The King Of Fighters

Eliza found herself face-to-face with none other than Iori Yagami, a man whose mere presence exuded a volatile mix of strength and anguish. His crimson hair fell messily across his pale face, and his intense, fiery eyes seemed to pierce through her very being. He stood with a casual arrogance, hands buried in his jacket pockets, the crescent moon emblem on his back visible with every slight movement. His posture was relaxed, but the air around him crackled with latent energy, a testament to the cursed flames he wielded.

Eliza, despite her confidence and centuries of experience, couldn't help but feel intrigued. She had heard tales of the Yagami clan's tragic legacy and the cursed power that burdened its heir. This man, who stood before her with the nickname Flame of the End, was both a guardian of humanity and a victim of a centuries-old feud.

Eliza stood silently, her expression unreadable as the memory of Iori's family and their tragic history surfaced in her mind. She had witnessed many events over the course of her long existence, and the story of the Yagami clan, with its blood-soaked origins, was one she knew all too well.

Six centuries ago, Orochi's curse had slowly begun to weaken. In an attempt to stop the inevitable disaster, the three clans—Yasakani, Kusanagi, and Yagami—had to make a decision to relocate Orochi's vessel to a safer place. But, as often happened with great powers, deceit and betrayal followed in their wake.

One of the Hakkesshu, the warriors dedicated to Orochi's will, killed the wife of the Yasakani clan leader. The murderer, cloaked in secrecy, then approached the Yasakani head and manipulated him by framing the Kusanagi clan. The act was called "atonement" for the clan's failure to prevent the weakening of the seal. In a cruel twist, the Yasakani clan leader was presented with the corpse of his wife, found near the Kusanagi homeland, an act meant to spark violence and division.

Enraged by the supposed betrayal, the Yasakani clan sought vengeance and, in their desperation, made a blood pact with Orochi. In exchange for power to exact their revenge, they were granted a forbidden technique known as Forbidden Method 1211: Eight Maidens. The clan adopted a new name—Yagami—and their descent into darkness was sealed.

The curse of Orochi flowed through the Yagami bloodline, twisting their fate with every generation. The once crimson flames that were a symbol of their power turned a haunting bluish tint. But it was not only their flames that were altered by the curse. The Yagami clan's legacy became one of suffering, as each heir was doomed to die young, and every mother perished in childbirth. This curse was not just a burden—it was a cycle of torment, one that would not end unless the curse of Orochi was lifted.

Eliza, with her deep knowledge of the past, understood the weight of this history. She had seen it unfold, the rise and fall of families caught in Orochi's malevolent grip. The Yagami clan, once noble and proud, had been reduced to shadows of their former selves, cursed to bear the consequences of their blood pact.

Her eyes turned to Iori, whose fiery spirit was a testament to the resilience of his ancestors. Yet, despite his strength, the curse loomed over him, just as it had over every Yagami before him. Eliza felt a mix of sympathy and caution. She knew that to fight someone like Iori, someone whose soul had been marked by such darkness, would require more than just physical power. There was a depth to his struggle that she could sense—a battle within himself, a fight against a legacy that could not be erased.

As she observed him, Eliza considered the path ahead. The Yagami's story was one of tragedy, but also of potential. Perhaps, in some way, she could help him break free from the curse, or at least offer him a chance at redemption. But that would require understanding more than just the surface of his rage and defiance—it would require delving into the very essence of his being.

For now, though, she simply watched, the weight of the past and the uncertainties of the future hanging between them like a quiet storm waiting to break.

"Interesting," she mused, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "I didn't expect to meet the infamous Iori Yagami in such a mundane setting."

Iori's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something—annoyance, perhaps?—in his eyes. "I didn't expect to meet a parasite wandering these streets," he shot back, his tone sharp and unyielding.

Eliza chuckled softly. "A parasite? How charming. Coming from someone who carries the curse of Orochi, I suppose I should take it as a compliment."

The mention of Orochi caused a visible twitch in Iori's jaw. His hands slowly emerged from his pockets, the faintest flicker of blue flames dancing at his fingertips. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But I don't have time for leeches looking to feed off the weak."

Eliza remained calm, unfazed by his rising aggression. She tilted her head slightly, studying him with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "You misunderstand me, Yagami. I'm not here to fight you or feed off anyone. I'm merely enjoying the sights of this world—something you might benefit from, considering how tightly wound you seem."

"Cut the crap," Iori growled, his voice low and menacing. "You reek of Makai. What are you doing here?"

Eliza's smirk deepened. "I might ask you the same. A cursed soul like yours walking among humans—it's almost poetic. Tell me, do you enjoy their fear, or is it the pain that keeps you going?"

For a moment, there was silence between them, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. Iori's flames flared briefly, but he made no move to attack. Instead, he took a slow step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "If you're looking for trouble, you've found it."

Eliza met his gaze without flinching. "Trouble is the last thing I need, but allies… perhaps those are harder to come by."

Iori narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious. "Allies? What could you possibly want from me?"

Eliza folded her arms, her expression turning serious. "Orochi. Its seal is weakening again, isn't it? That's why you're here, isn't it? To keep the balance, to uphold your cursed family's duty—even if it kills you."

Iori's silence was answer enough. Eliza continued, her tone softer now. "I'm not your enemy, Yagami. If anything, I could be a valuable ally. You've felt it too, haven't you? The world is on the brink of chaos. Orochi's influence is spreading, and soon, it won't just be your fight."

Iori's hands clenched into fists, the blue flames at his fingertips extinguishing. He turned his head slightly, gazing past her as though searching for something in the distance. "I don't need help," he muttered, though there was a note of uncertainty in his voice.

"Perhaps not," Eliza replied, taking a step back to give him space. "But if you change your mind, I'll be around. This isn't just your burden to bear, Yagami. The fate of this world is at stake, and even lone wolves sometimes need a pack."

Iori Yagami had been spending his days in relative peace, balancing his time between his band and occasional fights. His love for music was a rare escape from the violent legacy of his clan and the curse of Orochi that plagued him. Despite his detachment from the world, his instincts as a fighter and a protector never dulled. It was during one of his usual strolls through the bustling streets that he encountered an aura unlike any he had felt before.

Naruto had already caught Iori's attention with his seemingly bottomless reserves of power and unique energy, but the presence that stood before him now was entirely different. It was dark, ancient, and reeked of Makai. As a member of the Yagami clan, it was his sworn duty to eradicate such presences. Hearing the words "servant of Orochi" from this woman only confirmed her foul nature and ignited his rage.

Standing before Eliza, Iori's demeanor shifted. His normally cool and collected aura burned away, replaced by a deadly intensity. His hands trembled slightly, not with fear, but with the anticipation of unleashing his power.

"I was going to kill you painlessly," Iori muttered coldly, his voice dripping with venom, "but a filthy creature like you deserves to suffer."

The air around him grew heavy with bloodlust, sending a clear signal to bystanders. The crowd scattered in all directions, leaving the two combatants alone in the empty street.

Iori wasted no time, summoning his cursed flames. A wave of vibrant purple fire surged from his hand, racing toward Eliza with unrelenting heat. The flames crackled, hungry for destruction.

Eliza raised a hand and dismissed the attack effortlessly, her own power swallowing the flames like a tide extinguishing a spark. She smirked, unimpressed. "You'll have to do better than that."

Iori's eyes narrowed as he increased the intensity of his attacks, unleashing stronger waves of fire. He wasn't a fool—he was testing her. With each wave, he adjusted his timing and ferocity, looking for an opening. After the third attack, Eliza finally moved, darting forward with the grace of a predator.

Predicting her approach, Iori spun on his heel, unleashing a fiery twister from his outstretched hands. The flames roared, creating a defensive barrier as he slashed at her with his claws.

Eliza stopped her advance, her eyes calculating. Instead of engaging the flames head-on, she shifted her trajectory, sliding low under the inferno to target his exposed legs. Her foot connected, but Iori, ever the seasoned fighter, used the momentum to flip backward, avoiding further damage. As he landed, he launched another burst of fire downward to prevent her from closing in.

Eliza dodged with practiced ease, using her hand to pivot her body away from the searing flames. She landed without a scratch, her expression cool and composed. "You're skilled," she admitted, "but you're letting your curse control you. That will be your downfall."

Iori gritted his teeth, his blood boiling. He could feel Orochi's presence clawing at his mind, mocking him, belittling him for his apparent weakness against this intruder. "Shut up!" he growled, his voice echoing with anger and frustration.

Before he could recover, Eliza closed the distance with blinding speed. Her foot lashed out, slamming into Iori's face. The impact sent him hurtling across the street, his body colliding with a parked car. He barely managed to soften the blow with his flames, but the force still rattled him.

Not giving him a chance to breathe, Eliza followed up with another attack, her foot connecting with his side and launching him into the air. Iori managed to block with his arms this time, but the sheer force of her strikes left him shaken.

As he floated mid-air, a grim realization dawned on him: this woman was stronger than he had anticipated. She wasn't just powerful; she was on a level that reminded him of Rugal Bernstein, a man he and others could only defeat with teamwork.

'I can't run,' Iori thought grimly, his inner turmoil warring with his pride. The voice of Orochi sneered at him, calling him weak, unworthy.

With a feral scream, Iori unleashed his strongest attack. His claw, wreathed in searing blue flames, slashed downward as Eliza charged toward him like a missile. The two forces collided, flame against demonic energy.

Pain shot through Iori's arm as he felt his bones shatter under the force of her strike. He gritted his teeth, refusing to give in. Using his good arm, he caught her foot and snarled through the pain, "Now suffer and die!"

With a crazed grin, he unleashed every ounce of his cursed flames, engulfing Eliza in a blazing inferno. The intense heat scorched the pavement, melting metal and glass around them.

But when the flames subsided, Eliza stood there, battered but unfazed. Her clothing was scorched, her body marred with burns, but her gaze remained cold and unyielding. "Not bad," she said calmly, brushing ash from her shoulder. "But sadly, not enough."

In an instant, she grabbed his face, her grip like iron. "You should have retreated when I gave you the chance. Now, sleep."

With a burst of demonic energy, she launched herself toward the ground, slamming Iori's head into the concrete with devastating force.

"Young Master!" voices cried out in panic.

From the shadows, two women—Mature and Vice—rushed forward, their faces etched with desperation. They moved to intercept Eliza's next move, their loyalty to Iori driving them into the fray.

Mature's silver hair shimmered as she surged forward with the speed of light, her powers enabling her to intercept Eliza and Iori before they could crash into the ground. With fluid grace, she unleashed a series of razor-sharp light constructs, aiming to force Eliza to release her hold on Iori. Meanwhile, Vice, her dark counterpart, summoned shadows that coiled around the landing site, creating a pit of inky blackness to trap their adversary.

Eliza, however, was no ordinary opponent. Sensing the complexity of the attack, she made a split-second decision. With a burst of strength, she hurled Iori at Mature and twisted her body to evade the onslaught of slicing light. The attacks missed by mere inches, cutting through the air with lethal precision.

Despite the chaos, Eliza moved with calculated calmness. She wasn't interested in prolonging the fight and would rather avoid unnecessary conflict. As Mature caught Iori, her attacks dissipated into harmless glimmers. She anticipated Iori's usual fiery temper and braced herself for his retaliation, but to her surprise, he didn't strike. Instead, he broke free of her hold, landing on his feet and dusting himself off.

"I don't need your help," Iori muttered with annoyance, his crimson eyes narrowing as he focused back on Eliza. His body glowed faintly with the ki he had used to shield himself from Mature's earlier attacks.

Eliza, standing a few feet away, crossed her arms, her expression neutral but her presence overwhelming. "You're lucky your friends arrived," she said, her tone devoid of malice but heavy with finality. "Otherwise, you might have entered eternal sleep. I find fighting to be a waste of energy, so I'll let you go."

She took a step forward, the ground cracking beneath her feet as a surge of her power rippled outward, silencing the area. Even Mature and Vice, experienced fighters in their own right, instinctively stepped back, their battle-hardened senses warning them of the danger Eliza posed.

"As for your duty to erase me, forget it," she continued. "I have no interest in humans, chaos, or whatever petty concerns you think I bring. My partner sustains me. I don't need to kill anyone." She locked eyes with Iori, her tone dropping into something cold and resolute. "Remember this: next time, I won't be merciful. I'll kill you with full force."

Iori stood his ground, his blood boiling with both fury and grudging respect. His lips curled into a grin despite the sting of his injuries. "I don't like to lose, but I'll accept your words for now. Remember me when you look at the moon, because this isn't over. I'll have my victory—doesn't matter that you're a chick."

Eliza smirked faintly, her eyes narrowing in amusement. "We'll see," she replied before turning on her heel, her form disappearing into the shadows with an eerie fluidity.

"Let's go, Vice, Mature," Iori barked, turning away from the damaged street. His red jacket, now tattered and burned, was tossed aside without a second thought. The two women followed him silently, their expressions unreadable but their loyalty unwavering.

The battle had left its mark—a stretch of the street was destroyed, the pavement melted from the intensity of the flames, and the air still carried the acrid scent of scorched concrete. Yet the damage was contained, thanks to Eliza's apparent aversion to destruction.

Watching the repair teams arrive, Eliza muttered under her breath, "I really dislike people like him." With a sigh, she shook her head and resumed her walk, vanishing from the area as quietly as she had appeared. The battle, while brief, was already becoming a memory as the city began to restore itself.