"All life is sacred."
A commonly held belief. No matter one's circumstances, It is within a parents instinct to love and protect their child, and thus, the act of being born can only be considered an act of divine grace.
The Demon Child, however, completely spat in the face of such divinity.
It was born from the 5th Great Evil, Earth Mother, without a hint of love or joy. Propagation for the sake of propagation- the most disgusting act of self love. It's existence spewed a toxic miasma, threatening to consume anything in it's wake.
Malformed, curse-ridden, and naturally inclined towards destruction.
It was by no means extreme to say that the very birth of the Demon Child was a crime against humanity.
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The Demon Child staggered, gathering all of the physical strength in its body. It moved like a mangled corpse tied to a thin string. Each swing of it's tendrils cleaved the sky and sundered the earth.
It's movements were both simplistic and random, making them rather hard to counter. Despite such difficulties, Xerxes valiantly pressed forward, slicing through the hordes of tentacles while also protecting the civilians who hadn't yet evacuated.
He was the stellar image of knighthood - an ideal for which all would admire and follow.
I, on the other hand, was a nobody. I had no worldly ideal, nor did I much of human idiosyncrasies.
A fake through and through, with no home nor history to attach myself to.
And yet, it was my very nature as an automata - a non-human, that gave me a unique role.
Unbound by heroism or knighthood, evil or depravity, my sword was a tool through and through. It would strike true regardless of my enemy, and thus, I held no need for doubt or second-guesses.
I will swing my sword as the Immortal Sword Saint, nothing more. This Demon Child was merely an obstacle, a "wall" that would be cut down just like the rest.
After all, father's training was more hellish than this.
The Demon Child roared - its voice a series of clicks and screeches indiscernible to humans. Tendrils unfurled from its body like lashes of living steel, each one trailing with dense Mang, gleaming like oil. One lashed forward, carving an entire three-story building in half with the ease of a butcher slicing through warm flesh.
It's mouth opened - no, split - and from within came a volley of black shards, each the size of a man's forearm, hurling like cannon fire.
Xerxes's bellowed, "Shields, now!"
His soldiers moved on instinct, following their commander's words with the upmost sincerity and devotion. Shields raise, blades drawn, formations tightening despite knowing the of their inevitable end. Their Mang flicked - stretched thin, yet firm.
What could have inspired these men to fight so hard, even knowing that it would only end in death?
Even in the midst of combat, I am only reminded of my incessant ignorance.
The tendrils lashed out once more - this time directed towards the soldiers, and Xerxes rushed forward, Mang erupting in a beautiful ray of crimson light. His great-sword met the incoming limbs with a thunderous roar.
The very impact crated the ground beneath them, but he held fast, veins bulging as he grit his teeth.
And yet, a single tendril, smaller and more feeble than the others, slipped past his perception.
"...!"
A blur in the periphery.
Something shifted.
I turned-
The girl
She stood behind a shattered wall. The girl was no more than eight years old - barefoot, covered in dust, with an expression of horror far too gruesome for her years.
She froze in place as the tendril shot towards her. She didn't scream. She didn't move. Just as the attack curved mid-air, redirecting itself towards her.
My body moved before my thoughts could catch up.
No reason.
No calculation.
Simply a movement of pure instinct - I leapt.
Time slowed as the tendril contracted into a single line, it's arc sweeping down like divine judgement.
A wet crack echoed as it tore through my flesh.
The battlefield blurred around me- smoke, screams, clashing metal, the scent of blood thick in the air.
She trembled behind me as I clenched my cloak, her body too frightened to speak.
"This is...not the space for a child. Please run. I promise, I'll see you again, okay?"
The child shook her head, letting go of my cloak and running towards the town entrance.
Xerxes glanced back at the girl, then back at me before clicking his tongue. "Perhaps you aren't as hollow as I believed, Pretender. Now get up and fight."
His words reinvigorated me. Despite my fragile state, I rose once again in defiance. "You don't look so hot yourself."
Xerxes scoffed. "Me? A knight? Your ignorance knows no limits, does it?"
Steels ourselves for combat once more, dashing through the battlefield like beams of starlight. The beast wasn't a very durable opponent. Our slashes easily cut through demonic flesh, yet this accursed infant had no limits to it's regeneration.
"M...Mo..."
It spoke in a most decrepit voice, it's intonation quaking the very earth.
"Mo...Mother...?"
Repulsive.
Nothing else could truly describe it's existence.
Yearning for it's mother, though it is the very ideal of malevolence through and through. The creature held no true intelligence, merely regurgitating the words of it's forefathers in a primal instinct.
It needed to die, yet Mang alone cannot suffice.
Such an act will require far more refinement - a desire beyond the ordinary.
"Invocation - release."
The sporadic fluctuations of spiritual energy surrounding Xerxes receded, drawing inward and concentrating into his blade.
Mang is an energy derived from one's yearning, yet yearning alone was not enough to combat the Great Evils. In order to gain true strength, one must go beyond the shallow pond and conquer the vast blue seas.
This technique was a true expression of the contours of the soul. It's desire so intense that it's very ferocity may set the world ablaze in it's glory - [Uniqueness]
"[I shall purge this land of impurity]"
His Mang, typically red in hue, experienced a qualitative shift. Now a golden radiance, beguiling and sacred, he readied his blade and took an offensive position. The Demon Child's flesh melted upon close proximity, his uniqueness invoking an ancient curse so potent that even a Great Evil would shutter.
It was likely an ability specifically suited for exterminating evil.
"Invocation - release."
It would only be natural that I too, held my own uniqueness, thought it was nothing specifically suiting for combat.
I did not have the same intense disdain for evil that Xerxes did, as I was but an infant in a dualistic world. My yearning was not yet complex enough to pull of such a feat.
However, my hearts desire had always remained steadfast and true.
"[So that I may become my father, I shall shed my former self.]"
My hair changed color, from a blackish-brown to a snow white complexion, as my body naturally struck a swordsman's stance. As though possessed, my flesh reconfigured itself. I could replicate all of my father's techniques with 100% efficiency.
The monster's body convulsed violently, splitting down the center as both blades cleaved through its core. Gold and White Mang spiraled into the heavens, twisting towards the heavens like a funeral pyre.
It's screams echoed in the silence. Then a whimper. Then a pout. Then silence.
A glimmer had been lost, something resembling a human, yet I felt nothing upon the creatures suffering. Such a being was merely a false idol, a corrupted image of divinity.
Xerxes planted his sword in the earth, shoulders heaving in heavy exhaustion. Around us, soldiers slumped to the ground, wounded, yet alive. Some wept, some prayed, but it was all the more proof that their efforts had truly been rewarded.
I touched my wound, still sensitive, yet mostly healed.
We won the battle, yet this aftertaste was bittersweet.
The Demon Child was born not through nature or science, but from cultivation. Grown a flower of hatred and flesh, watered by the prayers of the condemned. That black spire was an incubator, and she called it her brother.
Gawain - apostle of the Earth Mother.
If this was but a parting gift, then where exactly did she stand?
I looked into the heavens, past the tufts of clouds and the radiant sun. My gaze fixed on the ever-present stars, a small reminder of my former home.
We had already struggled with a lower level demon. If even her apostles could toy with two high-class warriors, what king of being did we now face?
She had not come.
She simply didn't need to.
I stood, leaning on my blade for balance. The wind cut through the aftermath like a dirge.
This wasn't victory.
It was only the beginning.