The Face: Tournament of Death, Chapter Eleven

A shadowy figure could be seen next to the crashing shores of the waving sea, which echoed towards him from the vast, blue-spilled horizon in the far distance miles away. The sun beat upon his skin, as well as his black-shaded eyes, as he stood in a sort of meditation on the sandy beach below. He lowered his head and folded his arms against himself, as if to call upon a summoning once again…

Sam Lee Kim arrived at the temple gates in his traditionally dressed attire of a Chinese kung-fu suit with black coating. A gate guard stood, with nunchaku in possession, as he halted the young tournament fighter. “Where are you headed?” he asked Samuel. The fighter explained his situation. “Why, I’m in the tournament…” he said. The guard looked Sam up and down, and gave a disapproving look. “All tournament entrants must be in uniform for the tournament…where’s your uniform?” he wondered.

Sam sighed at the unwanted obstacle. “I never got one…and even if I did, I would choose not to wear it,” he adamantly clarified. The gate guard frowned in disagreement and folded his arms. “Well then, I won’t let you in. All tournament fighters were supposed to have received uniforms when they arrived at the palace.” he said. Samuel Lee Kim returned the glare with a peaceful, but unbendable stare. He casually spread out his arms, and retreated them behind his back. Deeply he breathed, in-taking the vast amount of fresh air from the atmosphere. “I didn’t go to the palace. Please, just let me in…” he politely demanded, gesturing his arm forward.

The gate guard gave Samuel a shove backwards. “Hey, back off, you old hobo, you weren’t even in the palace to begin with… You probably came from one of your own little hobo towns, with your little peasant family, trying to ruin the tournament,” he insulted.

Rage formed in the pit of Samuel Lee Kim’s stomach, carefully ascending his upper torso, and into his calm countenance. His eyes lowered, and his mouth scrunched into anger. His palm folded as his fist clenched tightly to meet itself. But he remembered his promise. His eyes peered downward to his jade necklace, and he released his tension. The guard also gave an interest at what the homeless fighter was staring at and peered forward as well. “What’s this eh?” he pointed to the necklace. “Hmm, you must’ve stolen it from somewhere…let me see that,” he said, swiping the necklace from straight off his neck. It was a mistake. Feeling that his aggressor had desecrated the values of his family, and even worse, his passed mother, Samuel Lee Kim interpreted this as a signal… and his fist clenched ever tighter. His eyes focused upon the stupidly ignorant guard, who stood examining the priceless pendant.

With one sweeping motion, Samuel Lee Kim let his fist fly with the speed of lightning fast quickness, straight into the jostled jaw of the helpless guard. Shocked by the heavy blow, the guard’s head stood tilted backward for some time, before his whole body had fallen with a thump onto the ground.

It took seconds for the next guard to realize what had happened as he turned to view his ailing partner on the ground below. “Uh?!” he gasped, approaching his downfallen comrade. Samuel Kim stood defiantly unwavering above. The guard looked up and charged at the non-moving combatant, and flung his fist at the fighter’s face. With rapid movement, Samuel Lee Kim dodged the oncoming fist, grabbed it with his own hand, and twisted it clockwise, forcing his opponent to be twirled about in the air, before he too hit the ground as well. The young guard let out a loud wail before passing out, and Sam Kim proceeded to swipe the nunchaku that the guard had left upon the dirt floor. He traveled to the other unconscious scum and swiped his pendant from an opened hand, putting the pendant back on his neck.

He approached the iron gate, and stopped before it, examining the lock in between the two doors. He then carefully raised his leg, and with great force pounded his powerful foot against the padlock to the gate, shattering it open, with the added effect of flinging doors. In silence, with shoulders broadly held high, he entered the walls to the dojo, with hundreds of other martial artists training in the grasslands around him.

Kristy Collumbo rushed up a large flight of stairs in order to reach her destination to complete phase one of her malicious plan. Down one hall to the right, she aptly came to a large door guarded by a heavy man in a gray suit “I’m here to speak with Shran,” she requested. The man stood silent, and then spoke, while turning the knob to the large door. “Ah, yes, he’s been expecting you…do come in,” he replied. Kristy adhered, and entered the door.

Before her was a rather sizeable office, with articulately sculptured Chinese statues as well as other forms of art, and a glistening mohagony table. Shran Kazuma’s long, black hair, slightly aging mustache as well as his slightly wrinkled skin looked back at her. “Ah, yes, Miss…Collumbo, is it? You had a request earlier?” he said to her.

Kristy, in her sleek, shiny outfit of green, with long high-heeled boots, approached the desk with the long tips of her shoes knocking against the wooden floor. She reached into a bag of her belongings and pulled out a hefty wad of cash, laying it onto the table. “Put me in a match with Joseph Bell, and you get this. With no questions asked.”

Shran Kazuma, smoking a pipe, slowly reached with his left hand for the money. He scrutinized it carefully, as if he were dusting for prints. He looked through the vast number of bills in hand. “Ah, this is a great sum of American currency, Miss…Collumbo. But truly…is there some reason behind your great desire to fight Joseph Bell in this great tournament?” he wondered.

Kristy casually flicked the air with her long, apple-green fingernail, her head lowering. “Remember,” she said. “No questions asked.” Shran cackled superficially and rested his metal hand onto the table. “Miss Collumbo, it does not concern me of what type of personal vendetta you have against Mr. Bell. What happens on this island…stays on this island. I would be glad to pit you against the former entrepreneur. But there’s no need to bribe me… If you have not yet seen already, I am rich beyond imagination. I need not accept anything from you,” he explained, forcing back the large sum of money toward her with his metal fist. She took it back willfully, and smiled at the easy acquisition. “Very good, then,” she said. “It is nice to know that we both see eye-to-eye, then.” Shran nodded in agreement, and waved her goodbye. “I am looking forward to your match,” he said.

Kristy walked out the large cedar doors of the palace office, and smirked deviously at the commencement of her plan. “So am I, Mr. Shran” she agreed. “So am I…”

When I woke up, I could barely remember where I was, until before my opening eyes I saw a large golden lion’s head, staring ferociously at me from the wall across my bed. With that remembrance, a surge of memory flooded from the back of my brain to the innards within like a raging storm. A loud knock as well as a high, jovial resonance burst into my eardrums thereafter. It was Taoyu, who had flung the door wide open and come to celebrate the first day of the tournament.

“Isn’t this great!?” She screamed. “The day of the tournament has finally arrived! Oh I can’t wait to feel the exhilaration of the fast-punching, hard-kicking, bouts that we all are about to undergo!” I rubbed my aching head, which experienced a blow of high-pitched decibels that my brain was unprepared for. “Can ya feel the excitement?!” she asked me. “Can you feeeel the upcoming thrill!? It’ll be great!” She continued ranting like an enthusiastic young child about to experience Disney World for the first time.

“Taoyu!” I cried, trying to get her attention. She continued to rave like a sugar-filled toddler. I yelled once more, seemingly to grab her fixation. “Don’t you remember…my problem?” I asked. She stopped in her tracks and lowered her head. “Oh…yeah, of course. Hehe, I almost forgot.” With determination, the young girl assembled her imaginary thinking cap onto her head, and began pacing the room, fingers to chin, thinking wildly.

Then, of course, she remembered a key detail. “Oh yes! Now I remember! You don’t have to worry just yet. You see, today the tournament starts, but there will only be three rounds today. We’ll be drawing numbers before the battles begin to see who will fight whom. If by chance, you get a larger number, than you won’t have to fight today!” she explained to me. That didn’t give me much comfort, for I would have to actually fight eventually. “Okay…so I’d get a slight delay…I’d still have to fight sometime!” I pointed out. Taoyu innocently shrugged her shoulders upward. “Well, at least you’ll have time to think about how to get out of this mess,” she tried to console. I rubbed my forehead in confounding perplexity.

The time of the tournament came, and Taoyu was indefinitely right. We had just finished drawing numbers for the tournament ahead, as twelve fighters in yellow uniforms were present to display their cunning art or form…well, almost everyone. I sat gloomily, hand to chin, in a yellow martial arts robe custom-designed for the tournament sporting a small logo with shiny golden fig leaves surrounding an ‘S’ upon the front. I stared at the number that I had received on paper. “Four…” I told Taoyu. “That can’t be good…” She, with Panda close by, patted me on the back. “It’s okay…everything’ll work out fine!” she lied. “You know, maybe four won’t have to go today…” she added. Just then a loud announcer bellowed words throughout the crowded, disheveled battleground. “Contestants 1-6, please prepare for your battles, aptly beginning in a few moments. Entrant numbers 1 and 2 shall commence fighting first, then 3 and 4, and 5 and 6, and the rest will start tomorrow,” he said. I buried my head into my hand in hopelessness. “Hmm, maybe you’ll fight someone weak!” Taoyu further tried to comfort, after all, she did absent-mindedly get me into this mess.

She and Panda checked the large scroll that displayed each combatant and their slot. She skipped back to me heartily and reported the news. “Who am I facing?” I wondered, though knew I was doomed. “Well, I haven’t heard of him…but number three is a guy named Joseph Bell,” she informed. “Great!” I yelled sarcastically. Taoyu didn’t understand. “Yep…this guy’ll be gunning for me for sure. If he finds out who I am…of course,” I explained. “Well, why would he want to hurt you?” Taoyu asked innocently. “I sort of wrongfully implicated him in a stock-trading scandal with the mafia… Ever since, he and his company have never been the same. But it was an honest mistake! Really!” I was lost in despondency, utterly disparaged by the disenchanting turn of events. Taoyu patted me on the back, understanding my plight. “It’s alright. I believe you,” she said.

Kristy Collumbo was outraged at the results of the draw. “That son of a…” she whispered, as she looked upon the board to see that Joseph Bell was not her opponent. “Joseph Bell’s supposed to be in that slot!” She angrily yelled, pointing to the number eight position. She fought her way through the crowd of white-robed students that had come to witness the preliminary matches of the tournament, until she spotted Shran in the midst of dozens of colorfully dressed servant women, and a large array of variously-sized bodyguards.

She approached one and began to speak. “I need to speak with Shran…NOW!” she yelled. The large man, who had lightly browned skin, and drooping, black hair, looking not to be Chinese, but of Pacific Island descent, halted her with his large hand. “Mr. Shran will not be disturbed now, he must enjoy and observe the tournament battles. Come to him later tomorrow morning,” he said. “Just let me through!” She hostilely demanded. But the large guard would not, and he set his bulging hand upon her shoulder. “No…tomorrow,” he said. Kristy kicked with her long, apple-green high heel boots into the air, with the tip intending to strike her target’s abdomen. But he quickly stopped her with one hand, despite his great size. A bulky finger waved before her. Kristy released her foot from his grasp, and conceded, walking away angrily.

Samuel Lee Kim matched his paper with the board of fighters. He was to fight tomorrow, for he was number nine on the ballot. He looked down at his mother’s pendant, and remembered his vow. “I still cannot fight yet, mother, but soon I will take my revenge. But for now, I must attend to other problems, if you would let me...” And he stuffed his paper into his pocket and continued toward the outer gates of the dojo in order to reach his next destination.

After running for about half a mile inward to the island, Samuel Kim finally arrived at the icebox factory, eager to receive news from his cousins. However, a startling scene crept into Sam’s vision, as he saw a flaming group of employees protesting in front of the manager’s hut. They had seemed to be shouting something. Sam could hear the words resonating through his ears, “Bring back Cho and Weng, or we’ll never work again!” It seemed as though his cousins had stirred up quite a rally.

Quickly, Samuel Kim ran towards his three remaining cousins. “What’s going on?” he asked. Fai looked at him, shifting his angry eyes into that of solemnity. “We’re not working until they tell us what really happened to Cho and Weng!” He yelled over the roaring echoes. Dewei chimed in as well. “Yeah! And it’s been hours since Billy and Chen had first left to the Boss’ house!” He said, clumsily dropping his protest stick. Samuel narrowed his eyes in suspicion, looking toward the distance overhead.

“Silence!” The foreman echoed from the head of the crowd, using his whip to whack some sense into his employees. “Get back to work!” he yelled to them. Including he and the manager, there were about nine overseers who tried to disperse the chaos. “’Get to work’ That’s all you’re good for…shouting stupidly! Don’t you do anything else?” Dewei angrily retorted waving his fist.

Samuel had to act fast in order to keep the protest from getting out of hand. He tried to get his cousins to calm down first, in hopes of having a domino effect on the others. “Hey, he can’t whip us like this!” One protester said. “Let’s kill them! Let’s kill them all!” A radical bellowed. Samuel Lee Kim grabbed hold of Fai’s shoulder. “Look, you must put an end to this now…before you do something you regret!” he insisted. Fai removed his shoulder. “No, they must return our friends now! We must know that they’re safe. If they’re not…who knows what could happen to any one of us!” Fai replied. He then continued forwardly in his avid remonstrations.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a rock flew overhead above the crowd, and hit one of the overseers in the face, causing blood flow. Seeing this, the foreman let out a loud holler, and beckoned the other five overseers to his side, including the man with the flappy-hat and his cronies. The eight of them pulled out weapons of all sorts from their arsenal, including knives, chains, and metal sticks of the like, ready for battle. “You’ve gone too far now to go back!” The foreman yelled. “Beat them down to their subordinate places!” he cried.

A battle then erupted between the eight overseers of the factory against the dozen unarmed workers that had resisted futile orders, as each employee held arms high, cautiously engaging in different stances for battle, as if each and every one of them knew some type of martial arts. The two opposing groups circled each other warily, both anticipating a pre-emptive strike, while Samuel Lee Kim stood behind them in the distance helpless; unable to do anything because of the sacred vows he had taken under oath. He watched as the chaos began to unfold…