"The Final Tournament of Wu Lung" INC
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dochermes"The Final Tournament of Wu Lung"
9/1987
I.
On a windy hill overlooking Kowloon, two rival schools sat facing each other across a fifty-foot-wide flat area covered with hard mats. Two dozen students of Winter Snow in their white canvas gis knelt in a row along one side, glaring murderously at their enemies. Sitting crosslegged across from them were an equal number of Black Mantis students in their loose black silk uniforms. None had moved in the slightest since taking their places. These schools had hated their rivals for generations. This was a bitter feud where grandsons of original students now hated grandsons of the other school's founding students.
Seated side by side in matching gilt chairs were the elderly masters of their schools, Sifu and Sensei, both attentive as they watched their best fighters step onto the mats. On poles behind the teachers, their respective white and black pennants snapped in the breeze. It was cool, almost chilly this high above the water.
Both fighters were young Asian men in their twenties, both fit and hard-muscled, wearing the uniforms of their schools. In the white gi of Winter Snow, Shimura Ikio stood only an inch over six feet in height, with thick brawny arms and heavily callused hands. His hair was cropped so short it might as well have been shaved. The broad face was kept deadpan, nearly without expression.
Facing him was Chen Wong-Lai. Son of the Dragon of Midnight, Chen had removed his shirt and wore only the loose baggy trousers and slippers. A few inches shorter than his opponent, ten pounds lighter, Chen's torso showed wiry sleek muscles with sharp definition. He seemed to have zero body fat. His coarse black hair was shaggy, even untidy, over a narrow face that was set in stern resolute lines.
Meeting in the center of the mats, the fighters turned and bowed, not to their own schools but to their opponents. Then they stood side by side and bowed more deeply to the Sensei and Sifu, who inclined their heads respectfully. Finally, Chen and Shimura moved back and bowed to each other as minimally as possible, then dropped into ready stances.
Winter Snow was a hard style. Shimura came in fast and direct with a front snap kick to the lower stomach but Chen swept it to the inner side with the heel of his palm, swinging Shimura half around. The Winter Snow fighter was now awkardly standing with his right side to his opponent. In the instant before Shimura regained his footing, Chen lunged in quick as any fencer and exploded a short straight jab that caught the Winter Snow fighter directly in the center of the face with a sharp cracking noise. Shimura fell hard onto his back, rolled and hopped back up onto his feet ten feet away.
Too well disciplined to cheer or even show the faintest smile, the Black Mantis warriors could not entirely keep approval from their eyes.
Instead of becoming more cautious, the Winter Snow karateka charged forward more aggressively, turning on his left heel to whip out a high side kick to the chest. He was just outmatched. Moving much quicker and with greater assurance, Chen Wong-Lai swiveled his body like a matador and crashed his elbow deep into Shimura's side just below the armpit level. That blow hurt and disoriented. Shimura's defenses went down completely.
Planting his feet, torquing up power from his hips and core, Chen looped a wide haymaker that connected perfectly to the side of Shimura's jaw with a crunching sound. The Japanese fighter sagged to his knees and then over on to his side. Chen stepped back discreetly.
From his gilt throne, the Sensei clapped his hands sharply and two of the Winter Snow students leaped up to carry Shimura away where a healer waited. The two leaders of the rival shools nodded to each other without discussion, and the Winter Snow master reached over to tug on the cord which lowered his white and red pennant to half mast. Remaining atop in triumph, the sinister flag of the Black Mantis snapped and unfurled in the wind.
The students of the two schools remained silent as they walked off in different slopes down the hill. The winter Snow fighters made their way down the winding tree-lined path to the road where their chartered bus awaited them. The battered Shimura was walking with some assistance, indicating some hope he would be okay.
In contrast, once the Black Mantis students were out of sight from the arena, they began to buzz with low enthusiastic discussion. Cantonese was officially the language used in their school but there were still many comments in English and Mandarin. They vanished with triumph into the dorm building.
Chen Wong-Lai remained behind, quietly picking up his black tunic and tugging it on as his Sifu watched. The stocky old man with a wispy white beard and sideburns rose and came over to watch him thoughtfully.
"The Winter Snow will not be eager to challenge our House again soon," said the old man.
"I am honored to represent Black Mantis," Chen answered with a proper bow.
"Your skills are all that can be asked, young Chen. And yet, in today's fight as several other times recently, I saw you draw on other resources beside what Black Mantis provides. We do not throw wild roundhouse punches like John Wayne, nor do we use the footwork of a fencer wielding an epee. I have hinted before that this mimgling is not your best interests."
"Your words are true, esteemed one," Chen replied with as much meekness as he could pretend. "When the opponent provides an opening, my body takes adavantage of it. This is my shortcoming and I do not know how to overcome it."
The Sifu raised a single reproving finger. "Let that pass for the moment. I am informed a visitor has come here to see you."
"I expect no such visitor, Teacher."
"Go to the gazebo at the front gates, young Chen. There you will find a man named Mikage Tatsuo awaiting...the Iron Ronin."
II.
By the wrought iron gates symbolically keeping out both the Willborough Road and the hectic modern world beyond, a light open-work wooden structure sat under three trees. Inside its circular interior were benches, on one of which sat a man notorious throughout East Asia. He rose to greet the approaching Chen with the slightest possible inclination of his head but Chen responded with a polite bow anyway.
Mikage Tatsuo was a broad, powerfully-built man of only average height. He had a full head of curly black hair over a face so deeply tanned that he seemed at first to have more the color of a native of India, but the facial features and eager tiger eyes were unmistakably Japanese. Mikage wore a gorgeous brown suit of raw silk, expertly tailored, complete with vest and polished dress shoes with pointed toes. He spoke first, "Ah. Mr Chen, at last we meet. Do I flatter myself to think you might have heard of me?"
"The Iron Ronin. Yes, of course you have a formidable reputation. It is said that you have mastered the Red Crane style to a level where no report of your defeat has been recorded."
"Please, let us be seated in this pleasant place of peace. Yes. You are too discreet to mention how unsavory my reputation is as well. It is truly said that I move as a courier and messengers between Yakuza and Triad, between the Tongs of the United States and even into the fringes of the dreaded Midnight War."
Lowering himself onto a bench from which he faced the Ronin over a bare tea table, Chen said only, "Reputations may be mere gossip. I would rather know a man by what I see of him."
"Ah, I like that." The Iron Ronin had traveled so much that his English had no distinct accent beyond a neutral trans-Pacific vagueness. "But, Mr Chen, you are not like me. The police of various nation have no suspicious interest in you. Since graduating UCLA four years ago, you have worked as an instructor at two Californias kwoons and now I find you here at the home temple of Black Mantis, defending the honor of your school."
"Winter Snow has an ancient lineage of its own," Chen said mildly. "Their fighters are formidable. I was honored to accept their challenge to my own school."
"So we find you in Hong Kong." Both men went silent as a slim young student brought them a tray of teapot, cups and accssories, then left without a word. Two deadly men both raised their cups to each other.
"Long life and wealth," said Mikage.
Without irony, Chen responded, "Peace of the spirit above all else."
"Hah. I wish you good luck in finding that. Your gung fu is excellent, young fellow. Watching you just now, I believe I saw some Western boxing and footwork, as well as a reverse stepping I could not place. Something your father taught you, I think?"
"My father?"
"Come, come, the Midnight War is filled with gossip. You are the son of Chen Lee-Sun, the Dragon of Midnight during the 1940s. He wielded the ancient Dragon Pendant, he fought beside the Sting, he bested Brumal and ninja and Nazi ubermenschen. Many say he devised his own eclectic style... Fang Lung."
"You have not come so far merely to chat, Mikage-san."
"No, indeed. Son of the Dragon of Midnight, another Dragon summons you. A secret tournament is about to open, a Kumite if you will. First prize is one hundred thousand American dollars, lesser prizes are also not to be sneered at. And, just as valuable, those who impress the tournament master will be offered positions of great prestige."
Chen Wong-Lai tried to remain impassive, unreadable, but failed. He could not hide the curiosity in his voice. "Is this how you obtained your current post?"
"It is indeed." Mikage finished his cup and poured himself another. "Ginseng with vinegar, a strange tasting tea indeed. Yes, young Chen. Three years ago, I finished first in the kumite. My final challenger was a Gelydra of Ulgor, there was a fight to remember! Aside from wealth held safely in several Barbados banks, I took employment as a herald bearing messages... as I am doing now."
"The master of this tournament, then. I suspect his name is known to me."
"Oh, very much so. The greatest warlord of modern times, the sorcerer who has combined martial arts with forbidden Black Magick. There is only one WU LUNG."
III.
Eight days later, Chen got out of a taxi and started walking down a long road past a sign which read PRIVATE AIR FIELD - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. He was carrying only a small travel bag which held a change of clothes and some toiletries. Mikage had told him that everything would be provided for him at the tournament. Not once had he been asked to sign anything. He had been certain from the start that this was as completely illegal as any kumite could be but this did not trouble him.
Mikage had been right about him. Chen was indeed the only child of Chen Lee-Sun, the Dragon of Midnight, partner of the vigilante known as the Sting. In his career battling everything from Brumal to the House of Furious Buddha, the elder Chen had picked up many insights and techniques which he built his own Fang Lung style upon. For five years beginning at the age of ten, the son had been rigorously instructed in this style which no other living person knew. When the son was fifteen, the father vanished without a word, leaving no trace, taking the mystic Dragon Pendant with him. Chen Wong-Lai knew his father to have been a righteous man and was deeply convinced he had been murdered by one of the many enemies he had made.
His adult life had been spent teaching Chinese gung fu and getting into street fights. He was a pugnacious man who seldom refused a challenge. Chen was self-aware enough to realize this stemmed from feelings of abandonment by his parents but it didn't change who he was. There was no reason to think he would ever be any different.
Eventually, he passed a final warning notice within sight of a paved runway and the classic semi-circle steel structure of a hangar. Standing outside was a bright red Bell Ranger 220 that would seat six passengers, and three men who stood by it waiting. Mikage Tatsuo was wearing a loose flightsuit. He came forward to greet Chen.
"A few minutes early, my friend! Excellent. Much better than making a dramatic entrance by being late. The pilot is at the stick, our preflight rundown has been made. Let me introduce you to your new fellow passengers."
Names were exchanged and hands shaked in the Western manner. Chen met a tall gaunt man who was named Morris Booker, obviously an American. He had a long narrow face, fine-textured light brown hair and greenish eyes. Chen could see at a glance the taut strength and speed restrained in the man's wiry body. Booker was wearing simple sneakers, jeans and a red flannel shirt. His luggage, if any, had already been stowed away.
It was the second passenger that surprised and awed Chen. Tall for an Asian, this man stood exactly six feet and weighed nearly two hundred pounds of dense muscle with no excess weight. His face with its arched eyebrows had a slightly devilish, mocking cast to it as he smiled and shook hands. Toshiro Mitsuru, the Tiger Fury. A legendary figure in the Midnight War, Shiro had been literally raised on martial arts by his parents who had been on the run from the dreaded White Web. Until that moment, Chen had believed Shiro Mitsuru to be more of a folk tale than a real human being.
Without getting any clearance over the radio, the pilot lifted off as soon as the rotors had reached proper speed. They headed out over the South China Sea. Turning in his co-pilot seat, the Iron Ronin began conversation with, "You three are all newbies. This is your first attendance at one of the warlord's Tournaments. I myself have fought twice and won the last one... although to be honest, I spent the following six weeks in a leg cast and needed much dental work."
That made Shiro Mitsuru laugh. "It has been years since I last made it to an underground kumite. My membership at Tel Shai naturally makes everyone suspicious of my motives. But, as the Dragon of War has discerned, I am my own man. Since I could first walk, I have practiced every martial art known and I am eager to attend this one."
Booker spoke for the first time. He had a flat Midwestern accent. "Don't you work for Andrew Steel?"
"I work WITH him, not for him," snapped Shiro. "Like I said, I'm my own man. Anyway, change the subject. What's your style?"
"Me? I'm a boxer. Golden Gloves. I can put up hands against any Asian guy who kicks."
Chen put in, "Western boxing is a fine martial art itself."
"You bet your ass," Booker laughed. "It's the Sweet Science and I am its master. It sure looks like we're going to see a few decent scraps at this tournament. What's this talk about Humans being the majority? What, are we going up against gorillas or bears or something?"
From the front co-pilot seat, Mikage turned around. "I thought this was explained to you. Other contestants may include Gelydrim, Melgarin, even a few Snake men. They are stronger or faster than a true Human."
"Hah! So you say," scoffed Morris Booker. "They haven't gotten within reach of me before. Men with gills. Men with rattlesnake fangs! Come on."
There was no humor in Mikage's tone. "You will see for yourself."
IV. Meetings, feast, speech by Wu Lung
V. First major duel, Shiro vs Lankur of Androval
VI. Chen is told that Wu Lung killed his father
VII. Booker vs Zemu
VII. Chen sneaks around fortress at night, using Fang Lung stealth to go undetected. He finds door to Trophy Hall but is forced to flee before opening it.
VIII. Wu Lung surprisingly calls Chen, Shiro and Booker to stand in center of arena and announces he knows they are enemies and will be killed by army
IX. Free for all. Booker (Bane) calls to Cindy for back-up. "Fifty miles away, the mind of the most gifted telepath of her era heard Bane's call. Within the black stealthcopter CORBY, a gorgeous flare of pale blue light flashed. Simultaneously, an identical burst of gralic force shone in the arena, shoving fighters aside. Within that flare, five dramatic figures appeared and immediately tore through Wu Lung's army. Sulak, the Champion of Androval. Kwali, the Cat's Claw. Tang Ming. Karina. And towering head and shoulders above the tallest man there, a terrifying figure of a silver man caused utter panic. Khang had arrived."
X. Seeing Wu Lung flee to his inner stronghold, Chen pursues furiously. He spots the door to the Trophy Hall and kicks it open. Facing each other down a corridor fifty yards long are illuminated glass cases holding broken sword and spears, suits of armor from Chujir and Chyl, skeletons and skulls, stuffed Kulan and Speaking Apes. There in front of him, Chen's heart races as he sees on a frame the black suit his father wore as the Dragon of Midnight. Hanging on the front of that uniform is the flat ensalir talisman too pure for Wu Lung to wield himself... the Dragon Pendant."
Big climactic fight. The Pendant protects Chen from Wu's gralic blasts so hand to hand follows. Finally, Chen manages to kneel on Wu's back. As Bane rushes up, Chen breaks Wu Lung's neck and an oily black cloud pours up from the warlock's body to blow away. Bane explains that the immortal spirit of Sinjir from the Darthan Age possesses Human hosts. In ten or twenty years, Sinjir will strengthen again to inhabit a new body and the Dragon of War will return.
With a grim smile, Chen holds up the gleaming pendant. "And the Dragon of Midnight will be waiting for him. I swear it!"
9/1987
I.
On a windy hill overlooking Kowloon, two rival schools sat facing each other across a fifty-foot-wide flat area covered with hard mats. Two dozen students of Winter Snow in their white canvas gis knelt in a row along one side, glaring murderously at their enemies. Sitting crosslegged across from them were an equal number of Black Mantis students in their loose black silk uniforms. None had moved in the slightest since taking their places. These schools had hated their rivals for generations. This was a bitter feud where grandsons of original students now hated grandsons of the other school's founding students.
Seated side by side in matching gilt chairs were the elderly masters of their schools, Sifu and Sensei, both attentive as they watched their best fighters step onto the mats. On poles behind the teachers, their respective white and black pennants snapped in the breeze. It was cool, almost chilly this high above the water.
Both fighters were young Asian men in their twenties, both fit and hard-muscled, wearing the uniforms of their schools. In the white gi of Winter Snow, Shimura Ikio stood only an inch over six feet in height, with thick brawny arms and heavily callused hands. His hair was cropped so short it might as well have been shaved. The broad face was kept deadpan, nearly without expression.
Facing him was Chen Wong-Lai. Son of the Dragon of Midnight, Chen had removed his shirt and wore only the loose baggy trousers and slippers. A few inches shorter than his opponent, ten pounds lighter, Chen's torso showed wiry sleek muscles with sharp definition. He seemed to have zero body fat. His coarse black hair was shaggy, even untidy, over a narrow face that was set in stern resolute lines.
Meeting in the center of the mats, the fighters turned and bowed, not to their own schools but to their opponents. Then they stood side by side and bowed more deeply to the Sensei and Sifu, who inclined their heads respectfully. Finally, Chen and Shimura moved back and bowed to each other as minimally as possible, then dropped into ready stances.
Winter Snow was a hard style. Shimura came in fast and direct with a front snap kick to the lower stomach but Chen swept it to the inner side with the heel of his palm, swinging Shimura half around. The Winter Snow fighter was now awkardly standing with his right side to his opponent. In the instant before Shimura regained his footing, Chen lunged in quick as any fencer and exploded a short straight jab that caught the Winter Snow fighter directly in the center of the face with a sharp cracking noise. Shimura fell hard onto his back, rolled and hopped back up onto his feet ten feet away.
Too well disciplined to cheer or even show the faintest smile, the Black Mantis warriors could not entirely keep approval from their eyes.
Instead of becoming more cautious, the Winter Snow karateka charged forward more aggressively, turning on his left heel to whip out a high side kick to the chest. He was just outmatched. Moving much quicker and with greater assurance, Chen Wong-Lai swiveled his body like a matador and crashed his elbow deep into Shimura's side just below the armpit level. That blow hurt and disoriented. Shimura's defenses went down completely.
Planting his feet, torquing up power from his hips and core, Chen looped a wide haymaker that connected perfectly to the side of Shimura's jaw with a crunching sound. The Japanese fighter sagged to his knees and then over on to his side. Chen stepped back discreetly.
From his gilt throne, the Sensei clapped his hands sharply and two of the Winter Snow students leaped up to carry Shimura away where a healer waited. The two leaders of the rival shools nodded to each other without discussion, and the Winter Snow master reached over to tug on the cord which lowered his white and red pennant to half mast. Remaining atop in triumph, the sinister flag of the Black Mantis snapped and unfurled in the wind.
The students of the two schools remained silent as they walked off in different slopes down the hill. The winter Snow fighters made their way down the winding tree-lined path to the road where their chartered bus awaited them. The battered Shimura was walking with some assistance, indicating some hope he would be okay.
In contrast, once the Black Mantis students were out of sight from the arena, they began to buzz with low enthusiastic discussion. Cantonese was officially the language used in their school but there were still many comments in English and Mandarin. They vanished with triumph into the dorm building.
Chen Wong-Lai remained behind, quietly picking up his black tunic and tugging it on as his Sifu watched. The stocky old man with a wispy white beard and sideburns rose and came over to watch him thoughtfully.
"The Winter Snow will not be eager to challenge our House again soon," said the old man.
"I am honored to represent Black Mantis," Chen answered with a proper bow.
"Your skills are all that can be asked, young Chen. And yet, in today's fight as several other times recently, I saw you draw on other resources beside what Black Mantis provides. We do not throw wild roundhouse punches like John Wayne, nor do we use the footwork of a fencer wielding an epee. I have hinted before that this mimgling is not your best interests."
"Your words are true, esteemed one," Chen replied with as much meekness as he could pretend. "When the opponent provides an opening, my body takes adavantage of it. This is my shortcoming and I do not know how to overcome it."
The Sifu raised a single reproving finger. "Let that pass for the moment. I am informed a visitor has come here to see you."
"I expect no such visitor, Teacher."
"Go to the gazebo at the front gates, young Chen. There you will find a man named Mikage Tatsuo awaiting...the Iron Ronin."
II.
By the wrought iron gates symbolically keeping out both the Willborough Road and the hectic modern world beyond, a light open-work wooden structure sat under three trees. Inside its circular interior were benches, on one of which sat a man notorious throughout East Asia. He rose to greet the approaching Chen with the slightest possible inclination of his head but Chen responded with a polite bow anyway.
Mikage Tatsuo was a broad, powerfully-built man of only average height. He had a full head of curly black hair over a face so deeply tanned that he seemed at first to have more the color of a native of India, but the facial features and eager tiger eyes were unmistakably Japanese. Mikage wore a gorgeous brown suit of raw silk, expertly tailored, complete with vest and polished dress shoes with pointed toes. He spoke first, "Ah. Mr Chen, at last we meet. Do I flatter myself to think you might have heard of me?"
"The Iron Ronin. Yes, of course you have a formidable reputation. It is said that you have mastered the Red Crane style to a level where no report of your defeat has been recorded."
"Please, let us be seated in this pleasant place of peace. Yes. You are too discreet to mention how unsavory my reputation is as well. It is truly said that I move as a courier and messengers between Yakuza and Triad, between the Tongs of the United States and even into the fringes of the dreaded Midnight War."
Lowering himself onto a bench from which he faced the Ronin over a bare tea table, Chen said only, "Reputations may be mere gossip. I would rather know a man by what I see of him."
"Ah, I like that." The Iron Ronin had traveled so much that his English had no distinct accent beyond a neutral trans-Pacific vagueness. "But, Mr Chen, you are not like me. The police of various nation have no suspicious interest in you. Since graduating UCLA four years ago, you have worked as an instructor at two Californias kwoons and now I find you here at the home temple of Black Mantis, defending the honor of your school."
"Winter Snow has an ancient lineage of its own," Chen said mildly. "Their fighters are formidable. I was honored to accept their challenge to my own school."
"So we find you in Hong Kong." Both men went silent as a slim young student brought them a tray of teapot, cups and accssories, then left without a word. Two deadly men both raised their cups to each other.
"Long life and wealth," said Mikage.
Without irony, Chen responded, "Peace of the spirit above all else."
"Hah. I wish you good luck in finding that. Your gung fu is excellent, young fellow. Watching you just now, I believe I saw some Western boxing and footwork, as well as a reverse stepping I could not place. Something your father taught you, I think?"
"My father?"
"Come, come, the Midnight War is filled with gossip. You are the son of Chen Lee-Sun, the Dragon of Midnight during the 1940s. He wielded the ancient Dragon Pendant, he fought beside the Sting, he bested Brumal and ninja and Nazi ubermenschen. Many say he devised his own eclectic style... Fang Lung."
"You have not come so far merely to chat, Mikage-san."
"No, indeed. Son of the Dragon of Midnight, another Dragon summons you. A secret tournament is about to open, a Kumite if you will. First prize is one hundred thousand American dollars, lesser prizes are also not to be sneered at. And, just as valuable, those who impress the tournament master will be offered positions of great prestige."
Chen Wong-Lai tried to remain impassive, unreadable, but failed. He could not hide the curiosity in his voice. "Is this how you obtained your current post?"
"It is indeed." Mikage finished his cup and poured himself another. "Ginseng with vinegar, a strange tasting tea indeed. Yes, young Chen. Three years ago, I finished first in the kumite. My final challenger was a Gelydra of Ulgor, there was a fight to remember! Aside from wealth held safely in several Barbados banks, I took employment as a herald bearing messages... as I am doing now."
"The master of this tournament, then. I suspect his name is known to me."
"Oh, very much so. The greatest warlord of modern times, the sorcerer who has combined martial arts with forbidden Black Magick. There is only one WU LUNG."
III.
Eight days later, Chen got out of a taxi and started walking down a long road past a sign which read PRIVATE AIR FIELD - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. He was carrying only a small travel bag which held a change of clothes and some toiletries. Mikage had told him that everything would be provided for him at the tournament. Not once had he been asked to sign anything. He had been certain from the start that this was as completely illegal as any kumite could be but this did not trouble him.
Mikage had been right about him. Chen was indeed the only child of Chen Lee-Sun, the Dragon of Midnight, partner of the vigilante known as the Sting. In his career battling everything from Brumal to the House of Furious Buddha, the elder Chen had picked up many insights and techniques which he built his own Fang Lung style upon. For five years beginning at the age of ten, the son had been rigorously instructed in this style which no other living person knew. When the son was fifteen, the father vanished without a word, leaving no trace, taking the mystic Dragon Pendant with him. Chen Wong-Lai knew his father to have been a righteous man and was deeply convinced he had been murdered by one of the many enemies he had made.
His adult life had been spent teaching Chinese gung fu and getting into street fights. He was a pugnacious man who seldom refused a challenge. Chen was self-aware enough to realize this stemmed from feelings of abandonment by his parents but it didn't change who he was. There was no reason to think he would ever be any different.
Eventually, he passed a final warning notice within sight of a paved runway and the classic semi-circle steel structure of a hangar. Standing outside was a bright red Bell Ranger 220 that would seat six passengers, and three men who stood by it waiting. Mikage Tatsuo was wearing a loose flightsuit. He came forward to greet Chen.
"A few minutes early, my friend! Excellent. Much better than making a dramatic entrance by being late. The pilot is at the stick, our preflight rundown has been made. Let me introduce you to your new fellow passengers."
Names were exchanged and hands shaked in the Western manner. Chen met a tall gaunt man who was named Morris Booker, obviously an American. He had a long narrow face, fine-textured light brown hair and greenish eyes. Chen could see at a glance the taut strength and speed restrained in the man's wiry body. Booker was wearing simple sneakers, jeans and a red flannel shirt. His luggage, if any, had already been stowed away.
It was the second passenger that surprised and awed Chen. Tall for an Asian, this man stood exactly six feet and weighed nearly two hundred pounds of dense muscle with no excess weight. His face with its arched eyebrows had a slightly devilish, mocking cast to it as he smiled and shook hands. Toshiro Mitsuru, the Tiger Fury. A legendary figure in the Midnight War, Shiro had been literally raised on martial arts by his parents who had been on the run from the dreaded White Web. Until that moment, Chen had believed Shiro Mitsuru to be more of a folk tale than a real human being.
Without getting any clearance over the radio, the pilot lifted off as soon as the rotors had reached proper speed. They headed out over the South China Sea. Turning in his co-pilot seat, the Iron Ronin began conversation with, "You three are all newbies. This is your first attendance at one of the warlord's Tournaments. I myself have fought twice and won the last one... although to be honest, I spent the following six weeks in a leg cast and needed much dental work."
That made Shiro Mitsuru laugh. "It has been years since I last made it to an underground kumite. My membership at Tel Shai naturally makes everyone suspicious of my motives. But, as the Dragon of War has discerned, I am my own man. Since I could first walk, I have practiced every martial art known and I am eager to attend this one."
Booker spoke for the first time. He had a flat Midwestern accent. "Don't you work for Andrew Steel?"
"I work WITH him, not for him," snapped Shiro. "Like I said, I'm my own man. Anyway, change the subject. What's your style?"
"Me? I'm a boxer. Golden Gloves. I can put up hands against any Asian guy who kicks."
Chen put in, "Western boxing is a fine martial art itself."
"You bet your ass," Booker laughed. "It's the Sweet Science and I am its master. It sure looks like we're going to see a few decent scraps at this tournament. What's this talk about Humans being the majority? What, are we going up against gorillas or bears or something?"
From the front co-pilot seat, Mikage turned around. "I thought this was explained to you. Other contestants may include Gelydrim, Melgarin, even a few Snake men. They are stronger or faster than a true Human."
"Hah! So you say," scoffed Morris Booker. "They haven't gotten within reach of me before. Men with gills. Men with rattlesnake fangs! Come on."
There was no humor in Mikage's tone. "You will see for yourself."
IV. Meetings, feast, speech by Wu Lung
V. First major duel, Shiro vs Lankur of Androval
VI. Chen is told that Wu Lung killed his father
VII. Booker vs Zemu
VII. Chen sneaks around fortress at night, using Fang Lung stealth to go undetected. He finds door to Trophy Hall but is forced to flee before opening it.
VIII. Wu Lung surprisingly calls Chen, Shiro and Booker to stand in center of arena and announces he knows they are enemies and will be killed by army
IX. Free for all. Booker (Bane) calls to Cindy for back-up. "Fifty miles away, the mind of the most gifted telepath of her era heard Bane's call. Within the black stealthcopter CORBY, a gorgeous flare of pale blue light flashed. Simultaneously, an identical burst of gralic force shone in the arena, shoving fighters aside. Within that flare, five dramatic figures appeared and immediately tore through Wu Lung's army. Sulak, the Champion of Androval. Kwali, the Cat's Claw. Tang Ming. Karina. And towering head and shoulders above the tallest man there, a terrifying figure of a silver man caused utter panic. Khang had arrived."
X. Seeing Wu Lung flee to his inner stronghold, Chen pursues furiously. He spots the door to the Trophy Hall and kicks it open. Facing each other down a corridor fifty yards long are illuminated glass cases holding broken sword and spears, suits of armor from Chujir and Chyl, skeletons and skulls, stuffed Kulan and Speaking Apes. There in front of him, Chen's heart races as he sees on a frame the black suit his father wore as the Dragon of Midnight. Hanging on the front of that uniform is the flat ensalir talisman too pure for Wu Lung to wield himself... the Dragon Pendant."
Big climactic fight. The Pendant protects Chen from Wu's gralic blasts so hand to hand follows. Finally, Chen manages to kneel on Wu's back. As Bane rushes up, Chen breaks Wu Lung's neck and an oily black cloud pours up from the warlock's body to blow away. Bane explains that the immortal spirit of Sinjir from the Darthan Age possesses Human hosts. In ten or twenty years, Sinjir will strengthen again to inhabit a new body and the Dragon of War will return.
With a grim smile, Chen holds up the gleaming pendant. "And the Dragon of Midnight will be waiting for him. I swear it!"
