God Obliterating Vajra [Esoteric Dark Fantasy]

"It is one thing to forgive one being, it is another to swear vengeance upon them. It is one thing to save one being, it is another to slay them so that you may consume all their karma and they may be reborn in better conditions, while you steal away their karma ensuring you a spot in the Deepest Hell. Only those that have attained Violence can understand the importance of either, and only the greatest of Violents will understand that there is a time for the former and a proper time for the latter. That is why Wisdom is more difficult to cultivate than Compassion. But Wisdom without Cultivation is incomplete. And Compassion without Wisdom is a Foolishness."

From the Enlightened Murder Sutra

A/N: For reference, Zunrang is pronounced: [zoon-RUNG].

Mijja had still not completely processed what she had seen. She had only seen the naked bodies of Raxri and Sutasoma for a moment before the sutra chanting scrawl and the magick lotus petals covered them in a womb-like structure. But the naked bodies were nothing new to her. The fucking was not either—sorry, the Dual Cultivation. No, what knocked all forms of sense out of her was what had happened afterwards.

When the magick lotus condensed into a single closed bud, the statue behind the ritual had turned its head to look to at Mijja. Mijja kowtowed out of fear. Completely out of fear. She was scared out of her mind that she had no thoughts at that moment.

Then there was a whisper. It said: "That is a glimpse of Enlightenment." She had begun to cry at that point. When she looked up, a beautiful woman with skin the color before-morning dusk was laughing at her. That was when all consciousness returned to her. She asked: "What are you?"

And the woman answered. "I am the Omniscient Kroma Nagmi." And she had pointed at the statue. Mijja scowled and said: "I don't know who you are."

"In your religion," said Kroma Nagmi. "I am considered the Saint of Justified Violence. Zan Metia."

And Mijja quickly performed the sign of the stake (two fingers to the crown, two to the heart, two fingers to the mouth, and then folded hands in front of the lips). Also out of fear, but now at this point also out of pure reverence and holiness.

"You do that out of culture," said Kroma Nagmi, and she laughed. She sounded so much like Doctor Myu Fan. "Not out of true faith, and certainly not out of logic. Ah, you are a funny one. Yet your Cultivation Womb has been set on the path of Limitless Violence as well. Remember, daughter of murder, I am the Patron of this Sect and of the Law of Limitless Violence. Do well to know me."

"Y-Yes, Zan Metia Kroma Nagmi. Mother of Slaughter!"

Kroma Nagmi laughed again. She went over to her and lifted Mijja's pretty little face with the flat of her blackblade. Then, she breathed into two fingers. Kroma Nagmi summoned a lucent scarlet fire onto them. She placed those two fingers upon her brow.

Mijja's head ripped apart—pain so overwhelming that it clarified everything else. Her head was filled with the numinous clear light of Enlightenment and Loving-Kindness. In this state of clarity, she saw the world as it truly was—empty, quiet, and endlessly arising and then falling into the great all of Thusness. The Inconcievable and endlessly Unutterable Ultima Truth.

Kroma Nagmi nodded. "You are predisposed to Enlightenment," she said. "May you reach Violence, Mijja Tomoe Saoze. Your Cultivation Womb has been rectified and set on the right path. The world changes ultimately and irrevocably before your very eyes. Remember the Doctrine of Compassion: to forgive someone is good. The save someone is better. To kill someone and take on their karma even if you will become destined for Nadir Hell is best.

"Remember as well the Doctrine of Wisdom. To choose when to do any of the three is what separates the Omniscient from the Not Yet Omniscient. Remember this, and you will know who you are. The Thusness is the nature of Omnscience—it is the Inconcievable beyond Conception. The Ultimate Ultimate. The God of the God of Yenja. The Emptiness Upon The Throne."

Mijja nodded. She did not know what words to speak. And with the clarity that she had gotten she realized that not all things needed to be said. There are some things beyond words, and that is just as well. To assign a name and a corresponding symbol to something is to reduce it to the realm of humanity, and leave behind the rest of what it makes it it.

"Welcome," Kroma Nagmi said. "To the Mandala of Limitless Violence. Move forward with the purpose of liberating all of humanity from the oppression of the Merchants, of Kings, of Wizards, of Gods, of Demiurges, and ultimately, of the Existence."

Kroma Nagmi beheaded Mijja with her Blade Inconceivable.

Mijja shook awake to the vista of silence and the sound of sun's rays dappling the lacquered redwood of the pagoda. Raxri was naked and passed out in the middle of the lotus.

Mijja felt as though she had been birthed again. As if she was brand new. Her bones, her skin, her flesh... they all felt as if they had been given a second vigor.

Sutasoma was there, clad in white and black. A white cheongsam, a black jacket. She looked beautiful in it, and the cheongsam was made in the classic mode, wherein she could perform martial arts while wearing it. She had billowing pants on and kung fu shoes. She looked like she was going to travel. Or to train. Or to war. Or maybe not to war—war would need armor. Magick-resistant plating. Breath-reinforced mails. The like. Something she had learned from her only ex-boyfriend, who was way too into military sciences.

"What... happened, master?" Mijja had asked.

Sutasoma said: "An awakening. And a rectification. All true disciples of this sect must go through this. The Black Baptism by the Omniscient of Enlightened Killing. It is the only way in. It is horrifying and scary, and that is why there are only a select few true disciples of the Ultramystic Sect, and hence why there are not a lot of warriors following our discipleship."

Mijja bit her lip. "What have I gotten myself into..."

Sutasoma chuckled. "You only now thought this to yourself?"

"I didn't think I would be placed into an occult secret society of a martial arts sect!" said Mijja, and as she said it it felt absolutely ridiculous. But it was true. Her, who had no plans at all in entering the Realms Belligerent, where Cultivators fought and fought and killed in the wasteland of a world devastated by the International Order. All she wanted to be was a doctor so that she could live somewhere comfortably with good money, and find a good boy to be with. "All I wanted was to get my Physicker's License."

Sutasoma looked at her with loving-kindness. With a sigh, she said: "You can always leave. Back out. You can do that. Kroma Nagmi will know—she is Omniscient after all. What is important is that you are true to yourself. The merit will follow."

"I'm not sure," she said. She looked at Raxri as she sat up. Sutasoma sat down beside her. They both sat upon the spotless lacquered wood floor of the Kroma Nagmi pagoda. "Not anymore. Maybe doing the Physicker's Civil Examinations would be easier than this."

Sutasoma laughed. "I am reminded that you have embarked upon this adventure with nothing but the promise of gaining a License without doing the Civil Examinations."

"Yes, well," said Mijja, scratching her head. "I hate studying. It is always so difficult."

"Well, you will gain the same amount of knowledge from studying by going through these trials as a healer," said Sutasoma. "Probably. And along with that, you will get to see a vast variety of locales, and not just sit in front of your books all day with your study music."

Mijja managed a slight chuckle. She wasn't wrong.

"However," said Sutasoma. "It will be exceedingly dangerous. And training will be difficult. Are you sure you will be able to handle it?"

"Well, I wasn't always set on becoming a doctor anyway," said Mijja, finally becoming honest with herself. "That was the dream my mother had set out for me."

"And is that what Mijja wanted?"

Mijja shook her head. "My older brothers are all rich engineers, architects, people who now live in Soreh or in Uzu or in Tsingssi or in Kurtuwa. The rich places where you have to be rich to even afford an apartment or a condo."

"Right," said Sutasoma, nodding. "I am aware."

"Perhaps... it is God's Will for me to be here. I must trust in His plan, after all."

Sutasoma smiled. "I'd forgotten that you were Yenjanist. A Worshipper of the Divine Godhead. Did... Kroma Nagmi tell you?"

Mijja nodded. "Kroma Nagmi is our Zan Metia, the Saint of Justified Violence."

Sutasoma said, "Yes. That's right. And does this... trigger any dissonance within you?"

Mijja shook her head. "It's all too out of my head for now to properly realize, I suppose," she said. "But it doesn't feel wrong, so I might not be doing anything wrong."

Sutasoma nodded. "Good girl. So, you're not backing out?"

Mijja scratched her chin. "Not yet. I mean, I'm an adventurous girl. I think the adventure will be worth it in the end." And she really did hate studying and reviewing for those exams. She wanted to travel the world. "All I want is to travel the world, Master."

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Sutasoma nodded. "I have a feeling we will be able to do just that. But for now, you won't be able to travel the world without proper clothing. Come. Let's get you some new threads."

Zunrang awoke.

They did not even feel that they had passed out. Or lost consciousness. Or perhaps everything that had happened to them happened while they had lost all consciousness?

But they could remember everything that had happened to them. Even including the miniature death|enlightenment they had been subjected to by the beheading via Inconcievable Blade.

They looked around. They were not in any azure medicinal waters. They were not under the Sword Moon. No, now they lay naked, porcelain arm moving nimbly, in the middle of a lotus mandala. Overlooked by the statue of Kroma Nagmi, the Omniscient of Enlightened Killing, in her Ferocious Body.

Zunrang moved. They saw movement too in the corner of their eye. Sutasoma was there, finishing one last spat of mantra chanting. She was not naked, unlike Zunrang. She wore a beautiful white dress, which only accentuated her pale skin and her raven black hair. The dress was more or less a cheongsam, and over that she wore a black jacket.

Zunrang opened their mouth to say something, but Sutasoma gave them a small smile—was that... pride?—and gestured to the petals of the seven-pointed lotus mandala.

Zunrang looked to them. There was a folded set of garments upon one of the petals. Colored a pure black, white, and with tassels of red. Within another of the petals there were two swords—they looked like normal curved blades. Sundangs. They were not tasseled, had no intaglios, no specialties. Even their hilts were nothing special—they were not eagle heads, nor dragonheads, nor sitting god statues, nor vajra hilts. They were simple, curved forward, hornbill handles.

Upon another of the petals was something that looked like a cloak. It looked similar, somehow. It bore the gleaming black silk reminiscent of Akazha's own clothing. Was this a gift from their master, one last time? Upon it were spirit smokes.

The last thing within another petal was a folded up manuscript in accordion folding. Sutra etchings scrawled across it. The title of the manuscript was emblazoned in bright scarlet upon the blackwood casing-cover. It was a "Hell Enlightenment Sutra."

Zunrang walked over and took all of them.

The clothes were an interesting kind. It was of a particular fashion that seemed to be in vogue or at least uniform within the commune. They wore black harem pants, kung fu shoes, cloth wraps around their left forearm—their right arm did not need it—and a long-sleeved silk jacket that left their midriff exposed. Looking like a cropped silk jacket. Then the sleeves were not tight but billowing, like butterfly wings. Were these butterfly sleeves?

The cloak finished the getup, Zunrang supposed. Scarlet spider lilies embroiedered across the cloth, gleaming bright red with a hint of green from the stems of the flowers. It felt somewhat heavier than normal cloaks—perhaps it was reinforced, to cushion and buffet blows.

The two swords had two scabbards and a waistsash for them to be held within. Zunrang wrapped the waistsash around their body—covering a part of their midriff in the process—and inserted the two swords within. They did not know what they would do with two blades. Zunrang had only ever trained to wield one at a time. But perhaps having two would be of great utility.

The way the swords were worn into the waistsashes were positioned in such a way that Zunrang would not be impeded when moving.

Then, they took the sutra and spirit smokes. They turned to Sutasoma, and performed the deep triple reverences, before kowtowing.

"May all reach Violence," said Sutasoma.

"May all reach Violence," said Zunrang Anuttara.

Sutasoma walked forward and tapped Zunrang's abdomen. Their muscles writhed under it. "You have been reborn. Your hair the abyss of Enlightenment, your eyes now the crimson of the Devil Witch's mixed with yours. I can see three beings fused together in your womb: Raxri Uttara that we once knew, the Zunrang Anuttara borne from your Killing Intent—which was in truth the Womb cultivated by the past Heaven Dancer, and Akazha's lingering specter, which embraces you completely." Sutasoma brought up a mirror to Zunrang's face. Zunrang saw their own body subtly yet inexplicably changed. They hadn't changed in height, their shoulders still broad, but the missing feminine witch-frenzy thrived and danced across their body now. Their chest slightly larger, their face slightly fatter. It was the face of Akazha consumed and devoured by Raxti, creating Zunrang.

Sutasoma continued: "You are no longer who you were. And now it will be more difficult for you to interface with this world with this newer body. What gender shall you take?"

"Must I?"

"Only for now," said Sutasoma. "As you maneuver through this world again. Selorong in particular is bigoted and uses monikers and honorifics inexplicably gendered. Choose now, and that will be your mask. But the true you—as with all of us—recognizes gender as nothing but theater."

Zunrang nodded. "In Pemi I am ungendered. Here in Selorong, Zunrang shall be a man." He gripped his fists tight. "For so long as I must be."

"A man, hm? When you have more feminine features now?" Sutasoma tapped her chin in wonder.

"A man with the features of a woman is a violence to the concept of a man, no?" said Zunrang, and there was a grin to them. A shadow of their Nascent Womb billowing from their face.

"I understand. Good." Then, she planted her palm suddenly into Zunrang's womb. When she pulled her hand back out, a blazing indigo fire bubbled from it, turning into a condensed core of volatile fulmination. "Your Womb is no longer the Womb of just Limitless Violence. Kroma Nagmi's Blessing fused with the innate Devil Tiger Womb within you... has created something different. I will help you cultivate it with our martial arts, magicks, and meditation."

"What Womb is this now?" asked Zunrang, crimson eyes wide at the sight.

Sutasoma's face ripped apart into a wicked witch grin. "The Womb of the God Obliterating Vajra."

In an hour or so, they had moved back outside and had returned to evening tea, coffee, and pastries. It would have been jarring—and it was, especially to Zunrang and Mijja—but Sutasoma acted like this was something they did everyday.

Mijja had donned on new clothing as well. It looked very similar to what Zunrang and Sutasoma were wearing. Almost as if they were uniforms for this particular disciple group. She wore a white cheongsam with the lower half cropped off, a skirt around her midriff, and then baggy silk pants that allowed her to move comfortably and quickly, along with kung fu shoes. The mandarin collar of her cheongsam was buttoned closed, while Raxri's was open. On her left hand she wore a jade green glove. "To denote her healer duty," Sutasoma had said, when Zunrang asked about it.

They ate a bit in silence. Before them, Selorong arose like a gleaming black and red bonfire. The lights glistened off of the black adamantine buildings, roads, and structures like negative shadows. It made Selorong brighter than it truly was, lights shooting up into the sky.

The air seemed colder, now. Far below, the jostling sounds of black market sellers come alive. The Ghost Markets awaken at Dusk. There is a bustling Ghost Society in Selorong, as Selorong is one of the sites of the greatest massacres of the First and Second World Revolutions. They live and fight and make mistakes just as humans do, as many of them are humans, and many of them cannot move on to the next part of the Wheel. Usually because of misplaced clinging and attachment, sometimes because of incredible passion forcing them to stay, other times because they have developed a Cultivation Womb that allows them to become a Ghost King upon death, so that they can continue their search for Immortality and/or Omniscience even in death, where in truth usually only Exorcists can extinguish them and their Cultivation.

It is a sad thing to realize that Cultivation does not directly transfer across rebirths.

Mijja spoke first, to break the silence. She said: "Raxri... your hair."

Zunrang turned to look at her. They reached up to touch their locks—which had grown long, and had become a pitch abyss black. It was a black flame, a premonition of a holy aureole of abyssal fires. "Ah, yes. The Omniscient Kroma Nagmi had done this to me, changed me completely as I stepped into the Mandala of Limitless Violence."

"As did I," said Mijja, looking down at herself. "But I didn't get a free hair color change!"

Sutasoma chuckled. "The Demon Omniscient Mandala is fickle. It sometimes changes you physically, it sometimes doesn't. I'm sure you have some form of physical change to you, Mijja. It might be something unnnoticeable." She admired Zunrang for a moment. "As for Zunrang, once Raxri, they attained the black hair and sharper ears due as well to the influence of Akazha as it seeped into them. Akazha's Enlightenment Essence is strong and decisively attuned to the Demon-Natures of Kroma Nagmi."

Mijja pouted. "Hmp. Unfair. I wanted costume change too."

Zunrang stared intently at the nascent Physicker. "Your eyes. They glisten jade, now."

Sutasoma smiled. "They do. Such acuity, Zunrang."

Mijja blinked. "Truly? Someone hand me a mirror. I need to see!" She scratched her head. Sutasoma called Yoze over to fetch them a bronze mirror, if it was all right and if it please him. He did so, running back to the inventories. As they waited, Mijja turned to Zunrang. "And what do you mean 'Zunrang', master?"

Sutasoma said: "Kroma Nagmi has given Raxri a new name. An evolution of their past name: Zunrang Anuttara. Anuttara means 'Unsurpassable.' Zunrang means 'Darkest Night.' Both from the ancient language of Elder Karitan, the language we chant our incantations in."

"Why that?" asked Mijja.

"Only the Omniscients know," said Sutasoma. "But I foresee it being a symbolic upgrade, to say the least." The Master Ultramystic turned to Zunrang. "As you have gleaned and gained a new life, so will your new being reflect this. You must continue down this path—this is a path that the past Heaven Dancer never danced. The Heaven Dancer perfected the Diamond Ways. You have a chance to surpass that Raxri Uttara, Zunrang."

Zunrang nodded. "I will." They knew they would. There was no other way to achieve what they wanted to achieve. What was it they wanted to achieve?

"Oh! You're right. My eyes are green jades!" Mijja had been handed a bronze mirror. She admired herself from it. "I kinda look amazing. Almost Sorehnese. Or Niamh."

Sutasoma smiled and laughed. "Be not deceived overmuch with your own appearance, Mijja. Wield it instead as a weapon, instead of attaching identity to it."

"Right, of course of course," Mijja replied. "Worry not, Master. I will do just that."

Zunrang looked at the moon. Tonight was a Sword Moon, just like the Moon they had awakened in a few months ago. Their spot of rebirth, then and there, moved to awakening by the Holy Fool. Was the Holy Fool Kroma Nagmi? Too many questions, too little time. Zunrang did not know how they will move through it all. Their mind sliced slowly through the mysteries, a blade through sludge. They sighed. "I think what I will want is simple," said Zunrang.

"What is it?" asked Sutasoma, as she sipped from her tea. "It is good that you are thinking of these things now, Zunrang. In our sect, it is important to know what you truly Want. A powerful and singular Want is the prerequisite for attaining Violence. Want is subversive—those weak are overcome by it, those strong avoid it completely. The strongest among the strong know how to wield it and harness it, like lions upon a chariot."

What is it that I wanted? Zunrang's thoughts were a black flurrying tornado. Impossible to understand, impossible to realize. Until...

A single clear thought cut through it all. A nonconceptual remembrance, a blade slicing through the sludge of the mysteries of the mind and providing a clear path forward for Zunrang to focus all their efforts in. They knew that they will have to face Altai Gozon eventually—that looked like the fold of their karma. Especially now that they assumed the mantle of Akazha's Devil Witch.

But what they knew they wanted to do was so clear that Zunrang did not know how they missed it in the first place. Zunrang looked at Sutasoma in the eyes with renewed vigor and renewed strength. "I know what I must do. I must cultivate my Mind, Body, and Magick, until I am strong enough to return to Imos Town and kill High Chief Trasan and his Shark Knights."

Sutasoma grinned. It was a fierce grin, a burning grin. It was the grin of a fierce dragon ready to strike. "That's a good first step, but that cannot be the end of your road. In every step you must be vigilant: the Five Triumphant Immortals will be hunting you down every step of the way.

"Galdasigwa the Stormbringer, who wields a Piece of the Throne of Heaven.

"Atthura the Aureate Prince of Soreh, the Ultimate Empire.

"Mentra, the Moondancer, master of 108 Bodies, 87 Shaping Magicks, and 32 Necromancies.

"Ashtasi, the Saint of Swords and Summonings, Master of Obliteration Magicks, the Eschatonia, and the manipulation of Purefires.

"And Reyayu Kodaku, the Immortal Emperor of the Universe, who commands the black gang of the Verdigris Longknives.

"The Five Triumphant Immortals seek to hunt you down specifically. I was lucky to be able to escape when I did. You will have to cultivate the most important thing to defeat them: community and your own party."

Zunrang leaned back on their chair. Mijja anxiously tapped her thigh.

Zunrang grinned. A similarly fierce grin. The wicked grin of a devil tiger. The grin that signified the death of the Heaven Dancer and signified the birth of the Bringer of Hells.

The Devil Tiger and Darkest Knight Zunrang said: "Of course. First, Trasan. Then, Altai. And then Heaven and the Five Triumphant Immortals."