Savage Divinity

A Divinity died in Shi Bei, and yet the siege continued unabated.

That was the way of the world, was it not? Much as Divinities loved to hold themselves high above the others, they were still mere mortals in the end, with the same mortal failings as everyone else. They had to eat, sleep, and shit like mortals, and in the end, they died like mortals too, so there was hardly anything Divine about them. Even then, it was still jarring to see everyone continue on with the battle, unaware of the close brush with death they’d all collectively experienced, for he had held nothing back in his singular attack. Ignorance was bliss, or so someone once said, a truth he found both frustrating and amusing at the same time. This singular statement perfectly encapsulated how these mortals lived their lives, in ignorance of the grand Dao before them. Even most Martial Warriors were wholly unable to perceive the shifting Energies of the Heavens as they almost ran amok and killed everyone here in this city of blood, sand, and sun, like ants unaware of the boot which just narrowly missed them.

How could they even live like this, so feeble and ignorant to everything around them? The same way they lived without the ability to parse through the scents on the wind or track a deer’s path through the forest, he supposed. It was never easy living among beings with such limited senses, like being the only man with eyes in a world of the blind, but he’d long since given up trying to understand why or how he was different and just accepted that there were precious few others just like him. A lonely life it was, passing the days and nights without a noble pack of peers to lead on the greatest of hunts, but such were his trials and tribulations, so he would bear with them a little longer.

Because without them, then the only thing left to him was death and reincarnation, a prospect which neither tempted nor terrified him any longer.

The old wolf, they called him, a name he didn’t much care for, but even after living for so long, he’d never bothered to come up with another. He was who he was, regardless of what anyone called him, and seeing how he was the only one of his kind, why was there any need to tack on an extra ‘old’? He was the wolf, plain and true, but at one point, they started calling him old and he just accepted it. Because it fit, he supposed, his lip curling as he massaged his thin and delicate wrist to ease the pain while wondering where the strapping muscles of his youth had disappeared to. He couldn’t remember the last time he woke without aching, and these days even walking around tired him so. Better to rest and be carried about like the Emperors of old, but palanquins were too large and needed too many people to easily Conceal. Besides, it was always better to cozy up to someone warm and familiar, but the cub claimed it would be undignified for her to carry him around anymore, and the blue-eyed pup had never been willing. A sour one that, but not without reason, having grown up without the love and affection of a harmonious pack. Turned out fine enough though, and the old wolf made no apologies, for he’d done far worse to the first of his pups when he was too young and stupid to know better. That left only the yellow-eyed pup who was something of a disappointment, but the wolf was rather fond of this youngling despite his feeble mind, heart, and body, because he had a broad, strapping back with space aplenty and a smooth, ambling gait that helped rock the wolf to sleep.

Bah. Old age. A curse upon it for what time had done to him, reduced to a spindly, shrunken old fart who found it exhausting to stand up straight. Make no mistake however, for though he was old, he was still stronger than most, and a good thing too. He despised weakness, scorned and abhorred it, because the weak were prey to the strong, and he was no prey. Not yet at least. There might come a day when that changed, but today, he proved to the world that he was still the wolf for now.

A low growl settled into his chest as he looked down at his defeated foe, a pathetic excuse for a Divinity. To think, there would come a day when he took such pride in hunting so feeble and unsavoury a foe, the so-called Phantom of the Enemy and Progenitor of all Wraiths. An unsightly thing with pale, pasty skin hanging loosely off its thin skeletal frame, giving it a ghastly, inhuman appearance which did not match its formidable reputation. This lanky, grotesque thing was neither man nor woman, and no true hunter either, but rather a sneaky scoundrel who slinked through shadows to catch targets unaware, a coward who killed without risk or challenge. Many Divinities had died at its hands these last two years, but no one the wolf cared for, else he’d have hunted down this Phantom ages ago for daring to lay hand on one of his. Even knowing all this, he’d been surprised at how easily it died, but now he smelled the wrongness within its lifeless corpse and understood why. It was not a foul or putrid stench like that of a mortal city or western tar pits, but an unnatural malodour that reeked of sin and transgression. This thing was no true Divinity, not raw and unbridled like himself, but a false Divinity in every sense of the word, for there was no sustenance to be found in his meat and bones, no succor to be had from his corpse. This was an unnatural creature akin to the Demons and Half-Demons of the Enemy, and a Divinity in name only, the same way a ramshackle hut was still a house in the basic sense of the word.

Then again, even though this Phantom was less true than most, they were all false Divinities in many ways. A truth few cared to admit, since so many were infected with pride and hubris, but the wolf only understood confidence and certainty, not arrogance and pretension.

It was not arrogance to claim himself stronger than a weaker foe, only confidence to state that in a direct clash, the wolf could have easily killed the Phantom without inciting the Wrath of Heaven so long as it stayed to fight, but if it chose to run and hide, then he would have been hard pressed to find it again. There was a lesson to be learned here, one he’d learned countless times before yet still often forgot, that weak was not the same as useless. In his eyes the Phantom was weak, but hunting it would have been challenging indeed, if only because it was so difficult to track. Before revealing itself to attack, the wolf had not sensed its presence, not like he sensed the other Divinities hiding in and around Shi Bei. They were bright beacons of sounds, smells, and sights, so obvious and evident that even Concealment wasn’t enough to hide them completely, save for a select few who knew how to fool his senses like the irritable hare and idiot rabbit. The Phantom was even sneakier than the both of them, sneakier than any Divinity the wolf had ever crossed before, yet even it could not hide from the boy standing here beside him, a scrawny little thing not even half a century young that smelled of danger, sea water, and uncertainty.

A boy who was neither wholly mortal nor entirely Divinity, a true mystery to be sure.

Turning his ailing eyes towards the boy, the wolf sniffed to scent his presence and found it as utterly lacking as before, yet there were times when it would surge and swell into a monumental existence that seemed larger than life. That’s what prompted the Phantom to attack, the unprecedented spike in the boy’s presence only seconds ago, one that no doubt rivalled the full-fledged attacks from Divinities of yore, before they had the Treaty to restrict them. Having visited those lands outside the Empire and felt the destructive forces still radiating from a battle that took place long before his birth, the wolf could readily believe it, and the boy’s attack exceeded even that.

And yet the Heavens did not see fit to punish him for this affront and provocation, this challenge to their authority, and the wolf found that most curious indeed.

That wasn’t even the end of it, for the attack had not been aimed at a Divinity, but one of Surkithyr’s get. Void-Blessed, judging by the scent of his fast-fading presence, an empty nothingness that reeked of stale insignificance. A common Esoteric Blessing as things go, likely due to the influence of the Void on little mortal minds, but few ever did more than just touch upon the secrets contained within. The dead spikehorn fawn hadn’t even been the one to control his Blessing, having surrendered control over to the Demon lingering within his unnatural armour, but neither Warrior nor Demon was able to mount any sort of defense against the boy’s devastating attack. A manifestation of Domain that severed through body, mind, and soul, even a Divinity would not dare take such a blow lightly, and the wolf wasn’t sure if the boy understood what he’d just done or the cost he paid to do so.

Or maybe he did and just didn’t care, for the boy reminded the wolf of those idiot Terror Birds, giant flightless beasts that attacked everything that crossed their path and cared not for the consequences.

Even more surprising than the superlative attack was the boy’s ability to track the Phantom, for without his warning, the wolf might not have reacted in time to strike the sneaky scoundrel before it escaped. The boy’s work again, for he’d done something with his Honed Aura to stop the Phantom in its tracks, else the wolf wouldn’t have killed it so easily. That was even more alarming, for the boy now possessed power enough to strike down a Divinity from afar and the ability to hold them in place long enough for his attack to land. A dangerous combination indeed, which was entirely different from what the idiot rabbit claimed, that the boy had fangs and claws aplenty, but lacked the ability to use them effectively. A paper tiger, she called him, using one of the few idioms she understood to denote the fact that the boy was no real threat to them, but far from it. With the advent of this new attack, he transformed into a fragile yet deadly creature with the power to kill a Divinity from two-hundred paces and the intelligence to quickly learn how to control it. Add in the oddly protective and wholly terrifying Divine Turtle hiding in his hair who had yet to even act and the boy was a weapon which surpassed everything on this battlefield, especially once you factored in his ability to negate the wrath of the Heavens.

“So eager to do away with the Treaty and consign all these mortals to death are we? I for one would welcome the chance to test my spear against the Old Wolf of the mountain, but my Mentor has other plans.”

The pompous tone of Mataram YuKon’s Sending set the wolf to snarling, his fury ignited by how the traitor twisted the truth to suit his needs. A human concept, that of lying, and one the wolf loathed with all his heart, for humans were confusing enough without having to account for dishonesty. “Bah. Your Phantom lies dead at my feet because he tried and failed to strike down one of mine. If you think that enough to act on, then bring your spear and this wolf will gladly snap it. Bring my old rival the stag with you, because you alone ain’t enough to fill my belly.”

“Hmph. You will find me more difficult a foe than the failure lying at your feet. A useful failure, but a failure nonetheless, and even then, you needed to give it your all to kill it. Have you grown weak and frail with old age, long-tooth? Shall I end your suffering quickly?”

Long-tooth. Now that was a name the wolf could accept, but it just had to come from that stupid brat YuKon. “You can try,” the wolf replied, flashing a toothy grin towards the idiot who thought himself so well hidden. “But if you thought that was my all, then you best settle your affairs before coming. Must be hard, losing so many descendants in one day. Three generations of Mataram leadership, all dead and decayed, with centuries of effort gone to waste.”

“I can always sire another heir,” YuKon replied, trying and failing to appear aloof and indifferent, but his scent gave him away as it spiked with feverish rage and bitter enmity. “You, however? How many more heirs do you have left in you before your heart gives out?”

“Enough to outlast anything you and yours might build.” A single pup was worth a thousand Matarams, and the wolf had two on the field here today, though admittedly, there were probably more than two-thousand humans who could trace their lineage back to YuKon. What a wonderful thing it must be to see one’s bloodline flourish so readily, and the wolf pitied his weak little pups for their inability to ever know the joy of proliferation. “Whether you’re coming to fight or leaving to fuck, I’m all out of patience for talking, so make your move or shut your mouth.”

“So heated as usual, but what else can one expect from a mere beast?” His words dripping with amusement, YuKon continued, “Much as I would love to claim your hide, I would sooner not render my homeland into a wasteland, so I warn you to keep the boy in check.”

“He’ll do what he wants and you’ll accept it,” the wolf replied, still grinning for all he was worth, because infuriating as the boy might be, he lived his life as he should, rather than as others expected of him. A free spirit he was, and this did much to help him along his Path, though surely there had to be more to it than just that. “Boy’s still mortal yet, and unconstrained by the Treaty, so unless you’re ready to die alongside the rest of your Clansmen, you best keep you and yours away.” Not because the wolf was ready to burn the world down for one single human, but he didn’t dare speak for the Divine Turtle, whose true strength was still a mystery after so many years of close study. All they really knew was that one tiny turtle was strong enough to knock out four Divinities in one go, including the hare and rabbit who were both powerful enough to threaten even the wolf. Irritating and idiotic as they might be, they were a formidable pair even when working within the constraints of the Treaty, and that level of control translated into even more power when working outside them.

Course, the wolf left out the fact that he was more than willing to go all out if the Enemy should choose to overstep their bounds, and from the looks of things, the boy was also willing to risk it. The Treaty had seemed so simple at one point, a collective agreement to stay out of mortal affairs and avoid invoking the Wrath of the Heavens and rendering vast swathes of land uninhabitable. It was only natural to avoid destroying what was theirs, a decision the wolf would have adhered to even without any agreement in place, yet in recent years, the Enemy had taken to using this against the Empire. They broke the unwritten rules and threatened death and destruction should any form of retribution fall upon them, like rabid beasts uncaring if they survived the night so long as they could drag someone else down with them. The wolf was at a loss on how to deal with these madmen, but the boy treated their threats like air, doing as he pleased whilst ignoring all their threats of mutual destruction whilst adhering to the Treaty in full.

The wolf wouldn’t call it clever, ignoring a clear threat to focus on a lesser one, but in doing so, the boy had uncovered the Enemy’s deceit and deception, for they were just as unwilling to break the Treaty as anyone else. Even though a Divinity could easily live in the wastelands beyond the Empire’s borders, life was far more pleasant here than it was out there. Clean water and cooked food alone made the effort worthwhile, but if the Enemy wanted to break the Treaty, then the wolf would gladly oblige and shatter the world before he died.

Putting YuKon out of mind, he turned back to the boy and studied him close, moving right up beside him until their faces were almost touching. Lost in thought and Insight, the boy didn’t even notice as he absently stared at his sword, brimming with glee and confusion while struggling to work out how he did what he did. Odd considering he just did it, and sometimes, the wolf wondered if the boy might one day forget how to breathe. Difficult to say if he was stupid or smart, especially in light of all the changes he’d brought about to the Empire, though the wolf would reserve final judgement after seeing if those changes would last. He wasn’t interested in the boy’s inventions however, nor was his Honed Emotional Aura or Manifested Domain of any real significance considering the wolf already knew how to defend against both. No, there was only one thing he wanted to know, and one thing only. “How’d you do it, boy?” he Sent, struggling to put into words what he’d witnessed earlier. “Negate the Wrath of the Heavens?”

“Hm?” Recoiling away once he noticed how close they were, the boy reacted with surprise, confusion, and a bit of frustration as he tried to find the right words, though he continued to swing his sword at empty air and deliver Aural attacks at his foes. “You mean how I stopped the uhhh… big explosion?” That was one way to put it, though explosion was hardly enough to convey the severity of what would’ve happened if the boy failed to contain the wolf’s power, for the destruction would have poisoned the earth and air for centuries, if not millennia to come. The rabbit and hare both assured him that the boy was capable of suppressing Heaven’s Wrath, but the old wolf had only partially believed it until he saw it happen with his own two eyes. “It’s complicated, but uh… when you attack with the intent to destroy, the Energy of the Heaven’s takes that a little too literally and kicks everything up to eleven.”

“Speak plainly.” What kick? What eleven? The boy spoke common well enough, but his words made no sense when put together.

“Sorry.” The boy started anew, this time speaking in proper sentences, though his explanation still left much to be desired. There were many words spoken, and many sentences used, but in the end, he said little to nothing that made proper sense. How was it possible for destruction to result in a net gain of energy? Was that not creating something from nothing? Not according to the boy, for reality itself required energy to exist as physical matter rather than discrete concepts. “Think of it like burning wood,” the boy explained, which made more sense than anything else he’d said thus far. “The wood isn’t destroyed exactly, just converted into heat, light, and ashes, which is similar to what happens when you uh… invoke the Wrath of the Heavens? Reality itself is broken apart and turned into energy, a reaction which takes energy to release even more energy. Yea, that seems right.”

Having grasped the core concept of the issue, the wolf asked, “Then how do you stop reality from burning?”

“Splash it with water? No, that doesn’t fit…” Offering a shrug that said much and nothing at all, the boy tried his best to explain, “Rather than try to turn the heat, light, and ashes back into wood, I use my Manifested Domain to keep the wood from catching fire in the first place.”

“I see.” Made sense. There was a time when he tried his hand at sailing for a century or two, just something to pass the time, and he remembered having to swab the decks with some foul-smelling concoction that protected the wood from rot and fire both. It wasn’t perfect, but it kept the ship from going up in flames every time someone dropped a torch or broke a lantern, which happened more often than you’d think considering sailors were drunk most of the time. Using those same principles, the wolf deployed his Domain to reinforce reality before lashing out with a punch to test things out, one that just barely touched upon the limits of reality, and to his delight, he felt the Heavens surge and roil without invoking its Wrath. “Good, good.”

It wasn’t as difficult or complicated as the boy tried to make it sound, with all his talk of tiny building blocks and invisible forces working in perfect harmony. Draining and exhausting yes, but not at all complicated, and even this minor accomplishment was enough to set his tail to wagging once more. Putting aside his testing for now, he looked the boy in the eyes to offer a word of advice. It was nice to not have to look up to do that, or even straighten his back all that much. “About that attack,” he began, not sure how to say what he wanted to say without confusing the boy too much. “The one you used to strike down the pronghorn? Don’t use that again unless you have to, not until you understand the true cost of doing so.”

“…Life force?”

Now there was a welcome surprise, because if the boy was already this far along, then he might well have a chance to one day ascend beyond Divinity, a feat even the wolf had long since given up on. “In part, yes,” he replied, though he immediately regretted it, since the boy’s guess was as good as anyone else’s. “Maybe. I don’t really know, not for sure, else I wouldn’t be as old as I am. Understand?”

“Sort of?”

A wisp of warm energy flowed into the wolf, a gift from the boy, but not something of any real value to someone as old as he. “Save it,” he Sent, shaking his head with a smile and patting the boy’s head, wishing there was a pair of cute furry ears to ruffle. If the boy was his, then the wolf would be proud to call himself a father, and that Ankhbayar was a fool to have thrown this one away. Then again, the wolf was a fool many times over for failing to overcome instinct and accept the truth to raise his pups with the love and care they deserved, but he’d long since given up trying here as well, because the inevitable failure just hurt too much. “Your usable Energy of the Heavens is of no use to me, for even the Heavens cannot restore that which I am lacking.”

“…Maybe.” The boy’s eyes said different, for he believed otherwise, but who was the wolf to say he was wrong? “We’ll talk when all this is over.”

“Mm.” Why not? The boy was a perceptive one, else he’d never have come so far on his own, so what harm was there in learning from him? For now though, the wolf needed to find somewhere close by to rest his weary bones, for those two punches had taken most of the wind out of his sails. The cub was out looking after her yellow eyed pup, while the blue-eyed pup was already bristling before the wolf even approached, but the boy seemed like a safe enough bet so long as the Divine Turtle was willing to tolerate his presence. A quick query was all it took as the turtle squeaked out an invitation, his Aura brimming with caution and warning but also cordial curiosity. Shuffling in a little closer, the wolf rested his head on the boy’s shoulder and closed his eyes with a sigh, drained and exhausted from his ordeals.

“Rest easy, grandfather,” the boy said, and the wolf stopped to consider the familial title. He rebuked the boy the last time he used it, because there was no blood between them, but his blue-eyed pup claimed the boy as his own, so grandfather was a good a name as any. If the boy was willing to use it, then the wolf would allow it, and doing so filled him with a warmth that he thought would forever be denied him. A pleasant thought to sleep on for now, and he would revisit things when he woke up again, for if there was to be a battle of Divinities, then he wanted to be as well rested as possible. Long before the world knew him as the old wolf, he wandered the world by another name, a name likely forgotten by all, so he was of a mind to take up the mantle once more and remind the Empire why the Saint’s Tribulations Mountains belonged to him and him alone.

For even that Saint of legend once called him Calamity, and calamity this wolf would bring should the Enemy dare lay hands on one of his.

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

There was a time when Naaran thought himself dead inside, and he actually preferred it that way.

It was far easier to bury his pain and anguish than confront it head on, to run away and pretend as if his life had ended when his precious ‘First Joy’ stabbed him through the chest. If only that spear had pierced his heart, then Naaran would have died then and there, and everything might’ve changed for the better. Killing his father might well have filled Ankhbayar with remorse, enough for him to repent his sins instead of gathering his co-conspirators to flee into the night, setting off a chain of events that led them here to an Empire on the brink of a war between Divinities, but how was Naaran to know?

No, ignorance was no excuse, for he’d had thirty-odd years to make up for his mistakes and had done absolutely nothing about it. Leaving Gerel in the orphanage had been the best option for everyone involved, because Naaran himself had not been in any condition to care for a child, not after he almost killed his daughter-in-law and grandson both as he chased them out of the village in a blind rage. Upon discovering his son had turned Defiled, Naaran almost succumbed to the Father’s lies himself, and to this day, he still had difficulties holding fast to Balance more often than not. That’s why he didn’t dare show his face before Gerel, because the boy had already lost his parents and maternal grandparents, so why subject him to losing another grandfather again, or worse, implicate him a second time? No, better a clean cut to sever ties until Naaran was sure he could control himself, but even after a decade had passed, his anger and guilt still burned hot.

It was no one’s fault but his own, yet it still pained him to see his grandson grow up into a splendid young man and know he had nothing to do with it. Two grandsons now, though he suspected as much from the first time he laid eyes on Rain, as the Heavens conspired to remind Naaran of his failures as a father and grandfather both rather than leave him to wallow in his misery. The fact that both his grandsons excelled without his support only made his incompetence that much more evident, for despite giving Ankhbayar all the love and guidance he could spare, Naaran had failed to raise his son right.

At least his beloved Yisu was not around to see this, though she would have done a far better job raising their child than he did. The Mother took her away too soon, but only because She wanted Yisu close by Her side, and Naaran could hardly blame Her.

That being said, his own shame did not stop him from finding delight in Gerel and Rain’s accomplishments, only regret that he could not share in their successes as a grandfather should. It took him fifteen years to get over Ankhbayar’s betrayal and try to reconnect with Gerel, but the first time they saw one another, Naaran’s grandson reacted with such anger and betrayal he didn’t know how to make things right. He thought to give Gerel time and space until he was ready to talk, but that day never came and Naaran only realized the error of his ways on the day of his grandson’s wedding, which he watched from afar like an unwelcome stranger, for that was what he’d become.

As for little Rain, he tried to watch out for the boy by becoming his warden, wholly expecting to have to one day join him in exile, but the beaten little boy was tougher than he had any right to be and fought his way back from the brink through sheer willpower alone. Even if the boy himself didn’t understand it, Naaran saw it all firsthand, how the boy would go out on his solitary hunting trips to indulge his dark curiosities, but he never did anything of the sort. He picked his shots and only ever loosed if he thought he could make a clean kill, and every time his aim was off, he’d put the beast out of its misery while apologizing for its suffering. In spite of all he’d been through, Rain was a boy brimming with empathy for all things living, and that empathy would carry him a long way.

No one wanted the boy to succeed more than Naaran himself, but he understood the danger of allowing love to cloud one’s judgement, and he refused to make the same mistake again. Proud as he was of the boy’s achievements, he remained objective and distant as could be, observing, confirming, and cross-referencing with others to ensure they missed nothing regarding the boy’s pattern of behaviour. So long as he remained Balanced and in control, then there was nothing to fear, but should he step out of line, then Naaran would be the one to claim his life, a duty he took more seriously than anything he’d ever done.

He hadn’t always been the gruff and dour man he was today, and in fact had been much like little Rain himself, a flippant, free-spirited young man who loved to drink, gamble, and cuddle animals whenever he could. Alas, all that changed when Naaran left home to visit Central as a young man in his thirties, one filled with dreams of glory and grandeur, only to return home a broken and defeated cynic who no longer loved the Empire so. He fought to protect it, yet the nobles of Central sought to kill him for no reason other than their own pride, so why should he bother with their affairs? Better to stay in the mountains and leave the Empire to its own devices, and even if the Defiled were to set the Empire ablaze, Naaran wouldn’t care enough to even piss on the flames.

He harboured so much hatred and resentment towards the Empire for its lack of gratitude and appreciation, it festered inside him until it spilled out and infected his friends and family both. Ankhbayar grew up hearing about how the Empire would never accept him, and how he was better off staying loyal to the People and the Saints Tribulations Mountains alone. There was so much hateful rhetoric being bandied about that almost two generations of the People turned traitor and Defiled, all of which was born from the seeds of hate which sprouted in Naaran’s heart.

But Rain? Rain suffered so greatly at the hands of the Empire, and continued to suffer so at the hands of his supposed allies and comrades, yet never once did he succumb to hate. Make no mistake, the boy was no diehard patriot like Akanai or Binesi, and was in fact highly critical of the Empire’s social, political, and financial systems, but that never had any effect on the love he bore for the Empire’s people. No, not the Empire’s people, but his fellow human beings, for everything the boy did was geared towards improving the lives of the people, even going so far as to arm them with weapons of war and destruction, for he understood that change would not come until the people of the Empire were willing to seize it through blood and fire.

And now that boy was a man grown, one who killed a Divinity and helped bring down another. Two if you counted the Demon Divinity as a separate entity, and Naaran most certainly did, but proud as he was of Rain’s accomplishments, he didn’t dare accept any undue credit for the young man’s efforts. Naaran was grandfather by blood alone, no more worthy of love and respect than Ankhbayar, who Rain mercilessly mocked and renounced before all of Shi Bei. The boy had his own family now, one in which Naaran had no part in, this he accepted as true, and yet it still stung something fierce to hear him call the Old Wolf ‘Grandfather’ before he even acknowledged their relationship with more than a glance.

No doubt sensing his inner turmoil, Rain turned towards him and offered an awkward smile, but that was all. There was no invitation for conversation, no implication that they would speak in the future, not even a hint of curiosity in his eyes regarding the circumstances of their relationship. Though he would likely make an effort to connect in the future, the truth was that the boy didn’t care much about their relationship, because he had his family and Naaran had no place inside it.

A choice he made long ago, and had been paying dearly for ever since.

As Naaran’s emotions threatened to overwhelm him, the Heavens showed mercy by sending him a foe to fight, and he rushed forward with spear in hand to defend the boy. Earlier, he’d hesitated to act when Rain came under attack because he thought the boy still had matters well in hand, for if he was capable of warding off a blow from Mataram YuGan, then surely three Half-Demons couldn’t threaten him so. This almost cost little Alsantset her life and earned Naaran a stern talking to from Akanai, so he would not make the same mistake twice. Bounding forward in the blink of an eye, his spear took his first foe clean through the throat, killing the Half-Demon outright. Rather than pull back, he carved through flesh and bone to strike at his second target and send him stumbling aside, whereupon Baatar dispatched the Half-Demon with an errant back-handed swipe. Twirling his spear in his hands, Naaran stood before Rain and wielded his spear like a glaive, for this was the only way he knew how to help the boy. Despite having had it for some time now, he still used his polearm like a sword with a long hilt, which wasn’t entirely wrong, but not entirely correct either. The strength of a spear lay not solely in its range, but in the sheer versatility of the weapon in the hands of a Peak Expert, and Rain was still a ways away from reaching that particular milestone.

The boy was strong, but his foundations weak from progressing too far too fast and leaving all too many flaws behind. Though capable of near miraculous feats, his basic knowledge was sorely lacking and it showed whenever he fought in a more traditional manner, a weakness he made up for with his unconventional approach. A rather effective one, Naraan admitted while watching the boy’s flying weapons kill three Half-Demons on the approach. The boy was more than capable of putting up a fight without needing to take a single step, and he preferred using his glaive as a rifle these days, but Naaran might as well try to teach him something in the hopes that it would be of use. Who knows, as perhaps it would come in handy one day, and if so, then all the better for it. If not, well… then nothing of value would have been lost, so really, there was no harm in trying.

The Forms had always bored Naaran, as he would much rather take Kharuul out for a ride or spend time with the love of his life Yisu. She was no Martial Warrior and had other responsibilities of her own, meaning they had precious little time to spend together in their youth. The Martial Path was simply a profession to him, not a passion or obsession like with so many others, and so long as he could put food on his table and provide for his wife and family, why did it matter if he was the strongest Warrior of all? His laid-back approach and attitude meant no one was willing to take him on as a Disciple, and it infuriated Akanai so, for he was Kharuul’s partner in battle and the Spiritual Quin was a formidable force on his own.

Luckily for Naaran, he loved nothing more than playing with Kharuul, for they were lifelong companions since the first day they met, when the greedy quin stole his candied fruits and he bawled his eyes out in protest. Years of keeping close company meant they shared a bond unlike any other, and when they rode out into battle, he only ever had to heed his partner’s directions to know what to do and where to strike. Kharuul was even older than Akanai, and he’d seen more than his fair share of battles, so under his guidance, Naaran quickly rose to become one of the greatest young talents of his generation.

Explosive speed and power, that was the key to a quin’s strength. There were plenty of creatures out there that were stronger, faster, and more durable than quins, but few that hunted in packs. So long as there was someone else to distract their prey, a quin would not hesitate to launch itself at an opening, even if it wasn’t for a killing blow. That’s how Naaran fought, without fear or hesitation, for even though his lifelong partner was not here on the walls of Shi Bei, he did not fight alone. The boy fought with him, coordinating his flying weapons to distract and harass his foes, allowing Naaran to close in for the quick kill, and he tried his best to pass along all his hard-learned lessons as best he could.

Be decisive, but always hold something in reserve. With a spear or polearm, you didn’t have to put all your strength into each blow, for leverage combined with the weight of the weapon would do most of the work for you. The blade itself wasn’t your only killing tool, as the haft and base of your polearm is more than sturdy enough to break bones and take lives, to say nothing of fist or boot. Don’t be afraid to get in close, because your foe doesn’t expect it either, so sometimes a good shove is all that’s needed to gain the upper hand. Conversely, don’t be afraid to retreat either, because taking a step back might well give you space enough to allow your foe to impale themselves on your weapon.

There was so much Naaran wanted to say, so much he wanted to pass on to Rain and Gerel both, but he was never any good with words. This was the best he could do, show him the man he was and the Warrior he hoped they would both one day surpass, assuming that time had not already come. Most of all, he wanted to tell them just how proud he was of them both, and how sorry he was for being too weak to properly protect them, for though he did not show it well, he still loved them so.

Naaran did not deserve to call himself their grandfather, but they were the blood of his blood, and he would sooner die than see either of them come to harm, a fact he was more than willing to prove through actions alone.

Chapter Meme