The Rage: A Ravaged Soul

By Samer Abukhaled

The greatest battle is fought within the self.

Just how far will the actions of mankind push the world to the brink of destruction? The Rage: A Ravaged Soul seeks to answer life’s greatest question in the wake of a single tragic event that sends a ripple effect throughout the world. In a gripping tale of revenge and redemption, the fates of seven talented martial artists from across the globe intertwine over the course of sixteen years. Tensions come to a head, and revelations slowly come to light as the announcement of a mysterious international martial arts competition brings them together to fulfill their respective destinies. By its conclusion, life, as they had come to know it, will never be the same.

At the center of this competition is the presence of an ancient demonic entity and a ruthless corporation pulling the strings from the shadows. How will the presence of each influence the competition even as the motives behind its origin remain unknown? What chain of events led to its announcement, and more importantly, what impact will it have on the lives of these seven individuals as they prepare for the fight of their lives?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781643349244

Book preview

Chapter 1

Kinren and Aysan Srei

The final school bell rang out to dismiss students of Mirhin Junior High School for the day. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary that spring afternoon. The silver overcast had darkened, and storm clouds had gathered in the distance.

As the halls of the school emptied, one student lingered behind. Eleven-year-old Kinren Srei of the distinguished Srei family, which had founded the country of Austrany’s largest industrial conglomerate, Nexus Innovations, many years before, was looking for his paternal cousin Aysan. Aysan and Kinren often found themselves bullied and taunted at the school. Aside from being heirs to the family’s conglomerate, the boys were sons of a highly respected and recognized martial arts family. Children of martial artists were often taunted and provoked into a fight by other students hoping to prove their might and assert dominance among their peers.

Kinren and Aysan, though related by blood, could not be more different. Kinren, a skilled student and a promising martial artist, had been able to avoid much of the vitriol by proving his worth and standing up to those who attempted to provoke him. He had earned the respect of both the brainy and brawny students alike. Aysan, more interested in his social as opposed to his academic and martial arts standing, often found himself at the mercy of bullies. Kinren eventually settled into the unofficial role of Aysan’s protector, much to the latter’s chagrin.

Kinren heard the water faucet in the boys’ restroom and entered.

I was hoping you’d still be here, said Kinren, a look of inquisition on his face as he saw Aysan disheveled, washing what appears to be blood from his school uniform jacket.

One day, I’m going I’m going to get back at them, Aysan said, his voice shaking. That’s a promise.

Who was it? Kinren asked angrily.

It doesn’t matter. I can handle it, Aysan responded coolly. His eyes focused firmly on the jacket with a grimace locked on his face.

He shut off the water faucet, rung out the remaining water from the blood-stained jacket, and draped it around himself. He looked at himself in the mirror, tucked in his shirt, and with his hands, attempted to comb his hair the way he usually wore it. He turned to Kinren as if seeking one last look of approval before finally leaving the school for the day.

How do I look? he asked sheepishly.

Aysan was shorter in height than Kinren. He had a slender build, fair skin, and medium-length light-brown hair that fell naturally just above his gray eyes. Kinren, on the other hand, had a more athletic build and was more toned in stature, a testament to his dedication to his martial arts training. Unlike Aysan’s, Kinren’s hair was a darker brown, which he spiked upward to a point, but he also possessed the Srei family traits, like fair skin and gray eyes. The boys were often mistaken for brothers than cousins. Oftentimes, they didn’t correct the misconception but rather embraced it as a compliment given how close they were.

Presentable. I just wish you had come to me sooner so that you wouldn’t even have to ask, Kinren said with half a smile, his flash of anger at what they had done to his younger cousin seemingly subsiding.

"I’m going to be taking my training a lot more seriously from now on. I’ll be so strong even you won’t be able to beat me!" Aysan said amusingly as he punched Kinren’s shoulder. Then he scurried off, and a chase between the two ensued.

Hey, not fair! Kinren shouted out before chasing Aysan out.

The boys exchanged playful blows back and forth on the way home, which was only about a half mile from the school. The storm clouds seemed to be coalescing rapidly around them. Kinren stopped in his tracks as Aysan sped past. Something had caught his attention in the distance. A group of older male students were gathered around a girl, who couldn’t have been more than two years younger than Kinren, seemingly intimidating and mocking her. Aysan, now a good distance away, turned around to find Kinren standing still and looking over at the commotion in the distance.

Kinren! he called out.

Kinren remained silent and expressionless. His eyes were fixated on the young girl. Where did he know her from? She looked oddly familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

Suddenly, one of the boys pushed the girl to the ground and snatched her schoolbag. The boy rummaged through its contents before dumping them out and flinging the bag at a nearby tree. It landed on one of the higher branches, far out of the girl’s reach. Almost instinctively, Kinren jolted in the direction of the confrontation. Even as he made his way closer and closer to her, he couldn’t understand what caused him to make his way toward her.

You’re Henei? The revered martial arts clan? You’re a joke! the boy remarked. "If you are as tough as they all say, fight me! Show me what your family has taught you, and I’ll be the judge of how tough you really are!"

The girl remained seated on the ground, with her head down. Kinren couldn’t see her eyes, but he saw a tear fall from her face, concealed by her long brown hair.

He turned his attention to the provocateur. "You’re picking on a girl who’s younger than you are and half your size. It’s clear she isn’t a fighter. Are you that much of a coward? Rather than fight someone your own size, you have to pick a fight with her?" Kinren snapped.

Mind your own business, runt! the boy snapped back. "This has nothing to do with you. If you think it does, why don’t you fight me?"

Kinren looked toward the girl on the ground, who had raised her gaze to meet his. Her almond-brown eyes were still filled up with tears. The rain had begun to fall. Harder. Harder. Yet he could still somehow distinguish between the raindrops and the teardrops on her face. With this, Kinren couldn’t just let it go. He was outnumbered by boys who were older and bigger than he was—boys that didn’t seem keen on listening to reason.

"Why don’t you fight me?" he finally let out.

The boy let out a chuckle that started a chorus of laughter among his peers. Kinren stayed expressionless yet alert. He was expecting the boy to attack first. He was ready for it. True to his expectations, the boy lunged forward with a closed fist. Kinren immediately sidestepped the boy, grabbed his fist, and pulled it downward before flipping the boy over, much to the surprise of onlookers. The boy landed in a puddle of accumulating mud.

Bewildered at what just transpired, the boy immediately got up and began swinging wildly at Kinren, hoping to land a hit. The more he swung, the more winded he got. Kinren ducked, spun, sidestepped, and maneuvered effortlessly to avoid the blows. The boy, now exhausted, let his guard down briefly. Sensing his chance, Kinren bent his knee and, with a closed fist, lunged upward, connecting with the boy’s chin, sending him soaring backward. Kinren twirled his body full circle before descending back toward the ground.

Aggghh… the boy groaned. He looked up at Kinren, bemused. How could someone half his size possess this much power? Who are you? he managed to ask while holding on to his jaw. The pain from the blow being felt in vibrations throughout his entire jaw sent a shudder down his spine.

Kinren Srei. Remember that name the next time you try to bother her again.

The boy jumped to his feet yet stumbled in finding his balance. He glanced one last time at Kinren, nodded slowly, and walked off. The other spectators were no longer amused and began to disperse. A look of indirect acknowledgment crept on to their faces. The message was clear. Kinren looked in the direction of the girl. There was a sense of relief in the same eyes that had carried a feeling of fear and sadness not a few moments ago.

Thank…you, she said after a few more seconds of silence.

Kinren looked toward her backpack in the tree. He then looked toward the ground and began collecting the scattered contents. He picked up one piece of paper that had an intricate drawing of a flock of swans on it. He walked over to the girl and handed her the papers, now in a neat stack, with the drawing of the swans on top.

Are you all right? he asked, a look of concern on his face.

I’m fine. I’m just a little embarrassed. I must have looked so pathetic.

One of them called you Henei. Are you of the Henei clan, practitioners of the Henei style martial arts? Kinren inquired. The girl nodded in acknowledgment.

My father… she began. My father is Insun Henei.

I’ve heard of him, Kinren said. He’s known to be a legend in martial arts circles.

The girl looked down at her drawing of swans. The ink she had used to draw it began to smudge from the falling raindrops, which had lost their frenzy. A light yet steady rainfall had replaced the earlier downpour.

I wouldn’t know anything about that, she stated. I’m not really a fighter. I always found it so barbaric. I want there to be peace where violence and anger have thrived. I can’t imagine fighting to be the answer. She seemed confident suddenly. Her mood changed from helplessness to determination as she spoke.

Kinren sensed a genuineness to her statement. He couldn’t help but feel intrigued by this girl. What’s your name? he finally asked, realizing he still didn’t know it despite the fact that they’d been in each other’s company for what seemed to be a lifetime.

Runa, she replied.

Runa. I’m Kinren. Kinren saw a smile forming on her lips.

I know, she answered, recalling the moment Kinren told her harassers who he was. "I don’t think we’ll ever forget it."

The two stood in silence for a few more seconds. Who was this girl? Why did Kinren feel like he had met her before? Why was he there, just then? At that moment, Kinren looked up at the tree and saw that Runa’s backpack was still suspended in the branches.

Ahh… he started.

My bag, Runa said solemnly.

It’s not that high up, Kinren said enthusiastically. Wait here.

He walked toward the tree and looked up. Perhaps he was a bit presumptuous in thinking he could scale it. There was, however, hope in being able to see the bag. He began scaling the tree. The wet branches seemed to provide a more treacherous trek for Kinren. He came close to slipping on numerous occasions. Eventually, the bag was within arm’s length. Unfortunately, it wasn’t within his own arm’s length, and there were no nearby branches to hold onto, for leverage without compromising his balance. He noticed a hollowing in the tree near where he was standing, which had collected rainwater. He removed his school tie from around his neck and doused it in the collected pool of water to give it some weight. He then aimed for one of the bag’s straps.

After several attempts, he was able to lasso the strap with one end of his tie. He was able to reach over and pull the short end of the tie around the strap so that he was able to wriggle it free. He was quite proud of his ingenuity at that moment, but it was quickly replaced with trepidation on how he would get down from the tree. After what seemed to be an eternity, he made it back down. It wasn’t the most graceful landing, but he managed to make it down without any injury to his body…or his pride.

Here you are, Kinren said enthusiastically as he handed Runa’s bag back to her.

Thank you, she replied. You’re very kind.

Kinren pointed to the drawing she had held on to since he returned it to her. You have some talent, he said. I wish I could draw like that.

I wish I could fight like you, she replied. Even though I still don’t like the idea of it, it’d be nice not to feel so helpless sometimes.

You know, sometimes we have to fight in order to create and maintain peace in the world, said Kinren. Fighting is not barbaric if you know what you’re fighting for.

Runa let out a smile. Then the two were interrupted by Aysan shouting toward Kinren from a distance.

Kinren! Come on! Are you going to be here all day? I’m soaked and cold. I’ve been here waiting for you!

Nice meeting you, Kinren said to Runa before he hurriedly scurried off in Aysan’s direction.

Runa looked on as he ran off and then back down at her bag. She noticed his school tie still wrapped around one of her bag’s straps.

Wait! she called off. But by then, Kinren was already out of earshot.

He and Aysan continued along their way home. Runa ran toward the boys, hoping to return Kinren’s tie back to him. She thought about returning it to him at school the next day, but her legs kept treading in his direction. It’s as if her springing into action overpowered her ability to think things through.

What she would see next was something she had hoped she would never see—an act of evil that would shape the course of the rest of her life and change her present view of humanity in the most drastic way imaginable.

Chapter 2

Moradin Srei

Aysan and Kinren finally reached the Srei family dojo, only to find a black stretch limousine parked outside with a chauffeur at the wheel and one of the bodyguards posted near the rear wheel on the driver’s side. The limousine belonged to Aysan’s father, Moradin. He was the co-CEO of Nexus Innovations, the family’s industrial conglomerate, with his elder brother and Kinren’s father, Ziran. It was the dying wish of their father, Sidrin, that the brothers run the company he built, together, in the hopes that they would continue his legacy in implementing innovative products and services that would contribute to the betterment of the world.

Kinren turned to Aysan. I didn’t know your father was coming over, he said.

Neither did I, said Aysan, shrugging.

The boys knew the limousine belonged to Moradin because of his preference to live lavishly. The conglomerate had long provided the Srei family with vast financial wealth. It had controlled interests in an array of products and services from environmental protection to prosthetic limbs, to everyday household appliances. But while Moradin lived in excess, Ziran lived more modestly. He wanted to ensure Kinren didn’t grow up spoiled or have his soul corrupted by money or greed. He stressed to his son the benefits of a hard day’s work and a proper education while instilling in him the values taught to him by Sidrin. These values ensured he held on to his humanity by demonstrating human compassion, seeking justice for the oppressed, and becoming a defender of the defenseless.

As the boys walked up the stairs to the doorway of the dojo, they were held back by two more bodyguards standing on both sides of the door. The boys saw their fathers standing feet apart in what looked to be a contentious meeting. Ziran was adorned in the family’s traditional martial arts garb—a white sleeved jacket with the Srei family crest and a red lion silhouette with intersecting swords behind it embroidered on the back. He also wore a white weaved sash and large black trousers that belled toward the bottom. Moradin’s attire was more modern and was a testament to his preference for finer things. He wore a maroon sports coat with a black pocket square in the chest pocket over a black open-collared shirt and white slim-fit dress slacks with black alligator boots.

Brother, began Ziran, looking in the direction of his son, the boys are home now. Maybe we should table this until you can come back with a cool head, and we talk about this rationally.

My mind has never been so clear, snapped Moradin. You and your antiquated ways of thinking are preventing me from accomplishing everything I set out to do when we inherited this company! I have grand ideas that will take this company into the next century. How can I possibly do that when I’ve always lived in the shadows of Sidrin and Ziran Srei!

Father bestowed this company upon us to help people, Ziran reasoned. "Despite your disregard for humanity, I cannot and will not invest in anything that will hurt them! Smuggling contraband and the manufacturing of military-grade weaponry to be used on our streets is not something I will ever support! Ziran’s tone became more subdued at his next thought. When our sons are at the helm, I don’t want them to inherit a mess of our making. I can’t live with that." Moradin’s exasperation was becoming palpable.

Kinren, he began, his eyes still fixated on Ziran, forgive me for what I’m about to say, but your father is weak. Everything he’s ever taught you is meaningless. A smirk formed on his face. He was relishing this opportunity to get under his brother’s skin and using his son as a pawn to hurt him.

Moradin… Ziran started. Anger was becoming an emotion too overwhelming to hide as Moradin continued his barrage of attacks against his brother.

Oh yeah, he continued, your father is a spineless hypocrite. He touts himself as someone who’s so self-righteous when he’s just as immoral and corrupt as the people he claims he’s sheltering you from. You don’t think he’d rather be chauffeured around or live in a mansion like mine, with staff to wait on him hand and foot?

I’m warning you! Ziran shouted. "Whatever you think of me is what you think of me, but I will not allow you to smear my name in front of my son."

What do you mean, Ziran? Moradin asked, smiling. "Am I wrong? Do you honestly believe all that malarkey Father taught us? Are you really that naive? Maybe you are a weak, pathetic simpleton like he was! Ziran clenched his fists to the delight of Moradin. Are you going to hit me, brother?"

Kinren, Ziran began, head back to the house and take Aysan with you.

Kinren began to oblige his father, but the bodyguards held the boys back.

No! Moradin shouted. Leave them where they are. I want them to witness what happens here!

Ziran glanced over at Kinren. The look on his face was that of shame. He knew at that moment that he wouldn’t be able to let the insult from his brother stand. He couldn’t allow him to besmirch his name as well the name of his father, but he also wouldn’t be able to prevent his son from witnessing what he himself had to do.

Moradin assumed his fighting stance as Ziran formed his. They both knew what had to be done. This wasn’t just a fight between brothers. This wasn’t an attempt to clear the bad blood. This went beyond that. The tension between them went back a while. Perhaps it was their father that kept the tension at bay. Perhaps, until now, it was their sons. But whatever had kept the peace previously was no longer there. They knew it. Kinren and Aysan knew it as well. This couldn’t possibly end well for either of them. Ziran was all that Kinren had. He had lost his mother as she was giving birth to him. He knew Ziran as both his mother and his father. He couldn’t bear the thought of any harm coming to him.

Dad! Kinren called out. Ziran looked over in his son’s direction but was interrupted with a swift blow to the face by Moradin.

Ziran stumbled backward before finding his balance and charging toward Moradin. Moradin quickly sidestepped him as the brothers began exchanging and warding off blows. Ziran eventually caught one of Moradin’s attempted punches and pulled him down before connecting a knee to his face and subsequently sweeping his legs from under him, sending him backward.

You’re rusty, Ziran said. You’ve never valued your training. You’ll never be able to defeat me.

I’ll be damned if I’m going to be defeated by a self-righteous weakling like you, Moradin snapped as he picked himself back up again.

He spat out the blood that had collected in his mouth from the blow and reassumed his fighting stance. Let’s go! At that moment, Ziran once again charged Moradin. This time, Moradin put up quite a fight against his elder brother. In a spurt of adrenaline, Moradin blocked each of Ziran’s attacks and connected successfully several of his own. He delivered a roundhouse kick to Ziran before leaping into the air to deliver a foot stomp to Ziran as he descended toward the ground.

The great Ziran Srei could still be proven wrong! Moradin shouted, referring to his brother’s earlier remark.

Ziran always knew Moradin to be more passive about his martial arts training. He was always interested in the day-to-day operations of running the family business. How and when did he suddenly take an interest in his training? He was quite formidable.

Moradin, Ziran started, I want to thank you for showing me the extent of what you can do. Now I don’t have to hold back for fear of humiliating you in front of your son.

"Never you mind about me, Ziran. Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to fight? I’ll make you a wager. Defeat me, and I’ll give you my stake in the company. If I win, you give me yours. And may the best man run the company alone." Moradin seemed surprisingly confident in his abilities. Ziran collected himself and brought himself to his feet. He would not hold back.

You deluded fool. Ziran scowled.

At that moment, both men charged the other. Ziran quickly unleashed a barrage of blows that overpowered Moradin once he tired of defending himself against the oncoming attacks. Kinren looked over at his father and admired his speed and agility. His technique was graceful yet strong. But despite his admiration for his father, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of shame at the unraveling of his family before him. He was oblivious to just how much disdain his father and his uncle had for each other. He looked over at Aysan, who remained silent. He lowered his head almost as if shielding himself from witnessing an imminent defeat of his father. How could he just stand there silently with their fathers feet away, fighting each other with such hatred, such rage? How did it ever get this bad between them? So many questions swirled in Kinren’s head. The biggest of which was why he had to stand there to witness this. Aysan must be thinking the same thing.

The brothers continued to exchange blows until Ziran stepped back and delivered three subsequent, quick kicks. The first quickly unbalanced Moradin as it connected to his left shin. The second knocked the wind out of him as it connected with his midsection. The third finally brought him down as it connected with his left temple. Ziran then clenched his right fist, twisted his body as he leaped into the air, and aimed his still-clenched fist toward Moradin on the ground. The latter moved out of the way before the blow could land, and Ziran quickly stopped his fist from connecting to the ground from where his brother had moved. Moradin quickly jumped to his feet and leaped in the direction of Ziran. He wrapped his right arm around the head of Ziran as he descended to the ground behind him, bringing Ziran down with him, his body flipping over Moradin’s. Both men jumped back up and reassumed their respective fighting stances.

"So you have been training, Ziran said. You managed to retain at least some of our father’s teachings."

"You claimed I was ‘rusty.’ I managed to train myself better than that old man ever could. He made you his star pupil. All his affection and attention were given to you and to you alone. And you know it."

Ziran was silent. He didn’t know how to respond to that statement. He knew it to be true. He was much closer to Sidrin than Moradin had been. He was always harder on Moradin because of his disinterest in his training and disregard for the values he had tried to instill in both of his sons. Eventually, he gave up on trying to connect with Moradin. Despite his initial nonchalance, Moradin was deeply hurt by his father’s eventual neglect. Ziran saw it now for the first time.

Moradin— Ziran started before he was interrupted with a blow to the abdomen by Moradin, reconvening the fight.

The brothers continued to exchange their respective attacks until a visibly overwhelmed Moradin was overpowered by Ziran. Ziran had learned, as part of his training, to pace himself wisely. His stamina proved superior to Moradin’s, and he was able to connect more punches to the head and extremities of Moradin. His final and most devastating attack was the uppercut to the chin of Moradin, which sent him spiraling backward. It was the very same maneuver taught to Kinren, who had used it only moments earlier. Moradin let out a groan. This was likely his defeat in this fight. Kinren began sighing a sigh of relief at the prospect of the fight finally coming to