Editor's note: Despite my skepticism, Mizenhauer was rather convinced that fans of GSL would also love GSL fanfic. You know, because it went so well last time around. But here we go again...

Classic

Revenge had become a way of life. Once a mere thought niggling at the nape of his neck, revenge had long since become a thunderstorm so calamitous even the rainy season would have quaked in its presence. Memories of that June night haunted him during the day. They tore him from his sleep. They left him writhing in bed long after the sun had set.

Tapestries used to hang in the ornate castles of yesteryears within which men waged war with mythical beasts from floor to ceiling. There was glory there. Glory... and pride Where was his share? He had been denied glory and stripped of his pride. Maru ... the mere mention of that name sent pain lancing through his skull.

Revenge. It was all he had left. He should have been king, but Maru had taken his rightful throne. Now the world bowed to a man so tiny he could hardly be called a man. Maru’s subjects reveled in his confidence, his brashness, and bravery. Didn’t they recognize insolence and impertinence when they saw it?

Things would have been different if he’d won that battle. Instead of sharpening his in the darkness, he'd be accepting the bows from an endless line of supplicants. That’s the world he yearned for. That’s the world he needed.

The room was small, dark, hot and humid, but his sword sang as it parted the air. There was a raspy hiss as it slid into its sheath and a rumble like the approaching storm as he brought himself to his feet. He tightened the strap on his breastplate and flexed his fingers in his gauntlet.

He would get his chance. That much was certain. The battles were beginning once more, one final chance to earn the glory he so deserved. Maru would fall, as would anyone else who dared stand in his way. There wasn’t a soul in the world who could stop him. Not a single man, woman or child who could bar his path. By summer’s end it would be his name they would be chanting.

Reynor

Reynor let out a sigh as he stepped onto the slick pavement. It felt good to stretch his legs, to move his arms, to really expand his chest and breath. Cramped cargo holds and garbage-strewn alleys were the only homes he had known over the past few months. Travelling to Korea was an arduous ordeal at the best of times, but when you were young and out of options you didn’t always have a choice in the matter.

The sole surviving member of an ancient order of assassins, Reynor had left home with this moment in mind. Firm bedrock was like a dream come true after the rocking and swaying of the freighter. The air was thicker than molasses and the port’s light forced him to squint, but his throat wasn’t burning anymore and the sea breeze wasn’t there to sting his eyes.

Korea was where his future lay. Back home, his family was gone, the manor was gone, his teachers and allies gone with them. It didn’t take long for a life in the gutters to rid him of the illusion that there was anything left for him in Italy. Living on stolen food and sleeping beneath rainy skies had taught him one thing. He needed more. He needed to look forward and sculpt a future of his own.

That’s why he was here. Everyone knew Maru. He boasted the most famous name in the world. His fortunes were vast, his holdings unprecedented. Wouldn’t it be nice to have all that?

There was only one way to hold the world in his hand. Reynor was well trained, able and determined to do what was necessary. He would find this Maru, eliminate him and seize his throne for himself. Maru may have been the most famous man in the world, but the one who killed him was be a thousand times more famous still. Reynor adjusted his pack and smiled.

It was time to go to work.

Ryung

When you were a kid, you dreamed about spending all day in the dojang. Watching the fighters train, learning the moves, becoming strong and fierce and yada, yada, yada. It got old after awhile.

Ryung slapped the towel against the locker room floor before tossing it into the bin. As much as he hated being a curmudgeon, he he wished he could have told his kid self how much of a f!@#ing moron he had been for thinking this was a good way to live.

Fighting had been his life once. One of the foremost martial artists in Korea, Ryung had garnered fame and all perks that went with his championships. Fast cars, thousand dollar shoes and beautiful women. He’d never forget the champagne dream nights in penthouse suites.

An injury had brought all that crashing to an end. The fight offers dried up, the endorsements came to an end and the women, the women didn’t want anything to do with a has been. Fame deserted him and so he returned to all he had left, the old dojo.

But god dammit, couldn’t they have given him a job other than janitor. You know, some kind of administrator or something? Instead of sitting behind a desk enjoying a cushy retirement he was scrubbing toilets, washing towels and wiping sweat off the every surface in the building.

It had long since gotten old and frankly it needed to come to an end. Word was another tournament was just around the corner, and that Maru was putting it all on the line to defend his throne. Hobbled as Ryung was, the idea was intriguing. Sure, he might not have a chance in a straight up brawl, and he might even die, but was this pitiful existence really worth clinging onto? He didn’t even reach for the next towel, he walked right past it. It would be nice to fight again, to put it all on the line. A smile crept onto Ryung’s face. One more go. Why not?

sOs

There was a song on sOs’ lips as he sorted through the stack of Persian rugs. Kashan, Heriz, Tabriz and Nain, all beautiful and meticulously cared for, and all completely his. There were joys to life, like Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 3, which happened to be the song he was humming now and then there were JOYS, like being the proud owner of the J&A Rug Dealership.

He never got tired of selling rugs. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say it was his favorite thing in the world. Walking through the corridors lined by vertibale works of art always put a smile on his face. He loved his customers. He lived for helping them find the perfect rug that made their heart melt. They came from all over the country to his little store in Hannam, each of them looking for their own slice of heaven. It was an honor and a joy to make their dreams come true.

His illustrious record of service and his unmatched stock had earned sOs quite a reputation. Honest and reliable were the words most commonly associated with him. He opened the store before the sun was even up. He locked up after nightfall, long after the last employee had started home. He locked the door and stepped into the street, always pausing for a moment to rest his hands on his hips and smiling in a satisfied way. Some might call it boring and some might call it bland, but to him it was perfect.

sOs took the train home and made some dinner, but he never went right to bed. He took off his suit and put on some shorts and a ratty shirt before making his way into a room tucked away in the rear of his flat. A room where the door stuck on the hinges a bit and always creaked as he nudged it open. Where the light didn’t always snap on the first time he flicked the switch and the floor was scratched and scuffed. There was a small mat, a few weights and a punching bag. sOs strapped on the gloves. It wasn’t much, but it was the place where he’d been teaching himself to fight.

Years of training and it was finally time. That Maru guy was crazy enough to give it another go and sOs wasn’t willing to let what might be his last chance at glory pass him by. He’d never fought a man before, but they’d never fought anyone like him. He’d been working on a few techniques that might catch even the most well prepared opponent off guard. sOs didn’t know much about actual fights, but trying things out for the first time was half the fun. J&A Rug Dealership would have to wait for a few weeks. He was finally taking his vacation.