Though yet to draw sabre from sheath, the shocking events of this past half hour left Song physically drained, with nerves frayed and spirits low.

Unable to process the massive, man-made blaze or Chi-fuelled waves of earth, Song fixated on matters she was more familiar with than powerful Blessings or technological miracles. Prior to tonight, she knew that even the strongest of Peak Experts were no match for Ancestral Beasts, at least not in open confrontation, but the might of Divinity transcended anything she’d ever envisioned. Despite knowing it was rude to stare, she couldn’t help but study the Living Legend Nian Zu, looking resplendent in his gold-rimmed armour despite his recent failure. With his black cloak swaying in the wind, he channelled enough Chi to make her skin itch, no doubt replenishing his reserves for what would come next. Standing over two-metres tall, he looked the part of Peak Expert with his steely gaze, luxurious beard, and overall heroic bearing, and more importantly, he certainly lived up to his reputation. Though it all happened in the blink of an eye, Song replayed the memory of the Colonel General’s daring attack over and over again in her mind, and each time it took her breath away. His speed and grace, power and poise, it all exceeded what she expected even from a Peak Expert of his calibre, elevating a simple throw of his mace to the point where it earned its well-deserved acclaim as his devastating signature move, the inescapable Shooting Star.

Having seen the attack firsthand, Song lamented how no words would ever do the Shooting Star justice. There Zhu Chanzui stood, the Bristleboar Immortal in all his glory, staring down the three Imperial Divinities across from him. A hulking beast of a man, he dwarfed the other Divinity beside him in both size and presence, a head taller and a quarter wider than even Papa who was the largest man Song knew. Dressed in a plain blue tunic and loose, silken trousers, there was nothing about his attire which hinted at his true identity, yet no one could ever mistake him for anything but a Divinity, a being who exuded grandeur and vigour through his mere existence. Guan Suo, the Abbot, and even GangShu in his Runic Armour fell far short of this majestic being, a primal force of nature which filled Song with awe and terror.

Then, the Shooting Star struck and the fields of Sinuji exploded for the second time this night, leaving Song entranced with wonder as she took in the pinnacle of mortal power. There was no flash of light or hum of power, only an eruption of ash and soil as Nian Zu’s mace met Ancestral Beast flesh in an ear-shattering clap of epic proportions. The following attacks were all impressive in their own right, yet they all fell short of matching the Living Legend’s defining strike, like a collection of amateur artworks arranged around a true masterpiece.

And seconds later, when the clouds of dust settled to reveal Zhu Chanzui standing unmoved and barely bleeding, her bewonderment was swept away by cold, abject horror.

The unfathomable chasm between Zhu Chanzui and Colonel General Nian Zu left Song wondering if it was even possible for mere mortals to ever bridge such a staggering, insurmountable divide, for it did not seem like a disparity mere talent or effort could even explain. The Shooting Star was powerful enough to kill Song a thousand times over, capable of wiping out a hundred armed and armoured Death Corps warriors standing in formation. Even if she were to replace those Death Corps guards with a hundred Dastans all bearing Runic Shields, it was hard to imagine a scenario in which any of them survived, yet this attack, this singular strike which approached the apex of humanity’s potential, failed to move Zhu Chanzui even a single step.

Mortal and Divinity? A toddler attacking a Peak Expert had better chances of victory.

“No need to fret, Li-Li,” Tursinai Sent, her arm wrapping around Song’s shoulders to hug her from behind. “Rain’s back now, all safe and sound.”

Cringing in shame at her indifference over Rain’s plight, she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze as Zabu carried him over the parapets with an almost effortless hop. Although the equine gajashias were too heavy to replicate Zabu’s feat, the rammed-earth walls would prove no obstacle for the lizardlike garos, and from what little she could see of the survivors, there were still enough mounted Northern Defiled to take Sinuji without support. Out of habit, she lifted her saber a hand’s breadth out of the sheathe just to make sure it was clear for the battle ahead, only to realize her fingers had been wrapped around the hilt since the blaze first flared up. Relinquishing her white-knuckled hold on her weapon, she shook her hand loose and put her Healing skills to work clearing out the bruises on her palm, so purple and painful it would’ve hindered her greatly in the coming conflict. Having familiarized herself with Panacea over the past few months, the pain faded away in a matter of seconds while the bruises followed shortly after, and as always, Song marvelled at the ease and swiftness with which she mended her injuries.

Feeling safe in Tursinai’s embrace, Song closed her eyes and steadied her breathing to match the Khishig expert behind her, and only then did she feel confident enough to speak. “Thank you, Big Sister,” she Sent, inwardly justifying the needless expenditure of Chi by claiming she was simply following Tursinai’s example, but in truth, she didn’t trust her voice to hold steady. “For everything, not just your constant support and protection.”

“Think nothing of it, sweet Li-Li.” Punctuating the sentiment with a peck on the cheek, Tursinai hugged her a little tighter and added, “Don’t worry. The clash between Divinities won’t affect us here, not tonight at least. All we need to deal with are the hundreds of thousands of Defiled and dozens of Demons before us. Not a problem.”

Though light-hearted in delivery, it was impossible to miss the underlying tension in her statement. Taking Tursinai’s hand in her own, Song squeezed tight to reassure the older Khishig and reminded herself that their ages were separated by less than a decade. Even though their strengths differed like night and day, Tursinai was only twenty nine to Song’s twenty two and not so much older or more experienced to have not been rattled by tonight’s events, so Song did what she could to comfort her good friend and protector. Noticing Tenjin still standing an arm’s length away, Song sidled closer to his side and he immediately picked up on the unspoken hint, taking his wife’s hand in his own while flashing his warm smile. Their combined efforts were immediately rewarded with a soft, contented sigh as Tursinai leaned her head against Tenjin’s shoulder while still hugging Song tight.

A small comfort, but a much needed one, especially considering the battle had yet to begin and all hope already seemed lost.

Oddly enough, Rain didn’t appear to care about the Enemy’s overwhelming numbers and remained seated atop Zabu, a slack smile on his lips and a distant look in his eyes as he was no doubt lost in his thoughts about something or the other. Perhaps he was perfecting his plan to engulf the Enemy in yet another man-made inferno, or devising new methods of massed destruction, but either way, now was not the time for distraction. Patting Tursinai’s hand for reassurance, Song slipped out of her embrace and headed over to help Rain out of Zabu’s harness so he could prepare for the coming bloodshed.

“Leave him be, girl.” Barring her way with a meaty palm, Ghurda directed Song away not just from Rain, but from the parapets themselves. “Better fer all of us if he stays mounted, more mobile this way. Ye gather the rest of his people and have ‘em stand down, but don’t get too comfortable. Didn’t hear everything the two of em gabbed about, but little Rain put a real burr in that Defiled shit’s saddle, he did. Wouldn’t surprise me if we get hit hard in the first wave and harder again in the second, so best be ready to fall back should we need to.”

Knowing Rain’s penchant for ridiculing his enemies, Song didn’t doubt Ghurda’s prediction one bit, but she wasn’t sure the hulking half-bear had the authority to make these decisions. Besides, if Rain’s troops were to stand down, then who would hold the wall? Lieutenant Masahige’s bunch? Not likely. Unsure how to bring her concerns up, Song eyed the Colonel General for confirmation, but he was busy Sending orders and directing the troops on the outer wall, though to what end, she could not tell. With Ghurda physically hurrying her, Song had no choice but to heed her orders, so she left Rain with Ghurda and strode over to Dastan’s side. After a moment’s hesitation, she took his wrist in hand, as it was best to communicate through Sending so as not to alarm or alert the surrounding soldiers. “Gather your men and stand down. Ghurda’s orders.”

Eyes fixated on the Defiled horde, Dastan stood rooted to the spot, his axe and shield both in hand and ready to taste blood. “Ghurda does not command me,” he Sent, his tone neither heated nor impassioned. “Until Rain tells us otherwise, my soldiers and I will remain at our posts and defend this wall to our dying breath.” Lips quirking in a half-smile, he added, “Tell Ghurda me and mine have caused Rain trouble enough. We know what’s coming and we’ve made our peace, so once we’re all gone, the Justicars will have no plausible reason to keep Rain conscripted and he’ll be free to go back to the citadel and recover in relative peace.”

“He won’t like this. He’s doing all this to keep you all alive.” Dastan had to know as much, which left Song to wonder how he could remain standing in spite of defying his master’s wishes, implied though they might be.

“And I’ll stay alive for as long as I can,” Dastan replied, turning to give Song a pointed look. “Also, considering my existence itself is a threat to our master’s life, it would be in his best interests for you to keep quiet about our decision. You know full well how he would react, so telling him would be akin to placing him in more danger.”

A roundabout way of defying their master’s known desires, by rationalizing that it was for Rain’s sake, but it worked. Song no longer felt compelled to inform him of Dastan’s intention to die in battle, though she wasn’t entirely sure how Ghurda would take the news. Desperately wishing she had someone else to pass all this responsibility off to, she returned to Ghurda and summoned her courage before taking the half-bear’s hand, uncomfortable with being so direct with someone she barely knew. Needs must, however, except having gotten over this hurdle, Song then realized she hadn’t considered how to best frame Dastan’s refusal, so she simply stood there in muted panic while clutching Ghurda’s massive hand in both of her own, her eyes wide and mind blank as she locked eyes with the fearsome woman’s confused stare.

After far too long a silence, Ghurda asked, “Well? Spit it out girl. Ye got a frog in yer throat or something? What’s the matter?”

“Dastan wants to stay and fight.”

“Hmm? And who said otherwise?” Having forgotten to Send in her moment of panic, Rain overheard Song’s blurted statement and brought Zabu over to join them. “Were we ordered to fall back?”

Quailing before Ghurda’s sour grimace, Song held her tongue and tried her best not to look at Rain lest her Oaths compel her to answer what was most likely a direct question. Until she was certain, she could keep quiet, but with each passing second, she felt the Heavens closing in around her and squeezing her inner organs tight. “Ach, take a deep breath before ye faint, lass,” Ghurda chided, gently patting her back and supporting her from the side despite her gruff tone, transforming from formidable warrior to doting aunt in the blink of an eye. Well, she was Papa’s half-sister by blood, seeing as they were both half-grizzlies, even though the Bekhai didn’t put much stock on matters of ancestry. “Shouldn’t have asked this of ye, fergot all about yer troubles. My apologies lass, old Ghurda here gettin’ on in the years and ain’t in the habit of thinkin’ much.” After making sure Song was feeling better, Ghurda turned to Rain and said, “I told yer bunch to stand down, on account o’ the shit-storm ‘bout to come this way. Ye startled that Gen something fierce out there, and as fun as it was to see him flinch, it might not’ve been yer best and brightest, if ye know what I mean. Ain’t hard to see where yer standin’, boy, not with the rest of the wall packed to the gills and this here bit bare as a courtesan’s cunt, so I figured it was best we get you and yer ready to run.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” Rain replied, exchanging a wordless glance with Dastan before continuing, “But my people have been here for over a month now, and this is the first real army we’ve seen. Hardly seems right not to let them have first crack at it. They’ve earned as much. Besides,” he added with a smile, raising his voice for the surrounding soldiers to hear. “We’ve already killed the lion’s share of Defiled. Battle’s half-way won already, so all that’s left is to kill these stragglers and let the reinforcements clean up.”

A wave of chuckles rose up as Rain’s joke made it’s way down the line of defenders, and once again Song marvelled at how he’d grown into command. Not even two years had passed since he dominated their afternoons, pestering Sister Mila and herself for hours on end with questions on the most basic of issues regarding tactics and command, but since then, he’d come into his own and now conducted himself like a leader born. A casual joke to raise morale and remind everyone not only of how half the Enemy’s numbers had been taken out in one fell swoop, but also that reinforcements were inbound to support them, it was a succinct reminder which seemed simple enough, but depended heavily on delivery, and Rain did it well.

Arrogant, yet not overly so, with enough good-humour laced into his tone so the soldiers knew he wasn’t a clueless dandy who didn’t understand the first thing about real warfare.

Obviously displeased by Rain’s flippant attitude in the face of overwhelming odds, Ghurda nonetheless held her tongue and let him do as he pleased, one of the few failings of the Bekhai Song would ever admit. They gave their youngsters far too much leeway in matters of importance, not just Rain, but others as well, most notably Auntie Ghurda’s son, the half-wolf Huushal who’d been stricken with Spectres, the Father’s unseen Demons who’d yet to take form. Still, it’d worked out thus far for Rain at least, so she prayed for her... half-step-brother, or something along those lines.

Perhaps this was why the Bekhai cared so little about bloodlines. These threads were far too tangled to be bothered with. If they cared, Rain would never marry Sister Mila, seeing as how they were also technically Nephew and Aunt.

“I understand your concern,” Rain said, more to reassure Ghurda than explain his actions, “And if Gen sends his Demons in to spearhead the charge, then I’ll need to depend on your capable self, but his Chosen? If they’re anything like him, then they’re nothing to concern ourselves with.” His smile melting away, Rain turned to face the Defiled army and narrowed his eyes, as if he were face to face with his hated enemy himself. “Let me tell you about Gen. I met him outside Sanshu, after washing up on shore next to a nameless little village.” Shaking his head with a self-deprecating laugh which failed to reach his eyes, he continued, “Funny how the world works. We would’ve never crossed paths if I hadn’t tried to physically stop a speeding boat full of bandits and gotten dragged out into Western Treasure’s Lake. If I hadn’t miraculously survived that trip and pulled myself out of the water a week later, maybe Gen would still be in that village, living the life of a village hunter and bullying poor Qing-Qing until she had no choice but to marry him.”

Though spoken softly for only Ghurda and Song to hear, Rain’s voice rang clearly in her ears over the din of soldiers shuffling into place and Officers bellowing orders and platitudes to keep morale high. Glancing around, she found that she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed, as Lieutenant Masahige and his soldiers were visibly hanging onto Rain’s every word, as were Nian Zu and his Experts gathered off to one side even though most were too far to properly hear. “That’s who Gen was before he made up the ‘Emissary’,” Rain continued, his loathing infecting all who heard him. “A hunter, guardian, and provider, a man standing on the cusp of the Martial Path, yet with all his power and influence, he chose to oppress a poor orphan girl who didn’t want to be his wife. See, Qing-Qing was my saviour, found me blind, deaf, and half-drowned on the beach before she nursed me back to health. A commoner and orphan, she lived in a drafty, one-room shack with barely enough for herself, but she didn’t think twice about taking a stranger in and sharing what little she had. That’s the kind of person she was, a sweet girl with a golden heart. Smart too. Saw my Spiritual Weapon and hid it away, because she knew the villagers might sell me to bandits if they thought I was someone important, and in her eyes, any Martial Warrior with a Spiritual Weapon must be a lord or noble.”

Rain loved Qing-Qing. It was difficult to say how Song knew, but she could sense how fond he was of the village girl, his words filled with admiration and respect that Song experienced for herself simply by his tale. Beside her, Aunty Ghurda gasped and went stiff as a board, visibly shocked by Rain’s tale, but by now, almost every visible soldier around them was facing him. Even soldiers further along the wall who couldn’t possibly see or hear him were turned towards them, and Song finally understood there was something... supernatural afoot, though what, she didn’t entirely understand.

Then Rain’s tale continued, and the mystery didn’t matter anymore. “For weeks, she tended to me, cooking and feeding me meals, washing my blankets and bandages, using what little medical knowledge she had to brew medicine and apply poultices. When I finally came to my senses, the first thing I heard was Gen pressuring her to be his wife, trying to tempt her with promises of what the next village chief could bring her and telling her how other women were throwing themselves at him.” His lip curling into a sneer, he coldly uttered, “Pathetic. You see, the great hunter Gen was desperate to convince Qing-Qing because he felt threatened by the half-dead man lying unconscious inside her shack. Told her she owed him because his parents looked after her when her parents died, that she had no skills and no future without him, aside from whoring herself out for food once his help went away. He even warned her that she best pray I would never wake, because I’d probably rape her and he ‘wasn’t interested in spoiled goods’. These were his words, spoken to the woman he supposedly loved. Disgusting.”

Song wasn’t the only one influenced by Rain’s contempt, the soldiers around her growling and muttering about how Gen was no proper man and how they would’ve taught him a proper lesson. Hearing them, Rain nodded without looking away, his gaze still locked on Gen across from them. “Yea, I felt the same way, but Qing-Qing wouldn’t have it. Asked me not to hurt Gen even after he waved a spear in my face on my way to speak to his father for the first time. She felt indebted to her fellow villagers even though they turned against her for Gen, and all she wanted was for me to bring her away so she could start a new life somewhere else. That’s it. She didn’t ask for vengeance or repayment, for power or wealth, she just wanted to be free to pick and choose what she would do with her future. I agreed of course, and was more than happy to help, but while waiting on supplies and horses, Gen must have caught wind of her plans and he snapped. Attacked her in broad daylight, he did, screaming obscenities about what he would do once I left, so I gave him a light beating to put him in his place. Nothing life threatening, because Qing-Qing begged me to spare him, so I just showed him what it was like to be the powerless one and bruised him up a bit. A night’s rest and he’d wake with a few lumps and aches, but he’d still be healthy enough to work, yet even this minor lesson was too much for the next village chief. That’s what turned him Defiled, rejection and a light beating. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that he would eventually turn, seeing as how he’s a weak-willed, snivelling coward, but it’s astounding how little it took to turn him against humanity. No broken bones, no gut-wrenching terror, barely even any blood or suffering. A woman’s scorn and a couple punches, no worse than what his father should’ve given him for being a little shit. A father Gen tortured and killed after turning Defiled, for that is what they do. I saved what villagers I could and ran, but he later caught up and killed most of them. Almost killed me too.” Voice breaking, he added, “But not before he killed Qing-Qing, because I was too weak to save her.”

Tearing his eyes away from the Enemy for the first time, Rain pointed at the opposing horde as his booming voice spoke to his admiring audience. “That is the man who leads our enemies. A bully. A coward. A traitor and kin-killer. This is not the first time Gen has brought an army to Sinuji, because deep down, he knows his lies for what they are, and only when I am dead will he be free to forget. We threw him back then, slaughtered his three-hundred thousand Defiled, but he survived like the cockroach he is. Today, he returned with a million Defiled at his back, and already half lie dead at his feet. Sinuji will not fall to a man like him, not so long as good soldiers of the Empire stand against him! Brothers and Sisters, I, Falling Rain have many regrets, but my greatest regret is sparing that bastard Gen and allowing matters to progress this far. I implore you all to stand with me tonight and help me correct the error of my ways. Death to Gen! Death to the Defiled!”

“Death to Gen! Death to the Defiled!”

More than thirty thousand voices echoed Rain’s cry, including Song’s own, yet somehow, their combined shout still failed to match his conviction and determination, and when Rain followed it up with a personal addendum, she understood why.

“For Qing-Qing,” he whispered, and for a moment, to Song’s eyes, he looked taller and more imposing than Zhu Chanzui could ever be.

Because by some hallowed miracle of Heaven, Falling Rain was a Martial Warrior once again, recovering his strength just in time to face his most hated foe on the fields of Sinuji for the second time.

Truly, the Chosen Son of the Mother, for who else could be so blessed?

Chapter Meme