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.

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.

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.