Benzar Dojo

[Baka]

The Red Beast roared and the Assassin smiled.
"You are my stalker!" The beast cried.
"I am" The assassin replied.
"You are my killer!" The beast screamed.
"I am" The assassin said.
"You are my Shadow!" The beast roared.
"I am" The Assassin replied.
The Red Beast fell and the Assassin waited.
The Red beast did not move and still the Assassin waited.
The Red Beast did not breathe and still the Assassin waited.
The Red Beast died and still the Assassin waited.
The Red Beast awoke and the Assassin smiled.
"You are still here." The Red Beast said.
" I am your shadow." The Assassin replied.
The Red beast embraced the Assassin.



The badlands, some called them, other's referred to them as the wastelands. Regardless of the name the vast desert-like area on the outskirts of Starthra were unlike anything Xanoken had ever encountered. Sweltering, humid heat during the day and cold miserable nights made for an all together unpleasant experience. The countless numbers of beasts that seemed to inhabit the badlands didn't make the trek any easier, either. Xanoken wondered briefly if there were gods above, as so many claimed, then why they would create such a miserable place.

It had been roughly four months since the incident at the temple and Xano's trek through the badlands and the young assassin found himself a welcomed guest at the Benzar Dojo. Many men, women and children had recounted the tale of the day that the foreign assassin returned with the Red Warrior, Katsujirou Kato, strapped across his horse's back. Since his return Xanoken had visited Katsujirou's room everyday to check on the progress of the one he referred to as "Red Man." Day after day, for four months there had been no improvements. The Benzar seemed to had taken a liking to the foreign assassin for they treated him with far more respect than they had his last visit to the dojo. Xano was, in truth, quite impressed with the dojo. Everything they did, they did with perfection, if a task was done, it was done right the first time.

The past four months had proven to be relatively uneventful for the young assassin. Spending his time training with the benzar and caring for the comatose Katsujirou took up a great deal of his time, yet somehow the assassin still found time every morning to sit out on the steps of the dojo and meditate. One of the things Xano had learned from Katsujirou was that sometimes the mind could be sharper than the sword and the young assassin did all he could to sharpen his mind as best he could. The rising sun was particularly beautiful this morning. Basking in the glow of it's radiance the young assassin rest his hands upon his knees as he sat with his legs crossed beneath him.

The female benzar, Aiko had yet to return from the badlands and Xano had no choice but to assume the worst. Frightening crimson eyes looked out at the steps down below him, the light from reflecting off of his pale skin. Xano supposed it was foolish to expect the woman to return. No woman could have survived that. Xano thought to himself.

"She was no woman...she was Benzar." Xano reminded himself as he closed his eyes. The young Nameless knew something was coming. He could feel it in the air, something was going to happen and it was going to happen soon.

 

[Katsujirou]

“You have traveled far.†Katsujirou said. He stepped away from the pillar and started to descend the steps towards Xanoken, his hand still upon his sheathed katana. His eyes settled upon the handle of the assassin’s wakizashi. “You have brought a … fine weapon to slay me with. It will be an honor to see my blood on such a blade.†Half way down the stairs, Katsujirou stumbled. With a heave and a grunt he landed hard upon his impaled leg. His knees buckled and he fell forwards with a tumble, leaving behind him a streak of his drying blood upon the stone. He clawed at the ground for a moment, turning onto his side and rising back to his feet haphazardly, like a cripple without a cane.

“Help me … down these stairs.†His bloody hand reached out.

Katsujirou was nearly sixty years old. His body had been impaled, broken, thrown from mountains and through walls. He had lost blood by the gallons on battlefields long lost beneath greener fields. His childhood friends had all been slain, his parents were a fading memory, and all his love had been lost. He laid in a bed in the Benzar Dojo lost in his dreams for four months, haunted by the faces of men he had slain, companions he had lost, monsters he had destroyed and conquerors he had toppled. Katsujirou Kato, the Red Rider, was asleep.

â€Show me how you cut.†His master said, and Katsujirou obeyed.
“Show me how you stab.†His master said, and Katsujirou obeyed.
“Show me how you kick,†and Katsujirou obeyed.
“Show me how you strike,†and Katsujirou obeyed.
“Now, rest.â€

When Katsujirou was four he arrived at the dojo. When he was five he bled. When he was seven he held a katana, and when he was eight he learned pain. By the time he was ten he could go four days without food, and by the twelve he could go weeks without a meal. When Katsujirou turned thirteen he learned to ride a horse, and when he was fourteen he tasted human flesh. Before his sixteenth birthday he broke both of his legs, and by winter he had learned to walk again. At seventeen, Katsujirou learned to impale, and when he was eighteen he was sent away. He wasn’t expected to survive. He was never supposed to come back. He had never hoped to dream.

â€I am leaving.â€
“I know.†She replied.
He watched her. His fingers ached to touch her. His lips were dry without her. “I will not come back.â€
“Katsujirou.â€
“It must be this way.â€
Every time he bled, he thought of her lips.

Beside his sleeping body was a weapon of great legend. It was a katana, a simple folded steel blade passed on to him by the sword master. His name had been engraved on its tang, then wrapped in monster leather. Its pommel and hand guard were gold, its scabbard was red, and its blade was kept sharp and well polished. Katsujirou cared more for his katana than he cared for his own body. Without it he was useless. In his time he had slain dozens with his katana, stabbing and cutting through bodies like smoke, turning his enemies into corpses. In his rough slumber his eyes flickered, and in the darkness of his dreaming world he saw his katana spinning.

â€Follow through,†said his master. “You must follow through.â€
“But I have already cut.â€
“The katana is always cutting, Katsujirou. It is you that has stopped.â€
Katsujirou was silent.
“Never stop, Katsujirou. Cut forever, and you will outlive your enemies.â€

Katsujirou groaned.

His slippery hands slid along the length of the spear that came out of his thigh. He couldn’t move his foot. His nerves were sliced by the blade, blood was wetting his pants and it was warm while we became colder. His heart raced, blood came out like a fountain, his hands were slipping.
His hands were slipping.
His hands were slipping.
His hands were slipping.
Slipping.
“Never stop, Katsujirou.â€
His hands were slipping.
“Katsujirou.â€
Her lips.
Slipping.
So red, red all over, red on his pants, red on the floor. His hands were red, and his pants were red, and the ground was a puddle of red.
Red all over.
“Katsujirou.†Her lips were red.
“Never stop cutting.â€
And Katsujirou obeyed.

His eyes opened. Katsujirou had woken. His first sound was a growl, and his second was a whine. The door to his room slid aside and wo men with katanas looked in. Their eyes narrowed, they waited, and then said to each other, “Get the shadow.â€

 

[Baka]

The Benzar would find Xanoken sitting at the steps of the dojo meditating.

"Shadow, the Red Rider is awake." said a dark haired man in a white kimono.

Pale lids would slowly flutter open to reveal frightening red eyes. Rising to his feet Xanoken would adjust his own black kimono. The first few days at the dojo Xanoken had set aside his travelling clothes for the much more comfortable apparel of the benzar. Slipping his hands in opposite sleeves of his robe Xanoken turned to face the Benzar.

"Lead on."

Following the two Benzar Xanoken slid his wakizashi into it's designated place beneath the obi. Wide red cloth served to keep the kimono closed as well as hold items upon one's person.

Not for the first time Xanoken tried to play out the events in his head, but no matter how hard the assassin tried it was always unclear. Xanoken and Katsujirou were not friends, far from it. In truth the pair had met eachother at the most three times. Still like a true warrior Xanoken respected his adversary, so much had he respected him that the assassin had traveled half the world to regain the honor that had been taken to him, only to find that Katsujirou was injured and near death.

If the gods above do exist, they certainly have an odd sense of humor. Xanoken thought to himself his cold crimson eyes staring intently at the floor in front of him.

Long dark locks were pulled back to keep his long hair from hanging loosely about his shoulders. His bangs however, remained where they were resting at his brow reaching past his eyebrows.


Upon entering the room Xanoken removed his arms from seperate sleeves to remove his wakizashi from his obi, it was only polite considering that Katusjirou did not wear his katana. Bowing respectfully to his former foe Xano would make his way further into the room.

"You gave Aiko and I quite a scare back in the badlands...how do you fair?" A ridiculous question, Xano knew, but still one that had to be asked.

 

[Katsujirou]

By the time Xanoken arrived Katsujirou was already sitting on the edge of his thin bed. A young girl was rubbing his left calf with a warm sponge. Leaning against the wall beside her was a thin wooden cane. She looked excited to see Katsujirou awake, but when she turned to face Xanoken in the doorway her eyes betrayed her sadness seeing her leader having become so fragile. She and Katsujirou exchanged glances briefly, then she gathered her things and slipped out of the room.

“You gave Aiko and I quite a scare back in the badlands...how do you fair?" Xanoken asked a ridiculous question. In a few minutes either Xanoken of Katsujirou could be dead on the floor. It had been months since the two had exchanged words, as few as they had been, and Xanoken had broken the silence with such triviality.

Katsujirou’s head sunk. “She says my nerve has been cut.†He said, placing an index finger on the top of his covered, scarred thigh. “Here, the spear impaled me. His form was perfect, and he took from me all feeling. I still have another leg, and two arms. They are good.†He pushed on his thigh and felt nothing. Paralyzed, his leg was useless. His head turned and he stared at the thin cane against the wall. “It is strange having a cane.â€

He took the cane with his left hand, picked up the sheathed katana that had been lying beside him, and like a waft of smoke he rose from the bed. His muscles moved like pistons, thousands of interlaced machines, each fully capable of taking life. While he was standing Katsujirou revealed nothing of his ruined leg, just as he had when he could not see. He had broken the necromancer’s curse and regained his sight, but he would never be able to heal the severed cord in his leg. With his first step his body rocked haphazardly, precariously balanced over the handle of the cane. By his second step he had learned to move, and by the third step he was in front of Xanoken. “Follow me. We have much to speak of, and then … we may cut each other.â€

Katsujirou smiled softly. It was an expression seldom seen. He shuffled around Xanoken, through the door, and began leading him towards the garden. If I die, I want to see the flowers. “I have been asleep, but I have been thinking, Xanoken. I am sure you have been thinking as well, about the temple, and about the shadow.â€

“For greater than one thousand years we have fought to protect this mountain, and this dojo, the garden and its values. I, like all before me, have learned lessons from the flowers, and the pond. As children we train in the garden, we suffer its snow, we bleed in its grasses. My master taught me all that I know in the garden, Xanoken. He taught me pain, the katana, my fingers. He taught me to cut and impale. My master was a great warrior. His name was Katsujirou Kato, and he was killed by a Shadow.â€

Katsujirou stopped and turned to face Xanoken. His brows furrowed as he peered into Xanoken’s red eyes. “Confused?†He turned forward and continued walking, one step with a foot, the other with the cane, forever carrying the sheathed katana in his right hand. “I am not Katsujirou Kato.†He was quiet for a moment, cleared his throat, and then continued. “I am me, see. Katsujirou Kato is my name. Two words, Katsujirou Kato. It is a great name, an honored name, and an old name. It is a name that has belonged to more Benzar than any other name, and with it there is great responsibility. Katsujirou Kato, the Red Rider, was my master, and his master, and so on. All Katsujirou Katos were killed by Shadows. I have been waiting for you, Xanoken, to be my Shadow.â€

The garden was in bloom. It was blanketed in flowers, mosses and mushrooms. The trees were filled with blossoms and birds. Insects buzzed, the pond rippled, and a breeze rustled the boughs overhead. A creek with a small bridge ran around a small mound in the center where there grew a thick knotted tree. At its base, growing in the shade of the trunk, was a small patch of tiny purple flowers. As Katsujirou continued to tell Xanoken of their impending destiny he hobbled through the garden, across the bridge, and to the tree.

“One day, soon, I will give my name to another. He will be known as Katsujirou Kato until he also gives his name, and I will be known as Master until you kill me. When my Master gave me my name, he had a Shadow. His name was Cleveland, a pirate, a rogue. He was a good man, and he made my Master’s death honorable.†Katsujirou tapped the nape of his neck with the tip of his sheathed katana. “He impaled him here. I buried my Master. Cleveland disappeared. There is a code that all Shadows be protected and honored by the tribe, and so you, like Cleveland, will be honored and respected before and after you have killed me.â€

When Katsujirou reached the tree he leaned back against it. The sun warmed his face. If I die, I will be happy having seen the flowers. “Cleveland despised my Master when he was made a Shadow. It is the same with all Shadows. When you have learned what it is to be a Shadow, you may despise me, but you will protect me until you kill me.†Katsujirou looked down at the purple flowers. He gestured for Xanoken to look as well. “You see the purple flowers. They are poison, but they can only grow in the shade of this tree, in this garden. They live no other place. Like the purple flowers, you are dangerous, but you are trapped in my shadow. I saw it in your eyes. You have traveled all of this way to cut me, if only a little. Without me, you are like the purple flower without the shade. You will become dry, lifeless. You are protected in my shade, for as long as I stand you have purpose.â€

“Like the tree and the flowers, I create the shade that allows you to exist. I have created you, given you a place to grow, nourished you with my being. Without you, I too have no purpose. You are a monster that I have made, but having not made you, I will have made nothing. To have lived without creating is worse than having not lived at all. I am honored that you are the poison in my shade. You are my Shadow, and I am your shade. It is like this for all Shadows. They are trapped in what allows them to exist. When Cleveland killed my Master, he spent his destiny. It nearly destroyed him. If you kill me now, Xanoken, you will have nothing. If I kill you, I will have created nothing.â€

Katsujirou looked up at Xanoken. There was apprehension, knowing that at any moment his Shadow could decide to strike. He could only have faith in Xanoken’s need to kill him. “Once I am dead, you cannot kill me any more.†Katsujirou leaned his cane against the trunk of the tree, and then with his free hand he wrapped his fingers around the handle of his katana. He began to pull on the blade. Sunlight glinted off the steel.

“Now, my Shadow, you must decide. Know that when you try to cut me, I will also try to cut you. I have but one leg, but it is enough to kill you.†Six inches of his steel blade slid from the scabbard. “What is it you need, Xanoken. f it is worth killing me for the sake of the hunt, then draw your wakizashi and prepare to bleed.â€

 

[Baka]

The crimson eyed youth couldn’t breath.
“Do you wish to become a legend?†asked a voice in his ear.
The boy opened his mouth to gasp for breath but all that came out was a muffle hack.
“Why do you not speak? Legends are never speechless.â€
Clawing at the man’s arm the young man felt the blood rushing to his head.
His skull was beginning to feel tight.
His lungs felt as If they might burst.
“How can you become a legend if you cannot defeat me?†the voice asked in a mocking tone.
The world began to spin and the youth was on the ground gasping for air.
“You can never hope to become a legend if you don’t learn to watch your opponent.†The boy’s master said.
Coughing and hacking the young boy rose to his feet drawing in deep gulps of air.
Crimson eyes fixed themselves on the red headed man behind the white mask.
“I…don’t…want to become…a ...legend.†Kneeling down the boy picked up his knife.
“I seek only…a reason to exist…†charging the man the boy attacked wildly with his knife, moving in the formations he had been taught.
The assassin sidestepped the boy’s attacks easily.
“Being a legend is a reason to exist…†the man pointed out as he backhanded the boy bloodying his lip.
The crimson liquid on the boy’s lips matched his frighteningly cold eyes.
“Being a slayer of legends is a good existence as well…â€



Xano knew the triviality of his words before they ever left his lips, but the silence between then needed to be broken.

“She says my nerve has been cut.†Katsujirou responded.

Disappointment was all Xanoken could feel. Sympathy, sorrow, these were not emotions he felt nor were they emotions Katsujirou would except from him. All Xano felt was pure and simple disappointment. When the two Benzar had informed him of Katsujirou’s awakening the young assassin had hoped that he would be able to regain his honor in battle soon. However, it seemed that was not the case, it seemed that Katsujirou would never feel with that leg again.

“Here, the spear impaled me. His form was perfect, and he took from me all feeling. I still have another leg, and two arms. They are good.â€

Cold crimson eyes watched as Katsujirou pushed against his ‘bum’ leg. There’s no point in being gentle about it. That’s what it is a bum and useless leg. Due to that leg Katsujirou Kato would never be able to fight the same way he had that day so long ago. Although Xanoken was thoroughly disappointed his face remained as emotionless and detached as ever.

. “It is strange having a cane.â€

Xanoken watched as Katsujirou picked up the cane and made his way over towards him. The assassin remained where he was watching, observing the man he had traveled so far and so long to defeat.


“Follow me. We have much to speak of, and then…we may cut each other.â€

Xano was not shocked by Katsujirou’s statement. He was the legendary Red Rider, the Master of the Benzar, he was Katsujirou Kato, a legend; nothing was beyond comprehension where Katsujirou was concerned.

As Katsujirou talked Xanoken thought how foolish he had been to have doubted the man even for an instant. Such foolish behavior generally landed one in the grave. Despite his injury he was still Katsujirou Kato, he could still cut with his katana. Xanoken had made an oath to himself to never underestimate an opponent again and he wouldn’t. Should Katsujirou wish to do battle on this day then Xano would do the honorable thing and fight him with all he had, as was expected of an honorable warrior.

“I am not Katsujirou Kato.â€

While Xano’s crimson eyes would remain cool and indifferent, the young assassin’s eyebrows were raised slightly at the statement. Upon hearing the man’s explanation the assassin nodded. Taking the name of one’s master was not entirely unheard of. The concept of a shadow however, was something Xano had never heard of before.

Xano listened intently to Katsujirou taking in his explanation of shade and shadow, of creation and destruction, of purpose and destiny.

“If you kill me now, Xanoken, you will have nothing. If I kill you, I will have created nothing.â€

Xanoken was unsure how to react. Katsujirou wished for him to become his honored killer, his shadow. Such a concept was alien to Xano but the young man was aware of the honor such a position held and the bond it created between two warriors.

“Once I am dead, you cannot kill me any more.â€

Xanoken pried his eyes from the purple flower he had been staring at and forced himself to take in the sight before him. Katsujirou Kato, the man he had trained for years to face, the man he had traveled hundreds of miles to defeat now asked him to stand by his side until the time came to take his life.

“If it is worth killing me for the sake of the hunt, then draw your wakizashi and prepare to bleed.â€

There was silence now. The birds were no longer chirping, the wind had ceased it’s rustling through the trees and for the briefest of moment Xanoken was certain the brook had stopped it’s soft babbling. And then there was sound again, a bird chirped in the distance, the cool breeze sent Xanoken’s ebony locks flying off of his forehead and the brook splashed and babbled as it rushed along it’s course.

For Xanoken this decision was not difficult. He had traveled far and waited a long time for this moment. Fixing his frightening crimson eyes with Katsujirou’s the assassin crossed his arms, his fingertips brushing the handle of the wakizashi as they usually did when Katsujirou was near, as if they were itching to use the blade. Taking a step towards Katsujirou, Xanoken felt his skin crawling with excitement. They were striking distance from one another now. The slightest twitch from either of the warriors and blood would be spilt.

“If you truly believed that I wished to kill you for the sake of the hunt, you would not have wanted me as your shadow.†Xanoken said his eyes never leaving Katsujirou’s. “I do not seek your death for my own peace of mind, nor for profit, nor for the sake of any hunt.†Letting his arms fall to his side Xanoken touched the scabbard of his wakizashi. “I seek your death because it is the only way to regain my honor in your eyes. When we fought so long ago you claimed I had no honor and all I have done since is to prove to you that I have honor…and am worthy of being your opponent.â€

Turning his eyes from Katsujirou, Xanken gave a genuine smiled, a sight rarer than the sun setting in the west. Pale lids closed over crimson eyes, the assassin was content. “I am your Shadow Red Man and so long as I exist you shall die by my hand and no one else’s.â€

 

[Katsujirou]

Katsujirou was prepared to die. He had been prepared since he was just a boy. His master had told him that death was nothing to fear. All good men died. There had never been a swordsman who could cut death, and so long as Katsujirou Kato had his way there never would be. To cut death would disgrace all those warriors who had fallen to the darkest blade. When Xanoken’s fingers rested upon the handle of his wakizashi, Katsujirou’s only hope was that his death would be honorable. He felt the weight of his katana and new he would not die alone.

But the greater weight was felt when Xanoken turned his eyes. He felt the weight of disgrace as his Shadow smiled, and in a flash Katsujirou’s line was cut. His fists were like iron mallets, and his arms were like glacial avalanches spinning on titanium shoulders. Before the last of Xanoken’s breath made voice, Katsujirou had dropped his cane and was upon the Shadow like a leopard. His fingernails were like claws that raked across Xanoken’s face, his muscles were taught whips that snapped as he unleashed a volley of stone shattering punches, jabs, hooks and uppercuts. The sleeves of his kimono snapped and crackled, and his growl was like that of a monster.

“Never take your eyes off of me!” He roared, swinging precisely at pressure points, joints, and softer tissue. Xanoken’s kimono wouldn’t stand up well to the punishment, but even if he were wearing steel Katsujirou’s fingertips could bend it like foil. “Never take pity on me!” His arms were burning with the exertion. When Katsujirou was younger he could fight legions, but now all he had was enough to kill dozens. It would be enough to beat Xanoken into the ground. Sweat began to bristle on his red neck as he unleashed his onslaught of timed punches, each enough to knock the wind out of his Shadow. If Xanoken had thought the cane was a hindrance, he had severely underestimated the old man.

Even without his left leg Katsujirou moved like a stream. As weight shifted his body compensated. With rhythmic grunts and hisses the Master Warrior feinted and twisted, turning and bending his arms into whatever holes Xanoken allowed him. If Xanoken rose an arm to block, Katsujirou’s fist zipped in low for a shot at his gut; and if Xanoken shrunk in to protect his ribs, Katsujirou came down upon the back of his neck as if meaning to snap his spine. The edges of his fingers were like batons, his nails were like razors, and his palms were like steel plates.

Strike, feint, and strike.
Feel it.
Strike and feint, then strike.
Feel it.
Feint and strike, strike again.
Feel it.
Strike, strike and feint.
Feel it break.
Feint, strike, and break it.

 

[Baka]

The elder warrior’s onslaught caught the assassin off guard and brought a white hot rage within him that he had not felt in quite some time. It seemed that either Katsujirou had misunderstood Xano’s smile of content for one of amusement or the man was indeed a man without honor. Whichever the case if he thought that Xanoken would simply let him pummel him as if he were one of his students he was sorely mistaken.

The first of Kato’s attack ripped the flesh from his handsome face leaving bloodied streaks in its wake. The assassin tasted the coppery taste of blood and his rage only grew.

“Never take your eyes off of me!†The older man screamed as his fists and nails struck pressure point, joint and tissue. Xano had felt these pains before but never simultaneously. His kimono was torn away and his flesh with it. Xanoken’s body was in pain and his blood had been spilt.

“Never take pity on me!â€

His lungs were empty. Kato had pounded almost every inch of air out of the young assassin and all the gasping he did in the world wouldn’t bring it back. The older warrior never once let up on his attack striking each time with fists heavy enough to break brick.

Xano would not stand around and have this man beat the life out of him. But attacking in return was foolish. In size and strength Katsujirou was his superior and the man had gotten the drop on him. Xanoken had already discerned that Katsujirou did not intend to kill him. If the Benzar had intended to kill him he would have used his katana.

Spitting a mouthful of blood at Katsujirou Xanoken gave a scream of rage as he charged head on into Katsujirou’s attack.

“You are a dog without honor!†Xano cried as he rolled away from Katsujirou, using his speed and two good legs to try and keep his distance from enraged Benzar. No matter Katsujirou’s skill without the use of his leg the odds of him keeping up with Xanoken’s speed was near impossible. Xanoken would need to exercise patience to work his way around Katsujirou and attack the man. Biding his time Xano did his best to dodge the elder’s blows and strike from his weak side. Katsujirou wouldn’t be able to fully use the left leg so Xanoken sent flurry after slurry of attacks to the benzar’s left utilizing his own knowledge of pressure points to make Katsujirou pay for his disgraceful act.

“I’ll destroy you with my bare hands!†Xano hissed dangerously through bloodied lips and charged as the smallest of openings was granted. Placing all his weight into a powerful kick into Katsujirou’s ribs Xanoken growled. A few fractured ribs wouldn’t be enough for the full set Xano was sure he had received. In truth the young assassin was unsure how he could even manage to outmaneuver the man with the amount of pain he was in. However, the kick proved to be his downfall for Xanoken had not counted on the fact that Katsujirou had been in far more many hand-to-hand fights than the young assassin and a fractured rib was probably nothing more than a papercut to the man. The fact that Katsujirou wasn’t able to use his left leg meant many things, but for Xano it meant one very unfortunate thing. Katsujirou would have most of his weight on his opposite leg giving him the opportunity to deliver one of his devastating punches to Xano’s face.

The blow would send Xano reeling backwards into the dirt. Rolling across the ground Xano was in a daze, blood and dirt filled his mouth and he was certain his body was shattered. Looking up from his place on the ground Xanoken hurried to get up before Katsujirou could get to him.

 

[Katsujirou]

Katsujirou was breathing heavily. His left leg was bent at a precariously numb angle, but he had managed not to fall upon it during his barrage. Had he both legs, he most certainly would have smashed in Xanoken’s skull. Blood dripped from his knuckles and his side ached from the kick. Xanoken had broken a rib with his foot, and for his recklessness Katsujirou had disciplined him. Every bone he had bent and split hurt Katsujirou’s heart more than it did Xanoken’s body.

“Lay there.” Katsujirou said. He smeared blood off on his white kimono and picked up his cane. He rubbed his side absently and felt the fractured rib. He had learned long ago to block the pain with his mind, but there was nothing he could do to stop his body from breaking. He could see that Xanoken was trying to get back up. “Lay there, Xanoken.”

With his cane Katsujirou walked over to Xanoken and stood above his beaten body. The Master Warrior’s body, a machine designed for fighting and killing, was already dry of sweat. His complexion was normal. Aside from the blood on his hands, he appeared as if nothing had transpired aside from the garden walk. “Until the day you cut me, you will obey me as a member of this tribe. You are Benzar now, and will be known to the tribe only as ‘Shadow.’ As Benzar, I am your Chief.” Katsujirou placed the end of his cane against the nape of Xanoken’s neck, gently holding him down. “I will train you to kill me, Shadow. Until then, know that I have already learned to kill you.”

Katsujirou looked at a darkened corner of the garden. “He is yours,” Katsujirou said as he lifted the cane off Xanoken’s neck. With a grunt he started walking back into the dojo as a young warrior wearing a suit of the Benzar’s legendary red armor stepped out of the shaded corner and approached Xanoken. He was exceptionally handsome and clean for a warrior, and in his eyes there was wisdom. He knelt beside Xanoken.

“You are lucky today,” the warrior said. He smelled like smoke.

 

[Baka]

“Lay there.â€

Katsujirou commanded, but Xanoken would not comply. Attempting to rise to his feet the young assassin would fall to the ground again the pain in his ribs keeping him from rising. He had never hurt this much in his life. Cuts from blades could be healed with a poultice, an arrow in one’s shoulder could be removed, but a broken rib or damage within the body was not something easily mended. Xanoken ached from head to toe, the gashes from Katsujirou’s nails burned, each punch that had connected had left a deep bruise or break. Xanoken shuddered to think about the pain he would feel once adrenaline stopped rushing through his veins.

“Lay there, Xanoken.â€

After a few moments Xanoken would comply, falling to the ground with a grunt of pain. The assassin was out of breath and each gulp of air he took in made his ribs feel as if they were on fire. Xanoken glared up at Katsujirou his crimson eyes glinting with a mixture of rage and pain. Closing his eyes Xanoken tried to put the pain out of his mind the best he could and somehow managed to at least replace his look of rage with his previous one of calm serenity, albeit a look of pain still filled his crimson eyes.

The tip of Katsujirou’s cane would press against nape of Xanoken’s neck and the assassin would refrain from moving.

“I will train you to kill me, Shadow. Until then, know that I have already learned to kill you.â€

Katsujirou said something towards the corner of the garden then walked off and Xanoken took in a breath, wincing at the pain. This was certainly not how he envisioned being Katsujirou’s Shadow. Xanoken raised his head up off of the ground slightly, refusing to lift his full upper body due to the pain, to see who was approaching him.

“You are lucky today,†the man said.

Letting his head fall back onto the ground Xanoken’s crimson eyes would fix themselves on the man in red armor who smelled like smoke.

Slowly, but surely, Xanoken began to rise wincing with each movement of his upper body. Joints would crack and pop as he moved, muscles tightening and stretching, Xanoken felt as if his body had been entirely shattered. Xanoken was unsure of what to say to the man. The young assassin had never been one for small talk and in all honestly Xanoken had very little idea of what was going on. His kimono had been all but ripped off of him, the obi was the only thing that had managed to keep the robe on. Rising to his feet the assassin limped over to his wakizashi and attempted to bend to pick it up.

Grinding his teeth in pain Xanoken would hug his ribs gently before spitting a mouthful of blood out.

“My skull should be shattered…he pulled his last punch…â€

Xanoken said as he attempted to retrieve his wakizashi again.

 

[Katsujirou]

The warrior watched Xanoken rise from the ground. From his vantage point in the corner he had witnessed the entire incident. It was not uncommon seeing a Master Warrior take apart a single man, but it was unusual seeing the loser spared. It was customary for Benzar to finish what they had started in battle, even amongst themselves. For this reason a Benzar was never allowed to strike another Benzar. Those who struck another member of the tribe were cursed with black armor and banished to the Wasteland.

More unusual than Katsujirou’s mercy was the assassin’s ability to rise. The warrior’s eyes were complacent and merciless, and as he watched Xanoken stumble towards his sword he wondered how much pain the assassin must be in. By the way he moved, the warrior knew Xanoken was a killer, but by the way he winced he was no Benzar.

“My skull should be shattered…he pulled his last punch…” Xanoken said as he struggled to pick up his fallen sword. The warrior remained kneeling, his arms rested upon his knees.

“He hopes that one day you will cut him.” The warrior said plainly.

“Katsujirou has killed many men. You are lucky this day to be his Shadow.” The warrior rose slowly. Like Katsujirou he moved efficiently, gracefully and with purpose. He was not as strong as Katsujirou, but his age made him faster. He walked to Xanoken’s side, bent and scooped up his wakizashi. “A Benzar does not drop his sword unless he is dead.”

The warrior held out the wakizashi to Xanoken. He smiled softly. “You are Katsujirou’s Shadow. He has decided for me to be with you. Your eyes are red.” The warrior tapped his red armor. “They are red, because you are Benzar. It is my duty to protect you. All Shadows are in Shade. I will call you Shadow, and you will call me Shade.”

“Let me help you inside. Katsujirou has something for you.”

 

[Baka]

Xanoken was unsure of what to make of the warrior in red armor. Despite his pain Xanoken could feel the man’s eyes on him assessing him, weighing him, measuring him, as Katsujirou often did.

“He hopes that one day you will cut him.†The warrior said. “Katsujirou has killed many men you are lucky to be his shadow.â€

If Xanoken was lucky he certainly didn’t feel it. No matter how hard he tried the assassin could not keep from wincing as bent to try and retrieve his weapon. The Benzar were taught to never show pain, Xano had simply been taught to never be seen. It was difficult for an enemy to assess your condition if he couldn’t see you.

Xano’s eyes would turn to the man as he made his way over to the wakizashi. He moves like Katsujirou…is this his student? Xano had seen enough Benzar to know that they weren’t all exactly the same. There were many similarities in their fighting style and the way they lived their lives but there were also many differences if one took the time to notice.

“A Benzar does not drop his sword unless he is dead.â€

The man said scooping up Xano’s wakizashi the warrior held it out to the young assassin. Unless Xano was mistaken the man was in his mid-twenties perhaps only a year or so older than himself.

Taking the wakizashi Xanoken held onto it with a firm grip, his pale fingers digging into the scabbard.

Upon hearing the other’s introduction Xanoken, or Shadow, as he was to be called by the Benzar, nodded. Waving away the others offer of help, Xanoken held his shoulder’s back and drew in a deep breath, somehow managing to not feel the twinge in his ribs this time.

“I have not yet reached my limit.†Xanoken said, his crimson eyes glinting in the light o the sun.

“Lead on, Shade.â€

 

[Katsujirou]

The Shade’s eyes never came off of Xanoken as he took the wakizashi. He glanced down at his grip and noticed Xanoken’s fingers, and he traced the look of pain across his face as he tried to hide it. The Shadow was not an assassin, but the Shade could see why Katsujirou had chosen him. He held his weapon knowing it would save his life.

The Shade’s hand came out and took a hold of Xanoken’s bicep. The Shadow hadn’t asked for the help and seemed reluctant to accept it, but the Shade had a very serious responsibility. “You will never reach your limit, Shadow. We do not know mercy, but we know compassion.”

As the Shade helped Xanoken back into the dojo, he looked at his tattered kimono. “I see Katsujirou has not lost his sting.” Another smile slid across his face. Once they entered the dojo, the Shade lead Xanoken down a short hall and into a resting chamber where there was a small bed pad. “Lay here. Heal.” The Shade left the room for a moment.

When he returned, he had with him a sheathed katana in a red wooden scabbard. It was a Benzar sword, and he unsheathed it. In the hands of its owner, revealing the katana meant to make it bloody, but in the hands of another Benzar it was fair to return it to the scabbard clean. “This is a Benzar katana.” Said the Shade. He turned the blade and it gleamed in the light for Xanoken to see. “There are many of these where you are from, in … Ayenee.”

The Shade’s soft brown eyes turned from the blade and looked at Xanoken. “Katsujirou asks me to find these.” He sheathed the katana and leaned it against the wall. “You must heal.” He nodded to Xanoken. “We will find them together. You will take me to Ayenee.”

 

[Baka]

Xanoken would not shake his arm free of the man’s help and let the other lead him back into the dojo. The young assassin’s blood still flowed freely from his wounds given to him by Katsujirou. Blood dripped down his cheek to fall in the folds of his tattered kimono. The scratches on his shoulder shined brightly with blood that slowly oozed down to his abdomen.

Although the other was helping him Xanoken did his best to walk on his own trying to get used to the pain that covered most of his body. With the warrior’s assistance Xano was able to lie down on a small bed pad. The soft padding felt good against his tired muscles and his ribs did not ache near as bad as they once had.

“Lay there. Heal.” The Shade replied before exiting the room. Xanoken began to count off time in his head. It would take time for him to recover but Xanoken felt sure that it wouldn’t be too long before he was back up on his feet.

Xanoken would take notice of the katana the Benzar held firmly in his grasp. Upon looking it at Xanoken could identify it as a Benzar sword, the time and effort put into making the weapon was obvious.

“My homeland?” Xanoken asked. He was aware that their had been a few Benzar in Ayenee sometime back but had always assumed it had simply been Katsujirou and the few men he’s had with him.

Watching as the other sheathed the blade, Xanoken’s eyes would close momentarily as he began to think back on his homeland.

“You must heal. We will find them together. You will take me to Ayenee.” The Shade said as he nodded to Xanoken.

Wiping blood from his pale cheek Xanoken stared at the ceiling, the emotionless look returning to his crimson eyes.

“I will know it only a little better than you.” Xanoken said gripping his wakixashi. “Ayenee has changed much since I left …this will not be an easy task.”

Xanoken’s eyes would look over the warrior’s armor. Now that he was Benzar did it mean that he too would have to don such armor? Xanoken would voice this concern as he slowly adjusted himself on the sleeping pad.

“I am now Benzar. Does this mean that I must now wear the Red Armor of the Benzar…wield a Katana as a Benzar does?”

 

[Katsujirou]

Shade smiled again as he rested his left hand upon the handle of the sheathed katana tucked beneath his obi. Katsujirou has picked a curious Shadow. “The few of us who are warriors wear the red armor, and fewer still are called Red Riders.” A woman came into the room and shuffled around Shade carrying a small glass of tea. She knelt beside Xanoken’s bed and placed it on the floor. Shade did not look at her as she exited.

“For now, you will wear what you wear. When we leave for the lands of Ayenee, you will wear the assassin armor. It will fit you well.” Shade considered Xanoken’s sheathed wakizashi. “That blade is a good blade. Katsujirou has picked a fine blade to die by, but he will not allow it to cut him until you are ready. All Shadow must earn the right to kill a master, especially a Katsujirou Kato.”

Shade lowered his voice and stepped a bit closer to Xanoken’s bed. “But beware, Shadow, for your responsibility is great. If Katsujirou sees that you are unfit, he will ask me to kill you. The Shadow, the Master, and the Shade are in balance, always. In Ayenee we will see if Katsujirou has chosen his Shadow wisely.” Shade paused for just long enough to take a very important breath. “Of all Katsujirou Katos, there has only been one who was killed by his Shadow. It is a lonely way, being a Katsujirou.”

He pointed to the tea. “Drink the tea, and you will sleep for three days. While you rest, we will mend you.”

And then, with another warm smile, the Shade turned and left the room. All that remained of him was that smell of smoke.

 

[Baka]

“Of all Katsujirou Katos, there has only been one who was killed by his Shadow. It is a lonely way, being a Katsujirou.â€

Xanoken's crimson eyes did not leave Shade as he stepped towards him.

I was caught off guard before, it will not happen again.

"Lonely...is not having an existence." Xanoken said as he set his wakizashi down beside him, resting the handle across his chest.

Sitting up slightly Xanoken reached over and grasped the tea. Lifting the tea to his lips Xanoken looked out over the lid at the man in red armor.

"Know that I do not fear death. Should at anytime Katsujirou feels that I am not worthy you are more than welcome to try and take my life." Drinking the tea with one long dwig the assasin set the cup down and laid back.

"I live by the blade and I die by the blade. Death is not something I fear." Xanoken said closing his eyes, already the tea was taking affect.

"I will live by the blade..." his words were already beginning to slur. Sleep was almost upon him. "...until my last breath." Then the Shadow slept.

 

[Katsujirou]

For three days the healers of Benzar, well trained and very experienced in the mending of battle wounds, put back together the broken body of Katsujirou’s shadow. His shattered ribs were wrapped with rope and set, open wounds were closed and his bruising reduced by poultices and balms. Four pairs of different hands worked together on Xanoken’s body as Shade stood vigilantly in the doorway, protecting the Shadow from unwanted guests. Even though they were in the sacred privacy of the dojo, Katsujirou had given Shade an important responsibility he would not ashame.

When Xanoken was administered the tranquilizer’s antidote there was a setting of rice, meat, vegetables and water laid beside the bed. Shade sat in a chair in the corner of the room staring blankly at Xanoken’s mended body. His brown eyes were highly attuned sensors that could count the number of hairs in each eyebrow at a glance. After watching the Shadow for the past three days he had learned the sound of his heart beat and the smell of his breath from across the room. Before Xanoken even knew it, the Benzar warrior detected that he was beginning to wake. He blinked, for the first time in a day, and rose from the chair with a hand upon the handle of his katana and strolled out the door.

When Shade entered the meditation room, Katsujirou sat cross legged in front of a burning candle. The smoke helped to mask distracting odors that came in from the garden. Rarely it gave the Master Warrior visions. Most often it was something for him to focus on. Shade had only to clear his throat in the doorway to alert Katsujirou.

“He is awake, then.” Katsujirou said. Shade nodded, although Katsujirou kept his eyes closed. “He is healed, then.”

“He is weaker than you expected.”

Katsujirou nodded. “He has trained. His kick is strong.”

“Not as strong as your fist, Katsujirou-sama.” Shade bowed respectively.

“What are your thoughts?” Katsujirou asked.

Shade took another step into the room and lowered his voice. To the Benzar, a full voice in any room can be heard throughout the dojo. He had to be careful that Xanoken could not hear him, even at the other end of the building. “You should find another, Katsujirou. Your Shadow is reckless, and too young. He is undisciplined. Let me cut him.”

Katsujirou thought of Shade’s opinion and nodded his head gravely. Shade’s mouth watered at the prospect of being honored to kill a Shadow, but his brow furrowed when Katsujirou replied. “No. We will not cut him yet.” Katsujirou’s eyes opened as he got to his feet. He started to exit out the other way. “Take him with you to Ayenee. There, you will teach him what it means to be a Shadow.”

Shade became rigid at attention. “Yes, Katsujirou-sama.”

“Give him the armor,” was the last thing Katsujirou said before he exited.

By the time Shade returned, Xanoken was moment away from awakening. He had been gone only a few short minutes, but still he looked closely at the room to see if any had entered while he was away. Satisfied that the room was still secure, Shade stopped a child passing down the hall. “Tadai-chan. Bring me the Shadow’s box.” The child nearly fall backwards before Shade caught him. “Do not be afraid, Tadai-chan. The Shadow’s box. Bring it to this room.”

 

[Baka]

The Assassin ran and the Red Beast towered over him.
The Assassin ran faster and the beast overtook him.
The beasts shadow covered the assassin and engulfed him in its darkness.
Try as he might the assassin could not escape the shadow.
The shadow would pull him under and the assassin would stop breathing.
The shadow filled his longs and his heart stopped beating.
The shadow filled his heart and the assassin became the Shadow.

Pale lids snapped open quickly and crimson eyes looked about wildly. Where am I?! Xano thought regaining his composure. After a moment everything came flooding back to him and the young assassin would slowly sit up. His ribs were beginning to feel better and most of his cuts and bruises had healed nicely. The Benzar were truly marvelous healers as well as warriors.

“The Shadow’s box,” Xanoken heard the Shade say from outside the room. “Bring it to this room.”

Looking down at the food that awaited him Xanoken decided it would be wise to eat and regain some strength before doing anything else. Xanoken ate as he usually did, slowly and enjoying every bite. There was no point in rushing through the meal especially if the dreams he had been having were true.

Xanoken had truly thought that when he had found Katsujirou the dreams would stop and all would go back to normal, however, since locating Katsujirou his life had only gotten far more hectic.

Crimson eyes would peek out from the top of the cup to look to the doorway. What box is he talking about? Xano thought idly to himself as he continued to eat.