Zainan Zhi Di

In the stories of old, passed down by word of mouth was the story of the calamity. It was never known as a gentle creature but simply a being that fed. It ate everything in its path for reasons that were unknown. Some say that it was summoned from the mist by the god of destruction out of anger. Some say it was to aid on the battlefield when led into battle with the great general of war that ascended to become a god. Yet, no one knew where or if the stories were true. This story passed through many hands of the east, moving from Mainland China to Japan. However, during a conflict, a sacred flute was used in exchange for a prisoner of war. In time, battles were fought and places were raided and this artifact became lost...until

This would be seen as valuable when the story lined up with the features of this artifact. Previously known as Zāinàn zhī dí but renamed to fit the Japanese retelling of the story despite the origin. Wazawai no Fue. The Flute of Calamity. The story depicts in every rendition a god riding into battle with flames erupting around his form while playing a long black Chinese-style flute called the Dízi. Did they know what they were letting go of? The opposing nation cared not of this relic and for the exchange of a high-ranking general surrendered it to the Japanese. It remained with the royal family until one day the Royal Family was nearly brought down to their knees and the relics stolen. Some recovered...the flute not one of them. It went on the black market and was exchanged from hand to hand until it found its way hidden away in an unnamed box of a ransacked village.
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The clashing of swords along the battlefield was never enough for mankind. Bloodshed was always a reality and the thought of winning more There was never a time that this god, a god of war knew of anything more. There at his core beats the viscous desire of the warring upstart of an imperial nation. The anger of never having enough and the desire for more. The nation needed a weapon and it needed to win, something or someone that people could look up to as a god, and in their culture—strike fear within the hearts of their opponents. The world world sought fit to manifest this need, this desire. Yet, this god was made to be used as a weapon for man. The body made of Nephrite Jade, darkened and strong and bound to the last person that possess them.. He came to be in the form of a Chinese flute, a Da Zi.

Yet, the only time that he felt freedom was on that battle field, released from that Jade prison. A simple tune played would release him on the field to aid in battle. Yet what filtered through through the screen of unfiltered blood, through the screams was anger, resentment, jealousy. Had he not aquired the same feelings that man thought to foresake the this war god, this Fenghuang manifestation into? He learned and he saw each time that he was used what man fought for—what he was denied.

Freedom, life, love, kindness and his own reason to fight. He had none of that, knew nothing about honor and the compassion that he knew was warped at best, from snippets of each person that possessed him for battle. Compassion could come inn the form of a mercy killing, or to the extreme of simply destroying an entire village and raping the women. To be introduced to torture as a simple flute, yes…he knew nothing of honor or mercy only death and battle. Yet, because of his creation—its where he felt most alive.

Simply being in possession of his last handler, he often took the form of a mortal man when summoned. There wasn’t much fighting and yet with each conversation given, there was bickering, there were debates before the fight. Yet, there was adoration, if as a flute, in silence watching another helplessly fall from grace while they doing their best didn’t strike a nerve. I caused him to disobey the orders of the hierarchy and focus on his original possessor. There was always a choice to follow only the possessor then of the rule. Yet, while asleep—he was separated





Years and years of battle and somehow he was able to release himself from that nephrite jade prison, that da zi. Sitting up in the unreality and in a mortal form his power was drained—his mind trembled and his feet stood unsteady. The kimono that he manifested still adorned him upon his awakening and yet, that too would require a significant amount of power to manifest. That power—of a god, was he a mortal? He could feel his connect to his possessor and yet he was not called. In this place called Unreality. It was best not to think about it and have fun, but the fear struck…he had to rely on himself and he needed to protect his possessor. It was best to find out where he was. To find the other would not be of an issue…it was in his nature to know where that person would be—until they no longer existed. Until he was put down and picked back up by another.

“Am I Free?” He looked at those masked human hands, those dual talons in disguise. “No. I’m bound…and yet..” He smirked. He knew he was free enough to do as he wished No one need not know of his limitations, he could be a calamity with no bounds and live a life here. He needed to secure a place and protect his possessor. That was all that he could focus on, it was his drive and yet with each moment passing, his skin crawled for unwarranted battle. Every second he was no longer bound to that Da Zi, the chaos would continue to grow—twist and manifest in ways he knows not. Only time will tell, how his story will continue.