The two greats clashed in battle, and the earth and the sky roared as their fiery encounter wounded them both. The howl of unnatural thunder followed the flash of magical lightning splitting the sky. The earth cracked and split apart, wild natural prana gushed out of bleeding dragon veins and haphazardly washed over the battlefield before being harnessed by the tall sage.
The sage with the bow was mighty and handsome; his yellow robes long scattered as ashes. His was the knowledge of most ancient arts, and he ruled over all living things, mundane and supernatural. While lesser wise men practiced their acupuncture on the ailing and the elderly, he manipulated the life force of the planet itself, commanding the blood of Gaia to become his weapon and his armor. An aural body of coalesced mana protected him; a colossus of sculpted energy as tall as the Shou Mountain. A veritable of fantastic beasts stood alongside the construct; a pair of dragons swirled around its luminescent anatomy, their dance invoking storms and demanding the earth to shake rebelliously. Yet the sage’s enemy faltered not in the presence of such might.
The small girl, her face covered with a bizarre bovine-like skull, commanded the rain and the wind, the mist and the flame. Her will gave shape and sharpness to metals. With but a thought, she could create things of destructive awe and violent majesty. While her small, calloused hands themselves held sword and shield, a six-armed titan of forged iron wielded mountain-splitting blades and traded mighty blows with the tall sage’s colossus. Every single exchange was the beginning of a hurricane, uprooting trees and leaving behind nothing but naked, lifeless soil. This was a clashed that no longer obeyed the conventions of human beings in conflict. Its purpose had long become irrelevant. These were simply two living gods, who found it necessary to hurt each other for a while at the expense of the world around them.
The sage rained arrows over the battlefield while the skull-masked girl danced a dance of beautiful madness in the midst of a sea of deadly creatures. Her laughter was like song; not a single one of her blows missed its mark and every swing resulted in a trail of blood like a crimson stroke on a canvas of violent brilliance. The sage’s arrows aimed to hurt not the girl, but to poke at Gaia’s pressure points. The planet responded with a healing wail and flora erupted from the barren ground like serpent gods of rebirth. The reptilian trunks and branches were stronger than any shackle and held more tightly than any rope, seizing the iron titan’s many arms and holding it in place for the prana colossus to rain frenzied blows on its metal body. But, if the sage was to wield life as his weapon, then the girl would reciprocate with destruction, for her soul was a forge and its flame as hot as the planet’s core. Her exhalation became a flamethrower, the line of flames quickly spreading like a blossoming flower into a cone that could swallow and entire army.
And then the dragon, longer than the average man could walk in five minutes, rammed the fire-breathing girl snout first, dragging her along the harsh soil and the unnaturally grown plant life for the good part of two kilometers before smashing her on the slopes of a rare untouched mountain. Gaia growled as its rocky finger was struck by girl and divine beast, and an avalanche of packed soil and gargantuan boulders fell upon the two. Or perhaps just the one, for the dragon was blown away by a tremendous power—a swing of the girl’s sword clad in vermilion energy as if matching her unstoppable mien. The creature that should rule over the skies crossed its tempestuous length like a discarded doll and was further assaulted by the colossal blades of the iron titan, which would have chopped it into pieces had the dragon not abandoned its presence in the material world, stepping out of phase and into the invisible realm where its kind could thrive without human intervention.
The sage could not hide his irritation and frustration. Gripping his powerful bow—itself a gift from the very person he was fighting—, the sage and chieftain roared furiously.
“You damned godless beaaaaaaaaaaaassst!!!”
Far away, too far away for her voice to reach so clearly without Magecraft, the girl with the strange mask howled in laughter.
“Not yeeeet! Not yet, not yet, not yet, not yet, not yeeeeeeeeeeeeet! This is not enough to defeat me just yet, boy!!!”
Looming above them like divine manifestations, the prana colossus and the iron-forged titan met again in a calamitous clash of fist and blade. Gaia would have to suffer the meeting of these two monsters in human form a little bit longer.
************
Xuānyuán watched the cloudy sky with tired, sleepy eyes. The magical storm their battle had conjured had already released its fury, but the gray weather would remain for a while longer. He hoped the sky would clear up soon. It would not do for his people to quiver in terror much longer.
He showed no reaction when his field of view was in part covered by the girl. Were he perhaps somewhat less exhausted, he would have commented on her choice of clothing—or rather the blunt lack of it—as he always did. Long, sun-kissed legs were completely exposed to his dark eyes, which turned further upwards to that scant piece of undergarment which barely covered her utmost intimacy.
The girl was smile, her youthful face the image of joy.
“That makes it nine straight wins, boy.”
Xuānyuán sighed.
“…aye, aye.”
The girl’s—Chī Yóu’s—smile became an ear-to-ear grin.
“Come on. Let’s make you a sword.”
The sun had long hidden behind the horizon and Xuānyuán remained close to the girl, watching her work with molten metal with hammer and glee. Her strange headdress rested in a corner of the cave Chī Yóu had picked for her labor that evening.
While a part of him remained vaguely aware that he should be leading his tribe, the rest refused to leave the girl’s side. It was no particular emotional attachment which acted as a cast around his feet—although there was certainly some of that residing in his heart by this point in their long acquaintanceship—, but the simple awareness of the fact each and every single of their encounters left him a greater man. However, the fact remained that their differences were far more and far greater than the things they had in common.
“Why?” He asked, absurdly hoping the single word would be enough to make his point. Naturally, it was not.
“Why what?” Chī Yóu retorted, never taking her eyes off her craft. “Why am I making you a sword? Why am I making you a sword? Why do I make swords at all? By the way,” she spoke between descents of her hammer. “I noticed that Aura Body craft of yours, it doesn’t have any weapons. Why would you go through the effort of making such a thing if you’re going to limit its range anyway?”
Xuānyuán frowned in mild irritation—he did not really do “angry” outside the battlefield, and rarely even within.
“You know I do not favor such things.”
“Ah,” the forge goddess replied eloquently. This was indeed, not a particularly new discussion between them. “So it was the second question. Or was it the third?” Before the chieftain could reply, Chī Yóu further taunted. “Yet you have more than mastered the bow I gave you.”
“It has yet to spill the blood of a single man.”
“Yet you wield it to tear All Under Heaven just to harm this simple one.” She chuckled. “I am honored, yet confused by the arguments you wield, Xuānyuán.”
“You deserve it,” he sharply retorted, but the foreigner knew the chieftain spoke in jest. Instead, she went with answering her male friend’s insistent question.
“Xuānyuán, you know why I make armaments, do you not?”
“…because that is your power, your technique.”
The brown-skinned girl nodded.
“Unlike you, who possess the knowledge of all natural and supernatural beasts and wield power over all living things, I am merely a forge which can only bring tools of harm into existence. It is what I am, what I chose to be, and the one thing I can proudly say I can do better than any other Under Heaven.”
The hissing of water boiled by contact with the incandescent work-in-progress was almost threatening. Filling the cave with steam, it rendered an already uncomfortable environment even more oppressive. Xuānyuán no longer mourned his lost robes, as his chest glistened with pearly sweat and Chī Yóu’s own clothes stuck uncomfortably to her petite body.
“It defines me; it brings me joy. It’s my Path. Regardless of what your people may think or say about me, I am no blood-thirsty warmonger. Although, I must admit I cherish the sight of my creations finding use.”
“Would it not be better if those weapons never found need for use?”
“But they will,” Chī Yóu replied sharply and without hesitation. “They always do. Weapons exist because conflict exists. Conflict exists because life exists.”
“Do you not believe in the possibility of a world without conflict?” The chieftain insisted. His voice carried only the slightest hint of stubbornness.
Chī Yóu chuckled, aware that her guest simply spoke out of a need to act the role of a debating opponent, rather than some misguided idealism.
“I’ll believe in it when I see,” she replied. “Gods fight, animals fight. Would it not be stranger if humans did not do so as well?”
“You cannot be saying there cannot be conflict without bloodshed.”
Chī Yóu laughed as if she had just heard a great and amusing tale. She was back to hammering her creation. It had been a while since she crafted a weapon the usual way—not that there was no Magecraft involved in this blade, though. She had forgotten how much she enjoyed the feel of the hammer striking meteoric iron.
“I say, my boy, that people will always find a reason powerful enough to shed blood. It is the rare person who harms and kills others for the sake of harming and killing. Then again, the reasons of others are of no relevance to me. I create for the sake of creation.”
After a minute or two of wordless labor in which Chī Yóu devoted herself to finishing the new sword—to one such as she, creating a top-quality blade in a couple of hours was no great feat—, Xuānyuán got back on his feet and turned his back to the Creator, taking a step or two in the direction of the great outdoors. The girl first thought he was simply bothered by the oppressive heat, but then he stopped and opened his mouth one more time.
“I…have taught my people how to keep track of the flow of time; how to measure weights, volumes and surfaces and how to make calculations; I have taught them how to record their thoughts, their memories and knowledge; how to grow their own sustenance from the earth and build their own shelters rather than live in caves.”
The pride and joy in his deeds could be felt in his words and, Chī Yóu agreed, those were things worth being proud of.
“I even taught them how to tame wild beasts, how to travel on water and how to create devices to carry far more than they could hold with their arms.”
“Yes, yes, amazing, amazing~” Chī Yóu replied lightheartedly, making the yellow sage roll is eyes in despondence. Regardless, he turned to the older woman.
“What do you think I am doing wrong, Chī Yóu?”
So there it was, the crux of the issue.
“Do you so desperately need my approval, Xuānyuán?” The little girl teased, making the bearded man sputter on the spot.
“Cease the ridiculousness,” he spat harshly, but the weapons maker simply laughed at the grown man’s subtle childishness.
“To my eyes you have done no wrong, Xuānyuán,” the Sumerian smith then replied. “And that precisely is the problem.”
The hammering sounds marked a pace for the woman’s direct speech.
“I laud your enthusiastic belief in the fundamental good of all people. You believe people are naturally drawn to each other and thus drawn towards building families, clans and tribes. That is both good and true. However, believing in the good nature of people should not render you blind to their capacity for evil deeds.”
Suddenly, she swung the unfinished blade off the anvil, discarding the hammer for something like a very long nail before shoving the blade into the ferocious flame one last time. It was a magical flame that demanded no fuel, for it was born of her soul and fed of her will.
“It is not only dangerous; it is limiting your potential and the potential of your people. You are denying them the greatness they could reach.”
Xuānyuán watched the woman at work with quiet solemnity for a few moments.
“…does this relate to the tales you have shared with me? With the great city of magic, and its Golden King?”
The blade glowed with tones of red, orange and white upon leaving the flame. While holding it with her bare left hand, Chī Yóu’s right hand danced over the incandescent blade, her thin and pointed tool gently scratching its surface. It took the chieftain a moment to realize she was writing on the blade.
“Great Uruk prospered because its people looked up to the authority of its mighty God-Kings,” she said. “Do you believe that, if left to their own devices, merchants would buy and sell at fair prices? Do you believe priests would not claim the gods’ due for themselves? Do you believe healers would not sell muddy water as healing draughts, or that soldiers would not take from others what they should have bought with coin?”
“People need not merely laws, but laws that are enforced by a figure with authority,” Xuānyuán declared.
“Yes!” Chī Yóu exclaimed. “Laws on their own are mere words written in parchment! People need to be ruled!”
“Rulership is not shackles. It is a beacon for the people; a direction for society to follow.”
Chī Yóu nodded. She seemed to be examining her penmanship on the scalding hot blade.
“People curse their rulers. They find fault in their every action and word. Rulership is a lonely position to claim, my boy. Yet when they face an obstacle they cannot overcome; when they find a question they cannot answer themselves, it is their rulers they turn to for answers, for power and succor. They loathe them, but they need them.”
“Rulership exists not for the sake of the ruler, but for the sake of those to be ruled,” Xuānyuán continued.
“But why, Xuānyuán?” The smith then asked. “Why do think people need to be ruled? Why do you think people in groups cannot take care of each other?”
“Because, without rulership, people live in a world where there are only enemies,” the sage declared. “Without rulership, people are no different from beasts. Without rulership, they find no reason to care about anything but themselves, unable to realize that this world belongs to no one person.”
Chī Yóu guffawed at that last statement. She could not help but wonder just what that man clad in golden armor would have thought of this man’s beliefs. Then again, she never claimed to understand those invested with the divine right to rule, neither this young old man before her nor that greatest exemplar of humankind who dared defy the gods’ will. So, she simply recorded that statement, the foundation of this chieftain’s politics, on the flat surface of the blade intended for him.
A final pulse of prana pushed all heat out of the blade and reinforced the molecular bonds in the metal to prevent any harmful events of the instantaneous cooling. She then presented the sword to its master, allowing him to read that final sentence.
Tiānxià shǔyú tiānxià.
All under Heaven belongs to all under Heaven.
“And that, my boy, is the reason you must rule,” she declared with the conviction of one who understands and accepts her fate. “Take this blade, and surpass me.”
Originally Posted by castor212
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