The sun sets over Germany, dyeing the horizon purple and orange before night completely floods the sky. Against this dark backdrop, the dazzling lights of the vast Ultra-Championship Zenith stadium cut through the darkness, a beacon attracting a frenzied crowd. The air vibrates with raw, palpable energy; the roar of parking cars mingles with the excited shouts of thousands of voices filling the stands, all orbiting the gigantic hexagonal arena. Music blares, and the distorted voices of the commentators add to the din, creating a symphony of chaotic anticipation.

"WE ARE BROADCASTING FOR THE START OF THE ULTRA-CHAMPIONSHIP ZENITH! THE BETS ARE HIGH AND THE CROWD IS GOING WILD! WELCOME TO A NIGHT WHERE HUMAN LIMITS WILL BE BROKEN!"

Cameras sweep the arena, their blinding spotlights focused on the fighting pit. The lead commentator shouts loudly, his voice echoing in every corner.

"FIRST, HEADING TO THE RING, WITH A TRAJECTORY AS PASSIONATE AS THE FIRE HE COMMANDS... BRUCE FELLON!"

A tall, burly man, dressed in Australian-patterned combat gear, raises his arms to the cheers of his fans. A confident smile spreads across his face.

"AND FACING HIM, A BLIZZARD WITH EYES OF ICE AND FISTS OF STEEL! THE FEARED RUSSIAN BERSERKER... CALINA PUSHKINA!"

The cheering intensifies, but she advances with a coldness that seems to lower the temperature of the room. Her dark blue top with red details reveals a chiseled abdomen, and the white jumpsuit with red lines hugs her powerful legs. Her steps are measured and heavy. Her blond hair, tied back in a high ponytail, reveals the imperturbable seriousness of her features, framed by a few strands of hair in front of her. A red ribbon crosses the top of her head and flows from the nape of her neck, gently waving with each step. Her blue eyes, cold and penetrating, never waver from their target.

Bruce Fellon, smiling broadly, raises a hand in a cordial greeting.

Calina doesn't respond. There's not a gesture, not a nod. She just stares at him, the fixed, intense gaze of a predator who has located its prey. The crowd erupts in a deafening roar as the commentator announces the start.

"LET THE BATTLE BEGIN! THREE... TWO... ONE... FIGHT!"

The bell rings, a sharp climax that is instantly swallowed up by the thunderous surge of their movements. Both combatants launch themselves at each other like projectiles. The collision of their blows is a sharp explosion that shakes the arena floor. Without losing an ounce of momentum, Calina spins on her axis, channeling all the strength of her athletic body into a devastating roundhouse kick that connects with Bruce's torso with a dull crunch, sending him flying several meters until he crashes against the Gray wall.

Bruce recovers with surprising agility, spitting a little blood and smiling with renewed ferocity. He leaps high into the air, his hands igniting with an orange glow.

"Taste some heat, ice cream!" he shouts, launching a rapid succession of fireballs that explode at Calina's feet.

She dodges them with feline movements, but that's when Bruce inhales deeply, his chest expanding. From his mouth erupts a torrent of hellish flames, a wall of destruction that engulfs Calina and illuminates the stadium with a blinding light. The crowd and commentators scream in unison, thinking they see the end.

When the fire dissipates, they reveal Calina in a low position, her arms crossed, shielding her face. She is not unscathed; smoke rises from her clothes and her skin is reddened, but she has endured. And now, something changes. Thin, glowing cracks, like red lava, begin to snake around her forearms and shoulders, emanating a heat distinct from Bruce's fire: an inner power, raw and enraged. A low, bestial growl roars in her throat as she straightens her back, her blue eyes now glowing with a murderous light.

—THIS IS JUST BEGINNING—