India, Seven years ago.

"Wow, you're a pathetic one, aren't you?"

In a filthy, narrow alley, a woman looked down at the bloodied youth at her feet. Bones broken, cut and bruised in more ways that she cared to notice. He was alive, sucking in sharp, shallow breaths and the one unswollen eye flickering slightly, as though he was caught in a dream. There were no noises, though, no yells or whimpers of pain,and maybe that was why she bothered speaking to him.

"You are Dar clan, yes? I assume you were used as the punching bag of two other students more hopeful than you?"

She knelt down next to him, holding him by the neck.

"Doesn't it burn you? Knowing firsthand the cruelty humans are capable of? Knowing that the animals that did this to you are still alive, still allowed to breathe and eat and shit and wallow in their own empty little lives? Maybe it would be better if I put you out of your misery now. One less human darkening the world, yes?"

A gentle thud against her ribcage. Then another, and another. She looked down, and the boy's broken hand weakly punched into her side. Even like this, he was a fighter, still stubbornly clinging to life. Perhaps he was what she was looking for…

"You're not giving up, human? All the horror you know humans can do to humans, how diseased they are, and you are still willing to fight?"

The boy murmurs an affirmative, nodding slightly.

"And you would put them out of their misery, for the good of the planet?"

A pause, then another, more deliberate nod.

The woman grins. The boy works his eye open to see for the first time her spidery black hair and angular, almost avian, features.

"You may call me Eagle, boy. What is your name?"

The boy gasps for a second, working up the effort to speak.

"...Abijheet…"

Kengan Alternative

Ch. 5: Euthanasia

In India, the Dar Clan is known for producing some of the most effective assassins in South Asia. They accomplish this through grueling, inhumane training regimens designed to weed out those considered unfit to earn the clan name. At seven years old, the children are grouped into teams of three, with the weakest amongst them designated the "training dummy" of the other two, to be used to perfect their skills.

And so it was that Abijheet Sultana was brutalised, day in, day out, by two of the people he considered friends. This torture continued until he was sixteen, at which point his brothers were inducted into the Dar clan, and he was discarded. This is where he would've died, if not for the intervention of the woman Eagle, who taught Abijheet the secrets of her assassination art, and in doing so poured into him all her nihilistic hatred, and her desire to save the planet through a single goal: euthanasia of the human race.

Abijheet ducked an incoming elbow, responding with a roundhouse kick aimed at Florentino Avilas temple. The Filipino leaned back to avoid the kick, but the opened space let Abijheet bounce up, striking out in a mid-air kick, then another, and another.

"WOAH! THREE KICKS WITHOUT TOUCHING THE FLOOR!" Yelled Setsuko Morioka. "What incredible leg strength!"

"No, she's wrong." Still watching the fight from the VIP section, Agnes Dovraga leaned further over the railings, furrowing her brow at the two fighters. "His leg strength is good, but that's not why he's got that power."

"He's shut out the pain, right?" Next to her, Kure Shishō finished her thought. "Either he doesn't feel it, or he's ignoring it, I can't tell, but that's why he's able to push his body like that."

"Which explains how he's pulling off kicks like that with a broken foot! And how he can keep up with pressuring an infighter like Avila." Sansone Maciste continued watching Florentino root himself into the arena ground, arms raised in defence against the relentless assault on his head.

"But, that's gonna have to get him in the end, right? Even if you don't feel pain, an injury is still an injury..."

Florentinos arm came up again, batting away another furious high kick, but Sultana showed no sign of slowing. The Indian fighter took in the sight of the turtled opponent, guard raised to protect his head from the onslaught. He'd never get through that barricade, but…

...he didn't need to.

He lunged in again, and at the last moment his high kick dipped down low, into a graceful crescent aimed at Florentinos knee, all his power concentrated into his shin. It connected and the audience, and the watching fighters, winced as a sharp crack sounded through the arena. The attack done, Abijheet bounced away, watching Avila, who still stood, rooted as before.

He huffed, frustrated. This human was a stubborn one, but with a broken knee he was dead standing. He began to close the distance, but as he stepped forwards something made him stumble, and he felt himself tilt sideways. And as he did, Florentino stepped into range.

"...I figured you'd try something like going for my knees." The Filipino fighter said. He planted one foot, and snapped the other up in a blindingly fast front kick, rising to meet Abijheets falling head with enough force to flip the Indian fighter clean onto his back.

"The Brubaka style lives and dies on the strength of your knees and elbows. The conditioning is torture, but in return…" he looked down at the knee Sultana struck, bruised and sore, but wholly functional "...I'm unbreakable."

"Still… guarding your head though…" Sultana replied. Florentino knew his opponent wasn't stupid, no fighter could be *completely* invulnerable, and his conditioning only extended to his striking points. But attack or defence, that was more than enough for most opponents.

...Most opponents.

Abijheet stood, once more seemingly unharmed, but he listened sideways slightly, same as before. The sharp spike of pain didn't bother him, but he knew without looking down that the leg he tried to break Avila's knee with was itself broken, skin torn and bleeding into the sands. A hindrance, to be sure.

"Keep kicking." Avila bounced on his toes, taking an aggressive forward stance "See what happens."

Avila took his weight to his uninjured leg, crouching slightly.

"Stop prolonging this, and let me put you to rest."

They both took a second, to plan, to catch their breaths, to analyse. Then, in an explosion of movement, they attacked, one last rush before the end of the Tournament's first fight.