THE AFRICAN COMBAT ARENA – A TEMPLE OF MIGHT AND RESPECT
Many warriors, each mastering unique disciplines, come here seeking glory. But one name silences even the bravest tongues…
ANNOUNCER (voice trembling, trying to sound brave):
Ladies and gentlemen… the five-time champion, the man of iron, the one whose fists rewrite anatomy… Nathan Okesi, The Surgeon of Pain!
The crowd erupts, but their cheers are tainted with fear.
Nathan steps into the ring. His aura? A death sentence. His gaze? Like staring at your own gravestone.
Nathan (casually):
Come on, boy. What're you waiting for? Hug me, or hit me.
The trembling opponent throws a punch. Then another. Nothing. Nathan doesn't even flinch.
Nathan (sighing, like a disappointed teacher):
That's it? Child's play. Weaklings shouldn't share my air.
He shadow punches—the mere pressure rips the ring apart. The poor guy sprints off, knees buckling.
ANNOUNCER (gulping):
W-we have a winner! Nathan… Okesi…
---
Later – The Okesi Training Grounds
Ian, Nathan's son, punches a thick pane of glass, over and over. It doesn't break.
Nathan walks in, stone-faced.
Nathan:
Is that a punch, or a butterfly's whisper? Son, the glass is fighting you back. Pathetic.
Ian (nervous):
I-I'm trying, Dad… I'll break it soon.
Nathan:
How many punches?
Ian (panicking):
Uh… Ten?
Nathan SLAMS his fist into the ground. The whole dojo quakes.
Nathan (furious):
Don't lie to me. How many?
Ian (eyes wide, voice cracking):
...Forty... maybe more.
Nathan:
FORTY? And it's still intact? You shame the Okesi name.
He PUNCHES Ian. The shockwave shatters half the dojo. Ian flies. Gets up, bleeding.
Nathan:
Watch. This is power.
He punches the glass once. It explodes.
Nathan (leaving):
Don't come near me again till you understand strength.
---
That night…
Ian walks into a secret bamboo grove. There, beneath moonlight, he unsheathes a mysterious sword. In one swift move, he slices through a thick bamboo stalk and sheathes without looking.
This is Ian's truth. He is not strong. He is precise.
But his father's world doesn't value finesse. It only respects force.
---
Suddenly—BOOM!
An explosion rocks the arena.
Ian (heart racing):
What's going on!?
From the shadows slither Redan, Rix, and Virj—twisted ninja-like ghouls with red glowing eyes and skin like obsidian smoke.
Three top warriors—Twin Tiger, Bone Cracker, Eve Maid—step forward.
Bone Cracker:
Who the hell are those things?
Twin Tiger (cocky):
You walked into the wrong ring, freaks. This is Africa's fortress of combat.
The ghouls smirk. Then—
SHWING!
Rix's tendril pierces Twin Tiger's skull. Instant death.
Eve Maid gasps. Bone Cracker charges—
CRACK! His punch lands... but nothing.
Seconds later, his head is torn clean off.
Eve fires tranq darts—they phase through.
Redan (whispering):
Beautiful soul. You'll taste divine.
He vanishes with her.
---
Carnage erupts. Warriors fall like wheat to the scythe.
Then—Nathan enters. His aura flares red, his glare a promise of hell.
Ghoul 1:
Puny man. You think strength alone will save you?
Nathan (grinning):
No. But mine will end you.
He lunges, punches a ghoul into the floor—shockwaves ripple. He grabs tendrils mid-air and slams enemies into walls. For a moment, he dominates…
But the ghouls begin to adapt.
Redan takes the blows. Laughs.
Redan:
You amuse us.
Nathan punches with all his might. The floor cracks.
Nothing happens.
Redan (coldly):
Enough.
---
Elsewhere, Ian prepares to run toward the battlefield, but—
Selina (his mother) grabs him.
Her eyes are firm but glassy.
Selina:
Where do you think you're going!?
Ian (defiant):
I have a sword. I can help.
Selina:
A sword…? Ian, what have you been hiding?
Ian (determined):
No more hiding. I'm not like Dad. But I'll fight my way.
---
Ian reaches the ring—just in time to see Nathan bleeding, barely able to stand.
His father. The unbreakable. Falling.
---The ghouls howled in the dusk, their tendrils lashing across the rubble, their eyes gleaming with corruption.
But Ian stood tall, sword in hand, defiant in the face of fear. His breath came hard, shoulders trembling—not with terror, but with a truth he had long buried.
Nathan, his father, was slumped against a wall, bloodied but alive—for now.
"Ian!" Nathan growled through gritted teeth. "Run. Get out of here!"
"No," Ian whispered, raising the blade. "Not this time."
He dashed forward, slashing the nearest ghoul with skill honed in silence, forged in the shadows of a father's impossible expectations. The creature reeled, snarled, and was joined by two others.
Nathan looked up, seeing his son—truly seeing him—for the first time.
"He's… fighting," Nathan breathed. "Like a warrior."
He blinked, guilt creeping into the cracks of his pride.
Maybe I was too hard on him. Tried to carve him into a statue of myself… forgot he was already becoming someone better.
But the ghouls were cunning. One, larger than the rest, stepped forward and absorbed Ian's slashes like they were feathers in the wind. With a monstrous backhand, it sent Ian flying.
The boy crashed to the ground, winded. And helpless.
Then the ghouls turned to Nathan.
Tendrils lashed out.
SLAP.
Nathan screamed.
The ghoul laughed, cruel and low.
> "You're weak, Ian," it hissed, voice slithering into his skull. "Always were. That sword? Worthless. Just like you."
SLAP.
> "You gonna watch your father die because you're too afraid to win?"
SLAP.
> "Even glass is stronger than you. At least it knows how to break with dignity."
SLAP.
> "You're a bad product. A cracked heir."
Nathan convulsed with every lash, the pain not just physical—personal. His blood painted the floor like a failing legacy.
"Stop!" Ian screamed, crawling forward. "Leave him alone!"
The ghoul leaned in close, voice dripping like oil.
> "You can end this. Just accept our offer. Let us in. Let us help you prove you're worth something."
Ian shook, tears streaking down his cheeks. "No… no, I won't…"
Then—Nathan stirred.
"Ian…" he groaned.
"I'm here, Dad!" Ian gasped. "I'm right here!"
Nathan's eyes opened, but the warmth was gone.
"You… should have left. Should have run."
"What? No—Dad, I stayed to fight. I wanted to save you!"
Nathan's face twisted.
"You're a disappointment."
Ian flinched like he'd been stabbed.
Nathan growled, "You didn't try hard enough. You've always been fragile. Even glass would've done better."
"Stop…" Ian whispered, voice cracking.
"You made me this way. I'm dying because of you."
Ian broke. "No... no, I got a sword, remember?" he sobbed. "You didn't know, because I hid it! I just… I wanted to be strong on your terms."
"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry…"
The ghouls grinned.
> "Yes," they whispered. "Now you see. You're weak. But it's not too late. You can fix this."
"Tell me…" Ian said, defeated. "Tell me what to do…"
But before the darkness could swallow him whole—
A light broke through.
A gentle hum echoed across the battlefield. Floating above the cracked concrete, the Creation Stone shimmered like a heartbeat in starlight.
> "Hold on, Ian," it spoke, voice calm and infinite.
"Your sword is not your shame. It is your hope.
You hid it because you were afraid. But your strength was never in being like your father—it was in being you.
Choose the light."
Ian looked up, stunned. "W-who… who are you?"
> "I am the Creation Stone. I come when corruption tries to consume the worthy."
It pulsed, warm and pure.
> "The hardest lessons are the ones we must live through."
Ian closed his eyes, tears still flowing—but something new stirred inside.
He stood.
"I'm not afraid anymore."
His fingers touched the Stone—and power surged through his body like a divine rhythm.
The sword in his hand shimmered, morphed, came alive.
Slash Manipulation.
The energy of every swing, every strike, amplified into a force of poetic destruction.
Ian smiled—a bitter, weary, knowing smile.
"So… my power is the effect of a sword strike. How poetic," he whispered.
He turned to the ghouls.
"Now you're screwed."
He became a whirlwind of divine slashes—strikes that split reality, rended corruption, and erased every trace of the ghouls.
In moments… they were gone.
But the cost had already been written.
Ian fell to his knees beside Nathan, whose body now lay still, breath fading.
Nathan blinked one last time.
"You… you're stronger than the glass…" he said, a ghost of a smile breaking through.
"…you can slice it into pieces."
His head slumped forward.
Silence.
Then Ian screamed—not with rage, but with pain too deep for words. He wept, clutching the body of the man he tried so hard to save… and impress.
A figure stepped out from the shadows. A woman.
"Mom?" Ian whispered.
Selina knelt beside him, placing a soft hand on his shoulder.
"You did it, son," she said. "But at the cost of everything."
She looked into his eyes—red, hollow, haunted.
"Perhaps the strongest lessons… are the ones we face directly."
Ian nodded slowly, feeling the truth burn through him.
"The strongest lessons…" he whispered, "are the ones we face directly."
---
Later...
They sent him to the antique store.
Where fate waits in quiet corners.
Where other Earthlings gather.
And where the next page in this strange cosmic saga turns…