Kengan Alternative

Ch. 3: The Tournament

There is an island in the Aegean Sea, an island in no history books, and on no maps. Thousands of years ago, this island was the site of some of the greatest pankration competitions the Greek world had ever seen, secret fights held to broker trade deals, break the deadlocks in wars, and let city-states assert dominance over one another.

Though the Ancient Greeks are no more, this island is still used for its original purpose, champions of the rich and powerful battling to decide the future of dynasties and nations. The associations that operated here over the years added their own touches, gyms, living quarters, even a small airport, but always made sure to keep this island's heritage. As such, the island was littered with stone ruins from the ancients who first came here, alabaster statues of the first champions to stand victoriously over the body of another.

And finally, in the very centre of the island, was the arena. A smooth stone square floor, lightly dusted with the white sands of the beach, tall marble pillars standing at each corner of the arena, from which reams of gold and purple fabric were hung, striking colours against the white sun-warmed stone and encircled by a colosseum-style ring of spectator stands.

Starting from tomorrow, this arena's sands would see blood. Limbs will be broken, several teeth and an eye will be lost, and one person will lose their life right here. But, for now, the only person to disturb the arena was the man who won it for the Kengan association. This fighter's CEO had the bright idea to show the others in the association they meant business, by challenging another organisation for ownership of this island arena. The fight was long and brutal, but in the end, he was victorious, cementing his reputation as a wholly Unshakable fighter.

Usman Abubakar leant against the corner pillar, letting the memories of the fight come back to him.

"Reliving your victory?" Bosun Fofak asked from behind him. Usman didn't need to turn to know the Doctor still felt elated over the win, the win that had made the Kengan Association take notice of the Fofak Foundation, a notoriously difficult feat for any African company in the Japanese based group.

"Reliving the fight. I didn't have time to think about the victory, I could barely understand what was going on around me, my brain was so rattled." He smiled, reaching down to run his fingers through the arena's sand beneath his feet. The opponent was a Judoka, and must've slammed Usman into the ground at least a dozen times. His back bloodied, his face bruised, his collarbone broken, Usman nearly lost the fight.

But he didn't, and that's what mattered. So long as he kept getting his victories, it didn't matter what state he won in.

"Well, the victory was worth the pain, right?" Fofak clapped him on the back. "Because you won us the island, and more importantly, the respect of the Kenga Association. And when you win this tournament, we will have control of one of Asia's greatest economic powers! Come on, let's relax for a bit. Fighting starts tomorrow, and you need to scout out the competition!"

Abukabar turned with his CEO, heading back to the hotel building by the beach. Fofak was laughing as he spoke, but Usman could sense the seriousness in his voice. The fighters in this tournament were some of the best this planet had ever seen. He couldn't afford to take anybody lightly.

Down on the beachfront, it seemed everyone present had the same idea. The astute would be able to see it, but the casual observer wouldn't have noticed the careful observations, like poker players reading their opponents. Sansone Maciste and Braum Karlstadt seemed to be hitting it off, joking about two grapplers facing each other in the first round, but measuring each other's reach, guessing their weight, and estimating their centre of gravity.

Loranzo Romano, ever the showman, showed off a bevy of card tricks to Akarou Kirishima and an awaiting barmaid. It looked like he was looking over Kirishima's shoulder at another A-block fighter, Florentino Avila, stretching on the beach before he headed out to swim, but in reality he was trying to put the screws to Kirishima, putting his practice with mentalism to get inside the Lethwei fighters head.

Tatianna Constance, emerging from the sea in a scandalous bikini, looked as though she was doing nothing more than showing off her body, but her eyes roamed the beach, scanning for the other fighters in D-block.

The only fighter on the beach not scouting the competition was the boxer, Alexander Keaton. Caught by his grandfather ogling Tatianna, Stanley Keaton was pushing him through tortuous runs up and down the sand, yelling "if you've got time to be a pervert, you've got time to train!"

The other fighters were absent, either occupying themselves elsewhere, training in secret, or simply secreting themselves in their rooms, unwilling to give away any "tells" to their opponents.

Eventually, this cold war would end, as the time would come to approach the arena for the first fight of the tournament.

The arena was alive with noise, the buzzing of cheers and chatter of thousands of people, business owners and secretaries, world leaders and millionaires, and even a few of the fighters gathering to watch.

"Ladies and gentlemen," began Setsuko Morioka, the tournament's announcer, standing in the centre of the arena and letting the mid-afternoon sun glitter off her dress "thank you for your patience. ARE YOU READY TO BEGIN!?"

A chorus of roaring cheers met her question, stamping feet and wolf whistles from the bloodthirsty onlookers.

"For the first fight of our tournament, we have an up and coming fighter from the Philippines!"

"Don't take chances." Said Mark Dizon, the CEO of United Port Inc., to his fighter. "We don't know what these fighters can do, so be on your guard."

The fighter didn't turn as he walked down the tunnel, towards the light of the arena. He knew Dizon was going after the prize of this tournament like a dog with a bone, and that was making him anxious.

"Don't worry, Mark." He raised one arm, knuckles cracking in his clenched fist, showing off a weathered, well built forearm. "Nobody's beaten my Brubaka Style yet."

"Formerly of the Kamao Fighting organisation, this cool headed warrior of the Brubaka Style is ready to tear through the competition. Will he be victorious? Or will those mighty elbows finally break? Standing at 196cm and 130kg, with 18 wins and 0 losses, representing United Port Inc., THE TERRIBLE STOOORM, FLORENTINO AVILAAAAA!"

The roaring rose as Avila stepped out of the tunnel and onto the sands, slicking back his white hair and rolling his shoulders. He gave a few warm up swings, bouncing on his heels to show off to the crowd. He turned to the other tunnel, as Morioka announced the second fighter.

"And facing him, a newcomer to the Kengan Matches! A man of unknown background but indisputable talent, this fighter has fought his way to the top ranks of Purgatory, and now seeks fortune in this arena! Weighing in at 79kg and 181cm, representing Hartstein Industries, ABIJHEET SULTANAAA, THE PACIFIC KILLERRRR!"

She swung her arm to the tunnel, and on cue walked out Abijheet. His tan skin covered in scars, he walked to the centre of the arena without ceremony, dead eyes staring at Florentino, as though the rest of the colosseum didn't exist.

Avila felt his muscles tighten, and his body heat a few degrees. How could a man emit bloodlust like this? This man was a killer, no doubt.

"Take your positions!" The referee shouted, as Morioka cleared the arena floor. Florentino took an orthodox stance, and Abijheet bent his legs, lowering into a half-crouch. A tension filled the space between the two warriors.

"BEGIN!"

as the referee brought his hand down, Florentino rushed forwards, but Sultana was faster. A shape blotted out the sky above Avila, and he looked up just in time to see the Indian fighter drop out of the sky, with a violent heel stomp that sent blood spilling onto the sands for the first, and not the last, time.