Part I.

A long time ago, before the earth shook and when the light was still young, there was a great war. Two armies, locked in battle for what some perceived to be ages. Warriors died by the thousands. Over time, the reasons for the battle were lost to them. All anyone remembered was the anger. The need to fight. And so weapons were forged. Blood continued to spill. But then, one night changed everything.

After regrouping, the two armies were about to charge into battle yet again. That was when it came. A silvery light, plucked from the sky. Twinkling as it fell, rumbling and burning as it grew closer. Before the two armies could once again clash on the battlefield, it hit the ground, fire roiling, grass burning and dirt splattering. The explosion hushed the two armies, every warrior brought to a standstill. Leaders from both sides walked to the crater, looking down at a rock not of this world. They took it as a sign - intervention from the heavens. Fate made manifest.

The time of battle was over. The two armies came to an understanding. No more pain and suffering. No more death. Now had come the time of peace.

Blacksmiths from both sides were called forth, and together, they used metal from the fallen rock to forge a weapon, one whose blade reflected the very stars under which it was made: the Starfall Sword. A symbol of peace, of understanding. Fealty. A sword that would, throughout time, be given in times of great turmoil. A gift meant to put aside our differences. Something to make us - the Wu Lin - stronger.

With his story over, General Zhi looked down at the weapon in front of him. Both his palms rested on the table, the Starfall Sword gleaming in the firelight. Then he looked up, at the opposite end of the table. There sat Lord Shun, a renowned Jiang Jun warrior who commanded respect - an old man with many victories under his belt whose frown served as an impenetrable helm. He was flanked by his guards: two sitting at his side, and a row of five standing behind them. They all stared at Zhi, as stoic as their lordship. A lesser man would have been vexed. But that was not who Zhi was.

The General had attained his title with blood. With the broken-and-twice-mended knuckles on his hands. With the respect of his men, and banners only raised once he attained power. And above all, with ruthlessness.

Part II.

"I am more than familiar with the legend of the Starfall Sword, General Zhi," Shun said flatly. "But that still does not answer the question I asked you: why have you summoned me here?"

The question was as cold as the wind whistling outside the warmth of these halls. To Zhi, the answer was obvious. Perhaps Shun was not as smart as he thought he was.

Leaving the sword on the table, Zhi moved to the side, towards his guest. "Too long have we been divided, the General declared. "At war with one another. I seek to finally put an end to our internal conflict."

"You want me to join you?" Shun held back a laugh, then let it out. It took over the entire room, filling the otherwise silent hall with a tension as sharp as Shun's own guandao. When he was done laughing, the Lord squared his shoulders. "Let me tell you something," Shun continued, condescension in his tone. "I know what you have been up to, ever since the Hungry Ghost Festival catastrophe. You are growing in power, amassing more and more men behind you. And it seems to have gotten to your head, Zhi. Here is the truth: you were just at the right place, at the right time. You got lucky. You think you can, what? Save us? Unite us? There is nothing special about you."

Zhi stopped his hand from curling into a fist. He held back the anger bubbling inside of him. He hadn't gotten where he was now by reacting irrationally. This was all going according to plan. But still, Shun's entitlement and false sense of superiority gnawed at his patience. "No, Shun, I don't expect to save anyone. What I'm interested in... is greatness."

With these words, Zhi moved ever closer to the end of the table. He noticed Shun's guards tense, ever so slightly.

"Knights, Vikings, Samurai... they are all anyone talks about. In Heathmoor," Zhi scoffed, "we are nothing short of an afterthought." At this point, Zhi circled past the guard sitting to Shun's right, and stopped in front of the five warriors standing behind. "I want to restore honor to the Wu Lin name," he continued. "It's time for all to recognize us. Time for all... to fear us."

The dagger was in Zhi's hand before any guard could react. He slit the first guard's throat and, in one effortless twirl, circled around to stab another in the heart.

The remaining guards erupted into battle, unsheathing weapons and screaming of treason. No, that is what none of them understood. This was not treason. This was Zhi thinning out the herd. To make it stronger. To make it something to be proud of.

Part III.

They swung at him and, with elegant twirls and side steps, he avoided their blades. A step back here, another there -- with every move, Zhi inched closer to his side of the table. He blocked an arm and broke it, before lodging the blade into the guard's side. The warrior fell back, taking the weapon away from Zhi. But it didn't matter, for the Starfall Sword was now within reach.

The ceremonial sword now in his grasp, Zhi leaped on the table, his robes whirling and flapping with grace, and he got to work.

***

He had asked for privacy. His personal guard had offered to be in the room with him. But he had insisted. This was something he felt he needed to do on his own. And now, it was almost done.

Fresh blood covered the walls in spots and streaks, all the way up to the ceiling. General Zhi stepped over the bodies scattered on the floor - left foot over an arm, his right next to a severed head. He was careful not to bother them. With a clean piece of cloth, he wiped the blade of the Starfall Sword, making sure to remove all traces of blood off the ancient weapon. And as he did, he approached his final victim.

Lord Shun was lying on the ground, one hand trying to stop the profuse amount of blood spilling from his stomach. And with his other, he clawed at the ground, desperately trying to reach the door. He barely moved an inch.

"I wonder," Zhi calmly said, "if you are as familiar with the legend of the Starfall Sword as you claim... Do you know of its other name?"

Shun gasped for air, spitting up blood.

"No, I don't suppose you do," Zhi continued. "It's not commonly known. It's a name only whispered by those who have wielded it. A secret passed down only to the very few."

The Jiang Jun attempted to curse at him, but all that came out of his mouth was a gargle of suffering. Zhi reached him, standing tall. Mighty. Heartless.

"Let me educate you then, my Lord. In the dark, we call this weapon... the Serpent Sword."

He plunged the blade into Shun, and the Jiang Jun finally stopped moving. 

With a wet squelch, Zhi took the blade out. Another sweep of the cloth, and the cool steel was free of blood. He dropped the dirtied fabric on Shun's body, and headed out of the hall, where his guards awaited. The air was crisp. Cold. Winter was almost here.

"General," one guard exclaimed. "The messenger has returned. The invitation was accepted. She will be here withing a fortnight."

His face obscured, Zhi smiled. A crooked, toothless line on his face.

"Excellent."