Savage Divinity

The sun shone brightly overhead as Zian backed away from the din of battle, arms leaden and head light. Chest burning with every breath, he uncovered a new ache, strain, or injury with each passing second, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bloody scene before him. Trampling over the freshly turned soil, the Defiled surged onto the waiting tips of Imperial swords and spears, undeterred by the deaths of their comrades and still eager to spill blood. Before Eccentric Gam’s earth-shaking upheaval, the dead had lain three bodies thick at the minimum, a carpet of corpses which the Defiled ran over without hesitation to bring death to their hated foes. Now that mountain of dead lay buried beneath Zian’s feet, but it wouldn’t be long before it formed anew as the Enemy continued its unrelenting assault.

Awe-inspiring as Eccentric Gam’s prowess might have been, Zian disliked having good soldiers of the Empire buried beneath the earth where worms, scavengers, and possibly even the Defiled would feast upon those entombed heroes and sinners alike. These warriors deserved better, and when the battle was won, Zian would have a word with the half-fox Peak Expert to see about excavating those stalwart defenders of the Empire for a proper send off. Rendering their mortal shells unto ashes so their earthly remains could not be profaned was the least he could do in light of their valiant sacrifice, and if the Eccentric refused, then Zian would dig them up by hand if need be.

A stool appeared beneath his ass even as a water-skin arrived at his lips, held there by his beautiful Jing Fei. “Sit husband mine, and drink,” she said, her eyes wandering over his body as they often did, though her customary appreciation had been replaced by tender concern and anguished misgiving. Understandable considering the various injuries he’d taken in the chaotic clash, unused to fighting shoulder to shoulder alongside his soldiers. There was no helping it; had they given him enough room to fight freely, it would have been tantamount to leaving him to die before the endless horde of stampeding Defiled. Packed so tightly together, there was little Zian could do except stab and be stabbed, not an experience he enjoyed considering his curved sabres were not made for thrusting and he lacked a set of Runic armour.

No, his runic breastplate was worn by Falling Rain’s half-cat slave girl, sitting pretty on her quin just north of here on the open fields of Sinuji.

Clicking her tongue in exasperation, Jing Fei tipped the water-skin and poured its contents into Zian’s mouth, and only then did he realize how thirsty he really was. Relinquishing his swords to the handmaidens, he grabbed the water-skin and greedily drank as Jing Fei removed his armour and tended to his wounds. A gash on his cheek, a slash along his ribs, a puncture wound on his thigh, Jing Fei treated each of his injuries with tender, albeit inexperienced, care. Doing his best not to flinch at her unskilled needlework, Zian emptied the water-skin and surveyed the battle-lines. Despite his initial reservations at taking orders from Rain’s second, Mister Rustram had done an admirable job commanding them in battle, especially if he coordinated Eccentric Gam’s display just now, and from the looks of things, he had. Wasting no time in the aftermath, Mister Rustram had been ready with a barrage of rapid-fire orders to move the battle-line forward while pulling tired units into reserve. Though Zian’s retinue had joined the battle late, many of the soldiers around him had been fighting since the arrival of the Defiled army, nearly two hours ago, and their exhaustion was total and evident.

Mother in Heaven, had it really only been two hours?

Head clearing now that he’d had a chance to rest, he looked around at his retinue and found them weary, but intact, their spirits high after such an incredible display. Most tended to their own wounds and seemed eager to rejoin the battle as soon as possible, a sight which filled Zian with pride and just a hint of shame, for he had long since emptied his Chi and stamina reserves and would need at least a half hour to rest and recuperate. Even now, he clung to Balance by a thin thread, his mind tranquil but his heart struggling to remain impassive to the loss and suffering surrounding him. Time for grief and reparations could come later, he told himself, struggling to maintain his serene mindset. Now was the time to rest and ready to rejoin the fight, for the battle had only just begun.

A quick survey told him Yan, Wu Gam, and BoShui had also retreated to rest, which made him feel a little better about his lacking stamina, especially in light of Mister Rustram himself. Unlike Zian or his peers, Mister Rustram had been fighting on the front lines since the battle began and was still out there, moving up and down the line with a unit of Death Corps and providing aid wherever needed. How the man still had the energy to move was a mystery, but aside from his gore-covered armour, the man seemed as fresh as a daisy as he slipped through soldiers to deliver killing thrusts and booming words of encouragement, all while controlling the overall battle with his invaluable commands. Though not a peerless swordsman by any means, Mister Rustram seemed a born leader of men, whereas Zian merely knew how to command them. The soldiers in his retinue were here on his mother’s orders or had joined along with Mentor, not out of allegiance to ‘Situ Jia Zian’. They heeded his instructions, but Mister Rustram spoke with authority and soldiers leapt to obey, their loyalty and respect won through skill and competence.

“Young Master,” Mentor said, appearing at Zian’s side. “Guard yourself well, for I leave to join the battle. Watch carefully and commit my actions to memory, for should I fall today, then this will be the last lesson I teach you. Worry not, for there is not much left to teach. You stand on the precipice of greatness, and even without my guidance, I am certain you will reach the Peak.”

Clasping Mentor’s hand, Zian looked up at the man who’d taught his so much and said, “Mother watch over you Mentor. You say you have little left to teach me, but even if this were true, I would still have you by my side. Return alive. That is all I ask.”

“I will do what I can, but the cloaked Demon is not a foe I can defeat without cost.” With a misty-eyed smile, Mentor swelled with pride and said, “Your father would be proud of the man you’ve become.” Clearing his throat, he released Zian’s hand and added, “Clear your mind, feed emotion to the void, and watch carefully, for Insight may strike at any time. You believe you have stumbled and stagnated, but you stand merely a single step from greatness. While many great warriors in history have stalled and failed at this critical juncture, you will conquer it with ease, because you are Lu Jia Zian, a dragon amongst men.”

With that, Mentor strode off to meet his foe, the katar-handed Demon who’d almost destroyed Zian’s sabres a mere two weeks ago. Prowling through the clumped horde of Defiled, the white-faced Demon’s glowing green eyes were locked on Mentor as it moved directly towards him, its cape of blades billowing behind in a false imitation of wind. Though dressed in dull, unadorned armour and greying prematurely, Mentor made for an imposing sight as he strode out to meet his foe, unsheathing his twin sabres to brandish them about in a practised flourish. Imperial and Defiled alike gave way to the two fearsome combatants, though with the Defiled, it was more out of self-preservation than anything else as the Demon’s billowing cape erupted into a nest of dagger-headed snakes, snapping and thrusting at anything in their path. Sabres singing as they whistled through the air, Mentor moved them about in a defensive pattern in preparation for the Demon’s overwhelming assault, warrior and Demon drawing closer together step by careful step.

Only now did Zian realize why his Mentor felt it necessary to bid him farewell. There would be no cautious trades or careful testing, for he had already taken the Demon’s measure during their previous encounter and found himself lacking. The fight had yet to begin and Mentor was already on the back foot, thinking defensively before the first exchange. Unable to see a way to break through the sinuous mass of blades, Zian’s Mentor had given up on killing the Demon and placed his hopes of victory on delaying long enough for his allies to help. How long could he last dancing about the Defiled lines beneath the Demon’s multi-pronged assault? A minute? Two? A single missed parry or errant step could spell doom for Zian’s mentor, for -

Sailing through the air, a brown object crashed into the white-faced Demon and knocked it into the crowd. Cackling in delight, Eccentric Gam charged through the Defiled lines with his staff held before him, bowling over anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in his path and leaving a distinct void in his wake. “Switch Demons with me,” Gam called as he ran by a surprised Mentor. “I hate fighting slippery bastards, too frustrating and not at all fun.” And with that, he barrelled forward with a maddened laugh, heedless of the swords, spears, axes, and dagger-headed appendages tearing through his ratty robes and glancing off his unmarked skin.

...Unfair. Utterly unfair.

For the sake of his morale, Zian forced himself to stop watching Eccentric Gam and focused on his Mentor’s match against his new foe, a lithe, humanoid creature resembling a tree with limbs which were too long and a head which sat crooked upon its shoulders. Considering its twisting, pliable body and unpredictable, undulating movements, this was a much better match for both Experts and Gam’s quick switch may have just saved Mentor’s life, a fact which flooded Zian with gratitude and relief. Eccentric though he might be, the half-fox was an experienced Peak Expert deserving of respect and admiration. Putting the errant thoughts out of mind, he watched Mentor dance through the Forms against his tree-like foe, chipping away at the creature with a flurry of strikes while avoiding its attacks with almost careless ease.

One step to resume his journey towards the Martial Peak. Zian knew he must become One with the World, but the question was: how?

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

Though brimming with energy and eager to rejoin the battle, BoShui followed orders and drew back to give his troops time to rest. Mister Rustram was a good man and an able commander, because by pulling Zian, Wu Gam, Du Min Yan, and himself away from battle, this allowed their Experts to wholly focus on their Demon opponents instead of worrying about their respective charges. Even though BoShui still had other Experts to watch over him, the other three were not so blessed. Zian only had his Mentor to guard him, a curious state of affairs considering how his mother doted on him, and Wu Gam’s circumstances were the same, though undoubtedly for different reasons. Where Zian likely had protectors guarding him in secret from Defiled and Society alike, Wu Gam could barely find enough warriors to join his retinue, much less trusted Experts to keep him safe. A shame for a man so talented to be so universally neglected, but considering his mentor was titled ‘the Eccentric’, perhaps not entirely unwarranted. As for Du Min Yan, her esteemed Grandfather had enough influence to fill her retinue with Experts and nothing else even if she were a Second Grade Warrant Officer, but the living legend believed in letting his students and Disciples work their way up from the bottom ranks, so he left her the one half-cat slave Expert to guard her openly.

In contrast, BoShui now had eight Experts openly guarding him, whereas most Captains and Third Grade Warrant officers would only have one or two. Four had been provided to him by Uncle BoHai, trusted warriors who served with him at the Northern wall, while the other four... they were old ‘acquaintances’ of this soldier or that officer who BoShui was familiar with, and coincidentally, all four separately asked to join his retinue in Nan Ping. On the surface, all four newcomers were strangers to one another, yet they were also all skilled in Concealment and carried themselves with the same paranoid detachment. Knowing full well they were spies or Aspirants, BoShui still accepted them with open arms, either to use or reform them, but he couldn’t let the charade continue once he learned of their hidden agenda. Tearing his eyes away from the Aspirant battling with an ursine Demon, BoShui turned to MuYang and Sent, “Did any of you serve with her?”

Blinking in feigned confusion and hidden panic, MuYang tilted his head and replied, “Serve with whom, young master?”

The act was almost convincing except MuYang’s hand strayed to his sword and eyes darted to the other Aspirants by his side, readying to take BoShui hostage if need be. Waving his loyal Experts away, he stood surrounded by three of the Confessor’s dogs and Sent, “My cousin, BoLao. Did you ever serve with her? I assume you did since she played a part in fabricating all your histories, but I could be wrong.”

Giving up the charade, MuYang’s shoulders slumped as he sighed, though his hand still gripped his sword. “Yes. I was with the Priestess in Sanshu until she ordered us to scatter and bring news of the Bekhai betrayal to the Confessor. I would have gladly died to keep her safe, but the Empire had to be warned.” Spitting into the dirt, he added, “For all the good it’s done. I felt Falling Rain’s tainted Aura firsthand, yet still he is crowned Number One Talent in the Empire and held up as a paragon of the people. We have all been fooled by Imperial lies and deceits, even you, young master.”

Ignoring the rising tension as MuYang quietly prepared for the worst, BoShui took a drink of water and sighed. After a long second, he asked, “What was she like? I heard the rumours, but even now, I still can’t see her as anything besides my lively cousin who used to read me stories in the courtyard. Was she truly as terrible and vicious as they say?”

Taken aback by the question, MuYang studied BoShui’s expression for clues, but eventually answered, “No. They painted Priestess as the Bloodthirsty Shrike, a crazed woman who lived for torture and bloodshed, but this was far from the truth. She was... she was the best of us, a woman brimming with the Mother’s love and compassion. She did great work with the Aspirants, not only in the Purges, but also in times of plague or famine. Yes, she oversaw several Purges and was good at her work, but that is not all she did. Though she knew it was all she would be remembered for and her actions pained her so, she also knew her cause was just, but more importantly, necessary. When she learned the truth of Falling Rain, she gave her life to expose his traitorous secrets, yet you still serve at his side. Why?”

“Because she was mistaken. Falling Rain is not Defiled, and is the farthest thing from it.” BoShui wasn’t sure if he was glad to hear she wasn’t a complete monster or devastated because she still could have been saved. Turning away from MuYang, BoShui embraced his pain and looked back on his time with the strange Son of Heaven, specifically their encounter in the mines beneath Yo Ling’s island. He’d been so distraught over killing BoLao, drinking day in and day out to try and forget what he’d done. Heart full of hatred and regret, he almost succumbed to the Father’s lies, but then Falling Rain tackled him into the water and ripped him from the Father’s clutches, cleansing BoShui's soul of the foul Defiled taint. How could a man so beloved by the Mother ever be Defiled? A shame BoShui was Oathsworn to silence, else he would spread the word for all to hear. Number One Talent in the Empire was a poor title for the Mother’s Chosen Son.

Long seconds passed as the battle continued, but to BoShui’s surprise, MuYang and his fellow Aspirants didn’t take him hostage. A good thing too, because he would’ve hated to kill them, especially here and now in full view of the army. Bad for morale to deal with traitors in plain sight, but he wasn’t entirely sure if MuYang had truly betrayed the Empire or was simply a misguided soul. “She was not wrong, young master,” MuYang said, still hoping to convince BoShui otherwise. “All four of us can swear an Oath upon it. We all felt Falling Rain’s Aura, and it was as maleficent as any Defiled Champion’s. The Empire is rotten to the core, and we must act before it is too late. Under the Confessor’s guidance, we will usher in a new era of peace and prosperity, one without the rampant corruption and insidious Imperial lies to taint us.”

“And I can swear an Oath to the contrary,” BoShui Sent, passing the message not only to MuYang, but the other two idle Aspirants as well. A small trick he’d picked up in the past few weeks, one much needed to keep his actual guards in the loop without MuYang growing suspicious. Apparently, Dastan’s subordinate Sahb could do the same, though not without physical contact, yet another miracle to lie at the feet of Falling Rain. “I have indisputable proof that Falling Rain is not Defiled, but I am Oathsworn to secrecy, so if we both swear Oaths to contrary facts, and both remain breathing, then where does this leave us?”

“...In a stalemate, until you bring us to whoever can share this proof you speak of.”

BoShui was happy he didn’t have to spell it out. It would be a shame to lose MuYang for this alone, because competent warriors were in short supply. “That would be Falling Rain himself.”

“Then there is nothing to speak of,” MuYang snarled, forgetting himself enough to speak out loud which drew strange looks from the soldiers around them. Taking deep breaths to calm himself, he reined in his anger and Sent, “I will not have false dealings with a Defiled pretender. Even now, he leaves us to die at the hands of his brethren, sitting safe on the flanks while the horde chips away at our strength.”

“Like us, the cavalry are caught in a stalemate. You see this as well as I do.”

Unable to refute, MuYang changed his tack and Sent, “What I have seen is that Young Master is a chosen son of the Mother. Your talent, your bearing, your compassion, you share this all this and more with the Priestess. I have not the way with words, but if you speak with the Confessor, he will explain everything -”

“The Confessor,” BoShui interrupted, fists and jaw clenched in anger, “Took my sweet, carefree cousin and turned her into the Shrike. I’ll have words with him, but not before I am ready.” After his talk with Dastan, BoShui was one step closer now, but still nowhere near the match of a Peak Expert like Goujian. “You call me a chosen son of the Mother, but you could not be farther from the truth. How about this. Since Rain is here and Goujian is not, then how about you speak with Rain first, and if you are not convinced, then I will willingly go with you to see the Confessor.” If only to end the murderous bastard’s life or die trying. “What say you?”

“...How about instead, we speak with whomsoever we come across first?”

It didn’t take much effort to understand why MuYang wanted such an amendment. “He’s here, isn’t he? Goujian, riding at the side of a Defiled army while they slaughter Imperial soldiers and citizens. This is the man who you claim will usher in a new era of peace and prosperity?”

“Needs must, young master. A flash flood unearths rich soil and a forest fire clears away the choking undergrowth. Great change requires great sacrifice, and so long as good men and women stand ignorant of Imperial lies, then they will die defending those who must be killed.”

Swaying MuYang and the others to his side was proving more difficult than expected, but even though its what Rain would have wanted, BoShui no longer cared now that he knew the Confessor was near. BoShui intended to see the Confessor die, whether by his hands or another’s, and any who stood in his path would join Goujian in death. Gesturing at the Defiled horde, BoShui Sent, “If you truly believe this to be the best course of action, then you are not the man I thought you were and I want you gone before I return. If you still harbor doubts and would like to speak with Falling Rain, then I will swear on my life he will bring you no harm. If not, then leave now and tell the Confessor to wash his neck and wait.” Seeing the last Aspirant still locked in combat with the Demon, BoShui marched towards the battle with his four, loyal Experts in tow, leaving MuYang and the others behind.

Whether they stayed or left, it didn’t matter anymore. The Confessor was here and BoShui burned for vengeance.

Balance came easily to him now, a peaceful calm amidst a raging onslaught of turmoil and emotion. Growing up, no one had ever called him talented or brilliant, merely a passable warrior at best. Even with Uncle BoHai guiding him every step of the way, BoShui ranked amongst the least of his peers and just barely condensed an Aura at twenty-four, one so unstable Zian could crush it with barely an effort. Granted, BoShui had hardly been the most diligent of students, but even after Rain cleansed him of the Father’s Taint and BoShui devoted all his efforts to training, he made little progress along the Martial Path.

All this changed after Rain’s drunken slip of the tongue in which he spoke of splitting focus by being of two minds. Using this knowledge, BoShui sequestered himself in his training room and two weeks passed in the blink of an eye before he formed his Natal Soul and Palace, an endeavour which almost cost him his life. From there on, his Martial prowess improved by leaps and bounds as he slowly grew into the man he modelled his Natal Soul after, the Han BoShui he aspired to be. At first, the changes were subtle, a flash of Insight here or a revelation there, but then he was struck by hunger and feasted morning, noon, and night. Uncle BoHai worried BoShui was overworking himself, but he felt better than ever and continued feasting and training without end. In a mere two years, he transformed from an awkward, scrawny, third-rate warrior into the man he was today, an Expert of the Empire who stood at the forefront of his peers. No longer a paper tiger, but a tiger in truth, a man who could match the likes of first-rate warriors like Tam Taewoong and Situ Jia Zian.

Until a few days past, BoShui never put too much thought into his transformation, because he was never one to over analyze things. The Mother had a plan for all her children, though they often strayed from her Path, so he always assumed Rain’s reminder was Her way of bringing BoShui back on track. This changed after he returned from the emergency Society meeting and spoke with Dastan about Natal Souls and their various quirks. Uncle BoHai always warned him against discussing the Martial Dao with friends and peers, for every Martial Warrior must forge their own Path to the Martial Peak, but Dastan needed his help and BoShui was not a man who would turn away a friend in his hour of need. A good thing too, because Dastan had put much thought into Natal Souls and the advantages they brought, so the more he spoke of Natal Souls, divergent personalities, false forks, and dead ends, the more certain BoShui was of what to do next.

The Mother works in mysterious ways. While attempting to help fix Dastan’s problem, he stumbled across the solution to a problem he didn’t even know he faced.

It was curious hearing about how the others developed their Natal Souls. Dastan’s was innocent and simple-minded, while Sahb’s was emotionless and utterly dependent, to the point where it was more statue than soul. Wang Bao’s appeared to be forthright and disciplined, completely unlike his previous, wilder self, but Ulfsaar’s was murderous and domineering, his wild bandit persona amplified ten times over. Neera’s was a loving and nurturing Soul who lent the half-bear woman emotional aid and support, which was closest to what BoShui had created, but still nowhere close to the same.

Because in the end, BoShui didn’t see his Natal Soul as a separate being, but rather a reflection of his innermost desires, and the same too could be said of the others. Sahb strove to become the perfect subordinate, and Wang Bao the perfect soldier. Ulfsaar believed he required his rage and hatred to survive in battle, and Neera prayed for the fortitude required to anchor her beloved husband to his kinder, gentler self. Then there was Dastan, whose issues closely mirrored BoShui’s. Where Dastan rejected himself because of his flaws, BoShui rejected the flaws within himself. He’d never even tried merging with his Natal Soul before, because in his eyes, he was unworthy to do so. The Natal Soul was the person he should have been rather than the flawed man he’d become, his connection to the Heavens and the altar at which he prayed. No amount of self-improvement would change the fact that he had drunk himself into a stupor after BoLao’s death and almost turned against the Mother’s light, and he still hated his father for pitting him against his siblings and giving BoLao over to the Confessor. If given the choice, he would still rather go carousing with his friends instead of training on his own, and he enjoyed the company of women more than most deemed appropriate, but this was who he was.

In envisioning this perfect self, it had become the conduit through which he appealed to the Mother above and through it, received her benediction and Insight. Only… flawed as he was, the Mother still loved him, BoLao still loved him, and Uncle BoHai still loved him, so why could he not love himself?

After leaving Dastan alone with his thoughts, BoShui found a quiet place to meditate and removed the distinction between the man he was and the man he aspired to be, for they were one and the same. He, Han BoShui, accepted his flaws, but he strove to become a better person with each and every passing day. If this was still not enough to surpass the trials and tribulations before him, then he could go into the Mother’s warm embrace knowing he’d tried his best.

He was his Natal Soul, and his Natal Soul was him. One with the self, a curious concept, but an important one.

Now, as he shouldered past the line of battling soldiers to join the fray, BoShui also sat in quiet meditation within his Natal Palace, two separate minds directed by one will. One mind focused on the internal, the other on the external, yet when brought together, the lines separating one from the other became blurry and indistinct. Had his external mind retreated or had he brought his internal mind out? A curious puzzle, one he struggled with for days until this morning, when Insight struck once again after a quiet night of meditation.

Internal and External, why quibble over the difference? He was still Han BoShui, and in a similar vein, Chi was still Chi.

The first Defiled warrior to approach died as his heart exploded in his chest, fractions of a second before BoShui’s fist impacted against him. Unwilling to be coated in gore and viscera, BoShui Deflected the impact across the corpse and sent it hurtling out into the horde of Defiled, killing two more and bowling over several others. A hush fell over his surroundings as Imperial and Defiled alike backed away to give him a clear path to his target, the Aspirant locked in battle with the Ursine Demon. Not to say he could move there untouched, but no one dared to stand directly in his path, and for good reason.

With a single punch, BoShui demonstrated the state of his Martial Path, a warrior who had become one with the World, for what was the world if not another child of the Mother? Internal or External, it mattered not, because by accepting himself, BoShui had in turn been accepted by the world and granted sole dominion within it for as far as his power would allow. While his Domain barely extended past his skin, it was enough to elevate him above not only his peers, but above any Expert in the Empire without a Domain to match his. Eager to test the limits of his newfound strength, BoShui told his guards, “Keep close, but don’t interfere unless I’m about to die.” Then, he bellowed in challenge and charged the Ursine Demon while smashing aside any Defiled within reach.

He, Han BoShui, was now truly on the path towards the Martial Peak, but to progress, he needed to test himself, and what better test subject than a Demon?

Chapter Meme