At a cold temple in a lonely forest, he faced the Heavenly Demon.
A monk sat cross-legged with his back straight, taking on the bearing of an Arhat.
“I have meditated for nearly ten thousand years, yet my natural gifts are poor and my cultivation slow. Today, after comprehending the mysteries of the first realm and the number of Little Yama, I have finally gained some insight.”
With that, he brought down one palm.
Heavenly might surged forth. Golden dragons followed close behind as thunder crashed down, leaving the myriad demons nowhere to hide.
The palm shattered the heavens. Above, golden flowers swayed in a Buddhist paradise, while Buddhas murmured sutras in Sanskrit. The palm was infinitely vast, imbued with the meaning of Amitabha and the boundless intent of the Buddha.
When the first palm fell, the demons knelt, paying homage to the Buddha and to me.
When the second palm fell, the demons bowed their heads, paying homage once more.
When the third palm fell, the demons vanished, and the Buddhist realm was cleansed.
The old monk rose to his feet.
“Amitabha.”
Amitabha Buddha. Amitabha Buddha. Amitabha Buddha.