Post by The Wonderful Wachter on May 1, 2013 2:18:51 GMT -5
The gym of Richard’s studio, or dojo as many liked to refer to it, always left people wondering why it was set up the way it was. Why did he have a trapeze in the middle of a martial arts’ studio? It was constantly a question that he was asked. A given when one considered it was not part of any of his curriculum. He would give the questionnaire a simple smile and say the same thing, always. “They are the dead man’s perches.” No more detail than that. Ever. It was not in Richard’s disposition to speak more than needed. No need to elaborate to the unenlightened.
Sometimes the giant poles better found in a circus had a tight rope stretched between them. Sometimes, like today, they had trapeze bars in position. Never did they have a net. Not anywhere hidden on his land could one find an acrobat’s only hope of surviving should they fall. Richard did not believe in falling.
Perhaps that was the reason he called them the dead man’s perches.
When they said that, the expert fighter, master of martial arts and techniques the world had forgotten, would give them that very same smile and say nothing.
At the moment, Richard sat meditating in the center of his gym atop the mats he where trained people over the years, silently observing his one and only student scrub the floors as he had once scrubbed them decades before. Good old fashioned elbow grease was the only requirement. No mops. Only rags. If there could be any difference between the basic endurance training Richard had went through decades prior and what he enforced upon Jason now, it would be the music.
Richard’s sensei had required silence during all things. Now that he was the sensei, he was at ease letting the boy scrub the floors back and forth listening to his preferred indie music. Truthfully, music was one of the few joys that Richard partook in. Music had found its way into his training methods. More than one student had found themselves overwhelmed by an audio onslaught as he forced them to fight. To find one’s center during chaos was a needed skill to survive whether in fights to the death or in crowds chanting your name.
Leave all distractions at the door as it were.
Richard used it. He ignored the blaring rock music and looked into himself. He saw himself for what he was… A man forever seeking atonement for past sins.
When the boy finished his chores, he knew to say nothing. Richard knew. That was his duty as master and teacher. Just as it was the student’s duty to wait on the master.
“Speak your thoughts before we begin,” Richard said, eyes never opening. “I sense that your mind is clouded.”
He heard the boy’s nod.
“Did you kill Wildcat?”
Suddenly, that center pulled away from Richard’s gaze. Of all the questions and thoughts to be disturbing his student… that was not one he expected. Not one he was prepared for. And yet, it would be perfect for today’s lesson. Truly fate had shown her hand.
“I did,” Richard opened his crystal blue eyes, “many times.”
“But—“
“If you pass today’s training, I promise to tell you why I did so.” He motioned for his apprentice to assume the position and waited for him to sit, hands resting on his knees. “It is, however, Ted’s secret to give on why I always failed.”
The boy’s face twisted in frustration. In many ways, Jason reminded Richard of himself when he had been younger. For that reason, and that reason alone, he agreed to become the boy’s guardian. It had nothing to do with Jason’s potential, nothing to do with his natural aptitude. Inside Jason was a killer instinct, a desire to survive at any cost, that Richard struggled with still to this day. He could not, would not, allow the boy to follow the same course. He would not allow Jason to tear his soul to pieces as he once had.
“Understood, Master,” the young man finally said after biting his tongue. “What will you show me today?”
“We will play a game.”
“A… game.”
“Correct.” Richard met the boy’s confused gaze. “Have you ever wondered the true meaning behind why man will play various games when they travel?”
“Boredom?”
The teacher allowed that simple smile to perk up his bearded cheeks. “There is that and yet there is a deeper reason. When one travels, not necessarily today yet certainly in time past, the road was a dangerous place to find one’s self. Especially at night. What happens when you are bored?”
“My mind wanders. I start…” gray eyes lit up beneath red bangs. “They started thinking about all the dangers. Bandits. Wild beasts. Whatever else lurks in the dark.”
“Correct. These games created to keep man from thinking about what could go wrong had an unintentional effect. They became wards of protection, simple charms that anyone could mimic. In the games, man steeled themselves from those that would seek to harm them. In particular, those in the unseen realm.”
‘So it’s like thinking about pancakes to keep your mind from being read or going to a different place when tortured.”
Not a question. Richard nodded. The boy was indeed quick.
“One of the best games I know to ward off spiritual danger is Shiritori. It is a Japanese game much like what you would recognize as Word Chain. The following word begins with the last syllable of the previous and so on. It keeps your mind strong, focused. Those spirits that seek to bring you harm will find you just out of your reach, nigh undetectable.”
Jason’s smile told Richard all he needed to know. He was in for an easy day. Light training. This would be nothing compared to all the physical labors the boy was put through on a daily basis. How very wrong he would be.
If Richard was anyone else, or perhaps younger, his smile could have been best described as sinister at that very moment. “Turn your music back on.”
“What?”
“Turn that music you love so much back on. Maximum volume.”
Suddenly, Jason wasn’t so confident.
The first song up was metal. The perfect start.
“Since this is your first attempt,” Richard did not raise his voice to be heard over the noise. “We will play the Word Chain version given your Japanese is still quite pathetic. For the stronger charm, it is better pick a specific subject but for now, we will remain general. Any word will do.”
The boy nodded, straining to hear.
“Begin.”
Jason said nothing. He waited for Richard to say something, to elaborate yet his master remained silent. The air began to chill to the point even Richard could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. The game was already afoot.
“Neglect.”
“Tactful.”
“Lullaby,” Jason’s snarky smirk gave Richard insight into what he was thinking. Richard would have difficulty on that one.
“Yesterday,” not even a second later.
The metal music roared. It was a guitar riff… A solo. The strumming of strings vibrated one quite uncomfortably. The chill began to return. Jason’s thoughts found themselves befuddled as the seconds past.
“YEAST!” he finally shouted when it felt like something had touched him.
“Terrible.” The word also relayed his Master’s opinion on how long it took.
“Elaborate.”
“Erroneous.”
“Stability.”
“Yearn.”
“Narrow.”
“Wimp.”
“Pimple.
And so the game went on. Richard showed no signs of fatigue, gradually increasing the difficulty in his word choice. First an hour passed and as they entered the second, he saw his student begin to weaken. Both the words and the music were having the desired effect.
“Xenophobe,” managed Jason after Richard’s use of phalanx.
“Exahertz.”
Jason blinked, no doubt not even knowing what the word meant or even if it was a word. At that point, a song that even Richard found difficult to ignore, decided to play. Now why it was Jason’s playlist, he would never know, but he could see the instant it signed his student’s death warrant. He could not concentrate through Friday and the fact that Saturday comes after.
Breath fogged, eyes misted, Jason worked his mouth trying to come up with a word… Any word that started with a Z that he hadn’t already used. He could not.
The boy became still. Different eyes met Richard’s.
“Kid lasted longer than I thought he would.” The accent was not Jason’s. This was not Jason.
“I will admit it was impressive for a first try,” Richard allowed with a wry lift of his eyebrow, “though you could have possessed him at the start.”
Jason’s body stood up and flexed. “That I could but I figured you wanted him to at least try, y’know?”
“My thanks.”
The spirit, the dead man, gave Richard a two finger salute. “I’ll be off then. Take care, Dickie.”
“No,” Richard rose quickly. He would not allow that. “I have everything set up for you. Train the boy’s muscle memory. Work on his flexibility.”
“You never let me have any fun.”
“You are not here to have fun. You are here to teach him to survive.”
“Aye, aye,” Jason’s body gave a reluctant wave of acceptance. “Did you at least appreciate the haunting effects?”
“I did not.”
“Awww… It’s outside my job description. Ya know how much energy that took?”
Richard returned to his meditation pose and waited.
“Fine, I’ll do it.” The man who was not Jason began to climb up the trapeze pole, muttering to himself. Before he had reached the top, he had one last thing to say. “Ya really should try to return to the monastery soon, Dickie. Your… hold on this world is weakening. The city is gettin’ to ya.”
Richard kept his silence. It was not the city to blame. He could only blame himself.
“Did you kill Wildcat?”
Sometime in the 70s
Sensei meditated within the darkness of the shadows and yet Richard could picture him just as easily as if the noonday sun shined off the middle of his bald head, white hair hanging down past his shoulders and the beard of a mad Asian sorcerer. He recognized the man, his teacher, just as he recognized the back of his hand. And at this moment, just as he recognized it was his time to remain silent.
“<His name is Ted Grant,>” Sensei spoke to the four of them without expecting response. “<He knows not how to die. An enigma, we as dealers of death, cannot afford to ignore.>”
The four waited for his orders.
“<You, my Fearsome Hand, are imbalanced in both mind and body. Your forces unequal… Your effectiveness weakening with each passing second.>”
Beside him, Richard felt Shot shuffle in resentment at the comment.
“<You will convince him to join our cause… Or we will finally grant him death’s grace. You have no other option, my Fearsome Hand. You who should be five, are only four. My greatest assassins… Do not fail me.>”
“<Sensei,>” Shot spoke before any could to stop him. “<I will go.>”
In the darkness of Sensei’s chambers, they could not see each other and yet still, Richard felt eyes on him. “<No,>” the most Fearsome Hand growled. “<Dragon will go. It will be his chance to redeem himself for our loss.>”
Soft hands, a woman’s hands, brushed against Richard’s bare cheeks. “<He will go.>”
Later
Las Vegas, Nevada
That was the unkillable Wildcat? It had taken only one punch. One punch to end his life. Richard had felt his opponent’s bones give way and his heart to stop. He sensed the life leave the pathetic excuse for a man. And yet… And yet why was the referee counting?
“5, 6, 7…”
Wildcat stirred.
“8, 9…”
Wildcat stood blood on his lips.
Impossible.
“Let me see you try that again, kid.” Taunted the boxer with a wave of his fingers.
Richard did not hesitate. Before those fingers had stopped moving, he had released the very same instant kill punch he had used moments prior. It felt different this time. Harder… more difficult. He had to put more force behind the blow.
His opponent was back on his feet again before the referee had reached the five counts.
“Third time the charm, you damn amateur?”
The Dragon’s blood boiled. His signature punch was not ineffective. It could not be ineffective. Grant had been killed twice now. Killed twice by his attack. For this third time, he’d put all his power behind it.
The sound of his fist meeting Wildcat’s chest for a third time vibrated all the way up to his shoulder. No bones gave way. The boxer remained unharmed and he went on the counter. He gripped Richard’s wrist with superhuman strength to prevent him from escaping and before Richard could execute his own, a powerful uppercut – one no mere man should have been capable of – lifted him off his feet.
Except… Wildcat still hadn’t released him. The arm jerked out of his socket and he knew, had the man wanted to, his foe could have ripped it off entirely. He pulled Dragon down and smiled through bloodstained teeth.
“We’re just gettin’ started, boy.”
Richard had seen that smile before. It reminded him so much of his last failure. The last man he had failed to kill because compassion had won out.
Yet he felt no compassion now. Not even fear of failure and what it meant. This… this was an opponent who could finally stand up to him. He felt, as strange as it sounded, happy.
The Dragon fought on.
The sound of feet landing on the mat brought Richard back to the present. Jason’s body executed flips and rolls that he knew the boy was still having trouble mastering. For all his natural talent as a fighter and a thief, he was no gymnast. And yet here he was now, learning his own Boston brand of acrobatics.
Youth.
Yes. He had been like Jason once. He had searched for the next thrill, the next fight.
It had been his friends, his true friends, who helped him find his peace with the world. The least he could do was return the favor and help Jason.