A young woman hobbled through the jungle.  Missing her left arm, she held her head in her remaining hand.  Piercing red eyes scanned through her long, ashen hair.  Her dark skin glistened with sweat as she pushed forward, her boots worn thread-bare, trousers caked in mud, and her gray jacket in tatters.  Her appearance was out of place in the jungle she traversed, far, far away from the desert outlands of Delphinus.  Her breath whispered from behind cracked lips, her face split in half by old burns across the left side.  Tears rolled down her gaunt cheeks as she finally braced herself against a tree, crying in hoarse sobs.  

She grieved, expelling her sorrow in shivering moans as she tried to find the resolve to press on and leave the Dimon Jungle far behind her.  Yet as she tried to compose herself, she reached for her dagger.  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, every fiber of her being telling her that she was being followed; she was being stalked.  Not by a beast of prey, but by a much more sinister, greedy predator.

“Hey there,” a voice called out to her from the boughs above.  “Do you need any help out here?  You look like you could use it.”  She scanned the trees around her, her pupils changing shapes as she adjusted her sensitivity to various wavelengths of light.

“I don’t need any help from you or your friend,” she called back as her eyes settled on a shape in the leaves thirty meters away, but not the one that hailed her.

“On the contrary, I think we have much to offer you,” the second visitor replied, his voice deeper and more notably masculine.  “We are hiring new employees for our endeavor, and we’d like to interview-”.  The voice was cut short as the outlander threw a knife into the brush, forcing the voice to evade.  The first voice immediately revealed itself to accost the outlander, only to be met by the flashing blade of her jagged dagger.  The larger figure began to rush her before pulling back, watching as his wingman struggled against the one-armed woman.  He picked an opening he thought he saw to disarm her, but she kept his partner between them, three fighters acting in flashes of movement.

The larger figure was impressed with this young cripple, flashing his vampiric fangs in delight as he ducked behind his incompetent colleague and wrested his arm behind him.  Shocking his lesser, the outlander ran the betrayed vampire through.  Using his man as a meat shield, he plowed the outlander over with the bleeding body of his cohort.  She quickly righted herself, but found her dagger still lodged in the heart of her other assailant, his eyes flickering in shock as his heart tissue tried in vain to regenerate around the blade.  She dashed for her weapon, but the larger figure cut her off, matching her speed stride for stride.

“I’m surprised you didn’t run,” he flashed his fangs at the outlander.  “You’re a sharp aren girl, I’m sure you could escape.”

“And let you live to prey another day?  I refuse!”  Unarmed, one-armed, the outlander continued to fight her assailant, but what was a death battle for her travel-weary body was sport for the well-dressed vampire.

“My offer still stands, you should know,” he goaded her.  “You’ll be well taken care of-“.  A boot shot up to shut his mouth, the vampire reeling back to defend against her flurry.

“Don’t you dare patronize me!  Do you think I don’t know what your kind has done to my people?  What you do?!  I’ll never let you harvest another drop of blood again!”  The outlander lashed at him furiously, but he kept up with her swift attacks, stride for stride, block for blow, waiting out her stamina.

“It really isn’t so bad,” he ignored her threats.  “No manual labor, all-expenses paid food and lodging, comprehensive health care.  No paid vacations, I’m afraid.”  She fired a kick at his face again, but he caught it and rushed her foot back, throwing her to the ground.  She scrambled to her feet, but he set upon her immediately.  Unable to regain her footing, he pinned her only arm behind her and grabbed her by the hair.  She struggled against his grip in vain, howling in desperate anger.

“Do you know what I love the most about you arens?” he asked her as he wrenched her head back and traced his fangs across her neck.  She trembled with fear as fingers traced the scars on her face.  ((When your heart races like this, I can taste the blood in your neck through your skin, it’s so close to the surface.))  He spoke to her telepathically, his voice worming its way into her mind as he licked along her carotid artery.  ((You won’t have to worry about being a product for purchase, I promise.  I’ve become rather fond of you.))  She trembled with terror as his tongue slid up from her neck to her ear, whimpering as he whispered to her.  “I’m going to add you to my personal vineyard.  Oh, I can’t wait to bring you to your new home and… settle you in.”

The outlander screamed and howled in protest as he began to bind her arm with a cord, flailing in vain against him.  She fought against her own dread, the despair of having been captured like wild game, her freedom to be stripped from her in every sense.  She struggled against him until she realized that he was no longer trying to bind her.  He was frozen, petrified, by the same suffocating wave that washed over the outlander as well.  She remembered this sensation from long ago, and the vampire recognized it, too; it heralded the arrival of an ancient, powerful being.

“Unhand the girl,” a voice rang out from behind them, deep, coarse, and impatient.  The vampire turned around with the outlander, confirming his horror as an old man as tall as him approached.  He wore a dark blue sleeveless gi and hakama, a black obi belt, and leather half-gloves over bandaged, powerful arms.  His feet were bare, the top of his face was covered in a strange, eyeless mask, and his silver hair was pulled back into a wild ponytail.  He wore a tattered white haori with the symbols “Thunder” and “Fang” written on the back.  Floating behind him and held aloft by an invisible hand was an odachi almost as long as the warrior himself and contained in an ornate, deep blue sheath, a sword as ancient as the continent yet as pristine as the day it was crafted, and seething with the terrifying power of its owner.  Electricity arced furiously across the ancient man’s body as he approached the vampire and his hostage.  “Raiga” fell from the lips of the vampire as he inched back, muttering, “no, this can’t be happening.  What is he doing here?”

“I gave you a command,” he reminded the vampire.  “Unhand the girl.  Now.”

“Might there be a compromise we can rea-”  The vampire failed to finish his sentence as he was punched in his jaw, tumbling across the grass and dirt.  Neither the vampire nor the outlander could perceive when and how “Raiga” closed the distance between them, his towering, muscular frame crackling with power.  She scrambled to rid herself of her bonds as Raiga approached the once-confident vampire.  He tried to flee in a flock of bats, but a web of lightning shot from Raiga’s fingers, grounding the bats as they coalesced into their former self, trembling from the shock.  “Raiga, wait!  You can’t do this.  What about the people under my care?  If I die, others will try to seize my assets.  Too many people rely on my practice!”  Raiga loomed over him, the air around him thick and oppressive.  Lightning flickered up and down his body.

“Is this how you beg for your life?  How you justify your actions?  Spare me your whimpers.  There is no such thing as a ‘necessary evil’,” the ancient man declared.  “There is corruption, and there is justice.  You are corrupt.”  Understanding that Raiga intended to kill him, the vampire made one final attempt for his life by lunging at Raiga, but even the speed of a vampire could not surpass the ancient man.  Raiga rammed a burning fist through the vampire’s chest, his heart, lungs and viscera erupting out of his back in a geyser of evaporated gore.  The vampire collapsed in a burning heap, his flesh and clothes immolated by unnatural flames.  The outlander threw the cord down before walking over to the other vampire and pulling her dagger from his corpse.  She held the blade close to her before fitting it into its sheath.  It was then that she cautiously approached Raiga and addressed him.

“R-Raiga no Kyuu…” she stammered as she bowed low.  “Thank you for saving my life.  Once more.  I-it is an honor to meet you again.”  He turned his attention to the young woman, gauging her.

“I remember you,” he finally spoke to her.  “In Delphinus, I healed your burns.  What is your name, child?”

“Ieda Bestahl,” she answered swiftly, her body still bowing low to him.

“Rise, Ieda,” he bade her.  “Come.  You will eat with me.”  Ieda quickly reeled from his statement, taken aback.

“B-but Sir Raiga, you’re one of the Triumvirate!  I couldn’t possibly…” she trailed off as he turned his back to her.

“You are famished,” he called her out.  “Now come.  You will eat with me.”  Unwilling to insult a man who could turn her body into a bloody mist, Ieda followed after him with caution, careful not to lag behind or get in his way.  As they walked he skimmed the trail for fruit-bearing trees.  He climbed up a tree to their right, scaling it for the apples and a nest of bird eggs.  When he reached the branch, he looked down at her, seemingly through his eyeless mask, waiting for her to follow.  She looked between the old man above and the tree trunk in front of her before climbing after him.  She understood that he was evaluating her, and her pride would not allow her to fail this test.  She climbed up with her one-armed, weary body, determined to reach him.

She pulled herself up to his branch, sweating but not winded.  He gave her a nod, handing her an egg that he cooked in the palm of his hand.  After receiving it he cooked another egg between his very fingers, cracking it open and gulping down the contents.  She followed suit and stomached the primitive omelet, yolk, embryo and all.  She held it down, covering her mouth and breathing through her nose before taking the next egg from Raiga.  He gave her five such eggs before handing an apple to her.  She bit into it, her face scrunching at the bitter flavor, but the juice at least served to wash the eggs down.  She watched Raiga eat another apple in massive bites, stem seeds and core.  She did the same without directive or protest.  They carried on like this in silence, going from nest to nest, feeding her until her stomach was full, breathing deeply as she allowed her wild food to settle.  When she felt confident that the contents in her stomach would not reemerge, she asked the burning question on her mind.

“How did you become so strong?”  Raiga did not flinch at the question, his aura bearing over Ieda and gauging her.  She weathered his scrutiny, determined to hear his answer.  After a brief pause, the ancient man finally spoke.

“I came into my strength long, long ago, before the Second Calamity ruined the land below and this continent was lifted into the sky.  Tell me, do you know the legend of Raiga no Hachi?”  Ieda slowly shook her head before answering with a soft, “No, I don’t.”  The ancient man was silent for a moment before continuing.

“Raiga no Hachi was the Hero of the First Calamity.  She was the eighth successor of a powerful mystic art, an art not native to this world.  She mastered that art, and with her immense strength and magical power she saved the Old World and founded the Temple of Lightning.  Then, some nine-hundred years later, she took me in; an orphaned, human boy, barely the age of five.  I lived at the Temple with her, and I learned from her, doggedly.  It took me decades, but I indeed mastered the Four Paths and even the Path of Lightning, taking my place as the Ninth Lightning Fang.  She showed me the way, and I walked the path, dove the depths, climbed the heights, and reached into the fire.  My mother taught me, and I struggled, I learned, and I grew.”  Ieda listened intently, memorizing his words.  She didn’t know what he was talking about, but she understood that what he told her was important.  However, there was one detail that bothered her.

“It took you decades, huh?” she repeated, sniffling as she began to laugh.  “Figures,” she chuckled weakly.  “Just another thing I can’t do because I’m an aren.”

“You are not wanting for strength,” Raiga posited.  “Had you not been so weakened, you could have killed that vampire.”

“That’s not enough!”  Ieda cried out in frustration, her eyes welling with tears.  “I’m tired of being looked down on because I’m an aren, because I’m crippled, an orphan or a woman.  I’m tired of being preyed upon, and victimized.  I’m tired of watching people I know disappear, or die young.”  Tears ran down her exhausted face as she gave a voice to her pain.  “I’m tired of failing the people I love.  I’m tired of being weak!” she sobbed into her hand.

“I want to be strong, strong enough to rise above the trappings of my race.  I want to inspire my brethren, give them hope, and I want to give hope to others oppressed by Devoid and Edge City.  I want to be strong enough so that I never need to run away from evil again!  I want to be strong, truly strong…” she choked on her words, trembling in sorrow.  “Am I doomed to be defined by my fleeting life, my crippled body, and my circumstances?”  Raiga listened to the plight of the young aren woman before placing a hand on her scarred shoulder, a warmth radiating from his hand as he breathed loud and deep.  Ieda found herself following his breaths, slowing her sobs.

“Raise your head, Ieda Bestahl,” he commanded her.  She obeyed, lifting her gaze to see Raiga removing the mask from his face.  She gazed into his blind, atrophied eyes, his expression hard and stern.  “The path to strength is paved with discontent and dissatisfaction, the need to change.  It is carved by the faith that you can always be better, that your true potential is not today but ever in the tomorrow ahead, and it is reached with the drive to hold yourself accountable for your failures and keep moving forward.  However, you misunderstand the nature of my strength; it is not a strength so great that I need not run from evil; it is a strength so great that I cannot run from evil.  It means never abandoning those who are in need.  It means being the target of those who want to obtain unrivaled fame and power, to be the final obstacle in the way of absolute tyranny.  If you truly want to obtain my strength, you must gain full mastery over your body, force yourself to transcend the limits of your physical strength and longevity, and have the fortitude to weather the intensity of my tutelage.  Do you have the resolve to meet my staggering expectations?”

Ieda gazed into his eyes as she processed his words before bowing low on her hand and knees.  “Yes.  Yes, I have the resolve!  Please teach me.”  Raiga stood there in silence, seemingly appraising the outlander.

“Are there any obligations that you have left unfulfilled?  Any friends, family or colleagues that you must answer to?”  Ieda offered a mere moment of hesitation before answering with a decisive “No”.