The crowd of spectators at the tryouts for the Young Dragon Martial Arts Tournament watched each competitor try to make the required indent on the boulders to participate. Most eyes had stared at the young boy who now stood third in line, waiting patiently for his turn. Rumor had spread through the crowd that he was another of the expected child prodigies, but what sect he hailed from was a complete mystery.
He stood out like a sore thumb among the other competitors. He was short and slim, with little muscle bulge on his arms. He wore a light grey gi coat over a torn white t-shirt with long cotton pants of the same grey color. The boy's face held a surreal and mystified expression of someone on drugs, with an occasional smile twitching from his lips. His hair fell in thick spikes over his face and neck, each colored a different shade of black, grey and silver.
His eyes played an illusion that he had no pupils, only a glassy and pale blue iris. At his waist was a thick leather belt and holsters for his weapons.
At his hips rested two long tonfa blades. Both were made of a mysterious razor sharp metal that shined even in the faintest of light. The handle was wrapped with thick leather that gave a firm grasp to the weapon for better maneuverability and agility. The long blades that descended towards the floor were eight inches lon decorated in different runes and symbols. Some claimed it infused unnatural powers into the blade.
"Next!"
An excitement rippled through the crowd as the boy stepped up to the boulder, the same dreamy expression remaining on his face. He took a basic stance, lifting his fists to the air. In the blink of an eye, his knuckles were connected to the boulder, and his face suddenly turned serious. Not a sound had been made, yet their was a deep round dent made into the granite. A few crumbles of rock dropped on the floor as he slowly pulled back his hand to his chest. A long crack grew along the face of the boulder, and suddenly it fell into dust and hundreds of tiny pieces.
"Pa….pass…" The judge declared, still staring open mouthed at the pile of rubble. The boy walked away, grabbing a certificate as he walked out from the try outs.
A murmur of excitement traveled through the watching crowd. Many swore they felt a chill wind cause them to shiver before he had made his punch.
"What's his name?" one wondered aloud.
"They say he signed the papers as Neme (neem), of the Hing chen sect."
The first day of the tournament and Neme was separated into the group two, along with the many dark sect competitors. He leaned against a pillar as he listened to the instructions, the same dreamy expression fixated upon his face as his eyes traveled among the others, scouting out the competition with his other senses.
Someone caught his eye amongst them, one with long red hair. He wore a black vest and pants, with a thin sword chained to his back. The power eminating from him was immense…beyond anything he had ever felt before.
The boy suddenly turned around and locked eyes with Neme. They stared at each until the man at the podium told them to draw numbers from a large bucket with a number of sticks inside. Neme received 11. The red head received nine. At least he would have a warm up before fighting any one as powerful as that.
"Those of you holding numbers one through nine, please go out into the competition arena," the man at the podium announced. Half of the fighters left, leaving the few to talk, grumble and wait for their turn.
Neme remained leaning against the wall, closing his eyes and training his mind to focus to pass the time. His ears picked up the fights outside, paying special attention to the one between the red head and another with an extending elastic sword. The battle lasted little less then ten minutes, with a giant explosion of dark energy eminating at it's end.
"Constentants with numbers ten through sixteen, please go out to the arena!" the man at the podium called. There was a rustle of movement as the rest of the competitors left outside, glancing down at there numbers, wondering who received the same.
Neme watched as he crossed paths with Majeh as he walked to the arena, glancing deep into the boys eyes, and saw only darkness. It was a sign of a reincarnated body.
The cheers and yells of the crowd hit his sensitive ears, causing him to cringe with the blast of noise before his hearing adjusted to adapt to the cries of the audience.
Neme handed his number to one of the ceremony masters after listening to the rules of the fight. The man pointed to the third platform in the first row. Neme looked around at the arena, seeing many cheer with excitement as stepped up onto the platform, seeing his opponent on the opposite end.
The boy was tall and slim, and looked to be about eleven or so. He had no hair, only black tribal tattoo's branded to his dark skin. His brown eyes stared with determined anger at Neme, tightening his grip on the two slender sickles at his sides. He wore a simple brown vest and black baggy cotton pants over his toned body.
With swift movements, he clapped his weapons together and bowed. "I am Nego, of the Son Yo Gin," he said, introducing himself with a high pitched voice.
Neme clapped his hands and bowed in the same manner. "I am Neme, from the far mountain village."
"Then let us battle," Nego snarled, spinning his weapons in the air before charging forward with long leaps, his sickles swinging with menacing speed. Neme simply stepped to the left, dodging Nego as he flew by. The boy glanced over in anger at his miss.
"Your fast," he said, tightening his grip.
Neme nodded. "Faster then you," he taunted, his weapons still held at his sides.
"Dodge this!" Nego yelled, throwing his right sickle. The blade hissed through the air towards Neme's face. With a quick flash, a tonfa was in Neme's hand and the sickle clanged against metal instead of flesh. Another flash and Neme drew his weapon into the other hand.
"My turn," he said, crouching and straightening his tonfa blades, making them parallel with his arm. Suddenly he launched himself at Nego, and before the dark child could react, his cheek was met with fist and metal, and Nego went flying off the platform.
"The winner is Neme!" a ceremony master declared. Neme returned the tonfa's to there holsters, looking down upon his opponent that lay unconscious on the ground from one blow. Weaker then he could of guessed, Neme thought to himself. Neme glanced over at the watching crowd, sensing the eyes of the boy Majeh watching him.