Divine Intervention
Soho had seen Nameless Ravine fight, in lesser skirmishes with lesser beasts. He thought then he had taken the measure of the Solar; his brilliant blade sweeping in golden arcs, the utter poise, the excellency of posture. “A Dawn Caste warrior is of a like with the greatest living Dragon-Blood swordsman, though perhaps greater yet in caliber” – so he had convinced himself. He discussed this with Agathon, one night when the two were on watch. They concluded that Nameless Ravine had achieved the Third Gate of Essence, and though the third Solar Gate stood wider than the fifth Terrestrial Gate, the Abbots of the Immaculate Order - the ones who would lead a hunt against one such as the Fifteenth Son – had unlocked the Sixth Tier. And had not Sifu Goruk beaten this Solar single-handedly once before?
At this, the two Dragon-Bloods had relaxed, for even if Nameless Ravine were to assume the Demon-Power, he could not, in the end, stand before a fully-trained Wyld Hunt. It would not fall to one Wood-Dragon monk and one Water-Dragon soldier to try to bring him down. This thought sustained them and buoyed their spirits through the long days afield, fighting the Mask’s servants and spies upon the open plains.
And so it was, then, at the heart of a trap meant to crush a legion of the finest-trained, finest equipped soldiers to march upon Creation since the First Age, that he realized the extent of his error in judgement. As he cowered behind a boulder with Agathon and Shai Mei, as they gazed upon upon the grand finale of the Mask of Winters’s blasphemous ambush – a massive, hulking, fourteen-legged abomination created of a thousand butchered horses sewn together with soulsteel cables, crafted to break the will of even the finest Marukani soldier - Soho realized that never before in his young life had he so thoroughly, so utterly underestimated a foe.
“First Posture! Karmic Inversion Riposte!” The Solar’s voice rang out, echoing across the the canyon that served as an impromptu battle arena. The Nameless Ravine could not be looked upon directly, for in his place stood a raging, churning, bonfire of essence. His fingers, his eyes, his entire being radiated unsurpassed mastery of the arts of combat as he tore enormous chunks from the monstrous corpse-thing with each swing of the blade. Heaven Itself conspired to shield him from harm, as he turned aside blow after blow and channeled essence through his legs in a magnificent leap propelling him into the air; the arc of his jump eclipsed the very moon itself as he raised The Promise high.
“Second Posture! The Promise Hungers!” He was a blazing comet in flight, a being or pure might and wrath too terrible to look upon. This was not the Third Gate of the Sun; this was the Fourth Gate flung wide open, pounding and thrashing upon the threshold of the Fifth. This was an unspeakable amount of power to be concentrated in the hands of one man. The very sight of it, the very thought of it, drained the blood from Soho’s hands, and sapped his ability to speak. The monk prided himself on his composure, on his utter peace and balance in all things, but before the Nameless Ravine in glory, he was once again a small, frightened orphan desperate to avoid his master’s stern gaze. He wrenched his gaze away, and glanced at his companions; they were mesmerized by the scene, but the look on their faces was one of awe, not fear. Could they not see it right in front of them? This was the Demon-Power itself! This was an Anathema of old!
By now, the abomination gushed black bile from a dozen wounds; it staggered to keep its feet. The Dawn Caste’s last combined-essence assault had shattered eleven of its legs, leaving a mere three to totter upon. He stood on the ground before it, ignoring its terrible shrieks, as he gathered every last scrap of essence available and focused it upon his blade. At last, he raised The Promise to the light, and screamed, in a voice so loud it shattered the very rock that sheltered Soho:
“THIRD POSTURE: THE JUGGERNAUGHT-SLAYING BLOW!” The Promise arced from his hand, singing with a limitless well of power. The Abomination collapsed with the force of a thousand stars. It disintegrated into ten thousand pieces; then the pieces caught fire and were flung outward by a radiant detonation of solar energy, first staining the red canyon walls black with ash, and then a split second later bleaching them white with holy fire.
When the dust settled, Nameless Ravine was at the center of it, his Most Merciful Armor of the Wood Dragon cracked in seven places. He collapsed to one knee, leaning on The Promise for support as he tore off the helm and flung it aside, gasping for breath. Shai Mei and Agathon both rushed towards him, carrying jugs of purifying ointment and flasks of cold water. As they approached, the unspeakable radiance of his anima banner began to flicker and fade and fold in upon itself. With a start, Soho realized that the Solar was utterly spent, his wells of essence run dry. The Nameless Ravine, Chosen of the Sun, whose sword and pen dispensed judgement and death, had nothing in reserve. And in that moment, Soho made his greatest mistake, the mistake that would haunt him for years to come. He set aside the Abbot’s Temperance, he banished the Missionary’s Compassion, and he set aside the Sohei’s Valor; all that remained was the unbridled Conviction of the Wyld Hunter.
He recited the calming sutras of Sextes Jylis, though they did little to still his quivering hands. He raised his bow and drew three arrows, and took a deep breath as he instilled in each the power of a thousand dragons’ claws. He whispered three words: “Belly, Heart, Head.” And with a shudder and a gasp, he let fly three feathered executioners. The moment the arrows let fly, Agathon caught his gaze and gasped in a moment of terrible understanding. The others could not see what was had caused Agathon’s eyes to go wide with fear; they could only see the look of utter despair upon his face as his eyes traced three paths through the air.
“Belly.” The first arrow was fouled by the Solar’s dragon armor. “Heart.” The second arrow went wide, betrayed by Soho’s own panic. “Head.” The final arrow was dead on target.
His helmet thrown aside, Nameless Ravine was unarmored. Lacking even the essence to invoke the Heavenly Guardian Defense, he uttered a prayer to the Unconquered Sun, begging for the Protection of Celestial Bliss. And just when all seemed lost, the world exploded in a shower of falling blossoms.
Agathon screamed in horror as the arrow struck home… though the Solar remained unharmed. For Shai Mei had not forgotten what it was to be a tree, and she took the arrow deep into herself, and held it fast. She staggered backwards, and Nameless Ravine caught her as she fell, a strange and peaceful smile upon her face.
