Colliding Worlds
Prologue: The Challenge
Author's Notes: Mitsukake Kagatoshi is an original character and belongs to Chan Yoruyamatiha (thanks for letting me use him, Chan!). Ernest McGrath is an original character and belongs to me. Expect to see some more OCs in this story as it progresses along. If you want to learn more about McGrath, visit my profile and look under the Close-Up section. For those of you who've already read it, I revised this chapter in order to correct a plethora of glaring grammatical mistakes.
Aohura City, Japan
Panting heavily, Sakura Kasugano and Mitsukake Kagatoshi paused for a moment to catch some air. Sakura, a fresh-faced student of Minami High, leaned forward gasping for breath. They were within Minami's indoor gym and had brought out special sparring mats for the occasion. Sakura's cropped brown hair was hanging in strands down her face as sweat poured down her whole body. Dressed in a Japanese sailor suit, Sakura had already tumbled into the dust a number of times. She had a strong feeling that her parents would be most disapproving of today's episode. Beside her, Mitsukake had fared no better. He was considerably taller than Sakura, with light brown hair, tanned skin, a straight face, and large eyes that Sakura found adorable. Now those eyes were veiled and cautious; he was worn down and haggard, fatigued by the fight. He was dressed in an exercise outfit. Both he and Sakura gazed warily at the opponent in front of them, on guard against any sudden moves.
What's with this guy? Sakura wondered to herself. She knew that he was an American, one with short brown hair, dark brown eyes, serious expression, clean shaven jaw, and about thirty centimeters height advantage over her. He was wearing light, comfortable clothing. Sakura knew that he was around his mid-forties in age. Doesn't look like a fighter, but looks deceive. He must be as good - heck, who am I fooling, he's much better than Ryu! He's not even breathing hard after that last bit of smackdown he delivered. A two-against-one fight, but the two of us are getting beaten hard. She knew him, of course; he was a visiting teacher from the United States, had some friends in Japan, and was fluent in Japanese. Steadying herself, Sakura charged up for another Shinkuu Hadouken. This time, she winked at Mitsukake, who cleared a space for her and circled around the American.
Instead of sending out a big energy blast - she was too spent for that - Sakura modified the Shinkuu Hadouken and launched her hands forward, releasing a burst of light. Instantly the whole room went white and Sakura heard Mitsukake rush in for the kill. Okay, the American is ... there. Now all I have to do is pummel him from that side - huh, where is he? What the -! As the light cleared, Sakura caught sight of her opponent and instantly realized her mistake. He'd moved, and moved quickly. Mitsukake was already down on the mats; in a blur of motion, the American swept Sakura's feet, crouched, and delivered a symbolic kill blow into her stomach. Drat! I can't believe we lost so fast!
"Mr. Akishiro wasn't kidding," Mitsukake groaned, pulling himself upright. "You are good - I've never seen so much ass get kicked in such a short time."
Ernest Christopher McGrath chuckled. "You're not so bad yourself, Mitsukake, Sakura." He offered his hand to Sakura and pulled her upright. "But I saw that last attack coming. You two work very well as a team."
"Not well enough," Sakura replied, somewhat disappointed. The way the man moved ...! "You're an old man, Dr. McGrath, but you still fight better than anyone I've ever seen. In fact, I think I can honestly say I've never met anyone who could even approach your quality of combat. What style do you use?"
McGrath shrugged. "I learned multiple styles and combined them, taking the most effective elements of each. You praise me too much, Sakura. Here, let's say that I throw a straight punch at you, Mitsukake. How would you counter it?" He slowly thrusted with his left arm and Mitsukake easily blocked the attack. He blocked several more that came his way. McGrath nodded. "Good. Now do the same to me."
McGrath blocked the first attack, parried the second, dodged the third, and on the fourth punch he pulled Mitsukake forward by the elbow straight into a hard uppercut. "Always be aware of the arsenal of moves available to you. I noticed that both of you block but do little else by way of defense. Remember, every technique can be countered - sometimes not easily, but it can be countered."
Sakura scratched her head. "Then how in the world do you counter that fast-moving beatdown of yours? What's that move called?" They'd seen him practice it earlier - he'd rushed at a training dummy and beaten it into splinters within a few seconds.
McGrath nodded sagely, tossing a water bottle to Sakura and handing one to Mitsukake. "You're referring to the MAXIMUM Mayhem Rampage, no doubt. It takes a lot of concentration for me to execute. It has its advantages, though - totally unblockable, goes through fireballs, and comes out far too quickly for most people to see. Dodge it, or better yet, stuff it with a higher priority attack. You could probably counter it with your Midare Zakura move." He did not mention the other part of the technique - his friend Blake Wallis had once clocked him, 45 full-power hits in a bare 3.25 seconds.
"I see ..." Sakura said. "Thanks for sparring with us, Dr. McGrath. Oh yeah, Akishiro said that you wanted to see us about something."
"Glad you brought that up." McGrath pulled an envelope out of his side pocket, prompting Sakura and Mitsukake to glance at each other. They already knew the contents. McGrath flipped open the head of the envelope to reveal a small card of the finest cardpaper. Words inscribed in a beautiful, flowing calligraphy had been handwritten on the card in a dark gold ink. McGrath passed the card around; Sakura and Mitsukake already knew what it contained, for they too had received their letters in the mail.
Dear Dr. Ernest McGrath:
You are hereby cordially invited to the World Collision tournament,
which is to be held four months from now. This tournament will bring
together worthy fighters from all over the world, fighters such as
yourself. Should you choose to accept this invitation, a package
containing contact information has also been delivered to your
address. Best of wishes and I hope to see you there.
Sincerely,
M.
"So you received one, Dr. McGrath?" Mitsukake asked, stating the obvious. "Do you know who this 'M.' person is?" Stars, I hope that it's not M. Bison, Sakura prayed. He was supposed to be dead after that Thailand incident and came back for the second World Warrior tournament. Don't tell me he survived that tournament too!
"No clue. I suppose that I'll find out during the tournament."
"Oh, so you already signed up?" Sakura asked, surprised. She'd received her invitation three days ago and was still in the middle of begging her parents' permission to attend. "I'd go, but my parents are against it." She did not mention that there were some parts of the contact information that she'd have to pass before she could register.
"And for good reason," McGrath said, but not unkindly. "Rumor has it that the tournament is allowing all sorts of weapons, some of them quite dangerous."
"I take it that you're going, Mitsukake," Sakura noted, with just a slight trace of bitterness in her voice.
"If you go, certainly," Mitsukake replied. "Otherwise, I don't see why I should bother."
Sakura addressed herself to McGrath. "Say, would you come for dinner tonight around seven? My parents aren't all that receptive to the idea of having a foreigner in the house, but I could talk them into it. I'd like you to try and persuade them into allowing me to enter the tournament."
The doctor instantly quashed that idea. "I'm sorry, but I must decline. I have an appointment tonight with an old friend ..."
Tokyo, Japan
Five hours have passed
Night. Ernest McGrath checked his wristwatch again - 8:41. His contact should've been here eleven minutes ago. He was alone at the end of a long alley which had recently been abandoned by a trio of rats. The alley was much run-down - alongside the ever-present graffiti marking this place as the home turf of the I.C.E. gang, there were littered soft drink cans, spent bullet casings, ragged strips of paper, and worse. He'd chosen this alleyway because it twisted close to its middle, thus shielding the occupants from prying eyes and ears. McGrath stood in the shadows, keeping very still. He felt right at home.
Again his mind thought back. Three days ago, the invitations had come - one to him, one to each member of the IDC strike force of which his wife was the commander. After a short session with the IDC field marshal, the decision had been made to send him, his wife Samantha McGrath, and the two Phantom members Blake Wallis and Sir Lloyd Cunningham to the tournament. No use risking the whole strike force, so the others declined their invitations. So now he was in Japan, looking for others who had been invited to the tournament - World Collision, what an odd name. And after Japan, there would be China, Hong Kong, Malaysia, India, and thence westward until he returned to the states. All to see if anyone had an inkling as to who "M." might be.
A figure came into sight and McGrath made no move. A moment later, the mysterious contact jumped down from a nearby roof, landed hard on the concrete, and growled, "Who summoned me?"
"It's been a long time, Gouki," McGrath began. "Are you well?"
"Akuma."
"Fine, Akuma." McGrath emerged from the shadows into the moonlight and faced Gouki, or Akuma, or whatever he called himself nowadays. Akuma wore a rosary around his neck, had braided his reddish hair into a samurai topknot, used a rope instead of a belt, and his karate uniform appeared well-worn and ragged. Most disturbing to McGrath's perception were Akuma's eyes - a bright red that filled his entire eye, brimming with passion. Akuma folded his arms.
"Why have you called me?"
"Come now, Akuma," McGrath replied, "is that any way to greet an old friend?"
"I have changed."
"I noticed," McGrath responded coolly. "You're not the Gouki I used to know - brash, cool, devoted. Fun. Remember that time when you and Gouken and I sneaked up behind Goutetsu as he was taking his afternoon nap? And how we dumped him into the lake? The look on his face was priceless." Although, come to think of it, Goutetsu had beaten them for it.
"I fail to see the point of this meaningless chatter."
Abruptly McGrath became serious. "There is one thing I'd like to know. By now, you may have received a small envelope containing an elegant card. Were you invited to the World Collision tournament?" The expression in his face indicated that he expected a straight answer.
"Am I ever invited?"
"I see. Read this." McGrath held out his invitation card and Akuma took it without a word. The Master of the Fist read it slowly, twice, before returning it. McGrath replaced it in a side pocket. "So ... do you have any idea who this 'M.' fellow is?"
"No. But if he invited you ... you have changed, too, Ernest."
"That makes two of us," McGrath observed dryly. "You'd be a worthy opponent for me, Akuma - possibly the greatest challenger in my time. Who knew that two simple boys could turn out like this? I've known you for nearly my whole life and I've never met anyone stronger."
"... You too, a fearsome enemy. You may be the one who kills me in a deathmatch. Is that why you called me?"
"No. I asked you to come in order to find out if you're participating in the tournament, but I guess your answer is a no." McGrath paused for a moment. "I have no wish to fight you right now. After the tournament, then maybe. I expect the Chaos Prince to appear in that tournament and if he does I'll have my hands full contending with him."
"The Chaos Prince ...? Interesting ..."
"That's all I have to say." McGrath paused for a moment. "I'd stay and gossip with you - twenty-five years is a long time for anyone - but you obviously don't care for conversation. I'll be seeing you in the future; until then, stay safe, Akuma."
"You too, Ernest."
With that, Akuma turned and walked away. McGrath remained in the alley for another twenty minutes. So, even his old friend Akuma was in the dark about "M." McGrath began sorting potential candidates through his mind. Okay, he could rule himself out automatically. M. Bison was dead. Usually a dead person was out of the picture by default, but in the past Bison had hosted the second World Warrior tournament despite the fact that he'd been killed earlier in a Thailand base explosion. This time, McGrath hoped that his death was permanent - Shun Goku Satsu targeted the soul, after all - but he couldn't afford to rule Bison out. The other major candidate was Demitri Maximoff, but Maximoff wasn't the type to begin gathering together people for a tournament. Besides, IDC reconnaissance had detected no unusual signs of activity from Maximoff castle at all. McGrath had to admit that even he was clueless this time.
Just who is 'M.' anyway?
Prologue: The Challenge
Author's Notes: Mitsukake Kagatoshi is an original character and belongs to Chan Yoruyamatiha (thanks for letting me use him, Chan!). Ernest McGrath is an original character and belongs to me. Expect to see some more OCs in this story as it progresses along. If you want to learn more about McGrath, visit my profile and look under the Close-Up section. For those of you who've already read it, I revised this chapter in order to correct a plethora of glaring grammatical mistakes.
Aohura City, Japan
Panting heavily, Sakura Kasugano and Mitsukake Kagatoshi paused for a moment to catch some air. Sakura, a fresh-faced student of Minami High, leaned forward gasping for breath. They were within Minami's indoor gym and had brought out special sparring mats for the occasion. Sakura's cropped brown hair was hanging in strands down her face as sweat poured down her whole body. Dressed in a Japanese sailor suit, Sakura had already tumbled into the dust a number of times. She had a strong feeling that her parents would be most disapproving of today's episode. Beside her, Mitsukake had fared no better. He was considerably taller than Sakura, with light brown hair, tanned skin, a straight face, and large eyes that Sakura found adorable. Now those eyes were veiled and cautious; he was worn down and haggard, fatigued by the fight. He was dressed in an exercise outfit. Both he and Sakura gazed warily at the opponent in front of them, on guard against any sudden moves.
What's with this guy? Sakura wondered to herself. She knew that he was an American, one with short brown hair, dark brown eyes, serious expression, clean shaven jaw, and about thirty centimeters height advantage over her. He was wearing light, comfortable clothing. Sakura knew that he was around his mid-forties in age. Doesn't look like a fighter, but looks deceive. He must be as good - heck, who am I fooling, he's much better than Ryu! He's not even breathing hard after that last bit of smackdown he delivered. A two-against-one fight, but the two of us are getting beaten hard. She knew him, of course; he was a visiting teacher from the United States, had some friends in Japan, and was fluent in Japanese. Steadying herself, Sakura charged up for another Shinkuu Hadouken. This time, she winked at Mitsukake, who cleared a space for her and circled around the American.
Instead of sending out a big energy blast - she was too spent for that - Sakura modified the Shinkuu Hadouken and launched her hands forward, releasing a burst of light. Instantly the whole room went white and Sakura heard Mitsukake rush in for the kill. Okay, the American is ... there. Now all I have to do is pummel him from that side - huh, where is he? What the -! As the light cleared, Sakura caught sight of her opponent and instantly realized her mistake. He'd moved, and moved quickly. Mitsukake was already down on the mats; in a blur of motion, the American swept Sakura's feet, crouched, and delivered a symbolic kill blow into her stomach. Drat! I can't believe we lost so fast!
"Mr. Akishiro wasn't kidding," Mitsukake groaned, pulling himself upright. "You are good - I've never seen so much ass get kicked in such a short time."
Ernest Christopher McGrath chuckled. "You're not so bad yourself, Mitsukake, Sakura." He offered his hand to Sakura and pulled her upright. "But I saw that last attack coming. You two work very well as a team."
"Not well enough," Sakura replied, somewhat disappointed. The way the man moved ...! "You're an old man, Dr. McGrath, but you still fight better than anyone I've ever seen. In fact, I think I can honestly say I've never met anyone who could even approach your quality of combat. What style do you use?"
McGrath shrugged. "I learned multiple styles and combined them, taking the most effective elements of each. You praise me too much, Sakura. Here, let's say that I throw a straight punch at you, Mitsukake. How would you counter it?" He slowly thrusted with his left arm and Mitsukake easily blocked the attack. He blocked several more that came his way. McGrath nodded. "Good. Now do the same to me."
McGrath blocked the first attack, parried the second, dodged the third, and on the fourth punch he pulled Mitsukake forward by the elbow straight into a hard uppercut. "Always be aware of the arsenal of moves available to you. I noticed that both of you block but do little else by way of defense. Remember, every technique can be countered - sometimes not easily, but it can be countered."
Sakura scratched her head. "Then how in the world do you counter that fast-moving beatdown of yours? What's that move called?" They'd seen him practice it earlier - he'd rushed at a training dummy and beaten it into splinters within a few seconds.
McGrath nodded sagely, tossing a water bottle to Sakura and handing one to Mitsukake. "You're referring to the MAXIMUM Mayhem Rampage, no doubt. It takes a lot of concentration for me to execute. It has its advantages, though - totally unblockable, goes through fireballs, and comes out far too quickly for most people to see. Dodge it, or better yet, stuff it with a higher priority attack. You could probably counter it with your Midare Zakura move." He did not mention the other part of the technique - his friend Blake Wallis had once clocked him, 45 full-power hits in a bare 3.25 seconds.
"I see ..." Sakura said. "Thanks for sparring with us, Dr. McGrath. Oh yeah, Akishiro said that you wanted to see us about something."
"Glad you brought that up." McGrath pulled an envelope out of his side pocket, prompting Sakura and Mitsukake to glance at each other. They already knew the contents. McGrath flipped open the head of the envelope to reveal a small card of the finest cardpaper. Words inscribed in a beautiful, flowing calligraphy had been handwritten on the card in a dark gold ink. McGrath passed the card around; Sakura and Mitsukake already knew what it contained, for they too had received their letters in the mail.
You are hereby cordially invited to the World Collision tournament,
which is to be held four months from now. This tournament will bring
together worthy fighters from all over the world, fighters such as
yourself. Should you choose to accept this invitation, a package
containing contact information has also been delivered to your
address. Best of wishes and I hope to see you there.
Sincerely,
M.
"So you received one, Dr. McGrath?" Mitsukake asked, stating the obvious. "Do you know who this 'M.' person is?" Stars, I hope that it's not M. Bison, Sakura prayed. He was supposed to be dead after that Thailand incident and came back for the second World Warrior tournament. Don't tell me he survived that tournament too!
"No clue. I suppose that I'll find out during the tournament."
"Oh, so you already signed up?" Sakura asked, surprised. She'd received her invitation three days ago and was still in the middle of begging her parents' permission to attend. "I'd go, but my parents are against it." She did not mention that there were some parts of the contact information that she'd have to pass before she could register.
"And for good reason," McGrath said, but not unkindly. "Rumor has it that the tournament is allowing all sorts of weapons, some of them quite dangerous."
"I take it that you're going, Mitsukake," Sakura noted, with just a slight trace of bitterness in her voice.
"If you go, certainly," Mitsukake replied. "Otherwise, I don't see why I should bother."
Sakura addressed herself to McGrath. "Say, would you come for dinner tonight around seven? My parents aren't all that receptive to the idea of having a foreigner in the house, but I could talk them into it. I'd like you to try and persuade them into allowing me to enter the tournament."
The doctor instantly quashed that idea. "I'm sorry, but I must decline. I have an appointment tonight with an old friend ..."
Tokyo, Japan
Five hours have passed
Night. Ernest McGrath checked his wristwatch again - 8:41. His contact should've been here eleven minutes ago. He was alone at the end of a long alley which had recently been abandoned by a trio of rats. The alley was much run-down - alongside the ever-present graffiti marking this place as the home turf of the I.C.E. gang, there were littered soft drink cans, spent bullet casings, ragged strips of paper, and worse. He'd chosen this alleyway because it twisted close to its middle, thus shielding the occupants from prying eyes and ears. McGrath stood in the shadows, keeping very still. He felt right at home.
Again his mind thought back. Three days ago, the invitations had come - one to him, one to each member of the IDC strike force of which his wife was the commander. After a short session with the IDC field marshal, the decision had been made to send him, his wife Samantha McGrath, and the two Phantom members Blake Wallis and Sir Lloyd Cunningham to the tournament. No use risking the whole strike force, so the others declined their invitations. So now he was in Japan, looking for others who had been invited to the tournament - World Collision, what an odd name. And after Japan, there would be China, Hong Kong, Malaysia, India, and thence westward until he returned to the states. All to see if anyone had an inkling as to who "M." might be.
A figure came into sight and McGrath made no move. A moment later, the mysterious contact jumped down from a nearby roof, landed hard on the concrete, and growled, "Who summoned me?"
"It's been a long time, Gouki," McGrath began. "Are you well?"
"Akuma."
"Fine, Akuma." McGrath emerged from the shadows into the moonlight and faced Gouki, or Akuma, or whatever he called himself nowadays. Akuma wore a rosary around his neck, had braided his reddish hair into a samurai topknot, used a rope instead of a belt, and his karate uniform appeared well-worn and ragged. Most disturbing to McGrath's perception were Akuma's eyes - a bright red that filled his entire eye, brimming with passion. Akuma folded his arms.
"Why have you called me?"
"Come now, Akuma," McGrath replied, "is that any way to greet an old friend?"
"I have changed."
"I noticed," McGrath responded coolly. "You're not the Gouki I used to know - brash, cool, devoted. Fun. Remember that time when you and Gouken and I sneaked up behind Goutetsu as he was taking his afternoon nap? And how we dumped him into the lake? The look on his face was priceless." Although, come to think of it, Goutetsu had beaten them for it.
"I fail to see the point of this meaningless chatter."
Abruptly McGrath became serious. "There is one thing I'd like to know. By now, you may have received a small envelope containing an elegant card. Were you invited to the World Collision tournament?" The expression in his face indicated that he expected a straight answer.
"Am I ever invited?"
"I see. Read this." McGrath held out his invitation card and Akuma took it without a word. The Master of the Fist read it slowly, twice, before returning it. McGrath replaced it in a side pocket. "So ... do you have any idea who this 'M.' fellow is?"
"No. But if he invited you ... you have changed, too, Ernest."
"That makes two of us," McGrath observed dryly. "You'd be a worthy opponent for me, Akuma - possibly the greatest challenger in my time. Who knew that two simple boys could turn out like this? I've known you for nearly my whole life and I've never met anyone stronger."
"... You too, a fearsome enemy. You may be the one who kills me in a deathmatch. Is that why you called me?"
"No. I asked you to come in order to find out if you're participating in the tournament, but I guess your answer is a no." McGrath paused for a moment. "I have no wish to fight you right now. After the tournament, then maybe. I expect the Chaos Prince to appear in that tournament and if he does I'll have my hands full contending with him."
"The Chaos Prince ...? Interesting ..."
"That's all I have to say." McGrath paused for a moment. "I'd stay and gossip with you - twenty-five years is a long time for anyone - but you obviously don't care for conversation. I'll be seeing you in the future; until then, stay safe, Akuma."
"You too, Ernest."
With that, Akuma turned and walked away. McGrath remained in the alley for another twenty minutes. So, even his old friend Akuma was in the dark about "M." McGrath began sorting potential candidates through his mind. Okay, he could rule himself out automatically. M. Bison was dead. Usually a dead person was out of the picture by default, but in the past Bison had hosted the second World Warrior tournament despite the fact that he'd been killed earlier in a Thailand base explosion. This time, McGrath hoped that his death was permanent - Shun Goku Satsu targeted the soul, after all - but he couldn't afford to rule Bison out. The other major candidate was Demitri Maximoff, but Maximoff wasn't the type to begin gathering together people for a tournament. Besides, IDC reconnaissance had detected no unusual signs of activity from Maximoff castle at all. McGrath had to admit that even he was clueless this time.
Just who is 'M.' anyway?