Rakshal breathed with great effort, his arms smarting, his legs numb, and was certain he was about to pass out within the next few minutes. He swallowed blood and saliva, his bare back burned, and sweat rolled from what felt like every pore.
How long had he been sparring this damn snake? It was impossible to tell time in the ruined lands of Garwados, and his distance from the jungle where light still touched the sky certainly didn't help. Maybe a day; it had to be at least a day since he last had a moment of reprieve. It felt as though it took a lifetime to get a mere weapon to be drawn against him, for Igni to take him seriously. Even then, the snake only used a small red knife that felt insulting to use against him.
Lips parting, he emitted several hard pants before groaning, "Igni...please...A break?" His voice was a croak, and he shortly coughed from the sweltering humidity around him.
There was brief silence. Sweet, merciful silence…
Then—
“Nah."
His instincts screamed for him to move, and he barely cracked his eyes open before rolling to the side, missing a redhilted knife that would have sliced his head clean off. He was too tired to roll more than once, but the ground shook from the force behind the attack and made his ears ring.
He scampered away, crawling backward, as the tall, gangly white form dove for his legs. Slicing rapidly, the blade a hair's breadth away from his limbs each time, Igni continued this until Rakshal flipped onto his hands and jumped back.
If he hadn't been at this for several months, or what felt like months, he would have truly thought the older god was trying to kill him more than a handful of times. To add insult to it all, Igni called this “warmingup”.
“Yer dis'racted."
Rakshal sensed Igni a second too late, unable to sidestep a strong kick that sent him spinning into a rocky hill. Slamming into it on his back, he coughed up bloodied saliva.
His eyes rolled back as he let himself fall to the ground facefirst. Igni approached slowly, allowing him to look up just as his black and silver boustaff knocked him upside the head. Snapped up off his feet and back into the rock, he broke through it, flopped over from the momentum, and ultimately went prone on the ground, too tired to even emit a groan.
He didn't look up this time.
He knew what was coming.
Slowly, he tried to rise onto shaking, bruised arms, but a large clawed foot almost half the size of his torso slammed into his back. He spat up blood as he hit the ground, breath left his lungs, and his face twisted in pain.
A brief tap on his shoulder and sudden nothingness was all the warning he had before the first strike came, sending a jolt from his neck down his spine. Another strike, this time undoubtedly bruising his back, and he bit down on his lip to prevent himself from crying out.
The hits continued as Igni proceeded to beat him with his own weapon.
It seemed pointless, but he knew the older god was trying to give him reason to rise, to make him feel anger, to make him feel something.
It wasn’t working.
Finally, it stopped. Igni slid a clawed hand into his hair, grabbed him by his locs, and raised him off his feet so he looked him in the eye.
Or what would have been eyes, if only Igni let his open completely. As it was, Rakshal stared with rapidly fading vision at a slender face that appeared thoroughly disappointed.
Igni had removed his long, draping tunic, much to Rakshal's initial shock, when they started training. Beneath, Igni wore a sleeveless, short tunic with red lining and loose white pants that reached just above his ankles. Rakshal's eyes flickered a brief glance at the long, pale arm, rippling with lean muscle and thicker than his thigh, that held him up. Chains dragged on the ground, emerging from all parts of Igni’s body, and wrapped loosely around his lanky frame.
Rakshal looked back at Igni’s face. The older god wanted him to fight.
He simply didn't have it in him anymore.
With a tsk, Igni unceremoniously dropped him, forcing him onto his knees before he keeled over. His staff knocked him in the head before thumping to the ground beside him, discarded.
"Weaklin'," the older god tut. "Ya ain't gonna git no ye'an like 'is. Aft'r all ‘is time, too."
Tears gathered in Rakshal's eyes. The echo, the everhaunting echo, of his mother's scream rattled in his head, causing his lips to tremble with anger, selfloathing, and frustration.
His arms wobbled as he fought to sit up again, spitting bloody bile and at least one tooth to the ground.
He slipped in his own liquids and fell facefirst.
Defeated.
A sigh. “Clean up, Raaki,” Igni called before disappearing.
Leaving Rakshal in the dark, moody landscape of Garwados, thunder rumbling in the distance as if snickering at his inability to best a more experienced god.
He finally sobbed, abrupt and hard. His shaking hands curled into loose fists, and he began striking the ground. Slowly, weakly, at first, and it hurt, made him cry louder, at first.
As his tears and bile and blood mixed with dirt and he pulled himself onto his knees, he began to feel numb.
Growling rose in his throat while his fists tightened, pummeling faster and harder into the dead soil and rock. A crater began to form around him, digging him deeper and deeper into the ground.
Something overcame him, and he slammed his hands one last time before screaming into the heavens. His eyes turned silverwhite, glowing in the darkness, and his scream became a visceral, monstrous roar.
Power.
He felt it, could taste it—blood and rage. His body shuddered, his clawed hands curled and poised, shaking, as if it was too much. Lightning streaked through the sky above him, as did the clapping of deafening thunder.
He suddenly gasped, and his eyes flickered back to normal as he keeled over.
Rakshal swung in the trees, twirling and giggling, spinning and tumbling over branches, while his mother walked in the forest below. He was excited, perhaps more than he had been in a long time. He was going to visit his grandparents, and this time, he was going to remember the experience.
He promised himself.
So it had to be true.
Hanging upsidedown from a branch by his tail, a thought came to mind. “Mama?”
His mother briefly glanced up at him, yellow eyes bright in the shade. “Yes, Rakka.”
He watched her walk beneath him for a moment, then swung himself far. He landed on her back, but she didn’t so much as twitch from the force nor did she give him any attention.
Patting her shoulder fixed that, bringing her eyes to glance at him. “Do they know we’re coming?” he asked.
“I had Hihin go ahead,” she said, nodding forward. “We’ll meet her there.”
He pouted, cheeks puffing out. “I’m hungry. What’ll they make for us?”
“Probably lentil soup…biryani…samosas. Lots of lamb.” She cracked a smile. “They’ll finally be able to make something for you to actually eat. Last few times we went, you were a picky thing.”
“I was?”
“Yeah. Your tastes have improved.”
He hummed, then asked, “What did I eat, then?”
“Soups, mostly, and fruit.”
“Sounds boring.” He yawned.
She chuckled, bringing him into her arms. He settled against her, curling his tail to his side.
“I don’t wanna sleep,” he muttered, rubbing an eye.
“I’ll wake you when we get there.”
A small pout formed on his face, but it didn’t last as she began to softly sing her lullaby. It never ceased to make him give up whatever he had planned to say, and he immediately quieted to listen.
“As God raised a hand to the winds,
I lay my hand upon your head,
Little one,
Guide you through the ocean seas,
Upon my arm, I sing, “Go to bed”
To thee…”
Her soft, deep humming sent him into contented slumber in moments.
He raised his head after what felt like moments later, awake and slightly confused. The strong smells of tasty foods immediately reached his nose, permeating the air, and his stomach growled in response. An excited smile shortly came to his face as he recognized his surroundings, and he slid off the large bed. His feet were bare, but familiar indoor slippers stood beside the bed. They were the perfect size for him, and he slid into them before rushing to the room’s closed door.
Opening it, he peeked out. The empty hall carried a stronger scent of food, and he swallowed saliva as it pooled in his mouth. He sensed his grandmothers were in the kitchen, or at least further inside the house, clinking and clicking, and his mother was likely in the garden. Either seemed like good destinations, but he wanted to check on his mother. Whenever they came to her mothers’ house, she tended to act…strangely.
He exited the room and walked down the short hall, idly rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His grandmothers’ house, while not huge, had several halls that surrounded an internal garden. That was his destination.
Night had fallen, making the garden ahead little more than a dark space with a few dim lights scattered through. He slid the glass door open upon nearing and walked down a few steps before landing on the grass. Soft muttering and sobbing reached his ears, causing his tail to droop and a frown to form on his face. Staying as quiet as he could, he approached and hid behind a tall rock partition to look upon his mother further inside.
Surrounded by alcohol jugs, she sat in a huddle against the inner wall. He couldn’t see her face, as her long, unkempt locks kept it hidden, and he didn’t want to. Pinpricks of tears formed in his eyes, but he couldn’t look away. His sensitive ears burned from the bits of the selfadmonishing, hateful things she muttered to herself.
“Mama,” he whispered before he could stop himself.
Her muttering cut off. “R…Rakka,” she mumbled. She shifted, causing some jugs to clink. After a moment, the dim glow of her eyes became visible between slits of hair, and she reached out to him. “RRa…”
His frown intensified. She was drunk—very drunk. He began to approach when a hand landed gently on his head, stopping him. Without looking, he knew who it was and what they were going to do. Regardless, he didn’t look away from her even as Wukong brought him into his arms. His vision briefly blurred before warm tears rolled down his face, and Wukong’s protective hand cupped the back of his head.
“Not while she’s like this,” his brother murmured, the familiar strain in his voice indicating he was angry.
Rakshal’s lips trembled. His mother continued reaching for him. “Bbut—”
“Not like this,” Wukong repeated, turning to leave.
Despite the firm words, familiar humming rumbled in his chest, causing Rakshal’s eyes to flutter. He turned into his brother’s chest, curled his tail close, and closed his eyes, causing more tears to fall.
The image of his mother lingered in his mind even as he drifted back to sleep.
Snapping awake, Rakshal flailed about in a pool of cool water. Submerging, he swallowed some, then sputtered as he surfaced in the admittedly shallow liquid. Spitting, he blinked through his locs.
What…was that?
A deep crease formed between his brows.
What was that power…?
He flexed his fingers in the water, trying to recall how he had summoned that power to himself—from within himself. All he could easily grasp was the feeling of weakness and shame. Frustration.
He felt better now.
Shaking his head, he looked up and spotted Igni’s tall figure walking deeper into the jungle as he stood.
The jungle?
Narrowing his eyes, he realized the older god placed him there, and looked down at his shirtless chest. All of his wounds, from deep lacerations to bruises, had completely healed. He felt fine. No pain, no strain. For half a moment, he thought the liquid had healed him, but he deadpanned.
I’ve always had rapid healing, he sighed, wading towards the sound of the waterfall further up the river.
He suddenly stopped, turning to watch Igni take his draping tunic from a large white snake wrapped around a tree.
“Igni,” he called.
“Ah?”
He blinked a moment, noting he had to ask the older god how he made his voice travel over distances, then asked, “What are you getting out of this? Helping me, I mean.”
A hum, and Igni continued donning his tunic. “A friend.”
The surprisingly quick answer took Rakshal by surprise. “A…friend?”
“Wukong said so.” The pale face turned to look back at him, smiling widely. “Sounds good t’me.”
Igni walked further into the jungle. Rakshal didn’t stop his staring until the white figure jumped into the trees and disappeared with the jingling of chains. The snake shortly disappeared into the verdant after him.
Goku climbed up his arm, chirping softly. He nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Never thought I’d consider that, either,” he murmured.
He lowered his head in thought, wading up the river.
Igni is…lonely.
He balked at the realization, but it gave him pause. Was it perhaps because Igni wasn’t a cannibal or anything else the stories touted about him?
Rakshal frowned deeply.
Igni was a divine transgressor; that’s what the chains indicated. From what Rakshal knew, this meant the chains were a literal part of him, something that brought him pain. Whatever divine rule Igni broke, the act was so severe that he became warped. It was enough to make Rakshal initially disgusted of and angry at him, but he was beginning to think otherwise. If even Wukong believed he could be trusted, that must have meant something.
He exhaled, turning his gaze to the sky. “Guess I can’t disappoint you, then, can I, Nee?”
AFTER THE CHAPTER
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