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World: Zathuru.

Zathuru, the Modern Planet. Sky-scrapers, trains, trams, planes, Taxi's. Everything that one would picutre in a modern day society. But somthing was diffrent. The streets were empty. Not a noise came from any house, not a single foot step could be heard. No breathing, no heart beats. This beautiful world seemed completely dead. The sun shaun on the buildings with magnifences. But dead....Then there was screaming...Much screaming and soon, a clash of weapons...




"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcoem to the third annual Zathuru's third annual dueling compotition! And its the day of the Finals! Today, the question is who will battle our defending champion, for the third conecutive year, The Wayward Monk, JOHNATHAN BASTION!" The voice of the annoucer boomed over the arena.

The crowed bellowed in delight. John stood there grinning up at the sun and his fans. His bald head reflected the sun, his dark blue eyes gazed at the crowd. His third eye, the tattoo on his head glared as well and his ritual robes swayed in the wind. In his hand he held a very sacred, very powerful artifact. The dragon Scar. As he held it to the crowd they cheered louder. It was a staff that had two, deadly blades on each end. The sun shaun on it and it glisned with power.

"Now, who will be lucky enough to fight this Mad Monk, the Champion of Dueling for 1,000 Zen and the title of Champion Duilest? There are only Four Contestents left, so who will it be?!"

The monk walked to the man with the booming voice, and whispered somthign in his ear, while staring at the three contestents, with a grin on his face and that mischievious look in his eye.

"Hold on folks!" The annoucer said excitedly. "The Bastion has just informed me that, HE would like to make this mach, the Final Match, A three on one! I don't beilive this! This has never been attempted in Dueling hsitory, esspecialy when the Title Champion is at Hand!"

There was nothign but silence, then a huge uproar of cheering and asonimshment swept the stands as John walked back to his side of the ring. "CONTESTENTS! Plleeeeeeeaaaaaase enter the RING!" Boomed the mans voice.

Mori watched the crowd with curious eyes, face clouded in the shadow of his hood. Arms were hanging limply at his sides, head held high. The event was larger than he thought, everyone was here, would he make a fool of himself?

Then, he heard the announcement, slight grin crossed his lips, though it was hidden....

~~~~~~~Flashback?~~~~~~
Flyer was held in his hands, it had 'fallen out of the sky.' Nothing was coincidental though, and indeed, this was far from it. For he knew a name printed on it, thoughts clicked in his mind. A memory at first, then pain, he could quite reach it. When he dropped the flyer it caught fire, burning to simple ash. He would go to this... Tournament, and he would find some way to get in the ring, to see him again. He made his way to the sound, the roars of the people...
~~~~~~

.....he heard the announcement, slight grin crossed his lips, though it was hidden. He made his way to the arena, arms swaying loosely at his sides. Already he was preparing magic, the runes printed over his robes occasionally glowing with an abonormal light. He wouldn't fight him directly, he never would... Instead, he would wait for his chance, then strike in the opening, taking the win for himself... That is, if he could last that long, he relied heavily on magics, almost no physical strength.

Ignoring the crowd as he stepped into the arena, eyes set, staring on the champion, he was familiar.....

Miku smiled nervously. This is going to be tough.. how will he tire out this muscle guy? He looked pretty experienced, and that other dark man looks to have many little spells. In his mind, he still thought this was a 2 versus 1, and therefor that the mage would be on his side. But he was starting to have seconds thoughts about that.

While the announcer recited the rules, he conjured, with his magical eye, a beautifully carved staff made of what seemed to be glass. He didn't like sharp weapons, even though he knew they were all blunt in this fight. He started swinging the staff in all sorts of ways and positions to get a feel of it, then suddenly stopped and held it parallel to his body.

"Fighters, Get ready!" yelled the man with the booming voice.

He flexed his knees, his tail stretched out over the ground, swishing slightly, slowly swinging the transparent staff. His uncovered eye looking back and forth at the other fighters.

"FIGHT!"

The boy suddenly dropped to his feet, dropping his staff, ran under it and caught it with his tail, then dashed on all four after Johnathan the Monk. Huff huff! Getting close enough to man, he launched himself into the air, summersaulted and with help from gravity, sent his tail still holding the staff give a big whack on what he wanted to be the left shoulder. Wether he missed or not, he quickly landed on his feet, grabbed the staff in his hand and dashed to the monk's side to avoid his counter.

John laughed silently to himself, as the little furball ran towards him with a glass staff. THe leap was predicitable of a creature of that stature. A loud Clink echo'd in JOhns ear as he moved the Dragonscar ever so slightly by his shoulder to block the attack. He watched Him land then grinned and started to run towards the mage. He felt the sudden gust of an upcoming wind on him. He laughed again, sticking his polearm into the ground he vaulted over the wind. He could feel his foot get flung back slightly, he had bairly made it over. He land wasn't as gracefully as he had hoped, he landed on one knee instead of his feet, he looked up at the Mage again, watching him take in more energy, then quickly looked over his shoulder to see what the Furball was doing.

Mori could feel what was going on, the movements of the air, the shaking of the ground. Head slowly looked up to the monk, grin crossing his lips now. He saw the movements from the other attacker, no, that isn't good.... If those were dodged then... A frown crossed him.

Quickly he moved away from his spot, form launched up and backwards with unnatural grace... The instant he landed form crouched, both hands tapping the ground, then raising up, palms t'wards the sky. An abrupt stop, hands curling into fists, then slamming downwards. Another spell.

This time the ground shook, his form became weak. On either side of the monk a current of ice cold air rushed directly down, slamming into the ground. Dust and sand would be mixed into the air as it spread out. He had created a wall of cold air on either side of him. Though it could be pushed through, odds are it would leave the opponent cold and stiffen the joints.... Then again, his assumptions could be wrong...

He kept his hands curled in fists above the ground, lower lip bit harshly. He was drawing the energy for this from the planet and his own reserves, he could only hold it for so long.

"Darn! He's good..." Miku crouched low and readied himself for his next attack, waiting for his apponent's next move... but a look of surprised suddenly crossed his face and his visible eye going blank. Then his longer bangs parted from each other as a soft light was emitating from behind them. His magical eye was glowing and making his hair sway. He was in a transe.

For several minutes, he just stayed in that position, not responding to anything in the outside world. Then..

"AAAH!!" he suddenly screamed as he clamped his hands on his eye. He fell to his knees, tears of pain running down to the ground. He could only hear the pounding in his head, getting louder.. louder... and louder. "Stop! Make it stop.. make it..." He couldn't take it anymore. He lost consciousness, his body falling limply on the ground, tears still trickling from his eyes.

Leah had heard the crowd from a little way off and judged her time by their volume. When a great cry arose, she'd known she had to hurry and dashed towards the stadium at top speed, kicking up dirt in her wake. She sped through the entrance and skidded to a halt, staff grinding into the ground like a break. She wavered, eyes glued to the ongoing action. It was too late. The fight had already ******** cursed, swinging her staff against the wall angrily. Leah had never been trained, but had learned, as easily as any in her village, to fight just the same. She was quicker and more agile than the boys, and generally cleverer than most adults, so when she had left home, she'd thought she'd have it easy. When Leah had caught wind of the tournament, she had jumped at the chance to enter. Out on her own, she really needed the money.

She cursed again, and settled in against the wall, rolling her shoulders and resigning herself to watching the fight.

One hip jutting out, cocky as ever, she examined her would-have-been competition. She breathed in deep, tasted magic on the air, and for an instant, was a little glad she'd been too late. She had no magic. None but her god-forsaken deformity.