Chapter I
Making an Entrance
In the center of a serene, bit dusty, candle lit dojo sat a young man drawing shallow, even breathes. His raven hair was pulled into a long, braided ponytail that draped around his shoulders and his attire consisted of a black and yellow martial arts long coat with golden tigers embroider through out. Though, no sooner did he find his center and slowly lift off the ground, than did he sense a presence.
His green eyes snapped open before the door was blasted off its hinges, blowing out the candles and kicking on the automatic lights. The dust and door settled as the martial artists eyes adjusted to the sudden change in light and focused on his new visitor.
Just in front of the doorway, stood a young black man in classic Timberlands, a brown leather belt, with his hands in blue denim jeans. His open, red down vest covered a white A-shirt over his large, barrel chest, exposing his broad shoulders and muscular arms. He wore a confident smirk, leading to one of his dimples as he held his head high. He rolled his neck and shoulders, causing the beads at the end of his jet black cornrows to knock together. He exhaled in relief as his neck finally popped.
The martial artist sighed as he finally stood up, folding his arms behind his back. He turned to the intruder, with a look of cold acknowledgment, "The Crimson Emperor I presume."
The Emperor grunted still smirking, "Hmm, so my reputation finally precedes me. 'Bout time. The rest of'em didn't know what hit'em."
"In the twenty sixth century, dojo crashing is all but unheard of," said the other man flatly.
He rubbed the back of his neck in response with a grin, "Yeah, a lot of people say I was born in the wrong century. So, you know how this works. You the best this dusty old place has to offer?"
He nodded, "I am." He bowed, extending his right fist on his left palm to the challenger, "Jaedin Evans of Angel Grove."
"Home turf huh? Makes sense. And Wushu?" He noted in his greeting, "This oughta be interesting." Titus grasped his right fist with his left, bowing ever so slightly, "Titus Halo of The Bronx." He snapped into an orthodox stance. His feet shoulders width apart, weight resting on his right leg. His left was kept close and clenched, just above his groin. His right was trucked in and ready to explode. A simple stance meant for powerful strikes similar to a boxers.
Jeadin's was far more relaxed, arms simply resting at his sides and his left to the opponent in an open stance. He a took a deep breath and released it slowly.
Then, Titus felt something, a sorta pressure emanating from the half-Asian martial artist as he exhaled, Couldn't it be... He couldn't help but smile.