How Legends are Made 3

How Legends are Made 3

Yasunori Kaname

Training under a Darkin was utterly miserable. It was one part bootcamp, one part ascetic meditation, and one part foreign language immersion. Admittedly, I wasn’t very good at anything but the physical aspect.

Domination was supposed to give me knowledge of all languages, but that didn’t mean I could use lesser runes effectively. Each rune needed specific amounts of mana depending on what I wanted them to mean or which other runes they were used with. Functionally, it was grammatical conjugation with mana quantity, shape, and flow and I was not cut out for that.

The physical exercise was much more straightforward. Joraal trained me from the ground up, as if I was a neophyte attempting to enter the emperor’s guard. His brutal assessment of me was that I lacked everything, everything save for brute strength and grit.

‘That is good. Techniques and spells can be taught. Mastery will come with experience. But resolve, that is a treasure to be unearthed by each man in the depths of his own heart,’  he rumbled.

‘Can you at least cut it out with your philosophical crap when I’m fighting for my life?’ I grunted as I bobbed and weaved around yet another spirit fiend.

It looked like an oversized, bipedal rat, about the size of a small woman. It was fast enough that I’d only managed to land a few, glancing blows on it. In return, its claws shredded my leather jacket like cardboard. This was the third I’d run into since leaving Sato-san’s shop.

As I found out, staying at that abandoned construction site long-term wasn’t really an option. It was a gathering place for the local hoodlums and ne’erdowells. That itself was fine; I even beat a few of them and forced them to run errands for me. No, the real problem was that when I practiced, I released mana into the air and it drew in these spirits.

Or at least, that was the running theory. Joraal was no magical scholar. He was a hemomancer, as all Darkin were, but he’d been a warrior captain. He had a very limited understanding of the broader workings of magic. Naturally, I was even worse, so the best we could do was guess at the laws that governed the magical world here.

Training on the move was a pain in the ass. I slept beneath bus stops, inside train stations, and the occasional capsule hotel when I could find one nearby. Still, I couldn’t complain too much if these things kept finding me. As Joraal said, live combat was the best possible teacher.

I baited the rat-spirit in by opening my guard a fraction. When it came to slash my throat open, I took a half-step back and caught its paw at the wrist. With a twist of the hips, I planted its face into the cement in a textbook-perfect flip.

I didn’t let go; I knew better by now. These things were immune to conventional force and could only be killed by magical attacks, or mana-reinforced fists in my case. I punched the damn thing until its skull caved in and stood.

Reinforcing my body was almost second nature to me now, but it left me feeling as if electricity was running through my veins. It couldn’t be helped; the mana reinforcement Joraal had been teaching me was itself a rudimentary application of hemomancy. The tingly, numbing effect was just a consequence of channeling that much energy through my bloodstream.

As the spirit began to fade into nothing, I got to packing. I took the arrival of one to be proof that more would follow if I kept practicing here. Worse, whichever organization of mages tracked this sort of thing wouldn’t be far behind.

‘You cannot run forever,’ my Darkin companion said, his voice rumbling like a landslide in my mind.

‘No, but am I really in any position to fight a proper mage?’ I pointed out.

‘You are weaker than the least of the warriors I once commanded.’

‘Yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence.’

‘Know thyself. Thine first enemy is fear.’

‘Is that Ionian?’ I asked curiously. ‘There’s a philosopher who said something similar in this world, too.’

‘Demacian. I was sealed there, within the vaults of House Fortis. I believe the full saying is “Know thyself, and know thy duty. Thine first enemy is fear, conquered not by lance, but by courage.”’

‘Huh… Never mind, then. Nothing like Sun Tzu.’

‘They were a rather dramatic sort.’

‘Well, I have no duty.’

‘You have two: Grow stronger. Learn more about this world’s hidden mages.’

‘That… Fair enough. Am I getting stronger though?’ I said as I slung my bag over my shoulder and mounted Sato-san’s bike. ‘Like you said, your warriors were all stronger than me and I don’t want to be found by any of the supernatural if I can help it for now.’

‘You have time. It would help if we could train in a stationary place. Drilling on the march was never as effective as drilling during times of peace.’

I mulled over his words as I drove out into the night. A quiet place to call my own, where I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone walking in on my magic training, would be nice. I hadn’t been able to really relax in a week, and not just because of the occasional spirit finding me.

Tokyo was out. This whole metro area, one of the biggest and busiest in the world, wasn’t exactly the place to be to “find peace.” Hell, if there really was a mysterious organization that governed the moonlit world, and they were in any way related to the government, they’d be based in Tokyo or Kyoto.

At the same time, I didn’t think the occasional spirit finding me was a bad thing. Joraal was right: Live combat was a great teacher. I needed a guilt-free way to test my techniques, after all.

‘I think I have an idea.’

‘Oh?’

‘A place outside the city that’s also notorious for dead bodies.’

‘These spirits do seem to be drawn to strong negative emotions. I would imagine death is one such source of lamentation.’

‘Yeah, that’s the idea. Hopefully, we can stay there for at least a little while.’

‘So be it.’

X

After spending the last of my money on some camping supplies, I headed out into Aokigahara Forest, the “Sea of Trees” that bordered the northwestern base of Mount Fuji. When I began searching for a rural area that was likely a gathering place for evil spirits, this was the place that first came to mind.

Online, this place was oftentimes called “Suicide Forest” because people came here to hang themselves. The Japanese government used to keep a public record of bodies but stopped sometime in 2003, presumably to try and get people to stop associating this place with suicide. To the best of my knowledge, they failed and dozens of bodies were found each year.

I wondered how much of this was supernatural in nature. After all, this world was a little different from the one I’d known. Or perhaps, it was the high number of deaths that drew spirits here like moths. It was the chicken and the egg scenario.

It helped that this place was less than two hours’ drive from Kabukicho. I left my bike at a trailhead before heading into the wilderness. Strictly speaking, Aokigahara was only thirty square kilometers, about eleven square miles, but the woods were so dense and rocky that hiking was a struggle. Here, I could easily lose any forest rangers continuing my training so long as I stayed off the trails and promenade.

At the moment, I held a rabbit in my hands, its head palmed in my right and its shoulders in my left. With a reluctant wince, my hands twisted in opposite directions, breaking its neck instantly.

I was no stranger to catching and gutting fish for fun in my past life, but there was something different about doing it to a rabbit. Maybe because it was a mammal, or because it was cute. The dull crack of its snapping neck felt more personal in a way I couldn’t explain.

‘Good. Now use its own blood as a knife. Skin it alive from the inside out,’  my teacher’s voice rumbled in my mind.

It had been two weeks since I arrived in Aokigahara. Things had settled in a semi-predictable rhythm. I worked out in the morning, went through drills, and practiced wielding Joraal’s heavy shield. I then wandered around, learning to sense the mana released by the recently dead, both animals and humans.

I supplemented the supplies I’d brought with fish and game. It was probably all kinds of illegal, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. If nothing else, anything I caught also gave me the opportunity to perfect my hemomancy.

Manipulating another living being’s blood was actually the third lesson he taught me. The first had been reinforcing my blood to improve my strength and durability. The second had been shaping my blood into weapons. My constructs weren’t nearly as durable as Joraal’s shield, but I’d never be disarmed again.

I gently held the rabbit and tried to feel its blood. Its tiny heart pumped erratically before going still, as if it had finally realized that the animal had died. My mana flowed into the beast, but try as I might, I could not exert control over its blood. It was comparable to trying to start someone else’s car while in my own.

‘Is it supposed to be this hard?’

‘Yes. Blood holds a great deal of significance, both as a magical reagent and a symbol of life, identity, and combat. Usurping control over the lifeblood of another is exceedingly difficult to do, even when that “another” is an already dead rabbit.’

‘So I noticed,’ I grunted, still trying to gain some kind of response. ‘It has to be possible, or you wouldn’t be asking me to do it. Is there a trick to it?’

‘The easiest way is to mix your blood into their own.’

‘And if I don’t want to? Or can’t?’

‘You manage. That is why I am having you start with dead prey animals. You likely will not manage it for many months and mastering it in combat will be the work of a lifetime.’

‘Well, shit. Bloodbending does sound pretty cool, though.’

‘Bloodbending, hmm? I suppose that is as good a name as any. Practice with your rabbit for an hour; then, you may clean it with a blade made from your own blood.’

I sighed. This promised to be a tiring lesson. Still, I got what he was trying to do. If I made bloodbending a part of my daily life, then I’d learn it that much faster. ‘Fine, I guess I’d better get started.’

X

He was right. It took me a solid week before I received even the faintest feedback from my fish and rabbit. I learned that because fish didn’t have much blood, it was a little easier to work with a rabbit. That worked out well for me; rabbits were tastier in my opinion.

Now, a month since I arrived in these woods, I was a full-fledged, nomadic wildman. I dodged ranger patrols and trained like my life depended on it, because it very likely did. And, on occasion, I murdered a spirit or two that was drawn in by Joraal’s bootcamp from hell.

It was too good to last, too peaceful given we were in a place called Suicide Forest. Joraal began teaching me to sense ambient magical energy, partially so I could recognize a buildup and predict an attack, but also so I could start looking for spirits on my own. I’d only really gotten good enough to search a small area, but my range was expanding every day.

“H-Huh? Who’s there?” a nondescript, middle-aged salaryman called. He was in the middle of tying a rope around his neck.

I dashed out of the nearby woods and knocked him out, just as Joraal taught me. Using his own rope, I tied him up and slung him over my shoulder before making my way to the nearest ranger station. Those tended to be manned in shifts and I had no trouble avoiding one or two men by now.

When Joraal taught me to sense mana, he also taught me to sense negative emotions, the kind that brought forth these spirits. I absolutely sucked at distinguishing between the two so it was a bit of a tossup whether I’d find a spirit or a person who was ready to end it all.

Maybe the ones I saved would rethink their life choices. Maybe they were truly determined to die. Whatever their ultimate choice, I figured that this way, my conscience was clear.

I didn’t always run into evil spirits, but it was a fairly consistent thing. I fought one with rope burns on its neck, another with bleeding gashes on its wrists, and still more signs of self-harm. It made me wonder just what these spirits were, and if they could really be called “evil.”

They weren’t sentient, of that, I was sure. They wandered about the forest, sometimes at random, sometimes in preset patterns. But always, they went berserk when they saw me. No amount of reasoning or pleading got me a response so I put them down, hoping that they found rest in whatever afterlife existed.

I continued on my search. It was night now, when spirits seemed more active. I wondered why that was exactly but put it out of mind. There was a large magical signature I’d noticed several days ago. It was like a malevolent tumor, a persistent scent in the air that I could not ignore.

I knew it was a spirit because it moved. Either that, or it was a mage, but I figured that a lone mage out here was worth approaching if I could do it on my terms.

I found it waiting for me in a small clearing. It was a spirit, at least as far as I could tell. It was a minotaur lookalike that stood seven feet tall, with a thick neck, bulging muscles, and a pair of horns that had no business being that big on a humanoid creature. But who knew? Maybe mages in this world transformed themselves into mythical creatures.

No, the biggest clue that this thing wasn’t human was the thick rope around its neck. Its neck was noticeably pinched, with bruises and rope burns that looked thick enough for me to put a finger into. This hangman’s rope was tied to a giant, stone millstone, the kind used in ye olden days to grind grain.

It wasn’t subtle. Obviously, this was the “spirit of suicide” or whatever else came about from an accumulation of negative emotions. That explained the rope, and the millstone which probably represented the burdens of life, but I had no idea why it took the shape of a minotaur.

There was no bell to kick us off. It saw me and the weight of what I now recognized as raw bloodlust crashed down on my shoulders. I didn’t hesitate, not anymore. An eager grin stretched across my face, a smile that was all teeth. A familiar pounding filled my ears.

We charged each other as one. Truthfully, I was probably just as bullheaded as the literal minotaur, but fighting was all I knew in this life. So be it, then. As my Darkin friend said, all empires were forged in blood.

Its fist raced towards my face like a train, but I was already ducking out of the way. My own right hook caught it in the liver, forcing it back a step. As it flinched back, it yanked the millstone around its neck, making it rise in an upward arc towards my face.

I stepped aside, dodging the blow. My mind raced a mile a second. The blood fiend had used, well, blood. It could harden its fingers into daggers that cracked open a man’s skull like a watermelon. Stood to reason that this thing had a trick up its sleeve. Since it looked so damn weird, my bet was on that millstone being the focus of its ability.

It kept attacking. Bullheaded ferocity was a tactic in itself. I couldn’t dodge forever, so I did the only thing I could: I met it blow for blow. The Darkin Aegis formed in my left hand, by now a comfortable weight that I knew would never break.

Its fist crashed into my shield with a deafening bang. It was easily the strongest spirit I’d ever faced, but the aegis held. I barely felt the impact as I stood my ground.

I sidestepped the next punch and raised my shield. Using it as cover for my approach, I cut off his line of attack and slipped beneath his guard. That gave me the time to land an uppercut into his floating rib. This time, I kept going. If one barely phased it, then I’d just have to keep hitting it until it died.

As we traded blows, it became painfully clear that it was much stronger than me. But at the same time, I was faster. The millstone around its neck made it slow to turn and I danced circles around it.

I slipped another sloppy hook. This time, I raised the triangular shield so I could slash it with the edge. The Darkin Aegis had several crimson spikes made of crystalized blood. If I could get it with that, then I’d be able to manipulate its blood from the inside.

That proved to be a mistake. It capitalized on the moment I raised my shield and kicked me in the stomach, launching me into the air. It grabbed the rope around its neck and lunged, swinging the millstone like a flail. The stone crashed against my ribs. Reinforcement be damned, I felt the bones snap like matchsticks as I was once again tossed into the trees.

The coppery tang of blood filled my mouth. I tried to rise, but my body felt heavy. It wasn’t just my crushed ribcage, which was slowly knitting itself back into place; my body literally weighed more.

‘Guess I know what that millstone does now,’ I thought sardonically as I stumbled to my feet.

‘Interesting. What will you do now? You are no longer fast enough to flank it.’

‘I’ll figure it out.’

Even with the near-instant communication of telepathy, that was all I got to say before it was on me again. Its millstone was clutched in one hand as it charged. Its horns were lowered, just like a bull.

I threw myself out of the way. With my heavier body, I barely avoided being trampled or gored.

Before I could get up, it brought its millstone down on me. The stone collided with my shield, loud enough to send every bird for miles fleeing into the sky. Immediately, the shield felt heavier. “Unbreakable” didn’t mean it couldn’t be used against me.

Again and again, it swung that flail. My shield became heavier and heavier until I had to balance it on the ground using the spike. Instead of trying to move the shield, I braced against it and rose, putting everything I had into an uppercut that would have toppled a semitruck.

I then grabbed the millstone for myself. The stone was shaped like a donut, with a central hole that the hangman’s rope was tied to. I shoved my hand into that hole and pulled the minotaur into a headbutt even as I used it to stand.

A howl of pain left my lips. Headbutting a literal bull-demon wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had.

Still, I got what I wanted. It reeled back in pain, but my hand in the millstone dragged me along. That let me pull it back into another headbutt. At the same time, I dismissed Joraal’s shield, freeing up my left hand to catch its counter.

I used the millstone as both a shield and a maul. Each of its punches felt like sledgehammers but running wasn’t the answer, not when I was already weighed down so much. We beat each other bloody knowing that whoever fell first would die.

My vision was starting to go fuzzy at the edges. Before I could black out, I resummoned the shield on top of my opponent. It, weighed down many times over by the minotaur’s magic, crashed down like a hydraulic press. The spikes dug into the bull’s hide and I felt renewed.

I recognized it in an abstract sense. This was Domination. This was Taste of Blood. So long as I kept fighting, so long as I was willing to capitalize on every opening, I had a truly bottomless well to draw from.

It let out a bellow of pain. Finally, it stumbled onto its back. I fell with it, landing on its barrel-like chest.

I skewered it with the point of the aegis and used its own millstone to bash its head in. I didn’t know how long I kept at it, but I saw the barest hint of pink beginning to color the horizon. The spirit faded with the dawn, leaving me panting for breath. 

I waited for the World Rune to activate. Yet, nothing. Dark Harvest failed to trigger. A mental nudge gave me the impression of dismissal, as if Domination had witnessed the battle, and been dissatisfied.

‘Crude, but acceptable,’ Joraal’s approving voice rang in my mind. 

‘Yeah? Fuck you, too,’ I drawled, too exhausted to try for something witty.

‘You have learned reinforcement. You can heal yourself by weakening your opponent. You can make minor blood constructs. It is as much as you will learn alone. You are ready.’

‘So I am. It’s about time I headed back.’

Five weeks after Sato-san’s death, I finally turned my gaze home.

Author’s Note

For our purposes, mana behaves much like cursed energy. Or rather, Domination distorts itself to conform to the laws of this world. And, if Yasu’s practice releases mana, cursed spirits are drawn to it just as they’re drawn to cursed energy in general.

Animal Fact: The saltwater crocodile has the highest bite force of any animal, at 3,700 psi. For comparison, Mike Tyson’s punches were estimated to hit with anywhere between 1,800 - 2,200 psi in his prime.

Some of you knew that so here’s another: Crocodiles have the most acidic stomach of any animal. I know, weird, right? I guessed some species of vulture, but I was wrong.

This is because they have a unique heart that redirects deoxygenated blood towards the stomach. This blood is rich in acidic CO2 and stimulates the production of stomach acid. Because of this, crocs generate up to ten times as much stomach acid as any other animal.