Dr ja'n
-Recovered Journal of Marrick
The Black Hand were no more.
Everything they were—
everything they could have been—
was ash, smoke, and dust.
I could smell them on me.
The scent of ash and sorrow clung to my skin.
I could taste them.
Smoke. Burnt flesh. Ruin.
…
It felt wonderful.
Awful.
Perfect.
I know now—there is no atoning for what I have done.
So I will not.
I will not feel guilt.
I will not allow regret to weaken me.
I will do as I please.
Kill as I please.
Conquer as I please.
Because I am Marrick.
Warlord of these mountains.
Future lord of all that will live beneath them.
I am unstoppable.
Ever-burning.
Ever-hungry.
Ever-powerful.
And I will not—
No.
I will never falter.
When I returned, they were waiting.
My people.
My kingdom.
They cheered.
They screamed.
They chanted.
"Lord of fire!"
"Lord of sunder!"
"Lord of ash!"
"Lord of war!"
Over and over.
Louder each time.
It pleased me.
My mother ran from her tent.
"Marrick—di… did you find her? Your sister, Chi—"
I looked at her the way I always have.
Warm.
Calm.
Controlled.
"No," I said. "She was killed before I arrived."
And I believed that.
The moment she joined the Black Hand—
she died as my sister.
She became my enemy.
"And now," I continued, "all that remains of them is ash. They have paid for their sins."
My sisters gathered around me.
Searching.
Checking.
Looking for wounds.
They found none.
Only heat.
"You're burning," one of them said.
They tried to cool me with water.
It turned to steam the moment it touched my skin.
Months later, we found another tribe.
This time—
I brought my army.
I wanted them to see.
Not hear about it.
Not imagine it.
See it.
It was night.
The sun had not yet risen.
But I did not need it.
Not fully.
I began to heat.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
Until the air around me ignited.
Flames danced without fuel.
The ground cracked beneath my feet.
Then—
I crouched.
And leapt.
For a moment—
I became a falling star.
A promise of death.
I landed in the center of their village.
The ground shattered.
Flames erupted outward.
They ran.
Screamed.
Warriors charged.
It didn't matter.
One tried to pierce me with a spear.
It melted before it touched my skin.
I grabbed his face—
and crushed it.
Bone. Flesh. Thought.
Gone.
I tore through the rest.
Limbs. Blood. Heat.
Then I grew bored.
I raised my arms—
and released it.
A wave.
Not fire.
But of heat and hatred.
Everything burned.
Everything.
Then I opened the gates along my army to come in.
To let them all see.
Let them understand.
"Kill everything," I commanded.
"Any of these yellow-eyed creatures you see—kill them."
"No matter who they are."
"The yellow eyes die before sunrise."
And as I said it—
it happened.
By the time the sun rose—
nothing remained.
To be certain—
I burned it again all of it.
It has been five years.
We are no longer a tribe.
We are something greater.
A kingdom in the making.
We have destroyed many.
Some—
we kept.
Not out of mercy.
But out of usefulness.
Most work in the mines.
They never see the sun.
Some warmed the beds of my warriors.
Others serve in lesser roles.
All of them exist because I allow it.
My land has expanded.
I now control at least a quarter of these mountains.
There are still threats.
A few.
Real ones.
But they will fall.
Eventually.
Everything does.
But there is something else.
Something I have not forgotten.
The winged ones.
Gray wings.
Strange forms.
Skin like pale stone.
One horn.
Not Oni.
Not anything I know.
But I will know soon.
I sent scouts.
They will bring me answers.
Four months passed.
They returned.
The winged ones call themselves—
Tengu.
They are… interesting.
They control wind.
Move earth.
Create fire.
Pull water from trees.
They call it—
magice.
Water is rare here.
Especially now.
For them to create it—
that alone makes them valuable.
Their weapons are strange.
Short spears.
Bladed on one side.
Efficient.
Precise.
Everything about them is refined.
Controlled.
I want it.
All of it.
I cannot burn them.
That would be a waste.
But they will not be good slaves.
They would resist.
They would refuse to teach.
…
So I will not take them as slaves.
I will take them another way.
A week later, we found them.
My mother.
My sisters.
Myself.
Their language is still strange.
Broken.
Difficult.
One of their guards approached.
Suspicious.
Tense.
I understood only pieces.
"Why… you here?"
"Where is your leader?" I said. "I will speak only to him."
He responded quickly.
Sharp.
Uncertain.
Then—
an elder stepped forward.
He spoke our language.
"You survived," he said. "Devil."
"I am not easy to kill," I replied.
"No," he said. "You are not."
"Why are you here?"
"I want your people."
The air shifted.
Weapons tightened.
"Slaves?" he asked.
"No."
A pause.
"That would be easier," I continued. "But I would gain nothing from it."
He studied me.
Carefully.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"Everything."
"Your knowledge."
"Your culture."
"Your power."
"Your magice."
"I will not stop until I have it."
Silence.
Then—
"What do we gain?" he asked.
"My power."
Not ours.
Mine.
Everything here is mine.
Everything will be.
He understood that.
And —
he agreed.
It took two years to integrate them.
At first, my people tried to kill them.
Often too often.
That stopped I made sure of that.
Eventually.
Then—
they began teaching.
Magice is not power.
Not like mine.
It is…
understanding.
Structure.
Control.
They do not summon fire.
They create the conditions for it.
They do not command wind.
They guide it.
Everything has rules.
Flow.
Heat.
Pressure.
Form.
They use sigils.
Precise shapes.
Exact lines.
Each one meaning something.
Each one controlling something.
They use their hands.
Specific movements.
Angles.
Timing.
They speak words.
Not for power—
but for focus.
And some of them—
the stronger ones—
do not need any of it.
They understand enough
to simply…
do.
That is what I want.
My first attempt failed.
Nothing happened.
The second—
burned out instantly.
The third—
worked.
A small flame.
Floating above my hand.
Stable.
Controlled.
It did not burn me.
It did not spread.
It waited.
I closed my hand.
It vanished.
…
That flame—
felt more real
than anything I have ever created.
Years passed.
We grew stronger.
Together.
Oni.
Tengu.
Something new.
Children were born.
Mixed.
Different.
Better.
I took a mate.
Her name is Ruke.
She is Tengu.
And she is powerful.
Her understanding of magice—
is deeper than most.
She does not fear me.
…
I like that.
One year later—
they were no longer separate.
They were us.
Completely.
And I was stronger than I had ever been.
Not just in power—
but in understanding.
And yet—
something still bothered me.
What I have…
what was given to me…
is not magice.
It does not follow rules.
It does not require understanding.
It simply…
is.
…
I needed to know why.