Frigid air inhaled into the Phantom's lungs and pierced his warmly insulated organs with the same intensity of a dagger to the chest. Mark grimaced at the pain for a mere second before his face resumed its same complacent position. The pain had been more welcoming then agonizing. An assassin, born and bred, Death's Angel had known that pain a thousand times over. The monks who trained and raised him had attempted many times to teach him to eradicate his emotions based on his environment or well-being, but Mark had always found that lesson difficult to comprehend. Emotion was Mark, and the pain reminded him that he was human. More human than some mindless clone created to replace his young predecessor. He was his own person, and emotion solidified this. The Shadow, who had been looking at his feet, peered up and into the white, glossy haze of snow that barraged his body and blanketed him in its cold embrace. The trek to the mystical Reisho Monastary had been nothing but difficult as he had been warned. A week had progressed since his ascension into the mountains, and the Assassin had the inkling that he had been going on in circles the last half of his journey. He could neither find the Monastery or leave, a prisoner to the mystical mountains he was traversing. With snow blurring his vision and path, he could do nothing but march hopelessly in the thick snow.
Mark breathed more of the frigid air and continued. His legs were heavy and strained from the continuous movement and lack of rest. He had brought no tent to sleep or food to eat, only the winter clothes on him and a small backpack with a monk's tunic inside. The Phantom was here on the mountain for a peaceful meditation.The monks had always taught him meditation opened many doors for ideas and meaningful thought for one's self preservation.
Moments later his head became heavy and dizzy. It wasn't long before his muscles shut down and the Shadow was face-down in the snow. Quickly his organs failed, first with the intestine and last with the heart and brain. Snow covered his body as he lay there, motionless. The cold, mountainous terrain had caught him in its clutches and was slowly covering him. Another prize.
His body jerked.
Mark's heart began pumping blood again, sharing its life-giving qualities with the rest of the organs in his body. The muscles, exhausted, became reinvigorated. Mark pushed himself onto his knees, and slowly rose. He shrugged the snow off. His regenerative abilities were something to marvel. A gift, and yet a curse which haunted him. The Assassin looked forward, and this time an object was right before him. Mark took a few steps closer and it came into view. He exhaled in relief and achievement. The doors were more beautiful and majestic than he had ever heard of or dreamed. They beckoned his call, drawing his full attention. His body moved for him as he rose a fist towards the door.
Death's Angel was knocking on the doors of redemption and safety. The doors of the fabled Reisho Monastery.
(Sorry for the length, had to get rust out of my system and this post helped me out with doing that)
Log in to comment