Chapter 1 : Meeting in the Desert

      Sand, it was all around him. As far as the eye could see, all that existed was an endless desert. A barren wasteland, death; in a word, hopelessness
How long had he wandered this accursed prison? Days, weeks, years? It did not matter, he stopped caring long ago. Why was he being punished? Yet another question he thought, but dared not speak it aloud.
      “It is because you are nothing….” A voice other than his own entered his mind. “That is why you suffer….”
        His gaze shot backward, nothing, only his own footprints, stretching as far back as the eye could follow. Dishearten, his gaze drifted skyward, searching the hollow crimson glow of the moon above for salvation.
Clouds were a rare sight, and those present were as limp as an old man, edges painted a pallid scarlet. A surge of ruby ripped through this marvelous atmosphere as a blade through flesh, a crescent moon; one best to be described as enraged.
         The drifter paid this wonder of a crimson marvel however, his journey was long, and it had jaded him to such ideas. He continued on, unwilling to stop, crossing over yet another, god-forsaken dune.
          His eyes widen, as though a child would in a candy store or an alleged perverted priest in an elementary school. His posture erected to that of a sun dial, ahead of him sat a man-made structure he’s seen since he entered his desert hell.
The structure? A clock tower, standing as the legendary tower of Babble, though its beauty has been faded my the desert sands and the envy of time. The moon gave the tower a elegant shade of crimson, giving it a image of a sheet of youth and intimidation, portraying a message of longevity and authority. Atop of the tower, a tiny speck stood and to have seen to have been growing, drawing itself closer to the drifter. A cloud of smoke presented itself, introducing the stranger, then quickly dissipating, leaving the cloaked figure to show his true self.
        The overcoat…he and the drifter were similar in that respect. Both men claimed ownership of this garment, the only difference was the drifter wore his around his waist with not covering over is washboard, caramel colored abdomen.
The unknown cloaked figure began to charge, a bucket-shaped hat sat atop his scalp, hiding his pitch-black face from the drifter as well as the desert itself. One thing was clear however: As the figure drew closer he was smiling.
       “Aren’t we the little drama-queen?” The drifter scoffed, drawing up some courage.
         The figure was much more than that at this moment. “and what do you call yourself? An idiot?”
        “You gonna bark all day little doggie or are you going to bite?” Replied the drifter.
        “Weakling! Die at my hands”! shouted the stranger.
        “Well we will see about…’ The drifter stopped, shocked at the sudden disappearance of the stranger.
         The Drifter then found himself in the middle of a flurry of punches that seemed to have been coming from all sides. One was aimed at his face, the fist seemed to have slowed down greatly, the drifter took this chance to seize it, and possibly his victory.
         “Ha ha, your mine!” gloated the drifter, as he grabbed the arm and slammed the stranger the ground.
         “Your pretty good” laughed the stranger, who seemed to be unahrmed by the counter.
         “Wish I could say the same for-” the drifter began, but his body lurched forward, a foot had collided with the back of his perfectly shaven scalp.
         “But I’m better!” the stranger, black as night finished. “Name’s Kirex, remember it!” he paused, allowing the drifter to recover.
         “I’ll engrave it in your tombstone!” the drifter charged Kirex who effortlessly dodged the assault.
          A superior chuckle escaped the stranger’s throat, “you’d do well to remember the name of your superior.” Kirex outstretched a single arm to one side. A fierce gale whipped around his body, blowing back his cloak in all directions, before a dual-bladed weapon formed in his hand, its handle between the two swords.
         The drifter was impressed by this display, but it wasn’t the kind of thing we was unaccustomed to. After all, he had his won ability…his legs spread and knee bent, left hand pressed against the ground, right swinging to and fro in front of him. He bobbed from side to side, rhythmically, with the swaging of his arm. A smile played across his childish features as a white glow emanated from his left hand.
       Blinded by the light, Kirex didn’t have time to question the drifter’s actions. When the light finally cleared, the drifter had undergone what could be described as the laziest transformation of all time.
       For all intents and purposes, the drifter remained the same, but with one alteration: his arms and legs were encased in a grayish black material, with white lines running all along it.
      “By the way, name’s Tsujinx” He paused, closing his eyes “And I am the superior!”
       As the battle between Tsujinx and Kirex raged on, a cloud of dust tore through the desert, erasing the drifter’s footsteps. This cloud was a miniature tornado, formed at the bottom end of a cylinder, tapered at both ends. The top third of this cylinder was obsidian, shining in the moonlight with another black-clad individual riding atop of it. The bottom third was white, with this tornado at its tapered end.
       Behind all of this was a fourth man, also black-clad, and dark-skinned, but nowhere near the point of Kirex. His face was painted white as snow, he stood on top of a great rolling ball, relentlessly pursuing the cylinder rider.
The two black-clad men have naught in their minds but interaction. The same can be said for Tsujinx and Kirex. Unknowingly, the two confrontations become one as the wake of the cylinder blocks what no doubt would’ve been a fatal blow between the combatants, followed by a hearty “Dynamic Entry!” which echo throughout the night sky, accompanied by a sonic boom of equal stature.
        Sensing hostility, the cylinder rider turns around at the last moment, missing the orb rider’s face by the slightest margin. The other set of combatants could’ve continued their own fight, but the look on each other’s eyes told them that it could only end in a draw. Not wanting to die alone, Tsujinx rushed for the owner of the black orb, while Kirex lunged at the cylinder wielder.
A flurry of angered punches flew toward the white-faced man, but each one he dodged, followed with mocking laughter. The combo was “finished off with a fierce kick, similar to the one that crushed the wave of sand earlier, not only did it connect it connected with something solid, but not a body, it was the clown’s ball. A huge grin ran across the clowns face, Tsujinx eyes grew wide with fear, the ball started to glow, Tsujinx then found himself airborne due to the ball explosive reaction.
        The cylinder swept low, it would’ve struck Kirex, if he had not jumped, he landed on top on the cylinder and ran along the shaft, dual blades formed from the separation of his nagi-nata. He swung for the head of the cylinder owner but missed and received a palm-thrust to the chest. Kirex was knocked off-balance, but maintained his composure by thrusting a blade into his rival’s shaft
The black as night warrior used his blade as a pivot, spinning around and thrusting both feet into the cylinder wielder’s abdomen. Knocked off-balanced by this blow, his hood fell, revealing a Mohawk accompanied by a long ponytail and a face heavily adorned with pitch-black runes. The nagi-nata wielder, reduced to half of his full arsenal, was bombarded by a flurry of palm thrusts, which he evaded, and ducked under the finishing spin-kick recovering his lost blade, and with a simple tug it was free. The rune man’s cylinder exploded into a mass of obsidian liquid sending Kirex flying.
        Tsujinx was in mid-air still when Kirex flew backwards, nearly hitting him. This was enough to break their unspoken truce.
An elbow passed over Kirex’s head as the same lunged into Tsunjinx’s stomach, he spun around, launching a heel into his opponents face, but it was caught leaving him with no other choice. His last resort, the dirtiest of all maneuvers-a low blow.
        Kirex instantly hit the ground, with Tsujinx doing the same. Seeing his opportunity, the least clothed of the four raised his leg, preparing an axe-kick, His leg came down, but it did not connect. Surprised, he looked down to find his heel hovering mere inches away from the bucket headed warriors scalp.
Tsujinx spun around, lunging his fist into a face covered in runes. With one leg remaining, he leaped into a spin-kick just barely missing the cylinder wielder’s abdomen. The white section lunges for his face but he ducks backward, and into a sword lunged from the freshly recovered Kirex.
        Disgusted, Kirex launches his adversary as far waya as possible. “Why did you…?” He turned to the cylinder wielder.
        The rune faced warrior paused a moment, his gaze drifting upward. His tube then made a swift pass toward Kirex. Sparks flew in every direction as a black and white tube met with crossed blades.
         A shining orb hung in the sky, high above the desert, descending upon the two locked in combat.
        The rune faced man and Kirex’s weapons exchanged blows, neither seemed to be gaining or losing ground. Finally the orb finally made an landing in between the two fighters. A surplus of what can only be described as “bitch slaps” stung the faces of both men, it was more embarrassing than painful. The attack (if you can call it that) distracted the two men long enough for the ball to ready itself for another explosion. The clown leaped off with a laugh as the ball exploded once again sending Kirex and the rune faced man in opposite directions.
        Tsujinx was in bad shape. The wound delivered by Kirex’s blade was mortal without question. Sadly, even his abilities were no use to him in this situation. Sure the blade couldn’t harm him anymore but what did it matter, his life was hanging in the balance. Malice was on the minds of all those involved in the barrier created by the blood moon.
        Tsujinx’s fist was reared back, ready to slam downward as he struggled not to cough up blood. Kirex prepared to slice in a whirlwind pattern, hitting whomever was in his path. The rune-faced man help his weapon above his head, expecting to slam whoever was directly in front of him, and handle the rest as it occurred.     The clown had no plan, and merely mimicked everyone else’s stance, rolling on his magical orb.
         Tsujinx’s arm flew forward, but was stopped short, by a chained wrapped around it. The same could be said for Kirex’s blades, The tube-wielders cylinder, and the clowns ball. Each attack was stopped by a single chain emanating from a portal of darkness in the ground below.
         Everything goes black for a moment, as a thunder clap, but with reversed color. A dark figure rose from the blackness: the fifth one to wear the black cloak. His head rises slowly, his cloak falls behind it, revealing a full cascade of obsidian curls, framing a stare containing the purest form of hatred.
This gaze passes over each of the four warriors; Kirex, the clown, the cylinder wielder, and finally Tsujinx.
        “Ah poetry in motion…” he speaks in a voice hardly above a whisper. His gaze passes over each of them again; “The mind, the cylinder wielder” “The left-hand, Tsujinx” “The heart, Kirex, and the Loins…..”
         “What are your names?” he asked.
          Tsujinx looked around and finally spat a wad of blood at the newcomer. A serpentine chain with a blade attached stopped the blood from soiling the newcomer’s appearance.
          “I am Exoj, he who has the eye!’ He introduces himself, awaiting a response.
          “Who the fu-” Tsujinx began.
          “Now, now there is no need for profanity, left hand’ Exoj paused “Oh and you’re injured…the heart’s doing. Correct?” Give you names, I wish to make a simple proposal before you go on killing one another” A smug laugh emanated from within him.
          “Najux” The cylinder wielder spoke, his voice was deep and commanding. If not for Exoj’s presence, he would’ve commanded total attention. Chains unwrapped from his weapon.
          “You piece of shi-” Tsujinx began again.
          “What did I say about profanity?” Exoj interrupted, more forcefully than before than before. “I offer the four of you salvation…….at a price. Follow me, and you can all be made whole again.”
          “You mean….?” The clown asked excited.
Exoj said nothing, instead, a smile slowly took hold of his features beneath his goatee.
          “I’m….Velxell” he finally replied to Exoj’s smile. The clown’s ball was released from the grasp of the chains.
          “And you two, the heart and left hand…your names?” Even when referring to Tsujinx, Exoj showed no disdain, in fact he almost seemed apathetic to the whole thing, despite it being his inquiry.
         “Kirex” he became unbound, “and he’s….”
         “No!” Exoj stopped him. “He will tell me his name himself.” It was more of a demand than a prediction, but the statement was designed to be taken as the latter.
         “Y-You’ll never know my name you ugly fu-”
         “If you keep this up, I’ll ensure that you die”
         “Tsujinx began coughing. “It’s Tsujinx. Remember it, cause one day, I’ll kill you!” The least clothed of the five was released from bondage.
         “Good ,now shall we begin?”