The dragon. In other names: nak. Nag. Naga. Loong. Ruong. Rowa. But all of them: dragon. Godly flying serpents. Feathered. Furred. Antlered. Scaled. Intricate and complex amalgamations. The face of the great lion. The claws and arms of a faultless tiger. The body of a great sea serpent. The antlers of a deer. The fins of a great fish. The glistening scales of the shark.

The dragon. The final expression of the world spirit. Some believe that the dragon is a different realm altogether. A seventh realm in the Six Paths of Woe. The Cult of the Dragon, for instance—which arose in Central Shen—believes that dragons are not demigods nor gods. They are the final realm of rebirth. To be birthed as a dragon is the ultimate proof that you will become enlightened by your next life.

An Introduction To The Great Dragon Magicks by Shennin People's Scholar Satui Lisat

Stood upon the clearing created by himself... Sintra Kennin was formidable.

A consummate dragon-warrior. He grew to eight feet in height, even taller than his normal form. This made him look more slender, more compact, more athletic. Less buff. More sinewy.

With his jade blue antlers fanning out like wings.

His face now a lion mien. His skin the color of the river at night. Feline eyes smoldered bright yellow. Fangs curled out of his maw.

—His long arms. His elongated neck. The marks of a demigod. He was so tall he wielded God's Brush Stroke as if it were a normal longsword.

Clad was he in a complex lamellar armor, magicked out of spiritstuff. It was made of steel and garudaleather and blue jades. Blue, green, white.

—But see! Upon his neck. Spreading like roots. The blackened tendrils of Dark, eating away at his very spiritstuff. Melting him at the core.

Sintra Kennin, about the Dark, thought to himself: I can't believe I will have to see an alchemist or a spirit-healer for this. Or if worst comes to worst—my family. Let it not come to such a thing.

But there he stood. Glorious. A whimsical and fey blue wind ribboned about him to herald his becoming. His war body—a body he barely used, for the use of it ate away terribly at his strength. This power of ours... it must needs be used with wisdom and prudence, his father had told him. When the sun seemeth to set. At dawn's darkest point. Only then, shall thee unveil loudly the power of the Wetan Clan."

There be no more dire a time as this.

Sintra Kennin. The River Dragon Prince.

Rengka stepped out of the shadows between the trees. Pestilent Thorn still sheathed. Her mid-blossom flower-buckler at the ready. Her malachite aerosteel armor still dented. Yet it held.

Despite her natural height, she seemed a waif against the immensity of the River Dragon Prince.

After jumping a near enough distance, she resorted to just walking. This was the time to conserve her Force.

Her Ambient Force caused the winds to swirl, however.

First Shark Knight Rengka faced Sintra Kennin. "Dragon." So sure was she of her martial prowess.

River Dragon Prince Sintra Kennin stared her down. "Shark Knight." Despite it all, he could feel the immensity of her overwhelming Force-Pressure. It bore down on him like hammers.

His Water Dragon Saber master had taught him about this. Those with a strong enough Force Furnace to generate force through their spiritual channels. They let their Force—that smokeless liquid-fire that measures our spiritual strengths—fulminate like lightning or fire and they release through the five chakra centers.

Rengka unsheathed her blade. Gravity pulled. Her steps thundered as she took on a readied step. She let her Force fulminate—

—a whirlpool of blazing crimson waters encompassed her.

Sintra's Water Dragon Saber master had told him of one thing to call this aura of majesty that expert Force practitioners could do. It was called Ego.

And he had an Ego of his own.

Sintra raised God's Brush Stroke. Readied it into position. Blade tip at her, to herald her death. Her doom. Her ultimate cutting. Then he let his Force rush through.

It felt good letting it blaze. After all this time it was kept untouched.

The red-fires he had been clad in for the longest time turned into liquid-flame cyan. The color of his power, his Inner Strength. His Ego.

The crimson waters of the Shark Knight crashed. Against the cyan liquid-bonfire of the River Dragon Prince.

The untrained eye would not have been able to see who moved first. And at which exact moment.

All that you must know, is that all of reality is a succession of instants. And in the next one, they clashed.

Despite God's Brush Stroke's immense superiority when it came to the matters of size, Rengka expertly met Sintra Kennin's rapid assault—

—Sintra moved God's Brush Stroke like water. Like a stick picked up by a kid. Flailed around without a world's care.

Yet Rengka parried. Deflected with Pestilent Thorn. Blocked and parried aside with her Flower Buckler. An expert flip to avoid a low slash. A move into a triangular block to guide an overhead vertical slash into striking the ground beside her instead.

I am at a disadvantage here, thought Sintra to himself. An attack thrown; he parried and riposted and Rengka caught it with her buckler and turned it aside. I have no knowledge of her fighting style. Her martial art. What violent system she might have had, now. Despite the amplified strength of my war-body, I am yet in a disadvantage. Malus upon me. But a spot of benefic, perhaps—she does not know my fighting style yet as well.

They engaged in renewed strikes. Some trades of steel here and there. Break off to return to neutral, where both gauged distances. A real sword fight. Cuts and punctures—too light to be considered significant at all—wrapped them now. Like stars. Or gnats. No doubt this was because both martial artists did not know the sword art of the other.

It was, effectively, Water Dragon Saber against her fighting style.

"What sword art do you employ, Shark Knight?"

"I have learned the Shining Blade Art from my master Likong Witong of North Shen, the Province of Xansia. He is known as the impassable blade, the Adamantine Clad. He has taught me the art of the defense and the counter attack. The supreme wisdom of the balanced sword art."

This shook Sintra. Not because he knew who Likong Witong of the True Knight Art was. But because she had said her whole pedigree without a hint of occulting or obscuration.

—She was so confident that Sintra will not leave alive.

Rengka Tarsi moved with terrifying confidence. She moved with the knowledge that she has already won. And this caused Sintra to waver. Just for a moment.

It was obvious. Sintra's Ego flickered just for a moment. A candleflame blown. Rengka took this opportunity. Dashed in. Pestilent Thorn in between blade defenses. Her wicked rapier cut through Sintra's exposed forearm.

Sintra desperately kneed her aside. Rengka tumbled to the right, spun, found her feet. Sintra turned and unleashed another assault. God's Brush Stroke cut, cut, cut. A decade of cuts in a single bloody onslaught. Rengka dealth with all of them—

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—except one. Sintra Kennin's final cut was the cut where he saw an opening. Flick wrist. Blade thwip. Whip-like. Like lightning. God's Brush Stroke—its meteorite edge—cut up and sizzled against Rengka's aerosteel armor.

Good hit.

Rengka twirled backward. Away. Looked down. A large vertical gash up her expensive aerosteel cuirass. Shadows of her skin beneath. "What weapon do you yet bear, demon-dragon?"

"The power of the heavens fears not the lower winds!"

"I see." She frowned. "Meteorite. A blade of meteorite wields to the wiles of the sun and of the moon."

"Take up your blade, Shining Blade. I've no time for games." Sintra could feel his strength shoring up. It was not long before it would deplete completely. Fighting her has set my strength to its limits!

"Ye attempt in truth to kill me, aye?" Rengka burst forward. Unleashed a five-pierce combo. Two Sintra managed to parry, one he managed to block with the flat of God's Brush Stroke. The last two pierces cut his bicep and then ripped through the side of his lamellar.

The lamellar was effective.

Sintra mounted a riposte immediately. Rengka flexed her Force. She flipped over Sintra as he swung, and unleashed two more attacks. Both pierces cut into Sintra's shoulders. None of them went in deep enough for Rengka to unleash the spirit living within the blade to cause it to explode into its root-systems.

Sintra thought fast. He struck upward. An uppercut to the sky. It struck Rengka. Sent her barreling up. Sintra turned there and leapt. Taking to the skies. His blade flashed. An unfurling chrysanthemum of steel. Cut Rengka into pieces.

Rengka corkscrewed. Mounted the signature Shining Blade Defense: the marriage of sword and shield. The tandem twin-movements of her rapier and buckler. Even in mid-sky she deflected the majority of the strikes. A few managed to get over her barrier. These only scored light grazes, faint cuts. Wavering. Weary.

They were raptors and birds of prey—Rengka and Sintra traded blows. Two ribbons of aerosteel and meteorite. Parry-cut-riposte-deflect-counterstrike in midair. The work of watching two skilled practitioners of their art... it was nothing but myth. Playing out before your very eyes.

The leaves tell the story.

Rengka blasted Sintra wide open. A too committed swordstroke punished. She dashed in—her rapier pierced deep. Through. Impaled. Uttered the mantra to expand—

—Rengka fell into his samadhi. Summoned the waters from the dews upon the grass and the leaves to move. Like shrikes. Pierce. Cut. Pierce. Dart. Strike. Take Rengka away from him.

Rengka flew through the air. Struck the ground. Rolled on her buckler and to her feet. Began running immediately. Sintra readied. He uttered the mantra as he readied for Rengka to close in. Just one chance.

Advanced Techniques of any Martial Art always require the realigning of chakras afterwards. These are supernatural applications.

There. Sintra's muscles tensed. The whole world shook; struck by the hammer of his heart. Rengka stepped exactly three meters away.

—It was a thunderhead finally exploding. Sintra announced: "Water Dragon Blade: One Thousand Streams!"

He flowed forward.

Like a river

—that is to say, slow at first

and then unstoppable.

He flowed through Rengka. A beat. And then. Sword strokes in the shape of water dragons erupted, like a fountain erupting. A thousand million streams bursting in every direction from the point where Sintra was just, all of them converging upon horrible Shark Knight Rengka, turning her the center of a wicked mandala of cut cut cut cut cut cut cut—

"Shining Blade: Adamant Barrier!" Rengka knew this was going to be an indomitable attack. There must be an equally unyielding defense.

She stopped mid-run. Twirled. Flung her buckler. It danced around her in a ribbon pattern. As if bound to her soul. And it moved, alive. It danced and parried and deflected as much of the water cuts as it could. But it could not stop it all.

But the technick did not fail. For she did not move where she was.

The razor water circus ended. In the midst of it all, Rengka. Her armor battered, broken, debilitated. Her arm, her abdomen, parts of her shoulder. Her thighs. All exposed now. But no cuts. No bleedings—a few bruises, sure.

She raised her hand and caught her flower buckler. Then she pulled it down. She bore her Pestilent Thorn upon her heart. Striking a pose: the telltale pose of a Knight of the Iron Heaven.

Sintra readied his blade again. He pointed the tip at her. "A servant of heaven, I see."

"And of the ocean infinite." She raised her buckler arm and straightened her arm to the right. Her rapier level with her shield.

"Perhaps, then, I would not be remiss to ask: seek ye the Heaven Dancer?"

"Aye," was the quick reply. "And you will not keep me from them with your idle talks."

Sintra breathed. "I had no such illusions, Shark Knight. However, it is interesting to note that you serve two masters."

"I serve one," said Rengka, unmoving. Hooded eyes, beautiful. She was ready to kill. She will do everything she can to do so. "Only one. My master. Ocean Lord Trasan the Wicked Reaper."

Sintra exhaled. "I figured as much. Does Trasan serve heaven?"

"All under heaven serve heaven."

Scowled. Our River Dragon said: "I beg to differ."

"Hide not behind words amicable, river dragon! You only prolong your death."

Sintra Kennin sank into his stance. Held God's Brush Stroke above his head, tip pointing down at his mark. "I prolong you."

Rengka rushed forward. Sintra Kennin unleashed six strikes in a single breath. Rengka deflected all the incoming blows with her shield. Advanced forward. Close. Thrusting range.

She thrust-cut-thwip-thrust. A combo rapid. A dragon whipping its tail. Sintra knew it all too well. He stepped back. Parried with the butt of his dakgatana. Summoned water from the air's moisture to create a thin veil. To slow the rapier's movements.

Rengka was getting greedy, however. She lurched forward. Sintra Kennin slipped diagonal. To the right—her left. A large bound. He swung.

Rengka twirled. Ready. Her buckler caught the gigant swordstroke, her rapier parried it away. Twirl Pestilent Thorn. Piercing position by her cheek. Step forward into the opening.

Parried.

Another trade. Another flash of steel between them. Cut: parried. Thrust: deflected. Gigant swordstroke: avoided. Guard against guard. Assault breaking through and being broken. It was a dance. No sparks flew. It was a brutal brawl of steel. There was no dignity to it.

It was two warriors determined to get what they Want.

But there! Rengka was going to be quicker. Of course she was. She slipped underneath a horizontal swordstroke. Twirled to her feet.

Wide open.

She cried out: "Shining Blade: Too Like The Lightning!" She thrust forward and she moved. Her Force poured out of her and choked her like a cloak.

Six after images of her as she flipped in every direction. Surrounding Sintra with images of her coming in to pierce him. So that when he swung to parry—

—he did—

—her rapier stroke still went through. Sintra's dakgatan ripped through three afterimages. But three were left due to the immense speed of the technick. Three stabs of Pestilent Thorn.

Sintra felt all of it. His cries were muffled. He would not admit defeat. Not now. Not yet.

The two other afterimages flickered into nothingness. There was only one left: Rengka behind Sintra, with her Pestilent Thorn finally embedded into him.

Sintra spun. He summoned the power of his Wetan River Dragon Cultivation at that moment.

Part of the blow had been buffeted by the lamellar. When he spun, Pestilent Thorn was ripped from Rengka's hands as the lamellar pulled it away. Then he removed the Pestilent Thorn as he channeled the Wetan River Dragon.

The Wetan River had always been associated with calamity. With revivals. And with monsoon. This was monsoon country, after all. Removing the lamellar, Sintra Kennin revealed the draconic fins upon his back. Which moved as if they were underwater. These fins—a sign of his true dragon form—allowed him to float up. Fly. Surrounded by tempestuous winds.

Rengka stepped. She flickered. And then she was by the shed lamellar, pulling out Pestilent Thorn, and readying herself.

"Stand tall, Shark Knight!" bellowed River Dragon Sintra Kennin. "And forgive me for this violence!"

"By the Codes of the Ocean Infinite. And the Laws of Upper Heaven." Rengka carved a sigil into the air in front of her. "I, Rengka Tarsi, First Shark Knight of Ocean Lord Trasan the Wicked Reaper, shall subjugate thee, demigod!"

Sintra swooped down. His blade flashing, cutting, moving. A black tornado of razor steel. Rengka stepped back and performed an intricate twirling maneuver with her blade—no doubt some form of mudra.

Sintra neared. A whirlwind of razor sharp meteorite.

Rengka yelled: "Shining Blade: Dragon-Slaying Light!" She spun. Twirled her rapier. Then thrust up just as Sintra Kennin's indomitable attack neared.

From her rapier erupted a giant blade of refracting light.

It sheared through the blackblade tornado.

It ripped through the intervening barrier of swords.

It cut through. Through. Through.

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