Did you know that one of the other stringent names for our modern world is The Ghost Empire? Why do you think this is so? The truth is particularly harrowing, of course. The era of the First World Revolution to the Second World Revolution is a period of unprecedented warring, genocide, holocaust. When the Revolutions finally died down after the Second World Revolution, after the final victory of the United World Alliance, the billions of corpses--multitudes like the stars--rose up to scream their hatred. This world of spirits is now also a world of ghosts. Because of us, and our unquenchable violence.

Is there any repose? Is there any reprieve? Is there recourse? Is there any atonement? Do we deserve such an atonement?

Not until mankind is emancipated.

I pray this letter finds you well, Ka. You have been a flower upon my grave. May your days be beautiful.

Until all beings are free,

Seyang Mardekanan Warhammer of the Third Emancipation

From The Letters of a Sacrificed Freedom Fighter to one of his beloved, Ka Otsoro.

Sintra Kennin stirred. Spirits don't need to sleep. Did you know this? Instead, they either enter into a trance-like state wherein they can rest upon whatever they wish--yes, even spirits need rest. Gods less so--or they meditate. This is why being reborn as a god or a spirit is a good thing: you are not beholden to the physical setbacks that hold back the majority of humanity. Without needing to sleep or eat, you have all the time in the world to focus on meditation until enlightenment, or work until enlightenment, or study until enlightenment.

Sintra Kennin sat in a full lotus sit. A position that would've been surprising on his kind of bulk and muscle, as that would require large amounts of flexibility and stretching. The full lotus meditation position has both feet resting on the opposite thigh, sole facing upward. Not only that, but Sintra Kennin levitated a tail off the ground. Kundalini shakti surged through the crown of their head and flowed down their spine, changing in color as it struck each chakra center, until it reached Sintra Kennin's muladhara, the base of their spine, and then flowed out from their pelvis, which caused the levitation.

It was potent energy, and was a power they cultivated after being preached to by a Scarlet God Priest. Sintra was the only one who really followed the Scarlet God faith as an ideological end, and not just as a consequence of culture.

Then, at the height of his meditation, thudding thundered across the world. His brow furrowed in concentration.

Then followed the slight, low, guttural chanting.

Ghosts. Sintra Kennin thought. I knew there was something wrong with this house's geomancy. It was way too out of the way to just be an inconspicuous. The karma spools from this place, strong negative emotion. Magnetite.

With a final exhalation, Sintra Kennin unfolded their lotus seat position and stood. He opened his eyes and tapped into his third eye. A blazing star erupted from his brow, right above his two eyes. A potent Third Eye, one that resembled a burning sun more than an actual eye. This was a Third Eye of an accomplished meditationist.

What he saw before him would've haunted anyone else. An emaciated body, hunched over because it was so tall it could not fit completely into the room. Its face was more of three large holes upon a featureless mask. It was directly in front of Sintra Kennin. If it could speak, if it could make any noise, it would be screaming. But it wasn't. Instead, it looked like it was trying to examine the strange Spirit Prince that stood before him.

A Tall Ghost, huh? Sintra Kennin did not move. His dakgatana was not on him, but that was of no problem to him, in the long run and in the truth. "Ghost." He spoke with a harrowing authority. The voice of an exorcist, though he had no specific exorcist techniques and instruments available to him. "Tall Ghost. Why have you come to this house?"

A silence. A beat. Is it thinking? thought Sintra Kennin. No matter if it did, of course.

Then, a small noise. It was more of a squeak than speech. And it was delivered through a quivering, whispering tone. As if it did not know how to speak and it was trying to. "Tress... pass... er...."

Sintra Kennin's brow furrowed even more. So the malignant vibes were coming from this very house. Was this some sort of locus for ghosts?

Don't let them break you. Thought Sintra Kennin. "Forgive us, we act in ignorance. We will set things to rights, if you will let us. We will let you be, in peace."

The voice replied much quicker now than before. "No... peace... re...venge..."

"Revenge?" asked Sintra Kennin, making sure not to stare at the being directly in the face. The hairs on his neck rose when, through his Third Eye, he became aware of the crowd of ghosts congregating right outside his window. "For what?"

"For... the... Queen..." spoke the voice. Then, a chorus from the outside. A hundred ghost voices echoing in chrous: "For the Queen." It was not a rallying cry. It was a statement and it was a threat and it was a plea.

"Who... is the Queen?"

"You... don't... need... knowledge..." spoke the Tall Ghost again.

Damned. You would have made our lives much easier.

"You... are... offering... to her... wrath..." the Tall Ghost reached up with its hand. Long, slender fingers, like blades or branches.

"Forgive me," said Sintra Kennin. "For the violence I must inflict."

"Do not... resist..."

"I have to. I exist," said Sintra Kennin, and then they uttered a magic mantra and put their hands together in a magick mudra, unleashing a jet of water striking deep into the tall ghost. The magick wrapped around the invisible ghost and materialized it, and sent it crashing through the wall behind him. "I pray that will not add onto the rent."

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Sintra Kennin then turned around and reached for his dakgatana. He unsheathed it partially and whispered: "God's Brush Stroke, I invoke your spirit-binding capabilities. YA HOMA!" And then he breathed forcefully against the blade. Instead of normal breath, however, a blue technicolor flame washed over the damascened steel. "Just this once."

This will be the third time I use this. I only have three uses of this left. They made a mental note. They couldn't keep depending on this capability, it strains the very durability of God's Brush Stroke. But it felt like they needed it right now.

Outside, a chorus of pained, scornful screams. Waves of ghosts, crawling all over each other, claws and nails digging into spectral flesh, surged into the house. From every opening. From the doors, the backdoors, the various windows.

Thinking fast, Sintra Kennin turned and ran through his door. Into the hallway, into the living room. There, hundred of ghosts--some skeletal, others in the form of spiders, others in the form dog dragons, others in the form of flower serpents, even more in the form of bent and broken human corpses--were writhing and squirming and squeezing through the door, trying to get into Raxri's door.

Sintra Kennin could feel a powerful protective talisman from the door. More importantly, through his burning Third Eye, a bubble of white spirit-fire enveloped the room, making it more or less protected against the ghosts. At least, if they can keep it up until the morning.

Sintra exhaled again. They narrowed their awareness through their Third Eye and felt both the burgeoning Force Furnaces of Akazha and Raxri on the other side. They have this handled. I shouldn't get in there. What I can do though, is...

Sintra Kennin stepped forward, and then bellowed: "YA NAKA AH HOMA!" The waves of ghosts doubled back for a moment in fear, and Sintra Kennin thought he had stopped the assault altogether.

But then, a high piercing shriek. That of a woman unconscionably murdered. And then the ghosts redoubled their efforts, suddenly burning with anger, with wrath, with indignation.

Was that their Queen? It sounded like a rallying cry and a mournful wail all at the same time.

The majority of them crawled and surged towards Sintra Kennin now instead of Raxri's room. From upstairs, throngs of ghosts as well. From his room, mobs of ghosts crawled in. All harrowing flesh pieces. Any lesser human would have succumbed to fear.

Sintra Kennin sank deep into Samadhi. One pointed concentration at one thing: getting the ghosts away from Raxri and Akazha.

They turned around and began running. Not towards the river. They might not follow me there. To the forest, where they will think that they will not be harmed. Where they think they will slay me, a Spirit Prince.

Three steps: tak, tak, tak. Fourth step never came. Sintra Kennin morphed in a shuffle of cloth and scales into his dragon form. He surged through the mob of ghosts packed into the hall of the house, scything through them with fang and claw, and then flew out of the backdoor that led into the kitchen annex, and then out into the night sky.

Looked over his shoulder: saw the masses of ghosts leaping and flying and crawling, engaged in a fierce chase after him. Some of them sprouted out fleshy wings, almost bat-like, and they flew across the night sky in pursuit.

Sintra Kennin smirked. Just as he thought they would. Who could ignore such scrumptious flesh as that of a spirit? Consuming my flesh would be a boon to their powers. They would last longer, live longer, forestalling their inevitable reincarnation even more. What a pitiable existence.

Sintra Kennin flew into the night in his draconic form. Long, with pearlescent scales and feathery trails flapping from his hands and feet. A long crest turned into a horn that looked like the dakgatana God's Brush Stroke placed upon his snout. Glinting black and red in the night, Sintra Kennin let loose a blue flame to trail behind him. No doubt this would attract the attention of those still awake in Imos Town, but that's no matter. They would not see the massive mass of ghosts chasing after him anyway, as that is the blessing of someone whose Third Eye remains shut.

Survive and endure, Raxri Uttara and Akazha Han Narakdag. Until the morning. Until dawnbreak.

"What was that?" asked Raxri, as the scream echoed into the night. "Is someone in danger?"

An increased influx of sounds. Battering feet and claws against the hardwood of the house. Intensifying. More and more. The sound of a predator chasing after their prey.

Raxri took a step towards the door. "I have to help--"

Akazha seized Raxri's wrist, stepped in, and then flipped them over, slamming them into the ground. Without a second thought, because Akazha knew what manner of creature Raxri was, she placed her knee on Raxri's sternum, and then stepped on their left wrist with her right foot. "Don't you dare."

Raxri struggled Akazha, but despite no doubt being physically stronger they could not completely remove her. Squirming, frustrated, he said: "Where is your bodhicitta? You are not upholding your vows!"

"You go out there and you die!" said Akazha. "Do you not understand? You will not last for much longer if you choose to do this, and if you follow down this path. They will use your kindness against you!"

"Let it be used against me! As long as I do not compromise my compassion!" Raxri looked around for Puksa and found that Akazha had already took it and telekinetically blasted it away with an exhalation and a mudra. "Have you no--"

"Don't dare mistake compassion for gullibility!" screamed Akazha, and there was a desperate look in her eyes. "You go out there and you risk me as well. Do you know that? Don't you know? That this hero complex of yours is an expression of ego?!"

Raxri yelled in effort as they tried to break free of Akazha's grip. Akazha put her hands together into the Earth, Dog, and Void mudra. Pain lanced up Raxri's sternum and chest as her knee and foot dug into them. "Resist not. I know the magicks of increasing my bodyweight. This will not end well for you, if you choose to fight back." And even as she said that, blood dripped from her nose.

"How do you know that it is not someone in need of help? There are armies of ghosts attacking this very house right now!"

"It could be the patayenak! Ghosts are guileful beings, don't you see? Remove it from your brain that that is a being that you could yet save."

"What kind of person does that? When you have the capacity, you should--"

"Then do it for me." Akazha's voice quivered. "Do it for me. Do not go into the midst of goring ghosts for me. Keep me safe. Keep me alive. I need you here, Raxri. Keep me here."

Raxri stopped struggling. They stared into Akazha's eyes. Into the blood dripping onto their face from her nose. She was being sincere. Desparation in her eyes, her hair matted to the sides of her head because of the sweat...

But what if... what if this is someone else? The thought haunted Raxri. It would be worse than death, to live with that realization. But if I leave, will Akazha be able to survive as well? Caught at a junction, at the midst of two swords... you must always choose the blade you wish to be marked and cut by. There is no third option. The only way out is through.

The only way out is through.

Raxri said: "Forgive me, Akazha. You are a witch of great magickal empowerment. You can survive. They might not be able to." Raxri kicked up with their feet and gripped Akazha in a headscissor, wrenching her away from them. Despite her density, as long as Raxri used momentum and horizontal movement to their advantage, they could manage to roll Akazha out of the way.

Just enough for them to roll to the side, reach for the window, and swing it wide open.

Akazha cursed. "You damned dog! Why don't you ever listen!" Raxri seems to have forgotten that I am a student of higher skill than them. Ever and ever, ego continues to be downfall. She put her hands together into a mudra to activate her telekinesis, and then with one hand in the Mind mudra she pointed at Puksa and flung it towards Raxri as they reached for the window handle.

Puksa pierced through Raxri's chest.

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