
"This," he said tiredly, "is what you learned from the Bhagavad Gita?"
Trayaksh ignored him completely and started walking again.
"Tapish played tricks with us first," he said casually. "Why shouldn't we play back?"
Prayan stared at him for a few seconds before following behind.
One hand still on his forehead.
This idiot, he thought.
One day he's seriously going to get us all expelled.
____________________________________________________________________________________
Kshitij's breathing grew heavier.
Cold air escaped his mouth in visible bursts. His shoes slipped slightly every time he tried to adjust his stance. The cheering around the arena slowly faded from his ears.
Think.
His eyes darted across the frozen battlefield. Everywhere he stepped was ice. Too smooth. Too unstable.
Mukund wasn't attacking anymore.
That was the worst part.
He was waiting. Watching. Like a chess player waiting for the next move.
Kshitij clenched his fists.
If he rushed forward, he'd slip. If he stayed still, Mukund would keep controlling the arena. The temperature kept dropping. Thin frost had already started forming on Kshitij's sleeves.
"...Damn nerd," he muttered.
Mukund adjusted his glasses again.
"You finally realized it?"
Kshitij's eyebrow twitched.
"This whole fight..." Mukund said calmly, "...was over the moment the arena froze."
The crowd murmured.
In the participants' hall, even some senior students had stopped talking. One of them leaned forward.
"He's not fighting like a first-year."
Kshitij suddenly grinned.
A forced grin.
"Then I'll just break your ice."
Lightning exploded around his body. The frozen arena flashed yellow.
For the first time since the match began—
Mukund stepped back.
Kshitij slammed his hands on the ice. A deep crack spread across the frozen floor.
Mukund moved faster. He landed a clean hook on Kshitij's chin. Kshitij fell to the ground.
Mukund froze ice over his knuckles.
"Let's get this over with."
He threw a punch down at Kshitij's face—but Kshitij dodged. Mukund's fist hit the thick ice and left a crack in it.
Kshitij somehow maintained his balance, standing on the ice.
Mukund approached him slowly.
"You think only you know how to play games?"
Kshitij used all his energy. Electricity flooded through his body. His eyes glowed. His blond hair straightened up like static.
He smiled like a monster.
And looked at Mukund.
"In that case—"
He slammed his knuckles together. Thick MMA-style gloves formed around his hands, wrapped in crackling lightning.
They both rushed toward each other.
The audience went wild—tossing food in the air, screaming, standing on their seats.
Face-off: Kshitij, body covered in lightning, versus Mukund, ready to throw the final blow.
____________________________________________________________________________________
In a corridor, Tapish walked alone.
Click. Click. Click. His footsteps echoed off the walls.
"Hey, Tapish."
A voice came from a dark corner.
Tapish stopped. Looked behind. A guy stood there, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.
"Who is it?" Tapish replied calmly.
From the darkness, Trayaksh came under a dim, glowing tube light. Still wearing his headband.
"What the hell do you want from me?" Tapish turned back around.
Trayaksh grabbed his shoulder.
"Why are you in such a hurry?"
"Get your hand off me." Tapish's voice was frustrated. One hand reached for his closed eye.
"Hey, hey, hey, kid. You know it's not allowed to use your powers outside the arena." Trayaksh paused. "And relax. I'm here to congratulate you."
"What?"
"Yup. You heard it right. Your powers were amazing. Why aren't you in Parakastha? Why are you with those losers—the Rakshaks?"
"None of your business."
Tapish became more frustrated. He started walking faster.
"Hey... at least answer my question."
Tapish continued to walk.
"Don't tell me you failed the qualifying test."
Tapish burst out in frustration.
"Uhh... that Samarth... who does he think he is? He would never know how talented I am. He told me I'm not good enough." He paused, fists shaking. "But after I win the tournament, I'll show that arrogant guy what true talent looks like."
"So why didn't you join my group?" Trayaksh asked calmly.
"Who would join a group that's known as the cheater's group?"
Tapish looked behind, mocking him.
Trayaksh stood unbothered. Still smiling.
"And you know what? Samarth and you are the same. Hypocrites. One was born talented and says hard work beats talent. And the other carries a gift from his parents and calls me talentless."
He turned around. Furious.
Sorry, kiddo, Trayaksh thought. For what I'm about to do.
He lifted his headband.
Revealed his third eye.
Black. Staring directly at Tapish.
Tapish froze for a moment, then continued.
He faded into the darkness.
"Bingo," Trayaksh said.
Prayan appeared from the shadows. "So... did you succeed—"
Trayaksh fell to his knees.
Prayan jumped forward, catching him before he hit the ground.
Trayaksh stood up slowly. Turned toward Prayan. And hit the exact same pose that Tapish had used—hands out, fingers curled like he was gripping something invisible.
His eyes were the same as Tapish's now.
Prayan froze instantly. His body locked in the same position he was standing in. His face showed signs of struggle—muscles straining, trying to move, trying to breathe.
Trayaksh let go.
Prayan gasped. Bent over. Breathing hard.
"What a guy," Prayan muttered.
He paused for a second and looked at his hands.
"So... how does it feel?"
Trayaksh's eyes returned to normal.
"It's like being wrapped in countless chains. Unable to break."
"Exactly.... His power is chains of Prana. He binds his enemies with chains and drains their Prana through them."
He turned to Prayan.
"But it has one weakness."
Prayan listened carefully.
"The higher the opponent's Prana, the more chains bind them. That's why so many chains surrounded you."
He paused.
"The less Prana you have, the fewer chains wrap around you. And the fewer chains wrapping you, the less Prana it drains. And the easier it becomes to break free."
Prayan nodded slowly.
"Let's go to our team and discuss it."
Trayaksh waved at Prayan to follow him.
Prayan caught up, walking beside him. Trayaksh put his hands behind his head, looking pleased with himself.
"But this power is good for BDS—"
"Shut up," Prayan cut him off.
Trayaksh grinned.
They walked down the corridor together.
____________________________________________________________________________________
As Mukund and Kshitij clashed, both punches landed on each other's faces.
The impact sent a shockwave through the arena.
Mist and small ice particles scattered across the battlefield. Cold air filled the space between the fighters and the crowd. For a moment, no one could see anything.
The audience held their breath.
Then—
The mist slowly scattered.
Kshitij lay unconscious on the ground. His nose was bleeding. His body was still. Lightning no longer crackled around him.
Mukund stood over him.
His clothes were torn. His glasses were broken—one lens completely shattered, the other cracked beyond use. A trail of blood flowed down his face from a cut on his forehead, mixing with the sweat and frost on his skin.
He didn't move.
He didn't blink.
He just stood there.
Kiara ma'am raised her hand.
"Mukund is the winner of the round!"
The stadium exploded with excitement.
The VIP section erupted—some kids crying, others banging their heads against the wall in disbelief.
In the crowd, a man sat frozen.
Mukund's father.
His hand was raised mid-clap. His mouth was slightly open.
He didn't move. He didn't cheer.
He just stared at the screen.
Then slowly—very slowly—he brought his hands together.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
A drop of blood from Mukund's forehead fell to the ground.
Tap.
Mukund's knees buckled.
He fell.
Face-first onto the ice-covered arena floor.
Medics rushed toward both fighters, stretchers ready, equipment in hand. The crowd was still screaming, but the sound felt distant now.
On the ice, surrounded by frost and blood and broken glass—
Mukund lay still.
But he was smiling.
too be continued...