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The Journey Of A Thousand Miles
Chapter One: “Fall Children! (Falling Away With You)”
Harsh winds blew cold and bitter snowflakes, like chilly, crystal gusts of venomous breath from ‘Old Man Winter’s’ impious mouth; into the veiled figure’s cloaked face as he leapt, deftly from tree to tree; his nimble feet leading him on - searching for some ill-gotten sign of his far too long, estranged companions. His shrewd, honeyed eyes captured every breath and every movement within his scope, hoping upon hope that he’d be able find that last missing piece to the vast puzzle that they had unknowingly strewn across their lives - entrapping them in a astringent fight for not only their lives …but the worlds! As he looked around the almost lifeless tundra surrounding him, he was chagrin to admit he had no idea what to do. His friends may have been missing -
…But he was just as lost as them.
Clenching his fist suddenly, in hopes to fight off the intoxicating wave of nausea he felt building up in his chest; he thought of all that had happened. He knew it wasn’t supposed to be like this: the world barely living, hanging on by a limb and praying for an apocalypse. Sometimes, as he sat in solemn silence - convening with the elements - just as he was thought as a boy, he’d wander if it were all worth it. Was it worth the pain and suffering he, Kusanagi, and Meridyth endured? Was it worth the mental and emotional torment to save a world asking for death? He’d wonder sometimes… in the ever-secretive company of Mother Nature, if he and his cohorts were just wasting their time.
...And sometimes… when he was alone…
…. He’d wonder…
…. Wonder if it was even possible to…
…To fight…
…Death.
And it was at those moments when he hated himself the most - because Men of God weren’t suppose to have these doubts.
Men of God weren’t tempted to surrender.
As he thought his morbid thoughts the masked figure smiled. He suddenly remembered something Kusanagi had said to him during one of his odd, reoccurring bouts of skewered pseudo-philosophical guidance. The kind of counsel only someone truly jaded …or just completely fucked in the head could give. It was almost like taking advice from some crazed, curbside prophet. It’s so illogical; it makes sense - albeit in an extremely scary, fucked up way.
“Do you ever wonder,” the almond-mocha colored man asked, absently. It was hard to tell whether he was even sure he had spoken aloud. His amber eyes were fixed on a non-existent point in the air - staring his way into eternity - as he spoke. “Whether if what we’re doing is right? I mean sure; we’re out to save the world and all, but what if it doesn’t want to be saved, you know? Can you really say - after everything we’ve seen and learned - that we really deserve to be alive?” He paused, fisting a long, coarse, lock of onyx hair in his grasp as if it were his link to life; that one tangible thing to keep him based in reality. A safe, secure reality where everything was nice and linear - he hated ambiguity. He hated it just like he hated the hair he held in his grasp.
He wanted to rip it. Shred it! Unravel it …until all the dirty, bitter grays transform into pleasant whites and secure blacks.
He liked the world that way.
…It was less painful.
He looked to Kusanagi to see what he thought. He’d been through so much at this point that if anyone were to understand him it’d have been Kusanagi. The younger man had been forced into a life so daunting he had to feel that way - at least once, but Kusanagi’s insipid glare was his only reply for a long time. He stood, stiffly staring at the older man if front of him. His eyes, once mauve, now a glowing amethyst, bore into the muscle man in front of him. Unraveling all the masks he wore and leaving him completely transparent - naked - to the cold, merciless eyes in front of him.
“I don’t have time to listen to the thoughts of a dying atheist, old man, but I will tell you this - ‘I could give a damn about the world.’ It doesn’t matter to me whose crying out for an apocalypse - some soccer mom, the president or the mother-fucking pope! I have two goals…” He said holding two fingers in front of him to demonstrate his point. “To find my woman and get this fucking demon out of my body. All else can go to hell, for all I care.”
“…But -”
“But nothing!” the demon slayer cut him off, exasperated. “Look - in the end, no matter what we say - we’re all selfish. We want. We Take. We Have. It’s simple really… The people crying out loud for absolution for there sins are just too scared to face the consequences of their actions and are looking for a quick way out; and the ones screaming for an apocalypse? Well, they’re just too weary of living, and too afraid to take their lives. Now me? I’m - well, …I’m just me. I don’t need to hide behind so crumbling effigy they call a God. I’m cruel. I’m selfish. I’m hated - …But at least, I’m man enough to admit it.”
The fallen holy man looked lost - trapped within the confines of his suddenly, rambunctious mind. His eyes closed at a snail’s pace as he waded through the thick foliage of his depressed inner-thoughts. He’s face was solemn and impassive as he thought over Kusanagi’s words. Was he really as selfish as he said? Were his fears and doubts really that impeding? They had been through so much, it was hard; if not impossible to decide when exactly he had lost he’s faith …but know he wondered if he’d ever get it back?
…Or if he even wanted to.
A ghastly, emerald light lit the grungy, threadbare room with an eerie, spine tingling luminosity; like the tainted aura cast from the dark side of the moon. The air stilled - and for one instance, all life and all emotion were pantomime. The room was deadly, silent as the light pulsed and pounded; violently, cracking energy - emotion - danced intricately through space while the light completely encompassed the room, leaving not a shadow in sight.
Kusanagi stood in the middle of the light; his crimson bangs flapping wildly in the silent maelstrom of light. In his right hand, he clutched a beautiful, but gaudy amulet till his dark hands bled crimson. His lips moved quickly and silently through the incantation he read from memory. The brusque, and vulgar-sounding words dripped from his tongue like honey as he curled his ‘R’s and slurred his ‘S’s; making the Demonic language he spoke sound like lover’s sonnets whispered through the warm autumn night.
…Suddenly, without any forewarning, the shimmering emerald light devoured Kusanagi; leaving the old, decaying room once again, dead.
A small, deceptively frail woman sang saccharinely into the frozen sea of dancing lights. Her long, unhindered hair floated recklessly behind her, shining amethyst - the color of broken dreams, under the dark light of the moon, as the winds around her began to pick up speed. Her malicious blue eyes shone with malevolent glee, as she glared down below her, watching the cloaked man intently, with the eyes of a hawk. Her cerulean gaze was fixed steadily on him - burning, searing holes through the shadowed man‘s very soul. Her vicious smirk frosted over, growing colder as she continued her haunting melody, making sure to keep her iron-gaze steadfast.
…Oh where, oh, where can he be?
His head snapped back and his glittering-gold eyes widened as he sensed the strong demonic energy surrounding him. He could feel the diminutive hairs running down the back of neck stand at attention; the presence was strong. He cursed silently to himself as he jumped to the highest point of the evergreen he stood on. His eyes narrowed into fine, slits of anger and suspicion as he took in the image of the beautiful woman mere feet in front of him. She sat upright, her back ever straight from years of practice and procedure. She was elegant; if ever there was a person, imbued with the grace of god, it was she. She was all curves from her neck to her toes; swan-like and distinguished, her beauty was almost offsetting to the harsh ambiance surrounding her.
The cold glare that marred her face only moments before shifted into a placid, banal smile as she looked into the masked man’s familiar eyes. Instinctively, she could feel his rapidly changing facial expression through the opaque veil that covered his handsome features; she could see the confusion in his eyes.
“You’ve changed…” the ambiguous statement hung heavily between the pair as black and white memories crashed, collided, and coalesced into each other in tattered still frames behind both persons’ eyes. Confusion; Longing; Hate; Shame; Resignation; all met and bubbled into reality; seeping into each other’s veins, imbuing them with a long, bitter pain.
“People tend to do that with time, Syrius; or do you still believe the world revolves around you?” Syrius, the cloaked shaman, flinched at the woman’s venomous barb. He could feel her pungent bitterness piercing through his eardrums as her cyanide words left her cultured tongue. His body tensed, as her honeyed lips parted, preparing for another brutal, verbal strike that never came. Instead, she just stared piercingly into his eyes, in a vain, attempt to communicate without speaking.
Gingerly, Syrius took a small step forward; standing on the balls of his feet on the highest branch of the tree he stood in, trying to appear discrete in sake of his valor, but his eyes spoke volumes of his shame. He had hoped he’d never have to face her again, but he knew he should have known better.
If wishes were fishes, he thought, absently. We’d all walk on the sea…
Syrius felt like he was drowning, though, as he stared at the woman in front of him. She looked so much older now - timeless, even - as she sat quietly in front of him. It was hard to believe she was only eighteen years old - ten years his junior.
Funny, how grief can make a person seem older…
He didn’t have time to reflect on his past misgivings, though; he’d already wasted too much time as it was dwelling in the past. He had friends to find, and a world to save; Syrius didn’t have time to dance with ghosts from his memories.
“I don’t have time for this, Aria, I-”
“No, of course you don’t! If it were up to you, you’d never find the time. You never really were any good at the whole follow-up thing. Running was more your bag, wasn’t it?” Aria, interjected. Her eyes were ice, but her words were fire as they exploded viciously, then froze over the masked warrior; leaving him cold within.
Syrius gritted his teeth as her arctic words washed over him. It was unfair of her to say, but he could do nothing about it now. He had done what he felt was right, but in the end, he guessed it wasn’t good enough. He certainly wasn’t going to apologize for something he had absolutely no control over. He was already carrying enough, as it were; he had no space for guilt.
“I owe you nothing.” He said as he leapt smoothly to the next tree. Aria’s expression was bland as she watched him leap gracefully above her, like an Impala grazing the plains, of what was once Africa; before she instantly reappeared directly in front of him, ramming her knee, full-power, into his chest like an exploding piston. The impact was so strong it sent the masked man plummeting, at break-neck speeds, toward the icy tundra below.
“Nothing,” She sneered; following him down with a leap; her hair fluttering like butterfly wings behind her as she fell stylishly. She aligned her self perfectly with the plummeting warrior, so when his body touched the ground she‘d land flawlessly on top of him, feet first.
Numbing pain shot, explosively, up the bronzed man’s body, as the forest floor broke his fall; only to be doubled by the excruciating pain of lithe feet crashing into his center of gravity, force all the air to come shooting out of his chest. His golden eyes rolled into the back of his head as Aria literally crashed into him.
“…But your life!”
When she looked down she could see deserted roads, cracked and wore by the sands of time. She held her breath, awe-struck, by the picturesque view in front of her. She had no idea were she was, but it was absolutely breath taking.
She began to carefully climb down the steep, cliff - hoping to see what was in the heart of the profuse foliage. As she got the street, she saw the desolate road was lined with abandoned cars, rusted by time. She felt as if she were walking through an automobile graveyard, as she eyed the derelict street.
After walking for what felt like days, she finally made into the jungle’s entrance. The beauty inside the vast sea of trees was multiplied tenfold; Translucent, white creatures of lace frolicked through limitless foliage, as the sound of intricately woven songs were sung by majestic, and exotic birds of every color. White butterflies of light danced around her as she continued her journey. Saying it was surreal to Meridyth was an understatement of copious quantity.
When she finally reached the apex of her journey, the enormous, black monolith in front of her amazed her. Her hands shook as she reached out to it; pressing her palms against the smooth, obsidian surface. As soon as she touched it, though, the shell began to transmute, turning to a chalky-white under her hands. She quickly pulled her hands back, as if she were scalded, and examined her now chalky hands.
When she looked back to the monolith, in front of her, the chalky-white handprints she had left began to bleed, till the incarnadined handprints began to violently pulse. The pulsing then turned into a soft glowing light, which revealed a doorway into the grandiose structure.
Behind her, her surroundings turned gray and quiet; no longer did the beautiful cacophony of the surreal jungle echo and trill in her open ears …everything was dead; as if the monolithic tower had somehow, sucked in and absorbed all life and color in the surrounding area, leaving a void in its place. It was eerie.
She walked inside the ornate structure and was amazed to find all the sounds and colors spiraling through out the monolithic edifice. Swirls of light danced, enticingly around one object, in the otherwise baron, monolith. As she reached it, she was able to determine what it was, and the revelation shook her to her very core.
It was a tombstone, and an exquisite one at that!
The ornate, tombstone was black and laced with gold and silver, and topped with a large and gaudy silver and gold crucifix, but it was the name on it, which caught Meridyth attention. Written across the tombstone in engraved, italic letters, as clear as day, was…
Kusanagi, Mamoru
“Sleeping Beauty, poisoned and hopeless. You're far beyond a visible sign of your awakening; failing miserably to find a way to comfort you…”
I have no set date on the next chapter, but the more reviews and commentery I get; thequicker it will come out. This is my firstreal, original story so feedbackis greatly can contact meby reviewing or emailing me using the link on my profile.
Until Next Time,
J-Kyou
