Blood and Steel

Jets roared as the plane took off into the sky. Shaking both the earth and heaven's, almost commanding the gods to respect the innovative nature of humans. Perhaps that served as the reason humans were creatures obsessed with creating things of grandiose. The largest buildings, vehicles, weapons of mass destruction; humans possessed a subconscious understanding of how vast the sky was in comparison. That they are nothing but specks of sand. And even beyond the endless heaven's lied realms they would never comprehend. Life. Death. The ocean. Mysteries surrounded humans. So they could only create beacons in the endless darkness. Perhaps he was no different. There he stood, staring through the wide glass of the airport, watching planes ascend into an ocean of blue. Bang felt like an insect in the presence of large metallic birds. Heart pounding. He felt weak, insignificant before them.

"My love! How was your flight?" A man questioned from behind, which was followed by the uncomfortable sound of a kiss. Bang peered from his peripherals. The sickening display of two who overcame distance to rekindle love.

"How can they," He thought. be so happy? Maybe his stomach twisted and churned for different reasons. Like watching someone else enjoy a magnificent meal while snacking on a piece of bread. Bang turned away swiftly, touching the hilt of the silver epee hanging from his waist in a crimson sleeve. He felt the energy within raging. But remained calm amongst a furious storm. His eyes lowered. Memories of silver blades crossing, the exhilarating sensation of dueling. Of battle. Blood. The pounding of steps advancing and retreating. His racing heartbeat picking up speed, igniting the blood in his veins as he lunges forward. From the storm came a certain warmth. A warmth that allowed him to break the chains binding him to the couple embracing, and walk towards the exit.

"I haven't been here in years." said Bang, reminiscing the day he decided to leave his home in Beijing. The city was as overcrowded as ever, and the poor swordsman could barely understand the Cantonese speaking natives. So he decided to use the traditional signs for guidance. Exiting the airport and heading towards the street. Bang saw the gambling casino's and tourist attractions from a considerable distance. Not a bad place to have a vacation before heading back to class in Japan. But gambling was his last idea. No. He wanted to duel. To battle.

"Macau Fencing School." Silver pounding against silver, reeling wire, the occasional buzzer and a green light. The smell of cloth and euphoric trace of metal. Bang felt at home. He watched men and women dressed in white with only a black mask dance to and from, across the piste. Different conversations, various intentions. He could read them; understand the language that duelers spoke. Unspoken words yet powerful emotions. His blood started to rush, he almost leapt onto the piste like a wild man. But Bang managed to restrain himself and left to get dress. Upon returning, he noticed the other fencers watch him move towards an empty piste with eyes of confusion.

Who is he?

Where is he from

Why is he so tall?

I wonder gym socks yellow donkey?

Bang gathered through his own broken comprehension of Cantonese. But he only smiled at the spectators while grasping a mask beneath his arm. Painted on it was a beastly face that belonged to something beyond human. "Rènhé tiǎozhànzhě ma. (Any challengers?)"

"Wǒ shòu. (I accept.)" A reply that broke the tense, thick, choking silence surrounding the spectators. Bang turned towards his opponent and smiled. The man was taller, built like a tank. No doubt older than Bang and in his prime. The masked opponent stepped onto the piste, hooked up the wiring and met at the first line where both opponents checked the guards of their blades. "Wǒ jiào wáng jūn, wǒ shì cóng chéngdū. Nǐ jiào shènme mìngzi. (My name is Zhang Jun, I'm from Chengdu. What is your name?)"

Ironic. The man who could cast a shadow over Bang to be named Zhang Jun. But Bang has defeated an army before. A horde of demons and beast from the darkest nightmares. "Wǒ jiào Wèi Mèng. wǒ shì cóng Niǔyuē (My name is Wei Meng. I am from New York.) The two fencers went to the beginning positions and saluted one another. Zhang Jun, before putting on his mask smiled and spoke in a thick voice. "Your mandarin is excellent. Not what I expect from a westerner."

"Thank you, but I was born and raised in Beijing. My parents are the one's from New York." Bang corrected politely.

"I see. Well you're a refreshing visitor. So what do you say we start the show. The first to fifteen?" Zhang Jun galloped forward with an impressive boost in his step. Both feet pounding against the strip as he approached. But Bang smirked behind the darkened screen of his mask. He stood in proper stance, widened and lowered, with his feet forming a perpendicular formation. Bang's elbow was kept about a fist's distance away from his hip, with an arm pointed towards his opponent. To the fencer, his sword was an extended attachment to his body. Within measure, Zhang Jun extended into a half-hearted thrust aimed at Bang's upper right.

"Dueling is rarely like they show in Anime." He remembered. "It's a dance, a conversation between two swordsman without the necessity of words. Powering up and charging at the enemy is spewing nonsense; thus creating holes in the argument for the opponent to exploit." Bang found Zhang Jun's forte with his own foible and added pressure. The familiar sensation of colliding metal, vibration of two swords gliding against one another was orgasmic. He guided the approaching epee into the outside line and prepared to retort with a counter. But Zhang Jun had halted his step and leapt out of Bang's reach. Narrowly avoiding the touch.

Bang advanced Zhang Jun retreated, remaining outside of Bang's middle measure. Yet Zhang Jun's incredibly long arm managed to command more distance. "The more he keeps me back, the harder it is for me to strike." Bang thought. He took a half-step forward, leaning into the beginning stance of a lunge but halted and returned into normal En Garde. Zhang Jun had took the bait and shot outwards into a full extension, keeping Bang at the mercy of the tip. . "That's how long his reach is without lunging."

Bang advanced, parried the extension and attempted to gain more distance by stepping forward. But Zhang Jun, who already commanded the gap between the two, answered with another retreat. "Now!" Bang's sword shot outwards as his front foot followed shortly. A powerful lunge but Zhang Jun had already prepared for it. "You can't evade this." Bang thought, smiling as Zhang Jun realized the inevitable truth. He was cornered. Another step would result in falling off the piste. So he was forced to parry the strike. Bang manipulated his fingers masterfully, dropping the blade beneath the oncoming sword and repositioning it towards Zhang Jun's upper left arm.

Beep.

The first touch belonged to Bang. Both combatants returned to the starting line and stepped into En Garde.

"Allez."

A mountain standing firmly against raging winds. Zhang Jun was unmoving. Even though Bang extended his blade continuously, the monstrous fencer kept a solid composure. Zhang Jun launched himself forward into a lunge, but Bang leapt backwards out of range.

Bang focused upon maintaining his footing against the mountain standing before him. Light footwork that resembled a leaf in a tornado, yet firm as the tree from which it fell. He would approach Zhang Jun's blade, bait a thrust, and jump out of range. His body constantly bopping, prepared to shift from stillness to motion without a second thought. Although his opponent's reach was massive enough to grasp a portion of the piste, Bang had faced larger enemies in more restricting situations. And he knew how to handle opponents who relied on overwhelming size.

"I'm all yours!" Bang launched forwards, entering the opponent's measure without a sign of halting. He kept his epee downwards, revealing a crucial opening. An easy point. Zhang Jun extended hungrily at his throat but Bang, using the forte of the epee, guided the oncoming sword away from his body and continued onwards. Now he was within the area between the tip of the sword and his enemy's body. While Zhang Jun attempted to escape, Bang shifted his wrist and fell into an explosive lunge Sending the sword plummeting into the panicking mountain's stomach.

Beep.

"He's...he's so fast." Onlookers started to whisper in awe, not quite sure of what they had witnessed. Bang quickly returned to the starting line and smiled.

"Allez."

Bang advanced but kept out of measure, analyzing Zhang Jun's posture. His body bopped forward and backwards, kept in an eternal loop of hyperactive mess. "Hm. Taller opponents tend to be top heavy. Which means..." His feet started to bang lightly against the piste as he leapt forwards into position. But his opponent ignored the bait and remained unmoving, only maneuvering the epee so that it would keep Bang a certain distance away. Bang continued dancing with Zhang Jun's sword, forcing him to move it into different positions. Yet returned to the starting position. He retreated, forcing Zhang Jun to advance in order to remain within a specific measure. "So you're not entirely scared." Bang thought. "No you're waiting for me to become aggressive so that you can counter from afar."

"Fine. If you want to dance, then I'll be your partner."

"Second-intention. A fencer's greatest technique."

Bang advanced rapidly but kept the tip pointed towards the ground, revealing the porcelain thread of his jacket. His back foot remained only connected to the ground by the tip, pushing the fencer into his active formation.

The world shifted around Bang. No longer was he embraced in a friendly duel. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils. He could taste the coppery liquid. Twisted and distorted bodies impaled with silver blades, chopped into pieces. Was this war? Was this battle? Monsters crept from crevices and attacked the spectators. Flames flickered around the two fencer's who remained unfazed by the hellish scenery. Instead, Bang's eyes were locked onto the massive demon who wielded an epee similar in design to his own. It goaded him with its size. Sharp teeth. A tongue that would choke anything caught in its grasp. Claws covered in blood. He should be afraid...But for some odd reason he felt something else. Alone in this strange world, faced with a monster, his heart began to accelerate. Blood igniting. Fire within. Power. He felt alive.

Zhang Jun jumped forward off his front foot into an forceful extension. His body propelling itself as the epee shot towards the revealed chest.

The demon approached Bang like an arrow shot from a tense bow. Soaring through the air towards the fencer's chest. However, he me the approaching monstrosity with a calm visage. Bang sprung backwards and fell into a squat; kneeling beneath its sword he extended his arm upwards. Sending the sword into the demon's wrist.

Beep.

Bang watched as Zhang Jun and the onlookers stood in shock. A sea of whispers emerged, hinting of awe and fear. Confusion and admiration. "How could someone dodge a Flèche so easily?" Spectators were in shock. "Did you see that green flicker?"

"Perhaps I...kind of went overboard with that one." Bang noted, calming the rustling power within. "I'm supposed to be on vacation anyway." Both opponents returned to their previous stance.

Allez.

And such the match began once more. Blades clashing, footsteps tapping lightly during strikes. The sound of clashing guards and the occasional beep after a skillful touch.

"This seems like a decent place to grab something to eat." said Bang. While his uniform was left at the hotel, he kept the epee wrapped tightly upon his waist. He felt helpless without it. The silver weapon resonated the fencer's influence. They shared the same memories, same existence. Bang could never step outside without being nearby.

"Welcome." A hostess greeted Bang as he opened the door. He noted her accent and smiled. Bang found a nearby empty space at the bar and sat, ordering a soda.

The Gamble
The sound of dice cracking across the hard surface of the table cut through the thick atmosphere of the gambling parlor, and the corner of Kyang-jae’s mouth twitched when he saw the number. Starting with a roll of ten, he counted to his left, split the wall of green-backed tiles, and took four from the top of the row. The small, wood cube on the corner of the table was face up on the Chinese character for “north,” denoting his status as the final dealer, and he stood the four selected tiles up in front of him casually, easily drawing on his cigarette as he keenly watched the other gamblers make their respective moves. The faces of the players were shrouded by a murky halo created by smoke and dim, incandescent, light, softening the hard lines that betrayed their tense expressions. Kyang-jae smirked, although inwardly he felt the tight pinch of anxiety around his stomach. 5,800 yuan was a fair-sized pot, and in his opinion, well worth the fifteen rounds of Mahjong, two cigarettes, and a cup of tea that had tasted like diluted tar. As he inwardly counted the points he had so far, he heard the man to his right groan as he placed his head in between his hands.

“Tough luck huh.” he commented wryly. The man only groaned again in response. The old woman to Kyang-jae’s left cackled as she turned over a set, and the blurry-eyed, 40-something man across from her—the one who apparently had started with a bad hand— fidgeted uncomfortably. But in the end, the only one who mattered to Kyang-jae was the “businessman” who sat across from him. Overweight, balding, and glistening in a dark suit, his presence could be described as a failed attempt at intimidation. Still, Kyang-jae knew he was a man of some means. By the aggressive slouch of his shoulders and the way his thick stubs of fingers traced the tiles in his hand, he could tell the man was used to getting his way. To make matters worse, due to an over-draw penalty that he had been charged during one of the previous rounds, he stood to lose the most in the game, and Kyang-jae imagined the man had turned to some form of cheating in order to gain his current two-point lead. But even if the businessman had a good hand, as long as Kyang-jae won the round, the pot would be his.

“Gang,” Kyang-jae suddenly declared as he snatched up a tile from the middle of the table to complete a set. He turned the four matching tiles face-up in front of him and noticed as the businessman narrowed his eyes and mutter something to his stone-faced assistant hovering by his shoulder. This was why he hated playing high-class. For one, the business suit and assistant were far too conspicuous when compared to the stained green carpet of the table and greasy interior of the casino, and Kyang-jae had the uneasy feeling that he was skirting on the edge of the underworld... again.

The game moved quickly, and time blurred into hazy irrelevance. Even in the cool, dark interior of the casino, the sticky humidity of late July was pressing in thick around them, and Kyang-jae felt the slightest irritation begin to build in the center of his chest. He once more shuffled his tiles into position in front of him, then yawned loudly and stretched back in his seat. As he had intended, this seemed to further irritate the man across from him. Anything to make him lose his focus. Kyang-jae was close: yet he knew the opponent across from him was close as well. If he could find one last stone tile, the victory would be his. The businessman drew from one of the walls and there was a smile in the corner of his mouth. It’s probably a bluff, Kyang-jae brushed it aside. He needed to focus on his own hand: specifically on keeping his own hand steady, as it was shaking slightly despite the nicotine flooding his veins. It wasn’t that he was concerned about the outcome of the game: after all he was a professional, and professionals did not lose their cool. That is at least what he placated himself with, but he could still feel the sweat that had gathered at his sideburns and the smoke tasted sour in his mouth. He quickly gauged the tiles that were in the center, the ones that had been turned over by his adversaries, and the neat rows of unknowns that gleamed at him from the table like glistening teeth. It was up to chance now: sheer luck would determine whether he could discover the missing piece or not. It could be anywhere.

As he considered this, tracing his thumb over the row of tiles absently, the old woman sniffed with disgust and discarded a tile in the center. At first he didn’t even register what it was, but as soon as he recognized the distinctive symbols painted on its surface, his heart skipped a beat. It was a stone tile. He blinked, and then like lightning snatched it up and, without a shred of ceremony, snapped the three matching tiles face-up on the table. The hand was laid out in front of the other players: Three stones, a run of four, two dragons and three wind tiles.

He had won. And had won solidly at that.

“Done.” he stated flatly, consciously keeping the edge of relief out of his voice. The others groaned in defeat as they turned over their remaining tiles. Tokens traded hands, and Kyang-jae felt full with the satisfaction of success.

“Bastard,” the businessman snarled from across the table.

“Ah come on, don’t look so upset. I’m sure you’ll have better luck in the next round,” Kyang-jae grinned. The woman cackled maniacally at this, and the tint of the man’s face became slightly red. He stood up abruptly, slamming his ringed fist into the surface of the table before turning sharply to leave. His assistant glowered at Kyang-jae before following his employer, and Kyang-jae caught the glimmer of steel beneath his jacket in the dim light. With a sinking feeling he realized that he had probably just pissed off the wrong guy. It wasn’t until the businessman left the building that Kyang-jae also realized that he had been holding in his breath.

Kyang-jae stepped outside the casino, pausing to thumb through the stack of bills in his hand before folding them and carefully stashing the wad away in his jacket. Shoving his hands into his pockets and slouching with a distinctive, habitual posture—a remnant of his past— he started off, completely wrapped up in his own thoughts. He had determined that the businessman, whose name he had bribed from the floor manager, could not pose that much of a threat. After all, he had thrown away 2,000 yuan in a game of Mahjong, and Kyang-jae assumed he had not been too bright to begin with. Still, it would not hurt him to be cautious, and as he continued on his meandering path to nowhere in particular, he kept a wary eye out in case he had been followed.

Somewhat aimlessly, Kyang-jae wandered through the streets of northern Macau. The sun was just beginning to set somewhere on the west horizon, but its oily radiance that smudged orange and yellow across the sky was blocked by the towering office buildings and apartments that crowded in close to each other on either side of the street. Each avenue was a patchwork of aging concrete, relatively new block housing, rusted tin doors, plastic tarps stretched across roofs, curbs choked with parked cars, and buildings that seemed to sag from the weight of the bars over their windows and balconies. Strings of laundry crossed alleyways like strands of prayer flags, and the rain from earlier that afternoon had downed the pollution, allowing him to see the deep blue tint of the darkening sky. The scent of the air was electric, the puddles or rainwater in the street shone like gold, but Kyang-jae felt detached from it all. He didn’t want to return home, but he had nothing productive to do and wasn’t particularly hungry. Maybe he would hit up a bar, or even a nightclub, or perhaps he would just find a bench somewhere to watch the people pass by. The night was still young and he was bored and restless.

As he drifted past the darkened windows of a storefront he saw his own ghost in the reflection of the glass. Due to its dark tint his normally red eyes shone black, and even to himself he appeared haunted and transient. Kyang-jae shrugged the feeling off and instead used the window as a mirror to fix his hair. He was considering lighting another cigarette when he froze, noticing a man in sunglasses on the corner across from him for the first time. Narrowing his eyes, he recognized his shadow as the assistant who had accompanied the businessman back at the casino.

“Ah shit,” he muttered to himself. He moved on quickly, but was careful to keep his pace as unhurried as it had been before. The man in sunglasses was joined by another, and from the way they followed him Kyang-jae assumed that they were hired muscle, not hitmen... hopefully. He had not been expecting the businessman to take such drastic measures. Obviously, this was no longer a question of money but a question of pride. In other words, they were there to “put him in his place.” Now the real issue at hand was how to lose them.

Kyang-jae was not overly familiar with his current location, and this served to hinder him as he wound through the streets, trying to keep one step ahead of his pursuers while maintaining a calm exterior. But even after all the precautions he had taken, they managed to gain on him. Then, after skirting around the edge of an intersection he lost track of one of his followers, and realized they had probably split up in order to try and hedged him in.

The plan worked.

Soon, Kyang-jae found himself pinned with one of the men behind him and one on the other end of the street in front of him. Muttering profanities under his breath, he darted into a side alleyway and crouched behind a metal trashcan, hoping he would be passed by. But when he heard the approaching footsteps and saw the flickering shadows across the ground ahead of them, he knew his luck had run out. Still, Kyang-jae wanted to avoid a direct confrontation, if at all possible. He knew he was trapped within the alley that boxed him in, but he also knew that moving at high speeds would alert any spiritually aware beings in the area to his presence, and would undoubtedly draw Hollows to his spiritual pressure like a beacon. His options were quickly spreading thin.

“He went this way,” one of the men commented in a low voice. Kyang-jae breathed in deeply, grit his teeth, and began to pull on the soul of the ground beneath his feet. And, when the first man came into view, he sprang.

Unfortunately, Kyang-jae had added a bit too much power behind the jump, and he ended up soaring at least ten feet above their heads before landing behind his pursuers. The force of the impact was enough for the pavement to crack beneath his feet, and as he straightened up Kyang-jae felt the two men’s eyes boring into the back of his head in utter disbelief.

“Well you know, since I’ve got an audience I might as well put on a show.” he said, attempting to brush off the superhuman feat. His pursuers, stirred from their stupor, simply rushed at him, and he took off at a dead-sprint in the opposite direction.

“Coward!” he heard one of them yell after him. But Kyang-jae’s stamina as a Fullbringer allowed him to quickly outpace the other two men. Weaving his way through a crowded street and turning sharply, he was finally able to escape from their line of sight. Thinking quickly, he ducked into the nearest store to lose them once and for all.

He found himself in a small restaurant, and from the crowded interior knew he had picked the right place to hide. Kyang-jae quickly slid into a booth, keeping a watchful eye on the street outside. But he was distracted by the waitress who had quickly approached him, apparently a bit flustered that he had taken the liberty of seating himself.

“What do you want?” she demanded. She spoke with a bit of an accent: it was hard to place but Kyang-jae assumed she was not from southern China. Taiwan perhaps? He did not even know why he had picked up on that oddity, and he shook his head to refocus.

“For starters, how about a smile?” he asked smoothly as he tried to whittle his way into her good graces. The only response she gave was a pointed glare, and Kyang-jae cleared his throat uneasily and reached into his pocket.

“Coffee, black is fine.” he said as he handed her a somewhat generous sum. “And it’d be great if you don’t let anyone know I’m here, I kind of want to be alone.” he said. The waitress stared at the money in her hand, then back at Kyang-jae with a knowing look before she started to move on to the next table. “Unless I could be alone with you?” he couldn’t resist adding. As was to be expected, he was completely ignored.

Kyang-jae glanced back towards the street, but so far he had seen know signs of the two men following him. He sighed and settled back into his seat, allowing himself to relax after the narrow escape. But then, in the corner of his mind, he sensed an all-too familiar presence from somewhere within the restaurant. The feeling was so faint he almost missed it entirely. Yet it was there, burning like a bright point of pressure which could not be easily ignored. The subtly-tainted Reiatsu was clearly human, and greatly resembled that of his own presence.

There was another Fullbringer there, of that he was certain.

To make matters worse, at the same moment he became aware of the new threat, Kyang-jae recalled that he happened to hate coffee, of any kind, despite having just ordered it.

“Damn it all,” he mumbled aloud.