Chapter Six: The Unseen Power

The silence on the stage hung heavy, the air thick with confusion and a strange kind of dread, as even the birds seemed to hide from the shadow cast by Biga’s failed blows. For a long moment no one moved. You could hear the sound of people breathing, the thudding of many hearts at once.

It was the Second Master who broke first. His legs buckled under him. His white beard fell forward, his eyes rolling back in shock, and before anyone could call his name, he collapsed onto the stage, crashing down like a fallen branch. The warriors gasped, some running to him, lifting him by the shoulders, and the Master called out, “Get the Second Master off the stage. He needs air—take him to rest!”

They carried him away, two warriors supporting him, while the rest of the stage stared at me as if I had grown another head. The Master’s face was pale, his eyes deep in thought. “If there were any Dark Arts in you,” he said quietly for all to hear, “the O-Form would have destroyed you where you stood. It never fails, never spares anything poisoned by darkness.”

He lifted his head to the warriors and the crowd, his voice stronger, “So what are we seeing here? Is this man so powerful that we cannot see his level? Is there a power hidden even from the eyes of the Nuniya?” Nobody answered. Some of the warriors muttered that maybe I was just lucky, others whispered that maybe it was a trick, that no ordinary man could have survived Bigger’s O-Form, not even for a second.

But the crowd was quiet now, silent and frozen, watching every movement, afraid even to whisper too loudly in case they drew the wrong attention.

Silver, who had watched all this from the corner of the stage, could no longer keep his anger inside. His beautiful face was twisted with rage, his eyes burning, his hand reaching for the two twin blades crossed behind his back. Silver stepped forward, his voice like the crack of a whip. Lightning flickered around his arms and shoulders, the sky answering his anger, the air humming as he summoned it with the power only he possessed. The other warriors flinched as the blue fire danced between his fingers.

He did not wait for the Master. He called to the storm, the lightning snapping from the sky and circling his blades as he pulled them free. “I will finish this myself!” he shouted, and before the Master could stop him, Silver moved. The Master called out, “Silver, stop!” but Silver would not listen. He moved faster than the eye could follow, a flash of blue and white, lightning running over his skin as he closed the distance between us.

The first blade came for my shoulder, sharp and cold with lightning. The other angled for my neck, quick as thought. But I twisted, calm and smiling, dodging the first strike so closely I could smell the metal, my body turning with the storm, the world slowing down as Silver’s rage crashed against my calm. Silver attacked again and again, his blades a blur, lightning cracking in every swing, but I moved through them, bending, turning, letting his anger pass me by, the smile never leaving my face.

The crowd was breathless, the air full of thunder, everyone’s eyes stretched wide in fear and amazement. Silver’s attacks were wild and beautiful, the ground burned where his blades struck, splinters flying, the smell of ozone sharp and bitter.

“Daves, join in!” Silver shouted, fury ringing in his voice.

Daves, the fastest warrior, leapt forward without hesitation, launching a whirlwind of kicks and punches, his feet barely touching the wood. Yet still I moved, sidestepping, ducking, turning. Calm. Always calm, letting them waste their power in the empty air, my smile growing sharper each time they missed.

“Hairline!” Silver roared, calling for another.

A tall warrior, Hairline, wielding a blade so long it was almost a spear, jumped high above the stage, the sun glinting off the edge, aiming to split my head with a single blow. The villagers screamed. The blade whistled down, but I moved away with a twist, feeling the air shift as the weapon slammed into the boards where I had just been standing. Splinters flew, dust rose, but I was already gone, already behind them, calm as a shadow.

The Master did not speak now. He only watched, hands folded, eyes narrow, his mind working fast behind his tired face. Was this the legend? Could anyone move like this? Was there really a man who could face three of his best and stand smiling in the middle of their fury?

The other warriors hesitated, watching, unsure. The crowd watched, too stunned to cheer or call for more. Some pressed their hands together in prayer, some held their children close. Everyone watched to see if the impossible would finally become too much for one man.

But on that stage, the storm of anger and fear and blades could not reach me, and I smiled, twisting through the lightning and metal, wondering myself who I was to be standing here, still untouched, with all of Somabhula staring.