Who Said Anything About a Fair Fight?

The ruins of New York weren't silent. They were quiet, but not silent. There was plenty of noise if you knew just what rock to look under. Elsewhere in the city philanthropists and volunteers spent the daylight rebuilding the once great city, but in this place the night belonged to a less savory sort.  Beneath the rubble, in the ashes of their own defeat a species celebrated. Like cockroaches, they celebrated their survival. The metahuman threat had stomped their home flat and ground it beneath its heel, but mankind is too plentiful to be wiped out with a single stomp. They refused to leave their broken homes. They lived in the refuse and rubble, and learned to be proud of it. Even upon seeing how helpless their species had been they celebrated their humanity. Oddly enough, the more they celebrated it the less of it they seemed to possess.

In a rubble filled street whose name hasn't been spoken since the attack there's a stairway leading down below to a door. Every night a large bald Russian man stands in front of the door wearing dark glasses. Occasionally like cockroaches scuttling from under the fridge to a new hiding spot shady individuals approach the shady establishment and the bald man lets them in so they can join in celebrating humanity by watching some honest-to-goodness humans beat it out of each other.  The fight was a brutal bloodsport, but by god it was honest. Real humans only, that was the only qualification. Here a man could really test his strength, and other men could exchange large quantities of cash over the result.  

The bald man rarely twitched a muscle aside from a very few words spoken to those who approached to make sure they were clear to be let in, and buzzing in to let the guard inside open the door. Even he jumped a little when the familiar Asian man approached him.  Called himself Ryo, along with an absurd list of titles. He had forced the bald man to work more nights by killing the other doorman. He had been busting up a lot of fight nights recently, easily beating and often killing all the competitors and making it look like a boring task. The things he did...there was no way he was human. The boss had put a hit out on him. The bald man hoped it would be carried out soon.  "Challenge me or move aside." The bald man was much larger than the Asian man, but the latter carried himself with a calm strength that was much more intimidating than raw size. It was the kind of aura one can only exude after he has killed his fellow man with his bare hands without blinking an eyelash.  The bald man said nothing as he buzzed in and the door opened.

A controlled hush fell over the crowd near the door as Ryo stepped in. People that could backed away, others looked up at him in obvious fear. The inner doorman just gaped up at him. Amidst the muscle shirts and leather-heavy fashion he definitely stood out. His clean white pants were tucked neatly into soft flexible boots. He wore a flowing red shirt clasped near the waste that fell open to reveal a muscular chest. His face was sharp and his dark eyes always focused even when his face showed a smile. Long straight raven black hair fell back behind his head in a simple ponytail created with a single tie above the middle of his back. Beneath his shirt a katana rested in a black scabbard, which made everyone else rest uneasy. "Do not worry." He said to the inner doorman with very well-spoken English despite a strong Japanese accent. "I will of course wait until these two gentlemen have finished their business before I challenge your warriors. I am not a barbarian."  He referred to the two shirtless men in the center of the grey furniture-less basement who, oblivious to the new arrival, were continued to beat the snot out of each other.  The doorman on the inside wasn't quite as large as the Russian, but his muscles bulged under the sleeves of his black t-shirt. Black shampooed hair was combed neatly back onto his dark brown scalp, he had lived through the attack on New York and there was just about nothing in this world that could frighten him besides the polite Asian man before him. Like his coworker, he hoped the hit would be carried out soon.

Yumo had walked to his destination eagerly. Earlier that day one of his "friends" had showed him a message that set a hit on somebody that was going around killing people in new York during underground brawls. Yumo had rushed here once he was told and was just getting to new York when the fighting had begun. He could here the almost deaf noise that came from screams and crashes below. Yumo jumped excitedly as he found the gate where he could enter the arena. The man at the gate had looked at him and scoffed.

"I'm here because of the hit order." Yumo said enthusiastically as he thought about the amazing blood that would be shed when he defeated this powerful foe.

"Boy you wouldn't stand a chance against a drunk man in the shape you're in, get a some muscle then i'll let you in." he said snidely as he stared back at yumo.

He put his head down and took a deep breathe before grabbing the collar of the man. His grip tightened when the man tried to pull away. He looked at the man evily as his white hair started to lazily float behind him.

"Do you want to see how well I would fair against a drunk man?" Yumo asked rhetorically before letting the mans collar go and walking inside.

His white hair, that bleed into a bloddy shade of red at the bottom, swayed as he walked in happily looking at the men fighting in the arena in the center. He didn't even know who he was suppose to be looking for but he made the assumption that he was suppose to try and fight the man that everyone was keeping their distance from. Yumo's viles clanked rhythmically as he stepped in strides to the arena to watch the men duke it out. His black clothes lazily bent across his body as his orange shirt floated just under his sternum. He could feel the looks he was getting and hear the murmurs from the crowd.

"I call next fight." He said happily then looked around to see the faces.

"Any objections?" He asked when the crowd went silent.

The Doorman was definitely having a less than stellar day, being beaten and thrashed about- but it was expected as a bunch of tough-as-nails bounty seekers were coming in. He massaged his neck and got back to his job, welcoming in two big, adequately dangerous looking types armed to the teeth with melee weapons and firearms, and wearing ski masks.

The third figure behind them cased the guard to cross his arms.

“You lost kid? Refugee camps are thataway.” He said, gesturing back to the refugee camps, while eyeing the girl. She was small, young and athletic but skinny, the way a gymnast was. He deduced she must be from out of the city, helping with the New Yorkers’ plight.

“No. I’m right where I want to be. Let me in. I’m looking for the samurai.” She said.

“What, you kidding me? I could sneeze on you and you’d probably fall right over. Besides, no kids allowed and- AAH!” The man was immediately cut off when a sword was floating in front of his throat.

“Jesus Christ! where the hell did it this come from?!” He was taken completely by surprise and forced against the wall, feeling the steel against his skin. This was a real sword, no doubt about it. He broke into a cold sweat and looked at the sword with fear. “...Go in! Just go in!” He said, figuring his job to be extremely stressful right about now.

“...I’ll just let myself in then.” The figure said, opening the door. Once inside the sword followed behind the girl obediently. The Doorman let out a sigh of relief as he lay on all fours on the ground. “Need to find myself a new job.” He muttered.

Once in the arena, eyes fell on Diana as she climbed into the bleachers to take a seat. The bouncers shrugged off any questioning looks, as the girl simply let herself in. The people here were dirty, rowdy, unkempt and poor- everything the little princess in her two-toned branded pink jacket was not. She was clearly rich, kept herself meticulously clean, and behaved in an almost classy way. The men beside her wisely relocate, and she sat cross legged, looking around for her quarry.

A man, more a boy really, walked into the large room and declared his challenge. Ryo eyed the dark dressed young man. He could hear the clinking of glass underneath his clothing, which made him stand out here. This was an arena for unarmed contest between men, most combatants wore as little as possible. Ryo would have fingered him for an assassin right away had he not gone to great lengths to announce his presence. He looked young, but his ki had something unfamiliar about it...as well as something familiar: violence. The boy was here with blood on his mind, that much was clear though Ryo had no idea how apt that choice of words was yet. Ryo turned to face the boy. "You may want to reconsider, the next fight belongs to me lad" He said with a thick Japanese accent.  Ryo made no mention of the boys age. Perhaps the clinking vials were filled with poison or some other dishonorable tool, Ryo couldn't imagine that they were intended for an unarmed brawl, but so far the boy had done nothing but issue a challenge. Until he showed a lack of honor, Ryo would treat him appropriately. After all, He is probably  older than Ryo was the first time he saw the battlefield. Of course, that was a different time and a different place. Ryo mourned the loss of honorable warfare it is true, but he held no love towards sending children to war. In a perfect world there would be no need for warriors, but Ryo had seen no evidence in his long lifetime that such a world could ever exist as long as humans dwelt upon it.

Another child strolled into the establishment and took a seat to watch, Ryo paid her no more mind than a single glance.  What a young girl was doing here Ryo couldn't imagine, though he doubted she was what she appeared to be. After all, the door had to be opened remotely, which meant her most likely method of entry wasn't much different than Ryo's. Ryo was better than sizing up an opponent than most men alive, and he knew appearances meant very little. He continued speaking to the boy. "I mean you no disrespect of course, but I have been punching people for a very long time, and I've gotten quite good at it." He spoke in a friendly, almost joking manner despite the fact that there was a decent chance this boy was here to take his life. "I would fine it very distateful it-"

Suddenly Ryo was cut off by the sound of a body hitting the floor. The man who was still standing had delivered a powerful blow that had killed the other man before he hit the ground. An unfortunate occupational hazard. Some people quickly guided the victor away, while others unceremoniously dragged his victim's corpse away. The fight was over, and a great deal of money had changed hands though everyone was too tense with Ryo there to cheer. "It's time to decide lad." Ryo was unaware that the word lad was not very fashionable in American English anymore. Ryo spared him no more words as he strode towards the empty circle where the two fighters had stood previously. He removed his upper garment in a single movement, laying it on the ground outside the fighting area. His sword was still fastened to his waist naturally, Ryo would die a thousand deaths before parting with his blade.  Without his shirt it could be seen how impressively well-defined his physique was. True to his personality, not an ounce of flesh was wasted. Every muscle stood out to the extent you could have used him as a teaching aid in biology, and he exuded an odd brand of masculinity.

He raised his hands as he called loudly out to the crowd, already dwindling as people hurriedly left. He spoke in a voice that was loud and commanding "Are there any among you who would challenge Ryo-shun in unarmed combat?" The question hung in the air as he waited.

Yumo heard the man talking but the sound of the other fight ending took his attention. Yumo jumped over the rail and stood across from the guy from earlier. He smiled and waved at the guy and then put his hands up.

"I'll fight you in hand to hand combat." He said enthusiastically.