Awakening the Streetlord
Beneath the proud dojos, the great fiery forges, and the hopeful cries of burgeoning martial artists, there lies a darker side of Suju—one lined in bloody grit, echoed with screams and taunts, and ruled by fists of steel.
Welcome, as they say, to hell.
Street rats perpetually flock into these underground arenas, ready to test their mettle. They seek respect, or riches, or power; what they find are their deaths. Only the strongest and smartest survive—and of them, only the most ruthless make it out on top. There is no chivalry, no code of honor; there are no rules, except for one: Fight, or die.
Bricks become bludgeons. Needles become knives. Fists and feet become unstoppable weapons—because where cunning fails, brute force excels. Those who laugh at such a sight, of two men improvising in a fight to the death, have obviously never faced a Suju Brawler in mortal combat.
Faris, champion of the Female Brawlers, sneers at these fighters. She calls them clumsy, oafish brutes who appreciate none of the finesse of poison or stealth. There is no technique, no methodical approach, no style or elegance—and in turn she, too, is mocked. "Technique?" they laugh. "Style? Elegance? You chose the wrong path, Faris; you ain't a Striker!"
What exists is only cruel intelligence and wiry brawn. To these elite few—the strongest, the smartest, the most ruthless—underground brawling is not merely a sport. They breathe it. They lust for it. They live it.
This is why they call themselves the Streetlords, the undisputed kings of the underworld.