The flaming princess, Lin’Er, erupted as her flowing jet-black hair danced wildly. Her crystalline-like eyes glowed bright and fury wrapped her like a dazzling veil. Her robes flapped violently, giving sight as if an ethereal creature awakening to dance through the winds. “Hold now, reason we must,” Little Rascal shouted as he retreated hastily, a wave of sweltering heat at his back. The place he’d previously stood had transformed into a glowing, crimson scorched earth, even the stone near to molten pools.
The daughter of Pyre Kingdom burst forward in her fury, her luscious small mouth releasing forth a torrent of roaring flames, which soon consumed surroundings—molten rivers of death flowing fast beneath them all. “By the skies! Have you breath of fiery flame like the abomination dragons of the primordial age?” Staggered back by awe, Little Rascal cried in alarm. “*You, oaf of a dragon!*” Lin’Er howled, rage now visible even in her ember-generating furious stares, yet before her an elegant scarlet bird ignited into being, a creature forged purely in flame and blazing wind that soared forwards, mirage-borne in life-like grandeur—the ghostly image of an Azure Phoenix reborn in fire. But Little Rascal, now rooted in place, summoned without hesitation. Emerging behind him was a silver disk, a radiant crescent rising beside him with icy aura that cloaked its master and fended her scorching onslaught. “Might you stop a moment, dear Sister?” Little Rascal called, his tone beseeching. “Ancient beasts may carry such powers; yet to roar so wildly would frighten every soul into fleeing.” Now unveiled, were his seven opening heavens and brimming vitality; within this little world thrumming with prodiguous talent, he still stood high—an esteemed warrior.
Hearing his words, other fellow pupils—five more masters of Caidian Monastery—dashed forth in haste to appease their raging companion in ember. “Desist, Sirent! Young lad’s mischief not worth your wrath,” one reasoned. With fiery auras retreating into the heavens and flames ceasing their dance, Lin’Er reemerged with serene poise. “So tiny and yet possessed heart brimful evil! Heaven forbid how horrid you shall become were grown further! Pardon from me then, only if ye shall honor peace by keeping to your truce with that gilded nine-headed demon-saur!”
“A deal,” quipped Little Rascal, “only if those golden leonids keep peace themselves!”
The divine cave stood distant across the plains; there, reeds stood high reaching hips and wild howls sang hauntingly in air. Isolation ruled in that land—bereft of human passage. As their caravan ventured forward into sea-green pastures, packs of timber wolves scattered under sudden alarm. They navigated cautiously through wild grass, ever vigilant; sky painted itself in red hues of descending sun. Burning clouds draped over the steppe, turning it barren and stark with an eerie magnificence indeed befitting legend.
“Dear Junior Brother! Truly dared slap the Emperor’s treasured child of Fireland! Amongst nobles, she commands even silent nods of respect,“ commented a junior elder.
“Was but repayment,” answered our boy-mischievous—”Eye for eye manner. If her hand sought spanking, my palm repaid.”
“But mere jest! Nay act nor slap,” muttered a disciple-sister sharply.
“But but gentle tap! As if scratching for jingles—it hurt little I say,” Little Rascal asserted.
Ahead came her glower from princess’s conveyance, ready to burn anew—”My Lady, no fiery glances,” piped him back boldly,” yet I but speak plain truth: some manners in need reform, truly!”
“What dost thou speak?” she hissed through grit teeth, gleaming fangs flashing against lips painted red as ripe rose apples.
“Foremost, dear sibling, need you reconsider… slimming perhaps,” he proposed as if scholarly tutor, “observe how vast, smooth curve is thy noble glutes—too fleshy, too round that my gentle strike did set them trembling and rebounding; ill for cultivation!”
Hush fell like harshest frost—pastures silenced entirely.
Turned each gaze backward, all stood agog like stunned onlookers at phantome phasing across moonlit glows! “Seest? Naysayed no one; henceforth consensus formed, your honor! I did win!” resumed his lecture. At once a cry—Lin’Er paled fiery crimson cheeks as if struck with arrow of injustice; blood rushed to lips but ceased just short, as soaring down from chariot borne with glowing sigils; behind shimmered birthflaring Scarlet Phoenix’s plume-like wings—crimson, resplen-dent, crystalline; her aim set on young trickster.
“Nay! You, foul pest shall know my blade!” Leaped Lin’Er airborne, figure sinuously coiling through air, like naga dancing, carving strange elegant curves as though painting fire itself against skies. “O! Teach us your secret arts!” called Little Rascal—studious now.
“Pestilence of pests! Woe be to you, vermin!”
With motion swift as lightning, flames like radiant bolts arced toward him with unerringly aimed firestorms pouring forth in a blizzard cascade of molten might raining upon land where once grassy plains swayed—yet the trickster boy took flight from it all, bolting through prairie straight to the fabled cave ahead. Shouting between gasps of sprint:
“I merely advise, Sirent; temper’s worst bane, worse weight, yes; work more like this little scholar, and you find self sculpted, chiseled form as mine in beauty!”
Roaring behind, “To die you shalt—impudence!” teeth clenched with thunderous will. Daughter imperial fury—how dared she be teased, mocked thus even among reverential voices of subjects, by a tousle-haired upstart who dared utter again his foolishness! Her woe turned her belly pain with outrage most grievous indeed. Amid prairie blaze—a conflagrant wave surged forward ablaze all reeds; infernos roared across horizon in titanic hunt—the chase now battle writ large! Sparks and flame, clashing talon to shadow dart amidst burning plains and embers—prodigy all watched, dumbfound at spectacle. She—descended daughter of celestial might, heralded rare brilliance, near divinely gifted yet now duelist equal to a child in fiery struggle most fierce—one not yielding, victory held tautly out of grasp for the proud princess. Final hushed calm reappeared; trickster boy spry; Lin’Er gasping, breathless still, while every eye around stunned. An edifice of raw monolithic stone dominated the land before them—an unmatchable, colossal titan that defies reason among the plains’ flat expanse.
A gaping black cavity midway along, exhaling a strange and untraceable aura, lay at the mountain’s flank, its darkness yawning without hint of known depth. At base already throngs waited, forms exuding dread, fierce stares locked forward—the lead figures stood tall, strange—nine-headed aurulent lion of gleaming scaled coat; silver titan rising tall beyond human heights; last, being humanoid with golden spiral horn piercing its crown and feathered pair wings spanning wide. From their retinues came more than just other kinfolk—the likes among these attendants included humankind born geniuses of once lofty pride—now servitors bound as faithful subjugates by yokes unknown.
“You all arrive slow; tardy!” boomed the silver giant thunder-voiced, making cliffs tremble at his tone, “Hmm. Lin’Her… weary from war I sense.” Little Rascal interjected cheerily, “Ah no my friend merely dieting.” Murmurs erupted, Lin’Er’s flame-anger reignited upon utterance of ‘diet’.
A curious presence drew forward—a horn-gilded, rainbow-winged human shape—Rainfeather Monarch. “Could you be—” surprise marked the inquiry.
Nine-headed gold lion snapped around, unfolding a painted cloth scroll for comparison. “Yes it is! A fabled might-willed battle-sycophant I’ve long sought!” The gilded beast not tall but golden scales sheathing his being shone with aurum brilliance like forged deity-statue in motion as though an immobile titanic boulder, energy thick and roaring forth. “O battle-sycophant loyal, join me! Glory await you as under the wing of your magnanimus golden master.”
“Wait!” interjected other giant silverblooded titan, voice rolling like thunder across sky. “Me youth, come! Serve under me! Your name rise eternally under shadow of mighty silverclad!”
Rainfeather sovereign spoke last:“Human build akin our noble forms; fitting servant battle-fowls!”
Now, ire rose sharply in our boy’s visage. Pointing finger directed accusation toward avian and metallic foes: “Step down both you! Not interested in owning human form servants; though you… maybe *I* claim as my subordinates!” His gaze sharpened as lion spoke first of binding service, “Of all your kin none first claim shall be recognized—thus, you… first offender… better become my stewpot delicacy.” A silence, like when beasts halt before stamped upon hunters. Then, Rainfeather sovereign burst into laughter—cold, mocking.
“The fiercer, the truer—a champion indeed!” His arms shot forth as he leapt forward, palm extended vast enough as threshers. A thunderous lunge meant to seize trickster and cage to servitude before allies could intervene—similarly rushing giant, silver-halo’d lion roared, unleaching streams of golden light in sacred arts meant for wrest control from grasping rivals—yet none thought question the child before binding as pet.
Yet that was not on offer. Little Rascal, visage now dark and storm-wrapped stood tall; he’d been seen, to them nothing but prey already snared, decisions made upon him—his silence a cry for reckoning. Springing forth into leap, he launched fist-first against advancing titan.
In sky roared collision of titan fists; glyphs crackled wildly into life. Across plain a gust like tidal storm flattened reeds with concussional winds—and stones leapt skyward like startled rabbits. Roaring cry—titan recoiled under punch as hand streamed droplets red—yet Little Rascal already leaped again.
He kicked towards avian king—a clash followed sharp and sudden—the beating of feathered wings; arrows raining five-colored fire. Then, crackle—a foot blazed lightning golden down into a whirlwind kick scattering those arrows into tinkering embers like chimes against sky. Impact came with crash of breaking bone, as he traded strike with the wing-lord. Falling back to earth he rose again with smirk unshattered by fall, but from sky avian king soared backward, blood trickling his smiling lips—“So… That what you can offer? Measuring my might against… *yours!* Become my retainer at par,” laughed boy.
Thunder clapped golden, blinding all as sky obscured in flash, as leoned titan surged forth at might thrice that seen before—nine massive heads baying, each roar shaking mountains and quaking firmament with primal ferocity. Inwardly the little boy shuddered, for indeed the beast lived up to legend—the golden glyph techniques and profound depth of being, its ancient noble blood thrummed with power beyond.
Its approach—mountains cracked and earth split as it charged down, its aurum-clawed feet thudded with force enough to unpin every soul, many tossed skyward like fallen autumn leaves from wind of that golden aura’s passage—as rocks, great as millstones flew like arrows flung through gale. From that storm of destruction, came a shout—a word—twanged a secret art, a lion-bone mirror raised. Symbols flashed like starfield and turned that entire onslaught upon nine-headed lion’s origin in an echoing tempest hurled skyward!
Yet as dust danced and winds roared, trickster boy crouched amid the scattered stones and charged forth like wind-carried feather alighting softly on golden back of beast mid-bound! Gripping mane like saddle, with mirthful tease upon golden beast whispered:
“You would fare well as noble steed—yet I’ve long had taste for saucy meat! What say you to roasted lion’s head!” A furious bellow followed! With bodies alight in glyphs—each head barking with roaring glyphs—a shock-wave explosion of power erupted between them at point-blank combat. Cracked thunderclap! Little Rascal summoned his lion-bone mirror’s strike with lighting-laced strike, yet opposing that—the lion unshackled a strand of beaded bones. Each crystalline sphere shimmered, erupting forth in counterblows that neutralized his strike.
In blink, they exchanged spots: lion gone as vanished into nowhere; Little Rascal’s strike met empty air; only to appear afar, tense with realization.
Astonished murmurs spread amongst gathered spectators: one young human felled two Ancient Lineage Beasts with his own power and faced nine-headed lion equal to titanic might without defeat—unheard! Words passed with dread as lion king questioned: “Days ere, I sent *Mufeng* from Wind Clan against you. None heard from him after that fateful venture… surely not—felled by your paw?”
“Indeed! I devoured him whole,” said youth without care or mercy.
“Impossible!” voices shook with disbelief—among crowd—frost clung in chill, fear prickled neck-hairs, eyes widened wide in primal dread.
“Might as well remember that—why I came this far, across fractured range; hunt for a real beast offspring… like little Howlers from Howler Clans or true descendent of Thunderbird; you, the lot! Cross wits once dare and I’d sooner feast. Just think roasted lionhead awaits.”
The boy’s teeth gleamed sharp under setting suns as though promising.
True predator. Too bold too brutal. All shared thoughts alike among the non-men.
“I’ll teach humility before any further boasts!” Golden Lion rumbled low—the look in eyes like blades chiseled from purest gold, terrifying yet awe-worthy. He approached, ground cracking beneath each determined stride.
“Indeed you strike bold form, majestic indeed—a lion fit for mounts, so for now accept my generous offer; I shall devour you eight smaller ones and keep the crown-central for royal grace,” the boy reasoned seriously again.
“Thou vermin!” Roar split earth. Nine lion skulls spat rays, nine gleaming swords drawn from fire and crafted of raw solar gold flew in synchronized arcs like shooting stars aimed solely at youth.
“Fret not; those skulls ill proportioned. Eight severed—serve well a royal soup, a noble dish!” Sidestepped death, and thunderous lightning surged and drowned all sight. Then began battle royal again while boy quipped over shoulder to his flustered companion—“Sis, know those lion skulls? True culinary jewels. Post battle shall we roast and share meal together—you and other elders must remember dessert—*dieting* after indulgence ofcourse.”
Her anger surged. Thoughts spiraled; her bottom really that ample? For surely only explanation to this persistent jest? At this very juncture, Lin’Er, princess in turmoil, finally found her fury voice—”Nine-headed lion, you who boast lineage to blood-fused Ancient Dread, *subdue him! Now!*”
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