The torture continues, though the lucid periods are more frequent and they last longer. However, the demon within is not quiet. Even without my throat it speaks to me, but I am thankful that only I am subject to its lies.
Zhizhu, the pretty Chinese girl, returns again. Sweet Swallow’s Song asks her if she wishes to torture me herself. I have seen the two women interact twice now and I believe that they are of the same philosophy. I have been told that there are five paths to enlightenment I will be able to choose from, and these two women are fellow travelers on one of those paths.
This time, I am not ashamed. My Wind Soul is dominant, and I listen to Swallow’s Song and learn her lessons. My chin is lifted and my back is straight. I do my best to learn, hoping to impress Zhizhu. Will she think me worthy to join her blood-family?
But it’s not to impress her alone that I learn. I have always loved learning, and what lessons these are! A human being exists in harmony, even the most frail or sickly among them. Their soul is whole. A gaki is a splintered being. The Chinese call it the hun and p’o, the Wind Soul and the Shadow Soul, which are not one, but two. Yin is also cleaved from Yang, and the virtues are in imbalance. When I wake each evening, I must choose to use Yin or Yang chi, and my body is colored by that choice, either more living or more dead.
I have found over the rapid training of recent nights that my body and soul are tilted in favor of the Yang principle. Unless I concentrate each dusk, it is Yang chi that animates my body, burning hot and fast and giving me the semblance of life. A pulse and almost-warm skin.
I experiment within myself, black cycling my own body to feel the coldness. I have to consciously draw breath even to speak, for my lung will not move on their own. My demon whispers that this coldness is peaceful, a soothing balm for the still-burning torments of Hell, an icy shield to protect me from the torments of my training. There is logic in this…but I am beginning to learn that logic and truth are not the same.
I scarlet cycle myself the next evening and the rightness of it is palpable. I black cycle and scarlet cycle to reproduce the results of my experiment and I must conclude that my demon has lied to me once again.
But on that night as I perform for Zhizhu, the demon takes me by surprise. She has refused to torture me, it whispers. Clearly I am nothing to her, she would not touch me, does not want me to join her Uji. I doubt and the demon pounces. I am pinned to the wall by my beautiful sensei, shame threatening to spark Fire Soul, the uncontrollable rage that might be to enough to challenge the Shadow that dominates me now. I have earned pain once again, but still Zhizhu declines Swallow’s Song’s offer and leaves. My dark-self laughs inside.
Can I be right about myself? Do the eyes of demon soul see what I cannot? For a time, I believe. I am unwanted. My efforts are wasted, my intelligence and my progress mean nothing to the beautiful Chinese devil. Unwanted, I will surely be destroyed.
My pain gives my demon strength and I see something new in Swallow’s Song’s eyes. My very flesh is resisting her torments. But my sensei has met this obstacle before, and she knows ways of inflicting agony that could earn her a place as an official of hell. When I am subdued, when the pain has driven my demon inside and the music has lifted my Wind Soul up, she puts down her dripping tools.
She smiles at me, and it is sweet. I would like to kiss her. There is pride in her voice as she tells me that it is time to meet the Oni.
As I am led out of the basement for the first time, I examine what happened. My demon displayed some power, and this pleased my sensei. Of course, the path she walks is one where pain is elevated beyond agony and into enlightenment. The powers of the demon are dear to her. I have seen the abilities she draws from her own darkness and they are formidable.
This is new evidence and I feel a hypothesis forming in my mind. There is much to consider and the ramifications to my soul are astronomical. However, I am missing out on important information as I turn inwards. I have my first glimpse of Outside.
I find myself in a court like an ancient samurai home. There are high walls, made of thick stone and the tops are lined with concertina wire. The only gate I can see is made of thick steel and I suspect that it is barred from the outside. I am not meant to be able to leave this place at will of course. The walls surround a garden, the arrangement of stones and bamboo is simple. Of course, gaki like me, not in total control of themselves, would easily tear apart this garden, ruining the tranquility here. There buildings, much like I would expect in the ancient home of a samurai. The tatami mats and the shoji screens easily destroyed by infant devils like myself, but easily replaced and repaired, a lesson learned from the earthquakes and tsunami’s ages ago.
I follow Swallow’s Song into one of the buildings, which looks like a large dojo. This is where I will meet the First Oni, of whom Swallow’s Song has spoken. He is sometimes called the Demon Daimyo, for he rules the demon court where those newly birthed by hell are taken, just as the Igurashi-sama I have heard about rules all the gaki of this city. Swallow’s Song leaves me there alone.
I find myself missing my sensei. I feel that she is almost a lover to me. Though she has never touched me erotically, there no place I have not felt pain at her hands. I have been closer to her than to anyone since my death. No I am alone, and waiting for the Oni.
I can almost feel him approach, as if my demon recognizes a greater power. My darkness cowers inside myself, but also draws strength from the presence of another’s demon. I try to center myself, to maintain Wind Soul. The shoji opens and he enters.
Terrible Thunder Talons. He is the First Oni, the greatest master of the Demon Arts in city. He stands half again my height and his skin is a coat of thick black armor. His feet and hands are tipped with long jagged claws. I marvel that his demon is fierce that the talons he bears are actually serrated. Wings fold against his back, but they lack membrane or feathers. Long stalks flex and settle behind him as if twitching to lash out and take flight, or perhaps to reach out and seize me. But my gaze focuses on his chest, broad and armored and split by a gnashing mouth. Ivory fangs the size of my fingers point crookedly in every direction, clicking against each other as the jaw chews on air. Blazing orange orbs sit above the mouth, completing the demon face on his body. My eyes move up to his head as an afterthought.
My demon-training begins. On the second night, the dojo collapses after I am thrown through a third wooden pillar. There is pain, but the purpose is different that the sweet excruciations of Swallow’s Song, designed not to suppress my darkness, but to draw it out. I cling to the memory of music, trying to feel the power Terrible Thunder Talons is drawing out of me without letting the demon seize my mind.
I learn that my Demon Art is has been named the Iron Mountain. Unlike the swiftness and speed of the Black Wind or the terrifying power of the Demon Shintai, it is not something I can consciously control. I cannot summon a demon form, or call upon speed and strength. The implants, the tortures of the Wicked City, all toughened my dark soul. All Terrible Thunder Talons can do to teach me is hurt me, and empower my demon to strengthen that resilience.
Already I have made progress. Thunder Talons slashes me and I am thrown across the room. I punch through two shoji walls and crash into a bamboo thicket outside. My new sensei is there before I can rise and he smiles. My stomach is bare, my whole kimono ripped away by the force of the blow and y skin is laid open in a long gash. Raw muscle is visible and blood sheets down my legs. But that blow should have eviscerated me.
My training continues. Most nights I listen to quiet music and learn at the small white feet of Sweet Swallow’s Song. When my demon rises, more infrequently with each passing night, she tortures me and I must conquer the demon and my pain to grasp at the music and true consciousness. Occasionally I am sent to Terrible Thunder Talons, who teaches me the strength of my demon.
Pain has taught me so much. I battled agony to escape hell and return to the Middle Kingdom, seeking a second chance. I overcame torture so that my Wind Soul could blow the Shadow from my mind. Torment unsealed my demon’s power and made me stronger. The way forward seems obvious.
Is that the Howl of the Devil Tiger I hear?
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