Legend of the Past and the Future
Blood spluttered out of the wound. A fountain of scarlet liquid, sipping through two holes having been plunged deeply into the flesh, poured down the white bloodless skin. A death rattle, the rasping breath of a living thing dying, accompanied the sight, disturbing the silence.
Watching the display in front of him, he frowned.
He had seen it before. Had seen it often. There had been a time he lived for it. Loved to see the life slowly fade, fear and pain clouding their widened eyes, contorting their faces into masks of terror. They had no idea how good they had it.
He'd spent years amusing himself, feeling the rush of the hunt and the pleasure of soaking the life out of his victim. He'd slain and slaughtered before he'd spent decades on envying their short-lived lives. Envied their ability to sense – everything! – while he could not taste anything but blood, could not smell anything but fear and could not feel anything but lust and agony.
And then there had been one thing and one thing only on his mind: To free his soul from the slings attached.
He had searched for one person, the one man to end this endless repetition of sating his thirst and growing new hunger, and before he knew it, centuries had gone bye. He'd crossed realms searching for him, had seen creatures like himself and monstrosities that made even his hair stand on his neck. He'd traveled through dry deserts, over cold snow dunes and shipped over the big sea; only to find himself back where he had started. Where it all began and where he was born not once but twice. Where he was killed and revived by the hands of something more powerful than himself. It wasn't luck. He knew better. It was yet another carve in the coffin that was his twisted fate. He would not be surprised to find out that his one task was impossible.
The thud on the floor startled him out of his line of thought. The wide eyed corpse rested against the wooden wall of the house he had been lured out off moments ago.
He looked at his brother, who had walked the surface of earth for centuries at his side and now wiped off the blood from the corners of his mouth, tainting a snow white handkerchief with a deep red. The color of the liquid of life, which he and his brother needed to prolong their death.
Raising an eyebrow, he waited for a reaction of his brother, who had the same red flaming hair and similar sky blue eyes as he had. Though, Keiji was said to look more friendly; eyes less icy and quick to smile, in contrast to his own constant scowl.
Probing for information, he asked his brother, "Did he know something?"
"Seems like our henchmen were correct. There is someone living in this village who is believed to be the one we need," Keiji turned. The end of his dark coat swiped the air, swirling up the dark alley's dust. He sighed and complained, "I do prefer the sweetness of a young girl over the sour and dry taste of men."
"So it all ends where it began, huh?" He commented, rather sour. He was tired of this game, a game he had not known he agreed to play, back when his heart had ached in pain and love enough to blind his reason.
"Narukami," his brother murmured lowly. They both had unfaded memories of this place, where they had lived until they died.
"Did you miss it?" Keiji inquired.
"After what happened here? Hardly," he answered. The short span of his life hadn't been the one with the fondest memories, when every day, starving had been more likely than surviving.
Nevertheless, even after centuries, he remembered how he felt, when he heard her kind laughter or saw her sweet smile. He remembered how his heart had clenched, jumped in joy and twisted in awe. He could almost feel it while he remembered, almost felt the silent organ start pumping in his chest again. Yet, it was an illusion.
It was the price he had to pay his executioner all this time ago.
"What's your plan, Shimon?" His brother's voice came to him, disturbing the weird form of melancholia and indifference he had never grown used to.
If the one he needed to free his soul was here, in this tiny village far from the blooming civilization of the new cities, he was closer than he'd ever been. It had been over a century, since he began to hunt down the lineage of Amawaka.
Soon he would meet the last of them and he wanted to make sure that it happened.
"Let us celebrate our arrival," he said. "Take as many villagers as you can as prisoners. If he is not part of them, he will come out either way."
"As you command," Keiji bowed before he turned on the heels of his leather boots and walked away, becoming one with the shadows of the alley.
Shimon set his eyes, once again, onto the motionless body resting against the hut. Many had died for his course. Many had he killed for pleasure or nutrition, most times both. He wondered if it had been, what They had wanted.
As he turned away to go back to the carriage they'd left in front of the town, he ran his tongue over his pointed teeth.
There was one wish. One desire and one desire only: To free his soul. To accomplish that, he needed to fulfill his part of the legend. The legend that had bound him to an unlived life and undone death.
He was destined to pour the blood of the one who would bring him to fall.
-------------------------------------------------
The sword slashed straight down towards her. In the last moment she lifted her own weapon to stop the blow from cutting her in half. Supporting her one-edged blade with a hand pressed against the blunt side of her sword, she did her best not to stumble. Her feet slid back on the dry earth, crunching below her boots, as she tried to hold her balance by bending her knees.
"Argh," she groaned. Pushing back with all her might she rose into an upright position again. Then she kicked her attacker's shin. The dark haired man jumped back with a whimper.
She sucked in harsh breaths, feeling tired from the exertion. Her strength wasn't physical power. Compared to her opponent, she was physically weaker, but she'd trained hard and relentlessly to polish her skills in speed and flexibility.
With a roar she jumped towards him and feinted a straight blow. As he rose his sword to block the impact, she shifted to her left. Strands of blonde hair fell into her face. In the blink of an eye she hit his hand with the end of her handle and knocked the sword out of his hand.
"Ouch! You're not supposed to break my bones during sparring, Mayura," her teacher complained, supporting the hand she'd hit with his other. Jinya was older than her. Almost a decade older. Although they weren't related, she thought of him as an uncle. Since her father's death, he had taken care of her, for which she was utterly grateful.
"And what was that earlier? You could have sliced me in two," she countered.
"I knew you would block the hit," he replied cheekily, smirking at her. His pointed face with the narrow eyes did not look kind, yet when he smirked like that, she could not help but smile.
Turning around, she walked to the small, shabby shed they used to store their weapons in. It might have been for storage of wheat or rice once; now, it was rotting away. They used it to keep weapons and tools for field work as dry as possible without them lying around in the house. It must have been built long before the larger house next to it, which did not look quite as shabby, and which she called her home.
Mayura sighed, tired and weary. It felt she was doing nothing but training these days. Not only was it eating on her physically, but she'd rather spend her time with the others who worked on the field, cooked, washed and looked out for the smaller children. Also she really missed hanging out with her best friend. Yet, she was forced to spend her time improving her skills in swordsmanship, training her reaction speed, her balance and accuracy. And everything just because of some legend that nobody knew if it would come true.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Frustrated she turned around and wailed, "Can we call it a day now, please? I am very tired."
"You know that the monster will never rest either," Jinya said, frowning at her. The scar beneath his right eye budged and bowed, curved like a smile. It was one of his favorite arguments, whenever she complained about her training.
"But we don't know if the legend will ever come true." Aggravated, Mayura raised her hands and gesticulated wildly. "What if it is not about me? What if it is about my children?"
"Your father said similar things, but in a different tone," her uncle rebuked her. "He did everything to protect you. He gave his own life to do so."
It felt like a stab to her heart. She should have foreseen him mentioning her father. The proud and strong man who gave his life for her when the henchmen of the monster had searched for them.
They had never found his body.
Huffing, Mayura's arms fell to her sides and her gaze to the ground. "I know, but I- I have never seen one of them." She shrugged, feeling helplessly. It wasn't that she was afraid to fight. She was afraid to fail. Swallowing down her biggest doubt, she formulated one of the few ones that had been on her mind for a while, "How do they look? Will I recognize the monster, if it stood in front of me?"
"You ought to do what was promised." Again, one of the sentences she'd heard thousand times before. The burden pressed down on her shoulders, making her feel small.
Jinya stood in front of her on the trampled path between the shabby shed and the orphanage, arms crossed and chin raised. The only thing moving was his pony tail whipping in the wind. His face was hard – as if it was carved in stone. There was no compassion or empathy in his gaze, now.
Nevertheless she tried to get him to fathom the reasons of her doubts, shaking her head in defeat. "I've never killed anyone. How am I supposed to do this?"
He put a hand onto her shoulder and squeezed it slightly. "You have the blood of the Amawaka lineage running through your veins."
Blood. That was all it was about. A legend of blood. Yet, she could not see how the last of the Amawaka bloodline, who was said to stop the monster, was supposed to be her, especially when she thought blood to be as thick as water for all of her brothers and sisters that weren't related to her. What was the importance of blood when she had a family bound by fate and luck?
Suddenly she heard the sound of thumping and turned around and saw a blonde girl her age running with stomping large steps towards them. It was Yuki who started yelling, "Jinya! Jinya!" She came to a stop in front of said man and breathed harshly, bending her upper body down with hands stemmed against her knees.
Evil foreboding rained down on Mayura. Her muscles tensed and quivered. Her fears were confirmed, when Yuki straightened her posture and uttered, "They are here. He is here. They besieged the village and took prisoners."
Gasping, Mayura rose a shaking hand to her heart.
Jinya grabbed Yuki's shoulders and shook her, "Who was with you in the village? Where are they?"
"Rokuro," Yuki squeaked. She started sobbing and groaned out, "They took Rokuro."
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