In a vast expanse with no colour but a man hanging. He was tall, broad-shouldered, bronze skin with muscle rolling underneath his skin. His head is bald, thick eyebrows and he is asleep.
His body jerked but that only aggravated his condition, a hook was embedded under his chin, piercing, digging slowly. Any movement only made the blunt hook tear deeper through.
Time passage was slow, if it moved at all but for the hooked man it didn't matter, or it did, but he was in a chaotic battle, greater than anything he had ever faced.
He doesn't have much experience in life as he was just 18 years, 4 months, 3 days old. Strange he can remember all that, he also knows he has a great life ahead of him because his talent was one of the highest in the world.
His body shook, hand raised toward the shaft of the hook but through will power he pulled them back, cleaned them and pretended he was asleep. He pushed to be asleep but how can he sleep in a dream.
He knows this is a dream but unlike any dream. This one reflects reality, he knows it affects him, he knows whatever he does now will influence the outside reality.
He clenched hard, pressure on his conscience increasing, fear and uncertainty swelling within him like a tide. His chin sinks deeper into the hook's sharp edge. The pain can be ignored but what this entails is causing waves of doubt to crash against his resolve.
Eyes wet, face contorting and relaxing, he doesn't want to show the pain in his heart, the fear in his soul, and certainly not the regret in his mind.
'Uncle… I'm sorry!' He thought but it was like a loud declaration in the empty white expanse and the hook responded, digging deeper into his skin and passing through.
A sucking disgusting sound vibrated, his body began to thin out.
Buddhist Hand's hand launched to grab the hook, nothing was stopping, no one was halting his hand but himself. If he wanted to escape here he just needed to pull the hook but he stopped, hesitation trembling through his fingers.
Buddhist Hand didn't hear a voice, neither did he read a thing but as he woke up in the dream he was imbued by an understanding that he is here to die or live by his hand.
The die is to allow the hook to sink in his chin and drain him of his blood and liquid, he will turn into an empty husk devoid of moisture just like that Calamity Beast they had almost killed…
To live is simple, raise his hand and grab the hook and pull it down. He will be free, he will wake up and he will suffer nothing—but there is a catch, saving himself will doom the two people he had just met for just a few hours.
The violent sucking sound of the hook on his blood was not just painful but that pain nudged the uncertainty of his heart, planting seeds of doubt that grew with each passing moment.
Why will he save them?
Why will the burden of their life or death fall on him?
They are not his friends, why will he care?
These questions sing a song in his mind in repeated melody, echoing through his heart like a haunting chorus.
But he countered with relentless convictions that to him felt increasingly hollow, like empty words grasping for meaning.
I'm Buddhist Hand
A great man is measured not by how long he lived but by how he lived his short or long years.
I'm Buddhist Hand
I will not succumb to a vile beast's decision. I shall die defying you.
But all those thoughts that were supposed to encourage him were countered with his regrets, each one heavier than the last.
An orphan boy raised by his frail uncle, given the world at a young age, now he was an SS Rank Talent holder but will die not making his uncle proud.
Memories of how happy his uncle was and how the man had a great vision for his future. The man was willing to nurture him till he reached one of the greatest Buddha to ever walk the earth.
He wants to make his uncle happy, proud and also wants a chance to at least repay a little of the kindness the frail man had done to him.
He won't be able to do it if he was dead.
His hand shot up to grab the hook but held back and pulled his hand back, the conflict within him a storm of indecision.
"I..am…sorry uncle!"
Memories flooded his mind about the kind man, about his fiancé, about his grand goal, about his unique trait that his talent gave him, which if he died it will never grace the world again.
All he had to do was save himself and let the strangers die.
His hand shot up "NO!" His heart throbbed with defiance. They returned back to his side and held them there while the conflicting torture continued, his certainty crumbling with each passing moment.
His robust body began to thin as the sucking increased.
A doctor stood with a stone tablet, eyes cold as she stared at Buddhist Hand's body, she wrote something on the tablet and turned to leave.
"Please help him!" A female voice begged the doctor. She turned with a sigh and gazed back at Buddhist Hand, watching how his body was draining, thinning and emaciting in real time.
"There is nothing we can do. This is his battle alone." She said and went to the next tent.
***
It was a vast white expanse, like canvas made of paper but real and hard. Tall buildings that reached heaven stood side by side forming a long alley.
A young man, red skin, red hair and ashen eyes walked slowly. Beyond the alley was a shine of light from the sky and where he was was covered by the shadow of the two buildings.
He was walking, with measured steps, each one made his veins pulse, his nails darkened. Soon, his veins were decorated by the blackness, pulsing, writhing distinguishingly but with power.
As he came at half ease out of the alley, his red hair rose and flared with no wind, from their roots they changed, moving up into black as if they were tubes being filled with black tar.
The boy's body increased in power as his hair went black, tendrils rose from the hair like smoke in the wind attached to the shade casted by the tall buildings.
Elias knew everything, comprehending everything he had to do to wake up. And that was to just walk out of the alley.
The reward was something he couldn't deny—reconstruction of his right hand, healing of his left hand and he would be as powerful as Buddhist Hand.
He welcomed that transformation, embracing it with a quiet determination. Despite sensing an indescribable seed of fear blooming in his mind, he walked forward steadily. As he approached the final meters from the alley entrance, his stump began to grow, and with it came an acceptance of whatever price this power might demand.