Hello everyone! Sooo sorry about the late update! X_X

To be very honest, I sort of underestimated what I had in mind for this. As I got writing, I felt two developments were necessary, before the Takahashis finally reached Hanzo (instead of one). One of them, is dealt with in this chapter (Yay! ^^) - while most of the second one (that is, the next chapter) is already written out and hopefully, the next update won't take as long :)

First thing's first - a huge thank you to all of you who read my story, and of course, my darling reviewers :D

Guest: I know, right! x_x But don't you worry, we all know she makes up later for it. Thanks for reviewing! :)

PunkRoseBlitz: Boy, did I take your words to heart about taking my sweet time! xD Thank you SO much for your review! I'm truly honoured to hear that this is helping you in your story. Please do feel free to message me anytime you need any help writing. Thanks again, friend! :3

Hell-on-Training-Wheels: Wow! Thank you so much for the kind words! I'm glad you enjoyed these little bits - I've been very rusty, and am very glad to see I did okay in the end (especially since you're the expert in writing spectacular action scenes! :D). I truly appreciate it! Thanks so much for reading this! :D

Poe's Daughter: Wowie! Thank you so very much, my friend! :D I'm glad you enjoy the complexity of their relationship (to tell you the truth, this is sort of inspired by the relationship I have with my parents, lawl).. In terms of intensity, at least. I actually want to show them grow close, and break apart, and then draw in a little closer again - because that is how relationships are strengthened over time. I still don't know what I'd do with these two for the actual patching up scene once Takeda grows... but nevertheless, I'm truly humbled by your words - thank you for reviewing, my friend! :'D

iceangelmkx: Aww thank you so much! I feel bad for Takeda too.. A little wee bit :/ I'm taking all creative liberty with this, but I'm pretty sure Takeda had the whole 'safety bubble' thing blown when he fled with Kenshi to the Shirai Ryu. It's just sad that when you think of it, an eight-year old had to go through all that.. ;( Our conversations have been truly helpful, my friend! Thanks soo much for being there for me! :3 :3 :'D

RoseScytheElysium: I am soo glad you like this! It is so tricky to write out these conversations, especially because I have to keep in mind the two are not yet totally comfortable with each other.. and some of that becomes apparent especially at times, like in the fight scene - because Takeda had definitely not seen anything like that before, and I doubt Kenshi ever found himself in a battle with an 8-year old by his side.. I'm so happy to see you liked it all - thanks again for reviewing, dear! :3

Fantasyword92375: Thank you soo much for your review! I know, that was quite a bummer for me too - but t'is given me a reason to start writing again! I hope you like this update too! :D

And of course, a huge shoutout to those who favourited/followed this: subzerodx, sbucks1998 and keyblader41996.

Guys, I honestly, truly feel you all are too kind to me, and I just want to thank you all for encouraging me continuously! Love you guys! :3

So, without any further ado - here's the next chapter! I hope you all enjoy this! :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OCs I'm willing to kill :P

Note: Flashbacks and thoughts are in italics :)

The Takahashi Family Saga

Of Trials and Tribulations

III

2 days later

Unknown location,

Outskirts of Hanoi, Vietnam

"Takeda, hurry up!"

"In a minute, Dad!"

Kenshi huffed at the response and scowled at the child. They had a few, measly belongings – a knapsack which Kenshi wore at his waist, containing his emergency communication devices and some dry rations. Takeda had a backpack that contained a book or two, and some clothes. Nothing that would keep them from their journey for long.

The swordsman was not yet used to other's bogging him down, and he felt slightly annoyed at his son's dilly-dallying.

The boy ran up to his father. "Here, let's go!"

Kenshi nodded and clutched the boy's hand, throwing his ragged shawl over his shoulders to conceal the Sento. They exited the paltry apartment, just as the sun began its descent. Lush green fields glittered, under the waning rays, and a cool, gentle breeze blew, refreshing the duo.

They had escaped Japan two days ago on a military cargo freighter – a favour Kenshi had pulled from a resident local army official managing the Matsushima airfield. They had arrived at the Vietnamese capital, where Kenshi had secretly contacted another of his acquaintance near the city. They had agreed to meet at their destination in the capital a little more than an hour's time, from where he would grab a flight for Mumbai in India, to meet his next contact.

Kenshi planned to lead the Red Dragon on a wild chase all over the continent, before he reached the Shirai Ryu Temple, tucked away somewhere near the Sino-Pakistan border.

"Is this the friend you said we were going to visit, Papa-san?"

Kenshi stopped dead in his tracks, turning quizzically toward his son. His eyes suddenly welled, and he raised an eyebrow, grinning incredulously while trying to keep the tears at bay.

'Papa-san?! You kawaii little thing, you're going to be the death of me.'

Kenshi let out a small chuckle of laughter, shaking his head as he crouched to face the boy. "How do you even think of such things, son?"

"It sounds much more fun than the plain, boring 'Dad', you know," Takeda replied, smiling up to his father, as he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck.

'Ahh. My creative little tyke.'

Kenshi smiled, cheeks bracketing into dimples. Somewhat unsure of whether he should be hugging the child or not, Kenshi merely combed his son's hair with his fingers affectionately, before patting his head and continuing in on their way.

The past two days had been brimming with such small instances like these – when the rugged swordsman had found the boy accepting of the love and care that flowed from him out of its own accord. He hadn't the vaguest idea of what fatherhood was like, or what it entailed, yet everything seemed to come to him intuitively – as if he had been prepared to handle this his whole life. Every time the boy reached out in his sleep for his hand, every time he leaned in close when he was scared, and every time he called him father, or 'papa-san', more recently, Kenshi felt as victorious as if he had won some secret battle – as if every action that bought the boy closer to his father, somehow validated the swordsman in some unimaginable way.

But in the corner of his mind, Kenshi always reminded himself to not be distracted, or swayed by sentiments alone. With fatherhood comes responsibility, and currently, assuring Takeda's safety was at the top-most of his priorities.

"No. It's not him, my son."

Takeda groaned from annoyance. He had not gotten an answer from his father on why they were here, or where they were supposed to go. Or where his mother was. Kenshi knew it was his sheer luck that the boy was quick to acquiesce, but Kenshi had remained firmly silent on these issues. He was still mulling over what course of action to undertake, what would ensure the boy remained free from danger the most.

Although, after the attack at the base and his house in Japan, Kenshi began to question whether his decision to keep the boy with him was all that good for Takeda. Yet the telepath would not be defeated so easily. He would find a safe refuge for the two of them, somewhere, anywhere.

Even if Hanzo could not keep them, he would most certainly guide him. Or at least he would hear out the swordsman, for a similar grief had befallen him now.

Kenshi allowed the moment to pass, and with the thought of Suchin's death, his mood turned sombre again.

'Takahashi, come in!'

Kensh fished out the comm device from his knapsack and inserted it into his ear.

"Takahashi here. What's going on, Dung?" Kenshi spoke, alert.

'Abort rendezvous, Kenshi! I repeat, abort – HRRNNNGHHHHH'

Kenshi's eyes widened, and he felt a cold chill run down his spine. He was familiar with the sound – a man drowning in his own blood.

"Dung? Can you hear me? Dung?!" he all but shouted into the device.

A slow, long malicious laugh was the only reply to his queries.

'Well, well. Takahashi Kenshi - what a pleasure to find you in this part of the world,' rasped a voice from the other end.

Kenshi's lip curled in disgust, as he struggled to keep a cap on his rage. "Your fight's with me, Mavado. Leave Dung out of this!"

'I'm afraid Mr Dung is out of all this, now.' Mavado remarked remorselessly. 'What a weakling… Yet why the surprise, swordsman? Surely you haven't already forgotten the tenets of the Order, have you?'

The voice was smoother than oil – every syllable dripping with a sickening, evil delight.

'All crimson spilt purifies the cause of Daegon… Hmm?' Mavado laughed once more, egging the swordsman to complete the sentence.

Kenshi visibly shook from anger.

"What's going on Da-"

"SHHH!" Kenshi scolded, slapping a hand onto the boy's mouth and holding him against his leg. Takeda fidgeted nervously, but the grip was relentless. The boy noted Kenshi's hand trembling, and began to quiet down.

'Ahh... The younger Takahashi. Spirited, aren't we? A pity, we could not be acquainted face-to-face, no?' Mavado continued, unperturbed. 'Nevertheless, what better than to share our knowledge with the young one early on, say? He needs to know too, before I plunge a blade into hi-'

"Hear this, Mavado! You won't touch a hair on his head, as long as I live!" roared Kenshi with an unfamiliar ferocity.

'Death, is but a sacrament, to the true life as ordained by Lord Daegon!' returned Mavado. After a brief pause, his tone turned mocking once again. 'You do disappoint me, Kenshi. No matter, the little one will learn, just like his dead m- '

Kenshi cut off the connection barely in the nick of time.

He then let go off the boy, and beckoned the Sento to his hand. Laying the comm link on the ground, Kenshi bashed it with the hilt of the katana, continuously, until all that remained were plastic shards, which would not be shattered any further.

Takeda observed his father, holding his mouth with both his hands to keep himself from making any sound, lest he anger his father again, as he did before in Japan. The effort was taxing on the boy; he felt tears roll down his face, and all he could think about the decapitation of the possessed old man, and how his father wielded the same deadly blade of Sento, without mercy nor care.

Several long moments later, the blade clattered to the ground from Kenshi's hand. The swordsman sat on his knees, holding his forehead, and running a hand through his hair, the other still gripping the katana's hilt in a death-like grip. He growled, and let out a cry of frustration, banging a fist into the ground in a futile effort. Another ally, now was dead; his way of escape, now barred off. He cupped his face with one hand, and shook his head, rueful.

Takeda closed his eyes shut, and began to take in huge gulps of breath, trying to calm himself down as he had seen his mother do whenever she'd get angry at him. Before he realised, Kenshi had enveloped him in a tight, bear hug – hanging desperately onto the boy, more for his own satisfaction than to allay the child's fears.

"No, don't cry, my son," his voice rumbled deeply in his chest, although it trembled with rage. "Do not fear him. You do not fear him for one minute. I am here. I am still alive. They'll have to go through me, first."

Takeda clutched the front of his father's armour, and let the tears flow unbarred.

"Till when, Dad?" he whispered darkly. "Why do we have to run all the time?"

Kenshi pulled him in closer, but Takeda felt numb. He did not feel the warmth of a father's embrace – he felt isolated and hollow. How strange was all this? One moment, he would feel on top of the world for having a great dad – warm, receptive and good-humoured. Who would smile at him like he meant the whole world to him, who would press him tight to his chest – as he did now – making the child feel incredibly secure…

But then without warning, his father would turn ruthless – with no time for explanations, not an iota's worth of care for the victims that died by his hand. Takahashi Kenshi fiercely protected the child, sheltering him with his body, comforting him during a raging attack – just like his mother had promised he would. But he would remain disconnected, silent and closed for most of the time; compelling Takeda to think that he was, in fact, stranded in the middle of nowhere with this warrior of a father – a burden to him, like he had always been.

The boy couldn't make sense of any of it. The conflict left him feeling utterly torn; the boy could never understand how welcome the numbness was to him at that point.

"I don't like it when you fight. I don't like it when we have to run. Why can't we just go back and live with Mama in Lampang? Why can't you just be a normal dad, like everyone else?" The words were hollow, void of any resentment, or accusation. Monotone, trembling and barely above a whisper – it was a testament to paralysing sense of fear Takeda was struggling to cope with.

In his mind, the words were unregistered – flowing out from him as if they were destined to be voiced, leaving the boy with no recollection whatsoever.

"At times, I think I know you... but then - you scare me. All this scares me. Dad, you scare me…"

The voice of someone who knew they had already lost.

The words would haunt Kenshi for a long, long time – and the swordsman knew the moment they were spoken, that he would be nothing more than a bane for the child; a perpetual cause of misery.

'My dear son. You are the light of dawn piercing through my darkness. I fear for you. I fear someone may try to harm you, or take you from me. I wish I could let you know how scared I am for you. The veil in between us, these secrets must be kept until I know you are safe. I owe it to your mother, she died protecting you. I can't let her sacrifice go in vain…'

The Takahashi legacy. His progeny. Hounded and hunted like dogs to the ends of the realm. Kenshi's bequest to his only child.

"Forgive me, my son."

And without another word, Kenshi scooped up the shell-shocked Takeda in his arms, and simply ran.

1 day later

Near Mount Gephel,

Lhasa, Tibet

China

"Papa-san!" the young boy ran up to Kenshi as they stood outside a Buddhist temple, slightly panting from his run. The rush from the wind cooled his face, refreshing him as he deeply inhaled the mountain air. Kenshi turned, stopping at the step of the temple and nodded down at him.

"Jamyang has a football! Can I play with him? Pleeeease?"

Kenshi gritted his jaw, and took in a deep breath. Ever since Vietnam, he had been a tad too strict with the boy, ensuring he remain by his side at all times, not letting him go more than an arm's reach away from him. He was surprised at how Takeda adapted to his paranoia, without making too much of a fuss – but the swordsman could see fear being internalised by the boy, and he was crestfallen at how his entry into the boy's life had already begun to adversely affect him.

"I promise, we will play just outside the temple while you complete your meditation! Please, Papa-san, please?" Takeda looked up with a wistful, cerulean stare, wishing with all his heart that his father would agree to his request.

"Where's this boy? I have to speak with him first."

Takeda bit his lip, as his face fell slightly. He signalled his father to bend his head. Kenshi was able to sense the message, and he complied.

"He's a little scared of you, because of your blindfold and sword, so he's hiding out in the back," whispered Takeda nervously. "Can't it… I mean, is it necessary?"

"I'm afraid it is, son." Kenshi sighed. "The Sento is sheathed, so he shouldn't worry about that. Tell him I'm blind, and that I'm saying its better he not see my eyes."

Takeda looked into his father's face – chiseled, angular features, a little severe but Takeda knew they relaxed into a warm smile. He knew Kenshi was not as intimidating as the blindfold rendered him, and felt a tad guilty for bringing up his impairment like this.

"S-sir?" a small voice squeaked behind Takeda. Kenshi turned his head toward the direction of the new voice. A small boy, the Sento guided to the swordsman in his mind – ruddy, healthy, with a ball in hand. He was shuffling nervously, and blushing at him.

Kenshi nodded, and Jamyang tentatively walked over to the swordsman. He bowed deeply in deference to him, as he had seen people do in martial arts' movies. Kenshi returned the gesture by lowering his neck a little. "You must be Jamyang, then?"

"Yes, sir!"

"And where are your parents, little one?" the swordsman demanded, a touch of condescendence in his tone.

Jamyang gulped and shuffled his feet. "S-sir, they live in the town. I'm up here to live with my grandfather for a few days. He's inside the temple."

"Hmm…" the answer pleased Kenshi for a bit – perhaps he might get a chance to speak with the boy's guardian. It was then he felt Takeda tugging at his sleeve, reminding him he had still not given an answer yet.

"Dad?" Takeda asked, slightly more forcefully this time.

"Fine." Kenshi acquiesced, his voice hoarse. "Stay in the vicinity of the temple. I should not have to walk more than ten steps to get to where you two are. Am I clear?" He was authoritatively stern in his words, and he cared not what the Tibetan child thought about that.

"Yes, father," Takeda too, took a step back and bowed deeply. He'd never done that to him before, and Kenshi knew he was mirroring his friend purely to convey how resentful he was of his father, for being unnecessarily strict and curt with them.

The swordsman merely added a pang of guilt to his list of grievances, as he entered the temple, hoping against hope that he would find some solace within himself.

"Much burdens your heart, bearer of the Sento."

The voice echoed throughout the empty chamber, and Kenshi's forehead creased as he was disturbed from his meditation.

The swordsman turned towards the old monk with a frown. "Maybe it wouldn't, if I were not interrupted," he answered back, still levitating in the air.

The older monk chuckled softly, and sat beside the swordsman. He lighted a few more incense, directly underneath Kenshi's nose, slightly irritating his sense of smell.

"Ahh… I have missed talking to angry young men like yourself. Come, sit beside me – let us talk."

Kenshi had taken sanctuary with the Tibetan monks in the high hills of Lhasa, hoping to reach the Shirai Ryu and gain Hanzo's advice on his current predicament. However, with the death of his contact in Vietnam, the swordsman had had no choice but to abandon his initial route through India. He had instead, fled to China – hoping to cross the Tibetan plateau and cross over to the Shirai Ryu base in time.

During his journey, the swordsman had been beside himself with grief, anger and confusion. He was torn in multiple ways – and he felt all sense of calm and patience desert him at this time, when he perhaps needed it the most.

The monk was, of course, right in his call. After hesitating for a moment, Kenshi eased himself to the ground, sitting cross legged before the elder, as he sheathed the Sento.

A few moments of peace passed – until the older man picked his walking stick, and lightly poked Kenshi in the belly with it.

Kenshi allowed the monk to complete his senseless action, but hiked an eyebrow irately, knowing it should be enough to have the monk start explaining himself.

"Don't look at me like that," the older man shot back, as if offended. "I was just prodding the worries in there to come forth."

"I am not a child, old man."

"Who're you calling old, eh? Yeshe is my name. But pray tell, how else am I to know what bothers you, if not poke the worries out from you?"

Kenshi bit his cheek and gave a tiny smile at the response, as Yeshe chuckled.

He spoke, turning sombre once more. "You are right, Yeshe. I do have a lot on my mind."

"Then speak up, my boy."

"They call me Kenshi."

"Oh, we all know who you are, son," Yesha grinned.

The swordsman did not register the remark. He sighed, trying to find a single issue to highlight, and bring to the monk's attention, but his mind was a cacophony of thoughts he had no way of silencing. "I was kept unaware of my right, my duty to my son, for all his life. And now, that he is in my care, all I can think of is how unworthy I am, of fatherhood. Suchin, had been right…"

"If he resents you for your absence, then your son is not in the wrong, swordsman. Give him time."

"It's not that, Yeshe," Kenshi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can only hope that one day my son will forgive me. But for now – I'm unsure of whether me protecting him as I'm doing, is enough at all. His life may be intact, but the mental scars…" His breath hitched, and the swordsman paused momentarily, before continuing. "Everyone I have ever loved, has met an untimely end because of my deeds. I fear for my son's life, Yeshe. No one, and certainly no child deserves to witness the life of blood, murder that is my own."

"But you are already a stranger to him. What keeps you from leaving your son in any other orphanage?"

"What?" Kenshi turned his head up sharply to regard the old monk, incredulous. "He is no orphan! Why would I do anything like that?!"

"So what is your problem then?" Yesha's exasperated tone riled up the swordsman, but he was caught off-guard with the question.

"I... I cannot lose him, too."

"Then you are at an impasse with your heart!" Yeshe laughed, much to the swordsman's chagrin.

"I fail to see the humour of the situation, old man," he returned, coldly.

"Ahh.. Kids these days…" scoffed the monk. "Anyhow, sometimes it's wise to return to the past, to find the path to your future."

Kenshi rolled his eyes underneath his blindfold and did not respond.

"My boy, you are not only estranged from your son, but of your lineage as well," Yeshe continued with a smile. "The warrior kings of the House of Takahashi – for centuries, their legends were woven into our folklore. Not so much, these days. Who wants to listen to us old men now, talk of even older men when you can watch 'Power Rangers' on the idiot box, eh? Such a shame…"

Kenshi's upper lip curled in annoyance. He silently cursed himself for agreeing to converse with this senile old man in the first place. He felt a headache beginning in his temples.

"You're not helping, Yeshe."

"I was unaware you asked for my help, son. That would be very unbecoming of the Takahashis," the elder man clicked his tongue with disapproval.

Kenshi folded his arms, straightened his back, and inhaled; patience wearing thin.

"Surely, if you were aware of the way of your ancestors, you would know they left their children at a young age, at dojos and training grounds across the world – allowing them access to various martial arts, as well as a way of maintaining peace in their lands, and with their neighbours."

"I did not ask for a history lesson, Yes-" Kenshi paused mid-sentence, as he suddenly understood what the old man implied.

Training his son the way his ancestors had done, a millennia ago… Leaving Takeda with… who?

Kenshi knew the Lin Kuei were not an option – he would never dream of damning his son, to become a soulless tin armour under the ruthless Sektor.

The Shaolin? Kenshi felt his heart harden at the thought. He had resented the Shaolin being preferred to participate in the first Mortal Kombat tournament, over him – depriving him of the opportunity to exact revenge from Shang Tsung. Evidently, even after years, the hostility he felt toward them hadn't thawed.

That left only the Shirai Ryu.

His son, under the care of Hasashi Hanzo? The infamous former hell-wraith? A being forged in the darkest bowels of the Netherrealm?

Despite his respect for the restored Hanzo, the swordsman was more than uncomfortable with the thought.

"Do you understand now, Kenshi?"

"Thanks for making my life a whole lot harder than it was before," the swordsman muttered.

"Ahh, the years have made me a little hard of hearing, son. You'll have to speak up a little louder," returned Yeshe, turning his ear almost comically in the swordsman's direction.

Kenshi took the cue. He moved in closer and very loudly, spoke: "That is not what I wanted to hear!"

"Yikes! Who spit in your tea today?" the monk shook his head, trying to clear up his rattled hearing. Kenshi flashed a pleased grin.

"So the young, confused bearer of the Sento deems it better to break tradition, eh?"

The swordsman scoffed. Tradition meant little to him, it did nothing for a man in practical terms. The souls in the ancestors had told him of this, but the swordsman doubted what worked for the Takahashis ages ago, would achieve the same results now.

"I cannot part with my son, Yeshe. The situation is not the same."

"Hmm… I did give you a very clever reason, but you're not taking it." Yeshe frowned, and scratched his head. "Maybe I picked the wrong angry, young man this day."

"You do not understand. His mother was murdered by my enemies. What if something were to happen and I'm not there to protect him?"

This time, the old man grabbed his stick and lightly hit Kenshi on the top of his head with it. "Leave him with someone capable then, you fool!"

Despite his blindness, Kenshi blinked several times in disbelief from underneath his bandanna. He was torn in between the desire to laugh out loud at the man's childish ways, and the urge to treat him in kind: thinking how all it would take would be a single flick of his finger to send Yeshe flying out from the temple. The children would be beside themselves at the hilarity of it.

A sly smile threatened to creep up on his features - but he put that thought on hold for a while.

"He's my child! You're insane to think I'll leave him in another's care just for the sake of tradition!" Kenshi instead shot back, indignant.

As seemed routine for him, the old monk began to laugh out loud.

For several moments that was the only sound echoing in the chamber. Then, despite himself, Kenshi too found himself grinning in good humour – thinking he would cherish the memory of this crazy, old man for a long time.

"Ahh, dear boy. All this was to allay your first concern," began Yeshe, as his mirth subsided. "Never think of yourself unworthy. There are plenty undeserving of fatherhood, but only a blind fool cannot see the love you have for your child." Yeshe reached out and patted the swordsman on the shoulder, and then suddenly paused, his eyes widening as he awkwardly glanced at Kenshi, realising the words he just spoke. "Pardon the pun," he muttered, embarrassed.

"You love playing dangerously, don't you?" Kenshi questioned, amused.

"At my prime age of 84, it's all about living wild, and dying young, baby! Let me go get my motorcycle and drive off in the sunset now!" croaked the old man with a playful wink. Kenshi could not help but chuckle at the response.

A small comfortable silence fell in between the two, as the wind picked up outside.

"The tides of time, change Kenshi. But some things are eternal. The love of a father is one of them," Yeshe said, breaking the silence. "As eternal, as a plant growing up from the ground to become a mighty oak. But a lot of people miss something…"

Kenshi furrowed his brows slightly. "What is that?"

"We all pause to admire the mighty oak, but we dare not dwell on what it once was: A hapless little seed, ripped from the bosom of its fruit, and buried in the cold, hard earth. Ahh – the insignificant seed, so beautiful in its young, innocent way…" beamed the monk, before continuing.

"The thing is, Kenshi, the seed adapts – learns to fight, and in the process, completely shatters itself. But… look at what it becomes in its stead," Yeshe urged, with the enthusiasm and awe of a child. "A life force in itself, useful to others as well. And as it grows, more people come to admire it, to make use of it, until it bears its own fruit, and the process repeats itself…"

"Now, all this rambling isn't for nothing, young man. You tell me, has any one asked a mighty oak if his planter was a devil?"

"I… don't really talk to trees, but no, I guess."

Yeshe raised his stick again, but this time Kenshi caught it before it founds its mark in his belly. "Honestly, how old do you think I am?"

"A little over twelve. Around Jamyang's age," mused Yeshe thoughtfully. "Now don't you trivialise my philosophy!" he scolded with a frown. For a second, Kenshi actually did feel like a young schoolboy, as he tried to control his laughter – but he disciplined himself and focused on the monks' words.

"I know where this is going, old man."

"You may have heard of this analogy before, but you haven't understood it at all. My point is – everyone suffers hardships, Kenshi. We are all ripped apart, broken, shattered to pieces in our own ways. Sometimes, we put ourselves in that position, sometimes others do it for us. But once we grow, our outcome as a whole is certainly greater than the sum of our parts."

"I know, Yeshe," replied Kenshi, earnest yet slightly impatiently. "Though I wouldn't wish it even on an enemy, but I learnt all this the hard way once I was blinded."

"Ahh – but you are wrong, my child. You are yet, still a little seedling, Kenshi. As is your little boy," the monk answered kindly. "Should you end up parting from your son, know so, that you will burying both, him and yourself into the ground. It will be cold, it will be dark and you will be utterly alone. But you will survive – and it will make both of you stronger than you can ever imagine."

A small silence fell in between the two, before Kenshi spoke, sombre.

"Takeda will hate me for it, though. Leave him aside, I will hate myself for doing that to him. He doesn't yet know of his mother's death. He would need me when he finds out…"

"It will be difficult, undoubtedly. But rest assured - the heart of a father is at ease, if his son is content. No matter how far away he is, swordsman. You are new to fatherhood, but trust the father's heart that beats inside your chest. His safety will be your solace. And who knows… maybe one day, your son will find that the same devil of a father that once seemingly forsook him, was in fact, a guardian angel in disguise."

Kenshi nodded seriously, seeing the wisdom in the old man's words despite his earlier rambling.

"Maybe there is a brain underneath all that… Never mind. You're bald. Forget I said anything," Kenshi smirked, diffusing the tension in the air.

"I knew there'd be a mouth as sharp as your sword, in there!" The older man gave a crackle of laughter as he stood up, gathering his robes about him and leaned on his walking stick.

"Don't you worry, Takahashi Kenshi. Think about it, and make a sound decision. And in the meantime – ahh, curse my memory! Now where did I park my motorcycle?"

He chuckled softly, as the older man shuffled away from the chamber. Kenshi nodded to himself and returned back to meditating. He had a lot to think about, but was strangely optimistic after his talk with Yeshe.

Red Dragon Hideout

Unknown Location

It throbbed and flowed in waves of a foreign energy, one of its own kind; enticing, calling his name, beckoning him to come forth, taste the throes of untold power that it promised it would grant him.

'Only those truly worthy can become the vessel…'

Mavado resisted. It took him every ounce of his will power, every fibre of his being to walk away from it. Eventually he was able to conquer the sheer desire to let it rule him, enslave him.

'In time, you shall. First, finish your work…'

The thought had him seething with rage. The blind swordsman had gotten away, again - slipped from right beneath his fingers, like the slippery, pathetic worm that he was. Him, and his dirty, bastard child. Worthless as they were, they pinched Mavado like a thorn he couldn't retrieve – harmless in its insignificance, but with enough power to make life miserable for now.

'Lord Daegon commands it… Let him have the first taste, before you revel in its energies…'

Ahh… Lord Daegon. The riddle, inside a mystery, enclosed in an enigma. Never seen, never heard – but his presence is felt, the spirits he commends glaring right into the heart and soul of his followers. He had seen in the blind swordsman as a potential vessel – one that was perfectly capable of fulfilling the Red Dragon's creed. There was no other like him. None as brutal, as doggedly tenacious, as ruthless in his applications, as Takahashi Kenshi. He fought and killed exquisitely - without a shred of fear, remorse or care.

He fought his battles with incredible discipline. As if everything in the universe ceased to exist for him, apart from his opponent. Every move was as graceful as it was merciless; perfected by decades' of training, and executed with the ease of an expert, who knew his skill was unsurpassable.

As mechanically as a machine would. All of Kenshi's conscious thoughts would be locked down in some impenetrable part of his being. That had to be the case, given how he had managed to evade Daegon's omnipotent eye. Until Hao got lucky.

Hsu Hao. He had done well recently. Perhaps, he could be rewarded as such; perhaps his bloodline could be tested on, in Takahashi's stead.

Mavado immediately frowned. The thought displeased him. Hao was not Kenshi. He couldn't be careless at this point.

No matter, only time would tell. Of course, he had a job to do first. He could not help but allow himself a malicious grin; knowing that Kenshi's son, would be the key to his undoing. The swordsman had unknowingly, made his job even easier for him.

Near Mount Gephel,

Lhasa, Tibet

China

Later that evening

Atop the serene, lush green hills, sat a blazing, golden inferno.

The temple burned with a relentless furor, never witnessed before in the region. The screams and cries of the resident villagers echoed in the clear mountain air, as did the crackle of flames that enveloped the once-peaceful little town that had lent refuge to the Takahashis.

All up until now. It was as if judgement day had arrived early.

Panting, Kenshi ran with the boy in tow. He had had no destination in mind, nor did he have a back-up plan. He was simply stunned to the point of numbness – his limbs seemed to move out from their volition: and all he knew was that he had to get away from this place, before the Red Dragon deducted that he'd escaped from their dastardly clutches, yet again.

This time, he registered in some corner of his mind, that this was Hsu Hao's doing. First came the air attacks, then the molotov cocktails. No stealth, no subtlety about it. Kenshi knew it well – the attack was wanton, brazen and careless. Hao was deliberately conspicuous in his ways; a by-product of his jealousy of the higher-ups in the Red was none of Mavado's methodical planning in it; just an all-out brutal onslaught against a small city, in order to hunt one man.

Takeda, dragged himself along, stumbling and falling – only to be propped up by his father's unceremonious pulls. He normally would have cried in pain, as his arms were nearly dislocated from his sockets in the process; but the physical pain paled in comparison to the raw, absolute hatred he felt for the man who, by whatever stroke of bad luck, sired him.

Kenshi had ran without as much as a seconds' worth of pause, for several miles, until he arrived at a clearing, tucked away in the shadow of a nearby hill. He had some vague idea that he was closer to the dirt-road that would take them to the nearest city – and thus, decided to catch his breath. The village near Mount Gephel was still ablaze, although the distance in between them had eased off the screams – replacing it in fact, with a deathly silence. Kenshi let go of Takeda's hand, and almost collapsed on his knees. He desperately gulped in the cold mountain air, as it burned a fire of its own kind inside his lungs, as rivulets of sweat poured down his face.

Takeda too breathed deeply, clenching his fists and glaring at his father with a fury he had never before felt in his entire life. He heard the voices ringing in his head from merely minutes ago, at the temple...

'Jamyang, hold on! My father's coming!'

'Tell him to hurry, Takeda! I can't hold on-'

"You…" he growled, nostrils flaring, shaking with rage. "You're-not-my-father…" he paused, before shrieking: "You're a MONSTER!"

Kenshi heard the words, but he felt nothing. He prayed it was merely the shock of it all, that he had some semblance of humanity left to at least acknowledge the wrong he did.

'There's no time, son!'

'But Jamyang-'

'Don't argue with me!'

'He's hurt! He can't get out, he'll die, dad! You have to do something!'

'Takeedaaaa! HELP!'

Just as the Tibetan boy yelled, Takeda was swept off his feet by his father – as he kicked and screamed in his arms.

'Let go of me, Dad! I have to help him! Let me go! NO!'

'HELP! COME BACK! PLEASE, AAARGH!'

If fate was kind to him, the boy would be dead by now. An innocent, young boy who only wanted to play football with Takeda: killed, burned to crisp, and while the warrior deliberately did nothing to save him.

Yes, the boy was someone's son. Yes, it could have even been his own son.

But it wasn't.

Thus, Kenshi felt no remorse. The last time he had been this callous, was before he was blinded. He may have been able to defeat the arrogance that had usually cloaked such indifference, but the sheer will to kill or desert without a glance back, was evidently, still very much a part of how Takahashi Kenshi conducted his affairs.

Though he did retain some sense, some consciousness of the abnormality of his sentiments, he knew that consciousness alone, meant nothing.

And by God, he loathed himself in all entirety for it.

"I had no choice, Tak-"

Suddenly, Takeda felt a surge of anger burst through him; the suppression of confusion and fear of the past few days manifesting itself in a senseless rage he rained down on his father.

"YOU had no choice?! JAMYANG had no choice! You could have easily saved him! I've seen you do it, how could you be so cruel?!" His voice broke, and tears streamed down his face. Images flashed right before his eyes; the same ruddy boy, with the gray eyes and wide smile – one moment, playing joyfully with him, the next: yelling, crying with fear, begging to be saved, as his injured form was enveloped in a singular, deadly flare from the burning temple.

The Tibetan boy had screamed a blood-curdling scream, one that had caused the hair at the back of Kenshi's neck to rise up in terror. It still echoes in the swordsman's ears. Save for a weak whimper, Takeda had suddenly gone slack in his arms – seeing his friend burn and die in front of his eyes.

How could the swordsman fault the boy when he was absolutely right? There was not a shadow of doubt about it. Kenshi had abandoned him and ran with Takeda, purely out of selfishness.

Takeda didn't deserve to see any of that. He was just a ki-

The swordsman was immediately shoved to his side, a sudden lack of balance sending him crashing to the ground. He was mildly surprised at his own son's aggression, but the thought died as soon as he had realised it.

"You disgust me! I wish you'd have never come! You LIAR! MURDERER!" Takeda screamed, punching him with his small fists in the chest. Kenshi barely felt the weak blows, but he did nothing either to stop it.

Inside he felt utterly hollow – as if his son's words were ricocheting and echoing within this empty contained that was his body, but there was no soul left to absorb, or sanity left to heed them.

The only word he could think from his benumbed mind to describe his action, was cowardice.

A child perished in a horrifying death, while he had been too cowardly – to do anything to save him. He could have done it. Hell, he should have done it! But…

"I hate you! You're not my father! You can NEVER be my father! I HATE YOU!"

Fatherhood? Yeshe had been wrong. Kenshi did not deserve to be called a human for all his heartless apathy.

'What… have I become?'

In the madness of the that moment, where the child rained down his fists onto his unresponsive father, where the swordsman's mind reeled from the events of the days before, and with the stench of smoke and death still permeating from the duo - Takahashi Kenshi finally made the decision.

And we're done! :D

To be very, very honest - I think I rushed it a little. I did not want this to go over a certain word limit, and I just felt it was important to focus on the developments rather than plain descriptions as I was doing before. Please do let me know what you think about this pace, so I can plan the next chapter accordingly :)

Apart from that - I still literally can't believe how good it feels to write MAVADO of all people! X_X :'D I can't wait when I give him a proper role in all this, but I'll send a cake your way if you can guess what he's talking about here xD

Also - I don't really know where I got the idea of a badass, smooth-talking, motorcycle-riding Buddhist monk, but I just loved writing Yeshe xD

Also a heads up - "A riddle inside a mystery enclosed in an enigma" are not my words.. Winston Churchill said something to this effect when describing the Russian national interest as a predicative for pacing foreign policy during the Cold War. That's where my IR major came into play ;)

Whatever you liked, disliked, think could be done better, or just want to tell me how I did - please feel free to review and let me know! Thanks again, and as always, enjoy! :)