Chapter 5: Chinese Claymore
With Flora's timely arrival, the fallen soldiers of Wu were avenged. For every monster that had murdered a human being, she retaliated with tenfold force. Her Windcutter was a marvel, a wonder, eviscerating an entire mob of Yoma in a matter of heartbeats. They fell like the reeds of her homeland, cut up by a farmer's sickle. By the dark, early morning, when the birds had begun to sing uncertainly, there was nothing left of the invaders. The Wei armada had been obliterated, and the northern side of the Yangtze was completely silent. But the most demoralizing fact was that there was nothing left of the Wu defenders either. Some of the ships had sunk, but most were still afloat, littered with the corpses of humans and Yoma alike. The Yangtze was heavy with the silence and stench of death. It was a grim outcome. No one in China could have predicted that the Battle of Chi Bi would result in the annihilation of both sides. It was history's darkest secret, one that would be hidden from posterity at all costs.
Amongst the few individuals who had survived this bloodbath was the Wu general Zhou Tai. But he was feverish, having part of his stomach ripped from his body and armour. With the massive wound festering, his chances were miniscule to say the least. Suppressing her tears, Cynthia, along with Flora, had taken him to the survivors by the shore, where Zhuge Liang's tent awaited news of the final victory. He had planned to withdraw, but the massacre that took place on board the Wu boats must have provoked his consternation.
They entered without even announcing themselves. "Please help him," cried Cynthia, begging the young sage, who stood up immediately upon glimpsing Zhou Tai's limp body. "The creatures we call Yoma: they wounded him, and he's dying. I can't restore him, for he is a pure human being, with no Yoki to help him heal. I…"
Zhuge Liang's eyes met the women's, registering their dire predicament immediately. He quickly guided Cynthia to lay Zhou Tai on his divan. He kneeled on the ground to move closer to the General of Valour. He pursed his lips, his eyes sincere. "This wound… is horrific, beyond any human's capacity to inflict, even with a sword. I have never witnessed something that could have ruptured the liver, torn out the muscles, and eviscerated all the innards in one movement."
"Is there any way we can save him?" asked Cynthia desperately.
Zhuge Liang paused, closing his eyes in careful deliberation. "This infernal chi… this Yoki…" His fingers trailed along the side of Zhou Tai's armour, reading the supernatural energy within.
I know that these women are clearly half-bloods of those monsters, those yellow-eyed demons. They share a bond of flesh itself, and now… it is apparent that I must replicate this bizarre affair to save Master Zhou Tai's life. I can see no other option. But what spell, what invocation, can achieve this?
He looked at Cynthia grimly. "The only way he may survive… is to mend his flesh with one of these creatures. He needs the flesh of a so-called Yoma. Lady Miria told me that you silver-eyed women share the blood of these demons. We must give him the same," he declared. "The superhuman aspect of your kind… she told me everything about it. And now General Zhou requires it also."
Cynthia did not feel relieved at all. It was the answer she dreaded to hear. "No," she whispered. "That's basically making him… one of us."
Flora's eyes were sombre. "It is a terrible risk. Even if we fused the flesh of any of the dead Yoma with his, which neither Cynthia or I am knowledgeable in – "
"Lady," murmured Zhuge Liang, "please retrieve an abdominal husk from the largest Yoma corpse that you can find. Where you find it does not concern me. I will attempt a ritual of fusion myself. Where Heaven and humanity become one, man and demon shall also become one."
"Man and demon become one?" whispered Flora. "Please consider the possible consequences – "
"It is all that I can do. His wounds are incurable by any standard. Already, the flesh is infested with – "
"Even if it works," cried Cynthia, "if a man fuses with one of these creatures, it is said that he will lose control of his newfound powers far more easily than women."
We can't let them make the same mistake they did with the first generation of male warriors!
"I also do not wish to do this. It poses immense risk to both my Lord and the people of Wu. Who knows what a Yoma amongst our own will do to us...? But there is nothing left to save his life with," said Zhuge Liang, his voice bleak.
"Forgive my impudence," protested Flora, "but I am not sure if you understand the danger of such an… operation."
He nodded calmly, although he was unwilling to give ground. "Expediency, for now, is of the measure. Hurry."
Flora turned away, taking a reluctant step towards the tent's parted exit. "There is not much time," insisted Zhuge Liang, glancing at Cynthia's distressed face. He looked down at the still armoured Zhou Tai, whose ragged breathing was growing fainter. "We have no choice but to perform the ritual. I will ascend the altar with Master Zhou Tai's body. I will make preparations there now, as I did this morning when I summoned the southeastern wind from the gods."
Cynthia mournfully stepped forward. She approached the Wu general, kneeling before his lying form, and gently removed his ebony and crimson helm from his head. His long, raven hair spilled out, freed from its prison, and drifted down his scarred face. He had believed her, and he was fearless, unafraid of placing his trust in her. Tonight should have been a magnificent victory for him and his troops. Instead, they were all dead. And he lay in unconscious agony, on the verge of dying too.
"Master Zhou Tai," she wept, "I'm so sorry. Because of me, you must now become a half-Yoma like us."
*
They had boarded a small boat and fled to shore, to a nearby forest. Galatea stared in impressed incredulity at the soldiers who survived the Yoma and had managed to flee the burning ships. Bleeding and soaked in the waters of the Yangtze, they were exhausted, on the verge of collapsing, but Cao Cao would not permit them to even die. He raised the Sword of Heaven. "We will live through this together," he proclaimed. "Come with me. My resolve to survive remains unshaken, and your tenacity should not have broken, either."
Galatea shifted near him. "The Wu troops seem to have beaten back the Yoma for now," she muttered. "How, I don't know. Perhaps my comrades have sided with them. But for now, we should seize on this chance to make our retreat."
"Yes. Let us move out," he agreed, "back to Xuchang." One of his men approached him and presented him with a weary horse. To Galatea's surprise, he gave a rare, curt nod of thanks before mounting his steed. He looked down at her. "I entrust myself in your care now," he muttered. "I do not intend to die. I have yet to show you the vision of the world that I nurture."
She took his horse's reins and began to guide him in the direction of the north, where the Wei Kingdom awaited. The moonlight filtered into the quiet forest, and it seemed as if the soldiers were slightly rejuvenated by the lunar rays. It was just as well. It was going to be a long retreat home.
"We will get back safely," she said quietly. "Consider that a promise."
*
Underneath the moon, beside the stone altar on which he had summoned the southeast wind, Zhuge Liang raised his hand, sombrely staring at the bloody, severed abdomen of a Yoma's carcass. He turned to Zhou Tai's body, which had been placed atop the altar by a distraught Cynthia. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, calming breath, and began to intone a new prayer. This prayer was not intended to aid his allies in winning a crucial battle. It was intended to save a courageous life.
It was a spell that the legendary sages of old believed would grant immortality… and make one a wanderer of the Earth. It was nothing less than desecration. Such ambitious, hubristic warlocks required either the fresh flesh of a legendary unicorn known as the Qilin, or the talon of a consenting river dragon. Either way, it meant the forced unity of Heaven and Earth, an unnatural violation of the Great Way's laws. But this time, there was no Qilin, no dragon.
Only the infernal flesh of a hellish outsider.
"Forgive me, brave citizen of Wu," murmured Zhuge Liang, as the firmament rumbled in desolation. "But you must accept the flesh of these demons if you are to survive the wound they've inflicted on you." Light shone from his palms, and he placed one on Zhou Tai's ruined body. Suppressing his disgust, he plunged another hand into the Yoma's viscera and twisted violently, wrenching out cold, purple-stained fleshy tissue. Gore spatted his robes and the altar, and the pitch-black sky seemed to cry.
But there would be no sun, no glimmering light that kissed the horizon. The hateful glint of those large, yellow eyes had eclipsed all hopes for a swift end to the war in the Middle Kingdom. Yet… the silver eyes that he was now about to create within a human being... perhaps, just perhaps, they would show him something that he had seen within those pale women.
It felt as if a new era in China was about to dawn.
An aura began to swirl around the altar, enveloping Zhuge Liang and Zhou Tai. It consumed them in an angry haze of crimson energy, and within that circle of power, the Sleeping Dragon gently placed his hands inside Zhou Tai's rotting wound, pressing the Yoma flesh against the destroyed, bleeding lining of his stomach. They spilled out reactively, as if they were irreconcilable with the human body. Zhuge Liang's eyes narrowed. He would have to seal Zhou Tai's stomach with some special mark if he was to keep the flesh within. He wasn't sure how the silver-eyed women had managed to achieve this, but he would use all the power he possessed to attempt his own seal.
The final preparations for the ritual were complete, and the gods were recoiling in horror at their servant's petition. But it was a plea nonetheless, and they would answer.
"Now, let man and demon… become one."