Floof.

Thick, warm, wonderful floof, with a rough outer coat of waterproof hair over a bed of short underfuzz. Then, once through the soft, dense fur is a layer of smooth, supple skin, anchored to a springy layer of fat and tough, wiry muscle to really sink your fingers into. It’s been too long since I’ve enjoyed this velvety sensation on my hands and face, and so help me god, I don’t intend to go another day without experiencing it ever again.

Oh how I missed scritching and snuggling my floofs, even the unappreciative ones like grumpy Zabu here.

Now, most would view this insignificant and negligible recovery as a waste of precious resources, but I see this as an absolute win. I’ve no clue how I did what I did, but I’m glad I did it. For too many months now, Blackjack, Mama Bun, and the bun-bun bunch were my only source of floofy cuddles, but now my personal hell has come to an end. I can’t wait to gather up all my floofs in one big pile, the wildcats, quins, bears, and maybe even a few cattle, and hug them until they’re sick of me.

And once they are, I’ll chase them down and hug them some more, because non-consensual floof cuddles are even better. My thirst for floofs knows no bounds, so my floofs shall suffer my attentions until such a time when I am suitably sated.

...

After the battle, of course.

...

Assuming I’m still alive.

...

And all my floofs are still alive.

...

And we’re all safe in one spot. Preferably Sinuji.

...

Okay Rain. Floof is awesome, but it’s time to get your head into the game. Stop molesting Zabu and focus. You’re better now, kinda sorta, and you could possibly be in position to maybe lend a hand, or at the very least, not get in the way. You either converted ambient Energy of the Heavens into Chi without the use of your Core, or the Chi Tea you drank last week Cleansed a whole bunch of Spectres and turned them into a finite amount of usable Heavenly Energy, which you then used to Orate your experiences to every man woman and child in Sinuji. Ugh, now everyone knows about what happened with Qing Qing. I don’t like this. What if some stranger comes up and wants to talk about it? That would be the worst. Wait, are there actually children in the fort? God, I hope not, because that would actually be worse.

Okay, now there are the lives of theoretical children at stake here, as well as my fur-babies and loved ones, like Lin-Lin and I suppose Luo-Luo, not to mention everyone else currently inhabiting Sinuji, as well as the countless citizens depending on us to hold the Defiled tide back. No pressure. So where was I?

Right. While I ascribe to the Chi Tea theory, considering I just gave away my last two gourds, there’s nothing I can do about it if this is the case. Instead, I should focus on the minute possibility that Dastan was right and I achieved One with the Self while telling the story of how I met Gen, and shortly after, became One with the World and Developed a Domain sans Chi. I’m not optimistic about my chances, but I should at least give it a try. Worst case scenario, nothing happens and I remain as utterly useless as I am right now, so really, what do I have to lose?

Okay, so... how do I do what I did? And how can I do something more productive, like say... I dunno, put on a hundred kilograms of body mass? Then again, if I’m asking for miracles, I might as well swing for the fences. Go big or go home. I’ll take flash floods, erupting geysers, fucking hydrogen bombs even if the Mother is willing, anything that will deal with the many, many survivors of the Defiled Army headed my way.

...Healing can probably fix nuclear radiation poisoning, right?

“Boy.” Cutting my flustered inner-monologue short with a Sending, Ghurda’s tone leaves no room for debate. “Get your people back. Now.”

Being the contrary idiot that I am, my first instinct is of course to argue once again that Dastan and the others deserve to have first crack at the Defiled, but after tearing my eyes away from Zabu’s floofy back, I immediately understand where she’s coming from. In my haze of floof-fuelled introspection, I somehow failed to notice that not only is the Defiled horde charging headlong at Sinuji, but they’re also being spearheaded by not one, not three, but twelve Demons that I can see, meaning there are undoubtedly more lurking Concealed in the shadows.

In my defence, the Sound Barrier is still up and my feet aren’t touching the ground to feel the trembling, which means it’s not entirely fair or accurate to blame my distraction on my overzealous love of all things floofy. Only mostly.

Urging Zabu to hop ahead, I rein in his enthusiastic charge before he goes running headlong off the wall. Hammered by a wave of sound brought about by hundreds of thousands of stomping boots, I yell as loudly as I can to get Dastan’s attention and pray they can hear me over the commotion. “Soldiers of Falling Rain, stand down and gather on me!” Somehow hearing me despite the clamour, (or more likely because Ghurda reiterates my orders through Sending), Dastan and the Death Corps back away from the parapets and leave a thirty-meter-long section of the wall unguarded.

Hang on...

This seems worse.

...Yea, this is definitely worse.

Now the Defiled can just climb onto the wall unimpeded.

We just gave up the high ground. Why would anyone ever give up the high ground?

Looking back at Ghurda in helpless confusion, she offers a reassuring smile as she swaggers forward in her steel-studded Sentinel leathers, a towering, graceful woman entirely in her own element with massive great-axe in hand. Inspiring though her courage might be, I worry she might be biting off a bit more than she can chew in facing the Defiled horde with only her battle-axe in hand, so I turn to ask Nian Zu for support.

Except he’s gone, Concealed and off to do whatever it is commanders do. Hopefully not run, because if so, I would’ve appreciated a heads up.

Something in my frantic gaze and frenzied searching must’ve given my panic away, because Ghurda Sends, “Calm yer britches, boy. You forget? I ain’t the only one set on bringin’ you home again.” As she takes her place at the parapet’s edge, she’s joined by several gallant figures stepping out of Concealment, each one standing tall with the poise and confidence of seasoned veterans. Though none even so much as glance in my direction, I know them all well, a total of fifteen warriors who’ve come to my rescue here in Sinuji. Seeing them together again brings tears to my eyes, tears of joy, tears of gratitude, and tears of relief, for with such dependable warriors standing before me, I know there’s no need to worry any longer.

There’s fierce, scarred Khagati, grey in beard but still sharp of eye, the first and second volleys from his double recurve greatbow already arcing towards the Defiled horde. I once saw him hit five separate targets dead centre with one draw of his bow, and years later his skills are still in top form. Each volley consists of five arrows and each arrow lands exactly where Khagati aims it, loosed so quickly he claims the first ten kills of the battle aside from the half-a-million or so we burned. Such is the prowess of the man unanimously accepted as the greatest archer in the Saint’s Tribulations Mountains, and quite possibly in the entire Azure Empire, here with an entire cart full of arrows he intends to deliver unto Defiled flesh. A gruff and silent warrior, we never spoke much in the short time we travelled together, but from start to finish, he made sure Charok’s stew-pot always had more than enough meat to go around. He even gave up the hunter’s privilege of taking the choicest cuts for himself and saw that they went into my bowl, a kind gesture I only came to appreciate a few years later when I learned to hunt from Charok and put two and two together.

Then there’s the cheery and rotund Mengu, the Banner’s chief roosequin trainer and handler. Despite my exhaustion, the nightmares and paranoia kept me from sleeping for long on that first night, so I slipped out in the darkness of night to go see the adorable quins. Mengu caught me, but he didn’t send me back to my tent. Instead, he personally brought me over and introduced me to his quin, one of Suret’s litter-mates, Surma. She wasn’t too keen on having her sleep disturbed, but Mengu’s pouches were packed to the brim with treats and he was all too happy to share. I thought it was sweet how he loved to spoil his quin, but in truth, he was just humouring me and making sure she wouldn’t take my head off. I fell asleep next to the quins that night, snuggled between Surma and Suret, and I slept that way for many nights after, but from the moment I closed my eyes to the second I opened them, Mengu was always there, watching over me with a smile. That same smile is here today, though tinged with brutal ferocity as he lends his bow to the fray, but only to pass the time until the Defiled reach the walls and he can put his slim, guard-less jian to good use. I’ve only ever seen him use the weapon to spear fish and dig out tubers for the quins to eat, but whenever it came time to sort out ranks, he always placed fourth after Gerel and Ghurda with nothing but his bare, meaty fists.

One by one, the former members of the Iron Banner take their place on the wall, each familiar presence dredging up some cherished memory of how they helped me along the way, whether it was with a small gesture of kindness, subtle suggestion of concern, or unjustified care and affection. They were there that fateful day I crawled out of the corpse pile and stumbled into their camp, and they’re here today, every member save for Dad, Alsantset, Charok, and Gerel. Some I didn’t know were with us in Central, much less Sinuji, while others I’m seeing for the first time in years, yet here they are in my hour of need, fighting to bring me home safe once again.

My heroes. My saviours. My Guardian Angels. Though Dad put the Iron Banner to rest after becoming Nian Zu’s successor, it flies again in spirit here in Sinuji, and I could not be any more grateful.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The time for fond recollections comes to an end as Imperial and Defiled clash in an explosion of sound and fury, but the wave of Demons and tribesman barely shake the leather-clad line of Experts standing between me and them. Springing into action with a resounding, Chi-magnified cackle, the slender and innocuous Kharnate puts his twin hatchets to bloody work, transforming into a veritable force of nature as he hacks up a storm of death and carnage which none can approach unscathed. Beautiful despite the unsightly scar running from left eye to right cheek, the stately, half-gazelle Yaruq is a sight to behold as she clears away her foes with a sweep of her nine-section staff, the mature and enchanting woman showing she still has what it takes even after ceding her spot on the Banner to her devilish Disciple Tursinai almost seven years ago. Mengu finally puts his jian to bloody work, except instead of holding it in hand, the metal spike hovers overhead while he pummels his foes into oblivion, the weapon darting out to claim the lives of Defiled too far for his plump arms to reach.

And of course there’s Ghurda. Powerful, domineering, half-grizzly Ghurda, whose battle-axe flies out to meet Pudge head-on and sends his massive, corpulent frame crashing back into the Defiled masses, Water-Shield and all.

The Enemy dispatched twelve Demons to claim my life, and while none have fallen, it almost seems like it’s only because Bannermen don’t care to expend the effort to kill them. Their large bodies make better weapons than any sword or spear in hand, smashed about in front of the wall like a giant game of squash played with weapon and torso instead of racket and ball. How the Bannermen can even manage such a feat is beyond my comprehension, but I am not alone in my admiration. “Mother in Heaven,” Masahige exclaims, his shrill voice carrying over the din, “Who are these heroes?”

“Warriors of the Iron Banner,” I reply with pride. “My dad’s old comrades and Experts of the People.” Not to mention the kind souls who brought me away from the mines and welcomed me into their home, despite knowing all the risks my existence entailed. I never properly thanked them for that, not after learning how massive a liability I could’ve been. Was.

...Am.

...I should get them gifts. Lots of gifts. What’s something that says ‘I appreciate you for risking massed torture and extermination to welcome me into your lives’?

Barely able to contain my excitement, I set to introducing each and every Bannerman to Masahige and anyone else who’ll listen, listing off little tidbits of information about them personally while having nothing to add about their actual strengths. As the battle wears on, it becomes clear as day that the old Iron Banner rankings were complete and utter bullshit, because there’s no way Gerel is stronger than Ghurda, Mengu, Yaruq, or really, almost anyone here. Well, he might be now, but seven years ago? Not a chance, not when every last one of them is a Peak Expert at minimum, utilizing their Domain’s in concert to hold back the Defiled and Demons. It’s a subtle working of Chi, not like the direct, formless attacks used by Nian Zu’s cadre of Peak Experts sent at Big Poppa Piggy. Instead, it’s a vague, indistinct barrier I can only just barely make out from seeing it in action, a multi-person effort to Deflect and delay any Enemy combatant trying to gain a foothold on the wall. The most dedicated of Defiled slip and fall on the parapets, but most don’t even make it that far before being slashed by axe or saber, pierced by spear or sword, or pummelled by mace or fist in mid-air.

It’s a little like what Pong-Pong did with Mama Bun the first time they met, using Deflection to keep her from going to town on his shell, except on a larger scale.

Unfortunately, the effect doesn’t extend past our thirty-meter zone, and from the looks of things, it’s straining the Bannermen to even manage that much, which bodes poorly for the allies on either side of us. Unable to make headway against my saviours, the Enemy redoubles their efforts on the Mitsue forces to my left and Tam Taewoong’s retinue on my right, with both sides buckling beneath the near suicidal offensive. Most commanders wouldn’t put three younger officers so close together, especially not in a central position on the outer defences, but I don’t think the good Lieutenant Colonel Watanabe knows much about anything when it comes to tactics. How the son of a Living Legend can be so incompetent is beyond my comprehension, but directing hateful expletives at Watanabe and his entire family won’t save me now, so all I can do is pray we can hold out long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

Kharnate is the first to take injury as a spear glances off his ribs, but he is far from the last as he continues the good fight. Soon enough, every last Bannerman is bloodied by the Enemy save for Khagati still loosing handfuls of arrows from the back and elegant Yaruq standing in front of him to clear away waves of chaff with each swing. For long minutes, the balance of power teeters on the precipice of disaster, then it overturns as a globe of water smashes into Mengu’s broad chest and sends him crashing back into the ground. Leaping over the fallen warrior, Tenjin’s flying daggers scythe out into crowd as the Fire-Blessed warrior restores the balance of power in our favour, and I send Kuang Biao out with three of my strongest Death Corps to bring Mengu back to safety. Flashing a bloody smile, the portly quin-trainer gestures for me to stay on Zabu and quips, “Never should’ve gone on that diet.” Winking and wincing at the same time, he arranges himself in a seated position to Heal his cracked or maybe even broken ribs while the battle continues to rage on.

Yaruq is next to step back, her scarred features covered in a sheen of sweat but otherwise untouched. Without so much as a glance in my direction, the half-gazelle warrior settles down beside Mengu to replenish her Chi reserves while Tursinai takes her place, Tenjin’s ribald wife utterly serious for the first time since I met her. With a crisp, metallic ring, the scythe arcs out into the Defiled horde to cut them down like wheat at the harvest, her chain whirling overhead to create a lengthy semi-circle of death in front of her. The downside is that Tursinai’s longer weapon will get in the way of Khagati’s arrows, or so I believe for all of a second before the greying archer looses yet another volley, perfectly timing his shot to avoid the looping chain without breaking a sweat. Seeing his dwindling cart, I have Kuang Biao send word to BoShui’s silent, reformed fanatics and task them to bring more arrows from camp, but the reply comes soon after to indicate the matter has already been handled.

As if on cue, two of Alsantset’s underlings appear with a second cart of arrows, which they move in place without interrupting Khagati’s steady movements or the rhythmic twang of his bow, soothing to the ear even as the piercing wail of his arrows signal death to the Defiled.

They got this shit on lock-down.

Unfortunately, the battle does not go entirely our way as Pudge sends yet another Bannerman to join Mengu and Yarug, this time the unsociable, amber-eyed spearman, Naaran. Older than Baatar but still spry as any other Bannerman, the aged Warrior cradles his broken arm and settles down to recuperate while Kuang Biao heads in unasked to take his place. I always thought Naaran didn’t like me, but to be fair, it seemed like he hated everyone else as well, and he’s here giving it his all to keep me alive, which counts for something. He even offers an almost smile before closing his eyes to meditate, so strained and unnatural it makes me wonder if he’s smiled at anyone in the last half-century, or possibly longer.

Cunning monsters that they are, the Demons are no longer throwing themselves at the wall, but instead hanging back to probe for openings. Six have split off, three to either side, but Hideo and Tam Taewoong both have their Experts defending them, and for now it appears as if both sides are locked in stalemates. Pudge remains front and centre to pressure the Bannermen with his bullets of water, but it’s a second Demon which proves most difficult for my guardians to handle. A dark figure cloaked in a billowing cape of writhing blades, the skull-faced Demon is difficult to keep track of as he moves side to side so quickly it’s almost as if he can blink in and out of existence. Wherever he appears, he unleashes a flurry of darting tentacles in the area before him, forcing three to five Bannermen to defend against his sudden attack. While his blades are easy enough to Deflect, Skull-Face is not alone as Pudge times his bullets with Skull-Face’s distraction to launch attacks at exposed targets. That’s how Mengu went down, then Naaran after, and from the looks of things, it’s only a matter of time before the fat, water-logged bastard claims another victim, perhaps this time to more fatal results.

As more of the Bannermen fall back and are replaced by Death Corps guards, it becomes clear that we can’t hold the outer wall, not as we are, not without support. There are eighteen Peak Experts in my section alone, with at least four with Hideo and two with Tam Taewoong, but it is far from enough. Turning to Watanabe’s mouthpiece, I wave aside the soldiers Masahige tasked to guard him and say, “Send a request for assistance, and failing that, then a request to withdraw. The outer wall will not hold for much longer before this sustained assault. Then go take Kharnate’s place, the one with the twin hatchets; he’s bleeding too much to keep fighting.”

“I don’t take orders from you.” Though defiant, I can see the fear in his eyes and posture, all but cringing before me as he stops himself short of calling me ‘cripple’. Granted, it probably has more to do with Zabu’s toothy snarl lingering over his head than my less-than-intimidating presence, but I’ll take what I can get.

Leaning forward to look him in the eyes, I say, “I’m assuming you’re a Martial Warrior worth your salt, so I’ll ask once. You have a better suggestion?” Without waiting for an answer, I snarl and poke him in the chest, jamming my finger against his hard breastplate and using the pain to fuel my anger. “Then quit fucking around and get to it soldier, or I’ll kill you myself.”

Praying he doesn’t call my bluff, I bring Zabu around and do my best to direct the battle, but there isn’t much for me to do besides shout empty platitudes and encouragement. Luckily, Watanabe’s mouthpiece has enough sense to obey, and Kharnate soon falls back with a wild look in his eyes and a deep burning to return to the battle. Grasping onto every last string I can, I pat Dastan on the shoulder and pull him back before he leaps into the fray on a misunderstanding. “Not your turn yet, soldier. Need your help. Give me a quick refresher on this One with the Self business?”

Impatience gives way to delight as Dastan follows my train of thought, because I don’t think there’s anyone more eager for my recovery than him. It’s a long shot, but if I can actually deploy my Domain without Chi and use it to convert Heavenly Energy, then maybe I can lend some meagre effort to the defence, and it’s not like I’m doing anything else in the meantime anyways. “Of course,” he stammers, before grabbing my wrist to switch to Sending. “It’s a simple enough concept, but difficult to maintain. One with the Self isn’t just about merging with your Natal Soul, but about accepting the truths of one’s Path. It’s about self-affirmation and taking pride in one’s actions, of accepting a cause and putting your entire being behind it.”

My lack of comprehension speaks for itself and Dastan deflates in defeat, only to swell up and try again with a different tack. “Let me tell you about how I achieved One with Self. As you know, my Natal Soul is a stunted, deformed version of myself, with a body which fits in the palm of my hand and a head three size too large for it. It took days to form this Natal Soul alongside the beginnings of my Natal Palace, so at first, I believed my paltry Natal Soul would grow in time as I progressed along the Martial Path, but I was wrong. Its size was not limited because of my lacking strength or comprehension, but because I myself suppressed its size for reasons which became clear to me over time.”

Drawing himself up to full height, Dastan looks up at me atop Zabu, only a hand-span taller than my 175 cm frame. “Know this for truth: you are the best man I know,” he says out loud, unashamed to admit it, “And even without my Oaths, I would serve you as loyally as I do now, for I truly believe you to be the Mother’s Chosen Son.” While I try my best not to blush or laugh it off, Dastan continues, “However, this does not mean I do not dream of freedom and independence, an impossible dream of casting off my deplorable status as traitor and slave to become Dastan Zhandos, soldier and hero once again.” Seeing the pity in my eyes, he smiles and shakes his head. “It’s okay. I’ve come to accept my lot in life, even enjoy it, because you treat me as friend and comrade, not slave and subordinate. I’ve also accepted that my dreams will never come to pass, but I am no longer ashamed of it, for what living being does not yearn for freedom?”

Switching back to Sending, he continues, “My Natal Soul is paltry and weak because he embodies my innermost desires, the dreams I cannot achieve yet can never let go. It was different for BoShui because even though his Natal Soul also embodied his innermost desires, his dreams are within his reach, while mine utterly impossible. Even then, I continue to hold these dreams, aspire to them, and hope that through some miracle of miracles, I can someday realize them, because I am myself, and I am my Natal Soul.” Shrugging, he simply concludes out loud, “I am Dastan Zhandos, soldier, dreamer, slave, and traitor. Such is life.”

“That isn’t all you are,” I say, reaching out to clasp his hand. “In my eyes, you are Dastan Zhandos, friend and hero, and never forget it.”

Smiling at the affirmation, we share a quiet moment together before he coughs and looks away, no doubt to hide the manly tears streaming from his eyes. “As for you,” he Sends, sounding hesitant for the first time, “I may have a theory to offer, if you are willing to hear it.”

“Go ahead.” Not like I have any better place to start.

“Your story...” Dastan begins, stopping to take a deep breath even though he’s Sending and doesn’t need it to speak. “Though I felt nothing supernatural about it like Li Song implies, I too sensed your emotions as you told your story, and... I think you cling too tightly to the past.” My mouth dries and throat clenches shut, but I nod at him to continue, which he does with great reluctance. “You don’t entirely accept what happened, because you believe you could have changed the outcome. You take responsibility for Qing Qing’s death and regret you couldn’t save her, but even if you could have, it’s already in the past.” Patting my shoulder, he sighs and Sends, “She’s gone, my friend, and you need to let go of your guilt and forgive yourself for her death.”

“I can’t let go because it was my fault.” Welp, no point denying it now. “If I’d been smarter, more caring, more supportive, she would’ve stayed with me instead of running back to check on her fellow villagers.” Shaking my head to deny Dastan’s rebuttal, the words flow out without filter. “She was a sweet girl who still cared for the people who rejected her, people who I barely cared enough about to ask for their names. I freed those villagers and sent them on their way without so much as a goodbye. Not because I couldn’t help them, but because I couldn’t be bothered to. Why should I risk my life for strangers who hated me and Qing-Qing? That’s how I felt. They brought their fates down on themselves, so I had to look after the one person who mattered, and in doing so, I doomed my benefactor to an early grave.”

I am Rain, and I am Baledagh, and both of us are massive fuck-ups.

Before Dastan can respond, Ghurda’s Sending sounds in my mind. “Idiot boy. Run!”

The tears drain from my eyes as I look over to the battle, just in time to see a massive, airborne Pudge sailing in my direction. Carried forward by a surging wave of water, his pasty, water-logged form blots out the night’s sky as Bannermen weapons bounce off his Water Shield and skin like raindrops on metal sheet. Though lacking a mouth save for the giant, vertical cavity running down his chest, his white, sightless orbs almost seem to smile as he points a finger in my direction and sends a spear of Water hurtling unerringly towards my chest, an attack which arrives before me in the blink of an eye and leaves me with only two raised hands to stop it from piercing through my heart.

Well, fuck.

...

On the bright side, maybe today’s the day I discover I’m stuck in an infinite time loop. Who knows. Stranger things have happened.

Chapter Meme