Dominus the Destroyer
In the heart of Vietnam, where the majestic Hang Son Doong Cave stood tall, a young boy named Cao Hơn grew up surrounded by the lush beauty of the valley. As a descendant of the Bru-Van Kieu ethnic minority people, Cao Hơn was deeply connected to the land and his heritage. He lived with his mother in a small village nestled near the cave, where they spent their days exploring the depths of the cave and training in the ancient martial art of Sa Long Cuong.
Sa Long Cuong was a unique blend of techniques from Binh Dinh Gia and Shaolin martial arts, emphasizing unpredictable transformations and agility. Cao Hơn's mother, a skilled warrior herself, taught him the intricacies of the art, and he proved to be a quick learner. The villagers, who were like family to Cao Hơn, would often gather to watch him train, mesmerized by his fluid movements.
The sun beat down on the lush green fields of the valley, casting a warm glow over the group of boys as they played and laughed together. Cao Hơn, now a strong and agile young man, was in the midst of a heated game of cuju, a traditional Vietnamese sport, with his friends.
Among the group was Su Phan Khich, a fellow villager who had become Cao Hơn's closest friend. They had grown up together, exploring the valley and sharing secrets. As they played, Su Phan Khich suddenly stopped and turned to Cao Hơn with a serious look on his face.
"Cao Hơn, have you ever thought about leaving the village?" Su Phan Khich asked, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
Cao Hơn raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean?"
Su Phan Khich glanced around, ensuring they were out of earshot. "I've heard stories about the Shaolin monks. They're said to possess incredible martial arts skills and live a life of discipline and honor."
Cao Hơn's eyes widened, his interest piqued. "I've heard those stories too. I've always been fascinated by their way of life."
Su Phan Khich grinned. "I was thinking, maybe we could try to join them. Become Shaolin monks ourselves."
Cao Hơn's face lit up with excitement. "That would be incredible! But do you think we could really do it?"
Su Phan Khich nodded confidently. "Why not? We're already skilled in martial arts, and we're young and strong. I'm sure we could learn the ways of the Shaolin."
The two friends looked at each other, their minds racing with the possibilities. They knew it wouldn't be easy, but they were willing to take the challenge.
As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the valley, Cao Hơn and Su Phan Khich made a pact to pursue their dream of becoming Shaolin monks.
Episode 2 - Bru Van Kieu vs The Maku
The Bru-Van Kieu tribe had long dwelled within the vast and hidden depths of Hang Son Doong Cave, their home a place of wonders and danger. But they were not alone. Within the cavern’s shadowed expanse lived the Maku, a formidable race of enormous, ogre-like beasts. Towering over men, the Maku were creatures of unmatched strength and terrifying hunger, devouring anything that crossed their path. For centuries, the two races warred, their enmity written in the bloodstained rocks of the cave. But at last, a truce was struck a delicate agreement sealed by necessity and wisdom.
The Bru-Van Kieu provided the Maku with an abundance of food and liquor, a tribute that satisfied the beasts’ insatiable appetites and dulled their violent tempers. In return, the Maku acted as guardians, repelling any unwanted outsiders who dared approach the cavern’s entrance. It was an unorthodox peace, but it worked. Over time, traditions emerged, and the two groups began to share more than just survival. They celebrated together in great festivals, where the Maku, massive creatures though they were became jovial drunks, stumbling about and reveling in a way that made even the bravest warriors laugh.
But the peace was not without its challenges. Young warriors of the Bru-Van Kieu longed to prove their strength, and the Maku, though mighty, respected those with courage. Thus, an ancient rite was revived: a trial by combat. It was an ultimate test of skill, one only a few in history had dared attempt.
Cao Hơn, a young warrior of fifteen, had a dream beyond the cave’s limits. He sought to become a Shaolin monk, a master of martial arts and discipline. But first, he had to prove his worth. Encouraged by Su Phan Khich, who believed in his potential, Cao requested to challenge a Maku of his age. The tribe gasped in astonishment, but the Maku honored the request, summoning Gwoka, a fifteen-year-old Maku, though ‘boy’ was hardly the word for him. Standing sixteen feet tall, his muscles rippled like carved stone, his presence alone enough to send tremors of fear through the crowd.
As the match began, silence fell over the cave. No tribe member had ever defeated a Maku in combat. But Cao moved like the wind, dodging Gwoka’s monstrous swings with speed and precision. He struck with precision, landing blows at pressure points, using the giant’s own strength against him. The battle was fierce, and though Gwoka’s might was overwhelming, Cao’s discipline and agility allowed him to endure.
In a final, stunning move, Cao redirected Gwoka’s charge, sending the great beast tumbling onto his back. Silence. Then an uproar. The Bru-Van Kieu erupted in cheers, and even the Maku, stunned at first, soon joined in laughter and applause. Gwoka, defeated but unharmed, grinned widely, accepting the outcome with respect.
For the first time in history, a Bru-Van Kieu warrior had almost bested a Maku, proving that skill and discipline could triumph over sheer power. Cao had earned his honor, not just for himself, but for his people. The celebration that followed lasted for days, a feast unlike any before.
In the heart of Hang Son Doong, where past battles had been waged, a new legend was born. And as Cao Hơn gazed up at the cavern’s ceiling, he knew his journey had only just begun.
Episode 3 - Fear
The festival fire had burned low, only embers glowing beneath the mountain sky when the Maku began to say their goodbyes. The villagers, still smiling from laughter and song, pressed close to them with embraces and blessings. Children clung to their arms, reluctant to let go of their heroes.
Cao Hon lingered near his mother, watching faces he had grown to love the farmers, the gatherers, the storytellers whose voices had lifted the festival into something sacred. When the time came to leave, the Maku walked slowly down the stone paths, the sounds of drums and voices fading into the night behind them. Three miles deeper into the mountain caves, their true home waited, hidden, quiet, ancient.
That night, Cao Hon’s mother touched his shoulder with rare softness.
“You carry the spirit of the ancestors, my son,” she whispered. “I see strength in you… but more than that, I see wisdom. You will become a powerful leader. Never doubt that.”
Her words lingered in his heart as he drifted into restless sleep.
By morning, the sound of laughter and footsteps stirred him awake. He opened the door of their stone dwelling and found nearly every child of the village waiting. Behind them, the mountain mist rolled like a curtain across the valley.
“Our parents sent us,” said a bold little girl, stepping forward. “They want you to teach us. They want us to fight like the Maku.”
At only thirteen, Cao Hon felt the weight of their gazes. His best friend, Su Phan Khich, stood at the front, smiling with quiet pride. And so, with his mother’s guidance, Cao Hon became their master.
For three long years, the caves echoed with the sounds of training. The children grew into warriors, moving with the grace of rivers and the power of storms. Fruits and vegetables filled their diets, the Bru-Van Kieu way. living in harmony with nature, never taking a life, never breaking the sacred bond. The village thrived and though outsiders came to test them. warriors curious about the mysterious Maku, not a single challenger ever claimed victory. Cao Hon’s students fought with discipline and unity.
But one evening, when the fires burned low and the younger children slept, Su Phan Khich sat with Cao Hon outside the cave. His voice carried urgency, almost trembling with conviction.
“Brother,” Su said, staring into the night sky. “We have done much here. We have given our people strength, safety, pride. But the time has come for us to leave. To seek the path of monks.”
Cao Hon’s chest tightened. “Leave? You mean to abandon all this?” He gestured toward the village, where their students slept soundly after another day’s training.
Su’s eyes glowed with passion. “Not abandon. Transform. We have reached the limit of what we can do here. There is more to learn, more to master. The monks can teach us discipline beyond the body. They can shape the spirit itself. If we remain here, we will only grow stagnant.”
The words cut deep. For Cao Hon, the thought of leaving meant months, perhaps years without his mother. She had stood beside him since the first day he learned to hold a staff, guiding his hand, correcting his stance, whispering wisdom that no book could hold. The idea of being far from her seemed unbearable.
Yet he knew her heart. She would not hold him back. She would remind him that to grow, one must step away from comfort. She would tell him to go.
Still, fear gnawed at him. He was a master here, respected, admired. To leave would mean becoming a student again. A beginner. The thought of failure burned inside him like shame waiting to happen.
Su placed a hand on his shoulder, firm and steady. “Cao… your spirit is too great to stay hidden here forever. You are afraid, I see it. But fear is the first teacher. Let us go together, brother. Let us become more than warriors, let us become monks.”
Cao Hon looked into the dark horizon, heart caught between pride and doubt, between the comfort of his mother’s presence and the call of the unknown. The mountain wind whispered through the valley, as though the ancestors themselves were waiting for his answer.
Episode 4 - The Death
Episode 4
Cao Hơn did not answer that night.
The wind moved through the mountain like a living thing, whispering through cracks in the stone as if the ancestors themselves waited for his decision. Beside him, Su Phan Khích remained still, patient, trusting that his brother would find his own path.
But before that answer could be spoken… the world changed.
Two days later, the sky trembled.
Far beyond the jungle, beyond the ridges and valleys, thunder roared, not from storms, but from war. A distant glow pulsed against the horizon, rising and falling like a wounded heartbeat. It was the aftermath of the Vietnam War bombs falling, villages erased, lives scattered into the wilderness.
Cao Hơn stood at the cave’s edge, watching in silence. Something deep inside him stirred uneasily.
“That is far from us,” an elder said behind him.
But the mountain did not feel safe anymore.
That night, the cave slept.
Children lay wrapped in blankets. Warriors rested their bodies after years of discipline. Fires dimmed into glowing embers.
Cao Hơn’s eyes opened suddenly.
No sound.
No wind.
No insects.
Then
the smell of smoke.
They came like shadows.
Refugees, yes, but no longer just that. Hunger had hollowed their faces. Grief had stripped away hesitation. They moved through the cave with blades and stolen tools, eyes wide and unblinking.
They had lost everything above.
Now they had come to take everything below.
The first killings were silent—hands over mouths, throats cut before breath could become a scream.
Then the fire spread.
And the cave woke to war.
“WAKE UP!”
Cao Hơn’s voice shattered the darkness.
Flames leapt across wooden beams. Smoke swallowed the sacred air. Shadows turned violent.
The Maku rose instantly.
No confusion. No panic.
Only movement.
Cao Hơn grabbed his staff, striking the first attacker who lunged at him. The crack of bone echoed as the man fell. Another came from the side
. Cao pivoted, drove his knee forward, and sent him crashing into stone.
Su Phan Khích was already beside him.
Faster than ever. Sharper.
They fought back-to-back, moving as one. Years of training flowing through them like instinct.
But there were too many.
And they were relentless.
The cave became chaos.
Men screamed. Steel clashed. Fire roared.
A group of attackers forced their way deeper toward the inner chamber.
Toward the children.
Su saw it first.
“I’ll stop them,” he said.
Cao grabbed him.
“Together.”
Su shook his head, eyes calm despite the madness.
“Trust me.”
Then he ran.
Cao tried to follow, but bodies blocked his path, attackers pressing in, blades flashing. He fought through them, each strike heavier, faster, fueled by something darker now.
By the time he reached the chamber…
it was over.
Three attackers lay broken across the ground.
Su Phan Khích stood in the center… barely.
Blood soaked his side.
Cao rushed forward, catching him before he fell.
“No… no, stay with me…”
Su’s breathing was shallow, fading.
“We were going to be monks…” he whispered.
Cao’s hands trembled.
“We still will be, just hold on—”
Su smiled faintly.
“You will be… more than that…”
His hand tightened once on Cao’s arm.
Then slipped away.
Gone.
Something inside Cao Hơn collapsed.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
But completely.
A scream tore through the cave.
His mother.
Cao turned, eyes burning, and saw her trapped beneath collapsing wood as flames surged around her. Attackers closed in, desperate, wild.
He ran—but the fire surged higher, blocking him.
For the first time in years…
Cao Hơn froze.
Then the mountain shook.
A roar—not human—cut through the chaos.
From the fire, something massive emerged.
Green skin. Towering form. Eyes ancient and unyielding.
Gwoka.
The beast moved like a force of nature, grabbing one attacker and throwing him across the cave, striking another with crushing strength. Fire licked across its body, but it did not slow.
It stood over Cao’s mother, shielding her.
Protecting her.
Cao forced himself through the flames, dragging her free.
For a moment, he looked up at the creature.
Gwoka looked back.
No hatred.
No hunger.
Only recognition.
And in that moment, something unspoken passed between them.
By dawn… it was over.
The attackers were dead or fleeing into the mountains, broken and scattered.
The cave stood in silence.
Smoke drifted through the air.
Bodies lay everywhere.
Friends. Students. Families.
Cao Hơn sat beside Su Phan Khích’s body, unmoving.
Around him, survivors whispered.
“We won…”
But the words meant nothing.
There was no victory here.
The cave had been safe for thousands of years.
Hidden.
Untouched.
Now it was broken.
Exposed.
The war had found them.
And it would come again.
Cao Hơn stood at the entrance, staring out into the world he once feared to leave.
Behind him, Gwoka stood silently.
His mother rested, alive, but changed.
Su Phan Khích was gone.
The boy who hesitated… who feared leaving… who clung to comfort
was gone too.
Cao Hơn’s voice, when it came, was quiet.
But unshakable.
“We cannot stay here.”
The mountain did not answer.
But the wind carried his words forward.
And this time
there was no doubt about the path ahead.
Episode 5 - Muc dich
The smoke had not yet fully left the cave when the mourning began.
Ash still clung to the stone walls. The scent of fire lingered in the air, mixing with something heavier loss that could not be washed away. Where laughter once echoed, silence now ruled.
They gathered in the central chamber.
One by one, the bodies were carried forward. Wrapped in cloth. Laid gently upon stone that had held generations before them.
Two hundred and twenty.
Mothers. Fathers. Students. Friends.
Cao Hơn stood at the front, unmoving.
Su Phan Khích lay at the center.
His face had been cleaned. His expression… peaceful. As if he had simply fallen asleep beneath the weight of a dream he could no longer finish.
Cao knelt beside him.
For a long time, he said nothing.
Then, quietly.
“You wanted peace… and you died in war.”
The words broke in his throat, but he forced them out.
“I will carry what you couldn’t finish.”
Behind him, the survivors, only one hundred now bowed their heads.
The burial was unlike anything the cave had seen.
Flames were not used.
The Maku way honored life returning to the earth untouched.
Stone tombs were carved into the deeper walls of the cave, each body placed within, sealed by hand, marked only by simple symbols of their lives.
No names.
Only memory.
When Su was placed into the stone, Cao pressed his hand against the cold surface.
And for the first time since the battle,
he wept.
Not loudly.
Not for others to hear.
But enough for the mountain to remember.
Days passed.
Grief turned into something else.
Not healing.
Purpose.