Loaded Dice...

[The Cinderella Man]

((Closed to AsukaStrikes...))


How they used to cheer for him...

“And in the red corner...”

There were hundreds, thousands even, packed like sardines, faces and voices and clapping hands. A sea of them stretched at every side of the ring, visages with no names, voices with no origin, a ruckus of carnivores that came for one thing and one thing only. Blood. His, his opponent’s, it didn’t really matter as long as there was pain involved.

“...weighing no more then two hundred pounds...”

He despised them, profoundly loathed these leeches that fed on human misery and clapped like seals when you dislocated someone’s jaw. But he wasn’t in it for the money or the fame or to be loved by the disgusting mass that called him... What they used to call him?

“...The Architect of Dectruction...”

Yes, that was it. The Architect. The Architect that drew up blueprints that were supposed to take him to the top just so he could impress a sleazy man. Just so he would be worthy of his daughter, the lovely enticing Delilah. Thirteen victories, twelve by knockout, zero losses and one fight away from being the Scara Brae champion. The best. Because, after all, she deserved the best. Lovely Delilah with her lilies and her scent of jasmine and her hair as smooth as a velvet sheet. God, how he loved her. How he still loved her. He could still see those azure eyes, frowning on him for walking into her flower garden.

“...coming from our neighbor realm of Scara Brae...”

But Destiny had a different set of blueprints. His Delilah, the young lissome noble man’s daughter, a perfect being that he never even laid a hand on, was never really his. The distance was too great, the obstacles too high, the difference too distinct. “I’m going to go now for a while...” she said in her last message to him, the sloppy handwriting smudged with tears, and went she did. Out of his life, taking not a piece of his heart, but all of it. For Victor loved her the only way he knew; completely and utterly, almost like a child that believed in miracles, that believed that sky was the limit and that there was a way they could graze over its azure hue together. And without her, nothing worthy was left in the benevolent man. He went away, away from Scara Brae, away from her happiness and his sorrow.

“...with a score of fourteen victories, twelve by knockout, and six defeats...”

Yeah, those defeats certainly kept piling up. He didn’t have the flare anymore, as if somebody drained all of the zest and energy that rocketed him to the top only months ago. He fought like a bum, fought because it was the only thing he knew how to do, fought to feed himself and elongate the misery love afforded him. Old glory carried him for a while, the first couple of fights coming with big earnings despite his utter defeats. But it took only those couple of losses for all to see that Victor Callahan was no better then an average hobo when it came to fighting. Except he could take punches. And being a good punching bag could still earn a coin or two.

“...Victor Padre Callahan!!!”

The voice of the announcer, raspy as sandpaper and devoid of any emotions, finally finished the banal proclamation and Victor raised his right to the crowd. A pair of claps, a pair of boos, a pair of thumbs-up greeted him back. They were a miserable bunch, no more then a couple dozens of them, peering at him with those phlegmatic eyes. Half of them were here for the betting, the other half were probably bookies that rubbed their palms, knowing that “Padre” was about to lose another one. The place itself reeked like a gym bag with a pair of old socks and a rotten rat, with torches burning low and orange and the ropes as flexible as an old man’s hip. Wooden benches were an empty monotonous raster, their capacity not even close to being completely full. Up in the blue corner was a fat blob named Harry “Hammerhead” Winslow, a chubby fellow with a face only a mother could love and a left hook that a blind man could predict. Victor fought his kind with his left tied behind his back, circling, bouncing on his toes, evading and countering until not even a mother could recognize that ugly mug.

Nowadays? Nowadays Victor just didn’t care. He was here because he was hungry and food came with a price tag. Whether he won or lost didn’t really matter since he would get paid either way. So why bother trying hard? Why bother going all out and win, when two losses could earn you the same sum?

Announcer slash judge called them up to the middle of the ring, blurted out the rules that none of the fighters would obey and sent them to their corners. Victor knelt on one knee in his corner and bowed his head to his scarlet boxing gloves. It was a banal gesture, the one that procured him the nickname “Padre”, the one that reminded him of his father that was a preacher, the one that became a habit.

The bell ring was rusty and brown, giving out a muffled DOOOMGH! instead of a high-pitched DING! but both sounds meant the same. May the bloodshed commence.

[AsukaStrikes]

"Hello, sir. Do you happen to see..."

That was a few months ago, wandering outside something that looked like the piers. No luck that time. The locals there were more interested in her more than her inquiry, asking if she'd stay and work for them as the "mess hall mistress". Whatever that is.

"Um, excuse me, sir. Have you ever come across..."

That was about a week or so back while passing through a vineyard. No lead at all from that place, either. However, she did get invited to stay for a dinner by the owner's son. And by the ragged old man himself. She was uninterested in either staying or their wealth. There was nothing more to be gained.

"Um, sir? May I ask you if you've seen..."

That was just yesterday, jumping from tavern to tavern. Nothing new except for raucous laughters as to her prospects in a region-wide tournament the young girl had entered in her search for that one person. Batting away the drunken cat-calls and the bartender's offer to hire her as a barmaid, she left the establishments there as well.

"EXCUSE ME, mister. Have you seen anyone..."

That was a couple of hours earlier, talking to an elderly and wise-looking man. And guess what? No positive reply either. The geezer kept peering at her through his pea-sized spectacles and asking the same question over and over again. Something along the lines of "well, who the hell are you?"

Grumbling and swearing under her breath, the lone red-head snatched her half-emptied tankard of mead and downed the content in a single gulp, accompanied by the drunked applaud from the patrons of Three Blind Rats gathered for the afternoon break. Many were chanting Asuka! Asuka! Asuka! more out of her fame for surviving round after round in the notorious Serenti Invitational. In truth, the lass felt lucky to be alive. Many people she had fought were renown killers and high-ranking members of the various military branches in Althanas. She was lucky none decided to kill her in a whim the moment she stepped into the arena. But the lass never really cared.

Ignoring the rest of the run-down establishment and its attendants, the Akashiman threw down ten pieces of gold for the three tankards she had ordered. When the barmaid came and collected the due payment, the drunken girl slumped feebly against the creaky wooden table.

"This is pointless... how hard could it be to spot just a single red-head in this hell-hole! There's got to be at least one red-head wandering about around here..." Asuka griped, clawing at the scars left by various edged weapons and misused eating utensils on the table. "Darn you, Yamihara! I swear, when I find you..."

"Hmm... did you mention you're looking for a red-head?"

the Akashiman's head snapped towards the bar, spotting the source of the ragged wheezing voice. Seated casually at the bar like a down-and-out bum, a grey-haired old man clad in a long grey overcoat was hunched over a mug of rye ale, sipping it intently as if judging its taste in a town fair. Asuka couldn't see the gentleman's face with the wide-rimmed hat covering most of his visage, but obviously he knew something about the people who obviously looked out of place.

An impulse of curiosity mixed with exasperation from the long string of failed attempts of intel gathering pushed Asuka up from her creaking chair and towards the muck-stained bar. Planting her fist on the counter near the ragged man's mug, the annoyed youth demanded an explanation.

"Do you know anything about red-heads in these parts? Tell me. Now." The Akashiman tried to suppress her pent-up irritation, only partly successful as her lips began to quiver.

The ominous stranger hidden under the faded hat with a cascade of grey hair streaming down his back simply snorted a reply. "Go look around at the Boxing ring if you want answers. I'm sure those men there know a bit of what's been going on lately."

Before Asuka could get anymore words out of her mouth the odd stranger simply got up and left the establishment, leaving behind the mug and payment. The red-head fighter hurried after the elder and bursted through the tavern doors. Standing on the deserted afternoon alleyway, the sudden disappearance of an entire human being wracked her mind. However, her thoughts returned to the echoing message the man had left behind.

Go look around at the Boxing ring if you want answers. I'm sure those men there know a bit of what's been going on lately.

The Boxing Ring?

~~~

The lone red-head fighter stepped into the box-like building, turning her nose away from the pungent odor permeating the entire room. Geez... did something die in here?

The sorry excuse for a boxing stadium were sparsely populated and quite run-down. Hell, to her, it looked to be in worse condition than the "Three Blind Rat" she just left. On stage, a fight was about to commense and she thought it might be better to just survey the entire scene a bit before making any rash judgement. In the back on her mind, the image of that grey-coat old man continues to haunt her as she heard the dull clang of the bell far below.

[The Cinderella Man]

No bout is pretty. If there is one thing that ought to be said about boxing, it is those four words. When they said that there is no good war and no bad peace in the world, they should have added that no battle is pretty, especially if you’re surrounded with three ropes and the spectators that wanted to see you or the other guy (or hopefully both) bloody, bruised and swollen. Easy fights, tough fights, one-rounders, slugfests, they all had the same denominator made of pain, sweaty skin and the bloodied leather of the gloves. And they all ended in triumphs and defeats. That’s what people were here to see after all. One victor that successfully wiped the canvas with the defeated and all the conflicting emotions that went with it.

When Victor got up from his kneeling position, “Hammerhead” was already charging like a raging bull, his hands nonchalantly low and ready to send “Padre” to his own personal heaven. It was a foolish stance, the defense that Victor used to carve open with a couple of feigned jabs and a hook to the temple that would make the man see more stars then there were on a clear night. But that was the old Victor, the one foolishly in love and aiming high, trying to fly with the winds of affection underneath his wings. The present Victor simply raised his gloves to defend the onslaught and circled to the right with a couple of tardy steps. Instantly the bombardment commenced, the overextended punches coming in slow succession but with mesmerizing power that sent Victor escaping sideways. His left fired a couple of feeble jabs, a mere nuisance to buy some time, but by the time he prepared the right, Harry successfully landed a haymaker to his cheek. Victor’s head snapped sideways, sweat spraying over the first row as the prizefighter stumbled sideways. “Hammerhead” went for the follow up, but Victor instantly advanced and clinched with the fighter.

“You’re all washed up, Padre.” his adversary mumbled through the mouthpiece, his voice slurry and assertive as his right worked the ribs, bruising Victor’s side steadily.

“Break!” the judge shouted, placing his hand between the two combatants and forcing them away from each other for the first time in the battle. Victor remained in the “safety” of the clinch for another couple of seconds, then took a pair of steps away. His face was strangely emotionless, but not due to the fact that he held a cool head in the battle. In fact, a cool head was something Victor never managed to obtain, regardless of the training. He was too stubborn, too harsh, always charging forwards, always going for the kill, always with thousands of thoughts darting through his head. An the one that currently went through his mind was...

“Lilies. Delilah and the sweet scent of her...” and BAM!, another right haymaker connected with his face, this time colliding with his arcade and sending him against the ropes. His vision blurred, a giant icteric blob getting larger with each second and then another punch landed at his jaw. He tried to clinch again, but his foe already started to grind his torso into minced meat with the powerful strikes. In mere desperation he launched an uppercut that connected with something tangible, allowing him enough time to embrace his adversary. By the time his vision returned, he was peering over Harry’s shoulder, seeing the booing crowd throwing away their betting cards and shaking their heads.

Another intervention by the judge and the battle was restarted. Knowing that the end of the round is coming soon, Victor did what he learned to do in all of his recent defeats; waste time. He took the initiative, advanced and fired a fistful of decrepit one-two combinations, hitting none of the essential spots and waiting for the sound of the bell to send him into his corner. Harry came right back at him, swatting away his piss-poor attempts and coming forward like an avalanche. Luckily, the rusty bell sounded the end of the first round of the torment.

The crowd was on their feet, but cheering was the last thing on their minds. The battle was a disgrace, a handful of good moves and a whole lot of clinching and pussyfooting. It was like watching a pair roosters past their prime, battling it out just because their masters threw them in the same henhouse. Needless to say, after mere three rounds of such battling, the judge called it, no contest. “Padre” had another black spot on his loss card, “Hammerhead” and his ugly mug celebrated one of the few victories in his career and the crowd whistled at the inferior prizefighter. Victor didn’t care much and looked to fit the profile, shrugging his shoulders and creeping through the ropes and out of the ring. Taking a seat on the bench, he started to take off his gloves and waited for the usual you-ain’t-worth-shit speech from the organizers. The left side of his face was pulsating, swollen and achy, his ribs more or less in the same condition.

“You call that fighting, Callahan?” a voice, sleazy and boisterous came from his left. Victor raised his head, noticed a large overweight baldy with a pair of seven feet tall gorillas wearing black suits and a pair of visages erased of all emotions. “It was a disgrace, that’s what it was. Battles are supposed to bring people into the arena, not chasing them out.”

“Look, I gave it the best I’ve got, mister Worth.” Victor tried to reply, looking at the man from below with his bruised face and a phlegmatic look in his brown eyes. It was a damn lie though. He didn’t give it everything he got. Everything he got would have buried “Hammerhead” in the first round. But everything he got was hard to find these days.

“Everything you’ve got?! When you’ve got sh*t, everything you’ve got isn’t all that much, isn’t it, Callahan?” the insulting of the slimeball small-time battle organizer continued. The cigar in his mouth moved from side to side furiously, the smoldering tip almost reflected in his black eyes. With a flick of his wrist, the large boss threw a small canvas bag to the prizefighter. “Here. And don’t you dare coming back.” he finished, turning around with an intention to walk away.

Victor picked the bag up, took a glance inside and stood up abruptly. “The deal was a hundred.” The bald man and his twin bodyguards turned around instantly.

“Yes, that’s right. It was a hundred when I thought you would fight. But since you didn’t, you should be satisfied with this. Mercuiro, do show him a way out.” he instructed the suit on the right that merely nodded and stepped forward as his boss went away.

[AsukaStrikes]

"Geez, I've seen beggars fight better than that Padre." Asuka muttered as she watched the fight play out, feeling very unimpressed and making her regret paying to get inside. Her primary focus was dispelled by the lame show on the canvas stage and the irritated Akashiman got up from the creaking bench to stretch, wanting nothing to do with this decrepit fighting pit. "The Architect of Destruction? He fights more like 'the Architect of Useless Fists'. What does he think he's doing with those gloves on?"

Just as she was about to step off towards the door to demand her fifty coins back, she felt a strange cool glow coming from inside her leather tank top. The Akashiman stood perplexed by the odd blue-green light and, quite embarrased by the fact, remembered she was wearing a pendant made of a quartz-like stone. Turning her back to the handful of people present after the fight had just finished, she pulled out the gemstone attached to a black string.

The Spiritstone, as her friend had called it when she was first seen wearing this pendant, exuded its dim blue glow and lighted up the poorly-kept stadium, revealing things not to be mentioned by someone with moral standards littered under the cracking benches. As she observed the pale glow of the stone, it flickered and dimmed with every turn of her body. Then, as she moved the stone around until it pointed towards the supposed "great fighter" in open argument with his employer, the stone began to pulsate wildly, its lunar light barely growing brighter than it initially was.

However, the girl remained hesitant to trust the strange crystal dangling in its silver casing attached to a simple black string. What would happen if it was merely a coincidence that her strange pendant liked the dank gambling hall? Or that the Lore Creatures were merely playing tricks on her through her own possessions? Or some other devilish beings tricking her into becoming their unwilling servant? That was a chance the maiden did not want to take.

That was, until a movement to her right cought her attention. Her head snapped towards the person standing where it had been completely deserted and found the familiar grey hat and overcoat of the stranger she met at the tavern. While the red-head girl stared in disbelief with the Spiritstone wrapped in her fingers, the old man simply gazed towards the loser of the bout with eerie blank eyes. Asuka could barely see the Grey Old Man's face but he tugged at his hat when she tried to, hiding his face behind the odd-colored sleeve.

Something within her urged the girl to look at what the man wanted her to. It took her only a glance when she decided to attempt to pummel the old geezer into supplying her an answer. However, upon returning her attention to the target of her fists, the only thing to greet her sight was the emptiness of the seats. Wha- Where'd that old man go to?!? The bewildered Asuka swivelled around, trying to catch a fleeting glimpse of the stranger. Nothing. No way, no how. He can't be... No, stupid! There's no such thing!Your mind's playing tricks on you! Stupid! The Akashiman retreated into her own little world, batting away the notion that the old man was not alive. However, his appearance made her remember the very reason she chose to come here. The pendant's reaction made her wonder if any one of them might know about Yamihara, the subject of her man-hunt.

Ignoring the fact that the washed-out boxer was going to be on the receiving end of gargantuan fists and feet in a few moments, the brash young lady marched up to Padre and his employer, the Spiritstone glowing dimly and finally went out as she stopped a few feet away.

"Hey, misters. There's something that I really want to ask from you guys and I want to know the truth." The cocky lass began, disregarding the surprised look on Mister Worth's face as he eyed the lithe red-head making her enquiry, "But do you know anything about redheads walking about?"

The bald man looked gazed at Asuka like he found a long-lost treasure and for a moment she thought the stick of weed was going to fall off his ugly fat lips. "Ur-rer-er, red-heads?" Mr. Worth fumbled with his words visibly and grabbed hold of his advancing bodyguard's black suit, stopping the gorilla-like thug in his tracks. "Well, I think..."

Asuka glared hard at the stammering fat man before her, wondering what in Lore could he had come down with. The stare appeared to make the guy stammer worse until a little moment later Mr. Worth regained his posture once more.

"Ahem, sorry for my manners," The battle organizer faked a cough, trying to look officious, "Are you looking for a person with red hair?"

Well, that's a good way to confuse a girl. The Akashiman frowned. "Obviously, you didn't get it the first time around. I'm looking for a red-head woman, looking something a bit like me but less pretty?" Asuka asked again, accenting a few words to help it sink into the visibly nutty guy. Oy, this is gonna be a long one.

Mr. Worth thought long and hard, clinching his wrinkled forehead with bushy brown eyebrows bafore turning to look at the lass.

"How about you meet me in my room a bit later. I might have some information about a few I know for you. OK, now. I'll be waiting. Tootles" With the last words ringing through the now-emptied stadium, the organizer in his black suit turned around and glared at the prize-fighter.

"You're lucky for now, Padre." He snarled at the washed-up boxer before heading towards his office, " I don't want to cause a bad impression on the young lady now. Just get out of my sight before I send one of my men to show you the way."

"Tootles?" Asuka couldn't help burting out in surprised as Mr. Worth called his two bodyguards back to the office with him. That's guy's probably a nut-job. But a lead is a lead. What could possibly go wrong?

Asuka wasted no time heading in the same direction, tucking the crystal pendant back into her leather tank top on the way there. The Akashiman was in such a hurry that she didn't care to even look at Padre, much less speak to him in the first place. After all, he wasn't exactly her type to begin with.

[The Cinderella Man]

He knew her kind. Five foot something of physique and another three feet of assertiveness. Her grandiloquence and boastful demeanor emanated from every word her gums flapped out in attempt to make her seem larger then life. She was the kind that walked with her chin tilted so high, her nose scraped the roof. The kind that looked down on people regardless of how much higher they were, both on the meter scale and the social one. She was a venom, bitter and irritating, and damn proud about it. One look at her jade eyes will assure you a piece of her mind and then some. And she desperately needed to be cut down to size. But then again, she was a redhead, so that was to be expected.

However, that cocky redhead with her finger-pointing and getting into the face of Ermano Worth probably saved a couple of his ribs from some serious fracturing. The plump sleaze and what little attention his pea-sized brain could conjure shifted to the lissome maiden, her appearance striking just the right spot after the letdown bout. This came as no news to Victor though. In the several days that he spent in city of Serenti and the shabby excuse of a boxing ring in its slums, he had seen a fair share of copper-haired lasses making their way to the back room. Some ambled willingly, some less willingly and slouched, some looked like they really didn’t want to be here, but that was not his problem. What went beyond the closed door was a story in an unopened book and the prizefighter had no desire to open one. But there was a sliver of something that poked his side even as he saw the braggart exposition of the lass, a thread of what might have been goodness, but then again might have been a mere desire to spite his employer that shortchanged him.

“I wouldn’t go back there if I were you.” he spoke without lifting his head up as the girl and her crowing passed by him with the same loathsome visage as if he were a bum. But he couldn’t really blame her. He fought like a bum, looked like a bum... Hell, if he didn’t get a shower, he would soon reek like a bum as well. Even if she wasn’t a holier-then-thou redhead, he doubted she would look at him in a different manner. “But then again, you won’t listen to me anyways, so it’s your funeral.” he added, again not making contact with the emeralds that were probably fuming by now. Instead he got up with a painful weary groan that sounded way too old for a young man such as himself and threw his gym bag over his shoulder, heading towards the shower room.

The showers stank twice as bad as the ringside and thrice as bad as the canvas itself, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. The moldy tiles and the rusty pipes were the best chance for Victor to get a shower and he wasn’t about to let it go to waste. He slipped out of his shorts, folding their velvety cloth around the lily insignia on them before he placed them into the black bag. After his boots came off, it took three tries to find a shower that was working, barely escaping the tawny sludge that looked a bit like diarrhea that occurred on his second attempt. But once the cool and reasonably clear water started to pour down his body, his muscles rebelled against the coolness, but ultimately got used to the nippy water. His face made the greatest profit from the frosty bath, the throbbing bruise getting the necessary icepack and allowing him to close his eyes and relax for a moment.

Of course, the moment was just that; a moment. A sound of cringing metal send a quiver through the brownish pipes and the spray of water turned into a trickle, then into a agonizing drip. Victor figured that most of the water that he just bathed it was what was left over in the pipes, but luckily they closed the pipes recently since the water was still fresh. Sighing audibly and shaking his head with a phlegmatic look of surrender, the man simply turned away from the cracked tiles and the water accumulated at his feet. A couple of months ago he would be neck deep in women and money after a battle, with brownnosing organizers circling around him like vultures. He was the best, rocketing to the top, one victory away from sublimation, exaltation, perfection. One victory away from a better life. And then WHAM!, a shot through the gut.

With this recollection his hand struck the slimy greenish tiles, cracking the shabby façade and bruising his knuckles even further. He wished he could cry in moments like this one, when the ample memory provided him with the tormenting images and mocking the greatest loss of his life. But he had shed his share of tears by now. “God, if only I didn’t think about her for one goddamned moment!” he growled at himself, disregarding the futility of the inner monologue and the strolls down the memory lane. Because how does one let go of the past when the past is all he has?

[AsukaStrikes]

Leaving the bum to his own fate, despite hearing his pathetic attempt at a warning, Asuka marched on to the office of the fat, nutty mobster. Through the dim lighting she could barely make out a small section of the concrete wall with exposed rusty bricks where the wooden door stood. The only thing adorning the depressing piece of woodwork was another piece of reddish wood with "Ermano Worth, Serenti Branch Battle Organiser" intricately carved into its flesh. The Akashiman glared at the sign for a moment before pulling at the handle, only to find that the door wouldn't budge. It took her a second attempt to rattle the grip when the lass finally found out she was supposed to push the door in. Still keeping a stern face even if her inside wanted so badly to sock herself upside the head, Asuka entered the rather cramp office of the boxing ring's organizer.

Mr. Worth obviously had made use of his minions while the red-head fighter hadn't entered the office, as Asuka observed the clean new suit the baldy was sporting and his two sweating gorilla-men standing off to each side of the mahogany desk. The contents on the office table was meager for such a business-like man; A few stacks of paper here and there, an ink bottle with quill stood to his left side and a paperweight shaped like a nude lady atop a small stack to his right. Ermano made a quick glance at Asuka when she entered and, his face suddenly flushed of any color, quickly knocked the paperweight into his drawer and planted his ink bottle in its place. Asuka questioned the odd behaviour with a raised eyebrow but did not continue. She was here for information, not a tour of other people's thoughts.

"Oh, there you are! Come, have a seat. Marte, bring the gentle lady a chair, if you will?" Mr. Worth wasted no time trying to showcase the extent his powers, but the redhead was unimpressed. Pulling a rickety stool nearby, she sat down on the small piece of furniture before the gargantuan thug turned around with a comfy armchair decorated with rose blossom motif.

"Let's cut to the chase, Mr. Worth." The Akashiman demanded, crossing her arms in front of her and glaring hard at the middle-age man with her sparkling emerald eyes. "You said you have information about redheads in this part of town. Now spill the beans, old man. I don't have all day."

Perhaps it was her straight-to-the-point demeanor which made the man startled out from a what appeared to be a daydream, making the contents on the table shift when the furniture jumped out from under them, but nonetheless she had caught Ermano's attention. Asuka couldn't help but notice as well that the two gorillas in black suddenly tensed up as if something wrong had happened. The Akashiman eyed these two warily as she waited for a response. Either one of them could snap her tiny body like a dried twig with just their hands around her throat.

Thankfully, the obviously offended Worth recovered his posture and attempted a light belly laugh, resulting in a low booming wheeze that made the girl thought she had choked him with her words. "Oh, ho, ha. Well, no foreplay, is it? No matter, we'll get to the point soon enough." The sleazeball casually rose from his desk, causing it to relocate itself from the shove of his obese form, and approached Asuka from around the side.

"You know, I'm getting the feeling you're probably tired out from the travelling you've been doing." The balding man crooned, stepping close to the Akashiman girl's right hand, "How about we take a break for today at the inn a short walk away and we'll discuss this over our breakfast together?"

All it took was a wink for Kazeryu to fly from its sheath and pressed its deadly edge against the bastard's neck, driving both the attacker and the victim towards a wall filled with notes pinned by tiny metallic nails. The man began to sweat profusely while Asuka stared hard at the immoral cur.

"I was expecting as such, coming from a low-life like you." The angered lass pushed her sword closer to his neck, the shiny edge just barely scraping the man's skin as his throat swelled laborously. "You don't know half a grain of sand about them, do you? You're just interested in a fun night of free trading, is it?"

The two men in tight black suits shifted their feet and Asuka's sharp eyes darted to meet their expressionless face, sending them a dire warning. "If you value your employer's life, don't even think about touching me." Those words worked like a charm as she felt the shocked bastard shifted his weight and saw him pleading out of the corner of her eye. Silently, like trained guard dogs of the Coronian standing army, they stepped back to the opposite wall and crossed their arms.

Returning her hateful glare to the balding battle organizer, Asuka leaned up to stare straight into the pleading mud-brown eyes of his. "I've wasted enough time here. If you value your life more than your pleasure, you won't stop me from leaving."

[The Cinderella Man]

Halfway through the donning of his second boot Victor overheard the conversation between what sounded a lot like the bitchy redhead and the bastard that wanted to evict him from the premises after the battle. The voices were coming from a ventilation duct that obviously connected the two rooms that shared a mutual wall, and by the time his fingers were done with the menial task, the dialogue turned into a boisterous female growling. Obviously the lass’ intentions didn’t coincide with Ermano’s and judging by the metallic sound of a brandished weapon, she had the goods to support that long tongue of hers. That was good. As much as he didn’t like the girl, seeing her fondled by those greasy hands was a mental picture Victor didn’t want to carry around like a locket. She would get out. Her ilk always did. Women were like cats; regardless of how and where you threw them, they found the ground, twisted and turned, adapted. With that thought the prizefighter put on his robes and made his way out of the malodorous shower room, leaving the girl in the lion’s den and the fate she brought upon her own back.

The sparse crowd that was still present when he went away form the stadium area was gone my now, leaving the silent emptiness of the ring to the dying torches and the gray old geezer that shimmied the mop across the canvas in a poor attempt to clean it. Victor paid no heed to neither the man nor the environments. All he wanted to do right now was to find a fairly good tavern with an owner that wouldn’t kick him out at first sight, get a meal into his rebelling stomach and the procure a place to sleep. Judging by the weight of his money pouch, the commodity of the dry leaves and a forest floor lodging would have to suffice for the last one. But it wasn’t like it was the first time and judging by his form, it most certainly won’t be the last time his bedroll will be made out of foliage.

However, somewhere halfway through the main room, his eyes picked up three figures gathering in front of the mahogany door, murmuring something to each other as if they were devising a plan of action. Two of them were the usual landmasses of bulk, big-tall-and-ugly as the prizefighter liked to dub them, but the third one was about two heads shorter and shushing the other two. Victor’s feet stopped in their tracks, an urge to meddle into this affairs rumbling through his stomach with a mixture of fear and anticipation, but his mind’s voice, cold and acerb, issued a warning.

“Pick your battles, fool. Remember what Arslan used to say. The fight ain’t worth it if there’s nothing to gain from it. And what do you have to gain from this? You play the hero, save the day, get the girl and the glory and the money. Psh, grow up! Heroes only live in fairytales. This isn’t your battle. Besides, you warned her.” this was his own voice, the cowardly knavish voice of his dark side that was always there, always waiting for the right time to start its longwinded tirades that blamed the gods, the people, the world, pointed fingers at everybody save the one that was really to blame. Regretfully, its hold on Victor was iron tight and it forced the man to shrug his shoulders and proceed to the exit. She would get through. She’s a cat; they land on their...

CRASH!!

The door burst inwards with a detonation of splinters as one of the hulks tore it down with a shoulder, allowing for the short man to step into the light that beamed from the inside. “Drop that sword, bitch, or I’ll turn your head into a canoe!!” the irritatingly raspy and knavish voice screamed, once again attracting Victor’s attention. He could recognize the man now. Ermano called him simply Shorty, and Shorty took care of things. Small things, big tasks, behind-the-scenes bets, backstabs, money extortion, you name it, Shorty did it. He was as smooth as shoe polish and as slippery as a greasy snake. Or at least that’s what the rumor said. The same rumor that said that Shorty could hit a bird in mid flight fifty paces above with that big pistol of his. Victor wasn’t too familiar with the marksmanship methods, but shooting down anything that was in motion sounded mighty convincing to him. A static target must be small potatoes to the sly man.

“It’s not your battle...Shut up!” the same voice started before it was silenced instantly as the prizefighter stood in the middle of the benches, looking over the entire scene. “Cats and women have nine lives...Go away!” again the same conflict. His mind wrestled the options. There really was nothing to gain from this. On top of that, he was probably bound to wind up beaten up at best or shot in the back of his head like a mutt at worst. But that same sliver of goodness that made him speak to the redhead moments before was poking his mind again. Consciousness was certainly a bitch sometimes. He put down his bag silently, pulling out his iron-plated fingerless gloves before he crept through the shadows, closer to the door.

Shorty’s finger seemed to be getting itchy, seemed to be ready to scalp the vaunter that dared to threaten his boss. The prizefighter had no choice but to act. He darted towards the three men that had their backs turned to him, his foot kicking from below and at Shorty’s groin with all the power Victor could muster. That was the thing about the fighting outside the ring; you go for the groin, the throat, the plexus, the kidneys, but mostly groin, as hard as possible. The short man yowled like a shot coyote, getting off a shot as his finger twitched instinctively before the man collapsed to the ground. By this time his two mountains of muscles turned, but the prizefighter already fired a hook the connected with the jaw of the bodyguard. Whether or not the man had a glass jaw didn’t matter, because the strike most definitely broke it like porcelain. Unfortunately, just as Victor thought he had an upper hand, a fist, possibly amplified by the power of the brass knuckles, hit the side of his face, sending the man rolling onto the ground and towards the desk. On his knees and spitting blood, the boxer looked up at the boastful maiden. “Bum to the rescue, huh?”

[AsukaStrikes]

The simple oak door bursted into a shower of wooden missiles while the brash youth still had her trusty blade pressed against the fat devil's throat and she reflexively shot a surprised look at the three intruding figures. The fragile woodwork swung off its hinges with ease, slamming into the wall near the maiden and her captive.

Two of them were the usual, meaty apes dressed in a sad attempt to fit in while the third, though looking more like a small kid in comparison to his flankers, appeared to be the most armed and dangerous. “Drop that sword, bitch, or I’ll turn your head into a canoe!!” Came the threatening command from the little guy. In his hand a fine piece of metalwork was cocked and ready. Its silvery finish glistened in the amber light and casted a demonic shadow against the far wall, creating an illusion that it was actually a poised viper eyeing a tiny rat.

Oh, great. I hate guns... Asuka remembered all too well when one of those things arrived with a consignment of armaments to the Akashiman internal battalion. The gleam on its scrubbed convexed surface initially caused great humor to the weaponsmith's daughter, mocking that she could really feel the thing cut her in half already. One of the sailors, or perhaps he was one of the merchants there to sell those cursed pieces of pipes, picked one out from its straw-lined crates and fired it towards her without a word. The pea-sized projectile missed her hair by an inch, as the grey-bearded man had intended, and shattered the wooden mug of some unfortunate bastard seated a bit under ten yards behind her. His cold amber eyes boring into her paralyzed face, simply stating, "Then don't be on the hollow end, bitch."

The words returned to haunt her as she stared into its abyssmal barrel, feeling its paralyzing hold sqeezing her from reacting to the sudden charge. Her face twisted up, creasing her fevered brows and draining the accumulated sweat down her temples. Then don't be on the hollow end, bitch. The grating, tired voice spoke again, playing back an old memory the girl wished she never had. I... hate... guns...

While Asuka's mind was held fast by the hypnotic stare of the silvery barrel, the short man yelped out in pain and the large gun opened fire. The moment its cylidrical projectile bursted forth from the midnight-colored maw, Kazeryu appeared to act on its own accord. Swinging away from the sweating bastard's neck, its grey blade collided with the bullet in mid-flight, only to be sent flying into Worth's mahogany desk where the sword became lodged half-way into the woodwork.

"I hate GUNS!" Asuka hollered over the little guy's shriek like a berserked tiger, darting her way towards the falling figure and delivered a forceful kick to the gun hand before the small man's form reached the floor, sending the revolver flying over the bisected desk and out of sight.

Now, there was a greater threat to her than the monster of a gun. Unarmed and mentally unstable, Asuka began lashing out around with her bare fists in an attempt to shake loose the panicking girl within. Her blows met only wind and, losing her footing on pieces of paper scattered on the floor, tumbled backwards into the light-brown desk.

Finally regaining her senses again, the hothead maiden's ears were greeted by the sarcastic humor of the prize-fighter from outside his face swollen and bloody.

"Oh, just shut up." Asuka remarked, though she could felt mildly humored by the washed-up boxer's words. Feeling her mind return to normal, the red-head found herself breathing hard and unsteady with heightened senses from the sudden rush of fresh adrenalin in her veins. If need be, the lass could simply dash out through the door relying on nothingmore than her legs. However, the simple walk-out was no longer there for her to take. The fat bald man, his once perfectly-clean suit soiled with greasy sweat and wet streaks between his legs, stood up from his disgraced fall with fiery beady eyes. His swollen face turned as bright as a ripe strawberry, complete with beads of sweat imitating the seeds.

"You... you'll pay for ever making a clown out of me, wench!" Enraged, Ermano shook an accusing finger at the brash maiden, "You kinds were never easy to deal with. Mercuiro. Marte." Two giants in black stepped forward and blocked the defecating sleazeball from the two fighter's view. "Show them the way out."

"He really likes that line, doesn't he?" Asuka quipped to her hastily-made alliance. "Anyways, would you agree that we should get the hell outa here before we go our individual ways?"

[The Cinderella Man]

“Girl, who took the jello out of your donut?” Victor almost uttered as he regained his footing, his eyes giving the redhead a fleet ascertaining look before returning to the significantly less attractive sight. Before them the nameless goon that managed to land a hit on the prizefighter’s face was joined by Mercurio and Marte, creating a trio whose joint intelligence failed to surpass their joint shoe sizes. Ermano was fuming like a lynx, hissing at the maiden and ordering a round of bludgeon damage for both her and her unlikely savior. The broad-shouldered hoodlums seemed more then eager to serve, their Cro-Magnon faces floating between anger and avidity.

“Let’s just hope that we’ll have enough of our legs left to go our separate ways.” the prizefighter responded before his tongue gathered some of the blood-stained saliva and spat at the cheap carpet. The room was getting smaller by the second, the three walls of it solid, the fourth one made out of nitwitted muscle heap moving towards them like a press that would eventually splatter them against one of the walls. Victor was a lousy gambler, but even he was ready to put his money on the three stooges that could hit like a train. His improbable ally was a jittery collection of squawks that held her nose up and got into people’s faces and finally stepped on a toe whose owner stepped back hard. But she had the flare at least. It would probably get her killed sooner then later, but right now it was better then nothing.

The middle of the three was the first to take a swing. Both of his hands came down at Victor in a clobbering effort aimed to pulverize everything in its path. Luckily for the prizefighter, the move was dreadfully perceptible, the long arc of the two arms moving in unison providing ample time for a sidestep. The husky muscle-bound grotesque got overwhelmed by the momentum of the powerful charge, thrashing the mahogany desk first with his fists and then with his heavyset bulk. Victor had no time to gloat though.

The rightmost lummox was already rifling a punch with a clear intention to bring a conclusion in a single act. His strike was precise, but ultimately too slow, like a flail that moved with a half-second delay. It allowed the brown-haired prizefighter to duck below the flying fist just in time to hear it swoosh by his left ear. The counter followed instantly. Victor pushed with his feet ardently, burying his shoulder into the mountain of flesh that just came down in an avalanche. He hoped that he managed to knock the air out of the brute’s lungs, but it was a long shot and the lack of collapse corroborated his assumption. His foe stumbled backwards for a step or two, leaning on a wall like a drunkard with a tide of puke rising through his windpipe, but ultimately stabilized himself.

By this time, the initial attacker made his reappearance and Victor didn’t see him coming. His tackle pinned the prizefighter against the wall with a loud thud that made the plastered wall crack even further. One, two, three hooks landed on Victor’s ribs, the metal knuckles mashing the muscles and the bones beyond, but that was the last action the goon would ever do. Victor’s right came from below, an uppercut aimed at the bowed face of his adversary and striking the man’s nose like a sledgehammer. The sweaty face snapped upwards as if it was shot, the blood from the trashed nose sprouting like a morbid fountain as the two glassy eyes peered accusingly at the prizefighter and seeing nothing but oblivion.

Victor was mesmerized with that hollow glare. He fought for a good portion of his life and this was the first time he actually killed a man. And it felt so... so easy, so plain, so effortless, so unemotional for some reason. Was life really just a piece of thin glass, fragile and so utterly worthless? The comrade of the fallen gave him no time to ponder about these questions. He came in fast and hard, literary jumping on the prizefighter and pinning him to the ground. Victor fired a few swift jabs with his hands, but the overwhelming power of the man above made him feel like a feather fighting through a tornado. He only hoped that the bastard would finally punch him in the temple and send him into the eye of the storm.

[AsukaStrikes]

Asuka glared hard at the fuming battle organizre and snickered at his crazy little pout. Ermano looked like he would join in the fray himself with that kind of temper, but judging from his girly swings and amateur tongue, the only threat coming from him would be merely a mar in her pride.

Her new-found ally, the washed out boxer, appeared to have just come out of the showers evident by his wet mop that sparkled faintly in the orange glow of the room. His stance was obviously very professional and direct. How he ended up losing to a bumbling boat of lard was a deep mystery Asuka could not spare her mind to wonder about.

"Well, if you put up a fight better than you did in the ring, I'm sure I can get out of here fine." The redhead snickered before leaping off to her left just as the first gorillaman decimated his master's mahogany desk in a miscalculated blunder. Feh. Sweet dreams, pal. She took a quick at the mess of wood splinters and papers where the fallen attacker laid motionless before whipping her attention back at the other man in black.

"Alright, you." Marte strode towards her with his gargantuan fist wrapped around a brass knuckle, smiling like a ten-year-old who just caught a tiny frog to play with. "Stay still so I can punch you."

"Heh. Like you have enough brain in there to think about it." Asuka stuck out her tongue and charged head-on at her assailant, lashing out a frail punch that connected clean across his bony chin. Hah! Take that, you ape! The lass' smirk faded almost as fast as she wore them when the man simply staggered two steps back and sneered at her, wearing a dirty grin across his rugged face. Oh, fer the love of-

Marte wasted no time to gloat at the Akashiman's blunder and threw a wide right hook, the metallic blow intended on ramming mercilessly through her heart-shaped face. It was a good thing, though, that Asuka was no heavy-weight in the field of boxing. Predictability was the downside of heavy punchers and heavy bodies, their movements slowed and latent from their own gigantic bulk. Asuka nonchalantly ducked under the hook and gunned three quick jabs into Marte's torso to no visible effect. Grr! Fer cryin' out loud, go down already!

A left uppercut answered her wish, except it was the other way around. The gigantic bodyguard's left fist connected hard with the Akashiman's torso and sent her sailing through the air like a discarded rag doll, landing with a sickening crash just beyond the broken remains of Ermano's elegant desk.

Ugh... oww... eya, that thing sure hits like a horse's kick... The brazen lass struggled onto her feet and looked up just in time to see Marte's imposing form tower over her with a cocked fist. Instinctively, she rolled to her right and felt the rush of wind missing her head by an inch. Now, she was in a superior position regardless of who's standing and who's lying on the floor.

Like the old people used to say, Asuka gave Marte a coy look and hooked his feet against her own. With a sharp yank of her leg, Asuka sent the behemoth of a man tumbling onto his face in an astounding crash that literally shook the entire floor. The bigger they are, the louder they fall.

"Sweet dreams, big guy. Huh?"

Gleaming in the gloomy lighting of the cramped office, a large metallic box stuck out from under the rubble like a misplaced rock. The object's size and strange mechanical wheel on the face screamed "safe deposit box" in her eyes. Hey... that looks interesting... Asuka wondered what could be inside the steel container. For all she cared, that could might as well be where Ermano Worth kept his dirty dealing and secrets hidden from the world. It could even contain a certain information she was hoping he would have...

Asuka yelped out in pain as something forcibly latched onto her ankle and lifted the lass up into the air. She stared in horror as the giant raised the maiden straight up and flung her frail body across the room, plowing across the oak floorboards in a flash of red and brown. The last thing the redhead Akashiman could remember was seeing the perspiring bald cur standing over her with a sneer across his ugly creased face.

~~~

"Ha! Stupid girl!" Ermano spat at the beaten girl, sprawled unceremoniously in the dusty streets. Padre, the man who introduced himself as "bum-to-the-rescue," was also nearby in similar conditions. "No one messes with the Worth."

Hrr... Asuka fought the urge to just slump feebly right where she lay, feeling every muscle on her body burning with pain and hatred. She thought she could take that man down on her own and the conniving fiend pointed a gun in her face. The single most-hated piece of metal she had ever known. If it had been something else, Asuka probably wouldn't give a second thought about it. But to point a gun at her face is to be subjected to her full wrath.

Seeing the subject of his previous terror subjucated, the battle organizer snickered at the redhead. "Hehehe. Well, since you had the pleasure of giving me a good scare, I guess I'll be keeping this as a souvenir." One of his inhumanly large henchmen appeared from the doorway and produced a fine double-edged sword and handed it to his master.

Kazeryu! In the flurry of fists and feet, the fine Akashiman blade was forgotten among the heap of mahogany and paperwork. Away from the swordsmaiden's possession.

"Give that back, you moron!" Asuka screamed at the top of her aching lungs, unconcerned that just moments before she was kicked and punched into near-oblivion. "Give me back Kazeryu!"

"Oh, so it has a name? Ha! What a riot!" Ermano jeered and disappeared into the dark stadium along with his bodyguards, leaving Asuka dumbstruck and in shock. "Your Kazeryu is mine for keeps!"

No... Kazeryu, the sword her father forged with his very hands. The sword which the Akashiman blacksmith poured his heart and soul into making for his daughter. The sword that served her as the only tie to a real family. Give me back my Kazeryu...

[The Cinderella Man]

((Bunny approved by AsukaStrikes.))

For the duration of the next couple of minutes the world around Victor was presented in flashing images and the exchange of fade in-fade out sequences. He saw an unintelligent toothy grin of the goon that punched his lights out. (Blank.) He saw an airborne body of the audacious redhead. (Blank. Attempt at a smile.) He saw the heap of debris and stationery that used to form Ermano’s – probably rather expensive – mahogany desk. (Blank. Pain.) He saw a shoe polished to the point he could almost see his own reflection as it retracted from the blow to his stomach. (Blank. Head trauma.) He saw the doorframe behind him and Marte not concerning himself with the fact that, as he carried the boxer on his shoulder, his head accidentally hit the frame. (Blank. Feeling of being flung. Collision with something solid and horizontal.)

The stone-paved street below was comfortably cool towards the numerous bruises on the prizefighter’s body and for the time being it seemed like a good place to be. The defiant redhead seemed to share the accommodations with him, but there was still enough flair left in her to yell at Ermano and his hoodlums as they walked away with something called Kazeryu. Victor assumed it was the girl’s blade, but quite frankly, at this point it could’ve been her head and he wouldn’t care. The side of his head felt as if there was a hole there and what little gray matter he had in his head was slowly oozing out, leaving one bitch of a headache. His torso hurt on so many places that it felt like one big pulsating wound that sent out jolts of pain every time he took a breath. The small on his back felt as if somebody took out a portion of his spine and threw in a jagged rock instead.

His eyes gazed wearily at the cloudy evening above, the sullen clouds creeping over the crescent moon like a silken bed sheet. That’s what he got for playing a hero. Both of them were beaten to a pulp and accomplished nothing, making the score one for the realism and zero for the fairytale heroic bullshit. Well, less then zero actually. Only now that he tried to weigh and measure the final result of their little escapade, he realized that his bag and his measly earnings were left inside the arena.

“Hey!” he managed to push himself to a sitting position, his hands hanging at the side of his slanted hunched figure. “Hey, give me my bag, you bastards! Give me my ba...” The doors opened ajar and his bag-o’-stuff came flying out and striking him in the face, muffling his voice.

“And stay out!”

The warning wasn’t necessary. Even though he didn’t get the message the first time Ermano told him to make like a tree for good, the beating was more then enough of verification that the ball of sweat and grease didn’t want him in the proximity. However, while he seemed ready to gather to his pitiful belongings and proceed to lick his wounds in the nearby tavern, the redhead obviously wasn’t ready to throw in the towel. She fumed and growled despite her obvious inferior position, like a cornered wildcat surrounded by a throng of hounds, ready to bite and scratch and instigate another losing battle. Victor admired her drive, despite the fact that it seemed like a seizure of insanity, and that was probably why he decided to intervene.

He stumbled to his feet like a drunkard, fighting the headache that made his eyes squint considerably, and positioned himself between the wildcat and the back entrance to the arena. Her eyes alone seemed enough to cleave him like a pumpkin, but his hand found its way to her forearm and paused her advance.

“Trust me, you don’t want to go in there right now.”

She obviously did. She snatched her arm from his clutch and made a move to bypass the prizefighter. Victor extended his arm at his side, striking the doorframe with his palm and barring the way once again.

“Would you just listen to me?! You didn’t listen to me the first time and look where it got you. You’re beaten up and angry and they are regrouped. All you can get out of there is another round of beating if you are lucky. And I think you already wasted one of your lives, wildcat.” he spoke in a solemn, calm manner, despite his ribs insisting for his outstretched hand to come down at his side. His brown eyes were peering into her emeralds, determinate but not nearly as much as her own. The girl had some major authority issues, walking around as if she owned the world, and while the boxer assumed it would eventually be the death of her, he decided he saw enough death for one day.

“Now, I’m going to that tavern over there. You can join me for a drink and actually think before you act or you can just barge in there, weaponless and alone, and test your luck once again. The choice is yours.” Once he was done, his arm finally moved out of her way. Victor bowed with an aching tired-sounding umph! as he collected his gym bag and swung it over his shoulder. The abrupt motion reminded him that he just got out of two bouts with a burst of pain just below his shoulder blades. He half-turned to the girl; there was something peculiar about her that prevented him from turning his back and ultimately forgetting about her. Maybe it was her don’t-take-crap-from-no-one idiosyncrasy that seemed so uncanny in somebody who looked so unremarkable. Or maybe it was just the fact that they shared a beating seconds ago that made him feel like this shouldn’t end at this point. Then again, it might have been simply because she was a redhead.

“You coming?”

[AsukaStrikes]

No... not Kazeryu...

"Ermano, you scumbag!" Asuka laborously staggered upright, the girl's vision still cloudy from numerous head blows the thugs had dealt to her while she was down. Honor obviously wasn't anywhere on their list of ethics, suffice it to say, and striking an unarmed woman was probably on of their twisted pass-time. For the time being, it felt right to just slump feebly on the hard dirt-covered road and just pass out. Something else kept the maiden from giving in to the aches and sores covering her entire body.

There was no way in her mind she was going to let a complete stranger, let alone someone who had just shown his face as an enemy, walk away with her most valuable possession.

"Get bac-" Asuka stepped forward on unsteady legs only to be halted by a powerful grip, locking her frail arm and restraining the enraged wildcat from diving into her grave. She traced the owner of the thick, muscular arm to the washed out boxer, apparently also groggy from the stampede buffet. Too angry to argue with Victor, Asuka glared hard into his chocolate eyes, demanding he let go for her to exact revenge on the despicable cur. She wasn't going to just let things stop here with her on the losing end of the sword and snatched her arm away from his mighty grip. Victor could have easily snapped the maiden's arm like a dried twig under a boulder if he chose to held on, instead his arm made its way in front of her again as she tried to shoulder her way into the arena.

Hmph. Like you'd care if anything happens to me... But what the man said struck home. She had been beaten to a bloody pulp just now and going in there again most certainly ensured her demise. His patronizing demeanor reminded the girl of her own father, a hardy Akashiman blacksmith whose life was all about surviving with his own two hands. Perhaps this man, a down-and-out boxer with tired solemn eyes, was right for this once. Perhaps she should step down for the time being and let the flaring temper sibside.

Just this once...

Asuka remained motionless even as Victor moved out of her path and headed in the opposite direction, looking for a roof to put over his head for the night. The sun was sinking lazily on the horizon, dragging her shadow towards the abominable fighting arena as if coaxing the girl to throw away her life.

I'll be back for you...

"You coming?"

Asuka threw a side-long glance at the pausing figure, their eyes meeting each other from a long ways off. She responded with a sigh, followed by a weary shuffle towards the direction of her temporary companion.

"I suppose. For the time being." Asuka thought about smiling knowingly at the fighter, but her sullen heart refused to lighten up. Perhaps she should. But the lass simply didn't feel like it.

I'll be back for you... Kazeryu.

[The Cinderella Man]

They tottered down the street gracelessly, a pair of figures struggling to conceal the agony caused by the clobbering they just survived. Every step was a wince of pain, originating somewhere in the torso and climbing up the spine in attempt to disrupt the already wobbly balance. Victor’s left arm clung to his flank in a futile attempt to somehow prevent the prodding ache of his bruised ribs that more and more felt like a dagger poking at his flesh. This specific pain wasn’t unknown to him though. When you’re a hard hitter, you learn real fast that you’re bound to get hit rather hardly as well. But the recognition and the experience failed to make the recovery process any less taxing regardless of how many times you went through it.

Today was no different. The street seemed to mock his decrepit state with its length, time stretched to the point where it nearly ceased to exist, prolonging every moment out of celestial spite. The dusty stone pavement, cooled by the oncoming night and the departure of the sun, called him to take a break, seemingly amplifying the gravity with every pace. Sometimes he would yield to these factors that worked against him, but not today, if for no other reason then because the sassy girl at his side took the same medicine and kept going. And male pride was oftentimes harder to break then adamantine.

He wanted to ask her something, some inane little nothing to kill the uncomfortable silence broken only by their leaden feet and the shuffle of their clothes, but nothing really came to his mind. Besides, she seemed as chatty as a mute and the beating didn’t help in remedying that little quirk. Luckily, after what seemed like miles, the “Old Teller Tavern” rose before them in all its dour glory. With yellowish light – filtered though a veil of smoke – creeping out of its pores, the usual murmur of the tipsy customers and a tune apt to put you to sleep before it reached refrain, the place was just another mud hole in a mud hole part of Serenti.

“It doesn’t look like much, but it’s cheap and the owner asks no question as long as you’re not making any trouble.” Victor caught himself justifying the appearance of the joint to the redhead and the reasons why he choose it out of a thousand other places like it. Then he gave it a second thought and realized that he owed her no explanations. In fact, it was she that owed in this particular situation. Usually people at least gave you a courteous “thanks” when you saved their bacon. But given her disposition so far, that seemed highly improbable and he wasn’t out for charity anyways.

The interior failed to greet them with anything save a whiff of stuffy air and a handful of superficial glances and it made Victor smile morosely. People were so predictable in these places. You could walk through the front door with a blade stuck in your gut and cough blood all over the first table, and you probably wouldn’t get a rise out of this people. Today that was a good thing, enabling the pair to scurry – as much as it was possible in their current condition – to the first free table. It was not a good thing if you had a blade in your gut and you coughed blood.

The prizefighter collapsed into a chair and the lithe lass followed, both more then glad to take a break and both trying and failing to conceal it. The barmaid was at their side in seconds, wiping her chubby fingers in a relatively clean apron, her voluminous bulk and large bumpy nose staring down with an indifferent look.

“Victor, was it?” she first asked the boxer and he nodded wearily. He was here a couple of times, but not enough times not to be amazed that she remembered his name. “Is there a chance that you don’t come here looking like minced meat?” Not a question that desperately sought an answer and likewise it found none. “Just don’t bleed on my floor.”

“You’re in luck. They missed my nose.” he responded with a smile that just didn’t come out right, all fatigued and artificial, like a smirk of a porcelain doll. “Give the girl whatever she wants and bring me a jug of that bitter stuff... What’s it called?”

“The Gut Wrench?”

“Yeah, that’s the stuff.”

The plump waitress waited for a couple of moments for the redhead to make her order and then made herself scarce relatively fast given her large bulk. Victor leaned back in his chair, correcting his slanted shoulders and letting out a painful sigh as he did so. Getting beat up in a ring was one thing, but getting battered by seven-foot gorillas messed you up in ways you kept discovering for days afterwards.

“I reckon now is as good time as any to make proper introductions. The name is Victor Callahan, but you probably heard that back in the arena.” he spoke, leaning forward and offering her a handshake. “So tell me, what’s so important about that blade of yours? I assure you that you can get some cheap at the local Bazaar, cheaper if you buy some below the counter.”

[AsukaStrikes]

As if the worst part was getting the stuffing kicked out of you, it was far from over. Asuka couldn't keep a straight path in front of her no matter how hard she tried to just put one foot in front of the other. If they had been walking on a ledge of sort, the lass was sure she would already end up down at the bottom of a ravine.

Her side ached horribly and as far as she was concerned, the nape of her neck was also too tender to even touch. Her legs weren't any better, groaning feebly with every step taken in her effort to reach their destination. The constant pain barraging her frail physique wasn't making it any easier, though, and she longed for respite.

Asuka took her emerald eyes off the dusty road and glanced off to her right, noting the bruises and scrapes Victor had taken. The man looked nearly as bad as she was, saved the swollen eye Mercurio might have had given him. In the swordmaiden's long and fruitless journey, not many were willing to ever give her a hand with and kind of problem, much less trying to help her win a losing fight. What the beaten boxer did was commendable in her own sense of honor and bravery, nonetheless a foolhardy one as well.

The Old Teller Tavern loomed above their heads as the two battered fighters trudged in. The place smelled sour and stuffy, smoke from cigar-puffing old men making her lungs tremble painfully. Those rolls of weed was never one of many things Asuka could tolerate for long despite countless hours watching her father working red-hot slabs of steel in front of the furnace. The ragged burnt smell just wasn't the same as the sweet, metallic fumes of heated metals she had lived with in her young days. But looking at the events she just survived, it beats not having a roof over her head any day.

Her battle companion made an attempt at a conversation but Asuka merely nodded in response, too irritated by the pain at her ribs to think of anything worth replying. But once the pair reached an unoccupied table, the rest appealed to her wailing joints and muscles like music to the ear. Asuka groaned softly as she lowered herself onto the stiff wooden seat, breathing a sigh of relief to be able to ease the pressure on her knees before they felt like they just didn't want to move again.

Well, it seems Mr. Boxer here is a regular. Asuka smirked as Victor joked to the chubby waitress, making a mental note of what appeared to be a very strong alcoholic drink. "So, what will you be having, kid?"

Asuka responded with a glower but understood that if she wanted to stay inside she had to behave herself. Hmph. Who are you callin' me kid? At the least, the redhead could see in the waitress' eyes something irked her mood.

"I'll take the Gut Wrencher as well, thanks." Bitter stuff, Victor had said earlier when he ordered the drink. It didn't matter to her what it was. Asuka was fairly sure nothing could be anymore bitter than the Lavinian Ale she downed back in the Lounge of the Piston's Pleasure Palace in the middle of the Serenti bouts. "And don't call me kid. I'm nearly twenty, you know." The lass followed up her phrase with a glare, sending the lump of fat on her way.

What do I look like, a sixteen-year-old? The Akashiman glanced absent-mindedly at her lithe frame, wincing softly at each reddish bruise that popped out from her light-tan skin. Asuka was certain she was tall enough to pass as someone in their twenties. Or perhaps it was her underdeveloped bosom? Feh. So what? It's just extra baggage. Secretly, however, she wished it was a tad bigger. Just enough to not feel insecure about her body.

Victor started up another attempt, which was lucky for him Asuka was now not nearly as bitchy about talking as she was during their tiresome trudge from the arena. She leaned back against the creaky backrest, feeling the soothing pressure massage her aching spine. He extended his hand out in a courteous manner, a gesture she hadn't seen in a long while. Outside of the protected, relatively peaceful state of Akashima, Asuka remembered only that men were hogs ad women were mice. The boxer proved her belief wrong, for once.

"Yes, I think that name might've made its way into my ear somehow," The lass returned his handshake, propping her left arm on the backrest as her right crossed the oak tabletop. "Name's Murakama Asuka. You can just call me Asuka."

She thought the muscular guy would understand her emotional outburst when Kazeryu was forcibly ripped from her hold. Of all things, the man should have had some similar experiences as well. However, he mentioned the sword as if it was something anyone could just buy off the street, no questions asked. That was what really irked her.

"Kazeryu is not just a sword." She snapped, tearing through his face with her sharp accusing glare. "He is a sword forged by my very own father. The only thing I have left of him..."

Oh... Father... The optimistic, hardy father figure was what kept Asuka alive and fighting through life all these years. His priceless words echoed with each clash of Kazeryu's blade, his unfathomable wisdom shining with each beam of light reflected off the fine, hammered edges. Kazeryu was, and will be for all eternity, her father in the flesh.

"That sword... He was my Father's most precious weapon... His pride and joy... A blade made for me..." Her mind drifted aimlessly, sullen eyes roaming down to her empty hands wrought with callous and minute tears. She paused silently, trying to drown her thoughts into the cheezy music droning in the background of the tavern hall. My father's blade...

"So don't you say he's just a sword, Padre." Her head snapped back to the boxer, eyes burning with determination. She must reclaim what was stolen from her. "I can and will return Kazeryu to his rightful wielder."

[The Cinderella Man]

Though never a ladies man, Victor lived long enough to encounter a diverse specter of women in his life. Callous noble daughters with their holier-then-thou demeanor, barroom floozies and their frigid indifference, coy little daddy’s girls that were never quite certain should they be doing whatever they were doing, dames firing scandalous glances and licking their lips as if they were honey, the good, the bad, the cheap. He thought he saw it all. But Asuka was like living breathing fire, quick to anger, as accessible as Windlancer Peaks, oscillating between the blazing inferno and the deadly chill capriciously. Looking at her rather plain face and her emerald eyes, he could see her change from bitter apathy to launching fire and brimstone in a split second.

“Whoa, easy there, wildcat.” he said, spreading his hands at his sides defensively, offering what might have been an apologetic smile, but might have been just a bland courteous one. “No need to bite. I didn’t take your sword. Just trying to make small talk.” But then her head snapped back up and her flaming eyes collided with his own and he could see miniscule tears forming on the corner of her eyes like tiny diamonds. And he felt guilty for approaching the whole sword issue with a touch of joviality, felt like one of those pricks that pointed their fingers at a handicapped person and bellowed a laughter. That thought alone was enough to erase the smile from his face.

“I... I didn’t know it was that important to you. Swords aren’t really my proficiency, if you know what I mean.” the pugilist raised his hand only slightly from the smooth oaken table as if to prove his point and allude to what was his proficiency. He felt a distinct urge to pry deeper into the matter, to ask a question about her father, about her reasons for ever entering the domain of that sleazeball Ermano, but with his social skills and her attitude that was bound to be a conversation going nowhere fast. He would probably press the wrong button again, invoking another barrage of caustic words and glances that wanted to split his already aching skull. Besides, they were mere strangers whose paths crossed on this fateful evening; he doubted she wanted to talk about her father any more then he wanted to talk about Delilah, Scara Brae and the time when his win-loss record stood at twelve-and-o, ten by K.O.

The barmaid came around with two tin jugs just in time to prevent the silence from becoming the ever-infamous uncomfortable kind. The prizefighter reached for his rather light money pouch, fishing out a couple of coins as the two tin jugs landed on the table, presenting the steaming liquid that looked a whole lot like sewage, albeit smelling a bit differently. “You two certainly look like you could use this. I dare not ask what happened.” the woman said, winking at Victor who merely returned the gesture with a smirk and a much more solid currency that he placed at her palm.

“We ran into a door... repeatedly.” he commented, his saturnine attempt at humor making the woman to shake her head and roll her eyes rather benignly before she maneuvered her ample bulk to the next table. Victor didn’t lose too much time on mulling. The drinks were a salvation from the wordless pause that settled between the pair at the moment and he picked his up, taking two deep draughts. It felt like drinking battery acid and the warm thick liquid instantly singed his throat like lava. But even as it reached his stomach, the warmth started to spread through his entrails, making its way to his numerous wounds like a tidal wave. He coughed once, looking up at his companion.

“It’s not alcohol. I’m not trying to get you drunk.” he made another joke though at this point he was rather certain that the girl lost her sense of humor a long time ago... if she had one to begin with, that is. Though getting them both drunk and then do something they would both regret the morning after certainly didn’t seem like a bad idea. She wasn’t a tantalizing beauty, that was certain. She lacked some curves that the real women had, lacked that refined feminine panache that most women received by default. And yet, even though he knew her only a short while, Asuka seemed more mundane, more real somehow, her tomboyish demeanor intriguing at the very least.

“It’s a concoction made out of a bunch of stuff I’m not smart enough to name, but essentially it helps with internal injuries and speeds up the recovery. Shame it tastes like absinth.” he continued, taking another sip that set off another explosion in his stomach. His wounds still hurt like a bitch, but the warmth overlapped them, numbing them slowly. It made him less like a walking dead and more like a human.

“So what brings you...” he never got to finish his vacuous question.

“Shut up, Padre, and keep your hands where I can see them.” a voice whispered in his ear, the small of his back pricked by something sharp just deep enough to make it certain the man meant business. Two men shrouded by black cloaks approached behind Asuka in perfect sync and pressed a dagger against her back as well. “You too, missy.”

Nobody noticed a goddamned thing. And even if they did, they didn’t. The bartender was suddenly very interested in the state of his glasses, polishing them with his back turned to the tavern. Patrons shielded their drinks and turned away from the scene as if they were in school and somebody wanted to copy their exam. The whispers diminished ever so slightly in volume. The barmaid was the only one with enough courage to look at the poker of shady men threatening the beaten pair, but it too lasted only a couple of second before she scuttled away.

“Let’s go for a walk, Padre.” the voice behind him once again coming on the wings of the breath that smelled of chewed tobacco and what seemed like coffee.

“She has nothing to do with this. Let her...” and then an elbow connected with the back of Victor’s head, making him stumble on the table and spill his drink.

“I’ll ask again nicely. Let’s go for a walk. All of us.” Iron hands grasped him by the shoulders, forcing him to stand up. He looked at Asuka, expecting she would retaliate and begging her with his eyes not to. Because he knew who they were dealing with and he knew that she would wind up with a knife in her kidneys before she made her move. The tavern fell even more silent as they were led through the main room with daggers prodding at their back and black figures ushering them out of the Old Teller Tavern. Victor got a feeling he wouldn't be a welcome customer here anymore for some reason.

The evening outside drifted towards the cozy coolness, greeting them with a mild breeze and a moon that peeked just around a puffy cloud. He didn’t get a chance to enjoy the comfort of a night though. As soon as the doors behind their backs closed, he got a brass knuckle in the back of his head that send the world whirling for a fraction of a second before he sunk into nothingness.

[AsukaStrikes]

The silence between the two in the wake of Asuka's outburst was unbearable, to say the least. The thought of never seeing Kazeryu, never seeing her father's vessel in the material world, ever again pushed a lot of buttons she wasn't aware of ever having. Her throat swelled and she felt like getting sick all of a sudden, feeling something solid pushing against the base of her tongue yet never there to begin with. The emotion was as strange as its expression, yet she was fairly certain other people would identify such a torturous feeling as "sorrow."

The presence of the waitress with their drinks saved the maiden's sanity as her focus veered from her blade to the steaming, foul-smelling liquid. What the... Asuka sniffed the ditr-color concoction, wondering what in the name of Lore it was supposedly made of. She had anticipated something strong, bitter and alcoholic. The stench was probably a by-product of all the fermentation and haphazard mixing in the process.

Under normal circumstances Asuka would simply raise the drink to her lips and down the brew without a second thought. Living a hard-knock life outside of Capital City forced her to deal with many kinds of men who would get her drunk just for a fun night in bed. Too bad for those bums, she had been used to high-concentration of booze ever since her own father gave her some on the girl's fifteenth birthday. Yet the drink before her looked nothing like the sort she used to have.

The lass eyed her partner suspiciously, raising a nervous eyebrow after seeing him cough with just a few chugs. Victor seemed to be smiling but she wasn't in a jovial mood to deal with the guy at the moment.

Non-alcoholic? Well, it couldn't hurt, I guess. The swordsmaiden shrugged and took a mouthful of the Gut Wrencher.

The moment the thick brown liquid entered her throat, Asuka swore she would take back what she thought earlier about it couldn't hurt to try. The acrid beverage plowed through her throat like an avalanche and her immediate reaction was to spit out the stuff as hastily as she could. Still, the lass managed to quell her body's protest and swollowed the remainder of the herbal concoction, trying her hold the stuff down in its place. Despite its most abhorrent taste, the warmth that followed was soothing to say the least. The numbing aches and chafed wounds seemed like it was there years ago.

But things could've turned out better had she sensed the approach of shady characters homing on the unsuspecting pair. The lass had just recovered from the initial shock of the incredibly bitter Gut Wrencher, though admittingly not enough to rival the Lavinian Ale she had a long time ago, when something sharp pricked her unprotected lower back, playing dangerously close to her pant line.

In a matter of seconds the merriment came to a screeching halt. Musicians stood crippled with instruments still in their hands and the drunken banters of nearby tables went mute. Something serious was about to happen. And unlucky for her, she's stuck right in the middle of it.

After a few short, unnerving responses, the already badly-injured boxer was given another deft dose of elbow to the head. To any other women who might end up in this position, their reaction was sensibly to squeal in fright or just sit there stammering incoherent protests. Asuka happened to be neither the type to squeal or stammer. It seemed just yesterday when she was the subject of physical and psychological mockery, i.e. being bullied by a rather chubby thug and his entourage back when she was ten. It felt like hell had descended on her and her alone. The Akashiman remembered how they toyed with her red locks of ponytail, tugging on them as if to see if they were indeed attached.

Asuka swore she would never let herself fall into such a state again. Never to allow anyone tell her what to do, how to act or where to go. She was her own person and she'd rather go down in a fight than subjugate to a bully.

But looking at the washed out boxer from across the table, the normally brash girl hesitated. The lass was sure she could land a reverse elbow slash on her attacker before they could react yet her heart hesitated. Why stop? Why not just simply attack and get a barfight started? It could be the sad, pleading eyes of her newfound friend to desist. Or it could be the secret fear of giving him a hole to drain his blood for no charge while she ran away scot free. Whatever it was, Asuka grudgingly complied.

The group calmly filed outside the silent tavern, Asuka with the pointy instrument still prodding at her back. With sound of the heavy oak door closing behind them, something blunt and solid struck her clean across the nape of her neck. Suffice it to say, everything went dark.

~~~

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The quiet, blissful sleep seemed to stretch on forever for the young girl. Darkness surrounded her senses, then twisted inward and transformed into a creaky oak door. The seemingly heavy door with rusted hinges and an equally rusted handle whined plaintively as it swung outwards, ushering her into its secret abode. Still the darkness prevent her from seeing anything clearly.

Drip. Drip.

Creak. Creak.

A shadowy figure rested wearily in a whiny armless chair, obscured by the thick shroud of mist and shadow. Strange... Who is this... Curiosity got the better of apprehension and the girl peered closer, squinting through the veils that appeared to hang over her very eyes. Sad, brown eyes glanced back at her through the darkness, sending chills down her spine. Those same eyes, however, drew her in. There was something enchanting and homely about those eyes, something the maiden was unsure of.

The figure turned its gaze away from the anxious youth, eyeing a strange metallic object on his lap. And before her very eyes, the shroud lifted to reveal the sword of the Wind Dragon, battered, chipped and in disrepair.

Kazeryu!

The word snapped into her mind, sending a jolt running through the lass like a bolt of lightning. And just as sudden as the vision had came to her, the realization of her dilemma quickly made itself known.

The lighting was none to speak of. What little hint of her surrounding came from the tell-tale sound of dripping water and cold, scourboard floors. Their attackers had put her in a room of sort, stone wall and all. No light, no flowing air. A basement? Or a cellar? Wherever she was, there was no way an outsider would hear her cries.

It took moments later for the lass to adjust to the lack of light, but she already knew her escape was very unlikely. Thick coils of rope, ones that could rival those used by the Akashiman Royal Navy, bound her mercilessly to a creaky wooden chair. Her legs were in no better condition. It looked like she was going to be in this for a while.

Creak. Creak.

The irritating noise echoed in the empty stone room, drawing the girl's attention away from herself to a figure not far off to her right. It didn't take long for her to realize it was the ex-prize fighter, Victor Callahan, also bound to his own chair.

Whatever she had gotten herself into now, she knew she was in it deep. Too deep for comfort.

[The Cinderella Man]

Waking up after the wrangle with the sly goons felt a little bit like waking after a party of which you had no recollection whatsoever. You had a few drinks, a few laughs and the next thing you know a carriage is veering around the corner and you’re sitting closest to the edge with a very shabby sense of balance. However, instead of a hypothetical ditch, Victor woke up in a surprisingly vertical position, sitting on a chair and feeling every single bone and muscle in his body ache. He could even his every tooth hurt in a peculiar dull fashion. His head was like a cocoon in which something grew so big, something that insisted on getting out, hitting on the walls of his skull in sync with his heartbeat.

Unfortunately, he remembered the party that made him feel like whipped cream. Harry “Hammerhead” Winslow was the hors d’oeuvres, setting it all up for the entrée, Ermano and his buffoons. The dessert was not forgotten either. They served it cold, with a brass knuckle in the back of his head that still burned as if blood was still oozing through his hair. Of course, it wasn’t. Victor was bludgeoned enough times to recognize the difference between a real cut and an impression of a cut. But it sure as hell felt like it. His hand made a motion to test it, but no dice. He was tied so tight he got a feeling that only an hour or so separated him from the time his fingers would go numb and the lack of circulation will destroy the only two things with which he could earn some money.

His temples hurt as his eyelids slid upwards, revealing a minutely lighter shade of black. At first he could see his own feet through the curtain of darkness, but not much farther then that. His pupils adapted gradually. He could see a faint line of light that squeezed under the door ahead. He could see a brick wall with degrading plaster to his right. He could see somebody who shouldn’t be here.

His vision brought all of his other senses in tow, adding a pinch of reason to go with them. The place faintly smelled of old potato sacks and wine gone to vinegar, but more then enough to make the air stuffy and humid. He could see only an outline of somebody who shouldn’t be here, but he could hear she was alive at the very least, fidgeting in her chair. “Some rescue. Out of one trouble and into another. You’re jinxed, Padre, and you’re bringing her down with you.” he spoke to himself. Then he remembered his younger sister Yavannha – who was growing up to be an eminent scholar and an eminent bitch back in Scara Brae – who said there was no such thing as luck or karma or whatever people called the very thing that decided the roll of every die.

“You alright there, wildcat?” he spoke into the darkness, his eyes straining to see any detail beyond the vague shape of her sitting figure. This was the time to give some explanation as to why were they here, which would be followed with a remarkable escape plan. Victor had neither. He had no idea why the knaves apprehended them and the best plan he had was kicking whoever came through those doors in the nuts. He reckoned he would improvise from that point on.

The doors burst open soon after his question, letting in a beam of yellowish torchlight, introducing a scrawny middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper beard and perpetually squinted eyes encompassed by wrinkles. Probably from years and years of squinting, Victor reckoned. The two men that followed him brought a pair of petroleum lamps, setting them on the opposite walls and taking their positions beside the captives. The ringleader (and probably the man that elbowed the boxer back in the tavern) strode towards Victor with a leisurely gait, as if he was a business man coming in to pick a vintage wine that would go with his dinner. He lacked the gallantry though.

“I bet you are wondering why you are here, Padre.” he started. Definitely the man from the tavern. If Victor could smell his breath, he was willing to bet it smelled of chewed tobacco and coffee. “I don’t have a lot of time, so I’ll make it short. Quite frankly, I believe you don’t enjoy the accommodations of my humble abode any more then I enjoy having you here.”

“I don’t know. If you repaint the walls and open the windows...”

The man nodded to the burly mountain of muscle beside Victor and a fist snapped at his jaw, swift and fierce, just strong enough to make it certain they meant business, but that they didn’t want him to pass out again.

“A smartass. Nobody likes one, me included. Now, you do that again and she gets hit.” the man spoke, casting a glance to Asuka who sat beside Victor. It was enough for the bitter boxer to keep his mouth shut for now. “Good. As I was saying, let’s make it brief. There was a lot of money on your fight, Padre, specifically your loss. But because you fought like a sissy girl, they called it a no contest. You do know what happens when it’s a no contest battle?”

“Yeah. A bookie field day. I’m guessing you’re one of the bookies and this is your weird way of saying thank you.” Victor spoke with a grin, forgetting about the threat earlier. He was on the ropes. The least he could do was fire a few last-ditch jabs.

“See, there you go again, running that mouth of yours. Hit her.” the man spoke in a nonchalant tone.

“No, wait. She has nothing to do with me. We just met in the tavern. Besides, you pricks just want to hit a gir...” he didn’t get to finish, a punch exploding in his undefended gut like a bomb, then followed by an uppercut that busted his lower lip. Victor collected the blood with tongue with a painful groan, then proceeded to spit it on the floor beside him.

“We can do this all night long, Padre. And the punching would be just the beginning.” the knave spoke, propping his back against the wall.

“Alright, alright. What do you want? It’s not like you can beat the money out of us.”

“No. Although there’s an interesting thought. But no, that’s not my intention. I know you’re a bum, Padre, and your missy is no better. But Ermano and his bookies are loaded. They hold all the earnings in the safe somewhere in his office. You two are going to get that for me and then you are as free as birds.” he spoke, making the fluttering motion with both of his hands to demonstrate the unnecessary. “And if you don’t, I’ll make sure you disappear. Both of you. Piece by piece. I’ll start with her.”

It was all that he needed to coerce Victor into this scheme. The prizefighter maybe was a bum, maybe didn’t have two coins to his name, maybe he wasn’t all that of which heroes were made of. But he could never let somebody suffer because of him.

“Fine.”

“Splendid. You have until morning.”

[AsukaStrikes]

Asuka groaned angrily, feebly trying to pry loose from the chafing coils of rope constricting her hads to the back of the chair. Victor was in no better condition and looked far worse than he had been after the bout with Ermano's lackeys. The back of her head was also feeling a bit tender and fleshy, although she could not be certain if she was bleeding from the ruthless blow. She was lucky to not have gone limp altogether - the assailants apparently knew quite well how to deal with a wide range of abductees in their work experience.

Asuka resolved to remain silent as the menacing trio entered the dank hole, shedding some light into their captive's situation. The tell-tale stench of vintage wine gone bad came from the few bottles left lying on the tiered shelf behind them, the woodwork also beginning to fall apart from years of neglect. The lanterns played off the walls, giving the already oppressive cell-like basement the very looks of a castle prison. Feh. I guess things could've been worse. At the least she could now see who to hold an unbreakable grudge against besides the notorious battle organizer Ermano Worth.

Asuka glared hard at the Scrooge spouting threats of bodily harm to the bozer to no effect. In fact, it seemed that Victor was nearly oblivious to the constant beating, saved the painful grunts of a connected blow. It wasn't her fight, she thought as the old man muttered about how much money he lost to the conniving organizer's bookies. Why should she care if that prize-fighter got what he had coming?

Afterwards the haggard went so far as to threaten beating up Asuka as well to "coerce" Victor into cooperating in his scheme. A fist flown here and there was more than enough to make the lass go out like a light, but she kept a straight face nonetheless, not giving the pepper-beard man the satisfaction of seeing her cringe.

Go ahead and hit me, you dolt. Like old Padre's gonna give a stinkin' thought about my welfare. The redhead lass glared at her would-be attacker, daring him to land that gigantic knuckle of his on her frail physique and close the deal on the immortal hatred she would be branding on his face. However, the blow never came to her and was redirected to the already-battered fighter sitting right next to her.

It was a stupid move in her eyes. Why would a prizefighter who didn't give a beeswax about anyone take the beating of someone he just met? It didn't make any sense to Asuka, a lone wanderer whose only thought was to put herself ahead of anyone else no matter the circumstances. The world was for the bold and the strong for the taking, weaklings had no place besides the gutters to dwell in. So why take a blow for someone who obviously didn't give a second thought about their own welfare?

After the one-sided deal had been made, the lives of two bums hanging in the balance, they were nonchalantly cut loose from their chafing bindings and thrown unceremoniously out the door like a pair of alley cats caught rummaging through someone's kitchen. Asuka landed with the wind knocked out of her, skidding a good ways across the dusty cobblestone road. Padre followed out the door in more or less the same manner nearby. Her swollen wrists denying the lass the luxury of propping herself up and yelling something obscene to her captives. It wasn't a good strategy anyways, seeing condescending glare of the burly assailants staring down on her battered form turned yellow from the lighting inside the large estate.

The ordeal was short and to the point, yet it felt like months had gone by to the outside world. The sun was no longer creeping about the edge of the sky. All that was left were silvery-purple billows of clouds traversing the deep azure sky, hiding the silvery sliver of the moon from the world. The streets around them were littered with soft orange glows of candles and lanterns, playing shadows of its occupants going about their bed-time rituals. Some tucking in their young ones, others cheering on their comrades for a successful harvest the day before.

For Asuka, there was no chance for her to enjoy any of this reverie. Fate had pushed her to the very place awaiting her vengeance to be wrought. To tear that ugly smirk off of Worth's pug face and stuff it up his backside.

It was high time that cur got what he deserved. To have everything forcibly taken away, the way he had done to her.

"Hrngh..." Even though the after-effects of Old Teller Tavern's Gut Wrencher had done part of its work on the Akashiman's old wounds, it would still be some time for her to get used to lurching about with tired legs and a smarting headache. Asuka finally gathered enough strength and hauled herself up the side of the sandstone wall, grunting laborously with each tug of her arm. Without even looking back to see if Victor was ready to go, Asuka's usual rash self had already made up her mind as to what to do next.

"C'mon, Padre. It looks like we have to pay ol' Worth a surprise visit after all."

[The Cinderella Man]

Victor wondered just how many beatings have to occur until he could finally call it a day. He was currently having a terrible sense of déjà vu, beaten senseless and thrown out like trash twice in as many hours. He managed to push his aching body backwards just enough to prop his back against the brick fence of the estate in which the hospitality was expressed by slugging. Not as bad as back at Ermano’s place though. These guys at least didn’t proceed to kick him like a deflated football. They struck like a train, but they hit the spots that Victor knew how to handle. If they punch you in the jaw, you keep your teeth together and throw your head away to muffle the strike. If they go for the solar plexus, stand fast and tense your muscles. It was as simple as that. But when somebody kicked you in the nuts, no training in the world can save you from whimpering like a baby and topple over.

“I love it when they ask so nicely.” Victor commented to nobody in particular, not really concerned about Asuka at this point. He was hit, she was not, and he sincerely doubted that something as trivial as a skid down the stone road would hamper the redhead’s spirits. So for the time being, he just sat back, breathed, and stared at the sky above. Just like he did once the Ermano’s boys gave them the boot. Literally. The night was cozy, undistributed, revolving around them as it always did in small towns such as this one. Most already snuck back to their homes and those that didn’t, scuttled like mice in search for a hole in the wall. Nobody noticed the beaten pair despite the fact that they were making their appearance for the second time tonight. Ignorance was a powerful weapon.

Asuka got to her feet sooner then he expected and definitely sooner then his aching muscles desired. Not only that, but the audacious broad had her determination back with a vengeance, speaking of going at Ermano as if they were a pair of kids that were about to throw a rock at his window and run away. It made him wonder, yet again, just how she survived this long in an unforgiving world where people killed people over inane matters such as a loaf of bread. Perhaps she was just damn lucky, did something in previous life that was paying back dividends in this one. He didn’t know and didn’t care too much right now because she was edging towards insanity.

“You really have a death wish, don’t you, wildcat?” He liked that nickname. He partially used it because it described her to a T and partially just to take a jab at her brassy demeanor. She snapped back at him with those emerald eyes as if they were whips. “Let me guess, your plan is pretty much to walk in there and ask him to give you the money? And if he doesn’t, then you’ll give him the hard goodbye?”

He pushed himself back to his feet with the help of the wall behind his back, dusting off almost reflexively. “He has weapons, guards and none of them is walking around with cracked ribs and a headache. So I ask you this; what is more important to you, your life or that sword of yours?” His tone was bitter, weary and a touch condescending as he looked at her face that seemed to have no other expression then the angry one. Even her indifferent face looked angry. The lack of archetype feminine warmth intrigued the boxer, but not enough to risk his life to find it out.

“Now, I’m getting away from this lousy town. By the time morning comes I’ll be far away and whoever the hell that nickel-and-dime knave was, he’s too small-time to go into a pursuit far away from his territory. I advise you to do the same if you want to live long enough to see another day.”

He could see that none of this is getting through her thick skull, but at least he could wash his hands from this now. He saved her once - twice if he counted the fact that he took a hit for her back in that basement – and that was more then enough heroism for one day. If she was foolish enough to put her sentimentality and that piece of metal before her own life, it would be her downfall, not his.

“So, you coming?”

[AsukaStrikes]

Words poured forth from the prize-fighter as if they were cold hard facts, rational and beyond reproach in their own rights. Indeed, the most logical approach in dealing with threats of bodily harm as to get the hell away as far as humanly possible, hoping that by the time the assailants found your whereabouts you would already be long gone from this world. Padre seemed to have plenty of experiences with regards to this issue, suggesting the very routine without hesitation. For Asuka, it was just as equally logical for her to skedaddle to somewhere safe and have a local blacksmith forge the lass a new sword, possibly ending up better-made than Kazeryu.

Logical thinking was never her forte. And by the looks of how things are playing through her mind, the very thought of logical thinking was mostly superficial at best.

"So... we should just... run away?" Asuka drilled her eyes into Victor's skull, revenge already consuming the girl's spirit beyond redemption.

Run away. Just run away and disappear into the darkness, never to be found again in this cursed land...

Those words pulled at her mind, trying to sway the lass from the path of destruction she was about to set foot upon. Returning to the arena, unarmed and already battered beyond her ability to put up a fair fight, would drive the last nail in her coffin. She would surely die with no one to acknowledge her demise. An obscured blob in the expansive history of Althanas.

Yes. Run away, and never return.

The voice spoke again, nudging the youth to desist whatever plans she had in recovering her most beloved possession.

Never!

Asuka snapped back at the thought of pacifism, chasing away the demon residing within her mind. There was no way she was going to leave Kazeryu in the grimy hands of a bastard the likes of Worth. If it meant she had to forfeit her life in exchange, then so be it.

Coward.

Victor spoke to her after a period of brief silence, allowing Asuka to collect her thoughts and strengthen her resolve. The man argued that living to see another day was more than anyone could ask for. To her, living another day with no purpose in life was worse than death.

Even as the prizefighter uttered those same words which saved her from being thrown out of the arena a broken remain of her former self, the lass had already wound her tired right arm and slammed a feeble punch across his cheek, herself reeling from the recoil produced in the process.

"You're a stinking coward, Padre!" She yelled in his face, genuinely irritated by his pacifistic viewpoint on life. She had enough of running. "Do you think I stayed alive this long by simply running away?!? I've fought my entire life! The Serenti! the LCC! The ugly! The insane!" Grabbing forcibly at the washed-out boxer's shirt collars, she dragged him close to her face so she could get a clear look at those pathetic orbs of his in the dim lighting. Hot tears pooled at the corner of Asuka's eyes even as she spoke, her voice brimming with anger and disillusionment in his ideals.

In her mind, this poor excuse of a man had nothing to live by.

"You're a disgrace, Victor." The wildcat's voice breaking into a sob with each word escaping her mouth. "You're nothing but an empty vessel."

Asuka still had so many things to say to the man, so many things she wanted to scream into his face, to make the man snap out of his disgusting disposition. But words faltered under her uncontrollable temper, unable to stare into the eyes of someone who obviously had nothing to live for.

Letting go of his shirt, soiled with beads of hot tears from the lass towering his fallen form, Asuka wearily backed away into the deserted street hushed by her furious cries and turned away from Victor.

"Fine. Run away. Run away until you've got nowhere to run."

One step forward. That was all it took for Asuka to be headed down the road to her demise. One step forward. And she took it without hesitation.

"You know where to find me." The Akashiman spoke to no one in particular, her voice cold and unconcerned. For all she cared, the continuous beating the man had taken for her was nothing but all show and of no real substance.

The man was a disgrace to everything she believed in. Men were hogs and women were mice. The ancient saying continued to prove itself without fail.

Asuka was determined to disprove it, however, as the solemn march carried her towards the looming shadow of the battle arena belonging to the filthy cur Ermano Worth, pausing just out of sight of the patrolling guards in its perimeters.

This woman was no mouse.

The wildcat could be no more dangerous than when she's cornered. And that's exactly what she was.

[The Cinderella Man]

She spoke like no woman he ever saw before and packed a mean punch. It could’ve just been the weariness that turned his knees into jelly and loosened his muscles, but her strike sent him back to the ground. It was no piledriver, but good enough to get her on top of him, pulling at his collar and spewing harsh words and even harsher glances. She must be a firecracker in bed, he thought in the back of his mind, and a scratcher if ever he saw one. Her green eyes were like dragon breaths though, the welled tears doing little to hinder her display of pure determination. Or madness. Depends from which side a person looked at it. He let her vent out. She looked like somebody who bottled things up so efficiently, you could never live to see a honest emotional outburst from somebody such as he. He knew that because in one way or the other, they were more similar then either of them would admit. She defended with frigidity and brassiness while he opted for a more phlegmatic indifferent approach. Deep down inside, their cores were the same. Deep down inside, everybody’s core was the same.

Once the barrage of insults stopped and she let go of his collar, he propped himself up on his elbows and looked up at her face that radiated with utter disgust. He let it pass right through him. He got a fair share of these looks in his life; hers was just another in his collection. “There is a fine line between courage and madness, Asuka.” he spoke as he struggled back to his feet. The redhead didn’t turn, but she could hear him alright. “I’m sad to see you don’t know on which side you’re on.”

By the time he was done, her lissome figure disappeared in the darkness of the streets, and the uncanny pair parted ways. Victor thought for good as he turned around and started to walk the other way. Asuka didn’t stand a chance against Ermano and his goons and even if she by some miracle managed to survive the ordeal, chances that their paths cross again were astronomical. That’s what he kept telling himself anyways.

His mind had a different agenda though. As minds always did in periods devoid of some coherent thoughts, it rewound the words she spat at him with more bitterness then he could ever fathom coming out of a girl’s mouth.

“You're a stinking coward, Padre!” she said. Got me there, kiddo, the prizefighter retorted. There used to be a backbone in him when he was in Scara Brae, and he had fists of fury, and the world had a sunny disposition. Nowadays, taking a risk was a joyride that Victor refused to take, his insipidity aiding him in just letting himself go to the tides of life.

“Do you think I stayed alive this long by simply running away?!? I've fought my entire life! The Serenti! the LCC! The ugly! The insane!” she said. He thought that there must’ve been a poor sod or two like him that would be dues ex machine and save her scrawny behind. It was a caustic thought, but given the tone of her words, it seemed appropriate.

“You're a disgrace, Victor.” she said. Boom! Got me again, wildcat, he thought. Disgrace was something he read from so many eyes that it became a part of his everyday routine. His mother used to conceal that look from him, so did his sisters, so did Delilah in her obscure manner as well. And so did everybody who looked at him box after that fateful loss in Scara Brae.

None of those really touched the gist of the boxer. He grew immune to such words and looks, grew a hide thick enough to sustain all the sticks and stones that life launched at him. But what she said next struck a mysterious cord somewhere in his gut not because it was bitter, but because it sounded so true it made his guts churn.

“You're nothing but an empty vessel.”

Strike three. It was like reading a poem that described your thoughts to the word, like getting a peek behind the curtain to see the truth behind the magician’s trick. Was he really so transparent, so pitifully simple that this lass managed to read him in only a couple of hours? Was this haggard man all that was left of the Architect of Destruction, of the Hope of Scara Brae, of Padre? Was an empty shell all that was left of his father’s son?

Victor paused his advance, leaning tiredly on the nearby wall of some lousy alley in a lousy part of town. He looked into the darkness, but kept seeing those emerald eyes filled with vengeance, with fire, with life. He forgot how it felt to be so alive, how it was to go all out, how it was to fight for a reason, for something that meant a damn. She didn’t. She was like the embodiment of spite, defiant and bullheaded and vibrant with life. None of those brushed against him so far, but maybe if he did this one thing, maybe if he stuck with her for a while longer, maybe he would see with her eyes.

These thoughts made the boxer smile. When he first saw Asuka, all riled up and getting into Ermano’s face with her five-feet-something of unremarkable physique, she certainly didn’t seem like that type of a woman you go dying for. And yet it seemed like it could come to that today.

Despite his rather trashed condition, Victor managed to lurch through the alleys at a good pace, backtracking his way to Ermano’s boxing arena. And every time he’d slow down, those eyes of hers peered down onto him and made him pick up the slack. She was done as dinner if she went inside alone and despite the fact that he did the ritual of washing his hands from her fate, he knew that her demise would turn into a ghost that would haunt him until the end of his days. And he had enough ghosts already. He didn’t need some sassy redhead broad to gnaw at his every thought for eternity. On top of that all and in spite of her cocky demeanor, he kind of grew to like the girl in this short time. And he didn’t like a whole lot of people nowadays.

He managed to catch up with her a couple of houses away from the wretched place, her defiant attitude present in every step she made. “Hey, wildcat, wait up!” he shouted after her. She stopped only when he caught her forearm, though she didn’t seem too glad to see him. He wondered if there was a single person those eyes could look at benevolently. “I...uh... I apologize for what I said back there, alright? Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s better to die on your feet then live on your knees. But let’s not dwell on the die part. Let’s just get the money and get out of this town alive.”

He paused for a couple of seconds, looking her in the eyes and hoping he got far enough on her good side not to receive another hook in the jaw. “Now, do we have some sort of a plan or should we just barge in there? Surprise can sometimes be a worthy edge.”

[AsukaStrikes]

Darkness enveloped her mind the moment the battle arena loomed into view, towering over the unremarkable landscape with its sheer size alone. The tiny sliver of moonlight turned the dull brick walls a deep shade of sapphire blue, broken only by the patrolling gorilla men wearing neat black suits that never seemed to be soiled. This bastion was the place Ermano Worth had mocked and stripped her of the only thing she held dear.

O, Holy Maiden Akashima...

Asuka calmly closed her eyes, breathing in the chilly Serenti night with her fists steadily pumping blood through her arms. A fight was inevitable, given the dire situation at hand and she needed to be as ready as anyone can in the face of death. In her mind, there was little reason for that cur Ermano to keep her alive. The lass knew she was brash. Hasty. Too bold to be alive.

But she had passed by Death's Door far too many times to count. The Serenti alone was enough to bring a regular wandering soul like her to the knees. But she had seen it. There was too much injustice in this world to woory about just getting by in life. Why live when you have nothing to live for?

...Give me courage to slay this evil beast.

Asuka had made up her mind. The lass was going to reclaim Kazeryu and take that man's money for all the suffering he had put her through. If that pathetic Victor wanted some to pay off his little debt, he would have to show the redhead the boxer had the will to live. Even if he was going to show up to help her at all, she highly doubted it.

"Hey, wildcat! Wait up!"

Asuka should've forgotten the owner of the voice by now, but somehow the name stayed securely lodged into her memory and the lass had to force herself not to turn around to see if it was really him. Then again, maybe that pacifist wanted to drag the lass away from the inevitable death she would be serving herself so as to not let her demise be a mark on his conscience. Either way, the determined maiden was not going to let that washed out-boxer change her mind. She took a step forward, more out of exasperation for what the old salt was supposedly planning on doing to her than the blind determination of reclaiming her dignity as a swordsmaiden. She never got beyond three steps when a familiar iron grip halted her advance.

The man was starting to become a nuisance, always trying to stop her from solving things her way. It wasn't like the lass was putting his life on the line, anyway. Asuka had nothing more to lose without Kazeryu while Victor had nothing more to gain by stopping her. The swordless maiden snapped her emerald eyes, raging with anger, and locked them on the boxer's own unimpressive mud-colored ones. His eyes shone dimly with a hint of life, or maybe it was just the reflection from the streetlamp across the deserted street. Either way, she was still skeptical about his fighting. If he was indeed the so-called Architect of Destruction, he had better act like one.

"You apologize too much, Padre." Still unamored by his change in disposition, Asuka whipped her tired arm from Victor's grasp. The yank sent her stumbling sideways, weaily hitting a rugged brick wall out of pure fatigue. Sweat trickled down the fiery bangs, dripping lazily onto the cooled sidewalk under her. She hadn't realized it before, but the lass had not been in the best of condition to do anything more than walking in a straight line.

O, Maiden Akashima... Lend me strength to face my foe...

"You still want to sneak in, Padre?" Asuka flashed him an ominous smirk even as she hauled herself onto steady feet. "Fine by you, if you have a plan. I'm going in the front door."

There wasn't going to be a second chance for her. Time was running out, her body had said it all too well. The longer she kept waiting, the worse she was going to be.

She was running out of time.

"Alright... let's go."

It was irrelevant whether or not Victor was ready, but she felt it needed to be addressed. The boxer would be a great help in dealing with those humongous fists guarding the door, although she was confident her legs was more than enough to give them the slip. Then again, the lass wasn't exactly feeling like her usual self anymore...

~~~

"Hey, blockhead!"

The sharp, hardly-angelic voice echoed in the stark night followed by surprised grunts and dull thuds of falling bodies. Dust flew in all directions, laying down a thin coat of brown on top of otherwise clean, black suits with inhumanly large men under them. More fighting continued on as Asuka sent one of the apes careening into a stack of crates with a kick, throwing splinters into the dark sky. Even just as the large man pushed himself onto thick, muscular knees, he was met by a fierce punch to the nose and quickly went to sleep.

"Ow..." Maybe barging in like a rabid beast wasn't the best idea, the lass pondered as she shook senses back into her arms and looked over the wasted guards. There were only four of them, only one of them seemed like any kind of real threat to the boxer and herself. Now, Ermano's guarddog laid senseless in front of the battle arena while the intruders scanned the formidable fortress.

The front door was, quite predictably, locked up tight with a gigantic padlock and a length of chain. The pair could've tried and find a window to break into, but they had the advantage of not stirring up anymore suspicion in their immediate area. Looking at the simple security precaution, all Asuka could do was scoff dryly. Man... that filthy-rich cur shouldn't have been so stingy.

The rusted iron chains gave way to the steadfast pull of a crowbar lying nearby. Breaking and entering might not be her thing, but at the least she said she had already been in one herself. Leaning her bruised form against the heavy steel door, Asuka drove her boots into the ground and pushed one of the doors inward, revealing the inky abyss within.

The strain, however, was starting to take its toll on the lass.

"C'mon, Padre. Let's get this over wi-" Asuka only took a short step forward when suddenly her head just went blank and fell to her knees. Just as sudden as it began, the ordeal was over yet its repercussion lingered like poison in the blood. The red-hair maiden's eyes stared at the ground, colors drained from her sweating face.

What's... what... just happened...?

"I- I'm- I'm... OK..." The maiden struggled onto her feet once more, trying to keep a straight face and proceeded in front of Padre. I can't let him know I'm hurt... No... I can't let him know... She had to look strong and capable of helping herself. She had to force herself onwards until the point of collapse. Not giving in to the physical strain. Not giving in to the psychological trauma of losin Kazeryu. I can't let him know I'm afraid... of becoming like him... No... I am not like him... not afraid...

Darkness enveloped the two as they wandered in the arena, crawling along the spartan walls while the scent of wet tobacco punched at her nose. She never quite liked like that smell - it was nothing as pleasant as the scent of heated steel being hammered into fine blades by the strong arms of her let father. After a few minutes that seemed to stretch into eternity, the rough wooden door of Ermano's office brushed against her cold fingers. Asuka fumbled in the darkness, finally finding the doorknob and giving it a tired push.

I can't let him know I'm a quitter like him.

The battle organizer's office was no different than the arena itself - dark and completely shapeless. It was starting to irritate the lass greatly and she had to strain herself from throwing a tantrum. But from the short visit to this room earlier that day, Asuka managed to find the antique lamp and lit the room with its balmy glow.

"Alright, Padre." Setting down the lamp on Ermano's hastily-repaired desk, her voice was now drained of the usual flare she was accustomed to. "You go ahead and crack this safe under the table. I'm going to go look for Kazeryu."

Kazeryu. The only thing Asuka cared more than her own life. But even as her eyes roamed the small room while her partner went abut his business, the maiden could not find a single hint of the revered blade anywhere.

Kazeryu... Where are you?

[The Cinderella Man]

The security of the outer perimeter of the boxing arena was a joke, but given the fact that Ermano Worth was nothing more but a small-time battle organizer that just happened to be a crook in his free time, that didn’t come as too much of a surprise. Victor dealt with the two rather easily, Asuka did the same with the other two and soon enough they were knocking on the front door with no intention to wait for an answer. She was tired though. Boxing was his bread and butter for a good number of years now and if he learned anything from all the head-bashing and slugging, it was how to read fatigue in a person. It was in her eyes, turning her limbs into lead and leeching energy from her with every movement she made. But unlike most, there was something else in those emeralds, something that opposed the deadening of her spirits, and it provided her the fuel to burn. At first Victor thought it was just spite, common stubborn unyielding spite that she had in abundance. But the more he looked at her, the more it became clear that it was more then that. It was who she was, the drive that pushed her forward like a meteorite. And he tagged along for the ride.

Save the lack of illumination, the arena neither looked nor smelled any different from the one they were cast out hours ago. There were no sentries, but that was to be expected. Wooden bleachers and a shabby ring wasn’t exactly the merchandise that the peddlers like to resell. Asuka led the way confidently, retracing the path back to Ermano’s office and making Victor wonder if the girl had any other gear except bullheaded forward. Like carefully forward. Or maybe even, god forbid, neutral. Still, he managed to control these sentiments, making them a mere afterthought that spun somewhere behind his focus as he followed her lissome figure through the darkness.

The office seemed squared away and rid of the mess the two caused the last time they were here. The mahogany remnants of a lofty desk were gone, replaced by a much more mundane piece of furniture that, compared to the old one, seemed like an insult with its spartan simplicity and imperfect lines. Victor had no doubt that Ermano would replace it some time tomorrow with something that had a bit more panache, something that would make him seem less of a sleazeball then he really was. Beside the table, pushed in the corner of the room, stood the reason of their coming here. Well, half of the reason anyways. Asuka still needed her father-personification blade. However, at the time, both seemed unobtainable.

“Right. I’ll just pull out my lockpicks and use the countless years of training as a thief.” the prizefighter commented sarcastically to her proposition. Or was it an order? She certainly had an idiom that made it hard to distinguish one from the other. Not expecting any other retort to these words other then the roll of her eyes that he was slowly getting used to by now, Victor squatted in front of the safe and tried to pull the lever, hoping that by some infinitesimal chance Ermano left it open. To his utter surprise, the lever gave way and the safe opened with a silent screech. To amplify his surprise, the thing was empty.

“Did you really think I’m that stupid, Padre?” a voice spoke from behind him and he was anything but glad to realize that he was familiar with it. He knew who stood in the doorway even before he got up and turned around. What he didn’t know until he turned was that once again Asuka and he were bound to get a beating. Ermano stood between a pair of gorillas, his armpits and his bald head genuinely sweaty, his meaty hand wrapped around a large canvas sack. He didn’t have to shake it for the prizefighter to know that the contents of the safe were in there. Victor’s eyes went to Asuka, but her sweaty face encompassed by damp scarlet locks were making it clear that she was one punch away from a knock out. She couldn’t help him now. This was to be his fight, the one moment where he could prove he was worth more then a common hobo that begged for change on every other corner of Serenti slums.

“Well, you’re not really smart either.” Victor spoke confidently, taking a step forwards and placing himself between Asuka and Ermano and his posse. “Instead of cracking a safe, I have to crack your skulls and take the money. And hitting bone and flesh is a lot easier then hitting steel, bub.”

“Strong words from somebody who can’t fight for shit.” the fat blimp replied, forcing a laugh that made him voluminous midriff ripple.

The taunt failed to phase Victor. In fact, all this talk and thoughts about being washed out, about not having a pot to piss in, it all just clicked somehow in his head and for some reason, he found himself psyched by it, inspired by it. He was like an cornered animal; the more you hit it, the more it hit back. His hands were before him in a fighting stance, gloveless and balled tight enough for his knuckles to crack. And there was a smirk on his face, half-malicious and half-jovial, a nothing-to-lose smile that stood against all that was thrown at him like a shield. And he could feel his muscles’ eagerness to act, his mind’s readiness to plot out the battle and make it happen. For the first time in a long while he was Architect of Destruction again.

Ermano sent his boys forwards with a bawl that commanded them to crush him like the worm he is!, but against the reborn Victor they didn’t stand a chance. The first one brought his iron knuckles in a measured hook, but he was way to slow for the calculated mind of the prizefighter. Victor took a swift step back, then one to the side, cracking a punch straight at the man’s ribs. The man recoiled, tried to counter with a flailing elbow, but a swift duck followed by an uppercut punched his lights out. The second of the four that accompanied Ermano tried to tackle him, but a fleet sidestep evaded the charge easily, making the man turn yet another desk into shambles. Two came in sync next, both barring their unhealthy teeth and trying to clobber the boxer from both sides. Victor stood his ground. He got his dukes up, took the bludgeoning with remarkable solidity, before firing a swift jab straight at the nose of the man on the left. The right goon finally managed to get a shot in, his fist connecting with Victor’s cheek. But all it managed to do was turning that cocky grin of the boxer into a bloody grimace. Victor spat the blood, showed his crimson-color teeth, and broke the jaw of the muscle-bound grotesque in three places.

“They... They were my best fighters.” was all the Ermano managed to say, stuttering in disbelief. The transcended prizefighter paid no heed to him. Instead he turned to Asuka and made a rather regal bow, his head turning sideways and pointing towards the overweight cur. It was a gesture that clearly said: He’s all yours.

[AsukaStrikes]

What?!? The safe's-

It was empty, as the boxer had already said when the small grey vault swung open with little effort. They had been tricked. She had been tricked. But Asuka was so certain Ermano would have kept all his precious belongings in that seemingly impenetrable hold for sure. And she half-hoped that Kazeryu would be inside that steel box as well. Seeing the vault filled with only dust and air, her remaining strength seemed to leave her in an instant as she fell to her knees. No... Where?! Where could he be?!?

And it was only a moment later when the bastard swaggered up to them from behind with his goons, barring the only entry point into the room with a sneer plastered across his face. The shiny bald head shone like a bronze statue under the orange glow of the lamp while the four lumbering figures looked no less intimidating than the first time she had seen them.

There was no way out besides bashing that filthy cur's head in and bolt out the door with the bag, but the circumstances at hand looked grim for both battered fighters. She didn't know how long she could last against the sledgehammer fists - only a single, grazing punch would be enough to send her reeling to the floor with no hope of getting up before the count of ten. Victor didn't look the job either, having lost numerous fights on-stage and in the streets himself.

Heh. I guess it's time to meet our Maker, then. The lass had enough running for one day and if she was to be ground to dust tonight, she might as well give them one last thing to remember her by. Planting her sweating palm against the desk, the swordless maiden laborously hauled her weakened form onto shaky legs and held up a feeble guard, imitating an amateur boxer's stance. But just getting up on her feet was more than enough for her battered legs as they refused to move anywhere. She was like a punching bag for these gorillas to toy with at their mercy.

Victor, however, seemed to have other things in mind and stepped in between Asuka and certain doom. She glared at him in disbelief, confused and irate by his stubborn resolve. What is he, crazy?!? Those goons are gonna eat him alive! As far as she was concerned, he fought like a bum with one arm. How was he supposed to take on four well-trained pugilists, much less win this impossible fight? But it wasn't like Asuka could do anything else, either. Her legs stood resolute in staying in place and leaning against the desk. That was as far as her body could go. For the time being.

But Padre was not like the old, washed-out bum that had saved her behind on numerous occasions. His fists were calculated and precise, with enough power behind it to knock the lights out of even the largest of the thugs. He didn't stagger away like when he fought earlier in the ring that day - the man took it with a grimace and countered with the force of a raging bull. He was no bum - and neither was he an empty shell. The lass couldn't exactly tell when he suddenly changed, but at least he now seemed to have a purpose to live for.

Everything ended just as quickly as it had began, four men in black suits laying at the feet of a supposedly washed-out boxer the resluting casualty of the skirmish. Asuka was left leaning wearily against a wall staring at Victor with a look of surprise even as he motioned her to finish her business with the stammering battle-organizer.

"Well... looks like you're not a washed-out bum after all, Mister Architect." She forced a weak smirk before slowly stepping towards Ermano, driling her emerald eyes into the fat man's blue orbs. She still had some business left with this cur. But either way, he will pay for his crime dearly.

"Alright, you sorry excuse for a human being..." Asuka circled him to the right, sending the small-time criminal scrambling backwards away from the only door in the room. Even though she was now feeling very light-headed and can barely walk straight, the inner drive pushed her onwards until her boots struck the sack Ermano had dropped in fright. Asuka kept her eyes trained on his shivering form as her hands felt the various objects within the canvas bag - a stack of documents, several healthy sacks of gold and a marble statue of some human figure with the head of a dragon. The papers were particularly interesting, names and details of girls being sold to slave traders written all over as well as money reaped from the atrocious acts. The mere existence of such a fact made her blood boil - fuel to feed her dying flame. More importantly, Kazeryu was also there amongst the golden trash she cared little about.

Finally... I found you... Her eyes lit up with delight at the sight of her lost weapon, but quickly turned to raging anger once the swordsmaiden returned her glare back to the Serenti branch battle organizer. It was time to pay for his crimes.

Asuka's tired fingers gripped the sword in her usual reverse-hold, slowly rising to her feet with a painful grunt. The room tipped from side to side, threatening to throw the girl onto her side with the constant rocking. "Ermano Worth, you filthy scum..." Ragged and drained, the lass only had determination left as the only thing moving her forward. "Selling girls to slave traders... scum..."

The Akashiman paused a mere foot away from the whimpering mass of blubber as he begged for his life, the words falling on deaf ears. The lass herself couldn't even hear anything at all saved for her own voice and the drumming of her pulse inside her ear. "You've lived long enough, Ermano Worth. It's time for you..." Kazeryu rose above Asuka's head, eager to strike at his master's will. "To pay for your sins."

The steel blade screamed through the air into his prey, the wielder plunging into the deep embrace of unconsciousness at the same time as the last of Asuka's strength left her for another realm.

See you in hell, scum.

[The Cinderella Man]

Victor was never a squeamish person, but seeing a man – regardless of how much of an asshole he was – murdered in cold blood was significantly disconcerting. That was probably why he was never on terms with blades. When you beat a man to a pulp, you send him packing, but you send him to the infirmary, not the coroner. Blade strikes were unforgiving, relentless, terminating life in one slick motion. The fact that Ermano Worth was a maggot that should be lugging a ball-and-chain in some dungeon up north helped the prizefighter to turn a blind eye towards the execution. Well, not exactly a blind eye. He did watch – from way too close for his liking – how Asuka’s blade sliced through Ermano’s suit and the fat body below as if it was a rag doll. A very lively rag doll. That shivered and sweated and bled like a stuck pig. But what Ermano’s malice did accomplish was tying Victor’s hands from preventing the redhead from getting her vengeance.

“No skin off my back, bub.” he thought as some three hundred pounds of slimy boxing organizer collapsed to the floor. However, that thought was the maximum of pondering he was allowed, because Asuka’s weariness finally caught up with her. She staggered a step, her emerald eyes staring at some point beyond the wall that stood before her, and then lost both her footing and her consciousness. Luckily for her – and her head that was bound to earn a nasty bruise if she fell on the floor uncontrollably – Victor was close enough to catch her. Her lithe body fell into his arms, limp as a corpse, and for a moment he could smell the sweat on her skin, in her clothes, in her hair. For a moment he held her in a manner that she probably disallowed on regular basis with a knee in the groin.

“You know, you’re much prettier when you’re not running that mouth of yours?” he muttered with a grin, knowing that she couldn’t hear him. But it was something he couldn’t tell her while she was cutting him in shreds with those flaming greens of hers and he reckoned this was a good chance to let it out. That’s as far as sentiments went at the moment though. He lowered the knocked out lass on the ground and collected the sack that contained Ermano’s belongings – not the sword though, Asuka held to it as if it was worth its weight in gold. His foot kicked the blob in the ribs once, just to make sure that the glassy dull look in his eyes wasn’t faux, and once he was satisfied with the lack of movement, he bent down to gather Asuka in his arms.

“Did anybody ever tell you that you’re a pain in the neck, wildcat?” he spoke in a hushed tone, before uttering a grunt as he picked her up. Luckily, she weighed approximately as much as a bag of grain and he lumbered quite a few of those at the local docks. So he carried the sassy swordmaiden out of the arena, hoping that neither of them ever set foot within these dastardly walls again.

***

The deal with the scallywag that asked them to rob Ermano of his money went more smoothly then Victor thought it would. Knaves like these always searched for a chance to stab you in the back, if for not other reason then just to see you bleed to death. But once the jingle-jangle of the coins was brought to the table, toothy grins went all around the stuffy basement room. There was a lot of money here, much more then they initially hoped for, and that made them uncannily generous. So instead of a stab in the back, Victor got a shove and it sounded something like: “You get out of Serenti by noon tomorrow and we’ll forget you and your sleeping beauty ever existed.”

Fine with Victor. He wasn’t too fond of Serenti anyways. The southern climate and the salty sea air were a nuisance to him anyways, and the people here tended to be indolent bastards that had a siesta every time the sun would show its face. Plus, his fighting days here were history. Ermano maybe was a prick and a crook and – as it turned out in the documents from the sack – a slave trader, but his kind had friends. And they were of the kind that Victor didn’t want to meet. The kind that could make you disappear and wake up with a millstone tied to your neck somewhere at the bottom of the ocean. The prizefighter didn’t have much to live for, but he wasn’t ready to kick the bucket yet.

However, he couldn’t leave just yet. Asuka was still passed out and though he was pretty certain that he squared all debts towards her by saving her bacon, he couldn’t just ditch town and leave her to whatever fate waited for her in Serenti. So the morning after the big run-in with Ermano and his goons, Victor was sitting in a rented room in some chintzy tavern that looked a couple of days from collapsing one itself. The room was robbed of all luxury – most tavern rooms that cost two gold pieces usually were – and beside the creaky bed, a nightstand and a chair, there was little that stood out. Except the redhead that slept in the bed, of course. Though she didn’t come complimentary with the room. No, she came complimentary with all the trouble that befell the prizefighter last night.

With nothing better to do with his time, Victor surveyed the slumbering lass with inspective eyes. Even while she slept, she seemed to be frowning. Not in the same harsh, I-don’t-give-a-crap-what-you-think manner that she did when she was awake, but her face was still far from completely relaxed. Still, even that minor degradation in strictness made her look more beautiful and without the constant bitching filling his ears, the boxer would almost go as far to call her attractive. In a rather bitchy, dominant, ball-buster kind of way, of course. You couldn’t tame that kind of women. The only thing that gave you a chance was to learn how to play with live fire. And Victor, never an adept at fiddling around with magic and playing with fire, thought he was slowly getting a hang of it. Very, very slowly.

[AsukaStrikes]

Sweet, sweet slumber.

It was something Asuka had neglected her beatened form to give into for the past 17 hours ever since the encounter with that sleazeball Ermano inside his fateful musky office. The tangy stench of sweat and blood continued to toy withher senses even as her mind drifted off into unconsciousness, still clutching fervently to the handle of her beloved steel blade. There was no way in the name of Holy Lady Akashima the lass was going to let go after having just recovered him from those meaty fingers of the battle organizer. Reclaiming Kazeryu was, after all, her first and foremost priority in this little shenanigan she had engaged herself in. Searching for that noble girl had been shifted to the back of her mind even further as Asuka soon discovered the slave-trade documents not long after.

It was the last straw.

Her initial intention of disposing the lucked-out crook was to forsaken him the pleasure of ever being a man - and unanesthesized castration was weighing mighty good on her mind. That would teach him never to mess with her kind for as long as he lives. But the new evidence was just too much for her. Ermano had to be stopped before more victims were sent to augment his bank account.

Was that the right thing to do, spilling blood of an unarmed fool? Asuka pondered within the dark recess of her mind, floating aimlessly within the shapeless void. Of course, he had to be killed! Castration would only make him even more hateful of women and more girls will fall in his wake! Your actions were justified.

The Akashiman's ethereal self sat up on a non-existent chair and stared down at her feet, clad in those same heavy-duty boots she had worn since the beginning of her journey. The dull brown wrinkles stared back at her and merely frowned in silent disapproval. But the lass was having none of it.

Of course, it's justified. Because I said so.

Yes, because Asuka had passed judgement to a mad man too corrupted to face the light of dawn. If she was smeared by impure blood in the progress, it would be a small price to pay.

~~~

The unusually comfortable sensation of linen bedsheet and cotton-stuffed mattress awoke the lass with a start, although failing utterly to actually send her bolting upright in a moment's notice. The energy returning to her body first shifted the eyes about inside their sockets, peeping out from under their fleshy windows to dare the dim sunlight shining through thick, translucent curtains to the side. Even though her body was slow to respond after a rough night with the boys, her brain was way ahead of it.

Wait... Where am I?! Asuka remembered vaguely that she was falling - lurching forward just as Kazeryu was about to slice through the terrified battle organizer inside his cramp office. The smell of dry oak floorboards, rusty washing bin and slightly grimy bedsheet was not something anyone would find inside a working man's office, let alone a crook with a bloated head. Was she kidnapped by one of Ermano's underlings? Or was it those hoodlums who threatened Victor into "liberating" their cash from the bookkeepers? Or was it...

"...Victor?"

His face was lit by the morning sunlight coming through a cracked window, the minute gaps creating an interesting mosaic across his tired face. Asuka had not seen him so frail, so tired before even though she had seen him in the worst condition a living being would ever be in. His face did not hold the grim outlook she had stared into before the final showdown against Ermano and his goons. Still, the maiden knew he was still incomplete. He was still missing something, though it was something she was not supposed to know.

Asuka tore her eyes away from the tired man, no longer trying to eat him alive with her cold stare and biting tongue. He deserved to live a bit longer. If only just so she could beat him up in a fair fight some other day. A weak smirk made its way across her face, chuckling to herself as she looked out through a gap in the curtains blown open by the wind.

Sweet, sweet slumber. If only it would last just a bit longer.

[The Cinderella Man]

Victor never truly believed in the cheesy phrase that said that the little things made the life bearable, livable, even enjoyable. From his experience, it was these so called little things that got washed away first by the tide of time, details that the mind filed under “important” and then forgot on some dusty shelf of memories. Dreams so real they must be prophetic, scents so sweet they were surreal, words so amorous that they must’ve been the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the bloody truth. All extremely significant and all drifting away like jetsam on a windy day. And when they departed, they left a void, a vague shadowed bitterness that stalked every thought, waiting for the right time to remind you of something that was so eerily sweet and so undisputedly gone.

And yet it was one of those peculiarly pleasurable little things that made his day, that made the last night ordeal worth the effort, worth the blood and sweat and bruises that still ached every time he moved. Because when Asuka finally resuscitated and he braced himself for the regular barrage of bitterness, the girl did no such thing. She spoke his name softly, still caught in the post-slumber daze, and when her emerald eyes connected with his own, there was no frown above them to make them present the volatility of her demeanor. Instead she smirked, a minute insignificant facial expression that only confirmed that the fire in her eyes was doused for the time being. Victor thought that for that short moment he was looking at the swordmaiden’s true face, the one that she struggled to defend with her jaundice and temerity, and it was the little thing that made him happy.

“Welcome back amongst the living, wildcat.” he finally spoke, straightening himself up in the wobbly oaken chair with a smirk that crept on his face in response to her own. “You passed out back in the arena and I figured that wasn’t exactly a place you’d like to wake up in.”

“And before you get all riled up...” he spoke, his voice deviating from the bland indifference, sounding more alive as he got up to his feet and stretched. “...your precious sword is right there on the nightstand, together with the records of Ermano’s slave trade.”

Victor motioned himself to the window, his hand moving the dusty curtains aside just enough to survey the streets below. The bustle was piquing and the shadows were shortening, which meant that didn’t have too much time for palavering. “That’s about it for the good news. The bad news is that those backstabbing thieves gave us until noon to get out of Serenti or they’d throw us out. I don’t know about you, but I’m not in a mood for another fight.”

Only that wasn’t exactly true. He was weary and sore and his head hurt like a bitch, but he was in a mood for more fighting. Teaming up with Asuka and looking at her intrepid idiosyncrasy awoke something in him, a drive that he had a long time ago. It wasn’t nearly as vigorous and inspiring as back when he was one victory away from being the champ of Scara Brae, but it was there, rewriting the loser mentality in his head one letter at the time. It brought out his real battle prowess, making him take out the four of Ermano’s best goons as if they were nothing. It reminded him what it felt to fight for something other then the bout purse. And he didn’t want to lose that feeling. Because it was so long since he felt it the last time.

“So we should start heading north as soon as possible.” and then, as if to further explain the reasoning behind this “us” deal, he added: “The records show that Underwood is where he sent those that he captured here in Serenti. And since I was planning going up north...” (Lie) “...maybe back to Radasanth...” (Lie) “...I figured we could travel together. Strength in numbers and all that.”

He finished with a decrepit smile that was supposed to be genuine as he turned away from the window and looked at the lithe redhead. The truth that he tried to conceal was that Radasanth wasn’t his desired destination. He came to Serenti because the Corone capitol became an unbearable cesspool of the corrupted royalty and pompous heroes that walked as if they just became the owners of the world. Yarborough in the west was his first destination, but once he surveyed the slaver’s records, his priorities changed drastically. And suddenly he wanted to accompany Asuka for as long as possible, because she managed to – in a rather unsubtle harsh manner – snap him out of lethargy in which he coffined himself. Of course, he couldn’t tell her that, not yet anyways. Maybe if he managed to chisel his way through her outer shell a little bit more, but right now he knew such mushy speeches wouldn’t end up well. So he took a different approach.

“Either way, there is something I wanted to tell you... More like an advice. It could help if we travel together.” Victor spoke in a serious voice again, but then his prominent smirk drifted towards a knavish one. “You might want to try working certain words into your vocabulary. Like thank you or please or even sorry from time to time.”

He knew she’d either hit him or fire some of her bitter sass at him – or do both – but he didn’t mind. He could take a punch and sometimes pain truly resulted in gain.

((SPOILS: Fists of flurry – This isn’t really an ability in the true sense of the word. When Victor has something to fight for, something that influences his state of mind and inspires him, his boxing skills are elevated to the level he had while he was at the top of his game, making him an expert pugilist for a short amount of time. Keep in mind that it takes something truly influential like a dire threat or a sincere affection of a woman to bring this skill to life.))

[AsukaStrikes]

Liar.

Even as Asuka laid there, listening to the boxer shooting off his mouth about heading up "north" on a trip to Radasanth, the uneven fluctuation of his voice betrayed the supposed reasons behind it. Still, Asuka didn't know about the deal Victor was forced into with those back-stabbing lot. Then again, she knew something must've been going right seeing that neither of them were tied to a granite block and twenty-thousand leagues under the Great Sea.

Sleeping lazily was the last thing on her mind for the past few days since her arrival in Serenti. Ever since she left Akashima, to be exact. The lass never had time to rest easy night after night, knowing that early in the morning she would need to be off on another daily hunt for tidbits of information regarding the whereabouts of that aristocrat Yamihara. But the urgency in Victor's voice when he mentioned that the two of them only had until noon to skip town was something the lass was worried about. Asuka slowly propped herself up and peered down at the street below as her life-saver broke away from the window sill to lock eyes with the maiden. Well... that's just great. She also realized the shadows were getting shorter by the minute - too short to relax any further despite the weary protest of her body.

The redhead threw aside the stained bedsheet, getting up on unsteady legs. Evidently, the so-called Architect of Destruction still had somethings to learn about treating ladies the right way - one of it being to so kindly take said lady's shoes off before putting her to bed. Not exactly a good example of a "lady" anyways, the Akashiman nonchalantly disregarded the fact and slid Kazeryu into his sheath as her other hand went for the sack of brown parchments and slung it over her shoulders.

The swordsmaiden initially intended on seeing this mission through alone. She had already owed Victor her life for beating the living daylight out of Worth's bodyguards as well as numerous other deeds she was not so happy to recall. After all, the boxer had nothing to gain from liberating a harlem of slavegirls unless he was thinking about a fun night out with the girls...

Wait... He wouldn't be thinking...

Asuka shot a wary glance at the boxer as she made her way towards the creaking wooden door, frowning in suspicion about the man's true mission as he spoke on about travelling together. Victor's offer was genuine, judging by the looks in his eyes and the trademark smirk she was starting to become familiar with. Banding together for a journey? Not a bad idea at all... I guess I could use someone like him to do some of my dirty works for me.

"Heh. I guess you could come along for the trip, Padre." Asuka glanced down at the floor for a moment, thinking about what the man had added a little whiles after his offer of companionship. She had made up her mind already about letting him come with her. Travelling alone was often boring and irritating, even though she never liked to talk anyways. Having someone along for this particular trip was not a bad idea.

The lass shrugged even as her right hand went for the doorknob and looked up at Victor with a sly look in her eyes, chuckling softly to herself. "And... I might start to use those words you so kindly introduced me to. Thanks, Victor."

At least until she could get a good chance to fire a quick jab at that smirking face of his. Until then.

((Spoils: A coarse, canvas sack filled with documents detailing slave trades passing through Serenti into Underwood. Can be used to hold other mundane things, but nothing of any worth at the moment. Also, new skill:

Fist of Fury: From what little she had to make-do with while facing off against Ermano Worth's lackeys without her sword, Asuka was beginning to grasp the concept of fist-fighting at close quarters. Still, the lass is no better than a rookie feather-weight boxer although her speed does compensate for the lack of power behind each punch somewhat. At least she won't bust open her knuckles on some thug's chin if it really came down to it.))

[Storm Veritas]

JUDGMENT TIME!

Very well written thread, a smooth and easy read. There are several things that I will nitpick here, but you two are terrific writers, so in order to add constructive criticism, I have to be picky. I will say that it wasn’t the best I’ve read from either of you, but it was still a finely written little thread. That said, here we go.

Introduction - 5 The Intro is written WONDERFULLY… but it truly toes the line of plagiarism with the Cinderella Man character. The start fight and the beginning of the movie are frighteningly similar. While I’m sure that’s no accident, and the rest of the story is a stark departure, it was still tough to read.
Setting - 8 Very strong, even exceptional in points. Using the setting effectively early was a great job – using the vents to hear, using the sensory breakdown of being bound and tied etc. were also very effective. This would be even HIGHER if I didn’t think that this was a touch inconsistent.
Character - 7 I really think that Padre’s character turn and the growth to bravery was terrific here. Asuka is still a bit flat, she seems so focused on that sword that she loses sight of more important things. The character does develop well towards the end, but that little turn wasn’t indicative of the character throughout the story.
Dialogue - 8 At times terrific. Very creative, funny, I liked it. Occasionally both of you throw in lines that have the faint air of cheese to them, but I suppose we all do. Good job making an effort to make dialogue jump.
Strategy - 6 Pretty simple, relatively straightforward plot, and not a whole bunch of twists and turns. Well executed.
Writing Style - 8 Always my least favorite category to score. At times, both of you deserved 10s in this category. A few notes:
CM – you jump from beautiful imagery to vulgarity in the same paragraph several times, talking about “the silken blanket of night” and then “bullshit”. That doesn’t really read like the same narrative voice to me. Yes, I’m nitpicking.
AS – You put in tremendous effort, but rewind too much. I promise to read your partner’s post, so we don’t need a summary from you in yours. Also, the length can be a bit much, so cutting down on the recap should help significantly. More importantly, you’ve clearly leapfrogged your writing game to the next level, and should be considered in the same class as any of the Althanian Nobility. Way to go!
Rising Action - 5 Not much here one way or the other. I liked how the boxer was turned, but we knew why Asuka was going in, we knew what was going to happen, and we knew who was going to win. The odds didn’t seem overly stacked. Drama was more internal in this thread, which is difficult to pull off.
Climax - 6 Pow – bing – sock – whammo – done. Very simple climax. Well written fight sequence and execution.
Conclusion - 7 Good. Nice mini-turn, but not a huge revelation. Well written, per usual.
Wild Card - 8 Pumping a few extra points because I’m probably being overly critical on the judgment and thought the writing skill was terrific.

Total Score - 68

Great job, both of you. Really fun thread to read, although very hard for me to score. Sorry for the delay. Spoils are granted.

Cinderella Man gets 750 EXP and 100 Gold
Asuka gets 750 EXP and 75 Gold (with spoil)

EXP and GP added! - Zieg