With Mila’s world turned upside down following the death and apparent reincarnation of her father, she found a sense of calm purpose in predicting the logical development of chaotic battle.

Though unable to see past the quin-riders ahead of her, the thunder of hooves and crash of steel told Mila that Chu XinYue’s vanguard had met with the intercepting Enemy forces. Five-thousand of the North’s finest heavy cavalry and Ulfsaar’s hundred cattle chariots would do devastating damage on the charge, but not enough to break the spirits of seventy thousand screaming Defiled, especially not after two hours of steady retreat. Whether the vanguard swept through their foes or broke upon Enemy spears, they would not last long without support, support Sister Alsantset had been ordered to provide. A mistake on Brigadier Hongji’s part, in Mila’s opinion, since Major Sun Qiang’s light cavalry was better suited for this job. Chu XinYue needed more help than mere bows and arrows could provide, and tactically, the mounted Sentinel contingent was most effective at keeping the pursuing Defiled cavalry at range. Still, if the good Brigadier wanted to throw his best asset into close quarters combat, Mila would not complain, nor would any of the stalwart heroes accompanying her.

“Stay close, little Mila,” Tursinai Sent, hopping onto her feet atop her snarling quin and setting her chain and sickle to twirling overhead. “My turn to lead and your turn to protect me now, understood?”

Mila said nothing and merely nodded in reply, knowing this was not the time for dissent. Technically, she outranked Tursinai and was second only to Alsantset, but that only mattered to Imperials. Tursinai was a carefree spirit, unsuitable for politics and military command, but a Martial Warrior of immense skill and prodigious talent. There was no doubt in Mila’s mind that Tursinai’s grasp of battlefield tactics exceeded her own, for Yaruq was as demanding a Mentor as Mama and unhindered by the close ties between mother and daughter. The other Sentinels knew it as well and followed Tursinai without question as she led Mila’s retinue to break away from Alsantset and Huushal’s forces and strike at the Enemy’s left flank.

Imperial Doctrine dictated the Sentinels stay in tight formation and charge in on the vanguard’s heels, lending their blades and mass to help their allies push through, but they were no hammer to go crashing into the fray. No, they were a chisel, or perhaps even a scalpel, a precision tool devastating in the right conditions, but easily broken if used in the wrong way. The heavy cavalry was stuck in now and even Ulfsaar’s chariots couldn’t push in any further, but rather than lend their mass to the forward thrust, Alsantset opted to move her Sentinels around the flanks in hopes of distracting the Enemy and taking pressure off their allies. A risky gambit, splitting their forces against the overwhelming numbers of the Enemy, but roosequins and Sentinels were wasted getting stuck in a melee tar-pit, and Mila was confident her comrades were up to the challenge.

One moment there were too many Sentinels in the way for Mila to see, and the next, the Enemy was immediately before her, and she relished this chance to spill blood. Without slowing their quins, they crashed into the horde of tribal Defiled, not head on like Chu XinYue had but at a sharp, shallow angle with Tursinai at the point. Sickle singing as it scythed through the Enemy lines, the formidable woman single-handedly carved a path through their unwashed foes and cut a small contingent of Defiled away from the bulk of the Enemy, where they were ground underfoot by the bulk of Mila’s retinue, trailing behind and to the left of Tursinai’s heroic charge like sails flapping from the mast.

This was the way of the People, to rend and tear at their foes until they had no more strength to fight back, tactics which served them well against Enemy and Imperial alike. Like a butcher slicing off a thin steak to be smashed flat by the meat tenderizer, this initial clash killed hundreds of Defiled and scattered dozens more to the wind, but Mila’s retinue was dancing upon the razor’s edge. Once their momentum was spent, the Enemy could easily overwhelm them through sheer weight of numbers, but Tursinai knew this as well. Rather than push deeper into Enemy lines, she changed course and brought the Sentinel charge back out of the Defiled horde, responding to the attempts to encircle her before they could take shape. Slowing her pace, Tursinai led the quins around in a wide, winding circle until the Defiled were in front of her again, at which point she set her sickle to whirling before diving back in.

Behind Tursinai’s cheery and whimsical veneer lay a Martial Warrior bound for greatness, and after tonight, the Empire would learn her name. She was Tursinai of the Whirling Blade, Disciple of Yaruq, Wife of Fire-Bird Tenjin, an orphan who Condensed her Aura at seventeen and Formed her Natal Palace at twenty, and was now on track to beat Gerel and become a Peak Expert by thirty.

Were Brigadier Hongji or anyone else Scrying from overhead, they would see Mila’s retinue riding in a looping pattern, diving in to nip at the flanks of the Defiled horde only to immediately retreat before circling around for another bite. The wagon wheel formation, Mama called it, with the Sentinels simulating the wheel and the Enemy the path it rolled over. Taxing on the quins’ stamina, but they were built for this sustained pace and could outlast any horse, cattle, or even Defiled, and Sister Alsantset was undoubtedly mirroring this same tactic on the right flank, while Huushal’s riders picked away at the Defiled attempting to encircle Chu XinYue’s vanguard.

Effective as this was, Mila inwardly grumbled about being stuck guarding Tursinai, which was about as necessary as drawing legs on a snake. No Defiled could even close the gap between Tursinai and her vicious chain and sickle, leaving Mila with nothing to do except twiddle her thumbs and wait. Then again, even if she was further behind on the tail end of the charge, her short spear was unlikely to see action as this was a tactic in which polearms reigned supreme. Despite the battle raging around her, her weapons sat unstained by blood for long minutes as they circled around again and again. Even Zabu was getting frustrated by the long wait and it took considerable effort to keep him from breaking formation to close with the Enemy, and she was sorely tempted to ‘lose control’, if only to let her spear taste blood. Zabu was a fine battle quin, well-suited for Rain’s rough and tumble style of combat, and while Mila usually appreciated Atir’s more level-headed temperament, tonight, she empathized with blood-thirsty Zabu’s eager impatience.

And so, Mila sat and glowered until their eighth revolution, at which point Tursinai sat back down on her quin with a brow full of sweat. “The Enemy cavalry is finally responding,” she Sent, glowing beneath the moonlight despite the circumstances. “I could use a break. Care to take point on this, little Mila?”

“Gladly.” A feral smile stretching across her face, Mila slowly and carefully stood atop Zabu’s back. Her cautious ascent was a world of difference from Tursinai’s casual hop to her feet, but Zabu would thank Mila for her slow approach since she was at least twice Tursinai’s weight and had less than half her skill at Lightening. From her new vantage point, Mila took a moment to appreciate the wind in her hair carrying away the fetid stench of death and battle while studying her oncoming opponents. Tribal garo outriders rather than heavy Chosen gajashia cavalry, who seemed a different, more dangerous breed of Defiled. Still, Mila appreciated this chance to test her skills, for she had learned much in this past year and had yet to put her lessons to good use.

Leaving her short spear strapped to her shield and her shield hanging across her back, Mila reached for her third Spiritual Weapon instead. Paragon, she had named it, not out of pride or hubris, but because the name felt right. There was a time when she dreamed of crafting herself a proper polearm to wield in place of her short spear, something with reach and suitably weighted for her to use with one hand, but in time, she came to see this as a waste. A longer polearm would render her short spear as nothing more than a backup weapon, and that didn’t sit well with her. The nameless short spear was a part of her, and leaving it idle and unused would see her skills deteriorate over time. No, rather than craft a weapon to replace her short spear, Mila decided she would be better off crafting something which would fill a void her current Spiritual Weapons left empty without wholly replacing them, though she was hard pressed to decide what sort of weapon would fit the bill.

Right up until she saw Jorani’s Spiritual Rope, and set out to learn how it’d been crafted.

What began as a curious intellectual diversion soon turned into an obsession as Mila forged weapon after weapon in pursuit of perfection. Crafted in throes of Divine Inspiration, Paragon was one of her earliest creations, but despite this, she had yet to replicate her success. Luo-Luo’s retractable flail came close, though it lacked the sheer flexibility of Paragon, which at first glance, looked like a short wand measuring twenty centimeters long and not even a finger thick. Appearances could be deceiving however, for much like Mila herself, Paragon was a weighty weapon unlike any other, with many secrets hidden within its depths. So excited by her accomplishment, she bound the weapon for her own use immediately upon completion, an action she soon came to regret.

Because she discovered she had no earthly idea how to use her new, esoteric weapon and no one to turn to for advice, not even Mama and Papa.

So embarrassed by this quandary, Mila spent many months hiding her ignorance, and even went so far as to lie to Rain and tell him that if he wanted to see it, he would have to be strong enough to force her to use it in a spar. A silly falsehood to hide the truth, that Paragon hardly seemed deserving of the name and Mila had no idea how to bring out its strengths, but after more than a full year of arduous trial and error, she was finally confident enough to bring it out in real battle. Twirling Paragon between two fingers, she unleashed her Aura and guided Zabu around to intercept the encircling garos, ensuring that when they clashed, the garos would be caught between her Sentinels and the Defiled infantry behind them. With a snap of her wrist and an exertion of Chi, Paragon elongated and transformed from wand to cane in the blink of an eye, but this was not enough. A second snap of her wrist saw Paragon elongate even further as the weapon went from twenty centimeters long to two-hundred and twenty centimeters in total.

Or more aptly, from wand to polearm with just two flicks of her wrist.

All of this was only possible thanks to Divine Inspiration which arose from studying Jorani’s intricately braided Spiritual Rope and Rain’s obsession with multi-form weapons. In its most condensed form, Paragon was stuffed to the brim with exactly eight-hundred and eight segments all folded neatly together, with each one no thicker than a fingernail and arranged in two, neat columns. A snap of her wrist timed perfectly with an Amplified burst of Chi released the first half of the folded segments, and a second Reverberated snap unlocked the second half, but this was not enough to make Paragon Mila’s finest work ever. As she raised her weapon overhead, she sent yet another burst of Chi through Paragon’s frame, this time with the aim of Guiding it. Not the weapon as a whole, but to every single one of the eight-hundred and eight segments, causing them to detach from one another and turn Paragon from a long staff to an even longer bladed whip, one held together by the finest of metallic threads.

It was satisfying to see the front rank of Defiled riders balk in fear as Paragon’s bladed whip form hurtled through human and garo alike, the weapon so fine and fast it could barely be seen by the naked eye if not for the blood of Mila’s enemies dripping down the blades and wires. Bringing Paragon about in a wide, high arc, she swung the weapon around again, and then again, as she’d seen Tursinai do so many times before, and Zabu chittered in frustration at the lack of enemies to rend and tear. It wasn’t as simple as it looked, twirling her weapon like so, because even with the wires and blades Honed to perfection, it still took considerable strength to carve through bone, muscle, and sinew, and she was driving her weapon through dozens of Defiled at a time. While her Blessing offered enough strength for her to do so with relative ease, it took almost a full year to get to this point, and in truth, if not for her extended bout with Insight in Taduk’s bamboo grove, it might have taken Mila several more years to figure out how to put Paragon to use.

Balance. That’s what it all came down to, balance. Too much strength, and Paragon could tangle upon itself, too little and her attack could be intercepted. It took a combination of Guiding, Reverberation, Amplification, and various other Chi skills she had no name for to pull this off, and all she was doing was whirling her weapon about. Her entire life, Mila had focused on being straightforward and unyielding, a domineering warrior who overcame her foes through sheer strength of arm. This allowed her to score resounding victories against foes and rivals weaker than she was, but as Ryo Da’in so aptly demonstrated, Mila was utterly helpless against anyone physically stronger than she was. Even stupid Gen almost killed her back in Sanshu because he refused to clash head on, and it was a lesson Mila had not picked up on until becoming an Expert of the Empire.

The bamboo grove in her Natal Palace was far from complete, for Mila had yet to strike upon Perfect Balance, but it taught her an important lesson. All forces, great or small, obvious or subtle, solid or intangible, they each had their place in the world, and by ignoring anything that wasn’t sturdy or powerful meant Mila was leaving far too many tools on the table. A pole-arm was indeed strong and domineering, but a whip was also an effective weapon despite being made of soft and pliable materials. Even a wet towel could cause significant damage if placed in the right hands, which was what the Mother Above had been trying to tell Mila through so many bouts of Insight and Inspiration.

There was no perfect, universal weapon in this world, only the best weapon for a specific individual, and for Mila, that weapon was Paragon, one which still had many forms and purposes for her to uncover and a thousand other details to take into account. Grinning from ear to ear, she set upon the Defiled with savage glee and righteous fury, for she felt herself growing stronger with each passing second as she familiarized herself with the tools at her disposal. Not just Zabu beneath her or Paragon in her hand, but with her Chi skills and unnamed Blessing, her Aura and Natal Palace, and the mysteries which lay beyond with enlightenment so close she could almost taste it. The answers were there, dangling before her eyes, and she would slaughter as many Defiled as needed in order to reach out and grasp them.

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Her smile grew wider and wilder as the battle wore on, and Mila embraced it without hesitation. This love of battle and bloodshed was but a part of who she was, and she finally understood this now. She was Sumila, daughter of Akanai and Husolt, Wife of Falling Rain, but she was also the offspring of Guan Suo. Alsantset was right; he was dead and gone now, and that red panda was nothing more than a beast. This meant the Enemy had brought low one of the Empire’s greatest Divinities, but Mila was not afraid. No, she was eager, for although the Smiling Slaughterer had been delivered unto the Mother’s warm embrace, his daughter still lived, and Mila would make certain the Enemy came to fear her as they once feared him.

She would become the new Smiling Slaughterer, and she would have vengeance for her father’s death. Ten million lives for his seemed a decent exchange, and these seventy thousand Defiled were as good a place to start as any.

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

Fight.

Or flee.

The two impulses raged for control within Huu’s mind as the battle unfolded before him, and for long minutes, he feared he might make a fool of himself where all could see. Well, more of a fool than he already was, for despite holding nominal command over his retinue, everyone knew he was here clinging to his Ma’s apron strings. Not that Ma ever wore an apron, that was more Elia’s purview, but Ma had always been Ma, and Elia just Elia, though Huu loved them both all the same.

Yes, this was how all heroes behaved, yearning for their mothers in the minutes before battle. Big, stupid Huu, a grown man who still needs his Ma to wipe his ass for him, that’s what everyone was thinking. Second Grade Warrant Officer? Ha, what a joke. If the Legate knew what Huu was really like, being stripped of his rank and executed would count as a mercy. Ravenous Wolf Huushal, a man so close to Defiled he was a danger to everyone around him, which could not stand. The People should have exiled him long ago, but Ma would not have it, so that was that, but he knew they would have done away with anyone else. Ma should’ve let them, because there was no way Huu was strong enough to overcome this, not in a hundred lifetimes. What would happen if she wasn’t around to watch over him? Even then, what sort of life was he living now, stuck underneath her thumb? It was embarrassing being a married man who had his Ma looking over his shoulder at all hours of the day, and he could only imagine what his friends and subordinates must think of him.

Little, if anything at all. That wasn’t right. He was their commander, and he deserved their respect. He ought to teach them all a lesson, send them into the teeth of the Enemy without guidance just so they’d see how they’d fare without his tactical acumen. Better yet, he should just turn around and leave, ride home for the Citadel with anyone who would join him. It wasn’t cowardice to retreat from a losing battle, else they’d be fighting back in Sinuji instead of out here on the open plains, and make no mistake, this battle was lost. Seventy thousand Defiled had appeared in front of them to block the way back east, which meant the Imperial lines were in complete shambles. This intercepting force should never have been allowed to get so far ahead of them, and Sinuji’s soldiers were caught in a bind. Even if they could break through the intercepting force and avoid getting caught by their pursuers, what then? They were still two days from the second line of defense, which meant two days of endless marching and fighting. Even now, the strongest Imperial Warriors available were locked in combat against an absurd number of Demons, and it was only a matter of time before Hongji’s Peak Experts fell before their superior foes. Unchecked, the Demons would slaughter the Imperial warriors to the last, which meant the only path to survival was to leave everyone behind to buy time for his escape.

Growling beneath his breath, Huu fought for control of his thoughts and failed miserably at the attempt. The Spectres continued to torment and taunt him, filling him with rage, dread, misery, and anguish all at once. There was no concentrating with them stuck in his head, no moment of peace or quiet to be had, and after so many months of trials and tribulations, he was ready to give up. He wouldn’t have even made it this far if not for Yesui and Yosai helping him along, and Yan’s confidence in his abilities did much to bolster his courage, but now… one way or another, he was ready for his struggle to end.

Back when all this began, Ma told him that if there were ever a time when he couldn’t handle the Spectres anymore, he only had to tell her and she would take care of things. They both knew what she meant, and Huu was grateful Ma was strong enough to offer. It would destroy her though, which was why he held out this long, but he couldn’t do this anymore. It was all too much, and while he could always go to Rain for help, that was a temporary solution at best. The Spectres would return soon enough, and in a few decades, Rain wouldn’t be around anymore to help, and at that time Huu might be too strong to deal with out of hand. This couldn’t be allowed to happen, because if word got out that Huushal had turned Defiled, Marshal Yuzhen would have no choice but to declare a purge and he will have brought disaster down upon his people.

Better to end it all now, while he was still young. This way, Yesui and Yosai would be free to seek new lives with someone else, and then Ma could raise another child, one more worthy of bearing the mantle of her Disciple...

As the chaotic battle raged on in front of him, Huu was consumed with the thought of finding his Ma and asking her to end his struggles, but despite taking a full circuit through his retinue, he couldn’t find her. His wives were busy on the flanks, keeping the Enemy from encircling the vanguard, while he was stuck at the back ‘overseeing’ the archers delivering death into the heart of the Defiled horde. It was busywork, so he supposed Ma was off doing something more important like battling Demons or slaughtering Chieftains and Champions, but still Huu felt betrayed. He needed her now, because he feared he would never find the courage and clarity to ask her again, especially if the worst should come to pass in the midst of battle. His wives were out there risking their lives, while he sat at the back struggling to control his emotions, a liability in more ways than one. This had to be done, and soon, for the good of everyone he loved.

“Get a grip, boy.” His pointed elbow digging sharply into Huu’s back, old geezer Grand Mentor poked his head out from his sling and Sent, “How long you gonna hem and haw like this? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a battle goin’ on, and every second counts.”

“I can’t.” As soon as the words left his mouth, the clamor of battle died down, meaning the old geezer threw up a Sound Barrier to spare Huu’s pride, but he was beyond caring who might overhear. “I can’t fight. I’m a danger to everyone here, so I need to find Ma.” The old geezer would end Huu’s life if asked, but he wanted to say goodbye to Ma and leave some words for his parents and wives. “Where is she?”

“Too busy fightin’ to coddle scared pups,” came the old geezer’s reply, his wolf ears fluttering as he clambered down from Huu’s back to yawn and stretch. “So I suppose I should step in and take care of this. Ridiculous is what it is. Teach one pup and the next thing you know you’re up to yer ears in ungrateful great grand Disciples. Hardly even worth it if you ask me. Tell me, what’s the problem again?”

Huu wished there was someone, anyone else to talk to about this, because he didn’t even know the old geezer’s name. Ma wouldn’t say anything about him besides the fact that he was some sort of a Mentor figure to her, her part-time Mentor, her Mentor’s Mentor, and supposedly even further back. For some strange reason though, having the old geezer around kept Huu… sane, for the most part. There was something about him which made Huu want to… not fear or respect, but something else. Trust perhaps, or dependence might be a better word, as if he needed this old fart’s acknowledgment or respect. Maybe it was because the geezer was Huu’s half-sibling by blood, since he had this same feeling with Baatar, though to a much lesser extent. Whatever it was, the old geezer’s presence had helped Huu through some of his darkest times, but then he disappeared for almost eight months, and everything went to shit.

The old geezer was back now, but it was too late. “I’m too far gone,” Huu moaned, unable to tear his eyes away from the battle. It scared him, seeing Imperial soldiers dying to Defiled tribesmen, but he also yearned to take up his saber and join them in the fray, to rush headlong into danger without caring about the consequences. In the heat of battle, the Spectres always fell silent, their insidious whispers unable to pierce through the rush of fury and blood-lust. The problem was, even without the Father’s foul minions to egg him on, Huu had plenty of dark thoughts which were all his own, and that scared him more than any Spectre or Demon. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m too angry, too scared, too selfish, too… too everything. The Spectres won’t stop yammering away, telling me to run, fight, die, do something, anything, but I can’t trust my own thoughts. Now I’m afraid I’ll do something dumb, so I need to talk to Ma.”

Tilting his head in an adorably innocent gesture, the old geezer asked, “Why?”

Grabbing the old geezer by the lapel, Huu hoisted him into the air and screamed, “So I can ask her to kill me before I turn Defiled!”

Unperturbed by his circumstances, the old geezer shifted in Huu’s grip to look him straight in the eye. “So lemme get this straight,” he began, scratching his head in undisguised confusion. “You’re tired of not being able to trust your thoughts, so you want your Ma to put an end to your misery.” Huu hesitated before nodding, because it sounded stupid when spoken out loud, but the old geezer took it in stride and said, “Okay. But why your Ma? The girl acts tough, but she’s all squishy on the inside, always wantin’ to be talking about feelings and other such nonsense. It’d kill her to put you down, kill her dead inside.” Shrugging, he added, “If it’s death you’re lookin’ for, then I can do it, or if you ask one of the Defiled real nice, they’ll cut you open from shoulder to stomach. Kill you real good, that will. Maybe it’ll even distract them long enough for a proper Warrior to put em down, so win-win.”

Growling in unrestrained frustration, Huu put the geezer down and threw his hands up in the air. “You don’t understand. You can’t.”

“You’re right on both counts.” Giving Huu’s quin a thorough scratch behind the ears, the old geezer said, “I don’t understand. You say you can’t trust your thoughts, so why don’t you just stop thinking so much?”

“Stop thinking. Just like that?”

Not picking up on Huu’s sarcasm, the old geezer smiled and nodded. “Yep. Maybe you can’t trust your thoughts, but you can always trust your instincts. You said you’re too angry, too scared, too selfish, and that means you gotta die, but I don’t see why that’s a problem.” Gesturing at the battle before them, he added, “You’ve plenty of good reason for all three of those emotions right there. S’only natural to fear death and adversity. Fear is good. Keeps you sharp.”

“It’s not that I’m feeling angry, scared, and whatever,” Huu exclaimed, confounded that this great, great, great… whatever grand Mentor needed something so basic explained to him. “It’s that I can’t control my emotions.”

“So?”

“...So? So?!” Barely able to utter a coherent thought, Huu sputtered, “If I lose control, then I lose Balance and turn Defiled.”

“From anger and fear? Bah.” Waving a hand in dismissal, the old geezer shook his head and went back to scratching the quin. “If that were the problem, I’d have turned Defiled the day your ma brought you to me. You know how frustrating it is talking to you boy? All you do is grunt, nod, and go along with whatever anyone tells you. That’s your problem. Can’t make up your own damned mind. That’s why the Spectres got such a hold on you, because you’re dumber than a bag of bricks.”

Snarling in rage, Huu drove his fist into the old geezer’s face, or at least he tried to. His punch never even came close before the world spun and he found himself staring up at the night’s sky. A long second later, the old geezer’s face came into view, as did Huu’s quin, the former looking amused and the latter concerned. “Lost your temper there,” the old geezer remarked. “You turn Defiled? No? Well, what a surprise. Guess you were wrong.” Gesturing for Huu to sit up, the old geezer shook his head and sighed. “You’ve overlooked something so basic I didn’t even consider it might be the problem. You equate Balance with control, and for some, maybe it is, but not you.”

Head still spinning from the tumble, Huu cradled the back of his head and looked around to see if anyone noticed, but thankfully the old geezer was keeping them both Concealed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve got a temper boy, and you always have. Nothing wrong about it, and ain’t nothing you can do about it either, because it’s in your blood.” Flashing a wolfish grin which did nothing to calm Huu’s nerves, the old geezer explained, “Your ma says you’re a kind soul, and I can see it, but that’s what’s got you into this mess. You let your anger get the best of you once, didn’t you? Bet you hurt someone real bad, someone you care about, so you slipped a leash over your temper and have been afraid to let it go loose ever since. Who was it?”

“...Elia.” Huu’s other mother, his kinder, gentler mother, but she had a streak of steel in her too. Huu was barely ten years old then, and out playing with his friends, but Elia came to fetch him for dinner. For some idiotic reason or another, he hadn’t wanted to leave just then and made a big stink of it. When Elia tried to grab his arm, he shoved her hard, harder than he meant to. He already had a Core then, and she wasn’t expecting him to it, so she fell in a bad way and hit her head. He still remembered the panic and dread at seeing her lie there on the dirt, to the point where he hadn’t even thought to scream for help. Yan did though, and Elia didn’t suffer anything more than a bad bump, but for long, agonizing minutes, Huu thought he had killed his mother. Ma and Pa wanted to beat him bloody when they found out, but Elia, kind, gentle Elia wouldn’t let them lay a finger on him, because she knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her and saw how it ate him up inside. That was the day he vowed to be more like her, why he let the other children bully him even though he was bigger and stronger than any of them. Because he wanted to be more like Elia, like his mother, who loved him more than anyone in the world.

“Yea, that’ll do it.” Chortling as if he’d made some private joke, the old geezer said, “So you learned to tread lightly and keep an even head, but despite all your efforts to turn the other cheek, your temper never went away. So look at you now, all twisted up inside because you wanted to be ‘nice’. Ridiculous.”

While Huu understood every word coming out of the old geezer’s mouth, he couldn’t piece together the message being conveyed. “So… what? I should just… be angry all the time?”

“No, idiot, not all the time.” Grumbling something about pups and blockheads, the old geezer sighed and explained, “You feeling angry? Be angry. You feeling sad? Then be sad. Same thing with any other emotion, happy, scared, impatient, nervous, whatever you’re feeling, embrace it, and when you’re finished feeling whatever it is, let it go.” Nodding sagely as if he made perfect sense, the old geezer added, “That’s the hard part. Letting go when it’s all done. The Defiled make you angry, then be angry when they’re around, but no sense snarling at shadows if they’re not, you get me?”

“...No.”

Rolling his eyes, the old geezer mumbled a half-dozen unsavory insults before trying a different tack. “Look, forget trying to understand it then. You think you’ll turn Defiled if you give into your emotions. I’m saying you probably won’t. With me so far?” Huu nodded, and the old geezer continued, “Alright. So why don’t you head out and indulge your emotions. If you turn Defiled, I’ll kill you before anyone notices. If not, then you know I was right. Since you wanted to die anyways, then this here is a perfect solution, no fuss no muss.”

Huu thought about it for a very long time before deciding it didn’t make any sense whatsoever, but there was no stopping it now, as the old geezer wouldn’t take no for an answer. Prodding Huu back onto his quin, the old geezer said, “I hear they call you the Ravenous Wolf, but you ain’t no wolf. You a leashed pup, barking at anything that moves. Now that you got a real wolf in your head, you’re too afraid to do anything but tuck tail and hide, but them Spectres can’t hurt you.” Scratching Huu’s head the same way he scratched the quin, the old geezer added, “Slip the leash, pup. Give your anger free rein. There’s enemies who need killing, so that anger is nothing but fuel for the fire. Like him, over there. That’s a cub who understands Balance.”

Following the old geezer’s finger, Huu spotted the fearsome half-bear Ulfsaar tearing his way through the Defiled lines, roaring in wordless fury as he set his axe to bloody work. The fearsome man looked half-Defiled himself, but Huu had met him several times in these past few weeks, and outside of battle, Ulfsaar was a kind, soft-spoken man who treated his wife and mount with tender care. That’s why he was in such a rage right now, for he fought to keep the Defiled away from his wife while she tended to his injured mount, and from the looks of things, they needed Huu’s help.

There was no more time to think, no more time to worry. This was battle, and Huu was worthless like this. He needed the Ravenous Wolf, the dangerous, bloodthirsty predator within who drove him to bloodlust and battle. Somewhere along the way, he’d just plain forgotten how to find Balance, and the Spectres took full advantage of his stupidity. Well no more. “Slip the leash,” Huu thought, and for the first time in what felt like eternity, he knew this thought to be his own, as well as the one immediately after. “Kill the Defiled.” Drawing his sabre, Huu raised it high overhead as the clamor of battle returned. “Sentinels,” he exclaimed, filling his voice with Chi and authority. “With me!”

And just like that, the Ravenous Wolf surged into the fray to rescue Ulfsaar and do battle with the Defiled, no longer in control of his emotions, and no longer afraid to embrace them. The hunt was on, and when it was over, he would lay his fears to rest for good.

...Or he would succumb as expected and the old geezer would put him out of his misery. Either way, it was an improvement, so why not enjoy it while he could?

Shitty Paint Map of Battle

Chapter Meme