"Hey guys…" Armaan's voice cut through the tension of the arena, deep, commanding, and laden with an unshakable determination. His expression remained calm, yet there was an unmistakable fire in his eyes.
Samar and Roumit, both still catching their breath from the brutal battle, turned their heads toward him, curiosity and caution mingling in their gaze.
"Let's have a challenge," Armaan continued, each word deliberate, carrying weight despite its playful undertone. "Whoever lands the least blows on this guy… will have to give parties at Domino's and cafés for one week straight when we get back to our world."
Samar's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and amusement flashing across his face. Roumit's jaw almost dropped, his mind racing between panic and the absurdity of the idea.
For a heartbeat, silence hung in the arena, broken only by the faint crackle of energy radiating from the three of them. Then, almost instantly, their childish competitiveness ignited. Determination surged through their veins, pulsing in rhythm with their Prana for the first time—strong, wild, and thrilling.
Armaan's shadowy black prana surged out of his body, swirling violently like a tornado devouring the air around them. The ground beneath cracked, dust lifting in the raging current of his aura.
His eyes suddenly widened. For the first time, he saw it—his best friends' prana.
From Samar's body, flames erupted—bright, fierce, and unyielding—an orange blaze that seemed to roar with his fiery spirit. And then Roumit… his body trembled for a moment before a strange, vibrant prana burst out. Cyan. Not fire. Not shadow. But a sharp, cutting brilliance that twisted through the air with an unpredictable rhythm.
Armaan's gaze lingered on Roumit's energy—its rare brilliance pulling at his curiosity. What is this? he thought, but quickly shook it away. There was no time to dwell.
The three of them rose to their feet, the aura of their pranas colliding and blending into something overwhelming.
Side by side, they stood—like a legendary trio etched in fate. Their eyes glinted with the same mischievous yet determined spark.
And together, in perfect unison, their voices rang out—
"Ready to give party?"
The moment their voices echoed in unison, the arena seemed to shudder. A gust of wind swept across the ground, kicking up dust and debris as the trio lunged forward together, their pranas blazing like living fire, ice, and shadow.
Armaan moved first, his body a blur of black energy. Every step left a faint shadow trail, like a phantom dancing around the Zenka. He struck with precise punches and swift kicks, each blow landing with bone-cracking impact.
"Focus on his arms! Don't give him a grip!" Armaan barked, his voice low but commanding.
Samar leaped beside him, a streak of orange flames in motion. His strikes were lightning-fast, unpredictable, and calculated. Every punch, elbow, and kick created openings for the others, forcing the Zenka to react defensively.
"I've got his legs! Don't let him step forward!" Samar shouted, ducking under a heavy swing and countering with a spinning kick.
Roumit, meanwhile, was the brute force of the group. Cyan energy radiated from his fists as he slammed into the Zenka's torso with bone-shattering strength, sending the giant stumbling backward.
"Armaan, his stamina's insane! How are we even supposed to keep this pace?" Roumit yelled, narrowly dodging a brutal sweep that could have crushed him.
"We adapt! That's how!" Armaan responded, his eyes calm and expressionless, yet the black prana surrounding him roared like a living storm. "Samar, go wide left. Roumit, distract him from the front. Timing is everything!"
The Zenka roared, swinging its massive arms in fury, but the trio moved like one entity. Armaan ducked under a swing, flipped behind the giant, and kicked him square in the ribs. The Zenka grunted and turned, only to be met by Samar's blazing fists, a flurry of strikes that forced him to stagger.
"Catch him! Roumit, now!" Armaan commanded.
With a grunt, Roumit slammed his shoulder into the Zenka, lifting the giant just enough for Armaan to deliver a devastating uppercut. Dust and debris exploded into the air as the coordinated attack sent the Zenka crashing back several feet.
Samar wiped a streak of blood from his forehead and smirked, "Not bad for a warm-up, huh?"
Armaan's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Warm-up? This is just the beginning."
Roumit's cyan eyes glowed with intensity. "He won't know what hit him! Let's keep this pace—no pauses!"
The Zenka roared again, swinging wildly, but every attack was met with perfect synergy. Armaan read the giant's movements, predicting and countering. Samar darted between blows, striking with precision. Roumit's brute strength kept the Zenka off balance, forcing openings for the other two.
"Teamwork, boys! Remember the schoolyard days? Same rhythm, same flow!" Armaan shouted, landing a crushing kick to the Zenka's chest.
"Yeah! That's the spirit!" Samar yelled, spinning around and knocking the Zenka's arm aside.
Roumit slammed the giant with a cyan-infused punch. "We're unstoppable when we fight like this!"
Together, their combined energy created a storm of color and force—black, orange, and cyan swirling violently as they attacked with relentless precision. Each strike, each dodge, each coordinated blow reminded them why they were inseparable: alone, they could be powerful, but together… they were unstoppable.
Even Zykarith's violet eyes widened in awe, her usual calm composure shattered for a brief moment. The arena seemed to pulse with the colors of their prana—Armaan's shadow-black, Samar's blazing orange, and Roumit's intense cyan—swirling together like a living storm. But what truly caught her attention was something she hadn't expected: their wounds, though deep and bloody, were slowly knitting themselves back together. Each scratch, each cut, each bruise began fading under the silent rhythm of their energy.
The Zenka, massive and formidable, started staggering. Its steps faltered, its swings grew sluggish, and the aura of indomitable strength that had made them struggle so hard now seemed to waver. The trio, sensing the shift, exchanged a brief glance mid-combat.
"So… what toppings are we thinking for the pizza?" Armaan asked, his tone calm and expressionless, yet somehow dripping with a mischievous undertone.
"Seriously? Now?" Samar laughed, ducking a swing but keeping the Zenka in his sights. "Fine, pineapple's a must. Don't fight me on this."
Roumit smirked faintly, adjusting his specs while landing a precise kick. "Keep your pineapple obsession in check. Pepperoni all the way."
Their coordinated attack continued, a deadly dance of fists, feet, and strategy, yet their conversation added an absurd lightness to the fight. Every strike they landed, every dodge they executed, drew the Zenka closer to collapse.
Finally, the moment arrived. With perfect timing, their fists struck together in unison—a devastating, combined blow directly to the Zenka's chin. The giant let out a roar that echoed through the arena before crashing backward, completely unconscious.
Silence fell.
Armaan simply stood there, faint smile gracing his lips, the shadows of his prana still flickering gently around him. He looked calm, almost regal in his expression.
Samar, on the other hand, erupted into a comical jump, pumping his fists into the air. "Yes! I won't have to give the party! Woo!" His grin stretched ear to ear, and he spun around like a kid celebrating victory.
Roumit, surprisingly composed despite the chaos, fixed the temple of his specs. His smirk was subtle but sharp, a mix of satisfaction and begrudging acknowledgment. He had given the least blows, yet his presence had been critical.
Zykarith, standing to the side, allowed herself a small, rare smile. "Impressive," she murmured, her eyes glinting with admiration. "The synergy… and the resilience. I didn't expect this."
The trio gathered themselves, panting lightly but triumphant, their pranas still radiating in vivid black, orange, and cyan. Even amidst their joking and banter, their bond, their coordination, and their determination had shone brighter than ever.
And just like that, the Zenka lay defeated, the arena silent except for the echoing colors of three warriors who had truly become a legendary team.
Without warning, the arena dissolved around them. The hard ground beneath their feet returned, uneven and scorched, and above them, the sky swirled with cosmic chaos. A massive black hole loomed, its golden rims curling around like the scales of a colossal, celestial snake. The wind howled faintly, tugging at their hair and clothes, but the trio barely noticed—they were too busy catching their breaths.
Zykarith stepped forward, clapping lightly. The sound echoed against the void-like sky, subtle yet sharp, and it carried an unspoken acknowledgment. "Well done," she said, her violet eyes gleaming. "You've surpassed my expectations… for now."
She extended a hand, and in it floated Armaan's Aether blade, humming faintly with contained energy. Armaan reached for it, his expression calm but intense, and fit it snugly near his waist. The familiar weight grounded him instantly, a silent reassurance after the chaos of the battle.
Samar let out a low whistle, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Man… we really did it. That Zenka didn't stand a chance… eventually."
Zykarith tilted her head, smirking faintly. "I suppose all that talk about pizza and parties gave you… a certain beastly motivation, hmm?" Her teasing tone drew a scoff from Armaan, who immediately crossed his arms.
"That's ridiculous," Armaan said, his voice low but sharp. "You really think a trivial promise like that could make warriors fight with such precision?"
"Oh, come on," Zykarith shot back, stepping closer with a playful glare. "You literally were glowing with determination, Armaan. You were like some primal force incarnate. Don't deny it."
Armaan's jaw tightened, a faint shadow flickering over his features. "It was not the pizza. It was…" He paused, letting the words hang like a blade suspended mid-air. "…our will. Our determination."
Zykarith's smirk widened. "Oh, really? Our will, huh? Sounds suspiciously like pizza to me."
Before the debate could escalate further, Samar stepped in, waving his hands between them. "Alright, alright! That's enough. Can we not start bickering again right after fighting a 7-foot Zenka? Let's just… rest for a bit."
Armaan exhaled slowly, nodding reluctantly. Zykarith, still smirking, finally relented and tilted her head back, her gaze lingering on the black hole above. The golden rims flickered in the cosmic light, casting long, serpentine shadows across the ground.
The trio sank onto the scorched earth, side by side. Their bodies ached from the battle, their pranas still faintly radiating in black, orange, and cyan. For a moment, the world felt calm—quiet, almost reverent—as if the universe itself was giving them space to breathe.
Even Zykarith, who usually carried an aura of controlled mystery, allowed herself to relax slightly, sitting a short distance away. "Rest. Recharge. And maybe think about that pizza," she teased lightly, though the hint of genuine admiration in her voice could not be disguised.
Armaan simply rested his hands on his knees, the Aether blade gleaming faintly at his side. Zykarith had won this round of verbal sparring, but the silent fire in his eyes hinted that their playful debate was far from over.
For now, though, the trio could rest. Tomorrow, the challenges of the Draconic Realm would continue—and they would need every ounce of strength, wit, and coordination to survive.