February 4, 2126.
The day had finally arrived. The long-awaited Assam league tournament was set to begin tomorrow in Guwahati. The city had been buzzing for days—banners hung from high towers, street screens replayed old legendary fights, and the iconic Shakti Arena, built at the heart of the Brahmaputra Sector, was glowing with a new energy. This wasn't just a stadium. It was a place where heroes rose, and legends were made.
Bright zipped up his bag and took one last look around his room. The walls that had watched him break, train, and grow now stood silent. It was time.
He stepped outside, where a few people from Sivasagar— Officials, and support staff—were waiting near the transport unit.
His family stood by the gate. His father, calm and composed; his big sister, arms crossed but eyes soft; his big mom, hands pressed together in silent hope; and his main mom, holding back the wave of emotion behind her smile.
Bright smiled at them, trying to ease the thick silence.
"Don't worry," he said, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. "I'll win. For sure."
No one replied at first. There was something heavy hanging in the air—not fear, but a strange quiet concern. As if everyone felt something was coming, something bigger than just a tournament.
Then his mother stepped forward, forcing a smile through the silence. "All the best,Dear. Give your everything."
His sister added, "Show them what Sivasagar is made of."
His father nodded. "Do what you were born to do. And remember—calm mind, sharp instincts."
Even his big mom, gave a quiet, firm blessing. "Come back stronger. And safe."
Bright held their eyes for a moment longer, then turned. His ride was ready.
As he walked toward the vehicle, his father turned to big mom and muttered softly, "It'll be fine. Don't let the old fear grip you again."
Big mom's eyes didn't leave the road. "It's not fear," she whispered. "It's a sense. Something's changing..."
Back near the vehicle, Bright took his seat and stared out of the window as they rolled away from home. His heart beat faster, not from fear—but from the thrill of what lay ahead.
Tomorrow, he would face his first match. And from there, nothing would ever be the same again.
The transport hummed steadily as it moved along the wide expressways stretching from Sivasagar to Guwahati. For hours, the landscape shifted—dense bamboo groves melted into rolling fields, and then slowly into the sharp-edged skyline of the capital. Bright sat quietly by the window, his eyes scanning the blur of trees and lights, his thoughts racing faster than the vehicle itself.
He wasn't alone. The officials and support staff from Sivasagar—those entrusted to guide and manage their sole representative—were seated around him. Though no words were spoken, the air was heavy with purpose. Everyone knew what was at stake.
By late afternoon, they entered Guwahati's central zone. Towering buildings loomed overhead, decorated with digital banners flashing the tournament lineup. At the heart of it all stood the Shakti Arena—a marvel of steel and energy, glowing beneath the orange hue of the setting sun. It looked less like a stadium and more like a coliseum of gods.
Bright's eyes widened as they passed it. That was where his battle would unfold.
Soon after, they arrived at the designated fighters' hotel, a sleek building reserved exclusively for the tournament's warriors and their teams. Bright checked in, dropped his bag in his room, and collapsed onto the bed. The mattress was softer than he expected, but rest didn't come easily.
A knock broke the silence.
One of the older officials peeked in. "Take some rest," he said kindly.
Bright nodded. "Okay."
He closed the door, took a deep breath, and lay back again. For the first time since leaving home, it hit him—this was real. No more training. No more imagining. In just a few hours, he would step into the battlefield.
In the morning, they gathered in the hotel lobby. The atmosphere had shifted. The same people who had sat quietly during the journey now moved with urgency and intensity.
Bright stood among them, dressed in his battle uniform. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. He was excited—thrilled even—but he couldn't deny the cold tinge of nerves crawling up his spine.
Still, as they moved toward the waiting transport to the arena, he whispered to himself—
"Let's go. No fear. Only forward."
And with fire in his eyes and steel in his heart, Bright marched toward the stadium where fate was waiting.
They began walking toward the grand arena, the massive structure looming before them like a colossus. As they approached, the roaring sound of the crowd grew louder and louder. Bright's eyes widened as he caught sight of the sea of people—tens of thousands packed into the stands, waving flags, chanting, and shouting with pure, unrestrained energy. The atmosphere was electric, wild, and almost overwhelming.
Among the crowd were Assam's top three players, their names well-known even in the national league rankings across India. Their fierce reputations added weight to the occasion, making it clear that this tournament was more than just a local battle—it was a stage where the best of the best came to prove themselves.
Near the VIP section, Bright spotted Assam's respected MLA, several local dignitaries, and sponsors who had helped bring the tournament to life. Cameras flashed constantly, and the buzz of reporters filled the air.
Seeing all this, a flutter of nerves crept into Bright's chest. The enormity of the event hit him hard. But just then, an older man—one of the officials who had been with him since Sivasagar—placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry, Bright," the uncle said quietly, his voice steady and calm. "You've trained for this. Just focus on your fight."
Bright nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yeah... I'm ready."
They waited in the lobby for a few moments, the tension thick around them. Then suddenly, the announcer's voice boomed through the arena's speakers, cutting through the silence like lightning.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to this season's Assam League Tournament! Kicking off today's battles, we have an epic face-off—Sivasagar versus Dibrugarh!"
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause.
"Representing Sivasagar, the one and only—Bright! And facing him from Dibrugarh, the mighty contender—Neelraj Gupta!"
The names echoed through the arena, and Bright felt his heart pound harder. The moment was here. The first battle of the season was about to begin.
Bright stepped forward toward the center of the arena, his heart pounding fiercely. They're all watching, he thought quietly to himself. The faces of his friends and family flashed in his mind — some sitting back home, eyes glued to their screens, watching him fight live on television. That gave him a strange mix of comfort and pressure.
The massive arena was packed to the brim, a sea of roaring fans stretching wide in every direction. The energy in the air was unlike anything Bright had ever felt before — every shout, every cheer seemed to pulse through his veins, filling him with a rush of adrenaline.
Just then, his opponent appeared—Neelraj Gupta from Dibrugarh. The crowd's roar grew even louder as the two warriors stood opposite each other.
The announcer's voice boomed over the speakers, "Contestants, step forward to the center of the arena!"
Bright and Neelraj moved to the middle, facing each other. The announcer asked, "Are you ready?"
Both fighters nodded firmly, tightening their armor and clenching their fists, their eyes locked with determination.
Then the announcer turned to the audience, shouting, "Audience, are you ready?"
The crowd screamed back, "Ready!"
The announcer raised his voice even more, "Then players, are you ready? One… Two… Three… Start!"
The battle had officially begun.
The battle began. But instead of feeling focused, Bright was overwhelmed by a sudden wave of nervousness. His mind raced, locking him up. What should I do? Why am I so nervous? he thought, unable to move as freely as he wanted.
Before he could shake off the feeling, Neelraj shattered his concentration with a swift punch to Bright's face. Bright stumbled backward, nearly falling, but Neelraj grabbed his face with his left hand and unleashed a barrage of punches with his right—each strike harder than the last.
Finally, Neelraj landed a powerful punch to Bright's chest that sent him flying backward. Bright crashed to the ground, blood spilling from his mouth.
Neelraj sneered, "So weak? Surrender now, and I'll let you walk away."
Bright struggled to rise. He said nothing at first—only flexing his hands and feet, gathering his strength and shaking off the pain. Then, through gritted teeth, he whispered to himself, "Am I crazy to be thinking like this in the middle of a fight?"
He took a deep breath and declared quietly but firmly, "Don't worry, Neelraj. This battle isn't over yet."
Bright took a deep breath and settled into a powerful stance, steady and grounded like a mountain. His eyes burned with determination as he prepared to unleash his speed. "Thunder First Steps—First Form," he declared.
With that, Bright took a swift step forward, then in a blink, suddenly appeared right in front of Neelraj. Neelraj's eyes widened in shock, caught off guard by Bright's sudden movement.
Before Neelraj could react, Bright unleashed a thunder-charged punch that struck hard against his chest, landing a critical hit.
Neelraj staggered but quickly regained his balance, raising his hands to form a sturdy shield made of rock. "Earth Break," he growled, his power causing the ground beneath them to tremble violently, cracks spreading in every direction.
Bright braced himself against the shockwave, then smiled fiercely. He focused his thunder energy, channeling it into a new technique—Stormforge Arsenal. With a surge of electricity, he materialized weapons from pure thunder energy—Like a gleaming sword, a bow crackling with lightning, daggers shimmering like bolts of storm and many more things .
Bright clenched his fists as thunder energy surged through his veins. A crackle filled the air as he formed Thunder Knuckles—glowing gauntlets of condensed lightning wrapped tightly around his hands. The electricity snapped and hissed with raw aggression.
A devilish smile curved across his lips.
"Let's see how tough that rock really is."
With a burst of speed, Bright charged toward Neelraj like a bolt of living thunder. Neelraj's eyes narrowed—he slammed both fists into the ground and yelled, "Rock Full Armor!" Thick, jagged stone erupted over his body, encasing him head to toe in a powerful shell of armor. His form now looked like a walking fortress.
Bright reached him in a flash, his thunder fists striking like rapid-fire cannonballs. Boom! Boom! Boom! Each punch echoed with storm-like force, the impacts sending sparks flying on contact.
Neelraj gritted his teeth and tried to block, but Bright's speed was too much. A few strikes slipped through the gaps, landing cleanly on his ribs and shoulder. Yet his stone armor was no joke—it absorbed most of the damage.
"Tch... this guy's not just strong, he's solid."
But Neelraj wasn't done. "You think I only use rock?"
He raised his right hand, and his armor began glowing red-hot.
"Lava Surge Mode!"
The stone cracked and pulsed as molten lava started flowing through his rock plating, creating veins of fire across his body. The heat around him spiked instantly. With a roar, he slammed his molten fist toward Bright.
Bright barely dodged, but the punch grazed his shoulder—his uniform hissed and burned slightly. Too close, he thought.
Neelraj pressed forward with a flurry of attacks—Lava Smash, Molten Kick, and Burst Quake—each one heavier and hotter than the last. The arena trembled, dust and debris flying from each clash.
Bright was forced back, blocking and weaving between attacks. "Fine," he whispered. "Time to return the favor."
He leaped back, raised his knuckle-clad hands and yelled, "Thunder Gale—Whirlwind Rush!"
He spun like a storm, delivering rapid hits while his fists buzzed with lightning. Each strike chipped away at Neelraj's molten rock layer, sending sparks and shards flying.
The crowd roared louder with every impact.
Bright created a temporary lightning shield and slid underneath Neelraj's incoming kick, uppercutting him in the jaw with a bolt-packed fist.
Neelraj stumbled, heat crackling, but recovered instantly and launched Volcano Drive—a flying lava-charged tackle. Bright countered with a Thunder Clash Barrage—multiple rapid punches, forming a web of electric shockwaves.
The clash sent both boys flying backward. Smoke and dust covered the battlefield.
Silence gripped the arena.
Then… two silhouettes emerged from the haze—both standing, both bruised, both breathing hard.
Neelraj wiped a trickle of blood from his lip and grinned. "Not bad."
Bright smiled back. "You're not bad either."
Cheers erupted from the crowd. The announcer's voice echoed, "WHAT. A. BATTLE! Both fighters are still standing after such an explosive exchange!"
Bright took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling steadily as he looked into Neelraj's eyes.
"One last move," he said, voice calm but firm.
Neelraj cracked his knuckles, lava dripping from his armor. "Okay then… now I give my 100%. Just one strike… and I'm going to win this."
Bright tilted his head, lightning sparking around his arms. "100%? Hmm… Then I guess it's only fair I give you my… 60%."
Neelraj's smile vanished. What? he thought, Only 60%? Was he holding back this whole time?
He didn't have time to think. Bright's body began to glow, electricity racing through every inch of his form.
"Let's end this."
Neelraj roared and raised his right arm. Lava erupted and flowed into his fist as he activated his final move.
"Earth Core Burst!"
His entire arm turned into a volcanic cannon of molten rock and blazing fire. The ground beneath his feet cracked, releasing steam and flames as he launched forward.
Bright closed his eyes for a moment.
All those days of training… Arashi's guidance, the storms I walked through, the pain I embraced… all for this one moment.
He whispered, "Thunder… awaken me."
His eyes flared open, crackling with light. Lightning coiled around his body like a raging storm dragon. He was no longer just Bright—he had become Thunder Incarnate.
"Thunder Rampage!"
His voice boomed like thunder as he moved forward, body surging with violent blue light.
Lightning erupted from his fists, his skin glowing with a divine intensity. The entire arena dimmed as his presence overloaded the battlefield with raw power.
He remembered Arashi's final words from training:
"Master the pulse. Control the storm. And when the time comes… roar like a god."
Bright clenched his right hand, the knuckles buzzing, and summoned the attack he had trained for months to master.
"RAIJIN STRIKE…"
His body blurred, the ground beneath him cracking from the force of his step.His body trasformed ina short time period.
"INDRAAAAAAA!!!"
The two warriors collided at the center of the arena—Neelraj's Earth Core Burst clashing with Bright's Indra. The impact wasn't just a hit—it was a calamity.
A blinding flash.
A thunderous explosion.
The arena quaked.
Dust and smoke engulfed everything.
Silence.
Then… the smoke cleared.
Only one figure stood, arm raised high in the air, fingers forming a clear V symbol.
It was Bright.
His clothes torn, breathing heavy, blood trickling down his lip—but standing tall. Lightning still faintly flickered across his shoulders.
The crowd went absolutely wild.
"WHO IS THIS GUY?!"
"SIVASAGAR?! WHAT?!"
"BRIGHT! BRIGHT! BRIGHT!"
The whole stadium chanted his name like a war song.
In living rooms across the region, his friends shouted and danced, his sister , his second mom and his mom held her heart in pride, and his father stared at the screen in awe. His brother Arashi banged the table with joy, yelling, "THAT'S MY GUY!"
Bright smiled faintly as he looked up toward the sky.
You all saw that, right?
He clenched his fists.
This is just the beginning.
And then, he whispered to himself, filled with unshakable resolve:
"I will be the winner of this season."
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To be continued...