Nevada, USA

A black skinned man with red boxing gloves as he launched with great speed at his opponent. A scrawny man that he was, the opponent was quite battered, hardly even knowing what hit him. To this, the gathered crowds of lunatics and blood thirsty people cheered.

“YEA!” There was good reason to cheer after all, money! Fighting for money was a big thing for Balrog, for Vegas raises its people for ambition and avarice. The greedy Balrog had never been put to such ferocity, in order to make chump change. The money had not been so great, ever since the fall of Shadaloo, where he made some big cash. ‘Bison had the good moolah!’ he mulled to himself as he took off his gloves to let his bare hands feel the open air, only to snatch a rag to wipe off all the blood and sweat from his face and neck. ‘How the heck was I supposed to know what to do with it all?’ he was angry that under his rule, the company crumbled. It was like an insult to his intelligence and ability to handle money.

As he snatched his prize, cold hard cash, the boxer roared loudly. “Who’s up to fight the Balrog next? C’mon bitches!” he taunted, eager to fight more and make more cash.

Meanwhile, halfway across the town, a tall man with blonde hair wandered across the roads alone. His great build and simple clothes of denim jeans and a white t-shirt did little to hide apparently great upper body strength. ‘I need a good fight! I’m tired of all the same old wimps. They’re worse than those punks back home.’

He snarled to himself and shrugged. Maybe he’d luck out and find some fresh cooked meat under a garbage can, or better yet some spinach or milk, since those were two of his favorite ingestible items.

That was when he heard the faint chanting in the distance, “Fight, fight!” it was not too loud at first, but it was all that was needed to catch the attention of a fighting addict like himself.

As he followed the sounds, it had brought him to an alleyway. The Vegas of daytime was so boring, so blazingly hot, and not as active as it could be at night. That was when he heard a roaring voice. “YEA! Who’s up to fight the Balrog next?” which was followed by an audible thumping against his chest. “C’mon bitches!” He was certainly built, as his lack of shirt and bursting muscles showed that this would be a fight that Cody would likely enjoy.

He licked his lips, eager to taste the thrill of senseless fighting just for the hell of it. “Hey you!” the blonde loudly addressed the boxer. “I’ll take you on!” to which the boxer sneered.

Balrog assessed his challenger. He looked to be confident and powerful, this would be a good fight, “What’s your wager?” he asked. “Cash up front now!”

Cody sneered, “I don’t wanna cash, lets just fight, ya wuss!”

“No dough, no go!” the boxer stated. It was his life policy, which he lived by for the thrill of the cash in his pockets.

Cody sighed impatiently, as he rummaged his pocket for any cash he may have had. As the money came out of the pocket, he counted, “How’s a hundred twenty sound to you?”

“That all ya got, kid?” the boxer sneered.

“How about I up it to sixty-five?” Cody offered. He was itching for a fight, money wasn't quite as important as the chance to get your ass kicked while kicking someone else's.

“Hmm…” Balrog considered this, he hadn’t earned too much today, and these mathematics were not his strong point. He really needed to hire a money manager one of these days. “Fine!” he smirked, placing his gloves back on his hands then smashing them mercilessly against each other. “You’re on, bitch!”

Cody smiled menacingly proud. Both street punks would enjoy this.

England

“Ah, what is that beauty I see?” a Hispanic clinging to a brick wall recited. “A beauty with blonde hair. Luscious hair!” he smiled, “Ooh, and what a sensuous figure!” he grinned. “Could it be?” he gasped, “COULD IT BE!” he practically yelled. “Yes, this person is indeed beautiful…” he smirked. “Dear god, it can’t be!” his smile widened further, “It’s moi!” the man grinned as his gaze continued “Yes, it is the sexy Vega.” he chuckled as it became clear what his gaze was truly focused upon… a mirror. He laughed in his self absorbed vanity as a long three pronged claw tapped lightly against the brick wall, and in a skilled leap, and the donning of a white mask, the man was off. ‘Nobody would ever scar my pretty, beautiful face! Now back to ugly business.’

Nigeria

A man had been gazing intently at a woman that stood a short distance away. For days, Olanjut had been observing and watching a female figure from afar. Indeed, she was human, but her attire, her skin, and her scent were all different… all out of place for the harsh wilds of the Nigerian savannah. Yet, something kept the Negro huntsman gazing at her intently. Caucasians were nothing new to Olanjut. Her lengthy purple hair was not of consequence in this factoring, but indeed it likely had a slight benefit in his mind. Perhaps, it was her scent, refreshing and exotic that kept him wanting more. Regardless of the reason, this woman, in his mind, was beautiful and he was drawn to her as he watched her settle by the river, no doubt unused to the strange African climate. Then again, having lived without human contact for years, he was content with whatever he could get.

Still, Olanjut dared not approach her however. He did not want to scare her away, as he felt himself not much worth looking at. Considering his thickly black skin tone, combined with the visible defect of having lost an ear, the hunter had good reason to feel shame, so he thought. His missing ear especially was a marring aspect, especially in a psychological respect. It reminded him of the home he had come from, and escaped like a coward, a country torn by corruption and terror known as Sierra Leone. There was much to fear there, and survival was of the greatest concern.

Day by day, back in Sierra Leone, one had to live in fear, for attackers could strike with terror and gratuitously cruel and barbaric violence. Many of these attackers were youthful countrymen, corrupted by the greed and promise of power by higher powers with money, all in the namesake of attaining diamonds. Olanjut had been lucky to survive, as his sheer will to protect his family and loved ones gave him strength. During one attack, he had lost his left ear. Though no damage was able to be done to his ability to hear, the outer appearance had been marred.

This had not stopped Olanjut from keeping the fight strong, as he remembered. Then one day, rebels had come again, and this time had gotten a hold of his wife and his son. The rage in his blood boiled as the attacker brandished a rusted hatchet, and off came his wife’s head, after having been raped and tortured. Another of the rebels laughed as he held his four year old son, Tuneg with a wicked grin. This caused Olanjut to snap in an instant. In an undisciplined frenzy, he smashed the attacker’s skull in with his fist, fracturing the bone, and killing the greedy man quickly. Much to his dismay however, the attacker had lost grip on the boy, and had sent it flying, only to see his son wailing furiously, as his head smashed against a rock. The horror was too much. He had accidentally killed his own son!

There was nothing left for the enraged man to keep him in that hellhole country. He fled, running as far as he could. He fled east, for there would be no use trying to escape any other way. For nearly a month, he had fled all the way to Nigeria by foot. It was here that he had to hone his ability to fight, hunting by the simplest quality of stone tipped spears and simple leather slings against mighty beasts such as African elephants, and vicious hyenas. That was six years ago or so, and now, he had nothing left but the scar of a missing ear and his animalistic instinct to keep him alive. Furthermore, he would likely not know this woman’s language. The language of the white man was not something he was familiar with, so his knowledge of it would be fleeting indeed. Even as it had been spoken before, it was not something he himself ever tried to do. Many years away from mostly any human contact does provide drastic downward to social skills and language capabilities.

As he looked over his own appearance, he wondered what she might say. He was after all, pretty much naked, except for the spear clasps on his back. When you live under the blazing heat of Equatorial living. Even in this early morning, the second the sun hit the earth, everything heated up quite fast, considering how far from the water he was.

The quality of his weaponry made the ancient idea of bronze seem like a technological breakthrough. Literally, the spears he made and carried were as primitive as they could be, back when man had subspecies still around the world. A simple, sharp stone tied to the end of a long tree branch, stick, or any piece of wood was his weapon of choice, and making these spears were easy enough. His long gaze continued from hiding behind a nearby stone outcrop. That was of course, until he remembered ‘The lions come to drink from the river at around this point in the morning!’ His instincts told him this whenever he hunted, which wasn't even every day. Olanjut was not one to make waste.

Rose looked at the flowing Niger river as a godsend. The heat was exhausting, and the bugs were annoying beyond compare. It was hard to focus on mind and soul, when the body could not hold out. She simply had to have the refreshing liquid in her system or perish under the burn of the solar radiation.

She could have sworn that she had been detecting something following her for the past few days, but she was not sure, as the heat had been getting to her head. Laying her scarf to the side to immerse her head in the waters, a terrifying noise pervaded her ears. To her horror, she looked up and suddenly felt scared. There beside her, stood several hundred pounds of ferocious feline king. A male lion, practically in her face, roaring not too loudly, but instilling fear in the woman all the same.

Rose could not help but scream in terror, causing many birds to scatter from the trees into the open, morning sky.

Fate however, was on her side, as the lion soon found itself crying in pain as it forced itself back a bit. Yet, even more strange was the native that leapt to the scene, roaring deep from the lungs as fierce, at least, at the limitations of a human voice box. His eyes locked with the lord of lions. There was no sign of fear in the wild human’s eyes as the lion lunged at him.

Adrenalin boiled in his veins as he gave the mighty king of African beasts a powerful punch to the head, to which the lion’s jaws opened, trying to force its way past the human’s strong grasp to bite his head off. It never made it, for it was heaved to the left and onto its backside. Olanjut then finished off his prey with his weapon, stabbing it into the gut of the mighty feline, it wailed out in pain, and the lion was nothing more than a bleeding carcass, or so it would become soon enough with a gaping hole in a vital organ.

Other lions gathered. They had dared not to attack though. They knew the wild man soon after he had become a part of their animal world. He was one to fear for his ferocity, but he only killed when he needed to. There was, a sense of understanding of the cycle of life as he glared at the giant cats. With a point of his fingers towards what seemed to be a spot a few miles away, he bellowed another roar and many of the cats began to back off. They would have to settle at the river a short distance away.

He glanced again at the woman he had just rescued, staring deep into her eyes, and noticed the heavy redness of her face, no doubt from all the heat. His head tilted to the side, as he assessed her carefully further. It was strange though, looking in her eyes. There was a strange sense of danger and wrongness filling his mind as he did. Even if it was for less than a second, the visions in his mind were quite intense, even if he could not describe them in he least.

Rose's head drooped and dunked itself into the water below. It wasn’t especially cold in the least, but it did help repel the nasty solar rays that Rose was so hated and was maladjusted to. A sigh of relief was called for as she felt she may have died, or melted to a burnt puddle, or worse. As she looked at this man again, she tried to pay too much attention to the details, but a look to the face revealed all. “You!" she gasped, before catching her breath. "You are the one I seek.” she explained calmly.

The African merely scratched his head. “Uh?” he grunted, before looking at the lion he had killed. As stated before, Olanjut was not very well cultured in understanding her language, and could not speak it either.

“I am sure you do not understand me, but you must come with me. I have some stuff to tell you for it is important for a prophecy to come.” she spoke seriously as she noticed him by the dead lion. He was picking apart the meat on its body. She could not help but feel a tad queasy, yet hungry at the same time. She wanted to be away from this jungle as soon as possible, and she certainly wished the man had some pants to put on above all else. “Olanjut.” she spoke again, and he recognized his name, turning to face her with a face stuffed with lion meat, causing her stomach to churn queasily. ‘I see there is much to do…’ It was far too hot to get flustered with embarrassment.

That was of course, until she realized he was standing close to her again, a bit nervously, but holding something in his hand. It was a flower. More accurately, it was a hibiscus flower. With a shy face that looked deep into purple eyes, the bald hunter held the flower in front of him, offering it to Rose. He wasn’t sure why he did this, but a vague memory to a very rare encounter with some strange box called television, he had seen this before as form of courtship. It was worth the off hand chance that it just might work as intended.

Rose eyed the small flower carefully. True to her namesake, flowers were indeed something she liked, though truer to the namesake, this was not the species of flower she preferred. Still, for a feral savage to be giving her a flower, the woman could not help but smile slightly. “Thank you.” she said with a calm smile. even though he could not understand the words, the tone seemed kindly. At this, he handed her the flower, feeling a strange sensation. A sensation of food. ‘That stuff looks unhealthy to eat raw.’ Rose considered as she eyed the dead cat. ‘What choice do I have?’ She was hungry. She needed to eat to maintain her strength!

Nevada, USA

Another powerful gloved punch struck Cody’s face, causing a bit of blood to flow. Balrog was good, he had to admit. His punches were amongst the best he had ever seen. The boxer hardly threw a kick, yet managed to keep his feet safe every time that Cody tried to bring him off of them.

Balrog was glad he had the upper hand as he unleashed more of his handiwork rage with yet another mighty hook. This time however, Cody did not let it hit his face. “Not this time!” he growled as he caught the boxer’s glove in his open palm, then brought him over his head to slam him to the ground. It worked, but hardly stopped the boxer by any stretch of the imagination, as he avoided the next kick to the head as he rolled to the right and stood back up as quickly as he could.

The black skinned boxer smirked as he quickly rushed the at the blonde with a turn punch, pivoting nearly a full semi circle and landing with whatever brute force the puncher had stored up in his body. Cody took a strong one to the chest, and even fell back from the force. “Ha ha!” the boxer grinned like a crazed animal, “You were a decent fight.” he smiled, ‘I cant believe I’m getting less than three hundred from this one. Well, money’s money, and I love it all the same.'

Cody grinned as he grappled at the dirt, “Who said I was done?” he asked, wiping some of the soot and sweat from his forehead. He had been taking quite a beating, easily visible by the dark marks on his face, and the few smears of blood. With a quick reflex, he lobbed a small rock at the boxer, who was caught off guard in his gloating. It was hardly a strong or heavy stone, but the force it had gave Balrog a slight jolt to his right knee where it hit, especially with the legs being an arm-heavy warrior’s weakness by far.

“You little punk!” the violent boxer sneered, only barely managing to swerve to the right to dodge an oncoming kick. At that, Cody smirked as he let Balrog charge. “I am a Gigaton! You’re dead!” the red gloved man yelled in rage, fists bursting with pure, uncontrolled anger.

But as the boxer approached, Cody grinned as a slight chuckle escaped his lips. The once convict waited a few seconds. “It will be your Final Destruction if that's how ya play!” he yelled as he too charged with a great sense of violent enjoyment. Nothing but pain was sure to follow, but then again, that’s pretty much always the outcome of violence to begin with.