Early March, The Year Before Everything Happened
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“You're fucking kidding me. I mean she's kidding right?” Sofia Gomez groaned. She stood there on the stage, wearing gym shorts and a sports bra. She'd comfortably made weight for her third professional MMA bout only to watch her opponent shed nearly all her clothing to barely make it under the 136 lb limit on the second attempt. Worse yet, the tall black woman had maintained a starry eyed, goofball expression throughout the proceedings as if she were simply happy to be there.
Sofia wondered if she'd looked that starstruck ahead of her professional debut. She doubted it; back then all she'd thought about was just beating the other girl by any means possible. As a final indignity, when they turned toward each other for the weigh in and matchup photos, her opponent had met Sofia's serious, 'fists raised' pose with a broad smile and a goofy pose more suited for a cartoon than a fighter. Sofia clenched her jaw: this girl must be fucking with her. She might not take Sofia serious yet, but once the cage door closed, this goofy teen would realize just how serious she was.
Unlike Sofia’s first two opponents, tonight's victim came with a little buzz of her own: amateur boxing, kickboxing, and MMA experience, and a famous mother. Her opponent's mother might be “The Assassin” but Sofia wasn't fighting Yolanda Freeman. She was fighting the daughter, an apparently starstruck college freshman. Sofia and her team didn't need tape to expect a technically proficient striker and only needed their eyes to recognize a girl in over her head. She ran her hands through her brown tresses and grimaced. Mauling a famous person's daughter might be just what she needed to finally earn the attention she deserved
When the Heavy Gate opened and the godjinn Jhuuba reached through it nearly a century ago, the sprawling desert northwest of the city sprung to life in response. The Nam-Yensa desert became the Nam-Yensa sandsea, a sprawling expanse perpetually churning and shifting on the whims of the Earthen deity. The city of Moghad stood just past the southeastern edge of the Nam-Yensa sandsea like a gateway to the Yol-Jhuuba principalities beyond.
The thriving city offered a number of amenities, not the least of which was the arena. Every city of any renown in Akkreja held an arena; in smaller cities the arena might double as the public square. Though the kingdoms of Yol-Jhuuba did not hold physical combat in the same regard as their equatorial neighbors, Moghad's proximity to Akkreja ensured a bustling, well regarded arena flourished there too. Inside it, in a broad lobby reserved for contestants, not spectators, a young man argued his case to one of the arena's many employees.
He'd expected more from this place. More theming: dirt and dust, glistening gems, or solid stone intricately carved by expert masons like in the stories his countrymen told about this place. Yol-Jhuuba, a sprawling land of mines and merchants formed less than a century ago from the more than two-dozen fiefdoms that dotted the stonelands. The country lay less than a week's journey southeast of his homeland of Akkreja, assuming a smooth trip across the unpredictable sandsea.
Travelers' tales swore that in Yol-Jhuuba, (frequently shortened to 'Yolj') a man's worth was measured by his money, not his might, and freedom was bought, not earned. Isaiah Wylde looked forward to discovering for himself what kind of place so many of his fellow initiates from the Wylde school had traveled to in order to test their mettle and their spellcraft.
He'd expected glitzy, ostentatious splendor and feverish movement and noise from a sprawling port city that might as well be one giant bazaar. Who wouldn't want to sign up for an arena this big, this widely advertised throughout the city? Instead, the broad youth stood in a long chamber ringed by drab, sand-colored walls. A solitary employee stood behind the counter at the end of the near empty room, yawning and staring at a clock near the counter.
Isaiah Wylde rolled his neck, took a deep breath, and prepared to change his whole life.
The following is an excerpt from a larger story I'm working on; it's seen only rough edits for readability and represents a good 1st draft. I wanted a romance between a superhero and a supervillain, though those exact terms don't appear in the story due to murky legal rights to those words. Instead, enjoy magic, powers, teamwork, witty dialogue, and flirting._
“Pulse, Riot, Moon. Go get these folks to safety.” The tall broad man in the white and red outfit explained. Fire ensconced his head. It and his short fade haircut gave him the distinct look of a very brawny matchstick. Tension colored his voice, and he bounced in a boxer's stance: knees bent and fists ready. “I'll deal with her.”
10 feet behind him, the athletic woman working as the hero Pulsar felt her jaw tighten immediately. Heatstroke was treating them like kids again, like sidekicks instead of apprentices. The Korean American college student felt the cold air around her hands and felt, rather than saw, the swirling orbs of blue-white plasma growing in either palm. She fired a ray at the nearest shadow monster, obliterating it and leaving an ugly burn mark on the wall behind it. Pulsar saw it and gasped, then shook her wrists to dissipate her powers. Her aunt preached nothing so much as she preached perfect and unwavering control of the powers she and her niece shared, and Pulsar had let hers get away from her if only for a moment. She wiped her half-gloved hands on her sporty white and blue outfit as if she could literally wipe away her guilt.
“Heatstroke, we can help.” We can take her down together and...”
“Yeah, you can.” He interrupted her, punching clean through a shadow beast as it leapt at a terrified businessman. The summoned shade disappeared in a flash of light and heat and Heatstroke didn't turn around when he addressed the teen trio behind him. “But right now you three are gonna turn around and make sure those innocent bystanders live to see another day. You're gonna do a damn good job keeping them safe. Understand? “