into Assassin: second Strike
"Human existence is filled with unimaginable despair.
But still the whole of humanity fails to see this.
It is in this obsidian darkness that illumination will come."
-Chimeric Sea 5, Fate/Extra
Drip.
With a splash the red blooms into a rose.
Drip.
With a trickle the rose is instantly mutilates, creeping into various crevices.
Drip.
I'm sure that if there was no sound, this scene would be less eerie but sadly that is not the present which my eyes gaze upon.
Imagine returning from a training journey and finding that the pupils who you thought would be waiting for you at the door were not there; it's not like they were not there and were somewhere else, but rather there is nothing here. There's no sign of anyone.
The air is different because I can also smell the strong scent of blood.
I run.
I ignore the red and run towards the darkest depths to run away from the bad feeling that I have. I run through the corridor, turn the corner, slide the door, and enter the familiar room.
It's there.
The scene before me can sadly only be described, given my occupation, as common.
"Ma-ster." His voice is shaking.
I don't know what happened.
All I know is that my pupil is staring at me, glassy eyed, barely breathing at all.
"…Thank the heavens you're back, master… at last… they're all."
-I don't know what he intends to do with his dying breath, but he's talking to me normally even though he has a wound that should make even talking impossible.
"Stop talking… Damn, I have to stop the bleeding."
There is no one else that is here, the dojo has been swept and all the members have been killed or injured.
"A poultice. A poultice and some – no, they won't do. Doctor, I need to get a doctor."
"No. Master, I will accept my fate so I don't need a doctor, neither does anyone else here. There's something more important than this."
He's calm; he's completely calm even though he should be screaming in pain, so I have to listen. I don't know what he's on about but I nod, thinking that, just for now, I have to listen to him.
"Master, we're sorry that we could not protect this place of learning."
For some reason that finally calms me down.
All my pupils are dead or injured.
The dojo is destroyed.
"Who did this?"
He nods, as if somewhat satisfied that his final words will the words which will avenge him and all those that he held dear.
So, with a stuttering breath, the professional killer becomes an avenger.
The date changes.
With the help of the villagers who supply us with food in return for protection we treated those who were injured and buried those who are no longer with us, made dinner, and ate it silently as if holding vigil for those who could no longer partake in earthly sustenance.
But I don't want that.
I want to rush out into the wilderness and find the man who did this to those I call my sons. I am not calm. I am not calm at all. Even the gentle breeze which lifts the smell of blood off of these sacred grounds can no longer calm me.
My blood thirsts for revenge.
Not revenge for myself, not even revenge for those who have passed, but for revenge for the man who I have failed. I need to exact vengeance for the man who I called son and that vengeance can only be completed by killing the man who I have failed.
It's contradictory.
They are the same person. To fight for one means to kill the one I am fighting for, but that cannot be helped. There is no need for rationality. Rage consumes my blood. It seethes and scorches, turning my insides into blight. I want to hurt those who have hurt me.
The calm wind blows again, but is unable to smother the burning sensation that is now fused with my body; in fact, that burning is fanned by these winds.
So I push myself off the ground. There doesn't have to be a reason why I would do something like this. The bestial can be all that controls me. I know what is right and what is wrong. So I will choose who is right and who is wrong in this conflict and punish those who are wrong.
And after seeing my students brutalized in such a manner, who else could be more wrong?
It's so high above this land which can only be called the top of the world that I can hardly see it. A speak moving through the heavens which serve as a gateway to another world. The days have been as long as the suns have been short in this desolate world where one can only fall into the sky. Falling into the sky, I'm sure that will be the fate for one of us.
I tracked him down. It was not hard to do so. The man I once called son became what could only be described as a homicidal maniac. Not a person, but a storm, a natural disaster in which one could only blame his own luck for falling victim to. He left behind so much debris, town after town, that it was an easy task following him. It would seem that he did not care about being found, no, he only wanted to reap the lives of many. For what purpose I am not sure of; however, a mad dog must be put down.
"Master," he nods at me, betraying me with a title which he can no longer use.
"You killed them, you killed your brothers. There is no excuse for that. You killed anyone that you passed on your way here. There is less of an excuse for that. I have tried to teach you what is right and what is wrong. You know what you have done is wrong. "
"But Master, don't you see?" His hand has a vice-like grip onto his face. It completely distorts his almost handsome face. His robes are disheveled; they haven't been taken care of at all as there are dried blood stains all over them. This is a man who has sunken in depravity or even worse, madness. "You see, I have to kill them. There's a part of me, deep inside of me that has become me. It wants to kill them, it wants to take lives. I have no idea why it would want that, but now that I know that it does, I must even reap YOUR LIFE!"
He rushes at me, his face warped with some kind of inhuman rage that befits an "unfit existence," like him.
For once, for just this once, I will "pick up the sword out of passion."
We're ten steps apart but I can reduce that to nothing with the "moving step," a step which sneaks towards the enemy without announcing its speed, one of the more dangerous skills in Baji Quan.
But he knows that and will not let me reach the optimal distance; he starts to pound me with his fists.
All of them are blocked; there is no need for me to worry even if I am fighting out of pure exhilaration. This is nothing more than a reprimand and then an execution.
He steps forward, the solid dirt booming under the impact of the palm with attempts to plant itself onto my chest. Using the "Eight Postures of the Buddha Guards," the sheer force of his strike should be as if a bomb has exploded onto my chest.
But an imitation can never beat the original.
It's a purely defensive skill, one which etches a spiral in the air nullifying the force which should have crushed my thoracic cavity and mashed together my heart and lungs.
He hasn't improved at all. If this is level of fighting which has taken out all my disciples then I should be very disappointed. What sort of ruse must have he used to kill so many?
Then all I have to do is to heighten my chi.
Without any thought the earth, protesting with all her might, is drilled into by my foot. The force shakes the whole mountaintop and the results are gigantic protrusions that push outwards from the epicenter to flatten he who must be killed.
He doesn't care.
Without any thought of retreating he rushes into the disturbed earth, it's truly reckless, but even with the mind of a berserker I cannot help but admire the tenacity of such a warrior. He jumps with his fist outstretched and ready to pound me into submission.
The moment he does so he will die. He is unaware that I have charged my "chi," and have reinforced my whole entire body with that "chi." It's not mystical, not like the tricks which those magicians at the courts perform. This is pure skill, something which anyone can achieve with enough training. He has not achieved this level so…
A sharp pain fills my entire body. A fist that should have been stopped and shattered moves forward into the yielding body which should have halted the blow, outright.
My body ploughs through the backside of the mountain.
He?
Injure me?
If he is capable of this, then which one of us was the pretentious one?
Awkwardly I get back up and ward off another strike that cannot be warded off naturally. His movements have completely changed; it's as if another person has taken over his body because he can only be "hearing" the move. It's not that a regular human couldn't see my moves, but rather it is that they should not be able to react in time to my moves, yet here he is, reacting perfectly with the desperate flailing that my arms can only now perform.
"Hearing" a move, predicting where the next move will be purely in the brief moment when the previous blow is blocked. Something which I can perform and now it seems this boy can perform also. If he has indeed reached the point where he can "hear," my moves, it is no coincidence that he was able to destroy all the disciples in the dojo. But something still doesn't feel right. Just because someone can "hear," a move doesn't mean that they can fight like a different man. There must be something else.
But it's too late for me to find out what as I am beaten, I have moved all I can move and all that I can now do is to show an opening. All paths lead to defeat so then the only thing that I can possibly do is to…
I change my feet's position and roll forward towards my executioner hooking one of his legs from the inside, in a move knowing as the "locking" stance. He stumbles behind allowing me time to breath.
"You… You're strong now. You're not like the others though. I remember you. I remember you crying because the others beat you and that you thought you were useless. But now, now you're different. How do you do it?"
"Master, don't you see?" His voice is almost frantic. "I learned that I was merely seeking out strength. Strength to do this, strength to that. I was pitiful, looking at everything and everyone when I should have looked inside. Yes, I'm different, Master. When I look within, my body changes. That is true strength."
I have travelled many lands and have seen many things that I would rather forget. I know what he is now. I know why he acts in such a way. He's not a demon who can never return to what he once was, he's just a human. A human that was born to protect humans, yet somewhere along the path… he fell.
He grins to himself and I note just how confident he looks while I am charging my chi. It's high time that I should have wiped that look off his face.
He rushes in only to be met by my outstretched fist, but he's above that, I know. His body has changed into something which is completely geared towards battle. I'm sure that he doesn't even need to breathe. His body has disposed of everything that is "human." Not that he has become inhuman, merely the aspect that is known as "human," is gone from his body.
To the left, a fist like a whip bends itself towards me. The only way to defend against that would be to block by pushing his fist away from me trying to create an opening and then exploiting such an opening, but I told myself that I'd "pick up the sword in passion," so his strike is only met with another strike.
Since his body is now one which has been perfected for combat, he blocks because that is the best course of action. He barely has control over his actions. Right now it is his body which is determining which is best the way to fight for him which means he is only dragged along in the process.
Skill and technique were made to offset brute strength. He needs no skill, he needs no technique simply because his body is the best. Skill will never surpass what it was created to equal, but skill can create a tiny opening where brute strength cannot because when one goes against an assassin's fist… defense is completely useless.
If I broke the ribs that should have been broken he pays no attention to the excruciating pain.
If he is flung back in the method that he should have been flung back, he races right towards me.
There is no doubt on his mind; there can never be doubt in a mind which is only consumed with one thought. So that is why when his fists reach my own fists I realize that he won't stop. He will keep on pounding my flesh until I have become a sack of meet. That is not speculation, but a prediction based on, not any type of data, but, the surest thing in the world, my instinct.
He's strong. I'll give him that, but he's only strong, nothing else. He moves in the most efficient way, blow to blow, because that is all he knows. He takes my blows without flinching because that is the only way he can take a blow. So, he's incomplete, he's mechanical. That is not his body fighting, but something else's. Of course it is a great deal stronger than my body; after all, everything in that body was bred for one purpose, "killing," and yes, against any sort of person it would be a trump card. Something that would be used once, just once, at the most important time to allow one to catch the opponent off-guard, but that's all it really is.
There is no beauty behind it.
It definitely isn't sublime.
It's a tool, and it has consumed the man I once called son to the point where it is using him. He's drowned himself into what he calls power.
It's overwhelming.
It's something a normal human like me can never hope to achieve, and if I had a word for him, it would be monster.
But, it's also ridiculously pitiful.
Even as I am being beaten to the ground by my pupil.
Even as my body and spirit are being methodically broken.
Even as my rage beings to consume itself.
I can't help but hope to teach my pupil something.
Flung like a rag doll my body, narrowly avoiding falling off the cliff, hits a large piece of rubble. My sense of pain has already numbed to the point where I can get up without any twinge of discomfort, but my shoulders are already drooping. It really shouldn't make sense as I am in my absolute prime.
*Cough*
My breathing starts to get ragged as flecks of red dirty this sacred mountaintop. The air is rather thin here, so it was always a test of endurance. I had hoped to use that to my advantage, it's too bad my enemy's something who no longer needs to breathe.
"Ow…" An utterance from my own mouth.
My hand is on the ground holding my crouching body upright. When did I fall?
I don't know. Everything has become a blur. I don't think I can keep this up anymore. Even if none of my skin broken, the inside of my torso is torn apart. My arms are almost useless; they can probably only each handle one more attack. My legs are worse, there is no way I can turn away and run.
"Master... you're going to die here." He says so, oh-so-calmly, almost in a therapeutic drone.
Yes, I've been through enough to know that I am going to die. I run my less useless through my fiery hair.
Only one more attack is all I can perform.
One more and then I can no longer defend.
So I will take in all my rage, take in all my hate for this man.
Future?
Who cares about that? All that matters is the face right in front of me is pulverized.
He's not in the same position so he has moved. We are definitely not in the same position, for the man knows not pain. Mere injuries will not burden him, nor will any wounds condemn. I am sure I have shattered both his arms and have broken that leg with my locking stance yet he is swiftly moving towards me right this minute, ready to pluck my heart out. I'm sure his blood vessels could alter the flow of his blood, pumping, changing, warping the very essence of his being which is right in front of me ready to completely crush me.
I rush in, meeting him, knowing that these three attacks will be my last.
But his body completely reads them, he knows that these will be my final attacks; or rather his body does not feel that these final three attacks are any sort of threat. Either way, his fist closes in and I can see the next instant where my redness will fruitlessly add to his redness only to be washed away by the ages and the future redness of others.
But I wouldn't be a master if I couldn't cross this barrier.
For a second, just for a second, I focus my chi and take the heavens so I can blend them with the earth. It's utter vitrification. Yes, in the moment when his fist is supposed to meet my body I perform my ultimate technique. It's not one which instantly decapitates. It's neither one which harms nor destroys. It is one of the only useless prides that I have. The only useless feat that I can perform is to stifle my presence so that none can see me.
It was only for an instant, but it's enough for that battle machine to become confused.
It was only for an instant, but it's definitely enough for me to drag myself through the cold wind which is beating me back to…
-unleash the stalking tiger.
There is no winding back, there is only action. My fist, crushed and on the verge of breaking, is reluctantly thrust into the chest of my pupil.
The moment that my fist makes contact with skin I know there is something wrong. I can't move. I can't move my fist anymore. All the bones in my hand and arms must be shattered.
But I no longer care as I am "picking up the sword out of passion."
While my right fist is firmly in place, unable to be dropped or moved I instantly move my left fist forward. Even if he could "hear," my moves there was no way that he could block them. Also, even if he had defended himself against my current flail, the guard would instantly be broken.
*Crack*
It breaks.
It breaks because it did something that it should not have done. There are boundaries in this world that cannot be broken, natural laws enforced, not by others but by the World itself, upon our existences. This pain is just mere retaliation for trying to exceed those bounds.
But I don't care.
The twisting of my body allows me to pull back my left fist until it is dangling uselessly by my side.
It's not enough though. This is nowhere near enough. His head is facing the ground and I cannot read his expression at all, but I know that it is not enough to even kill a normal human, so…
It roars.
It's the red penalty which tells me that I can no longer progress. It has already covered my right arm and has also covered the bottom half of my left arm. I don't have anything left. Both my fists can no longer flail at this man and the moment I move my legs I will eat the dirt that I am trying to avoid.
What was it that he said?
"When I look within, pfft, and my body changes. That is true strength."
Ahh, those words which I believed to be foul beyond measure. They return to me in my most disparity and mock me. "Look within myself," he said. It doesn't matter as that type of observation can only be described as narcissistic because there should be something more. There should be something beyond just my fists if I am truly a master of my martial art.
No, it's already there. It's just that I can't see it. This martial art form was not limited to only my fists in the first place. It was my ignorance which stopped me, not my body's natural limitations, so then the answer lies beyond what cannot be used.
And that moment…
Using my left leg to pivot, I direct as much force as I can allow into my elbow and smash it into my opponents face securing the victory that I had believed to be out of my grasp.
The breeze stops, the finality of the last blow must have ended whatever was causing such a pathetic fallacy. But as the breeze stops and the earth beneath us no longer shudders at our strikes, I won't accept it.
The final strike should have tossed him like a rag doll past the edge of the cliff. He should have fallen into the sky, not continue to have his feet firmly planted on the ground like so without even the curtsey to turn his head to regard me, the loser.
"Ahhh…"
Nothing comes from my mouth. I must be speechless. It's not that I do not have any words to say, it's just that I am unable to say them; after all, what could they do now of all times? Then the only option left for me to merely accept whatever is coming to take me from this world.
And finally, with some effort it seems, the pupil who has surpassed his master looks at me with those dank, blank eyes.
"Goodbye, Master."
I feel nothing.
Even if the force of his final punch was strong enough to tear my whole entire body apart there is no pain. There cannot be any pain as I am sure my body is too broken and beaten down to even know what pain means anymore. I shouldn't even be aware that my feet are no longer touching the ground. I must have been sent flying back. Damn, it really irks me that he did what I attempted to do so easily.
I move my hand hoping to grab something that will stop my fall, but there's nothing is there? My attack earlier on destroyed anything that could have been used to soften my fall. So all there is left to do is not to give up, but rather give in and let the embrace of the sky take me wherever it may.
I didn't die.
Those are the three words which determined my fate. No, it was not miraculous; it was not even what could be considered special. That is all there is to something which cannot be called an uncommon occurrence. As a professional assassin I have had my fair share of victims that would not die. It wasn't that they could not die; it was just that for one tiny instant, for one tiny moment, they wouldn't die. It was that they clung onto life with an admirable tenacity. I wouldn't call it luck either since my luck is terrible. I needed to survive, so I survived. That's all there is. If I did not need to survive I would have died. Of course I want to live, but a man must also accept that one day, a day which could be today, he will no longer have his place in this world, that and the fact that this couple was kind enough to take me in and care for me.
"So, you will be setting off today?"
A simple happiness, but a happiness nevertheless. It is an insult to call this type of happiness mundane.
"Thank you very much for your care; it has been an honor to stay with you. I am beyond grateful for you kindness."
"But your path will be beyond dangerous? Couldn't you just… go back home? While we might not completely understand your need for vengeance, we can't let you die so uselessly like that on a nameless road somewhere." It's a plea, not for something, but from the bottom of her heart to move an adjacent heart which cannot be moved in any other way; in that respect the words of the woman who saved me are in vain.
"It cannot be helped, my dearest. He has set out to do what he needs to do, and we cannot stop him. It is that process which teaches people to grow." My savior is grave, probably because it took me so long to recover that I do feel somewhat akin to these people.
"But not tonight, no, tonight cannot be filled with sadness and sorrows because tonight is the night of the festival." She seems excited at the upcoming revelry that I was unaware of.
It must have been quite stupid of me to not see that the warlord would be throwing a festival; after all, his son had just returned from a conflict alive, something that is considered rare in an age of instability like this. That was why the stores this week have been cleaning up and putting up paper lanterns as decorations.
What a peaceful happiness.
But that's not the reason why this piece of news resonates with me so much. I was almost killed by my pupil and for these few weeks I have been in hiding. He has not and only because I know that he has not can I know that he is in this town. In the past couple of weeks this town has become washed with blood. So even if this festival is to chiefly celebrate the return of a beloved son, its secondary purpose is to calm the populace. After all, a Roman once said that all that is for a necessary for a happy public is bread and circuses. I am usually wary of foreigners but in this case he was right.
I know that he cannot handle his impulses. I know that people have died in this town so regularly that they are starting to call the murder a "homicidal maniac." It is then only rational for me to believe that he is the one who is causing all this trouble even if I do not know why he has stayed in this town. Surely, it would be better for him to leave this town and deal his enjoyment in another town or country. Yet he hasn't and I will not hazard a guess to why he is following such a path, so I guess that I will find out the truth during this festival.
"Yes, of course I will attend, it would be my pleasure to." It's a strained voice that feigns excitement which is received with natural pleasure.
"Oh, then I definitely recommend attending the…"
The buzz of a content type of chatter which also is an insult to be considered idle starts to fill the room as the tea kettle starts to slowly come to a boil sending out tiny puffs of steam which regularly send a hanging pot plant into disarray. It's the type of atmosphere which has some sort of sanctity attached to its peacefulness. This scene is something which cannot be understood by those who live it every day. It can only be truly appreciated by those who have lived every day of their lives waddling through a world where red the only thing which is fought for.
I am sure this is what is known as the "calm before the storm;" however, why should knowing the full pain of what is to come crush our spirits and frighten us? Why can't the calm before the storm be accepted and enjoyed?
Because it can't last.
And that makes it transcend beauty.
As the city starts to fade into the setting sun, one by one they start to populate what used to be known as a lonely road. One by the one the paper lanterns appear as if they bottled those fireflies which wiz around, glowing softly and without end.
The rhythmic drum begins to drown out any sort of sense and the true evening begins.
Their revelries could wake up the sleeping earth.
Their joy could uplift men who are condemned to die.
The echoes of their voices are lifted towards the heavens where I am sure the gods can hear such romping.
It is just one of those nights. Those rare nights in the year where everyone and anyone drops what they are doing and joins in. They may not know the reason why they are participating, but that is not necessary. There is an automatic sense of comradely with those who are already involved. No one is a stranger because no one can be a stranger in this setting as everyone has become a stranger. Dressed in their finest, childhood friends look at each other with new eyes, and old drinking mates cannot understand why they have stayed friends with that horrible person over the years. There is a sort of magic in the air, not one of those ritualistic magics that I have seen performed once or twice by those who guard their secrets more rigidly than they guard their lives, but one very similar to a riverside filled with softly glowing fireflies and rustling cicadas. While the latter image evokes a sense of serenity and a certain absolute contentment about ones position and place in this grand earth, the former gives off a feeling which can only be described as a sense of community, one which was present in my own life before he warped and tore it apart with those fists of his that almost tore through my life. Sometimes one can only truly understand what he has lost when he watches others people revel in that one thing; this is definitely one those occasions.
With that being said, I have to swear that I cannot let him take this away. This is not a berserker-like vengeance, what I would consider judgment, or me trying to "protect," what I believe cannot be lost. This is about protecting the idea that people can live in peace. That even if violent death cannot be completely halted, it can be softened, postponed, so it does not curse humans to the point of trauma. It must be strange that a professional murderer is saying such things and perhaps it is ironic and hypocritical at the same time, but even if my body, mind, and soul are have been completely sublimated to the role of a professional murder for the sake of mastering the Qiang, it is my way of life and a rigid, unrelenting way of life will defeat brute strength any day.
So you who are brushing the fringes of the festival, never touching, only observing your next prey, you can never win, not anymore if you only rely on your body for strength.
Even if you are using the shade of the moon to cloak yourself as a method to blend with the bright darkness, ready to strike the heart of this festival hoping to reap all that have arrived here to show their defiance to your alley-way killings, there is no way that I would miss those lost, bestial eyes of yours.
So instead of coming here where the light pierces all the falsehoods and false persons that we have built up, I will go to where you are at, the fringes of the town, an area of grey where what is right cannot be distinguished from what is wrong, to show you what I know is wrong cannot be what is right and there you will feel the despair of knowing not that you are powerless, but so powerful that you became powerless to that power. Yes, I'll show what it truly means to wield your fists as a weapon.
A dark night.
There is no one here.
It is very dark as the forest is deep, so deep that the warm, comforting light which is already behind me cannot reach.
So because I can't see, hear, taste, or smell anything, I can only feel how incredibly cold it is. It is so cold that I am sure it could hurt my eyes. But it's not my actual environment which seems to freeze me; it's exactly like the festival, the atmosphere here is like a blade made from ice ready to slit my throat at any moment. But in a difference sense, that's good because it tells me all I need to know about this canopy which extends so far up that I can no longer see the clouded heavens.
The slight rustling of what should not have rustled if there was truly no one else in this tiny cage of trees fills me not with fear nor anticipation but acknowledgement at what must occur tonight.
And there, mixed in, almost blended with, is the briefest shadow of the man who shouldn't be here, who wouldn't be here, and who I expected with absolute certainty would be here, all rolled up in one.
There is no meeting of the eyes.
There is no need for recognition.
What was and what may be do not enter our minds for a second for they are already completely filled with the ending known as the "destination."
I did not obfuscate my presence. It's not that I couldn't nor that I shouldn't, but rather I wouldn't do something like that to myself or him. I won't throw my pride to the dogs just for something like this because before I am a human, before I am a master, I am a professional killer, one that does not need tricks to slay an opponent.
And soon we cross the veil of trees to an open field that is washed with the absence of colour that exists because of the contradictory opacity of the moon.
"So you are alive."
"And you haven't left this town."
It's a simple exchange where we will not listen to each other but rather lay our motivations on the imaginary table so we will have no regrets when we destroy each other.
"You should have run away and forgotten me. You know all that awaits you is darkness. You may be my master and the greatest practitioner of Bajiquan; however, you are only a human. A human cannot defeat me now; I have become an existence which throws away the concept of 'human.'"
"Don't be so fulsome. You are merely fighting for fighting. It may be horribly cliché, but you haven't found the true path yet. The road which you walk is one which is undoubtedly unstable. You should have run, boy, because if I was the one who didn't kill you then someone else would have. That is how the world treats those who have thrown away their humanity."
"However, even if you are human I am happy. I am happy beyond measure because Master you see, you see don't you? I was so happy, oh-so-fulfilled when I slaughtered my brothers. And you, when you fell from that mountaintop, oh, I am sure that is what it feels like to hold a woman. But that was it. Don't you see, master? The very next kill left such a bitter taste in my mouth and the next one was even more repulsive. I didn't understand, why? What was the difference in killing those close to me and those who were complete strangers? So then I started to kill women; after all, I had only killed men, but it did me no good and then I started with children, but that only disgusted me even more. I could not leave the town which had cursed my calling until I found what exactly had happened. It was bad, it was so bad that I could no longer shift my body." He's laughing, he's laughing so disgustingly. "That's right. Can you believe it? So I killed and killed but still, nothing. Don't you see? I can't be happy anymore because the only time I was ever happy was when I was ripping my brother's bodies apart and when I threw you off that cliff. And now I have nothing. Don't you see, master? But then I saw you. I saw you who should have been dead running towards me and… I felt it. I could feel my muscles contracting in a way that they should not. I could feel the part of me that is 'human,' start to loosen, about to be ejected."
His voice is saturated with pure joy, an uninhibited about of joy which he feels no shame in feeling.
"You're wrong. Like me, you lost your humanity the moment you took a life. There is nothing 'human,' left within you to be ejected." With those words I take my stance.
"And you? Why are you here to take revenge on that which can no longer be returned?" He reciprocates my stance.
"I have nothing to say to something like you. Just drown in your depravity and die."
A face splitting grin the last thing I see on his face as, "Don't mind if I do!"
He races towards me, as if allowing me to take the first strike.
But I don't, instead of striking him in a place that I know will not hurt him I hold my stance and instead focus all my chi.
"It doesn't matter if you're invisible or not if you remain in the same area." It's a loud noise, but that's all it is, a noise.
One blow.
His palm slams against. It doesn't matter if I may be transparent because I am not a ghost. His fist clearly connects with a part of my body and instantly breaks part of me.
It's clumsy, if it was perfect it would have only damaged the inside of me, so some of the attack is spread out through my skin and I am not mercilessly pierced by the impact.
Two blows.
I am completely overwhelmed in this battle if it can be called a battle. I will not move myself because it is not time yet. Let him continually beat this body of mine. Of course it hurts but I will endure because in the end I am his Master as I am the one who taught him this sublime art of death dealing.
Three blows.
My vision whites out.
Endure.
Four blows.
Everything becomes white. I cannot no longer even see him who is pelting me with a flurry of blows. It's a miracle that my vision did not white out during the first blow considering that his body is now a machine which only can deal death.
Five blows.
The barrage continues and I continue to keep my stance because he's blind. He can't even see the true nature of his happiness. He's a deviant, he's not normal but he should see what has made him so happy.
"Don't you see?"
He keeps repeating that as if some sort of a way to garner some sort empathy.
Six blows.
No, it's a plea to the world. At least that's what I wish to believe.
So then I will end his life as he cannot exist in such a place. He is an "unfit existence," one who only finds pleasure in attacking and then killing those he considers important so in every sense he is an "unfit existence." Normal people long to keep those who they love close to them, but he can only find happiness in severing those bonds.
But don't you see?
There are only so many bonds to be severed. If all those bonds are severed then he has nothing and he has degenerated to the point where he can no longer interact normally with other humans, so he is just a mad dog, run out of borrowed time. He is like one of the addicts in the opium dens who no longer have the means to fund their hobby. I am the last one; I am the last anchor he has to humanity, his master. Of course some of the people he attacked are still alive, but he doesn't know that, so I will do him a kindness and put him down.
Seven blows.
All he relies on is brute strength. Skills and Techniques were only made to compensate for brute strength. What is stronger than brute strength is the conviction of the path one leads his life following.
So I'll let him feel it.
My final lesson to him and my resolution as a hypocrite known as a professional killer, not a berserker.
Eigh-
"You know, you've struck me seven times, yet I am not dead, so I don't quite understand since a second strike is needless, so long there is one it will suffice."
The eighth blow definitely was made to kill.
He dashed forth to pierce my heart.
His speed was so fast, as his master I couldn't ask for any more.
It was a simple, efficient, motion to kill me.
It was indescribably beautiful.
But it was stopped the moment I moved my right palm to meet it.
That's incorrect.
His whole body stopped the moment I moved my right palm to meet his fist.
It's a sensation that I haven't felt before and the last sensation that I know that I will feel. It wasn't the force behind the palm, no, it was something else. The moment he touched me, something else overwhelmed my whole body. Having obtained this superb body I had believed myself akin to invincible, but even my body could do nothing against something like that which can only be describe as a "mystery."
My limp body hits the ground as my fiery haired executioner turns to leave my body to rot like I have left now what seems to be countless bodies.
Hah, it was so interesting in the beginning so how did it turn out like this?
I don't understand why they were so different, those kills from these kills. I practiced on so many, imitating those past kills which had brought me so much pleasure, but I could not feel anything. It irks me, even as I am laying here with nothing but ice as limbs.
And so, with my last strength, I look up to the dank heavens as if mocking not my destination, but myself for finding my what truly brought me the greatest pleasure and fulfillment that I had felt before only to lose it without knowing why. As of now, this heart can only contain bitter annoyance, but it is of no matter since those who could have alleviated such pain are no longer in this world as they have died by my hand.
For some reason that thought makes me smile.
