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Bloodied footsteps make ugly marks on the pure white snow as he wandered bare foot. Agony and exhaustion laced every step forward and the icy peaks looked so far away…
He moved more slowly, perhaps, under the illusion of safety. When his feet waded into icy waters up to his calves, he gripped the hilt of his broken sword.
—Where could he even go?
There was no escape. Salvation and peace came for only a brief moment before his heart started beating again after being pierced by that woman’s sword. Again and again, over and over, their hunt lasting so long that he could barely remember anything else.
He hears a tree branch break and he saw the familiar figure of his hangman. He stared at it with a sick sort of surprise. The man took a tighter hold of his sword and then charged forward into the depths of the forest as the swordswoman lunged after him. He carefully managed to parry her initial slash - his swordsmanship was improving, he knew that much, and wondered if he could thank the woman for that, or perhaps whoever doomed him to this existence - and he attempted to attack her.
The woman turned around and both of their visages reflected off each other’s eyes, golden amber met cold red and vice versa. Two monsters met face to face.
He attacked again and she remained totally unfazed. She moved to counterattack and he attempted to defend himself with strained hands, however her assault was relentless. With ease, she catches him by surprise. She raises her sword and stabbed forward, and the man felt every pain he had ever known scream open as he was cut down effortlessly like a leaf. He died quickly - the woman dispatched him with a sense of strange detachment and he thought that his blood soaking into the snowy soil and the woman’s clothing looked almost good. Almost as if it was the way it was meant to be.
“Remember and savor this sensation for the rest of your cursed life.”
He was told before was put to sleep, his executioner’s apathetic glare staring down at him. His sleep however was momentary as soon the golden tendrils laced through his body and flesh mend itself as if new.
…
Bloodied footsteps make ugly marks on the pure white snow as he wandered bare foot. Agony and exhaustion laced every step forward and the icy peaks looked so far away…
“Young man, yet again I come here and you look a mess. Let me help you.” She says as she begins to tidy him up by tying his long white locks into a neat ponytail and pins it in place with an elegant hairpin. The blacksmith smiled warmly at her annoyance. She did this all the time for her young apprentice and it looked like she also had taken this short-lived man under her wing as well.
“You spoil me too much, Jingliu.”
There was a time when that swordswoman used to call him by name in a polite, albeit reserved greeting. Nowadays, she only referred to him as a thing—an abomination that needs to be put down.
The cold moon shone above. He had managed to make a fire in vain effort to warm his frigid limbs, however the light and smoke instantly gave away his position. It didn’t take long for the swordswoman to find him again and for their hunt to begin anew.
“I give my blessings so that even a wretched existence like you can find eternal peace.”
They fought over the ashes of the now dead fire. He challenged her away - didn’t even consider running away, or to plead mercy. His one thought was to fight, as futilely as it was. The thought was so all-consuming that he forgot that he was against the Sword Saint of the Xianzhou Luofu. She was toying with him as he attempted to advance and she immediately counted him every turn.
His whole body was covered with cuts and bruises as she mercilessly dismantled every single one of his efforts. The wind around them hissed and shrieked with the sound of metal clashing against metal. Absently, he remembered—that sword she was carrying was familiar. However, he didn’t have time to think - that familiarity now grew intimate when she impaled him with it through his gut and he started cough blood.
Looking down at that familiar sword cutting down his flesh, he felt an odd sense of victory. Then, he fell down again.
…
Bloodied footsteps make ugly marks on the pure white snow as he wandered bare foot. Agony and exhaustion laced every step forward and the icy peaks looked so far away…
He remembered the visage of a beloved weeping over his shattered form—white and jade clothes stained with the deep red of blood, those normally impassive mirror-like emerald eyes marred with a dangerous desperation as he carried the man to his sacred grounds and promised him that he will always be by his side. So, please Yingxing, come back to me—
—How long had it been?
Now he remembered that person and all he could feel was hatred and this hatred carved out his insides with greater precision than the swordswoman’s technique, leaving him hollowed out. That hatred—was the only thing holding his sense of self, regardless of how often the swordswoman tried to rip it away.
“I’m scared of you and the world you’re dreaming about.” Imbibitor Lunae— Dan Feng told him once. The blacksmith turned briefly to him in the middle of his work. His friend often stayed at his workshop, the two simply enjoying each other’s presence in a silent companionship. So, it was odd for the Vidyadhara High Elder to speak first.
“Oh?”
“I can’t exist there…”
And thus, a precious friend and a heinous traitor selfishly pushed him into an existence of mangled eternity.
This time he was knocked out cold by the swordswoman’s well-aimed punch. He would come in and out of consciousness with the sensation of being dragged through the snowy forest. Eventually, when his eyes opened, the first sound he heard was the sound of bones cracking. Overwhelming pain registered only a moment later.
“By my sword you will revive a new and not a blasphemy of Abundance.”
She carved those words into every fiber of his being every time she sacrificed him to the Reignbow Arbiter. Eventually, just like the Aeon which blessed the Xianzhou Luofu, for her too, the hunt became a purpose in of itself. Gradually, her words became incoherent to the man and he longer cared whether she offered salvation or destruction.
“...and monsters will fade with time.”
Coming to his senses, he made an aborted attempt to fight back and pry her off. The two fought in the snow, desperately biting and clawing, and he did manage to push her off. The swordswoman seemed almost curious and definitely unhurt when the man tried to gauge her eyes out.
“So be it, beast.”
Deeming him unworthy of her sword, she abandoned it. Instead, she tears into his flesh with bare hands with overwhelming strength. She rips flesh from bone, cracks his ribcage open and his still-beating heart and veins bloom from his torso like spring flowers. He chokes on his own blood.
No man deserved such agony— but he was no longer a man, was he?
By the time that woman felt satisfied, around them was littered with blood, bone and innards, their warmth melting away the pure white snow, his blood meshing with the mud into an unpleasant blob. The scene was ugly and when she was done, his fading consciousness could barely spot the golden tint of madness in her red eyes. In this state of hysteria, she reaches a brief moment of clarity where she looks mournfully over his shattered form and says.
“...I am sorry, Yingxing, but it must be done.”
The light of unreachable stars in the heavens above mockingly reflect their shine in his dimming amber eyes.
The nightmare’s shadow temporarily retreats, but then he is pulled backwards and awakens anew on the plain white field, with the only sign of the leftover carnage was the dirtied snow, the scabbing scars on his body and the phantom ache still ravaging his body. He is alone but knows that he has only a bit of time before the swordswoman inevitably returns to renew her sacred vows.
…
Bloodied footsteps make ugly marks on the pure white snow as he wandered bare foot. He wandered the snowy forest when the swordswoman ambushed him, they fought and he died.
Bloodied footsteps make ugly marks on the pure white snow as he wandered bare foot. He wandered snow-covered plains when he met that swordswoman again and he ran and died.
Bloodied footsteps make ugly marks on the pure white snow as he wandered bare foot. He tried to hide in the mountain’s cold cave, but the woman found him, they fought and he died.
Bloodied footsteps make ugly marks on the pure white snow as he wandered bare foot. He managed to climb up the mountain’s summit where he found that swordswoman waiting for him, he was pushed off a cliff and died. His bones were broken and his tendons slashed so many times that eventually, his hands had gradually lost their dexterity and with it, the memory of his craftsmanship.
Bloodied footsteps make ugly marks on the pure white snow as he wandered bare foot. He continued to wander and wander the snow-covered wildness—why even continue? He waited and waited for an executioner to sing him to eternal rest and peace.