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 Posted: Sat Dec 19, 2020 8:20 am
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A legend warned of a shapeshifter, telling of his incurable bloodlust and how trust in him led to the doom of many.
The stallion had heard this cautionary tale all throughout his life, and yet, this one was just... so small. The skinwalker child was born prematurely - as Soquili foals are often are - but he was not given the nurturing environment of a basket to finish his development. He did not need to slay this child; he would not last more than a day without his parents, and they were not coming back.
The pair of vulpine walkers, Aka and Shiro, ruled this territory. The local herd worshipped the kitsune as Gods, believing they brought them good fortune and protection in exchange for sacrifices at every new moon. The herd were so enthralled by the kitsune, they believed it was an honor to be sacrificed to their Gods. While luring Soquili from outside their herd, they found him, a master swordsman who was raised to purge the world of evil. Specifically, he had been trained in the art of sword combat to exterminate purewalkers and their wickedness of which his herd's legend told. It was not long before he realized this herd was another victim of the shapeshifters, and he could liberate them.
He accepted his fate as their sacrifice, and, on the night of the new moon, they led him up the mountain to the home of their Gods. They prayed in the firelight, then left him as the fog closed in. In the silence, the kitsune crept out from their lair and cackled in the shadows. They were frighteningly strong, but unarmed - and, for some reason, he was allowed to keep his katana. Perhaps the herd truly believed their Gods were immortal, and could not be felled by steel; however, as the sun rose, it was apparent that their Gods bled after all.
His need for a salve or cloth to bandage his wounds is what initially drew him into their den, only to find the newborn purewalker instead. He was pure white, like his mother, save for accents from red from his father. The swordsman, who had killed purewalkers all of his life, could not bring himself to harm this fragile child who had yet to open his eyes. His knowledge of purewalkers was that they were bloodthirsty killers, but why was that so? Was this tiny infant really damned to a such a wretched existence before he had even begun to live?
Was he irredeemable?
The swordsman sat back on his haunches. He sliced his paw open with one of his claws, blood immediately oozing from the wound. He flexed his paw above the infant purewalker, and blood dripped down into a pool in front of the purewalker's nose. The child stirred, making some kind of grinding sound the swordsman interpreted as a growl. He pressed that bloody paw down firmly on the back of the child's neck. The bloodlust was evident from birth, apparently... but how could he help his own physiology? Purewalkers needed to eat meat and nothing else; the drive was imperative to their survival. Could he blame the child for his biological needs?
He closed his eyes and sighed, easing the pressure he put on the child. "I can't do it," he admitted as he stroked the purewalker, painting his pristine white fur red. He turned his gaze to his sword that rested on the ground between him and the child, staring at his reflection in the blade. "All my life I've been killing your kind, and to what end? There's always another one, killing indiscriminately. Because of your kind's killing, my life has been all about killing, too." He paused as he felt the child move towards him, his paws reaching out and finding the hilt of the katana. Tiny claws extended, and he rested his head on his paws. The swordsman smiled. "But maybe... we can both escape it," he mused as he watched the kit grasp the key to his salvation.
Thus began the kitsune's apprenticeship under the master swordsman, Hojo, who believed a disciplined life guided by the art of swordsmanship under his tutelage could redeem the purewalker and rectify him of his affliction. The herd, when they learned the truth about their Gods, hailed the swordsman as their hero, and believed him when he said this child could be saved just as they had been saved. Hojo assumed leadership of this herd, and began training his first and only student, Ashura. |
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Posted: Sat Dec 19, 2020 8:21 am
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He fell to the ground, face being the first to greet the dirt. He snarled, and slapped the ground with frustration.
"Get up," Hojo commanded. "You will learn control."
The young, white walker detested his master, wanting nothing more than the pawed stallion's death. He dreamed of it every night, and it was the only peace he found in this miserable existence. Ashura did not ask to be subjugated by this fool who had full control over every aspect of his life. Hojo decided when Ashura woke up, when Ashura ate, when Ashura slept, how Ashura would spend his day, whether or not Ashura would see the sun - hell, he even controlled when Ashura pissed. Every day, they went through Hojo's training regiment at which Ashura showed great promise. He was agile, smart, and precise. The fundamental problem was the viciousness; he had no control over himself. He attacked without thought, and he would never succeed with this method alone. Every time, Hojo repelled him with ease. He would not progress if he could not learn to control himself.
"I told you to get up."
Ashura managed to roll out of the way of the staff before Hojo struck him on the ground. He picked up his wooden sword and lunged back at Hojo, only to meet the staff. Again, Hojo blocked his strike and swatted the colt face-down onto the ground. Blood trickled from his nose, mixing with the dirt. He was so sick of this filthy dirt.
"Why won't you die?!" Ashura cried out, glaring up at his unwanted master.
"Because you can't kill me," Hojo answered calmly, "And you'll never be able to kill me or anything else if you don't learn."
Ashura gathered himself and, without his wooden sword, leaped at Hojo once again, claws extended and jaws wide. Hojo struck him between his open jaws with his staff, and brought the colt to the ground once more. Pinned, Ashura was entirely at his mercy.
"You must learn," he demanded. Ashura, unable to speak or move, breathed heavily as his master spoke. "Control yourself."
He did not want to concede, but he was helpless. There was no way out of this hold, and Hojo could easily outlast him. Still, he resisted.
"Control." Hojo was firm, unrelenting.
So, Ashura finally relented instead. The tension drained from his muscles, and Hojo released him. The kitsune dropped backed to the ground and remained still as Hojo rose to stand over him.
"Good."
Ashura remained silent, head still on the ground despite how much he had grown to abhor dirt.
"In a duel, the victor is the one who is in control. You cannot control your opponent, but you can control yourself. If you control yourself more than your opponent controls themselves, you control the fight... and you will win."
As much as he despised Hojo, he knew he was right. Ashura did not want the sanctimonious swordsman to be right, but he was. "I understand," he finally said, voice restrained.
"I know." A smile graced Hojo's face, believing he had made a breakthrough with his purewalker apprentice. Perhaps the training was working after all. "Let's continue. I will attack; you will defend. You must learn defense as much as offense. Remember to control your mind; your movements will follow."
Ashura's gaze remained fixed on his master as he spoke. He would not be free of Hojo as long as Hojo was alive; however, he could never hope to kill Hojo unless he learned all that Hojo had to teach him. Hojo was a respected, renowned swordsman for a reason: he was that good. He was an expert of his craft who had lived his entire life killing purewalkers that behaved as Ashura was behaving now. Uncontrolled, savage attacking would never be enough, no matter how strong, swift, or smart he grew to be, and Ashura was above killing Hojo in some underhanded way like poison or in the night when he was asleep.
No, Hojo would die at the end of his sword, but not before he tore Hojo's life's work to ribbons before his eyes. His well-meaning master would realize the error of his ways that day, and it would be the cruelest execution once Hojo witnessed the demon of his own design.
It would take time, but Ashura vowed he would learn to control himself, enough so that he would be the victor of his duel against Hojo and every duel after that. This rage he felt, this instinctual desire to maim, it would not lead to success - not in this form, anyway. The aim was not to suppress his bloodlust; rather, he needed to be able to control it enough to channel it into his sword, to control his movements so that he could kill with ease. If he could learn control, victory would be assured, just as Hojo described.
Though he struggled, he dipped his head ever so slightly in a bow when Hojo's instructions concluded. "Hai, Sensei," he said. There was a new focus in his eyes, and he took up his sword to begin learning. |
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Posted: Sat Dec 19, 2020 8:22 am
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Despite their liberation from Ashura's parents, the herd continued their New Moon festivals, albeit with no sacrifices. Instead, they celebrated their freedom, new life, and their savior, Hojo. They praised his insight, prowess, and patience, all evident by his successes in killing the false Gods and curing the blood madness which addled those of their kind. It was thought to be impossible, yet here was the proof himself, sitting poised and pretty next to their leader and his master. A smile rested on his face as he observed the ceremonies with his perfected façade. Were it not for the weight in his chest and the palpable distaste in his throat, he may have also been convinced that he was reformed as everyone, including Hojo, seemed to believe.
Many of these festivals had passed since he began his journey as a swordsman, and, to this day, he did not feel the slightest hint of enjoyment for them. He hated them, in fact. Ashura was starting to understand himself, and he was realizing that he had a propensity to project his hatred onto tangible targets. This was the perfect example: he hated these festivities because they were a bitter reminder of his captivity. Similarly, he hated dirt, blood, and filth because their stains on his fur and clothes were each a mark of his numerous defeats at Hojo's paws.
Or perhaps he simply hated being forced to mingle with the herd in order to maintain this charade. He was forced to be that which he was not, and it was incredibly stifling. It was the ultimate lesson of control, and he had succeeded so far. Only in the nights, alone with his thoughts, could he relish in the fantasies of release. Often, he found himself considering giving into his desires, but that would mean death by Hojo's blade and Ashura had endured far too much to allow the fool that privilege. He could not yet face the older swordsman, and he knew he still had much to learn. Hell, Hojo reminded him of that fact every day in one way or another.
"Ashura?"
The voice broke through his thoughts, a blade in its own right. He turned to Hojo with a pleasant expression, dipping his head before speaking. "Yes, Hojo-sensei?"
"Why don't you go spend time with everyone?"
He blinked. Ever since he could remember, Hojo was ever vigilant, either within striking distance of Ashura or sealing him away in their cave at the base of the mountain. This was the first time his master was permitting him to leave his side. He studied Hojo for a few, lengthy moments, his suspicion discernable in his twitching tails.
"Are you ever going to learn to stop doing that?"
"What?"
Hojo lifted his chin to nod. "We'll have to train that tell out of you. Your tails always say what you're feeling."
"Hm," he mused. For someone as astute as Hojo, it would seem that he still remained ignorant of Ashura's nature. Why else would he risk allowing the walker to socialize with the herd he adored? "I hope I'm as shrewd as you when I'm older." The comment was contemptuous, but his master did not know that.
"You will be, but forget that for now. What's the matter?"
Another pause, a briefer one this time. "You've never let me leave your side."
Hojo nodded, turning his gaze away from Ashura to the herd that celebrated in front of them. "No... but you're different now. You've learned how to control your instincts. It won't be long before you are able to completely control your actions, too."
Ashura continued to watch the stallion, this time controlling his traitorous tails.
"I trust you, Ashura."
He knew it. His deception had fooled the old swordsman. He was surprised, for surely Hojo knew better. Perhaps he had accepted the reality he wanted to believe, that the sword was not only a tool for slaughter and it could instead be used as a instrument of change. It could be simpler than that, and he so desperately wanted to believe that the time he spent training the kitsune was worth the effort, that was the truth he internalized.
None of these versions of reality mattered in the end, as Ashura's nature was no different than when he first came under Hojo's paw. All that had changed was Ashura's skill and control. His foolish master was sharpening the blade that would strike him down and he was either unaware of the danger or turning a blind eye to it.
"Thank you, Hojo-sensei," he said with a smile, then stood and walked away to do as his master commanded. He could endure this act for a little while longer and be friendly with the members of this herd. It would only add to their horror when they see that they were all wrong to trust him. |
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Posted: Sat Dec 19, 2020 8:23 am
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As time passed, Hojo's absurd ambitions became clear. He was not merely attempting to tame a purewalker; he was forging a weapon to be wielded in his war against evil. The scourge that beset the lands seemed to be worsening as timed passed. More skinwalkers were manifesting, and Hojo could no longer justify his absence from the fight against them. He caught wind of a bat terrorizing those who entered a woodland, not three days from here. One of its targets managed to escape, weak and wounded, and found his herd. They nursed the young mare back to health, telling her of their own conflict with skinwalkers, and how Hojo saved them. Furthermore, they told her of the kitsune in their midst, a walker who had been changed through Hojo's guidance.
Ashura met the girl, and she was afraid. She did not trust him, and rightfully so. She had witnessed the face of real evil, and saw its reflection as Ashura stared at her. Her pleas fell on deaf ears; no one heeded her warnings.
The bat had convinced her to stay with him, somehow earning her trust. She was naught but livestock, an ever-replenishing reservoir of blood from which he drank. A new mare entered his woods, and his allegiances became apparent. He could not resist the novel taste, and she realized that she was expendable as she watched him and his new affection from the shadows. This new mare, however, was not so naïve. She saw him for what he was, not deceived by his silver tongue or gentle touch. He killed that new mare, and his current captive gasped, exposing herself.
The bat located her, and she would never forget his menacing grin or blood dripping down from his frightening teeth. He caught her, and hurt her, but she managed to find the resolve to strike his horrid face and flee. For some reason, he did not pursue her. Perhaps he expected that his darling would return to him. After all, she loved him.
Ashura was the same, with his silver tongue and gentle touch. Still, her experience wizened her, and the malice in his eyes was obvious. It had been reduced to embers, but it only needed a little fuel to ignite. Hojo and his herd were blind to it. Ashura had lived with them for years, and, surely, Hojo's endeavors had been rewarded with a walker unlike any other.
Ashura could not silence her. Not yet. As much as he had grown, he still could not defeat the old swordsman. Somehow, he needed to convince her that he was different.
"I'm sorry that this happened to you," he spoke softly, his words seemingly sincere. She trembled as he spoke, tears rolling down her face. He extended a paw, and she shuddered away. He still enjoyed this powerful feeling when he witnessed someone's fear of him. "I know how to make this right, and maybe then you'll trust me."
He rose to his paws and turned to Hojo. "Let's kill him."
Hojo smiled and dipped his head in agreement. Though he had already decided to hunt down the batwalker with Ashura at his side, he was pleased that it was Ashura who suggested the hunt. He cast a reassuring gaze at the frightened young mare. This fox was different, and Ashura would reveal that to her...
He would reveal that fact to them all, just not quite yet.
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Three days passed, and they found the woods the mare described. It was a beautiful sight, lush and still. It would have been inviting, were not for the chilling silence saturating the air, a grim warning to those who dared to enter the trees. Somewhere in there was Ashura's first true test. Although he had participated in tracking walkers and killed them together with his master, Hojo had still not allowed him to fight them on his own.
This time was different. This time, it was Ashura's hunt and his alone. Hojo would shadow him and observe, but would not intervene unless the situation was dire.
"What do you know?" Hojo asked.
"I know he's a bat," Ashura responded immediately. "She spent enough time with him to know that much, so I'm gonna trust her." He paused then, watching the trees, then looked up at the sky. "He's not awake; the sun won't set for another few hours."
"So, what do you want to do?"
Red eyes rested upon the trees again. "I'm gonna go in there and find him."
Hojo's eyes narrowed. "Is that wise?"
"I don't see why not. It's unlikely that he's awake, and that'll give me a few hours to find him."
Hojo did not immediately speak, focused on the kitsune. He forgot that the pelt granted him those abilities. He knew of those advantages when fighting other walkers, but, now, his apprentice had them as well. Foxes had extraordinary hearing, smell, and sight, and Ashura would use these qualities to find his foe. And yet, Hojo still felt that his apprentice was being bolder than necessary. "You should take your time."
Ashura cast a disapproving look at his master. "Why?"
"What if he runs? You can't fly now, can you?"
The kitsune scoffed, looking back at the woods ahead. "He won't. He's a walker, and this is his territory. He'll be ready to fight, especially to defend his woods from another walker."
Hojo paused again. The certainty in Ashura's eyes almost concerned him, but he had trained the kitsune to be decisive in his actions. "Lead the way."
Ashura advanced without a word. This was more than Hojo's test of his abilities; Ashura needed to know how he fared in live combat. Without Hojo's support, this was the first time he could measure how well he fought in a situation where his opponent was fighting to kill. Anxiety flared in his chest. He was not scared of facing a purewalker alone -- that excited him incredibly; he was petrified of failure. His pace hastened, eager to uncover the bat's whereabouts.
Just as the sun began to set, they found the creature's cavern. It was well into the woods, not necessarily difficult to find by difficult to access. Similar to the rest of the woods, it was dreadfully quiet. Ashura stared into the black void. Though the bat had done well to conceal visual evidence, the smell of blood hung thick around them. The mare would not have been able to detect it, and the bat knew that.
"Are you ready, Ashura?"
"Yes," he replied assuredly.
Hojo nodded. "I'll wait here, for now, and follow after you've made some progress."
Ashura strode forward, focused on the task at hand and undeterred by the dark. He had only entered by three paces when the roof of the cave shuddered. He only froze for a brief instant, before he lunged out, clearing the entrance before it collapsed. "Ashura!" Hojo screamed behind him, but there was nothing either of them could do. They were separated, and, now, Ashura was trapped in the bat's lair alone.
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Posted: Sat Dec 19, 2020 8:43 am
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"Oh..." a raspy, unpleasant voice spoke. Ashura lowered himself, thankful for his vulpine eyes. The creature stepped into view, face contorted into a disgusted expression. "You aren't she... Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
Ashura huffed, realizing that the bat had intended to ensnare the mare in case she returned. "She sent me." He replied, hoping to enrage his opponent.
It worked. "Where is she?!" the bat screeched.
Ashura smirked. "She's with me now." Based on his demeanor, it seemed that the bat had not been feeding much, hoping his victim would return. "You know, she told me you had a charming voice and were... alluring..." he paused briefly, wrinkling his nose, "but you're sick and hideous."
Ashura's taunts did not yield the result he desired, as the bat held his ground, observing the white kitsune before he spoke again. "You..." his mouth split into an enormous, terrible, toothy grin - "You're evil." The white walker was silent, and the bat cackled. "Oh, that's rich! She ran from one murderer to the next! Tell me, pretty boy, how does she taste?"
Ashura leapt forward, blade drawn and aim true; however, he did not find his target. The bat took to the air before Ashura's strike could land. "Ah, not so fast, pretty boy!" He continued cackling as he circled above. "What kind of strange skinwalker are you anyway, fighting another for the love of a girl?"
"I'm not fighting for love," Ashura growled, glowering up at the bat with assured eyes. "This fight is for me."
The batwalker laughed at the kitsune's response. "We'll see about that." He dove at Ashura, cutting through the air. He was fast, but so was Ashura.
The white walker held his ground, even more repulsed by the batwalker as his face came closer and closer, hungry for blood. At the last moment, the kitsune leapt forward into his foe, the edge of his sword entering the bat's gaping jaws. His timing was not perfect, and the bat sank his talons into the fur of Ashura's chest. The two of them tumbled together, and Ashura managed to free himself of the bat's claws. He found his footing, and pinned the bat to the ground, one paw on the other's wing, the other on the small of his back, and blade within reach.
Between heavy breaths, he laughed as the bat struggled beneath him. "Can you keep a secret?"
The bat snarled, twisting his neck to view the kitsune, his eyes wild with rage.
Ashura smirked. "I know I'm strange. You see, your girl found my herd. They've been keeping me as their pet project all these years... and I think I am finally ready to be free of them." He laughed again, returning his thoughts to the bat. "You'll be free now, too."
He took up his sword, placing the edge at the other skinwalker's throat, who shrieked at the touch of the icy steel. Ashura held it there for a few moments, savoring the batwalker's desperate struggle. Without warning, he drew his blade, the slash fluid and fast. The bat bled out quickly, and with barely a second to spare.
Hojo finally dug his way into the cave, concern marring his otherwise handsome face. He was about to speak, but was silenced by the scene. He observed his apprentice, standing victorious above his foe. "It seems this worked out." He approached Ashura, noticing his injuries. "Although, you could do with a little more training."
Ashura shrugged, flicking the blood off of his sword and sheathing it at his side. "It would be nice if I could fly," he responded, countering Hojo's earlier quip.
Hojo chuckled. "Alright, let's head back, but take something with you to show the mare of your victory."
Ashura turned back to the carcass of the batwalker. "Would the wings be too much?"
"I suppose I can take one," he offered.
Ashura smiled, cleanly severing the batwalker's wings from his corpse and tossing one to Hojo. "Let's go," he stated, prowling past Hojo with his prize on his back. It was clear that Hojo did not hear his confessions to the batwalker, and did not suspsect his plans.
Soon, the time would come. |
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Posted: Sat Dec 19, 2020 9:01 am
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Ashura gazed into the still water.
For the first time since he came into the herd, Hojo had left. For what reason was not relevant, only that he would return. When he did, he would witness the demon he raised.
Years of enduring Hojo's will and repressing his instincts would finally end. Every night, Ashura played out this fantasy of liberation. Now, the time had come to execute his deepest desires. He could not tell if he felt anxiety or excitement, though both emotions did not belong in this fight.
He shut his eyes, breathing deeply to empty his mind. When he opened them again, there was a sharp focus to them, devoid of emotion. No rage, no fear, no anxiety. No exhilaration, no joy, no hunger.
Only determination.
It would be the New Moon festival today, the same one held every month to celebrate the death of Ashura's parents. Hojo would return the following day, if he kept his word - and he was not one to leave promises unfulfilled.
The herd would die today. Hojo would die tomorrow with the full weight of their deaths on his conscience.
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At sunrise, Hojo stepped into the boundaries of the land he had come to call home. Today, however, his home seemed unfamiliar. There was a shift in the air, an unpleasant chill tainting the normal, comforting warmth. His face fell, and he hurried forward. He had left the land in Ashura's charge, and, at this point, he trusted Ashura as he would trust his own flesh and blood. He did not believe that anything could harm those he loved in this land.
He was wrong.
The carnage was shocking. Everyone he loved, shredded to ribbons. Everyone, mare and stallion, old and young. Everyone was gone. The old swordsman could barely hold himself upright, and perhaps would have collapsed were it not for the face that came into view. A face that was both familiar and unfamiliar. What should have been white fur was stained a deep crimson. What should have been a somber expression was instead one of grim tranquility.
"Ashura..." Hojo's raspy voice said weakly, "what did this?"
There was no reply from the skinwalker; however, his silence and icy expression told the harrowing truth to the old swordsman. Hojo eyed one of the corpses, its fatal wounds surgically clean -- made by a blade.
Hojo's eyes widened at the realization, turning his body towards the skinwalker. "Why?" His voice was both pleading and furious.
Ashura smiled a shockingly pleasant smile. "You know why."
Indeed, Hojo did know why. He could not believe it, but he could not deny the reality he was forced to face. Between the corpses and bloodied kitsune, there was no alternative. He was a fool, perhaps the greatest fool the world had ever seen. His chest and throat tightened as he stared at Ashura, the kitsune both familiar and unfamiliar.
What should have been a son was a monster.
Without a word, Hojo drew his sword and lunged at Ashura. Just as Hojo had trained him, Ashura was also quick on the draw, meeting Hojo's blade with his own. The two forces collided, and Ashura laughed. "Do you see me now, Sensei?" They broke, sliding and circling back to face one another. "Isn't this all you ever wanted?"
"Enough!" Hojo yelled, flowing into his next attack, though unable to break Ashura's defense. After all, the kitsune had grown very accustomed to Hojo's attacks, having played attacker-and-defender far too much with the old swordsman. Ashura parried the blow, creating just enough space for a counter. He had excellent control over his momentum, twisting back into Hojo.
The blade met the base of Hojo's neck, who realized his position. He shifted his weight back, kicking out into the kitsune to put some distance between them. Ashura grunted at the impact, but did not allow it to push him back. Now, he had the opportunity to be on the offensive. He did did not allow Hojo time to collect himself, instead springing forward. He chained his combos, and Hojo parried each of them. Ashura did not expect this to be an easy duel, but the old swordsman's endurance was astonishing. In some ways, Ashura was glad that Hojo had been his master. The old swordsman was frustratingly effective.
Hojo found an opening of his own, and thrust his blade into Ashura. The kitsune managed to shift away from a killing blow, but the blade still found his fur, grazing his cheek. Hojo knew he could not stand before the kitsune, or else he would fall to his next swing. He stepped out to the side, and Ashura mirrored the action. Their blades clashed again.
Ashura panted, then laughed. "Do you regret training me so well?"
Hojo did not entertain the kitsune's taunts, instead attacking once again, determined to slay the demon before it could harm anyone else. They exchanged several blows before Hojo managed to pierce Ashura's shoulder, just above his elbow. The kitsune snarled, forced to retreat. Similar to Ashura, Hojo chased the kitsune. Though wounded, Ashura managed to answer each of Hojo's attacks, having absorbed some of the old swordsman's annoying endurance over the years.
Duels were not meant to be this drawn out, and it was apparent that both of the combatants were tiring. Ashura knew he needed to end this quickly, or Hojo would. He just needed to execute one, clean attack.
And there it was.
Hojo believed Ashura to be too exhausted to continue, not to mention wounded and bloody. He raised his head, intending to bring the kitsune down with an overhead strike. It was not fast enough, and Ashura was not as tired as he believed.
Ashura seized the opportunity, stepping forward and rising with his own strike. He thrust his sword out into Hojo's throat latch.
Hojo could not continue his attack, held by Ashura's blade. Ashura grinned, releasing the hilt of his blade and stepping back. Hojo could not speak, choking on blood but unable to bleed out with the steel obstructing his vessels.
The kitsune admired the sight, relishing his victory. There was not much to say to the old fool, who fashioned his fate when he took in the skinwalker. It was his greatest mistake, and yet, Ashura knew he would not be as deadly as he was today without the old swordsman's tutelage. Though he felt no remorse for his action, he would make sure Hojo knew the gravity of the situation -- that his final thoughts were the of the pain Ashura would inflict on the world and the crippling guilt of knowing it was all because of him. "Thank you, Sensei," he stated, the words both sincere and contemptuous. He removed his sword, and Hojo collapsed.
Ashura turned away from the fallen warrior, limping out into the sun. At the top of the cliffs, he gazed out at the expanse of land stretching into the horizon. He threw his head back and released a cathartic laugh.
Finally, he was free.
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