YoruTatsu Chap. 0

YoruTatsu

    By Trip Woodward





    Chapter 0: The Curse



    Madness.

    That is all that surrounds me.

    Nowhere can I go.

    Nothing can I do.

    No-when can I be.

    No way can I have let this happen to me.

    Wait...What is that light?

    It looks like...a door...

    I go towards is, navigating my immense self towards it.

    Curses!

    It is nothing more than a window, nowhere near large enough for myself.

    I can see a vast, beautiful landscape, with a strange mass of structures in the distance, emitting light that pollutes the night sky, omitting no stars near the aura it emits.

    Below, I can spy a lone, cone-like structure of animals' skin.

    Outside it, an old man sits, meditating.

    He has black hair, reddened skin, and a deep voice as he chants.

    He is what I was.

    Human.

    I look back into the madness of the place between realities, back to where I know the seal sits.

    It glows.

    A solid circle made of swirling light, tinted the secondary colors.

    I cannot believe that I let that wretched great-grandson of mine seal me in here.

    He renamed me once I took this superior form.

    I quite like that name, actually.

    It fits.

    Lust shall grow in power eternally.

    With the type of lust it is, I shall become more powerful.

    PowerLust.

    I gaze back at the one-way window, down at that old man.

    I sense a great amount of spiritual energy in him.

    Perhaps...

    What if I...

    ...

    ...Yes...

    ...Yyyyyeeeeeeeeessssssss...

    ...That will work nicely...

    Soon, I shall return to my world...

    That vile boy and his friends, as well as the entire world, will know my fury.

    I shall win...





    The night was deep and getting deeper. Overhead, the harvest moon shone orange. The ancient Native American below sat in a meditative sitting position. He chanted during this, assisting in his quest to expand his awareness to other realms. Soon, he pushed enough to get to the barrier between his world and another's. Which world, he could not control. Only the Great Spirit knew.

    Immediately, he sensed an evil presence. One that was not very old at all; in fact, it had been there for only a few minutes in its own time. However, it was very, very powerful, evil, and worse: insane. It was also a gifted sorcerer. It sought vengeance on its world for exiling it.

    The shaman nearly gasped. It was watching him, and at the moment, was in the middle of a very complex curse. Or, should we say, the end.

    "NO!!" The shaman stood up and opened his eyes, spinning to where he sensed the presence. Just then, a bright flash of light shot out to him.

    As it hit, an intense pain rippled through his body, mind, spirit, and soul. He heard a growling, laughing, hating voice in his being.

    "HAH! Too late! My curse shall soon transform this entire world into my slaves, and I shall return to my homeworld!!" it shouted in triumph. However, the old man doubled over in pain had a few tricks hidden in his moccasins.

    "N-no, you evil beast!" he wheezed. He felt his body begin to change, and wasted no more time. He grabbed an old, well-kept handmade knife and, without hesitation, ripped open his animal hide vest and jammed the blade into the left side of his chest.

    "WHAT?! You cannot kill yourself! I made the curse force you to remain immortal!"

    "Yes," said the shaman calmly, disregarding the pain, and began to carve into his own flesh. "However, I am not trying to end my life. I know I cannot. However, I know the evil your curse shall force me to inflict, and so, using the mystical power I possess, I shall at least add rules to the curse to make it less in your favor--!"

    By now, he had finished carving a symbol emblazoned on the back of his vest. Then, he began to carve smaller symbols into his flesh around it. He noticed that his skin was, much more slowly than the evil being had intended thanks to the shaman's high level of power in his soul, becoming drier and rougher. "This shall make sure that the time in the cursed form is limited to only a certain amount of time at a certain time during each definite phase of the moon," he explained through gritted teeth.

    After about five seconds lightning-fast self-mutilation, the shaman transferred his knife to the other hand and began work on the same central symbol now etched into his left pectoral.

    "NO!! STOP!!" the voice said, but it knew that it had spent a vast amount of the power its vile, twisted soul gave it, and could not retaliate but to shout.

    The shaman mumbled something then...explaining what he was doing as he did it, not letting the pain get to him. He finished the same simple symbol and began etching a circle of runes around it again.

    Five seconds later, he took off his vest completely and began on his right shoulder. He shouted, not giving whoever cursed him a chance to retaliate, and went on...

    More runes later, he switched hands again and attacked his left shoulder, which was becoming a little harder to carve into. He was now so used to the pain, he felt none. His resolve was greater than most of the people in his world then. He decided then to keep this one to himself.

    Finally, he took the knife in both hands and thrust it into his now slowly-changing forehead. "Finally, they shall gain this symbol in a form their heart shall choose!" He explained, then, what it would do...and the beast's heart nearly froze.

    He etched three intricate symbols into a triangle around the central symbol, then he finally thrust the knife away from him.

    "NO!! HOW ARE YOU ABLE TO DO THIS?!" the presence demanded, roaring.

    Ignoring it, the Native American stood up, his new scars bleeding now black blood. He raised his head high into the sky, opened his very slowly changing mouth, and shouted, "NOW, WITH THE POWER GIVEN BY THE GREAT SPIRIT TO ME, I COMMAND THESE ARCANE INCANTATIONS TO TAKE EFFECT!! I COMMAND AS THE SHAMAN OF MY TRIBE, THE LAST OF MY TRIBE!!"

    His scars quickly stopped bleeding and became solid black, then glowed a red-gold light. With a cry, the shaman allowed the curse to overcome him.

    His body contorted, bones crunching and muscles building. His hair grew longer, wilder, down to the ground and then some, and his skin became scales and bands. Soon, he stood, an inch taller and fifteen pounds heavier with muscle.

    "However..." he breathed, panting, hair wrapping around his face, "...However...in exchange for weakening the curse for others, I must still suffer the curse in full...Only I shall be immortal...none else...an effect given by all the incantations I have permanently etched into my body..." He looked up at the same spot the vile creature that sought to conquer his world viewed it. "Your plan shall not work, beast. My people have been killed for many a year, with me being the only one left. All throughout, we have seen that our hearts have kept us alive when we thought we would die from a wound not inflicted by man. I remain, waiting for the time when something like this would happen, as I had foreseen so long ago in a vision. And I saw that the being who so wished to win would lose in the very end, struck down by beings that would not have been there would it have not been for it. And now..." The shaman's eyes now became a solid blood-red glow. "I lose my sanity...forever. Tortured...forever. But all is worth it to save the people, the creatures, the land..."



    And so, with a roar, my curse was set into motion.

    Albeit, weaker than I wished, but no matter.

    That old man was wrong.

    I will win in the end.

    Then...I shall have...my revenge!!