Whilst dashing about the courtyard in a desperate attempt to corral all the pets into the wagon, Song couldn’t help but resent Rain and Lin-Lin for leaving her alone and without assistance.
Thankfully dependable Naaran was still here, with spear at the ready as he stood ready to repulse the inevitable Enemy assault. Ping Ping posted up behind him in a similar manner, her belly low and mouth open in preparation of unleashing a blast of water at anyone who dared approach her furry friends with ill-intent. Lin-Lin’s veiled guards were also somewhere in the monastery, but hidden out of sight, or at least Song assumed this was the case since she could not find them, but saw them at lunch an hour past. None of these individuals were any help with cajoling the animals into the wagons, who by in large were a simple, sheltered bunch lacking the keen survival instincts of their wild brethren. The birds were the easiest pets to manage, for even in their fear, they were clever enough to trust Song and congregate around the wagon for safety, while Roc stood at the forefront with chest puffed and wings spread to protect his flock. The bears were also not too difficult to square away, as the giant cowards had hidden under the wagon by their own volition, but the rest of the animals were liable to get themselves killed or left behind if the Defiled should overrun the monastery and force a retreat, an outcome Song would never forgive herself for were it to come to pass.
Take sweet, silly George for example, who didn’t seem to even notice the crisis going on around him and was adamant he be carried and snuggled right this very minute, or scared Jimjam who refused to come down from his hiding place in a courtyard tree, where every monk, Chosen, and Defiled could clearly see him through the meticulously pruned branches. Princess was even worse, frantically digging her way down under some bushes and already almost too deep for Song to grab, a move for which she received a panicked bite from the weasel-bear until Princess realized whose hand it was. Not the worst injury Song had suffered, one easily Healed even with her mediocre abilities, and it warmed her heart to see how remorseful Princess was over having injured her favourite person, crawling into her shoulder bag with wide-eyed contrition after giving Song’s injured hand a thorough licking.
On the other end of the spectrum were the animals too brave for their own good, such as Blackjack perched atop Ping Ping’s head with fangs bared and paw raised in adorable threat. Mama Bun was similarly prepared to fight, but her courage far outweighed her wisdom as she struggled to escape from Guai-Guai’s firm embrace and leap off the wagon to charge headlong into the fray, where she would no doubt be killed with a single blow. Oddly enough, gentle, lovable Aurie had transformed into a bristling beast full of fury and threat, his back arched, head low, and fangs bared as he tried to match the fearsome tiger’s ferocious growl with a pitchy, squeal of a yowl, one that did little besides grate on the nerves. Behind him, Sarankho’s nervous pacing belied her fear, but she would not leave her brother to fight alone, and Jimjam watched them intently from his perch in the tree, their familial bond too strong to be broken. Thankfully, none of them were foolhardy enough to attack without support, but Song was unable to cajole Aurie and Sarankho into the wagon where they’d be safe from harm, not while scrambling to collect all the terrified bun-buns who were doing their best to hide from the threat.
Then again, perhaps they’d be safer hidden out of the way than sitting in plain view atop the wagon, surrounded by Defiled tribesmen no less. Supposedly reformed Defiled, but Defiled all the same, and Song trusted them about as much as she trusted the laughing birds with an open barrel of fish. Alas, while some of the rabbits were clever enough to tuck themselves under benches or hide in the bushes, most picked abysmal hiding spots that did nothing to conceal their presence. The latter were the easiest to collect, as Song only had to scoop them up and place them on the wagon at which point they would burrow under the bears or laughing birds, while the former were mostly happy to exchange their hiding spot for a place in Song’s arms, if only for the duration of a sprint back to the wagon. The cagier rabbits were her biggest problem, like Hopper who was trying to leap through a window and into the monastery proper, or Cinnabun whose white and brown fur contrasted sharply against the stone wall her head was burrowed under in an effort to blend in, only her hindquarters were sticking out for all to see. Thankfully, the Enemy did not seem so eager to engage the monks of the Brotherhood and their assortment of nonstandard weapons, happy to stop and exchange words for precious minutes which gave Song the time she needed to collect the animals. Aside from the wildcats and Ping Ping, she was able to coax or compel the other animals into the wagon just in time to hear Jorani offer challenge to Gen.
A foolish move made by a man with more courage than sense, one Song likened to Mama Bun rushing headfirst into a Defiled boot. Though he’d improved by leaps and bounds of late and might well become an Expert to be respected if given time, the half-rat wasn’t quite at the forefront of his peers, which was where he would have to be in order to even have a chance of defeating the Awakened Gen. Even Rain had been ruined by the fearsome puppeted half-Demon before them, a Warrior Blessed by Earth and Fire whose prowess in battle was undeniably formidable. No doubt the Defiled mouthpiece had progressed by leaps and bounds since they last saw him in action, and even Song herself lacked the confidence to challenge Gen on the battlefield, much less believe she could defeat him in single combat. Seeing how Monk Happy allowed the challenge to go forward however, she could only stand back and wish Jorani a silent farewell, even if she wasn’t too fond of the man and his leery, lascivious gaze.
At least he never did more than stare, and he always did look properly contrite whenever Song caught his gaze, his inability to meet her eyes and hangdog expression doing much to assuage her discomfort. A shame he wasn’t wearing his Runic armour, because then at least he might put up something of a fight, but as things stood, Song wholly expected Jorani to die to the opening salvo of flames.
One that never arrived. Striding forward with open arms, Gen’s lean, sinewy frame and somewhat middling height did little to inspire dread or terror, and his hateful sneer twisted his somewhat handsome features into an expression of repulsive arrogance. An unremarkable appearance which sat in stark contrast to his formidable reputation, but his grace and strength were undeniable as he advanced upon Hangman Jorani like a tiger stalking its prey, opting to play with his foe rather than kill him outright. Using his longer range to good effect, the half-rat wielded his Spiritual Rope like a flexible spear, sweeping, striking, and stabbing in what Song thought was a remarkably effective combination. A wide swing high, followed by a feint low, only to thrust out at what should have been an exposed flank, but Gen read Jorani’s movements and avoided all three blows with casual disdain. “Too slow,” he proclaimed, shaking his head in mocking disappointment as he slipped under yet another attack. “Is this the best you can muster? This Sovereign expected more from one brave enough to offer challenge to the Emissary of Earth’s Fire.”
Given his chatty nature, Song would’ve expected Jorani to respond with some form of colloquial banter, but the Sanshu native held his tongue and let his weapon do his talking for him. Were he facing a lesser Warrior, Jorani might well have overwhelmed his foe through sheer volume of attacks, but Gen was either familiar with fighting against such an atypical weapon or a genius at reading his opponents. No matter how unexpected a move Jorani made with his Spiritual Rope, the Chosen figurehead was three steps ahead, moving forward step by measured step with deliberate lack of haste. Since Jorani refused to answer any verbal taunts, Gen was mocking the half-rat with his actions, showing everyone just how outclassed Hangman Jorani really was.
A shame, considering this was the best performance Song had ever seen from Jorani. The rope moved like a solid staff at times, only to transition into a whip whenever needed, and were she herself faced with this deluge of attacks, she might well be stymied by his unorthodox style. Where others aimed to strike with overwhelming speed or strength, Jorani valued precision above all else, targeting Gen’s feet and head, as his chest and hands seemed almost impervious to harm. While Jorani’s control and accuracy was impressive to see in action, the nature of these targeted attacks meant Gen barely had to move to avoid them, and thus far, the monstrous Chosen had yet to even defend, much less counterattack. Within a matter of seconds, he closed half the distance between him and his foe through superior positioning alone, as if able to read his foe’s every move and react before the attack even completed.
Then Jorani twirled a step back while bringing his rope around his mid-section, and Song lost herself in the intricacy of his movements. Arms, legs, hips and shoulders all moving in perfect harmony, he switched from attacking with only one end of the Rope to using both ends as his opponent moved into range, looping a measure of rope around his back and wielding his weapon like two separate chains, all of which was hidden by Jorani’s deceptive and distracting twirl. Caught off guard by the flawless transition, Gen’s smug expression slipped as he raised his arms to block the oncoming thrust, an explosive, underhanded attack which originated from Jorani’s left hand, when all his previous attacks had come from the right. Speed and power coalesced as the rope shot out towards its target, so unlike anything Jorani had thus far demonstrated in their duel, leaving Song to wonder if every movement that came before was solely to prepare for this single, meteoric attack. The air warping as it darted towards its target, the Spiritual Rope thrummed with the destructive energies contained within, and Song spotted a flash of alarm in the overconfident Gen’s expression.
Lightning sparked.
Thunder crashed.
Metal screeched.
And Gen landed with a heavy thump as his body was thrown back from whence he came.
“Interesting,” the Chosen figurehead muttered, glaring hatefully as he sidestepped the follow-up attack. No longer pressing forward with confidence, Gen approached Jorani with care and caution while musing out loud for all to hear. “Not a Blessing, yet not an attack this Sovereign has ever seen. How intriguing.” Turning his entire body to avoid Jorani’s next strike, Gen studied the attack with curious interest, not in the least threatened by the unknown. Thunder crashed once again, but this time, there was no flash of light or screech of metal to accompany it, and Gen’s expression lit up in comprehension. “Ah, not Thunder, Lightning, or Sound then, but merely utilizing the cracking of the whip to deliver a Resonating blow. Small wonder this Sovereign mistook it for something else, for my sights were set too high.”
From this, one could verify Rain’s claim, that this indeed was Gen before them, even if Zhen Shi was in control. All this showmanship was for the sake of his own pride, when he would be better served defeating Jorani in an instant using his Blessing of Earth’s Fire, as he was so fond of bringing up. Across from him, Jorani refused to rise to the bait and continued to fight the good fight, which alerted Song to the fact that he was deep in the throes of Insight. Curious as to the secrets of Heaven the Mother was bestowing upon him, Song committed the fight to memory for later study while wondering just how Jorani was producing such formidable attacks. Every strike of his Spiritual Rope was accompanied by a peal of thunder now, so loud she could barely hear Gen’s taunting over the din, but while Lord of Thunder Lei Gong used his Blessing of Lightning to do something similar, Jorani wasn’t Blessed with any Element, not even Sound. Or at least, that’s how it was assuming Gen was telling the truth, which begged the question of whether or not Song could replicate this feat.
Unlikely. Whatever Jorani was doing was clearly linked to the cracking of his whip, something Song couldn’t copy with her sabre alone. Quite the shame, for after seeing so many Peak Experts exhibiting their signature skills, she’d felt her Path was sorely lacking. Whether it be in duels or massed warfare, she had nothing of note to display for friend or foe alike, unable to match Mama’s ability to dominate in single combat or Teacher Du’s overbearing prowess upon the battlefield. A student of two Paths and successor to none, that was where Song currently stood, so while a hound chasing two rabbits goes home hungry, she wanted to tread down both paths and bring them back to one.
For all Paths lead to the Dao, did they not?
Wishful thinking is all it was, for she had yet to even master the Forms to any significant degree, so how could she dream of being as amazing as Mama or Teacher Du? The evidence was before her now, for despite Jorani’s incredible display of Martial might, he was unable to do anything to slow Gen’s advance. Why? Because like Song, he lacked whatever it might be that separated the ordinary from the extraordinary, and they were both destined to languish in mediocrity. Again, the half-Demon closed the distance with his foe, and again, Jorani switched to a two-weapon style, but even with twice the number of attacks, Gen’s forward progress continued step by inevitable step, his movements so sublime Song could hardly track, much less predict. Unable to make full use of his weapon’s range, Jorani’s Spiritual Rope began looping around his forearms to shorten his weapon in preparation for a close range fight, the clamorous peals lowering in volume and intensity as his impromptu wrapped bracers grew.
Leaping back just as his foe stepped into arm’s reach, Jorani let the last bits of his Spiritual Rope wrap around his palms before taking up his stance, his bound fists raised like a street fighter getting ready to brawl. His hateful sneer back in place, Gen responded by raising his hand palm up and curling his taloned fingers towards him, which curiously enough was a gesture which Rain often used to beckon someone over. More than happy to oblige, Jorani charged into the fight with fists a jabbing, and Song recognized the Movements of the Mantis Form in his actions. Skewering Blossom and Spear Hand were his opening attacks, the former delivered with his left before following up with the right. Similar Movements in Song’s mind, yet when demonstrated by Jorani, she was able to see the subtle differences between them, one a soft attack meant to test the defences while the other a domineering thrust aimed to break and penetrate.
At this realization, comprehension dawned on Song as she realized that while there were many Movements in the Forms that seemed similar at first glance, they actually vastly differed in usage. One such example was her favoured slash, Tiger Swipes the Rushes, which she used almost exclusively because she saw no reason to use a different Movement to achieve the same result, but now she understood how wrong she was. While Tiger Swipes the Rushes was fast and powerful, Snake Rustles the Branches could be substituted to sacrifice speed and power for versatility, allowing her the freedom to change her target mid-slash and move high or low instead. Or she could use Deer Parts the Underbrush to probe her foe with a measured slash, just like Jorani tried here, and then follow up with Oriole’s Gliding Wing, Wolf’s Reverse Bite, or even Bull’s Lumbering Turn.
For the last several months, Song strove to develop what she hoped would become an unstoppable combination, one built on the foundation of her quick-draw strike, but this was the wrong Path to take. With each Movement of each Form holding so many variations, there were countless possible combinations in existence, so how could one Movement be right for every possible scenario? Rather than perfect one specific ‘pinnacle’ combination, her time would be better spent mastering multiple variations of the various combinations, allowing her to choose the right tool for the right job, as Teacher Du often said. How foolish of Song to overlook so simple a detail, but Jorani’s demonstration had opened her eyes to the truth.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Such was cultivation, to pursue the truth, and even though Song made no improvements to her basic skills, by accepting this one simple truth, she progressed by leaps and bounds along the Martial Path. All the tools she needed to defeat her foes lay before her, given to her by Mama and Teacher Du, so she only needed to choose the right one for each and every scenario.
Unfortunately, while Jorani had learned this lesson long ago, he was still lacking in raw skill and ability when matched against Gen, who according to Rain, was being puppeted by an eight-hundred year old monster who should have died long ago. Who knew what tricks this Zhen Shi had up his sleeves? Despite Jorani’s most valiant efforts, Gen had yet to exhibit any sign of strain, having blocked only a single attack this entire time without even resorting to attacking or using his Elemental Blessing. Victory was his for the taking, and judging by his smug smile, Gen knew it well and was purposely drawing things out for his own amusement.
Round and round the two duellists danced, with Jorani on the offensive the entire time. Unable to unleash his full abilities in close combat, the battlefield was silent save for the sound of his boots scuffing across the cobblestone ground and Gen’s pompous voice rattling off about how the battle’s outcome was already decided and Jorani had no hopes of winning. “Why struggle against the inevitable?” Gen asked, only to continue before Jorani had time to even answer. “You think Falling Rain will appreciate your futile efforts? That the Empire will reward you if you throw your life away? You are nothing to them, less than nothing, a common, nameless soldier in a doomed war to be used and discarded, but this Sovereign sees promise in you, for you have touched upon the Truth.” Backing away from the fight, Gen extended a clawed hand in hazardous invitation, his smile all the more hateful for his undeserved confidence. “Take this Sovereign’s hand and join me, Jorani of Sanshu, and together, we will overthrow the Dog Emperor and slaughter his corrupt nobility to usher in a new age of enlightenment and equality.”
Shoulders slumped and chest heaving with exertion, Jorani stood with back hunched and arms listless, still held at the ready yet clearly lacking strength. After a moment of hesitation, Jorani lowered his arms and shuffled forward with deliberate lack of haste and caution, boldly crossing the short distance to offer Gen his hand, one the Defiled puppet took with a grin. “You know,” Jorani began, his voice subdued and quiet, “Fer a guy who thinks his side can’t lose, ye sure are actin’ scared. Brought a whole army all the way out here just fer one Falling Rain. How many more Divinities ye got with ye? Bet ye brought as many as ye could, didn’t ye? Yea, you did, because yer a bully and a coward, strong when facing the weak and gutless when faced with the strong. Came across a thousand others just like ye, bastards with a bit of power who think they’re hot shit, and gotta make sure everyone around them knows it too. They’d knife their mum fer a pair of silvers and brag about the fight she put up, but they always were the first to ghost outta a fight when things were lookin’ tough, cowards who only knew how to be strong when terrorizing the weak.”
“You dare?” Bone cracked and blood flowed as Gen’s squeezed Jorani’s hand in his bladed grip.
“Aye, I do.” Holding his head up high as if he couldn’t feel the pain, Jorani met Gen’s eyes with a grin. “Now havin’ sed all I sed, I figured ye’d be more worried about why I’m over here holding yer hand, but turns out, yer stupid as well.” Glancing at their hands, Song’s eyes widened in surprise as Jorani’s Spiritual Rope wrapped around Gen’s wrist like Noodle coiling around Luo-Luo’s arm. Sensing danger, Gen jerked his hand back, but failed to dislodge Jorani or his weapon, and only pulled the half-rat’s arm along with him. Throwing himself forward with the motion, Jorani’s left hook caught Gen on the chin and sent him reeling in a spray of blood, the tender flesh mangled by some unseen Chi working, something to do with Honing and Deflection no doubt. Raising his arm for a second blow, Jorani pulled his right hand down and to the side, dragging Gen along and breaking his posture to ruin any attempt to ward off the next attack. Again, Jorani’s left punch landed solidly on the hateful Defiled’s cheek and exposed flesh and bone, only to use the connected rope to pull Gen about and land a flurry of left jabs on that hatefully smug face. For the cost of his maimed and lacerated hand, Jorani struck his foe no less than a dozen times, doing more damage to the Defiled mouthpiece’s pride than flesh, but it was a trade the Hangman seemed delighted to make.
For a brief moment, Song’s spirits rose as Jorani dominated his foe, landing blow after blow upon the Defiled puppet’s head. Then, a pillar of flames rose into the air, blinding her vision for long seconds before she took in the scene of poor Jorani’s defeat, his blackened skin cracked and bleeding as he lay slumped on the ground, his arm ending in a cauterized stump that was no longer affixed to Gen’s wrist. Letting loose with a roar of unbridled fury, Gen raised his clawed hand to end the half-rat’s life, his eyes unfocused with rage and bloodlust, but Song was already moving before she could think. Aura kindled and condensed, but not one of courage or threat. Instead, she dug deep into her past and unleashed all her dread and trepidation, an Aura which extinguished Gen’s frenzy in the blink of an eye. Freezing up before her onslaught of emotion, the Defiled traitor stood helpless as her traumatic emotions overwhelmed and sent him spiralling into a dark, cavernous pit of hopelessness and despair.
Which bought Song all the time she needed to save Jorani’s life.
Balance on Windy Leaf. For long months, she’d fixated on this particular Movement because Mama and Rain were so adept at using it to charge headlong into the fray, but while Song herself was never able to replicate this feat, why did she limit herself to this single movement? Tiger Pounces Upon the Lamb was far more suited for her style, and she closed the distance between her and Gen in a single powerful bound.
Tiger Swipes the Rushes was her favoured Movement when using a quick-draw attack, one that maximized speed and power, but as she noted before, Snake Shakes the Branch was far more versatile, which she put to good use here, delivering a low, diagonally downward slash to intercept Gen’s panicked flailing.
Steel met flesh in a metallic clang as Song’s quick-draw attack connected, smashing her foe’s hand aside before following through with Wolf Reverses the Flow and Fanged Clutch, a combination Rain taught her many months ago. Back then, he told her the sum of the parts must be greater than the flow, else there was no point in combining the Movements, a lesson she understood then, but only truly comprehended just now. Though she performed four separate movements in total, she merged them together into a single, continuous action without pause or hesitation, one that overwhelmed Gen in an instant. Reeling from the attack to his chest and shoulders, the Defiled bully raised a hand to conjure his flames, but Song was already following through with her initial strike. Snake’s Darting Fang lanced out to collide with his chest, driving the air from his lungs despite his inhuman defences and sending him staggering back once again. Pushing forward on the attack, her Movements flowed out one after the other as she landed blow after blow on her foe, aiming for killing strikes to keep him off guard while her Aura denied him the focus and clarity needed to conjure his flames.
Then the Chosen joined the fray, and the monks moved to meet them, throwing the world into chaos all around her.
Time slowed to a crawl as Song took in the chaos around her, and her first thought was to marvel at how powerful the monks of the Brotherhood truly were despite their pacifist beliefs. Brandishing his spade with a blur, Monk Happy’s customary smile was nowhere to be found as he scythed through the Chosen like a hot knife through butter, killing the Defiled elites without leaving a mark or running afoul of their Runic armour. How he managed it, Song could not see, for his movements were so fast she could barely even capture them despite the State of Enlightenment arriving in full force, but she did note a glimmer in the furious man’s eyes, one she recognized as pain and regret. Despite killing with every blow, Monk Happy was crying for the Chosen, mourning their deaths and the need to go to such extreme measures.
The other monks were no less impressive, and though only a few wielded actual weapons of any note, they were just as effective in combat with broom or oversized brush. Honed bristles glided over Runic plate to find purchase in skin and flesh, the household implements so deadly in the hands of these domestic ascetics. Wooden drums beat in steady rhythm as groups of monks chanted in chorus, their deep baritone clashing head-on with the fearsome tiger’s yowl and coming out on top. The murderous beast was not the only one driven back by the droning chants, as Chosen faltered and fell to their knees before the monks, their horrified expressions twisted with regret and denial as they contemplated their life’s decisions. The cook was the most formidable of them all, his wok igniting into flames which he used to wreak havoc amongst the Chosen lines, but there were others who were equally as impressive with their Blessings of Wood, Sand, and one monk with eyes darker than the darkest of nights controlling a patch of empty nothingness that consumed all in its path.
Things didn’t all go the Brotherhood’s way however, as not every monk was a master of the Martial Path. Some were barely even competent in the Forms, and more than one fell injured or dying in the initial seconds of battle. This was all Song’s fault, as she had interfered in what should have been a one on one duel to save Jorani’s life, but there would be time for regrets later. Now, her foe stood before her, and she saw in Gen’s eyes the truth Jorani laid bare for all to hear. Where she once would have mistaken it for anger, she now saw Gen’s fear and agitation in his frantic scramble to escape, back-pedalling away as he hollered for his Chosen to guard him. Ridiculous is what it was, for without her Aura, Song was only marginally less outmatched than Jorani was, but Gen scented death upon the wind and was desperate to live, so desperate he couldn’t even think straight. Nervous as a skittish horse, he bucked against his reins as Zhen Shi struggled to retake control, but Gen’s fear was too strong as Song’s Aura smashed aside his resolve while her sabre delivered blow after blow upon his Demonic flesh, hindered only by the Chosen throwing themselves in her path to protect their cowardly leader. Though their Runic armour was nigh impervious to her blows, she used her newfangled perspective of the Forms to execute the Movements best suited to the circumstances and cut a swathe through her foes, guiding her blade to her opponents’ weaknesses and leaving a trail of cripples and corpses in her wake.
For long seconds, Song experienced how Teacher Du and Brother Kyung must feel upon the battlefield, a single Warrior against many yet advancing ever forward into the fray. One distinct difference was that while they used speed and power to overwhelm their opponents, Song relied on cunning and finesse to strike where her foes were weakest, weaving her way through the crowd while delivering death to all who stood in her way. Naaran and a veiled guard appeared at her sides, supporting her as she pushed deeper and deeper into Enemy lines, her eyes never moving off her panicked, backpedalling quarry. Every now and then, she dealt Gen another blow just for good measure, but her blade glanced off metallic flesh time and time again. Despite his panic and trepidation, Gen’s instincts were still wholly on point as he kept his guard tight and refused to present his back. Were Song’s Aura stronger, she could project the same despair to the Chosen around her, but keeping it focused on a single target was the limit of her ability, and she was already pushing said limits by using an unfamiliar Aura in the midst of frenetic battle.
Yet still it was not enough, so Song’s only choice was to surpass those limits.
The mornings when she woke disappointed to be alive, the evenings when she wished someone would kill her before Jin Kai’s summons arrived, the shame and self-loathing which followed after, she dredged up the worst of her memories and bludgeoned her foe with the weight of anguish and misery. Gaze unfocused and mouth opened in a silent scream, Gen’s panicked despair was so palpable Song’s heart bled in commiseration, but there was no mercy for the Enemy, especially not the Emissary of Earth’s Fire. The final threads of his resolve snapped and shattered as he turned tail to flee, but Song would not allow him to escape. Tiger Swipes the Rushes transitioned seamlessly into Gliding Wing, carving through the soft flesh just above Gen’s exposed knee. A severed calf and foot flew as the Emissary tumbled to the ground, and Song stomped upon the small of his back to pin him in place as she raised her bloody sabre high for the killing blow. Nothing fancy needed here, just Tiger Cracks the Turtle, and her blade descended in a two-handed, overhand chop aimed directly at the back of Gen’s head.
Steel bit into flesh and bone, for the Emissary was too prideful to wear his Runic helmet, always so eager to show off his handsome face.
Only to stop three-centimetres deep as it struck something harder than steel, some working that gripped her blade tight and refused to let go.
The world came alive around Song, a world filled with misery and suffering, and space warped before her eyes as the Father’s foul gaze settled upon Gen’s prone form laying in the dirt before her. Pride gave way to panic as she stomped on his back again, exerting all her effort to pull her sabre out of Gen’s skull before it was too late. Skin cracked and fat sizzled as her hilt burned away, her blade glowing hot red with the heat of a thousand furnaces, but she refused to let go because the sabre was all she had. An arm circled around her stomach to pull her away, and Song could only watch in abject despair as her Spiritual Weapon was ripped out from between her burnt hands, her heart breaking mere moments before the weapon collapsed under its own weight, the hardened, indestructible steel turned to molten slag by Gen’s mastery of Earth and Fire.
No, not Gen’s mastery, for this was not Gen any longer, nor was it Zhen Shi directing Gen’s actions. The fallen form rose to its feet and howled at the skies, absorbing Song’s Spiritual Weapon as it did, and only then did it turn around to show her its face, a contorted caricature of Gen’s silently screaming expression cast in molten, flesh-like steel.
Gen had died, slain by Song’s own hand, and in his place was a powerful Demon, one unlike any other.
Everything rippled and contorted in her view as the weight of the world closed in around her, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. The world dimmed and she found herself immersed within her Natal Palace, the silver links of the chain border wavering as she sat atop her emerald throne. Modelled after the necklace which represented her Slave Oaths, Song found solace here in her Natal Palace despite also resenting the restrictions set upon her. Having heard Sister Mila and Rain discuss their Natal Palaces many a time, Song had been looking forward to the day when she too could add to her gloomy surroundings and include parts of her current happy life as well. Her quarters in the Citadel never felt right, nor did she have any strong memories of Mama and Papa’s home in the mountains, but one day, she hoped to have something to add, something to represent the happier times in her life now that her worst days were behind her.
Hopes which withered and faded as her chain broke a second time, the boundaries of her Natal Palace crumbling apart as her emerald throne shattered alongside her Core and Spiritual Sabre. Pain surged through every fibre of her being until the clothes on her skin burned like fire, only for a boneshaking chill to run down her spine and set her nerves to screaming. The air itself threatened to tear her scalp off as it drifted through her braided hair, but what hurt most was the doomed prospect of a future wherein she could not tread the Martial Path. How cruel, Mother in Heaven, how viciously spiteful and sadistic, allowing Song a glimpse of the peaks she might one day reach only to toss her off the mountain, never to climb again.
Better if she’d died, because what use was she now?
Wretched despair threatened to drown her as her hopes and dreams were replaced by new pain and despair, and for a moment, she considered just giving up right here, but her yearning to see her loved ones one last time kept her well-anchored to life and existence. Song couldn’t just die without saying goodbye, so she would hold on for as long as she could and hope against all hopes to drift away in their arms, for even the warm embrace of the Mother Above could not compare to being in the presence of Song’s beloved family.
A gentle hand stroked her head, and in a single, blissful moment, Song’s screaming agonies subsided to a whimpering whisper. “Easy now child,” a voice said, one she recognized as Taduk’s as his warm Chi flooded through her broken body and repaired what little it could. “Don’t you worry about a thing. Your sabre is gone and Core shattered, but we have the fix for that, yes? Once you’re back in the Citadel, we’ll whip up an herbal bath and have you back on your feet in no time. This I promise child, so you have nothing to fear.”
Of course. That’s how they fixed Rain’s Core, with an herbal bath meant to reinforce his physique, but the Heavenly Energy did more than just refine his body, it also mended his metaphysical wounds. It would be the same for Song, so there was no need for her to fret. She could still walk the Martial Path and still be of use.
Unaware of Song’s thoughts, Taduk helped her over to the wagon, at which point she finally realized the battle was still ongoing. This was no longer her concern however, for in her pain and exhaustion, she also noticed that the wildcats were all by her side, their care and concern evident for all to behold. Even Ping Ping was here, her round eyes wide with worry as she peered over the side of the wagon, so Song tried her best to muster a smile and set the sweet girl’s mind at ease. “Rest now,” Taduk said, and a warm surge of Chi accompanied his words, lulling Song into restful slumber as the animals curled up around her, the pain from physical contact a mere pittance compared to the comfort she drew from their warm love and affection. “Nothing to concern yourself with here either. We’ll get you and the animals to safety long before you wake.”
As the last vestiges of consciousness slipped away, Song noted with quiet concern that Taduk made no mention of Rain or the monks. Hopefully, they would all escape unscathed, but Jorani was surely on point when he mentioned how Gen would’ve brought multiple Divinities to aid in the assault, and no one, not even another Divinity, which Taduk most certainly was not, could guarantee anyone’s safety when it came to a clash of such titans.
Alas, there was nothing Song could do about it anymore, not in her current state, so she closed her eyes and dreamed of a future in which everyone made it out of here alive, a dream which she feared might never come to pass.
Chapter Meme 1
Chapter Meme 2