Look! It's Benimaru!" screamed a nearby gaggle of giggling girls.
"Why, hello there, ladies," Benimaru not so much said as let the words waft on the air, and waved a hand carelessly, smiling in a manner so handsome it's a surprise he's yet to trademark it.
And handsome he was, with his long, flowing hair, and his smooth, shining skin. Dressed in a black, ab-showing tank-top and matching pants, Benimaru seemed to be the epitome of style and handsomeness.
"You've made it all the way to the semifinals! You're so amaaaazing!" The girls fawned, speaking in chorus as though rehearsed, the pitch of their voices rising and falling like a sine wave.
Benimaru shrugged in a continually handsome manner.
"What can I sa-hurk!" a painfully familiar hand grabbed Benimaru by the collar, dragging him away (much to the dismay of the girls).
The hand dragging him belonged to the arm which belonged to the body of a fellow teammate. The body was obviously feminine, yet cold as ice in demeanor and persona. The body (who, by the way, is named Elizabeth Blanctorche) was distinctly French, with fair, pale skin and stiff, short black hair. The body was covered by a uniform which looked very suitable for a person of nobility, with stiff velvet pants and a crisp white uniform. In her non-Benimaru-dragging hand, she carried a riding crop. She had a certain air of unwanted prettiness, an aura that said, "regardless of whether or not I'm attractive, if you hit on me I will punch you until your face caves in."
As the two entered the room off-limits to all but them, they were greeted by another persona. This persona was strikingly different than the other two, and indeed most personas in general. To start, his skin was pale, but not a healthy pale. It was a grey, unsettling pale, as though life had long left his vessel. His attire was no less unsettling: his hair was done in a ponytail with lavish (if dark) decorations on the crown of his head, and he was clad, head to toe, in a dark robe with decals of various dragons sewn throughout the outfit. This, combined with his long, pointy fingers that almost looked like spear points, gave him the appearance of a streamline, not a body, but a single flowing mass. As the clincher to his miasmatic appearance, his left foot was bent, twisted inward at an absurd, painful-looking degree. Despite this, he was perfectly comfortable, and could walk or even run (granted, his foot would straighten out a fair deal first) quite well. This strange attire and seeming self-mutilation was no mere whim, for he was a member of the Hizoku clan, where such appearances were very par. Here, however, they were not par, and he looked even more out of place next to the fair French woman and blonde-haired playboy.
"Why do we keep this gigolo on our team?" Elizabeth interrogated.
"Perhaps because he's a skilled fighter, who despite his appearance, knows when to get down to business." Duo Lon responded in a lithe voice.
"'knows when to get down to business'? He was just out there swooning some air headed fan girls! The semifinals are in minutes!"
"Hmm."
"Hey, if it means anything to you, they came after me," Benimaru attempted to defend himself.
"Silence!" Elizabeth corrected.
"Contestants report to the semifinals within the next 10 minutes," came the crackled voice of the PA system.
"Well, that's our cue to leave," went Benimaru, glad to have been saved from the imminent chastisement. The three fighters headed to the semifinals area, but Elizabeth had a bad feeling about the upcoming match. With each progressive match in the tournament, there had been less and less people, and the rules made less and less of a difference. Confirming Elizabeth's fears, the "arena" for the semifinals match was a dark back alley without a single spectator. The only thing there was a small red light which was to go off when the match was to begin.
Across the other side were their opponents, almost as motley a team as Elizabeth's. A Chinese thug, a wispy, gray-haired Frenchman (Elizabeth bore no small deal of chagrin for such a malevolent being sharing the same nativity as she), and a short-haired Irishman with formal clothing. The hero team, they called themselves. By their taking of the Yata Mirror and going after the remaining sacred treasures, they were slowly undermining the power that held Orochi, the legendary eight-headed serpent monster, in captivity for eighteen hundred years. Already, Elizabeth had felt the increasing power of the Orochi. They had to act fast. This was their chance to stop them.
Benimaru looked at his rivals in front of him. Strange that he should call them that, considering that it was Benimaru's team that went by the name "rivals." He did not dwell on Ash Crimson for long; he had spent his fair deal of time contemplating his actions. Rather, he bemusedly surveyed Ash's current team, taking note of the stark contrast between the two. "Business and pleasure," he thought. "One considers us mere obstacles in his way, obstacles which happen to move, breathe, and fight quite fiercely. The other looks like a kid waiting in a long line for something." Indeed, Shen was tapping his foot impatiently, as though his angry demeanor would speed the operating of the fist-sized cherry-red light.
Duo Lon crossed his arms, examining the replacement they had found for him. "I know his type," he found himself saying. "They see their opponents as particularly large checks, just waiting to be fought into submission so they could be dragged to the bank, deposited, and used to fund a mansion large enough to house an entire African nation." He noted Ash staring at him angrily, any trace of waifishness gone from his stature. "Well, looks like you chose well, Ash," Duo Lon considered, as though holding a mental conversation with him, "no use hiding my double-agent nature, now that I'm teamed with your two largest rivals, is there?"
Ash leaned forward. Shen brought a hand down on Ash's shoulder. "Lemme go first!" He commanded. Ash turned, preparing to contradict him, but then figured that the later he goes, the less he has to do. "Very well." Ash took a step back and waived a hand invitingly at his previous position. Shen accepted it eagerly. At the other end of the alley, Duo Lon took the leader position.
A fist-sized cherry-red light flashed.