The dance of death

 

Her reputation preceded our encounter. A reputation not of myth but quite equal to the mettle and metal she wields with a spark. I had no idea that this was the encounter which although I was looking forward to but never felt ready for it. But despite my reluctance the stage was set and my reluctance gave way to my curiosity. I stepped into the area and there it was without doubt that which I had feared. She looked tired not because of fatigue of physical labour but out of waiting which she had endured for ages. Her prosthetics lying before her along with a small helmet. She shuddered but for a moment before gathering herself up, picking up her parts and fitting them with small twists and turns till they click fit to her body. The katana, it seems is moulded with her right arm and the helmet shut her eyes completely keeping the nostrils open. She had been waiting not for me but someone else, someone who shared her blood and hence the bloodline. With a single warning, which I might add came from a voice so feminine, full of love and depth, she announced that she would bring hell to me.

And hell, it was, without doubt. The first encounter was by far the shortest one where she took a small jump by her standards and chopped me like a salad not even giving me a moment of pain or realization of my doom and impending death. The writing was literally on the wall – “You Died” in red. I do not consider myself a person with good reaction skills but the sheer alacrity of the whole episode ending in a blink made me question – Am I ready for this? Perhaps not, but when is anyone ready for such encounters. What amount of practice and repetition would make you confident enough to answer that question in affirmative.  This was something which nobody would be ever ready about. I stepped in again and I would have lasted 30 seconds more than the first meet. The grinding had begun and it was up to me to bear it or leave it as there was no compulsion to complete it. And what would I gain after hours of suffering and frustration if I manage to vanquish the undefeated. A mere sense of achievement and belief that is all you would get given how far you had come up to this encounter. There were hundred reasons for me to not get subjected to humiliation and defeat again and again. There lies the power of determination which can overshadow the pain and sweat you shed and even obfuscates the tiny reward you expect in the end.

As the number of encounters grew, I would learn her routines and moves and one which terrified many and all – the dance. The dance is what defines her and she would not be even half of herself without the dance. You could dodge and die to the other moves thinking that had I done this or that at the right time I would have evaded it but the dance leaves you first in awe then disbelief. The first time she does the routine, you would definitely freeze at your place completely taken by surprise and astonishment as the routine ends with your certain death. The only image it leaves you behind with is her rise upwards, her skirt curling at her feet and the katana raised high above the head and the rest is just a fuzzy series of white flashes roughly resembling the orbit of electrons around the nucleus. It is as if the time stops for a moment or two before the dance unfolds itself and ends in her standing with her right knee bent, neck bent forward, head down, arms extended across her waist and the katana still and parallel to the ground. It is the start and the end which remains etched in your memory, the rest is just an experience. The effect of that move is that your whole encounter with her is just waiting for the dance. Every step you take after sometime is filled with a hope and trepidation of whether she would do the dance now or not. I have seen others completely mastering their moves and make a mockery of that dance but I am not as skilled as them. How I made through the dance is not important because I did what others had told me to do. As it turned out that was just the preparation of what would come next. As you sit there panting with relief, she would ask you to wait and not walk away from her as she wasn’t finished. You look back and ask her – Really!

 

What ensues is more frantic and more flashes and explosions. Your spirit already crushed by thinking that it was over further sinks with each and every new move and when she finally gets you, you have to start all over again, witnessing the dance and all. The dance which days ago looked so satisfying when you would dodge it just feels like a routine and you just ask yourself while dodging when will this be over. Many times, the first phase itself would kill you although at this point of time there is no reason for you to not get past it. It is the mental fatigue and a sense of complacency which defeats you. There were several encounters where I was merely 3 or 4 hits away from ending it but every time she would surprise me with a move, not new at all, which I thought she would never do or did not know could do from the situation she was in. I finally vanquished her. I had thought that my victory would make me pump my fists beat my chest and fill me with elation but I just felt tired and the enormous number of times I was defeated by her compared to my single victory did not warrant a real achievement.

In the end she disappeared like a mist her voice trailing and weeping, repentant that she could not protect her brother and had finally found her match. But ask me lady, I was not match to you. You leave behind a void. A sense of purpose was there whenever I would encounter you and a feeling of almost surrender would accompany my every end at your hands. Although I wanted with all my heart and will to defeat you, I long for our encounter again. And defeat me again O Malenia for you are unequal and though many would defeat you none would have done so without tasting the same over and over again.