Six Years Ago

The blood moon. It shone ever so ominously over the dimly lit grounds of the place he's called home since he could remember. Lately, his home began to feel like a prison, complete with hard labor and cruel taskmasters. In the clearing separating the confines of the grounds and the pitch-black forest, he stood, exhausted, his body wracked with pain and clothes rent with tears and blood smears. The trees, illuminated by the torches that lined the wall of the compound, let loose a slow shower of cherry blossom petals over the young boy. He didn't care.

His only concern were of the thoughts rampaging in his head...the cacophony that was his mind nearly deafened him as he fought to keep himself from collapsing.

So many thoughts...

Why do I have to fight?

Why? Why do they treat me this way?

Why did she leave me? Where did she go?
Why?

The boy stood before his sworn brother not eight paces away, he too clad in his battle armor and fully rested. He has all the advantage he needs. His sworn brother could kill him before he himself could utter a single breath. Kudoh, better known by his moniker of Silver Wolf, the man who'd been right at his side ever since...she left him all alone, is now poised to kill him. Silver Wolf clutched his blade in his right and ran a hand through his silver shaggy hair with his other, a grin cracking across his face. Ever since he undertook this challenge, this tournament, everyone the young boy knew for his whole life became mortal enemies.

The challenge, the Junin Kumite, or the ten-man tournament, required the boy to fight ten of his clan's most skilled and deadly pugilists without rest or time to assess their capabilities in combat. The penalty for defeat is death. So far, the clan has lost nine of their best warriors to someone who wasn't born into their ranks. The clan was displeased. One of their treasures, a legendary sword rumored to belong to a master who fought in the War of Yokai and Men, was to be offered to the winner of the Junin Kumite...and it seemed that such a powerful weapon would be given to a twelve year old boy.

Silver Wolf stood like his namesake, curled, tensed, and ready to pounce. Before them, driven deep in sacred stone was the sword, its crimson hilt catching Silver Wolf's eye, looking past it a moment later and stretching his grin into a full-on smile. The young boy didn't recognize the man he called “brother” for five years and his breath grew shallow as he struggled to control his trembling. This could be his last night under the moon.

“Ototo, watashi wa kono jiten made watashi o oshite kita subete no mono o arigatogozamashita. (My sworn brother, thank you for everything you've taught me up until this point.)” The young man spoke in Guyu Shita, an ancient tongue known as “The old speaking” in rough translation. In addition to the fighting arts, the clan taught him this language as well as a great many things about the world. Hopefully he could elicit some sympathy from his brother...or he could be taking this knowledge of his to the grave.

“Ashura...wo de xiongdi...xianzai shi shihou ran fenkai. (Ashura...my brother, it is time for us to part.)” Silver Wolf responded, clutching his sword tighter and raising it upward.

Ashura trembled as he reached his arm back to draw his sword. The sound of the sharp blade sliding from its sheath and tasting the air rang loudly throughout Ashura's ears. He felt light headed as the blade seemed to grow heavier and heavier in his hands.

This is the way it had to be.

Ashura knew that ever since he lost her protection, he'd have to encounter something he wasn't ready for.

He could do nothing but pray to the gods for another throw, a better throw against his destiny. If the gods were unkind, what else could he do but die?

And then, something clicked inside of the young boy. His eyes narrowed and his body calmed itself. No more trembling. No more labored, shallow breaths.

I won't die. I won't let them beat me. I'm going to live. I'm walking away from this.

Silver Wolf brandished his sword, as did Ashura. The young man's face grew stern and focused as if he achieved enlightenment.

“Lai ba, Ototo. (Come, brother.)” Silver Wolf spoke.
“Rang kaishi ba. (Let us begin.)” Ashura responded.

Immediately Ashura rolled underneath a sword slash and back-flipped to evade a strike meant for his spine. They clashed swords, and Ashura quickly drew away to swipe at Silver Wolf's sternum. He narrowly nicked him but managed to take a piece of his armor away with the deceptively powerful attack. Silver Wolf jumped over a sword slash aimed for his legs and thrust out his own, kicking Ashura in his back. Ashura took the hit and allowed it to roll him over to clear some distance between he and his opponent.

Almost instantly Silver Wolf was behind him, sword raised, and brought the blade down in a cleaving swing. Ashura defended by raising his own sword to deflect the blade while pulling a knife from his clothing. Silver Wolf staggered slightly from the defense but let loose a sharp scream as Ashura plunged the knife repeatedly into his brother's foot, the final stab embedding the short blade six inches deep through flesh and into the ground.

Ashura bounced upwards, sword at the ready, and brought the sword down in a powerful swing similar to Silver Wolf's own intended attack. The slash split his armor in twain, and it traced a long line down the middle of Silver Wolf's body. Not a second later did Ashura see his sworn brother's body convulse and violently spurt blood like a fissure. Silver Wolf fell to his knees and dropped his sword, his eyes unseeing, his body cold and locked.

Ashura shoved his sword into the dirt and ground and violently kicked it, snapping the blade and tossed the hilt behind him. He sauntered to the sacred stone to claim his prize; with a steady hand he gripped the hilt of the sword and pulled it free. As he examined the large blade of the sword, he felt stronger, in a sense. He felt neither heft nor lift; the sword was as thin as air.

The weapon was a massively powerful longsword more than capable of pulverizing one's opponent. One feature that caught many an eye was the blade's unusual luster, reminiscent of refined stoneware. To an expert swordsmith, the fine stoneware was actually metal, masterfully forged and worked over. The blade was forged with a special metal, deemed cursed by old scholars, that actually hardened when smeared with blood. The cursed metal was christened “Enma”, the Old Speaking tongue term for the ruler of the underworld.

“What kind of metal is this?” Ashura spoke in the common tongue, a language he hadn't spoken in years out loud to anyone else. He was used to many conversations with himself and his empty prayers of guidance, all spoken in common tongue.

He swung the sword and it cut the air, singing through the wind with the sound of an elegant songstress. The blade was christened the “Haisaiga no Enma”, the “Enma's Crushing Fang”, as the song he heard was rumored to be the last thing enemies would hear before they fell to the blade's mysterious power. Ashura strapped the blade to his back and turned to the forest. Walking towards the darkness, he hesitated and looked back at the compound of what was once his former clan, the clan that tried to kill him with this tournament. Should he leave?

Ashura remembered her words. She'd taught him a lot, but nothing made much more of an impact than one particular statement:

Whatever happens to you now, remember, it's a path you chose.

Always accept responsibility for whatever you choose to do.

Never stop fighting, for you or for others.

He turned to leave, knowing that from that point on, he'd make his own path.

Present Day, Sento Airspace

Ashura awoke with a jolt as the airship began to descend to its final destination. He stood to look out of the window of the cargo hold and he could see the city of Rettenjo, the capital of the Sento Kingdom, rise into view. The city was so massive that its tallest buildings stabbed their way into the clouds. As more and more of the city pulled itself into view, Ashura could see the grandness of the capital, as the mechanical-looking steel palace of the Sento Royal Family sat at the precipice of the the city, being the largest structure that pierced the sky. Beneath it sat its port and the area called the “Heritage Garden”, an area which, as Ashura previously read, presents a shrine of statues dedicated to masters who made their mark in history through their exploits.

He kept looking while dusting off his uniquely designed jacket, which bore a crimson themed color with black accents. Underneath his jacket, he wore a black long sleeved shirt, worn tight enough to accentuate his lean muscle tone, and it bore a design of the symbol for “Jiyu”, the Guyu Shita phrase for “Freedom”.

His pants were simple but comfortable – a pair of tan-colored wide fitting trousers called “hakama” that covered all below his belt except his choice of footwear, a pair of black boots. His hakama were held in place by a simple black sash across his waist.

Ashura made a noise, “Hmm...”, as he thought about visiting those shrines, but he also knew he couldn't stay long. Ashura came there on business, as was his reason for his continued traveling.

He was a Bounty Hunter.

He never stayed in one place for too long, and he goes wherever there were bounties. It was a simple edict he lived his life by, and so far, he bore no complaint.

Ashura grew into a young man that could be described by anyone who've met him as bitter, expressing scornful derision for many things in the world today, mocking people who spout “nonsense” about justice”, and always speaks to others with a cynical tone. Striking out into the world, he soon discovered that the world, still in a state of reconstruction, cares nothing for people unless you have something to offer.

So he began to shop his skills, accomplishing his first hunt at age thirteen. His sharp wit and his martial prowess earned him the moniker of “Ashura the Crimson”.

“Ashura the Crimson...” Ashura murmured the name, distinctly stressing every syllable as he walked towards a teal-gray quadrupedal beast. From that point on, that would be the name by which he'd be known. “It's been so long since I've said it myself.” Ashura chuckled in his throat as he walked up to the beast, who eyed him with a wary and cautious look.

“We're almost there. Ready to go, Shigen?” Ashura questioned as he ran his hand over the beast's dark mane. The beast reared its head and snorted before opening its mouth to speak. “You've had that dream again, didn't you, Master?” Shigen's voice was ethereal and baritone, which gave Ashura a feel of regalia when he first heard it.

“It's no problem, Shigen. And what did I tell you about dream reading me?”

“These dreams distress you, Master. Your past--”

Ashura immediately interrupted his bestial companion with a curt response. “Don't fuckin' bring that up! I know my past; it was MY past, so don't fuckin' remind me about it!”

Shigen instantly grew silent, and Ashura exhaled exasperatedly. Ashura began, “Just don't remind me of the past. You know that's a pet peeve of mine.”

“Apologies, my master,” Shigen retorted, a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Do I detect a hint of snark in your voice, Shigen?” Ashura questioned. Shigen did not respond, instead rearing low so Ashura could mount him. “Thought not.”

Shigen was a member of the Shishi race of beasts native to Gaea, who served as stone guardian lions believed to hold protective powers for whoever they accompany. An immense creature as compared to Ashura's standing height of 5'9”, Shigen bore a mane that covered the back of his head and under his chin. His snout hid a row of saw-like teeth, save for two fangs that poked out of opposite sides of his mouth. Shigen bore a powerful large frame and his hue caused him to look like weathered stone, with his color growing lighter once it reached his two furry tails. He looked through golden-yellow colored eyes with sapphire irises at his master, the young man strong enough to tame him.

The Shishi only follow a person after he or she had proven themselves in a test of combat and strength – Ashura encountered the guardian lion while on a job to the frigid north. It stood in the path of a mountain pass that was advised to be a straight shot to his destination, a temple which was the location of a jewel. As Ashura approached Shigen, who slumbered in a statue form, the beast stirred from his sleep and the bounty hunter was forced to face it in combat. Luckily enough, Ashura was capable of besting it in both physical and magical ability. Shigen sensed his strength, and chose to follow the young warrior on all of his future adventures.

Ashura, himself, was indifferent to the matter at first, but Shigen quickly became a valued ally.

The airship landed in the port and a female voice, small but direct, chimed in through the ship's PA system: “We have reached our destination of the capital city of Rettenjo. We thank you for using our air service and we hope to see you again.”

“Well, she didn't seem too enthusiastic,” Ashura commented as he reached into his jacket and withdrew a pair of sunglasses. He placed them over his eyes and slid them down slightly along the bridge of his nose, enabling him to see over the ridge of the sunglasses. With a simple hop upwards, Ashura mounted Shigen, who snorted and sighed harshly enough for it to resemble a growl.

The rear door to the cargo hold opened, flooding the once-dim space with natural sunlight. It was midday, and the sudden bright light forced Ashura to wince in irritation and pain.

“Damn it...” Ashura uttered as he tapped Shigen gently, giving him the signal to start moving. “Now comes the fun part,” Ashura began with a hint of sarcasm; “We gotta ask for directions.”

Ashura's face went stern and irritated as Shigen walked along the pathway leading from the airport to the elevator that would bring him to the upper levels of the city. People looked at him and his companion, and Ashura shot them a sharp look, one of those looks that meant “Open your mouth, and I'll cut your tongue out.” The two continued onto the elevator and the sheer size of Shigen forced others behind the two to wait for the next elevator.

As the twin gated doors closed behind Ashura and Shigen, the Shishi turned his head back and questioned: “Human beings have always been such an interesting sort. They act as if they've never seen a guardian lion before.”

Ashura responded, rolling his eyes at how the people acted, “They haven't. People in Rettenjo's boundaries rarely go into the countryside or visit the neighboring towns. And humans? Humans naturally fear what they don't understand, prompting them to hate what they fear. It's been twenty seven years since the war and even longer than that since your race was around.”

Shigen grew silent. He never knew much about his race before his stone slumber. “A subject that I never really brought up, Master: if anything, what do you know of my race?”

Ashura sighed and thought for a moment. The elevator moved slow, so he looked up at the distance until the elevator reached the top of the city. There was a fair distance left, so he continued thinking. “I haven't heard or read much about the Shishi, especially after I found you. The temple that you were near in the north was a sanctuary that mystics and sages used to worship at, so that was a dead end.”

Shigen lowered his head. Ashura could sense his sadness and asked, “Why so curious all of a sudden?”

“I was told I was meant for something great, and to this day, it still plagues me when I think of times past.”

Ashura cut in, “Now you see why I don't like thinking of things that are long gone. It brings nothing but a goddamn heartache.” After a few minutes of uneasy silence, Ashura spoke up again: “You regret becoming my companion?”

Shigen was silent for a moment, prompting Ashura to add, “Your silence is reassuring.”

“I don't regret it. If you hadn't found me, who would say how long I'd be standing there, cold and stiff and asleep?”

“Who would know?” Ashura said as the elevator finally reached the destination.

Ashura and Shigen continued down the street of the eastern district, crowded and filled with food and item kiosks. Many people, like the ones at the airport, gave the two the look of curiosity, as Ashura's words proved true: not many people have seen or encountered a beast like Shigen before. Ashura didn't even bother to look, instead he commented on the number of people.

“It's fuckin' congested. Figures I'd come when there are the most people walking the streets.” He prompted Shigen to divert down an alleyway, hoping to find a street less congested.

Due to the height of the buildings, the alleyway was almost as dark as nightfall. It was also much more quieter, as the sounds of the hustle and bustle became distant with each step. Ashura sighed as if the sudden quiet was a relief. The alleyway seemed to suck the sound as Ashura and Shigen walked deeper and deeper into it, feeling as if someone was nearby but took the time and the skill to suppress their Qi, their life force. What those people didn't know, Ashura learned, is that Qi suppression often felt to those attuned to it like falling into a void of the dark.

He looked around, as did Shigen, and Ashura concentrated for a moment. After a single breath of feeling out for this strange sensation, he uttered simply:

“Come out. I know you're there.”

At his urging, a man emerged from a tight corner in the alleyway. He was clad in street clothing and his face was enshrouded by his hooded jacket, but from a glance Ashura could tell that the man had a beard around his mouth and lower face. The supposed robber held a stiff blade in his hand, a sword with a fine metal but not richly made. From the way he gripped it, Ashura deduced that the man had some skill with blades but he didn't look like anything special.

Ashura also knew not to underestimate anyone he came up against, especially not someone who were skilled enough to suppress their energy like that.

“Give me your money.”

“Seriously? You're trying to rob me?”

The robber replied, “Do you not see this blade? You got a minute to cough up your Coin or else your head will roll.”

Ashura looked at the robber with an expression of disbelief. Shigen remained quiet, instead opting to growl gutturally and leer at the robber.

“Look at your blade,” Ashura began, prompting the robber to look down at his sword. “Now look at me.” The robber snapped his head up to see Ashura, now standing on Shigen's back. “Now back to your blade,” Ashura continued, stepping down from Shigen and stretching his ligaments. “Now look at me and my companion. He's a guardian beast. I'm a professional bounty hunter. Contextually speaking, how fucked are you?”

Shigen followed Ashura's taunt with a roar loud enough to cause the robber to jump. He jumped, alright, but it wasn't out of fear; the robber leaped upwards, leaving the ground five feet below him, and thrust his blade forth as he came down in a plummet. Ashura immediately reached for his sword, the blade that was the first item of his new life and the tool of his trade, and raised the flat edge to deflect the thug.

The thug was repelled as if some invisible force came from the sword itself, and he fell into a pile of rubbish. Ashura snickered as the thug rushed to remove the trash from his body and regain his composure. “As I told you before, think of your chances. It's not advisable to rob a stranger.”

As Ashura finished his statement, the thug cracked a smile – he took his blade and began to tap it in sequence, clinging out a song of sorts.

“You son of a bitch,” Ashura said, sighing in irritation. As if on cue, several more men emerged seemingly from the shadows and the rooftops, all holding bladed weapons. “Well, actually, this'll be a good workout before the contract.”

Shigen growled and crouched into an attacking position. His eyes assumed a glowing hue, natural of warriors of his race. He let loose a roar that knocked one thug to the ground with its pressure. “Come, if you wish to meet my fangs!”

Shigen was never one to back down from any fight, and Ashura chuckled after hearing his call. “You heard my companion, boys – Let's dance!” Ashura gripped the Haisaiga no Enma tightly in one hand and balanced the blade on one shoulder. He beckoned the thugs with his free hand.

Royal District, One Level Above

Ren Kagi was content being a mid-level enforcer. He obeyed orders, did what needed to be done, and took care of those who stepped out of line. Ren was a Sweeper, warriors who found employment as hired mercenaries and professional assassins, and unlike bounty hunters, who hire themselves out to the highest bidder for really big jobs, Sweepers tend to stick with a single boss.

Ren's boss was a known figure in the Sento Kingdom's underworld, but no one knew his true name, and many didn't know what he looked like. Those who claimed they saw this man's face were quickly silenced, and a grand number of figures in the underworld considered him a lie concocted to keep the other crime bosses in check.

This mystery man is supposed to be the boss of all bosses in Rettenjo. How could a man serve someone whom he never met or even is absolutely sure is real? Ren thought these things as he stood in the steam-propelled elevator that brought him up the backside of one of the lean and tall buildings that poked their way into the skyline. The ground was a wispy mirage from his standing viewpoint as the elevator seemed to go on forever while he calmly adjusted his coat. As he approached the top, his knee began to tremble and he began to tap his foot. Why was he twitching? It isn't like he hasn't met with other sweepers before.

But he felt something in the air. Something stifling the natural flow of things, and it troubled him deeply. Ren tried to breathe in and reassure himself but the oxygen suddenly felt thin. He felt weak – everything inside of him went numb and his nose started to bleed profusely. The more attempts at breathing he tried, the more his throat seized up. He fell to his knees, clutching at his throat.

The elevator reached the top floor and the door opened, revealing two guards who were waiting with swords drawn. They found their quarry on the elevator floor, desperately gasping for air like a fish violently wrest from the ocean. The guards picked Ren up, both grabbing an arm, and hoisted him up, dragging him down a hallway moderately lit with gas-powered lamps. The men brought Ren to a ornately-decorated door which opened as soon as they reached within five feet of it.

Ren could barely breathe but he managed to look up from his position to observe the room. It was moderately decorated with straw-sheet doors and mats that lined the floor. A single source of light peeked into the room, allowing people to see that there are objects in the room and not much else. A rack of bladed weapons was attached to the left wall which ended at a straw-sheet door. The door had only one slide and the rest were a paper-thin wall; behind the wall was the source of light that filled that small room with bright light...

And it was there that he saw him. Or rather, his silhouette. The male figure looked to be in their late thirties, early forties, judging from the physically imposing torso that is slightly weakened from the slow creeping hands of old age increasing gravitational pull on his body. He sat with his back to the straw-sheet wall and door in a kneeling position. He looked to be meditating.

The strange air-sucking feeling was still present, albeit slightly reduced, and the guards were unaffected by it. Ren Kagi, who barely had time to breathe, let alone form complex thoughts, made the assumption that this...phenomenon stemmed directly from this man.

“You may release him.” A voice with such authority but yet sounding...ethereal sauntered into the room from the man behind the straw-sheet wall but he did not move an inch. The two men obeyed and released Ren, which forced the Sweeper to collapse to the ground. His legs felt non-existent as he willed himself to sit upright but nothing worked.

The boss had him exactly as desired. From behind the straw-sheet wall, his figure stood to a full height of six feet and turned around. With one hand he pulled the straw-sheet door open to step through it but Ren couldn't get a good look at the boss as he forced his head upwards.

He couldn't see the boss' face; there was darkness cast on his head and collarbone, keeping his countenance concealed. A different sensation filled Ren's body now: unadulterated fear.

From what Ren could see – the part of the boss that was illuminated was that of a well-built man, topless, wearing a pair of white hakama with black accents, finished with a pair of ankle-high socks with a separation between the big toe and the remaining toes made by a sort of armored material. He wore the socks, called “Tabi” by clothing developers, with a pair of slip-on thonged sandals. The man stood with a powerful gait, towering over the weakened Sweeper, and Ren collapsed once more, this time staying on the floor.

“Hello, Ren.” The haunting voice, almost sounding distorted now that the boss was much, much closer. He held out a hand, his right, and one of the men handed him a sword from the weapon rack. The blade was drawn with an ear-splitting shwing and he held it underhanded, dangling the blade over Ren's head. Without moving, the boss began to swing the blade like a pendulum.

“The constables...tried to shut the White Eagle House down this morning. They say you've been using it to run your own little Sweeper cabal out of it.” Ren had a goal: to build enough money to form his own Sweeper faction and start his own empire. The boss, obviously, did not like it, as Ren was using his resources to accomplish this task.

“I hear news like that, it begins to interfere with my meditation. And my Qi cultivation...” The boss' voice began to raise and grow in ferocity, never losing the ethereal sound of it for one second. He quickly switched the sword into a proper holding position with both of his hands and drew the sword back. “...it goes straight to Hell. But, you'll reach there first before it does.”

With one clean swing, the boss liberated Ren's head from his neck and shoulders. The cut was swift and surgical without much arterial spray. Ren's corpse twitched sporadically as blood spurt in small amounts from the neck wound.

“Would you be so kind to clean this up for me?” The boss commanded with the nature of a soothsayer.

“As you wish, Lord Retamoto.”

His name...Retamoto. There aren't many people who could speak it and be allowed to walk around with their heads still attached. Retamoto also had a predilection for beheading as a form of execution. To him, beheading is the only way one can regain one's honor.

And he was all about the preservation of honor.

The men swiftly removed Ren's corpse for disposal and wiped the mat clean of his blood. As the last drop was removed, a small, petite knock sounded out from the door. The man opened it slightly to see who was the new guest.

“Lord Retamoto, the girl is here to see you.”

“Excellent,” Retamoto began, sheathing the sword and reentering the room behind the straw-sheet door. “Show her in, please. We've new business to discuss.”

The man at the door opened it wider and allowed said girl to enter. She was about ten to twelve years old and tried to walk strong, despite feeling like she'd just walked into a den of cobras and she was a hapless dormouse. Her clothing was less than fashionable, consisting of a robe, a blue undershirt, a simple pair of trousers, tabi socks, and thonged sandals. Her hair, shoulder length and dark, was unkempt and shaggy. The young girl fought not to look at the boss, who was sitting down behind the straw-sheet door, this time facing outward.

She didn't want to look. Someone on the street told her not to look, lest she'd get her eyes put out. She kept her eyes diverted to the floor and knelt four feet back from the straw-sheet door.

“Mr. Boss, sir, you told me I could see my daddy today. My mommy's worried sick and she hasn't been able to work. We're scared that our trading post will close down--”

Retamoto interrupted her with a raised hand and a quick word. “The only way the trading post your father owns will close down is if I buy it out, which I planned on doing. Your father said he couldn't let a “thug like me” take over the trading post, as seemingly it was passed down your bloodline. I'll tell you one thing, youngling – name-calling means you're on the verge of losing your honor.”

The young girl whimpered and fought not to cry.

He wants to take over the trading post? Daddy said no? Is that why he took him?

“What is your name, young one?” Retamoto asked, observing her from behind the straw-sheet. She trembled in genuine fear, not for her life, but for her father's well being.

“R-Rika.”

“Rika. A forceful but simple name. Rika, do you want your father to come home to you and your mom?” His voice dropped into a sincere and caring tone.

Rika nodded simply and silently. She dare not look up, no matter how sincere Retamoto sounded to her.

“I'll return your father to you, in one piece...if you do me a favor. Have you ever been outside of Rettenjo's walls before?”

“Hey, Shigen, hang back. I'll handle these three; they look a bit tougher than the rest.” Ashura placed the Haisaiga no Enma on the ground, the weapon's perfect balance of weight enabling it to stand on its own tip without wavering. He sunk one fist into the clasp of his other palm and rubbed his clenched hand, cracking his knuckles a second later.

The thugs who tried to rob Ashura were lain out all over the alleyway, suffering from blunt force trauma, gash wounds, bite and claw marks, and burn wounds. Those who were still conscious moaned and groaned like wounded animals.

That should teach them not to assume every unfamiliar face in Rettenjo is an easy mark.

“You all got taken down by this little punk? What am I payin' youse for?!”

“They should ask for a raise, working for you...whoever the hell you are.” Ashura retorted as he cracked his neck. Shigen on the other hand perched himself a few feet behind his master, waiting and watching dutifully.

“Master Ashura, we have a timetable to keep.”

Ashura turned back slightly and responded, “I'll be done before you know it; they aren't pumping out any heavy duty power.”

The leader of the three mobsters, who wore a black wide brimmed hat, a red buttoned shirt, black slacks, which were a type of trousers using a new material called “Silk”, and black boots. He wore all of this underneath a black coat and clenched his hands in fingerless gloves. His two compatriots wore similar garb that showed they put some serious Coin into their clothing.

“Power?!” barked the leader as he formed his right hand into a palm. A bolt crackled and a sphere of energy sparked to life, growing in size by the second. “You want some power?! Comin' right up!” The leader flung the sphere of Qi like a dagger knife at Ashura's head.

Like a dagger that was thrown, Ashura quickly reacted and caught the sphere of Qi. He reinforced it with his own Qi and returned it to its sender; the lead mobster tried catching it, only to have his hand violently yanked backwards to smack the compatriot on his left side in the face. The lead mobster spun in place, leaving Ashura to step in and deliver a spinning heel kick to the mobster's jaw.

The mobster was knocked backwards and fell face-first into a parked automobile. His head took a good knock and it was enough to put him down for the count. Ashura continued his assault and stomped down on one mobster's foot, sending it half an inch into the gravelly pavement. The mobster screamed but Ashura quickly punched him in the mouth.

Scoffing, Ashura declared, “Only 5% of my full strength is enough for you. Any more and you won't be walking home...What the hell? You probably won't be walking home even if I hold back!”

The third mobster charged his own Qi and fired it like a torrent of flame and Ashura immediately countered...with his own flame! During his travels, Ashura underwent training that granted him the ability to manipulate his Qi into the element of fire; he easily took to the element due to his concern, although it isn't easily shown, for the energy of life, which is a representation of Fire. Ashura had rarely tapped into the full potential of this stance's techniques, as doing so could produce more physical force in his Qi and create a more combustive effect more intense than normal flames.

Ashura blasted the false flames back and set the mobster's coat on fire, causing him to frantically thrash about in an attempt to get the piece of clothing off. He didn't notice Ashura stepping lively towards him; he looked up, only to get hip-tossed into a nearby restaurant.

The bounty hunter mockingly dusted off his hands as he walked back towards Shigen. The beast reared up and perked his ears to the wind.

“Like I said, no problem, Mr. Worrywart.” Ashura noticed the look on Shigen's face and immediately dropped his taunting facade. “What's the matter?”

“Some big power is nearby. Really close. It's enough to choke someone untalented.” Shigen looked from right to left as he tried to pinpoint the location of the massive energy.

“How big?” Ashura asked. Shigen was more attuned to the flow of spiritual power than Ashura due to his natural affinity for mysticism. Ashura took lessons from his companion, but his human heritage came with a natural dulling of the connection to the flow of power that all of creation shared, and it always irritated Ashura that he couldn't overcome this weakness.

“Big. Big enough to give you trouble, even going all out.” That made Ashura exhale harshly and inhale sharply. “Like I mentioned before, I can't pinpoint it. Maybe it has something to do with this new bounty.”

“Maybe. Let's get--” Ashura's words were interrupted by the sound of sirens and the rapid appearance of police automobiles. As soon as they were on the scene, the constables barreled into the alleyway to apprehend the thugs who didn't manage to get away. “Scratch that. We'll just follow them.”

One constable stepped in front of Ashura and confronted him. “Reports say that you were the one who instigated this fight?”

Ashura lifted an eyebrow and took a quick look around. Reports? There were no witnesses in sight, so who called the police?
In defense, Ashura said, “I took a shortcut through the alleyway, these men accosted me first and attacked with lethal weaponry, and I defended myself. I'm a bounty hunter here to receive a new job from the Constable's--”

Interrupting him, the constable began, “Bounty Hunters must receive a city's official seal before they can be absolved of any form of violence within the city limits. I'm safe to assume that you have no seal?”

Ashura shook his head. “We were looking for the Constable office when we were attacked.” He answered. So just let us follow you to the station so we can get the goddamned seal and be on our way, boy-scout, Ashura thought, hiding his intense irritation behind his sunglasses. It was a process that he was forced to go through with every job in a new city: get to the city, spend hours looking for the Constables' office, get the seal and the job, do the job, get paid, and return the seal.

But what could he do? He chose to be a bounty hunter.

What could he do but quit and find another job?

“Nevertheless, we have to take you in. Looks like you're going to spend the night in lockup.”

Ashura pinched and pressed his thumb and index fingers on the bridge of his nose and removed his sunglasses to place them inside of his jacket. The constable could see the glaring fire of anger and irritation in Ashura's eyes.

Under his breath, he said, “I hate this goddamned job.”

The Constables surrounded Ashura as he rolled his eyes and pressed his palm up against his forehead.

“I hate this goddamned job.” He said under his breath.

“What was that?” The Constable questioned, raising his voice to match a tone of authority. Ashura knew exactly what the Constable was doing and common sense would tell anyone else to relent on his current course of action and take the overnight stay with a reluctant smile, but Ashura was not that type of person.

Louder this time, Ashura repeated, “I hate this goddamned job,” with extra emphasis on the word “goddamned.”

“What job? Ours?” One other constable spoke up from behind and Ashura craned his neck to see him. Clad in the same tunic as the other constables, this man looked more authoritative and wore a hairstyle to match his individuality: spiky, azure-colored, and defiant of gravity.

“No; did I specifically say that?” Ashura sighed exasperatedly and kept his hands still. These were the kind of police that had itchy fingers and were probably aching to use their batons and blades that were holstered at their side. Ashura didn't want to get in trouble before he could get his job.

He'll tone down his attitude...for now.

Shigen snorted just loud enough for Ashura to hear and the bounty hunter motioned for him to leave with his lowered hands. The Constables didn't notice what he was doing but they noticed Shigen moving about in the alleyway; the guardian lion grabbed Ashura's sword and departed, running fast enough to resemble a blurred shadow.

“What the hell was that?” One constable questioned, frantically, as he ran into the alleyway in a supposed attempt to give chase.

“That would be my guardian lion dog. He's got nothing to do with this; he's just my pet.” Ashura informed the constables as he remained still and raised his hands to show he's not trying anything stupid.

“Where's he going?!” The lead constable with the weird hair demanded to know, drawing his baton and lifting Ashura's head by the chin with the tip of the weapon.

“He's making himself scarce until I get out. I'm a bounty hunter, he's my companion, and we have a job to do; don't worry, he won't go on a rampage or do anything else unless I give the go-ahead.” Ashura was both reassuring and was lacing his words with snark at the same time.

“Trying to be a smart-ass?”

“I've been told I'm pretty smart, but never an ass.”

The Constable removed the stick from Ashura's chin and chuckled. Ashura continued to talk as he circled around him like a bird of prey high up. “So who's signing your paychecks, man? That hairstyle of yours must cost a lot of Coin, plus there's high-end tobacco on your breath. The kind that's made in the northeast, over in Musou. The kind that costs a shit-ton of Coin.”

When this fact was made relevant, the Constable circled back to Ashura's front and took a couple of steps back to observe him. “You've had quite a busy day, Mr...”

“Ashura. Don't expect a last name, because I don't have one.”

“Ashura. As I said, quite a busy day – dispensing vigilante justice without an official seal and accusing an officer of corruption.”

“And it's not even lunchtime yet.”

“Playing detective can prove to be very dangerous around these parts,” the Constable continued, replacing the baton in its holster without taking his eyes from Ashura.

“So I've heard.”

“You look like you like to play a lot. Well, I'm a very busy man, but I think I could play with you for a while.”

Ashura sighed once more and rolled his eyes. “Look, I'm not into fighting Constables. Just let me get the overnight stay done with.” Ashura said, as he knows firsthand what trouble fighting corrupt Constables can bring. It's rats like you that make life hard for Constables who are actually trying to make a difference, he thought, slightly smirking at the sudden image of smashing the constable's face in.

The Constables, as if acting on an invisible command, began to move in on Ashura, all drawing their batons one after the other.

“When you've finished with him, toss him in the clank so he can 'get his overnight done with',” the lead Constable ordered, the last part being said with a condescending tone to mock Ashura.

Although he wouldn't see it coming, Ashura knew the first blow was aimed for the back of his legs. So when it came, he wasn't surprised but he acted so, even letting out a false sound of pain as he allowed his knees to go slack and drop him into a kneeling position. The next blow was for his sternum to weaken him; just as before, the blow connected, he absorbed the blow and faked a groan as he clutched his chest.

Anytime now...the blow that's supposed to 'knock me out', he wondered. One Constable smacked him behind the head and he let his body drop, willing himself into controlled sleep.

Constable Office Holding Cell, four hours later

When Ashura “came to”, he was in a cell. It wasn't small like the last Constable holding cell; this one was moderately large enough for him to move around comfortably. The bed he was placed on was actually sort of comfortable, there was a writing desk with a single light that illuminated the cell, and to his back was the window, fitted with bars. The door to the cell was a barred entrance, big enough to allow two people in simultaneously.

The sun was beginning to set outside as Ashura looked out the barred window, and he cursed silently

The man in the adjacent cell, his “neighbor” was an older man. He was balding and had a bushy set of eyebrows, a mustache and a beard. He was clad in a green and tan tunic that was weathered from years of use. He could hear Ashura stretching and cracking his neck to readjust his body from the cramped position he was lain in.

“Hey! Young man!” The old man called out just loud enough for Ashura to hear. His volume kept adjusting to avoid being carried down the hallway by the echo. “You're awake, right? You must be tired from using that fake sleeping technique.”

“You're quite observant, old man. You must have eyes everywhere.”

“'Old?' Aww, now you've hurt my feelings!” The older man said in a comical tone. “Besides, when you're my age, you learn to listen to things when you can't see.”

Ashura chuckled. “Sure you do, old man.”

“Go ahead; do anything and I'll tell you exactly what it is.”

Ashura shrugged his shoulders and said, “Okay. Here goes.” He stood up and began throwing punches and kicks at rapid speeds. He ended with a swinging kick, holding his leg up in the air with impressive muscle control. “How was that, old man?”

The old man laughed and responded, “Twelve punches and nine kicks.” Ashura clapped as he was genuinely impressed.

“Very cool, old man,” Ashura said as he sat back down and laid on his pillow.

“My name's Shingzan. Used to be a big man around town, 'til my student took what I taught him and got me kicked out. One day, I smacked a Constable in the face and they threw me in here.” Shingzan chuckled until he coughed accidentally.

“Well, that's a...messed up story, Shingzan.”

“What about you, stranger? You're pretty skilled for someone so young. What brings you to Rettenjo?”

Ashura responded, “A job. I work as a bounty hunter.”

“Oh, not a part of any clans or cults?”

“Not my thing, old man. I was, but it didn't work out. So I consider myself freelance.” Ashura turned himself away from the cell wall and continued to speak, listening out for any guards who might be walking by. “So who's this guy that took you out of your popularity?”

“He changed his name. When I taught him, he used a fake name, so I don't even know if he's using another alias or he's gone back to who he actually was. Why you ask?”

“I think he's got some of the Constables on his payroll. That's how I ended up in here.”

“Heh. The old 'No permit, go to jail' bit?” Shingzan recalled, as he saw it in action before.”

“It would certainly seem so, old man.”

“Well, if I ever see you again, I'd be glad to teach you a thing or two,” Shingzan offered as he rolled his sleeves down to protect from a chill. He curled up in a ball and fought off a shiver. Night time in Rettenjo, especially being so high up in the air, got really cold once the sun began to set.

“As in fighting or actually teaching me some moves?” Ashura questioned; he wasn't completely sure as to what the old man meant. Him learning to never underestimate anyone, he also learned to ask others to clarify a statement that could hold a double meaning.

Shingzan chuckled and yawned. “I'll let you decide that, youngster.”

“Well, back to sleep I go,” Ashura announced as he stretched himself out like a cat and fell into the void of sleep.

Lower District

The clinking seemed to go on forever as the burly man clad in fancy clothing counted each individual piece of Coin in the small brown bag. Rika watched with anxious eyes as her mother shelled out their monthly earnings from the Trading Post to the man who worked for the Kingdom's building committee. The clinking drowned out the growling of both her and her mother's stomachs.

“480, 490, 500 Coin, right on the spot. I thought you weren't gonna make it this month and come up short, but you did it. Keep up the good work with the Post!” The burly man, the agent for the building committee let loose a hearty chuckle before his thumping footsteps trembled the house as he left. Rika's mother bowed to the departing man, fighting back the urge to curse him. The post was still open...at least for another month.

“Something's got to give. We need to find someway to generate more business. And with Shinjiro missing...” Her mother spoke with the tone of one who was strong but stress was quickly bringing her to her breaking point. She sat down and opened the window, allowing the cold air to swoop in the apartment in an awesome wave.

“Mommy, it's too cold outside.” Rika said as she fought off a shiver and rubbed her shoulders to create heat from friction.

Her mom, Saeko, could only smile as her twelve year old daughter fought to create heat with her small but determined arms and hands. She let loose a sigh, slid the window to a crack, and sat back down in a chair, sighing as she let her weight go slack in her seat. She'd never thought after relocating to Sento from Musou, that things would grow steadily hart.

The first few years were wonderful, as her husband Shinjiro was growing in popularity with his Trading post and the two were financially secure. Then Rika was born and Shinjiro attempted to expand his business in order to ensure their security and one day allow his daughter to inherit the business.

Then the problems came.

Shipments started getting attacked, business started falling through, and Shinjiro was forced to ask for money from the local loan sharks. As if someone was systematically targeting his business, the trading post kept losing money and his debt piled up.

The loan sharks had people in the castle's building committee who came calling for the increasing price to keep the post open. Shinjiro was unable to pay one time, and he disappeared.

“Oh, Shinjiro...did you leave us? Are you dead? Gods in heaven, give me some sort of a sign...” Saeko spoke to herself, unaware that she was talking loud enough for Rika to hear.

“Mommy, I know where daddy is.”

“You do?!” Her spirits lifted for a brief moment until common sense kicked in. “Wait, how? Where?”

“A bad guy has him.”

“What bad guy? What happened?”

“I got a letter from daddy, asking me to come to a fancy building. When I did, two big guys were carrying out a man who looked like he fell out of a window. Daddy wasn't there, but there was a scary guy there whose face I couldn't see. There wasn't enough light. He told me he had daddy and that the only way he'll let him go is if I go into the mountains to find some hidden treasure.”

“What was his name?”

“He didn't tell me, but I didn't care. I just wanted to see daddy.”

Saeko couldn't believe what she was hearing. Why their family? Why her daughter?

What else could she do? Shinjiro could die if they didn't agree, and Rika could die if she lets her go into the mountains.

Those mountains...it's one reason why not many people leave Rettenjo. People say the dead walk. Others claim the mountains are a breeding ground of Yokai. The Yokai who roamed those lands were vicious, bloodthirsty, and cruel. They distinguished not a soul between friend or foe, and have been known to attack at random.

What could Saeko do? Sacrifice her daughter to get her husband back, or leave her husband to death to keep her daughter safe, and meet death shortly afterward?

Suddenly, as if she received divine guidance, Saeko produced an idea. It was a long shot, but she had no other alternatives. This boss sounded like he has people in the Constable office in his pocket, so she couldn't run to the authorities. She couldn't fight either.

But she could get help from a hired fighter.

A bounty hunter. They're practically mercenaries, anyway – they fight for the biggest reward.

What could she use as collateral? All of their Coin for the month was just “paid” to the building committee. She had only one other alternative.

The Trading Post. She'll sign over the deed to it. Saeko nodded to herself silently, walked over to a drawer and opened it, and took out a piece of parchment. Written in common tongue symbols was the deed to the Trading Post, and she prepared a companion letter, a notice declaring that she was signing over the post to whomever fulfilled the agreement stated on the paper. She wanted full protection of her daughter and the rescue of her husband.

“I'll stake everything we've got on this. I pray this works.”

Rika walked over to her mom and touched her on the shoulder. Saeko looked back at her daughter, who had a big smile on her face. “Don't worry, mommy. We'll get dad back.”

The Next Morning

Ashura stretched himself back into shape as the first ray of light touched his face through the window. The clank of a metal door at the end of the hallway caught his attention, followed by dead silence.

“Old man? Old man!”

There was no answer. Ashura knocked on the wall, thinking he was asleep, but still no response. He couldn't even feel his Qi.

“They must've taken him. Well, it's been interesting, old man.” Ashura said lowly, chuckling in his throat as he turned to look outside. As he looked out of the window and towards the street, he spotted Shigen, sitting like a sentinel in a nearby alleyway, his unblinking eyes glaring at Ashura's cell. It always struck Ashura as weird how Shigen doesn't need to sleep for weeks at a time. Is it just him, or are every member of his race like this?

He also wondered if anyone noticed the giant statue-like stone lion-dog sitting in the alleyway?

“Well, I feel safer, knowing that Shigen kept vigil over me all night. Smart as he is, he's a loyal hound...lion statue.” Ashura let loose a small laugh as the thought of Shigen acting like a normal dog passed through his mind.

The metal clank of the hallway door came again, followed by two sets of footsteps, one heavy and one light on his feet. As the men came into view, Ashura saw that it was the Constable with the weird hairstyle and another official, this one clad in golden and red tunics and wearing his hair slicked back into a single ponytail. He figured, mentally, that the man in gold was the Constable's superior.

“Please forgive my subordinate's behavior yesterday, young bounty hunter. He was merely following orders. He also has a short temper,” the man in gold spoke, watching Ashura as he put on his jacket, removed his shades, and put them on.

“I've seen it firsthand.”

“And your name is?”

“Ashura, sir,” the subordinate answered for Ashura, causing the superior to crane his neck to the side to look at him.

“I believe he can speak for himself, Hogun.” The now-named Hogun grew quiet, and Ashura fought the urge to taunt the once high and mighty constable.

So the dog does have a master...but who's holding the master's leash? He thought, keeping quiet about the whole matter until he can ascertain whether or not it's something he can get involved without too much trouble.

The superior produced a key from his robes and turned the lock to the cell door, releasing Ashura. “Now that's over and done with, I hear that you're in need of an official seal.” He reached back to Hogun, who produced a golden object that resembled a jewel encrusted dagger from its length and height. On the flat of the “blade” had lettering in the Common Tongue that represented the seal of approval of the King of Sento. “With this seal, you are now recognized as an independent agent of all factions, legalized to hunt bounties. We now recognize you as a Bounty Hunter.”

“Six hundred, twenty one,” Ashura said under his breath.

“What was that?” The superior questioned as he caught Ashura's words just slightly.

“Oh nothing, just a habit of mine where I count how many times I've heard that speech since I started working as a bounty hunter. The tally is up to six hundred and twenty one.”

Ashura took the seal, put it inside of his coat, and began walking down the hallway. He heard the clank as he pried open the door, this time much louder up close.

As he stepped into the main constable office, he spotted many constables performing their daily tasks. Out of the crowd, he seemed to zero in on a young girl who looked like she was twelve. She sat on a small bench, holding a rolled up piece of parchment, bearing a worried look in her eyes. As he moved to approach her, a young woman walked in front of him, spotted the young girl, and knelt down in front of her.

“Are you lost, little girl?” She spoke as if she cared like a big sister.

Rika shook her head no and lifted up the parchment. “My dad's missing, and my mom wants me to hire a bounty hunter. A bad man wants me to go into the Cloud Path, and I need someone to help me.”

The young woman let loose a hearty chuckle. “A family in peril? Well, Jade of the Fighting Vipers is here to help!” The woman named Jade placed her hands on her hips to look heroic for the little girl, prompting Rika to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

Ashura observed Jade from behind, for she didn't notice him yet and he had been standing in a corner with his arms crossed. She wore a white shirt that ended at her midriff, hakama that were shorn at the knees, tabi socks and thonged sandals, a red sash around her waist, and she wore her brunette hair on her shoulders.

“The Fighting Vipers are dedicated to helping out all who are weak and downtrodden and you fall right into our jurisdiction!” Jade put her hand on Rika's shoulders and gave her a reassuring smile.

“How long did you practice that in the mirror? You sound like someone who really likes justice,” said Ashura as he stepped out of the corner and into Jade's line of sight. From what I hear, she needs a bounty hunter, not a cult member.”

“Correction: I'm the leader of the Fighting Vipers, so I'm more than qualified to help.” Jade retorted, sticking her finger in Ashura's face. Ashura narrowed his eyes from behind his sunglasses and fought the urge to break that finger.

If he did that, he'd feel bad. That's no way to treat a lady.

Break now, mope later.

Ashura's hand snapped around her finger and he applied a small amount of pressure, causing Jade to groan sharply and pull her hand away. “If it's one thing, among the many things, that I don't like, it's someone wagging a finger in the middle of my face. Fingers tend to get broken when they do that.”

Still rubbing her finger to alleviate her finger's pain, Jade asked, “So what makes you think you're a better choice for this job than I am?”

“One, I'm a professional bounty hunter, two, I've seen more battles than you can throw a dagger at, and three, I have experience at fighting Yokai, which are what lurks in the shadows of the Cloud Pass,” Ashura detailed, holding up fingers to count each of his points. “You ARE going to the Cloud Pass, am I correct, little miss?”

Rika nodded her head in agreement.

“Speak up!” Ashura told her, prompting Rika to lift her head and wipe tears of worry from her eyes.

“Yes, the man who has my dad wants me to go into the Cloud Pass. My mom told me to find a bounty hunter and give him this, and pray he'll agree to help me.”

Ashura was handed the parchment and he unrolled it, reading the contents of the letter and the deed. He sighed deeply.

What kind of monster would send a young girl into the Cloud Pass to find an artifact? He thought to himself, the idea of what was occurring nearly angering him. “I'll do the job. Tell your mom you can keep the deed to the Trading Post.”

Jade interjected, “Wait a minute! We haven't settled who is qualified to take this job! You might talk a big game, but you might not have the stones to follow through when the shit hits the fan!”

Ashura pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “You're really not going to stop bitching until I fight you, are you?”

Jade remained silent, crossing her arms with a determined smirk.

“Your silence is reassuring. This is such a pain.”