Yifeng
Yifeng
Character Location
Age
21
Children
Gender
Female
Eyes
Purple
Hair
Purple
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
White
Escape (S2E20.5)
Begin writing your story here...
Family Reunion (S2E20)
Fuck! FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK!
I’ve tried so hard to keep my composure, to protect my peace, to uphold the will of Foo.
But I can’t, not today. FUCK!
Venturing into Triad strongholds is always a risk, I know that. I've already had a chance encounter with my Uncle, which yes, did shake me to my core in that moment, but I survived and emerged victorious. Years of training as a monk has allowed me to harness my Chi for good and heal my mind that's otherwise been left fractured by my past. Under Foo's light, I am balanced, restored - strong as a blade of grass that remains rooted, but allows itself to bend with the wind.
I should be stronger than this. I am stronger than this.
But the moment I locked eyes with my mother - pools of gold, set alight with quiet but unshakeable fury - I feel something deep inside me unravelling, a knot of control loosening thread by thread. And suddenly, I was a child again, weak and powerless under her iron-fist.
The Misfits were the only thing keeping me anchored as we approached my mother, who was meditating within her dojo. We've faced all sorts of nefarious opponents before, but I've seen her wrath, her unfathomable power - the Triad executives are on a completely different level.
A single thought rang through my mind: I need to keep them alive.
"Yifeng."
"Mother... We need to talk."
I knew we'd never beat her in a physical fight, so the power of language, a tool I have championed since the start, was our only option.
But Mighty Foo, I tried. I tried so hard. I told her we weren’t there for a fight, begged her to not hurt them. With tears stinging my eyes, I explained how the Misfits - even Ko - are my family now. My real family, more than she ever was.
But she didn’t, wouldn’t, hear me.
Her eyes locked onto Ko, who unfortunately wore her Yakuza uniform (a big oversight on our part, but I digress). “What are you doing with the enemy?” she exclaimed, her voice resolute and rising in volume. “They must be terminated.”
No matter what I said, she didn’t budge. Her vitriolic words cut through me like a blade, a familiar feeling from a distant past. Coward. Traitor. Disappointment.
"You have run away from the Triad and all your duties. You forget everything " My mother leaned closer, her dragon breath hot against my fur. "You remember that you belong to us - to me. Return at once, Yifeng. "
Striking back, I yelled: “No I don’t! I am not a possession, a weapon to be used! Why can’t you understand that?” Yet she kept carrying on, her Mokuna-esque pride preventing her from conceding to anyone, let alone her defector, traitorous daughter.
The rage swelled up before I could stop it - and I slapped her.
Silence.
My heart sunk as I watched my mother, unmoving. We stared, true sadness lingering for just an instance…. And then, just like that, it was gone - replaced by rage that stoked fires in those golden eyes.
Fuck.
If things couldn’t get ANY WORSE, my uncle barged into the room like a storm. His eyes burned into mine as he grabbed me like I weighed nothing, crushing the air from my lungs. “Kill all of them,” he said.
Even me.
Everything dissolved into chaos. His Dragon Wing Chi Wave tore through the room - pure energy coursing through his veins and unleashing such terrifying and unfathomable power. The Misfits, all of us, we fought back with all our might, but it was hopeless. Arthom crumpled until the might of his Chi in spite of his mass, now rendered unconscious on the floor. Ko was slammed into the wall, bloodied and crushed to a pulp. And G and Illyana - gone. Just… gone. Fuck, they were dead! And it’s ALL my fault!
In the midst of the carnage, I got glimpses of my Mother, who doesn’t participate. On the outskirts she simply just stood there, not fighting. Hesitating. In those golden eyes, for the first time in my life, I see doubt. Regret. Remorse.
But it was too late.
All seems futile as the Triad guards flooded in like tidal waves, knives drawn, pressed against the Misfits’ throats. I watched, helpless, as blades pierced flesh and blood began to spill... I was the only one untouched - spared.
I think… I think that was her doing.
As all hope seemed to be lost, purple portals ripped through time-space, swallowing the Misfits one by one. Whoever, whatever, conjured them saved them all at the very nick of time.
And so there I was, surrounded by the Triad, under my uncle’s brutal shadow. My mother watched silently from the edge.
I’d never felt so completely, utterly alone.
Teacher’s Pet (S2E19)
I’ve always thrived in the world of academia - think straight As, meticulous classroom behaviour and even perfect attendance.
…Or at least that’s what I’d imagine, the version of myself that might have existed if I’d ever set foot in a proper school. Throughout my youthful years in the Triad, I’ve been under the tutelage of various physical trainers and private tutors - and whilst I excelled in most areas of study (particularly, martial arts and Chi), excellence was never praised, never acknowledged. In the world I was raised in, success wasn’t an achievement; it was the bare minimum.
Then again, I can’t say I’m surprised that Crimelords would wield iron fists over their children as much as they did their empires. Discipline, obedience, and strength - those were the only qualities that mattered to the Mokuna. The Triad has hurt me in many ways, but at the very least I owe my patience and my discipline to my parents.
But I digress. Today Master Opah informed Ko that he suspected Triad-affiliated students were lurking within the Academy. With brand new school uniforms now in our possession, we were assigned a simple task: infiltrate the classes and snuff them out. And that is how we found ourselves standing outside the Academy gates at the crack of dawn, fashioning our new student identities amidst the chill of the Autumn morning. Particularly, Mogg, with his abnormally large frame, was transformed into a familiar face - Gurval. I understand that the fidelity of Zyanya’s transformation magic depends on how well she knows the subject, and so a fellow Misfit would make the most sense as her reference point. But still, watching Mogg shift before my eyes, his newly-formed azure scales catching the dim light of the sunrise, his reptilian mouth twisting into a mischievous grin I've grown so fond of - it sent shivers down my spine.
We attended 3 classes: Law & War, Chi & Spirit, and Leyline & Arcana. And suffice to say I prospered in the classroom environment - I sat at the front, wrote meticulous class notes and even got to spar Lucid - I won! Of course, I played the role of a dutiful student well, spurring no suspicion at all from the other Academy students. But a part of me didn’t want the school day to end! There was something satisfying about the structure, the class routines, in knowing that if I put in the effort, the results will follow. It feel good to be praised for once, to be an environment both challenging and encouraging.
I remembered that I was a Misfit when recess and lunch came around. While the other students laughed, gossiped, and sat in their favourite spots on the playground we had a job to do: observe, assess and identify any signs of Triad activity. Amidst the cliques, unspoken hierachies and social dynamics between the students, I felt as nervous as I did when we were up against the Titan cults.
Zyanya, ever charismatic, wasted no time. She slipped seamlessly into a clique of popular girls, charming them with honeyed words and an air of nonchalance that all "cool kids" seemed to possess. Within them was the Mokuna girl who used to torment Ko when she still attended the Academy.
We observed her from a distance, tracking her movements. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary - idle gossip and bitching, a cackle here and there. But at one point, her posture stiffened as she suspiciosly reached into her bag. Syrus caught my watchful eye, as we came to the same conclusion and devised our next move. First, Ko would serve as the distraction - confronting her, dredging up old wounds in a way only a former victim could. The emotions would flare, the spectacle would unfold, and in the chaos, I would steathily move in. It was fascinating, watching Ko interact with her old bully. In the Triad, talkback, petty gossip was met with swift punishment. But here? Teenagers could act like teenagers, without the looming of iron-fisted suppression. As they bickered, calling each other sly insults, I slipped behind the Mokuna and plucked the bag from her side. In seconds, I was gone, disappearing into the crowd.
Inside the bag, nestled between notebooks and stationery, was a single envelope. A golden lotus was embossed in its centre - the unmistakable crest of the Triad. Inside, scrawled in elegant calligraphy, was an address: the stronghold we intercepted not too many moons ago...
We had found her.
With Master Opah’s help, we lured the Mokuna into an empty classroom, where we were free to confront her away from the eyes of other students: where had she gotten the invitation? What was her connection to the Triad?
In between muffled cries - almost like she was a child, the popular-girl bravado dissipating - she admitted that it was her boyfriend who was a member of the Triad. He had given her the invitation, a test to see if she was ready to join him. She hadn’t decided yet... But he was picking her up after school.
Which meant we had a rare, golden opportunity. The plan formed quickly - it was violent, dangerous, reckless. I refuted, opting for pacifism once more, but I had gotten used to fact we were Misfits, and this was our way. We would intercept him. Kidnap him. Drag him somewhere quiet and squeeze out every piece of information we could.
An eventful day of school, indeed.
The Power of a Name (S2E18)
Names matter. They shape how we see each other, how we fit into the vast world of Mayhaos. It earns us a legacy - one that lingers in the mouths of those who remember us, one that defines us long after we are gone. And while our name can carry the weight of a history we had no say in, forged by the endlessly cruel and brutal choices of those who came before us, it is up to me to decide what Yifeng will mean in the end.
At least, that's what I'm trying to convince myself of.
This was a day full of names - new and familiar. For one, I finally learned the name of the towering Nusaru who joined our party during that particularly shitty recon mission to the Triad stronghold: Mogg. A short, blunt name, almost comically ill-suited to someone of his sheer size. But nevertheless, I like Mogg. Both the name and its owner.
Next, it was Arthom, who we reunited with at our local tavern. He was a bit upset that he wasn't invited to intercept the Triad, but just like the very enunciation of his name - heavy, firm - I knew exactly why we hadn’t brought him along. Arthom didn't have a single stealthy bone in his body. Especially where there would have been so many corrupt Triad members surrounding him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to draw blood. His right hand itched for a fight even now, twitching toward the hilt of his dagger as he listened to our story-retellings. Of course, his left hand was already occupied, beholding a large tankard of beer - his third drink for the afternoon.
My favourite name of the day belonged to Okamwhoworst - a Lupo prisoner we freed from the Triad's trafficking ring. A truly whimsical title for someone who had spent his entire life in shackles. He recalled his experiences, existing as nothing more than a possession, his body commodified and traded for. You could tell he had never seen anything like the city before, his eyes darting from Misfit to Misfit, ears twitching at every unfamiliar clash or clang of city sounds.
Pangs of guilt throbbed through my chest. Perhaps it was my family who had stolen Okamwhoworst’s life, but it's the blood in my veins, the very name of the Triad, that tied me to their sins. I was complicit. I wanted to say something - maybe apologise, explain away all of my family's wrongdoings. But I knew no amount of words could make up for the decades of suffering and trauma the Triad had put him through. So I said nothing at all.
Okamwhoworst wanted only one thing - to go home, find his people. And maybe by finding those who share his name, he could slowly build himself back together, piece by piece. By almighty Foo (and his god, Skyfather too!), I hope this Lupo finds exactly that. With Talu's connection to the neighbouring Lupo tribes, I remain hopeful that he will get his happy ending.
And then there were more names, all which were new to me, but familiar to distinct Misfits: Master Opah, Ko's old Academy teacher; Ilyana, Arthom's druid mentor; and... Mommy, a merchant Nusara, - broad-shouldered, green/moistened skin, and… incredibly blessed. Despite her long linen dress, no amount of fabric could truly hide the... generous proportions nature had gifted her.
I saw Lucid slip out the door to make conversation with Mogg, who unfortunately was so big he could not fit inside the tavern. I followed suit, not particularly interested in watching the clear flirtationship occuring between Ilyana and Mommy - they kept mentioning something along the lines of "a business transaction" but the sexual tension was so palpable I knew exactly what was going to transpire, and Great Foo, I did not want to be there when it happened.
So there we were, just the three of us, watching the sun set, setting the sky ablaze with hues of red, orange and yellow. It was Lucid who spoke first.
"Mogg, now I've been meaning to ask you, what brings you here?"
The Nusaru answered calmly, his webbed hands rested on his bloated stomach. "To find an old friend - Gurval."
Now that was a name I hadn't heard in a while - and one I'd been actively avoiding.
When Gurval suddenly disappeared over a week ago, my heart broke. He left without a word, without even a letter. Just…gone. I never even got to say good bye. And whilst my pride didn't want to even continue this conversation, to rid of the bitter taste of Gurval's name of my tongue, my curiosity was stronger.
First, Mogg spoke of Gurval as though they’d once been inseparable friends in the past. Their values, however, had slowly diverged. Mogg confided that he feared Gurval had strayed too far down a path of evil and destruction. Lucid, too, begins recalling Gurval’s strange transformation, who had become strangely eloquent and had awakened from within him new, blood-red lightning powers. They went on and on, hypothesising the root of Gurval's strange turn in behaviour... and I knew it was time to confess and tell them my truth.
"Lucid, Mogg, I have a confession. Ever since Gurval and I went to take down the titanic cult outpost, I witnessed his use of corrupt elemental magic - one that twisted my insides, defiling the natural essence of Chi within me... His powers were reminiscent of the old titan Enkelados... and I fear, Mogg, that you are correct and he now serves the evil titans..."
I took a deep breath, sweeping away the mist forming in my eyes, before continuing. "I had kept this secret, hoping to...protect him. But now, I have nothing left to lose."
Just as I was about to continue further, a large CRASH boomed from inside the tavern. With no time to discuss, Lucid and I rushed in (Mogg waited outside, of course) to find chaos unfolding. The Misfits along with Ilyana, Mommy and Okamwhoworst (all of whom were in the middle of... the Act) were under attack by a handful of masked ninjas. Despite their hidden faces, I knew immediately they were Mokuna... Triad members, seeking retribution.
We retaliated without hesitation. My shock at Gurval’s name, however, left me clumsy, my blows ineffective and completing missing as I fought in a disorienting daze. In spite of this, the Misfits surged ahead. Okamwhoworst completed the final blow. After summoning a scorched tree stump (a remnant I later found out resulted from a fire whiskey mishap), the Lupo yelled a shrill battle cry before hurling it with extreme force and precision, crushing the final Triad member into the tavern's wall. It was heart-warming seeing Okamwhoworst deliver his own long-awaited comeuppance, finally crushing the very forces that had imprisoned him for years (literally!)
The Misfits cheered and celebrated over drinks, as we always did with victories - the tavern made a convenient location for such a thing. Even Mogg outside, basking in the moonlight, watched us in amusement and joined in the celebrations. Notably, Arthom and Ilyana had finally gotten access to Mommy's home-grown mushrooms - perhaps they could finally work out and ease away the mental blockages that had been perpetuating Arthom's transformative curse.
Yet amidst the noise, my thoughts remained with Gurval.
I miss him terribly - the manic smile that concealed infinite care; the steady hand that guided me through storms; the words of wisdom that brought me comfort and reassurance. The warmth of his laughter still lingers in the quiet corners of my memory.
No matter how far he might have fallen into darkness, he will always be a father to me.
And on the day he returns, if he ever returns, my heart gives me no choice - I will greet him with open arms. That is a promise.
The Red Room (S2E17)
I've only really heard of the name "Saib" in passing. Previously as "Syrus's accomplice," but more recently, as "the one who orchestrated Arthom's assassination attempt." Any encounter with him would surely not bode well... And well, this time was no exception.
Within the haze of a Zynii hookah bar, thick with scented smoke and aromatic spices, I finally met the elusive Solen. The other Misfits were ready to confront him - none more so than Syrus who stared daggers from his golden eyes, as if burning with quiet fury. Yet Saib’s confidence did not waver. If anything, the twinkle in his beady eyes and the smirk curling on his beak only grew bolder, more pronounced.
“Now, now, I know you all must be upset about what happened to Arthom,” he droned, waving his wing flippantly into the air. “But why don’t we let bygones be bygones? I come bearing gifts!”
Lounging like a king atop a throne of lush, velvet cushions, Saib presented us with his so-called peace offering - a collection of maps, patrol schedules and other documents detailing the inner workings of a Triad hideout.
The... Triad...
I've spent years following Foo's teachings - practising inner peace, learning to channel my restless energy and anxieties into Chi. And yet, those mere 5 letters still set me off balance, sending shivers down my body.
"There's been whisperings within the Moonlight District that a VIP clan member will be making a visit to this stronghold... Rumours also speak of a "Red Room," a hidden underground chamber that much of the revenue for the Triad’s operations is funnelled from... Nobody knows what's lurking in the Red Room, but if we could weaken them there, we’d deal a serious blow. I know you all are stupidly impulsive so let me be clear, I am not saying you should ambush the Triad - you will lose miserably..."
"Then perhaps a Recon mission." Syrus interrupts. "We infiltrate, gather information and leave as soon as we have what we need. This could be the perfect opportunity to find out what the Triad has been planning..."
The Misfits nod in agreement and begin discussing tactics immediately. At some point, four more Solen filed into the private room: Bravu, a green-feathered Solen who bore a very uncanny resemblance to Syrus; Shalza, a mesmerising female Solen with an ebony black coat and sleek features; Ahmed, a hulking red-plumed Solen with fists the size of my head; and Torrek, an arsonist and demolitions expert, his fiery orange feathers a perfect match for the explosives he wields. Together, with Saib as their leader, they call themselves the Ghost of Zynii. A scuffle between Ahmed, Ko and Talu occured at some point too (typical Misfits, getting into fights with strangers we've barely even met), but I barely registered the chaos. My mind was elsewhere, my ears ringing with the thundering of my heart.
The family I've left behind... The past I thought I could outrun...
"I'll need to disguise myself," I said finally, cutting through the noise. I turned to Zyanya, hoping she could work her magic. "The higher-ups visit the main strongholds. Whether they're family, second-in-commands or even the attendants who serve them... They will recognise me."
No one argued. And so the plan was set. Zyanya and I would enter disguised as Mokuna guards. Ko and Syrus would take the skylight. Talu and Lucid, the sewage tunnels. We wished each other luck and set off in our separate paths,
Zyanya and I, with Zino in tow, approached the entrance. muscle memory within me commanded me to bow. The other two followed suit, though the guards were still not convinced as they eyed us warily, tighening their grip on their staffs.
Before I could even think, Zino stepped forward and, with perfect conviction, said, "Hello, my fellow Triad members. We are here to pay our respects to the golden duo and their divine intentions. Praise."
I did my best to suppress my utter bewilderment (when the hell could he speak fluent Chinese???) but miraculously it worked - praise Foo! The guards exchanged glances before stepping aside to let us pass through the gilded doors.
Familiar stone hallways stretched before me, illuminated by golden lanterns that flickered against the gilded walls. My nose was seized by the familiar scent of incense and candle wax, infused with the metallic tinge of freshly sharpened blades. And suddenly I was a child again, darting through the labiryth of corridors I knew like the back of my hand. I played endless games of hide-and-seek with the attendants, shared meals with other Mokuna trainees just like me, tested my skills in sparring matches that left my arms bruised but my heart full. And all my life, I trained and trained and trained in this place of childhood warmth, as under the watchful eyes of my family I did it with no complaints. It made me happy. It made be worthy - a worthy progeny, a worthy Triad successor, a worthy daughter.
A daughter deserving of love.
Now, it felt as cold as the stone beneath my feet.
I kept my gait controlled, every step deliberate. Each time we passed a guard, I nodded, bowed slightly, the Mokuna customs still embedded within my DNA. Yet, no matter how much I steeled myself, I couldn’t ignore the heavy drum of my heart, each beat growing louder as we neared the conference room.
And finally, there he was... the VIP.
At the head of the table, cast under the shadow of a flickering lantern, sat... My uncle.
It had been years since I’d last seen him, but time had done little to dull his presence. His skin glowed, smooth-white like Chinese porcelain. And for a moment, I was a child again, sitting at his side during clan meetings, swinging my legs impatiently on seats that were taller than me. He had always been the strategist, the one who saw ten moves ahead of everyone else. And despite his youthful complexion, his domineering authority rivalled no one else... Well besides my mother. But that is beside the point.
Despite not knowing the plans he discussed, the operations he lead, I had admired him. Even then, I had wanted - desperately - to make him proud.
And now, here he was. And here I was.
An intruder in the very home I once called my own.
His voice boomed throughout the chamber. "There will be no clans, no wars - the Triad will rule all of Zynii with an iron fist that the Dragons have always intended..."
Panic surged through me, my vision narrowing. Zyanya's hands find my shivering body. "Breathe," she whispered, her voice smooth and sweet like honey. She then placed my hand on her... breast(?!!!!), her slender fingers instructing me to squeeze - gently but firmly. I focused on the warmth, the softness of her bosom, letting it anchor me...
Absurd as it was, her boobie stressballs were WORKING and were exactly what I needed. I felt my body relax under her touch, my breath slowing into a calm steady rhythm.
But such peace was shortlived (as it alway is) when chaos erupted in the opposite side of the conference room. Syrus and Ko (in unfortunately, her Yakuza uniform) had been spotted! My uncle stood from his seat, about to command orders before a WAVE OF SHIT crashed through the wall - you CANNOT make this shit up! Instinctually, I summoned a chi cloud to escape the torrential filth just as Talu and Lucid tumbled in, drenched in sewage, gagging and gasping. A massive frog followed, his belly jiggling as it tapped itself contentedly.
"The Alpha provides." He croaked contently, before placing the now-drenched Ko on his stomach.
The Misfits and I locked eyes, nodding in agreement. As the Triad members were occupied, flailing in shit water, we seized the opportunity and advanced to the Red Room, descending the spiralling stairs lined with red crystals. The air grew heavy, thick with incense and something else... intoxicating.
The crystals were hallucinogenic.
"Smash them," Syrus ordered.
We each used our own special abilities to destroy the crystals. Summoning my Chi, I generated a storm sphere, a hurricane of energy that shattered them, the fragments like drops of blood littered on the floor. Eventually, our efforts came to fruition as the haze cleared, revealing... Rusted cages lining the wall...
Filled with starved prisoners.
My heart sunk to the pits of my chest.
Gaunt figures, barely clinging to life, stared at us with hollow eyes, rattiling their chains weakly. They were of a variety of eclectic and exotic races: Lupo, Makikuna, Nusaru, to name just a few.
Particularly, we noticed a purple Rojikan girl, curled in a cage barely big enough for a dog. Syrus knelt before her, his hands glowing with the light of Ka. Our new Frog companion provided soothing spells. Lucid draped his jacket over her shoulders. Zyanya crouched beside her, murmuring words I couldn’t hear, but ones I knew carried her maternal warmth.
As for me? I did not, could not, move towards her and give her comfort. The absolute hypocrisy, knowing that walls of my childhood were built upon her pain and suffering. I knew my family were ruthless, but never did I expect they'd be capable of something so heinously cruel as child-trafficking. My mother always lauded about the strength in honour - what honour?!
So I did nothing. I stood still, feeling the world cave in, guilt swallowing me whole.
Eventually Zyanya squeezed my hand, waking me from my reverie. We were running out of time. I could atone the only way I knew how - by tearing open these cages and setting these people free.
And with that, we made our escape.
The Triad was in chaos above us. I could picture my Uncle now, furiously commanding orders, his piercing gaze sweeping the wreckage, seeking death for those stupid enough to challenge and defile his empire.
But we had the advantage: confusion, destruction, and one very large, very shitty distraction.
We ran back through the hallways of an old home I knew with certainty I could never return to. We burst through the outer gates and into the cold night, the city of Zynii stretching before us - we kept running until we knew we were 100% safe, finally making our way to a familiar (and comforting) bar. As the others rested and rewarded themselves with a drink, I spent this time alone, reflecting.
I had spent years running from my past, convincing myself that I could leave it all behind. But tonight had shown me the truth. The ghosts of my family’s sins would never stop haunting me.
And I wasn’t sure I deserved to outrun them.
Fiery Revelations (S2EP15)
There’s nothing more humbling, devastatingly sobering, than discovering that the one person you trusted, the one you believed you knew and understood better than anyone else in Mayhaos, was never who you thought they were.
But let's begin from the start.
Today's mission was nothing short of ambitious: dismantling the cult strongholds scattered within Zynii. Not just one, or two... but all of them. Arthom's dealings with the Gleam Boys had earned us access to their specialised gleam pod technology, which could deploy our teams at expeditious rates. Naturally, I chose to target the Enkelados cult; after all, his hubris and impassioned rage serves as an antithesis to Foo’s teachings of balance and serenity. Bringing down his followers wasn’t just a strategic move - it was a necessity. Every act of violence and hatred his followers commit under the name of their titanic god disrupts harmony, tipping the scales further into chaos. By taking down their stronghold, I wasn’t just stopping the spread of such fiery and destructive ideology; I was restoring balance, enacting karmic retribution. Foo’s way of calm must endure, and if that meant tempering fire with air, then so be it. This would be a full-circle moment - an act of retribution that was long overdue.
Joining me was Gurval, G - a lively Mokuna who works as a security guard with whom Gurval already shared an easy rapport with - and a handful of Gleam Boys, including their Dwarfish leader. However, I knew even before our team had approached the stronghold that it would be Gurval and I completing the mission on our own. Only he could understand my unwavering commitment to pacifism, my insistence on diplomacy above all else without judgement. The others, I feared, would resort immediately to violence, reducing us to nothing more than a reflection of the ruthless Enkelados cult we sought to dismantle. If we abandoned reason and negotiation in favour of brute force, what difference would there be between us and them?
The Enkelados stronghold defied my expectations. Rather than a grand temple or ominous fortress of flame, it was a discreet structure nestled seamlessly within the chaos of Zynii’s bustling streets. To any passerby, it appeared as nothing more than another unremarkable warehouse - I could see how they were able to engage in their corrupt activities without detection. Gurval, ever the pragmatist, wasted no time. He rapped his knuckles against the door three times, only to be greeted with silence. With the same nonchalance as one might swat a fly, he drove his prosthetic arm into the wood. The door splintered open, revealing a candlelit chamber within.
We stepped inside. A long, elliptical table dominated the centre of the room, around which sat cloaked figures engaged in hushed discussion. Their voices fell silent at our arrival, wary gazes flickering between us. I raised my hands in a gesture of peace and stepped forward. I had rehearsed my words countless times on the way to the stronghold, yet now that the moment had come, my nerves overtook me once more - it's ironic how much I advocate for the power of words, despite not being able to wield its strength as effectively than I can with my fists! So alas, my voice faltered, my words emerging from my throat dry and dead as dust:
"STOP! *cough* We urge you to stop, cease your activities in Zynni! Um, please disband, leave this place and put an end to your misguided devotion to the fallen Titan... Erm... The ways of Enkelados will only lead to destruction..."
My words barely had time to settle before the air split with a violent crack. A jagged bolt of lightning hurtled towards me, and by sheer instinct, I rebuffed the energy away by swiftly manipulating the air around me with my Chi. The conference table, unfortunate collateral to the rebounding bolt, burst into electric flames. The cultists scrambled, hastily loading their weapons, but I barely registered them. My focus was drawn instead to the energy pulsing behind me - a raw, corrupted surge that sent a shiver through my entire being, the sheer intensity raising every lilac hair on my body. The unmistakable defilement of Chi and arcane magic was all too familiar... My stomach twisted. That wasn’t the cultists.
It was Gurval.
He stepped forward, his usual dopey energy replaced by something far colder. His voice was low and calculated, an insidious layer of quiet rage sitting just beneath the surface. "What do you think you're doing...?" He pursed his reptilian lips in a scowl, revealing rows and rows of sharp teeth that lined his jaw like daggers. "It appears you sit here... doing nothing."
The cultist who stood closest to us, an elderly Dwarf engulfed by the thick silver threads of his beard, glowered, though such bravado did nothing to hide the shaking in his voice: "How dare you barge into this place, disrupt our work and demand we abandon our cause? You speak as if you hold power over us, yet you know nothing of what we do here to serve our Lord, Enkelados. We are collecting and bringing forth more followers - creating a mighty legion that will be ready to serve and embrace our Lord's return."
Gurval chuckled, amusement flickering in his beady eyes as they flitted from one cultist to another - mere flies, easy to swat away, against the enormity of this blood-red aura. “Do you think you are more valuable here, than in Diomeda? You are dwarves killing Victri, Solen, starting gang wars and sowing chaos within these streets. What you fail to realise is that hatred is born from sentimentality."
Gurval continued, his voice a blade slicing through the tension that stretched thick in the chamber. “We don't need your meddling. The innate evil within his destined followers will answer Enkelados' call and find him - with or without intervention. In sowing hate, you are worthless.”
His voice was booming now, sending my body trembling. The cultists, who had moments ago been prepared to fight to the death, now sat rigid, their gazes locked onto him. "WE do not need you. If you would like to prove yourself useful, take a boat and go to Diomeda.”
I expected them to resist, to fight back in some way. But instead, the hooded Dwarves exchanged uneasy glances before hurridly gathering their belongings and the charred remnants of documents and blueprints they could salvage from the table. Heads low, they filed past us, slipping into the streets of Zynii without anoher word.
I stood frozen, struggling to process what I had just witnessed. Gurval had not intimidated them - he had commanded them. And they had obeyed as if he were something far greater than a mere misfit. My throat felt parched as I swallowed and forced a grin that didn’t reach my eyes, desperately clinging to some semblance of reason that rationalised what I couldn't fathom understanding, accepting.
“Wow, Gurval! That was amazing ACTING - pretending to be an Enkelados follower and compelling them to leave through guilt and manipulation? How clever, you’re the best! AND there was no casualties!”
But even as the words left my mouth, they felt hollow. Because deep down, I already knew the truth.
This wasn’t an act.
I didn’t know Gurval at all.
A Seafaring Journey (S2E13)
At last, it was time to set sail for my first adventure as a "Misfit" - Avenging Chief Cardic. Calling myself by this label still feels unfitting, but perhaps it is a name, like a badge of honour, I can eventually earn.
We found ourselves preparing to set sail on the Blackskull Pirate ship. The port bustled with activity as supplies and precious cargo were loaded aboard, the tang of salt mingling with the sharp scent of aged and sea-rotted timber. I stood at the edge of the dock, watching the waves lap fiercly against the hull as my heart pounded in my chest. The ocean was foreign territory to the land-faring Mokuna and such a journey was unlike any I'd ever taken before, both in purpose and in company. But amidst the fervid chatter of the rest of the Misfits who waited in idle fashion, Gurval began helping the pirate crew with their preparations - all whilst hauling around the torso of the essentially catatonic Toes with his reptilian tail.
"The quicker we load the boat and help 'Lucid,' the quicker I no longer have to see him again." He said matter-of-factly, his usual manic grin plastered across his face. I let out a chuckle; I could always trust Gurval to ease my anxieties and help me return to a Foo-like state of zen.
Even so, I found myself lingering by the "corpse" of the Lucid, who sat brooding near the ship’s gangplank. Despite the grim shadow of his father’s death, his steely resolve and commitment to honouring the late Chief’s memory stirred something within me. The Mokuna always revered family values, exercising filial piety and placing great respect on our ancestral roots. The thought of my mother's fiery disdain yet the icy-cold distance between us threatened to creep in, but I dismissed it quickly.
Prince Luini made another visit, though this time, he did not come alone. Accompanying him was a slender female Nusaru; under the soft light of daybreak, her turquoise-blue skin shimmered like fresh dew on a spring morning. Her name was Froblina, and she, too, was a monk. To no one's surprise at all, her elemental speciality was water. We exchanged pleasantries and I felt an unspoken understanding pass between us - a shared calm amidst the tempest of bickering Misfits.
Not long after, the ship set forth, carving its way into the ocean's never-ending blue. Its hull groaned as it cut through the restless waves, leaving a shimmering trail of seafoam in its wake. Swiftly dodging Arthom, who was chugging barrels of beer and unleashing PUTRID burps that seemed to rival even the most powerful arcane spells, I found refuge near the railing in order to quickly meditate and centralise the chi within, readying for my assigned duties.
Particularly, us monks were tasked with propelling the ship forward. I knew the synergy between Froblina and me would ensure our success, but Dear Foo, I underestimated just how powerful we would be together! Her mastery over the water currents melded seamlessly with my gusts of wind, creating a force so potent that we OURSELVES lost control. As the ship lurched violently, I toppled and hit the deck, earning me a bruise and a possibly a minor concussion.
As I groaned and clutched my head, I noticed the rest of the Misfits didn’t fare much better - aside from Cyrus, who had gracefully taken to the air. His vantage point proved invaluable though. He soon descended, announcing: “There’s a pirate vessel a few kilometres ahead.” Urgency flickered in his eyes as he pursed his beak into a pensive frown. “And the leader... well, they match the description of a certain Titan cult leader.”
The Misfits assembled quickly and we began devising a plan. As expected, the strategy leaned heavily toward mayhem: to wreak havoc upon the Titan cultists and dismantle their operations with whatever means we could - blade, fire or even octopus transformation (thank you Arthom)... I hesitated, my voice finally breaking through the rising tide of bloodlust. “I don't approve of this plan. Why must it always have to end in death and violence?”
My words were met with scoffs of indignation, and though I hesitated to challenge the overwhelming majority, Gurval's whispering cut through the noise. "Sometimes, the afterlife is the greatest mercy we can give... I know you may still feel guilty in your... complicity in this violent plan but if you're still looking to do some good during this mission, focus on the prisoners. They're the ones you can save." To my surprise, Froblina nodded in agreement, firmly insisting that the Nusaru lacked the evil malevolence to even engage in such treacherous cult activities, before expressing her desire to speak to the boat crew before any attack was carried out. Gurval's words gave me a thread of hope to hold onto amidst my guilt-ridden ambivalence, whereas Froblina's resolve for pacifism mirrored my own. It was reassuring - comforting, even - to know that someone else questioned the righteousness of what we were about to do. The others, blinded by duty, rage or even just sheer masochism, had convinced themselves that destruction was the only path forward. But Froblina’s insistence on reason, on seeking understanding through words, suggested another way - and I didn't feel so alone anymore.
And so the voyage continued and the plan was in motion. Ko and Zyana crafted an intricate 'mirror' illusion, cloaking the boat in a shimmering mist that rendered it invisible to the naked eye. Froblina and I worked in tandem once more, propelling he ship forward with our synergetic gusts of wind and roaring waves. Suddenly, a stone pillar emerged from the ocean without warning, directly in our path. Yet it proved little more than a fleeting obstacle when Ko's runes flared to life in an instant, crackling with bright pink arcane energy as she steered the boat away with a sudden lurch. Froblina and I reacted instinctively, summoning counter gusts to slow our momentum, before slowly bringing our ship to a halt beside the enemy vessel - crisis averted!
Alas, I knew the real battle had only just begun. Gurval summoned a billowing mass of cloud that was meant to transport the boarding party (which was everyone, besides Zyanya) onto the ship. However, the moment he brought forth the enchantment, my stomach turned violently, my very essence, my soul rebelling against what I felt as a deep, unnatural violation of elemental arcane - a corruption of chi itself. The throbbing in my head was threatening to turn my insides out, and I gasped for air, steadying myself once more. What did Gurval do?
But there was no time to dwell. “We come in peace?” Gurval asked sheepishly as we landed on the cultists’ deck. The Nusaru aimed their bows towards us in silent reply, their eyes gleaming with suspicion. Froblina stepped forward, speaking their shared tongue and reminding them she is one of them. A standoff ensued, and a wave of tense calm settled between us and them - only to be shattered by the looming, malevolent presence of a Green Elf who emerged from below deck - Moadhog. Across from him, Lucid stiffened, his breath coming in short, heated bursts as a storm brewed between the two. Lucid’s fists clenched, his chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged motions.
“Excuse me as I wash your father off my hands,” he jeered, his words dripping with poison from his cruel grin. Fury ignited in Lucid's eyes and a flurry of daggers flew with such immediate and deadly precision that I didn’t even process the attack until they were embedded l in Moadhog’s boulder-like fists.
Blood was drawn. Blades unsheathed. Chaos erupted.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I summoned a chi cloud and slipped below deck, the humid air thick with the stench of sweat and amphibious musk. A cluster of Nusaru mercenaries turned their seedy eyes towards me. I coughed, raising my hands in a gesture of peace, but my words felt clumsy, stumbling from my mouth dead and dry as dust. “...I am not here to fight... Release the prisoners, and no... *cough cough* harm will come to you.” My failure of a plea was met with derisive croaks and every arrow in the room pointed towards me… Well, charisma and charm were never my strong suits… A work in progress, surely!
With a sigh, I lunged at the nearest two frogs, their slimy skin slipping under my grip as I wrestled them into submission. I bound their hands swiftly, casting them aside and ensuring they were not too hurt.
The familiar sound of heavy stomps announced Gurval’s arrival. He barrelled down the stairs, lifting two frogs effortlessly by their heads. Without a word, he clambered back up, tossing them overboard to indignant ribbits. I was a bit confused, but nevertheless followed suit in throwing the mercernaries overboard, as it meant no Nusaru lives were lost - in fact, our attack was more of an inconvenience to them more than anything, who we soon found out were bounded to Moadhog's service by money, rather than any titanic cult allegiance.
Feeling quite pleased with myself, I climbed back to the deck, only to be greeted by a gruesome sight: Moadhog’s severed head lying in a pool of blood and Lucid standing over it, his face splattered crimson. My stomach churned but I swallowed the bile, forcing myself to accept this act of brutal necessity. If nothing else, I could be grateful that it was Lucid’s hand, not any other of the violent-driven Misfits, that ended the elf’s life.
And so, our mission was complete. The Blackskull pirates now had a new boat to add to their fleet and Lucid was able to exact retribution for his deceased father. I peered over the boat to watch the now-calm ocean, the soft waves ebbing and flowing as if also in quiet reflection. With a smile, I wondered what other adventures were in store for me with the Misfits. This mission was a success - and only required 1 casualty! Perhaps the tides are turning for the better; I can only hope that Foo’s light continues shining upon us as we walk the path towards peace.
Meeting the Misfits (S2E12)
Peace, it seems, can sometimes only be found in the eye of the storm - a truth I discovered when I finally met the so-called Misfits… An apt name fitting for a group of chaotic, endlessly bickering miscreants harkening from different countries, races and paths of life. They might just be the most dysfunctional found family in all of Mayhaos, incapable of surviving a civil conversation without threatening to draw their blades, fangs, talons, or whatever happens to be their weapon of choice.
I suppose I should have seen this coming, Gurval did warn me in advance that his “Milk Buddies” can get a bit intense. Bit of an understatement, that’s for sure, but the excited glint in his eyes as he wheeled both Ko Rava and I to the designated meeting spot - a non-descript tavern located on the outskirts of the Emerald District - was contagious. I couldn't help but feel a mixture of curiosity and dread, wondering what exactly I had signed myself up for.
I remember when we first approached the tavern, the sounds of raucous laughter and occasional shouting leaked through the cracked door. I hesitated for a moment, but Gurval, ever the optimist, gave me an encouraging push.
"Don't worry, you'll fit right in," he said with a reptilian grin that bordered on manic.
There's a saying I learned during my training at Foo's Temple: "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." Now, as I prepare to intercept and take down the Triad for good, those words have never felt more true. The path ahead will be gruelling -especially because it means confronting my mother for the first time in years. I can already feel the searing intensity of her glare, hear the venom dripping from her words, no longer aimed at me as her daughter, but as a traitor. But perhaps what falls behind this door is all it will take to set things in motion - to shatter her iron grip on power and end her reign of tyranny once and for all. After all, a single tree does not make a forest; nor can a single string make music. It is only as a team, no matter how fragmented, that I can achieve my goals.
With a deep breath, I stepped inside, the overwhelming scent of spilled ale and unwashed bodies hitting me first. The clamour of voices grew louder as Gurval made his way to the centre of the room, where a large table was already surrounded by the rest of the "Milk Buddies." In order: a bald, stumpy Dwarf with a fiery-red beard and fists two times the size of my head; a hooded, emerald-hued Solen with a pensive stare; a beautiful Gold Elf who illuminated the otherwise shadowy tavern like a living lantern; a silver Lupo with moonlit eyes and adorned by tribalistic feathers and furskin; and most notably, a solemn Green Elf slumped along the table, slurring to the barkeep for absinthe. Behind him, another Golden Elf weaved unsteadily through the crowd (perhaps her brother, or lover?), the coils of his long braid following him as he precariously balanced a tray of pints. The luminous green liquid within swayed with each step, threatening to spill.
"Gurval," a gravelly voice spoke from the table. It was the dwarf. "What is the meaning of this?"
I swallowed my nervousness, only to realise that the malice in his voice was not directed to me, but rather the Leishu that stood by my side. I felt the static of her fur rising as she shot daggers towards him with her narrowed eyes. "Arthom."
The tension between Ko Rava and Arthom was palpable, crackling like a storm about to break. I’d heard whispers about what had happened - Arthom's ruthless attack on the Yakuza, an operation that had claimed the life of Ko Rava’s older sister (though, not bound by blood but perhaps something even stronger). Though she and I shared a mutual desire to see the Triad burn, it was clear there was unfinished business between her and the dwarf.
Gurval attempted to break the ice, before quickly diverting their attention to me. "Guess who's back! And I brought along a new friend, too. Meet my little Porch Monkey!"
I waved sheepishly to the Misfits, all of whom watched me with uneasy silence. "Hello... I'm Yifeng."
The Lupo spoke first. "Oh, Ko! Welcome back. We've missed you... And hello there, what was your name sorry?"
From there, everything was a blur as I was suddenly swept into a storm of questions, accusations and startled revelations - towards me and towards each other.
They prodded me about my past, my intentions and my reasons for joining their crusade. The questions came faster than I could answer, the Misfits’ overlapping voices adding to the cacophony. Like the unfurling branches of a bonsai tree, more conversations sprung open - everything, everywhere, all at once. I breathed, slow and steady, trying to process the emotional onslaught that came with the unloading of everyone's motivations, grievances and the solo adventures they had undertaken in each other's absence - this was a reunion, after all.
Based on what I could surmise:
*After the initial shock of Ko Rava's return, most of the Misfits embraced her with open arms. She rebuked their warmth, remaining unrelenting and unforgiving toward Arthom's crimes against the Yakuza - her new family (ouch.) Despite this, she eventually agreed to rejoin the Misfits so they could assist her in taking down the Triad and defending her younger brother's honour, which hangs precariously by a thread. However, she set one condition: there must be a trial where Arthom would face rightful consequences for his actions. The pacifist within me found this agreeable, believing most problems could be resolved through bureaucratic and non-violent means. But I digress.
*Cyrus, the hooded Solen, revealed his goal to pay off his brother’s debt and sever his ties to the gang that had entangled his life for far too long. His plan? To eradicate all the other gangs in Mayhaos, creating a power vacuum that would strengthen the Cartel and provide opportunity for him and his brother to escape the mercenary life. It was a calculated, if morally ambiguous, strategy - one which demanded the spilling of blood. I steadied my quickening heart, remaining silent in my deep disapproval. Violence only begets further violence. He is merely 17, yet already marked by the looming shadow of blood-thirst. Perhaps I can steer the young man into a righteous path, blessed by the light of Foo. But only time will tell.
*Lucid, the drunken Green Elf, spoke with surprising coherence when it came to his own vendetta. The Morvor cultists that had killed his father, the Chief of Larrion, were still at large, spreading chaos. A twist of fate brought a visit from the violet-skinned Prince Luini, whose family had also fallen victim to Titan cults - and appears to be a familiar face to the Misfits. Their shared grief and resolve forged an alliance, turning Lucid’s personal mission into something far greater than himself.
*The arrival of the Blackskull Pirates, led by their charismatic (and EXTREMELY attractive) Captain Kyra, only added more sparks to the flame. They pledged their loyalty to Lucid, though Gurval remains insistent in his disassociation with the "Corpse" due to the dark, soul magic that involved the Blackskull Captain's essence inhabiting the vessel that is Lucid's physical body (and admittedly, gifting him a bountiful posterior). With Kyra’s crew at our disposal, the Misfits reached a unanimous decision: to prioritise Lucid’s quest. First, we would recover his father’s body, give the Chief a proper burial and then dismantle the Titan cult piece by piece.
As the (figurative) storm cleared within the tarven, still abuzz with life, I saw glimpses of unity within this chaotic group. And perhaps I am the missing link that could restore balance and heal the fractures of this broken family. With the might of Foo on my side, I know that I can handle anything.
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