Pushing through the sea of people and from a slit, he caught a sight of her back. He thought 'Hmm, why do I feel she looks familiar... to someone?' The thug roughly grabbed her hips with a lecherous gaze, she slapped him. His face darkened and frisked her to the floor, she closed her eyes tight and curled her head expecting the blow. And before the man could strike her, Draven jumped over with a flying kick in the face; kicking a meter away. *Bang* The spectators gasped. Slowly her eyes fluttered open, bewildered by the events. As a man bleed on the ground. Her earthen eyes widened, seeing her saviour. With a light chuckle, Draven gazed into her eyes and softly mouthed 'Hi' The man rubbed his face in pain, stood on his feet and spat blood. They supported him and drew out their knives. He shouted "Yo punk! How dare you kick me? Don't you know who am I? Draven snickered "Do I look like I care?" A ball of fire crawled around his hand. <

In the deep spaces of his mind, darkness lurked. Flesh and blood aren't enough to satisfy the great demon, rather the torment of the soul. "Oh, how much I crave for a much tender and succulent soul to feast on..." Through an eerie forest, a dark shadow walked, a blood curdling scream came from below, the still lake. The hoarse wails and the clanging of chains, it was music to his ears. He strolled into the grand palace; his footsteps echoed through the halls. He pushed the giant arched doors and walked to the throne. His subjects chanted his name. 'All hail Kalaraja, Kalaraja... Karlaraja' Detached. Kalaraja passed his chained captives, kneeling on the cold floor. He lounged in his purple cushioned throne, rested a leg on the black armrest. He raised his hand, they stopped chanting. The prisoners then lifted their heads to see their tormentor. They fainted. Underneath his long, blood hair, lied a vicious grin. With hung

Draven turned invisible and ran to his private room.  Inside, Draven started exercising and lifting weights.  'I can't allow myself to lose! That too to a girl! Rhhh, Damn it!'  Afffected, without Vernon's permission, he doubled the weights on his body.  After working out his back and legs, he skipped the rope for thirty minutes, with a sober expression.  He switched on the battle simulator and turned the nob up hard. He plugged his ears and turned the volume up and popped a pill, strolled to the middle. Shifted his surrounding 

The whistle resounded, signalling the third match. The third match, wasn’t going to be a walk in a park. The opposing line up, had three high-end performers. Kayla, Matthew and Shawn, the Tank. Tank wasn't a nickname but a title. For the strongest, muscle headed superhuman of each year. Draven expression turned grim, the crowd in the stands changed their tunes, as their cheers rebervated the air. (loud) A lanky, nerd led his team to the other side. The whistle blew again. At first glance, Shawn may not look much. The lanky teen tossed his thick framed glasses, and his facials muscles contorted as they inflated, double the size. His height shot to ten feet, gigantic muscles sprouted, stretching his flexible clothing. He roared, drumming his rippled chest. The spectators roared along. He slammed his fists on the ground, the balls rebounded. Grabbing the balls in the air and threw them hard, rocketed through the air. In a