The Way of Violence

It was rare to see rain on the Henklomeon Steppe. But, in that wide-open hall, the shattering of raindrops could be heard clearly. As the timid plants of the region wrinkled at their touch, a flowering of a different sort was about to occur within the Wolfkin village. Pale had scarcely seen such a large building before, accustomed to the meagre tents of the nomad tribes as she was. The thick, wooden walls and well-polished floor would make it a fine venue for just about anything, but somehow, she felt that it held a more sinister purpose.

"You must forgive my hunters." A wizened old voice pleaded, "Times have been tough, recently. With our supplies of food dwindling, some of them feel compelled to rob the innocent in order to break even."

"They weren't very good at it, either. I won't apologise for killing one of your own when they attacked me out of nowhere."

"I would demand nothing of the sort." Shaking his head, the short, elderly gentleman paused to draw from his pipe, spewing a cloud of smoke from his mouth shortly afterwards, "It is the way of this world for the weak to perish, and for the strong to survive."

"At least we agree on one thing…" Folding her arms, Pale had an impatient look, "But if you aren't going to kill me, then why am I here?"

"A Rabbtikin is quite the rarity here in the east." He explained, "I suppose you must have come looking for something? I doubt you have a tribe to return to."

"I'm searching for the last remaining masters of Senpo."

"Hoh… is that so?" Something like a smile appeared on his ancient face, "To kill them?"

"No." She answered, "To learn their secrets."

"Well now, it isn't often that someone wishes to become a student of the School of Iron willingly." Sitting cross-legged, he continued, "To want for such power--you are either very selfish or very determined."

"Are you someone who could teach me?"

"Come, now. An old man like me? You must have lost your head."

"So you say." Pale replied, "-But I know the eyes of a killer when I see them, and yours are filled with a bloodthirst that surpasses that of any hunter I've ever known."

"Mm. What did you say your name was, girl?"

"Pale."

"Then, Pale-" Rising unsteadily to his feet, the old man carefully stretched his back, "I offer my apologies for the mistreatment of yourself and your wagon, but I think it would be best if you moved on from this place. My people do not take well to outsiders."

Standing to block the old man, Pale's voice was filled with authority, "I'm not leaving this village until I know everything there is to know about Senpo. Whether it's forbidden or hellish--I don't care. I journeyed here to find strength, and strength is precisely what I intend to leave with."

"Such fury from one so young…" He sniffed, "Perhaps in a different time, this place was once used to train children in the ways of Senpo, but I'm afraid you're a few decades too late--and a few too old, to be learning it yourself."

"I don't believe that."

"Precisely why is it that you continue to bother me?" He questioned, "I can assure you that there is nothing worthwhile to be found in the School of Iron. Strength, perhaps, but strength unaffected by wisdom, or philosophy. If you wish to become 'strong', then there are more effective methods to consider."

"I'm not interested in becoming enlightened!" Pale yelled, "I've heard the legends--that Senpo allows one to contest even a Demon in pure strength! I lost my arm, and these legs, to a foe that couldn't be harmed by anything else, unable to help just myself, let alone my people!"

"Hm…" Stroking his beard, the old man had a tired expression, "Is it true, then, that Demons have resurfaced to challenge our long-lasting peace? News has travelled of the tragedy which befell the summit weeks ago, but I doubted the story, myself."

"I'll avenge those that threw down their lives that day…" Pale clenched her teeth, "-Even without Senpo, I'll find a way! I'd throw away my soul if it meant attaining the power to defeat a Demon!"

"I can certainly see why you seek the School of Iron." The old man began, "-For, to walk the Path of Violence is to discard that which separates us from the beasts of this world. To become one with 'strength' in its purest form, one must cast aside delusions of control. To defeat a Demon, there must be no concept of 'humanity' in the mind of its opponent."

"Even so, I'm not afraid of that!" Pale declared, "-You said it yourself! The strong are the ones who survive! The weak are left to die! If becoming a beast is what it takes to ensure that I can stand above anything else, then I would gladly lose myself to violence!"

Yes, even from a young age, 'strength' is what she had strived for. Strength to emerge from a perilous hunt, or strength to overcome her own emotions. To become 'less' than a Beastkin--a lonesome hero whose strength could single-handedly ensure the safety of those around her--from the very moment of her birth, that had been her destiny. The forbiddance of Senpo was but a shackle in her eyes.

"Hm. How troublesome…" Sighing, the old man closed his eyes in contemplation, "You certainly have a fiery heart. But would you be capable of twisting that passion into something unrecognisable? A monstrous, unending rage?"

"I'm tired of these questions." She frowned, "Put it however you like. I'll become any sort of monster if it means being able to fight back."

"I've heard such proclamations in the past." He replied, "Often, it is those who are the most confident that end up burning out and succumbing to exhaustion before anything of note can be taught. However, those lost souls were only younglings, at the end of the day."

"...Why is it that Senpo was only taught to children?"

"To acclimatise the soul to hatred." He answered, "Those with kind hearts cannot be fostered into beasts of war. Even those tainted with a desire to protect, like yourself, are destined to become failures."

"Are you going to train me or not?"

"Whoever said I was capable of doing such a thing?"

"Very funny." She clicked her tongue.

"And to think, I was well on my way to being forgiven for the sins of my past…" He lamented, "Would you force an old man's hand to commit yet another atrocity, Pale?"

"If that's an offer, then I'll gladly accept." She answered.

"The village will oppose this, you understand? And not only that, but after murdering one of our own, my people will shun you. Perhaps even kill you."

"Stop trying to dissuade me." Pale replied, "Can we start training today?"

"Heavens, no." Waving a hand, he began hobbling unsteadily towards the training hall's large doors, "If you are indeed keen on being utterly destroyed in both body and soul, then meet with me here at midday tomorrow. That is, if you haven't been strung to a tree during the night."

Departing without another word, there was then only one other person in the room besides Pale.

"Pale." Fusala, materialising from her shadow, began, "I have concluded that the elder's grave tone was indeed genuine. Are you certain you would like to continue with this?"

"What other choice is there?"

"As demonstrated during the attack at the summit, I am quite capable of defeating Demons. There is no need to engage them yourself."

"No. I want to do this." She rejected, averting her gaze, "I want… to become strong. If that means practising Senpo, then I won't back down from it."

"I see." Fusala paused, "Then, I implore you to exercise caution during your training. Historical records indicate that the majority of Senpo trainees perish from exhaustion before their labours can bear fruit, so to speak."

"If it means becoming as strong as Barion, then I'm willing to take any risk."

"With all due respect…" Searching for the right words, Fusala paused, "Barion is… an anomaly."

…

…

…

Lightning crashed freely from the crimson clouds hanging overhead. Torrential rain mixed with blood, flesh, viscera--running streams of gristle along the cavitied soil. It was the locale of an ancient machine, something out of a nightmare, which screeched and burned with metallic rings. Like a sunken coffin emerging from the earth, the white-hot solution spitting from its maw erupted into odorous flames as it struck the sturdy grass roots of the land. With fingers half-broken and skinned to the bone, fingernails reduced to silver-coated nubs, a man--no, a beast, stood before that hellish furnace, eyes watering from the tremendous heat that bellowed from its curling mouth.

Leaping from his perch of corpses, there was an ear-shattering sound. The groaning of metal being torn asunder, and the great screams of hot slag colliding like shrapnel against the ground. The man's body burned--even when keeping his distance, the sheer heat which radiated from the machine seared his flesh and sent unbearable, scalding pains across his skin. Feeling his hands grow numb from the sensation, he gathered the strength to yank at the coffin's glowing mould, bending the very steel of its form and allowing the godless magma within to flood the soil surrounding them with chemical fire. Like some gargantuan, dying creature, the machine uttered a groan which vibrated the air around it, forcing the man to cover his ears as the metallic crucible went silent in its grave.

Stepping back from the solidifying mess of white-hot slag in front of him, the man collapsed into the pile of unidentifiable corpses which had accumulated around the site of their battle. Caring not for the guts and flecks of skin which became caught in his raven hair, an exhaustion like no other gripped him, and for a moment, it was almost as if he was about to fall asleep atop that mountain of flesh. Opening a single eye, his gaze again fell upon that strange thing--that out-of-place phenomenon in the night sky. Black Luna.

Why did he reach towards it, as if expecting to pluck it from its perch in the heavens? What stirred in his rising chest--that kinship? That unexplainable but all-encompassing curiosity? As the rain fell around him, staining the battlefield in mud, his exhaustion reached its peak, and without another word, he collapsed into unconsciousness. A beast, resting beneath the black moon.