#void's writing

Yoshi has grown fairly numb to the atrocities of yokai. A decade trapped in a gilded cage that doubled as a gladiatorial ring will unfortunately do that. Of course, now Yoshi has traded one prison for another: Big Mama for this Baron Draxum fellow. Part of him knows that letting the little flying rat monkeys take him from his cell in the Battle Nexus without a fight was a bad idea that will lead to nothing but pain. But Yoshi can’t bring himself to care anymore. He’s sick of fighting. All it has done is land him in cages and endless, pointless blood sport.

Such things become unappealing very quickly.

“Ah, the great Lou Jitsu,” a tall goat-like yokai crows. “Your warrior prowess is legendary."

Yoshi grimaces. “My fighting days are behind me.”

Draxum smirks unnervingly. “Fighting will not be necessary,” he says. “Only your innate genetic gifts.”

He grits his teeth, the bars creaking ominously in his hands. He opened his mouth to rebuke but something interrupts that Yoshi couldn’t have anticipated.

“Baba!” A painfully young voice calls.

Yoshi’s heart drops as footsteps echo down the hall outside the lab and a young girl no older than four and clearly human rounds the corner. Her arms and hands are wrapped in a way that supports good wrist and knuckle alignment, a thin sheen of sweat adhering her tussled hair to her forehead and something that looks uncomfortably like blood smeared on her cheek and staining her outfit. In a moment, the hard shell of apathy surrounding Yoshi’s heart creaks.

She stops in front of Draxum, holding up a thick scroll she can barely put both hands around and a squirming, pulsing mound of pink-purple matter, a poorly cleaned tanto blade strapped to her hip.

“I’m done with practice!” She says brightly, smiling broadly.

Draxum nods and takes the scroll. He then pulls out a rather comical pair of reading bifocals as the girl bounces on the balls of her feet in front of him. As the large yokai looks over the scroll, the girl occasionally steals a look towards Yoshi. She waves at him. Numbly, Yoshi waves back.

“Baba, can I show Mr. Jitsu my little brothers?” She asks.

Draxum holds up a finger at her, still reading the scroll. When he seems finished, he then turns his attention to the weird pulsating ball of plant matter the girl brought with her with a critical eye.

“Hmm. Your work today was most excellent, Spawn,” he says, tucking away his glasses and rolling up the scroll. “You may. After you wash and change.”

The little girl literally jumps for joy. “Yes!! Thank you, Baba!” She says as she scampers away, leaving that weird lump of whatever it is behind in her excitement.

“Do not run in the halls!” Draxum shouts after her.

Judging from the rapid pitter patter of tiny bare feet, the little girl doesn’t heed Draxum’s strangely paternal words. He sighs heavily, pinching his brow before setting aside the scroll and picking up the weird lump of matter to set along side it on the lab table. It leaves a strange puddle of translucent purple liquid where the girl left it on the floor. Draxum sighs again at the sight of it, muttering about the messes of children.

For a moment, Yoshi almost forgets exactly what kind of monster he’s looking at.

But that moment passes quickly as a smirk grows on Draxum’s alien features as he sees the shocked and horrified look on Yoshi’s face.

“You fiend!” Yoshi hisses, the vines creaking in his grip. “What are you doing to that child?”

Draxum has the nerve to turn that smirk at him. “I am molding her into the future general of my armies,” he declares. “Her mystic prowess is remarkable for a human, especially one of her age. And under my tutelage, she will become the greatest mystic warrior the world has ever seen! She will lead the armies I make from your DNA to take back the surface for yokai-kind, and I will relish the irony that a human will be the one to spearhead the extermination of the human race.”

Yoshi’s veins fill with ice. “How dare you…,” he growls.

The bastard’s smirk widens and he sweeps out of the room.

Yoshi is left alone for some time, pulling uselessly at the bars as the minutes slip by.

The little girl returns some time after Draxum leaves, hair damp and wearing a deep green kimono. In her arms is a large blue tub that is almost too large for her to get her arms around. She marches into the lab with an expression of the utmost concentration as she struggles with her load.

“You should not be here, little one,” Yoshi says grimly.

The girl sets the tub down and sits in front of Yoshi’s cage, her bright smile dimmed slightly by confusion.

“Why not? Baba said I can be in here. I just can’t touch stuff,” she says.

Yoshi reaches through the bars to take her hand. “You’re in danger. Draxum will only turn you and your little brothers into a living weapons for his cause!”

The girl blinks. “But I want to fight,” she says.

Yoshi balks a little at this.

“There’s bad things coming, Mr. Jitsu. Really, really bad! A lot of people will get hurt if we don’t stop it!” She declares. Then she looks at him with hopeful eyes. “You’ll help fight, right, Mr. Jitsu?”

Yoshi flinches slightly. “I have sworn off violence, little one,” he says.

She frowns. “But you’re the best fighter ever! If anyone could beat the Mean Metal Man, it’d be you!”

Yoshi blinks. “‘Mean Metal Man’?” He echoes. “What are you talking about?”

She pulls a small folded stack of paper out of her kimono’s sash and unfolds them for Yoshi to see. He feels his heart stop as a very familiar image stares back at him in the unsteady lines of a child’s art.

The girl taps the drawing, a hard and somber look on her face. “I see the Mean Metal Man a lot in my visions,” she says. “He hurts a lot of people and then he brings these scary pink brain things and the whole world dies!”

It is my duty to keep watch for the return of the Shredder.

Some day, you will understand the sacrifice we must make as Hamato.

You must complete your training, so you can defeat the Shredder, should he ever return.

The little girl continues to ramble as Yoshi feels his entire world crumble around him. There’s no way that his Grandpa Sho was right. The Shredder…he can’t be real. He can’t.

Because that would mean that Yoshi has wasted his life and shunned his dwindling family for nothing.

Anatawa Hitorijanai.

“The Metal Man is scary, but I know you could beat him and maybe you could team up with this really strong lady I see sometimes!”

“How do you know all this, little one?” Yoshi asks, still stunned.

“I see them in visions when I sleep. It’s not always the same thing over and over, but it’s similar,” she says. “Baba says I’m an Or…” her brow furrows as she struggles with the word. “Orc-al?”

“Oracle,” Yoshi supplies.

The girl nods. “Yeah! That! I see things that’ll happen in the future.”

“That must be a heavy burden to bear.”

The girl nods again, visibly somber. “It’s scary. I don’t always see bad things, but the bad things are really, really bad,” she admits, pulling her knees to her chest. “I wake up crying a lot…”

Yoshi’s heart pangs with sympathy. Visions of coming disaster is a cruel thing for the universe to thrust upon someone so young.

“And you still want to confront the monsters you see?”

She tilts her head. “‘Com-front’? What’s that?”

“Confront,” Yoshi corrects. “It means to face something. Usually an opponent of some kind.”

The little girl makes a drawn out “oh” sound, understanding. “Like how you’d fight in the Battle Nexus! You were com-fronting your oppon-ments in the Nexus!” She says, fumbling the pronunciation of a few words rather adorably for the subject matter.

“Uh…yeah,” Yoshi says, a little unnerved that this very young girl has apparently seen his often bloody Nexus fights. “But…back to you…do you really want to confront the scary things you see in your visions?”

The girl nods sharply with very little hesitation, a determination burning bright in her hazel eyes. “I can’t just sit around and watch it happen! Not when I can do something about it,” she declares. “Baba’s training me for this! So I gotta do it! And the Mean Metal Man…he’s coming and bringing all the bad things with him.”

Yoshi’s blood runs cold. “How soon?”

How much time did Yoshi have to prepare?

The girl frowns and looks away. “Soon, but not ‘tomorrow’ soon,” she says.

“Years?” Yoshi suggests.

The girl nods. “Fingers and toes number,” she says. Then she frowns. “Maybe? I’m not sure.”

“But it won’t happen soon soon?”

She shakes her head.

That’s a relief. At least there’s time.

“So…little one,” Yoshi says quietly, still reeling from the revelation that the destiny Grandpa Sho harped about constantly was actually true and imminent according to this young child who is apparently both blessed and cursed with knowledge of impending doom, “where are your little brothers?”

To his surprise, she reaches into the tub she brought in with her and pulls out a small green creature.

“Right here!” She says brightly.

In her hands is a small red-earred slider turtle that fits neatly in her cradled palms. He’s fully retracted into his shell but the adorable little creature is pulling himself out again, sniffing the girl’s fingers and wandering closer to Yoshi, evidently curious.

“Aww,” Yoshi coos, feeling a bit of his earlier tension receding as he reaches out to scratch the tiny turtle’s head. It chirps sweetly. “Aren’t you cute? But, little one, I don’t understand. Are your little brothers…turtles?”

She nods. “Baba says he’s going to do science on them and they’ll fight with me some day,” she explains. “He says they’ll be my sub-ordain-ants—whatever that is—but that sounds boring, so I wanna be their big sister instead.”

“I…see…,” Yoshi says, only half lying. He can’t say he’s fond of the notion that Draxum is planning to mutate these innocent creatures.

“This is Blue,” she says handing him the slider.

Yoshi coos a little as the little turtle fits easily in the palm of his hand. Little brothers indeed.

The girl pulls the bin closer, allowing Yoshi to peer inside a bit better, before pulling out an ornate box turtle.

“This is Orange. He’s very sweet,” she points to a soft-shelled turtle, “That’s Purple. He bites sometimes, but only when he’s scared, but other than that he’s very sweet too!” She sets down the box turtle in her lap—the little creature happily nestling into her warm kimono—and pulls out a baby alligator snapping turtle, holding him with both hand on either side. “And this is Red!”

Yoshi reaches out to give the little turtle a scratch on the head too. “Aww, what a sweet little c—“

The baby turtle lives up to his species’ name and snaps at Yoshi’s finger, digging through the fabric of his glove and piercing his skin.

Yoshi shouts in pain, yanking his finger back.

“Ye-ouch! Why you little—!”

The girl laughs brightly and pulls the little creature back. It takes Yoshi’s glove with him, which only causes the girl to dissolve further into peels of laughter. And Yoshi can’t help but join her. The sight of a tiny snapping turtle with no thoughts behind his eyes and a bright orange glove in his beak is a comical one.

At least until the tiny creature tries to eat it.

The girl composes herself somewhat as she readjusts her hold to free one of her hands in order to grab the item before little Red can swallow it.

“No, Red! That’s not food,” she scolds lightly, tugging the glove out of his beak. However, the fabric on the glove’s index finger tears off, still firmly clamped in the tiny turtle’s jaws. The girl looks between the turtle and the now ripped glove in dismay. “Oops. Sorry, Mr. Jitsu.”

Yoshi chuckles, reaching forward to pry the shred of glove from the small snapping turtle’s mouth. “It’s okay, little one,” he assures. “I can always mend it later.”

She tilts her head. “Like sewing?”

He nods. “I had to sew a lot of my own costumes,” he says with no small amount of pride.

The girl’s eyes shine with wonder.

Sewing is a much easier topic for Yoshi to talk about than fighting in the Nexus or the prospect of The Shredder’s return and actually being real. Growing up, Yoshi had precious few hobbies between schooling and Grandpa Sho’s training that he stalwartly ignored, so sewing things was a treasured reprieve. It came in handy during his days of stardom as he gleefully tells the girl. At first, Yoshi made his own costumes out of necessity but when he hit it big, the costume department just couldn’t make the costume the way Yoshi liked it despite their best efforts. It’s been a while since he’s sown, however. Yoshi hasn’t had much contact with a needle and thread outside those of the surgical variety. He’d like to sew again someday.

And in any case, the girl is utterly enraptured by Yoshi’s descriptions of the things he’s made. Eventually, Yoshi runs out of sewing tales, but the girl takes over with a slew of facts about turtles. She speaks with undisguised passion and joy, her hands flapping rapidly in front of her and eyes shining.

Admittedly, Yoshi doesn’t get a lot of it. The girl talks fast and her English is flawed, occasionally even cutting into an archaic iteration of Japanese. Regardless, the pure love and excitement is soothing to listen to.

Unfortunately, their conversation doesn’t last forever as Draxum returns at last.

Yoshi glowers at the yokai, but the girl’s face blooms into a joyful smile that Draxum is wholly unworthy of. Curiously, Draxum’s expression softens ever so slightly as he looks down at the young girl.

“I thought I’d find you here, Spawn,” he says. “It’s time for dinner.”

The girl nods and gently returns her little brothers to their tub. She pauses and looks up at Draxum. “Can Mr. Jitsu join us, Baba?” She pleads, giving him the biggest, wateriest eyes Yoshi has ever born witness to.

“Please..?”

The stalwart yokai actually falters visibly.

Ah. I see she is a master of the ancient art of puppy-dog eyes, Yoshi thinks.

However, Draxum visibly steels his nerves and pats the young girl on the head placatingly.

“Not today, Spawn,” he says. “Come along.”

The girl pouts and casts a longing, sorrowful look towards Yoshi before trailing after Draxum.

And…Yoshi is alone again.

The Author plopped down onto his matress. He’s never had a bed in the cabin, and it was one of the days when he regretted it. His hands hurt, both from furious scribbling while trying to get his character not to move too much while their body morphed into a monster he needed for his latest work and from said monster grabbing his wrist and pulling it away from the paper to stop the transformation. 

Writing was supposed to be a safe job, and yet here he was, with a swollen wrist and, probably, a mild concussion.

Now, after the monster had escaped and was probably causing heart attacks within the local forest rangers population, the Author just wanted to lie down and maybe to get some painkillers. He would have to get up to get those, though, and he really didn’t feel like it. His body was too heavy for it and moving caused his vision to go blurry. He was so tired; his eyes were closing on their own and looking around worked in that weird kind of slow motion that made him feel nauseous. His shirt grew warm around the area where he pressed his wrist to avoid moving it too much.

The situation was not good.

At least Dr Iplier was on the way. He always seemed to know when he was needed in the cabin, almost as if he had his own type of a sixth sense which made him able to sense whenever the Author’s dumbassery reached its peak. He would arrive, carry the Author to the car and drive them to the office, and take care of him while screaming about how this was irresponsible and stupid. And the Author would love every minute of it while acting all defensive about it. 

Doctor was not supposed to know about this. He was just doing his job, taking care of the other Egos, and while the Author was not very subtle and not even trying to hide his feelings, it never occurred to him that he could have said something. Edward had the perfect brain power to be a good doctor (despite being weird about it) but not nearly enough brain power to notice the signs. 

The Author looked down at his shirt, which now, in addition to the warmth, was also wet. Huh, he thought. He hadn’t noticed his wrist was bleeding before. Sudden dizziness replaced the exhaustion he’d felt as he pressed his other hand to the wound and hissed in pain. He had to focus on something to stop himself from passing out. 

He looked around the cabin. Concentrating on writing ideas wouldn’t do it. It was his power, using it now would only make him weaker. He was ready to fight himself from making it the most empty place possible so that nothing could distract him. He didn’t even have a phone to try to get someone to show up faster.

His vision started growing dark around the edges when the door finally opened.

“Author?” Edward stepped into the cabin and looked around with concern.

“Here.” 

The Author tried to sit up straight but his body had apparently decided to go into a shutdown. He couldn’t move; keeping his eyes open was a struggle. He could see Edward approaching him and putting his bag down next to him but it all seemed so far away for some reason.

“Come here often?” he asked with a smirk (or at least what he thought was one, controlling his face was also a struggle) as Edward kneeled down next to him.

Doctor sighed deeply. 

“Every time you decide to do something stupid, apparently. What happened?” 

There was no anger in the doctor’s voice. He sounded professional and the Author was trying his best not to think about it too much. He was trying not to think about anything now that he was safe. God, his head hurt. 

“The Authorstein’s monster’s escaped,” he replied. “My child betrayed me, can you believe it? Also I think it broke my wrist.” “Did you really call it that?” “Yes, and please remember that Authorstein is the creator, not the monster.”

Edward snorted. The Author may have been dying but making the doctor laugh was always his priority, mostly because of how nerdy and perfect his laughter was. 

The concussion made him even gayer for some reason.

“I hate it,” Edward smiled, taking a roll of bandage out of his bag. “Not like I don’t. It tried to vore me.”

Doctor rolled his eyes and gently moved the Author’s arm from where he was cradling it against his chest to take a closer look at the injury. The writer tried not to scream. He squeezed the blanket thrown over the mattress with his other hand. It didn’t hurt this badly when it happened. 

“Sorry. It is broken. And you need a few stitches. And a break from writing until it heals.” “I’m ambidextrous, you know?” he informed just as Edward began to wrap the bandage around his wrist. “I meant more, uh- emotionally? To get some less dangerous ideas. Did you hit your head?” he asked suddenly, pulling a package of tissues out of his coat pocket. “Yeah, why?” “Your nose is bleeding.”

He hadn't even felt it until Doctor mentioned it. He looked down to see more bloodstains on his shirt. I should have worn black, he thought, bringing his unbroken hand up to his face to wipe the blood off. “Oh. Didn’t notice.”

“Keep your head down, please.”

The doctor pressed a tissue into his hand. He assumed the Author wasn’t conscious enough to take one himself and press it to his nose and while the writer hated it he couldn’t help feeling grateful for it.

Edward went silent, trying not to hurt the Author even more while bandaging his arm. The stitches would have to wait until they got back to Egos Inc. 

“I’m taking you to my office.” Edward zipped his bag up and stood up, trying to figure out how to help the Author get to the car. “Well, I’m taking you on a date when this is over, so I think I win here,” he said before his filter had a chance to kick in; he never had much of it anyway. 

Edward rolled his eyes but smiled gently, moving to help the Author up. 

“You have a concussion-” “Well, maybe, but I mean it,” he interrupted, letting the doctor lift him. 

It wasn’t the first time that was happening. He wanted to help, maybe even to try to walk but he felt so weak. 

“No, I- you have a concusion, be careful. We’ll walk slowly, okay?” “Oh.” 

“And I’d be more than happy to go on a date with you.”

“Draxxy-boo! How delightfully fortuitous that you’ve bimble bumbled into my quaint little hotel,” Big Mama greets brightly, her voice dripping with false cheer and falser sincerity. The facade cracks ever so slightly as Big Mama’s gaze falls on the young human child tucking herself against Draxum’s side. “Oh? And who might this little morsel be?”

“The future general of the army you insist on keeping me from creating,” Draxum says bluntly.

Big Mama giggles lightly. “Oh Draxxy~ I’m not stopping you from doing anything!” She says. “It’s simply contrary to my interests to give up my dear Lou.”

“Even when he hasn’t fought in three years?”

At that, Big Mama’s smile takes a sharp edge. “Merely a temporary disagreement,” she says bluntly. “My snuggle muffin will get over his little tantrum eventually.” Big Mama then fixes Draxum with a hard glare. “And no, Draxxy, I will unequivocally not be giving him to you, even if it wounds me that he spurns my gift to him.” The spider yokai then looks at Spawn. “Even if you offer me a promising champion in exchange.”

Instinctively Draxum tightens his grip on Spawn, anticipating Big Mama to try and rip the girl from him. He bristles a little when he sees Big Mama’s steely look give way to amusement.

“Oh? Is that not why you brought your little general with you?”

“No,” Draxum bites out, admittedly a bit too fast and with too much force. He inhales subtly, trying to rein in his emotions. Big Mama is the last yokai on the planet Draxum wants to know of his fondness for Spawn. He stands taller, looking down his nose at the shorter cloaked yokai. “Spawn is here merely to demonstrate to you that I am serious about this matter and I am making steps to move forward in my plans to safeguard our people despite your repeated refusals.”

Big Mama smiles. “Oh, so you don’t need my Lou anymore then?”

“That isn’t what I said, and you know it.”

“Then I fail to see why you’re here, Draxxy,” Big Mama tuts. “Oh, dear, don’t tell me you still want my Lou to make your army from.”

Draxum can’t help the telling curl of his lip. Big Mama steeples her fingers in front of her, elbows resting on her desk and her eyes glinting dangerously. She smells blood.

“Well…if you’re so confident in your little general, perhaps a test is in order, hm?”

“A test?” Draxum echoes.

Big Mama giggles sweetly. “Why yes! Why don’t you let me see for myself the quality of your work.”

And maybe if you impress me enough, I’ll give you what you want, is the underlying implication Draxum reads in Big Mama’s look.

“What kind of test do you propose?”

“A simple one, of course,” Big Mama says, standing from her desk.

She puts a finger to her intercom and it beeps. “Will someone bring The Jackal to the training ring?”

“Right away, Big Mama.”

Draxum balks a little at the name. The Jackal is a lesser known Champion, sure, but he is renowned for his ferocity and bloody efficiency in dismembering and devouring his opponents. A true monster among yokai, brought to heel by Big Mama when the Hidden City’s finest officers failed to capture the villain.

The smug look on Big Mama’s face tells Draxum that she knows exactly what she’s doing. Unfortunately for her, it won’t work as Draxum knows Spawn is more than capable of defeating that slobbering behemoth. The question will be how damaged she’ll be by the end of it.

“Shall we, Draxxy? I’m looking forward to seeing what your little general can do.”

Big Mama makes her way to the elevator, leaving Draxum little choice but to follow. After all, this may be his last chance to convince the spider yokai to release Lou Jitsu to him willingly. It’s risky, for sure, and the idea of setting his prized subject against a beast like The Jackal makes something within Draxum’s very soul squirm irritably, but what choice does he have but to play Big Mama’s game?

Next to him, Spawn tugs at Draxum’s hand. She looks up at him with wide dark eyes and motions for him to bend down.

Instead he picks her up. No sense in risking humiliation bending over to his charge when she’s still so easy to carry.

“Who’s The Jackal?” She whispers in his ear.

“A Champion of the Nexus,” Draxum explains shortly in a low tone. “He ran rampant as a criminal and murderer through the Hidden City for some years before Big Mama brought him under her thumb. Be on guard, Spawn. He will be the toughest opponent you have yet faced. Most of his opponents ended up bloody smears in the arena.”

Spawn shudders a little but steels her resolve. “I can do it,” she whispers back.

“Of that I have no doubt,” Draxum states. “I’ve taught you well, and I will do all in my power to stack the odds in your favor. It’s about time I let you wield one of those in a fight.”

Spawn’s eyes sparkle with curiosity before her tiny body starts vibrating with excitement at the realization of what Draxum is insinuating. The circumstances might not be ideal, but Spawn needs to learn to use the mystic weapons Draxum possesses in a fight sooner or later. She knows the basics of the safer ones Draxum has let her wield, but Draxum knows exactly which weapon will suit her best for this fight.

Draxum knows Big Mama won’t play fair, so Draxum won’t either.

“How do you feel about wielding Hanabi?” Draxum inquires.

Spawn grins widely and nods with great enthusiasm.

“Good. But remember, Spawn,” Draxum murmurs. “Be on guard. Big Mama is known to alter the terms of deals at the last second. Expect her to try and tilt the odds against you at every turn.”

Spawn nods resolutely as they finally step into the elevator and descend to the Battle Nexus’ training grounds. It’s not much different from the actual Nexus Arena, albeit at a smaller scale and closed off in the underground. Still, it doesn’t really matter either way. An arena is an arena.

The Jackal is waiting there, towering above four Nexus guards that hold enchanted chains to restrain the beast of a yokai as he thrashes and gnashes his sharp teeth at them. Big Mama smiles placatingly as she makes her way to her personal viewer’s box. Draxum, meanwhile, sets Spawn down and weaves a small spell in the air between them. A summoning circle calling forth The Flaming Lantern, a kusari fundo inhabited by a powerful fire spirit that Spawn has taken to calling “Hanabi.”

She’s proven proficient with the weapon and the spirit within, and Draxum is certain that The Flaming Lantern will be a good fit for the opponent Spawn finds herself against.

Spawn’s face lights up as Draxum drops the weapon into her hands with a curt nod before going to join Big Mama in her viewing box. He makes it as Spawn enters the ring. Big Mama’s Nexus guards drop their chains and run as The Jackal thrashes and swings his fists down upon them. The guards narrowly evaded what would have been a crushing blow.

It’s not long after that The Jackal notices Spawn standing at the other end of the ring. He snorts loudly and turns his pointed dog-like snout towards Big Mama’s viewing box, lips curled to reveal sword-like teeth.

“Spider! What is this you’ve brought to me?” He bellows.

“You’re newest opponent, Jackal,” Big Mama says with a smirk. “I’m told she’s quite formidable.”

The Jackal throws his head back and laughs cruelly. “This little scrap of flesh? You insult me, Spider!” He yells. “It will hardly be worth the effort to eat!”

Meanwhile, Spawn is re-familiarizing herself with the kusari and paying little heed to The Jackal’s jeers as he continues to insult her as if she’s not in hearing distance. Draxum is looking forward to his Spawn proving the slobbering brute wrong for underestimating her so severely, but he can’t help the knot of anxiety that sits like a stone in his chest. The Jackal, after all, is a brutal opponent, and one far more deadly than anything Spawn has faced thus far.

Draxum’s is half of the mind that it was about time he took Spawn’s training up a notch. But the other half balks at the notion, fueled by a strange protective impulse that compels Draxum to bundle Spawn up and hide her away somewhere far from such dangers.

It’s a strange feeling.

Spawn concludes her test swings and spins of the kusari and moves on to reconnecting to the spirit within the weapon. It doesn’t take her long as the head of the kusari bursts into brilliant orange-gold flames, a similar light shining within Spawn’s eyes as she spins the weapon into a visually seamless ring of fire.

Pride flares in Draxum’s chest as The Jackal pauses mid-insult to turn his attention back to his opponent with wide eyes.

“A mystic weapon? Wherever did she get that?” Big Mama asks, an accusing glance leveled at Draxum.

Draxum shrugs, unable to help his smug grin. “You never said my general couldn’t make use of the weapons in her arsenal,” he says.

Big Mama scoffs. “No matter.”

In the arena, The Jackal growls lowly, flexing his claws as he glares daggers towards Spawn with killing intent, clearly no longer in the mood to heckle an opponent that has proven she can do him harm.

“It seems the brute finally acknowledges his opponent for what she is,” Draxum sneers as The Jackal’s fur bristles while he looks at Spawn with wide, unblinking red eyes. “A threat.”

Spawn doesn’t waste a moment, the kusari singing as it sails through the air. Even from the viewer’s box, Draxum feels the heat of the weapon’s magic and hears the high-pitched, gleeful cackling of the spirit held within. The Jackal takes the blow straight to his face, the mystic flames burning away his fur to sear the flesh beneath an angry red.

The Jackal may have Spawn beat in terms of sheer size and strength, but Draxum has trained her against similar enemies for years now. While admittedly, The Jackal’s size and strength far outstrips the constructs Draxum set Spawn against in training exercises, the principle of dealing with him is much the same.

Spawn is a blur of orange-gold as she darts around The Jackal’s feet, the chains of her weapon lashing her opponent and the very grounds around them.

Big Mama hums next to Draxum, visibly intrigued. “Quite the speedy little fly, isn’t she?”

“At her age and size, it’s her greatest asset,” Draxum rumbles, watching as Spawn slides between The Jackal’s legs as he makes a double-fisted slam attack, the kusari’s chain dragging ahead of her as the head is embedded in the ground the Jackal slammed his fists into. Draxum winces in sympathy as Spawn snaps the flaming chain upwards between his legs. And hard. The high-pitched yelp of pain The Jackal makes is rather amusing though.

“Clearly.”

The pattern continues for several seconds, Spawn darting between The Jackal’s legs as he stomps at her, the kusari whistling through the air at her command. Gradually, Spawn is wearing down her opponent with quick lashes and a hundred shallow injuries that will doubtlessly stack up.

The Jackal’s frustration mounts, the beast of a yokai growling and huffing irritably as Spawn once again darts away from his blows. Draxum has a bad feeling.

“ENOUGH!” The Jackal bellows.

Clutching his fists together, The Jackal raises them above his head, red eyes tracking Spawn’s movement. Draxum’s heart drops to his stomach as The Jackal slams both of his fists down directly on Spawn.

Spawn shouts in pain as The Jackal finally lands a hit on her, slamming the small girl into a crater in the arena’s dirt floor. The Jackal grins cruelly with bloody teeth as he follows the hit with a double-fisted slam. Draxum is on his feet before he even realizes as The Jackal slams down on his prone child. He can’t tear his eyes away from the spot Spawn fell as a cloud of dust fills the arena.

“Well, that’s that, I suppose,” Big Mama says nonchalantly as Draxum feels like his world has shattered.

The dust starts to settle. The Jackal grins cruelly at the spot he’s crushed with his brutish fists. Except, that grin falters as the dust clears. Beneath him, there’s a brilliant, warm glow that burns steady and bright. Under The Jackal’s fists, Spawn lays with her back against the crater, blood trickling steadily down a cut across her forehead, nearly hidden in her hairline.

Spawn has stopped his fists with her arms and one foot, her left forearm braced with the mystic chains of The Flaming Lantern as she pushes back. The palm of her right hand and the bottom of her left foot are similarly pressed against The Jackal’s fists, pushing them back and from dealing a fully crushing blow even as Spawn shakes from the strain.

Battered, bloodied and bruised, Spawn still pushes The Jackal back with a colossal yell and shove. The Jackal staggers back as Spawn drags herself to her feet. Her arm looks broken or at least fractured, the chains of the kusari fundo likely being the only thing keeping that arm in anything approaching fighting shape.

But Spawn still stands. Still breathes.

Draxum chuckles lowly, smirking at Big Mama. The spider yokai looks decidedly less smug than she did mere seconds ago.

“What are you?” The Jackal growls.

Spawn grins wickedly and makes one final lash at the ground. Draxum wonders what exactly she’s doing up until he looks at the bigger picture. The arena floor is littered with seemingly random gashes that Spawn inflicted as she danced around The Jackal’s attacks in a flurry of fire and chains. At the time, they looked unintentional, but all together, Draxum realizes they were anything but.

A grin spreads across his face to match Spawn’s. “Oh, you clever girl,” he marvels.

At the same moment, the smug grin on Big Mama’s face grows strained and brittle as she likely comes to the same realization Draxum did.

The chains of the kusari flow around Spawn of their own accord, like a snake coiling protectively over its nest. In a flash, the head lashes out at The Jackal, seemingly of its own accord. The brute bellows in pain as the flaming head of the weapon slams into the center of his chest. The acrid smell of burning hair and flesh reaches Draxum in the viewer’s box, but at the moment he can think of no sweeter scent.

The Jackal staggers back into the center of the arena as Spawn makes one final gash in the ground with the kusari’s chains. The circle completed, the carved lines quickly fill with the orange-gold light of the kusari and Spawn’s combined magic.

The pride in Draxum’s heart swells further as he recognizes the advanced bit of magic Spawn is implementing against her enemy.

“Firestorm!?” Big Mama exclaims in shock. “She knows a spell like that at her age!?”

“She shouldn’t,” Draxum asserts, still grinning. He certainly hasn’t taught her that spell. The fire spirit—the one Spawn has taken to calling Hanabi—is likely the culprit there. Draxum can’t find it in himself to be mad at it for teaching his general such a powerful spell before he deemed her ready for it.

The pillar of flame the spell creates fills the arena and reaches the ceiling, filling the whole room with incredible heat that Draxum can feel searing his fur even from the viewer’s box.

The Jackal howls in pain as the flames consume him, unable to dodge with his position in the circle’s center. When the spell runs its course, the arena’s dirt floor has turned to jagged crystals of blackened carbon, the ceiling glows an ominous shade of red from the heat, and The Jackal stands smoking and dazed in the center, fur burned off and body covered in angry red burns. He stays standing for all of three seconds before collapsing to the ground with a colossal crash. He doesn’t get up again.

At the circle’s edge, Spawn stands, swaying considerably, her right arm hanging limply at her side and covered in blood—much of it her own—and a plethora of cuts and bruises. And dirt. So much dirt.

Looking up to Draxum, Spawn flashes a tired smile that he returns with a proud nod of his head.

Meanwhile, Big Mama looks uncharacteristically off-kilter, staring in unmasked—for her, anyway—shock at her thoroughly defeated champion. However, she regains her composure rather quickly.

“Well, you’re pint-sized general certainly packs a wallop!” Big Mama giggles. “I would be glad to take her.”

Draxum’s heart stutters. “What…?”

“Hm? But isn’t that what you brought her to my Nexus for, Draxxy?” Big Mama asks, the picture of false innocence. “You can’t really be expecting me to part with my darling Lou for nothing. No, no. That won’t do at all.” Her eyes glow ominously as she turns to face Draxum directly. “But if you give me your prized subject, then maybe I’ll be more agreeable.”

It should be a no brainer. It should be. With Lou Jitsu in his possession, Draxum can finally build his army of unstoppable warriors, and his people will be protected from the coming calamity at last.

However, Big Mama is asking for a hefty price.

Draxum fights to keep his cool, scoffing irritably like Big Mama hadn’t just asked him to forfeit his soul. “But what good would an army be without its general?” He asks.

“True, true,” Big Mama relents, still grinning that wicked grin. “But then again…you can always make another. And why would you want to put a human at the head of your precious army anyway? I thought you found them disgusting and foolish.”

“I do,” Draxum says bluntly. Because it is true. Humans are fools. But…, “But Spawn is more than mere human, and thus her inherent value is greater. Besides. Spawn has not been raised by humans long enough to be inflected with their foolishness.”

“Is that so? Then who raised the girl, hm?”

He stands from his seat and looks Big Mama straight in the eye. “I did,” he declares. With that, he sweeps away from the spider yokai. “Good day, Big Mama. A pity I won’t be doing business with you.”

Draxum is out of the viewer’s box before Big Mama can even get a retort out, making his way down to the arena as Spawn limps over to him. Internally, Draxum winces as he catalogs Spawn’s injuries. Her arm is indeed broken, her stance is unsteady in a way that belies a possible concussion, there’s a cut somewhere in her hairline that is bleeding profusely, and she’s littered with cuts and bruises.

All in all, not as bad as it could have been, but worse than Spawn has ever been made to endure.

Without a word, Draxum gathers up his Spawn and he carries Spawn out of the underground arena and to a more private area of the Nexus Hotel. The whole way, the girl is eerily silent. Thankfully, she’s not unconscious. Given that Draxum is fairly certain that she has a concussion, sleep will have to be postponed until he’s sure his general is out of danger.

“I’m sorry, Baba.”

Draxum nearly stops dead at the quiet, fragile words the girl speaks. “What are you apologizing for, Spawn?”

“Big Mama didn’t let you see Mr. Jitsu because my fight wasn’t good enough,” she says.

“That’s not it at all, Spawn. Don’t make such foolish assumptions,” Draxum scolds.

The girl shrinks in on herself a little in his arms, and Draxum sighs.

“I told you that Big Mama is fond of altering the terms of agreements on a whim, and that’s exactly what happened,” he says. “Your performance was perfect.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Draxum confirms. “I would have preferred that you didn’t get so damaged, but such things can’t always be helped.” He chuckles. “Besides. Even if Big Mama once again denied me access to Lou Jitsu, your efforts today gave me something equally precious.”

“Really? What was it?”

At the memory of Big Mama’s uncharacteristic shock, Draxum can’t help his laugh. “You smashed Big Mama’s usual mask of smug confidence and I had a front row seat to it!” He cackles. “And I got the last word in our conversation!”

“Is that really so precious, Baba?”

“Seeing Big Mama on the back foot and getting the last word? Oh, absolutely.”

From there, the silence isn’t as heavy as Draxum warps them home. He may have lost his final chance to convince Big Mama to release Lou Jitsu to him—or even let Draxum have access to his DNA—but…well…Draxum has other options at his disposal.

Perhaps he should look into hiring some gargoyles after all. ———