Kindred Spirits
by hustler one
As it had for countless millenia, since the very beginning of time itself, the clouds which flew restlessly in the skies let their rain pour down towards the Earth's surface. The rain fell softly, not a downpour, as steadily the water fed plants and trees and grass with the nourishment they needed to survive, as well as giving the humans who populated the planet the vital liquid they needed to sustain life.
Now they rained upon the country of Japan, on a small patch of flat land, where the grass grew tall and unhindered. Tall, majestic trees grew up from the fertile soil, along with the numerous bushes and shrubs and other foiliage native to the region. In a wide clearing was the setting of certain events, where a human stood, unmoving, facing two others. Not so far away an asphalt road stretched, joining at some point to another that lead to the metropolis of Tokyo. It was not so far from where the standing human made his home, alone, far away from civilization, in a simple wooden hut. Now the human stood in this clearing, the rain falling down mercilessly on his frame. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, and every now and then the flash of lightning illuminated the human for several seconds, before falling away and leaving the human shrouded in darkness, and alone with the rain.
He could easily be mistaken for another street fighter, like and unlike those of his age. His clothing, at least, was simple: a white karate gi, a black belt tied tightly about his waist, red fighting gloves tied to the fists which meant so much to him, and saved his life more times than he, or anyone else could count. His entire body was well built and muscled, from head to toe, his shoulders broad, his frame short height-wise but none the less intimidating. Training dominated his life, and his body backed up this fact.
But, perhaps most intruiging; the simple white headband tied tightly about his head, it's two, long ends flapping loosely around his figure, caught in the wind that accompanied the harsh rain. A warrior, this man looked like. A true warrior.
He was indeed a warrior. So young, so inexperienced, he seemed on the outside. What could a mere twenty year old with a headband do? Such were the thoughts of many a rival warrior, before they fell in defeat to his fists. Twenty years, filled with a single, all consuming purpose: to become the greatest warrior of all time. And indeed, many considered him that ultimate warrior. For in that short of a time, the warrior had seen more violence, destruction, death than many see in their entire lives. But did that mean he was the ultimate warrior, he asked himself? No. And so while many considered him to be that ultimate warrior, he himself did not.
And so he embarked on a seemingly unending quest; to become the greatest warrior he believed himself capable of but not being, yet.
For twenty years this quest dominated his life, a single all consuming goal. There was little for friendship, no time to live a normal life. No time for the various human pleasures and pains associated with childhood, adolescense, and now early adulthood. Companionship with the warrior belonged only to those worthy enough to have gained his respect through their fighting skills, and even then contact was limited to sparring or conversation about fightning techniques. Female companionship was almost out of the question. Only one thing dominated his life, his thoughts, his very soul; his quest. His journey. His fighting skills, and improving on them. Street Fighting was all that meant anything to him. Nothing else mattered.
For a long time, too long a time, it seemed that maybe he had reached his prime, had improved on his skills to the absolute limit. No challenger had walked away from a bout with the warrior victorious. He was undefeated.
Yes, he had fought many. Men and women who themselves could crush rocks with their bare hands or cut mighty trees down with a single kick to the tree trunk. And yet, he had yet to meet the one who could best him in single combat.
Varied and of all shapes and sizes, men and women, all of them, their fighting styles as different from one another as the shapes of snowflakes on a winter's morn. And he defeated them all to reach where he stood today, in this tournament known to all as the third Street Fighter Alpha Tournament.
His first opponent was the Japanese champion Sumo wrestler, Edmund Honda, who's size and weight proved to be his downfall, as the warrior dispatched him using his superior speed and agility.
Second came the American, William Guile, whom many believed to be the one to defeat the warrior. Yet again they were proved wrong, as Guile's tendency to rely on raw emotions rather than thought proved his downfall.
Then came Guy, the master of the art of Bushido. The warrior respected the man, for the Bushido master was an honorable fighter, like himself. And truly, after a long and exhausting battle, when the warrior defeated Guy, the two promised to remain rivals.
Next came Zangief, the mountain of a man who used Russian wrestling techniques and brute force to defeat those who faced him. He relied almost totally on physical strength, swinging his huge fists around him, hacking and punching with little finesse but with horrible effectiveness. His throws and punches relied on brute force to harm his opponent, but brute force would not be sufficient, however, as the warrior bested him as well.
And so the warrior advanced to the second round, where he met the female warrior and Interpol agent, Chun-Li, once again. For years the two had known each other, sparring and training with each other occasionally. It seemed for a long time that the warrior saw something else in the woman, feelings akin to affection or even love, the human emotion that had evaded him for so long...but improvement of his skills came first, and he defeated her as well, albeit injuring her as little as was possible to him. He then swore to the hospitalized woman that he would take revenge for her father's death for her...at the hands of the man known only as " Bison."
Then came Charlie Nash, the American Guile's partner and Chun-Li's operational commander. And like the previous American, Charlie would join his partner in defeat, as Charlie's lack of speed when throwing his attacks proved his downfall.
The final match of the second round saw him meet Sakura, the teenage schoolgirl who searched for the warrior, hoping to become his apprentice. The warrior saw great potential in the girl and her fighting skills, and he was truly flattered that someone would want to emulate his own skills...but he decided that having a student would not be in his best interests at the moment, and so defeated her as well. He was very impressed that the teenager had managed to even get past the first match, let alone reach the second round... hers was a fighting style that was already deadly, and could only get better with time. Perhaps, the warrior promised himself, someday, he would take her as an apprentice...
The third and final round saw him meet the Four Kings of Shadowloo, the dark organization which had organised the tournament. First came Balrog, the American boxer who's penchant for brutality in and out of the ring barred him from the boxing arena. The warrior dispatched him with ease, as Balrog's failure to use his legs in any way, prohibited him from presenting any real challenge to the warrior's superior skils.
The Spanish Ninja, Vega, met him second. With a steel claw and a mask adorning his self proclaimed "perfect face," Vega's deadly art of combined Ninjitsu and Bullfighting techniques had claimed the lives of many a challenger. And yet, albeit battered, bleeding and shaken, the warrior emerged victorious yet again.
Finally, the man known as Victor Sagat, whom the warrior had defeated in an earlier tournament, had come to take revenge in the third match of the third round. The scar the warrior had left on his chest as a result of his Dragon Punch constantly reminded both combatants of the previous results, and Sagat had trained long and hard to finally face the warrior... but history repeats itself, and though this time Sagat truly tested the warrior's skills, still he fell in defeat at the hands of the awesome power known as the Shoryuken. And yet, something stirred in Sagat's cold heart that day...something akin to admiration, perhaps, towards the warrior, but whatever it was the Muay Thai master kept it hidden well as he left the battleground in defeat.
Following Sagat's defeat the Shadowloo King himself, M. Bison, appeared, and as the warrior personally challenged the dark one to a one on one match, Bison merely laughed, a cold, emotionless laugh, and dispatched two of his best assassins, two females, challenging him to defeat them both. Once he did so, he would meet Bison.
" Defeat these two, " Bison challenged out to the warrior, in that voice that lacked any soul or definition, " and I will meet you in single combat, after one week. Then we shall see if you are truly the warrior you claim yourself to be!! "
With that, Bison dissappeared, vanished into thin air...how he had been able to do it was lost to the warrior, but he had no time to contemplate it as the first of the two assassins leapt at him in an attack.
This first assassin, a young, thin, skeleton of a girl, perhaps no more than fifteen or sixteen, with orange hair known as Juni, was dispatched easily by the warrior. Her training had taught her how to kill a man in an infinite amount of ways...but her inexperience associated with her youth and little actual combat experience meant that the skills she knew in her brain could not be used effectively with her fists and feet. Every attack she launched was countered, every attack he launched landed, as the warrior made short work of his younger opponent, landing blow after blow on her, before finishing her with a sharp uppercut which knocked her sprawling into the ground, her head hitting the earth with a sharp thud, knocking her senseless.
Now her unconscious body laid several feet away from the warrior, who now faced his second opponent. This woman, he knew, was older, more experienced, more matured, physically at least. He had to find out now if her skills could keep her from suffering the same defeat her partner had suffered.
This was the woman known simply as Juli, who's very name stirred feelings of fear and intimidation in the hearts of many a combatant. Indeed, hers and the names of the twelve Shadowloo dolls, each named after a month of the calendar, were names feared throughout the world by street fighters, government agents, and rival drug lords alike. Each of them knew how to kill a man ten times before he hit the ground...and it was this which allowed Bison to rule with an iron fist over the trade of illegal drugs and arms, using fear to keep his lesser lords in place, lest they find an end at the hands of one of the dolls.
Her reputation as one of the twelve dolls of the Shadowloo boss and as a cold hearted assassin with no feelings of remorse whatsoever was known far and wide, perhaps even moreso than the other eleven, because she was their commanding officer, and answered only to Bison himself. Never once had she failed in a mission, never once had she been toppled in single combat. Her combat skills, the warrior knew now, could back up her reputation.
Her beauty was of a different matter. Rumors were widespread of how Shadowloo dolls would seduce their targets and bed them before killing them when their eyes were glazed over with pleasure..but they were only rumors. If it were true, the warrior knew, this woman's body could easily back it up.
A stark contrast to her partner, long, lithe legs led to a well carved waist and hips, and a well...endowed upper body, with full, rounded breasts and strong, tough arms. Chocolate hair had been piled on top of a petite head in a bun behind her head, and two long bangs descended from a small beret she wore, to cover part of a face that was both stunningly beautiful, and stunningly deadly at the same time. And it was all covered in a sleek, navy bodysuit that left only her back bare, where it revealed tight, creamy vanilla skin. Her body was toned, tight, a well oiled fighting machine, evidence of years of the harsh training regimes imposed on her by the Shadowloo organization. She moved with the ease and fluidity of a tiger or panther stalking it's prey, jumping and leaping as if gravity meant nothing to her and did nothing to weigh her down. It was a body that belonged to an angel, in more ways than one, the warrior observed. A dark angel.
She was young, in her early twenties, perhaps, not much older than the warrior himself, her body young and firm with age, yet experienced enough to have the knowledge on how to control it. She was a deadly beauty. Very deadly. But it was her eyes that entranced him most, those chocolate, narrow eyes, filled with suppressed rage and pain and another emotion that the warrior could not name.
For a tense hour the warrior and the assassin engaged in mortal combat. It seemed for many long minutes that the two were perfectly matched, as the two traded punch and kick and throw and projectile, testing each other's defenses and exploiting weak points when they revealed themselves. However, the woman was just a little bit faster than the warrior, in every way, as her long, deadly legs found his ribs a half a second faster than his fists could block, and her lithe body ducked out of the way half a second before the warrior's punch could find her face.
Several times the assassin drew blood with her fists, as they crashed into his jaw or cheek.
Undaunted, the warrior sent another hook aimed at the assassin's face, only to connect..with air. Where the woman was mere fractions of a second before there now stood nothing. In this momentary confusion, the warrior was unable to stop her from ducking and sweeping both her legs in a roundhouse kick, knocking the warrior's legs out from under him. He landed hard on his shoulder, and looked up to see the woman had jumped high into the air, with a kick extended, ready to connect with his face, a killing blow ready to be delivered on his prone form...
...when he rolled to his right, out of instinct rather than voluntary thought. Mere moments later the assassin's foot struck the ground where his head had just been, the impact causing a small crater in the soft earth, bits and pieces of soil and hard stone spraying from the impact point. It was an impact which could have broken the ankle of a lesser trained warrior, and yet the assassin simply snapped into a fighting stance, ready to face her opponent once more, eyes still locked on his, her face an emotionless mask, a killing machine who had identified her prey and was pondering the best way to eliminate it.
Now the two stood, circling each other, each in their fighting stances.
The warrior noticed that thus far the assassin had not spoken a word; unusual indeed, no battle cry as a blow landed, no shout or cry of pain as she blocked a hard blow...just silence, a haunting silence...
The rain that had been a mere trickle minutes before had now intensified slightly, limiting the vision of both combatants, as both repeatedly wiped rainwater away from eyes. The girl's uniform and hair were soaked now, clinging to her lithe body like a second skin, as was the warrior's gi. The warrior and the assassin both moved closer slightly, hoping so see each other's coming attacks better. The warrior was keenly aware of a warm trickle of blood flowing down the side of his head...had he hit his head on the ground when she tripped him? He didn't know..it all happened too fast.
Her eyes, however, the warrior saw clearly. They remained locked on his, never once moving or showing any emotion other than the suppressed rage associated with street fights. There was something else in those eyes, he knew, those panther-like eyes, though the warrior couldnt detect it..was it fear? pride? pleasure that she was winning the fight? Her eyes...
No time for wondering, as the woman suddenly launched herself at him, right fist closed tightly, aimed directly at his face, with all the speed and ferocity of lightning. He saw this one, and brought up both forearms in an "x" to block the punch, while launching his own counterattack in the form of a kick aimed at her midsection. It landed, and he felt the satisfaction of finally hitting his opponent, as his heel impacted against her ribs. But the assassin was undaunted by this, and parried his follow up attacks.
She was quick, too quick. A missed jab aimed at her face resulted in her countering and jumping straight up, her legs almost level with his face, until she trapped his face between those thighs, then, faster than the warrior could realise what was happening, she was doing a half backflip, and throwing the warrior several feet away using only the strength of her thighs and legs. The warrior landed roughly, but quickly snapped up into a fighting stance. He needed to be more careful, or face defeat at the hands of this woman, so close and yet so far away to his goal of defeating Bison.
It was a move he had seen before. The British warrior, Cammy White, had used it to defeat the Jamaican kickboxer, Dee Jay, on her way to face Guile, who would in turn defeat her to face the warrior. He remembered witnessing the fight first-hand, how the agile British woman vaulted over a hastily thrown projectile to trap the kickboxer between those steel-cord legs and toss him away, knocking him out with the impact, using only her lower body strength...and now that he noticed it the assassin he fought now used many of the same attacks and was dressed similarly...could there be a connection, he wondered, between the two?
The warrior also knew that the woman's fighting style, like Cammy's, meant that power and endurance had been sacrificed in favor of speed, and every minute that passed meant that the warrior was winning the battle. Slowly he began to wear her down, defending as best he could those lightning quick legs, letting her tire herself out..before launching a counterattack.
The assassin launched herself at the warrior once more, and the two locked in battle anew. The woman was a blur as she launched a flurry of fists and kicks at the warrior, who calmly and efficiently blocked and parried them in return, before sending a counter-attack in the form of a backfist, aimed for the lovely face that belonged to the assassin. As if it were the most natural thing in the world the assassin parried and at the same time sent a knee crashing into the warrior, knocking the air out of him and making him double over in pain. The assassin then brought the same knee up, striking the warrior full in the chin, whipping his head back fiercely, crimson blood flying from a bloodied mouth.
The warrior, trying his best to stay on his two feet after recovering from this harsh blow, decided to go on the offensive. He feigned a right hook, but instead sent a left jab aimed at her shoulder. The assassin, left open as she tried to block the feigned hook, was powerless to stop the jab, and she suddenly felt her arm go numb under the pain of the impact. In a split second the warrior saw that she was using only one arm to defend herself...and took full advantage of the opening.
At first, a light jab aimed at her temple to daze her, then a knee to the stomach, followed by a sharp roundhouse to the ribs...he saw an opening and he exploited it, seeing that he had gained the upper hand. Her fatigue was taking away her speed and leaving her defenseless, and skillfully and with the ease given to him through years of training, he rained blow after blow on the woman, who brought her forearms up in a weak attempt to block his attacks. Somewhere in the blur of his fists he saw the assassin had launched a kick against him, aimed for his ribs in a vain attempt at a counter-attack.
Fast as lightning he reached for the leg, and, taking firm grasp of her ankle, brought his elbow up and down with harsh force, hitting the extended leg just under the kneecap. Both heard the sickening snap that could only be bone breaking under the warrior's elbow. The assassin opened her mouth as if to scream, but the warrior did not allow her the opportunity as, with calm, practiced precision, he went through the motions of the Tatsu-maki-senpu, jumping up in the air and slashing his feet at her vulnerable body, using all the force, ferocity, and rage of a hurricane, before landing and delivering a twirling roundhouse kick that sent her flying into a nearby tree, blood falling away from those crimson lips.
She smacked against it with a sickening thud, and slowly fell forwards, on her knees, a single hand bracing herself against the ground, the other clutching her stomach as if in pain. A thick rivulet of crimson blood had begun to appear at the corner of the assassin's mouth, and had flowed down her chin, and unto the turtleneck of the drenched bodysuit. Chocolate hair that was once so neatly placed was roughed up, stray locks of hair falling from her head to fall in front of her face. Her face, those stunning features, lay contorted and twisted in pain.
Her eyes...still the assassin's eyes remained locked on his. Now, however, the warrior could see that they were no longer flat, emotionless. Now they had a look of pain, mingled with desperation...perhaps that was the emotion that he had failed to name earlier.
Desperation.
The woman began to rise, using both her arms for support, bringing her feet up slowly, as a toddler first beginning to learn how to walk. Her good leg rose, shakily, and she brought the other leg, the one that the warrior had almost broken, up under her..she rose up, shaking violently, until she fell again, on her knees, her injured leg giving way underneath her. She could not stand. The assassin could not stand, much less jump or kick with the leg, something which meant death in the street fighting circles.
The warrior had won.
He relaxed from his fighting stance, bringing up a hand to wipe at the blood that had begun to flow down the side of his face. Giving one last glance at the woman that had been the greatest test of his fighting skills so far in this tournament, the warrior turned to walk away. The woman's master, Bison, awaited his fists, and he had only one week to prepare for him. Not one second could be wast-
" Stop! "
The warrior turned in the direction of the voice, realising that it came from the woman, and that it was the first time he had heard her voice. It was a soft voice, he realised, one that came from an English country, judging from the accent, filled with the same desperation he noticed in her features and eyes earlier.
She had extended a hand towards him, still on her knees, her injured leg forbidding her from standing. Her hand was clutched towards him, as if wanting to grab him.
" We're...not...we're not fi...finished yet, warrior! " she managed to shout, in between deep breaths, the blood in her mouth as a result of a lost tooth keeping her from speaking clearly. Now the warrior had turned, so he was facing the pleading assassin, who was now standing shakily on her good leg, one arm bracing her body against the tree trunk she impacted against, the other trying to wipe away the blood from her mouth. She had never lost a street fight in her years as a Shadowloo agent, and she swore to herself right then and there it would not be today.
" Fight..fight me! I'm not..de...dead yet! It isn...isnt over! "
The warrior merely tucked both thumbs into his belt, before looking at the woman, who was struggling to stand, blood flowing from her mouth and from the side of her head. He was Japanese, but his accent held more of an American tone, as he spoke:
" You're injured, badly, assassin. You can't fight me anymore. I've won. "
The assassin seemed insulted.
" One...leg.is...is all i need! Come on!! "
" I will not fight you any longer, assassin. "
" You..you will! If you will not fi..fight me,I..I will fight you! "
With that, the woman stepped forward, determined to continue the fight...and promptly fell forward, her leg giving way beneath her, and she brought her hands up to stop the fall as the ground rose up to meet her...
...ground that did not quite reach her, as she felt something wrap around her, stopping her from falling face first into the ground. She opened the eyes that she did not know had closed, to find that the very warrior that she sought to kill had lept forward and caught her in his arms, stopping her from falling painfully face first onto the cold, unforgiving ground.
She looked up at him, through eyes that were blurred and pained, at his eyes, those large, brown eyes that looked, at least to the assassin, that they were deep in thought, and another emotion flashed between the two pairs of eyes...
But she was a Shadowloo agent: her mission came first. If this fool was stupid enough to think she was some soft hearted whore, it would be the mistake that killed him.
She darted her right fist up, closed in a killing strike, aimed for his temple...
...and it was caught by the warrior at her wrist, mere centimetres before the fist could impact upon his white bandanna, calmly and cooly. She shook her fist, trying to get it free, but the warrior's grip proved too strong.
" You're hurt, " the warrior said, his voice now lacking the hardness and sharp edge associated with fighting men, " this fight is over."
The assassin's eyes went wide, as she still lay in the warrior's arms, him holding onto the wrist that had tried to kill him mere seconds before.
" I tried to...kill you!! You al..almost killed my sis..sister!! Why..help me?!? " she said, the words spilling out of her bloodied mouth faster than her brain knew she was saying them, " who, who are..you...? "
The warrior relaxed his grip on her wrist, letting it go completely. Evidently he trusted the same woman who had just tried her best to kill him.
" Ryu. "
Seconds of silence, as the assassin finally realised who this man was. THE Ryu, the same man who defeated the almighty Victor Sagat, left a scar on his chest, an eternal reminder of his shame and defeat..the same Ryu who defeated the highly touted American, Captain Guile? The same Ryu, who trained with the American, Ken, under their master, Gouken? The same Ryu who's Shotokan skills, and fighting skills in general, for that matter, were unmatched by any other human being on the planet? Surely this could not be the same man who held her in his arms!
She studied his face. It matched the descriptions of the Japanese fighter who had defeated Sagat, Vega and Balrog. Despite the numerous cuts and bruises he had obtained at her hands, she noted, he was still blindingly handsome...his face was tough, young, but contained a kind of innocence about it, an almost childish innocence, as if he were a young boy, forced by necessity and nature to fight....He was younger than she, he knew, but not by much; probably a year or so seperated her from him.
" You...you lie!! " she shouted in defiance, before coughing slightly on her own blood, even though she knew it was true. She had read all the reports Shadowloo agents had given to her, the reports of him hurling bolts of lightning and harnessing the destructive force of a hurricane in his kicks...and posessing the legendary Shoryuken, the killing uppercut that scarred Sagat for life...
No wonder she had lost.
" I don't lie, assassin. You are hurt. Let me help you. "
" Never! Lord Bison..is..is my master! I will..not betray him! "
" You will face the wrath of your master. "
" I'd...I'd rather face the..the wrath of my Lord than go with you."
" He will kill you."
" I would rath..rather die a fail..failure..than... live a de..deserter."
Ryu regarded the woman in his arms, bringing up a hand to softly brush away a stray lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes. Those eyes. Filled with pain, not merely physical but, also, he could sense an inner pain, a pain he suspected was a result of having things taken away from her, things she even did not know existed; the joys of childhood, the innocence and curiousity of adolescense...she was an adult now that had experienced nothing that even resembled a normal human life. It was all taken away, ripped from her existence by a coldless, heartless bastard of a man, no laughter, no tears, no anger...leaving only a mindless robot of a slave. This was a woman who clearly would have lived a wonderful life, had not the man known as Bison and his dark Shadowloo corporation cruelly entered her life and ripped it from her. It was a sad story, all very sad.
He realised right then and there that her life resembled his in some ways, although to him, it was his street fighting skills that took the place of this evil corporation...
" ...a kindred spirit... "
he muttered the words softly under his breath, not even realising that he had spoken them out loud. Although the woman heard the words clearly, she did not know then what they meant.
The warrior, Ryu, merely shook his head, as if contemplating something in his mind. Then, gently, handling the assassin as if she were some delicate jewel, she slid an arm underneath the back of her knees, and slowly lifted her up, hefting her as if she was the lightest thing in the world, taking care not to put too much pressure on her injured knee. To his surprise, the assassin did not resist, as he began to walk back to the very tree she had hit. Delicately, with soft care that betrayed his fierce exterior, he laid her down on the tree, so she her back was leaning against the tree's bark.
" Who are you, assassin? "
" My name is of li.. little... import..tance, warrior.."
" Everyone has a name, assassin. "
The woman looked away from him, staring at something in the distance, her eyes locked on it. She was contemplating something...
" Juli. Juli..my name is Juli. "
" Juli, " Ryu repeated, " ..is a nice name. "
Ryu thought he saw the beginnings of a smile form on Juli's bloodied lips, but brushed the thought away, as he turned to see what it was that she was looking at. When he could see nothing out of the ordinary, the warrior turned to face the assassin Juli once more.
The assassin fell asleep or unconscious against the tree bark, the warrior couldn't tell which, mumbling something softly...
" ni...n....ice..............n.....ame. "
For the first time in her twenty one years of existence, Juli felt something akin to comfort stir in the the heart that had stayed dormant and free of warmth for so long.
The warrior giving the beautiful young woman one last glance, he rose, and, tightening the headband that was so important to him around his head, turned and walked away....
...not knowing that at that moment a pair of eyes where watching him, eyes that had observed and listened to every detail of the last battle, from the moment that he had engaged in combat with the assassin...
...a pair of eyes that lacked pupils.
Unaware to Ryu, back on the battlefield he had left just minutes before, Juni, the first Shadowloo doll sent to destroy Ryu, had begun to regain her consciousness. She absently wiped away several strands of orange hair, as she pushed herself up on her elbows. The rain still continued, drenching every inch of her clothing as she lay unconscious.
Her petite body felt sore..every inch, it seemed. She brought a hand up to hold her cheek... so painful. The last thing she remembered was hopping off Lord Bison's chopper, to where the warrior with the headband waited for them...then challenging him to a fight, while Juli waited, in case she failed...
Juli!
She searched around her, looking for any evidence of her sister and commanding officer. Her trained eyes noticed that the ground had been torn up and was marked with footprints, evidence of a struggle, probably between Juli and the bandanna wearing man...
Her gaze turned left, to suddenly find that she was staring at a pair of ivory kneeguards. Only one person she knew wore them: Lord Bison.
Juni slowly gazed up the Shadowloo King's intimidating body until she landed on his face.
No one but the Shadowloo King himself knew how old he was, how long his reign of terror had lasted over the lands of the earth. Regardless, his visible features displayed those of a younger man, perhaps in his early fourties, with the physique and muscular frame associated with fighting men ten, perhaps twenty years younger than he. His face was truly imposing, features that could strike fear in any man. His eyes, however, were probably the most intimidating feature of the man; they contained no pupils, leaving the entire eye white. To stare into the eyes and face of M.Bison, it was known, was to stare into the eyes and face of Satan himself.
The King was dressed in his usual crimson fighting garb, elegantly made, tailored specifically for the body they housed. Along the borders dragons were stitched into the fabric, locked in an eternal battle with each other. A wide belt adorned his waist, emblazoned with the symbol of Shadowloo: the winged skull, grinning cheerlessly from it's position on the waist of the King. Ivory armor plates adorned his shins, shoulders and forearms, finely crafted, made of the finest ivory and metals, complex patterns carved onto it's surfaces. They were of little defensive use in battle; they were merely there to serve as intimidation and as a symbol of his power. And a great power it was, as that intimidation was one of the Shadowloo's greatest weapons.
A grey-black cloak that never once left the King was tied loosely about those same shoulders, tied around his wide neck with a chain made of enough gold and platinum to buy a small country. The cloak billowed out behind him when he walked, as if announcing the arrival of the devil himself upon the planet.
The very name of M.Bison brought governments to their knees and was the name many throughout the world feared, hated...but few saw the Shadowloo King in the person. Many times seeing the Lord meant that he was displeased with something. Therefore seeing imposing features of Bison often meant that death was near, very near, for the truly unlucky soul he looked upon. Death was his companion, his friend.
The unlucky soul he looked upon today was that of one of his Shadowloo dolls, that of Juni. Fear was evident in the young girl's eyes, as she nervously, shakily stood up, and offered a sharp salute to her Lord and commander.
Bison crossed his arms about his massive chest, his expression changing from one of hate to one of dissappointment, as he spoke in a clear, booming voice that demanded attention.
" You have failed, have you not, Agent Juni? "
The girl was visibly scared, as her reply came clumsily out of her mouth.
" Y..Yes sir, I have failed, Lord. "
" Where is your commanding officer, Agent Juli? "
" I...I...I am not sure at this moment, Lord. "
Bison regarded the girl standing in front of him for a moment, as if contemplating what to do with her. Juni stood nervously in front of him, only wondering what possible evils the Lord had in store for her, as Bison regarded her with those stone cold eyes, lacking both emotion or soul.
The Lord made a movement, reaching into his cloak, pulling out something which Juni feared was a weapon..
..and instead produced something small in his hands, holding it in front of the doll for her to regard. It was a small, navy blue beret issued to the Shadowloo dolls, with the winged skull stitched into it's fabric...
It was Juli's beret.
" Do you know what this is, Agent Juni? " Bison asked, his voice now filled with something resembling contempt.
" Th..that is Agent Juli's beret, Lord. "
" And do you know where she is, Agent? "
" No, I do not, Lord. "
" Do you know where the warrior known as Ryu is, Agent? "
" No, I do not, Lord. "
" I will ask you again, agent... what has become of Agent Juli?? "
Bison turned away from his doll, his back facing the nervous girl, his cloak caught in a stiff breeze. He looked down at the beret, feeling it's soft fabric, his fingers idly fondling the Shadowloo symbol..when he spun around to face the girl, his face full of rage.
" She is defeated!! " Bison shouted, his voice now full with contempt towards this youngest of his twelve dolls, the voice booming over the otherwise silent battleground. For several tense seconds after the King spoke, that silence retook the youngest of the Shadowloo dolls, only the soft pitter-patter of the rain hitting her Lord's shoulder pads interupting the dead silence. The Lord lifted a hand, and Juni followed it to see that it was pointing to a nearby tree, where Juli was slumped against it's trunk. Her mouth was bloodied and it was obvious she was a battered mess... it seemed she too had lost her bout with the warrior.
" Can you two have failed, Agent?!?! "
" I...I cannot, Lord. "
" You are worthless!! Both of you!! "
Bison's verbal rage impacted greatly on the young woman in front of him, who was just barely able to reply.
" I...I'm sorry I have failed, my Lord."
" Sorry! Ha! Sorry is not good enough!! "
Bison stopped, as if something new had been brought up to his attention. He glared at the unconscious form of Juli slumped against the tree, regarding her with his fierce eyes. For several tense minutes Juni watched as the most feared man on earth regarded her sister, as if contemplating something, no trace of any emotion apparent on those cold, soulless features.
After awhile the Lord spoke again, his voice commanding attention from his soldier.
" Return to base, Agent Juni. "
" Of course, my Lord. What of Agent Juli? "
" Leave her. "
Juni stood motionless, not quite comprehending what the Shadowloo King had in mind. Leave her? She was not dead, she knew; the woman's chest was rising and falling weakly, and within a couple of days, she could be back to operational strength again... why leave her?
" Return to base, Agent Juni. "
" But... but my Lord, why... why leave Agent Juli? "
Bison turned to face the youngest of his dolls. Juni herself did not even realise what she was doing; she was questioning the orders of the Lord of Shadowloo himself... but it was too late to take back those words..
" I will... I will pretend you have not questioned my orders, Agent Juni. Now return to base before I change my mind and kill you here and now. I have plans for Agent Juli..."
She was trying in vain to think of such a reason when Bison erupted in laughter, a loud, booming, cold laughter, filled with the sharpness and ferocity of a madman. He threw his head back, laughing coldly at the dark, unforgiving sky that rained down upon his icy features, as if taunting heaven itself.
* * *
Half an hour later, and Juni had returned to the large flying fortress that was the Shadowloo jet. She had just walked up the stairs to the cabin, eager to rest her battered and bruised body.. when she felt a cold presence behind her, one that could only belong to one person. She turned to see that the Lord had returned.
Without Juli.
Juni looked down to see that in her Lord's fist, Juli's beret had erupted in the same cold, blue flame that was associated with the master who wielded it, incinerating the piece of cloth completely.
Bison let the ashes fall to the muddy earth, as he continued his manical laugh.
Author's note:
Well there it is... after playing Street Fighter Alpha 3 again, I saw that Juli's character had a lot of potential to it.. so I guess I'm trying to breathe some character into this otherwise characterless character (say that three times fast). You should note that I decided to let Juli speak normally, instead of making her speak like a robot, as Capcom did with Alpha3...Then an idea sparked my mind, and I decided to start writing this... this is my first Street Fighter fic, so forgive me if I miss a couple of details!
So what happened to Juli? Ryu? Juni? Stay tuned...
Quote of the day:
Hell is paved with good intentions.
-Dr.Grant, Jurassic Park 3
Peace, love, and don't do drugs
~hustler one
by hustler one
As it had for countless millenia, since the very beginning of time itself, the clouds which flew restlessly in the skies let their rain pour down towards the Earth's surface. The rain fell softly, not a downpour, as steadily the water fed plants and trees and grass with the nourishment they needed to survive, as well as giving the humans who populated the planet the vital liquid they needed to sustain life.
Now they rained upon the country of Japan, on a small patch of flat land, where the grass grew tall and unhindered. Tall, majestic trees grew up from the fertile soil, along with the numerous bushes and shrubs and other foiliage native to the region. In a wide clearing was the setting of certain events, where a human stood, unmoving, facing two others. Not so far away an asphalt road stretched, joining at some point to another that lead to the metropolis of Tokyo. It was not so far from where the standing human made his home, alone, far away from civilization, in a simple wooden hut. Now the human stood in this clearing, the rain falling down mercilessly on his frame. Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, and every now and then the flash of lightning illuminated the human for several seconds, before falling away and leaving the human shrouded in darkness, and alone with the rain.
He could easily be mistaken for another street fighter, like and unlike those of his age. His clothing, at least, was simple: a white karate gi, a black belt tied tightly about his waist, red fighting gloves tied to the fists which meant so much to him, and saved his life more times than he, or anyone else could count. His entire body was well built and muscled, from head to toe, his shoulders broad, his frame short height-wise but none the less intimidating. Training dominated his life, and his body backed up this fact.
But, perhaps most intruiging; the simple white headband tied tightly about his head, it's two, long ends flapping loosely around his figure, caught in the wind that accompanied the harsh rain. A warrior, this man looked like. A true warrior.
He was indeed a warrior. So young, so inexperienced, he seemed on the outside. What could a mere twenty year old with a headband do? Such were the thoughts of many a rival warrior, before they fell in defeat to his fists. Twenty years, filled with a single, all consuming purpose: to become the greatest warrior of all time. And indeed, many considered him that ultimate warrior. For in that short of a time, the warrior had seen more violence, destruction, death than many see in their entire lives. But did that mean he was the ultimate warrior, he asked himself? No. And so while many considered him to be that ultimate warrior, he himself did not.
And so he embarked on a seemingly unending quest; to become the greatest warrior he believed himself capable of but not being, yet.
For twenty years this quest dominated his life, a single all consuming goal. There was little for friendship, no time to live a normal life. No time for the various human pleasures and pains associated with childhood, adolescense, and now early adulthood. Companionship with the warrior belonged only to those worthy enough to have gained his respect through their fighting skills, and even then contact was limited to sparring or conversation about fightning techniques. Female companionship was almost out of the question. Only one thing dominated his life, his thoughts, his very soul; his quest. His journey. His fighting skills, and improving on them. Street Fighting was all that meant anything to him. Nothing else mattered.
For a long time, too long a time, it seemed that maybe he had reached his prime, had improved on his skills to the absolute limit. No challenger had walked away from a bout with the warrior victorious. He was undefeated.
Yes, he had fought many. Men and women who themselves could crush rocks with their bare hands or cut mighty trees down with a single kick to the tree trunk. And yet, he had yet to meet the one who could best him in single combat.
Varied and of all shapes and sizes, men and women, all of them, their fighting styles as different from one another as the shapes of snowflakes on a winter's morn. And he defeated them all to reach where he stood today, in this tournament known to all as the third Street Fighter Alpha Tournament.
His first opponent was the Japanese champion Sumo wrestler, Edmund Honda, who's size and weight proved to be his downfall, as the warrior dispatched him using his superior speed and agility.
Second came the American, William Guile, whom many believed to be the one to defeat the warrior. Yet again they were proved wrong, as Guile's tendency to rely on raw emotions rather than thought proved his downfall.
Then came Guy, the master of the art of Bushido. The warrior respected the man, for the Bushido master was an honorable fighter, like himself. And truly, after a long and exhausting battle, when the warrior defeated Guy, the two promised to remain rivals.
Next came Zangief, the mountain of a man who used Russian wrestling techniques and brute force to defeat those who faced him. He relied almost totally on physical strength, swinging his huge fists around him, hacking and punching with little finesse but with horrible effectiveness. His throws and punches relied on brute force to harm his opponent, but brute force would not be sufficient, however, as the warrior bested him as well.
And so the warrior advanced to the second round, where he met the female warrior and Interpol agent, Chun-Li, once again. For years the two had known each other, sparring and training with each other occasionally. It seemed for a long time that the warrior saw something else in the woman, feelings akin to affection or even love, the human emotion that had evaded him for so long...but improvement of his skills came first, and he defeated her as well, albeit injuring her as little as was possible to him. He then swore to the hospitalized woman that he would take revenge for her father's death for her...at the hands of the man known only as " Bison."
Then came Charlie Nash, the American Guile's partner and Chun-Li's operational commander. And like the previous American, Charlie would join his partner in defeat, as Charlie's lack of speed when throwing his attacks proved his downfall.
The final match of the second round saw him meet Sakura, the teenage schoolgirl who searched for the warrior, hoping to become his apprentice. The warrior saw great potential in the girl and her fighting skills, and he was truly flattered that someone would want to emulate his own skills...but he decided that having a student would not be in his best interests at the moment, and so defeated her as well. He was very impressed that the teenager had managed to even get past the first match, let alone reach the second round... hers was a fighting style that was already deadly, and could only get better with time. Perhaps, the warrior promised himself, someday, he would take her as an apprentice...
The third and final round saw him meet the Four Kings of Shadowloo, the dark organization which had organised the tournament. First came Balrog, the American boxer who's penchant for brutality in and out of the ring barred him from the boxing arena. The warrior dispatched him with ease, as Balrog's failure to use his legs in any way, prohibited him from presenting any real challenge to the warrior's superior skils.
The Spanish Ninja, Vega, met him second. With a steel claw and a mask adorning his self proclaimed "perfect face," Vega's deadly art of combined Ninjitsu and Bullfighting techniques had claimed the lives of many a challenger. And yet, albeit battered, bleeding and shaken, the warrior emerged victorious yet again.
Finally, the man known as Victor Sagat, whom the warrior had defeated in an earlier tournament, had come to take revenge in the third match of the third round. The scar the warrior had left on his chest as a result of his Dragon Punch constantly reminded both combatants of the previous results, and Sagat had trained long and hard to finally face the warrior... but history repeats itself, and though this time Sagat truly tested the warrior's skills, still he fell in defeat at the hands of the awesome power known as the Shoryuken. And yet, something stirred in Sagat's cold heart that day...something akin to admiration, perhaps, towards the warrior, but whatever it was the Muay Thai master kept it hidden well as he left the battleground in defeat.
Following Sagat's defeat the Shadowloo King himself, M. Bison, appeared, and as the warrior personally challenged the dark one to a one on one match, Bison merely laughed, a cold, emotionless laugh, and dispatched two of his best assassins, two females, challenging him to defeat them both. Once he did so, he would meet Bison.
" Defeat these two, " Bison challenged out to the warrior, in that voice that lacked any soul or definition, " and I will meet you in single combat, after one week. Then we shall see if you are truly the warrior you claim yourself to be!! "
With that, Bison dissappeared, vanished into thin air...how he had been able to do it was lost to the warrior, but he had no time to contemplate it as the first of the two assassins leapt at him in an attack.
This first assassin, a young, thin, skeleton of a girl, perhaps no more than fifteen or sixteen, with orange hair known as Juni, was dispatched easily by the warrior. Her training had taught her how to kill a man in an infinite amount of ways...but her inexperience associated with her youth and little actual combat experience meant that the skills she knew in her brain could not be used effectively with her fists and feet. Every attack she launched was countered, every attack he launched landed, as the warrior made short work of his younger opponent, landing blow after blow on her, before finishing her with a sharp uppercut which knocked her sprawling into the ground, her head hitting the earth with a sharp thud, knocking her senseless.
Now her unconscious body laid several feet away from the warrior, who now faced his second opponent. This woman, he knew, was older, more experienced, more matured, physically at least. He had to find out now if her skills could keep her from suffering the same defeat her partner had suffered.
This was the woman known simply as Juli, who's very name stirred feelings of fear and intimidation in the hearts of many a combatant. Indeed, hers and the names of the twelve Shadowloo dolls, each named after a month of the calendar, were names feared throughout the world by street fighters, government agents, and rival drug lords alike. Each of them knew how to kill a man ten times before he hit the ground...and it was this which allowed Bison to rule with an iron fist over the trade of illegal drugs and arms, using fear to keep his lesser lords in place, lest they find an end at the hands of one of the dolls.
Her reputation as one of the twelve dolls of the Shadowloo boss and as a cold hearted assassin with no feelings of remorse whatsoever was known far and wide, perhaps even moreso than the other eleven, because she was their commanding officer, and answered only to Bison himself. Never once had she failed in a mission, never once had she been toppled in single combat. Her combat skills, the warrior knew now, could back up her reputation.
Her beauty was of a different matter. Rumors were widespread of how Shadowloo dolls would seduce their targets and bed them before killing them when their eyes were glazed over with pleasure..but they were only rumors. If it were true, the warrior knew, this woman's body could easily back it up.
A stark contrast to her partner, long, lithe legs led to a well carved waist and hips, and a well...endowed upper body, with full, rounded breasts and strong, tough arms. Chocolate hair had been piled on top of a petite head in a bun behind her head, and two long bangs descended from a small beret she wore, to cover part of a face that was both stunningly beautiful, and stunningly deadly at the same time. And it was all covered in a sleek, navy bodysuit that left only her back bare, where it revealed tight, creamy vanilla skin. Her body was toned, tight, a well oiled fighting machine, evidence of years of the harsh training regimes imposed on her by the Shadowloo organization. She moved with the ease and fluidity of a tiger or panther stalking it's prey, jumping and leaping as if gravity meant nothing to her and did nothing to weigh her down. It was a body that belonged to an angel, in more ways than one, the warrior observed. A dark angel.
She was young, in her early twenties, perhaps, not much older than the warrior himself, her body young and firm with age, yet experienced enough to have the knowledge on how to control it. She was a deadly beauty. Very deadly. But it was her eyes that entranced him most, those chocolate, narrow eyes, filled with suppressed rage and pain and another emotion that the warrior could not name.
For a tense hour the warrior and the assassin engaged in mortal combat. It seemed for many long minutes that the two were perfectly matched, as the two traded punch and kick and throw and projectile, testing each other's defenses and exploiting weak points when they revealed themselves. However, the woman was just a little bit faster than the warrior, in every way, as her long, deadly legs found his ribs a half a second faster than his fists could block, and her lithe body ducked out of the way half a second before the warrior's punch could find her face.
Several times the assassin drew blood with her fists, as they crashed into his jaw or cheek.
Undaunted, the warrior sent another hook aimed at the assassin's face, only to connect..with air. Where the woman was mere fractions of a second before there now stood nothing. In this momentary confusion, the warrior was unable to stop her from ducking and sweeping both her legs in a roundhouse kick, knocking the warrior's legs out from under him. He landed hard on his shoulder, and looked up to see the woman had jumped high into the air, with a kick extended, ready to connect with his face, a killing blow ready to be delivered on his prone form...
...when he rolled to his right, out of instinct rather than voluntary thought. Mere moments later the assassin's foot struck the ground where his head had just been, the impact causing a small crater in the soft earth, bits and pieces of soil and hard stone spraying from the impact point. It was an impact which could have broken the ankle of a lesser trained warrior, and yet the assassin simply snapped into a fighting stance, ready to face her opponent once more, eyes still locked on his, her face an emotionless mask, a killing machine who had identified her prey and was pondering the best way to eliminate it.
Now the two stood, circling each other, each in their fighting stances.
The warrior noticed that thus far the assassin had not spoken a word; unusual indeed, no battle cry as a blow landed, no shout or cry of pain as she blocked a hard blow...just silence, a haunting silence...
The rain that had been a mere trickle minutes before had now intensified slightly, limiting the vision of both combatants, as both repeatedly wiped rainwater away from eyes. The girl's uniform and hair were soaked now, clinging to her lithe body like a second skin, as was the warrior's gi. The warrior and the assassin both moved closer slightly, hoping so see each other's coming attacks better. The warrior was keenly aware of a warm trickle of blood flowing down the side of his head...had he hit his head on the ground when she tripped him? He didn't know..it all happened too fast.
Her eyes, however, the warrior saw clearly. They remained locked on his, never once moving or showing any emotion other than the suppressed rage associated with street fights. There was something else in those eyes, he knew, those panther-like eyes, though the warrior couldnt detect it..was it fear? pride? pleasure that she was winning the fight? Her eyes...
No time for wondering, as the woman suddenly launched herself at him, right fist closed tightly, aimed directly at his face, with all the speed and ferocity of lightning. He saw this one, and brought up both forearms in an "x" to block the punch, while launching his own counterattack in the form of a kick aimed at her midsection. It landed, and he felt the satisfaction of finally hitting his opponent, as his heel impacted against her ribs. But the assassin was undaunted by this, and parried his follow up attacks.
She was quick, too quick. A missed jab aimed at her face resulted in her countering and jumping straight up, her legs almost level with his face, until she trapped his face between those thighs, then, faster than the warrior could realise what was happening, she was doing a half backflip, and throwing the warrior several feet away using only the strength of her thighs and legs. The warrior landed roughly, but quickly snapped up into a fighting stance. He needed to be more careful, or face defeat at the hands of this woman, so close and yet so far away to his goal of defeating Bison.
It was a move he had seen before. The British warrior, Cammy White, had used it to defeat the Jamaican kickboxer, Dee Jay, on her way to face Guile, who would in turn defeat her to face the warrior. He remembered witnessing the fight first-hand, how the agile British woman vaulted over a hastily thrown projectile to trap the kickboxer between those steel-cord legs and toss him away, knocking him out with the impact, using only her lower body strength...and now that he noticed it the assassin he fought now used many of the same attacks and was dressed similarly...could there be a connection, he wondered, between the two?
The warrior also knew that the woman's fighting style, like Cammy's, meant that power and endurance had been sacrificed in favor of speed, and every minute that passed meant that the warrior was winning the battle. Slowly he began to wear her down, defending as best he could those lightning quick legs, letting her tire herself out..before launching a counterattack.
The assassin launched herself at the warrior once more, and the two locked in battle anew. The woman was a blur as she launched a flurry of fists and kicks at the warrior, who calmly and efficiently blocked and parried them in return, before sending a counter-attack in the form of a backfist, aimed for the lovely face that belonged to the assassin. As if it were the most natural thing in the world the assassin parried and at the same time sent a knee crashing into the warrior, knocking the air out of him and making him double over in pain. The assassin then brought the same knee up, striking the warrior full in the chin, whipping his head back fiercely, crimson blood flying from a bloodied mouth.
The warrior, trying his best to stay on his two feet after recovering from this harsh blow, decided to go on the offensive. He feigned a right hook, but instead sent a left jab aimed at her shoulder. The assassin, left open as she tried to block the feigned hook, was powerless to stop the jab, and she suddenly felt her arm go numb under the pain of the impact. In a split second the warrior saw that she was using only one arm to defend herself...and took full advantage of the opening.
At first, a light jab aimed at her temple to daze her, then a knee to the stomach, followed by a sharp roundhouse to the ribs...he saw an opening and he exploited it, seeing that he had gained the upper hand. Her fatigue was taking away her speed and leaving her defenseless, and skillfully and with the ease given to him through years of training, he rained blow after blow on the woman, who brought her forearms up in a weak attempt to block his attacks. Somewhere in the blur of his fists he saw the assassin had launched a kick against him, aimed for his ribs in a vain attempt at a counter-attack.
Fast as lightning he reached for the leg, and, taking firm grasp of her ankle, brought his elbow up and down with harsh force, hitting the extended leg just under the kneecap. Both heard the sickening snap that could only be bone breaking under the warrior's elbow. The assassin opened her mouth as if to scream, but the warrior did not allow her the opportunity as, with calm, practiced precision, he went through the motions of the Tatsu-maki-senpu, jumping up in the air and slashing his feet at her vulnerable body, using all the force, ferocity, and rage of a hurricane, before landing and delivering a twirling roundhouse kick that sent her flying into a nearby tree, blood falling away from those crimson lips.
She smacked against it with a sickening thud, and slowly fell forwards, on her knees, a single hand bracing herself against the ground, the other clutching her stomach as if in pain. A thick rivulet of crimson blood had begun to appear at the corner of the assassin's mouth, and had flowed down her chin, and unto the turtleneck of the drenched bodysuit. Chocolate hair that was once so neatly placed was roughed up, stray locks of hair falling from her head to fall in front of her face. Her face, those stunning features, lay contorted and twisted in pain.
Her eyes...still the assassin's eyes remained locked on his. Now, however, the warrior could see that they were no longer flat, emotionless. Now they had a look of pain, mingled with desperation...perhaps that was the emotion that he had failed to name earlier.
Desperation.
The woman began to rise, using both her arms for support, bringing her feet up slowly, as a toddler first beginning to learn how to walk. Her good leg rose, shakily, and she brought the other leg, the one that the warrior had almost broken, up under her..she rose up, shaking violently, until she fell again, on her knees, her injured leg giving way underneath her. She could not stand. The assassin could not stand, much less jump or kick with the leg, something which meant death in the street fighting circles.
The warrior had won.
He relaxed from his fighting stance, bringing up a hand to wipe at the blood that had begun to flow down the side of his face. Giving one last glance at the woman that had been the greatest test of his fighting skills so far in this tournament, the warrior turned to walk away. The woman's master, Bison, awaited his fists, and he had only one week to prepare for him. Not one second could be wast-
" Stop! "
The warrior turned in the direction of the voice, realising that it came from the woman, and that it was the first time he had heard her voice. It was a soft voice, he realised, one that came from an English country, judging from the accent, filled with the same desperation he noticed in her features and eyes earlier.
She had extended a hand towards him, still on her knees, her injured leg forbidding her from standing. Her hand was clutched towards him, as if wanting to grab him.
" We're...not...we're not fi...finished yet, warrior! " she managed to shout, in between deep breaths, the blood in her mouth as a result of a lost tooth keeping her from speaking clearly. Now the warrior had turned, so he was facing the pleading assassin, who was now standing shakily on her good leg, one arm bracing her body against the tree trunk she impacted against, the other trying to wipe away the blood from her mouth. She had never lost a street fight in her years as a Shadowloo agent, and she swore to herself right then and there it would not be today.
" Fight..fight me! I'm not..de...dead yet! It isn...isnt over! "
The warrior merely tucked both thumbs into his belt, before looking at the woman, who was struggling to stand, blood flowing from her mouth and from the side of her head. He was Japanese, but his accent held more of an American tone, as he spoke:
" You're injured, badly, assassin. You can't fight me anymore. I've won. "
The assassin seemed insulted.
" One...leg.is...is all i need! Come on!! "
" I will not fight you any longer, assassin. "
" You..you will! If you will not fi..fight me,I..I will fight you! "
With that, the woman stepped forward, determined to continue the fight...and promptly fell forward, her leg giving way beneath her, and she brought her hands up to stop the fall as the ground rose up to meet her...
...ground that did not quite reach her, as she felt something wrap around her, stopping her from falling face first into the ground. She opened the eyes that she did not know had closed, to find that the very warrior that she sought to kill had lept forward and caught her in his arms, stopping her from falling painfully face first onto the cold, unforgiving ground.
She looked up at him, through eyes that were blurred and pained, at his eyes, those large, brown eyes that looked, at least to the assassin, that they were deep in thought, and another emotion flashed between the two pairs of eyes...
But she was a Shadowloo agent: her mission came first. If this fool was stupid enough to think she was some soft hearted whore, it would be the mistake that killed him.
She darted her right fist up, closed in a killing strike, aimed for his temple...
...and it was caught by the warrior at her wrist, mere centimetres before the fist could impact upon his white bandanna, calmly and cooly. She shook her fist, trying to get it free, but the warrior's grip proved too strong.
" You're hurt, " the warrior said, his voice now lacking the hardness and sharp edge associated with fighting men, " this fight is over."
The assassin's eyes went wide, as she still lay in the warrior's arms, him holding onto the wrist that had tried to kill him mere seconds before.
" I tried to...kill you!! You al..almost killed my sis..sister!! Why..help me?!? " she said, the words spilling out of her bloodied mouth faster than her brain knew she was saying them, " who, who are..you...? "
The warrior relaxed his grip on her wrist, letting it go completely. Evidently he trusted the same woman who had just tried her best to kill him.
" Ryu. "
Seconds of silence, as the assassin finally realised who this man was. THE Ryu, the same man who defeated the almighty Victor Sagat, left a scar on his chest, an eternal reminder of his shame and defeat..the same Ryu who defeated the highly touted American, Captain Guile? The same Ryu, who trained with the American, Ken, under their master, Gouken? The same Ryu who's Shotokan skills, and fighting skills in general, for that matter, were unmatched by any other human being on the planet? Surely this could not be the same man who held her in his arms!
She studied his face. It matched the descriptions of the Japanese fighter who had defeated Sagat, Vega and Balrog. Despite the numerous cuts and bruises he had obtained at her hands, she noted, he was still blindingly handsome...his face was tough, young, but contained a kind of innocence about it, an almost childish innocence, as if he were a young boy, forced by necessity and nature to fight....He was younger than she, he knew, but not by much; probably a year or so seperated her from him.
" You...you lie!! " she shouted in defiance, before coughing slightly on her own blood, even though she knew it was true. She had read all the reports Shadowloo agents had given to her, the reports of him hurling bolts of lightning and harnessing the destructive force of a hurricane in his kicks...and posessing the legendary Shoryuken, the killing uppercut that scarred Sagat for life...
No wonder she had lost.
" I don't lie, assassin. You are hurt. Let me help you. "
" Never! Lord Bison..is..is my master! I will..not betray him! "
" You will face the wrath of your master. "
" I'd...I'd rather face the..the wrath of my Lord than go with you."
" He will kill you."
" I would rath..rather die a fail..failure..than... live a de..deserter."
Ryu regarded the woman in his arms, bringing up a hand to softly brush away a stray lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes. Those eyes. Filled with pain, not merely physical but, also, he could sense an inner pain, a pain he suspected was a result of having things taken away from her, things she even did not know existed; the joys of childhood, the innocence and curiousity of adolescense...she was an adult now that had experienced nothing that even resembled a normal human life. It was all taken away, ripped from her existence by a coldless, heartless bastard of a man, no laughter, no tears, no anger...leaving only a mindless robot of a slave. This was a woman who clearly would have lived a wonderful life, had not the man known as Bison and his dark Shadowloo corporation cruelly entered her life and ripped it from her. It was a sad story, all very sad.
He realised right then and there that her life resembled his in some ways, although to him, it was his street fighting skills that took the place of this evil corporation...
" ...a kindred spirit... "
he muttered the words softly under his breath, not even realising that he had spoken them out loud. Although the woman heard the words clearly, she did not know then what they meant.
The warrior, Ryu, merely shook his head, as if contemplating something in his mind. Then, gently, handling the assassin as if she were some delicate jewel, she slid an arm underneath the back of her knees, and slowly lifted her up, hefting her as if she was the lightest thing in the world, taking care not to put too much pressure on her injured knee. To his surprise, the assassin did not resist, as he began to walk back to the very tree she had hit. Delicately, with soft care that betrayed his fierce exterior, he laid her down on the tree, so she her back was leaning against the tree's bark.
" Who are you, assassin? "
" My name is of li.. little... import..tance, warrior.."
" Everyone has a name, assassin. "
The woman looked away from him, staring at something in the distance, her eyes locked on it. She was contemplating something...
" Juli. Juli..my name is Juli. "
" Juli, " Ryu repeated, " ..is a nice name. "
Ryu thought he saw the beginnings of a smile form on Juli's bloodied lips, but brushed the thought away, as he turned to see what it was that she was looking at. When he could see nothing out of the ordinary, the warrior turned to face the assassin Juli once more.
The assassin fell asleep or unconscious against the tree bark, the warrior couldn't tell which, mumbling something softly...
" ni...n....ice..............n.....ame. "
For the first time in her twenty one years of existence, Juli felt something akin to comfort stir in the the heart that had stayed dormant and free of warmth for so long.
The warrior giving the beautiful young woman one last glance, he rose, and, tightening the headband that was so important to him around his head, turned and walked away....
...not knowing that at that moment a pair of eyes where watching him, eyes that had observed and listened to every detail of the last battle, from the moment that he had engaged in combat with the assassin...
...a pair of eyes that lacked pupils.
Unaware to Ryu, back on the battlefield he had left just minutes before, Juni, the first Shadowloo doll sent to destroy Ryu, had begun to regain her consciousness. She absently wiped away several strands of orange hair, as she pushed herself up on her elbows. The rain still continued, drenching every inch of her clothing as she lay unconscious.
Her petite body felt sore..every inch, it seemed. She brought a hand up to hold her cheek... so painful. The last thing she remembered was hopping off Lord Bison's chopper, to where the warrior with the headband waited for them...then challenging him to a fight, while Juli waited, in case she failed...
Juli!
She searched around her, looking for any evidence of her sister and commanding officer. Her trained eyes noticed that the ground had been torn up and was marked with footprints, evidence of a struggle, probably between Juli and the bandanna wearing man...
Her gaze turned left, to suddenly find that she was staring at a pair of ivory kneeguards. Only one person she knew wore them: Lord Bison.
Juni slowly gazed up the Shadowloo King's intimidating body until she landed on his face.
No one but the Shadowloo King himself knew how old he was, how long his reign of terror had lasted over the lands of the earth. Regardless, his visible features displayed those of a younger man, perhaps in his early fourties, with the physique and muscular frame associated with fighting men ten, perhaps twenty years younger than he. His face was truly imposing, features that could strike fear in any man. His eyes, however, were probably the most intimidating feature of the man; they contained no pupils, leaving the entire eye white. To stare into the eyes and face of M.Bison, it was known, was to stare into the eyes and face of Satan himself.
The King was dressed in his usual crimson fighting garb, elegantly made, tailored specifically for the body they housed. Along the borders dragons were stitched into the fabric, locked in an eternal battle with each other. A wide belt adorned his waist, emblazoned with the symbol of Shadowloo: the winged skull, grinning cheerlessly from it's position on the waist of the King. Ivory armor plates adorned his shins, shoulders and forearms, finely crafted, made of the finest ivory and metals, complex patterns carved onto it's surfaces. They were of little defensive use in battle; they were merely there to serve as intimidation and as a symbol of his power. And a great power it was, as that intimidation was one of the Shadowloo's greatest weapons.
A grey-black cloak that never once left the King was tied loosely about those same shoulders, tied around his wide neck with a chain made of enough gold and platinum to buy a small country. The cloak billowed out behind him when he walked, as if announcing the arrival of the devil himself upon the planet.
The very name of M.Bison brought governments to their knees and was the name many throughout the world feared, hated...but few saw the Shadowloo King in the person. Many times seeing the Lord meant that he was displeased with something. Therefore seeing imposing features of Bison often meant that death was near, very near, for the truly unlucky soul he looked upon. Death was his companion, his friend.
The unlucky soul he looked upon today was that of one of his Shadowloo dolls, that of Juni. Fear was evident in the young girl's eyes, as she nervously, shakily stood up, and offered a sharp salute to her Lord and commander.
Bison crossed his arms about his massive chest, his expression changing from one of hate to one of dissappointment, as he spoke in a clear, booming voice that demanded attention.
" You have failed, have you not, Agent Juni? "
The girl was visibly scared, as her reply came clumsily out of her mouth.
" Y..Yes sir, I have failed, Lord. "
" Where is your commanding officer, Agent Juli? "
" I...I...I am not sure at this moment, Lord. "
Bison regarded the girl standing in front of him for a moment, as if contemplating what to do with her. Juni stood nervously in front of him, only wondering what possible evils the Lord had in store for her, as Bison regarded her with those stone cold eyes, lacking both emotion or soul.
The Lord made a movement, reaching into his cloak, pulling out something which Juni feared was a weapon..
..and instead produced something small in his hands, holding it in front of the doll for her to regard. It was a small, navy blue beret issued to the Shadowloo dolls, with the winged skull stitched into it's fabric...
It was Juli's beret.
" Do you know what this is, Agent Juni? " Bison asked, his voice now filled with something resembling contempt.
" Th..that is Agent Juli's beret, Lord. "
" And do you know where she is, Agent? "
" No, I do not, Lord. "
" Do you know where the warrior known as Ryu is, Agent? "
" No, I do not, Lord. "
" I will ask you again, agent... what has become of Agent Juli?? "
Bison turned away from his doll, his back facing the nervous girl, his cloak caught in a stiff breeze. He looked down at the beret, feeling it's soft fabric, his fingers idly fondling the Shadowloo symbol..when he spun around to face the girl, his face full of rage.
" She is defeated!! " Bison shouted, his voice now full with contempt towards this youngest of his twelve dolls, the voice booming over the otherwise silent battleground. For several tense seconds after the King spoke, that silence retook the youngest of the Shadowloo dolls, only the soft pitter-patter of the rain hitting her Lord's shoulder pads interupting the dead silence. The Lord lifted a hand, and Juni followed it to see that it was pointing to a nearby tree, where Juli was slumped against it's trunk. Her mouth was bloodied and it was obvious she was a battered mess... it seemed she too had lost her bout with the warrior.
" Can you two have failed, Agent?!?! "
" I...I cannot, Lord. "
" You are worthless!! Both of you!! "
Bison's verbal rage impacted greatly on the young woman in front of him, who was just barely able to reply.
" I...I'm sorry I have failed, my Lord."
" Sorry! Ha! Sorry is not good enough!! "
Bison stopped, as if something new had been brought up to his attention. He glared at the unconscious form of Juli slumped against the tree, regarding her with his fierce eyes. For several tense minutes Juni watched as the most feared man on earth regarded her sister, as if contemplating something, no trace of any emotion apparent on those cold, soulless features.
After awhile the Lord spoke again, his voice commanding attention from his soldier.
" Return to base, Agent Juni. "
" Of course, my Lord. What of Agent Juli? "
" Leave her. "
Juni stood motionless, not quite comprehending what the Shadowloo King had in mind. Leave her? She was not dead, she knew; the woman's chest was rising and falling weakly, and within a couple of days, she could be back to operational strength again... why leave her?
" Return to base, Agent Juni. "
" But... but my Lord, why... why leave Agent Juli? "
Bison turned to face the youngest of his dolls. Juni herself did not even realise what she was doing; she was questioning the orders of the Lord of Shadowloo himself... but it was too late to take back those words..
" I will... I will pretend you have not questioned my orders, Agent Juni. Now return to base before I change my mind and kill you here and now. I have plans for Agent Juli..."
She was trying in vain to think of such a reason when Bison erupted in laughter, a loud, booming, cold laughter, filled with the sharpness and ferocity of a madman. He threw his head back, laughing coldly at the dark, unforgiving sky that rained down upon his icy features, as if taunting heaven itself.
* * *
Half an hour later, and Juni had returned to the large flying fortress that was the Shadowloo jet. She had just walked up the stairs to the cabin, eager to rest her battered and bruised body.. when she felt a cold presence behind her, one that could only belong to one person. She turned to see that the Lord had returned.
Without Juli.
Juni looked down to see that in her Lord's fist, Juli's beret had erupted in the same cold, blue flame that was associated with the master who wielded it, incinerating the piece of cloth completely.
Bison let the ashes fall to the muddy earth, as he continued his manical laugh.
Author's note:
Well there it is... after playing Street Fighter Alpha 3 again, I saw that Juli's character had a lot of potential to it.. so I guess I'm trying to breathe some character into this otherwise characterless character (say that three times fast). You should note that I decided to let Juli speak normally, instead of making her speak like a robot, as Capcom did with Alpha3...Then an idea sparked my mind, and I decided to start writing this... this is my first Street Fighter fic, so forgive me if I miss a couple of details!
So what happened to Juli? Ryu? Juni? Stay tuned...
Quote of the day:
Hell is paved with good intentions.
-Dr.Grant, Jurassic Park 3
Peace, love, and don't do drugs
~hustler one