Twitch: The Broken Blade

A little over one hundred years after the death of the Shadow, in a place where magic was uncommon but not unheard of, I joined a group known as "The White Knights." As the name would imply, this chiefly human group was one which prided itself on helping others. In actuality, however, the White Knights were little more than a conglomerate of highly coordinated killers. There was a fine line between them and common assassins.

There were a few glaring differences between the White Knights and petty cutthroats: they were officially sanctioned by most world powers, strange as that may sound; they were funded primarily by one individual; and their contracts generally were for the good of mankind. That is just it, though, for the good of mankind.

The man who headed the rather large organization of mercenaries was, at the time, the most affluent man in the world. He came to fortune through the development of the "modern age" of architecture, among other things. He was agreeable enough, for a human, and was widely praised as a philanthropist.

In spite of this I did not particularly care for him - simply because his world view was so narrow not even a mouse could squeeze through it. He adhered to a strict moral code; which in itself is actually quite admirable, I believe, but it was rife with oversight and hypocrisy… such is the way of man, I suppose.

He cared little for anything not bipedal. He was the kind of man who would deforest an entire continent to build housing for the homeless, without a single care for the impact it would have on the environment or its non-human residents.

I affiliated with the White Knights for one reason and one reason alone: they were privy to virtually everyone and everything which transpired in the world. The White Knights, in order to further the leader's agenda of "world peace," developed an incredibly complex and immense intelligence network which spanned the globe. The boss was obsessed with knowing everything about "what was wrong with the world," as he said, ignoring my pleas for sensibility.

Often times, though for different reasons, my mission intersected their goals; my targets were often their targets. I figured I could use their extensive knowledge of all happenings in the world to further my own ambitions. The work was easy: go here, kill this rapist or murderer, take some off time to study up on potential threats, return, rinse and repeat. I was cleansing the world of filth all the while gaining access to the largest database the globe had to offer.

-----

One day I received an assignment in the island nation of Uua. I was chosen because of my considerable combat experience and my knowledge of obfuscated history. The assignment was queer for many different reasons. Foremost amongst these was that Uua was an isolated and fiercely guarded country which refused all contact with the outside world. As a result of this isolationism, the White Knights had very little records about the nation or the happenings therein, as even our most able spies were unable to successfully infiltrate the island.

Evidently our contract was issued by the emperor of Uua, himself, and not our esteemed master. For a nation of Uua's mystique, such a request, out of the blue, piqued my interest. Something horrendous must have transpired…

The second reason, by far the most interesting, I found this contract to be extremely disconcerting was because of the details surrounding the target. Namely - that the word used was "target." The report dictated by the emperor stated that a single man was causing violent discord in the nation; going so far as to state that entire towns had been destroyed by this man.

The amount of mana required to lay siege to towns single handedly should surely register to my perception, and yet I had felt nothing out of the ordinary in that particular part of the world. The fact that one man should be capable of that… I concluded that he must either be a mage capable of creating mana suppressant seals even stronger than mine, or he was using some unknown and potentially destructive force or technology. Either way it was worth looking into; I could not let a human with the power to both elude my senses and mass murder to roam unabated.

Initially our organization surmised this contract to be a hoax until I took an interest in it; then it became top priority. I was shipped out on one of Uua's royal vessels, the very one which bore their messenger to our organization, alone. I was forced to sign an internationally binding nondisclosure agreement which barred my release of information to the White Knights or any other interested parties. As my ties were completely self-contained, I agreed.

-----

I had been to Uua a few times in the past: in fact it was on a small island a half kilometer off the mainland to the south where I awoke, a little over 180 years prior. The countryside was beautiful and vibrant. The terrain was dominated by mountainous regions and deciduous forestry, and this country was the exclusive home of the cherry tree in this world, which would bloom each spring and coat the entire island with petals. Most of the freshwater found on this island nation came from a spring water lake known as "God's Tear," in the native language, and three rivers flowed through three massive valleys across the island.

The vast majority of the settlements in Uua could be found on or near these rivers, the rare exception was most likely a mountain temple or the Forbidden City, where the emperor resided, at the peak of Mt. Arrak where God's Tear rests. The architecture there was very unique when compared to the rest of the world; not surprising considering they were isolated from modern construction. It emphasized the natural color and shape of wood and stone. They also used thatch roofing, something I hadn't seen in over 300 years.

The people of Uua were typically very short and extremely slender, with a considerable amount of melanin in their skin, which was a silky tan. Most of the people had dark hair, but hairstyles were limited to their position in society. The nation would forcibly restrict styles to your caste; monks, all male, shaved their heads ritualistically; serfs, both male and female, wore their hair long and in buns; the warriors wore short cropped hair in a tri-Mohawk shave, among many others according to rank, and so on.

They were about as considerate of outsiders as a Cockatrice is to heron eggs.

Very little seemed to have changed since last I had cause to visit the island, some 78 years prior. This is both a blessing and a curse, in my opinion. The aspect I hated most about the island, aside from the fact that I awoke there, was the horribly dated and imbecilic culture these people had. For one as pragmatic and bestial as I there is no place in the world for honor or pride - two abject principals this culture holds above even life and death. Tribal disputes would rage over matters as simple as someone forgetting to return a borrowed milk cow to their neighbor, should they belong to opposing factions.

-----

The translators were surprised to find that I spoke their tongue, albeit ruggedly; yet in spite of this, or, perhaps, because of this, everyone was still wary of me. Unbeknownst to me I was to be received by the emperor himself for debriefing, and so I was admitted an "honor" most natives of the land never receive, let alone a foreigner: admittance to the Forbidden City.

It disgusted me to behave the way I did, but I humored the people. I bowed my head and spoke only in response, never turned away from the emperor, and offered my "most sincere thanks for this opportunity of a lifetime." I bowed my head to this impudent wretch, who would not even reciprocate my introduction! He was not worthy of my respect, but for the sake of my position I put on the façade. I was the man who would set their country right and they had the gall to consider me a nuisance.

Regardless, I learned a few interesting details about my prey. He was actually the elder brother of the emperor, and a former general of his tribe. The best warrior in the nation, the man was highly regarded for his tact, strength, and speed, both of mind and body. He was set to be executed the month prior, for the murder of his wife and daughter, but escaped his holding - which I should mention was nothing more than confinement to his room, for they actually expected him to take responsibility for the sake of his "honor" - and went on a rampage.

From what I was told the man was incapable of the use of magic. An alarming revelation. He was last reported having decimated a settlement following the north-flowing river.

-----

Oddly enough the emperor sent me off into his country alone, without any sort of supervisor. I was given an official "writ of communication," a document stamped with the royal seal dictating the cooperation of any who look upon it, and a traveler's permit. Without them I likely would not have so much as received a "hello" from a cheery innkeeper, being a white-skinned foreigner. It was a major inconvenience, having to safely store a paper in my clothing and flashing it every single time I wanted to speak to someone. People in Uua could be insufferable at times.

For two weeks I followed the trail of suggestions and the scent of blood and bodies; eventually I decided I would find more merit in relying on my own tracking abilities than the sketchy testimony of the hesitant citizens. Each night, after I set up camp, I would enter a meditative state in which I focused my mana perception into an extremely broad radius around myself. Having intimate awareness of each living being within a radius of over one kilometer in x, y, and z dimensions takes an immense concentration and a lifetime of practice; I managed to actively scout a five kilometer radius for about ten minutes at a time.

I made sure to set up camp near villages and towns, out in the hills during the days. It was my hope that I would be able to perceive the massive loss of signatures as a result of slaughter. It mattered little to me if one or two villages fell, so long as I could find this elusive general…

-----

The sixteenth day of my search bore fruit. I felt the sudden drop in the quantity of mana signatures in a condensed location, perhaps a town square or something. My prey was destroying a village. I waited for a moment before charging out, observing the methodology… The mana signatures faded fast, but I was able to ascertain that it was a steady and methodical passing. The signature at the heart of the mob, the vague blur of a man moving with incredible speed, was, indeed, killing everyone who came at him in hasty succession. His mana signature did not flourish or flame, nor did I sense any spectacular capacity. My target was not using magic; not even physical attunement.

So how, then? How was this one man able to slaughter dozens of people within seconds? How was he able to move with such speed? I scorned the fact that mana perception could not be used to telegraph vision. At that distance I would not be able to use my sonar, either, so getting a precise reading or visualization of the conflict would be difficult until I got closer. I sent my mana into the ground, building earth over my campfire and putting it out, and left the site. At a full sprint it would still take me at least an hour to reach the village. There was little hope of anyone's survival, at this rate.

-----

"Wh-who are you?!" The man panted as I neared. He was covered head to toe in a damp crimson shroud. He wore simple attire, leather breeches and a ratty tunic, donning the hairstyle of a general, the topknot. He wore two scabbards, arranged in a queer fashion, one over his shoulder and the other beneath his armpit.

The scene was brutal - hundreds of corpses scattered about. There was no discrimination in the bloodshed; man, woman, and child all in kind were sliced to pieces. The familiar scent of viscera had been assaulting my olfactory senses for a while, so I had a vague idea of what to expect. The dirt road, where the village had made their stand, was as much blood and flesh as it was soil. The buildings were all intact, not quite what I was expecting, but for the occasional door which had been kicked open, implying a raid. This man most certainly was not killing in self-defense.

"WHO ARE Y-YOU?!" He screamed, stuttering. This time he did manage to arrest my attention.

"Zien," I replied with a formal bow, "and might I be so bold as to ask your name?"

He gripped the fine, gold-worked hilts of his blades in the scabbards. As he held each hilt he crouched down. In order for him to hold both hilts, in their respective scabbards, at the same time the man needed to clutch his torso in a strange way. His left arm gripped the blade under his right armpit, and over his left arm his right crossed to reach the hilt sticking up above his left shoulder. It almost looked as if the man were embracing himself, trying to find some cold solace in his own feeble existence.

His brown eyes were wet with more than blood, wide and darting. I had seen those eyes before, many times, ever since I was a child. Like the cornered hare, or the whimpering fawn; like the infant cub, or the innocent child. I felt it through his eyes. I was intimately familiar with that sensation.

"G-go away!" He stuttered again.

"I shall not."

"W-why…?" He whimpered.

"You've yet to introduce yourself, my competent eviscerator."

"Me…? My name is…" He paused, looking around. He never let his hands fall from the hilts of his katana, but his head was not still. His eyes and cranium swiveled about as he searched the area for an enemy that was not there.

"You're remiss in recollecting even your own namesake?" I inquired.

He jumped, squeezing himself tighter, and faced me as though he had forgotten I was there, "N-no… I-I am… Twitch."

"Your name is Twitch?"

"Huh?" He turned around entirely this time, looking out into the dead road before him. It would have been the perfect opportunity to kill him, but something was bothering me… I had to test the man.

"No…Wait, yes…" He stammered, facing me once more, "That's w-what they call me… After t-that…time."

"Do you refer to the incident in which you murdered your family?" I goaded.

His eyes bulged and he glared directly into my own. Twitch began to tear up and his knuckles clenched around his katana even tighter, draining the blood from his hands, "Th-they… came up. Behind m-me," he paused and made a deep squealing noise, "Everyone… always out for m-my head… A-assassins….alw-ways. I'm the best!" He screamed in anguish, "St-strongest… in the world."

"I'm not so certain." I antagonized further.

"D-damn kids… always th-the kids," He ignored my incite, "H-honor…They all want h-honor… Challenge…assassins…All d-dead. Then… Kino c-came…" He started audibly sobbing as he spoke, now, "War time…d-during war time… With my little S-Saka in arm… U-unannounced. She t-tapped me… I-I-I-I,"

Somehow Twitch managed to find more flesh to constrict. His muscles tensed as he crushed himself even further, never once releasing his sure grip on the blades. He clenched his eyes as he continued, trying to repress the memories, "S-she knew it was h-hard on me… She knew I h-hated it. K-knew I wanted to s-stop… No more d-dead. Kino only wanted to comfort m-me. It was…late. I was…t-tired…"

"It sounds to me like you are attempting to make a pitiful excuse," I grimaced, "You cannot abnegate your offences."

"A-and then…" He was clearly lost in remembrance, "and then…" He whispered in a weak squeal, "I-I didn't even see… them… before it was… o-over. My little Saka… My beautiful Kino…gone…f-forever…"

As old as I am, as prone to repeated tragedy as I am, such stories come in spades. I cannot afford to let myself feel empathy for my prey. It is painful, yes, though it is not something unique to any one individual…At times I scorn myself for thinking in such a way.

"I see." I humored the man, straining myself.

"S-so I can't…die… I won't!" He groaned.

"Why is that?" I raised an eyebrow. I was curious, now. This was not something I had ever heard, before. Typically people with sorrowful pasts, such as his own, are actively seeking death as penance for their transgressions, burdened by the guilt of their sins.

Twitch grunted and relaxed his grip, ever so slightly, glaring up into me once more, "Th-they died…for…m-me!" He shouted as though condemning the ignorance of a child, "They died… So I could l-live."

I opened my mouth, trying to wrap the confusing matter around my brain, but was rendered unable to speak. I have never claimed to know the emotions of man with any great intimacy, but over the years it has become easier for me to deduce the actions and thought processes of others based solely on the inputs of situations, environments, and similarities to past experiences. To me, it is a simple matter finding and allocating the right variables into an equation to determine the probabilities of various answers… and his words did not register as probable in the least, not even for a clearly unstable individual.

"I can't die…" He started again, whispering fiercely at me, "Or t-they died for nothing… I w-will honor their s-sacrifice…. I w-won't die…"

I was caught off guard. It is true that he did not use mana, but he was still insanely fast. I did not have time to counter, however I was still maintaining my stone flesh. He was perhaps the most skilled swordsman I had ever witnessed, surpassing even Johan. In less than two seconds he managed to cross one meter of corpse riddled terrain, draw his katana, slice me six times, sheath his katana, and pivot around the offal on the ground behind me to face my back.

His strength was remarkable as well. He managed to strike me so hard on his last blow across my back that he managed to cut through my defenses and lacerate my shoulder.

"W-what are you?!" His voice shivered. He was clearly surprised that I survived the assault.

I was frozen.

"W-why didn't you…die?!"

My eyes were wide. I was right… More so than I wanted to be.

The island nation of Uua has a popular superstitious belief. It is often said that when individuals of similar or kindred nature cross blades, that a piece of one another's soul is transferred in the exchange. What, exactly, that meant, if anything, I had no idea. At least… not until that moment.

I instantaneously knew the moment Twitch's blade first made contact with me, before the assault had even ended, that he was afraid. This Fear he held was unlike anything I had ever experienced before, yet simultaneously that which my entire being was comprised of. A mortal fear without base… When he struck me; through his heart, up his subclavian arteries, down his arms and into his joints, through his flesh and into the hilt of his blade, and even through the blade itself, he transmitted his fears.

His fears of me. His fears of his country. His fears of his brother. His fears of his past. His fears of his future. His fears of humanity. His fears of the wild. His fears of anger. His fears of hate. His fears of honor. His fears of his pride…

Fear…

Fear…

Fear of his life and for his life.

Fear of his death and of his after-death.

Fear.

It made sense to me, now, how Twitch was able to survive without any special abilities, weapons, or magic. It was raw, primal fear. It was the very thing which kept me alive, which drove me to become stronger. Fear is more potent than any god, than any magic; fear is the root of all power. Knowledge of fear, alone, does not bring one to fear, to power. One is born with it.

Twitch was born with it, just as I. That primordial essence boiling within us, that primeval force which bends even the spirits to its will, that enigma we all seek to escape. Fear is the one true strength, the heart of all instinct, the volition of life itself. Its power is intrinsic, derivative, yet only one that comes with an understanding which cannot be taught, cannot be learned.

"H-how?! W-what was that?!" He screamed. This was the path his Fear led him down. He was not alive because of the honor or sacrifice of his family, and he knew it. He was afraid to die. Afraid to forget them; afraid to forget his Fear.

"Fear of Fear…" I muttered.

"W-what?!"

I turned to face Twitch, my countenance not too different from his own. Our faces were marred by the very thing which kept us alive.

My skin crawled.

"W-who….wh-what are y-you…?"

My being trembled.

"W-what are you?"

I saw myself.

"W-who are you?"

It transcends all.

"Wh-what am I?"

"You…"

"I…"

Who said what became a blur; one so strong that not even my diamond could unlock it from my nous.

Ultimately, he lunged at me one last time. For a moment I was not sure I would survive, I was still and unable to overcome my Fear. He was I, and I he, our Fear was one. It transcended reality and all tangible reason…But one would be stronger.

-----

And my Fear was stronger. My instinct took precedence, as reason and logic had long since left that town. The mana poured through my arms, drawing out the diamond into a thin blade which ran the length of my arm and past my hand. Twitch drew his blades and I threw my fist at his face. He attempted to parry the indestructible carbon by slashing at it first with one blade, and when it broke, the second. He sighed, in that instant. It was a sigh of relief, a sigh of thanks, and a sigh of pity.

The encounter was over in less than half a second, so quickly that only one with heightened senses could even discern the blur of motion. I pulled my arm from his cranium and let the diamond recede into my flesh once more. My triceps wore bits of Twitch's face, brain, skull, and cartilage, but I did not wipe it away immediately. I stared down at his crumpled body, stained with the blood of his countrymen and among their corpses, my eyes still wide with fear for my life. At that very moment, in spite of being surrounded by death, I could not help but feel like my life would be ended by some unseen force; as though the body of Twitch would rise and finish me off with its bare hands. I was a foreigner, an anomaly, in that land of the dead; unwelcome.

I fell to the ground, my knees splashing in a pool of blood which had not yet been able to settle into the hard earth, and I wept. Why did I weep, and for whom? For myself? For experiencing my own Fear, for drawing it out to its fullest? For Twitch? For his wife and child? For the tragedy which was wrought because of this Fear?

Fear has no agenda save self-preservation. In this, Fear is just like life. Or rather, Fear is life. It was because of the fear of emptiness that the Earth was formed, because of the fear of solitude that the spirits were created, because of the fear of immortality that life was born. Fear is Fate.

My Fear was stronger. That in itself is a loss.

-----

I don't know how long I stayed in that village, only that by the time evening came around I could no longer tolerate the putrid scent of rot and vacated bowels. I picked myself up off of the ground and turned away, walking down the dirt road alongside the river, treading over the limp and mushy bodies of the villagers. Vultures, Death Hounds, and various other carrion eaters had already descended from the hills. No coyotes.

I walked until I reached the river. At that point I promptly stripped, dumped my stone flesh, jumped in and followed the flow, staying afloat on the gentle current and gazing up into the setting sun. The caked on blood was beginning to flake off and dissolve into the water.

I never looked back at that massacre. I could not bear the thought of seeing Twitch's corpse. For the first time since I had joined, I "failed" a mission for the White Knights. Uua was safe, but Zien the outlander was unaccounted for: presumed dead.

-----

I drifted with the river through the valley of death until I reached the ocean. The cold, cleansing waters could do nothing for my soul.