The battle began without either side managing to overwhelm the other; it was only the opening, a prelude to the storm. Both fighters moved with precision, testing each other, probing weaknesses, gauging reactions. Every strike, every dodge, every movement sent ripples through the surrounding void. The air itself seemed to crack under their force.
The universe trembled. Stars quivered and galaxies shifted. Even the emptiness between worlds shivered under their power—one, a radiant beauty who controlled space and time; the other, a man broken and hollow, consumed entirely by darkness.
Ultimate struck first, a flurry of heavy kicks aimed to crush Layla instantly. She moved with uncanny grace, dodging each strike, feeling the vibrations of the void pulse beneath her feet. Then, a brilliant light appeared—a black orb expanding like a small galaxy, on the verge of detonation. She couldn't escape it. She braced herself, expecting the end, yet the orb slowed to a near halt, hanging in suspended animation before fading completely.
Ultimate froze, his eyes widening at her skill. A dangerous smile crept onto his face. Seizing the opening, he transformed his blade into a spear and hurled it toward her head with lethal precision. Layla twisted mid-air, dodging effortlessly, but the spear had already shifted form, turning into a torrent of dark energy that clung to her, slowing her just enough for Ultimate to close the distance. His blade slashed across her legs, leaving deep, jagged scars that immediately began to close, threads of flesh knitting slowly under her extraordinary healing.
Ignoring the pain, Layla's focus sharpened. With a whisper of movement, she manipulated space, locking Ultimate in a confined pocket of distorted dimensions. He struggled, trying to move, but she was faster. Like a warrior sculpted from light and steel, she drove her blade through his chest, piercing the armor of his darkness.
They both retreated a few meters, their eyes locked in silent assessment. Layla's wounds had vanished; her body, a flawless instrument of battle. Ultimate's recovery would be slower—she had deliberately slowed time around him, denying him the full strength of his regeneration.
Ultimate's gaze flickered, sensing something beyond the fight. Striver—powerful, dangerous, and intriguing. A spark of the Creator's energy pulsed faintly within him, not enough to match Ultimate, but more than most mortals could ever imagine. Then his eyes returned to Layla, lingering. She was like a rose: delicate yet lethal, petals soft but surrounded by thorns sharp enough to draw blood.
"You've certainly improved… looks like you are rea—" His words dissolved as he vanished, striking again with relentless speed. Each blow carried the weight of collapsing worlds, staggering her. She shifted into a defensive stance, absorbing and deflecting, moving with the fluidity of water over stone. Every attack that connected sent tremors through her body, yet she countered whenever a gap appeared.
Seconds passed, and Layla began to falter, each movement heavier, each strike slower. Ultimate's relentless assault pushed her to the edge. She was breathing rapidly, her muscles screaming for relief, yet she refused to yield. Then, a memory, long buried, erupted in her mind—a memory she had cherished and cursed, a memory she had fought to forget.
---
Flashback
Life had once seemed perfect. Layla had family, friends, and a clear path to her dreams. Her father, Mateo, was among the wealthiest men in four countries—third richest in the world. To outsiders, they lived a life of unimaginable luxury: grand estates, elite schools, rare experiences that most could only dream of.
But beneath the glamour lurked darkness. Mateo's fortune was tainted, built upon human trafficking and slavery, a secret hidden from the world—and from Layla. Her brother was her anchor, always by her side, shielding her from the unseen horrors of their father's empire.
One night, Layla overheard a heated conversation. Her father's voice cracked with tension. "I will find a way. Now don't threaten me," he barked into the phone, his eyes wide, nerves fraying. Layla's gaze lingered on him, and for a brief moment, he noticed her.
"Go to sleep," he said, brushing her off. "It's late."
The next day, returning home from school, Layla noticed three Albanian S-class cars parked outside. Even her father couldn't buy such vehicles casually. Her curiosity drew her inside—and fear struck her heart like a physical blow. Five armed men surrounded her father and brother, guns trained on them.
"Please… give me more time," Mateo begged, his voice strained.
The leader, a man in his forties, studied Layla with unnerving intensity. Her golden hair caught the sunlight, her pale skin seemed to glow, and her petite frame made her appear fragile, yet striking.
Kneeling, Layla pleaded, "Please… whatever my father owes you, he will pay."
The man's smirk was cruel. "I will take the girl. The debt is settled."
Shock froze her. Her father didn't resist. "Take her," he said, his voice cold and unwavering.
"Dad!" she screamed, glancing at her brother, who lowered his head, silent and motionless.
The men dragged her into the car. The leader casually bit into an apple, his gaze never leaving her.
"Little girl… how does it feel?" he asked.
Layla said nothing, fury blazing in her eyes. The man laughed, the sound cruel and hollow.
"Exactly why I need you. In return, I will tell you what happened to your mother."
Her anger shifted to desperate curiosity. "What happened to my mom?"
---
The memory vanished as quickly as it came, leaving a fire in her chest. Anger, grief, and determination surged through her veins, sharpening her focus. Ultimate attacked again, faster, more powerful, but this time Layla met him head-on, her strikes fueled by the raw, unshakable memory of her past.
Every block, every parry, every strike was precise, calculated, a dance of death and survival. She twisted through space, bending time around her, the universe rippling with each movement. Ultimate's darkness clawed at her, but she twisted free, leaving streaks of light in her wake.
Pain struck, yet she ignored it. Every scar, every burn, every memory of betrayal hardened her resolve. She would not fall. Not now. Not ever.