  I am one lonely pig.  I’ ve been through a lot relative to the people around me.  I was part of a love triangle that lasted a year,  I had rip- roaring roller coaster ride relationship,
 I had a fling,  I’ ve gotten into bloody fights,  matched wits with people who wanted to manipulate me and use me for their own ends,  I’ ve studied in UP (
that sums up a lot)  I come from the most expensive private Filipino school in the country which happens to be one of the most screwed up ( both ethically and morally)  places to ever send your child,  I have been emotionally crushed into a thousand pieces and had to pick up every piece ( with the help of true friends)
 and most of all I’ m still alive when death was at my door ( in an experience no one would believe if I mentioned it)  in the end…  a man becomes bitter,  a boy learns to hate,
 a child grows tired of crying,  and I’ m born again.  I learned to pray and not expect anything,  I learned to fight,  lose and stand up again,
 I learned that magic exists in a way only our experience can sense.  I’ m one lonely pig…  then again misery is company.  ( Below my imagination having fun-
 the equivalent of a boy making airplane noises and stretching his arms out while running around in circles)  ~  The swords man runs into the shadows,  his coat fluttering against his speed,  his hands hidden gloved in black and move like a blur.  His footsteps thunder through the empty and dark passageways.
 Five shadows move towards him.  from the corner of his one eye he sees the gleam of metal.  His eye blinks.  The feel of leather gloves on the grip of two pounds of long balanced steel.  They are a pair of synchronized steel that moves quickly and with out thought.  It felt like writing his signature.
 The technique was good but the five obstacles left him one bleeding wound.  The sound of his own foot steps begin to fade as the hall way opens up to an enormous room,  the size to fit a house.  He reacts to some movement far into the shadows,  he almost stumbles and dives into the corner as gunfire becomes deafening.  “
fuck”  The Second king steps into a room,  with no ammo left,  no explosives,  just his manobo blade,  as thrity crazies were strategically left to guard.
 .  The crazies are men of desperation and with no means given food and a security for their families as they let themselves become subject to locally made steroids and months of brainwashing to make the ultimate loyal and obedient brutes.  It’ s the Philippines how hard is it to find enough desperate and miserable people.  The all looked like professional body builders except for the imbalanced proportions and the scarring from the torture.  They are shorter than the 2nd king,
 at 5’ 6”  and weighing in no less than 280 they were an awesome sight to any warrior.  Armored with cheep Kevlar and hand- made junk breastplates they reminded gaspar of American football armor.  But it was gray steel and patched up Kevlar.
 Gaspar towered over them as he stood 6’ 4”  and weighing in 340 lbs.  they were blood thirsty and with large muscled hands,  gaspar knew that they only needed to pin him down and that would be his end…  that’
s why his battle armor is equipped with enough current to light up a whole floor makati office for an hour.  he can finish it in a minute ( give or take)  The smell of burning flesh and the cooked portions that stuck to his metal armor made the prepared experience more than memorable.  Thirty crazies attempted to dog pile him,  but his position at the door would not let more than two come close,
 he swung away,  hacking through men the size of cows.  The blood that spread on the floor paralyzed half of them and killed his battery in one explosive discharge.  He stepped up on to pairs of writhing masses and swung the blade,  cutting two to four of them at a time,  giving them sweet mercy.
 Melchior had other plans,  but they all had to wait when the triad’ s favorite sons walked casually towards him.  A twisted expression of humor and disbelieve came over him.  “ The Yangs…
 Fuck”  Tall and Handsome Chinese bothers,  he counts three.  All proficient with 10 years of serious martial arts training.  But there was one important detail they all missed out.  What is 10 years of training with masters when you still looks so pretty,
 mastery means pain,  pain means scarring and irreparable damage.  They were great fighters,  even world class.  But the world today has forgotten what the world before learned to well:  you don’
t look pretty when you fight at the cost of your life.  “ I finally fight the pussy boys…  God must love me.  ( to be continued if I care to…
 cause I can already imagine how the fight will end.
