We're on to Part 3 folks. I should probably mention that I've posted a prequel to this story called "There Were Times..." written in Fuu's point of view. Thanks to all those who have commented so far, and for that matter, thanks to all of you who have been reading this at all. Enjoy.


Part Three

Jin.

Mugen stood, motionless, at the back of the arena, watching the young, pale samurai fighting a large, muscular man in the fighting ring. A deafening roar of voices cheered the battle on, so loud that Mugen almost couldn't hear himself cursing.

Almost.

But he was cursing pretty loudly.

From the looks of it, Jin was winning, his tall lean body sliding easily between the clumsier man's punches and kicks. Mugen began walking down the aisle between the benches of onlookers to get a clearer view. Was Jin… smiling? Mugen hadn't realized how much Jin really enjoyed this—the rush of a fight. The smile seemed to fit unnaturally on Jin's face, making him look like some sort of disguised demon.

Mugen was next to the ring now, a raised circular platform about a foot off the ground, surrounded by tightly wound ropes. With a graceful spin kick, Jin delivered the final, crushing blow to the man's legs. Mugen saw rather than heard them snap. Both the shins were broken, and the man fell to his knees, the lines of his face scrunched into contorted bulges. Blood squeezed out of a cut beneath his eye and trickled down his cheek in crimson tears.

Jin simply stood, unmoving. Expressionless face. Looking down on the man prostrate before him.

"Blue death strikes again!" a voice in the crowd yelled.

"He's unstoppable!"

"This kid is making me rich!"

The frenzy of the crowd had reached a crescendo, as the defeated man was dragged out of the ring by two bouncers who looked like they had been inflated like balloons. Their muscles bulged out every which way. So did their stomachs.

You've got to be kidding me. Mugen thought. Blue death? Jin was standing silently in the center of the ring, as subdued as ever, hands lost in the loose fabric of his kimono.

From behind, a voice pierced Mugen's ear, and he swung around, hand going to his sword.

It was the man with the scar, and he was saying, "So you came after all. I knew you would."

Mugen examined the face turned expectantly to him, looked the body up and down. Scarface was well dressed, and Mugen guessed he was the businessman behind this whole betting-on-fights enterprise. Because Scarface looked like he was waiting for a response, Mugen grunted.

"I see you are watching our star fighter. He came in a few nights ago, and has been undefeated since. The man performs miracles, defeating people three times his size."

Again, Mugen grunted, turning slightly to refocus on the events in the fighting ring.

"Do you think you could take him?" There was a mischievous ring to Scarface's voice that seemed somehow off-key.

For variety, Mugen scoffed this time.

A referee had entered the ring, announcing the winner of the fight, and was asking if there were any—

"I'll fight him!" Mugen yelled, interrupting. He watched as Jin's eyes turned toward his voice, smiled at the slight surprise he saw behind those ridiculous glasses.

"You," Jin said simply, as Mugen climbed into the ring.

"Yeah, me." Mugen was angry—furious really, though he didn't have much of a reason for it. He considered Jin a friend, but right now, he wanted to beat the crap out of him.

"I would have thought you'd be towns away by now."

"Well, I'm not. Somebody has to show you who the better man is."

The crowd loved that. Their voices united momentarily in a resounding, "oooooh…" before chaotic noise returned.

Jin raised an eyebrow.

"Hey!" The referee had come between them, and he was staring at Mugen. "I'll need to take that sword. This is a weapon-free fight."

Mugen glared at the referee with a look that said, 'did you actually just talk to me?' When the referee didn't react, Mugen turned his glare back on Jin.

"I left mine with Fuu."

Rolling his eyes and grumbling, Mugen slipped off his sword and sheath, handing it to the referee with a look twice as piercing as the proffered blade.

"You mess with my sword and you won't have any hands left to mess with."

The referee seemed unimpressed. "Both of you to your corners. I'll tell you when you can start."

Mugen backed away, watching carefully as Jin did the same. The other man was wearing his usual deep blue kimono, his long black hair tied up but somewhat mussed from the fighting. The glasses were perched precariously on his precisely chiseled nose.

"Let's see what you got, Jin."

The tiniest of smiles creased Jin's lips. "More than you'll ever have, Mugen."

"Like hell!" But Mugen was wondering, as he yelled back, what exactly Jin meant by that.

He was still wondering when the referee yelled for the fight to begin.

And then the world erupted into sudden motion.

It was like a veil had been ripped off reality, so that he could at once feel its sensual eroticism. The smells of drink and drugs in the room, the moist and dank air, the growling and shrieking of the people, the feel of his wooden geta against his feet—it all converged with sharp sensation at the focal point of Mugen's attention: Jin.

Riding the wave of his reflexes, Mugen flipped through the air, feet set to land squarely on Jin's chest. Jin dodge though, with a swish of black hair, rebutting with a kick that Mugen rolled away from without thinking.

Attack. Dodge. Attack. Dodge.

They danced about each other, though each to a different song—Jin's a traditional ballad of strength and grace and Mugen's a hip-hop jive that refused to be contained by normal conventions. If Mugen had been thinking, he might have considered how strange it was that they could have such different styles and yet be so evenly matched.

But Mugen wasn't thinking.

He was feeling. And the feeling was freedom. Uncontained. Uncontrolled. Impossible for anyone to steal. Jin could feel it too. Mugen saw the smile and knew. It was the same smile Jin had worn the first time they had ever fought, before that battle was sliced in half by a fire. That smile of a demon.

Attack. Dodge. Attack. Dodge.

And then finally, there was contact: Mugen tried to swing around Jin to catch him with a body slam behind the knees, but Jin was already turning, arm outstretched. It was too late to change trajectory, momentum driving Mugen forward into that arm, which was lined up with Mugen's chest. Mugen swung a foot up into Jin's unguarded side, as he felt the sudden impact to the ribcage. Both grunted and stumbled backward—Mugen scurrying on the floor, trying to force air back into his lungs, and Jin clutching his side.

A feral grin played on Mugen's lips. "So now we get to finally see who's the better fighter, eh buddy?"

Jin returned the grin. "Perhaps."

They re-engaged their fighting, resuming the pattern of attack, dodge, attack, dodge…

"Perhaps? What the hell does that mean?" Mugen rolled out of the way of a kick.

"It means that our skill with swords will remain untested."

There was adrenaline speeding through Mugen's veins, and he pushed it into his legs as he dove toward Jin, toppling him onto the floor and landing on top of him: "I don't need a sword to kill you."

A knee to the groin make Mugen gasp—he hadn't expected a move like that from Jin—and in the momentary daze, Jin managed to plant a foot on Mugen's stomach to pry him off. Mugen tumbled backwards, but ended the roll on his feet, wincing at his new soreness.

"WOULD YOU GUYS STOP IT ALREADY!" The voice was loud and shrill and Mugen definitely didn't have to look to know who it was.

Jin, on the other hand, turned his attention for the smallest of moments. It was a golden opportunity. Mugen spun around, following a punch with a kick and ending it all with a head butt that made a resounding 'crack'.

Jin crumpled to the floor.

Dazed and stumbling a little from the head butt, Mugen managed to steady himself enough to force his vision out of plurality. Just outside of the ropes surrounding the fighting ring stood Fuu, her face contorted in rage. He thought he saw steam pouring out of her ears in thick streams, but it might have just been from all the Opium the spectators were piping.

"Hey, thanks Fuu. I guess you are good for something." He gave her what he thought must be a friendly smile.

She didn't seem to think so. He watched as she climbed between the ropes into the ring. Her lips were pressed tightly together and she wasn't saying anything.

Fuu not saying anything? That never happened.

She was in front of him now, less than a foot away. Her voice was low and threatening when she did finally speak. "You, are an idiot."

And then she punched him. He hadn't realized Fuu could actually punch but he knew it then, as the room started to blur and converge on a point of darkness.

And as his head smacked into the ground and he lost consciousness, he had one last thought: "No way in hell I just got beat by a girl…"

The crowd was laughing him a lullaby.