The Ten Temples

In the dark, cold black skies of outer space, sits a sun and a star, revolving around each other in perpetual motion. The sun is larger, older, with far more age and experience, while the star burns much, much brighter, and is growing every second, seemingly taking energy from the sun, though the sun doesn’t appear to be decreasing in size. The star learns from the sun, absorbing light and heat as it continues to shine brighter and brighter.

A young black woman sits on the obsidian floor of a dojo, cross-legged with her eyes closed. She delves deep into herself, her personal being, as she enters the spirit realm of meditation. This woman has black braided hair that is tied up in one long pony tail and is dressed in a long black loincloth, black sandals, and black wraps that cover the entirety of her legs and her upper body up to her shoulders. She is Nyota, and across from her, on the same obsidian floor, also cross-legged with eyes closed is the man who taught her everything, also known as her father Mwezi. Nyota’s father is an older black man with long locs that travel down to his waist, who wears nothing but black pants. Decades of hard work and discipline are chiseled onto his body, into his muscles, giving him an athletic but cut frame that isn’t too bulky.

Father and daughter sit across from each other for what seems like eons, spiritually melding as bits of mind and soul are shared between learner and the learned in an unending stream of consciousness. The sun rises and falls and rises again before they open their eyes in a snap, as the deep green eyes of Nyota’s meet the dark brown eyes of her father.

“Nyota, you have excelled in all aspects of your training, and this has been no different. You are mentally prepared and physically ready for any situation that may come your way. I have nothing left to teach you.” Nyota’s father speaks proudly. He then stands up and bows to Nyota with his hands at his sides, showing her absolute respect. Nyota can barely contain her pure unbridled joy at his words, at his recognition, at the meaning behind his words. Despite this, Nyota manages to follow her training, put all of that aside (containing her bubbling feelings of joy and pride), and simply stand and bow.

“Thank you father.” Her words are simple, short and sweet. And yet—

“Teacher. I am your father in life, but in here, I am your teacher.” He corrects her sternly. Nyota smiles and halfway rolls her eyes at his response, only managing to resist the action out of respect for her father and teacher.

“Of course, teacher. Though you are still my father, I am grateful for your teachings and accept your praise with disciplined mind and strengthened heart.” She responds in a trained manner as she stands back, body straight with her hands still at her side. Her father does the same.

“As a teacher, I am humbled to have one as talented as you learn under me.” His face then morphs into a smile, finally portraying the raw joy he feels at his daughter’s accomplishments. “As a father, I am eternally proud.” With those words, father and daughter embrace each other in a heartfelt manner, emotions high and feelings welling up inside them both.

“Thank you father. I am blessed to be both your student and your daughter.” Nyota responds in earnest. The two then disengage from their embrace, and Nyota bows one more time before walking out of the dojo. It is official, the star has become a sun, her training is complete.

Unbeknownst to both Nyota and her father, a force of darkness and death looms just over the mountain near the family dojo. While normally the mountain is exuberant and teeming with life, that is not the case at the moment. Where there is usually breathtaking emerald green grass that shines in the sunlight and reflects joy and happiness, and all things good, is now a withered and dried grass, one that reflects pain and sadness, rendered lifeless by the presence of wickedness, with splotches of dried blood marking the path of this monstrous fiend and the horse he rides. Where there is usually a bright blue sky, clear as the ocean itself, filled to the brim with the spirits and the ancestors waiting to guide the newborn stars to the light, embodying all that is and can be, is now a pale gray sky that is tainted with red clouds; clouds of blood, the embodiment of doubt, of failure, of an abrupt and merciless end. And where there is usually a tall and large and active forest, with incredibly powerful trees, and countless habitats that serve a multitude of species, symbolizing growth and harmony, is now a wasteland of leafless white trees where no life can hope to survive. And encompassing it all, is a thick white mist.

Sitting atop this once beautiful environment, atop this once great mountain, is a being known politely as The Skull Fighter: a sickly looking man with white skin and pale blue eyes that simultaneously glow red. He wears a black hooded cloak that covers most of his body, and underneath that cloak, is his face, painted black with the upper half of his face painted white like a skull. He rides atop a strange white horse, one with a grey mane that is stained with blood, one with blood red eyes that leak the substance of life across its body. It is clear that everywhere the horse has trotted, everywhere the horse has touched, is stained with the same blood. And everything behind the horse, is dead, or at the very least, is dying. This horse is but a tool for The Skull Fighter, a mount, an animal that is convenient to use to travel, and still he is tainted by The Skull Fighter’s aura, and by his power. The Skull Fighter is a being a pure malevolence, some say evil, and he alone has claim to the calamity that has befallen the mountain near Nyota’s family dojo. With a bloody grin (literally, as his teeth are dark red and dripping with blood), The Skull Fighter looks up and on, towards said dojo, his target in sight.

Meanwhile Nyota, dressed in a long sleeve black shirt, black pants, and her usual sandals, is walking peacefully and happily through the nearby town on the way to the farmer’s market, with a black bag on her shoulder. The house was low on food this morning, so she vowed to make her way down to restock and replenish her supply. While the town is on the other side of the mountain, and the forest often has fresh berries and a decent selection of fruit, Nyota finds herself yearning for a social life, for human contact that isn’t her father. Because of this, and the lack of vegetables in the nearby forest, Nyota constantly makes the trip down to the market, using it not only to refill her pantry, but to fulfill her need for socializing. That is not to say that she doesn’t enjoy spending time with her father, learning, talking, and having general conversation with him, when they aren’t training, but she could hardly call her father, who doubles as her teacher, her peer. Their relationship has a hierarchy to it, and of course, Nyota is on the low end. At the farmer’s market, everyone is equal, and she is respected as the young adult that she is. And with passing knowledge of her father’s dojo and her enrollment, the people also respected her wisdom and her strength.

As she dwells on these thoughts, Nyota reaches her destination, and smiles as she sees the selection available to her, as well as the people she’s so eager to talk to.

“Young Nyota!” Comes the voice of one of the elderly women who manage the fruit stands. The woman is excited at Nyota’s presence and quickly outstretches both arms, welcoming the younger girl into a hug. The young pupil accepts the hug with the same smile she entered the farmer’s market with, holding it for a good few seconds, before detaching herself from the older woman.

“Ms. Shamba! How are you? You look so fit and lively today; I dare say you’re getting younger by the minute!” Nyota teases. The older woman waves her off, dismissing the notion all together.

“Please, child. We both know that’s not the case, though I do appreciate the flattery.” She responds, a smirk on her face. “So what brings you down here with us common folk?”

“Not much, beyond the usual of needing to stock up on food.” Nyota answers simply. Ms. Shamba shakes her head in disappointment.

“It’s a shame for that to be the usual. You should be down here more often, looking for a husband, or at least somewhere away from that mountain!” Ms. Shamba huffs. “I just don’t get it! Your father is so wise and understanding, yet he keeps you locked away from the world like this. How does he expect you to truly blossom into the flower you’re meant to be?” She questions with a semi-concerned look. Nyota shakes her head in response.

“Father isn’t keeping me from the world. I only stay up in the mountain to complete my studies and…” She trails off, not sure if she should reveal that she has finally graduated from her father’s teachings.

“You say that child, but it seems as if you’ve been doing nothing but learning and lessons. When does it end?” It already has. Is what Nyota wants to say, but no, that isn’t quite right. Just because she’s learned enough for her father to declare her training complete, doesn’t mean there is nothing left to be learned. There are always lessons…

“Soon.” Is how Nyota chooses to respond, being careful with what she reveals. She then wordlessly passes the elderly lady to look at the selection before her, effectively ending that topic of discussion. Nyota enters the farmer’s market, a sectioned off part of the town, consisting of a block or two, that is nothing but produce. The floors are cobblestone, and the stands are made of the hand-carved wood, and each stand is manned by a farmer or someone from that farmer’s family who is looking to sell their goods. Depending on the day, there can be a hundred stands…or just twenty, and each would have succulent and hand-grown organic fruit or vegetables, grown straight from the ground. Of course, this is all weather permitting, and based on the harvest, but at least when Nyota visits, it always seems to be a good harvest and a sun-heavy day. Nyota walks through the market, taking note of everything she walks past. She walks by multiple stands that contain apples, squashes, melons, and pears and carefully she trains her eye on the fruit, looking for quality, for ripeness, for structural integrity (firmness).

She stops at one of the stands and cautiously picks out a few select apples and places them in her bag. She passes by another stand, this one stocked with luscious peaches, and picks up one of the peaches and looks at it thoroughly. She turns the peach several times and squeezes it lightly, trying to determine if it’s right for her. It’s not, as she detects some issues with the age of the peach, and she puts it back into the stand and moves on. Next she walks by a stand with (red) grapes, and she meticulously picks what she needs, grape by grape. She moves on to some other stands when suddenly she looks up, sensing…something, activity of sorts that seems to be happening at the family dojo. ‘What is that? Is it…is it father?’ she questions herself as she taps into her training and narrows her eyes to get a better view, across the mountain where the dojo sits.

To almost anyone else it’d just be some dots moving, but to Nyota’s trained eye, it’s clear as day. Her father is fighting, battling…something, someone and he appears to need her help. Quickly she drops all thoughts of fruit and vegetables and hurries her way back.

As Nyota shopped for produce, The Skull Fighter made his move, riding his horse from the mountain, down to the family dojo, with the white mist trailing behind him. The dojo is a beautiful building that is the size of a large house, or even a mansion as it reaches high into the sky and stretches far across the land. It is black in color and while it serves as home to Nyota and her father, it is actually built more like a temple or a place of worship than it is a house. The dojo is surrounded by tall grass that is teeming with all kinds of wildlife and behind the temple-like structure sits incredibly large trees that tower over the surroundings and look more like mountains than plant life. The dojo is built with what looks to be bark from those same trees, painted black and mixed with Obsidian, and the door of the structure is a traditional paper sliding door, one that is often seen in dojos. The aura of death and destruction is still with him, but interestingly enough it just…stops about thirty meters or so from said dojo. It’s clear that the place, that the land, is protected.

“Interesting…very interesting.” The Skull Fighter speaks in a deep double voice, as if two men with gravel in their throat are speaking in unison. He can’t help but notice how...odd this is, that his aura of death, his white mist is being halted in such a manner. Not only does his mist not follow, but even his horse is affected, as its hooves no longer seem to be tracking blood. And most curious of all, the grass remains green, the area remains alive, and the sky remains blue with white clouds, only above said dojo. ‘It seems this will be…different.’ He thinks as he dismounts from his horse.

The Skull Fighter’s arrival does not go unnoticed. Deep in meditation, sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed on the Obsidian floor of the dojo, Nyota’s father, Mwezi senses a presence filled with malevolence and death. With a deep breath he opens his eyes, a look of worry on them, as he knows this aura, and he understands what it means. He only hopes he is ready.

“I see…he’s here.” Mwezi readies himself for what’s to come and quickly gets to his feet. In an instant he’s flying through the paper sliding door of his dojo and landing in front of The Skull Fighter as he takes his fighting stance, placing his hands behind his back as his legs spread shoulder length apart. The Skull Fighter appears unsurprised by this ambush of a move, and does nothing except stare down his next victim. Mwezi returns the stare as the two battle each other mentally, hoping to psyche the other out and bend him to their will. Neither can gain an advantage in the battle of wills as their auras clash and their energy reflects off the other, both far too powerful for such a technique to work. Finally it is Nyota’s Father, Mwezi who breaks the silence. “So you are here.” He states with finality. “Know that I will not go down without a fight.”

“I’m counting on it.” The Skull Fighter retorts in his deep double voice, as he smiles at the heart shown by his prey. With his smile comes the sight of the dripping blood that his teeth are known to be coated in, a sight that unnerves even the greatest and steadfast of men. Mwezi however is unaffected. He is focused on the fight to come, on the repercussions that said fight can have on his family. He knows that he must not lose. Suddenly, The Skull Fighter takes his stance, crossing his arms in the form of an X, moving his left leg in front of his right slightly, and then rotating the X made by his hands to resemble a cross. BOOM! His last adjustment to his stance creates a powerful wind that washes over the area, leaning trees and grass alike. Mwezi is unmoved by his opponent’s antics and simply waits, staring at the malevolent force as he anticipates his next move.

Ever Impatient, The Skull Fighter makes the first move, appearing suddenly before Mwezi and launching an underhand punch, with the knuckles facing the ground. Simultaneously he punches the side of his own arm, reinforcing the blow with a strange style, causing it to be that much more deadly. Mwezi is swift to move, dodging to the right, moving his head, which allows The Skull Fighter to move forward and cross his arms in the form of an X, behind Mwezi’s head, trapping him in a strange makeshift hold. The Skull Fighter quickly follows with several bite attempts with his sharp, fang-like teeth, but Mwezi manages to dodge every time. Mwezi then counters by falling to the side and hitting his opponent with what’s known as an L-kick (where his legs make an L shape while his upper body falls to the side, usually held up by a hand) or a modified Au Bautido (his version being armless), followed by a spinning heel kick to the jaw, which ends up with Mwezi on the ground.

The Skull Fighter places his pale hand to his mouth, feeling for damage, and grins a bloody grin, enjoying the pain. He then charges forward, moving swift as the wind, and jumps, trying to stomp on his prey’s head with one foot, as his other foot is held to the side of the knee, making a cross-like symbol. Mwezi rolls to the side, dodging the vicious stomp that leaves cracks in the ground, and then performs an armless sweep-type move as he whips one leg across the ground in a circular motion and then kicks up with both of his legs, performing a modified version of an S-Dobrado, another Capoeira move, taking The Skull Fighter’s legs from under him, while simultaneously getting to a standing position. The Skull Fighter falls back from the attempt, catching himself on his hands, and reacts by launching himself high into the air, and flipping several times as he maneuvers behind Nyota’s Father, Mwezi. Once he achieves his position, he dives like a falcon, descending upon his foe with the fury of a lightning bolt, arms first with crossed fists.

Mwezi is unworried by the death-from-above type move coming his way, and calmly jumps backwards and launches a modified Pele Kick towards The Skull Fighter’s head, landing a direct hit and driving the malevolent foe into the ground. Capitalizing on his move, Nyota’s teacher and father also kicks off of his opponent’s head, launching himself into the air, and hits him with a side flip stomp known as a Bandeira, driving him further into the ground with an inordinate amount of force. BOOM! But all is not well. Somehow The Skull Fighter has managed to catch Mwezi’s feet, one in each hand as his arms remain crossed. Swiftly The Skull Fighter pulls Mwezi’s feet out from under him, sending him on a surefire path to the ground, face first. However, The Skull Fighter has other plans, as before his victim can reach the ground, the pale fighter reaches out and grabs him on the chest with an iron grip, right where the poor victim’s heart is.

Mwezi gasps loudly in surprise as all color drains from his face and skin and he begins turning pale and grey. This is it…the Grip of Death, and he was foolish enough to let himself get caught. There is nothing he can do now, if the legends hold truth to them. But still, he will fight. He owes Nyota that much. As Mwezi contemplates his fate, The Skull Fighter slowly and deliberately sits up from his position and then gets to his feet, the old teacher still in his grasp.

“It’s over.” The deep demonic voice comes, vocalizing Mwezi’s concerns. Mwezi’s eyes narrow and steel over as he prepares to prove this evil being wrong.

Nyota grips her bag tightly as she runs back so fast that she disappears from sight and the Farmer’s Market altogether. Her tight grip is in part because she doesn’t wish to lose what she has already bought, and in part because she is worried about her father. Who would dare to challenge him? And why? And at his dojo? His place of study? It just…it didn’t make sense. He wasn’t…he isn’t that type of fighter anymore. He’s a teacher, a master, an aged warrior filled to the brim with wisdom that he shares with others. Why would anyone want to hurt him? Nyota can’t answer that as she continues to run in a ‘ninja’ style, with her arms flailing behind her back as the surroundings pass by in a blur. She makes it to the mountain quickly, and stops for a moment as she can sense something is wrong. A malevolent aura has washed over this once peaceful place, this bastion of nature and joy.

But Nyota has bigger issues, namely her father being attacked, so she pushes those thoughts to the side and bends her knees, as she leaps high into the air with both arms out and her legs bent beneath her. Nyota only reaches about halfway up the mountain before she stops elevating, and being in the hurry she is, she doesn’t have time to stop and land again, and certainly not time to actually climb the damn thing! Instead Nyota opts to use the ancient technique of air running and does just as the name implies. Quickly she reaches the peak of the mountain and instantly at a glance she notices the dead, blood-stained grass and the lingering red in the clouds. Nyota’s eyes widen and she gasps as a terrifying thought races through her mind. She recognizes these effects, she knows this legend, and this is the worst-case scenario.

“No! Not him! Not now!” She exclaims in a whisper, beneath her breath as she leaps from the peak of the mountain, down to the dojo.

As Nyota makes her way down, her father is still in the clutches of The Skull Fighter, though he is fighting will all of his might to break said hold. First he tries a double knife-edged ear chop, with both hands turned horizontal. He then transforms the chops into fists, to punch his foe’s ears as well. He follows up with a sideways chop that ends up cutting The Skull Fighter’s eye, but the pale fighter is unfazed by the damage, instead grinning as he lets the blood drip freely from the wound.

“Your defiance is amusing…the pain exhilarating. But ultimately, it is futile. Accept your fate. Once in my grasp, none can escape.” The demonic double voice taunts his victim, while also educating him on the only possible outcome. Mwezi however doesn’t back down or consider the words to be truth. He doesn’t speak back, nor does he give up and listen. Instead he hits a standing Scorpion Kick, tagging The Skull Fighter in the back of the head, hard enough to cause an audible BOOM and a shock wave. The malevolent being only grins in response, unmoved. Mwezi tries again, throwing a circular axe kick, landing his heel on the arm that grips him, but the arm doesn’t budge. Not one to be discouraged, Nyota’s father and teacher follows up with a front kick to the chest of his skull-painted foe, sending him flying back a few meters with the force. Unfortunately, he drags Mwezi with him.

Immediately The Skull Fighter retaliates with a head-butt, one hard enough to illicit an audible CRACK and draw blood from the old teacher’s forehead. He then lifts the limp body above his head, still grasping the heart, as he chuckles sinisterly at the great but ultimately useless effort of his prey.

“You fought valiantly, perhaps the best I’ve ever seen. And for that, I commend you. However…as I said before, it’s over.” CRUNCH!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” The Skull Fighter clenches his hand and forces Nyota’s father to scream out in agony, as Death’s Grip becomes unbearable.

“Shine.” He commands, speaking the Japanese word for ‘die’, as he prepares to finish the prey that sits before him. Before he can however, something catches his eye. He barely has time to glance to the side when Nyota comes flying through the air, running through it actually, as she delivers a front drop kick to one side of The Skull Fighter’s body. BOOM! The force is immense, producing a powerful shockwave that travels throughout the area. The kick is devastating, enough so to dislodge the Skull Fighter’s arm from Mwezi’s chest, and send him flying as he lands on his back. Nyota’s Father crumples to the ground as soon as the grip relents, and Nyota wastes no time rushing to his side.

“Father!” She screams in fright and in worry as she rolls him to his back and checks his pulse. A feeling of relief washes over her and she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. He’s alive. Suddenly she looks up, glaring at this sinister force that would dare attack her father. “Leave!” She commands him. “You have no business here.”

The Skull Fighter grins as he gets to his feet, blood dripping from his teeth. He has to admit, he didn’t expect this kind of interference, nor did he expect such power to come from one so young and small. This woman is something else. Perhaps she’ll be a better fight than her father was? He’d love to find out but…he has a schedule that he follows. And now is not her time. Not yet anyways. Chuckling to himself, The Skull Fighter sets his eyes on Nyota and looks to set her right, and possibly provoke the best response, the maximum amount of motivation and hatred for when their fight is destined to come.

“You think you’ve saved him? You’ve only prolonged his suffering. Allowing him a quick death at my hands would’ve been saint-like compared to what he’s going through at the moment.” He pauses, still grinning wickedly. “The torture, the agony, the excruciating pain he’s experiencing right now is the feeling of Death…without truly dying.” He informs her. “If you want to help your father, kill him now and spare him the woes of an unfinished death.” Truly it would be a mercy to the poor man, The Skull Fighter is not lying about that.

Regardless of the truth behind his words, Nyota pays them no mind, instead narrowing her eyes as she stands in anger, in defiance. The only thing stopping her from attacking this vile being is the state of her father.

“I said leave! Or you’ll be the one in excruciating pain.” She threatens him with venom dripping from her voice. The Skull Fighter chooses not to engage this time, as he truly does work on a schedule. It’s a shame that it’s not her time yet. Maybe if he’s lucky, someone else in her family will be scheduled to meet a gruesome end at his hands. Quietly the pale man mounts his horse, readying his escape before he turns to retort.

“As amazing and entertaining as that would be—for me, your time has not yet come. Until then.” He informs her as he takes off on his horse, back up the mountain and away from the dojo. His job is done. For now.

Nyota continues to stare in his direction, glaring almost, as she makes sure he is truly gone. Once she is satisfied, she lets out another breath that she was apparently holding, and turns back to her father.