The Fire In Her Eyes

XIV

Mohana clenched her hands tightly as she saw the beast prepare himself to enter the field. Her heart was thundering in her chest, every particle in her body begging to break apart the fight. But alas, it was not in her hands. Not only would it look suspicious but also insulting to the Prince who had offered to fight.

The crowd went wild as Rudra entered the field, standing in front of Vyas, glaring at him with his cold eyes.

'So this puny boy is the reason why my woman refuses my advances. I shall take care of him once and for all. It is vital for her to understand what happens to someone who comes between her and I', Rudra thought to himself, rage overtaking his features. He saw his lady from the corner of his eyes, sitting tense and upright and it did nothing to calm his irate and volatile mind. She was worried about the little fucker and it made him insane. Rudra clenched his jaw as he turned his head slightly and locked his narrowed eyes on hers. She looked at him pleading eyes, begging him to retreat.

He scoffed silently as he returned his gaze back onto his opponent. His jaw clenched as the image of the two standing so close to each other plagued his mind. No one was even allowed to breathe in her direction much less stand so close to her and this fucker was about to find the consequences of his actions.

Rudra failed to understand why he acted so impulsively when it came to Mohana but he knew deep down in his heart it was only because she was his woman. His obsession had already set its roots in his plagued heart and it would not be long before his obsession becomes so dark that he would not let her out of his sight.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen are you excited for the best match of the day? Certainly, you must be for our victor, Vyas, will be facing the royal Prince of Avela, Prince Rudra", The announced shouted at the top of his lungs, grinning at the thought of all the money he would earn from the bets.

"Let us hear it for the contenders one more time!", The crowd erupted in cheers, mainly for the Prince as the soldiers near the arena beat down their sticks on the huge drums to indicate the start of the match.

Rudra, a towering figure with rippling muscles and an intense glare, moves with a predatory grace. Vyas, clearly caught at a disadvantage from the start due to his small stature and wearied body, is on the, beads of sweat mixing with the determination etched on his face.

The bout begins with Rudra swiftly taking control right from the start, his movements fluid and powerful. He starts with a lightning-fast double-leg takedown, lifting his opponent off the ground and slamming him onto the mat with a thunderous crash. The audience erupts, a cacophony of cheers and gasps.

With Vyas down, Rudra transitions seamlessly into a side mount, his weight pinning the other to the mat. He maintains a vice-like grip, his muscles straining as he applies pressure. Vyas squirms grunting in discomfort, attempting to bridge and roll, but Rudra anticipates every move, countering effortlessly.

Vyas was not weak by any length but the man he was up against was a complete beast. Every fighter has a weakness but Rudra was an exception to this rule. He made no mistake as he completely demolished his enemy; to put it simply, it was a guaranteed death for Vyas if no one stopped him.

Rudra shifts to a top mount, straddling his opponent and raining down a series of powerful blows with inhuman strength. Each strike lands harder than the previous, causing the other wrestler to cover up defensively, his arms doing little to stave off the onslaught. A savage look crossed Rudra's face as he drew an obscene amount of blood from his face. His mind had crossed into the red territory of possessiveness and jealousy as he kept thinking about Mohana with him. He was an unstoppable strength, forced to be reckoned with.

Sensing his weakening resistance, the Rudra hooks an arm, yanking it free from its defensive position. With practiced skill, he locks in a brutal armbar, hyperextending the limb and eliciting a cry of pain from his trapped opponent. The crowd's noise crescendos, a mix of admiration and sympathy.