Dragonball M, Chapter 1: Silent Menace Aproaches!

[Cleric of Hell’s Brigade]

"There's that word again, heresy," Ochazuke said, still circling around the visage of the chimera beast, "who the heretic is depends on your doctrine. It is more likely an inconvenience."

Still as he spoke these words, he knew they stood at the precipice of shaking the very foundation of the martial arts they knew. Who exactly was it hidden from? The knowledge of the art he was raised in, the history of two-thousand years of conflict shaping humanity through the countless threads woven all across the world from here, he felt it weigh upon his conscience in this moment. Samson Balon's pilgrimage of rediscovery had already brought him to a crossroads in this temple lost to legend, and their work had barely begun.

"I'd never known him to have a name," he admitted, "The Obushi-sennin was a legend. Could this be the foundation for the Master of Masters?"

He found that hollow space and snuffed out the Dragon's flame, setting his hand upon the pillar.

An artifact holding fast for this span of time is a marvel, he thought to himself, The Zxu'ro sect's craftsmanship is truly extraordinary.

He closed his eyes, his face stilled in lament, as he concentrated.

Shapes and surfaces might be replaced. We came here to honour the hidden memory. There can be no compromise in this.

The mindset to push forward had always seen Ochazuke through in death-duels behind closed doors. It was not until he had held Tiger Master Kaibyo as she died that he felt any regret for it before, yet he was resigned to know that his life's journey and those who fell behind him was not for nothing.

He withdrew his hand an inch from the ancient thing before he threw his palm into it, shocking a path through the column. The force cit through the section, severed the face of the carved stone to a relief that fell off into his hand. Behind the hollow of the pillar stood exposed a hidden part of their shared past.

Six scrolls lay within, each in perfect condition. Five are the foundation scrolls of each school, with the basic forms and techniques. The sixth is a letter.

“To all who read this, hear my words: When the crane flies, the tiger strikes. When the turtle crouches, the snake is lost. Above all, the Dragon is summoned, and the time shall come. Find me when the five are one, find me at the place of birth. Find me, and let your belief be cast against my own.”

—Zxu’ro, Founder of the Five, Grandmaster of the Chimera.

[KingofPie]

“I have only recently started putting it together, reaching out and speaking to other Guardians. I had not thought to bother the Galaxy Police with it, though now that the thought is there it seems a wise idea.”

"Very wise, I concur!" P-Stay nodded, drawing out a data pad and beginning to type his report, mentally thinking, "This is horrific? Guardians missing?! ...dead?! Little did I know thay my mission to save the Earth would lead to another mission of cosmic importance! And I'm the first officer to report it! Ah, P-Sta...was there ever a handsome dispenser of justice on top of the game as much as you? It's quite doubtful," He stated, finishing his brief inner-monlogue by praising himself in the third person before, finishing up his report and sending it to Galaxy Police HQ.

"Now, onto other business, my original mission here..." P-Sta began, drawing out his incredibly poor doodle of Sasheem. "...was to arrest the Majin known as Sasheem. Now, I am...somewhat aware that during his stay on Earth. He assisted in the defense of the planet and while, I beleive there is good in the hearts and souls of all loving beings across the galaxy, the acts of good he has done here do not outweigh the bad!"

"This includes, aggravated assault, first, second, third and FOURTH degree murder, grand larceny, grand theft auto, technical cannibalism, conspiracy, and worst of all the attempt to commit and the actual committing of several planetary extinction events," P-Sta read off a mentally memorized list. "There are many more crimes, of course, but regardless of the assitantance he has provided, I think you and I both know he is a grave danger to this planet and many others in this solar system."

[Cleric of Hell’s Brigade]

"Very wise, I concur!" P-Stay nodded, drawing out a data pad and beginning to type his report, mentally thinking, "This is horrific? Guardians missing?! ...dead?! Little did I know thay my mission to save the Earth would lead to another mission of cosmic importance! And I'm the first officer to report it! Ah, P-Sta...was there ever a handsome dispenser of justice on top of the game as much as you? It's quite doubtful," He stated, finishing his brief inner-monlogue by praising himself in the third person before, finishing up his report and sending it to Galaxy Police HQ.

"Now, onto other business, my original mission here..." P-Sta began, drawing out his incredibly poor doodle of Sasheem. "...was to arrest the Majin known as Sasheem. Now, I am...somewhat aware that during his stay on Earth. He assisted in the defense of the planet and while, I beleive there is good in the hearts and souls of all loving beings across the galaxy, the acts of good he has done here do not outweigh the bad!"

"This includes, aggravated assault, first, second, third and FOURTH degree murder, grand larceny, grand theft auto, technical cannibalism, conspiracy, and worst of all the attempt to commit and the actual committing of several planetary extinction events," P-Sta read off a mentally memorized list. "There are many more crimes, of course, but regardless of the assitantance he has provided, I think you and I both know he is a grave danger to this planet and many others in this solar system."

She reaches up, touches his head, and mentally shows him exactly where Sasheem is.

“Good look, Officer. Sasheem is very sneaky and powerful.”

[KingofPie]

She reaches up, touches his head, and mentally shows him exactly where Sasheem is.

“Good look, Officer. Sasheem is very sneaky and powerful.”

Deep in the ocean, eh? P-Sta's ship wasn't really equipped for underwater travel...but he was sure he'd figure something out!

"Wow, the power of the Guardians is truly something remarkable!" P-Stay complimented Eva, bowing gratefully. "Guardian Eva...rest assured that I and the test the Galactic Police will do all in out power to assist you with your investigation into the missing Guardians. And with that..." P-Sta turned around towards the edge of the lookout, crouching over it to glance at the vast sea of clouds below. "I'm off...to dispense justice!" He stated, giving Eva a thumbs up without looking back at her.

He considered flying down, but he knew of a faster way to reach the ground. "Katchin! Mode!" P-Sta stated, shifting his arms around in a circular fashion before his body was suddenly giving off a metallic sheen. With a flip, he leaped off the lookout, his arms folded as he sped upside down towards the ground, his weight making his descent a rapid one.

And just before he hit the pavement on the ground below he gracefully flipped over and kicked into flight, heading back towards his ship. "Could Eva see this from up there?" P-Sta wondered, as he flew. "I hope so, it was pretty cool. ...Yeah, she probably saw it."

[Cthulhu_of_R'lyeh]

Before, During the Descent to Ilargi's Surface:

After some months and too short a time, they reached their destination. It was a moon, or at least it used to be. Now it was many, chunks the size of small continents having come to rest in their own orbits. But the greatest piece, more than half of what had once been a whole, lay beyond, half obscured by its own debris. Its surface was barren grey, what life it might once have supported snuffed out. So this was Ishtar’s ghost.

“I would say fate calls, but you have come here of your own strength.”

Ishtar turned away from the window, at the sound of Asha'rah's.

The craft that had carried the two women thus far had begun its programmed descent, and there was no longer any sense in staring at remained of the moon that they would both find themselves upon. What the Fallen Eikon had to offer however, was something of a curiosity: a mention of Fate. A thing that, in their conversing, and after learning the truth of each other's nature, and past- at the least the whole of what Asha'rah could remember- the golden-eyed Oni had come to feel; was not a thing that the former Goddess took much stock in. No ... it had ever seemed that her preferred understanding, had been one of transcending what amounted to nothing more than an artificial limitation, so that one might grow, and live, and thrive.

An ideology that Ishtar disagreed with, herself, to an extent ... yet one that could at least be understood.

So after a moment, and as Ishtar began preparing herself for what might be found on the surface, the Oni replied.

"My own strength ... Perhaps." It was an enticing thought, by any measure.

"Yet you know as well as I, that I have been a slave to fate. I cannot help but wonder, though, that perhaps this is the beginnings of determining my own ... fate, that is. Or at the least, how I choose to meet it."

A philosophical conversation for another time, really. Though one that perhaps could be had on the return trip home. Offering the former Goddess a small smile then, Ishtar finished reading herself and offered a final word.

"We will land near Aka'Tiel, the capital city where the Temple of the Twin Luminaries stood, and burned. I do not know what waits for me here. It could be nothing more than dust, and echoes ... yet whatever it is," Ishtar trailed off before shaking her head. "... in the end it does not matter, I allowed this matter to pull me away from Sarada; I would see it ended so that I can do as you believe I should ... strive for happiness."

---

Now, Approx. 30 Minutes Later, Ruins of Aka'Tiel

In the silent ruins of Ilargi's Jeweled City, a battle that had been raging for nearly half an hour, neared its inevitable end.

---

A silent explosion ripped through a ruined bank-house as Ishtar's fist impacted with Legion's own, and discharged energy enough to blow the Moonsworn through a far wall and collapse the building.

It had been like this for some time now.

Each offering of The Last Moonsworn's festering hate had been met by the simmering wrath of the golden-eyed Oni.

And in the end, what the Legion had expected to find this day, was not the same woman that existed five thousand years prior. Ishtar was no longer a cornered animal with nothing to rely on beyond her own instincts. Or some reckless berserker who relied on her own strength and the fires of Aeshma Xeshm to overwhelm that which stood before her. No ... thanks the help of Sarada's training- refined as it had been by Tasure, and Asha'rah- the golden-eyed Oni had found the means to fight back against this final daemon of her past.

So when a blow was struck against her, she offered two. When blood was drawn by a glancing lance-thrust, or a well-aimed blow to her abdomen, the Moonsworn found its armor crumpled beneath blow, after blow, after blow. And when Legion attempted to flee, so that it might regroup, and reassess, and reengage ... it found itself assaulted by Asha'rah, and Anubis. Beaten back down to the surface of that shattered moon, so that it might find its final reckoning after so many millennia.

Yet Legion was not to do so, without a say of its own ...

A crackling beam of energy pierced the cloud of dust and debris from the crumbling edifice and Ishtar, fist glowing with her own golden Ki, slapped it away. Only for Legion to slam into the Oni not split-second later. The momentum of the charge carrying the two through the remains of the collapsed building and back into the open of Aka'Tiel's ruined street. Arms wrapped around the Oni then, the Moonsworn offered a gift from the echo of the High Priestess, Sekhmet:

The Judgement of the Luminaries

Ishtar knew well what was to happen, when the silvery sheen of familiar energy encased her. Understood well the offering made by Legion, and his cursed conglomeration of energy. And as the searing pain of the golden energies that inundated the makeshift prison; Ishtar found herself slipping.

The Oni had managed to maintain her senses, in the wake of realizing she could feel a flicker of her former love. Had willed herself forward to bloody her fist against the armor of the beast that carried within it the souls of the Order. Yet to feel the familiar warmth of a long dead woman turned to bear against her was ... too much. So as the Judgement reached its end, Ishtar found herself slow to respond as she fought against the welling up of painful emotions and memories; and in this second moment of hesitation Legion found its opening.

With a sudden jerk, the golden-eyed Oni was slammed into the surface of Ilargi with force enough to cave in the ground and collapse what edifices remained along the ruined street. And as Ishtar slowly picked herself up, physical pain and mental turmoil slowing her still; the Last Moonsworn regained its lance and descended from the heavens to pass its own judgement.

Death.

---

In the moment before Legion's descent- and inevitable impact-, Ishtar was sure she heard a voice. And with it came a momentary calm that pierced to the Oni's core, if only so that three words could ring out in that sudden mental stillness.

Goodbye, Ishtar.

Two words.

In the end nothing more than the unspoken goodbye between to lovers, yet they were words that carried with them the weight of five thousand years of pain, and regret; and as Ishtar found her feet once more and turned her eyes towards Legion's descent ...

She understood.

---

There was no time now, to avoid the impact.

The Last Moonsworn would strike its blow, the final judgement of the Order now passed and levied against the Outsider, the Deceiver ... Ishtar; and there was nothing that could be done about it. As if it was fated to be in a way that could never be understood. Yet as the golden-eyed Oni appraised the situation, there was no fear. The rage too, had bled away, and along with it the grief, and regret, and pain ... And so Sarada would feel it in the moment before as the emotions that had persisted for over half an hour now bled away in an instant; only two things:

A calmness reminiscent of the time they spent together ... and a reaffirmation of the promise that Ishtar would see her again.

It happened almost too fast to see then.

The golden-eyed Oni stepped to the side, and in a blur of motion brought her crystalline arm to catch the spear-tip and deflect it enough so that it only pierced her through the shoulder; and as the pain blossomed from the site of penetration the momentum that yet carried Legion downwards forced the Oni into the floor of the moon once more with force enough to upend the ground for several hundred meters. Yet as the dust settled, Asha'rah would see that while Ishtar lay battered, bloody, and run through the shoulder by the Last Moonsworn's spear; judgement had been passed ... but not for Ishtar.

With her hand- the one of flesh, and blood- pressed against the crumpled armor of Legion's torso; the golden-eyed Oni lay looking up at the last vestige of the Moonsworn. And for a brief moment, as the Oni's hand rested against the wellspring of souls that gave life to this armored aberration, she could feel it. That fragmentary echo of Sekhmet, still warm even after all these years; and even as it shared space with the ones who had murdered her. And the Oni could feel it too, all their hatred ... that even still held a presence after five thousand, one-hundred and eighteen years ... A hatred that at its apex had forced the golden-eyed Oni into realizing her nature and in the end ... and the selfsame hatred that had- in its own way- led to this moment.

There was no sound to be heard, in the weak atmosphere of the ruined Ilargi. No way to know what all was said by Ishtar as she lay beneath the lance of Legion, the Last Moonsworn and passed her judgement. Yet there was no misunderstanding the end result.

With a final, whispering word, the golden-eyed Oni spoke; and a judgement five thousand years overdue was meted out.

Sij.

---

There was no time to react, as the darkling beam of Hakai energy pierced the 'heart' of Legion.

There was no turning back the hands of time, and fate, to prevent this inevitable ending from coming to pass. There was only a judgement, and a word, and an outcome. And as what remained of the Ka, and Ki, and souls, of the Order of the Twin Luminaries was eaten away to nothing, and erased ... and as what remained of Sekhmet was erased along with them. Ishtar stared up at the now lifeless armor above her, and further beyond still; to the star-filled sky.

Goodbye, Sekhmet.

[Cthulhu_of_R'lyeh]

As Ishtar continued to lay there, then, staring up at the stars that hung above a dead moon; she could not help but feel that in the end it was a bittersweet thing. To be freed of this burden, and to be able to let go .. by choosing to accept what it is she was to become; after so long ... and after a moment Sarada would feel it then, too, more than the pain and the ache of loss ... as Ishtar wept.

Tears of sorrow at first, for all that had happened ... and then, slowly, tears of joy at may yet be in the future.

[Hazard]

Weeks Later

Three people on a truck loaded with fresh vegetables head to a nearby city. One of the people is green.

"I really got to thank you, Slak," the old man driving says. "After our machines broke down, I thought we were done for. We would have never gotten the harvest done in time without you."

"It was my pleasure to be of help," Slak says. He means it too. The old man and his family had shown a stranger like him great hospitality even before he helped them out. Staying with them for a few days was quite pleasant. "Besides, it was good training."

"Do you really have to go?" The last person in the truck, a young child, asks. "You could stay in the farm with us! And! And! You can teach how to be strong like you."

"Now, now, Cloche," his grandfather says. "Don't be bothering, Slak. He already helped us enough."

"Unfortunately, I must continue my journey," Slak says to Cloche. "However, if I find the time, I will come back to visit."

"You promise?" The child asks.

"Of course, I-" Slak suddenly frowns. "Wait a moment, please."

---

"Why must there be people like you?" Slak asks the would-be bandit. He had felt their power levels a mile away and quickly moved to investigate the threat. Now the five men who had been lying in wait to steal the farmer's harvest are disarmed and four of them are unconscious.

After traveling the continent for a few weeks, Slak found Totoma had been right. There are a lot of good people on Earth.

"The question was not rhetorical, by the way" Slak says as the bandit tries to reach for his hidden knife only for Slak to quickly step on his hand.

Unfortunately, there are also people like this one.

f he had not been here, the fruits of the farmers' labor would have been stolen by these... parasites. Even if no one got hurt, the family would still go hungry. Do they not understand something as basic as that? Do they just not care?

If so, they really are rotten.

"Look, I am sorry, okay!" the bandit says with wide scared eyes. "We just thought the old man would be an easy mark! We didn't know he had some big green alien guarding him!"

"Wrong answer," Slak says, as he increases the pressure on the bandit's hand.

"Wait! Wait!" The bandits says. "I got money. I can tell you where we hide our stash!"

"Not interested."

"I-I... I got a treasure map!"

The pressure stops.

"A treasure map?"

Slak's mind is already made up. He will drop these five at the nearest police station. Nothing will change that. Still, the bandit clings to false hope and quickly spills the beans. Slak listens in silence for a moment.

"Interesting."

[MrSandman]

"Ladies and Gentleman of Mage Society. We are gathered here today to mourn, to celebrate and to give thanks." A man, well into his years, stood at the head of a counsel of established mages as he cast a scrutinizing gaze over those gathered in the hall. "We mourn the lost of one of our own....the Chomwallow family. We celebrate the many contributions they had helped achieve in our collective society. We give thanks....that a trial such as this is few and far between. The torch they leave behind must never be allowed to go out....so too would their memory be forever shadowed and all they have achieved be lost to the annals of history as so many families of long past. You, representatives of the families, heirs to their legacy....stand before this tribunal to demonstrate who best deserves to carry the weight of the knowledge and secrets for those who can no longer carry them. Some of you are here for personal gain, no doubt. Some to honor those lost. Your reasoning matters not in the end....only that you uphold the honor of the fallen, that their gifts to us are never truly lost."

Another man stepped up beside him and offered a paper, which the old man took and scanned over before returning his gaze to the crowd. "The Chomwallows were practitioners of arcane summoning.....so the criteria of this trial shall be the strength and utilization of familiars. You will each be allowed up to two familiars to take with you to the proving grounds. Once the trial begins victory will be achieved by either destroying or disabling your opponents familiars. Mage combat is forbidden, as is attacking a mage with a familiar. This is a trial to test the skill of your familiars....not you own. Violators will suffer harsh penalties. Now step forward, one at a time...and state your name for the records."

The first to step forward was young man, grimorie in hand and a cocky expression painted all over his youthful face.



"Tomas Hubbard! Pleased as usual to stand before the counsel."

The old man tilted his head, and for a moment he seemed to smirk. "Ahhh Mister Hubbard. Not flanked by your neophytes this time I see. How goes your....affairs."

A loud snickering came from a girl in the group, while Tomas turned red and switched between firing glares behind him and smiles in front of him. "Lord Pendal.....I won't bore you any more then my ignored letters have already done. Today I'm here to carry on the legacy of a fallen friend."

"Please Hubbard, you didn't give two shits over the Chonwallows until now. Did your father finally cut your allowance?" The girl graduated from snickering to open condensation. "Not that I blame him....you'd just squander their wealth on more of that inane doomsday propaganda."

"Silence, both of you. This is not a place for such disrespect. Despite his...questionable rhetoric....his entry has been approved. If he is worthy of carrying their legacy he shall do so with the permission of the counsel. If you feel he is not....the step forward and announce your will to challenge."

"Very well, I'd not keep the counsel waiting." The woman stepped forward.



"Helena Blavatsky! Presenting to the counsel as requested."

"Hrmph......Didn't know they let nut cases into these events." Hubbard fumed, electing a sudden bout of rage from the tiny girl. "Your one to talk you self absorbed doomsayer!"

"I'm not a doomsayer! Divination is a perfectly acceptable field of spellcraft and my predictions are 95% accurate 100% of the time!" Hubbard turned and pointed a finger at Blavatsky. "Meanwhile I can't say the same about having the will of the cosmos beamed into your head by higher beings....voice in your head are explained by a much similar field of study, Psychology.

"At least I've done something with that knowledge you half baked idiot! What have you done....gone around screaming about the end of the world and....what was that horrible doom machine thing coming to eat us all hmm?" Helena smirked to Tomass face.

"Genes....Oh why should I even bother, I'm sure the voice in your head can answer just as well as I can."

While the two bickered consistently, much to lord pendals dismay, another of the group stepped forward awkwardly.



"My Lord....I....*Ahem*.....Gardevour Hohenheim, sir."

Lord Pendal turned his attention away from the fuss and smiled. "Ahh, Gardevour. Its good to see you out and about young man....I was hoping you'd appear. Your father spoke highly of your latest efforts, and I look forward to seeing them play out on the field. Homunculus theory is such a under utilized field."

"Gross if you ask me.."

"Oh shut up Hubbard.....I think its admirable."

"Thank you, Sir.....Thank you miss Blavatsky..." Gardevour scratched the back of his head, turning slightly red from the attention, especially from Helenas side.

The next to step forward was...

"Etrina Stoltengarde! Lord Pendal....its been quite awhile..." Etrina stepped forward this time. Behind her, Launia stepped up as well. "Launia Ballaria sir!"

"Welcome Miss Ballaria, not often we see your family involved in events.....and Miss Stoltengarde? Hehe....Surely this is a rare occasion. I've not seen you since your younger years. Tell me how fares your noble father?"

Etrina throat tightens. "...He.....he's fine."

"Yes, its good to have you here. Yes....I wish you well in the trail ahead, all of you. Prepare your familiars and meet at the trail grounds in an hour."

Launia glanced around. "This is all? Umm...Lord Pendal...I thought thei..."

"...This is all, young Balleria. If your contact within the counsel building has told you anything else...I'm afraid him or her was sorely mistaken." There was a knowing smile on Pendals face that had Launia look away nerviously. "Now then.....away with you all. You have an hour to prepare."

[MrSandman]

"Carry me gently Beast."

Grav was frustrated, not sure much over his continued imprisonment....though that was quite annoying, but over the situation he found himself in as a whole. From the day that the Balleria girl had visited, Grav knew something was off. The Stoltengarde girl didn't seem to notice.....but he did.

That gut wrenching sensation...sickening him even in the confines of his urn. It was familiar, far too familiar for his liking.

Let in the time since he had learned nothing. For brief periods he had been allowed out as per his deal with the Stoltengarde woman....but that had only yielded pieces to the puzzle. The Balleria girl never showed up on the same days he was out, making an observation even more difficult. Then there was the tale of the murdered mage family.....Chomwallow was it? The name didn't ring a bell, they must have been a younger mage family. Such a waste....their life could have better served him then allowed to fade into the beyond.

"Gao! Stop complain....stupid man...." The beast whined as usual.

The Trail of Succession Ceremony was underway.....the eyes of the mage counsel were likely on the newcomers. This had presented an excellent opportunity for Grav to learn a little more about what was going on. But he was confined to the urn and without any proper way of locomotion.

Which, of course, led him to rely on the one thing he hated most.

Thus, he found himself carried in the hands of his worst adversary, as the two sneaked into the estate grounds with the goal to dig up information on the trial and the fate of the Chomwallows. Persuading the beast was easy, in his weakened state he was no threat and needed only convince the beast of the importance this was to protecting her master.....the mention of a victory feast being prepared in the estate also helped.

Climbing in through one of the rear windows, the two came across their first obstacle. One of the house cleaning staff had been hard at work in scrubbing the walls when Erosa climbed in through the window...Her Hunter/Killer field had been activated already so she was invisible to the maids senses.....but the sound she created was not, and neither was the urn she was holding. So when the maid turned and saw the floating urn with a villianous face scribbled onto its front....she pulled back in horror and prepared to let out a scream.

Erosa pulled back and launched the urn into the maids head, knocking her unconscious while a series of grunts followed the urn as he hit the ground and bounced several times to rest on the floor nearby. "Gah....Uuuh.....Stupid Beast I'm not a rock."

"Eh....Erosa panic bit. Urn making things difficult." Erosa muttered as she retrieved her charge. Cracking the door open a little before continuing on into the mansion.

[Cyke]

“Zxu’ro is a mythical figure, said in a few heretical histories to be either a co-founder of the five schools or the actual founder himself. Incredibly powerful, with a mastery of all techniques and all the secrets. It was said that any who could challenge him would gain his power and secrets.”

Ochazuke senses that one of the pillars is hollow, with something inside.

"There's that word again, heresy," Ochazuke said, still circling around the visage of the chimera beast, "who the heretic is depends on your doctrine. It is more likely an inconvenience."

"I wonder, then... there must be rhyme and reason for this to be labeled heresy. Someone who felt threatened or fearful, that they could lose control to some challenger regarding the Five Schools."

Zaofan took another bite of his apple. "In my travels I encountered some cultures that saw law as cleanliness and lawlessness as dirt; that disorder was against the nature of creation, and they would extend this world view to everything - animals, customs, even knowledge -- 'the natural order of things.' Anything that can challenge what they know, well, that usually turned out bad. Challengers would be punished or exiled. That this person challenged the idea that the schools should remain separate and orderly? Keeping the schools divided would challenge Zxu'ro's teachings."

Still as he spoke these words, he knew they stood at the precipice of shaking the very foundation of the martial arts they knew. Who exactly was it hidden from? The knowledge of the art he was raised in, the history of two-thousand years of conflict shaping humanity through the countless threads woven all across the world from here, he felt it weigh upon his conscience in this moment. Samson Balon's pilgrimage of rediscovery had already brought him to a crossroads in this temple lost to legend, and their work had barely begun.

"I'd never known him to have a name," he admitted, "The Obushi-sennin was a legend. Could this be the foundation for the Master of Masters?"

"Obushi-sennin?' 'Master of Masters?'" Just what had they stumbled upon?

He found that hollow space and snuffed out the Dragon's flame, setting his hand upon the pillar.

An artifact holding fast for this span of time is a marvel, he thought to himself, The Zxu'ro sect's craftsmanship is truly extraordinary.

He closed his eyes, his face stilled in lament, as he concentrated.

Shapes and surfaces might be replaced. We came here to honour the hidden memory. There can be no compromise in this.

The mindset to push forward had always seen Ochazuke through in death-duels behind closed doors. It was not until he had held Tiger Master Kaibyo as she died that he felt any regret for it before, yet he was resigned to know that his life's journey and those who fell behind him was not for nothing.

He withdrew his hand an inch from the ancient thing before he threw his palm into it, shocking a path through the column. The force cit through the section, severed the face of the carved stone to a relief that fell off into his hand. Behind the hollow of the pillar stood exposed a hidden part of their shared past.

Six scrolls lay within, each in perfect condition. Five are the foundation scrolls of each school, with the basic forms and techniques. The sixth is a letter.

“To all who read this, hear my words: When the crane flies, the tiger strikes. When the turtle crouches, the snake is lost. Above all, the Dragon is summoned, and the time shall come. Find me when the five are one, find me at the place of birth. Find me, and let your belief be cast against my own.”

—Zxu’ro, Founder of the Five, Grandmaster of the Chimera.

"The Five Schools ... the Chimera -- Ochazuke, they can come together again..! The schools are the sum of a greater whole! But... who would keep this hidden? Who would erase it from history? And... where would Zxu'ro's place of birth be?"

Zaofan then turned to Samson. "'If the Dragon is summoned...' What could that mean?"

The vagabond chef then steeled himself at any number of possibilities that his mind could compute, as he repeated the phrase, "'Find me, and let your belief be cast against my own'... sounds like a challenge."

[MrSandman]

"But today is for someone beyond you and I."

Asha'rah leaped forward into the air, hacking away at the tentacles and leaving molten stumps in her wake. It had been many years since she last trained with a dao, but some skill remained, and this sword carried similar properties While she carved a path forward, Asha'rah's whirling, flowing aura within the Heaven's Gate barrier surrounding the woman's head turned to creation. A continuous serrated blade formed, rotating as it was carried by the orbs spinning around the golden woman's head. Blood and ichor poured forth, the rending of flesh and sickening sawing of bone resounding until her head came apart from her body. The orbs carried their bloody prize forward to Asha'rah, where she took aim at the eye that had spawned another eye. Without another word, she plunged the sword straight into the eye, splitting it in twain.

In an inky black void, there was a pinprick of rainbow light. It illuminated the void around it, and for a moment the writhing of a thousand shadowy beasts could be seen retreating away from the alien thing....as alien to them as they were to it. Then, after a few moments, it faded.

Parsic head dissolved around the blade, but not before her lips turned upwards and a quiet smile. "Back to the immaterial....a short reprieve.....for my existence..."

Then her head vanished, and her body followed, dissolving into dust and then nothing at all.

The fight between Asha'rah and Parsic had ended in victory for creation...at least for the moment. Now she was free to return her attention to the battle between Etrina and Chrona. Without her blade....Chrona seemed slightly less menacing then she had but minutes before. The aspect took a step back, assessing the situation......then shrugged with a sudden sigh.

Etrina charged, screaming with wand at the ready. The aspect, hands still in the air, seemed to blur forward...bringing her knee up into Etrinas stomach and slamming her elbow on the back of her head as she went flying by. With another blink she was standing on front of Asha'rah, striking hard against her wrist....in but a moment in felt as if a dozen strikes had found their mark up and down Asha'rahs arm. The speed of the attack was uncanny...nothing like what Chrona had demonstrated earlier in the fight. If Asha'rahs arm wasn't made of metal it would have been mangled beyond repair....instead she goal was to simply beat the sword free from her hand and reclaim it before vanishing again.

Appearing a short distance back down the garden path, Chrona aimed the top of her sword at the two.......and then its blade faded away. With a look of satisfaction, the time aspect attached the hilt to her belt and patted her hands together with a whistle. ...one that she continued as she turned and walked away from the two. Seemingly no longer interested in the two.

[grampagen]

"I wonder, then... there must be rhyme and reason for this to be labeled heresy. Someone who felt threatened or fearful, that they could lose control to some challenger."

Zaofan took another bite of his apple. "In my travels I encountered some cultures that saw law as cleanliness and lawlessness as dirt; that disorder was against the nature of creation, and they would extend this world view to everything - animals, customs, even knowledge -- 'the natural order of things.' Anything that can challenge what they know, well, that usually turned out bad. Challengers would be punished or exiled. Suppose that whoever built all this was ostracized? That this person challenged the idea that the schools should remain separate and orderly?"



"Obushi-sennin?' 'Master of Masters?'" Just what had they stumbled upon?

"The legend of the Great Warrior Hermit is one honoured by the dictions of the Crane School, and many other martial traditions besides," Ochazuke said, "The ancestral lineage of each of the Five can be traced back to their Founder. In common, each of these histories said something of a man who dispensed the art to them. Even a master must start somewhere, somebody had to have taught them."

Great as his deeds had been, this temple to Zxu'ro shook the foundation of what Ochazuke had known to be true. A true warrior has no need of ceremony or monuments.

It is, after all, a Dragon's memento. Something buried here they'd feared to get out.

"Yet each of the Founders would not dare look upon the other as family, craving instead to be seen as the sole master of all."

Six scrolls lay within, each in perfect condition. Five are the foundation scrolls of each school, with the basic forms and techniques. The sixth is a letter.

“To all who read this, hear my words: When the crane flies, the tiger strikes. When the turtle crouches, the snake is lost. Above all, the Dragon is summoned, and the time shall come. Find me when the five are one, find me at the place of birth. Find me, and let your belief be cast against my own.”

—Zxu’ro, Founder of the Five, Grandmaster of the Chimera.

"The Five Schools -- Ochazuke, they can come together again..! The schools are the sum of a greater whole! But... who would keep this hidden? Who would erase it from history? And... where would Zxu'ro's place of birth be?"

Zaofan then turned to Samson. "'If the Dragon is summoned...' What could that mean?"

Carefully setting the parted section in his hand to the side, Ochazuke nod to Zaofan as he spored over each scroll one-by-one, falling silent even as his comrade voiced the words of the dream made tangible in the ancient paper scrolls he held now. The Crane he knew, the Tiger and Turtle he was intimately familiar with, and the intertwined roots of the Snake and Dragon he'd begun to decipher through happenstance as of late. Zxu'ro's last letter, however, gave him pause, as if somebody thousands of years old had affixed his gaze far ahead to the future to this moment. Ochazuke did not want to admit it, but he could not help but turn his examination inward before speaking it.

"A declaration of providence, perhaps? Hmm."

He had left the Crane; Kenshiko had reappeared; the Turtle Monks had their hermitage fallen beneath the waves; the Snake fell to legend, perhaps eaten by the Mad Majin.

But the Dragon, that was something that hung over the rest, auspicious in its part in all this. They'd borne witness to it on the Lookout, the shift of fate wrought by Tiamat, but even now they followed Samson Balon in reawakening the thing that was lost and buried.

His reading concluded, poring over the ancient manuscripts from end-to-end, he exchanged a long look with Zaofan and Samson.

"Only Zxu'ro would have the answer, it seems," he said, "but where to meet a man across a span of two thousand years?"

[Cyke]

BACK ON THE LOOKOUT

Zaofan made his way to the transport to depart. Yet, he snapped his fingers and tilted his head to the left.

"Ahh, one more thing." Turning around, he pulled an envelope from under his changshen and handed it to Etrina.

"I'm supposed to give this to you. From someone named Chrona, I believe."

[Cleric of Hell’s Brigade]

"The legend of the Great Warrior Hermit is one honoured by the dictions of the Crane School, and many other martial traditions besides," Ochazuke said, "The ancestral lineage of each of the Five can be traced back to their Founder. In common, each of these histories said something of a man who dispensed the art to them. Even a master must start somewhere, somebody had to have taught them."

Great as his deeds had been, this temple to Zxu'ro shook the foundation of what Ochazuke had known to be true. A true warrior has no need of ceremony or monuments.

It is, after all, a Dragon's memento. Something buried here they'd feared to get out.

"Yet each of the Founders would not dare look upon the other as family, craving instead to be seen as the sole master of all."





Carefully setting the parted section in his hand to the side, Ochazuke nod to Zaofan as he spored over each scroll one-by-one, falling silent even as his comrade voiced the words of the dream made tangible in the ancient paper scrolls he held now. The Crane he knew, the Tiger and Turtle he was intimately familiar with, and the intertwined roots of the Snake and Dragon he'd begun to decipher through happenstance as of late. Zxu'ro's last letter, however, gave him pause, as if somebody thousands of years old had affixed his gaze far ahead to the future to this moment. Ochazuke did not want to admit it, but he could not help but turn his examination inward before speaking it.

"A declaration of providence, perhaps? Hmm."

He had left the Crane; Kenshiko had reappeared; the Turtle Monks had their hermitage fallen beneath the waves; the Snake fell to legend, perhaps eaten by the Mad Majin.

But the Dragon, that was something that hung over the rest, auspicious in its part in all this. They'd borne witness to it on the Lookout, the shift of fate wrought by Tiamat, but even now they followed Samson Balon in reawakening the thing that was lost and buried.

His reading concluded, poring over the ancient manuscripts from end-to-end, he exchanged a long look with Zaofan and Samson.

"Only Zxu'ro would have the answer, it seems," he said, "but where to meet a man across a span of two thousand years?"

“I will research. I will find the first school, the place of birth of martial arts here. That is where.”

[Cyke]

"The legend of the Great Warrior Hermit is one honoured by the dictions of the Crane School, and many other martial traditions besides," Ochazuke said, "The ancestral lineage of each of the Five can be traced back to their Founder. In common, each of these histories said something of a man who dispensed the art to them. Even a master must start somewhere, somebody had to have taught them."

Great as his deeds had been, this temple to Zxu'ro shook the foundation of what Ochazuke had known to be true. A true warrior has no need of ceremony or monuments.

It is, after all, a Dragon's memento. Something buried here they'd feared to get out.

"Yet each of the Founders would not dare look upon the other as family, craving instead to be seen as the sole master of all."

Zaofan shook his head no. "A giant shame, that is. To focus on superiority over unity. And those choices they made... they ended up impacting our world for centuries. Imagine that...!"

After all, Zaofan, Ochazuke, and the others were assembled to save the world. And they did just that. Perhaps not in the cleanest, most effective way, but they got the job done with relatively little strife. Had they been the same as the Five Masters -- even with their legendary power and skill -- the mission would have been a failure. Lessons learned of the strength of community might not impact the world of tomorrow, but for the here and now those lessons at least helped the world live another day.

Zaofan shot a glance at Ochazuke, silently marking his commitment to help with this quest.

Carefully setting the parted section in his hand to the side, Ochazuke nod to Zaofan as he spored over each scroll one-by-one, falling silent even as his comrade voiced the words of the dream made tangible in the ancient paper scrolls he held now. The Crane he knew, the Tiger and Turtle he was intimately familiar with, and the intertwined roots of the Snake and Dragon he'd begun to decipher through happenstance as of late. Zxu'ro's last letter, however, gave him pause, as if somebody thousands of years old had affixed his gaze far ahead to the future to this moment. Ochazuke did not want to admit it, but he could not help but turn his examination inward before speaking it.

"A declaration of providence, perhaps? Hmm."

He had left the Crane; Kenshiko had reappeared; the Turtle Monks had their hermitage fallen beneath the waves; the Snake fell to legend, perhaps eaten by the Mad Majin.

But the Dragon, that was something that hung over the rest, auspicious in its part in all this. They'd borne witness to it on the Lookout, the shift of fate wrought by Tiamat, but even now they followed Samson Balon in reawakening the thing that was lost and buried.

His reading concluded, poring over the ancient manuscripts from end-to-end, he exchanged a long look with Zaofan and Samson.

"Only Zxu'ro would have the answer, it seems," he said, "but where to meet a man across a span of two thousand years?"

“I will research. I will find the first school, the place of birth of martial arts here. That is where.”

"If you need any help with your research, I can be of assistance. But otherwise, what would you have us do in the meantime, Master Balon?"

Zaofan then turned to Ochazuke. "This is... a lot... to take in in one day. How are you holding up?"