by J. K. Jones
“I don’t understand.”
“It doesn’t change anything. We fucked. So what?” Ryu continues harshly. “We aren’t going to pick up where we left off.”
Micah falls into silence.
The look in his eyes speaks volumes. They talked about it. Micah told him he loved him and that he wanted to get back together. Ryu turns away.
“What made you change your mind?”
“Nothing,” Ryu says quickly. “I came to my senses. The clan will never accept me. Let’s stop pretending.”
“I’m not pretending. I thought I told you to trust me.”
“Well, I don’t!” Ryu spits back. “I don’t fucking trust you and I never will! So, let’s cut the shit. We fucked. That’s all there is to it. Nothing more and nothing less.”
His eyes narrow. “What’s going on? You weren’t like this morning.”
Ryu goes quiet, thoughts racing back to what Alhazred said. What if they fail? What if this was all for nothing? He would do anything not to see Amaya dead. He would sell his soul, just to stop it from happening.
“It’s too fast,” Ryu says. “I can’t—I won’t allow myself to be hurt again. Not this time. I can’t take it. I won’t. They will never accept me. There is no point in trying again.”
“I don’t believe that.” Micah reaches for him, but Ryu takes a step back.
“Don’t,” He utters savagely. “I am not your Second and we are not together.”
Micah regards him. “You’re scared.”
He’s terrified. Ryu barely survived the last time, it nearly destroyed him. Exiled. Abandoned from his clan and Alpha. He lived in the wilderness with nothing but hatred and resentment pooling in his heart. He wanted them all dead for what they did to him.
“Leave me alone,” Ryu says quietly. “I just want Amaya safe. After that, I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again. It’s what I want. Amaya is the only one who doesn’t think I’m a piece of shit. She’s the only one who cared and tried to stop them for what they did to me. I only want her safe. I’m so frightened we will fail. I cannot fail her. Not now and not ever.”
Pain flickers across his features, but he schools them gracefully. “I see.”
“Let’s leave it at that.”
Micah nods slowly. “Okay. I understand.”
“I’m only here for Amaya. Not you. Not fucking Alhazred. Nobody else.”
“I see,” Micah responds coolly. “Anything else?”
“Keep your wolves away from me.” Ryu storms past him, keeping a tight hand on his Katana.
Fuck. He almost ripped Alhazred's head off for what he said. It’s not like he was wrong. Micah did betray him, in the worst way possible. Everybody knew that. Everybody saw. Ryu fumes silently. God—he’s so stupid to let his guard down. What the hell is there even to consider? After this he plans to leave, plain and simple.
Nothing was going to get in his way.
-
Swollen incandescent clouds meet the sky.
Ryu stares in awe as the clouds part, revealing a house floating in the mountaintops. The house is large and imposing, a colossal fortress of dynasties long since gone. From the great windows it holds a timeless grace, wood beams, and vertical columns do nothing to distract from its grandeur.
They climb for so long; Ryu doesn’t know whether they are walking on snow or the clouds. Mount Horai is truly a wonder. By the time they reach the top, the fortress comes into view, the area is tenuously white, mist covering the ground and the atmosphere.
The Yamabushi lives here.
Micah leads, climbing the stairs quickly and then knocking on the front door. A servant dressed in traditional robes answers the door, she bows and allows them to come in.
“Welcome to Mount Horai,” she says, demurely. “How can I be of assistance?”
“We humbly request to see the Master of the Moon,” Micah responds.
“This way please.”
They take off their shoes, keeping their weapons close. The house is expansive and clean, with tatami mat flooring, sliding doors, and wooden engawa verandas. She guides them for a long time, twisting and turning down the halls and corridors until they finally reach their destination. “He is waiting.” She bows and motions for them to enter a large room. The area is spacious, however, upon further inspection, it leads down another corridor and more into the mountain. Micah looks at Trmon suspiciously, Ryu also has his guard up in case it’s a trap.
“Follow the light,” she says softly, pointing towards flickering candlelight. “He is waiting.”
Micah walks through the room first, then down the hallway following the candlelight, their surroundings change as they go deeper into the mountain.
The walls turn into stone, the area grows vast and boundless as the minutes' tick by. Energy surges through Ryu and he feels his pulse quicken.
At last, they reach their destination, it’s a large cave with rows upon rows of lit candles. In the center of the room on the mat, is a man sitting calmly in a lotus position.
Ryu stops dead, his heart caught in his throat. No. It can’t be. He steps forward, Micah’s own eyes are wide in disbelief.
“Sensei?”
Chapter 45
Silence fills the air.
Ryu stares at his Sensei, both in horror and disbelief. It’s not true. It’s impossible. The Yamabushi lived in mount Horai for centuries. The man sits amidst a throne of candles, incense smells waft in the air, making it thick with mist. How can this man be his Sensei? What the hell is going on? Ryu draws his sword, pointing it dangerously at the man in front of him.
His face is impassive, he wears a simple white Kimono, hands are clasped gracefully in front of his lap. “Who are you?” Ryu demands.
Micah whips out his gun, pointing it at his head. “We won’t ask again.”
Sensei looks down, then chuckles deeply. “My best students don’t even recognize me.” His gaze flitters back up to them. “I am the Master of the Moon.”
This doesn’t make any fucking sense. How is this Sensei the Master of the Moon? What the fucking hell is going on? Why did Randolph lead them here?
Ryu feels his stomach swoop, his vision blurs and the world titles precariously. He staggers, his sword drops to the ground. Fuck—that smell. He barely has time to think before the ground is rushing up to meet him.
-
Ryu gasps awake.
His heart slams against his ribcage as he looks frantically around the room. The cave looks roughly the same, Sensei sits calmly at the front.
“I have been here for centuries,” Sensei Musashi speaks directly to Ryu.
He scrambles to his feet, grabbing his weapon. “What is this place? Why didn’t you tell us you were an immortal?”
Sensei Musashi smiles. “There is nothing to tell. I’ve been the Silvercrest Howler’s trainer for centuries. Every fifteen years or so I go away and then I come back. All clans have immortals that train their wolves.”
Ryu never believed those rumors. However, it seems like they were all true. It explains why the clans lasted for centuries, most of their trainers were immortals, thus, their history is constantly being passed down from generation to generation.
“Come sit with me. We have much to discuss.” Sensei Musashi stands and walks calmly over towards a small table, he sits down on a pillow and the servant from earlier serves him tea.
Ryu watches it, perplexed, not knowing whether he should join or run out of the room screaming. Micah decides for him and joins Sensei Musashi at the table with the rest of the wolves.
Micah drinks his tea calmly; his expression is thunderous. “I don’t understand.”
That’s an understatement. Ryu huffs and takes a sip of his tea.
“Why did Randolph send us here? Our people in the Silvercrest Clan are dying. Randolph said the Master of the Moon is a great necromancer that could help us find a cure.”
Sensei Musashi chuckles. “I don’t know about being a great necromancer.”
Sensei Musashi goes quiet, he calmly puts his teacup down and schools his expression.
“Have you ever heard of the Sword Divinity? It was the title given to Sensei Miyamoto Musashi from the Silvercrest Clan. This house belongs to him and he was once the greatest Alpha the clans have ever seen.” He smiles ruefully. “He was loved by all, cherished by everyone. He could do no wrong in their eyes. So, the great Miyamoto Musashi took it upon himself to teach the lesser clans. His word was law. He would beat them into submission and if they rebelled, he would crush them. That is the way of the Silvercrest Howlers. When he was twenty, Arima Kihei from the Filthy Claws clan challenged him to a duel. Arima Kihei was young, you see. He did not know why the ways of the Silvercrest Howlers were being imposed upon him or his clan. He sought to rise against it.
“Miyamoto had never fought before in his life; however, he would never allow himself to be beaten. Instead, in a fit of madness, he leaped into the ring with a piece of wood shaped like a sword and shouted a challenge to Kihei. You see, Arima Kihei was a sickly boy of poor heritage so naturally, he had no chance. Kihei attacked with a wakizashi, but Musashi threw Kihei, and when Kihei tried to get up, Musashi struck him between the eyes and then beat him to death. Miyamoto Musashi soon after cultivated the two-sword fighting style, he emphasized that warriors should be well trained in their profession.”
“He then went on to pass that information on to the Silvercrest Howlers clan for centuries to come. Once he finished training your clan, he came back here to retire. Thus, is the life of an immortal. Yet, Miyamoto Musashi didn’t know that Arima Kihei did not die in battle. He lived but had been badly wounded and lived the rest of his life as a cripple in the Filthy Claws clan. Over the years his hatred grew as he saw the Silvercrest Howlers start taking over. Their occupation destroyed the Filthy Claws’ traditions and cultural way of life. He sought quick retribution. Miyamoto started the occupation of the Filthy Claws years ago, then passed down the same ideologies down through his training to Michael McCorbyn,” Sensei Musashi’s eyes flicker over to Micah. “And so, Arima made a blood pact with Oslene, Goddess of Torture. He swore to be her vessel if only she would grant him immortality and the strength to kill a divine being Miyamoto. Arima tracked Miyamoto deep into the mountains and drove two swords down his throat and into his belly. Arima watched him rot away for centuries until his bones turned to ashes.”
“Miyamoto Musashi,” he takes a small sip of his tea, “that is your Sensei.”
Ryu frowns, the rest of the wolves murmur amongst themselves. This still doesn’t make any sense. Most immortals needed to go through some life-altering events to ascend, so obviously he would need to die to live forever. It was a paradox, but worked nonetheless, especially for those who spent a copious amount of time cultivating their swordsmanship. Sensei Musashi would be no exception to that. However, this seemed like pure nonsense.
So, what if the Sensei that they knew is dead? What did that have to do with Randolph? Why the hell are they here in the first place? These questions twist around in his head on a lop and he can feel his anxiety rising. They don’t have time for maps and riddles. They need answers, solutions for how they were going to solve this cure. If Sensei Musashi couldn’t help them, then surely there was someone else that could.
Micah’s eyes flash yellow, he bares his teeth in a stunning display of aggression.
“If Sensei Musashi that we know is dead, then who the hell are you?”
The man grins, his eyes slowly bleeding red. “I am Arima Kihei.”
Chapter 46
Shapeshifters. Necromancers.
Such things were of the old world—dark magic only dabbled in by calling upon Oslene, Goddess of Torture. She must have granted this man unnatural life—not the life of an immortal, but the life of a Bloodhound immortal. His debt must be substantial.
“Kenyon came to me years ago,” Arima Kihei continues, teeth protruding like daggers. “He said he wanted them all dead and I couldn’t have agreed more. However, he wasn’t a true Bloodhound. I could only pass certain powers down to him, without draining myself completely. He died; his soul tragically sent to Hell. However, he knew that I would carry on in his place. I will see the fall of the Silvercrest Howlers, but now I’m just missing one thing…. the final piece of the puzzle.” He laughs darkly. “You see since Kenyon is dead, I need a new vessel,” He grins manically. “Someone will have to take his place. Someone with the right temperament. Someone like Kuroi Kage.”
The air thins, Ryu feels like his soul might leave his body.
A vessel?
Ryu chokes, eyes widening when he looks around and sees the ceiling crawling with Lycans. They snarl loudly, their hideous forms like spiders as they defy gravity.
The wolves jump away from the table, a few of them shout in disbelief and terror. Arima Kihei stands slowly, his wicked expression deepening.
Micah shifts, shredding his clothes as his wolf burst free. The other wolves follow suit, all of them imposing figures, standing nearly ten feet tall.
There are too many.
Ryu can count nearly half a dozen swarming the ceiling like ants. Fuck. What the hell are they going to do? He can only take so many at a time. Ryu withdraws his sword, body shaking hard as he finally realizes what this is. What it was all along.
A trap—set by Randolph.
There never was a Master of the Moon. He just wanted Micah out of the way, far from the Silvercrest Clan so that he could take over. It was nothing more than a dirty coup. Randolph knew Micah would do anything to get Ryu back in his good graces. He knew Micah would go to hell and back to make sure Ryu was safe. If that meant sending them both on a wild goose chase, then so be it. Goddamnit! Ryu feels sick with frustration. All this time they wasted, and Amaya was probably as good as dead!
Randolph sent them over to a madman—a crazy necromancer in the hills, spewing shit about revenge against the Silvercrest Howlers for shit that happened centuries ago.
Arima Kihei transforms, shedding the old skin of his Sensei into a stunning figure, his hair is white as ivory, skin like snow, and lips red as roses. His hair is long, lustrous, trailing down his back. His clothing is of the finest quality, black crisp, medieval armor with a red cape. The Bloodhound Prince.
Arima Kihei’s red cape flows in the wind, eyes crimson as he calls his sword to his hand.
Fucking hell. Ryu unsheathes his Katana. “What do you want?”
“You.”
The Lycans dive towards him and Ryu quickly sidesteps, chopping one right in half. Five more come at him, Ryu moves like lightning, cutting them down fiercely. He looks left, ten more, their vicious claws nearly cleave him in two. Ryu vaults, his sword moving like an extension of himself. He quiets his mind. Focus. He breathes and fights within everything in him. To his right, he can see the wolves are losing.
Micah is overrun, thousands of Lycans scale the walls and ceilings. No. His heart jumps and he rushes to his aid, only to be thrown back. There are too many! A Lycan smacks him hard, Ryu flies straight into a brick wall, his head slams against it with a sickening crunch.
His vision fades, as more of those monsters inch forward, their eyes glowing in the darkness. No. Fuck no. He’s failed. His stomach twists, his heart feels like it is being punched. They were going to lose. Amaya was going to die. Everything he fought for so viciously would all come to an end.
“Yes, it will,” The Lycans part as Arima Kihei walks towards him. Arima Kihei grabs a fist full of Ryu’s hair dragging him to his feet. Ryu screams in agony, blood trickling down his brow. “You have it and I want it. Give it to me.”
“What? I don’t have anything?”
Arima Kihei snarls, taking his head and bashing it against the stonewall.
Ryu sees stars. Blood erupts from his nose as it shifts and breaks.
“I’m done playing games. The stars are already in alignment. You are the vessel. Stop playing dumb and give it to me.”
“Please!” Ryu moans, mouth-filling with blood.
Arima Kihei snorts, then slams his face into the wall again and again. Ryu nearly faints, his vision is swirling as the pain becomes insurmountable. Arima Kihei throws him to the ground. “Why? Why? Why? You ask. Of course, you must be dying to know why. Do you think it’s a coincidence Randolph sent you on this journey? I told him I needed a vessel. In exchange, I will grant him the Silvercrest Howlers Clan. It’s no secret he despised Michael and his altruistic passion for the Filthy Claws. Don’t you hate them, Ryu? Don’t you hate them all? Look at how they have scorned you. They butchered you and beat you down! Let your hatred for them swell! Become my vessel! My Bloodhound Second and I will grant you all the wishes in the world!”
Ryu struggles frantically, eyes widening as Micah falls. His body is taken down into a sea of Lycans. “No!” He screams, then turns to Trmon who lays unconscious surrounded by Lycans several feet away.
Fermin charges forward, his brown wolf fur matted by blood and grime, he quickly jumps in where Micah fell, taking over nearly thirty at a time. It isn’t enough.
“Stop it!” Ryu cries out.
“Say the word.” Arima Kihei grins. “You hate them too. I know you do.”
Ryu grips his head, feeling the pressure mount with each passing second. His body pulses, his skin tightens, and his head feels like it might explode.
Chapter 47
He screams.
Memories flash like polaroids across his vision. It’s quick, strident—because at last he finally remembers. The blow to his head unleashed the memories locked in his past and he can finally see. Ryu’s thoughts race, they dance between the past and the present, understanding why he was there chasing those Lycans in the first place.
Ryu pants.
The blanks spaces are finally filled, the area, which was soft hues of beige, a hard wall bereft of color, suddenly bursts.