Silence fractured like glass under the weight of colliding power, a silence that existed only for a heartbeat before the world erupted in violent sound. Two streaks of force tore across the sky—bright, burning trails that split open the air with a roar louder than thunder itself. When they met, the collision shattered the clouds apart.

  Clouds burst outward like white explosions, and the very wind trembled as if the sky had been wounded. The shockwave rippled in expanding rings, slamming against the two massive hovering vessels nearby, forcing them to reel backward as though pushed by an invisible tidal wave.

  Laksh met Ishant blow for blow in that suspended battlefield above the world, their figures blurring, their movements too sharp for mortal eyes to follow. Laksh’s initial strike forced Ishant back several meters, yet he did not falter.

  Instead, he surged forward with renewed ferocity, abandoning weapons and meeting the conflict with bare hands. His voice cut through the storm of noise like a sharpened blade.

  Laksh’s lips curved into a low smirk, a gesture filled with challenge rather than amusement. “Barehanded, are you? Do you stand a chance against me?” he said, his words drifting in the air a moment before his body moved faster than speech could linger.

  His fist shot forward, aimed at Ishant’s jaw, a strike infused with a disciplined current of ki.

  Yet Ishant's arm rose like a wall, halting the punch with a resounding shock that sent sparks of energy cascading around their point of contact.

  Before Laksh could recover his stance, Ishant’s follow-up struck like a hammer. His knuckles drove deep into Laksh’s lower abdomen, his ki surging through them like lightning through metal.

  The force of impact tore Laksh from his immediate control, sending him skidding through the sky, boots slicing through clouds, a shockwave blooming behind him like a thunderous flower.

  Pain rippled through his intestines and spine, but Laksh gritted his teeth, twisting his body mid-air, refusing gravity and chaos alike as he regained balance.

  Laksh inhaled sharply, ki surging through his veins. He shot forward once more, not gliding but tearing through the air, each step on empty sky leaving behind faint ripples of compressed wind. Ishant met him head-on, the two closing distance in less than a second.

  Their next collision of fists sent a ripple through the air. Ki-coated knuckles cracked against forearms, elbows collided against ribs, knees rose like spears aimed to break bone.

  The world below them felt distant, insignificant, as if existence itself narrowed down to nothing but the exchange of blows, breath, blood, and will.

  He seized Ishant’s forearm mid-motion, their bodies locking as if two forces of nature had caught one another in a moment of mutual fate. Spiraling downward through the thick folds of cloud, they fell like chained meteors, wrestling against gravity, wind, and each other.

  Air screamed between them, pressure building into something that made the sky itself quiver—not just a fight, but a clash that heaven seemed unprepared to contain. For a heartbeat that stretched like eternity, both were suspended inside the cyclone of their own power, frozen within the storm they themselves had birthed, two warriors bound by nothing but intent and hatred.

  Then Laksh moved swiftly and decisively. His knee shot toward Ishant’s thigh, angled with surgical brutality, a blow designed not merely to wound but to cripple. Ishant reacted on instinct, ki detonating outward from his core like a bursting sun.

  The explosion of energy shattered Laksh’s grip, hurling both fighters away from one another in opposite directions. They drifted apart only long enough for breath to burn lungs and blood to throb beneath skin, without any though. They surged forward again like sword and scabbard reunited solely to clash.

  Laksh’s attacks came as if born from stormwater, a rainfall of fists so relentless they blurred into streaks of emerald. Every strike folded into the next, movement flowing like a river descending a mountain.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Ishant, however, was no passive stone to be eroded, he met every blow with the precision of a man who had lived through war before. Ki-reinforced forearms deflected, redirected and absorbed, until at last he caught one strike—a subtle trap disguised as struggle—and drove his forehead forward.

  The crack that echoed was like two boulders colliding. Laksh recoiled for an instant, blinking hard enough to shatter the daze, only to twist into a sweeping kick that crashed into Ishant’s ribs.

  The impact echoed across clouds; Ishant grunted in pain sharply but his expression only curved into a faint, dangerous smirk.

  Until now, Ishant’s superiority in close-quarters combat had been defined and undeniable.

  Laksh, despite his strength, had failed to overpower him, but calm was more deadly than fury. Ishant taunted him with words sharp as steel, “Is this so-called Leader of the Moon Light Sect have.”

  Laksh responded with an unshaken voice, rolling his neck as though all damage taken until now was nothing but warm-up. His eyes turned cold, steady, and cruelly assured, a quiet verdict that strength alone would no longer dictate this fight. “Good,” he had said. “Very good, then I will let you see the true strength of this Leader.” And then—like winter swallowing flame—he promised the end of that advantage.

  Their bodies clashed once more, streaks of red and green tearing through the sky in parallel arcs. Laksh stepped inside Ishant’s guard, kicking low with perfect execution. His ribs cracked. Ishant staggered to one knee, instability spreading through his balance

  Laksh did not grant him recovery—he vanished like flickering light and reappeared at the weakest angle. A fist struck across Ishant’s jaw with such force that the sky boomed.

  Ishant’s body spun sideways, thrown through air like weightless cloth rippling on wind. Shockwaves pushing them aside like curtains drawn by violent hands.

  Even so, he stabilized, his ki reinforcing his muscles, bones, and breath.

  Laksh was already there, fist leading, rage compressed into speed. They collided in a blur of motion, arms disappearing into streaks too fast for human sight. Fifty punches per second neither yielding, neither retreating.

  Air trembled between them like steel splitting under pressure.. Finally, both struck forward simultaneously, fists slamming into chest, force repelling both backwards in perfect mirrored recoil.

  They hovered in the air, their ki burning off bodies like evaporating steam. One breath, two, they took their weapon out and again.

  Their swords arrived with ringing calls, metal whispering across the sky. Laksh and Ishant moved through the clouds with blade paths sweeping arcs so bright they carved colour into the wind itself.

  Sparks burst like scattered stars every time steel kissed steel. The tempo increased beyond rhythm, and strikes multiplied into hundreds.

  Only when momentum peaked did they again separate, floating across from one another with measured distance. Ishant formed rapid hand-seals, dismissing his sword into motes of dissolving red light.

  Laksh mirrored, his blade splitting into emerald fragments. Power shifted in the atmosphere. Clouds above tightened and darkened, responding like wounded beasts to the techniques being summoned.

  A vortex descended toward Laksh—a spiral of blackened sky and thunder so thick it roared without lightning. Laksh completed his seal and summoned a giant green formation, tenfold his height, tilted toward the incoming vortex made up of clouds like a colossal gate.

  Wind spun into a cyclone, drawn and condensed into a whirlpool of unruly pressure. The two forces collided—storm upon storm—their sound exploding outward in a deafening rupture.

  Both forces tore each other apart in a detonation of elemental violence, sky shuddering like fabric in a hurricane.

  But Laksh moved faster than destruction’s fading echo. He vanished without any sound or trace, reappearing behind Ishant with his palm wrapped in concentrated ki. His strike burst against ribs like a warhammer, blood arc-spraying from Ishant’s mouth as he skidded through air, body twisting in pain.

  Yet even broken, Ishant stood, his breathing ragged and pain burning in bones, but eyes steadier than ever. He raised a hand to his forehead, fingers forming a triangular seal, and from his forehead Primordial Spirit emerged—small as a palm, seated, silent, tranquil as a sage in meditation.

  Laksh watched with a calm smile, then mirrored the seal. His spirit emerged as well, cross-legged and motionless—serene and deadly. Then both spirits surged, and ki exploded from them like celestial rivers torn free from heaven.

  Two beams of power launched like arrows of concentrated existence, colliding mid-sky with force that shredded clouds, fractured wind, and made earth tremble. The land below cracked. The land below cracked. The world beneath them crumbled, but still, the warriors did not yield.

  They soared upward, spiraling like twin meteors chasing the sun. Below them, war ignited fully—clans, sects, warriors colliding as if history itself demanded blood. Screams mixed with steel, clouds stained in darkness and thunder above them and amongst them, Eklavya stood silent, like the calm inside a hurricane. No soul power was used, none needed.His body alone was a weapon enough to crush five-star Master warriors. Yet the young master of Light Rain blocked his path, refusing to allow Eklavya Rudra to massacre disciples like insects, daring to stand before a storm with a sword of rain.

  The battlefield burned across the sky and land alike.