I | THE WIELDERS OF HEAVENLY RAGE
The Clan of the Crackling Sky, they Sunder the Wicked and Sage
Western Realm, Sona Rora
In restless eyes were pupils of white, iris of ash, veiled by black strands of hair that cascaded down a face as pale as alabaster. Under the sun’s gaze, they were mere moonstones, reflecting the light in a quiet gleam.
The eyes narrowed in irritation. A low moan escaped him, barely audible over the squelching muck and thudding shovel. He was knee-deep in the unglamorous reality of pegasus cleaning—muck duty.
I’ve been conned!
Each scoop of hay-flecked dung felt like a personal affront. “That bastard!” he muttered with a dig to the silent stable, his voice choked with a mixture of indignation and ammonia fumes. “Tch, never again…”
As if summoned by his grumbling, a muffled snort came from behind him. He swung around dramatically, his shovel poised like a knight’s lance against a particularly smelly dragon. But instead of a monstrous manure mound, he found his trusty pegasus, Snow, peering at him with an expression that could only be described as… smug.
“Enjoying it, Snow?” he mused with a thin smile, sarcasm dripping thicker than molasses.
Snow, unfazed, flicked her tail, sending a spray of straw and dust that showered him in fragrant confetti. He spluttered, wiping his face with a sleeve. “Hilarious,” he choked.
A sudden, high-pitched giggle made him jump. From a dim thicket, on its bushy corner, a tiny figure emerged, clutching a worn bunny ragdoll and giggling uncontrollably. It was his cousin, Yu Yan, eyes wide with mischief.
“Big brother Aegis,” she wheezed between giggles, “you look like you fell in a compost heap!”
His jaw dropped. His own personal comedian-in-training. And just as ruthless. He couldn’t help but grin. “Well, then,” he declared with puffed chests, scooping up a shovelful of straw and flinging it playfully at her, “prepare to be composted yourself!”
The stable erupted In laughter as Yu Yan squealed and dodged, straw raining down like a bizarre farmyard blizzard. The pungent odor of feces dissipated, giving way to the fragrance of mirth and the subtle essence of dried hay particles.
Perhaps shoveling another heap with newfound gusto and being covered in poop wasn’t so bad. Especially when it came with a side of giggles and a tiny comedian-in-training. Even knights needed a jester, after all, even if she came with four hooves and a knack for straw-throwing.
Yu Yan’s laughter subsided, her bright ruby eyes dimming a touch as she approached Aegis with a tentative step. She clutched her ragdoll closer.
“Big brother,” she whispered, her voice small against the echoing snorts of Snow. “Will you… go away again soon?”
Ah, it’s that time once more. I might’ve forgotten that if she hadn’t brought this up, Father should have arrived by now.
Aegis’ shovel clattered to the ground, the silence sudden and heavy.
He knelt down, brushing away a stray lock of hair that framed Yu Yan’s worried face. His gaze met hers, and the playful knight faded, replaced by the older brother, protector, and confidante.
“Yes,” he spoke, his voice gentle. “I’ll finish the tasks as soon as possible; after all, I’ve promised to play with you! Unless…” His words trailed off and he swallowed.
Yu Yan tilted her head, her brow furrowed in concern. “Unless what…?”
He took a deep breath. “Unless there’s a lot of things I must attend to,” his hand felt her warm cheeks. “But even then,” squeezing her hand, “I vow to return as soon as possible.”
A small smile crept back onto Yu Yan’s face, dispelling the shadows in her eyes. “Promise?” she said, holding out her pinkie finger.
Aegis linked his pinkie with hers, his heart twisting with a bittersweet pang. “Promise,” with a smile, sealing the vow with a solemn nod and a pinch of her chubby cheeks.
Alas, the poor girl is terribly bored. Why on earth did they bring her here? Expecting old fogies to tend to her needs!
My leisure time…
“Well, well, well,” boomed a weathered old voice as deep and resonant as thunder. “What have we here? You, reduced to shoveling dung? My, how the mighty have fallen!”
Aegis groaned inwardly, recognizing the familiar, teasing tone. He turned to face the newcomer, reluctantly rising from his crouch. Standing before him, framed by the stable doorway, was his father, Longtian Kuzin. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a mane of black hair and a mischievous glint in his scarlet eyes—eyes that are now filled with amusement.
“Father,” Aegis acknowledged with a sigh. He braced for the inevitable onslaught.
Longtian strode into the stable, his laughter echoing off the wooden beams. “I never thought I’d see the day,” he chortled, clapping a hand on Aegis’s shoulder. “One of the heirs of lightning, knee-deep in manure!”
Aegis gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He knew his father meant no harm, but his relentless teasing could grate on even the most patient of souls.
“I’m just doing my chores, Father,” he muttered, trying to maintain a semblance of dignity.
Longtian snorted, his laughter growing louder. “Chores? Is that what they call it now? Back in my day, we called it ‘character building.’ Or something like ‘punishment for being a lazy oaf’.” He winked at Yu Yan, who giggled behind her hand.
“I’m not lazy!” Aegis protested, his cheeks flushing with indignation. “I was training with Snow earlier—”
“Ah, yes, training,” Longtian interrupted, his tone dripping with mock seriousness.
“I’m sure that’s why you’re covered in more dung than the horse itself.” Laughter died out; he had a sudden pause, stroking his chin as if in deep contemplation. “Tell me, son,” he mused, “are you perchance practicing a new technique? The legendary ‘Shovel Strike’? Or perhaps the 'Manure Maelstrom'?"
Yu Yan burst into a fresh fit of giggles, and even Aegis couldn’t suppress a small smile. His father sometimes had a knack for turning even the most mundane tasks into comedic fodder.
Aegis held his shovel tight, the handle digging into his palms. Words died on his lips, replaced by a steely edge to his voice. “It’s not funny, Father,” his gaze unwavering. “This isn’t some game. This is my life, my training, my responsibility.”
It cut through the remnants of their playful banter. Longtian’s amusement faltered, replaced by a flicker of surprise in his fiery eyes. The jovial lines around his mouth softened, his gaze settling with a newfound seriousness.
“I know,” Longtian's head was firm, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “I wasn’t trying to make light of your duty. I just… remember my own days, filled with muck and sweat, honing my own while yearning for something more.”
He glanced at Snow, her wise equine eyes seemingly understanding the unspoken weight of his words. “But this,” gesturing towards the stable, “this is where the journey begins. It's not glamorous, but It's the foundation. Every shovelful, every scrape, shapes you, prepares you for the storms to come.”
Aegis swallowed, the heat of his earlier frustration giving way to grudging respect. He understood. His father hadn’t been mocking him, not truly. He’d been reminding him of a truth often forgotten by many: that greatness didn’t arise from spotless palaces but from the trenches of hard work and humility.
A small smile tugged at the corner of Aegis’s lips. “So,” a small intake of air, “perhaps the most potent spell I’ll learn today isn’t one of lightning, but of muck?”
Longtian threw his head back and laughed, the sound booming like thunder once more, but this time with genuine warmth. “Perhaps, son. Perhaps.” He clapped Aegis on the shoulder, the gesture firm yet encouraging. “Now, get back to your work. Master shovel strikes before dawn, and you might just impress the old man yet."
Aegis grinned, taking his father’s words in stride. “No promises, but what’s it this time, Father?”
He chuckled. “No rifts! Mundane ones, even.” He winked, his finger ran below the nose muffling a low laughter, a playful glint in his gaze.
A flurry of tiny wings filled the air as a herd of adorable pegasi pranced around him, nuzzling for attention. Yu Yan laughed, gently shooing away one particularly overzealous foal that aimed its rear end towards Aegis. “Shoo, little one! Not there!”
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The sky above me twists and churns, storm clouds morphing like leviathans in response to my outstretched hands. Arcane Essence. I feel it thrumming beneath my skin, an electric current echoing the pulse of the heavens.
My call, gentle. Then, the world explodes.
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Deafening thunder splits the clouds, and a jagged bolt of lightning lashes down, searing my arm with white-hot pain. I’m propelled backwards, flung ten paces across the rocky ground. Echoes of static spread across everything.
“Gently, right, impossible without my bloodline seal,” I mutter, spitting grit from my mouth. My gaze flicks from the scorched mark on my arm to the still-roiling sky.
A chuckle escapes my lips. ”Looks like a bath is indeed in order.”
Beneath midnight blue, a face sculpted from moonlight rested serene, and his eyes were stark pearls. In tranquility, their depths held not restless shadows but stillness.
A skirmish of jade scrolls sprawled across the wooden table. Some lay pristine, unopened, and sealed with crimson wax, while others gaped like wounded warriors.
“Five,” Aegis murmured, his voice a breeze against the silence as he traced the paper with the tip of his finger. Another half cycle swallowed by duty, he thought, tracing the delicate script that declared him: Bloodkind.
The Bloodkinds. A cancerous growth in humankind now exceeds the distant Alvarman, pestering the borders of kingdoms and villages. A small number of towns were ravaged out of existence. Young sorcerers, barely fledglings, were dispatched by factions, shepherded by seasoned guardians, against the tide of blood.
So I am tasked to purge their nests? This meager problem doesn’t warrant my presence unless there is more to this than meets the eye.
Him? Sent to this? This wouldn’t ignite a single spark of interest in him. There was more here—a hidden ember beneath the ash. Aegis wasn’t a fly swatter, not for scraps like these. He felt something lurked deeper.
“Whatever,” he flung the scroll aside and stretched the kinks from his spine. I’d just tear apart every “Bloodkind” nest there is until the truth, raw and bleeding, would lay bare.
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Kuzin, known as the wielders of Heavenly Rage for eras long past, was one of the apex forces in Oracrum, though exact numbers of heirs were known to few outside eyes. They were feared by all, their blood able to wield lightning, the very storm’s heart beating in human form. A Kuzin could bleed storm clouds; with a flick, they could summon crackling arcs of lightning, bend the skies to their will, and unleash divine fury that shatters earth.
During every quarter of a Red Flower cycle, as the moon bled silver, the veil would lift. The younglings would descend, facing rifts that brought titans bending many to their knees, leviathans that would swallow villages whole.
Deep on a barren land of rocks piercing skyward, there were eight pillars on a circular platform, and at the center sat the 8th patriarch of the clan. He was bare-chested, had a scarred bald head that ran from the top to the edge of his lips, a defined posture, and a full white curly beard.
The patriarch drew a breath, confronted by the collossal, lifeless bodies of hundreds of outerworld creatures, their stillness more profound than death itself. Above, a loud, searing ring echoed from a space rift.
A sudden clap of thunder and lightning followed him.
Electric veins dissolved, and blue robes clung damply to his frame. Long black hair on end, catching the last embers of electric light like a crown of static.
“Greetings, patriarch,” he rumbled, his voice deep and resonating. Through a confused gaze, he saw the old man seated in a lotus with closed eyes and a menacingly scarred face.
“Scram.” He dismissed with a wave, with bare chests in defiance.
“G-Geezer! Why must you force it? Awakening his dormant bloodline will bring about death!” he spoke with fiery conviction, hands were already aflame in his mind’s eye. “A war against them… think about it carefully!”
“War? Haha, then so must it be!” the patriarch declared, his towering figure rising slowly. “Tell me, are you afraid?” he muttered coldly as thunder rang out in the ashen skies.
“Geezer, it risks the death of our people! Killing them is against her wishes!” He defied. “This matter—”
Crimson stains his lips, and his eyes widen with pain as a fist crushes his gut, a blow so sudden and forceful it seemed to rip the air itself. Red bolts of lightning, reaching from above, crackled down towards the patriarch’s outstretched hand.
A resounding boom echoed as another fist struck him squarely in the lungs, the force stealing the breath from his chest.
“Only through him,” the patriarch thundered, “could we witness the full extent of our blood!”
With a final, brutal surge of lightning-infused might, he slammed his fist against the man’s broken form. The earth shuddered as a body was sent to the skies, tearing upon layers of clouds.
The world spun, and crimson bloomed in his vision, blurring the blue above. Then, a flash of gold caught the edge of his sight, splitting the clouds with a whinny that cracked with electricity.
His body, battered, was caught. Strong arms, calloused and familiar, held him, settling him onto the broad back of a gray pegasus. A tanned man, with a grin full of crooked teeth and umber hair braided tight against the wind, chuckled.
“Looks like the old geezer played rough, eh, brother?” his voice, sharp as the tip of his obsidian spear, cut through the roar of the sky.
Longtian coughed, spitting a gout of blood. “He’s crazy.” He winced, a searing pain lancing through his ribs.
“Huh? He’s always been this crazy.” The pegasus, as wild and electric as its rider, rolled its eyes (or at least, Longtian swore it did) and snorted a plume of golden fire.
Longtian laughed, a harsh sound that tore at his lungs.
His brother-in-arms, whose name was Voltra, if you believed the rumors about his birth under a particularly dramatic storm, just shook his head, the braids whipping in the wind. “Ah, well, the old man’s been crazier than a beetle in a sugar jar since… well, since forever. Probably just another day for him.”
They soared above the storm, the pegasus slicing through the roiling clouds like a golden knife. Below, the barren land of skyward-stretching rocks fleshed out.
As they rode through the blues, Longtian’s gaze drifted to the skies. His wife was a woman with eyes like the moonlit sea and hair like spun silver.
In her dying breath, she begged me of no bloodshed against her kin. The only way for me to ever do it was to forbid his moon from awakening.
Damn! Father got beat up pretty badly. That old man really is crazy!
He already knew as he gazed upon his father’s unwell figure. Though there was someone else crazier, he’d use fists on the slightest inconveniences. Uncle Wang was only a tormentor of fledglings, a tyrant in the guise of a bully. Aegis was respectful of seniority, but for him, it was scarce and fleeting.
They were both in the backyard of the red pagoda, under the shade of a peach tree.
“Don’t fret,” he rasped, his voice raw. “I have taken worse and lived to tell the tale.”
He grabbed a jug of drink on the wooden table. He winced, a fresh wave of pain washing over him. Voltra offered him a flask of some pungent, acrid liquid, claiming it was “grandmother’s special blend for stubborn fools.”
“…my seal.”
“Have your grandfather do it,” he stood with a pat, his voice low and conspiratorial. “But first, come closer! And this,” he walked forward, tapping his head with a finger.
…
“Huh? I don’t understand,” Aegis muttered, rubbing his forehead with a palm.
Longtian took another swig of the foul-tasting liquid, grimacing as it burned its way down his throat. “Now,” wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Aghh, awful drink. And while you’re at it, see if your grandfather left his lucky dice somewhere around here. We’ve got a game to play.”
“Alright.”
It’s unsealed.
He looked at the black needle within his fingers.
It’s done now. I knew keeping it locked would not last forever. I believe the patriarch knows this too; it was inevitably going to break free. Having it later would cause more harm.
Did I make the right choice?
The black needle was burned to ashes and flowed along the wind.
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Aegis’s grandfather resided on a small island near the ancestral lands. Aegis was knee deep in a grass field, looking above, and in front were the steepest stairs of stone and wood. Climbing the small cliff, he was before a simple wooden structure, with two watchtowers crudely made of stone on opposite sides.
Aegis huffed and puffed and hauled himself onto the wooden porch. The air was thick with the scent of salt and sunbaked earth, a familiar embrace.
He found Old Monkey, as the others affectionately (or perhaps not so affectionately) called his grandfather, sitting on the porch swing as he drank tea, his black robes catching the breeze like windblown sails. Age had etched itself onto Old Monkey’s face—wrinkles that crinkled around his eyes, ears wide, and stretched outward like a monkey. His beard, once a proud mane of silver, was now a scraggly collection of white wisps that danced around his chin.
“Took you long enough,” Old Monkey grinned, his voice like dry leaves rustling in the wind.
Aegis grinned, sheepish but unapologetic. “Just taking in the view, Old Man. Can’t blame a fella for admiring the scenery, can you?”
Old Monkey snorted. “Scenery? You’re probably already plotting how much you can fleece me for this visit.”
Aegis’s grin widened. “Now, where’s the fun in that? Besides, a fella’s got to make a living, right?” he winked, a glint of challenge in his eyes.
Old Monkey’s eyes narrowed, hands reaching for an itch on his back. “Pup, how about a little arm wrestle? Winner gets bragging rights… and maybe, just maybe, a little something extra for the victor.”
The two locked their forearms on the weathered wooden table, their hands gnarled and strong. A hush fell over the porch, broken only by the chirping of crickets and the rhythmic creak of the swing.
Aegis strained, his muscles burning, but Old Monkey sat there like an unmovable mountain. His face remained impassive, but a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes.
Just when Aegis thought his arm might give way, Old Monkey let out a bark of laughter and slammed Aegis’s hand down onto the table.
“Told you, pup,” he chuckled, his chest heaving. “You may be fast, but I’m still the old dog with the strongest bite.”
Aegis rose and groaned, but couldn’t help but grin.
“Stand still,” Old Monkey growled with a sinister edge. Gripping a blue crystal, he ruthlessly thrust it into Aegis’s chest, crimson spraying in all directions.
“Done, now get out!” Old Monkey snarled, pushing him aside with a casual wave, as if shooing away an annoying fly.
Aegis chuckled nervously, recognizing that the old man had concealed a trove of artifacts.
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The light of twin moons hung in the heavens—a bright, luminous touch that was hauntingly beautiful.
Standing amidst a landscape of sea and towering stone mountains, the wind whipping through his hair, he stood clad in a flowing dim blue robe with gold accents. The robe featured an open neckline, long black sleeves that billowed in the wind, a white-gold braided sash tied neatly at his waistbelt of silver etched with gold, and a necklace beads of deep blue jade coiled around twice in his right forearm.
A short black cape draped across his shoulders, while five scrolls, a menacing spear, and a bow hung proudly on his back. Beside him, his loyal pegasus, Snow.