Reborn in Blood: Stories of Transformation

Discipline

Discipline

He stirred from his slumber; screams intermingling with the crash of steel and battle cries echoed outside of his door.  Leaping from his bed, he pulled his brown monastery robes over his naked body before running to the window.  Outside in the garden a war was being waged; the normally peaceful monks had taken up arms, wielding them against human and beast alike—and some of the creatures were something in between human and animal.

This was it.  Him and his brothers had dedicated their lives, spent years training and preparing for this—the day when they would face the beasts that steal children in the night, and drink the blood of the living.  He knew he was prepared, but watching the beasts, the power that they wielded; even nature obeyed their commands.  The enemy did not know what they were facing though.

He tore his eyes away from the battle as the rice paper wall of the room was ripped away.  In place of the wall stood a large tiger, its body’s massive muscles rippling with each step.  Blood dripped from the beasts clenched jaws, and in between the ruby teeth, it held a silver bladed katana—his master’s weapon.

The blood rushed to his cheeks, his body shook with rage.  Holding its ground the tiger eyed the boy as if measuring him, and calculating its next move—there was more than bestial intelligence within the creature.  Knowing this the boy moved slowly towards his weapons, a twin pair of sais that rested in an oaken chest at the foot of his bed.  As he moved the animal’s eyes never left his own, each gauging the other—the boy knew who the superior being was.

Turning his back to the creature for a mere second he grabbed his weapons then turned prepared to strike the beast.  Whirling back though the tiger was gone, in its place stood a man brandishing his master’s sword.  The man was slender, with graying hair; he was clothed in white flowing robes, which were stained crimson.  The boy looked him over, he seemed familiar—the way he held the blade in his delicate yet strong hands.

His opponent was going to kill him; he had no doubt.  The man/beast had slain his master, a man who had dedicated his life to fighting the creatures of the dark, he a mere apprentice, stood no chance.  He had trained for this though, this is how he would die, honoring his dedication.

Clenching his teeth, he hurled himself at the man, but before he could get within striking distance mighty wings sprouted from the man’s back.  The feathered monstrosities were huge, and as they began to beat the winds they created forced him to take steps backward.  He tried to move forward but the wings fanned faster creating gale force winds.  The ground disappeared from beneath his feet as he was hurled backwards through the opposite wall.

Brushing himself off, he stood poised to strike but the man/beast was gone.  It was then, in the moment of calm, which the true scope of what had befallen the monastery began to set in.  His arms dropped; flames licked the sky, the ancient temple was in ruins, all through the gardens blood ran in steady streams—the beasts fed on the bodies of his brothers, some of them still alive as they were devoured.

A screech overhead, made him awaken to the present.  He moved just in time to see a falcon descend upon him; the talons tore through his cheek filling his mouth with blood, and sending his blood cascading down his face.  It took him but a moments notice to retake his fighter’s stance, ready for another attack, but the bird was gone, replaced by the man/beast.

“That was for humility.”  The man had a thick Mandarin accent, not unlike his masters; the face disgusted him even more.  “What is your name boy?”

The boy looked at him, his voice trembled with contempt as he spoke the name his father had given him:  “Dashi.”

“I see….  Dashi there must have been something special about you.”  The man/beast eyed him over, “My brother would never take a whelp as his personal apprentice.  My brother, your master, Keung was always partial to those strong in spirit—is that you boy?”  The boy did not answer; the man smiled regardless, “Your silence speaks volumes.”

“He was your brother?”

The man knew he had the boy.  “I am sure there is much my brother did not tell you.  Did he tell you that he was jealous of me and my power?  Did he tell you that he was jealous of what I became, and what I never gave him?”  The man paused letting the boy absorb what he was hearing.  “It was when I received the Kiss and refused to give it unto him that he started this monastery to train those who he would have kill us.  Maybe he had some vain hope that out of fear one of us would give it to him—a fatal error.”

Standing frozen, the boy never let his eye contact with the man sever; the fact that he was still alive was a blessing, but how much longer his life would extend, seemed to rest in man’s good graces.  “Dashi, I see the thoughts, you fear death.  I offer you a gift so that you would never have to worry about it again—ever.  I offer you the chance to reach potential beyond your mortal reach, a gift I refused my own flesh.”  The man opened his arms, “Come and receive the Kiss that gives both life and death.”

Dashi’s eyes burned with ambition as he stepped forward, but his heart told him differently; he knew he was making a deal with the devil.  The man wrapped his arms about the boy, as he embraced him the boy could smell the earthy aroma that hovered about him.  He felt the cold hands take his head tilting it sideways exposing the veins in his neck that carried his life force.

The cold teeth pressed into his soft flesh, the man lavished the taste of the youthful blood.  He drank deeply of the pumping fountain.  Choking, the man spat out the blood as it spared out onto his clothing, cold and stale.  He released the boy who crumbled at his feet as soon as he let go.  Looking down at the boy who now laid sprawled on the earth, it took the man several seconds to understand what was transpiring.

In one hand, the boy held a bloodied sai, in the other his intestines.