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Episode
006
“My Kung Fu is stronger than your Kung Fu.”
“I met a guy.” Marilyn said, as she pulled Kim towards her,
their feet joined against each other. “He came into the store and was
looking for the Alliance.”
“Really?” Kim said, lifting back up, her wide legs making the
stretch difficult. She pulled Marilyn towards her, stretching her back.
“Is he going to join?”
“Yeah.” Marilyn said, grimacing with the stretch. “That makes
fifteen so far.”
“I thought we had more than that.” Kim said, sounding
disappointed.
“Fifteen in this city.” Marilyn clarified. “There’s the
three in Wilmington. And another six in New York.”
“Oh yeah.” Kim said.
There was a chime. “Alright.” Came the voice of the middle-aged
man that stepped into the middle of the large Kung Fu studio. “Let’s
start, okay?” He said to the group. The crowd of twenty students stood
up, all of them dressed in their workout clothes. They gathered around the
sifu, standing in their stances.
Kim stood on the far left in the front, with Marilyn next to her.
Victor came to stand next to Amber, then Alan, then Ruwani. They composed
the left team of five, with another behind them, and two other lines
behind them.
“Okay.” The sifu said. “Let’s start with the stretches.”
He said, widening his legs for the stretches.
“Hit!”
Malcolm threw his foot forward, the edge of his foot slicing the
air. He stood on the front of the middle row in the Tae Kwon Do school.
Divided up into three sets of six students, the students dropped down into
their stance, their forward leg held slightly ready.
“Hit!” Screamed the instructor. Again, the eighteen students
threw their legs up, their feet cutting the air at the height with their
heads. The instructor walked along the row of students, watching them.
“Hit!” He yelled again. Again, the eighteen feet shot through the air.
But the teacher stepped down from his position, walking between the
man next to Malcolm. He stayed focused, his attention forward. But he
glanced over to his side, as the instructor helped the student just two
students over.
“Armand, it’s like this.” Said the teacher, standing next to
the new student. “Lean back, then throw forward. You get more power.”
Said the instructor.
“I got it.” Armand said confidently.
“Five.” Everett said, pushing the weight to the top of the
path. He closed his eyes, breathing hard. On either side of the long bar,
ninety-five pounds stared back at him. He lowered the bar down slowly,
then pushed again. “Four.” He breathed out. He held the bar again,
then dropped it slowly.
“Three.”
“Two.”
“Zero.” He exhaled hard, dropping the bar onto the restraints.
He sat up, sweat pouring off of him. He stood from the bench in his living
room, stepping back from the weight. He hit the button on his stopwatch,
the forty-five seconds counting down with lightning-quick speed.
Everett stepped away from the bench, his hands at his side as he
breathed. Dressed in sweat pants and a white tank top that was nearly
clear from it’s saturation, he walked slowly around the room.
By the door, the wooden handle of the ninjato appeared behind the
couch. The straight sword, easily mistake for a katana, had been with him
for five years. Over the five years, the sword had seen use on a basis
that Everett knew would shock him if he stopped to think about it. But he
was a knight.
The beep brought his world back into focus. He turned back to the
bench, grabbing up the stopwatch and stopping the chimes before it got too
much on his nerves. He laid down on the bench, his eyes closed. But when
he opened them again, they stared at the steel bar with an emotion that
was almost anger.
He grabbed the bar almost vindictively, squeezing his hands around
the steel grip. He closed his eyes once more, then opened them as he grit
his teeth. He shoved the weight off the bench, hoisting it up into the
air. He lowered the bar down to his sternum, breathing in as he did.
“Seven!” He exhaled as he pushed the bar away from his chest.
Morgan held the weighted rebar in his hand. The inch-thick metal
rod scraped his hands even as he simply held it in the air, his eyes
leveled on nothing. He held the sword with his bare hands, imagining it
was his own Grosse Messer. He focused.
The laptop behind him, sitting on the weight bench called out three
numbers. “Two. Three. Five.” Randomly generated, the computerized
voice echoed through the large, unfinished basement.
Morgan swung the bar to his left, slicing at neck-level. He
immediately turned the metal bar back the other way, slicing along the
identical path. Then, he lifted the bar up, swinging it back over, coming
straight down at the nothingness before him who was his opponent.
The metal rebar gained too much momentum. Slamming hard into the
concrete floor, the bar chipped the flooring. “Damn.” Morgan said,
whipping the bar back up, holding it in his neutral on-guard stance. The
sword ran the length between his eyes. “Damn.” He cursed again. Not
over the floor, though. Over the loss of his control.
In the dim, single light of the basement, Morgan waited. The
laptop’s commands were random, just as the time between each command. It
was a program Morgan had written himself. And one that kept him on his
toes.
He wrung his hands on the metal rebar, fighting to keep his grip,
even against the sweat that rusted the metal of the ‘sword’. He closed
his yes, struggling to focus.
“Five. Four. Five. Three.” Came the laptop’s voice.
“Kill him!” Roland yelled.
Armand swung his bamboo sword at Ledger, but the nimble knight
dodged under the swing, slicing at Armand’s shins. The bamboo made
contact and the resounding crack filled the treetops of the twilight
walkway outside Edgar’s house.
Ledger spun around from the swing, slamming the bamboo sword onto
Armand’s back. The impact was hard enough to hurt, but not so hard as to
REALLY hurt. “You’re dead.” Ledger said, as Armand fell over, having
to choose between holding his shins or rub his back. He rolled over to try
and get on his feet, but his back burned under the grass.
“Fool.” Ledger laughed, holding out his left hand. Armand
grumbled, taking the extended offering.
“Don’t let him get inside your guard.” Edgar said, the sweat
stains on his gray shirt almost seeming like an extension of his
half-black beard.
“He’s right.” Everett said. “You’ve got the reach
advantage on him. Use it.”
“Yeah, but Ledger’s too fast.” Roland defended, high-fiving
the black knight. “When it comes to swords, speed is king.”
“That so?” Edgar said. He looked to Roland, then to Ledger.
“What do you say?” The others looked to the gun-toting knight.
“Speed is just a means to an end.” Ledger said after a moment,
still catching his breath. “Doesn’t matter if you’re faster,
stronger, have long arms. What. It’s all about beating the opponent.”
“Scary sentiment.” Everett said, looking out past the grassy
area, to the lake beyond the walkway. “I wonder if everyone who sword
fights thinks that way?”
“Doubt it.” Roland said, standing, collecting his bamboo sword
as well. “Most people don’t sword fight. And those who do are just
renaissance junkies.” He walked over to Everett, smiling confidently.
“No one trains as hard as we do.”
“You will be perfect.” Jericho said. The long blonde hair swung
behind the man’s back as he walked confidently amongst his men. Down on
the ground in the steaming-hot room, the men had their hands on the
scalding floor. “Seventy-six.” Jericho shouted. The men lowered down,
their noses touching the surface of the floor.
“You will be the best that is.” Jericho yelled.
“Seventy-seven!” They lowered again.
“The best that ever was.” He yelled. “Seventy-eight!”
“The best that ever will be.” He shouted. “Seventy-nine.”
He stopped. He turned around, at the lines of men that filled the room.
The floor was turned to water from their sweat. Their hands and bodies
ached against the pain of the training. But they held themselves.
“Do you feel that?” Jericho said, pleased at the strength he
saw as he turned around the room. “Do you feel the pain? That pain in
your arms. That pain in your chest. That pain in your lungs. That pain in
your body. Do you feel that pain?”
He looked around, a smile coming to his cruel face. “That is the
pain you will inflict. That is the pain that your name shall bring. You
are the Hands of the Sun and where you go, you shall be the harbinger of
pain like no other. With you as the enforcers of the brotherhood, none
shall dare stand in our way. We shall be perfection. We shall be the very
definition of the unattainable goal, for we will have achieved it. With
our strength, the brotherhood shall rise up and form a new age for
mankind. We shall be the ultimate force, a force for the good that the
brotherhood stands for.”
“Eighty!” |