Sorry I haven't updated, I didn't think anyone would read it, so if you did I'm sorry. Also I've been quite busy with school and such.

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Flames licked hungrily at the buildings. Sparks flew high into the heavens. A scene of despair and pain lay before the traveller, his return after what seemed too long was supposed to be a joyful one. Fearing for the ones he left behind he ran from the woods. He ran straight into the heart of the disaster.

The smoke, seeping through his scarf, choked him and made his eyes water. Pleading to any god he stumbled through the wreckage, calling out names as he went. Finally he stood before his home. Falling to his knees his stinging eyes began to weep. No one had answered his calls, he doubted anyone been alive when the estate had been torched. As he cried for his family, he became aware of nothing but his own grief. The seven people who gathered behind him went unnoticed. Their soot and sweat stained faces watched him sorrowfully.

They knew the man, they knew him well. He was one of them, they were supposed to protect the village from bandits, and they had failed. In their attempt they had lost four of their number, most had been injured beyond salvation, or had poison coursing through their veins. They had still crawled back to the square, where they stood now.

For what seemed an eternity they stood patiently watching the house, glancing at their grieving companion with pity. At last someone stumbled out, clutching a frail figure to their body. One of the seven stepped forward and rested her blood encrusted hand on the grieving man's shoulder. Immediately he looked up, his red eyes saw nothing but a burning shadow, until he dried them.

With a start he leapt up and ran swiftly to the rescuer. He helped them to the centre of the square where the seven still stood patiently. Relieved of the duty of carrying the body, the rescuer looked up at the group. Although they were on the verge of death, they still held determined fierce looks in their eyes. He spoke with a powerful voice that raised the hopes of the most broken fighter.

"Now with our thirteenth returned, we shall make our last attack. The witch must die!" With that the group cheered loudly, stirring the sleeping figure in the travellers arm.

What happened next was a mystery. After they had made their pledge the group had been surrounded. Somehow the figure had been moved out of danger while the nine fought savagely. Their enemy out numbered them greatly, and, among other advantages, had no fear of death, for they were already dead.

A doshi is behind this one, thought one of the weary fighters, noting the talismans on their adversaries' foreheads.

They were surrounded by dead puppets, controlled from elsewhere. At full strength the group knew they might have stood a chance, but many of their number were on the verge of death already. They were overwhelmed.

Soon comrades began to fall, death finally taking them. All too suddenly there were only five left. As the sixth hit the ground with a cry of pain everything became silent. The corpses stopped where they were, for a few moments it seemed they were frozen. Then they began to move back, slowly and quietly. Only the sounds of the odd clicking bones were heard above the survivors' heavy breaths. Some began to part creating a path between them, down which a tall figure shrouded in a dark cloak made its way toward the five, who watched it and the puppets wearily.

"I have come to relieve the Thirteen Cats of their Spirits before you grow to be a problem." The figure stopped metres away from the bedraggled fighters; unseeing eyes came to their view. "Already holding seven I predict that I will soon hold the rest." One of the five furthest from the sightless man, for his voice caused them to assume his male identity, the poison in his blood overcoming him. "Make that eight. It also appears that the Thirteenth has returned from treachery. This is all in my favour."

Hearing these words the traveller gripped his dripping daggers with such force his knuckles paled. He was closest to the witch, he had a clean shot, all he had to do was time it right. His leader spoke quietly from behind, "Ignore his words, none of us held feelings against you. Your arrival is in our favour."

Somewhere behind the sightless doshi, hidden in the wreckage was the girl who had been rescued from the fire. She woke groggily and looked around. All she could feel was the pain in her mind but she forced herself to focus. She could tell she was not safe yet. The smell of rotting flesh drew her attention to the enemy surrounding the square. She concealed a scream when she realised they were dead. Carefully she crawled closer to the figure in the cloak, ignoring the burning pain. He had to be responsible, and she wanted a better view.

It appeared to her horror that only four of the original four stood from the original twelve defenders. She recognised three of the survivors, they were all battered and closing in on death by their appearance, but one she did not immediately recognise. When the Thirteenth Cat came to her she gasped. Is it really him? He's been gone for so long, I didn't think he would ever return, she thought as she watched.

The Thirteenth attacked the cloaked figure, with such sudden aggression that the girl almost jumped. He lashed out so fast she was sure he had struck his target. Before her eyes the figure gracefully dodged each attack thrown at him. All that the traveller had caused was weariness in his own body with his attacks. With the growing weariness came sloppy attacks and mistakes. He lunged too far and could not stop himself from falling to his knees. Coughing and panting, he struggled to stand again. Looking up he found himself looking straight at the girl that had been carried from the burning house. He smiled weakly at her, once she had been his friend, they were nearly promised in marriage to each other. Managing to get to his feet he turned slowly to face his enemy once more.

Noting that the man now held a sword, he made one last attack. The girl gasped and looked away, not bearing to watch his death. The sword bit hard into his abdomen. His body screamed with rage as he pushed forward onto the blade. He slashed at the sword's holder. His daggers bit into the man's shoulder and arm. A trickle of blood from his lips, followed the Thirteenth's smile. His breathing shallow with pain, the Thirteenth Cat fell forward on the sword. He kept his eyes open long enough to see the remaining three launch their own attacks at the doshi. The witch's last words cut through the pain.

"Even in death you will not find peace."

After he had won the witch had sealed the Thirteen Cat Spirits in the Thirteen Shrines. As time passed their memory was forgotten and legends of the shrines were invented. The Thirteenth Shrine was always given the part of the traitor. Eventually the Twelve Shrines were destroyed, the people fearing malicious spirits. Along with their destruction came the destruction of the spirits of those twelve defenders. Yet the people refused to destroy the Thirteenth Shrine, fearing the release of the traitorous spirit that supposedly slept within. So the centuries passed and Ne-Koran had to endure his own thoughts and silence.

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And voila, you have his history. No wonder he wets the bed, oops I didn't say that. Next update will be in quite a while; it's not prepared at all. Read and review, flame, be a hater, slobber on it, be constructive, just be you.