Maya

Halo ref









Be wary of placing your life in Maya's hands: you may not have it by the time she is done.

Once, a very long time ago, she might have been inclined to mercy. She was raised by warrior monks as a child, brought up with vows of justice and kindness at the center of her lifestyle. The blades they wielded were holy ones, purified steel that was meant to put wrongdoing to an end and usher in prosperity. The weapons had specific forms, precise rules, and to carry them was a mark of honor. It signified the trust of the monastery and the blessing of the deities. Only the fastest, most disciplined dragons were fit to wield them.

But Maya stole hers, and she made the blades her own.

It came as no surprise that the monks expelled her, but hadn't they outlived their usefulness anyway? She'd learned everything about the blades from them, even forbidden things like fatal strikes she had not been deemed worthy to learn. It was amazing what a well-placed threat could do, and even more amazing how the blades felt in her claws. They were light and steady, and when they cut through the air, they sang.

She left the monastery behind, the blades wiped clean even as the blood sank deeper into her sash. Their mistake, not recognizing the talent she had, and she set out to find someone who would.

Finding work was something of a challenge. Even as she shed the monks' teachings and settled into a cavalier coolness, dragons were loath to trust her. Perhaps it was her apparent inexperience. Maybe it was the way her blades never left her hands, their points flickering as she gestured and spoke. But the first dragon who put voice to these concerns was the last. He called her careless, a whelp, and in return, she gutted him in two strokes.

"I could have done it in one," she told her new captive audience, "but you would have missed it."

And after that, the jobs came pouring in. There are more dragons across Sornieth with dirty deeds on their mind than one might expect, dragons willing to put money towards making their desires reality. Before long, Maya was working contract kills at her leisure, and her fame was spreading. She was the demon of the blades, the best assassin in a hundred years, or a thousand, depending on who was telling the tale. She was ruthless and efficient and perfect, and if you wanted the best, you hired her, especially after she suddenly developed extra arms. Some called it science, others blamed blood magic, but the wise called it for what it was: a dangerous asset. She could wield six blades instead of two now, and she did, her prowess on full display.

As of late, she finds herself collaborating with Bakuto. He pays well, almost too well, and he is untroubled by her brash, snappish behavior. If he thinks her inferior for her temper and passion, he does not say it. His money talks far louder than any words that leave his mouth, just the way Maya likes it.

Bio by Tues.

Short story by Disillusionist


by Drown

1. Consider: there is no such thing as a sword.

2. Your stance must be wide. You must not be spare with the fluidity of your wrists or shoulders. You must have grip on the handle that is loose and unstrained. I heard it said you must be tender with your sword grip, as though with a lover. This is patently false. A sword is not your lover. It is a hideous tool for separating men from their vital fluids.

3. Going onwards, you must adjust hands as needed, do not keep the blade close to your body, keep your breathing steady. This is the life cut. You must watch your footwork. Your feet must be controlled whether planted on fire, air, water, or earth in equal measure.

4. Breathing is very important! Is the violent breath of life in you not hot? Exhale! Exult!

5. You must strive for attachment-non-attachment when cutting. Your cut must be sticky and resolute. A weak, listless cut is a despicable thing. But you must also not cling to your action, or its result. Clinging is the great error of men. A man who strikes without thought of his action can cut God.

6. To cut properly, you must continually self-annihilate when cutting. Your hand must become a hand that is cutting, your body a body that is cutting, your mind, a mind that is cutting. You must instantaneously destroy your fake pre-present self. It is a useless hanger on.

7. A brain is useful only up until the point when you are faced with your enemy. Then it is useless. The only truly useful thing in this cursed world is will. You must suffuse your worthless body with its terrible heat. You must be so hot that even if your enemy should strike your head off, you shall continue to decapitate ten more men. Your boiling blood must spring forth from your neck and mutilate the survivors!

8. You must never make ‘multiple’ cuts. Each must be singular in its beauty, no matter how many precede it. You must make your enemies weep with admiration, and likewise should your head be shorn off by such an object of beauty, you must do your best to shed tears of respect.

9. When decapitating an enemy, it is severe impoliteness to use more than one blow.

10. A man who finds pleasure in the result of cutting is the most hateful, crawling creature there is. A man who finds pleasure in the act of cutting is an artisan.

11. Man always strives to cut man. Therefore he who draws his sword the fastest is the survivor. To pre-empt this, you must live, eat, and sh*t as a person who has their sword drawn. It doesn’t matter whether your blade, in actuality, is always out of its sheathe, though you will look like an idiot if it is.

12. Consider: The undefeated swordsman must be exceptionally poor.

13. The weak swordsman reserves his sword strokes. He clings excessively to his blade. His footwork is unsteady. His grip is too hard and he is afraid to crack the earth with his step. He has a shallow and wandering gaze, his tongue is sluggish and pale. He refuses to exhale the hot breath of the Flame Immortal.

14. The weak swordsman clings to victory. He thinks of his life, his obligations, the outcome of the battle, his hatred for his opponent, his training, his pride in his mastery. By doing so, he is an imperfect vessel for the terrible fires of Will. He will surely crack. He will not laugh uproariously if he is cleft in two by his opponent’s blade. When his sword is shattered, his hands will be too reserved to tear his enemies’ flesh.

15. The weak swordsman strikes his enemy down and thinks his task done. He relishes in victory. He casts away his sword and returns to his lover. Little does he know his single cut will encircle the world five times and strike him down fifty-fold.

16. The weak swordsman clings to his instrument. It is better you have a sword, but death must lie under your fingernails, if need be. Learn death with your elbows, death with your knees, and death with your thumbs and fingertips. It is said death with the tongue is useful, but I find words too soft an instrument to smash a man’s skull.

17. In manners of terrain, you must learn to cut yourself from it. You must cut even your footprints from it, if need be. Have complete awareness of each crawling thing and each precious flower, each blade of sweet grass and each clod of bitter earth, each beating heart and each being that thrums with love, hope, and admiration. Only then are you qualified to be their annihilator.

18. Excess heat and excess coldness are undesirable. Learn to read the weather.

Closing

1. It is said the greatest warrior-kings may sublime violence and forget all they learn about the sword. This is true. But the only true path to kingship lies through regicide.
2. Moreover, only the worst kind of idiot strives to be king.
3. My extreme hope is that some measure of wisdom will penetrate the thick skull of my apprentice. If not, may reading this manual demonstrate your powerful disinterest in it, and may its true value die with me.
4. Reach heaven by violence.