In a ring beneath a covered dome two warriors enter for combat. Like gladiators from some distant time, the two have come to make war upon each other. One stands while the other arrives. The thunder echoing outside the stadium foreshadows the violence about to arrive. A golden warrior, a child of the lion and the unicorn, stands with his fist above head. The warrior of bloodiest red opens the door and walks down the stairs. Shaded by his cloak of darkness, the red warrior has come to another man home to take away the other man's respect.
The cloak falls and slanted eyes glance into orbs of solid blue sky. There is a pause between the two fighters. Unsaid words were spoken in that hallowed silence, the silence beneath the storm above the dome, which is the silence before the true storm. Before havoc, when dogs are still upon their leash. Muscles tense and neither shall make his move. Two men, two great bulls, are about to charge into one another. One shall fall and the other shall rise in victory over another's broken body.
An unsung bell echoes in their minds and the two advance upon another. The spirit of England and Korea come into conflict as national pride sounds through the stadium without an audience. Pride, love, rage, torment, hate, aggression are all unleashed as the two merge into a singular force of nature. Cold and hot fronts come into contact and the tornado is sown. No longer a battle of mere men, but of giants claiming for the title of supremacy.
Low and high, left and right, these two bash into one another. Blood and sweat fill the air with a pungent scent, but none notice. So focused are these two battlers, these two pillars of human might, that even if they were both blind, it would not have affected their skills. Their bond in battle is an unknown bond, the bond, which rival warriors have for one another. They do not really hate one another, for hatred is a form of weakness. It is simply their duty to battle. They cannot stop it from happening, for it was written they would battle before they were even born.
Fists of lightning and feet of feet like hail batter the bodies. There is no thought of technique or strategy, for such things do not belong in nature. It is a primal force that makes these two men fight. This primal force lives in their young and hot blood. It burns them from the inside and they have no choice, but to obey. They have no choice, but to fight and hurt their fellow man. They have no choice, but to harm their own brother. Man exists to harm his brother, to take his land, to burn his crop, to steal his children, to mount his brother's skull upon his gates. These desires have echoed in out blood, since the time of our creation. The desires burn us to the point where nothing is left, until we are cold slabs of stone with no affection for one another.
White or yellow, it matters not. We are all men and we are all victims of the darkness that exists within all men. The storm that brews between these valiant souls is nothing more than the storm that brews between us all. It maybe our behavior, it maybe our wealth, it maybe our caste, it may even be our separate places in the cafeteria line, man will always find a reason to harm his brother. It is not hate, since it is the desire for power.
The storm rages on outside as it does inside. Trees are torn from their roots as a fist strikes a chin. Newspapers are blown across the courtyard as a foot connects with a solar plexus. No longer are they thinking, it becomes all natural, all instinct. The desire to bash, crush, smash and kill, kill, kill surges through their blood. Brake, hurt, bloody, maim, wreck, tear, and shatter.
Muscles were ripped and tendons were torn, while outside glass and metal was bent. Thunder boomed in the background as these two warriors attacked one another. Bones cracked from the continuous beatings both men received from one another. The lion and the unicorn did battle with the yin and the yang, until they had become raw. Swathed in uniforms of rage and torment, these two followed no rules. Ribs were split and necks were strained, but in the end neither felt any pain. With so much adrenaline pumping through their systems, they felt nothing.
No longer were the distinguishable from the corpses one would find in a horrific accident. Blood drenched their bodies, but still the continued. Crimson liquid spilled over their shoulders from giant cuts in their forehead. They stopped dodging and feinting. They stopped their continuous combinations.
It had become a monotonous fight, going back and forth, like the dying of a storm. First a fist was thrown and then a kick was thrown. Slowly and meekly, they went back and forth. Over and over again, in utter boredom they moved on. Strike was followed by strike. They began to grunt after hitting one another. Their wills were unbreakable, but their bodies were simply too strained to continue.
With one final movement, both men balled their hands into fists. The boxer threw an uppercut at his adversary's chin, while the red warrior bought a hammerfist down on his opponent's forehead. It was a tense moment as both men looked into the eyes of one another only to find mirror reflections of themselves in one another. Outside one final boom of thunder echoed as the fight ended. Both men, too exhausted to continue fell at the same time.
It was quiet and both would sleep a good rest. They were finally taken to a hospital and it would be a while before either required. No one stole the other's respect and in that they find that they were equals. The fist and the foot. The lion and the yang. The unicorn and the ying. The west and the east. They were brothers from that day forward. Broken they were and together they helped build each other up.
Together they would grow as flowers begin to grow after the storm is over. The damage would always be there, but the land would heal as their hearts would heal. Perhaps the reason for fighting shall never be truly discovered, but it is necessary. They shed blood with one another and they became a single entity at that moment. They shared the same thoughts and the same fury, bonding them forever. They were brothers in every sense of the word, for as William Shakespeare would say, "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, For he to-day that sheds his with me shall be my brother."