Location Unknown

“So this is to be my new host body?” Bison’s soul said indifferently as he eyed the body of the once ninjitsu master, Guy, which was in a life sustaining pod with tubes attached, just like any mad scientist would have. The body still had the same red gi it had on since forever. Senoh felt that he simply would be unable to stand looking at a naked man everyday. It is probably why Bison enjoyed making sure women such as Rose, and his thirteen dolls were about, something good to look at.

“You won’t be able to use it!” Guy raged. “My body is honed in the Bushin ways. It will reject every shred of evil you have!”

“We shall see.” the bodiless voice grinned. “Get me a DNA sample!”

“Yes sir!” Senoh complied as he ran a finger through his white hair, before working the mysteries of science.

Juni stayed silent though. ‘Is this what I truly want?’ she asked herself. ‘I can’t believe this is actually happening, but it is.’

“Juni, my beautiful doll, what is wrong?” the disembodied voice asked.

“Doll…” the words struck a strange alertness in her brain. “I… nothing. It‘s nothing.”

“That’s a lie. I can read your mind, and you know both of those facts.” a chuckle filled the air. “You worry about Juli.” The orange haired doll’s eyes widened at that. “I can tell you that she seems to be suffering from depression.” he said. Bison was not one to lie, at all! “She always was a weakling. Amongst all my beautiful dolls, she was the one I could have done without, and quite frankly, was surprised she survived every attempt to dispose of her. I’m not one to dispose of good fodder, but her will to think was stronger than most.”

“D… dispose!” Juni asked, horrified.

The Bison soul laughed heartily as he continued, “Do not worry yourself, for you were one of my most useful dolls.” with a slight pause, he continued. “There were complications. You two have been a team. There was indeed a strong bond of teamwork between you both. It was her purpose to exist in order to empower you, dear Juni. Removing any form of care and trust from each other was important, but somehow Juli felt a strong bond to you that I could not remove, no matter how much I tried to warp her mind.”

Juni frowned. “That’s horrible of you.” she said softly. Lashing out was not really going to do anything when it came to hurting something that has no body.

“She has been high maintenance!” the Shadaloo lord’s bodiless voice explained. “One of my plans backfired to control her, and even got her pregnant.”

“Birdie…” Juni realized. Juli never mentioned this part.

“I’d hate to see what that child would have looked like,” he said with a shrug of nonexistent shoulders, “but she seemed to want the child to be born, for some reason. There was far more useful things for my dolls to do than sit at home and breastfeed children. Even if children are truly powerful creatures, their bodies easily adjust to psycho energy and as they develop, it grows with them.”

Juni said nothing but remained frowning. She was beginning to want to see the girl again and leave Bison’s side, but something made her want to stay. Maybe it was fear, or need, or maybe even ambition. She could not figure it out.

“I was willing to let the child develop in a synthetic environment, but she resented. Perhaps she was too strongly linked to her survival instincts and she remained motherly.”

Senoh laughed as he interjected. “Survival was important, sir. I never anticipated the likes of that.” he grinned as he placed a piece of peeled skin into a petri dish, then applied a small sample of psycho energy. “Hmm, the sample is small, but upon contact, both entities disintegrate.” he stated, showing there to be nothing left in the dish at all.

“Interesting. Well, while I am as bodiless as I am now, I am free to travel the world at speeds I have never thought possible. I can read minds quite well also, at least in this current state.” This was said with contentment. “However, I am without any true power without a physical form to generate said power through muscle and kinetic motion.”

Senoh spoke up. “Pardon me, but how did you get back from hell?” He wanted to know.

“That is simple really, even with two main reasons. First, the weak bastard of a lesser soul was gone. Even though is a weak, pathetic loser, Rose is a thorn in my currently nonexistent backside.” A sneer followed that.

“Rose is… gone?” Guy asked worried. He didn’t like the thought of Rose being killed… again, at least. She was a good person, and even a noble hero in her own way, since she was so willing to be a martyr to end everything once and for all.

“I wish she was, my fuzzy little friend.” Bison stated smugly, or as smugly as a nonphysical entity can, anyways.”

“I am NOT your friend!” Guy hissed.

“Of course you aren’t. You’re my pet hamster.”

“Gerbil!” Guy corrected, before realizing how stupid correcting that really was, yet again.

Senoh rolled his eyes. “Ahem. As you were saying… so Rose wasn’t holding you back in hell. Now what?”

“Simple really. Your strange mixture. The soul is actually composed partly of helium. It’s trace, but it is what the demons feed on. Rose suffered less demonic encumbrance because she was good and free of sin. She was not unbothered, but I was always being feasted upon by the accursed demons for what has felt like an eternity.”

“So why the melted iron?” Senoh demanded. He wanted to learn, for when it comes to science, all the universe breaks down and builds up at the same time, constantly! “Helium is a noble gas, for cryin’ out loud!”

“That it is.” The bodiless voice confirmed. “But psycho energy is dark and evil. It is hard to explain, but let’s just say that it even breaks the laws of physics, chemistry, and science in general. In a quick snatch, I was able to take the strange mixture and use it as a decoy to escape. The tiny fraction of my soul that I imbued it with was a ruse. Those who feasted on the fake are likely dead! Good riddance to them.”

“Now what?” Senoh asked.

The Bison soul cackled. “Now, I recruit. With my new pet ham… gerbil, I think I can pull something off.”

“What are you up to, Bison?” snarled Guy.

“Nothing too major. I was just going to go ask some of your friend if they‘d like my offer, I believe Cody was his name.” A soft, yet dark chuckle ensued as Bison’s evil voice chilled the gerbil. “You should be glad if he complies. You will get to live!”

“Leave Cody out of this…” the gerbil said sternly. Cody was his friend, and Guy would not want the ex-convict be brought to the side of evil, he’d rather die and be forgotten than be bait for a cruel blackmail.

Bison however, did not respond. He was gone for now.

Juni sighed, feeling a sense of security at the knowledge of his disappearance. ‘I miss Juli…’ her head hung downwards, as a tear escaped her eye.

Nevada, USA

“Hey, punk!” Balrog the boxer called to Cody, who had begun to walk away. “You ain’t so bad.” Balrog, as it seems, was your typical ghetto grown street punk.

“Uh…” Cody blinked, “Thanks I guess.” He was bored, he wanted to leave this town, and find more losers to beat senseless or to a bloody pulp, or both. At least he found a slice of freshly cooked pizza under a box earlier that day. Cody had a knack for finding safe food underneath or inside crates, barrels, and even full oil drums. The ice cream sundae under that oil drum was completely uncontaminated by any of the slick and greasy ichors.

The crowds had departed. Watching people beat the blood and life out of each other was sickeningly thrilling for some reason. As the boxer and convict stood alone, a strange lingering wind caught their attention. ‘I must admit,’ the voice spoke hauntingly. ‘I was impressed with your fight.’

Balrog knew that voice! Could it be? “Bison?” he asked, both scared and hopeful. Shadaloo had been good money, after all.

‘Remember me, Balrog?’ the voice asked with a mocking pout, of all tones to choose ‘I’m touched, really, just like Shadaloo’s cash reserves were touched by you too.’ the voice sounded quite displeased as it mentioned that.

The boxer snarled. This empty voice had some nerve, telling him what to do and all. “Hey! I didn’t do nuthin, man! I tried to bring the joint mo’ cash!” Balrog wasn’t lying. Why would he lie about money, the thing he wanted most in life, other than the bitten off ears of any opponent he could fight.

The disembodied essence sighed, ‘Yes, I’m sure. Are you willing to work for Shadaloo once more? The money and payments you’re owed are long overdue.’

“YES!” cheered the boxer as he struck his fist against his open palm. “Bring on the cash, and I’ll kill all the bitches you’ll ever want dead!”

‘You‘re still a merciless moron…’ the voice known as Bison chuckled. ‘I’m glad you made a wise choice.’

“Well…” Cody rolled his eyes, bored of course. “If you two are just going to chat like losers, I’m outta here.” he shrugged as he began to walk off.

‘Ah, Cody, I have an offer for you too.’

“Sorry pal, I don’t need no cash!” Cody shrugged. He soon found a strange vision in his mind. It was a person, he looked familiar! The red fighter’s gi, the outlandish sneakers… “Is that… Guy?” he asked to himself. “What… wait, what the god damned hell is going on here?”

‘Cody, how would you like to work for Shadaloo? You are strong, and there will be many opportunities to fight. You like fighting, or so I’ve heard’

“I said I’ll pass.” Cody said, loosing more and more interest.

‘What about your friend? Guy... did you call him that?’ the bodiless voice cackled. ‘Yes, I know well and good, that he is your friend and a practitioner of the Bushin way.’

Cody snarled. Bison now had his attention. “Where is he?” he roared angrily as he smashed a nearby trashcan. The can had rolled away, in its place a cheeseburger on a fine china dish could be noticed. It looked freshly cooked, double American Cheesed, with extra pickles, a slice of fresh tomatoes and even ketchup. Too bad there were no fries in the package.

“Hey, you gonna eat that?” Balrog asked. He was hungry, and a free burger was four dollars saved or so. Cody shook his head and handed the boxer the strangely existent meat sandwich. “I don’t know how that got there, and I don’t care that it was in a garbage can, but I’m saving my cash.” the boxer cackled happily “YEA! Free food!” Balrog was the greediest money pincher there was, but had the tendency to spendthrift like any cold-blooded American. ‘I wish I had a soft drink.’

‘Ahem.’ the Bison voice sounded impatient, ‘Your friend’s life is on the line.’

“Don’t you dare!” Cody snarled as his eyes wandered fearfully. His friend’s life was on the line. Guy was his best friend, and probably his only friend, since Cody’s temper and violent temperament sort of scared people away.

‘Don’t be too hasty.’ the Bison voice laughed, ‘Even if you don’t join, there’s still hope. I’ve heard of a man named Michael Haggar, I think he’d be willing to help Guy. That man is always willing to pound punks, or so they say.’

“Mr. Haggar?” Cody blinked. “Hey! You leave Mr. Haggar out of this!”

The voice ignored him. ‘Then of course, there’s that girl Maki… but she might just be glad to see him go. She wants his Bushin title, or so I hear.’ Having been dead, Bison had lots of time to plan. Time in hell flowed slowly, and the constant attacks by demons only made it worse. Bison was evil, and the demons were like mosquitoes, they were somewhat selective, and Bison was so dark that he was ‘tasty’ so to speak. He could feed their need for evil with all the sin he held. Rose, the soul he hated to be burdened with, suffered far less than he did, but she was not spared demonic wrath. Both had been sent to hell at the hands of Akuma.

“Hey!” Cody yelled, “Are you listening to me, punk?” to which an eerie breeze seemed to confirm this. “I…” Cody sighed in defeat. “I’ll join you. Just promise me that you won’t hurt my friend.”

Bison cackled, ‘Don’t worry. I may be a black hearted bastard, but I never lie.’

“Don’t bring Mr. Haggar into this either!” Cody demanded.

‘Very well, I trust you will keep him out of this as well. I could do without enemies, understand?’ Bison sounded serious, probably because he had reasons to be concerned. He had enough enemies as is, he didn’t need more, even if it was some man in his mid-fifties with wrestling moves, he could do without, at least for now.

“Man!” Balrog stated with an uncaring shrug, “Tough luck, bitch!” he shrugged as he clasped Cody on the shoulder.

Mediterranean Sea, 22,000 feet above sea level

Rose was not sure how she was able to manage this so well. Finding a strange feral human, getting him to follow her. Fortunately, he managed to make himself a pair of pants from the leather he skinned from the lion’s dead carcass. She even managed to convince Olanjut to get on the airplane. She was more concerned with language barriers. Sierra Leone was known to have spoken the English language, but Olanjut did not seem to speak any English. It maybe have been that he spoke Creole, Mende, or Temne, or that several years away from any human contact possibly kills social skills. Money was not an issue with Rose, though she‘d pay never to eat raw lion meat again as long as she lived, though being a willing martyr, that lifespan wasn’t usually long. She had a mission, and money was no object of concern when more important issues were at stake. After all was said and done, the woman was exhausted, and thus, with the airplane close to home, the woman simply decided to get a bit of sleep. She needed the energy, as she had done a lot since ten hours ago, when she met Olanjut in the brutal savannah.

The one eared man however, sat in his airplane chair with discomfort. The cushioned seat felt strange, the clothes felt strange, everything seemed strange! A black man with one ear and no shirt likely gathered several stares as is. Its bad enough he was a third world being, and as such, it was a bit pricey to get the African a passport. All the while, his eyes never left the purple haired woman. She interested him, with a strange aura that emanated beauty, and a scent that was exotic and appealing. Yet, he was concerned, for Rose seemed to be uneasy in her rest.

Rose’s body may have been at rest, but the mind and soul were in a frenzy, so to speak. Something was wrong, very wrong. That was when the laughter could be heard, a laughter so evil, that she knew who it was. ‘You are the lesser soul, you are of no concern to me!’ Following that, a strange glow followed in her dream, and then all ended.

Rose screamed as she woke once more to the real world, receiving strange glances from others on the plane. ‘He’s back! Bison is back.’ She tensed up. The prophecy had begun!

“Attention passengers.” spoke the pilot over the intercom, “We have turned on the fasten seatbelts sign, for we may feel a bit of turbulence. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

Northern Canada

“Eh, another sturgeon!” a man dressed nothing except for a pair of swim trunks . A far outlandish cry for attention, no doubt, for someone to do something so crazy in the cold tundra of the northern parts of Canada, or when living north of the Arctic Circle in any way shape or form at all. As he said those words, he held up a fish as it flopped around in the air, desperately trying to fill its lungs with hydrogen dioxide! The man seemed to be around six feet tall, and not very muscular at all. In fact, he was pudgy, and that in itself surely seemed the build of a man who certainly was not a fighter. His hair appeared to be that of a hazel color whitened by years of living in the snow, and his lips seemed blue as well for this very reason.

With him, was all the gear a fisherman would ever need: a fishing pole, a lure, and tons, and tons of patience. “Ah, yer free to go, little feller!” he shrugged as he tossed the fish back to the water, and let his feet feel the refreshing cold that the man needed so greatly. This man was Ben Hutscale, known by most as the Frozen Canadian, simply because he reveled in cold, freezing water temperatures, and he had a strange control over ice. With a relaxed sigh, the Canadian tossed the line again, “Maybe I’ll catch a walrus, this time.” he said with a shrug. Canadians were never known to be worrywarts, the country of apathy, and little need to lock the door to the house at night, because most Canadians knew of little crime in their country.

With a shrug, the man’s free hand curled its fingers, as a strange icy blue glow surrounded his hand. When the glow had subsided, small chunks of ice were in his hand, and then tossed at the water as though he were skipping rocks across a pond or lake. Considering the fact that the density of ice was less than that of water, especially sea water, the rocks hopped the surface gracefully and didn’t sink.

Life for Benny was not always so easy though. Aside from his nearly frozen body temperature, something in life seemed out of place. He felt a strange violent streak tug at his ego, pride, mind, and soul. A bit over two years ago Ben got back from a trip to India. He hated the place, it was far too hot, to the point that he felt like his skin would melt off. Having a blood temperature naturally far less than 98.6 Fahrenheit, or 37 Celsius as far as metric users which existed anywhere outside the USA pretty much, Ben was not meant to soak up sun rays. Still, he traveled to India, for braving the heat was not only a part of honing his body, but while there, he heard a stretchy man, skinny yet strong resided somewhere along the Ganges, and practiced the art of yoga, yet still called it a fighting style. He got his ass kicked from about three meters away due to that man’s stretch.

Flashback, Two and a Half Years Ago - India, Somewhere along the Ganges

“I’m aboot to die here!” whined Ben as his frost bound body began to perspire to the immense heat. Still, he would be strong, and brave, for that was what a warrior was, was it not? Warriors were sturdy and brave, and Ben would not let himself be beaten by a stupid heat stroke. It was then that he saw him, sitting there cross-legged, nearly a meter off the ground, floating! His hands were clasped, and his body lacked more meat than an anorexic, but it was easy to see that he did have muscles in the lanky arms and legs. His only article of clothing was yellow shorts, which looked like they were made of rags.

“Greetings, wayfarer.” greeted the floating man, in a heavy Indian accent. “You look as though you have traveled far.” His eyes did not open, nor did he even seem to budge, but he knew that the iceman was there.

With a blink of confusion, Benny nodded. “Yes, I…” he never got to finish.

“You have come to seek a fight with me.” the thin man finished. “I am Dhalsim, master of the Art of Yoga, and protector of the poor.” he paused as his eyes opened. “But I have given up the fight, for I know there are other brave souls who can do great things for our world.”

Benny frowned, wiping the sweat from his forehead as it seemed to sizzle like steam. “Great. I guess I’m out of luck, huh?” He really wanted a fight. Why, he knew not, but he felt a strange urge for reckless violence.

“I sense something strange in you, sir.” Dhalsim stated. “Something I have not sensed in a long time, but I doubt you are as troublesome as I am thinking you are.” Dhalsim decided to let the subject drop. “You are here to fight me, yes? It will be a good chance to get in touch with my youth.” and at that the bald, skinny man’s feet reached the ground. “You are not in any condition to fight, as tired as you are.”

“I’ll be fine.” replied Benny, with a hint of rudeness in his voice. “I am a warrior, I can handle it.”

“Very well.” Dhalsim agreed. “We will not fight here though. These are sacred meditation grounds, and I would be reborn as a Camel in my next life if I were to harm sacred grounds.” With that, he resumed his levitated float. “Yoga!” he shouted, as he vanished into thin air.

“I dunno what you’re all aboot,” Benny blinked. “But I…” he stopped abruptly.

“In here!” Dhalsim called from the nearby stone archway.

The ice maker shrugged. He figured he might as well fight and get it over with. As he entered the arch into the stone wall, he was somewhat impressed. It was a great courtyard, with fresh grass, and… elephants, lazy elephants apparently. They were sleeping, lying down, basking in the sun, and just enjoying the ways of the timewaster. “Please do not hurt my elephants.” Dhalsim stated in a serious tone.

“YOUR elephants?” He could have sworn hearing that this man was poor. Where on earth could this skinny yoga man afford to buy a dozen elephants?

“Yes… I take care of them, and they in turn help me and the people of my homeland.” the skinny yoga man explained as he stretched his left arm to reach around the neck of one of his elephants, who in turn stretched its trunk around Dhalsim’s neck gently. “My elephants do not like fighting.” Dhalsim explained. “Fighting once put them in danger. A boxer once killed one of my elephants, using only his bare hands… I believe Balrog was his name.” The yoga man decided to end that there, as he and the pachyderm ended their brotherly hug, so to speak.

“So, we fight here?” the slightly pudgy man asked, to which the skinny one nodded.

“Yes, we fight here.” Dhalsim nodded. “I do hope this won’t take too long, for I promised my son that I would teach him how to meditate. But,” Dhalsim paused, “Tell me, what is your fighting style?”

Benny shrugged with a grin, “I’ll surprise you, how’s that.” it was a bluff at best, since his skills at actual fighting couldn’t dent a moldy piece of guano, for he relied heavily on his cold manipulation. At that, he cupped his right hand, as white mist formed at his nostrils. “Cold Zap!” and with those words, the frigid air in his hand flew towards the yoga master, but the skinny man was unafraid.

“Yoga!” he shouted, with an amazing amount of calmness in his voice, causing him to vanish from existence, causing the icy projectile to hit the stone floor, where the hot sun would work its magic of melting. When he returned, he was behind the ice maker, to which he took a great opportunity to strike. “Yoga Flame!” the Indian exclaimed as a blaze of orange was exhaled from the back of his lungs, striking the icy foe, and really burning him up.

“Yeow!” the ice maker yelped angrily in pain as he swiftly changed direction to face his opponent, only to barely get out of the way of a far stretching fist that looked like it would have knocked a few teeth out. “Ice Wisp!” This time his hands wafted like paper in the breeze, or a wizard channeling a spell, and when he was done, his hand cupped again, letting a wavering streak of white frost go forward towards its target.

Dhalsim however, was clever indeed. He didn’t even need to move entirely, for this attack truly was aimed to the upper chest or the face, so all he did was stretch his legs to move his upper body to the left. He avoided the strike, but also got the chance to toss another powerful punch, and when it comes to Dhalsim, he literally throws his punches far.

The fat man was not as nimble as his stretchy foe, and could not avoid the strike to the jaw. As he realized what happened, he blinked. “Oh no, is that my tooth?” he asked as he noticed something white on the floor. “Great! It IS my tooth!” he noted as he tasted the bloody results on his tongue. “I shoulda been a snowbird instead.”

“Snowbird?” the Indian man asked.

The Canadian shrugged as he swallowed more of his blood, not showing much niceness in his words. “It’s a Canadian term. It means a guy who goes to the United States when its winter time from Canada, because its cold up there. Its like a migration.” he shrugged.

Dhalsim nodded ever slightly, then the battle resumed. “Yoga Fire!” the stretcher shouted, as he inhaled and then exhaled a ball of fire in a menacing looking sphere with a small tail of fire trailing it.

To this, the cold man grinned. It was his big chance to pull it off. With a loud ‘humph’ his hands cupped together opened, and cold air swirled about. “Frost Back!” he declared, causing the fire to disappear between the swirling ice. It practically shrunk into it as though it were sucked into a black hole. “Ah!” he smiled, quickly picking his tooth up off the ground and sticking it in the spot where its bleeding empty socket remained. It was strange to say the least, but the gums and jaw seemed to reabsorb the tooth, and the bleeding subsided.

“You have an interesting control over ice.” the yoga master noted, as he leapt to the air and came flying at the fatso in a drilling spiral, head first, his stretchy body overlapping itself many times over. The ice maker tried to make another icy projectile, but it was not in time to take on a swirling head butt. In return, he swung his leg at his foe, letting his arms drop to his side like a true novice would. “Yet, your actual fighting skills are not honed of the body itself.” The Yoga Master parried the attack easily with a rising block, which rose several feet off the ground, and took the ice warrior with it.

“Eh, whatever! It’s all aboot who wins, yea?” Wasn’t that right? He recalled hearing somewhere that the fight was all, not how you fight, just that you win! It was then that he noticed that he was high off the ground. “What’s this, eh?” the fat Canadian yelped in fear. “Uh oh. How’d you do that?” he was shocked. This yoga man couldn’t have weighed more than 150 pounds, yet he was lifting the 254 pound ice man off the ground easily.

“Yoga STRIKE!” the Hindu man stated, as he was soon airborne, using his extended hand as a grapple, to which his feet straddled the fatso, and then brought the ice man crashing to the ground, where he used his feet to toss him from side to side forcefully.

Even trying everything in his powers, especially making his body so cold it could chill the instant one touched, it was no use, the yoga master was simply too focused. The fat man was down, and wasn’t going to get back up unless it was battle over. “I’m aboot to die here,” the Canadian panted as he struggled to stand. “You win, okay?”

The yoga master nodded and closed his eyes for a second. “You have potential, but you are relying too much on your powers.” It was a fact that was easy to see just from the fight.

“Daddy!” came a youthful sounding voice from a nearby roofed stone structure. “Wow, you won! You beat the fat slob!” Following the voice was the sight of a young boy, who looked as though he could have been no more than thirteen, probably even younger, though he didn’t seem nearly as thin as his father. “Haha! My dad is better than you!” the young boy said.

“Datta!” Dhalsim said with displeasure, “You should be ashamed. Being mean like that is the way to be reborn as a mule your next life.”

“Sorry dad.” the boy said with a sigh. “C’mon! Teach me how to breath fire! I’m already able to get half a meter off the ground in meditation!”

The pudgy man rolled his eyes. “I’m outta here.” he stated as he walked away. He was burnt, battered and beaten. At the rate he was going, he was probably going to melt into a pile of his own blood. The fight still beckoned him, even if he had to lose thousands more times against thousands of other people. There was just a strange calling, and it screamed for power.

Present

That wasn’t the end, however. Following that, he tracked down the elephant slayer, that the yoga man had mentioned. He needed to fight! Before that though, he decided to practice a bit, and he had gotten himself a green belt in the ways of shotokan karate. By practicing a fighting style, he was amazed to see the great improvement. It was still not enough however to save him, and make his stronger. He still was overweight, and only a bit more muscular now. He had simply waited too many years to start fighting.

Flashback, Half a Month Ago - Nevada, USA

What bad he thought of India was worse in the springtime of inland America. It was virtually a desert in every way, arid, desolate and dry. To say that all deserts were hot was a lie, for the biggest and best desert of all, the continent of Antarctica, was one of the coldest locations on Earth.

Regardless, finding the city of Las Vegas was easy enough, for there wasn’t much more in the way of excitement in the state of Nevada anyway. From what he learned about Balrog, he seemed a worthy foe. He was a vicious boxer with little remorse for who’s head he’d smash in if the price was right. It was said the man could trip you up with his fists better than some can do with their feet. Being raised in the fear inspiring country of America meant that he was bound to be fierce. Benny was starting to have second thoughts on the matter, instead fearing for his life. He traveled so far though, and would not let himself go home without a fight. He hoped that he would not die like an elephant.

It was fortunately nearly nighttime, and as strange as it sounded, the land chilled up fast, with a drastic temperature drop. It felt great against his frosty skin, and rejuvenating as well. It was by chance that he found the boxer, and a bit of luck. He was loud and untamed, beating the crap out of an unsuspecting fool for money wagered to go in the ring vs. the Balrog. Yes, he looked tough indeed, and able to shatter his icy skin.

As he approached the man, he realized that this man wasn’t the kind of person who you’d want to ever call a friend unless you had the cash to keep him friendly. “Heh! Ooh, a chubby man. I haven’t fought one of those in a while.” to which he narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t a sumo, are ya, bitch?” the boxer asked as he shifted his eyes from side to side. Sumo wrestlers were the kind of fat people that might just give him trouble, even though he only ever fought one sumo, a Japanese man by the name of Edmund Honda.

“No, was that meant to be a joke, Yankee?” the Canadian asked a bit annoyed.

“Yankee?!” Balrog roared, “I should bite yer ear off for that, ya bitch!” He slammed his red gloved hands against each other to vent his anger, but all it did was send it to the other hand and back to the already hyped up boxer. “What’s yer wager, fat boy?”

“Hmm, how about… 40 dollars?” he said, counting his Canadian money.

“What the hell is that stuff?” the boxer asked, eyeing the money. “If you tryin to cheat me, I’ll rip yer head off.” he said quietly as he grabbed the fat man by the arm. It was no dollar he‘d ever seen before. “Counterfeit! Get lost, loser!”

“Its Canadian money.” Ben explained. “The Canadian currency is about point seventy or so times the value of an equal American currency of same value.

Balrog’s eyes widened. The boxer sucked with math, but the word more stood out in his mind. “Really, that @#%$ is worth seventy times more? Screw this country then! Uh, so where is this Canadia place?”

“Um, actually, its worth less. See, every ten American dollars is about seven dollar of Canadian money.” Or so he recalled. Inflation may have changed it, but it certainly was worth less.

The boxer snarled. “Forget it, swindler!” to which a strong punch to the ice user’s gut to send him crying home to momma.

The Canadian blocked that. He had been practicing, so that was a plus. “Wait! I have a ten dollar bill, if that’ll suffice.”

“Ten?” the boxer gave him a weird look, then smiled menacingly as he noticed the presidential face on the piece of inked paper. How could he say no to American money? “Bring it on, bitch!”

At this, the chubby man swiftly punched at the boxer’s face. It hit, giving him time to break free from the grip. The boxer however, came right at him, fist first at a great speed, and Ben was unable to parry or get out of the bruiser’s way.

As he reeled back from the strike, he opened his hands, “Cold Zap!” he shouted, unleashing a freezing beam, surely able to keep the boxing bruiser at bay, or so he thought.

“Bwah!” the boxer roared into his punch, which shattered the ice as his hand struck the ice man’s stomach yet again, but this time he did not stop, as he struck with many swift punches, striking the ice user in the face, and stomach over and over again. “Ha!” he scoffed, as he pushed the ice maker to the dirt ground, kicking up dust in the commotion. “You lose, bitch!” He snatched the ten dollar bill which lay on the floor, slightly soaked with blood. Bloody money it was, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass, really. It was still good for the casinos.

The boxer was right, the Canadian had been defeated. He was beaten so fast, and felt as though he had been run over by a train. “Ooh, that smerts!” he whined, his Canadian accent heavy on the word ‘smart’. At least he had been able to earn enough money for a plane ride home at the slots. He would have won more if he hadn’t gotten a bit greedy. That was Vegas for you, an addiction with money. The city seemed to suit the boxer’s greed nicely, it seemed, but the ice maker despised it.

That concluded his trip to the bordering country to the south. It was definitely not pleasant, and not as ‘enlightening’ as India. Heck, it was downright bogus!

Present

As he sighed, a slight tug on his fishing line snapped him awake. “Oh boy! Another bite!” He smiled as he began to reel in on the rod. This was the relaxing fishing he enjoyed, yet every year the temperature seemed to go up ever slightly. ‘Damn that global warming!’ It was despicable, really. It was hurting the entire planet, and Benny’s affinity with the cold climate was weakening ever slowly.

Thailand

“Tiger!” yelled a gigantic man as his bandaged, muscular hands clenched into tight fists then met each other and shot forward. From them, a strange crescent of energy flew throw the air horizontally until it struck a nearby rock, causing said rock to dent.

Giant was probably not the best word to define this man. Rather, he was a Cyclops, and as big as one too, at over seven feet tall, with a large scar on his chest, and an eye patch over a missing eye. His legs were quite long, as were his arms, and pretty much everything about his physical appearance made him a one eyed monster. Wearing only a pair of shorts, the patch over his left this was Sagat, a master of Tiger Muay Thai, and once its emperor and god until nearly a decade ago, until he was beaten by his best student, Adon. “Tiger Knee!” he declared to himself as his feet sprang upwards and forwards, his front leg in front of him in a hardened state, knee first. ‘One day…’ he said to himself, every day at least once if he could. At times, he felt he needed to remind himself that he would have his rematch with the Ansatsuken who had scarred his chest, a man named Ryu. “Tiger Genocide!” he roared as he jumped to the air again, his bandage covered right foot ahead of him as he cut the air, only to swiftly land from the flying kick and to jump again into a high punch which jolted him to the air with his fist high above him.

It may have been a long day, for Sagat had taken to the ways of teaching Muay Thai once more. He was still second banana when it came to Muay Thai, for even being over fifty has not been a damper on his fighting, though his memory seemed to be taking a more noticeable penalty from aging, even if it was minor by far, it was still causing his memory to slip away, even if it was rather slow. “One day…” he stated, as he caught his breath, “We will battle again. Should I die when we do, I’ll have died with honor.” he smiled as he punched the empty sky. “Tiger Uppercut!” he roared, letting his fist lead him skywards as his body followed the powerful punch. ‘We will have that fight… but not yet. I will never keep working to the greatest battle of my life.’ Sagat believed that there were none as worthy a challenge as the Ansatsuken master who scarred his chest. There were some who came close as possibly worthy foes. His best, but one of his most arrogant pupils, Adon, had given him a good fight. Both were controlled entirely by rage, and though Adon had won from Sagat the title of Muay Thai God, Sagat had given his once student a fracture to his ribcage, which put Adon under intense care in the hospital for months. Looking back now, Sagat regretted nearly killing his best student, even if the redheaded Thai hated him so much. At the very least of Sagat’s ways of finding a shred of relief, the Muay Thai god made a nearly full recovery in under a year. Titles meant nothing to him any longer, and even then, he still held the title as self proclaimed Muay Thai Emperor, since it was basically second best on the chart, and no challenger has yet beaten the title out of him.

With a gaze to the area beyond the ruins where he enjoyed his solitude, his gaze met eye to eye with a giant statue of stone, a statue of Buddha. Buddha was a man said to be as great a person as life had ever made. His determination and focus along a path to an enlightened and self improvement was the way that Sagat wanted to follow, but back then he was easily blinded by revenge and power, starting back when his right eye began to lose its vision capabilities. It was a feral determination that helped him learn Muay Thai in a short order of time, then the bad eye was lost in a battle against a man named Go Hibiki. Hibiki wanted the title of the Muay Thai master, and as the self proclaimed emperor and current reigning god, Sagat accepted the challenge. In the fight, his eye was gouged out, and as such, he thrashed the challenger in sheer rage. Go was defeated and died shortly after the fight. It was another battle that Sagat regretted. Not only had he murdered in cold blood, but he ruined the life of the boy’s son, Dan, who was warped by rage so much that he lacked social graces and lacked fighting skills even more so.

‘Buddah…’ his mind trailed. The statue looked so relaxed and peaceful, resting as though the world around it had no troubles. Sagat’s determination made him travel all the way to India as well a few years ago, just to learn more of the ways of self enlightenment. He figured he would ask a man who knew how to connect both body and spirit to work with harmony. That man was a yoga master named Dhalsim. He had learned little about Buddha that day, but at least he was able to get himself a good fight, and as Sagat’s rival was known to have said, the fight is everything. Sagat was still trying to figure out the meaning of those words.