Staring ahead, my future shined bright like the sun, but my eyes traced a single ray towards a new path.
The sun is that one constant in our days – it shines here as it does there, today as it did yesterday. Our stories can be rewritten in any number of ways. Any chance moment leads to another possibility.
All it took was one of those chance moments for everything to change.
More than the clear sun overhead provided the sweltering heat.
A field of battle weathered all conditions, and the surrounding ruins had seen more than their fair share of spars and conflicts. The white stone of the ancient structures and the cavern-coated mountains bore as many scars as the warriors who called it home. Yet the lush overgrowth, risen from soil made fertile by the ashes of war, was evidence that new life flourished here. Generations had made their mark here amidst these structures, their fists hardened by blasting through with firm punches, their feet tempered by walking upon the sharpened rubble and fissures in the tile.
Their cries of pride and victory could burn the valleys and the sky above far faster than their fabled breaths of flame.
This was the world of dragons. Dragon World.
Today, on a grassy plain, a new battle took place. The rugged stone training ground of stone was left aside by the young combatants who had emerged from their lifetime of trials. Improvised walls of tall white columns and dragon peers as still and imposing as statues made up their arena.
In the center stood a massive aged dragon with white hair and torched crimson scales, littered with slashes across his frame, his horns, and the dulled armor on his lower body and tail. He crossed his massive arms and all at once an image of invincible fortitude exploded out to the surrounding figures. His eyes shot open revealing dulled green pupils with dangerous slits. Any lesser being would have shattered with the suddenness and ferocity of such a gaze.
"My dragon brethren!" He called in a booming roar of a voice. "The past days here have been grueling, yet fleeting. Many noble challengers have risen to the call, and all have stood firm and battled with honor. They have all proven worthy of our clan. Yet there can be only one who stands at the top. This final bout will determine who that shall be!"
The surrounding dragons saluted with bared fists and shot out plumes of fire upward that melted the air and apprehension thickening it. Today would engrave the future in stone, but there would be no doubts or regrets.
"Step forward, young ones!"
From the left came a dragon statuesque and dignified, as much so as the head dragon himself. His medium-heavy frame of garnet scales contrasted with his blazing blue hair beneath his helmet. He gave a heavy exhale through his horn-tipped nostril and clenched his fists, looking forward with hawk-like focus. His posture was rigid, silently accepting of the honor his efforts had granted him.
The dragon that came out from the right was in many ways the opposite. Where the first marched in with discipline matching a seasoned veteran of battle, the other strode in with all the impetuous fervor of youth down to his whipping tail. His own mane was golden yellow like a flare, and his bright crimson musculature of similar build pulsed with vigorous energy. He dropped his warrior's persona to give a flash of a smirk, and flexed his claws so that every fiber of his sculpted body was visible to his opponent, like creating fissures in the earth with a bare twitch. 'Confident' was an understatement in the eyes of many of the gathered spectators.
This second dragon indeed had many an eye on him, but none more critical than that of the center dragon, who gave a look of slight disdain. Yet he remained neutral as he returned his gaze forward. "Here stand the mightiest of our challengers, who have displayed the strength, the spirit, and the knowledge necessary to take our Armordragon clan towards the new dawn. Young ones, remember always in battle and at battle's end, these lessons that have carried you thus far."
Both combating dragons nodded.
"Very well. The same rules apply; the fight shall end when I have determined either of you unable to continue. The winner shall be named the new clan leader." The elder dragon stated.
Both dragons dropped into a battle-ready stance. Their legs spread out while their claws bared, glinting like swords. Both kept their stares locked onto the others growling in challenge.
"Now, begin!"
Another time, another place, similar circumstances occur.
The setting here was a modern city, with pearly white skyscrapers and shining glass windows, with crowded roads filled with cars darting off to every which place. A beacon of ingenuity built upon over decades with its electronic street signs and large animated billboards, yet with all the comforts of a rural setting in its residential buildings and of course the people carrying about their daily lives. Urban sounds of honking horns and blaring advertisements coupled with more basic sounds of tweeting birds and chattering civilians.
It flowed naturally, as unlikely as it is for cities and nature to coexist. Here in Aibo City, friendship and unity can be found anywhere.
Daily noise also came from a small wooden building filled to the brim with children. Every last one wore white dojo uniforms with belts of varying colors and stood gathered behind bleachers around an open white floor with a blue square. There were no solemn stares here – the entire crowd was alive with chatters and giggles, most likely sharing their predictions for the outcome.
Stepping onto the side of the ring was a man in a formal black suit. "Final match, Sengoku Academy vs. Aibo Academy, Elementary divisions! Will the challengers please step forward?" He said with a gesture of the hands.
The two schools were both legendary in their own right; the extravagant colored banners hanging from the rafters were enough proof. Sengoku's story was written deep in the throes of conflict, from being first constructed as a war base named after the feudal era in which it was constructed to the militaristic instruction of its students. It had been built high in the Cho-Hakone mountains a fair distance from the city, providing the perfect training ground in which students could hone themselves in accordance with the ideal of absolute victory.
Representing Sengoku's side was a brown haired boy looking rather aggressive. His eyebrows were slanted down giving a dagger-like glare forward. The strain was evident as he tried to keep his serious face from devolving into a grimace.
Aibo Academy, next to the rough stone that was Sengoku, was considered the crown jewel of Aibo City. Funded by some of the city's most wealthy entrepreneurs, it produced the finest and most successful minds. Aside from being a school, at times it was also a setting for many of Aibo City's biggest sporting events and festivals. The main ideal behind its actions and founding being that friendship was a key to the future.
Aibo's representative may have been outright beast-like in appearance with his spiky head of black hair with red bangs extending outward and upward. The look in his golden-eyes beneath his somewhat bushy brows, compared to the first boy, made him appear almost feral, like a lion waiting to pounce. But such a menacing outward aura was immediately dispelled by the friendly smile he gave, though his shining teeth almost looked more like fangs.
"Bow to your opponent!"
Both children did as instructed and offered the gesture to one another.
A majority of the spectators were looking the way of the red and black-haired boy from Aibo's way, as if the answer was already determined and the match itself was nothing more than a formality. One particular little girl with light red hair was particularly firm in this opinion, animatedly hopping up and down while screaming cheers his way. Next to her was a green-haired fierce-looking woman watching with more controlled interest and a large smile.
"Standard rule, kumite!" The suited man shouted. "This will be a timed bout of 5 minutes! When time ends, the competitor with the highest number of points will be the victor!"
The red and black haired boy gave a smile with the simple message, 'let's have a good match.' The other boy, however, didn't return the sentiment. It was clear he would settle for nothing less than victory if his deepening scowl gave any kind of indication. It didn't seem to bother the first boy in the least though.
"Fighters ready?" The man shouted with a raise of two flags at his side. "Begin!"
When the two dragons clashed, it was like an earthquake had struck in a single second.
The two pushed against each other, yet both felt as though they were left to the task of moving mountains. Already, the strain coupled with the high heat was making them both sweat. The struggle was broken when the yellow-haired dragon made the victim of a feint as his opponent feinted and took the chance to grab his arms and flip him down.
His opponent had tricks up his scaly sleeve, but against the strength of a full head-lock, tricks wouldn't save him. The yellow-haired dragon even jabbed a few stone-heavy blows with his elbow into the other's forehead to emphasize it, the force enough to make cracks in his opponent's helmet. Lifting and spinning him over, following with a few punches to the head, the blue-haired dragon shook him off and rolled away before his head could be crushed in that vice-like crook of his arm.
They resumed their stance, the yellow-haired dragon inviting the next attack with a fist forward.
Though, he wasn't in the mood to wait. He jumped up and came down like a meteor with his knee forward, but the blue-haired dragon ducked away. The attack missed entirely and left a small crater in the field from impact.
The next few minutes saw a heated exchange of punches between the two dragons. Thick bruises had already begun to form on their faces and their arms when blocking. The yellow-haired dragon was impressed; his fists could knock dragons three times his size unconscious. At least he could face a worthy opponent for his claim to leadership.
The yellow-haired dragon gave a twirling leap and caught the other's head between his legs to flip him over and slam him onto the ground, creating another large crater in his body's shape and sending debris flying. Perfect timing, unbelievable strength, he'd have dared anyone to try and mimic such a flawless maneuver. He smirked as his opponent leapt back upward and made a predictable charge; a simple counter that he learned in the first weeks of competition by ducking and rolling him against his back, then slamming him down by the ankle saw him knocked down again.
Once again the blue-haired dragon rose, and leapt out to grab the yellow-haired dragon's feet. He rolled and flipped up to sit on his haunches, then tumbled down and grabbed the back of his legs, making his cocky adversary the victim of a hard-landing flip this time.
The yellow-haired dragon rose to a kneel and breathed hard, caught off-guard by the reversal. No bones were broken, but bending over was near-murder at that moment. His opponent rushing at him shook him from his on-the-spot feeling with blows that he just barely managed to dodge by tumbling. A barely felt second wind was gained when he'd landed a blow on the face followed by an uppercut.
It was a stalemate in power, as hard as it was for the yellow-haired dragon to admit. Being pushed this far back against a weasel of a dragon was nothing short of shameful. Already he'd gone past the time limit he'd set for himself.
The rush of the battle brought a sense of excitement to all the spectators, who could only show their enthusiasm for such feats through slightly widened eyes. It was almost painful to be as impartial as they had to be in that one moment. Dragons lived for battle, born with warriors' spirits they relished life spent on the battlefield and the chance to test their merit and rise to greater heights. The energy from both fighters and observants gave off such intensity it rose the heated temperatures to volcanic levels.
They rushed again, using any tactic that came to mind – the battle at this point would be as much determined by strategy as it would muscle. They punched, kicked, rolled, grabbed, threw, swept with their legs and whipped their tails, neither giving an inch.
The elder dragon was the only one to remain neutral in the midst of it all.
He exhaled. Unlike the fight, he doubted he would have come to an easy conclusion.
The brown haired boy was off like a shot, a hunter going in for the kill.
So as with anywhere else, the black and red-haired boy took a more pacifistic approach. As his opponent launched a flurry of fists and open palms forward, he countered with palms raised in defense. He swatted each rage fueled attack away like flies buzzing.
The crowd cheered at the fluidity of his movements and at the victory pose he offered when the other boy was left panting from overexertion. A natural aptitude for martial arts combined with glowing charisma could pass the Aibo youth for a celebrity or some ruler of the ring. He took his opponent's wrist and twirled him along with his less than flexible arm bone before royally punishing him with a slam on the floor.
"Ippon!" The suited referee shouted, raising the red flag to the right for Aibo.
The charge simply continued, and the fight became more and more one-sided. The black and red-haired boy moved in defense fluidly like rushing water to tame and erode the rigid boulders that were the brown-haired boy's wild temper-fueled strikes. A true product of the rigid and unforgiving instruction at Sengoku Academy, which prided in its athletic programs and pushing for top marks in all its students. That uncontrolled aggression finally got through when he landed a fist onto his opponent's face.
"Yuko! Tsuki!"
"What!? That was a total penalty, ref!" The small girl cried.
"Hanako!" The woman to her side scolded. "That's enough. His move was perfectly legal."
Her complaint was ignored by the referee anyway as the match continued; the boys kept light on their feet, bouncing in place ready to move quickly. Once again the brown-haired Sengoku combatant launched forward with a barrage of blocked palm-strikes. The untamed ferocity displayed in such an assault triggered something in the red and black-haired boy's demeanor. A flash of confusion, even a bit of disdain.
He swatted the boy's hand away and twirled him around to catch him by his scruff and slam him down. "Ippon!"
When the angry boy recovered, he swatted his palm away and swept his foot, tripping him.
The referee jumped in and separated the two again, the gave the signal for the bout to continue. The brown-haired boy was relentless, charging only half a second after the okay to continue.
But any attack he gave may as well have been an attempt to strike a raindrop falling from the stormy sky. In the face of Aibo's golden boy, who shone with optimism and light-hearted pride, his own strength was used against him leading to a repeated view of the ceiling. At this point, his movements had become rough and obvious, his own tantrum causing him to turn away from technique and rely simply on lashing out.
But then came an unexpected move. For the first time since the match began, the brown haired boy came in with a kick. The red and black-haired boy, expecting a raging fist, was struck in the abs and knocked back.
"Waza-ari!"
The crowd gasped at the turn of events.
The angered Sengoku youth flashed a smile mockingly at the red and black-haired boy, the same he gave before the match had started. That arrogant attitude could instill flames of reckoning in anyone and launched them into a similar frenzy, and from there it would have dissolved to two animals at each other's' throats. Yet the boy merely gave a confident grin and stepped forward just as the referee began the match once again.
He punched forward, but the Sengoku boy caught his wrist and yanked his weight around before tossing him down and locking him in an arm hold. The Aibo boy caught himself from slamming down with his legs and broke free of the hold. But the brown-haired boy grabbed his arm once again and turned to roll him over and toss him to the floor again. Two 'ippons' in the Sengoku youth's favor. But the red and black haired fighter of Aibo rose again and spun around with his opponent's wrist in hand, flipping him down and keeping him trapped by his own wrist. Once again, the crowd cheered in support for the Aibo fighter.
"Ippon!"
"All right!" The girl, Hanako, cheered with a fist raised.
Both fighters took their positions again. The Aibo fighter breathed heavily and centered himself with his palms raised in defense. But such a maneuver where he had to guard and hope the attacks would ultimately stop never really felt right to him. His own fighting style felt like chains meant to restrain him, when it was only fair to go all out and meet his opponent with everything he had. That seemed like a better path to strength.
Why not take the offensive, just this once?
"Huff… huff…"
It was strange, in that moment, that the yellow haired dragon finally seemed to notice the gazes of the other dragons surrounding them, most specifically the elder dragon in the center. Before, when the battle had been in his complete control, all those spectators had been like a figment of his own imagination. He had wanted his strength to be absolute, and he had more than proven it in the tens of battles he had faced against other, weaker dragons beforehand.
Now, to be laid bare at his knees against some random other, was nothing short of shameful.
When he clenched his fists, he was assuring fate itself, victory and glory would be caught firmly in his grasp and he would boldly pronounce it to his opponent. That was the nature of a warrior, of a leader, of a dragon. So to be down with aching bones, heavily panting, scales crawling with all eyes on him was undignified to say the least.
His opponent strode towards him, exuding invincibility in his posture; the aggravation of it all brought him back up to his feet. Any bit of fatigue was worn out when the blue-haired dragon moved forward with a headlock and caught him in his grip. He'd have been able to bring down a tower with that strength, clearly he wanted the honor of being leader just as badly. But the yellow-haired dragon was defiant of any future other than his own, that defiance fueling his legs into an impossible backflip anchored by his opponent's arm midway into the drop, along with a shattering uppercut to the jaw.
A bell seemed to toll inside the yellow-haired dragon's mind, a clear tone that brought serenity. Some grievous error had instantly been corrected in that dominant display and the world was set back on its proper course.
Another elbow to the jaw. He could have sworn the horn on his opponent's snout had jabbed through his scales and drawn blood. He grabbed the blue-haired dragon's head and shoved it down to appear as a bow towards the predetermined victor and twirled around with a slung arm to slam him hard. He was ready to pile drive him hard with both claws when the blue-haired dragon rolled away, leaving a cloud of dirt and dispersed thoughts the end.
Why wouldn't this guy go down already? The battle was nearly his!
By now, when both dragons had begun with volcanic levels of energy, they were now running on lingering plumes. He was cocky, as many among their peers could attest, but the yellow-haired dragon knew his limits, and he himself could easily assume the same of his opponent. Just a little more, just a little bit more.
Once again the placed their feet forward and charged. No fancy tricks or complicated maneuvers, just bash until the other one passes out. Swing, jab, duck, guard, repeat. Same as before.
They circled again, the yellow haired dragon coming forward with a punch that the other dragon dodged by hopping away. He followed with a swing of the tail and a clothesline that connected, bringing his opponent down. But he rose again, spitting out the drops of blood that formed in between his teeth. He could stand, but his legs were shaky and his left arm looked completely limp, having neither the endurance to block nor the energy to strike. He was as good as crippled.
The yellow-haired dragon brought his hammering first downward, but the blue-haired dragon's other hand caught it freely and swatted it away. The will that fueled such a defense was unnerving. It made his arm feel like steel; his own knuckles protested at actually having felt such a sensation.
Just as he nearly mirrored him in appearance, he mirrored his earlier clothesline, albeit sloppily given the weakness in his legs, but still managed to knock him down to his side. A desperation-fueled attempt at mimicry like that had brought him down, done by a one-armed opponent, no less?
This was getting aggravating.
His strength was concrete, that won out against sheer manifestations of will granting second long turns of tide. But, and though he hated to admit it, his return attack, a twirling roundhouse kick, was sluggish. He wanted to attribute it to his demigod physique, but he could humbly admit that fatigue had made the force behind it sluggish at best. Though it had made impact, it did little damage.
It came to trading blows once again as the hours stretched and the sun had begun to set, casting the sky into shades of red and orange the same color as their own scales. It made their bodies and armor appear to have been set aflame. Though on the field of battle the flames present had been dimmed to embers as both fighters began to miss with nearly every strike; their kicks were empty, their tails sagged, and every movement in between had grown slow and dizzy with exhaustion and injury. Yet the yellow-haired dragon still had a reserve of strength to tap into. Strength of will, as anyone else would call it. He pushed the muscles in their legs to their utmost and they screamed at the breaks of their limits, but propelled him forward crashing into the other dragon with a full body slam, bringing them both down.
The blue-haired dragon did not awaken, he did not move, he remained completely unconscious.
The yellow-haired dragon was drenched with sweat with the veins of his muscles furiously drawn out. He breathed so hard he felt his own lungs might have been ruptured. Every bruise continued to throb with ache and his armor and bones were equally cracked. But it was worth it, seeing his opponent downed before him, brought down by his now truly unrivaled power. He looked up at the sky, and to any dragons who might have been watching from above.
"RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRR!"
The free-feeling crowd gasped and held their breaths when the star of Aibo launched himself forward for an attack. His twin kicks were swift, but there was the lacking edge in them. It diverted from his normal fighting style, but it was all in good fun. A competition didn't warrant the kind of ferocity this boy seemed insistent on using to force his way to an absolute victory. But the Sengoku boy spun away and elbowed his foot nearly hard enough to break the bone. It was his way of saying half-hearted strikes like that were as good as insults.
His next punch seemed more like a provoking slap, but the Aibo boy turned away and reversed him with his own fist to toss him to the floor. Their combative dance became a physical exchange of words in that instant, experimental enjoyment against violent lust for victory. And neither's speech was truly reaching the other.
With a flash of his hands and a strike on his opponent's chest, the Aibo boy's drive to continue was little by little slipping away. The more their strikes connected and the tide of the match began to flow more evenly between them, the more that sun-like pleasure inside him began to set. But like most children never wanted the day to end, neither did he want to give up. Every day brought a chance to make a new friend, even in the most unlikely of places.
They stood straight, the Aibo boy giving a smile true to his character. It just ticked the other kid off more.
"FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, QUIT YOUR STUPID SMILING!"
It was the first time either of the two boys had spoken all match, and it took everyone else aback. Guess he figured words were more likely to get the point across.
Not a bad idea.
"Dude, chill out. No point getting all worked up over some match." He chuckled.
He suddenly felt extremely silly, buying into his opponent's apparent perception of a school competition as a battle to the death. More so for feigning restriction of and to himself. What was there to truly lose here but some overelaborate gold trophy to let gather dust on the mantle of his home? That goofy smile of his could offer no answer.
"Penalty! Unneeded conversation!"
The two boys startled back and returned to their battle stances. It was the same old routine when they approached one another and, albeit more evenly now, traded blows like pressing buttons. The Sengoku boy grabbed his wrist and bent his arm back by the elbow, and the sprain it triggered made the Aibo boy bite down hard. Yet he weathered through the pain and ran around reversing the grip, freeing himself and flipping the boy down for the umpteenth time. His ears drew in the reward in the crowd's cheers for his mastery once again.
Sengoku boy's recovery was just as quick as his earlier offense, it made his eyes flash with a dangerous glint of interest. The boy moved forward with an ending strike aimed right for his face, negating consequence or penalty but not technique as it was brushed aside. He made that blow count, the Aibo boy thought, brushing away the force of the impact reverberating all the way down to his bone. Another upward jab was stopped cold by a negating arm and pulled down opening the way for a strike to the boy's bicep. He pulled away and made for a sword-swiping slash with his arm.
The other boy made his surprise apparent as each of his blows were blocked in those final few moments. He hadn't even noticed how such a barrage of blows were now taking their toll on his opponent, sweating and panting unevenly as the result of so many meetings with the floor. No doubt his blows reached for failing reserves of decisive power.
Decisive, yet deceptive, as he found when the boy yelped in pain from his reverse turn. Still caught helplessly in his grip, the Sengoku youth clutched hard at his shoulder hissing and groaning. Restrain might have been called for after all. But at that moment when he feared he pulled something, he ended up getting pulled down and slammed on the floor himself. The referee calling penalty did not do him justice for being so easily duped.
Time to wrap it up, then.
Sengoku made a swing. Aibo ducked and gave another swing and a kick, but only air was struck. Sengoku swung again raining beads of sweat out with his final swing, but he dodged and cradled him in a lift then tumbled his weight down and trapped him by his own caught leg.
"Owari!" The referee cried. The match was over, he released the leg, earning a gasp of relief from his exhausted opponent.
The crowd exploded at his superhuman display, but fatigue as always saved its appearance and dramatic reveals until the end of the show when it pounced on him like a tidal wave. The brunt of it shattered his stage-solid body and made him collapse to the floor with every organ in his body all at once screaming in protest at his standoffish display. Gallons of sweat poured down, bruises throbbed and his last bit of support – his arms – slid powerlessly down to the mat.
But that optimistic winning smile stayed right where it was.
The yellow-haired dragon looked to the elder for the final word. His exhaustion and bruises cried for any sign of pride or acceptance in those stone-like silver orbs. But nothing came; the elder merely stared at the outcome for a few endless moments. It was as though he was hesitating. But in the end, he exhaled hard.
"It has been decided. Victory goes to Drum Bunker, Fang Slade Terrestrial XIII!"
The dragons blasted celebratory streams of fire, setting the sky into a glorious hue of golden orange. Embers showered down soothing the XIIIs tired arms and joints. But it felt numb to the young dragon. The one affirmance of victory he craved the most was denied him, sealed away behind deep crimson walls.
He looked to the skies, left to muse in the empty crowning light what other hurdles he had to face. Just for the pride of a parent.
"Winner! Aibo Academy, Gao Mikado!"
The Aibo boy saluted with a firm pump of his fists, sending the crowd into a frenzy. He walked over to his opponent and gave a helping hand, to leave the foul will and doubt on the field. For a moment, the violent win-obsessed boy looked more suited to remain on the ground than accept petty consolance. But pride could be saved just this once. He accepted the hand and all the animosity seemed to dissipate in that grip.
Mikado was swarmed immediately by his cheering fans, hoisted up by their arms and repetitive cheers. "MIKADO! MIKADO MIKADO!"
As he was carried out, Gao beamed with the sky in his view. Days like this when he felt at the top of the world, he could never imagine the future being anything but the same.
Hey, everyone!
Hoped you liked this first chapter of my new story. This has been a long time coming, since Buddyfight has always been enjoyable for me. The characters were always appealing, but I felt like the story was severely lacking. Well, the first season anyway. I think I can say the following two series, Hundred and Triple D, were a bit better in the story department, but at that point I don't think it did much to fix what was basically a series of half-hour long advertisements for the card game. So consider this an AU origin story for Buddyfight.
This is the result of several months of research and planning not just for the creation of this story. After my first two fanfics, which are still ongoing, I did a little looking into proper storytelling and plot and character development along with analysis of other media for inspiration. With the story just about completely mapped out, things should go a little smoother here. Of course, that's not to say I still didn't face a few challenges – writing an action scene is harder than you'd think.
Any questions or comments, feel free to post them. As I always say, review, favorite, follow! Until next time!