Waterstrider

Little Celah, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fourthmonth, 1634 PTS

I was laughing, delighted at the sensation of rain. My eyes closed as I continued to run, my motions becoming smoother and more assured. The more water that fell from the growing cracks in the ceiling, the faster I moved, finally back in my own element.

The Water Striding Steps, the Torrential Downpour, the Heart of Rainfall- all three of these techniques had been created inside of the downpour, inspired by the fiends that dwelled within that vast expanse of mud, pelted endlessly by rain. They were powerful in the open air, but only under rainfall did their true power shine through.

The rain reminded me of a home that no longer existed, of my younger years. Of the scene of myself standing above the bodies of friends and loved ones, blade in hand. The same blade I held now. It reminded me of my true self. I was the true self.

The blood covering me slowly dripped off, washed by the droplets of water pouring from above. The blood and water mixed together on the floor, flowing around my feet in rivulets and small streams while the cracks continued to slowly grow.

My strides stabilized even further, the blades and bullets entirely unable to hit me under the influence of my Heart of Rainfall, something I could not actually remember having activated. It thrived under the sensation of the droplets hitting my skin. My insides roiled with a torrent of miasma far faster than was usually possible, but the pounding beat of the rain kept it in check, vastly reducing the strain it placed my body under. I was able to maintain the technique for far longer than was usually possible.

There was a reason that for centuries, none had dared to face the Downpour Sect in their own domain.

I slid beneath the oversized war machine, deftly dodging the blades targeting me. A bullet slid across my thigh, creating another stream of blood to mix with the rain. I crossed past the second enforcer, the forms of the two armors large enough that they had difficulty handling my enhanced agility. Though I could barely harm them, I would easily be able to outrun them in this state if I wished to. I wondered whether the water dripping from above was restricted to this room or applied to the area outside as well. I could run as much as I wanted within this room, but if I left the shelter of the rain, my abilities would greatly weaken, and my heart of rainfall would begin to sap at my strength rather than enhance it.

Seizing a moment’s gap between two of the swords swung at me by the second enforcer’s mechanical arms, I leapt my way through, bearing down on the machine’s ‘face’, fully covered with overlapping metal plated like the rest of the body.

In my current state I was stronger than I ever had been. I was the embodiment of rainfall, my heart beating in tune with the formless nature of my body and soul, matching the flow of the rain. My feet landed first, able to grip perfectly onto the slick metal scales, wet with the rainwater. My torso contorted, losing not one iota of the momentum from my leap as my sword bore down in a torrential downpour.

The enforcer’s blades and bullets crashed down upon me, but I was formlessness embodied, and no matter where they impacted, it was as if I had shifted to be just slightly elsewhere, contorted in a seemingly impossible manner.

The same held true for my blade, its unique nature allowing it to be infused perfectly with the glowing blue miasma that spewed from my pores. I could almost feel my soul dissolving under the strain of the miasma coursing through me, becoming formless itself. A hidden part of myself knew that my continued survival made little logical sense. I should have died long ago from this state. This was power far beyond my realm, something I could not sustain.

That was fine. I could feel what it was like to be a spirit refiner in the moments before my death.

My slashes impacted the armor, each of them shifting in a hardly discernible manner, as if unwilling to remain a solid. I could feel my bones begin to do the same, and soon the scales of armor covering the enforcer began as well. The area was so infused with formless miasma that the flickering miasma inside of the enforcer was losing sway over reality. The scales cracked and shattered under my relentless flurry of blows, and the machinery beneath fell as well, revealing the spindly legs of a Korlove sitting deep inside the metallic frame. One final blow took their life, and the enforcer’s legs stopped moving, though the guns and blades continued to aimlessly swing, but in a far less pressing manner, as if lacking in intentionality. Still harried by the gunfire from the other enforcer, I slipped over the shoulder of the machine upon which I stood, dropping behind it.

Falling to the ground, I rolled to shift the momentum as I faced the small crowd of soldiers, guns aimed in my direction. They had just watched me, an individual, destroy an enforcer. Many of them began to instinctively cower in fear. It was as if my crimson-clad form, dripping with red water and glowing with blue mist, seemed to be an emissary of the underworld. As if to satisfy their perception of me, my blade lashed out, reaping the lives of those unfortunate enough to be within a few strides’ reach.

I could see now that I was nearing the edge of the ‘rain’, which merely covered an area of several rooms. The ceiling on the edge of the area was crumbling less rapidly, and the water fell at a slower pace.

I closed my eyes for a moment, extending the senses of my soul. I could feel that of the Korlove and Jobu before me whose lives I reaped, and the vast miasma-fueled engines of the machines behind. I could sense the remaining enforcer approaching me again, taking care to step around its wrecked companion, perhaps trying to avoid more damage to the structure. Perhaps it still sought my death, or perhaps simply to escape the room before the ceiling collapsed. Even an enforcer would likely be damaged and trapped for a lengthy period beneath the rubble if such an event occurred.

For a moment I wondered why I kept being involved in such collapses, where someone unknown to me destroyed the structure of the stack above. This was the second time in mere weeks.

The thought was rational, and somehow it regained me a shred of lucidity. Something about it stood apart from my other thoughts in this state, and, combined with the relaxing sensation of rain, a deep part of myself was able to grab hold of the thought like a lifeline.

I felt that I could, if I wished, restrain my energies, escaping from the brink once more. But if I did so, I would lose access to the very energy that was the only reason I could continue moving. I would pass out limp on the floor, awaiting death. I needed to remain in this state, risking another return to a self intent on naught but slaughter, in order to escape this situation.

“Rachel…” I muttered, seeking for a lifeline.

It was one of my first instincts, a fact that made me realize just how reliant on her I had allowed myself to become. This time, like always, she appeared before me when I asked, taking the black-haired form she had claimed was once her true appearance. Her face was a mask of concern, but I could see a glint of hope in her eyes, as if I had saved her somehow.

My mind was weak, all of my effort focused on maintaining the very tight balance inside of myself. I had no time to think, so once again I relied on her, my partner.

“What do I…”

I didn’t even realize that I had left my sentence unfinished, but Rachel responded anyway, her words emerging as a whisper in my ears despite the physical image she presented before me. A bullet passed through it, shot by a soldier who had yet to realize that it was a mere illusion.

A soft smile filled her face as she spoke one singular word.

“Run,” she said.

And so I did. I charged through the remaining Celans, my body feeling empty again as I left the field of rain, the miasma flowing through my meridians growing in intensity, straining at their very bounds. Behind me, the rain intensified as if upon command, and the crumbling noises turned into a shattering boom, as the building finally began to collapse. Disregarding me, the Celans began to run for their own lives. I paid no attention to this, simply focusing on my own steps, each stride causing a small splash of red water to seep deeper and deeper into my robes.

I finally made it outside, charging across the street to leap over the railing. Life truly did move in cycles, like my master had said. I gripped firmly onto my miasma, causing the flow to slow to normal levels. My mentality was able to stabilize, but the after-effects of my Heart of Rainfall technique kicked in, and a wave of exhaustion hit me like a hammer. Once again, I passed out as I fell into the depths of the station under a warm, yellow glow.

The Downpour Region: [Located on Canvas, on the continent known as the Crucible, the Downpour is a vast meteorological phenomenon which constitutes an eternal, unmoving rainstorm that pounds relentlessly upon a vast, muddy plain. Despite the vast quantities of water involved, the area never floods entirely, nor does it have a large impact on the surrounding area. The Downpour Region is home to a great deal of extremely dangerous wildlife, including many beasts and fiends created by Tovus which thrive under the conditions. Said to have been created by the goddesses Domines and Saaya, the Downpour is incredibly inhospitable, and only rare sects of ascetics dare to live within it. The most powerful of these was called the Downpour Sect, one of the stronger unorthodox forces, said to be impossible to defeat within their home territory. This matter was proven false when it was ultimately annihilated by the forces of Sunlit Hall. These days, only hermits and temporary researchers live within the region.]