Sathya and Mohit stood at the heart of the café like two wolves squaring off in a clearing, the world around them shrinking into hushed breaths and wide-eyed stares. Tables sat abandoned. Cups trembled in anxious hands. A silence gripped the crowd—a taut, electric stillness before the storm.
The manager spotted the confrontation and began rushing toward them, weaving past tables, arms raised, stammering, "Gentlemen, please—let's not—!"
But he was too late.
Mohit moved first.
With a roar, he lunged forward and swung a wide, telegraphed punch. His fist cut the air with brute force—but Sathya was already in motion. He ducked to the side, letting the punch pass over his shoulder with only inches distance.
Mohit's body stumbled forward slightly from the momentum, a brief moment of imbalance.
At the same time, chaos erupted behind them.
One of the rowdies, face twisted in cruelty, slapped Rohit across the face—hard. The crack of skin on skin echoed through the café. Rohit staggered, eyes wide in disbelief. His cheek reddened instantly, and he clutched it, stunned, as if trying to process what just happened.
Two more of Mohit's men began circling toward him, grinning like jackals sensing weakness.
Customers screamed. Chairs scraped backward in panic. A waitress ducked behind the counter. The crowd parted instinctively, creating a ring of space around the group. The manager froze mid-step, panicking now, shouting helplessly, "Sir! Gentlemen! Stop! Security—someone call—!"
But his words were swallowed by the violence already in motion.
Mohit recovered and charged again, faster this time, fists clenched.
Sathya stepped back, light on his feet. His shoulders were squared, his eyes focused. Calm. He wasn't fighting wild—he was watching.
Mohit snarled. "Why don't you fight like a man!?"
Sathya's lips twitched in a wry smile. "I am fighting like a man."
As Mohit closed the gap, Sathya's hand darted sideways and grabbed the long-handled mop leaning against the wall. He twirled it into a ready stance, the wooden stick now an extension of his arm.
Mohit laughed. "You don't even know who you're up against."
Sathya's grip tightened. "Does it matter?"
Mohit's eyes flared with anger. "Hah! You're dead."
He lunged again.
Sathya raised the mop and swung it with power, aiming for Mohit's Head. The stick whistled through the air.
But Mohit's arm came up in defense—except something changed.
For a split second, his forearm shimmered with a dull, golden sheen, like metal catching candlelight.
CRACK!
The stick shattered in half against his arm. Splinters flew. Mohit's body barely shifted.
Sathya's eyes narrowed, but he had no time to react.
Mohit used the moment of surprise. With a snarl, he stepped in and drove his fist forward—full force—straight into Sathya's chest with golden shin.
Sathya raised an arm in a rushed defense, but it wasn't enough.
THUD!
The impact sent him flying backwards. His body crashed into a nearby table, splintering it. Dishes shattered. The girl sitting there let out a shriek and stumbled away just in time, nearly caught in the wreckage.
Sathya collapsed to the ground, groaning. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
Mohit straightened, cracking his neck as he stepped forward with smug satisfaction. "Guess you didn't calculate that one, smartass."
Sathya coughed, a wet, gurgling sound. He spat to the side and slowly pushed himself to his knees. The blood dripped freely now—his lip split, ribs likely bruised.
But his eyes never left Mohit.
"No worries," he muttered, breath ragged. "You're not the only one with Gifts."
Then the air changed.
The blood dripping from Sathya's palm began to swirl unnaturally. It coiled around his fingers, pooling into a crimson mass—then sharpening, condensing—until it solidified into the shape of a wicked, glistening knife made of blood.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Even Mohit paused, brows raised in disbelief.
Sathya stood, his frame bloodied but steady, blade in hand, body low like a fighter ready to pounce.
"Let's start round two," he said coldly.
Mohit grinned, rolling his shoulders. "Let's go."