KSBD 5-87
“Pour me a little more, and gather thee chopwise, and I’ll tell the the tale of Koss and the Flames.
It’s said the race of Men was created because of a strained back. Gob thee not! I’ll tell thee shortly how it came to be.
The lord Koss was the caretaker of heaven in the days when YS-Pravi was split in two by her lovers, and in the war that followed his cramped and hot workshop was filled to the brim-o-brim with broken chariot wheels, bent swords, and breastplates warped and battered. Ole’ lord Koss worked ceaselessly, for his peers had naught but contempt for him and gave him no respite. Thus it came to pass one day after long hours of toil, he knelt to lift his tongs from his hearth and strained his back.
The lord Koss gave out a mighty yelp of pain (oh what a simmery yelp!). Oh, he spat and stamped, and spat many a curse, and there he resolved to do something about his crushing workload. With his bare feet (for he certainly had no chariot) and carrying his tongs, he trudged to the edge of the world, where the bodies of father UN and mother YS lay.
There he rooted around their ashes with his tongs, here and there, until he found what he was looking for. It was a ferocious white flame, a brilliant splinter from the eye of might father UN. However, as he grasped it with his tongs, he eyed it far too rigid, and moreover, it burned with a fierce and terrible cold. He flung the flame far into the void, and rooting around, found another.
This one was a hot black flame, a writhing, awful, hungry flame from the tongue of his ole’ mother YS. But as he grasped it with his tongs, he saw it a-licking at his wrists, so hungry and chaotic it was, so he flung it too, far into the void. And rooting around, he found another.
This was a warm black flame, an inquisitive flame (aye!), from YS’ heart. Koss was curious and found it gentle enough to hold, but it would not stay in his grasp, and sputtered as it writhed about. Pleased, but not yet satisfied, he put it in his leather pouch, and rooting around, found another.
This was a cool white flame, from the fingernail of his father. And Koss was pleased, (oh how pleased he was!) for it was a pliant flame, a stable flame, yet cool enough to hold.
Koss took the cool white flame and worked it for a year and a day. And when it was to his liking, he took his bronze chisel and split it with a mighty crack, and out sprung up all at once the first order of the race of Servants, the Sustainers. There were servants for mending wheels, and servants for sharpening swords, and tending Koss’ hearth, and servants for sweeping his floor, and many more. And he struck it again, and out came the second order of servants. And when the sound of his chisel ceased ringing, the red city was bustling with canal cleaners, and glass-blowers, and brick-makers, and many more besides.
The God were at once astonished and horrified. They rode the void to Koss’ workshop and accosted him. “What have ye done, fool!” they cried, and Koss realized what they meant, for in forging his new creations, his raw material had been the Flame Immortal, the heart and soul of the mighty YISUN. And so, the Servants were no automatons, but all filled with the awful heat of Will, and they very rapidly grew rebellious.
Koss quickly thought about the warm, black flame in his leather pouch, but it would not fit his purposes (how clever was he!), so he reached out to the void to that terrible cold, white flame, where it had splintered into seven hundred and seventy seven smoking shards. But even one of those shards was still far too cold to bring back into the world. So clever ole’ Koss plucked them in one by one and smothered them in the ashes of his hearth. And from that hearth arose the Aeons, the Protectors.
The Gods were even more astonished, for the terrible fires of Will burned even stronger in the Aeons. But Koss was exceptionally crafty, and very quick. Before the Aeons could struggle free from his hearth, encased in their shells of ash, he grabbed them with his tongs, and he beat the good ole’ Law into each one with his silver chisel. Grasping them, he flung them into the streets, where they quickly set about quelling the rebellious Servants with terrifying efficiency.
The Gods were all agape, and praised Koss, and Koss’ heart swelled with pride, for he had indeed done a mighty service. With the servants to take care of their daily affairs, and the Aeons to hold the Law, the Gods were freed from menial tasks to quench their hearts desires (a terrible thing indeed!). And indeed, they would have remained in that city, living luxuriously, in a circular and stagnant existence, for the rest of infinity, had it been for but one of their number.
As the Gods left, Pree Ashma hid her hot and evil body beneath the ashes of Koss’ hearth. Jealousy burned in her wicked breast, for the praise that was heaped upon Koss. She waited until Koss was sound asleep, and with pickery fingers, plucked his chisel from his belt.
Out of Koss’ leather pouch she slipped the warm black flame, and grasping it, cackled as she struck all about it with the chisel. But it would not ply easily, and Aesma was monstrously impatient. As she hammered wildly, the clangs of the chisel grew so loud that they awoke Koss, and the sleeping city, and even reached vestal Prim, where she fought the Archons, lashed to their flensing tree.
Rushing to the workshop, now filled with clashing sparks, the Gods shouted at Aesma to stop. But in defiance, she grasped that chisel in two hands and brought it down in a single wicked strike, and the flame shattered into tiny burning embers. And where the embers touched the dirt arose the race of Men, the Perceivers. And at first the Gods made to stamp them out, but stopping, they were dumbstruck.
Aesma, in her fury and impatience, had very poorly worked the warm black flame of YS (oh poorly indeed!). In her idiocy, she had forged impermanent beings – the first mortals, and in doing so had inadvertently created the Gift of Death. The Gods were bowed in awe, for the little lives of Men burned with meaning many times more potent than the creators of the Red City themselves, and the terrible fires of will burned so brightly within their brows that each was a Universe on their own, and the Gods could say no more.
It was said that this even inspired them into their self-annihilation by Division sometimes later, and the forging of the wheel, and the abandonment of heaven. But it is certainly known that the children of Aesma’s Mistake would go on to be powerful indeed, and exceptionally foolish. It was their race, after all, that tamed that Hot, Black Flame, and in doing so, brought the first of our kin into the world.
Oh lovely, wicked Aesma! And all because of a sore back, my fellows!
Now, bring me more liquid lubrication, will thee not? The night is ripe and I am exceptionally thirsty…”
-Old devil’s tale
Recent scientific studies have shown that 3 out of 5 devils taste bad.
And yet it is still quite pleasant when compared to the consumption of angel flesh, which some say tastes of emptiness and the knowledge of a God whose only joy was found in suicide.
An angel’s spirit, on the other hand, is an intoxicating liquor that the poet Live Without Shame or Blasphemy compared to the embrace of a supple virgin, mixed with the joy of conquering one’s enemies. One ought to be prepared, however, as angels tend to react poorly to those that have supped upon angelic souls, and they may need to be bribed or blackmailed appropriately.
I must disagree with your assessment. Clearly you have never tasted of Angel flesh.
It tastes of power tempered by Purpose, a mere taste fills a soul with Meaning. One of my favourite dishes, I must say.
Is not an Angel’s flesh merely its Armor?
Are you the one eating holes through such?
Try some demons associated with sugar, fruits, and cooking. They taste better, if only because the flavor rubbed off on them.
It is said, that to create a well-tasting dish out of devil flesh, one must mix it with delicious ingredients.
Admitting one’s fear is a good step towards driving it out. I salute thee, Allison, and goddess-speed to thee.
I suppose a baby should be saluted for weaning itself off its mother’s milk, as well?
No true warrior can possibly fight with fear in his heart. Allison wielding that massive blade is like watching an infant attempting to write its own poetry- it would be an insult to art and artist, if not for the innocence of the act.
No true warrior could possibly fight -without- fear in his heart. For what weapon is greater than fear? It imparts the Will to fight further, to survive against the horror.
It can be a weakness, but it can become a source of strength and power. All it needs is direction.
A good understanding of fear will make you a better warrior, as you can more easily predict how to cause fear (and in so doing inflict hesitation, weakness, and predictability on opponents who aren’t masters of their own fear), and also more easily predict the behaviour of a fearful opponent. If fear is your instinct and you don’t let it control you, this part of your fighting intuition will be lightning fast in comparison to a studied understanding! 😀
Also, fearless people aren’t courageous, they’re just reckless. Not that that’s a bad thing, necessarily, from a bystander’s viewpoint. Reckless people can be fun, not just troublesome. And courageous people can be admirable and sometimes, also troublesome.
Oh cool, so mortals are the creators of demons. That reversal of what one would expect reminds me of Wakfu, where humans taught the demons cruelty.
Do you play the MMO? O: I play on Nox!
Venerate and loathe Pree Aesma, for but for her mistake I and my kind would not exist, and what an torment it would be to have never heard my words?
Never trust anything I say. For I am filled with the forever and always, endless love for demons. I seek nothing but to let them into my back and tear out my spine. It will be beautiful.
The devil’s were created unmasked by the mortals, then masked by the Demiurges. Is this correct? Or must I walk through that dreadful quagmire of knowledge known as a Wi-Key to find my answer?
As they wise sage Wandering Blade famously said: The key to sorting it out is that it doesn’t actually matter.
Answers will come in time. In the meantime, shall we weave our own stories to explain this aspect of the Great-Lie-That-Is-All?
So humanity brought the devils into existence? Not surprising, we are kind of total bastards.
If you can believe the devils, certainly. But they are liars by nature, and therefore the most lovely of YISUN’s children. After all, if the story is true, they are the mistake of a mistake, born of fury and pain and death.
Only devils would dare to hold themselves in such high esteem.
But aren’t we all rather fraudulent? I see no reason to distrust a fellow liar when we’ve all told a lie here and there.
It is an easy knee-jerk thought to say Humans are Total bastards. However Its not that simple. Its not like animals are pure paragons of virtue. Humans are one of the few creatures out there that give kindness with no thought of gain. Humans are capable of contemplating existence, their place of the world and create wonders of great beauty and power. We are of course not perfect but what creature out there is? Jelly fish?
There is only one perfect thing in this world, Preem Mangulwort: And that is Death.
Allison Ruth clearly has the spark of will within her breast, a spark she is finally beginning to learn how to stoke. I cannot wait to see what towering heights it will reach, in due time.
A well and blazing Will is a terrible, beautiful, wondrous thing. A flame that can burn so hot and so bright as to scorch the world.
Alice-UN, forge thy Art in thy fiery furnace, and enforce thy Will upon the universe.
I just hope this won’t be the last time we see Allison’s roomates. I wanna wrap up that bindi indignation storyline.
So, Allison… did it taste like chicken?
Her current outfit resembles the “aspirant” design.
Oh wow, she actually ate the thing. I was half expecting her not to, and half expecting it to escape down the drain and wind up being some loose end that she would have to tie up later.
On the other hand, if Angel 82 had time to fully explain what Allison had to do to eat the demon, 82 would have probably told her that it is best to chop it up first, saute it with some garlic and onions in olive oil at medium high heat and add it to a nice plate of pasta with fresh grated Parmesan and a small green salad.
I’m mainly surprised that nobody else went to the bathroom and found it before she did. I mean, everyone who goes to the bathroom probably at least uses the sink. o-o;;
Where some might list their great deeds or domains of influence, Pree Allison recites her tastes in cosmetics. But then, romance is a battlefield, where rouge and powder are weapon and war paint both. And this tale opened on that battlefield, with a casualty, a prisoner of war, and a field promotion.
Allison is more warrior than she thinks, as the consumed devil could attest were its black flame not once more joined with hers.
Girl might want to practice her half-swording technique.
Also, I hope to someday see Cio in Sailor Moon cosplay right alongside Allison. Maybe as a Youma?
That look on her face in panel 6.
“Ok, I can do this… I have to do this, I can’t leave it here… ok, I’m ready.”
*nomnomnom..nom..nom*
“Oh god, I think it just pooped in my mouth… oh this is bad… why did I do this?”
I knew a man that had a Zweihander. He was a weird one. But he loved weapons and I have always loved weapons, so we were almost friends by default. He listened to Louis Armstrong, too. Nice, weird guy. I think his name was Paul or Joseph or something biblical.
Anywho, we were having a get together playing some drinking games and smoking a water pipe and just having a good time when the guy that brought a couple bottles of vodka started going on about how badass he was with a sword. Tournaments and whatnot. So Joseph asks him if he’d like to use a blade out in the back yard (we were at Joseph’s place, nobody had any room for fun in their homes) and of course Mr. Blowhard says, “Oh man, that would be so awesome I’ll get to show that one trick and blah blah.” I can’t remember what he said. I was kind of smashed. So Joseph opens up a walk-in closet and I swear I fell in love. He had a broadsword and a guandao and at least one warhammer. BH picks the Zweihander and we all go outside.
It was dark and a little cold, so I climbed up to the roof and switched on a little spot light and aimed it to a stump that Joseph had already put a log of wood on. We could all tell Sir Blabs-a-lot wasn’t all he was talking himself up to be because he started back-tracking. “It’s an off night for me.” “I’m drunk, so don’t expect much.” And so on. He talks the sword and he drags it (literally drags it, the savage) and stops for a moment to try to process how to swing a 5-foot-long, Germanic steel blade. Dear lord, we laughed when he tried to heft it on his shoulder. He could barely lift it. So he swung it by the hip and kind of knocked over the block and then dropped the sword. At this point, he was humbled, sure, but he was honest and I was cool with that. Fessed up to his bullshit and said he felt like an idiot. Joseph talks to him a bit about how to wield it, then walks over to the sword, lifts it effortlessly into the air before him, and slices that block of wood as fast as an eye’s blink. We picked our jaws up from the ground and jogged over. Damn Joseph didn’t even break a sweat.
Then we played Monopoly for a few hours. I won, as I usually do. Yeah. That’s my little Zweihander story.
That story of Man’s birth is just awesome.
I’m a little surprised to hear that she also thinks Zaid’s a creep. Didn’t she say he was her boyfriend?
Well she had to lose her virginity with *someone*.
Boy was that new page hard to find. Seems some of the hyperlinks are busted.
Are you redrawing all the older b/w pages up to this standard of art? (You’ve really progressed, impressive as hell.)
where did she get the sword?
She found it clutched in the hands of the dead during a battle caused by her mere existence.
Truly the only better place to obtain such an item is as a gift from ones father.
In love and in glory
We worship her story
Behold the King Yet to Come take-up the crimson mantle beheld in the vision of the Sovereigns.
86 pages in we finally meet the main character.
love the art but this writing is getting old fast.
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How is Zaid a creep? I never got why everyone in both the comic and the fandom keep saying he’s a creep when he’s never done anything creepy in the comic.
Examine the first few strips – he was being exceedingly pushy and dismissive about her first sexual experience and anxiety over losing her virginity.
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