#chapter 1x02

Not too far away, the local park bustled with activity. Two large playgrounds sat behind three large ball fields, a tennis court, and a basketball court. Children scurried across them all, laughing and happy, their parents and their friends rushing to keep up. The entire grounds was wrapped by a walking path, leading right up to a thick line of trees that marked the park’s furthest point. Or so it would seem. If one were to follow the path far enough, into the tree line, they would find that the path continues through. It’s overgrown, and clearly in disrepair, but it exists. Walk it long enough, and you will make your way through the trees to the Old Park, an area abandoned by the city, but not by young fighters in the area.

In the Old Park, it was quiet, the bustle of the park proper just far enough away to act as little more than a background ambiance. The air smelled of grass and pollen. It was peaceful, and free of distraction. That’s why, every day, Sol warriors in the area wanting to test themselves would go to the Old Park and fight each other. Some of them regularly trained at one of the local dojos. Others were self-taught. All of them came to the Old Park with the understanding that they would fight fair, or be forced out by the other visitors.

In the Old Park, upon one of two dilapidated basketball courts, a lanky young man stood ready to defend against an attack. He had messy red hair that stood up on his head, and resembled a flame. An intense look passed over this young man’s freckled face and sharp green eyes. His black tank top and red shorts left his arms and legs exposed, showing off scrapes and bruises from near-constant sparring and testing of his abilities. This young man was Paul Tucker, known as Tucker to his friends, and Pyro Tucker to everyone else, and in the Old Park, he was the guy to beat.

Across from Tucker stood another young man about the same age, with medium-length brown hair, wearing a loose T and sweats. Tucker didn’t remember the other man’s name, and despite the other man’s notably sturdier build, and the fact Tucker was on his third fight of the day, and his opponent was completely fresh, Tucker wasn’t worried. He was wary, but not worried, and his opponent could tell. He was hesitant to attack.

The two locked eyes. Tucker had no idea what his opponent’s abilities might be, while his opponent had seen Tucker fight many times. So of course, the obvious move for Tucker to make was to wait for his opponent to strike first, and get a feel for his movements. Instead Tucker, bored with waiting, did the exact opposite. He rushed at his opponent, and threw a very direct right hook. His opponent ducked slightly to the right, and bent his knees. Tucker’s fist sailed past his opponent’s ear, leaving his torso wide open. His opponent struck twice with each fist, in rapid succession, pummeling Tucker in the ribs. Tucker gasped, as the air was knocked from his lungs, and he doubled over. His opponent drew back, and kicked Tucker in the face, knocking him backward. He stumbled, but managed to remain standing.

Tucker’s opponent was surprised. He’d managed to score two solid hits against one of the best fighters in the area. His previous apprehension evaporating, he pressed what he saw as his advantage. He surged forward, his fists becoming wrapped in soft white light, and he wound up to attack again. He was surprised when Tucker looked up at him, smiling. He seemed completely unfazed by the pain that he was undoubtedly feeling, and in spite of that pain, he moved so fast that his opponent could barely track his movements. He slipped into a better stance, and deflected both of his opponent’s jabs without much effort.

Tucker shuffled back, putting distance between himself and his opponent, and then, with less than a second to reestablish his footing, he lunged forward again. Puffs of smoke arose where his feet touched the ground, and before his opponent could react, Tucker struck him twice in the chest, with enough force that it left his opponent stumbling back to avoid falling. Tucker pressed forward, twisting his body in less time than it took his opponent to realize what was happening, and elbowed his opponent in the gut. Then he twisted his body back again, back-handing his opponent in the face. The other young man was sent sprawling to the hard ground, Tucker standing over him, more bruised than before, but triumphant.

“Oh, yeah,” Tucker exclaimed, “that’s one more for the books! Any other takers?”

He looked around at the small crowd that had gathered to see the fight. Not one of them would meet his eyes, and most of them scattered, until only a group of one girl and two guys remained, standing far off to the side. Tucker grinned wide, prepared to call it a day. He was surprised when a familiar voice rang from behind him, saying, “I’ll fight you, but we’ll be late.”

Tucker turned to see Jo walking up to him, her hands pocketed casually, a stupid grin marking her face. Tucker grinned back, “No way, man. That’d take way too long.”

“And you’d lose,” Jo goaded.

Tucker’s friendly smile changed, becoming competitive and fierce, “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

For a second, it almost seemed like the two might actually take the time to fight it out, and it was clear that, if they did, they would enjoy the experience. Instead they had a good laugh together, and Jo waited as Tucker removed a pair of jeans from a bag sitting off to the side of the court, slipped them on, gathered up the bag, and stepped up to Jo’s side. The two walked together back toward the new park, talking and laughing. Neither of them had any idea just how closely they were being watched by the last three spectators.

“That can’t be them,” one of the young men said to the others. He was the tallest of the group, with short brown hair, fierce hazel eyes, and a practiced scowl marring his hard, yet handsome, face. He stood there with his hands resting at his sides, but he didn’t look at all relaxed. He seemed like the type who was always on edge. Always ready in case he was attacked, and always ready to attack back.

“Why’s that?” the second of the group, the second young man, asked. He was as much the opposite of his male companion as he reasonably could be. Where the first young man was dressed casually in a dragon print t-shirt and khakis, this second young man wore a pressed white button-up shirt under a purple vest, and black pants. His hair was long, wrapping his face. He was far less tense, and spoke calmly in contrast to his companion’s overt harshness.

“You saw the red-headed one fight,” the first young man answered, scoffing at the mention of Tucker. “He doesn’t hold a candle to any of us.”

“He was pretty clearly holding back,” the second young man replied thoughtfully. “We didn’t see him use energy from his Sol once, even to defend against his opponent’s energized attack. And don’t forget, there are two more of them in their group who are supposed to be roughly as strong.”

“Two more or twenty more,” the first man argued, “it won’t matter. All four of them could be ten times that strong, and I could still beat them on my own.”

That’s when the final of the three spoke up. Like the other two, she was about Jo and Tucker’s age. Her long brown hair flowed gracefully past her shoulder blades. A spattering of pale freckles adorned the nose and cheeks of her pretty face. She hadn’t once looked away from the two departing figures. Even now, as they crossed into the tree line, she kept her gaze fixed in their direction, anticipation pulling at her lips. “And yet,” she said, “Our Leader has his eye on them. He went to the trouble of sending us to assess their strength. There must be something special about them.”

She looked back at the others. Neither of them argued with her, and they had halted their own argument when she’d spoken. They looked back at her, waiting for her to continue, ready to defer to her.

“We’ll know more after their match, obviously,” she said, curiously, “but I don’t think that we should take these four lightly. I get the feeling that they’re more than they seem.”

She turned once again to look at the place where the two had disappeared into the trees, hoping for one last glimpse at, not Tucker, but the one who had come to meet him.

Jo and Tucker made the short trip to the nearest bus stop in almost no time. Unfortunately, as it turned out, they were still going to be late. The bus showed up a whole twenty minutes later than it should have. The two of them didn’t really mind. No one expected them to be on time. In the end, they arrived at their destination almost half an hour after the time that they’d decided on. They made short work of another quick walk, finally coming upon an inconspicuous single-story house on a curved street, alongside multiple nearly-identical houses. They would have knocked on the door, but there was no need. As they approached, it swung open, and a young woman, a couple of years younger than the two of them, stood waiting.

It would be hard to tell that she was younger to someone who didn’t know. Despite her relative youth, this girl was a little taller than Jo, and nearly as tall as Tucker. She was solidly-built, but not heavy. In fact, an onlooker might find her quite pretty, assuming that they appreciated her dark, lacey clothing, her heavy eye make-up, and the black and purple streaks in her hair.

“You’re late,” the girl said, looking right at Jo. “Your sister’s pissed.”

Then, with a smile, she looked past Jo, at Tucker, and said, “Hey, Tuck.”

“Hey, Jen.”

She led the two arrivals inside, through a modestly-furnished living room. An even younger girl sat on the couch, and waved at Jen and her visitors as they passed by. The three of them made their way through a small kitchen, and down a staircase in the back of the house, into a large finished basement. As they rounded the corner into the first, and smaller, of two rooms, which was furnished with a couch, a chair, and a TV, another girl immediately made herself known.

It was hard to imagine that anyone so small could be so scary, and yet both of those words described this girl. She was slight of frame, but what muscles she had were well defined. The yellow jersey that she wore did nothing to hide her slim, yet powerful, arms. She stood there like a cobra coiled to strike. Her cute, youthful face looked unexpectedly hard. Her shining blue eyes were fierce. Her full head of bouncy golden curls did nothing to soften her appearance.

“You’re late,” she almost spat, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “I told you that I had somewhere else that I need to be. You promised that this wouldn’t take long, and that you’d be on time.”

“Sorry,” Jo replied, shooting the girl the closest that she could come to an apologetic smile while she was trying not to laugh. Jo was afraid of her sister. She was like an angry badger when she got like this. She had no restraint at all, and yet Jo still found her anger amusing.

“Don’t you ‘sorry’ me,” the girl replied harshly. “I can tell when you don’t mean it.”

“Oh come on, Sara,” Tucker said, speaking up from his place behind his friend, “it wasn’t our fault. The bus was late.”

“You stay out of this, Tucker,” Sara snapped, and Tucker hid behind Jo’s back.

Sara looked again at her sister, “You’d better hurry up and tell us what you got us together to tell us. If I hurry, I can still make practice.”

“That’s actually the thing,” Jo said awkwardly, like a woman walking on eggshells, “I was thinking that the four of us should practice. You know, for this weekend.”

“So your plan all along was to get me here and convince we to miss practice to train,” Sara said. It was a statement. Not a question. She sighed, “Fine, I’ll train. I’ll train against you, right now. Fight me. If you win, I’ll stay and work with you and the others instead of going to practice. But when I win, I go, and you don’t get to say a word.”

Jo frowned, “Okay, fine. We’ll have a Heart to Heart to decide if you stay and train with us.”

At the utterance of his words, sparks literally flew between the two of them. Jen and Tucker stepped back, and watched as Jo and Sarah stepped into the second, larger, basement room. This one had no furniture in it. The walls were blank, save some wood paneling, and a rack with some wooden swords and bo staves perched upon it. The floor was covered in a thick mat. The two would-be combatants stepped to either end of the mat. Sara took up a ready stance, her feet close together, and her arms tight to her body. Jo didn’t bother to prepare herself outwardly at all, though Sara could see that she was giving the fight her full attention.

Sara was the first to strike. By now, Jen and Tucker had made their way to the entrance to the room. Sara’s movement across the mat alone was enough to stir their hair and clothing. Her strike was so fast that it could barely be seen, and yet her sister traced it with her eyes the entire time, and avoided it with a carefully timed sidestep. The strike missed her by a centimeter. Sara turned in place. Her movements were tight and controlled, reminiscent of a ballet dancer’s, but with less flourish. She struck twice more at her sister, and then four times more, and then eight, in rapid succession. Her body twisted and turned, putting weight and momentum behind each blow, and yet Jo avoided every single one.

Frustrated, Sara turned on her heel. It was a risky maneuver. One that she’d been practicing, but that she’d never used in an actual fight. She nearly lost her balance, but the maneuver paid off. Without having to regroup, she had moved herself back into position to press her attack. She caught her sister by surprise. Jo actually had to raise her arms and deflect the next strike rather than step out of the way. She was visibly taken aback, and then a smile spread across her face. She knocked Sara’s next barrage of attacks, a quick strike with each fist and a single swinging foot, away, and then stepped in close.

Intending to end things quickly, Jo struck hard and fast at her sister’s torso. She was surprised again when Sara was able to twist once more and curl around her strike, coming in close with her own. Sara couldn’t believe it. She had managed to get inside her sister’s guard. She’d never managed to get inside her sister’s guard before. Jo was just as surprised. It was plain on her face. Sara had been training to improve the fluidity of her movements, and it had paid off! She was going to score a hit. Then, just before her fist could make contact, her target was gone.

“That was really good,” said Jo, from her new place behind her sister. Sara spun around to face Jo as she said, “you’ve almost completely overhauled your fighting style. If you can do that this weekend, it’ll be almost impossible for you to lose. But you’ve got to work on your footwork. Someone could still hit you easily enough if they aimed for your center of gravity.”

“H-how did you move like that?” Sara demanded.

Jo smirked at her, the literal competitive energy arcing between them dissipating, “That’s a secret. Something that I planned on saving for the match. I’m really impressed that I had to use it on you. I guess you’re ready enough that you can go along to practice if you want.”

She meant it, and Sara could tell, but she wasn’t having any of it. “No way,” she exclaimed, “I’m staying. I’m gonna keep practicing until I hit you!”

Jo laughed, and looked to Jen and Tucker as well, “Alright then, let’s pair off.”

The four young warriors spent the rest of the evening sparring with each other. Sara, too stubborn to go home until she’d scored a hit against her sister, did manage to do just that, but only because Jo was too stubborn to risk showing off her new technique again, as she put it, “before it was time”. Meanwhile Jen soundly defeated Tucker multiple times, something that Tucker had come to expect, even if he did find it a little annoying.

Before long, it was late evening, the sun falling steadily below the horizon, and all four fighters were tired, sore, and sweaty, even more so than usual. It was time for visitors to head home, and for all four to get a night of rest to recharge their batteries. Tucker would have to take the bus home, but Jo and Sara weren’t so unlucky.

“Thanks again for the ride, Aunt Val,” Jo told a middle-aged woman who resembled a plumper version of her own mother, as she gathered up her car keys from their hook beside the front door. Jo waved over her shoulder one more time at her cousin Jen, and made her way for the door. Tucker and Sara were close behind. She was a little surprised when Jen stopped her.

“Jo, wait a second,” Jen exclaimed, asking, “weren’t we going to talk about our team’s name? I thought you needed one to finalize our application.”

“Oh,” Jo said awkwardly, “about that. Turns out we ran out of time, so I had to come up with one on my own.”

Jen and Tucker groaned in unison. They knew from experience that most of what Jo thought sounded cool was painfully cheesy to everyone else.

“Yeah,” Sara said, her tone dripping sardonicism, “just wait until you hear this.”

Jo scoffed at her, “Hey, it’s a good name! Memorable and dynamic. Just wait. Before long everyone will know it. From this day forward, the four of us will be known as Team Dueling Hearts!”