Savage Divinity

Shrouded in the bleak darkness of night, the Defiled horde announced its arrival upon the outskirts of Sinuji with a deafening roar. Erupting from the throats of a hundred-thousand bloodthirsty cannibals, this wordless howl struck the Imperial defenders like a hammer-blow, and if any soldier flinched before the Enemy, no one would blame them. The Defiled were a fearsome foe, motherless savages who’d forsaken their humanity in exchange for berserk strength and animalistic fury, so it was only right for mortal men to tremble before them. Fear was inescapable when faced with the prospect of death, but courage was not the absence of fear, but rather the ability to act in spite of it, and though Dastan had many fears, he also had courage to spare.

With his stalwart comrades standing at his side and the Mother’s Chosen Son at his back, how could he not?

Tempered in over a hundred battles since they first stepped foot on the front lines, Dastan and his companions stood firm in the face of death, but battle would not be joined so soon. Though passing clouds obscured the moonlight and the Defiled carried no lanterns or torches to light the way, the darkness was no barrier to Dastan’s eyes. Across the blood-nourished fields of Sinuji, the Defiled gathered their numbers after a long day’s march, their eager and murderous expressions belaying their cruel and ruthless nature. Driven by the Father’s whispered lies, they had no mercy even for themselves, for there was not a single sign of doubt or hesitance to be found upon their ugly, twisted faces. How many tens of thousands of Defiled met their end here in Sinuji since the war began in earnest, Dastan would be hard pressed to even guess, but despite having marched for hours or perhaps even days without rest, these Defiled were near feral with desire for bloodshed.

Not for long though. He’d long since grown bored of sitting idly about, so Dastan looked forward to putting the fear of the Mother in Defiled hearts.

Northerners one and all, the pale, hulking Defiled figures were adorned in armour of leather and fur while brandishing crudely forged weapons of iron, bone, and stone. Primitive though they might be, their equipment was not to be scorned, for only the hardiest of beasts survived in the untillable permafrost of the north, and properly treated, their remains were a treasure trove of usable resources. Fangs sharp enough to rend through iron, hides sturdy enough to ward off sharpened steel, and so many Spiritual Hearts that one in ten savages bore a Defiled Weapon, the lands outside the Empire were a treasure trove of untapped resources waiting to be exploited, but it was forbidden to travel outside Imperial borders. More specifically, it was forbidden to return to the Empire after travelling beyond the borders, but to most, it was a distinction without a difference. A necessary precaution, as was the standing order to destroy all Defiled relics and equipment, but these days, Dastan often wished it were otherwise. If so, then he could be standing here in full Runic Armour salvaged from the fields of Sinuji, perfectly serviceable and without risk of Defiled Taint with the boss here to Cleanse it.

Well... the boss could have Cleansed it, were it not for his shattered Core. No matter, merely a minor setback in the saga of Falling Rain, for the Undying would rise again. He would rise even sooner if not for his morals, because the smart thing to do would’ve been to send Dastan and his comrades away to die so the boss could return to the Citadel in safety, but the man was utterly without fear. Earlier, when the horns sounded to warn of the Defiled approach, he looked them all in the eyes and uttered, “Survive”, and survive they would, for Falling Rain commanded it. Now, he stood behind them arranging water and bandages with his twin steel canes in hand, ready to fight and kill should the need arise. A warrior to the core, the bossman wouldn’t let a minor thing like physical frailty or his lack of Chi keep him from doing what needed to be done, and Dastan respected him all the more for it.

The rumours painted Falling Rain as a disgrace to the Imperial Clan, but where were all these esteemed nobles? Hiding in the Eastern Province, that’s where, playing games of politics and intrigue while Imperial soldiers died to keep the nation safe. Those errant fops and entitled silk-pants were the true disgraces, a cancerous tumour on humanity best excised and forgotten alongside similar wastrels like corpulent merchants and corrupt officials of justice who perverted the laws they supposedly upheld. The world would be a better place if everyone followed in Falling Rain’s footsteps, but in order to set an example, he would first need to survive long enough to reforge his Core and reclaim his place at the Martial Peak.

And since the Mother’s Chosen Son was too sentimental to leave his slaves to die, Dastan would have to survive so he could keep his foolish master safe.

Thankfully, there was no sign of those disciplined, heavily-armoured Defiled here in Sinuji tonight, but their absence only made Dastan all the more wary for the future. A matter for another time though, for it was best to face the problems in front of him first before worrying about other problems to come. The Defiled were eager and unruly, but even they understood the need to rest after a long day’s march and gather before assaulting a fortified position. Tense minutes passed by as the Defiled continued with their bellowing chants, but once their numbers reached the tipping point, the Defiled crowd fell silent as one and lit a single torch for the sake of their Imperial foes. Holding the torch up high, a lone tribal Chieftain marched out from the throng, his contemptuous sneer illuminated for all of Sinuji to gaze upon. Planting the torch in the dirt, he raised his bone halberd into the night’s sky and bellowed in bestial challenge, a cry which the Defiled horde echoed with zealous enthusiasm. For them, this battle was not about taking territory or resources, nor was it about the Mother and Father. No, for them even victory or defeat mattered little, for they were here to shed blood, and it mattered little whether the blood was Imperial or Defiled. They fought solely for the sake of fighting, to vent their anger and hatred upon the world, which was why the Defiled would never emerge victorious against the Empire. As corrupt and debase as it might be, the Empire stood on the side of the Mother, and thus, they stood on the side of the righteous.

Well, most of them did. Probably.

...

Falling Rain stood on the side of the righteous, and for Dastan, that was enough.

Though yearning to leap down from the walls to meet the Defiled Chieftain in challenge, Dastan knew the battle would be long and arduous enough, so he stood in place while another officer strode out to duel. The unfamiliar warrior didn’t even have a chance to announce his name before the overeager Chieftain rushed out to meet him, and the two traded blows in a ringing concert of steel and bone before the unnamed Officer was felled by an unlucky glancing blow. Standing over the corpse of his defeated foe, the Defiled Chieftain cackled as he hacked the poor officer’s head off and used it as if it were an ornamental bowl, putting the stump to his lips to taste the dead man’s life’s blood.

Cheers rose from the Defiled horde while the Imperial soldiers bristled with rage and indignation, Dastan included. The Chieftain was no Peak Expert and didn’t even exhibit signs of a Domain, which fit the general pattern for Defiled duels, starting with lower-levelled warriors looking to raise their reputation amongst their tribal clansmen. These life and death events were little more than sport to them, but the Imperials would not be shamed into declining a duel, lest the refusal strike a grievous blow to the army’s morale. In the same vein, the Empire wouldn’t send out someone too much older or stronger, so a second officer strode out to meet the Defiled Chieftain, this time a Senior Captain from the South. Again, the Imperial warrior lost by the slimmest of margins, as did a third and a forth, and only then did Dastan realize the cunning savage’s ploy, feigning weakness and only barely winning so he could remain standing in the public eye.

The Defiled were feral and bloodthirsty, but only a fool would think them stupid.

By now, Imperial morale had plummeted to dangerously low levels, but their foolish Commander Watanabe seemed frozen with indecision, neither sending a fifth junior officer out to meet the challenge nor escalating the challenges with an older, more experienced duellist. If Falling Rain were in command, he would’ve likely either killed the Defiled Champion himself, or shot him from a distance to show his disdain, but Lieutenant Colonel Mitsue Watanabe did neither as time passed them by, the Imperial soldiers standing in subdued silence while the Defiled cheered and jeered in obvious ridicule.

After long minutes of uncertainty, Falling Rain said, “The commander has ordered me to select a representative to meet the Defiled in single combat. Which one of you wants the job.”

“Me.” Dastan was not the only one to answer, but without waiting for an order, he simply leaped over the battlements and landed softly without a sound thanks to his Domain-enhanced Lightening, already one with his Natal Soul and brimming with childish glee. His prowess didn’t go unnoticed as the Defiled jeers increased in volume, no doubt scorning their decision to send a Domain-Capable Expert, but as he marched towards the Enemy lines and his face came into view, their ridicule quieted down as the more observant among them realized his age. Even amongst the fast-developing Defiled, there were few warriors as talented as Dastan, and they knew what it meant when faced with a young talent of his calibre. Unconcerned by their murderous glares, he left his Runic shield slung over his back and stood with battle-axe in both hands, his stance wide and posture relaxed to give his opponent the chance to act first.

In all four previous matches, the Defiled Chieftain charged his opponent outright, but this time, the canny tribesman held himself back, no doubt wondering if he should step aside to let a stronger, Domain-Capable Defiled take his place. Hoping to avenge those who died before him, Dastan curled his lip and gestured for the Chieftain to scram, which had the exact opposite and intended effect. Teeth bared in rage, the Chieftain howled and raised his bone halberd high before charging headlong into the fray.

And in response, Dastan counter-charged and crashed into his opponent shoulder first, sending the Chieftain to the dirt with broken ribs and punctured lungs.

Silence fell upon the battlefield as Dastan strode over to his fallen foe, where he kicked the Defiled Weapon aside before planting his boot upon the dying Chieftain’s neck. Glaring at the Defiled Horde, he slowly pressed down while his opponent struggled beneath his foot, increasing the pressure ever so slowly until a loud crack rang through the night. There were no cheers or celebration for Dastan, for it was foolish of Watanabe to send him out to duel. Most soldiers in the fort likely only felt shame at being overshadowed by a slave, but Dastan cared nothing for their praise or opinions as he stood back and waited for his next foe. This one proved to be a Domain-Capable Chieftain, but Dastan secured victory all the same, claiming the savage’s life with a single blow which split his skull in twain. This time, there was a smattering of cheers in response, but Dastan recognized the voices as those of his comrades, though there might have been a few others mixed in as well.

His third opponent proved a little troublesome, a half-beast mix of some indeterminate sort, but Dastan emerged victorious without injury once again, smashing through the Defiled Chieftain’s defences with pure brawn and little else. This was the most efficient way to fight these duels, exerting all his strength to defeat his opponent as quickly as possible and useing the time in between to rest. No careful probing or ornamental flourishes, no clever feints or fancy footwork, because none was needed. Any more and he would be the same as those arrogant nobles and glory-hounds seeking to elevate their reputations, but Dastan Zhandos was merely a slave and his master had commanded him to survive, so survive he would. This was not the only duel he would fight, and there was still a long battle to come, so he endeavoured to fulfill his master’s wishes and leave himself stamina enough to continue the fight.

Besides, there wasn’t much elegance in his battle-axe to begin with. Dastan chose the weapon because swords were too complicated and time-intensive while spears too expensive and unwieldy. A battle-axe was simple and versatile, able to be used with one hand or two, on horseback or foot, an all-around weapon which suited his needs, and since he first took up the axe as a warrior in training, he had never regretted the decision.

And for good reason. While Ryo Da’in claimed the sword reigned supreme amongst weapons, this was only when taken to the extreme. Seven duels Dastan fought, and seven victories he claimed, each one as overwhelming as the first, all thanks to the power of his battle-axe. Were it a swordsman standing here in his place, they would find it difficult to replicate his feats without spending more stamina unless they were markedly stronger or willing to risk their lives in every exchange. A swords thrust was a killing blow, but one which left the wielder open and exposed, while Dastan’s wild swings were both offence and defence in one, as even a missed strike afforded him plenty of opportunity to recover, given the wide arc his opponent would have to avoid.

The sword was a weapon of noble finesse, while the axe straightforward and overbearing, which perfectly suited his low-born merchant boy’s tastes.

With his seventh opponent lying dead in the dirt, Dastan stood and waited for the next foe to approach, his arms leaden and lungs burning. A few minutes of rest would be enough to recover, but the Defiled had caught on to his ploy and dispatched their next duellist forthwith, a hulking giant of a man who dwarfed Dastan’s one-hundred and eighty-five centimetre frame. Almost three times wider than most men and bearing a massive, obsidian sledgehammer over his shoulder, this was an opponent Dastan probably couldn’t overwhelm with sheer power, even with his Domain-Enhanced Reinforcement.

But still, Dastan gave it a try. One should never judge by appearances.

Roaring in defiant fury, he leaped forward and brought his axe to bear in a powerful, overhead swing. Eking out every scrap of strength he had, he brought the full force of his Reinforced blow arcing down towards his opponent while the obsidian sledgehammer moved to intercept. Power against power, strength against strength, but muscles and Reinforcement was not all the strength Dastan had to call upon. Chi surged throughout and around his body, both Internal and External alike, converging around his battle-axe in invisible harmony. He brought not only all his strength to bear, but all his focus as well. While his Natal Soul wielded the battle-axe in their hands, Dastan wielded his Domain in similar fashion, a weapon he was still not wholly familiar with, but one which had already proven its power and versatility many times over.

When in use, the Domain passively defended his body, and while it wasn’t enough to stop even the thrust of a mundane spear, he found it mitigated impacts and warded against casual slashes, allowing him to weather a pummelling or close his fist around a knife with minimal damage. How it did this, Dastan wasn’t entirely sure, but from what he could tell, it wasn’t his Domain blocking or mitigating impacts, but rather it was boosting the defensive properties of his skin and muscles, toughening his physical body without changing it in any discernible way. While it was possible to fashion his Domain into a physical barrier or platform to attack or defend with, this wasn’t the most effective use of Chi since the cost-benefit ratio leaned heavily in favour of cost, so it was best to use one’s Domain in a more indirect fashion.

Axe met hammer and Dastan’s Chi exploded upon impact, Amplifying his attack to colossal proportions, but he was not yet done. Solidifying his Domain beneath his feet, he formed a solid platform of Chi to stand atop and afford him the advantage of height. Even as it crumbled beneath his weight, he braced his feet and used the split second of stability to push his full force into the blow. A minor thing, to stand taller than your opponent when attacking, but combine his height advantage with everything else he’d learned, such as the push-pull method used when chopping, bringing his weight down on his heels to add to the strike, aiming to cut through the opponent instead of simply hitting them, and a dozen other minor tricks he’d learned throughout his lifetime, all of it was enough to overpower his gargantuan foe.

The sledgehammer flew out from the Defiled Champion’s numb fingers and smashed into his chest, bruising flesh and cracking bones a split second before the axe-blade kissed his flesh. Unfortunately, the blade didn’t cut deep enough to kill and its Honed edge glanced off the loose, obsidian sledgehammer, but this only meant the Chieftain would bleed out in minutes instead of immediately dying. Standing over his kneeling, defeated foe, Dastan took a moment to collect his strength before raising his axe once more, the bloodied blade gleaming in the torchlight on the fields of Sinuji. Defeated but still defiant, the Defiled Chieftain locked eyes with Dastan and –

Shimmered.

Unable to stop himself from dealing the final blow, Dastan leaped back and his axe cut through empty air as the Chieftain’s body rippled and undulated in inhuman fashion, a tell-tale sign of Demonification if Dastan had ever seen one. Had he continued with his strike, it’s possible he could’ve killed his opponent and halted the process before it began, but the margin for error was so thin he was more likely to destroy his Spiritual Weapon and end up just like Falling Rain. The sky darkened and temperature dropped as the Father’s gaze fell upon His latest creation, but Dastan held fast to his faith and rooted his feet in place, unwilling to retreat from this challenge while all of Sinuji watched on. Screams tinged with pain and excitement, the hulking Chieftain’s torso swelled to twice its already considerable size while the sledgehammer melted away into his flesh, his pallid skin darkening until it matched the pitch-black obsidian of the Defiled Weapon.

Three extra arms burst out from the Demon’s meaty torso, two below his original arms and the third stemming from above the left shoulder. Each one was black as night and misshapen to the extreme, bearing two joints and contorted at inhuman angles. Instead of hands and fingers, the extra limbs each ended in a fused, rectangular lump of hardened flesh, reminiscent of the melted sledgehammer's head. Frightening weapons which could strike from multiple angles in close combat, and Dastan’s mind reeled as he tried to work out how to best defend against it. Calves bursting apart at the seams, the Demon sprouted six extra feet to scurry upon, but its thighs remained whole which made it look like it was walking upon two giant hands with four fingers a piece. The Chieftain’s scarred face disappeared into the gloom, blending into the darkness so well Dastan could barely make out its features until it opened its mouth to howl, announcing its birth into the world with a bone-shaking screech.

To which Dastan responded with a second overhand strike, almost exactly the same as the one which claimed the Defiled Chieftain’s life.

Ichor sprayed through the air as his axe bit deep, but Dastan was well prepared in advanced, manoeuvring his Domain to Deflect the Ichor away. A few globules still splashed upon his skin and clothes, but the pain was a small price to pay for inflicting a grievous wound upon a newborn Demon in his first ever battle against one. He still had much to learn, as the Demon was not dead and he wouldn’t emerge unscathed, but even as he took a glancing blow from its twisted hammer hands, he roared in glorious celebration of how far he’d come.

Reining in the urge to continue the battle, he put his fancy footwork to good use and backpedalled away from the fight at top speed, but the Demon was not yet finished. Maddened by rage and hunger, it scurried after him with swinging fists and would’ve caught him if not for its unbridled greed, slowing to gather up the corpses of Dastan’s fallen opponents. Unwilling to leave Imperial soldiers to such a grisly fate, Dastan halted his retreat and lashed out on instinct, a course of action he would’ve been better off thinking twice about, but it was already too late. The attack had been made and the Demon was upon him, so now all that was left was kill or be killed.

No. Death was not an option. Falling Rain, a man who treated Dastan like a brother instead of a slave, had commanded him to survive, and survive Dastan would.

Cut. That’s what he needed to do in order to survive. Cut through the Demon and kill it with a single blow. Only then would his survival be ensured and his orders adhered to, so cut through the Demon he would.

His Domain responded to his thoughts without effort, One with the Weapon, One with the Self, and One with the World.

Cut.

His Chi gathered about the axe-blade and Honed it to perfection, but this wasn’t enough.

Cut.

The air buckled and burst as his weapon cleaved clean through the atmosphere, his Chi manifesting into the world as an invisible blade, formed for one purpose and one purpose only.

Cut.

His axe struck two of the Demon’s misshapened arms and one of the original ones, all three raised in defense while its remaining arms hurtled towards Dastan’s throat.

Cut.

Ichor sprayed as severed limbs flew through the air, and the Demon let loose with a bestial shriek, one laced with terror and reluctance before it ended abruptly. The Demon’s head joined its severed limbs in flight even as its attack landed on Dastan’s chest and sent him flying backwards into the dirt.

Manifesting his Chi into a physical blade drained Dastan’s Chi reserves to near nothingness, though the Energy of the Heavens quickly surged into his Core as he reached and found Balance. Head ringing and body aching, he found his battle-axe still in hand and used it to push himself slowly to his feet. Heaving with exertion, his chest surged with pride as he stood over the remains of his defeated foe, pride which quickly drained away as he watched the Demon’s caustic Ichor spill across the dirt and stone, seeping into the blackened dirt underneath and rendering it untillable for the foreseeable future. Even in death, the Father’s foul minions sought to destroy the Mother’s Creations, but so long as Warriors like Dastan Zhandos and Falling Rain stood on the side of the righteous, then the Mother would always prevail.

The worst part was, victory would be theirs in the end, but even this might not be enough to save Falling Rain from Imperial machinations. The Empire was worth saving, but the Imperial Clan? Not so much.

Chapter Meme