In the West, gods wage war for glory—Ares thirsts for blood, and Mars for conquest.
But in the East, there was once a god who fought not for victory, but for freedom. His name was Chi You, born from iron and storm.
They say he rose from the southern mists, his body forged from bronze, his breath a gust of thunder. When the Emperor of Flame ruled the tribes of men, Chi You led his own—the people of smoke and ore—those who lived by the hammer, who shaped the bones of the earth. To them, he was not a monster, but a savior.
When heaven decreed that one ruler must command all under the sky, Chi You refused. "The sky has no walls," he said. "Why should men?" He gathered his armies and marched north, drumming upon shields that rang like the heartbeats of mountains. The sky darkened with storm, and the fields turned to mud beneath their march.
The Yellow Emperor met him on the plain of Zhuolu. For three days, the battle raged. Chi You summoned a fog so thick that even the sun forgot its way; lightning danced across his horns, and his blade burned with the color of blood. But the emperor, guided by the compass of heaven, called upon his dragons and tore the mist apart.
When the storm cleared, Chi You stood alone amid the dead, his breath shallow, his armor shattered. The emperor offered him mercy. He only laughed. "You can chain the body," he said, "but never the storm."
They say his laughter echoed long after his head fell, and the wind carried it across the plains. Even now, when thunder rolls over the northern mountains, people whisper that it is Chi You riding again—reminding heaven that rebellion, too, is divine.
For the gods may rule the world, but it is the defiant who make it move.