Kojin

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.


In your world, with tales of princesses and princes dashing off to castles together, with your curly fries and soggy boxes of hamburgers, the moment when Bree Momoru stuffed two dull daggers of stone into the hands of both her children and pushed them out the door into harm’s way without a single thought in mind might have displayed her as the worst mother in history. Earth is a very peculiar place to us here in Eodorim, a world where the seas are never calm and the stars are never bright. In our world, Bree’s decision was a very sensible thing to do—boys in Eodorim were expected to know how to fight and fight well, and when any lick of danger, small or large, scraped through the town it was considered a good method of training.
Kojin and his brother Komatsu were probably thinking much like you are right now. What kind of mother would purposefully thrust her two sons into danger, knowing their lives could end right there, maybe even outside her door? However, much unlike you, they also understood the purpose of their mother’s actions and knew they had but no other choice than to go along with it.
“These daggers won’t work,” Komatsu snarled, raking the rounded point of his dagger against his sleeve. “We’ll need something else.”
He tossed the dagger away, striding forward.
“Komatsu!” Kojin dashed after his brother, warily looking along the road. “Mom says we have to stay here and wait for something.”
“Standing here like fools with blunt knives when a monster comes by won’t be beneficial.” Komatsu trundled towards a field of weeds in the corner, pulling and snaking the plants apart. His head disappeared behind the worn green stalks for some time until he materialized again, both of his pale fists curled around two wooden objects.
“Here we go,” he turned around, facing his brother as he held up two jagged slivers of wood. “These are our weapons.”
“Komatsu—” Kojin made to argue, but soon realized how stupid it is for one to argue when someone has generously helped them. Instead, he angled his hand upwards as Komatsu tossed him his makeshift blade, deciding to finish his sentence with a bleak mumble. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” Komatsu advanced towards the house, his lips locked together like they always were when he was feeling gritty. “But now, we need shields.” He placed his hands flat against the wall of the house, bending his fingers slightly so that his nails were centered against the mortared stone. The unbearably shrill sound of scratching and scraping filled the air as Komatsu’s hand ran up and down the stone, tearing it off the wall like it wss a piece of stiff paper. Two thin slats of stone clashed to the ground with a hoarse rattle.
Kojin, unlike anyone from your world, wasn’t shocked at his brother’s strength. It was Komatsu’s dame—the Eodorim word for the distinct skill given to each individual of the realm. Everyone’s dame was revealed when they were in the age range of eleven to seventeen and was only exposed during an episode of heavy tension—Komatsu had discovered his when Kojin had accidentally broken his model train set one Christmas evening when he was twelve. Kojin, fifteen, was still clueless about his individual dame.
Komatsu hauled one of the stone laths off the ground and hurled it to Kojin.
“Pick it up and stand by the door.”
Kojin, who always hated being told what to do, leaned down and drew the thin board of stone up to full height; it was taller than he was and cast a dark shadow all across the crown of his head. He strained his neck and looked over behind his shield to his brother. Komatsu’s shield stood flat against his chest, at least a good two inches below his chin.
Kojin had always been jealous of his brother’s height, about how his state of length made him hold so much more authority than his brother, who was only a lean, slender box of flesh. Everyone in the Momoru family was tall—his mother, father, his grandparents and cousins. In fact, the only way the residents of the town were able to distinguish him as part of the family when he was by himself was because he had the classic Momoru eyes—soulless and brown—hair—windswept, with the devilish hue of jet black—and face—freckled and round.
“I think I might hear someone already,” Komatsu’s voice swam into his ear, deep and rough. It lacked its usual chocolatey tone and usually when Komatsu adopted such a voice, he knew danger was coming. “Get ready and try to…lower your shield.”
Kojin curled his lip into a scowl as he slowly slid his shield down; it scraped roughly against the ground as the head of the stone fell against his neck. “Better?”
Komatsu nodded, looking tense. Kojin warily turned to look at him, watching as the pasty-white skin of his cheeks tucked inwards, flattening against his cheekbones like a magnet. He noticed the burly frame beneath his frail jacket becoming tight and he could tell his brother was becoming edgier as the seconds passed, as one usually was when potential danger was approaching.
A loud shout sliced through the silence, wavering through the country like an invisible flood of anguish. Kojin tightened his grip on his shield, the arm wielding his wooden stave pinned to his side.
He could feel his feet slowly sinking into the earth as his body mounted with anxiety. The weeds and the grass wavered silently as the hurried footsteps of people suddenly sounded through the air. Komatsu leaned forward, firm grip on his dagger.
“I see them now,” he whispered. “They’re soldiers. They’re on our side.”
Deep, guttural booms began to echo across the fields, shaking the buildings and the ground and causing dust to fly. Komatsu raised a hand up to shield his eyes as black, whirring shapes emerged along the stalks; there were many of them, Kojin noted with fear, too many to count, and they were all running with the same panicky expression of fresh hysteria. They inched in closer and Kojin winced at the grime and blood marking their petrified faces. The muskets in their hands were smashed and bent and their uniforms were frayed and torn. One soldier, the color in his uniform flushed and the fingers wrapped around his gun splintered and bleeding, rushed towards them, screaming and yelling.
“Run! Go to your homes! This is not a case for training!”
“Sir—” Komatsu tried to reason, but the soldier socked him in the stomach with the butt of his gun.
“Go, you fools!” And then he scampered behind the screeching soldiers without a look back, a sea of dust and grime dousing the earth in his wake.
Komatsu and Kojin exchanged fervent glances. The booming noises were still resounding through the country, stilling all. The stalks in the fields had stopped moving and the wind had even hushed.
Komatsu reached down to pick up one of the fallen muskets. It was dusty and worn, but would still work like any other.
“It’s loaded,” he whispered. “Whatever this thing is, we can charge it back.”
“We?” Kojin nearly yelled. “Komatsu, we need to go back inside—”
“We can handle this! We have a gun, idiot. What can go wrong?”
A loud, earth-splitting boom was their answer. Kojin bit back a gasp as he gazed upwards at the uninvited creature invading their presence. Komatsu even nearly dropped his gun.
It was a large, tall thing with a wide mouth and streaming red eyes that held no mercy; its hands were bigger than both Kojin and Komatsu put together and its legs seemed to stretch further upwards the longer they stared. Ribbons of yellow liquid fell from its lips and tucked in the elbow of its abnormally large, black arm was a giant club—a great weapon of splintered wood and what looked to be bone. The whole thing was painted with the dried blood of its victims.
It growled loudly, ravenously, as its beady red eyes darted all along both of their figures. It took a great step forward and Kojin and Komatsu took great leaps back. The club in its hand swung dangerously side to side, patiently waiting to clash into either of their bodies.
“Stay back!” Komatsu yelled, which proved to be a very foolish thing to do. “I’ve got a gun—stay back!”
The monster advanced forward, reaching a great, long arm of black skin and slime towards them.
Kojin whimpered as he pinned himself against the wall, shutting his eyes. It was too gruesome to look at, to even bear. He could hear its breath billowing from its overly large nostrils, reminding him constantly that this was not a dream.
“Get back, you fiend!”
POW!
One shot.
Komatsu had fired.
There was a low growl as the beast loudly stumbled back, shaking the earth beneath it. Kojin kept his eyes closed, wanting to hear and see no more of the monster before him.
There was another growl, louder this time, and a larger boom as the creature progressed forward with haste. Kojin kept listening, hoping to hear the sound of his morning alarm going off, awakening him for school where he’d discover it was all a long, painful dream.
POW!
Another shot.
Another growl.
“Get back!” Komatsu’s voice was tight with authority and yet Kojin could easily imagine the sheet of fear adorning his face.
POW!
The bullet must’ve soared off into the sky, because Kojin heard nothing except the slight rustle of trees. Komatsu gave a harsh pant as the creature took another step forward, venomous growls burning from its throat. The ground and dirt shook beneath his socks, showering them with heaps of dust.
“Aarrghh!”
There was a loud, anguished shout from his right.
His eyes shot open.
The beast had reached down to grab Komatsu, taking his muscled body into his hands and plucking him off the ground like a feeble root. He swayed and yelled, flapping his warms wildly against the beast’s arms, his expression of might now replaced by helpless panic.
A gasp rattled Kojin’s lungs as he leaped forward, not knowing at all what he was doing. The beast did not turn—it kept Komatsu tight in its grasp, filling his lungs with its beastly breath.
What do I do?
Komatsu screamed and yelled as the monster flung him back and forth like a ragdoll, watching with glee as his head lulled against its shoulder with frailty.
Kojin hesitantly charged forward, leaning down to pick up Komatsu’s fallen weapon from the ground. The moment he closed his hand around the stave of wood, he felt jots of determination charging through his veins, filling his arms and pulsing about his chest. He stood up, drawing himself back to full height, staring holes into the back of the monser.
“H-Hey!”
This time the beast did turn—and its red, flaming eyes found Kojin in his full form, drinking him in like a delicious snack. He fought the urge to step backwards, grasping the stave tight in his hand.
Komatsu still locked in its grasp, it advanced towards him, growling and snarling rapaciously. Kojin swung his arm firmly towards the beast; the wooden blade swiped the air, sending balls of wind rushing to his own face. He grimaced, watching as the creature stayed still, eyes glowing hungrily.
It tugged its arm upwards and Komatsu shrieked, his head bouncing against the monster’s neck. The crown of his head hit a particularly stout, pulsing vein and next moment, his eyes shut and he feigned consciousness.
Kojin suddenly felt rage in a way he’d never known to be possible: it burned deep in the pit of his throat, like a dark venomous pool of phlegm; it rose up to his neck, attacking the veins, pulling them apart, doing anything it could to snake up to his chin, to converge the fury with his whole being. He tried to swallow, but the muscles in his throat would not work—he was too angry. He had to kill.
Kojin lunged himself forward towards the towering, nasty beast. Ropes of ghastly yellow liquid dripped from its mouth as it stumped forward, the club swinging from its hand. He drew back Komatsu’s stave, feeling the coarse wood of the hilt caress his fingers, before finally lugging it forward and embedding it deep into the monster’s chest. Blood sprayed from its wound, showering Kojin and the ground with its dirty, gold essence. Kojin’s mouth didn’t close from his victorious roar and he kept pushing himself forward into the beast, his wrist scraping its slimy stomach as flood after flood of its blood attacked his hair and clothes.
The beast gave one loud roar of anguish as its giant knees buckled, but Kojin was not finished. He wanted to stop then, but something had come over him. He’d felt the last few drops of rage from earlier mount his neck and ears and reach his eyes. The sights around him were suddenly doused with red—deep, burning red—and everything around him suddenly felt very hot. He screamed, tearing his own makeshift dagger from his pocket, and plunged it deep into the monster’s stomach; the tip parted the skin and Kojin watched the monster reel backwards, flailing its arms to grab and reach him (for once, he was actually thankful for his height). The growls now turning into horrible screeches of agony rang into Kojin’s ears and he pushed the wood deeper until it was completely swallowed by a mass of silky black skin. His free hand slammed against the monster’s stomach and it gave a terrible cry. Kojin drew his hand back and discovered why: his palm was home to a bright, dancing flame of brilliant orange. The sensation merely tickled and the pale skin of his hand surprisingly did not darken. He brought his other hand up to view to see the same thing.
He glanced back up at the towering beast, shrieking and whimpering like a shriveling balloon. With a great roar, he pulled both hands back and planted them firmly on the monster’s stomach. Immediately, with a great, loud cry, the monster’s skin shriveled into something dense and unrecognizable. Black dust and ash met his hands and Kojin bounced back, staring up at the monster disintegrating before his eyes. It crumbled to a pool of scorching soot and ash, smoke rising from its powdered remains.
There was a grunt below him and his eyes shifted to the ground. Lying on his hip, his face screwed with pain was Komatsu, his mouth drawn in a tight, stiff line. Kojin immediately ran to help him, pressing a careful hand against his back.
“K-Komatsu?”
Komatsu peeled open his eyes, the dark beads running all over the stone ground before him. Kojin felt his brother tense against his hand and then suddenly relax. His eyes trailed up to meet his.
“Kojin?” His voice was tired and weak, a tone Kojin would have never associated with his brother.
“Komatsu, can you stand?”
Komatsu closed his eyes, subtly shaking his head against the road.
“Should I get Mother?”
Komatsu shook his head. Instead, he reached a hand back and grasped Kojin’s. “I see you’ve found your dame.”
Kojin blinked.
The fire. The fire that had erupted inside of him—that had been his dame.
His dame was his ability to conjure flame.
He pulled his hands from Komatsu's and drew them upward, staring down at them. His usual pale skin was covered with spots of black powder. Tiny bits of flames died down in the dark ashes resting in his hands.
“I'm not surprised,” Komatsu croaked. “It’s your name. Kojin is the name of the fire god.”
Kojin swelled with surprise. He had always thought his name to be a girl's name. A girl with pretty pink bows in her hair and a high, impish laugh. Not once had he remembered that his name—his own name—was the same as the mighty fire god himself.
Kojin.
Now it all made sense—his name corresponded with his dame.
Kojin smiled, reaching down to grab his brother’s hand. “Let me help you up.”
He lifted Komatsu into a sitting position; his hair was raining with bits of soot and powder and his mouth had gradually relaxed from its tight line. He ran an agitated hand across the cloth of Kojin’s torn sleeve.
“Let’s go to the lake. We need to wash up.”
The smile on Kojin’s face didn’t fade. “Definitely.”
Moments later, Kojin released a sigh of solace as the lake water fluidly poured across his back, relieving his skin. Threads of water washed away the flakes of blood, soot and dirt and he kept his eyes closed all the while as the stress seeped from his anguished body and the water below him was tinged with flecks of red and brown. The night became calming and tranquil without the sound of snarls and screams filling the Momoru brothers’ ears and the boys even played around a little, flicking spurts of water and ruffling each other’s hair. As the bright orb of the moon remained stiff against the sky and his brother rested calmly against the ground, Kojin opened his mouth, letting a cold tress of water escape down his throat; he felt the scorching knot in his stomach wane and his whole body loosen.

That fretful night ended finally with the Momoru brothers trekking back home, fully dressed, hands closed around each other’s shoulders and a deep fire burning in one of their hearts.