The sun barely peeked over the horizon when the underground world began to stir. News of Ochieng's rise to power had spread like wildfire, igniting tensions in every corner of the city. Some pledged loyalty, while others sharpened their blades, eager to strike him down before his throne was even warm.
But Ochieng?
He was waiting for them.
---
Deep within an ancient chamber, hidden beneath the city's grandest temple, the true rulers of the underground world gathered.
Nine figures sat in a circle, their faces hidden behind ornate masks. Some represented old noble families, others powerful sects, and a few controlled the deadliest assassin organizations in the world.
At the center of the chamber stood a man dressed in flowing white robes—The Silent Master. His presence alone could freeze the blood of lesser men.
"We cannot let this child reign," a woman's voice hissed. "He is young, reckless, and untested."
"The people have already begun to rally behind him," another argued. "To strike too soon would be a mistake."
The Silent Master raised a hand, silencing them all. His voice was calm, yet it carried the weight of death itself.
"Ochieng must be tested. If he survives what comes next, only then will we decide whether he lives… or dies."
His words were final.
And the storm had begun.
---
Ochieng sat in his chamber, eyes closed, meditating. He could feel the weight of power settling on his shoulders, but he did not flinch.
Then—a knock.
His right-hand man, Jafari, entered, his expression unreadable.
"My king," Jafari said. "The Council has sent an invitation."
Ochieng opened his eyes. "An invitation?"
Jafari hesitated. "A duel of kings. You must face three challengers. If you fall, your rule is over."
Silence.
Then—laughter.
Ochieng leaned back in his chair, a slow smirk forming. "So, they think I'm weak."
Jafari exhaled sharply. "They think you're untested."
Ochieng stood, rolling his shoulders. "Then let's show them what happens when they challenge a king."
---
The arena was packed with warriors, nobles, and criminals alike. They had gathered for one reason—to watch the new king fight for his throne.
Ochieng stepped into the ring, his black robe billowing as the crowd roared. Across from him stood his first challenger—Zuberi the Blade Phantom.
A legendary swordsman, Zuberi was known for his lightning-fast strikes, capable of cutting a man down before he even realized the battle had begun.
He unsheathed his twin blades, the metal gleaming under the torchlight.
"Do you have any last words, King Ochieng?" Zuberi taunted.
Ochieng smirked. "Only one."
Zuberi lunged. Fast.
Too fast.
The blades slashed through the air—but Ochieng was already gone.
Gasps echoed through the arena as Ochieng reappeared behind Zuberi, his foot slamming into the swordsman's back.
Zuberi staggered, but recovered instantly, spinning to strike again.
Clang!
Their weapons met in a flash of sparks, the force of the impact shaking the ground beneath them.
But then—Ochieng vanished again.
Zuberi's eyes widened. What?!
Before he could react, a fist struck his ribs—crack!
He stumbled back, coughing blood.
Ochieng tilted his head. "You're fast."
Zuberi growled. "You're faster."
The crowd held its breath as the two warriors circled each other once more.
And then—Ochieng attacked.
This time, he didn't hold back.
---
Blades clashed. Sparks flew. And in the end—only one man was left standing.
Ochieng.
His foot pressed against Zuberi's chest, pinning the fallen warrior to the ground.
The crowd erupted.
The new king had passed his first trial.
But two more challengers remained.
And in the shadows, The Silent Master watched.
His lips curled into a smile.
"This boy," he murmured, "might just survive after all."
The Second Challenger: The Iron Demon
The moment Zuberi fell, the crowd erupted into a frenzy. Some cheered for Ochieng's victory, while others watched in stunned silence. But the battle was far from over.
A booming voice echoed through the arena, sending chills down the spines of even the bravest warriors.
"Impressive."
A massive figure stepped into the ring, his sheer presence casting a shadow over Ochieng. Omondi the Iron Demon.
Unlike Zuberi, who relied on speed, Omondi was a mountain of a man. His body was covered in thick, battle-worn armor, his fists wrapped in chains. It was said that no weapon could pierce his skin, and no man had ever knocked him down.
Ochieng's eyes narrowed.
This one would not fall so easily.
---
Omondi raised a massive fist and slammed it into the ground. The earth trembled beneath Ochieng's feet.
"I've crushed warriors stronger than you," Omondi growled. "Your speed won't save you this time."
Ochieng chuckled. "Speed? Who said I'd rely on speed?"
He vanished.
Omondi swung his fist—and hit nothing but air.
Before he could react, a sharp impact struck his ribs. Then another. And another.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Ochieng's attacks were relentless, striking Omondi from every angle. But the giant did not fall.
He grinned.
"That tickles."
Then—he grabbed Ochieng mid-air.
The crowd gasped.
Ochieng struggled, but Omondi's grip was like iron. He raised him high, then slammed him down with a force that cracked the arena floor.
Dust exploded into the air.
Silence.
For a moment, it seemed like the match was over.
Then—a laugh.
Through the settling dust, Ochieng stood up.
Blood trickled from his lips, but his smirk remained.
Omondi frowned. "You should not be standing."
Ochieng wiped the blood from his mouth. "And you should not be this slow."
Before Omondi could react, Ochieng unleashed his full power.
His hands moved in a blur, striking at vital points.
Omondi's grin faltered.
He felt it.
His body, once impervious to pain, was weakening.
His knees buckled. His vision blurred.
Then—darkness.
Omondi collapsed with a thunderous crash.
The crowd erupted.
Two down.
One to go.
---
Ochieng barely had time to catch his breath before the final challenger stepped forward.
A woman.
She moved with an eerie grace, her silver robes flowing like mist. Nia the Ghost of the East.
Her name was spoken in whispers. Some said she was not of this world. Others claimed she had never been defeated—not because she was the strongest, but because she could not be touched.
Ochieng watched her carefully.
She did not speak.
She vanished.
And then—pain.
A razor-sharp blade sliced across Ochieng's arm.
Then another.
And another.
Blood dripped onto the ground.
Nia reappeared behind him, her dagger pressed against his throat.
"You're already dead," she whispered.
Ochieng smirked. "Not yet."
He twisted his body—just in time.
The dagger missed his throat by a fraction of an inch.
Ochieng countered, striking at her ribs—but hit nothing.
She was gone again.
The fight continued in a blur of flashing steel and vanishing shadows.
Ochieng's mind raced.
She's too fast.
I can't hit her.
Unless…
He closed his eyes.
Listened.
Felt the air shift.
Then—he struck.
His fist connected.
Nia gasped.
She stumbled back, eyes wide.
Ochieng opened his eyes and smiled. "You're fast. But even shadows make a sound."
Nia exhaled sharply, then lowered her dagger.
She knelt.
"I concede."
The crowd exploded.
Ochieng had won.
The new king had proven himself.
---
The Silent Master watched from the shadows, his expression unreadable.
"He did it," one of the masked figures whispered.
The Silent Master nodded.
"This boy…" He leaned forward. "Is no ordinary king."
As the cheers of the crowd filled the night, Ochieng stood tall, his enemies defeated, his throne unchallenged.
But in the depths of the city, unseen forces were already moving.
Because in the world of kings—victory was only the beginning.