alextheantichrist-blog

[alextheantichrist-blog]

The Thrill

Jason was an addict and his drug was cyber crime. His cybernetic fingers rapidly tapped at the keys on his keyboard while his VR helmet showed him the lines of data and code streaming past. He was hacking into the financial accounts of Amtec, the name in the weapons business. As he continued to type, he saw millions of credits transfer from Amtec's financial account into his private bank account. That was only a pittance to Amtec, so small they may not even notice it right away. Stealing relatively small amounts from big companies is what kept Jason from getting caught.

He'd been doing this for twenty-five years and had lost all enjoyment in it. Now it was just a chore. Everything seemed to have lost all meaning to him. The cybernetic enhancements and advances in medical technology could now allow a person to live well past 150, but this only amplified the feeling of existential dread and ennui. Living for that long made you grow bored of life.

Jason needed something else to interest him. Out of desperation he began hacking into the R&D department of Amtec, hoping to find some juicy information. It all seemed standard, until he came across a folder titled "Biological Extermination of Undesirables". He went to open it, but hesitated.

The veteran hacker took off his helmet and looked out the window at the darkness. World War III had created horrible black smog, which blanketed the world in a cover of eternal night. He looked into the alley next to his building and saw a bunch of bums shooting heroin. Jason looked away and turned on his sun lamp, but knew it wouldn't help much.

After much deliberation, he put the helmet back on and opened the folder. What he saw horrified him. Amtec was building biological weapons to release in the slums so they could cut down the number of poor people. These weapons were so advanced that they were undetectable by even the most thorough autopsy. That way the government was none the wiser. The police were in on it, too, helping Amtec cover it all up by making up fake stories of drug overdoses and the like.

This was huge. If the media were to get a hold of this, it would ruin Amtec. The corporation's stranglehold on the weapons market would dissolve and the invisible power that corporations had on the world would be exposed. The police would also be exposed and ousted. Chaos would reign supreme and a slippery eel like Jason could find ways to profit from it.

With his heart pounding in his throat, a sensation he hadn't felt in years, Jason began to download the file onto his tablet. He got about halfway through when an alarm began to sound. The fresh excitement he had felt had left him careless. He forgot to cover his tracks. Amtec had discovered him.

It wouldn't be long until they tracked him down to his apartment. He needed to act fast. Jason took out a briefcase and began packing it with essentials. He opened the drawer in his nightstand and took out the .45 semi automatic, along with three clips. He loaded one in, clicked off the safety and pulled the barrel back and then forward to arm it.

"Download complete," came the sound from his helmet. Jason grabbed his tablet and shoved it in his suitcase. That was when a loud, powerful knock came at the door.

"Open up, police," yelled a voice from outside.

Jason closed the suitcase and grabbed it with his left hand. With his right hand he aimed the gun at the door and let off three shots. He jumped out the window as the returning shots came and started running down the fire escape.

He barely made it out when a crash told him his door had been busted open. The pounding in his chest reminded him of a heavy metal song when the double bass pedals kicked in. He ran for his life as he heard shouts from his window and bullets bounced off the metal railings. He knew he wouldn't get down in time the way he was going, so he decided to jump down the last three floors. The sense of weightlessness excited him as did the crushing force when he hit the ground.

Jason ran through the alley and then, sticking the briefcase in his mouth, climbed up the wire fence like a monkey scaling a tree. He then ran this way and that in the maze of alleyways that was the slums. The police might have had a general overview of this place, but Jason knew it like the back of his hand. It wasn't long until the police were far behind. He stopped in one of the alleys to catch his breath.

A smile crossed his lips as his pulse began to slow down. He had never felt this much excitement in his entire life! He welcomed the adrenaline flowing through his veins. It made him feel truly alive.

"Stop!" came a voice, and Jason turned around to see a lone cop.

Jason aimed his gun and fired. It took three shots to hit him, but that hit was right between the eyes.

That was my first kill, thought Jason, the excitement mounting in him. I actually killed someone! I can't believe this! All that practice at the shooting range paid off! It's like a video game come to life! This is awesome!

Jason then began to run in the other direction as he saw more cops coming. The chase led him onto a main street with vendors of all kinds. The police were hot on his trail and he could feel bullets whizzing by him. He found a fruit stand and toppled it over, hoping to slow them down.

"Hey, what's the big idea," yelled the vendor. "Do you know how long it took me to grow those things? Industrial sun lamps don't come cheap!"

Jason then turned left and saw a huge crowd of people. He began pushing his way through them, hoping to get lost in the crowd. He heard shouts from behind him as the crowd began to disperse. Jason went down more alleys and side streets hoping to lose them, but they seemed to be everywhere.

He found a homeless shelter and ran in. He heard cries of protest from the staff, but pointing his gun at them got them to stop. His eyes surveyed the shelter and what he found made his heart skip a beat. Near the back was a giant metal bin with the Amtec label on it.

"What the hell is that?" cried Jason, pointing at the bin.

"It's our security system," replied one of the staff. "They just installed it last week."

Jason went up to the bin and opened it. Inside, along with many different circuit boards and wires, was a giant metal cylinder. He had seen the schematics of this online. This was the device Amtec used to disperse their biological weapon.

Jason was ready to bolt out of there, but a pang of guilt went through him. It was an emotion he hadn't felt in decades. Living such a self-serving life had made him numb to any kind of empathic emotion. Hell, it made him numb to any emotion.

He couldn't leave all these people to die knowing he could prevent it. He had to get them out of here.

"Everybody out, now," he yelled. No one moved.

"I said out!" he cried, shooting a couple shots at the ceiling. In a panic the clients and staff ran for the door.

As they all filed out, Jason pulled out his tablet and pulled up the schematics of the bomb to try to defuse it. Luckily the detonator was computerized, so he was able to hack into it. But with the mass exodus of people from the homeless shelter, the police would notice any minute now. Disarming this bomb was a delicate task. He didn't have time for that.

Suddenly an idea just popped into his head. Jason fiddled a bit with the bomb on his tablet and then went up to the second floor. He ran into the first room he could find and closed the door.

He was just in the nick of time. The police opened the door of the homeless shelter and started piling in. Jason opened the door a crack to watch them, and when the last one came in and closed the door, he pushed a big red button on his tablet.

Green mist spurted out from the Amtec bin. Every member of the police started coughing uncontrollably as the biological weapon Amtec created to exterminate the poor began to flow through their veins.

Serves you right, you scum, thought Jason as he closed the door. He jumped out the window with the gun still in his hand and the tablet under his right armpit before the mist could spread to the second floor.

He ran into another alleyway and took out his tablet again. He sent all the information he gathered from Amtec's secret folder to every media news outlet there was. Their secret was finally out.

Jason then realized that Amtec would try to cover up their actions, and one of the ways they would do that would be by eliminating him. They would stop at nothing to silence him. They would hunt him to the ends of the Earth.

His hands shook with fear, but also with excitement. This is just what he needed to escape the horrible boredom of his everyday life. Let them come! He will do his utmost to survive. Jason could feel his primal nature awakening inside him after a lifetime of dormancy. The game had begun.

[alextheantichrist-blog]

My Fingers Brushed the Sky

As a biomancer, Harry Moss was in charge of making the food for everyone in Paradise. He meticulously took the separate elements on the holographic screen and put them together into a bundle. He brought up a menu and hit "Create", and then hit "Apple". The elements merged together to make an apple both on the screen and behind it. He then hit "Copy-Paste" and made a whole bushel of apples. Each apple dropped down the hole, which he knew poured into a giant barrel.

Josh Grey, his coworker, turned to him. He was lanky and short where Harry was tall with an athletic build. "Hey, Harry, you know what happened to me last night?"

"No. What?"

"I was at this singles mixer and I met a girl there. We hit it off right away. She works as a druid, using the magic of the Light to make stuff like dead grass grow again. Pretty cool, eh?"

"Nice. I'm happy for you."

"That's not all. Didn't I tell you one of the prophets said that I would find love in the next six months? Well, it's been only three, and I'm already head over heels for this girl."

"The prophets definitely are wise."

"Do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Not really. Why?"

"Me and her are going to watch the high priest execute the heretics. You should come. It will be a grand old time. We can have some drinks, mingle, watch some blasphemers burn. It should be fun."

"Well, I haven't seen an execution in a while. Sure, I'll be glad to come."

Harry made his way through the crowd of people. There was a raised platform made of fake wood in front of the crowd. The five heretics were there, each tied to a stake. A ring of white fire retardant foam had been sprayed around each of them.

"Hey, over here," cried a familiar voice. Harry turned to see Josh with a blonde woman with blue eyes. She was significantly shorter than Josh, and that made her quite cute in Harry's eyes.

"Hey, thanks for inviting me," said Harry.

"Yeah, no problem. This is Martha."

"Glory to the Light." He shook her hand.

"May it shine forever," came the expected reply.

"Harry tells me you're a druid."

"That's right."

"How's that going?"

"I really enjoy it. I'm glad the prophets chose this as my calling. Today I filled a dying stream with water and the children in the village nearby began playing in it. It's so nice when you get to see the difference you make in the world."

"I can imagine."

"Josh says you two work together as biomancers. That's also an important job."

"That's true. Every time we eat at the communal cafeteria, it gives me great pride knowing that I helped make this."

"Well, it looks like you made a new friend, Harry," replied Josh, slapping him on the back.

The giant white candles on both sides of the platform were suddenly lit by the magic of the Light. Everyone became quiet.

The high priest came forward. He was wearing white robes with a red sash going vertically down from his neckline. On the sash, around the chest area, was the yellow Star of the Light. The same star was also painted on his forehead.

"Brothers and sisters of the Light," he began. "I welcome you on this very important occasion. We are here not only to punish wrongdoers, but to protect the Light from their corruption. They want to take us away from our green valleys and fields. They want us to live a life without joy, without meaning. They say it is all a lie.

"They do not believe in the magic of the Light. They do not believe in the rituals we do every day to provide food, water and shelter for ourselves. This is blasphemy and for that these fools must pay the ultimate price."

"You are the fools," cried the heretic in the middle. "This isn't Paradise. This is a ship. We've been in space for hundreds of years. Wake up!"

"See how they spout their lies. They try to corrupt you with their heresies. Do not listen to them."

"If you don't listen to us, everyone on this ship will die and the whole human race will go extinct!"

"Silence. It is time. Bring me the torch."

One of the lesser priests stepped onto the platform with a lit torch. He handed it to the high priest.

"May you be cleansed in fire," he cried. "And may the Light forgive your sins."

There was suddenly a loud commotion in the back. A blaster shot came sailing through the air to land at the high priest's feet.

"Who dares disturb this sacred rite?" he yelled.

"We don't have much time," came a voice from the back. "Just grab them and get out of here."

More blaster shots followed. Multiple screams rent the night as the crowd began to scatter every which way. The Praetorian Guard, garbed in its regal white armour, began firing back. Harry felt hot pain in his back as one of the shots hit him. Then all was darkness.

"Why did you take him with us?" came a voice.

"I couldn't just let him die," replied another, deeper voice. "He was innocent."

"This could blow our entire operation!"

"Don't worry. I can bring him to our side."

"He's waking up."

Harry opened his eyes to see two male strangers in blue armour kneeling over him.

"Wh-Where am I?"

"Welcome," replied the man with the deeper voice. "My name is Brandon Smith. What's yours?"

"Harry Ross. What happened?"

"You were hit by a stray blaster shot. We brought you here and Reg over there healed you."

"I thought I was dead. I've never heard of people being able to heal blaster wounds."

"It is possible, and so much more is as well."

"What do you mean?"

They both stared at him.

"Harry," began Brandon. "Paradise is a lie."

"Wh-What?"

He sighed. "Let me show you something. Reg, open the hatch."

"You sure about this?" asked Reg.

"Yes." He turned to Harry. "I'm going to show you the truth behind Paradise. Put on this suit. It will let you breathe when you're outside."

"Outside what?"

"The ship. We're on a ship, Harry."

"You're... you're one of the heretics!"

Brandon sighed again. "Just put on the suit. I have something to show you."

"Why should I trust you? You people are trying to corrupt me, to make me stray from the Light!"

Brandon grabbed Harry's shoulders. "Harry, there is no Light. That's an artificial sun. It's all fake."

"No, that's impossible!"

"Just come out with me. If your Paradise is real, it should be able to hold under scrutiny, right?"

Harry hesitated. "I... I guess."

"Grab the suit, Harry. I will show you something out of this world."

Harry couldn't believe it. He was floating in a black, empty void with little pinpricks of light all around him. In front of him was a massive piece of metal Brandon called a spaceship. They were the size of ants compared to it. It was a silver cylinder with two wings in the middle and a tail at the end.

"Wh-Where have you taken me?" cried Harry. "Where is Paradise?"

"It's over there." Brandon pointed to the middle of the ship. "Click the top left button on your helmet to see inside."

Harry did so. Sure enough, there was Paradise, in all its majesty. It looked like a small model, but all the geographical features were there: the lakes, the fields, the forests, everything. He could see tiny people moving around there, too.

"This... this can't be," whispered Harry.

"I'm afraid it is."

"What is this?"

"It's a generational ship called the Salvation. It was sent to make the long voyage to Sirius after the civilization in the Alpha Centauri system crumbled. Something went wrong, we don't know what. People now live without realizing they're on a ship. All those rituals they do and the magic of the Light, as you people call it, those are just procedures and computer programs handed down by the original crew. Reg and I, along with the other people you call heretics, are part of that original crew. We were frozen in cryostasis until recently. The ship is failing despite your rituals. If we don't wake everyone up to the truth and teach them how to fix it, the life supports will run out and we will all die."

"My whole world... is a lie?"

"I'm afraid so."

When they came back into the ship, they found the dead bodies of the other members of the rebellion strewn all over the place. In the middle of the room was the high priest with the Praetorian Guard. One of the guards shot Brandon and he fell down, dead.

"My child," cried the high priest, putting his arms around Harry. "You are safe now. Those heretics cannot harm you anymore."

"High priest, everything we know is a lie. We're on a generational ship that's failing. We need to inform everyone."

The high priest let go of him and his face went dark. "I see they have corrupted you. It saddens me to hear you shout such heresies. I'm afraid there's nothing more that we can do for you."

"But it's true."

"Silence! Guard, execute him now!"

The entire Praetorian Guard shot their blasters at Harry. After being hit multiple times, Harry fell down, lifeless.

[alextheantichrist-blog]

Danielle

John was at his first munch, which was a meeting for people interested in kink. He sipped his beer as he saw the waitresses of the pub rush past him. Animated conversations were going on around him, but he didn't find them to be of any interest. He was too young to worry about mortgages. He didn't even have a job.

John took out his phone and started swiping through different social media apps.

"You look bored," came a voice.

John looked up to see a young woman with purple hair, piercings and tattoos. She was wearing a black dress and had cat's eye glasses on.

"What makes you think that?"

"You're on your phone. Whenever I see someone on their phone at a munch, I can tell they're bored."

"I guess you're right. This is my first munch and I'm not really feeling it."

"Understandable. It can be quite a strange and overwhelming experience for people. Wanna come over to my table?"

"Sure."

John got up and followed her to another table full of people. They sat down beside each other.

"I forgot to introduce myself," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm Danielle."

"John," he replied, shaking it.

"Nice to meet you, John."

"Nice to meet you, too."

"So, what brought you here?"

"Well, I used to do kinky stuff with my girlfriend. We were the only ones in our friend group who did that kind of stuff. After she broke up with me, I stopped doing it. It's been three years since then. Kink used to be a big part of my life and I've recently started missing it. A friend told me about this event and I thought I would go and try to meet new people."

"Cool. Are you a dom or a sub?"

"Dom. I like to be dominant in bed. I'm pretty submissive in everyday life, so I like to have power and control when I can."

"Cool. Me, too. I enjoy doing evil things to people. It's a lot of fun."

John laughed. "I know, right?"

"What kinds of stuff did you and your girlfriend do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, spanking, hair pulling, scratching, biting, some whips, a bit of bondage."

"Okay, so pretty basic stuff."

"Yeah. We were pretty vanilla when it came to kink."

Him and Danielle both laughed.

"That's okay," replied Danielle. "Everybody's gotta start somewhere."

"That's true."

"What kind of music do you like to listen to?"

"Heavy metal, mostly."

"Oh, have you heard of Sunn O)))? They're really good. I went to their concert."

"I listened to them a bit. I'm not that into doom metal."

"It was great seeing them live. Their concert was at an abandoned power plant. I felt my whole body vibrate with every note they played. My hands were completely numb after the concert. It was quite an experience."

"Really? That sounds cool. I should check them out sometime."

"You should. They're great. So what kind of bands do you listen to?"

"Mostly melodic death metal. Arch Enemy, Amon Amarth, old In Flames, that kind of stuff."

"Oh, nice. Been to any concerts lately?"

"Yeah. I was at the Black Dahlia Murder concert a few weeks ago. That was the first time I entered a mosh pit, and I think it will be the last. One guy accidentally elbowed me in the face and my nose started bleeding."

"Yikes. Yeah. Moshing isn't for everybody."

"I know, right? You're pretty cool."

"You're quite cool yourself."

"Wanna keep in touch?"

"Sure. I can give you my phone number. I'm usually available to text."

"Sounds good. Maybe we can hang out sometime and have coffee."

"I would like that."

"It's good to see you again," John said, sipping his coffee.

"It's good to see you, too," replied Danielle.

"You're looking very beautiful, as always."

"Aw, thank you. That's so sweet."

"You're welcome."

"I'm debating whether I should get something. I haven't had breakfast yet."

"Just get something. Why do you need to debate?"

"Well, the only thing I can get here is a sandwich with lettuce, tomatoes and a hash brown. Asking for that is quite a pain for the staff, because it's a special order. They don't have it on the menu."

"Oh, are you vegetarian?"

"Vegan, actually. It can be quite annoying at times, but I do it for the animals."

"Oh, okay." John stared at the BLT he had already bitten into.

Danielle laughed. "Don't worry about it. I don't mind people eating meat in front of me."

"That's good. I forgot to ask, but what do you do for work?"

"I'm actually on disability. I have this rare medical condition that gives me quite a lot of pain sometimes and interrupts my sleep, so I can't work. I also have ADHD and depression, which don't help things."

"Really? I have autism and depression. It can be quite a bitch sometimes."

"Oh, wow, I didn't know. I've met quite a few people with autism, and they've all been quite awesome."

"Yeah, it's not that bad for me. I'm just socially awkward at times. I have trouble picking up on subtle social cues."

"Ah, I see. I just have trouble concentrating and am always late for things. It's the reason why I was late today, actually."

"Oh, really? I was wondering about that."

"Yeah, it's not just you. I'm late for everyone. It annoys some people."

"I'm okay with it. It's worth waiting for you."

"Aw. You're so nice."

"Thanks. Anyway, what have you been up to?"

"I've been watching a bunch of old horror movies, actually."

"Oh, nice. What's your favourite?"

"Alien. I love the claustrophobic feel and the art design."

"That's a good one. Mine's Hellraiser. I'm a huge fan of Lovecraft, so I love the Lovecraftian atmosphere that Hellraiser gives off."

"That is also a good pick."

"I didn't know you also liked horror movies. That's one more thing we have in common. Huzzah!"

Danielle laughed. "My partner got me into them. He's a huge horror fanatic."

"Oh, cool. How long have you two been together?"

"Two years."

John whistled. "That's a long time."

"Yup. We live together and everything."

"Nice. The longest relationship I had was seven months."

"That's not bad. That was a while ago, right?"

"Yeah. Three years ago. I kinda miss having a girlfriend, but also kinda not. I have ways of dealing with it now."

"Oh, really? What are those ways?"

John's face turned red. "Um... I hire escorts."

"Oh, cool. I know quite a few people who are sex workers. You're the first person I've met who actually hires them."

John blew out of sigh of relief. "I'm glad you're cool with that. I found there's a lot of stigma behind hiring escorts."

"Yeah. It's stupid. As long as it involves two consenting adults, what does it matter if money is exchanged? The laws and social norms around this are just silly."

"I totally agree. Sex work should be legalized. I thought Canada was supposed to be progressive. I'm surprised at how conservative they are when it comes to sex work."

"Yeah. Canada's on the right track, but it still has a long way to go."

"Agreed. Do you have anything planned for tonight?"

"Nothing much. Just more horror movies. You?"

"I have a movie event at a friend's house. I'm part of this anime group that meets regularly at a person's house. I found them online. I'm quite enjoying it so far."

"Oh, nice. I never got into anime."

"I used to watch it as a kid, but I didn't get really into it until I joined this group."

"Cool."

This is the last conversation John had with Danielle over text.

John

Hey Danielle. How's it going?

Danielle

Not too bad. Yourself?

John

I'm not doing too well. I just got kicked out of the anime club.

Danielle

Oh, no. I'm so sorry. What happened?

John

The guy whose house I was at said I was flirting with his girlfriend. I didn't even realize.

Danielle

Well, you do seem to flirt with women quite a bit. What kinds of things did you say?

John

Just my standard stuff. You're looking very beautiful today. That dress looks good on you. That kind of stuff.

Danielle

Ouch. Yeah. You should be careful about that. I don't mind you being flirty with me because I know you mean well, but others might take it the wrong way.

John

I understand that, but I don't think it was fair for him to just kick me out. He should've given me a warning first.

Danielle

I disagree. What you were doing was a huge red flag. He was just being careful. I'm sure he's dealt with people who have made women uncomfortable before.

John

I still think he should've talked to me first.

Danielle

Then we will have to agree to disagree.

John

So you're taking his side now? I thought you were my best friend.

Danielle

I'm not taking anyone's side. Besides, I don't see you as a best friend. We're not even that close. We've only known each other for a few months. We may have talked about sensitive topics, but that doesn't make us best friends.

John

I didn't know you felt that way.

Danielle

Well, now you do.

John

Well, I'm still angry at them. Not only my friend, but also his girlfriend. If I was making her uncomfortable, she should've said something. It's their fault, not mine.

Danielle

That's not how it works, John. She probably just didn't want to make a fuss. Women are conditioned to keep quiet about these kinds of things. There have been women killed over less.

John

How am I supposed to know they're uncomfortable if they don't tell me?

Danielle

You pick up on the subtle social cues.

John

But I have autism. I have trouble with that.

Danielle

Now you're just making excuses.

John

It's not an excuse. It's an explanation. I know now what I did was wrong. I just wish people wouldn't be so harsh on me.

Danielle

John, this conversation is making me really uncomfortable. I think we should stop being friends.

John

What do you mean?

Danielle

Goodbye, John. Hopefully you can learn from this.

John

Oh, so I'm the creep now. Gotcha.

John was standing the subway platform.

I'm worthless, he thought. I don't deserve to be close to anyone. I'm a stupid, worthless failure and a horrible person. I deserve to die. I'm gonna jump in front of the next train that comes.

As the train neared the platform, John steeled himself up. As he went closer and closer, his heart began to race and he began to feel a coldness in his chest. His hands began to shake. Thoughts of death clouded his mind.

I can't do this, he thought as the train passed.

With tears in his eyes, John went to one of the crisis intercoms and pressed the big red button.

"Hello," came the voice from the intercom. "What is your emergency?"

"I wanna kill myself."

"Okay, we will have someone with you in a minute."

John sat and waited on one of the red benches, alone.

[alextheantichrist-blog]

John

John's heart thundered in his chest as he waited for the knock at the door. Shaking fingers curling his hair, he paced around the room. Thoughts were racing through his head.

The escort's going to be here soon, he thought. I've never done this before. What if the sex is bad? What if she doesn't like me? I can't believe I'm doing this. How desperate can you be?

The knock finally came. John's heart jumped into his throat. His breath came out in short, shallow gasps. He went across the room to the door and opened it.

She was even more beautiful than her pictures. Her golden hair cascaded down her shoulders. She had red, sensuous lips and her cheeks were the colour of roses. Her eyes were a calming blue you could get lost in. She was wearing a purple dress, cut low to show off her large, melon-shaped breasts. The dress opened to reveal a long, sensuous leg.

"Hey, there, sweetie," she said. "Why don't you let me in?"

"Sure," replied John, making way for her to enter.

As she began to take off her dark blue high heels, he blurted out, "I like your dress. It looks good on you. But I'm sure anything will look good on you."

"Aw, thank you," she replied. "You're so sweet."

She leaned in and kissed his cheek. Both his cheeks went red and his whole head began to feel hot.

"Why don't you show me to your bedroom?" she asked.

"Sure, yeah," he managed to say, still blushing. "It's over here."

As he led her to the bedroom she clasped his hand in hers. For the first time in many months, John felt the warm soft skin of a woman. His cheeks turned even redder.

He opened the door and led her to his king-sized bed.

"Oh, wow," she exclaimed. "Big bed. Room enough for both of us."

She giggled and he laughed stiltedly. His breath was still shallow.

"Before we start," she began. "I would like to have my donation first."

"Dona...oh, the money," stuttered John. "Yeah, sure. I have it here."

He opened his wallet and took out a large amount of green $20 bills.

"It's $280 for the hour, right?" he asked, giving her the cash.

"Yup," she replied, taking the bills and counting them. "Okay, perfect."

She placed the money in her black leather purse and then asked, "So what do you wanna do?"

Suddenly a lump grew in John's throat. His thoughts were screaming Let's have sex, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. How did he know for sure that she would have sex with him? Just because he gave her money doesn't mean he was entitled to sex. His forehead began to sweat.

"Are you okay?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah, yeah," answered John, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I'm just nervous. I've never hired an escort before."

"Aw, it's okay. Just take it at your own pace."

"Why don't we just sit down and talk awhile?"

"Sure. Whatever you want, honey."

They sat down on the bed next to each other and John put his arm around her waist. The feeling of touching a woman again excited him. He caressed her thigh with his other hand, enjoying its softness. Guilt suddenly started flowing into him. He looked at her face, expecting to see disgust or discomfort, but she was still smiling radiantly.

His hand reached for her golden hair and began to stroke it. That made him see Gwen's face and remember what she had said to him a year ago.

I'm so glad things are working out for you. You've struggled so much trying to get an internship, but you finally got one. And at Microsoft, too. That's amazing!

"Something wrong?" asked the escort.

"N-nothing," he stammered. "You just... remind me of somebody."

"Oooh. Girlfriend?"

"Yes. Uh... ex-girlfriend."

"Was she pretty?"

"Yes, um... not as pretty as you, however."

"You're so sweet. How long were you two together?"

"Seven months."

"That's quite a long time."

"Yeah, we were quite close. She was really supportive, even during the hard times. When I lost my job, she was the one that got me back on my feet."

"I see."

"She made me realize that it wasn't the environment for me. Everyone there was really cold and mean. I learned to look for work that had more supportive people."

"I'm glad you were able to find someone that was good for you. That's very important."

"Yeah, but she left me. I feel like people who get close to me always leave me eventually."

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey. Hopefully you can find someone that stays."

"I doubt that. I'm not a very nice person once you get close to me."

"I don't believe that. You seem like a nice guy."

"I seem like it at first, but then I overwhelm you with my problems and you leave."

"Is that what happened with your ex?"

"Yes."

Suddenly the memories of five months ago came flooding back.

John sat in a small room in the ER with bandages on his wrists. He had been waiting for many hours until they had transferred him to this room. The doctor came in.

"We're gonna have to put you on a Form One," he said.

"What is that?" asked John.

"It's a form that says you can't leave here because you are a danger to yourself. Your suicide attempt proves that."

"Oh, okay."

"Just sit tight while we get a bed ready for you."

John stared at the floor. His phone rang. John picked it up and answered.

"What the hell, John?" Gwen's voice cried out over the phone. "Why did you threaten to kill yourself on Facebook? Do you know how worried I was?"

"Sorry," replied John. "I wasn't thinking straight."

"You never even thought of how that would make me feel. That is so selfish of you. And why are you trying to kill yourself, anyway? You have your whole life ahead of you. You're almost done your Computer Science degree and after that you can get a successful job as a software developer. Why the hell are you trying to end your life now?"

"My Databases course is really stressing me out. The prof and TAs are useless and I know no one in the class. I'm also too shy to ask for help. I got back my midterm and I got a 30%. A 30%! That was pathetic! I tried my best and this is all I could do? I'm definitely not good enough for this program."

"Jesus Christ, John, it's only one test. Just get over your damn fear of talking to people and ask for help! You're smart and capable. If only you weren't so weak emotionally, you could go on to do a great things!"

"I know. I'm sorry I'm such a burden."

Gwen sighed. "No, it's okay... I'm sorry I snapped at you. I was just so worried! Look, why don't we take a break? I think we both need it."

"You're breaking up with me?"

"Just for a while. I promise I will call you back and we can talk about the state of our relationship then."

"Oh, okay."

"Sorry, I have to go now. Stay safe. Talk to you later."

She hung up. John never heard from her again. Attempts at calling her proved to John that she had blocked his number.

"Hm... the break up must've been pretty bad," replied the escort. "Since you're crying and all."

John wiped the tears away. "Yeah, it was. I don't wanna talk about it."

"That's okay. Why don't we change the topic? This is a nice apartment you have."

"Yeah. My parents helped pick it out for me. They actually still pay the rent for me, because I wasn't able to find a job after graduation."

"That's too bad. What did you study?"

"Computer Science. Which you think would get me plenty of jobs. I mean, all my friends are super successful and I'm just here doing nothing with my life."

"Oops. Looks like I touched a nerve there."

"I'm sorry. I'm not doing that well right now."

"Yeah?" replied the escort, stroking his leg. "Tell me about it."

"Oh, God, where do I start? Everyone around me is pressuring me to get a job. I don't even know if I'm good enough to do this fucking career. Five months back I became suicidal and my girlfriend broke up with me over the phone while I was in the hospital. I haven't heard from her since. I haven't even gotten a hug from another woman who is not my mother since then. It just goes to show how no one will ever love me again and how my last relationship was just a fluke. I'm a horrible, worthless person who doesn't deserve anything good."

"I'm sorry. That sounds really hard. I can't imagine the pain you must be feeling right now. Just know that you're not worthless and that there are people who love you and care about you. I mean, I just met you, but you don't seem like a bad guy to me. You just seem like a nice guy who's had the world shit on him lately. If there's anything I can do to make you feel better, let me know."

"I wanna kiss you... on the lips."

"Okay, sure."

John leaned in and felt her soft lips press against his. That old sensation created an explosion in John's mind. Old feelings welled up inside and brought tears to his eyes.

As they separated, John blurted out, "I love you."

"Woah, there," replied the escort. "Slow down a bit. We hardly know each other."

"But you're perfect for me. You're just like Gwen and you're so nice."

"Who's Gwen? Your ex-girlfriend?"

"Yeah. She was really pretty, but could get pretty mean at times. You're even prettier, and you're so nice. Please go out with me."

"Sweetie, I appreciate the sentiment, but that's not how this works. We have a business relationship here. I can't break that. It's not ethical."

"I don't care about ethics. I just want you to be mine."

The escort gave a nervous laugh. "Okay, honey, you're starting to scare me."

"Don't be scared, baby. I'm here. I can keep you nice and warm."

He went over to hug her and she slapped his hands away. John stood there for a second, baffled. "You mean, you don't love me?"

"No, I don't. I just met you!"

"I'll kill myself."

"W-what?"

"If you don't accept my love, then I'll kill myself. I've tried it before. I can do it again. I tried slitting my wrists last time, but it took too long and the paramedics saved me. I could try sticking a fork in the outlet, though. That should be quick and easy."

"You're crazy!" she shrieked.

The escort then opened the bedroom door and went for the exit.

"Wait, don't leave me," John cried after her. "I'll really do it!"

The escort opened the front door and, on her way out, said, "Don't ever hire me again."

As the door shut in his face, John crumpled to the floor and started crying.

"Why won't anyone love me?!" he yelled.

[alextheantichrist-blog]

Law of the Jungle

The slimy bastard grinned at me as he swung his right towards my face. I ducked and came back up with an uppercut that had him kissing pavement. One of his friends tried to grab me from behind, but I elbowed him hard in the ribs and he went down on his knees. The three other guys that were with him began to circle me as the main guy got up, rubbing his jaw.

"You're pretty tough," said the leader. "But can you handle all five of us?"

"Bring it on, you ugly piece of shit!"

The leader frowned and came at me. At the same instant I sensed his buddy get up from behind and try to grab me. I sidestepped them both, making them bonk their heads together and go down again. The guy to the left of me began to put his hands up, but I was too fast for him. I pumped my left into his face and then smashed my right into his gut. He fell down and lost consciousness.

The other two guys came towards me at the same time. I dodged both their blows, hitting one with a right hook to the kidney and the other one with a left hook to the head. They both went down.

Now it was just the leader and the lackey who tried to grab me. The lackey tried to charge, but the leader put his hand on the lackey's shoulder.

"Step back, he's mine."

The leader came in with a stiff left that connected and had me seeing stars. The next thing I knew I was on my knees, taking one punch after another to the face. As one of his rights came at me, I bobbed and weaved and pumped my right into his groin. It connected and the leader went to his knees with a high-pitched scream.

I got back up and started pounding him mercilessly: left, right, left, right. The lackey tried to step in, but I threw him to the ground with a stiff left hook. I then went back to pounding the leader. His nose was now broken. His face was bleeding from three different places. The skin of his forehead had the consistency of ground beef. Still the sucker would not go down.

"Please, mercy. I didn't mean to spill your drink, honest!"

Was that what we were fighting about? It didn't matter. All I cared about was beating my opponent into unconsciousness. That's what you had to do to survive.

"Ain't no mercy here, friend."

My right fist came up to hit him again, when suddenly a blinding white light appeared. I shielded my eyes.

"Stop, police," came the cry, and I was suddenly surrounded.

I was too confused to fight back. They all had their guns trained on me. Then I felt something bash my head in and everything turned black.

I remember what I dreamed that night, because I dreamed it every night. I was seven again, looking up at my dad with his muscular frame and eyes red from alcohol. He seemed to tower over me like a giant monster in one of them Japanese movies. He grabbed me by the collar with his left hand. It felt like a vice. His right then curled into a fist and slammed into my face. It felt like getting hit with a brick.

"Nothing personal, kid. It's just the Law of the Jungle. Only the strong survive. You're still weak. That's why I gotta whip you into shape!"

His fist kept pounding into my face until it was a bloody mess. I tried to scream for him to stop, but it died in my throat. My mother was sitting in the corner, crying. Her face was swollen and puffy.

"Come on, you little shit. Fight back! You're not gonna be able to survive unless you fight back!"

With one last punch everything turned to black and the dream ended.

I stared into my parole officer's face. I could tell she was a hard woman. Her eyes and general demeanor told me she'd seen some shit and lived to tell the tale. A connection between us suddenly formed.

Two years had passed. I had just gotten out of prison.

She sighed with what I could tell was frustration. "David Wilker. In jail again, I see. You seem to really enjoy beating the shit out of people."

"It's just how I am. I'm tough and I don't take shit from nobody."

"Well, if you keep at it, you will be back in prison in no time. Do you want that?"

"I can't say I enjoy prison."

"No, no one does. That's why we're trying to keep you out of it. But you seem to be trapped in a revolving door. You get out, you fix yourself up, get a job in construction; next thing you know you get drunk and beat up some poor schmuck for spilling your drink."

"Hey, he had it coming! I didn't like that smug face of his, no sir. He was walking around like he owned the joint."

She sighed again. "I guess there's no use in telling you to stop. I wonder if there's any way for you to channel that aggression in a more healthy and appropriate manner."

She tapped her pencil on her legal pad. "Have you ever thought of taking up some form of mixed martial arts? Muay Thai? Boxing?"

"I don't need nobody to teach me how to fight. I know that well enough."

"I'm sure. But I'm saying that in that context it's appropriate to fight. You can get your fighting done there without ending up back in prison."

"I never really liked ring sports. Too many rules. It's suffocating. I can't just go out and let loose."

"Well, you better learn to control yourself, because next time it's not gonna be just a few years. You're a repeat offender. They're gonna go down hard on you."

I sighed. "Fine. I guess I will try boxing."

She looked at me with a deadpan stare. "I can sense your enthusiasm. However, I think this will be good for you. I will try to find a gym close to your area. I will give you the information, but you have to call them and go to the class, go it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

I stared at the sign on top of the gym for a good five minutes. Fight First MMA. You gotta be kidding me. What a corny name.

I went inside and saw a fit-looking man with a crewcut.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm here for the trial boxing class."

"Ah, you must be David. Welcome. I'm Matt. Let me introduce you to our boxing coach."

He then took me into a large space with blue mats on the floor. Half of it was full of people in white uniforms grabbing each other on the ground. That must be the Brazilian Jiu Jitsu guys. The other half was full of punching bags. Matt then took me to see a bald, middle-aged man. He was well-muscled and had scars on his face. I could tell he was a fighter.

"David, this is Steve. He does the boxing program here."

We shook hands.

"Welcome, David," said Steve.

"Call me Dave."

"All right, Dave. What brings you here?"

"My parole officer sent me. She said that since I like to beat the shit out of people, I might as well do it where it's acceptable."

Steve laughed. "Honest. Straight to the point. I like that. I think you'd be great for our program."

I smiled. This didn't seem to be so bad.

"All right, time to start class," cried Steve. "Everyone grab a rope and start skipping!"

"Hey, what's with this?" I cried as everyone headed for the stack of skipping ropes. "I ain't no middle school girl!"

The coach laughed again. "Skipping ain't just for little girls, Dave. Not only is it good cardio, but it keeps you light on your feet. It will make you a better fighter. You wanna be a better fighter, don't you?"

"I guess."

"Come on, just try it! What's the worst that could happen?"

I grabbed a rope and started skipping. I was able to do it a few times before wham! The rope hit my toes. Damn, that stung! My toes were on fire. It was a kind of pain I'd never felt before. I'd rather be hit by a sledgehammer than have to endure that pain again.

"It's okay, Dave. It hurts worst the first time. Then you just get used to it!"

I grumbled and tried skipping again. Wham! The rope hit my toes again. Since they were already sore from last time, it stung even worse. Steve had lied.

My head started feeling hot. I was seeing red. I realized I hated skipping and wanted to storm out of that damned place.

Steve must've noticed I was getting flustered, because he took me aside and said, "I know it's hard. It can be quite discouraging at times. But if you keep at it, I promise you you're gonna love it."

"I hate skipping. I don't think I will ever love it."

"That's okay. Skipping is only one part of boxing. Just stick around for a bit and I'm sure you will find something you like about it. If you like something hard enough, you will be able to grit your teeth through the stuff you don't just to get to it."

I sighed. "All right."

After more frustrating attempts at skipping, we went to weights. This I had no problem with. My work always had me lifting heavy things, so I had built up quite a bit of muscle.

"All right, everyone," cried Steve. "Put on your gloves and grab a bag! We're gonna be doing five three-minute rounds. Do any combinations you feel like. Just remember your technique."

Now this I could do. I put on a pair of gloves Steve had lent me for the class and started pounding on that bag. It felt liberating. It was just like beating someone's face in, only this guy couldn't resist.

Steve watched me for a while. "Not bad. You certainly have the raw power and you know the basic punches. However, your technique is off. You have to punch with your hips. You're punching with your shoulders. If you turn your hips, you will get more power."

I did as he said and it was like magic. I could feel the strength of the impact. The bag shuddered and started spinning.

"You see? Not only do you have more power, but you have greater reach. Sure it's maybe just an inch, but an inch makes a difference in a real fight."

"Thanks, coach."

I began putting my hips into it and was surprised with the results. The bag spun every which way. I kept pumping and pumping, until I felt the coach's fist lightly tap my face while I was punching. I went back to punching and it happened again. After a few times, I stopped and stared at him.

"Where's your other hand, boy?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your other hand should be pasted to your face. It protects you from an incoming punch. Try that."

I did. It felt really awkward, but it got the coach smiling, so I guess it was worth it.

After class, I met up with Matt again.

"How was it?"

"It was amazing! I loved it."

"Good, would you like to sign up? We have a few options for you. You could pay monthly for six months or a year or you could pay a lump sum for six months or a year."

I looked at the prices and my eyes flew wide open. "$150 per month? Are you trying to swindle me?"

"Sir, I assure you we are doing no such thing. You will find that our prices are competitive with other places in the area."

I rubbed my chin. "That sure is a lot of money. And I have to commit for at least six months, huh?"

"Yes, that is also standard for any MMA gym in the area."

I sighed. I wasn't sure about putting down that much money and committing to that much time. Six months was more than I had held onto any job.

Then my parole officer's voice came into my head. Do you wanna go back to jail?

No, sir, I didn't. This may be the only way I could stay out of prison, and I knew now that it didn't come cheap.

"All right." I sighed. "Where do I sign?"

My therapist was a petite blonde woman. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five. She spoke in a soft voice.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Uh, okay, I guess. I'm not really feeling anything."

She stared at me with a face like she knew everything and nodded.

"Okay, okay. Now I heard from your parole officer that you have a lot of issues with anger. Is that correct?"

"Yes, ma'am. Whenever I see red, I just lose control. The smallest thing can set me off. Someone looking at me the wrong way, for example. I hate it when someone looks at me like I'm lesser than them."

"I understand. Now, over these next sessions we're going to unpack what makes you so angry. We will try to get at the root of your anger."

"I just thought I had a short fuse. I get that from my dad."

"Really? Tell me about your dad."

"Oh, he'd lose his temper over anything. Dinner not being cooked right, me having the TV on too loud. You name it. 'Course it didn't help me that he came home drunk every night."

"I see. And what did he do when he lost his temper?"

"Oh, he beat the shit outta me. Me and my mom both."

"I'm sorry you had to deal with that. That sounds horrible."

"It's all right. I mean, everyone had that growing up, right? It's normal."

"No, it's not, actually. In these modern times, most parents don't beat their children anymore."

"What, really?"

"Yes. I think it's really important for us to denormalize it. What happened to you was not normal. It was abuse."

"Huh. I never thought of it like that."

"It's normal for victims to not see the abuse for what it is."

"Victim? Listen, honey, I ain't no victim. I'm strong. My dad made me this way. It was his rough and tumble teachings that kept me alive in this harsh world."

"Just because you're strong doesn't mean you're not a victim. Being a victim of abuse doesn't make you weak."

"It doesn't? But... but my dad said..."

"Your dad was an abuser. He would do and say anything to have power over you."

"But... but... that's what I need to survive."

"No, it's not. You can live in peace and not have to suffer abuse."

"I find that hard to believe."

"I can understand that. We will work with that until it becomes easier to believe."

"All right, everyone," cried Steve. "Let's hit the pads! Here's the combination: jab, cross, hook, uppercut. Everyone got that? All right, let's go!"

Three months had passed and I was making good progress. My technique felt much cleaner and my muscle memory was absorbing the right moves.

I was pumping my fists into the pads when Steve came up to me.

"How's it going, Dave?"

"Oh, it's fine." I hit off another combo. "Boxing's great. My parole officer's pretty happy with what I'm doing, too. The only problem is, she's having me see this shrink."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't like her very much. We keep talking about feelings and stuff. It's not my thing."

"Well, I say keep at it."

"Really, coach?"

"Yeah. Listen, it's not just your body that you should keep in shape, but also your mind. Is this therapist nice to you?"

"Well, yeah. Kinda too nice, like she wants something."

"All she wants is for you to get better. I know it's hard to trust people after what you've been through, but try. Not everyone is out for themselves."

"I find that hard to believe."

"I bet you tell your therapist that a lot, don't ya?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"I've been to therapists, too, you know. I think everyone should. We all got baggage to unpack. Does she challenge you a lot?"

"Yeah, and I don't like that. It makes me uncomfortable."

"That's important. It would do no good for her to just be 'oh, poor baby' on you the whole time. I think you've got yourself a good therapist. If you wanna keep outta prison, keep seeing her."

"But I thought the boxing was enough."

"Boxing helps, yes. However, it's only a band-aid. It won't fix everything. You have to go deep to be able to fix your underlying problems."

"Hm. I will consider it."

"Thanks, Dave. I appreciate it."

My therapist looked at me for a while. I realized over time that the look she was giving that I thought was condescending was actually just concern. That made me warm up to her a little. I still didn't fully trust her, though.

"Let's talk about your anger."

"What do you wanna know?"

"I would like to know why you are so angry."

"Gee, that's a tough one. Does there have to be a reason?"

"There's always some underlying reason, at least from my experience."

"Lemme think."

"Take your time."

I thought long and hard and I came up with one word. "Unfair."

"What's unfair?"

"Just life. I keep getting in trouble for things I can't control. I can't hold down a job. Ain't no woman who wanna stick around me."

"I see. Tell me more about that."

"Sometimes I feel like I don't wanna live anymore."

"You have suicidal thoughts?"

"Not specifics. Just this feeling that life isn't worth it."

"I see. Do you get pleasure out of anything?"

"Just boxing. It feels good to hit stuff."

"Yes, you've mentioned that before. I think that's a very healthy coping mechanism. Keep doing that."

"You really think so?"

"Well, it's better than beating up random guys outside bars, isn't it?"

"You sound like my parole officer."

"I think she has a good point."

I sighed. "Yeah, I guess so. I kinda miss showing people I'm not to be messed with. There's something personal about talking to a man with your fists."

"Don't you get to do that in boxing, though?"

"Not yet. I haven't advanced enough to get into sparring."

"Well, hopefully that will give you what you're missing in a more safe and appropriate environment."

"Yeah. I'm looking forward to that."

"Let's get back to that feeling of unfairness. Do you think it's unfair what your father did to you?"

"Hm. I never thought about it like that. I always thought I deserved it."

"Maybe you were feeling it subconsciously."

"Maybe. I dunno."

"Your father seems to have made quite the impact on you."

"He was the one that taught me everything I know."

"And yet all that you've learned has led you here."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm just saying that those things your dad taught you aren't helping you. You've been in prison multiple times. You're unhappy with your life. You have unhealthy coping strategies, like fighting people."

"You're saying that everything he taught me was a lie?"

"I'm saying that what he taught you is unhealthy. It's not how most people live."

"So I've been doing it all wrong?"

"I wouldn't phrase it like that. I don't think you're to blame. You've survived as well as you could given the environment you grew up in. But now your environment has changed and you have to adapt to it."

"I'm not sure I like this."

"That's understandable. People usually don't like change."

"You mean to tell me I gotta change everything about me?"

"Not everything, but maybe some core beliefs. For instance, tell me, what do you think about yourself?"

"Well, I'm tough. I don't take shit from anybody. I'm good at fighting. I guess fighting's all I know. Never did much else. Never did amount to anything. But maybe I deserved that."

"What makes you say that?"

"Come on, let's face it. I'm trash. A junkyard dog. I was born trash and I'm gonna die trash."

"Hm. I think we've hit on something here. You have a very negative perception of yourself."

"You mean I ain't trash?"

"I don't think so. When I look at you, I see someone with a lot of potential; someone who has been through many hard times and has done the best he could do."

I blushed. "No one ever said that about me."

"I think it's about time someone showed you some kindness. You've suffered enough."

Three more months passed. I had been going five times a week. Not only did my body feel a lot better, but I also started mastering the basics. My other hand was always pasted to my face when I threw a punch. I didn't cross my legs anymore when moving in a fighting stance. I punched with my hips, turning over my back leg whenever I threw my right. I knew all the basic slips and bob-and-weaves. I was ready for sparring.

"Dave, this is your partner, Fred," said Steve, pointing to a really smug-looking blonde guy. "He's been at it a few weeks longer than you, but he is the one closest to your level."

"Hmph, I can beat him no problem," said Fred. He was looking at me like I was beneath him, which got my blood boiling.

"What did you say, you little smart-mouth?" I cried, shuffling towards him.

"Ladies, please," cried Steve. "Let's be civil. Both of you get in your fighting stances."

As we prepared to spar, Steve went over to the timer. The beep went off and he said, "Start!"

I put out my left hand to him so he could tap it in a show of good sportsmanship. He wrinkled his nose and his left went straight for my face. I slipped it and returned with a left hook which met nothing but air. So much for sportsmanship.

I readied my left for another blow and felt two light taps on my face. Fred had thrown two jabs lightning quick. This guy was trouble.

I tried to jab again and met another left, followed by a stiff right. That rattled me a bit and made my nose sore for a few seconds. I backed off and he came at me. Hook, cross, hook. I dodged all of them and hit him right in the kidney with a right hook. Just a light tap.

He was furious. He came swinging at me with more power. I parried the first few hits, but took an uppercut straight to the chin. As my head snapped back from the impact he drove in a hard left hook to my ear. Colours exploded in front of my eyes as a high-pitched ringing sounded in my ears.

So this was his game. He wanted to beat me to show just how macho he was. Well, two can play that game. I wasn't thinking anymore. I was seeing red. I went in with a one-two and put all my strength behind the right. He dodged it easily, but realized I was going full power. He feigned a jab to the head and then got me with a cross to the body. I stopped breathing and spat out my mouthguard.

When I had it back on I charged right in. I had forgotten all about technique and proper form. I was my old self again, just brawling for the sake of it. I yelled and went to smash his face in with my right. He slipped it and went inside my guard. Boom-bam! He hit me with a left uppercut to the jaw and then a solid right straight to the face. I went down.

"What the fuck are you guys doing?" yelled Steve. "You're supposed to hold back during sparring, not go all out! If you get seriously injured, how are you supposed to train?"

I got up, still dizzy from that last cross. "You sonuvabitch, I'll kill you!"

"Bring it on, pretty boy," Fred yelled back.

I was about to charge him when I felt a hand on my chest. It was Steve. He had gotten between us.

"Now both of you, calm down. Especially you, Dave."

"Me? He was the one that knocked me down."

"And you were the one that started going all out. I have eyes. I can see the difference between someone sparring and someone trying to beat the shit out of his opponent."

"But, coach, he was egging me on!"

"It doesn't matter. You need to control your anger."

"But that's not fair!"

"Life's not fair!"

I stormed out of the gym.

I spent that evening at a bar, getting hammered. I made to leave, when this bastard bumped into me.

"Hey, watch where you're going."

"Fuck you, buddy."

He was a tough looking guy. His muscles bulged out of his black T-shirt and grey jean jacket. He had long black hair and tattoos running down his arms. He looked like a biker.

"You wanna start something, buddy?" I yelled.

"Sure, why not? Let's go outside."

As we exited the bar, a bunch of images flashed through my mind. My parole officer looking at me disapprovingly. The smashed face of the last guy I clobbered. The jail cell. I then realized that I was making a mistake.

I knew I couldn't convince the guy to reconsider. He was too hot-headed, like I used to be. So I just ran away.

"Hey, where are you going? Fucking chicken!"

As I ran, I cried tears of rage. This was going against every ounce of my being. My nature was being violated. I ran all the way home and punched a hole through the wall.

"I think you did a very brave thing," said my therapist.

"I still lost my temper at the gym, though."

"It won't all go away overnight. You are taking the right steps."

"Sometimes I wonder if I will ever change. Maybe this is just who I am. Maybe I just have to live with that."

"Changing a behaviour, especially one so ingrained from childhood, is very hard, but you were able to walk away from a fight."

"I didn't wanna go back to jail."

"Exactly. That is very important to you. It was so important that you were able to go against your nature, as you said."

"It was really hard, though."

"That's okay. It's normal. It's good to learn to congratulate yourself for the small victories."

"If you say so."

It had been a week since the incident. I walked over to Steve with my head down.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I got carried away. I promise it won't happen again."

"It's all right, big guy." He patted me on the shoulder. "We all have our demons. You need to get that anger under control, though. Not only does it get you in trouble, but it doesn't make you a good fighter. You gotta fight with your head. If you just go in swinging carelessly, you'll get knocked out."

"I understand, coach."

"Do you wanna get even with that guy?"

I looked up. "What do you mean, coach?"

"What I mean is, if you want, I can arrange a fight between you two. It will be official and legal."

My face lit up. "Oh, man, coach, you're the best! I would love to sock it to that guy!"

"It's gonna be about three months from now. You're gonna have to train three hours a day, five times a week starting this week. Part of that training will be one-on-one with me. Each solo class will be an extra $50. Think you can handle that?"

"Anything to get back at that guy, coach."

"Good. Class is about to start. Join us. Tomorrow at 5 pm we will be holding our first one-on-one class. Can you make it?"

"Sure, boss. I'll ask work to leave early. They're pretty cool with that kind of stuff."

"All right. Get ready for a whole different kind of training."

I didn't know what he meant by that, but I soon found out. The next day, after some conditioning, we started pad work. It was all going along fine, and then the coach did something I wasn't expecting.

"Come on, you ugly piece of shit! You think those weak punches will beat Fred? My grandma can do better than that!"

I furrowed my brow. The coach had never been mean to me before. He was always firm, but never put me down. This was a strange turn for him.

"What's the matter? Why'd you stop? Come on, you worthless scum! Hit the pads!"

I saw red. All technique flew out the window as I began to bash the pads. Suddenly one of them bashed me in the face.

"Where are your hands at? You keep dropping them! That's not what I taught you!"

My hands felt like lead, but I brought them up. I kept swinging wildly at the pads.

"Where's your technique gone? What happened to all that I taught you? Come on, you lily-livered weakling! Move your hips!"

I stopped and brought my hands down. "Coach, why are you doing this?"

"You need to learn to control that anger of yours. Whenever someone says or does something you don't like, you lose control. That's why I'm inoculating you from it. A real fighter knows to control his anger and use it as a weapon."

My face finally relaxed and my mouth grew into a smile. "So that's what you were doing. Thanks, coach. That's a big help."

"What are you doing standing around talking for? If you can talk, hit the pads!"

The next sparring class came along, I was matched with someone a lot more friendly. His name was Jeff. He was bald with a white beard. His arms and legs were full of tattoos. He looked like a tough man, but he had the demeanor of a pussycat. Everyone loved him.

When we began I went in jabbing and he got me with a hook.

"Make sure to step out after you throw your combination. That way you won't get hit so easily."

I nodded. I went back in with a jab, cross, hook, but it didn't feel right.

"You're too close. Find your distance by jabbing a couple times. You can use it as a probe to find your reach."

I went out and jabbed a bit until I found my distance. I went in with another jab, cross, hook. He dodged them easily.

"You're too slow. That's why I'm avoiding them. Speed it up. Speed and technique are the most important in amateur boxing."

This was great. I was learning and having fun. It was great to know that guys like him were at this gym.

The day had finally come. I was ready.

The place looked kinda dingy and there weren't that many people in the audience, I counted ten at most, but that didn't matter. This was all between me and Fred.

As we both got in the ring with our gloves, headgear and groin protector on, the announcer said, "Welcome everyone to this official Boxing Ontario match. This fight will be four rounds, two minutes each."

After introducing us, along with our weights, the referee came between us.

"I want a clean fight, gentleman."

The bell rang.

I went in jabbing to get my distance. He did the same. After a while, Fred threw a rapid one-two. That would've gotten me before, but my speed had greatly increased. I slipped both of them. As I went in for a combo, I caught him trying to do a rapid double jab. I slipped and got him in the kidney with a hard left hook. That staggered him. I went up for an uppercut, but he managed to move his chin out of the way. I overextended myself and he got me with a cross to the body. Now we were even.

We broke apart and Fred came in again. I dodged his one-two-hook and he dodged my hook-uppercut. We were both bobbing back and forth like a couple of marionettes. Every time one of us went in with a punch, it would hit air. This went on for a while.

I feigned a jab and got him with a hard cross. He went down. At the count of two he was back up, but the referee kept counting until eight, since those were the rules. I came after him again, and it was my turn to eat his cross. I hit the ground and got up after the count of three.

As the referee kept counting, I looked into his eyes. Those cold blue eyes had nothing but hate and contempt in them. They reminded me of something, but I didn't know what.

As I charged in after the count, the bell rang.

After two more rounds of this, we were both exhausted. The intense energy needed for this drained our stamina. We both had puddles by our feet and had trouble keeping our hands up. We both had black eyes. There had been two more knockdowns, one for each of us. As far as points went, we seemed to be evenly matched. Whoever got the third knockdown first would win the match.

The bell rang the start of the last round. I went it with all I had and, after dodging a few blows, Fred clinched. This was a good time for both of us to rest for a bit. After the referee separated us, he came in with a hard right. I dodged it and sank my right to the wrist in his midriff. After retreating he came back and clinched again.

After the separation, I looked at my opponent's hate-filled face. Suddenly it morphed and it was my dad standing in front of me.

"Come on, you little shit! Fight me if you're man enough!"

I began to see red, but quashed that immediately. The work I'd done with both my therapist and my coach had helped. I kept my anger beneath the surface and used it to fuel my left hook to his face. He was thrown back a couple steps and then came back and clinched again.

"Come on, fight already," cried someone in the crowd. "We didn't come here to see two guys hugging!"

In the clinch, I heard his shallow breathing. He was losing steam. I might've been exhausted, but he was in much worse shape.

I managed to get out of the clinch and hit him with a cross one last time. I put all my strength, all the months of blood, sweat and tears into it. It connected and I saw his whole face deform with the hit. He hit the ground and that was it. The match was over.

"The winner, by technical knockout, David Wilker!"

Everyone cheered. I caught a glimpse of my parole officer near the door. She nodded and smiled, and then left. I had beaten Fred, and beaten a greater foe, as well.

[alextheantichrist-blog]

Land of the Setting Sun

The old dojo was gone, replaced by a church. Gone were the wooden walls, tiled, wavy roof so common in traditional Japanese architecture and the sliding doors. They were replaced by cold brick and an arched portico. The building was the colour of blood.

Eiji Iwasaki stared at the church for many minutes. It left a bad taste in his mouth. His whole body suddenly felt heavy. A single tear ran down his cheek. Old memories flashed through his mind, only to be stomped down by the image of the church.

He turned and walked on. His grey topknot and kimono blew in the wind. Eiji took out a small sack and shook it. Only a few coins. Not enough for food.

He walked around the city of his birth, looking for work. For most of his life it had been named Edo, but it was now Tokyo. It seemed that not only the name had changed. He spied new brick buildings here and there, built in that strange foreign style.

Walking through town, he saw a large semicircle of people gathered around a local ramen place. Sensing something wrong, Eiji made his way through the crowd to see a small retinue of police officers looking over the dead body of one of their own.

"Poor bastard," one of them murmured. "He knew this dive was a bad place. Not our fault he got whacked."

"Yeah, nothing much we can do here," replied another.

Eiji pushed his way through. "You mean you aren't going to investigate?" he cried.

"Who are you?" the first cop replied, giving him a condescending look. "You're not allowed here."

"Besides," replied the second. "There's no use doing anything. We know who did it and they're out of our reach."

"What do you mean they're out of your reach? Who did this?"

The first cop went in front of Eiji, his face a mask of rage. "Listen, buddy, we don't need no filthy ronin telling us how to do our job. Beat it!"

Eiji scanned the police officers. There were five of them and they all looked out of shape. They were all wearing foreign style sabers at their hips. He tasted bile as he thought about the police force throwing away their katanas for these inferior pieces of metal. He probably could take on all of them and not break a sweat. His head felt hot and his pulse went up.

Eiji turned around and walked away. It was none of his business, anyway. His stomach growling reminded him of what he was looking for.

"Excuse me, mister samurai," came a woman's voice.

Eiji turned around. An elderly couple met his eyes.

"We are the parents of the victim," said the woman. "Won't you please join us for tea?"

As he entered their home, Eiji was greeted by traditional Japanese wooden walls and sliding doors, with a kotatsu in the middle. The blanket underneath the kotatsu was very warm and comforting. The mother brought a teapot and wooden cylindrical cups out of the kitchen. She set them down on the kotatsu and began to pour. Eiji smiled.

"This is a nice house you have here. It brings back old memories."

"Thank you," replied the woman, bowing. "Our son loved it here."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Yes. There's a ninjutsu dojo around here. The master there didn't like how our Eiichiro kept trying to reform the police system and threatened him to stop or else. He was in charge of his own retinue of officers and he adored the European system. He said that more changes needed to take place in the system so that it would greater mimic that of France and Prussia. Oh, he was a sweet boy, but so naive and stubborn."

Eiji slowly drank the green tea. The taste reminded him of walking in a forest.

"I see how that would anger people. I personally don't believe that we are currently going in the right direction, but I would never murder anyone over that."

The mother leaned in. "Oh, those ninjas are terrible. They don't care about any honour codes like Bushido. They will knife you in the back for looking at them funny. They always knife you in the back, not the front, because they are cowards, unlike the samurai of old."

Eiji nodded. "You want me to investigate his murder?"

"Yes, please. The police aren't doing anything. I think they're in on it. Please get justice for our son. We don't have much, but we will pay what we can."

Eiji's stomach grumbled. "All I need is enough money for food."

"Oh, we can give you all the food you want. Here. I will prepare some nice hot rice for you."

"Thank you, madam. That is much appreciated. I will take on the task. It will be nice to have some work for a change."

The mother and father both threw themselves at his feet.

"Oh, thank you, thank you. I have always believed in the samurai. I have heard stories of their heroism since I was a child. I knew those were true!"

Sudden images flashed in Eiji's mind. The image of a samurai beheading someone for spilling his drink. The field of crucified enemy soldiers, joined by their wives and children. He bit back his retort.

Eiji spotted the ninjutsu dojo and hid in the bushes until nighttime. He closed his eyes and concentrated his ki into his body to hide his aura. He then sent out his sixth sense like a sonar to catch the auras of the people inside. There were thirty brightly shining auras, but they were the crimson colour of blood. The brightest shining aura made its way outside.

Eiji opened his eyes. An elderly gentleman in black came outside and greeted the police officers coming towards him. Eiji recognized the same cops from before.

"Evening, gentlemen. Nice night out tonight."

"Yes, very clear," replied one of the cops.

The two men moved closer and the old man began to whisper. Eiji's superior hearing was able to catch it.

"Thank you for your help, gentlemen. That man sure was a thorn in my side."

He slid them a wad of yen banknotes.

"You're welcome, Sensei Nakamura. Pleasure doing business with you."

The old man waited for the cops do be out of sight until he cried out, "Come on out, samurai. You cannot hide your ki from me."

Eiji stepped out from the bushes. "I thought you would be able to sense it."

"I saw you at that bastard Eiichiro's house. Are you looking for justice? You won't find it here."

"Why did you kill that man? He was innocent."

"Ha! Innocent? He was part of a conspiracy to ruin our entire country. It was people like him who brought the foreigners in and destroyed our culture. They all deserve to die!"

"He may have been misguided, but there are better ways of fighting against the West's influence than cold-blooded murder."

"But none as effective. Come on, you know I'm right. You are of the old ways and are not averse to killing for what you believe in. Why do you fight us?"

Eiji hesitated.

"You know our great nation is in peril. If we don't do something, it will be wiped out by the European forces. Oh, it won't be a violent overtaking. It will happen peacefully and slowly, so that you won't notice it until it's too late. Why don't you join us? Together we can rid this nation of those damn foreigners."

"Who's us?"

"Our organization is called Demonhead. It is headed by the great samurai Hachiro Muramasa, who found the head of Shuten-doji many years ago."

"That's impossible! The Great Hero Yamato-takeru beheaded that demon and buried his head where no one could find it."

"It has been found."

"You're allying with a demon?"

"The ends justify the means. You've been a soldier. I'm sure you can relate."

"There is a difference between fighting in a war and committing acts of great evil."

"Is there now? Are you sure about that?"

Eiji hesitated again. The crucified children flashed through his mind.

"You're not sure, are you? You seem to have your doubts."

Eiji drew his katana. "I do not ally myself with demons!"

The old man began to step forward. "Oh, really? What about those generals that would make their troops commit seppuku for insubordination? Aren't they demons, as well?"

"That was different! There was honour in that!"

"Peh! Honour. What a meaningless word. There is no honour in war. It's kill or be killed. You do what you have to to survive and live another day. And you keep fighting for what you believe in. You and I have the same beliefs. The only difference is you have given up fighting for them."

"I'm sick of meaningless killing!" Tears streamed Eiji's face. "I will have no more of that!"

"Oh? Will you have meaningful killing then? Like killing me? What would that accomplish? I am a mere cog in the machine. No one will care if I go away. Besides, you don't even know if you can defeat me in a fair fight."

"I don't care! I will have to try! It's the only way to get justice!"

"Tut-tut. Fighting violence with violence. Your hypocrisy knows no bounds."

"Just shut up and fight!"

"Fine, if you won't have it any other way."

The sensei took up his fighting stance. His blood red aura surrounded his body as he channeled it into a ball with his hands. He then launched it at Eiji. The samurai took up his katana and sliced it in half. The ball disappeared in an explosion of smoke.

Out of the smoke came the ninjutsu master. He was right in front of Eiji. He had used the explosion as a smokescreen to allow him to cover the distance. He unsheathed his ninja-to. As the sword came out of its sheath, dirt and pepper sprayed into Eiji's eyes, blinding him.

"Let's see how well you fight without your eyes, samurai!

Eiji tried to sense his aura, but the ninja master was hiding it too well. Panic began to rise in him, but he squashed it down. He took a deep breath as he remembered his teachings.

His master, Sensei Fukuhara, had once had him fight blindfolded. His old sensei's words rang in his ears.

Focus on your other senses. Hear the swish of the bokken. Smell the wood as it nears you.

Eiji sensed the strike right away and blocked it.

"What?" cried the master. "Impossible!"

The old samurai heard his voice and smelled his sweat. He cut a long gash where he guessed the body was and was rewarded with a splash of blood.

Once his sight cleared, he saw the ninjutsu master on the floor, a giant gash across his torso.

"You will pay for this. Demonhead will get you."

With that he breathed no more.

"Thank you for finding justice for our son," said the mother. "This isn't much, but take it anyway."

Eiji took the bag of money and bowed. "Thank you for your business."

"Think nothing of it."

Eiji sighed.

"What bothers you, samurai?"

"Before we fought, the man said things. Those things made a lot of sense. I'm not sure if I did the right thing."

"You don't like the way the world is changing, do you?"

"No. The man offered me a way to fight against that. But I'm just so sick of fighting, so sick of killing. I have enough blood on my hands."

"At first, we didn't like the way the world was changing, either. It was all so new and strange. But then we realized that it was out of our control and we embraced it. It was very freeing."

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

"Not yet, but give yourself time. You may come around to it."

"The man mentioned an organization called Demonhead. Have you heard of it?"

Her face went dark. "Yes, I have. They're known for doing horrible things, all in the name of that disgraced samurai. I heard they have a base in Kyoto."

"I must go there, to stop more innocent people from being killed."

"Your job is over. Rest now."

"I'm afraid I cannot, knowing these evil people are out there."

"There was a legend that the Great Hero Yamato-takeru would return someday to set the world aright. I believe you are his return."

"I am no hero."

The mother sighed. "There is a train that leaves for Kyoto in the morning. Please spend the night with us."

"A train?" Eiji scrunched his nose.

Eiji's heart began to race as he walked through the station. He was in a sea of people that was constantly moving. Numerous people would bump into or jostle him. His body felt restless all over.

The train came. The old samurai's eyes began to water as the smell of burning coal entered his lungs. He began to cough uncontrollably. After a minute he was able to steady himself. He went on inside the metal monstrosity.

He went inside his compartment. Three other people, all wearing formal Western attire, squeezed in. As the train began to move, Eiji decided to spend his time staring outside the window. The blurry fields looked to him like a smeared painting. The more he stared at them, the more he felt the movement of the train, and the more nauseous he got.

He finally couldn't take it anymore and opened the window to vomit. It was a violent and draining purge. His eyes turned red and he panted from the effort. He looked back in the cabin and saw everyone staring at him disapprovingly.

There was the sound of a struggle outside, along with a scream. Eiji put his hands on the hilt of his katana.

The cabin opened and three men stood outside. One of them pointed a flintlock pistol straight at Eiji. As he fired, Eiji dodged to the right and unsheathed his katana in his body. He managed to behead the one right behind him before he even drew his weapon, but the last one fled. The old samurai ran after him.

Knowing there was nowhere to run inside the train, the man went in between cars and tried to disconnect the two parts of the train. Eiji was too fast for him. He slashed downwards before that task could be completed, but the man dodged with catlike agility and jumped onto the top of the train. Eiji followed him.

It was hard keeping his balance on top of the train at first, but the old samurai soon learned how to adjust his weight to counteract the movement of the train. The man pulled out a revolver from his coat pocket.

"Now you die," he cried as he fired.

Time slowed down as Eiji remembered his master firing a flintlock pistol at him during training. He remembered the searing pain when the bullet hit his arm.

Too slow. Don't think. Just let muscle memory take over.

As the bullet went towards him, Eiji unsheathed his sword and parried it. The bullet grazed his left arm, drawing blood. He had known that a revolver was faster than a flintlock pistol, but he did not know just how much faster it was. He would not make that mistake again.

"Impressive. Your master taught you well. But you were still unable to fully parry it. That is because the revolver is the superior weapon."

"You're with Demonhead, aren't you?"

"Why, of course."

"Then why do you fight for traditionalism while using a foreign weapon?"

The man laughed. "The ends justify the means."

"I've heard that before. You guys are just a bunch of hypocrites."

The man fired again. Eiji brought up his sword and cut the bullet in half.

"Impossible! No one can be that fast!"

Eiji then launched himself at the man, covering the distance in a split second. Before he had time to fire off another shot, the samurai slashed him from the hip to the opposite shoulder. Blood shot out of the gash like a geyser.

"This can't be," was the last cry of the man before he went overboard.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. When the train reached Kyoto, there was a man waiting for Eiji. He had long white hair and was dressed in a white kimono with rose blossoms painted on it. He had a sheathed katana on his hip.

"Welcome, Eiji. My name is Hachiro Muramasa."

"Word travels fast in these parts."

"Yes, it does. Won't you join me for a nice walk?"

While walking, Eiji noticed the brick buildings interspersed between those of traditional Japanese design.

"It's spreading here, too. The sickness of the West. Not as much as in Tokyo, but it is still present. The only way to get rid of it is to purge it from the system."

"You sent three men to kill me."

"And you defeated them. I would expect nothing less from a great samurai of old."

"So this was just a test?"

"You could call it that, yes."

"I don't condone the killing of innocent people."

"But are they really innocent? They are destroying our culture, destroying all that makes

us Japanese. They are robbing us of our identity. Soon we'll be nothing but dried out husks, mindlessly mimicking those damn foreigners. That is a fate worse than death!"

"I do agree that this change is not good for Japan and I want to stop it, but there's got to be another way!"

"But don't you see? There is no other way! This country must be baptized in blood! You're a soldier. You understand that the taking of lives is sometimes necessary to achieve what you want."

"I have changed. I'm not a soldier anymore."

"Ha! Yes, now you're just a worthless ronin, no better than a street beggar. See what this change has given you. It has taken the honourable role of samurai and destroyed it. The defeat of Saigo Takamori's rebellion spelled the death of the samurai. But they can be revived, if you just join me."

"I'm done fighting in wars. I just want to live in peace."

"But you can't, can you? You can barely scrape by as is. Sometimes you must stand up for what you believe in and fight."

Suddenly Eiji and Hachiro were surrounded by what appeared to be twenty police officers with their sabers drawn.

"All right, Hachiro," cried the captain. "There's nowhere to run. Surrender or we'll be forced to kill you."

Hachiro laughed and touched Eiji on the shoulder. "Excuse me a moment."

He was like lightning. Hachiro unsheathed his katana and in a fluid movement brought it down on the captain's head, cleaving it in two. He then moved from one cop to another, slashing away in a gruesome dance. A smile was upon his lips and not a bead of sweat touched his brow. When he was done he had murdered all twenty officers. It had only taken a split second.

Hachiro wiped the blood off his katana and sheathed it. "Now, where were we?"

In a rage, Eiji unsheathed his own katana and ran at Hachiro.

"You fool," cried Hachiro, taking out his sword to block the blow. With immense strength, he then pushed Eiji's sword wide, so that he was wide open. With five rapid cuts Hachiro carved the shape of an asterisk onto his torso. The old samurai fell down on his face in a pool of his own blood.

"I see you are still too caught up in your own ideals. When you have thought over my proposal, come to my dojo. I have the address here."

He placed a piece of paper on top of Eiji's body and walked away.

"I think he's coming around."

Eiji opened his eyes to see an old Buddhist monk leaning over him and a familiar face looking down at him. The face was more old and wrinkled than he remembered, but he could recognize it anywhere.

"Master. What are you doing here?"

Sensei Fukuhara smiled. "I moved to Kyoto after my old dojo got torn down. I sensed a certain light blue aura appear in town and knew it could be none other than my old student. As the aura began to fade, I knew something was wrong, so I rushed over there and found you. I took you here for medical treatment."

"I'm sorry, master. I failed. I wasn't strong enough."

"It's because you've neglected your training. Your muscles have atrophied, to be replaced by fat. You've gotten rusty."

"You're right, master. As the years went on, I began to grow complacent in my skills. Forgive me."

"Yes, yes. I guess I will have to train you again."

"Master?"

"You need to defeat that evil samurai, don't you? I've heard of him. He used to be quite a legendary swordsman. Unfortunately, he always had a nasty and merciless side. He would kill anyone to sate his thirst; women, children. He was too bloodthirsty for even his own regiment, so he was thrown out. Quite a nasty man."

"Yes, I must stop his evil plan."

"Training will resume once your wounds are healed. I take it a week will suffice."

Eiji brought his wooden sword down onto his master's head. Sensei Fukuhara blocked it easily.

"No good. Where is your form? Your feet are all wrong! Point your front foot towards me and have your back foot on a diagonal to your right. Bend your knees. More! All right, try again."

Eiji fixed his stance and tried again. His master blocked again, but the impact made his weapon shudder.

"Good. See how much power you've gained?"

The master then went in for a stab at the belly. Eiji blocked the blow, but the angle was quite awkward. His left foot shifted position.

"You're off balance now. Keep your form no matter what. Okay, again!"

And so it went for many days.

Eiji walked around the dojo at night, only to find his master outside in the backyard, sitting on the porch. He went next to him and sat down.

"Can't sleep?" asked his master.

"No. The coming fight has me too restless."

"Well, it's only natural. It is a very important fight."

"Why don't you fight him, master?"

"Me? No, I'm too old. I'm only good enough for instruction now. I don't have the stamina to last in a fight with that demon."

"I see."

"I'm afraid the era of the samurai is coming to an end, my child."

"Don't say that, master! The samurai are eternal!"

The master shook his head. "No, they will not be able to survive the coming changes. The Western world is slowly encroaching on us. Pretty soon, the old ways will be gone."

"Doesn't that scare you, master?"

"Of course it scares me, but it is inevitable. The only constant is change. Nothing lasts forever, including the samurai. Once you learn to accept that, life is not so scary anymore."

"I cannot accept that. Being a samurai is my life."

"Yes, you were always quite stubborn. But someday you have to wake up and realize that the world has left you behind. Soon our traditions will change."

"But isn't that a bad thing, for our culture to be eradicated by these foreigners?"

"It is neither good nor bad, it just is. Besides, our culture will never be fully destroyed. Its remnants will live on in our successors. Of course it will be mixed in with Western culture as well, but they are not good or bad either. They are just different. Times change."

"Do you really believe part of our culture will remain?"

"I am sure of that. There are many people who think like you, you know. Those people will not let go of their old ways, and they will be passed down to their children. The children, whether they like it or not, will be influenced by those ways and go on to pass them to their children. And so on and so on."

"I wish I could believe that, but I still have my doubts."

"That's all right. This is something you must figure out on your own. I have given you all the wisdom I can. It is up to you now."

"Yes, master."

The sensei sighed. "You know, they say that Yamato-takeru will return one day, and, bathed in the white Aura of the Hero, will destroy the evil of this land. I hope that's true, but I have my doubts, as well."

With its large tiled roof and finely decorated walls, Hachiro's dojo looked like a castle. After staring in awe for quite a while, Eiji finally mustered the nerve to enter.

There were many people training inside. Hachiro was going to each one and instructing them.

"Ah, Eiji," cried Hachiro as he spotted the old samurai. "Come with me into my office."

The office was quite spartan, with only a small table in the middle that was covered in scrolls. There were pillows around the table for people to sit on.

Hachiro didn't sit. "So, have you thought over my offer?"

"Yes. And I cannot accept it. You are evil and you must be stopped."

Hachiro sighed. "Oh, well. I tried my best. I'm afraid I can't have you getting in my way. You understand."

"I do." Eiji reached for his katana as Hachiro did the same.

"Let's finish this in one cut."

They both stared at each other. They were intense stares, filled with hate. Both hands slowly went for the hilt. Sweat beaded Eiji's brow. Hachiro licked his lips and smiled. They both gripped the hilt at the same time. Eiji furrowed his brow and Hachiro's smile faded. The air was thick. It felt like it was coating both samurai in a shroud. Eiji's blue aura surrounded him. Hachiro's aura was pure black, dark as the night. Hachiro began to frown with concentration. Both waited for the other to make the first move.

After a second, Eiji decided to move first. He unsheathed his blade and Hachiro did the same a split second later. Eiji felt his sword cut through flesh. He also felt Hachiro's blade cut through his own body.

In the end, Eiji ended up with his back to Hachiro's. Both samurai just stood there for a second, then both collapsed. Blood was oozing out of their wounds. Eiji got up on his knees. He slowly rose and checked his wound. It was a shallow cut.

Hachiro was not so lucky. He was bleeding profusely and could not get up. His life was ebbing from him. He began to crawl towards one of the walls.

"It can't... end like... this,. Shuten-doji... help... me."

He opened the wall to reveal a small cupboard with a head in it. The head was covered in black fur. It had piercing yellow eyes, two small horns on top and two small white tusks on its bottom lip.

"Join with me," cried the head in a deep, booming voice.

Hachiro grabbed the head and it melted into him. The body of the samurai grew to twice its size, gaining black fur and sharp talons on its hands. His wounds closed and stopped bleeding. His face was replaced with that of Shuten-doji, and his white hair turned black.

The sword had grown to twice its size, as well. It came down hard on Eiji. He blocked it. The demon pushed harder and Eiji went down on one knee. His wound was screaming at him.

"You are weak, little one. There is no way you can defeat the Great Shuten-doji. You should've joined us when you had the chance."

Shuten-doji batted his sword away and slashed at his belly. Blood came out in a torrent and everything went black.

Eiji awakened in darkness, to find a youth staring at him with long black hair and a cherub-like face. He was wearing a light blue kimono and had a katana at his hip.

"Hello, Eiji. I am Yamato-takeru."

"The Great Hero." Eiji bowed. "It is an honour."

The youth laughed. "Please, dispense with the formalities. They are not necessary."

"I thought you were dead."

"I was, but people like me never truly die. We live on in people like yourself."

"I don't think I'm worthy of that. I mean, I couldn't even stop Demonhead."

"The battle is not yet lost. There is still time."

"Am I not dead?"

"No, you are still very much alive. You're just unconscious."

"I need to get back to consciousness, quickly, or else Shuten-doji will kill me!"

Yamato-takeru laughed again. "Relax. Time works differently here. Hours could pass here, but it would only be a split second in the real world."

"What am I doing here, anyway?"

"I wanted to talk to you, Eiji. I wanted you to look deep inside yourself. You have not uncovered your true potential yet."

"How do I do that?"

"Just follow your heart."

"But my heart is conflicted. My enemies may be doing bad things, but they're doing it to protect Japan and its values. Wouldn't you do the same?"

Yamato-takeru shook his head. "I don't protect values or traditions, Eiji. I protect people. Values and traditions may change, but the people stay the same. Their emotions stay the same. When you get down to the core, there is very little difference between East and West. We are all people."

"So you think we should let these foreigners just trample over our culture?"

"That is not what they are doing. They are mixing their culture with ours. That is what happens when people of different backgrounds meet and begin to live together. It is inevitable. Look beyond their customs, their culture, and you will see they are people just like you or me."

"You are very wise, Great Hero."

"It all comes from experience, Eiji. Now, go forth and defeat this great evil!"

Eiji opened his eyes as a white aura began to surround him. He got up and blocked the killing blow that Shuten-doji was about to deal him. His wounds began to close as his mind cleared.

"What is this? I guess Yamato-takeru has given you some help. Well, no matter. It still won't be enough! I am all-powerful!"

The demon attacked faster and faster with his katana. Eiji blocked every strike. He wasn't thinking anymore. His body moved on its own. Finally, Eiji saw an opening and struck. He cut off the hand holding the katana and made another cut, beheading the creature. Eiji sheathed his blade and walked out of the dojo.

Eiji looked at the church that had replaced his old dojo once again. It did not make him want to vomit anymore. It did not make his head feel hot or his body feel tense. He began to admire the intricate architecture.

He had defeated Demonhead, but there had been no reward, since barely anyone knew about it. But that didn't matter. With a smile on his face, Eiji went to find food.

[alextheantichrist-blog]

The Last Demon

Keith Collins looked into his bathroom mirror and saw the demon. He was repulsed by its dark green skin, peppered with black dots. The muscular body towered over him, with curved horns twice as large as its head. Its long, serpent-like tail lashed back and forth. The red, flaming eyes stared into his own.

Sweat beaded Keith's forehead. I thought I was rid of you.

Images of mutilated bodies flashed before his eyes. He saw his hands covered in blood. Those hands were the same as the demon's. He saw himself ripping the still-beating heart out of another human being. He remembered the joy it brought him.

No, I'm not like that anymore, he yelled inside his head, crouching and clutching it in both hands. The demon is gone. It has been exorcised. It's not a part of me anymore.

I will always be a part of you, whispered the deep voice of the demon. You cannot escape me.

"No, you're gone!" Keith yelled, striking the mirror with his right fist. A crack spiderwebbed on the mirror. His right hand started to bleed.

"Damn it," he muttered, nursing his bleeding hand.

The black-robed cultist rushed Keith. Keith let the demon take control of his hand, transforming it into a dark green, black-spotted claw. He punched the cultist square in the stomach, the impact felling him. Keith then took ahold of him with his demon claw. The other hand turned into a claw, as well.

"Please," cried the cultist. "Spare me. I swear I won't do this anymore."

He's too dangerous, whispered the demon in his mind. Don't trust him.

"You're right," whispered Keith. He then crushed the cultist's head with his left hand. It squirted blood like an overripe grapefruit.

Jenna Watson, Keith's demon hunter friend, stared on in horror.

"He was a liability," explained Keith.

"S-Sure," stuttered Jenna.

The remaining cultists then rushed the two. Jenna pointed her right palm at them and let out a force blast. It hit them hard and they all toppled down. Keith then rushed over and started rending their flesh with his claws to finish them off.

"Keith, stop it," cried Jenna. "They're people!"

"Who's to say they won't summon another demon?" replied Keith. "We have to put an end to this now before more demons come into our realm."

"I-I guess. It still bothers me, though."

"If it bothers you, then look away."

Jenna pouted.

After he finished, Keith looked at his bloody claws.

Sweet, sweet blood, whispered the demon. Sweet, delicious blood. Taste it.

"No," he cried out, startling Jenna. He then wiped the blood on his pants.

They opened the door and stepped into the next room. On a throne of black obsidian sat Nazrafel, The Dark King. He was twelve feet tall and black from head to foot. Large spikes jutted out of his arms, legs and back. Two wings made of rotting skin flowed out of his shoulders. He had the large white tusks of an elephant. His horns were those of a goat, but four times as large. His eyes were dark crimson and lidless.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he began, stepping off his throne and moving towards the two. "I have heard of you, Keith. You have the power of the great demon Terraga inside you. Why do you use it to fight against us? It must be tearing you apart trying to keep it in check. Why not let it roam free? Join us, and you shall have power beyond your wildest dreams!"

"I'm good, thanks." Keith's eyes turned red as he lunged forward.

He went to slash Nazrafel and the demon blocked it with its right arm. It felt hard as stone. Nazrafel then grabbed his neck and started strangling him. Keith tried to break free, but the grip was like a vice.

"That's not enough, I'm afraid," mocked Nazrafel. "You will have to go full power against me."

I can beat him, cried the demon in his head. Just give me full control.

"No," cried Keith. He let the demon take control of both his arms and was able to pull free. He then pumped the demon's energy into his teeth. They grew into fangs as he bit into the Dark King's neck.

Nazrafel laughed in his booming voice. "This is your best? How disappointing."

The demon pulled him off and threw him to the ground. Keith's fangs shattered. Stars exploded into his field of vision.

Give in to me. You can't beat him like this.

"Quiet!"

Keith got back up and let loose a stream of hellfire from his mouth.

"Useless," cried Nazrafel, making it all disappear with a wave of his hand. He then loosed his own hellfire stream. Keith cried as his flesh burned.

You're going to die at this rate. Let me take over!

"Fine, but just this once," replied Keith.

His clothes ripped apart as he turned into the demon. He then tore loose of the hellfire. A dark aura surrounded him and he focused that dark energy into a ball. Nazrafel did the same. They both hurled their energy balls at the same time. They met in the middle.

"My magic is stronger than yours," cried Nazrafel, pushing his ball towards Keith's side.

Keith struggled to keep it in check. His whole body was tense. Sweat beaded his brow.

"Now die!" cried The Dark King as he hurled all his power into the blast.

The dark energy inched slowly towards Keith. He then cried out and threw everything he had into it. The giant ball of energy flew across the room towards Nazrafel and engulfed him.

"Impossible!" cried the demon. "This cannot be!"

The overwhelming energy turned him to ash.

"Keith, you did it," yelled Jenna. "The last demon has been destroyed!"

The monster turned towards her. "Keith is no longer here."

The demon lunged for Jenna as she shrieked. Its long claws tore into her body, leaving long, deep gashes. She was bleeding heavily.

"Keith. Please. Come back to me."

Suddenly the demon's head changed back into Keith's. "Jenna? What have I done?"

He slowly changed back into a human. After realizing what had happened, he grabbed his hair and with tears in his eyes cried out in despair.

You killed them, Keith, whispered the voice of the demon. You knew exactly what you were doing. Those people had families and loved ones, you know. How do you think they felt when they found out?

"Shut up!" Keith paced around the living room. "It had to be done. They were a danger to the world."

You took their lives. Who do you think you are, God?

"I never said I was."

You even hurt the ones you love. Look what you did to Jenna.

He went to the kitchen. He opened the fridge door and took out the bottle of Jack Daniel's. He poured himself a glass and emptied it in one gulp. The demon's voice became quieter. The images began to blur together.

Keith picked up the phone and dialed Jenna's number.

"Hello?"

"Jenna, I'm not doing well. The thoughts are back and they're stronger than ever. I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"It's okay. You're going to be okay. Just know that this is a normal reaction. You've been through some horrible shit. Feeling guilty about it just means you have a conscience."

"Yeah, that's nice, but that's not gonna stop the thoughts."

"The thoughts may never stop. You just need to find a way to quiet them so that they don't bother you."

"The only thing that helps me do that is alcohol."

"Hm. That's no good. Have you tried anything else?"

"I've tried many things, Jenna! Meditation, distraction, CBT. None of these damn things work. What am I supposed to do?"

"Okay, calm down. You're starting to lash out and I can't help you when you get like this."

Keith sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just... lost. Life is just so empty now. It's nothing but pain. Maybe I should just end it."

"No, Keith, don't! Please! There are people who care about you."

"Yeah, that's what I should do. I should end it all now."

"No, Keith, wait..." He hung up.

Keith took out a kitchen knife and walked over to the bathroom. He watched his reflection in the mirror as he held the knife up to his throat. "Let's do this."

I wonder what death will be like, he thought. Will it just be nothing but darkness? Will I just cease to be? I can't die now. I haven't really lived yet. And I know Jenna will miss me.

No, this is the way it has to be done! I can't live on with this pain anymore. It's too much.

I'm scared. I don't wanna die.

Just do it, pussy!

I can't. I can't do this to Jenna. I care about her too much.

"God dammit!" He threw the knife in the sink.

After a while, a series of hard knocks came at the door. "Keith, open up!"

Keith opened the door. Jenna lunged towards him and gave him a strong hug. "I'm so glad you're safe."

"Sorry for making you worry."

She let go of him. "It's okay. I understand what you're going through is really rough. Maybe you should look for a therapist."

"What kind of therapist would believe the kinds of things I have seen?"

"You don't have to tell them the whole truth. Just lie and said you were in a war or something. Keith, you really need help. You can't do this alone."

Keith sighed. "You're right. I will look for one tomorrow."

"Thank you."

She laughed.

"What?" asked Keith.

"I totaled my car on the way here."

"Is that right?"

"Yup. You owe me."

Keith laughed. "I guess I do."

[alextheantichrist-blog]

The Heart of the Sun

Captain Tom Richards was unnerved by the sight of his long-dead mother. She looked exactly like she did when he was a young boy.

"Hello, son. Would you like some dinner?"

The last Tom remembered, he had been heading to the heart of the sun with an exploratory crew. That all seemed far away now.

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

"Hello, son. Would you like some dinner?"

"Mom, what are you..."

Tom looked around. Everything seemed perfect. Too perfect. Everything in the kitchen was so bright and colourful that it seemed wrong. He took another look at his mom and realized her skin looked like plastic.

His mom turned around and started cutting vegetables. Then she sunk her knife into her arm.

"Mom, be careful!" Tom rushed forward and took out the knife.

"Hello, son. Would you like some dinner?"

"What's wrong with you? Just let me stem the bleeding."

But there was no bleeding. The wound was just a dark, empty line on her arm.

Tom grabbed his mother. "Who are you? What are you?"

"Hello, son. Would you like some dinner?"

"Cut the crap. I see right through your little charade."

His mom began to melt until she was just a puddle on the floor. The whole scene melted right after.

Tom was aware of a bright light in front of him. It then moved into the sky. He was in a grassy area near a familiar house. He couldn't place where had seen it before. The light in the sky, which he thought was the sun, turned into a happy face. That happy face sprouted a humanoid body and plopped onto the ground.

"Welcome," the thing said. "I am your friend."

"Are you the being that lives here? At the heart of the sun?"

"Welcome. I am your friend."

"Is that all you can say?"

"Welcome. I am your friend."

"Say something else!"

The voice then slowed down and hit a lowered its pitch. "Welcome... I... am... youuuur..... frieeeeeeeeend...."

The creature began melting. "Oh, no you don't!"

Tom rushed towards it, but couldn't make it in time. The pink puddle formed by the creature sucked him in and he started sinking. He struggled to get back up, but it was like quicksand. The harder he struggled, the worse it got.

Darkness. Nothing but black everywhere he could see. Tom tried moving, but his movements felt slow, like he was moving through molasses. He looked down at his arms and saw that lead weights had been tied to them. His legs were the same. He kept moving forward despite the struggle.

Suddenly his head felt like a hornet's nest. As if on cue, hornets appeared and started surrounding his head. He waved them away and they disappeared.

Then he knew that all his internal organs had gone missing. He didn't know how he knew this, he just did. There was nothing inside him, just an emptiness. He walked for a while and then saw his organs in a pile, each frozen in a block of ice. He picked them up and tried to shove them back into his body, but he couldn't do it. Then they disappeared.

Tom found himself facing a giant brick wall. It seemed to go on endlessly in all directions except down. It stopped at the invisible floor that Tom was standing on. He was thinking about traversing the wall to see if there was an opening, but knew that he needed to mark where he had started. Tom needed a piece of chalk. He fished into his pockets and found exactly what he needed: a piece of black chalk. He used that to mark the spot in front of him and then began walking to the left while keeping his hand on the wall. The wall seemed to turn to the left. He didn't know how long he walked. It could've been hours, it could've been days. He soon found the mark that he had left with the black chalk. He had gone in a complete circle.

Tom banged on the wall. "Anybody out there? Hello?"

He banged and banged on the wall until his hands bled and yelled until his voice was hoarse, but there was no response.

Suddenly the wall started closing in on him. "No, don't, please, noooooo!"

When the wall was about to crush him, it disappeared. Tom saw a humanoid figure in the darkness. He tried to run over to it, but ropes of darkness suddenly wrapped around him. He fought against them with all his might, but couldn't make any progress.

Then Tom felt his blood literally boil. He could hear the sound of the bubbles going through his bloodstream. His whole body became hot. His heart thundered in his chest. He yelled out at the darkness and smashed the void around him. Every time he hit something solid and it broke. That felt good.

Tom then found himself staring at his brother-in-law on the porch, his sister's bruised and puffed up face clear in his mind. Did he even have a brother-in-law? Maybe it was from something he saw on TV. Or maybe it was from a dream. He couldn't remember.

"Get out!" cried Tom. "You're not welcome here anymore! Get out!"

Suddenly Tom found himself back on his ship, which was heading to Earth.

"Captain," said his second-in-command. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, fine. It's too bad we didn't find anything worthwhile at the heart of the sun."

"Yes, that is unfortunate. That giant red sphere seemed interesting, but it didn't respond to us at all."

"Oh, well. Let's go home. I'm sick of being out in space."

"Right away, sir."

[alextheantichrist-blog]

The Cave Terror

Kasran the Hunter stared at the giant rushing brown form, his iron longsword at the ready. The cold bit at his muscly frame as the season's first snow fell and blanketed the ground. His slow, steady breath blew out in tiny white clouds. He was clad in only a brown leather vest and matching fur loincloth, but the cold did not bother him. He was a son of the North, thrown into the snow as a babe and forever at home in the Arctic winds.

The brown form stopped just a few feet short of Kasran and reared on its hind legs. Kasran grinned as the the Great Bear came to meet him. It was twice as large as a normal bear and five times as fierce. No ordinary man could stand up against this beast and live, but Kasran was no ordinary man.

His large, broad-shouldered frame was nothing but corded muscle. His square jaw was that of one who could bite through stone. His humongous brow showed the keen intellect that he possessed and sloped down to reveal cold blue eyes that had nothing but the primal in them. His long blond hair cascaded across his shoulders and his golden beard flowed halfway down his chest. His tight grip could crush a man's throat in an instant. His body was that of Adonis. He was a true specimen of primitive man.

He had run to its cave deep in the mountains and issued a bestial roar to challenge it. It chased him with all its might, but Kasran's legs ran with the speed of a cheetah. He managed to easily outdistance the bear and lead it to this clearing at the foot of the mountain, where a large forest grew to Kasran's left.

The Great Bear opened its massive jaws with sharp, dagger-like teeth and let loose a ground-shattering roar as ribbons of spittle flew from its mouth. It brought down its right paw in a powerful swipe and Kasran met it with his sword. A normal man would have had his bones shattered from the impact alone, but the barbarian just shrugged it off and pushed the paw away with a heavy swipe of his own.

That was when he made a grave error. He let his eyes follow the right paw for just a second, which was enough for the bear to bring its other paw round and smash it into his face. Kasran tumbled to the ground, blood spewing from his forehead. That strike would've felled an ordinary man, but the hardened barbarian was able to take it and keep his consciousness.

The bear was upon him before he had a chance to get up, swiping and biting harshly. Kasran parried and dodged the blows, but still suffered a dozen tiny cuts. He then brought his sword in a mighty swing upward and the bear backed off, lest the sword cut into its thick hide and deal a mortal blow. This gave Kasran the opportunity to stand back up and fight the bear on even ground again.

For many minutes they fought, the Great Bear slashing and biting away and Kasran blocking and slashing with his sword. He would nick the bear here and there, drawing tiny rivers of blood all over its body, but neither he nor the bear dealt a decisive blow.

The bear, sick of this long fight, decided to end it with one mighty stab from its left paw. With the speed and reflexes of a panther Kasran dodged the blow by a hair's breadth, leaving the bear to overshoot and drive its claws deep in the snowy ground. As the bear struggled to pull free, the barbarian saw his chance. He rushed into close range and with his mighty thews ran his sword across the bear's body, cutting deep. A torrent of blood and entrails spilled out of the Great Bear's body as it shuddered and let out one last dying roar.

Kasran stood up, scratched and bloodied, but otherwise no worse for wear. He had done it! He had slain the Great Bear! He then stooped by its corpse and took out his dagger to start skinning it.

After many grueling hours of walking in the knee-deep snow through a strong, gusting blizzard, Kasran finally spied the leather tents of his home. In one arm he carried the fur pelt and meat of the Great Bear and in the other his massive head.

"Kasran, you have returned," cried Lankar, his right-hand man and closest friend. His eyes grew wide as he recognized what Kasran carried. "And you have slain the Great Bear! There will be much feasting tonight! All hail our leader, Kasran the Hunter!"

After the feast, the men of the tribe sat around the campfire and Kasran told of his fight with the Great Bear in great detail.

"Amazing, truly amazing," replied Lankar, downing a mug of ale. "You are truly a god among men."

"You are right, old friend," cried Kasran. "I am truly an awesome hunter. There is no beast I cannot slay!"

Lankar suddenly grew somber. "My friend, I do respect your great prowess in hunting, but do not say such things. Those are the words of dead men. There are beasts out there that man cannot even survive, much less slay. You may have slain the Great Bear and Old Sabertooth, but don't let that go to your head. You may be strong, but you are not invincible."

"Nonsense. Name any beast out there and I shall slay it."

Lankar went silent.

"What is the matter, Lankar?" asked Kasran mockingly. "Cat got your tongue?"

Lankar sighed. "There is one beast that not even you can slay. It is called the Cave Terror."

A gasp went round the circle.

"I have not heard of such a beast."

"You have been gone for many moons in search of the Great Bear, and word just came to us from a traveling band a few days ago. It is a great evil found in a cave many paces north of here. Many men have gone into that cave, but none have returned. The men that stayed behind heard their brothers' unholy shrieks emanating from the cave, along with another, more alien sound. Those sounds were enough to break the nerve of even the hardiest of men.

"They say it is not of this world, that it came to our world from another in ancient times. It is not like anything of this earth. Some call it a god, others a devil. They say it has power over life and death. Some say it was made by the gods to punish man for his sins."

"Excellent. Now I know what I shall seek next."

Another gasp came from the circle.

"Kasran, please, do not do this," pleaded Lankar. "You do not have to. There is nothing to prove here. You are still the greatest hunter in our tribe. Many men outside our tribe have also heard of your exploits. There is no reason to walk into certain death."

"Lankar, please do not insult me so. I must prove that I'm not only the greatest hunter in the tribe or in the region, but in the whole world. I must scale the unscalable mountain, kill the unkillable demon. I must live this way, for there is no other way to live. I must prove I am the greatest among men, and this Cave Terror of yours will be a worthy stepping stone. Now, once I am fully healed from my last adventure you shall guide me to the cave."

Lankar sighed and drooped his shoulders. "If you want to go to your death, then so be it. I will not stand in your way. But know that I have tried my best to dissuade you. When you are ready, I shall take you to the cave."

"Then it is settled! Let us continue to drink and be merry!"

But no one except Kasran was able to stay merry after that.

As promised, after the hunter took three days to heal, Lankar led Kasran through rough terrain to a grey, man-sized cave.

"Here I leave you, good friend," he cried. "For I have no wish to die today. I hope that, by some miracle, you will survive. To slay the creature I believe is impossible, but hopefully your hardiness will let you come back in one piece."

"Ha! You wound me, old friend. Do you not have faith in your leader? Bah! I will show you how strong I really am when I come back with the thing's head."

With that, Lankar left and Kasran lit a torch and entered the cave.

The cave was a maze of many passageways. Giant rats, each the size of a dog, ran to and fro. Some attacked Kasran, but those he slew with one swift swipe of his dagger. He soon realized that this cave had walls much too low for him to use his longsword. So be it. He will have to slay the foul beast using only his dagger.

After many hours of walking through corridors, Kasran finally found the Cave Terror. Oh, and what a terror it was! It completely invalidated all the rules of nature. Staring at it too long was enough to drive the most strong-willed person mad. It exuded an aura of wrongness, of something that should not be. It also had the feeling of something ancient, something that was old when the earth was young. This vile creature had lived long before humanity, and it could outlive humanity by eons!

The creature was made of a jet black carapace, with many tentacles growing out of it. Each black tentacle ended in a grey talon, sharpened to a keen edge. The whole creature had the look of a giant squid, but contorted into a shape most unnatural. At the bottom of the carapace loomed a great yawning chasm with sharp, white daggers for teeth. It had what seemed to be nostrils above that, but there was no hint of eyes. It was a truly detestable creature.

The sight unhinged even the hardened barbarian, but he contorted his lips into a primal snarl and grunted with effort. That was enough to bring him back to reality. He readied his dagger in his left hand as the creature began to move towards him, its tentacles seeking him out.

Kasran was able to parry the many tentacles with ease, such was his superhuman quickness. He even managed to keep his torch both lit and in one piece. However, the creature did not let up. Releasing an inhuman screech that was enough to snap the most taught nerves, it redoubled its efforts. Its tentacles' speed increased twofold and the barbarian began to struggle. Here and there they managed to nick him and draw blood.

With a savage roar Kasran rushed the creature and attempted to plunge his dagger into its body. As soon as it hit the tough carapace, the iron dagger smashed into a million pieces. Taken aback, the barbarian decided to risk it and drew his sword with his left hand. He was able to find enough room and brought it down on the creature with all his might. It, too, broke into many pieces.

A normal man, at that point, would've feared for his life, but not so Kasran. All he felt was frustration. With a red mist clouding his thoughts, he began to pound and pound on the carapace with his left fist until it was bloodied and broken. He tried to shove the fire from his torch into its gaping maw, but the creature ate it greedily. Now he was not only weaponless, but also blind.

The tentacles pierced him in many places. Many went for his head with a force he did not expect the monster to muster. Kasran blocked those tentacles with his right arm, and he felt the pop as his shoulder dislocated. Great pain flooded his arm as it hung limp and useless by his side. One talon pierced his left foot and went through the bone and into the stone ground. With unrivaled strength Kasran tore the tentacle out of his foot with his one working arm, shooting pain running through his broken hand.

He realized he was fighting a losing battle, so Kasran did the only thing he could: he ran. Excruciating pain went up from his left foot whenever he placed his weight on it and the movement of his right arm sent more painful waves into his body. However, he had no choice. He had to run to survive. Down many passages he went, finally losing the creature after what seemed like ages.

The wounded barbarian leaned onto the wall of the cave, panting heavily. He needed to find the way out, but this place was a maze. Suddenly he heard the slimy steps of the Cave Terror behind him. He hid in a crevice as it began to pass by, but then he heard the unmistakable sound of sniffing. The creature turned to face Kasran and ruthlessly attacked him again.

The barbarian passed through the sea of writhing tentacles and reached the body of the creature. He placed his left hand on it and vaulted over it, grunting through the pain. He then continued to run.

After losing it again, the barbarian realized that, if he was to get out of this situation, he needed to use his wits. He thought back to the sniffing and realized that the creature must rely mostly on its sense of smell to find him. An idea suddenly dawned in the savage's brain.

He found more giant rats to slay, killing and skinning them with his teeth to give his broken left hand a rest. Blood poured over his body in a savage baptism.

As the creature neared him, Kasran lay on the ground and played dead. The Terror approached his body until it was inches away from his face. It sniffed and sniffed at his body, and the barbarian's heart began to beat faster and faster. Soon it was hammering in his throat, and the hunter was afraid it would give him away. The creature kept sniffing. Kasran was not sure if he had used enough rat blood. He did not know how well the creature's sense of smell was. He based it off that of a wolf, but was it enough? He would soon find out. His life was on the line. The creature moved in closer. It was almost touching him with its nostrils. It sure was taking its time. It had probably found him out. Soon it would sink its fangs into his throat and his life would be no more. Oh, what a fool he was for taking up this challenge! Now he will die not in honourable battle with a foe, but lying on the ground like a coward.

After what seemed like eons, the creature moved over him and into another tunnel. It had worked! The scent of the rat blood had fooled the creature. Now it was time to escape.

After many grueling hours of groping in the dark, Kasran finally found a small dot of light. Following it he made his way to the mouth of the cave. Wounded and downtrodden, the barbarian limped to his home.

He looked back just in time to watch a tentacle come out of the cave. The creature shrieked as the sunlight touched it and the tentacle retreated back inside.

"There are creatures out there that men should not even lay eyes upon, much less fight," he muttered as he made his way back.

[alextheantichrist-blog]

Wanted to draw Tsuyu and add some flowers for symbolism, also cause i am bad at drawing flowers and this is good practice 

[alextheantichrist-blog]

How does this even work?

[alextheantichrist-blog]

Aphrodite: I’m basically the Oprah of nudes…everybody gets one

[alextheantichrist-blog]

Dionysus: It’s probably the lack of alcohol in your stomach. Alcohol kills bacteria. I am a doctor. Trust me.

[alextheantichrist-blog]

Poseidon: dude, you’re never picky with who you hook up with. Have a little dignity

Zeus: nah man, hook ups are like Pokémon, gotta catch ‘em all

[alextheantichrist-blog]

Six 2000-year-old Greek statues discovered in southwestern Turkey

Six statues dating back 2,000 years were discovered Saturday in the ruins of the ancient Greek city of Magnesia, located in southwestern Aydın province’s Germencik district.

Prof. Orhan Bingöl, who has been overseeing the excavations in the site since 1984, said four female and one male statues were unearthed in the ruins of a temple to Artemis, adding that one of the statues’ gender was unknown.

Bingöl said all statues were found in the same area and were in good condition of preservation, placed face-down next to each other.

“We know that, along with the ones being displayed in Istanbul, Izmir and Aydın, there have been nearly 50 statues unearthed from Magnesia ruins. Read more.

[alextheantichrist-blog]

[alextheantichrist-blog]

#anime #school #UofT