The Ten Immortals
The lights dimmed. A wave of silence rolled through the colossal arena before the announcer’s voice thundered across the hall.
“Ladies and gentlemen… tonight begins the Tournament of Immortals! The selection of the world’s best among the best! The coronation of the queen among queens! The femaleeee boxing immortality of year 2019!!!!”
The crowd erupted. Thousands of voices clashed into one cheers, chants, the sharp crackle of camera flashes. Banners waved in the air, flags from every continent decorating the vast hall.
“As you all know, every year the first stage is the introduction of our great contestants,” the announcer continued, voice commanding. “The ten warriors. Given seven chances and seven days to prove their strength, to crown only the best of all within seven days. These preliminary bouts will establish rankings. No eliminations today. But remember every strike, every demonstration, every block, every drop of sweat will be judged. First impressions last.”
Screams erupted once more.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer’s booming voice cut through the deafening roar of thousands packed into the arena.
“I bring to you our ten contestants for the Fight of Immortality, year….. 2019!!!!!!”
The giant screens flickered, flashing the faces of the ten chosen warriors.
The crowd surged with anticipation. Loud noise echoed through the large stadium.
“At our number one, we introduce a great fighter, a talented warrior who hasn’t lost a fight in the last three years From Russia… ANNNYYYAAA VOOLKOVVV THE BRUTE!”
Heavy metal guitars blasted. A towering woman stomped out, fists pounding together. The crowd roared as she raised her arms like a warlord. She displayed her strength and the crowd roared louder, waving the country flag and her pictures as she flexed her muscles. The screens above the arena flickered, flashing her pictures and short fight clips.
The noise was still going strong when the announcer’s voice cut through again.
“Our next fighter! A strong woman from Brazil… the queen of speed… small but mighty, undefeated in the last two years… VAAALERIAAA SILVAAA popularly known as THE LIGHTNING!”
Samba drums and fast rhythms burst from the speakers. A slim woman, fast and sparking with energy, sprinted onto the stage. From the first bell, she was everywhere at once. Her punches snapped like whips, her feet barely touched the canvas. She bounced side to side, fists in the air. Fans chanted: “Lightning! Lightning!” and some shouted, “Small but mighty!” Another round of noise shook the arena as she demonstrated her lightning punches.
The announcer’s voice came through again, subsiding the noise.
“Here comes our great fighter, undefeated since she stepped into the boxing world. From Japan… ice-calm precision… the greeeeeeeat AYUUUMI TANAKAAA THE SILENT BLADE!”
Traditional taiko drums mixed with modern beats. She bowed formally before raising her gloves. Respectful applause followed. The crowd screamed her name, her country’s flag waved high as she demonstrated a head strike, knocking the air with precision. The announcer quickly shifted back, probably avoiding her head.
“Our fourth fighter and contestant issssssssss the almighty fist fighter! A hulking force who always comes with victory, undefeated in the last three years From the USA… storm of energy… NIIIAA JOHNSONNN THE HURRICANE!”
Hip-hop beats shook the speakers. She ran in, yelling, hyping the crowd herself. Half the arena screamed with her.
“Our next great fighter, with zero losses! From India… unbroken, unyielding… AMAARA SINGHHH …..THE LIONESS!”
A deep roar sound effect played. She strode out draped in her flag, slow and steady. Fans chanted: “Lioness! Lioness!”
“Here we have the strong young rising fighter, undefeated in the last two years! From Morocco… sharp-eyed and deadly… LAILAA HADDAAAD ……THE FALCON!”
Falcon screeches echoed over desert drums. She extended her arms like wings, then snapped her fists forward. The crowd whistled and clapped.
“Our next contestant, from Serbia… the unshaken, the immovable… undefeated in the last year… ELLENAAA PETROVIC ……THE IRON WALL!”
Dark, heavy entrance. She walked slowly, stone-faced, absorbing the noise without flinching. Some cheered, others stayed quiet out of awe.
“Our next, cold as ice the one who make her opponents panic at just the mention of her name! From Ukraine… the one the world call THE ICE QUEEN… KATERINAAA ORLOV!”
Blue lights shimmered like frost. She glided out, chin high, eyes cold. Fans screamed her nickname in unison: “Ice Queen!”
“Our next contestant is the one whose silence speaks louder than noise. The great one who has never lost a fight since her debut. From France… the untouchable… SELENA MOREAUUU ……THE SHADOW!”
The lights went almost black. A low hum vibrated through the arena. She appeared slowly from the tunnel, no smile, no wave. Her hood was up, face unreadable. When the lights flashed, her eyes caught the camera sharp, cutting through the silence. Half the arena ERUPTED “SHADOW! SHADOW!!!!” Some stood up holding cardboards with her name, others wore shirts with her image, and the crowd echoed her name.
She didn’t react. Didn’t look at the crowd. She just walked, every step deliberate, her aura louder than cheers. She flexed her strong muscles and broad shoulders, chalk dust flying into the air.
The announcer’s voice came one more time.
“And finally… the youngest star of this year’s Tournament. Undefeated. A prodigy whose blood carries two worlds South Korea and Nigeria raised with Nigerian fire, forged with Korean discipline. The rising storm… Talia Cross… the one the world calls… THE IRON FIST!”
The arena erupted.
Drums rolled a fusion of pounding Korean percussion and deep Afro-beats shaking the ground in rhythm with the roar of the crowd. Spotlights tore across the vast arena before locking on the tunnel.
Talia Cross emerged, calm and steady, gear hugging her frame, steel buckles glinting under the lights. Around her neck sat a skull-studded choker, a dark crown of defiance. Her gloves were wrapped tight, fists flexing slowly as though itching to strike. Dark makeup carved her face into something fierce her eyes sharp, magnetic, dangerous.
She didn’t wave. She didn’t smile. She walked.
Every step steady, heavy with intent a storm contained in flesh.
Fans screamed themselves hoarse:
“IRON FIST! IRON FIST!”
Then, piercing the thunder, came a single young voice:
“Use your Iron Fist to cross them, Taliaaa!”
The whole arena erupted into laughter and thunderous applause. Talia smirked, squeezed her fist, and thrust it into the air. Camera flashes burst like fireworks, capturing the moment.
The announcer’s voice thundered again, sealing the night:
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the 2019 Tournament of Immortals! Ten warriors. Seven days. One crown. Where princesses of power clash for glory… but only ONE will wear the crown of immortality! Buckle in for seven days of fire, strength, and history in the making!”
Each fighter was called, one by one, to the front of the stage for official confirmation. The giant screens above flashed their names and records as referees and officials checked documents, weights, and signaled them through.
The crowd roared at every appearance banners waving, fans screaming their chosen fighter’s name. Some bowed. Some flexed. Some simply raised their fists to the sky.
Then came the staredowns.
Whenever two fighters’ eyes locked, the atmosphere sharpened. Tension pulsed like electricity, the audience roaring louder at every second of silence between rivals. These moments weren’t just protocol they were sparks for future wars.
And then it happened.
Talia stepped forward. A moment later, so did Shadow, drawing them together for the most anticipated face-off of the night.
The arena hushed as the two prodigies stood across from one another Talia draped in her black leather gear hugging her frame, skull-studded choker around her neck. Shadow cloaked in pure black, her hood casting a shadow over her expression.
Neither blinked. Neither moved. The air between them was heavy enough to crush silence into noise. Cameras zoomed in, capturing every detail of their eyes, their unshaken stances. The crowd didn’t just watch they held their breath.
Then, almost at once, both fighters turned away, walking back to their corners without a word.
The place exploded.
“Shadow! Shadow!” clashed with “Iron Fist! Iron Fist!” until the arena shook.
The announcer’s voice cut above the storm:
“And with that, ladies and gentlemen, Day One of the Tournament of Immortals has come to an end! Tomorrow… the battles begin!”
The fighters exited the stage, the lights dimmed, and the curtain dropped on a night that would be remembered forever.