Going over my presentation didn’t take long because I didn’t have much prepared. The meeting with the Legate is all a big game of show and tell, a wallet-measuring contest of the highest levels, and Akanai only had a few suggestions regarding delivery, word choice, and tone. With that taken care of, she left me with a pat on the head and went back to her yurt, warning me not to overwork myself and get some rest. Unfortunately, sleep won’t come easily after today’s world-shattering revelations, so I’d rather not lie in the dark and dwell on my serious mental issues, not to mention the anxiety and existential dread which comes with it. Knowing I have a problem doesn’t magically make it go away; who knows when I’ll start acting out on instinct and ‘forgetting’ about it after the fact, or have another psychotic break and make up a new imaginary friend.
Eyeing the monk up and down, I double check my memories to make sure he’s interacted with other people and is therefore real. That’s something I need to do now, because I’m fucking crazy.
So instead of sequestering myself in my yurt, I decide to unveil my new weapon beneath the moonlit sky, with only a sleepy Ping Ping and a Concealed monk to witness it. Nestled within the folds of oiled leather is what can only be described as a transcendent work of art, a gleaming obsidian glaive lovingly crafted by my beloved Mila. Placing the base of the shaft on the ground, I guesstimate it measures over two and half meters long, with the double-edged blade taking up almost a third of its length. There’s a crossbar set at the base of the blade, or around eye level, while a lone handle juts out on one side just north of my shin, a grip for use when jousting with enemies.
I’ll mostly use the glaive like a lance since it’s a heavy, thrusting weapon meant for use on quin or horseback. I’m just happy I can actually fight while mounted instead of hanging on for dear life and flailing wildly about. I’d seen the plans for this weapon when Mila was designing it, and remembering her enthusiastic descriptions, I fumble around with the cross-guard and find the release, which lets me twist the haft around like a crank. Emitting, a smooth, crisp clicking sound, the ‘sword’ portion of the weapon splits in two equal parts and spirals downward while the cross-guard folds down, turning it into a long-handled double-bladed axe, a weapon much more suited to my current physique. One form for stabbing and charging from quin-back, the other for chopping and slaughtering on foot.
That’s not all this baby is good for. With the sword out of the way, this frees the hollow shaft to double as a rifle barrel, housing a two-meter-long highly-compressible spring within. Grabbing the lower handle which doubles as a pistol grip, I find both the trigger, loading, and cranking mechanisms and give those a whirl, testing the firing process once without ammunition. It takes about ten seconds to set up and when I press the trigger, the whole weapon rebounds with the force of a horse’s kick and sends a painful jolt up my arms and down my spine. This is Mila’s most powerful spring-powered rifle to date, benefiting from all the fruits of her labour. I’d like to give it a test with live rounds, but I’d prefer to keep our guns a secret for as long as possible, in case I have to send one of my people to shoot someone important. If Siyar is as good as Jorani says, I might move him to the top of the list for a new Spiritual Weapon. With everyone always on their guard against experts, a mundane sneaky assassin could come in handy.
Then again, it might be awhile before Mila’s next masterpiece considering she doesn’t have access to a guarded smithy. I have no idea how Mila made this intricate machine out of one piece of metal. No mould or model could possibly have shaped this which means there’s more to Divine Blacksmithing than meets the eye. This is some straight up black sorcery, magi-tech type of stuff, but even though she’s happy to gush on for hours about historical metallurgy or tempering methods, she’s incredibly secretive about the actual process behind making Spiritual Weapons. While my weapon is made from the same type of Spiritual Heart as Bulat’s and the others, it’s easy to see Mila went all out to make this one. Everything she learned has gone into this weapon, the convenient, complex yet mundane compression mechanisms, the simplified side loading chamber for easy reloading, the grooved rifling in the barrel, and some sweet, sweet aesthetics. With a glossy-black marbled finish, it almost drinks in the light before reflecting it, a beautifully-crafted masterwork weapon.
The axe comes to life in my hands as I give it a lazy swing, finding solace in the deadly thrum of metal slicing through air. Well-balanced and comfortable in my two-handed grip, the axe requires an assertive and dominant mindset to use on the battlefield, best suited for unchecked aggression and unbridled fury. Still, it’s not all that different from using a longer, heavier, top-heavy sword, so it should be easy enough to figure out with a bit of practice. Rotating the mid-section to turn it back into a glaive, I twirl the weapon about in a more serious sequence of practice swings. Heavy yet surprisingly flexible, I adjust to using this unfamiliar weapon using some familiar movements. Twitching Tail, Fluttering Raindrops, Pierce the Horizon, and more, remaining in control of my action pushes the limits of my Reinforced body, just barely able to rein the weapon in and move on to the next movement. Any longer or heavier and this glaive would be too unwieldy and probably tear my muscles to shreds. As it stands, I’d be better off growing another twenty-five centimetres in height and maybe ten to fifteen centimetres in bulk, which is easier said than done considering there’s only so much butter tea a man can stomach. So until such a time when I am no longer a manlet, the glaive form will be reserved for quin-back only, or maybe for an opening charge before tossing it aside in favour of sword and shield.
As evidenced by this incredible weapon, my beloved Mila is a genius among geniuses. Beauty, brains, and brawn, she has it all.
Which makes me feel terrible because all I’ve got is a pair of pretty eyes, a scrawny frame, and oodles of mental baggage.
But let’s be clear: My amber eyes are really pretty, so it’s not all bad.
...I need to stop talking to myself.
“Eh-Mi-Tuo-Fuo.” The monk’s oft-cited catchphrase is heard once more as he makes his presence known, sitting cross-legged in his preferred spot next to my yurt door. Shaking his head, he launches into yet another lecture through Sending. “Such depravity, such sin. The weapon you hold is a tool of death.”
Having earlier concluded the monk is in fact real, I see no harm in answering out loud. “Yea, pretty sure all weapons are tools of death. What else would you use them for? Hell, you’ve got a fancy tool of death tucked away behind you, that big old shovel-headed pole-arm.”
“My spade can be a weapon,” the monk Sends, nodding in agreement, “Just as the farmer’s scythe and the blacksmith’s hammer can be a weapon, but they can be so much more. If I am tired, my spade is a staff to ease my burdens. If the weather turns cold, it is an axe to chop wood. If a burial is needed, it is a shovel to dig graves, and if the night is dark, it is a pole to carry my lantern. Only when I am attacked is it a weapon to defend myself. My spade serves many purposes, the least of which is weapon.”
“Well, when I need a latrine dug or wood chopped, I’ll keep you in mind, but what I need now is a weapon of mass destruction.” Waving my new transforming weapon around, I add, “Failing that, this will do nicely. In case you haven’t noticed, the Defiled are coming and I doubt kind words and good intentions will keep them at bay.”
“One must live by the Noble Eight-fold Path if one is to escape Samsara, and in service to this end, the First Precept of the Brotherhood is to abstain from the taking of life, whether it be lowly insect or most sadistic Defiled.”
“I derive no pleasure from killing, but-”
Interrupting me, the monk Sends, “The Fourth Precept is to abstain from false speech.”
Ugh, how many precepts are there? “... Fine.” So I enjoy killing Defiled, bristleboars, and the odd uppity noble, big whoop, it’s not the end of the world. I deserve to hate a little, all things in moderation. “I don’t kill Defiled solely because I enjoy it. If they fuck off back to where they came from and stay there, I have no qualms about leaving them be.” Just gives me more time to focus on killing bristleboars and uppity nobles. “Besides, if you believe in reincarnation, shouldn’t killing Defiled be seen as a good thing? It’s like freeing them from the Father’s grasp and setting them on a new path in their next life.”
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“Such ignorance, such sin.” Making another of his weird hand gestures, he holds them palm outwards with thumb and index finger forming two circles. “Putting aside how taking a life also harms one’s self, you of all people should empathize with the Defiled and their suffering. They are sinners, but we are all sinners. While they still draw breath, no individual is so far gone that they cannot be brought back into the light. What right do you have to forcibly end their Dukkha and deny them salvation in this life?”
Left with no other choice, I head over with weapon in hand to speak with the monk in private. Awkwardly touching a finger to his palm, I Send, “You’re not wrong, but in my experience, Defiled cannot be saved.” After explaining my theory of window/door/tea Tainted individuals and how they’re different from full-blown murder-ghost aids, I tell him about cleansing Sanshu and my retinue members, as well as my experiments on Defiled tribesman in the heat of battle. “There comes a point when the individual does more than allow the Spectres control, but still has yet to completely surrender and become a Demon. When this happens, the Spectres are so closely tied to the individual’s soul, it becomes impossible to forcibly separate them. I’ve helped people who were close without going over, but once they reach the point of no return, I’m helpless as any other.”
Deep in concentration, the monk frowns and falls silent, giving my explanation careful consideration, if only to find holes to poke through it. I wouldn’t mind either, I’d love to know more about my Spectre absorbing abilities. For one, if I can cleanse the Defiled of Spectres like I can cleanse the Tainted, then the massive, seemingly-endless horde of ghost-infected murder-hobos suddenly becomes a lot less terrifying. All I gotta do is turn up the succ, gobble up all them tasty Spectres, and wham bam thank you ma’am, problem mostly solved with the added benefit of all that delicious Heavenly Energy juices pumped into my belly. I’ll need my heavenly prophylactic Blobby back before commencing said succing to protect me from Spectral Herpes, but it shouldn’t be an issue.
Interrupting my oddly homoerotic musings, the monk Sends, “What do you know of Talents?”
Not much. “Isn’t it just something someone is really good at? Like, ‘Blessed by the Mother’ good? Lin’s really good at Lightening, I’m good at Aura, and Mila’s good at everything, that sort of stuff.”
“No, none of those are correct. A Talent is a skill which cannot be duplicated by the masses, usually one unique to its creator such as Nian Zu’s Meteor Crash, Du Min Gyu’s Sanguine Storm or Mitsue Juichi’s Mountain Collapsing Stomp. This one believes Brother SanDukkha’s Talent is to capture and consume Spectres, something acquired during your time spent Defiled. Yo Ling is another example of a Talent, judging by his ability to communicate effectively with the Spectres, as is the young village man you fought with, Gen. Where you absorb Spectres to empower yourself, he makes it easier for others to accept the Spectres and empower themselves.”
Oh dear sweet Mother in Heaven... My Talent is literally Sucking. I hate my life. “So what, I’m selfish and he’s spreading the love? And how do you know so much about Gen and Yo Ling? Did the Brotherhood know about them before Sanshu?”
“Sadly no.” Bowing his head, he mutters a brief, unintelligible prayer for the fallen before continuing. “This knowledge was obtained by the Abbot after the fact, else someone would have been dispatched to the area earlier.” Waving away my next question, which was how the Abbot obtained said knowledge, the monk Sends, “The important thing to note is your method of cleansing differs greatly from the Abbot’s. The Defiled can be saved, but the individual must first want to be saved.”
It takes every scrap of willpower I have to keep my sarcasm contained. Sure, let’s just invite them all for a sit-down with orange juice and snacks so we can discuss the merits of not being torture-loving cannibals. Somehow, I doubt that would go over well with either side, but he’s welcome to try it. Probably strong enough to survive too, if he’s lucky. “Sadly, the majority of Defiled don’t seem to want saving, on account of all the murdering, raping, and torturing they do, so we will have to agree to disagree on this matter.” Damn, so either I gotta get more practice giving the succ or a lot better at killing if I want to make a difference in the upcoming war.
“...Agree to disagree... an imaginative way to put it.” Unamused, the monk sighs and goes back to meditating on a better argument to convince me not to kill Defiled or anything else for that matter. I’m starting to enjoy these little chats of ours, especially now that he’s shown a willingness to listen. It’s not that I have anything against his beliefs, I just think they’re stupid and want nothing to do with most of them. It’s all nice in theory, but hiding away in a monastery when you have as much strength as the monk does almost seems irresponsible. I’m not saying he has an obligation to help, but what’s the point of strength if you’re not going to use it?
Finally left to my own devices, I take a seat beside Ping Ping with my new Spiritual Weapon laid out across my lap. Reaching for Balance, I step into my Natal Palace and put my new knowledge to good use, binding the new weapon the same way I bind water. Channelling my Chi, I sense Peace and Tranquility at my side and their presence reminds me of my bitter loss. Even if he wasn’t real, Baledagh felt real and had a meaningful impact on my life. Doesn’t that make him real enough? I’m allowed to mourn his loss, I only wish others would mourn him too.
It (briefly) crossed my mind to tell Akanai, Taduk, Baatar, or someone about my little mental breakdown, and logically I should, but... I don’t want them to think less of me. Plus, there’s the rampant and ever-present irrational (maybe) fear of rejection. I know my family loves me and will probably support me through these hard times, but what if they don’t? What if mental illness is where they draw the line? Or living with transmigrated strangers from other worlds? Weakness isn’t scorned among the Bekhai, mostly hidden away and ignored, so I figured I’d keep true to Bekhai tradition and keep my insanity on the down low, for a little while at least.
Until I gather the courage to overcome my possibly irrational fears, I’ll play things close to the vest and use the monk as a sounding board/pseudo psychiatrist.
Focus. Be scared later, we’re here... I’m here to bind my Spiritual Weapon.
... and I’m still talking to myself. Old habits die hard, I guess.
The Energy of the Heavens rages around me, but I sit protected in my Natal Palace, insulated from its effects. A sign of progress I suppose, my core stable, solid, and warm in my belly, taking in Chi and moving it throughout my body and Spiritual Weapons under my directions. With each revolution, my Chi speeds up and my mind clears as I reflect on my previous Binding Ceremonies.
The sword is Peace, the placid peace of surrender and hushed peace of the grave. I bound the sword by piercing through my stomach and Core, an imagined, symbolic gesture of surrender. I was ready to die then, so afraid of suffering I threw myself into the fray, hoping to find a quick end to this terrifying existence. That is not true peace, for true peace comes from within. If I want mental, emotional, and worldly peace, then it will take hard work and exhaustive efforts. Even then I’m not guaranteed results, but taking the easy way out is pointless. Suicide is merely a form of non-existence, a worldly desire which I must rise above.
Just because I don’t agree with everything the monk says doesn’t mean he’s wrong about everything.
The shield is Tranquility, the stifling tranquility of a stagnating equilibrium in which nothing ever changes. I bound the shield by defeating myself, a battle for supremacy between two diametrically opposed personalities, the Warrior and the Brother. The Brother won out but instead of putting an end to the Warrior, an agreement was struck to keep both sides separate but present, an arrangement in which neither side lost but spelled disaster for both. In my desperate desire to avoid conflict and turmoil, I nearly strode down the path of no return, harbouring the Spectres in a reflection of myself while denying they truly existed, until I could deny it no longer.
Peace and Tranquility are ideals, but hopeless ones. Most of the time, violence is the correct answer and murder the best solution. The rest of the time, they’re merely the easiest answer and solution. The Wolf hunts the Rabbit, the Tiger hunts the Bull, such is the way of life in this world and all others. Life is built on conflict and we are all made stronger by these trials and tribulations. Survival of the fittest is a fundamental part of nature, but so too are fortune and happenstance. Things change in the blink of an eye, whether it be a cleansing forest fire or turbulent flood, and we must struggle or perish. The Defiled are no different from a force of nature, and to survive, we cannot rely solely on Peace and Tranquility. What about discord and distress, conflict and fear? These too are a fundamental part of nature, parts I have been loath to accept for far too long, but no more.
Peace and Conflict, Tranquility and Turmoil, they are each a necessary part of the puzzle, and to leave out one is to ruin all the others. I’ve been looking at things all wrong, and now I see the bigger picture. Fear and courage, love and hate, conflict and resolution, shy not from any of them and embrace them all. There’s nothing wrong with wanting Peace and Tranquility, you just have to make sure you aren’t sacrificing the wrong things to achieve it.
The new Spiritual Weapon blinks into existence inside my Natal Palace, a glaive, axe, and gun all at once. Flying into my grasp, the weapon guides me in a deadly dance of death, showing how to use it to the best of my abilities. There is no surrender, no conflict, only a mutual joining, the weapon and I working as one, moving from one attack to the next in an endless cycle of destruction. The dance goes on and I lose myself in the Forms, throwing everything I have into memorizing the skills my partner passes on. For a brief, inexpressible moment, it feels like my little brother is back again, showing me something new he learned and letting me share in his joy, but all too soon it comes to an end and I’m left standing alone in my Natal Palace.
Swallowing my disappointment, I glance at the weapon in my hand and something clicks in the back of my mind. This weapon changes from glaive, to axe, to gun, but in the end, it’s still the same weapon. It’s a little like me. Sure, I went back and forth between Warrior and Brother, and while circumstances have changed, it doesn’t mean my little brother is gone, not entirely. Baledagh wasn’t real, but he represented a part of me just like the Brother represented another part, two different sides of the same coin. I am Baledagh and I am Brother, and together, we are Falling Rain.
He’s not gone. We’ve just... changed. For the better.
... As long as I stop referring to myself as ‘we’. Super creepy.
Mind at peace and heart tranquil, I thank my new weapon for this newfound clarity and dub it ‘Unity’.
...Harmony?
Solidarity...?
Tch. I’m terrible at naming things, so why do I keep trying?
Chapter Meme