KEN.
The Unending Wasteland – that was the name given to the world after the Cataclysm. A result of the Final Confrontation; the largest and most devastating war between the countries of the Old World. The nuclear weapons that were used cared little about allies and enemies, they simply obliterated all that they could. Countries were wiped out, continents were joined, eco systems were drastically changed, climates were severely altered, and more. While the Old World was technologically inclined and advanced, the Scorched Wasteland was different, with the Cataclysm having completely wiped out the old way of life and forced the few survivors to rebuild. Another thing that the Cataclysm had done though, was rouse the Slumbering Ones, deities that had been sleeping, hidden deep within the recesses of the Earth. With the guidance of these deities, and the techniques and magics that they imparted on those that followed them, mankind slowly rebuilt – forming groups known as Congregations, building encampments and towns, and generally eking out their existences while following the Tenets each deity set for them in their respective religious texts.
In a particularly harsh and near inhospitable region of the Wastes known as the Yawning Chasm, one of the frequent and almost powerful sandstorms swept through the region. Sand and all manner of particulate battered everything in their wake, having formed a massive cloud of destruction. Propelled by unrelenting and unforgiving winds, the cloud howled its way through the Chasm. Those buildings which were inhabited and directly in the line of fire were fortified with anything and everything that would add even a modicum of protection to the structures. While some people had no choice to enhance the structures that existed already, others who had erected their structures A.C – After the Cataclysm – were forced to quickly learn the weather patterns and systems of the Unending Wasteland, and adapt to them. This resulted in buildings, villages and even towns being built in what would appear to be arbitrary locations, yet were actually extremely deliberate.
One such settlement within the Yawning Chasm was Vele, a small outpost which was tucked away in a nook close to one of the main roads that led through the Chasm. It was built as a refuge of sorts for travelers and merchants to hide in and wait out the many sandstorms that virtually assaulted the Chasm. Within Vele, there general stores and a limited amount of rooms with beds within a small tavern. Within said tavern, while a sandstorm raged through the Yawning Chasm, a collection of patrons sat in the building in relative silence. It was dark, it was hot, and the atmosphere was so heavy, it weighed down on the shoulders of those inside. Most of the patrons were clad in clothing and protective cloaks from their respective regions, and their weary, weathered faces were almost obscured from sight by the lighting. What was clearly visible were the jaded and almost lifeless pairs of eyes that most of them possessed. Conversation was at an absolute premium, and as the howling produced by the sandstorm became progressively louder, a rather disturbing and oddly moist cackle began to echo throughout the entire tavern. The clacking of a large, gnarled walking stick, which was essentially a staff, caused the heads of those present to look towards the source of the sound. A dark-skinned man, who appeared to be as old as he was tall came into view. He had an incredibly voluminous mop of grey dreadlocks that looked older than almost everyone else in the room. His grey, milky eyes were clearly blind, yet those same eyes darted around, appearing to scan the room thoroughly. His attire – which was little more than a filthy pile of rags – hung loosely from his body, and there were more than a few within the tavern who suspected he was a Construct or Undead of some kind.
“What are you laughing at, Mkhulu?” A man behind the counter asked.
“He really is howling today, isn’t he?”
“…don’t tell me you’re referring to—”
“My dear travelers and patrons of this here watering hole, I assume that majority of you are unfamiliar with the tale of The Lamentable Lovers.”
The only response the old man received silence, which prompted him to continue speaking – much to the chagrin of barkeep.
“Long, long ago, before the Slumbering Ones succumbed to the Eternal Slumber, when the world was still split amongst these Gods, contestations for territories and worshipers were common and brutal. Back then, a rather small territory was being contested by two equally sized minor Clans. Their clashes were frequent, and casualties were suffered on both sides. They were at war for a century, with neither Clan gaining the upper hand. during a particularly frantic period where Warriors and Shamans from the Sky and Earth Clans were dropping like flies, Bhekizwe and Didintle – heirs of the respective Clans – each led a group of Hunters on an expedition when they happened to run into each other. Without a word being spoken, or even a glance being shared, the two groups tore into and decimated each other. There was a stalemate however as both sides were evenly matched, with Shaman Bhekizwe and Warrior Didintle unable to best one another. As if in a coordinated attack, the creatures the respective teams were sent to hunt appeared and attacked them, forcing them to work together and defend themselves!”
The old man was becoming more animated as he spoke, as if he was relaying a tale to his grandchildren. He was interrupted however when the door swung open, and in walked a group of armed and armoured people. They were all wearing cloaks to protect themselves from the harsh weather of the Chasm, as well as heavily mangled masks. The air filters in their masks allowed them to breath in the toxic air without any issues, and their loud breaths almost drowned out the wailing of the storm. The group was instantly recognised.
“Blunt Force Trauma.” Mkhulu said as he grinned at the one who appeared to be leading the group.
He didn’t receive response and the group pushed past him and to a set of tables in the corner of the building.
“…as I was saying, the beasts attacked, the two Clans worked together, and at the end of it all, only the two heirs survived, although they were both severely injured. Alone, injured and far from home, the pair realised quickly that they would have to work together if they were to have any chance of surviving. They did just that, and although they started off hating each other, spending as much time together as they did, relying on one another… things happened, feelings developed, and before they both knew it, love blossomed – love as pure as it was sacrilegious. After spending weeks healing and loving each other, the pair finally returned to the contested territory, greeted by their Clans and those they were already betrothed to. Then—”
“Yeah yeah, we already know the story old man. They try to be together by breaking off their engagements and revealing their feelings, the Elders of both Clans rejected their, and locked them both up to keep them away from each other. That didn’t work as the pair escaped, and attempted to elope before being caught and punished again. Bhekizwe was forced to watch as they cut out Didintle’s tongue, they made her listen as they gouged out his eyes before destroying her ears leaving her deaf. The Lovers were then cast out into the furthest reaches of the territory. Centuries passed, the Clans were caught up in the Calamitous Conflict and completely destroyed, while the Lover’s were cursed and mutated by the Negative Mana and turned into storms, forever seeking but never finding each other, blah blah blah. Enough, Mkhulu – we want to eat in relative silence.”
The one who had spoken was the leader the BFT group. Having been interrupted mid-story and mid-theatrics, Mkhulu suddenly found himself having nothing left to say. There were a few snickers and giggles, but they didn’t last for long. As the food was brought to the gang and the silence persisted, the sound of the howling storm was elevated once more as the door swung open. A large, tall, man walked in as his protective cloak was violently blown about by the wind. He carried a rather big and heavy thing on his back, from which the odd jingle and jangle was heard. In spite of the size of the man and covered thing on his back, his footsteps were so light that they were almost silent. The door swinging shut behind him caused all those who were staring to snap out of it and realise that they actually had been staring. The almost tattered black cloak was covered dirt, grime, caked in blood – dry and wet, and the stench of death seemed to follow him. He walked past Mkhulu, whose milky eyes were bulging from his eye sockets, and stopped at the bar. He unstrapped what he was carrying and set it on the floor with a heavy thud, before sitting on a stool. He flipped his hood back and revealed his own mask, which didn’t appear to have any protective properties at all. It was black, skin tight, and made of some kind of stretchy material.
“Welcome back, Ken.” The barkeep said as he approached the seated man. “Will it be the usual for you?”
Ken only nodded his answer before peeling away a bit of the sheet it was wrapped in and rummaging inside it for a bit. A minute or so later, a series of bowls of varying sizes that were individually wrapped in cloth were pulled out and set on the bar counter, along with a pair of chopsticks. Everything was made from a dark grey metal, and the sheet was quickly used to seal the thing again. The bowls were quickly taken away and not long afterwards, they were returned, filled with various items such as rice, soups, vegetables, questionable looking animal proteins and a massive glass of water. As it was all being set down on the counter, Ken pulled his mask off revealing a rather large, shaggy and unkempt afro and scraggly beard. The mask was gently placed on the counter and as it was, the barkeep physically recoiled as he looked at Ken’s face.
“…you look like shit, Ken.” He said rather bluntly. “I know you were dungeon crawling and everything, but when last did you sleep?”
Tired eyes with heavy bags looked at the barman with equal parts intensity and lack of care.
“Has anybody been able to sleep these past few weeks? With all that wailing?”
The barman shook his head as he looked at Ken, who pressed his hands together and mumbled his thanks for the food, before starting to eat. Mkhulu, the old man, had calmed himself and after thoroughly looking Ken over, he smirked as if he had actually seen something whilst looking at Ken. He eventually made his way over to the man and sat next to him. Ken said nothing and continued to eat in silence, all the while looking as though he was about to pass out.
“So did you find what you were looking for then?” The barman asked.
“…maybe.”
“…ah.”
That was where the conversation ended, and Ken consumed the remainder of his food in absolute silence – with the creepy old man staring at him the entire time. Once he was done, the bowls were all taken to get washed. While this was happening, the old man smiled at Ken, baring all of his teeth in the process.
“…you are being watched from the shadows, Ken.” He said before hopping down from the stool. “Guard your bag carefully.”
The warning was given with a bit too much amusement before the Mkhulu hobbled his way into the shadows of the bar. Ken neither moved nor made a peep while waiting for his items to be returned to him, and when they were, he simply wrapped them in their cloths and placed them back in the large trunk. As he got up and walked towards a set of stairs, Ken saw Mkhulu approaching the BFT’s but didn’t care enough to try and see what the purpose of that was. Instead, he walked to a door at the end of the hallway, entered said room and flopped onto the bed without even attempting to disrobe. The sound plates and chains rattling and clacking echoed momentarily, but that was it.
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Ken’s attempts at sleeping were anything but fruitful, as he tossed, turned, buried his head under a pillow, did anything and everything to try and get a few licks of sleep. Even long after the storm had passed, sleep did not come and eventually, the tall man sat up with the kind of force that pointed towards anger. His fists and jaw were clenched, his eyes were wide open as well as bloodshot, and he looked as though he wanted to explode.
“Bloody hell!” Ken exclaimed before shooting off the bed and thundering towards a window, which he forced open. “Would you pipe down?! Some of us are trying to SLEEP!!!”
“Shut up!!” Somebody from one of the other rooms bellowed in response to Ken’s roar.
Ken let out a frustrated growl before collecting the items of clothing that had been tossed off during his fitful attempt at sleeping, got dressed, grabbed his things and stormed out of the room and eventually, the bar. He moved so swiftly; the barkeep wasn’t even able to ask what was going on. Due to the storm having moved on, the bar was mostly empty as everybody else resumed their commutes, and Ken stood still for a second, as if trying to hear something. His head darted towards the East, and he began moving in that direction – with the kind of speed that didn’t come across as natural in the slightest. Meanwhile back at the tavern, one of the few people who remained was on his communicator almost immediately after Ken had flown out of the establishment.
“Yeah, he’s heading towards The Insurmountable.” He said as he stood on the path Ken had shot down. “I’ll meet you there.”
The man then hopped on to a three wheeled, turbine powered motorcycle and blasted off after Ken. Night within the Chasm lasted almost double the time of day time, which meant that those who knew anything about living in and traversing through the Chasm always had some type of light source to illuminate their way. Ken was no different, switching on a lantern that hung from his hip. It provided enough light for him to see, yet was dim enough that it did not give away his position so easily. He was mostly a blur as he moved glided over dunes and the like, occasionally stopping to listen before setting off again. A few hours into his trip, Ken was running through a canyon when he suddenly stopped in his tracks. The sound of multiple high-pitched whines approaching him caught his attention and moments later, beams of light pierced the darkness from multiple directions. It didn’t take long for those on the motorcycles to reach Ken, with the vast majority of them stopping on the respective precipices of the gorge, whilst a few of them blocked both the way he had entered it, as well as the exit. All but a few of the flood lights that were crudely strapped to the motorcycles were switched off, and those that were still on belonged to those who appeared to be higher up on the food chain. The one who was clearly the leader raised his right hand and held it above his head. His cloak fluttered as the eye holes of his mask began to glow bright red, and the moment he clenched his fist, the remaining lights went off. The canyon was steeped in total darkness, and aside from the odd yelp and whoop, there was also silence. Both of these were broken however as a bright red flare was suddenly ignited, which was followed by howls and even more red flares being lit. the flickering light danced on the sand, before the motorcycles that were in front and behind of Ken began to circle him, the single rear wheels kicking up sand and particulate. Red blurs spun around Ken for close to a minute before a loud roar not only caused them to stop, but for the howling and yelping to cease immediately.
“You there…” A deep voice bellowed. “Leave whatever it is that you’re carrying there on the ground, and I will let you live.”
Ken looked in the direction the voice was coming from in complete silence at first. The flare was providing enough light for Ken to make out not only the physical features of whoever it was that spoke, but the fact that the flares were contained within a see-through case on top of a multi-headed blunt weapon – a flail.
“…I recognise you from the tavern. You’re BFT.” Ken stated rather simply. “I neither have the energy nor the patience for this. Stand aside – all of you – or else blood will be shed.”
The leader, who had been revealed to be the leader of the BFT group from earlier chuckled a little bit in genuine amusement.
“Yes, blood will be shed… your blood. Although…”
There was a lull in ‘negotiations’ as the leader looked Ken up and down.
“On second thought, if you leave that thing behind, then you and I can have some… fun a little later. If we have to take it by force, then I’ll take something else by force as well.”
“…this isn’t Pollsmoor.” Ken quickly responded before slipping his arms out of the bag straps and setting the trunk down. “Well, come on then! I don’t have all night, so get down here already!”
It sounded as though Ken was not in the best of moods, even gesturing at the leader to join him down on the canyon floor. All the leader did was make a strange sound yelp, which sounded akin to a drunk hyena trying to sing soprano. This was followed by the rest of his gang yelping in the same way as they started up their engines once more. The all started circling Ken again as they clearly readied themselves to attack, with the tall man looking as if he was about to reach into the trunk again to pull something out, but stopped short of doing so.
“…you guys aren’t even worth the blade.” He said in a surprisingly audible whisper before looking towards the sky. “Do you see the shit you’re still putting me through, Bheki?!”
Ken sounded about as frustrated as he could as a yelp informed him of the beginning of the attack. He shifted his feet along the sand rapidly, with his left leg straight and pushed back, while his right was bent at the knee. His left hand pushed the cloak open and his right reached down towards his as if he was looking to grab something. There was nothing on his waist however, and the moment the first two BFT goons, who were swinging the flare topped lock-in-sock type flails above their heads, got close enough, it was over within the blink of an eye. Ken dashed from where he was standing and pulsed towards the two, kicking up a sand and dust cloud in the process. Before they could even swing their flails, Ken was airborne, crashing his right knee into the face of the first goon, before using the handlebars as footing, leaping off of the them and dashing towards the second goon, who caught an elbow to the jaw. The cracks that came from both their faces were incredibly loud, and there wasn’t a single person who didn’t hear them – along with the lifeless thuds of two bodies onto the ground.
“What just happened?!” The leader barked.
Instead of receiving a worded answer, all he got was more cracks and more thuds. The swinging flares almost made it impossible for the leader to get a clear view on what was happening, but he saw glimpses – flashes – of a cloaked figure darting around from gang member to gang member, appearing within the flashing red lights before disappearing back into the darkness.
“The lights!” He roared to the other BFT thugs who were on the edges like him. “Turn the lights on so we can see him!”
The powerful flood lights were switched on, however what they revealed almost made the leader wish they had stayed off.
“Where is he?!” He roared as he looked around, yet all he found was the litany of limp and bleeding subordinates on the floor.
Within a matter of moments, Ken had taken all of them out and then disappeared completely from sight. The BFT leader’s head darted around as he looked for Ken.
“Find him! Whatever weapon he’s using, it’s powerful enough to destroy our masks in a single strike! Find him, and then overwhelm him with numb—”
Before the BFT leader could finish giving out instructions, the attacks started again. They were happening on the opposite side of the of the ravine, where the other BFT gang members were stationed, and also gave the leader a clear view on what was happening. He watched as the tattered cloak fluttered while Ken took his men out so quickly, he couldn’t even see the ‘weapon’ that was being used. Those gang members towards back of the formation were at least able to get off an attack or two, but they were either parried or evaded with ease. Again, it took no time at all for Ken to completely decimate all the gang members on that side, and leave the motorcycles rider-less.
“…w-what are you?!” The leader asked as he gripped his own flail, which was larger than those belonging to the others.
It also contained more locks than the standard flail, and was a rather formidable example of a BFT Flail. Sadly enough, that did little to give the leader any sort of confidence as he watched Ken leap across the ravine to where he was, and start baring down on him. Bodies flew through the air as blood spewed out from the destroyed masks and the leader watched as the cloud of death approached him rapidly. The leader let out an almighty yell, revved his bike and appeared as though he was about to attack when after the blink of an eye, Ken was airborne once more, now flying directly towards him. There was a flash, followed by immense pain in not only his face and jaw, but his chest as well. This pain was followed almost immediately by darkness as he coughed out blood and fell to the ground, while Ken stood over the leader’s body.
‘That old man… wasn’t… lying.’
Ken snorted in derision before leaping down into the canyon to go collect his trunk.
“If these weapons were worth anything, I’d collect them.” He said to himself as he looked at the carnage around him.
He was so nonchalant after destroying a group of the most feared gang in the Chasm. Just as he picked up his trunk, Ken looked about as if he heard something.
“THERE YOU ARE!!!” He boomed before pushing off and dashing forth with even more speed.
Around ten minutes later, Ken caught up to the wandering and howling storm, and darted right into it. It wasn’t as large or as forceful as it had been earlier, so Ken was able to move through it.
“Bheki… Bheki!” Ken called, which oddly enough, seemed to make the storm stop moving. “Bheki, it’s me.”
The storm, which Ken claimed was Bhekizwe, actually calmed down further and the swirling sand and particulate formed a face that towered over Ken. The face was crying, with tears of actual liquid streaming down said face, despite the eye sockets being hollowed out.
“Listen, I told you to calm down, didn’t I? Didn’t I tell you I was going to help you? I found what I was looking for in that last ruin mate, so why?”
Ken reached out, attempting to wipe one of the giant tears away and failing, instead having his glove completely drenched in tears.
“…anyway, calm down, and stay put. I know where she is, so just calm down, and wait.” Ken then hit his left pectoral, which produced a light jingling noise. “When you hear this, come to the source of the sound immediately.”
Bhekizwe grew smaller and even less powerful, before the sand that had taken the form of the face returned to the desert.
“Gross.” Ken said as he shook his hand, before setting off again.
He ran with even greater speed this time, as he approached the border of the Chasm, with more plant and animal life appearing. A few hours later, he was at the border of the neighbouring territory known as Kloof. He set his trunk down, removed the cloth and pulled a sheathed katana out, along with a very ancient looking bucket and mop. He placed all three items on the ground and then sat down cross-legged behind them.
“Nogada, The Yawning Guardian – I summon thee.”
Ken sat in complete silence after speaking, waiting. A few more hours passed by before the ground started shaking. This prompted Ken to grab the sword and stand up slowly. He stood with his feet far apart, hunkered down slightly and held the sheath firmly in his left hand. Soon enough, the absolutely massive Nogada flew in from above and landed on the ground with an almighty thud, sending sand everywhere and causing the ground to shake. He was massive, and more animalistic in nature than anything else, hunkered over like a four-legged creature. He bore a mask, and carried a massive baton that was caked in dry blood and other matter that Ken didn’t even care to think about.
“I invoke the Blood Rite. Forgive me, Nogada.”
Ken reached for the hilt and grabbed it in his right hand, taking a deep breath in the process. The air around him suddenly became hot, as shockwaves burst out from his feet, sending sand flying towards the giant. Suddenly, things slowed down for an instant, and absolutely everything became black and white. Nogada looked confused, but that was all he had time to do, as Ken spoke once more.
“Monochromatic Slash.”
Ken’s right hand twitched, and the only way one would have been able to tell that Ken did something was by the sound of the guard clicking against the sheathe. Before anything else could happen, blood spurted out from multiple lacerations on Nogada’s body. He roared as he fell backwards and hit the ground hard, causing it to shake again. The Guardian had been defeated in mere seconds of his arrival, and Ken quickly grabbed the bucket and mop, holding the bucket beneath one of the wounds to collect blood, before dashing off to the East. This time, he only ran for about a minute, before he reached The Insurmountable – a barrier that prevented certain living being from passing through. He dipped the mop into the blood and used it to paint four symbols seemingly in the air, yet they stuck. The symbols all glowed after being painted on, and the sound of something shattering filled the entire area. Immediately after it shattered, Ken put the bucket down and started signing in the air with his hand.
He mouthed ‘Di-di-ntle’ with his lips as he did this repeatedly, and soon enough, a gentle, sad sand storm appeared before him.
“Didi.” Ken signed. “I’m here to bring you to Bheki. Hold out your hand.”
Didintle looked at Ken, as if trying to look through him, and after a while, the sand formed a forearm and hand. He pulled out a tattered and ancient bracelet that was barely holding together, before tying said bracelet onto the sandy wrist.
“I believe this was once given to you by Bheki, Didi. I added the Bells of Neervana to it. The barrier is broken, so enter the Chasm and shake your wrist a bit. You’ll see what will happen.”
Didi, who somehow understood Ken’s signing, tentatively entered the Chasm and a light jingling could be heard as she did this. It took absolutely no time at all for the wailing of the storm to be heard and Didi, who saw the approaching Bheki, started moving towards him as well. For the first time in centuries, millennia even, the Lamentable Lovers were reunited. The two sand storms collided in what looked like a dangerous embrace, dancing and swirling around. Tears flew out like raindrops, with the Lovers both weeping, Didi silently, and Bheki almost too loud. The pair danced, split, chased one another, embraced and split again, all in a dance and a celebration that kicked caused strong winds to emanate and blow over parts of Kloof as well.
“Finally, it seems that those two, and this region, will finally start to bloom.”
As if on cue, the sun rose and blanketed the Lovers in light, making for quite the scene.
“…that was quite the act of benevolence.” A raspy and familiar voice stated, causing Ken to turn around and look at him.
Mkhulu appeared out of nowhere, hobbling along the sand with his eyes glowing brightly, grinning with his teeth showing.
“How kind of you Ken – helping those two find one another.”
Ken just snorted before looking back at Bheki and Didi.
“This act of benevolence will not be without it’s consequences, however I’m sure the One Who Cuts All has nothing to fear from the Slumbering Ones, right Ken? Or should I say, Sword Deity, Yasuke-sama?”
Ken simply snorted again before walking off, heading back to where he left his trunk and sword.
End.