Footsteps pattered against the rain-wet streets. The slowing descent of water droplets from the roof tiles into well-traveled pools signified the end of another Summer storm. A dead rat bobbed up and down within one as a young boy eyed it hungrily from an alleyway.

He shivered and sneezed, which only made his ever-present hunger rise into a loud rumble. It tore into his ribs and guts and caused him to wince with pain.

Quintin was six years old, an orphan living a harsh fate when the first encounter with his Master unfolded.

He squinted up into the sky. The parting clouds took on the form of a rising white dragon in shape as the heat from the sun began to dry his wet skin. A smile escaped him as his eyes closed to take in the bright warmth. At some point, a shadow loomed over him, which blocked it out and caused him to frown. His eyelids slowly parted, with a mouth full of anxiety he croaked.

"Mister, can you please move? I-I'm not hurting anyone sitting here... am I?"

The man who stood before him wore a loose-fitting robe that was spotless and white. It seemed to draw all attention upwards to his bald head and then back down again in pursuit of a thin-wispy Fu Manchu beard that flowed to his waist. His brown, bespectacled eyes peered pensively down on Quintin momentarily before a wide toothy smile shone from his features — his Father had had that same brightness.

Quintin smiled as tears sprinkled from his eyes, yet he did not look down, mesmerized as he was by the returning still life memories of his parents.

The man spoke, "My name is Bilal Abbasi. From today on, I'd like for you to become my first disciple; what do you think about that?"

Quintin was woken up by those words, and frantically tried to wipe his tears away. He didn't get very far before feeling Bilal's hand tousle his hair. Looking up through parted fingers, he couldn't help but smile and begin to laugh.

--

Quintin's eye slowly opened while the flashback departed. Over the past few months, he had had these flashbacks to times he fondly remembered and had also changed the course of his life.

His Master had taught him to read and write, to live once again in the sun, and to enjoy what small things could become with a slight shift in mentality.

He had also taught Quintin martial arts, specifically, a nameless series of Grappling techniques. Throws, take-downs, and pins that focused on attacking the joints and applying the right amount of pressure.

His fingers became steel beams that, once gripping, never let go until the end. His muscles, pronounced, footsteps light and decisive after having had his Master's guidance for all twenty-one years of his training. He was twenty-seven as of this year.

But now his Master, Bilal Abbasi, was gone.

A sudden rustle of movement broke him away from his thoughts, causing him to scan to his right with his one good eye. It was misty, so misty, that he really couldn't see more than a few feet in any direction, yet he knew his Junior Brother was sitting up here with him.

His Junior Brother, Oltoi, groaned and fidgeted before he finally gave voice to his irritation, "Quintin, where are you? Can we go? You know I don't like being up here."

Quintin sighed heavily. It was becoming more evident that no meditation would be happening today. "What did Master always say? To overcome our fears, we must confront their reality. I could put you in the suspension harness again..."

Oltoi squealed out a hasty reply, "Nonsense. No no. Where we are is fine; that won't be necessary," he meekly added, "please?"

Quintin snorted but ultimately sighed again with a wan smile. "Just hold on. I'm coming over to get you."

Ever since their Master had passed away, it had been just the two of them who took care of their Master's old Monastery in the Himalayas near Dehra Dun. Oltoi was baby-faced and still struggled with the loss every day. He felt everything more deeply than most, he wasn't a strong martial artist, but he was Quintin's Brother even if irritating to try and train or meditate alongside.

Quintin found Oltoi not five feet from where he had previously been meditating. Oltoi's palms were searching the ground with his eyes shut tight — afraid the ground will suddenly fall out from under him, no doubt.

He was about to speak, but Oltoi beat him to it. "Why do we have to take care of this place all by ourselves? Why can't some of the old people, from down the mountain, come up to help us?" he meekly murmured.

Same as it ever is. He's afraid of heights but even more fearful of letting down our Master. He's still in a constant battle to remain steady. What do I say? I wish Master was here to help me -

With the only answer he had, Quintin placed his hand on his brother's shoulder and began to help him up.

"Because that's what our Master wanted at the last moment of his life. He said we should only leave this place when we find our answer of peace and to understand our future path now that we no longer have him to guide us."

Oltoi shook then and flung off his help in anger. "I don't give a fuck about that! How are you so calm? He's dead! He's never coming-" he crumpled to his knees, and the sound of muffled sobbing came from his mist-form, "back."

Quintin held his emotions in, shook his head, and bent down to help Oltoi back up. "Come on, let's go back to the Monastery and play around with the sword crusher. I know I could use some release time."

***

Back at the monastery, which was a well maintained and deeply cherished place, the marble walls gleamed into a deep archway leading within. Directly past that, an open martial grounds filled up a large box of space. Walk-paths trimmed around the edges and went off to various side rooms, gardens, and other more hidden places.

One such path led to an equipment lockup where all the monasteries surplus items and daily training gear were kept. The two strolled up to it and push-parted the double doors.

"Ready to crush some metal, Oltoi? We've gotta put on all that extra padding and the face mask, but it's so worth it, right?" Quintin said in an attempt to cheer him up.

He's more at ease now, but that could just be because we're no longer on the cliff platform. Maybe we can go down into the city later and look at the pretty girls downtown.

The 'Sword Crusher', as they dubbed it, was quickly spotted by the duo. It was an odd piece of machinery, nothing fancy or overly streamlined but well-used and taken great care of. It had two cylinders of pressurized air that strapped into place on both sides of the lower arm. A grip handle glove held two triangular pieces of thick metal in place with a weapon-catch slot dividing them. The pneumatic plates were on the inside where a blade would go; a squeeze of the grip handle would compress down on anything inside. The actuating mechanism was powered via pressurized forces from the canisters; that is to say, it was able to snap metal in half.

Quintin spoke once all their gear was put on, "Well, how does it look? come on, swing that sword at me!" He stood poised with sharpening focus and motioned eagerly for Oltoi to swing.

With a 'Yah!' the sword came in low and slow, to which Quintin raised his foot off the ground and waggled a derisive finger. The next slash came right in the pocket, in a loose arc that demanded to be caught, but he never got the chance. Time slowed to a crawl, and the space around him began to distort; a creamy white spiral came hurtling down through the mist, from the sky above.

He looked up as the mist parted in its wake. A whooshing vibration seemed to drown out all other senses; his body felt numb and strangely pain-filled at the same time. It only got worse and worse until the pain was all that remained, and the Pneumatic device on his wrist began to super-heat. It started to fuse as one with his skin and perhaps even deeper within as the rings of light continued to vibrate around the space he occupied.

His gritted teeth gave way to a wide-mouthed scream.

"AHHH-!"

Within that lengthy scream, a tendril nipped into his dead, white eye, which then pulled him up while still attached to it.

+***+