Shiwan,
Chap 02

One week later.

Shiwan remained obedient. Obedient and silent. Still, it was plain to Cranston, that the gears in his mind were always turning– turning and plotting, and as such, he remained ever-vigilant to any subtle inclinations toward action.

Cranston awoke to reveal the supernatural eyes of his enemy, with his favorite weapon, the bronze poniard, in his hand and ready to strike. He immediately sat up and the Poniard was driven into the spot of the pillow where his head once rested. Drawing the .45 from beneath the mattress, he expertly aimed and discharged the weapon, lighting up the room.

Shiwan staggered backwards and away from the deafening discharge. Dropping his weapon, one hand clutched at his chest.

As the lights were turned on, Cranston viewed…. Nothing. The gun was in his hand, and he felt the barrel, and sensed no heat nor smelled no gun powder.

Storming into the hallway and to his rival's room, two doors down, his hand shook with anger and he unlocked the deadbolt. Turning the lights to their full brightness, revealed his enemy slowing sitting up and sleepily blinking against the sudden light.

Brandishing his gun, he grabbed Shiwan's hair at the base of his neck. Reflexively, the younger mentaph's shoulders tightened against his hold, but he did not resist.

"Don't play innocent. What have you done?" and Cranston shoved the gun into his rival's chin.

Still blinking with surprise, "Done? I've done nothing but rest. You're paranoid,"

Fingers dug deeply into the flesh behind his neck, pulling the two tendons together with a rush of pain. As such, Shiwan hissed, his fangs descended and a second, forked, black, snake-like tongue flickered out as though in attempt to sense things supernatural.

"Your mouth… it is like a serpent! You have the tongue of a snake…"

"Actually, I have two tongues," Shiwan explained nonchalantly, "One's like yours and underneath is the second one you're calling a serpent tongue. See?" and he kas though he were proud of these features,

Cranston's mind filled with an epiphany. He had always thought that the detestable eyes of his enemy were like those of a cat… but now he realized the true nature of those horrid eyes– they were the bright green eyes of a snake, and his traditional upbringing resurfaced as he thought, A serpent? Truly a sign of the devil, and then aloud, "You…" and the Shadow's face contorted with hatred, "are an abomination…," and he continued, "What.. are.. you.. really?" enunciating each word, "I can see beneath your face,"

And when the Shadow gruffly released his enemy, the fangs and black-tongue were withdrawn. Shiwan smiled, "I am what I am...," not answering the question asked of him.

"And what is that exactly?" Cranston scowled in disgust.

"..I am half Pomanian, this I know,"

"..and what of the other half,"

Shiwan lowered his eyes momentarily, "This I do not know…"

"Liar. You know what you are,"

"Please tell me then, my sage," Shiwan bowed with mock worship.

"You are the son of the devil himself!" Cranston yelled, pointing an accusatory finger

"And why do I deserve such a place in your heart,"

Cranston's fists shook, but he restrained himself from striking. He calmed slightly, "Why?" and he knew he must calm himself. He digressed to another topic– to the temporary ownership of his enemy's life, "You seem to like to forget, waving the same finger, "That you are my servant, and you… are not to have any weapons," and aiming the .45 at his rival's neck, he lowered his voice, "Where is that dagger of yours?"

"What…dagger?"

"Now I know you lie! My dream… Give me the dagger, serpent servant,"

"Serpent servant?" Shiwan repeated to himself quietly, raising one eyebrow at Cranston, whom he more and more considered as a definitive lunatic.

Cocking the trigger of his weapon, "Give me your knife! I saw your intent in my dream."

Shiwan cringed, sensing that he was in true danger, and in a moment, revealed a one-and-a-half foot knife he had ki-cloaked invisibly at his side.

Yanking it from his rival's hand, he brandished both the knife and the gun.

Now truly without any hidden defenses, Shiwan was terrified. Retreating a pace, the back of his knees met the bed.

"You meant to kill me," Cranston fumed and repeated, "You mean to kill me with this knife,"

"I meant only to defend myself if I had to…"

"Liar," and he approached his enemy, only to ki-cuff one of his wrists to the nearby brass bed-knob.

Now restrained and off-balance, Shiwan fell onto his knees, "Cranston," his voice sounding high and pleading, "I have done nothing during the past week to deserve such treatment. My crimes are in your mind,"

The words 'your mind' prompted an idea into Cranston's consciousness, he used the hilt of the bronze dagger to strike a hard blow to Shiwan's temple.

His world full of pain and dizziness, the younger mentaph slid into a sit, resting his bleeding head against the side of the bed, "No…," and he trailed off to dark unconsciousness.

Studying the carved human-like features of the knife in detail, Cranston knew it to be ancient and powerful. At the end of the hilt was a ball in which the features of the Poniard's face were carved, its eyes were closed and strands of neatly braided hair were arranged around its shoulders. Two arms, with several bronze bangles encircling each tiny wrist, were visible as they crossed tightly around the hilt. Its carved human form composed the six-inch hilt. However, where there should be legs, was a razor-sharp, foot-long poniard-blade, with an ever-sharpened point.

Casting a dismissive glance at his unconscious rival, Cranston dead-bolted the door and retreated to the silence of his chambers.

With exhaustion, he collapsed on his own bed, after placing the knife on a pillow next to him. Hearing a buzzing rush of ki-wind, he witnessed a golden glow emanating from the knife. Much to his extreme amazement, what was a bronze dagger a moment ago, has metamorphosed into a supernatural being– its face and hands appeared the exact color of gold and hair of the same timbre– metallic and shiny, as though his face were painted, but Cranston knew it wasn't. Cinched about his waist with a metallic-green sash, his wrap-around waistcoat fell just above his knees, with loose-fitting golden-cloth pants visible beneath, and gold shoes that curved to a point.

As the supernatural creature's yellow-gold eyes lifted to meet his, Cranston was frightened for a moment. However, when it kneeled before him on one bended knee and lowered its eyes in submission. Approaching the being with authority he demanded, "Who are you?" and paused for a moment before adding, "What are you?"

"You know me, although you have never seen me in this form. I am Phurba, your Poniard…"

"Poniard? A knife?" and shaking his head in disbelief, "You are not a knife! There is trickery here…," and his eyes searched for someone or something ready to attack.

"No, master," the golden figure refocused his attention, "I am your poniard, your servant…," and it rose to approach him, arms outstretched with the clear intention to embrace.

"Stay back! Stop!" Cranston ordered, his voice shaking, and the poniard instantly obeyed, freezing his approach, one foot still in front of the other, and it bowed low in submission.

"Poniard, is it?" Cranston whispered.

"Yes, you may call me as such," and he straightened from his bow. Lifting his eyes, he took another step forward,"

"I said stop!" and again it stopped… for a moment… before again resuming its approach, and with outstretched arms, it embraced it master, planting a gentle kiss of adoration on his cheek.

Cranston reciprocated the embrace just out of curiosity, feeling hard unnatural flesh on the poniard's back beneath its clothing, as though its back were made of metal. However the touch of its lips was soft, as though some parts of its anatomy were made of metal, while others were composed of humanlike flesh.

"Poniard," called a nearby voice with an authoritarian timbre. Poniard released Cranton and whirled around to meet the voice of Master Heong, "Phurna Pon-yard! The Master enunciated, and it immediately kneeled where it stood, lowering its head.

"Master Heong," gasped Cranston at his old teacher's sudden appearance. Granted, though the old master's appearance was sudden, it was hardly unusual– he had some uncanny way of showing-up at the most inopportune times.

"Yes, yes, student…." He casually approached his former pupil, "I see Poniard has revealed himself to you,"

"You knew Shiwan's knife could assume a human form?"

"Shiwan? Yes, yes, he is a tricky one…," and then addressing the golden form kneeling head-down before him, "Pon-yard. Poniard stand. Poniard come," and he pointed to the spot on the ground next to him.

The Poniard hung his head low and humbly obeyed his old master's words.

"You see, Shadow, you must show him that you are the master, or he will try to disobey you," and he stroked the Poniards golden hair, as though he were his son.

That night, Cranston instructed the Poniard to sit next to him to watch the television news. It was critical to stay on top of current events, and he was curious to see if the Poniard could comprehend such things. However, the Poniard appeared uninterested in the flickering television. Disappointed and exhausted after the long day, Cranston dosed off with his hand supporting his chin.

After a few moments of rest, he suddenly awoke to the distant, yet loud, crash of metal pans from downstairs, and he was instantly on his feet to investigate what he believed to be another one of Shiwan's attempts at defiance.

Entering the kitchen, he witnessed the golden form of the Poniard standing guiltily amidst several pots that had just fallen to the kitchen floor, "Poniard!" and it turned toward Cranston's voice,. However, it laughed and quickly dashed away to exit to the outside garden. Jumping over a bush, it accelerated into a strong and steady, jogging run.

"Hey!" and Cranston was immediately after the golden streak of its receding form.

Coming on top of it near the fountain, he grabbed its shoulder and whirled it around so that it lost its balance and tumbled to the ground. Curiously cocking its head to one side, it looked up at him, sitting unnaturally with its legs straight out in a 'V", and its gold-painted mouth turned up into a defiant smile.

Fuming with anger, Cranston struck its face while admonishing, "Poniard, no! Stand up!"

Its smile instantly faded and it placed a hand on its slapped golden cheek,
"Poniard, yes!" it defied his order with a hiss.

Growling in outrage, Cranston chopped at its neck with the side of his hand– a move he thought would reduce his victim to gasping breaths. However, it was Cranston who gasped as he discovered that in contrast to the Poniard's soft, fleshy face, its throat was as hard as metal. His attack and had little effect except to bruise his hand. Still, he yanked the Poniard to its feet so that its golden eyes met his green eyes.

Opting to try to read its mind, Cranston sensed its fear. Fear and something else…. headstrong will! As Master Heong had warned, Cranston must replace the Poniard's will with his will. Recalling the crackly echo of his Master Heong's words spoken earlier that day as he described the creation of the Poniard. The old master explained that it was not he who created the weapon, is was forged by his Master's master, known as the 'Grand Master'

"Although it does not consciously know it, domination is truly what it needs, or it will leave to search out a stronger master who could dominate it and drive it to its full potential– one who would drive it into the hearts of its master's enemies. That's why it was created– to be ruled by a powerful master, and to be his weapon of domination. This was the golden poniards destiny.

That's why long ago its creator drew from his own life-force, to give the Poniard its own spirit– to give it a soul. As it possessed its own soul, it also had its own will! Your will must be stronger than its own will, and it will test you! As a thinking and conscious weapon– it still needs to be taught. Still, like a child, it needed direction, it needed to be ruled.

But you must know you cannot rule it with brute force, nor with cruelty or torture. You must dominate it with your own strength of will!"

As Cranston rubbed the knuckles that just collided with the childish Poniard's face, a drop of red blood had formed on its lip from the punishment. It was genuinely frightened, and such, it fell to its knees in submission, whimpering at the subtle pain from its lip and muttering profuse apologies.

"Return," and Cranston held out his hand, "Return to my hand,"

"Poniard, return!" the Shadow repeated, and the Poniard instantly changed its apologetic demeanor into a snarl, baring its teeth in defiance.

Inhaling deeply and closing his eyes, he opted to convey his intent to the golden being without words. Poniard, please? he thought, and it reluctantly obeyed, morphing its humanlike form into the solid shape of a foot-and-a-half long bronze knife. Quickly, it hovered through the air to return to Cranston's extended hand. "Good, Poniard. Now, stay," exhaling in relief, he sheathed the rebellious and willful weapon at his hip. The sheath holding the knife was made of ancient and power ki– the ki of Master Heong's Master's Master, his Grand-Master as it were. Strapped into the powerful restraint, the Poniard was subdued, yet relaxed and secure. While in its custom made ki-sheath, it seemed to immediately diminish its ki and sink into a trancelike sleep– awaiting its next instruction.

This sheath was where it had spent most of the past 100 years. It had mostly been used when necessary, and only learned during the time it was conscious. So, for only ten of the past one-hundred years was it awake. As such, it acted like a child the age of ten, yet appeared as a small, full-grown man– albeit a man with glittering gold skin, hair and eyes. Long ago, the old Grand-master had gone to great lengths and expense to clothe it with threads made of pliable 24-karat gold, and had its hair weaved and braided with such finery as well. As though it were his son, the Grand-master had also taken care to instruct the Poniard in the traditional marital arts, as well as fine-tuning the metamorphosis process from bronze-knife to its human form, a task it quickly mastered.

With the passage of the old Grand-master, his apprentice, Elder Heong, inherited the bronze Poniard. The Elder Heong was a cruel and vicious ki-master, intent on the domination of man. As such, the Poniard was instructed to destroy many bold warriors, and it gained a taste for lust and bloodshed. In time, it too passed from the Elder Heong to his apprentice, Master Heong. With his gentle and conservative nature, Master Heong influenced the Poniard, schooled it in literature and mathematics. It was he who discovered the Poniard's innate intelligence in addition to its physical and mental prowess.

Finally, stolen from Master Heong by Shiwan Kahn two months ago, it also chose to reveal its humanlike form to the younger mentaph. However, Shiwan seemed to posses the same dark characteristics of the Elder Heong, as he was also cruel, vicious and intent on domination. However, Shiwan lacked self-control, and was barely able to control the rage clouding his mind. His soul was scarred with black vengeance toward the Shadow, with fiery rage fuelled by the accidental loss of his wing. Intent on revenge, Shiwan would attempt to drive the Poniard to feel his rage, and would surly aim the blade at his enemy.

The Poniard rested as well– awaiting its next instruction.

Shiwan, Chapter Two, Page 7