Transendence

by Jared Teer

  Kitiona struggled to sit up, but it was no use: Rocky crashed like an asteroid, with the blinding white flash and golden spherical vortex of Kitiona’s molecules being dispersed, followed by a deafening sonic boom and a doughnut ring of smoke and debris from the impact’s epicenter.

  Clay materialized on an undamaged section of the arena floor and called for Rocky. Rocky materialized in front of Clay and bowed to his teacher; Clay returned the bow, and turned to address the stunned crowd, “How about a hand for the winner, Rockyyyyy Conneeeeeeer!” The little guy bowed and the crowd gave a raucous applause.

  “How about a hand for Kitiona as well; he fought hard,” Clay added. “Nobody worry about the big guy; he’ll be just fine. An angelic construct at the Polaris Station’s Core prevents molecular escape and reconstitutes the body in a Lazarus Chamber in the Hall’s infirmary. Kitiona will be as good as new in a matter of minutes.

  “Without further delay, I wish you all good fortune in your training, for the first full contact tournament will be held in seven days. Trainers, fighters, God bless.” The crowd clapped in applause. “This concludes the orientation,” he continued. “Matriculating students, please form a single file line in front of the tables in the center of the arena. There you will get dorm and instructor assignments. Thank you.”

  The damaged stadium was suddenly repaired and ten tables appeared in the center of the arena. All except one had an instructor sitting behind it—Kitiona was still a few moments away from rematerializing.

  Darion and Hughes rose to leave the auditorium, filing through the long entrance corridors with the other recently Ascended and their teachers, on their way to the arched slabs of the training chambers lining the coliseum’s inner sanctuary wall.

  “Joseph Hughes,” someone called in an even tone from behind. Hughes and Darion turned in response. Two Asian men approached, Japanese in heritage—one short (a little over five feet tall) the other about six feet.

  “Master Omura Kozaki!” Hughes said with a bow. Master Kozaki, the short man, returned the gesture.

  “Joseph, it’s a pleasure,” said Kozaki. Kozaki had the youthful appearance of all Ascended, yet his full head of hair was fashioned in the topknot style common of feudal Japan. He wore a black kimono trimmed with gold, with the small crests of his dojo on its shoulders and a large one at the center of its back. His lower body was attired with a hakama (a divided skirt resembling a wide pair of pants) with vertical black and gold stripes. On his feet were white, divided-toe, tabi socks, and golden geta (sandals elevated by platforms of wood, though Kozaki’s were fashioned of a highly dense golden metal).

  “This is my student, Yukinaga Takeya,” Kozaki continued. Takeya bowed to Hughes and Darion, who returned the gesture in kind.

  Unlike his master’s, Takeya’s hairstyle was modern and flashy, his entire head of jet-black hair fashioned in jutting spikes in every direction. On his feet he wore only black metal geta. He wore the traditional white gi of a karate practitioner, with a black, sleeveless gi top over it with the crest of his dojo on the back. His waist was girded with a white karate belt stitched with golden kanji (Chinese logograms).

  “It’s nice to meet you, Yukinaga,” said Hughes. “This is my apprentice, Darion Elmore.”

  Darion extended his hand and shook Kozaki’s and Takeya’s.

  “As fate would have it, Joseph,” said Kozaki, “it seems that our styles are once again set on a collision course in the Hall of Might.”

  “Indeed,” said Hughes.

  “I take it you’ve just recently ascended, Darion?” asked Kozaki.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Indeed,” said Kozaki. “As did Takeya, here. You’ve been training hard, I’m sure. Eager to test your powers and join the Host?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Darion. “Hughes has been putting me through the wringer, but I’m doing my best.”

  “That’s the proper attitude, young man,” said Kozaki. “Always give it your all. Especially—”

  “Oh, Lord, here it comes,” said Hughes, anticipating Kozaki’s typical descent into boastful, but good humored, trash talk.

  “Especially,” continued Kozaki, “with the daunting task of facing a star pupil of Seishin Kirishitan Karate before you. No one would blame you if you pulled out of the Hall of Might at this time and waited to compete in the next matriculating class.” The reserved Takeya shook his head and smiled at his master’s antics.

  “You do have a point,” said Hughes. Kozaki and the two students looked at him questioningly. “I mean, the only chance you have of winning a tournament is for me to pull Darion out.”

  Kozaki let out a boisterous laugh. “Sure, sure. Good one, Joseph! Honestly, I look forward to the clash of styles. Train hard, Darion, and hopefully you and Takeya will meet in the tournament.”

  Darion nodded.

  “Well, we’d better be off,” said Kozaki. “It seems that we have a difficult tournament to prepare for. Joseph, Darion.” Kozaki bowed, and they returned the gesture.

  “It was nice meeting you two,” said Yukinaga. “I look forward to facing you in the tournament, Darion.”

  “No doubt, likewise,” said Darion.

  After bidding farewell to Master Kozaki and Takeya, Darion and Hughes proceeded through one of the solid gold training room doors, eager to begin the training that would allow Darion greater mastery of his Ascended body and put him one step closer to being able to join the fight against the forces of the Enemy.

  They materialized in the white expanse of the practice chamber. With a wave of his hand, Hughes manifested a large, floating boxing ring, one-hundred-feet wide, in the nothingness. Hughes squinted in contemplation for a moment, and with another gesture he formed a river valley between two mountain ranges with snow-covered peaks—the ring hovering high above the river. Hughes, followed by Darion, floated up to the ring and touched down in its center.

  “So,” said Hughes, “tell me what you really thought of the combat you’ve just witnessed?”

  “My honest opinion?” asked Darion. Hughes nodded. “I think I’m gonna get my butt kicked! I learned a little bit about martial arts—kicking and grappling—in the army, but I’m a boxer. I don’t see how I can compete with guys like Takeya and Rocky who have been practicing no holds barred their entire lives.”

  Hughes smiled, nodding in understanding. “You’re right,” he said. “You have a difficult task ahead of you … but not an impossible one. The Conners are exceptional fighters, all being trained in various martial arts since the time they could walk. In addition, many think Master Kozaki’s Seishin Kirishitan Karate is superior to the fighting style of the Conners.”

  “Great,” Darion sighed.

  “But,” continued Hughes, “both styles have one thing in common … they’ve both been defeated using the methods perfected by Kagan and passed down to his pupils.

  “Kagan was just a boxer as well, yet he developed a style that allowed him to compete with and overcome fighters with far greater arsenals of fighting techniques. Kagan was a worldclass boxer, one of the first masters of the fleet-footed style made famous by Jack Johnson early in the twentieth century. For boxing, Kagan believed that if an opponent couldn’t land a blow, then their power was useless. He taught that anyone could throw a punch or attack, but the essence of self-defense was—defense. He applied that philosophy to the various martial arts strikes and grappling as well. If you can’t land a kick or grab your opponent, the attacks are rendered useless.

  “I have observed the training in the Hall of Might, and I assume that the Seishin training is similar, and they tend to be concerned more with offensive techniques and elaborate patterns of attack. Kagan concerned himself with defense and avoiding an opponent’s attack, and then countering with one of his own after they’d exposed themselves. In this way, Kagan was able to experiment and apply kicks and grapples of his own because he was so fast that when an opponent missed, they were open to pretty much whatever he decided to attack with.”r />
  Darion contemplated Hughes’s words, kneading his chin with his thumb and index finger.

  Hughes continued. “Our training will focus on the mastery of your center of gravity, with maneuverability and agility being our goal. The ability to fly and defy gravity adds an element to transphysical combat called shifting—the ability to quickly maneuver in any direction. Shifting applies to both offense and defense; you can shift into an attack for added momentum, or away from an attack to evade. You will be able to manipulate your center of gravity to such a degree that opponents will expose themselves to attack by their efforts to touch you, at which point you can shift to attack.”

  Hughes held his palm face up, and a brown leather ball, a foot in diameter, appeared in his hand. “The medicine ball—a valuable training aid in any boxing gym. Think of your center of gravity as a sphere in the center of your abdomen. The medicine ball is meant to simulate this sphere, as well as being a bludgeoning device with any point on it being a potential striking surface. You will inhabit the ball and maneuver to avoid my attacks. Having no limbs, it will also teach you to use any point on your body as a striking surface, so, if you see an opening … take it. Shall we begin? When you’re ready, inhabit the ball.”

  Darion nodded. He dematerialized into a golden mist and entered the medicine ball.

  “We’ll go for three-minute practice rounds,” he said to the ball in his palm, “with a bell signifying the beginning and end of the rounds. Ready?”

  “Ready,” came Darion’s voice from the ball.

  Hughes removed his hand and the ball hovered in midair. Hughes backed to the red corner, and Darion hovered to the blue.

  “Remember, movement is the key,” Hughes said across the wide ring. “Come out ready to evade and capitalize if you see any openings.”

  Hughes dropped into a shoulder-width stance with his right fist in a high guard and his left down to his side and swinging like a pendulum. The bell rang and Hughes exploded from the corner, almost instantly covering the distance to the opposite where Darion had yet to move. Hughes unleashed a powerful upward kick that caught the medicine ball and sent it spinning hundreds of feet into the air. Suddenly, Hughes was even higher than the ascending ball, having rocketed upward after delivering the mighty kick. He struck with a downward punch, smashing the ball and sending it crashing back down, slamming into the ring and flattening out momentarily on contact with its unyielding surface.

  Darion didn’t feel any pain, but he was certainly discombobulated. He knew that though the training seemed silly, the method was crucial to his success in the arena, and that he had to master it for Jacob’s sake.

  Hughes was descending rapidly, fist first with the other cocked back to strike. The ball rolled away just in time as Hughes’s fist came smashing into the canvass. Hughes landed kneeling on one knee and leaning on the fist he’d smashed down. He rose from the lunging position in a sprint after the ball. He neared and made to punt, but this time the ball cut sharply to the side in avoidance, angling behind Hughes. There was no pause in Hughes’s assault as he quickly did a back flip, looking to drive his heels down on the ball. The ball scooted back, avoiding the stomp, and then rocketed straight up, hovering close to Hughes’s back. Hughes did a 180, turning with a backward horizontal elbow strike. The ball dropped slightly, just in time to avoid the elbow, but unable to evade Hughes’s fluid combinations. Hughes followed the elbow with an upward knee strike, bouncing the ball up, and then leaned back with an upward kick with the same leg that sent the ball sailing backward over his head. Hughes flew backward in pursuit.

  With Hughes’s back exposed, Darion saw an opportunity to attack and strained to overcome the inertia of the kick. He stopped, and then exploded forward toward the back of Hughes’s head. Useless. Hughes dropped out of his backward flight into a supine slide, letting the ball pass over him, and then erected himself and was back on the offensive. He flew at the ball, connecting with a relentless series of alternating straights, ending with a powerful right that sent it flying out of the ring and crashing into the mountain range in the distance in a blast of dust and debris. The bell rang, signifying the end of the round.

  “Good round!” said Hughes, leaning on the ropes and looking toward the mountain range.

  “Yeah, right,” said Darion, from somewhere beneath the rubble.

  “Hey, you’re doing fine,” Hughes reassured. “You almost got me when I was flying backward. Just keep moving and make it a point to be tricky—try to feint and juke. Don’t worry; you’ll start to get the hang of it by the end of this session. Come on, the break’s almost up—999 more rounds to go.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The Valley of Death

  The sky shone dark orange as the sun set behind the beige mountains of the Beqaa Valley, a fertile farming region in eastern Lebanon.

  A golden ray streaked across the sky.

  On a long, paved road leading seemingly to nowhere but desert wilderness filed a convoy of fifteen vehicles—ten tractor trailers followed by five, six-by-four, military-style trucks. The semis’ payloads: an arsenal of Katyusha multiple rocket launchers. Their destination: the massive underground command and storage facilities of the radical group known as the Islamic Resistance Front, an organization dedicated to the destruction of the State of Israel.

  Suddenly, there was the hiss of airbrakes as the first semi screeched to a halt. The driver and two passengers watched as the road ahead of their vehicle cracked, convulsed, and rose to a mound.

  A huge, insect-like creature began to rise from the mound, emitting a piercing, screeching roar as it emerged. The insectizoid rose, standing on its two-pronged tarsal claws. It was humanoid, but larger than any man, larger than even the fire-ant insectizoids—at least ten feet tall. Its red head had bulbous black eyes, six-inch pincers, and two, yard-long antennae that dangled before its face. Its arms, legs, and thorax were also red, with a black abdomen angling to the back like a tail. Though solid, its exoskeleton displayed articulated musculature.

  As the insectizoid stalked forward, the occupants of the semi began to shout hysterically in Arabic. The terrified driver threw the truck into reverse, smashing into the grill of the semi behind his. The insectizoid angled its large tail forward between its long legs, aiming its tip at the cab of the truck. Clatter like gunfire rang out as a spray of liquid shot from its end, blasting in the truck’s windshield and showering its occupants. The men screamed in agony as the superheated liquid showered them. They attempted to escape the vehicle but succumbed to their burns: the driver succeeded, falling out of the door, dead.

  Hearing the clatter and assuming the lead vehicle was under small arms fire, the occupants of the rear vehicles took up their guns and leapt from their trucks to charge to the front; some ducked for cover by the tires of their trucks instead. The insectizoid began to make its way around the first truck, encountering the first wave of men. The men paused upon first laying eyes on the beast, but then opened up with their weapons. It was futile. The bullets ricocheted away as the creature inclined its tail and hosed down three men, boiling them where they stood. The approaching wave of men saw this and turned to flee, some running backward while shooting at the beast.

  Then came screams and shouting from the rear of the convoy. Another giant insectizoid had emerged from the road behind—a scorpion-like creature, humanoid with a straw yellow exoskeleton, huge chelae for hands, and an eight-foot-long, curled, segmented tail with a black stinger. The scorpion had a limp body crushed in each claw.

  The remaining men fled from the road to the desert. As they ran for their lives, one was suddenly snatched down, disappearing into the sandy earth. Another was snatched, then another—until none remained.

  The area was silent except for the crunching of bones from beneath the surface.

  CHAPTER 13

  Seishin Kumite

  For the last six days in the training chamber in the Hall of Might, Darion had been honing his fighting skills under Hughes’s g
uidance, using the techniques perfected by the powerful Ascended warrior Hans Kagan.

  After hundreds of rounds of training, Darion became accustomed to shifting and manipulating his center of gravity in the medicine ball and graduated to facing Hughes as himself. With the first tournament one day away, their sparring sessions were more intense than ever, for Darion would accept nothing less than total victory.

  The bell rang and Darion and Hughes exploded from their corners and clashed in the center of the ring with a thunderous boom—Darion landed a smashing right cross that twisted Hughes’s head, but Hughes connected with a left hook over Darion’s punching arm that jolted him as well. Neither man gave any quarter and flowed smoothly into their follow-up attacks, Hughes with a right uppercut that snapped Darion’s head back, and Darion with a devastating left hook of his own over Hughes’s punch. They stood toe to toe, exchanging and connecting with punches almost too fast for the eye to register. They simultaneously decided that they’d taken enough of a beating from one another and each quickly backed away at the same time. Each saw the other’s retreat as an opportunity to attack, and they clashed once more, this time Darion with a right knee to the left side of Hughes’s ribcage, and Hughes with a right cross that nearly toppled Darion, who was already leaning backward for thrusting with the knee strike. Both men gave ground again, not of their own accord, but due to necessity—they were both reeling and needed to recuperate.

  Hughes got on his toes and made like he was circling to Darion’s left, but it was a trick, and he spun around to the right and lashed out with a spinning back kick, his heel aimed for Darion’s solar plexus. After over a thousand rounds of sparring, Darion recognized the ploy, and in the blink of an eye flew ever so slightly off the ground and shifted diagonally to the left, avoiding the kick, and drove a right cross into the exposed back of Hughes’s head. His back to Darion, Hughes stumbled forward from the blow but used the momentum to propel himself into flight, sailing forward away from Darion. As Hughes expected, the overanxious Darion pursued, and Hughes instantly reversed momentum and flew backward, smashing the back of his head into Darion’s nose.