MN - 9 - Defeated

Away from the torches’ glare Art found himself surrounded by four big men. One carried two large knives, another held a length of pipe, the other two were bare-handed.

“There is no need for fighting among ourselves, we who come from Earth,” Art said as he sized them up. They were big, it was true, and apparently strong, but it seemed to him that they were most likely self-taught in the martial arts. Their stances did not reflect any particular school. “The enemy is Shang Tsung and his warriors of Outworld. We humans are on the same team.”

“Maybe we don’t want you on our team,” the man with the pipe in his hands replied. “We think we’re better off without your kind.”

“That,” Art said, “is regrettable.”

The four began to close in.

(...)

Out on the torchlit fighting field, Art Lean faced the last of his four opponents, the man still held the knives up in a defensive cross, but he was otherwise nearly immobile. He was kneeling on the grass, and seemed hurt. Not as badly hurt as the other three, perhaps; they lay unconscious where they had fallen.

“I’m really sorry that I can’t stay and help you and your friends,” Art said. “But you have to understand, I’m tired after my long journey to get here, and I need to get some sleep.”

“Come on, you son of a bitch, I ain’t afraid of you,” the knife-wielder snarled. “This fight ain’t over yet!”

“You’re mistaken,” Art said.

His left foot snapped forward, between the raised knives, taking the man just below the ribs. The fellow was knocked backward and away with his arms flung wide. The two knives flew off into the dark.

Art bowed to his fallen opponent, then turned to collect his shoes and socks and his overnight back. That done, he looked around the field again.