Something you have to understand about faith and fear is that, while both quality and quantity matter, it's the former that truly makes the difference. A handful of true believers make something far more real than thousands of lukewarm adherents ever could.
It's this spark of conviction that overturns the understanding of what is, replacing it with a new set of certainties. After all, aren't there plenty of things only made real by someone's belief that they are?
Settlements founded in hostile lands, seemingly unstoppable monsters slain, innovations discovered. None of those things could have happened if someone didn't truly believe they could be done.
Admittedly, the process is a tad more literal in this case, but the idea holds true.
No one knows what the original cause for the misfortune was. Maybe it truly was a mage wreaking havoc, the younger Brother 'losing track' of a few Grimm, or even just something as mundane as toxic gasses being released from the earth and a handful of hungry carnivores getting lucky.
But once all these groups hit their stride? Once the village was overflowing with faith and fear? All of those answers became irrelevant.
Because that was the moment those monsters the villagers had spent so much time obsessing over became real. The first youkai had been born into the world.
Oh, they weren't anything too special, just a handful of barely-sentient malevolent spirits, some bestial creatures made of shadows with a minor aura of decay, and a local nature spirit (a nymph if you really care). But what they represented, well, that was far greater.
What the God of Darkness had done was, in short, set up an automated version of his Grimm-forging process within humanity's collective psyche. His pets weren't so much living beings as motes of his essence shaped into a certain form, simply requiring the material and a 'mold' to churn out.
Each and every human had, at the core of their being, a spark of both his and his brother's power. Individually it was nothing, barely enough to alter local reality in a handful of minor ways. But when joined together, the result was exponentially greater than the sum of its parts.
And that was exactly what the younger Brother sought to exploit. Had things gone as his elder sibling planned, humans would only achieve that synchronization under rare circumstances and only among the most tightly-knit individuals.
Of course, that would be boring. And thus the first thing the God of Darkness did was weaken the boundaries between human souls. Nothing strong enough to draw attention to his work, or to truly alter people's personalities, but enough that their souls could resonate simply by sharing a conviction.
When the embers within them burned bright and numerous enough, those sparks of possibility would fill the 'mold' created by humanity's expectations, and give form to the beings they believed in.
Though this did come with some caveats. First and foremost, any beings born of humanity's fear or faith were dependent on it. Without a constant influx of those sentiments, they would weaken and eventually cease to exist.
Second of all was the matter of stability. Beings created from the collective belief of humans aren't exactly the most immutable creatures. If the descriptions that defined their existence changed, so would they. This could range from gaining or losing abilities or weaknesses to having their very behavior altered.
As you might imagine, this state of affairs doesn't encourage passivity. Youkai need to give humans a reason to remember and fear them if they want to continue existing. Meaning that most species were engaged in varying degrees of warfare against humanity.
To put it simply, youkai were designed to act in ways that inspire fear. Which in turn inspires more fears and thus more or stronger youkai. Quite the devious cycle is it not?
The newborn creatures certainly didn't waste any time getting down to business, each setting out to fulfill their respective purposes within minutes of manifesting.
The malevolent spirits were the first to arrive. They flitted from one end of the village to the other, spreading misfortune and suffering in their wake. Leaving behind broken homes, bodies, and livelihoods.
The guards were the first to fall. Full to the brim of negative thoughts and deeds, and utterly unprepared for this impossible development, they were torn to shreds and left to rot. Their weapons and skill utterly useless against the incorporeal horde.
The spiritual leader and their flock fared better, for this was a battle they had been readying themselves for since the madness began. They offered up their suffering, their very lifeblood, to appease the spirits. Inflicting truly agonizing punishment upon themselves to atone for their sins. And for their actions, the spirits passed them by.
The farmers, having long since rejected the mindset of the penitent cult, seemed poised to meet a similar fate to the guard and their flunkies. With no way to defend themselves, the spirits would ravage their bodies and land, hopefully leaving a handful of survivors.
However, there was a single crucial detail that those involved were unaware of: youkai don't like to share.
The vengeful spirits were nigh-mindless creatures of destruction and judgment, existing solely to punish the living. They would ravage the fields and the earth as readily as they would human flesh.
To the nymph watching from the sidelines, they were even more of an enemy than the humans. At least they could be taught better or convinced to leave.
And so, it intervened. Driving back the spirits with earthen lances from below while the surrounding plants grew into towering vines, ready to lash out at any foe that approached her.
Shocked by this sudden intrusion, both the vengeful spirits and humans had their attention drawn to the interloper. The farmers terrified and confused at the revelation there was another creature and the spirits thrown for a loop by the idea of another youkai opposing them.
Being barely-sentient creatures borne from insubstantial thoughts, the spirits chose to ignore this development and attempt to charge the farmers. Who very much regretted not continuing to run when the nymph arrived.
But once again, their attempt was foiled by the nymph. Who repelled each and every spirit via earthen lance, vegetative whip, and even its bare hands if need be. The inhuman power infused within her chosen weapons doing what the best efforts of the guard could not and inflicting harm upon the specters.
Now truly incensed, the vengeful spirits abandoned their efforts to slip by the nature spirit in favor of targeting her directly. The full force of the horde descended upon the interloper with an unholy cacophony, ready to rend her limb from limb so that they might return to their true purpose.
In contrast, the nymph gazed at the oncoming storm of malice with quiet unflinching contempt. Focused in the way one gets when preparing to remove a particularly unpleasant infestation from their home.
As the remaining humans ran for cover, the battle was joined.
The two youkai fought with an intensity often reserved for starving wolves, tearing into one another with callous disregard for whatever injuries they might receive. All that mattered to them was destroying their foe.
The opening move, a wave of spikes rising up at the descending spirits, dissipated a good deal of their number. However, several succeeded at navigating the assault and reached the nymph. Their spectral claws gouging at her form and leaving deep rents in her 'flesh.'
In response, a set of vines grew out of the vegetation making up part of the nature spirit's body, impaling some of the assailants and smashing the rest away. With the onslaught interrupted, the damage to her body quickly faded. Replacement mass drawn from the land itself.
This exchange would set the tone for the rest of the engagement to come. The two youkai clashing, creating distance, and re-engaging time and time again.
Though numerous, the aggressors lacked the means to truly threaten the nymph. They were spirits meant to torment humans, little more than fragile masses of malevolence whose only strengths were their non-physical nature and tenacity. The destruction wreaked upon them scattering their forms at a tremendous rate.
In contrast, the nymph was a personification of nature itself, something tied into the very world. Every speck of dirt, every piece of vegetation within her domain was a part of her. The spirits could kill humans, could rot food, and ruin lives, but they simply could not inflict damage beyond what would kill a human.
It soon became clear neither side was able to truly kill the other. The spirits would reform eventually, their foe unable to destroy their essence, and the nymph could heal from the minor injuries within moments.
Realizing this, the nymph adopted a different tactic. Rather than continue to shatter their forms, she drew her power inward before releasing a wave of verdant energy across the land.
The energy carried the spirits across the boundary between the village and the farmlands, depositing them beyond her territory and surging upward to form massive walls at the edges before vanishing from sight.
Despite their best efforts, no spirit was able to cross back into the nymph's territory, its presence suffusing the farmlands and acting as a barrier through which the comparatively lesser spirits could not pass.
After battering futilely at the boundary for several minutes, the spirits eventually accepted defeat and flew off to find more humans to terrorize. Leaving the shell-shocked farmers only faced with a single youkai capable of killing them all on a whim.
Fortunately for them, the nymph respected that they had been the ones arguing and fighting for the better treatment of the land and opted not to brutally murder some of them as a statement. Instead, she informed those gathered that this land was now under her protection.
Again, the land, not the people. The farmers would be allowed to continue their trade, but the number one priority was the health of her domain. How much they could harvest was entirely dependent on how useful they were towards that goal. Any actions that did not somehow support her territory would be met with immediate retaliation.
Not overly inclined to argue with the plant woman who had just spent the last ten minutes smashing a horde of vengeful spirits with vines and flying rocks, the farmers were quick to agree.
Of course, they were less than happy to find out that they would be free game for the spirits if they stepped outside the farmlands, but it wasn't like they could do anything about it. Those who already lived on the land returned to their homes to inform their families of the new reality, those not so fortunate would be forced to brave the village and the spirits.
Speaking of which, being evicted from the premises didn't mean the vengeful spirits had stopped wreaking havoc. No, they simply went and visited the last remaining group.
The cult of the companion had not been idle during the chaos, having spent the time since the initial attack gathering up as many people as they could find and bringing them to shelter in their shrine. Now they stood ready to defend their holy ground from the invaders.
They had little illusions of their chances, the guard had already proven weapons did nothing to the creatures. What few trained mages they'd had in their employ had fared no better, so magic seemed unlikely to produce the miracle the cult needed. No, the weapon they bet everything on was something much simpler: faith.
The conviction that, in this world gone mad, someone/thing was looking out for humans. That as long as they fought with everything they had, they could overcome this seemingly insurmountable obstacle and reach a happy ending.
Utterly foolish and not connected to reality in the least, but isn't that the way of heroes? To take on impossible odds and emerge victorious despite all reason? Of course, the only real difference between a hero and a cautionary tale is how successful they are.
Regardless, the Companions intended to give it their best shot. Even as the spirits that had taken so much from the village came screaming towards them, they did not give them an inch. Even as they tore through the defensive line, weapons and magic alike failing to so much as slow their foes advance, the shrine's guardians fought on.
Those huddled in the shrine, desperately watching their protectors fall one by one were not so resolute. With every defender that was struck down, terror gripped their hearts more tightly, tearing away at their faith in the cult. It was only a matter of time before some broke down, demanding that the remaining cultists give up and appease the spirits before they kill everyone.
Of course, the cult refused, prompting what would now be known as a 'vacoun standoff.' Neither side willing to back down, tensions continuing to rise as the situation outside grew more dire by the moment. If nothing was done, there may not be anything left for the spirits to ravage.
Yet, just as it seemed all hope was lost and the shrine would descend into violence, the imminent bloodshed was derailed by the sound of wood shattering. Fearful that the spirits had broken into the shrine itself, the groups turned their attention away from each other and towards the source of the noise.
To their mutual shock, the cause was not the attacking spirits but Jack, a young hunter who had been with the cult since its inception. His fist still lodged in the broken wall, clenched tightly despite the blood steadily dripping from where the skin had torn away. But what stood out the most was his expression.
The young man had always been outspoken, never one to shy away from making his opinion known, and wore his emotions on his sleeve like a badge of honor. But now, his face was eerily blank, conveying only detached disgust. Like he was looking at a nest of rodents rather than human beings.
He asked if they could even hear themselves, a note of incredulous horror creeping into his tone. How, when so many were risking their lives to protect them, they could even consider turning on the one's who had taken them in.
The refugees who had moments ago been ready to attack the cultists bristled, indignation and fear rushing in to fill the hole left by shock. They screamed at Jack, asking what else they were supposed to do when the guards are being cut down and the cult's god does nothing. Why should they place faith in something that has done nothing to earn it?
They had trusted the cult, but now that everything was going wrong it was clear to them that it was better to use the method they knew worked than hold out for things to magically change. At least that way some of them might survive the night.
Jack disagreed. He felt that if they gave in now, if they simply appeased the spirits, all they would be doing is subjecting the survivors to a life of constant suffering under the guise of 'salvation.' Even if the battle seemed hopeless, it was better to take a chance on a miracle than give in and fail for sure.
When refugees made a few comments about Jack being delusional and how he just was too afraid to repent, he accepted their criticism with a level head and quiet respect.
By which I mean he grabbed a sword that the cult claimed had been blessed by the Companion themselves and charged towards the front doors. Right before reaching them, he turned back and told the refugees that if they needed a miracle he'd show them one.
With that, he threw open the doors and charged out into the chaos. Leaving the refugees and cultists alike to gape in shock and awe, though several of the latter wore proud smiles at the sight.
Outside the shrine, the battle had turned in the favor of the spirits. While the defenders' wills remained unbroken, the same could not be said of their bodies, with many of them more closely resembling shredded meat than human beings. Even those still well enough to continue fighting seemed to act with a desperate edge, as if trying to silence their internal doubts.
Of the dozens of people who went out to hold the line, barely a tenth of their number was still fighting, and of them only four remained unmarred by serious injury. Yet, when the young hunter burst through the shrine doors wielding the sacred blade, there was not a single pair of eyes that did not turn to him.
To Jack's credit, the sight of his allies in such sorry states served only to steel his resolve, a tightening of his grip on the sword and a few more exposed teeth the only indication he was affected. Where lesser men would have lost themselves to rage and charged into the fray, he looked for where he would be of most use.
Spotting a spirit diving towards a fallen warrior, he moved to intercept the fatal blow, sword raised high. The spirit did not change course, confident that this attack would be no more effective than the many others before it.
And perhaps in a different world that would have been the case, the sword passing through the spirit like all the others. A world where no amount of faith could change the result of an act, where a Grimm might threaten the village in the spirit's place. But that would be a rather boring world, so let's be grateful we don't live there, shall we?
In the days to come, it would be difficult for those watching to agree on exactly what happened at that moment. Some claimed that Jack's sword erupted in white light and obliterated the spirit in a wave of power, others that it had cleaved the creature into two burning halves which soon dissolved into nothing, and yet another group would swear that an ethereal figure had swung the sword alongside Jack.
Regardless, the result was the same, the spirit that had torn through so many lives was struck down by the blessed sword. You could see reality shift in the eyes of those watching as they took in the fact that their seemingly unstoppable foes could die. Even those within the shrine, who had so recently demanded submission, now felt the embers of faith burn to life within their breasts.
Enraged and terrified by this act of defiance, the remaining spirits abandoned their previous targets and focused the full scope of their attention on Jack. Descending on him in a torrent of unearthly shrieks and grasping claws.
Yet, he would not be shaken. One after another, he cut down his foes, dancing around their wild strikes and delivering retaliation in turn. Every blow ended another of the horde's unlife, building the onlooker's hopes ever higher as they witnessed the end of their nightmare and affirmation of their faith.
Finally, only one spirit remained. Seemingly realizing that it could not win this fight, it turned tail and attempted to fly away before it could be struck down as well. Unwilling to let a single one of the beings that had terrorized his village go, Jack lept into the air after it.
With unprecedented speed, the young man caught up to the fleeing spirit, readying his blade for the final blow. Perhaps out of a desire to strike back at its killer or simple shock, the spirit halted its flight and turned to face its doom.
Jack obliged, the blessed sword catching the sun's light as it swung down to bisect the last of the malevolent spirits. Cleaving apart the darkness that had descended upon the village and ushering in a brighter tomorrow.
As the crowd watched Jack gracefully tuck his knees and roll to a stop upon impact, there was only silence. The creatures who the village's best efforts had failed against, who had only been stalemated by another inhuman being, had been cut down in a matter of minutes.
Slowly but surely, the silence gave way to the sound of cheers and applause as the cultists and refugees alike rejoiced in their newfound freedom. In the knowledge that they were neither alone nor powerless in the face of this new reality.
Of course, this didn't magically set things back to the way they were. The village had suffered too much for that.
The guard was outright gone along with a large chunk of the civilian population, the penitent cult was largely untouched, and the farmlands were now under the rule of the dryad. And, unbeknownst to the celebrating villagers, the wolves of darkness prowled the forest, leaving ruin and decay in their wake as they awaited their chance to strike.
There would be many more trials and tribulations in the village's future, battles against man and monster alike, but this moment marked the beginning of a new age. Stories of the crisis would spread, by traders, by fleeing villagers, and by travelers. And as it spread, more and more people would look at the world around them and wonder if there was something more to it.
Stories inspire stories and faith begets faith. There would be other cases such as this one, other villages plagued by inhuman creatures, more guardians of nature, and the occasional god providing assistance in exchange for faith. But this was the first. And that gives it a certain weight among legends.
And so another tale comes to a close. It was a bit of a detour, but I feel like exploring the creation of youkai and gods in this verse was worth it. The two settings just work so well together on this aspect of the fusion.
Having gotten this far, and seeing as you can probably guess when the next tale is set, I should probably clarify that I'm going to be playing it a bit fast and loose with the Touhou mythos. Nothing that outright breaks it, but some characters may exist under different circumstances, some events may have happened earlier/later/not at all, and some things went very differently. I promise every change can be traced back to a plausible in-universe reason though.
Finally, as someone is bound to ask this at some point, Jack is not based on Samurai Jack. He's Jack the Giant-Killer. Albeit with a few details changed.