***Hi, guys! Sorry about the ungodly delay. I kinda let all my schoolwork pile up, and I had to work frantically during the last week of school. But now, it's summer break, and I can get back to writing lots and lots! ^_^***
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"Who you fighting today?" Angel asked cordially during breakfast two days later. The 'day of rest' yesterday had been a godsend; with her uncanny regenerative properties, the sharp pains along her right shoulder had been reduced to dull aches, the kind that she usually ignored.
"Paul Phoenix," Bryan muttered shortly before stuffing his mouth with a biscuit.
"Mr. Personality himself," Angel said with a grin. "At least you'll be getting some payback. I mean, God knows he deserves a beating."
He nodded his assent, washing down his mouthful with some strong black coffee. "Who you got?"
She shrugged. "Some old guy named Marshall something. Umm... Law, that's it. Marshall Law. He used to be a big fighter before going into the restaurant business. He uses Jeet Kun Do, I think."
While he didn't know much about individual fighting arts, he knew that Jeet Kun Do practitioners were notoriously fast, and surprisingly strong. "Good luck. Break a leg," he said drolly, raising his coffee mug in salute.
She rolled her eyes. "I intend to. Normally that expression is used in the theatre, but in our case," she grinned, "break an arm and a leg, and maybe a few ribs, and don't forget to crack the skull..."
He choked back a laugh, trying not to choke on his mouthful of bacon, either. She smiled sweetly at him, and the two finished their breakfast before taking the pre-paid cabs to the day's battlegrounds.
Of all places... Bryan raised an eyebrow as the cab pulled into a dingy-looking building, heading down a few levels... to a parking garage? No fuckin' way, he thought. He got out, and the cab roared away. Moments later, a second cab pulled up, and Phoenix climbed out. He wore a simple longsleeve shirt and pants. His trademark upswept hair was down, surprisingly, with the bangs hanging freely and the rest of his hair back in a loose ponytail.
Bryan was really going to enjoy this. He smiled inwardly as he cracked his knuckles. For today's ass-kicking, he wore long navy blue pants, combat boots, and an unbuttoned longsleeve blue-gray shirt. He had a string of shotgun shells around one thigh.
"You..." Phoenix muttered, recognizing his opponent. "Looks like I'll be kicking your ass a second time." He cracked his knuckles for effect.
"Yeah right," Bryan sneered and tilted his head to one side, resulting in a series of loud pops. "You're about to get the living shit beat out of you, you dumb fuck."
Phoenix raised a blond eyebrow, before his face contorted into a look of pure hatred. "You little bastard. NOBODY calls me stupid." He leaped forward with a 1-2 punch, managing to graze the side of Bryan's head.
"Uh-huh," Bryan growled and sank a fist into the blond's stomach, hearing the wind rush violently out of the older man. He stood placidly and waited for Phoenix to catch his breath. "Which one of us left the fuckin' tournament before it was even finished last time?"
Phoenix roared and leaped from a crouch to Bryan's face, knocking the younger man over. He retaliated by putting both feet on the blond man's chest and pushing with all his incredible might, sending the older man flying and smashing into a pillar. Phoenix grunted and fell to his knees. He couldn't believe how stupid he was being. He should know better than to let himself get mad and to rush blindly. How the hell was this tattooed freak so calm?
Bryan was inwardly surprised at his own tranquility. He knew that he should be scared out of his wits for fear of losing, but he simply wasn't. What if his strength failed him? What if he dropped dead in the middle of a match? He crossed his arms and waited as Phoenix climbed slowly to his feet, and took a few steps away from the pillar.
Nah, Bryan thought inwardly. It can't be this easy, can it? He stood like a stone statue, and allowed Phoenix to get a few shuffling steps closer to him.
With incredible speed, Phoenix suddenly roared and leaped to the side, burying his elbow into Bryan's breastbone. Bryan grunted and rolled backwards a few time before slowly climbing to his feet. Boots rang on the concrete floorm, and his head snapped up just in time to see his opponent sliding toward him like a baseball player, feet aimed squarely at his face. Bryan swiftly rolled to the side, and Phoenix clambered to his feet. The older man leaped out of a crouch at Bryan's face, and knocked him over. Unlike his sister, Bryan did not know judo, and made Craig's mistake of reaching out to give his opponent a shove. And, like Angel, Phoenix immediately executed a flawless arm-bar.
With inhuman strength, Bryan lifted his arm despite the older man still hanging onto it, and smashed it back down against the ground hard. Phoenix grunted and let go, shocked in more ways than one. Bryan quickly reached over and grabbed his opponent by the neck even as they both stood, and flung him bodily against that same pillar. Phoenix sank to one knee, breathing hard.
Bryan was breathing kind of hard, himself. Almost belatedly, he felt his lungs start to burn. No, he thought desperately. Not again. Not now! He coughed a few times, and desperately swallowed in an attempt to moisten his suddenly parched throat. After a moment, the feeling faded, and he was himself again. He needed to end this quickly, while he was still at the top of his game. Glancing over, he saw that Phoenix was on his feet again, and had started to shuffle once again away from the pillar and toward Bryan. However, he wouldn't be caught off-guard again.
Giving himself a mental shrug that translated into What the hell, he balled up his fists and stretched out his body, his left foot back and right arm forward, a graceful-yet-deadly punch that landed squarely on Phoenix's breastbone, propelling the older man back with blinding speed and smashing his back yet again against the pillar. The silver-haired kickboxer could almost swear that he heard the reinforced concrete crack and splinter, just a bit. He knew that Phoenix's breastbone certaily had.
In fact, the blond man's chest looked kinda concave at the moment. That was worrisome. As this was a blood tournament, a fighter wasn't penalized for injuring another combatant. However, if that injured combatant happened to die...
Fortunately nothing bad happened. A referee popped out of nowhere and rushed over to the fallen Phoenix. A few quick glances, and then he whipped out a radio and muttered some quick phrases. An ambulance came along shortly, and the wounded man was carried away amid a crowd of Japanese EMT's. A cab also arrived, to take the victor back to his room.
Another day of this little war was over, Bryan thought sourly as he entered the hotel room. Angel was already spread-eagle on the bed, facedown, with an icepack poking out from under her stomach.
"So, how was it?" she murmured quietly, her speech slightly marred by her face half-buried in the pillow. One eye looked at him for a moment, then closed.
He sat down on the bed and the eye opened again, a sure sign that something was wrong. "I almost had another attack today," he said shortly.
Now both eyes were open. "Shit," she muttered.
"Yeah. I beat him easy, but there was a minute or two when I thought I was going to start coughing again." His face was a stony mask, staring at some invisible spot on the wall. His icy blue eyes never blinked, but simply glared straight ahead. "I don't know how much longer I'm going to last."
Despite the soreness, Angel's arm slowly travelled to that of her brother, and the hand gently grasped his forearm. "Long enough. You only have to last long enough, then it'll be over and Mishima will be ours." She waited until he looked at her before continuing. "I'm not going to let you die, Bryan. You're too close to me, now."
He closed his eyes and turned away, and his sister belatedly realized that he didn't want her to see the grateful tears brimming in his eyes, even though she could feel the stark emotions of his mind. She smiled and closed her own eyes, to give him that small victory. For him, it was the first time in years that anyone had given a damn about him. For her, it was the first time in her entire life that anyone had given a damn about her.
They were going to do it. They were going to win.
They had to.
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"Who you fighting today?" Angel asked cordially during breakfast two days later. The 'day of rest' yesterday had been a godsend; with her uncanny regenerative properties, the sharp pains along her right shoulder had been reduced to dull aches, the kind that she usually ignored.
"Paul Phoenix," Bryan muttered shortly before stuffing his mouth with a biscuit.
"Mr. Personality himself," Angel said with a grin. "At least you'll be getting some payback. I mean, God knows he deserves a beating."
He nodded his assent, washing down his mouthful with some strong black coffee. "Who you got?"
She shrugged. "Some old guy named Marshall something. Umm... Law, that's it. Marshall Law. He used to be a big fighter before going into the restaurant business. He uses Jeet Kun Do, I think."
While he didn't know much about individual fighting arts, he knew that Jeet Kun Do practitioners were notoriously fast, and surprisingly strong. "Good luck. Break a leg," he said drolly, raising his coffee mug in salute.
She rolled her eyes. "I intend to. Normally that expression is used in the theatre, but in our case," she grinned, "break an arm and a leg, and maybe a few ribs, and don't forget to crack the skull..."
He choked back a laugh, trying not to choke on his mouthful of bacon, either. She smiled sweetly at him, and the two finished their breakfast before taking the pre-paid cabs to the day's battlegrounds.
Of all places... Bryan raised an eyebrow as the cab pulled into a dingy-looking building, heading down a few levels... to a parking garage? No fuckin' way, he thought. He got out, and the cab roared away. Moments later, a second cab pulled up, and Phoenix climbed out. He wore a simple longsleeve shirt and pants. His trademark upswept hair was down, surprisingly, with the bangs hanging freely and the rest of his hair back in a loose ponytail.
Bryan was really going to enjoy this. He smiled inwardly as he cracked his knuckles. For today's ass-kicking, he wore long navy blue pants, combat boots, and an unbuttoned longsleeve blue-gray shirt. He had a string of shotgun shells around one thigh.
"You..." Phoenix muttered, recognizing his opponent. "Looks like I'll be kicking your ass a second time." He cracked his knuckles for effect.
"Yeah right," Bryan sneered and tilted his head to one side, resulting in a series of loud pops. "You're about to get the living shit beat out of you, you dumb fuck."
Phoenix raised a blond eyebrow, before his face contorted into a look of pure hatred. "You little bastard. NOBODY calls me stupid." He leaped forward with a 1-2 punch, managing to graze the side of Bryan's head.
"Uh-huh," Bryan growled and sank a fist into the blond's stomach, hearing the wind rush violently out of the older man. He stood placidly and waited for Phoenix to catch his breath. "Which one of us left the fuckin' tournament before it was even finished last time?"
Phoenix roared and leaped from a crouch to Bryan's face, knocking the younger man over. He retaliated by putting both feet on the blond man's chest and pushing with all his incredible might, sending the older man flying and smashing into a pillar. Phoenix grunted and fell to his knees. He couldn't believe how stupid he was being. He should know better than to let himself get mad and to rush blindly. How the hell was this tattooed freak so calm?
Bryan was inwardly surprised at his own tranquility. He knew that he should be scared out of his wits for fear of losing, but he simply wasn't. What if his strength failed him? What if he dropped dead in the middle of a match? He crossed his arms and waited as Phoenix climbed slowly to his feet, and took a few steps away from the pillar.
Nah, Bryan thought inwardly. It can't be this easy, can it? He stood like a stone statue, and allowed Phoenix to get a few shuffling steps closer to him.
With incredible speed, Phoenix suddenly roared and leaped to the side, burying his elbow into Bryan's breastbone. Bryan grunted and rolled backwards a few time before slowly climbing to his feet. Boots rang on the concrete floorm, and his head snapped up just in time to see his opponent sliding toward him like a baseball player, feet aimed squarely at his face. Bryan swiftly rolled to the side, and Phoenix clambered to his feet. The older man leaped out of a crouch at Bryan's face, and knocked him over. Unlike his sister, Bryan did not know judo, and made Craig's mistake of reaching out to give his opponent a shove. And, like Angel, Phoenix immediately executed a flawless arm-bar.
With inhuman strength, Bryan lifted his arm despite the older man still hanging onto it, and smashed it back down against the ground hard. Phoenix grunted and let go, shocked in more ways than one. Bryan quickly reached over and grabbed his opponent by the neck even as they both stood, and flung him bodily against that same pillar. Phoenix sank to one knee, breathing hard.
Bryan was breathing kind of hard, himself. Almost belatedly, he felt his lungs start to burn. No, he thought desperately. Not again. Not now! He coughed a few times, and desperately swallowed in an attempt to moisten his suddenly parched throat. After a moment, the feeling faded, and he was himself again. He needed to end this quickly, while he was still at the top of his game. Glancing over, he saw that Phoenix was on his feet again, and had started to shuffle once again away from the pillar and toward Bryan. However, he wouldn't be caught off-guard again.
Giving himself a mental shrug that translated into What the hell, he balled up his fists and stretched out his body, his left foot back and right arm forward, a graceful-yet-deadly punch that landed squarely on Phoenix's breastbone, propelling the older man back with blinding speed and smashing his back yet again against the pillar. The silver-haired kickboxer could almost swear that he heard the reinforced concrete crack and splinter, just a bit. He knew that Phoenix's breastbone certaily had.
In fact, the blond man's chest looked kinda concave at the moment. That was worrisome. As this was a blood tournament, a fighter wasn't penalized for injuring another combatant. However, if that injured combatant happened to die...
Fortunately nothing bad happened. A referee popped out of nowhere and rushed over to the fallen Phoenix. A few quick glances, and then he whipped out a radio and muttered some quick phrases. An ambulance came along shortly, and the wounded man was carried away amid a crowd of Japanese EMT's. A cab also arrived, to take the victor back to his room.
Another day of this little war was over, Bryan thought sourly as he entered the hotel room. Angel was already spread-eagle on the bed, facedown, with an icepack poking out from under her stomach.
"So, how was it?" she murmured quietly, her speech slightly marred by her face half-buried in the pillow. One eye looked at him for a moment, then closed.
He sat down on the bed and the eye opened again, a sure sign that something was wrong. "I almost had another attack today," he said shortly.
Now both eyes were open. "Shit," she muttered.
"Yeah. I beat him easy, but there was a minute or two when I thought I was going to start coughing again." His face was a stony mask, staring at some invisible spot on the wall. His icy blue eyes never blinked, but simply glared straight ahead. "I don't know how much longer I'm going to last."
Despite the soreness, Angel's arm slowly travelled to that of her brother, and the hand gently grasped his forearm. "Long enough. You only have to last long enough, then it'll be over and Mishima will be ours." She waited until he looked at her before continuing. "I'm not going to let you die, Bryan. You're too close to me, now."
He closed his eyes and turned away, and his sister belatedly realized that he didn't want her to see the grateful tears brimming in his eyes, even though she could feel the stark emotions of his mind. She smiled and closed her own eyes, to give him that small victory. For him, it was the first time in years that anyone had given a damn about him. For her, it was the first time in her entire life that anyone had given a damn about her.
They were going to do it. They were going to win.
They had to.