Anco's Landfill

by Anco

This is a dumping ground for omakes, one-shots and dead fics that I've written.

24. A Silver Fist Encased In Bronze: Part 3

A Silver Fist Encased In Bronze

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I was the first one to strike and strike I did. The distance between me and the Dragon was closed in a heartbeat as I leapt forward. The black blade in my grip became like quicksilver and struck down one of the mortal bandits, cleaving him from head to toe in a single flawless strike.

Or I would've, had the Prince of the Earth not shifted his stance and blocked my strike with his own weapon. Sparks flew out as jade struck against jade, the head of the grand goremaul was big enough to cover the cowering bandit. Quickly, I placed both hands on the handle of my blade and pushed forward.

"Go! Warn Ragira! The rest of you, surround him!" The Dragon-Blooded's strength was great but so was mine. The grand goremaul shook and trembled as we clashed in a contest of pure strength for a brief moment. The Essence inside of my soul swirled with vivid anticipation, wishing to fuel my actions to glorious heights. But I held it back, for now.

This was my true fight against a Dragon. I would not let it end too quickly. Essence, the very fabric of Creation, serves me. I do not serve it.

"Focus on the Dragon whelp, my Prince. I will warn you of when the mortals strike."

I didn't think anything back but I had faith in my Coadjutor. I disengaged from the Dragon and backed up a few steps as my eyes trailed after the one bandit scrambling and running deeper into the woods like hell itself was on his heels.

It wasn't too far off from the truth, I suppose.

No matter. I have more important things to take care of. Still holding onto my black blade with both of my hands, I kept my gaze on the Earth Aspect, even as his men surrounded me with practiced ease, their long spears pointed at me with a steely gaze.

"Do you really think your underlings are enough to stop me?" I asked calmly, my voice restrained even as battle-lust and boiling hot emotion rolled within me. The Child of Pasiap merely glowered at me with a fierce glare, his hands tightening around the long handle of his white-jade goremaul.

"These mortals? Perhaps not. But who is to say it is just us?"

Just as my own Essence suffuses into my skin, hardening and strengthening it beyond what it already was, I witnessed dust and dirt gather into many vaguely human shapes. They numbered in the tens at the very least. I watched this sudden army of dirt and mud converge around me, pebble eyes staring at me with stony defiance.

"Surrender," The Stone Fist demanded of me clearly, his voice like rumbling stones crashing together, "You can not kill us all."

I looked around my surroundings for a moment and I could not be more disappointed.

"Phantom-Warrior Horde," I said, unimpressed by the display of illusory might and the Earth Aspect stared hard at me, unflinching, "I know of this Charm. It matters not. Whether it is ten or Ten Thousand Dragons, I will cut you down all the same."

His stance went from solid stone to brittle rigidness. His expression broke into a scowl as a single word slipped in a vicious growl, dripping with disgust and venom:

"Blasphemy."

"Behind you, my Prince."

I moved before Micahna spoke but it was only a difference of a few heartbeats. The spear thrust went awry as I stepped to the side and turning on my heel, I faced him. His pupils shrank to pinpoint dots as his head was cleaved from his shoulders in a blood-flecked swipe of my blade. His body spasmed and twitched as it stumbled around, dropping the spear to the ground.

Micahna didn't insult my intelligence when I saw a large shadow loom over me and I avoided the powerful downward swing of the Dragon's goremaul, the ground shattering under the Stone Fist's raw strength combined with the goremaul's heavy head.

The dead bandit's body was thrown back by the blow and I reached out to grab his spear, shattered halfway but enough for my purposes. As if signed by the Dragon's strike, the surrounding spears shot towards me, coming at me from all sides.

"The third one on your left, my Prince. His grip is weak and his posture unsure."

Heeding my Coadjutor's words, I deflected the bandit's spear with ease while the others stabbed at me. My clothes were torn and my skin was nicked by some of them but the Celestial Tiger Hide was more than enough to turn crippling injuries into barely noticeable scratches.

As I deflected the spear, Micahna's words proved true as his grip on his spear slipped and he stumbled back for just a moment. That moment was all I needed to quickly get into his guard, his eyes widening in absolute fear for a brief moment. With a flick of my blade, screams and blood spurted out as the bandit to my right had his arm cleanly hacked off at the elbow. To my left, my hand turned into a fist of iron as Essence quickly came to my command and I shattered the spear to my left into a shower of splinters and iron.

The spear, like all weapons, had its strengths and weaknesses. It was commonly used by those unskilled in handling weapons and for good reason. Its length allowed even a peasant to defend himself from wolves and bandits.

I have trained with every kind of weapon. Blades with a single edge are my preferred weapon but the spear was not unknown to me. So it was that when I came into the bandit's guard, his fate was already sealed.

Like a moving river, my reaper daiklave came down in a clean cut and I felt his lamellar armour split under my blow and a scream of pain and fear followed suit.

But it was strange. I shouldn't have felt the armour. With my strength and the artefact weapon in hand, it should've cut cleanly through the plated armour as if it didn't even exist.

"My Prince, the Dragon!"

My pondering was interrupted when I felt a presence behind me and Micahna's words. By instinct, I went to block with my blade, sure in my strength to block with one hand.

That belief was slightly cracked when I felt the blow smash against me with force overcoming my own. My bones shuddered painfully inside my body, especially so with my arm. I felt my finger bones crack within my hand and what would've been a deadly blow to me in the past was little more than a painful one. My feet skidded on the hard dirt as I was pushed to the side by the white-jade goremaul.

My hand shook minutely with pain, my grip weakening slightly before a familiar surge rushed through me and my grip became steel.

By Pain Reforged. A truly useful Charm.

"You might be fast, outcaste," The Earth Aspect said stoically, sure of his victory as he stood in front of the one wounded bandit and I noticed that the one whose spear I shattered was unsheathing his blade, scared as he was.

"But you are nothing more than a hatchling. I can see it in the way you hold yourself; belief in your own power and immortality. The way you look down on others, on me. You have not been Exalted for very long, have you?"

My answer was a very succinct throw of the spearhead in my hand, aiming for the Stone Fist's uncovered head. It wasn't a very good throw as it went wide and hit one of the bandits but while it was strong enough to make him stumble, it wasn't strong enough to pierce his armour like I wanted.

"Armour-Hardening Concentration," I spoke out more to myself than anyone else, my tongue clicking with annoyance, "Such care for your fellow bandits, Prince. Shame it will not help them."

"If you understood what was going on, whelp, you would not call us that," The Earth Aspect said to me with a stilted tone and I grew bored with this. I gripped the handle of my blade with both hands and took up a stance once more. I let out a slow breath that coursed with heat and I once leapt into the sanctity of battle.

Despite it all, I felt calm. Collected. More than that, I felt invigorated. Strong. Whether the Earth Aspect saw my smile or not, I didn't care.

This was it. This was what I wanted. The Dragons never graced me and the Heavens did not deign to look down upon my plight, the injustices laid upon me and my father.

But Hell itself gave me the strength I so sorely craved. The strength I needed to force my will upon Creation and take my revenge.

"My Prince, be it from me to cut short your enjoyment but may I advise you to stop holding back? You can not exert your full might as you fight now and you are not fighting against a mortal but a Dragon-Blooded. Weak as they are, they are still Exalted and you fight against an experienced one, it seems."

My Coadjutor was right. This little dance has come to an end now and I had no desire to fight against two of the Dragon-Blooded.

Enough distractions and this foreplay. Let us see those who claim to rule Creation are truly made of.

The Ivory Dragon's sandy eyes grew tight as he lifted his armoured foot and brought it down with a mighty force. As he did so, I felt the very earth itself shudder beneath me, quaking with forceful effort. My sprint slowed but didn't stop as I managed to keep my footing.

It would take more than that to keep my blade from severing his neck.

Those were my thoughts when the earth gave way underneath me and I felt my footing leave me. The sun was blocked as shadows fell over me as a sinkhole formed underneath me. It wasn't a deep one but I saw the dirt and mud itself form walls around me, like a cage for a rabid animal.

"Get the wounded out of here and back to Ragira! The rest of you, take up your spears!" I heard the Earth Aspect shout and I felt myself scowl. Essence converged on my fingertips and I put the blood-flecked blade between my teeth as I leapt on the dry mud walls, climbing myself out of the earthy cage.

The Essence that I had held back for long enough came rushing forth. As I reached the top, the dry dirt cracked and shattered under my grip. I flung myself over the shaped earth barrier and I saw that the Earth Aspect and his motley crew of bandits have shrunk down to just a handful.

"I will not ask you again, whelp; Surrender and you will be shown mercy. My Hearth will be here before long and Regira will not be so merciful, even if you are a lost egg."

I couldn't help it anymore. My chest rumbled with slow laughter and as I removed the long blade from my teeth, the laughter came out a slow drawl as I met the squinting, confused eyes of the Ivory Dragon.

"You still think me a Prince of the Earth," I said slowly as I pointed my blade at him and brought it back, the sun glinting off the blood-specked blackness of its edge, "Let me dissuade you from such a quaint notion."

Essence fueled my actions and limbs both as I threw my sword towards the bandit beside him. It was little more than a black blur that flew through the air, cutting the wind upon its edge. The Earth Aspect tried to block the blade but it was too little, too late.

One of the bandits gasped as my daiklave cleanly impaled him through the chest and from that fatal wound, I knew he was already dead. But that was not enough. A fountain of blood spurted out and with a thought, I commanded the Essence to erupt inside the wound in a show of sickly green fire that consumed the bandit wholly.

Green Sun Nimbus Flare was a powerful Charm but it was not limited to those close to me. In a certain range, any wounds that I inflict can erupt in a flare of verdant flames.

Shouts of confusion and fear came in droves but I didn't have time to bask in them as I sprinted across the distance with a swiftness that the Earth Aspect couldn't follow, even as his stoic visage broke apart in a vicious glare and his lips curled back in a scowl.

Micahna, keep your attention around us. I will deal with these vagabonds properly from now on.

"As you command, my dear Prince."

My hands became claws but I did not take the Tiger Form for now. As Essence covered my fingertips, so did it as well turn my hands into iron flesh. Reaching the bandits, their confidence was broken like their bodies upon my hands. The Earth Aspect was slow, far too slow to stop me as I retrieved my bloody black blade from the burning corpse of his underling. Around him, his failure to protect those under his care were little more than meat on the red running ground, their skin was torn apart and their organs slopping onto the ground in a steaming heap. My hands were drenched and dripping in their blood, the sticky wet feeling was accompanied by heat and warmth. For all of the efforts of the Earth Aspects, for all of his Charms, it amounted to nothing.

I could see that he was shaken as I stared at him, his body rigid and his gaze cast down. He shook slightly, his armour rattling with the motions.

Earth Aspects, Children of Pasiap, are usually devoted to something or someone. They are the pillars of support, if not warmth, of their Sworn Kinships. They are the mountain that weathers the storm to protect those underneath them and they consider themselves unwavering, resolute in the face of hardship.

"I am Patham, son of Peleps Orta and heir of the Dragon's Breath Sect," I spoke calmly as I swiped my blade and the blood ran off of it like water, its glistening black blade shining. The Earth Aspect raised his head and I saw his jaw clenched tight, his skin cracking apart in seams, taking the rough texture of sandy stone as a swirl of ethereal dust started to appear around the Dragon-Blooded, cracks webbing out from underneath him. Without a single word, the deep loathing hate was obvious in his hard eyes but I saw, for a brief moment, the fear and terror hidden beneath slaughtered duty and broken honour.

"Remember that name, toothless Dragon, no matter how quickly your death draws ever near. It is the name of one of the Anathema that you so deeply despise"

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In a small shelter of stone and wood, a man sat alone as he ate a meal of roasted fish and steamed vegetables. He chewed, slowly and methodically as if to wring out every morsel of taste he could. He swallowed and repeated the process, staring at nothing.

His name was Ragira, a found egg of the Realm. And he wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

"L-Lord Ragira!"

Of course, he didn't get that luxury. He slowly placed down his chopsticks and let out a slow breath, not bothering to turn around.

"I was asked to be left alone," He said quietly and he could hear the gulp behind him, "This better be important."

"M-My Lord, forgive me but this is an urgent matter. One of Lord Verka's men has just arrived. He tells us that Lord Verka is fighting against another Prince."

That made Ragira sit up straight. Another Dragon-Blooded, here? But that didn't make any sense. They were so far away from any location of note, except perhaps for the now defunct Dragon's Breath Sect.

It has been a week or so since they witnessed the burning of the Dragon's Breath. It was an awe-inspiring sight and a stroke of good fortune. A place to scavenge for weapons, armour, whatever survived the fires that seemed to burn with a fury unmatched.

But it couldn't be a student of that dead sect. Verka, his brother in all but blood, wouldn't have trouble with a whelping, especially with his chosen unit. Plus, they saw the students flee from the burning sect. They were little more than children.

"Bring him in," Ragira eventually said and turning around, "And get Quin as well."

The man snapped off a salute and walked out of the shelter, a drape of frayed cloth acting as a thin cover for privacy. Ragira remained seated, having gone deep in thought.

Verka was tasked with keeping the...cargo, as it were, safe and fed until the allotted came. He wouldn't dare lay his hands on them but the same couldn't be said for any other Dragon-Blooded. If they did anything, it would jeopardize everything they have worked for.

They had already lost a Hearth mate. He will not lose another. Not to them, of all things.

The flap to his shelter gave way and Ragira could already tell who it was without taking a second glance.

"How are you?" Ragira asked one of his kin and the slight limp they had told him all he needed to know.

Quin's appearance was that of noble bearing. Even while limping slightly, they walked with a nobility that seemed to be an affront to this shelter of mud and dirt. Her long reinforced buff jacket seemed custom made for her, torn and dirtied from their living conditions. Her skin tinged slightly bluish-green but the most prominent thing that outed her as a Child of Daana'd was the scent of an ocean breeze that seemed to cling to her sinewy movements.

"Awful but I can fight," Quin said bluntly and Ragira believed her. He stood up out of respect for his Kin and she frowned at him slightly, "I was in the middle of practice, you know."

"You should be resting," He said soothingly but Quin just rolled her deep blue eyes at him, "Quin, this is no joking matter. That river god-"

"Knows its place, Ragira. It won't dare try anything for now," Quin said with a succinct tone, "And if it does, we have some mortals to keep it occupied."

Ragira said nothing but he simply gave a small huff in which a plume of smoke escaped from his lips. Before he could argue back, a man that looked shaken and scared entered the room, wearing lamellar armour.

"Lord Ragira and Lady Quin," He knelt swiftly on the ground to the Dragon-Blooded, "I will be swift; Lord Verka has come under attack by another Exalted."

"What?" Quin said, her shocked expression overcoming her frown for a moment before stepping towards the kneeling mortal, "Are you certain of this?"

"I am, my Lady. He held a long blade, a daiklave made out of pure black jade. It held a single edge and was thinner than most I've seen but I recognized it."

A reaper daiklave then. Curious, but-

"Pure black jade?" Quin spoke up in a queer voice and Ragira glanced at her to see her expression tight with concentration, "Not alloyed or inlaid with steel? Pure?"

The soldier shook slightly from the intensity of the Water Aspect's demanding words, "From what I could tell, yes, Lady Quin."

That made Quin frown heavily but she said no more on the subject, so Ragira took the opportunity to cut to the heart of the matter.

"The Exalted that Verka is fighting against; describe them to me. Their appearance, how they fought. Leave nothing out."

The soldier did just that and from that moment onward, Ragira couldn't pinpoint anything about this Exalted.

One can usually spot what Aspect a Dragon-Blooded is from their appearance alone as the Dragon's blessings affect them physically as it does spiritually. Wood Aspects have green hair or bark-like skin, Fire Aspects such as himself can breathe out black smoke or their skin is always a fever pitch of heat.

But this Exalted fitted none of them. He had no markings of a Dragon, at least none that were obvious at first glance. But only the Exalted could wield artefact weapons as skillfully as the mortal described. Curiously enough, no Charms were used but not all Charms were obvious to mortals and Exalted alike.

"I don't like this," Quin said, her immaculate brow knitted tightly in thought, "There shouldn't be any other Dragon-Blooded close to here after that sect was assaulted. None of the students there should give Verka any trouble but the fact that he decided to send one of his men here to warn us…it doesn't bode well, Ragira."

No. No, it does not. The Fire Aspect decided that enough was enough.

"Get your spear, Quin. I'm not leaving this to chance."

It wasn't a second later after he had spoken that the Water Aspect had quickly left the shelter and he knew he would have to follow suit sooner rather than later. Dismissing the soldier, Ragira walked into a small side room of his shelter. It held only a table and on that table was a box of smooth dark wood and a large suit of armour that looked too heavy for mortals to even lift, let alone wear. Opening it up, he saw a single massive blade of red jade and dark gold.

Taking the grand daiklave, he could feel their warmth and fire, just little more than embers that were eager to ignite and turn into a full flame. Next to it was a sheath made from redwood and lacquered to shine. It held the iconography of rolling waves that burned, brushed by a breeze of pure air.

The blade was double-edged, inlaid with glinting gold and smooth red jade for its sharp edges. On the jade were beautifully carved waves of fire that seemed to move, even when he was looking at them. It was a bit gaudy looking for Ragira's taste, having more simple taste but an artefact weapon wasn't something one just turns their nose up at.

Quickly putting the large blade in its scabbard, he also quickly donned the massive suit of armour, feeling safer with it on. The suit of armour was a sister piece compared to Verka's, a gift from when their Kinship was formed. He groused about wanting to work with jade but as found eggs that were too old to be adopted into the Great Houses, they were lucky to have jade weapons.

Leaving his shelter, he found himself greeted with the sight of their pathetic situation. Verka's shelters of mud and dirt housed what remained of them, situated around a flowing river that fed them with fish and freshwater. Just a few ways down, Ragira could see the makeshift dam they had made, letting the river pool into a deep hole, trickling over the edge and further down the mountain.

There wasn't a lot of them, 30 or 40 of them at most right now. Recently, their numbers had trickled down due to someone killing off their less reputable members. Ragira had sent one despicable worm to loot the burnt temple but he had found them dead; cut to pieces and signs of fire scorching the stone.

It was then he saw Quin running up to him, garbed in a simple chain swathing, interlinked with minute chains of steel and holding a jagged direlance. It was a little over seven feet in length and its jagged head of steel was inlaid with thin but very visible lines of black jade that seemed to meld with the steel itself.

"Quin and I are heading out for a moment," Ragira said calmly to his guards posted outside his shelter, "Do not let anyone leave this encampment until we're back."

His guards snapped off a salute and word quickly spread. He and Quin wasted no time leaving the encampment behind them, a strange feeling that tightened around their hearts spurred them on with haste.

They walked in silence for long, heavy moments that seemed to stretch on between them. Despite being Exalted, despite being graced by the Dragons, they couldn't help but feel worried for their brother in arms.

"...Is it really another Dragon-Blooded? Or is it an Anathema?" Quin eventually spoke up the hidden worry that both of them felt, "From the description, there wasn't a single marking of the Dragons upon him."

"We can't expect mortals to know what to look for, Quin," Ragira said quickly but he only received a stern look in tow.

"These aren't just peasants or farmers, Ragira. These mortals have been around the Dragon-Blooded for years, they're not stupid. They know how to tell a Water Aspect and a Fire Aspect apart."

"And if you thought it was just a single Dragon-Blooded, whoever they are, you wouldn't be coming with me."

"If I recall, it's the other way around," Ragira said with a slight smirk that didn't reach his eyes or hold any mirth. Whatever Quin was going to snap back with died on her lips as they smelled blood on the wind. They stopped when they heard the frantic footsteps of men in armour stomp on the ground, coming straight towards them. Quin readied her direlance to skewer whoever approached but Ragira put his hand out to stop her.

And that had saved the life of Verka's bloodied and scared men. They hadn't seemed to notice the two Dragon-Blooded at first and Ragira saw the state they were in.

One of them had their arm cut cleanly off at the elbow, a rough bandage wrapped around it but he was nothing more than a cold corpse they had carried, along with the one that had his entire chest cleaved open, dripping with thick, dark blood. Another seemed to be holding his stomach, wincing with pain as if every breath he took was a great effort.

He quickly scanned them but found no evidence of any burns like he found before. But the wounds could only be inflicted by an Exalted. Of that, he was sure.

"L-Lord Ragira," One of the soldiers said to him, trembling slightly, "We've come under atta-"

"By another Exalted. We know," Ragira wasted no time and pointed at the corpses they were carrying, "Leave them. They're just dead-"

Ragira stopped. It wasn't just him as they all felt it. It was something they had all witnessed when one of the Dragon-Blooded had decided to let Creation know that one of the Dragons had awakened.

Far away from them, a pillar of earthly light had erupted and Creation trembled under its wake.

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Anima. It was the aura that surrounded all living things. An invisible thing, it could not usually be seen. My father once explained to me that Anima was like a birthmark to accompany an Exalted's Second Breath; one could hide it, but it was always there. And just like a birthmark, it could be revealed at any time.

He told me of the Anathema he had once hunted while he partook of the Wyld Hunt. When they, a being I now knew was a Zenith Solar, was cornered and wounded. He fought back, his anima transforming into a terrifying golden bull that stomped the ground.

An Anima Banner. A representation of an Exalted's inner self. Often, some were similar but never truly the same. They couldn't be. For how could any of the Exalted be the same?

I had never witnessed an Anima Banner before. A Dragon-Blooded's anima was a dangerous thing; a whirlpool of elemental Essence that could break stone and scorch the people around them into charred corpses. This was called an Anima Flux, an aspect of anima that was unique to them alone.

As Exalted myself, I also had an Anima Banner. That was a given.

As I watched this Earth Aspect's mere presence light up, a whirlwind of glittering sand and dust that infused his very skin with the Essence of stone and rock, the totemic image of his Anima forming behind him, a single overwhelming urge came to me:

I want to match it. I want to unleash my own Anima Banner. My first duel to the death with an Exalted. It would make a good story, no?

"My Prince, do not forget why you have come here in the first place. His clutch will see his Anima for certain. We must make haste."

True. And there were always more Dragons after all.

"Anathema," The Earth Aspect's voice rumbled with the same seismic force that buffeted my body and shook my bones, causing trees to break and bend from the elemental pressure. From behind him, his Anima Banner had come into full bloom into a roused, snarling badger with the colour of sand for its stripes and claws made out of rock.

"You will not live to see another day."

That is what he said before my blade clashed and he barely managed to block it, trembling under my strength. In return, the seismic force emanating from him was stronger now and I could tell if it was not for my Exalted nature, I would be crushed into paste.

The Anima's of the students at my sect couldn't even be compared to this walking earthquake.

Swiftly, my left hand shot towards the scowling stone-cragged face of the Earth Aspect, my fingertips turning into claws of iron as the Essence that I had held back for so long came out in a flood of pure, unrestrained power.

His head shifted to the side but my claws clipped through his stone skin and a bead of blood appeared right by his eye. It wasn't a wound worth worrying about.

But it was a wound nonetheless.

A terrible roar of pain came from the Earth Aspect as verdant fires flared from the wound in a plume of fire that covered half of his face. He flinched back, swinging wildly while his vision was blinded by the primordial flames I had summoned.

I felt the wind rush over me in a forceful wave as I ducked low under the wild, wide blow. The earth cracked under the force of my feet, Essence practically flooding and guiding my actions as the edge of my blade sliced through the thickness of his greaves and I could feel the skin of rock give way underneath the edge of my blade.

I saw the shadow of the goremaul fall over me and I knew I wouldn't be able to get out of the way fast enough.

All Exalted have a pool of Essence within them. Indeed, everyone with access to Essence forms a pool of it inside of them, to use as they wish. But while all enlightened mortals could compare to each other, they could not compare to the Exalted whose inner Essence outshone theirs like a grain of golden sand to the sun.

The Essence inside of me was dwindling fast. Already, it was almost empty as I used it to fuel my actions. To use my daiklave required a certain amount of Essence committed to it and I had chosen my personal pool by instinct.

But there was something else that enlightened mortals couldn't access; the Essence of Creation itself.

That is what causes an Exalted's anima to flare. When they channel the Essence around them through themselves, it agitates and causes their anima to awaken. A process none of them can fully control nor did I expect that they want to. To proclaim yourself Exalted was to cause those lesser to tremble and quake before them. Neither wholly mortal or wholly divine, this alone was offered to the Exalted.

My fist became like iron as it impacted against the head of white jade and I could feel the bones in my fist splinter like wood, my entire arm shuddering with trembling agony and I could feel the bones chip inside my hardened body. Despite that agony, despite the constant seismic force of the Earth's Dragon's anima constantly buffeting against me, making it feel as if boulders were crushing upon my shoulders, I showed no pain on my face.

Nor did I show any reaction as my caste mark flickered to life on my brow; two crossed blades that glinted like burnished brass. I met the gaze of the Stone Fist as my inhuman strength proved to be above his and he was forced back as a thunderous clang rang out from our clash.

With an almost lazy flick of my blade, I slashed at his other leg and veins strained against the skin of his neck as two flares of verdant flames burst open from the small wounds on both of his legs, cooking his flesh inside his own armour. He was forced to his knees and his grand goremaul slammed against the ground, the weight of it making a small crater. Languidly, I stood up from my low position and as if letting the waves of earthly Essence wash over me like water upon a stone, I put the pointed tip of my daiklave right under his rocky chin and forced him to look me in the eye.

"There is a reason why the Wyld Hunt does not consist of one Dragon alone, toothless worm," I said calmly, the crossed brass blades of Malfeas adorning my brow. Even as his anima flared and cracked the earth beneath, weighing down upon me, I did not falter.

"My...Hearth...will avenge me, Anathema," He spat through blood-specked lips. The right side of his face was completely burnt, revealing the raw tendons of flesh underneath it. His eye had been burnt out of his bloody weeping socket, but even then, I could feel the burning hatred that emanated from it.

"True," I agreed without a moment of hesitation, "But who will avenge them?"

"BAST-!"

His anima flickered once in a final brilliant blaze, shaking the earth around us but it ended when I separated his head from his shoulders. A fountain of blood sprayed out in an angry hiss as his head rolled to the side and his body jerked and spasmed, falling to the ground.

I looked down at the Dragon I had slain, his blood mixing with that of his slain soldiers. Soon enough, I couldn't tell which was his blood or that of mortals.

I suppose it doesn't matter. I should hurry. A Hearth can feel when one of their numbers die and I have already wasted enough time here playing. Finding my scabbard, I quickly sheathed my blade and I walked into the cave. Torches burned brightly on the walls as I walked down deeper into the earth, my caste mark still burning brightly upon my brow.

Micahna?

"Yes, my Prince?"

How long does this last for?

"20 minutes or so, my Prince."

Damn it. The whole of Green River will know me as Anathema then.

"You place too much trust on the teachings of the Immaculate teachings, my Prince. These are simple people, leading simple lives and simple deaths. They will not dare turn against you, their saviour."

I didn't respond back because I wasn't too sure about that. Nevertheless, I decided it didn't matter. If they revile me, so be it. The oath between Green River and me still stood, regardless of what they thought.

I hurriedly walked down the cave system and I passed by what seemed to be make-shift rooms, hand-carved to be large open rooms with a smooth, even floor. Bedrolls littered on the floor and I couldn't tell if the number was greater or lesser than those that I had killed.

I still walked further down and I started to hear it. The sound of mutterings and the sniffling of children, right at the end. I walked for a couple of more moments before I finally came upon them.

There weren't as many as I was hoping. Just a handful of women and children. Either I was lied to or some of them had already been taken.

Damn it all. Was I too late?

The gathered villagers were huddled in a large, well-lit room which let me see their looks of fear and shock as I advanced towards them. They were barred from pillars of thick stone, much like a prison room.

I didn't have time for this.

"My name is Patham and Elder Shen Qao sent me to rescue you," I told the terrified women and children quickly and I could feel a wave of shock wash over them, "But time grows short. Stand back, against the wall."

Whether they were more scared of me or something else, I couldn't rightfully say. Whatever it may be, I placed my daiklave down and let out a slow breath, relaxing for a brief moment. My muscles, as aching and throbbing as they were, went slack as I gripped the two of the earthen poles.

And once again, I decided to take deep of Creation's Essence and the brass blades that adorn my brow glinted with sovereign rage. My slack muscles immediately tensed and bulged, as if almost stretching the skin. My teeth gritted against each other in a colossal effort as my fingers dug into the stone.

Around me, a sickly green ethereal flame started licking the air around me, hanging over me like a cloak. Unlike the earthly splendour of the Earth Aspect or the elemental grace of the Dragon-Blooded's anima, the Essence that went through my own chakra channels and meridians was tainted by the demonic nature of my Exaltation.

It was due to this, Micahna told me, that we were named the Green Sun Princes.

The emerald anima around me flared with the beat of thunder as the stone pillars cracked underneath my strength. In my mind's eye, I saw the brass blades of Malfeas on my brow sharpen and glint with a verdant gleam. Shadows twisted and bent under the flare of my anima, the torches on the walls guttering into embers in obedience to the greater fire.

Despite the thrumming pain in my left arm, my hand screaming out in pain, I ignored it. With the sound of cracking stone and shuddering earth, the two pillars of stone that I had grasped didn't break so much as they shattered under my grip. Sharp shards of stone pelted my form and littered the ground

I heaved out a heavy breath, looking at the gathered terrified women and children, the oldest placing themselves in front of the youngest. That would've made me smile if I wasn't sure that me smiling would give them all heart attacks right now.

"Come with me, quickly. I will lead you all back to Green River," I said honestly, "If you delay, the other Dragons will be back soon enough and then I won't be able to protect you."

That caused a stir amongst them and picking up my daiklave, I motioned them to follow me outside the cave. Around me, the flare of anima started to die down but tinges of green anima still floated off my being and my caste mark was still displayed proudly upon my brow.

I glanced behind me to see the group following me closely, a faint sense of hope among them. But I couldn't help the nagging feeling in the back of my mind that something was off.

"They were looked after. Extensively so."

What?

"They're too well fed and clothed. There isn't any sign of rape nor torture that I can see and trust me, my Prince, I would know. Whatever spirit that wants these mortals desires them unharmed."

Risking another look, I could see what she meant. Their clothes were dirty but that was only natural when sleeping in a cave. Their faces weren't gaunt with malnutrition and they were able to keep pace with me, despite being held hostage for a number of days. They didn't even look like they'd been used for heavy labour.

Why? What do they gain from this?

"An apt question, my dear Prince. But one for another time. For now, focus on trying to find a place to rest and heal. The other Dragon-Blooded will be upon you if you dally here."

Following Micahna's advice, I picked up my pace. When we came to the top, the gasps and mutterings of the women and children came to a fever pitch. Some of the women covered the eyes of the children but it was most likely too late.

I looked towards the grand goremaul, fallen to the ground and greed flared through my mind. It was such a shame to leave that weapon behind but I didn't have the time to attune to myself right now.

"If you desire such a weapon, my Prince, let us visit Malfeas. The Illustrious Forge can easily make such a weapon for you."

The Illustrious Forge?

"Oh yes. It is truly an incredible thing. Words fail to describe the splendour of it but I can assure you, it will be worth the visit if you ever desire weapons or armour."

The only time I've ever heard such awe and wonder come from my Coadjutor was when I first used my Charms. Truthfully, I felt...ambivalent about visiting the Demon City.

How could I not be? It wasn't a place meant for humans. But Micahna told me that if I delayed for too long, I would be brought to heel and dragged. There was no reason to make things more difficult for myself.

After I had dealt with Green River, I would make my way to Malfeas. And after that?

The Sword of Heaven that fell upon my home. It did not matter where in Creation he was hiding, it did not matter how far he dug or how far he ran. Nothing in this world could stop me from having my revenge.

I looked back at the group of women and children following me, stepping over the pools of congealed blood and cold bodies of the bandits and Dragon I had dispatched. A very few even spat upon them, when they thought no one else was looking.

A journey of a thousand miles begins when one takes a single step.

Today, I believe I have taken that step.

.

---

.

I was resting in the room given to me by the Elder, simply meditating. I wasn't doing anything strenuous as I decided it was best to rest and relax, letting my body heal without any interruption.

It wasn't that long after I had delivered back the captured villagers. I was set to be crowded but thankfully, I had managed to convince everyone that I needed to rest. I decided to let those who had seen my caste and anima speak freely.

"You should've stayed longer, my Prince. Did you not see some of the looks the women of this village were giving you?"

I did, Micahna. It was slightly disturbing. I'm not used to such...attention.

"Oh my. Does my Prince not know the tender touch of a woman?"

You know I don't, Micahna. And nor do I have any desire to at this stage. The other Dragons must've already found the Earth Aspect's body and discovered that their hostages are gone. They'll be coming here soon enough.

"On that note, let me be the first to congratulate you on slaying your first Dragon-Blooded, no doubt one of many. But I must say, you surprised me, my Prince."

In what way? Did you not expect me to win?

"The Dragon-Blooded are only truly a worry when they band together, my Prince. They are soldiers, not generals or champions, not like yourself who holds a Solar Exaltation. No, you surprised me by the pure, black hate you held for the Dragons."

I felt my fingers tighten at Micahna's words but I didn't bother denying them. Micahna took my silence to carry on speaking.

"I am no stranger to hate or rage, my Prince but it surprised me that a human such as yourself could hide it so well," Micahna sounded almost impressed and perhaps a more sultry feeling as well, "Hate is a strong word, is what you said? I would argue that it is too weak a word for what you did today. You simply didn't want to kill him, my Prince."

"You wanted to humiliate him. Isn't that why you made him kneel before you?"

I remained silent for a few breaths, letting those long moments drag on. As I did so, memories of my years of ridicule and spiteful laughter crawled along the edges of my mind and true to her words, black burning hate started to rise up within me.

I do not hate the Dragons out of jealousy or envy. I wish for that to be understood, first of all. I am not that petty. Nor do I hate them out of resentment for years of trying to put me down due to being a mere mortal.

I hate them because they are pathetic. I hate them because I have yet to find a single one worthy of respect and trust me, I have seen many.

I hate them because they are weak.

"And your father?"

My father was everything to me. But he was a good, kind man in spite of being a Dragon rather than because of it. He was strong because he was dedicated to a path in life that many of his 'students' scoffed at, only interested in serving themselves. I have yet to see a Dragon-Blooded even begin to approach his level of strength. This Earth Aspect didn't come close and he didn't even know any techniques of the Immaculate Earth Style.

Then again, I thought to myself, that wasn't uncommon.

The Dragon's Breath sect was small but unique in the regard that father taught all of the Immaculate Styles as he was able to master them all through his long life. This itself was not heretical in the eyes of the Immaculate Philosophy.

But it came incredibly close to the point that any and all monks that have visited the sect saw no difference. They would always challenge father to a duel to the death or the more conservative ones would simply challenge him to a test of skill with the sect on the line.

Eventually, it stopped because none of them could beat him and because of the Great Houses. Usually, to have one initiated into the Five Glorious Dragon Styles required being accepted into the Cloister of Wisdom, a school for monks.

However, this would mean that the Dynasts who join the Cloister will have to cut all and any family ties. Having a sect that circumvents that is very attractive to the Great Houses and even the Cadet Houses.

It was another hypocrisy that the Dragons preached. They preached that everyone should know their place to keep balance and yet what do they do when one of them disturbed that balance for their own benefit?

I suppose I lied back then, while kneeling in the ashes of my home. I resented the Dragons. I resented and hated them for their hypocrisy and weakness that they flaunt as strength.

But most of all, I hate them for believing themselves superior when they are but decadent fools, deluding themselves into believing they are Dragons when they are nothing more than worms crawling through the dirt.

And they had the gall to look down on me.

Faint tinkling laughter could be heard in the back of my mind and it was a soothing balm over my rising anger, "Oh yes, my Prince. The Infernal Monster Style will open itself to you. Of this, I am certain."

Before I could follow up on what that truly meant, I could hear the door to my room creak open slowly and my eyes opened to see the familiar kindly face of elder Qao but I could see something in his eyes that boarded on apprehension.

"Elder Qao," I bowed my head slightly to the village elder, "Is something the matter?"

For a moment, I could see his eyes flicker with something but he gave a slow shake of his head, "No, nothing. I just wanted to check up on you, my boy. You were quite injured when you came back, after all."

"Ah," I said in mild surprise. I looked down at my injured hand, dried with blood and throbbing. That wasn't the only injury I had, just the most obvious. My bones feel brittle and my body feels weak from the anima flux of the Earth Aspect. But the Exalted could heal from these wounds in a matter of days, if not hours.

But do I have those days? My Essence had fully refilled from meditating but if the Dragons attacked now…

"This has turned into quite a predicament, my Prince. It seems you played around too much with your prey."

Perhaps. You don't sound too angry about it though, Micahna.

"Because it was a splendid fight, my Prince! To not only utterly break down your foe but humiliate him as well? A Sword of Hell should do nothing less."

I was almost tempted to ask if she had been watching me fight or my surroundings but I decided it wasn't important.

"I am fine, elder. Simply taking some time to rest and heal," I told him and he gave me a small nod but the uneasiness in the air was still present.

"Some of the villagers wished to see you," He told me which confused me somewhat and that must've shown on my face as the elder smiled at me, "Is it so strange? You have single-handedly saved this village after all."

"I wouldn't go that far, elder. The Earth Aspect mentioned a Hearth which means there might be four other Dragons," I told him calmly and he took in a deep breath, "As long as they are alive, Green River is not safe."

It seemed like the elder aged in front of my very eyes as he stood in front of me, his eyes downcast on the wooden floor, "I know, Patham. Those that you rescued told me that they were visited by two others. A man with flaming red hair and a woman with bluish skin tone."

The Fire Aspect and a Water Aspect. What of the Air and Wood though? An incomplete Hearth?

"If so, then the situation might not be so dire, my Prince."

Could I kill two Dragon-Blooded at once? Assuming it is an incomplete Hearth, but we have no evidence for that.

"Do we not? Why would they put only the Earth Aspect to guard their hostages and only the Fire Aspect to extort this village? They could take over this entire village and not go through this game at all. But they refuse to do so. Why?"

It was a good question. A very good question.

Just what was the point of this?

"Did they hear anything that might be of use? Anything at all?" I asked the elder hurriedly who slowly and mechanically tilted his head.

"They...took some of them back to where they blocked the river," The elder told me as if forcing the words out, "Including my grandson. What they did, they don't know."

As I thought. There were too few people in that cave.

My hands clenched tightly on my knee, my knuckles whitening. Hot fire ran through my veins as I spoke to the elder.

"I can't promise if he is alive or not," I said slowly, locking eyes with the elder, "But I will promise you revenge, elder."

"Revenge won't bring him back, Patham," He told me, his voice dry and cracking, a dark shadow hanging over his face. I nodded at these words, more than aware.

"It will not. But it will make sure nothing like this can happen again," I offered to the elder but it seemed like a weak comfort to him. He let out a shuddering breath, looking at me.

More specifically, at my forehead.

"I did say I was Exalted," My shrug was almost comically lax, "I never said it was the Dragons who graced me."

"...You gave them quite a fright," He said slowly and he gave me a complicated look, "May I see it, my boy?"

I didn't see why I should refuse his request and Micahna seemed uncaring of what I did here so with a slight push of my Essence, I could feel my caste mark blaze into existence. The elder stared blankly at my caste mark, no emotions visible in his face.

"Do you still desire my help?" I asked the elder bluntly. I didn't know what I was expecting but I wasn't expecting a small chuckle.

"From the way some of the children talked about it, I expected it to be bigger," He said lightly and I couldn't tell if he was trying to make light of it on purpose or he wasn't off put, "Patham, did you really expect us to turn on you for all that you've done for us?"

"...Truthfully, I don't know," I said after a moment, my caste mark slowly blinking out of existence with the Essence feeding it being cut off, "I am Anathema, after all."

"You are Patham and I have seen you grow up from a baby to a fine young man," The elder said strongly and I felt my lips pull up in a thankful, warm smile, "The Immaculate Philosophy tells us that we are supposed to bow our heads and accept our women and children being stolen for us for some nefarious need because the Dragon-Blooded decided to do so while you have put yourself at great risk for our sake and at no gain for yourself, saving our sons and daughters. Who do you think we would side with?"

"As I said, my Prince. Humans and Demons might differ but they both realised that they benefit more from bowing to a greater power than trying to fight against it."

I decided to ignore my Coadjutor for now in favour of concentrating on the elder, "Thank you, elder. Truly."

"It is I who should be thanking you, Patham," The elder bowed his head to me, "But I think that this village will soon meet its end."

Those words chilled my blood far more than I thought they would.

"What? Why?" I said, thrown back by what he said.

"Because people do not feel safe, my boy," He sighed out, regret and pain visible on his face, "Their families were broken apart. Some were made whole because of you but without the sect to protect us now, this place is too dangerous for us to stay. Some wanted to leave today after they had thanked you but I managed to convince them to stay for a while longer."

I could feel a strange, tight feeling in my heart as he spoke and I had to squash it down hard, feeling my throat clench.

"A smart move. I can protect them here but on the road, they'll be helpless," I stopped for a moment and I forced down the feelings of slight embarrassment.

I don't actually know what lies beyond Green River. There could be another village or even a city close by for all I know. I never ventured beyond Green River or even asked.

"There is actually quite a large town, not far from here, my Prince. It's where I was summoned."

And you didn't think this was important?

"I was going to tell you sooner or later, but it is just unneeded information right now. Even so, that town wouldn't fare much better than this village if the Dragon-Blooded set their sights on it."

Perhaps. Who summoned you anyway?

"Ah...do not worry about them, my Prince. They would be...detrimental to us right now."

I made a note to follow up on that before refocusing my attention on the elder who seemed to be deep in thought.

"I might not be versed in the ways of battle, my boy. I'm just an old fisherman. But I know when you steal something, people will want it back," The elder seemed to steel himself to say his next words.

"I have no intention on dying here, elder," But I interrupted to say my peace, causing him to smile slightly, "So rest assured, that I will do everything in my power that you and your people will survive this. I swear it."

The elder gave me a low chuckle and a spring of hope seemed to enter in his gaze, "I thought you would say that, my boy. You never one to run away from a fight, whatever form that may take. But I have to ask you something, Patham."

"Of course, elder."

"Are you really doing this because of an oath sworn? Or something else?"

I almost immediately answered but I held myself back. Was it just because of the oath that I did this? No doubt it is a big reason why I have decided to do this. As the heir of the Dragon's Breath sect, it falls upon me to hold it up and remind Creation that it still lives on through me. I have taken on its responsibilities and its oath as my own and the oath sworn between Green River and the sect falls to me to uphold it.

But is it the only reason?

No. No, it is not.

"What has happened here is nothing more than a tragedy. A tragedy none of you deserve to go through," I spoke softly to the elder, feeling that righteous anger and vindication once again raced through me, "Perhaps I would not go so far if it was not for the oath. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't do anything at all."

The elder smiled at me thankfully, his wrinkles moving with the motion, "So you say, but I think otherwise. You have a kind heart, Patham. That is a rare thing in this age and I pray that you never lose it."

I didn't know what to say to that so I simply gave a slight nod, my cheeks feeling strangely warm. He bid me goodnight and I was left alone. Well, not truly left alone. I do not think I can ever be left alone now.

Micahna. How long do you think we have?

"Difficult to say, my Prince. I am no strategist nor general but I do not think they will fall on force upon this place. They need the women and children alive and unharmed for something, this we know for certain. What do you think will happen?"

I sat there thinking for a moment and just like Micahna, I was no strategist. But what I did know was the Dragon-Blooded and their ways.

They will amass their forces and try to pressure them once again, but this time they'll hold nothing back. That could take a couple of days, maybe? But if they want revenge swiftly, they'll attack tonight.

"And-?"

Whatever Micahna was going to say died. I could feel her shifting emotions flashing through me; eagerness, disturbed and a trickle of fear.

She was not alone.

In the depths of my souls, I could feel something approaching. Something strong, fast and-

.

---

.

I saw an endless black void before me. It was not a cold empty thing but rather beyond that; beyond death, beyond life. I watched that endless plain of beyond for what felt like years until a small mote of light blossomed into view.

It was a man, I think. A human figure made of ethereal light, doing katas that I didn't recognise yet I could tell within the depths of my souls that they meant something. They were something incredibly powerful but they didn't emulate anything I could recognise; not the animals nor the elements of Creation.

I watched, enthralled by the deliberate motions of this figure who seemed to glow like the sun itself. In time, the dark beyond was reshaped and remoulded, like clay as he performed the katas.

So captivated was I that I barely even noticed as another figure rose from that black beyond.

The first figure was light, perfection and virtue. The katas he performed were nothing less than immaculate and flawless, even if I didn't know what martial art they were performing.

The second figure was not light. It was not darkness either. It was a cracked brass shell that gleamed with dripping sliver from its many wounds. The figure of light held the shape of a man perfected while the figure of brass held a figure of a man twisted. His claws of black iron scraped against nothing but I could still hear them cut the air. Seven tattered and broken wings limped behind him as he stood up, cruel sharp horns curling upon his brow.

The figure of brass looked at the figure of light for the briefest of moments. It didn't have eyes but two gaping holes of burning green fire that flickered with covetous intent. Slowly, like a child learning to walk, it started to copy the figure of light as if to remake the empty reality around it into his own will as the figure of light did.

But it didn't work. The figure of brass copied the motions perfectly but it was missing something. Though it came from the beyond, it didn't have a connection to it like the figure of light did. It couldn't mould it and shape it.

As the figure of light's changed reality grew closer and closer, the brass figure's fear and worry grew, the light burning its very existence away. It stopped performing katas as it backed away from the light's creeping reality but it wouldn't run away. Creeping moments passed as the brass figure's fate seemed sealed.

He looked at the figure of light, who had never once looked at him or even acknowledged his existence and his covetous pools of green fire raged with anger unending. It's blank face ripped into two jagged edges and from its throat of tarnished brass roared.

And from that noise, not unlike the roar of a mighty tiger, the light shuddered and was replaced by a sheen of jagged brass and prismatic silver scales. And for the first time, the figure of light perfected looked towards the figure of brass malformed. The weight of two beings shuddered the void around them, now torn between light and brass.

In a heartbeat, they flew towards each other and engaged in a duel to the death that would never end.

.

---

.

-And it was over just as soon as it had begun.

Gasping breaths left my lips as sweat dripped down my brow. I could feel the lingering images in the back of my mind that made me feel weak and small. It was such a strange, esoteric vision that rightfully didn't make much sense.

And yet, despite that notion that felt distinctly inhuman, it made perfect sense.

"I'm...supposed to make a martial art usurping the Sidereals?" I spoke aloud, more to myself than the empty room or my Coadjutor, "That's my Urge?"

And it was not inappropriately named for it was indeed that; an urge. An urge that made me want to complete and fulfil it. But it wasn't overwhelming nor did it overtake my mind. The thoughts of revenge and hate still burned brighter than the flame of wanting to take martial arts to a new height and they couldn't even begin to compare.

But it was a close second. And it was difficult to draw a line between the Urge and my own interest. I was a martial artist in heart and soul, dedicated to its practices and principles. Is it not only natural for a warrior to perfect his blade or an artist to make a masterpiece?

"It is, my Prince. I was never given any word on what kind of Urge the Dragon Beyond The World would bestow upon you but now it couldn't be more clearer."

I see. So what happens now?

"With your Urge now bestowed upon you, you are expected to make the journey across the Endless Desert and into the Demon City for your coronation."

Do I have to leave right now?

"You have a window of time but nothing more than a week. Any more after that and you will most likely have to explain yourself."

I snorted inside my mind but it was fair enough, I suppose. What had happened to me wasn't an act of charity but a contract; in return for my life and making me Exalted, I was expected to aid the Reclamation and fulfil my Urge.

Still. This Urge of mine...it wasn't what I had expected it to be.

"As your Unwoven Coadjutor, it falls to me to act as a guide and beacon for your Urge. All Yozi have certain...desires that are reflected in the Urges of the Princes of Hell. For Oramus, it is the Urge To Create. The Urge To Make. And for you, the first Chosen of Oramus, it seems you have been given the Urge to create a martial art style that usurps the Sidereals own martial arts."

What even are the Sidereals? You mentioned them briefly as the Chosen of Fate but not much else.

"Truthfully, I do not know a great deal of them. They work through deception and subterfuge, my Prince and they are the Chosen of the Maidens of Fate and they are martial artists unparalleled. Anything more you wish to know will most likely be in Malfeas."

I chewed the inside of my cheek for a moment, thinking over some things regarding many things; my Urge, Green River and the Solar.

I have lost track of the Solar. This is something that I've come to accept but that doesn't mean I can just stay in one place and constantly train martial arts for years. I have stayed and helped Green River because of the oath and the injustice put upon them. Had it not been for those combined, I would already be gone.

But my Urge was not wholly disagreeable or at odds with my objective. But one thing stood out to me.

Micahna, I have a question.

"Ask, my Prince and I will do my utmost to answer."

How exactly do I go about this? And what happens if I fulfil this Urge?

"When you complete your Urge, you will be given a brief reprieve until the next one is chosen for you. As for how you complete it, that will be up to you, my Prince."

And what would happen if I ignored it?

I could feel that was the wrong question to ask as I could Micahna practically jolt with shock at my question which soon turned into trepidation that swirled within me.

Micahna. What will happen if I ignore my Urge?

"...If you do, my Prince, you will be punished."

Yes, I expected as much. So what would constitute ignoring it?

"That...is a peculiar question, my Prince. Let us be clear, do you intend on acting upon your Urge?"

I see no reason not to. You should know me by now, Micahna. I am a martial artist and that path is something I have dedicated myself to. Of course I would try and push the boundaries of my craft.

But understand, I am not a pawn. I will not put aside my revenge to be trapped in Malfeas to train my time away. I will not stay in one place, learning and practising as my prey escapes from my clutches once again.

I could hear Micahna sigh in the back of my mind but I also imagined her with a wistful smile on her face as she spoke, "What a willful man I have bound myself to. Very well, my Prince. This is also my role as your Unwoven Coadjutor. Specifically, ignoring your Urge would be to completely put it aside in favour of something else or actively work against it. To defy your Urge would be to act contrary to it such as refusing to train or learn martial arts."

Then there is no issue as far as I can see. I will still train in my martial arts and I have no doubt I will learn more during my journey through Creation than staying in Malfeas.

"I'm not quite so sure about that, my Prince. Malfeas has many dojos and sects that you can freely learn from. Even Suntarankal, The Crucible Of Iron And Brass will be open to you if you're willing to take the risk."

Will I learn Sidereal martial arts there?

"I…" Micahna stopped dead in her words as I could feel her think over my words intently, a light thrumming in the back of my mind, "...No, my Prince. And I mean that in more ways than one."

Oh?

"The martial artist who used me as a paramour knew Sidereal martial arts and he explained to me how supernatural martial arts function; Terrestrial Styles, while powerful compared to mortals, serve a purpose and a purpose alone. There is no deeper meaning to them other than combat."

...Unlike the Tiger Style.

"Exactly, my Prince. Celestial Styles emulate something of Creation's nature such as its animals, voice, dance or what have you. They are for combat just as they are questions that you must ask and answer yourself to truly understand the style in question. Sidereal martial arts take that principle even further beyond; they do not act as a facet of Creation. Instead, they take a facet of Creation itself and integrate it into the style itself."

And what does that exactly mean, Micahna?

"Allow me to give you an example, my Prince. Do you remember how your skin toughens when you use Celestial Tiger Hide? Imagine, if you would, your skin instead turns into orichalcum."

I do not know what orichalcum is but I imagine it must be significant for Micahna to mention it. Indeed, the wording of what she says is enough to excite me because I have never heard of a martial art able to do something quite like that.

"But...in this lies the problem that you face, my Prince. As a Green Sun Prince, you are unable to learn Sidereal martial arts."

And all of my growing excitement plummets like a heavy stone in a shallow pool.

"It is because as a Green Sun Prince, you lack a fundamental connection to the principles of Creation that would allow you to learn Sidereal martial arts. You are able to learn Terrestrial and Celestial Styles, as you've clearly seen but the esoteric arts of the Sidereals are not for you."

I didn't say anything for a moment and I could feel Micahna's growing worry. Slowly, I stood up from my posture and the dull throbbing of my bones didn't even register to me as I walked to the window that looked outside to the back of the elder's house, a wall of logs showing themselves to me. I could hear the mutterings and the whittling of arrows and spears. I could feel the oppressive weight of unease and unsurety about Green River's bleak future.

I didn't care at that moment. I looked out of the window and far beyond, I saw the mountain and the sky above it. The words of my father echoed in my mind and to no one at all, I gave a rueful, lopsided grin as I stared up at the heavens, struggling to hold in my laughter that rumbled deeply in my chest.

It was funny. It was all too funny.

So that was why I had this Urge then. At that moment, the difference between the Urge's own need to be fulfilled and my own want became truly blurred.

Is that petty? Childish? To suddenly want to fulfil my Urge, not for the Reclamation but to prove a point that I would not be restricted in terms of martial arts?

Perhaps. But I didn't care.

Heaven might be out of my reach for now. Maybe forever.

But what law was there that the heavens alone have a monopoly on being the grandmasters? What rule was there that I could not surpass them from the depths of Hell itself?

Oh yes. Now that is something I can do.

But that is for later. For now, we have to concentrate on more urgent matters.

"My Prince, I would argue that discussing and making plans for your Urge is far more important."

I didn't say it was more important, simply more urgent.

"Pedantics, my Prince. But very well. As you are now, I do not believe you'll be able to escape from the inevitable battle unharmed. Two Dragon-Blooded, if they're the same as the Earth Aspect in terms of strength, is nothing to fear but this village will not survive the clash. Especially if you insist on playing around with them."

I no longer plan to keep playing as you put it. What do you suggest?

"If we have a few days...then stall your training of the Tiger Style for now and look within yourself, to your connection with the Yozi. See what Charms are available to you."

It was not a bad suggestion. I was a dedicated practitioner of martial arts and it is precisely because of that I know none of them could help me right now. I needed more raw power, something that'll make the Dragons shake in my presence.

But there was one thing I must know before that.

"And what is that, my dear Prince?"

Micahna, who are you really?

"Whatever do you mean, Prince Patham? I am just a humble neomah who was chosen for the honour of bearing your Exaltation."

You know what I mean, Micahna. You said you were a paramour of a martial artist and while I have no doubt that's the truth, I get the distinct impression you were vastly underselling it. You know too much for someone that was simply a paramour. Who was your master?

"Even if I told you, you wouldn't know his name. Very few do. He was...a prideful man. A powerful man. He ruled like a king and could sunder the sky with nothing more than a clench of his fist. You remind me of him, actually."

I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or not.

"You should, my Prince. I grew fond of him because of that, after all."

There was a certain longing and pain in her tone that stopped me right then and there from pushing the issue further. It wasn't so important that I wanted to force the issue and it was not as if I disliked Micahna.

We were stuck with each other, for better or for worse. At the very least, I shouldn't make her drag up painful memories.

Standing at the open window, I closed my eyes and they wandered to paths unseen. I needed power. Power that could crush my enemies, power that could make it so I could crush the spine of Dragons and slice open their scales.

Naturally, I found myself looking towards the Charms of Malfeas.

There were many that were open to me and even more that was not. I was told that I could even make Charms of my own but right now, that was a fool's dream. I found myself reaching out but pulling back from Charms that could help me; Scar-Writ Saga Shield, Crashing Rage Catharsis, Pathetic Distraction Rebuke and so many more.

I needed something else. Something more versatile yet just as potent. I searched further on, unwilling to give up.

It felt like hours but I knew it had only been a single heartbeat worth of time. I opened my eyes and I found what I was looking for. It was...extreme but that would not deter me.

"This Charm...my oh my, Prince Patham. Are you considering what I think you are?"

Perhaps. I am done playing around with this game of cat and mouse and I have no shame of what I am. I started making my way outside of the room, intent on finding the elder. As I did so, I thought back to my Coadjutor.

You were not wrong, by the way.

"Mhm?"

When you said that my destiny was bigger than Green River. I did not disagree with you or what you said. I believe the same as well.

I could feel Micahna's amusement and smooth sultry chuckles in the back of my mind, "And I do not believe I was wrong either. It is indeed compassion that urges you onward in this endeavour. But it is not only that."

"It is pride, is it not? But not pride for your sect or the oath it swore. Even the village elder knows you have only used that as a pretence and I'm quite ashamed I didn't see it before."

"But it is your own pride that you do this. I'm surprised I didn't see it before but these lands are yours. This village is yours. The ruins of your home are yours. And the Dragon-Blooded dared to attack and steal what was yours and for that, they must suffer."

"Am I wrong, my Prince?"

I didn't reply back. Not after I told the elder that I'll be secluding myself for a couple of days, not after I left the village and not after I found my body burning with agony unparalleled and sweating profusely as I started to remake it, bone by bone, tendon by tendon. Not even as I felt a sick sort of majesty fall over me as I remade my very body in the image that I and I alone chose, defining myself in bone and blood by no other will than my own.

I didn't say anything because I liked to believe my feelings on the matter were as clear as the tyrannical sun that shone down upon me.

.

---

.

Quin didn't know where it went so wrong for all of them. It wasn't supposed to go like this. Maybe it was better if they had all just died.

Verka had been killed. They knew it before they saw his desecrated corpse. His death wasn't a quick one either. Half of his decapitated head had been burnt out while his body was more bone than melted skin. They had to bury him with his armour because they couldn't handle the feeling of it peeling off his melted skin.

It wasn't a Dragon-Blooded that did this. The surrounding area only had evidence of Verka's anima flux and use of his Charms.

Verka wasn't the fighter amongst them but his physical strength was the highest. It had to be to wield his weapon.

She wanted to bury it with him.

"Lord Tolsha has deigned to give you his aid, if you're willing to strike a small bargain. It is only fair, no?"

They came to blows over it but she was still too weak from her injuries and time with her captors. Even so, she decided So she held back because she wanted to be the one that ran her spear through the piece of filth that killed her brother in all but blood.

Verka was the most vocal about the plans to buy back Ten Quills and herself. He wanted to fight against their capricious captors but with only Verka and Ragira, they weren't nearly strong enough.

So a bargain was struck.

It was more than a fair trade, she thought. She was biased however and she still had trouble sleeping even now. It was a selfish thought but her life was more valuable than that of mortals.

It took three days, far too long for her taste but she knew Ragira was worse off. He had barely eaten, slept. He had trained and trained, day and night until it was time to march upon the village nearby.

They tried to prevent this. What they did was in hopes of saving what little lives they could but it was too late now. They had no other choice but to damn the whole village as little more than foodstuff to the spirits from beyond along with their soldiers.

They walked to the front of the village's gate of wood. A pregnant silence was in the air as she glanced over to Ragira, her Hearthmate. He was a broad man, his usually vibrant eyes of red now a dull cracked shade. His long ruby hair was matted and greasy from a lack of care and his skin was almost charcoal black. Every movement he made was stiff and robotic.

It was just the two of them now. A part of her wanted to say it was all they needed but what was once a full Hearth, roaring with life and brimming with energy, was nothing more than two embers left guttering in the ashes, hanging on to that last speck of heat.

"Ragira, the mortals-" She said quietly but the response to her question was the rising heat haze around the Fire Aspect and the scrapping of the grand daiklave as it was removed from its sheath. With a downward swipe, he cleaved through the crack of the gate cleanly and a loud thud could be heard.

Lifting up his leg, he kicked the heavy gate wide open, splintering the wood where his armoured foot had impacted, leaving a smouldering crater. Without a word, he trudged into the village, a haze of heat surrounding him and his foecutter. Each footstep left charred black ground and she followed along, trying to remain the calm pair of the two.

And she noticed that the village was empty. Utterly empty.

Except. For one figure.

He sat on a small bridge that crossed over the running lake of water that flowed through the village. Despite the massive river that now ran through the village once more, flooding the homes and buildings around it, the figure sat crossed-leg on the bridge with such serenity that Quin wondered if he had even heard them approach. On his lap, sheathed in a long blue scabbard, a truly long blade from end to tip that she knew right was could be nothing else but a reaper daiklave.

But that was not the most striking thing about the figure. Not its serenity nor its blade. Nor the fact that the village was totally empty besides this one person who meditated on the small, rotting bridge.

This person, whose androgynous features seemed to balance between masculine and feminine, was hauntingly beautiful though he seemed quite young. Their pink, almost pale skin seemed translucent and fair. Their features could only be described as enticing, even serene as they were. Quin has seen the concubines and wives of Dynasts spend their whole lives trying to emulate beauty and grace but this person did it as naturally as they breathed.

"If you're looking for the villagers," The person spoke calmly with a smooth voice that was pleasant to her ears and outed the person as a male, if only because of its slightly deeper tone, "Then they're not here. They're somewhere safe and away from here. I must say, I didn't expect you to try and flood them."

"Are you the one that killed Verka?" Ragira said with a slight tremble, the daiklave in his hands shaking with barely restrained rage. The few puddles close to him started to quickly bubble up and steam and Quin slowly settled into her stance.

The young man's eyes opened and she found herself staring into the strikingly blue eyes of Verka's murderer, unperturbed by the blatant accusation. For a moment, she thought saw a glint of malevolence in them but she wasn't sure.

"If you mean your Earth Aspect then yes, I did," He admitted so shamelessly and she could feel Ragira tense beside her, a red haze of anima starting to cover him like a grand cloak. The figure man stood up, his icy blue eyes staring over them in a bored fashion that made her blood boil.

Yet neither of them moved. It wasn't time yet. And truthfully, there was something off with this one. His chest and shoulders seemed freakishly big compared to his waist and legs. His dirty, tattered robe seemed to strain from containing his upper torso. But his clothes also seemed too small for him in the first place and she noted with a wariness that he towered over them by far. He must reach over 7 feet in height alone.

"So, why are you here? Why all of this?" The young but tall man asked, pointing the pommel of his blade to the surrounding area, "This village would've fallen to ordinary bandits let alone a group led by a Hearth of Dragon-Blooded. And yet here it is, still standing after you've taken their women and children. Unharmed, might I add."

"And only two of you? Where is your Wood and Air Aspect? Do you seriously consider that I'll fall to the two of you alone?" The young man spoke with calm arrogance as if it was a simple fact that they'll lose.

"Don't flatter yourself, murderer," She spat out, pointing the pointed tip of her direlance at the figure who only regarded her with dissonant boredom, "I'll have your head for what you did to Verka. He didn't deserve to die like that!"

"He died a dog's death, as is the fate of all vagabond scum," The handsome features of the young man twisted in an ugly sneer, his lips curling back and his eyes of cold azure staring her down before he snapped his gaze to a furiously glaring Ragira.

"And you wish to speak of me about murder? What about this Child of Hesiesh? He burned a man alive because he dared to stand up to save his son from your wretched claws while his grandfather was forced to kneel and watch."

"It was a necessary sacrifice," Quin answered as Ragira froze for a split second, "A child like yourself wouldn't understand."

Like a pristine mirror being shattered upon a heavy stone, the calm expression of the figure suddenly became wrought with fury, his curled back lips stretching back into a growling snarl and his blue eyes flashing dangerously.

"Sacrifice!?" He suddenly shouted, his voice thundering over the running river and Quin felt a cold shiver trickle down her spine. His whole became rigid as he stood tall, his white-knuckled grasp choking the blade in his grasp.

"Sacrifice!? Tell me, you pathetic snakes, what sacrifices have you made? Hm? What have you given up? What have you done with your vaunted power?"

"Let me tell you what you have done, you treacherous toothless worms," The young man bit out every word, dripping with vitriol and raging hate that was flung at them like knives, "You have harmed innocent people. You have given women and children to a spirit for some purpose that I dread to think about, suffering a dark fate. These were simple, good folk but you have broken them. Fathers and mothers that had watched their loved ones ripped away from them. Elders that had stood back and looked as their children and grandchildren were given up like cattle, too weak, too feeble to do anything."

"You stand there and call me a murderer when your hands are as blood covered as mine. You stand there and use words like 'sacrifice' as if you have any concept of what that word even means," The young man's words became a low hiss, "Tell me, bandits. What have you sacrificed?"

"Who the hell are you to lecture us!?" Quin snapped at the arrogant man who stood before them, feeling as if she had just been stabbed in the stomach, "You're just an Anathema! A mistake, an abomination! The mortals here should be thankful we're taking care of you! Who knows what you'll do with them if we just left you alone!"

"Mortals," The young man repeated, not even bothering to deny the accusation, "When I gut you like a fish and let this river wash away your corpse, Child of Daana'd, I want you to remember those words."

"This is pointless."

Ragira's calm voice belied the anger that boiled underneath his skin, taking up a stance as he pointed his daiklave of a deep red jade at the young man, "I am not here to debate my actions. You killed my brother in arms. That's all the reason I need to cleave your head from your shoulders and leave your wretched corpse out for the beasts."

Something flickered behind the hateful eyes of Verka's murderer and Quin thought she saw his fury-wrought features soften for a minute before hardening once again, "True. Revenge is a motive I find no fault with. So be it, Crimson Dragon. Let us see whose flames burn hotter."

The only sound that could be heard from between the three of them was the rushing of the green-tinted river and the low wind that whistled in the empty village. Quin felt her palms sweat as she stared down the Anathema that killed Verka. He didn't take up a stance, but he simply laid his overly big hand on the long pommel of his blade, holding it at his side.

There were no words exchanged. Not between her and Ragira. They had fought so many times together and the connection between them was strong. Their anima flared, rolling waves of cerulean blue and crimson red radiating off of them, causing the ground to simultaneously burn and cool, grow wet and grow hot.

This was not how you fight one of the Anathema. You do not do it in a straight fight. The Wyld Hunt was exactly that; a hunt. Those chosen harrowed, prodded and exhausted them until you went in for the kill.

But they were not a Wyld Hunt. They were a broken Hearth. But even a broken Hearth could still burn and a chipped spear could still cut.

With a single thought, the two Dragons closed the distance, their fangs and claws flashing with a burst of ocean blue and fiery red. The Anathema closed his eyes for a brief moment, his posture stiffening.

And then the upper part of his robe tore itself, the ripping sound echoing rippling across her mind. She watched in dull terror as the piercing impalement of her direlance was stopped by a grasping grip of iron. This was not the strangest thing, however.

The strangest thing was that the Anathema was holding her direlance with his third hand.

She looked, wide-eyed and trembling, as two thick and strong arms had emerged from the ribs of this large, towering man right under his 'normal' arms. She watched as the fourth arm made a fist and smacked aside Ragira's blade that was little more than a blur of red like a fly.

The last thing Quin ever saw was the utterly bored stare as the mutant creature's black blade flashed from its sheath and she could no longer feel the lower half of her body.

The last thing Quin thought before she died and she fell into the river in two halves, dying the rushing waters a deep red, was how she didn't want to die like this.

.

---

.

When your enemy is tired and wounded, you do not let them heal. You press the attack and destroy them. Even if you yourself are exhausted, you do not give them a moment of rest.

That is where they had fallen. They had allowed me to rest and recuperate. To grow stronger.

The Charms of the Exalted were techniques essentially, just like those of martial arts. When I talked about the techniques of a martial art like the Tiger Style, I was also talking about its Charms.

And Charms were not a vacuum. They did not exist by themselves. They built upon one another, either strengthening them or allowing different Charms to be trained.

By Pain Reforged. It allowed me to ignore my broken bones and shattered limbs. And By Pain Reforged, I went one step further.

By Rage Recast. Once, the Yozi known as Malfeas did not have physical form. He was known as Theion, the Holy Tyrant. But at the end of the great war of ages past, he was forced to take upon a physical form and became Malfeas, the Demon City. Such a grievous insult to the King of Kings drove him mad with rage unending, making his physical form twist into hateful shapes.

And so it was that through this Charm, I could mutate my own body like clay, twisting and shaping it. But even so, I was not the Demon City and I could not change my body to such a degree that it became inhuman.

Not yet, at least.

But I didn't understand their plan. When I had finished acquiring and cultivating By Rage Recast, they tried to flood the village from the damn they must've built. No one got hurt luckily but it had destroyed some of their houses by flooding them.

And now they come with just the two of them instead of sending in their men to whittle me down first? This couldn't be right. Even the arrogance of Dragons must have their limits.

"Focus, my Prince. Do not let yourself be distracted with petty matters right now."

Micahna's words made me turn my gaze from the bifurcated Water Aspect and towards the Fire Aspect. His eyes of red seemed to bulge out of his socket as he watched the fountain of blood that sprayed out and dyed the green-tinted river red. Her direlance was too heavy to be pushed away by the current, unlike her now split body.

"QUIN!" The Fire Aspect's anguished yell tore itself bloody from his throat and his flaming red anima twirled around him, starting to take shape. Rolls of scorching heat and flickers of flame appeared in the air as he swung towards me yet again, his massive and weighty blade of red jade clashing against my thin blade of black.

"I'll gut you for that, Anathema!" He snarled out like a feral beast as our blades clashed against one another. Sparks flew out from the confrontation and my hand-

My only warning was instinct and half-remembered demonstrations which let me avert my eyes with haste just as the flashing sparks turned into a corona of noise, heat and light. Even so, I took my eyes off my foe and that was a mistake.

"Left, to your neck!"

But I did not fight alone.

Still half-blind and dazed, I followed my Coadjutor's words and my instinct to block the blow aimed at beheading me. I blinked once but it wasn't enough to clear my eyes. I felt the blow as I managed to deflect it away from my neck, only for it to cut across my bare chest.

First came the pain of a blade slashing across my chest. It wasn't anything I wasn't used to, however.

But then came the searing agony of my flesh on fire and I knew pain. I wondered, amongst the sudden inferno that had engulfed me, if those I burned suffered even worse pain than this. My skin felt blistering hot as flames poured out of the relatively light wound and my mouth dried from the heat alone.

"Prince, dodge to the right!"

I followed my Coadjutor's advice and I could feel the ground split apart. Already, the fires were dying down and I could see the Fire Aspect's face through the flames.

Tears of hot rage trickled down his hard eyes of flickering red. Smoke rose from the corners of his mouth which was contorted into a trembling snarl. His anima, the colour of fiery crimson, twisted and turned like a living inferno as the houses of wood around us caught aflame. Water boiled and steamed, rising up to meet the smoke that came from the burning homes.

I was smiling in excitement at the sight. But soon, that smile froze and shattered as a memory flashes before my mind. Fires in the night, followed by a lone figure walking down the steps with a blood-stained blade of gold. A pain in my chest as I was impaled and left for dead on the ash-covered stairs of my home.

Rage overcame any pain that I felt. This was not By Pain Reforged, no. It was my own rage, my own boiling black hate that ran over.

Once, when I was young and foolish, I almost gave up my time as a student of the sect. I thought, for a brief moment, to live out a life among other mortals. Perhaps start a family of my own with a woman I was fond of and who was fond of me.

It's more desirable than one might think. But I was not one to give up on my goal so I steeled myself and carried onward.

In Green River, I could have had that life. Father was not shy to suggest that I do so at times but it was never out of malice, only concern. I never listened, of course.

It was not much. But it was a choice and it was mine.

And now it is gone. It was gone and it could never come back. The life I had previously...maybe I was trying to salvage some small part of it by doing this but I just didn't realise it.

Could I have prevented this, I wonder? I do not see how, but that doesn't mean that there wasn't a way to do it. Maybe I let my own desires to humble the Dragons overpower my common sense. Maybe I could've found out where they took the other villagers if I had just kept the Earth Aspect alive but was that wise or foolish?

It dawned on me, surrounded by the burning village, that I had failed. My goal to save Green River was doomed from the very start.

My home, now and forever, was truly gone. The people I had once known, either cared for or despised, were gone. And despite my strength, despite my Exaltation, I had failed. It didn't settle in fully even when the elder told me to my face.

It only became apparent to me when it was burning to ash around me.

And who was it that took Green River away?

My daiklave parried a thrust to my heart and I met the torrid glare of the Crimson Dragon with my own burning glower. No sparks were born as I let his blade scrape against nothing but air and my lower left arm shot towards him, the fingernail black and curved like the claw of a great beast.

Who was it that sacrificed women and children to a spirit?

His armour didn't crumple under my blow but with my sharp claws and tainted Essence coursing through me was enough to rip through it and I could feel hot blood drip down my claws. The force of the blow sent him skidding right into another Essence-infused swipe of my lower right claw, stopping him cold.

Who was it that has destroyed one of the few fetters left of the Dragon's Breath sect?

He deflected my lower right claw but I was already swinging my reaper daiklave down in a black blur of motion, Essence fueling my actions. The only reaction he had towards the falling blade was the widening of his eyes.

Who was it that dared to plunder my home? Who was it that dared to think that anything of my home belonged to him?

My caste mark flashed angrily into existence as my reaper daiklave of black jade sliced cleanly through his shoulder and armour both. He screamed in pain as verdant flames licked his open wound, charring the red flesh into a dark black as blood boiled and bubbled. His grand daiklave fell to the ground along with his right arm. A grand daiklave was a hefty weapon, even compared to other artefact weapons and can't be held with one hand.

I'm quite surprised that he managed to get a hold of one. I wonder who he stole it from, but it was of little consequence.

The Fire Aspect fell to his knees, his anima flux going wild as I felt my mouth go bone dry and a bead of sweat going down my forehead. He glared up at me as he fell to one knee, holding onto his bloody cooked stump of an arm.

The urge to kill him rose up strongly within me but I squashed it down for now as I waved my hands around us. The stench of acrid smoke overpowered the smell of blood and battle as Green River burned around us.

"Do you feel proud, Crimson Dragon?" I asked him with a quiet yet steely tone that dripped with barely hidden venom, "Look upon your works and think for a moment what you have accomplished."

"You have destroyed a village. Not a big one, mind you. You threw away your pride and became little more than bandits, kidnapping women and children. You've lost an arm and both your Water Aspect and Earth Aspect of your Hearth have now died by my hand."

"And yet, you have done nothing a normal human can't do," I said simply despite the rising heat, "It is easy to burn wood. It is easy to kidnap and look down on those who can't fight back."

He was looking down at the ground and ash soon started falling down from the bonfire that surrounded us, making the ground a ghostly white. My skin became a pathwork of raw red burns, blotches of ashy whiteness and dried cuts.

"Salvage what little honour you have left, toothless Dragon. Tell me what became of those you have sacrificed and die as someone worthy of your Exalted nature," I placed the bloodied edge of my blade against his neck and forced him to look up at me, his twisted expression contorted in rage and grief, blood dripping down the side of his mouth.

"Or die on your knees. Like your 'brother' did."

A second passed. The buildings burned and fell as their supports were turned into cinders and ash. The walls of wood became walls of fire as they caught alight, possibly spreading to the forest around us.

Another second passed and he spat at my feet, giving me a bloody grimace.

"You talk too much."

"PRINCE, BEHIND YOU!"

I don't quite know what happened next. All I know is that one moment, I was standing above the Crimson Dragon, ready to behead him. The next, I swung my blade behind me to deflect something. The only thing I saw was something long, thin and wooden.

And then, I knew pain.

I have suffered broken bones before. Cuts, bruises, days where I had to spend days in bed to let my body heal and reset itself. And not moments ago, I had just been quite literally set on fire. Not for long but I do not think that is the point.

I have suffered from pain before. I will suffer pain again.

But the sense of searing anguish that I felt, the burning agony that flooded my brain and veins with blistering white-hot flashes of torment that made the world around me go numb and my eyes go hazy with wrenching pain?

It wasn't anything like I had ever experienced before, simply put. It made the world go hazy, the fires burning around me dull compared to the deep, searing pain that had been cut into me.

"Damnable snake! Prince, focus on my voice! Ignore the pain and kill him quickly!"

I was moved more by instinct than the faint voice of my Coadjutor but a flash of green verdant flames pierced through my haze of agony as the Crimson Dragon burned alive. A terrible scream tore itself out of his mouth but the sound was distant and faint as I fell to a knee, holding my stomach. Blearily, I blinked away the haze and I lifted up one of my hands to see it covered in dark, dripping blood.

"Prince, behind you!"

I threw myself to the side, still drunk on the pain and whatever flew towards me barely missed my shoulder, instead piercing through my lower left hand. Compared to the pain I had just gone through, I barely noticed it but through the rapidly dissolving fog that had wrapped itself, I had noticed it to be a thin wooden barb, sharpened to a fine point.

I winced as I felt a sharp pain in that same hand erupt from nowhere but I couldn't concentrate on that right now. Another barbed wooden thing shot at me followed by another and another and another-

"Prince, this isn't a mere Dragon-Blooded! You must run!"

Even as I tried and failed to dodge all of these projectiles thrown at me through the fires and the flames, striking at my body. Never in a vital area, but my body was soon peppered by numerous wooden barbs. I had managed to pull one out but it didn't come out quickly or cleanly.

Covered in my own bloody and chunks of flesh, the wooden arrow was more like a branch fashioned from a great tree. And in my flesh, it grew jagged spikes, embedding themselves.

I wouldn't be shocked if they were poisoned. But something about these felt off. They were weightless. Not because they were light but because they did not belong here, in front of me.

I must be getting delirious from bloodlost if I'm thinking these thoughts.

"Prince Patham! You have to run!"

Why?

"WHY?! Because you'll die, you stubborn fool!"

And?

Micahna stuttered in my mind and I could almost see her usual sultry expression twisted into one of pure confusion and shock. Even through the pain and barrage of twisted unreal barbs shot at me, I smirked bloodily.

Did I run when the Sword of Heaven burned my home, Micahna?

Silence was my answer as my body reacted, deflecting and dodging the numerous barbs that fell upon me, shot from what I could only presume from outside the village itself and my attacker using the smoke and fire as cover.

I see now. The Dragons were never supposed to kill me.

"This is different, Patham! You will not get a second chance here!"

And I didn't expect to get a second chance the first time. Why should I run now?

"This is not a mere Dragon-Blooded, Patham! This is a raksha, a Fair Folk! This is not a foe you can face with an open belly!"

Neither was the Solar. And yet I still fought. I could never surmount the Dragons while I was a mortal and yet I still tried.

And you want me to run now? When I'm Exalted?

My anima flared with my emotions that ran hot. Slowly, my arms grew shorter and my body became thinner and smaller. My extra set of arms, covered in barbed thorns, shrunk into my ribs, like clay being moulded. My anima raged more and more, becoming an open flame of sickly green ethereal fires that made the other flames seem paltry and weak in comparison.

I could feel my skin tighten and morph, specifically on my back. With rage and hate, I planted my blade in the burning corpse of the Crimson Dragon and my fingers turned into rigid black claws. My eyes became slits and my skin started shifting as I felt something hot and fierce bubble up within me.

My iron claws broke and deflected the volley far better than my blade ever did. In the end, I couldn't really fight my best with anything less than my bare hands.

Moments that felt like an eternity passed as my back burned with hellish Essence. With a bonfire of anima cloaking me, the cracking of bone and the snapping of sinew was cacophonous.

A shadow fell over me as two great wings formed on my back, covering me from the barbs. Scales of burnished prismatic silver acted as a shield. Deep inside, I felt something fierce and feral claw itself up from the bottom of my stomach to the top of my lungs.

My wings spread wide, the wind fanning the flames and I roared.

Wood was pulverised into sawdust. Fires and ashes were scattered in the wind and the barbs in my skin cracked and shattered as they were forced out. The body of the wretched Dragon was thrown to the fair ends of the destroyed village and my verdant anima soared to the skies themselves as my anima banner manifested itself in that single, primal moment.

In the stories my father used to tell me, there were usually two creatures present in one way or another; a tiger and a dragon.

I asked him once why. Why was a tiger always confronting the dragon? What made them equal to dragons?

And he told them that tigers were everything a dragon was not. A dragon was of the Heavens. Divine, patient and mediative. It knew it was strong but did not flaunt its strength for to do so would be beneath it. It roamed the skies, aloof and cold but coming down to bless the land with its presence when it desires to do so.

A tiger was not divine. It was of the earth. If the dragon was the rightful lord of the skies then the tiger was the false kings of the earth. A tiger roared to the heavens for everyone to hear its strength and overbearing pride. It hunted for sport and food, always taking, never giving. Always hungry, never full. It roamed the lands, terrorizing anyone they came across and even baring its fangs against the lords of the skies, unwilling to bow down the heavenly dragons, even on the verge of death.

Is it any wonder then, that my anima banner was that of a mighty winged beast? Standing behind me, its ethereal snarls could be heard across the winds, its claws of burnished brass stepping lightly onto the ground. Mimicking my motions, its wings of prismatic silver, tinged with a verdigrised shine, spread wide and easily covered the whole of what remained of Green River.

Blind rage and anger shut down the pain that I felt. In my mind's eye, burning with fiery hate, I saw my anima flourish into its true shape as my wings beat once and flew high into the sky, the earth cracking under the force of my legs pushing upward.

It was not a dragon. It wouldn't be right for it to be one.

The demonic tiger that was and will forever be my anima banner was a terrible beast that stood proudly behind me. Its fur was a deep, terrible black and its eyes were a twisting kaleidoscope of dark and vile colours that shone even amongst the ethereal flames of my anima.

I tried and failed to staunch the fresh blood that dripped down the gaping wound in my stomach. There was something there, something that was preventing me from closing my wounds. It burned, even now and it made me stumble as my wings became peppered with arrows of wood.

"It's holiness, my Prince! This wound will kill you if you do not retreat!"

It's fine, Michna. It's not the first time I've been stabbed through the stomach.

"Now is not the time for jokes, my Prince!"

I smiled at that and it must've been an ugly one indeed as my form became buffeted in sickly green anima that glinted with flickers of brass. My hands had become black claws of rigid fur, my translucent skin stretched across my unnaturally large frame. My eyes had turned into angry verdant slits though that was due to the Tiger Style. Around me, ghostly green flames swam around my winged form.

Outwardly, I was a monstrosity. Inwardly, the changes were even more profound, even more darkly profane. With a strong push of my wings, I became a soaring star of emerald that flew into the darkening sky.

My anima had easily reached the sky, the tongues of spectral flames licking at the clouds as I rose towards them. The hail of wooden arrows became fiercer now, quicker. Once measured and steady, they were a stream of rushed attempts on my life.

It just made it easier to find him. It, rather.

Fair Folk. Raksha. I found my mind bombarded by feelings, blistering red hot. Deep, cavernous rage. Images of something, someone brought to the forefront of my mind and I felt hate.

.

---

.

Her Prince was lost to her now. Her words couldn't reach him.

The existence of the neomah known as Micahna was a curious one. She didn't know what her position as an Unwoven Coadjutor would avail her as, what kind of existence she would lead if any existence at all.

She was pleasantly surprised to find herself little more than a spirit, tethered to her Prince. She didn't have a body but she was like a mist, hanging around her charge and able to perceive his surroundings, his feelings and so on.

It was only in the dreamscape, when he slept, that she regained her own body. But this was a small price to pay to become part of a Prince of Hell.

It was all she could do to not lose herself in the ecstasy of Prince Patham's emotions and power. One of them had to keep their mind intact and her Prince had become too drunk on his own rage.

And what a rage it was. To say it burned hot was to say fire was warm to the touch. To say its incandescent fury was overwhelming, strongly underestimated just how utterly consumed Prince Patham was. It took all of her willpower not to get swept up in the raging current of fury and hate that had spawned in her Prince's mind.

Rage was not an issue nor was the hate. The issue was that she had no idea where this sudden burst of pitch-black hate came from.

Did a raksha offend Prince Patham in the past? Did he have history with the princes of chaos?

Whatever the case may be, she couldn't simply back and watch.

"My Prince, listen to me," She hid her fear and worry beneath a veneer of soothing words to act as a balm to his bestial rage. It was only her deep connection to Prince Patham that allowed her to feel that the winged Slayer took even the merest hint of her words.

"To the north, down in those trees. Find the fairy and rip it apart."

It wasn't her place to give commands and it made her mind curl with disgust but she had to give direction to Prince Patham lest he thrashes around like a wild animal. With a guttural growl that came deep from within, he descended without care, his scaled wings of tarnished silver glinting in the aura of his verdant anima.

Even with the injuries he sustained, the holy energy burning inside his gut, the pain was secondary to him. As if they weren't there. The disembodied neomah only had a second to ponder this before the world around her Prince crashed. Trees were broken and tossed aside, the earth was gouged deep as a crevice was made as the rage-fuelled Prince of Hell caught his prey in a shower of broken splinters and pulverised pebbles.

The fairy, a being made of oak and wood with eyes of deep amber, held a bow that seemed grown with a twain of leaves acting as its string. Her Prince ignored the numerous barbed arrows sticking out of him, he ignored the exquisite pain as the fairy took out a dagger of amber and slipped it between his ribs.

It tried to slit her Prince's throat but it was too late. The fairy, its skin of oaken armour and its eyes of boiled amber tried to fight back but the clawed hands struck with animalistic fury. There was no technique, no grace. Just simple, mindless brutality. The unfortunate Fair Folk hunter was torn limb from limb, bleeding a thick, syrupy orange sap from its jagged wounds. One of its arms was ripped, or rather cracked, from its socket and crushed in her Prince's clawed grip.

He was currently using it to bludgeon the corpse of the fairy, smashing its masked face into wet, solid chunks. The arm was turned into nothing more than a bloody stump as her Prince vented his fury upon the corpse as the forest around him burned in a brilliant bonfire.

Minutes passed before Micahna spoke again, "Prince? Can you hear me?"

Prince Patham's anima started to recede as he sat there on top of his prey, his bleeding chest heaving with every breath he took. His blood ran down his form, his clothes drenched a dark bloody red and ripped apart. His mutations started to shrink back into his body, his bulging muscles shrinking by the second. His head lifted up at the sound of her voice, his expression slack with exhaustion.

"Micahna?" He muttered slowly, drawing the word out in a drunk drawl. He shook his head, perhaps to clear the haze that had fallen over him. He looked down at his handiwork, a flicker of shock arising from him before he blinked slowly at the corpse of the Fair Folk.

"Did...I do this?" He asked and Micahna gave a low hum as she felt numb shock coming from her Prince and a tiny feeling of something else. Something she hadn't felt before from Prince Patham but she knew what it was.

Fear.

"Yes, my Prince," She answered her Prince, choosing to ignore the sliver of fear that bloomed her ward's mind and how his eyes bulged at the burning forest around him.

"My Prince, now that you're finally listening," Micahna didn't even bother trying to hide her annoyance and biting tone, "Mayhaps you should find some shelter and heal? Before you bleed out and become the first Green Sun Prince to die from blood loss?"

...You sound upset, Micahna.

If Micahna still had a face to express with, her lips would turn into an edged, mirthless smile, "Vividly so, my Prince. Not only did you play with your food, after you said you wouldn't, but you have also endangered yourself needlessly."

Her Prince stumbled up to his feet, holding a hand to the wound on his stomach. With a grimace on his handsome, if blood-drenched, face, he pulled out the arrows in his body one by one. He stumbled forward, walking as if both of his feet were weighed down by lead bricks.

I...yes, Micahna. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worried.

Micahna's mind blanked. She tried to say something back but couldn't make out the words for the moment.

In all of her long life, she's never really been apologized to. She has had apprentices and underlings kowtow to her, kiss her feet and plead for forgiveness but the apology her Prince gave her was genuine. He meant every word of it.

Humans. She understood them, to an extent but her Prince will have much to learn about Demons. To say 'sorry' was an admittance of weakness. And weakness was not respected or tolerated in Malfeas. Only exploited and used.

"We need to find a safe place to recover," Micahna decided to focus on what's more important and move past her Prince's words, "My Prince, can you try and locate a pathway into Cecelyne?"

I can do that?

"Yes, it should be child's work. The issue arises if it is near or far, however. Just concentrate and focus, my Prince."

If Prince Patham heard the urgency in Micahna's voice, he made no mention of it. He closed his eyes for a moment and his caste mark of crossed blades shone darkly for a moment. His anima was still burning bright around him, reaching up towards the sky.

They had to move fast lest more trouble comes their way. There was only one Fair Folk but there could always be more.

Fair Folk. Out of everything that had to have happened, Fair Folk.

Prince Patham's eyes opened and he wearily looked towards the east as he ventured away from the silver forest fire that he had spawned.

I feel something. It's hard to describe but it's far away from us. Maybe...a week's travel?

Micahna was a neomah of class so she didn't scream out in frustration. Instead, she kept a tight lid on her boiling emotions lest they run over, "Damn it all. Even so, we should make our way towards it. I won't lie and say you'll be safe in Malfeas but at the very least, you'll get out of this cursed land. Dragon-Blooded bandits and Fair Folk? What kind of place did you live in, my Prince?"

Prince Patham chuckled softly and his lips twitched. He walked, slowly, back to the village. Now, it was almost entirely consumed by flames, orange fires mingling in a twisting dance.

Micahna didn't have to be linked with her Prince to feel his sorrow as he walked through the ashes of this paltry village. She didn't comment on it, keeping her senses peeled and sharp around them in case of any more attacks.

Her Prince plucked his reaper daiklave, wiping off the grey ashes that had fallen upon it. Still in throbbing pain, he looked over to the corpse of the Fire Aspect that he had split in twain and a flash of anger sparked across his mind. Nevertheless, Prince Patham smothered it and he hobbled over, looking down at the grand daiklave of red jade on the ash-covered floor.

"Spoils of war, my Prince?" Micahna spoke with no small amount of understanding but her tone was cutting, "As much as I would enjoy it, I suggest we leave it and get to safety before more wyld creatures arrive. Malfeas will have that and more if you desire something like jade."

Prince Patham grimaced but a flash of acknowledgement could be felt by the neomah and inwardly, she gave a sigh of relief. It was difficult work trying to guide and educate a newborn Prince of Hell. She thought this opportunity was a golden one to teach and train her charge and so far, it was.

The Dragons were just bandits with a few Charms and few artefact weapons, nothing serious for Prince Patham. Indeed, as a Slayer, her Prince was uniquely suited to bloody combat and what better way to teach him than to vent his buried anger onto the Dragon-Blooded.

If she knew Fair Folk would've been involved, she would've advised much greater caution. Still let him fight and kill, but not in this debacle of a manner.

She will have to be better in the future.

We will have to visit the elder.

"For your tome, yes. I'm surprised you trusted him with it, my Prince."

Prince Patham didn't so much as walk as he did stumble out of the burning village. He looked behind at his handiwork one last time. His emotions were hard to define for Micahna; sadness, shame, pride, compassion, anger and even fear all swirled into a whirlpool. The only expression on Prince Patham's face was the thinning of his lips before he turned his back on the burning village.

Neither she nor her Prince spoke again until night fell.

.

---

.

I sat down on the grass, leaning up against a tree and feeling its bark prick into my bare back. I let the cold night air soothe my aching wounds which were many. I felt my whole body throb and ache with sharp pain. The worst was, however, the wound that the Crimson Dragon inflicted on me.

I glanced down at my stomach, covered in dried sticky blood. The bleeding had stopped but, well. I still had a slit in my stomach and I fear if I removed my hand, my organs would spill out.

That's twice now I've been stabbed in the stomach. I should be dead this time as well.

"Had you not cultivated Hardened Devil Body a second time, I imagine you might be," The slightly irate voice of my companion spoke in my mind, "Though I did not think the snake would bargain with the Fair Folk. He must've been truly desperate."

The mention of the Fair Folk made me twitch, my lips thinning as I thought back to that moment.

Micahna.

"Hm?"

I killed a Fair Folk.

"That you did, my Prince. In quite a...vicious fashion, as well."

I pursued my lips for a moment, trying not to think about the deep ache in my stomach. I had underestimated the power of my Charms, it seems but I shouldn't push it.

Micahna, I hold no special hate or revulsion for the Fair Folk. When I was killing it, I wasn't...myself. I didn't feel like myself. Did you not truly notice anything at all?

Silence was the answer I received and it was a damning one. I could feel my Unwoven Coadjutor's confusion twist around inside my mind, a slight ethereal hum tickling at the back of my thoughts.

"Truth be told, I simply thought you tapped into the Infernal Monster Style by instinct," Micahna said but her words were unsure and her tone doubtful. It made me wonder just what sort of martial art style the Infernal Monster is.

"But it is curious that you would unleash Retribution Will Follow upon a Fair Folk. Indeed, I felt no use of Essence when you lost yourself. Hmmm...I wonder…"

Micahna?

"I believe we will find our answer in Malfeas, during your coronation. For now, let us focus on the immediate future, my Prince. We will have to make preparations for your journey across Cecelyne."

Truthfully, I didn't fully want to just shift the issue aside but I was drained in every sense of the word. I expanded a great amount of essence today and my limbs feel heavy from the grand physical and mystical efforts.

Sleep was quite an attractive option right now.

But are you sure, Micahna? What about the Fair Folk?

"I doubt they will show themselves again, my Prince."

And what makes you sound so sure?

"Simple. If they were serious about killing you, they would not have only sent one."

I wanted to scoff, but I decided against it unless I accidentally punctured a lung by accident. Instead, I simply decided to trust Micahna's words and let my head rest against the trunk of a tree.

What I wouldn't do for a real bed right now.

"Trust me, my dear Prince. When we are welcomed into Malfeas, you will be granted bed chambers worthy of your position."

I smirked at that, letting out a small huff. I looked down at the guttering campfire and my heavy eyelids started to close all by themselves before I forced them wide open. I can't sleep, not tonight at least.

Partly because I wanted to make sure I wasn't ambushed. But truthfully, it was mostly one reason alone.

I didn't want to forget this. This pain, these feelings. If I slept and retreated back into my inner world, I would feel like I was running away from the consequences of my own actions.

I once said that I didn't hate the Dragon-Blooded. I told myself that their derisive words and contemptuous sneers didn't get to me.

I think those were lies I was telling myself. The truth was I did hate the Dragon-Blooded. Spiteful hate that I had buried for a long time. It only took Green River burning for me to realise that.

I let that hate control me, nearly killing me. I let that hate burn down a village, albeit an empty one, I had close ties with.

I was better than this. I had to be. My father would've expected more from me, much more.

And there was only one person I should reserve my hate for. The Solar that took everything away from me. The Solar I will hunt down and gut like a wounded deer as I burned his very bones with primordial flames.

Micahna?

"Yes, my Prince?"

I think now would be a good time to start teaching me Old Realm.

In my mind's eye, I could see the neomah smiling, "Of course, my dear Prince."

.

---

.

The gibbous moon gave light upon Creation, a beautiful silver-white balm from its days spent under the burning sun. It also gave light to a writhing figure of oak as it was caught in the iron grip of a single, hirsute man.

Around them, trees were splintered at the base of their trunks. The ground ran a thick orange sap. Bodies of strange, wyrd creatures were torn apart and a massive axe of tainted blackish gold was embedded deeply into the corpse of a beast with many snake heads that bled a vivid, sickly green.

Silence reigned as the figure crushed the thrashing fairy thing of oak and wood within his grasp. As he did so, he seemed to grow smaller, his bulging stretched muscles shrinking. Even after this strange transformation took place, he was still a giant of a man. The gnashing of hungry teeth could be heard as the figure held a shield that feasted on a sword of amber between its sharp teeth.

"So," A rough, rumbling voice slowly growled out in the figure's mind, "You gonna introduce yourself?"

This figure, who the moon's graceful light illuminated to be a male with cropped, scorching hair of ginger, turned his gaze across the smoke-filled night as plumes of flames petered out and died. He hefted his bloody oversized axe onto his shoulder, resting its haft and started to walk.

"No," The man spoke out loud with a heavy, dry voice, "I've done enough. Anything else is on him."

He received an ethereal grunt but that was all. He took one last long across the swathe of forest that had been burnt down and the demonic Essence that had erupted in a grand showing. Satisfied, he carried on in a steady stride as the wind whipped past him and the corpses of the Fair Folk behind him served as a warning for the rest.

Tonight, one Prince ran with the wind. The other would stay up all night, on guard for the attack that was never going to come.

.

.

---

"Anco? What the fuck is this?" I hear some of you guys ask. Again.

Since it's been a while, it probably bears repeating but this is a fic of Exalted. Exalted is a TTRPG made by a company called White Wolf and it's a big, complicated setting which is why you might or might not be lost on what exactly was going on.

So I wasn't lying when I said I had written stuff before my hiatus and health issues cropped up, as you guys can clearly see. I still have some minor stuff though which I plan to release here as well such as more Exalted stuff and shit.

Because I'm not afraid to say, I really am quite enamoured with Exalted. I would even go so far as to say I'm a big fan of it. It's a fun, over the top setting with a lot of interesting quarks to it. It's also really, really hard to get into, I make no excuses for that but hey, I'm trying to take it slow with this fic.

Speaking of which, let's talk about it and the obvious.

"Anco, why the fuck can Patham grow wings and make himself big now? What the fuck?"

By Rage Recast. That's the name of the Charm that let Patham do all of that ridiculous shit. I could go into a long description of it but for now, let me say it in plain terms:

Patham has 30 points of mutations to choose from. He can get those mutations when his anima banner (when he glows and shit) reaches a certain level. Here are the mutations in full:

Claws (1pt)

Large (1pt)

Horns (2pt)

Thick Skin (2pt)

Scorpion Tail (2pt)

Voice of the Wyld (4pt)

Dragon's Breath (6pt)

Multiple Limbs (Arms. 6pt)

Wings (6pt)

This is a real, actual Charm (well technically it's an Ink Monkey Charm but that's a whole other thing) and it's also really fucking cool. As for what these mutations actually do, you can probably guess but Voice of the Wyld is something I'll keep secret for now. There's actually a bit more to this but this is the main meat of it.

Of course, these mutations weren't used all at once as you can probably see. Why? Because at most, you can only use 8pts worth of mutations at any given time. To use all of them requires another Charm. (I kinda forgot that while writing as I got too into the scene and kinda wrote all of the mutations and I had to rewrite the whole scene. It sucked.)

What is that Charm called?

Devil-Tyrant Shintai.

Every Charm name you see is a real Charm, by the way. As in, it exists in the books and maybe a few fan stuff that I like. There's more to this stuff but I'll keep those secret for now.

Unless you decide to look it up yourself but good luck finding any online resource for Exalted. There's fuck all, trust me. I checked. Oh for sure, you can get the books easily enough if you know where to look but there is no like actual website or wiki that holds everything for ease of convenience, only basic stuff.

I guess that's partly why I'm writing this fic. To help get people more interested in it? And also because I'm genuinely interested in writing Exalted stuff like you wouldn't believe. Especially GSP stuff which can get funky, to say the least.

Now for the actual chapter. Truthfully, I'm enjoying writing Patham more than I probably should. I will make no smoke and mirrors here, if any of you guys have read any xianxia stuff or wuxia or whatever, Patham is almost kind of that Young Master character. Some eagle eye readers have probably noticed some sayings like the frog in the wall thing and how he flies off the handle at the disrespect he is shown.

Hell, he all but said "You court death!" at the start. He's kinda an affectionate parody of those types of characters, I would say. He is also, more importantly, not out of place at all in Exalted which is the best part, in my opinion. You can also see it when Patham gets his Urge (aka his mission) where he has to create a martial art style that is equal or even better to the setting's most powerful martial artists.

"Heaven Rejected Me So I Decided To Become A Demonic Grandmaster!"

Tell me that isn't a novel title. It's all in good fun though. I don't think that aspect of Patham is obnoxious because he is, essentially, a teenager given grand cosmic power and has an inferiority complex with the Dragon-Blooded.

But more than that, I'm quite looking forward to writing Malfeas and how utterly fucking alien it is. Trust me, if you guys are lost now, wait until that whole bit.

Here's a little taste for you guys; the laws of Hell are written in azure lettering.

It is illegal for demons to look at azure. It's also illegal to own clocks to tell the time. How do they tell the time?

There's a certain breed of demon that know exactly when they're going to die. They scream in despair at every morning and every night that passes in Creation. Why do they do tell the time this way?

Because their sun is a massive vain asshole who wants to show off. I'm not even joking.

So yeah, that's the kind of fun you can expect along with humans trying to understand and do the bidding of alien, eldritch abominations that barely understand said humanity.

I believe I might just outright make this a fic. I've written three chapters and I'm already planning on a fourth, so you know. I should probably write Crawling but you know. It's nice not to write "fuck" so often.

I think that's everything? Both for this A/N and everything I have written up that's actually a chapter of a thing. Everything I write now will be freshly made and hopefully just as good. Or better. Either one works, honestly.