Burning blood

The clocktower was massive, and the room in which the stranger stepped into was barren. There was only a singular chair on the far side of the room, just under the inside of the clock's face, and what appeared to be a dead woman resting in it. The stranger advanced through the room slowly - he had been tricked more than once before - but the body did not move, even as he drew close to it. Most did, springing to life to attack him. This one was well armed. Perhaps a new weapon to carry him forward...

As soon as he reached out to take it, however, the woman's arm leaped forward, grabbing his wrist and pulling her up and out of her chair. "You are unwise to disturb the dead," her voice shouted into his mind, ringing through his brain though her lips did not move. "You will be punished for your transgressions." Her blade was abruptly in her hand, and the stranger had to throw himself with all of his strength backwards to avoid the blow aimed at his heart.

He looked up to see her grabbing the two-sided blade in both hands, and with a flick of her wrists it was split in two. Without any hesitation she pointed the two blades at her own chest and struck hard, piercing through her body and sending blood splattering on the floor and wall behind her. Her body did not stagger, and as she drew the blades forth once more the holes remaining in her froze the stranger in place. He had killed many fiends, but those had staggered upon taking damage. She was different. She was terrifying.

She didn't even make a move to attack him. Still standing at a distance, she flicked the blades in his direction, and her blood landed on his skin, a strange and frigid cold, though its iron stench still invaded his nostrils. He stared up at her, unsure of how to take what was happening. He had thought himself powerful, unstoppable. He had not met a foe who would harm themselves to intimidate him.

But he quickly learned that it was more than intimidation. In an instant the icy sensation on his skin became burning. He looked down and the blood itself was engulfed in flames, eating away at his skin. And it was all over him. He screamed and staggered, trying to put out the flames, but they would not stop. The woman stood over him, watching him struggle, not moving until his body had turned to ash.

And then, without a word or noise of any kind, she returned to her chair and sat down, slumping back into it and closing her eyes once more.

Hunter

I've talked before about how much I've fallen in love with Monster Hunter, and how I want to apply the way I play that game to how I live my life. That's something I think about a lot, but it's not something that's particularly easy to do - after all, you don't get to die three times in real life before you have to start over with the only real punishment being time and a bit of money. It's not easy to get the resources to keep trying different things in real life - not without help.

And I suppose that's another thing that I really need to learn from Monster Hunter. Can you play the game by yourself and finish all of the content on your own? Yes. And having accomplished that, it would be hard to argue that you're not skilled and competent and what have you. But the game is so much more fun when you are playing with others, and not only more fun, but easier and faster as well. After all, two people are much more efficient at tackling a single problem than one, and four especially more so than that. Each working together, fighting the same monster but in four unique ways, making a team that is there to support one another and help them not only to fight, but to get the things they need to advance.

That's never really been something I've been particularly good at. I very much like knowing that I can do something on my own. And I don't necessarily think that that's a bad thing. But knowing that you can do something alone doesn't mean that you have to. Just because you can do something by yourself doesn't mean that you should. After all, it's like I said - it's far more efficient to have multiple people tackling the same problem.

I don't know why Monster Hunter in particular has hit me so hard when it comes to finding inspiration. I would argue it's not even my favorite game - that honor still goes to Kingdom Hearts 2. But as much as I love that game and it's entire series, it still boils down to the same cliche of "My friends are my power." And that's not a bad message, but it's one you hear in many places. And Monster Hunter isn't like that. Yes, the best way to play it is with your friends. But if you are bad you will hold them back. And if they are bad they will hold you back. It's about getting good together. Supporting each other to both become better hunters. Not leaning on. Supporting. And that can be all the difference.

Emotion

Raphael had lead a strange life. There had been a disconnect in his brain when he was born, something not lining up quite right, and it had taken many years before it was fully understood what had happened. As a newborn he never cried, or smiled, or laughed. He looked around with his big, curious eyes, and he took things in, but he never quite seemed to react. His parents feared for him, and the doctors had speculated that he may have had a form of autism, but as he grew older the other signs did not evolve.

He was mostly a mild-mannered boy, skirting by most events and generally staying calm while others were excited or panicked. He didn't scream in scary movies or fawn over cute things. He played with friends, but it was hard at times to tell whether or not he was having fun. He knew he was, and he would tell people as such, but if you were watching him from the outside, you never would have guessed.

Raphael did not naturally feel emotions. Not happiness, nor sadness, nor fear or anger. He felt pain. He could think. But when it came to matters of the heart, nothing came to him. Not naturally. But as he grew older, he learned that with his curse came a gift - when willing, he was able to take the emotions from others, to experience them for himself at the expense of it from them. And in time, he learned the value of such a gift, for each transference was singular and temporary, allowing him to relieve them of their pain.

He learned of grief, depression, fear, anxiety, anger. Frequently he was the catalyst for people's recovery, and human emotion to him was little more than pain. But the more he experienced, the more he understood, and he was able to empathize with people. He did not mind helping others. It gave him a feeling of purpose.

But there was one who came to him, a smile on his face, with a different kind of story. A strange man who spoke in vague terms, with a story of forgiveness. The man had searched for a way to give - to give away that which had haunted him in dark times, while others prayed for it to come to them. Unsure of what the man meant, Raphael agreed to help him.

And for the first time, he experienced happiness.

Need to fight

I've never quite been sure if it's just a part of my personality or if it's from the years of studying martial arts, but I find at times that my body yearns to be in a fight. It's this tautness that exists in the back of my shoulders, in my biceps, in my fingers. It wouldn't be enough to work on a punching bag, because my muscles aren't merely calling to hit something - they are calling to be hit as well. To feel impacts going both ways, to have to resist the force being made against them. I'm not sure what that says about me, and I'm not sure what brings on that need from time to time, but I can feel it distinctly, and there are very few people who seem to understand it when I explain it to them.

I would never initiate a fight with someone who was undesiring of it when this feeling comes, or someone who would actively try to hurt me. I probably would have when I was younger and had less self control - which is really saying something, considering how little I have today - but I know much better now. I don't want to get in an all out brawl, with someone who doesn't care about my well being. I don't want to go and just pick a fight. I want to spar with someone. Someone in control. Someone strong and fast and practiced. Someone who knows what they're doing. I miss that about martial arts - pitting yourself against someone and testing one another's defenses and limits, seeing what you can do to get around them while simultaneously keeping them from doing the same to you.

I haven't ever found anyone else who gets this kind of sensation. Granted, I don't bring it up very much, but every person that I have talked to about it seems surprised and confused when I try to explain it to them. Most of the people I talk to about it also aren't martial artists, however, which is why I'm never quite sure where it comes from. I wouldn't be surprised at either explanation. There are certainly plenty of other habits I have picked up from the years of martial arts - raising my hand to my chest in a defensive position during just about any action is one that comes to mind.

I really just have to wait it out when it happens. It can last anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, completely at random. It will happen at work, in the car, at home, anywhere. I have tried exercising, shadowboxing, all kinds of things. Short of actually sparring, the feeling just doesn't go away.

But I suppose that's just part of who I am.

Physical

Flel slid down the wall as she closed the door behind the final guests, her energy finally running out and her legs no longer able to support her weight. She was really not a people person. She could play the part, and play it well, but it was really an enormous strain on her, and she would have much rathe spent the day alone with her thoughts. But a job was a job, and she was willing and able to do whatever it took to get it done. She was just exhausted afterwards.

She could see Nero walking over to her, his face as calm and flat as ever. "Tired?" he asked her, squatting down in front of her. She nodded and went to speak, but suddenly his hand was against her stomach, making her gasp in surprise and reach out to grab his arm. His skin was frigid, and his muscle under the skin was more solid than it had ever been before. She knew he was strong, but this was... There was something different about him in this moment. She looked him in the eyes, which looked back at her as cool as ever. But when he opened his mouth, the words that slipped out were cold with malice. "Let's chat for a moment."

"Wh-what are you doing?" she managed out, trying to push his hand away. She had eaten too much during the party, and already felt sick - if he applied much more pressure, that food wouldn't be in her stomach for long. But his strength was something beyond what she had ever experienced before. This was beyond what he appeared. This was almost inhuman. What was happening? And why?

"I'm tired of you treating me like a child."

"Ch-child?" She was running the situation through her brain, trying to understand what was happening. She had been trying to help. To take control of things so that he wouldn't have to. She had read his file. She knew what kind of man he was. Or at least, she though she did. Now she wasn't so sure. The file had made it clear he was dangerous and unstable, but this...

"You are going to stop looking down on me. You are going to stop pretending like you know what is best. You are going to stop acting like you have to lead me in every action, or you will be lucky if the only thing I make you do is vomit."

Her mind was racing. She had seen a lot in her time, been subject to many things, but this was terrifying. "O-only?"

"I will make you vomit. I will make you cry for mercy. I will make you hurt. I will make you bleed. And I will make you regret every decision you have ever made that lead you to cross my path. Do I make myself clear?"

She nodded. She didn't trust her voice. And then, as suddenly as it was there, his hand was gone and he was standing up, watching over her, his eyes as calm as ever.

Blood

Growing up in an age of visual media has been an interesting experience, because trying to hide certain aspects of life in your stories becomes a lot harder when you can actually see what's going on. In writing, if your intended audience is children or teens, chances are you want to avoid certain subjects - blood in particular comes to mind. As far as text goes, you can say that there is a wound or injury, but if you want to avoid it, there's no reason for you to ever state anything about the blood. In a more adult novel, you might state that blood was seeping to the ground as the rusted and broken piping your character had landed on pierced his side. But for young adults, saying that the pain was intense is more than enough.

That kind of thing is a lot harder with video games, tv shows, and movies. After all, it doesn't really make sense to have a sword stab through a character's back and watch them drop dead without a single drop of blood leaving their bodies. And yet they'll do that, because the sight of blood would just be too much for the kids. Not that, you know, a sword stabbing all the way through their body isn't bad enough already. And yet that's how it will be presented.

Ironically, when making more adult content, we seem to try and do the opposite to compensate for how little blood we showed early on. Games and shows aimed for adults will have enormous, entirely unrealistic splatters and pools of blood any time someone dies or is injured. Their bodies will stagger and stumble, they'll continue to move long after they should have been dead, because it makes things more dramatic and unsettling.

And I don't know if writing has evolved in a similar matter, or if it was later kind of brought back to writing from the more visual media, but I find this is often true with novels nowadays. And I'm certainly guilty of it too - after all, blood is a very sticky, slow moving liquid. It would take a direct blow to a vein to cause a spurt of blood, and even then it is not a continuous thing as it is often advertised. A single spurt, maybe two, and usually caused by applied pressure rather than the simple wound and beating of the heart. Certainly not enough to make a pool.

I'm not sure where we got this idea that that was how things were supposed to be presented. I kind of grew up with it, so for me it's kind of just in my head. But it makes me wonder where it started.

The Beginning

The five followed after the man as he stumbled down the stairs, not exactly sure where he was going or why. Despite the calming magic they had cast on him, it was evident that he was still not quite right in the head, and that they were going to have to keep an eye on him if they wanted to have any chance of fixing him, they were going to have to follow along for a little bit.

"It's very important," he said, his voice bouncing up and down with a wild fervor at every syllable, "that you see the Beginning. The End as well, but the Beginning above all else. The Beginning is where it begins. And so we must begin at the Beginning."

"What are you talking about?" Dei asked, but the man did not seem to hear her. Instead, he placed his hand upon the stone which they had passed earlier, and the faint buzzing that had illuminated the tower grew louder. Energy seemed to drip upwards into the sky from the stone, covering the man's hand, then trailing up and along his body. Then, with a blinding flash of light, the energy became an arc of lightning that jumped from him to each of the five surrounding him.

They could see him standing in the same room they were in now, much calmer, staring up as a rift split the very air, showing them a world they had never seen before. The man was confused, clearly not expecting this, and wind began to blow violently about him, tearing the book in his hands away from him, and its pages spiraling around the room - only one he managed to clutch tightly in his hand before falling to his knees, screaming and covering his ears.

A flash of light, and they saw a bear making its way through a forest.

Another flash, and a monk leaving his monastery.

Flash. A woman laying on the floor, covered in blood, a figure standing over her.

Flash. A young girl standing on the threshold between the planes as she stared up at her god.

Flash. A man, clutching an obsidian necklace in his hand, traveling onwards.

And then they were back in the room. The man had collapsed to the floor and lost consciousness, but the five seemed to be alright. They looked at each other, able to recognize some of the figures from the visions among them, and beginning to piece together what they had just witnessed.

"Well," Dei said aloud. "I suppose it's a good thing we all came out this way."