Howlie’s hand wrapped around the tsuka handle of the ancient katana. He’d been here before.

Too many times.

As always, the hilt turned cold underneath his grasp sending chills up his arm. Sensei told him no one else experienced what Howlie did when holding the Soul-Severer. He said it was a sign from the Guardians of the clan.

But were these signs of the positive sort? Or did this mean he was cursed?

It felt like the latter.

Swallowing down his emotion as he was taught, Howlie removed the katana from its protective chest, closing the latch carefully. The slower he moved the more time he had before performing the deed of blood.

He put the scabbard through his waistband, adjusting it for optimal draw speed. This was by habit alone as speed was not necessary for what he was about to be forced to do.

Howlie could see the dark shadowed forms of his fellow shinobi sitting behind the shoji sliding door. One dark figure stood unmoving.

Sensei.

Howlie moved toward it, his feet making zero noise. He got to the door, sliding it out of his way. The students kept facing forward. Howlie could practically feel their hatred for him, like unseen poison-tipped needles flying through the air and sticking to him.

Death might’ve been better.

“You move slower and slower each time,” Sensei said, his arms crossed over his chest. He glared at Howlie with his one good eye. The other was blue and foggy, destroyed in a fight long ago.

But this only made Sensei more dangerous. His opponents would guess him to have a lack of depth perception. This mindset was always their misdoing.

Howlie knew this as he’d seen Sensei face off against many other Shinobi clans. The duels never lasted long, with Sensei taking over all accomplished shinobi and students under his wing and absorbing the opponent’s clan.

“Forgive me, Sensei,” Howlie said, his eyes staring at his teacher’s feet.

Sensei walked over to him, extending one hand and slapping him across the face. Howlie didn’t flinch. Sensei knelt beside him putting both hands on his shoulders.

“Your emotion controls you,” Sensei said, “This young woman defied us and now she must face the consequences.”

“It was a small offense,” Howlie said quietly.

Another slap, this time with the left hand. Howlie’s cheeks burned.

“It was no small offense,” Sensei argued, his tone still under control as it always was. “A kiss is one of the most intimate of gestures amongst humans.”

“And her lips to mine is a gesture punishable by death?” Howlie asked.

Sensei didn’t slap him this time, his good eye forcing itself into Howlie’s soul as he stared. Howlie wondered if the old man could read his thoughts.

“Yes,” Sensei said, “Yes it is. Now, uphold your loyalty to our clan and remove the sour apple.”

“I don’t want to,” Howlie spoke truly. It wasn’t the first time Howlie decided to talk against Sensei. Doing so was enough to get himself executed but Sensei knew Howlie to be the most efficient and skilled of the Shinobi his age and was even superior to many already graduated shinobi..

Howlie was not expendable. He would fetch a great fortune when it was his time to be sold.

“You know where to meet me this evening,” Sensei said, removing his hands from Howlie. “We will rid this emotion of you yet. Be happy I’ve given your fellow student here the option of a warrior’s death.”

Howlie nodded, looking down at Soul-Severer’s black and gold wrapped hilt, “It’s cold.”

“It’s always cold,” Sensei said.

“It freezes my hand, Sensei,” Howlie said. “I don’t like this weapon.”

“You cannot dislike a weapon just as you cannot dislike one of your limbs,” Sensei said, “The chill is a sign.”

There it was again. A sign.

Howlie wanted to ask what sort of sign but knew Sensei wouldn’t offer any answer.

“Go,” Sensei ordered and Howlie’s feet moved before the word’s exhale left his teacher’s lips.

Sweat dripped down the back of his neck as he moved toward the circular cobblestone arena. Howlie always hated August, the most humid of times in Japan.

But as with anything sour, the Universe seemed to provide something sweet. In this case, the blooming of cherry blossoms more than made up for the heat.

But today they held no magic for Howlie as he moved to the dueling arena. He didn’t enjoy their intense contrast from the drab grey they lay on as he usually did.

His fellow students turned to him, sliding on her knees. They still didn’t look at him, refusing to do so until Sensei allowed them too.

He tried bringing his attention back to the cherry blossoms.

They didn’t bloom but only for a couple of weeks and already the trees had shed their pedals which now covered the concrete below his sandaled feet. He found their pink color to be one of the few soothing things in the world. 

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

It brought back a memory, a memory he believed to be of his mom. Kissing him on the forehead with lilac-colored lipstick. He wasn’t even sure if this was a real memory or something he’d dreamt up years ago.

But Howlie was shinobi now. His family was the clan and now he must protect his clan by severing the dead limb.

Yui’s hand already rested on the hilt of her katana, her right foot already stepped forward. Her long black hair blew over her shoulder with a gust of wind crawling over the dojo wall.

Oh how Howlie wished she’d accepted a quick death, but who was he kidding? No shinobi ever picked the quick death, not when there was a chance of survival.

If Yui managed to defeat him, an almost impossible feat, she would win her life back.

Howlie took his position at the opposite side of the arena, both hands resting beside his black kimono. Yui also wore a kimono, not even bothering to wear her titanium-plated smart body-armor. They both knew the conclusion to this duel no matter what gear was worn or brought.

“One last chance,” Howlie said, speaking his breath in the secret tongue so that only Yui could hear his words… or so he thought. “Take the quick death,” he continued, “It is still honorable. One last chance.”

The corner of Yui’s mouth twitched, a small smile forming, “Not a chance,” she replied.

Howlie nodded slowly.

“Yui Akamoto,” Sensei spoke from the side, “You are sentenced to death by combat as you have chosen. Your offense of intimacy with a fellow student is unforgivable.” Sensei turned to the rest of his students, “Let this be a warning to all of you.”

The students nodded, crying out a loud, “Hai!” in response. 

Sensei turned back to Howlie before taking a seat on his knees. The small bow of his head commenced the duel.

Howlie grew up with Yui. They practically joined the clan at the same time. They shared meals and showers, and even a warm bed while out on deadly missions testing their abilities. Never did Howlie think she’d try and commit such an atrocity, one punishable with steel through skin.

Yui snapped her katana from the scabbard with a flick of the thumb. Howlie mimicked this action, waving his right arm wide before resting it on the hilt. He was met with icy prickles to his palm. He fought against the odd feeling, tightening his fist around it which increased the sensation.

Together, they drew their blades. A white fog poured from Howlie’s empty scabbard, an effect only his eyes could see. His breath went cold, making him shudder. He moved Soul-Severer out in front of his body, taking hold of it with both hands.

Yui took the same stance.

Even from this distance, Howlie caught a tear drip down his opponent’s cheek.

She’s in love with me, Howlie thought, And this is unforgivable. She has shamed me in the eyes of the clan.

Yui took the first steps forward and Howlie did the same, feeling her out just as he’d done eight times before in this same arena. As they approached one another they took different stances. Yui lifted her blade over her head while Howlie brought Soul-Severer to his right shoulder, the blade creating a near-perfect perpendicular angle as compared to the ground.

Her style of finesse is deadly, Howlie thought, But the power of my swing will ruin her.

She charged him, preparing for a diagonal swipe with the intention of severing his shoulder tendons leaving his left arm useless. Howlie waited for the right moment to strike, watching her blade cut through the air.

Something triggered inside Howlie, an instinct impressed in him since the age of five. Like a mantis striking its prey, Howlie turned the tip of his blade toward the ground and swung upward.

Blood sprinkled onto the dying sakura leaves. A tear of Howlie’s own escaped his eyelid which Sensei no doubt noticed. His punishment would be doubled but he just couldn’t help it.

Yui had intentionally paused midswing, knowing damn well this would trigger Howlie’s desire to kill. It was impossible for him to ignore such an opening and she knew this.

Stumbling forward, Yui dropped to her knees with her katana pressed into the cobble underneath her right palm. Howlie could hear her blood trickling.

“End this pain,” Yui spoke through the wind. “It hurts more than I thought it would.”

Howlie usually remained facing forward after an execution, allowing his enemy to bleed out. His cut on Yui wasn’t perfect, however, and it would take some time before she breathed her last breath.

Howlie turned, trying not to wince at the blood. He’d seen this so many times before but this time hurt the worst.

Hearing his footsteps, Yui managed to raise herself. Howlie kneeled in front of her, her forehead falling onto his. He pressed the tip of Soul-Severer to her heart. He could feel its beating through his hilt.

The blade coveted this young girl’s soul. It wanted to cut the thin line between her spirit and this physical realm. Soon, it would have its way.

“Don’t let this keep you from love,” Yui whispered.

“Howlie!” Sensei called out, hearing her words with his trained ears, “Finish this now!”

“I forgive you,” Yui said, pushing her head more into Howlie’s, “and I’m glad it was you. Thank you for giving me this warrior’s dea--”

Howlie plunged Soul-Severer into her, straight through her heart. Like always, the blade sunk into the body as if it were warm butter. She gave a small gasp, her hand grabbing onto the top of Howlie’s fist.

“So… cold,” she breathed.

Her body went limp. Howlie stood, making sure to hold her upright as he slid the ancient blade from the corpse. He laid her down gently.

Turning to Sensei, Howlie removed his white cloth from his belt, using it to wipe Yui’s warm blood from its smoky steel. He replaced the Soul-Severer into its scabbard, relieved to do so.

The students gathered Yui and prepared her for cremation. Howlie returned Soul-Severer to its chest before being led by Sensei to the rehabilitation center where many volts of electric shock awaited him. Howlie bowed to the psychotherapist as he entered the room.

The doctor smiled with a mouth full of yellow teeth. His eyes always hidden behind circular glasses with black lenses with only his bushy black eyebrows giving away what he was thinking. 

He wiped his gloved hands on his white uniform.

“What’s it this time, Howlie?” the doctor asked, “Can’t you just behave?”

Howlie didn’t answer.

The doctor laughed, removing one of his gloves, “Oh, Sensei Matsumoto,” the doctor said, shaking his head, “I think we need to up the pressure. He has yet to relinquish control of his mind to us and after all we’ve done for him.”

“Do what you must,” Sensei said, “But he must be able to train tomorrow.”

Howlie turned to Sensei leaving the room. He felt a bony hand drop on his shoulder.

“Let’s begin,” the doctor said in his ear.

***

Howlie was allowed to visit the cremation hut sitting atop the hill overlooking the dojo. Still red embers burned in the ash and he could feel the heat brush over his skin. He hobbled over, limping from the recent rehabilitation techniques involving a rubber mallet.

Blood dripped from his broken nose as he knelt before her remains, taking a pinch of the grey dust and sprinkling it into his open palm.

“You disgraced me with only a few months before graduation,” Howlie spoke to himself, “You made me hurt you even though you weren’t an optimal opponent. It was too easy taking you down. You think your hesitation was mercy but all it’s done is bring me suffering.”

Howlie gripped the ashes harder, his brain still fuzzy from the electricity.

“You made me weak,” Howlie said, “And I hate you for it.”

Howlie kept the ashes in his palm as he made his way back to his bed.