Shiryat Yieto

SHIRYAT YIETO

The man, the beast, the myth and legend. The sadistic sociopath, the psychotic hunter. The owner and Captain of the Tombstone and the silent owner and secret President of Dogstar Industries. A brutal fiend of a man who's experience and efficiency knows no equal, an immortal whose legacy is written in the blood of his prey. He knows no mercy, no compassion, and fights a losing battle to hold on to his sanity.

The clouds gather over the city, and the outskirts of which where the the small barn lay. The yard animals bray and whine as the winds pick up, a freezing chill carried on the angry torrents. The depth of the clouds only perceivable as the lighting illuminates them, the sky as the midnight sea. Thunder roaring in the distance, growing ever closer. Rain begins to pelt the thatch barn growing quickly into torrent of undeniable proportions. Within this hut three people lay shivering in the growing cold, their faces illuminated by dim lamplight.

"Will she be alright?" said the younger of the two men. He spoke to his senior, a graying man whose beard reached below his sternum. His clothes were ragged and torn, dirty, but his eyes showed a clarity that only an egomaniac would ignore upon a first glance. He scratched at his chin, looking at the woman who made up the last third of their party. Despite the cold he clothes were drenched in sweat and her stillness was only broken in lucid grasps of pain as she would grimace in her half sleep. Gently the younger man wiped the sweat from her face, pushing her hair from her eyes. He returned his gaze to the older man, the Doctor, still awaiting an answer.

"I cannot say, Sire... Her fate is unknown to me, but I will do everything within my meager abilities to sate her pain." he gazed down, almost lovingly, at the young stable maid. Others would think what an inappropriate pair the two would have made, the young Templar and the woman who kept his horses clean, but he could not. He was not allowed such gross errors in humility, it was not his place. In fact, quite the opposite, he would later recount what an apt couple the two had been, and how had his powers been enough what fine parents they would have made.

He gave a weak smile to the Knight before focusing once more on the lady. He lay his hands upon her stomach as he concentrated. The strain was apparent, the hidden muscles in his neck bulging as veins pulsed in his temples. His face grew red, and then pale as his breathing quickened. By the end of it he fell back, exhausted, barely conscious.

The Knight, a Templar of high standing, had no idea what to make of the situation. He'd heard of the Man-Gods, had heard of their powers. Indeed he and his cohorts fought against them bravely for years, and would continue to do so until they were called away from the Crusades. This decrepit old man did not possess the talent or the power of his foes, nor the hostility, but it didn't matter. His strength, whatever it may be, was not enough.

He watched the man breathe, struggling for air in rapid gasps, before turning his attention back to his illicit wife. Her frame was still, as was her chest. Her eyes stared back at him. Loving as her gaze was, there was no life left within it. A final parting, her loving eyes.

The Knight turned from his now dead bride to the recovering Doctor. He didn't know why, but he suddenly wished to drive his knuckles into the old man's face repeatedly. At that moment nothing would have pleased him more than to feel the crushing blow of his fists, the pain that would arch through his arm to his elbow as he shattered his own bones in beating the man to death. He knew the Doctor had done all he could do, had nearly died trying, but it didn't matter. The beast was back, that insatiable rage, that hunger was back. The same hunger that had driven him to a commanding position within the ranks of the Knights Templar.

But a sound stopped him as he stood, the Doctor staring at him cuttingly, knowing what the man mistakenly desired. The sound wasn't the Doctor's voice pleading for unnecessary forgiveness, but the sound of a child's bleating cries. The sound of his son's cries of confusion washed over him, cleansing him of his pain and misguided fury. He looked down to his wife, the dead gaze of love she continued to stare, and at his son who lay between her knees. He stared at the boy for a moment before turning his gaze to the Doctor once more.

"It was either save him... Or they both die... I did what I could." said the old man, before passing out from exhaustion.

These years were quite possibly the most natural of his life. During this time Shiryat lived the life of a nobleman's child, though he had no playmates he wanted for nothing, felt no pain nor did he suffer. These four years, which Shiryat can recall almost nothing of, were a beautiful time. He was kept in secret, which would be his only reason to question these years, as his Father would lose his standing should it be known that he had lain with a stable maid and fathered her child. Shiryat's birth was kept a secret, all but from the members of his Father's sect until shortly after his fourth birthday, when his father had been killed in battle.

His father had been called back into service in the name of God, sent to Egypt to continue on in the crusades. It was there that he met his end at the hands of what was thought to be a man-god. A being of incredible powers that went beyond comprehension at that time. He commanded great armies and all who followed him worshiped him, fighting in his name without fear. Against this beast Shiryat's human father stood no chance of victory. It wasn't long before the troops pulled back out of Egypt in the face of this "God".

To keep Shiryat's inheritance and lively hood safe the Templars took him in. They found great promise in the stoic child who hardly cried or whined. They took control of his Father's wealth, though promised it would be his when he became old enough to handle it, but used it to fuel their war further. It was here that Shiryat was educated in the ways of the world, in the maths and sciences, in philosophy and most importantly Religion.

He excelled in his subjects quickly, proving to his instructors that he had a keen mind. Upon his tenth birthday his physical training came to be and mirrored that of his intellectual studies. He was taught to ignore pain, ignore fear, and see these things in his opponents and to take advantage of them. He was taught the way of the blade, a study that he continued to learn on his own even years after his time as a soldier was done.

By the time he had turned sixteen Shiryat was the perfect model of a Templar Knight. Though they could not sire him as they would others, due to his lineage, they held a ceremony in private. Though at the time Shiryat was proud, he would later come to see that they had merely been using him, creating a weapon with which they could strike from the shadows. Should he die in battle he bore no markings or crests of the Templars and thusly they could denounce his affiliation with them.

It was shortly after his secret initiation into the order that he was sent to the Middle East. He had explicit orders in which to cause rioting and revolt, to create chaos and propaganda, so that King Loui IX could justify starting another war in the name of God. He excelled, his youth being his greatest asset as most would not suspect such a child to be the cause of all the dissonance.

He continued on for eight years, continually growing to question his motivations for the wrong he was doing. Questioning whether a good man was still a good man if the fuel for his righteousness was Evil itself. By the end of his eighth year he had given up in his quest and was relieved when word was finally sent for him to return home.

Shiryat spent these two years a desolate shell of a man. Now twenty four the past eight years of his life had been spent using death and destruction, sacrificing innocent lives, all for the sake of a God he could not put his faith into any more. Though his loyalty to the Templars was absolute, the seed of an idea that there might be something more in the world other than inciting chaos for the sake of war had began to slowly grow.

The years of peace and training went by fast and Shiryat had been forced to train almost constantly. He didn't mind the rigorous regimen but he did wonder what it was exactly that he was being prepared for. As quickly as the years had passed he didn't have to wait long for an answer.

It was 1270 and he was sent to Tunis along with the King Louis IX himself, as a personal weapon and body guard. The King had meant to inspire his troops by going himself, but as it were, he was a coward who was barely able to hold a blade himself. Shiryat stood quietly by, never far from the King even while he slept. Ever vigilant he performed his duties perfectly, keeping the King safe without ever allowing himself to be seen. Though, one night in the King's chambers the two had shared drinks, the King jubilant at the success they had began with there in Tunis.

"... My dear boy, we are an unstoppable team..." said the Louis, his tongue thick and slow to move, his face flushed red despite the cold night's air by the wine. Shiryat remained quiet, thoughtful as he watched the dark liquid swirl in his glass.

"So much like blood.... So thick, almost black with its depth...." he said aloud mistakenly, his voice quiet and lost. His eyes were gone, empty. One could have though he died right then, strangled by the ferocity and confusion of his thoughts.

"You are talking mad, boy. Drink up, be merry, we are doing God's work, and he is pleased with our success...." the King laughed, a thick choking sound. He wasn't aware of how Shiryat had began to stare at him between the sweat soaked bangs, his gaze having shifted from his blood like wine to the King upon hearing that they were doing "God's" work.

"God's.... work...." said Shiryat slowly, picking apart the words as he spoke them. Some thing deep and primal welling up within him.

The King's face went rigid with annoyance as he returned Shiryat's stare. "Now that's enough! Act as if you have some sense child! Do you not understand what an honor it is to be sitting here, sharing a glass with your King!?" His voice was forceful, but hushed. He could not allow any one to hear him shouting, lest they come running in and see him and his courage sitting and talking across a table to one another.

"Honor....." said Shiryat, his voice still dead. He wiped at his forehead absent mindedly, finding his shirt soaked with sweat despite the bitter chill in the air. The nights were cold this time of year, freezing outside the encampments and tents that were kept tolerable with small fires. The King himself was warmed only by the drink, but he saw Shiryat's forehead stapled with droplets of sweat, his shirt soaked around the collar.

He eyed Shiryat for a moment longer, perplexed but he couldn't decide by what. Perhaps the boy was Ill? That would be no excuse... There was never an excuse for a fool...

The King slammed his Goblet down on the table, the red liquid spilling out over his hand and sleeve staining it deeply. He saw the stain, felt the wasted liquid, and cursed a bit too loudly. "God Damnit!" he shouted, furiously wiping away at his hand and stained sleeve. He looked up to curse at Shiryat, to chastise him for his foolish behavior, to threaten him. But he went silent as he saw the hunger in his eyes, the way he licked his lips.

"Damn God? You say we are here doing his work...." said Shiryat quietly, his voice cool and calm, collected though his eyes darted back and forth. His pupils were dialated, devouring the light, hungry for it but never being filled. His fingers whirled at his sides, rhythmically fluttering before closing in knuckle crunching fists.

"I always thought of God as a teacher and a lover... Not some one who demands obedience through fear... But who asks for it with love, and only hopes for it in return... Not of a being who spoke through fire and death and ominous warnings, but of a man who gave gifts and took them away respectively, a lesson behind every action..." Shiryat spoke in a whisper as he stood, moving like a slowly churning brook as he quietly paced back and forth in an area no smaller than two or three feet.

"But I see now, that a being like that is nothing more than a fairy tale... Nothing more than a story told to appease, or control, the people..." He whipped his hair behind his head, smoothing it out, his hands coming back wet. The King thought that he looked eerily similar to a cat waiting until the anticipation of the kill grew so great that it could restrain itself no longer. It was then that he realized that he was afraid of this man, and Shiryat reacted to that fear as if he could smell it.

"You speak of honor... yet you know nothing about it. Indeed... and rightly so, you sit here with the man who keeps you alive. You call him a boy, you have no respect... You have no courage so you bring some one to carry you who has plenty... Who in turn has no fear, who should do well to take some of yours..." Shiryat's hands lay on the table rigidly, his nails biting into the splintering wood as he worked his palms along the edge of it, testing its strength.

"Even so you are a fool, because you think it wise to insult a man smarter than yourself... stronger than yourself... Whom never sleeps, and whom you rely on to keep you alive. You insult this man as you both know that know one knows he exists, and that no one knows you are alone with. No one knows you're alone with this person, because you're arrogant, an idiot, and did not think to tell a single soul. If you had, they'd tell you what I'm telling you now, you're a fool."

Shiryat and Louis stared at each other for a moment. The King had grown pale, wanting very much to ignore the situation, hoping that it was all a trick of the wine. He looked down at it on his hand and sleeve, the spill, and back at Shiryat.

"There's blood on your hands, King." said Shiryat. Louis stared at him for half a moment longer before opening his mouth and attempting a word. He was cut off by Shiryat flipping the table over on its side, knocking Louis out of his chair and pinning him flat on his back. The edge of the table pressed down hard, crushing his neck as it held him by the throat. Louis stared up at Shiryat, until the blackness swallowed him and the life faded from his eyes. Shiryat stared right back, and kept staring, long after Louis eyes had gone blank.

Shiryat fled shortly after he murdered King Louis IX. He had access to his wealth, had had it since his return from the Middle East, but he had no direction. He had no where to go, no mission, and as such wandered the world, lost. It took him a year to traverse the terrain from Tunis to Northern Japan, and he spent this time in introspection, always thinking back to that night when he'd murdered his King and turned his back on every thing he'd ever known to be true. Along the way as he grew closer to his unknown destination he saw signs of yet another war. There was no money in this one, no grand scheme. It was primal, the instinctual attacking and defending of mere men wanting what another man has. No conspiracies or secrets, it was pure. There was honor in it and Shiryat could see that and on a deeper level, a dark part of him responded knowingly to it.

It was in Japan, nearly a year and a half after the retreat of the Templars from Tunis following the unexplained murder of their King that Shiryat took up the blade again. He walked in on the war, what was good in him overruling the beast within his heart as he sided with the natives, taking the name Shiryat Yieto in a final act of spite against his past. Together he fought with them, and trained with them, learning new ways of the sword to compliment his own skills and began his study of the martial arts and meditation. He found new focus in this serene world and together he and the Samurai he'd come to find a home with repelled the Mongols, though the battle had come at a price. Shiryat had been grievously wounded and was on the brink of death. The leader of the village he'd come to live in put him in the home of a young woman, who patiently nursed him back to heatlth. His recovery took a year itself, and he would never again have the use of his right eye.

It was her who taught him the way of medicine, teaching him what plants were safe and ones that possessed deadly toxins. She helped him train his body to the condition it once was, and with her help and coaching he gained a solid grasp on the martial arts he had began to study. During this time a connection formed between them, a bond, and Shiryat began to feel something he could not describe. It made him feel anxious, awkward, yet seemed to fill him with a new found source of strength and sureness. He only knew that he would trade any injury to spend this time with her again.

Fully recovered from the injuries he'd sustained in the final battle against the Mongol invasion of Japan Shiryat's wandering spirit once again takes hold of him. Each day longer than the last, growing weary and complacent with the peace and tranquility that he had fought so hard to earn for the people. Restless, feeling his skills wan without true combat despite his intense training, Shiryat decides that it's time to once again resume his journey. Though he has no idea to what end he searching for he knows that he cannot remain in such a paradise. He was not created for such placid times. Though he had not yet come to fully accept the beast, or even yet recognize it within himself, it hungered for the thrill of combat. Desired to be challenged to the brink of death, and over it should it truly be defeated. His wealth still great, having spent next to nothing in his time in Japan, Shiryat sets his sights on an island north of Japan, what is modern day Sakahalin, inhabited by people known as the Guwei.

Word of the man from Japan spread quickly, as tales of his skill and deeds in the battle against the Mongols had reached them before he had. With his reputation and his wealth the Guwei accepted him with no protest, working feverishly for him for what would normally be considered a small fee. They cleared lands in which to build Shiryat's manor. Their craftsmanship was unique, abstract and singular in its design and Shiryat fell deeply in love with the aesthetic choices of the Guwei.

The construction took less than a year. Though the Guwei were not a many people, they worked towards this effort in full. In return for their dedication and loyalty Shiryat paid for shipments of materials and livestock from Japan, seed and clothing. Within the year the Guwei had a prosperous community, and though they had done all the work themselves, they praised Shiryat ceaselessly for his contribution to their home and feverishly sought his approval. As it were he became an unofficial ruler of their people, he needed no crown nor title to fulfill his given task of watching over them and caring for the lands.

With the completion of his manor and the prosperity of the Guwei Shiryat had at last quelled the restlessness within his soul, the unknown beast within him that hungered for combat finally quiet. He had carved a piece of the world for himself and had asked for nothing in making it. He had every thing he could need, but he had nothing that he truly wanted. It was then that he began to think of returning to Japan, and of the caring medicine woman who had inspired such emotions within him.

Shiryat returns to the village in northern Japan to find it having done well in his absence. As he wanders the paths and fields, having not yet announced his presence, he sees young men training in the way of the sword. He recognizes the technique as the one he'd begun to use having blended their disciplines with his own, and this pleases him to no end.

It is not long before he finds the medicine woman, and to his surprise, waiting for him. The two begin the relationship that had been put off for nearly four years. they spend nights in the paddies staring at the stars as he tells her of his home with the Guwei, a land he calls "Centrai". She is mystified by it and immediately agrees to go with him when he should choose to depart.

Preparations for their voyage are made and the people of the village are pleased to see the young woman and their hero betrothed. But in the final week before their departure word arrives from China, the Mongols had invaded with the aid of a powerful being. One said to be even more powerful than Shiryat himself.

The old feelings rush Shiryat and the medicine woman sees the change instantly, she can sense the beast and its thirst for blood. He turns to her, his hand clutching the hilt of the blade on his side, he asks her for guidance with his eye. But she turns, seeing his true desire deep within the light devouring pupil. The ice cold will of his soul begging to be tested against the flames of war once more. Having his answer he swears to return safely, and soon. Immediately he begins preparations for his journey to China as his future wife leaves on his ship for Centrai. Unbeknown to Shiryat, she is pregnant with his daughter.

The Journey to China is swift, as is the battle. There Shiryat is met with an incredible being, one who conjures flames and bends them to his will. Said to be a demon borne in the body of a child he had taken on the guise of a young man, barely old enough to know the touch of a woman. Their battle is intense, though quick, and Shiryat is defeated. Never had he done battle with such a creature and instantly something within himself breaks. Shackles that had held back the beast were shattered as a bitterness settled over Shiryat. For thirty five years he had trained, perfected his art of the blade and mastered the martial arts... But this child had bested him.

Shiryat is forced to retreat, lest the people he'd come to protect be slain along with him. As one the armies fell back, and Shiryat boarded his ship for Japan.

Almost home, not but another full day out from Japan, his ship is set under attack. The ship catches fire and Shiryat knows instantly the source of the onslaught set against them. Heading to the top deck he sees a Chinese ship, manned by the Mongols and the Demon fire child.

Shiryat's own ship is covered by an uncontrollable fire, but he sees his opportunity for vengeance. The enemy ship comes close enough to taunt him and his burning crew, a final act of arrogance that cost the Mongol attackers, and the Demon Child, their lives.

Shiryat leaped the small distance between their two vessels. Catching them and the "Demon" by surprise he quickly fell the few warriors who met him, leaving him and the child to do battle. It was there that Shiryat saw that this boy was no Demon, no ancient soul within the body of a child.... but simply a child with incredible abilities. Shiryat saw this as the "Demon" could not think to set fire to his own ship in a hope of destroying Shiryat along with himself. Unable to use his abilities to their fullest extent, lest he send himself to a watery grave, he was easily slain by Shiryat.

Few men from his own ship made it over to the ship he'd commandeered from their attackers, but enough survived to help him sail it into port.

He returns home to Centrai to find his wife, and his newborn Daughter waiting patiently for him.

Recovered from his wounds and home safe in Centrai Shiryat bears witness to the birth of his second child, his son. All at once the shackles are placed upon the beast as he sees the little creature. He is finally happy, there in his "kingdom" with his Family.

Shiryat is sent word from Japan as the Mongols had set in deep in China, their influence having once more reached Japan with greater numbers. Shiryat tries to ignore the urge for battle, having not trained since his return to Centrai he had almost forgotten the bitter taste, the excitement. He's displeased with how much he actually wants to go, and despite the pleadings of his wife he sets out once more for war.

The battle was hard, but Shiryat managed to keep the ravenous beast within him held at bay, a testament to his will as together with his brothers, the Samurai of the village he'd once called home, they force back the Mongol invasion for the last time. Finally victorious over them.

These years are the happiest time that Shiryat can remember. No battle, no urge for battle, not even training any more than necessary to keep up with his health and aging body. The scars and injuries of war had taken their toll on him and he wants nothing more than to rest his head here in this peaceful place with his wife, daughter, and his son. The beast quiet for quite some time he has not even had to grapple with it to keep himself sane. He is content, and his soul is in perpetual peace.

"What do you mean he is 'sick'?" Shiryat demands of his wife, speaking with more hostility than he'd wanted. He knew it wasn't her fault, but it didn't make sense. Their child had been born sickly, of course, but he had money. He could afford the best help there was... Though on Centrai there were no people of modern medicine, no knowledge aside from what the natives and his wife had learned, and it wasn't enough for his son.

In the next room the boy coughed uncontrollably, only stopping when he grew too exhausted from the laborious and was unable to remain conscious. As Shiryat looked at the boy, pale and sweating, shaking with fevered chills he felt fear for the first time that he could accurately remember. It struck at him blindly chilling him deep within his chest. He felt his stomach drop as if he'd fallen from a cliff and could not see the bottom. The deadly ground could hit him at any moment and he would not see it coming, making the fall into the abyss so much more unbearable.

"We have tried everything Yieto... There is nothing we can do! He will not last the Journey to Japan, and the western lands are far too dangerous to send word for.." she began to weep, burying her head in his robes. He tried to comfort her, but found he was unable to as he was seeking comfort in her embrace.

The boy had been sick for the past two days, but the illness had seemingly struck from the shadows. It had started as a cough and by the night the child had been coughing fluid. Infection it looked like, but the knowledge did no good. They were lost, it seemed as if the boy wouldn't make the night, let alone the two month journey to Japan.

Shiryat looked from his son to his wife, kept warm only by the warm coals in the fire place. He looked for an answer in her eyes, and her for one in his. Before either of them could think of something to say an icy wind penetrated the room. Hitting them hard, deep in the bones. She cried out as if struck and Shiryat hurried to bundle the boy lest he die prematurely in the freezing cold.

"The hell!" he said turning to his wife, but she was looking some where far off, she turned to him after a moment.

"Do you hear that?" she said quietly, and he did. A dull pounding on the door to his manor. A powerful sound, weight and force behind it so as that no one could deny the being behind it its quarter.

"My blade woman..." said Shiryat as he passed her. He realized the depravity of his words the moment he said them and turned quickly, kissing her warmly on the forehead before proceeding to the entrance.

Before he could open the door it swung open on its own, the effect of a supernatural wind. Beyond it stood an unimposing man, smiling at Shiryat with black sharpened teeth, the only thing aside from his black eyes that marred his perfect complexion.

"Hello Sir Yieto... Perhaps you will allow me entry into your glorious home?" said the Contractor.

"What manner of beast are you?" said Shiryat, gazing at the creatures odd clothing. It wore a simple white cloak over a white tunic and pants. A strange white hat clutched in his hands.

"Oh, please, do not insult me sir. I have come to make you an offer, I can help you with your..." the demon's eyes drifted upwards towards the room where his dying son lay. "Problem..." he said, snapping his eyes down to Shiryat, his dark smile growing wider.

"You have not come of good will...." said Shiryat, reaching behind himself for his blade as he felt his wife's presence approach.

The demon leaned to one side, raising an eyebrow as an amused grin began to spread, his mouth growing wider.

"Please, there is no need for hostility." he said as he straightened, raising a hand in a submissive gesture as he lowered his head a bit. Shiryat was unimpressed, the point of his blade resting on the marble beneath his feet as he stared at the demon, his hands tightening reflexively on the handle.

"Indeed.... Rightly so, though, I have come to help you... But I am a business man, of course, rightly so... It comes at a cost, but I can give you what you so desire." the Demon spread his arms wide, as if to say "Slay me if you will deny me."

Shiryat did not, but instead grunted at the demon in an order to continue.

"Very well, Sir Yieto... You call me a Beast you... think of me... as a Demon. I am both and neither at the same time, I am what would be called... a contractor. I give you something, you do something for me... If you fail to pay, I take something. It's very simple. We only must agree on what I will do for you, and what I will take should you fail to do... what you agree to do."

The Demon was smooth, he was calm, cold, and collected. Shiryat was not the first he had made such an offer to, but he had never met Shiryat before. He had no idea who he was trying to fool. Shiryat grinned, scratching at his chin.

"You will save my son?" he said finally, finding himself in a test of wits with the beast.

"Oh, of course, should that be what you truly desire right now...."

"And what would you want of me..."

The Demon Contractor's eyes widened as well as his smile, showing Shiryat row upon row of sharpened black teeth.

"Ahh! There is the catch, of course... You see I have seen you, been watching you for quite some time. I know the beast that resides within you, what you seem to accuse me of being... I know who you are, I see inside your mind. What I want...Is a duel. The most promising warrior in the world.... Your skill... against mine." The Demon licked the tips of his teeth, spinning his hat on his fingers before finally closing his mouth fully. His stark white hair standing on end, almost seeming to writhe in its pointed style.

"A duel..." said Shiryat after studying the Contractor for a moment longer.

"Yes, that would be the term I used..." said the Demon, his eyes flickering for a moment as his gaze turned to Shiryat's wife for a moment. Shiryat caught this and didn't hesitate.

"Your quarrel is with me demon. You do not have the right to even look at my wife..." turning to her, "My little lotus blossom... please... Our son." said Shiryat, nodding towards the room up the stairs. She looked between the two of them for a moment before hurrying up the stairs.

The demon's power unknown to Shiryat, he did not realize that he had meant to separate them, and was indeed speaking to her in the room as he spoke to him in lobby of his manor.

"I fight you... You save my son?" said Shiryat, running his fingers through his hair.

"Of course... You should you win... your son may live. Should you lose... you are mine, my warrior until the end of all time, and your boy is left to his fate..."

"You said a duel... you would challenge a mortal man and expect him to defeat you?"

"You and I both know you are no mere mortal... and..... we both know you cannot deny a true battle, a true challenge..." said the Contractor.

"You are right..." said Shiryat whipping his hair behind his head and smoothing it down. "But I will not wager my son's life on a battle I cannot win... I do not fear death, but I cannot make that choice for him..."

"Your son dies either way then, Yieto... you would leave your little 'Lotus Blossom' with the knowledge that you did not even try to save him? I give you an honest chance to save your boy... no other has come to you, no Angel from the good book to save him... You think she would spend the rest of her life with a man who would not even try to save his son? A coward, broken after so many battles... So eager for war, until he's met with a foe who--"

"Enough..." said Shiryat finally, dropping his head and gripping his blade. "I accept, and I shall sign..."

In their son's room....

Shiryat's wife, whom he calls Lotus Blossom, rushes into the room shutting the heavy door behind herself. Her breaths come ragged and quick, in a panic she looks to see their son, but he does not lay in his crib... Softly sang a dark and chilling melody issues forth from the shadows and out emerges the Contractor, holding their son and singing softly to the young boy. Color has returned to their child and he breathes easily, giggling as the Contractor smiles at him.

"My... you unhand my son now!" she says quickly, turning towards the door to shout for Shiryat.

"Oh don't, dear lady. You would not want to interrupt my negotiations with your husband." said the demon, clicking his tongue softly at her, chastising.

She says nothing, unsure of what to do. Should she deny the demon that they invited into their home whom could possibly vanish into the shadows with their son, amongst any number of horrors, and all hope would be lost.

"What do you want?" she said finally, careful to keep her voice down.

The demon's face grows stern, losing the youthful though horrific smile as he returns the boy to his crib and his coughing resumes.

"Did you see your son? The ease with which he took breath? You would deny my power, even as I speak to you I speak to your husband below? He cannot hope to defeat me..."

He approaches her softly, tracing the cold tips of his fingers down her cheek to the nape of her neck. His whispers brush against her ear as he leans in close, his words sinking in as venom from the snake would run through her veins.

"What's the meaning of this tryst, hmm? I will not submit myself to your--"

"oh no... I have no such interests... I wish to make an agreement with you."

"Your agreement is with my husband, demon" she spits this at him, turning her head in a snap as she rounds on him, placing herself between the Demon and her coughing son.

"Your husband is arrogant, and wishes to defeat me for the life of your son... I would have settled for something else, but he wishes to challenge my undeniable power... Should he lose your son dies and your husband's soul is mine. He cannot win this battle..."

She stares at the demon, knowing Shiryat and his old ways. His hunger for battle, his thirst for the thrill of victory...

"What must I do?" she says finally, looking to the floor before resting her gaze on her son, searching for strength within his sleeping form.

"It is simple... I had not come here with such ill intentions. I give you the easiest of decisions, though it may sound difficult your choice will be made with almost no thought... I give you the choice between your husband or your son. Should your husband lose, which undoubtedly he will... I shall save your son. Should he win, which he cannot, I shall take your son."

"This... that would be an impossible offer for a demon like you... It would be... almost generous, even though I either way I lose one of them..." she said, turning to stare the demon in his black eyes.

"You have me wrong madam... Your husband, though possibly a good man now... Has lived his life for the sake of ending it. He has bathed in the blood of the innocent... He has sins to atone for, and that is why I am here. Not so much a demon, as an Angel... I come to offer your husband absolution, final rest, and debts paid in full for the sins he's caused across the world in his bloody life... Yet he wishes to defile his soul further, placing his son's life at stake for the sake of his pride... I had hoped to do this another way, but he has issued the challenge and I have to accept it... I give you a chance to right what he has wronged here tonight..." The demon's voice trails off, his tongue waxing the entrancing melody of his voice.

She could say nothing, knowing there was at least some truth to the demon's words. Her husband had always been so eager to rush into combat... So ready to ignore her pleadings to lay down his blades... So happy to take thrill in the ending of another man's life.

"Yess.... Your son should not be made to suffer, I can save him... You must only sign..."

She gazed at her son, and did not remove her gaze as she signed the yellowed parchment with the blood of a sliced finger tip.

So the deal had been made, and the next night under the light of the full moon the two were set to duel. Shiryat was sure of only one thing as he readied himself for battle, that he would meet his final defeat this night. But he had no choice, as a father he'd been given a single chance to save his son and he could not live happily ever again knowing that he had not at least tried to save him. He would rather die, nay, sell his soul than not take his only chance; Which he knew was exactly what he was doing.

The day leading up to the encounter he spent resting in meditation. His bones ached, his wounds and scars burned with the memory of failed encounters. He ignored them, put them out of his mind, focusing on his inner strength and willing his mind past the pain, using it as fuel.

When the time came he'd donned his armor and taken up his blades and as he moved to the door he turned to look at his wife, who'd spent the day weeping, refusing to see him. He'd thought she may not even see him off to battle, so it was a welcome surprise to see her waiting his leave.

"I won't be returning love..." he said solemnly as his gaze landed on the floor.

"I know." was all she said. But there was no hint of remorse, or sadness, and he could see the faintest sight of hatred laying behind her eyes like a bed of coals in a dying fire. Those two words stung him deeply, so he said no more and headed into the night. Her words weighed heavy on him, and he felt a bit of his will crack. His heart broken, he could not focus. His blade felt heavy in his hand, his armor cumbersome on his shoulders....

The battle with the demon was a ferocious one. Shiryat fought bravely, fought well, but the Demon Contractor spared no time in bringing the old warrior to his knees. Shiryat knelt, the product of broken bones-not broken will, staring up at the demon. His breath came ragged, wet, blood issuing out in a red mist with every exhalation. The demon however showed no signs of fatigue, the many wounds he'd suffered in the quickly won fight had already disappeared from his perfect form.

"You knew this would happen... Yet you chose to fight any ways, hmm? Such a savage brute that you cannot even lay down your blades to survive? You would walk willingly into death to feed that... that hunger of yours? Oh yes.. Yes you will make a fine knight indeed... My slave for all eternity, your soul, belongs to me." said the Demon, laughing. For a moment Shiryat could see his true form, a hideous black beast, small in stature with bright red veins pulsing over it's obsidian body. It had no mouth and small slits for eyes, and some how it smiled at Shiryat with them.

"I didn't fight for myself... I couldn't live knowing I'd not taken the only chance I had to save my boy. My son..." said Shiryat, almost falling forwards in exhaustion, in death, holding himself up by the hilt of his blade. The point of which had been burried deep within the ground as he'd fallen from the Demon's last blow.

"Oh yes... your son? Well fat lot of good dying did for him, eh? His life is forfeit... Your death is in vain... This is such delicious ecstasy..." said the Demon. It raised it's fist high, such power behind it, and Shiryat did not blink as he watched the final blow come.

Shiryat's lifeless body fell to the ground, the entire right side of his face caved in. The demon stood over him, reveling in its victory as it placed it's clean boot on Shiryat's back, smearing blood over the man's armor.

"You shall never know rest again, Shiryat. Even now I condem you to hell, where your soul shall be tempered in fire and brimstone, and when you awaken with new life you shall bring that fire back with you. It shall change you, and you will be forever mine, undying, and unstoppable. Should your soul break, there you shall remain..."

Lightning crashed over head, illuminating the sky. Lotus Blossom stood holding her son, watching the demon stand over her husband's body. Thunder crashed in the distance and the world was dark after the incredibly bright flash. When Lotus Blossom's eyes adjusted to the sudden change the Demon was gone, as was Shiryat's body replaced with a thick mound of black stones, his blade plunged in the center of it.

She knew she'd made the right choice... She thought she had, believed she had... Until she realized that her son had stopped breathing, and never once would again.

---

Months later, and forever after

---

Shiryat could never forget the day, the day his skill had failed him and his pride had betrayed him. It would forever live on in his memory. The day he himself could not do what he demanded of those who would follow, who had followed. Battalions had amassed beneath his calling, they had readied himself and stood fast only in his example, an example that he did not strive to keep. He set the example that he expected others to succeed, as far as they may, by giving all that they could to emulate the results he achieved.

He failed himself. He had entered a battle that he knew he could not win because his only option was to enter... He was unable to see beyond the goal at hand. He was unable to see beyond the victory, the life he and his wife, he and his daughter, may have had should his son have died. The only thing he'd been able to see ahead was victory... or defeat. His life, as it were, had turned into the battle field. He as he lived it, a relentless tactician.

His eyes clenched shut as he once again forced out the images. Most who suffered death, defeat of such terms, rose if they ever did blind to the events. He did not enjoy such comforts. He remembered the look on Darcia, the liar's, face as he prepared the final blow. He could still, if he let himself, feel the right side of his face shatter to such a degree that even now his body could not truly heal the damage. He remembered feeling his life fade away, and he remembered watching it pass him by unable to so much as move until he rose again....

But then he could also still remember the victory.

The way Darcia, the liar, the one who'd not only won everything through deceit crumble before his equal might. The weakened demon contractor as his power failed him and Shiryat's true skill prevailed...

But that victory, as wanted and needed as it had been to survive could not outweigh the guilt... The guilt of what he'd done and what would be to come...

---

1973-1998

---

His shackles held him strong. They were well made, and he was well watched.... All of it nothing but a stall, should he choose it to be. But he had nowhere to go... Nothing to be.... He was a tortured soul in a lost body, searching for anything that could call to him.

He was ready, ready for what he had no idea... but it was something.... He needed it, and it needed him.... Though what "It" was.... He could not forsee.

He'd been "pinched" as it were in the zig. The last team he'd ever commanded taken prisoner by a fool who'd thought to betray them all. They'd been robbing a bank in Striga Isle... Longbow had had an A.P.B. out for Shiryat's crew for quite some time... a group far too efficient to be making small armed robberies.... That's how Shiryat liked it... Stay far above the class you're in... But he'd over estimated the loyalty of those he'd chosen to run with.

One had betrayed him, betrayed their scheme. He'd amassed such a large bounty in the 80's-90's after building a reputation through the latter part of the '70s as a go getter. A man known by many names, all but his true, A man with skill, few that could match it without... the lesser known metas... in that era. So far that even Statesman and his like were willing to bring him to justice, even if just to find out the name of the bandit. Though Shiryat had other crimes under his belt, a plenty, his greatest in those times were the heists...

But, as the mighty rise so shall they fall....

And betrayal found him in the Zig... When...

---

2008

---

It had been a difficult transition for him. In his long life he had been many things... An assasin, a warlord, a noble and king.... A husband and father... A thief and gang member, an heir.... A prisoner.... and now...

Now he was a free man. Given an error in the system, due to a then mysterious group searching for a specific individual who fit certain criteria... He was free. Free to walk the streets under the Alias "Aden Kyramur"... The name of the identification he'd had on him when he'd been collected by the Paragon Unleashed.

He'd never once... Not in his long life of many persona's been nothing more than a free citizen. Always, for one reason or another, he'd either needed to govern those around him, or hide from them.

It was at this point the immortal Yieto decided to try and meld. To become one with the masses.... A man with unparalleled skill by his peers, he became quite popular in certain circles. It was only after his first forray into the Pocket D that he found that those Circles were nothing more than banter, fodder, jokes among its patrons. It was then that he began his full indoctrination into the "Gods" he'd faced before his becoming. The warlords of legend... The great Gods of the past... nothing more than the forfathers that had given birth to the various mutations and scientific results that stood before him here.

As a mere human he was over looked... his skill... arbitrary.

In his time he'd slain many, quite powerful, beings. Those who had called themselves Gods had quivered before his blade and skill...

But now, things had changed...

He was nothing but an over sight. A slight... anamolly as far as these beings were concerned...

His pride ached for acknowledgement of his skill, for memory of his age. But, as he learned, the "Shiryat Yieto" of... what he learned to be nothing more than lore, was a legend. Legend that had not reached this world in time to influence it, because during his reign it had not quite existed yet.

He could not be overlooked.

He could not be cast aside...

He could not... be looked down upon..

He was Shiryat Yieto, the greatest warlord history had ever known. Most of his greatest accomplishments achieved while he was still a mortal man...

The "man" in the "old timey" clothes was quickly forgotten from the Pocket D.... Though, the hunter was quickly made known.

He spent his days "slumming" as he liked to call it. Working odd jobs for various brokers through out the Isles cleaning up the streets and clearing out warehouses of low level thugs and wanna be villainous masterminds. He didn't mind it so much, though he did feel it was beneath him. There was no sport in slaughtering street gangs and mob syndicates. He hungered for the hunt, to test his mettle agaisnt a truly worthy foe.

After only a few short weeks of working from the shadows under various aliases he was approached with a high paying job. He didn't care so much for the money involved, but when people paid big it meant the target was not an easy one. He was asked to remove a thorn in an Arachnos Unit's side, a meta human who liked to play with fire. Shiryat, Sheer as he was calling himself now, quickly dispatched the foe, a young man who thought that Shiryat was nothing more than a mere mortal. He'd vastly underestimated Sheer's resolve and gasped blood soaked please for mercy as Shiryat ended him.

This got his foot in the door with Arachnos, who turned to him not fully knowing who or what he was, and he spent many nights stalking the Pocket D for his assigned prey. Many over looked him, the "simple human" dressed in shoddy over worn clothing. It wasn't until one fateful night where talk of "emperor cole" caught his attention.

He'd heard much about this perverse mirror image of Statesman, and he didn't like any of it. Shiryat voiced his opinions on the matter, speaking stubornly and willfully. His words caught the attention of a young, naive woman named Artemis. An Empath who was very confused about what she felt coming off of Shiryat.

The two began a subtle Friendship, Shiryat treating her as if she were a little sister or a daughter. The two dealt with many altercations in the Pocket D, more than a few ending with Shiryat's pride broken as Arty wouldn't allow him any violence.

Though soon, Shiryat was hearaleded by a higher calling... and He left Arty and most of the inhabitants of the D to their own devices.

---

Rise of Dogstar Industries

---

He let himself feel no satisfaction from success in his business ventures. He had acquired an advantage, his masses of wealth dating back to his inheritence in the 13th century. It was a relatively easy thing once he'd put his mind to it; Hire the seedy lawyers, an intelligent manager, and adopt an easy cover.

He'd inherited the company from Inquisitor Xanxus after he'd ran it into the ground. At that point it'd been nothing more than a ragtag group of gangsters with high ambitions of interstellar domination through socio-economic means. Though, when failure had made itself aparent, Shiryat had been the only one who refused to back down in the face of defeat, as such when Xanxus finally departed Shiryat was the only one left to take the reigns.

With his wealth he quickly scrapped everything he could not forsee himself needing. He hired a few mercenaries, favoring Quality over Quantity. Tawk, a scarred veteran of the battle field; Blackbriar, a gun toting business man with vague relations out of the country and a magical ring. With those two's assitance and his own mass of wealth wisely invested by his slave Straker, a lycan who owed Shiryat a life-debt Dogstar industries finally launched itself into the forefront of business relations around the world.

It started as a paper company, it's true headquarters hiden below the sewers of St.Martial. The concept was quite simple. If you have work, pay Dogstar to contract it out for a nominal fee. Straker's keen legal and business sense kept their true motivations hidden; and Shiryat's tactical prowess and determined followers launched them into the next phase.

The "Tombstone" was crafted quickly over the course of several months with the assistance of Creytech; all "volunteers" were made an offer they could not refuse. This of course caught Creytech's attention and they ignored Shiryat's threats. They made an assault on the now abandoned subteranian head quarters and sought to oust Shiryat's venture. But due to a well planned assault by Blackbriar a key demonstration of a Portal design that mimicked the one Shiryat and Xanxus had stolen from Portalcorp. was botched, and Creytech lost millions with it's investors. This gave birth to a tenuous agreement between Shiryat's crew and Creytech; "You don't mess with us, and we won't mess with you", an agreement signed in blood with millions.

Once the "Tombstone" was complete, Shiryat moved the opperation there and Dogstar was really put on the map. Known for being able to hire the most elite of interstellar crews Dogstar knew who to talk to to get what you wanted, no matter where it was.

This however put Dogstar further into the limelight and Shiryat was forced to make a difficult decision.

The extra attention Dogstar had garnered for itself put no undue ammount of stress on the paper industry. To keep their dealings seemingly legal and legitimate, Shiryat was forced to take quite a bit of droll and trivial contracts. One such led a businessman, who wanted nothing more than simple textiles, wishing to tour the Dogstar facilities. This put Shiryat in a close bind, and he was force to have his crew erradicate a warehouse, outfit it with equipment, while Straker made it all nice and legal.

Shiryat could not allow any other circumstances like this to arise, he had to make a choice.

Soon afterwords the "Tombstone" was decomissioned and replaced with a smaller version built from scraps of the original. The rest of the salvage was sold off to Creytech and an official tower for Dogstar Industries was built in St. Martial.

Here Shiryat housed the bulk of his workers, all menial positions that did nothing more than transfer and log data. But beneath the expansive tower lay the true heart of Dogstar industries, and the new home for his crew. All the while he'd began leasing the new "Tombstone" to a man by the name of Corland James, who Shiryat had met through mutual contacts in the Vanguard.

Shiryat then faded himself out of the picture, leaving the bulk of his responsibilities to his Familiar, Straker while managing the profits and building his empire... Times were quiet, much slower than he'd started off with originally, and he became bored. He was dissatisifed with this slower pace of life, and soon the hunger for the hunt took him to again sojurn on through time.

---

""[Japan, April 2011]""

---

"I don't see why you had to drag me through all of this Shiryat... " Straker said. Any one else would have been complaining about the cold, but Straker wore his normal buisness attire minus his jacket, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows dispite the sub-zero temperatures.

Shiryat turned to him, sneering in a sly grin from beneath the hood of his thermal jacket. "Straker, you used to live for these types of outings. I'd hate to think that that lazy office life softened you up..."

Straker spit as he shook his mane of hair free from a blanket of snow, snarling. "First off, Yieto, my "Office life" was not Lazy. You have any idea how much work went into me keeping your goddamn company legal? Keeping your people paid, the lawyers paid, and keeping every fucking criminal enterprise out there off of our backs?" Straker's anger was easy to ignite, at least easy for Shiryat. Few others could set the blaze within Straker's spirit that would cause his flesh to crawl and his teeth to grow. Shiryat nearly rolled his eyes as he turned away, setting his sights on the village far beneath their perch on the rocky outcropping of the mountain.

"No, Straker, I don't know. Why don't you regail me for the fifteenth time this week about 'how hard you had to work' and how I never 'appreciated all your /effort..." Shiryat didn't bother to turn and look at Straker. He knew to be careful around beings that were naturally stronger and more formidable than he was. Straker, as a rare breed of Lycanthrope, was counted among those numbers. But Straker owed Shiryat a life-debt, for Shiryat had spared his life centuries earlier when he'd been paid to annhilate the threat that was Straker's clan from a small village in Northern Siberia. He had nothing to fear from Straker, mainly because Straker could never lift a finger against him that meant to do him harm.