Gazing at the wall with a blank stare, a conclusion is made. You will go to the World Martial Arts Tournament. But before doing so, a few pit stops must be made. You exit Rem's former quarters and head towards your room, wondering whether or not you should convert room's on the way.
Standing outside of your room, you swipe your Key Card and the door snaps open instantaneously. You step into your room and signal the door to close behind you. Next, you step into your surprisingly large closet and pull out a new pair of clothes. A dark purple tunic and black pants. Before putting them on, you walk over to your luxurious bathroom and soak under the furious pressure of the water. After cleansing yourself, you put on your clothes and prepare to head out. A new pair of shoes is slipped on, matching your outfit. Finally, you don a large, brownish coat with light brown, spiky fur trimming around the neck and the sleeves' edges, draped over your shoulders like a cape.
It is time to head out.
Travelling across the - still heavily damaged and trashed - halls of Forte Valkyrie, you come across Piccolo standing a midst the center of the large area. He stares at you harshly. "What is it?" You growl.
"So Rem is dead, huh? And he made you his successor? Then again, I suppose you are the best of the choices he had." Piccolo speaks up, a tad louder than you would have liked.
"How do you--?"
"I have a pretty good set of ears, remember? But don't worry, I won't tell anybody."
"Hmph. Eavesdropping on a conversation that didn't involve you. What a nuisance you are."
"Do you want my help or not?"
"I know Rem wanted you guys to head over to West City to try and stop the Red Ribbon Army from gathering another Dragon Ball. But to be frank, none of the Commander's are up to it. Dysect and yourself being the exceptions. But based on how he reacted to Rem's final wishes, I don't think he'll be listening to you any time soon. And with those stitches of yours, I don't think it would be wise for you to head right back into battle."
"Wow. You really do hear things."
"Heh. So I'll ask you once more: do you want me to help you out or not? I can take a group of General's that have recovered and go take care of things myself. Since being trashed by that bastard called Pitou, I've been feeling quite weak." Piccolo clenches his fists and grins toothily. "I think it's time I redeemed myself."
You smile, but tuck it back in before too much emotions are shown. "Very well. Do me a favour and tell Joseph and Thrigon to stay here at all costs. With you gone, and Echo and Kaiba in no condition to fight, they'll have to hold the fort up while I'm away."
"You're going somewhere? At a time like this?"
"Yeah. The World Martial Arts Tournament you were telling Goku and I about a little while ago. I'm curious as to who will be there."
"I see. Don't get your hopes up too much though. I doubt anybody there will be able to compare to you." Piccolo turns around and begins walking away. You rub your chin carefully and frown, hoping that this tournament isn't boring.
At last, you're ready to head out. You pull out your Cell Phone and dial a number while stepping into an elevator and descending to the ground floor. A voice on the other end answers, asking you what you would like. "Get me a car. I'm going out." You command, hanging up moments later.
After stepping out of Forte Valkyrie, you take notice to General Orez back at his same post. It's a miracle he managed to recover so quickly after the severe injuries you saw him with after the battle. He gives you a bow and the two of you bid farewell, mainly as a formality.
You walk across a long stretch of road until a car pulls over and a driver rushes out of it. He smiles at you, opening up a door to the backseat. "Greetings, Commander Kiryu." You slide into the backseat and he closes the door after you, rushing over to his side of the car immediately afterwards. In the passenger seat, you see another driver sitting still. He looks back at you and gives you a nod, not sure what exactly he is supposed to say. He must be new. "Where are we heading today, sir?" The main driver asks.
"Roger that." He says with a nod, blasting the hydrogen vehicle through the beautiful terrain.
Hours fly by as a swift breeze of wind blows through your hair while you peek your head out the window. Night soon falls and it appears as if no distance was made. There hasn't been a town or even house in sight for the last 12 hours, despite thousands of kilometers being traveled.
Eventually, you doze off to sleep. In the morning, you awake to see the second driver in control of the car. What with nearly 24 hours passing, it was probably best that they swapped positions. Night creeps up on you once again, and the toll of sitting down for such a lengthy period of time begins to irritate you.
Suddenly, bright lights surround the area. The driver slows the car down massively as he enters East City, careful not to cause an accident. Hundreds of cars appear beside you, and many Hover Cars are blasting through the city from above. It is such a massive place. With a population of nearly 40 million, it's no wonder that this place is always active.
"Should we pull over at a Hotel for tonight, sir?"
Registration for the tournament is most likely closed at this hour. "Yeah, sounds good." You'll have to head over and sign up early in the morning, because the tournament will be that same day. Sign ups probably end the day before the actual event.
The car comes to an abrupt stop. You turn to the right and peer out of the window, taking note of a luxurious structure just outside. "This is the number one hotel in the entire city, sir. Would you like it if I were to come in with you to book a room?"
"No, I'll manage."
The driver in the passenger seat hops out of the car and pulls your door open. You nod, starting to get annoyed that they are doing everything for you. Being important is such a drag. Not saying another word, you walk away from them and enter the East City Hotel.
You are greeted by the desk manager, who doesn't appear to recognize you. He is very kind and the process of booking a room for the night is quick and efficient. The man signals somebody to guide you to your room, but you refuse and head up alone.
Upon entering your temporary room, you take notice of all the necessities that one might need. A bathroom, bed, television, kitchen. Everything and more. None of this interests you, however, so you simply have a seat on the bed and begin meditating. After such a long trip, you feel an urge to harness your Ki in preparation for the upcoming tournament. You must be able to fight at your peak, even if the chances of you needing to are slim to none.
Eventually, your Ki is filled up to the brim. You feel as if you can unleash an incredible amount of power that far surpasses what it was prior to the battle against Pitou. "I'm ready...!"
The next morning, you walk outside of the hotel with a car already waiting. The same, repetitive routine enfolds as the Drivers put you into the car. You tell them to take you to the tournament arena and they follow your orders exactly. Within ten minutes, you find yourself standing just outside of a gigantic structure that takes up multiple blocks. From this angle, you can make out four different buildings that all appear to be connected to each other.
There are dozens of fighters all surrounding the area, doing their last minute registration no doubt. You step forward with your coat dangling in the breeze. It might be your imagination, but as you tread towards the Sign Up Post just in front of the large arena, everybody appears to be watching you in awe.
"Heh," you smirk. A man at a desk looks up from his seat with a bored face on but is shocked once his eyes lock onto you. He attempts to say something, but no words come out. "I'm here to sign up for the tournament."
"R-r-right." He stutters. "Just put your name down here...sir." You nod and jot your name down, still the center of attention. That is, until a poor fool nudges you over. The pen scribbles across the page as a bulky man with no shirt on bashes you to the side. The man in charge of registration squeals as this happens, truly terrified.
"Hmmm?" He mutters while glaring down at you in an attempt to have you intimidated. "You dare touch me, the great Boldaro Sama? Bahahaha! Listen kid, I suggest you run along home to mommy. A weakling like you has no place competing with the big boys." You gawk at him, infuriated that he had you scribble your name across the page. "Hmmm? Oh, I get it. You're too scared to even move. Mehehehehe!"
Not even blessing him with a simple quote before his death, you press your palm up against his chest and unleash a blast. It rips right through his skin fibers and blasts him to the ground as he screams in pain. Blood floods out of his aching wound while he grapples it, nearing his death. An ambulance sounds off in the distance but you pay little attention to it.
"Be happy. I decided not to take your life." You pick up the pen and scratch your name down properly before whisking past the man in charge of the sign up sheet and entering the arena not too far ahead. Everybody stares at you in utter shock on your way out, but each remain quiet in fear of the same fate succumbing them. "Hmph. The actual competition better be stronger than that fool."
You reach an audience just outside of the arena, noticing that thousands of spectators are all gathering in one single place. This tournament must be a huge deal, which makes sense considering it is only held once every three years. You take a sharp left and walk into a passageway where a clerk stands guard.
"Are you a competitor?" He asks.
With a grin, he nods and steps over to his computer. "Your name?"
He searches through his database and you take note of an exceptionally long list of names on his monitor. "Perfect. Just head right on in and when the Preliminary Games begin in a couple of hours, the judges will explain everything you need to know."
You give him a nod and step into the long hallway. After a short walk, you reach an open area with a few people standing around. Just up ahead, there are four buildings that are quite large in size. On each of them, there are certain letter combinations that dictate where each person goes. The one on the far left is for those with first names "A-F"; the one beside it are for those with "G-L"; the next one being "M-S"; finally, the building on the far right are for those with "T-Z".
You enter the middle building. Once inside, you are confronted by a mass amount of fighters of multiple different races and species. In this area alone, there are easily 400+ participants. It's a shame they will all be wiped out by you. In this particular building, there are five arena's. Trying to get out of the way and partake in a fun game of alone time, you have a seat in the corner of the room.
To your surprise, more fighters continue to enter as the hours go by. And finally, at just past 2:00pm, a voice fueled by a microphone blares out to the entire room. "Testing...testing." The man speaks, his voice booming. You peer up to see him standing in the center arena. Judging by his grey hair, he appears to be in his late fifties. Four other judges are standing on each side of him, but only he has the privilege of speaking. "Alright everybody, lets get this tournament started!"
Cheers break out from around the room as the people roar. You cringe at this, and thankfully, it subsides after a few short seconds. The judge speaks up once again. "I would like to welcome you all to the 37th Triennial World Martial Arts Tournament. This year, we have an astounding 1913 participants. Unfortunately, only sixteen of you skilled fighters will be able to make it outside and fight in front of a live audience." Everything goes quiet suddenly, and the tension in the room raises. Much better. "I am now going to explain the rules. First off, killing your opponent is absolutely forbidden. You will be instantly disqualified for doing so. We also have Red Ribbon Officers at the ready, prepared to arrest anybody who breaks this rule. Ergh," the judge coughs a bit, clearing his throat. "Next, I would like to state that weapons are not allowed. While there are many fighters who use swords or guns as their primary fighting style, this is a Martial Arts Tournament. It is prohibited to use any item for the sake of injuring your opponent. The same goes for any item that will heal you within battle."
"Damn it," you hear somebody mutter in the crowd.
"We will now draw numbers for the Preliminary Games. When your number is called, report to the designated arena. At the back, we arranged four separate sheets that will display your progress. Out of the 510 fighters in this room, only four of you will advance. Remember that if you are knocked out of the ring or are down on the ground for 10 seconds without interference from your opponent, that will count as a defeat. During the Preliminary Games, each match will last a maximum of two minutes. If you are unable to defeat your foe in that time limit, both of you will be disqualified. Any questions?"
"Uh, yeah man, I got one." A voice calls out. The Head Judge points at him and opens his ears wide. "What if I end up fighting a troll who just flies in the air for the whole two minutes and doesn't even attempt to fight me? Do we both still get disqualified, because that would be kind of unfair."
"Yes, you will both be disqualified. If you are unable to overcome such a minor obstacle, I doubt you will have any chance of making it to the Top 16 anyway. Any other questions?"
"Can I use a weapon if it's part of my body?" Somebody shouts from the back.
"In that case, it would not constitute as a weapon, but rather a body part. So yes, you can. Anybody else?" Silence. "Very well. Please form a line and draw numbers right up here. Keep it civil, everybody. If I - or any of the other judges - see foul play of any kind, in or out of the ring, we have the right to disqualify you. With that said, I wish all of you luck."
The microphone is released and is pulled from a string up to the top of the room where it awaits idly. You wonder who is pulling the string for a second, but let it go quickly. You strap on your Scouter and press the button on it in an attempt to detect Battle Powers that are above the average level. To your disappointment, nothing out of the ordinary is found. Either everybody here are weaklings, or the strong ones are suppressing their Ki. Hopefully it's the latter.
Patiently waiting for the tournament to begin, you stand in a lengthy line. It shrinks quickly. A few voices from behind spark your attention, so you listen intently.
"Yo man, isn't that Commander Kiryu?"
"You mean that devil from the FBM? Where?"
"Just up there!"
"...S***, you're right. I think that's him."
"What the hell is a guy like him even doing here!?"
"You got me. I just hope he isn't in our bracket. I don't want to fight a monster like him!"
"Fight? There won't be any fight? He'd just kill us!"
"Damn it, looks like this tournament isn't going to be any good either!"
"We have no luck..."
You grin at this. Even the fodder tier trash know who you are. Still listening to your surroundings, it appears as though there are multiple mentions of your name. You range from a devil, to a monster, to a creature not from this realm. Only negative curses are being spouted about your character. There hasn't been a single praise to anything other than your strength or intellect. Those bastards.
"Next." One of the judges says. You look up to notice that you are at the front of the line now.
"Oh, my bad." You slip your hand into a bucket and pull out a laminated card. Most likely so nobody is able to change their numbers or do anything stupid like that. You reveal it to the judge. "Number 194."
"Aren't you...Commander Kiryu from the Freeborn Military?"
Shocked expressions burn on your back. The judge must have said that quite loudly, because you can feel the reaction from the hundreds of participants still in line. "What of it?"
"No, nothing. I just didn't expect such an infamous icon to appear at this tournament." You smirk and walk past him, heading over to your seat from earlier. "I look forward to seeing you fight in the Top 16!" the judge yells.
Everything goes silent. The fact that a judge would make such a bold statement about a participant is unheard of. Out of all the fighters in this room, only four of them would advance. And that judge practically gave one of those slots away before it all began. An act of blasphemy to everybody here.
"Yes, I'll put an excellent show on for the world to see. I will show this generation the power of the new leader of the Freeborn Military!" You silently dictate.
You patiently wait until the line dies down until everybody receives their number. Each of the five judges split up and head to a designated arena. Within minutes, numbers are being called and fighters step into the rings. Bored, as you wait to be called, you examine the current fighters in the ring closest to you. Nothing of interest to see.
"Number 194!" calls the judge from Ring #4.
"Oh, I'm finally up?" You snap your eyes open and stand up, stretching your arms as you do so. As you pace towards the ring, a group of fighters appear around the arena. They each mutter among themselves. You press your hand up against one of their shoulders and he moves over to the side on cue. The path free, you step up onto the ring and gaze at your opponent carefully. He grins.
The man has two black boots on, each of them strapped tightly to his high white socks. His attire consists of a black tunic that pulls down to his strappy pants of the same colour, slipping into his socks. Both of his wrist bands are white, but have a black thunderbolt zig-zagging across the center of them. Your opponent has white dreads that reach down to his spine, and is fairly built. Despite him grinning at you, he has a dirty snarl about him.
Still waiting for the judge to have the match commence, you listen to the competitors speak among themselves. "Isn't that Lind Thrasher?"
"Oh yeah, no mistaking it. He made it into the Top 8 at the 36th World Martial Arts Tournament. That guy is a monster...!"
"I wonder how quick he'll be able to end this match."
"Ergh, I wouldn't jump the gun just yet. Thrasher may be an incredible fighter, but I'm pretty sure his opponent is Kiryu from the Freeborn Military. One of the Commander's, if I remember correctly."
"The Demon!? Whoa..."
A third participant steps forward. "That judge from earlier may have declared that Kiryu would make it to the Top 16, but it looks like he'll have his work cut out for him."
"Well, if nothing else, at least some of the stronger fighters are being eliminated early on. I wouldn't be the guy who had to face one of these two."
"Whoever wins, this is bound to be an exceptional match." The first one speaks up again.
"Alright!" The judge barks. "I want a clean fight. The timer is two minutes, so I would advise that neither of you waste time."
You snap on a fighting pose and analyze your opponent, Lind Thrasher, with utmost carefulness. When you're trapped within a nook, any mistake could have you lose the fight. He appears to be taking the match seriously as well, even though confidence is teeming from his pores.
The judge backs away to the edge of the arena and clears his throat once more. "And...Begin!"
A) Go straight in for the win, using the Four Witches.
B) Analyze and defend against Lind until you see an opening to exploit.
C) Fight him normally. Don't unveil any techniques to the crowd unless absolutely necessary.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Choice that won:
C. Send all the fully recovered fighters to West City while we go alone to the World Tournament. I'm really interested in who will be fighting.
C. Send all the fully recovered fighters to West City while we go alone to the World Tournament. I'm really interested in who will be fighting.