Monsters · Phantom Blade Zero

Blackwater Crew disciples wearing fish headed diving helmets and wielding spears. Their sweeping strikes crash like waves, while they leap with the agility of fish. They can also hurl their spears through the air to impale their prey. The diving helmets were originally used for their underwater techniques and shaped like fish as a good luck charm, wishing them to feel as at home in the water as fish. But ever since they began wearing the helmets tightly fastened all day to suppress Sha-Chi, their heads have started to look more and more like fish.

Puppets wielding razor-sharp, iron-toothed umbrellas. As their canopies spin, they unleash one deadly attack after another, yet their movements are dazzling and graceful, for the Lady of the Veil favors all things elegant. The minds transferred into these puppets once belonged to performers at the Mirage Estate. In days past, they danced with silk and paper parasols in the courtyards to delight their audiences. Now, they perform a dance of slaughter for the Lady. They have always fallen just short of becoming “Vessel-class” Puppets. But that does not matter. To serve the Lady is the highest honor, even if it means being shattered to pieces.

Kuye Temple monks subjected to Transcension, gripping heavy bronze staffs with ornate carvings at both ends. Their staff work remains skilled and disciplined, every chop, swing, thrust, and sweep reflecting years of rigorous training at the temple. The Sha-Chi surging from the tower’s core keeps the Sha-Chi within them under control. But once they stray too far from the tower, or anything disrupts that balance, they become mindless husks driven entirely by Sha-Chi.

Brutes armed with spiked shields and crude studded clubs. Agile as well as strong, they alternate shield and club with practiced timing. Rush too close, and the shield's barbs will catch you before a heavy club follows. They were village guards who underwent Transcension to protect their village and stand watch at night. Driven by Sha-Chi, they became the monsters that destroyed their village.

The ruined bodies of villagers, wholly ruled by Sha-Chi. Failed Transcension stripped away their minds and vitality. Unchecked bloodlust drives them to hack at anything before them, their swordplay wild but tireless. The Maskwalkers destroyed their village. The Transcension they hoped would save them destroyed everything that remained.

Malevolent archers in iron-blue masks. Their faces have long since become hollow, yet Transcension allows them to see distant enemies with perfect clarity. Their arrows fly swiftly and travel great distances. They favor high ground and concentrated volleys, relying on strength in numbers. The Mandate sent them to guard the Sha-Chi Tower. When one of their comrades suffered a grievous injury, they broke the Mandate's rules and used Transcension to save him. As expected, this brought the Mandate's severe punishment and pursuit. Bound by their oath to live and die together, they all underwent Transcension.

Bandits wielding a long-handled saber, clad in crude, worn armor and wearing thick masks to suppress Sha-Chi. Their saber skills are poor, and they often fling sand into their opponents’ eyes to obscure their vision, waiting for the chance to strike a killing blow. They had considered joining the Mandate and knew that gifts were expected before one could take a master. Yet no matter how many baskets of grain and cloth they offered, no one would bring them before a sect to seek admission. Enraged, they cut down several members of the Mandate, fled deep into the mountains, and used the power of Transcension to live as they pleased.

The ruined bodies of villagers, utterly ruled by Sha-Chi. They slash and hack wildly with their hoes. Their strength is modest, but their hands are swift. Perhaps they believe they are still at work, gripping the tools that tilled their fields, dimly remembering crop yields and the price of household necessities. But the fields have long lain fallow. There will be no autumn harvest.

Blackwater Crew disciples wearing fish headed diving helmets, wielding heavy blades with rounded, paddle like tips. Ill suited for thrusting, the weapons are instead used for rapid, powerful chops wreathed in surging Sha-Chi. Slamming the heavy blades into the water can also send massive waves crashing toward their enemies. At first, Perfect Transcension seemed to bring nothing but greater strength, while leaving their minds perfectly clear. Impressed by its effects, they urged their friends to undergo it as well, eager to strengthen their ranks and wipe out the Maskwalkers.

Tall puppets in the shape of women, able to "give birth" to wooden children that land on their feet and scamper about at once. No one knew who first spread the recipe: boil a silk flower inscribed with prayers for a child in the medicine bestowed by the Herald, drink it, then sleep with a red flower over your face. Sons and daughters would surely follow. They obeyed with trembling hearts, bewildered to wake as wooden puppets. Then, in an instant, bewilderment gave way to delight: they could "bear children" whenever they wished... Hee-hee. The Lady truly answered prayers!

Puppets in the likeness of children, forever lively and mischievous. They skip merrily about, then catch the unwary with a sudden shoulder charge or a few swift kicks as they run past. These puppets have form but no substance, existing somewhere between the real and the unreal. They can injure others at will, yet remain untouchable as phantoms... The art of making such puppets should be known only beyond the frontier.

Bandits with some skill in flame saber techniques, they have a taste for flashy red. Their armor may be crude, but their red clothing is hard to miss. They often linger near fire pits, and when enemies appear, they ignite their oil soaked blades and lash out wildly with weapons wreathed in flame. Fire can drive off wild beasts, but it can also level the difference between strong and weak. They draw strength from fire, and Transcension is simply another flame for them to draw upon.

Blue-robed swordsmen whose faces have become hollow voids. Already more accomplished than the white-robed disciples they commanded, their swordplay grew still more formidable after Perfect Transcension: swift as the wind, ruthless and sure. Having undergone Transcension, willingly or otherwise, they were enemies of the Mandate with nowhere left to turn. Pangzhen, too, had become a dead town. No refuge awaited them there. Yet still they longed to escape the Mandate Camp and make their way into Pangzhen, to see their home one last time. Perhaps they could even save a few neighbors or loved ones...

Complete puppets with powerful male forms. More finely crafted and made from sturdier materials than their village counterparts, their bodies resist breaking even when riddled with cracks. As though pulled by strings, they twist unnaturally to deliver swift killing blows. The puppet makers erased the transferred minds' ability to feel pain, yet deliberately preserved their tenacity. These "weapons" became more relentless and fearless, as well as colder and more unfeeling.

Butchers touched by the cold. The virulent poison in their bodies has yet to fade, while their blades already carry a biting, icy Sha-Chi. They guard this snowfield, waiting to slaughter every intruder. For a long time, they have chewed frozen meat, constantly craving fresh, steaming food.

Purple-clad blade guards who have undergone Perfect Transcension, wielding crescent blades. Asweeping strike can knock back several enemies, while a charged overhead blow carries enough force to split metal and stone. As their purple robes billow, their long blades sweep across the ground with brutal force, leaving flesh and blood in their wake. To stand firm through a hundred battles was once a warrior’s fate and glory. Even death on the battlefield would have been an honorable end. But instead, they were dragged onto Transcension tables and twisted alive into inhuman Maskwalkers.

Hound trainers wearing sinister smiling masks. They know little of martial arts, but have no fear of pain. The many scars covering their bodies were mostly left by the claws of maddened hounds. As long as they are fiercer and more fearless than the beasts, they can command them at will. These hound trainers originally hoped to combine their taming techniques with Transcension to save dogs that had accidentally eaten the rotting corpses of those who underwent Transcension, and rein in their uncontrollable ferocity. Instead, the trainers themselves have become even more crazed than the hounds.

Brutes armed with a short blade and round shield. Their stances look convincing until the flaws show: too slow to begin, too quick to recover. When the shield rises, the legs are exposed. Still, their light feet can punish anyone who relies on strength alone. No master taught them these forms. They picked them up at market fighting rings and caravan resting places. Once, they hoped to save enough to seek a teacher. Then they counted the household grain and their elders' medicine, and put the dream aside... Transcension took only days, with no money and no journey required.

Thread-Binding killers in Big-Head Doll headpieces. Weeping faces, nimble hands and feet; the ice mist they spray can freeze an enemy’s limbs. Arts of endless change make up for their weak bodies and missing limbs. They trained long in ice and snow, breathing in the cold, and mastered the power to freeze a foe in an instant. They need not be trampled anymore. Now it is they who trample others.

Puppets in the form of musicians, cradling instruments carved from ice. At the touch of their fingers, chilling notes become frost blades, freezing everything around them. The consciousness sealed within them once belonged to renowned musicians, who once used music to give voice to joy and sorrow and the world of mortal life. Now, trapped within these frozen shells, they can only play notes of slaughter again and again.

Monks with skin that gleams like brass. Agile and sure-footed, they strike with measured force, their flesh and bones hardening like copper and iron in an instant. They circle and probe, then lunge through an opening with a crushing fist. They entered the Sha-Chi Tower to find their master from Kuye Temple, only to be ambushed. When the Sha-Chi Furnace exploded, it swallowed most of their fellow monks. The survivors fared little better. Molten copper infused with Sha-Chi forged their bodies as hard as copper and iron, but burned away their reason.

Yang Puppets skilled with spears and round brass shields. Their joints and balance have been finely tuned for fierce attacks and steady defense. Even when their shields shatter, they fight to the end with spears in hand. A puppet's body never tires, and the mind within can never sleep. It can only turn its hatred of captivity over and over in its wooden prison. They have no faces that can show anger, no throats or tongues to voice their anguish. These fractured minds have forgotten even how to vent their misery. All their fury must flow into the tips of their spears.

Mandate disciples armed with heavy mechanical crossbows, usually stationed on elevated platforms to keep watch. Though slowed by their heavy armor and weapons, they sound a sharp whistle at the first sign of danger before opening fire. If enemies close in, they swing the heavy crossbow mechanism like a blunt weapon. These sentries had long seen the Mandate's deep rooted corruption. Before Huangxing introduced Perfect Transcension, cleansing those old ills was little more than empty talk. Afterward, they finally had the power to purge them by force.

A girl wearing a Big-Head Doll headpiece, one half smiling brightly, the other weeping. She spent her days waiting for her father and her nights crying into her pillow. Perhaps her tears soaked one side of the headpiece, leaving it with this strange expression of joy and sorrow. Her father wanted her far from the violence of the Wulin and hoped she would live a peaceful, happy life. Before his death, he left a letter warning her against the temptations of evil spirits... but it never reached her. Without her father, she had nowhere to call home. She trusted the masked members of the Thread-Binding Sect, believing they could help her find him. Instead, they Transcended her and placed the headpiece on her, never to be removed. She still searches for her father, but has found only puppets as lonely and helpless as herself. She calls them “friends,” and together they stop passersby, searching for traces of their loved ones. Anyone who wishes to harm her must first get past her “friends.”

Puppets in the likeness of village elders, their heads wreathed in an eerie green glow. At the sight of someone, they tear off their heads and smash them against the ground. Moments later, the heads burst, spreading a vast cloud of poison. At first, the elders staunchly opposed turning the ancestral hall into a temple to the Lady. Anyone who suggested it was denounced for betraying the ancestors. As wooden puppets filled the village, their objections grew quieter. They even began wearing the red flowers bestowed by the Herald before they went to sleep.

Complete puppets with female forms, supple and agile. More finely crafted and made from lighter materials than their village counterparts, they bend their waists and limbs at impossible angles, as though pulled by strings, to deliver unexpected killing blows. The puppet makers stripped most memories, emotions, and humanity from the minds transferred into these bodies. All that remains is the instinct best suited to killing, and the conviction that they were born to be weapons.

Baishan disciples who wield paired daggers with light, agile footwork. They twist and dart close to their enemies, unleashing a flurry of thrusts. Rather than trying to match their speed, wait for an opening when they finish their attack. Their senior sisters argued at length over whether Perfect Transcension was a wicked art or a blessing. The younger disciples saw it more simply: if no one could say for certain, why not try it themselves? How, then... did they come to this?

Puppets dressed as scholars, with no books of the sages in their hands and no words of virtue on their lips. Only Chaos Fire pours from their mouths, eager to burn everything for the Lady. After more than a decade of arduous study, these scholars from humble homes left their village and slowly learned the truth: powerful families had every road to advancement in their grip. All their lofty ambitions were little more than a joke at the tables of the rich. Despairing, they returned to the village and worshipped the Lady day and night. Even in their dreams, they longed for her to send down a cleansing fire and raze the world's injustice.

Mandate archers who have undergone Transcension can loose a sudden rain of fire arrows, turning the earth into a sea of flame. In fire attacks, timing is everything: take advantage of the wind and wait for dry conditions. Fire Archers are adept at reading the situation, seizing the moment, and taking the advantage. When the Mandate descended into internal strife, it was no surprise that they quickly sided with those who had undergone Perfect Transcension.

Puppets shaped like old men, their faces twisted in agony. Perhaps something went awry when the villagers' minds were transferred into them. Before the village fell into decline, its people often argued over who had driven the Maskwalkers away. Some credited the heroes of the Mandate; others said the Lady had protected them. The peace-loving elders would always intervene: the Lady had sent the Mandate's heroes to save them all. In time, more and more puppets roamed the village, while fewer and fewer villagers remained awake. Now, however bitter the dispute, only grotesque puppets appear to settle it, wrenching off their own heads and hurling them at the quarrelers.

Kuye Temple monks subjected to Transcension, now standing watch within the Sha-Chi Tower. Day after day, scalding molten iron pours over their bodies, yet they remain motionless, as if they have become part of the steel tower itself. When living intruders enter, Sha-Chi stirs them into action, and they unleash the demon-subduing fist techniques they once practiced. Strange events have plagued Pangzhen of late. First came the incident at Mirage Estate, then the spread of the slumbering sickness. After worshippers reported strange noises from the Sha-Chi Tower, the monks left Kuye Temple to investigate the source.

Kuye Temple monks whose bodies seem cast from gold. Their ringed sabers gleam coldly, with iron rings lining the backs of the blades and clattering with every swing. After being subjected to Transcension, they used the last of their sanity to drive out those who had performed the procedure, then sealed themselves inside the Sha-Chi Tower.

The searing Sha-Chi within the great tower has forged these monks into living “Gold Men.” When they channel their power, their skin gleams like red gold, impervious to blades and spears, while their fists strike with tremendous force. However, powerful attacks with heavy weapons such as great axes can disrupt their stance and break through their protective Sha-Chi.

Thread-Binding killers wearing a Big-Head Doll Headpiece. In battle, they shake the rattle drums in their hands to bolster their companions, dancing and laughing to the beat. Their laughter is hollow and distorted, as though they were cheering and praying to some malevolent spirit. According to Thread-Binding teachings, rattle drums were once ritual objects before becoming children’s toys. These killers believe that children, being pure of heart, are especially receptive to the supernatural and can awaken the strange power sealed within the drums. To achieve this, they take drugs for years, causing both their bodies and minds to regress to a childlike state. Their rattle drums have indeed gained a measure of strange power, but they themselves have become frail and ill-suited to combat. Their only means of self-defense is a reckless headbutt before turning tail and fleeing.

Madwomen skilled with daggers, swift and light on their feet. They are poor at blocking and rarely engage enemies head-on, instead instinctively circling to the side and hurling several daggers in the blink of an eye. Those blades may once have been hidden beneath their pillows, kept only for self-defense. Transcension turned all their fear into murderous intent directed at anything living.

Puppets carved with simple, honest smiles can do nothing but smile forever. They smile when they fall on field ridges or stone roads, coating themselves in mud and cracking their wooden bodies. They smile when they lunge at the living, as though pulled by invisible strings.

Baishan Sect Guardians who have undergone Perfect Transcension. Wearing conical hats and flowing purple robes, they remain swift and deadly with the sword even as their faces have hollowed out, their movements like a bird flashing across the sky. They once trusted their fellow disciples enough to turn their backs to them, believing they stood together. Yet the blade still came from behind. Perhaps the greatest danger was never the Maskwalkers in front of them.

Songstress Puppets in snow-white robes, their hair pale as frost. They lunge at the living with sharp claws and twisted movements. Their once beautiful voices have become piercing screams, carrying a bitter cold that can freeze the blood of anyone who hears them. The medicine meant to keep them from becoming puppets instead left them as puppets under another's control. The Phantom Arts, songs, and dances they once relied on to make a living have all been turned into merciless means of killing.

Fierce birds with disheveled feathers and rotting skin, grown unnaturally large from feeding on the corpses of those transformed by Sha-Chi. Sha-Chi has warped their scavenging instincts, driving them to attack the living. They peck with their beaks and tear with their talons, greedily seeking fresh flesh.

Yang Puppets fitted with alloy hand cannons; the right hand is wholly replaced by a firearm. Destroying their opponents is the only meaning of their existence. They resemble an old friend of Soul’s. After losing his right arm, that friend too had a cannon fitted to make up for his missing limb. But Soul’s old friend was a man of flesh and blood, with feelings and honor... No one should become a weapon of slaughter like this.

Blackwater Crew disciples who underwent Transcension to improve their prowess in the water. Along with gill slits, they developed bulging eyes, broad mouths, thick lips, and blue-green scales: the very likeness of fish. These changes make them adept at hiding underwater and escaping through it. They also use their grotesque antics to mock their enemies before gathering their fellows for a concerted attack. Nowadays, these creatures can be found in almost any sizeable pond. Even they have likely forgotten their old boasts of helping the Mandate rid the world of Maskwalkers.

Brutes reeking of charred flesh and decay, their blue-black bodies now impervious to the searing flames of Chaos. Their bodies twisted and contorted, they hurl bottles of burning oil with all their strength, each one ablaze with the fires of Chaos. These brutes worship that chaotic flame. Lost in endless madness, only its fire can bring back the warmth and peace they once knew, gathered around the hearth.

Spear-and-Shield Yang Puppets wreathed in ghostly purple aura. Their shields bear a wrathful face with jaws thrown wide, meant to intimidate their foes. Their defense is solid as an iron wall, and the shield can spew Chaos Flame from its mouth. Their spear techniques are vicious and unpredictable, and even as cracks spread across their bodies, they never retreat. Chosen through ruthless trials and trained as weapons, they have long since lost the emotions they once had as humans. Whatever remains of their shattered consciousness is sustained by a single unwavering belief: when the Lady descends, she will grant them new bodies fit to walk the new world.

A graceful musician puppet cradling a zither. Beneath its clear, ringing notes lies deadly intent. Music meant for killing can no longer remain in harmony, so blocking its blue sound waves causes the lingering notes to rebound against it. As plague swept through Pangzhen, most of their fellow musicians fled, leaving them with no one to turn to. A man had promised to come for them so they could escape together. Clutching the zither they depended on, they waited and waited... But the one they longed for never came. Instead, they were met with the forbidden art of Soul Displacement.

A faceless man in purple rides hard along the main road in pursuit, one of the Order's killers. He excels at tracking down his targets and striking when they let their guard down. From afar, he can fire with deadly accuracy even at full gallop, coordinating seamlessly with his comrades. Up close, he uses the momentum of his charging horse to swing his double-ended blade in powerful, sweeping strikes. Those marked as prey often never sense his presence before gunfire cuts them down. Even if they somehow escape, it only means the Order's hunt has just begun.

Floating heads of Yin Puppets, their faces twisted into grotesque shapes. Within their shattered skulls burns an unending Chaos Flame. The horrors of the Discordance burned away their bodies and forced the consciousness trapped within to glimpse a terror capable of destroying everything, driving them forever into delirium and madness. They shriek almost without pause, desperate to force the horrifying abyss they once glimpsed into the minds of every living person they encounter.

Assassins of the Thread-Binding Sect, fighting with strange and unpredictable techniques. At times, they brace their blades against the ground and skim forward low to the earth. At others, they suddenly leap into the air and thrust with twin blades from twisted, unnatural angles. Once driven into a frenzy, they recklessly tear the long sword from the top of their head and lash out with vicious, rapid strikes. They polish their blades with the blood of the defeated, or let their own blood soak into the earth.

Thieves in brightly colored smiling masks, reckless in their ways and insolent in their beckoning taunts. They carry several firethorns, which they toss in quick succession as they mock their foes. Moments after landing, the explosives detonate with a roar, leaving a searing sea of fire.