Chapter 525 unedited unmemed

I wanted to get a lot more in this chapter, but it's already 4.5k words. I duno how I'm gonna get the rest across, mebbe finagle it into another PoV, but for now, I suppose this is it. Sorry it's late, finishing it took a little doing, as you can probs tell by the rushed ending. Might flesh it out this weekened, but we shall seeeeeeeee

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1r3OOXEvGw72dOhci8QEjJPowAWH0rlP1E5d3VWA618Y/edit?usp=sharing

Standing at the forefront of the army, Goujian swelled with a mixture of pride and reverence as he gaze upon the walls of Sinuji and the frightened defenders upon them. Soldiers of the Dog Emperor one and all, they stood terrified before this all-powerful host gathered before them, and as well they should. Even without the Transcendents and Defiled auxiliaries, the hundred-and fifty thousand Chosen of Heaven were enough to trample the fort beneath their boots, but such precious lives could not be squandered out of hand. These sons and daughters of Heaven standing with him were a rare and limited breed, those few who had seen through the lies of the Empire and broken free of their constraints to accept the hidden Truth, and while more were coming to the Light each passing day, it would still take years, if not decades, to gather an army strong enough to sweep through the Empire unchecked.

Even this million-strong mixed force wasn’t enough to topple the Dog Emperor from his jade throne, but it was a start, for soon, the good citizens of the Empire would come flocking to their cause. Today in Sinuji marked the first time the Chosen of Heaven arrived not as rebels, traitors, or deranged madmen, but as revolutionists here to liberate the Empire from the clutches of a corrupt regime and lay the foundation for a newer, better Azure Empire, one in which the Truth would be disseminated to all instead of known only to a select few. For too long, the Imperial Clan guarded the Truth like jealous misers and hid the secrets of Heaven for fear of being ousted from power, but in doing so, they upset the natural order of the world itself. New waves overtake the old, such was Heaven’s Will, but the Imperial Clan defied fate for millennia through their wicked and tyrannical ways. Having invoked Heaven’s Wrath, a reckoning had now arrived in the form of an unstoppable Army of Chosen, an unstoppable force lead by the Divine Son of Heaven himself.

Such were Goujian’s thoughts as he watched the young Emperor Gen greet his wayward subjects and share his vision of the future, right up until that laughable little fire-bird transformed the world into heat and agony.

Goujian’s vision went white as the liquid in his eyes instantly boiled away to nothingness. Opening his his mouth to scream, he instead violently heaved as the heat sucked the air right out of his lungs and left his tongue and throat singed. Then, the agony rescinded as his nerves were seared to a crisp, flesh and bone replaced by blackened husks of ash and soot, and only then did he finally have the presence of mind to deploy his Domain. It’d only been fractions of a second, if that, but trapped within this fiery conflagration, this minuscule delay was enough to spell the difference between life and Death.

Heavens... Why have you forsaken your children? Your Chosen?

Darkness ensued, for a moment, second, an eternity, Goujian knew not, but eventually the agony returned in full force. Wracked with pain and coughs, he struggled and flailed about until Vyakhya’s soothing voice sounded in his mind. “Be still, child. Seek calm and embrace the agony. You are the master of your mind and body, and pain merely a function to warn you of injury, so do not allow it to consume you, to control you. Let the pain melt into your mind and fade into the background as you focus on calm, much like you would parse through the sounds of a noisy crowd to listen to a single voice.”

Though he continued coughing up dirt and burned flesh, Goujian followed the instructions like a drowning man grasps to whatever might buoy him. How long it took, he could not say, but when he came to his senses, his terrified panic had been replaced with grim determination. A quick scan of his body uncovered a most disheartening tally of injuries, for he was more burnt corpse than living man, unable to see, hear, smell, taste, or feel anything at all. A mere husk was all that was left of the once-imposing Confessor, and were it not for Vyakhya’s adept ministrations, even what little remained would have been lost to this world. “Leave me be,” Goujian Sent, after taking far too long to latch onto the correct signature. “I’ll live.” Just barely, and recovery would be a long and arduous journey. “Don’t waste your strength on me and save as many others as you can.”

It was only logical. Runic armour, Spiritual Weapons, rations, and supplies, all of this could easily be replaced with a mere turn of a hand, but the Chosen were difficult to replace. So long as they still drew breath, recovery was only a matter of time, and every last life was precious. A hundred and fifty thousand of his comrades had gathered with him to take the fight to the Empire, but how many still remained? A tenth? A twentieth? A mere handful?

While mourning the loss of his precious comrades, his focus slipped for only an instant, but even that much was enough to bring the agony back in full force without Vyakhya there to aid him. How easy it would be to give in to his despair and move on from this ruined husk, but Goujian was never one to surrender. His entire life had been an uphill struggle, from his humble beginnings mired in poverty, through his tumultuous rise as the Confessor, all the way to now with his desperate efforts to abolish a corrupt government and install young Gen upon a new throne. Nothing had ever been easy, but he had endured and persevered through it all, just as he would stand firm in the face of this most recent tribulation.

The Chosen of Heaven had been dealt a grievous blow today, but they were not yet defeated.

“How can you be sure?” Goujian asked himself, his voice echoing inside the void. “You know nothing of what happened and barely still draw breath. Does young Gen still live? What of your Disciple, Yuanyin? Disappointed you might be, but the boy is still like a son to you, the last son you have left.”

Despair threatened to overwhelm him, but as he fought a losing battle for Balance and the darkness closed around him, he had an epiphany. Walk the razor’s edge. So often, the Uniter would repeat this phrase, only now Goujian truly understood what those simple words meant. Young Gen had said it himself during his debate with Vyakhya: the Imperial method of Balance was flawed from the first step, yet Goujian still continued down this errant Path, hoping to stumble back onto the correct path, but he had already deviated too far. So blinded by his preconceptions, he couldn’t even recognize the Truth when it sat staring him in the face, having stumbled across the answer so many months ago, imparted unto him by the Heaven’s themselves while he lay hidden beneath the floorboards of a smuggler’s ship.

“The difference between medicine and poison is often merely a matter of dosage, and such is the case with Heavenly Energy.” Those were Goujian’s words then, spoken as he knelt before Wen Zhong, his oldest son, in a show of contrition. “Where the Defiled take too much and lose themselves to emotion, we were taught to take too little by closing our emotions off and converting Heavenly Energy into Chi. Balance, true Balance is not about control of one’s emotions, but surrender to them. Embrace love and joy, give in to anger and hatred, for only then can one be wholly in tune with nature and command the Energy of the Heavens.”

Too much was as bad as not enough. Walk the razor’s edge. Different ways of saying the same thing, and so Goujian had done, but what he’d neglected to remember was that there was more to life than merely love, joy, anger, and hatred. There was pride and loathing, pleasure and sorrow, relief and regret, so many facets of the human condition which he’d neglected out of fear of losing Balance, but the Balance he sought, the so-called True Balance he clung to, was still the same lie. Was young Gen not proof enough? The boy spent his days and nights mired in lust and revelry, and Goujian’s Imperial-tinted eyes saw it as blasphemy, but young Gen was closer to the Truth than any others save perhaps the Uniter himself. Goujian also indulged from time to time, but he saw such acts as necessary to adjust the scales of emotion and reach a healthy equilibrium, ensuring love and hate, anger and joy, lust and discipline were all equally represented. That was how he approached True Balance, a cold, logical approach based on the flawed Imperial premise, but humans were not creatures of logic. No, human were creatures of emotion, and True Balance wasn’t about managing one’s emotions until positive was equal to negative, but experiencing all emotions in full, following the highs of joy and lows of despair wherever they might bring him without ever succumbing fully to their control.

The razor’s edge indeed. A margin of error so slim it might as well not exist, yet Goujian neither balked nor shied away when faced with this challenge even though he knew the risk. He stood upon a precipice, and he would either surmount this challenge or stumble and fall, but at this moment, as he lay burnt and defeated upon the fields of Sinuji, he cared not for his fate. Success meant casting off the final shackles of Imperial indoctrination to become a true Chosen of Heaven, while failure meant succumbing to his emotions and becoming an inhuman Transcendent, but regardless of the outcome, Goujian would continue to serve Heaven’s Will.

What more could a man like him ask for?

It took more effort than Goujian expected to loosen his grip on his emotions, so accustomed to pressing everything he didn’t like back into the deep, dark, recesses of his psyche, but once uncovered, it all came flooding out at once. Parsing through to experience them one by one, he started with his earliest childhood memory, a memory he repressed more than any other, of a time before he spent every waking moment fighting and scrounging for food. He couldn’t have been more than eight years old at the time, a peasant child living in a peasant hovel, but he’d been happy there, or he had been until the night he watched his father beat his mother to death with his bare hands. Goujian had a different name then, a name he’d abandoned alongside his dying mother and enraged father as he ran out into the streets and never looked back.

Even after so many years, the memory still filled Goujian with so much pain and misery. Would things have changed if he’d gone running for help? His mother had loved him so, but he just stood by and let her suffer instead of doing something, anything. Their home was small, the kitchen close by, and many a knife or improvised weapon to be found, yet all he could do was watch until it was too late and run.

Oh mama... Your unfilial son deserves death a thousand times over...

The guards hung his father, but never bothered looking for Goujian, and thus began his life as an orphan, a life filled with struggle and hardship. He learned to fight on the streets, not in the way a Martial Warrior fights, but in the manner of a street tough, with sacks of stones slung like a heavy club and sharpened sticks thrust into soft bellies. Few expected a child so young to be so ruthless, but Goujian was quick to anger and quicker to kill, possessed of a savagery few could match which he no doubt inherited from his murderer father. As word of his reputation spread, he found his way into a street gang, as a beggar, cut-purse, look out, and child assassin, killing men twice his age using stealth, guile, and wit. Some he lured with promise of pleasure, others he tricked with feigned fear or innocence, but he soon became known as a child who would do whatever necessary to fulfill his mission.

The years passed quickly and he became a young man, one steeped in the blood of his rivals and enemies. He never let an insult pass and killed as easily as turning a hand, but he also lacked ambition and never sought to try his hand at more profitable work. Fighting and killing was a way of life, and it was all he knew, a means to ensure his continued survival, so each day, he woke up, filled his belly, and went to sleep hoping to wake again the next morning. Goujian had touched upon True Balance then, he saw this now, but in his desperation to survive, he had erred and come dangerously close to turning Defiled. Not that anyone suspected, or that he even knew at the time, but this was what ultimately saved his life in the end. Were it not for the taint upon his soul, Mahakala would have never taken notice of Goujian, and the monk wouldn’t have been there to save him when he was gutted by a wandering Martial Warrior who didn’t like the way this ‘street rat’ eyed him.

Thus began a new chapter in Goujian’s life, following his saviour through the Empire on a journey of self-reflection. The lessons, the arguments, the trials and tribulations, all of it paled in comparison to the companionship he found in this strange and atypical monk. Eating meat and drinking wine was only the start, for he would beg for alms and spend the coin on women and drugs, and Goujian was witness to it all. The monk never let Goujian partake of course, and truth be told, he had little interest in doing so, but the most curious part always came the day after, when Mahakala would repent for his sins through self-flagellation, often beating himself bloody until he could barely swing his barbed flail anymore. When questioned on his behaviour, the monk would simply offer a sheepish smile and say, “How can a man appreciate light if he never experiences the darkness?”

A teacher for a day is a father for life, and Mahakala taught him on and off for decades, the relationship continuing even after they had a critical falling out and Goujian set out on his decades-long path which culminated in becoming the Confessor. The darkness lurked in all corners, and Goujian dreamed of being the man to exterminate it, to purge it from the light, but Mahakala called him a fool for thinking this was even possible. Two sides of the same coin, he’d called it, and now, so many wasted years later, Goujian finally realized he’d been right. What would Mahakala have thought of this divide between the Abbot and Vyakhya? Where would he have stood? With his Junior Brother, the Abbot, or with his Disciple in everything but name, Goujian?

He would never know, not for certain, because through his actions, Goujian brought about the death of his teacher.

Such sin, such regret.

The familiar phrase tore away the last vestiges of his restraint and Goujian fully succumbed to his grief. First his mother, then a man he saw as a father, and even the youngsters he’d taken under his wing and come to love as his own, all these deaths lay upon his head. Sweet BoLao, sent out on her own too soon without support, only to die at the hands of the vile enemy, a grave error on his part which cost him the life of his most talented successor. To compound his sins, whilst seeking vengeance for his adopted daughter, Goujian callously caused the death of his teacher, for he was the reason Mahakala had come to Sinuji, and it was there he met his demise at the hands of the Undying Zhu Chanzui. Lastly were Goujian’s sons, his four precious, misguided sons, all of whom died by his own hand. There was stubborn Wen Zhong who’d been with him the longest, and the stern Sochun who was always looking out for his juniors. Curious Sun-Sin never truly shook off his wild roots, yet became a most excellent inquisitor because of his nature, rather than in spite of it, and empathetic Mapan who always saw the best in people despite being constantly exposed to the worst. Each of Goujian’s sons had their own strengths, but he’d taught them too well and let the poison of Imperial lies seep too deeply into their bones. He’d seen the truth, but they could not accept it, and thus, they sought to dissuade him by giving up their own lives.

So instead of allowing them to die by suicide, Goujian killed them with his own hands.

Why?

...Because even in this darkest of hours, the Heavens guided Goujian’s actions.

His mother, his teacher, and his disciples were dead, but not gone, for they lived on in Goujian’s memory. Their souls had moved on to the cycle of reincarnation, but this grief, anguish, joy, and love he experienced whilst reminiscing on their time together was not only proof of their existence, but also as a means for him to gain strength. The grief and remorse cut deep and pained him so much he almost welcomed death as a release, but he would not allow it, for death meant an end to it all. Not only his life, but the lives of the people he held dear, for his memories would die with him, and painful as they were, there was still joy to be found amongst them.

Such as the time he stumbled across the depraved work of Defiled bandits and discovered a survivor amongst the corpse. The sheer elation of saving that boy’s life made the decades of Goujian’s misguided crusade worth it, for that boy became Wen Zhong, his eldest and most talented son and Disciple. There was also the memory of teaching Sun-Sin to speak, a grown boy of fourteen who’d lived his entire life out in the wilds. Oh how frustrating it’d been to get the boy to sit still, but how Goujian had beamed with delight when after days of effort, the boy pointed at himself and said, “Sun-Sin.”

Then there was Yuanyin, Goujian’s son who still lived, a son he’d neglected for too long because it pained him to look upon his son and remember those he’d lost. How could he be so selfish as to die and leave him utterly alone in the world?

For his mother, his teacher, his children, and more, Goujian clung to his sanity throughout the despair, and when all was said and done, all he felt... was hunger. Scorched and blistered as he was, he needed sustenance to Heal his flesh and mend his wounds, but the heat had vaporized the fat from his bones and left little for him to work with. Food, he needed food, but where was he to find it? Any supplies they brought with them were now dust in the wind, and with the majority of their army being comprised of cannibalistic Defiled, Mao Jianghong hadn’t seen fit to supply them with much in the way of rations.

...Of course.

What he grasped, Goujian couldn’t say, but there was little sustenance to be found from the charred bit of meat which crumbled to ashes in his mouth. Still, even a fly had meat, so he persevered, chewing and swallowing until there was nothing left of the meagre handful he’d obtained, which only now felt more like a clump of dirt than actual flesh. Blindly grasping about in search of more, he felt someone place something within his hand which he promptly brought to his lips. Meat, burned and grisly, but more than suitable for his needs, and he chewed flesh and sucked marrow until nothing remained, even going as far as to gnaw on the bones and crunch them apart to swallow into his belly. Still yet to be sated, he waved about for more, and more he was given, but this was too inefficient for his needs. Transcendents have no need to chew, he remembered, not because they swallowed corpses whole, but because they rendered meat and bone into pulp without mechanical effort, but through manipulation of Heavenly Energy. There was no reason why Goujian couldn’t do the same, and even as the thought crossed his mind, the Heavens provided an answer.

A complex combination of Honing, Resonance, Deflection, and a few other skills he lacked a name for, but even then, he grasped the crux of the skill almost instinctively. The morsel melted as he dropped it into his mouth, turning into a fragrant, succulent fluid which was pleasing to the tongue, and he quickly gestured for more. Morsel after morsel passed his lips, and he used the resulting sustenance to mend his battered body, starting with his other arm to better speed his progress along. Intense itching broke out across Goujian’s newly reformed skin, with each brush of the wind sending fresh waves of agony through him, but such was the ways of Healing. It would take time to adjust and acclimate, because...

...Because he was only human. But did he need to remain so? Young Gen certainly didn’t.

Strength, he needed more strength, and a more powerful body would be a good start. Fur? Scales? No, simple skin, for he still had his pride as a human, but toughened and thickened to the texture of leather and without the too sensitive nerves which had yet to adjust. Stronger muscles too, not simply larger, but also denser. He’d cut open many a man and never found one with muscles more difficult to cut than a mundane wolf’s, proof that the human body was inferior in many ways, but Goujian was no longer constrained by mortal limits. Skin, muscles, and all that was left was bones and organs, the former which he hardened to the point of steel without impacting his flexibility and the latter he protected through a myriad of methods which were Imparted by the Heavens.

Natural weapons like horns and claws he left off, for he still had his trusted hooked sword, his symbol and namesake, as much a part of him as his hands or feet. With the improvements planned out, all that was to supply himself with enough sustenance to carry them out, and he set to consuming whatever his mysterious benefactor provided. To his great surprised, his body Healed much faster than expected, his flesh and skin forming in great swathes as he continued his efforts without rest. His arms reformed and legs followed soon after, and within minutes he was healthy enough to sit upright, his burnt husk flaking off his back as he continued his feast, his body growing heavy and dense as his new muscles took root.

As for his eyes... he purposely left those for last, because even though he understood the need, he still thought it best not to test the limits of his newfound conviction, not yet.

Swallowing the last morsel and holding up a hand to refuse more, Goujian tilted his head to Heavens and gingerly opened his eyes one at a time. Even in the darkness of night, the stars were still almost too bright to gaze upon, and he quickly lowered his head to keep from going blind. A simple ailment to fix given his new prowess, but he was never one to make more work for himself than necessary, for there was always more to be done. Blinking the light out of his eyes, his blurred vision focused and he found young Gen standing before him with a proud smile upon his lips, as if he were a senior witnessing his junior’s success, and in a way, he was. “I’d hoped you would come to understand,” Gen said, nodding as he took in Goujian’s transformation, but his smile turned to a frown as he noticed Goujian’s sword in his hand, the scabbard having burned away with the rest of his clothes. “Still, this sovereign sees much promise in you, and I... I will mention it to my Mentor.” The boy chuckled, before handing Goujian a shard of pottery. “Moving onto matters at hand. The fire was mundane in nature, oil, gas, and spark rather than a Divinity's attack, which is most... troubling.” Screwing his face up in annoyance, he scoffed and added, “The Imperial Clan would never devise a stratagem such as this, for they would deem it too dangerous to give such destructive power to lesser beings. Seeing as a Khishig ignited it all, I wager this was the work of Falling Rain.”

All this was moving so fast Goujian could barely keep up. “Er...”

“This sovereign does not blame you,” Gen continued, though the thought never crossed Goujian’s mind. “But do you see why Falling Rain is too dangerous to let live? Even crippled, he strikes a grievous blow to our cause, and this grievance must be redressed, but first we must keep these fools from destroying what little remains of my army. We cannot have open war amongst divinities, not if we hope to rule over an empire.”

Lowering a Sound Barrier Goujian hadn’t even noticed was in place, Gen left to speak with Vyakhya while booming voice spoke a name which caught Goujian’s attention. There on the walls of Sinuji stood a heroic, aged monk, his eyes shining with vigour and stance overwhelming with threat as he drummed a steady beat on his wooden fish. “Zhu Chanzui, this monk only human, so he cannot forgive you your crimes. The blood of my Senior Brother stains your hands, and for this, you must die.”

With every stride Goujian took along the Martial Path, he discovered just how far he still had to go. Even in his newly formed body, he wouldn’t last a single move before Mahakala’s valiant Junior Brother, but such was life. Divinities would be dealt with by Divinities, and everything else would fall within Goujian’s dominion. Turning to the remnants of the Chosen, he found less than half remained, which was still better than how the Defiled auxiliaries had fared. The Chosen who still stood possessed an air of death and determination about them, and Goujian nodded at them as they showered his body with reverent gazes, having seen firsthand how he’d come back from the brink of death.

Like himself, these Chosen had been tempered in fire, and while much had been lost, all that was left was hardened steel. With this, he would forge an unbreakable spear tip, one he would personally drive into the Dog Emperor’s throat.

But first...

First, Falling Rain must die.