Sometimes, you need to sit in a teahouse, and contemplate the mysteries of life.
Other times, you're in a bar sitting across from two men in white suits, and a collection of his fellows at a nearby table, all wearing similar white suits. This was a challenge suitable to my needs.
They call themselves the Ten Fists of the Afterlife, the sacred disciples of Archangel. They were enforcers, cleaning up the messes that sometimes get left behind in their leader's wake. I respect them in many ways. In their pursuit of the Dao, they have achieved a twisted sort of enlightenment. They view Archangel as the perfect representation of the universe. They were wrong of course, for our master truly defines the Dao. He is unknowable, everything that you cannot understand and comprehend, and only by this incomprehensible, unnamed nature does the Dao become manifest.
I approached them as one must approach all situations. With the mind of a beginner. Only with the mind of one who has never encountered something is one able to learn the most from any given situation. So when I laughed with them and discussed the finer points of Judo, an art that, if perfected, can be performed flawlessly in a suit, I did so meekly. They had all made it a point to become experts to suit their peacock-like sense of fashion. I did so as a beginning student who just wanted to "learn from my betters", after all.
I saw the emptiness in their eyes, and knew that in that way the Dao could not be found. Only madness.
Judo was designed as a series of exercises to allow traditional Jiu-jitsu to be used safely in order to familiarize users with practical application of technique. It was never meant to be a fighting form on it's own. They supplemented their Judo with a variety of different styles, but never anything that would make them move in a fashion that would damage their perfect suits.
I had no such restriction on my mobility! So when MY GLORIOUS CRANE ATE UNWARY MINNOW, it took one man's throat. The next came at me with an attempt to use my jacket to help him leverage me into a throw. I had prepared for this, and my jacket tore away. I took the moment to introduce him to WHITE APE PRESENTS BOOK, an attack which took away his two best friends (not the other men in white suits mind you. The ones next to his penis. I am told this is a humorous reference.)
Two down. Eight to go. The remaining Fists charged from their table. Then the bartender pulled a coward's weapon, a sawn-off shotgun from under the bar. I relieved him of it, removed it's ammunition, and threw it out the window. MANTIS HAPPILY PEELED GRAPES, removing another man's eyeballs.
And then I heard the sirens. The police were exactly 5 minutes early. Why did they know to search for me as soon as the fight started?
I escaped through the window.
Two of the Ten Fists of the Afterlife are dead, and one is permanently crippled. That was both far too easy, and far too difficult. This is frustrating.