It was the morning of the next day, the sun was pouring through the windows of McCarthy’s stately office. He faced a figure in a dirty kimono — who was standing in front of his desk — McCarthy’s hands gripped the back of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. His carefully combed hair, with not a strand out of place, stood in sharp contrast to the unkempt expression that was plastered on his face. As usual, Da Shan’s face was impassive, blank, neutral and devoid of all emotion. McCarthy took off his glasses, with a light clatter he dropped them on the desk. He took off his grey jacket. Today was a grey pinstriped three-piece suit — offset by his bright blue eyes and deep black hair, as always, he looked good. He lifted his hands to run them through his hair, then he remembered the gel, and he gripped the chair with more irritation instead. He stared at Da Shan, indignation in his gaze.

“What is your problem?”

“Pardon sir?” Da Shan allowed an innocent look to glaze over his face. McCarthy felt his irritation rise.

“Why did you beat up Billy Arnold… he’s my future pupil, you knew that.”

“Ah, that.”

“Yes that.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“You’re not going to answer?”

“Oh, you wanted an answer sir?”

McCarthy felt the veins in his temples throb, his irritation had risen so high that it reached his brain. It was starting to cloud his calm, rational mind. Don't give in to the rage.

"I would like one."

"Ah, I see."

"..."

"..."

“I WANT A DAMN ANSWER!” The shout sent Da Shan hurtling to the door and with a bang he crashed into the door, crumpling to the floor in a heap and coughing blood.

“Get up.”

Da Shan was unresponsive. He cradled his battered body and put on the most pitful expression he could.

“Get up or I’ll break your legs.”

Da Shan stood up, dusted off his kimono and wiped the blood from his face.

McCarthy started again, in a cold voice, “Why did you humiliate Billy Arnold?”

“I didn’t like his name sir.”

McCarthy’s chair exploded, splinters bursting from beneath his hands and shooting all over the room, “Da Shan… it’s not enough that you won’t help me with our revenge… but you try and stop me from carrying it out?”

Da Shan’s eyes narrowed and his voice came out, in dull threatening tones, “You want to bring an outsider into this?! A young pup who is still suckling at his mother’s breast? Who, if I may remind you, picked a fight with me! I taught him a valuable lesson, a lesson I once taught you… a lesson which you have forgotten.”

“Oh, and what’s that, oh wise Master Mediocrity?”

“Do not judge with your eyes, but with your mind. Billy thought I looked weak, I crushed him. You, you thought I looked weak all those years ago and I crushed you. But if you used your damn brain, you’d see the truth!”

“Let’s have another round then, I’ll show you the truth, old man.” The air swirled around McCarthy and the room seemed to darken. His eyes had a dangerous look as he whispered, “I still can’t believe you sold that hair pin.”

Da Shan waved a had casually, his passive facade dropped, “It’s just a pin. I hold her in my heart.”

“… It wasn’t yours to sell.” The room grew darker and the swirling air felt like the prickling of needles on Da Shan’s skin.

“You are still a fool, might doesn’t make right, right makes right.”

The darkness receded and the wind stopped.

“So you haven’t given up?”

“Of course not.”

“Then… what is this?” McCarthy gestured to Da Shan, “Why won’t you tell me about your cultivation? Especially when it's so abysmal.”

Da Shan paused, as if thinking what to say and then with a sigh he said, “I’m going to die tomorrow… I lied about having eternal longevity… my method has crippled me… beyond repair.”

McCarthy swayed, his hands reached to grab a chair that wasn’t there, they floundered reaching for the desk, “What… what did you say…”

“I will die tomorrow.”

“No you won’t! I won’t let it!”

“You can’t cheat death, old friend.”

“And they said our Sect couldn’t survive.”

“This is hardly the same thing.”

“How are you so calm! You’re going to leave me, alone!”

“You won’t be alone.”

“Prick me! How will I not be alone if you’re gone?! Who else can understand what drives us! What we saw! Light untold, what we did?!”

“Do not speak of this.”

McCarthy’s shoulders sagged, he looked up at Da Shan with a fire burning in his eyes, “Death will not come to you, the Anatomical Department has been experimenting with cryo-stasis… we can freeze your body and try and find a cure for your condition.”

“No, it’s okay I have —”

“It’s not okay! Da Shan, let me —”

“NO!”

McCarthy recoiled as if slapped, but without warning the room went black and his hand shot out in the blackness chopping Da Shan’s neck. Da Shan fell to the floor, his consciousness as black as the room. Light returned to the room, McCarthy’s eyes seemed tinged with insanity, “I won’t let you die… my brother.”

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Da Shan awoke in a dim room, naked, cold and wet. The ceiling appeared to be carved of stone and lichens were scrawled all over the rock walls. The floor was cold and foreboding, and having lain on it for who knows how long made his bones ache. He sat up and gingerly rubbed his neck where McCarthy had chopped him.

“Damn Vulcan.”

Da Shan looked around his small accommodations and tried to peer through the steel bars, but the darkness was not an ordinary darkness. There seemed to be something inhibiting sight from piercing through.

“Witchcraft…” He whispered to himself and his eyes widened a bit. I thought McCarthy and I wiped this stuff out from the school.

These arts: Witchcraft, Black Magic and Sorcery, have all been prohibited in this world, because for some strange reason, all have one of two bizarre ends… cannibalism and human sacrifice — generally these arts have been thoroughly stamped out. But apparently, not here.

Why is it here…? Da Shan looked up and noticed a light breeze passing through the cell, he sniffed the air. Is that the smell of… gerbils? Ah, I must be below the spire of the Smithing Department… Old Man Jenkins loves his gerbils… a little more than any human should love an animal. Da Shan got up and walked to the cell bars and taking hold of them in both hands, he pulled with all his might. They bent a little, but not much.

“You are underestimating me old friend, these bars were clearly only designed to hold back someone of Lieutenant Grade… that’s all the strength you think I have?”

Da Shan stepped back, and after taking a few deep breaths rammed his finger down his throat, forcing himself to throw up bile, food and a metal rod that was a foot long. After wiping his mouth and wincing at the smell, he took the metal rod and gingerly wiped it… on his naked body. With a flick and a click a blade popped out from the shaft, a blade about a foot long. Da Shan closed his eyes and extended his left arm, without flinching he slashed his arm from wrist to elbow and let the blood pour out. Holding the sword above and parallel to his bleeding arm, he opened his eyes. And whispered.

“Ferrum, veni.”

Flecks of gleaming metal shot from his exposed wound and what looked like a cloud of grey sand, stormed to his knife, billowing all around and knitting itself to the blade — extending the sword from one foot, to two feet and then to three feet. Then as abruptly as it came, the grey cloud of dust vanished and Da Shan sagged — almost dropping to his knees, but he steadied himself through clenched teeth and with a fist to his gut.

“Obey me damn body!” He hissed in anger at the weakness of his flesh, gathering his strength and courage, he took his blade in hand.

He lifted the sword above his head and breathed in, blood poured down his naked body from the exposed wound on his arm. Hands clenched the sword tightly, he whispered, “Jodan no kamae.”

He exhaled.

“Ken.”

Like lightning the blade fell, faster than the human eye could follow, it sliced through the metal like a hot knife through butter. Noiseless and lethal. Like a heated element to a kettle, the sword seemed to make the steel bars hiss with steam as it sliced through the top of the gate.

The first stroke.

Da Shan recalled his sword smoothly to his favourite position. Blade in both hands he cocked his weapon back and softly called out, “Sha no kamae.”

“Ken.”

Again, the sword passed through the metal like a lawnmower through grass. The blade silently screamed as it cut through the bottom of the gate.

The second stroke.

“Fall.”

A formless force rippled from Da Shan’s body and pushed the newly cut metal bars free from the gate, before they could touch the ground, his voice called out again.

“Ferrum.”

The bars disintegrated before impact, transmuting into a silver and grey cloud that gleamed in the darkness. As if alive, the steel whirled and danced in the air before jetting into Da Shan’s body through his wound, sealing up the cut with a dull grey line. Da Shan’s body rocked back and forth from the sudden ingestion of the raw element, with the sound of loud retch, he vomited blood. Wiped his mouth. Swayed on his feet. Steadied himself. And walked on.

His naked feet quietly stepped on the stone floor, as if recalling the layout from memory, at every fork, twist or turn he would — without hesitation — chose a direction. Sword in hand. Blood now crusted. He cut quite the vicious looking figure, but his mind was racing.

I knew it. I knew Joseph would do this if he thought my life was in danger. ‘Tell me your plans!’ He says. ‘Trust me!’ He says. If he knew what I was experimenting on he’d lock me away for life, until at his snail-like pace, he found a cure. If there even is one apart from my idea. It was stupid to try and tell him. I didn’t even get to say, ‘But I’ll be back!’ Freakin’ scrub! Horse bridles! But that Witchcraft enhanced darkness… that was pretty weird… Ah, don’t worry about it Da Shan, you can’t delay your plans anymore or you’ll actually will die. Prick me! He’s probably got my clothes, good thing my pills aren’t in my kimono. Hehehe… I’m sure Ed has clothes for me.

After a few more minutes of ploughing through the darkness, Da Shan finally reached the door that led to the outside. He pressed his ears to the door and heard voices, he strained to hear… it was McCarthy and Old Man Jenkins.

“…Now I’m tellin’ ya boss, this cryo stuff just ain’t ready… my last gerbil was turned into catfood.”

“And I’m telling you it better damn be ready by midnight!”

“… I ain’t saying it don’t work… but cuz… it don’t work.”

“Does it or does it not work?”

“It work in that it freezes things… it don’t work in that it kills them too.”

“Midnight Jenkins. Mid — pricking — night!”

“Nawh… I won’t do it, this human experumimenplanation… we don’t do that here this is a —”

Jenkin’s sentence was cut off by his strangled cries as McCarthy’s hand wrapped around his throat, crushing the airflow.

“Jenkins… I swear to you. If you breathe one word of this to anyone I will skin you alive and sell your body to the Witches.”

There were more muffled cries and some garbled words, but Da Shan bolted from the door and hid under the stairs, he could hear the sound of footsteps approaching. McCarthy was coming. With a silent murmur the grey line on Da Shan’s body turned to a cloud again and swirled around his body, slowly the flecks of metal settled on all his exposed skin, completely covering him in steel and eradicating his smell. He held his breath. The door opened. Thump, thump, thump. The dull sounds of McCarthy’s footfalls seemed to resonate in his brain. He heard Jenkins yell.

“I’ll do my best… but it ain’t gunna work!” With the sound of clothes fluttering and the pounding of feet, it Jenkins bounded away, like the grim reaper was on his heels. On the stairs Da Shan heard McCarthy’s feet do a 180-degree turn.

“I’ll kill you Jenkins if it doesn’t.”

The voice wasn’t loud, but it carried, Da Shan heard Jenkins’ running falter — as if he almost fell over — but he righted himself and kept running. With an extra loud thump McCarthy sat on the stairs.

“Da Shan.”

Da Shan’s heart pounded so hard it turned into a kilogram.

“I’m sorry old friend… but I just can’t lose you.”

Da Shan heard McCarthy lean forward on the stairs, they creaked and groaned from his weight. His voice raged into the darkness.

“How can I live with myself… if I let you die… your heart beats in my chest… how can I live and you die?!”

The strong voice of the Chancellor, one of the most powerful men in the world, cracked and turned to a whimper.

“How can I live… and you die.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks, they softly pattered onto the stairs. McCarthy cried for a long, long time. He then wiped his tears. He straightened his back. Adjusted his tie. Stood. Walked. Disappeared… into the black.

With a light whoosh, the iron dispersed and rammed back into his body through the cut. Soon, the thin grey line returned and Da Shan’s face was pensive. He waited a minute or so, then dashed out the door. His feet pumped like a naked man streaking through a stadium, whenever his ears picked up the giggles of a school girl or the chuckle of a boy he bounded into what little darkness he could find in the light of the setting sun. Zig zagging his way through the sect grounds he reached his destination. Naked, but triumphant, he stood at the base of wall where the window to the Chancellor’s office was. In the receding evening light, he put his sword in his mouth and scaled the wall like a squirrel, scampering up to the window. He knew there would be traps and alarms, but he would be gone before the Chancellor would return and with any luck, McCarthy would ignore the warnings that his office was being raided, and instead, search for him. With a smash he broke through the window and tumbled in, his naked body picking up cuts from the shards of glass. Looking around he saw loose pieces of paper on the shelves, snatching one he took McCarthy’s quill pen and wrote a letter, quickly. Spying a blanket in the corner of the room he grabbed it and after wrapping his legs in iron, jumped from the window — a three story jump — landing smoothly on the ground. Steel still encasing his legs, he bolted off at four times the speed as before, sword in one hand and blanket in the other, blood trailing down his body from his mouth.