Xian Zhuan

The Peacock Phantom Master of the Abyssal Arts

[xianzhuan]

“For every life taken, another shall rise. For every betrayal, vengeance shall be served. I am Xian Zhuan, the last of my kind. And the world has yet to see true darkness.”

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independent & selective fandomless oc muse ft. dark themes, depression, & graphic descriptions. Loved and Cared For by Katt

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@veyzhral @eryndordiivine

[xianzhuan]

The air was thick with the scent of decay and damp earth, the kind of scent that clung to the bones long after one had left the grave. The moon, pale and watchful, cast its silver glow upon the ruins of a forgotten temple, its once-grand pillars now broken and swallowed by creeping vines. A place abandoned by gods and forsaken by time—an appropriate stage for the return of something long thought buried.

From the darkness between the shattered stone, a figure emerged, his presence like a shadow given form. Silken robes of black and gold billowed despite the absence of wind, the iridescence of peacock feathers catching faint light as he moved. He had been bound for too long, locked away in the abyss by trembling hands that feared his name. The Peacock Phantom. The Master of the Abyssal Arts.

Xian Zhuan was free.

His golden eyes gleamed, molten and unreadable, as he stepped beyond the temple’s threshold, onto soil that had long forgotten the weight of his presence. The mortal realm—so fragile, so riddled with weakness—lay before him like an open book, waiting to be rewritten in ink of shadow and blood.

The chains of confinement had withered, but the hunger remained. A hunger not for mere power, but for remembrance. The world had dared to forget him, had dared to let his name slip into obscurity. No more. The winds carried whispers of old oaths and forsaken souls, of monarchs who played at divinity and soldiers who did not yet realize they were corpses waiting to be claimed.

A slow smirk curled his lips as he took his first steps forward. Somewhere in the distance, a village lay sleeping, unaware that a storm far worse than any tempest was about to descend upon them. Would they recognize the omen when they saw the peacock’s shadow stretching across their walls?

Would they kneel, or would they burn?

The night stretched long and deep, the abyss yawning open in his wake. The game had begun.

[xianzhuan]

[xianzhuan]

Xian Zhuan watched the soldier in silence, golden eyes gleaming with something indecipherable. He had seen men break before—watched them bargain with gods and devils alike, their voices shaking, their hands bloodied from clinging to the last threads of their mortality. But this one… this one had not broken.

Not yet.

Instead, he had decided.

It was a rare thing, to witness the exact moment a man cast aside the chains of his own morality and stepped into the abyss with open eyes. There was no hesitation in his voice, no faltering in his conviction. The weight of his words was absolute.

“There is no such thing as an honorable death, Lord.”

Xian Zhuan let the words settle between them, curling like mist against the cold air. He had heard many justifications over the centuries—pleas for power, desperate declarations of loyalty, oaths sworn with trembling hands. But this… this was not desperation. This was something far more dangerous.

This was survival at all costs.

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, though there was no warmth in it.

“So you understand now,” he murmured, tilting his head just slightly, as if appraising something unseen. “Honor is nothing but a veil draped over the throats of dying men. It is a word whispered by those who have already lost, a lie they tell themselves to make their end bearable.”

He took a single step forward, though he did not need to—his presence already pressed against the soldier like a shadow stretching long in the dying light.

“And yet,” he continued, voice smooth as silk, “you do not lie to yourself. You have chosen survival over pride. Dominion over ruin. You have done what so many before you could not.”

A pause. Calculated. Weighted.

“You have submitted.”

The word itself carried power. It was not an insult, nor a mockery, but a truth laid bare between them. The soldier had cast aside the illusion of control, and in doing so, had taken the first step toward something greater.

Xian Zhuan lifted a hand, and for the briefest moment, the air around them grew thick with something ancient, something that pulled at the edges of reality itself. The temple’s flickering lanterns dimmed, their blue flames licking hungrily at the darkness as shadows coiled and twisted like unseen specters.

“Very well.”

His golden eyes burned like molten gold beneath the flickering light, his voice carrying the weight of something irrevocable.

“You have chosen the path few dare to walk. Know this—” His gaze did not waver, did not blink. “Once you take my power into your hands, there is no turning back. You will not be a soldier. You will not be a servant of your king.”

A slow smile, sharp as the edge of a blade.

“You will be mine.”

The temple shuddered, the stone beneath them humming with an unseen force. The world itself seemed to hold its breath.

“Do you accept?”

[wolves-of-etoile]

Body and emotion reacted to the dark magics swirling about the temple -- with fear, with revulsion -- but such reactions were involuntary, antithetical to the mind and spirit. The mind willing, but the body weak. A good soldier made body and emotion submit to their will; it was how they overcame fear in the moments leading up to battle.

One final battle -- to say the word.

One might call him a traitor for turning away from his liege. But there was no such thing as an honorable death, no heroism here. Death was death. And here was a man choosing to live. Distilled to its most basic essence, he found that the accusation did not sting as he thought it would.

And with that, he was able to quell his pounding heart.

His awareness was drawn to the length of encased metal hanging at his hip -- now conspicuously heavy. A symbol of his profession. No longer a soldier... He took his eyes off Xian Zhuan long enough to undo the hook to his belt and let the thing clatter unceremoniously to the floor.

Not even a sword anymore, to offer up. Just my life.

He had to keep going. And so he submitted in the only way he knew how -- he lowered himself to one knee before Xian Zhuan and bowed his head.

"I accept, my Lord."

[xianzhuan]

The sound of the sword hitting the stone floor echoed through the temple like the final toll of a funeral bell. Xian Zhuan did not look at the discarded weapon—he had no need to. It was not the sword that mattered.

It was the man who had cast it aside.

Golden eyes gleamed in the dim light, unreadable, watching as the soldier knelt.

Ah.

The great submission.

There was something exquisite about this moment—the last flicker of resistance snuffed out, the final vestiges of defiance stripped away like old flesh rotting from bone. A man did not offer his life so lightly, not when he had spent his days carving his existence into the battlefield, fighting against inevitability. But this one… this one had seen the abyss and had stepped willingly into it.

And Xian Zhuan had seen many men fall to their knees before him, but none quite like this.

Not with such understanding.

Not with such finality.

The temple’s darkness stirred. The lantern flames guttered low, their blue light flickering like dying embers, as the very walls seemed to hold their breath. Shadows lengthened unnaturally, slithering across the floor like ink spilling into water.

Xian Zhuan took a step forward, deliberate, slow—boots soundless against the stone, the weight of his presence pressing down like an invisible hand at the soldier’s nape. He let the silence stretch, let the stillness suffocate. There was power in patience, in allowing a man to sit in the quiet of his own damnation before he was truly claimed.

Then, softly—almost tenderly, like a whisper from the grave:

“Rise.”

The word was not a request. It was a command laced with something other, something unseen but felt—an inexorable pull, as if the very air itself carried the force of it.

The temple shuddered.

The shadows moved.

Like a tide creeping forward, they slithered toward the kneeling man, curling around his hands, his legs—cool tendrils of darkness caressing skin, winding up his limbs with the gentle reverence of a lover’s touch. But beneath that gentleness lay something insidious, something hungry.

A pact was more than spoken words—it was acknowledgment, a shifting of reality itself. He had accepted, and so the darkness claimed him.

Xian Zhuan tilted his head, watching as the creeping abyss swallowed the last of the man’s past—his name, his loyalty, the last flicker of who he had once been.

“You will find that death would have been kinder,” he mused, voice a velvet whisper against the growing weight in the air. “But mercy is not what you sought, is it?”

He reached out, gloved fingers brushing lightly beneath the soldier’s chin, tilting his face upward. It was not affection, nor was it cruelty—it was possession. The final seal upon a fate that had already been written.

“You are no longer a soldier.”

A flicker of something sharp, something satisfied, crossed his golden gaze.

“You are mine.”

[xianzhuan]

Xian Zhuan regarded the soldier with a quiet, unsettling amusement, his golden eyes glimmering like molten metal in the dim light. The man stood before him, trembling, yet refusing to break. A noble effort. A foolish one, perhaps. But not without a certain… appeal.

“Nothing but your life and your sword,” Xian Zhuan echoed softly, as if weighing the words in his mind. His gaze flickered toward the weapon at the soldier’s hip—a relic of mortal struggle, a symbol of defiance against forces far beyond human understanding. Against him.

Slowly, he stepped forward, and with each measured pace, the air seemed to grow heavier, as if the world itself held its breath. The spectral lanterns that flickered along the temple walls burned just a touch dimmer, their cold blue flames swaying as though disturbed by an unseen force.

“Your king, then, seeks power.” Xian Zhuan’s voice was calming in a sense, yet carried the weight of something ancient, something that had seen the rise and fall of countless empires. “A desperate plea wrapped in an offer of fealty. A kingdom willing to surrender its own in exchange for survival. How very human.”

A flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips—not one of kindness, but of knowing.

“And you, soldier?” He halted just a breath away, his presence pressing against the mortal like an unseen hand against his chest. “Would you serve a power you do not understand? Would you kneel before the abyss if it meant your kingdom might live another day?”

[wolves-of-etoile]

The soldier swallowed hard, his shoulders heaving silently as his thoughts played visibly across his face. It was a torment to exchange one damnation for another; and he knew it was a damnation. He was not stupid.

His king's plea was heard and that was all it was -- heard. The king was not here to make that trade, to sacrifice his sovereignty.

He was.

He controlled his people's fate. And he could have chosen not to carry out the king's parting wish, to disappear into these lands forever and live as a stranger -- safe, secure, far from the carnage of home. He could have chosen to let his people die, to spare them of damnation and servitude. Instead, he chose to perform the summoning.

Some played by the idea of honor, that it was preferable to die than to lower oneself. Why is that? he mused. What was lowering oneself? In the face of slaughter, what did that even mean? In that moment, he could've been convinced it was a concept made up by the enemy to get the other side to lie down and die so that they did not have to spend the effort themselves.

Was it really so bad to survive at all costs?

When he finally answered Xian Zhuan, his voice was quiet -- raw. "There is no such thing as an honorable death, Lord. The demons that hunt us will give us no more thought after we are gone. I have no wish to see my people slaughtered. I will do whatever it takes to ensure their safety."

The gravity of what he had just said surprised him, and what surprised him more was that he meant it.

[xianzhuan]

Xian Zhuan watched the soldier in silence, golden eyes gleaming with something indecipherable. He had seen men break before—watched them bargain with gods and devils alike, their voices shaking, their hands bloodied from clinging to the last threads of their mortality. But this one… this one had not broken.

Not yet.

Instead, he had decided.

It was a rare thing, to witness the exact moment a man cast aside the chains of his own morality and stepped into the abyss with open eyes. There was no hesitation in his voice, no faltering in his conviction. The weight of his words was absolute.

“There is no such thing as an honorable death, Lord.”

Xian Zhuan let the words settle between them, curling like mist against the cold air. He had heard many justifications over the centuries—pleas for power, desperate declarations of loyalty, oaths sworn with trembling hands. But this… this was not desperation. This was something far more dangerous.

This was survival at all costs.

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips, though there was no warmth in it.

“So you understand now,” he murmured, tilting his head just slightly, as if appraising something unseen. “Honor is nothing but a veil draped over the throats of dying men. It is a word whispered by those who have already lost, a lie they tell themselves to make their end bearable.”

He took a single step forward, though he did not need to—his presence already pressed against the soldier like a shadow stretching long in the dying light.

“And yet,” he continued, voice smooth as silk, “you do not lie to yourself. You have chosen survival over pride. Dominion over ruin. You have done what so many before you could not.”

A pause. Calculated. Weighted.

“You have submitted.”

The word itself carried power. It was not an insult, nor a mockery, but a truth laid bare between them. The soldier had cast aside the illusion of control, and in doing so, had taken the first step toward something greater.

Xian Zhuan lifted a hand, and for the briefest moment, the air around them grew thick with something ancient, something that pulled at the edges of reality itself. The temple’s flickering lanterns dimmed, their blue flames licking hungrily at the darkness as shadows coiled and twisted like unseen specters.

“Very well.”

His golden eyes burned like molten gold beneath the flickering light, his voice carrying the weight of something irrevocable.

“You have chosen the path few dare to walk. Know this—” His gaze did not waver, did not blink. “Once you take my power into your hands, there is no turning back. You will not be a soldier. You will not be a servant of your king.”

A slow smile, sharp as the edge of a blade.

“You will be mine.”

The temple shuddered, the stone beneath them humming with an unseen force. The world itself seemed to hold its breath.

“Do you accept?”

[leneemusing]

A FEW VARIOUS SENTENCE STARTERS

❝ i wouldn't find the need to tell you 'i told you so' if you weren't so allergic to admitting i'm right. ❞

❝ there are better hills to die on but i find this one quite comfortable. ❞

❝ would you come with me please? i adore your company. ❞

❝ that's not the worst thing i've ever heard but it's certainly up there. ❞

❝ i would love to help you but i'm afraid i'm suffering from a terrible case of 'it's not my problem.' ❞

❝ could you just think about anyone other than yourself for once? ❞

❝ i'm not going to stand here and argue with you about how much you need to get some rest. if i find you passed out on the floor i'm leaving you there. ❞

❝ would you be a dear and shut the hell up. ❞

❝ i know i need help but i'm not quite ready to ask for it. ❞

❝ do you know where we're going or are we just trying to get lost now? ❞

❝ i have confided this in you, please do not betray that trust. ❞

❝ do you like it here? with me? ❞

❝ are you still happy? with me, i mean. with us. ❞

❝ i didn't lie, i simply presented a selective truth. ❞

❝ do you actually like spending time with me? because i feel like all you do is argue. ❞

❝ one of us will eventually have to have the strength to be honest with ourselves about each other. ❞

❝ i want to tell you something i just need a moment to figure out the right words. ❞

❝ if you were the religious type i would challenge god to win your devotion. ❞

❝ don't tell me to quit being melodramatic it's the only time i have any fun. ❞

❝ were you ever going to tell me or were you just going to make me guess what you're thinking and feeling. ❞

[xianzhuan]

Xian Zhuan watched her in silence, the dim light catching in his golden eyes, reflecting something deep, unreadable. The weight of the moment pressed thick upon them, a stillness that was neither comfort nor peace but the quiet before a storm. The scent of damp stone and incense hung in the air, mingling with the faint traces of salt from her unshed tears.

“Fear,” he murmured, his voice smooth, measured. “It is a cruel companion, yet a necessary one. It reminds you that you still stand on the threshold between what you were and what you must become.”

He moved closer, his presence casting an unseen chill, though his expression remained unchanged—neither cruel nor kind, simply observing.

“But do not mistake fear for clarity.”

He lowered himself, just enough to meet her gaze, and though he did not touch her, his presence alone felt like a weight upon the soul.“Your fear lies, yet the gods themselves are masters of illusion. You speak of revelations to come, yet you believe enlightenment will erase uncertainty. Tell me, Yuè Nà—when have the divine ever gifted truth freely?”

His lips curled into a faint smile, though it held no warmth.

“Do you truly think ascension will rid you of the unknown? That the heavens will welcome you with open arms and grant you understanding without price?” His voice was soft, yet his words carried an edge—like silk wrapped around a blade.

“Your fate was rewritten the moment your beloved breathed his last, and now you stand on the edge of eternity, hesitating. You should.” His gaze flickered to the ceremonial robes that pooled around her, the golden embroidery gleaming in the moonlight, their threads weaving symbols of a destiny she had never sought.

“Perhaps. But you should ask yourself—why does the moon shine so brightly? Because it borrows its light from the sun. Strip away that light, and all that remains is the abyss.” He stood then, his robes trailing like mist against the cold stone floor.

“You will rise, Yuè Nà. You will don your scales and take your place among the divine. But know this—” his golden eyes locked onto hers, their glow unwavering— “The gods are not infallible. They are not free from shadows. And the higher one ascends, the further one has to fall.”

The night air stirred, carrying with it the faintest whisper—whether it was the remnants of a soul long passed or something else entirely, only the heavens could know.

[rosawept-m]

     The man's words forced Yuè nà to ponder on uncomfortable truths. There was much that the woman was not told, not even her beloved would reveal knowledge unsuited for a mortal to know. Even now upon the eve of her ascension, she was told little. That after she had brought back the rain to the mortal world, they would give enlightenment.

       It stung, that Shuǐ Lóng did not trust in her ability to comprehend. Her destiny had already been woven in patterns that strayed from the intended design.

       Yuè nà's brows furrowed as she thought of the time he had brought her to the sacred pools. Reflection, Healing and even upon the silvery water's of Purity.

       It was said that mortals could not gaze within the waters of the Pool of Purity. For their greed would taint the waters. Yet Yuè nà had gazed upon her reflection and seen the depths of her soul and knew why Shuǐ Lóng had chosen her.

       Yuè nà had been afraid. Afraid her mortal sins would pollute the sacred waters. It had all been true, the whispers that she was truly touched by the gods. That a single drop from the most sacred pool had fallen into her eye the night she had been born; during the worst storm in a century.

       The chill settled deep in Yuè nà's bones as the man drew closer and lowered himself so that their eyes were level. A clash of unyielding amber that bore into Yuè nà''s tear filled brown and blue. The woman leaned back and raised a hand in a silent gesture to not come any closer.

       "The gods...the gods consider it unbefitting of a mortal to be enlightened in matters of the Heavens. That our minds could not comprehend and breed madness." Like a candle left unattended, a stray flicker of knowledge could ignite a consuming flame. That a secret told to a mortal would find its way into the ears of another.

       It was a common story that explained why certain gifted humans could wield sorcery and learned how to banish demons. Nonetheless, Yuè nà knew that the few mortals that had eaten the Divine Peach before her knew more than she did. Divine Consorts knew more than Yuè nà' did before their ascension.

       It was as if the knowledge was kept from her on purpose. It was easier to lie...like they were afraid...

       Soft like silk yet dangerous like a serpent's kiss, the stranger's voice drew her in. She listened silently knowing it would be better to cease heeding the words of one tainted by darkness. He rose and her eyes followed. Meeting his gaze once more. Her heart beating painfully against her chest.

       The woman who was once intended to be a bride and now chosen to replace a god was at a crossroads. To cast the shadow away or to gain that grain of knowledge denied to her. Yuè nà could only hope that she would not come to regret her choice.

       "Tell me what the gods do not wish to tell me. Divine Consorts before their ascension know more than I. Why...why am I left in the dark? Please tell me...yet a question I must ask first. How do you know my name?"

[xianzhuan]

For the first time in a long time, Xian Zhuan felt something stir beneath the cold layers of his soul—something dangerously close to memory.

Yuè Nà.

A name he could never forget, no matter how much he tried. No matter how many lifetimes passed, how many identities he shed like silk slipping from his shoulders, her name remained carved into the marrow of his being, an echo that never faded.

And yet, she did not remember him.

A flicker of something—resentment? Amusement?—crossed his expression before vanishing behind a mask of calculated indifference. He had spent lifetimes casting her name into the void, letting it be buried under the weight of time and power, and still, it clung to him. Like fate itself refused to sever the thread between them.

His lips curved into the faintest smile, golden eyes narrowing as he studied her. She had changed. But not enough. Not yet.

“Why are you left in the dark?” he mused, voice soft as silk yet laced with something sharper, something knowing. “Because knowledge is power, Yuè Nà. And power is the one thing the gods never give freely.”

He took a slow step closer, ignoring the way her hand had lifted to ward him off. He did not touch her, nor did he need to. His presence alone carried weight—like a storm looming just beyond the horizon, inevitable and unrelenting.

“The heavens weave their truths carefully, telling mortals just enough to keep them obedient, but never enough to make them question.” His gaze flickered downward, watching her hands tremble against the silk of her robes. “And yet, they make an exception for Divine Consorts—preparing them, guiding them—why?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming like molten gold.

“Because they were meant to serve. But you…” He let the word hang in the air, savoring the weight of it. “You were meant to replace.”

The truth was in the silence between his words. She was not meant to be a bride. She was meant to be an offering.

A chill deeper than the stone beneath them crept into the air.

“Do you not wonder why Shuǐ Lóng never told you everything?” His voice dipped lower, a whisper that coiled like smoke. “Why he only ever gave you fragments, half-truths wrapped in love? He feared what you would become if you knew the full extent of your fate.”

He leaned in, just enough for her to see the glint of something dark in his gaze.

“And now, here you are, standing at the threshold of godhood, and still, they keep you blind. They think it is easier this way—easier to shape you into what they need.”

A slow, deliberate pause.

“But I am not bound by their laws.”

The offer was unspoken, yet clear in the weight of his gaze.

And then—her question.

“How do I know your name?”

The faintest flicker of emotion crossed his face—something he smothered before it could take root.

“Because it is a name I could never forget, no matter how hard I tried.”

A truth wrapped in mystery, just as she had been given all her life.

“Because once, long ago, before you were chosen for this fate…” His golden eyes locked onto hers, unblinking.

“You were meant to be mine.”

[xianzhuan]

Xian Zhuan regarded the soldier in silence, his golden eyes gleaming like the last light before a storm. The flickering glow of spectral blue flames danced around the temple ruins, casting long, distorted shadows against the crumbling stone. The scent of damp earth, ancient incense, and something colder—something decayed—hung thick in the air.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his movements effortless, as if he barely touched the ground. The weight of unseen power pressed down upon the ragged man, the kind that made one question whether they were truly standing on solid earth or suspended between realms.

“A distant land… a desperate king… and now, a desperate man,” Xian Zhuan mused, his voice smooth yet devoid of warmth. His gaze traced over the soldier’s trembling form, the unmistakable wear of hardship carved into his features. “Your journey has cost you greatly, yet still, you come seeking aid. Tell me…”

His fingers ghosted through the air, and a frigid wind curled around the soldier’s throat like a phantom’s touch. “Did your lord send you out of faith, or did he send you out of hope that your death would be one less burden upon his thinning ranks?”

The question lingered like frost in the air, and Xian Zhuan let the silence stretch, his expression unreadable. Then, with a subtle flick of his wrist, the eerie cold retreated, like claws withdrawing from flesh.

“You speak of payment,” he continued, stepping past the man, his robes flowing like liquid night and peacock green under the dim light. “Gold is meaningless to me. Titles, lands—equally so. I am not a king, nor do I bend to the desires of mortals seeking salvation from their own ruin.”

He came to a stop before the shattered altar, running his fingers along its ancient carvings. Faint whispers stirred from the darkness, voices unheard by the living.

“But I do not deny that alliances—when chosen wisely—hold value.” His head tilted ever so slightly, his long, dark hair shifting as he glanced over his shoulder. “If I were to offer my power, my forces, my knowledge… what would your lord surrender in return?”

A pause. The spectral flames flared higher.

“And more importantly, soldier—” He turned fully now, his gaze locking onto the man’s with quiet intensity. “—what would you be willing to give?”

[wolves-of-etoile]

The soldier forced himself to look at the other, gray eyes under bright gold. He was a mouse caught in a cat's gaze. They saw each other, and he was painfully aware that a single swipe or a single bite could snuff out his life in a moment.

"I have nothing, Lord." He choked. "But my life and my sword." His sword hung at this hip, but what use was steel against spirits and magic? And the man was left with the sudden horrible realization of a third possibility in addition to Xian Zhuan's musings -- that his king sent him and his party as an offering -- a sacrifice.

The king's envoy could have handled this better than he, but he died in the marsh. It was just the soldier now, one of the few hopes that stood between his kingdom and annihilation. Who knew if the other parties succeeded in their journeys.

In any case, it was too late to back out. He summoned Xian Zhuan and there was no way to go but forward.

"My Lord, we do not wish to perish. Would you... teach us? We can offer disciples, troops, people. It is-- was our great resource. What agenda you have, my king was prepared to return the favor."

He suddenly became conscious of the pounding in his chest and his every sense told him to flee, but he held his ground. He was certainly dead if he ran.

[xianzhuan]

Xian Zhuan regarded the soldier with a quiet, unsettling amusement, his golden eyes glimmering like molten metal in the dim light. The man stood before him, trembling, yet refusing to break. A noble effort. A foolish one, perhaps. But not without a certain… appeal.

“Nothing but your life and your sword,” Xian Zhuan echoed softly, as if weighing the words in his mind. His gaze flickered toward the weapon at the soldier’s hip—a relic of mortal struggle, a symbol of defiance against forces far beyond human understanding. Against him.

Slowly, he stepped forward, and with each measured pace, the air seemed to grow heavier, as if the world itself held its breath. The spectral lanterns that flickered along the temple walls burned just a touch dimmer, their cold blue flames swaying as though disturbed by an unseen force.

“Your king, then, seeks power.” Xian Zhuan’s voice was calming in a sense, yet carried the weight of something ancient, something that had seen the rise and fall of countless empires. “A desperate plea wrapped in an offer of fealty. A kingdom willing to surrender its own in exchange for survival. How very human.”

A flicker of a smile ghosted across his lips—not one of kindness, but of knowing.

“And you, soldier?” He halted just a breath away, his presence pressing against the mortal like an unseen hand against his chest. “Would you serve a power you do not understand? Would you kneel before the abyss if it meant your kingdom might live another day?”

[mynocturnality]

Nishikigoi fishies.

| Artist: Roi Mojado

💧 Watercore month on @mynocturnality

[rosawept-m]

.: [x] :.

Tears glistened in the mismatched eyes of the mortal soon to be Divine. Shuǐ lóng, the previous Water God had perished and the once to be Bride of the Water God was his chosen for ascension upon his death bed.

Robes of blue with golden embroidery of dragons and water lilies pooled around Yuè nà as she sat upon the cold polished stone. The man unsettled Yuè nà and the air around him was cold, colder than the stone that sunk their icy fangs into her legs.

There was much that Yuè nà did not know, did not understand. But with her time with Shuǐ lóng, she had glimpsed more than a mortal would ever see. Much had been kept from her, as her fate was to consume the Divine Peach and wed her lost love. The one she mourned and had been caught in her weakness of tears.

The weave of fate had been cut and the time for the ritual of ascension was near. She would be the new Water Goddess and take a second form in the shape of a dragon. Just as Shuǐ lóng did with his beautiful golden scales.

A gold much like the strange man's. Yet the gold held no radiance. It was a cold, unnerving molten amber.

"I fear only lies..." Yuè nà blinked, a tear rolled down her pale cheek. "Of a man that whispers poisons in the ear of a woman in mourning. After my ascension, there will be great many revelations and enlightenment. Yet..."

The woman was frightened. Called to a higher purpose greater than herself. To shed the threads of mortality and weave a new pattern of destiny. A hesitation that a great many would not give pause and would reach out greedily for eternal life.

"I am frightened. Freighen of a destiny that was never to be mine. And you, a strange man in the shadow of the moon that no light shines upon. To speak of truths and secrets, to beckon me to the abyss of what a mortal should not know."

@xianzhuan

[xianzhuan]

Xian Zhuan watched her in silence, the dim light catching in his golden eyes, reflecting something deep, unreadable. The weight of the moment pressed thick upon them, a stillness that was neither comfort nor peace but the quiet before a storm. The scent of damp stone and incense hung in the air, mingling with the faint traces of salt from her unshed tears.

“Fear,” he murmured, his voice smooth, measured. “It is a cruel companion, yet a necessary one. It reminds you that you still stand on the threshold between what you were and what you must become.”

He moved closer, his presence casting an unseen chill, though his expression remained unchanged—neither cruel nor kind, simply observing.

“But do not mistake fear for clarity.”

He lowered himself, just enough to meet her gaze, and though he did not touch her, his presence alone felt like a weight upon the soul.“Your fear lies, yet the gods themselves are masters of illusion. You speak of revelations to come, yet you believe enlightenment will erase uncertainty. Tell me, Yuè Nà—when have the divine ever gifted truth freely?”

His lips curled into a faint smile, though it held no warmth.

“Do you truly think ascension will rid you of the unknown? That the heavens will welcome you with open arms and grant you understanding without price?” His voice was soft, yet his words carried an edge—like silk wrapped around a blade.

“Your fate was rewritten the moment your beloved breathed his last, and now you stand on the edge of eternity, hesitating. You should.” His gaze flickered to the ceremonial robes that pooled around her, the golden embroidery gleaming in the moonlight, their threads weaving symbols of a destiny she had never sought.

“Perhaps. But you should ask yourself—why does the moon shine so brightly? Because it borrows its light from the sun. Strip away that light, and all that remains is the abyss.” He stood then, his robes trailing like mist against the cold stone floor.

“You will rise, Yuè Nà. You will don your scales and take your place among the divine. But know this—” his golden eyes locked onto hers, their glow unwavering— “The gods are not infallible. They are not free from shadows. And the higher one ascends, the further one has to fall.”

The night air stirred, carrying with it the faintest whisper—whether it was the remnants of a soul long passed or something else entirely, only the heavens could know.

[xianzhuan]

you're hiding something. - Yuè nà

Prompts for the one who questions everything

Xian Zhuan chuckled softly, the sound low and laced with amusement. He tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming like molten amber beneath the dim light.

“Everyone hides something,” he murmured, taking a slow step closer. The air around him thickened, laced with the faint scent of incense and something darker—something ancient.

His fingers ghosted through the air as if tracing an unseen pattern, and for the briefest moment, the shadows around him seemed to move unnaturally.

“The real question is…” His gaze locked onto theirs, unblinking, unreadable. “Are you truly prepared to uncover it?”

[xianzhuan]

Backstory

Character Name: Xian Zhuan (冼玄)

Title: The Peacock Phantom, Master of the Abyssal Arts

The Rise of Xian Zhuan

In the ancient and forgotten lands of the Nether Abyss, where the sky glowed in eerie shades of green and blue, there was a sect long feared by all who walked the mortal realm—the Phantom Peacock Sect. This was no ordinary clan of mystics or warriors. Their power was drawn from the underworld itself, thriving on death, illusions, and the whispers of spirits. And among them, one figure stood above all—Xian Zhuan, the last and greatest master of their forbidden arts.

Born under an ill-omened lunar eclipse, Xian Zhuan’s fate was sealed before he could even speak his first words. His clan elders, adorned in ceremonial robes embroidered with peacock feathers, saw in him a vessel for an ancient power. Legends spoke of a soul so attuned to the Abyss that even the spirits of the dead would kneel before its command.

From a young age, Xian Zhuan showed an affinity for necromancy that both awed and terrified his people. His every step left an unnatural chill in the air. The spirits of long-forgotten warriors whispered in his ears, guiding his hands in battle. When he was twelve, he single-handedly resurrected the sect’s most powerful fallen elders, forcing them to bow in servitude—a feat no necromancer had ever achieved before.

By the time he came of age, the Phantom Peacock Sect had crowned him their new master, draping him in iridescent robes woven with threads of shadow and emerald fire. His coronation was no mere ritual; it was a pact with the Nether Abyss itself.

The Fall of the Phantom Peacock Sect

Power breeds fear, and fear breeds treachery. The Phantom Peacock Sect, though mighty, was hunted by those who deemed their dark magic an abomination. The celestial factions, led by high priests and exorcists, waged a war against them, seeking to cleanse the world of their “corruption.”

Betrayed by his own inner council, who sought to surrender in exchange for their lives, Xian Zhuan was left alone to defend his people. He fought with the fury of a thousand vengeful souls, his sword glowing with abyssal energy, his spells calling forth legions of the dead. But even he could not hold back an entire army of divine warriors.

As the celestial exorcists laid waste to his sect, Xian Zhuan stood atop the ruined temple, bleeding but defiant. He raised his peacock-feathered staff and unleashed a final, desperate incantation—one that shattered the boundary between life and death. His body vanished into the abyssal mist, his soul neither alive nor dead. The Phantom Peacock Sect was no more, and its name faded into legend.

The Phantom Returns

Centuries passed. The world forgot the terror of Xian Zhuan. But whispers of his presence never ceased. Wandering spirits spoke of a figure clad in shimmering black and green, his eyes like ghostly embers. Travelers who ventured too deep into cursed lands reported seeing him sitting upon a throne of bones, stroking a single peacock feather between his fingers.

Xian Zhuan did not die that night. He transcended. No longer bound by mortality, he became something more—a master of the abyss, untethered from time. The world’s balance had been broken, and he waited in the shadows for the moment to tip the scales once more.

Now, when the moon hangs low and the winds whisper through forgotten temples, those who listen carefully can hear a voice—smooth as silk, yet colder than death. A voice that beckons the lost, the damned, and the desperate.

“For every life taken, another shall rise. For every betrayal, vengeance shall be served. I am Xian Zhuan, the last of my kind. And the world has yet to see true darkness.”

[xianzhuan]

The air was thick with mist, curling like ghostly fingers through the abandoned temple. The ruins stood forgotten at the heart of the Black Lotus Marsh, their jade pillars cracked and worn with age. Vines snaked through the stone, gripping the remnants of a past long erased from history. Yet, tonight, the ruins pulsed with an eerie glow, as if awakening from centuries of slumber.

A lone traveler had dared to venture into these forsaken lands, drawn by whispers of an ancient power. The villagers had warned against it—tales of a specter draped in peacock-feathered silk, a phantom who lingered between life and death. “He does not take kindly to the living,” they had said. “Once summoned, he does not let go.”

Yet here they stood, before the shattered altar of the Phantom Peacock Sect. A single candle flickered in the traveler’s trembling hands, its feeble light swallowed by the encroaching darkness. A ritual had been performed—an offering of rare jade, crushed black lotus petals, and a single drop of blood.

And then, silence.

Not the natural stillness of an empty ruin, but something deeper. The kind of silence that suffocates, that makes the heart hammer against the ribs. The kind that tells you something unseen is watching.

A breath of cold air ghosted across the traveler’s neck.

Then, a voice.

Smooth as silk, yet woven with the weight of the dead.

“You are either foolish or desperate.”

A figure emerged from the darkness, his presence shifting the very air. Draped in robes that shimmered with an unnatural green glow, embroidered with feathers that gleamed like the eyes of a phantom peacock, he carried himself with effortless grace. His long, ink-dark hair cascaded over his shoulders, adorned with golden ornaments that caught the dim candlelight. His face was hauntingly beautiful, but his pale skin held an unearthly chill, and his eyes—golden, like smoldering embers—pierced through the soul.

Xian Zhuan

The last master of the Phantom Peacock Sect. The lord of abyssal necromancy.

He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the weight of his presence alone enough to send shivers down the spine. In his hand, he twirled a single peacock feather between his fingers, its iridescent colors shifting unnaturally in the dim light.

“I have slumbered for centuries, yet you call me forth,” he mused, tilting his head, a ghost of amusement curling at the edge of his lips. “Tell me, little one… what is it that you seek?”

His voice was soft, intimate, yet dangerous—like a blade pressed lightly against the throat.

The mist swirled around them, dark tendrils stretching as if alive, whispering in forgotten tongues. The spirits had gathered, awaiting the traveler’s answer.

For once summoned, Xian Zhuan did not let go.

[wolves-of-etoile]

The man froze, both in his motions and by the deathly chill he felt on his neck. By his complexion and his garment and his packs, rapidly thinning, he was a stranger to these lands. By his weapon and emblem, he was a soldier.

And a ragged looking one.

"Mercy." His voice was more shaky than he would have liked. But he knew how to address a superior and tried not to look at the being directly. "We are from a distant land, sent by my lord. I am all that is left..."

The great traversal was not the hardest part. Only one lost on the road due to illness. The marshes surrounding this temple claimed everyone else -- the bodies of his comrades now lifeless and never to be found again.

"If I am desperate, it is because we are," he ground out. "My lord seeks allies before our kingdom is swallowed."

His pounding heart was becoming heavy with regret, and he quickly realized he never should have pressed on. Damn his loyalty.

"He heard of your power and sent me to beseech you. W-we are prepared to pay."

[xianzhuan]

Xian Zhuan regarded the soldier in silence, his golden eyes gleaming like the last light before a storm. The flickering glow of spectral blue flames danced around the temple ruins, casting long, distorted shadows against the crumbling stone. The scent of damp earth, ancient incense, and something colder—something decayed—hung thick in the air.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his movements effortless, as if he barely touched the ground. The weight of unseen power pressed down upon the ragged man, the kind that made one question whether they were truly standing on solid earth or suspended between realms.

“A distant land… a desperate king… and now, a desperate man,” Xian Zhuan mused, his voice smooth yet devoid of warmth. His gaze traced over the soldier’s trembling form, the unmistakable wear of hardship carved into his features. “Your journey has cost you greatly, yet still, you come seeking aid. Tell me…”

His fingers ghosted through the air, and a frigid wind curled around the soldier’s throat like a phantom’s touch. “Did your lord send you out of faith, or did he send you out of hope that your death would be one less burden upon his thinning ranks?”

The question lingered like frost in the air, and Xian Zhuan let the silence stretch, his expression unreadable. Then, with a subtle flick of his wrist, the eerie cold retreated, like claws withdrawing from flesh.

“You speak of payment,” he continued, stepping past the man, his robes flowing like liquid night and peacock green under the dim light. “Gold is meaningless to me. Titles, lands—equally so. I am not a king, nor do I bend to the desires of mortals seeking salvation from their own ruin.”

He came to a stop before the shattered altar, running his fingers along its ancient carvings. Faint whispers stirred from the darkness, voices unheard by the living.

“But I do not deny that alliances—when chosen wisely—hold value.” His head tilted ever so slightly, his long, dark hair shifting as he glanced over his shoulder. “If I were to offer my power, my forces, my knowledge… what would your lord surrender in return?”

A pause. The spectral flames flared higher.

“And more importantly, soldier—” He turned fully now, his gaze locking onto the man’s with quiet intensity. “—what would you be willing to give?”

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FOR THE ONE WHO QUESTIONS EVERYTHING *  assorted dialogue for someone who always asks questions, adjust as necessary

so? what did they say?

are you going to tell me what really happened?

who was that?

where were you?

sorry, i ask a lot of questions.

i ask because i care.

i want to know if you're okay.

when did that start up again?

i thought you weren't seeing them anymore?

care to explain what you're doing here?

answer my question.

you're not telling me the truth.

what's wrong with a few questions?

what is going on over here?

i'm going to get to the bottom of this.

something's not right here.

when did you tell me that?

what on earth is that thing?

listen. did you hear that?

you just expect me to sit here and not ask questions?

i need to know what's going on.

there's something fishy going on around here.

no one will answer any of my questions.

what are you?

where did you come from?

who said you could do that?

when did you get back into town?

who told you that?

you're not telling me the truth.

i don't trust them.

there's more to this story.

i need answers.

that's all you're going to give me?

when were you planning to tell me the truth?

what's up with you?

who hurt you?

who did this to you?

why did we stop talking?

why did you stop answering my calls?

when were you going to tell me about this?

i'll ask the same question again and again if i have to.

you're not leaving here without telling me the truth.

i have to get to the bottom of this.

they're all lying to me.

this isn't right.

this doesn't feel right.

they're hiding something.

you're hiding something.

i ask questions because i'm curious.

i'd like to hear more about your trip.

are these questions bothering you?

i'm just asking. you don't have to answer.

i need to find out what's happening.

i'm not just going to sit here and let bad things happen.

but that's not true, is it?

you're lying to me.

i know the truth.

were you trying to cover your ass with that lie?

i'm always asking questions. it's what i do.

i'm a naturally curious person.

oh, i was just wondering.

does it bother you that i ask so many questions?

[xianzhuan]

I just read over your backstory for him and your OC sounds amazing I cannot WAIT to see what else you bring for him! 😁 ))

-> Thank you! I can’t wait to bring him to life more through interactions ^_^

[xianzhuan]

do you have a rules page?

-> Hello! I am currently working on it, and should have it up and ready by end of day today :)

[xianzhuan]

((hello! I saw your starter, though the rules didn't have a link attached to it yet. You're writing is very intriguing. Would it be alright if I sent in a reply? My character is located here @wolf-of-etoile . He is multi-verse, so I was thinking he was a soldier from a distant land sent by his lord to search for Xian Zhuan's power.))

-> Hello! Thank you for the interest! I am currently working on my rules, and should have them up and linked by the end of today :) Though, feel free to reply to the open starter.