Savage Divinity

The piercing howl cut through the darkness and Jorani’s hair stood on end. Though he’d heard the signal arrows before, it was a whole different beast when heard in the early morning gloom while camped in hostile territory. The whining wail warned of enemies abound and heralded the coming of bloodshed and death, two things which made Jorani’s asshole pucker. Steadying his quin with one hand and readying his Spiritual Weapon in the other, Jorani took a deep breath to mentally prepare for this upcoming clash with the Defiled. No matter how many battles he took part in, this part never grew easier. He felt physically sick, his brow coated in cold sweat as he fought the urge to vomit his breakfast of dried rations. How people like Dastan or the Bossman were so eager to match blades with the Defiled, Jorani would never understand, just as he’d never understand how they could revel in the chaos and slaughter, or how Ral could sit there without a care in the world, his silly grin replaced with an uncharacteristic frown without a trace of fear to be seen. A coward through and through, it seemed like fear and anxiety were built into Jorani’s very being, an integral part of him which would never change.

The signal arrow’s howl died down as it shot off into the distance and only then did Jorani realize his scouts had yet to move. Instead, they all gawked westward and strained their eyes, rubbernecking about like shit-brained fools who didn’t have the first clue as to what was happening. Choking down a string of expletives, he shifted his quin over to Erkin and lightly tapped the gape-mouthed fool on the shoulder to remind him to take charge. Though more than competent as a team leader, after taking command of the entire squad, Erkin had developed a tendency to freeze in the face of adversity. Jorani blamed himself for not putting enough thought into choosing his successor, but after days of agonizing over the decision, he had yet to come up with a second choice who could do better. Unlike Wang Bao’s former Butchers or Ulfsaars cutthroats, Jorani’s people were a bunch of sneak-thiefs, lookouts, gangsters and the like, hardly the type used to taking charge.

Overwhelmed by his responsibilities, Erkin did what he always did: he looked to Jorani for help. Doing his best to look supportive, Jorani mouthed, “You can do this. Follow the plan.” And soon, because judging by the enraged roars and rustling grass, the Defiled were preparing to charge and Jorani didn’t want to be standing in front of them when they did. Their job was to alert the camp, which they did, then break into two groups to split the charging Defiled and lead them diagonally away from the camp, so that the waiting defenders could charge into their exposed flanks. Simple and effective, this basic strategy had served them well time and time again these past few days, and hopefully, it would work again today.

Luckily, with only a modicum of support, Erkin rose to the occasion. “Crossbows ready,” he ordered while fumbling to follow suit. “Er… Spread out and do not engage. Uh... ready for tactical retreat!” Once reminded, Jorani’s scouts let their training take over as they followed Erkin’s orders, looking more like tried and true soldiers with each passing day. The repeated rigors of battle in the past few days was forging his rag-tag group of ruffians into an organized and disciplined fighting force. Though still a far cry from matching the likes of Dastan’s cavalry or the shabbily-dressed Protectorate, it would only be a matter of time before his people could hold their heads up high as true soldiers and experienced veterans of the Empire.

The thought should have comforted Jorani, but instead it left him with sleepless nights and gut-wrenching terror. His people were bumbling fools who were wholly unqualified yet somehow had made it through their latest ordeals largely unscathed. What if there were other veteran forces who were equally incompetent? Or worse, other commanders faking it like he had? If this were true, then the Empire was doomed even before Ancestral Beasts took the field.

Putting aside his doubts and insecurities, Jorani turned his quin about and joined the orderly retreat, his crossbow loaded and ready to fire back at the soon to arrive Defiled. Having learned from his mistakes, Erkin said, “Remember, we got advanced sentries west of us, so hold yer fire til yer sure it’s Defiled.” As if to prove his point, a handful of quin-riders burst from the grass and joined them in their measured retreat. Noticing a riderless quin running alongside them, Jorani’s stomach twisted into a knot as he looked down the line to find out who was missing. Not only were the advanced sentries the sneakiest and stealthiest soldiers the squad had to offer, they were also the people Jorani worked with the most, so each loss weighed heavily on his heart. Though casualties had been light thus far, the seemingly inexhaustible hordes of Defiled were wearing them down slowly and the death toll would only increase with time.

Jinoe. Ciro. Kimi. Ronga. Awdar... One by one, Jorani went down the checklist until he figured out who the missing scout was through process of elimination. Unwilling to believe it, he looked up and down the line in search of the familiar face, but Siyar was nowhere to be found. Much as Jorani wished otherwise, it appeared that the one-time smuggler had met his end at the hands of the Defiled, a loss they could ill afford. Not only was he the best scout in Jorani’s – no, in Erkin’s squad, Siyar might even be the best scout in the retinue, so long as you didn’t include the Protectorate or the Bekkie bodyguards. Not only that, but the bossman had gifted Siyar with a Spiritual Weapon only a week ago, and now that weapon was lost. Replacing it would be costly since Spiritual Hearts didn’t grow on trees. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate since some Spiritual Hearts were grown from trees, but it took thousands of years for a plant to produce one, a time investment few could afford.

Swallowing his grief, Jorani used it instead to fuel his anger in preparation for the battle ahead. On Erkin’s orders, they split up to spread the Defiled thin, with one group heading north east led by Ronga while Jorani joined Erkin and Ral heading south-east. Seconds after their split, the Defiled finally came into sight, a horde of bare-chested savages wearing human-skin head-wraps. There were so many of them today, at least a thousand chasing behind him and an equal number chasing the other group. Seeing so many Defiled, Jorani wasted no time and fired at the closest one, his bolt taking the screaming primitive through the heart and stopping him in his tracks. Galvanized by the kill, Jorani urged his quin to run faster while painstakingly working the lever on his crossbow, drawing the string back and releasing the next bolt into the groove. There was a time when he could work the lever with one hand, depress the trigger with the other, and unload twelve bolts in as many seconds, but now he needed both hands and several seconds to reload a single shot. While the old rate of fire felt better, they lacked the stopping power of these retooled crossbows, a trade he was more than happy to accept.

With plenty of targets available, his second bolt claimed another kill, but he couldn’t tell for his third, fourth, or fifth shots, their trails lost in the mayhem and confusion. Then there was no more time to fire as the rumble of hoofbeats sounded from the west, so Jorani put his crossbow away and took up his Spiritual Weapon, coiling the length of rope around his forearm, wrist, and hand as he’d done so many times before. To his horror, none of the other scouts followed suit as they continued reloading and firing bolts at their Defiled pursuers. With no time to adhere to the chain of command, Jorani shouted, “Cease fire! Cease fire! Friendlies incoming!”

Thankfully, whether out of habit, sound judgment, or because his incomprehensible shrieking confused them, the other scouts holstered their crossbows, and not a moment too soon. With an earthshaking crash of steel, grass and Defiled alike were flattened before the charging horsemen. The bossman wasn’t leading the charge, which meant he was leading Lang Yi and the Death Corps to crush the other group. The bossman made every one of his squad leaders and their subordinates memorize these ‘game plans’ and all their variations, a demand which seemed excessive at first but had quickly paid off. Since the retinue had a dearth of Senders, this meant everyone was on the same page as it were, saving the squad leaders from shouting themselves hoarse while giving battlefield orders.

Though the bossman’s intimidating presence would be sorely missed, Dastan led in his place, driving his massive Guonei Charger to trample through the Enemy. Dozens of Defiled died every second as the fifty elite horsemen rendered flesh and bone to red pulp and white gristle, but it wasn’t long before the power of their charge was spent and gone. Were they faced with sane, rational foes, Dastan’s charge surely would have broken them, but the Defiled were as far from rational as one could get. All the death and suffering only served to fuel their blood-lust as they ignored their losses to close in around the horsemen, moving to pin them in place through sheer weight of numbers and nothing else. That’s what you get when you run fifty horses into one to two thousand murderous maniacs, though perhaps Dastan and the bossman had some plan Jorani didn’t know about.

A few seconds later, it was clear there was no plan and Dastan was in deep shit.

Knowing they were doomed if forced into a battle of attrition, Erkin took charge and rallied his scouts. “About face!” he howled, barely pausing before launching his quin headlong into the Enemy. “Support our comrades and help them break free!”

For all of Erkin’s flaws, the man was no coward.

Unlike Jorani. Though he knew what needed to be done, he’d faltered for the space of a second and was one of the last to join the counter-charge. Ral hadn’t hesitated, the big oaf neck and neck with his new commander as they crashed into the Enemy. His massive quarter-staff smashed Defiled aside with every swing, a towering force to be reckoned without. After Jorani fell from grace, he told Ral to stick close to Erkin and protect him because their new commander didn’t have a Spiritual Weapon, and as always, Ral obeyed Jorani’s orders without question. Even though it’d long since become a familiar sight, Jorani still found his circumstances hard to stomach. That should be him up there fighting side by side with Ral while leading his unit to rescue Dastan’s encircled cavalry, but instead, he was here at the back, his Spiritual Weapon still yet to draw blood.

He had no one to blame for his fall from glory besides himself.

Even Jorani’s mount beat him to the punch as the quin killed two Defiled before he landed his first blow of the day. Though most of his weapon was coiled about his arm like a pseudo-bracer, he wielded a short section the length of his forearm like a flail and lashed out at the nearest Defiled. The Honed rope smashed through a leather head wrap, leaving ruptured skin and tattered flesh behind. Were one to look at the wounds, they’d think Jorani wielded a sturdy spiked club instead of flimsy cord. The fruits of his labour after almost a year of training following the Insight he received while cutting trees back at the Northern Wall. Early on, he’d envisioned himself clearing out clumps of massed enemies with every swing of his weapon, but sadly, he lacked the strength and skill to control it properly. Were he to fight using a longer section of rope, Jorani was certain to become a menace on the battlefield.

To friend and foe alike.

Worried he’d accidentally lash one of his fellow soldiers, Jorani guided his quin to the edge of the fray, where he could scrap with minimal worry. Twirling his weapon overhead, his weapon hummed as he loosened his grip and released a full meter of rope to bring death to his foes, clearing the area around him with ruthless efficiency. Circling about, his weapon rendered everything it touched into bits of blood and gore. Rather than cut clean through his enemies like a sword or blade, his weapon slid across their bodies, gouging deep channels through skin and muscle to reveal bone and organs beneath. Hardy bastards though they might be, even these deformed, discoloured Defiled weren’t tough enough to ignore the gaping wounds inflicted by his whirling cord.

So it continued for a few heartbeats until one Defiled woman read his timing and ducked beneath his attack. Her piercing eyes filled with hunger and malice, she leaped towards him with a wicked grin and bone dagger aimed at his throat. Wrenching his arm about, agony shot through Jorani’s shoulder as he forcibly redirected his rope to hammer her down. Connecting with a thunderous crack, his weapon gouged a bloody fissure that ran from shoulder to hip and stopped her forward momentum. Falling short with a wail of pain and anger, the woman moved to push herself up, but even as Jorani scrambled to finish her off, her scream was cut short as his quin crushed her skull with an almost careless stomp of its taloned foot.

“...Good quin.” Patting the creature’s long, sinuous neck, Jorani made a note to feed the animal more and make sure it knew he was a friend. Perhaps it was time he gave the animal a name, but a proper one like Slayer, Voracious, or Eviscerator. Then again, Ral named his quin Squeaky, and silly as it was, Jorani had to admit the name fit.

Following this brief interlude, Jorani returned to killing Defiled, though this time he kept his quin moving so not to have a repeat of what just happened. Blood and gore sprayed about as his weapon scythed through the Enemy, but still they pressed on. Nothing short of a killing blow could stop a Defiled Warrior for long, but even these crazed lunatics seemed reluctant to accept a strike from Jorani’s weapon head-on. One warrior thought to grab the rope, but Jorani gave his weapon a light tug and ripped the flesh from the foolish Defiled’s hands, exposing bone and tendons to the morning air. Despite his failure, the now-handless Defiled’s actions had bought his companions a half step closer to Jorani, and the pressure was mounting fast.

In an act of sheer desperation, Jorani brought all his strength to bear and released the full length of rope. Darting out like a slithering snake, Jorani timed his Chi with the exact moment his rope stretched taut and Amplified, and by the Mother’s grace, he actually succeeded. With so much force behind the strike, his weapon no longer curved or slid upon impact and instead cut clean through everything it touched. Bisecting multiple Defiled with each pass, Jorani’s weapon sang as it killed Defiled and sprayed blood and gore about, but he wasn’t done yet. Lifting his arm high, he angled his weapon forward so it tore through the air behind him and over his allies’ heads before dipping down to cut a swathe through the encroaching Defiled. To ensure there wouldn’t be a repeat leaper, he had his quin to dart about, either from side to side or forward and back at random intervals. With every revolution, Jorani put more strength into his weapon and Amplified it once again, each rotation moving faster and faster as there were fewer Defiled left to obstruct him. Soon enough, the nearby Defiled had all but retreated out of range to wait him out, throwing the odd stone or weapon at him in the interim.

Reckless and foolhardy the Defiled might be, they weren’t suicidal.

This was Jorani’s moment. With his strength alone, he held the Defiled back and prevented them from surrounding his comrades. He couldn’t hold out for long, but thankfully, his efforts were noticed and Dastan bellowed orders to disengage, leading his cavalry and Erkin’s scouts away through the opening Jorani created. Off they rode into the darkness to regroup for another charge, but now Jorani was stuck with a tricksy dilemma. If he left now and escaped with Dastan and the others, the Defiled would head straight for camp, but according to the bossman’s game plan, the shift guards would all be out fighting the Defiled. ‘The best defense is a good offense,’ the bossman said, and even though it didn’t make any sense to Jorani, he kept his mouth shut and nodded along.

Whether the bossman was right or not, there was no way the sleeping soldiers were ready to fight, so Jorani’s hands were tied. He had to stay here and keep the Defiled occupied until Dastan and Erkin rejoined the fray, but how long would that take? A minute maybe? Could he last a whole sixty seconds standing here by himself? It didn’t sound like a long time, but every second felt like an eternity as Jorani’s arms grew heavy and his Chi reserves ran low. To keep his weapon rigid and circling required constant Reinforcement and Amplification on every rotation, and if he eased up or shortened the length then the Defiled might decide to eat their losses and charge in headlong against him.

Jorani was only a man, and not even a full man at that. He was a half-rat and a coward, a scout and a sneak-thief, not some peak Expert or hero out of legend...

Enough whinging and whining. One minute. That’s not too long, you can do this. Fifty-five seconds now, probably. Worst comes to worst, you send the quin away, surrender to the Defiled, and pray they kill you slowly. At least that way, you can buy enough time for the camp to wake. This was all that old, rat bastard’s fault, insisting you take this stupid rope just because your nickname was ‘Hangman Jorani’. Why didn’t you ask for a sword or spear or something? Sure, your rope’s unique and powerful, but also a terrible choice for a first Spiritual Weapon. Okay, Lady Tursinai’s Spiritual Weapon is sort of similar and she only has the one, but not only is she a Bekkie genius, her weapon also has a sickle attached to it, which is pretty much a curved short sword.

...

How much longer is this gonna take? Why weren’t you keeping track of time? Fifty seconds? Maybe forty-five if you’re lucky.

…

While inwardly berating himself, Jorani kept a confident sneer pasted across his face, praying the Defiled wouldn’t notice his sweat-soaked tunic or trembling arms. At this rate, he wasn’t going to last the full minute, perhaps not even half. A knot formed in his throat as he desperately considered his options, but no matter how he approached the question, he couldn’t think of a way to escape unscathed without sacrificing his fellow soldiers. In truth, most of the soldiers in camp were more useful and talented than Jorani, whether they be Wang Bao’s Butchers, Ulfsaar’s Cutthroats, the Death Corps, or the Protectorate. Hell, even some of Lang Yi’s peons were strong enough to make Jorani feel threatened, to say nothing of their scary, silent leader himself.

There was no other option. As the bossman would say, this was the play.

Stilling his efforts, Jorani let the rope’s remaining momentum play out. His arm held high, the silver cord coiling around it in one continuous spiral until coming to a stop. Not only did it look somewhat impressive and saved him the effort of coiling it himself, it also bought him a few precious seconds as the Defiled collectively flinched in expectation of an attack. Gratified by their apparent respect for his Martial Prowess, Jorani dismounted, sent the quin away, and took a moment to reflect on his life’s decisions before surrendering to the Enemy.

Despite knowing death was near, Jorani smiled. Truth be told, for a street-rat from Sanshu, he’d done pretty well for himself.

As he opened his mouth to speak, the Defiled collectively roared. Hooting and hollering in their harsh, guttural language, they raised their weapons and stomped their feet in what appeared to be derision. While he didn’t understand the language, Jorani had seen enough angry audiences to know the Defiled were upset at him, though they also seemed oddly delighted at the same time. A handful of them jostled and shoved their way to the front where a brief and mostly bloodless tussle ensued, until eventually one broke free from the rest and stomped towards Jorani.

It was at this point he finally understood what was going on. They didn’t realize he was too tired to keep fighting. They thought he was challenging them to a duel.

Relief flooded through him as he saw a chance to survive, but it lasted only for a brief moment, right up until he took a closer look at his opponent. A hulking beast of a man, the Defiled Champion made Ral look normal-sized in comparison. Hefting a bone club taller than most men, he bared his teeth in an animalistic grin with sharp, blackened teeth. What Jorani first thought was a dirty sash turned out to be a thick, hairless tail, making this not only the first Defiled half-beast Jorani had ever seen, but also a cousin of sorts on account of them both being half-rodents. Yellowed eyes peeked out from beneath the human-skin head-wrap as the Defiled Champion’s Aura erupted outwards, conveying unshakable confidence and an unspoken promise of pain and misery aplenty.

Frozen in place, Jorani couldn’t even utter what would’ve probably been his last words.

A good thing too. It would’ve made for an awkward afterlife if his last statement was ‘Fuck me and the Mother’s crusty cunt’.

Chapter Meme