Reborn as a Headhunter

Darkness flooded Kagetora’s mind as his breath went silent until he found himself in an inexplicable and contradictory state of being. Kagetora’s conscious and unconscious mind melded together, both awake and asleep at the same; his body was formless yet solid-and he would find himself in an infinite realm void of light and darkness in a way incomprehensible to the living mind. Before him stood not a cloaked figure with scythe in hand, no gray skinned ogre, or armored woman of divine beauty. No, the horror that stood before Kagetora's very soul resembled a giant leopard holding the whole skeleton of a man in its fanged jaws-the upper fangs nestled into the skull’s eye sockets and the bottom fangs pierced the back of the skull while the rest of the skeleton dragged across the ground. With the bestial, pale, and pantherine eyes of the leopard the horrific being peered into Kagetora’s very soul as if it were stalking prey, judging it's worthiness to be devoured by it. Yet suddenly instead of the expected lunge and horrific death by claw or unrelenting maw the leopard pulled its head upwards as to level the human skull with Kagetora's soul. The skeleton's right arm then began to twist and writhe in inhuman ways on account of it being free of any flesh or other connective tissue. Flowing more like water than moving like a human arm the skeletal half of the strange being reached out a hand with pointing finger, then touched the nexus of Kagetora’s soul where the spiritual, life, and will energies all conjoined to form this temporary incorporeal form. The heavy roar of an enraged leopard then began to fill and echo throughout the seemingly infinite void, deafening and unrelenting it forced Kagetora’s entire form to resonate with its frequency to the point where what little remained of the young man feared he be torn apart by the hellish roar with every part of his conscious and unconscious mind. Kagetora’s very soul screamed out in unholy fear as the once infinite void began to close in and fill with blinding light, a tunnel opened and he felt the whole of his being forced through it like hot broth through a sieve.

Kagetora cried out but what he heard would not be the anguished cry of a tortured man but the pitiful squeal of an infant. Kagetora scrambled to look around but found he had little control of an underdeveloped neck, even then the sight his eyes beheld could hardly be processed by his consciousness, the lights, the colors, and the contrast between them all was inhumanly bright and unrelenting. What Kagetora could make out was that he was held by a giant tattooed woman in some sort of stick hut with a thatch roof that mercilessly let piercing rays of blinding light into the hut. Before Kagetora could get his bearings he would be picked up by an extremely tattooed and scarred early middle age man, with a very toned and lean but muscular build wearing an ornate and colorful loincloth along with a headwrap decorated with large feathers, and necklace of various animal teeth and seed pods. The man rushed Kagetora and himself outside into the full blinding sun before taking some of the blood that coated Kagetora’s new body with a single finger and painted a symbol on his face like something of a diagonal Z shape flanked on both sides by a different crescent. Then holding Kagetora’s infant body aloft in the air before an entire horde of similarly dressed, scarred, and tattooed warriors, women, elders, and children screaming aloud enthusiastically something in a language Kagetora had no means of understanding. Yet one word stood out above the rest “Tagunban!” Then followed by “Tagunban anak Katas!” The man shouted to the horde, the horde in turn let loose a baying orchestra of jubilation as they: shouted, cheered, whistled, hooted, and beat their chests before another warrior wielding a peculiar three pointed axe swung the mighty steel instrument down on the neck of a bound water buffalo decapitating the creature in an instant before a spray of hot blood and the closing in of several women with knives to butcher its carcass. With the jubilant jostling in the air the man gave Kagetora’s new infant body along with its emphasis in his speech Kagetora figured Tagunban must be the name he was being given by this man. Was the man his father, grandfather, an elder, a shaman? Kagetora or…. Tagunban didn't know nor did he know what anak Katas may have meant either. The overwhelming nature of the situation didn't help either, with just being born in a new body it’s like he felt life more extremely vivid than he ever remembered in his original life; as if every sense and sensation was turned to past the maximum. It was all Kagetora could do just to keep from crying out still in this unrelenting situation.

The man then gently cradled Kagetora’s infant body and brought him back into the hut to the awaiting arms of a young woman, she looked no older than Kagetora was at the time of his death if not younger. The woman possessed a slender build, with tan skin, long black hair, and moderately tattooed like all the village women as opposed to the heavy tattooing of the men. The man gently handed the young woman the infant with a handful of words loving and tender in tone, Kagetora assuming his first assumption was right on the money. That middle aged man was his new father and this would be his mother of sorts. A litany of thoughts crossed Kagetora’s mind because of this, how that man was likely old enough to be his “mother’s” father, how he’d eventually have to breastfeed off this woman to survive, but mostly his thoughts meditated upon his real mother from his original life. About how long it might have been between his death and rebirth. Was it nine months, the whole pregnancy and he was just unconscious in the womb? Was it only a few intense moments ago and his soul entered this body upon birth? Did his mom know he died already? Did she know how he died, trying to steal narcotics from a chinese triad and join the yakuza? Could she even bear the loss of her son and only family on Earth? Could she have taken her own life in response to the news or trauma? All these thoughts greatly upset Kagetora and between the infant body, the anguish of reincarnation, and his encounter with the leopard being Kagetora let out another wail that once again came out as an infant's shrill cry. Thinking the infant wanted to be fed, the woman gently guided Kagetora’s head to her breast. Being both too upset to eat and too rooted in the teenage awkwardness of his original body he closed his mouth, tried to turn his head and failed, before attempting to struggle free of the woman’s grasp. The older women present in the hut and chuckled and made jokes in their still indecipherable language, no doubt about the fussy baby already being a picky eater. The struggle continued for how long Kagetora lost track of, eventually he was forced to relent and suckle the teat. Kagetora tried his hardest not to make an already strange and awkward moment worse, avoiding contact both eye and physical and eye as much as possible. However he would notice a sad look on the young woman’s face, a look of hurt disappointment. It was then that he realized what he was doing to this poor woman, this was likely her first child; this was meant to be a moment of love and compassion that he was essentially ruining on account of him acting like he didn't want to be there-because he didn't really. Even though he felt bad he still couldn't view this woman as his mother, his real mother was the woman who sacrificed so much for him in his original youth. All the time they spent on the streets, working herself to the bone to keep him fed and clothed, the hours of homeschooling because they couldn't afford books, uniforms, or a constant address long enough to attend. The mother he disappointed and died for trying to get money for, that would always be his true mother no matter how bad he felt in this moment. Still he could at least try and pretend a little for this poor woman’s sake, Kagetora would allow himself to relax against her somewhat in which he could see relief in the woman’s eyes.

However Kagetora would come to find that life as an infant with the mind of an adult would be a special kind of hell. The total reliance for even the most basic of things like feeding or going to the bathroom. The complete inability to interact with the world around you. The lack of privacy, autonomy, or any individuality. Kagetora was totally helpless in every way despite his mind being that of a grown man’s. The whole experience was like that of being confined to a delicate flesh prison that constantly lashed out in growing pains and sensory overload. Kagetora only kept himself sane by meditating both upon his original life and the state of things around him. Like an exhaustive mantra Kagetora repeated and played back all his memories from when his life flashed before his eyes memorizing every detail. For the first couple months of his new life Kagetora had the idea in his mind of how he would grow strong quickly, how he would find the leopard being again and force it to put him back in his old body. How he’d escape this hell of an existence return to his true mother making everything right again. How he would get revenge against his boss for betraying him and bring down the whole yakuza some day. Those ideas, wishful and childish as they were, eventually faded away as he realized even if he could go back to his old dead body and life; what could he even do for his mother at this point? If his soul did enter this body at conception it would be nearly a year since his death, and even if he only reincarnated at the moment of birth it still would have been multiple long painful months since his death and it would be years until he could even hope of doing something on his own. Much less trying to track down and order around some sort of leopard death god. No, Kagetora was stuck in this body, this life and he may as well accept that and do everything he can with the advantages he has to make this life a better one than his last. If he couldn't console or help his true mother, the next best thing would be to live a life that was worth living like she would have wanted. That is when Kagetora turned his meditation outwards to the world around him, working his hardest to absorb every detail he could despite having no control over himself or real way to interact with the world. The two details Kagetora would fixate upon first would be the language everyone spoke and details about his family. The linguistic aspect went infuriatingly slowly, without the muscular and motor development in his vocal cords or face muscles all Kagetora could do was try and use context clues to guess at the meaning of words. He confirmed his new name was Tagunban along with various words such as: feed, eat, sleep, quiet, along with various household goods like basket, pot, plate, and fire. Without an advanced grasp on the language family details and dynamics were mostly conjecture and context based guess work. The middle aged man named Katas was indeed his father, Kagetora’s mother Mayumi whose name coincidentally translated into Japanese and the native language was Katas’s third and youngest wife in a polygamous marriage with two other women, having five other children between them. One adult aged warrior son from the first wife, along with two daughters, one who moved away with her husband but still visits, the other still living at home as an unmarried adult. With the second wife Katas had a son on the cusp of puberty and a young girl, the second youngest child behind Kagetora or Tagunban. Kagetora also noted that this culture seemed to place heavy emphasis on headhunting as his father hung up and took with him everyday two tanned and preserved human heads decorated with various feathers, beads, and colorful strands of rope. One head had short curly black hair, dark black skin, and various bone piercings, while the other had tan skin, long straight black hair, a plate that greatly stretched out his bottom lip like a gauge earring, and several linear facial tattoos.

On most days once his neck was grown enough to support his head Kagetora would be carried in a woven basket on his mother’s back as she went about her business, helping to tend crops of mountain rice, sweet potatoes, taro, and various fruit trees. Cooking, cleaning, weaving, hauling, gathering wild edibles like mushrooms and fruits, and even occasionally hunting small game like monkeys or rabbits. As far as Kagetora could tell women seem to enjoy a near equal level of respect and autonomy to men in this culture. As time passed and Kagetora’s body developed things only got easier and easier and his numerous advantages began to show themselves. Kagetora rushed to eat solid foods wanting to no longer rely on breastfeeding alone, the taste of milk forever haunting his mind. Once he could physically speak, Kagetora began to learn the native language at a breakneck pace. Once his legs were strong enough to hold him up Kagetora was up and running around like a child twice his age. Many adults in the village considered him a blessed child throughout his infant years astounded by the pace of his development including his father. His late toddler years would also be the first time he got to observe the magic of this world, one a day a duel broke out between two village warriors. Being herded inside by his mother Kagetora could only see a partial glance as his father stood guard in front of their hut as the two warriors were surrounded by their peers, chanting and hooting in a circle around them. Each warrior held up their own severed head trophy before an energy inexplicable to Kagetora flowed through each of the heads. Soon one warrior's axe became engulfed in flames while the other’s axe handle began to grow and move before everyone's eyes like the growth of a vine in a fraction of the time. Soon each man lunged forward at the other, the burning axe swung upwards from a lowered position while the writhing axe shot forward and downwards like the cracking of a whip. The burning axe warrior side stepped the whip crack of the writhing axe completing his upwards swing aimed at the moving handle of the writhing axe. The writhing axe handle however moves aside and dodges the swing of the burning axe head. The writhing axe then attempts to snake its way along the ground and strike upwards at the burning axe warrior's head trophy tied to his loincloth. Lunging aside the burning axe warrior makes a seemingly obvious missing swing only to shoot a burst of flames out of the swing aimed at the writhing axe warrior’s face. The writhing axe warrior squats down to avoid the burst of flame but has let his guard down only for the burning axe warrior to dive and send a pointed axe head swing into his opponent’s head trophy tied to his loincloth. The pointed axe head bites in deeply to the old skull, what wasn't cut or pierced was crushed entirely before the burning axe warrior injects another burst of flames into the preserved head and pulls the axe backward towards himself. The burning preserved head is easily pulled from its loincloth and in turn the writhing axe’s handle snaking along the ground shattered into a million splinters from the unnatural stress of being pulled and stretched to such a degree. The writhing axe warrior falls to his knees in humiliation and the burning axe warrior extinguishes the flames on his axe and walks away.