The sky above Rebel Town was bruised and breathless.
Thick clouds smothered the light, letting only dull streaks of gray spill over the wasteland below.
And at the heart of WS territory, the arena waited — vast, open, surrounded by jagged steel walls and shattered terraces that towered like ruins of an ancient empire.
The ground was bare — no grass, only cracked, sun-burnt soil that had tasted too much blood.
This was WS's home — a field that remembered every scream, every victory, every betrayal.
No one ever left it the same.
---
The March of U-Force
Zain walked at the front, his boots grinding against the dry earth.
The wind whipped through his coat, dust swirling around him like a halo of war.
Two rings glimmered faintly on his fingers — each tied with a small ribbon.
The first ribbon bore a single word, "Zain," stitched in black thread.
The second had no name… only faded letters no one could read.
Only Zain knew what it meant — and he kept it that way.
Behind him came Orion, sharp eyes scanning the arena walls, every movement calculated, every step deliberate.
He wasn't smiling this time — not tonight.
To his right, Alice, silent, focused, his pendant gone, his loyalty rewritten. He was U-Force now — not Crescent, not anything else. Just family.
At the far left, Cube, hands buried in his hoodie pocket, a lollipop tucked between his lips, hood low over his face like a shadow with purpose. His calm was unnerving — like someone who already knew how this would end.
Behind them stood the rest of U-Force — the collective storm that Rebel Town had learned to fear:
Damian, quiet but burning, fists wrapped tight in red tape.
They didn't march like soldiers.
They moved like survivors — unbreakable, unbowed, unforgettable.
Orion glanced sideways. "They rebuilt the whole arena. No way out once this starts."
Zain's gaze didn't waver. "Good. Then no one runs."
---
The Empire of WS
From the opposite gate, the ground trembled.
WS emerged like a tide of red and black.
At the center was Mahir, calm yet dangerous, a living storm in human form. His eyes locked on Zain from the moment he stepped forward.
Each stride carried authority, command — dominion.
To his side walked the Four Pillars of WS:
Imanji, adjusting his gloves, every step measured, mind running a dozen calculations a second.
Mash, bare-armed and massive, cracking his knuckles until the sound echoed like thunder.
Tastin, blade balanced on his shoulder, grin carved in confidence.
Rui, face hidden behind a dual-sided samurai mask — one half white and serene, the other black and furious. Only his eyes betrayed the chaos beneath.
Behind them surged the WS army — trained, synchronized, ruthless.
Each fighter wore red armbands streaked with dust and pride.
This wasn't just a gang.
It was a machine built to dominate.
Imanji's voice was low. "They've filled every angle of the field. Crescent's gone, but U-Force looks stronger."
Mahir's reply came cold and simple. "Let's remind them who owns this soil."
---
Across the Divide
The space between the two armies pulsed like a living thing — dry wind carrying flecks of sand that shimmered like sparks waiting for flame.
Zain stood tall, eyes fixed on Mahir.
Alice rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck.
Cube chewed lazily on his lollipop, but his gaze was razor-sharp under the hood.
Orion adjusted his sleeves, voice calm but ready. "They think this ground gives them strength."
Zain answered, "Then we'll take that too."
Across the field, Rui's masked face tilted slightly, watching Zain in silence. Tastin laughed under his breath.
Mash flexed again, the soil splitting beneath him.
Imanji raised a hand, signaling his men to hold.
And Mahir just stared — still as stone, eyes burning like wildfire.
---
Before the Storm Breaks
The wind died.
The air thickened.
Every fighter felt the weight of the moment press down like gravity itself.
Alice murmured, "Feels like the world's holding its breath."
Cube let out a small click of his tongue. "Then let's give it something worth watching."
Mahir finally stepped forward, dust spiraling around his boots. His voice was low, steady — carrying across the arena like a vow.
"Zain. You should've stayed in your corner. This place will eat you alive."
Zain smirked faintly, his two rings catching the dying light. "Then I'll make it choke."
That was it.
The last words before chaos.
Mahir's muscles coiled.
Zain's fists tightened.
Two storms — one born of power, the other of defiance — ready to collide.
And then—
They charged.
Dust exploded beneath their feet.
The wind screamed.
Every fighter watched in silence as their leaders raced toward each other — destiny condensed into motion.
The impact hadn't even happened yet, but the air itself already cracked with power.
Zain vs. Mahir.
The storm had found its center.
And Rebel Town would never be the same.
---