Kitsune Travel Record's

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SOUL SPACE

January 12 2009

Lucian sat beside the golden trunk, his eyes closed, his body still as a statue.

He focused intently, attempting to control everything from his soul to every part of his physical body.

His breath was slow and measured, his mind calm and focused, a testament to years of arduous practice.

•-----•-----•-----•-----•

Lucian opened his eyes.

He felt the wound on his palm healing, the warmth spreading like a soft caress.

He took a look at it, a small smile playing on his lips. He had been able to do it to heal a wound, after only two years of practice.

'Having your abilities is the best thing that happened to me.' he thought,

acknowledging the ability he got from Cortana help him control his body.

Cortana appeared in a mini soul form,

her golden figure shimmering slightly.

She shook her head, her voice laced with a gentle reprimand.

"Don't think it's all because of me. You have great talent, and your own efforts to learn are what make it fast for you to control your body."

Lucian nodded, remembering the grueling training he'd endured to achieve this mastery.

-2 weeks ago-

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the scarred stone floor. Lucian, barely a nine years old, lay gasping, a deep gash across his abdomen a testament to the brutal training.

His master, Ozunu, stood impassive.

The air hung heavy with the scent of sweat and blood a familiar smell in the orphanage.

Ozunu didn't offer aid. Instead, he knelt, his hand resting lightly on Lucian's chest, above the wound. "Feel it." Ozunu rasped,

"the disorder. The struggle."

Lucian felt only agony. Each breath was a burning torment. But he obeyed, focusing on the wound, the searing pain, the frantic pulsing of his life force. He remembered the years of training that led to this moment,

the agonizing hours spent balancing on nails, his body screaming in protest, his weight a shifting, treacherous thing he'd learned to command.

He recalled the painstaking practice of scent control, the meticulous refinement of his senses until he could track a heartbeat.

Each discipline, each controlled movement, had been a step towards this ultimate control.

"Now" Ozunu whispered,

"Still the disorder. Find the rhythm. Find the order within the disorder."

Ozunu's hand pressed deeper.

Lucian struggled, his mind battling the overwhelming agony.

He focused on his breath, on the steady rhythm of his heart a rhythm he'd learned to manipulate to slow and speed at will, a rhythm that echoed the controlled precision of his movements on the nails, the focused intensity of his scent tracking.

Slowly, agonizingly, a shift occurred. The pain remained, but it became structured,

a symphony of suffering.

He felt the blood was not as a mere liquid, but as a living current, a river of life struggling to find its course.

He felt the damaged cells, their frantic attempts at repair, their desperate cries for order a microscopic echo of the controlled precision of his body on the nails.

the precise movements of his muscles, the focused energy of his senses.

Ozunu's touch guided him.

It wasn't healing, not yet but a subtle redirection, a coaxing of his body's innate healing processes.

He felt the blood flow begin to slow, the pulsing of the wound to lessen. This was the culmination of years of pushing his body to its limits, of mastering his senses, of finding the order within the disorder.

It was the ultimate act of control.

Hours, perhaps days, passed.

Lucian lost track of time, existing only in the moment, in the delicate dance of healing. When he finally opened his eyes.

the wound was closed, a faint scar the only evidence of the brutal battle. He was weak, exhausted, but alive. He had learned to listen to his body, to feel the symphony of life, and to conduct its healing a symphony honed by years of controlling his weight, his scent, his hearing, his very essence.

Ozunu stood, his face impassive.

"The body is a weapon, Asura" he said, his voice echoing in the silent chamber.

"And like any weapon, it must be mastered. You have taken the first step."

Ozunu had ceased Lucian's formal training after he'd mastered a wide array of weaponry, from single-handed swords to double-bladed ones, as well as the kusarigama and shuriken.

That day, however, marked the only time Lucian had healed under Ozunu's direct guidance. This was the first time he had achieved it independently.

"But you need to always remember that you can only control your body to heal small wounds. You can't even use it while fighting." Cortana said. A hint of worry clouded her face. She knew what was going to happen today.

Lucian nodded, standing and walking out of the room. He headed towards the main hall, the sound of his footsteps echoing softly in the silence. When he slid open the door, he noticed that all the children were there.

The main hall was lit only by the flickering flames of torches hanging around the room, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls. The air hung heavy with the scent of wood smoke and anticipation.

'They've increased again,' he thought, noting the new faces in the room.

'Looks like the ninjas kidnapped a bunch of them,' Cortana said, her voice tinged with sadness. These children were not like them, not like you and me, who have mature, stable souls. These children could have had normal lives if they hadn't been taken away.

'It's fine. A year at most, and Raizo will get this place destroyed.' Lucian said, his voice filled with a grim certainty.

He walked past the other children. ignoring their stares, as he walk Infront of Ozunu.

"Lord Ozunu." he said, bowing his head.

"Are you ready, Asura?" Ozunu said, his gaze fixed on Lucian, the boy whose potential was stronger than anyone he had ever trained.

"Yes, I am, Lord Ozunu. I shall prove myself." Lucian said, his words laced with a hidden urgency.

He thought, 'Finally getting out of this place.'

"You will follow Takeshi. He will monitor you on your first mission." Ozunu said.

He thought to himself, 'He will be a perfect ninja, but he needs to stop hesitating. This will prove if he is useful or not.'

"Yes, Lord Ozunu." Lucian bowed his head.

Lucian mentally sighed.

He was the best student, yet he was also the most disappointing. He knew that. He was the one who kept hesitating to hurt the children the same age as him.

That's why he was going on this mission. This would prove if he could bring himself to kill someone.

Then he heard Cortana's worried voice.

'Are you really ready? This is the first time you're going to kill someone,' she said, her voice tinged with worry and conflict. She was afraid he might not be able to do it. If he didn't, he would be punished.

If he did kill, it might change him forever.

'Maybe the person I'm going to kill deserves to die.' Lucian said, trying to convince himself.

Cortana was silent. It was possible. Many bastards, murderers, drug addicts, and pushers ended up dead because of the competitive nature of the criminal underworld

"I hope so." she said, the words barely audible.

Ozunu nodded slightly at Lucian.

"Go. We, your family, are waiting for your success." He spoke the words with an unnerving calmness, his expression unreadable.

With Ozunu's words, Takeshi appeared behind him, stepping out of the shadows. He stood silently, his gaze fixed on Lucian, his dark eyes unblinking.

His presence was a palpable force, a stark reminder of the ruthless efficiency of the Ozunu clan.

Lucian nodded at Ozunu, then turned and walked toward the darkness.

Takeshi followed, his movements silent, his shadow blending seamlessly with the night.

They vanished from the sight of the other children, swallowed by the deep shadows of the hall

•-----•-----•-----•-----•

The night was alive with the sounds of the city. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and exhaust fumes, a stark contrast to the clean, almost sterile air of the orphanage.

They arrived at a dingy warehouse, the air around it thick with the smell of decay and sweat. The building was shrouded in darkness, only a single flickering lightbulb illuminating a grimy doorway.

They slipped inside, blending into the shadows. The warehouse was a cavernous space, the air thick with a palpable tension. The only sounds were the occasional creak of the floorboards and the muffled chatter of voices punctuated by bursts of laughter.

He could see a group of men gathered in the center of the room, their faces illuminated by the harsh glow of a few bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling, their expressions relaxed, their movements casual.

They were joking and laughing, their voices loud and boisterous, their conversation filled with slangs and vulgarity. the scent of cheap whiskey and stale sweat hanging heavy in the air.

Lucian could see that the men in the room were a collection of misfits, their faces etched with the stories of hard lives and broken dreams, but they seemed content, even carefree.

They were all wary, aware that the danger was never far away, but they were making the best of their situation, trying to find moments of joy in their lives.

"How many gangs from London gonna buy boss?" One of the men said as he put all kinds of guns on the table, showcasing his wares.

Then he looked at another man, as Lucian followed his gaze.

He saw a man, tall and broad, his silhouette outlined against the harsh glow of the bulbs. This was the leader, he could tell, his posture commanding respect, but his expression was loose and easygoing.

He was leaning against a crate, his arm slung around a scantily clad woman who was laughing at his jokes. He had a gold chain draped around his neck, and a diamond ring on his finger.

He exuded the confidence of a man who had risen to the top of the criminal underworld.

Their boss talked as he gossiped,

"They will all buy, don't you guys know Finn Fucking Wallace is dead?" He said, as he laughed. The others were shocked.

"How did that motherfcker die?" One of his men asked.

"He was killed. They haven't figured out who was the killer, but I heard Sean burned a kid on the roof trying to figure out who did it. It's just a matter of time before all the gangs start fighting over their territory."

Everybody was excited, thinking this would be their chance to rise up from the gangs in London and not just by selling guns.

Their eyes gleamed with greed and ambition, their dreams fueled by the chaos and opportunity that a power vacuum always brought.

Just when they were continuing their conversation, another guy, his body full of tattoos, walked towards their boss.

"Jack, there's a letter for you."

"Oh, let me see. Someone still writes me letters." Jack laughed as he opened the envelope. But he noticed there was nothing inside.

He frowned as he opened the envelope wider and tried to pour out its contents.

When black sand poured out of the envelope, he threw it to the ground, his expression shifting from amusement to anger.

"Do you think I'm joking with you?" Jack said, his voice low and dangerous. He put his hands on his waist, meaning if he didn't answer carefully, he would pull out his gun.

"Boss, I didn't know what was inside of it." the tattooed man said, panic creeping into his voice. Just when it seemed like a fight was about to erupt,

Lucian, who had seen the black sand, knew what it meant. He glanced at Takeshi, but the man stood unmoving, a statue of stillness, his face a mask of impassiveness.

Then Takeshi's eyes looked at Lucian, but he didn't say anything. His look said enough.

Lucian sighed. He knew he needed to act, and act fast and decisively.

The warehouse atmosphere was dark.

Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting harsh, uneven shadows across the the room.

Lucian, a figure sculpted from the very shadows themselves, moved with fast precision and his presence was not noticable, a sudden tightening of the atmosphere before he even moved.

His opening move wasn't a strike, but a calculated disruption a shuriken arched through the air with impossible precision,

a high pitched sound cutting through the sudden silence, striking the electrical panel with a sharp crack.

Sparks erupted, a brief moment the lights turned bright before the lights died, plunging the warehouse into absolute suffocating darkness.

The sudden blackness wasn't simply the absence of light it was a sensory shift of power, a dramatic curtain falling on the bravado of the men, replacing it with the fear, gasps and shouts as they stumbled around in the dark, their bravado replaced with a desperate scramble for survival.

The fight that followed wasn't a series of discrete events, it was a brutal, chaotic massacre.

Lucian was a whirlwind of motion, a predator unleashed in the darkness, his movements a blur of lethal efficiency.

The men were no match for his skill, their movements clumsy and panicked.

Their shouts and curses echoed through the warehouse, a grim symphony of fear and pain.

His kusarigama, a deadly chain and sickle, became an extension of his will, a dark scythe cutting through the air with a low, menacing whirr. The weighted chain wrapped around the tattooed man's neck with terrifying speed, the impact a sickening thunk followed by a wet, gargling sound as the sickle sliced through flesh and bone of his neck.

The man's body convulsed violently,

before collapsing with a heavy thud,

his head rolling to the floor a dark stain blooming on the concrete.

The smell of blood already began to taint the air.

The chain still spinning, snaked out with brutal efficiency catching another man's leg, tripping him into a brutal collision with the concrete floor, the sound of cracking bone was heard.

Before the man could even cry out,

a shuriken, launched from an unseen angle found its mark with deadly precision.

embedding itself deep in his temple with a sickening squish.

Another shuriken, a deadly blur, found its mark in the throat of a man who had only just drawn his weapon the sound a muffled thud followed by a choking sound where the man choked in his own blood.

The remaining men reacted, but their actions were frantic uncontrolle, their fear palpable in the oppressive silence.

Lucian however remained a symphony of controlled violence. He moved like a phantom, a shadow of death in the darkness.

His katana blade became a blur of motion, the katana sliced through another man's arm, separating it before the man could react.

The katana then sliced his throat, the blade disappearing as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind a stark crimson stain spreading across the man's shirt.

It followed by a final, desperate gasp.

His tanto flashed, a silver streak in the darkness piercing the heart of another man, followed by a fountain of blood erupting from the chest cavity, painting the wall in a gruesome crimson pattern.

Jack, the boss, roared in fury his voice a guttural bellow in the darkness his hand finally finding his gun, the metallic click of the safety a jarring sound in the oppressive silence.

But before he could raise it,

Lucian was upon him, the kusarigama a blur of deadly motion.

The weighted chain wrapped around Jack's neck with terrifying speed, the sickle catching his jaw with a sickening crunch. The force of the blow sent his head snapping back, his eyes bulging with pain and disbelief.

The sickle then sliced deep into his throat, a gruesome arc of crimson paint against the darkness, as blood erupted from the wound. Jack stumbled his body wracked with convulsive spasms as his life drained from him.

The kusarigama continued to spin, the chain wrapped tight around his neck, the sickle now dangling over the edge of the concrete floor.

The only one left standing was the woman. She watched paralyzed with terror, as Lucian moved amongst the bodies

His movements a brutal Killing, each action a testament to years of training,

a symphony of controlled violence.

The air hung heavy with the coppery smell of blood, the silence punctuated only by the woman's ragged breathing and the drip, drip, drip of blood onto the warehouse floor.

He spared her, his eyes briefly meeting hers, noticing the terror in her eyes at he look at him.

Then, as quickly as he had arrived, he vanished into the shadows leaving behind a scene of carnage, the lingering scent of blood and fear a suffocating reminder of the brutal efficiency of the Ninjas.

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Next Chapter 22: No Regrets

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