Chapter 663

https://docs.google.com/document/d/17rhDakgUnujpbr8oqnVF_TB4QwDB4JtBOoWJhp1rxUM/edit?usp=sharing 

Fight or flight is very different when you’re no longer beholden to bodily instincts.

Almost everyone has experienced it at one time or another. Danger or excitement presents itself, and the world slows down until it stops. The pounding of your beating heart echoes in your ears as it sends a spike of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your mouth dries, your skin goes clammy, your body shakes, and your mind is either racing at a million thoughts per minute or silent as the grave, rendered helpless by the staggering overflow of information presenting itself. The circumstances are not meant to encourage careful thought and deliberation, but rather instinct and reaction, readying your body to do the aforementioned fight or flight.

The problem is, the foundations for basic human instinct were laid down back when we were naked fire worshipping cave dwellers. Humanity has come a long way since then, and while our instincts served us well back when we competed with wolves and tigers for food and shelter, they’re all sorts of useless for the modern-day warrior. Even here and now in the Empire, where we fight with spears and bows rather than tanks and rifles, most of a soldier’s training is meant to counteract instinctual behaviour. When faced with an overwhelming horde of enemies, for most, their instincts will be screaming at them to charge forward and fight or break ranks and run, but a soldier’s training teaches them to stand fast and hold strong. When fighting as a unit, ten average Martial Warriors should easily fend off forty to fifty average Defiled tribesmen, simply by virtue of combined arms and cooperation, the effectiveness of which only scales up from there. A hundred infantry can’t do much against a thousand Defiled, and it might well look like all hope is lost, but if those infantry were to follow their instincts and start running for hills, the three-hundred heavy cavalry waiting in the wings won’t have a nice, clumped up crowd of Defiled to hammer away at.

What I’m trying to get at is, when it comes to warfare, base instincts are rarely correct. If they were even remotely effective, then training and experience wouldn’t be so important. I’ve been fighting in this particular war since I was sixteen, and I still don’t have it all down pat, because here and now, my first instinct is to cut and run. Flee back to the District and seek shelter in the manor, where my family and guards can protect me. A dumb move, if I were to make it, because not only would I be putting innocent civilians and noncombatants in danger, I would also be leading a squad of readied assassins towards my sleeping loved ones, which I fear would not end well for them. These killers came prepared to face not just me and my guards, but also Dad, Akanai, Grandpa Du, and all the other notable Warriors in my family. They sent sixty killers, which means they either don’t have any more to spare, or they thought sixty was enough to finish the job.

So in a way, me coming out here to get stabbed wasn’t the worst thing in the world, assuming I survive of course.

This is the conclusion I come to as I stare into my would-be killer’s hazel eyes, brimming with suspicion and disbelief. He’s surprised because he didn’t think it’d be this easy, that I would just leave my bastion of safety and come out to meet him alone, unarmed, and unprompted. Much like with everyone else, this man’s thoughts and emotions are all right there for anyone to read, though I’m still not entirely sure how I’m able to pick up on it. It’s just... there, as perceptible as a scent in the air or a breeze across my skin, just something I know and understand as easily as breathing. There is no remorse in him, no regret or sympathy, only professional concern and curiosity as to why his target’s behaviour is so unexpected. Beneath it all, lies a bed of relief, because the task he’d been given was not an easy one, and he’s glad everything worked out. Murderer though he might be, he’s glad this mission turned out so well, because the alternative would’ve left many of his comrades dead or injured.

But his relief is measured and muted, because he knows his job is not yet done. There’s more to his mission, and he’s already thinking about how to best carry it out, because there are still others he has yet to kill.

It’s been three months since I lapsed into this coma, three months since Zhen Shi trapped me in a lifetime of suffering, and three months since I severed everything and anything in order to retreat into the Void. This morning, I Devoured all my nearby Natal Souls and took in all the sorrow, misery, anguish, and regret I’d severed away in recent weeks. Then, I spent every second from lunch onwards submerged in joy, love, and floof in order to Balance all that gloom and doom, but still it wasn’t enough. Now, thanks to these assassins, I am able to experience what is left in the gamut of human emotion, the darker, more malevolent side that lurks just beneath the surface of our minds.

These bastards were sent her to kill not just me, but also the people I love. I don’t know if they have specific targets or if they were ordered to kill everyone and leave no survivors, but regardless of their intent, I will not allow them to even try.

Fuelled by black hatred masquerading as righteous fury, my fist hurtles towards the handsome assassin’s face, and my heart soars with joy and satisfaction as I watch his features crater beneath the impact. The warm spray of blood and bone sets my skin to tingling as I take in the heady, metallic scent of death and marvel at my newfangled toughness. Despite exploding my foe’s head with a single punch, my hand is neither bruised nor scratched, protected by my emerging Domain and the rough, yet pliable skin resulting from weeks of carefully measured medicinal baths. While a sharp knife will still cut me, I could spend hours punching solid steel without scuffing my knuckles, much less breaking my hand like expected, for which I have Taduk, Taiyi Zhushen, and Li TieGuai to thank.

Bodily refinement, high cost for minimal gains, but I’ll take every advantage I can get.

As my Domain billows out into the murky darkness, it reveals the general distribution of my foes as their emerging Domains materialize to obstruct my own, forming a cage to prevent both sound and Sending from passing through. Though I am unable to sense the exact locations of every assassin here on the plains, it’s easy to sense where their resistance is weakest, the same way I can tell the difference between a sturdy wooden door and a paper one through mere touch. Somewhat unsurprisingly, the weakest point is due north, while the strongest resistance is due south, which is where they expect me to run if given the chance. More proof that instincts aren’t always reliable, but east and west are only slightly less guarded, as the Sentinel camp lies in the first direction, and an Imperial training camp in the other, while to the north, there is nothing but farms and grassland, with the occasional handful of houses to break up the monotony.

My foes mean to herd me away from the District, away from safety and reinforcements, but while they think they’ve got me trapped here on the plains, they will soon learn that our roles are reversed.

For I am the Predator, and they, nothing more than prey.

A single bound brings me away from my headless foe, which still stands despite my lengthy introspection. More importantly, it brings me out of sight as I disappear before their very eyes, rescinding my Domain until it barely extends past my skin. This leaves me blind to their presence, but it does the same to my foes as I slink into Concealment and scurry through the frosted grass, an eager predator searching for a chance to strike. Numbers mean little in a battle like this, for the same darkness they used to hide their approach has now turned against them to assist me. Defiled see better than Imperials in the dark, but even they need some light to see, and with heavy clouds obscuring both moon and stars, I can barely see my hand in front of my eyes. It will be the same or possibly worse for them, and while my Domain is large enough to uncover them all in a single sweep, none of them can say the same.

As I lead my foes on a roundabout chase, I go over my options, of which there are precious few. I have no weapons and no means to obtain one, aside from the black blade still embedded in my flesh. Poison seeps into my blood and targets my nerves with its paralytic agent, but a simple working of Chi and Panacea breaks down the insidious toxin into harmless waste products, which will later be filtered out by my liver and kidneys. I’ll be pissing black sludge later and will need to drink plenty of fluids to flush it all out, but I can’t afford to remove the blade just yet, not before I figure out how they’re tracking me. It’s unmistakable now, because as we move ever northward at breakneck speeds, I can sense they aren’t even trying to find me through Domain, but rather honing in on my position no matter how many twists and turns I take and moving to ensnare me within their web.

Each step brings me hundreds of meters away, but still I remain trapped within their encirclement. Worse, they’re closing in around me, and if I go too far in any direction, I will be caught in their metaphysical trap and cut down as I pass. How irritating. I can’t kill them if they know I’m coming, especially not injured and weaponless as I am, but I don’t understand how they keep finding me. The Empire has some secretive means to track Officer’s tokens and such, but I don’t have mine on me, nor am I wearing anything given to me by the Imperials. Sight, scent, and sound are all covered by Concealment, while I’ve yet to feel them even try to find me through Domain, not that they could if they tried, which leaves...

Ah right. I’ve encountered this before, in what feels like a lifetime ago, with killers hot on my trail no matter how carefully I ran. The Society used some of Song’s blood to create some sort of mystical tracking device. A matrix, the prisoner called it, and he said there was no blocking it. The only solution is to burn the tokens containing the target’s blood, information which prompted us to launch a near-disastrous assault on the Society encampment in hopes of destroy all their trackers. This is useful information however, because as I recall, the tracking matrix works through trigonometry. A single device points towards the target, so it’s best to use two or more devices in different locations to pinpoint the target’s actual location. Triangulation of a sorts, using blood as the medium, which was quite honestly some of the most magical shit I’d ever heard about since coming to this world. No one I asked knew how it worked, but to be fair, I didn’t ask that many people, as I was working really hard to get over the trauma of the chase and focus on the coming calamities instead.

No matter though. I know enough now to figure it out. None of my opponents know where I am exactly, they’re working in independent groups to keep me trapped here between them. The matrix always points in my direction, so the answer becomes clear. Intent gives purpose to the Predator as I make my presence known, expanding tendrils of my Domain which ultimately give my location away, but only to about twenty individuals. As expected, my foes do not fall upon me immediately, because even though I’ve revealed myself to a third of my foes, they still need to pass that information along to their comrades before they can act, which gives me plenty of time to study their movements as I dip and weave about the plains of Central. Six Cloud-Steps later, I rescind my Domain after identifying five distinct groups amongst my foes, which means there are likely only five tracking matrices on them.

It belatedly occurs to me that I could’ve hidden the presence of my Domain from my foes, the same way I slipped past my guards and away from the manor unnoticed. Just goes to show that this sort of instinctive knowing without knowing isn’t perfect, but alas, it’s all I have to work with. I can barely direct myself to squeeze Taduk’s hand when taking full control of all my faculties, so I can only rely on this janky method of independent control to face my foes on the field of battle. In some ways, it’s similar to how I used to fight as Baledagh and Brother, with the former taking control of the body while the latter independently offering advice. Now, it’s just me offering Intent and the Predator taking action, that deadly killer who emerged during the final battle of Sinuji.

I still have no earthly idea why Zhen Shi chose that name for me, bit it just feels right.

It’s not another personality or Natal Soul. At least I’m pretty sure it isn’t. No, It’s just me using the State of Enlightenment to the fullest extent, to the point where it feels like I’m experiencing current events from two different perspectives, one which is moving in the moment, and one where time has slowed to a crawl. I think that’s the answer, though it doesn’t explain why the Predator can Conceal, Cloud-Step, use Domain, and other stuff without lessons or practice...

Questions best left for another time, for the jaws of this deadly trap are fast closing in around me. Five groups, five matrices, and every group is running directly towards me at all times. However, I know the tracker only indicates direction, because if it told them any more, they wouldn’t need more than one to find me, information I can use to my advantage. Though I’ve rescinded my tendrils of Domain, I still remember where each group is, and unlike them, I know which direction my quarry is headed: straight towards me. Thus, all that is left to do is to set the Predator upon them with the darkest of Intents.

Kill.

A single Cloud-Step brings me into a crowd of my foes, all of whom are caught off-guard by my sudden arrival, my Concealed presence clearly felt within their overlapping Domains. Professionals that they are, their surprise barely lasts for the blink of an eye, but that is all the time I need to unleash my Mountain Collapsing Stomp, one containing all the energy I’d been storing up since leaving my first kill behind. The silence shatters as the ground roars in pain, and I allow myself a moment to appreciate the power I’ve unleashed. The earth crumbles beneath us and mountains of hard-packed dirt and stone erupt to batter my foes within. Five die outright as fissures open up beneath their feet, whereupon they are swallowed whole and crushed by the incalculable weight of the shifting earth, while the remaining seven are thrown into the air only to be battered about by flying debris. Broken bones are the least of their worries as I set to deadly work, traversing through the unstable chaos with laughable ease, almost as if the stone and debris are moving to accommodate me, whether it be to offer me a steady foothold where none otherwise exists or veer away from striking me as it approaches my position. Some form of highly advanced Deflection, it seems like, though rather than pushing things away, it catches them in an invisible current which moves to my will.

Similar to how I clung to that Lizard Demon’s tail in Sinuji, except back then I was submerged within the current, whereas now the current flows around me. A subtle distinction, but an important one, because the former left me to the mercy of outside forces, while the latter allows me the freedom to almost swim through the chaos and clutter. A hop and a skip brings me within arm’s reach of my next target, chosen not for his proximity, but because he seemed most likely to recover first. A glimpse back into my memories show that this man not only reacted to my arrival first, but also leapt into the air a fraction of a second before I unleashed my Mountain Collapsing Stomp, allowing him to escape the worst of the impact. Currently, he’s partway through his spinning leap, rotating his entire body about in mid-air while utilizing his Domain to forcibly Deflect anything that comes into reach, all in hopes of avoiding the worst. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s worked so far, and might well have continued working had I not come to finish what I started.

Seeing him spinning about at such ridiculous speeds, a simple solution comes to mind as I reach out with both hands and grab him firmly by the head. An object in motion tends to stay in motion, and an object at rest stays at rest, so while I stop his head from spinning with sheer muscle, the rest of him continues to twirl about, shattering his neck and spine into who knows how many pieces. Just like that, a man who I suspect might well have been a Peak Expert dies by my hand, not because I’m necessarily stronger than him, but because I caught him by surprise, an element I would love to be Blessed by, were the Mother Above so willing. Alas, such powers are not for mere mortals, so I will have to rely on my own cunning to keep utilizing this most effective of elements.

Pausing to study my foe, my hands go through his pockets with alarming speed, so fast it actually feels like I’m move at normal speed, while the rest of the world continues on in slow motion. My search uncovers only a single poisoned black blade in his free hand, and I notice he also lacks the customary disfigurements I usually see in Wraiths, as they’re typically even uglier than your average Defiled. He could have only recently turned to the Enemy, but despite wearing dark, flowing Western robes, he lacks the leathery, sun-tanned complexion of your conventional desert dwelling Westerner. The man’s skin looks like it’s never seen the touch of the sun, a pale yet healthy complexion found only in the most pampered of Central’s Martial Warriors, alongside a full head of soft, silky, and luxuriously thick hair. Whoever he was, he was a man of wealth and plenty, but other than that, there’s little left to identify who he is or who might have sent him.

Which is hardly unexpected. I mean, it’s not like he’d carry signed and sealed orders when going out to kill someone, but any clue would’ve been nice. Instead, I’m left with nothing besides a wooden compass looking thing which I suppose is the tracking matrix, and his unused Wraith Blade which is a twin to the weapon embedded into my belly. Briefly considering if I should remove it on my way to my next target, I decide it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie, as it’s not life threatening and pulling it out would ruin all the Chi workings I already have in place. It can wait until time and focus are not in such short supply.

Though I am unable to Hone or Amplify the Wraith weapon, it’s pointed edge is more than sharp enough to cleave through the closest assassin’s neck, albeit falling short of actually decapitating him. Despite being physically stronger than I’ve ever been with Amplified muscles out the wazoo, cutting a man’s head clean off isn’t as easy as it looks, especially when said man is being buffeted about in the midst of a man-made earthquake. Learning from my mistake, I stab my next target through the neck, which takes more accuracy and focus, but dead is dead and speed is king. Although thus far I have yet to notice any armour under their robes or Runic symbols etched into them, I can’t afford to stop and swing at the same enemy twice. Already, my Mountain Collapsing Stomp has blown its load and things are winding down, yet I’ve only killed eight of twelve in this squad while forty-seven more are closing in on this position. Even grabbing a second Wraith blade doesn’t speed things up, as the bulk of my time is spent moving from one target to the next.

Another thing I didn’t take into consideration before setting out was stamina. I just spent the last three months lying in bed, so I’m not in the best of shape. Sure, the body reinforcement baths helped strengthen my muscles, but cardio is a different sort of beast altogether as my lungs threaten to give out. That’s not all due to poor fitness, but also because I can’t filter dust from the air and keep myself from inhaling clouds of it with every breath. The assassins aren’t too badly impacted by it because they’re dying before it takes effect, but I’m only noticing it now because I’m suppressing the urge to hack up a lung. All in all, things are going from bad to worse, especially since the explosion was probably blocked by the Sound Barrier which means no one is coming to my rescue, a minor possibility I was kinda banking on if things didn’t work out in my favour.

Like right now.

My next target blocks my first attack and counters with a riposte, but one lacking stability as he has yet to find his footing. Still, his response forces me to parry and lead him to overextend, allowing me to drive my second blade straight up into his exposed chin. A loss of a single second, but it buys enough time for the remaining three to recover and rob me of my only advantage. A moment’s hesitation costs me dearly as the opportunity to escape slips away and I’m beset upon by all sides, their dark blades all but invisible to the eye as I dodge, block, parry, and Deflect for all I’m worth. Despite the impressive start, I am still clearly outmatched and they know it. Worse, they’re fanatics in every sense of the word, leaving obvious openings that all but dare me to take the trade, which isn’t fair because that’s my trick. Problem is, they can afford to make this trade since their allies are close behind. It’s clear that these people mean to kill me, and so long as they succeed, survival is merely an unexpected bonus.

Ah. I see. It’s not confidence that brought them here, but a willingness to die in order to succeed. Oddly enough, that makes me feel a little better, because it means they probably don’t have a single Warrior capable of killing Akanai, but were rather planning to catch her by surprise or wear her down through strength in numbers. That means I still have a chance. A slim chance, but I’m no stranger to overcoming long odds.

The battle unfolds before my eyes, and though it sounds egotistical to even think this, I am in sheer awe of my Martial Prowess. With two Wraith blades in hand, I fend off my three foes, my weapons revolving in a ring of steel so similar to how Zian utilizes them. My Wraith blades are shorter and not as well-balanced for this sort of defence, but I make up for it by positioning myself to eke out every advantage I can as we make our way across the unsteady terrain. What’s more, my short stature means there’s less of me to defend, which makes up for the drawback of using a shorter blade, and while it’s not particularly game-changing, it’s something.

Though the end result is similar to Zian’s favoured tactic, there are no Forms in my movements, or at least none that I recognize. Instead, every step, strike, and shift of my body holds multiple movements contained within as I take what I have learned and copied before making them uniquely mine. For example, Zian has a very obvious tendency to attack with the right and defend with the left, a habit he uses to his advantage by flipping things around when needed, but with short blades like these, I’m comfortable attacking and defending from either side, which keeps my opponents from finding a rhythm to follow. My actions even take my personal measurements and idiosyncrasies into account, with a heavy emphasis at getting in close and striking at angles most people are not accustomed to defending from.

This is not utilizing the Forms, but embodying them, creating new movements as I go which can only be labelled as the Forms of Falling Rain, my own personal, distinct style which anyone can copy, but will only be most effective when utilized by me and me alone. It’s thrilling to see in action, and seeing so many subtle changes to the standard Forms makes me wonder why I never made those changes myself. The Forms are merely a guideline, but I’ve been treating them like gospel, to be read and interpreted in different ways. Instead, I should have been changing them, adapting them, making them mine all this time, a practice I can only appreciate now when I know the Forms well enough to determine what’s right and wrong for me.

Akanai taught me this same lesson so many years ago, on the very first day I met her, in fact. “You are too reserved in the Forms, too fluid and unnatural,” she said, after deeming my demonstration ‘barely passable’. “The Forms contain the full spectrum of movements and emotions. You must also embrace the jarring and abrasiveness they contain.” That was everything I needed to know, but it’s taken me seven long years to understand. I am not supposed to adapt my movements to the Forms. I must adapt the Forms to my movements.

In spite of my superlative demonstration, my foes are a formidable bunch, working in flawless concert despite sustaining grievous injuries from my Mountain Collapsing Stomp. It’s not just a big boot that shakes the ground a bit, Mitsue Juichi’s signature move emits multiple shock-waves in close succession which can cause indirect internal damage through Reverberation. Add to this the shower of dirt and stone they endured, and none of my foes were able to emerge unscathed, yet still they can push me to my limits without leaving any advantageous openings. Giving up on killing blows, I risk striking armour and switch tactics to cause whatever damage I can in hopes of slipping away, only to immediately call myself an idiot for not trying this sooner. The poisoned blades are easily dealt with when you have an in-depth education from the Medical Saint, the ability to multitask, and knowledge of Panacea, and my foes most definitely don’t have two out of three.

That said, they’re not wholly vulnerable to the poison either, though it does slow them down a bit, and after long, forceful seconds, I finally find an opening to escape in exchange for leaving a Wraith blade embedded into one of their legs. A few seconds sounds short enough, but at the speeds we’re moving, we must have traded blows upwards of thirty times, and I’m not sure how many more exchanges I have left in me. Covered in sweat and heaving for breath, I Cloud-Step back towards home in hopes of breaking through their Sound Barrier and Sending for help, but my foes are hot on my heels and intent on my death.

I killed nine and severely wounded one, powerful Experts one and all with at least one Peak Expert to boot. Maybe more, and I got lucky with my opening attack, which is an impressive showing all things considered, but I doubt I’d find success with the same tactic twice. They’ll see the Mountain Collapsing Stomp coming this time, and I’m not even sure if I’ve got another one in me. Things might be different if I had a Spiritual Weapon in hand, because none of these Wraith blades are actually Spiritual Weapons, or at least not as far as I can tell. If they were, I wouldn’t have been able to block a single attack from the trio back there, as their Honed weapons would have cut clean through blade and bone alike.

A moment’s warning is all I have, but it’s enough to save my life as I narrowly avoid a thrust aimed at my heart. Retreating is no good, so I press the attack, which catches my speedy, stealthy foe off-guard. My Wraith blade cuts through his robes and bites deep into his chest, but I’ve no time to finish the job and must be away before more of my pursuers catch up. Stubborn and fearless to boot, my wounded foe grabs the hilt of my blade and traps the weapon in his flesh. Yet another moment’s hesitation costs me dearly as the wounded assassin brings his blade about and cuts deep into my right wrist, forcing me to abandon my last remaining weapon in order to Cloud-Step away, wounded and Healing when I should instead be thinking about a way out of this mess.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess. I need a weapon, and the only one I have left is stuck in my gut.

As my left hand closes around the hilt of the blade, I’m struck with a sense of warm familiarity. Deja Vu, of a sorts, like I’ve somehow been in this exact situation before. Ah right, during my Binding Ceremony with Peace, but that took place inside my mind. I didn’t actually stab myself with Peace, not really, and in the end, the Binding Ceremony didn’t mean much, which is weird because everyone else puts so much emphasis on it.

What did Mila say about it? That it was ‘a ceremony that occurs in your mind, when you brand your weapon. A symbol of joining between you and the weapon. You do something that makes it a part of you.’

I made Peace a part of me. I am the sword. The sword is me. Did the ceremony really take place in my mind? I’m not so sure anymore...

Yanking the Wraith blade out of my stomach, I give it a once over before ruling it out as an option. The Wraith blade reminded me of Peace, but this is a killing tool, a dark, ugly thing of murder and suffering. Dad gifted me Peace when I was thirteen, a beautifully crafted weapon forged in the likeness of his own, but that is not all it was. He gifted it to me back when I was only his Disciple and not yet his son, as I was still in my trial period as a possibly Defiled foundling, but the sword was proof he loved me like his own already. Mom took longer to come around, but Dad had already accepted me, while my sweet sister Alsantset took me into her family the second she spotted me limping alongside the riverbed. All this and more is what I used to think about every time I looked at Peace, but I lost that when Gen Shi ruined my weapons and shattered my Core.

Or maybe not. I am the sword. The sword is me.

Still fleeing from my pursuers with all speed, I heft the Wraith blade and use it to finish what the last assassin started, carving away the flesh of my right hand and leaving nothing but meat and exposed bone behind. Technically, I probably don’t have to go this far, but suffering seems part and parcel of everything I do, which means it just doesn’t feel right if it doesn’t hurt. Casting the Wraith weapon behind me, I hear a metallic cling which tells me someone blocked the errant throw, but I’ve already put them out of mind. Closing my eyes and blocking out the wind whipping through my robes, I envision myself as I was all those years ago, when Dad first gave me Peace like it was a cabbage he picked up in the market, rather than a priceless gift he was eager to give to the son he loved so much. There I stood, with Peace hanging from my belt, the hilt in my right hand as I readied to strike down my nemesis and training partner, Sir Woody Woodson. I’ve since knighted him as he died in combat, but for a short period of time, he became my most hated foe. I spent many an hour that first week, wielding Peace and chipping away at Woody Woodson and his many clones in an effort to replicate Dad’s feat, as he used the very same sword in my hand to cleave clean through a metal block.

Those were the best of times, my years in the village, and it was a long time before I realized it. Even tainted by the knowledge that everyone suspected I was Defiled, I still miss those simple days, when I wandered the forest with only Pafu and Suret for company and didn’t know I had Concealed Warriors watching my every move. I trained with Dad, studied with Taduk, played with the twins and kept Lin-Lin company, all while slowly recovering from my time in the mines.

Reliving these memories elicit new emotions from within, emotions I long since forgot about and subsequently severed away some three months ago. A mistake, I see this now, because those emotions are every bit as precious as the memories they accompany, perhaps even more so because memories can be forgotten, but those emotions will stay with me forever. Peace was a symbol of those emotions, of the loving gift I received from my socially awkward Dad, the help Mila and Husolt gave without question, and even the battles I fought and the victories I won with Peace in hand. I Guided this sword into Situ Gulong’s shin, and then beat him unconscious before extorting his comrades. I used this sword in a duel against Zhong Lang, Elder Ming’s beloved nephew who I killed when I could have instead let him live. I did it because I was angry, but I couldn’t kill an unarmed man, so I gave him his weapon back and forced him to fight. The wrong move, not because of the consequences which followed, but because that was a life I could have spared, and I didn’t. That’s not me. That’s not why I wield Peace, and while I want to say that this one mistake is the only one I made, I’m not so sure that’s the case.

These memories and more flow through my mind as I Heal my injured hand. The pain from growing new flesh is barely noticeable, but the experiences from my memories are fresh as the day I lived them. My victories, my failures, my accomplishments and mistakes, I had Peace by my side in almost all of them, right up until I lost it. Even then, I tried to keep my broken sword safe, because I thought there might be some way to fix them, so long as I fixed my shattered Core in time. That didn’t happen, as the remains of my Spiritual Weapon were scattered to the winds when those half-step Divinity Wraiths came for the Legate’s head, and a part of me died that day. I wanted to become strong again, to wield Peace, Tranquility, and Unity on the battlefield once again, for they were comrades just like everyone else I fought alongside.

I thought that dream died the day I lost my weapons.

I was wrong.

I am the sword. The sword is me.

As I set Panacea to Heal my hand, I task it to Heal Peace as well, for though it was crafted from cold steel, it is still a part of my very being, to the point where my Soul could call upon it even while trapped within Bei’s Natal Palace. I remember it now, the thrill and exultation I felt while fighting off hordes of Spectres with my blade of shining light, with Peace illuminating the darkness of the Void and banishing the cold around me. The cold steel is not what makes Peace my Spiritual Weapon, but rather the bond we share as weapon and wielder, a bond forged during my Binding Ceremony and quenched in blood.

I was wrong to say the Binding Ceremony isn’t real. It doesn’t take place in reality, but it’s still real, for like the title suggests, a bond between Warrior and Spiritual Weapon is one forged in the Soul.

Time passes. A minute, an hour, a day, I don't know how long.

My nerves tingle, from my scalp down to my toes.

The pores on my skin open.

I feel safe. Alive. Accepted. Protected.

Nestled in the warm embrace of the Mother.

I open my eyes and smile as I greet my old friend, Peace exactly as I remember it, reforged through Panacea minus the lovely wrapped hilt and decoration. Mila can wrap it again later, but first, I have some business to take care of now that I’ve found my fangs again.

Peace. I rejected it at first, feared having to pick up the sword to use against my foes, feared I would instead turn it against myself. Peace is a weapon, but it is also a deterrent, a tool to protect and defend those who cannot protect themselves. Though I use it to kill, I only kill in search of peace, a lesson I’ve learned and forgotten too many times to count, but this time, I won’t forget.

My foes have come to kill me and kill those I love, so I will deliver them Peace, so that I might one day find peace for myself.

I am Falling Rain, and this is my Path. The Path of the peace-keeper, protector, guardian, and Sentinel. Path of the Legate, Path of the revolutionary, Path of a man who seeks a better future for all. This is who I am, and it is high time I stopped fighting it, because despite my lofty ideals, I know my Path will be long and bloody indeed.

But such is life, trials and tribulations abound, so it’s high time I stopped complaining, and started taking steps in the right direction.

Starting with the fifty-one conveniently placed stepping stones who are currently hot on my heels...

Chapter Meme