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The Os-Nàdarra Sentinels

Arc Three:

The Overlords

Chapter 2: The Competition

-January 18th

2011-

            Two weeks had passed since Volcan's

near-death experience of having the darkness within his body separated from

him. In that time, the Fire Phoenix had shown little change; he could walk

-with some help, but was not yet able to move around for long, nor perform

anything that was barely strenuous; even the act of lifting up a cup was

difficult for him in his current condition. He'd never said so, but it was

obvious, especially to Vinge who visited twice a week, that Volcan was

distressed at how weakened he was.

            Not that anyone could blame him.

Prior to this event he was the most physically powerful person in all of Unity

Falls; now he was about as sturdy a pane of glass.

            With Volcan down, Winged Fury had

been forced to announce a temporary retirement until their lead guitarist was

back in action. Leadership of the Os-Nadarra was, however, still up for debate;

the only one to step forward for the position was Lighris, but nobody would

nominate him, stating he was too hot-headed for the role. He hadn't been happy

with the decision, of course, but he respected it. Everyone else seemed to be

suggesting Vinge or Rikyuu, the latter of whom was quick to remind them he

wasn't technically a full-time member.

            It wasn't a decision that needed to

be rushed, though; things had been quiet, and the Os-Nadarra had little reason

to be active. Petty crimes across the city were something the police had

covered, the I.T.O.U.E were gone, and Unity Falls was otherwise quiet. However,

in light of the appearance of Volcan's evil counterpart, they thought it best

the team stay in contact; if the dark phoenix somehow returned, it would be up

to the six of them, plus three with Rikyuu, Obsidian and Ayane serving as

honorary members as well, to stop him.

            In regards to Volcan's absence, Vinge

had offered to take care of the phoenixes' apartment as well; once each week he

stopped by there to check things out, sort through the mail and inform him of

bills in need of being paid -which Degra handled, rather than Vinge, and he

also had to explain to the landlady that Volcan had been injured in an accident

and would not be home for quite some time. She agreed to keep his apartment

rented to Volcan as long as the rent was paid -although she also agreed to

lower it by half until he came back, bless her heart.

            Vinge was making his weekly stop;

dust had settled over all surfaces, so he sought out cleaning supplies to give

the place a touch-up. He started with the kitchen, using a lemon-scented

surface cleaner and a rag to wash the dust off of the counters, stove, out of

the sink and off of the cupboards, both inside and out, and finished by mopping

the floor with the same surface cleaner. Afterwords, he retrieved some wood

polish -basically wax, from the cabinet and went to work on Volcan's wooden furniture,

consisting of his coffee table, TV stand, and a reclining armchair with wooden

arms and legs. Like the surface cleaner, this wood polish was also lemon

scented. 'He really likes the smell of

lemons, it seems,' thought the ice phoenix.

            Just after finishing with the coffee

table, he heard footsteps at the door; glancing over, he saw a familiar figure

stepping inside, and sat up to see Tsume looking back at him. "Oh, hi Vinge; so

that was you I could hear," she said.

            "Yes; just making my weekly stop," the

ice phoenix returned, standing up. "How are you, Tsume?"

            She shrugged. "Work's been a little

slow; all of the gardens at the estates are doing fine. Besides that, I'm doing

okay," she replied. "And you?"

            "Fine. Just making sure Volcan's

affairs are in order," replied Vinge, draping the rag he was using over the

wood polish spray and setting it aside, dusting off his hands.

            "How's he doing?"

            "Very little change, but I think

he's recovering; he can almost walk again."

            Tsume sighed sadly. "Poor kid...

why'd that have to happen to him?"

            Vinge arched an eyebrow at Tsume.

"'Kid'? Correct me if I'm wrong, but are you not only seventeen years old?"

            Tsume chuckled and put a hand on her

hip. "Eighteen in a few months; it's just an expression. Besides, he is still a kid as Phoenixes go; so am I,

and so are you." She smiled at him. "You shouldn't take everything so

literally."

            "Sorry," returned the Ice Phoenix,

before he glanced around the apartment. "Um... would you happen to know where

Volcan keeps his vacuum cleaner?"

            "Closet, in the entryway," replied

Tsume, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

            Vinge nodded his thanks, walking

over to the indicated closet; Tsume stepped aside to let him pass, watching

him. "Want any help? I can start cleaning the kitchen or the bathroom."

            Vinge paused as his hand grasped

Volcan's vacuum cleaner, considering her offer before he answered. "I already

did the kitchen, but cleaning the bathroom would indeed be helpful; thank you."

            "I've got to admit, Vinge," began

Tsume as she headed over to the bathroom. "You're the first guy I've met who's

actually good at cleaning a house."

            Vinge chuckled. "I watched my mother

do it all the time; I guess I picked up on it," he returned as he found an

electrical outlet and unrolled the vacuum cord, finding numerous tangles in it.

"He's not very good at storing this," the ice phoenix remarked in a low

whisper.

            "Say something?" Tsume called.

            "Sorry, just talking to myself,"

replied Vinge.

            "Oh, okay."

            The two carried on with their work;

Vinge vacuumed the carpeted floors of the living room, hallway and both

bedrooms, detaching the hose to get into the tighter corners the front could

not, sucking up all of the dust and dirt. Tsume adorned a pair of gloves she

found under the sink in the bathroom -gloves that were much too large for her

hands, but they did the job- and started with the bathtub and shower. Clearly

this part of the bathroom didn't see much use; it had no soap scum or

watermarks anywhere; understandable considering the heritage of the person who

lived in this apartment. The shower was followed shortly after by the toilet,

the sink, the mirror and the floor; she cleaned it all in a short time, and

stood by the door to admire her work for a moment before she put the gloves

back where she found them, and stepped out to see how Vinge was faring.

            The ice phoenix was emptying the

dust cup of the vacuum cleaner into the garbage bin in the kitchen, looking up

when he heard Tsume approaching. "All done?"

            She nodded. "Yep; clean as a

whistle."

            "Then I think we're finished," the

ice phoenix said, tapping the cup against the side of the garbage bin before he

pulled it back, and placed it back into the vacuum. "So what do you have

planned today?"

            Tsume shrugged. "Just my yoga

practice this afternoon but besides that, nothing," she replied. "What about

you?"

            "Was thinking of heading over to the

museum to see my mom today, and see how she's doing," the ice phoenix returned

as he carried the vacuum back to where he'd found it, coiling the cord neatly

before hanging it over the back of the vacuum handle.

            Just as Tsume was about to respond,

there was a buzzing sound from her pocket, followed by what sounded like words

spoken in first-nations tongue; three words which even Vinge didn't understand

despite being fluent in five languages. But it made Tsume smile as she reached

into her pocket and pulled out her phone, pressing the button on top to

activate the display, her smile widening and she was almost squealing with

glee.

            "What the heck was that?" Vinge

asked.

            "A recorded ringtone by my teacher,"

replied Tsume. "So I'd always know when he's messaging me." She giggled as she

thought back. "Took me months to convince him to get a modern-day cellphone,

and just as long to teach him how to use it; he was a little old-fashioned

until I came along."

            "Your teacher?" Vinge asked.

            "Red-Grass; my knife-fighting

instructor."

            Vinge gawked at Tsume as the name

'Red-Grass' left her beak, his eyes widening in clear surprise and his beak

hanging open in awe. "You're joking," he stated, "Red-Grass, as in the nine-time international champion

knife-fighter and the winner of four regional archery contests?"

            Tsume smiled. "The very same; you

really do know your stuff."

            "I once sought him out to train with

him!" Vinge returned. "How long have you known him?"

            "Since I was eight; he was a friend

of my dad's," replied Tsume. "Red-Grass was looking to buy back some land that

once belonged to his family; my dad used some of his connections and made it

happen. Since then they became close friends; I asked Red-Grass to take me

under his tutelage, and he taught me knife-fighting, archery, and even got me

started on martial arts."

            "Martials arts; what does he

practice?"

            Tsume smiled, setting her phone

aside and taking a deep breath before she jumped backward, landing on her hands

and performing several sweeping kicks with her legs, attacking imaginary foes

as she moved. She followed up the sweeping kicks with a high-kick that would have

struck someone across the face -which, had once already; Vinge recalled the

scarred man, Adrian Broadside, of the I.T.O.U.E, whom the Os-Nadarra had fought

the year before; As he watched the way Tsume moved he was suddenly reminded of

those deep gouges in Adrian's face when the police apprehended him and the

other I.T.O.U.E members. Those scars must have been caused by Tsume's talons

while using that kick.

            He took note of her technique

through the five second demonstration she gave, using her hands for support

when she went low and only using her legs to attack. When she stopped and

hand-sprinted back over to him, landing in front of him and taking a breath, he

analyzed what she had been doing. "Capoeira," he stated.

            "Give the man a prize," returned

Tsume.

            "Red-Grass taught you that?"

            Tsume shook her head. "He got me

started on it; he used a few techniques in his knife-fighting styles," replied

Tsume. "I took the other courses at a martial arts school here in town."

            "How does Red-Grass combine leg-strikes

and knife fighting?" Vinge asked, curiously. "Knives require hands, Capoeira

uses only the warrior's feet; how can he hold a knife and kick like you were

doing?"

            "Let's just say his knuckles look

like ground meat," replied Tsume, grimacing slightly.

            "Oh... dead nerve endings?"

            "Oh

yeah; couldn't feel a hammer hitting his fingers."

            Vinge nodded. "So... what was he

messaging about?"

            Tsume reached for her phone, picking

it up off the table where she'd placed it, and pacing around the room a little

as the read the message. Her eyes widened slightly as she read, and another

light smile appeared on the fleshy root of her beak. "Another tournament coming

to town, apparently."

            "Knife-fighting?"

            "Nope; martial-arts," replied the

Earth Phoenix. "It's being hosted at the McKenzie College, at the Convention

Center's basement. Just a regional tournament so mostly only locals are going

to be here."

            "You're planning to enter, I take

it," said Vinge.

            "How'd you guess?" Tsume asked,

rhetorically, although Vinge still answered.

            "First reason; why else would

Red-Grass be messaging you about it? Second reason; remember that day Volcan

and I stopped by your apartment to borrow some cooking supplies that he was out

of?"

            "Yeah?"

            "I saw the awards on that shelf next

to your family photo," replied Vinge. "You've placed the top four in three

regional tournaments already, one of them martial arts."

            Tsume smile faded, eyeing Vinge with

an almost intimidated expression. "You know, it's scary how you can notice that

much; you were only in my apartment for two minutes."

            Vinge tapped the side of his head

with a finger. "Photographic memory."

            "How photographic?"

            "I remember every word in a lullaby

my mom sang to me when I was two."

            "Aww, that's so cute."

            Vinge cleared his throat. "But yes.

Clearly, you like to compete."

            Tsume put up her hands. "Guilty as

charged," she returned. "The thrill of competition is a thrill I'm sorry to

miss."

            Vinge nodded. "Well, all I can do is

wish you luck, then," he said.

            Tsume irked an eyebrow at the ice

phoenix, eyeing him curiously. "What, you don't want to compete?"

            "I did not practice martial arts to

use them for fame and glory," returned Vinge, waving his hand dismissively. "It

was a coping mechanism to..." He cringed. "Deal with my past."

            "Be that as it may haven't you ever

wanted to test yourself against another combatant?" Tsume asked.

            "Anyone who practices will have

thought about it, but I don't have a competitive spirit like yours," Vinge

returned. "And for the record, I have tested myself against others; I fought

Volcan when he and I first met, remember?"

            "Didn't he beat you?"

            Vinge shook his head. "It was

inconclusive," he replied. "Now we just spar, but I usually win because his

technique is fairly raw."

            "And of course, you've tutored

Pavan. But wouldn't be nice to just branch out?"

            Vinge crossed his arms, eyeing Tsume

irritably. "I already told you, I'm not competitive. I have nothing to prove."

            Tsume returned his irritated stare,

the two falling silent as their eyes met, standing in the apartment, standing

still and exchanging no further words. Vinge's gaze never left hers, but it did

change to a curious look, irking an eyebrow at her. "Why are you staring at

me?"

            "Get your feathery white ass to the

registry," Tsume stated with a firm tone.

            "No."

            "Go."

            "No."

            "Go."

            "No."

            "Go

dammit!"

            "No."

~~~~~

            "I'm so glad you agreed to this,"

Tsume said to Vinge as they approached the registry office, stationed outside

of the convention center where the tournament would be held.

They'd already been standing in line for a few

moments, with three other competitors ahead of them and six more behind them. The

spectator line for selling tickets was placed adjacent to the competitor's

line. That line stretched back all the way to the sidewalk and branched off to

the right, extending for another fifty or so bodies before a back could finally

be seen, and every moment more and more were adding to the lineup, word having

spread like wildfires around the city about a new competition. The competitors

were of course much fewer in number, but there were still at least sixty in the

lineup, most of them carrying the look of seasoned fighters, the rest appearing

less convincing, but some looked very athletic.

"I don't know how I let you talk me into this,"

Vinge said, shaking his head with an exasperated sigh.

"Come on, you really have to live a little!" Tsume

teased, giving him a playful backhand slap in the abdominal muscles; he gave a

light grunt, more from not expecting it than it actually hurting. "And I've

been dying for some action; I like the idea of having someone to aspire to meet

in the arena."

"You're referring to me?" Vinge asked, curiously.

"Well yeah; I heard you practiced several martial

arts," she replied. "I want to see how I fare against a mixed-martial arts

fighter."

"I have achieved black belt status in four," replied

Vinge. "Kung Fu, Taekwondo

, Judo and Aikido; I am also practicing Karate but haven't made black belt yet -I'm

only a yellow belt."

"Still means you know some moves, anyway," returned

Tsume.

"True," admitted Vinge. "Either way, I just don't

feel like I belong here."

Tsume laughed. "You're a martial artist; you fit in

here perfectly."

"I meant about how I'm not competitive," returned

Vinge.

"Just try to

have some fun, will ya?" Tsume said, groaning.

The ice phoenix did not reply.

Finally, they reached the booth; Tsume went first,

approaching the counter to sign the waivers, some additional information, and

then her name, being assigned a number and stepping aside to let Vinge do the

same. Unlike Tsume, who was already experienced with entering these

tournaments, Vinge read the waivers to learn their details, reading them over

with impressive swiftness. The waivers declared the hosts of the tournament

were not responsible for any injuries received in combat during the tournament,

something Vinge understood, and there was also a list of rules to go over, such

as illegal techniques to use against an opponent, an agreement to not use

superhumanoid powers -like his Cryokinetic abilities, and an agreement to never

interfere with medical crews if they are in the ring at any time.

Vinge concluded his reading, signing his name, and

followed Tsume to the side, letting the next competitor move in to sign their

name. Tsume was holding her jacket tightly against her body, shivering from the

cold. "All done?" She asked.

Vinge nodded. "I am," he replied. He turned his gaze

towards the convention center, grimacing as he saw the building and thought

about what was to come, feeling himself start to sweat a little. Turning his

gaze back to Tsume, he eyed her expectantly as he asked, "are you really sure

we should be doing this?"

"Why shouldn't we?" Tsume inquired, shrugging at the

ice phoenix. "It's just a contest; people enter them all the time."

"Well I..."

            "Move."

A short-statured figure pushed their way between the

two phoenixes, their shoulders bumping those of Tsume and Vinge, stumbling them

both.

"Hey! Rude much?" Tsume scolded, glaring at the

figure as she regained her balance, but they didn't even look back at her.

The offender was a feline, with white fur, striped

with black, and long black scalp hair tied back into a ponytail, grown down to

the middle of their back. They were roughly the same height as Tsume, if maybe

an inch taller, dressed in a green short-sleeve shirt and black jeans.

Protruding from the back of his jeans was a tail, long and thin, covered in

black ring-stripes from the root to the tip. A white tiger, evidently.

"What's his problem?" Vinge asked, staring daggers

into the tiger's back for his rudeness.

"You don't recognize him?" Tsume asked.

Vinge glanced at her curiously. "Should I?"

"That's Carlos Chang," explained the Earth Phoenix.

"He's the manager at the Casa 'Del Gato over in C-Plaza." She quickly took note

of the Ice Phoenix's unaltered expression, a frown crossing her features.

"Across from the apartment where Volcan and I both live; please tell me you at

least went there once while staying

with Volcan?"

"I didn't."

Tsume slapped herself in the forehead with her hand,

rolling her eyes back in her head and groaning. "Mon dieu you are a complete stone! Are you so shy that you won't

even go to a night club for a drink and some dancing? Even on a date with

Yurui?!"

"Yurui maybe have a fully-matured body but need I

remind you she is technically only a few years old, if that?" Vinge pointed out.

"Maybe they wouldn't believe that, but think about how young she does look; do you really think they

wouldn't believe she isn't a minor?"

Tsume's eyes narrowed as she tried to come up with a

retort, only to turn up blank. She hummed in annoyance, before looking back at

Vinge fully. "Okay, I got nothing for that one," she admitted.

Vinge nodded to her, in a manner that seemed to say

'my point exactly' with the way he was looking at her, arms crossed. Tsume

scowled at the Ice Phoenix. "Anyone ever tell you they hate it when you make

sense?"

"It's starting to become a trend," Vinge returned.

"So, you were saying about Carlos?"

"Oh, right." Tsume cleared her throat. "Carlos

competed in the last tournament that camp to town; he placed second, right

behind some guy from Toronto. I didn't get the chance to fight Carlos himself,

but I saw one of his matches, seeing how he fights, and then learned that he

apparently teaches Karate on Mondays and Wednesdays at a mini dojo downtown."

"He's not my teacher, if you were going for that,"

Vinge pointed out.

"I know he's not, but he apparently also used to be

a cop," Tsume carried on. "He combines the takedowns he learned in that, place

the techniques of Karate and he's got a pretty good mixed style. Not to

mention, as you just witnessed," her voice took on a sarcastic tone. "He's a

real ray of sunshine."

"Indeed. With such a personality it's a wonder

anyone wants to learn anything from him, or that he even made it as a police

officer." He tapped his chin in thought. "Maybe there's more to the story."

Tsume shrugged. "Who cares? He's an asshole," she

stated. "I hope someone clobbers him this year, really; Obsidian told me that

he even told off her and Gregory when they went to the club to speak with his

boss; actually told them to 'fuck off' like he were dealing with every day

punks."

Vinge turned to glance in Carlos' direction again,

only to find the tiger was already gone, having vanished in the crowds around

the convention center. He looked around for a moment, trying to locate him to

no avail, before he gave up, and turned to Tsume again. "So when does the

tournament start?"

"Thursday morning, eight A-M," replied Tsume. "Don't

be late for your first match."

"I won't."

~~~~~

Tokyo was vast indeed. As the dark-feathered avian

stood upon one of its highest structures, surveying the city all around to take

in his surroundings, he studied the buildings that ran from one end to the

other, not a one of them only one story in height; the smallest structure he

could see at all was at least five stories, but it was just an office building.

The bright neon lights all around the city lit up the night-covered streets,

illuminating and bathing the pavement with colours. Thugs pretending to be

ordinary citizens stood in dark corners, whispering to each other, or

occasionally making provocative remarks to people who passed them, though most

of the time they were ignored.

In the distance, a few kilometers from where he

stood, was the great escarpment of Mt. Fuji, one of the most famous and

well-known landmarks in all of Japan. Known as one of the Three Holy Mountains,

a dormant stratovolcano, and the highest mountain in the country, Mt. Fuji was

famous for its beauty, is vastness, and its exceptionally symmetrical

cone-shape, capped with snow almost year-round. But what stood out most to the

dark phoenix was how the mountain stood alone, surrounded by land but no

additional mountains, weathering the passing days alone, and staying strong in

the face of every calamity.

Even one such as himself could appreciate the

wonders of nature; the dark phoenix found his urge to destroy calmed as he

stared at the mountain. To imagine himself, ruling this land from atop that

very escarpment, was an enticing thought; turning the mountain into a fortress

from which he could slaughter and take at his leisure. Oh, it was quite an

enticing thought indeed, and actually brought a devious grin to the face of the

avian. Volcan...

No... he was not Volcan Skilerain. That little

weakling was gone; he was free now. But every horror that found its way to the

world needed a name of course, so what could he call himself? What title should

he take to inspire fear in those who would make themselves his enemies;

something for them to scream when his wrath fell upon them, and something that

would be carved in stone when he dominated all mortal life on this world, and

any other that came within his reach.

He pondered this for some time, losing himself in

his thoughts as he considered a name for himself. He certain wouldn't let

himself be called 'Black Volcan' anymore; to do so would imply that he was some

copy, but he was much more than that; he was everything Volcan Skilerain should have become. Powerful, ambitious,

and born without fear; nothing on this world, not even the Demigod who had

attempted to stop him in Egypt, could intimidate him. He was born of demon's

blood and phoenix fire; he was demon fire, hell incarnate.

"Demon fire..." He whispered. "That could be

suitable..."

A blood curdling scream broke the silence, followed

by a diabolical laughter that echoed through the air; the screaming continued,

before becoming wet and gargled. Curiosity was piqued, and the dark phoenix

started to make his way towards the sound, spreading his wings and taking

flight. He passed over several buildings before he found the location of the

screams; an alley, between a pair of tenements which left it bathed in shadow.

The alley was filled with garbage, falling from overflowing dumpsters and trash

cans, some of it piled into a corner where it looked like someone had been

using it as a bed.

And that same someone was now lying in a pool of

blood; a young anthro siamese cat, as bony as a skeleton and just as pale, with

now-lifeless eyes staring up towards the night sky as blood poured from his

mouth. His tattered, dirty clothes and filth-ridden fur told the dark phoenix

he was likely homeless, living in these allies to find meager shelter from the

night's chill and piling garbage to serve as a temporary bed. But now, there

was a knife in his throat, every single artery slashed and bathing the cat in

his own blood, inflicted by a single assailant that was standing over him.

The phoenix could make out a vulpine figure in the

alley, with fur as dark as ink and scalp hair grown down to his shoulders that

matched. He wore a leather body suit with no visible accessories, not even a

holster for the short blade they were carrying, or additional weapons of any

kind. He had a rather lithe figure; not scrawny, but certainly not brawny

either, more like the kind a runner would have. But what stood out most of all

with this figure were the tails -yes, tails,

that swayed behind him, sweeping over the pavement and brushing dust and

litter about. A quick count showed the figure had seven tails; the dark phoenix

had seen another fox with eight tails back at the place where he and Volcan had

been separated.

A kitsune.

The dark phoenix stared for a moment longer, and

quickly noticed, the kitsune's tails weren't sweeping absently, they

were...wagging, like that of an excited dog, and he was shaking with what the

phoenix quickly realized was anticipation. He watched at the fox pulled his

blade free of the cat, rearing back his head and sighing in a pleased manner as

he examined his little curved knife, hearing them utter something in Japanese,

but of course the phoenix did not know the language, and did not understand a

word of it.

And then, with that, the fox turned and began to

leave the alley. As the dark phoenix watched, the fox transformed, shrinking

rapidly until it was no larger than a feral fox, which is just what he had

become; feral, walking down on all fours, and crossing the street with slight

snicker eliciting from his feral muzzle.

Overwhelmed with curiosity, the phoenix followed the

fox. He tried using infrared vision to track them, but their body was cold,

leaving him unable to see them in the gloomy shadows they used to travel. As

such, he had to simply stay on him and watch with his normal sight, following

the kitsune all the way to a park. But they didn't venture far into it, just

over to a statue, ducking around to a shadowed side of the piece of stone

artwork. As before, the phoenix followed, but when he appeared over the other

side of the statue, he found the kitsune fading into a swirling, blue wormhole

that had appeared in the statue's base.

Just like that, the kitsune was gone.

The phoenix flew down to the ground, approaching the

statue and examining it. He ran his hand over the side of the base where the

kitsune had vanished, but it was solid; no wormhole, no hologram and no secret

switch of any sort. He had simply stepped into the statue, and disappeared from

this plane of reality. The dark phoenix knew, or rather his former host with

whom he shared memories with, that it was rumored a kitsune could create their

own pocket dimension, and enter it from anywhere they chose as an access point

for it, or at the expense of their own energy, create one on the spot. In this

case, it was the former, and the kitsune had placed his access point in this

statue.

The Dark Phoenix looked up at the statue, and saw a

weathered face of a man wearing Warring States era armour, carrying a Yari -a

long spear with a sharpened head easily a foot in length, meant to be used like

a short sword on the end of a staff. There was an English translation on the

plaque resting on the statue's base, identifying the man as 'Hattori Hanzo'.

The phoenix grinned as he thought back on what he

had seen this night. "How very fascinating," he whispered, chuckling lightly to

himself. "A kitsune with a taste for blood instead of mischief..."

~~~~~

The day of the tournament came. Vinge left his house

and was on his way to meet Tsume, flying over the prairies of southern Alberta

as he made his way towards Unity Falls. His broad, pale wings carried him

through the air. A bag of items was tucked under his arm; some stuff he thought

he'd need for the tournament, such as sports tape, a first-aid kit with

disinfectant spray, some water and a few energy supplements. All the things

that a warrior should keep, for before and after a battle, he felt.

He began to think a little about the tournament;

despite his reluctance to join it initially, Tsume had somehow managed to nag

him enough to convince him to sign up. Not often someone could do that,

especially to him, but she had managed, and now there he was, about to join a

competition where most of the competitors were in it either for the fat prize

money or for bragging rights about how tough they were; neither interested him,

but Tsume was in it only for the thrill of competing, not because she needed

money or because she wanted to gloat, it was just something she wanted to do.

If there was

any more of a fire in that girl, I'd mistake her for a Fire Phoenix instead of

an Earth one, he

thought.

Before long, he reached the city, flying over the

buildings until the college was in view. He set his sights on the convention

center and began to descend, lightly beating his wings to maintain his balance

and to prevent himself from dropping too quickly, widening his eyes and

shrinking his pupils to use his telescopic vision to get a look at the crowds

outside of the building. Mostly spectators, but he spotted a few of the

fighters making their way towards a separate entrance. Adjusting his path

accordingly, Vinge changed his descent to head towards that door, understanding

it was probably meant only for contestants.

As he drew closer, he spotted Tsume waiting near the

entrance the fighters were using, bundled up in a jacket and leaning against a

wall as she stood patiently. He made his presence known by calling out her name

as he came in earshot, landing nearby before turning and walking up to her.

"Hey, you made it," she bade, putting a hand on her

hip as he approached. "I was worried you'd chicken out."

"No," Vinge returned bluntly. "How long have you been

waiting?"

"Just ten minutes, give or take," replied Tsume. "First

round doesn't start for another half hour, but we should probably head to the

contestant's room."

"Do you know where it is?"

Tsume nodded. "I've been there before. Follow me,"

she bade, turning towards the building and tucking her hands into her pockets

as she began to approach, with the ice phoenix following close behind.

Like the arena itself, the waiting room for the contestants

was under ground in the basement. It had once been a locker room, clearly, but

the room had been gutted except for a row of lockers along the wall opposite

the entrance -enough to accomodate the belongings of a few hundred, but the

middle lockers had been replaced with seating arrangements and a mini bar where

an array of refreshments could be found. There was also a first aid station,

although it didn't look like it was up-to-date, but some of the items such as

the gauze wrappings were still serviceable.

Most of the competitors in the room were of various

nationalities, identified by how they spoke as conversations carried throughout

the room, each one of them bearing the appearance of a seasoned fighter

-although there were a couple that appeared to be inexperienced. Carlos Chang

was over in the corner, avoiding everyone else, dressed in a karate gi with his

black belt holding the front of it closed, part of the front open to show his

toned form underneath, which stood out against his black striped fur.

Now that Vinge could see Carlos from the front, he

got a better look at his face. He had an interesting mark on the front of his

face; a wishbone-shaped marking, jutting down from beneath his scalp hair, in a

single line before breaking off into two lines, extending symmetrically over

his eyelids, and tipped with crescent moon markings, the lower tips of which

pointed towers one another between his mouth and nose, creating an intricate

facial pattern Vinge had not seen on an anthro tiger before, and it

complimented his ice blue eyes quite well -even made him look intimidating, or

perhaps it was the permanent scowl he seemed to have.

Vinge did not watch Carlos for long, and instead

regarded the room as Tsume found herself a seat in an armchair. "This seems

rather luxurious for a fighter's waiting area."

"What makes you say that?" Tsume asked.

"I guess I was expecting benches rather than couches

for seating arrangements," returned the ice phoenix. "Or a bar, for that

matter. What if a fighter has some drinks before he goes out to the ring?"

"First, the beverages in that bar are

non-alcoholic," Tsume pointed out, explaining the purpose of the room.

"Secondly, anyone who'd be stupid enough to get drunk before stepping into the

ring probably doesn't deserve to be here in the first place. And third, you're

right; in most places we wouldn't have such a plush waiting room but the guy

who runs this building is a big softie and wanted to make sure the fighters -or

anyone else who uses this room, is comfortable."

"Sounds like you know him?"

"My dad sold this place to him," replied Tsume. "The

previous owners, who built this place back before the college was constructed,

went through a foreclosure because of bankruptcy. My dad's company was hired by

the bank to sell it, and the current owner won the bid for it, converting it

into a convention center."

"Won the bid," Vinge repeated. "Someone else was

interested in this place?"

Tsume nodded. "The college being here is no

coincidence; they wanted to renovate this place into a dormitory. Instead, they

lost the bid, but it's not completely out of their favour; the owner lets the

college folks rent the rooms here for large-scale class projects, or the high

school eight blocks down for career shows, which also helps the college because

most of the careers that're put on the shows can be taught there.

"In the end, the existence of this place works to

the benefit of the College, especially when the Unity Falls FanExpo comes every

October; students are a regular attendee, and people from other parts of the

province or even the country that come here know there's a college near where

an exposition takes place -it encourages them to enroll here."

"Sounds like they should've made the owner of this

place a business partner instead of going into a bid war with him," Vinge

remarked.

"I know, right?"

At that moment, the doors to the waiting room

opened, and a cheerful voice announced their entry. "Good morning, fighters!"

The loud voice spurred the competitors to their

feet, turning to face whoever had stepped into the waiting room. Tsume stood up

as well, standing by Vinge as he turned to face the entrance. An anthro calico

cat had stepped into the room, dressed in business attire and wearing a big grin

on his face as he stepped in, his tail swaying behind him with each step he

took, green eyes filled with intrigue scanning over every fighter in the room.

Under his arm, he carried a stack of various items, none of which Vinge knew

the purpose of; a harness, a pair of... stockings?  "Well now, we have quite a few capable

fighters here today, don't we?"

Vinge leaned over to Tsume. "Who's this?" He asked,

keeping his voice low.

"Peter Rand; he's the owner of this building, and

the host for the tournament," replied Tsume, whispering back. "Personally, I

think he might be gay; he always makes moon eyes at men while they fight, but

never at the women."

"Is that a problem?" Vinge asked, as if suspecting

disgust from the Earth Phoenix.

"No, I don't m..." She looked at Vinge suddenly. "Is

my big snowy buddy a bi-birdy?"

"No, I'm not, but I have nothing against

homosexuality," the ice phoenix returned.

Tsume shrugged, and went back to listening to Peter.

"Now," the cat began. "Some of you may or may not be aware, but there are rules

to this tournament that may seem geared towards certain species. In some ways,

they are, but in order to keep the fights even, they are a necessary

inconvenience."

"Rules like we saw on the waiver forms?" One of the

fighters inquired.

"Exactly. Even though most of you probably read

them, I am to repeat them; there are some rules not listed in the waivers, such

as ones that are racial specific and I show you equipment you will need for the

ring. Standard boxing ring rules; no biting, no strikes to the groin are allowed,

attacks to your opponent's neck, front or back, are strictly prohibited,

although grappling moves like a the sleeper hold that involve the neck are

exempt, although if you overdue it you will be prosecuted," the cat explained.

"And, before I forget, weapons, including knuckle-dusters or metal items hidden

in your gloves, equal an instant disqualification, and you will be arrested.

And finally, no use of superhumanoid traits such as pyrokinesis, teleportation,

magic or telepathy; if you have superhumanoid strength, we strongly urge you to

limit the force of your blows, for any fatalities that occur as a result of

your recklessness can and will result in prosecution."

"For racial-specific rules, winged beings such as

Western Dragons or Avians must wear one of these wing-harnesses," the cat went

on, setting down the items he carried, picking up the harness that was part of

the stack. "This will help confine your wings, keeping them pinned to your

back; this will protect them from being grabbed as well, so they cannot be

dislocated and you will not be able to fly during the fight. These must be worn

at all times while you are out in the ring; if it comes off by accident, the

referee will stop the match to let you put it back on, or call for a

replacement one if yours is broken. If you take it off yourself and refuse to

put it back on, you will be disqualified."

"That looks uncomfortable," Tsume pointed out.

"It does," the ice phoenix returned, though did not

seem worried about it.

Peter began to move on. "This next one also applies

to dragons and avians, but it can also be applied to cats -like myself, or

anyone with claws or talons on their feet." He held up one of the 'stockings'

he'd brought, only for the fighters to see it was more like a big sock, three-toed

and long, clearly meant for an avian's foot. "This is a protective sleeve for

your legs; meant to protect your opponent from having their flesh shredded that

is. It comes in multiple sizes, and covers your talons or claws with a sturdy,

dense layer of fabric, as well as round-tipped sockets for the tips, made of

rubber to expand around your toes. They will feel rather snug, but they will

allow you to fight without worry of clawing your opponent."

"That fabric doesn't look like it has much friction

though," Vinge pointed out. "Won't the fighter be at risk of slipping while

they wear it?"

"A good question," the cat returned, nodding to

Vinge. "That would normally be the case, but the genius who engineered this

safety device thought ahead." He turned the sleeve over, and revealed the

underside from the tips of the toes all the way to the heel was made of a

shiny, latex-y material. "They added this, so that the fighters can safely move

around without fear of slipping. I know it looks like rubber but it is actually

a form of latex with the same level of friction as the underside of a human

foot; enough grip to allow you to walk without slipping, but with just enough

give that you can also rotate on your heels with it, giving you your full

mobility."

"That's... impressive," complimented Tsume.

"Fighters with claws on their hands are required to

wear a similar item, a glove, with the same designs; failure to do so could

result in prosecution, as claws are counted as weapons if used in the fight,"

Peter stated, showing another sleeve, this one conformed to fit a hand rather

than an avian's foot. "There is also a device of similar design for hoofed

species, although this one is designed to reduce the impact of kicks performed

by said species; all of these mandatory items will be brought to all of you

shortly.That concludes the rules for safety equipment. Any questions?" No one

replied. "Good. One last thing; as you all may recall, every fight is only one

round; there is no best two out of three here; when you step in there, it's for

keeps. If you fall out, by the force of another and not by accident, you lose.

Now, if I can have you all turn your attentions to the monitor."

"What monitor?" One of the fighters asked as the

others looked around the room for the object in question, but from what they

could see of the room, there wasn't one anywhere.

"This one," Peter returned with a sly grin as he

plucked an item from his pocket, a remote control with only four buttons, which

he aimed at the ceiling and tapped the first.

A hidden compartment in the ceiling opened up; the

sound of the sliding doors alerted the fighters, making everyone in the room

spin around with a start to find the source of the noise, looking up as a

four-way television monitor was lowered into the room, hanging down from the

compartment and switching on when it locked in place, displaying a

tournament-style roster template with numerous intersecting lines. At the

bottom rows of the template were numbers, from left to right in order, with

sixteen in total.

"Sorry; I like doing that," Peter remarked.

"A little theatrical, wouldn't you say?" Tsume

asked.

"Just a little," Vinge returned, irking an eyebrow.

"At the registration, each one of you were assigned

a number," Peter carried on. "When your numbers are called, proceed to the ring

through those two doors back there." He pointed to the doors at the back of the

room, next to the lockers on both ends. "Odd numbers go through left, even

numbers through the right; both lead you to the ring. There, your contest will

truly begin." He left the remote on the bar counter. "Each button displays its

function; you can switch between viewing this roster or the fights as you see

fit. Please do not lose the remote, though." He turned to the door. "That's all

I have to say for now if none of you have any questions; I look forward to

seeing you all in the ring."

With Peter's departure, the fighters began to check

their numbers, and sought out their opponents in the room. Already the trash

talking was starting as some of the fighters located their adversaries, and

soon Vinge was happy for the security cameras in each corner, meaning if any

pre-ring fights broke out, someone would come to intervene.

"What number did you get?" Tsume asked, looking at

Vinge.

"I'm number six," replied the ice phoenix.

Tsume looked disappointed. "Damn... that means we

won't meet until the finals, if both of us get that far. I was actually looking

forward to taking you on."

Vinge eyed her curiously. "You brought me to this

tournament just because you wanted to fight me?" He asked. "Why did you not

just ask for a sparring match?"

"Now where's the fun in that?" Tsume asked, looking

at Vinge smugly. "Besides, the other guys would never believe me if I told them

I won; they'd have to see it."

Vinge frowned at her. "Something tells me I've

been... what's that word Volcan uses?" He rolled his eyes as he thought for a

few seconds, before he went 'ah' in realization. "Right... schnooked."

The first fight began a while later. Fighters one

and two were called out to the ring, departing through the doors as they had

been instructed before. One of the fighters was an anthro wolf trained in Taekwondo,

and his opponent was an equine who was trained in Sikaran; this caught Vinge's

eye as Sikaran was a rarely practiced art in this time. Although having some

techniques similar to Karate, the art itself was much like Capoeira in the

sense that most of its attacks focused only on the feet, using the hands for

blocking while Capoeira was centered on maneuverability. Taekwondo was an

all-out offensive fighting style, also utilizing kicking techniques, but less

defensive than Sikaran.

The fight was over quickly; the Sikaran-using equine

was much more skilled in defending himself than the wolf, and eventually scored

a punishing counter-kick that launched his foe out of the ring, scoring a

ring-out victory. The second fight was between a fox woman and a male German Shepard,

the former being a jujitsu fighter and the latter a boxer. It was close, with

many close calls by the shepard, but eventually the vixen scored a victory with

a counter-throw that sent the Shepard face-first into the floor, knocking him

senseless. Having failed to get up before the countdown finished, the victory

went to the vixen girl.

It was Vinge's turn next, and even as he glanced

over at his opponent he was already putting on his safety gear.

Fighter number five, one of the less-experienced

fighters he'd seen outside. His name was Oliver, an anthro rabbit from

California, and a practitioner of American Kenpo, dressed in a black and white

gi with elbow-length sleeves, white top and blak bottom... and rather than

speak with a Californian accent, he actually talked like... Elvis Presley.

Very... very... poorly. "Yeah, I'm finally going to get to use my moves to make

it to the top, baby!"

Vinge regarded the rabbit; brown fur, average

height, and athletic build. He bore a cocky smirk, filled with glee in his

brown eyes, followed by an obvious expression of overconfidence. "Oliver?"

Vinge asked, getting the rabbit's attention. "Tell me; you're a fan of Elvis

Pressley?"

"Sure am," the rabbit replied, still making the

Pressley voice. "Thank ya very much for noticing."

"Then tell me; is the reason you studied Kenpo

because you knew Elvis Pressley himself practiced it?" Vinge inquired further.

"You got it, baby!" He replied, giving Vinge a

hearty clap on the shoulder. "You know your stuff! You a fan of the king too?"

'An

imitator... and not a very good one,' thought Vinge. "I'm partial to Joakim

Brodén, myself," he replied.

Oliver shrugged. "To each his own, baby," he said.

"See you in the ring!"

"They haven't called us..." Vinge began to say, only

for the intercom to buzz over his head.

"Fighters five

and six please proceed to the arena."

Vinge shut his beak. 'And now they have,' he thought, shaking his head as he proceeded

to his door, knowing he wasn't going to enjoy what he was about to do.

He exited through the door, travelling down the

short corridor to the main room, stepping out through a pair of double doors

into a massive room lined with bleachers, overlooking a square-shaped fighting

ring with no ropes; thousands of people were in there, along with dozens of

video cameras aimed towards the arena, broadcasting the fighting tournament

live to interested parties.

That only made Vinge feel worse as he approached the

arena, climbing the short steps and standing on his end, the referee

introducing him via microphone as he emerged, and doing the same for Oliver as

the rabbit sprinted out to the arena, making a mighty jump over the stairs and

landing on his spot, holding up his hands for all to see. Vinge watched him,

shaking his head slightly, before they met at the center of the ring.

"Let's put on a show for the crowds, my friend,"

stated Oliver.

Vinge regarded the rabbit with a sad expression,

watching him for a moment before he spoke. "You should forfeit," he stated.

The rabbit's ears perked up. "Excuse me?"

"You aren't ready for a tournament like this," he

stated. "You're a beginner -believe me, I can tell."

The rabbit, scowling at Vinge, lost his 'Pressley'

accent as he retorted. "Now who are you to tell me what I am or am not ready

for?" He asked, backing up to take his position. "I've been..." He realized how

he was speaking, cleared his throat and faked the accent again. "I been waitin'

for this moment for months; I'm not backin' out. I'm the next King, baby!"

Vinge sighed. "Then, I apologize," he said as he too

backed away.

"For what?"

"For what's about to happen."

The rabbit eyed him quizzically, before he shook his

head. "What you talkin' about son? I'm the next king; I'm going to win this!"

"Begin!" The referee declared.

The rabbit rushed at Vinge, making a lunge right for

the ice phoenix and thrusting his palm straight towards Vinge's chest.

Vinge stepped back, out of range of the attack, and

again as the rabbit tried a second time with his other hand. This time, Vinge

side-stepped out of the way, darted forward past Oliver's left, before he

jumped up and spun around, landing a whirling aerial kick directly to the

rabbit's shoulder blades, sending him sprawling across the arena. Oliver

stumbled, struggling to regain his balance, but found himself standing tip-toe

on the edge of the stage, eyes wide with horror as it dawned on him what was

about to happen.

He abandoned his accent once more to utter three

simple words. "What the hell?" He asked, and then fell out of the ring, landing

belly-down on the floor.

"Ring out!" The referee called, gesturing to Vinge.

"The winner!"

            The audience sat in stunned silence,

some moaning with disappointment, others laughing or applauding Vinge's clear

expertise, turning his opponent's reckless behavior on them and costing them

their victory. Oliver pushed himself up on his hands, a stunned look on himself

as he propped himself up on his knees, turning to look over his shoulder at

Vinge; the rabbit was clearly dumbfounded by having been beaten in only one

counter-attack. But Vinge bore no expression of triumph on his face. He was

simply... plain.

            Meanwhile, in the locker room, Tsume

had seen Vinge win the match, the other fighters in the room were either

laughing or insulting Oliver, or both. Tsume's eyes were only on Vinge, though,

at how non-chalantly he'd just trounced Oliver; clearly the kid was a rookie,

but Vinge had ended the fight in less than a half-minute of time.

            "I wonder what this guy can do when

he isn't holding back..."

            A few minutes later, Vinge and

Oliver returned to the waiting room, and immediately Oliver became the target

of the earlier insults, the other fighters ridiculing him for his idiocy. One

of them even dumped their bottle of soda pop over his head, drenching the

rabbit in sticky, sweet liquid that clung to his fur and stained his gi.

            "What an amateur; lost without even

landing a single blow!"

            "Go back to basics, you little

runt."

            Of course there was more, but so

many were speaking at once that the other insults were indecipherable. The

rabbit covered his ears, trying to drown out the insults. One of the fighters

took offense to this, and pushed him roughly from behind, sending him falling

flat onto his stomach and almost knocking the wind out of him.

            "Hey, just like when he was out of

bounds; right on his face!"

            "Guess his embarrassment is so heavy

that it added to his weight on the front."

            "For the better, really; he doesn't

have to show his face in public if he falls on it!"

            Again came the mixed words, and once

more Oliver tried to cover his ears, on the verge of breaking down and crying

as he curled up into a ball...

            "ENOUGH!"

            The level of the voice froze all of

fighters. The room fell silent so suddenly, it was like being in a tomb. Oliver

opened his eyes, uncovering his ears to listen, and then pushed himself up,

propping himself up on his knees before turning around to see the other

fighters in the room parting as Vinge pushed his way past, approaching Oliver

slowly; at first Oliver thought the avian was going to kick him, but there was

no hostile intent on his face, and the rabbit did not try to scurry away.

            Vinge eyed him apologetically, a

sympathetic expression on his face as he offered his hand to Oliver to help him

stand up. "I'm sorry all this happened."

            Oliver glared at him. "Thanks for

the pity party, hot-shot, but I don't need it," he said, scornfully, looking

away from Vinge. He wasn't even using his Pressley accent.

            "It's not pity," returned the ice

phoenix, maintain his position. "It's simply being a good sport; you made a

mistake. Everyone does, especially when they're new."

            "What mistake?" Oliver asked. "I'm

not a newcomer to martial arts; I'm a red belt in Kenpo, a qualifying rank for

tournaments! I should've done better than that..."

            "You started too high," returned

Vinge. "This is a regional tournament; a place favored by veteran fighters. You

should've started on the minor circuit -I don't even know why they let you in

here, but you shouldn't have come."

            The rabbit looked back at him with a

frown. "Is that your way of trying to make me feel better? Because it really

isn't working."

            "I'm trying to tell you that you

still need more training," stated Vinge. "Courtesy advice, from one fighter to

another."

            "Really?" Oliver asked, turning over

to sit on his haunches and look up at Vinge, staring at his hand for a moment

before he reached out and let the ice phoenix help him to his feet. From there,

Vinge walked him out of the room, out of earshot of the other fighters. "Then

tell me this; you're clearly not much older than I am, so how did you manage to

get so skilled?"

            "Let me answer that, with another

question," returned Vinge. "How long have you been practicing Kenpo?"

            "Five years; since before I was in

high school."

            "I have been studying and practicing

my chosen arts since I was ten," replied Vinge. "And I am almost twenty now.

Furthermore, I did not consider my training in any of them complete until I was

able to defeat my sensei's in a sparring match. Believe me; that took the

longest. My taequando sensei defeated me seven times before I ever managed to

win against her, and my kendo teacher did not pull any punches against those

arrogant enough to challenge him."

            Oliver looked at him with mild

surprise, but his expression softened shortly, gaze falling to the floor. "I

guess I got ahead of myself."

            The announcement for the fourth

match buzzed over the intercom. Vinge let it play through, knowing Oliver

wouldn't hear him over the speakers, before he continued. "You let yourself get

overconfident; it could've happened to anyone. Don't aim for the top too soon;

make your way gradually. Learn, advance, grow; that is how you become stronger

-it does not just happen."

Vinge put a hand on Oliver's shoulder, which was

still sticky from the beverage that had been dumped on him. "Go back to your

sensei, train a little longer, and then ask him if you can find a minor circuit

to hone yourself and develop, but don't lose heart even if you don't win."

Oliver glanced at him. "How did you become so

knowledgeable about combat?"

Vinge smiled. "Let's just say I have a rather worn

out copy of Sun Tzu's 'The Art of War' back home," he returned with a chuckle.

Oliver was silent for a moment again, before he

voiced his next question. "Think we could spar again sometime? Maybe after I've

learned a little more and," he grinned. "There isn't a ring for you to kick me

out of?"

Vinge actually chuckled at that. "Sure thing, but do

me one favor."

"Yeah?"

"Don't strive to be the next Elvis Pressley," Vinge stated.

"It is fine to idolize someone, but trying to become them is doomed to fail."

He shut his eyes, and recited in a very poetic voice, "'If you know the enemy

and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you

know yourself, but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer

a defeat'." His eyes reopened. "But, 'if you know neither yourself or the

enemy, you will succumb in every battle'." He patted Oliver's shoulder. "Be

yourself, do not try to be someone else; that's what I ask from you."

Oliver nodded. "You got it... thanks Vinge."

"Anytime."

With that, the rabbit departed, walking slowly at

first as he proceeded down the hall. But part way, he developed a spring in his

step, as if a new vigor had arisen in him and drove him to sprint, heading for

the exit. He was gone within a minute, Vinge watching him every step of the

way, and when he was gone, he turned to return to the room, but found Tsume

standing there, freezing in place as his gaze met the brown eyes of the earth

phoenix.

"You handled that beautifully," she complimented.

Vinge frowned. "You were watching?"

"The whole time," she returned, smiling. "You should teach martial arts, you

know?"

The ice phoenix shrugged. "Maybe one day, I will.

Oliver will find his own path; all I've one is give him a nudge out of the

door, but it will be up to him to take a step in the right direction."

Tsume nodded. "That's true," she returned, and

gestured back to the waiting room. "Come on. Let's see how the next match is progressing."

Vinge nodded back, and walked with Tsume back to the

waiting room, looking back only once in the direction Oliver had gone, silently

wishing the young martial artist luck in his future endeavors.

They returned to a room of silence except for the

sounds from the television monitors... they stepped into the waiting room,

expecting to hear the fighters spouting more slander, either towards Oliver, to

each other, or to the fighter who was losing in the current match while they

slammed back their drinks and waited for their upcoming turns. But there was no

such sounds; the room was quiet, once more feeling like a tomb to the ice and

earth phoenixes.

"Did someone die while we were gone?" Tsume asked,

looking at Vinge.

They turned their attention to the monitors, and

found to their dismay, the fight was already over. The defeated fighter was

lying in a heap on the floor of the area, blood pooling out from his mouth

amidst two broken teeth, unconscious and being examined by the on-site EMT's,

while the winner of the fight stood over them with his arms crossed, and that

scowling face ever-plastered on his features.

Carlos Chang had already won the fight...

"He's fighter number seven," whispered Vinge.

"And he's your

next opponent," added Tsume.

Several more battles took place before Tsume's turn

finally came.

Her opponent was a male jaguar from Columbia,

trained in Juego de maní -literally meaning 'game of war'; a battle-dancing

style. Only that it was a highly acrobatic fighting style; lots of jumping and

dodging, centered on the fighter remaining mobile throughout the fight. The

jaguar's name was Edwardo, a resident of Montana having immigrated to the

United States. He was average height for a Columbian -roughly five feet, ten

inches, a little taller than Tsume, but he was thick with muscle, bigger than

Vinge and no doubt had the strength to show for it. He regarded Tsume behind a

pair of sunglasses, leaving her unable to see his eyes. Tsume returned his

look, no mask to hide behind and let him see her confidence and determination

written all over her face.

They shared that stare for a moment until the

announcement for them to proceed to the arena was heard, and through their

doors they went. Vinge stood watching the monitors as Tsume proceeded to the arena,

absently glancing at the clock on the wall to check the time. It was already

past noon; the tournament had been going on for several hours, and they were

almost down to the eight contests for the second round; with Tsume being number

sixteen and Edwardo fifteen there would only be two more to go before the

quarterfinalists would be decided.

Vinge didn't know anything about Edwardo's fighting

style, beyond that it was an acrobatic and constantly mobile style, much like

Tsume's, but he was bigger than her; if he could match her speed and agility,

combined with his felinoid reflexes, she was in for a difficult battle -maybe

one she could not win. "Be careful, Tsume," he whispered.

He hadn't mentioned it to her; hadn't had the chance

to do so... but Vinge could tell by looking at Edwardo that he was dangerous

-far more dangerous than he appeared... a man who had killed someone before.

Those sunglasses may have hid his eyes, but not his body language, which could

be just as easily read if one knew what to look for.

After stepping out into the area and being

introduced by the referee, Tsume took her position on her side of the arena,

with Edwardo taking his own. He removed his sunglasses and the vest he wore,

tucking the former into the pocket of the latter before he dropped it over the

side of the arena, revealing a set of azure eyes that stared emotionlessly at

the Earth Phoenix.

"You know, if not for that icy stare, you might

actually be rather cute," Tsume remarked before she widened her stance and

stood half crouched, watching the leopard.

"Yo no estoy aquí para hablar , niña," retorted

Edwardo, taking his own stance with legs half-bent and one paw on the ground,

almost like a running position, staring down Tsume.

"Sorry, mon ami; I don't speak Spanish," the Earth

Phoenix pointed out to the jaguar as she waited for the referee to give the

signal to begin.

"Go!" The referee barked.

(Play 'Break Stuff ' by Limp Bizkit for this part)

Edwardo made the first move, making two long strides

towards Tsume before he sprang into the air, spiralling around before

performing a heel-drop kick towards her; the deft Earth Phoenix hurriedly

strafed out of the way, evading the attack, and retaliating by dropping onto

her left knee and both hands, twisting her body to attack Edwardo with a

head-hunter kick; he tried to lean back, feeling her foot graze across his

forehead; he stepped back, turned himself around and then performed a sideways

double-kick at her -he pounced towards her, twisting in midair and kicking at

her with both feet, forcing her to once again dodge.

'He's quick,'

thought Tsume. 'Really likes to hop

around too.'

Edwardo rushed at her again, jumping once more and

drop-kicking towards her; she evaded, he jumped again as she tried to

sweep-kick him in the shins, and this time when his leg came down it caught her

in the back, sending her face-planting into the floor. She managed to catch

herself with her hands enough to prevent herself from being stunned by the hit,

and tucked her arms against her chest as she rolled away from Edwardo when he

attempted to pounce and pin her.

Scrambling back to her feet, she stood up in time to

see Edwardo charging at her, jumping into a flying kick; she bent her body back

into a bridge position, catching herself on her hands and letting Edwardo fly

over her like a jaguar-shaped missile. She looked at him as he landed, seeing

him skid, and already running back at her again. With a thrust of her hips and

a push with her feet, she brought her legs up in an arc and double-kicked

Edwardo in the chest just as he attempted to spring again; his own momentum,

combined with the force of Tsume's kick, sent him flying across the arena.

He landed dangerously close to the edge, but managed

to land on his feet and fought to regain his balance before he could fall out.

He fixed his eyes on Tsume, once more cursing her in Spanish as he returned to

his battle stance, eyes fixed on her as if she were prey and he was hunting

her. Tsume, back in a proper stance by this point herself, returned his glare,

and spoke to him, with the only Spanish word she knew: "Hey, pendejo," she

taunted. "Are you a jaguar or a rabbit? I can't tell with all your bouncing

around!"

It had exactly the effect she wanted.

Edwardo's pupils narrowed to paper-thin slits

following her insult, and he rushed at her again. She waited, reading his

movements, and just as he started to jump she tumbled forward, performing a

half-somersault and placing herself directly under him before she lashed up

with both legs, letting gravity do most of the work as he came down at her,

missing his outstretched leg he was bringing up for another heel-drop kick, and

striking him right in the stomach with a heavy impact.

His cheeks puffed out and his eyes went wide as

gravity became his enemy upon Tsume's kick, knocking the wind out of him and

sending rising limply into the air by only a few inches before he started to

drop; Tsume rolled back to where she'd been standing prior to her attack, and

Edwardo fell to the floor awkwardly; first his pawed feet touched down, but his

entire body went limp and he fell like a puppet with its strings cut,

faceplanting into the arena floor and coughing.

The referee counted, reaching ten before Edwardo

could fully recover, and that was that; Tsume was declared the winner, and the

audience roared with applause, screaming out her name in cheers. Some of them

had clearly seen her fight before, and were excited to see her back in the

ring, but those who were laying their eyes on her for the first time were

equally impressed by her performance. She held her hands up high for all to see,

letting them praise her a little.

Although, she was at first oblivious to what was

happening behind her. Edwardo was getting back up, his eyes fixed on her with a

murderous look. Back in the waiting room, Vinge saw that look even from the

distance the camera was from the stage, eyes widening as he realized what

Edwardo was about to do. "Tsume, look behind you! Look behind you!" He exclaimed, resisting the urge to shake the

screen as if it would help get his message to Tsume.

It was the referee shouting 'stop!' that warned her;

she looked over her shoulder, just in time to see Edwardo jump at her again;

not a technique of his fighting style this time, he was pouncing at her, paws

outstretched and aimed right for her throat.

Reacting purely on instinct Tsume put up her arm in

defense, the jaguar slamming face-first into her elbow and nearly dislocating

her arm with the force of his impact, along with dazing himself on how

surprisingly solid her bones were; the two went down, and the referee was on

them before Edwardo could do anything to Tsume, throwing the Columbian off of

her, where two Security guards seized him by his arms and dragged him out of

the arena.

"Whoa... that guy has anger problems," muttered

Tsume, shaking her head before she turned away, stepping off the arena platform

and leaving the field.

When she arrived back in the waiting room, Vinge was

at Tsume's side at record speed, asking her if she was alright. She assured him

he was, and made her way over to an armchair to sit, and relax. "That guy was

good, I'll admit," she stated, staring absently at her lap as she let herself

wind down.

She felt something cold touch her hand, and looked

over to see Vinge offering her a bottle of water. "Oh, thank you," she said,

accepting the bottle from him. She uncapped the top, opened her beak and tilted

her head back with the opening held between her beaklips, the water flowing out

from the plastic bottle and down her throat, quenching her dry mouth. She

carefully tilted the water bottle back upright before she shut her beak and

swallowed, passing it back to Vinge. "That did the trick."

Vinge nodded to her. "You did well. I wasn't sure

how the fight would go since I know very little about Juego de maní," the ice

phoenix confessed.

"Clearly you know enough about it to recognize it

though?" Tsume asked.

"Actually I heard it from one the fighters," replied

Vinge, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at no one in particular. "Someone

who actually faced Edwardo before, although they neglected to mention he was a

sore loser."

"So I noticed," Tsume agreed with a scowl. After a

moment and a second swig of water, she looked at Vinge. "So... you ready to

fight Carlos?"

"I don't know what to expect," admitted Vinge. "We

didn't get to see his battle; it ended so quickly it was like he won before it

even started." He frowned. "I don't have a strategy for this one."

Tsume chuckled, leaning forward in the chair and

speaking in a low voice to Vinge. "Sometimes, Vinge, you can't plan ahead.

That's what we call flying by the seat of our pants; fighting someone we know

nothing about, we just do what we can, and adapt when we figure out their own

strategy."

"I'm not sure I know how," said Vinge. "I've always

planned ahead for my opponents; it's how I've always won."

"Because you always knew who you'd be fighting?"

"Because I knew who wanted to."

Tsume rolled her eyes up in thought, thinking back

to the recent months, until something crossed her mind, and she looked back at

Vinge. "What about when we fought the Cyber Wyvern?" She asked.

"What about it?"

"You didn't plan ahead for that one," she pointed

out. "None of us did; none of us could. The damn thing came out of nowhere and

leveled a chunk of the city. Hell the only reason we even managed to stop it

was that... sudden power boost Volcan got -like something straight out of anime

if you ask me." She shook her head. "Anyway, we were given our shot but it was

you who found how best to use it; even though Volcan's the one who got that

serious power-up, it was still you who destroyed the wyvern."

Vinge grimaced. "I'd hardly call that a strategy; I

didn't even know it was going to work."

"Then it was a gamble," the Earth Phoenix carried on

insistently. "Sometimes gambles pay off; that one did, thanks in no small part

to your brain." She tapped his head. "If you could use that to defeat a big

mechanical wyvern that cancelled out the powers of anyone near it, then you can

figure out how to defeat a tiger who has no powers at all; you know he

practices Karate, so you know he has some moves you'll be familiar with, and

you've probably learned another martial art that can combat it. Meet him on

level terms, adapt to his fighting style, hell do what I did to Edwardo; insult

him, get in his head and make him mess up. That always seems to work."

A light seemed to flash in Vinge's eyes as those

words left Tsume's beak; he perked up, eyes widening and then he went still,

even after Tsume spoke his name. Immediately, he adopted his 'thinking' pose;

he crossed his right arm over his torso, resting his left elbow in his hand to

prop it, bringing his index finger of his left hand to his beak, where he bit

down on it gently, eyes shut and remaining motionless for a moment.

Tsume watched him that whole time, glancing side to

side as if expecting to see something out of the ordinary. She nearly jumped

when Vinge's wings twitched and his eyes re-open. "If you know the enemy, and

know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles..."

"You said that to Oliver before," Tsume remarked.

"There's another passage that may be applicable

here," said the ice phoenix. "'If your enemy is of choleric temper, seek to

irritate them'."

Tsume irked an eyebrow. "You actually want to make

the guy you'll be fighting pissed off at you? Isn't that a little

counter-productive?"

"Angry warriors often make mistakes; for a savage or

raw fighter, rage is a good weapon, but for a more focused fighter, losing

their temper can cost them victory," Vinge went on. "You mentioned Carlos has

contempt for the police, because he used to be one; has it ever been mentioned

why?"

"Yeah; he shot a person by accident once. He's a

former sniper for SWAT; tried to take out the perpetrator before receiving the

order to fire, ended up taking out the hostage instead," replied Tsume. "Since

then he became... well, I don't really know what he was like before that, but

he was kicked out of SWAT and now seems to hate everybody."

"That may present me with a nerve I can strike,

metaphorically speaking," stated Vinge. "Talking isn't restricted out in the

ring; I can use that."

Tsume rolled her eyes, this time in slight annoyance

instead of thought. "So much for flying by the seat of your pants," she said.

"You still found a way to plan ahead."

Vinge smiled. "I have you to thank for it," he said.

"But it doesn't change I don't know how he fights. That, I'll still have to

adapt to."

~~~~~

The quarter finals had begun; fighters fifteen and

sixteen concluded their matchup, with fifteen as the winner. Now, only eight

fighters remained; the first two, the Sikaran-using equine and the Jujitsu

vixen, battled well. Vinge watched this fight carefully as he knew that if he

made it to the semi-final rounds -assuming he could beat Carlos, he would have

to fight whichever of these two won the battle. The vixen was quick, the equine

was larger and stronger; the vixen had a fluent technique Vinge knew well,

being a black-belt level in Jujitsu himself, but the equine as using a fighting

style few people even knew existed. He was intrigued by the aspects of Sikaran,

and how it balanced offense and defense -using the hands defensively, and the

feet to attack.

It made Vinge wonder... maybe Sikaran was just what

he needed to perfect the fighting art he had been trying to develop for

himself.

He glanced over his shoulder as he heard the

footsteps of another fighter, spotting fighter #12, a female panda and Tsume's

next opponent ironically, and got her attention. "Excuse me," he asked. "Would

you happen to know who that equine is?" He inquired. "His name, or where he

practiced?"

She looked at the screen, spotting the horse man in

question. "Yeah; his name's Colman Olson, apparently a teacher."

"Martial arts teacher?"

"No; history," she replied. "He works at a high

school in Lethbridge. My son goes there; that's how I know him. Seems to have a

love of the Philippines and their culture."

"Explains his choice of fighting style," remarked

Vinge. "Thank you."

"No problem," she returned, and continued on her

way.

He glanced back at the TV screen just in time to see

the fight was over; Colman had won the match, having knocked the vixen out of

the ring. He was seen on the camera helping her to her feet, shaking hands with

her and then both going on their own way, the announcer referring to it as a

'fine display of sportsmanship', before the screen darkened.

Vinge turned to the door where Colman would be

stepping out of, waiting for the equine to appear. When he did, the ice phoenix

approached him carefully, their eyes meeting as he neared, and Vinge nodded to

him. "Afternoon, sir," he said.

"Hello," the equine returned, politely. "You're...

Vinge, correct?" He asked.

"Yes sir," he returned.

"Please don't call me sir," the equine said,

chuckling. "Just Colman or Mr. Olson will work; I'm used to both." He looked up

towards the monitors, looking at the graph. "You're fighting next; shouldn't

you be getting ready?"

"I'm prepared," assured Vinge. "This will only take

a moment. I have a request."

"Okay," Colman returned, crossing his arms. "Let's

hear it."

"I notice you practice Sikaran; a rare martial art

these days."

"It is," returned Colman, nodding. "Damn shame, too;

it's a beautiful style, and very effective, but everyone prefers the more

offensive-styles like Taekwondo and Karate."

"Not me, Mr. Olson," assured Vinge. "Honestly, I do

believe that the best offense is a good defense, keeping the offense for after

your opponent wears themselves down. I'd like to be able to do that more

effectively," he put his hands together, feeling somewhat nervous; he wasn't

used to talking to people like this. "Would you be willing to teach me Sikaran?"

"Oh?" Colman asked, interest piqued. "For what

purpose?"

"I admit I have practiced Taekwondo and Kendo, so

have studied offensive styles," said Vinge. "But my favorites of all the

martial arts I've studied have been Fencing, Judo and Aikido -mostly defensive

arts, but I cannot combine them. However, seeing how you perform Sikaran, I

believe I can combine it with some of my other arts to create a new one."

"You wish to develop a new fighting style," Colman

concluded. "Admirable..." He smiled. "Alright, I'll tell you what," he began.

"Beat that tiger you're fighting, and meet me in the semi-final round. If you

do, then consider that battle to be your first lesson in the capabilities of

Sikaran."

"You mean you'll take me as your student?"

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself; I want to see

what you can do first. I battled that Carlos guy last year, and though I did

win, he was tough. If you can beat him, and make it to your battle with me in

the semi-finals, then regardless of whether I win or you do, then I'll teach

you Sikaran." He clapped Vinge on the shoulder. "We'll discuss dates and times

after the tournament, alright?"

"Absolutely; thank you for this opportunity, Mr.

Olson."

"You're welcome," the kind equine returned, and

stepped aside. "Now, I believe it's your turn." He said, gesturing to the door

out to the arena.

Vinge looked over his shoulder, seeing Carlos

heading through the other door without giving him so much as a look before he

passed through, proceeding to the fighting ring. Vinge adorned a scowl at how

disregarding Carlos was, looking back at Colman and nodding to him. Before he

went through the door, he noticed Tsume watching him from the side; she looked

concerned, but she gave him an encouraging smile and a nod to him. He returned

the nod, and then faced the door, stepping through and proceeding to the

ring...

The crowds were watching with eagerness and

anticipation as they waited for the two fighters to begin. Carlos had forsaken

his gi top and tossed it aside, wearing only the loose-fitting pants, tighter

at the waist so that they did not fall down. The only accessory he bore was a

necklace designed to resemble a dog tag, engraved with the Chinese symbol for

'trust', but there was a slash across the symbol, as if it had once stopped the

cut of a knife. Vinge stood across from him, both mentally and physically

preparing himself for the battle ahead, standing with his arms at his sides

while Carlos stood with his arms crossed, staring daggers at the ice phoenix.

Those eyes... Carlos had the same colour eyes Vinge

did, yet the two were nothing alike. They were full of rage that was directed

at nothing and everything; he was hard to read, which to Vinge, only made him

all the more dangerous. He could not predict him by meeting his gaze; he would

have to watch his body, and that would take greater concentration.

The two approached the center when prompted. Vinge

offered a handshake to Carlos, but the tiger never uncrossed his arms, and

spoke softly as he finally opened his mouth. "You're only an obstacle;

obstacles are kicked down, not respected," he said coldly, before backing away,

finally uncrossing his arms. "If you want to leave with all of your bones

intact, you should do so now."

"I'm not leaving," stated Vinge. "I made it past the

first round, and a friend wants to meet me in the finals." He stepped back to

his position. "I'm going all the way."

"Then your friend better steel themselves for

disappointment," stated Carlos, adopting a typical karate stance, standing

sideways with their foremost leg stretched forward the other leg bent and

supporting the shifting weight, his right arm held tucked against his side and

his left raised to eye level, fingers half-open. "You do not have the

experience or the resolve to win here."

"And what resolve do you have?" Vinge asked,

stancing himself as well. "What is it that drives you, Mr. Chang? Fame, wealth;

you're too quiet to want bragging rights." Now

I'm sounding like Tsume...

"My drive?" Carlos asked, his gaze hardening further

as he replied. "It is simply that I am unbound.""Begin!" The referee called before Vinge could

contemplate the meaning of Carlos' words, and the tiger attacked.

Vinge blocked Carlos' first strike with a backhanded

deflect, parrying a fist that was aimed right for his eye, and retaliated by

delivering a palm-strike to Carlos' face, only for the tiger to lean out of the

way, stepping back and lashing out with an inverted spin-kick, aiming to slam

the heel of his foot into Vinge's head. Vinge promptly ducked under the kick,

putting one hand on the floor and performing a low-sweeping kick towards

Carlos' left side, opposite the leg he had just kicked with; ideally, that

would be a good place to attack, because Carlos would be standing on only one

leg now, and would be easy to trip.

But the tiger had his foot back on the ground,

clenching his left fist and performing a backward parry, his fist meeting

Vinge's shin with force equal to that of his kick, the two attacks cancelling

each other out. Vinge paused for a split second out of sheer surprise; 'I've heard of 'cat-like' reflexes, but not

even he should've been fast enough for that,' he thought. 'This man has over-developed his reaction

time!'

He saw Carlos raising his other arm, noticing him

bring it up over his head, and knew immediately what was coming. Pulling with

both hands and his remaining foot, Vinge yanked his leg free before Carlos

managed to grab his ankle, evading what the ice phoenix perceived was an

attempt to break or dislocate a leg joint, which would leave Vinge slowed and

off balance. With a tuck & roll, Vinge was back on his feet, ignoring the

ache that formed in his wings in the brief moment he had rolled over the

joints, and turned to face Carlos.

The tiger was already coming again, and soon it was

an all-out exchange of blows; strike, block, strike, block, high-kick,

mid-punch, parry; the way they clashed was like watching the fight scene of an

action film, both of them using advanced martial arts techniques relative to

their own fighting styles. Carlos was definitely faster and quite plausibly

more skilled, but Vinge was taller, and he too had highly developed reflexes,

not to mention his keen avianic eyesight that made it easier to read his

opponents by muscle-movement.

But then, when Vinge made a move to attack by

sending a palm thrust towards Carlos' face, the tiger surprised him with a

change of technique, catching him by the arm, twisting himself around and then

pulling Vinge's arm straight downward, redirecting the weight of the ice

phoenix into this throw and sending him flying through the air. Vinge hit the

floor hard, nearly being dazed by the impact and crying out as he felt his

wingjoints be crushed under his body weight.

'That was no

karate move; that was a Judo throw,' Vinge realized instantly, being a

practitioner of the defensive art himself. 'I

was right; he does know more than one

fighting style! Now Vinge had a better grasp of what Carlos could do,

combining Karate and Judo with his high reflexes. Now was when Vinge had to

turn this fight into his favor; to make Carlos play by his rules... "According as circumstances are favourable, one should

modify one's plan," he muttered, reciting a passage from 'The Art of War' as he

turned onto his front.

Carlos heard it, but by his curious expression, did

not understand it. "What're you babbling about?" He asked as he watched Vinge

get to his feet; the tiger had stopped to gain a breath, and let Vinge stand

back on his feet. At least he had the courtesy to not kick a man while he was

down.

Vinge looked at Carlos. "I had heard you practiced

Karate," he stated. "But I had heard nothing of you also knowing Judo. Did you

learn that prior to joining the police force?"

A moment of silence from the tiger, but he did reply

to the inquiry, although he had visibly twitched at the mention of the police.

"Yes," he replied, honestly.

"Karate and Judo go well together," Vinge went on.

"You mentioned earlier, you were fighting in this tournament driven only by

that you were unbound. What did you mean by that?"

"None of your business," returned the tiger,

blatantly.

"What is it you feel you were bound by?" Vinge went

on, pressing him harder. "The rules; the need to await orders? Being forced to

have others dependant on you, like your old SWAT team?"

"Keep your beak shut, kid; you don't know anything

about me, so stop pretending you do," stated Carlos, his eyes furrowing to a

sharper stare than ever.

"And what will you do if I refuse?" Vinge asked.

"Break every bone in my body?" His gaze was firm, but the soft portion of his

beak showed a wry smile. "Or are you going to shoot me with your sniper rifle,

like you tried to do when you were still on SWAT?"

Carlos' eyes widened, rage burning like a wildfire

in them. "Shut up!" He warned.

"Is that what you meant by unbound?" Vinge pressed

further, readying himself; he had almost brought Carlos to the point, and there

was just one more little push needed. "Because you no longer have to wait for

orders to kill someone, or that you can choose who or what you aim your rifle at?"

The final button was pushed. Carlos roared in fury

and rushed at Vinge, the claws on his feet pushing visibly against his

protective gear as his muscles tensed following his lunge. Vinge, seeing his

plan in action, changed his approach; he refrained from attacking Carlos unless

necessary, relying on Judo and Aikido maneuvers to keep him off balance,

tossing him around and evading his onslaught; at one point, after taking a hit

in the face, Vinge performed the Aikido reversal, yanking Carlos' arm as he tried

to punch him and keeping a firm grip on it as he brought his other hand to

strike Carlos in the chin, instantly transferring all the mass from the tiger's

intended attack to his head and sending him flying face-first into the floor,

bloodying his nose and only making him angrier.

But at this point, Carlos had slowed, and now Vinge

had little effort defending against him; the smile was gone from Vinge's face,

but the satisfaction was clear in his eyes as he continued to parry, block, and

redirect all of Carlos' attacks. Despite his growing frustration, even Carlos

started to notice that the ice phoenix was no longer having any trouble

defending against him; his body felt heavy and his fur was soaked with

perspiration. When Vinge used a judo throw to send him back-first onto the

floor, he finally stopped, long enough to try and assess his predicament.

"What's... going on?" He asked, panting. "How'd you

suddenly become so fast?"

"I didn't," replied Vinge. "I'm going the same pace

I was before."

"That's bullshit," Carlos retorted, turning onto his

front and pushing himself up. "You're a phoenix... you're probably drawing

energy from something; cheating! You have to be!"

"There's nothing in this room I can draw energy

from," Vinge returned. "I am a phoenix of the Ice Element; only cold winds,

falling snow or the energy within frozen water can be used to reenergize me. I

have simply been winning this fight with more than brute force." He took a deep

breath, readying himself as Carlos regained his footing. "Allow me to tell you,

in verse, how I have been winning this fight."

Carlos yelled weakly at Vinge, charging at him again

and swinging awkwardly for his head, which Vinge dodged easily, and began to

speak. "If your enemy is of choleric temper, seek to irritate him." He

backhanded a punch from Carlos away from its target, and then retaliated with a

punch to the tiger's stomach, making him grunt and back away, holding his belly

in pain. "Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant."

"You're just saying words!" Carlos roared, once more

attacking Vinge with a kick towards his chest.

Vinge side-stepped out of the way. "Strike him where

he is not prepared," he said as he lunged past Carlos, elbowing him in the

cheek -only a graze though as the phoenix passed, barely hurting him at all.

Carlos spun around to face him, only to see Vinge was not there... until he

heard his voice below him. "Appear where you're not expected." He looked down,

and there was Vinge, in a low crouch so that his head was barely level with

Carlos' thigh, only to launch himself up and deliver a powerful uppercut to

Carlos' chin, snapping his head back with such force he felt a mild whiplash,

as well as his feet leaving the floor as he fell onto his back.

Vinge stood, triumphantly, where Carlos had been

prior to the punch, and concluded his quotes with only one more. "Now the

general who wins a battle makes many calculations in his temple ere the battle

is fought. The general who loses a battle makes but few calculations beforehand.

Thus do many calculations lead to victory, and few calculations to defeat: how

much more no calculation at all! It is by attention to this point that I can

foresee who is likely to win or lose."

Carlos lay there, stunned and gasping for breath,

hearing Vinge conclude his speech, barely hearing the referee count up to ten,

and officially declare Carlos beaten. The tiger was clearly conflicted, no

doubt deciding whether he should be angry about losing, or that he had let

himself lose. Slowly, he sat up, propping himself up with one hand and draping

his other arm over a bent knee, looking at Vinge.

"You... led me... like a puppet," he said.

"I turned the battle in my favor," corrected Vinge.

"Didn't you understand anything I said before?"

"Should I have?" Carlos asked, spitting out a wad of

blood; the uppercut had caused him to bite a corner of his tongue -not serious,

but deep enough to draw some blood, and pool in his mouth.

"Everything I just said, every word in each verse,

were from passages in Sun Tzu's 'The Art of War', all of them located within

chapter 1: Laying Plans," Vinge returned, his brow furrowing with clear

displeasure. "The fact you did not recognize it shows me you care little for

the history of your own nation; you are Chinese, I am Norwegian, yet you did

not know that everything I was doing was inspired by the designs of a famous

ancestor of your people." He shook his head. "Your ignorance to the past is

startling, yet you cling to your own past so obsessively; it's such a

hypocrisy." He turned and began to leave the arena, gaze lowering as he stepped

off the raised platform and onto the walkway.

"But then," he whispered, "who am I to talk about

clinging to the past?"

~~~~~

Tsume was at Vinge's side in an instant, practically

dancing with ecstasy as she arrived to give her congratulations to the ice

phoenix. "Vinge, that was the most awesome fight I've ever seen! And to top it

off, you won! You actually beat Carlos, who's placed first in four tournaments

already!" She grabbed him by the arm and started shaking him. "You amazing

bird!"

Vinge chuckled nervously, eyeing Tsume with a

quizzical look. "I didn't know you'd be so excited by me winning."

"Are you kidding me? I'm still hyped up from

watching that fight!" She returned. "And..." She suddenly paused, and raised a

hand to touch him on the side of the head behind his eye; he felt a sting, and

noticed blood on her fingers when she pulled back. "Looks like he got you good

at least once though."

"That must've happened when he caught me upside the

head," remarked Vinge.

"Come on; sit down. I'll grab the first-aid kit,"

said Tsume, pulling him into the room and over to a set of chairs.

"Not that one," the ice phoenix refused, pointing at

the first aid station mounted on the wall. "Bring my bag, please. It's in locker twenty."

"Okay."

            Vinge seated himself while Tsume

went to retrieve his satchel, groaning with exhaustion; the fight with Carlos

had drained him somewhat, but he felt some satisfaction for his victory over

the tiger. What had begun as a competition to the ice phoenix had suddenly

become a learning experience, and a way to gain some for himself; he was

battling some of the best fighters in the country, learning from every battle

and even helping others learn. Even if he had not initially joined this

tournament of his own choosing... he was strangely glad to be there now.

            But for the moment, he was even

gladder for the rest, though still looked forward to his match with Colman,

where he would learn the basics of Sikaran...

            ~~~~~

            Out of the shadows of the statue,

the seven-tailed feral fox emerged, eyes of solid amethyst peering out as he

stepped into the light of a nearby street lamp, searching the park for any sign

of people. Despite being in a feral form, he wet his lips with anticipation as

he searched for whosoever would become his next victim, his seven tails swaying

behind with his eagerness as he crossed the park.

            The first unfortunate soul to find

themselves in his gaze, though without any knowledge of it at that moment, was

a policeman patrolling the park. He had only his flashlight in hand, shining it

into the shadows cast by the trees and shrubberies along the path; what he was

looking for, Kumori did not know, but he didn't care; he'd found a warm body to

wet his blades with, and so rose up on his hind legs, his body rapidly growing

to a humanoid height and clothes appearing over his fur, in the form of a

leather body suit. Wakizashi blades materialized from nothing into his pawed

hands, and a devilish grin crossed his face as he neared the police officer.

            As if sensing the murderous intent,

the Japanese officer spun around and saw Kumori approaching, immediately

noticing the blades. He drew his gun, taking aim at the seven-tailed vulpine

and shouting at him in their native tongue, demanding he drop the blades and

put his hands into the air, but Kumori didn't comply; he continued to stalk

towards the man, that wide grin on his face enough to make the officer shudder

in fear, putting his finger to the trigger of his pistol...

            The metal gun suddenly glowed

red-hot. The officer shouted in surprise and pain and dropped the gun, sending

it clattering to the ground with a flash of sparks following its impact with

the pavement. Kumori paused mid-step, his smile fading as he saw what happened

to the gun; he had not done that, he had no such power.

            As if to answer his curiosity, a

fireball fell from above and struck the cop; flames of inky black engulfed the

officer, the violet hot center of the flames giving a mild visual of the man,

but he was mostly hidden behind the curtain of fire. The officer's screams

started immediately, a mix of terror and agonizing pain as he burned in the

flames, stumbling to and fro and dropping to the ground to roll in an attempt

to put it out, but to no avail. The flames continued to burn, and the man's

screams finally faded when he stopped moving.

            A figure fell from above, landing to

Kumori's left; the nogitsune spun towards the intruder, blades ready, and saw a

black-feathered avian with a violet undertone staring back at him, an

ankh-tipped staff -or perhaps spear, judging by the leaf-shaped blade at the base

of the lengthy, metal weapon- rested upon his shoulder. A smug grin was visible

on the soft portion of the avian's beak, two purple, hawk-like eyes staring

back at Kumori.

            "Now that I have your attention,"

the avian said, speaking in western English.

            Kumori glared at the avian, and

retorted in English as well so that the strange bird could understand, "I'll

make you bleed for interrupting my kill, mortal!" He bellowed, before he lunged

for the avian, clearing the distance between them in a mere two strides and

then slashing at him with his left-hand blade.

            The avian gripped his staff with

both hands and blocked the sword swing, easily parrying it, but Kumori used the

reversed momentum of the parry to go into his other swing; rather than resist

it he let himself be tossed a little by the avian's counter, and, using his

foot for balance he turned himself about he brought his other blade around, to

slash him in the arm. But, the avian managed to see that blade coming, raising

his arm out of range and twisting himself just enough that his golden cuirass

took the hit for him, although he still suffered a graze to the pit of his arm.

            With his other arm, Kumori came down

with an overhead swing for the avian's skull; he blocked it with the staff

again, but left his underside wide open, Kumori's other blade heading right for

his throat. The avian's eyes glowed a bright purple, and beams of matching

colour erupted from his eyes, striking Kumori in the chest and sending searing

heat into his body; yelping in pain and surprise Kumori jumped back to get

away, abandoning his assault and dropping one of his blades to hold his chest

where he was burned.

            "Nice try," the avian mocked. "But

it's not going to be that easy."

            Kumori looked at the avian closely,

eyes narrowing with suspicion. "A fire phoenix," he said plainly as he

identified his opponent.

            "Not an ordinary one," the avian

returned, never lowering his guard. "I'm something different from any phoenix

you'd have ever met."

            "I already figured that part out,"

Kumori retorted. "For one thing, no species of phoenix is inherently

black-feathered except as an undertone; they're always coloured based on their

elements." He returned to a battle-ready stance himself, keeping his eyes on

the strange phoenix before him. "I'm guessing you're a hybrid of some kind."

            "In a way, yes," the avian returned,

suddenly relaxing and standing normally, holding his staff weapon upright. "But

I didn't come out to fight you, so you can relax."

            "Why?" Kumori asked, that devilish

grin returning to his face, and a feral growl in his voice as he spoke. "It's

been about fifty years since I killed a phoenix; fire types have such hot blood

and I love to feel it in my fur." He snickered with malice, eyes widening as

his foot shuffled forward across the pavement, fighting back the urge to attack

the phoenix outright, more out of curiosity than a sense of reason. "So, start

explaining; if you're not here to fight, then what do you want?"

            "I saw your work on that homeless

person last night," the phoenix returned. "I rather like how you handled it."

            Kumori's insane expression was

suddenly gone, his face softening; now he was

curious, and regarded the avian such. "Really; you were watching me?"

            "More happened upon by chance," the

phoenix corrected. "I'm new in town, see; I was seeing the sights, I heard the

man scream while flying by..."

            "Fib," Kumori interjected.

            "Excuse me?"

            "You weren't flying," Kumori

retorted. "As a kitsune I detect lies almost like a scent."

            "Fair enough; I was on the roof

nearby. But I'm not lying about hearing the scream and being curious."

            Kumori detected the avian was

telling the truth, and lowered his blades, finally. "Go on," he said.

            "It just so happens I could use

someone of your skill," the phoenix carried on. "I'm looking to get back to

Canada, but there are some people out there that don't like me very much, and

would probably kill me the moment they sensed my presence. I'd like to enlist

you to get them first."

            "And just what would I be facing out

there?"

            "Five

phoenixes, each one a different element," returned the dark avian. "There's

one out there who's a fire-type like me; he's weakened from his last encounter

with me. If you get the opportunity I'd very much appreciate it if you

eliminated him. Do that, the other four will come to you, and you get to soak

your blades in the blood of five elementals. Possibly more, as well; he has

many friends of other species, including a couple of dragons."

            Kumori's eyes seemed to light up at

the idea, that grin returning to his face as he considered the offer; fighting

just one phoenix could be exciting but five different species of phoenixes,

along with some wretched dragons as well, made his body tingle with glee. "I am

quite interested," he returned. "Although I do like some compensation for my

work."

            The avian eyed him curiously. "You

mean like an assassin?" He asked. For a moment, the phoenix went silent; Kumori

could see the dark avian studying the blades in his hands, before his eyes

rolled to his upper left corner in reminisce, thinking back to earlier in their

meeting. Kumori waited patiently as the stranger thought, and listened

attentively when he spoke again. "So, that's what you are then; you're not just

an ordinary murderer. You're a ninja."

            "Well, I used to be," the nogitsune

returned. "A story for another time though."

            "I see," the black phoenix

acknowledged, nodding to him. "Fine... In return for your success, I'll reward

you. But, first I must get back to Canada, and find a new home for myself.

After that, I'll make compensating you my utmost priority."

            Kumori detected no lie in the words

of the phoenix; he actually meant to reward him for his work, rather than let

him do the dirty work and write him off. The nogitsune had also seen first-hand

that this avian was just as much a cold-blooded killer as he himself was by the

act of immolating the police officer before. And, the idea of getting to kill

not just one phoenix, but five, was making Kumori's entire body shiver with the

anticipation; a promise of reward and of the infinite pleasure of taking the

lives of others, how could he pass it up?

            "Alright, it's a deal then," Kumori

agreed. "My name is Yaiba Kumori; by what name should I know you, dark

phoenix?"

            "My name?" The phoenix returned, and

once more he seemed to slip into thought. "A fair question, I admit," he said.

            In truth, the black phoenix was not

sure how to respond to the nogitsune's inquiry; now introduced as Kumori, it was

only right that the phoenix return the gesture. However, until now, he hadn't

given much thought to an identity for himself... he knew little of names beyond

those he remembered from his time as part of Volcan; he knew not how people

chose the names for their children, or gave to themselves new names with which

to change their identities and become different people.

            But he was a warrior... a warrior's

name is what he would take, and it would be by that name that everyone who

dared cross his path or challenge him would know him. It had to be something

that would be eternally lodged into their memories, but unique in nature -a

name no one else had. It would be his and his alone. He thought back to Volcan;

a phoenix of Gaelic descent... Gaelic was a dead language, and few would be

using any name from that culture, or a word from that time as a name.

            Warrior...

            The avian grinned, and looked at

Kumori. "Call me... Calhoun. Calhoun Demonfire."