Match 1
#51, Nimia Altamirano
vs.
#50 Katashi “The White Tiger” Torakawa
The Byakko Bar was an old place, established at least three generations ago. To be blunt, it was a dive bar, the exact type of filthy shithole that some people avoided like a mass grave while others flocked right to.
The latter was even understandable for those who could look from another’s point of view. The seediness, the debauchery, it all had an atmosphere that could pull a person, fascinated by the smokes and scents wafting out from its under its door, into the wooden maw of a faded tiger.
The interior wasn’t anything too special. Round tables, round stools, and neon signs to light up the room, but there was enough of an atmosphere that one could fumble and falter enough to trip their way past the press of bodies and watchful eyes. If they were the indulgent type, they’d drink and talk, and hear something interesting. If they were the curious type, they’d look to the staircase leading down, with its own bouncer standing at the top. If they were the brave type, or just really damn curious or stupid or any combination of traits looking for something, somewhere, they’d pay the fee and go down.
Nimia didn’t pay the fee. The bouncer slumped down to the floor, his head cracked hard against the doorframe.
In the depths of the bar, there was what could loosely be called a fighting ring. Loosely, because it was more akin to a killing floor. Sometimes, two people of an even match would get to go at it, but the main draw of the bar was the old man sitting on a stool in the middle of the ring.
He was old, he was weathered, and he was very well built. Taller than most, about 6’2”, and shockingly solid for a man with entirely white hair. He took a deep drag of his cigarette as he slouched forward, baring the white tiger on his back to all who would enter his ring. It was broad and intricate, set pushing itself up on a number of stones, roaring its challenge to the world amid a field of bones.
A pair of black slacks and a belt were all he wore, his feet bare in the sand of the ring. Nimia’s boots kicked up that sand as she stepped down the stairs. A cage circled them up above, and the gate to the stairs slammed home into the ground.
“So this is it?” Katashi Torakawa took another drag of his cigarette, his voice harsh and deep. “Another dumb bitch looking for a challenge steps into my cage, is that it? Looking to prove yourself, bitch?”
“Nope. Just here for your number,” she answered, walking over to the other stool, up against the wall.
“Ha, great. Just another stupid fuck trying to take advantage. What, you think you’re hot shit? You think you can fucking take me? You ain’t nothin’.”
“Wouldn’t say that.” She shrugged off her black suit jacket. Under it, she wore a white button-up and two shoulder holsters. She pulled the steel-gray semi-automatics from it and set them down on the stool.
“Hmph. So you’re not completely fucking stupid. If you tried to use either of those, I would’ve killed you on fucking principle.”
“Sure you would. C’mon Tashi, let’s not lie to each other. You know why I’m not using these.”
“Because you’re a stupid bitch. You think you’re the first? You see how many fucking bodies they haven’t pulled out yet?”
She counted three. “They’re not me, and they didn’t have numbers.”
He paused, then finally looked over at her. He had dark eyes. She had green eyes. His skin was a light tan, hers was brown. His hair was white, short, and thin. Hers was black and cropped short.
His eyes went to her right arm. “What the fuck is that supposed to be? You think you’re going to kill me with that shit?” Her hand there was a steel gray, like every part of her right arm, up to her shoulder.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“No, I think I’m going to kill you, Mr. Fifty.”
His eyes went up to her face. She undid the top button and turned slightly to show her neck. “Fuck. A fucking fifty-one.”
He stood, then kicked the stool away, facing her. The 50 was visible on his left pec in stark white. He was about an inch shorter than her. “Of course it’s a fucking fifty-one coming in here like she’s hot fucking shit. You think you’re the first? I been killing bitches with that number for thirty fucking years now. You think you’re hot shit? You think you can just kill one bitch and it makes the rest easy?”
“Wasn’t just one.”
He sneered. “Please, bitch. I know your fucking type. You think you can fucking skip ahead? Just jump right to fifty-one and then it’s all a go ahead! Fuck you. You know what the fucking first did? Prick earned that shit by killing one fucking thousand. You start at a fucking thousand?”
“Eighty-six. Call it luck, call it fate, but I wound up killing him either way. He was a prick anyway. Plantation guy, liked to hire raiders, couldn’t take no for an answer. Carved a neat little niche.” She tapped the center of her forehead. “Axe, right there.”
“...Ha. Fucking bitch. Should’ve started at a hundred, but fuck it. You’re still a fucking pussy who went for tech over life.” Torakawa settled into a stance, rear foot, and Nimia simply raised her fists.
“You a fucking amateur or some shit?” Torakawa’s eyes narrowed. She looked like a boxer.
“Talk talk talk. Frail old cats roar the loudest.”
His eye twitched, and he took a step right as she moved far faster than he expected. He caught one punch, almost chided her, wanted to break the metal fist and just barely moved from the sudden palm thrust that would have snapped his arm at the elbow. She was a shit load faster than he thought.
Decades of experience kept him moving, bobbing and weaving around closed fists punches, then ducking an elbow but when he tried to hit back she twisted around his right and backed up.
Torakawa’s eyes narrowed. “You’re trained.”
“You noticed.”
“Who the fuck trained you?”
“Keep watching, kitty. Maybe you’ll figure it out.”
His eye twitched.
The next minute was a flurry of motion and he was pissed as all hell to see her dodge and deflect every hit. Palm strikes moved into kicks as he drew on years of experience, and those years were telling him the bitch was playing with him. A low growl slipped from his mouth as she bounced on her feet, only the tiniest of smirks on her face.
“C’mon kitty. You know what works best for you. Show me your beast.”
He growled again, his body vibrating in a building rage. Slowly, a golden aura flowed over his skin, signalling his burning fury. “I’ll rip you to shreds, bitch.”
“Better.” She was smirking far more clearly now.
His fingers popped and he swung heavily, speed and power mixing in his fingernails to form deadly claws, ready to rend and tear through the smug bitch that was still dodging his every damn move-
The first hit came as a complete shock to him. It wasn’t even a full, high kick, just the abrupt push of her foot into his ankle right as he lunged again, but he felt the shock of pain regardless, and then her arms were around one of his and he barely kept himself from howling as she snapped it straight in half. She wrenched it back and kept moving even as he tried to break her grip, twisting around his back and yanking his ruined arm across it.
There was a horrible pop and he couldn’t keep from screaming, trying to, somehow, kick at her but she just drove him to the ground and suddenly she was wrenching his other arm straight upward and he screamed again as it popped too. And then her arms were around his neck and she pulled him up, her knee on his back.
His back snapped first, and he just gaped, trying to stare back at the face of his killer. “Y-Y-You…”
“Me. I win.”
“...N-N-Not y-y-yet. Y-You...You have to finish it.”
“I know.”
“Hah. You really were prepared for me...So quick too.” He could barely see her face. She’d dropped the violent smile she’d had in favor of a neutral frown. Both her hands were on the sides of his face. “You’ve certainly earned this number.”
“I know I did. You got anything important to say?”
“Heh. The title, The White Tiger, is yours, should you wish it.”
“I’ll take it, sure. But I plan to make my own titles, Torakawa.”
He chuckled. “Such a nice girl...Careful now. Many of these people don’t care for honor.”
“That’s fine. I don’t really care either.”
He couldn’t help the bark of laughter that slipped out. “Tahahahaha! You really are a nice girl then…”
“I’m really not,” Nimia muttered. And then she twisted.
His neck snapped easily in her hands, a loud, vicious crack echoing through the room as his body twitched once, then stilled.
51 -> 50
Nimia felt a faint burning on her neck as the numbers twisted, a 1 becoming a 0. She retrieved her jacket and guns, and left. No one stopped her, but whispers sprung up like flowers in her footsteps.
A new 50 was out there. The Rankings had begun again.