Ashkii Dighin- The Hunt for the Hypnotist

by Adam Lynch

  Skimming through it, he found appalling amount of detail about each creature. Eventually, he stopped at a humanoid shadow. It seemed that the researcher had not gotten clear visualization of this one—but just enough to identify it as a humanoid. Ashkii skimmed down to its primary power: hypnosis. Then he skimmed back up to the creature’s name: Kiren.

  Was this it?

  Was the Hypnotist a Kiren?

  He’d never heard of such a creature, but according to this log its origin was from another land.

  Of course. It all made sense now. The Hypnotist—it was a foreigner all this time. That was why nobody could identify or learn anything about it. It was because it was something they’d never encountered. Seasons had no documentation of it of any kind. But the Sky Pirates—whom Chiharu said were travelers of the open world—had come across members of its species. They’d observed its nature, its powers, and its culture. As Chiharu had claimed, The Chosen’s job was to scout and study lands before preparing the way for the Sky Pirates to conquer. Ashkii wasn’t certain if he had believed what the queen had claimed, but if her visions were true, then it would make sense why the Sky Pirates had a detailed log of creatures from other nations.

  Exhilarated with his findings, he immersed himself deeper into the writings, absorbing every word of the description. Let’s see, he thought. Reading it as a whole, it seemed that the writer had concluded that the Kiren’s only real ability was hypnosis. All five senses were held captive. When a victim was prey under hypnosis, he was no longer living in the real world. His master, the hypnotist, would control everything he sees, hears, smells, tastes, and touches, his entire reality shifted to how the master would want him to perceive it. A Kiren could appear as anything it had wanted, forging any fantasy and making it so authentic to the senses that the victim would have no way to separate illusion from reality. In other words, the writer was saying that any who’d fallen prey to hypnosis—in its mastered form—had been pulled to another world ruled by a different god.

  Disturbed by these readings, Ashkii looked up at Kelanassa. Noticing his glance, she reflected excitement, appearing totally oblivious to his thoughts. If what this log had written was true, and if what the members of the purple eyes had told him was true, then he was held completely hostage in a world that he had no control of. Yet… he was made aware of this. It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense… with Kelanassa being the Hypnotist.

  If Kelanssa really was the Hypnotist as the purple eyed members had claimed, then why would she show him this? Why would she allow him to uncover this information and be made aware of it? Certainly that wouldn’t serve her purposes as his dominant.

  No. More likely he was allowed to see this because Kelanassa was his supporter as he had always believed her to be. Her power was immunity to illusions which was what had saved him from the members with the purple eyes. They were the real enemy. They had to be. They had twisted Ashkii’s mind with believable lies to manipulate him into eliminating her—eliminating their only real threat. But did this mean that they were the Hypnotist? Why would they need Ashkii to kill her? If they were the Hypnotist and had wanted her dead, then couldn’t they have killed her like they had killed all the others?

  None of it made sense, still. But perhaps after reading everything in the log, he’d uncover more information to help him unravel this frustrating mystery.

  “Ashkii, there’s more on the next page,” said Kel, turning it.

  She was right. There was a whole additional page of information, and even an additional drawing. But again, like before, it wasn’t what he had expected.

  Reading the content and examining the picture, he quickly understood this curiosity. The drawing and content informed of a chain with a blood stone attached to it as an emblem. The blood inside the stone was the blood of a Kiren’s, its color matched with the color of its soul. The chain of the Kiren’s blood was a curse to both the Kiren killed and the murderer who killed him or her. Essentially, when a Kiren was murdered, its soul would become chained and bound to its murderer until the murderer’s life had ended.

  Somehow, this had all looked and sounded so familiar to Ashkii. This chain and blood stone… he knew he had seen one before somewhere… but where?

  “Don’t stop reading, Ashkii,” encouraged Kel. “There’s more.”

  With her distraction, he read on—down to the very bottom. There was more information about the blood stones—what would happen after their release. The records had written that if an individual had avenged a Kiren’s caged soul and freed it from its captivator, he would then be rewarded by the Kiren’s family. Killing the Kiren’s murderer and freeing its soul from the chain and stone locking it, its blood would then guide the way for the avenger to members of its family. When found, they’d award the avenger.

  That was everything the writer had documented on the Kiren. In case they missed anything, both he and Kel reexamined the pages from top to bottom, checking the previous and following pages for possible additions of information. That was everything. They were certain of it. But after fastening the book in his apparel, Ashkii knew exactly what they needed to do next.

  Kill Rolf Valentine.

  ○

  A time after traveling, late into the battle, Ashkii and Kel arrived at the scene. They stepped over a grassy hill, a perfect scouting spot for the battle zone. Ashkii saw the yousei mages, the oni, and the kitsune samurai defending their land against the vampire, warlock, and werewolf knights. The five-tailed shoguns of the Mystic army held their ground against the Sisters of the Red Blood. And Queen Chiharu Fantasia of Springeria—the yousei and 8-tailed kitsune hybrid—dueled against King Salem Valentine of Winteria—the immortal werewolf and vampire hybrid.

  Ice spikes were cast from witches, the dead were raised by warlocks, yousei cast their Mystic Gifts, and kitsune launched electricity and fireballs from their tails. Several warriors took the battle to the air—kitsune hovering in the sky, catapulting lighting bolts; witches resting on their brooms, casting fire from their wands. It was witchcraft against Nature—the supernatural versus the unnatural. The oni, who knew only the club, fought against Rolf Valentine—the daredevil who was arrogant enough to take on four of them at once.

  The battle had already been going on long before Ashkii and Kel had finally made it. Hundreds of warriors had fallen. Here at the borderline of Springeria and Winteria, it was a dump of lifeless bodies, a bloodbath staining the plains.

  Then Ashkii aimed his attention at Chiharu and Salem. Both were in their transformed state. It was the fight of the century. Two of Season’s strongest monarchs setting history. The kitsune versus werewolf. Who would come on top? The overpowering Mystic, or the undying cursed? In their beastly forms, they tore each other apart with their dragon-like claws, bit off each other’s skin with their carnivorous fangs, and shot natural and unnatural flames from their tails and palms, crisping each other’s fur. No mercy from either side. They were relentless and unwavering. The first to let up aggression would fall inferior. No one could stand closer than twenty meters from them, for if one had, he or she would be crushed from the brute force—but even at that distance, no one could become certain that he or she wouldn’t get burnt to a crisp from the reckless fire. They were like two massive asteroids crashing into each other.

  Ashkii kept sharp for any opportunity that arose that could pull him closer to Rolf Valentine. He watched and waited. Rolf Valentine was positioned nearly straight across the field from where they scoped. The field of chaos was too wide to sneak around its perimeter. They needed to cut straight through. They needed the path to clear.

  “I see him. Do you have a plan?” Kel asked, facing him as he thought.

  “There’s a forest behind where Rolf is located on the opposite side of the field. Do you see it?” Ashkii pointed it out for her.

  “I do.”

  “We need to cut across the field to get there, unnoticed. From there, I can get a clean shot for him and lure him where we’l
l be alone. There, we’ll kill him and avenge the Kiren, attaining its compass so we can find the others and uncover the Hypnotist’s identity once and for all.”

  “Sounds like you almost have it all figured out. You have a plan for getting across? We’ll get caught in the crossfire if we attempt to go now.”

  “Wait for an opportunity.”

  “Or create one...”

  Winteria was tackling Springeria’s defense—weight too powerful for the region to stand. The Red-Bloods exercised battle-strength for the entire duration of the war, elevating stronger with every victory—while the Mystics rested ignorantly at peace. The Moon of the Red Blood up in the sky had also fueled their power. Then, to stack the odds even further in their favor, there were reinforcements marching in from the north. Springeria had better retaliate quickly to stabilize...

  Then suddenly, to the northeast from a mucky lake in Winteria, there sprang out a ghastly horse-like demon killing all the soil beneath its feet with its breath. It had a skinless equine main body with a skinless torso attached to its back, hooves, horns, long slender arms that ended in claws. It appeared frail, but stretching out its formless arms ten feet from its body, it magnified its claws twice in size, dishing out a substantial punch. The devil-eyed monster, its mouth sewn, screeched, an ear-splitting blare deafening all ears that heard—everyone’s attention unkeenly earned. It wrought destruction on the Red-Bloods, stacking body after body. Springeria was no less fortunate. This hellish monster was a nuckalavee—a horror Ashkii had remembered reading about long ago. Destructive and very arduous to eradicate, these creatures were best avoided at all costs.

  “Come, Ashkii. The opportunity presents itself,” said Kel, snatching his hand and pulling him down the hill with her.

  Ashkii, though shocked and puzzled by the moment, complied with her initiation. She was so confident and quick to act. It was almost as if she had expected this, guiding his hand through the field of distracted and dismayed warriors.

  Meanwhile, chaos emerged around them—all eyes locked on the insidious monster they were all terrified of. It thrust its way towards them, adding more bodies to the stack every minute. No one could stop it—the ones who could were too busy ripping each other apart like dogs. Only the oni continued as normal. Brainwashed by the Mystics, they reserved no fear of any creature. They did as commanded. So they battered on, clubbing the wolf any chance they were swift enough. Rolf, still up to the challenge of fighting them all, bounced from body to body, clawing their faces like a cat on a human’s head. He bit off their ears, sank his fangs into their eyes, and battered them to the ground with his merciless barrage of his strong slender arms. The brainless oni even sacrificed one another, clubbing the werewolf while he lingered on one of their kin. Missing him every time, the mighty werewolf at last found a winning strategy. Enthralled by his near victory, he failed to notice Kel and Ashkii scurrying by as they braced for the forest. By the time they arrived there, Rolf finished off his last enemy, kicking him to the ground, beating him again and again until his claws were thick with the oni’s flesh and blood. His fur red from the oni’s gore, he flung his snout to the moon and howled the howl of a thousand wolves. All who saw and heard were now more terrified of him than the nuckalavee.

  The proud wolf stood tall over the oni’s body, peering over the war field, waiting for his next challenger. At this, Ashkii recognized his ideal moment to volunteer. Stringing his bow and taking aim, he prepared a shot for the heart, strong enough to instigate, but weak enough to invite him over without someone bracing the moment of his near death, ending him before this hunter would earn the pleasure.

  Tension at its peak, adrenaline kicking to its limit, everything was set in motion—Kel hovering almost hauntingly over his shoulder. “Now… Ashkii,” she whispered to his ear.

  With the cue in agreement with his alignment, he released. Out went the glowing arrow—flying to meet its hunt. Shing! The arrow pierced clean through Rolf’s back, all witnesses staggered by it as he was. Reserving a moment to adjust to the humiliating shock, the wolf gazed at the arrow inside his body, examining it like some nettlesome thorn. Then he spun to his backside, the Spirit Gatherer standing tall and courageous with his glowing bow offering direction. Fixing his angle towards him, Rolf tilted his head, his countenance fixed and focused. It was clear that any minute now he was going to lung towards them. Seconds later, he did just that, Ashkii Dighin and Rolf Valentine fixating on one another. Beast and hunter—like nature’s old-fashioned duel.

  Suddenly, ten golden eagles swooped in between Ashkii and Rolf’s path. Mounted on them were Autumnum’s strongest clan warriors, including their tribal chief, Dyami himself. They swept in on their Spirit Animals, firing seven arrows at a time from colossal longbows. The chief himself aimed straight for the Sisters of the Red Blood, who’d already caused widespread damage on the field. Were the Spirit Hunters assisting Springeria?

  Then, from the forest behind Ashkii, additional Spirit Hunters emerged, riding on large wolves, bears, stags, snakes, and cougars in accordance to their clan. Hundreds of warriors entered the battlefield—all attacking the Red-Bloods. All this had distracted Ashkii and Rolf for but a moment, but when the werewolf had remembered that there was an arrow stuck in his chest, he stepped forward, his eyes set on murderous intent.

  But then suddenly, Ashkii and Kel heard more mass movement from inside the forest—and they were swiftly approaching. Ashkii and Kel reserved a quick glance to identify the noise—but who had appeared was a face that had not only relieved tension, but strengthened courage. Behind him, marched Winteria’s notorious rebellion.

  “Ashkii Dighin! The Spirit Gatherer,” Yce exclaimed upon approach. “Prepare your pen. we’re about to set history. Winteria has reformed alliances with Autumnum and Summeria. Together, we will capture the immortal king and his coven, take back Winteria, exterminate the Valentine lineage, destroy the artificial moon, undo the curse, remove those who’ve corrupted our great nation, and bring peace to all of Seasons. It has all happened as God had revealed to me and now everything I’ve just stated will come to pass.”

  In declaring this, he charged fearlessly into the battlefield, decapitating the first Red-Blood he spotted. This had happened far east into the field past the deceased oni—past where Rolf Valentine should have been...

  Wait, he thought suddenly, scanning the area around him.

  Rolf—he was no longer there.

  “Ashkii! There, behind you!” Kel shouted as she shoved him, taking in his place a claw to her neck.

  Regaining his balance, he watched as Kel fell to the ground weakened, Rolf glaring murderously at her, infuriated. He then turned to face Ashkii.

  “Aye, Spirit Gatherer… ye like taking sneak shots?” he asked. “Well challenge accepted!”

  Before Ashkii had enacted his next move, Rolf lunged for him, clutching his neck, slamming his body against a tree. “Wow. I’m impressed. You’ve already lost. I could crush your neck right now and it’d already be over.” Growling, teeth grinding, Rolf kept him a moment in his mercy, glaring with the eyes of the devil Ashkii might soon expect to greet. “But ye spared me once.” Suddenly, he released him, Ashkii falling to his knees to catch his breath. “But now we’re even, you and I. Spring to your feet, Spirit Gatherer.”

  He waited until his strength had fully returned before rising, eyes glued on Rolf indefinitely—he would not make the mistake of turning them away again.

  “Just what’s yer fare with me anyway, Spirit Gatherer? Come to finish the job?”

  Ashkii, stringing his bow, circled the mammoth werewolf. Rolf stood vulnerable and unintimidated, watching him, awaiting his answer.

  But instead of giving him one, Ashkii jabbed an arrow at his back with the speed of an assassin. Rolf roared in agony, a swiping cyclone to face him. “I let you have that one, but now I’m coming for ye!”

  He lunged for Ashkii, barely enabling him to roll dodge. Then Ashkii counter-shot, striking him in the rib.
Rolf grunted, but was hardly fazed. He catapulted a mess of debris from the ground, throwing a large rock after. Hitting its target, Rolf sprang at him a second time, this time pinning him to the ground. So thirsty for his blood, drool dripped from his jaws. His snarls and growls reverberated his body, glaring with such hostility it looked like he wanted to murder the hunter a thousand times over—like the underworld’s Cerberus.

  Suddenly, a large mamushi snake latched its venomous teeth onto the werewolf’s forearm like a bear trap. Barely fazed, Rolf turned his attention to it, and then to Kelanassa when she suddenly shouted his name. This gave Ashkii the diversion he needed to pull out his hunting knife and jab Rolf’s eye. The werewolf writhed in so much pain it nearly sounded like a whimper. Ashkii rolled out of his grasp, preparing to string his bow when Rolf suddenly clubbed him with a swing of his claws. Ashkii lost his balance, but circling the beast he regained his ground. Enraged, Rolf roared with all his might. He swiped and missed Ashkii with every attempt. His rage made him sloppy, giving the hunter the advantage—if he had remained careful.

  “Dirty,” said Rolf with what sounded like an impressed tone. “I like the way you fight, Spirit Gatherer.” At this, he aimed his attention for Kelanassa, smirking. “It inspires me.”

  Rolf lunged for the vulnerable woman, Ashkii’s face flushing pale. Several fire arrows pierced his skin after Kel had shot them, but nothing stopped him from coming—they hadn’t even slowed him down. The impenetrable werewolf barricaded her offense and tackled her to the ground—she never stood a chance.

  Immediately, she struggled, resisting with all her boiling energy. When that failed, she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice bellowing such manic aggression it sounded like passionate hatred. “No!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. “I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you! You won’t get me!”