Detention

     He couldn't believe he was now sitting in a cage being verbally berated by Headmaster Pandora, something about why it was unbecoming of students who threatened to carve an instructor's face from their skull. She had started it with those ridiculous dodge balls of hers, attacking him with those metallic monstrosities. She had wasted his time, not the other way around. Now he was stuck here in detention, listening to an unwelcome lecture about keeping his temper in check.

     "You said yourself that you were wasting your time with the original dodge balls; Instructor Haxayl was simply attempting to make it more interesting for you. You act as though she was attacking you. You'll be left here in detention until you learn your lesson."

     "And just how long, exactly, will that be?"

     The sly look on her face and the unsettling smirk didn't unsettle him as much as it annoyed him. "I think somewhere between now and eternity should be a good ballpark estimate."

     Deizzan watched the door slowly close behind her as she left, standing to inspect his prison. A large cage, some form of metal, chilling to the touch. It almost felt as though the bars desired that he stay within their confined space. Something told him that this was wrong, a faint tugging at the back of his mind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He tried to open a portal, but only felt a hollow space where his power should be. That must be why this cage felt so – disquieting. He took a quick survey of the room and noticed that his straight razor was lying on a large desk at the front of the room, and without the ability to open any portals he couldn't reach Kasvetli. This was turning out to be a nuisance. Looking down to the chains that crossed his legs, he reached out to take an unassuming mask hanging from the chain. The mask, laced with cracked and gouged from battle, felt light and fragile; in fact it would take the force of a falling star to even leave as much as a rub mark on the mask. Tossing is to the floor outside the cage; Deizzan simply sat back and leaned against the bars to wait. He could never be sure when he would decide to show up. He always seemed to take his sweet time when Deizzan was the most impatient.

     He hadn't been asleep long when he heard a low voice chanting in a forgotten language; it spoke of the creation of his home, Radiant Garden, and of the gods who first walked its surface. It was a song of home that brought an almost overwhelming sensation of longing to his heart - the desire to simply go home.

     A low voice that sounded like gravel emanated through the room. "So you're awake, are you? Good. Where is my sword? You took my sword, I want to see it."

     A slow, cold smile crept across Deizzan's face as he looked up to see the mask no longer lying on the floor, but adorning the face of a transparent figure wearing long flowing robes and a wide brimmed straw hat favored by Radiant Garden's mercenaries of old. An empty saya hung from a red sash. "I was wondering when you would show up, Yojimbo. You still sound bitter after all these years. You really should let it go, you know. The sword is safe. Hurry up and let me out, would you? You know you can't stay long away from the Garden."

     The ethereal figure crossed its arms over its chest and snorted. Extending his arm slowly, Yojimbo opened his hand as the reality around in the space around it began to distort. Blurred at first, the form of an obsidian yatagan appeared in his palm. Gripping the handle, Yojimbo pulled the sword into reality. "A yatagan? This is what you've done with my sword?" The incredulity and outrage was clear in his voice as he performed a mighty swing, a katana now firmly gripped in his hand.

     "You won it from Ifrit in a game of cards, so the bloody thing wasn't yours in the first place. If you'd wanted to keep it you should not have lost to me," Deizzan taunted. "Now are you going to free me or not."

     "And if I don't?"

     Deizzan's response was immediate, holding up a battered collar. The eyes behind the battered mask narrowed to slits as a low growl grew deep in Yojimbo's throat. A moment later, he bowed his head in resignation and slid the sword into his saya, crouching low. The whole room seemed to tense as Yojimbo did, his whole form extending in an instant as he swept a mighty blow across the bars of the cage. It stood for a few seconds before the cage began to slide from its own weight and the angle that it had been cut. Deizzan raised a single arm to hold the ceiling of the cage from striking him as he shoved it away to fall off to the side. Stepping out of his former prison, Deizzan stepped over to the desk and swiped the straight razor from its surface. As he turned to face Yojimbo, he found the ghost kneeling - the sword's hilt extended towards him in surrender. Deizzan grasped the katana, watching its sleek form melt away into a yatagan once more. The ghost looked to him once more, its eyes piercing through reality itself to see him as he was in the realm of the living.

     "I will be back for my sword, one day." With that, the shadowy form dissipated as the mask fell to the floor. Retrieving it, Deizzan slipped it back onto its mount on the chain and walked out the door, stopping momentarily.

     "I know."