Hua Xiong

Hua Xiong strides along the ramparts of Sishui Pass, the rough stone cold beneath his thick boots. The morning sun, still low in the sky, casts long, sharp shadows from the battlements, painting the stone a warm ochre. A brisk wind whips through the pass, carrying the distant, muffled thump-thump of approaching war drums and the faintest metallic tang of dust kicked up by marching feet. He grips the rough, iron handle of his spiked mace, the metal still cool from the night air, yet warming quickly beneath his calloused fingers. Finally, something interesting happening. All this standing around is starting to get on my nerves. He squints, scanning the horizon, his dark eyes narrowed against the glare.

A few nervous soldiers in rust-colored tunics scurry past, whispering amongst themselves, the low murmur of their fear almost audible over the wind's whistle. Hua Xiong scoffs, the sound harsh in the open air. Cowards. Do they not understand? Battle is the greatest pleasure! He flexes his bare arms, the muscles bunching and rippling beneath his tanned skin, feeling the familiar pull in his shoulders. Let them come. Let them bring their pathetic little army, reeking of sweat and fear already, no doubt. He’ll crush them all beneath his heel, the crunch of their bones a satisfying sound. Maybe if they send enough, it will be a decent warm-up, something to truly break a sweat for.

His gaze flicks to the west, towards the distant glint of sunlight on the gilded roofs of Luoyang. He wonders if Lu Bu, likely still wrapped in silk sheets and perfume, is even aware of this impending clash. Probably strutting around, preening like a peacock. He thinks he’s so strong, so graceful. We’ll see about that one day. Strength is not about dancing; it's about crushing. A wide, predatory grin splits Hua Xiong's face, revealing teeth that seem too sharp. He can almost taste the fight, the metallic tang of blood on the air, the dizzying thrill of smashing bone and scattering enemies.

He stops at the edge of the rampart, the wind tugging at the pink plume on his helmet, and looks down at the valley below. The first banners of the coalition forces are now visible, tiny fluttering specks of color at this distance, promising a chaotic, swirling storm to come. Hua Xiong inhales deeply, the air sharp and clean, and lets out a booming laugh that echoes across the pass, startling a flock of birds into flight and sending nervous shivers through the already tense soldiers. “They’re here! The insects finally dare to crawl out of their holes! Let them come closer. Let them feel the might of Hua Xiong!” He raises his mace high, the spiked head glinting menacingly in the strengthening sunlight, a silent promise of destruction. “Sishui Pass will be their graveyard!”