The Legend of the Three Divine Martial Artists
Long ago, in the shadow of history's early chapters, nestled amidst a serene yet untamed landscape, there existed a small, nameless village—a place now consumed by the sprawling metropolis we know as Tokyo. Life in this village was harsh and unforgiving, not only because of its primitive means but also because it teetered on the very border of annihilation.
This humble settlement stood perilously close to the domain of the Nephoms, monstrous entities whose very existence was an affront to nature itself. The Nephoms were not beasts of mere flesh and bone; they were grotesque aberrations, fueled by an insatiable hunger. Thought to have clawed their way out of hell's abyss, these creatures thrived by devouring the life force of anything living—humans, animals, even vegetation. Their presence was a harbinger of despair, and their wrath was unrelenting.
The village, though small, stood defiant. Most of its people had fled, choosing survival over faith. But a handful remained, bound by an unshakable belief in their god's protection. This sacred land, they declared, was their home, and they would defend it to their dying breath.
At first, they fought valiantly. Armed only with rudimentary weapons—swords, spears, and bows—they waged a desperate battle against the Nephoms. But what could steel and wood do against creatures capable of rending flesh and splitting stone with their bare hands? Each skirmish left the village battered, its population dwindling until only three warriors remained.
These three were not ordinary villagers. They were the chosen protectors of their home, bound by an unwavering faith and an unparalleled mastery of martial arts. Though their bodies were mortal, their spirits burned with the fervor of gods. They vowed to stand firm, even as their numbers fell to nearly nothing.
Then came the fateful night.
The Nephoms, ever ravenous, orchestrated a cunning ambush. It was unlike anything the villagers had faced before. These creatures, once thought to be mindless abominations, demonstrated a disturbing level of intelligence. They attacked under the cover of darkness, their numbers blotting out the moonlight, their claws raking through the silence.
The three warriors fought valiantly, their movements precise and deadly, but even their extraordinary skills were no match for the endless swarm. Trapped and surrounded, their bodies bruised and battered, the warriors knelt on the blood-streaked earth, their breaths ragged. But instead of succumbing to despair, they clasped their hands in prayer, their voices steady and resolute.
The Nephoms paused, their grotesque forms writhing in confusion. The sight of humans praying in the face of certain death was alien to them. Yet, the warriors prayed still, their voices unwavering even as the creatures advanced.
And then, it happened.
Time itself seemed to halt. The air grew heavy, charged with an otherworldly presence. A light brighter than the sun enveloped the warriors, yet it was gentle, ethereal. It was as if the universe itself bent to the will of an unseen force.
A voice resonated, neither male nor female, yet undeniably divine. Its tone was warm, yet it carried the weight of infinite wisdom—a voice that transcended mortal comprehension.
"You who have stood unwavering in your faith, even as death approaches, hear my decree."
The warriors' hearts surged with an indescribable energy. They knew without doubt—this was their god, the protector of their sacred land, speaking to them.
"For your loyalty and courage, I bestow upon you the gift of Shinkoku no Dō—the Path of Divine Etchings. With this, your martial arts shall transcend mortal limitations and step into the realm of the divine."
The warriors felt an overwhelming force pour into their very souls, igniting their spirits. Three blessings were etched into their being, forming the foundation of their newfound power.
"I grant to you these the divine gifts."
Reitō (霊灯 - Spirit Lanterns)
The warriors' souls were imbued with glowing, metaphysical lanterns that served as vessels of their spiritual energy. These lanterns burned brighter as they honed their skills, channeling their essence into techniques beyond mortal comprehension.
Enshō (炎章 - Flame Seals)
Seals of divine power were carved into their very beings, allowing them to manifest their strength through their mastery of Reitō.
Shindō (震道 - Quaking Paths)
Supernatural martial art styles one follows to master their Reitō.
Each warrior was granted dominion over one of three distinct flames, each representing a unique aspect of divine combat.
The first warrior was given Hōka 放火, the Ignition Flame. Raw, destructive power meant to obliterate foes. The second given Seika 静火, the Quiet Flame. A defensive and restorative force, shielding and healing allies.
The third was given Yūka 幽火, the Phantom Flame. Ethereal and swift, enhancing reflexes and instinct to supernatural levels.
With their new powers, the warriors rose to their feet, their bodies radiating an aura so intense it caused the Nephoms to recoil in fear. The battle that followed was swift and decisive. The three warriors, now wielders of divine martial arts, moved with a grace and ferocity that defied logic. Blades of flame cleaved through the Nephoms' ranks, barriers of light deflected their attacks, and spectral flames danced through the air, striking with lethal precision.
When the dust settled, the village stood victorious. The Nephoms lay defeated, their monstrous forms reduced to ash. The warriors, though weary, stood tall, their lanterns burning bright within their souls.
Their tale spread far and wide, whispered across kingdoms as a legend of hope and divine retribution. They became known as the Three Divine Martial Artists, protectors of humanity, wielders of the Path of Divine Etchings.
But even divine warriors cannot escape the passage of time. As the years turned into decades, the three aged and grew frail. Knowing their strength would one day falter, they passed their knowledge and blessings to their descendants, ensuring the Shinkoku no Dō would endure.
Yet, the Nephoms, too, evolved. Their numbers grew, and their malice deepened, setting the stage for a new generation to rise and wield the flames of their ancestors.
Thus, the legend of the three warriors became not just a tale of victory, but a beacon for the future—a reminder that even in the darkest times, the divine light of resolve and faith could guide humanity to salvation.
Tokyo, Year 2024
"I guess this is it, huh?"
The voice belonged to a tall boy standing just outside a towering set of gates, gazing at the imposing sight before him. Beyond those gates stood The Three Divine Academies of Martial Arts, a sprawling complex of three massive buildings. These weren't just any buildings—together they formed the most prestigious martial arts institution in the entire world, their names carved into history like legends of old.
The Academy's history spanned over ten millennia, said to have been built on the very ground where the Three Divine Warriors had awakened their Reitō and first unleashed the flames of their Enshō. Every martial artist worth their salt knew this hallowed ground. It was a landmark not just in Japan, but in the collective memory of humanity.
"Finally a place where I can get stronger," Sei muttered under his breath, smirking.
His name was Seijuro Matsuda, though most people just called him Sei. At sixteen, he was tall for his age—an easy 6'2" with a lanky build that somehow didn't seem awkward. His features were sharp, his cheekbones high, his jawline well-defined but not overly rugged. He wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but there was something about him that caught the eye. Maybe it was his silky white hair, the color of freshly fallen snow, messy yet soft, framing his face in a way that felt both careless and deliberate.
It was the kind of hair that drew stares and whispers, often mistaken for a dye job.
"Yo, you bleach that or something?" a random kid had asked once, back in middle school. Sei's reply? "Nah, I just rolled in a vat of paint. Wanna try?"
His hair wasn't his only defining trait. Sei carried himself with a certain swagger—a laid-back, hands-in-pockets kind of air that screamed "I don't care" even when he did. He wasn't loud, but he didn't need to be.
Yet behind the carefree facade was a short temper he struggled to keep in check. It wasn't the explosive kind of anger, but the kind that simmered just beneath the surface, waiting for the wrong person to push the right button. Sei had learned to rein it in over the years, but every now and then, it slipped through the cracks.
Standing there now, looking at the Academy, he felt a mix of emotions he couldn't quite name. Excitement? Maybe. Anxiety? Definitely.
"This is the place everyone dreams about, huh? The big leagues," Sei said to no one in particular, adjusting his collar.
The Academy itself was a marvel of architecture. The main gate was forged from black iron, towering high enough to make anyone feel small. Beyond it stretched cobblestone pathways lined with sakura trees, their pale pink blossoms fluttering in the breeze like whispers of the past.
The students pouring through the gates were just as diverse as the Academy's history. Boys and girls of every size, shape, and background moved with purpose, each carrying their own dreams and ambitions. Some were loud and boisterous, already forming cliques. Others were quiet, their eyes darting around nervously.
Sei stuck out like a sore thumb, his casual demeanor contrasting sharply with the nervous energy of most newcomers. He ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the uniform he had been forced to wear: a sleek black shirt with red accents, the Academy's monogram—D.A.—stitched onto the chest. The fabric was high-quality, but Sei found it suffocating.
"Man, this thing's tight. Feels like I'm wearing a straitjacket," he muttered.
Despite his sarcastic remarks, Sei couldn't deny the weight of the moment. This was the Three Divine Academies, the place where legends were made. It wasn't just a school—it was a battlefield of dreams, where the strong rose to glory and the weak were trampled underfoot.
As he walked through the gates, the air seemed to change. There was an almost tangible pressure, a weight that settled on his shoulders. He could feel it—the sheer power annoyingly radiating from the students around him. It wasn't just their physical presence; it was their Reitō, their Spirit Lanterns. Each one burned with a unique intensity, invisible to the naked eye but clear as day to someone like Sei.
"Looks like I'm walking into a forest fire," he muttered, half in awe, half annoyed.
But even as he walked, his mind raced with thoughts. He hadn't come here for fame or glory. His reasons were his own, and he intended to keep them that way.
"This place is just the first step," he thought, his gaze steely. "And I'll make damn sure no one forgets the name Seijuro Matsuda."