Hey everyone! YusukesLover here with my first story in a very long time. Also my first attempt at something dark. Right now, I am fascinated by recovery from trauma and how a strong character reacts to it. In this chapter there is nothing too graphic, unpleasant but not graphic. I will be upfront when a chapter has disturbing content so that people uncomfortable with it can skip over it. Constructive criticism is always welcome. A big thank you to my beta, AiryAquarius!

Chapter 1: The Nightmare

The still night was broken by the pounding of bare feet across the temple floor. He was running fast, almost too fast, as he skidded around a corner. The child's small limbs shook with exhaustion. His breath was loud in his ears and his heart beat in his throat. Sweat poured down his small frame in torrents... but he dare not stop. They were too close.

There were four of them; far larger and older than he. The men seemed so large and intimidating in the low light of the crescent moon, almost larger than anything could be in real life. The smaller boy heard their footfalls in hot pursuit and forced his scrawny legs to propel him forward. He thought he could feel their hot breath and grabbing fingers. The boy wasn't sure what the men would do if they caught him. He didn't want to think about it.

'Just a little further' he thought in desperation. 'If I can get to where Master Koumyou is...' Normally, such a thought would disgust the child. He was strong. He needed no protection. These weaklings couldn't take him in a fair fight! His ire increased at the indignation of being outnumbered by cowards who wouldn't dare attack him during the day. Chasing Koumyou's disciple in the daylight would've raised suspicion.

Due to their weakness and the favor of some of the higher monks, the men's attacks were normally limited to snide comments on his parentage (or lack thereof) or on his haughty attitude. When they were lacking in creativity, they fell back to the taunt the other children had gifted him with: 'Kouryuu , the River Rat'. They whispered behind his back: 'The brat is an Ashura!' But the ones the child hated most were the ones that attacked his looks. It wasn't his fault that he was 'pretty, almost like a girl!' What pissed him off the most, was that they implied that he had used his thrice-damned good looks to charm his way into Master Koumyou's good graces. Or even worse insinuations that made him simmer in a black rage: that he should use those talents and 'assist' his other superiors. To that, the boy said "They can go fuck..."

His thoughts were cut short as he felt a hand brush the back of his neck. They were way too close! Cursing his stupidity and carelessness, he pushed all of his remaining strength into his legs. As he pulled away, a brief glimmer of hope lodged itself in his chest. He was almost at Master Koumyou's quarters in the temple. If he could get close enough, he would at least have backup when he confronted these bastards.

Unfortunately, his hope was short-lived. It was true that he had pulled away, but the added burst of speed caused him to skid around the last corner. Unlike the last turn he had made, the child's speed made it impossible for him to keep his balance. He could feel his feet slip out from underneath him. As he crashed to the floor, he cursed loudly. He had hoped that the crash from his fall and the vulgar language would at least bring one of the more conservative monks to see what the disturbance in Buddha's temple was. Once again, the hope that had briefly bloomed vanished. He could clearly visualize felt their smirks of triumph more than he saw them as one of the men reached out and grabbed one of his ankles.

Rage filled the child's small body and he lashed out, kicking and punching. How dare these filthy pigs touch him! But as he breathed in to cuss the assholes out, a large clammy hand clamped down on his mouth. Desperation lent strength to limbs that no longer obeyed his mind's orders. Arms and legs flailed about as teeth bit into the fleshy part of the hand that covered his mouth. He felt a grim sort of pride when one of his pursuers sucked in a pained breath when his teeth, an arm, or a leg landed a solid blow. Frantically trying to buy himself time, he neglected to notice when a man got behind him and chopped him on the back of his neck. Struggling against the darkness creeping up on him, all the boy could do was bedamn his weakness as his vision faded to black.