Scott Bennie, Michael Kelly, Christopher Shea,

Standing in the spacious confines of the old warehouse, Kayli gritted her teeth and sighed slightly with frustration. She'd been brought to the city of New York by Mark Gore, one of Carlos' lieutenants, to compete in some sort of 'tournament of the martial arts'. This was fine with her; she'd gotten a chance to travel, and a chance to find out that the rest of Earth (or, at least, America) wasn't a dusty dirtball... unlike Texas. The only problem was that she was thoroughly unimpressed by her presumed 'competition'.

Most of her fellow fighters looked to be rather normal humans. They dressed in an simple trouser and jacket affair that must be the typical uniform for hand-to-hand fighters on this planet. The colors were equally dull, mostly black, white or red. Kayli shrugged, she was used to a great deal more color and excitement in the tourney's she'd fought in where she was from. She had fond memories of a large stone-flagged area, marked by tall pillars at each corner, where where a powerful warrior had taken on all comers for the better part of a week.

Still, there were a few exceptions. One was a man dressed in a crimson costume with a billowing cloak. Flashy, if impractical. There was a black-haired woman wearing a tight dress slight almost up to the hip. An outfit designed to give her male opponents fits. Another wore a white costume with metallic highlights. A glowing blue sword decorated the front, and a red mask covered his face. Kayli ignored him, he looked young and full of enthusiasm, but not much else. On the other hand...

Kayli had no idea what the man's name was, or who he was for that matter. What she did know was that he was huge. He towered over virtually everyone else in the room, with a massively muscled chest and arms. He didn't wear any sort of costume, but was dressed in boots, blue jeans and a white shirt. Kayli stared at him intently, unconsciously wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue. His movements betrayed his skill; he could fight. She wondered if she'd get the chance to meet him in the ring... she certainly hoped so.

Her musings were cut short by the voice of the tourney's organizer, a man by the name of Jackson Lee.

"We all know why we're here..." he called out. Lee paused and looked around at the assembled crowd, "For competition!"

Kayli grinned. Competition hell! She had this tourney won already, now all she had to do was convince everyone else.

"The ground rules are simple," Lee continued, "this is a contest of skill, not power." He looked pointedly at Kayli and the other fighters who wore some sort of costume. "If you can punch through a brick wall, great, but don't do it here. We're looking to match skill against skill."

Kayli's grin vanished to be replaced with a dark scowl. What sort of stupid rule was that? This was a match to prove who was the superior fighter, right? And one doesn't pull punches when fighting to prove who's the best!

"Injuries are acceptable; deaths are not. It takes more skill to incapacitate an opponent than to kill them."

Kayli's scowl eased slightly. Well, that was more like it. She wouldn't kill anyone, but she was willing to bet that more than a few of her opponents wouldn't be leaving the ring under their own power.

"Everyone who's participating, pick a number from the table and let's start."

Stripping off her armor and laying it aside, Kayli gave Gore a wink and made her way over to the where the other fighters had started to gather, her tail lashing from side to side; it was time to start the show.

Mark Battle:

I'd fought two fights prior to the eliminations. The first one was against a big guy, an inch shorter than me and almost as thick, who called himself Peter Stone. Some guy who was a part of the Ultimate Brawling Championships. He had a bit of a beer belly, and too much body hair. When we approached each other, he growled at me - can you believe it, growled! Best way to advertise being a loser that I've seen in a long time. I just shook my head. When the fight started, he tried to Graeco with me, get in close, go for a double underhook into a bearhug, combine it with a trip to send me on my ass. That's a real dumb move against me. I let him get his arms around me, then I head-butted him three times before he could cinch his hold. He sank. I grabbed him by the hair, kneed him in the ribs four times until he surrendered. I was brutal, victorious and very, very satisfied.

The second match was against some black guy, a five-ten incher with a good build and way too much swagger, dressed only in karate pants. When we got chest to chin he put out his hand.

"Man, you is one big mofo," he told me.

"Yeah." I smiled, "And you ain't."

We shook hands. He decided to show me how strong his grip was - and I responded by cracking one of his knucklebones. I wasn't really trying hard. He looked down at his bloody hand.

"You ain't so tough," he said, walking away, conceding the fight. I just smiled.

My third match (and second fight) was a lot more interesting. My opponent was clearly a teenager, maybe as young as 15, though well muscled. He had a dark complexion - Puerto Rican, probably - and wore a tank top with a bootleg Sonic Youth emblem on his chest. The kid was strong, fast, and tough, and a natural fighter; I connected at least three times with hard shots; he didn't wilt, but responded with low kicks that tested my shins. He was dressed for karate, but fought like a savate expert and a good one. I finally landed several jab-cross combinations, stunned him, and then put him down with an uppercut. After the fight, the kid said his name was Ricki Ventura, and told me that Chariot had been his hero while he was growing up.

"Yeah, it happens." I said.

"Can I be your second? I'm sure you could use one in the round robin."

"To feed me water between rounds?" I sneered slightly. "In case you hadn't noticed there ain't none."

"No, it's just that it'd be cool to be a second for Chariot's sidekick."

I inhaled sharply. He said the "S" word. I hate the "S" word. Gritting my teeth, and speaking with a tenseness that you usually get when you're constipated, I told him "sure".

"That's great, man. You better kick butt. I'm a real taskmaster!" Ricki said. "You wouldn't want to get me angry."

"Get out of here!" I said, kicking him. He laughed and ran back to the showers.

It wasn't quite what Alexander had expected of an underground martial arts tournament.

Oh, the location was right -- the tourney would be held in an abandoned warehouse. Several areas had been marked off with tape, defining "rings." Zander scanned them in silent approval. There would be enough room to move, yet not so much that the fighters wouldn't need to remain aware of the boundary. That might prove handy later.

The competitors were what he hadn't expected. There were a number of ordinary people there, dressed in the traditional garb of one style or another; enough so that he didn't feel out of place, wearing the short tunic-like uwagi and loose, skirt-like hakama of his own arts. But there were almost as many in jeans and T-shirt, or one-piece dresses. A few wore even more bizarre costume: Here, a metahuman was dressed all in crimson, complete with a long -- and, from the way it moved, weighted -- cloak; a mask covered his face. There, a grey-skinned woman dressed in white battle armor crossed her arms smugly as she studied the competitors. Over there... say, wasn't that Dennis Marquand? That red hair, and the face... yes, it was unmistakable. Interesting...

A young man called for attention, interrupting his thoughts. This would be Jackson Lee, then, he thought. The organizer of the tournament. He was one of the ones in non-traditional clothing he wore loose slacks and a black shirt. Moved well, too; Zander hoped he wouldn't have to fight the man too soon. It would be a long battle, if he guessed right, and he usually did...

Lee laid down the ground rules. No metahuman strength; the object here was skill. That didn't affect Zander in the least, but he was glad enough of the rule. He could fight the meta competitors without risking his own secret, as long as they kept to it. No killing; it took more skill to disable. Quite reasonable; he hadn't planned to rely too much on his sword, anyway. The atemi strikes would prove useful. A few of the other swordsmen present didn't seem happy; he saw one or two exchanging their steel weapons for the less lethal bamboo shinai. Zander quietly shook his head. If they had that little skill, or that much uncertainty, they'd be quickly eliminated regardless. The foundation of the art was control -- confidence in the blade and in oneself.

Much to his surprise, his first match was against one of them. The boy couldn't have been more than eighteen, but the way he held the mock sword showed some skill. Approaching the ring, Zander bowed, presenting himself formally: "Hotaru style, Yagyu Shinkage school, Alexander Greye."

His opponent stared. "A man?"

Sighing, he replied, "It would seem so. And you are?"

The boy quickly composed himself, straightening proudly. "I am the rising star of the kendo world. My peers call me the Blue Thunder..."

"Sorry I asked," Zander muttered.

"Silence when you are speaking to me!"

"Look, can we just start?"

"Prepare yourself, then!" With a loud kiai, the boy sprang forward, drawing the wooden blade up for a powerful overhead slash.

Zander held absolutely still, centering himself, as the boy fell toward him, blade-first. At the last moment, he sidestepped, avoiding the blow. The "Blue Thunder"'s momentum carried him past Zander. Almost lazily, the older man lifted one hand to touch the back of the boy's neck. With the slightest exertion of pressure, he unceremoniously rendered the teen unconscious. "Thunder" crashed to the floor.

"Next?" Zander asked sardonically.

Despite his confident stance, he didn't expect any of the other matches to be quite so simple; in a real fight, that pressure point would be nearly impossible to touch. He'd have to resort to combinations...

Sure enough, the next fight was more difficult. The female karateka he'd faced had displayed great skill in avoiding his blows, matching him strike for strike. She was fast, too -- though he'd refrained from using his full superhuman speed, he was still moving more quickly than most of the competitors could have hoped to, but the woman matched him. The match became one of the longest among the second round, but finally, she made a mistake that he was able to capitalize upon.

Several unfortunates were retired from the tournament, suffering their second defeat. It would get more difficult from here on, Zander thought.

Surprisingly, it didn't. He fought through several more rounds, keeping to a defensive stance and using pressure-point attacks. Some of the fights were barely a minute in length; others seemed to stretch on eternally. Each of them, Zander eventually won, as his opponents were worn down or made fatal mistakes.

Sitting on a low chair near one wall of the warehouse, Kayli drank deeply from an offered water bottle and wiped at her face and neck with a towel. So far, this tourney had been a virtual waste of her time. Her first fight had started out promising enough. She'd been matched against a lithe, well-muscled youth, slightly shorter than her, dressed in a red vest and black pants. The boy had carried himself well, and had moved with a certain grace that bespoke excellent agility and speed. His opening attack had been plenty fast, a series of lightning quick punches that Kayli had absorbed on her forearms. She'd then dropped, swept his legs out from under him, and ended the match with an elbow to the side of his head.

Her next fight had been against a tall man with long blond hair. He'd been dressed all in red, both trousers and jacket - except he'd removed the sleeves from his jacket, revealing well-muscled arms. He was plenty fast, and his opening kick had nearly taken Kayli by surprise. He was strong too, and delivered his strikes with plenty of power - Kayli's arms were still a little sore from her blocks. She had stepped in close, jamming his next kick, and snapped a backfist directly into his nose. She'd followed that with a knee to the chest, and a right to the side of his head. By that point her opponent could offer no more resistance, and Kayli had settled for simply flipping him out of the ring.

By this point, she'd noticed that several of the other costumed fighters were doing equally as well. Both the massively muscled man - who's name was Mark Battle - and herself were attracting attention, a situation that suited Kayli just fine.

Of course, this attention had some drawbacks as well. Kayli's third fight was supposed to be against some woman dressed in a white jacket with blue trim and black pants. The woman had walked up to the edge of the ring - actually a large square marked out on the floor with tape - taken one look at Kayli and bowed out. Kayli won the match by default, but felt furious at the manner in which she'd won. Loudly calling the woman a coward had helped her feel better; unfortunately no one else in the room spoke Saiyan.

Abe was fascinated by the collection of characters lured by the performance. Everyone there was at a higher energy level than he'd even felt at a football game. He suspected it rivaled that of the Superbowl.

Some of the contenders were quite serious about this event, some were very casual - like that lady Ying Ying. Martial Blade (though he had trouble thinking of him by that name) looked somewhere in-between. He had done surprisingly well and made it to the finals. His friends were going crazy and his instructor looked like he was about to burst.

So far, in spite of the deadly looking competition out there, no one was seriously hurt, and Abe began to relax. Martial Blade's current opponent was Jackson Lee, the man who set up the event, and it promised to be a good fight. Lee looked very casual and seemed like he was really enjoying himself.

The fight opened with a few tentative strikes by Martial Blade to test out Lee's defenses which were casually brushed aside followed by a lightning side kick which met empty air as Martial Blade rolled under the kick to come up behind Lee. But Lee's balance was impeccable as he shifted to meet the new attack. This went on for some time as Martial Blade made obviously taunting attacks and Lee kept trying to land a real blow. The veteran began to frown but kept his poise. If Martial Blade was attempting to lure Lee into a dangerous maneuver, he was out of luck. Jackson Lee seemed willing to take as much time as he needed. The frown and the cat-calls were obviously getting to Martial Blade, but what did him in was the frustration of his friends, the East-Enders. They started getting antsy and calling out advice. So Martial Blade abruptly became more aggressive and while he rolled under another kick, attempted to come up with a combination groin/solar plexus shot. Unfortunately for him his blows were easily swept aside and left him open to a head shot Abe heard from his seat in the back, knocking his son quite senseless. It was the first time his son had been hit well and Abe almost flew from his seat to his aid. But Martial Blade managed to make it to his feet and wobble off the mat.

The first round of the round robin was interesting. Three fighters caught my eye. First was Kayli, of course, though I quickly found other reasons than eye candy to appreciate her. She was tough, strong, and had as much poise and confidence in a fight as anyone I've ever seen. Man, why did she have to be working for the bad guys?

Jackson Lee also impressed me, even though his fight against "Martial Blade" (and does that name ever suck horses through a straw!) was a snorefest. He was fast and capable, although he relied on the open-handed palm strike way too often. I wonder if he was any relation to Bruce?

Then there was Alexander Greye. People kept calling him Zander, like the twit on Buffy The Vampire Slayer. At first I wondered whether he came to fight or seduce people - he looked real effeminate to me - but once I got past his appearance, I could tell he had some real nice moves. He used a sword - which I thought was something of a cheat - but he was fast, accurate, and took some good blows. I hoped I'd get a chance to fight against each of them.

"You gonna kick ass, Mark?" Ricki asked, rubbing my shoulders, trying to encourage me.

"No. I'm here to learn, so I can kick ass when it counts." I answered.

"That's not a winning attitude." Ricki complained. I shut him up with a look. He looked confused.

My opponent was Ying Yang Woman, a tall, nicely muscled Oriental girl. She had shown good agility and surprising luck during the preliminaries. She wore a long dress with a slit up to her waist (the latest fashion in gratuitous sexual come-ons), and was doing a whirling motion with her kicks as she warmed up, enough to do a Fatal Attraction thing with the costume. I looked. Hey, I never said I had any shame. After a few minutes of warming up, we were called into the center of the ring.

"Hiya Ying Yang Thang-you Ma'ang." I mocked her as we met.

She nodded, eyes starting to burn.

"Nice slit." I pointed towards her dress. "It'll make it easier for you to congratulate me properly after the fight."

"Pig!" At least that's what I think she said - I never learned Chinese, though her face had an odd coldness to it. Her roundhouse caught me in the face, and I felt my lip start to bleed. I licked my blood with my tongue and gave her my best Tom Cruise flash grin. It's something I do real well.

"Not yet, baby, we're supposed to have a fight now..." I laughed.

She came at me with a leaping kick and a kiai shout. I pivoted, tried a left jab as she stumbled into my line of fire, but she had already turned into an acrobatic dodge, swung into a handspring, landed on her feet, and then came up in a fighting stance.

I nodded. Enough with the stupid banter.

We traded furious blows. There were two problems; her punches weren't furious enough and mine weren't accurate enough. Every time I connected, I barely grazed her. My force field was at low strength, but completely invisible. Everybody here had a bit of a cheat, so I figured I'd have mine. Even if it hadn't been up, I don't think it would have made much difference. Ying Yang wasn't a power hitter. She was connecting, but the blows were only slight slaps to me, barely enough to sting.

In the meantime, I was trying to connect with jabs. I had refound my footwork and was secure in a modified boxing stance. As comfortable as getting back on a bicycle. At least until my feet crossed (I'm not quite sure what I did wrong, but everyone screws up once in awhile) and she connected with a series of five open handed palm strikes. None of them were effective.

"Baby, you gotta do better than that." I smiled.

Ying Yang's face was unchanged. I took a breath and kept looking for an opening. Her agility was real frustrating, especially since a lot of it looked like lucky breaks, but one of the reasons I came here was to try to teach myself patience in a fight. It was one of the things I had done wrong against Mastiff.

She was having her own problems and she knew it. She began to vary her style, moving toward spin kicks to give her some added power. But her luck - or at least that's what it seemed to me - finally ran out. She misstepped on a dodge after one badly timed leg thrust, and I finally landed the jab. When I saw her eyes cross, I knew I had her. The right uppercut, even though I was doing my best to keep my strength at someplace remotely in the human range, was enough to level her. She crumpled like a nickel and dime jobber against Tyson.

"Thanks for the dance." I said with a smile, as she slowly rose from the ground, my victory already declared. "Very nice."

She smiled as she got to the feet, the first expression I'd seen on her face. I'm not quite sure why. I walked back to my corner and let Ricki wipe the sweat off my back. It had been a good workout.

"Hey, Champ!" he said. I almost freaked when he said that - he sounded way too much like Luis -"You got Kayli next."

I nodded.

"Any special plans?" he asked.

"Yeah." I smiled. "I'm going to Disneyland."

"Get serious." Ricki laughed.

"Yeah, I can do serious." I replied, stone-faced. "You know those stupid tournament restrictions? I'm seriously gonna see if Kayli wants to throw them out the window. I don't want either of us anything holding back." I stared at her exotic gray form, and felt my lips moisten. Man, this was better than Viagra.

Zander stood in the basic guard position, studying his opponent. He was facing his first metahuman partner of the tournament -- the man clothed in red, who he'd spotted earlier. He called himself, fittingly enough, the "Crimson Cloak," a name that spoke at once of a certain flair and a lack of creativity.

The Cloak wasn't trained in the traditional arts; at least, not in any that Zander recognized. Yet he was no mere brawler, either; that cloak of his was weighted, and he knew how to use it. Not only as a weapon, either, as Zander was quickly learning.

Zander stepped forward, bringing the blade up in a crosswise cut, but the cloak was in the way again, nearly tangling his sword. He stepped back, avoiding a roundhouse kick, and attempted another attack. Again, the cloak swirled, knocking the blade away, obscuring the meta's body. Zander ducked aside from a snap kick, then parried a left hook with the flat of his blade.

The fight had been going in much the same manner for several minutes now. Neither Zander nor the Cloak was landing many solid blows; both were concentrating on defense. Trying to outlast the opponent was getting him nowhere fast.

He switched tactics, feinting to draw the Cloak out, but that led to very little -- a single light slash on his part, two grazing strikes on him by the Cloak. But it gave him an idea. Maybe...

He slashed, intentionally opening his defense. The Cloak darted in to capitalize on the momentary lapse. Simultaneously, Zander reversed the momentum of the blade. A fist crashed into his torso, sending a twinge of pain through him; but a moment later, the flat of his sword slammed into the side of the Cloak's head. Dazed, the superhuman fell to the floor.

Dennis Marquand was dressed in plain black: loose cotton trousers and wide-shouldered cotton jacket, closed at the waist with a belt of the same color and open at the top to display an inverted triangle of pale, hairless skin. No patches, insignias, or logos marked his clothes anywhere. His hair was the color of brick, short and spiky and brushed back from his face, and the already unpleasant expression on his face shifted into outright disgust as he looked at Kayli. He said nothing, but his thoughts were all but audible: So we're letting in two-legged rat girls now? He bowed a fraction of an inch and dropped into a combat crouch, fists up to protect his head and elbows tucked.

Noddng at Marquand's bow, Kayli brought her arms in close, down near her waist, and stood slightly hunched over, bouncing from one foot to the other. She slowly circled back and forth before Marquand, studying his stance. Finally, she gave him an arrogant smirk and a wink.

Marquand responded by launching a rapid series of punches. Kayli brought her arms up to slap each strike aside, but was forced back by the ferocity of the attack. Feinting with one hand, Marquand managed to land his other other on the edge of Kayli's jaw. She responded by firing a fist into his chest, only to receive a second blow to her stomach. Kayli gasped at the impact; she was used to having the ribbed plates of her harness there to absorb blows such as that. Snapping one leg up, she kicked the man in the chest, pushing him back across the ring.

Mark Gore stared at the exchange with wide eyes. "Whoa..." he whispered.

Taking a deep breath, Marquand resumed his stance and glared at Kayli. She was fast and plenty strong, he'd felt the restrained power in that kick. Kayli returned her opponent's glare, and then shrugged her shoulders, trying to loosen them up. Resuming her previous stance, along with a slightly contemptuous smile, she moved in.

Kayli opened with two fast backfists that Marquand blocked on his forearms. She then came around in a tight circle and whipped a forearm out to smash into the side of Marquand's head. Marquand's head rocked to one side as he launched a quick jump kick at Kayli's face. She caught the incoming foot in her hands, allowing Marquand to then head-butt Kayli in the shoulder. That staggered that gray-skinned woman for a moment as the impact bounced painfully off of her collarbone. As Marquand reared back for a second head-butt, she grabbed his shoulders trying to keep him back. Shooting his hands up between her arms, Marquand forced her limbs apart.

Feeling that he had taken Kayli's measure, Marquand launched another series of fast and powerful circular arms strikes that immediately put Kayli on the defensive. She ducked some and blocked others, but Marquand's attack once again forced her back. Deciding to end the fight, Marquand brought his leg around for a legsweep, intending to drop the woman to the ground so he could finish her off. Kayli responded by raising the target leg, allowing the sweep to pass harmlessly underneath. Marquand allowed momentum to bring him around in a tight circle, his raised leg whipping into a back kick. Kayli rocked forward and dropped her still-raised leg, intercepting Marquand's kick with one of her own. Pivoting on one firmly planted foot, she then snapped two lightning fast kicks, landing one in Marquand's stomach and the other against the side of his face. As Marquand staggered back, Kayli leapt forward, grabbing his shoulders and planted her knee firmly into his forehead. Dropping back into a spin kick, she lashed out with one booted foot, catching the stunned Marquand squarely in the chest and sending him skidding across the smooth concrete of the warehouse floor.

"Damn..." Mark Gore muttered. Forget Bruce, van Damme and Seagal, this was real martial arts action! Blinking at the speed at which the match had been fought, Mark had to grin. "I think I need a tissue," he stated to no one in particular.

Jackson Lee stood casually just inside the tape marking one of the rings. He'd drawn the Crimson Cloak as an opponent this round. Outside the ring, the Cloak stood talking to a few fans, expounding on the dangers of crime fighting. Hardly surprising that the fans were young women. The Cloak had the air about him of someone who failed to take life seriously. Not that Lee could claim much success in that area, but there seemed a difference between enjoying life and irresponsibility.

Lee had been able to watch a few of the Cloak's earlier matches. His style was typical superhero; needlessly flamboyant, as if playing to an unseen crowd (although, in this case, the crowd was all too evident). His cloak was weighted at the ends, making it a minor annoyance as a weapon, but really shining defensively. When flowing around the Cloak, it served to hide his body, making it difficult to tell if one was aiming at empty air or not.

Finally, the Crimson Cloak stepped into the ring, smiling and waving at his admirers. Lee waited patiently, knowing the fight would be over soon enough. After a bit, the Cloak nodded at the judge, who looked to Lee for confirmation. Lee nodded as well, dropping into a slight crouch and raising his arms. The match was on.

As Lee and the Cloak advanced toward each other, Lee was thinking. He knew that the Cloak would have seen some of his earlier matches as well. Lee had tended to work the upper body and head with open palm strikes. He'd done that purposely, to give an impression of inflexibility of style.

As they closed, the Cloak whirled his cloak at Lee's face. Lee leaned backward slightly to allow the cloak to pass, then moved forward an struck at the Cloak's shoulder with the heel of his hand. The blow only partially connected, and the Cloak followed with a kick to Lee's side. Lee backed off a few steps.

When he moved forward again, Lee followed the same pattern. The Cloak whirled his cloak, whether intended to keep Lee off balance, or actually wound him Lee didn't know. This time, Lee dodged the cloak by dropping downward to the side. He swung his left leg around, allowing the momentum of his downward movement to transfer into his leg. He caught a look of surprise on the Cloak's face just before his leg swept the Cloak off his feet.

In the second of confusion after the Cloak hit the floor, Lee closed and struck the Cloak's head with the heel of his hand. The Cloak's head bounced once off the floor, and then he settled into unconsciousness.

Lee rose, and with a smile and a wave to the Cloak's young fans, left the ring.

Marquand stared at his smaller opponent as they squared off. While he had failed to distinguish himself as a sportsman so far, greeting every new opponent with a glare or a snarl or both, he watched Ying Ying more speculatively -- even suspiciously -- than angrily. Ying Ying was, as always, impassive, seeming barely to notice her opponent.

It was evident right from the beginning that Ying Ying's strange gliding style had lost none of its potency. While not completely ceding the offensive, she was content to remain mostly in a defensive stance, letting Marquand's attacks belabor the air around her. Marquand, for his part, refused to be drawn, but he was more comfortable on the attack than on the defense, his strikes and kicks having a crispness and force that his blocking lacked. He meant to wear her down, overwhelm her with a stream of quick and widely varying attacks, hoping that she would be caught by surprise or that her judgment would fail. But Ying Ying's response to every one was the same: she wasn't there when it landed. And from the amount of effort it seemed to cost her, she could easily have done it for the rest of the day.

Marquand wasn't giving up. Spinning backfist. Air.

Feinted punch to the face and power kick, less than a heartbeat separating them. Air.

Cross-body block concealing an uppercut that exploded seemingly from nowhere. Air.

Side kicks, low and high and low again in rapid succession. One of them connected, but at a bad angle and with barely any force behind it. The other two met air. As Marquand recovered, Ying Ying drifted forward, and her small fist bounced off Marquand's cheek a second before his too-late block brushed her arm aside. Marquand threw a punch of his own, a sudden reflexive riposte. Air.

Scowling, Marquand faded back, briefly touching the spot where Ying Ying had struck. "You hit like a little kid," he growled.

Ying Ying only smiled in return, a tiny and quickly vanished smile that said clearer than words: At least I hit. And then she stepped aside to let Marquand's leaping kick to pass a good three inches from her head, and kicked him in the ribs as he landed and spun, bringing his guard back up. It wasn't a hard kick, but it still stole some of Marquand's wind and knocked him back a step. Warily, he collected himself and hung back a bit, testing her with some conservative, energy-saving jabs, none of which came anywhere near her. He blocked two of her own punches, but the third, hooking in from the side, got past his warding forearm and tapped the side of his head. Simultaneously, Marquand scored an equally weak hit on Ying Ying's shoulder, but the difference was clear: she had meant to hit that lightly, while he had intended to break bone. Marquand flushed and snarled, half-spun and drove a heel at her leading knee: so much for holding back. It didn't connect, either.

Back and forth across the ring they ranged, Ying Ying losing ground constantly but never without a place to escape to. She got off perhaps one strike for every ten of Marquand's, but she hit more often than not. Her breath was coming more laboriously now, and she was limping slightly from where Marquand had landed an almost-solid spin kick to her hip, but he was tiring faster, his angry energy burning quickly. He swayed visibly when she drifted away from a simple snap kick, brought her own leg up, and gracefully launched a side kick, her foot landing cleanly in his stomach. Marquand's arms dropped slightly, and Ying Ying twisted and got off a second kick without lowering her leg, the ball of her foot hitting just below the breastbone. Marquand grunted once, sat down hard, and didn't get up. After a moment, the referee stepped forward.

"And the win goes to -- " The rest of the speech was interrupted by a word that was loud, emphatic, and four letters long. It was accompanied by a flotilla of similar words as Marquand hauled himself to his feet and stalked back to the bench where his gear was. Heads across the room turned, and frowns of disapproval formed on several faces, but Ying Ying only watched Marquand go, her face unreadable.

The next match was yet another superhuman, in an unlikely costume which featured metallic streaks and a vibrant blue sword. The supers' fashion sense was definitely going downhill, he mused. Unlike his last challenger, this "Martial Blade" was trained -- in one of the styles of karate, Zander guessed. Perhaps kempo. And he carried a sword.

Zander grinned. This might be interesting.

As the signal to begin was given, Zander floated forward, bringing his blade down. Swords clashed in the center of the ring, separated, and crashed together again. For a moment, the blades locked, and the masked warrior twisted, aiming a high kick at Zander, who ducked aside, freeing his blade. Martial Blade pressed his advantage, following with a flurry of quick slashes, which Zander blocked, and a low kick, which he didn't.

Zander stepped back, re-establishing the distance and testing his injured leg at the same time. The leg was painful, but that would pass quickly; more importantly, it would bear his weight. With that in mind, he launched his own combination of slashes. The masked warrior parried, but it was obviously taking him some effort to do so.

Martial Blade managed to slip in close again, this time employing a series of low kicks and elbow strikes. The elbows, Zander hadn't expected, and the first two struck home before he'd adapted his defense.

Two things were now obvious to him. First, Martial Blade was a relative beginner, as far as swordsmanship was concerned. Second, he was far more competent in close-in unarmed combat.

He was also quite good at closing. Every time their blades crossed, Zander was forced to guard against the possibility, losing precious response time. Once, he nearly disqualified himself by stepping backwards out of the ring; instead, he was forced to take the blow, countering with a three-fingered nerve strike that did relatively little damage. Somehow -- he himself wasn't entirely certain how -- he'd managed to escape that trap and take the fight back to the center of the ring, where he had more room to maneuver.

That proved to be his salvation. Amid the flurries of thrusts, slashes, and parries, he waited for Martial Blade to attempt to close again. The wait wasn't long; a vicious axe kick clipped Zander's shoulder as the costumed hero once more closed the distance, following up with a knifehand strike at Zander's throat. The kendoist swiftly ducked aside, slamming a stiff hand into a nerve cluster near Martial Blade's armpit. A second strike, aimed at the side of the neck, was blocked, but the third and fourth -- both to the chest -- were not. Finally, his body gave in to the assault, leaving Zander victorious.

Now, if only he could rest a moment before the next fight, perhaps his shoulder would stop throbbing...

If this had been a bad melodrama, the ground would have shaken when the combatants entered the arena. The crowd was electric. It provided Mark Gore with one of the busiest moments of his life, as he found himself surrounded on all sides by a sea of side bettors. The arguments over who was going to win were almost as intense as the fight itself.

Kayli was in her combat dress, seemingly oblivious to her opponent's reputation or to the energy of the crowd. Battle was in very worn jeans and a white muscle shirt, ripped in James T. Kirk fashion to expose his left breast, leftover collateral damage from his fight with Ying Yang Woman.

It was almost impossible quiet down the spectators. Jackson Lee looked at his watch and shook his head -- they were a half hour behind schedule - and yelled at everyone to shut up. "People, we do want to see some competition, don't we?"

The crowd finally settled down. Jackson Lee turned to the ring, introduced the combatants, pronounced the rules, and then questioned Battle and Kayli to see if they understood the instructions.

Battle suddenly snapped and pivoted at Lee. "Yeah, like we didn't in any of our previous fights? Stonewall, I don't want be a bad guest, but I gotta be honest with you. These rules suck. They're bull. Screw them. I ain't limited, and neither is she. We don't need to fight with the safeties on. I'd like to take her on without the limitations."

Full strength? Battle wanted to fight at full strength? Kayli studied him for a moment, wondering if he was mocking her or simply a fool. No, he was telling the truth. He wanted to fight straight up, one-on-one, with no foolish rules to bar a true test of skill and prowess.

"You know I don't want fatalities here." Jackson Lee answered.

"Relax, Stonewall." Battle said. "I ain't on a hunt, and my name ain't Mastiff. I just want a good honest fight. No corpses, but no excuses either. You up for this Kayli?"

In response, Kayli smiled and closed her eyes, concentrating on a spot deep within her.

Battle gave Kayli a curious look. What was the woman doing? Instead of answering his question, she'd closed her eyes. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she was trying to mediate. He eyed her tail for a moment, it had been lashing back and forth as she'd come up into the ring, and obvious sign of scarcely restrained excitement. Now, it was curled tightly around her waist. Idly, he wondered just what sort of genetic expression had brought that about.

The sudden swirling of the dust around Kayli snapped Battle's attention back to the present. A miniature whirlwind was developing at her feet, kicking small scraps of paper about. A moment latter he became aware of a low hissing sound followed by the sudden eruption of yellowish flames that danced around her body. The bright sheet of energy gave off a great deal of light, but no heat, and roared its way towards the ceiling. Inside Kayli had gone rigid, the muscles of her neck and jaw standing out in sharp relief, her arms quivering slightly against some unseen strain.

A quickly as it had come, the energy surge was gone. Kayli relaxed, the tension flowing away from her face like water. She gave a slow exhalation, her breath issuing forth as a thin white mist.

"Cool." Battle said, arms crossed. "C'mon baby, light my fire..."

Over on the side lines, Mark Gore stared, his eyes wide with amazement. He'd seen Kayli pull her 'battle aura' trick before, but it still blew him away every time she did it. Inwardly he grinned, it looked like she was operating at full power now, meaning that Battle was going to be in trouble... a great deal of trouble.

Jackson Lee interpreted Kayli's actions, waved his hands and muttered under his breath. "I'd better not regret this. As if I could stop it..."

Kayli and Battle stared at each other as they slowly shuffled their way around the ring, each step bringing them closer and closer. When they reached the point where their extended fists could almost touch, they stopped, their faces equally blank as the two fighters studied one another. Kayli rocked slightly, shifting her weight just a bit this way and that, while Battle remained rock-steady, his eyes never leaving his opponent's face.

The slightest twitch of Battle's shoulders was all the warning Kayli had. A moment latter she was blocking an incoming punch while launching a strike of her own. The crowd gasped as the two fighters unleashed a devastating flurry of strikes, each cleanly intercepted by a interposed forearm. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over and the two were stepping back, shaking their arms as if to work the soreness out.

Mark Battle shook his arms, grimacing slightly at the dull ache. He had no idea what the display Kayli had put on before the match had started had been all about, but he was certain of three things. First, Kayli hadn't been that fast in the other fights. He figured she'd gotten off half again as many blows had he had and in the same amount of time. Second, she was strong, very strong... not quite in Mastiff's league, but close.

And third, this was going to be fun...

Scowling, Kayli stepped back and away from Battle. She'd been fighting defensively the whole afternoon, as a way of taking each warrior's worth before finishing them off. That meant that she was blocking a lot more blows than normal, which had the unfortunate side effect of putting her arms through a terrible pounding. Still, it was obvious that Battle was a true fighter, strong, powerful and fast, and more than an even match for her. She grinned, despite the dull ache burning in her forearms... she also knew this would be a fun fight.

Realizing that the only way to win this fight was to put Kayli down fast, Battle stepped forward, his arms up and shoulders forward in a classic boxer's stance. Kayli stepped forward as well, one fist near shoulder level, the other down near her waist. Once again Battle started the attack, throwing a rapid series of jabs and cross, forcing Kayli to shift and turn to block or dodge his powerful blows. In turn, she managed to snap off several lightning fast backfists and forearm smashes, trying to batter down Battle's defenses. Finally, Kayli leapt up and grabbed the back of his head, kneeing Battle in the forehead.

Staggering back, Battle shook his head, pulling his face back as one of Kayli's punches whipped by his jaw. Dropping one arm, he pushed both of her arms down and away, exposing the whole upper right side of her torso. Kayli responded by shifting her footing and forcing his restraining arm out of the way, just in time for Battle's fist to catch her square in the nose.

Sputtering and coughing, her eyes filled with automatic tears, Kayli backpedaled. She could feel the blood flowing already. Raising one white-gloved hand, she wiped at her upper lip, wincing at the sudden sensation of pain. Glaring across the ring at her opponent, Kayli scowled darkly, first blood had gone to her opponent.

Settling back into stance, Kayli closed quickly with Battle, pivoting to launch a kick right for his midsection. He blocked that one with a circular motion of his right arm, and then caught her next blow on his left. Stepping forward to close the distance, Battle unloaded a powerful roundhouse. Off balance from her kicks, Kayli had no choice but to throw herself straight back, catching herself on her hands as Battle's fist passed by harmlessly above her. Bouncing upright, Kayli snapped a kick into the side of Battle's head, then twisted and launched a second kick for Battle's shin. He turned and pulled his leg clear just in time, quickly ducking as Kayli swung around into a high spin kick. Dropping low, Battle lashed out with his own leg, catching the back of Kayli's knee and sending her spinning to the ground.

Snarling a series of curses, Kayli rolled to an upright crouch as Battle moved in over her. She had enough of this nonsense! So... Battle had wanted to fight at 'full strength' eh? She'd show him 'full strength'!

As Battle stepped forward, Kayli concentrated on her right fist, which began to glow with a bright white light. Cocking her arm back, her body tense with pent up emotion, Kayli erupted like an uncoiling spring, bringing her arm around in a blur. 'Ibukitatsu!' she shouted, hoping to distract, or - at least - confuse, Battle.

Battle responded by bringing his arms down in a cross body block, which would have worked just fine against Kayli's blow, except that at the last moment she unleased a searing white bolt of energy that slammed into the dead center of Battle's chest, right between his crossed 'X' of his arms. The blast lifted Battle clear off of his feet to send him tumbling out of the arena.

Mark Gore just gaped as Kayli stood and yelled her victory exultation at the warehouse roof. She'd beaten Battle! She'd beaten Mark Battle!

Ricki Ventura, water bottle in hand, helped his man to his feet. Mark Battle rose quickly, ready to continue the fight. When Ventura informed him of his defeat, the bounty hunter grabbed the container, and crushed it in a fit of pique. "There's still the finals." Battle said nothing. He turned to his opponent and nodded. They'd talk later...

Next to Gore, two youths, dressed in brightly colored pants and wearing shirts proclaiming their names as 'Rob' and 'Don' grinned at each other.

"You see, Don. Kayli -- she nasty."

"Hope Rob don't say balls nasty."

"Balls nasty."

"Hey mon... Kayli, she like off of "Ryu-sphere Zeta", she don't shiv."

"You got that right."

Jackson Lee entered the ring to find Ying Ying waiting for him. He stood outside the tape for a moment, looking over his opposition. Ying Ying should have been an exceptionally attractive woman; however, Lee sensed some sort of coldness about her, something that said she simply didn't care.

He'd seen some of her previous matches, and knew that he would have trouble. She didn't really have a style, as such, that he could exploit. She seemed to turn the mere act of movement into an offensive or defensive action. He'd seen her almost play with Mark Battle, before finally going too far and apparently overreaching herself. His one chance seemed to be to hit her hard and fast.

Lee entered the ring and assumed his defensive position, a slight sideways crouch with his arms held ready at his sides. As the match started, Ying Ying simply walked toward him. Lee advanced toward her, keeping the target area for an attack as small as possible. Once he got within ten feet, he departed from his traditional approach and leapt into a diving roll intended to take him inside Ying Ying's defenses.

Coming out of the roll, he aimed a punch at the center of her abdomen, where it would take the greatest amount of movement for her to avoid. The punch connected, and she doubled up, dropping to the floor. Lee rolled quickly to one side and came to his feet ready to block a punch or kick.

Ying Ying still lay on the floor, holding her stomach. The judge counted off, and declared Lee the winner. Ying Ying unfolded and walked out of the ring, leaving Lee still in his defensive crouch.

A minute later, Lee stood and left the ring, shaking his head.

Yet a third meta. I suppose I used my luck during the opening rounds, Zander mused. The grey-skinned woman was definitely not the opponent he would have chosen -- to judge by the crowd's reaction, she was the favorite in the tournament, and besides, she was too much like something from out of his childhood memories... but no matter. He would have to play the cards he was dealt.

"I hope you don't plan to destroy the moon, or anything silly like that," he remarked conversationally, trying to study her. The comment seemed to puzzle her, but she wasn't distracted. No surprise; she was too good for something like that. In fact, he wondered at her patience as they slowly circled inside the ring. Surely, she was more confident than...?

Kayli sprang into a blur of motion, springing forward with a vicious fore-knuckle strike. Fortunately, Zander was faster; switching the sword to a one-handed grip, he moved his left forearm to block the blow.

A sharp hiss came at the contact. Zander quickly placed her strength: phenomenal. Getting hit would most definitely not be a good idea; he couldn't take more than two or three direct blows.

If she was holding back for the tournament, he didn't want to see what Kayli was like when she really cut loose.

Three quick punches followed. Zander dodged all of them easily enough; but, then, they weren't serious attacks. She was gauging his reactions. He frowned slightly as he returned the favor. She was definitely stronger, and almost as fast... No surprise that she was a favorite among the crowd. And yet...

There was an opening in her defense. One that shouldn't have been there, at her level. In fact, he'd been sure that it was a ruse on her part, an attempt to draw him into overextending himself. But no; she continued to leave the pressure point open too consistently. Either it was a real mistake, or the woman was far too overconfident for her own good.

He deftly stepped around a forward kick, and his hand darted out to brush her shoulder. It *had* been open, against all odds. Well, this match should prove more even, now that one of her arms was paralyzed.

The thought lasted less than a second. Then the "useless" limb swung in a wide arc as Kayli pivoted in a perfect spinning backfist, ending at his chest. Pain lanced through his body, and he thought he'd heard a sickening crack...

Zander desperately backed off, shaking his head to clear it. Stupid, he thought. She really isn't human. Different pressure points...

He'd discovered a new weakness in his martial art style, and Kayli was capitalizing on it quite well. She wasn't about to give up on her advantage, either; Zander was forced to fend off a constant barrack of quick attacks, mostly punches and kicks, interspersed with the occasional roundhouse or haymaker. Somehow, he avoided the stronger attacks, but many of the others were getting through his shaky defense. The crowd was roaring for Kayli, and every breath sent a shock of pain through his chest...

But that wasn't important; his Gift would heal it, in time. If he could find a moment to recover, perhaps...

Remembering his lessons, he switched from a defensive posture to an offensive one following the alien girl's next maneuver. He lunged, striking another pressure point. This one seemed to have some effect; at least, it threw her off her stride, though that might well have been the shock of an attack landing. On the defensive again, he quickly backed away...

And focused his ki. Fatigue dropped away; his head cleared, and even his pain in his chest had dimmed to a dull, constant throbbing. It would take more time to heal such a wound... but he would have time enough. After the match.

The match... If pressure strikes failed, then he had one recourse. The sword.

With a burst of speed, he slipped forward and to one side, striking, and was rewarded with a thin stripe of red on his opponent's abdomen. Kayli's eyes narrowed dangerously; obviously, she hadn't expected that range of motion from a man as wounded as Zander was. Had been. But Zander was certain that she wouldn't make that mistake again. Back to square one.

The exchanges of blows continued. Thrusts and cuts vied against kicks and punches, with the vsat majority of either being turned aside by the opposed fighter's defense. A light slash on the forearm was returned with a low hook, glancing off Zander's upper arm. Two more minor cuts on the upper leg and lower abdomen were answered by a kick that clipped his ear as he ducked not quite quickly enough. He wove a cocoon of steel; she danced a ballet of destruction. Faster. Again. Block and riposte. Dodge and kick. Faster yet.

Through it, Zander smiled. He was striking more often than the alien woman, and the accumulated wounds were beginning to slow even her. Gliding backwards, he lashed out, sketching a thin line of red across her chest. Another to the left arm, then a third, almost on top of the second. Ignore the knifehand that just missed shattering his collarbone, as best he could. Cut the forward leg. Sidestep and strike at the back. Follow up with a gash on the shoulder. Kayli caught and threw him on the recovery; he twisted in midair, landing at the very edge of the ring and desperately lunging forward. A miss, but he was able to parry the counterattack. Circle, feint, slash... a small cut along her cheekbone. Again to the arm. Shoulder. Hip. Left leg. Torso. Neck -- very carefully. Back. The strokes were coming more easily now; no one's endurance could handle a hundred tiny wounds. Not that he was feeling much better... but he'd bet it didn't look half as serious.

Hell, he was surprised that Kayli was still standing, somehow. Another series of strikes and dodges -- her attacks were slowing, now that her skin looked more red than grey -- followed by a more solid attack. She wavered at the impact, but did not fall; instead, she crouched, assuming a defensive stance.

It was a wasted effort, to his eyes. He would have, he was certain, only minor difficulties in hitting the alien woman. She was in no condition to fight.

Unfortunately, she didn't seem to be ready to acknowledge that.

Another unforeseen problem. Hitting the opponent wasn't a problem; the means were. Nerve strikes were useless against her. He had no real knowledge of more traditional strikes. And the sword...

If he struck her again, with any significant force, she was likely to die.

Zander arrived at his decision. He stepped backwards, keeping his weapon high in a defensive position. It wasn't necessary; Kayli didn't move. Perhaps she suspected a ruse of some sort? No matter. There was really only one course of action.

"I don't suppose you'd care to stop fighting now?"

The alien shook her head slightly; her eyes never left him. Prudent, he decided, if somewhat paranoid. "I am a Saiyan warrior, I will not surrender."

Zander's lips pressed together in exasperation. "Very well. Then there is only one recourse." With both hands, he raised the sword above his head.

Kayli tensed, almost imperceptibly.

The shining blade came down.

Kayli leapt backwards -- a final, desperate dodge.

It was unnecessary. The sword had swung outward and to the side, not the front. Zander held it easily at full extension, parallel to the floor, in one hand, pointing toward the referee and the spectators beyond, all of whom had fallen into a tense silence.

"I concede," he stated simply. He turned to leave the ring. And the audience erupted in confusion.

"What? How...?"

He stopped momentarily, looking over his shoulder. "In a tournament," he stated calmly, "I am a martial artist, not a warrior. Killing would serve no purpose here; the battle is all." He paused. "And," he finally added, "I know who won that match. That is all that matters, here."

Jackson Lee moved across the ring, sizing up his newest opponent. Under other circumstance he might have noticed Kayli's shape, the angles of her face. Right now, Jackson Lee saw the way Kayli's weight was balanced, the fluidity of her movement as she moved toward him. Lee had watched her match with Zander, and knew that he'd need to be quick to beat her. His only advantage was that she was still worn out from the match with Pariah.

Lee feinted with a strike to her head. The forearm block Kayli snapped up felt like hitting concrete. She definitely wasn't a weekend martial artist. This woman had plenty of hard-won experience.

Lee deflected a return strike. He wasn't ready to match strength with Kayli, so he'd settle for using her own power against her A second blow followed the first, hitting him in the shoulder. Lee let the force of the blow carry him out of range. He rolled his shoulders to loosen them. Kayli grinned at him.

Raising his hands to chest height to draw Kayli's attention, Lee moved toward her again In the match with Zander, Kayli had received numerous small cuts from the man's sword. While she'd changed her outfit, Lee remembered one in particular on her side. Lee closed the distance and feinted with a double head-strike combination. Kayli's block left his arm numb, but he followed through with a kick to her wounded side.

He was gratified by the grimace of pain, but her backhand caught him entirely off guard. He felt his feet leave the ground... a moment later his back hit the floor, knocking the wind out of him. He must have blacked out momentarily, because when he looked up the referee was kneeling over him, and the match was over.

It wasn't as though Zander Greye had not fought big men before. He had trained against all kinds of opponents, and he had learned from strained muscles and thousands of combat tested katas that fine art of taking a strong man down. His defeat at the hands of Kayli had not unnerved him. Battle had lost to her as well. Defeat had battered them both, though a casual inspection of his opponent led Zander to the conclusion that Mark Battle, despite his rest, was the worse for wear. He had gauged Battle's fighting skill and not found it wanting, but he felt some confidence that he could avoid his deadlier blows.

It was time to ride the wind, and face the bull, as one of his more pretentious mentors might have put it.

There was the formalities to observe, of course, the introductions. Zander watched as his host announced them. Both had a core of support; Zander among the dedicated martial artists, Battle among the rest: it was a classic match of skill against power. Their host, Jackson Lee, looking hard at his opponent, wondering if Battle would ask to bend the rules again as he did against Kayli. Mark merely smiled, walked over to Jackson Lee and whispered something in his ear. Lee suddenly gave a surprised laugh and pointed Battle back at the ring. "Yeah, me too." Lee told the huge bounty hunter. Battle strode back to the center of the ring with a slight smile.

For some reason, Zander couldn't resist adding his own comment. "What, no insult?" he asked his huge opponent, remembering earlier matches.

"No way, Greye boy." Battle smiled, showing teeth. "May the best man win."

"I only see one guy here without earrings." Zander knew that some people thought he had an androgynous appearance. It didn't bother him. Did it bother his opponent, given Battle's relentlessly macho reputation? All the better if it did.

Then the signal rang.

Zander started out with a quick thrust, an open hand to the face. There was no real damage done. Battle spun around and retaliated with an open hand backhand, a surprise maneuver, but not well performed. Zander sidestepped it easily, and caught his large opponent with a nerve strike in the shoulder and a second finger thrust under the right pectoral. Battle clearly felt the blows, but spun around with a snarl, and aimed a roundhouse at Zander's face. This was a little more carefully aimed, but Zander took a step back, feeling a stiff breeze in his face as the punch barely missed his chin.

Power without focus equals defeat. But skill with overconfidence also equaled defeat. His masters had taught him so many ways to experience defeat, he couldn't remember them all. Perhaps that was the point - it was better to concentrate on victory. There were a lot fewer rules in victory.

Zander got into a low crouch and sprung, attempting to hit Battle's ribs. He connected. Battle tried a head butt, but Zander, in a gesture of unintended acrobatics, did a quick tumble that went under the attack, and then connected with a kick from a handstand position. The move had a lot of momentum, but it looked better than its actual impact. Battle tried to grab his legs, but Zander did a quick spin, sprung behind his opponent, and connected with an elbow against the back of his head. Then he landed back on his feet, safely away from Battle's reach. He didn't exactly want to get into a wrestling match against this guy.

Battle had a look of intense concentration on his face; he was hurt, but the pain seemed to bring the fight into focus for him. He had decided that he couldn't overwhelm Zander with a quick offense, so he waited for his opponent to make his move. Zander moved in - he'd rather have stayed outside, but so far, the nerve strikes were the most potent weapon, and they required him to get in close. Battle went low and tried to rock him high with a springing attack, leaving an opening in Battle's groin. Zander took it.

"Hey, now you're getting personal!" Battle grimaced.

"Sorry." Zander couldn't resist the quip.

Battle abruptly caught him with a right to the jaw which nearly sent him tumbling out of the ring.

Zander shook his head furiously and barely rolled away. That hurt! One blow was nearly enough to finish him. He made a mental note to avoid getting hit again, and barely got out of the way of another punch.

Battle tried to press the attack. Zander began backpedalling in a circle, a move that his boxing trained opponent would recognize as a "bicycle". It took about six seconds to shake out the cobwebs, then he was ready to attack again. Battle clipped him with a left jab; nice technique, but a little off balance, and Zander shook off its effects without too much trouble. Battle seemed frustrated that he hadn't finished him off. Good.

Zander began fighting with a new confidence. He danced around his larger opponent, catching him the rear rib cage and then under the elbow with nerve strikes. Battleís arm briefly went limp, but he continued charging. Zander picked his spot, ducked a ferocious left roundhouse, and caught Battle in the throat with a quick thrust.

Battle coughed and sank to one knee. Zander's shot had almost been perfect, and he knew it - it was a miracle Battle wasn't on his stomach coughing his lungs out. Zander connected with his ribs - still not down! Battle's eyes were still focused. He managed to respond with a left uppercut, but Zander (barely) rolled with the punch, and caught his opponent with a hard blow to the temple. Battle's eyes spun, and he finally fell to his stomach.

Zander's supporters, especially those who had bet against the odds, were ecstatic to see skill win out over brawn. Everyone else was stunned. Battle quickly got back to his feet, the fight still in his eyes. His second, a young Puerto Rican savate fighter, had the unfortunate duty of informing Battle that he'd been defeated. The bounty hunter was now out of the tournament.

Zander smiled and retreated to a corner. He'd be facing more tough opposition later. For now, he'd savor the victory with quiet contemplation and some good tea that he'd brought with him in a thermos. It was not a small achievement.

"Alright, Greye boy..." a low voice came from behind him. "There's something we have to settle."

Zander turned to find Battle levitating slightly off the ground, surrounded by a force field. He was about to position himself into a combat stance, when he saw Battle's hand extended toward him in a gesture of respect.

He shook it. "Good fight, man. You're sure quick." Battle said.

"I train hard." Zander said with a shrug.

Battle handed him a business card. Mark Battle, Bail Bondsman, no fancy titles. "E-mail and pager number. You need a sparring partner, give me a call."

"It's amazing how many new sparring partners I've collected here." Zander noted, and then he offered to pour him a drink. "I don't know if bounty hunters drink tea..."

"Not unless it's got liquor in it." Battle laughed. He winced and checked his arm - it was still a little numb from the fight. "So is tea the secret behind your fighting skill?"

"Absolutely." Zander quipped. "All the really good fighters drink tea, or that's what my mentor used to tell me."

"I have one question." Battle asked. "Just curious about one thing, and you don't have to answer it if you don't want to. Do you wear tights?"

Zander chuckled, took a sip, and considered the implications of the question. "Of course I do," he finally told Battle. "I love dancing. Don't you?"

Jackson Lee stood just outside the ring, arms crossed as he watched Zander approach the ring. The swordsman moved with an economy of motion. No wasted moves, no swaggering.

Lee knew from watching Zander's match against Kayli that he was in trouble. The man used his sword to create a defensive screen that would be hard to pierce. Time to switch tactics again. Lee doubted that Zander would fall for a leg sweep, so instead he'd go for all offensive punches.

Zander entered the ring and bowed to Lee. Lee returned the bow.

Lee closed slowly at first, then dove into a roll similar to what he'd used against Ying Ying. Instead of punching to the abdomen, though, he leapt into the air and tag Zander's sword shoulder with a kick. Almost at the same moment, Lee felt a punch to his stomach, which spasmed painfully.

He landed awkwardly and rolled away. Damn! Zander must know something about pressure points. Lee'd never had much use for that sort of thing, but it seemed to be pretty effective.

Lee stood and approached Zander again.  He feinted with an open hand strike...The flat of Zander's blade touched his hand lightly, as if to feint at a block. His concentration broken, Lee didn't follow up with the snap kick he'd intended, but tried a real open hand strike. Zander moved his head to one side, avoiding the strike, while using the flat of his sword to rap Lee on the side of his head.

Lee staggered backward as Zander followed with a chop to Lee's neck. Lee dropped to the floor, dazed. It was only after he'd come to at the first aid table that he realized he'd been eliminated from his own tournament.

Kayli stood quietly in the center of the ring. She remained motionless, seemingly oblivious to the roar of the crowd, the slow side to side swaying of her tail the only sign that she was even awake. She'd changed into a new bodysuit for this fight, as her last match with Alexander Greye had left covered in cuts. Kayli had donned her armor for this final fight as well. Greye was as fast, or faster, then her when she was running at full power, tempting his blade without some sort of protection a second time was sheer folly.

Greye stepped into the ring and gave his opponent a calm once over. Gone was his earlier quips and relaxed manner. Both new that this final match was everything. It was life, death, the full spectacle of one-one-one combat with almost no rules to get in the way of the action. Bowing slightly to his gray-skinned opponent, who seemed far too close to a childhood memory, which was not a good thing, when he thought about it, Greye prepared for his final combat of the day.

Shuffling her way around the ring, Kayli considered her options. Greye was far too fast for her to try and out last, her only option was to go for a quick kill. Except that his sword made any extended close-in fighting pure suicide. So... her first priority was to remove the man's sword. Pity it wasn't a real fight, or she'd remove his arm for good measure.

Unfortunately, the match seemed destined to be a repeat of their first fight. Greye danced about just out of range, almost driving Kayli berserk with a constant rain jabs and cuts. Most she was able to avoid, while the rest skittered off of her armor. Her own strikes Greye avoided with ridiculous ease, his own offense was keeping her from mounting a credible attack of her own.

Then it happened.

Greye lunged just a touch to far, allowing Kayli to spin inside the his reach. She lashed out and the crowd gasped as the man's sword clattered to the ground far outside the ring. Kayli gave Greye a thin lipped grin. The fight was now far more even.

Encouraged by her success, Kayli pressed her advantage. Firing a rapid and continuous series of short, quick backhand punches, elbow strikes and knee smashes. Greye almost fell out of the ring avoiding the assualt and responded by lunging foward and wrapping his arms around Kayli, pinning her arms to her side. There was a moment where the two fighters paused and then Greye attempted to force Kayli from the ring.

Nothing happened.

Kayli smiled and tensed her own, powerful, muscles. She didn't shatter Greye's nose with a headbutt to the nose. She didn't fracture his arms with a reversed arm lock. She didn't stave in his rib cage with one powerful kick. She simply shrugged her way free and slammed both palms flat into his chest, tossing Greye out of the ring effortlessly.

Looking down at Greye, Kayli smile grew. "I know who won this match. And that is all that matters here."

The roar of the crowd drowned out what ever response Greye may have tried to make.

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