Simba Chitsa

With the master tied up, the warriors watched as three puppeteered fighters took the stage. I sensed the second master’s hidden power. The air was heavy—no one dared move as a new threat loomed.

I realized my foe used Dark Arts, so I began the O-Form. Even Biga was shocked. The master tried to help, but I pressed on. With the Spirit Thread, I turned the tide, but not without loss.

The red-haired warrior, silent until now, stepped forward. His hair began to glow, and disasters crept in—the air felt wrong. Our fight began, and for the first time, I truly struggled.

Silver’s twin blades moved like storm clouds. Warriors joined, attacking together, but I smiled, dodging and blocking every blow. Hairline’s huge blade came down, but still I twisted away, the battle only growing wilder.

The second master fainted from shock, warriors carried him away, and Silver’s anger boiled. Lightning flashed as Silver drew his blades and struck, but my calm did not break.

I lay still as the crowd celebrated my defeat. Some cheered, others argued, and whispers of Dark Arts filled the air. Yet, as they planned to bury me, my hand moved, and shock swept through Somabhula.

I stood, shouted AHA, and everyone froze. Even the Master looked shocked. My calm surprised them, but it was just a word to me, though to them it meant everything. The tension was thick.

I climbed the stage, slow and calm, a smile never leaving my face. The crowd screamed. The Master’s call—AHA—sent the Nuniya to one corner with lightning speed, and the fight was about to begin.

Word spread quickly. Someone strange had challenged the Nuniya warriors. Some called me mad. The central stage between the grinding mill and the beerhall became the arena, as villagers climbed crates for a better view.

Dust rose as the bus curved into Somabhula Growth Point. I stepped down, my shoes barely touching the ground before the village greeted me with silent, watchful eyes. No one knew my name, but every eye measured my worth.