Savage Divinity

Illuminated by the flickering light of the cheap, humming monitor, I sit at my desk with chin propped on my hand while doing what needs to be done. A million and one me’s are all sitting like this, doing a million and one different things, yet somehow, it’s still all the same, save for a few stand out cases. Don’t believe those lies, think of your loved ones, keep fighting the good fight, courage will prevail, yadda, yadda. Most of my focus is on tired Imperial Warriors fighting on the front lines, their stamina drained and spirits flagging even with all the ‘eager’ Heavenly Energy in the area just waiting for a chance to be bound. Though I didn’t lure it here for this purpose, it does help, though the Defiled warriors benefit from the extra Heavenly Energy same as the Imperials.

Imperial and Defiled, two sides of the same coin indeed, though no one in the Empire cares to admit it besides the members of the Brotherhood, and even they don’t have it all figured out. Neither do I to be honest, not because I can’t figure it out, since I seem to have some form of limited omniscience, but mostly because I can’t bring myself to care enough to try. What’s to be gained from indulging my curiosity? Even if my end goal wasn’t to exist in nihility, I won’t retain any knowledge of this experience after coming out of it, because the human mind is not meant to handle the sheer volume of information I’m currently processing, to say nothing of comprehending it. At this very second, I’m perusing through a million and one different lines of thought while all the relevant and necessary information simply appears in my mind the moment I need it, as if it was there all along and I’m only just remembering. As insightful and interesting as this might all be, it’s temporary at best, no different from what happened after I helped Ping Ping ascend to Divinity, and frankly, the vast scope of it all fails to impress me the second time around.

Thus, I set my mind to the task at hand. Emptiness within and emptiness without, so that I might find nihility and oblivion. This work here is a means to an end, one last effort of love and emotion expelled from within so that there is nothing left to contaminate the nothingness I so desperately desire.

My Natal Souls uncover thousands of stories scattered throughout the gathered armies, stories which I do my best to nudge in the right direction. Take Natal Soul 65,931’s case, Death Corps guard Wood Ninety-Eight, formerly Yellow One and currently dying, her guts spilled out all over the ground and consciousness slowly fading away. I’m trying to teach her how to Heal her otherwise deadly wounds using Panacea, and failing that, doing all I can to keep her from succumbing to the crippling fear and loneliness that has been with her all her life. Born into slavery, she only recently learned to hope for a better life, hope kindled by Song and myself, but alas, a hope which might soon be snuffed out.

Hope is a lie, but for Song’s sake, for Yellow One’s sake, I will do what I can to help her survive. More than that, I want her to survive, I want her to be happy and free, but limited omniscience is not omnipotence, no matter how much I wish it were otherwise. Much as I would like to Heal her myself, I can’t do anything with the Heavenly Energy gathering here, not without waking up to see if all this is real or fake. That’s not happening, so I can only help others learn to use Heavenly Energy by themselves.

An idea occurs to me, the prime me, an idea I pass along to my Natal Souls. Teach more people Panacea, because if enough people know a secret, it’s not really a secret anymore. In this vein, Natal Soul 668,391 finds Li TieGuai to whisper in his ear, and discovers a pleasant surprise lurking within the man’s mind. Though not a cripple in the conventional sense wherein he couldn’t move his limbs, his disability was self-inflicted. In pursuit of his dream to develop body tempering medicines, Taiyi ZhuShen miscalculated a dosage and the medicine seeped into TieGuai’s bones. In small doses, this would've been fine, but after TieGuai soaked in that bath for a full twenty-four hours, he emerged a changed man, one whose bones could not bear his full weight without fracturing. ‘Iron Crutch’ was the title bestowed upon him, in mockery of his teacher’s grave mistake, but Taiyi ZhuShen is a good man who shouldered all the blame himself, and TieGuai has never blamed him.

However, during his many years of convalescence, he also never stopped his research regarding body tempering, and now, his knowledge surpassed that of his Mentor in many ways. However, Taiyi ZhuShen is a prideful man, one TieGuai loves like a father, and he doesn’t want to wound the man’s pride any further. He believes it is his fault his junior brothers, the Devilish Duo Tao Zi and PingGuo, were deformed, because he didn’t speak up when he thought he found a mistake in his Mentor’s notes. I know the truth however, and that neither TieGuai nor ZhuShen were correct, but in the decades since, it is the Disciple who has come across the right answer.

“Body Tempering,” I whisper into TieGuai’s ear, “Involves the internal as well as the external. Much like a house must be built upon a sturdy foundation, a body must be reinforced from the inside out. Blood vessels first, then organs, then bones, tendons, muscles, and lastly skin, this is the true Path to body refinement, step by careful step. Complete your Mentor’s work, and only then can you erase the shame from his legacy.”

At the same time, I leave the explanation of Panacea behind in his thoughts, as I’ve done with so many other Warriors upon this battlefield. Yet another desire for existence fulfilled and expelled, with all too many still to go.

Natal Soul 435,158 is talking an Imperial Noble through his panic, a cavalry officer by the name of Koga, a noble-born silk-pants who is ready to stain said pants with shit and piss. A mere lieutenant, he’s found himself in command of a hundred riders due to the untimely death of his Captain, and feels woefully inadequate for the job. All he really has to do is watch Major Chu XinYue for his cues, but he’s beside himself with worry because he senses just how pivotal this battle will be, and the Spectres sense his weakness. As such, has been unable to find Balance for some time now, but while I don’t know what the Spectres are saying, I know what he needs to hear. “You trained for this,” I tell him, counteracting the Spectres trying to unnerve him. “You know what to do. Keep your eyes open, follow orders, and no matter what, know that you are making a difference.”

Buoyed by this little pep talk, Koga finds Balance and feels the Energy of the Heavens filling his Core. Following XinYue’s orders, he then leads his riders to chase down a group of garo outriders. In the ensuing scuffle, his throat is torn out by one of the wild beasts, but not before Koga kills the Champion leading them, allowing his disciplined riders to dispatch their uncoordinated foes with relative ease. The only son and heir, Koga leaves behind two wealthy, but aged parents, who loved him with all their hearts, and his last thoughts are of them and how he hopes they know he loves them too.

I hope they know too, and that hope turns into yet another Natal Soul, one which fades away with but a single purpose, to ensure his parents know their son’s love.

Every time he closes his eyes, Lang Yi sees his wife, Ruo-Ruo. He fights in hopes of seeing her again soon, a man consumed by his grief who continues to fight because he does not know how to live without it. The Defiled took his beloved from him, the woman who gave him joy and purpose, so he means to take everything he can from them, but they do not feel the loss like he does. They care not for their deaths, only for the anguish and misery that comes from their actions, for they have been driven mad by the Spectres’ whispers. Hating the Defiled only helps further along the Spectres’ cause, and Natal Soul 297 is at a loss on how to help him.

Until I find something in Yan’s memories, drifting to the surface of her mind as I, the prime me, remind her of who she is and where she came from. “You do not hate a rabid dog,” I tell Lang Yi. “You simply put it down. Hate does nothing but taint Ruo-Ruo’s memory, when you should cherish her instead.”

Lang Yi’s cold, frozen heart chips and crumbles, exposing a weakness his foe is quick to capitalize on. “Mantis Form – Spear Hand,” I utter, and like the good soldier he is, he obeys without hesitation. “Follow through: Deer Form – Pierce the Horizon.” The fending jab turns into a killing thrust, and I can sense Lang Yi’s satisfaction, but there is no time to celebrate. His spear seeks out another foe, but this time, he lacks the burning hatred which once drove him, leaving only indefatigable purpose to push him along. He is a Warrior of the People and a soldier of Falling Rain, so he will not falter so long as he still draws breath.

This is my work, and the more I do, the better I get at distancing myself from the feelings involved, but I can’t lie and say I’m not invested. Some stories draw me in more than others, like Liu Xuande’s, the Imperial Scion who became my right hand man in matters of finance. When he showed promise in matters of tactics and command, I promoted him to my War Council in hopes he would become an able general. The man is a Martial Expert who has never once raised his hand in anger, but he possesses a keen intellect, a startling grasp of logistics, a canny ability to read the terrain and use it to his advantage, and most importantly of all, a burning ambition to see justice brought to the Imperial Clan. Not in the blood and fire sort of way, but through laws and reform, an odd and uncommon mindset for a person from this world. Liu Xuande believes in the equality of all people, regardless of wealth, status, location, or circumstances, all of which stems from his first experience in warfare.

Though he never took part in battle, he has been to war, and he did not enjoy the experience. During his first and only campaign, he served as the quartermaster for a force of Death Corps guards dispatched to put down a minor rebellion. That’s what he’d been told, at least, but after the blood was spilled and the dust settled, he was left a changed man. Things didn’t add up over the course of the campaign, so he set his brilliant mind to putting all the pieces together. Eventually, he discovered that the rebellion was not a rebellion against the Empire, but an uprising to protest the horrific working and living conditions of a border farming town. The people there were Imperial Scions only in name, no different from the peasants of the outer-provinces and perhaps treated even more harshly by members of the Imperial Clan, for familiarity breeds contempt. These peasants were freed from the Mandate of Tribute, allowing them to keep their sons and daughters no matter how many generations removed they were from the Emperor, and many a declining noble family found this difficult to swallow. Since such thin-blooded families stood on the second-lowest rung of society, they could only take out their frustrations on the peasants below them, something Liu Xuande knew well, because he himself was a ninth generation Scion who would have to offer his children to the Emperor.

However, he and his family kept their heads about them, unlike another family, whose name he refused to even think about because it had been stricken from the Clan records by Imperial Mandate. This family had succumbed to despair and lashed out at the peasants living under their jurisdiction, treating them as slaves and chattel to be used and discarded, and after months of abuse, the peasants predictably rebelled. The family sent for help, and the Death Corps strode in, killing or capturing every last man, woman, and child, including the noble family who set this chain of events off.

This was not justice, not in Liu Xuande’s eyes. Not everyone involved deserved death or slavery, the survivors consigned to the Death Corps training camps, and when he tried to bring it up and get justice for the survivors, he was cast out from the Royal Guardians and forced to return to his family in shame. The worst part was, no one agreed with his decisions, not even the parents he loved so very much. They were more concerned about the loss of face, and how he ruined his prospects of marrying up, a fact which he found disheartening to the extreme. Coming to the outer provinces wasn’t even his idea, but rather a last ditch effort from his parents hoping he might make a name for himself and save his children from the Mandate of Tribute.

A move he is grateful for, because he got to meet Falling Rain.

Liu Xuande needs no help bolstering his spirits, but he is a general in the making, so Natal Soul 195 is busy helping him understand and unravel the intricacies of battlefield command. Already he’s come up with several improved formations which the Imperials could use to great effect, as well as training regimens to raise proper soldiers, both Martial Warriors and commoners alike. Huang Shaotian is the current big name in tactics and has been for the last several thousand years thanks to his book, ‘The Three Hunting Strategies’, but once Liu Xuande comes out with ‘The Art of War’, a title I presumptuously passed onto him, I believe he’ll change the face of warfare forevermore.

In this, he sees a means to an end, because if commoners learn to fight effectively against Martial Warriors, then the balance of power shifts in their favour. Not only do they form the backbone of the economy, there are also a hell of a lot more of peasants than Martial Warriors. So long as no Divinities get involved, then a battle of attrition swings in their favour, which can only lead to good things in the future. Justice for all, Xuande’s ultimate goal, because in his eyes, all people are born equal.

On the other end of the spectrum, Natal Soul 847,386 is busy with a Defiled Imperial, a commoner named Santosh. Just over a year ago, he lived a hard, but good life, working eighteen hour days in a gold mine owned by the Mataram Clan. Not all of that was spent down in the mine-shaft, as the Mataram Clan treated their workers well, especially those they trusted enough to work in their most lucrative holdings. There was food and water aplenty for him while he worked, and at least one fourth of his work-day was spent resting in intervals to prevent injury or exhaustion, and the only times he ever saw a whip come out was when a worker was caught trying to steal. A good job, all things considered, though it meant Santosh could never leave the mining town until the entire vein was tapped out, but it was still better than the alternative. Here, his family lived a good life, safe from thieves and thugs while his children were given a free education to better serve the Mataram Clan as vassals in the future. Letters and numbers would be their future trade, a better life than he could ever dream of, and for this, Santosh would forever be grateful to the Clan.

Then the Western Wall fell, and a few days later, the Defiled found the mining town.

The Imperial Clan was to blame for this, or so Santosh had decided. The Imperials were the reason why he had to watch his wife die. The Imperials were responsible for what he’d been forced to do to his children. The Imperials abandoned the West, abandoned the people who needed them most, and for all this and more, they had to pay. The Emperor needed to pay, to suffer as Santosh suffered, to weep, plead, and scream as he had, and only then, would the scales of justice be Balanced.

“What of the Mataram Clan’s sins?” I ask, picking just the right moment to butt in, when his tired mind quiets to rest after a long, stressful engagement. “Their enemies spent years scouring the Western Province for hidden encampments like yours, so how did the Defiled find it so quickly, mere days after the Wall fell? Curious how the Mataram Clan didn’t fight the Defiled either, with every man, woman, and child joining the Enemy in outright rebellion of the Empire. Think, and the truth will reveal itself.”

Despite my efforts, Santosh will not listen, not because he is incapable of reason, but because to believe otherwise would be to take responsibility for his own actions, a move which would be his undoing. The man is barely clinging to sanity by his fingernails, and to go any further would consign him to surrender, but nonetheless, 847,386 keeps trying. There is something inside Santosh that might still be reached, the part he’s kept closed away this past year, his innermost self that loves and cherishes his wife and children above all else. That part of him is dying a slow death, because it has no reason to live, but still, I must try, because if I can wrench one soul from the Enemy’s grasp, then I would call this a success. I never could figure out why I couldn’t cleanse true Defiled, but now I understand. The Defiled themselves do not wish to be cleansed, clinging tightly to the lies they so desperately need to believe. It will take significant effort to break through their self-denial, and doing so much might cause irreparable harm to the person involved, but I must try.

That’s why I’m here, after all. So I can get out all my hopes and regrets before severing ties with the mortal world and sinking into oblivion. For this reason, Natal Souls 2 through 68 are busy indulging my pets, who really don’t need the attention. These floofs don’t scare easily, or at least are capable of handling the stress, but I don’t want them to be sad when I’m gone, even though there’s nothing I can feasibly do to stop it. Aurie, Ping Ping, and Mama Bun have it the worst, unable and unwilling to understand what I’m trying to tell them, that I’m going away, but they’ll still be loved and cared for. They’re greedy little beasts who want the best of everything, to take what I am promising them and still keep me around to love, because that’s just how they’re wired. Banjo and Baloo aren’t happy either, but at least they’re willing to accept it, while Jimjam is more torn up about it than I would have suspected. He’s a contrary cat, but he does love me all the same, and he’s feeling a little lost now that he knows I’m going away. Sarankho doesn’t understand, but she accepts it, the smartest kitten who still remembers the love of her mother and has mourned it many a night past, but found much of that same love from Song.

As for the rest of my pets, they don’t really understand what’s happening save for Zabu and Roc. Those two will mourn me, but they’ve lost before, and life goes on. Honestly, I wish all of my pets were like them, because then I could rest easy.

There’s so many more people and animals I want to say goodbye to, but even with a million and one Natal Souls working in tandem, there’s only so much I can do. There are seven million individuals on scene right now, and almost a third that in animals, and while some might argue calming a horse, bull, or quin isn’t all that important, I can’t change who I fundamentally am. If I see someone in distress, I feel compelled to help, because empathy is one hell of a burden. For this reason alone, I have Natal Souls 18,545 through 26,342 all covering the Imperial Irregulars, poor, terrified commoners who are only here because they believed in me. Song’s inspiring Aura helps soothe their nerves, but the Demonic Aura is not easy to shake, and all my best efforts are for naught.

Until one man, a cobbler’s son named Yazhu, takes in the battlefield and, unprompted by me, shouts, “The Legate’s carriage!”

Lixian, a farm-hand who dreamed of glory before coming here, repeats the call, remembering just how happy his family was when his old man brought them to the border and settled into their new farm. “The Legate! Save the Legate!”

Shodo, Wen Na, Ogum Chuwon, Su Jia, Tengo, Minoru, and hundreds of other Irregulars take up these cries, and together, without prompting from me or my Natal Souls, they all find courage and attack the Defiled en masse. Much as I wish I could say they did this without fear, I know better than anyone else how terrified these poor people are, yet still they throw themselves into the blades of the Enemy, recklessly risking their lives out of mistaken belief. The Demons make short work of these mere mortals, but this does not give them pause or drive them to retreat, for they are my most fervent supporters, more fanatical than even BoShui could ever be. “I’ll be fine,” I try to tell them, “The Legate will be fine. He has many Martial Warriors to guard him, many hidden Experts waiting in the wings. All you need to do is move aside, and the professionals will handle it.”

And still the Irregulars fight, because they believe they owe me their lives, and are more than happy to spend them. In my panic, I convince Ping Ping to join in on the fight and tip the balance of power, an idiotic move which sparks off a debate between Divinities. That’s the problem with limited omniscience; I know all, but I can’t see the future, nor do I know anything until I consider it. Now I know the Enemy is deliberating if they want to launch an attack to kill sweet Ping Ping, since they could easily claim that they were merely equalizing the field. An eye for an eye, a Divinity for a Divinity, a marked flaw in my plan which I, even with all my knowledge, know not how to correct. It would’ve been better to keep Ping Ping from acting, since now the Enemy has a chance to study her power, but there is no cure for regret, even for someone as powerful as I. Thankfully, the Enemy makes no move to escalate the situation, partially because Ping Ping isn’t exhibiting all that much power, but also because the growing storm overhead concerns them, a storm whose purpose even I cannot divine. Regardless, the Enemy Divinities can sense the power contained within and don’t know who is responsible, meaning they will tread carefully and keep their heads down lest they become the first of their kind to fall on this battlefield.

All the while, Irregulars continue to die in droves no matter how much I plea or cajole them to retreat. They will not have it, for they would rather die than see me come to harm. Never once do these brave souls waver, and never once do they regret dying in my name, for they believe their cause is just as they willingly give their lives for the only person they believe truly cares about them.

Me.

The heartbreak here is almost as bad as losing all my loved ones, but the Irregulars win out in sheer quantity. Difficult to stay detached while watching people willing to die for my sake, not that anything else I’ve been doing has been any easier. Mom, Alsantset, Yan, Mila, Song, and sweet Lin-Lin, engaging with my loved ones tempts me to reawaken and rejoin them, but fear holds me back as it always has. What if they’re not really alive? What if I’m just deluding myself again? What if I open my eyes, only for the steel-toed boot to greet me again? What if Zhen Shi really killed them, and I’m back in the Citadel, faced with all the people I let down? I’m so many levels deep, I can barely keep track of what’s real and what’s imagined. This is fine. This is for the best. I’ll do what I can, say my goodbyes, and drift off into eternal slumber undisturbed by any trials and tribulations. It’s not perfect, in fact, far from it, since there is still so much left to do, but if I put it off now, I might never have another chance. It hurts me to leave the people I love behind, and it hurts that I can’t say goodbye to Dad, Taduk, Luo-Luo, Charok, the twins, Husolt, BoShui, Mafu, and so many more, but they’re not here and I can’t reach them, so there’s no helping it. I’d love to snap my fingers and destroy the Defiled Army, but not only do I lack the ability from here, if I return to the waking world, I might discover I never had the ability at all, and that I’ve just been deluding myself here in the void.

There’s no perfect answer, but this is my answer. I will spend my last moments making the world a better place, teaching my friends and comrades to better utilize their strengths, instilling doubts in their enemies, and finally, saying goodbye. Once I’ve done all that I can, I will leave knowing they can manage without me, because I am too weak and afraid to continue as I am. I always have been. The first day I woke up in the slave pens, I wasn’t meant for this world. I’m not cut out for this life. If trials and tribulations are all that await me, then I, and everyone I know and love, will be better off if I lose myself in oblivion.

And so I continue my work. Awash in her Blessing, Mila shines as bright as the sun, but her radiant smile outshines even that as she wreaks havoc on the battlefield, going toe to toe with powerful armoured Demons and holding her own. Her heart surges with joy as I whisper sweet nothings, her spirits buoyed by my presence more than anything else. Further down the line, Huushal needs a hand, so I remind him that he is neither man nor wolf, but human at the core, something he has yet to figure out. Telling him won’t change a thing, because he sees himself as half-beast or demi-human, but everyone has their own foibles and inner conflicts, so why would being half-beast make him any less human? Once he figures it out and accepts the truth, his burdens will be lessened, but until such a time, all I can do is support him.

Easy to forget when all you see is his gruff exterior, but Huu is a big softie inside. He treasures our friendship, and our estrangement has been harder on him than it has been on me, but he will get through this. When the rage of battle takes over, he requires no assistance from me, not that he would listen even if I tried. Pound for pound, he can match the Defiled Chieftain with relative ease, but Vithar is a canny Warrior who has survived many a battle against foes stronger than he, so dealing with Huu is almost nothing. So I appeal to his darker nature, urge him to stretch out this battle and enjoy the exchange for what it is, and find that Vithar, a hateful Defiled who maims and tortures for laughs, cares deeply about his fellow tribesmen. Not in the way I care about civilians, but like a commander looking out for his soldiers. There is no love lost between them, but he will not recklessly spend their lives as Zhen Shi is so eager to do, and I strike while the iron is hot and drive a wedge between Vithar and the Uniter. I work this same thought into the minds of every Defiled Chieftain and Champion present, reminding them of all the promises the Uniter made to them, and how he cares not for their lives or the lives of their tribesmen.

Unlike my heroic Irregulars, the Defiled believe in no cause but their own, and they are well-used to listening to the Spectres. Alas, not all care enough to consider the future, and many are too blood-crazed to even pay attention, but nineteen Chieftains heed my warnings and begin withdrawing their tribes from the battlefield. Judging by their festering dissatisfaction, Zhen Shi is in for a rude awakening as his tribal auxiliaries return to the West and begin carving out kingdoms of their own instead of marching away to war like the good puppets they were. That will buy some time for the Imperials, but how much, even I don’t know, so all I can do is keep trying.

Many of my allies need no assistance, staunch Warriors like Hongji, Binesi, Ghurda, and Tursinai, but others need a bit of a nudge in the right direction. Tenjin’s living flames are beautiful to behold, but the power leaves much to be desired, because he himself does not understand the flames. They must feed to grow, and while he himself only has so much to give, one benefit of Fire is it cares not what it consumes, so long as fuel is available. A minor epiphany, as far as Insights go, but that is all he needs to unleash a Fire-Bird and fly it deep into a Demon’s gullet. Seconds pass and the Demon collapses, only moments before the Fire-Bird emerges from the monster even larger than before, having consumed that which gave the Demon life. Over on the flanks, Wu Gam experiences an Insight of his own. To him, the Blessing of Earth is similar to a towering mountain, mighty and compelling but ponderous and immovable. The thing is, the Earth is always shifting beneath our feet, something the half-fox can sense, yet never wholly understood the significance of.

There is power trapped beneath your feet, power just waiting to be unleashed. All you need to do is free it.

The ground erupts as a fissure cracks open in front of Wu Gam, a small cleft measure 1.23 metres long and 27 centimetres wide at the thickest, but a fissure nonetheless. Awed by what he just discovered, the excitable young man Sends his findings to Eccentric Gam, a man who is his father in everything but blood and name. The older Warrior catches on quickly and wastes no time committing all of his Chi to a single attack. His staff rises, then falls, slamming deep into the ground at his feet, and the earth splits apart into a true fissure, more than eighteen times the size of Wu Gam’s. 43 Defiled Warriors and six Demons fall in, only for the walls to close around them and crush them into meat paste as Eccentric Gam releases the hold he has over the earth.

An imperfect application, but with a little practice and the proper set up, he might one day consign hundreds, if not thousands of Warriors to their death in the same manner. Assuming he gets over his death wish, chasing strength for the sake of strength and endangering his life because he feels guilty for surviving where so many of his siblings, all of whom he raised like his own, did not.

All across the battlefield, I do my best to help Inspire the Warriors of the Empire, but even still, this is just barely enough. Mila’s foot slips forcing her to block an attack best avoided, one which breaks her shoulder in the process. Focused on catching her ricocheting shield, Yan nearly loses her head to a Defiled Warrior, but Kyung steps in before I can even warn her and saves the day. Huu almost dies several times while fighting his Defiled foe, but I can rest easy knowing the old wolf will keep him safe. Zian fights and unleashes all he’s learned, but I can sense this still won’t be enough, and guide his mother over to his side, forcing her hand and upsetting her plans for the future, plans I only just now realized. The Imperial Army is barely holding on when the reinforcements finally arrive, and while Imperial spirits surge thanks to Mitsue Juichi’s flashy entrance and the appearance of an army alongside two other Colonel Generals, they plunge to all-time lows once Hideo takes the stage.

If the Father could tempt even the Disciple of a Living Legend, what hope was there for anyone else?

Despite knowing all the horrific travesties Hideo committed and how this was all sparked off by petty jealousy, I cannot help but sympathize with his plight. A part of him knows what he’s doing is wrong, and despite all his mistakes, I try to tell him that all is not lost, but tempting him with hope only drives him away. He has too high an opinion of himself to even acknowledge his faults, so it’s easier to break his trust in the people who tell him everything he does is right. Hiding from the truth doesn’t make it go away. It will always be there, just waiting for you to remember, a lesson I all too quickly discard into the Void. “The Monk lies too,” I whisper, already forgetting my momentary panic. “He oversaw your descent into madness and did nothing to enlighten you, because the Razor’s Edge is not True Balance, but controlled insanity. You are a monster in human flesh, but by his own admission, your sins pale in comparison to his own.”

Okay, so I’m not entirely neutral and may have been a little harsher than necessary, but I saw what he’s been dreaming about doing to Luo-Luo and what he did to poor Eri-Hime, so I couldn’t hold back. I am, after all, still human, which is the fly in the ointment I’m still trying to fix.

Hideo resists, so I try for subtle, reminding him of his father who loved him, but this has no effect. I appeal to his intelligence, telling him, “The Noble Eight-Fold Path is not about strength, but purpose and intent. What is your purpose? What is your intent? To seek strength? Why? Why do you seek strength?”

My questions drive him over the edge, as I knew they would, and in a single moment of weakness, I drive home everything he already knew, or should’ve known if he thought about it. Mitsue Hiroshi was Juichi’s true Heir, there was no doubting this now. Juichi loved Hiroshi like a son, and Hideo like a grandson, and only ever wanted the best for them both. “Why do you desire strength, Mitsue Hideo?” I ask, as he struggles with the truth he tried so hard to ignore. “Better to seek forgiveness. Open your eyes and see the truth you’ve worked so hard to deny.”

Upon forcing him to take notice of the hidden Spectres, Hideo’s mind all but shuts down, and there is no longer anything to discuss. Seeing his struggle hammers home just how cruel and unforgiving this world really is, and I have no desire to be a part of it anymore. Despite all my efforts to empty myself, I am no closer to my goal now than when I started, and might well be further behind than before. There’s just so many things going on, so many people dying and emotions flying that I cannot divest myself of it all. The more I learn, the more I feel, and it’s all building up in my chest like water pushing against a dam, but sooner or later, the waters will overflow and bring the dam crashing down to the earth below.

Panning my screen up to look at the clouds, I wonder why the storm has yet to unleash its fury and stumble across an Insight of my own. It seems so obvious now, it’s a wonder I never noticed it before, but I never was the sharpest tool in the shed, no matter how much I professed to be a man of science. The Energy of the Heavens is driven towards emotion. Why? Because our emotions are the purest form of our existence. Thoughts are a product of the mind, but emotion is the product of the soul, and it is this bond, this connection, that the Divine Energies seek out and obey, regardless of morality or affiliation. In many ways, our souls are intertwined with Heavenly Energy, one indistinguishable from the other, the magic which takes base molecules and shapes it into living, breathing, thinking creatures. That’s why I need to purge myself of Emotion, because so long as I have them, there will be Heavenly Energy within me, preventing me from reaching true oblivion. I knew the what, but now I know the why, and with this, so much more becomes clear.

Our souls are the vessels within which we hold all our emotions, not in so many words or memories, but the raw, visceral experience of each and every event, encounter, and ordeal. When we meditate in the Void, we become more in tune with our Souls, or perhaps more accurately, become One with the Soul. The Core, Natal Palace, even Aura and Domain, every milestone along the Martial Path is marked by a change in the landscape of our Souls, a development which helps us utilize it better, for we Martial Warriors harness the power within to manipulate the Energy of the Heavens, and this is what sets us apart from commoners.

So why only a one percent success rate for Core Formation? Panning back down to study the Irregulars, I discover that not even our souls are without flaw. This isn’t to say commoners are deformed, but rather Martial Warriors have that one-in-a-hundred abnormality which allows our minds to sync with our souls, an adjustment the Spectres force upon the Defiled which drives them quite mad. It’s akin to modifying a car engine to accept jet fuel or a power socket to draw unlimited power, possible if handled correctly and exceedingly dangerous if not.

All this has nothing to do with the storm, but the answers still appear even when I lose focus, a calamitous mistake which costs me almost a full second. Not just me, but also all million of my Natal Souls, and while a second might not seem like much, Zhen Shi and his Spectres can do a lot of damage with the right word at the right time. Getting myself back on track, I set my Natal Souls to work all about the battlefield while I pan back up to the storm above. I’ve been doing this all wrong, trying to ‘spend’ all my emotions and drain myself of them all, but emotion is a bottomless well. Interacting with people has done nothing but make me feel even more emotion. Now more than ever, I want to stand up and fight, to lead the soldiers here against the foul Enemy and drive them from the Empire. I want to save every Defiled I can, to scour the world of Spectres until none remain, to enact laws to protect commoners and teach them to defend themselves.

I want to hold my wives in my arms and feel the warmth of their skin, to hug my pets tight and nuzzle them close, to sit with Mom and Dad and have a nice, family meal, to train and compete with my friends once again. I want all this and more, but despite my longing for life, I am still too afraid to risk it. Hope in life only prolongs my torment, a perilous drug, one which has hurt me far too many times before, and I will not partake again. There is no hope. There is no life. There are only trials and tribulations if I should wake, so my only recourse is to seek oblivion.

Why the storm? A question answered with another question. Why do we cry?

To shed emotion.

No longer do I dare meddle in the lives of those around me, and instead give everything I have to the storm. All my fears, doubts, concerns, and nightmares are fed to the dark clouds, consumed by the writhing Energies of the Heavens within. Next go my anger and hatred, my love and joy, followed by my failures, regrets, dreams, and aspirations. Everything that I am is severed from my being, my Soul butchered by my own hand and cast into the wind, for only then will I find freedom.

Emptiness within, and emptiness without, my goal almost within reach. However, I cannot divest myself of everything, for I still cling to the tiniest of hopes, a hope that I can open my eyes, and all will be right in the world.

A lie, for there can be no hope, not here, not now.

And so, I watch the clouds unleash their payload from over top the battlefield, covering the world in tears. My tears, cried not by my eyes, but by my very soul, purged away in a single, cathartic, metaphysical sob-session, one not in the form of the name I was born with, but one I have come to cherish all the same. Personally, I don’t feel the sadness or the relief, because those emotions are not mine anymore, all cast out into the world alongside the severed vestiges of my one-million Natal Souls, all of whom have been set free to right my wrongs without my input and guidance. Some offer platitudes for soldiers in pain, others spout truths to Defiled minds who will not hear them, and still more work to uncover hidden talents who might help elevate humanity as a whole if provided with adequate support. Some of my Natal Souls even sacrifice themselves to adjust and modify the souls of the people on the battlefield, gently mending invisible wounds and igniting hope for the future. This work goes largely unnoticed, and most react poorly to my efforts, but while old me would feel brokenhearted, this me, the empty me, does not care.

The parts of me that did care are all out there, and will do what they must until they are spent, my needs satisfied and Intents fulfilled. I sense them comforting loved ones and reassuring friends, bolstering allies and reinvigorating those I look up to. Still more present Insights to those deserving, while others correct misplaced steps and breathe new life into older Warriors or set others on more sturdy paths. Many lives were lost here today, and many more will fall before this war comes to an end, but I’ve done my part, and I will do no more.

Taking off my headset, I turn off the monitor and unplug the PC, leaving myself alone in the vast, empty call centre of the void. My cubicle is all that remains, but I make no effort to leave it, for herein lies the last of my hope, my last connection to the world outside and to a past I’ve long since forgotten, all the things I still cannot leave behind. The dark screen tempts me, and I cannot pull my eyes away, but I do not move to reconnect it. There I sit, staring into the void, and the void stares back. Emptiness without, but within...

This is not the oblivion I seek, for I still cling to hope. No matter. Hope will die in time, of which I have nothing but.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The skies rumbled.

The storm broke.

The rain fell.

And the Defiled fled, leaving the Imperial Army worn and weary, but also the undisputed victors upon the field of battle.

Despite her near brush with death, Akanai was not pleased by this turn of events. The damnable Gongsun Qi was gone, alongside her chances of finishing up their little dispute before day’s end. The Defiled army was also retreating in relatively tight formation, which meant going after them was a fool’s errand, whereas more would have died if they’d stayed and fought to the bitter end. More Imperials would have died as well, but victory had a price, one which if not paid in today’s battle, would need to be settled another day.

Today’s work was not yet done though. There were still stragglers aplenty left to fight, crazed Defiled who would fight to the bitter end and needed to be put down, but there were also plenty of the Enemy who simply shut down and surrendered. Miraculously, no Demons were formed, nor were any prisoners taken, so the soldiers of the Empire set to bloody work clearing the battlefield of Enemy survivors and celebrating their victory without caring too much about the why or how. As for Akanai herself, she was sure of both, but she fixed her expression in place and feigned confusion before joining the highest echelons of command and greatest Warriors of the Empire in staring at the stormy skies. Though most familiar with Hongji, a man of his rank would not be privy to matters of Divinities, nor would her second most familiar Colonel General, young Ryo Dae Jung. With Mitsue Juichi’s heart and spirit broken into pieces, Shuai Jiao seemed like her best bet, but the humble ascetic Warrior was the craftiest of Central’s bunch, a shrewd and perceptive man who read people like others read books. A much needed skill for someone striving to remain neutral in convoluted Central politics, but Akanai feared he would sense something amiss if she approached him for clarification.

For any fool with eyes could see that this storm raging overhead was no natural occurrence, but one wrought by a powerful Divinity.

Cursing the suspected culprit in the back of her mind, Akanai did her best not to think about it, lest her expression give her away. The nobles of Central were all practised liars, while she herself only had cause to lie to sweet Mila, like when claiming there was no candy in the house or how bad children who didn’t go to bed on time would get the itches. If asked about the rain, Akanai feared she would give herself away and let everyone know she suspected she knew the person responsible, but so long as her suspicions remained just that and she didn’t actually know, she could swear an Oath to the Heavens saying as much, and that would be the end of that.

Why come all the way out here and call down the storm though? It would have been a hard fought battle, but Akanai was wholly confident in victory, unlike during that pressing dilemma at the Northern Wall when the Enemy broke through or the whole mess of duels against the Society. What’s more, both times there’d only been a few Peak Experts knowledgeable enough to know something was amiss, and no outside Divinities to speak of. While others might have suspected something upon hearing the stories, there was no proof to be had, but here, there were too many witnesses and too many inquiring minds to deny the involvement of a powerful Divinity. Now, someone would eventually put all the incidents together and start looking among the People for the culprit responsible, assuming their identity had not already been revealed to one of the many Divinities present upon this battlefield.

Vexing as all this might be, she found it difficult to concentrate on the matter at hand as the downpour soaked her to the bone, a chilling but refreshing cleansing to follow a long and arduous battle. The raindrops cooled her burning fury and washed away her weary exhaustion, leaving her with renewed vigour and a fading desire to lead her Sentinels to chase down the fleeing Defiled and slaughter them to the last. A terrible idea to be sure since the Enemy forces were still large enough to engulf her Sentinels whole, not to mention how her quins and riders were all thoroughly spent after a long day’s fight.

Or so she thought. Kankin in particular seemed eager and alert, stomping his feet in a pitter patter of excitement like a quin pup as if to urge her forward for the hunt, and after checking on her people, she found many of them in similar straits. This effect was not unexpected, since she knew what the rainfall could do, but she was surprised by the sheer magnitude of this working, since it affected so many of her Sentinels and quins. No, not just them, but every man, woman, and beast in the Imperial Army! Impossible. Discarding the notion that she knew the culprit responsible, she turned her gaze back to the Heavens above, and this time, her wonder and bewilderment was genuine and heartfelt as she pressed her palms together in a prayer of thanks.

For there was no way a mere Divinity could harness so much power so quickly. This rainfall had to be the workings of the Mother Above, and Akanai was grateful for Her hallowed assistance.

Balance came easily as the Energy of the Heavens flowed through her Core, bringing with it a silent sense of hope and thanks followed by an unfamiliar melancholic warmth. A fond farewell, as it were, and as tender and heartfelt as it might be, she was lessened by its absence once the feeling faded away. A single tear made its way down her cheek, its passing hidden by the pouring rain, but she knew she’d lost something today, something cherished and beloved. Leaping atop Kankin, she rode through the cheering, celebrating soldiers over to where she spotted Rain’s carriage last, and there she found her beloved daughter with so many others all gathered around the pets’ wagon. Greeting her with a conflicted smile as she dismounted from Kankin, Mila threw one arm around Akanai’s waist, for the other hung limp and broken. Saying nothing, the girl led her over to the wagon where she found little Rain fast asleep in a pile of pets and surrounded by his family and loved ones.

A sombre scene amidst a field of celebration, one which set Akanai’s stomach to twisting in apprehension. “What happened here?”

As Sarnai filled Akanai in, she studied the boy’s expression, one which was neither peaceful nor anguished, but merely... slack. There was no other way to describe it, for there was nothing to see, and were it not for the slow, but steady rise and fall of his chest, one might mistake him for dead, though he’d suffered no discernible injury. “We held off on telling you so as not to offer distraction in battle,” Sarnai concluded, but judging by how she couldn’t meet Akanai’s eyes, she knew little Rose had simply forgotten.

Hardly unexpected, considering the dire state of her son. Wrapping her free arm around Sarnai and Alsantset both, Akanai hugged them tight and said, “Little Rain will be fine. He always is. No need to fret.” Her tone lacked certainty, but the words had to be said, even if she couldn’t bring herself to believe them. “He will be fine,” she repeated, this time with more conviction, because she actually believed it now, despite the forlorn, foreboding impression that he would never wake. “Let him sleep and heal from whatever it is that has wounded him so. He will wake in time, and we will be here to greet him.”

The others offered small smiles that showed they too didn’t believe, but Akanai’s faith would not waver. Seeing the Divine Turtle with her chin resting atop his chest, it was clear she didn’t believe Akanai either. Paying no mind to the invigorating rainfall, Ping Ping’s gaze was focused upon little Rain to the exclusion of all else as she quietly mourned his passing. All the animals did, supposedly sensing something the humans and demi-humans could not, their distressed behaviours and forlorn expressions heartbreaking to behold. Aside from pressing themselves against him, none of the animals bothered Rain in the slightest, neither prodding him with paw or nudging him with muzzle as they were so wont to do. Instead, they simply sat at his side and grieved in their own way. The wildcats huddled together for support and stared at Rain’s expression, while the bears hid beneath their paws and peeked out every now and then. The rabbits sat uncharacteristically still, their chins and paws resting atop Rain while the Laughing Birds perched and paced about the wagon sides. The quins Erdene, Coto, Gakai, and Zabu were all nervously grooming, but Kankin’s presence fortified their nerves just a bit and set their worries to rest. Even Princess seemed concerned, sitting on her hindquarters with limbs akimbo in the crook of Rain’s arm, her raised head watching him not with wary caution, but uncertain distress.

And all the while, the Energy of the Heavens swirled around them, not just the animals, but also Akanai, Sarnai, Alsantset, Mila, Song, Yan, and even Mei Lin. Long minutes passed in silent stillness, but around them, the world continued to pass by. The storm continued unabated and the stirrings of Heavenly Energy expanded, with Warriors all around the carriage demonstrating their Purity, perhaps in celebration of their hard-earned victory. Not entirely unwarranted, but the disturbance was unwelcome with Rain’s fate still uncertain, yet when Akanai looked up to deliver a silent glare of warning, what she saw left her shocked and speechless.

For those Warriors Demonstrating their Purity were not Warriors at all, or had not been a few hours ago. Spread out before the carriage were Irregulars as far as the eye could see, cheering and celebrating as expected, only there were dozens of Captain-level talents among them dressed in the same blue tabards of the Irregulars, and hundreds, if not thousands of lesser talents unconsciously channelling Chi. How was this possible? Their ranks were filled with the basest of commoners, but somewhere along the way, these crossbow wielding auxiliaries had managed to Form their Cores and become Martial Warriors in truth. One or two would not be so surprising, but for so many at once?

Again, Akanai’s eyes turned to the Heavens, for this was proof beyond the shadow of a doubt that the Mother Above was involved, wholly exonerating the People and their allies. Perhaps there was a better explanation than Divine Intervention. Maybe their first taste of battle helped Inspire them to take their first step along the Martial Path. Or it was possible the combination of Demonic Aura plunging these Irregulars into the depths of despair followed by sweet Song’s Inspiring Aura raising them back up kindled their resolve and conviction, thus helping them find Balance for the first time. It could also be any number of other possibilities Akanai was unable to come up with, but one thing was for certain: hundreds, if not thousands of new Martial Warriors had been born today on this field of battle, and they had Falling Rain to thank for bringing them here in the first place. Regardless of the ‘how’, this was a miracle of Heaven, one the boy most certainly lay at the centre of. He would wake, because these were all a part of his trials and tribulations, and no matter how difficult they might be, the boy would overcome them eventually.

Because he was Falling Rain, a man who did not know the meaning of surrender.

Chapter Meme

- End of Volume 35 -