Chapter 25
Houyi did not manage to catch the star god, for each time he came close, the god would don a new mask and disappear.
The archer grew too old for the hunt, his justice unfulfilled.
He spent the remainder of his days setting out cakes in offering to the moon goddess, the very same sweets she enjoyed when she still walked the earth.
“You must avenge her,” he said to his son upon his deathbed. “And if you cannot, then the duty will fall to your own son, and then his in turn.”
But revenge waxes and wanes, as does the moon. And eventually, it fades altogether.
The ninth star spent centuries exploring every corner of the world, slowly growing more dedicated to his craft. He found great pleasure in discovering new materials out of which to mold his growing collection of faces.
He had a distaste for marble, for it was a temperamental beast, oftentimes too difficult to handle.
Crafting masks from paper was far too delicate a task.
But clay… Clay was the perfect medium to hone his skills.
Easily molded and cool to the touch, he painted the faces of all those he happened upon.
Beggars and kings, heathens and holy men, the local whores and ladies of chaste repute.
With Death still on the hunt, he would don a human face and slip through the reaper’s fingers.
He’d change his mask as seamlessly as a leaf flowing along the current of a river.
He vowed never to rest until he found a way back to his throne on high.
But as the years dragged on, with no end to his exile in sight, the star god grew embittered. While the humans worshipped his surviving brother, the rest of his family was trapped in Hell. He never stayed in one place too long for fear of Death, and thus grew sullen and miserable in his isolation.
Until, that is, he stumbled upon a pack of peculiar creatures.
White fur, nine tails, and six obsidian eyes.
A family of nine-tailed foxes. Upon closer inspection, he saw that one of them—the smallest of the pack—had fallen into a pit, whimpering loudly as she clawed at the edges seeking purchase.
Her sisters could only look on, much too large to reach in and grab hold.
The star god was just about to walk away, unbothered and uncaring, when the trapped beast cried out a low, desperate howl.
He wasn’t sure what compelled him to turn back.
Demons were, after all, worse than the scum of the earth.
Born from shadow, their powers could sometimes rival that of the gods, however.
Their insatiable hunger, if left unchecked, could one day devour the world.
And yet, when he peered over the edge into the pit, he felt… compassion. How curious. Perhaps he needn’t be so hasty to abandon the beasts. It might be nice to have a few pets.
“Allow me,” he said, but was immediately met by a sea of sharp teeth.
“Stay away, human,” one of the foxes snarled, “unless you want to lose your head.”
He approached cautiously, reaching up to slide his porcelain mask to the side, revealing the bright flash of his startling white eyes and disarming smile. “No need to fear me. Stand aside, I am here to help.”
With suspicious glares and claws at the ready, the family of fox demons watched with bated breath as this face-shifting stranger reached down to grab their sister by the scruff. The foxes yapped happily, their reunion sweet, but short. They regarded the stranger with wary appreciation.
“What do we call you?” one of the older foxes asked. “So that we may give proper thanks for the rescue of our dear sister.”
The star god thought for a moment, readjusting his mask over his face. Few were around to use his true name anymore. The Heavens certainly wouldn’t use it to call upon him. His siblings were unheard and forgotten. And what few worshippers who once knew his name were long dead.
“You may call me the Maskmaker,” he said finally, foolishly believing he had nothing left to fear.