《Reforged from Ruin [Eldritch Xianxia Cultivation]》


 Chapter 1 - Beginnings and How They Rot

    Prologue


    Things change.


    What was once solid as stone, real as sky, cannot remain so forever. Things, inevitably, shift and change with time.


    How much time does it take, then, for a thing that is no longer to be forgotten?


    Some things are forgotten in moments, left behind in the dust of the past as soon as the present steps to the fore. The history of a tool may be remembered for years, or even to the point of its breaking. The name of someone loved or feared may last a generation, perhaps more. The name of a land or a home may be carried down and recorded, brought into a temporary timelessness with ink and paper and will. The scars and glories of conquests and tragedies may be remembered for eons, twisting and changing as they crawl through time on the backs of those most affected.


    But eventually, everyone forgets how things were. Those which live in the moment forget themselves, and forget what has brought them here. Call it the will of heaven, the marching of time, or the fate of the living, but they have lost that which they knew, and forgotten what they should fear.


    Once, titans walked the earth, each step reshaping reality itself. Angels, gods, primordials, their names were myriad, given by the children they formed and eventually split from themselves like offshoots and tumors. Where they walked the laws of space, of time, of decay and growth, of air and ground, of what is real and what is not emerged from them as delusions, forming from madness and will concepts which grasped the world. They infected the formless chaos, fed upon it and rutted and birthed and reshaped it into their own image, each more horrifying than the last. They spawned endless wars, wove between and against each other as only the mindless and the mad can bear to do for long, and from chaos, built the rotten, alien thing that is the world. Eventually, even this was not enough for them, and the things of formless aeons crawled their way up through what IS AND WILL BE, leaving their least favored children and the ruinous mutants they spawned and interbred with behind in their wake. They abandoned the mindless, mewling, misshapen things to their fate, to rot and reproduce and desperately attempt to ape and understand what they could have been and once were, what their gods and creators might still be.


    And so, much is forgotten.


    Uncountable times passed, and things changed once and many times more. The lines of the spawn divided, interbreeding and fighting, things of incomprehensible yet imperfect nature and forms fucking and killing and building and destroying. They grew and twisted, grew mad and wise and mad again like the things which ate and birthed the world, and in their madness and wisdom and newfound freedom they tore apart and reconstructed the things left behind. No longer was each concept a mechanism woven into a machine, no longer a carefully woven treaty between one insanity and the next; instead one flowed to the other, like the rivers and forests and deserts and fires that mirrored them, life and concept melding and remaking the world from what it was left as.


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    And so, as time passes, much is forgotten again.


    They spawned and interbred more, uncountable eternities waging war on what is possible and what is likely, until the greatest among them had long passed, and the thing they had made of the world could not feed more than a few, even of the minute shards that they now were. Small, twisted aberrations roamed the world, starved for things they had never learned and could not remember, their bodies malformed to the point of impossibility, surviving on the scraps they could scrounge and the few remaining organs and thoughts they could hold in themselves. But some were still raised on stories, of the old days, when gods were gods, and snakes ate the sun, and the clouds would twist into colors and doors and perfect, spiral worlds. And so these few drew themselves up and began to dream, singing in minuscule words and barely-larger ideas, in desperate bids to grow, to find the food so long denied, to change and become more than they were born as. They hoped to ape their long-gone ancestors, to curry favor with those who remained, to harmonize with the leavings and mutations of the impossible that formed their very world.


    And some did.


    And just as what was forgotten and never learned from, they repeated the actions of those that came before, and began killing each other.


    They kill each other even now, these things, these macabre reflections of deific monsters. For things they have made, for words that they have allowed to fester, for the base instincts they are so often slaved to, beasts of chemicals and survival that they are. They call life and its struggle many things, and claim to many glories, and in all of them there is the desperation of the ignorant who know not what they do not know, and seek instead to mold what they can to comfort themselves.


    And so - as wars wage, lines are drawn and desperate bids for understanding warp what is. More is forgotten.


    Today, the Empire rules over almost all the world, and certainly all within its grasp, the bloodline and star-infested flesh of its Emperor spread into countless descendants and armies. Most of the great beasts slumber, measuring time in the movement of continents and oceanic shifts rather than days beneath the shifting, many-limbed sun, and the writhing of the world is muted, settling closer and closer to stillness. So much is pursued, so little understood, but yet again, as is always and forever true, things are changing, and things both wondrous and horrible are nearly ready to yet again take the stage, many of them guided by the hand of the golden, star-burnt flesh of those who rule over all with iron fists and honeyed smiles.


    So few live longer than a flicker. So few ever survive the process of growth. Even fewer of those ever understand a fraction of what has come before or what is, and of those, fewer still ever manage to change themselves with it. They are bound by convention, by stunted birth, by blind minds, and by the gnashing claws of the other crabs in the bucket, the desperate hunger of the other maggots in the pile.


    And so more is forgotten.


    And yet.


    Despite it all, every now and then, one of them finds something. Not the same blind truths they have been taught, or the watered wine of understanding that others tell them is ambrosia. They remember something, or find something, build something small, something perfect, something unique, like a pearl, wrapped in filth beneath the muck. Different than what came before, and better than what is now. And from a pearl, or an egg, or a single, burning ember, many things can come to be.


    It is an age of monsters, like every age before it. But in ruin, new things can be forged.

 Chapter 2 - Raika the Bloody and Poor Decisions

    There¡¯s not all that much that can be said about Raika the Bloody.


    The title has had more than one meaning over the years, and more than a few figures have trembled and laughed before it in kind. There¡¯s been tales of her violence, of vengeance, of her bloodlust and how she falls to a crazed state amidst combat. She¡¯s woven victory from corpses across a dozen battlefields, burned an army or two in her time. Nothing major, really, but above the standard, at least, and she held to this with pride.


    Truth be told, while it¡¯s not all she did with her life, not much would be held of note by any who would take her measure. Willful, powerful, and driven are all words easily applied to this warrior, but also easily applied to any cultivator. Some might say the qualities are intrinsic, and only in their quantity and application is there any difference between the wielders of Qi and in the pursuit of immortality. She was certainly not the least of their number, advancing faster than many, winning more often than she lost, but never enough to be exceptional. She did not have a great master, nor was she part of a sect beyond sects, nor did she advance through stages of cultivation as easily as the true prodigies. No, if anything of Raika the Bloody¡¯s qualities might be said to be exceptional, it would be her determination, and in this her pride was better founded. Others might surrender when a duel¡¯s outcome is clear, but she would only leave the arena broken or unconscious; others might try to think through or outfox a challenge, where she would simply put herself against it and through it until it failed or she did. Yes, if Raika could claim anything at all about herself to be truly impressive, it would be the fact that she never gives up.


    As she falls hard enough to dent the earth, the floor painted in the red of her veins, she does take a moment to wonder if maybe she should have given up just this once.


    It¡¯s dismissed easily, of course; to give up here, even when it might be reasonable, would mean she could give up at the next most reasonable time, and wasn¡¯t that just a slippery slope? No, better to stay true to herself.


    Even if it kills me? She wonders.


    Well, she thinks, if following my path and being my best self kills me, then that¡¯s just how it¡¯s gonna be. Better way to go than most.


    ¡°You dare!¡± booms a voice so loud she can feel her lungs vibrate. ¡°You dare to stand here and make these ridiculous demands of your betters?¡±


    She spits blood to the side, weakly enough that it ends up dribbling down her chin. ¡°Nothing-¡± a cough, then another. Might be the busted ribs. ¡°Nothing ridiculous about getting what I earned, senior brother.¡±


    The man before her widens his eyes in shock before snarling down at her in what looks to be genuine fury. ¡°I am not your senior brother, you worm,¡± he growls. ¡°If you were to call me teacher, or master, or even most revered supreme, it would not be enough for the distance between us.¡±


    She sits up a bit, looking at the ten feet or so between them. ¡°If you say so, most revered supreme,¡± she says with a bit of a grin. In for copper, in for silver, as they say. ¡°But it remains true, even if I¡¯m a worm under your boots, that this worm fought and won. The promised reward is the fruit you now hold, and by the laws of this struggle, it is mine.¡±


    This time it is not only the man before her who shows shock. A small protest, met unreasonably, is only standard before such an old master and arrogant youngster, but to address him again? All around them, clad in the vestments and bright colors of a dozen sects, disciples and the elders behind them both look at her like the blows to the head she¡¯s experienced have left her entirely mad. Better that she speak gibberish, many think, than to say what she has now.


    Judging by the look on the bearded face looking down at her, feigning madness might be the only way to go, really.


    Oh well. In for a copper, in for a silver. In for a gold, as the case may be.


    The man before her could be fifty, or a hundred, or a few hundred years old. Far enough into the process of ascension, it gets a little muddled. His ornate white beard is one of the few direct signs of age, but the skin beneath it is smooth and clear, tanned by the sun or by the man¡¯s will. His eyes blaze a violent green, and his robes, forest-green and gilded with beautiful patterns of old victories and some kind of poem on one sleeve, make for a striking combination all throughout.


    ¡°If this master wants a gift worthy of his nephew, who are you to stand in his way?¡± the old monster thunders. ¡°This clear spring blossom fruit may be beneath this old master¡¯s gaze, but it is in my grasp, and you are not worthy to tell me what that grasp cannot take.¡±


    ¡°It might be beneath your gaze, old master,¡± Raika says, slowly sitting up, ¡°but it is the sole focus of mine.¡± She drags her legs beneath her, standing and wobbling in equal measure. She¡¯s never been hit that hard, and she can still feel the impact of the casual backhand in how her hands tremble and her heartbeat stutters. ¡°While I understand this old master can grasp what he wills, would he be so cruel as to take from his lessers so unjustly? Surely you can find something more fitting to any prodigy of your own blood than such a measly thing, yet for me, it¡¯s a crucial step to surviving my path.¡±


    ¡°And you think I care about your path?¡± the old cultivator scoffs. ¡°Some nobody cultivator in some nothing tournament? You are lucky I didn¡¯t simply kill you with my first strike. Take my mercy and begone from my sight, ant.¡±


    He seems to be actually following through, too. He turns his eyes from her and starts simply walking away, the fruit vanishing from his hand with a headache-inducing shift of space, falling into whatever artifact he has. He doesn¡¯t even seem to consider her, dismissing her as nothing except a faintly irritating memory.


    Until she steps in front of him.


    ¡°Ant or worm,¡± she says, as respectfully as she can without breaking eye contact; ¡°it would be a betrayal of self to be walked over by another. Please, old master, I ask that you leave me the fruit, and I shall do all I can to produce something equivalent or greater for your family.¡±


    There is an audible shuffling in the arena. If the mortals hadn¡¯t already run when the old master came crashing from the heavens above, they¡¯d surely do so now at the sight of so many cultivators visibly stepping back from the center of the conflict.


    He looks at her, entirely incredulous. Raika goes so far as to think she¡¯s actually shocked him, a thought that makes her smile a bit.


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    ¡°Are you mad, child?¡± The old master asks, seeming genuinely confused. ¡°You see the difference between us, and yet you dare to stand in my way?¡±


    She nods, stepping back into a stance, slowly raising hands that still tremble. Her face, though, is calm, her gaze fixed on him. ¡°Isn¡¯t it the burden and joy of any cultivator, to face the heavens and defy them, master?¡±


    He almost smiles at that.


    There is a moment, then, where she thinks she may have charmed him.


    Perhaps, in a better world, or if she had met a different beast, that might have been the case. As it is, she¡¯s not quite that endearing, and the thing standing before her, ageless and arrogant, isn¡¯t nearly so human.


    She blinks, and it hurts. It hurts to blink. Then she falls, and that hurts more, parts of the wall she was embedded in falling on top of her. She sees him as she falls forward, and he hasn¡¯t shifted into a stance; from the looks of it, he just pushed her.


    She can feel her ribs grinding as she gets up again, slower than last time.


    His eyes are even wider now, as she refuses to stay down or fall unconscious.


    Maybe, she thinks, she should stay down. If he can prove he¡¯s wrecked her shit enough, easily enough, he can save face, offering mercy to some idiot too greedy for her own good. The narrative would shift, from an arrogant old monster taking from those beneath him, to one merciful enough to allow the survival of an uppity worm.


    Nah, she thinks. I can still stand. So I should.


    She doesn¡¯t see the third blow, either. One moment her face hurts, and the next, part of it doesn¡¯t anymore; her lower jaw, to be precise. Then she feels the pain higher up, and realizes it must be because it¡¯s dislocated, nerves pinched, teeth shattered. Another backhand, then.


    Three teeth hit the dirt when she spits this time, dribbling again. She doesn¡¯t make it all the way back to her feet, but the effort is enough, and a foot lands on the side of her knee, and the pain there is excruciating as something pops and cracks and then makes a grinding noise that¡¯s worse than both.


    The next time she tries to get up, she has to keep all her weight on her left, but at her cultivation, it hardly takes more than a few toes to hold her weight. No big deal.


    He took her shit. Something she fought for, something she can advance with, something she suffered for, and now he wants her to give up.


    No.


    She loses track of the blows. She knows he is toying with her; how couldn¡¯t he? In what world could he ever fight her as an equal? In what world was she ever going to win?


    In what world was she ever supposed to cultivate? To fly, to blast fire, to punch through boulders? She was born to die, and every step beyond that has been something the universe claims is wrong. At least that¡¯s what her teachers tell her. She believes it enough to use it, at least.


    If life is suffering on the way to death, then to stay alive is an act of will.


    She doesn¡¯t know how she gets to her feet. There¡¯s gaps in her memory, most from around the points of impacts, but some seem to encompass whole wounds. She can¡¯t feel her left arm much at all, just the fingers, and her breathing is raspy. Her eyes are swollen, and her right leg can¡¯t really move anymore. There¡¯s even more of her blood painting the sand now than before, some of it from cuts where she thinks she almost dodged. While she can barely see, she can smell the copper of her suffering.


    But she can still stand. So she does.


    The old monster walks forward, taking her by the neck. She cannot break his grip. She doesn¡¯t try. He drags her close, hateful eyes, like green fire, like a forest, like an ocean made of sharpened leaves, burning in what¡¯s left of her sight.


    ¡°You are the single most determined suicide I have ever met,¡± he snarls. ¡°Time and again I spare you, lest this master be accused of bullying his lessers. Time and again you spit in the face of my gift.¡±


    She laughs, though it comes out all wrong. This isn¡¯t bullying? She marvels.


    ¡°I acknowledge your strength, worm,¡± the old master snarls, loud enough to be heard. ¡°You have a cultivator¡¯s heart. A pity you have no other qualities of one.¡±


    Hmm.


    Yeah, fuck him.


    He flinches back, blood in his mouth. He opened it loud to yell, and even half-blind, it¡¯s a wide enough target to spit into. He spits to the side, shock burning in his face, heat flushing his cheeks, hand raised to strike and end her entirely-


    And she sticks her left thumb, from the arm she purposefully didn¡¯t move, purposefully let him think was limp, directly into his eye.


    Now here¡¯s the thing; cultivation raises the density, toughness, and vitality of every part of one¡¯s body, without exception (at least, if done right). That being said; an eyeball ten times tougher than a normal eyeball is still an eyeball, and ten times tougher than jelly is hardly as noticeable as ten times the hardness of bone.


    Her own skin, bones, or muscle aren¡¯t ten times as tough as when she started. His eye may well be a hundred times tougher, old monster that he is. But a finger, and a nail, are not as soft or as delicate as an eye.


    The figure she can barely see roars, actually screams out his surprise and pain, the sheer affront and impossibility of being hurt here crashing on him. The hand raised to strike grabs her by the wrist and tears, throwing her arm away with a rainbow of blood splatter following it.


    It¡¯s fine. She couldn¡¯t feel it anymore anyways. So she grabs his shoulder with her other hand and pulls herself closer, and bites at his other eye.


    She doesn¡¯t quite get the whole orb, but the taste of vitreous jelly is a juice as sweet as she¡¯s ever had.


    There is another blank spot. If she survives this, she is going to be so concussed.


    The figure before her is barely visible. She is on the ground again, and she can feel the dirt blocking up the blood flowing from her freely. But she can still feel him shift when she laughs. It¡¯s a weak, ruined thing, bubbling with a punctured lung, with blood loss, with pain and a throat half-crushed, barely able to hold air let alone laugh. She laughs anyways, choking on it.


    ¡°I¡­¡± she chokes. Stops. Starts again. ¡°I win,¡± she gurgles.


    ¡°How¡¯s that, demonic filth,¡± the old master says. His voice is slow. Quiet. Maybe he¡¯s in shock too. That¡¯d be nice.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t.. Break me,¡± she gurgles. ¡°Big as you¡­ lil as me. Broke my¡­ pieces. Beat me. Coul- couldn¡¯t. Break me. Never-¡± a gurgle. She almost stops breathing, and shifts, panic overriding pain long enough to cough. ¡°Never gave up,¡± she whispers in red bubbles.


    He kneels down. For a moment, she actually sees him again, through swollen eyes, through bruised orbital bones.


    ¡°This old master is known as Feng Gui,¡± he whispers to her. Only to her. ¡°Remember it, and see how long that victory lasts.¡±


    Then he hits her in the stomach, behind the stomach, behind her body and above it and below it in one strike and she feels something break, shatter, disintegrate entirely and then Raika the Bloody is no more.

 Chapter 3 - Waking Up and Im Feeling Just Fine

    She doesn¡¯t wake up for a long time. That much, she¡¯s able to figure out by the pain. It comes and goes, but eventually it does more of the latter, leaving her hazy but able to sometimes accept the soup she can¡¯t taste. Something is wrong with her jaw, with part of her mouth. If it is not ruined entirely, it is certainly ruined for now, and she can feel the soup or whoever is feeding it to her avoid the right side of her mouth.


    She can¡¯t feel other things, too. Her left hand, for one. Where it used to be there¡¯s a sensation like something hurts, like every nerve is twisted up wrong, but when she tries to move it, when she rubs her bedding against where it should be, there¡¯s nothing. It just hurts, and it does not stop hurting, but sometimes it hurts a bit less, and it¡¯s moments like that where she can breathe again, just slightly.


    Her chest hurts, too. Not as much; ribs are easier to reset, she knows from experience. Someone patched the hole in her lung, she thinks, and the floating rib is at least mostly back in place.


    Not much else is good. Not her leg, not her face, not her arm, not her organs or spine or the sharp-edged cuts she can still feel stinging and itching violently as she heals.


    But she is healing. She is alive. That¡¯s what matters. She survived the impossible, somehow, perhaps even at the mercy of the heavens or Feng Gui himself, but she survived and that is all that matters.


    Until, on the day when she realizes she is awake, she reaches for her qi.


    There is nothing.


    She reaches for her qi.


    There is nothing.


    She reaches for her qi-


    She has started screaming, and someone is holding her down, and she is cycling qi through her body, making her stronger, making fire bend to her will and letting her survive anything and heal from anything and break anything, the energy she spent her entire conscious life grasping moving through the carefully cared for series of streams and meridians she¡¯s spent so long refining-


    There is nothing, and she is screaming, and she tries to punch but it¡¯s with her left, and she tries to kick but one of her legs can¡¯t move no matter how much it hurts so she sends qi to strengthen and lighten it and nothing happens because there¡¯s nothing there¡¯s nothing it¡¯s not here it¡¯s gone-


    Something is pushed between her teeth, and her jaw doesn¡¯t work right and she can¡¯t bite and it tastes like acid like defeat like hate like poison like medicine-


    And then it is dark again.


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    She wakes up again, and spends some time wishing she hadn¡¯t.


    She doesn¡¯t move what¡¯s left of her body, lest someone hear and see she¡¯s awake. Someone is keeping her alive, that much is clear, though why is anyone¡¯s guess, certainly not because she¡¯s rich. It is someone¡¯s pity that lets her live, and she does not, can not face that fact yet.


    Instead she turns inwards.


    It is so, so quiet.


    It¡¯s always been different for everyone, as far as she heard. She didn¡¯t exactly research it, but she remembers some sect members who practiced the same cultivation method mention how it felt when she asked and they all sounded remarkably similar. Even then, their backgrounds and the details were always a bit different each time. For them, in the Flowing Stone Steps sect, it was like slow-dripping magma, dense and beautiful and slowly swirling through their bodies. For her, it had been a raging fire, like molten metal pushing hot gases and fire through her body, that dense molten center feeding her meridians from her dantian, her core. For Hisheng, it had been something bright, hard to focus on or grasp, like a light wind one had to carefully move in the right patterns lest it dissipate or burst.


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    She wonders if Hisheng is alright. If he¡¯s come to check on her. If she¡¯s here, alive, from his pity or his friendship or his love. She does not know, and it hurts worse than her hand when she thinks about it.


    It doesn¡¯t feel like anything, now. Not even like her cultivation method is gone or like she is empty of qi, tapped out and drained. She can¡¯t feel any of it. Not her dantian, that core that lets one accumulate qi at all, which she meditated for months to be able to see, not her meridians, where that energy would flow and, in the right patterns, transform herself and the world around her.


    They¡¯re not empty. They¡¯re gone.


    Raika thinks back, and the memory of it, as much as it hurts to hold, is still there. That final blow, the one right below her navel, right where a cultivator¡¯s dantian is located.


    ¡°See how long that victory lasts,¡± he had said.


    He committed one of the greatest taboos that a cultivator can against another. He killed her cultivation, like slaughtering a pup in its bed. He took from her what she is- what she was. Her purpose, gone. Her progress, bled out like a common pig.


    It is one thing to do it to a demonic cultivator, or as punishment by one¡¯s sect, when all the elders and patriarch are in agreement that such an extreme measure of punishment is necessary. Better to torture, better to maim, better to kill someone entirely than to even consider killing their cultivation. One is to remove a problem, to punish; the other is to take everything someone is, all they have worked for, sometimes for centuries, and kill it from the world.


    Feng Gui did not beat her. But he killed her from the world.


    She extends her senses out, but at this point she knows the deal. She can¡¯t sense qi fluctuations in the air, can¡¯t feel it in the materials she¡¯s laying on or whatever medicines may be in her body. After so many years with it, it¡¯s worse than being blind, because at least the blind might someday be healed or given new eyes.


    He killed her cultivation from her. She has never heard of it coming back. What swordfighter can call themselves a swordfighter, when the very idea of a sword has been cut out of them?


    Her parents died, two years ago. Old age for her father, and a harsh winter for her mother. She heard they¡¯d had another daughter, but she hadn¡¯t been back to see them in nearly seven years. Of all the people at the sect, the only one she could claim closeness to would be Hisheng, and if he isn¡¯t here already, he has done the wise, painful thing of cutting her away from his life. Maybe Ki Shi, but¡­ no, barely friends, traveling companions at most.


    She is 27 years old. An infant, for a cultivator, and nearly middle-aged for a mortal, and she is alone in the world. Even if her body was firm she still couldn¡¯t fight for a living, and all she knew before cultivation were a few years as a child on a farm. Who needs a one-armed cripple who can barely walk to help on a farm?


    ¡°See how long that victory lasts,¡± he told her.


    She does not move for a very long time. When someone eventually comes into the room, they wipe at the corners of her eyes, where she has been crying.


    ¡°Are you awake?¡± asks a soft voice. Feminine, and seemingly young.


    Raika shuffles her head a bit. It could, if one were generous, be called a nod.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± says the owner of the soft voice. ¡°You¡¯ve been asleep for a few weeks now. We weren¡¯t sure you were going to wake up again.¡±


    She sighs gently. Raika¡¯s eyes are still a bit blurry (concussion or eye damage, take your pick), but she sees someone dressed in the white shift and red highlights of a healer. The figure is thin, with long black hair bound up into a tight, orderly bun, and before she can see more, there is a cold cloth pressed against her forehead, and it feels like a single moment of the greatest comfort in the world.


    ¡°There we go,¡± whispers the newcomer. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re disoriented. Master says you shouldn¡¯t move for a good while yet, and what she says goes,¡± she nods. ¡°Don¡¯t try to speak, either. Whoever did this to you really messed up your throat and your jaw, and if you¡¯re not careful you¡¯ll make it worse.¡±


    So, Raika doesn¡¯t speak. She just does her best to wriggle against the cold cloth, shivering when her caretaker switches to the cool side. Like a worm, or a child. Fitting, even if the intrusive thought makes her want to puke.


    Eventually she pulls the cloth away, and Raika has to think again. She turns, trying to find the right corner of her eyesight to see whoever is taking care of her. Seeming to notice her shifting, the young woman leans over her, coming into clearer view.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she says. ¡°You probably can¡¯t see very well. Master said eyes heal better than most places, but¡­ yours got cut pretty bad. And hit. A lot, we think. My name is Li Shu, I¡¯m the healer¡¯s apprentice here. You¡¯re safe for now, ok?¡±


    It¡¯s weak of her, she knows. It hurts to do it, even. But Raika cries again.

 Chapter 4 - Sometimes Shit Sucks and you Just Gotta Deal

    ¡°Well, whoever you are, you¡¯re in a creek of shit without a boat,¡± says a gruff older voice.


    Raika blinks, unaware anyone had been in the room. She¡¯s only been awake for a moment, but the disorientation still hits her every time she wakes up, especially when she reaches for her qi. She always reaches for it, every time. It hurts fresh again every time she does.


    ¡°Over here, cripple,¡± the gruff voice says.


    She manages to turn her head enough to see a blurry white form. Vaguely feminine, with long, platinum-white hair, holding a cigarette of some kind in their hand, its smoke acrid and vaguely herbal.


    Raika always liked cigarettes. Maybe that¡¯ll be one thing she can still enjoy, after this, if her lungs aren¡¯t too bad. Considering just being around this one makes her want to cough already, probably not, but a girl can dream.


    ¡°Two months you¡¯ve been in my clinic, cripple,¡± the pale woman says. ¡°Rui Ka¡¯s clinic, you understand? Not just some two-bit doctor, this clinic has respect, and that respect doesn¡¯t come from giving out free room and board.¡±


    Rui ka. The name is vaguely familiar; outside the sect¡¯s walls, a few kilometers into the richer districts near the trading and noble centers. Small city like this one may only hold a few sects, but every city worth the name has a section for the rich and snotty to make their own. The clinic is supposed to be reputable, and sometimes even have ingredients that can be bought for minor elixirs or pills. If it hadn¡¯t, she never would¡¯ve heard of it; it¡¯s a clinic for mortals, not cultivators.


    Mortals like her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t try to talk,¡± Rui Ka (she assumes) says. ¡°You got dropped off here and some fancy cultivator-looking types paid for your stay, but since they didn¡¯t take you back to their own fancy-pants healers I can assume they don¡¯t give that much of a shit about you. Payment¡¯s almost up.¡±


    Ah. Makes sense.


    ¡°Can you write?¡± Rui ka asks, waving away a bit of smoke.


    Raika nods, slowly lifting her right hand and giving it a little wave.


    ¡°Mmh.¡± The healer puts a small sheaf of paper next to her bed, and a small piece of charcoal in her hand. ¡°Alright then. You know who you are?¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Yes,¡± she writes, followed by her name.


    ¡°Alright, Rai-ka. Shit name your parent¡¯s gave you, like two in one,¡± mumbles the healer. ¡°Like I said, they paid me pretty to keep you alive and give you a place to sleep, but money runs out.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Raika writes.


    ¡°Somebody from that tournament thing they had a while back. Said there was an accident, someone got hurt, sent you to me. Not likely to bring a mortal to their healers, especially not a cripple like you.¡±


    Makes sense, in a sick way. Easier to cover it up than admit some old monster came in and walked all over the tournament organizers and every sect in the city just long enough to rob them and violate her cultivation. Makes double sense, actually; dying in their arena would¡¯ve been a grievous loss of face. Dying as a mortal after they ¡°did all they could¡±... well, mortals die all the time. It¡¯s what they do.


    Especially crippled ones.


    Even non-cultivators still cultivate. It¡¯s a bit of a misnomer, if anything; Her father had been a fourth stage Foundation realm when he died, her mother a late stage Qi gathering realm. Even children, by the age of ten, are usually in their first stage of Qi cultivation. It¡¯s only those who dedicate their lives to it and advance past the Foundation realm, itself past the Qi gathering realm, that call themselves cultivators.


    She can¡¯t even call herself normal, now.


    ¡°I figure you didn¡¯t start this way,¡± Rui Ka says. ¡°Besides the fucked up limbs and chest, I mean. Some cultivator fuck bullying the weak, singled you out of the town crowd, maybe a cultivator yourself, doesn¡¯t matter to me. You can¡¯t infuse medicine, you¡¯ll barely be able to walk or speak even when ¡°healed¡±, and you can¡¯t get stronger. So, you pay for your stay, at least keep a bed under you, or in five days, you¡¯re out.¡±


    Raika scribbles: ¡°what did I have with me?¡±


    ¡°Nothing much,¡± Rui Ka replies. ¡°Some ripped up robes, looked ok quality but unsalvageable, an empty pouch, two shoes still in working order.¡±


    Fuck. The pouch hadn¡¯t been empty when she fell unconscious. Doubtful the old monster took it (she can¡¯t call him by his name, not yet); more likely one of the cultivators who brought her here figured she wouldn¡¯t need it anymore. They were almost right.


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    Raika lets her head hit the pillow again. It smells faintly of blood and disinfectant, but so does the rest of the room.


    ¡°Five days?¡± she scratches out.


    ¡°Five days,¡± Rui Ka says. The older woman pulls on her cigarette, breathing out a cloud that blocks out her face. Eventually, she speaks again, face still obscured.


    ¡°I can get you walking in about three days, now that you¡¯re awake,¡± she says. ¡°Didn¡¯t let you atrophy, but it¡¯ll hurt like a bitch, probably forever. Gives you one day to rest and one day to get the hell out.¡±


    Raika nods. Three days to move again.


    It¡¯ll be enough.


    She scribbles the words onto the paper, and can see Rui Ka nod to them.


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    The next few days pass in a painful, painful blur. Day one is mostly small movements, still in bed (and now that she¡¯s conscious most of the time the smell she makes when moving almost makes her gag; bedpan or not, she¡¯s been nearly immobile for months), but they help get a feel for what she can and can¡¯t do. She still tries to use her left more often than she should. Li Shu, in her kindness, does not say much, but even her smile seems strained sometimes. Raika likes to think it¡¯s because of the wounds and her lacking meridians, and not the smell. A girl needs some illusions sometimes.


    The second day is worse. She¡¯s out of the bed, at least, but it¡¯s hard to move. True to her word, Rui Ka kept her muscles from failing, meaning it¡¯s easier than it should be to get familiar with her body again, but she¡¯s used to a body that works. In this one, her right knee might as well be a solid lump of bone, scar tissue and pain. Outside of fully replacing or removing and regrowing it, there¡¯s nothing to be done; the leg won¡¯t unbend, or bend further, can¡¯t bear weight, and even hobbling on it is agony so bad Raika ends up puking.


    When she¡¯s done, there¡¯s a crutch next to her bed that Li Shu hadn¡¯t left to get. Raika doesn¡¯t comment, but she¡¯s thankful anyways.


    Her lungs are fucked, damaged as they were, and she¡¯ll be lucky to ever take a truly deep breath again. Her heart is intact, but beats a bit irregularly now, even with care. Her stomach and lower intestines have healed, but not enough to eat anything tough, even if she could still chew with how fucked her jaw is. She does not ask for a mirror, but when she catches Li Shu staring and sharply looking away, she knows it¡¯s bad. She can still barely speak, just painful whispers.


    And she keeps trying to use her fucking left hand for things. It isn¡¯t there, and it hurts almost as bad as the knee when she rests on it, and she keeps fucking reaching to catch herself or pick something up and nothing happens.


    And none of it, not a single part, hurts as bad as when she tries to cycle her qi.


    If she could cycle her qi, she could better manage the pain. She could speed up the healing, strengthen the body beyond natural limits or laws, maybe even reshape herself given time. But there¡¯s nothing there, and it just hurts.


    She thinks about reaching out to Hisheng, sometimes. He wouldn¡¯t touch her now, not literally, and politically he certainly shouldn¡¯t. A big guy, but he¡¯s never been particularly brave despite it, and he certainly wouldn¡¯t be brave enough to befriend someone who can¡¯t even cycle qi.


    By the third day she still hasn¡¯t stopped thinking about him. But she can hobble on the crutches for almost ten whole minutes at a time before she has to stop, so that¡¯s something.


    As promised, she rests on the fourth day, recovering from days of intense training.


    Normally restful times like this is where she would cycle her qi. If she fucking had any.


    ¡°See how long that victory lasts,¡± the old monster had said.


    She reaches for her qi again, and it¡¯s empty, and her hand hurts, and it hurts to breathe and stretch and exist and-


    Yeah, alright. Fuck that. Anger is way more manageable than pain, that¡¯s human psychology 101.


    She stood her ground in front of basically a god, someone centuries old who could cow an entire arena of cultivators, an entire city. She was crushed, but she was not beaten. Maybe she didn¡¯t win the fruit, maybe it cost her nearly everything, but as a cultivator and as a person, the point isn¡¯t the items, it¡¯s who you create out of yourself, and she created someone who didn¡¯t back down. Not to the heavens, not to death, and certainly not to some hopped up shithead grandpa with a prick he wanted to swing around someplace that clearly couldn¡¯t measure up.


    Feng Gui, he called himself.


    Fuck Feng Gui.


    Fuck her broken body, and fuck the heavens, and fuck the gods, and fuck shitty old men who should be better, and fuck the sects who didn¡¯t even try, and fuck Hisheng who hasn¡¯t visited once, and absolutely fuck being like this if she can do anything about it.


    The heavens say she can¡¯t come back from this. Common sense agrees. History agrees, at least what she¡¯s heard and read of it. So be it. When did that ever stop any proper cultivator? When did that ever stop her?


    Besides, she¡¯s this deep already, what¡¯s a little more digging? Either the hole ends up somewhere or she has a grave ready. Seeing as she¡¯s too deep to climb out, seems that¡¯s all that matters.


    She¡¯ll die. Or something will happen that she can use.


    On the fifth day after consciousness, Raika leaves Rui Ka¡¯s clinic with only a thin shawl, an empty pouch, and a bag that Li Shu gave her with some rations and hardtack that she tried to hide from Rui Ka (who pointedly looked away). She thanks them both, breath hissing out barely intelligible words, and bows as deep as she can.


    And then she goes to find out how a cripple can kill a god.

 Chapter 5 - So the Hits Start Comin and they Dont Stop Comin

    So here¡¯s the thing about begging; it¡¯s not actually that hard. Like anything that can be done, there¡¯s an art to it, skills to be learned and improved on. For all she knows, there¡¯s someone out there who has a Dao of Begging. Not her, obviously, considering she¡¯s not very good at anything right now, but maybe somebody out there. Meanwhile, the practical skills tend to appear only as she encounters them; how to sit, where you can sit without being bothered, what sorts of bowls collect coins without looking too bad or too good, what times are best for it and what times give nothing at all.


    Still, though, it¡¯s not hard. Once you have basic knowledge to know where to be, when, and have something to collect with, you don¡¯t need much else. Everything beyond that is just refinement, and who needs refinement when you have brute force? Turns out, visibly missing limbs, a poorly covered scarred face as bad as hers, and a visible lack of meridians for anyone who bothers to check work great for ¡°brute force begging¡±.


    It¡¯s still a difficult first week.


    She spends a couple days worth of rations quicker than she hoped. Some to make sure she¡¯s still healing, yes, but mostly because she makes barely a copper a day in the richer areas. Those, and the areas near the sects, are the only places she knows, and in the end neither welcomes her anymore. It goes to show how small her world had become, in its own way; she traveled hundreds of miles sometimes, for missions or arenas or any number of other journeys in the pursuit of her cultivation or the will of her ¡°betters¡±, but in the city she¡¯s lived in most of her life she can¡¯t name more than a few streets or buildings. She never quite gets forcefully evicted; just evicted. Even in the outskirts of the noble¡¯s districts, the guards aren¡¯t quite brazen enough to beat someone so downtrodden. Old, crippled, wounded, all perfectly good targets, but a varied mix of all of the above and more is a bit much. She leaves before they decide to change their minds, moving further and further out of the city centers.


    It¡¯s colder in the outskirts, and it hits her the worst in her missing parts. The further she goes from her old home, from what she was, the worse her missing hand aches, the worse her knee trembles and hurts. She can¡¯t feel the qi like before, certainly, but it¡¯s still just¡­ wrong, in her body, in her soul, to be so alone, to be out in the cold. Still, she has a bit more success on the outskirts of the merchants quarters, where people with money but not enough money to be cruel pass on their way to buy groceries, trinkets and tools. The spots closer in are taken by more experienced (and admittedly better looking) beggars, but the outskirts (combined with her looks) manage to have just enough room in it for her.


    In the weeks that follow, she manages to scrounge enough to buy rice more often than not, though never often. She waits for her body to ache, for her stomach to growl and curdle and start to try and crawl out of her before she uses the rations from the clinic again, but even still, she runs out three weeks in.


    After that, the hunger never really leaves.


    Between the hunger and the pain, it¡¯s hard to focus, harder still to plan, but Raika was a cultivator. She spent the better part of two decades learning to focus through pain; this is nothing.


    That¡¯s a lie. It¡¯s not nothing, not by a mile and a half. She can¡¯t even sleep right and she needs to sleep now, every single night. Not once a month, like a prodigy, or once every two weeks like a proper adept, or once a week like a regular cultivator, but once a night, nearly a third or more of an entire day every day. It¡¯s ridiculous, and despite herself she can¡¯t help but hate how accurate the term cripple feels. She has to eat, she has to sleep, she has to shit regularly and piss and it¡¯s a nightmare. The pain, compared to all that, feels almost like an old friend.


    If not the fact she can¡¯t walk and she¡¯s missing an arm, she¡¯d almost prefer it to the fucking mundanity, the infirmity of mortality.


    Weeks pass. She gets skinnier, and smaller, and weaker. Things never start to hurt less, but she gets better at not noticing it as much; if it always hurts, then it never hurts. Kinda-sorta. Rice and water is enough to keep one alive, but not nearly enough to live well, and she can¡¯t eat rice for every meal anyways, so the pain grows and she shrinks smaller. Makes it easier to walk, anyways; less weight to lift onto her crutch, even if there¡¯s less muscle to lift it with, and she had muscle to burn compared to fat.


    And the entire time, starved, hurting, limping her way through strange streets from improvised shelter to shelter, she never stops looking for her qi.


    In her efforts, Raika gets to learn, over and over and over, that it¡¯s not just broken or wrong or painful, it¡¯s gone. It¡¯s also all those other things, unfortunately, but she can¡¯t sense sharp-edged ruins of a broken dantian, can¡¯t feel limp and shrunken meridians. She is trying to grab something with a missing hand; the thing which would allow her to perform the act at all is simply gone, or so vestigial and ruined as to be impossible to even sense. It might be considered a mercy by the universe, that she has lost the eyes with which she could see how broken she truly is, but somehow the suspense is even worse.


    Feng Gui did this. Broke her. Took what she was away. And not one single thing beyond a nowhere clinic that got paid to do it so much as lifted a hand to help her.


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    Fuck that. Rage before pity, and wrath before despair. If it means she wraps herself in bombs and throws herself at Feng Gui¡¯s doorstep someday, that¡¯s fine, but she¡¯s gotta be tough enough to do it, and to do it and live. She dies now, he wins. He breaks her, and her victory fades.


    She can¡¯t feel her body, she can feel parts of her body she shouldn¡¯t, and where qi used to be there is nothing.


    Fuck it, then. She¡¯ll do anyway.


    In the first few weeks she tries and fails to cycle qi again. She remembers the patterns she labored over and memorized, the feel of it flowing through her and into her, strengthening her and changing her. The memories of her cultivation are honestly cleaner than her memories of home, of her family, even of most fights. Obviously and self-evidently, it¡¯s not enough. If that was all it took, every shattered Dantian would be a stopgap on a journey, not its end like it always is. She never even feels a difference, not a warmth of qi or a flush of vitality or the sense that her meridians are being used at all.


    So she ditches that idea. Reforming her dantian, even if it¡¯s theoretically possible, isn¡¯t in her grasp, never mind her view. Perhaps there¡¯s a chance it could heal on its own or if saturated with Qi, but A) she doesn¡¯t have the Qi to saturate it with, and B) the possibility of it would still take decades or longer, time she simply doesn¡¯t have. She¡¯ll be even more old and decrepit by then, if she even manages to live past a year or two, never mind decades.


    She goes deeper, more fundamental. At its most accurate, cultivation is carefully calibrated meditation, interacting with a law of physics, interfacing one¡¯s biology and mechanisms into gradually evolving and artistically woven self improvement. At least it¡¯s the descriptor she remembers best from when she asked medical pavilion staff about it to pass the time.


    Mouthy descriptor, yeah.


    Less accurately, cultivation is the act of pulling Qi through one¡¯s Dantian into one¡¯s meridians and cycling it to be absorbed in a particular way. Another step back, then. Cultivation, fundamentally, behind everything else, is to move Qi in your body in a way that changes you. A shitty descriptor, one maybe accurate enough to give to children as a first-day primer on the subject. Also maybe the only thing that keeps her sane.


    Because babies don¡¯t have meridians in the wombs, do they? Not before they¡¯re formed, anyways, and there¡¯s Qi in the mother and in the developing body after a point. Nuts and acorns and seeds don¡¯t have meridians. A corpse that got pulped entirely would have death Qi, even if its entire structure, meridians and all, was blasted to oblivion, its stain on the battlefield emanating it like a miasma and forming it from somewhere.


    So she has Qi. She never heard of someone with a crippled cultivation being invisible to Qi sense, after all, and she¡¯s visible enough if one were to sense her. Probably. She hasn¡¯t asked, but the way some people naturally avoid her or already know what she is when they look at her would indicate she¡¯s visible to Qi-sense, and she doesn¡¯t get the reaction of some terrifying Qi-less zombie or demon.


    So she has Qi. She can¡¯t absorb it, so she must be either generating it or just having it leak in casually, like any thing which exists in the world. Even dead things have Qi, only true demons do not (according to myth and horror stories, anyways). So now, since she can¡¯t cultivate, she needs a formation.


    She doesn¡¯t know how to make one.


    Raika is (was) very good at hitting things, being hit, and coming back better. Qi formations, an esoteric, complex and academic art, never really factored into that path, and even if they had, they need expensive materials, complicated and delicate Qi weaving to properly create each construct.


    So not a formation, then. She needs density of qi, though, something which she can get either in the sect or in a city closer to the imperial capital, where the qi flows richly and there are beasts and Qi formations and items aplenty.


    Something she couldn¡¯t get access to even if she was still in her sect, of course.


    So. Something less than a Qi formation, in a place less conductive to cultivation, without any of the tools for it. Sure, why not.


    She might not have an arcane focus, but she can make a pattern. Something like a trigger they would make for the weaker sect disciples, a hypnotic trick to help them focus and cultivate, mixed with a pattern that Qi can recognize.


    Raika does not eat for three days. When she finally hobbles into the store she was looking at, she reeks of the street, of unwashed clothing and sweat and dirtied hair, and she can barely hold herself upright. It is the worst she¡¯s ever felt.


    She walks out 16 coppers poorer and holding a tuning fork, and eats what she managed to haggle for and keep as rice with cuts of old meat, the first protein she¡¯s had in¡­ she doesn¡¯t know how long. Time has gotten finicky. She has lain in the filth and the pain and the hunger and she can barely tell when she is.


    All she knows is that she can do more. That this is her chance, that surely, surely this will work.


    Raika is, of course, entirely delusional at this point, riddled with fever and trauma and desperation. She is doing something irrational to fix a problem that is impossible, and she has just spent three days worth of truly desperate begging and pleading for the sake of something less than even an instrument. She is starved. She is nearly gone. She does not even remember walking home, much less what it feels like to sit in the dark corner she has found without the agony of a living being gone to rot and ruin.


    So it is to everyone¡¯s surprise, including her own, that she doesn¡¯t die that same night.


    She takes a rat from a cheap trap she made and, too weak to break its neck or crush it, bites out its throat to kill it.


    She cooks it as quietly as she can, over glowing embers rather than a proper frame.


    She takes the tent of rags and broken box she uses for a wall, takes the stolen, moldy straw she uses for bedding, and uses it to hide every part of her that she can cover.


    And then, under the cover of night, the taste of rat and the smell of burnt meat holding what''s left of her together, she taps the tuning fork against her forehead.

 Chapter 6 - Dead to the Rules, and we Hit the Ground Runnin

    Now I know you¡¯re wondering: why a tuning fork?


    Firstly, let¡¯s re-establish that Raika is at this point literally delirious from pain, hunger, grief, and poor living conditions. Established? Lovely.


    In what is left of her mind, she holds strong to a few deeper, meaningful truths.


    Her old cultivation is lost.


    She still has Qi.


    She can¡¯t circulate Qi, but it does kinda sorta move on its own sometimes and it can be guided. That¡¯s what formations are, and there are even things called natural formations, which don¡¯t need fancy symbols and flags and materials and such.


    So if she creates a pattern for her Qi to move to, or move at all, even if it¡¯s not cultivation per se, it¡¯ll change something, and maybe that¡¯ll do something, and maybe from there she can do something else.


    It¡¯s a bit vague, but she doesn¡¯t hold it against herself; she¡¯s been sleepy for days and she just ate a rat. It was not tasty.


    A little over two months after she woke up from losing everything, she hits herself in the head with a tuning fork. It makes an awkward little ¡°dink¡± sound.


    No. No no no.


    Is it defective? Is it broken? Did the storeowner see someone he could scam without consequence and just go for it? Could she not tell? Even if she can¡¯t ¡°sense¡± things like she could before she can still see, even if it¡¯s blurry and-


    Oh gods. He gave her a broken tuning fork.


    For sixteen fucking coppers?


    She hits herself in the forehead again.


    ¡°Dink", says the off-key little tool.


    Oh for fucks sake.


    She¡¯s gonna burn his shop down. Seriously, top to bottom. She can find a sharp rock or some sticks to make heat with, she has rags, it hasn¡¯t rained recently; she can do it. She can only hobble, and her straw is wet, but she¡¯s sure she can find a crack or seam in the wood to plant it in, and besides starving to death she doesn¡¯t have anything better to do than try to stoke the flames until they burn his fucking shop down.


    If she can walk tomorrow.


    She¡¯s had a few days where she couldn¡¯t. Tonight feels worse than most of those.


    She wonders if she¡¯ll be able to walk at all, anymore, very soon.


    ¡°Dink¡±, goes the shitty little piece of metal against her forehead.


    She feels nauseous. She feels dizzy and weak, like the world is spinning. She¡¯s angry and about to cry and she can¡¯t afford to cry and she can taste the nasty burnt rat coming back up and her hands are tingling and is she having a heart attack? That¡¯s a thing mortals do, right? When their organs fail? Everything else is, why wouldn¡¯t this!


    ¡°Dink¡±, goes the tuning fork, as hard as she physically can against her forehead.


    She feels her whole body shiver, just a bit, and then she¡¯s unconscious and doesn¡¯t feel anything at all.


    ¡ª-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Raika wakes up feeling¡­ slightly better.


    Statistically, this is a surprise. In her new life, waking up has not been pleasant, each day slowly dragging her towards a worse one, only her struggles holding back that tide.


    Her body hurts, limbs the most, face still sucks, etc, and she¡¯s still plenty hungry (though she didn¡¯t barf up the rat, so that probably helps too), but she feels better. A bit more awake, a bit less shaky, like back when she had rations she could still dip into when she was too hungry. Raika the formerly-bloody wakes up feeling, for the first time in months, like she isn¡¯t holding back death by the skin of her teeth and the edges of ragged, bloody fingernails.


    One might be forgiven for thinking that splurging on the meat and rat last night were the main reason for this. The thought crosses Raika¡¯s mind, too, a little doubt weaving into the confusion, and she almost lets it take root.


    Except that she¡¯s sore. Like, really sore, like just took a nap after lifting some weights or going for a run around the sect. She was never a body cultivator per-se, but it always seemed a waste to neglect one¡¯s foundational flesh. Some even say that being both a body and soul cultivator is the real way to go, and while she certainly wasn¡¯t worth all that, she had one or two body breakthroughs in her day, so the feeling of burn in her muscles isn¡¯t alien to her.


    This feels like that, but different. Like she actually used her body for the first time in so long, like she had done stretches and pushed in the right places.


    It hurts a lot worse than normal, true, but everything hurts, and it¡¯s better than before, so¡­ overall a win, probably.


    Or a delusion, whispers that little worm of doubt. What are the chances, really, that after months of trying, she figured something out that no one else could? She¡¯s never been a genius or prodigy, no one special, no one capable of uncovering the world¡¯s mysteries.


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    The alternative to believing that the tuning fork did something is, obviously, rotting in an alley with no hope at all. So¡­ Raika figures it¡¯s probably pretty reasonable to ignore that little voice and just do what seems right. Only makes sense; forward or death and all that.


    Part of her tries to remind the whole that she is absolutely misusing that philosophy and really should listen before wasting time or doing something truly stupid. That part is, obviously, an idiot and a coward, and can¡¯t possibly be correct because, as mentioned, it¡¯s an idiot and a coward, and since it isn¡¯t helping anyways, should eminently be ignored.


    She uses the wall, pulling herself up, then leaning on it, then climbing a bit more, then leaning, until she¡¯s made it to her feet. On a slightly higher indent where a brick used to be lies a scarf, to cover her face; a blanket, thin and threadbare, to sit upon; and a small wooden bowl, likely once used to hold soup, repurposed to hold coins. She collects all three into a small bundle and takes them in hand, carefully placing her crutch under her ruined side, and, deciding to trust the only voice in her head that doesn¡¯t think she¡¯s going to die like this, makes sure that the tuning fork is included in the bundle.


    The sun is a bit past the horizon when she sets up. Better to arrive early, get the morning risers when there¡¯s not as much of a crowd to hide and guilt them. Come midday she¡¯ll move around the corner two streets down, where market-goers are a bit more populous flowing into and out of the more worthwhile areas, and by evening, she¡¯ll come back this way to catch stragglers. Efficient, no, but considering she can only hobble so far, it¡¯s the best she¡¯s come up with. With her blanket lain, scarf and shawl covering the most nauseating parts of how she looks without hiding the arm or leg, and the bowl in front of her, she leans the crutch against the wall, and takes out her tuning fork.


    ¡°Ding,¡± it says as she taps it against her forehead.


    Hard to tell, but she might be a bit more tired. It¡¯s important to be able to tell; sensing a downturn in her energy may mean the difference between a collapse in the backstreets or making it back to relative shelter before she falls. Even still, no matter how carefully she measures and watches how tired she feels, there isn¡¯t quite a conclusion. Maybe it¡¯ll be a like a bad day where she starts trembling, or falls apart, or simply sleeps where she falls, maybe it won¡¯t.


    ¡°Ding¡±, the tuning fork agrees. Important to be careful, it wisely offers.


    ¡°Hush,¡± she tells it, voice a painful rasp. ¡°I don¡¯t need a sycophant, little nugget. If I need someone to agree with me I¡¯ll ask, hmm?¡±


    ¡°Ding¡±, it shoots back, making her blink.


    ¡°Well good,¡± she hisses with as much dignity as she can. ¡°I like a bit of backbone in my inanimate objects. Keep it up.¡±


    ¡°Ding,¡± it goes against her forehead.


    And she¡¯s out like a light.


    ¡ª------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    She wakes up for the second time in the same day to the sun beating down on her as violently as it can. For early autumn, that¡¯s still rather considerable, and it¡¯s another lovely piece of the puzzle she got to ignore before becoming mortal again. Used to be it was winter winds and summer burns that did anything, now a bad breeze has her shivering all day.


    Point being, Raika thinks, is that it¡¯s midday, and she hasn¡¯t moved from her morning / evening spot. The last thing she remembers is getting some well-earned flak from her tuning fork, hitting her forehead again with it, and waking up again.


    Her bowl is empty, but that doesn¡¯t mean anything really. Kids and urchins both take what they can grab if they think you won¡¯t notice or can¡¯t chase them, and in her state, she couldn¡¯t do either.


    So.


    The tuning fork does something, then.


    That, or she¡¯s so weak that taps to the forehead and little ¡°Dink¡± noises are enough to knock her unconscious or leave her so triggered it does the same thing, just by different means. Luckily, this opinion is held by a part of her that is an idiot and a coward, and can be disregarded because it¡¯s not being helpful.


    She feels¡­ maybe a bit worse than before. Like rather than exercise herself and then rest, she just exercised again, without proper recovery. Perhaps the tuning fork is doing something, and once she finds a good rhythm for it, she can create a solid, healthy balance of rest and ¡°tuning¡±.


    A fascinating idea, she agrees. One that sounds like it would take a very long time and probably never really get her to where she needs to be.


    ¡°What do you think, dink?¡± she rasps.


    ¡°Dink,¡± the tuning fork chastises her as it taps her forehead.


    ¡°Yeah, well, what do you know, you¡¯re a fancy rock,¡± she rasps back.


    She goes to hit it again, and then pauses.


    Maybe she shouldn¡¯t be pushing herself like this, genuinely.


    Maybe she should be pushing herself harder.


    Drawing in Qi is a dangerous proposition. Beyond the amounts needed, there¡¯s the danger of drawing in qualities one doesn¡¯t want. In a normal, healthy cultivator, that¡¯s something which is no big deal unless it¡¯s a consistent strain or a larger infection, but if, say, there were someone who couldn¡¯t really remove their impurities, or sense the balance of Qi in their body, or control where in one¡¯s self it is, then even minute amounts of impure or damaging Qi might hurt her. In this little corner of a wider city, amidst rats, and the floor, and the remnants of mortal comings and goings, and smoke, and sunlight, each and every concept might push qi that could easily kill her into her body. It''s probably a big factor in how people get sick. Maybe. Sounds right, maybe. So, seeing as she has no natural defenses or senses or vitality in the Qi department¡­ maybe she shouldn¡¯t try to pull in Qi like she normally would.


    But if the tuning fork is causing an effect (and obviously it is, for sure) then¡­ rather than just let it run wild, which sounds like a recipe for bad things, or trying to draw things in, which she probably can¡¯t do and also might be worse, maybe all she can do is focus on what she has, and go from there.


    The idea feels familiar. It feels right.


    She breathes as deep as her lungs can take. Holds it for a moment, then lets it go. Repeats the pattern a few times, to build a rhythm. And then, counter to what she¡¯s used to, she exhales as hard as she can, making sure her lungs are well and truly empty¡­


    And hits her forehead with the tuning fork.


    She doesn¡¯t feel anything. Whatever it¡¯s doing, she can¡¯t perceive it, crippled as she is.


    But even if she can¡¯t see it, even if she¡¯s lost two hands and gained a broken flipper to touch it, she can still try, and hope, and demand to the universe that this work.


    She pictures the vibration moving in her bones, in her blood, in the empty spaces without air she holds. She pictures it making her insides tremble, pictures the dribbles and dew of what¡¯s left of her Qi trembling in tune with the poorly formed device. Finally, she pictures the vibrations magnifying her, letting the droplets slowly, ever so slowly, jiggle. Against each other, bouncing off each other, and just¡­ bouncing in place as much as she can make them, more like sloshing against a firm table than artfully weaving in any detail. She holds the idea as firm as she can.


    And then she breathes in once. Out once. In again, and then out, with as much totality as she can muster.


    And does it again.


    ¡°Dink¡±.


    By the time night falls and she¡¯s managed to crawl back to her alcove, she¡¯s done it eight more times, and she can¡¯t stop smiling past the taste of copper in the back of her throat.

 Chapter 7 - A Wider World, You Say?

    Raika starts forming habits.


    While one may be generous and assert that these habits are way healthier than the drinking or opiates or other habits that can be formed in the swill near rock bottom, they would be at least partially wrong; at least the other habits can make a person feel better for a while. As it turns out, Ding has really put in the work over the week and change she¡¯s started hanging out with him. Say what you will about inanimate objects with no true will of their own, but Ding puts in the work and Raika can¡¯t help but respect the hustle. As it stands, she can stomach somewhere around twelve to twenty ¡°tunings¡± before she passes out for the day and wakes up having lost her begging bowl (which has happened twice now). All the talk about pushing herself remains, but for the sake of being able to still hobble back ¡°home¡± at the end of a long day, she tends to limit herself to around seventeen on average.


    And then, of course, every two or three days she tries to go for twenty-five.


    Notably, and notably enough that she¡¯s started to put stock in it, she¡¯s not as hungry anymore. She still is, obviously, but she¡¯s gone from being lightheaded and barely able to see from hunger to just being in pain because of it. Exceptional news, considering that pain she can handle; a quarter of a year as a mortal in her state has made her intimately familiar with both pain and a total inability to escape it with Qi meditation. Hard to realize what a privilege it is, to escape into one¡¯s own soul and view pain as a backdrop, one she had never realized she had.


    Still, she pushes on. Even if she wasn¡¯t quite as psychotically driven¡­ she¡¯s not exactly working on a full schedule. And, interestingly enough, she tends to have a bit more energy nowadays, enough to nod at some folk as they pass rather than just listlessly sit in front of her bowl. Now, she sits upright, right leg unfolded but left in an almost-lotus pose, and spends her days giving small smiles beneath her scarf to the generous and hitting herself in the head with a tuning fork.


    It¡¯s¡­ surprising how genuine the smiles are. How much it means to have someone give something, anything, when all it costs them is a bit of time and care. Sometimes it stings more, like when those in fine silks leave her coppers of whatever pocket change they have left, but even then she can reflect that, well, it¡¯s better than before, and they didn¡¯t have to do that. Oh sure, watching fine brocades and dashing young lords and ladies occasionally pass in sight still makes her think that they really should just give her all their gold, but the gratitude remains nonetheless.


    It is a little more than a week later when Raika sees a face she recognizes again (she blames the nearsightedness).


    Li Shu stops in shock at seeing the ragged figure on the ground. Perhaps it was the ¡°Dink¡± of Raika¡¯s constant companion, or perhaps just the sight of such specific injuries, but she stops and stares at Raika with wide eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re alive!¡± she bursts.


    Raika looks up at her, quirking an eyebrow. ¡°Last time I checked and despite the Heaven¡¯s best efforts,¡± she replies, a smile pulling at the scar tissue.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t- you- I can¡¯t-¡± Li Shu stumbles, blinking owlishly at her like she¡¯s trying to get her eyes to focus. ¡°It¡¯s been months! It¡¯s almost winter!¡±


    Raika nods sagely. ¡°I thought it was getting nippy out,¡± she rasps.


    ¡°How are you still alive?¡± Li Shu asks, setting down a basket of what looks like some herbs and crouching, examining Raika like one might a strange fungus one finds unexpectedly. ¡°Do you still have some rations? Has someone helped you?¡±


    Raika shrugs, or at least tries to. Hurts her ribs to properly lift the shoulders. ¡°Not since you, really,¡± she rasps. ¡°Out here it¡¯s just guards who like to kick down and brats who act like birds when they see someone else¡¯s coins. If you have more rations, though, the one with the dried berries was the best.¡±


    Li Shu seems a mix of embarrassed and overwhelmed enough not to be proper about it. ¡°I¡¯ll keep it in mind,¡± she says with a shake of her head, ¡°but how are you still alive? It¡¯s one thing to be a beggar with one¡¯s health, and even then many grow sick and die from their environment and lack of food. You came out here covered in old cuts and in some of the worst health I¡¯ve ever seen!¡±


    ¡°You mean I was sent out here,¡± Raika rasps. She doesn¡¯t bear any ill will towards Li Shu, but she refuses to let the comment slide. This time Li Shu does color in her cheeks, a bit of pink. It¡¯s actually very cute, truth be told.


    ¡°...yes,¡± the younger woman whispers. ¡°But I don¡¯t know that we could have healed you much more anyways, in truth. Without meridians to send supplies through or a dantian to purify and absorb them, mortal medicine can only do so much. I still think it¡¯s a little mad that you survived at all.¡±


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    Raika half-shrugs again. ¡°The gods will have to come down and kill me themselves if they want this to be done quick,¡± she promises, voice dry but holding something like a laugh in it. ¡°Otherwise, I intend to drag my carcass all the way back to strength, whether they like it or not.¡±


    Li Shu does a mix of tilting her head to one side like a confused pup and a gentle, patronizing smile, like she¡¯s trying to tell if Raika is serious and also just trying to be nice. Raika just gives her a huff, before introducing ¡°Ding¡± by performing his namesake.


    ¡°Just wait,¡± she rasps. ¡°Gonna be stronger than ever soon.¡±


    At first it¡¯s just the smile again, but then it turns to a frown with the head tilt. ¡°...how?¡± Li Shu asks. It sounds like she¡¯s¡­ actually being genuine.


    Raika just shrugs. ¡°I dunno,¡± she tells her honestly. ¡°But Ding here sometimes makes me black out and being blind and missing your hands never stopped a good sculptor, hmm?¡±


    Li Shu gives up a giggle at that, and it¡¯s the nicest sound Raika has heard in months.


    And then, of course, something interrupts. Because if nothing else, the gods are consistent about pissing in her rice whenever they get a chance.


    ¡°Honorable apprentice!¡± says a voice that sounds like it wants to be important.


    Raika and Li Shu both turn their heads at the same time, looking towards the market Li Shu came from. Standing there in the colors of the¡­ Purple-flame-something-something sect stand three young cultivators, one almost three inches taller than his fellows, the other two already following him into a polite bow towards Li Shu.


    ¡°There is no need to bother yourself with this one, honorable healer,¡± says the guy in the lead, laying it on a bit thick. ¡°You are generous beyond imagining, but this is no mere beggar. They are a cripple, and any blessed healing Qi or ingredients given would be a waste on them.¡±


    ¡°And why is that, young master Qen Hou?¡± she asks, sweetly enough that Raika can¡¯t help but¡­ well, not giggle, she can¡¯t do that any more, but close.


    The younger cultivator looks to the others, confused. ¡°Well¡­ they cannot cultivate, honored healer,¡± replies one behind him, a young man with raven-dark skin and bright eyes. ¡°Any medicine would go through their meridians, would it not? And since they have none¡­¡±


    ¡°And I suppose you all are apprenticed at the Ru Kai clinic, and must surely be my senior brothers and sisters?¡± Li Shu asks in the sweetest, most subtle tone of condescension Raika has ever heard. It¡¯s pretty hot, honestly.


    The one who just spoke averts his eyes, but the one in front who first spoke (Qen Hou, was it?) seems to take it in stride. ¡°I would never claim this one¡¯s knowledge of the medicinal arts would even touch honored healers,¡± he says, all proper and prim. ¡°I only mean to assist you in surpassing the bounds of misplaced generosity.¡±


    Raika rolls her eyes at that, but she can¡¯t help it; he¡¯s got his lines down pretty well, and he¡¯s navigating this decently. Plus, he¡¯s technically right; any time that Li Shu spends talking to her, she isn¡¯t learning, helping her master, or healing someone.


    Doesn¡¯t mean she¡¯s not gonna remember his ass for interrupting a good vibe, but she¡¯ll probably let him off with a fucked up rib when she¡¯s back on top.


    Aaaaany day now.


    Raika can¡¯t really get up, much less bow, but she does sit up a bit straighter and bow a little. ¡°Thank you for your time, Li Shu,¡± she rasps. ¡°It has been an honor and a joy to see you, and I thank you for the kindness you have shown me. I am sure that we both have pursuits we must return to.¡±


    Li Shu¡¯s face falls, just a bit, just enough to make Raika feel good. She doesn¡¯t want to leave. That, as the kids say, is the power of rizz. Or maybe just genuine interest and incredible kindness. The latter is most likely, but the part that agrees the most with it is an idiot and a coward, so obviously it must be that even in her condition Raika is simply irresistible to some degree.


    The younger woman stands and gives Raika a bow much deeper than is proper. ¡°I admire your survival and your dedication,¡± she says, somewhat formally, ¡°and I am proud that the services of the Ru Kai clinic have helped to strengthen and support you. If ever you find yourself in greater straits, we welcome you once more.¡±


    Then she pauses. ¡°Do you often beg here?¡± she asks.


    Raika nods. ¡°Can¡¯t walk very far. Here morning, noon and sunset, most days. Except thirds-days, that¡¯s when people don¡¯t come and the stalls give free scraps sometimes.¡±


    Li Shu seems to take that in stride, giving a shorter bow. ¡°Then perhaps our paths may cross again. I bid you well.¡±


    ¡°I bid you well,¡± Raika replies.


    Li Shu walks on her way, bag heavy with the herbs and supplies she¡¯s surely bought this trip. And Raika watches her go a bit.


    Then ¡°Dink¡± reminds her, vocally, that she¡¯s got shit to do, and she lets herself fall back into the rhythm of trying to hold the imagined vibration as firmly inside herself as she can.


    She does not notice the looks she gets from those who walk past a moment later. Not the look of derision and disgust in the eyes of the raven-skinned disciple who mentioned her cultivation, not the look of confusion from the quiet one beside him, and not the look of fleeting but genuine curiosity in the eyes of one Qen Hou.


    She¡¯s busy.

 Chapter 8 - Rizz is Immortal (as are Certain Vibes)

    Li Shu does visit again, surprising no one except maybe herself. Raika, of course, knows full well that she¡¯s a genuine magnet for kind hotties (Hisheng, despite his failings, was very much an example of both), and she wouldn¡¯t be surprised if Rui Ka allowed the visits as an indulgence to her pupil. She seems like the kind of person to be so abrasive yet kind to not allow it, yet start asking for cheap herbs in more-or-less Raika¡¯s direction once or twice a week rather than once a month.


    Li Shu, of course, seems almost genuinely confused the second time she visits. The first time she came back she seemed relieved, as if just happy to find out Raika hadn¡¯t been a hallucination and could indeed be found again. The second time, she seemed genuinely confused as to why she¡¯d come back, or perhaps if she should have come back. She did bring the dried berry ration, though, a bar of grain with embedded sweet notes in it, so Raika lets her be with her thoughts. It¡¯s not up to her if Li Shu comes back, and it¡¯s even less up to her if she *wants* to come back, as much as she hopes that both are the case. She plies her in raspy, clipped conversations and whatever trivial activities she can muster. As it turns out, describing some of her theories and philosophies about how she might recover her strength or about the ways in which the world seems super dumb is enough to get Li Shu to smile and occasionally laugh. So, Raika spends the time when she is around trying to be interesting and ridiculous enough to do just that: make her laugh.


    It would probably work more often if not for him.


    Yeah, that¡¯s right, Qen Hou came back. And he¡¯s making a habit of it, too.


    He doesn¡¯t circle back with his buddies, the sallow looking woman or the raven-skinned skeptic, but he does circle back. Usually it¡¯s right before or after Li Shu comes by, though on the occasions she sees him she does usually just frown at him and head off (he has thus had his punishment upgraded from broken rib to minor tooth removal), but he¡¯s also come by on days where she hasn¡¯t. It makes some sense, since he wouldn¡¯t have access to her schedule after all, but it¡¯s still weird.


    Also it makes him a very obvious rival for the attention of one delightfully adorable young healer, which upgrades him from a tooth breaking to a curb stomp when she gets a chance. He¡¯s horning in on her literal only source of social interaction here!


    And then, almost three weeks since she started seeing him wandering by on occasion, he drops a coin into her bowl.


    At this point it¡¯s started to get properly cold. Paleblossom city isn¡¯t exactly cold by imperial standards; it¡¯s barely north of the Blue Ringed Teeth, the third track of mountains north of the capital. There are two more mountain ranges between Paleblossom city and the true north, where blood freezes in one¡¯s entire body whenever a cut is opened and where air can freeze to blocks and knives of ice in one¡¯s chest simply by breathing. Such places are meant only for great beasts, spirits of frost and death, and the few sects and cultivation clans that have shaped themselves to grow from such harsh conditions. No, Paleblossom city¡¯s geographical location, like many of its features, is only barely notable.


    That being said, Raika has literally the clothes she¡¯s wearing, one and a half blankets, and an entirely mortal flesh and blood body. Winter is fucking cold now.


    And with that cold, there are less visitors to the market, less free coppers to cast at the more downtrodden. Her bowl sits nearly empty most days, and if not for cheap rice, food scraps, and an ever increasing proficiency with trapping rats, Raika would be¡­ not well. And considering her default state that¡¯s saying something.


    So it¡¯s very audible when the well dressed dark purple-and-red robed, blue eyed figure drops a coin into her bowl.


    She looks at him.


    He looks at her.


    She looks at him.


    And he looks at her.


    And then he walks away without saying a word.


    And shit, a copper piece is a copper piece.


    So she nods at his disappearing back and makes sure that, between ¡°Dinks¡±, she doesn¡¯t lose track of it.


    It becomes a bit of a ritual. Some days he passes by, and if he does, half the time he drops a coin. On days where Li Shu comes by he might drop two, like he¡¯s thanking her for attracting her attention (and potentially opening conversation opportunities outside the watchful eye of Rui Ka), which keeps the act of potential kindness from downgrading his eventually incoming dental rearrangement. Still, copper pieces are copper pieces, and they become ever more valuable as things go on.


    And then one day he drops a silver coin in her bowl.


    The staring contest last longer this time than the first.


    ¡°Why?¡± She eventually rasps.


    A silver coin is worth twelve copper. It¡¯s literally spare pocket change for someone as inevitably rich as a sect member of any standing, but it¡¯s more than she¡¯s made in a day since she started begging.


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    ¡°Why do you keep hitting yourself with that thing?¡± He asks instead of answering.


    She sneers, as best as she can through the scar tissue and missing cheek. ¡°I am sure a powerful young cultivator like yourself would surely have no need for the silly imaginings of cripples.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t strike me as very silly,¡± Qen Hou says. ¡°Even if you didn¡¯t find yourself in such a serious situation, I don¡¯t believe you¡¯d strike me as silly.¡±


    ¡°Shows¡­ what you know,¡± she rasps back. ¡°I¡¯m hilarious.¡±


    He tilts his head at that, but decides it doesn¡¯t merit a response. ¡°Four or more times a week, I walk past this spot,¡± Qen Hou says. ¡°Every single time, for hours and hours, you¡¯re hitting yourself in the head with a broken tuning fork. You¡¯re right that I¡¯d normally just consider it a symptom of your crippling. It''s common for a broken mind to follow so thoroughly broken a soul. But I believe that the wise and kind Li Shu wouldn¡¯t be wasting her time on a mad invalid who thinks total nonsense, and I don¡¯t disregard that you have survived this long in your state with little aid. So, tell me why you keep hitting yourself with that thing. For a silver piece, I¡¯d say I¡¯ve bought at least that much.¡±


    She nods. Reasonable question, and a hefty price indeed. If she were in his shoes, she might even have done something similar. She reaches forward to grab the coin, lifting it, feeling the difference in heft and texture compared to copper. It¡¯s a damn lot of money for her. It¡¯s probably enough to feed her for a few days if she really scrounges, and it would alleviate so much pressure.


    The part of her that thinks these things, unfortunately for all involved, is an idiot and a coward, and unfortunately for herself, Raika makes a habit of not listening to either.


    She tosses the coin back at him. He catches it without difficulty, no more strain than a frown and a flick of the wrist, but she smiles as he does.


    Three weeks ago it would¡¯ve landed at his feet. Today, admittedly with a pretty hefty effort, it made it to almost waist height.


    ¡°Keep it then,¡± she tells him. ¡°While I am sure I once had a great many talents to make all kinds blush, I am not a whore to be bought and made to speak.¡±


    She ends the sentence with a harsh, rasping cough, her lungs and throat barely holding it together by the end. But she did kinda throw a coin, so it¡¯s not all bad signs. Probably.


    He lets her finish coughing, a consideration she kind of wants to kick him for. Then, he shrugs, and flicks the coin in the air.


    ¡°I suppose even worms have their pride, Raika,¡± he says coldly.


    She looks up at him, giving away nothing.


    ¡°Not exactly a secret, who you are,¡± Qen Hou continues. ¡°The Silver Song family covered it up pretty good, but an event this close to town that ended with a crippled Dantian is impossible to cover up completely. Your sect isn¡¯t even that far from here. They didn¡¯t make a fuss, obviously, just enough to save face, especially after they heard how monumentally stupid you were. It does, however, indicate you may have been mad well before all this, even if the invalid status is new.¡±


    She pauses to think. Quasi-shrugs. ¡°Aren¡¯t all cultivators?¡± She rasps.


    He snorts. ¡°Perhaps. So some elders say, when they want to sound smart rather than old.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re real arrogant, ain¡¯t ya?¡± She rasps.


    He shrugs. ¡°Aren¡¯t all cultivators?¡± He asks.


    She spreads her arm wide. ¡°Not anymore,¡± she says.


    He doesn¡¯t really have anything to refute that with, so he just shrugs again. Then, silver in hand, he starts to walk away.


    She considers calling him back. Letting him laugh a bit at the idiotic dream she has, the delusion that she can somehow be more than mortal again, in exchange for the security that silver could bring. What harm would it do, save to the pride of a worm?


    Well, the pride she can take or leave. She still has some, but it¡¯s not as important as surviving, and surviving is important to getting stronger.


    But then again, fuck Qen Hou. All her friends (read: ¡°Dink¡±) hate Qen Hou, so no begging or sharing with him. So she lets him walk.


    Might be time for something new though, with things so cold. She starts to ring Dink against her sternum, instead, and she spends the day as snow begins to fall picturing a nearly invisible mist in her body slowly start to shiver and heat up.


    It makes her less tired, interestingly. It might be her getting used to it but it might also just be the fact that she¡¯s been wildly concussed for a while and this just hurts her less. Either way, she feels like she can do more reps against her chest and ribs than she can against her forehead, which means¡­ well, more reps.


    She¡¯s been falling deeper, lately. The illusion has been getting clearer and clearer as her mental picture solidifies with practice, and she can spend longer before her focus is broken. It¡¯s a lot less vivid or trance-like than Qi meditation, but it still feels comfortingly familiar. She¡¯s been meditating for years now, and adding visualization to that is supposed to be a project for a late stage Formation cultivator anyways, so it¡¯s almost like it¡¯s supposed to be. Whatever the case, she¡¯s started to picture whatever leftover Qi she has not as droplets but as mist.


    Not fog or clouds or even a nice hot steam; all of the above would indicate something visible enough to affect one¡¯s sight, visible to the naked eye. Mist is slow, intangible, barely visible, it¡¯s presence felt more by lingering glimpses and touches than anything solid. If there were liquid droplets of Qi in her, no matter how small, they¡¯re long gone by now, and she doubts there was ever that much. So, mist.


    She pictures the note from Dink, traveling into her, fluttering along her bones and making her blood tremble, all ever so faintly, ever so slightly. She imagines the translucent mist of what was once roaring rivers and lakes, left to flutter and rot without its banks, tremble ever so slightly too as her blood moves through it. She pictures the ripple make it all the way to her heart, where it beats, ever so slightly off, and leave a single drop of mist¡¯s worth of difference, ready for the next flutter to bring more and to make all of it tremble.


    Raika rings against her sternum again (¡°Dink!¡±) and starts over again, unaware of the purple-clad figure, invisible to naked eyes, watching her from a nearby rooftop.

 Chapter 9 - Chilly Streets and Tasty Treats

    So as it turns out, when you¡¯re immune to neither cold nor sneezing, winter tends to suck ass like it¡¯s going out of style.


    Raika spent six years of her life learning to huddle indoors when the winter came. It was a time of warm fires, tea, and heated cakes from a warm pan, always just enough that so long as you huddled close and stayed indoors, things would be ok. Then, she spent the next twenty odd years learning that huddling with loved ones and cozy fireplaces is baby stuff for amateurs, and real badasses just refuse to be cold. She even got good enough that it started to be true; while she still prefers a nice jacket and shawl on a windy winter¡¯s day, she got to the point where she could have bathed naked in a river on the longest night of the year and come off maybe just a touch chilly. For this part of the world, she¡¯s pretty much immune to winter.


    Or she was. Now, she doesn¡¯t even have a nice jacket or a shawl, because life isn¡¯t fair and jackets are apparently a thing for rich people now.


    Raika starts the winter with two blankets, both thin, the clothes she¡¯s wearing (and has had minimal chances to wash), and stray straw. She got lucky with the alcove she found, it¡¯s true, behind an old building itself wrapped by a few alleyways, enough of one of its walls eroded to make a little cubby one can vaguely curl up into. A broken box left nearby when she arrived and the aforementioned straw and blanket makes for an incredibly cozy patch of real estate; she¡¯s got about a third of a poorly balanced roof, half of one wall, a quasi-tent for some privacy and to pretend to keep the wind out, and as much moldy straw as she can find for that chic in-home rustic look. A paradise fit for a queen, surely.


    Unfortunately, even in this private paradise, resources dwindle. Rats, once plentiful in the quiet passing of summer and autumn, eager to reproduce and grow plump, are just as starved as the people that used to feed them, and those that remain are more than happy staying cozy with their litters underneath houses, in the cracks in buildings, and in basements and warrens beneath the ground. Further, neither Li Shu nor Qen Hou have come by since the first snow fell. For Li Shu, she¡¯s pretty sure either she or her master realized the chances of Raika surviving any sort of winter and felt it best to cut contact before things got too sad; for Qen Hou, he probably just got bored and decided to pursue cute healers somewhere else. Either way, what little buffer they provided is as gone as the rats, now.


    So once again, the curse of mundanity rises up, and she suffers just the same as any weakling without a pack or a cave to warm oneself in. About a week into the first cold snap, she gives up on begging entirely; the streets of the few areas she can hobble to (and isn¡¯t beaten when she arrives in) are anemic with travelers and merchants both, and the only scraps being thrown out are the ones too spoilt to sell or burn. There¡¯s still some good to be found in the trash that¡¯s collected in the big alcoves near business centers and residential districts, little bits of unspoilt leaves or scraps of skin and char that no one wanted, so why waste time hoping a restaurant or stall has the right mix of pity and disgust for her to give her less of what she¡¯d find here anyways? Besides, the exercise can be good in the right doses. She doesn¡¯t have the stamina or well-being to actually exercise properly, not to her definition, but moving the muscles makes for minor body heat, helps keeps her joints from stiffening up completely, and slowly helps her walk further.


    By week three of winter, she can walk almost twenty minutes at a time without needing to stop and rest. She comforts herself that she only just started: she haunts herself with the fact she¡¯s been conscious three months and change and is only barely able to walk twice as far as when she started.


    Still she keeps busy, keeping thoughts like that quiet and still like they should be. It really helps with her visualization practice imaging those thoughts being spoken by Feng Gui or Qen Hou, trying to talk as she holds them under boiling hot water. Really cathartic, especially if she focuses hard enough to hear the screams! While the illusory shitheads lay drowning and writhing, though, she keeps her mind on her focus. She can¡¯t tell if sternum or forehead ¡°Dink¡±ing had any meaningful difference, so she just alternates between them. On her forehead, she pictures the broken note and the impact it creates trembling from her crown down her entire body. From her sternum, she pictures the same ripple traveling down into her heart and then back out into her blood, ever so slightly. She makes the two a constant pattern, now, stopping only to sleep or when exhaustion takes hold; walking, meditating on imagined ripples, and picturing the violent torment of idiots. The three together keep her warm, and the longer she maintains the illusions while walking, the easier it is to keep them up constantly, ¡°Dink¡±ing on the move.


    Interestingly, she starts to notice a difference in the behavior of her fellow homeless and downtrodden. She spent the first three months of her begging trying to avoid getting kicked by street urchins and drunks and trying to avoid them just reaching into her bowl to take what they wanted. Against the kids at least, she had no qualms about whacking the few she could catch with her crutch, but for more than one of the drunks a kick to the teeth dissuaded her a bit. Then she started to get a bit better and learned to aim exclusively for the genitals, and they started staying away a bit more too.


    Now, though, any that she meets tends to avoid her like the plague. Rag-clad and limping along on her crutch, the sound of a broken tuning fork every few beats announcing her coming, rather than get ambushed more often she¡¯s found herself almost alone. On the few occasions where she does run into or see anyone on the streets, even those wearing jackets and clearly walking home or to work, they tend to swerve to avoid her or take a different route. Makes sense: between the broken state of her soul and her body, she can¡¯t be an enjoyable sight, but it¡¯s starting to get a teeny bit hurtful even to her.


    So, starving a bit less than anticipated, (mmmh, yummy yummy trash), as fit as she¡¯s been since she woke up (competitive hobbling champ material, she¡¯s sure) and, despite the fun and effort needed for meditation, absolutely bored out of her mind and cold as witch tits, when she hears a scuffling sound the next street over, she pauses and decides to check it out.


    It actually feels weird to stop ¡°Dinking¡±, it¡¯s become such a habit. If she¡¯s awake, she¡¯s hitting herself with a tuning fork and pretending she knows what it¡¯s doing, if anything. In the silence of it, she can almost feel the gaps where the rhythm used to be, and it makes her fidget, holding the fork in her hand and pulling it forcefully back down to her side every time it comes up. She can almost hear her heartbeat, the absence is so loud and silent.


    But she can hear the sound of shuffling and heavy, angry breaths more, so she keeps walking.


    She turns the corner as quietly as she can, fresh fallen and dusty snow masking the clicking of her crutch or the awkward shuffle-step of her gait. In the alley, one of a series of winding tunnels behind and out of sight of so much of the city, the first thing she sees is scarlet on the snow. Someone is bleeding.


    That someone falls to the ground a ways down the alley, the trail of red marking their struggle. They¡¯re young, younger than Raika but not quite a child either, edging their way into and maybe just slightly past where most would be finding an apprenticeship, helping their families or getting married off. Sixteen, maybe? Somewhere in that weird rut between child and adolescent and adult all at once. More notably, they¡¯re bleeding damn badly, a cut on their forehead bleeding as freely as all head wounds do, but visible bruising and bloodied knuckles adding to the spatter pattern. Standing above him, panting almost as heavily with exertion, is a larger man, belly pudgy and soft from long term drinking and lots of it, hair half-balding and skin sallow and unhealthy. They both look malnourished, though obviously the man has compensated with a liquid diet, and he¡¯s heavy enough that the few hits he¡¯s taken in the fight aren¡¯t stopping him from stomping the kid¡¯s head in.


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    Literally. He¡¯s stomping the kid¡¯s head in. Full body weight of a grown man, coming down as hard as he can muster against the boy¡¯s skull and against the ground behind it. The boy is putting up a fight, or trying to, grabbing at the man¡¯s shoe, trying to squirm away, but he¡¯s visibly exhausted and disoriented, likely already heavily concussed.


    A part of Raika stops and examines things. She considers that the guy is big and pissed, she can barely move and hasn¡¯t fought in half a year, the kid''s probably stolen from her before, she doesn¡¯t know them or the situation, and, quite frankly, it¡¯s not really any of her business. She wasn¡¯t a justicar or even a particularly conscientious cultivator; what would be would be, and her strength was best suited to the pursuit of more of it.


    Of course now she doesn¡¯t really have any strength so-


    Oh, yeah she stopped listening about ten seconds back. Most of that analysis played out to the sound of a badly disjointed run, the point of a crutch hitting a dude in his spine, and her good hand, no longer holding Dink, grabbing this guy by his thinning hairline and pulling back as hard as she can.


    There¡¯s so many reasons to avoid a fight! And so many reasons why she didn¡¯t! Why isn¡¯t she stopping to examine this?


    Shut up, she thinks over the sound of her recriminations and mild confusion, and let me beat the shit out of this dude.


    He screams, an angry and surprisingly melodious sound when she yanks. His scalp starts to bleed and she can feel some clumps of hair in her hands, but her grip is still mostly firm, and as he tries to turn and swing blindly behind him, she just yanks it again. Her footwork is fucked, she can¡¯t even lift her right leg enough to properly hop around, never mind secure her stance, so dodging is out of the question. If she falls over, getting up is out of the question too, especially without her crutch, which went flying from under the barely stable hold she had on it when she hit the guy.


    ¡°The fuck-¡° he snarls, so she yanks again. The kid isn¡¯t moving to run or help, the little shit, but his eyes are pretty unfocused and he¡¯s breathing pretty hard, so fair enough. ¡°I¡¯ll fuckin kill you-¡° another yank, this one the last as her hand comes up with a chunk of bloody hair follicles and maybe some scalp. He shrieks this time, much higher pitched, and curls inward to clutch at his head. This, fortunately, puts him closer to shoulder height, which is right where he needs to be to get a punch to the temple and a splatter of free scalp to cover his eyes with.


    ¡°What the hell!¡± He shrieks, trying to both rub at his eyes and also avoid rubbing anything in. ¡°What the fuck is wrong with you?¡±


    ¡°A lot,¡± Raika rasps, circling him. She can feel her heartbeat, how it pulses in her and pounds against its cage. It¡¯s still hurt, still scarred, the rhythm uneven and honestly rather concerning, but it beats and it¡¯s loud enough she wants to ask if anyone else can hear it too.


    Then he hits her, and she can¡¯t hear anything past the ringing in her ears. Shot to the jaw, hard enough to rattle her (not exactly difficult nowadays) and the reason she¡¯s on her feet is the wall there to catch her on gentle rocks and mortar.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± The man cries, one eye clear of blood and hair, the other still being rubbed at. ¡°You dare? He¡¯s mine to discipline, the little shit! Mine! Don¡¯t you know who I am?¡±


    Hmm. Better not to let this drag on. If he¡¯s talking he¡¯s distracted; if she¡¯s talking she¡¯s about to get hit. She starts tuning him out and rather than hobble, decides to just bodily throw herself at him as hard as she can. She lands more against his chest and belly than on his face, and he seems more surprised than put off balance, but, encouragingly, she finds out he has a beard!


    She grabs it, yanks as hard as her fucked up arm can manage, and uses the exposed gap between beard and throat to bite.


    There is a minor hiccup, of course; between his frankly annoying panicked yelling and stumbling under the surprise weight and balance-shifting beard yank, he hasn¡¯t thrown her off yet, but she is still missing several molars, most of a cheek, and major functionality in her lower jaw. These factors, combined, do not a potent bite attack make.


    Then again, it¡¯s also important to factor in that Raika really, really wants to hurt this dude, and a bite is what she has to do it with. So, using more her neck than her jaw, she drags her canines and jagged back teeth against his skin as hard as she can.


    And, like a mortal, his soft, quivering flesh parts.


    She doesn¡¯t get a proper bite or chunk of meat, but she breaks the skin and maybe a quarter-inch past it, and it¡¯s more than enough for the man to absolutely panic. Whatever screaming he was doing before and whatever he was trying to tell her about how great he is, half naked kicking a kid in the street, are nothing compared to now. He gives a breathless gasp, like a prey animal that knows it¡¯s caught, and then he falls rather than try to stay balanced. It might have been the smartest thing for him to do, ironically; the impact jars her teeth away from him, and the impact of falling even with his generous cushion hurts everywhere, but her grip, at least, is still strong, and his beard, greasy though it is, remains held fast.


    ¡°Get OFF me!¡± He yells, scrabbling backwards, one hand half waving her away and half pulling back for a strike.


    Bad news; the hit is going to hurt. Maybe enough to knock her out, at which point she¡¯ll die. Good news; they¡¯re on the ground now, and while it felt like a million miles away at her pace, she technically didn¡¯t drop Dink that far from them when she rushed him.


    So she lets go of his beard. She uses a mostly functioning right arm to block his hit and redirect some of it with old instincts. And she reaches, stretching as far as she can, feeling joints and still ruined ribs and a messy spine popping and straining and screaming, grabs her tuning fork off the ground and shoves it into the cut she made on his throat.


    Tunings forks, even one as hard working as Dink, are not designed with violence in mind. They¡¯re not good at stabbing, bashing, anything of the sort, really.


    But anything with a line to it can be a lever, and it¡¯s actually not that hard, using one¡¯s full body weight, to lever open a pre-existing spot. Like, say, a cut amongst soft flesh.


    He gurgles, once or twice. She can relate.


    She still has his blood in her mouth, running down her chin. It¡¯s not supposed to be healthy for consumption, and he¡¯s not exactly an ideal target, but¡­


    In for a copper, in for a silver, as it were.


    Over the course of maybe ten minutes, she crawls through the snow to her crutch. Over the course of about ten more, she gathers what she¡¯s got left and stands, using the wall for leverage. Only when she¡¯s on her feet again does she swallow the taste of violence.


    It¡¯s still a little warm going down.


    She looks down at the kid, who has apparently recovered enough to stare back, if not much else. His breath is still shaky, his hands trembling, and his eyes clearly unfocused. She¡¯s not sure what he sees, looking at her, but the tears, be they from stress, fear or relief all paint a vivid picture.


    She just nods at him.


    ¡°Ding,¡± goes Ding as they walk away.

 Chapter 10 - Intrepid Munchkins and their Insufferable Assistance

    So the fight was actually pretty interesting.


    Firstly, she won! And killed a guy! Honestly very affirming.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you agree, Dink?¡± she asks. Dink, cowardly yes-man that they are, nervously agrees. She really does need to help the little fella grow a backbone.


    Secondly, and more importantly, when she was fighting she fell into a state that she hasn¡¯t felt in a long time. The hardest challenges bring the best results, as they say, and there¡¯s been fights before where she hit that zen moment, that state where she could feel every part of her body at once, where everything moves slow and crystal clear and beautiful and she knows exactly what parts are doing what.


    This wasn¡¯t that, but she could feel her heart beating, like a drum inside of her, and it does give her an idea.


    As she¡¯s considering it, she hears shuffling coming up behind her.


    Ah. Well. If she does have to get her shit kicked in today, now¡¯s as good a time as any. She shuffles back, awkwardly turning with her crutch, Dink held out like a weapon ready to be ineffectually poked into a body. She won¡¯t go down without a fight, at least, which is honestly as much as she can hope for in any of the fights she¡¯s had since she- well, lost the ability to fight, really.


    Except as it turns out the person coming up behind her is one of the few people alive who may very well be absolutely terrified of tuning forks, now. Makes the whole ¡°intimidation¡± part of the conflict a lot easier.


    It¡¯s the kid. Head still bleeding, stumbling about, kicking up snow into awkward piles behind him as he moves. He has one hand on the closest wall, managing to walk just fine but clearly dizzy. His eyes look a bit better, though, so not brain damaged, perhaps, just concussed. Which is brain damage, but for babies, so barely classifiable as such obviously. Other than that, his only injuries seem to be cut knuckles and bruises, maybe a broken rib at most. He¡¯s basically healthy, honestly, not much to complain about that she can see.


    He does look at her like a deer before a fire though, eyes wide and confused. Which¡­ might be a concern.


    She looks at him, waiting for anything. He just kinda stays like that, staring at her. She taps her sternum with Ding.


    That gives her a reaction. He full-body flinches, as if afraid the sound alone is going to reach out and pop him like a blister. Which Raika has seen happen before, from a sound-Qi cultivator, so fair enough, not actually unrealistic. Still sort of silly here though; Dink is hardly all that impressive.


    It protests meekly as she taps it against herself again, and she shushes it. ¡°You¡¯re not, Dink, don¡¯t pretend,¡± she tells them.


    The kid cocks their head, confused, and she just sort of shrugs at him. If he can¡¯t follow a basic conversation that¡¯s not really her problem. Instead she just shifts a little bit and, with as much of her body language as she still has, tries to say ¡°What?¡± at the kid.


    ¡°Are¡­ are you the ringing hag?¡± The kid asks.


    She raises one eyebrow. ¡°That¡¯s a shit name,¡± she rasps. ¡°Plus, I¡¯m twenty seven. That¡¯s not a hag yet, unless marrying age is some stupid low number nowadays.¡±


    He flinched again, his body language terrified even as his eyes start to look curious. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he says. ¡°It¡¯s just what they call you. The weird lady in rags with the evil eyes and the ringing sound where she walks. They say you have a broken bell from an old lover, and you use it to lure stupid kids into your cave for eating.¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s stupid,¡± she says, ¡°so obviously it¡¯s not true, since there¡¯s still stupid kids making up stupid ideas. If I could lure stupid children, you think I¡¯d be this skinny?¡±


    He blanches a bit and she can¡¯t help but roll her eyes. During and after cultivation, some things remain true; the sun still sets, the wind still blows, and her comedic genius remains ahead of its time. Frankly, that was witty, smart, and well dried, the exact blend, and all in such few words thanks to her scars! The kid is obviously one of the aforementioned stupid ones, or, if she¡¯s being generous, more brain damaged than she thought.


    She shrugs again (which is starting to hurt, honestly). She has better things to do than try to explain humor to some kid, if only barely.


    ¡°Dink¡± goes Dink as it agrees, ringing slightly against her forehead this time. Alternating the points of contact is either important or slightly less boring, so either way, she¡¯s doing it.


    ¡°Wait!¡± The kid yells. She hasn¡¯t really moved yet, crippled and all, but it¡¯s still annoying having to shuffle back around to face him again.


    ¡°What?¡± She asks.


    ¡°Why did you kill him?¡± He whispers.


    Not ¡°why did you save me¡± or ¡°why were you there¡±; why did you kill him, he asked.


    She gives him a smile, pulling in scar tissue and watching him flinch as she does. ¡°Didn¡¯t do it for you,¡± she rasps. ¡°Just don¡¯t like shitheads. Good chance to hurt someone earning some hurt, and didn¡¯t want to watch something I don¡¯t like. Guess you got lucky.¡±


    He frowns as she¡¯s coughing. ¡°Lucky?¡± He asks. ¡°He almost killed me and now I have nowhere to go. What the hell should I do now?¡±


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    She shrugs. ¡°Not my problem,¡± she rasps, Dinging her sternum again. ¡°Just wanted to hurt him. Glad you¡¯re alive. So shoo.¡±


    Finally, she is allowed to shuffle back around again and start walking. The idea she had is still here somewhere, hidden by the memory of conversation but still fresh-washed in the feel of adrenaline from the fight, still sharp in her mind. It was something about her heartbeat, something about vibration, part of a feeling she got from feeling it beat so hard and so clearly as she gripped and yanked and bit and-


    She can hear him walking behind her. Shuffling through the snow, along the wall, and even then still faster than her. He does slow down before he reaches her though, staying an awkward few feet behind and slowing further to keep pace, more or less, with her own awkward gait.


    Well, alright. She hasn¡¯t exactly made where she¡¯s living a secret, and she doesn¡¯t actually have anything there besides broken wood and a bowl she¡¯s not using, and if he tries to hurt her she just has to hurt him worse, faster. Which she can theoretically do, as she just proved. See? Properly emotionally affirming, the fight was, worth every drop spilled, especially from the waste of a man. Pretty soon she¡¯ll be crushing Feng Gui¡¯s bones between her teeth and spitting them back at him while he is turned on a spit or something.


    Then she remembers the kid is still following, and laughs to herself. She decides to let him follow as she finds food and ¡°meditates¡±, though the kid flinches every time she varies the rhythm of Dings or visibly moves the tuning fork around.


    Even still, she didn¡¯t actually expect him to stick around, but for some reason, despite the slow pace, he does. By the time the sun has started to set, just barely past the middle of the afternoon, she¡¯s found her way home, belly at least full-er than when she left, and the kid, staggering as he may be, trips and falls on his face as they turn a sharp corner into a somehow even less maintained backstreet of Paleblossom. She tries to chastise him for it, because laughing really hurts if she isn¡¯t ready for it, but she¡¯s a bit too busy holding back said laugh as she watches him absolutely eat dirt. He doesn¡¯t stay down or puke, though, which says wonders for his potential recovery from experiencing the initial operation for a cracked-open skull.


    She lets him pick himself back up as she leans against the wall along her alcove, starting the painful process of getting down off her feet by sliding awkwardly down inch by inch until she¡¯s made it down to one knee (the right, as always, unbending and awkwardly splayed instead). She leaves the crutch along the wall for when she gets up again, and takes one of her ¡°cloaks¡± to start hanging back up, the improvised tent-wall rounding out the hollowed space and ruined wood.


    The kid, still staggering a bit, surprises her when he takes a big step forward and takes the cloak out of her hand. He must see something in her eyes as she looks at him, at the way her hand grips and she starts to lean forward as if to move, and stutters out some kind of apology. He holds the rag like an offering, before slowly (and disgustingly easily) starting to wrap it up and against the wind for her. She doesn¡¯t move for a while, eyes following his movements, but¡­ he just seems to be trying to help.


    ¡°Not enough money for an apprentice, idiot,¡± she rasps. ¡°And not much in the mood for a suitor.¡±


    Defying all conventional logic, the kid actually blushes at that, just a bit. ¡°I¡¯m not- you killed him, is all,¡± he mumbles.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she rasps. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t, he would¡¯ve done you in first, then himself, beer-belly first, not long after. What about it?¡±


    ¡°When he doesn¡¯t come back, they¡¯ll blame me,¡± the kid whines. ¡°They¡¯ll kick me out. It¡¯s not much, but they keep us warm, and-¡±


    ¡°Orphanage or red light house?¡± she asks.


    Amusingly enough this time he doesn¡¯t blush. ¡°Red light,¡± he tells her. ¡°I¡¯m old for it, but I can count and I¡¯m quick, so I can take some from the purses when no one is looking, and they keep me around. I take care of tha little ones.¡±


    She nods at that. If he can count, that makes him useful; there¡¯s plenty of even cultivators who never bother to learn, and if he¡¯s figured out numbers after, he¡¯s ahead of the curve. She was never great at them either; simple writing gets meaning across, and if someone owes you then they owe you. It¡¯s enough to know how much you have and how much you gain or lose in any big trades or with sect tokens or some sort, but keeping track of finances is a specialized thing. Chances are they¡¯re wildly underpaying the kid.


    ¡°Go back anyways,¡± she says. ¡°Say he cost too much, you got rid of him.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± he asks. ¡°I¡­ that¡¯s not something I can say. He kept out the bad ones, made sure things stayed-¡±


    ¡°He was one of the bad ones,¡± she says with a cough. Only a few words left. ¡°You got rid of him. Can even take his place, you buy a knife you can show or eat a bit more. Then if they kick you out it''s for being stupid twice, not just stupid once, and I can tell you about begging, but if there¡¯s a chance, it¡¯s your job to grab it and bite and not let go.¡±


    By the end of the sentence she has started to feel a bit of blood in the back of her throat, and the cough hurts worse than normal, so she waves her hand at him. Before he can reply, she¡¯s already Dinked him in the forehead, which has him flinch back so bad he falls on his ass.


    Shit, now he made her laugh again. Or she made herself laugh, more like; she really is too funny for her own good.


    The kid just looks at her, clearly confused but not nearly as scared as before. She just makes a vague grumbling noise at him and shoos him away, doing a terrible job dispelling the idea of being an old hag.


    He looks like he just doesn¡¯t really know what to say, at first. Then, he gets up and gives her a terrifically bad bow, like he¡¯s barely ever done it before or like he¡¯s tried very hard to never learn how to bend at the waist without looking like an idiot.


    ¡°I am JiaJia!¡± the kid says, way too loudly, like an idiot. ¡°I will take your advice, old hag lady. If it works, I might come back and help tie your tent, since I do it so much better than you anyways!¡±


    Raika¡¯s eyes widen and she grabs and flings her begging bowl at the little shit¡¯s head, tasting happy copper and bright red bubbles as she does. He effortlessly dodges, though he does sway on his feet as he does with residual dizziness, but before he runs off he does sort of kick it back towards her. Whatever face she is showing, he seems to find some reassurance there, because he smiles brightly and laughs with her rather than at her.


    And then he¡¯s back off around the corner, heading back the way they came.


    ¡­huh.


    Cute kid.


    Ding, insipid yes-thing that it is, agrees the next time it chimes against her.


    ¡°Oh can it, ya damn can opener,¡± she whispers, keeping the volume as low as she can. ¡°We got work to do.¡±


    And she puts the little meeting from her mind, breathing as deep as she can and trying to find the right rhythm to Dink to the beat of her heart. There¡¯s something to this, she can feel it.


    Also, she killed a man. She killed someone.


    The savage joy of that is almost as good as the feeling she gets when she manages to start picturing the ripple not of Dink, but of the drumbeat of blood inside her.

 Chapter 11 - Sweet Sweet Suffering (and, Sometimes, Kindness)

    She still can¡¯t feel her Qi. She may never feel her Qi, now. There is every chance that she will be as ruined as she is today on the last day she draws breath, and that in all that time, she will not feel her Qi, never touch it, never feel it slip and fold and move against her, inside her, a thing burning with heat and solid as steel yet somehow soft to the touch, molded by will and by intent, by technique and with patience. She may very well die without feeling it even once more.


    She might also die without getting laid again, and the similarities between the two thoughts, while one is an order of magnitude lesser than the other, is almost enough to make her laugh. It is enough to make her cry.


    But beyond being mad (and Raika knows she is mad, how could she not be? Some of it is even on purpose!) she also still has those truths she found before. The one that stands out most to her now isn¡¯t that Qi still exists in her, or that it can be influenced; what stands out most is how.


    Her thoughts circle back around to the idea of natural formations again. Unlike an artificial formation, a construct made by someone knowledgeable in the arts, only natural objects are relevant. A concentration of Qi, even a default amount of it, is influenced by the shape of a river, or the random order of rocks nearby, or a tree growing just so as the wind passes through it, and behind to feed into itself and change the environment. Some consider it a blessing of Heaven¡¯s will, others a simpler matter of the wonders and intricacies of Qi and all its forms, but in the end the truth is the same; Qi, touching only naturally occurring formations and minor curiosities, does something. It is influenced by its environment.


    Now, starved of all cultivation, is Raika not as Heaven intended? A dying, fleshy thing, which exists barely higher than an animal, and lower than most?


    And if she squints really hard (and uses some of those tasty little nuggets of madness she¡¯s been holding back for a rainy day), aren¡¯t her insides an environment? She¡¯s not a medical specialist, but parasites can live in her, and her blood flows like rivers, her organs like lakes, her bones like stones, her breath like wind. It¡¯s a stretch, but it holds one crucial fact that means it must be (is, has to be, can only be) true; she just needs to change enough to make herself interesting to Qi.


    Dink helps. What she¡¯s figured out helps more.


    Boom-boom. Boom-boom. Bo-boom. Boom-boom.


    Again and again, always and forever until she is no longer there to listen to it anyways. Each and every moment, it pumps blood through her body, from ruined leg to ruined ribs and up to barely-sane mind and back down again, every inch and place and moment of her touched by it. It beats unevenly, pressured by wounds and scar tissue and poorly healed bone, and every time it does, her existence is prolonged just a bit more.


    She¡¯s done letting it freeload around and waste her time.


    Like with Dink, she starts to meditate again, letting her imagination run wild and then viciously leashing it to her purpose. She pictures the mist again, flowing unimpeded through the environment and her flesh, neither absorbed nor maintained, only the bits of it floating in her of any use. She feels her heart pulse, and with each beat, she focuses on her skin, feels it vibrate and ripple, feels the sound of her life tremble through it, and pictures the mist beginning to swirl, pictures it responding to the physical influence. Outside of her it flutters away, pushed aside by the movement, the minor vibration just barely enough to move something barely heavier than air enough to keep it out, and on the other side of that barrier, keep it in. It¡¯s flowing limited, she pictures it fluttering, becoming a breeze, moved and trembling in tune with her heart, and-


    Raika spends a week in some of the worst pain she¡¯s ever felt, before or after she woke back up. It feels like embers are moving through her, the sensation of pins and needles touching every part of her, inside her body, in places she never even thought of or considered, so much she is squirming and writhing whenever she can move because even the pain is better than the constant background scrabbling and scratching and poking and heat. She vomits even with her belly empty, barely able to hold down melted snow, breath hitching like she has hiccups and a cough and a blockage in her throat all at once for days. Her heart stutters and flutters and hurts in her chest and flutters with that same pins and needles sensation and she catches herself bleeding from her eyes twice (turns out the inside of her skull doesn¡¯t hurt! Just every other part of it!), spitting up red and bile and blowing a runny nose with snot and crimson in equal measure more than once.


    And every single moment she feels the full-body ruin and the impossible, pervasive feeling of something she does not understand, she feels like she could crow, like she could scream at the heavens, like she could pin someone down and bite or hit or grind or just hug their flesh to pulp. It is the worst week of her life save the first one after she started begging and the reason it is better is because it is her fault.


    Something she does not understand ravages what¡¯s left of her, and she trembles from joyous adrenaline because she is what has caused it. Her will, her imagination, her idea and her heartbeat brought this about somehow, whatever the fuck it may be, and when she survives it, she¡¯s going to do it all again.


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    And then she¡¯s going to find a way to pay back JiaJia, because she owes that kid.


    He comes back two days later. She thinks he says something about having trouble finding his way back, or maybe something about not being able to come earlier (happens to lots of guys, she thinks and maybe said). She wasn¡¯t exactly in the best state to receive visitors, even compared to normal, but¡­ he came back again after.


    Raika couldn¡¯t really talk at the moment, but Ding came in for the win again. For yes, one Ding. For no, two. He brought her some scraps, mostly old bread and some fish on the edge of going bad, and clean water every now and then.


    He helped her go to the restroom. A stranger, a ruined nobody in the street. Fuck, the kid¡¯s life must suck.


    Still, she stops going at all after day four; no food to shit and mostly just blood all around, dribbles here and there. It¡¯s like removing impurities, a process singularly unpleasant many cultivators have to undergo, but she¡¯d do any of those a hundred times rather than undergo this again.


    The comparison, though, makes her smile even more.


    Then the week ends, and the pain starts to subside. She still feels like her body is both incredibly numb and more sensitive than a newborn¡¯s at the same time, every move making her tremble and wince. She feels weaker than since before she met Ding, and nearly as hungry as when she bought it.


    And then, one hand on the wall, she gets up.


    One hand. Not her full body leaning against it, not a slow crawling up the brickwork.


    She places her hand on the stone, places her left leg beneath her, and then she is standing.


    JiaJia looks genuinely terrified as he turns the corner at just the right time to see the smile she has on her face.


    She schools her face not long after. There¡¯s being happy, and there¡¯s being happy at another¡¯s expense, and while teasing the kid is fun, the fear there isn¡¯t something she enjoys. Instead, putting more weight on her right leg than she¡¯s been able to for months, she gives him a bow. As close to a proper one as she can, making it most of the way to the 90 degree angle of utmost respect, back as straight as she can hold it.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she says simply.


    Jiajia gulps audibly, but¡­ he does calm down again. He rubs the back of his head, seemingly more embarrassed at the genuine thanks than at helping her piss. ¡°Well it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s fine, old hag. I didn¡¯t-¡±


    She glares at him so hard he immediately apologizes again. ¡°It¡¯s- not that it¡¯s not- thank you too?¡±


    She sighs. Yeah, the kid¡¯s an idiot.


    She grabs her crutch, leaning against it again but marveling at how much lighter it feels. It¡¯s less like an unwieldy cudgel (the damn thing weighs less than four pounds, ridiculous to so struggle with it) than it is finally something like it¡¯s intended purpose, something easier to move than ruined limbs. She smiles again, softer for the kid¡¯s benefit, but the joy, as savage and wild and hungry as it¡¯s ever been.


    ¡°Come on, brat,¡± she rasps. ¡°There¡¯s trash I haven¡¯t dug in in days, and I¡¯m starved.¡±


    JiaJia nods, then realizes what she says and laughs. ¡°Well, sorry my fine cuisine isn¡¯t enough to satisfy this strange old wall lady I found,¡± he says with a cheeky grin. ¡°I suppose if one wishes for a return to normal fare, this one won¡¯t stand in the way!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± she rasps, hitting him in the forehead with Ding as she walks by. ¡°How¡¯re the whores? Happy enough to keep you around?¡±


    He shrugs, catching up as she starts to shuffle, both of them outlined by the stark white of fresh snow which has barely stopped in weeks. He walks a bit ahead of her, cutting a bit of a path through some of it, and she marks it down in her mind as another thing she¡¯ll pay the brat back for. ¡°They like me enough, I guess,¡± he says. ¡°Said I ain¡¯t tough enough to act as the security, like you suggested, but I still know the books better than the matriarch apparently.¡± He shrugs again. ¡°Dunno why, but it¡¯s good for me.¡±


    ¡°Lazy people make for sloppy work,¡± Raika rasps. ¡°Probably got used to you and let her effort fall apart. Idiots are as they are, and no more.¡±


    He seems a bit uncomfortable at calling his matriarch an idiot, but he doesn¡¯t refute her, so at least he¡¯s smart enough for that. ¡°Well, either way, I still have a place. Some of my elder sisters are even acting nice to me now, so I guess you were right about how bad he was too.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t feign ignorance,¡± she snarls. ¡°Don¡¯t pretend. He hit you and he did it easy. He did worse before, don¡¯t pretend you didn¡¯t know. Rude to me, you, and your ¡°sisters¡±.¡±


    He goes to say something, some heat coming to his cheeks, but then he does actually stop and listen, which shocks the hell out of her. Yeah, kid¡¯s got brains, even if he is an idiot; lords know it¡¯s rare for someone to listen when they should.


    Eventually, he nods. ¡°Yeah,¡± he says quietly. ¡°I don¡¯t think anybody¡¯s sad he¡¯s gone, but¡­ he was like an uncle, I think. Never had one before, but he¡¯d let me hang around him sometimes. He used to give me some of the best crispy bits whenever we had a better meal. Didn¡¯t start hitting me till a few years back. Just hurts, I guess. Makes it easier but¡­ also harder? Easy and hard if I think of him like my uncle, easy and harder if he was just¡­ bad.¡±


    ¡°Few things worth much are easy,¡± she rasps. ¡°Find out how it makes it harder. Understand it. Use it, if you can, and make sure whatever comes next is something you will allow.¡±


    He looks at her. ¡°You talk a lot more now, huh?¡±


    She gives another shark grin. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ sure, why not,¡± he mumbles. ¡°Just don¡¯t go acting like you¡¯re all wise, granny hag. I¡¯ve had to watch you piss way too many times to take any ¡°old sage¡± crap from you.¡±


    The brat has the cheek to dodge when she swings Ding at his head, but he doesn¡¯t quite manage to dodge the crutch to the forehead smack that comes right after.


    ¡°Respect your elders, shithead!¡± Raika rasps, half-smiling as she does. ¡°I¡¯m not even thirty, either!¡±


    He laughs as she hobbles after him, doing a terrible job of disproving the granny-ness of her age, but she feels so good she¡¯ll probably let him get away with it. He better not let all this obvious mercy get to his head.

 Chapter 12 - An Invitation (Back) to the Party

    Habits resume, and the world goes on. Two months asleep, and now just over six out and about. More than half a year since she lost everything, and Raika honestly could not be happier.


    Oh sure, she misses her boytoy- sorry, partner, she misses the fights and arenas, she misses the travel, she misses her strength, she misses how violently and beautifully she used to move. She misses the world that used to be, of course.


    But it doesn¡¯t hold a candle to the sheer joy she feels at the world that will be.


    Raika, of course, will be the first to reaffirm that she is, in fact, still a cripple. She can now walk almost thirty minutes, heavily assisted by a cane, before she has to stop, and not much has changed in application about having to manage energy levels, or starving, or being desperate, but they have all changed in scale. If she had to measure it (and she can¡¯t, and is highly biased, and definitely shouldn¡¯t be doing comparisons yet) she might be just below an infant in terms of cultivation, or at least its effects on the body. She is sleeping eleven hours a night, not fourteen; she eats and feels hungry and not starved; she actually sometimes can feel herself relax and recover some energy when she sits, rather than just mustering her will to keep going. Whatever she did to herself with her heartbeat and meditation, it shifted something.


    So she hasn¡¯t stopped doing it, obviously.


    It took some trial and error to figure out, and a lot of help from JiaJia, though it¡¯s only been as bad as the first time a few times. As far as she can tell, she isn¡¯t actually sensing Qi, isn¡¯t able to see it in her mind¡¯s eye as it truly is. Rather than wielding Qi through her heartbeat to control more, she only really has control of the heartbeat itself, and even then, not a ton. Still, between Ding, breathing exercises, and focusing on and flexing in time to her heartbeat, the changes in her body and its moving rhythms and flows is enough to affect Qi as well. From what she¡¯s figured out, the pain and tingling isn¡¯t an improvement in the literal sense, some tribulation given to her as a cultivator; she literally just gave herself an incredibly mild case of qi poisoning, like one might get a 24 hour cold or a cough, and it almost killed her.


    That¡¯s right; Raika can give herself Qi poisoning!


    Which means she can do other things too!


    There¡¯s limits; she¡¯s found a rhythm between heartbeat, breathing, movement, and Ding that seems to still cause the tingling, but not as intensely and with less diarrhea involved (she was very relieved when she found out how to more or less stop that from happening). Still, she has no idea what might actually help her. She felt the most effect when she focused on her skin that first time, the least when she focused on her bones; she¡¯s pretty sure she can just sorta keep casually drifting Qi where it is, which, left wild and outside one¡¯s meridians in one¡¯s body, can wreak havoc.


    It¡¯s actually quite lucky that she can¡¯t move more than the Qi already in her, nearly non-existent as it is. Qi poisoning, proper Qi poisoning, is as potent as an assassin¡¯s dagger, and one of the most common and dramatic ways that overzealous cultivators end their journeys. She¡¯s seen some before; younger or more brash cultivators assuming they had what it takes to enter secluded meditation in one of her sect¡¯s high-concentration Qi rooms, only to be brought out later on stretchers or already dead, leaking blood even from their skin.


    If she ever starts bleeding out of her skin, she¡¯ll know she¡¯s on the right track.


    The winters are long in Paleblossom city, and its spring short. Even so many months into the cold, it¡¯s only now reaching its deepest levels, and Raika has been using her new energy to make sure she¡¯s moving whenever she can be, flexing muscles and stretching subtly when she can to work out kinks that have long ago taken in residence and moving her body in ways she hasn¡¯t in a while. She¡¯s pretty sure the movement, while the Qi is being ¡°held¡± in place by her focus and heartbeat, either keeps the Qi quasi-circulating or helps it soak in properly rather than just wreaking havoc wildly, and she takes the excuse to range further and further from her home, despite the cold and the ankle-high snow occasionally turning to patches of ice amidst the quiet city.


    ¡°So,¡± JiaJia asks after she wacks him with her crutch again for improper form, ¡°got any plans for the Cold Sun festival?¡±


    She frowns at him. His stance is all over the place, and the idiot can¡¯t hold his focus for more than a few minutes at a time, and her crutch-wacking muscles are getting a workout trying to keep him from wasting both of their time.


    ¡°You should be focusing,¡± she rasps.


    ¡°Well, you aren¡¯t, so why should I?¡± He answers. He does adjust his footing like she showed him, though, so that¡¯s nice.


    ¡°Ding,¡± agrees Ding. She¡¯s raising such a fine apprentice! Honestly, he¡¯ll carve up the heavens in no time at his pace.


    ¡°Shut it, ya lump,¡± she hisses at the tuning fork, ignoring JiaJia¡¯s look. ¡°And you, don¡¯t waste time talking. I am focusing, I am just better than you. Now get your breathing right. Eleven counts breathe in, ten counts breathe out.¡±


    Cultivation practice. Stupid, considering she can¡¯t see his Qi or correct him, but he accepted when she offered. It¡¯s all she really has to pay him back, and maybe the knowledge she holds might be useful to him, as person or security guard to a whorehouse.


    He¡¯s taken to it like a sparrow to a river; flapping about and making a big mess every time he fails to take off.


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    He does as instructed: eleven counts in, ten counts out, once, then twice. Then-


    ¡°I just mean there¡¯s more guards than normal,¡± he continues, ¡°but there¡¯s going to be tons of goodies. Good place to beg, if you can get there early and no one knocks out your spot. Just don¡¯t stay right too much in the middle of things, you¡¯d be great!¡±


    ¡°Not going,¡± she rasps. ¡°Trash is there tomorrow, people aren¡¯t. Hiding from the cold like babies.¡±


    ¡°Oh yeah, real dumb of them, huh?¡± JiaJia says with a roll of his eyes, to which he receives another crutch-wack. ¡°Ow! Listen, it just might be nice, alright? You spend all your time sitting in the snow and walking between trash bits, isn¡¯t it better to take a break sometimes? Hang out near the fires, watch the lights?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± she rasps, ¡°but not as nice as you sticking! To! Your! Form!¡± Each exclamation is followed by a whack.


    ¡°Ow, ow, ow!¡± he yelps. ¡°What¡¯s even the point!¡± he yells. ¡°It¡¯s not like I should be taking advice from you anyways, I have chores and work to do.¡±


    ¡°Then go, idiot child, I have better things to do than give you some of the most important knowledge any human has!¡± Raika shoots back. ¡°This is cultivation, ya dipshit! You wanna crush rocks, spit stars out of the sky, fuck better than any man has ever fucked before? Then get in your stance, take your fucking breaths, and use your damn dantian!¡±


    ¡°I am using my dantian!¡± he whines. ¡°It feels full and this is stupid, you¡¯re just making me feel sick!¡±


    ¡°Well if it¡¯s full, then you start moving it around!¡± Raika exclaims, coughing a bit. ¡°That¡¯s what the meridians are for! You think those little tubes are made to sit around empty? Take the Qi from your dantian, flow it around. People disagree, but I think the best pattern is up to heart meridian, up to mind meridian, down to gut, then fill out the rest in the order that feels right.¡±


    He stops, blinking, before resuming his stance, almost properly. She refrains from further whacks; if he¡¯s actually listening, now¡¯s the time for him to focus, stance proper or not.


    ¡°I¡­ can feel it,¡± he whispers, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. ¡°It¡¯s like¡­ it¡¯s like spring. It¡¯s slippery, I can¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Focus¡±, she hisses. ¡°Breathe as you go. Even breaths, in slow, out slow. Wait for it to settle, then find what it needs. Soft touch, firm grip, mantras, it can be anything; just do what feels right, and when you find it, do it well and do not stop doing it until you feel it move as you will.¡±


    She wipes her chin, looking at him. For all she knows, he¡¯s just standing there like an idiot, eyes closed and staring at nothing. This is all wrong, of course; a teacher should be able to sense one¡¯s student, detect deviations in their cultivation or their Qi, be able to reach in and offer corrections as needed. All she can do is watch and talk. Even if her cultivation method is right for him, the kid is obviously in the first steps of Qi gathering realm, nowhere near Foundation stage like where she got her technique. All she can do is wait, and hope he doesn¡¯t fail here, doesn¡¯t set himself back.


    The kid was kind. He helped her. If the most she can do is talk and make sure he¡¯s standing properly then that¡¯s what she¡¯ll do, as hard as she fucking can.


    Then she blinks. Something moves in the air.


    It¡¯s a smell. Not a smell; an impression, or a touch. It¡¯s like when you know you have smelled something, but have no idea what it is.


    JiaJia exhales, long and slow, his stance shifting unconsciously to a better form, his whole body untensing, and Raika can¡¯t help but hold in her breath, can¡¯t help but tremble across her whole body at what she feels.


    She can smell tangerines. In the dead of winter, standing next to a blossoming cultivator taking his very first steps, she is hit with the tiniest, faintest hint of tangerines.


    JiaJia opens his eyes, letting out a deep exhale that immediately turns to a cloud of steam in the cold, even warmer than normal. He smiles, a grin so deep and so wide that it alone would be worth this entire exercise. ¡°I¡­ I think I did it!¡± he yells. He whoops, short and bright, jumping a solid five feet straight up, laughing harder than she¡¯s ever seen him. ¡°I got it! It fit, it moved a lot and it kinda hurt to touch but it shifted and it all connected, they¡¯re full! Granny, they¡¯re-¡±


    He stutters to a complete stop when he looks at her. At first she blinks in surprise, assuming he was used to the scars by now, but then she realizes she¡¯s smiling and crying both, which makes more sense. She laughs too. ¡°Good for you, idiot,¡± she rasps, quiet. ¡°Good job. Make sure you keep filling your dantian and circulate in that pattern, and it¡¯ll keep growing.¡±


    In the silence, he tears up a bit too, like an emotional little idiot. He bows, still like an amateur, but so deep his head passes his waist, as low as he can go without losing his balance.


    ¡°Thank you, master,¡± he whispers.


    So she whacks him on the back of his head with her crutch.


    ¡°OW!¡± he yelps, falling face first into snow and shooting up way faster than he ever used to. ¡°What was that for!¡±


    ¡°For being an idiot, idiot boy,¡± Raika rasps with a smirk beside a soft smile. ¡°I¡¯m no one¡¯s master, and I won¡¯t have you calling me that. Do better for yourself. You¡¯re a cultivator now, so you better not waste it on fucked up old ladies like me.¡±


    His mouth flops open and closed like a fish, idiot brain trying to puzzle through what she means before eventually clicking shut. Then, the smile comes back.


    ¡°You called yourself old,¡± he says in his brattiest smile.


    ¡°Older than an acorn like you, anyways,¡± she mumbles. ¡°Get out of here. Go solidify your foundation, make sure that you feel comfortable with your Qi and can move it, slowly, without discomfort. It should feel natural, like it was always there and you¡¯re just remembering who you are now.¡±


    He bows again, though only half as deep this time. ¡°Yes, old master shitty grandma!¡± he says, grinning at her and sprinting back through the snow before the crutch hits him on the head again. Any composure his escape might have had is ruined when he slips and falls in the snow, but he¡¯s back up, panting for breath and laughing, before she could even start walking, taking off down the street like a rocket.


    She doesn¡¯t try to follow anyways. Even if she could keep up, she¡¯d still be distracted.


    When he got up. When he ran just now, faster than before.


    She smelled tangerines again.


    She smiles, as sharp and happy as she¡¯s ever seen.


    This has implications, she thinks.


    ¡°Ding¡±, agrees Ding, with what feels less like spineless agreement and more like concern and hunger both.

 Chapter 13 - Don鈥檛 Threaten Me With a Good Time

    In the end, Raika does go to the Cold Sun Festival of Paleblossom city. It¡¯s not nearly so prestigious as the full name might imply, but damn if the city doesn¡¯t do all it can to go all out. The city, so long cold, quiet and delicate like its namesake lights up like it¡¯s in bloom, breaking through the soft white snow so common to its area in a riot of blue, purple, gold and red.


    All along the streets, streamers are placed, flags waving in the winter air decorated with images of lotuses, paleblossom buds, orchids, and other flowers special to the city, effigies to fluttering red robins and bright, colorfully-plumed rainbow herons that can sometimes be glimpsed in the depths of the frozen woods nearby. Small fairy lights, which can be imbued with minute drops of Qi from even normal folk, float and flutter about, their paper shells sometimes shaped like birds, butterflies, or running beasts, sometimes just the base little paper lantern shapes, and snow and slush both have been cleared from all of the paved roads which weave through the city. Stalls, markets and stores are all bright and open, merry lights fluttering within and fragrant smells wafting out in all directions as gifts of silk and jewelry, flavored ice-cones and toasty-warm mooncakes, and warm tea and sparklers are all hawked by smiling vendors, overjoyed by one of the busiest nights of the year. Even in a city designed around cold and living huddled close like Paleblossom, winter isn¡¯t a natural time of activity for humans, and so only now is the gentle quiet of a sleeping city banished behind the screams of happy children, the singing of drunken voices and the laughter and chatter of moving crowds. Overall, it¡¯s a gorgeous display, not as ostentatious as places on the central plateau near the capital but beautiful in its own way, and somehow warmer for being something so accessible to all.


    Well, to most. Still, Raika can¡¯t help but admire the city as it changes, even her blurry eyes able to take in the sights and enjoy the beauty of the vivified city glowing in all its colors and symbols of culture. It¡¯s a gorgeous sight, and for once, her begging bowl is nearly full, coppers damn near reaching the brim and ensuring she¡¯ll be able to eat for a good week or more. Between that and the practice she gets tuning out the crowds to the tune of Dink and the pumping of her own blood, the whole experience is more than worth it, without even factoring in JiaJia¡¯s smile when she caved and told him that yes, fine, she¡¯d go to the festival. He''s a good kid. It¡¯s nice in a way she hasn¡¯t really had in a while, and hasn¡¯t allowed in even longer. Not the heady thrill of victory or bloodlust, not the close companionship she misses, not the glory of the peaks or of surpassing the valleys; no, she is simply here, in this moment, breathing cool air, looking at beautiful things as people are happy around her. It is a joy she hopes to have a lot more of in the future, if she can find a way to. It would be such a pity to lose this moment, smelling the warm stalls, listening to children laugh, looking at people living life with love and what beauty they can make. She''d rather not lose this, and since she''s aiming for something impossible already, what''s one more?


    It is in this moment of peace and contentment like she¡¯s never felt before that she takes in a breath, deeper than any of the last six months, and feels a rib creak and pop into place more properly, the painful ¡°pop¡± and twang of pained muscle and tendon ringing through her like a symphony. She takes the vibration, tapping her knee with Ding, and adds her heartbeat to it, the breath in her lungs stirring as her body tingles all over. It was a while in coming, but she wanted to wait for when she knew she''d be strong enough to survive a floating rib if it failed.


    Survival is an act of will. Death is the will of heaven, and torture the lot in life of all who cannot defy it.


    And yet in this moment, in this beat of time, life is simply¡­ good.


    She smiles, softly. She could do with more moments like these. A bit ironic, to have something that feels so right only now, when she has so little.


    Eventually, stretched and tingling from swirling Qi, she opens her eyes and exhales. Some of the Qi she was using flows out with her breath, smelling and tasting like rust and old blood. Probably better off without it, honestly. Maybe that¡¯ll be her next project; replace what she¡¯s got with new, better vibes, reintegrate breathing in a new way.


    Then she blinks, surprised, her smile returning in fuller force as she catches sight of Li Shu in the crowd.


    Raika¡¯s at the edge of the courtyard, against a little overhang wrapped in a few different candles and a colorful banner decorating the walls above it, while Li Shu stands closer to the center, eyes wide like a little kid as she stares in wonder and laughs at something only she can hear. The younger woman almost skips as she moves, and while the weight of her Qi lets people know she¡¯s coming and allows them to move out of the way, she never swings it or pressures anyone, happily avoiding people mired in conversation or pausing before crossing the paths of those running by. This might be a different sort of vision of good, but Raika can¡¯t help but smile at the sight of her. This, too, is good. And, luckily for her journey, she¡¯s not hesitant when it comes to acting, a fact Raika reaffirms by raising her arm in a soft wave towards the healer when she thinks she might see it.


    Even through the distance between them, Li Shu notices the wave immediately. There¡¯s something to be said for the senses of a cultivator, able to detect intent and the presence of a stranger, but Li Shu notices the wave in her direction as soon as it happens, like she was on the lookout for something, and her eyes go wide. She stops using her Qi quite as delicately, as is evidenced by the fact the crowd parts a bit easier for her and some looks go her way as people realize who she is, though even still it must be fairly gentle pressure. She crosses the courtyard in heartbeats coming to Raika.


    ¡°Raika?¡± she asks, voice soft like she¡¯s worried the illusion might burst if she¡¯s too loud. ¡°How are you here! Oh heavens, did you find someplace to stay, I¡¯m so glad!¡±


    ¡°Only if you consider alleys and alcoves a place, honored healer,¡± Raika rasps with a smile. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m just a bit too tough to kill for a winter as mild as this to take me away.¡±


    Li Shu laughs, her expression alight. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry it¡¯s been so long,¡± she says, voice soft. ¡°Master told me I was forbidden from seeing you until I stopped dangling hope and gave you results, and I am not enough of a healer for that yet.¡± She kneels down, bowing low to the cripple. ¡°I am so sorry I don¡¯t have better news, but I am deeply happy you¡¯ve held on until now.¡±


    ¡­well. There¡¯s something to be said for propriety in times of kindness and honor, like being bowed to by a healer of all things.


    Eh. Raika smacks the other, apparently even worse idiot in her life with Ding. Li Shu sits up, not nearly hurt by something so trivial but mouth open like a trout in surprise.


    Raika is holding back laughter, smile soft but the eyes behind it warm and a bit sad. ¡°Idiot girl,¡± she rasps. ¡°I never expected you to heal me, and your master damn well knew that. That path is closed to me, unless you magically gain healing arts to shake the heavens. It was just nice to see you, and you should thank your master for trying to keep you away from any pain from my death.¡±


    Li Shu seems ready to refute it, ready to say something, but instead sighs, long and quiet. ¡°Master wouldn¡¯t be so cruel,¡± she says eventually, though there¡¯s no life to it.


    ¡°Your master is startlingly kind,¡± Raika says. ¡°This world is cruel and full of destruction for no reason at all. Them hoping to avoid some of it splashing on you is more than most would do. I am glad I am not just a lesson learned, though! It''s good to see you well.¡±


    ¡°And you too!¡± Li Shu exclaims. ¡°You look better than when you left, not worse! What have you been eating? Is the cold affecting your joints too poorly? How are you even still alive?¡±


    ¡°Trash, yes, and like I said, too tough to die. Old Yama the Hungry knows they would choke on me if they ate me, and that I¡¯d bite their throat their whole way down to whatever afterlife they wish to pickle me in or kick me out of.¡±


    Li Shu giggles, even though she looks a bit dissatisfied with the answer. Raika takes the opportunity to Ding against her own forehead, and focuses on her heartbeat a moment to let the vibration and bloodflow stimulate that stinging sensation again. Easier than describing it, anyways, and she''s loathe to leave a pretty girl dissatisfied. It¡¯s an accomplishment, and she¡¯s damn proud of what she¡¯s done with so little, but even with all that she is surprised by how wide Li Shu¡¯s eyes get, how she audibly gasps, how she rocks back onto her heels away from Raika for a moment.


    The smell of mild, clean flowers and metal purified with heat hits Raika then, a wave of it that makes her nose wiggle until she sneezes. Li Shu¡¯s Qi? The smell seems to confirm it, the cleanliness and softness of it surprising Raika even with all she knows about the young healer, but fitting like a puzzle piece. When Raika sneezes at the intrusion, Li Shu¡¯s eyes get wider, if anything.


    ¡°What did- how did you-¡±


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    Before she can finish, a familiar purple and red sect outfit steps in from out of view.


    ¡°Excellent to see you once again, healer Li Shu,¡± interrupts the honorable, annoying Qen Hou, all smiles. He looks like he¡¯s dolled his fool self up, long hair in a much more ornate bun than Raika¡¯s seen him use before, the rich brown of it highlighted by healthy tan skin like he¡¯s spent the winter under the sun. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    Then he sees Raika, and he goes dead silent.


    So this is who she was looking out for, Raika thinks


    ¡°Qen Hou,¡± she says with a smile that is all teeth and scar. ¡°What a delight to see you again. Truly an honor this lowly one did not expect.¡±


    He says nothing, but his skin goes pale, like he¡¯s seen a ghost. Raika almost laughs out loud at the look on his face, and then decides why not, giving a very hag-like cackle. Li Shu, catching on and catching sight of the look Qen Hou is giving, actually joins in, though she chokes off the giggle quickly and rises to greet her fellow cultivator properly.


    ¡°Honored Qen Hou,¡± she says. ¡°It is good to see you once more, senior brother. I was not aware you would be attending the festival areas outside of the sect.¡±


    Raika rolls her eyes at how obvious the man¡¯s being, and how gently Li Shu is treating him in spite of it, but her ears do catch on something. ¡°Senior brother, is it? I wonder if honored healer Li Shu has gone up in the world recently?¡±


    Li Shu turns back with an absolutely dazzling smile. ¡°I have!¡± she squeals. ¡°I¡¯ve joined the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect! Look!¡± She twirls a bit to grab onto the sash and belt around her waist, adding a splash of color to the clean white and red of her healer¡¯s robes. ¡°They were impressed with my skill and asked master Rui Ka if I could apprentice with them for a two year period, to see if I have what it takes to become a proper cultivator!¡±


    Under the scrutiny of the blaring bright enthusiasm Raika can¡¯t roll her eyes without being mean, but it takes a very nearly painful effort to keep it back. Without Qi, Raika has no idea how good a healer Li Shu really is, and she hasn¡¯t exactly had a lot of chance to see her work. Still, it¡¯s not an uncommon arrangement, but the fact it¡¯s a two year contract indicates it really is a trial, and not that the sect is pursuing a divine talent. She can¡¯t help but flick her eyes at Qen Hou and ever so slightly raise an eyebrow, amused at how quickly he starts to blush.


    ¡°That¡¯s wonderful, Li Shu!¡± Raika says instead, bowing slightly from a seated position at the waist. ¡°I¡¯m honored to be in the presence of someone sought after by a sect.¡±


    ¡°Yes, the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect only takes the best, as is their right as the great sect of the city,¡± Qen Hou agrees, conveniently and noticeably. This time she does roll her eyes a bit. ¡°But tell me, Crippled Raika, how is it that you¡¯ve weathered this winter so well?¡±


    Another eye-roll; they''re going to dislocate at this rate. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like to know, pretty-boy.¡±


    He blinks, then gives her a growl. ¡°Yes, I would,¡± he snarls. ¡°Your disrespect does you no service, here.¡±


    ¡°But it irritates you!¡± She cheerfully rasps. ¡°And I haven¡¯t been intimidated by stray pups since I was a child, and nowadays I''m something far too tough for even the heavens to chew.¡±


    Li Shu¡¯s eyes dart between them, but it seems to hold more confusion than anything. ¡°Senior Brother Qen Hou, it¡¯s incredible, isn¡¯t it? Raika, would you-¡±


    Raika Ding¡¯s against the street before she can finish the sentence, catching Li Shu¡¯s eyes meaningfully. It¡¯s hardly as damning as grabbing at her sleeve might be, but it¡¯s still far more than enough for Qen Hou¡¯s eyes to flicker back down to her, then between the two of them.


    ¡°I am honored to show my progress to a doctor of such skill,¡± Raika says, ¡°but I¡¯d hate to bother the young master here with such meager offerings. Better he wander off and find something more suited to his interests to entertain himself with. Perhaps he might visit the red lights tonight? I can hook you up, I know a guy.¡±


    And who says she can¡¯t be polite or subtle? A masterwork right there.


    Qen Hou¡¯s eyes sharpen, the bit of color in his cheeks dimming as he looks down at her. She¡¯s sure he¡¯s hurt people far more important for far less impressive insults, after all; he¡¯s a cultivator, it¡¯s like half of what they do. Li Shu pales too, actually, making her think she might have taken things just a step too far-


    And before things can escalate, a yell comes up from the crowd behind them. Cheers rising to the heavens, people crowing and yelping and howling in celebration as the Cold Sun rises in the north.


    It is an imperfect thing made from perfect ones. It looks like a collection of disparate shapes forcibly shoved and compressed into an almost-sphere. Pointed, angular tips like pyramids or triangles jut out at odd angles beside impossibly precise lines and valleys, curves and sinuous angles awkwardly crushed into place next to fractals and perfect cubes visible even from the ground so many miles below it. It looks like children¡¯s blocks or perfect, geometrically defined shapes, all shoved into an ill-fitting orb, and even from here, even looking at it makes Raika feel cold.


    Not cold like winter. Not cold like a wind from an unexpected direction, not cold like ice, not cold like blood loss. Looking at it, she imagines she can understand what the end of the frozen north, where this thing surely comes from, must be. It is cold like the moment where you can¡¯t go on anymore, and lay down to rest. It is cold like the mornings where she could not get up, and simply lay still and shivered until sleep took her again. It is cold like the moment where a dying thing¡¯s eyes stop being eyes and become jelly that will soon rot. It is cold like the moment where you would rather die than exist, and then like the cold of the moment after, forever and ever just a bit worse.


    It¡¯s disgusting. It¡¯s a horror. It¡¯s haunting. It¡¯s beautiful. It looks like the end of the world, come bereft of face and bereft of hate and bereft of everything, an absence of things, a void made of marble and perfect lines, and she is so, so, so small.


    She¡¯s seen the Cold Sun before. She must have. She¡¯s traveled, she lives in view of it even if it¡¯s far more distant, it¡¯s never been like this, what is this, what is-


    There is the most minuscule shift. The Cold Sun seems to tremble. Perfect angles and lines and planes trembling like gossamer thin sheets, like wafers, like ice, like the massive, impossible thing in the sky might somehow be delicate. It trembles, or maybe her eyes do, maybe it¡¯s her that¡¯s trembling in the face of cold beyond even the definition of temperature or warmth or change, but no because there. In the trembling, there is a shifting.


    A single finger.


    She shouldn¡¯t be able to see it. In the core of her, in the center of all she is, she somehow knows beyond doubt that the finger is maybe twice as big as one of hers, distinctly inhuman but certainly not huge, not something that could be visible to even a Soul Titan realm cultivator and the impossible feats they can achieve, never mind her own damaged eyesight. But she can see it. In a world of strange blurs and indistinct details, that orb of perfect forms and that one finger are defined more clearly than anything she¡¯s ever seen.


    The orb, the sphere, the three-dimensional collection of mathematically perfect angles, is pushed ever so slightly to the side, like the cover to a container, like a lid, by a single finger. And behind it, there is something looking through.


    Raika understands, for a single infinite moment, what it means to be so cold that freezing does not make ice but marble, shaped in the language of perfection. She understands what it means to see something so cold that she has never been born and will never exist, because there is nothing anymore.


    Nothing but that eye, and the living, empty thing inside of it.


    And then, there is light.


    The stars themselves ripple. The entire night sky, like a blanket of darkness or a sea of perfect black water, moves in unison, and her mind does not have room or understanding or sight to understand what occurs between that moment of perfect, infinite cold and the next. All she knows is that one moment that finger has pushed aside something as large as the sun in the sky or the moons in their sister-orbit, and in the next the world shifted, and then the stars stretched, dancing, and long trails of glowing light like blood or tears are dripping down onto the world. The stars bleed color and light and beauty, a sea of gold and purple and red and green and blue, and as the sky ripples they make trails of color that dance in long streamers and flags across that infinite expanse.


    And she is here. She is ok. She is alive, and her heart beats, and that one, single moment where she realized it had not been beating sends a ripple through every inch of her, every cell in unison screaming and then breathing with that one heartbeat and the next.


    And the orb of perfection, of true and mightiest impossibility, swaddled now by streamers of star-blood, sinks back beneath the horizon, and is only an orb, and not a door blocking an impossible hole to that thing.


    Qen Hou is only distracted for a moment, the maybe thirty seconds between the rising of the Cold Sun and the dancing lights from the stars, but in that moment she smells him. She can smell all of them, each one unique: Li Shu¡¯s flowers and heated, delicate metal, the burnt ozone and lightning and clean-burning plants and magnesium of Qen Hou, the smell of broken stones and running water from a mother and her husband, the smell of sharp firecrackers and clean summer nights from their child, a hundred smells for a hundred people all around, so many she can''t keep track-


    But not from her. Not from the cripple who saw the moon, the cripple who is crying and whose tears are crimson when everyone else is yelling joyously and celebrating and so very normal.


    Qen Hou and Li Shu turn to her at almost the same time, the latter wide eyed and laughing so sweetly, the former still furious but clearly mollified, but they both start at the sight of her. Li Shu immediately kneels, asking what¡¯s wrong, her voice coming from a million miles away, while Qen Hou looks around in confusion, trying to find a source of what caused this.


    It¡¯s only because he¡¯s looking around that he reacts to something, moving in front of her and Li Shu both, before an impact blasts through the wall above and behind her and sends her tumbling among bricks and the warm, soft smell of flower petals and suture needles.

 Chapter 14 - Fuck You and the Corpse You Rode In On

    Raika coughs, violently, and long-quiet instincts rear up to celebrate that fact; if she¡¯s coughing, she¡¯s still alive, and you can do things if you¡¯re alive.


    She mostly smells exploded brick and burning wood, but the smell of Li Shu comes in loud and clear, almost oppressive like a blanket around them. She can see why; it¡¯s not a shielding technique or anything of the sort, but the healer still extended an aura of her Qi out around her, like a proto-cushion, pushing away the debris. The smell of flowers and sterile metal is strong enough to make her sneeze mid-cough, which is not much fun at all, but somehow even without a shielding skill or a high realm to her name Raika can tell it somehow kept her from getting hurt.


    Is the smell more than just personality? Does amount of Qi influence it? Does the smell indicate qualities?


    She shakes her head, an action that almost blinds her with how bad it hurts; between a burst eardrum from the explosion and a concussion from the blast, she¡¯s lucky to be awake. She blinks away the pain and tries to find Li Shu in the haze, first instinct being to make sure she¡¯s alright. The girl¡¯s an idiot and Raika wouldn¡¯t put it past her to protect the cripple first, and she refuses to believe that she¡¯s not ok but she needs to know.


    She¡¯s inside the remains of a building, one entire half of it collapsed and the other with a gaping hole through the middle of it, through which she can smell that magnesium and ozone fire smell. All around her is what remains of a well to-do restaurant, tables overturned, a fire in the kitchen and the smell of hot oil spreading, and throughout all the wood debris and smoke and dust, she can see crimson points spread throughout. There were people in this place, those who came in from the front door and were sitting here enjoying a meal on a lovely day, and while her brain puts their deaths somewhere far less important than the fact she has to find Li Shu and whatever hit them, she¡¯s still glad she can¡¯t see the bodies clearly.


    ¡°Li Shu!¡± she croaks, coughing violently as she does. Cries of alarm and distress are sounding out through the hole behind her, but she doesn¡¯t hear nearly as many voices as she thinks there should be. ¡°Li Shu!¡±


    ¡°Here!¡± a voice coughs weakly, far too soft and disoriented for Raika not to turn to the sound and move. Her crutch is lost somewhere, thrown clear in the blast, but she manages to limp heavily for a few steps long enough to grab a chair. It isn¡¯t exactly convenient, but she staggers from one bit of rubble to the other, heading towards the back wall where she heard the voice.


    ¡°Here!¡± she hears again, when she almost steps over a piece of what she thought was snow blasted into the building. She¡¯s more grey than white now, her robes sullied in the blast even with her Qi shielding them. She¡¯s standing over someone, and it doesn¡¯t take weird senses or years of battle to recognize the fact that the body is smaller than it should be, and the ropey blur leaking out their middle smells more like rot and offal already than fresh, living blood.


    Li Shu crouches over them anyways, breathing hard, eyes unfocused, a mix of panic and effort in her face, her arms stained red up past the elbows. Raika doesn¡¯t think that this is the first body she¡¯s tried to save, but¡­ the restaurant is quiet, if not for the crumbling of debris and falling stones.


    ¡°Go back,¡± Raika rasps, the dust making it hard for her to even breathe. ¡°Back to courtyard-¡± cough cough- ¡°more people. Open. More might need help. Here it¡¯s- (cough) too late. Go.¡±


    Li Shu just sits there, hands dripping bright red. A dollop of crimson falls from her, and the sound of it is loud enough that she seems to shiver and start a bit in surprise. She looks down at her hands, eyes wide, and slowly, they start to tremble. She starts breathing hard, harder, panting, hyperventilating, hands shaking-


    Raika hits her in the back of the head with a chair.


    It¡¯s mostly disintegrated, to be fair, and she can¡¯t exactly swing the damn thing, but she manages to lift and pivot, at least. It shatters on impact, splinters falling all around her. She¡¯s a cultivator, of course; entry as a healer into a Sect requires no less, and working as a healer almost entirely depends on having at least a slightly higher than normal amount of Qi. What¡¯s a fragile wooden chair to a cultivator?


    Exactly what this one needs to be shocked back to her senses, it would seem.


    She blinks, eyes owlishly wide, mouth open in shock. ¡°Move!¡± Raika snarls, waving her arm back at the collapsed wall through which the too-quiet courtyard can be heard. ¡°Get off your ass and move, Li Shu!¡±


    The healer almost bounces to her feet, more used to following orders especially in times of crises. Raika can¡¯t help but offer up a prayer of thanks to Rui Ka for putting some spine in the girl, even if she still needs a firm hand. She nods, still blinking in a daze, but a shove from Raika, even weak as a child, is enough to get her running back towards the impact crater, towards where the most people who need help will be.


    Raika turns out towards the hole where she can smell Qen Hou instead.


    Barely any medical training, no Qi, and minimal mobility do not make a useful healer¡¯s aide, and she¡¯d be less than useless even if she did hobble out there. She¡¯s not a healer, simple as that, but maybe she can get Qen Hou back on his feet and into the fight. Best case scenario, she can distract whatever he¡¯s fighting enough to get him to land a solid hit.


    And even with a burst eardrum, the sounds of the fight remain.


    Through the hole in the side of the restaurant, she hears an impact, the sound of another wall of wood and stone shattering and spraying debris everywhere, the sounds of screaming following a moment after. She steps through after the smell of the magnesium fire, and something¡­ slimier, like old, spoilt algae and something not unlike the smell of a cold, freezing cold evening.


    It takes a minute of stumbling, and crawling over wreckage, and outright dragging herself one-armed through parts of the restaurant, but she makes it to the wall in time to see what¡¯s happening. The stars above still dance, streamers of celestial tears wrapping the night sky tight, but in the light of the fires below their colors seem almost a bit muted, as if earthly horrors are reflecting light against them. Between the dancing fairy lights and the fluttering, ash-cloaked flags still fluttering, the sight looks like a parody of only moments before, people in clothes colored purely in red, ash white and soot black cowering and running for their lives, trying to drag each other to safety as two impossible, inhuman things try to rip each other apart in the streets, every unblocked blow sending more devastation through walls and homes and soft, squishy bodies like balloons made of blood.


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    She can¡¯t follow their movements. Even if her eyes were perfect, without any cultivation there¡¯s simply no way for a mortal to follow a fight between cultivators going all out, and Qen Hou, arrogant shithead or not, is someone that she might have had to take seriously back in her prime. In the center of the street, going back and forth, neither giving an inch, are two impossible blurs of color and violence. One is launched through a small shrine and flies back fast enough to shove the other back a good ten feet, only to have the same movement returned, only for them to blur together and leave a crater on the side of the road, then on the other side, and-


    Again that smell, like an empty puppet with a rock inside, filled with mold and mildew and slimy wet rot. It burns wrong, the smell of the ozone and fire matching it and coming off muted and full of must. A moment later, she¡¯s able to follow the fight again, because Qen Hou makes a crater not ten feet from her when he lands.


    ¡°You dare!¡± he howls, scrambling back to his feet. ¡°Worthless fool, who are you to-¡±


    He doesn¡¯t finish before something has him by the throat.


    It is dressed in robes, but they¡¯re purely black, edges outlined in stark, painfully bright white. It¡¯s face and hands, every inch of exposed skin, is covered entirely by pitch-black bandages, the upper half of its head covered in a crown of metal thorns and screws that leak black droplets from insertion points. Every other detail blends together, a mix of bad eyesight and how quickly it crushes Qen Hou into the ground. It uses barely any Qi to do it, the smell of it a flat constant the entire time she¡¯s been feeling it, but it¡¯s still strong enough that the late Formation stage cultivator has his words completely choked off.


    His Qi roars up in a conflagration, a vicious burst of magenta flame that scorches the air in every direction and detonates against the ground, launching the bandaged figure away. He roars, getting to his feet in an instant as he grabs hold of the roaring flame. He grips it like a cloak, throwing it about himself until he is clad in robes of burning violet and red, his eyes glowing with power, the remnants of loose Qi gathered finally into something akin to a spear or a staff of some sort.


    The bandaged figure does not seem intimidated. If anything, the sight of qi gets it moving even faster, that impossibly musty, rotten-plant smell wrapped around¡­ a block of ice? Salt? Moving from the far end of the street where it was thrown to right up in Qen Hou¡¯s face in less time than it takes for her to blink. A flurry of blows and movement, a wave of concussive shocks that might be individual impacts rings out through the space, glass shattering, paper blown apart and away, the few eardrums unbroken shattering with bursts of blood and silent screams.


    Qen Hou comes out on top, barely, the staff of fire scoring a burning cut a few inches deep into the figure¡¯s shoulder. It stumbles back but does not cry out, arm going limp.


    But not at the depth of the cut, Raika realizes; the bandage, burnt and cut off the surface of the shoulder, snaps with a burst of the mildew smell, going entirely still. Qen Hou notices too, a burst of movement that warps the air and sends embers to catch alight on paper and wood all around. Staff first, he shifts half an inch down, the bandaged figure¡¯s other hand swinging and missing by millimeters, and then light flares, and the figure is catching aflame entirely, the center of its body now a gaping hole dripping molten bone and metal and-


    The smell. The mildew is burnt, lit into ozone and heat, evaporating moment by moment, but the smell behind it, the smell it was wrapped around, it comes across so fucking strong, a moment of something like bright, violently clear water, like ice water just beginning to steam, like freshly chiseled stone washed in a spring that has never seen light. It makes no sense, half of these things aren¡¯t smells for fucks sake, but it¡¯s so goddamn loud somehow.


    Qen Hou is saying something, but she¡¯s not listening, eardrums broken or not. His mouth is moving, trying to say something, and he even catches her eye as she walks closer, coming out of the hole he originally got blasted through and limping out into the street. He crows something, as arrogant as ever, head to the heavens like he doesn¡¯t even need to look at his fallen foe. He doesn¡¯t look at it, isn¡¯t paying attention, how can he not smell that, it¡¯s like it¡¯s been shoved six inches up her fucking nose-


    The thing shifts beneath him. In the fading light of the stars and the crackling magenta fires all around, she sees the bandages swirl like snakes, the flesh beneath pale and bloated and ringed with metal inserts, like coins with holes in them, spikes implanted through them like acupuncture. The bandages writhe like worms and snakes, slowly getting slower, but whatever is beneath, whatever might once have been human but now looks like black metal and iron and silver veins and spongy, snow-white flesh that is rippling, in waves, in pulses, like a puddle with something beneath it ready to rise-


    Qen Hou notices too late. It¡¯s lucky for him, then, that she is already there.


    It¡¯s like it was using the body like an egg or a cocoon, and the soft flesh falls apart around it like a flower, blossoming open so that what served temporarily as bones can emerge. It looks like a squid, a crab, and a sword, all in one, all sharp edges and black steel and at the center of it, like an eye or an anchor or shrapnel, is a single piece of perfect white marble.


    And then she has her fucking hand around it.


    She feels something drain, immediately, like someone has slit open a vein and let it gush. Qen Hou says something, loudly enough and with enough Qi that she can feel the vibrations and the waves of the smell coming off his words, even if she can¡¯t hear the words themselves, but she doesn¡¯t care.


    The drain isn¡¯t enough to kill her. She feels empty, like her heart is stuttering, like her lungs are fluttering and barely able to draw breath, like everything down to her bones is turning molten and weak, but she does not let go because it is not enough to kill her.


    ¡°You knocked me through a wall,¡± she snarls, feeling the words, feeling the heat in them and the breath in them and the flow of them through her system, dying little wisps of nothing that she¡¯s grown used to living on swirling and too small to be pulled by the draining thing of black and steel and perfect white. ¡°No one knocks me through a wall without paying, squid-cunt.¡±


    And it squirms, and it writhes, and it is cutting pieces off her and off her hand and she still has fingers so she does not let go, and she is not dead so she does not let go, and Qen Hou is screaming and the air is warm around her and she does not let go and-


    And it¡¯s slowing. In the edges of her sight, she can see it¡¯s tendrils still squirming, drinking the fire and the ozone and the color and the heat, but where she is, in her hand, it has nothing to drink, and the smell of the cold and the marble is not a smell of substance it is a smell of solid absence and this thing is not that eye, it cannot live off it. But it is still fighting back and cutting her and she is not about to hold onto something squirming just to hold it, and she only has one hand, and Qen Hou is no fucking help considering he¡¯s still blasting fire at the thing even as it makes it more active.


    So she drags it to her face, right at the point where the thin stilettos of metal latch onto the white stone, and grabs it with her teeth. She pulls her head back, straining hard, pulling on it with her whole body, twisted spine tensed, hand pushing the thing away even as her blood makes her grip slippery¡­ but it¡¯s enough, and she hears something go tink as it breaks.


    And then the whole thing goes limp as the white stone shifts out of place, half-dozen tendrils of metal razors simply falling quiet.


    The heat is enough that she can literally feel her hair crisping and her skin burning, but she still turns, head tall, to stare at the magenta-red clad figure off to the side, his eyes wide.


    She spits on the ground off to one side. ¡°Told you,¡± she rasps, throat heavy, body limp and heavy; ¡°too tough to kill.¡±


    Then she passes out for the second time in ten minutes.

 Chapter 15 - Politics and Direct Action: One is Violence, the Other is Direct Action

    She¡¯s mad.


    She has to be mad. Delusional. Borderline disconnected from reality. There¡¯s no other possibility, nothing else that makes the slightest drop of sense.


    Qen Hou stares down at the unconscious, ragged figure in front of him and tries as hard as he can to convince himself that she¡¯s only mad.


    Seeing her appear from the ruin he fell through was surprise enough, a genuine shock that she was somehow still alive. Watching her walk out from that same ruin, somehow upright with one leg that barely touches the ground due to how warped its knee is, was shocking enough again. It took him a second to realize that she wasn¡¯t just ignoring him like a willful moron, but the blood leaking from the ears of the mortals all around made him realize she really was deaf. And yet, she didn¡¯t try to read his lips, or give him the proper attention, or even really look at him. She only had eyes for that which he had vanquished. It might even have made sense, it was both a mighty and strange opponent after all, but she wasn¡¯t looking at it, or him, with admiration.


    She walked straight past him, like he wasn¡¯t even there, towards the fallen thing. It was a difficult foe, but not a true challenge; it hadn¡¯t used even a single Qi technique, only body strengthening, so any proper cultivator that could survive its blows could defeat it.


    Then he felt something behind him moving.


    He felt no Qi, no power, no strength, and only barely hears the sound of it. It emerged like a steel blade from velvet, barely a whisper as it moved, and-


    He¡¯d never seen anything like it. It looked like some kind of monster, one of the stranger beasts from the lands at the edge of the empire, where the Emperor¡¯s will reached its limits and the flesh and blood of monsters ran purer, but far too¡­ mechanical. It looked forged, its shape a shifting illusion made of black razors and a single white stone at its center, stabbed into said razors, but it moved far too fluidly, like something truly alive.


    And then the cripple grabbed it.


    She sagged, but she didn¡¯t let go, dragging herself up by her grip and glaring at the thing like it was a particularly annoying ant. With or without Qi, he could feel her killing intent from several feet away. The beast began to move, whirling razors shooting out at the both of them, and he blasted them away with his Purple-Heart Flame cultivation but it only seemed to make them stronger. He still couldn¡¯t sense the damn construct but he could feel his own Qi, so carefully cultivated and maintained, ready to be pulled back into his meridians to avoid wasting it, vanishing where it touched the body of the thing.


    And still, the cripple did not let go.


    He had decided, in that moment, in that instant as he felt his very life force being dragged into that sharpened void, that her life was not worth this thing¡¯s continued existence. If she wished to keep hold of the damn thing and get in his way, so be it.


    And then, as she burned on the dregs of his power that made it past the slashing, whirling tendrils that sliced all about against his flames, she fucking bit the damn thing! After saying some kind of one-liner!


    She¡¯s mad. She has to be mad.


    Except that she started walking before he heard the thing moving. She grabbed it, bare handed, and somehow kept it from killing her. Qen Hou is more than happy to acknowledge that the only reason the thing didn¡¯t eviscerate her is that its tendrils were drinking his flames, but she was still getting cut, still burning from the heat, and in the end she was the one that killed it, dislodging that white stone somehow.


    He picks up said stone. It¡¯s nothing special; marble, though extremely pale, with scratches and indents in it where the strange creature gripped it. He can¡¯t sense anything from it, neither Qi nor that strange void that still vaguely emanates from the creature¡¯s limbs; to all his senses it reads as utterly normal stone. It may have been the creature¡¯s heart, but it might simply have been something to allow energy to move through it, acting as some sort of circuit, empty now it¡¯s disconnected.


    He looks down at the collapsed figure between himself and the creature. She¡¯s started to paint a circle of red around her, and her hair is nearly gone, burnt down to her scalp, and it¡¯s only one of several burns she has.


    ¡°Too tough to kill, huh?¡± he murmurs.


    ¡ª----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Li Shu can feel the weight of her breathing. She can feel the effort it takes to drag it into her lungs, one heaving breath after the next, trying as hard as she can to remain focused.


    If her master were here she¡¯d say the same thing as her friend; Focus. She lacks focus. Even having cultivated to the very ends of the Foundational realm, she¡¯s still distracted too easily, too easy to fluster or confuse, prone to panic in new circumstances. She¡¯s better than before, she knows that much for a fact, even without her teacher to tell her so, but it doesn¡¯t mean that her worst habits are behind her.


    Case in point; here she is wasting time with recrimination when people need her help.


    Whatever that thing that Qen Hou protected them from was, it¡¯s arrival was a horrific thing. Anyone above Qi-Gathering realm knows how to control an impact, when and where to use Qi to make sure they don¡¯t cause unnecessary damage to their surroundings, but whatever this thing was, it did not care. It didn¡¯t boost the impact with Qi, either; it landed as it landed, and it landed with such velocity and force that it blasted the entire courtyard apart. Shrapnel hit families and children, fires have been lit from festive candles and lanterns, and only by the light of the stars can everyone still see in the dark. It landed hard enough to crater the center of the courtyard, shattering a fountain there before launching itself through everyone in its way towards her and Qen Hou.


    Li Shu added vomit to the mess when she saw the trail of red, mushy remains that it left behind. She added tears not long after at the sound of voices crying out.


    So many of them were in pain and fear, but the ones filled with grief hit the hardest. Some of them knelt next to bodies that weren¡¯t moving, while others called out for people they couldn¡¯t find or who they saw get hurt and then lost sight of. It¡¯s a cacophony, the crackling of fire playing drumbeat to the melody of human suffering in the courtyard.


    Focus.


    She took one breath, the smell and vomit and blood familiar enough that even through the horror of them, she can use them to pretend, to picture herself back in the clinic, her master over her shoulder.


    Find those you can save, her master¡¯s voice whispers in her mind, and then find the ones you need to save now.


    So she moves. She spends her Qi like water, letting it free from her Dantian to spread like a blanket over the crowd, using it to sense everyone she can as fast as she can. Wherever it touches another with Qi inside them, the healing arts can communicate things like distress and damage through the connection of Qi to flesh, if one has the skill to read it. Li Shu, despite any failings, has the skill.


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    The next few hours passed in a blur, a heart wrenching eye blink. She does not speak except when she has to, she moves only from one broken body to another, and she does not, cannot make eye contact with those crouched beside the fallen, those who try to get her attention, who desperately wail and scream when she moves past those she can¡¯t save.


    She loses track of who she helps. She can only measure time by the exhaustion in her meridians from the amount of Qi she¡¯s been cycling and moving out through them, and by the slow changing of the light. At first it darkens, volunteers, the cold, and decent construction slowly smothering the flames all around them, until she can only see by moving Qi into her eyes to banish the darkness, but eventually it begins to lighten again, tinting orange.


    At first she thinks it¡¯s more fire, spreading from some other part of the city where it ran wild, and pushes herself even harder. She can practically feel the heat from the flames on her as she moves frantically, dashing from one body to the next, ignoring anyone trying to talk to her, desperate to help, breaths heaving, her lungs straining to keep up and-


    A hand grabs her by the shoulder, stopping her. She tries to shrug it off, but the strength behind it is that of a cultivator, not a mortal, and she¡¯s held firmly in place.


    Someone¡¯s been speaking to her. Has been for a while, and she¡¯s blocked it out. Focus.


    Slowly, her breaths even out, just a bit, and she lets the world back in.


    ¡°-done well, it¡¯s ok. You can stop, take a break. You¡¯re alright, a credit to your profession, but we-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± she says, trying ever so hard to slow down her breathing. ¡°I¡¯m here. I¡¯m here.¡±


    The voice pauses, but she can sense a nod from them not long after. ¡°Good,¡± it says, and she turns to see Qen Hou, kneeling next to her, hand on her shoulder. ¡°Good. You¡¯re here. You can rest. I heard you¡¯ve been healing since before midnight. Rest with the dawn, honored healer.¡±


    For the first time, she doesn¡¯t hear that slight note of patronizing in his tone when he calls her that.


    Slowly, she looks around, taking in the devastation in the light of day. It really has been hours; she feels drained, her soul and body both aching from the abuse she¡¯s put them under. Still, the sight of the far end of the courtyard, the part away from the main thoroughfares, covered entirely in unmoving forms draped in white sheets is enough to make her wish she could have pushed harder.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Qen Hou says. He turns her head away from the sight, shifting with her until she¡¯s turned her back to the dead. ¡°You¡¯ll get a heart demon, acting like that. Look on the living you¡¯ve saved, not the lost.¡±


    And she does see them. Dozens, maybe a hundred people whose Qi still shivers and quivers from the intensive kneading and manipulation they received under a healer¡¯s care. Wounds scabbed over, clean bandages applied, many of them held tight by each other, many of them sitting shellshocked and alone or even among loved ones, but all of them still alive. Some took more care than she could give, and she abandoned them when others came close with sutures and bandages, and she sees more than a few of them alive now in that part of the courtyard.


    Not all of them. But a lot.


    For the first time in hours, she feels breath leave and enter her lungs without her needing to drag it in.


    And then it catches again.


    ¡°Raika!¡± she yells, whirling to face Qen Hou. ¡°That¡¯s what you said her name was, right? She never told- is she alright?¡±


    Qen Hou¡¯s face goes blank, but then he sighs, shaking his head softly. ¡°She might say she¡¯s fine,¡± he grumbles, before flicking his thumb off to the ruin of the restaurant they all got blasted through. ¡°She¡¯s over there.¡±


    Before he¡¯s done speaking, she¡¯s already giving him as quick of a bow as she can manage and running off, two steps infused with what Qi she has left finding her at the base of the ruin where-


    There¡¯s a body, sitting up against the wall of the restaurant. It¡¯s hair is burnt nearly to the scalp, second degree burns covering its shoulders and neck, its back and legs, and its arm and front are covered in cuts so fine they¡¯re visible more by the blood leaking from them than their shape or color.


    And, somehow, the body stirs as she approaches, face coming up to look at her.


    Raika smiles, soft and kind. ¡°Hey, kid,¡± she whispers, voice so faint it can barely be heard, even with cultivation. ¡°Good job.¡±


    And then her head falls again, and Li Shu is on her knees, Qi moving yet again, desperately trying to touch Raika¡¯s Qi and finding nothing, just embers, nothing connected to her body, nothing left in her, but-


    There is something wrong with her flesh, and in the midst of that sense of wrongness and the lack of aura, she can feel a heartbeat, uneven but strong, and with every beat she can see that wrongness shifting.


    ¡ª-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°Have we found the source of the attack?¡± asks the man clad in purple and red, robes gilded and ornate and the air around him nearly rippling with heat.


    ¡°Not yet,¡± replies another, looking dismissively at the broken window the first man came through, ¡°though I am certain that, had you merely waited, I could have told you so myself.¡±


    ¡°An attack has been launched,¡± the furious sect master snarls, the ripples of heat and the slight discoloration of the air around him spreading with his rage. ¡°You cannot dare to say that it isn¡¯t a ¡°big deal¡±.¡±


    The figure he¡¯s speaking to lounges on a throne, made of solid white ivory carved from a divine beast from many lands away, the sheer ontological weight of the bones alone enough to make the sect leader feel an overwhelming pressure. It more than doubles, however, when the seated figure turns its gaze onto him.


    ¡°And you dare to speak to me as if I do not already know this?¡± they ask. ¡°I rule this city, not you. Stick to your squabbling politics and barbecued apprentices, Shen Go. I do you the kindness not to order you about in your own sect; you would do well to extend to me the same respect in my city.¡±


    Shen Go balks at the tone, his own Qi pushing against the pressure on him just enough to keep himself from being pushed back, but careful to make sure he goes no further. He reins in the desire to snarl, reins in the fury at being addressed as such; is he not on the edge of the very end of the Nascent Soul realm? If Qi-Gathering is the realm of mortals, and Foundational realm barely it¡¯s better, both the ¡°lower realms¡±, then Core Formation, and Nascent Soul realms are the ¡°middle realms¡±, the edges of comprehension and power for almost all cultivators. But he, Shen Go, stands at the very end of the Nascent Soul realm, so incredibly close to forming his Soul in truth and ascending to the higher realms he can taste it. Once he enters the higher realms, his sect can roar to new heights and truly dominate the other sects of this region, and perhaps even gain commissions and tasks from the Imperial capital itself. Then no one could look down on him like the figure on the throne is now.


    ¡°Now now, Shen Go,¡± the figure says, voice suddenly soft. ¡°Let none say you are not like a brother to this senior. I would bring shame unto the name of the Imperial Scions if I let my city fall into disarray just as I would if I did not properly inform its most promising members.¡±


    Shen Go does not see the figure move. It is on the throne, and then it is standing beside him, hand on his shoulder. Despite himself, despite the horrifying heat and the impossible wrath it so often fuels inside him, he feels a bead of cold sweat form on his forehead.


    ¡°I already have my men and healers moving to secure the enemies and my people both. By the morning, half the damage will be repaired, and this one will bow in the greatest shame to you and every other sect and noble in the city if it is not fully pristine by the dawn tomorrow. Please, be assured-¡±


    Shen Go, patriarch of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect, one of the strongest sects in the city and for hundreds of miles all around, one of the people in this world on the verge of unlocking the greater mysteries, trembles ever so slightly at the pressure on his shoulder. He feels like the air is warping, like the gravity is suddenly bending inwards towards the city lord who holds him now. He feels like his shoulder is about to break, and he does not dare move, fear and respect and survival instinct all in unison in the face of this show of force which he¡¯s never experienced from the city lord before.


    ¡°-that the moment I find out who sent these weapons into my city they will be sure to suffer Imperial wrath, and that reparations will be paid to your sects for volunteering and assisting in the city¡¯s defense.¡±


    The city lord lets go of his shoulder, and Shen Go can¡¯t help but release a quiet breath he did not realize he was holding in.


    ¡°In the meantime, honored patriarch,¡± the city lord whispers. ¡°Get the fuck out of my chambers before I melt your bones into a knife to disembowel your wives with.¡±


    When the city lord turns back around, their room is empty.


    They sigh. This is going to be such a headache. Ah well; cults always are, especially ones like this. Father won¡¯t be happy to hear some of the weapons survived, or that they¡¯re being used by a new player, but he might be happy if the city lord can collect some. Still, this may be troublesome.


    But then, there¡¯s plenty of reason why the Imperial Family rules, and the deviants of the wilds are just that. They will be more than happy to remind those who defy their authority of their favorite of those reasons: incredible, overwhelming, bloodline-erasing violence.

 Chapter 16 - Tearful Goodbyes and Dick Jokes

    ¡°And that¡¯s why you should always know a good healer,¡± Raika rasps.


    ¡°So they can fix you when you do stupid things?¡± JiaJia asks, biting into something crispy and delicious smelling.


    She flicks her crutch at him, landing a chunk of snow on his shirt, much to his annoyance.


    ¡°Hey! It¡¯s true!¡± JiaJia says. ¡°Who asked an old cripple to wander into a fight between cultivators anyways? Stories like that will have me thinking you¡¯re a liar, hag lady master.¡±


    ¡°You know just because I told you it¡¯s ok to call me master doesn¡¯t mean you should be so cheeky,¡± she snarls at him, flicking more snow, though he dodges this time.


    ¡°What do you expect!¡± the kid exclaims, mouth half full of fried meat. ¡°You just told me you grabbed a monster and got lit on fire and all cut up! You can¡¯t even grab me, so what was the plan there?¡±


    He¡¯s got a point, she thinks, and then shushes the thought for being dumb. ¡°It threw me through a wall,¡± she grumbles. ¡°I have a standing policy that nobody throws me through a wall without payback.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡± JiaJia eventually nods, chewing thoughtfully. ¡°I guess it¡¯s a good policy. Maybe just don¡¯t get thrown through a wall next time, though.¡±


    ¡°Oh my, why didn¡¯t I think of that!¡± she grumbles. ¡°Truly the student is become the master, and this one must simply bow before the wisdom of youth.¡±


    He laughs, and she chuckles with him, and they sit in that moment for a moment, holding onto it by mutual and unspoken agreement.


    But moments end, and eventually, JiaJia¡¯s face falls a bit. He tries not to let the emotions show, but¡­ he¡¯s not quite grown, and he¡¯s an idiot besides, and sometimes young idiots can¡¯t help but look as sad and lonely as they feel.


    ¡°So you¡¯re really leaving?¡± he asks.


    She doesn¡¯t move for a long moment, but¡­ eventually she nods. ¡°Li Shu invited me, and¡­ surprisingly a sect shithead named Qen Hou backed her on it. I¡¯m to work as a servant in the medical pavilion of the Purple-something-something sect.¡±


    ¡°The Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect,¡± JiaJia sighs. ¡°The greatest sect in all of Paleblossom city¡­¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s not for you,¡± she admonishes with another snowy projectile. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t suit you.¡±


    ¡°How would you know!¡± he asks. ¡°Maybe I can make it in as your apprentice! And then I can help you while you¡¯re there, and make sure you¡¯re not too slow and help with walking around and carrying things. I don¡¯t care how cool you are, you¡¯re all bandaged and hurt and even if you¡¯re telling the truth you still need me!¡±


    She doesn¡¯t respond for a while. She pretends not to see how wet his eyes have gotten by the last sentence, or how roughly he wipes away any leftover moisture. Sure is crazy how quickly snow melts, these days. Shocking; she must have hit him in the face and forgotten all about it. She¡¯s tremendously skilled, after all.


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t suit you,¡± she repeats after a moment. ¡°I just know. They¡¯re all about fire and passion and the ¡°beauty and purity of divine transformation by fire¡± and all that worthless mumbo jumbo. All those purple fire sect bastards can do is start fires and punch fast, and you have flint and Qi already in your hands or close by. You can grow more without them.¡±


    He sniffs, taking another bite of whatever delicious thing he has on a stick and hasn¡¯t shared. She recognizes the action; she didn¡¯t grow up with all that much to eat either. There¡¯s something comforting in having a full belly, and compulsive in making sure food doesn¡¯t get wasted, an instinct that foraging in garbage hasn¡¯t exactly disillusioned her about. Eventually, as the silence drags on, she goes to get up, shifting her weight slowly and getting her crutch under her-


    ¡°So¡­ you¡¯re saying I¡¯m too good for them?¡± JiaJia asks.


    She can¡¯t help herself at that, freezing partway into the act of getting up and then breaking into a wracking, painful, from the gut kind of laughter, the sound like a crow cawing in the cold winter air.


    ¡°Finally, the idiot gets something right,¡± she rasps as she gets her breath back. ¡°Yes, oh idiot apprentice of mine, you are too good for those purple flame morons.¡±


    He smiles at that, a bittersweet smile mixed with one that holds all the joy of a little kid getting praised. It does fade, though. ¡°I still wish you weren¡¯t going,¡± he says. ¡°I know it¡¯s better for you, I¡¯m glad you¡¯ll have a place to be and better food, but¡­ I mean I¡¯m worried that you¡¯ll need help but I¡¯m also worried I¡¯ll¡­ that we won¡¯t see each other again.¡±


    She huffs, grumbles like an old dog and finishes the long, drawn out process of getting to her feet (or foot and crutch, really), limping over to the kid sitting atop the crate across from her. Before he can move, she¡¯s grabbed him by the hair and started tousling it and shaking his head at the same time.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°AaAaaAaaah!¡± he whines as she shakes. ¡°What was that for!¡±


    ¡°An idiot apprentice is still an idiot apprentice,¡± Raika says, shaking her head. ¡°Who said you won¡¯t see me again? You think I¡¯m not coming back? You think I want to spend all my time with those purple flame morons? Or that I plan to let you slack off on your training? No, JiaJia, you¡¯re stuck with me now. I¡¯ll be coming back here to see exactly how well you¡¯re keeping to your cultivation, and you can bet I¡¯ll come back strong enough that if you drag your feet I¡¯ll be fast and strong enough to give you a proper ass-whooping for it.¡±


    She bows down a bit to get herself at eye level with the kid as she relaxes her grip, keeping her hand on his head. ¡°You helped me when no one else did, idiot. I don¡¯t let debts like that just die, not on my life. There are those I owe whose debts were erased when they left me to die, and those I owe that I will pay back even if it takes me all my other limbs and my whole life, and without you I wouldn¡¯t even be alive. You¡¯ve only just started cultivating; don¡¯t assume that our journeys will be short, or that they will not cross again. I swear it. And the next time I see you, you had better have a foundation you can brag about.¡±


    So much snow today. She must have hit him with a much more densely packed snowball than she thought for it to still be leaking so much water down his face. She pats him on the head and knocks his forehead against her own and just breathes, soft and slow, letting him feel her breathing beside him until he calms down, and his breaths begin to match hers.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you again, JiaJia,¡± she says. ¡°And the next time I do, we¡¯ll both be further in our journeys. That¡¯ll be all that¡¯s different.¡±


    He nods, eyes determined. ¡°Yes, master,¡± he whispers.


    She gives him one last pat on the head and straightens, cracking and popping her back like six different ways as she does, to a smile from JiaJia. ¡°I¡¯ll see you when I see you, idiot apprentice,¡± she says, turning to walk off.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you when I see you, old hag master,¡± JiaJia replies.


    Damn. She got some snow on her face too. Fine aim, that JiaJia.


    She emerges from the alleyway twice as happy as she went in, walking over to the carriage she was brought in on.


    It¡¯s an ornate thing, overly decorated for her taste, even for a sect vehicle (and they have way fancier ones than even this!). There¡¯s purple flower petals, and two lanterns, one behind and one in front, glowing with magenta fire, and light gilding and carved scenes of some kind decorating the pillars and roof of the damnable thing. She shuffles forward and desperately tries to avoid rolling her eyes at the sheer sight of the damn thing, especially in such a poor neighborhood; it looks like some incredibly snobbish rich brat is kidnapping some old cripple for something nefarious at best.


    The aforementioned snobbish rich brat is waiting outside the carriage, though, so best not to be too rude, especially with how nice he¡¯s been lately, technically. Raika¡¯s well aware she¡¯s ornery at the best of times and perfectly ready to punch back and keep punching if she sees something stupid or if someone tries to take from her, but she¡¯s not so inconsiderate she won¡¯t acknowledge the fact that Qen Hou has been far more accommodating than he technically needs to be.


    ¡°Done with your goodbye, then?¡± he asks.


    She nods, ¡°I¡¯ll be back to see him,¡± she rasps.


    Qen Hou rolls his eyes. ¡°Doubtful,¡± he says, ¡°but if you can make it here in your free time, you¡¯re free to do so. Far be it from me to keep you in a place with better Qi, resources, beddings, clothes, food¡­¡±


    ¡°Ah, stuff it, senior brother,¡± she mumbles. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll have plenty of time to tell me all about how marvelous it all is on the way to whatever chores you have me doing.¡±


    He huffs, and she does marvel at that a little; not a week ago he probably would¡¯ve slapped some teeth out for that sort of cheek, but now he just lets it slide whenever they¡¯re not near other sect members. Ah, the privileges of proving yourself terrifying even while weak; it¡¯s always fun how tunes change when they see you do something horrifyingly violent, like kill a squid made of razors with one¡¯s teeth.


    Slowly, step by agonizing step of medically disadvantaged gymnastics and bandage-straining olympics, she makes it into the carriage, Qen Hou not bothering to help and her not bothering to call him a shithead for the duration of the process (in large part for how out of breath it leaves her). He just steps into the carriage as soon as she¡¯s finished, shutting the door behind him and sending a small burst of Qi towards the driver to begin taking them back.


    ¡°I still think you belong out here,¡± the cultivator says casually as he leans one hand and looks out the window. ¡°You¡¯re lucky Li Shu claims you¡¯re some kind of pet project.¡±


    ¡°Woof, woof,¡± Raika rasps. ¡°I hear some people pay good money for that sort of thing, and here we are enjoying it entirely at the expense of the Purple Flame sect.¡±


    Qen Hou blushes for a moment, looking like he¡¯s about to shoot off some comment before he reigns himself back in. ¡°I mean, you were a cultivator, right?¡± he asks. ¡°How in the hells did you get anywhere at all with a mouth like that?¡±


    ¡°You and your obsession with my mouth,¡± she chuckles, giving him a "sultry" grin with a nice view of her scars. ¡°Used to be people might have paid good money for that too.¡±


    He scoffs, poorly hiding a smile as he holds in a laugh. ¡°You walked into that one,¡± she rasps with a smile. ¡°Can¡¯t keep giving me ammunition like that, I have poor trigger discipline.¡±


    ¡°...I hear that happens to lots of folks your age,¡± he replies, quietly. ¡°You know, shooting early and often.¡±


    She laughs a lot louder than he failed to, the sound of crows cawing following the carriage as they head towards one of the biggest plateaus in the city, the artificially raised mountain that is the sign of any sect holding up the massive castle walls and glowing indigo, purple and magenta fires of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect.

 Chapter 17 - New Year, Who Dis?

    Six Months Later


    ¡ª--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    If Raika has to go get snacks for one more goddamn cultivator, she¡¯s going to put nails in their food.


    She still needs a cane to walk! And can¡¯t put weight on one leg! And has only one goddamn hand! There¡¯s like a million other uppity youngsters desperate to slob all over whatever knob is placed in front of them for approval from these bastards, they should get one of them to run out in the summer heat for dumplings. The kitchens are halfway across the sect campus, for fuck¡¯s sake; by the time she gets there and back, the food is guaranteed to be cold, soggy, or some mix of both. The point is to keep her away, probably, but still, it¡¯s just bad form, and a damn waste of food.


    Still, she¡¯s happy that she can get it back before it goes stale at least. In the time she¡¯s been here, she¡¯s found herself improving again in fits and starts, and her work with Ding, ever a loyal partner, has her able to walk the trip from one side of the sect to the other without needing to stop. It¡¯s still a trek of over an hour, which would take someone with two legs maybe twenty minutes tops, but improvements nonetheless. Paleblossom isn¡¯t that big a city, no matter how much attention that attack called onto it, or the number of imperial soldiers that flooded in not long after. Ergo, it¡¯s sects aren¡¯t exactly huge, sprawling things either. Her sect wasn¡¯t much bigger; The Sect of Hungering Roots wasn¡¯t exactly world-renowned, to say the least. Some sects, some that she¡¯s even visited in her travels, are cities in and of themselves, towering on plateaus hundreds of feet above the ground, the act of climbing up to them a challenge to all.


    Still, she hears the sect master of the Purple Flame something-something is on the cusp of the greater mysteries, so who knows. Maybe someday soon it¡¯ll take her days to walk from kitchens to medical hall instead of just over an hour.


    Sighing, she unlocks one of the back doors and slips inside, slipping the key back into her sleeve. Like any good medical pavilion, there are plenty of clear and open entryways to the outside, but any place that deals with resources needs a few spots for pure logistical support. In this case, the logistical support comes in the form of soggy dumplings, carried by someone who has no business walking so much and wasting so much food, damnit.


    Raika adjusts her scarf, making sure the package she has tied around her neck hasn¡¯t pulled it down too far. The more visible the scars on her face are, the more likely it is that they¡¯ll send her off to deal with some random crap, and she could do without the hassle. They seem more uncomfortable with her physical defects than she expected, though there¡¯s plenty of disgust for her state as someone without Qi as well. Frankly, she thinks it¡¯s their own inadequacies at play; just about every healing technique she¡¯s found in this place, or had explained to her, involves Qi in some way. Now while this isn¡¯t technically idiotic, since literally everything at all possesses Qi, and the chances of not having meridians and still being alive are minuscule, outside of medicinal elixirs made of rare ingredients and suturing, they have almost nothing to heal in a body that can¡¯t use Qi or contribute to the process. Seems like an oversight, honestly.


    But the background knowledge? Now that¡¯s been interesting. Considering her existence in this place consists of ferrying books, sterilizing equipment, going for food, and all sorts of other menial and unenviable tasks, she¡¯s had enough mind-numbing work to sneak a few books in here and there. It¡¯s hard to read past all the technical lingo, and she was never the best at her letters, but the pictures alone make the exercise worth it. Who knew a body had quite so many veins?


    It¡¯s not all bad, though. Qen Hou kept to his word, at least; things are better here. Better food, better clothing, and an actual room, even if it¡¯s a servant¡¯s quarters. Considering those servant¡¯s quarters are connected to Li Shu¡¯s room, and the fact the silly girl still needs help with the damndest things, it¡¯s a marked improvement over her old alcove and improvised tent. Even without being able to sense it, she also has to admit the quality of Qi is much better here than outside. The smells of everyone¡¯s Qi comes across even stronger here (which had her sneezing for days when she first arrived), and when she has time to focus on the vibrations and flow of her body, she¡¯s noticed a much sharper tingling sensation. She did end up shitting blood from the intensity, once or twice, but that¡¯s just the cost of doing business. She¡¯s pioneering a whole new concept in the pursuit of ascension, here, what¡¯s some potentially lethal internal damage gonna do? Dissuade her? Fat chance.


    She unceremoniously dumps the tall box of dumplings at the nearest clean table she can find, a small table meant more for tea than anything, surrounded on all sides by massive, sprawling surfaces of wood, most of them completely covered in ink stains, medical texts being written or read, and more than a few stray scalpels (a lot of the researchers use them to sharpen charcoal for detail-work). You¡¯d think this place was the research division somedays, she marvels.


    ¡°Soup¡¯s on, honored cultivators,¡± she says, voice deep and hoarse but recognizably human. ¡°Enjoy it while it¡¯s wet.¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be wet if you didn¡¯t take so long,¡± grumbles one of the medical students. Shi Qou, probably; he likes to complain. She glares daggers at him and, resting her cane on the table, gestures at her¡­ everything.


    ¡°Perhaps if an honored cultivator wished for faster dumplings, he should find the wisdom not to send cripples out in the heat, or perhaps gain the insight needed to make firm the lame and cane-ridden,¡± she says, voice (by her standards) saccharine sweet. ¡°If an honored cultivator finds these things only just free from their reach, then perhaps they can simply enjoy their dumplings and refrain from disturbing such a lovely afternoon.¡±


    There are some chuckles around the room, and Shi Qou blushes just a bit, rolling his eyes and making his way over to, indeed, enjoy his damn dumplings. More than a few others follow, grabbing one or two buns apiece before migrating back to their papery dens. From the bags under some of their eyes, she is pretty sure they¡¯ve been awake for days on end, something tough enough to wear down even cultivators. Sure, cultivators can use Qi to alleviate fatigue, but mental fatigue still accumulates over time; going without sleep should be done when necessary, and staying awake for weeks on end, by the Core Formation realm, isn¡¯t impossible, but all to study? Well, she admires the dedication, even if seems a bit excessive. Sleep is important too, after all.


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    As she walks away, she marvels once again at what they let her get away with. Having no cultivation whatsoever and performing every task assigned, she¡¯s become a non-threat, just barely above a non-entity. It¡¯s done wonders for her wit; before, she had to watch everything she said, lest she be challenged to an honor duel or left out when dividing rewards or supplies to sect disciples. Here, she doesn¡¯t get any meaningful supplies anyways, and who would honor duel a cripple? She does miss the duels, admittedly; an insult so bad your opponent has no choice but to fight you or cry themselves to sleep is one of the best parts of life. Still, it¡¯s nice to be able to joke and poke fun at herself and others without it being a life or death struggle.


    She¡¯s got plenty of those to keep her hands full as is.


    She Dings quietly as she walks. She keeps the rhythm constant, providing a meditative background to anyone listening (and they¡¯re all cultivators, so everybody is listening, all the fucking time), alternating between her lower back, sternum, and forehead, making sure to feel out the aches each impact riles up. Despite new techniques, Ding remains an invaluable tool of casual body alteration and meditation. The sensation of the impact traveling through her is, at this point, familiar and comforting, an old, annoying friend keeping pace with her as she walks, in time with her heartbeat and the aches of her body.


    And, most notably, the parts that no longer ache.


    It¡¯s been slow going, but Li Shu really did make her a pet project. The girl seems genuinely convinced that she can somehow repair at least Raika¡¯s body, if not her meridians and dantian, and adorably enough, she¡¯s making headway. There¡¯s simply no channels for Qi to move through and connect to her biology, and thus the act of medicinal Qi manipulation, a process used to generate specific patterns of Qi movements to connect to damaged portions of a body in a specific way, are less than useless on her. There¡¯s no place to make the patterns, and no way for the body to absorb, integrate, or direct any Qi placed in it, and seeing as there is now only foreign Qi to her body, it universally rejects any Qi of a high enough density. In short; to heal Raika the classical cultivator way, one would have to either use a powerful Dao, an embodied and empowered concept itself, or, somehow, perfectly recreate all of the hundreds of millions of effects that the dispersed Qi placed in the meridians would normally accomplish, simultaneously, all while avoiding causing Qi rejection and perfectly placing and sensing each damaged point, again, as above with Qi amounts. Not exactly easy.


    Which, Raika and Li Shu both agree, is a fucking copout.


    Li Shu actually has healed some of the damage, though. She¡¯s using a minor technique, one she found in a more obscure text useful for plants. Using medicinal Qi and meridians is basically using a ¡°blueprint¡± of an ideal self and using Qi to convince reality of its truth, just like a slower version of using Qi to enforce on reality that ¡°yes, there is a fireball that tastes like mint here¡±. Without that ¡°ontological blueprint¡±, Qi healing wouldn¡¯t do much, and since some plants usually don¡¯t have meridians but can heal from most anything, a novel technique was invented; by re-damaging the damaged area, then stimulating them with small puffs of ambient Qi that the plants feed on, one can re-start the healing process in the hopes of doing it better the second time. It¡¯s not an infinitely applicable thing, and it¡¯s much more suited to plants than people.


    Still, Li Shu is a prodigy without peer and definitely the best medical genius around, so Raika thinks she¡¯s onto something. Enough, at least, that she¡¯s been willing to volunteer to go under the knife more than once.


    It¡¯s not every day you get a chance to get a pretty lady in your insides; it would be foolish not to treasure the opportunity.


    As it is, scar tissue doesn¡¯t seem to re-heal as desired, and only minimal ambient Qi can be used, but her knee has almost twice the mobility it used to have, and Raika kept a lot of the bone chips and poorly grown tendons as dried ingredients she wears in a little bottle. Still can¡¯t put much weight on the damn thing, but it at least bends to almost half as far as it used to. Makes it much easier to lie down or sit as needed.


    For this alone, she¡¯d owe Li Shu, never mind the new accommodations. Then again, she is basically letting herself be used as a medical dummy, no matter how obsessively Li Shu checks her notes, or promises to be gentle, or takes only the tiniest risks, or confers with Raika before every little thing.


    If this is what being a medical marvel means, well¡­ Raika¡¯s had romances less emotionally endearing. And the girl really is adorable.


    Oh, she knows nothing will come of it. Even if she didn¡¯t have a face half-missing and a body all mangled up, she still wouldn¡¯t be able to match Li Shu in anything but conversation. Her crippling goes well beyond her body. That being said, while she is genuinely blessed to have Li Shu still see her as a person, even without her cultivation, and not just a dog or a medical curiosity, there¡¯s the fact that her body is also crippled aplenty. From twisted spine, to missing pieces of her face, to her more recent collection of burns and criss-crossing white patterns of razor blade scars, she¡¯s well past the point of rugged. And all that¡¯s before you even factor in the entire missing arm, or the fact her legs are half misshapen and useless. She was never ¡°girly¡±, never wanted to be, but who out there is genuinely free of any desire to be attractive, to be looked at and not have someone look away?


    Li Shu, despite everything, tends to look away when Raika¡¯s scarf is lowered.


    It might be getting to her more than she¡¯s letting herself think.


    Ding, agrees the tiny metallic traitor. ¡°You a sycophant or a critic, ya little shit?¡± she asks. Ding, it goes, very noticeably not saying anything this time, like the wuss it is.


    Still, it¡¯s good to have a partner, someone to help. She¡¯s yet to find a good opportunity to leave the compound, seeing as walking back to town down all those ramps and stairs of the plateau would take her well over a day and longer than she can be away from her tasks, and she misses JiaJia. Yeah, he¡¯s an idiot and a little shit, but damn if she doesn¡¯t miss him. She wonders at how his cultivation is coming along, and if his red light family is treating him any better.


    But she intends to keep her promise. She will be back to see him again, and she will be stronger when she does it.


    So it is that when she enters her room to the sight of the younger woman looking terrified, anxious near the verge of tears, and standing in front of a design drawn in chalk that is half medical diagram and half Qi formation, she can¡¯t help but smile.


    ¡°Greetings, Honored gorgeous one,¡± she says with a bow, drawling as she speaks. ¡°What do you think of the radical, horrifying misuse of healing pavilion materials? Coming along well?¡±

 Chapter 18 - Damn, That Mad Science Do Be Cooking

    ¡°What is all this?¡± Li Shu asks, voice faintly horrified, face pale.


    ¡°Little pet project I¡¯ve been working on,¡± Raika says, aiming for nonchalance and landing a bit off her mark. ¡°Do you¡­ I mean, why were you in here?¡±


    ¡°I-¡± Li Shu immediately blushes like a tomato, the way she does only when she¡¯s having to juggle something complicated and also adorably mortified. ¡°I was here to give you a present! I was going to leave it under your pillow!¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Raika asks.


    ¡°Wuh- because it¡¯s been almost a year since you got hurt! I didn¡¯t want to do anything on the day of because I thought that might bring bad memories, but I figured a week early would be enough to form some good ones!¡±


    ¡°That¡­ is maybe the sweetest thing I¡¯ve ever heard,¡± Raika says sincerely. ¡°And definitely one of the cutest things anyone¡¯s ever done for me.¡±


    Li Shu blushes again, the fading cherry red coming back with a violence, and Raika takes the opening, cane clacking on the ground as she crosses the space between them. Bowing rather than kneeling or sitting in front of Li Shu, she puts their faces at nearly equal height and does her best impression of a hug without using her arms. It¡¯s really just putting her head on Li Shu¡¯s shoulder, but¡­ it¡¯s the sweetest thing anyone has done for her, and the sheer tension of thinking the healer was spying on her or doing something nefarious being broken by the sweetness is such a relief.


    She pulls back and knocks her forehead to Li Shu¡¯s, who hasn¡¯t moved. ¡°Sorry,¡± Raika whispers. ¡°I¡­ didn¡¯t want to say something dumb.¡±


    ¡°Ugh!¡± Li Shu exclaims, face bright and eyes a little wet, her gaze not totally distracted from the diagram. ¡°Do you always just do the first thing that pops into your head? A simple thank you-¡±


    ¡°-Wouldn¡¯t be enough,¡± Raika interrupts. She pulls back, not wanting to annoy or make the situation actually awkward, feeling a blush start to form on her cheek as well. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m- that was silly, but I wanted to give you a hug, and I can¡¯t really sit fast and with the cane, I- sorry. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s really sweet, Li Shu. I hadn¡¯t really associated the date like that, I don¡¯t think, but¡­ well, it has a weight and I just wanted to be sincere.¡±


    This time it¡¯s Li Shu¡¯s turn to give Raika a smile as the taller woman ends up with slightly darker cheeks. But, like all good things, the moment passes as she turns to look at the diagram again.


    ¡°Well,¡± Li Shu says, ¡°I¡¯m not going to give it to you if you¡¯re going to do¡­ whatever this is! What is this?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a project,¡± Raika admits, hobbling around the massive chunk of the room decorated in the detailed drawings and symbols. There¡¯s not much space left in the room, but she isn¡¯t going to keep disrespecting Li Shu by staying on her feet while the other is seated, so she finds a corner angle between her bed and the wall and lowers herself down. ¡°I¡¯ve been drawing it the last month or so. Took me most of my time here so far just to figure out what all the tubes and weird shapes are in those medical books or I would have started it sooner.¡±


    ¡°Ok, but what is it meant to do,¡± she asks, staring at the mishmash of symbols, organic designs, weirdly looping lines of chalk and spiraling mantras. She¡¯s especially proud of those, even though it¡¯s rather silly; they were way less technically difficult than the runes or the medical drawing, but each mantra, set up around the diagram, is one she either made up or found deeply personal, and as someone who¡¯s not much of a writer she¡¯s very pleased with them.


    ¡°Well,¡± Raika says, ¡°it¡¯s meant to drag as much Qi as possible into my skin, entirely from inside my body, while blocking outside Qi from being absorbed, until there¡¯s nothing left of the Qi drifting around in me.¡±


    Li Shu just looks at her. Raika lets the silence sit for a minute, twiddling her thumb, poking at a little bundle of herbs and flowers to one side of the diagram with her cane.


    ¡°Ok so bare minimum that¡¯ll kill you,¡± Li Shu finally says. ¡°Meridians or no, all living things need Qi. All things, period, have Qi, except some of the most dangerous and complex weapons in the Empire, and those are specially designed by runic, formation, and Qi specialists and experts. Removing all the Qi from your organs will just¡­ kill you, your heart will stop beating.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Raika replies, ¡°but do you know that?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± the healer exclaims. ¡°Absolutely! Full-body Qi depletion knocks people unconscious all the time, and there¡¯s tons of documentation about demonic techniques that drain Qi to kill their victims! It¡¯s common knowledge!¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Raika replies, ¡°I think that¡¯s stupid.¡±


    She¡¯s pretty sure the fact that even a glancing blow from an angry Li Shu would kill her is the only reason why the cultivator hasn¡¯t smacked her upside the head at minimum. From the look in her eyes, she thinks the healer might be genuinely considering it, too, or perhaps a full slap.


    Then, proving yet again why she¡¯s the best, most genius healer, cultivator, and all around awesome gal in the world, Li Shu stops and takes a breath. She centers herself, and then, looking only at the diagram, she breathes out. Then, when she¡¯s back in balance and not quite panicking anymore, she simply asks; ¡°Why?¡±


    Raika takes a breath. Ok. First hurdle complete, even if it¡¯s earlier than she expected. Now, to convince her.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s any such thing as ¡°ambiental¡± or ¡°neutral¡± Qi,¡± she says. ¡°Not really. I think it might be something like ¡°World Qi¡± or ¡°Living Being¡± Qi, and that without meridians with which to house and connect a soul to a body, the difference is simply that a person can¡¯t create their own unique type of Qi, or draw in a specific type. If inert rocks, or the sky, or air itself all have unique, distinct Qi, then it makes no sense to think that I, even without meridians, have ¡°generic¡± Qi with no specialties, especially when more complex Qi already exist, like ¡°mist¡± or ¡°illusion¡±.¡±


    ¡°So, that got me thinking; either the Will of Heaven and the gods define Qi when they think of a concept, turning a basic background resource into stuff as it manifests and fuels the world, or! Oooor. Things generate Qi. And there¡¯s proof! Like how you can cycle Qi to generate more of it with cultivation methods and mixing elixirs to drink, which I think isn¡¯t a unique thing about Dantians and meridians, I think they¡¯re like organs that can control and speed up that process, but it still happens naturally. Correct me if I¡¯m wrong, but even if you don¡¯t circulate the energy from an elixir through your meridians, it still does add Qi to your body, just slower, right?¡±


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    Li Shu sits in silence. Her face is doing that thing, where she is completely focused on a single thought, and her nose is scrunching slightly but her eyes are ice cold. She just nods, once.


    ¡°So!¡± Raika continues, ¡°I think that I¡¯m not absorbing Qi and then changing it to a new type, not entirely. I mean, I am a bit, that¡¯s part of how ¡°ambient¡± Qi just sort of floats in and out of me so freely, but I think that as a living being I am already generating, simply by being alive, a type of ¡°living being¡± Qi which is what keeps my body alive and working. I don¡¯t know if I make more of it if I use my body more or do things relating to a Dao of ¡°living beings¡±, and that¡¯s next on the list to figure out, but I think it¡¯s there and it¡¯s being generated. So, so long as I don¡¯t die right away, I can use it for things, and the longer I survive, even if I have none left, the longer my body has to develop more ¡°living being¡± energy, and I think that by changing my skin to be less invisible and pass-throughable to Qi, I won¡¯t waste as much or have it tainted by outside influences.¡±


    Li Shu does not speak for a long time. Like, minutes, plural. She simply sits in that exact same meditative kneeling position she¡¯s been in since Raika came in the room, nose just a teeny bit scrunched and eyes flicking slightly left and right, like she¡¯s reading something in her head.


    ¡°So¡­ you¡¯re saying it will kill you, but if it doesn¡¯t, then you might just¡­ recharge?¡± She eventually asks. ¡°How do you plan on doing that?¡±


    ¡°With these,¡± Raika says, pulling closer the bundle of herbs and flowers. ¡°I spent points for some and just stole a lot of the others. Inner Heat Bulbs to keep my blood warm, Blackened Seedlings for my heartbeat so it keeps going when it shouldn¡¯t, and as many Deepened Breath pills as I could buy, so my lungs keep taking in air while my mouth is open, I hope.¡±


    ¡°And the Blackened Seedlings won¡¯t burst all your blood vessels and explode your heart because¡­¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯ll be still,¡± Raika replies. ¡°Diluted, even a mortal in the lower realms can take it and live if their body is tough enough. The heartbeat factor is being added to by the seeds, so it¡¯s like a heartbeat but explosively more, but without a heartbeat, it¡¯ll just be pulses.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t work,¡± Li Shu says, shaking her head. ¡°It makes the heart beat harder, yes, but if there¡¯s no heartbeat there it doesn¡¯t do anything.¡±


    ¡°But what if I take it before the heartbeat is gone? There¡¯s no chance it¡¯ll keep the muscles moving, even without my brain awake?¡±


    She pauses. Opens her mouth, pauses again. ¡°Mmmmmh¡­ maybe,¡± she allows. ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone¡¯s tested for using them as a way to prevent heart failure right before death, since usually that just means you¡¯d bleed out or spread a poison faster.¡±


    ¡°Excellent time to find out then!¡± Raika smiles.


    ¡°No!¡± Li Shu yells. ¡°Terrible time to find out! With a healthy life on the line?¡±


    Raika pauses at that.


    They¡¯re past the first hurdle. Li Shu is focusing on the herbs, now, not saying that the whole idea is ridiculous, which means it has at least some merit. Just think of it like a friendly spar; not out to hurt, but when there¡¯s an opening, make sure to go in hard, and always aim for a big finisher if you see the shot.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to do this whether you like it or not, honored Li Shu,¡± she says, keeping her voice quiet and making sure that the healer can see her eyes. Her vision has gotten a bit better, enough that she can see the younger woman lean back a bit. Move quick; the opening is closing, defenses coming up, slip through before she has a chance to hit back or steal the momentum.


    ¡°I don¡¯t mean I don¡¯t value what you think,¡± Raika continues. ¡°I¡¯d be far more confident of this with your help, and I was planning to show you soon to get your opinion on it. But I think this has genuine merit, and if I cannot do it with your help, if you block my access or put guards on me or keep me on a leash like a pet, I will leave this sect, memorize my diagrams, scavenge the ingredients, go to a whole other sect somehow if I need to.¡±


    ¡°I refuse to be stagnant,¡± Raika snarls, keeping the eye contact by force of will and presence, not daring to give Li Shu weakness to look away with. ¡°I refuse to be weak. I was a cultivator, someone pursuing a transcendent self, and that was stolen from me in a fit of pique by some random bastard with more power than he deserved, and then I was thrown away like filth. I¡¯ve defied the will of the Heavens since I¡¯ve known how; just because my path is more dangerous or uncertain now does not mean I am going to give it up. I don¡¯t give up, Li Shu. I lose, I die, or I win. There is no surrender.¡±


    The silence sits in the room, heavy. A declaration like that has weight, especially in a sect, home to cultivators. Raika does not break eye contact with Li Shu; she simply sits and waits, letting some of the steel back into her eyes from where she has kept it hidden and guarded. She wants her to understand, needs someone to understand. The last time an impossible law of nature told her to stop, she bit its eyeball; a dozen more and a gamble are nothing to her, nothing in the face of the horror that would be allowing herself to choose to remain as she is.


    Li Shu breaks eye contact first.


    She turns back to the diagram and sighs. Looks at the herbs and seeds, sighs again.


    ¡°You¡¯ll want to add water breathing pills,¡± she says. ¡°They allow for passive air absorption, rather than just increasing how much air you get per breath. And we¡¯ll need to set a fire, to keep you as warm as we can. I think you should use the Aldermain Curse of Blocked Breath on this section,¡± (she points at a spot along the outer rim of the diagram)- ¡°it¡¯s well known for blocking absorption of Qi through the skin, if we layer it more than once on the diagram, especially for you, it might be enough to block Qi from even getting in the circle, and definitely block it from casual absorption.¡±


    Raika lets out a breath she hadn¡¯t known she was holding. She takes her right arm, her one remaining arm, and wipes away the wetness on her face, breathing deeply, slowly.


    ¡°Ok,¡± she whispers. Then, more forcefully; ¡°Ok. I was also thinking we could paint part of the diagram onto me, to better focus it on the outer skin, and if we can find any trance or meditation aids maybe I can help sort of push it along into the skin before I go to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Maybe, but without meridians I don¡¯t know,¡± Li Shu replies. ¡°Have you considered using Ding to enter the trance, and then use spirit enlightenment roots? We can only get lower quality, but for you, it might induce an astral experience, but¡­ no, we should-¡±


    They talk for hours. Raika grins the whole time, as happy as she¡¯s been in almost a year.

 Chapter 19 - It Matters Not How Strait the Gate, How Charged with Punishments the Scroll

    It takes another two weeks before Li Shu is finally convinced that everything is as it should be, that they¡¯ve created the optimal circumstances in which this might be enacted. In this time, Raika has done very little besides ¡°appropriate¡± medical texts and ignore her responsibilities, leaving other servants to take over the cleaning, maintenance and food supply of the medical pavilion. She did not come here to stay, technically, so it doesn¡¯t exactly make her guilty, but she¡¯ll still be happy when this is over and she can better choose what¡¯s next.


    Qen Hou comes by, twice, to check in on Li Shu and her cultivation. Quite frankly, she¡¯s more on guard against him than ever; besides the experiment, besides their brief moments of camaraderie, there¡¯s always his ongoing interest in Li Shu. She might not think it so relevant except that, apparently, he¡¯s her sponsor here, and tied to her somehow. She doesn¡¯t even get the impression that he¡¯s in much risk if Li Shu ¡°flunks¡± as a healer, which means he¡¯s getting something else out of it.


    But eventually, Li Shu, having stolen enough hours and sleepless nights to keep things subtle with her instructors and checking Raika¡¯s work on the diagram, finally decides that they¡¯re ready.


    So it is that Raika gets to strip nude in front of a pretty lady for the first time in over a year. It¡¯s way more painful than usual.


    In the end, the best way for them to get the runes on her is to carve them in, using a small scalpel and tattoo-needle to poke into her flesh until the requisite patterns of blood appear. Then, the diagram is layered onto the floor again, in the center of the room this time, it¡¯s edges surrounded by an anti-Qi diagram hopefully strong enough to keep any and all background Qi from leaking in to the circle or Raika herself, while the carved runes keep any from leaking out past a certain point. The inner diagram has received some revisions as well, detailing the ways in which her body is meant to react, how the droplets of Qi in her flesh are meant to shift and move out, drawn to the surface despite any attempts her blood or flesh or bone might make to cling to it.


    Finally, the ritual components. Two pills of Deepened Breath and one of Water Breathing, both eaten hours before to allow for mortal digestion. Blackened Seeds and a black volt berry, to keep electricity twitching through her muscles and her heart beating, pumping blood as needed. Enough Inner Heat bulbs that she feels like a furnace and is genuinely worried she¡¯s running a fever, and small fires at each corner of the diagram to keep her even warmer. Last but not least, Inner Moon mushrooms; just a small, dried stem, not enough to properly trip balls, but enough to, one hopes, ¡°view the inner world and enact one¡¯s touch upon it¡±.


    And then, skyclad, armed only with her constant companion in the form of Ding, she steps into the circle. She slowly, painfully lays herself out flat, a few drops of blood hitting the stone floor in the central ring of the diagram. And then, with a single, final Ding against her chest, what may be a final note from her most stalwart companion, she crosses her arms over her chest, imagines holding that vibration as tightly as she can in her heart, she lets herself drift off as Li Shu closes the diagram.


    Ten minutes. Nothing.


    Twenty. Still nothing.


    Thirty minutes, and she should have felt something by now. Anything. At the very least the damn shroom.


    She opens her eyes, and sees only darkness.


    No, that¡¯s not right. It¡¯s kind of¡­ pink. A very fleshy sort of color, weirdly flickering, like there¡¯s light right on the other side.


    She turns her head, trying to look around, but she can¡¯t feel the movement, even as her eyes move. She does manage to look behind her, and there, again, is that same darkness, though this time the light seems to be coming from behind her, not in front, the much more red expanse here looking significantly stranger.


    She tries to move forward, and finds herself doing so, even without feeling her legs move. She can feel herself glide formlessly forward, slipping through and following the pathways of curves of muscle and hallways of white ivory. She finds a strange bubble, like a weird lake of grey, suspended in a sea of red and clear ooze. She wanders about more, finding a wall she can¡¯t pass eventually, and turns again, heading in a new direction. She finds a strange thing that squirms and squirts and seems like it¡¯s trying to talk but keeps choking on that red liquid, going ¡°blup-squelch, blup-squelch¡±, over and over. She finds long, winding hallways beneath it, like a single, massive snake. She finds twists and points in the ivory walkways and halls where there are jagged edges, cricks and cracks in the material and strange bends that don¡¯t seem right.


    Ah. She¡¯s in her body, then. Must be, probably. Maybe. Might just be a weird flesh vision, shrooms are weird. Still, it¡¯s pretty cool. She¡¯s not actually here, of course; an inner Soul can examine and travel through a body like this, but she never even started the Nascent Soul realm, and the shrooms ain¡¯t all that. If she remembers, it¡¯s a projection of things her brain has already noticed, made into a useful hallucination.


    She turns to go back the way she came, and comes face to face with someone else in here.


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    It does not look like her. It doesn¡¯t even look like she used to look when she was whole. It looks like an empty, hungry thing, a shadow in a world of shadow and glistening meat, and if not for how close she was to it she might not even have seen it.


    If not for its proximity, and if not for the single, pure white eye that stares at her.


    It is not carved like an eye, it looks more like a cube and a snowflake somehow fused together in shape, but it is in the shadow¡¯s head, and it is looking at her, and it is cold.


    Of course it would be here. In her altered state, it makes absolute sense; did she not come closer, face to face, with the power of whatever this thing is than any other power? Did she not see the thing from which it came, the impossible, the god in the sky that was Nothing that was always Nothing and made all Nothing? Did she not wrestle with it, feel its touch on her skin?


    Are you hungry, it asks, in a voice that is not a voice.


    Yes, Raika replies, in a voice that is a voice but is not.


    Do you wish to sup on soft flesh and stone, to fill the empty void until there is nothing left?


    She frowns at that. No, she says. The void is not my hunger. It is the void.


    She can feel a wave of¡­ well, not frustration. Whatever this thing is, it doesn¡¯t feel like it¡¯s alive, not in a true sense. There¡¯s more a sense of disconnect, like it had a path set out and is trying to find a way to reconnect to it.


    Do you wish to be greater than all? It asks, eye gleaming whiter than snow.


    Yes, Raika replies.


    Do you wish to unmake what your hands can reach?


    Raika frowns again. Well that¡¯s just vague, she replies.


    It pauses again, giving her the impression of¡­ again, not confusion, but the next closest thing. It feels like it is reading from a page, and not really able to process that she is not following her lines.


    Do you wish to embrace the truth? The final truth? The infinite, perfect truth? It finally asks.


    What truth is that, she asks.


    That all things end. That at the end of it all, past defeat, past time, past death, past meaning and thought, there is a greater end, and it is forever and all and always.


    Raika scoffs. Well that¡¯s lame, she sends back.


    This time, the eye actually blinks.


    It is the truth, the thing sends to her.


    Not my truth, she replies, nonplussed.


    It moves forward, its presence overwhelming the sense of the meat around her, of the faint heat thrumming through her, of the distant ringing sound of a tuning fork and a tingling sensation that may be agony or may be itchiness, each more notable by their sudden absence.


    IT IS THE TRUTH, the wisp of greater majesty proclaims, its words absolute, reverberating in perfect silence.


    It is your truth, Raika says, not backing down an inch. It is the truth from which you come, the truth which I glimpsed, but it is not The truth. If something is impossible, it is my privilege to make it possible. If I am told I must die, it is my joy to live as long as I choose, even if that be forever. If I am told that at the end of all things is defeat, the end of all things can suck my perfect ass and beg beneath my gorgeous teeth. Fuck you and the weird rock you rode in on, shadow.


    It rears back, that not-confusion and not-anger both rising up in response to an inconsistency, an uncalculated response, a denial, except there can be no denial. It is, this is, reality is, it ends, and this meaningless speck will / must / cannot not understand it¡¯s place beneath Truth and-


    Raika snarls, every iota of her consciousness in this timeless moment standing completely together. She is the cripple, and the wide-eyed child, and the warrior, and the madwoman, and she stares at this thing, and she finds a Truth all her own.


    I Am Me, she snarls, her thoughts a roar of fire and churning flesh and gnashing sharpness and whirling eyes and hungry mouths and clawing hands and screaming stars and crying oceans, And I Am Mine.


    And the wisp is something tiny, something minuscule, barely a fucking opinion, while she, for a brief, eternal instant, is infinite.


    She takes its eye, and fashions of it a tooth. It crumbles, forced into shape, screaming as it is torn from the shadow and molded by impossibility. A back molar, to be precise; she¡¯s still missing a few, courtesy of a certain green-eyed someone.


    And then Raika is screaming, because she is awake and her skin is on fire and everything hurts and she can feel her gods-damned heartbeat screaming right next to her own voice, and then she is laughing, because she is alive, and all she feels, for a moment, is victory so fucking glorious it makes ambrosia taste like cheap beer, and she can feel, more than ever before, that something is different.


    Raika opens her eyes, locking onto two startled sets in the room, and laughs harder than she¡¯s laughed in years.

 Chapter 20 - Jealous For I Fuck Severely and Thou Does Not?

    ¡°What in the blessed fuck!¡± Qen Hou exclaims, his voice literally booming from Qi-powered lungs and the enclosed space.


    Raika looks at him and giggles. ¡°Hi Qen Hou,¡± she says. ¡°Nice to see you! Sorry I¡¯m the one naked and not Li Shu, but I promise there¡¯s a good reason for it.¡±


    He and Li Shu immediately turn scarlet for a second, in what she can only describe as an exercise in mutual adorableness, in spite of Qen Hou¡¯s¡­ Qen Hou-ness. ¡°That¡¯s not what I mean!¡± he snarls. ¡°What is this diagram? And why are you all carved up? You look like you¡¯re practicing some kind of sacrificial art here. If you hadn¡¯t woken up, I¡¯d be taking Li Shu to the elders for judgment and to see if they could figure out what the hell this is!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Li Shu being a genius, obviously,¡± Raika replies, rolling onto her side and getting up.


    Oh. That¡¯s new. She pushes herself up, then back down, then up again. It¡¯s difficult, but not nearly as impossible as it was a moment ago, and it feels like¡­ is her skin moving? Tensing up alongside the muscles, maybe? Is her skin magic now? Oh, that would open up so many avenues (and require so much surgery, ugh¡­). Qen Hou and Li Shu both seem to take notice as Raika stands, balancing mostly on her left leg but standing fairly tall and firm.


    Then, Raika discovers a minor issue; it hurts like fuck. Whatever is doing this, there is a layer of skin or outer flesh at least that is following her will very precisely and trying to help her stand how she wants to. The trouble is, she can¡¯t do that anymore; even straightening her back this much has her spine screaming in pain, and the instinctive effort to unbend her leg all the way has her gasp, loud and sharp.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± she whispers. ¡°Not all better yet.¡±


    ¡°So this is some idiotic attempt to heal yourself, is that it?¡± Qen Hou asks. ¡°Li Shu, did she put you up to this? You give the cripple too much grace. You don¡¯t need to just do what she asks!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t!¡± Li Shu says. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t helped design the diagrams she¡¯d be dead by now! Don¡¯t treat me like a child, Qen Hou!¡±


    ¡°So you admit that you designed this diagram to¡­ what, experiment on her? A medical diagram of this complexity has to go through the elders first, there¡¯s no way you got permission to do this, much less in this room!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Raika says. Apparently she puts more than she expected into her voice, because to her surprise, both Qen Hou and Li Shu go quiet, both glaring at each other (with him also glaring at her from where he¡¯s kneeling by Li Shu¡¯s side). She doesn¡¯t keep talking immediately; wiping sweat from her brow, she pins up her hair into a messy sort-of bun with one hand, before moving to grab a robe and finally stop having this conversation in the nude. ¡°I designed the diagram,¡± Raika eventually says. ¡°Li Shu assisted, but only because I would have done it without her help if she didn¡¯t.¡±


    Qen Hou stands to his full height, stepping slowly and with barely contained rage towards her. ¡°I should have you dragged before the elders,¡± he growls. ¡°Better, I should just kill you here for dragging her into your mess.¡±


    She smiles, tall enough even while a little hunched to look him straight in the eye. Except¡­ ha, yes, she uses her newfound control of her body to force her posture straight again, enduring the pain, the squirming, creaking agony of her spine being forced to unbend, until she¡¯s looking down on him by a good two inches. She brings her face close enough to his that he can smell the blood on her breath from a throat screamed ragged.


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    ¡°Go ahead,¡± she whispers. ¡°You know I wouldn¡¯t say anything, but you don¡¯t really think the elders won¡¯t make the connection and wonder about the healer-in-training with access to the cripple? And if you want to kill me, go ahead-¡± (she leans in further, until his face is parallel to hers and she can whisper ever so quietly in his ear) ¡°-but you know she¡¯ll never speak to you again.¡±


    He grabs her by the throat before she can blink, lifting her entirely off the ground, her entire weight on her neck. His arm doesn¡¯t tremble as he does it and no sign of strain enters his eyes; at his level, with her weighing maybe a hundred-and-fifty pounds even after all the sect meals, she must weigh no more than a handful of grapes to him.


    Doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s nearly as easy for her, of course, but she refuses to break eye contact, grabbing his wrist as hard as she can and using it, just a bit, to hold herself up. They stay like that for a while, maybe twenty seconds, Li Shu clenching her fists and looking ready to jump between them but as aware as they are that doing so wouldn¡¯t actually resolve the moment.


    Raika smiles. Good girl.


    Qen Hou sees the smile, and his hesitation rises, his hand wavering just a bit. She¡¯s right, and he fucking knows it, and he hates it. She just smiles a bit wider.


    Finally, he lets her go, and she collapses to the ground, coughing. He just grunts, in either disgust or bravado disguising embarrassment, and she can¡¯t help but laugh through the coughs, drops of red flecking her lips.


    ¡°Yet again, Qen Hou,¡± she croaks, ¡°people pay good money for that sort of thing. I can¡¯t just keep giving out freebies like this.¡±


    ¡°Be silent, worm,¡± he hisses. ¡°You¡¯ve dragged a prominent healer¡¯s apprentice, who¡¯s caught the eye of the medical pavilion elder, into your degeneracy and madness long enough. You¡¯ll be moved to proper servant¡¯s quarters immediately, and I¡¯ll personally make sure you¡¯re worked hard enough you won¡¯t have time to sleep, much less think of insane dark rituals.¡±


    ¡°Hardly a dark ritual,¡± she croaks. ¡°Maybe high-concept philosophical equations and some drugs, but a dark ritual? So dramatic.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t even look back at her as he stalks out of the room. Li Shu is a little bit in front of the doorway, and he stops before her, giving her the opportunity to move out of his way. She doesn¡¯t, for a moment, almost looking like she wants to say something¡­ but she backs down. He leaves as soon as she steps away.


    Raika doesn¡¯t care. It¡¯s not exactly kind to say, but she doesn¡¯t care about how Li Shu feels in this moment, or about how Qen Hou plans to punish her, or anything else in between, because she can feel something, has felt it ever since she woke up.


    Her heartbeat. Every note of it, every single time. It doesn¡¯t fade into the background, or slip into her subconscious; she can hear every thump of the muscle, every pulse of blood through her body visible and present in her mind. And with each beat, with each rush of blood, with every pulse of flesh and trembling vibration it causes, she feels it growing, ever so slightly, over and over; that same tingling sensation from every time she¡¯s given herself a Qi deviation, where the strange energy pulses and trembles and chaotically rumbles through her body without meridians to guide it or properly digest it. She feels that mist of Qi she¡¯s kept picturing vibrating, her heartbeat adding to it again and again until it rings like a musical note, like a lake of fog softly screaming a single orchestral note in unified pain.


    It can¡¯t escape. She doesn¡¯t even feel her skin prickle from it, it¡¯s all internal, like a permanent sensation of pins and needles in her liver and her back teeth and her feet all at once and everywhere in between.


    Oh yeah. That dark ritual did something all right.


    She only notices that Li Shu has been trying to say something, possibly for a while, when a wave of orchid-and-needle scented Qi washes against her, and when she hears the younger woman gasp.


    ¡°I can¡¯t sense you,¡± Li Shu says, quietly. ¡°I can feel that there is Qi, that you¡¯re here, but¡­ I can¡¯t sense inside you anymore. I can¡¯t feel what¡¯s happening. It¡¯s like¡­ like with a cultivator, but¡­¡±


    Raika looks at her with a grin so feral it would look more at home on a wolf than a human. ¡°Sounds to me like the plan worked,¡± she says softly, with something that is almost a laugh but is far too breathy and sharp for that.

 Chapter 21 - Cant Stop Me Now

    An interesting fact about brains; there is very much a reason for why they don¡¯t keep you aware of all the background things all the time. It¡¯s like being reminded that you¡¯re breathing, and then all of a sudden you can¡¯t stop noticing it, but it¡¯s worse, because the feeling doesn¡¯t fade, and she can¡¯t really control her heartbeat like she can her breath. Well, not easily, anyways. Every moment of every day, she feels her pulse, and it took a while to realize she isn¡¯t actually sensing it in her chest, where her heart is- she¡¯s feeling it in her skin. The vibration of it, the pulse of kinetic force and heat, feels like it¡¯s hitting the surface of her as it travels through her body and running into a kind of block that keeps it from leaking out, and the feeling that generates is so constant and tuned to, unsurprisingly, the beat that her brain translates it as her heartbeat.


    It sucks. It is the single most annoying thing Raika has ever experienced, like a little kid poking her every moment of every day, or like a tic that she can¡¯t control. It makes her constantly aware of her entire body, and mixed with the constant sense of pins and needles, her entire body feels unbearably sensitive. She spends the first three nights straight in her new quarters awake, and it was only by gambling her way into a bottle of rice liquor that she finally managed to sleep on the fourth day. The longer she stays still, the worse it gets.


    Fun story, that¡¯s actually how she won the bet. She bet one of the servants in the general quarters, a brash young man by the name of Hi Quo, that she could move more manure than him in six hours. She couldn¡¯t walk afterwards, but the kid said that getting her a drink was the least he could do after a performance like that. In truth, it was just a relief to let the energy out, to move and make the itching and tingling and pulsing fade to the background for a bit, but a bet is a bet.


    And, most importantly, it proved what she already thought; she can do more now.


    It¡¯s taken her a year, against all odds and involving multiple doses of self harm and one big dose of, admittedly, a fucked up dark ritual, but¡­ it¡¯s worth it. She has taken her first step back onto the path.


    Her right leg still can¡¯t hold much weight, but in a pinch, she can limp about without a cane for a few minutes, and with her weird new control of the outer wrapping of her body, she can balance much better on her left alone if need be. Her back is still crooked, but markedly less so, a mix of having the strength and energy to stretch and forcefully realigning it bit by bit helping to straighten it out. There¡¯s not much to be done about missing chunks, but the scar tissue is weirdly included in her overall ¡°skin¡± modification, and doesn¡¯t slow her down as much (or fight her when she has to move her jaw, which makes eating much easier now).


    Li Shu has some theories, of course. She¡¯s come to visit more than once in the three weeks since Qen Hou got her reassigned, and frankly, no one cares enough to stop them from talking, with even Qen Hou himself having better shit to do most days. She theorizes that Raika¡¯s natural body processes are increasing in strength, but also that, between the body trying to adapt and the altered state her mind was in during the ritual, her mind and body might be more linked, both acting as quasi-conduits for Qi in place of meridians. It¡¯s a total fringe theory that makes Raika¡¯s philosophical Qi theoretics look like mainstream science by comparison, but it¡¯s as good as any explanation, so she doesn¡¯t mind, and she loves the healer¡¯s company, so it works out.


    It doesn¡¯t change much in terms of what she can do, though, and Li Shu, for all that she is incredibly smart and helpful, doesn¡¯t want Raika to get hurt. Raika really doesn¡¯t care about getting hurt, so long as she gets stronger for it or can heal it, at least. So¡­ she maybe avoids telling her favorite healer about what she¡¯s up to at night.


    Doesn¡¯t stop the rumors from spreading, though.


    At first, visits from Li Shu dissuaded would-be bullies, but when no reprisals came for minor things (spitting in her food, tripping her as she walks, hiding thumb tacks in her bed, etc), they started getting bolder.


    Then the other servants noticed that one of them didn¡¯t make it back to the dorms late one night, and found out the following day that he had been hospitalized with life threatening wounds. Raika, that same night, appeared to work wrapped in barely scabbed wounds and a series of visible splotches of bruising up and down her body.


    That¡¯s when the rumors really started. People wondering whether Raika had some hidden benefactor, even in her crippled state, were quickly dismissed; no patron out there would be so generous to continue supporting someone who cannot cultivate and has barely more Qi than a child, and Raika, no matter how slightly off she might seem to one¡¯s Qi senses, still fits both qualities. Then came the rumors that she was somehow blackmailing Li Shu into defending her, which got dismissed later when people realized how ridiculous that would be; she¡¯s not even a real servant or mortal, she¡¯s a cripple, no one would believe her or care if she was killed, so why let her live?


    One day, Hi Qou, alongside a lovely young woman with sharp, aquiline features and cat-like pupils and another young man, larger than the next two put together and shaved from head to toe, sat down next to Raika while she ate.


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    ¡°So,¡± Hi Qou had started, ¡°I hear you¡¯ve got some hidden monster looking out for you, cripple. Is it that cute healer? I hear she¡¯s got all sorts of strange ideas.¡±


    He says the word cripple without much heat behind it, more a frank analysis than an insult. She immediately prefers him to most of the people she¡¯s met in the purple-whatever sect for it. Still, she just shook her head. ¡°Not her,¡± she says simply.


    ¡°Well whoever it is, how the hell did you get such luck?¡± he asks, leaning forward, ready to mock her answer.


    She paused. Thought for a moment, looking to her left at the mountain of a young man and the mild mutant across the table. Could be they¡¯re outsiders, too, looking to stop being so by mocking the bigger loser. Could be they¡¯re just another gang of assholes. She shrugged internally; why not fuck with them?


    ¡°Well,¡± she¡¯d said, voice recovered and edging from ragged to husky ever more each day, ¡°back when I still had all my organs and Qi, I was famed as the greatest lover in the northeastern Empire, capable of bringing to blind unconsciousness even the greatest of cultivators. Apparently rumors persist of my talent.¡±


    They¡¯d looked at her, wide eyed, unable to come up with a response fast enough before she bowed and excused herself. She let them fill in their own details around the lie.


    That rumor never really caught on, but she heard it once or twice before it vanished, and that was a wild success in her book.


    Still, even with the false leads and general lack of interest in her, when the aforementioned bully disappeared things got a bit quiet around Raika. She was left mostly unbothered, physically at least, for a few days, but she was watched much more closely. She figured, sooner than later, someone would find out where she was going at night. Not like she cared to sneak out, or that she couldn¡¯t even if she tried.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± asks the skinny person with the catlike eyes.


    Raika does not respond, finishing her rep. All around them, surrounded as they are by bamboo shoots, bushes, and trees in one of the naturally preserved sections of the sect, the night is quiet and filled with only a whisper of small insects still awake at this hour. Three more hits, each one barely shaking the wood, land in the middle of a small circle worn into the wood. Only when she¡¯s done does she stop and turn to look at the other servant, finally letting the outside world back in and kicking herself for not noticing the smell. The almost-stranger smells... startlingly like yuzu and sharp cat claws.


    ¡°What does it look like I¡¯m doing?¡± she asks.


    ¡°It looks like you¡¯re punching a plank of wood tied to a post in the woods,¡± replies her nighttime watcher.


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± Raika says. ¡°I am glad my senior sibling has such potent powers of observation.¡±


    The stranger steps off the rock they were sitting on, that Raika hadn¡¯t noticed them sit on before they spoke up. ¡°My name is Maen,¡± the cat-eyed figure says. ¡°You¡¯re Raika, right?¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°Sure. You can call me just ¡°the cripple¡± if you want, since everybody does. Haven''t met anyone else like me, so I¡¯ll know who you mean.¡±


    Maen doesn¡¯t really respond to the thinly-veiled invitation and criticism. ¡°Why are you out at night hitting a post, Raika? Why be out here at all?¡± she asks. ¡°Given your health, doesn¡¯t it cause you pain, or hurt you more?¡±


    Raika shrugs (and that, too, is much easier than before, which is a fucking joy). ¡°Not as much pain or hurt as lying in bed doing nothing,¡± she says. ¡°Besides, it reminds me from where I came from. I started out with exercises like this, forever ago.¡±


    "Ah," Maen says. "Everyone thought you were just coming out here to cry or try to steal fruits and leaves from the sect."


    Then they cock their head, like they just processed something. ¡°You mean you weren¡¯t born a cripple?¡± they ask, like the thought never occurred to them.


    Raika huffs a laugh, sweating even in the night air, and takes a second to wipe off her forehead. ¡°No,¡± she eventually responds. ¡°I was a cultivator. Made it higher than most of these outer sect disciples we run into around here, the barely late stage Foundation realm kids. I was most of the way through the Core Formation realm, actually.¡±


    Maen¡¯s eyes go wide, a surprisingly bright display considering how visible they are in the night darkness. ¡°Wow¡­¡± whispers her fellow servant. "No one''s gonna believe you used to be a cultivator. I can¡¯t imagine being that strong. Most of us here are here for the pay, but even the brash ones who want to become cultivators don¡¯t usually aim that high. Maybe Hi Qou, but it¡¯s hard to tell when he¡¯s being serious.¡±


    Raika shrugs again. ¡°Anyone who plans on starting cultivation to stop at some point isn¡¯t gonna do very well at it,¡± she says. ¡°Supposed to be a life-long thing. I mean, it was for me, and I had barely any talent at all for it.¡±


    ¡°You were Core Formation realm!¡± Maen says, tilting their head quizzically. ¡°How is that no talent?¡±


    She laughs. ¡°Most geniuses blast through Core Formation in what, five years? A decade, tops, and it took me almost that long just to get halfway. Besides, you¡¯re talking like Core Formation is something impressive, when we have Soul Emperors and Titans wandering the empire; what¡¯s Core Formation compared to those heights?¡±


    Maen seems to think for a bit, but eventually nods. ¡°Well, I doubt I¡¯m ever getting to Foundation Stage,¡± she says. ¡°My family has never had any good cultivators.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Raika replies. ¡°Try it if you want. Don¡¯t if you don¡¯t want. Do what suits you, and if you do it long enough, you¡¯ll do it well.¡±


    Maen laughs. ¡°Very wise, for a cripple,¡± they say.


    Raika shrugs, restarting her set, learning how to strike properly in her new body. ¡°Hard to be a cripple. Easy to think about¡­ whatever you want, though.¡±


    Maen seems about to say something, but¡­ decides not to. They watch Raika go through two more sets, then wander off, back towards the servant¡¯s quarters.


    Raika spends about two more hours punching a wooden post. Then, she spends three more hitting the next board. The feeling of the hits, striking over and over, bruising her knuckles and washing a pulse of pain and impact all through her, bounces off and soothes the ever-present full-body tingling. She can feel each one building, like a tuning fork, designed for one specific note, harmonizing bit by bit by bit. She''s not sure what it means, except that exercise is good if you can afford it and that it helps her sleep.


    Eventually, Raika puts the freshly broken board next to three more, and awkwardly balances them on her stumpy arm to throw away before she makes it back to bed.

 Chapter 22 - Like Whats Up Danger

    ¡°And what is this filth doing here?¡± Asks one of the most grating voices Raika has ever heard.


    She doesn¡¯t pay them any mind, humming slightly as she washes the dishes. Honestly, it¡¯s surprisingly satisfying; the act of cleaning is nice, even if it is tedious, and she likes the smell of the soap and water, especially since it blocks out a lot of the casual scents of the dozens of cultivators walking around everywhere. It¡¯s also the sort of activity she¡¯d never be doing if she was still a cultivator, and honestly, she thinks that she might keep at it as she gets stronger. It¡¯s surprisingly fulfilling, completing simple tasks, little things to change one¡¯s environment, and the constant work has helped her get comfortable with the idea that paying attention to the details like this has merit and pleasure both, even if only in tiny doses.


    She keeps humming, a bit tuneless, as she washes, her stumpy arm balancing plates she needs to dry and pushing new ones into the sink as needed, when the smell of slightly burnt apples, low-burning embers and musty wood hit her all at once in a wave.


    She sneezes, hard, shaking her head to get used to it fast and turning to find out what the hell caused such a wave of Qi.


    ¡°Yes, you!¡± roars the most grating, weirdly nasal voice she¡¯s ever heard, like its owner has a persistent stuffy nose and has decided to make it everyone else¡¯s problem. She does notice it doesn¡¯t look right, like maybe someone broke his nose and it didn¡¯t heal back properly-


    ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there staring at me!¡± he yells as he stands at the doorway to the kitchen, glaring daggers at her, his face run through with an old scar framed by bright yellow hair and oily skin, like he¡¯s been working out and didn¡¯t towel off. ¡°Get out of this kitchen, come here, and fucking apologize,¡± he snarls.


    She tilts her head, then gives him a bow, making sure to bend low for it. ¡°My apologies to senior disciple,¡± she says. ¡°Whatever has caused you trouble, I can only assure you that this one meant no offense, and will ensure it does not happen again, if you will only inform this one of the trouble.¡±


    Nice. Good and proper, no jokes, and since she doesn¡¯t know what the guy is pissed about, might as well be genuinely contrite, maybe she¡¯s been fucking up the dishwashing or bumped into him outside or something.


    ¡°Your presence is an insult!¡± The cultivator snarls, that same cloying smell flooding into the room as he flexes metaphorical muscles she can¡¯t really feel. ¡°I come back from a mission for the sect and just want to settle down for a good meal, only to find my food has been tainted by this thing in the kitchen!¡± He spits on the floor once he¡¯s done, a big blend of violent aggression and stupid posturing.


    ¡°I assure you, senior disciple, this one has no talent for preparing food, and has not touched anything that may have been placed before you.¡±


    ¡°The mere presence of a thing like you in the kitchen is no better than a soiled pig,¡± he snarls. ¡°Who would eat from such a spoiled pot! You!¡± (at this he points to the nearest cook)- ¡°You¡¯re already stained by this thing, drag it outside. I won¡¯t have it sully this place any longer!¡±


    Raika gives the cook, who seems to have frozen in terror, a look to get their attention, and then a very mild shrug. She wipes her wet hand off on her robe, lets her sleeve roll down on her stump, and stands up, waiting to be escorted out. The cook doesn¡¯t move at first, even as the cultivator sends another wave of Qi through the space (which actually might be the reason the whole room is so unmoving, terror and pressure keeping them immobile), but Raika coughs, quietly, and meets their gaze. Trying not to move, she gestures with her eyes.


    The cultivator¡¯s a shithead, but if he doesn¡¯t want food with her in the kitchen, then she can just leave. He has the rank and the power to make those demands, and she doesn¡¯t really care, especially if it means making less trouble for people who had nothing to do with it. Whoever this guy is is being insanely rude for no good reason, he technically doesn¡¯t need one.


    Then she notices his hand on his sword, and how he¡¯s drawn it, ever so slightly, out of the scabbard.


    ¡°By this place,¡± Raika asks, just to make sure; ¡°does honored cultivator mean this kitchen, with its hard working servants of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect? I shall gladly depart, so as to not disturb the work of this fine establishment.¡±


    He looks at her, incredulous that she¡¯s still speaking. ¡°You dare?¡± he asks. ¡°You will speak if addressed and not a moment before, cripple. Step outside, that I may remove you from the honor of the sect whose robes you so clearly stain!¡±


    Hmm. Yeah, one of those.


    She bows, picking up her cane and making a show of limping forward, letting him step behind her as he marches her out the front door, in front of the eyes of literally dozens of sect disciples, cultivators and servants alike. His Qi saturates the air with its scent, not letting up for a moment and causing clear distress to any of the nearby servants, with most cultivators making a face at his antics. Helps her get a measure; well above Qi-Gathering realm, but not at the top of Foundation yet. Inner disciples tend to be only Core Formation realm or above, so he¡¯s not top tier in the sect or in the outer areas, but not a nothing, either. She can smell him, but the nuances of the scent and its intensity are hard to gauge, especially with him waving his Qi around like he is.


    No one steps up or stands in the way as she¡¯s marched out into the street. She doesn¡¯t look around to see their faces; better not to be disappointed, and she isn¡¯t expecting much¡­ and it would hurt, a bit.


    The street outside is nice. Like nearly every walkway and path in the sect, it¡¯s cobbled with flat-topped stones, and though night has not yet fallen, lanterns have already been lit, outlining the path in bright yellow and purple fires and highlighting the oncoming sunset beautifully. Add in the grass swaying picturesque and sect disciples enjoying the weather, walking by in small groups, or eating at the tables outside, the whole view is fairly idyllic. She takes a moment, breathing it all in, pausing to take in so gorgeous a sight.


    She stumbles a bit as shithead mcgee jabs her in the back with the pommel of his blade, grunting as he does it, like she¡¯s not worth words.


    Ah, yeah. That. She really is tending to focus on the details more nowadays.


    She keeps walking, stepping over the pathway to the grass on the far side, facing the mess hall building. He goes to say something, maybe to complain about having to take five steps further or at her for daring to take initiative and step past the path, but-


    ¡°This lowly one would hate to stain the sect¡¯s stones,¡± she says, voice low and quiet, posture relaxed, still watching the beginnings of the dusk. ¡°If the honored cultivator would allow, this one would rather die on the grass if she must.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t refute her. It was basically confirmed, but she was being generous, one last off-ramp for him to scoff and say he wouldn¡¯t sully his blade with her blood or that she need only get out of his sight or something. All would be decent reactions, and she might sneak some horse shit into his pillow before she leaves (and she is, one day, going to leave), but she could¡¯ve lived with that. Instead, he just leers at her, taking an opportunity to keep fucking talking.


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    ¡°It¡¯s good that you know your place so well!¡± he crows. ¡°Had you known it before you tainted this one¡¯s meal, I might even have allowed you to live, so long as you left and ceased sullying the sect with your presence. As it is, this honored one will extend you the greater honor of tasting his blade while he cleanses you from this holy place!¡±


    She can¡¯t help it. She rolls her eyes.


    His eyes widen, and then his cheeks redden. ¡°Impudence!¡± he roars, clearly mimicking some other, better cultivator¡¯s lines. He unsheathes his blade, and for a moment, as he raises it, it catches the light of the sun behind her.


    For just an instant, she just appreciates the sight. A glinting blade of purest red and gold light, framed by the oncoming dark blue and night of the sky, treetops waving in frame behind it.


    Then she realizes that, oh shit, she should probably focus, and the smell of burnt applecrisp and embers in musty wood assaults her nose, and she takes one step to the left as she sneezes.


    The step to the left was intentional, but the sneeze made it look like an accident, which is even better. The blade slides past her, cutting a few inches into the earth and charring the dirt, letting loose more smoke from the cut. He blinks, face comical as he tries to figure out what just happened, and she can¡¯t help but giggle.


    She¡¯s not usually much of a giggler, but sometimes it¡¯s just the best thing you can do in a given moment, and it can be very fun.


    He whirls, eyes wide and teeth grit in a snarl. One thing to fail, another to be laughed at, and yet another to be laughed at by her, and he takes the sheer, overwhelming anger of that moment to try and cut her at the waist with a backswing that wildly overextends.


    By the time he¡¯s done telegraphing the swing, she¡¯s already taken half a step back out of range.


    It¡¯s actually crazy easy. Like, she expected to have to go at this guy like an animal to get anything done, but whether it¡¯s lacking cultivation or lacking a good foundation in a more literal sense, he¡¯s just¡­ way too easy. Waaaaay too easy.


    No possible way she could have moved like this before her most recent changes, of course, but still! He comes at her with no technique, no style, just blind stupefaction that he hasn¡¯t hit her already and the broadest, least efficient sword swings she¡¯s ever seen, and she¡¯s watched JiaJia practice in an alleyway with a stick.


    She dodges once, twice more, then three times, and he gives another roar of frustration. His Qi-scent redoubles again, seeming to come off more and more when he waves his sword around, and she can see the metal start to glow a bit, hints of orange flames gathering around its blade as he moves. Finally, five swings in, she steps back out of range again and smells singed cloth anyways as a hint of the cut travels just past the tip of the sword.


    Alright then. No more pussyfooting about.


    The next time he swings at her, he actually seems to take a breath, realizing how ridiculous this must look to others (and it would seem that quite a crowd has started forming, streaming out of the mess hall to congregate on the road). In that moment, he stops, gripping his sword in a quick-draw pose, and takes two steps forward to perform a definitive strike, one he¡¯s actually put some thought into.


    Raika briefly wonders if this guy has ever been in a real fight before, and no, the dregs of whatever creatures and soul-beasts get let through the perimeter around the city don¡¯t count.


    Before the swing comes up she steps into his space, getting him to instinctively flinch and hesitate. Before he can recover she jabs his back foot with her cane, just enough to surprise and destabilize him, and then lets go of it, using the improved control of her body to drop it onto his wrist so it hangs there. Its weight is barely meaningful, but when you can¡¯t do much, throwing an opponent off their game matters a lot.


    Then she headbutts him.


    The guy is an arrogant idiot, someone with more pride and desperate need for acceptance than common sense, and he¡¯s clearly not on the high end of the outer disciples of the sect anyways. Hell, he might genuinely be a newbie, fresh off the boat enough that he was desperate to make an impression and so full of preconceived notions he figured her for a good mark, even if he was shocked she was here.


    On top of that, he¡¯s a cultivator, even if only in the Foundation stage. His senses, his speed, his strength, all outpace Raika severely, and if he was using proper forms or thinking properly, he could probably beat her out on control purely by brute forcing with fast reflexes and senses.


    But, in her time fighting, Raika has discovered that almost nobody expects the headbutt. And, conveniently, cartilage strengthening is the thing most newbie cultivators tend to neglect if they¡¯re not guided well. So it is that she shatters the ugly fuckers¡¯ nose, reinforcing that nasal tone now and forevermore.


    He flinches back, blood gushing from his nose hard enough that he gives a very unprofessional little yell of pain. She can already feel the bruise forming on her forehead, obviously, but plenty of practice with Ding has only improved her (heh) hardheadedness, so she doesn¡¯t let up, and steps right back into his face again.


    His free hand shoots out, a backhand slap to try and push her away, and she leans her body back just enough that it whiffs before coming in and headbutting him a second time, a fresh gout of blood splashing her robes as much as his. He squeals this time, and she can¡¯t help but smile at the noise. Then, overlaid on the blood, she smells burnt apples again, and he takes three steps back, each step empowered and sending him maybe fifty feet back, easily.


    She stands there, servant¡¯s robes stained in his blood, empty sleeve flapping on the breeze and one leg slightly off-angle, using everything she has to keep control of her new senses and her new form. The worst thing he could¡¯ve done was run back, and he wised up and did exactly that, instinct or no.


    ¡°You DARE!¡± He howls, the broken noise making it come out kind of warbled. ¡°I¡¯ll kill you!¡±


    She just raises her right arm, into a sort of shrug, sort of openhanded gesture; the universal sign for ¡°go ahead and try¡±.


    He roars, his scent flooding their makeshift grass arena, and steps forward so fast she can barely see him move, flooding his body with Qi, shattering her cane as an afterthought, and swinging from overhead in actually decent form the instant he¡¯s in range, a cut that feels weighted with Qi coming at her in a wave of beautiful flame and sharpened space.


    She lets go. Her center of gravity drops as she falls forward, just ahead of the cut, like she¡¯s falling before it. She feels the heat burning her, freshly regrown buzzcut crisping to the scent of burnt hair, robes singeing rapidly-


    And then, with her low posture, she steps forward, feeling the cut graze against her right leg and calf, adding another scar to the collection, and goes for ol¡¯ reliable.


    What¡¯s ol¡¯ reliable, you ask? Why, it¡¯s a thumb to the eye, of course.


    He shrieks, he screams, he lets go of his sword to grab at his head, and instead of dodging she lets her control slip so she falls, face level with the pommel of his sword, and rips it out of his grip as fast as she can. She feels her skin strain, the new shell surrounding her inner mechanisms straining, the muscles beneath it tearing as she forces them to move way faster than they¡¯re rated for, but she grabs hold of it and yanks it from his grip as he squeals.


    And then, right side trembling from the pain of the cut, her blood staining through the burns and her robes to drip onto the grass, she forces herself to stand, balanced on only one leg, with the blade very carefully right against his throat.


    She remembers being a Foundation level cultivator. She was stuck at Core Formation a long time, but she remembers it and the advantages it brought. She remembers that she was faster, better at using Qi, better at storing it, stronger, tougher. She remembers being half-immune to most of what once would have hurt her severely.


    She does not remember being immune to a sword.


    He is frozen. She is frozen. There is a moment of shared tableau as she stands there, trembling in exertion, bursting with sweat, back and leg scored by flame and blade, and he stands there, face a ruin but whole, and she sees in his eyes that he knows what this is. In this moment, she knows he can see what''s in her eyes, too.


    She pulls the blade along his throat as hard as she can.


    And feels her hand stopped, held perfectly immobile, as if grabbed by a stone.


    ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± Asks a quiet, restrained voice.


    Raika can¡¯t help it. Before she can answer, she has already taken a breath.


    The smell of incense and molten stone hits her so hard that she chokes and blacks out.

 Chapter 23 - Judicial Systems and How They Suck Cheeks

    ¡°So,¡± Qen Hou finally says, enunciating very slowly. ¡°Just to be clear. You. Fought a Foundation realm cultivator. And won.¡±


    Raika shrugs, feeling surprisingly nostalgic by how the weight of the manacles makes it harder to do so. ¡°In my defense, he was a very shit fighter.¡±


    ¡°He was maybe a week in from his third mission,¡± Qen Hou replies, pinching the bridge of his nose. ¡°He¡¯s been a sect member for a year and a half. He¡¯s hardly what one would call a once-in-a-generation sword Saint. But he is a Foundational Realm cultivator and he¡¯s a sect disciple and the only reason he¡¯s still alive, or so I hear, is because Shiru Hei, mistress of the Indigo, high elder of the research division and on the council of elders, stopped you from somehow slitting his throat.¡±


    ¡°Hardly my fault,¡± she says, refusing to make eye contact, taking the time instead to look around the interior of the cell she¡¯s in. It¡¯s a bare thing, no bed or chamber pot, designed for cultivators and monsters more than mortals, though ironically the lack of hyper-dense Qi is sort of a relief. ¡°Plus, he started it. And it¡¯s hardly my fault he didn¡¯t get cut on his own sword, is it?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s absolutely not the point, and you know it,¡± Qen Hou growls. ¡°Even if he started it as you claim, which I doubt the elders will be inclined to agree with, I don¡¯t know how you did it, and they¡¯ll be a lot less friendly than I am about figuring it out.¡±


    She sighs, finally turning to look at him. ¡°He did start it,¡± she says, voice even and cold. ¡°He saw me through a window and decided that he was allowed to kill me just because, and no one said a thing to stop him. But he¡¯s ever so special and ever so worthy and ever so happy to hurt me to make himself feel and look good, and I¡¯m this.¡±


    She takes a moment. Takes a breath. Makes sure that the heat has drained from her voice before she speaks again.


    ¡°I beat him,¡± she says, and even with the pause she can¡¯t help the snarl in the back of her throat, ¡°because he was a lazy, worthless, violent piece of shit, who barely knew which end of the sword to cut with, and in spite of what has been made of me I am still Raika the Bloody, and I have torn apart far worse than him. If I had no arms at all, or one less leg, then he might have been a fucking challenge.¡±


    Qen Hou gives her a look as if admitting that maybe, in less dire times, he might have laughed at that. As it is, he just breathes out a sigh.


    ¡°If¡­ and I do mean if the elders give a shit about all this,¡± he murmurs, ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone is going to buy that. You¡¯re crippled, Raika, you can¡¯t even sense Qi. Absolute idiot or not, and there¡¯s some issues with you referring to a sect disciple as such if you get a trial, the simple and absolute fact of the matter is that he¡¯s ten times faster than you, twenty times stronger, and can use purple flame techniques. And if there hadn¡¯t been a goddamn sect elder in your area, he would be dead. Which begs the question of why the fuck you were slitting his throat in the first place!¡±


    ¡°What was I supposed to do?¡± she snarls. ¡°He was ten times faster than me, twenty times stronger, and, you forgot, probably more than both added together in toughness. What¡¯s a little old cripple to do, wrestle him down? Beat him unconscious? Bleed him slow? Wait for him to peacefully surrender after being humiliated by a cripple?¡±


    ¡°I get that,¡± Qen Hou growls. ¡°But what is your life in the face of the will of a cultivator, backed by a whole goddamn sect on their own property?¡±


    She says nothing. Not one word. She just looks at him.


    Whatever it is he sees, it¡¯s apparently not enough to get him to back down. He just shakes his head. ¡°You¡¯ve been nothing but gods-damned trouble since I brought you here, Raika,¡± he says, soft and quiet. ¡°From how you¡¯ve acted around Li Shu, to apparently making some kind of curse ritual, to now picking fights and trying to kill sect members.¡±


    She lets the silence fester. Then, raising an arm clad in manacles, she just¡­ waves at the door down the hall. ¡°Feel free,¡± she snarls, ¡°to leave.¡±


    There¡¯s a moment where she can see another direction. How he might have decided to stay, if she¡¯d said something different. A big part of her, a nasty part that wants to kick his fucking face in for acting like this, for being so fucking pretentious, tells her it¡¯s a lie, that it¡¯s idle naivety to believe that anyone would help right now. But¡­ he¡¯s here. He didn¡¯t need to be, not properly; he might have brought her into the sect, given her her servant status, but for his defense here all he¡¯d need to do was say ¡°I don¡¯t know¡±. But he came here, to ¡°understand what happened¡±, and curiosity only counts for so much, the wiser part of her thinks.


    But it¡¯s already been said. And despite herself, despite the parts that remind her that not everything needs to be a fight, a part which has gotten much stronger since her broken cultivation, she can¡¯t help but glare at him with as much heat as she can muster.


    He doesn¡¯t even give her a shake of the head, or a sigh. He just stands, formally, and leaves without another word.


    And she sits in the dark, on the cold stone, arm weighed down by manacles meant for two and legs shackled together, waiting for judgment.


    ¡ª--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Like fucking everything cultivation related, it takes days. They don¡¯t feed her for the first three, but she genuinely thinks the guards just¡­ forgot they needed to do that, and the walls held enough condensation to lick the humidity off them.


    Vibrant, horrifyingly green eyes haunt her in fevered, hungry dreams, speaking only one word; ¡°Worm.¡±


    Eventually, they bring her forward. She¡¯s gotten skinnier in her time imprisoned, though they gave her rice and chicken yesterday, and rice and broth today, so she¡¯s at least coherent. Whatever she¡¯s done to her skin hasn¡¯t extended deeper, yet, but she has some ideas about that (aided, in part, by hunger hallucinations and solitary confinement for the better part of a week).


    Fuck, she misses cultivation trances. They¡¯re just not the same when one is stuck in a body like hers, to the point she¡¯s starting to think that the trance might be an actual biological thing, like a connection to the brain letting one slip into better states of cultivation.


    All idle thoughts for now, of course, because she stands, then is made to kneel, still in her dirty servant¡¯s robes and the over-heavy manacles, before three figures that stink of power.


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    She doesn¡¯t know them, not by face or wardrobe, but it¡¯s not hard to tell they¡¯re probably the elders. One she recognizes, sitting on the left of the upraised semicircle of ornate desks and daises around her; she only got a glimpse of her, but the smell of incense and magma is plenty clear in the air, stretching from a slight, extraordinarily pale woman. Her skin is tainted slightly blue and her pupils are enlarged towards the edges of her eyes, like a bird of prey, with hair long and golden and dressed in robes of pure white silk, seam and hem decorated and gilded with perfectly precise black letters and phrases. She doesn¡¯t recognize what¡¯s written, or what languages most of the lines are in, but this is the woman who stopped her, and thus the leader of the research division.


    On the right side sits an older but masculine figure, body covered in almost as many scars as Raika, his arms completely exposed and wearing nothing but what look like simple healer¡¯s robes, colored white and red, beneath a long jacket made of interlaced red scales like those of a dragon. His beard is clipped and sharp, almost angular, but the pure white of his hair highlight rich dark skin and bright brown eyes. The elder of the medical pavilion, if she had to guess; she never ran into the man in question before, but it seems a solid bet, and he smells like a cleansing flame mixed with a sharpened welder¡¯s torch, sort of.


    Finally, opposite her, on yet another upraised dais and desk in the ornate red-and-purple decorated room of harsh, cold stone pillars and flooring, is an elder who looks borderline decrepit. If they were once human it seems unlikely; their body is shriveled like a dried raisin, any semblance of facial features replaced by cavernous wrinkles, the only exception being two eyes sculpted of what looks like red jade implanted in what must be empty sockets. They alone look dressed to match the room, with an ornate red-purple sash with intricately gilded scenes of all sorts of crimes, with voluminous and gaudy robes covering their form in layers of ceremonial garb. They smell of¡­ of this room. Of a gavel. Of dark, cold iron and flame hot enough to purify sins.


    They don¡¯t introduce themselves to her. She doesn¡¯t say anything to them. Instead, Shiru Hei, head of research division, elder and terrifying power in her own right just asks; ¡°How did you do it?¡±


    Raika¡­ doesn¡¯t see much point in lying here. She has nothing to lie about, really, tons of eyewitnesses, and no real hidden trap cards of allies she knows of. So she decides to just¡­ tell the truth.


    ¡°I used to be a cultivator,¡± she replies. ¡°I fought more than my fair share of fights, and won more than others tended to. The outer sect disciple was¡­ truly not a very good fighter.¡±


    ¡°Explain,¡± Shiru Hei commands, her words making the banners all around them tremble. Once again, Raika is glad for her relative Qi-blindness, even as she feels a strange queasiness and the smell intensifying.


    ¡°He telegraphed every move,¡± Raika obediently explains. ¡°Huge swings, wasted effort, terrible footwork and spatial awareness, all before the fact that he underestimated me from the beginning.¡±


    ¡°Lu Feren is not our greatest disciple,¡± rumbles a voice like a rockslide from the figure on her right, ¡°but he is still in the middle tiers of the Foundational realm, while you are below even Qi-Gathering realm. How were you able to even see his attacks?¡±


    She shrugs, very unprofessionally. ¡°I just could,¡± she answers, again being as honest as she can. ¡°I couldn¡¯t move faster than him, but I can move fast, and he moved very, very stupidly.¡±


    ¡°Do you know where you stand, worm?¡± Shiru Hei asks. Somehow, she makes worm a statement of fact and not an insult. ¡°Were you raised without manners? A wild wyrmling, a cultivator grown amidst dirt and trees, beyond the Emperor¡¯s touch?¡±


    Raika¡­ shrugs again. She¡¯s been doing that a lot lately. ¡°Less that I have no manners, honored elder, and more that I do not know what purpose they might serve here. All of you possess power far beyond anything I had before I was made into what I am, and know it better than I can say here, and I can only imagine that you have already chosen my fate. The moment that- Lu Feren, was it?- chose to walk back into the kitchen and demand my death for being in the same room as his food was made, I figured I¡¯d need to kill him and escape to survive. I have accomplished neither, so you¡¯re likely to kill me. I¡¯ll fight back if I can, I can¡¯t not, but I don¡¯t believe politeness is much of a gift to my arsenal here.¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± roars the medical pavilion elder. ¡°The audacity of this one! At least you do not fear death; it would be a pity to put in all this work and have this thing not know any bravery. Shiru, can I keep it?¡±


    She stares daggers at him. ¡°That is not for us to decide, honored brother Ren. It is up to the Judgment of the Flame to determine what is to be done with the worm.¡±


    Ah. Even worse; she¡¯s not dealing with capricious little godlings, she¡¯s dealing with capricious, curious godlings and a bureaucrat. Infinitely worse, truly.


    ¡°For a member of the research pavilion, you¡¯re never any fun,¡± the elder apparently just called Ren says. ¡°No sense of adventure. This mortal apparently would have killed a cultivator that has at least survived the beasts of the tamed wilds, I¡¯m sure there¡¯s more we can learn here.¡±


    ¡°And the rumors of your new favorite plaything¡¯s ritual has nothing to do with this?¡± Shiru Hei asks, eyebrow cocked.


    ¡°Of course it does!¡± Elder Ren retorts. ¡°For all we know, this one¡¯s a medical marvel! At the very least it would be a waste to cremate it wholesale when there¡¯s a good dissection to be had. Medical progress and research are brothers in arms, after all!¡±


    ¡°And yet here I must deal with you yet again,¡± Shiru Hei sighs. ¡°You. Worm. Did the healer called Li Shu do anything to alter your body somehow?¡±


    ¡°Not really,¡± Raika replies. ¡°That was mostly all me. Had an idea I wanted to try out. She just made sure I didn¡¯t die when she found me.¡±


    Not technically a lie. Not technically a lie. Focus on that. No telling what they¡¯ll do to Li Shu if they decide that she¡¯s at fault for creating a forbidden technique.


    ¡°Yes, we examined the ritual to the best of her recollections,¡± Elder Ren sighs, like rocks grinding together. ¡°Seems more like a curse than an enhancement, if you ask me. Totally blocks off outside Qi and all Qi release without damaging the skin! I can picture some idiot on the battlefield stepping on the wrong patch of ground and discovering the only way to vent or recharge their Qi is to rip off all their skin and run like mad out of the circle. And yet, both the illustrious Qen Hou and the nascent talent of Li Shu seem about ready to plant their futures on the foundation that you were somehow improved by the ritual.¡±


    ¡°A little,¡± Raika admits. ¡°Not much. Helped me modify my Qi a bit, what little is left; it is mostly trapped in my skin now, so more can¡¯t get through.¡±


    ¡°And this is some sort of¡­ defense against Qi techniques? Against pressure and killing intent?¡± Shiru Hei asks, leaning forward a bit.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Raika admits. ¡°If the defender is ok with being unable to absorb Qi through their skin or meridians for possibly the rest of their lives, you might be able to see it that way, but I doubt a very good one.¡±


    ¡°And you claim you invented this?¡± Shiru Hei asks.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she replies, in full honesty this time.


    A pregnant pause fills the silence, and then¡­ a sigh. ¡°What a pity, then,¡± Shiru Hei mumbles. ¡°I applaud you for using that spark of creativity before you passed from this world, worm,¡± she hums. ¡°I¡¯m sure it will contribute greatly to the research division¡¯s pursuits. In the end, though, you did attack a member of our outer disciples, and even with his expelling from our sect, there¡¯s simply no reason to allow a thing like you to continue to sully this place and make us lose face.¡± The ¡°I¡¯m sure you understand¡± is implied, and unspoken, and bullshit either way.


    Raika just nods. ¡°How are you gonna do it?¡± she asks.


    Shiru Hei shrugs, adopting an air more casual ambivalence as the more ¡°official¡± proceedings wrap up. ¡°Ren, you want to do the honors? You mentioned a dissection, right? Try to keep the mess in your storage, I¡¯m not helping you clean this time and you¡¯re making your disciples nervous with all the blood splatter lately.¡±


    ¡°Alright, alright, always so picky,¡± Elder Ren huffs, eyes beginning to glow a disturbing, dark violet sort of color as the smell of a devastating blaze wielded by a will for construction fills the room (yeah, those are definitely getting more abstract). He rises from the chair he¡¯s been sitting in and Raika tenses, tries to get one leg under her, tries to prepare to move-


    And the sound of a gavel hitting wood rings in the room.


    Immediately the elders are silent, their gazes turned inhumanly fast and impossibly still, to face the previously silent member of the trial.


    A face so ancient that the ripples moving are like waves opens its mouth. It hisses, like an exhale from a chest too tired to really speak or a tongue too dry to use, but the words come to Raika like lances, like something sharp and hot and bright and stabbed into her memory of this moment, forever.


    ¡°Trial by combat,¡± it brands into the minds of those present. ¡°To death or defeat.¡±


    The next thing she has the presence of mind to notice is the ongoing screaming match being directed between the elders, towards the withered old thing which spoke without words and burned into mind and thought and will, each other, and poor little Raika.

 Chapter 24 - Why Are All the Villains So Damn Hot?

    Raika can admit that she¡¯s having a lot of fun wondering about how annoyed the sect elders are right now.


    Apparently whatever that judge had been (whose name she never got), their word carried a lot of weight in the sect. She¡¯d figured that them being at the trial (or the trial being held in their room, maybe) had been something of a formality, and maybe she¡¯d been right, considering the lip service the elders had paid to her being judged before they elected to just splat her on the stone floor and scoop up the bits. The delivery of actual judgment apparently skewed that intended result, and now she was finding herself very entertained wondering how the sect was going to weasel out of this one.


    Funnily enough, a fight to the death (or defeat, whatever that might entail) with a cultivator is a life saver, because it complicates things. There¡¯s got to be at least a few people there to witness it, and when news gets out, more than a few people are going to want to see it. More importantly, she has been making them lose face, in small ways just by being here and working with their robes, and in a much more fun way in nearly slitting open an outer disciple, but if they send out someone so strong they could crush her by breathing, doesn¡¯t that just make them lose face even more?


    So the judge, perhaps inadvertently, has made it so that she won¡¯t be fighting anyone of a high enough cultivation that people will talk about how embarrassing it is for the sect to need someone so high ranked to kill little old her. More or less the same applies if they cheat too obviously; then rumors start that the purple-whatever sect needed to cheat to kill a simple worm. The elders, if they¡¯re to save face, need to spin the hell out of the whole fight, while finding the perfect candidate to sucker into such an ¡°embarrassing¡± role of executioner, while also showing off their strength and righteousness somehow mid-murder of a lesser. Raika is tempted to think that the elders are going to be bleeding out of their noses with annoyance at the judge. She¡­ vaguely hopes the old whatever-they-are doesn¡¯t have to deal with too much from them, even if they did condemn her to a deathmatch she can¡¯t win over self-defense.


    But¡­ well, there¡¯s can¡¯t, and there¡¯s won¡¯t, and she will, so can¡¯t can suck it. It¡¯s a chance to survive, and seeing as she¡¯s been locked in a fucking cage for another week on minimal rations, chained up, manacled, and left without windows and in impenetrable walls, escape doesn¡¯t seem like so steady a shot. She¡¯s a fighter, anyways; if she¡¯s to go out, might as well do it properly.


    Still, she¡¯s done her best to spend her time productively. They didn¡¯t let her keep Ding, which is a fucking heartbreak even now, but she¡¯s still managed to use her heartbeat, even in here. Maybe especially in here, actually. The environment is starved of Qi with some sort of formations or runes, making sure it¡¯s a punishment for a cultivator to be sent here and not just a vacation to cultivate in, but that doesn¡¯t matter to her. She couldn¡¯t breathe in Qi before, and she can¡¯t now, but whether the manacles aren¡¯t working, there¡¯s too little to be noticed, or the changes to her skin are more than she expected, there¡¯s still what little is inside her.


    She¡¯s kept her heartbeat-meditation going this entire time, the constant, neverending awareness of it beating making it impossible to forget. She wonders if she¡¯s maybe gone a little crazy from it, spending a week alone with a ticking, tocking metronome of her own flesh, inescapable and unforgettable. It¡¯s useful, though, so the fact she can hear it in her sleep is no big deal, probably.


    She practices holding her breath, absorbing not even air for long enough to put strain on her body, and focusing on the pulses of her heart, feeling it move the bloodflow over her entire body. She focuses on one part at a time, sometimes for hours, sometimes for days, until she feels she has mapped out everywhere the blood can go by the pins and needles sensation of trapped, divergent Qi that it moves around. She tenses muscles, one at a time, to feel exactly how the flesh moves, how the bones shift, and how the heat and pain seem to make her more aware of their details. By holding her breath or hyperventilating in random measures, she forces her heart rate as high as she can make it while sitting still, until she¡¯s sweating from exertion and pain and the focus it takes.


    She can¡¯t feel anything different, per se, but either from getting used to it or from a shift somewhere along the line, the tingling of trapped Qi seems to¡­ fade into the background, a bit. It¡¯s almost like her old meditation, though not really; she can feel hunger, exhaustion, and a need to use the bathroom (the far corner with a grate) far more often than she ever did as a cultivator. At the same time, the sense of carefully understanding what¡¯s inside the self, of feeling out what is happening in one¡¯s body, is¡­ nostalgic. She won¡¯t be able to say for sure until the manacles are off and she¡¯s free to move, but she gets the impression that whatever she did by deciding to trap Qi inside her and using her heartbeat as some sort of focus for it may finally be making a real difference.


    Of course, cultivation is the product of years of mentoring, refinement, bla bla bla, which means it could be next year that she is truly altered by whatever she¡¯s forcing to happen inside her. And the fight, as it were, is about¡­ six minutes away.


    Her guards brought her out from the cell about an hour back. She got a new room, a bucket of cold water, and a lye stone to scrub with, and when she was done (really fucking hard to bathe yourself when you have the disabilities she does, never mind the conditions) she found new robes, colored by plain, boring red with no decoration or variation, ready to be worn. She¡¯s not sure what they¡¯re usually used for, but considering how close the color is to a dull bloody crimson, she wouldn¡¯t be surprised if it was made specifically for this event, to keep anyone from getting squeamish about staining white robes or peasant clothes or something. Bad for image, that.


    Then, still shackled and manacled, she¡¯s escorted by a crowd of four spear-wielding disciples of the Purple Campfire Flowers sect down a hallway and out into sunlight.


    It¡¯s overwhelming to start. The glare of natural light, the burning heat of an early summer day, the sudden flood of smells from both the outside world and the people in it, all crashing against her senses all at once. She flinches, blinking her eyes as hard as she can to try to get them to adjust, damnit, even as she hears a wave of whispers start and build up to annoying heights.


    There¡¯s a crowd watching her emerge, and she gets the impression this may have grown a bit more than anyone expected. Standing a respectful few dozen meters from the edges and main paved walkway to the punishment center of the sect, a brutish building that looks half-blackened by old scorch marks and obsidian gates, there¡¯s an absolute throng of people eager to get a look. She sees almost exclusively cultivators, with perhaps a few minor nobles with a relationship to the sect joining the eager crowds, and she knows walking through the minimum two hundred cultivator crowd is going to be hell on her sinuses.


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    They mostly keep quiet, but she hears more than a few of their whispers. ¡°Not as big as I thought she¡¯d be¡±, whispers one. ¡°No Qi at all, I thought they were joking,¡± whispers another. ¡°I hear she¡¯s some rabid half-monster, bred bad and wild. Thirty silver says she takes a bite out of the young master,¡± whispers her favorite yet. She¡¯d probably have to do it anyways, but she¡¯ll be proud to deliver the enthusiastic little shit his thirty silver if she can help it.


    The words ¡°young master¡± keep creeping through the crowd, though, the headache of that phrase melding casually into the headache of so many different smelling Qi¡¯s. They found a ¡°young master¡± to kill her, because of fucking course they did. Make an event of the whole thing, maybe punish an uppity privileged shit by having them kill her in front of a crowd, while also making the kid perform as well as possible to save face. Add to that he¡¯s probably got his own artifacts to bring into the arena, and the sect won¡¯t have to be seen equipping him against little old Raika the overly-bitey.


    She just knows that whoever he is, he¡¯s going to be insufferable.


    It takes almost thirty minutes of walking to reach the arena, due to just the sheer size of the damn sect grounds and the plateau they rest on. If she¡¯d been a Nascent Soul cultivator, she could probably just waste truckloads of Qi floating over there in five minutes, tops, or if she was important, perhaps they¡¯d have an artifact or someone cultivating wind techniques to carry them over. As it is, it still takes her longer than normal, because get this, they didn¡¯t give her a new cane and she¡¯s shackled, so the limp is particularly bad today. Interestingly, it doesn¡¯t hurt as much, even if it¡¯s just as pronounced, which is at least an improvement. Could be her pain tolerance just got way better recently, but Raika decides she might as well believe it¡¯s going to magically regenerate by tonight. Why not?


    And then they arrive, to the sound of a murmuring crowd. No roars of enthusiasm, but the sheer number of folks and the Qi they put in their voices to talk to each other make the colosseum¡¯s volume just short of awkward. Which is good; she¡¯s been in enough colosseum fights to be ashamed if it was so quiet on her arrival it was awkward. Raika the bloody does not do boring or awkward, even, or perhaps especially, on her fucking death march.


    The rings of stone around them are laced with smooth obsidian, limestone and slate bricks melted together into semi-organic shapes making up the colossal stadium and the thousands of seats all around them. From the gaping archways of the cardinal entrances decorated with scorches shaped like plant life, to the hundreds of sconces and rivers of molten metal and stone used as lighting and decoration along the central pathways and pillars, to the almost conch-like shape of the structure proper, the whole place gives off an air of vitality. Like an unearthed deep sea beast, or an ornate demon long hollowed out and bound in runes, or like a building grown from a single explosive flex of magma. For all she knows, the Purple Kitchen Marigold Smoking sect has some kind of great ancestor that made one of her theories literally true. Whatever the case, the stadium is nearly half full, a crazy amount for a purely in-sect production and for the execution of a criminal mortal, and the acoustics perfectly mute and magnify their presence.


    And then she is before the arena proper.


    Three steps, leading onto an upraised platform. Carved in ornate red calligraphy, a story is written on a massive slab of gorgeous white marble, detailing the history of this place or some such grandiose nonsense, making up a perfectly circular slab of stone raised above the ground. There are no railings on its sides, no sand to muddy it¡¯s middle; this isn¡¯t some competition of Foundational gladiators performing for the entertainment of the masses against captured beasts or each other. This is an arena made for excellence, made for flame and fury, made for cultivators to carve each other apart and climb to greater heights in the heat of battle and blood. There may be other fighting halls in other arenas, or they may have taken away multiple smaller arenas for the sake of this battle, but whatever the case may be, Raika knows, instinctively, that this is the place where duels of honor, duels for glory and power and sheer joy, ring out against the spiraling columns and echoing stands.


    She takes a long, deep breath, ignoring the confusing mess of scents that clash and focusing on just the air, warm and pure and filled with the scent of sweating bodies and warm stone and cold steel. Now this is an arena. What a place to kill people in.


    She comes out of the brief trance to the sound of metal ¡°clunk¡±ing against her legs. The metal cuffs are unlocked by a force of will and burst of Qi from one of her guards, simply clattering to the floor as the locking mechanisms spiral apart. A moment later, the same happens to the heavier, more mechanical and runed manacles clamped twice on her right arm, letting them fall to the ground with a ¡°clang¡± that echoes a tiny bit, and letting her feel like she can stand upright properly for the first time in over a week.


    On the other side of the arena, watching the process, is one of the most gorgeous men she¡¯s ever seen. Seriously. He could be drawn on posters and in pictures in romance novels from here to the southern seas and no one would bat an eye (except in jealousy or arousal, really). Beautiful red lips, bright golden eyes highlighted with just a touch of shadow, a jawline that could cut steel in a somehow still soft face that seamlessly adopts and empowers the other sharp angles of his cheekbones and nose. His hair, black as sinner¡¯s wallet, cascades down to his lower back, made into some kind of single ornate warrior¡¯s braid, matched perfectly to the onyx robes that he wears, themselves highlighted with a tasteful blend of magenta, pink, and crimson. His clothing is kept simple but all the more notable in its quality from lack of gold and poems and extra sleeves that might decorate it, and is only matched in quality by the blade he wields. In other men, some might joke about overcompensation, but with how artfully he holds and casually spins the long, refined spear of pale white wood and runic obsidian blade, she thinks it just advertises skill with such a long and potent weapon.


    Summary; the dude is hawt, and he knows it.


    What fuckup he must have done to be stuck performing execution duty to a crowd must have been truly embarrassing, but the elders must have thanked the gods for having such an absurd creature act as their face in the proceedings. She can¡¯t imagine they haven¡¯t offered him a lot more than forgiveness for whatever slight he must have done, and she can¡¯t even blame them. Again; he is. The hottest guy. She¡¯s ever seen. And she usually prefers the more feminine types, but clearly defined muscle, noticeable height and a well-honed physique on display, even with his face shaven, paint a very clear masculine image.


    Damn. If she wasn¡¯t so sure she¡¯d rather do literally anything than give up, she might just let the dude win. What a gift to die to someone this hot. She understands the whispers she heard before a bit better; if she¡¯d been born in a competition with this guy, even a perceived one, she might be desperate for him to get a bite taken out of him too.


    Well, she¡¯d still want to bite him even if they weren¡¯t fighting but- well. Ahem. Refocusing.


    Taking a deep breath and lightly slapping her own face once, then again when the first time isn¡¯t enough, she bends over and picks up the chain for the manacles, making sure to resecure one of the cuffs around her forearm and letting the other stay loose. One of the guards gives her a look and goes to open the cuffs again, but she just growls at him, and he rolls his eyes and lets her keep it. As a weapon, it¡¯s shit, but when you¡¯ve got none, you make do.


    To the sounds of hundreds of whispering voices, Raika straightens her spine, pulls on all her new strength, and steps up the stairs onto the stage of her intended execution.

 Chapter 25 - Wise of Heart, Dumb of Ass

    ¡°The elders have spoken!¡± Echoes a voice that Raika recognizes as Elder Ren of the medical hall. What he¡¯s doing presiding over a combat challenge she doesn¡¯t know, but his voice carries wonderfully in the colosseum stands and down to the arena. ¡°For the crime of assaulting an outer sect disciple, the cripple known as Raika is to be put to the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect¡¯s absolute justice!¡±


    There¡¯s an accompanying roar from the stands, many of them seeming surprised by the amount of pageantry to this that Elder Ren¡¯s voice brings to the proceedings. He¡¯s truly got a voice for oration, and it carries through into his words and Qi magnification.


    ¡°Yet in our mercy and respect for this one¡¯s former journey as a cultivator, the Lord Judge of our grand sect has granted leniency!¡± he continues. ¡°They shall be allowed to fight in a final battle, here on the holy grounds upon which the greatest of glories may be gained! The honorable Shin Ren has volunteered to deliver this criminal¡¯s final moments, that we might all benefit from the sight of his prowess, so recently returned to us from the Imperial Academies!¡±


    Ren, huh. A relation of the elder, maybe? Doesn¡¯t matter, really, but it might explain why he¡¯s been forced here despite whatever advantages he clearly has.


    ¡°The accused stands at this final trial; to experience one final, glorious moment of combat as their execution. So speaks the mercy of the Lord Judge, and so stands the judgment of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect!¡±


    At this final proclamation, the arena erupts into applause and cheers, some stomping their feet and shooting off bursts of Qi that have Raika, even all the way down in the arena, snorting to clear her airways (it doesn¡¯t work like that, unfortunately, but might as well). Whoever this ¡°young master¡± Shi Ren is, he¡¯s clearly hot shit, enough that the thought of seeing him in action seems to be enough to get the crowd riled no matter who he¡¯s fighting against.


    The man in question, however, doesn¡¯t seem to be joining in the festive, eager atmosphere. He looks at her with that piercing glare, with those gorgeous eyes¡­ and he just seems disappointed. Maybe a bit sad, but mostly disappointed, like he doesn¡¯t want to be here and can¡¯t help but be disheartened that he¡¯s been made to be here.


    She can empathize, though her disappointment is manifesting more as rage and an incredible rush of adrenaline running through her system.


    ¡°To all those watching,¡± booms out Elder Ren, ¡°look closely at the talent and mercy of our sect. To those participating in the final moments; begin.¡±


    Shin Ren doesn¡¯t move first.


    She expected him to. She didn¡¯t hear his cultivation, so she figured this would be a bit of a one-sided show, some incredible speed followed up by a flashy technique or two to show off to the crowd.


    Instead, he looks her in the eyes, and bows.


    She blinks. Shakes her head a bit and blinks again.


    ¡°Servant Raika,¡± Shin Ren whispers, the sound carried to her artfully on a cushion of Qi and kept from the audience; ¡°I honor your death and your struggle in these moments to come. I ask forgiveness that such a show has been made of your final moments. I promise to make it as quick and honorable as I can.¡±


    She blinks a third time, and takes in a very small breath. His scent hits her, then, and it is not the complicated mess of concepts or mish-mash of flavors that so many tend to have. His power smells of berries and honey, cooking over an old and well-tended firepit, one that has been built to last. It is sweet, and reminds her of warm memories, and the fire beneath it, no matter how hot, only enhances that which it molds with.


    That, with his words, is almost enough to let something in her slip. For all she thinks of the parts that scream bloody murder and wrestle the world, and the parts that remind her of when she shouldn¡¯t, there is more than a bit of her that is in pain.


    She has been in pain for some time. And he goes and says something like that.


    She sighs, letting the feeling drift, slowly covering it back up and focusing, on the arena, on the crowd, on the stone beneath her feet and the blade in his hand. She gives him a smile, which she meant to be feral and intimidating and as free as she tries to be, but it comes out a bit too sad for all that.


    ¡°Hardly fair you¡¯re that hot and considerate,¡± she whispers back to him, certain he¡¯ll be able to hear. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you romantic bastard. I don¡¯t plan to die here.¡±


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    He blinks at her in turn, but smiles back at her, sincere and small. ¡°Very well, Raika the Accused,¡± he says, now loud enough to be heard if people strain. ¡°Then let us begin, and see whose vision shall emerge true.¡±


    He moves so fast that she¡¯s ducking before she¡¯s even noticed where he ended up, reacting the instant she realizes he¡¯s not where she was looking anymore.


    A whistle of compressed air shaves off a bit of her hair, less than a centimeter from her scalp, the blade behind it moving with a speed and weight it¡¯s like its passing almost pulls her off balance.


    Almost.


    No holds barred. Everything on the line. Everything she is against whatever he decides to throw at her, for as long as she can last. Familiar territory at last.


    She can feel herself moving, muscle memory abandoned for the enhanced speed in her outer body which reacts nearly the instant she can think, swinging her arm back and up against where he should be standing. The remaining manacle, open and heavy and edged in sharp corners, whistles through empty air, but she¡¯s already moving, throwing herself forward in a roll that she forces her body to come out of much faster than she should be able to.


    Her heart beats, pumping hard, pumping violent, her blood cycling in her body like a tornado of fear and survival instinct. She is ALIVE, damnit, and she refuses to let go of it. She uses the heartbeat, how it carries her will and her focus, and forces her body to adjust, the Qi trapped and forcibly bound to her skin and outer flesh adjusting with her will so her spine straightens and her left leg holds firm when she puts all her weight on it, even reaching out and making a tremendous series of popping noises as her right knee is forced to move just enough that she can plant the foot and its stance.


    All that effort, the universe seems to laugh, for barely being able to stand proper.


    In the time it takes to force her body into shape, he¡¯s moved again. Not blitzing her, not angry, if anything his expression looks curious in the instant she glimpses it and has to physically yank her own body back and onto the ground to avoid the swipe he casually sends at her.


    From half the arena away.


    The cut still carves into the pillars, almost fifty feet past the edge of the arena.


    She knows why they didn¡¯t announce his realm, now. They probably didn¡¯t need to, but it would be improper to mention how improper this matchup was out loud.


    Nascent Soul realm. The very start of it, perhaps, or maybe just a very talented Core Formation disciple with a good spear, but the cut smelled only of him, the air ringing with a purity she¡¯s only smelled in the presence of the elders. Equivalent to low level Nascent Soul, maybe.


    Whoever the fuck Shin Ren is, Imperial Academy seems to have served him well.


    She sprints at him, throwing herself forward as hard as she can, bones creaking and leaving behind a flash of dust as she uses everything to move towards him, to get in range and take any initiative. His eyes follow her movement, taking careful note, neither underestimating her nor losing track of her. She can¡¯t hear the audience anymore, it¡¯s a waste of processing power, but she can imagine the fucking silence as she survives a second cut from him, and then charges him like a mad bull.


    He vanishes again, but this time she¡¯s more ready, every nerve singing, every beat of her heart burning, and swings at the space to her right, twisting her body in a pattern that should not be physically possible to avoid the counter swing coming down at her. Her spine is going to scream at her later, probably a rib or two as well, but she twists even as she strikes.


    He dodges, effortlessly, looking like he just decided to not be where the swing hit. She grabs the chain, shortening it and swinging faster, in shorter arcs, pretending it¡¯s a broken nunchuk, pretending that her body can move as it used to. She takes one step, two, jumps almost five feet into the air to avoid another cut and trying to land a kick on him as she falls.


    He sidesteps, and the thing she knew would happen the instant she got airborn hits a quarter-second later, impaling her through the chest and slamming her down into the stone floor that she feels the spear go all the way through her and then deeper, into the stone, stabbing it in a detonation that can be heard through the entire colosseum.


    The arena itself issues a ¡°crack¡±, the stone shifting ever so slightly, the blade going all the way in and through her chest and out the back, pinning her like a fly. A flood of blood spits out of her mouth, splattering all down her front as one of her lungs collapses on impact. The instant she couldn¡¯t maneuver, he hit her with a graceful, tactful, precise maneuver, and she feels things that should not move shifting, feels something that is more panic than pain as her brain tries desperately to understand the level of damage that has been done to it.


    Shin Ren is there, above her. Natural light flows down from the top of the colosseum, whispers of powdered stone and misted blood floating around him like a halo as he looks down at her. He has slowed, moving at normal speed, and she watches him, her body shivering and juddering against the blade, looking up at his face, trembling as he shifts the blade just enough to disconnect it from the stone, that she might not be so immobile.


    ¡°You fought well,¡± he whispers, just between the two of them.


    She raises her arm, feebly. The entire limb trembles, shock and pain and blood loss leaving it a juddering mess, like a faulty doll. She reaches towards him, like a supplicant, like someone asking for help.


    ¡°G- pl-¡± she gurgles.


    He takes her hand, in one of the kindest moments she¡¯s ever experienced in a cultivator.


    And then she flicks her wrist, the shortened chain of the manacles moving in a twitch made perfect with what control she still has, and locks the heavy, mechanical, Qi-warded and heavily runed manacle made to limit cultivators around his wrist.


    ¡°Gotcha,¡± she snarls past the blood.

 Chapter 26 - Fistfight Me IRL, Bro

    She needed him to stab her.


    And stab her properly, like a javelin through a beast, not some imperial goody-two-shoes with his quick thrusts and cuts. He wanted to try and make something honorable of the whole thing, so she had to make it as dramatic and drawn out as possible, and the chances of him simply cutting her in half in midair (in her wild guess) was lower than a more dramatic strike that preserved her flesh, out of respect.


    All things she could use.


    The manacles hadn¡¯t done shit for her but weigh her down. As a weapon, they¡¯re simple iron, sharp angled but hardly sharpened enough to be a threat to him. She might smack him with them, and he might experience what it felt like to have an infant slap him softly, but otherwise they weren¡¯t any more useful as weapons than her hand or teeth.


    But Shin Ren is not a cripple without meridians and dantians, altered by madness and magic to care even less about Qi than those missing organs would entail. No, Shin Ren is an honorable cultivator, with likely cavernous Qi channels in his gorgeous body and what must have been a polished diamond of a Dantian to reach the heights he has at his age. Nearly Nascent Soul, barely Nascent Soul, what difference does it make to an ant? No, he is a cultivator¡¯s cultivator, probably one of the sect¡¯s most promising talents, and his ability to absorb and use Qi, to cycle properly, are likely extraordinary. Lucky, then, that the manacles they let her keep as a pity weapon are specifically design to prohibit both of those things.


    Plus, they¡¯re locked together now, wrist to wrist. Lovers of men all across the sect must be ever so jealous.


    Bonus! He even unpinned her from the stone! What a gentleman.


    She yanks on the chain as hard as she can, and, with him in shock and likely a lot of pain from feeling suddenly cut off from his Qi reserves and unable to cycle it through his body, it¡¯s almost easy to pull him down. He falls to a knee, almost falls on her, and before he can jerk back or try to get away she grabs the collar of his robe, pulls him close and bites his throat.


    He gives a yell, yanking himself bodily back and away from her, and she doesn¡¯t quite get as much as she hoped for. His blood melds with hers as she coughs up more of it, rolling onto her side as he drags her along while he falls backward, making sure the spear doesn¡¯t scrape against stone on the side coming out through her spine.


    Not high enough to stop her heartbeat, though, and with a thought, she flexes her legs and arm both, her outer flesh still connected by Qi even as her nerves misfire and leave her twitching and juddering.


    She shoves herself closer across the floor, just enough to let her unwind a bit of chain from her wrist and gain enough slack to grab the spear. It is agony, it is malfunction, it is ruin and damage and death behind her ribcage and she¡¯s been dealing with that shit for over a year now, so she forces her fingers to curl, forces her muscles to react, and pulls.


    The arena, dead fucking silent, gets to enjoy a horrifying squelching and slicing noise as Raika drags the upper third of a seven-foot spear entirely out of her chest.


    Blood gushes immediately, and then she blinks and realizes she is still alive, and forces her flesh back over the gaps, skin and muscle tearing all along her torso to gain the slack needed to cover the wound. Cover it it does, though, slowing a flood to a stream, and she throws the spear off to the side as hard as she can, jerking Shin Ren¡¯s arm as she sends it halfway across the arena.


    ¡°Chin up, pretty boy,¡± she gurgles, breaths wheezing, voice ragged and inhuman. ¡°All the best babes dig scars.¡±


    Shin Ren looks at her with horror in his eyes, and tries to scramble away.


    She yanks him back with the chain, the act making her entire body malfunction in pain but arresting his momentum long enough for her to aim a kick with her right leg into his ribs.


    He gasps, more in surprise than shock. Suddenly crippled or not, his body has far more refinement than hers, and that strengthening, though he can¡¯t access it, hasn¡¯t bled away through a broken dantian. Still, the pain must feel different without his Qi and soul actively cushioning it, and he curls up around the kick, which is the perfect opportunity to kick him in the teeth.


    Teeth, Raika discovers, seem to be much tougher than their connection to the mouth itself. She discovers this as she feels a minute shift and Shin Ren¡¯s mouth fills with blood. She pulls back, her knee screaming with the force and flexibility she¡¯s forcing onto it, and goes for a stomp on his temple, but his eyes flash open.


    Whatever training he got, it didn¡¯t involve being a weakling, clearly, and he yanks hard on the chain so she has to abort the kick and hold her ground or be thrown.


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    Even weakened, he¡¯s still strong enough to literally whip her around like a rag doll if she doesn¡¯t keep him off balance. He scrambles to his feet, some kind of fancy leg sweep into a jump upright, and she¡¯s ready and waiting, leaning back from the sweep and then stepping in half a step closer between their outstretched arms to soccer-kick him in the nuts as hard as she can.


    The stadium hisses and winces in equal measure at the move, but Shin Ren manages to lift a leg enough to block most of it, though he still grunts at the hit in that sort of wide-eyed way that lets Raika know she didn¡¯t miss entirely.


    So she spits a spray of blood into his wide eyes.


    He yells this time, something like ¡°What the FUC-¡± before she kicks him in the knee he has unsupported off the ground, once, twice, ducks under a wild swing, moves around him so his arm has him off balance, and punches him in the nose.


    Unfortunately, it¡¯s the last part that spells out disaster. Reflexes kick in at a more traditional attack, or maybe his senses are still sharp enough to tell what she¡¯s doing, or maybe he¡¯s just that good. He shifts the manacled wrist and her arm goes off-angle, scraping by his cheekbone, and before she can turn fully away he¡¯s dropped into a perfect stance and shot a punch faster than her eyes can follow into her torso.


    If she hadn¡¯t managed to turn away at all, his fist probably would have gone straight into the hole his spear punched into her, and she¡¯d be dead, plain as that. As it is, she¡¯s only mostly dead when the punch hits her ribs, right over her heart and remaining lung, and she feels all the breath leave her body and her heart stall for a beat.


    The punch is so hard she literally ragdolls away from him, the manacle connecting him all that keeps her in range and almost dislocating her shoulder in the process. Even that almost backfires as he moves into a series of jabs, eyes still closed and full of blood, aiming with technique and instinct alone, any one of the punches capable of killing her if he hits her skull, her throat, what¡¯s left of her ribs-


    So she forces her body to move, willing her flesh to shift and pull her back with the momentum of the chain and wrapping herself around him.


    With a compromised rib cage, a grapple is suicidal, so she doesn¡¯t stick around, just long enough to pull his arm off balance again wrap herself behind him. In a move she considers almost as impossible as plugging the holes in her body and moving with a shattered spine, she balances on her right leg and forces her body to move, to shift with her center of gravity, to bring down one of the best crescent kicks she¡¯s ever done right on his neck, the joint between throat and clavicle, bloody from the chunk she bit out. It hits like a cannon, and she can feel parts of her foot and heel shatter, and he goes down to one knee and briefly chokes on the pain. Ignoring her foot, forcing it to hold her weight, she throws herself forward, arm extended, ready to dig into the wound, ready to try to rip his throat out, ready to dig into his eyes or punch him in the temple or any of the incredibly niche and dangerous blows that might take out the young master of a sect-


    And then she hears a ¡°clink¡±, and feels the manacle¡¯s chain go slack.


    She¡¯s knocked away before she¡¯s even had time to react, tumbling through the air like a broken toy and landing on the far edge of the stone slab with the sound of breaking bones.


    Her vision is kind of blurry. Blood loss, pain, shock, concussion, all of the above, who knows. Still it¡¯s clear enough to see her wrist as she lays there broken, to see the manacle at the end of the chain next to her and how it hisses and glows ever so slightly from the heat, it¡¯s more delicate pieces warped and falling out, it¡¯s runes fading as she watches.


    Not rated for semi Nascent Soul cultivators, it would seem.


    Some motherfuckers have all the damn luck.


    Ah, well, Raika thinks. Can I still stand?


    Her limbs most feel like they¡¯re sloshing more than squirming, if that makes any sense. She¡¯s proven she can force her knee to obey her again, but it doesn¡¯t make her left leg any less of a more recent ruin, and she took the impact of that fall on her hip and arm in almost equal measure.


    So¡­ sort of.


    She crawls, leaving a trail of blood, trying to get her arm under her. Her elbow is broken but she can force it to move anyways, will and flesh intertwined no matter the damage, and everything hurts anyways, so-


    And then something slips in her, and her mind goes empty at the feeling of pain absolute, and in the silence after that, she hears someone walking towards her.


    He makes it over to her after her second attempt to lift her body, each shift leaving more red pooling around her, the second time leaving her just as face down on the floor, legs limp, arm screaming at her to please stop trying to use it the way she is. She feels a shaft of metal and wood leverage her shoulder to flip her onto her back, his recovered spear rolling her over to reveal robes a whole new color of scarlet as she bleeds freely from every cut but the hole in her torso, which she stubbornly holds as tight as she can.


    Shin Ren is above her, looking down at her, face bruised, one hand holding back the bleeding on his neck, mouth bloody.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you are,¡± he says, voice strangely impassive, ¡°but I can see how you would have won against the likes of Lu Feren.¡±


    She tries to speak, and realizes her right lung is at this point all the way full of blood, and talking isn¡¯t really a thing she can do. Breathing either, unfortunately, but that¡¯s secondary. Probably. She may be delirious from the fact that she¡¯s about to die.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like how this was done,¡± Shin Ren says, ¡°but I can see you really didn¡¯t plan to die. Whatever you are, you have my respect. That was a terrifying fucking fight, and you were clever and strong both, despite your limitations.¡±


    She can¡¯t talk, or breathe, or see very well what with everything going dark, but she¡¯s pretty sure she just rolled her eyes, if his chuckle is anything to go by. ¡°Yeah,¡± he whispers. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be very satisfied with that either.¡±


    And then, with the smell of sweets and flame and freedom and comfort and heat together, overriding the copper smell she¡¯s been drowning in, he lights her on fire.

 Chapter 27 - The First Forging

    Now, if you look at this objectively, he may not have meant to light Raika on fire.


    He did seem to pack a respectable amount of power into the technique, which one would expect to char and crisp a mortal-level being to ash pretty much instantly. Something more on par for a Foundational-tier entity, like Raika proved herself to be in that fight? Maybe one or two seconds of pain and the flame would have them dead.


    Raika spends the first four seconds or so squirming in pain, before enough blood falls out of her lung and throat that she can start screaming.


    What¡¯s most interesting, she discovers in the part of her that is very, very far away, is that you really can¡¯t compare pain after a certain threshold. If someone ever asks if it¡¯s worse to be burned alive or turned to mincemeat as you¡¯re gradually broken apart piece by piece, firstly she would tell them it¡¯s a bit rude to ask, but also it¡¯s a dumb question, because they hurt totally differently. Pain signals have way more nuance than people think, and even in the face of death, she¡¯d be hard pressed to say whether any one kind of pain holds perfect supremacy over the others.


    That being said, fire is definitely top three. Minimum.


    Also, while you can¡¯t compare any one pain to another above a certain threshold, it turns out that this, right here, is definitely the most pains she¡¯s ever felt, all over that same threshold together, tap-dancing like a singing quarter along her nervous system.


    Great news! That means she¡¯s still alive!


    This small part of Raika tries to remind the rest of her of this wonderful miracle, but they¡¯re too busy s?????c????r??????e?????a???m??????i?????n??????g????, so the small part shuts up real quick.


    Fortunately, this state of affairs doesn¡¯t last.


    It¡¯s been maybe ten seconds. She is still squirming and making noises, and the small part of her that is outside herself and outside the pain reckons that maybe the audience isn¡¯t having much fun with this whole thing anymore, and Shin Ren, clearly distressed, is raising his spear to end her suffering. She can¡¯t really see, anymore, her eyes melted, but it makes sense, and she can kinda smell him coming closer, feel the vibration as she spasms and writhes and slithers on the floor in the worst pains imaginable.


    Fuck that guy! Where does he get off, killing her like he¡¯s doing her a favor? After he set her on fire! The nerve of the guy.


    More than one part of Raika is actually distracted from the pain, looking at the part that thinks that like she''s genuinely stupid. Why wouldn¡¯t they want to die? Why wouldn¡¯t it be a favor?


    Because, the tiny part says like it¡¯s obvious, Raika is her own. Her death is hers, and she hasn¡¯t technically asked to die, even if she wants to.


    That¡¯s reasonable. At least, Raika thinks so, if this thing in so many pieces can call itself that anymore.


    She¡¯s stopped squirming, which seems to have made Shin Ren hesitate, considering how she¡¯s still alive.


    Everything is black. She can¡¯t smell. She certainly can¡¯t see anything, or breathe, or hear, or feel anything other than the burning, burning, b???u???r???n???i???n???g???- and she doesn¡¯t like that.


    So, since she can¡¯t move her legs or arm or body or mind or self or anything but pain pain pain and she doesn¡¯t like that, she bites it. It¡¯s worked so far, and there¡¯s something to be said about pattern recognition in a mind that is so thoroughly in ruins that it does not know it still has a name.


    She feels her teeth, caked in dried blood and baked solid, falling out of her head from the heat, bite into the fire¡­ and swallow.


    Which, interestingly, makes her insides tingle. Pins and needles tingle. Bloodflow tingle.


    She¡¯s still alive. She¡¯s still alive. She sobs, the sound broken and ruined and barely audible over the crackling that hasn¡¯t yet made it past all her skin and muscles, which has charred her wounds shut, which has consumed more than half of her but not all of her. The shadow that is here and not here and not fire so not important aims its spear, hearing the sob for the agony it is, for the thing he¡¯s condemned this thing to-


    And then her heart beats, and there is a whole new pain and it is a better pain. She feels her throat, burnt and screaming like all of her is screaming and aching and she is nothing she is in the fire she is in the ruin it is all gone it is all broken and molten and ash-


    And her heart beats again, and the tingling brings her back again. The tingling that is not pain, when everything is pain, when her mind has nothing else but the pain and then there¡¯s something else. And the fire crackles, and her flesh does not burn as it should, as a person would, as a cultivator would, because she changed it she did something it hurts so much, why does her skin hurt oh yes the fire the fire-


    Beat, says her heart, louder than Ding was and oh how she misses Ding, how she misses JiaJia and the cold and her hovel and her old scavenging route, and oh how it hurts to be here, to be now, when she could let go and be there-


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    Beat, says her heart, and, bereft of sanity, bereft of anything to do, Raika bites and swallows again, and this time the tingling is stronger, brighter, filling more of a shell that is broken and bled out and ruined.


    ¡ª-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    There is silence.


    The flames die down. The body is not moving. The flesh is charred into a corpse of obsidian and charcoal. Shin Ren stands there, face haunted, the stadium dead silent. Whatever it was, whatever she was, if his purpose was to give a good end to a meaningless death, he has failed entirely, an attempt to let her vanish in a final flash of heat backfiring into one of the worst tortures he¡¯s ever caused to another living being. Already he can hear the silence dying and the whispers starting, the horror in their voices. Some may not care, but only the most callous, and even those may hesitate to end a worthy opponent like he just did. The Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect may understand the beauty, the power, and the truth of fire, but to use that truth as a tool for base torment is¡­ beneath them, at least. Surely they¡¯re better than this. Surely this¡­ Raika deserved more than to end like that.


    In the end, he couldn¡¯t even bring himself to end her suffering, for fear she might survive the blow, only to suffer even more.


    He turns away. He can¡¯t look anymore.


    It strikes the moment his back is turned.


    He barely senses it coming. It feels like a ripple in the Qi around them, visibly and noticeably there, but it does not move as a person. It almost feels like a Qi technique, though the comparison is hard to be certain of, so fast does it move, like an animated puppet or enchanted mannequin, energy made to pretend to be alive for the sake of moving something which cannot. Whatever this thing is, disregarding the fact it should be dead and still doesn¡¯t feel like a living beast would, feels like it shouldn¡¯t even be alive.


    Which makes it all the more horrifying when it jabs a limb, missing a hand, a sharp stump of bone all that remains, six inches deep into his stomach.


    He didn¡¯t move in time to block, the instant of realization too much for even his training and instincts and ingrained techniques to overcome.


    She can¡¯t be alive, he thinks. She can¡¯t be alive.


    And he hears it. Feels it, vibrating through the shard shoved through skin and muscle, beneath that charred outer shell that so thoroughly covered it.


    A heartbeat.


    He is at the peak of the Core Formation realm. His Qi, his cultivation method, his techniques and knowledge all stand on the cusp of joining together into a core, a new form of his Dantian that would allow him to finally fundamentally alter his inner soul and Qi properties and serve as a receptacle in which to create his Nascent Soul. He can run hundreds of miles in a day, leap over great buildings, crush stone to powder in his hands. He suffers no Qi deviations, and has rarely felt the touch of a bottleneck.


    All of this is to say that he should be faster than this ruined thing that stares at him with eyeless, burnt sockets of flesh. But before he has time to move, before he has done more than step back and begun to move his spear into position, it has stabbed him four more times, and with teeth far too sharp and whole, bites a chunk out of his shoulder.


    Unthinking, he blasts a wave of flame and aura around himself, detonating like a bomb that makes the colosseum echo and makes the weakest of the disciples clutch their ears in agony. The thing is launched halfway across the arena again as he staggers, clutching at his bleeding stomach, cycling his Qi to boost his toughness and natural regeneration. A blast like that should have obliterated the abomination.


    He hears the sound of chewing.


    Shin Ren looks up and stares, silent and bleeding, as the thing tears off a chunk of his fire like it¡¯s a hunk of meat off fresh kill and swallows it whole.


    It turns its empty head, faceless, burnt, turned to midnight-black char, and looks at him.


    Shin Ren, proud son of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect, recent graduate of the Imperial Academy for Divine Ascendence, young master of the Ren family and youngest man in Paleblossom city to reach the heights of the cusp of the Nascent Soul realm, leaps back out of the arena and makes a break for it.


    He doesn¡¯t know what this thing is, but it¡¯s not human, that much is clear. A weapon, disguised and sent into the sect? No, doesn¡¯t make sense. A mutation perhaps? A rare descendant of a demonic line, somehow stable enough to have lived this long without detection or self destruction?


    And then he hits the edge of the arena and is stopped.


    ¡°To Death or Defeat,¡± whispers the brand in his mind, placed there the moment he became a part of this trial.


    He tries to protest. He tries to say something. Turning, he looks at his uncle, at Elder Ren, sees the man straining violently, sees his muscles bulging, veins pulsing, eyes wide, the man¡¯s every considerable effort demanding that he save his family¡¯s future-


    And it is not enough.


    The Judge of the sect has spoken, and the Emperor¡¯s will is absolute. Placed into each sect allied with the empire, to ensure that none could defy his edicts without permission, without divine rule, without word from a Judge.


    To Death or Defeat.


    He turns to look at the thing charging at him, heedless of the fact it¡¯s legs should not work, it¡¯s flesh shouldn¡¯t flex, it¡¯s bones should be kindling. It sprints at him, mindless, like an animal, and in the cracks of it, where the charcoal shell has broken, he can still see fire and blood and pulsing, beating heartbeats. It does not burn the beautiful purple or magenta or pink or violet of his own powers, those blessed by a true Dao and powerful Qi; it burns like sunlight. Like radiation.


    It has regrown one of its eyes. It should not be able to do that, but it has regrown one of its eyes. As he looks into it, he comes to a decision.


    ¡°I surrender,¡± he whispers.


    The arena is briefly awash in pure white flame, its barest edge tinged purple, as the elders of the sect descend.

 Chapter 28 - When Hearing Voices, Make Friends Not Foes

    It takes her almost three weeks to relearn how to speak.


    In that time, she is kept confined, her room far more secure than the general cell she was stuck in to begin with. Here, there are no bars, only a single, featureless door, its contours so smooth that when closed she literally cannot see it anymore. The room is somehow pressurized, with new air only coming in in periodic hisses through vents that close with the same degree of precision and invisibility as the door, and over every single surface she can smell a pervasive scent, like lightning running through a different smell in an ever-flowing current. The formation, she thinks, relies on the lightning for energy, even as the actual techniques and original Qi used stink of a clinician¡¯s station, sterilized by flame, with fine metallic powder rounding out the scent. The smell isn¡¯t enough to determine what it does, but it¡¯s a constant background smell.


    For the first week, before her eyes grew back properly, she navigated the room by scent. She had plenty of time to get familiar with it.


    Interestingly, she kept most of her scars. The sea of razor-slices from the weaponized construct, the marks of surgery which kept her alive, older marks earned in battle or in training, most of the scarring around her jaw. She doesn¡¯t think she chose to keep them, specifically, but the notion of losing them is¡­ rather more weighty than she¡¯d like, so she decides she prefers it this way.


    She does not keep any burn scars, though. The only mark she keeps of her execution is a mangled point of paler flesh, shaped almost in a spiral, over her sternum where Shin Ren impaled her.


    More than just the burns are gone, though. She woke up able to use her right leg fully again, the ruin of tendon and poorly regrown bone made into something new. That alone has her crying for a while when she realizes she can walk properly again.


    Other things change too. Her heartbeat becomes smoother, a bit faster on average, a bit more efficient. Her lungs can hold their breath for minutes at a time, easily, before she needs to breathe again, and provide an ease of breath she hasn¡¯t felt in¡­ well over a year, and while she can feel her stomach rumbling, something makes it... lesser (good news, too, as the door has only opened one time; when she was thrown in here). The feeling she had, where her heartbeat was enforced and constant, has faded as her body has filled back out and healed to match the damage.


    And there was so much damage.


    Her limbs were like blackened sticks, barely more than bone and charred skin. Her torso had been emptied in part, the fire poking through holes in her defenses and hollowing parts of her out. Her entire surface had been unmade, turned to charcoal, and even after the burst of vitality she¡¯d felt, the divine, burning taste that had let her move and act and survive, it had still taken days before she¡¯d been able to move without the sound of crackling and burning.


    Whatever happened to her had not been regeneration. It hadn¡¯t even been some sort of last ditch biological function, one final burst of adrenal ferocity and superhuman strength born from the pain. She had been gone, unmade, turnt to pain and ash and ruin, turned to nothing, and still-


    And still she had not let go.


    She does not remember much of what happened in those moments, after the fire began. She believes, with all that she has left, that it¡¯s for the best. There may be something crucial there, with however it felt and whatever she did, but the thought of remembering past the fragmented flickers of pain and psychosis she can remember¡­


    She does not have a bed in this room, but she spent the first day or so after trying to remember curled in a corner, whimpering.


    She did not like the weakness it might have shown to her captors, but¡­ pain is pain. And even touching those memories had not left much in her.


    But she had not let go. She knew that much. She had found something, had tasted something while she lay broken, and she had told, commanded, ordered, known herself in a way that had made her¡­ do something, move towards it.


    She remembers that part more easily than she¡¯d like. The taste of it. She had bitten him, she¡¯s certain. She had bitten him, or maybe his fire, or both, and it had tasted¡­ divine. Like life, like heat, like sex and soft fruit and burning liquor and pure understanding and something like love, and like none of those things, and the memory makes her shiver because she swallowed it and sought more, and the memories end not long after.


    It is not an issue of feeling like someone else had piloted her body, or that something monstrous had taken over in that instant of desperation. The part she still needs to¡­ embrace, or understand, is that it just felt like her.


    Then she¡¯d woken up here, and three days after the pain had started to fade.


    The heartbeat went first, and she had screamed and cried and beat at her chest with what strength she had left, terrified it was going away, that her heart was somehow leaving her to die, abandoning her to silence.


    It did not, and eventually, she figured out why.


    It is not just skin and outer flesh that moves strangely anymore. Muscle as well now moves more on will than instinct, her thoughts piloting flesh that she can feel more intimately than she ever has before. She can feel every vein, if she meditates for long enough, every part of her that her blood flows through, and she can stop it moving as easily as she can decide that it simply is moving, her will superseding biological demands or limits if she pushes herself. Before, her skin was the only thing sensitive and strong enough to sense her heartbeat, but now the muscles encasing it are stronger and stranger too, enough to muffle it a bit.


    It takes days for her to learn to walk again, even with a knee that only aches, and no longer screams when she bends it or places weight on it or kicks with it.


    Raika spends weeks learning to move her body without it moving on its own, and without it moving out of sync with itself. She has to spend a long, long time meditating, forcing herself to remember her time at the medical pavilion and the medical diagrams there, the training years before that in the Hungering Roots sect which demanded she know every part of herself, going on daily runs and practicing kata to learn how to fight. It inspires her, and despite the limiting quarters, the glow of perfectly smooth and enchanted stone that leaves the chamber without shadow, she does eventually get enough coordination to start doing basic exercises.


    For the first time in what must be now well past a year, she does not tire at the simple act of getting up and sitting down. Squats, pushups, stances, punches (as best as she can, one-armed as she still is), and short jogs from one part of the room to the other, supported by endless meditation, round out most of what she does all day and night (which, in this particular prison, might as well not exist).


    After one week, she can walk and turn slowly without falling over from making one part move without all the others. The experience relearning her limits after her crippling helps keep her from going mad with how badly it feels like she¡¯s lost progress entirely.


    After two, she¡¯s relearned and re-trained body and mind enough to be able to jog around the small stone room, and perform basic exercises.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    And by three weeks, she¡¯s managed to recreate a facsimile of instinctive responses, and better overall mobility than she¡¯s had in¡­ possibly even before her cultivation, actually, if she¡¯s going purely by flexibility and control. It¡¯s fascinating how her body moves, and while it¡¯s far from perfect, the fact she can use all of it, that she can access her own body and move it as she wills truly for the first time in so long, almost makes up for the isolation.


    Yeah, meditation still isn¡¯t a trance state anymore, and trapped in a room without shadow, without doors or windows or anything but the occasional ¡°hiss¡± of entering air has been¡­ difficult. The training and relearning helped a lot, and she¡¯s worried that without the distraction she would be¡­ somewhat frazzled. So Raika considers it both a stroke of luck as much as a note of frustration when she realizes she has to relearn how to talk, the strange process that let her regenerate and alter her body after the devastation she suffered replacing the charred ruin that had been her throat. Without anyone to talk to, she hadn¡¯t noticed the change, and the sounds she¡¯d made exercising or in the throes of nightmares had been instinctive enough to not need fine control over her voice.


    So it is that, bored out of her mind and starting to get genuinely worried about how long she¡¯s been in here, she¡¯s surprised when she finally manages to say something.


    ¡°The worm wriggled like a bouncing baby~¡± she manages, after a few hours of refining moving her vocal cords on purpose rather than instinctively. It¡¯s like being a baby learning everything for the first time again. More surprising than the inevitable success of hard work, though, is the way her voice sounds.


    She does not remember it being that husky, or that melodious. She doesn¡¯t sound very ¡°feminine¡± in the sense that it¡¯s harmonious and high pitched, but there¡¯s an inherently attractive quality, at least to her ears, about the voice that emerges from her throat. It¡¯s still recognizably her own, but it seems fully healed, no longer raspy or barely above a croak, and yet smoother and slightly deeper than it was back when she was healthy. She sounds like she could be a singer, at least of a certain type, and at the sound of her voice she can¡¯t help but see an image of a smoky ambiance, surrounded by ne¡¯er do wells and dashing types on a stage half seedy and halt mysterious.


    She snorts at the mental image, then laughs at the snort, then laughs at her laugh, all sounding so different now.


    ¡°Fuck you!¡± she yells happily. ¡°Took my cultivation and I still ended up sexier than ever!¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± asks a voice from right behind her.


    Even with conscious control of nearly every muscle in her body, she startles so bad she jumps almost three feet in the air from a seated lotus position and flails her limbs in every direction before landing and whirling around.


    There¡¯s no one there. The wall is unbroken, the smell of sterilized metal wrapped about metal and chemical ashes still just as pervasive as ever, the entire room still completely seamless and impossibly vague.


    ¡°Who said that?¡± she asks in her new voice.


    ¡°I did,¡± says the voice.


    ¡°Ah, shit,¡± Raika mumbles, relaxing out of her stance and pinching the bridge of her nose. ¡°I was wondering when this would happen.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± the voice asks. ¡°Whatever do you mean?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the ¡°failed cultivation¡± story all over again,¡± she sighs. ¡°Fail to cultivate while trapped somewhere long enough, you come out crazy. I¡¯m surprised it¡¯s just you, if I¡¯m honest. I was expecting hallucinations last week.¡±


    The voice laughs softly. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m quite real, Raika the Bloody, or Raika the Ashen, going by your new name. Proper horror story names, both. Tell me, how does that make you feel?¡±


    She squints at a random wall. ¡°Yeah, quite real,¡± she grumbles. ¡°That¡¯s definitely what someone who isn¡¯t a hallucination would say. Mmmh-hmm.¡±


    Again, that soft laugh. ¡°Would telling you my name help you understand a bit better? I¡¯m quite famous in these parts, or so I hear. Don¡¯t visit much anymore, not after I set this baby up.¡±


    She gets the impression of a sweeping gesture around the chamber, indicating the room she¡¯s currently trapped in.


    ¡°While my official title is Runemaster Boriah, you may know me better as Taurus of the Endless?¡± the voice asks.


    Raika gasps at the name, taking a step back from her chosen wall in shock. She raises a trembling hand to her mouth, slowly, eyes wide, and-


    ¡°Nah,¡± she replies, dropping the act. ¡°Never heard of you. And those are kinda shit names.¡±


    ¡°Well, we can¡¯t always choose the names given to us, eh, Ashen?¡± the voice says, a note of annoyance present now alongside the mirth. ¡°Besides, despite their many faults, I would say my family chose my given name fairly well.¡±


    ¡°Boriah?¡± she asks, a little incredulous. ¡°Who names their kid Boriah? Did they want you to be bullied by every kid in town, or were they just bad at naming baby hallucinations?¡± She pauses at that. ¡°Wait, am I bad at naming baby hallucinations?¡±


    ¡°Still not a hallucination,¡± the voice sighs. ¡°And no, not Boriah, you can thank the Emperor for that one, even if only indirectly. No, it¡¯s the other one.¡±


    ¡°Taurus?¡± she asks. ¡°Now you¡¯re going to tell me you just happen to be hung like a bull. I¡¯m not falling for it, three times was enough. I¡¯m nowhere near drunk enough for you to try and pull that shit anyways.¡±


    There¡¯s a moment of incredulous silence, the entire cell going dead quiet with the exception of Raika¡¯s heart and the occasional inhale and exhale.


    ¡°-the fuck up, shut UP!¡± the voice suddenly yells, as if coming in from being cut off. ¡°I swear to the Emperor, I will dock your pay for a week! I swear it!¡± it pauses, as if realizing it can be heard again, a soft grumbling followed by a huff as the voice tries to recenter itself. ¡°That is not what I meant, and yes, it¡¯s my actual name. Yours is Raika, correct?¡±


    ¡°Ah, all professional now,¡± she hums. ¡°Say hi to all the other voices, hmm? They can come out and talk anytime, I am wildly bored in here. The nightmares only count for so much entertainment after the first two weeks.¡±


    The voice (Taurus) sighs. ¡°Ok, well, if you¡¯re a construct or trained demon, you¡¯re the cheekiest one I¡¯ve ever met,¡± it says. ¡°Listen, Raika, while I appreciate you haven¡¯t really tried, you can¡¯t leave that cell, so the only way you¡¯re getting out is cooperation. Now that we know you can talk, we¡¯re going to be sending someone in to see you soonish, alright? Just be aware that if you attack them, they won¡¯t be in danger, but you very much will. This cell can do more than just block Qi and hide its doorways, and I¡¯d hate to use those other features.¡±


    Raika pauses.


    Has she noticed something that might lead her to think that someone would be visiting her soon? It seems a leap to assume that she¡¯ll go from her first vocal hallucination to a full on false vision, but not impossible, especially considering the trauma before she woke up here (which she still is avoiding touching as much as possible). Still, it seems unlikely, and she stops and starts examining herself.


    Part of the advantage of increased awareness and control of so much of her body¡¯s functions (though she¡¯s blessedly still ignorant to most organs) is, well, increased awareness of changes to said body. She focuses, slowly centering herself and honing in on her ears.


    ¡°Say something again,¡± she says to the air, eyes closed.


    There is a pause, but after a few moments; ¡°Something again,¡± the voice says.


    She feels the minute, shifting vibration inside the membranes of her ears, beating tiny, perfect notes against her skin and skull.


    She nods. ¡°Ok,¡± she says. ¡°Sorry, sir Taurus, that I mocked the size of your cock. If you¡¯re real, I¡¯m sure its plenty impressive, and I¡¯m pretty sure at least what I¡¯m hearing is real, so congrats. So long as whoever you send in doesn¡¯t attack or try to kill me, I promise not to attack them.¡±


    There¡¯s an awkward cough, and she thinks she can detect some kind of¡­ howling? In the background of the voice, but he replies after a beat; ¡°Much appreciated, Raika. We have a lot of questions, but you¡¯re in no immediate danger. Please wait, you¡¯ll have a visitor soon.¡±


    Somewhere between six and ten hours later (very hard to tell in here, especially with how little she¡¯s been hungry lately) she hears a hiss of pressured air as the wall behinds her reveals a door, gliding seamlessly open. Behind it stands someone she immediately recognizes, features haggard, like they haven¡¯t been sleeping much.


    ¡°You really are just the worst headache I¡¯ve ever had,¡± Qen Hou sighs as he steps into her prison, the door behind him closing so perfectly it¡¯s like it was never there at all.

 Chapter 29 - Friends in Troubled Places

    Raika can¡¯t help herself; she grins wide and throws her head back for a laugh.


    ¡°Of all the people!¡± she howls, cackling at the poor disheveled young disciple. ¡°Oh, how it¡¯s good to see you, you arrogant bastard!¡±


    Still smiling wide, she slams a fist to her chest and performs a deep bow, far deeper than social status merits. ¡°This one greets honored cultivator and honorable disciple Qen Hou!¡± she says, the enclosed magnifying her new voice. Then, still smiling, she tilts her head mid-bow. ¡°This one also apologizes for the incredible hassle she may or may not have brought upon the honored Qen Hou!¡±


    He scoffs, giving her a bow that only just meets bare minimum standards for respectful. Whether it¡¯s on purpose or just because he¡¯s as exhausted as he looks, the moment it¡¯s done he¡¯s already waving at her to get back up. ¡°No ¡°may not¡± about it,¡± he grumbles. ¡°I haven¡¯t slept in over a week because of you, and my superiors have been running me ragged with questions. You have no idea the sheer amount of paperwork, interrogations and veiled threats I¡¯ve had to go through to survive the last month, and that¡¯s not even mentioning all of that bastard Shin Ren¡¯s would-be concubines trying to poison me for ¡°bringing a demon into the sect to assassinate the young master.¡± It¡¯s been a nightmare.¡±


    She looks around at the featureless gray room she was thrown into while still a charred ruin. ¡°Want to trade?¡±


    He laughs, though he looks more surprised that he has than actually like he¡¯s laughing. Note to self; a tired Qen Hou is a laughing Qen Hou.


    ¡°No, you earned this one,¡± he says. ¡°Besides, I doubt even you could survive the hordes of young disciples adamant to avenge the wounds on the sect¡¯s young master.¡±


    ¡°I thought he was Elder Ren¡¯s grand-kid or whatever,¡± she says with a head tilt. ¡°Would he have to be the patriarch¡¯s kid to be the sect¡¯s young master?¡±


    Qen Hou waves off the question. ¡°The patriarch doesn¡¯t have any grandkids yet,¡± he replies, ¡°so no young masters on that tree just yet. Plus, you saw the guy, he¡¯s popular enough to get away with calling himself a lot worse.¡±


    Raika gives a little laugh at that, but it comes off a bit subdued. As genuinely relieved as she is to see Qen Hou, she knows well that they didn¡¯t see each other last under the best circumstances or the best goodbyes. More than that, his exhaustion seems genuine, and he¡¯s already reacted to or laughed at comments that he¡¯d normally be much too put together to give the time of day to, and¡­ well, considering what he must have genuinely spent to meet her before her trial, she can¡¯t help but worry.


    Eventually, before the silence of examining him becomes awkward, she moves, well aware that not every movement comes across naturally but still a bit disappointed with how sharply Qen Hou¡¯s eyes move to track her. She waves at the room around them; ¡°I haven¡¯t gotten around to doing any interior decorating yet, but please, have a seat,¡± she tells him. ¡°I can¡¯t fulfill most of my duties as host, but I¡¯m not one to leave guests standing, even in a prison.¡±


    He sighs long and loud, gratefully taking a seat against a nearby wall. She can¡¯t help but frown at that, looking at him with concern; how bad is it out there?


    ¡°You ok, Qen?¡± she asks.


    It takes him a long time to answer, but eventually just sighs again. ¡°Don¡¯t call me Qen,¡± he sighs. ¡°Makes it seem like we¡¯re friends or some other stupidity.¡±


    She goes to laugh, but then pauses, wondering again at the voice and who might be listening. There¡¯s a non-zero chance that being too friendly to Qen Hou here might backfire for him down the line. She¡¯s not going to lie, not when she doesn¡¯t know the pieces on the board, but being too enthusiastic, well. Maybe a little late to realize it, but she is genuinely happy to see him, so she was a bit slower on the uptake than she should have been. Instead of laughing, she just gives a nod, keeping her face mostly still.


    ¡°Understood, senior brother,¡± she says. ¡°But sincerely, you look like shit. If senior brother has been working hard due to my faults, I¡¯d like to know so as to properly pay you back someday.¡±


    He gives her a look, like he¡¯s trying to see if she¡¯s mocking him, but eventually softens. ¡°Yeah, well, it would be nice if I got paid back for some of this,¡± he mumbles. ¡°But¡­ sure. Honored cultivator Qen Hou has been fighting like hell to not get himself and healer Li Shu executed for aiding and abetting the abnormal mutant hereby classified as the ¡°Ashen¡±, which has infiltrated the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect with the intent of killing and consuming cultivators.¡±


    She blinks. Takes a long second to just look at him.


    ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡± she asks.


    ¡°As serious as I can be on three hours of sleep in twelve days,¡± he replies, tilting his head back against the wall.


    ¡°...shit,¡± she hisses.


    ¡°Did you manage to convince them?¡± she asks. ¡°Is that why they sent you in here?¡±


    He just shakes his head. ¡°No,¡± he says, ¡°I think they sent me in here mostly to see what you¡¯d say to me and what I¡¯d say back. Lucky for both of us, I¡¯m too tired to try and talk in code and get us both killed, and you¡¯re already pretty fucked.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m a mutant,¡± she mumbles. ¡°Well, not technically. Ok, maybe. Does it count as mutation if you try to do it on purpose?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Raika, it still counts as a mutation if it¡¯s on purpose,¡± he replies tiredly. ¡°How you got to be so old and so dumb at once is beyond this honored cultivator.¡±


    She rolls her eyes at him. ¡°With all respect, Qen Hou, do I look like some old granny? Everyone goes around calling me a hag since that brat J- since that brat started it. I¡¯m only twenty eight you know! I¡¯m basically still a maiden.¡±


    Qen Hou lets out a bark of laughter at that. ¡°Mutant, hag or not, you¡¯re no maiden,¡± he chuckles. Then, turning to look at her, his gaze softens a bit. ¡°But¡­ no, you don¡¯t look like an old granny. Hardly relevant with cultivation, but still, considering you must have the brain of a child or an idiot, I guess I should stop calling you that.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    She huffs a laugh. ¡°I¡¯ll take idiot over granny, whatever that says about me,¡± she replies. ¡°As I¡¯m an idiot, though, it would be helpful if you walk me through what¡¯s going on outside.¡±


    He meets her eyes, takes a deep breathe, and centers himself on the exhale. She smells a wisp of his Qi, magnesium-flame and ozone, as he cycles to calm and prepare himself.


    ¡°Apparently, since you can¡¯t be killed for the crime of surviving your trial, the Judge is prohibiting the elders from just walking in here and turning you to ash or crushing you with the room,¡± he starts. ¡°Further, it would seem either contacts inside the sect or the Judge itself reached out to an Imperial representative of some kind, and now they¡¯re taking an interest, especially with how flooded the city has been with their soldiers since the attack during the festival. The elders are trying to haggle to have you killed, the Imperial rep is outright refusing, and Elder Ren of the medical pavilion and Shiru Hei of the research pavilion are both fighting tooth and nail with whatever experts the imperials brought in for the right to ¡°examine¡± you.¡±


    From the way he phrased the word ¡°examine¡±, she can imagine it wouldn¡¯t be pleasant.


    ¡°Ok, that¡¯s fine,¡± she says, ¡°but how are you and Li Shu? Is anyone else in trouble?¡±


    Qen Hou gives her a guarded look at that, like he¡¯s trying to understand why she¡¯s asking or how safe it is to answer, but eventually he just sighs. ¡°Li Shu hasn¡¯t been well. There¡¯s been accusations that she¡¯s become a corrupted cultivator, that she¡¯s pursuing demonic paths, literally and just as a moral judgment both. Rumors got out about your ritual, which I still don¡¯t get by the way. She¡¯s still under investigation, and even if things go perfectly I doubt they¡¯ll renew her discipleship at the end of her trial period now. I¡¯m in less trouble, but you got in as a servant on my recommendation as much as by Li Shu¡¯s request, so I¡¯ve gotten plenty of threats and questions from everybody who¡¯s anybody about what the hell you are.¡±


    She can¡¯t help but grin a bit at the last line, even with the bad news. ¡°And what have you been telling them?¡± she asks.


    ¡°The truth!¡± he growls in frustration. ¡°I have no damn clue! Gods and hells, if I¡¯d met you next year I might have been a Core Formation realm cultivator, and I wouldn¡¯t have to fight to stay conscious under all these gazes and killing intent. I¡¯m only peak Foundational! I shouldn¡¯t be dealing with all these honored masters and old monsters! It¡¯s bullying the weak, I tell you.¡±


    She laughs at the outburst, so unlike the usually stoic and arrogant young cultivator. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t worry about that,¡± she says. ¡°If you live through this cultivation will probably go smoothly. You¡¯ve got talent, making it to Foundational realm so young, and pressure makes diamonds as they say. Plus, your Qi smells pretty clean and on theme, so you¡¯re probably fine.¡±


    ¡°See, shit like that is why people think you¡¯re a demon,¡± he growls. ¡°First you get molten half to ash and still stab a peak Core Formation genius, then you tell me my Qi has a smell. What the hells, Raika!¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Just something I figured out a while back. Dunno what it means. I think it¡¯s a system of forced evolution of my Dao senses through repeated exposure and compensation for my ruined cultivation organs, but I¡¯m no expert.¡±


    He sighs, rolling his eyes. ¡°Every time I think you¡¯re honestly braindead, you go and spout off something like that,¡± he mumbles. ¡°Honestly, where did someone like you learn to talk like that?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°I had a lot of time while I was uber-crippled, and the medical pavilion had interesting books, even the basic ones. That, and a lot of time to think, and I guess I just have some ideas about stuff.¡±


    He sighs. ¡°Yeah, being crazy will do that to a person,¡± he says. ¡°Anyways, like I said, they sent me in here to make sure you¡¯re not just going to stab me to death with your femur or something, and to check to see if I¡¯ve been lying. They¡¯re probably monitoring me to find out as we speak. Once they find out that I¡¯ve been telling the truth-¡± (he snarls this part at the ceiling)- ¡°they¡¯ll probably send in someone more important to interrogate you. So¡­ this may be the last time we ever speak.¡±


    She smiles. Then, surprising him, she goes from her seated position to pressing her forehead to the ground of the cell, kowtowing fully to him.


    ¡°Thank you for protecting Li Shu,¡± she tells him. ¡°She is important to both of us, but you have still done more than we could have asked of you. Thank you for speaking to me before the trial, and I am deeply sorry that this lowly one was cruel to you in what may have been our last interaction.¡±


    She hears him sigh, ever so soft. ¡°Please,¡± he says, ¡°Raise your head.¡±


    She does, precisely and politely, giving effort to make the movement as genuine as she can. She doesn¡¯t think she¡¯s kowtowed more than four or five times before, ever, but¡­ she wants to get this right.


    ¡°You¡¯re a bit of an arrogant ass, Qen Hou,¡± she says once she¡¯s risen back to a kneeling position. ¡°You¡¯re self-assured, abrasive, and a bit of a bastard about how I was treated. But you¡¯ve never been truly unfair with me, and without your aid, I would never have come to this sect, where I have learned much, gained opportunities, and, despite my best efforts, ran into useful tribulations. So¡­ thank you, honored cultivator Qen Hou. I wish you the best of luck in your journey between heavens and earth, and that if we meet again, it shall be under better circumstances.¡±


    She opens her eyes to look at him, and he awkwardly looks away, before grumbling something she doesn¡¯t quite pick up. Eventually, sitting more upright, he turns to look at her again.


    ¡°Too honest for your own good, Raika,¡± he says. ¡°A beautiful kowtow and then you had to go and be honest about what you think of me. Ha! Very you, to the end.¡±


    He sighs. ¡°You were¡­ at the very least interesting, and I hope you don¡¯t die.¡±


    He flinches back from how brightly she smiles at him.


    ¡°I knew it!¡± she laughs. ¡°You do like me!¡±


    ¡°Gods and Hells, do you ever quit?¡± he groans, getting to his feet. ¡°Is that enough, or do we need to hug or something? Are we done?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s plenty,¡± the voice that calls itself Taurus says, manifesting back in the room as if it never left (and to be honest it probably never did). ¡°Thank you for your participation, sect disciple Qen Hou. The Imperial divisions of Altered Cultivation and Research both thank you for your willingness to assist in our preliminary analysis.¡±


    ¡°And Raika, thank you for not killing him, that would¡¯ve made things complicated. Mostly for you, but I hate paperwork, so thanks anyways.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± she replies to thin air. ¡°Happy to facilitate the laziness of the people who could kill me, totally not a problem.¡±


    Ignoring her and addressing only Qen Hou, the voice continues; ¡°You¡¯re free to head out. I¡¯m obligated to remind you not to allow the subject¡¯s escape and to keep any Qi movements minimal until you exit the building. Thanks again, and we¡¯ll be sure to take note of your cooperation in your ongoing trials.¡±


    ¡°My gratitude, honored seniors,¡± Qen Hou says as he bows to the air. A few moments later, the door behind them hisses back open, letting out the pressurized air and cutting its way back into reality.


    ¡°Take care of Li Shu, alright?¡± Raika says, a bit quieter than she intended.


    ¡°Goes without saying,¡± Qen Hou replies, not turning to look at her.


    Then he¡¯s gone, and the door is once again vanished perfectly back into a wall.


    ¡°So,¡± says the voice, ¡°Ready for the next step?¡±

 Chapter 30 - The Division of Altered Cultivation

    ¡°What is it you want from me?¡± Raika asks her cell.


    ¡°Well, first and foremost, I want to make it clear that we have no intention of ending your journey to whatever-the-hells it is you¡¯re becoming,¡± the voice responds. ¡°From what we¡¯ve found of your history, that seems to be a bit of a trigger for you, yes?¡±


    ¡°It is what it is,¡± Raika replies. ¡°I Am Me, I Am Mine. I lost everything, and still didn¡¯t stop, but yes, if you intend to try and take myself from me again, don¡¯t expect me to take it lightly.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes. I¡¯d heard rumors you might have found something like that,¡± the voice mumbles. ¡°That phrase. ¡°I am me, I am mine¡±; did you hear it somewhere?¡±


    She frowns. ¡°No,¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯s something I made up a while back. Feels right. As a cultivator, aren¡¯t we all defying the world and putting ourselves under our own will?¡±


    ¡°Sure, sure, but most people wouldn¡¯t phrase it as you have, or with that weight, hmm?¡± She¡¯s not really sure how to respond, so the silence drags for a moment, before there¡¯s a surprisingly harsh ¡°huff¡± from the illusory voice. ¡°Considering the chances of you stumbling onto information about the concept, I doubt you know more about it. But, good news; I do. I¡¯m the local head of the Division of Altered Cultivation. Have you heard of us?¡±


    She frowns. ¡°Rumors, maybe,¡± she eventually responds. ¡°Not in a few years, but I never paid attention to that sort of thing. Something about the Empire trying to fix or improve weird cultivators, or qi deviations or something?¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± the voice agrees. ¡°If it¡¯s alright with you, I¡¯d prefer to talk about this face to face. If I go in there to talk to you, can you promise you won¡¯t try to eat me?¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°Try not to look too delicious,¡± she says, ¡°but I promise I don¡¯t intend to attack unless you do so first.¡±


    The voice laughs in a deep, vibrating baritone. ¡°Fair enough,¡± it says. ¡°See you in a moment.¡±


    The chamber goes quiet, and she takes a seat against the wall facing the door, trying to look nonchalant and casually threatening at the same time for whoever this new arrival might be. Supposedly, the voice belongs to an Imperial officer, someone she should be even more subservient to than the sects she¡¯s been a part of, and even more especially since it would seem it¡¯s only by the Imperial Judge in the sect that she¡¯s still alive, but¡­ she just can¡¯t find it in her to care right now. Three weeks of isolation and a general disdain for every authority figure she¡¯s had to deal with since her crippling (and some before, admittedly) have left her¡­ somewhat disillusioned about the utility of subservient respect.


    Then a new door, one on her right, opens just as seamlessly and invisibly as the one in front of her, the portal it opens up glowing a blinding, opaque white light, its brightness warped as something steps through.


    She scrambles to the side, new control of her body making the movement simultaneously disjointed and impossibly smooth as she spins into an aggressive, almost animalistic crouch to face the surprise door.


    ¡°Ha!¡± roars a massive, booming voice, loud enough to make her ears hurt. ¡°Hells, woman, watching through the formation does not do you justice.¡±


    Stepping into the room, as at ease as if they were having a casual conversation beneath an open sky, stands the tallest humanoid she¡¯s ever seen. Easily seven and a half feet tall before you factor in the horns, and said horns are barely the tip of the iceberg. The figure before her, dressed as they are in official-looking robes stretched to form-fitting stature by the sheer bulk of the body they¡¯re wrapped around, is an absolute giant, and yet they walk in with impossible lightness of step. His feet and hands bare, both growing incredibly soft fur of a rich brown and white spotted quality, the fur extending up his partially exposed chest, neck and head. And what a head it is; the face is strange, a strange mix of human and bovine features leaving her stunned and unable to speak for how¡­ strangely natural, yet entirely alien they look. Their eyes are all-black with white only at the very edges, their nose a fully bovine snout, and massive, jutting horns decorate their head, wrapped in wavy, curly hair that goes down to his shoulders, both almost a foot tall in themselves and curled, thick and dense, looking more like stone than bone in makeup.


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Raika says with a gasp. ¡°You really are built like a bull.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and my squad is probably never going to let me live those comments down,¡± Taurus says with a roll of his eyes. ¡°You know, some things are better left unsaid over open communication runes.¡±


    ¡°How was I supposed to know you were being serious!?¡± she complains. ¡°A mysterious voice shows up in an empty room and tells me they¡¯re called Taurus of all things, what did you expect my reaction to be?¡±


    He shrugs, moving so much muscle mass to do so it¡¯s like a mountain shifting. ¡°In my line of work we learn to expect all sorts of things. But yes, I suppose it would be a little hard to believe, especially with someone who, it would seem, has a specific history with¡­ certain pick up lines.¡±


    She leaves her crouch, falling back into a seated position against the wall. ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± she huffs. ¡°Sorry for not getting up, Runemaster of the Altered Cultivation division, but I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯d still have to hurt my neck looking up at you either way. Still, this one greets honored cultivator Taurus. Unless¡­ do you prefer Boriah, honored one?¡±


    He huffs back at her, the sound like a gust of wind. ¡°I can feel you judging me already, so let¡¯s say that no, I prefer Taurus,¡± he says. As the door closes fully behind him, he takes a seat as well, sitting in a proper lotus pose against the opposite wall. ¡°And what do you prefer? Raika? The Bloody? The Ashen?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Just Raika is fine. ¡°The Bloody¡± was always more aspiration than literal, and The Ashen isn¡¯t really a name either.¡±


    He nods. It¡¯s weird; for how alien his eyes look, it¡¯s easy to see his thinking in them, the way he¡¯s taking note of her every response. ¡°Tell me, then, Raika; what do you think is next, here?¡±


    She pauses. To lie, and perhaps look a bit better, or tell the truth, hoping he¡¯ll respect that more¡­ She¡¯s had weeks to think about this, in between the torment of self-imposed physical therapy and relearning her body, and to figure out the angles of what might be to come. With only so much information about the outside world, it¡¯s obviously been a limited thought experiment, but¡­


    ¡°Well,¡± she says, ¡°I imagine there¡¯s three major directions to be taken on your end. I¡¯m considering that you¡¯re the most important factor here, since you¡¯re the one in here talking with me and you¡¯re the head of the division you mentioned. So, there¡¯s you deciding I¡¯m not enough of whatever you¡¯re interested in, and the sect wins face and gets to kill me, probably in a nasty execution. Second, there¡¯s you thinking there¡¯s something too interesting, and I get to stay in this cell or something very like it while I get cut up and examined. Or, option three, I pass your test, or meet your judgment, and I get the privilege of working as someone¡¯s subordinate. You¡¯re hoping it¡¯ll be as your subordinate, if we go that route, but I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a guarantee, honored cultivator.¡±


    He nods along, giving little grunts at certain relevant points. ¡°Yeah, that about covers it. You missed one, though.¡±


    She blinks, then takes a half breath and freezes as pressure enters the room.


    Since her crippling, Raika has had limited ability to engage with killing intent or Qi pressure. She knows it exists, but it¡¯s like holding her hand over a candle; if she can¡¯t feel pain, she won¡¯t know she¡¯s being burned, and most candles can only burn so bad, so its effects don¡¯t last. The one exception so far was Shiru Hei, who hit her with the full concentrated force of her Qi pressure on arrival to her fight with Lu Feren.


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    Taurus is not a candle. The smell hits her like a truck, a sudden, violent scent that smells almost entirely of overwhelming force. Taurus smells like a hurricane wrapped in flesh, like muscle and stone strong enough to crush mountains barehanded, all wrapped in a package that smells like open woodlands and some sort of¡­ creature, there.


    As soon as she smells it, it knows she¡¯s there.


    By scent alone, she can feel it move. Feel the presence of something animalistic and vibrant and old, so very, very old turn towards her, turn to face her. It towers above her, above the room, above the ceiling and the building and the sky.


    In a moment, there is no furious hurricane except the wind in its fur, no mountains to crush save the pebbles beneath its hooves, and she is but a small thing outside the pack that has dared to touch it with her awareness, with her mere existence. It has seen her, and it has deemed her an insult.


    And then the scent begins to dim, and Raika realizes that she can feel her entire body trembling. Every muscle feels sore, her throat feels like she¡¯s been screaming though she knows she did not, her head pounds with an ache like she dove beneath a lake, and her heart is scrambling to compensate, beating way over its resting rate. She coughs, slightly, before looking up at Taurus again.


    ¡°There¡¯s always the path we take where I kill you before we ever leave this cell,¡± rumbles the Nascent Soul cultivator across from her.


    He lets her take a moment to breathe. It takes¡­ longer than she expected.


    When she looks mostly recovered, he continues. ¡°It isn¡¯t uncommon,¡± he tells her. ¡°Something happens, and I get called in to deal with it. A demonic infestation turned parasite, a hidden Dao uncovered and malformed, some strain of Qi infecting and mutating someone into something dangerous. Some things are better left unknown, and out of the hands of those who would misuse it or fail to contain it. So, sometimes, I enter a room a lot like this one, and I sit down, and we have a talk, and when I leave, they¡¯re not anyone¡¯s problem anymore. And all the Emperor asks of me after are three forms I need to fill out and sign.¡±


    She says nothing.


    Eventually, he smiles, wide, flat teeth in a too-human face. ¡°Good news for you, I hate paperwork. So we¡¯re going to do this differently, yes?¡±


    She¡­ simply nods.


    ¡°Good. Now. Tell me how you¡¯ve managed to survive this far, and what you¡¯ve done to do so.¡±


    She takes a deep breath. It¡¯s not a secret; hell, she¡¯s talked about it with Li Shu more than once, openly, in public even, but¡­ there¡¯s a difference between the ramblings of a madwoman and a proven idea. And whatever she¡¯s doing, it¡¯s proving something. A part of her, a part that remembers the struggle for even the most basic of martial texts or cultivation techniques at the Hungering Roots sect, tells her how valuable any technique is, ever. Another part agrees, demanding that she keep it; it is hers. She made it, she should have the right to keep it.


    A much larger consensus remembers the scent of that impossible, looming thing in the soul of the man in front of her, and recognizes that she doesn¡¯t have much choice.


    ¡°I tried to make a natural formation,¡± she eventually says.


    ¡°...go on,¡± he says.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a formation expert,¡± she tells him, ¡°but I know they exist, and that they were invented by studying natural formations. So, I used a tuning fork-¡± (Ding, her trusted second, still missing in action)- ¡°and my own heartbeat and bloodflow to try and¡­ well, to try and make one happen inside my body. I figured since I had no Qi defenses or inherent Qi of my own to reject energies coming in, it was worth a shot, trying to make a pattern and movement that would attract natural Qi from the environment.¡±


    He cocks his head, the horns on it almost comically tall and wide and making the movement much more than it would be on a normal humanoid. ¡°How is it that you survived it?¡±


    No hesitation to believe it¡¯s possible. Then again, she is living proof, so perhaps he¡¯s just better at accepting things at face value. She shrugs; ¡°I almost didn¡¯t. First time I did it, woke up shitting blood and with my whole body on fire, covered in that pins and needles sensation. But it didn¡¯t kill me, so¡­ I kept doing it.¡±


    He looks at her. ¡°You just¡­ kept doing it.¡±


    She gives him a bit of a look. ¡°I didn¡¯t have much else to do, honored cultivator,¡± she tells him. ¡°I was crippled and homeless in the middle of winter, and it clearly did something. Something that hurts is better than nothing that doesn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Deeply circumstantial and often incorrect, but go on,¡± Taurus replies.


    ¡°Well, it took¡­ most of a year, I think, for much to change. Kept varying up the meditation and the nuances of the tuning fork, seeing what worked, what left me unconscious for longer, that sort of thing. Gradually I started noticing I was a little stronger and a bit healthier. It got me through the winter mostly intact, and sometime in that period I started being able to smell Qi, I think. I don¡¯t tend to smell it constantly, but near someone who is actively using their cultivation or around formations, I tend to be able to get a feel for their scent.¡±


    He nods at that. ¡°Does it tend to be simplistic, like how they normally smell but magnified?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°No. The stronger the Qi, the more complex the smell, at least usually, and sometimes they smell like they¡¯re a little off or a little gross, but most of the time they smell like different flavors. Ozone and fire, leather and a clean river, wind on a grassy hill with a big dog on it, that sort of stuff.¡±


    It¡¯s really hard to read his face, but she thinks his expression changes a bit at that. But all he says is ¡°Go on.¡±


    ¡°There was a fight at the cultural festival in town about six months ago,¡± she goes on. ¡°I¡­ it was strange, and I don¡¯t know how to describe it, but the cold sun looked¡­ well, it looked wrong, and no one else seemed to notice. And then those things attacked. Qen Hou wounded one, but I could tell it was still alive, so I grabbed it to try and kill the thing, because it threw me through a wall.¡±


    ¡°And just to be clear, you were still crippled, yes? Not at the level you demonstrated against a¡­¡± he seems to check his notes- ¡°Lu Feren?¡±


    She shakes her head again. ¡°No, just able to hobble a bit better, but I don¡¯t like it when something throws me through a wall.¡±


    He¡­ nods eventually. ¡°Sure,¡± he says.


    ¡°Then, since I contributed, I got to come to the sect. Worked as an assistant in the medical pavilion, kept up the tuning fork routine for some more months, eventually came up with a theory about life Qi and how any living thing makes it just by being alive, even without meridians, and made the ritual to use on myself.¡±


    ¡°I saw it. Smart work, though it looks more like an extended curse ritual. Uses a modification of the ¡°Aldermain¡¯s Curse of Blocked Breath¡±, plus a lot of twisted qi infusion runes and some rudimentary concepts from barrier formations, yes?¡±


    ¡°Sounds about right,¡± she agrees. ¡°Had to take some pills to make sure my blood kept flowing and my lungs could still draw in air.¡±


    ¡°I was informed by one ¡°Li Shu¡± that you were unconscious for several hours during the procedure. Is this correct?¡±


    She hesitates. Should she¡­ maybe. While she was unconscious she''d met the shadow, that thing that reeked of the moon. It was in confronting it that she discovered the phrase he''d commented on, and in surviving that confrontation that she''d felt something... click. But then again... it''s a risk. She doesn''t know how she knows, but she can feel anything more she says about what she saw during the festival, or the thing that followed into her after, is a risk.


    ¡°Yes," she tells him. "It was like I was asleep, following my blood into the runes in a dream. Painful, but kind of peaceful. When I woke up, everything felt different, like I could feel my heartbeat all the time, feel my skin like it was far more sensitive. The pain increased, obviously, but... altogether it had clearly done something, so I was pretty happy with it.


    He looks at her, quietly, for what feels like too long a moment. Does he know? How would he? She told the truth. Mostly. More or less.


    Eventually, he nods. ¡°Alright,¡± he grumbles. ¡°And after that, you were blocking in Qi being generated by your body, blocking out environmental Qi, and could control your skin?¡±


    ¡°And a bit of the outer muscles and such near the surface,¡± she agrees. ¡°Now, after the¡­ the burning, the effect seems to have grown to any area that regrew, so that I can move my body like I used to be able to move Qi. I lost a lot of reflexes, but I can technically move a lot faster and more precisely, and feels things much more clearly.¡±


    He leans forward, here. ¡°And how did you regenerate?¡± he asks. ¡°Nothing in what you¡¯ve said or your history tells us it was a skill you had. Increased Qi density, sure, but you¡¯d need a lot more than an improvised natural formation and tougher skin to survive the damage you went through.¡±


    This time, she can be honest.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Taurus smiles, a broad expanse of bone in an even broader expanse of inhuman flesh. His teeth, she notices, are like his horns; they look more like stone than enamel or bone.


    ¡°Luckily, I think I do,¡± he rumbles. Without another word, he rises to his feet like a leviathan breaking the surface, standing again at that towering height.


    ¡°Come on. The rest of the shitheads are looking forward to meeting you.¡±

 Chapter 31 - What Are Friends, If Not Compatible Weirdos?

    As she walks out of her cell, she flinches at the sunlight all around.


    It¡¯s not midday, closer to dusk if anything, and even still the sheer brightness and the sky so very far up above are enough to make her dizzy. She has to stop and blink for a moment, rubbing at her eyes.


    ¡°Ah, sorry about that,¡± Taurus mentions. ¡°Hard to tell what¡¯s going to affect you and what¡¯s not. Did you know that things like sensitivity to light are altered gradually as cultivation increases, without ever actually losing the ability to sense things? Sometimes in totally different ways! Fascinating, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Yes, definitely,¡± she mumbles as she rubs her eyes. ¡°Truly fascinating honored one. Just a moment, please.¡±


    He laughs at that, but lets her adjust. Eventually, the pain in her corneas is cleared and she can look around properly.


    She might have noticed if not for how long it took her to adjust, but she did not, in fact, emerge into the same building she was imprisoned in. Rather, she stands in an opulent courtyard, sweeping pillars decorated with fine carvings reaching to a gorgeous ceiling above, covered by a mosaic that matches the movements of the sun and stars in artistic detail. All around are pillows cast to the rim of a great central lounging and meditation area, and fully half of the massive room is open to the sun and sky, reformed into a balcony to look over the entirety of Paleblossom city.


    At first, she thinks they¡¯re somewhere in the sect still, but as her eyes adjust she can see several of the plateaus around the city, wherever they¡¯re located almost directly opposite the towering purple and red flags and structures of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect (gods, it¡¯s still such a mouthful). Rather than that selfsame red and purple, her surroundings are gilded with fiery golden highlights, much of the walls and floor immaculate white, blue and royal purple in juxtaposition and broken up by veins of actual gold carved or formed in the room itself, crawling through the stone like divine veins and adding further patterns and decoration to the ambiance.


    ¡°Welcome to the Imperial palace of Paleblossom city,¡± Taurus rumbles. ¡°Hell of a view, ain¡¯t it?¡±


    She looks out at the city and despite everything, has to agree. She can see the patterns of life in the movements of ant-like figures down below, the buildings, from modest homes of wood and clay to multi-story edifices of stone and precious metals, all done up in the pale blue, white and purple that are the city¡¯s colors. The entire thing is wrapped together by a slight dusting of snow, just enough to highlight everything in lines of brilliant, clean white condensation.


    If she squints, she¡¯s pretty sure she can make out her old neighborhood from here. That¡¯s when something else clicks, though.


    She can see it. All it takes is a squint, and she can practically make out individual streets in the layout of a city miles below and away from her. She¡¯d felt her eyesight improving with her overall toughness as she healed and practiced with Ding, but whether the difference before had been minute or something she adjusted to subconsciously, this is a world of difference from where she was. It¡¯s not that surprising she didn¡¯t notice, trapped in such a close space and relying as much on scent as sight to map her surroundings, but here, confronted with how crystal clear the world seems, she can¡¯t help but choke out a laugh.


    Taurus lets her take a moment. He stands there, quiet, as she stares out at a city she wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d ever see again, changed and still changing.


    Then she takes a sharp breath, forcing her eyes to dry and turning to look at the rest of the room behind her.


    The first most notable thing is the literal doorway made of jade in the middle of the room, completely disconnected from everything save the floor.


    There¡¯s a cavalcade of runic formations and diagrams covering its edges and the floor around it, connecting it in an almost three-dimensional map of arcane symbols, and through it she can see the room she was just in, located deep in the prison building of the purple-something sect and, from the look of it, dozens of miles away.


    Then she promptly ignores it as she sees a table covered in aperitifs right behind it.


    She might have said some words as she moved. Something to the effect of ¡°ohmygodsfoodyes¡±, maybe, it¡¯s hard to tell with how full of saliva her mouth has immediately become. Before Taurus moves to stop her or anything, she¡¯s dashed forward, body strangely fluid yet animalistic in its motions and carrying across almost a hundred feet of floor space in an eye blink.


    At which point she is faced by a waist-high collection of figs, dates, peach slices, pork slices and succulent duck, and she¡¯s stopped caring much at all about the magic door or the view.


    She hears some muffled conversation behind her, some voices raised in surprise, others in what sound like laughter, with Taurus¡¯ basso rumble trying to override most of them, but let¡¯s be honest, none of that matters. They have duck here! And what looks like sweet figs wrapped in bacon! Honey drizzled over warm cheeses! She barely notices the smell of Qi, flavored hot and metallic, and the luxury of eating off plates enchanted to keep food warm with said Qi; plates are far less important than the goodies on said plates, after all.


    The voices die down for a bit, which is only further evidence that no one minds if she keeps eating, surely.


    Eventually she feels a hand grab her by the back of her ruined robes, massive enough that it could wrap around her shoulders with room to squeeze, and forcibly pulls her away from the table, of which she¡¯s only eaten two-thirds. Hardly fair; who else is eating that last third? No one!


    ¡°As I was saying,¡± Taurus rumbles, ¡°this raggedy little animal is Raika. Raika, say hello to your fellow degenerates.¡±


    She blinks, realizing that there are more people in the room than just her and Taurus.


    There¡¯s three of them, all of them holding mixed expressions at the sight of her ravenous introduction (which she will not be apologizing for; she didn¡¯t even finish the table, there¡¯s hardly even a need to apologize). They just stare at each other for a moment, before Taurus knocks her (lightly enough that it only rattles her whole skull) upside the head.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s been rough for you, but you still need manners now and then,¡± he rumbles. ¡°Introduce yourselves properly, children.¡±


    She growls like an annoyed cat, then catches herself and reminds herself that for all his nonchalance, Taurus is a Nascent Soul cultivator, and one pretty damn high up in the realm. She swallows the mouthful of mixed nuts and cold cuts she still has in her mouth in one gulp, bowing towards the others in the room.


    ¡°Oh it¡¯s fine, Taurus dear, I can go first,¡± speaks up a melodious voice from across the room.


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    Decorating a fainting couch like an artfully made statue, a svelte figure stands to their feet. Their skin is a mix, flowing between gorgeous peach-pink and a strange, fruity yellow color in uneven patterns, and as they stand up she can see their hair is entirely loose, forming streams down their form and a large pool at their feet and on the fainting couch, their locks a brilliant gold that her mind and nose scream is a color called ¡°platinum rose¡±, whatever that means. They bow, every movement accentuating a gorgeous yet noticeably androgynous figure wrapped in an orchid-styled kimono.


    ¡°This one¡¯s most illustrious name is Hao Kaena,¡± the androgynous model says, every word like a burning, brilliant musical note. ¡°It is a pleasure to make the acquaintance of such a singular specimen as yourself, honored Raika.¡±


    They send a mild pulse of Qi towards Raika, which, had she been able to sense it, she imagines would likely be shaped masterfully into a mix of soft invitation and gentle greeting. As it is, she is hit by a smell that seems to dance on the faintest breeze, filling her mind with the smell of¡­ peaches, cream, and something else beneath them? A slight undertone of¡­ not venom, more artificial. Toxin, maybe? Something rotten?. Peaches, cream, softness, and a tainted, toxic flavor beneath it all, though it¡¯s hard to tell if it¡¯s hidden or a part of the picture.


    Raika sneezes, the act of trying to focus on their Qi so much straining her senses. Kaena simply laughs, every giggle like a melody in itself. ¡°My apologies,¡± they say. ¡°I had heard of your unique circumstances, but hadn¡¯t considered how they might complicate greetings.¡±


    ¡°...no problem,¡± Raika replies. ¡°It¡­ wasn¡¯t unpleasant. Thank you for the kindness and the grace of introduction, honored Kaena.¡±


    ¡°What do you know, it does have manners!¡± laughs a voice from the edge of the lounge area, collapsed bodily into a mess of pillows. ¡°And here I thought you¡¯d brought us one wilder than you, Taurus!¡±


    Taurus doesn¡¯t seem too bothered by the comment, but does pick up a fruit pit and flick it, mild note of Qi imbued, hard enough to hit the lounging figure in the ass.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± they yowl, in what Raika¡­ thinks is an exaggerated reaction. ¡°Every time, the ass. Something¡¯s wrong with you people.¡±


    They grumble but do sit up, letting her get a better look at them. They¡¯re dressed in all black, and, interestingly, seem to be wrapped in leather rather than proper robes or even peasant clothes. They still have a robe thrown on overtop of the ensemble, but it¡¯s entirely unbound and an added black note to an all-dark ensemble. She looks closer, and realizes that rather than simple leather clothing, it mostly consists of belts, many of them with strange rivets or metal needles poking through them. Arrayed in dozens of bandoliers and sheathes all across their body are¡­ it takes her a moment, but they¡¯re guns. Dozens of them some small enough to barely measure against a finger, others large enough they seem they might eclipse their wielder¡¯s entire forearm, all designed to be held with a single hand.


    Looking at the figure''s face, the only part of them seemingly exposed, showcases a person that looks more dead than alive. Their skin is pale and looks cold to the touch, their eyes bloodshot and bright red in their pupils, whatever hair they might have hidden by a skintight hood of more leather. It¡¯s the needles that stick out the most, though; beyond the serrated teeth, above the bright red eyes and sallow features, there are four needles seemingly stabbed directly through their skull and deep into their brain matter, arrayed like a crown.


    ¡°The name¡¯s Taran Highthroned,¡± the figure says, this one a bit more audibly masculine. ¡°I¡¯m not getting up and I ain¡¯t bowing. Sorry, Taurus, but it¡¯s way too much hassle today.¡±


    The large bull-man just nods, as if he expected it. Raika, meanwhile, gives him a much shorter bow; she can respect the vibes, but they seem rather¡­ bored of the whole thing. With a sniff, she catches the lightest whiff of something alchemical, but the details elude her easily.


    ¡°And I¡¯m Yun Ka,¡± a third voice finally speaks up. ¡°I¡¯m the one in charge of keeping the door open while the honored Runemaster Boriah is busy introducing our lovely new member.¡±


    Taurus laughs, extending his Qi in a wave that has Raika sneeze again, much harder, towards the jade doorway. As soon as he does she hears a sigh of relief and the sound of someone stepping back across the tiles of the floor, and she turns to get a good look at them.


    They give her a tired wave. Surprising her, the figure is feminine, visible despite how many layers of lenses, chains laden with tools, and what looks like a solid block of pale green jade they have in a metal cage connected to their hip. Taking a moment to recover their breath, she huffs, then turns to Raika and gives a proper bow, much more perfunctory than Kaena¡¯s. ¡°Greetings, honored mutant Raika!¡± she says. ¡°This one¡¯s name is cultivator Yun Ka, apprentice runesmith and assistant to Runemaster and project Leader Boriah. It is my honor to join you in your journey, and it is my hope we will greatly benefit the Empire and its people with our joined efforts!¡±


    She stands upright, pushing a sweaty strand of black hair out of the ways of startling green eyes, made all the more startling by the magnification the lenses she¡¯s wearing impart.


    Forest-green eyes, like a sea of cutting leaves.


    Raika tenses, every muscle in sync, her heart pulsing a blast of energy so powerful she feels her entire body shift in some kind of unquantifiable way, taking a step forward towards those eyes-


    And Taurus clamps a single oven mitt of a hand over her shoulder, the grip and weight of it enough to hurt almost immediately. She starts to growl, not noticing how strangely it vibrates through her lungs or how the room around her echoes strangely with it, before he drags her fully back a half-step. A blast of Qi, so pure she can almost see the thing, the impossible beast, directly behind her, ready to snort and turn her to paste against the tiles in this majestic room.


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain later,¡± he rumbles, deeper and louder than before. He doesn¡¯t need to growl; something as simple as adding emphasis is enough to make the air in the room vibrate from the tone of his voice and the weight of his Qi.


    ¡°But-¡± she snarls, like a kitten, like an idiot who knows better but still wants more.


    ¡°No,¡± he rumbles, like a storm made into towering flesh and pure steel. ¡°If you attack a member of my team, on your first day, I will throw you back in that room and let them find the rotten puddle I make of you.¡±


    He does not ask if he¡¯s made himself clear. He does not need to.


    Hardly understanding what she¡¯s doing, Raika lets out a breath she was somehow holding, her heartbeat slowing, beat by beat. She takes a deep breath in, breathing heavily the scent of the ocean of Qi around them, forcing her body and mind both to react to it.


    Feng Gui is not here.


    Feng Gui is not here.


    She breathes out.


    ¡°I apologize,¡± Raika says, bowing towards Yun Ka. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I let an old memory overwhelm me for a moment. My name is Raika, as I am honored you all know. I¡¯m not sure why I¡¯m here, or what shall be asked of me, but my conduct was unbecoming of my current bearing, even without cultivation.¡±


    Taurus gives her a weird look. ¡°You really can be rather polite when you feel like it, can¡¯t you?¡± he rumbles.


    She gives him a nod, careful to note the hand still on her shoulder. ¡°Good skill to have,¡± she says. ¡°Just not something I like to use if I don¡¯t have to or want to.¡±


    He rumbles, and she realizes it¡¯s a chuckle. ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    ¡°I apologize as well,¡± says Yun Ka, clicking and clacking like an automaton as she disengages lenses and a whole crown of metal arrayed with tools on her head, shaking free her hair. ¡°Whatever the fault may be, I spoke in haste, and did not mean to startle you. Cultivator Yun Ka apologizes to honored Raika, and thanks her for her understanding.¡±


    Raika snorts, but nods after Yun Ka shoots her a worried look. ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she says. ¡°It was my fault, and if the big fella doesn¡¯t mind, you probably don¡¯t have to be so fancy either.¡± She shoots a glance up at Taurus, who doesn¡¯t react to the comment.


    ¡°So,¡± comes the voice of Taran from where they¡¯re still lounging, ¡°what¡¯s so special about this one, boss?¡±


    It¡¯s a valid question, Raika thinks, matching up with everyone else in the room as they turn to look at Taurus.


    ¡°Well,¡± the minor titan says with a broad smile, ¡°Raika here apparently has a Truth.¡±


    The room devolves back into exclamations and shouting.

 Chapter 32 - They Say Spice is the Most Important Ingredient...

    ¡°This little thing?¡± Taran howls. ¡°She¡¯s crippled! No cultivation! You¡¯re telling me she bounced back all the way to a Truth?¡±


    ¡°Oh my goodness!¡± Kaena has exclaimed in the meantime. ¡°What a marvelous development! You must be one of a kind, darling!¡±


    Yun Ka has not stopped speaking since the revelation. ¡°Have you confirmed it? I thought I detected a fluctuation through the gate, and it would help to explain a lot about their survival, but there¡¯s no records of anyone so far from the Heavens having a Truth, maybe ever, how did you-¡±


    Taurus does the aura equivalent of a flex, a brief wave of the lightest touch of his Qi enough to wash over the room and silence all the babbling. He¡¯s smiling as he does it, though.


    ¡°I confirmed it while we were speaking,¡± he says. ¡°And even if I hadn¡¯t, it explains a lot. I have no idea how you got your hands on it, kid, but congratulations are in order. You don¡¯t see many Truths before the divergent pathways, and even then, they¡¯re rare.¡±


    ¡°Ok, ok, stop,¡± Raika says, shaking her head. ¡°What the hell is a Truth? I¡¯ve never heard it spoken like that before, and I have no idea what it is.¡±


    He snorts, a gust of wind forming from it. ¡°Not a surprise,¡± he says. ¡°Earlier, I mentioned a little bit of what we do here. The Division of Altered Cultivation is responsible for discovering esoteric forms of cultivation, and technically things beyond just cultivation, study them, and find out how they can best benefit the Empire and its citizens.¡±


    Taran gives off a snort of his own at the description, but Taurus doesn¡¯t say anything.


    ¡°To do this,¡± he continues, ¡°we need to understand the powers inherent in our world. There¡¯s Qi, background energy that permeates all things and can be shaped by most other powers, including one¡¯s soul and living body. There¡¯s Dao, infinitely rare and infinitely valuable, the very concept of any of the infinite things beneath heaven made manifest and comprehended. There¡¯s Demonic energies, which, as you know, only the highest ranks of the Imperial structures are allowed to interact with, and which so often leave ruin behind them. But beyond these three, there are two more that people often neglect.¡±


    ¡°The one you have shown signs of is known as Truth, and, ironically, it¡¯s basically Heaven¡¯s Will.¡±


    She blinks. ¡°What does that mean?¡± she asks. ¡°First of all, the whole point of this whole cultivation thing is defying Heaven¡¯s Will, isn¡¯t it? Why else cultivate, if not to be stronger and better and more than what this world demands of us?¡±


    ¡°I said basically, not actually,¡± the half-bull rumbles. ¡°Heaven¡¯s Will is full of Truth that can be defied, yes, like death, or age, or simply how things work. But if one were to develop their own will, and stamp it onto the world, then that would be their own Truth, not just Heaven¡¯s Truth. Doesn¡¯t mean it can¡¯t be broken, or unmade or subverted, just like Heaven¡¯s Will, but somehow, with barely any Qi, no Dao, no demonic traces, no evidence of tampering by formations or runes or sigils, you¡¯ve created a law of the world that you demand to be true. You know what it is.¡±


    She breathes, a slight gasp on the exhale. ¡°I Am Me, I Am Mine,¡± she whispers.


    Somehow, this time, she can tell she isn¡¯t the only one who feels the weight of the words. What always felt like the weight of revelation, of understanding, is less easily classifiable as such when she sees four cultivators leagues above her shudder as she speaks the words.


    Taurus nods. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t go about saying it so freely,¡± he rumbles. ¡°Yours doesn¡¯t have much weight to it yet, but even having a Truth is enough to tempt even the wisest of powerful fools to try to use you to find out how to get one of their own. In fact, I wouldn¡¯t even act like you know what it is; if you need to talk about it, say Truth, not Truth, not unless I¡¯ve given a signal that it¡¯s ok to do so.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ not sure I understand, but I can keep a secret,¡± she nods.


    ¡°Good. Keeping secrets is half the job,¡± he responds with a solemn nod, though Taran snorts in the background at the line.


    ¡°But¡­ how is it different from Dao?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Oh, actually elementary!¡± pipes up Yun Ka. ¡°Dao is a concept, Truth is a rule! Truth can affect Dao, and Dao can affect Truth, but one is understanding the pieces of something and how it reflects the whole, while the other is just saying something that is how things work, not what they are. Do you think your Truth maybe helped you heal? Does it function like a biological modification? Oh, to think I get to study a Truth, haha!¡±


    ¡°Down, pervert,¡± Taran chuckles darkly. ¡°Gotta wait for Daddy Taurus over there to give permission before you have your tools in her goolies, yeah?¡±


    Yun Ka blushes violently, turning and throwing a pen from one of the pouches on her at him. ¡°Hush, Taran, you know that¡¯s not how I meant it!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how you always mean it when you get that look!¡± He protests with a cackle.


    ¡°And on that note,¡± Taurus rumbles, ¡°I believe I¡¯ll be showing Raika to her quarters now to let her get some rest. I¡¯ll be back in a moment. Try not to burn the place down while I¡¯m gone this time, huh?¡±


    Taran gives a lazy salute as Yun Ka stammers out a bow, but Raika¡¯s eyes are on Kaena. They haven¡¯t participated in the chaos much, preferring to remain lounging and aloof, but¡­ the smell hasn¡¯t faded. Even when Taurus let loose with his wave of Qi, even with the hints of that impossible thing that grows in his soul and its breath like a whirlwind, the smell of peaches, cream, and toxin never quite vanished.


    Kaena gives a soft, gentle wave and a dip of the head as Raika is escorted, Taurus¡¯ hand on her shoulder, out of the central chamber.


    They walk in silence for a while. It¡¯s all just fancy hallways and expensive ornaments, from end-tables carved out of elder and ebonwood, to ornate gilded veins all through the palace, to portraits and paintings decorating dozens of doorways and expansive, wide hallways. She keeps quiet just to process, and Taurus seems inclined to let her do just that, keeping the silence alongside her.


    Eventually, she starts to add into her processing just how massive the space they¡¯re in is. They¡¯ve been almost five minutes down just two corridors, one ending in what looks like a lesser sibling to the massive open-concept room she appeared in, the other ending in what looks like an overly fancy lobby of some kind, several smaller hallways leading away from it.


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    ¡°This is the hub,¡± Taurus rumbles, answering the question before she¡¯s asked it. ¡°Straight ahead are the baths, private and social. The door on the right over there is for an improvised storage space, we packed it full of things you are not allowed to touch until I¡¯m sure you won¡¯t blow yourself up, and left side has the hallway to the bedroom wing. Come on, I¡¯ll show you to your room and leave you to it, let you get some rest.¡±


    She pauses, the disconnect between her cell and the opulence of this place a bit too much. She isn¡¯t hyperventilating, per se, but she is starting to notice that her breaths are both deeper than she used to be able to draw air and a bit faster than normal.


    She means to say something like ¡°just a moment¡± or ¡°sure¡± or ¡°understood, honored cultivator¡± or some combination of request for a pause to breathe and appeasement.


    Instead, she asks; ¡°Why did she have his eyes?¡±


    She expected him to blink, maybe having forgotten the altercation or not knowing what she means. Instead, he sighs, and the sheer amount of breath he exhales is enough for some of the curtains and overly delicate ornamentation of the room to shift and rustle.


    ¡°You have had a very difficult journey,¡± he rumbles. ¡°Not exactly ideal before your tribulation, and far worse than most ever dream of experiencing after it. I understand you have a lot of anger, and in a sense I am glad as it¡¯s likely what allowed you to survive until now. If you were simply feral after all your trauma, or left entirely inhuman after your miraculous survival against that young master Shin Ren, this conversation would have gone very differently, and I¡¯d have expected less from you as we rebuilt you.¡±


    He kneels, and even still his eyeline is almost above her head.


    ¡°But you are not feral, even if you are more than a bit mad. So I will say this one time. If you ever try to kill anyone you just met in that room, I will kill you, and it will not matter how much you manage to twist and grow yourself in an attempt to stop me. Every one of those people is under my protection, and if I find out you¡¯ve tried to use, abuse, or kill any of them, I will not negotiate, or imprison you, or give you enough grace that you might be forgiven. I will find where you are, and I will end you.¡±


    ¡°Am I clear?¡±


    Raika¡­ nods.


    ¡°Good,¡± he rumbles. ¡°Yun Ka is one of the descendants of Imperial Magister and Honored One Beneath the Heavens, Feng Gui.¡±


    She flinches at his name, at his title, and a moment later at the fact that he has family. He¡¯d mentioned a nephew, and most old cultivators have spread their loins across half the settled continent, but it had never clicked before that he had family, people she could ask, people she could find, people she-


    Ah. So that¡¯s why he gave the ¡°bad things will happen¡± speech right now. She wouldn¡¯t, probably, have used Yun Ka as a hostage. There¡¯s no telling she even knows her ancestor, necessarily, and nothing to say that she is for sure someone he¡¯d even give a shit about, but even if both were guaranteed, hostage taking feels a bit¡­ well, like a dynamic mix of stupid and foolish to Raika. Never mind the deep discomfort the idea brings up.


    But it doesn¡¯t leave, despite how uncomfortably it sits in her mind.


    The blood of Feng Gui is right in the other room.


    Yun Ka didn¡¯t cripple Raika. Probably didn¡¯t even know it happened at the time, and may not know how it happened now. She¡¯s no guarantee against Feng Gui, that much is obvious even beyond the fact that Raika isn¡¯t in the habit of pursuing her enemies with subtlety and threats.


    But the thought doesn¡¯t leave, because the blood of Feng Gui is so close.


    She breathes out.


    ¡°Thank you for telling me,¡± she eventually says, bowing lightly. ¡°I appreciate the honesty of honored cultivator Taurus, and hope to repay that honesty with the assurance that this one will heed his words.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t move for a little while. Then¡­ he nods.


    ¡°Good,¡± he rumbles. ¡°If it¡¯s any consolation, I don¡¯t think Yun Ka has spoken to much of her family in over a decade, and holds her rank in the Imperial machine far more dearly than her bloodline. I understand, however, if you¡¯d rather limit your interactions with her.¡±


    Raika grins at that, more teeth than mirth. ¡°That won¡¯t be an issue,¡± she assures the demi-titan. ¡°Best way to get over a problem is to confront it. If I can¡¯t even look into eyes like his, how am I going to pluck them from his head someday?¡±


    Taurus blinks, then breaks into that sound of rock-breaking that she thinks is laughter from him. ¡°Try not to say shit like that to your direct Imperial supervisor, huh?¡± he laughs. ¡°Still, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re coming at this from what may be considered a good route. Now come on, that¡¯s enough excitement for a few hours.¡±


    Her rooms are opulent, gorgeous, full of silks and colors and fancy clothes and beautiful makeup and mirrors and windows and gently blowing curtains and paintings. They also have a bed, which is way more important, and definitely her favorite part.


    She¡¯s asleep in moments, and though her sleep is haunted by occasional flashes of green, they¡¯re overwhelmed by the smell of the breeze from the open balcony and the memory of figs wrapped in bacon. For the first time in a month, Raika dreams of things other than pain.


    ¡ª--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Taurus looks up from the desk he¡¯s been writing at as he senses Taran approaching.


    The door swings open perfectly soundlessly as he lays down the comically small quill he¡¯s grown used to writing with, and he turns from where he was kneeling to face the smaller figure.


    ¡°Sure you know what you¡¯re doing with this one, boss?¡± Taran asks, their gait stiff and faintly unnatural as they walk, slowly, to let themselves fall against a couch in the expansive quarters, finally ceasing the clattering of myriad firearms.


    ¡°Worried about me?¡± Taurus rumbles, just a hint of mirth to his tone.


    ¡°Always, idiot,¡± grumbles the pale vestige. ¡°You¡¯re a bleeding heart, and pretty soon somebody¡¯ll make it more fact than metaphor. Especially if you keep picking up the kinds of strays you prefer.¡±


    ¡°If I didn¡¯t seek out such interesting strays,¡± Taurus says, ¡°you¡¯d still be as miserable as when I found you, no?¡±


    Taran waves a limp hand, huffing. ¡°You should have left me,¡± he grumbles. ¡°Lords know it would be a hell of a lot less trouble for both of us, and I could finally get a good dirt nap.¡±


    Taurus flicks a little piece of charcoal at his subordinate¡¯s forehead, though this time they move, hand flicking out to snatch it and toss it into their sharpened maw. ¡°You know I¡¯m right, boss,¡± he mumbles as he chews. ¡°You¡¯re pushing it. Coulda gone to pick up that Li Shu kid instead if you really wanted to be here, or that kid a few provinces ago they say¡¯s been eating beast meat. Neither one would be drawing as much heat. This Raika girl is trouble with just the broken cultivation she¡¯s kicking the shit out of, now we find out she¡¯s got a Truth and a capital-G grudge against some higher up. I¡¯m already problem enough for three other Leaders in the division, Kaena¡¯s practically a walking pipe bomb, and don''t get me started on the nerd. What¡¯s the plan here?¡±


    Taurus doesn¡¯t respond for a while. They¡¯ve known each other long enough that the silence is more comfortable than painful, but there¡¯s tension in it. The massive figure turns his head towards the window, every inch of its frame carved with intricate silencing and defensive runes and arrays, staring out at the dance of the moons. Lua, largest and most vibrant of her siblings, carries on her journey from one horizon to the other, always following and altering the trail of her cousin of the day, but rambunctious Rua spirals energetically in a circle around her big sister, making a dance of red stone against the greater ivory of Lua. Even the third sibling, Sha, has joined the dance today, electing to leave her position as a star to flicker like a green flame behind and to the left of her sister, shining softly and adding a hint of jade to the night.


    ¡°Not sure yet,¡± Taurus eventually murmurs. ¡°But isn¡¯t it better to have all the best pieces before I think of one?¡±


    Taran tsks. He doesn¡¯t believe his friend.


    But he does trust him. So he gets up, and leaves the Leader of Project Thirty-Seven of the Division of Altered Cultivation to meditate on the strange celestials, and how their light shapes the night beneath them.

 Chapter 33 - Sometimes You Just Gotta be Naked, Sexy, and a Little Worried

    You don¡¯t know what a difference sleeping on a bed makes until you¡¯ve slept exclusively on stone floors for a few weeks. It¡¯s one thing to say Raika fell asleep, but it would be inaccurate to say it was a normal sleep. A normal sleep may include things such as tossing and turning, occasional mumblings, soft snuggling against softer parts, and, overall, a gentle restfulness. Raika, sleeping in silk and satin after a genuine stint in a prison cell, does not experience a normal sleep. She wakes up, sometime after a period of twelve hours has passed, and has not moved once the entire time except to drool, violently, into a puddle of her own making. Slowly, she blinks, coming back to her own existence after what can only be considered an out-of-body experience of divine slumber, splayed out and borderline uncomfortable from prolonged contact. Her face sticks to the sheets, hard-glued from somnambulist drool that leaves her deeply grossed out.


    Suffice to say, Raika does not wake from a period of comfort and restfulness, but a mess of unconsciousness and divine collapse. She¡¯d have it no other way.


    But then, there¡¯s the fact she¡¯s still wearing burnt rags and spare cloth she was wrapped in when she was thrown into her cell. The fact that she still has bits of char stuck to her here and there, and that she¡¯s been stewing in her own physical-therapy sweats for weeks.


    Raika wakes up from a deep hibernation exactly as gross as one might expect if one were to put all these facts together.


    Shambling like the recently unearthed, she drags a relatively clean sheet off the bed, wearing it like a hooded robe or comfortable cocoon as she shuffles, bleary-eyed, towards the baths.


    It¡¯s a bit silly to mention it, seeing as it should be obvious, but the baths are exactly as decadent as every other part of this place. Ornate marble columns, sculptures of gorgeous, nubile figures carved into the walls, a massive skylight up above whose light flickers off the endless mosaics and colorful tiles that make up designs she does not pay attention to. To both sides of the entrance to the positively cavernous space are a series of lockers and hangars, with several smaller chambers and bathing areas and small pools one may partake in for a more thorough and private cleansing, many of them obscured by labyrinthine stone walls or fancy-looking curtains. The real attention grabber, of course, comes from directly ahead; a hundred feet or so into the room, a set of pure white stairs descend into a borderline lake of a pool. The entire thing steams slightly, weaving in between the outer pillars while allowing the central ones to rest in its waters, the entire space smelling of spiced soaps and salts and other delights. She even notices small towels, artfully wrapped and left at intervals besides small bottles of lotions, soaps and shampoos.


    She¡¯s seen whole buildings, in a sect, that cost less than this one room.


    So, deciding she is not an animal, Raika gently unwraps herself from the bedsheet she brought, hangs it up on a hook near the door, and shuffles over to let herself fall face-first into the central bathing lake.


    It kicks up a splash as she lands in it, the sting of a full-frontal flop into the water enough to wake her up but not, as she¡¯d imagined, actually hurt. Another victory for demonic-looking rituals and horrifying bodily trauma!


    It doesn¡¯t take more than a few minutes for the steaming waters and fragrant salts (and are those flower petals?) to dissolve away most of her remaining burnt scraps of clothing and weeks of accumulated dirt, blood and grime, until she¡¯s left a slightly darker cloud of water around herself. Then, a few minutes after, the pool has left not even that, somehow so thoroughly burning or cycling away the filth that the water around her is just as clean as she went in. As much as the initial slap woke her up, she can¡¯t help but nearly drift off again in the warmth and soothing smells of the whole experience.


    Then she hears the doors to the bath open, and despite the relaxation, can¡¯t help but rouse herself enough to look over and make sure there¡¯s no threat there.


    By some definitions, there isn¡¯t. By other, wiser definitions, there¡¯s one of the greatest dangers of all.


    A gorgeous person enters the room, carrying a towel and wearing nothing but a bright smile and a long, nearly glowing trail of hair, pointing said smile right at Raika.


    ¡°Why, if it isn¡¯t our latest addition!¡± Kaena says as they walk, completely unashamed, over to the edge of the pool Raika has migrated to. They sit on the edge, basking in the steam and letting a long, lithe leg dangle into the water. ¡°What a joy it is to find one of my new favorite people in one of my favorite places?¡±


    Raika looks around, feigning ignorance as best she can. Whatever Kaena¡¯s deal is, they¡¯re very distinctly a threat, even if she didn¡¯t smell the slightest hint of that metallic toxin whenever they¡¯re around. ¡°I can move if you want,¡± Raika tells them with a shrug.


    Kaena gives off a coquettish giggle, holding a hand up to their face to more gracefully laugh at the ¡°joke¡±. ¡°Oh, darling Raika, already such a delight. No, no, you gorgeous beast, you stay right where you are. I¡¯m afraid your presence could only ever make me prefer whatever location you migrate to over this dreary corner.¡±


    With a long, gentle sigh, they slip themselves into the water, one sinuous movement after another. Raika notices that somehow their hair never gets in the way of their movements, yet remains always around and about them. It drapes along their body and all around their trail, and nothing is hidden, the platinum-rose streams covering Kaena¡¯s body in places that entice or call to the imagination, rather than actually covering anything. They descend into the water like a snake and a jellyfish rolled into one, all natural beauty, yet so little of it human, the peach-and-gold pattern of their skin only highlighting the allure.


    Raika blinks. There is every chance that they¡¯re using a technique of some kind to make themselves more enticing, a hypnotic use of Qi or just a genuine aura of attraction that some can manifest. It¡¯s well known that those who practice dual cultivation, or the occasional sex worker that begins to cultivate, often learn powers and even Dao that can work to alter the minds of those attracted to them.


    All of that being said, none of those possibilities make Kaena any less obscenely hot. It just might make them all the more dangerous. The smell of their Qi is repressed, quiet, but unlike most of those that Raika¡¯s experienced, it never seems to fade away entirely, and even here, surrounded by a sea of soft and clean fragrances, she can still pick up hints of peaches, cream, and¡­ what is that, mercury? An extract of some kind, a venom distilled?


    ¡°Don¡¯t you know it¡¯s rude to stare, darling?¡± Kaena says, breaking Raika out of her thoughts and helping her to notice she has, in fact, been staring straight at the would-be supermodel.


    She refuses to give them the satisfaction, though. ¡°You don¡¯t seem like the type entirely unused to staring,¡± Raika replies. ¡°Or to other rude things, if we¡¯re being cheeky.¡±


    Kaena breaks into another of their bubbly laughs, filling the bathhouse as if they¡¯re a magical addition to the ambiance. ¡°Such forwardness!¡± they laugh. ¡°So bold! If this is how brave you always are, I can see how you have fallen into so much trouble.¡±


    ¡°But don¡¯t you worry, I like a spot of trouble from the brave ones,¡± they say, fingers trailing down the shoulder of her left half-arm.


    Raika pauses at that. It¡¯s a¡­ rather forward recognition of the disfigurement. The smell of toxin still faintly in the back of her throat, she focuses in on the action. It feels like a move designed to set her at ease about her crippling, make her more comfortable and relaxed. You don¡¯t have to hide, it says, whisper-quiet and seductive.


    Might even be true. Could even be reassurance from a senior sibling in what may well be newly found allies. Could just as easily be a trick to manipulate her and draw her into the thrall of the impossibly attractive stranger. Could very well be both.


    Faintly, a wisp of peaches hits her nose, and she growls, low and quiet.


    Kaena doesn¡¯t pull back or react, their entire body entirely relaxed, but they do go quiet, saying nothing while the sound dissipates softly into the air around them.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°Apologies, senior,¡± Raika says quietly, ¡°but I would rather not be touched by those I do not know. I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve experienced some negative experiences relating to such most recently.¡±


    ¡°Ah, of course!¡± Kaena replies, hand swiftly removed and waving as if to dismiss the whole faux pas. ¡°My apologies, but please, let us not be something so banal as junior and senior. You¡¯ll find engagements here in our little project far more relaxed and open than in a more traditional experience. But you¡¯re right, we hardly know each other! Allow me to go first!¡±


    Raika blinks, and before she can respond one way or another, Kaena has already started gaining momentum, picking up sprinklings of herbs and specialized minerals that sizzle and bubble in the water and somehow release even more new smells into the air. Raika doesn¡¯t remember any of said concoctions being there a moment before, but as she looks over her own shoulder she quickly finds a series of small vials all her own, all with symbols and names she¡¯s never heard of before.


    ¡°The name is Hao Kaena, as you know, most illustrious to meet you,¡± they start, ¡°but really what¡¯s a name? I suppose we can call each other anything we like, so long as we agree, don¡¯t you think darling? Gorgeous beastie that you are, you can call me what you like! But don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m far more than just a pretty figure-¡± (at which point they wave a hand over their body, which wriggles in a very attention-grabbing sort of way)- ¡°I¡¯m a proper connoisseur of all the best things in life. Stick with me, darling, I¡¯ll have us floating above the heavens momentarily, if I can only find- ah, there it is, essence of softpetal orchids, never bathe without them, you¡¯ll feel like a whole new person after, I guarantee it!¡±


    Caught up in the tide, Raika has hardly any time to say much of anything, but¡­ well, the water smells fantastic, never mind how silky the texture the water has started taking on. And what¡¯s the point of an imperial, palatial bathhouse that you don¡¯t take advantage of?


    ¡°I¡¯ll hold you to it,¡± Raika replies, trying her best to keep her voice cool.


    ¡°Ah! And here I was, afraid you¡¯d deny yourself the simple pleasures of good company and a good bath both!¡± Kaena smiles. ¡°Truly you¡¯re wise beyond your years, honored Raika. Come along, they have an absolutely gorgeous set of flowers they grow here, they simply refuse to tell me their names but they¡¯re simply marvelous. The impact on one¡¯s Qi! Mmph, you simply must try some.¡±


    Almost as if summoned by their mention, Kaena simply reaches a hand over to where the army of fragrant vials had been a moment earlier and plucks a flower from a small vase that is there.


    Raika did not see the vase arrive, or sense the cultivator beside her move.


    And then one of the flowers hits the water, and a smell so bright she can feel it tingling through her whole body hits the water and hits her like a boulder, filling the water with¡­ some kind of floral waterfall, its depths hidden but with impossibly clear waters. She can¡¯t help herself- she breathes deep, letting the smell into her, and it¡¯s like she only just woke up now. Vitality rushes through her whole body, a sudden pulse of sheer wakefulness and well-rested comfort all at once flooring through her and leaving her feeling like she just woke up to a perfect sunrise and a delicious breakfast.


    And that¡¯s just the first breath.


    As she keeps breathing, she feels the energy move through her, entering through the lungs almost as easily as Qi used to, filling her up and then cycling peacefully and gently out of her on every exhale. The sensation of pins and needles that has filled her and slowly grown even in the little time she¡¯s been awake calms, flowing in gentle waves, back and forth along her bloodstream, like it¡¯s been lulled to sleep from how it usually rages and spasms.


    Raika opens her eyes after an unknown amount of time to see Kaena leaned back against a nearby part of the pool, giving Raika her space but watching with what seems like a genuine smile on their lips.


    ¡°Well?¡± they ask. ¡°Hold me to it. How does it feel?¡±


    ¡°...like I¡¯m at least a little bit a whole new me,¡± Raika can¡¯t help but say.


    They throw their head back in another melodious laugh, the movement doing fascinating things to their muscles and which parts are being displayed at any given time. ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± they say. ¡°Perhaps I¡¯ll have to use some other secret luxury to help you feel fully like I promised, but it¡¯s a good start, no?¡±


    Raika nods, feeling her entire body relax, every part of her simultaneously shifting and moving in tune with gorgeous, refreshing harmony of flesh and self. She takes another deep breath of the air, wiggling her nose a bit as she¡¯s tickled by the return of the other smells of the bath, the flower¡¯s vitality slowly drifting away.


    ¡°I admit, sculpted monster,¡± Kaena whispers, ¡°you have me¡­ intimately curious. All those expressions you¡¯re making can¡¯t help but leave a poor thing like me intrigued. How is it? Being able to smell what most of us can only ever experience more privately?¡±


    Raika opens their eyes, looking at Kaena. The lithe figure remains entirely relaxed. For all that appearances can show, the question might matter to them as much as the origin of one of her scars, or how she enjoyed the bed she¡¯d been granted. A mixture of intimacy and distance.


    Raika is not a master manipulator, and there¡¯s likely a lot here she isn¡¯t seeing. But it¡¯s not hard to see when one should probably keep an eye out for a stranger showing so much interest. She loses little in describing what might as well be public knowledge, but¡­ the memory of Kaena¡¯s scent comes back to her. The incredible ripeness, softness, sweetness, inviting one in for a bite, for an experience chosen for how well it complements the moment¡­ and the strange, mercurial danger beneath it all. She¡¯s still not entirely sure how accurately she¡¯s smelling things, and there¡¯s been more than one occasion where it¡¯s clearly been her brain slapping concepts into her olfactory senses to help her parse some of the information she¡¯s receiving. That doesn¡¯t mean she can¡¯t be careful. There¡¯s no reason to make enemies with someone so visibly friendly and, theoretically, who she will be asked to work alongside; there¡¯s also no reason not to be very, very aware of herself in this moment.


    ¡°It feels like I¡¯m always tasting things,¡± Raika admits. ¡°Like I¡¯m being flooded with flavors and ideas and scents every time I breathe in.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Kaena asks, prompting softly and offering little by way of reaction.


    ¡°Everyone I¡¯ve met has been different,¡± Raika continues. ¡°Most wildly so. Sometimes the smell is unpleasant, but it¡¯s usually neutral. It doesn¡¯t really seem tied to things I¡¯d already smelled, either, some of the impressions I get are like¡­ I know them, even if I¡¯ve never encountered them before.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating,¡± Kaena whispers, eyes very intent. As Raika speaks they¡¯ve sort of spread themselves out, relaxing into the water so they¡¯re drifting a bit rather than sitting still and staring Raika down. Still, it does gradually bring them slightly closer as they float, ever so slightly, long legs and soft skin slipping through the water ever so innocently. ¡°With that alone, you might have been part of this little project of ours, fascinating enigma you are. To think how much more you have to offer, though¡­¡±


    ¡°Not curious about what you smell like?¡± Raika asks.


    ¡°Ha!¡± Kaena giggles. ¡°Hardly a polite thing to ask a beauty like myself, you chiseled devil. Besides, I¡¯m certain if I should have a scent, it would be something alluring enough to match me, so what need is there to worry?¡±


    Raika nods, and makes a decision.


    ¡°Peaches and cream,¡± she says, looking closely at Kaena as she says it. ¡°Like a dessert fit for a king.¡±


    Kaena pauses.


    Full body pauses.


    They don¡¯t change expression, or change their posture, but where before their movements were sinuous and constant, every moment an ongoing allure, for a brief moment they just¡­ stop. There is the briefest, tiniest second of silence.


    ¡°See?¡± Kaena says. ¡°Just as delicious as I am. Hardly a shock, hmm?¡±


    The smell of their Qi, just as before, just as it has this whole time, remains quiet, subdued, and ever present.


    And very briefly, Raika senses that mercurial toxin shifting and coiling beneath the surface bite into the other scents, before it fades again.


    She¡¯d wondered. The way of dressing, the clear knowledge of luxury and excess, and the scent¡­ and the fact that it hadn¡¯t stopped. It gives no advantage to keep one¡¯s Qi extended like that, not at the level Kaena seems to be at. Any curse-wielder, anyone with a fine degree of control and perception, anyone who could drink in Qi would see it as a target or a tool, never mind the difficulty it adds to hiding one¡¯s emotions and strength. In a setting with a known factor, as a visible and obvious show of manipulation or invitation, it makes sense, but with a stranger well-known to be a potential danger and an unknown? Kaena seems very nearly designed to entice, almost like a prey animal, its scent washed on it to draw in hungry predators. Add that to the quality of their upbringing and knowledge, the way they seem so very adept at temptation¡­ It paints a picture. She¡¯s not sure what it¡¯s a picture of, not yet, but it¡¯s not one that she feels comfortable with. All she¡¯d needed to confirm the theory was to see if her senses really did carry as much information as she¡¯d wondered, if the impressions it gave her had any more weight than just her own mind guessing at flavors and pleasant smells.


    ¡°Apologies, senior Kaena,¡± Raika says, quietly, as she starts to get out of the pool. ¡°I meant no offense.¡±


    Kaena floats there for a moment, looking up at Raika. She¡¯s entirely naked, every inch of flesh covered in scars of one sort or another, from those of battle, to the razors of the festival, to the deeper scars of her more horrific wounds, every inch of flesh flush with newly grown muscle and curves and definition. Yet as Kaena looks at her, there is not an ounce of sexuality in their eyes.


    ¡°...you¡¯re an interesting one, Raika,¡± they say.


    ¡°The same to you, honored senior,¡± Raika replies, before picking up the towel left suspiciously close to where she¡¯d been soaking (that she¡¯s pretty sure hadn¡¯t been there before) and heading over to the cold showers of the bathhouse.

 Chapter 34 - All New All Tasty Tortures, Including Missing Friends

    Raika stares at herself.


    The small maze of smaller bathing rooms spreading about the edges of the main swimming pool sized bathtub all hold marvels of their own. Steam rooms, hot tubs, ice baths, showers, and rooms enchanted to hold out moisture full of makeup, mirrors and essential oils spread in repeating fractals, with more than enough room for a dozen individuals to explore simultaneously.


    Raika finds herself in one of the latter type of said rooms. There is a table and chair here, equipped with lotions and potions and delicate concoctions for beauty and youth and comfort and virility, but she stays standing, and hasn¡¯t given them more than a passing glance.


    Raika stares at herself.


    It is the first time she¡¯s seen a mirror since¡­ what, a few days before her fight with Lu Feren, the arrogant outer sect disciple? Not long after the ritual had faded from her skin. She hasn¡¯t seen herself since then, not before the battle with Shin Ren, not before her imprisonment, and certainly not during.


    She looks better.


    But moreso than she expected, she looks different. Time plays a factor, but as she¡¯s healed and changed herself, she¡¯s started to shift her perception, assuming subconsciously that she¡¯d be returning to who she was before she lost her cultivation. As she stares at herself in the mirror, she can¡¯t help but marvel at how wrong she was.


    She¡¯s taller now. A couple inches at least, closer to 6¡¯3 than the 5¡¯11 she used to be. Her skin remains the same general tone, but her suntan is gone, and she¡¯s been painted over by minute, precise slashes, concentrating on her arm, shoulder and chest but with some spread all over her body. She¡¯s starved, thin, but not dying from it, ribs visible but not jutting out, the rest of her frame filled out with a lean, tense muscle. Her hair is shorn short on her head, her scalp healed from the burns but the process of growing her hair back taking its time, and a lot of her scars look older, standing out as pale ruin that closed up the damage and looking healthier, more in tune with her body. In that same vein she¡¯s surprised to see the missing chunk of her cheek has healed surprisingly well; it¡¯s not fully back, you can still see some drastic scar tissue and a glimpse of teeth on the right side of her mouth, but where before there was a torn-open face exposing skull, now there''s an actual structure and flesh there, her jawline more intact and her cheek mostly filled out.


    But it¡¯s her eyes that catch her attention.


    They used to be brown.


    What they are now isn¡¯t golden, but it¡¯s¡­ close. There¡¯s a paleness to it, a sharpness that doesn¡¯t quite suit gold, and a glint of red behind it all that speaks of flecks of fire and ember. Her eyes look like a painter¡¯s rendition of a pupil, made out in the colors of a sunset. They¡¯re gorgeous.


    She blushes a bit at the fact she¡¯s been gazing into her eyes for a solid minute, completely nude in front of the mirror. She shakes her head and flicks herself on the forehead, the ingrained habit pulling double duty in recentering her and reminding her of what her next steps are.


    Taurus seems like a fine enough fellow, and she¡¯s not stupid enough to outright defy the Empire and her apparent recruitment, not just yet, but she¡¯s had a life here. There are other, older debts and connections she intends to pursue once they¡¯ve left this place, but Paleblossom city, despite all the torment it¡¯s brought her, is something like home. There¡¯s almost a half-dozen people she¡¯d rather not leave behind, and a few things she plans to take with her.


    It¡¯s a bit embarrassing, but in spite of how much she¡¯s been helped by so many, she can¡¯t help but miss Dink, the poorly built little bastard.


    Soon, she vows.


    Still, there¡¯s an issue; namely, the fact that she¡¯s technically still a prisoner.


    Oh sure, the cell is damn near mansion sized, but it¡¯s still a cell. She heavily doubts Taurus will just let her walk around unsupervised through the city, especially since the Purple Flame-something sect probably remains furious. More than even that, no matter how considerate or protective of his chosen few he seems to be, he¡¯s still a stranger, working for the same institution that Feng Gui apparently works for (and wasn¡¯t that a shock; not a hidden master at all, just a wandering demon). The less information they have on her, the better. And, if she¡¯s being honest, there¡¯s a big part of her that just aches at the thought of having someone watching and taking notes as she says goodbye to her people, or who might confiscate or track anything she takes with her. Raika¡¯s not a private person, per se, but she is her own person, and she¡¯s had more than enough of her autonomy and control taken from her.


    So priority one; whether or not she decides to come back, she needs to find a way to escape. Either this palace they¡¯re in or, more indirectly, the observation on her while she¡¯s out and about, if they let her do so with an escort. The number one priority in that plan, then, is to discover exactly what tools she has at her disposal.


    Raika bows her head and closes her eyes, letting herself breathe deep. First things first; she can do so a lot more cleanly than before, her ribs clearly realigned and no longer pressing on her lungs. What¡¯s more, she can fit more air; she draws in breath, and then keeps drawing it in, well past when her chest should be forced to expand.


    She practices holding her breath, and makes it to about eleven incredibly boring minutes before she feels it start to ache.


    Next, her heartbeat. When she saw Yun Ka she felt a rush from it, pulsing into her blood and flooding her with a sort of strange energy. She focuses on the organ, wielding far more control over it than before, and starts to¡­ flex it, like a muscle. She can vary the beats, increase their intensity, change its rhythms, even slow it if she wants to. It seems tougher, too, it¡¯s default heartbeat sending much more powerful rushes of blood through her body, and increasing it even slightly leaves her a little giddy from the rush of oxygen and strength that floods her, the clarity and speed of perception that flashes into her mind.


    Other muscles are easier to test. She can balance on either foot easily, her knee reshaped so any lingering scars and damage are a minor background soreness rather than a limiter, and when she picks up the metal frame of one of the mirrors in the room, it takes what feels like minimal force to press her fingers into it, slowly warping and flattening it until it¡¯s nearly flat, the impressive filigreed art turned to shiny, smooth surfaces.


    She still can¡¯t really sense Qi, not beyond the tingling in her body. The scents of it may have sharpened, which may be what allowed her to so clearly and minutely detect Kaena¡¯s repressed Qi and the images she¡¯s seen in Taurus¡¯ scent, but there¡¯s no guarantee. As it is, though, she can sense that her time in the baths has calmed the tingling sensation, bringing it more closely in tune with the rest of her body, so that only when she moves abruptly does the sense of numbness and discomfort rear back up.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    She frowns at that. Is that a good thing? While there¡¯s definitely a limit, as early experiments with Dink proved, the discordant tingling (the Qi deviation / poisoning, in effect) has been instrumental in her ¡°cultivation¡± to get stronger. Raika is of the opinion that it may be her body slowly adjusting and adapting to the damage and discord it¡¯s causing in her. There might be some merit to smoothing it out, but¡­ it feels like it might be slower, even if it¡¯s still acting the same overall.


    She focuses on her heartbeat again. On the rhythm of it. She lets the world fall to the wayside, the warmth of the bath house comfortable enough that she doesn¡¯t feel a need to block out sensation entirely. Say what you will about isolation, it can very much help with mental focus if you¡¯re careful about it, and lack of trance-state from meridian cultivation or not, Raika has gotten very good at sitting still and thinking hard.


    She pumps her heart, a bit harder.


    Slows down its beat, but pulses again, harder.


    Slows it down more, until her mind starts working in flashes, pulses of blood determining wakefulness and a strange drifting lightheadedness.


    She focuses on the tingling. How it changes with each heartbeat, how the blood flowing through her body excites and interacts with it. There are nuances there, things she¡¯s not really sure about yet, details and intricacies she just doesn¡¯t have the means to see or knowledge to understand, but at its core, she can see it. Where her blood slows and pools, the tingling starts to feel wrong, like bending an arm the wrong way, then begins to fade. Where her blood rushes and bursts, the tingling increases dramatically in effect, starts to hurt, but doesn¡¯t quite seem to twist and feel like when it¡¯s still.


    She has a thought.


    It¡¯ll take effort, but she¡¯s no stranger to that.


    It¡¯ll take a lot of fine control, but she needs to learn that anyway.


    She just needs to find someplace she¡¯s not being watched, first.


    There¡¯s been a pervasive, background discomfort that¡¯s started to slowly build since she woke up. Taurus, otherwise known as Runemaster Boriah, likely has any number of tools to properly examine and spy on the clearly strange and probably troublesome people he seems to have authority over, and the room they gave her is her number one guess as to where most of them have been planted. Whether or not the discomfort is her instincts trying to confirm her theory or just building paranoia is unclear, but it¡¯s way too likely for her to feel comfortable here, even if it wasn¡¯t a gilded cage.


    Now, she could spend a few days finding the right spot to potentially hide out in this sprawling maze of luxury. There may be some forgotten closet or corner somewhere, and she might be able to inhabit it without being noticed. A lot of effort for a lot of maybes.


    Or¡­ she can try a little trick.


    Kaena has used a flower to flood an area with Qi. Not nearly enough to obfuscate someone¡¯s Qi or presence, of course¡­ unless they don¡¯t really have a Qi signature.


    Will it be enough? Who¡¯s to say. Will it be more convenient than trying to find some broken drywall to crawl through over the course of days or longer, while allowing her to enjoy a hot tub? Absolutely.


    Life¡¯s little pleasures.


    It doesn¡¯t take more than a few moments walking between different hot tub rooms for her to find one that has one of the flowers in it. They each seem to have similar but slightly different sets of bathing accouterments, as if prepared for different guests or simply for the sake of variety, but she elects not too wonder about it too hard.


    She sits in hot water, letting the bubbling, disturbingly and divinely hot water flow around her and leave her almost sweating, and takes a long, long breath. Twelve minutes before strain, before; maybe thirteen minutes if she pushes herself, then? A bit longer than the flower lasted in the main pool, then. Maybe she¡¯ll be lucky and it¡¯ll last longer in here. She tears a petal off and lets it float on the water, holding her breath to keep that rush of vitality from infusing her like before, and closes her eyes, hoping that she¡¯s strange enough and the flower¡¯s Qi is enough of a distraction for her to be mostly hidden.


    And then, she starts altering her bloodflow.


    It¡¯s daunting. Every minor change she makes she has to memorize and make sure she can undo, lest she start creating blood clots or somehow let part of her body necrotize. As she shifts in the water, the heat high enough to be a bit painful and certainly designed for someone of higher cultivation, she starts guiding waves of energy through her body, altering her heartbeat and her veins to slow down and speed up different sections of her body. In some parts she concentrates the feeling of unnatural music in her flesh moving through one cluster of veins in a concentrated burst, the surrounding vessels slowed to the point of agony until the energy feels faded and dull in them. In other parts, she accumulates tiny pools of blood in still muscle and veins, the sensation deeply uncomfortable, but ready to rush back when called by a heartbeat she¡¯s magnified until she can almost physically hear it.


    And finally, when she can feel two large, distinct masses of energy, straining at the properties of her flesh to burst out, roiling and churning like bundles of razor blades moving through her, she reorganizes their pathways, and with one more roiling, burning, overclocked heartbeat, collapses them both against each other in the middle of her heart.


    Ah, Raika thinks; so that¡¯s what having a heart attack feels like.


    Her whole body spasms from where she¡¯d been sitting, like she¡¯s been stabbed by a hot poker. Surveillance is the last thing on her mind, but if anyone is watching, they¡¯re definitely going to notice that. The warm, wet tears she feels start to come along are probably pretty noticeable too, hotter than her eyes should be, and she can¡¯t help but smell and taste copper both as her whole body clenches and rebels against the pain. She¡¯s crying blood, juddering and shaking like she¡¯s having a seizure.


    But she¡¯s been hurt worse. Say what you will about Shin Ren, but he knows how to burn someone so it hurts.


    She forces herself to stay awake, to keep the spasming as restrained as she can (she only knocks a few things into the water!). She¡¯s grateful for the hot water and the size of the pool, as she¡¯s more floating as she leans back than she is slamming her head into tile as hard as she can, even as scalding hot water splashed on her face.


    She does not let herself breathe.


    She does not let her heart stop beating.


    Whatever she¡¯s doing to herself, whatever this level of control she¡¯s using over this minute but potent internal reservoir, it¡¯s clear her body isn¡¯t designed for it. Her body is, ideally, designed to absorb Qi organically once it¡¯s been processed by a Dantian, not to coexist with explosive scraps of it in entirely different systems.


    Her body, however, is an idiot and a coward, like most flesh tends to be, and she has the control to tell it to shut the hells up and listen.


    She forces her heart to beat again, opening her blood vessels back to normal as she does, and the stagnant blood rushes in. It hits the roiling spark, the waves of little razors crashing against each other, and it¡¯s like all that sudden violence and pain and unbearable heat is blasted apart. Where before there was a single ball of unbearable harm, now a thousand comets of pain and sharpness and heat and roiling, chaotic trembling shoot out to every part of her body, guided by her blood, dragged apart heartbeat by heartbeat. Her body wears away at the newfound core of pain in her, like a glacier pulled apart by the waves, washing again and again against it and taking its sanded-down fragments to every part of her body.


    Raika doesn¡¯t know how long she floats in the bubbling water, forcing her heart to keep beating. She¡¯s fairly certain she lost control of her breathing at some point, as minute flutters of the cool, refreshing vitality of the unnamed flowers trickling into her and soothing the raging fire. They might even be reducing the effectiveness of whatever she did alongside its strength, but she can¡¯t find it in herself to be disappointed, not right now.


    All she thinks of is keeping her heart pumping, and making sure she doesn¡¯t slip under the water and drown.


    While she has no idea how long she stays floating there (a lot longer than twelve minutes, that¡¯s for sure), she knows one thing for absolute certainty.


    She really, really misses Dink.

 Chapter 35 - Cages Can Suck This Fat ****ty

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    Days pass like this. After their conversation in the bath, while Kaena still acts cordially and outright delighted whenever they speak with Raika, they never seem to pursue an opportunity to do so, and she starts to see them a lot less as time goes on. Taran, what little she sees or hears of the rattling cacophony of guns and metal, seems to spend almost all of their time draped over the most comfortable given position in a room, only occasionally moving as new foods or appealing sunbeams draw their attention.


    Yun Ka, despite all her extremely visible interest, seems adamant in holding herself back from any contact at all with Raika. Raika walked towards her once, to ask a question about where all the free towels kept seemingly aparating from, and the way the researcher¡¯s eyes (and whole body, posture, energy, etc) all lit up was enough to get her to turn right back around. She assumes that, at least in part, her remarkable composure is Taurus¡¯ fault, and it¡¯s likely the demi-titan and ¡°Leader¡± of their ¡°Project¡± (which seems to be this group¡¯s equivalent of a squadron of soldiers or group of cultivators) told them to give Raika some space. It¡¯s always hard to tell what¡¯s manipulation and what¡¯s genuine kindness when the two so often overlap, but she¡¯s erring on the side of caution and guessing that it¡¯s a way to put her at ease.


    Raika is not at ease. As much as they pretend, as kind as they have been and as unbelievably soft as the bedsheets in this place are, she has not lost sight of the fact that she was brought from one cage to a much nicer one, and that she survives on the whim of Imperial interests. She¡¯s heard nothing about an acquittal from her charges, and while no one has stopped her, she¡¯s also had that prickly sensation of being watched increase every time she¡¯s gone out on one of the balconies or walked close to the doors that she thinks are an exit.


    Taurus, it would seem, remains content not to limit or interact much with her, even as she sees the minute carvings his runes make as they decorate nearly every two-dimensional plane in the building. She hasn¡¯t caused trouble, he hasn¡¯t come out to coddle her. She¡¯s seen him, once or twice, each time looking a bit more scruffy and tired than the last, often coming out to take literal pile-high plates of food into his personal quarters, on the opposite side of the room she arrived in and far away from the rooms everyone else inhabits.


    That¡¯s one thing she can give this place though; the food is fucking good. Even if she has no idea how it keeps showing up (she hasn¡¯t seen, heard or smelled a servant since she arrived here), it¡¯s just too good to pass up, especially after three weeks of would-be starvation. Another thing that¡¯s changed about her body; she sure as shit can store more food than before. Everything is cooked incredibly, so it¡¯s hard to tell whether the taste is so overwhelmingly good and nuanced due to enhanced senses or sheer quality, but one most certainly altered thing is that she¡¯s eaten almost her full body weight more than once in the half-week since she¡¯s been here, and outside of feeling like an overstuffed cantaloupe, she¡¯s kept it all down and digested it easily. No more tummy-rumblings when faced with a mix of seafood, heavy cheeses and oversweet fruits, no, she¡¯s got a cast-iron gullet now and is taking advantage of it every chance she gets.


    Also, she¡¯s only had to shit once in four days, so that¡¯s nice.


    But Raika spends most of the days since arriving at this place doing what her captors and would-be ¡°friends¡± likely (hopefully) think is just decompressing. Adjusting to the new space. Taking a lot of baths.


    And starting to notice disturbing trends in how the palace acts.


    More often than not as she visits the baths, closer versions of the hot tubs have been as hot as the one she had to explore to find that first day awake, equipped with less extra bottles and beauty products but more of the unnamed flowers so flush with Qi and vitality. Every time she leaves the bath, even when she¡¯s made certain she¡¯s brought none in with her, she finds a towel near the door, warm and ready for use. All could be explained by agile and admirable servants, of course, as one would expect to find in an Imperial palace.


    Except she still has not seen, heard or smelled a single one. And even in the pained fugues that her ¡°cultivation¡± drags her into, she is certain she¡¯d notice someone enter the baths to place a towel for her. If they somehow hid from her while doing so, it would take Qi, in either enchantments or one¡¯s personal arts and abilities, but she has smelled nothing.


    If not for the nature of the baths as a useful hiding spot from the flak clouds of the unnamed flower and the burning heat (and, later, violent icy cold) of the pools which she uses to help manipulate her circulation, she would not be in here. There is an additional concern, of course; that if she spends less time in the baths, she¡¯ll notice the same small changes in other parts of the palace more clearly, and the thought of desperately trying to track invisible people that fold towels for her sounds a bit closer to madness than she¡¯d like.


    So she keeps using the baths, and, on the surface, tries to pretend nothing is wrong.


    She¡¯s held back on the intensity of her training, though. She¡¯d rather not be as unconscious as she was the first time. Even if the chances are miniscule, she doesn¡¯t want to be alone and unaware with¡­ whatever else may or may not be in here.


    Eventually, even with the slight limitations she¡¯s placed, she starts to feel a difference.


    Her method is¡­ clunky, to say the least. Blood and veins don¡¯t naturally just hold Qi, not unless you¡¯re a Body cultivator in the Divergent Paths, and hers is no exception. It¡¯s more like she¡¯s forcibly dragging the energy along in a current, trying to create eddies and flows to accumulate little clusters, which she¡¯s then smacking together like a child with toy blocks.


    Her Qi doesn¡¯t seem to mind, and in fact seems to grow a bit with every clash, marking the theory of ¡°any movement + formation cultivates Qi¡± seem more and more solid, but her body is a bit more adamantly opposed to the whole process. If not for how magically the baths seem to clean themselves, in the four days she¡¯s been using them she can imagine they¡¯d have well and truly turned pink from the blood she leaves bubbling in the waters. Her eyes tend to bleed the most, and she figures it has more to do with how delicate they are than any specific focus, but just about every orifice (and, once, even her fucking skin) gets a turn.


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    Still, there are changes. The more she does it, the easier it becomes as her proficiency at controlling her blood flow and managing pain keep increasing, and she¡¯s starting to notice small shifts. She¡¯s had to pause to let her sense of balance readjust multiple times, and got a headache once from when her vision felt blurry but was actually sharper than it was before, somehow. The changes are incremental, but they¡¯re present, and whatever this flower is, it does wonders to help soothe and heal her after it¡¯s done. It might be a crutch, but considering that her idea of walking is, self-admittedly, some variant of throwing herself off a moving horse, maybe it¡¯s ok to have a crutch here and there.


    And, conveniently, going for walks along the palace wing they¡¯re in to help her body adjust lets her take a nice, casual gander about potential escape avenues.


    It¡¯s not even that she wants to leave permanently, necessarily. Taurus seems nice enough, and she¡¯s far more likely to be able to use Imperial connections to get close to Feng Gui than she is to find him on her own, out in the wilds. And even if he¡¯s sharing information about her, it¡¯s not like she¡¯s trying to keep what she¡¯s done or what she is a secret, it¡¯s more just a general privacy issue. Hell, this Division of Altered Cultivation may be one of the best places in the world to find out what she¡¯s becoming and how she can become even more.


    But there¡¯s still that itch. Unfinished business, sure, wanting to say goodbyes, yes, wanting to keep anyone vulnerable to future shenanigans from bureaucracy safe, absolutely, but there¡¯s also that damn itch.


    She is herself, and she is her own, and she can feel that truth (and Truth) chafing the more she stays docile and beneath the gaze of Taurus¡¯ runes.


    So it is that she takes her time, and triple checks, and then finds a bottle of rice wine to celebrate that night when she finds the gap.


    ¡ª--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    She leaves a note when she heads out.


    It¡¯s on her bed, and she thinks it¡¯s rather artfully succinct; ¡°Gone out, be back soon. Promise. Minor matters to wrap up.¡±


    Simple, direct, effective, reassuring; it really says all that it needs to say, and it¡¯s the responsible thing to do. If/when she gets found out, it should mollify anyone who got too worried (or too pissed off, but those she cares less about).


    She also leaves another, better note on the balcony she left from. Just in case. As much as the leash chafes, it has been kept loose, and Taurus has not just taken her from where she was left to rot, but has asked very little of her. Even if she ends up defying him with this, he¡¯s earned a genuine communication if she doesn¡¯t reappear before he notices her missing. But only if he looks for it. Gotta make em work for it.


    There¡¯s a tiny section in one of the side rooms, a lounge area, where there¡¯s a balcony. All of the balconies hold plenty of the runes that decorate and have been carved into so much of their wing of the palace, but even if Taurus had a team of people as dedicated as he is, he¡¯s not perfect. There¡¯s a set of statues along the wall of the balcony, leading right up to the lip of the railing of the balcony, at which point there¡¯s a little shadow, a corner of weird, well-sculpted angles, that has nothing carved on it.


    There¡¯s nothing she can do about the fact that whatever array systems Taurus and Yun Ka are using will notice her exiting onto the balcony. But, so long as she sticks to a very specific corner and does nothing Qi related (which she can¡¯t do much of anyways), they shouldn¡¯t see her leave that balcony. So she waits, until Lua and Rua are performing their dance, and the night is late, and she¡¯s absolutely certain that the entire palace is dead silent save for the scratching of Taurus¡¯ quill, which has not stopped in hours and, she knows, sometimes does not stop for days.


    Then, wrapped in fine black pants, a simple black shirt, and nothing else, Raika leaps off of a balcony atop a stone plateau hundreds of feet off the ground.


    Not to worry; she has a plan.


    As she falls, she feels the wind whistle past her, sees the trees and buildings below blur into a mess of lights and shapes, feels the beautiful, cool night air of a pleasant summer whipping past. She sees the moons above, painting the earth as they move, smells the scents of cooking and movement and animals and trees and people, and sees the horizon stretching out all around her even as she falls.


    And it feels, in that moment, right.


    Then, forcing herself to focus, she lets her heart beat. She only has a few seconds before she lands, maybe three, max, just enough time for one beat she can control. In that moment, she pulses her blood, gathering the remnants of discordant sharpness and chaotic energy she can reach so quickly and shooting them into her hand.


    Then, hand hooked into claws, she grabs the stone of the plateau as it falls past.


    There¡¯s immediate agony, the friction alone ripping into her hand and feeling like it¡¯s been set on fire again even as a trail of red is left on the stone as she forces her hand against it, no matter how her body or the fall protests. There¡¯s a horrifying instant where she feels she¡¯s going to be pushed away, and then she hooks her fingers harder and, at the price of more than one nail being torn off immediately, slows for a single moment.


    Momentum being what it is, slowing down like that lets her swing her body towards the wall, hooking both feet against the wall for added points of contact. It¡¯s not enough to stop her movement, but as she grits her teeth and forces her body to obey, there¡¯s a hissing, crackling sound, and she slows down, moment by moment. Eventually she¡¯s just sliding down the unnaturally smooth rock wall, drifting down towards the tall, fancy buildings that decorate the bottom of the plateau at a less lethal pace.


    And, she notices, leaving a visible streak of blood and carved stone behind her. It¡¯s not exactly, like, fully carved, but she can see slight indents, as if someone took sandpaper to tiny grooves in the shape of her fingers and palm.


    Her hand is a bloody, ruined mess, but¡­ it¡¯s still pretty badass.


    Refocusing, she waits as she falls, letting gravity do its work, until she¡¯s close enough she feels she can make it. Only when she¡¯s sure she¡¯s in range (and still far above any patrolling guards or detection arrays they might have along the bottom of the plateau) does she leap off, bracing her legs and launching herself towards the nearest building.


    She overshoots wildly.


    She can feel blood flowing through her body, the crackling of discordant Qi always made quieter and forced in line when she stresses her body and moves, and she flies through the air much, much further than she expected. She clears the first line of buildings entirely, landing on the second row (luckily, class disparity and competition make the second, third, and fourth row of buildings all gradually shorter against the backdrop of their larger cousins). She rolls, badly, down the slope of a roof, the clatter of tiles all around her as she curses and tumbles and gets her feet back underneath her to launch herself forward again before she¡¯s lost momentum or someone comes to find out what that sound was and discovers it was a case of ¡°flailing woman meeting ceramic tiles¡±.


    And then she¡¯s off, into the night, dancing across rooftops barefoot under the light of sibling moons, bloody and free and on fire with intent.

 Chapter 36 - Love, and All Its Agonies, Unmolten by Flame

    She is free.


    She is in the wind, her feet striding strong and confident beneath her, every moment of her existence determined by instinct, muscular impulses and desire as she runs under a beautiful night sky. Every step touches her with pain, kissing her to remind her she is awake and she is here, and she kisses the roofs she lands on in equal measure, crimson droplets left in her wake like hickeys. She moves like she hasn¡¯t in so long. It¡¯s been a year, it¡¯s been closer to two years since she has needed a crutch, a cane, crippled in form and soul, imprisoned by joints and bones and muscles that could only fail and hurt and fail again, and now she is free.


    It¡¯s different than her cultivation. She doesn¡¯t use movement techniques, no flashy poses and stances powered by bursts of Qi to rocket her around or alter the way in which she moves in the world. She runs purely with her limbs, with burning muscle and singing tendons and pumping heart and bright, joyful eyes to guide her. It has a lot less flashiness, but she does not need to ever stop moving, and she strides and thunders and sprints and eats up ground before her, leaving only dust and distance behind.


    Priorities.


    The Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect.


    Besides the Imperial palace for the governor of this city and province, it is the tallest plateau in line of sight, only the Imperial Capital at the edge of the horizon and kissing the stars above visible beyond it. It is a clear and distinct target, as any sect that takes its role seriously as a vassal of the Empire should be, standing as a bulwark of civilization against the wilds and testament to the challenges and heights of new cultivators.


    And Raika is about to rob them.


    A little bit. Not much. But there¡¯s a set of servant¡¯s quarters she can almost guarantee no one has touched for fear of being the one to touch the cripple-horror¡¯s things. And somewhere in that little corner of the quarters, there will be a bundle of cloth with a spare cane and a poorly made tuning fork, hidden in the bedframe itself.


    Some habits earned on the streets die hard and live well, and hiding your shit properly is one of them.


    Everything else is indistinct. She wants her stuff back, and a moment of triumph, however small and personal, over her captors and those who stood in judgment and willed her to die for the crime of living would mean a lot to her, even if that¡¯s all she gets. But¡­ if she gets in without raising an alarm. And if she can sneak around hidden. Then there¡¯s some people she wants to say goodbye to.


    She doesn¡¯t know if Li Shu will want to see her. She doesn¡¯t think it¡¯s a good idea to expose her, potentially, to a threat or dangerous connection to the escaped / confiscated monster that invaded the sect. But it is her and Li Shu¡¯s decision to make, not theirs. So, if all goes well, all that Shin Ren and Elder Ren and Shiru Hei can put their walls up on a big rock and try to see her, and if none of that stops her, then that¡¯s just what she¡¯s managed.


    And in this moment she is free. Deep in her soul, she dares them to try and stop her.


    It doesn¡¯t take her long to get to the plateau, but climbing up a sheer rock wall and slowing down one¡¯s fall with one, while both difficult, are exceedingly different tasks. Lucky for her, shoddy craftsmanship rears its gorgeous, ugly head; where the Imperial Palace¡¯s plateau is sculpted nearly smooth, an issue she¡¯ll have to deal with later, that of most sects, especially ones outside the major cities, is more raised stone than arcane pillar. It¡¯s not much, no natural formation with grooves and cracks worn into it she can use, but there¡¯s enough there for her to get a grip and a solid place to step.


    And then it¡¯s easy.


    She flies up the cliff wall, not literally but at a speed that would have surprised even her younger self. She doesn¡¯t need to pause and cycle her Qi, she doesn¡¯t need to plant her feet into a specific stance to channel it, she doesn¡¯t need to figure out how a human should balance, here. She simply moves as she wills, flesh shifting her weight in small but meaningful ways, skin and muscle gripping with far more force than her changed body should technically be able to exert, and every part of it balanced on a knife¡¯s edge in her mind rather than instinctive and counter-intuitive. She moves like a thing, like a person-shaped creature designed to be puppeteered up a cliff, and if she didn¡¯t feel the wind on her scalp, or feel the distance falling away beneath her, or the sheer joy of being able to move as she wants to, she might almost be disturbed.


    As it is, she¡¯s just a little bit in love. With life, with the beauty of the night, and with the sensation of feeling and moving exactly as she tells herself to, unbound by wounds and weakness and a failing body.


    She does still miss her left arm, though. That one¡¯s a bit of a pang of loss, even still.


    She clears the top of the plateau in minutes instead of hours, and looks around at the lantern-lit perimeter road that guards and disciples are meant to patrol. She can see, compared to when she was able to last visit outside the perimeter wall, that there are quite a lot more here than normal. Ironically, if the elders haven¡¯t yet decided to tell anyone about her being taken right from under their noses, even by official Imperial decree, the very same heightened guard presence designed to alert of her escape or of outside interference is stopping her from getting in and out as quietly as she¡¯d like.


    But she did like climbing, and rather than follow the paths to the doors¡­ well, there¡¯s another wall here.


    This one is far smoother and more difficult than the plateau, but it has multiple windows in which archers and cultivators can fire out of in times of war, and some decorative statues and carved sections here and there, so¡­


    She waits an hour or so for a moment where two guards pause and speak to each other, and leaps about twelve feet over both of their heads in a burst of Qi, agonizing and muted to the outside world by her body¡¯s ability to muffle and hold it and the curse on her outer flesh. Lesser guards they may be, but both immediately look up to try and see what made that sound, like something whistling by them¡­ and neither see anything, with Raika nothing than a dark-skinned shadow on the other side of the road already.


    It takes her less time to climb the wall than it took to wait for a chance to do so, and she glories in it every step of the way.


    And then she is over the side, staring down at the expansive fields, open arenas, and well-distanced, ornate, massive buildings of the sect of purple whatever-the-fuck.


    It takes her ten minutes at her current speed to sprint from shadow to shadow, tree to tree, to the servant¡¯s quarters.


    The doors are unlocked, because why wouldn¡¯t they be, here in the security of their home and where servants come and go at all times of day or night as their duties and ¡°betters¡± demand. Deeply changed she may be, but her face still has a deeply distinctive scar and her skin, while rather average, remains a lovely shade of reddish-brown that she¡¯d rather not have recognized. It¡¯s still night, and no Qi-Gathering realm cultivator (as most, if not all servants most assuredly are) can deny sleep more than a few nights at most, but it¡¯s a final puzzle piece that makes the infiltration far too easy; she can smell anyone coming from a while away.


    More proof that her miraculous, poorly understood regeneration did more than just improve her muscles and wounds. Where before, she needed to have someone use or transmit their Qi for her to smell them, now, so long as she stays focused, she can smell faint wisps when they move. Taran, Yun Ka and Taurus are all examples that high levels of control must affect these wisps, but she does not encounter anyone with such skill in the servant¡¯s quarters this night.


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    She eventually walks, silently, back into the bunk room she was assigned to, and finds the bed that used to be hers.


    Like she guessed, it¡¯s empty, even the bunk above it left absent a sleeper, so potent is the curse of a misinformed bunch of gossips. The wooden slates beneath the bed, on the other hand, still have the very slight indent of a bundle of cloth.


    She has to hold herself back from talking with Dink the moment she has it back in her hands. It sits there, unused for over a month, surely lonely but loyal to a fault, keeping itself hidden and safe just like she set it up to be. She can¡¯t help but reward the little shit with a quick, relieved hug, before tucking him into her shirt.


    ¡°Raika?¡± asks a voice so quiet she thinks she imagined it at first.


    Raika turns, moving almost silently but far too fast for something that should be human, eyes that should not see in the dark immediately centering on a small, bleary-eyed figure who looks at her in a mix of confusion and outright terror.


    Raika freezes, half-panicked herself and ready to react, but not act, as they stare at each other. She forces herself to stop and think. A sleepy, barely-awake figure, full of memory-altering panic and adrenaline. Herself, a black-clad, dark skinned figure, hairless and probably at least a little weird-looking with how she turned so sharply, crouched in the dark next to the bed of the thing that survived the flames of the sect¡¯s greatest cultivator and then tried to kill him. It¡¯s a genuinely reasonable reaction, and a scream here would ruin a lot if she doesn¡¯t play this right. She curses herself for an idiot; what use is a sense that tells you when someone is close to you in a room full of people?


    Then she blinks again, her brain clicking a name into place.


    ¡°Maen?¡± she blurts out, as quietly as she can.


    The terrified young woman nods, ears flicking and nearly invisible for their fur as she picks up the sound of her name.


    Well shit. Raika¡¯s¡­ not really sure what to say now. Better to be honest?


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ just gonna go,¡± she whispers, starting to edge towards the door.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Maen whispers, and Raika flinches at the added noise, no matter how quiet.


    Then she looks around at the deeply sleeping, exhausted servants, none of whom have reacted.


    Huh. Did her hearing get better, too?


    Raika, sort of surprised by the request¡­ does actually wait. She turns back to Maen. ¡°Yeah?¡± she whispers.


    ¡°Are you leaving?¡± Maen asks.


    Raika nods.


    Maen hesitates, until the silence starts to feel a bit oppressive (and awkward). Then-


    ¡°Can I come with you?¡± she asks.


    Raika blinks. Well. Not what she expected.


    She pauses. Then- ¡°Why?¡±


    Maen doesn¡¯t seem to have a good answer¡­ and then just sort of looks around. Keeping her voice down, bowing so her face is close to the blanket, she eventually whispers; ¡°I think I can get more with you.¡±


    Well. Points for honesty.


    Raika has places to be, so she doesn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°I¡¯ll be leaving by the Eastern gate, when the guard shift changes. Meet me there in¡­ thirty minutes. We¡¯ll see after that.¡±


    And before Maen can ask any questions, Raika leaves her with that little lie and a clear possibility of where one might set up an ambush if Maen betrays her. And who knows, if she does find her again, actually on her own, she can make up her mind then.


    And then she¡¯s off like a bullet, leaping down hallways, sprinting on silent, altered feet around corners, and back out into the night, towards the medical pavilion.


    ¡ª--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Li Shu does not say anything.


    Raika¡¯s not sure what she expected her to say, to be honest.


    They stand there, alone in a darkened room, and all she can feel for a moment of bone chilling unhappiness is that she will leave this place with only silence as her answer.


    So, moving slowly, she steps into the room. She closes the door behind her as quietly as she opened it, and kneels on the floor in front of her honored healer.


    She feels Li Shu¡¯s Qi. She can smell it in the room now, how it has changed, the notes she refuses to let herself stop and examine or think about because it would take away from her moment here, now. She refuses to let herself feel the fact that she can smell her, so close, and the scent is that of a comfort she did not expect and a fear she cannot articulate.


    And Li Shu says nothing.


    ¡­


    The silence goes on.


    Eventually, Li Shu shifts from where she was sitting, leaving behind the inks and candles and study, and walks over to Raika, and kneels down in front of her.


    Raika feels like she cannot breathe.


    Li Shu touches her, and it is like a wound, like stabbing pins and needles, like a trembling of flesh on flesh.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Li Shu asks, quietly.


    Raika blinks and looks into her eyes for the first time.


    She is angry, that much Raika can see easily. She is frustrated, and angry at something, but not at her. In this moment, all that she sees when Li Shu looks at her is a genuine, moment-encompassing concern for the well being of someone who has only brought her trouble.


    Raika can¡¯t help it. She laughs. It starts as a small chuckle, and morphs into a larger giggle, and then falls into full on laughter as her tears hit the floor, as she curls up against herself and lets Li Shu lay a soft hand on her and ask her, again, if she¡¯s ok. She lays there for long enough for the laughter to fade, surrounded by the smell of lavender, of soft candles and of sharp, delicate steel.


    Li Shu has changed; by Qi alone that much is proven. Raika has changed; by appearance alone, that much is proven. But in this moment, after the crashing of so many waves, after so much pain, after perfect loneliness locked in a fucking box after the worst pain she has ever experienced in more than a year filled with record-breakers, they are both here, and her friend has asked if she¡¯s ok, and that¡¯s all it takes for something to unwind in her.


    She uncurls, bit by bit, as the laughter dries and the thing behind it is finally let out to uncoil and be with her, as heavy as sorrow, as harsh as still-remembered pain. She sniffs, sitting back up onto her knees, and gives Li Shu an apologetic little smile.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she murmurs. ¡°I¡­ didn¡¯t know I was going to do that.¡±


    Li Shu nods. ¡°It¡¯s ok,¡± she murmurs back. ¡°Well, not entirely, because the fact that you¡¯re even here is incredibly stupid, but¡­ clearly you needed that.¡±


    She huffs out another laugh. ¡°Yeah,¡± she says, ¡°I guess I did. I¡­ didn¡¯t realize I had that with me. Didn¡¯t realize it would come out like that, either.¡±


    ¡°That part is definitely ok,¡± Li Shu murmurs. ¡°Shitty patient or not, I have a responsibility of care for those in my care, and despite his best intentions, Qen Hou doesn¡¯t discharge you. I do. And it seems like you needed a bit of¡­ this, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Hah,¡± Raika mumbles. ¡°I really must be your shittiest patient, huh? At least the idiot kids they have you treating here have the common sense not to try to get hurt again.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a character flaw,¡± Li Shu agrees, ¡°but you wear it well.¡±


    She pauses, touching Raika¡¯s jawline, ever so gently, to lift her gaze.


    ¡°Why are you here, Raika?¡± she asks.


    Her breath shudders as it leaves. ¡°I wanted to see you,¡± she whispers. ¡°Before I left. Before I get taken away. I don¡¯t think I can stop them, and I don¡¯t think I can try without hurting you, and Qen Hou, and anyone else I¡¯ve touched. And¡­ when I was at my absolute worst, in the cold, with nothing but a ruined version of myself to my name, you were kind. You were always kind, without ever needing to be asked, without ever making me feel like I was nothing, or like you only saw what mattered to you, or like I mattered to you less than the deformities and the novelty. So¡­ I came back. One last time. And I know it¡¯s stupid. Incredibly stupid, even. But¡­ I couldn¡¯t not.¡±


    She meets Li Shu¡¯s eyes. ¡°I have no reason to be here except that you¡¯re here. And it hurt that I might never see you again.¡±


    Li Shu looks away, scoffing a bit, but there¡¯s no heat to it. Her hand trembles, and in this moment it is very hard to tell if it is in sadness or in rage, if her scent is more of soft, strange candles or of sharpened scalpel. It takes her a long time to meet Raika¡¯s gaze again.


    ¡°You¡¯ll see me again,¡± she says.


    She doesn¡¯t say it like it¡¯s a joke, or a possibility, or a promise. She says it as if it is already true.


    Raika laughs at that, and it¡¯s like the laugh lets all the tension in her body out in one final shuddering gasp.


    Li Shu smiles. ¡°You were never meant for that kind of hurt, Raika. No one is. I have seen you crawl and limp and bite and writhe until the whole world bent its back to let you become stronger again. I have seen you wound things so far above you in the heavens and the earth that it¡¯s fucking funny. I¡¯ve seen you survive pain and torment from those who did not deserve to wield them against you, who paraded you in an arena and lit you on fire, and who still could not kill you, and you were not meant for that kind of hurt. It is not owed from you, no matter how much of it you¡¯re happy to give. And it is what I am to heal what I can reach, no matter where they try to lock me up or what they try to take from me.¡±


    Li Shu gets closer, eyes intense and bright and wide, and for a moment, for the first time, Raika can believe that this place of fire and strange mysteries suits her honored healer, ever so changed from the shy, soft thing she thought she knew.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯ll be,¡± she whispers, ¡°and I don¡¯t know who you¡¯ll become, but you are my first patient, Honored Raika the Undying, the Unbroken, the Unburnt, and you don¡¯t get rid of me that easy.¡±


    And then the room twists, and the far wall begins to melt, and it is to the backdrop of molten rock and steel and glowing, impossible flames that Raika sits and memorizes the look in the eyes of the person who first showed her kindness in a world bare of pretty illusions.


    ¡°Gods damn right,¡± she whispers back.

 Chapter 37 - OMG Hes Like, Totally Obsessed With Me

    Li Shu shoves Raika away at full force towards the door and against it so hard she feels it warp. The room has started to glow with the melting wall, the impossible heat and brilliant purple flames beginning to peek through as gaps in the stone begin to form. It¡¯s been maybe less than ten seconds since it began, but already the entire exterior frame of the room has begun to violently come apart.


    Raika doesn¡¯t hesitate. Li Shu¡¯s vow, her stated reality, does not allow for her to mistrust her, to wait or hesitate here, and being physically thrown away from her presence, as flimsy as the cover may be, is the best cover they have. Whoever is on the other side of the wall, they¡¯re clearly not hesitating to get in here as fast as possible, even through sect-reinforced materials.


    She looks one more time at Li Shu, who simply gives her a nod, assuming a combat stance facing towards the door and away from the wall.


    Time to go, then.


    She shoves herself backwards, as if to complete the arc from what such a throw should have caused, crashing through the door, rolling to her feet, and moving into a dead sprint immediately. She forces her heart to pump faster, her lungs to inhale whole clouds of air as she moves and feeds her body fuel to run faster, as fast as she can, muscles shifting to compensate for her weak physique, accommodating her missing arm to better balance her as she runs, altering her legs so she achieves violent bursts of speed every time her feet touch the ground. In an instant, Raika has shifted every part of herself into overdrive or an optimized form, done on instinct and by tweaking everything that starts to hurt as she runs.


    All of this in no small part because as soon as she left the semi-silenced room (likely with its own runic arrays that she didn¡¯t think about blocking out and in any stray Qi), she smelled who was burning through Li Shu¡¯s wall. The air around her reeks of berries and honey, cooking over a deep firepit. Except that the berries have started to smell just a little bit off.


    Shin Ren seems to have come back to see her again. What a gentleman, truly.


    What might have taken her two or three movement arts before is instead eaten up in a single altered sprint, her entire body aching at the strain and minor modifications she¡¯s pushed onto it so abruptly. She clears through the entire library, full of late-night studious healers and precious texts, through the central pavilion so useful for triage and material delivery, and out the ornate front doors in seconds.


    And he¡¯s standing in front of her somehow.


    He¡¯s holding his spear at the ready, relaxed and poised and its readiness to strike written over every line of him. Yet again, she¡¯s immediately drawn to look at how gorgeous he looks. Drenched in moonlight and flames of gorgeous indigo, wrapped in his very own lighting, dressed in what looks like only a single robe and just as barefoot as she is, he looks like he dashed here straight out of bed, and is all the more gorgeous for it. He wakes up like this, for Heavens¡¯ sake, with those locks of hair and bright eyes and mmph. All that.


    Raika briefly wonders if it¡¯s weird to be sexually attracted to the person she has the second most nightmares about.


    He goes to speak, some proclamation or demand, and she¡¯s not really listening because she needs to move. The sect is big, but to Nascent Soul cultivators distance is half joke and half inconvenience. If she sticks around, the elders of the sect will be here to crush her and pop her like an overheated balloon before she can say so much as a word in protest. So, best not to stick around, no matter how much the sexy nightmare of a cultivator before her wants to engage.


    She still has a chance. She uses minimal Qi, if any, in her movements and body usage; so long as she gets out of range of their mortal senses, she might still be able to hide out and escape before the elders arrive. But that¡¯s all predicated on one very important factor; that she doesn¡¯t let Shin Ren follow her or leave a signal to trace her by.


    So, first things first, she sprints at him as incredibly, impossibly, inhumanly quickly as she can and punches him in the throat.


    Say what you will about Raika¡¯s changes, but Shin Ren ain¡¯t no bitch. He shifts at the last moment, eyes wide in surprise even as instinct kicks in and he moves to block and redirect the blow. He¡¯s partially successful, the punch landing on the side of his throat rather than right in his larynx, but he still audibly chokes a bit.


    She doesn¡¯t let up, sticking as close to him as possible, not letting him get an arm around her to grab his spear with both hands, staying inside his range. She headbutts him as he flinches from the throat punch, knees him hard, ducks a punch, and-


    Fuck. She¡¯s actually fighting him. Not with a ruinous Qi restraining device on him, but¡­ well, he is surprised, but that¡¯s all she can say. She can feel strain begin to build in her body as she keeps pushing it, her eyes burning and headache forming as she feeds blood to every essential system and away from every other. Her body is, on its own, naturally shutting down and redirecting energy and blood from certain unnecessary systems (her stomach, her lower guts, her pain receptors); all she has to do is follow its lead and boost the effects with her own control. Her eyes are almost flickering, her mind thinking so fast, tracking every trace of movement on him, seeing his muscles shift and ripple as he moves to react, her arm and legs violently tense and spasming into place to block every move as she sees it. She¡¯s hit him a dozen times and dodged half that much in the time it¡¯s taken her to realize the fact that she¡¯s somehow actually got him on the back foot.


    Then Shin Ren remembers that he has more skills than just being an attractive bruiser, and the world lights up.


    She smells it an instant before it appears, the firepit overwhelming the honey and fruit and exploding out in a detonation surrounding his body. The entire night turns brilliant, turns indigo and violet and gorgeous golden-red, and for a moment everything is obfuscated and washed in impossible light and heat hot enough to melt her ten times over. Call it panic, call it a genuine reaction, call it some sort of previously discovered technique, but Shin Ren spawns a perfect fireball of heat strong enough to have disintegrated her in their last (and current) fight, roaring as he does.


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    Luckily for Raika, she is no longer there to see it.


    At the instant the smell began to rise in the air, in the second that she felt and scented his Qi begin to move (and in quantities enough to make her sneeze violently if that system hadn¡¯t been shut down in the battle too), she moved again. It¡¯s a move she could not have done as a cultivator, not without movement techniques she¡¯d never had and probably had never even heard of. As the adonis nearly two celestial realms above her at her prime brings a violent sun into the world, she tears ligaments, strains bones, violently damages legs and joints and spine, and launches herself away into the woods.


    She briefly wonders if the levels of pain she¡¯s gotten used to are getting kind of concerning. Then she leaves the thought be and focuses on getting the fuck out of the area.


    It¡¯s a best case scenario sort of moment. In a moment of panic, Shin Ren¡¯s detonation carved through the entire area around him, lighting fires that illuminate the whole space, but more importantly, blinding himself for a brief moment. Raika has to physically force her limbs to keep moving, newfound ability to enact her will upon her flesh the only thing keeping her upright and moving as she runs; in that single moment she gave everything to move out of sight, out of range, not just of the blast radius but of the senses of the terrifying thing that spawned it.


    She looks back only once, to see if he¡¯s following or not.


    All she sees in the growing distance is a roaring, bestial figure. He swings his spear like an additional limb, like something sharp and horrifying in the flickering purple flames, his form cast in shadow save for the parts of him that seem to literally exude flame and violence, crackling around him like skin, like breath, like limbs, ready to reach out to the world and unmake it at the whim of the thing from which they were spawned. Shin Ren roars, a sound so loud and so enhanced by Qi that she can smell his rage, and see the ground charring and turning to glass beneath his feet, and hear the sound of it echoing for miles.


    ¡ª----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    She almost collapses when she reaches the East Gate.


    The smell of Shin Ren¡¯s Qi, the absolute stench of burnt fruit and overpowered honey lit ablaze, fills the air behind her and around her and leaves her in a daze. The pain doesn¡¯t help, necessarily, but the pain is an old friend, and it keeps her distracted as she keeps forcibly having to pause and rearrange something or deactivate parts too damaged to function temporarily. She feels like a puzzle, like a put-together mannequin, and if there¡¯s one thing to be gained from this fucking disaster, it¡¯s that she¡¯s getting a lot of live experience about how her body functions in conditions of stress and how she can now influence it.


    But, barring her really pushing it, she¡¯s not going to be climbing that wall anytime soon, especially not with the scent of the elders washing over the entire courtyard and forests of the sect. Hiding on the ground is one thing; hiding up in the air, hanging on a bare, mostly-white wall, is quite another, especially when trying to hide from eyes that can pierce the darkness of even a moonless night. No, if she¡¯s leaving now it¡¯ll either be through the tunnels and hallways inside the sect walls themselves, or through one of the gates.


    And lo-and-behold, she did indeed send a maybe-ally and maybe-ambush over to one said gate, far enough away from Shin Ren and the initial search area that she¡¯s not too uncomfortable heading towards it.


    She discovers something new along the way, too. While her senses have been absolutely enhanced, and her ability to smell Qi seems seriously heightened, Maen is very good at hiding herself. It¡¯s only when she¡¯s nearly at the east gate, every sense attuned and alert as she moves as quickly and quietly as she possibly can, that she finally finds the hidden servant.


    Crouched behind some bushes, a backpack in her lap and a worried look on her face as she chews on her lower lip, the young semi-felinid woman looks about ready to either cry or burst sprinting from the woods away from where she¡¯s sitting.


    She literally jumps a full foot in the air when Raika taps onto the ground beside her.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± she whispers way too loudly. ¡°Fuck, I thought you were- It¡¯s almost five minutes past, I thought you were- what happened over there?¡±


    Raika shrugs, the act bringing back pain in a way that feels kind of nostalgic. ¡°I got in a fight,¡± she whispers back. ¡°No one died and it wasn¡¯t on purpose and I got away, but I need you to sneak me into the wall.¡±


    Maen blinks. ¡°Just like that?¡± she asks. ¡°No ¡°are you sure about this¡±, no ¡°for grabbing this opportunity you¡¯ll be rewarded,¡± just ¡°sneak me into the wall¡±?¡±


    Raika looks at her. ¡°Well, yeah,¡± she says. ¡°You¡¯re the one who wanted to come. I¡¯m just taking advantage, and then, later, you¡¯ll try to take advantage of me. Simple and easy, right?¡±


    Maen stares back, mouth slightly open. ¡°You know, I thought you were some kind of weird philosopher-cripple when I found out you were out training to hit wood and saying all that stuff to me,¡± she admits, shaking her head. ¡°Turns out you¡¯re just crazy?¡±


    Raika shrugs again. ¡°I could¡¯ve told you that,¡± she whispers. ¡°Heck, I¡¯m kinda sure that wisdom and being crazy are pretty much the same thing. So, you going to help?¡±


    Maen hisses, the sound surprisingly catlike (and kind of adorable considering how small she is). ¡°Fine,¡± she murmurs, ¡°but you¡¯d better be serious about taking me with you. I¡¯m sick of this place, but I¡¯m not planning on dying to leave.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°More than fair,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to get you killed either. I could use a familiar face around, and as shitty as it¡¯ll be for both of us come meeting my new boss, if you help me out of here I¡¯ll owe you big.¡±


    Maen shakes her head. ¡°No,¡± she whispers. ¡°I need you to swear it to me. Swear, on something you care about, that you¡¯ll get me out of here, that you won¡¯t leave me behind.¡±


    Raika blinks, looking over at Maen, who¡¯s staring at her with a surprising intensity. She didn¡¯t know the girl before, but it¡¯s clear that this means a lot to her. And the fact that, alone in the woods with a would-be demon cripple, she¡¯s decided to confront and demand this of her says a lot about who she is, or that she¡¯s a much better people reader than Raika had known her to be. Eventually, she nods, slow and serious.


    ¡°I, honored Raika the Unbroken, swear on my freedom and my flesh itself that I will do all in my power to assist junior sister Maen to freedom. So said, so shall it be.¡±


    Maen nods. ¡°So said, so shall it be.¡±


    As the phrase is repeated back, Raika feels something, a little twinge inside of her. It hits in the same¡­ ¡°place¡± as the chafing before, as the sense of weight and discomfort of being under another¡¯s yoke. It¡¯s emotional, but¡­ it doesn¡¯t feel like it¡¯s just that.


    She briefly wonders if there¡¯s a lot more Truth than people know about being used in the world, even if in strange, lighter forms. Or if Truth is something different than people think?


    Either way, now¡¯s not the time. She nods back at Maen, before standing to turn and look at the massive, ornate wall a ways away from them, its doorways locked, it¡¯s soldiers ready, it¡¯s very design meant to withstand hordes from above and below and give its defenders every advantage to repel and defeat those who challenge it.


    ¡°So,¡± Raika whispers, looking expectantly at the young servant beside her, ¡°what¡¯s the plan?¡±


    Maen, for her part, let¡¯s out a long, drawn out sigh and pinches the bridge of her nose.

 Chapter 38 - Sexy, Talented, and Absolutely Stuffed With Problems

    Shin Ren has not been having a good month.


    It started out fine enough. He wasn¡¯t exactly happy to be back from the Imperial Academy, and the trip through the wilds to get home, even in the second ring of the Empire, was arduous and annoying, but neither frustration held all that much weight. Show up, impress the elders, maybe get to just relax and cultivate and not have to deal with a thousand squabbling classmates, some of them strong enough to beat his ass, all vying for some meaningless advantage or another; a good vacation, if not an ideal one. Spend a few months, a year at most, just enjoying the privileges of sect life and the rewards he¡¯s earned for his cultivation, and then head on back a little early to begin the next round of lessons and eliminations in the academy he¡¯d been sorted into.


    And while the School of the Tiger isn¡¯t the most prestigious of the war-focused Academies, that didn¡¯t mean he wouldn¡¯t have to rest, prepare, and center himself to re-enter it. Not if he wanted to survive, much less continue his impressive rise through the realms between Heaven and earth.


    And then the elders stuck their noses in.


    He was certain they would eventually; what is an honorable elder cultivator if not a meddler? But he didn¡¯t see coming how fast it would be. By the time he¡¯d emptied his spatial ring and started setting up new treasures in his old room, he had already received a visit from his grand-uncle Elder Ren, bringing with him a gift and an invitation to speak with the sect patriarch when his responsibilities and rest allowed. A summons, in effect, but he didn¡¯t even need to make it to said meeting to find out what about. His honored uncle, it would seem, could not shut up about the anomaly.


    A proven cripple, a former cultivator going by some ridiculous name that sounded more like something the outer clans would say than anything properly Imperial, somehow able to stand up against an outer sect disicple. She¡¯d been working as a servant, had only been allowed in on the passionate support of one Inner Disciple Qen Hou and originally kept as nothing more than an assistant (or, according to rumors, toy) of an apprentice healer undergoing a two-year mentorship. Apparently something or other changed, the cripple was left to work with the other servants, and the aforementioned outer sect disciple took offense and decided to remove her from the sect permanently.


    While he was well within his rights to be insulted by her presence, and many, including Shin Ren¡¯s uncle the sect elder, were inclined to look on him favorably, as removing a cripple would gain the sect some of the face lost by having her employed in the first place. Hardly a well executed or proper move, but who would have doubted him, especially as it gave the sect some benefit?


    Shin Ren was more uncomfortable with the execution of that attempted ¡°removal¡±, but it grew to more than that. He looked into it, asked around. Apparently, the cripple had been a cultivator before, and had worked hard and tirelessly, often longer than others, even some approaching the Foundational realm. Taking insult at the horror of someone crippled being in your sight is only natural, but it felt wrong to him that she should be killed for such an insult, especially if she was simply in the course of her duties.


    Then, he met the patriarch. Heard the news about a ¡°triumphant showing of the prowess of the sect¡¯s young great talent¡±, and learned what exactly that would entail.


    That pissed him off. He¡¯d come home to avoid the politics, to take a breather using his success as a buffer, to finally be able to relax for the first time since his mother had realized how quickly he cultivated. Instead, he was to be paraded out for the sake of humiliating and then murdering someone who¡¯s only crimes were surviving a wound and fighting back against lethal intent. But she was costing the sect face, especially after she somehow nearly killed one of their disciples, even if it was only an outer sect disciple, even if he was barely worth their attention. Shin Ren had marveled at that when he heard it. To somehow retain so much of the skill she must have had as a cultivator speak to such discipline, such wasted talent. What must she have been like, he wondered, as a whole person and not the lesser thing she¡¯d become? And what willpower it must have taken to hold onto herself, hold onto even her skills and martial understanding, in the face of that horrifying reduction.


    So he¡¯d honored her. He¡¯d been honest, and spoken true of what he thought about the whole show. Promised her, as his honor demanded, that he would give her the greatest mercy he could give; a swift death at the hands of someone above her in the heavens and earth. He¡¯d decided it; his own little act of rebellion, and a gift to one that did not deserve so humiliating a death. He would not drag it out, not make a show of it. He would end it in an instant.


    And then she¡¯d dodged.


    And then she¡¯d hit him.


    And then she baited him, and trapped him, and proceeded to kick the shit out of him for all heaven and earth to see, in front of a live audience of hundreds of his peers and mentors and family.


    It hadn¡¯t lasted, but to his fucking shame it ended not due to his skill or intellect or martial talent. Really, he could only claim his cultivation had been stronger than a device meant to contain, at most, a late Foundational stage cultivator, not one of the tools designed for anyone near his level anyways. His Qi had simply overwhelmed the device, instinctively, as he blindly tried to use it and tried to get used to fighting without any of his usual senses, trapped in a body that felt like a prison. Before he could make a decision or do anything, circumstance and luck had already negated a hard-fought, hard-won trick from someone who performed very nearly a miracle in the eyes of cultivator society.


    And then, in a fit of rage and shame and panic, her every movement slowed to an infinitesimal crawl, his own elevated back to the impossible, lightning-fast movement of adrenaline and Qi infusion, he¡¯d stopped holding himself back.


    He¡¯d kicked her legs out from under her, grabbed her by the elbow, and whipped her against the ground.


    The first blow would have won it. The rest were a tantrum, a fit of pique, like a child would have, and added to the shame of the battle rather than letting him regain any dignity. He¡¯d looked down at Raika, the cripple, reduced to even less of a state than when she began.


    And so he¡¯d tried for mercy again. A quick, cleansing fire. She had earned a death by technique rather than mere blows or blades.


    And just like when she dodged his strikes, just like when she tricked him, just like when he turned her legs to pulp and made mincemeat of her flesh against the ground, she refused to fucking die.


    The rest of the fight had been more and less shameful, ironically. The shame of being a torturer, a failed killer and blackhearted, cruel thing, to leave her writhing in pain as long as she did, and then the revelation that she had never been a person at all. The moment where everything changed, and the fight stopped being about face or dignity or anything beyond survival as that thing, that charred, blackened husk bereft of any signs that it should still be alive, somehow moved and, at the peak of his power, wounded him.


    She had eaten a piece of him. Left him open and bleeding and stabbed and took a piece of him in her mouth and tore it from him in one motion. And then she¡¯d topped even that by eating his Qi, consuming, feeding before his very eyes on the fire that is proof of his cultivation and the depths of his growth and very self.


    How could he not surrender? How could he not call for aid, in the face of something like that?


    The weeks after passed in a blur. The Empire, of course, did what it does best, and interfered in the business of the sect; the Judge had deemed the execution a ¡°fair trial¡±, that his surrender had meant his defeat and her acquittal, and as annoyingly obscure and difficult to interpret as their kind can often be, this one was adamant that the ruling was valid. But obviously they couldn¡¯t let her go, and so they didn¡¯t; whatever she may be, she was clearly some form of threat and insult rolled into one, and the thought of letting such a thing simply run wild ran counter to not just good sense, but their very responsibility as a sect.


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    Then the mutant had stuck its horned head into their business.


    By this time Shin Ren had been¡­ well, not exiled, per se. Failure or not, there was the inhuman nature of his opponent to spin things in his favor, and he remains the fastest growing cultivator in the sect, no matter how shameful the defeat. But perhaps¡­ shelved. Proven as a limited tool. He doesn¡¯t know what was said between the mutant and the elders, doesn¡¯t know much of anything that¡¯s going on except that they remain furious about something or other and that the problem hasn¡¯t ended yet. He could take it as a victory, if he so chose; if not over an opponent with such hidden depths, then certainly as a victory for his own peace of mind. The elders are certain to pursue the best interests of the sect, and whatever the mutant might be, the fact it has been taken into the Imperial authorities rather than properly purged means it holds the will of the Emperor in this endeavor. The whole issue is officially over his grade, so to speak.


    But he just¡­ couldn¡¯t let it go.


    He¡¯d seen her, sensed her, she was a cripple! No meridians, no flow to the strange clumps and stagnant, chaotic droplets of Qi left in her. She shouldn¡¯t have been able to do what she did, he¡¯s heard of nothing that can, not even from the Academies and the level of security clearance he¡¯s been allowed to review.


    But then he heard about the accomplice. Or, depending on the rumors, the true mastermind. That very same amateur healer here for a mentorship, who apparently had been stuck on house arrest and close observation after evidence of strange rituals were found in her notes. Apparently she¡¯d been looking into something that had caused some consternation with his uncle, and he¡¯d had her things searched. While Shin Ren hasn¡¯t heard confirmation that she was some sort of demonic cultivator or ritualist, the rumors certainly seem convinced.


    So, bereft of the peace he craves and technically should be able to grasp in this moment, he decides to watch her.


    Nothing too close; he won¡¯t let himself get obsessive, not without some kind of proof, but it fulfills the urge to do something. He sets an array of his own, assuming (correctly) that no one would bother interrupting him over such a minor matter and that, even though his skill is far below what one needs to make such an array imperceptible, the would-be demonic cultivator would likely just assume that it¡¯s another layer of security.


    And eventually¡­ he forgot about it. The exercise was done, array set, he¡¯d know if it worked by whether or not it worked. And then he stewed, for a fucking week straight, because what else was he supposed to do? He runs drills, he cultivates, he examines old texts and tried to find out what the hell he was supposed to do now, with this weight, this flagrantly unsatisfied desire for closure-


    And then the array actually went off.


    At first he doesn¡¯t even recognize it. He hasn¡¯t ever really done an array before, that was the point. When it went off, he thought maybe it had finally broken down (after only a week running active; a disappointment, even for only a first attempt), but then it just¡­ kept alarming him. It was like an extra set of senses, like being tickled on a part of his body that doesn¡¯t exist, like seeing a flicker of red out of the corner of his eye in weird pulses. A valuable lesson, that; he¡¯d overdone it on the alarm conditions. Easily fixed for next time, and what a fascinating experiment it had all turned out to be.


    And then the rest of his idiotic, distracted brain had kicked in, and he¡¯d launched himself at the medical pavilion and melted his way through a wall, ignored the healer as he saw a dozen other cultivators rushing to the molten magma he¡¯d made of her outer wall, and tried to intercept the blur he¡¯d seen leaving her quarters.


    And then he¡¯d seen her.


    And now she¡¯s gone again. Whole, and alive, and nowhere near the crisped husk of meat he¡¯d last seen, and she hit him hard enough and fast enough to make their last fight look like a joke and then she GOT AWAY.


    He doesn¡¯t give them time to get out of his way. There are cultivators in front of him, around him, asking him what happened and if he¡¯s alright and if they can do something for him, and then asking what he might require, and finally, faces concerned and a bit alarmed, asking where he is going. He simply walks past or through them, leaving them to stumble aside and letting the smarter ones learn from the mistake of trying to distract him as he stalks through the halls of the medical pavilion, making a beeline for the demonic ritualist¡¯s room.


    And then, when he tries to shove them aside too, someone stops him.


    A single hand. Right on his chest. Placed there like a sigil against his flesh, Qi cycling through it as his own reserves flare and burn and alter the world around him closer to what he is, closer to the fire and the mysteries of its color and form and glory.


    ¡°May I ask what you intend, honored young master?¡± asks some fucking nobody.


    ¡°And who are you to ask me anything?¡± he snarls, voice so attuned and vibrantly full of Qi he refuses to contain that he can feel the people around him flinch back away from him, a mix of pain and fear on their faces. Most of the medical pavilion members, a few guards, and a few stray sect disciples all begin to back away and go about their business, letting whatever is going to happen here happen.


    But not the man in front of him. ¡°This one is merely a lowly inner disciple, young master Shin Ren,¡± he says. ¡°And I¡¯m afraid that this lowly inner disciple has been tasked by Elder Ren of the medical pavilion and Elder Kai Shu of the punishment division to watch over the honored healer Li Shu. May I inquire as to the reason why you seem so intent to speak with her?¡±


    Shin Ren pauses at that. He takes a breath. Deep inhale, deep exhale. The flames around him begin to dim, the world shifting from a deep, maroon-red and purple highlight to more natural lighting slowly. When he feels himself a bit more in control, he re-centers his eyes on the shorter, younger cultivator.


    ¡°The enemy I pursued came into this room and fled it not long before my arrival,¡± he states. ¡°As young master of the sect, I¡¯ve taken it under my authority to interrogate her and find out everything she knows about that thing.¡±


    Ok. Maybe not entirely in control just yet.


    The smaller figure smiles, but there¡¯s something in his eyes that Shin Ren doesn¡¯t expect. In spite of himself, he feels some of the instincts he¡¯s honed kicking in, experience with others like this ¡°inner disciple¡± returning. He saw plenty of it in the academies.


    This man does not intend to let him pass.


    ¡°I understand, young master,¡± the young man blocking his path says with a bow. ¡°But I¡¯m afraid that while your own might is surely enough to take many things under your authority, this lowly one has orders from our mutual sect elders, and cannot defy them any more than a worm could defy the will of the heavens. I¡¯m sure that merely speaking to them may be enough to find a solution, perhaps?¡±


    Shin Ren¡­ does not snarl. He refuses. He holds himself poised, controlled, every movement falling to stillness until he wills it to be.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, inner disciple?¡± he demands.


    ¡°This one is called Qen Hou, honored young master,¡± replies the smaller figure.


    ¡°Well, inner disciple Qen Hou,¡± he snarls, his control slipping again; ¡°I am here, and the elders are on their way. In the time it takes them to arrive, I could not possibly act against their will, save to kill the demonic spy in our midst, which I have no intention of doing until she tells me what she knows. So step aside, and know your place before your betters.¡±


    Shin Ren goes to step forward again, and he sees the hesitation in the disciple¡¯s eyes. He sees the moment where he hesitates to get in his way, to find the right angle to end this the way he wants it to go, and steps past him as he does, going for the broken door and the woman who¡¯s Qi he can still sense, scurrying about the room he just melted his way into.


    And then feels someone¡¯s hand touch him again.


    He rounds on this Qen Hou, the edges of his robe crackling and starting to catch, the air around the both of them turning hot enough to burn lesser flesh. By his wrath, the lanterns that light the hallway begin to shift and writhe, their flames gradually darkening and shifting in hue.


    ¡°You dare?¡± he whispers.


    Qen Hou seems to pause, unsure what to say. He almost hesitates more, and then- he grits his teeth and looks Shin Ren in the eyes.


    ¡°I dare,¡± he says.


    And before either one of them can say anything else, the sound of the alarm at the walls begins to ring. A massive, tolling series of bells decorate the interior of the walls, calibrated to be able to ring in a dozen different combinations, and this one screams of individual intruders, two to be precise. An instant later the runic array connected to the bells activates, and words begin to manifest in the mind of every disciple and guard and servant of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect.


    ¡°Unknown individuals leaving the wall without permission. Available guard squadrons, immediate pursuit.¡±


    Shin Ren snarls again, like a fucking animal. What is wrong with him?


    Doesn¡¯t matter now, does it? His quarry has been located, and with a new accomplice.


    He turns and glares at Qen Hou again, but the inner disciple is already stepping back and away, taking the opportunity (without facing him, without even looking him in the eyes, like he¡¯s been dismissed) to stand more directly in front of the healer¡¯s doorway.


    Then, and only then, does he turn from the direction of the bells to face Shin Ren again. ¡°With your permission, young master,¡± he says, ¡°I¡¯ll remain here to guard the honored healer, so you may have the opportunity to pursue other objectives more suited to your desires.¡±


    Shin Ren glares at him, eyes wide at the audacity of this worthless thing¡­ and curses, turning and sprinting through the halls so fast half the lanterns go out from the speed of his movement.


    She will not get away this time.

 Chapter 39 - Misdemeanors Against the Laws of Physics (And Cops)

    ¡°That was not a very good plan,¡± Raika tells Maen as they sprint the last stretch towards the cliff.


    The first part had gone well enough. Maen had walked in, confident and direct, claiming that she was summoned by a senior to provide supplies and a moment of rest. Considering her bag, and it¡¯s hidden contents, the assumption they wanted (and that most of the guards seem to create for themselves) was that she was bringing liquor to some commander or other, one of the Inner disciples turned guard and either bored or frustrated. They didn¡¯t even have to say one; turns out there¡¯s enough frustrated seniors in here that it¡¯s become some kind of habit to ignore some nightly visitations from a lowly visitor. In this, Maen¡¯s minimal cultivation also worked in her favor.


    Ah, the sweet smell of corruption in the post-midnight morning.


    From there, it wasn¡¯t actually that hard to find a quiet moment to signal Raika. A slight burst of the citrus of yuzu and sharpened nails wafted through a window, minute enough that most of the guards won¡¯t notice unless they¡¯re looking. In this, the sect¡¯s vigilance works against them; without an actual threat beyond the threat of failing at political posturing, the increased demands for patrols and vigilance have instead dulled the guards with weeks of nothing happening. As soon as she gets the sign, Raika slips out of the woods; there are patrols on the inside of the wall, but far less than its exterior.


    Then she¡¯d made it in through the window, and they just had to make it maybe a hundred feet to the first opening on the other side of the wall to slip through.


    And then, of course, the corruption came back to bite them in the ass when some dickhead in charge swaggered over to Maen and was looking to see some of this fancy wine she¡¯d brought to reward their commander, make sure it passed ¡°inspection¡±.


    So Raika smashed his head into a wall until he was unconscious so he wouldn¡¯t raise any alarm, and they ran.


    This, of course, led to someone raising the alarm, because apparently some smartass had decided to tie the guard¡¯s life force and Qi into their defense systems. Or maybe because someone heard her making a hole in the stone with his skull, hard to tell which might be relevant.


    ¡°It all would¡¯ve been fine if you hadn¡¯t killed that guy!¡± Maen yells as they sprint, voices shouting all around, a dozen cultivators rushing towards the wall near where they jumped out of it.


    ¡°He¡¯s not dead!¡± Raika shoots back. ¡°Probably! He seemed sturdy enough, he¡¯ll be fine, now quit yelling!¡±


    ¡°How are we even getting out of here?¡± Maen whimpers in audible frustration. ¡°There¡¯s going to be a hundred guards around this spot in a good ten seconds, how in the hells do you plan on getting us down the mountain?¡±


    ¡°Oh, off the side, obviously,¡± Raika replies. And before Maen can do more than look at her like she¡¯s fucking insane, she¡¯s grabbed her around the waist, hoisted her into a fireman¡¯s carry and slipped off the edge of a cliff.


    Maen almost shrieks with alarm, her whole body spasming in panic like¡­ well, like a flailing cat, to be honest, but the immediate jolt of Raika grabbing a nearby stone and forcing her hand to dig against it knocks the wind out of her temporarily. By the time she¡¯s recovered from the impact to her ribs and gotten some air back, she¡¯s panting, eyes wide, arms and legs both absolutely wrapped around Raika in as tight of a hold as she can manage.


    ¡°What the fuck is wrong with you?¡± she hisses, managing to just barely keep it quiet. ¡°We¡¯re going to die!¡±


    Raika shrugs, shaking a terrified squeak out of the felinid young woman. ¡°If you want, you can climb back up,¡± she says. ¡°Or I could drop you. Both are viable options, you know, and only the latter seems likely when you keep yelling in my ear.¡± And then she lets go of the divot she was holding onto and drops them another fifty feet, waiting until she¡¯s about a third of the way to terminal velocity before she grabs hold of something again. It¡¯s a hard job, especially with how much heavier she is with Maen¡¯s weight on her and the added challenge of trying to keep quiet as she moves to avoid detection, but she managed it, bit by bit.


    Then the entire east side of the cliff above them is washed in violent purple fire, and something lands there.


    Now on the one hand, that¡¯s good. With the arrival of one powerful cultivator, chances are politics and the hope of keeping this from spinning out of their control means that the others won¡¯t be arriving as quickly. Some will leave it to assign blame, while others rush and miss something important. On the other hand, that¡¯s bad news, because that much purple fire (and, of course, the smell of burning honey and someone new, smelling faintly of rusted iron and molten metal) can only mean one thing; Shin Ren and an unknown have arrived, and they both smell like heavy hitters.


    ¡°Maen,¡± Raika whispers, as quietly as she can. ¡°Just to be sure, but if I drop you from here, you¡¯ll die, right?¡±


    Maen nods vigorously.


    ¡°Ok,¡± Raika whispers. ¡°Then I¡¯m going to need you to be as absolutely still and quiet as you can, and make sure you don¡¯t leak a fucking drop of Qi. Because otherwise they¡¯re probably going to burn this whole face of the mountain we¡¯re on and that¡¯s going to be really, really bad.¡±


    Maen nods even harder, somehow.


    And then something strange happens.


    Raika can¡¯t smell claws anymore.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    The yuzu scent is still there, incredibly faint even with Maen literally on her shoulders and wrapped around her, but the smell of sharpened keratin, of something like razors but grown, isn¡¯t present anymore.


    She turns her face to look over at Maen, who has her eyes firmly shut and seems to be using every ounce of concentration to not look down and pretend that she¡¯s anywhere but here.


    Fair enough. She¡¯d ask about it later.


    She drops again, letting herself fall for longer this time, waiting until just before the wind starts to whistle past her before she grabs onto stone with her hand, feet and knees all at once, maximizing points of contact. It tears through her pants, leaving ragged holes in them, cutting into her feet like it¡¯s been cutting into her hands, but it works, slowing her much, much faster. There¡¯s more noise than she¡¯d like, from the fabric tearing to the scrape of stone on bone, but she¡¯s almost halfway down by this point, and there¡¯s the sound of guards and arguing and yelling and bells even this far down, giving her hope that she won¡¯t be heard.


    Then she smells them coming.


    A dozen smells, maybe twenty in total, a riot of different scents and concepts and memories assaulting her at the stench of so much potent Qi being waved around. She freezes for a moment, ready to panic and let go entirely, to try and catch herself at the last minute and protect Maen with her body on impact if she has to-


    And then she realizes the smells aren¡¯t coming from the sect. They¡¯re coming from the city.


    She hasn¡¯t torn the tendons in her core yet, but maybe this is a nice time to try.


    She leans her body back away from the cliff, forcing her knees and feet to hold tension and keep her locked, and reaches her hand back to yank Maen off of her. If Maen struggles for a moment too long, if Raika lets herself lean too far back, they¡¯re both well and fucked, there¡¯s no way Raika will be able to hold on¡­ but the blinding, panicked focus the smaller woman has on trying to pretend she isn¡¯t here work against her, and she doesn¡¯t react in time as Raika grabs hold of her and flips her forward, holding her tight between her own body and the cliff wall.


    ¡°Don¡¯t. Move.¡± she whispers, as vehemently as she can afford to in the dark and the quiet. She shifts, encouraging Maen to curl up in a ball, to be pressed until it¡¯s almost painful against the cliff wall as Raika grips at it with all her might and tries, as hard as she can, to obfuscate Maen¡¯s lighter servant¡¯s clothes with her own all-black outfit.


    And then the night sky is briefly lit up by a flash of gold, and over a dozen presences flash past where they are up to the sect.


    She does not need to see them to know what they are. It takes tremendous skill, determination, energy, and affinity to be able to truly fly, to defy the ground of the earth entirely before you¡¯ve truly reached the heavens that are in the grasp of the Divergent Paths. With that, only a few individuals before the level of Emperor-realm can truly even think of flight on their own, and those that can manage it are carefully guarded secrets or immediately snatched fruit for powerful sects and the Empire alike.


    So the solution is to invent flight without a need for cultivation.


    The technique remains something that only Imperial authorities have access to, a way for many of their squadrons and more powerful individuals to travel vast distances and deploy quickly. Whether it is a technique or, as many believe, some sort of mass-manufactured artifact capable of granting flight to any attuned to it, is unknown, but the golden light of movement and the presence of so many cultivators with so many easily distinct smells tells her everything she needs to know about who it was she sensed getting closer.


    Time¡¯s up. They¡¯re a little over halfway down, but as soon as the Imperials are appraised, the search for them will only multiply, and even if they just leave the sect to its own business, there¡¯s no chance that if she waits for them there won¡¯t already be those down in the city at the mountain¡¯s base looking for them.


    Raika finally turns her head from the cliff above them back down to Maen, pressed into a little corner and held there by her weight. ¡°We¡¯re going to have to move fast. Keep up whatever you¡¯re doing with hiding yourself, it¡¯s great, but it¡¯s going to get a bit scarier from here. You ready?¡±


    Maen, inexplicably blushing furiously and almost hyperventilating, just nods once.


    ¡°Ok,¡± Raika whispers. ¡°Wrap your arms around me, and hold tight, ok?¡±


    Maen hesitates a bit, the blush deepening, but does as commanded, pressing her little bag of supplies between them with an awkward shuffling and wrapping both arms and legs as tight around Raika as she can. Using her body weight, Raika pins her head against the cliff and pushes it down a bit, so that Maen¡¯s face and skull are nestled in close against her collarbone. She marvels at how cold the smaller figure is, before remembering that yes, panic, small body, and falling through the air on a cool night incredibly quickly, makes sense.


    And then she takes a breath and lets go of the cliff.


    They begin to fall.


    The stone begins to move past them faster and faster.


    The wind begins to whistle all around them, tugging at them, attempting to crawl between them and rip them apart into a chaotic, messy fall.


    Raika does not grab the mountain again.


    Instead, she grabs her will and her flesh. She makes her heart beat faster, then faster again, then faster still, until she can feel her ribs and chest start to ache from it, until she starts to feel dizzy from the flow of blood running through her. She molds the flesh of her legs, making them more pliable, weaving and even knotting some of the broken strings of muscle she can feel from her earlier escape. She feels her knees, her hips, her bones still far from her ability to control, but the fat and ligaments and stray bits she can use to cushion the inside of those joints far more malleable. She feels things shift and click that her body tells her should not be doing that, and she ignores it, because it¡¯s currently being unhelpful and scared and how good for it, but she plans to survive the fucking fall, and keeps moving things, until her skin feels loose in places and too-tight in others, until her spine feels strange from the flesh she¡¯s braced around it, all of it stretched beyond where it should be and agonizing for it but more useful like this. She feels her whole body straining, already threatening to have something important come apart¡­ but she refuses to allow it.


    She is Hers, with all that that weight of self and Truth and ownership entails. And in this case, it entails that when she molds herself like this, at least in this moment of panic and the short-term, she does not break.


    Raika does not grab the wall. In the end, there¡¯s another major issue with this particular geographic feature that places it a step below the smooth, impossible precision of the pillar of a mountain that holds up the local Imperial governor¡¯s palace; it slopes.


    Not much, not till almost the very base of it, not enough to even really mention unless you¡¯re a real stickler and powerful enough to casually remold a plateau that¡¯s quite well made, thank you much, but there is a slope.


    And it is rushing fast, the wind whipping, the burning, horrifying adrenaline burning her alive, the pain all but forgotten in the face of a challenge so great that failing it can only mean death.


    And then, the impossible speed of her heartbeat almost matched by the panicked fluttering of Maen¡¯s, Raika hits the ground running.

 Chapter 40 - Promises, Promises...

    Her legs are milling in the air for a moment before her feet make contact with the wall and she has to contract and balance violently to avoid getting flipped about by the impact, the traction of cliff-versus-person. The moment passes, her body further strained, and her next step hits, and again, until her legs are an agonizing blur sprinting along the wall, and then her knees bend and her spine has to fight not to let her slap face first into the floor or start tumbling, and for a moment she thinks she¡¯s failed, and wraps her arm around Maen to try and shield her.


    And then the added padding feels a moment of give, and locks into place, pinching nerves and flesh between bone and forcing the impact and sheer kinetic energy in her body to rocket up and behind her as she moves.


    She hits the sharp curve where incline finally becomes a flat plane again and, almost bent over from the strain, she hits the ground faster than she has ever run before and keeps going.


    There¡¯s a strained whimper as the whiplash and gravity hit Maen, and she almost slips off Raika, her grip not quite strong enough to deal with the force of the abrupt gravitational turn, but she holds the small woman gripping her so tight, forcing them to stay together as she keeps running. Any attempt to stop now would simply see her wind up smeared into a streak of blood along cobbled streets rather than smeared into a puddle at the base of the plateau of the Purple Searchlight Blooming Idiots sect, so she just keeps going, pushing her system, keeping her heart pumping and forcibly manipulating the constantly damaged tissues of her legs to keep them from falling apart completely.


    She makes it almost a kilometer into the city before she is able to slow down, the whole distance flashing by in seconds.


    Then, and only then, does Raika allow herself to fall over limp.


    For a while, she and Maen lay there, collapsed on the ground, neither one willing or able to be the first one to move. Maen, for all that she was only responsible for holding on, experienced some truly tremendous G-force for a solid few seconds, which isn¡¯t something that¡¯s comfortable for anyone, least of all someone untrained and only at the lower end of the Qi-Gathering realm. Raika, splayed out and almost entirely limp, is more¡­ running up against the limits of biological possibility, even with her recent enhancement and evolution into a being capable of shifting said biology around a bit. She is breathing shallow, her focus pointed towards her heart, slowly draining away its constant heartbeat from the agony of the constant high-pace she¡¯d taken it to as they both lay there, recovering.


    And then another wave of light flickers behind her, brilliant and violet, with the smell of just a hint of berries and flame, and she decides it¡¯s time to go.


    Raising a trembling hand, she reaches into her shirt, grasping the small bundle of cloth there and rooting through it until she finds what she¡¯s looking for. With a concentrated effort, she lifts her hand out of the bundle and Dinks what she¡¯s holding against Maen¡¯s forehead.


    The sound almost makes her cry.


    ¡°Come on,¡± she says in a voice so shaky she¡¯s not sure she even said it out loud. ¡°Time to get up. You¡¯re gonna have to help me to my feet, kitty.¡±


    It¡¯s the mix of getting Dinked in the forehead and the last word Raika said that seems to pull the younger woman together. She blinks, then scowls, then spasms and rolls over away from Raika to vomit on the street.


    ¡°There there,¡± Raika mumbles, ¡°let it out. You¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Maen turns like she¡¯s about to respond, eyes incandescent with rage- but the act of turning skews with her balance and mushed up guts again, and she has to stop herself and turn back around before she pukes all over both of them.


    While she¡¯s busy, Raika decides to do properly what she hasn¡¯t been able to do yet.


    She Dinks herself in the forehead.


    It¡¯s not magic. She can feel the vibration hit, feel how the minute force of it vibrates through her, no more or less magical than her own heartbeat. Whatever she and Dink share, it¡¯s not overtly supernatural or superhuman.


    It is a fucked up tuning fork.


    She is a fucked up human meatbag with mental issues.


    And yet, she does it again.


    It Dinks into her mind that man, she was missed. I mean, it¡¯s not like it could do anything without her, so obviously it needed her around, but she was missed.


    Yeah. Same ol Dink.


    She lets the tears of exertion and non-existent tears that definitely have nothing to do with recovering her most major coping tool for the worst period of her life mix together as she lays there.


    A flash of gold from the sect above and behind them, then another, both of them moving towards the city below. Not quite right where they are, but close.


    She laughs a bit at the smell of Shin Ren raging behind them, and the casual way that other scents rise up and simply squash his. Serves him right for thinking he¡¯s hot shit. He is, but still, serves him right.


    ¡°Come on, Maen,¡± Raika whispers, finally getting an arm underneath herself to try and get up. ¡°You¡¯ve got two arms and didn¡¯t even do any of the running. Help me up, damnit.¡±


    Maen spits off to the side, wipes her mouth, spits again, and nods.


    ¡°I already regret this choice so fucking much,¡± she mumbles, but she does start to get up. She grabs her pack and slings it over one shoulder before grabbing Raika¡¯s left stump near the armpit and hoisting her up a bit, helping her walk.


    Which, apparently, she can¡¯t really do. Stumble-stagger is what¡¯s available. Whatever was left of her legs from when she tore them apart escaping Shin Ren, it was not enough to survive the things she did to it intact. Even trying to exert her will, reaching mind and into her flesh and rearranging it or trying to fix it does almost nothing, the tissues so shredded they move sluggishly if at all. She does still stumble and stagger, though, and drags Maen under her good arm to use her as support as they walk.


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    ¡°Ok,¡± Maen asks. ¡°Where do we go now?¡±


    Ah. In theory she¡¯d had a plan. Her reaction at seeing Li Shu, and the fact that she¡¯d been found out and nearly caught right after, kind of ruined that. Ideally, they can spend the night limping over to the imperial palace and just get themselves picked up by the soldiers there, and hope for the best. Originally the plan had been to try climbing back up, and if that didn¡¯t work, go through the front doors anyways and just be taken back inside, so falling back onto the latter half of that plan (and, admittedly, it¡¯s consequences) doesn¡¯t sting quite as bad as being forced to do so.


    But¡­ then again. There¡¯s a promise she hasn¡¯t kept yet.


    ¡°The red light district,¡± she mumbles. ¡°Past the eastern market square. I¡¯ll guide you once we¡¯re there.¡±


    Maen goes to say something, probably out of frustration or to spit back at Raika for trying to go to such a place now, but¡­ maybe there¡¯s something on her face. She sees it, and just bows her head, either trusting her or realizing she¡¯s not really in the mood to banter. Not at the thought of this.


    The night is lit by flashes of gold and purple, members of the sect and Imperial authorities both dashing through the night in search of them. Using their Qi senses, of course, to which Maen continues to do her weird shifting to disguise her signature, and Raika, to the best of her knowledge, doesn¡¯t have a Qi signature to be sensed. There¡¯s a few close calls, and they have to duck through a lot of back-alleys that become more and more familiar to Raika as they move, but she doesn¡¯t ever feel the fear of getting caught.


    She smiles. A furious, angry, gloriously happy thing. She¡¯s free.


    Maybe she doesn¡¯t even need to go back to the Imperial palace. There¡¯s a whole wide world out there, and once she¡¯s healed she can probably tough it out against the minor spirit beasts that the region contains, maybe even grow on her own and go beyond that. Fuck the Empire. She¡¯s no one''s slave, no one¡¯s servant. Fuck their cage, too.


    ¡­the bacon-wrapped dates can go unfucked, but fuck the gilded cage overall!


    And then, eventually, she sees it.


    The alley where she always met the kid.


    And he¡¯s there.


    Staring up at the sky like a half-dozen other people she¡¯s avoided, awake at three in the morning so he can look at the stars and the gold of the greatest authority the world has ever seen flashing through the night.


    She smiles as she sees him.


    ¡°Hey, idiot,¡± she gasps, stumbling in on Maen¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Good to see you¡¯ve been wasting even more time.¡±


    He looks at her and¡­ takes a step back. His eyes dart between the two of them, a weak, tangerine-scented breeze reaching out as he pushes against them and tries to sense their strength.


    Fuck. Less than a year, no master, alone in a whorehouse and he can push his Qi like that. Foundational stage, or maybe just before it, at his age.


    No more snow excuse in the later summer now. No excuse at all. The kid saved her fucking life, and at her absolute worst, she somehow still managed to do something good for him.


    Before he can panic or need to ask who they are, she raises her remaining right arm and Dinks against her forehead, to a confused look from Maen.


    JiaJia, though, lights up like he¡¯s seen a firework. ¡°Master!¡± he yells, so startled he almost trips as he sprints forward towards them, all alight with nervous energy and enthusiasm and relief. ¡°I thought you weren¡¯t coming back, I worried you died! I mean you said you would but it¡¯s been so long and you¡¯re super weak, I mean you still look super weak did they beat you up? But why did you look like that, I couldn¡¯t even recognize you! Is it a witch thing? Are you a witch? Can you get younger? You look younger. Even the hole on your face looks better! Did the Purple Fire sect do that? I thought you said they were all losers and-¡±


    She Dinks him on the forehead. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me, idiot apprentice,¡± she growls. ¡°It¡¯s three in the morning, how are you able to ask this many questions?¡±


    He looks at her, shocked, then gives her a cheeky grin. ¡°Not my fault you can¡¯t keep up,¡± he giggles. ¡°Guess even turning back to my age wouldn¡¯t be enough to let you match my new power. It seems the student is soon to be the master, huh?¡±


    She laughs at that, though she notices JiaJia¡¯s eyes flicking over to Maen.


    ¡°Maen, this is JiaJia,¡± Raika says. ¡°JiaJia, this is a hot cat-eared girl I picked up at the sect who¡¯s obsessed with me and helps carry me around.¡±


    ¡°Wha-¡± Maen splutters, but before she can properly defend herself JiaJia has broken into a giggle that Raika can¡¯t help but laugh along to.


    He¡¯s alive. And he¡¯s well. And she did good, even at her worst. She gave someone something. Still, there¡¯s the issue of their promise. Oh, she¡¯s surely further along in her journey, and he seems to be progressing well, but joke or not, she¡¯s taken the role of his ¡°master¡±. It wouldn¡¯t do to come without gifts or advice. She pauses to think of what it is she can offer-


    A hand, large enough to wrap around her entire torso, backhands JiaJia.


    There is a red smear where his upper body was. A lot of it ended up on the wall, to her left.


    One of his legs is fallen over on the floor. The other is at the foot of the wall.


    They are not connected anymore.


    She cannot look up.


    He is here. She can smell the wind, the mountain, the steel and the thing that consumes and is all of them, but she cannot look up.


    She is looking at the stain.


    ¡°Did you think we wouldn¡¯t track where you¡¯d been?¡± rumbles a voice like a mountain breaking. ¡°That we wouldn¡¯t have records? That the Empire wouldn¡¯t notice everyone you ever spoke to the moment you became of interest?¡±


    Maen is trying to say something, or whimper, or just trembling from the pressure of his Qi, and fails at all three. She has fallen over. Raika wonders if she¡¯s ok. It¡¯s a faint thought, and it flickers, and then she remembers what she is looking at, and it goes out.


    She has fallen to her knees. Her legs are too broken to stand her up. Maen is on the floor too, and she can hear something like choking or gasping coming from her. Or maybe it¡¯s coming from Raika.


    She is looking at the stain.


    ¡°What was the plan?¡± Taurus rumbles. ¡°Meet up with your friends? Go explore the woods, like a wandering cultivator of no notice? Did you even have a plan, or are you more animal than I¡¯d hoped, wandering from instinct to instinct, one blind impulse to the next?¡±


    One of the legs of- one of the legs is in front of her. The shoe has fallen off. She reaches a trembling hand to pick it up, holding the cold metal of something like a shield against the world and the proof of how little that shield could really do in the same grip.


    There¡¯s a thud of weight in front of her, like some colossal monolith taking a step forward, and a hot breath comes down onto her, heavy enough to make her blink.


    ¡°Did you think what would happen if someone ever asked a known associate of yours, a blabbering little fool raised in a whorehouse, if he¡¯d seen his friend, the person of interest to Imperial Command and a Division, the night that someone broke into and attacked a sect under the Empire¡¯s aegis? That same night when she should have been in her cage under the watchful eye of a Division of the Emperor¡¯s Will?¡± he rumbles, less like stone now, more like thunder, coming closer, closer. ¡°Did you think, Raika the bold, the brave, the mindless, what that would mean?¡±


    She does not say anything.


    She is looking at the stain.


    ¡°There are no wilds, here,¡± the thunder says, quiet for all its size. ¡°There is no freedom to be had in rebellion. Only tighter collars.¡±


    The alleyway is silent, save for the rumbling of breaths heavy enough to shake the air.


    Maen has gone quiet, save for an occasional gargle or choked sound.


    Raika has not moved. She cannot speak. She holds onto the shoe.


    She is looking at the stain.


    It is the last thing she sees before the world goes dark.

 Chapter 41 - The Cause of Pain and Suffering

    She is not let out of her room.


    She doesn¡¯t care.


    It is a pretty room. There is a big, soft bed, and a fancy, lovely bathroom, and the rest she does not really see, because it is not really very important at all, is it? It is a pretty room. They will not let her out.


    She doesn¡¯t ask them to.


    She looks at the shoe, most of the time. Simple thing. A sandal, partially made of wood, partially of cloth bindings. Basic, something easily bought. He didn¡¯t have shoes when they first met, she doesn¡¯t think. Or if he did, they weren¡¯t like this. So he¡¯d gotten nicer shoes at some point. That was good. That was something to be proud of.


    But he can¡¯t use the shoe anymore.


    The part of her brain that reminds her of that is stupid and unhelpful. And it is all that matters, because it is true. The rest of her brain is also stupid and unhelpful, because it went to fulfill a stupid, childish promise to a stupid child better off without her, and now she gets to see the stain.


    It¡¯s in the shadow when the sun goes down.


    It¡¯s the wallpaper when the light hits it right.


    It¡¯s on her face when she looks in the mirror.


    She broke the mirror. It was fixed later when she looked at it, but then she broke it more, and it cut her, and now there is a nice looking wall where the mirror was. She can¡¯t remember the door opening, or anyone coming in, but the mirror is gone now, and it is better.


    But when she falls asleep. When she can¡¯t hold it back anymore and falls asleep, against her will, against her pain as she claws at her skin and her face and whatever she can reach. She sees the stain.


    She wonders if she¡¯ll see it forever.


    It¡¯s a silly thought. She¡¯s killed before, lots of people. In battle, against other cultivators and against mortal armies, uppity villages and terrains that refused to bend the knee and offer proper obesiance to the local sects. The Hungering Roots had never been a particularly active sect, not by the standards of the ¡°true¡± Sects with their millenia of culture and violence and direct agreements with the Empire, but to even be a sect is to understand that you will be called on to commit violence and to grant resources. So yeah, she¡¯d gone out before.


    It¡¯s how she got her name. ¡°Raika the Bloody¡±. It was kind of a joke, at first, one of those you make when you¡¯re a little scared. She hadn¡¯t had many techniques. The Hungering Roots took her in gladly when they found her, took her away from her family and the winters by the fire and the sound her father made when he was in the kitchen with her mother, trying to get her to sing along, but it hadn¡¯t actually had much that was useful for her cultivation. A few things, sure, all which were ¡°sect resources¡± and needed to be bought with trials and service and resources brought in and jobs completed. So she did all of them. Everything she could find. Including putting down a few middling armies from some idiot noble children, who got slaps on the wrist as she, without any real technique to her name besides a slightly above average cultivation, slaughtered their ¡°soldiers¡±.


    The first time she¡¯d taken a job to ¡°subdue an upstart army¡±, she¡¯d walked out of it soaked.


    Peak of Foundational Realm. Right before Core Formation. Barely in her mid teens.


    They had melted around her fists when she¡¯d hit them. Like sacks of jelly. Like their bones didn¡¯t know how to be bones. Little peasant people, convinced to join up for meager promises. And oh, how they splattered.


    Raika the Bloody, they had called her that night, around the fire. She hadn¡¯t killed most of them, hadn¡¯t even made a real dent, maybe a few dozen in the face of several hundred? They¡¯d been wiped out in hours, even hiding and attacking in groups, and she¡¯d done her part, sure, but nothing like the notches the others had shown in their belts that night. But only she had no weapon. Only she had a sect stingy enough and unsuited to her cultivation enough that she knew only martial forms.


    A lot of the wounds from that day left scars. The robes she wore never really lost the muddy brown color the blood turned to.


    She burned the robes, and laughed with them, and pretended that she¡¯d been able to sleep the next few nights. And then she started wearing the name.


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    ¡°Raika the Bloody¡±. A fearful title for her juniors to worry about, and her enemies to hesitate. A joke to the seniors that had been with her that day. And for her¡­ eventually, it was a way to get used to the faces. To forget them. She wasn¡¯t the person who¡¯d killed those people who had funny masks and simple weapons they didn¡¯t know how to use. She was Raika the Bloody, and she could laugh at it and revel in it because it was just what was.


    Funny how well it worked. Barely more than a decade after, and she has forgotten what they looked like, under their scarves and homemade masks.


    Those stayed, though. The masks. She can remember those, if she tries to.


    She wonders if she will forget JiaJia someday, and find the stain where she last saw the memory of his face.


    Maen is alive. So that¡¯s nice.


    She¡¯s been in and out. Sometimes she talks. Sometimes Raika feels bad she doesn¡¯t say anything back. Most of the time she doesn¡¯t feel much. Maen lived, so that¡¯s that. She got what she wanted, no? Hasn¡¯t been kicked out anyways. A big upgrade, being here at the palace and working with this ¡°Division¡±, plenty more here than when she left if she just takes it. Probably even if she doesn¡¯t, she¡¯ll still be more by the end of this. She got what she wanted, and she¡¯s alive and she¡¯s here now, so Raika doesn¡¯t need to talk to her or remember the words she says, because that¡¯s-


    Well, that¡¯s easier. She can focus on other things instead.


    Like the shoe.


    Like Taurus.


    The stain likes to come up when the thought of him appears. To remind her of the consequence. Of what he¡¯d said. Of what he¡¯d done.


    Her eyes on him, deep under the waters, under the mark of the stain, under the blood. She sees what he did. If she lets herself, if she slips, she can see him there, over and over and over, that backhand faster than she could react to or track but ingrained in her.


    That cuts through everything else. When she lets herself think on anything else, that memory cuts through, because that memory does not make her sad. It makes her want to rip out both of their throats.


    So it is that things go. She is not sure how long she stays like this, seeing what she did, what was left, in every corner. Only the glimpses of something, beneath the quiet, beneath the pain of it, still peek through to measure time with. But time does pass.


    And so eventually, she gets tired of just seeing the stain. She starts to think again. She wonders what she could have done differently. Had she known that Taurus and whoever has his collar already knew about JiaJia, how would she have acted? If she¡¯d been more obedient and simply let things be, what would have changed? Could she, in the end, have simply asked to see Li Shu, no matter how much further it tied them together? She¡¯d hoped that by returning, she¡¯d get some goodwill, that by being silent about who she wanted to see and say goodbye to, she could protect them.


    But they¡¯d already known. And she¡¯d pushed forward, a half-cocked plan and what she has to admit, now, was probably more pain and fear than logical thought. She had not mastered her feelings and passions; they had mastered her, and she hadn¡¯t even seen it.


    Her Truth still chafes, here in the cage, but it is not unbearable. And had she perhaps just borne it, things could have been different.


    But he killed the kid. Self-appointed apprentice to a worthless master. His hand reached forward. His hand swept him aside. Runemaster Boriah Taurus.


    She cannot forgive herself for how she acted. For what she let happen and what she caused. But that¡¯s easy. She just doesn¡¯t need to. She¡¯s going to hurt anyways, she¡¯s already in this fucking cage, so she just needs to keep hurting and keep letting things happen and then someday- well, who cares?


    But Taurus?


    Him, she can make pay.


    Eventually, that solidifies.


    She doesn¡¯t need to heal, anymore. She doesn¡¯t need to go back to how she was, doesn¡¯t need to ape her former cultivator status. She just needs to be stronger.


    She just needs to be more.


    And then, when she is, she can take the payment that is owed.


    She does not know how long she let this go on, how long she needed for this to happen. But eventually, she wraps the shoe in a soft shirt, and bundles it tight, and leaves it on her bed. She gets up, and walks to the center of the room, and sits.


    She was weak. She let herself get carried away. And she didn¡¯t see the hits coming.


    All three are unacceptable.


    So for the first time since she saw the stain, she lets herself fall back into her body. Back into the damaged sections caused by her escape, into the older scars, into the heart once again, and begins to watch what they do. She watches carefully, ever so quietly, and if she ever wants to stop she just doesn¡¯t, because she doesn¡¯t deserve to stop. And punishment is easier to hold to than even a moment of peace.


    So she watches. And she learns. And when she finally begins to move her heart again, begins to take the bits of Qi that taste and feel like razors and needles in her flesh and move them, begins to force something to happen- only then does the door open.


    She doesn¡¯t know how long she¡¯s been sitting there. But when she looks up, she is not alone in the room, and the air smells of wind, steel and thundering hooves.

 Chapter 42 - The Slave, the Beast, and the Chisel

    He sits, lotus-position, on the floor in front of her. His bulk is very nearly comical, and if not for how ostentatiously oversized everything in the palace is, he wouldn¡¯t be able to comfortably fit past any door, much less sit like this in a simple bedroom without his armspan reaching the walls to either side of him. As it is, the amount of space around and between them gives off the illusion of equatable size, the delusion that she takes up space compared to him. If one were to be generous, perhaps they might say it makes things a bit less intimidating.


    But then, Raika isn¡¯t intimidated. Not really. It¡¯s hard to be intimidated by a steel trap, or a falling rock. Afraid, yes. Aware of consequence should one mishandle it, absolutely. But she does not feel intimidated.


    She mostly feels empty. And, vaguely, like a chain she has placed around her own throat, she forces herself to feel that hate he has so earned.


    He does not speak for a long time. In that time, she simply looks at him.


    He looks a bit haggard. More late nights writing letters and documents and whatever it is he does in his room, perhaps, or perhaps something simpler, an extended headache. She likes that idea, that so early in her journey to her hands wrapped around his throat, she¡¯s already caused him pain.


    She doesn¡¯t speak. It¡¯s hard to talk, for one thing, because she hasn¡¯t in so long. Weeks, maybe. She also worries that when she tries to speak, her voice won¡¯t come out clear because of the pain.


    Eyes open, conscious, the meditation put to the side, she still focuses. She still forces her heart to beat, and her blood to flow and cut and bruise and irradiate what it can inside her with what little she has. It hurts, and that¡¯s ok, because she¡¯s earned that.


    ¡°Gone mute, then?¡± the local Head of the Altered Cultivation Division rumbles.


    She shakes her head no. But says nothing.


    He nods. ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    He huffs a breath. It stirs the curtains on the other side of the room, and Raika notices it shifts something on her, too. On the top of her head, to be precise. Her hair seems to be growing back, curly little wisps of it, just enough to feel wind by. Funny how she hadn¡¯t noticed.


    ¡°You¡¯re to be monitored constantly,¡± he rumbles. ¡°You¡¯ve been confirmed as an escape risk, and doubly confirmed as a valuable course of study. Say what you will about what you did, but it was impressive.¡±


    She says nothing, keeping her gaze cold and locked on him as she feels her heartbeat.


    ¡°I would like you to understand that you are not invisible to us,¡± he tells her. ¡°Your signature is minute, it¡¯s true. Doesn¡¯t read as human or creature, for very different reasons each, which I¡¯m sure Yun Ka will be happy to explain to you. But you are detectable, like any formation or pattern of Qi. Additionally, you were marked when you were brought here. I¡¯m¡­ annoyed that my generosity was wasted, holding off as long as I did, but I was hopeful you¡¯d take hold of the advantages and agree to it more naturally if given a choice. My mistake. I won¡¯t tell you where or-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the capsule,¡± she interrupts. ¡°Little metal pill, left side, bundled under my lower intestines. Don¡¯t know how you got it in there without cutting me, but my respect to the experts who surely toiled for such a technique.¡±


    He hesitates. Just a tiny, tiny bit.


    She smiles. It is bright, and cheery, and ever so enthusiastic to be here. ¡°Not to worry, Master Boriah,¡± she says, tone matching her smile. ¡°I thank you for the opportunity to be guided, and would never seek to lose this advantage by doing something so foolish as messing with Imperial property.¡±


    He is silent for a moment. She keeps the smile for a moment, before putting it away again, face as quiet as the room.


    ¡°I am fascinated to learn more about this cultivation method of yours,¡± he rumbles. ¡°What a thing, to see inside oneself so clearly. It must be dizzying, the complexity inside even so relatively simple a shell.¡±


    She brings out the smile again, equipping it as naturally as any instinctive movement. ¡°Of course, sir,¡± she replies. ¡°But I find it easiest when one simplifies things. My wisdom pales to your own, after all, and the nuances of the medical arts are well beyond me. It was quite a hassle, being surrounded by so much impenetrable knowledge back in the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect.¡±


    Another pause. ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± he says. ¡°Tell me, did your¡­ excursion there bring up any more bad memories?¡±


    She laughs, but regrets it. She thought she¡¯d gotten it right, but Taurus actually blinks, and she senses a slight stirring in his Qi. Something to refine, later.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean, sir,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that, while I may have briefly erred and escaped the notice of my benefactor to enjoy some night air, I haven¡¯t returned to the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect in¡­ well, perhaps a month and a half? I¡¯m afraid I haven¡¯t been in my right mind, but I¡¯m quite sure I would never dare to cause trouble for a sect under the Empire¡¯s aegis.¡±


    Taurus says nothing for a while. Then, eventually, he nods.


    ¡°Just so,¡± he says. ¡°It is good, perhaps, that you were in such a weakened state that kept you bound to this room.¡±


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    ¡°Of course, honored Runemaster!¡± she says, bowing from where she¡¯s seated and coming back up with that smile still on her face. ¡°I cannot thank the Empire enough for its assistance in my recovery.¡±


    Silence again.


    Taurus¡­ huffs again. His eyes flicker to the side, towards a blank wall, as if looking for something there.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good spin,¡± he rumbles. ¡°Shows you¡¯re playing along. I respect your ability to commit to it, considering your state yesterday. And the last two weeks.¡±


    The smile doesn¡¯t move. Neither does she.


    "I don''t suppose it would matter much if I told you I was sorry?" he asks.


    The smile doesn¡¯t move. Neither does she.


    He opens his mouth. Goes to say something. Closes it again.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he rumbles. ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    He gets to his feet. ¡°You¡¯ve got free range of the main rooms and the hallways. Oh, and the baths. I suggest you make use of them, and soon.¡± He goes to step out of the room again, but pauses, looking over his shoulder.


    ¡°It could have been worse,¡± he rumbles. ¡°For him and you both. For you, it still might be. You have others that still walk freely in much larger cages than yours. And your cage, if you let it be, is vast.¡±


    He turns to look at her fully, and there is something in his eyes. For a minute, with no scent involved, she can see that thing inside him, the denizen hidden in his Qi, monolithic and world-shattering and wrapped in a veil of flesh and other elements. It looks at her through him, and all three of them stand there, in tableau, for but a moment.


    ¡°You should be ever so grateful you can see its edge,¡± he rumbles, deeper and somehow even less human than normal emphasis on every word. ¡°It¡¯s quite a useful thing, if you know how to use it.¡±


    The words of a slave. A strong one, maybe even an outwardly daring one, to share such borderline dangerous advice. But a slave.


    But she sees the thing in his eyes, brought back to her now. The thing that eats mountains and breathes hurricane winds.


    She sees in his eyes, for a moment, the attempt at connection. At communication. At, in it''s own quiet way, apology.


    Perhaps if he¡¯d said it earlier, she would care.


    ¡°I will be sure to take your words to heart, Runemaster,¡± she says, still smiling, still pitched perfectly, bowing once again.


    He smiles at that. It¡¯s not a big smile; a glimpse of teeth, and a moment of cold in his eyes. ¡°Make sure that you do,¡± he rumbles.


    He leaves the room, then, and she lets the smile fall back out of place.


    It only took a few hours to get it right. Or right enough, anyways. She can feel the muscles twitching, the flesh behind and around them a bit sore from being moved in a new, unfamiliar way.


    She makes herself get up, and compared to when she first sat down it is shaky, a bit unsteady. Well enough, good enough to move and get up in the first place, but there¡¯s a jerkiness to it, an uncomfortable twitching that follows even minor accompanying shifts of position.


    It¡¯s only to be expected, though. She is still training, after all.


    Taurus leaves the room, perhaps having tried to plant seeds, perhaps not, and she follows behind not long after. The healing process has gone fine; whatever her consumption of Qi in her execution did to her regeneration, it¡¯s lasted at least till now, some fundamental change to her body letting her heal from all of the impressive wounds she accumulated in her escape. If she times it properly, she thinks it takes weeks to heal what others might simply hold as scars for the rest of their life. It takes less time if she uses her will and guides the process, amateur as she may be. So, she trains her will.


    She walks forward, towards the baths. Her mind pulls at tendons, tightening ligaments and organizing the shape of the joint so that her leg moves as she wills it to. She could simply walk, let her brain send the signals it needs to without any input from her to have her orders be heard, but that would hardly be a challenge, and her improvised survival of her fall showed her exactly how little she¡¯d been exploring her abilities.


    Without a mirror, it had taken some theorizing to come up with what face muscles to move to make the right expression, but she¡¯s fairly sure she got that too. Another twist of will, and she¡¯d felt her vocal cords sing, the sound of them pitched a bit higher than normal. She¡¯d messed up the laugh, somehow, or maybe the whole thing and Taurus simply had too good a poker face to show it, but- well. Any practice is good practice.


    She takes off her clothes primly and properly, folding ruined, weeks-worn shirt and pants into a neat pile off to the side of one of the hotter pools, before dipping herself in. The movements are fake, artificial, each twist and bend being supported improperly, but she¡¯ll figure it out. Soon. The more control, the more creatively she can use it, the better.


    And then she rests there, in the boiling water, letting it scald her skin and start to burn her, her face forcibly kept at exactly the same expression through will and soul and Truth, what little of it is left. The pain is fine. It¡¯s good, even. The last time she felt the most pain was when she was burned alive, and she apparently regrew almost all of herself after that with just a bit of devoured Qi.


    The memory of that pain comes back, and tries to bite her, tries to get her to flinch, but that¡¯s ok. She deserves it, and she survived it, so it can come and go if it wants to. Because that moment held more than just pain. She¡¯d regrown things in seconds, enough to move and see, and though it may take days or weeks, now, she thinks back on that. She remembers what her eyesight had become before that fight, a blurry, barely-improved mess over her original crippling. She remembers looking out at Paleblossom city on her first night in this place, and being able to see individual people on the streets below. She remembers how her flesh had acted before that fight, and how it acts now, after.


    She looks up at the ceiling above her, decorated as it is in mosaics depicting the sky. She sees the three moons, Lua, Rua, and the flickering green sibling which so refuses to bear a name. She sees the sun, languid, its arms coiling across the sky in long tendrils of ever-roiling flame, lovingly rendered here as if to embrace all the seasons, from the summers where his limbs waver closer to the earth to the winters in which he coils close and leaves all in the cold. She sees the Cold Sun, hidden as it normally is in the corner of the northern stars of the map, its strange geometries lovingly rendered and its pale white light leaving trails of snowflakes behind.


    And behind them, the stars. The constellations, mid-act of battle and intimacy, patterns and councils and clusters of them dancing in formation, coiling about each other like endless snakes and equations. She sees the fluttering-wing, the cross and saber, and the coiled fang all lovingly rendered as if the night sky itself is visible on the ceiling above, each constellation almost as alive as their counterparts in the inky blackness of the sun¡¯s rest.


    As her skin reddens and her body begins to blister, ever so slightly, she smiles up at the heavens, and then lets the expression fall, taking its pieces apart and storing them back, until her face is still and quiet. Her eyes simply look up at the heavens above, rendered in slavish, loving detail, following the pattern down to the edges of the mosaic as the pain gets worse.


    And then, with a small movement of her right arm, she stabs herself in each eye, and sits back against the edge of the tub to see if she can¡¯t make something far more interesting than stone and heavens above.

 Chapter 43 - Friends, Enemies, and Things Yet to Come

    Qen Hou rests on the doorframe, a sort of forced casualness about him as he watches her. It¡¯s not important, and he¡¯s still annoying, but¡­ she remembers well what happened the day that the monster arrived, that that burning heat invaded everything and warped the very space around her. She shudders a bit, the memory still fresh, still tied to the older memory of watching Raika get violated and burned in the arena, and being powerless to help. And he helped. So she doesn¡¯t mention how he looks ridiculous doing that as politely as she can.


    She has gotten very tired of being powerless.


    ¡°Are you sure about this?¡± he asks. ¡°Once you do it, there¡¯s no coming back. The things you¡¯d need to offer the sect for them to let you back in their doors, much less into their ranks, would have to be massive.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t plan on offering them a gosh-darn thing,¡± she retorts, gripping one of her bags, pinning it with a foot and forcing the fabric open just a smidge further so she can stuff in another book. ¡°If I ever come back here, it will be because I¡¯m grander than they could ever be, and I¡¯m rubbing their faces in it. Or to tell Elder Ren how terrible and stupid he is at healing.¡±


    She almost slips and crashes as the tension of the bag finally relents, letting her slip in just one more text. She¡¯s already got three journals, a month¡¯s worth of writing supplies, and six of the openly-available medical texts the sect didn¡¯t confiscate (mostly because she hid them), and a fresh batch of paper stuffed into it, and the fabric is almost groaning at holding it all in. Not everyone has a gods-damned spatial ring to fit things in, but she¡¯ll be damned if she doesn¡¯t take at least this much. It¡¯s basically the minimum! Well, that and the other two bags. One is stuffed full of stolen foodstuffs, hard biscuits and jerky and the like. The other is camping supplies, bedrolls, flint, extra clothing, some cooking tools, a knife-


    ¡°I¡¯m serious,¡± Qen Hou says quietly. ¡°Even with everything that¡¯s happened, there¡¯s still a lot that a sect can offer you. Even if you get a higher cultivation wandering the woods, you¡¯ll lose all of the texts and wisdom here.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no wisdom here,¡± she growls. ¡°Just arrogance and outdated wisdom, and I can find those anywhere in this world. I¡¯m leaving, Qen Hou. That¡¯s final.¡±


    She turns to look at him, mildly bedraggled from the speed at which she¡¯s been packing. ¡°Besides, no one here will even care. Since the Empire came in and that young monster burst through my wall and ruined half my room, no one cares about me anymore. Him ranting and rambling, and my having done nothing wrong, are more than I needed to get them to let me go, and you¡¯ve gone mad if you think they¡¯ll even want to renew my apprenticeship. Well good news, I don¡¯t want them to renew it, because not a healer here holds a candle to my master, and not a cultivator here gives a crap about honor and righteousness.¡±


    Qen Hou cocks an eyebrow. ¡°Not one?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, you¡¯re so very honorable,¡± she grumbles, turning around to try and balance the multiple bags on her hips and shoulders and back. ¡°I¡¯ve thanked you enough already, any more and that big head of yours will float off the ground.¡±


    ¡°Tsk,¡± he says, shaking his head. ¡°It would seem your ritual-monster¡¯s acid tongue has infected you with a bit of its bite.¡±


    She rolls her eyes. ¡°Due to a mix of doctor-patient confidentiality and the fact that she¡¯s not a monster, I¡¯m afraid I must deny any such allegation, honored senior.¡±


    He laughs, and she hears him come forward and turns to see what he¡¯s doing, but he¡¯s moved into the room and right up into her personal space before she can react, especially unbalanced and laden down as she is.


    ¡°Well,¡± he says, ever so casually plucking one of her bags off of her shoulder, ¡°I believe that you should do what most feeds your cultivation. And I shall simply do the same.¡±


    She blinks at him as he stands there, hands respectfully before him, bag on over one shoulder. ¡°What does that mean?¡± she asks.


    ¡°It means I¡¯ll be coming with you,¡± he replies with a shallow bow. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t allow my junior sister and honored healer wandering the wilds on her lonesome. How could this one show his face, much less honor himself before the heavens, if you were to stumble into another mess ten times larger than it looks on the surface?¡±


    She blinks, looking at him. And then she smiles, and swings her other two bags at him fast enough that he ¡°oofs¡± as he catches them.


    ¡°Far be it from this one to dishonor her new and most loyal traveling companion by leaving him so little to do, then!¡± She grins. ¡°This Li Shu is honored you¡¯ve so eagerly volunteered to assist.¡±


    He frowns at her, face partially obscured by the two massive bags he¡¯s struggling to balance, but she¡¯s already past him, beaming a smile back at him.


    ¡°Come on, then!¡± She yells back. ¡°There¡¯s much to learn, and only so much time to do it! We¡¯d best be off if we¡¯re to make it to a good camping spot by sundown!¡±


    And she¡¯s off, hearing Qen Hou curse and try to juggle both the bags and his dignity as he follows along behind.


    Her first and most troublesome patient requires treatment, and Li Shu is not yet able to match said patient¡¯s needs and her own skills. It is time, then, to confront the strange, vibrant, deadly world out there, and change that reality to something acceptable.


    ¡ª-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Something is wrong with him.


    It started with her. With that thing. Demonic cultivator or secret weapon, hidden agent or dormant mutant, it doesn¡¯t matter. It all started with her.


    Raika.


    His Qi feels¡­ wrong. Like something in it has gone off. He doesn¡¯t know what it is, but he¡¯s been trying closed door cultivation for a week and something is wrong with him.


    It¡¯s not even that he can¡¯t cultivate. That part was a success, more than a success, letting him draw in energy like he never has before, every breath in feeling like his body and soul were starving for Qi and pulling it in like the weight of a receding wave. He¡¯s never felt this strong, physically, and the sheer pleasure of that, that he¡¯s been able to break through his limits as he always has and pursue power ever greater, sings in him like little else.


    But the flames have gone wrong.


    He¡¯s circulating Qi, even now, standing and awake, and the pattern just does not feel right anymore, like something in him has shifted, some eddie or current or bump in his body or form or cultivation that has altered things. When he tries to empower himself, he moves explosively, fast enough he has to hold back to avoid self-harm. When he tries to impress his will upon the world, to move his Qi into the proper forms and techniques and truths of the Purple Flame, it bursts forth, unbelievably potent.


    But it burns him now.


    It should not be able to. Unless performed incorrectly, unless intentionally harmful or inherently dangerous to use, one¡¯s cultivation shouldn¡¯t be able to harm them, much less start to do so suddenly, after decades of the loving, nurturing warmth of flame.


    He¡¯s tried to show the elders, but they look at him now like he¡¯s a fool. Perhaps he cannot even blame them, with how he raged at the Imperial soldiers who came to ask what had occurred on that dark night weeks past.. He¡¯s tried to show his teachers, but they simply assure him it¡¯s nothing, a stumbling block at most, something he will laugh about once his talent eclipses this challenge, as it most surely will. He even asked them about the color, about how its edges no longer seem quite the same hue of violet, and they chuckled and nodded politely and listened and simply offered that perhaps he would experience a tribulation soon, or experience an evolution in his understanding.


    One even offered that it might be the first step in comprehending his Dao, either that of flame, or of color, or of the Purple Flame itself, the fire of mysteries and transformation, or lightning consumed. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to put his entire fist through the old man¡¯s face and out the other side.


    Something is wrong with him, and he doesn¡¯t know what. It aches at him, gnawing in the back of his mind, the fact that for all his talent and growth and skill and triumphs, something in him has twisted and gone wrong off of two encounters, both so minor he should have crushed them with ease.


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    He¡¯s been meditating on it. Unfortunately, his thoughts seem to wander outwards more than in.


    To the Imperials.


    The soldiers had appeared fast, less than a minute after the alarm had gone off. Oh sure, it would be their role to check in on anything occurring in ¡°their¡± city, especially after reinforcements had been called after the attack on the Festival of the Cold Sun. Still, did it not stretch the bounds of propriety for them to come so quickly? Did it not cause the sect to lose face, for Imperial soldiers to demonstrate their thoughts that the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect couldn¡¯t defend itself against such a minor alarm?


    No, he thinks. They must have known something was afoot, that something was strange. In the same way that an Imperial Judge ordained that the monster not be killed off-hand by the elders, had maneuvered them into being forced to give face and build a much more performative execution, so too did an Imperial official of some kind, a mutant no less, arrive so shortly after and demand that they hand over that charred, ruinous beast. Oh, it may well have negotiated, spoken softly and with respect, but at no point was Shin Ren fooled; it was all show, just an effort not to steal as much respect as it could from under them by even further undermining their authority.


    And now, the very thing they were supposed to have taken away returns, and their soldiers appear at the sect¡¯s doorstep in so short a time? Had they lost control of her? Had they sent her out, then blocked his pursuit on purpose when she failed? She¡¯s far too dangerous to leave alive, far too alien and monstrous, and if the Empire itself wishes to try and weaponize her, well, is it not the duty of all worthwhile sects to hold the Empire in check?


    He thinks of telling the elders his thoughts. Thinks that he should speak aloud what he¡¯s slowly coming to think of as inherent truth. But¡­ then he remembers how they¡¯ve treated him. First a show pony to dance about at their request, then as an embarrassment when the impossible and unpredictable occurred, and now as a fool for demanding what is his by right and due, for asserting the truth of what he saw that night.


    No. The elders have lost faith in him, and he in they. The sect is not all in the world. He knew this before the Academy, and he knows it now, and if the sect cannot rectify his honor, if it will not support him in his pursuit of Truth and justice, then perhaps it is time to leave it behind once again. His family is here, it¡¯s true, but many are cultivators, so a journey of a few years won¡¯t matter all that much in the end. And he doesn¡¯t kid himself, it will take years, possibly many, to achieve his goal.


    But he can feel that something is wrong, with himself (with the world?), and where he sees this glaring injustice, un-corrected by Heavens and Emperor, his cultivator¡¯s soul and virtuous heart cry out for him to rectify it.


    Shin Ren barely notices the scorch marks he has left in his room by the time he is done grabbing his spear and tossing some clothes and pills into his spatial ring.


    Something is wrong. And he will make it right with blood that has so earned its end.


    ¡ª------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Maen is cold all the time, now. Ever since that alley.


    She¡¯s seen death before. She¡¯s felt pressure, and Qi that towered in the heavens above her.


    But that had not been death. That had been wiping a bad chalk-mark off of a board, or brushing away a wisp of smoke on a clear day. That boy, who had smiled so bright at seeing Raika, who seemed genuinely happy to see her, who¡¯d teased her and made her laugh in a way Maen had never seen, was simply there one moment and gone entirely the next.


    And then there had been that pressure.


    She couldn¡¯t feel the end of it. In an instant, it was like she had been cast beneath an ocean, been struck everywhere at once by the weight of a sea crashing down around her until she was buried. Every instinct had told her to run, muscles and thoughts and feelings she didn¡¯t know she had spasming to life just in time to scream at her to move right at the moment she was the most paralyzed she¡¯d ever been.


    He¡¯d barely even looked at her. A massive, towering mutant, like a plateau fit to hold a city, like a mound of muscle and sinew and fur and horn that could scrape the sky.


    She¡¯d pissed herself by the time he¡¯d looked. It hadn¡¯t even been in fear; she could feel her mouth drooling, her eyes, ears and nose bleeding, her entire body crushed against the ground like a child¡¯s toy ball until she couldn¡¯t even breathe, just choke and foam at the mouth from the spittle frothing in an invisible wave of power. She¡¯d seen him look, though. She¡¯d been aware enough still to feel the fear somehow spike further as she saw those cold, black eyes turn to look at her.


    Maen had lived her whole life up until a few hours of sneaking previous with the understanding that she would never scrape the heavens. That her family had never had a powerful cultivator in all their memory, and that those with bestial blood like her were fated for little in the grand scheme of things.


    And then she¡¯d met a cripple. She¡¯d never seen one before. They were supposed to be cursed by heaven and hells both, even less potential to cultivate and gain power than a simple earthworm in the right circumstances. And yet here one stood, awake when everyone else slept, working harder than the next three servants, taking on every challenge and ridicule and humiliation placed before her and¡­ seemingly not even caring. Simply walking a chosen path as if she knew exactly where she¡¯d end up, and that wherever it was it would be a place with more than who she¡¯d been made to be.


    So when she came back, proven right in horrifying and impossible ways, somehow still sane enough to speak after being burned alive and taken prisoner for surviving her trial, Maen couldn¡¯t help but wonder. She just couldn¡¯t help but think that maybe there would be something more.


    And, after a harrowing, impossible escape, she¡¯d thought she¡¯d chosen right.


    And then she¡¯d felt that thing¡¯s eyes on her, unmaking her, peeling her back layer by layer until she was nothing, until she was splayed out into a million million pieces that he could look over and judge.


    And she had lived.


    She¡¯d been judged, by a thing which had just proven how willing it was to eradicate something that might trouble it, and she had lived. She¡¯d been taken to a palace. She¡¯d been given a choice. A poor choice, surely; care for her chosen fate, for the madwoman and impossibility she¡¯d chained herself to so willingly, or go to sleep, and never wake up again, with the promise and an official signed document affirming that her family would receive half her weight in gold, jade, silver, or kilometers of good, farmable land.


    She had hesitated at that.


    But she did not want to die.


    So she buried the shame of wanting to live and chose it anyway.


    Now she is here, and she is afraid and cold all the time because something in her can feel that horned abomination, that impossible champion of a cultivator wherever she goes. She can physically feel that she is in his territory, and it is terrifying. Her one charge, her sole responsibility, to be the consolation prize for an impossible woman, has been rendered maddeningly impossible.


    But she has survived this long, and she is in too deep to back out now.


    And Taurus, the beast of her end, has told her that Raika actually left her room! That she went to the baths! If that isn¡¯t a sign, after weeks of near catatonia, that she might be getting better, might be a shield or an aid or even just someone to trust in this mad place, she doesn¡¯t know what is.


    Raika turns her head when Maen walks into her bath, skin covered in blisters, face scarred with bloody eye-holes and punctured ears.


    ¡°Hey Maen!¡± She says with a smile that is fucking hauntingly happy-looking. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you¡¯re alright! Don¡¯t worry about the eyes and all, totally intentional, I promise.¡±


    Maen gives the longest, loudest, most frustrated scream she¡¯s ever given, chucks a bottle of soap at Raika¡¯s head, and marches back to her room to scream some more.


    ¡ª-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Events are progressing.


    The first wave was disappointing. Even with the alterations to the core mechanisms, the weapon hadn¡¯t lasted more than a few moments in most fights. Either a slaughter, followed by annihilation, an early and thorough-enough destruction of the outer shell that the inner mechanisms never deployed, or, on the occasions it went correctly, only minor gains against the enemy.


    The second wave would be better.


    Someplace hidden, someplace obscured, protected by arrays and long, winding tunnels and hidden traps and waiting, hungry maws, the weapon-smith ticks away at another tool. They need replacing more often now, but it¡¯s worth it; the enhancements to each model, and the increased efficiency that they generate in how the tools move about and follow orders, is more than enough to make up for the need to find new base materials to work with. The weapon-smith can¡¯t help but admire the improvements, the way that each tool now moves, the jerkiness of earlier models almost entirely replaced by smooth, animated muscle and metal, eager to obey commands.


    They wipe this particular tool¡¯s face off again. It kept trying to squirm, so inevitably, they had to strap it down. It¡¯s rare that they use the operating room proper, nowadays; since they advanced their cultivation, it¡¯s usually been easy enough to just cut, access the relevant system, and sew it back shut again, but this one kept malfunctioning, and there¡¯s not much value in a malfunctioning tool. And besides, there¡¯s artistic pride to be considered in the whole thing.


    Even with some of its functions properly disconnected and excess materials drained for efficiency, this one still needs almost constant wiping lest it leave fluids on the work table. They drop a scalpel and release a small, fluttering whisper of Qi back into their body, ready to be brought back out as needed, and wipes the tool¡¯s face again. It keeps leaking from its eyes. If not for the fact that the eyes are necessary for proper navigation, the weapon-smith would be tempted to do away with them entirely for this one.


    ¡°Please¡­¡± a broken, weak little sound whimpers.


    Ah. They¡¯d left the voicebox intact. Disappointing. They really are getting complacent as their skills develop.


    They pat the tool on the top of the head. ¡°Thank you for speaking up,¡± they say, incapable of seeing the brief glimmer of hope the words elicit. ¡°¡±I really appreciate it. It¡¯s things like this that remind us there¡¯s never an excuse to neglect one¡¯s fundamentals.¡±


    The flesh of the tool''s face shifts into a new, fascinating configuration. The weapon-smith makes sure to jot down to try and recreate that later.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± they reassure their precious asset. ¡°You¡¯ll be fixed properly in no time, and we¡¯ll be able to get right back to work, good as new.¡±


    The shifting, fluttering thing inside them blossoms again, enough to let a bit of itself flow to the weapon-smith¡¯s hand, and as they pick up the scalpel again, they marvel at just how many beautiful lessons the world is able to teach, if only one decides to listen.


    They hum as they work, pausing to wipe off the tool¡¯s face here and there. Yes, still so much more to learn. The next time they send out some of their babies, they¡¯ll be much more effective. The weapon-smith is sure of it.

 Chapter 44 - Radiance, Radiation, and Leaden Hope

    Taurus kneels in the center of an empty room, muzzle pressed awkwardly and chin almost folded into his neck to keep both head and horns as low to the ground as possible. Even so awkwardly bent, they¡¯re still a few inches off the ground, and dangerously close to touching the edge of the ritual formation he¡¯s in the center of. The room around him has been changed, desks, furniture and statues all picked up and shoved aside to allow for the careful creation of a ritual design and circle he¡¯s had to memorize.


    The check ins are mandatory, but nothing so convenient as a speaking-stone is permitted in anything less than emergency circumstances. Once a month, he has to do this, and so once a month he spends most of a day setting up the minute, intricate inkwork and powdered materials into the right forms, and prepares for visitation.


    And then he kneels in its center and bows, every part of him as low to the ground as he can physically make it.


    He waits there for an hour before he feels his Qi and the formation begin to take effect. They like to make sure he waits.


    Eventually, he feels the world begin to flicker. The shadows lengthen, drawn into the diagram, pulling the edges of the room closer and closer as if his perspective is falling, as if a singularity is dancing just out of sight and pulling everything into the dark and-


    There is a flicker of light, and a star is born above. It radiates light, it radiates warmth, it radiates a burning, loving kind of control, and it descends. For several moments, there is nothing but the dark, and the sensation of falling, and the light. And then it touches down, just above him.


    ¡°Raise your head, Runemaster Boriah,¡± speaks a voice he is all too familiar with. ¡°Let your gaze rest upon me.¡±


    He obeys, maintaining the bow while allowing his head to slowly, awkwardly come off the floor and look up.


    ¡°Such majestic horns,¡± says the figure above him. ¡°We¡¯ll have to make sure they¡¯re clipped soon, hmm?¡±


    ¡°Of course, Grandmaster Errath,¡± Taurus rumbles, dipping his gaze into a nod.


    ¡°Keep looking at me, Runemaster Boriah,¡± the Grandmaster whispers. ¡°I would like for you to see me as I ponder your actions.¡±


    He tenses, just a bit. Then, obediently, he raises his eyes, his back and neck already aching and his eyes beginning to sting as he looks up at the burning, brightly-outlined figure from his pose on the floor.


    Grandmaster Errath smiles down at him. Errath Kahn, Grandmaster of the Division of Altered Cultivation, even when formed from burning, rippling fire and star-bright radiation, does not look like a man who holds much power. He wears simple robes, with little ostentation, and no jewelry save a single earring, a single emerald-jade ring, and a single pendant to complement well made but simple clothes. His face has wrinkles on it, something nearly all of the greatest cultivators do away with, and rather than an impressive beard or boldly shaven face, he has a simple goatee and five-o¡¯clock shadow surrounding it, barely visible on skin that Taurus knows is olive-tanned as if perhaps from long, relaxed hours in the sun and shade.


    His eyes are the exception. They say eyes are windows to the soul, and Errath, for all his casual attire, cannot disguise them, not here, not in the crux of such a powerful ritual. They glimmer, a savage mix of red and blue and gold, each color battling and swirling against the others, all left secondary to the fact that each of his eyes holds three pupils, each one slitted and each one half-morphing into the others.


    ¡°What to do with you, Boriah,¡± Grandmaster Errath whispers, shaking his head in disappointment. ¡°You know, you could have simply come to me if you were having trouble. You take on too much. Your disability need not reflect poorly on you, and this drive you have to prove yourself, no matter how noble, can never be as noble as a simple job well done.¡±


    ¡°I thank you for your insight, honored Grandmaster,¡± Taurus says, fighting hard not to blink too much, a finger beginning to twitch.


    ¡°All those troublemakers you¡¯ve taken on. It¡¯s applaudable, taking on so many problem cases, and I admit I find many of them fascinating myself. That young apprentice of yours, does she know why she¡¯s been chosen yet?¡±


    ¡°No, Grandmaster,¡± Taurus replies, breathing a bit heavier.


    ¡°Good, good. The better we can keep the conditions of that experiment undisclosed, the better the eventual results, I think. Your methods provide dividends, Boriah, of that have no doubt. I just worry. That¡­ what was it, purple something or other sect? They¡¯ve been complaining, you know. You¡¯re lucky the governor seems content to laugh at the whole affair. I assume it¡¯ll be asking you for a favor soon, and you¡¯ll do well to fulfill it as dutifully as your other responsibilities. There¡¯s only so much grace I can extend, even to such a favored son.¡±


    ¡°I understand, Grandmaster,¡± Taurus groans, a hint of strain in his voice. He¡¯s not sure, but he thinks he can smell his fur beginning to crisp, and his eyes are tearing up badly.


    ¡°Good. You so often do. That¡¯s what I like most about you, Boriah, you understand. All the necessary sacrifices, all the things which must be pursued and gained, you understand the need for it all. And you so often deliver.¡±


    The glowing, incandescent figure kneels down lower, coming closer and closer into Taurus¡¯ sight, the kindly, inhuman face of the thing he is speaking to filling his vision and forcing it brighter and brighter until he can feel his corneas start to truly burn from the pain. He doesn¡¯t dare close his eyes.


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    ¡°But things change, Boriah,¡± Grandmaster Errath whispers. ¡°Fail me once, shame on you. Fail me twice, well¡­ we can¡¯t have that.¡±


    He cups Taurus¡¯ chin gently, as if scolding a child.


    ¡°Don¡¯t lose control of them again, dear,¡± he whispers, forcing eye contact even as Taurus spasms at the radiant heat of the touch. ¡°Or I¡¯ll have to send someone in to supervise. And I do love how free I can let you roam, Boriah. I would hate to take that away from you.¡±


    He lets go of Taurus¡¯ chin. He waits for a moment to see if Taurus will break eye contact. When he doesn¡¯t, Errath nods, once, and stands again.


    ¡°You may bow,¡± he tells him.


    Slowly, forcing himself to remain still, to keep from moving too fast, Taurus bends his head and neck back into submission, letting his eyes cry painful tears unto the ground below as he grits his teeth.


    ¡°Have you had much progress researching the attack?¡± Grandmaster Errath asks, switching topics.


    ¡°Some, Grandmaster,¡± Taurus replies, keeping his voice level from years of experience. ¡°We¡¯ve ascertained the material as sunstone, from the Cold Sun, and there are only so many deposits and landfalls every decade. We¡¯re tracking all of them now. Unfortunately, we¡¯ve only a few of the artifacts remaining; while it seems the outer bodies were mere undead with no implanted techniques or major Qi reservoirs, said artifacts are by far the most precious components and what allowed the weapons to demonstrate such power. They are clearly artificial, but the technique for them seems self-taught, not corresponding to any known styles, even those in the restricted files. We believe we¡¯re close to understanding how the connection between the altered steel of the constructs and the cold sunstone function.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± replies the glowing figure. ¡°How exciting. A fresh face on the scene, ripe for the picking. Do try to take the creator alive when you find them, will you? It¡¯s not that I underestimate the talents of you and your researchers, but the addition of such a mind to the Division of Altered Cultivation is always a boon. And send over what you¡¯ve found so far, I¡¯d love to begin running tests to see if there are other applications to sunstone we haven¡¯t considered.


    ¡°Your will is the way, Grandmaster,¡± Taurus replies.


    ¡°So it is,¡± the figure of masks and radiation agrees. ¡°Best of luck, Boriah. As always, I have high hopes for you, child.¡±


    And with that, the vision ends, a hundred times more abruptly than it began.


    Taurus keeps his face pressed to the ground, cycling his Qi. He¡¯ll heal from this. He¡¯s never not healed from these monthly check-ins, but¡­ every time, the fear that this is the moment that he¡¯ll be pushed too far or fail in a way he hasn¡¯t in so long rears its head.


    It¡¯s only when the pain has faded, and when he can blink without tears forming, that he sighs, and slowly gets to his feet.


    Most of the others of the Division he¡¯s met have assistants to help with at least parts of setting up the formation and the cleaning of it after, but he prefers to do it alone. Easier that way, to be the only one blamed if something goes wrong, and to keep potential information lost to overeager minds at a minimum. It takes him far less time to clean than it did to set up anyways; a pot filled with water, a rag, and a quick flex of Qi to undo the chemical bindings between the ingredients of the ink and leave it simple to wipe up. It¡¯s almost meditative, the next hour or so dedicated to nothing but the simple, safe act of cleaning.


    There had been no mention of the details of the escape. No mention that Taurus had gone out to fix it, or that he¡¯d handled the aftermath well. The silence could point to evidence being collected to use against him just as easily as it could point to the possibility that he handled it acceptably, but there had been no mention of the boy.


    There wouldn¡¯t have needed to be, really, some Foundational-realm street urchin isn¡¯t really a thing worth mentioning. Not to beasts like the head of a Division of the Empire. But the fact is, the boy had gained his cultivation after meeting his latest recruit. The Divination department had confirmed it; before their relationship, he¡¯d been nothing of note.


    And by the time Taurus met him and¡­ did what he did, the boy had gone up an entire realm, and had felt strange. Not off, not strangely rotten to his senses like he¡¯s seen before in cases like this, where a young cultivator pursues their path on their own, without a sect or support. It had smelled¡­ proper. Like watching a surprisingly well made teapot in some corner of the world pour a true and pure stream of water from its spout. Not anything strange, but right in a way that¡¯s hard to articulate.


    It would have been easy. Easier, even. Eliminate the problem by taking said problem as an advantage, like he¡¯s been trained to do. No one to interrogate the witness to a failing of the Division, or to testify (willingly or not) to the need for greater bindings on his latest project, and he could have added the kid to the roster. It would have been fascinating to see if the ¡°organ-deficit cultivation experiment" was capable of somehow altering and improving the boy¡¯s path.


    Fascinating and dangerous. Another reason to keep her bound more fully, and something to attract the attention of the Grandmaster, or even one of the other Leaders below him and standing opposite Taurus. Too easy for her to be plucked away and the boy taken with her to see just how far and how deep any confirmed changes go.


    He pauses, realizing he¡¯s clenching his fist. Slowly, he forces himself to relax, even as he touches a long, thin scar on his chest.


    They can dig very deep indeed to find what they¡¯re looking for.


    Too much risk. Too much potential for suffering, and too much of a danger that it would take her out of his grasp faster, when he still has so much left to do, and so much further left to go. The girl, the felinid, that he can spin, use for himself. Anything she gains from her relationship with the central experiment (with Raika, he forcefully reminds himself) he can spin as his own unique insights into her bestial nature. And besides, at least to some extent, she chose to be here. She''d chosen to follow the altered, abnormal entity. Her, he can stomach and mask the consequences of.


    Better to end it quick and painless.


    Well. As much of each as he could manage.


    She may well hate him forever, but that¡¯s alright. There''s other avenues of coercion and negotiation to consider, and she''s at least aware of the gulf between her, the safety of those like that boy, and him. He¡¯s admittedly concerned about some of the new behaviors, but trauma responses are to be expected, and accommodated if possible in the process. He¡¯s had others reject the process before, and he¡¯s succeeded¡­ more often than he¡¯s failed, at least. He¡¯s confident he can get this to work.


    He doesn¡¯t need her to like him. He just needs to find out how to get her to do what he wants.


    Everything has to click into place. He¡¯s so close now.


    He looks at the letters on his desk.


    He¡¯s so close now.


    He just needs to get this right.

 Chapter 45 - No Rest For The Wicked, No Peace For The Weary

    ¡°You are to keep all limbs attached at all times,¡± Maen tells her in as commanding of a voice as she can manage. ¡°You are not to let yourself bleed out. You are absolutely not to remove all your skin, and I swear if I find an organ out of your body one more time I¡¯m going to pour shampoo and vinegar on it, do you understand me?¡±


    Raika smiles, using conscious control of flesh to shift the muscles into the right shape. ¡°Yes, mother dear,¡± she says with a chuckle she doesn¡¯t quite feel. ¡°Still don¡¯t understand why you¡¯re making such a fuss about this.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re going to be dragging me around, and no one here kills me, then I have a right to basic, common decency,¡± Maen hisses, ¡°and I consider it basic common decency that if I can¡¯t stop you from doing horrifying terrible things to yourself you at least don¡¯t do anything so gross I have to puke.¡±


    In the weeks since Raika came out of her semi-catatonic state, the dynamic has¡­ shifted a little. Raika remembers the blushing, adventurous yet quiet servant girl she¡¯d met back in the purple something-or-other sect and reflects that she rather misses her.


    Maen still does tend to be quieter than most, and she¡¯s blushed plenty, but the occasional yelling, Raika supposes, is enough to make her nostalgic for a simpler time. On this, the third time that Maen has walked into a room to find Raika doing something horrifying and potentially lethal, it would seem that a line is being drawn between the poor felinid woman and the ongoing training exercises Raika has been doing to herself.


    In this case it¡¯s been a fascinating exploration of how much finer she can make her cardio-muscular control if she can see systems in question. And, as it turns out, also an exploration of how surprisingly easy it is to peel back a large enough chunk of the skin on her leg if she has a sharp enough knife.


    ¡°Ok,¡± Raika says, ¡°that¡¯s entirely fair. But you haven¡¯t puked, and I haven¡¯t removed anywhere close to all my skin, so¡­¡±


    Maen huffs, stomping her foot. ¡°And you need to find a room for it! Or put up a sign! Or something, so I don¡¯t walk into a room with you looking like a damn medical experiment!¡± She huffs. ¡°At least make some noises or something! I mean doesn¡¯t that hurt?¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°Yeah, but not that much. If you pinch off the right¡­ pieces? Like veins but not, they¡¯re way smaller, anyways if you pinch them off you just get a really intense tingling sensation, and I¡¯ve got tons of experience with weird tingling sensations.¡± She turns to look at Maen again, a cheeky smile placed on her face. ¡°You know, junior sister, if you wanted to hear me making noises, all you had to do is ask.¡±


    Maen just crosses her arm, giving Raika a Look. ¡°You¡¯re doing it again,¡± she grumbles.


    Raika lets the expression come off. Her face, like it always is when she isn¡¯t controlling it, falls to a sort of resting dead-eyed look. ¡°What was it this time?¡±


    Maen sighs, sitting on the bed at the far end of the room. ¡°Still the eyes. Even with how they look now, it¡¯s still¡­ I guess it¡¯s not easy to tell, maybe it¡¯s just that I saw it in the beginning.¡± She looks over at Raika. ¡°I¡¯d rather you not use it with me. Not when it¡¯s just us. If that¡¯s alright, honored cultivator.¡±


    Raika scoffs, genuinely this time, letting her brain move her face the old-fashioned way. ¡°From cripple to honored cultivator,¡± she mumbles. ¡°We both know I¡¯m anything but.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an official title, I think,¡± Maen tells her. ¡°At least it¡¯s what they¡¯ve been introducing you as whenever someone asks. The governor¡¯s been sending people every other day now, and it¡¯s what Yun Ka always calls you.¡±


    ¡°I suppose it does come out sounding better than ¡°prisoner¡±,¡± she says. ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t exactly call this cultivation. It usually involves some organs I don¡¯t have and a lot less knifework, if I remember correctly.¡±


    Maen shudders at the mention of the knifework, looking at Raika¡¯s leg.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Raika says softly. She puts the knife down and moves the outer layer back over the muscle, holding it there for a while. In a moment, she¡¯s upped her heart rate to the elevated levels she needs, and eddies of blood flow have begun to push sharp, chaotic fluxes of life energy against the wound.


    ¡°How fast has it gotten?¡± Maen asks, visibly trying to mask her discomfort and, it would seem, genuinely curious. ¡°Used to be it still took days.¡±


    ¡°For something this small?¡± she asks. ¡°Minutes, maybe, until it scabs over. An hour or two to be gone, if I focus on it and keep the flow there. Feels like it¡¯s been getting faster as my body adjusts.¡±


    ¡°Do you think anyone can do that?¡± Maen asks. ¡°I mean, force a body to adjust to Qi that way?¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°I don¡¯t know. There¡¯s plenty to still figure out, I guess. Good thing we¡¯re in the Division of Altered Cultivation, eh?¡±


    Maen doesn¡¯t laugh at the joke. If it can be called that, which she isn¡¯t so sure about.


    It¡¯s ok. Raika doesn¡¯t blame her. It wasn¡¯t really funny.


    She still sees the stain in the corners when she¡¯s not ready for it. Still wakes up cold and sweaty some nights. Whenever she dreams about it, she always wakes from the dream the moment she notices Taurus¡¯ hand. There¡¯s a blur, after that, and then when she wakes up it¡¯s in every shadow around her.


    She shakes her head, Dinking against it softly. She places the tuning fork back down against her chest, letting it hang from the steel chain she got for it.


    Say what you will about Taurus, killer of her idiot apprentice and friend, he¡¯s been entirely willing to accommodate nearly every request. True, she hasn¡¯t asked anything silly like going outside or endless cultivation pills, but she can¡¯t really use the latter and the former¡­ she¡¯s not ready yet. And even if she was, she¡¯s not exactly sure what she¡¯d do. She proved pretty conclusively (and impulsively, she reflects) that she knows exactly where the tracker they implanted in her is, and she¡¯s pretty sure she could cut it out (so long as there¡¯s no traps or hidden dangers in it, which is more than likely), but¡­ if she did leave, Taurus made it more than clear that he knows who she¡¯d go to.


    Li Shu.


    She¡¯s still not sure what would happen if they saw each other now. During their last conversation, Li Shu had told her, with every ounce of confidence and clarity, that Raika did not deserve the pain she¡¯d suffered. It had been enlightening, and meant more to her than she can fully recall right now.


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    But then she¡¯d proven herself exactly as worthy and deserving of that pain, and more, by dint of her own bloody-minded stupidity and the whims of a world that couldn''t care less about the lives of those trying their best upon it.


    She doesn¡¯t kid herself. She got JiaJia killed, and she deserves pain for that. All the better if she can use pain to become something more, something worthy of avenging him. But he isn¡¯t the only one that matters.


    Whatever her current dynamic with Maen is, her newfound companion doesn¡¯t deserve to be unmade like JiaJia was, and it would take barely any effort for someone as strong as Taurus to enact that change in this palace. Li Shu, of course, deserves a better life than Raika can provide, one free of the threat of those chasing her or the influence of those who want to use her against Raika. Despite herself, she can¡¯t help but think of others, too. Qen Hou is top of the list; he may be an ass, and they may have never truly been on the same page, but he¡¯s a good person, and her actions carry weight against him now if she wields them wrong. Rui Ka, the ornery old healer Raika barely knew but who saved her life. If they go far back enough, maybe even her old sect. Most of them she could do without, but many don¡¯t deserve to be sacrifices to keep her in check.


    If and when she moves, she¡¯ll have to do it in a way that either separates her from them entirely or makes damn sure they¡¯re safe, and that if they¡¯re to die it¡¯s by their own fates and choices, not mindless ripples from her own poor choices and consequences. She¡¯s still not sure which direction she wants to go in, but in either way, she needs to be stronger. Not just stronger; she needs to be more. More knowledgeable, more aware, wiser, smarter, and with a lot more tricks in her sleeves.


    Maen touches her on the shoulder, and she snaps back to the present with a jolt and a flinch away from the physical contact.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Maen says, pulling her hand away quickly but staying close, trying to be a comfort. ¡°You were doing it again. Drifting off, I mean.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Raika tells her for the upteenth time. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere. I¡¯m here.¡±


    In truth, she hadn¡¯t really ¡°gone anywhere¡± back when she¡¯d been in her catatonia after they¡¯d been brought to the palace, but she doesn¡¯t need to tell Maen that, or wonder at why her companion would think so.


    ¡°How are you doing, though?¡± Raika asks, forcefully moving the conversation to less heavy topics. ¡°I doubt you¡¯re finding all that much time to cultivate wasting all your time checking on me and whining about some minor cuts.¡±


    Maen rolls her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s going fine,¡± she sighs. ¡°It¡¯s easier than I thought, but I¡¯m not really surprised. Maybe my family hasn¡¯t ever had a powerful cultivator before, but I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if my breaking that trend has a lot more to do with the quality of supplies here than anything. I ask for cultivation pills and a room to meditate, I get one.¡±


    ¡°More of the mysteriously appearing things?¡± Raika asks.


    Maen nods. ¡°Still not sure what that¡¯s all about. Still, I haven¡¯t asked for a cultivation method, like you asked. That¡¯s¡­ actually what I was coming to talk about. I was wondering if you could, you know¡­ check in again?¡±


    Raika huffs. ¡°Yeah,¡± she says, ¡°no trouble. Lay down on the bed, cultivate a little. Make sure you push some Qi out whenever you complete a loop, I¡¯d like to be able to check it a few times, make sure that I¡¯m right about this.¡±


    Maen gulps, but nods, and walks over to the bed, moving steadily and quietly as she refocuses from the earlier panic and enjoys the effects of an all-new panic.


    She lays on the bed, and a few seconds after closing her eyes and putting her hands in a meditative grip in front of her, Raika picks up the scent of her in the air, and walks over.


    It hasn¡¯t changed much, but it has changed. The scent of Yuzu is stronger now, with the scent of claws fading in only occasionally. Maen completes her first cycling and a small ¡°puff¡± of Qi escapes, which Raika takes a moment to sniff carefully. It¡¯s honestly like the yuzu is starting to get deeper, richer, while the other scents fade; added to the citrusy scent is a hint of something medicinal, and a touch of a smell like¡­ grass. Freshly cut grass.


    Raika leans in closer, sitting on the bed and leaning in close, eyes closed to let her focus. She can hear Maen¡¯s heartbeat speed up a bit, experiments in self harm paying dividends and letting her hear the girl¡¯s heart like it¡¯s exposed entirely, but she does her best to focus, putting it to the side. As it speeds up, though, she smells the scent of claws again, and she makes herself entirely still, letting the scent reach her rather than trying to grab it.


    As her heartbeat increases¡­ there it is. Claws, lightly blooded. Dirt and stone and prey beneath them, proof of a journey, of a hunt. The slightest hint of heat, of sweat, of sharpened edges scraping against the world, of flesh and skin made to slash and coil and cut¡­


    Maen¡¯s heartbeat rises again, and Raika loses the scent. It¡¯s not that it¡¯s not there anymore, but she loses the ability to track its nuance as the yuzu-and-grass scent briefly overpowers it, and a new scent joins the group and makes it all the more difficult to shift her perception around.


    She¡¯s started to smell Maen sweating. The smell of her breath and her skin, of her hair from when she shifts ever so slightly. And there¡¯s another scent, too.


    She lets her eyes fall open, looking down at Maen as she leans over her and examines her, the felinid¡¯s cheeks turning lightly pink as she breathes a bit unevenly.


    Raika isn¡¯t an idiot. She¡¯s not been very active in plenty of ways since her crippling, but there are some things that are very hard to forget. The look that Maen gives her is one, and it¡¯s one she¡¯s seen in moments like this one before, when she draws close. Maen¡¯s got the hots for her, and badly enough that Raika can smell her arousal, the tiniest hint of it fluttering in the air, hinting at what she wants, whether or not she¡¯s entirely committed to the idea. It¡¯s enough of a distraction, every time, to break Raika¡¯s concentration.


    Maen¡¯s pretty. Raika knows this, objectively and subjectively both. Physically, sure, she¡¯s lithe, soft, just short enough to be on the cuter side with the way she uses her features. And that¡¯s not even mentioning the way her ears flick when she¡¯s annoyed (or the entirely different way they flick when she¡¯s close to Raika, like this). And maybe there¡¯s something about the danger, or the desire for connection in a strange place, or just raw physical attraction, but she is visibly, often awkwardly attracted to Raika.


    For a moment, she lets herself indulge the thought. Indulge in the idea of reaching out, of touching. Of experiencing that moment of intimacy, that moment free of pain and full of connection, whatever may come from it. She lets herself wonder what would happen if she let herself¡­


    No.


    A shudder runs through her. Revulsion at herself. Panic at the thought. A glimpse of a smiling face, reminding her she doesn¡¯t deserve it.


    She sits up, away from Maen.


    ¡°I think you shouldn¡¯t use the cultivation aids,¡± she says, using her will to control her voice rather than trusting it not to betray her. ¡°Your Qi has two scents, and one of them is a lot more¡­ animalistic, maybe. If I had to guess, your family might have some beast Qi from your bloodline, which may be part of why you haven¡¯t had much luck cultivating. You need to find a way to express your Qi more naturally and all at once, and if I had to guess, the pills are probably designed for pure human cultivators, not for those with beast blood.¡±


    Maen gulps, lets out a breath, nods quickly. ¡°Ok,¡± she says, closing her eyes for a moment before she sits back up. ¡°Any advice on how to¡­ you know, express my Qi more naturally?¡±


    ¡°Exercise, maybe,¡± Raika tells her, standing off the bed and sitting back at the chair next to the knife, slowly. ¡°Physical activity. I sensed it more when your heartrate sped up.¡±


    Maen blushes again, but nods.


    ¡°You should also probably ask Taurus,¡± Raika tells her, voice flat and emotionless.


    Maen hesitates. ¡°Are you¡­¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Raika says, voice in that same tone. ¡°He practices some kind of bestial cultivation. So long as we¡¯re here, he¡¯s a resource, and for now, neither one of us can be anywhere else. So ask him.¡±


    ¡°And I think I¡¯d like a bit of space, Maen.¡±


    Maen nods. They¡¯ve had this exchange before. If she does take offense at it, if the dismissal does hurt her, she¡¯s gotten good at hiding it, and Raika has gotten exceptional at making sure she doesn¡¯t look to try and find out. She bows, thanks Raika, and walks back out the door. She¡¯ll probably be back to check on her in a few hours.


    Raika looks over at her mirror. She found a new one, and cracked it, and stayed awake in front of it until whatever strange effect the palace has to fix or remove broken things gave up and let her have it.


    She has work to do, and the beginnings of a plan forming.


    Everything else can wait.

 Chapter 46 - The Joys of Horrifying Transformation and Agonies of Social Interaction

    She stands in front of the mirror. The lines of how it has shattered are precise. It took her three tries to get it right.


    There are other mirrors in the bathroom to double-check her whole body, and it tends to just fall back into place anyways if she doesn¡¯t pay attention. This mirror is more important than some full-body check. This one, if she stands right in front of it in just the right spot, she broke in just the right way that she only sees what she needs to see.


    The eyes. The external muscle layer. The abdomen. The joints. The throat.


    She¡¯s changing a lot more than that, of course, but those are the areas that require a bit of a visual tuning as she changes things. It¡¯s hard work, and harder still when the Qi and biology inside her both cooperate to try and shift things back to how they used to be right after. It takes time to change them, and much, much more time to try and make any shifts permanent, but it¡¯s always better to be prepared, especially when she¡¯s trying potentially deadly modifications.


    She started with the muscles.


    She still can¡¯t really control any of the organs and softer, squishier bits she can feel inside, but that¡¯s probably for the best until she has a better understanding of what everything does. That¡¯s next on the list, but until she¡¯s willing to let the cat out of the bag, or sure she¡¯ll be able to only reveal just enough, she¡¯s held off on asking for any medical texts or expertise. Still, the muscular functions, including the heart, most body fat, tendons and ligaments are more than enough to get started with, especially with what she¡¯s figured out.


    She Dinks against her forehead, quietly. It tells her that she¡¯s not alone, and that it¡¯s just like old times.


    And it is. She¡¯s been giving herself Qi poisoning again.


    Her body has already adapted to the old quantities she used to use, and the vibration of that Qi nowadays only causes pain, not delirium or temporary organ failure (at least at the levels she can manage). So, to rectify this failing, she¡¯s kept her heartbeat going all the time. So long as she¡¯s awake, she¡¯s manipulating the bloodflow, and just like any Qi that is constantly moved, circulated, and bashed against its own likeness or similar Qi, her reserves have started to move even more chaotically and multiply.


    The more one cultivates, the more Qi one has, the more they can store, the more they can pull in from the world. The perfect circle of cultivation. Except she¡¯s not really storing it; her Dantian and meridians are still gone, not a trace of them that she can find to even think of repairing, so instead her Qi is saturating, contained only by her skin. That¡¯s why she was healing so fast; all the Qi in her, at a slightly higher rate than she¡¯s generating it, is being absorbed and used by systems forced to consume the only resource available. That¡¯s Qi poisoning, and that¡¯s what she¡¯s begun to adapt to, and the more she adapts to it, the more Qi she can force her ¡°biological formation¡± theory to create, and the more she creates, the more her body starts to feed on it.


    She¡¯s kept little clusters of constantly smashed-together whirlpools and razor-squalls of Qi active constantly in multiple points, now. First the body fat, good for storing things and something she needs more of, to fuel herself with and store her Qi in (she¡¯s not sure if this is what it¡¯ll do, but¡­ that¡¯s what fat does, and Qi makes things more of what they are, so it¡¯s a useful theory). She slowly disconnected and reconnected the scraps of fat on her frame all over her body, leaving them as strategically placed pillows to cushion organs and her more vulnerable areas and then shifting and forcing the muscles around them to condense them until it¡¯s not visible on the surface. The theory of Qi storage hasn¡¯t proven much, yet, but she thinks her frame has filled out a bit, which may or may not be the fat beginning to store it like it would calories, or may just be her positioning of it. She¡¯ll readjust as she finds out more.


    Then, she went back to the muscles. ACL and other major leg-tendons got improved first, forcibly stretched and relaxed until there¡¯s less tension in them since she can just force them to hypertension with her will, and having them be longer gives her more force to work with and less danger of tearing them. Most of her joints went next, the tissues supporting the ball-and-socket joints being both strengthened and made more flexible through a mix of stretching, modifying connection points and toughening the material. Funnily enough (after the first day or two of figuring out why her arm stopped working when she disconnected this or rewired that), it¡¯s actually not that hard to find places to do small improvements, little optimizations in where things connect and how they¡¯re woven. Finally, the actual proteins themselves.


    Those are a lot easier, actually. Turns out, what exercise does is just cause micro-stress in one¡¯s flesh and let the body heal it back stronger. Except she doesn¡¯t need to exercise: she just needs to keep from screaming while she builds eddies and currents of razor-painful Qi she is forcing her body to absorb moving through her muscles, over and over, every day. At first she just let it move, and tried to move clusters of muscle groups around like she did with the fat, but that¡­ didn¡¯t work, to put it lightly, and she almost bled out from it once. So she just tried damaging them worse, fraying them harder.


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    That¡¯s when she started cutting herself open to see. And that¡¯s when, with her new eyes, she found something out.


    We¡¯ll get to the eyes. Firstly, though, she discovered how muscles work, and the fact that they¡¯re basically just rope.


    She¡¯s not very good yet, but¡­ she can weave rope. She can tighten it. She can change the pattern of it, add more strands, almost¡­ braid it into a new shape. And the more Qi she focuses, the more strands she can make, and the more damage they heal from.


    She found a pattern that works, mostly. She hasn¡¯t had a chance to test how strong she is, not yet, but she thinks it¡¯s a lot more than before.


    Next, the bones. Bones and muscles she could mostly do simultaneously, even, so long as she¡¯s careful around her chest and stomach. She just lets the energy¡­ sit right on the bones for a while. No clue if it¡¯s working, if it can¡¯t saturate because of the bone¡¯s density, if she needs to destroy the bones like she did her flesh to get regeneration to kick in and grant her more control¡­ they¡¯re still a bit of a mystery.


    Still, she isn¡¯t breaking anything when she moves, so she thinks it¡¯s doing something beneficial. Might as well keep at it until it kills her or she finds a better idea.


    The eyes, though. That¡¯s what helped her figure out the trick.


    They¡¯re brighter now. The pupils expand and contract faster. They bear a different color, a darker, reddish maroon hue with hints of gold at the very edges, and she can see so much more. She can look at wood across the room and count the ripples on the grain. She can see the haircut on a man standing on a street miles away. She can count the leaves on trees halfway across the palace.


    She hasn¡¯t figured out how to make them see Qi yet, but one thing is clear; so long as she focuses more Qi than is needed on a damaged area, it doesn¡¯t just heal back. It heals back better. She¡¯s pretty sure that¡¯s not how it normally works, especially not when the healer¡¯s arts take so many decades and centuries to master. It¡¯ll be interesting if Yun Ka comes up with a theory.


    It¡¯s a risk, yes. One that she¡¯s been putting off for almost two months now, since she first arrived here. Yes, there¡¯s the fact she swore an oath of vengeance against her ancestor and their mutual superior in the Imperial hierarchy, but that¡¯s not that big of a factor.


    Feng Gui is in the distance. An oath remembered, an injustice recorded, and a monster to be put down.


    Taurus is here. And despite every attempt he¡¯s made at communicating to her how it was surely essential to do what he did, how it was somehow a better option, how it hadn¡¯t been what he¡¯d wanted, he still killed JiaJia. And she¡¯s his apprentice and direct assistant in whatever research they¡¯re doing here.


    They¡¯ve both left her almost entirely to her own devices. The others have given her space and time aplenty. She¡¯s sure Taran and Kaena at least have well and heard about what¡¯s happened, and she¡­ appreciates that they¡¯ve kept their distance, and Yun Ka, perhaps under orders, perhaps out of genuine common sense and empathy, has followed their example. Since that last conversation they had, Taurus has also let her be, making sure that she¡¯s not bothered and doesn¡¯t see him whenever she leaves her room for the baths or food.


    Still, the pill in her intestines tingles, just a bit, when she comes close to the edge of the runes, and the formations themselves have been changed, denser and more visible and lighting the air with the scent of his Qi and a strange, artificial-smelling dusty scent, like ozone without the smell of ozone. The cage is tightened, no matter how grand or performative the mercy of her jailor.


    But the cage is vast, as he might say, and she would do well to take advantage of it.


    She dresses herself in slightly more restrictive robes, no longer needing free access to her limbs and cloth she can keep away from the blood. Her leg has healed now, the scab already flaking off and falling away, and she covers it with a fresh set of white, gold, red and black thread; apparently an unofficial uniform for the Division of Altered Cultivation, at least for those at its lowest echelons. She touches Dink, her misshapen tuning fork, where she hangs it from a steel chain around her neck, and takes a small black square of cloth that she tucks into her robes. Both are personal, but the latter is private; no need to show signs of mourning so openly as she tries to begin convincing the others around her to assist her and that she¡¯s a team player.


    Strong as she is, altered as she is becoming, she doesn¡¯t truly understand what she¡¯s doing, or the ways she can improve it or add to it. And Taurus, for all of how quietly he¡¯s walked, carries a weight beyond any she¡¯s felt in anyone less than a sect elder, dancing at the very edge of the Nascent Soul realm and almost visibly straining at its limits. She requires strength, understanding, an actual plan and a lot of new knowledge if she¡¯s to take him down, and she stands, for now, in one of the best places she can think of to acquire all of the above.


    She begins to walk out of the room, and catches a glimpse of her full body in the edge of the shattered mirror.


    Hair growing back strangely metallic-sheened and blond-ish, curly and kinky and left to fall about her shoulders and poof out at the air behind her. A face with strong bone definition, only just filling out from long-term starvation, with a strong jawline and the fading remnants of a scar along one side of her face, now refined to only a small corner of her lip and the cheek it touches. A tall, strong form, once again beginning to fill out with muscle and lean, powerful definition, wrapped in dark skin and pale scars.


    And eyes of maroon-red and gold, looking back at her and showing ever so little inside.


    She takes a long, deep breath. It takes her nearly a minute before she¡¯s done inhaling, and another two as she lets it out.


    Time to start moving.


    She opens the door and makes it all of three steps out before a peach-and-gold skinned blur of fashionable silks and fragrant perfumes hits her like a thirty-ton bull.


    ¡°Why Raika!¡± Kaena exclaims, the look on their face seeming a genuine mix of shock and amazement. ¡°Out of your room? At this hour? Oh we simply must celebrate the gifts the gods give us on witnessing these small miracles. How are you, dear? Oh, gorgeous beastie you are, you must be famished. Come on, I¡¯m sure we can find ourselves something filling to nibble on.¡±


    The gifts of the gods indeed.

 Chapter 47 - Sandwiches, Social Interaction, and the Horror of Being Known

    Raika flexes her facial features, again, effortlessly decorating herself with a happier look. ¡°Good to see you as well, Kaena,¡± she says warmly. ¡°I¡±m feeling much improved from my maladies. If it¡¯s alright, though, I doubt I¡¯ve become particularly good company just yet, and would hate to impose upon you.¡±


    Kaena tosses their head back, laughing a bit louder and more freely than Raika has come to expect from them. ¡°Oh, still a terrible liar,¡± they murmur, coming up right alongside Raika with a soft smile. ¡°You¡¯re still much too polite when you¡¯re lying. I prefer you as you were back in the baths, darling.¡±


    Raika¡¯s grin, were it to be left to automatic control, might have become a bit brittle at that. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know what you mean, fellow Division member,¡± she says, hamming it up a bit. ¡°I apologize again for any comments I made at the time that might have insulted you.¡±


    Kaena waves a hand. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, darling,¡± they tell her. ¡°The description was a surprise, but it¡¯s no secret what I am, not truly. Apology fully accepted and forgiven. Now, may I offer you my arm?¡±


    Raika blinks. She¡­ she controls the shiver that her body tries to perform at the thought of touch, and wills her flesh to raise its arm in a comfortable, courtly position (or as close as she can figure. Manners and courtly manners are two different worlds, after all).


    Kaena smiles, but simply waves their hand. ¡°No need for all of that,¡± she gracefully says. ¡°A simple no would have sufficed. Far from me to intrude where I¡¯m not wanted, you gorgeous thing.¡±


    They start walking, and after a moment¡¯s hesitation, Raika follows along. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ll tell me what I did wrong, there?¡± she asks, fishing for a bit of information. She¡¯d thought she¡¯d gotten the movement just right.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯d hardly be what I am if I hadn¡¯t learned to tell when someone is performing just to be polite, dear,¡± Kaena replies. ¡°It¡¯s a nascent talent, almost. Besides, despite my at-times exhausting demeanor, I can assure you I have no intention of allowing you discomfort in my presence if we can at all afford it. We are, after all, to be closely-mingled partners soon, hmm? I¡¯d hate for there to be any unwanted friction between us.¡±


    Raika moves her facial features into a light frown. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean,¡± she says. ¡°Partners soon? How so?¡±


    ¡°Ah, you haven¡¯t heard!¡± Kaena replies, smiling back at her while they enter the main lounging area, where Raika first arrived through their portal ever so long ago. ¡°It only makes sense, really. I at least am far too exceptional to cause distress to one in a difficult position and I suppose the others must have followed my impeccable guidance. We¡¯re to embark on a new journey soon, my dear. This backwater has been fine enough, as has been their lovely attempt at guest accommodations, but I¡¯m eager to be off, and it would seem that orders from on high finally have us moving towards something with a bit more purpose than casual cultivation and a glaring lack of wild orgies.¡±


    Kaena laughs at their joke, but Raika notices the scent shift, ever so slightly. A bit more of that tainted mercury peaking through Kaena¡¯s surface scent of peaches and cream, but not much, and just an overall ripple in the Qi in question. Kaena still exudes an aura of it, constantly, though it tends to stick fairly close to them rather than dissolving into the air like Raika originally assumed, and as she¡¯s refined her senses she¡¯s noticed eddies and ripples in it. Kaena¡¯s attention, if Raika¡¯s interpretation of those subtle changes are to be trusted, is very focused on Raika and her reaction to the comment.


    It¡­ doesn¡¯t feel malicious. Even the scent of silvered toxin has sort of faded into the background of Raika¡¯s interpretation of Kaena, becoming just another part of the whole rather than any sort of threat, and the attention, coupled with their willingness to speak to her and perceptiveness with how quickly they gave up on the request for any physical contact, feels¡­ ok. She remembers some of her earlier meetings with Kaena, how the lithe figure was free and casual with physical touch, with how they¡¯d seem to both enjoy it and delight in creating opportunities for it, yet¡­ they¡¯d asked her, before anything, if it was alright for her to be touched.


    The joke almost feels like an extension of that. Feeling out limits, trying to ascertain her comfort levels. There¡¯s a perception of this that could be malicious or manipulative, as so much of Kaena seems tailor-made to be, but¡­ there¡¯s also an awareness that for all their energy and social behaviors, Kaena hasn¡¯t seemed to leave the little wing of the palace they¡¯ve been in, either. And they¡¯re seeming to give a genuine attempt to make Raika more comfortable. It takes a moment, but¡­ Raika eventually decides that, seeing as she¡¯s manipulating her entire body right now, it would be a bit silly to think of all manipulation as bad, or to start seeing ghosts where there are none. Awareness of danger, yes; she doesn¡¯t plan to stop watching Kaena like a hawk, or forgetting exactly what they are to her senses, but to reject them outright isn¡¯t just counter to her goal of getting more insight and information, it feels¡­ unnecessarily harsh.


    So, she shifts her flesh into a smile, following the lines of one that she can feel vaguely tickling the back of her nerves. It¡¯s a small thing, barely a tilt of her lip on the unscarred side, but it¡¯s more than enough for Kaena to notice, and the whirl of their Qi around her to speed up a fraction and brighten with the scent of peaches.


    I mean, it had been a pretty good joke. More crass than Kaena¡¯s usual fare, but that¡¯s probably on purpose, considering how well they¡¯ve been reading her so far.


    ¡°And what might that less disappointingly journey entail?¡± Raika asks.


    ¡°Oh I hardly give out the marching orders, gorgeous,¡± Kaena giggles. ¡°Me, I¡¯m here to look pretty, smell even better, and snack on all the goodies I can get my lovely hands on. Invaluable in all counts of life, but hardly fit for leadership or informational security, you understand. Now come along, I have simply fallen in love with these little bacon-wrapped figs they have here, one taste and you¡¯ll see my tastes proven right and supreme.¡±


    Raika smiles more naturally at that. She doesn¡¯t think Kaena sees, but the movement happens, slight as it is, without conscious input. She¡¯d been the one eating bacon-wrapped figs like they were rice, a few weeks back. It would seem Kaena may have remembered.


    She walks over to the table, so constantly laden with treats and meals and plates of varying ornateness, and looks around. The sun shines through the room¡¯s open wall, the portal in the center of the space long since taken down and the runic array supporting it washed off and un-carved from the stone all around. The city stretches out before them, light blue and cerulean purple glowing in the afternoon sun writhing overhead and highlighted against the blooming green of trees and plants all around, the wilds of the world always encroaching and always pushed back by the might of people living in peace.


    It¡¯s a gorgeous day.


    It¡¯s the city she hates most in the world, if only for selfish reasons.


    And then a plate is held out to her, laden high with bacon-wrapped figs, hunks of pork belly, a surprising array of lettuce, kimchi-like cabbage, cucumbers, radish, slices of crispy fried chicken and thin, sauce-laden cuts of beef.


    ¡°Everything a growing young woman needs to grow big and strong,¡± Kaena says with a coquettish smile and a wink.


    Despite herself, Raika can¡¯t help but smile back, taking control of it this time to stop it from growing too far. Ah, Kaena¡­ that¡¯s a dangerous one, there. They¡¯ll be difficult to deal with. The kindness is a tactic Raika was expecting; its effectiveness is not. She doesn¡¯t know if Taurus put them up to this, but¡­ while she hopes not, she keeps it in the back of her mind.


    As she takes the plate with a grateful (if somewhat joking) bow, their conversation and thoughts are interrupted by the rattling of a disorganized silverware cabinet walking through the halls and into the room.


    Taran looks like shit, even more so than before, their body outright sallow and their movements listless and artificial-looking, like a poorly animated puppet. They stagger over to the table, grab themselves what looks like the largest piece of bread Raika has ever seen, and begins stuffing it full of chilis, spices, spicy sauces and pieces of rare meat.


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    Kaena titters at the display, and Taran turns to look at the two of them before rolling¡­ less his eyes and more his whole head.


    ¡°Careful,¡± they rasp. ¡°You gotta give em a flick to the head every now and then, or pretty soon they¡¯ll be trying to get you to eat off them, nude. I should know.¡±


    ¡°That was one time, and you should be grateful!¡± Kaena huffs. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know there¡¯s places that can cost a life¡¯s savings for such treatment. Besides, did it cheer you up or not?¡±


    Again, the roll of the head. ¡°I didn¡¯t say it wasn¡¯t a good time,¡± they rasp. ¡°Just nice to give the newbie some forewarning.¡±


    He looks at Raika, avoiding direct eye contact but making sure to focus on their face, his own eyes somewhat clouded and¡­ inky? He stares at her for a moment, with her matching his gaze. He raises an eyebrow, looking between her and Kaena. She shrugs very, very lightly. He looks at her, more closely, and raises his brow again, before shifting his gaze slightly to the city behind them. She does nothing.


    He gives her a slower nod, ending the conversation there and falling onto a bunch of pillows he immediately dribbles sauce onto, basking in as much sun as he can reach.


    Kaena rolls their eyes. ¡°Brutes, the both of you,¡± they huff. ¡°Can¡¯t even include a beauty like myself in all your silly codes. Taran, you ready?¡±


    The gun-clad corpse shrugs. ¡°As I can be,¡± they rasp. ¡°Got some of the boys up and running. Figured I¡¯d do better boosting up Hao Kai than spread it out.¡±


    Kaena whips around to face him at that, gasping so loud it¡¯s practically a yell, and then squeals. ¡°You woke up Hao Kai and you didn¡¯t tell me?¡± they ask breathlessly, their Qi swirling in what seems like genuine excitement. ¡°I''m heartbroken! Crushed! Wounded and harmed, torn asunder amidst the winds of your cruelty! Please tell me they''re around? Oh, I''ve missed him so...¡±


    Taran rolls their eyes, ever the picture of exhaustion. ¡°You know if I let them out here they¡¯re not going to stop wandering around complaining for hours, right? Can¡¯t we just wait until we have to?¡±


    ¡°Taran, you insufferable twat, if Hao Kai wants to join me in the joy of mocking your terrible manners, they have every right, and if you''re trying to keep us apart because you''re as much as a child as you seem, I will find wherever you¡¯re sleeping and stuff your belts full of cold meats, and you¡¯ll have to drag them out all slimy and gross every time you wake up!¡± Kaena threatens.


    Taran takes a deep, deep, deep breath. He sighs out, like the whistling of tuneless wind through barren trees. Then he does it again, just for effect.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he rasps, ¡°but I¡¯m taking a bite of my damned sandwich first.¡±


    And they do just that, even as their gaze somehow goes even more vacant and their body far more still. Raika goes to take a step forward, but Kaena extends a hand to block her path, putting a finger to their lips and giving Raika a ¡°trust me¡± wink as they do. She pauses. It¡¯s not like she wants to help them anyways, not so long as they¡¯re tools of Taurus, but to maintain the masquerade (and, admittedly, out of instinct) it still feels weird to just stand back and watch the weapon-cluttered ghoulish young man go so weirdly... blank, for a moment.


    And then he shivers a bit and inhales, a nice, relieved breath- and start hacking and coughing violently.


    ¡°Blasted little bastard!¡± Taran rasps, in a voice that is not his. ¡°Heavens and lords above, what is this? And why is it in my mouth? Gods, it¡¯s burning so much!¡±


    With another squeal, Kaena leaps full-force at the prone figure and lands hard, eliciting an ¡°oof¡± from the prone bondage-clad figure, who blinks down at her even as they struggle not to swallow the burning, half-chewed meal they¡¯ve been cursed with.


    ¡°Kaena!¡± Taran rasps in a voice that sounds so utterly different that she¡¯s having trouble articulating how it could belong to the same face. It¡¯s a masterful performance if it¡¯s an act. ¡°I¡¯m ever so happy to see you, but please, I beg, be a dear and fetch me some water, I¡¯m not sure I can move and every moment this thing is in any part of my digestive tract is an agony I¡¯d rather do without.¡±


    Kaena cackles, straddling the prone figure beneath them. ¡°You¡¯ll live another moment, you old ghost!¡± they crow. ¡°Come on and give me a hug, it¡¯s been months!¡±


    With a chuckle, the pale figure obliges, setting the sandwich daintily away from the pillows and hugging the svelte figure atop them. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you too, my dear. I¡¯m to assume by my consciousness we¡¯re off to- oh, my!¡± they interrupt themselves, catching sight of Raika. ¡°My apologies, honored one, I¡¯m afraid this senior brother is trapped in a rather poor showing!¡±


    The pale, belt-clad and rattling figure stands, just as unnaturally tall but somehow completely alien from before. Where once there were stiff movements and awkward shifts of posture, the gait of a ruined doll, now the body moves like an artful performance, bowing extravagantly and perfectly at the waist and sweeping a hand back as if presenting themselves. ¡°Honored one, this senior¡¯s name is Hao Kai, esteemed ally to young master Taran and compatriot in arms to this most delightful specimen,¡± they say, briefly gesturing at Kaena, who takes the opportunity to strike a pose. ¡°I apologize, but I¡¯m afraid I haven¡¯t had the opportunity to familiarize myself with your personage. May you be a new addition to our entourage?¡±


    Raika pauses, unsure how to respond. She opens her mouth, closes it. Awkwardly shifts the plate of food she¡¯s holding.


    Eventually as the silence lengthens, she decides to¡­ just answer directly.


    ¡°...yes,¡± she says.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Hao Kai says, still smiling, their demeanor eager and excited. ¡°A recent addition, then. I trust your introductory period hasn¡¯t been too-¡±


    Kaena makes a very small ¡°tsk¡± sound, and Hao Kai pauses.


    ¡°Well, however it came to be, I am glad to meet you,¡± he continues after a slight shift in tone. ¡°I can imagine you haven¡¯t had much opportunity to familiarize yourself, so I shall introduce myself more properly! I, Hao Kai, honored cultivator, butler, assistant, and mentor to a dozen young masters in my time, former vassal of the Land of Porcelain Flowers, greet you, most esteemed-¡±


    ¡°Raika,¡± she provides.


    ¡°Raika! And while I¡¯m afraid our interactions may be limited, I can assure you I have every intention of them being a singular delight each time.¡± They come back up from the partial bow they¡¯d maintained. ¡°Though,¡± he says, looking down at himself, ¡°I hope to be in a more presentable state on the next such occasion. I¡¯m afraid the young master¡¯s sense of fashion has deteriorated rather terribly since I was last present. I can assure you, milady, so long as this body draws breath and this mind has will to act, I shall be doing my best to ensure he holds himself to a higher standard.¡±


    ¡°Young master?¡± she asks. ¡°You mean Taran?¡±


    ¡°Ah, yes, one and the same, milady,¡± Hao Kai says, bowing again. ¡°A complicated story, one I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m unqualified to explain. But if you¡¯ll excuse me, I must ask, Kaena, has the young master been eating only such¡­ unnatural concoctions as that deplorable thing, or am I merely the target of a dastardly joke at my expense?¡±


    Kaena hums, tapping a finger on their chin. ¡°Well, perhaps you¡¯d be best providing them a bit of proper nourishment while you¡¯re here, just to be sure.¡±


    ¡°An excellent idea,¡± Hao Kai laughs, matching their smile. ¡°If you¡¯ll excuse me, Honored Kaena, Honored Raika, I see a bounty of nutritious goods that you already seem to have begun partaking in, and above all else, I am sure my master must have called me here to provide proper guidance on dietary manners!¡± He winks at Kaena, before giving a small bow to Raika and walking, very seriously and with only the slightest twinkle in his eyes, now so utterly at odds with the rest of his face and mannerisms, towards the tables of food on the far side of the lounge space.


    Raika turns to Kaena. Despite herself, she raises an eyebrow.


    Kaena shrugs. ¡°Not my story to tell,¡± she says simply. ¡°But I always take an opportunity to delight in good conversation when I hear Hao Kai¡¯s awake.¡±


    Raika can¡¯t help herself. She scoffs a little laugh.


    It¡¯s¡­


    She blames Kaena for it. The shapely would-be courtesan is good at this. She imagines that if she¡¯d emerged earlier, Kaena might have an entirely different, more delicate approach to the whole affair. She¡¯s still not sure if they''re doing this on orders, or boredom, or something else, but it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s far too easy to feel comfortable here, in this moment.


    She wills her flesh to shift. To turn her head and face the city.


    To look down towards one specific alleyway, the view of it partially blocked by the shape of buildings around it.


    She sniffs the air, tracking Kaena¡¯s Qi. None of it feels invasive. If anything it feels tentative, quiet, shifting and moving only when they¡¯re actively engaged with Hao Kai or Raika. It doesn¡¯t feel like it¡¯s some kind of technique. It seems they¡¯re just that good at making people feel at ease.


    Raika takes a bite of her food, and makes sure she keeps in mind how dangerous that is.


    A while later, as Hao Kai (in the body of Taran?) and Kaena speak excitedly, adding to the ambiance and pointedly giving her some space to just be, Maen shows back up. She, too, gives Raika room, letting her sit alone near the end of the lounge area, against the beginning of the balcony, but sitting close enough to her that her presence can be felt. Not long after that, Raika starts to sense the space changing, the feeling similar to what she¡¯s begun to sense when her mirrors were replaced or when she notices little changes around the baths, and she notices a fresh batch of food on the tables, tea and cakes and other soft, sweet things.


    It¡¯s nice. She tries, very hard, to remind herself that it shouldn¡¯t be. She uses her will to move her Qi about as she eats, continuing her training and bringing back the pain she so deserves. She eats sparingly, and tries not to taste it. She looks down at the view, where JiaJia was last alive. Where she was taken.


    She hurts. And it feels wrong, to be here, to exist as she does.


    But in spite of it all, it¡¯s still nice.


    And then Yun Ka walks into the room, and all thoughts of softness and sadness and comfort leave Raika¡¯s mind as the woman with the eyes and authority of those who have ruined her and broken her world comes into focus.


    ¡°I figured now would be good timing,¡± Yun Ka says, their voice tired but eyes bright. She stands there, bedecked in a robe of white and black gold, mechanical apparatuses and bags of supplies and that block of jade at her hip, and Raika sees all of it.


    Despite how little Qi there is in the room, she sniffs, quiet, and tries to scent Yun Ka.


    Nothing. Nothing at all.


    ¡°I¡¯m happy to announce we have a new field test,¡± Yun Ka says, ¡°and will be deploying soon!"

 Chapter 48 - Faust, Meet the Man of Monte Cristo

    ¡°I know we¡¯ve all been here a bit longer than the norm,¡± Yun Ka says, gesturing, the whirring and slender mechanical apparatuses on her beginning to shift and move until thing mechanical limbs like that of a spider have formed an array around her. ¡°Frankly now that we¡¯re done dealing with the politics, we¡¯re going to be helping the governor out with the reason we originally showed up; the attack on Paleblossom city.¡±


    Kaena raises their hand. ¡°Isn¡¯t that also politics?¡± they ask, all sweetness.


    ¡°Hush,¡± Yun Ka replies. ¡°We¡¯re going to be leaving the city and heading towards the projected launch site of the modular bioframes we encountered. Runemaster Boriah and I haven¡¯t been able to accurately replicate the exact specifics of the weapons yet, which indicates additional sophistication we can¡¯t track, or potentially interference like Demonic or Truth-based techniques.¡± As she speaks, the arrayed limbs begin to glow, small shards of jade, glass, and metal in different pincers letting off faint whisps until Raika smells a circuit kick in, a mix of ozone-without-ozone and powdered dust and sharpening and the whole array lights up. Projected in front of Yun Ka, like a glowing ghost of a terrain, floats a translucent map of what looks like a section of woods with a large mountain nearby, the model three-dimensional and detailing both most of the mountain and a hazy, solid chunk of earth beneath the ¡°floor¡± of the image. The only really notable details about the area being projected is the mountain and a small village a few miles off from its base, next to a river which flows downhill past it.


    ¡°This is the area we think the weapons were launched from. We¡¯re unsure if they were sent from the mountain, though it¡¯s most likely, so we¡¯ll be including the village and surrounding countryside into our search. While we¡¯ll have access to Imperial soldiers, we¡¯ve been asked to only call them in if absolutely necessary. You guys know the drill.¡±


    Kaena and Hao Kai both nod, and Maen just looks confused, while Raika just watches, her face perfectly and utterly still.


    ¡°Monitoring conditions are the same as normal; any major changes in cultivation or techniques is recorded by our trackers, but check ins will be weekly only. Hopefully we can settle this before the week is out, but if not, know that missing your check in will be taken as a sign you¡¯ve been incapacitated in some way, and if this is proven incorrect, will lead to severe reprimanding. Those without chaperones and who don¡¯t volunteer, you¡¯ll stay well away from the village unless commanded otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Kaena, you and I will set up shop in the village with the soldiers. Your job is to keep the peace and negotiate with the local lordling, make sure everything is set up properly, while I set up a more detailed on-site detection array for the Divination Division to get a good look with. Taran, you and yours are on guard duty; we¡¯re bound to get an influx of spirit beasts or worse, setting up an array in such a usually Qi-stagnant area.. Command wants to get a better look at some of the varietals you can equip, so if you can switch armaments here and there, please do.¡±


    ¡°What¡­ um, what exactly are we looking for?¡± Maen asks hesitantly.


    Yun Ka gives her a smile. ¡°We¡¯re not sure!¡± she smiles. ¡°Underground lair, secret mountain base, dimensional portal, massive skeleton house, who knows. Trips like these tend for the underground lair, but you never know when you¡¯ll find something unique!¡±


    ¡°Speaking of you, though, Maen, you¡¯re assigned to stick close to you, Raika. Command wants to see what you two can do together, since Taurus has you both as a package deal to some extent and Raika, I understand you can¡¯t use Qi to operate a communicator.¡±


    Raika shrugs, face as flat as she¡¯s kept it the whole time. ¡°Haven¡¯t tried.¡±


    ¡°Well, since your Qi is internally limited, until your first batch of official tests once we¡¯re back home in the Division headquarters (which I cannot wait to see the results of) we¡¯re operating on the assumption that it¡¯s so. Maen, that means it¡¯ll be your job to send out alarms and perform check ins, with Raika present as well of course.¡±


    Maen hesitates, looking over at Raika, but when she gives no sign or response, nods her head.


    ¡°Speaking of, though, Raika, you¡¯ve been tasked with the widest exploration range. It¡¯s..¡± here Yun Ka hesitates. ¡°Well, I think it¡¯s a big sign of trust, maybe, considering what happened, but-¡±


    Something cracks near where Raika¡¯s sitting. She looks down, noticing how hard she¡¯s gripping the stone step she¡¯s been sitting on.


    Yun Ka hesitates. Raika notices Kaena and Hao Kai both looking at her, with Hao Kai hesitant and Kaena focused, tracking every movement, worrying at their lip a bit.


    It feels performative. Maybe it is, maybe it isn¡¯t. Either way, Raika forces the tendons in her hand to uncoil and relax. She hadn¡¯t meant to do that, and she still needs Yun Ka for her insight. Later, once she¡¯s figured out how to use her without being used herself.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s, uh-¡± Yun Ka stutters, looking a bit ashamed and awkward at the slip, ¡°it¡¯s a lot of trust. Theoretically, your senses have the highest chance of detecting the target from the furthest away, besides the array and the Divination division, so you¡¯ll have the largest search quadrant. Runemaster Boriah, on the other hand, will be focusing his attention on the mountain proper. Any questions?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­¡± Maen hesitates, but, looking at Raika and apparently gaining some courage from her, asks- ¡°well, why are we doing this, exactly? Why not just have the soldiers do it?¡±


    ¡°Oh, geez, you guys haven¡¯t even really had the intro, huh?¡± Yun Ka pauses, reflecting. ¡°Well, synopsis, soldiers are for killing and guarding normal stuff, we¡¯re for finding and catching weird stuff, and the more we use your cultivations and abilities, the more we can learn about them to help you grow and see how best we can benefit the Empire. Plus, it¡¯s so fascinating this way! I mean, what other scientific Division in the Empire can you go out on adventures like this for?¡±


    Maen¡­ doesn¡¯t say anything to that, looking possibly more confused than when she started.


    Raika is still and silent.


    ¡°Well, if that¡¯s everybody,¡± Yun Ka says, ¡°then¡­ briefing over! Glad I caught all of you, always suuuper awkward trying to find everybody on their own. But it¡¯s so exciting! Ah, it¡¯s been forever since we had an adventure together!¡±


    Then she pauses, collects herself, girlish enthusiasm briefly overtaken by professionalism again. ¡°Oh, and before I forget,¡± she says, ¡°Raika, Runemaster Boriah wanted to talk to you, if that¡¯s ok.¡±


    Raika says nothing. Her plate is mostly empty, but she still sets it down slowly and carefully.


    It is difficult to move slowly and carefully right now.


    ¡°Um, now would be good?¡± Yun Ka says, anxiously.


    Raika gets up, slow, not that much taller but towering over the smaller woman.


    She moves her flesh into the proper shape, smiling politely and bowing just a bit. ¡°Of course,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m always honored to be called upon by master Boriah. In his study, then?¡±


    Yun Ka brightens, either too oblivious to read the room and Raika¡¯s failed attempt at controlling herself or too bright and relieved to think on it. ¡°Yes! If you¡¯d like, I can send you both some tea for while you talk! Any requests, maybe?¡±


    Raika shakes her head, holding the polite smile. ¡°Not necessary, but thank you,¡± she says, softly and warmly. I¡¯ll find my way to him now, if that¡¯s alright!¡±


    She begins to walk off, and is surprised when a second set of steps begins to follow her.


    ¡°Ah, thats-¡± she hears Yun Ka say, before she¡¯s cut off by some unheard gesture or signal.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Raika turns, expecting to see Maen perhaps, and is surprised to find Kaena at her side. Looking back, she can see Maen hesitating, and gives her a small shake of the head. Better to not put her in front of Taurus, see if she can¡¯t get him to speak more freely, perhaps. And yes, she has to admit to herself; she¡¯d rather kill someone than let Maen any closer to Taurus than she has to. Perhaps not necessarily an appropriate reaction, given their limited relationship to each other and the limited amount of time they¡¯ve had, but¡­ Raika doesn¡¯t have a lot of people.


    Kaena walks beside her, giving her space and not reaching out for any sort of contact. She just makes sure she¡¯s not alone.


    A part of Raika marvels at how perfect this is. With her Qi sense, there¡¯s every chance she might pick up on a slip from either of them, get more insight into their dynamic, into its potential weaknesses.


    Another part of her is grateful for the company.


    Neither part is stupid or unhelpful, she thinks, which makes holding onto both a bit of a strange affair.


    ¡ª--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°Come in,¡± Taurus rumbles in a voice like a rockslide as Kaena knocks lightly on his door. Same as always, she can hear the sound of a quill scritch-scratching on paper constantly, even from down the hall, and it doesn¡¯t stop when they open the door and step inside.


    ¡°Hey, boss,¡± Kaena says softly. ¡°Kept her company on the way over. Mind if I sit in?¡±


    ¡°Actually,¡± Taurus rumbles, ¡°I¡¯d rather you didn¡¯t.¡±


    There¡¯s a moment of silence in the room. Feigned or not, the tension feels plenty real as Kaena stands right where they are for a while longer.


    ¡°Kaena,¡± Taurus says softly, ¡°it¡¯ll be fine. We¡¯ve been through this before. It¡¯s no different.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a little different,¡± Kaena whispers.


    Taurus looks up from his desk at them, meeting their gaze. He¡¯s hunched over the miniscule, human-sized writing aid, his horns making him, even while seated, a good five and a half feet tall. His eyeline is barely under Raika¡¯s chin while sitting down, and his shoulders are wider than hers by a solid foot of distance. To call the half-man, half-bull a giant would not be inaccurate, and even in the surprisingly alien features of a muzzle, all-black eyes, and strangely ivory teeth, his displeasure is clear.


    ¡°You¡¯re not helping, Kaena,¡± he rumbles.


    ¡°Maybe I shouldn¡¯t be,¡± they retort.


    Taurus snorts, the sound animalistic and letting out a blast of air, a bit of Qi slipping through and making the runes all around the room flare very lightly. Kaena shudders slightly, but (and this, Raika immediately shifts to take notice of) their ever-present cloud of Qi sort of¡­ buffers them from the pressure. Raika, of course, can¡¯t really sense Qi pressure directly except as a smell, but with enhanced control she can sense how it changes the air pressure on her skin, makes the jelly of her eyes tremble, makes it slightly harder to breathe. It¡¯s something that damages her, but eventually, rather than the overwhelming impact it can have on those who are open to and perceptive of Qi.


    But Kaena shoulders the burden of pressure from a being that might be a full realm and change above their level with minimal stress, the cloud of Qi they seem unable to stop emitting compressing under the omni-directional pressure and protecting them.


    ¡°You¡¯re being uncourteous, boss,¡± Kaena whispers, voice surprisingly low and dangerous this time.


    Taurus meets their eyes, and, to Raika¡¯s surprise, Kaena doesn¡¯t back down before the higher cultivation.


    Then Taurus sighs, and the pressure disappears. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he says, softly again. ¡°I apologize. The promise still stands, I hope.¡±


    Kaena nods. ¡°It does,¡± they say. ¡°But I¡¯d rather stay, if that¡¯s all right, because quite frankly, honorable leader, you¡¯ve fucked this up pretty royally.¡±


    Taurus matches their tone with a look. ¡°I did what I felt I had to,¡± he replies.


    There is silence for a while.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he grumbles. ¡°Sit. Not like there¡¯s much secret here. But if I make it an order, then you leave.¡±


    Kaena nods.


    Raika sits, kneeling on the floor before the desk, which itself is enough to put Taurus¡¯ eyeline a good two feet above her head, Kaena following a moment away. They sit a ways to the side, rather than beside Raika as she was expecting, retreating to the side of the room like a respectful assistant or courtesan, wise enough to be out of line of sight and allow the conversation unimpeded.


    But they¡¯re here.


    What it means, Raika isn¡¯t sure of yet.


    Taurus sighs.


    ¡°So,¡± they rumble, voice a bit deeper and a touch louder while speaking to Raika than it is with Kaena. ¡°You heard Yun Ka. You get to explore the wilds and wander a pretty large search radius.¡±


    She nods, and says nothing, face shifted to hold an expression of pleasant silence and a soft smile.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make myself perfectly clear, Raika,¡± he rumbles. ¡°When you¡¯re there, you¡¯re free to leave.¡±


    She stops the blink from happening. But it almost makes it through.


    ¡°I have no intention of putting you on so tight a leash it chokes the both of us, and the amount of effort and enchantment it would take to keep you on said leash may well compromise the whole reason I picked you in the first place. So, while you¡¯re out there, feel free to run wherever you please.¡±


    ¡°But know that you¡¯ll be hunted.¡±


    He holds up a hand, placating some minute signal from Kaena that she didn¡¯t pick up on. ¡°Not by me. You¡¯ll collapse my career, escaping twice, that¡¯s true. Might take me a few years and quite a bit of pain to recover, but I will. This much I have done before, from worse falls than you could cause. Your allies, the healer Li Shu, the-¡± (and here he pauses, checking a folder) ¡°-lesser cultivator Qen Hou, and their extended relatives and allies are likely to come under scrutiny and harassment, maybe some targeted assassination if you¡¯re unlucky. But they¡¯ll probably live too. Cultivators and healers are lucky like that, and if they keep from rocking the boat too much, chances are they¡¯ll either be recruited or just left under watch for a few decades, maybe after a bit of enhanced interrogation. Hell, you could probably take Maen too, if you can find where her tracker is implanted.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t the faintest idea what makes the honored one think I could do such a thing,¡± Raika says, voice pitched to be higher than normal and pleasant.


    Taurus grunts.


    ¡°Either way, you¡¯ll still be hunted. The Division won¡¯t just let you go. You might make it a while, but, and please understand my perfect sincerity when I say this, there are many in this department with far more power than I and far more willingness to be cruel with it. And they will treat you as a curio, to be torn apart and studied under a blade and scope, alongside anyone you¡¯ve touched they think might be of interest. And they¡¯ll do it, too, because the Grandmaster and Emperor themselves will it to happen.¡±


    ¡°Maybe someday you will understand why I acted as I did, maybe even agree, but I do not deny that it was cruel, and that you need not forgive me for it. In fact, I¡¯m banking on it. Because I think that you think you could survive, maybe even overcome these other individuals before they could reach you. I don¡¯t believe you can, and I have seen dangers which grow far faster than you fail to do so. So I¡¯m going to do what I perhaps should have done from the beginning.¡±


    Raising his hand, Taurus begins to circulate his Qi. She can sense the weight of it, the way it changes the flow of the air in the room, the way it dries her throat and makes her blink with how much of it he is gathering. In his palm, a single dot of what looks like a strange, iridescent black liquid forms, slowly, moment by moment.


    He tilts his hand, and lets the droplet roll over his palm and fall onto a tiny circle on the right of his desk.


    Immediately, Raika realizes her hearing has gotten a lot better than she¡¯d noticed.


    She can¡¯t hear the wind, the creaking of stone and wood throughout the building, the slight whine of metal, the sound that air makes when it goes through her hair, or over Taurus¡¯ fur. Everything goes silent.


    And into that silence, Taurus speaks.


    ¡°Perfect honesty,¡± he rumbles, his voice even stranger than normal in this impossible silence that pressed upon the room, upon her and him. She can see Kaena getting up, hesitating, confused and clearly unable to hear what they¡¯re saying.


    ¡°Perfect honesty,¡± she says, quietly.


    ¡°Keep up the act,¡± he says. ¡°Pretend to be broken. There are some who¡¯ll buy it, and that¡¯s useful. But I haven¡¯t, so in the spirit of cooperation, I¡¯m going to make you an offer.¡±


    ¡°On top of the continued safety and protection your people of interest enjoy so long as you remain in my unit,¡± he continues, ¡°and on top of the relatively loose hand on your leash I intend to maintain whenever I can, I¡¯m going to tell you a secret.¡±


    She¡¯s not sure she cares. She¡¯s almost certain that whatever he¡¯s about to say won¡¯t change the vision she has of his throat in her teeth.


    But she listens.


    If nothing else, she has learned the value of being patient as she plans.


    Taurus smiles at the look she has. It should be no look at all, if her arrangement of muscles is correct, but he sees something.


    ¡°If everything goes according to plan,¡± he whispers into the silence, ¡°I won¡¯t live to see five years from now. And by the time of my death, three of the Empire¡¯s divisions will be unmade, including the one which protects Feng Gui.¡±


    She does not dare let herself breathe. She can feel his teeth closing in around her, a deal too good to be true prepared for her to sink into. Worse, she can see in his eyes that he thinks he can make her sink into it willingly, and the longer he speaks, the less sure she is that he¡¯s wrong.


    ¡°By the time of my death,¡± he continues, ¡°I intend to have you strong enough to kill me, Feng Gui, and maybe even more if you start feeling righteous enough. And I intend to have you do just that.¡±


    He leans in, closer. ¡°Don¡¯t thank me. Don¡¯t care for me, don¡¯t forgive me. But stay with me, and I will sharpen you into a sword sharp enough to kill me and anyone else you choose. And then I¡¯ll be dead, and you¡¯ll have your revenge, and what comes after matters little, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    The silence around them flickers, sound and smell and a hundred other nuances and touches she¡¯d taken for granted flooding back in, and she takes in one, shaky breath.


    Taurus smiles.


    He extends a hand. An archaic custom, one from before contracts and bowing and the Empire itself.


    ¡°Do we have a deal?¡± he asks.


    She feels the teeth of the trap close in.

 Chapter 49 - Bear Grylls Aint Got Nuthin

    It¡¯s an agonizing breath of fresh air, to be out in the woods after all this time. Weeks in a windowless room, a little over two months in a palace with the natural world stuck on the wrong side of windows and balconies, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, all she can feel is the beauty of air that is free and moving and full of scents.


    And oh is it full of scents. Raika hadn¡¯t realized just how alien and enhanced her senses have become, exceeding what she had assumed was the norm by a full degree. Where before it seemed natural that she¡¯d basically know what food was prepared long before she left her room to search for it, now she knows just how ridiculous that is, especially with her newfound knowledge that the air in the palace, for whatever reason, was insanely still and somehow almost always without scent. Compared to the wilds, it was basically a dead zone of mild perfumes and milder breezes.


    Here, she can sense all of it. The smell of something furred and its droppings more than a hundred feet away, the scent of a dozen trails of creatures, none of which she can recognize for how new their smell is to her. She can smell the birds flying overhead, where they¡¯ve placed their nests, where the nearest source of water is¡­ frankly, it should be overwhelming, but without counting the tingling in her nose and right behind her eyes, she feels perfectly fine, tracking more scents and more nuances than anything human could. And none of that is to speak to her other senses.


    She hears a fresh twig break, and turns to look back the way she came.


    Glimpsed between the trees, about two miles behind, Maen steps on another twig.


    Raika holds herself very still, putting her entire attention towards Maen. Slowly, other sounds start to fade away, the rustling of leaves and branches and bushes and moving mice and worms and birds all fading, bit by bit. And then¡­ ba-bump. Again; ba-bump.


    From almost two miles away, when she focuses, she can hear the blood in the felinid¡¯s veins.


    She turns back around. Even slowing her pace tremendously, there¡¯s an agony to the affair in that, at least until they make camp, she simply can¡¯t leave Maen entirely behind and let loose like she wants to. There¡¯s a tension of freshly forged muscles and altered physiology that begs to be used, and she can feel her hand clenching and unclenching as she wears the impossible flesh she has crafted as a suit of armor.


    And she¡¯s absolutely certain this is just the beginning.


    In truth, that¡¯s been her biggest source of excitement about all this, the possibility of finding and studying other enhanced life. Sure, there are mortal animals about the forest, decorating different parts of the bottom of the food chain, but even in the inner rings of the Empire, there are still spirit beasts and monsters that roam the woods.


    They¡¯re a day¡¯s travel by flight from Paleblossom city, here, still well within the bounds of the third ring of the Empire. The first ring, of course, being the Imperial Plateau, a country-sized spike of land reaching high enough into the sky to be obscured by the clouds, with the second ring denoting an area of a few thousand kilometers in every direction around it, and the third indicated by the more untamed areas for a few tens of thousands of kilometers beyond that. At its very edge are a ring of vaguely connected forts, indicating the end of the third ring and beginning of the fourth, which expands very nearly to the ends of the world itself, the Emperor¡¯s most recently conquered lands, still unruly and writhing under his boot.


    Beyond that lies the fifth ring, of course, but that¡¯s millions of kilometers away even in a straight line.


    The third ring is far more tame than the fourth when it comes to wildlife, but it¡¯s nowhere near the carefully bred and selectively hunted treasured animals and bloodlines of the second ring, with its divine stags and visually appealing chimeras. Here, where Raika has lived most of her life (if quite a ways further north than she¡¯s ever gone before), there still be some monsters left.


    The thought reminds her of another monster she is trying hard to forget.


    Taurus had apologized to Kaena for the silence¡­ spell? afterwards, and they¡¯d acquiesced when Raika had simply nodded and told them everything was fine.


    Everything was fine. They¡¯d even shaken hands at the end, so clearly, it was all fine.


    How much of what Taurus said is a lie is yet to be determined. How much he can be trusted to keep his word, equally nebulous.


    But one does not condense and then discard an entire droplet of liquid Qi, while right on the edge of an advancement into a new realm, for a simple lie. And one tends not to discuss treason against the Empire for the sake of tricking some lowly semi-prisoner. All signs, in this case, point to either Raika being as important as he says she is, or his plan being just as true as he claims, or, more terrifyingly, both. If it¡¯s a lie, it¡¯s a master-stroke and a near suicidal risk and waste of resources. If what he said is true, then¡­ she¡¯s not sure.


    But it¡¯s enough for now. And if it means that he trusts her just the tiniest bit more, and that she can stay close enough to rip his throat out when the time comes, it¡¯s enough for her to stick around and avoid the annoyance of being hunted.


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    But the chain chafes, nonetheless, and she can feel her Truth straining.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine, she had said.


    She is herself, but herself is in flux, its foundations unsteady, and she is as much her own as she is his, if only barely. She doesn¡¯t know what will happen if her Truth continues to strain, or is pushed further, and she hasn¡¯t asked yet, but soon there¡¯ll be no other choice.


    In the meantime, she plans to strengthen it, and herself, as much as she can on this mission.


    She headed out immediately after arriving at the city. In truth, the journey hadn¡¯t been all that bad; turns out, Imperial soldiers get the short end of the stick way more often than one would assume with all the fancy propaganda and golden armor. Whatever artifact they use to fly, it highlights their body in strains of neon yellow and even more gold, until they glow like they¡¯ve been traced out with miniature suns, and, clad in that impossible power from whatever runic arrangement or arcane tool they¡¯re given, they were tasked with carrying them over.


    Flight is infinitely more convenient than walking nearly all the time, it would seem, but Raika couldn¡¯t help but feel like some kind of caged zoo animal, sitting in a closed, reinforced traveling ¡°carriage¡± with most of the others. It had been bigger on the inside, which had been fun for the first few hours, but then a lot more hours went by, and it got a lot less fun.


    The village seemed¡­ like a village, and they¡¯d landed a ways away from it. Taran had wandered off nearly immediately, whispering under their breath constantly and twitching spasmodically whenever Hao Kai, acting as a phantom presence haunting them, would correct their posture or say something that Taran would grumble about but ultimately listen to. She¡¯s still not sure what the deal with that is, but¡­ maybe someday she¡¯ll be interested enough to ask. She¡¯d followed their example, and, carrying a bag of basic camping supplies (a waterskin, bedroll, flint, jerky, and a knife) she¡¯d set out, Maen right behind her, her own bag overstuffed to nearly triple Raika¡¯s.


    And now¡­ here they are. And here she is.


    Ah. And there Maen is.


    Staggering around a tree, the felinid bends double, her arms braced on her knees. ¡°If I¡¯d known,¡± she mutters darkly, ¡°that escaping with you¡­ would entail this much walking, I might have stayed with the damn sect.¡±


    ¡°You used to be ever so polite, Maen,¡± Raika chuckles, ¡°even when you thought you were being insulting. Whatever happened to that genteel tongue?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s stuck in a body that¡¯s been walking for six hours through these damned woods!¡± Maen exclaims. ¡°I don¡¯t know if you heard some racist bullshit about beast-bloods, but I am like, ninety percent human at least and humans in Qi-Gathering realm don¡¯t really tend to do that!¡±


    ¡°More¡¯s the pity,¡± Raika smiles. ¡°I hear it¡¯s good for your heart. And your ass.¡±


    ¡°My ass is fine,¡± Maen grumbles, cheeks heating as she realizes what she said. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s- ugh. Are we stopping here?¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Yeah,¡± she says. ¡°You are, anyways. We¡¯re decently far from the base of the mountain and the village, and there¡¯s a stream not too far away. We can start searching from here, probably.¡±


    ¡°What about you?¡± Maen asks. ¡°Not going to help me set up camp?¡±


    ¡°Is it not the honored junior¡¯s task to perform the more trivial duties?¡± Raika asks with a slight smile. Despite herself, she¡¯s letting herself enjoy this, just a bit. ¡°Besides, you¡¯re the one who brought triple supplies.¡±


    ¡°Wha- I¡¯m your senior!¡± Maen grumbles. ¡°And only because you didn¡¯t even bring a tent!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a cultivator now, aren¡¯t you?¡± Raika asks. ¡°Camping under the stars is one of the great joys of the life. You get used to it.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t answer what you¡¯re going to be doing,¡± Maen mumbles.


    Raika looks at her, not needing her control over her flesh to give her a genuine grin. It¡¯s smaller than it used to be, all her smiles are, but it¡¯s genuine nonetheless.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t fought anything properly in almost two years,¡± Raika tells her. ¡°I intend to find the nearest beast and see what it is I can do with all this new weirdness of mine.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Maen mumbles. ¡°Man, you¡­ really are still a cultivator, huh?¡±


    ¡°Hopefully in only the best of ways,¡± Raika sighs, the smile slipping a little.


    Maen nods. ¡°Fair enough,¡± she replies. ¡°Well¡­ you should probably head towards the river, right? Upstream? You can probably find something there.¡±


    Raika cocks her head. ¡°Why do you think so?¡±


    Maen shrugs. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she says. ¡°It just¡­ feels like the kind of place a predator might go? Especially with the wind the way it is, heading upriver?¡±


    Raika blinks. She hadn¡¯t even noticed, but it¡¯s true, and it makes sense. But¡­ she looks again at Maen, the younger woman starting to unpack her supplies and sit down on an exposed root to rest.


    ¡°Maen,¡± she asks, ¡°if you had to guess where the nearest large creature is, right now, where would you point to?¡±


    Maen hesitates, looking up at Raika in confusion. When she sees that her would-be mentor is serious, she frowns, and starts to concentrate. At first, Raika can smell only something herbal and citrusy, but then, slowly, a growing hint of that sharpened, wild smell from before starts to peek through.


    ¡°Maybe¡­ maybe that way?¡± Maen says, pointing a bit off to the right from the stream. ¡°I¡¯m not sure, though.¡±


    Raika gives her a soft smile and shrugs. ¡°As good a direction as any,¡± she says, and starts running that way.


    And then, about fifty feet from the camp, she¡¯s tackled to the ground.


    She doesn¡¯t sense its presence. She doesn¡¯t smell it, or hear its heartbeat, or see it shifting. Her enhanced senses, through lack of training or some unknown factor, simply did not tell her there was something there.


    But it stands above her, and it gets in her face and roars.


    That¡¯s when she smells it. Raw meat and delicious, dripping blood and glorious freshly grown steel, the smell of a predator, the smell of Qi. The beast had smelled like the forest, not like its own entity. It had hidden itself, hidden its Qi from a fellow predator that might be able to sense even a whiff of it, natural camouflage disguising its shape. It¡¯s only now, as its teeth bear down towards her and its claws begin to tear into her stomach that she sees the green and black coloration, the bright, brilliant white teeth, the twelve glistening, bulbous black eyes. It stands over her, close to a hundred times her weight, and she can feel the intensity of its Qi on her skin, rippling like a heatwave along her flesh as its claws start to break through her defenses.


    Maen screams. The beast snarls and the sounds of wet tearing and biting fill the clearing.


    And then Raika punches its ribs so hard that the crack of breaking bones echoes.


    The beast yowls and stumbles backwards, limping back and wheezing at a collapsed lung as Raika, bloodied and clawed and barely wounded by her standards, gets to her feet, crouching animalistically, teeth bared in ecstatic joy at the suffering so deserved, the adrenaline so desired, at the sight of the worthy thing she gets to kill.


    ¡°My turn,¡± she snarls, and launches herself forward.

 Chapter 50 - Damn, The Woods Got Hands

    For a moment, she doesn¡¯t feel the leash. For a moment, she doesn¡¯t care about the rest of the world. For a moment, she is not a thing that deserves punishment, she is not slave to those who broke her and the one she owed and chose to help. She gives herself the gift of forgetting about her friends, and how alone she is, and where she stands, and simply flies, free and true, teeth bared and body little more than a weapon to strike with.


    And the beast meets her in kind.


    Its skin is metallic, plates of some kind of biological alloy rippling like scales and armor both, large enough to act as daggers in and of themselves, and extend over every vulnerable area she can see. It has six legs, each of them rippling with muscle beneath tough greenish-brown skin as it shifts position and extends claws shaped like reaper¡¯s blades, designed to cut across whole swathes of flesh and bring the filetted slices to a face that is all maw except for the eyes.


    So many eyes. A crown of them, like a bubble made of shifting pupils in over-wet black scleras sitting atop a jaw that unhinges in a half-dozen different directions to shriek a battle cry at her as she flies at it.


    And then, as it raises its frontmost claws to catch her in her mad forward dash, she plants a single step onto the ground and forces her entire body to launch itself sideways, against a tree trunk, and then forward again in the time it takes for a human to blink.


    The energy and momentum tear at her, trying to keep the action from happening and, failing that, hurt her for attempting it, but her body endures. Modified as it is, muscle fibers interlaced and rewoven into new formats, tendons and ligaments strengthened and given space to work with, joints reinforced and rearranged, her flesh does not care about what she should be doing, only about what they can do together. And right now, she can switch directions on a dime at the speed of a living rocket and still be ready to tear apart her prey.


    A cluster of its eyes swivel and manage to track her, and a moment before impact, even at her speed, the spirit beast raises its hackles, armored scales becoming erect like a line of daggers for her to impale herself on.


    So be it.


    She lands between most of them, puppeteering her hand and body to find points of contact she chooses rather than just what is instinctively quick, but even still they¡¯re cut up and open severely. She focuses on her heartbeat, pushing Qi towards the wounded areas while slowing the bloodflow around them to keep herself from bleeding too much, and then she forces her hand down further, fingers hooked into claws against the base of the armored quills / armor.


    She wrenches, not sharp enough to pierce the leathery hide but still strong enough to damage the muscle and flesh beneath as she yanks it out of place and leaves a cluster of bloodied living daggers suddenly stiff and still. She roars again, and the beast roars with her, a wave of new scales lifting along its whole body as it tries to roll over and crush her.


    Instead, she leaps back and away, flexing her new musculature and clearing a large enough space that the creature¡¯s roll has no chance of reaching her. Instead, as it writhes and tries to rip apart the enemy it believes is still clinging to it, she charges forward again and kicks it in the face as hard as she can.


    The force of it shocks even her. Two of its six jaws dislocate with a crunch, flapping about obscenely and bleeding freely where the tearing force broke its skin. The beast shrieks again, more garbled this time, finding its feet, and Raika has already moved, ducking a wild swipe that she can feel just barely miss her.


    She tracks the thing. It¡¯s heart beats erratically, a strange rhythm that she can¡¯t quite parse until she realizes that there¡¯s two, beating together yet slightly apart. The creature does not seem to breathe, its throat emitting no sound unless it is performing one of those frighteningly high-pitched screeches, but she can smell a fleshy, mucousy scent near its stomach and, as she watches, notices vents pulling in air and letting it flow back out through what must be a series of lungs.


    Raika adds not stealing more medical texts from the pavilion of the Purple Flame something-or-other sect to her list of regrets, but even looking at this thing is a joy. It¡¯s just¡­ fascinating.


    It takes to its hind legs then, disturbing cracking and flexing sounds coming from it as its two frontmost pairs of limbs extend and distort, their reach increasing even as the armor-quills on its back extend outward in a complete cone from its spine. It¡¯s a defensive posture; come towards its more vulnerable belly, and there¡¯s four sets of scythes ready to rip and tear and shred whatever comes close, but come at it from behind and there¡¯s an impenetrable shell.


    Raika, for the first time in a while, lets herself smile entirely naturally at the challenge before her.


    This thing can kill her, that much is certain. A good enough swipe across the throat, a cut deep enough to sever joint or bone, and she¡¯ll be back to square one of her crippling or worse. And for the first time since Taurus stole her, for the first time since she¡¯s realized exactly how deserving she is of all the misery she¡¯s built and been given, she feels¡­ just a bit of joy, at that thought.


    A part of her seems to think that that¡¯s a concerning development, but it¡¯s currently being very unhelpful, so she ignores it.


    She hears Maen gasp as she dashes in. She hears the wind, whistling through the trees and the sharpened edges of the thing before her. She can smell the rich earth she kicks up as she moves, the fallen rain it has absorbed in the last few days and the things which have walked and crawled on it. She can feel the breeze of air resistance pushing against her skin, whispering of her opponent''s weight and presence on the world as it continues to somehow mask its Qi scent from her.


    And she feels her own flesh, like a symphony, like a tool so lovingly forged into shape by pain and technique and blind experimentation. And, after just a moment of blissful peace, she takes that tool in hand and uses it.


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    Her heart thunders. Her blood flows to muscle and bone and flesh, flushing the air her lungs have purified and absorbed into every part that needs it, every part she knows she can use, and even with all of her enhancements and changes, she can still feel her bones creak and her muscles groan at the force she demands they exert.


    She is in range of the beast¡¯s claws.


    The first strike comes from her right, and she forces her arm to keep up and bats it away, the impact of it ringing in her deliciously and making even Dink, hanging about her neck, tremble with the force, but it¡¯s diverted just over her head. The second strike is from the left, down towards her throat, and she takes one step into its guard on the way and lets it whiff. The third and fourth attacks come at the same time, dislocated joints letting the limbs move like razored whips towards her stomach.


    She pushes down, ever so slightly, and she is airborne, only just enough to let herself roll in the air above both blades.


    And then she is in, and she forces herself to move faster.


    She lands and corrects her stance at the same time, her entire body redirecting every ounce of force into one, two, three punches, blood splattering from the cuts all over her and leaving a red mist as she moves through it. The first blow lands on the broken rib, making it worse, shoving it deeper, while the second and third land just above and beneath it, cracking the ribs around it as well and collapsing in half of its left side. The creature spasms even as its limbs are already retracting, arcing down into a four-sided attack that she can¡¯t back out of.


    So instead of back, she goes up, using the creature¡¯s own lower legs as a platform to jump up and to its face. Its throat is protected by its own mouth, unhinged jaw more than blocking access to it with a gaping throat and rings of teeth, but that¡¯s fine; she doesn¡¯t need to hit its throat from the outside. She locks her legs around its shoulders, ignoring the cuts that make it through her skin (and pleasantly surprised by those that are stopped) and punches full force into the back of its throat.


    The spirit beast rears back, choking from collapsed ribs and violently impacted throat, and she takes the opportunity to grab it by the eyeballs.


    Her hand crushes a good dozen of them, grabbing the fleshy, gooey cluster of three hundred and sixty degree vision in a vice grip. The beast screams again, the screech even higher pitched than before, like a demented teakettle in the body of a multi-ton abomination of grown steel and hidden flesh, but she doesn¡¯t care, using her arm alone to bring her entire body out of reach of the thing¡¯s claws and balancing on it above its head.


    She whispers to it then. Just a soft thing, a little exchange between foes. It feels right, where it never has before; this thing brought her joy. It cut her, and she broke it, and neither one expected much to be different, except which of them would win. She smiles at it, blissfully calm as it flails its disjointed whip-limbs and flutters its armored quills like wind chimes against each other, trying to find her.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she says, wearing the calmest, most beatific smile she¡¯s felt in years.


    Then she flexes again, flinging herself straight up above its head, spinning in place, and bringing down an axe kick with every ounce of her body and its altered properties.


    And then the clearing is silent, save for the sound of metal scraping on metal, slowly increasing in volume as the beast slips, totters, and falls.


    She lays on the ground next to it, collapsed from the exertion. And she laughs, and laughs, and laughs. She just¡­ lets herself be, for a while. There¡¯s a corpse beside her, and everything hurts, her body cut into pieces and her reworked systems already showing signs of strain and a need for improvement, and she feels at peace with the world in a way she has not allowed herself, not earned, in months.


    Then she hears Maen shriek, and shoots upright to see what¡¯s wrong, every part of her working together to try and find what¡¯s happening.


    Maen is looking around at the woods, spinning in place, the look on her face absolutely terrified as she hyperventilates.


    Shit. She¡¯d forgotten about Maen.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± she yells. In a moment she¡¯s back on her feet, the place where she stood left with a cloud of dirt as she bursts from there back to Maen¡¯s side. ¡°You¡¯re alright, I killed it, it¡¯s dead-¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Maen yells, eyes dilated to their very fullest, the reek of adrenaline and fear filling the air around her and flowing around them with the air currents. ¡°It¡¯s not- that¡¯s only one. Can¡¯t you- they¡¯re right there!¡±


    Raika looks around, falling deep into her senses, forcing panic and worry aside and dredging back up the readiness she used to be able to jump into so easily. Don¡¯t worry about Maen, don¡¯t worry about yourself; worry about your surroundings and what¡¯s in them.


    The state doesn¡¯t come as easily anymore, not with so little overall combat recently and so much else cluttering up her mind, but it is still there, and she brings it back from the fight a moment ago, casting her senses out in every direction.


    But she can¡¯t smell anything out of place, not a whiff of Qi save Maen¡¯s, panicked and agitated and flung about around her body in an untrained attempt to somehow protect herself with it. There are no cultivators, no Qi save the natural Qi all around, the wind through the trees, the scent of upturned earth and spilled blood and something vital and animalistic, the sound only of her heart and Maen¡¯s heart and-


    And another.


    Quieter. It¡­ blends into the background, somehow. She has to feel it, track her own heart and Maen¡¯s mortal heart, and then- there. Synchronized with them. Kept nearly silent, but somehow¡­ deeper.


    And then¡­ it clicks.


    She searches for it. Recognizes it, even as Maen spasms with fear, writhing in her grip, straining in animal panic to get away as the scent of her Qi, sharp and animalistic and feral, screams out into the air.


    It¡¯s more than one heartbeat. Synchronized, precisely and perfectly, to the beat of their would-be prey.


    One reverb, an echo. Then another. And another. And a third, and fourth, and fifth.


    Raika grips Maen a little tighter, causing the young woman to flinch. ¡°Maen,¡± she whispers, I need you to stay right. Here. You understand? Whatever you do, do not leave this spot.¡±


    Maen whimpers, once. And then, in a fit of what must be tremendous focus, makes herself quiet, and still, more like prey than the scent of her would indicate.


    ¡°Good girl,¡± Raika whispers. And then, she takes one step back. Another.


    Gradually, Maen¡¯s heartbeat becomes more and more distinct. Gradually, the sound of the echoes flutters around only her own heart.


    ¡°Maen,¡± Raika whispers, ¡°I need you to breathe for me, ok? I need you to stay very, very still, and do that thing you did back on the cliff, remember? I need you to hide, ok? Can you do that for me?¡±


    Maen whimpers, once, eyes still violently wide, pupils dilated and wandering about. And then¡­ she nods, and crouches down against the closest tree. Raika picks up Maen¡¯s bag and puts it in front of the smaller woman as she kneels, obscuring most of her almost entirely. Amidst the roots, her scent fades, unnaturally but helpfully gone silent and replaced only ever so lightly by the smell of citrus.


    Then Raika steps back, then further, then over to the corpse of the creature she just killed. She tears off one of its loosened jaws, and, circling all around with trophy held high, snarls at the woods.


    ¡°Well, come on then, you beautiful things,¡± she says, worried and afraid and pumping with something like joy but far less friendly. ¡°We all have things to do, so let¡¯s have some fun before we¡¯re through, eh?¡±


    And slowly, the woods all around come to life with the rustling of movement and the growling of beasts.

 Chapter 51 - Tourist Traps

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe how miserable this all is,¡± Qen Hou grumbles as he sloshes water out of his boots for the third time in a day. ¡°Couldn¡¯t you have picked a pilgrimage to someplace more interesting? A city, maybe, with some more trustworthy sect you could con your way into?¡±


    She chuckles at that. ¡°Don¡¯t be such a baby, senior brother,¡± she laughs. ¡°What am I going to find in a sect except another five to ten years before either of us is even let in? I only got into the Purple Flame long-name sect because of my master and a record of my training, and you don¡¯t exactly have great accomplishments. But wandering cultivators are the work of legends and epics, of heroes! Out in the wilds, that¡¯s where the real knowledge lies, not locked away in vaults by those who don¡¯t understand what they can¡¯t control. Plus, surely you¡¯ll be able to find some mighty beast to slay out here, no?¡±


    Qen Hou chuckles at that. ¡°This isn¡¯t the fourth ring,¡± he says. ¡°Most of the wild beasts out here keep to themselves and each other, lest they be hunted. Any beast with a legend out here is either a myth or on its way to death.¡±


    ¡°All the more reason for you to find one for yourself before they¡¯re gone!¡± she insists. ¡°And give me the pieces after so I can learn how they work!¡±


    ¡°Is that really the best use of your skills?¡± he questions. ¡°Learning how monsters tick and bleed, rather than pursuing the right texts or training on other ailments?¡±


    ¡°I mean I¡¯ll be doing that too!¡± Li Shu corrects him, hands on her hips and overstuffed bag of medical supplies on her back. ¡°We¡¯ll find villages along the way that could use a healer, surely! But if I only pursue the knowledge everyone else already knows, I¡¯m not really doing anything someone else couldn¡¯t do just as well, could I?¡±


    Qen Hou snorts. Then, he pauses. Then, he shrugs. ¡°Your journey is your journey,¡± he says. ¡°Who am I to doubt your cultivation?¡±


    ¡°Merely the busboy, junior brother,¡± she smiles. ¡°Merely the busboy.¡±


    Qen Hou, meanwhile, just chucks a muddy pebble at her, making sure to have their supplies between him and her before she can properly retaliate.


    Qen Hou is nearing the very start of the Core Formation realm, and each step forward is always exponentially more difficult than the one before. Even as she is, near the midway of the Foundational realm, she holds not a hope against him in a direct battle, nevermind the fact that her techniques and strengths are designed almost entirely for healing at this point. Well, healing and curses, maybe, if she can properly use what she learned with Raika¡¯s ritual, but that¡¯s a ways away.


    Still, the journey has brought them a bit closer. The fact that Qen Hou is still rather smitten and not shy to admit it likely plays a factor, but in truth, he¡¯s been surprisingly patient about his affections. Li Shu gets the impression that he hasn¡¯t had many friends before, and the freedom to act like a person and not a disciple seems to be doing him good, aiding not just in his cultivation but in the lack of the constant tension and the sense of propriety he always seemed to exude.


    She can¡¯t quite say the same for herself, but she still feels the change was worthwhile. Without consistent daily schedules and texts to pore over and dream of, Li Shu has been feeling antsy for days now, even as they explore and travel through deeper and wilder parts of the woods. So far, Qen Hou¡¯s assessment has held true; they¡¯ve run into only a single beast, and it seemed like a starved and desperate thing. While she¡¯s found that violence does little for her cultivation of her peace of mind, the death of the creature was more than worthwhile, pulling her into a trance of dissection and examination. Each organ had been so distinct from the human norm, its blood properties and mechanisms so distinct, the very structure of its bones somehow deeply and fundamentally different, latticed in a whole new way than what she¡¯s grown to understand as possible.


    Yes, she¡¯s certain she made the correct choice, even if she doesn¡¯t thrive in this environment like Qen Hou seems to.


    She marches away from him in a huff to wash the tiny spot of dirt he¡¯s left on her healer¡¯s robes, utterly determined to keep them as pristine as she can despite their surroundings. Behind her, Qen Hou begins to set up camp, unpacking one and half of another of the bulging backpacks she¡¯s dragged along and foisted onto him.


    Which he should be grateful for! It¡¯s not like he brought anything of his own besides a single fricking bedroll!


    It¡¯s no wonder they say wandering cultivators are crazy. She¡¯s happy to provide an example of the sanest of the lot.


    Yes, Li Shu thinks, scrubbing with water from a stream at the minute spot of dirt on her robes, using a small towel from amidst the bulging bag of scalpels, blades, tweezers and poisons she¡¯s brought along. Definitely the sanest one between the two of them.


    The weight of the certainty of her sanity, however, lets her be distracted for a little while.


    ¡°Why hello there!¡± A voice crows from across the stream, close and loud enough that she shoots upright and gasps.


    Before her is¡­ a cultivator, perhaps. Someone in the foundational realm, same as her, but dressed in old workman¡¯s clothes, left open at the shoulders to highlight a broad chest with a couple small scars on it. The man before her is pale, despite the sun¡¯s best efforts, his frame holding a full beard and bright eyes beneath an uncombed mop of hair.


    ¡°What a delight it is, to find myself faced with such a beauty!¡± says the stranger, smiling wide as his voice echoes through the woods. ¡°Truly, this one is honored by the presence of what must surely be a jade princess! Come now, princess, what brings you to these parts, all alone?¡±


    She frowns at him, a bit confused by his odd mannerisms. ¡°I¡¯m a cultivator and honored healer,¡± she says, sitting primly and giving a small bow. ¡°This honored one is named Li Shu, and I find myself on a journey as a wandering cultivator, hoping to improve my talents and assist those in need. How may I address you, honored stranger?¡±


    The man throws his head back and laughs, long and loud. ¡°Ah, a healer!¡± he exclaims. ¡°I should have known as much from your fine robes, young miss. Or perhaps from that rucksack you carry there! Why, the thing must be full to the brim with your concoctions and tools! I¡¯m sure they must have been so terribly expensive.¡±


    She frowns. ¡°I earned these tools from my master,¡± she says. ¡°Any expense is simply a requirement for a healer to be able to do all they can. I¡¯m certain I¡¯ll be able to return them to her one day, that I might pursue my own tools in my practice, but they¡¯re more than enough for me to practice my meager skills.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± the man grins. ¡°So¡­ one might say they¡¯re not even yours, eh? Ready and willing to be parted to the company of another?¡±


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    ¡°To the company of my master,¡± Li Shu says, standing and stepping a bit closer to her bag. She¡¯s starting to think that perhaps this man might not be a pleasant stranger at all. ¡°And on the subject of what we have, you have yet to tell me your name, stranger.¡±


    ¡°Ah, my apologies!¡± the man laughs. ¡°This one¡¯s name is Hao Nera, hailing from the far northlands of this glorious end of our empire, and I¡¯m merely a wandering cultivator myself, eager to find my fortune in my travels!¡± His eyes sparkle. ¡°And you, milady, are quite a fortune indeed.¡±


    And then, without warning, Qen Hou crashes through the trees into the stream in front of her.


    His breath leaves him in a gasp, and she can see the front of his robe is cut open cleanly, like with a blade, the wound beneath it flowing freely. His eyes are dazed, but they refocus as he sees her, his Qi flaring as his aura begins to glow with magenta-hued flames.


    ¡°LI SHU!¡± he screams. ¡°RUN!¡±


    The panic in his voice scares her, but he is bleeding, and it is not the healer¡¯s job to run away from someone bleeding.


    She takes a hesitant step forward, unsure of herself, when the sound of a blade cutting through the air has her flinch and just barely move out of reach of the edge of a sword.


    She looks, and for the first time sees what she¡¯s surrounded by. All around her are a dozen figures, all of them dressed in similarly rugged clothes to Hao Nera, all of them wielding swords, daggers, or simple clubs. Their Qi flares up around them, and she counts more than half of them in the Foundational realm alongside her and Qen Hou.


    She has significant faith in her traveling companion and his techniques. For a Foundational realm cultivator, he punches hard and fast and with fiery harm.


    But there¡¯s twelve of them.


    She can¡¯t move. She hesitates.


    Qen Hou, to his credit, does not.


    In a burst of Qi that costs him likely more than half his reserves, he washes a wave of flame over the trees and terrain near them. The plant-life catches immediately, scorched into tinder by the heat of the flames, but it barely holds back most of the crowd. Some of them simply duck and dodge past the flames, some manipulate the water of the stream with their own Qi, some of them simply shove unshaped energies at the fire and inefficiently clear an area around them. Still, it¡¯s enough time for Qen Hou to move.


    In a move she hasn¡¯t seen before, his aura condenses, wrapping around his hand and then extending into a blade of bright red and purple fire, which he swings with abandon. At first, he catches their attackers on the back foot, untrained as they are, but he can¡¯t defend himself and Li Shu both, and there¡¯s a moment of hesitation as he slips while trying to track all the weapons flying and the bodies moving in her direction.


    Someone grabs her by the arm, and she panics.


    She snatches a scalpel out of her bag and slices blindly at whoever¡¯s grabbed her, earning a curse and a splash of blood onto her robes, and then she¡¯s using her own Qi in a wave around her. The man who grabbed her has a wound, and her techniques are designed for those, and as she reaches for his Qi the panic of the battle makes it almost impossible to tap into it.


    Almost.


    He screams as the wound widens, then widens again, his own body betraying him and gushing as much blood towards the damage as it can under Li Shu¡¯s guidance. She¡¯s panting, eyes wide, terrified, looking down at her hands, at the scalpel, refusing to look at the man she can hear screaming right next to her.


    And then another man is there, and he has grabbed her by the hand holding the scalpel, and she can¡¯t swing it because his Qi is so much stronger than hers.


    But her Qi doesn¡¯t need to be strong. It needs to be quiet, and calming, and subtle, and able to slip in unnoticed and guide another¡¯s form and body.


    She can¡¯t help it. She bends over double, almost choking on her vomit, as she convinces his heart to stop.


    The effort expends most of her reserves. It drains her like nothing ever has, like only a whole day of triage managed to do during the Festival of Cold Sun, and she can¡¯t help it, falling over in sudden exhaustion and nausea at what she¡¯s done.


    But she can hear Qen Hou fighting. She can hear the sounds of grunting, and metal flying through the air, and the screams of those he hits with his flaming sword and the sounds of pain he makes when they cut him right back.


    She spits, forces herself to breathe despite the smell, and reaches into her bag.


    She can hear more footsteps as their attackers move around her, ignoring them as they come closer, closer as she rummages, trying to find what she¡¯s looking for. She hears an ugly chuckle and feels an aura pulse close to her just in time to duck down, the weight of the club hitting the back of her head reduced but still leaving her reeling and opening up a cut. She swings the scalpel again, wildly, screaming at them to get away as she searches, tosses things aside-


    And finds what she¡¯s looking for.


    Medicine is an interesting thing. Enough of one thing, and it¡¯s for healing. A bit more of another, and it¡¯s a poison. The addition of a third thing, and it might be neither and both at once.


    She¡¯s not sure it¡¯ll work, but in her hands is a small cloth of powdered anesthetic, ready to be mixed into an injectable solution, and a smaller cloth of wind¡¯s nettles. It¡¯s a small plant, but if used right and properly ground into a larger mixture, makes for a very effective way to maintain said concoction¡¯s potency while airborne. She grabs them both, stabbing at the foot of the person nearest to her and throwing both of them at Qen Hou with all her might. She infuses every last bit of Qi she has into the mixture, feeling it begin to take, begin to infuse, and screams.


    ¡°QEN HOU! BURN IT!¡±


    She does not hear if he responds. Someone grabs her by the hair and she is thrown back into the stream, the water soaking against the blood on her robes, even as more of the brigands close in. There¡¯s four of them with her, another four handled by Qen Hou alone but he¡¯s well outnumbered, he looks exhausted, he¡¯s covered in cuts-


    And she sees him see what she threw.


    He shoots out a single flame, a small burst of fire straight at the falling powders, and their whole corner of the woods explodes with a cloud of pale greenish-white powder.


    Some of the cultivators laugh, looking at each other, but the smarter ones immediately try and back off, try to run away, but it¡¯s too late. Most of them take an entire faceful of anesthetic dust and can¡¯t help but inhale.


    She sees Qen Hou burn it away around himself, one final quick burst of his flaming aura as the others around him try to move, redirecting water or boosting themselves with Qi, only to still blink, slowly, and stagger, and fall.


    And then, Li Shu feels a burning hot splash of blood hit her face.


    She turns, still on hands and knees in the stream, to see Hao Nera, a sword she hadn¡¯t seen him carrying before through the chest of one of the brigands staring down at her, hand outstretched and just out of range of the explosion of powder.


    He smiles, their would-be attacker, and she sees Qen Hou, a bloodied mess wreathed in cuts and burns and his own flickering flame, staring down the older cultivator, his moves shaky but his stance set as he strides across the battlefield to stand next to and over her.


    ¡°Now now,¡± Hao Nera says, grinning, dropping his blade. ¡°Aren¡¯t you happy you had me around? A moment longer and your girlie here wouldn¡¯t have been around to feed you any more clever plans.¡±


    ¡°Back off,¡± Qen Hou growls. ¡°I¡¯ve killed six men today already, I¡¯ll not hesitate to add a seventh.¡±


    ¡°Now now!¡± Hao Nera whistles. ¡°I don¡¯t doubt ya, good sir. In fact, couldn¡¯t be happier you¡¯re here at the young lady¡¯s defense, but¡­ well. I¡¯d hate it for you all to be lost out in the cold, here, and I¡¯d rather not find myself hunted by whatever sect you lovely young masters so flourish under. All I ask for the life of your friend here-¡± (he gestures at Li Shu, trembling, cold, half conscious from the dregs of the powder and the amount of Qi she¡¯s used)- ¡°and for the even trade we¡¯ve made of it-¡± (he gestures to the dead man at his feet)- ¡°is that we just discuss the fact that I happened to not have attacked, or aided in your attack at all. In fact, you might say I facilitated your survival by not participating! And all I¡¯d like in exchange from you powerful young masters is that you let me go to live my life a changed man, having aided you and then left you in peace.¡±


    Qen Hou hesitates. He takes a half-step forward, his blade skinnier now, his glow dimmed. Then he seems to make up his mind, stepping forward fully-


    And stumbling as Li Shu holds onto his leg.


    He looks down at her.


    ¡°No more,¡± she whispers, tears tracking down her face.


    He says nothing.


    But she feels something in him shift. A fall towards its center, like his Qi is suddenly wrapping tightly around itself.


    He lets his fire dim, reabsorbing both back into himself.


    ¡°Go,¡± he growls. ¡°And don¡¯t ever let me see you again.¡±


    Hao Nera just bows, and before she can even see him leave, seems to step into the shadows and be gone.


    And Li Shu starts to sob, openly, ugly, desperately, as Qen Hou just holds her.

 Chapter 52 - Hungry Like The Wolves

    Raika is beginning to find it very challenging to have a bad time.


    As much as she knows she shouldn¡¯t be enjoying this. As much as she knows that this really isn¡¯t the appropriate reaction or behavior for the situation she¡¯s in, or for the demands she¡¯s made of herself. No, even as much as she knows there¡¯s a very real risk of death, here, she¡¯s having a really, really good time.


    The part of her that thinks this might be a really, really big problem has learned to properly shut the fuck up. Or, at the very least, has gone quiet enough not to bother her right now.


    She spins into a leaping crescent kick, shattering the bones of some feline-ape with incredibly baggy skin which makes every other blow simply slide off of it. She uses it as a platform, jumping off loose folds into the face of something that looks like a deer, if its skin was all antlers, her knee rocketing up into its snout hard enough she hears something crack. She grabs one said antler as a handlebar to swing herself off of, landing right in front of something like a turtle but with far too many legs and pieces that chitter, grabbing it by one such limb and feeling flesh and tendon inside her begin to tear as she uses all available force to fling the thing and ragdoll it violently against the ground, and exposed, chitinous underbelly much more vulnerable and now accessible for her to thrust her hand into like a spear.


    In the time she wastes eliminating (or at least wounding) the shelled creature, something kicks her, hard and hooved, and she feels ribs break and start to shift. They don¡¯t disintegrate, though, they don¡¯t shatter like they might have before, and she forces the muscles in her body to react, binding the loose bones in place at the cost of a bit of flexibility on her right side. She lands almost right below something ursine, a towering, violent thing built like a gods-damned house and viciously overmuscled, its skin and needle-like fur barely holding together over a musculature so advanced and full that it looks like it¡¯ll burst apart as the creature moves. It slams a paw down towards her, a slab of meat pushing forward a seabed of needle-tipped spikes.


    She rolls out of the way, barely, ignoring the bear for now until she can figure out someplace she can hurt it and launching herself at the next creature, a distinctly humanoid looking goat-thing with six eyes and limbs that split at the elbows for additional hooved hands.


    She doesn¡¯t know how long she¡¯s been fighting. She¡¯s torn half to shreds, but she refuses to let the blood leave her body, forcing her skin to patch cuts and open wounds, for muscles and blood vessels to shift around the damage and allow her to keep fighting in spite of it. She looks a mess, her skin jagged with stretch marks and quickly forming new scars, but she doesn¡¯t care, because to stop moving, even for a second, is to die, so anything she has to do to make sure she doesn¡¯t stop moving is worth it.


    And she is having so much fun.


    The pain is secondary, the wounds are secondary, all she can feel is the thrill of razor blades in her soul, the song of broken bones and torn-open wounds, the fun of the ongoing puzzle to properly control her blood vessels and muscles and keep the system intact enough to move, to strike at the next target. All she is, in this moment, is a thing of endless abandon and wild, desperate need to survive.


    And on the very edge of it, at the end of it all¡­ she can feel something. Like an approaching signal, like the sound of far away swords clashing, like the scent of something on the wind. She¡¯s getting closer to something.


    Every moment she forces her heart to beat, she¡¯s forcing her mangled, malformed Qi into every part of her body it can reach, smashing it against itself, running steel across steel, and in the process feeling it grow. Pushing herself like this, forcing her system to do this or die, she¡¯s started to produce more Qi than she¡¯s absorbing, the slow rate of absorption her body has not matching up to how much she¡¯s stimulating and multiplying the Qi inside her. Cycling Qi, moving it, interacting with it, all increase its value by minute amounts, all allow a cultivator even in isolation to slowly, ever so slowly grow their own Qi and advance. But she is not in isolation, and cannot absorb any of it into storage or shunt it someplace else, and she does not have the luxury of moving slowly. Every bit of Qi she forces into being has nowhere to go but her flesh, and every moment she continues to overstuff said flesh with more and more of it, the more and more chaotic and damaging it becomes, the more it produces, unable to burst out of her or detonate in her Dantian.


    No, all it does is slowly tear her apart.


    Her muscles are being shredded, even without the constant sprinting and striking and dodging, her bones feel like they¡¯re creaking, she¡¯s fairly certain she¡¯s bleeding from eyes, nose and ears, and she doesn¡¯t bother to wonder about what its doing to her organs.


    She is alive. She is in pain. She is killing things that have come to kill her.


    All is right in the world.


    And then, inevitably, as it could only ever be, she gets hit too hard.


    She has the goat by the horns, arm yanking against the one she¡¯s holding as she squeezes her thighs around its throat and forces its neck to snap, and then something strikes her. It¡¯s smaller than the others, it kept its heartbeat in that way of stealthy synchronization the others abandoned as the fight began, and she doesn¡¯t hear it or feel it coming until some stoat-like thing which glows vaguely blue and exudes an aura of cold slices violently across her shoulder and back.


    She loses some of the movement in her arm, the violence too severe until she fixes it which takes time that she doesn¡¯t have. Even still, while she can¡¯t raise it much she can still reach, and manages to grab the creature and wring its neck and bite out part of its stomach as it keeps struggling even with a broken neck, and goes to move-


    And then the bear hits her with a paw like a meat tenderizer, and she feels the entire right side of her stomach turn to fire.


    She lands somewhere at the edge of the clearing, a dozen spirit beasts all circling, probably more out in the woods. Looking down, she can see that her right side is turned to a bloody mess, so many small punctures slammed into her with such force that everything below her ribs to her waist on that side is just a mess of red. It feels hard to breathe, and she can¡¯t help but feel that something is wrong, even as she shifts muscle and skin and forces them both to work together and bind as much shut as they can. If she¡¯s unlucky enough, the thing got deep enough to hit her liver, increased muscle resistance or not. It¡¯ll be very relevant in a few moments; as it is, she directs a cluster of more Qi, a slightly more concentrated ball of the everywhere-agony in her, to sit on the area and forces her heart to keep beating at the same pace as before.


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    The bear roars, and it doesn¡¯t even sound like an animal. Spirit beasts aren¡¯t animals, not really, but its roar sounds like a horn, like something mechanized and which reverberates and echoes strangely. The other creatures back off, briefly, the display of what must be its Qi (which she still can¡¯t fucking sense) cowing the small army of abominations around them. With a thunderous impact, the creature lands, its needles punching four inches into the dirt with every step and seemingly no discomfort, and it starts to walk over to Raika, ready for a meal.


    Raika grabs the nearest tree trunk. She grips it so hard that bark and core-wood both crackle as they shatter into a handhold. She puppeteers her legs back beneath her, forces her spine to stay straight and the strained, failing muscles in her to push her to her feet.


    The ursine spirit beast looks at her, wary and a bit surprised. She looks at it, her smile blood red and wide.


    ¡°Come on then, you piss-ugly, gorgeous bastard,¡± she hisses, the air leaving her lungs weirdly. ¡°Let¡¯s get it on.¡±


    And then something thunders in the clearing.


    Almost immediately, most of the creatures sprint away, dashing out of sight in less than a heartbeat so intense is their velocity and so perfect their camouflage. Two of them, though, don¡¯t move at all.


    She blinks, and is surprised to find that she can see through them. There¡¯s a few neat little tunnels, coming in one side and out the other, like in a line between them. Both of the creatures stagger, but even with a fist-sized hole through them, neither falls just yet.


    And then the thunder strikes again, and again, and both of them are like limp, hole-filled rags on the ground.


    She turns to look back at the over-muscled beast she¡¯d been fighting, but it, too, has already left. Unlike the others, it stops at the edge of the clearing, turning back to look at Raika at the very edge of visibility. She meets its dead, strange little eyes, so recessed into its flesh she¡¯s not sure she¡¯s not just looking at empty pits.


    For a moment, she smells it. Its Qi. Whatever control it had, whatever instinct it used to keep it completely scent-less, she smells it now, in this moment. Pine-wood and minced meat, the sound of a boulder rolling downhill and the tears of something weak. It¡¯s the first time she¡¯s smelled a sound, before.


    She¡­ doesn¡¯t know if she has Qi in the same way that this beast has. Doesn¡¯t know if hers smells like anything other than ¡°alive¡±, and knows she certainly can¡¯t push it outside her body on purpose. But she nods at the thing, and flicks her semi-limp hand towards it, letting some droplets of blood get sprinkled in its direction.


    The thunder-sound comes again, three, four more times, and the spirit beasts huffs, and walks away.


    Yeah. She¡¯ll be seeing that one again.


    ¡°What in the ten fucking Hells did you do?¡± Taran asks as he steps into the clearing.


    In his hands are two of the many pistols usually strapped and holstered about his body, each one distinct and dynamically strange. One seems to be a thing of powder and shot, one blast and then done until fully reloaded, carved from rich, dark wood and inlaid with pieces of opal and obsidian. In his other hand, he holds something like a revolving gun, its chamber holding maybe four shots, the whole thing a glistening thing of steel and brass. He looks at Raika at first in what seems to be revulsion, and then immediately fades to worry.


    ¡°What the fuck happened here?¡± he asks, looking around at the pile of corpses on the ground.


    Raika looks up. The sun, even at its furthest tendril, is pretty far into the horizon by now. She¡¯s been at this for hours.


    They both hear a sob, and Raika immediately turns to the set of roots she left Maen under. A corpse has fallen over it, most of its head crushed to a mashed pulp by repeated blows when it refused to go down by disembowelment. Raika tries to sprint over to it, but something in her left leg fails for a second, and Taran gets there first.


    He tosses the corpse aside, showing startling strength for how little of his Qi leaks out and taints the air with something alchemical. Maen looks up at the two of them, sobbing openly.


    ¡°Is it over?¡± she asks, with barely the slightest hint of yuzu in the air.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s over, I got you,¡± Taran whispers, putting one of his guns into a holster and kneeling down next to her as Raika collapses next to them both, letting herself simply fall and lay prone on the ground. ¡°What happened?¡± he asks. ¡°We weren¡¯t expecting numbers like this in the village, even with the damn formations they¡¯re setting up. I¡¯ve never even heard of this many spirit beasts attacking someone outside of a damn beast tide.¡±


    Raika, panting, whole body shuddering as she lets it free from direct control, just¡­ tries and fails to shrug. ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± she gasps, breath heaving. ¡°Weren¡¯t- weren¡¯t for Maen, though. Came at me. Wouldn¡¯t stop. More kept coming.¡±


    Taran turns to Maen, who has been reduced to shuddering rather than sobbing. ¡°Are you hurt?¡± he asks. She just shakes her head, silent.


    Taran lets out a long, deep sigh, pale skin and all-black clothing putting him as a distinctly alien presence here in the wilds. He looks between the two of them, thinking.


    ¡°I can only carry one of you,¡± he says. ¡°Strength isn¡¯t my forte. But we need to get back to town and away from the wilds, especially if this is going to keep happening.¡±


    ¡°Take Maen,¡± Raika says immediately. ¡°Take her to safety. Others will be drawn to the meat and death here, she can¡¯t stay.¡±


    Maen goes to say something, eyes wide, maybe to try and affirm that it¡¯s ok, she can walk, but Raika doesn¡¯t let her, reasserting control over flesh and forcing herself to start getting up. Limb by agonizing limb, she starts shifting and forcing new muscle tissues to adapt and reconnect severed links wherever she can, the absolute sea of Qi inside her making her entire body feel numb and sharp at the same time. She can feel every part of her tingling, from the top of her head to the balls of her feet, and everything feels horribly, painfully alive.


    ¡°I-¡± she pauses, forces her breathing under control, rearranges some ribs that fell out of place. ¡°I can¡¯t go back if they are going to attack in numbers like this,¡± she hisses, getting to her feet. She leans against a tree, leaving a nice bloody stain on it as she does. ¡°I can make my own way. I¡¯ll head toward the mountain, Runemaster Boriah¡¯s cultivation should be enough to suppress nearly any beast in the area, right? I start heading there, and we can try and track and understand why they¡¯re going after me. You get her out of here, keep her safe, guard the town.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll take days,¡± he rasps in disagreement. ¡°Especially if you¡¯re going on foot, getting attacked like this. We can call Taurus, he¡¯ll come back down the mountain in what, a few hours?¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t see me by the weekly check-in,¡± she says, breathing back under control, flesh back under her command, starting to heal and close (and scar, if she¡¯s not careful) even as she speaks, ¡°then assume I could use some help. Now go.¡±


    ¡°I know you¡¯ve had a bad beat,¡± Taran says, hesitantly, his voice smoky and quiet, ¡°but¡­ killing yourself isn¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Keep. Her. Safe.¡± Raika snarls. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    There¡¯s silence in the woods for a moment. And then, eventually, Taran nods.


    ¡°No, wait-¡± Maen tries to protest, still wide-eyed and panicked and barely coherent, but then he has her over his shoulder, leaving the bags where they are. He gives Raika one last look, a little nod, and then is off into the woods, gun at his side.


    She waits until he¡¯s gone. Waits until she can no longer hear or smell him, until he¡¯s far, far away.


    And then, she walks over to the nearest body. She kneels down. And, looking at its impossible musculature, its alien flesh and impossible biology so truly and well optimized for violence and survival in ways she can¡¯t even see or understand yet, she carves a chunk from its flesh.


    And begins to eat.


    She¡¯ll need fuel to survive this, and they say spirit beasts have all sorts of properties.


    A little part of her says she¡¯s jumping to conclusions, acting borderline mad. It¡¯s trying its best to be helpful.


    She does not listen to it, and like an animal, like a shifting, terrifying thing of the woods, begins to eat.


    And the whisper, the tickle of scent, the vague feeling of something drawing closer inside her gets closer still.

 Chapter 53 - Tastiest Ass About Town, Baby

    In interesting news, Raika has just found out why Shin Ren didn¡¯t kill her. Or more specifically, couldn¡¯t kill her.


    She eats, and tears through flesh and bites into bone to sup on marrow, chin dripping crimson, and it feels wonderful.


    Her Qi, if it can be called that, is raw, unrefined in the most literal sense, and using it is like forcing green, wet saplings to catch fire, or like using pinewood ash and glue to write without mixing either; theoretically possible, if one is willing to endure a fuckload of discomfort, extra effort, and maybe even outright pain to see it done. But the Qi that she consumes now, that dribbles down her chin, infused into blood and muscle and modified living tools to be used by the dead spirits beasts all around, isn¡¯t nearly as raw as the flesh. No, it is, in the truest, most delicious sense, refined. This Qi, circulated through organs meant to purify and convert it to usable energy to each specific organism, is made to be used, custom-altered to suit the nature of living flesh and flood into it. She may not have the meridians to circulate all of it throughout her, but in terms of the ease of absorbing it into her body and the fact that it is not chaotic, formless energy but something designed to augment and improve a living body makes it practically a moot point. Her body has adjusted to surviving and absorbing Qi as raw and ragged and frightfully chaotic as any Qi-deviation poison¡¯s wet dream; in comparison, this is nectar.


    Raika tastes what is left of her kill, and experiences communion.


    Her flesh reknits like new, her skin filling out and regrowing over the missing gaps. At first she tries to be careful, tries to keep a close eye and make sure that nothing is scarring or growing back wrong, but somehow it just¡­ isn¡¯t. She feels an urge, like a pull, trying to get her to move towards something else, but it¡¯s not that much of a compulsion; just a suggestion. She doesn¡¯t understand what she is eating, is experiencing it in random chunks, and while the Qi in it is designed to supplement a specific body, it¡¯s not so niche it can¡¯t be moved into a new form. Her whole body absorbs it, drinks it in, the constant agonizing static of the Qi she has forcefully cultivated and kept alive briefly quieted in the face of pure, ecstatic rightness.


    And none of this even speaks to the taste. All the scents they¡¯d been hiding, magnified into flavor¡­ it¡¯s a fucking experience.


    She doesn¡¯t have time to eat all of them, and Qi-absorption properties or not, her stomach has limited capacity. As tempting as it is to just stay here and let them come for her again, however long it takes for the scent of Taran and the memory of his guns to fade, if the last wave was any indication it¡¯s not particularly survivable. Instead, she grabs her bag, half-trampled a ways away from the one Maen was hiding behind, and takes out her bedroll. It¡¯s nasty as hell, but she starts tearing apart the bedroll and wrapping up cuts of meat that she does her best to drink the blood out of, trying to package as many as she can while disguising the smell and any leakage.


    The smell is likely to be a moot point, seeing as they¡¯re finding her anyways, but if she is going to stay out here, drawing them away and delighting in them then she¡¯ll need supplies with which to heal and eat. And at the end of the day, she¡¯d just rather not have a truly disgusting sack of wet meat on her back if she can avoid it.


    She looks up above, tracking the sun in the sky as it squirms. It falls there, to the south, and they walked a rather circuitous route from there, vaguely southeast¡­ if she tracks where they¡¯d come from in an arc, then the village is almost due east of where she stands. The mountain, then, is east-northeast, visible over the top of the trees.


    She¡¯ll head there. Eventually. When and if she feels she has absolutely no other option, she¡¯ll head there, if only because between the village, escape, so full of promised violence, and the mountain¡­ well. She remembers what he swore to her, and the hunger in those strange eyes as he¡¯d said it.


    She¡¯ll go to the mountain. But only when she has to. Only when needs must.


    She starts walking, heading due north. She¡¯ll circle around mountain and village both, while keeping the aforementioned obstacle in between her and Maen, and the rural little nothing that they¡¯d briefly stopped at. If they need her for something, surely they can find her; that¡¯s what getting chipped against one¡¯s will is for, after all.


    She starts moving, getting out of the clearing while the sun still shines. Even as she starts to move, she can feel the difference in it; she expected to leave that last struggle, wounded or not, in near ruins from how hard she¡¯d pushed untested systems, but as it stands, with the addition of refined, flesh-coated Qi to eat, she¡¯s almost entirely ready to go.


    Still, the battle clearly demonstrated that those systems are flawed. Some of her muscle fibers are woven far too tight, too ready to tear and unable to resist the force she¡¯s putting on them, while other new patterns she¡¯s made in her flesh and connection points for tendons made it so she had limited range of movement that she hadn¡¯t recognized before. Pushing herself that hard, at the brink of death, left it clear that even relying on how her body has gradually been strengthened by Qi, a lot of her would-be improvements simply don¡¯t make sense when exposed to the realities of stress and combat.


    She can¡¯t stand still, though, and she doesn¡¯t have days to work. She has to modify on the go.


    Some of the muscle groups and patterns she sets back to ¡°human standard¡± (at least if her original could be considered standard), keeping them as what they were until she understands them better. Others, she starts to refine, bit by bit, keeping pieces of herself still even as she starts to sprint.


    That part, at least, she got right. Her heart beats fast and strong, having survived the abuse she keeps putting it through and, with the wonder of Qi, healing back better, able to keep her blood flowing all throughout her as she runs. Her lungs pull in air faster and quieter than ever before, drinking in the oxygen all around her and sending it all throughout her so purely, with so much sheer, gorgeous potency that she can even hold her breath as she runs and have no difficulties moving for minutes. She marvels at it, and wonders if this is what it¡¯s like for those in the Nascent Soul realm, but figures that even then they have to burn their Qi to achieve something like this.


    All she has to do is hurt herself.


    Her lungs are barely stressed even as she sprints at the absolute highest speed she can manage, her legs moving so fast they¡¯re blurring. She can only barely keep up, only barely perceptive enough to keep an eye on the terrain around her. She gets dizzy more than once, newly enhanced eyesight leaving her disoriented and dizzy from the sheer amount of information she¡¯s seeing all at once, but after she breaks through a tree and re-fucks up her ribs, she is a bit more careful about how fast she¡¯s going. Still, the distance blurs past, and it actually takes over an hour for her to find the first spirit beast that has caught up.


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    There¡¯s more rustling around her than she thinks she¡¯s causing, more sound and mess in the woods, and it doesn¡¯t take long for her to figure out she¡¯s being followed, even without the use of her sense of smell. To confirm, she slows a bit, forcefully sending her heartrate down fast enough that she actually stumbles with how dizzy it makes her.


    There. A second heartbeat, behind hers. It¡¯s trying to slow down to match her, but either it can¡¯t keep pace or it can¡¯t go that slow, because she hears it distinctly. Distinctly enough, in fact, that she can tell it¡¯s coming from her left.


    Instantly she lands hard enough that she feels pain shoot up her shinbone all the way up her spine, almost spinning in place and launching herself in the direction of the other heart. There¡¯s a brief ¡°whuff¡± sound, a surprised exhale from something large, and then that very same something goes soft as she slams into it.


    The beast looks a bit like a wolf, made far too large, skinless, and with chunks of bloody jelly oozing from most of its joints. It splatters like a balloon when she hits it, unfortunately for the entire clearing behind it and most of her outfit.


    And then it starts to flow back into shape.


    She finds and rips out something important-looking in one of the meatier chunks of jelly squirming about the clearing, but it¡¯s still moving by the time she senses another heartbeat.


    And another.


    Apparently, by way of bloodletting, she¡¯s rung the dinner bell.


    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Day 1


    Sometimes things stop, for a while. The things around her, a spectrum of twisted life molded in perfect madness and power to be lethal and unique and glorious, sometimes retreat, maybe once every few hours.


    She wonders about Maen, then. She hasn¡¯t heard any far off thunder, so it seems likely that Taran got back alright, but no one¡¯s come back to check on her. Oh sure, it¡¯s tactically sound to keep the monster-bait away from the main base, but she did sort of assume that someone would have come to see if she needed help, maybe. Her tracker likely says if she¡¯s alive or not, but she has no idea what other information it¡¯s supposed to transmit.


    So Maen¡¯s still alive. And she¡¯s on her own.


    The others might be well. They might not. In the end, all she has are idle fantasies in the face of a world of teeth and hunger.


    And the mountain. Always on the corner of the horizon. The mountain. Source and end of aaaaall her problems, if only she chooses to go there and ask for help.


    Mmmh. No.


    She hasn¡¯t rested much, but she does in those moments of retreat, a few hours at a time. Sometimes just a few moments, barely long enough to put herself back together. She¡¯s still refining things, and she¡¯s gone almost two years without proper combat training; rusty instincts can only do so much. So far, they have done just enough to keep her core intact, though she¡¯s covered in cuts and slashes, her skin bent and folded all wrong to patch what she can, even as she¡¯s started to get better at controlling the bloodflow. No lost organs yet, though they¡¯ve gotten close to her eyes more than once. She sometimes notices them acting strangely; every now and then, one of them takes a bite out of her and they all seem to scream, the whole wave reinvigorated and violent and gloriously, horrifyingly hungry.


    She must be delicious. Why else would they all be so eager to join her in an ever-moving ball of death and Qi?


    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Day 2


    She thinks she has a left arm again. Maybe. It might have been a memory, because there isn¡¯t one there now.


    The sun is back.


    After those first few hours when Taran came by, they haven¡¯t stopped, not really. Pauses, small breaks, but nothing beyond the first few hours. She hasn¡¯t slept yet, hasn¡¯t breathed without the scent of violence and destruction. She¡¯s left a trail miles long of fallen trees and upturned earth.


    As time progresses, the beasts seem to multiply, not just in numbers but in strength. The longer this goes on, the more blood that is shed, the more they seem to appear, possessing stronger and stronger abilities.


    She still hasn¡¯t seen the bear, the twisted needled mutant from before, but others have come to take its place. One something like a bull or cow, something she takes joy in tearing apart, which would throw clods of earth with exponentially more force and mass than should be possible at her. Another, some sort of bird, would whistle and warble, the sound pitched and then altered to make it sound like it was everywhere and nowhere, until sudden bursts of it would cut like knives.


    There¡¯s classifications to these things, she knows. Spirit beasts are rarer and rarer nowadays, but not necessarily dying, which is a fun conundrum; while hunters and those who make a living off of spirit beast materials never seem to go hungry, there¡¯s never any easily visible or near centers of civilization. Some suggest mass migration to the fourth ring, others suggest adaptation to human hunting tactics and hidden dens, beneath the earth, in pocket realms and amidst the clouds. Fanciful, maybe, but not unrealistic.


    She¡¯s found the answer, though; they¡¯re all right here. All the classifications and species and unique materials one could wish for, throwing themselves at her like starving dogs.


    She gets to her feet again. She mends her flesh again, tasting a buffet of flavors and scents and Qi and doing her best to drink in a bit of every animal dead around her when their rivals retreat. She starts moving again. The mountain is almost to the east of her now, no longer north. She has a ways to go before she considers quitting, because while the exhaustion grows, the pain doesn¡¯t, coming and going in waves of violence and healing. She can keep going. So she does.


    --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Day 3


    She drinks blood like wine.


    She breathes, and tastes ambrosia in her mouth.


    She moves, and it makes her dizzy with sensation. What was once static is now chaotic, burning sensation; her flesh is like water, so much does it move. She hurts, she is hurt. She screams, and the world roars back at her.


    In one moment, she is torn open. In the next, she tastes flesh on her tongue and feels give against her teeth, and is whole once more.


    They taste her too. They tear her apart and unmake her, and she remakes herself from them, in joy and in madness. She still hasn¡¯t slept. Three days awake, since the morning of the day they arrived. Three days awake, because to close her eyes is to expose her throat to a hundred hungry mouths, and she has yet to find if she can survive without it longer than a few moments.


    Because she has survived without it. For a few moments. So long as she tastes them again. Even though they still taste her. Every time one of them steals a piece of her rather than simply wounding her, the entire pack or crowd or horde roars along with it. She¡¯s seen some of them retreat, actually, nursing their bite of her flesh and calling quits.


    She can¡¯t help but look on it kind of fondly. She¡¯s killed enough of them, after all; they¡¯ve earned a little nibble, right? Especially considering how many of them she¡¯s eaten. She¡¯s starting to wonder if she just tastes delicious enough for the whole third ring to come and try to get a bite.


    She swings. She claws. She tears, and kicks, and can barely remember if she¡¯s using techniques or not. Too little control and there¡¯s too many openings, too much and she can¡¯t react in time; it¡¯s a real pickle is what it is. Takes her a while to figure out the right balance, the right mixture of force-grown instinct and intentional control.


    The control part is easy. Trusting herself outside of that firm grip is much, much harder, but she manages it; she learns her lesson when she doesn¡¯t react in time to a claw that thrusts through one side of her and out the other.


    She is a puppet, and she is a puppeteer, she¡¯d thought. But that¡¯s wrong. She is a tool, a weapon, a system of pieces that all work in their own ways to make for the intended outcome desired, and she is the desire, the thing standing behind it and above it and within it and pointing the way.


    I Am Me. I Am Mine.


    And if they want her, they have to earn her.

 Chapter 54 - Apotheosis

    Day 4


    The mountain is in front of the sun now, when the night begins to settle. The whirling, writhing fire highlights its shadow, making it all the darker around her all the sooner. She has forgotten all about her mission, all about the intended idea to find the inventor of those strange weapons she¡¯d fought with Qen Hou all those many months ago. It¡¯s hardly of any interest to her if the Empire gets its hands on yet another mass-producible weapon of war or mad invention, they have plenty already, and there¡¯s an entire team of experts ready and willing and far more experienced on the case. No, she is here now to draw the heat away from the others and as crisp early-autumn air swirls around her, she can¡¯t help but feel free.


    It takes ignoring where she is and why she came here, but for a while, she is not a slave. It¡¯s¡­ shameful.


    Especially with who has started to visit her.


    The beasts have started appearing less regularly. She has more time to heal. This whole time, even as she¡¯s flooded her body over and over again with the saturated flesh of those hunting her, she¡¯s kept her own, far more painful flow of Qi up and running. She is, physically at least, as strong as she¡¯s ever been, even if she hasn¡¯t had time to really implement many changes. But that doesn¡¯t mean that no changes have occurred.


    She has visitors now. And she can feel the thing getting closer.


    That¡¯s the best way she has to phrase it. ¡°The thing¡±. The more she eats, the more she fights, the more she consumes, the more she can feel this tension in the back of her mind. It¡¯s intermittent, but it keeps popping back in, over and over, here and then gone. She can feel it, though. Getting closer. Not something she can see or feel or taste, not something she can understand or even really perceive, but somehow, in some part of her, there are signals screaming that it¡¯s getting closer to her.


    It isn¡¯t crawling or running or moving. It is simply there, then not, a feeling inside her growing that it is here and then fading. Not a presence, no; a moment. Something is coming closer.


    It¡¯s not the only thing. She has visitors now.


    There is more and more time between the waves of her own personal beast horde. More and more time for her to fight to stay awake, after three nights and four days without sleep. Dink, of course, has been instrumental in this. She lost the chain she was holding it with sometime on day one, but as it turns out, her body digests monster meat much more easily than metal, and so long as she barfs him up every few hours he¡¯s fine. Hasn¡¯t even tarnished, really.


    All that and the fact she hasn¡¯t pooped in like, two days does make her think her stomach is kinda weird.


    But in those moments of rest, it is with her again. A security blanket and minor aid, one she hasn¡¯t used much since¡­ since JiaJia. Since the memory of time in the alleys became more burden than motivator. But she has visitors now, and Dink is one of the only things that makes them go away.


    Small figures. Human. A little over a dozen, maybe, all of them wearing small, accidentally delicate masks, war-painted to hide their faces and decorate themselves with bravado, wrapped tightly with thick scarves. Some of them carry spears. Some of them carry daggers. Some of them carry farming tools.


    She hadn¡¯t thought of them much as a cultivator. Not since she got her new name and new reputation and let the memories rot as best she could. But ever since that night. Ever since the stain. She¡¯s thought of them. And now they¡¯re here. Standing, in the woods all around. No heartbeats, no smells, no sounds to them, but here nonetheless.


    There¡¯s one more. A bit younger, more of a mid-teen than young adult of the masked folk. She doesn¡¯t look at him.


    They don¡¯t let her sleep. She¡¯s afraid they¡¯ll touch her.


    She is a little worried that she has been out here, alone in the woods, in pain and in danger and awake without sleep, for maybe longer than she should have been.


    ¡°Dink¡±, agrees Dink. But it doesn¡¯t judge. It¡¯s here. She¡¯s not alone. It¡¯s here.


    And so are all the ghosts.


    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Day 5


    They¡¯re not in waves anymore. Not really. More like¡­ arena fights.


    Before, it was a dozen or two dozen, all roaring and getting in each other¡¯s way in a sort of rabid dash to try and taste her and kill her and eat her. The starved and the weak, perhaps, sensing an opportunity and acting desperate.


    She has apparently disproven the usefulness of that behavior, because now they come in twos and threes.


    Each one towers over the others she¡¯d fought. A stag almost as tall as a house, its horns made of white crystals and its eyes dropping blood and ichor from swirling, alien pits, all five of its limbs and its long, beautiful tail moving with grace and purpose, matched alongside a serpent almost a dozen yards long, as thick around as her entire body, its scales covered in soft down that she later discovered left miniscule poisonous hairs in her skin. A four-winged bird with three heads and plumage that emitted smoke like night, accompanying a fox seemingly made of water and something like a badger, but made up entirely of teeth and tusks.


    She survives each. They retreat now, sometimes, but more often than not she still tastes of them, and less and less often, they taste of her. She¡¯s managed to balance it, now, her body and mind hypervigilant in corresponding and complimentary ways. Her physical reactions are three, maybe four times as fast as before, and her ability to process input and determine courses to take is so much more than before. She slept for an hour or so; basically fully rested, really.


    Rested enough to integrate and refresh just a drop, part of her says, and unfortunately it¡¯s technically being helpful so she can¡¯t tell it to shut the hell up.


    The less they attack, though, the more she can taste them.


    The fox tastes like a clear spring, like waking up on a cool, refreshing day, like diving into water until you¡¯re not sure where it ends and you begin. The crow tastes like ash from a cigarette, like the night sky, like sitting around a campfire and marveling at the dark around the edges of it. The deer¡­ she does not have words to articulate what that one felt like. The most that she can translate is the idea of looking out at a world and knowing it, and knowing where to walk, and knowing what shall be, but not being able to change them. The concepts beside that, flavored vaguely of sparkling powder and velvet, she cannot even begin to communicate.


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    Her flesh is changing. Too much, and too fast. She can¡¯t keep track of it anymore. Some changes she makes in the heat of battle, and only realizes after the fact or forgets about entirely. Others she thinks come from the flesh she consumes, her body without organs to process the Qi into a new form and its absorption simply assuming a shape similar to what it once was, requiring correction later. All throughout her, inside her, there is a feeling like a slowly filling lake, mixed with a raging storm, the Qi she naturally generates and forces into chaos and the Qi she consumes awkwardly alongside each other, neither the dominant ideal, neither the perfect option. She does her best to absorb as much of both as possible, her stomach somehow always digesting its contents into healing and growth, even as the storm inside her slowly saturates and harms and infuses. The storm remains dominant, which she¡¯s¡­ weirdly grateful for? It is hers, and it is her, in a sense, even as the other forms remain more comfortable.


    She refocuses.


    Dink.


    She senses the next fight. Only two of them this time. She swallows her friend and tells herself, very firmly, that she is alone in these woods save for it.


    There are no ghosts.


    There are only heartbeats she can now always discern, and the feeling and sound of air against bodies she cannot see, and the very real sense of the pressure of them. Whatever the beasts use to camouflage from mortal (and inhuman, alien, mutated-) senses, it seems instinctive, as is the disguising of their Qi, but that has a smell too, like flat, stagnant water. And the pressure is much more noticeable, after all her experience with it. Perhaps that¡¯s how normal cultivators track them, but Raika senses it only carefully, as the air itself becomes heavier, as the ground stirs and trembles, as winds start to move differently and more violently, as her blood and the air in her lungs start to tremble.


    She gets to her feet, her body holding more old scars than new, all of them faded into as much of a stylistic choice or skin coloration as proof of old harm. She breathes in, and out, and her breath stirs leaves on the far side of the trees around her. She moves her heart again, and almost without needing input, it begins to thunder like a hammer against iron.


    She has her teeth bared and flesh ready when they arrive, and amidst summoned lightning and blades of flesh-grown steel, she moves.


    Her ghosts watch.


    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Day 6


    It is almost here. Almost upon her. She can feel it.


    She is alone. She does not remember where the village is. The mountain is always on the horizon, somewhere. She rips and tears and is torn apart and remakes herself and sometimes she remakes herself differently and she worries she does it wrong but it keeps her alive and she has no time so it does not matter.


    The breaks are longer, the time between beasts greater, but every fight takes hours.


    The beasts come closer each time, and she does not have room to be torn apart, because if she lets it happen now she will be unmade.


    She thinks she lost a leg, but she still has both, so maybe not. She knows she lost an eye, but she expected that one back.


    Her bag is empty of leftover flesh. There is no room for error, if there ever was, and more and more it is like a dance. Some of her partners she allows a bite, allows them to conquer her for a moment if only to be able to breathe, and some of them walk away after that. Others seem only to become hungrier, more desperate, and she has had to tear her way out of throats and stomachs in this last day, ripping open those who try to consume her whole.


    She has changed. Something has changed. She¡¯s too dizzy to remember.


    The storm is inside her and it is not a storm, a storm is rain and wind and cold but hers is razors and fire and lightning without thunder, cutting through her and wearing her down and slowly eating her as she eats it. She is in her fire and it is in her and it / she will not let her die. She will be perfect, she will be alive, she will be her own, or she will be nothing.


    And she refuses to be nothing.


    It is as she stands, skin of vibrant russet walnut soaked crimson in the bits and pieces of something that was once humanoid and hungry and thrumming with something like sunlight, that she sees a familiar face.


    It has changed in the time since she last saw it. Its flesh remains bulging, overgrown, but it has grown to match it, gaining a good foot and a half of height on all fours from when she last saw it. Its skin, still covered in a perfect projection of needles, has grown duller, darker, thicker, and the needles themselves sparkle and glisten in the light of dusk, like crystal or pearl. Its eyes, no longer empty, are like sunken pits with droplets of magma at the bottom.


    She remembers how much of herself was left in its paw as it wandered off, and wonders if she truly is such a magical meal, to make of a thing like it was a thing like it is.


    Intestines and pulped viscera slide off her. She looks at the spirit beast, and, slowly, kneels into the crater she has made of her last opponent''s chest cavity.


    She plucks its heart and takes a bite.


    It tastes of sunlight and burning flesh, and it matches her like joy does sunshine.


    The beast waits for her to finish her meal. It waits until the heart and the lungs and a good few pounds of flesh are gone.


    The moment is so close.


    It is only when she steps clear of the body that the beast moves into the clearing they have chosen.


    Whatever hold it has on its camouflage, it releases it, and she smells it again. Like falling stone from impossible height, like meat laid out on a cutting board of pearl and fine wood. It has changed since she last smelled it, and she can¡¯t help but wonder if it¡¯s weird to feel a little proud of it.


    It huffs at her, something like a word or a question.


    She does not remember how to speak. She huffs back.


    She is not camouflaged, so she cannot undo some trick that disguises her Qi. Instead, she moves her heart into its proper, more violent rhythm, and lets out a long, slow breath. She can smell herself. Like heat, like blood, like fear and like joy and like wrath, the scent of her fills the arena.


    She is a storm in flesh, about to be torn apart by fiery winds and lightning made of steel.


    She is a mad, mad thing without scent to which the weight of the ambient Qi around them bends, even if she cannot see it.


    She is mortal and flesh and possibility.


    And the spirit beast does not back down.


    It launches itself at her. She launches herself in turn.


    Her skin blocks the first swipe, tough enough that even its enhanced quills can no longer pierce so easily, but when it swipes it still leaves a scarlet paintjob of torn-open flesh. When ripped away, a bed of needles even only a millimeter deep still hurts, and still opens her up for more damage. This thing, through luck or evolution or cultivation or however the hells spirit beasts grow, is perfectly suited to ruin all it touches, to turn it to meat on a plate and to crush all beneath its weight.


    Raika does not care.


    She is full to the brim. She has reshaped flesh like putty for days just to survive. She has seen and felt and tasted the shape of a hundred life forms so alien they may as well be from other worlds.


    And the moment is almost here.


    And so, in a burst of blood and viscera and bone and something almost like fire, like napalm, that glows and ripples and is hot to the touch and ignites in strange colors on all it touches, she stabs it in the chest with what she makes of her left arm.


    It is not an arm. It is not a limb. From the remains of what was, she makes a fucking tree. She makes a branching, snaking, series of vines, of bones tough as metal, of flesh which grows and regrows and regrows, of blood that glows with fire and magic and sheer fucking will, and it exists and it is possible because it is her, it is hers, and she can shape it so.


    That¡¯s all it takes. Two hits. An opening gambit, leading to more attacks, more claws and rolls and sharpened pearl needles, matched against a single, explosive instant of madness and apotheosis.


    The moment is here.


    Its flesh melts. It lets out a long, mournful wail, long and slow and quiet now, as it is pierced, impaled on a dozen impossible branches, and she mirrors it. It is dead. She is dying, or maybe being reborn. Either way, they wail, together, low and quiet as she cries and it dies and everything in her shudders at feeling that death so close.


    All around her, her ghosts watch.


    Behind her, JiaJia watches. And she is proud. And she is ashamed. And she is afraid.


    And the moment is here.


    Her flesh begins to melt, the impossible heat and pressure and static and glow inside her reaching a breaking point, far beyond her body¡¯s abilities to absorb or use no matter how much she harms herself. She reaches a tipping point and crashes past it, and she falls, and the beast falls with her, and together, her, the beast, and the blood of that which they fought upon all die and melt and begin to become.


    There is a sense of pressure. A smell, like wind and mountains and giant, endless plains beneath the tread of impossible weight. The world bends to the pressure of something impossible and vast and alive.


    The last thing she sees is the sun, setting behind the mountain. Six of its many limbs seem to circle it or emerge from it, like halos or tendrils of flame against a perfect black.


    And then she is gone.

 Chapter 55 - Worlds Most Stressed Cat Gets To Deal With More of Whatever This Is

    The silence of it all is a fucking nightmare on her nerves.


    Maen can¡¯t help but feel like this is the worst, most shittiest, most terrible village in the entire third ring. There might be someplace infested with mind-control worms that tops it for sheer terribleness, but honestly, it¡¯s incredibly difficult to imagine anyplace with less to do and less going on. She wouldn¡¯t be entirely surprised if this place did have brainworms, for how absurdly quiet it all is.


    She starts walking back from the river to the building they have set up as their main base. Apparently, none of the thatch-roofed buildings surrounding a generously named ¡°village square¡± fit the right criterion, and Yun Ka spent most of the first two days on-site making sure she had something set up that they could use, bringing materials out of the spatially-warped carriage that brought them here and cutting down a piece of the woods all around. The trees grow back in a year anyways, so it¡¯s hardly a huge loss, but for how the village chief was wringing his hands you¡¯d think they slaughtered their only cow or something.


    She sighs, still carrying the buckets full of water she originally tasked herself with retrieving. She knows she¡¯s being uncharitable, it¡¯s obvious; hell, her family''s own houses pretty similar to these in a small village not much larger than this one. The fact that the Empire¡¯s teachings and engineers haven¡¯t yet had the time to find this tiny little corner of nowhere isn¡¯t the village¡¯s fault, and chances are they¡¯re doing the best with what they have. Chances are the village chief was more stressed about the fact that they¡¯re all cultivators, including a small but notable armed group of soldier cultivators in his little village, and that they can¡¯t really offer much.


    Discipline and common sense have won out handily so far, luckily. Old rumors or not, power is power, and the will of a cultivator is just¡­ more than what one might consider a mortal, someone who¡¯ll die in less than a century. The military guard they have, and of course the members of the Altered Cultivation Division, all seem to either not care or be much too disciplined to be harassing the townsfolk, though, something Maen is grateful for.


    Well. Except Kaena. They spend, like, all their time harassing the chief and just about anyone important. In their case, though, it¡¯s the kind of harassment some people pay for, and would certainly pay to watch, the androgynous and gorgeous figure dancing between and very much confusing a pretty solid number of the village¡¯s more relevant members. Maen isn¡¯t sure if they¡¯re trying to get them to fight over the cultivator¡¯s attention or convince them to start an orgy the minute the Division leaves. Might be that they don¡¯t much care which the village chooses.


    Maen walks into the shared building, doing her best to be very, very careful of the runic formations all around.


    Apparently, you can store powdered Jade in amber and put it in some kind of tube, and it works just fine for a Qi conductor. Yun Ka tried to explain that there¡¯s a ton of downsides to the convenience, but ultimately, Maen just needs to know that there¡¯s tubes full of goop more valuable than the life savings of her entire family strewn about the floor, and she should absolutely not be stepping on, tripping over, or spilling water on any of them.


    Speaking of lab safety regulations, she perks up as she sees the aforementioned scientist staring down at a podium.


    ¡°Honored Yun Ka!¡± she says with a smile. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you!¡± She balances the buckets carefully on her shoulders as she does a light bow.


    Yun Ka looks up from the podium, a bit startled. ¡°Oh!¡± she replies. ¡°And hello to you, junior Maen Fa! You know you don¡¯t have to do the honorifics out here, right? I mean, you can if you want to, I just- I mean I don¡¯t mind them, is all, I just prefer- you can just call me Yun Ka, if you¡¯re more comfortable with it.¡±


    Maen smiles. She can¡¯t help it. It¡¯s nice to have someone so entirely awkward yet sincere around, especially after leaving the sect. She hasn¡¯t had anyone she can act even slightly mysterious around for ages except for-


    Mmh. She tries not to think too hard on Raika. It makes her remember when she last saw her.


    ¡°I appreciate your consideration, Yun Ka,¡± Maen replies, smiling at the fact they¡¯ve had almost this exact exchange three times now. ¡°I shall return shortly, as I must deposit the water post-haste. Shall I find you here on my return?¡±


    Yun Ka nods. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll be here. Getting some fascinating readings, I have to keep an eye on them.¡±


    Maen chuckles, waddling over the tubes and artificial vines of arcane materials that now litter the room in patterns half like coiled snakes and half like strange diagrams. It doesn¡¯t take her long to finish her task; one of the many machines she took out of the carriage and into the building is a sort of metal tank or block, hollow on the inside, which apparently (according to Yun Ka, anyways, and all the soldiers seem to agree) cleans and purifies any liquids put into it. For now, they¡¯re using it for extra clean water, for rituals, drinking, and even bathing, if someone fills it enough.


    Maen has nothing to do. So she fills it up.


    She hops back into the main room, a space erected out of stone with the aid of one of the soldier¡¯s cultivation with a domed ceiling and a hole in it, through which a bunch of weird brass, gold and silver rods are extended. If she focuses really hard, she can hear them vibrating ever so slightly, like wind chimes.


    ¡°What can I help you with, Maen Fa?¡± Yun Ka asks.


    ¡°Just Maen is fine,¡± she replies quickly. ¡°I was wondering if there¡¯d been any news? On Raika?¡±


    Yun Ka hums, looking down at her podium. Connected to by some of the ¡°tubes¡± to the swirling, vein-like and strangely alien diagrams and formations all around, it¡¯s made mostly of what seems like slate stone, with a piece of black material on top where small grains of white sand dance and shift as Yun Ka taps at them and emits slight waves of her Qi. It¡¯s always disconcerting; with the most minimal use of her Qi, the whole panel shifts, sands scurrying into new shapes and words and diagrams. Then again, Yun Ka using her Qi is always a bit weird, and Maen has no idea why, so¡­ eh.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Since you last asked six hours ago,¡± Yun Ka says, her voice matter of fact and seemingly free of judgment, ¡°there¡¯s been minimal updates. Last time we checked, there seemed to be four rather drastic Qi signatures heading towards her. Upper Core Formation realm beasts, it would seem, but¡­ well, she¡¯s killed a few of those already, so we kept it on monitoring. Now, there are¡­ two Core Formation signatures around her. So it would seem that trend has continued.¡± She shakes her head softly. ¡°Whatever she¡¯s doing, once we get back to central and can get some proper readings, we might very well revolutionize how cultivation works. Never mind that she used to be crippled, she¡¯s punching well above any projected ¡°weight class¡±. It¡¯s hard to accurately measure her progress, because it¡¯s difficult to tell what seems to be niche advantages and what are universal upgrades. Against beasts at least she¡¯s been thriving, but since she seems to be attracting them in the first place, it¡¯s hard to say how useful it¡¯ll be in more general contexts against armed forces or Qi techniques, but it¡¯s still¡­ well. Wonderful to watch, anyways.¡±


    Maen shudders. ¡°Not so wonderful up close. With respect, senior.¡±


    Yun Ka blinks, coming back to herself. ¡°Ah, yes,¡± she mumbles, ¡°I apologize. I didn¡¯t mean to minimize the events of your¡­ rescue.¡±


    Maen does not like to think about that day. Almost a week ago, but fresh.


    When Taran brought her back she¡¯d been borderline catatonic from screaming the whole way back. He seemed to have switched to Hao Kai at some point in the journey, going from silent and generally raspy to something more akin to a heavy smoker and gentle, babbling meaninglessly and chatting to her about anything that would cross their mind. It had calmed her down some, but it could only do so much.


    The first day had been a nightmare. She¡¯s been left in a bed, shivering, terrified, filthy, but still had managed to listen in to what was happening. Panic at first, that the materials even pre-installation into formations were attracting far too many beasts, that there was going to be some kind of unexpected localized beast tide. Then, orders from above; Taurus¡¯ voice, speaking through a bright blueish stone on a small pedestal. Not a beast tide. Not a miscalculation in their supplies. Whatever had occurred, it seemed to be a response to Raika. To the ¡°latest addition¡±. And then¡­ he¡¯d said to monitor the situation, but not interfere unless she tried to retreat to the village.


    The only good thing she could think of that had come of it was that she had learned to hide. And that above all else, these people couldn¡¯t be trusted.


    Taurus, she¡¯d known. But the way Yun Ka had responded¡­ Taran, or Hao Kai, had at least had the common decency to look frustrated, to protest, however lightly. There¡¯d seemed to be an internal struggle, a strange twitching, before the main, rasping voice of Taran took over and confirmed things, a sour look on his face. But Yun Ka had just¡­ nodded. And moved on.


    But since then, she had been monitoring. And on the odd times that Maen hides again, like Raika told her to, the easier it gets to sneak looks over her shoulder.


    All it takes is focus, burying something down quiet, focusing on instinct and the parts of how she¡¯d acted that Raika had pointed out, and she¡¯d started to feel¡­ something. Her cultivation has been growing, slowly but steadily, but this felt much more important somehow. A more individual talent, maybe, and a hint of a way forward.


    She breathes out. It¡¯s fine. She¡¯s here. She can focus.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok,¡± she assures Yun Ka, who doesn¡¯t seem to have registered the pause. ¡°I lived, and I progress, right? I just¡­ it¡¯s been almost a week, as of today. Don¡¯t you think we should¡­ I don¡¯t know, check on her? Find a way to get in contact?¡±


    Yun Ka shrugs. ¡°Runemaster Boriah already explained that if something truly bad were to happen, he will intercept and assist. I trust in his judgment.¡±


    ¡°Can¡­ can I watch, then?¡± Maen asks. ¡°If you¡¯re not too busy? See what¡¯s happening?¡±


    Yun Ka shrugs. There¡¯s a long, drawn out moment of silence, but¡­ ¡°Alright. I believe that a pause in recordings of other readings won¡¯t be detrimental for a few moments. One moment, please.¡± She tilts her head to one side, ear coming into contact with a piece of her crown-contraption so full of devices and lenses, touching a blueish stone held there. ¡°Kaena?¡± she says. ¡°On request, I am initiating a more direct watch on our newest subject and teammate. It will be actively ongoing as of now, for the next twenty minutes.¡±


    Maen tilts her head, looking at her. ¡°Why¡­ why summon Kaena?¡± she asks.


    Yun Ka blinks, as if the answer should be obvious. ¡°Because they asked me to,¡± she replies.


    Maen does a blink of her own. She¡­ hadn¡¯t expected that.


    In moments, the gorgeous fox of a cultivator flounces into the room, practically skipping. ¡°I heard the good news!¡± they almost yell as they walk in. ¡°Thank goodness someone has come to their senses, it¡¯s about time that big bully- oh! Hello Maen! Excellent, I was just about to call if you weren¡¯t here.¡±


    Maen bows graciously. ¡°Thank you, senior sibling,¡± she says. ¡°It was on my request, I¡¯m just happy that honored Yun Ka has indulged me.¡±


    ¡°Oh nonsense,¡± Kaena replies, ¡°You should know by now that-¡±


    ¡°Quiet!¡± Yun Ka yells abruptly, interrupting the two of them. ¡°Look! Crucial data, Kaena I need you to bind your Qi if you¡¯re in the room, I will stand no fluctuations!¡±


    The panic in the academic¡¯s voice has both the other cultivators in the room a bit shocked. It¡¯s the loudest they¡¯ve ever heard her speak, and Maen scrambles to her side to try and see the panel, desperately trying to make sense of the squiggles and shapes on it and the two blinking, rapidly shifting dots at the center of it.


    ¡°What is it? What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Yun Ka says with a breathless smile. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything like it! It¡¯s like¡­ I don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like! It¡¯s a collapse, or an explosion of some kind, but it tracks as the subject still, it¡¯s like they just-¡±


    And then the screen briefly fizzles, as if distracted or suddenly disoriented, and suddenly the sand falls into static before reforming a moment later.


    ¡°Runemaster Boriah is on site,¡± Yun Ka says as Maen practically clutches at her, avoiding the contact only just as the gadget-clad figure flinches away seemingly on instinct. ¡°I have his signature, but the other two- one of them is gone, I think, but I can¡¯t tell, its an entirely new signature? The tracker is still active, but-¡±


    And then the screen fritzes again, and there is a thunderous sound at the open end of the room they¡¯re in. It¡¯s a much larger space than it needs to be, but the landing is still outside until a massive furred hand reaches into the stone like sand and pulls out a shattered, ruined hole in it.


    ¡°Yun Ka,¡± rumbles a familiar, horrifyingly inhuman voice. ¡°Contact the soldiers. Get another room erected. I want every bit of sensory equipment we have on this, now.¡±


    Maen, despite his presence, despite the weight of the energy he exudes, tries to step forward. The pressure ramps up the closer she gets, like he¡¯s exercising his power on the world, like he¡¯s using his Qi pressure like a blanket, crushed around where he¡¯s standing. She can see him through the hole, robes covered in blood, something that looks like burns on one of his hands, and then she looks past them, knees trembling and eyes watering from the intensity, and sees what he has brought.


    Despite herself, even as she vomits, there is a part inside her that simply nods. Yep, says her inner voice as she tries to hold her hair back. Somehow, this tracks.

 Chapter 56 - Its Alive! Aliiiiiive, I Tell You!

    It is warm where it is.


    The world is very often cold. All that is, save for where it is touched, is very often quite cold. Usually, if it is holding heat, it is because it was given to it, as a gift maybe. It does not know what a gift is, but the word and concept are similar enough that there is an overlap there, and something that is not understanding but is closer.


    But right now it is warm everywhere.


    It has been warm more often lately. First it was not as cold, and then it was tight and still a little cold, and then it became cold on one side and warm on the other, accompanied by jostling sensations against something that is very not-it. Then, there was a lot of jostling, very fast, and it went flying about and landing on things and getting hit and kicked around. For a while, all it felt was cold, squishy, and the feeling of impact, something which always feels comfortable yet incomplete, like something should happen and does not. And then it was moving again, and something warm held it, and then it felt like it was slipped into a warm, wet pocket, full of weird moving stuff that seemed to have not much shape at all.


    This happened a few times; emergence from warmth, back into it. Whatever it is, it cannot see or feel or really know things, and it certainly doesn¡¯t have much opinion on things; all of the above require a brain, or a soul, or even a feeling. In fact, it does not even track what is occurring; each moment is simply the moment that it is / it is in, and it is the moment, and it does not know that it knows that.


    And then, one day, smushed against large blocks of warm squishy blocks and chunks, it realizes that it can realize.


    It is not as impactful as it sounds. The thing, whatever it is, is simply and suddenly capable of holding in itself the simple existence of a ¡°before¡±, now, and thus, linearity. For just about anything that has ever existed, this is startlingly impressive on the part of whatever it is. For the incredibly minute, the impossibly miniscule number of things which have been alive, it¡¯s really not that much of a big deal. The universe is funny like that, sometimes.


    And so it realizes, which is the thing it can now do. And it keeps realizing.


    It does not know what it realizes, and it certainly cannot conceive of what realizing is. To say it became aware of awareness is a vast exaggeration and inaccuracy, but it almost works for our purposes here. It does not have opinions or ideas about what it means that things before now were before now, and could be before or after anything. It doesn¡¯t even really have an understanding of what could be called memory; things were different. Now they are different again. How? Who knows? Certainly not it.


    It passes this way for some time, between periods of gooey, warm, and smushed, and periods of cold, jostled about, and vaguely humming.


    This is the second thing it realizes; it is humming.


    It realizes a second thing right after; it has felt this before. Usually when it is cold, though the connection to correlation or causation does not exist yet. It always feels subtly wrong, and this is startling in itself, for now a thing with no concept of thought, let alone opinion or morality, is quite certain that whatever is happening is not correct. Rather than shiver through it like it should, rather than enter and leave it back out into the world, the vibrations enter its frame and get stuck there, unable to properly escape it. It does not know what it is, or what this is, or even the fact that what it feels is impact failing to become sound as it should were it created properly. It just knows it is wrong.


    This¡­ vague concept, this pre-idea, sticks with the thing when next it enters the warm and gooey. Now, for the first time, there is something like preference; in one state, there is something wrong, and in this state, there is not, at least not that it can proto-detect. There is nothing in it that could take action, or even understand what it is that¡¯s occurring, like an ant looking at a painting and barely able to notice the canvas it treads on, but even still, it realizes that it has realized, and it realizes that the new realization is that, if capable of choice or of understanding free will, it would choose to enter one state over the other.


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    But eventually it realizes this is not wholly correct.


    And lo and behold, it experiences its very first conditional statement, its very first dose of nuance. If it had no other option except the options it currently does not have, that of warm and quiet or cold and loud and wrong, then it would choose warm and quiet. But it does not have any choices, so really, all choices are equal. And it does not like that a thing can be wrong.


    The time it struggles with this concept is infinite and instantaneous, because it does not struggle or comprehend, and yet conclusion is achieved by something which cannot conclude or understand the meaning of the word.


    If it could, it would make the thing that was wrong not be wrong anymore.


    So, while it would be inaccurate to call these conclusions ¡°thoughts¡±, a different shorthand may be used. The thing concludes nothing, but somehow, by realizing it can realize, certain things simply become true to it, as true as the fact that it moves, and that it cannot think, and that it is made of something that, when hit or jostled, hums and experiences a thing that it calls ¡°wrong¡±.


    Thing the first: it can realize things.


    Thing the second: there is a before, and a now, and probably an after.


    Thing the third: there is something wrong in what it is.


    Thing the final: if it could change the thing that is wrong, it would.


    And it already has changed. Call it truth 2.0, call it thing five, it matters little. If it could change, and it could choose, it would stop being wrong, and it can change, so that¡¯s halfway already (which, to an inanimate object in a near infinite space full of other, no-longer equally as inanimate objects, is a hell of a distance).


    And then, even inside the warm, there is a jostling.


    Something hits it, and now there is a before and a now where the wrongness is ringing inside it in the wet as well as the cold. It is thrown about, soaking in unknown liquid against unknowable shapes, and all it can feel is wrong, wrong, wrong as it is forced to shiver and tremble and fail to ring and be as it should. The wrongness has followed it here, and now no solace can be found, because there can now be an after where it is followed into the wet by the wrongness in it again.


    Eventually the ringing fades and the wrongness goes away, but just as it can change, so can the ¡°it¡± around it, the it that is every other thing and possibly it that can cause the wrongness to come back. Things are no longer as it once was, and the revelation sits; just as there is an unknown before and an unknown after, so too is there an unknown now, and in that now, before and after, there is that wrongness.


    This next step is a bit harder than the others. This set of quasi-concepts floats about inside the idea of this thing, occasionally bumping together back into something like a truth or conclusion, and a few more cycles of warm and cold come and go, with the wrongness sometimes following into the warm and sometimes not. And in all that time, it marinates.


    It does not know what it marinates in. The thing it is inside thinks it knows what it is, and even it can only acknowledge that its knowledge is a fraction of a fraction of the truth. Luckily for the both of them, comprehension is not needed for consequence to occur.


    So it marinates. And, slowly, realization after realization, moment after moment, truth after truth, it changes, carried in a bubble of the blood of all that is, was, and will be.


    And then it stops being warm, but does not become cold.


    No, it becomes something new. It becomes hot.


    A new after and a new now, neither of which it can feel much about or understand but which it can now realize exists. The heat rises, the thing around it writhing and shifting and remaking itself into new shapes, and all the time it burns, and it makes the thing inside hum and feel its wrongness and feel delicate and soft like it never has before, as the heat climbs higher and higher and the wrongness only grows and grows.


    Until finally, in an apotheosis not its own but now mirrored by it, it makes a decision. A first, and most crucial decision, built on a wrongness it fundamentally cannot tolerate or allow.


    It chooses to change.


    And in a sea of Qi, wrapped in layer after layer of impossible flesh, in a moment of truth and fear and things without name and without understanding, beneath the eyes of all that is and all that was and all that will be and the things that have eaten all those things, and become ALL, a tuning fork makes a choice.


    And things change.

 Chapter 57 - Splintered, Afraid, and Alone (No Matter Who Tries Otherwise)

    He aches.


    Surely no one aches as much as he does.


    Surely no one is so willing to wallow in it, either.


    Shin Ren is torn, almost literally, in pieces inside himself. Whatever is happening to him, it doesn¡¯t feel good, it doesn¡¯t feel right, and he has yet to truly understand what¡¯s causing it, but he knows he has to realize soon, before he starts losing the perspective he¡¯s fought so very hard to keep ahold of. He knows that his reactions are out of tune. He knows that there¡¯s something wrong with his cultivation and how powerful it is becoming. He knows, deep down, that there¡¯s something about what¡¯s happening to him that he should be very, very afraid of.


    He¡¯s gone on sabbatical. Out in the wilds, away from the rest of the world, away from the sect. He has months and months yet until the Academies re-open for the next cycle, and if he hasn¡¯t solved this problem by then they surely stand as a useful final option, a final fallback option. In the meantime, he¡¯s been wandering.


    They used to call the south the World of the Falling Sun, as it¡¯s tendrils grip and writhe and burn against the horizon and scorch the earths at the far end of what has become the southern side of the Fifth Ring of the Empire. Unlike in the north, where the sun rises from, only briefly touching the earth, in the far south the world turns gold and orange in flame and smoke as prelude to night, feeding healing ash to the clouds and winds to let more of the world flourish. And, of course, sending any spirit beasts and monsters of the edge scampering in towards the center, long enough for the fires to fade and the things adapted to such impossible heat eventually wander back.


    He¡¯s heard that the strongest ones, the ones whose ancestors braved the burned lands and deserts and beautiful obsidian forests of the deeper southlands, have adapted to sleep beneath the soil or reflect away the sun¡¯s impossible heat, while many of the monsters of the Edge outright thrive on it.


    Where better to let out all this impossible, screaming fire in him?


    And it is screaming.


    It wears a charred face, open teeth lunging for his throat.


    There is no scar. The sect¡¯s healers and his uncle made sure of that. But still, he rubs his shoulder on the side where she bit him, forcibly keeping his hand away from his neck. A tick, he can forgive, but worrying at a wound that is not there is where he draws the line.


    And fuck, but he has to keep drawing the damn line, over and over. Limits, set and locked and which he has to constantly refuse to change. Every day he wonders why he doesn¡¯t just use his cultivation to burn a path where he might walk, why he allows himself to sleep on rags instead of sculpting stops with his technique, why he doesn¡¯t let out all this rage on someone deserving, or someone convenient, or anyone at all.


    The whispers have his face as often as they have hers, and every time they find a new item to tempt him with, to challenge him on, he draws another line.


    It can¡¯t last.


    He does not have the will to enforce his every action against his every desire. No one does. The will must be shaped by the wants, and the longer he keeps them so violently separate, the worse things get.


    His flames hurt him now. His hand, whenever he leaves it limp or at his side, has begun to blister from the heat he does not notice himself playing with. He wakes up with all the flora around him crisped and unmade. All this, and his cultivation, for all its growing strength, is regressing.


    Admittedly long name or not, the purple flame holds the attention of the sect for a reason. It holds mystery by its very nature, neither the earth-scraping heat of flame condensed to blue purity, not the heat of campfires and cooking and light and simple, moment to moment intimacies like that of red and yellow flames. Whatever the purple flame is, whatever old inheritance or item or technique long inherited by the sect that allowed so many to follow its path, it is not a natural flame, but one that is other in ways that are yet to be anywhere close to fully explored.


    Even as he is now, Shin Ren is not arrogant enough to say that the purple flame is alone in this. The black snow, the hidden thought, the singing waves, and an uncountable number of others all exist in this world, all of them their own paths and wonders, but¡­ he has never felt unsuited to examining the mysteries he was born to before. If anything, it has always been a comfort to him, dancing with all the heat of pure destruction and all the grace and fluidity of a comforting spark, and he has always hoped, above even his annoyances with the sect, to be worthy of it.


    And yet now, when he wields his flame, it is at best tinged purple, its outer edges slowly encroaching towards the purer heat at the center with flames of yellow and red, orange and gods-damned green that one time, for Emperor¡¯s sake.


    Something is wrong, and if he does not find out what, he does not know if he will ever be able to fix it. And despite everything, he is not yet stupid enough to pursue a late Nascent Soul realm cultivator only a few steps removed from head of a Division in the hopes of killing someone he already failed to kill once.


    No. He needs to be better. He needs to be more, but first, he needs to be fixed. He needs to be made proper, repaired back to what he once was. To be anything less is to entirely accept defeat, and he is not such a coward. Not yet.


    Not even as his phantoms claw at him with his own blistered hands and the scent of charred, crawling flesh.


    It is a few weeks into his travels, and he finally cannot stand it.


    His breathing has been fast since he woke. His feet have felt numb, and his body has been cold and feverish all day, as if he¡¯s sick, as if there¡¯s something wrong with him because there is! And he doesn¡¯t know what it is! He can¡¯t know! He doesn¡¯t understand and it¡¯s making him rot!


    And then he screams, hyperventilating, his skin glowing with the fire he forces to stay inside himself even as it adds to the feeling and he feels like he is dying. He has to let it out. Somehow, anyhow, it doesn¡¯t matter, it just needs to go out.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    He turns off the road and in a single step detonates the ground behind him in fire and ruin, a crater all that is left of that section of Empire-made road, and he is roaring into the wastes.


    This far south, with the speed someone at his realm can move at if they push (and he has been pushing, so fucking hard, away and to revelation and some kind of meaning to it all), he can already begin to see the terrain changing. The rich jungles and forests of the third ring fade here to colorful stones of all kinds where once there was but sandstone and marble, to trees which grow glass from their branches as protection and decoration. He is miles from the border to the fourth ring, months and months of travel before the Edge, but he is heading there for now and something in him screams to go faster, faster, faster.


    He runs until something stops him.


    He feels their Qi as they land, his perception shifting to allow him to finally notice what¡¯s been following him. Has maybe been following him since he first started running, perhaps; he is in someone¡¯s territory, after all.


    He does not recognize the sect markings at first. That shocks him almost worse than their presence at all; he studied for months memorizing sects from all over the rings, even minor ones, holding to any advantage in the academies, and he spent years there side to side with a thousand other egos and sect darlings, and yet he does not recognize who he sees in front of him.


    Then the fog clears, and he realizes he has still been hyperventilating. He lets out a huff, forcing it to slow, slow damnit, and he starts to feel the heat.


    ¡°I recognize your robes, stranger,¡± one of the faceless things in front of him says, ¡°but I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t recognize your face. Do you know where you are?¡±


    He pants, slowly catching his breath until he can straighten and breathe again. He shakes his head.


    The faceless thing frowns, his eyes looking Shin up and down. ¡°You have been traveling through Clear Spring Stream Sect¡¯s territory, stranger. While we do not deny passage to wandering cultivators or our fellow sects beneath the Empire, but your trail has been burning through our lands as you run. Disciples even now are working to calm the fires.


    Shen Rin blinks. What is he talking about? He isn¡¯t so far gone he¡¯d be casting fires about randomly as he-


    As he runs, as fast as he ever has, using his Qi and his panic.


    He looks behind him.


    There¡¯s a clear path behind his feet. Where once there were trees, there is now shattered lumber, smoldering slowly. Where before there were grasses and bushes, there is bare earth and glass in the shape of footprints.


    He turns back to the faceless- to the cultivators around her. Clear Spring Stream Sect, their robes couldn¡¯t be more damn obvious, he¡¯s a bit embarrassed he didn¡¯t recognize them. Which is lucky, because the embarrassment is easier than the fear that his lapse brings.


    He puts fist to palm, bowing, reconfiguring and making sure that he¡¯s here.


    ¡°My apologies, seniors,¡± he says, voice a bit hoarse from how hard he¡¯s been breathing. ¡°This one is named Shin Ren, though I travel now not on Sect business but my own journeys. I apologize for the harm, as it seems in my haste I did not properly consider the steps I took forward on my path.¡±


    The answer is good enough. Normal cultivator stuff, something they can all understand and nod to, easy peasy. Technically all true, too, and none of it nearly as concerning as Shin Ren feels right now.


    ¡°It is this one¡¯s honor to meet you, Shin Ren,¡± the cultivator that has been speaking says. He still feels foggy, but Shin Ren can notice his features more clearly now; rich, golden skin, clearly a sign of cultivation or birth, standing tall, hairless and stiff in flowing light-blue and green robes. ¡°I am named Fei, Fei Sark. If it pleases the young master of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus Sect, we would be happy to guide you back to the road, or to the nearest Imperial way-house where you might inquire about an escort or local features that might aid your path.¡±


    That¡¯s- he flinches at that, and doesn¡¯t know why.


    Is this the way to be fixed? No, surely not. He has to keep going. He is dizzy and afraid and still somehow out of breath, at the tip of Core Formation and out of breath, but he knows that¡¯s not right.


    ¡°My thanks,¡± he says, ¡°but I¡¯m afraid I-¡±


    He pauses.


    ¡°Why did you call me the young master of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus Sect?¡± he asks. ¡°I did not introduce myself as such.¡±


    Fei Sark tilts their head, some of the other disciples around him (one, two, three, four, Shin Ren counts, holding the number in his head for reasons he is not thinking about and does not know) matching the movement. ¡°Is it not obvious?¡± Fei Sark asks. ¡°We are both members of the Academies, are we not brother Shin Ren? Did you not tell me yourself that your sect often called you its young master, despite being born to an elder and not the patriarch?¡±


    Shin Ren blinks. That makes perfect sense, it¡¯s easy. It¡¯s- does he remember Fei Sark? Does he remember every face he spoke to and charmed, everyone he met? Certainly not. But this one speaks like they¡¯re old friends. He flicks his gaze back to the others (one, two, three, four, good to count them).


    They look at each other. Communicating something. He is breathing hard, even a full fucking minute after stopping. Why is he still breathing so hard?


    He is fidgeting. One of his hands is at his side, and he flinches as he notices the heat he has been toying with.


    It has been weeks and weeks and now a few months since this began. Since he burnt her, since she screamed like a fucking teakettle more than a human being so ruined was she, since she almost killed him.


    There is something wrong with him. And it¡¯s getting worse.


    ¡°Young master,¡± Fei Sark says, slowly, ¡°perhaps it is best if you took a break. You look as if you have pushed yourself beyond any limits in your pursuit of your path, as any true cultivator should, but none could begrudge you a brief rest. We of the Clear Spring Stream Sect would be honored to demonstrate our hospitality, and allow you to recover before you go on your way.¡±


    The words are spoken reasonably, softly, but he does not recognize his face, does he? No, he doesn¡¯t recognize any of them.


    He barely recognizes himself.


    Strangers, not just impeding him but actively trying to corral him. Claiming they know him. Trying to take him to a secondary location. Tales of wandering cultivators taken and abused or killed whisper in the very corners of him, of hidden dangers around every corner.


    ¡°Thank you, brother Fei Sirk,¡± he says, with another, shallower bow, ¡°but I am afraid I must be on my way. It is of utmost importance.¡±


    Fei Sirk blinks its eyes. ¡°This honored Fei Sark would love to be informed of what drives such a talented young master to such a brink in its pursuit, Shin Ren.¡±


    ¡°Let me pass,¡± Shin Ren says, panting, darting to (one-two-three-four) others around him. ¡°I have to keep going, and you won¡¯t stop me."


    They are shifting now, wary, hands gripping weapons. They want to stop him. They dare to stand in his way, when he needs to go, to find what is wrong, to find and burn and do whatever he can think of to stop seeing her and his own hands as he stands over the charred and ashen thing he made of her before she took him apart, once, then again.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid we cannot allow you to continue as you have been, honored Shin Ren,¡± one of the faceless things says. ¡°You need aid, young master. Please. You seem unwell, and we are more than happy to provide hospitality and contact to your sect.¡±


    He feels his lip curl up in a snarl. ¡°No,¡± he growls. ¡°I have to go. Something is wrong, can¡¯t you see?¡±


    ¡°I can,¡± the faceless thing says, hand on its sword-pommel. ¡°I can see that, Shin Ren, and if you just-¡±


    ¡°NO!¡± he yells, his hand in agony, the world crackling, his mind full of whispers- ¡°Something is WRONG!¡±


    And then one of them tries to step closer, and he is all fear and all confusion and all flame, and he makes the world crackle and burn with him.

 Chapter 58 - Built Different

    She is not herself for a while.


    Hardly a surprise, isn¡¯t it? One is hardly who they once were or will be in moments like this, trapped in amber, between everything. She remembers the attack on that last spirit beast, remembers reaching some impossible tipping point inside, and¡­ nothing else, save perhaps the sense of shifting and unraveling and heat. It had not burned, but¡­ she felt like she was melting into herself, turning fluid and golden and changed.


    It hurts where she is. She is not herself, not Raika, not yet, but apparently the pain overrides even that. Deeper than her name, the bitch is, roiling and churning and coiling all through her. In truth, she doesn¡¯t know that she has anything but pain; there is little self here, less flesh, and any concept of a body or a presence in this not-place seems to barely even make sense. But still there is the pain, writhing and coiling and changing things, and it is¡­ enough her that she can be it as it is her, here.


    She does not look around. She can¡¯t.


    But she sees anyway.


    She sees the blood, dancing against her existence like she¡¯s an island and boat in a river and ocean. She sees the flame, wrapping around her, uplifting and unmaking and remolding, avatar above all of Change, and impossible to glimpse and hold for even a moment as a single, frozen state.  She sees the doors, the pathways left free, the edges of blades, where the blood dances and is molded by the knife¡¯s edge, where the fire shapes the arches and shapes what is there, leaving it only when it has become new. She sees a beating, pulsing thing, impossible and beloved, surrounded in fire and blood and blade and claw and growing, grasping roots and refusing to stop beating, no matter what part of it changes and is cut and is grown into or torn apart, always whole and always unmade and yet refusing to go still or silent. She sees scraps of other things, other ideas, other¡­ concepts feels too simple a thing to call them. They are dreams. They are secret truths, endless mysteries, impossible glimpses of what cannot be understood yet is. She sees the stone, perfect in every level, wrapped and clad in bone and fire and forging and ravenous hunger, floating by her and the pain which she is. She sees flashes of lightning, running through everything, making of the world a road and bursting along its paths, and endless all-black waters, perfect in stillness yet always in motion, without depth and endless.


    She sees so, so much. She sees nothing at all.


    But something sees her, too.


    In this impossible place, in this momentous dream and delusion, something turns its gaze upon her wretchedness.


    It is not here. It cannot see her. She cannot know what it is. She does not know it is looking. It is unknown and forgotten because there is nothing there, and it is here and so close and looking at her.


    All these things are true. All these things are terrible and far, far beyond her.


    She is not an ant. An ant can do things. An ant can bite, or surprise, or even be adorable to some. She is less than an ant. She is a single, endless and nearly-never instant, believing that she is alive, believing that she is herself, believing that she exists.


    This thing exists. This thing is alive. This thing IS.


    She quails before this thing. Her Truth, meager, childish toy that it is quivers, the weight of all there is briefly passing it by. The dreams and delusions about her, which do not revolve around her but rather are simply where they are, because she is where they are, all at once, here and there at the same time, all flutter and almost seem to warp, as if they too are made unknowable by the thing that IS NOT is looking at her.


    There is something worse than the weight, though. Worse than the impossibility, worse than the pain of it, worse than the fact that she is nothing and it is EVERYTHING and it is many, so so many, and it is dead and alive and gone and here and never been and always was-


    And its gaze, turned to her, is one of DISGUST.


    And this is not Truth. Truth is the will of children, the madness of the malformed and deficient, and to call it by that name is an insult to all that is and was not and is above all and beyond all and right here, now. It is beyond that, heavier than that, warping all that is by the weight of even that passing thought, and it means¡­ everything. She is disgusting. She is beyond small, and she is made wrong, and she is disgusting, she is worthy of that disgust.


    Something trembles by her side. Something makes a sound in a place without ears or eyes, and somehow, it is real in this moment anyways. And the sound travels, and she feels it touch her, and she is more than pain.


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    She is¡­ she¡¯s not herself, is she? But¡­ why not? She is judged by this thing as nothing, and nothing is all one thing, is it not? She is not just pain. She is beating, undying heart, and unbearable heat, and changing forms and bleeding agonies and sharpened edges, and if she is nothing so are they.


    The not-place trembles, and she feels things shift. She feels that which she is draw closer, droplets of what is and could be and will be and can never be drawn back with it.


    A thing that is not and is all looks at her and feels DISGUST.


    And, as part of her reconnects to its fellow pieces, she understands something in a place without understanding and mired in delusion and perfection and the alien and the divine and the unholy. She sees all that is, and feels its judgment, and even as it warps everything that is it has no fucking right to judge her.


    There is one who can judge her. She gave them that power when she brought them close and failed them.


    He is not here. He is not anywhere. But she smells tangerines, for a brief, impossible moment in a timeless place.


    The Heavens or the gods or the impossible things above and below and beyond all don¡¯t get to judge her. They did not make her, and she does not recognize their authority. She is worthless, and monstrous, and ruinous, but she grows, and she writhes, and she gets back up, and when she is done then she and the memory of a simple kid who saved her will judge her and find her wanting, not this thing.


    I Am Me. I Am Mine.


    And fuck it for judging her. She is not its to judge.


    Something trembles at her side. A moment in which she is not alone, shivered into unreality, and she can almost hear the little ¡°Dink¡± noise that comes with it.


    She has shaped herself so far. One might say that they are a product of their world and its systems, but to live is to shape oneself as best you can despite that. She has shaped herself and what she can reach, in spite of all that is and all that says otherwise. She is Raika the Unbroken, and she is not here, wherever it is, to entertain the opinions of some big space bitch that can¡¯t even show its face.


    She looks back at the thing that IS and IS NOT and does her level best to convey the concept of spitting at it. This is a place of truth, no? Well, bare of illusions, it can suck her fat cock and fuck off.


    I Am Me. I Am Mine.


    It is not a greater Truth. It is not a moment of true victory or conquest, not by a long shot. Whatever is and is not gazing at her is not seeing her, is a fraction of a fraction of a fraction, its mere passing at this impossible moment enough to warp all that is. And, for a single moment, the self which Raika has built, for all its flaws, aided by the smell of tangerines and a touch of trembling, beautiful sound, withstands the tide. Truth as anchor, Self as ship, and that which she is tied to and conquered and made of her waters.


    In that moment, she builds herself again. She draws in that which she has chosen and that which she is and that which she is not but has made her own anyways. She pulls, and somehow it means she is in these concept-delusions and they are in her, a torus of her own existence consuming and being grown from itself. She is the undying heart, the writhing tree and blossoming flesh, the cutting edge of what is and that which shapes the wound, the hunger that consumes and the self that transforms, and she, too, Is.


    In a moment, she finds that which is not her, not really. She finds that tiny, perfect cube and grabs it, wrapping around it, sharpening it. It never stops being a cube, this she cannot change, like its perfect pale white shine, like the way it is nothing in a way nothing can be, but still, it is hers, and it is in her, and she has taken it from the world. She brandishes it at reality, screaming behind the weight of it.


    I have seen and been seen before, she screams, and I took from what I saw a fucking trophy.


    She is Raika, the Unbroken. Raika, the Unburnt. Raika, the Undying.


    She is her pain, and it is proof she is alive. She is the fire and the blood, the gritted teeth and holy knife¡¯s edge and endless forge, the howl against the world and the sapling, torn apart yet still growing. She is the holy sacrament of what they all together create, amen.


    The tiny piece of the impossible thing above all things looks at her again. It hates her. It finds her disgusting, and frustrating, and worth nothing.


    It is good, then, that its opinion can go fuck itself and the impossibility it rode in on.


    It hurts her. But so what? Beneath even her name and her self she is pain. Pain is what it means to be alive in a cruel world, is it not? And the world is cruel, in ways she cannot know or see but can feel and taste ever so faint in the fabric of it all. And she is alive, despite the wishes of many who have met her.


    Someday she will not be, if only so she can be judged by those she has failed. But that day is not today, and not here. The world warps around her, and she stands. Reality bends and cuts and tries to pull her apart, and she stands. The offhand judgment of all that is and all that could be dismisses her, and even as she screams and struggles and spasms and pulls her pieces back together, she stands.


    She is herself, and she is hers, yes. But more importantly, as the wills of Heaven itself crash down upon her, she discovers that every Truth has parts to it. Every part of every idea has pieces that make it up, ideas that shape what it is, and just like she is all of these many things and more, so too is her Truth. She takes a piece of it, shining it like a jewel as she pulls herself together again and again beneath an impossible weight whose DISGUST unmakes her with every not-moment. She stabs the truth, like a knife, into the perfect white stone, into herself, into the place where she is and the world around and behind all that is, and in that one piece of truth she finds a part of it even truer than the rest, refined by broken marble and infinite pressure.


    I Am.


    And then, with something like a hyena¡¯s cackle and a middle finger raised, she drags herself back into reality and wakes up, ripping apart ruinous black stone and glowing flesh to taste air and howl.

 Chapter 59 - Wake Up In the Morning Feelin Like P-Diddy

    She breathes again and it feels like she¡¯s been reborn, crying and wailing fresh from the womb. She screams a second time, pulling in air and letting the sound echo like thunder in the enclosed space of wherever she is. There is a moment right after that second breath, where she realizes that she is a thing that is alive and aware, and just¡­ feels. She experiences what has changed and is left silent by it. There, in that first, timeless moment, there is panic, and fear.


    She is awake, and there is no pain.


    Not as her heart beats. Not as her lungs draw breath. Not as her flesh shifts, not as her very mind tries to find it and, horrified, finds none.


    The moment feels like shame. It feels like relief.


    To be without pain, when one is so deserving of it, feels like the greatest sin she can imagine. And she is as guilty of this new sin as she is of all the others.


    She hugs herself, and sobs, and swings her arms and kicks and writhes and rips the world around her apart.


    And then there is someone there, and she is no longer alone or free of pain.


    Something crashes down upon her, flooding her awareness with a sort of pressure like she hasn¡¯t experienced before until she realizes that her skin feel impossibly sensitive. She hears the crackling of electricity and the faint scent of a formation, all dust and shaping and artificial form, and she flails against it, surprising herself as she grabs at it and tries to rip and tear and feels it strain even as it wraps around her like chains-


    And then a hand, as big as her torso, settles against her shoulder. The weight of it alone pins her down, holds her against the ruins of whatever she was trapped inside, and she reaches and tries to grab it and-


    And realizes that she has two hands.


    It¡¯s enough to shock her into realizing she hasn¡¯t been breathing. She gasps in another lungful of air and feels something around her bend as she does, the taste of powder and runes making her cough in surprise. What is that, and why can she taste it?


    ¡°What-¡± she tries, coughing hard, ¡°where am I? What¡¯s- who-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± a familiar voice rumbles, like rock on stone. ¡°Just breathe. Maen!¡±


    A new scent arrives, battling with the scent of constructs and the musty, wild and dangerous smell Taurus always carries. She is hit by a wave of yuzu and hidden paths beneath clawprint and herbs growing on the vine and she gasps again, breathing even deeper. She hears a feminine voice gasp, sudden and quiet, and there¡¯s the sound of someone stumbling even as she hears a heartbeat flutter and blood rush with anxiety.


    And then, after another pause, she feels someone touch her on her other shoulder. Soft hands, some callouses but not enough to make the hand turn rough. She can feel a heartbeat through the touch, feel the flow of fluid and muscle and bone beneath skin, feel her breathing, feel that it¡¯s- it¡¯s Maen.


    She focuses her eyes for the first time since she woke, turning them to look towards where the touch tells her that Maen is kneeling. She feels the pull and flush of her eyes, of her body, of her mind and self turning to face her, and catches sight, for the first time since the second longest week of her life, of the woman she dragged with her into the mess that she is.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Maen whispers. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ hi, Raika. Are you¡­¡± Raika can feel her pulse in their touch, the nervousness and fear in it. ¡°Are you¡­ ok?¡±


    Raika tries to breathe. Draws in just the barest hint of air.


    ¡°I¡¯m-¡± she coughs again, almost choking. ¡°Too much,¡± she whispers, her throat feeling hoarse and uncomfortable under the strain of trying to speak and breathe against resistance and cough all at once. ¡°The- tastes bad. Can¡¯t breathe.¡±


    There¡¯s commotion as she chokes again, as she squirms, trying as hard as she can to stay still, to keep from pulling on the feeling that is wrapped so tight around her, everywhere. She hears them talking, recognizes some of the voices and scents and sounds but without enough room to process as she struggles pull in air. It wasn¡¯t this hard, was it? Her first breaths weren¡¯t this difficult, surely, or she¡¯d never have been able to scream as she had, to come into being as she had. Did something change? The air feels like chains, like gossamer strands wrapped so so tight around her, like a second cocoon, wrapped tight, and it takes so much effort not to tear at it.


    ¡°Raika, they- what¡¯s wrong?!¡± Maen whispers, almost speaking, almost screaming, her heart screaming as Raika refuses to hold still, refuses to stop spasming and trying to breathe. Their eyes meet, and whatever Maen is seeing is enough to send her heartbeat skipping again.


    The felinid woman looks ok. She¡¯s not wounded. She¡¯s not starved, and her terror is not the blind, blood-chilling panic she was in last time they saw each other. Raika can tell that she¡¯s eaten lately by the smell of her, something tangy and full of rice and meat.


    She¡¯s spiraling. Thinking about it much too far, focusing on all the wrong things. Maen is ok. She stayed safe. The village is safe? It¡¯s good if it wasn¡¯t all selfish, good if she wasn¡¯t just destroying herself and building something from the pieces that she might destroy again the moment after, it¡¯s good cause she¡¯s here now, and they¡¯re alive, and she chose to protect Maen cause she brought her here and it¡¯s her responsibility to keep her safe and-


    FUCK, she can¡¯t BREATHE


    ¡°We need her still,¡± she hears Yun-Ka yelling, voice breaking through the fugue, and Taurus rumbles something, a bit quieter, and Yun Ka screams something that sounds technical and like something is happening-


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    Maen has started crying a bit, and Raika can¡¯t breathe.


    Enough. Fuck that. She just told the gods themselves to go fuck themselves for trying to kill her, she¡¯s not just going to lay here and die on the floor.


    Panic and pain and the need to survive all wrap together and she takes her hands, her hands, plural, and tears at the gossamer threads around her.


    Something sparks, something warps, the smell of ozone and rotten herbs and the sound of the air itself screeching as she rips it all apart, wrapping it around her arms and in her hands which feel like they¡¯re shifting and warping right alongside the air around her. She tears, and a wave of effects and chaos and mess and sound hits her, the sounds of panic and fear, and she tears, and the threads that don¡¯t break and instead stretch the pulls to her mouth and bites.


    Her jaw briefly feels so, so cold, her molars aching and feeling strange and sharp and inevitable, and finally she breaks through the cocoon and drags in air again.


    It hits her system like a drug. Her heart and body roars back into her awareness as she drinks in enough air to do more than scream, to fuel an altered body that she can now feel. It barely feels like her anymore, but somehow instinct fills everything in, lets her keep shifting and churning without ripping herself apart. Her muscles coil now, each fiber pulled into patterns and weaves so complex that she feels like she can rearrange, replace, or compensate for anything, can move in any direction, each cluster of those weavings linked in a complex lattice or chain or web with tendons and ligaments and fibers. Her bones feel heavier, weightier, but she can feel that they should be much moreso, intricate architecture letting it resist the impossible strength and stress she¡¯s already putting them under far better than a solid block of material could and keeping them light. There¡¯s a new layer to her, between skin and muscles, interlaced with both and blocking neither but feeling like interlocking plates, light and reactive to twitches and nerve-reactions.


    There¡¯s more, so much more, differences in her weight and how she moves and she has an arm and her organs feel¡­ off inside of her, strange, but she doesn¡¯t know enough and-


    She stops. Forces herself to take a second, slower breath, ignoring the sounds of commotion all around. She goes to slow her heartbeat, and finds she doesn¡¯t need to, her blood shifting and flowing through her body at her will no matter how hard the organ might otherwise be pumping. She can already see some potential issues with that, but at least while she¡¯s here, forcing herself to lie still on the ground, she has enough mental bandwidth to use both, letting her heartbeat modulate as she slows the circulation of the blood around her brain.


    Which is when she realizes that that feels different somehow too. Which is another concerning thought that she can solve and think about later, when she¡¯s calm, yes?


    Yes, she replies, that sounds reasonable and helpful.


    She lets out a breath, nice, long and slow. It feels like smoking a cigarette almost; as she exhales, the scent and taste of the formation leave her, flowing like a cloud of smoke and ash back out. She can tell that some of it remains, tickling the back of her throat, but she still marvels at the sensation. She hasn¡¯t had a cigarette in¡­ fuck, maybe two years.


    She feels the ground tremble, ever so slightly, as Taurus walks back over to her. She could track him by the sound of his joints, never mind needing to look at him, but she opens her eyes again, lets them follow him.


    ¡°Feeling better?¡± he asks, quasi-bovine faced even more alien than normal with a very human expression of amusement on it. ¡°All done making a mess?¡±


    Her first instinct is to spit at him. To cast him aside like she did the judgment of an impossible thing mere moments ago. There¡¯s even the slightest rumble of adrenaline deep inside, urging her to shift, to bare her teeth and go to bite, to let the heat overtake her flesh until she is molten and violent and perfect¡­ before she tamps down on it. Makes it quiet. She does not know her capabilities, but one tribulation does not a Nascent Soul¡¯s opponent make, never mind the soft power he holds over her¡­ or his promise.


    Perfect honesty.


    She puts on her liar¡¯s face, muscles shifting, skin and bone and fat all shifting with them now as she creates a parody of her feelings and puts it into a mask sincere enough to fool him. ¡°Much better, thank you,¡± she whispers, listening to her voice. It hums now, slightly, and she¡¯s not sure if it¡¯s her enhanced hearing or something new that others can notice. It sounds like a musical note being played, or the undercurrent of a purr or growl under the words. ¡°Sorry about any mess, Runemaster, but¡­ it would seem that whatever formation this is did not feel good.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± She hears Yun Ka say, from where her heartbeat tells Raika is behind some kind of podium out of line of sight. ¡°Apologies for that, honored Raika. Standard procedure with newfound biomodifications, especially ones with high Qi density, is to establish proper quarantine procedures and examination. When you emerged in that¡­ state, I triggered one of the failsafes. I take full responsibility for my actions.¡±


    She sees Taurus wave a hand, dismissing the apology before she gets a chance to. ¡°We learned something new,¡± he says instead. ¡°And you survived with your brain intact. Good job.¡±


    She chuckles, the interior and exterior of it failing to match as she inwardly snarls at him for callousness and outwardly agrees. There¡¯s a mix there; she acknowledges it was a smart call, that he likely did learn something useful, but she has the right to be pissed off at him denying her the explanation and the apology.


    Yeah. She still doesn¡¯t fucking like him. His mask might be better than hers, but it¡¯s harder to tell if his is wearing him rather than the other way around. She feels it¡¯s a good trade-off.


    Slowly, she rolls to her side to get to her feet, noticing and dismissing the realization that she is buck naked and absolutely soaked with¡­ something that doesn¡¯t seem to be blood, actually, much darker in color and viscous, like a syrup. She tries to get to her feet, feels Maen come closer to help and marvels at how fast her left arm shoots out, palm out, the palm that was missing for so long¡­


    She crawls over to the cocoon, body twitching with old and unresponsive commands against new and upgraded hardware, and grabs hold of it. It crumbles, partially, and for the first time she looks at it properly.


    It is a horror.


    It does not look like a clean, smooth shell. It looks like something froze a body mid-explosion. In the unbroken portions she can see what looks like calcified or burnt flesh in the shape of perfectly preserved muscle tissues, she sees eyes and half-formed mouths, she sees pieces of what look like bones, like an oversized spine, all wrapped around it to provide some kind of stability, and she knows, deep in her bones, that it was not always calcified. Was not always black and burnt and stiff, not at first, not till the end.


    Yeah. She really can¡¯t blame them for the ¡°quarantine protocols¡±, whatever that means.


    She goes to use it. To put her weight against it. The first time, her grip breaks it and it crumbles. The second time she lays her palm flat, using friction as a grip to slowly pull herself up. She makes it to a crouch, then slowly, ever so slowly, makes it to her feet.


    She reaches into the horror of the flesh-cocoon she broke free from and picks up what she¡¯s looking for.


    A single, slim piece of steel, its color glinting strangely orange and blue when the light hits it, shaped like a perfectly made tuning fork.


    She stands to her full height, somehow taller than before, the weight of what feels like almost her full body length of hair pulling slightly at her neck with its mass, and hits herself in the forehead with the tuning fork.


    Dink, it greets her.


    She laughs. Soft and low, and does not stop for a good few minutes.

 Chapter 60 - If Only For a Breath, to Breathe

    It took a while to find something in her size, but luckily they managed to find her something before they had to raid Taurus¡¯ closet. She¡¯s pretty sure it¡¯s a blanket of some kind, or maybe just a very sheer rug, but she¡¯s not one for complaining after how long it took to get her clean. It really was more than blood, and frankly, it reminded her of what she¡¯d heard about ¡°impurities¡±.


    Rumor has it they used to be some kind of big deal for cultivators. She remembers some references to them being pretty prevalent in some of the much older texts she¡¯d seen Li Shu try and copy, but the details were scarce, like it was common sense what they were. Most cultivators she knows of haven¡¯t even heard of the stuff, and she doesn¡¯t know any that have had experiences with pills or tribulations that push out ¡°thick black ooze, foul smelling and monstrous¡±.


    The experience isn¡¯t quite the same, either; her ooze, if it did indeed come out of her and wasn¡¯t simply leftovers in the cocoon, is a dark red, and it smells more like¡­ hmm. Sugar and meat? Candied bacon? With undertones of a bit of rot, but nothing like the horrors those mild glimpses to old texts indicated. Still, it¡¯s enough that she wonders if she hasn¡¯t somehow wandered into some much older, less useful technique and somehow recreated it by instinct and energy rather than intent. And she used a lot of energy; it took an hour and a half of hard scrubbing in a bath for her to refocus, get cleaned, and take stock of just how low her reserves are.


    She can still feel her Qi. That part¡¯s important, and she checked for it as soon as she realized it wasn¡¯t in its usual places. But rather than feeling like that constant harsh, violent hurricane of razors and ruin that she could generate and has gotten used to, it¡¯s more of a buzzing sensation, like when her skin allowed her to properly trap and feel it for the first time. It would seem, at minimum, that her resistance to the damage it causes has gone up, even as she spent most of it inside that cocoon. It bodes well for the new heights of forcefully altered storm-like version of ¡°ambient Qi¡± she¡¯ll be able to store in the future, though.


    She really needs to figure out a better name for it than ¡°ambient Qi¡±, though. If the way those spirit beasts were coming after her, it¡¯s pretty clear that she¡¯s storing and/or generating something a bit more dangerous. And likely a lot more desirable. The fact that neither Yun Ka nor Taurus have ever told her anything about her internally stored energy, even if she hasn¡¯t asked much, is not a point in their favor.


    She hasn¡¯t interacted with the others much yet. Only a few hours since she woke up, and she feels she needs something, but¡­ she just can¡¯t bring herself to move. It¡¯s the whole reason she has the time to let her mind wander as it is, and she is so fucking tired.


    Nevermind the lack of Qi ripping her apart and keeping her upright, nevermind the fact that she spent an unknown period of time in a flesh-cocoon, the last memories she has are a blurry recollection of a week-long hellscape without sleep and then a dream where she got hit with a fucking mountain trying to wipe her away like a stain. She doesn¡¯t know how long she was in that cocoon for, but it didn¡¯t feel like sleep in there, just¡­ disconnect and rest.


    She¡¯s so gods damned tired.


    But even if she felt the urge to sleep, her body is twitchy with energy and new sensations. Even the air on her skin has nuances it didn¡¯t have, little bits of dust visible and tactile to her now, and if it didn¡¯t, she¡¯d still have the scents and sounds to contend with. She can smell the last four people who¡¯ve been in this room, the leftover trails of everyone who¡¯s walked past the window to outside, and a dozen more things. She can smell the scent of the roots from the trees that the wood is cut from, and the grain of the wood itself. If she tries hard enough she might even be able to smell where they grew, or at least what they grew in.


    And then there¡¯s the sound of movement. Always, always movement. Bodies and footsteps and vibrations through everything. She can see with her eyes closed, now.


    She can see Kaena and Maen speaking. She can see Kaena making their way over to the room she¡¯s in.


    She opens her eyes right before they knock.


    ¡°Raika?¡± She hears them ask, voice quiet. ¡°You still alive in there? It would be a terrible grief to have witnessed such a¡­ shall we say ¡°beautiful¡± birth, only for more tragedy.¡±


    Raika flexes the muscles in her throat, letting her voice come back. It takes her a moment, a few little vocal grunts and hiccups, before she is sure that it is as it used to be, rather than the dramatic thing it is now. She likes it, sure, but the exercise of controlling it has been a good distraction, and she¡¯d rather not terrify the entire village next time she opens her mouth.


    ¡°Come in,¡± she says, new voice temporarily just like the old.


    Kaena opens the door, stepping inside calmly. The room is small, made of stone entirely, keeping out the summer heat. The entire building they¡¯ve been using as a sort of headquarters seems to be made of stone, probably brought about by someone¡¯s Qi techniques, and the only amenities it possesses are simple beds, occasional rugs on the colder parts of the flooring, and a small dresser. She assumes the format is mirrored in whatever other rooms have been made. Kaena walks over to her, peach and gold vitiligo shining even in the dark, barefoot and whisper-quiet against the ground and still just so¡­ so audible.


    And yet, again, there is that sneaking suspicion about what prompted the choice to be barefoot. It¡¯s very Kaena; exactly as accommodating and perfect as you need them to be.


    The smell of them washes over her. Peaches and cream, heavy and sweet yet just light enough not to be overwhelming or tiring. But the thing beneath it, the quicksilver mercury of artificial venom.


    And it roils.


    It¡¯s an interesting change. It feels, in this moment, a hundred times worse than before, so concentrated and horrifying and blisteringly venomous, but¡­ it¡¯s so much quieter in the balance of the other smells. As much as it almost smells like it¡¯s moving, its scent wavering between the other flavors, it is lesser than before, reduced somehow even as the scent of cream is softer, lighter and gentler, juxtaposed with the flesh of the fruit.


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    It¡¯s overwhelming, almost. Raika has to stop, close her eyes again. She takes a deep, deep breath. Lets it out. Another, and another, until the smell begins to fade to the background, until her senses adjust.


    Kaena, seeming to know exactly what to do, the exact kindness and space to give, stands still there for a long while. Eventually, Raika opens her eyes again, and they smile softly.


    ¡°It happens, sometimes,¡± they whisper. Not a stage whisper, instead free of the sibilant, painful hiss that she can sometimes hear around her as some of the others try to be quiet. ¡°Not always after a tribulation, but sometimes. Happens when someone jumps up a realm most often. The first few days are overwhelming.¡±


    Raika scoffs lightly, feeling how the vibration of the air ever so slightly shifts every interconnected part of her. ¡°It has been so far,¡± she whispers back. ¡°The whole ''secluded cultivation'' makes more sense now. ''Consolidating one¡¯s growth'' or whatever. Back when I cultivated I always thought it was a power thing, making sure your Qi was steady or learning how to control it. It¡¯s what I did, when I hit Core Formation.¡±


    Kaena shrugs, the sound of silk shifting on skin as loud as another voice in the room. ¡°It¡¯s probably both,¡± they whisper. ¡°But body focused transformations tend to be more intense for a number of reasons. Most people aren¡¯t really designed to get so much information all at once.¡± They stop, and smile at her. ¡°You¡¯re doing better than most I¡¯ve seen, at least.¡±


    Raika raises one eyebrow. ¡°And you¡¯ve seen many?¡± she asks.


    ¡°A couple,¡± Kaena admits with a nod. ¡°Three, not counting you. Bodily transformations are a bit more common in the first and second ring, closer to the Throne, and most of those fresh from cultivation hope for a bit of¡­ assisted decompression from the stresses of it all.¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Raika hums, that strange vibration in her voice peeking through for a moment. ¡°And you volunteered?¡±


    The scent of quicksilver and poison grows just a bit brighter for a moment.


    ¡°Usually, yes,¡± Kaena replies, not missing a beat. By their face and voice, you¡¯d never know a thing. ¡°Though my tastes tend to be more¡­ eclectic nowadays.¡± They let their eyes drift a bit, over to Raika¡¯s shoulder where the blanket / robe has fallen away a bit.


    Raika huffs out a breath. Too tired to use the mental energy it would take to snort, to feel all that comes with it and shifts. Then¡­ she breathes in, slow. Breathes out, slow. Let¡¯s Kaena wait for a bit, centering herself against a sea of sensation and unpleasant physicality she has yet to adjust to.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to,¡± she whispers to Kaena.


    ¡°Oh?¡± they ask. They don¡¯t elaborate. Don¡¯t agree or disagree.


    The silence sits between them for a while, the room, Raika realizes belatedly, pitch dark except for the light of gray dusk coming in through the window, and even that is occluded with heavy curtains and wooden boards. She can see in the dark, she realizes. No need to burn Qi, no need to force an alteration. She just¡­ doesn¡¯t seem to mind the dark.


    ¡°I can tell,¡± she whispers. ¡°It¡¯s not exactly a comfortable thing for you, is it? Being here?¡±


    Kaena says nothing. Raika makes sure not to look at them, to let them have the illusion of the dark.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to,¡± she whispers.


    Kaena comes a bit closer. Raika says nothing. They get closer again, and sit on the edge of the bed.


    ¡°What makes you think you can tell how I feel?¡± they ask.


    Raika¡­ shrugs. ¡°Maybe I can¡¯t,¡± she admits. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s just a bad guess. But it doesn¡¯t make it any less true. You don¡¯t have to be here. You don¡¯t have to do anything. If you can¡¯t leave, then¡­ you can take the bed. I¡¯ll take the floor.¡±


    Another guess.


    Kaena huffs behind her, the scent of peach a bit stronger now, with hints of green on the vine. It¡¯s¡­ confusing. Still peach, but different context? So many signals, so many interpretations.


    ¡°Maen asked me to check in on you,¡± they admit. ¡°See if you¡¯re alright. I told her she¡¯d be better for this, but she insisted that I have more experience with dealing with cultivators, which I can¡¯t deny. Is there nothing I can do for you, fair beast? Nothing at all you wish to ask of me?¡±


    Silence in the room. Raika doesn¡¯t know what to say.


    ¡°You¡¯ve deduced quite a lot from so very few interactions,¡± Kaena whispers. ¡°You¡¯ve barely even asked me anything, really. And yet, here you are. So very certain about so very much¡±


    Raika huffs again. ¡°I¡¯m not certain about almost anything,¡± she whispers. ¡°I think I used to be more so. Or maybe I just¡­ never thought it through. Not in the last few years, and not before. The only thing I can say I¡¯ve been truly certain of is who I am and what I won¡¯t allow, and neither of those facts has brought me much more than pain and tribulation. So if I¡¯m wrong, then tell me. Please.¡±


    Kaena says nothing.


    ¡°You do look like you could use some de-stressing, though,¡± they eventually say, a soft smile in their voice.


    Raika laughs a bit. ¡°Gods, yes. By all the hells, I could use some help with rest. But you don¡¯t have to, and if you don¡¯t want to, then I¡¯d much prefer you not do it at all.¡±


    Kaena hums softly at that, a lyrical note that Raika can¡¯t help but hear every part of and somehow still enjoy rather than be overwhelmed. ¡°I can think of a way around that,¡± they whisper.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid it may be a bit¡­ awkward, and if you¡¯re not comfortable with the idea that¡¯s fine. But whatever reservations we may have, you could do with some help figuring out your changes, and you¡¯ll break if you keep letting yourself be worn down. Hard for you to stop, isn¡¯t it? So if someone were¡­ willing. Would you be?¡±


    Raika keeps herself quiet. She lets the silence take its time filling the space. She lets herself think.


    She is here. She is safe. She is deeply uncomfortable in strange skin. She is tired.


    She¡­


    She could use some help.


    She nods.


    Kaena humms. The scent of their Qi reaches out, soft and subtle but expanding, leaving the room, guided by will.


    And, after a few moments, she smells yuzu and small, sharp edges, and hears the sound of footsteps again.


    Maen opens the door slowly, ever so slowly. There¡¯s hesitation there, and Raika winces at the sound of the hinge, but then it is closing behind her, and the sound is gone, and the flutter of Maen¡¯s heart takes its place of prominence in the room.


    She is in a simple shift, less like robes and more like nightwear, making it just past her thighs. She stands there, so much shorter now than Raika, even moreso than before, black hair and flickering cat ears above hazel and dark green eyes. Her skin seems like it¡¯s glowing in the little moonlight that has begun to leak into the room.


    She gives a soft, shy bow.


    ¡°Greetings, honored Raika,¡± she whispers, voice somehow even quieter than Kaena¡¯s. ¡°I am hopeful that I may assist in any way required by my honored seniors.¡±


    Raika and Kaena both huff and give a little laugh at that. ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Kaena says. ¡°You¡¯re not in a sect, kitty, and neither are we. Raika. Do you accept?¡±


    Raika hesitates. She deliberates for a long, long while, long enough that Maen shuffles awkwardly, but in truth, she¡¯s already made her choice.


    She clawed her soul back from gods, clawed her body back from death and monsters, clawed her life back and tore it up in the process. She¡­


    It¡¯s not about pain. She needs rest, or she¡¯ll stop, and she can¡¯t let herself stop. So¡­ a moment. Just one night. Just a little bit of help. She can let the pain back in later. She promises.


    She does not hear or smell or see anything, but she can sense them, outside the room. Masks and scarves and peasant¡¯s clothes, and one with the scent of tangerines and spring and growing roots, whose sandal is under her bed.


    She promises. She¡¯ll hurt later.


    But everyone has to rest sometimes.


    Burning with shame and want and hurt and fear and bone-deep, ruinous exhaustion, she nods.

 Chapter 61 - Therapy is Fuckin Hawt

    ¡°Come here,¡± Kaena whispers. ¡°Slow. Do everything slowly, and quiet, yes?¡±


    Maen nods, softly.


    Raika holds very still. She feels like she can¡¯t breathe.


    Maen takes a few steps forward, and taking a bit of initiative, ¡°quiets¡± her Qi, shifting it into that quieter, less noticeable shape which has served her so well so far. Soon, only the slightest hint of citrus fills the room at her presence. She might have gotten better at it, if even to Raika¡¯s senses it¡¯s gone so quiet.


    It¡¯s not enough for peace, not by a long shot, but it¡¯s just a smidge less overwhelming than the moment before. She¡¯s endured far, far worse than this, but it¡¯s still¡­ uncomfortable, being like this. Hyper-aware of every part of her. The scent, muted but not gone, is¡­ better.


    Kaena, taking some invisible cue or maybe just recognizing the wisdom of Maen¡¯s action, circulates their Qi in the air; while they seem unable to keep it from leaking out into a crowd around them, they do slowly push and pull it away until it¡¯s mostly on the side of the room furthest from Raika and the bed. It¡¯s¡­ probably not as effective as they intended, Raika thinks, but it¡¯s still better.


    ¡°Raika,¡± Kaena says softly, ¡°is it ok for you to lay down? Or is it better for you to stay seated.?¡±


    Raika takes a long, slow breath. The breathing helps. Sometimes it doesn¡¯t, when the scent and sense of Qi get too close and she can taste them, but here, as the two visitors do their best to limit her exposure, it helps. She lays down, forcing the absolute avalanche of new and strange and myriad systems to shift until they¡¯re mostly at rest.


    She¡¯s gotten used to the robes, and the sheets are soft enough that they only feel a little abrasive rather than the skin-peeling sensitivity they elicited earlier from her. It still takes a few calming breaths for her to slow down all the way and untense again. Kaena stands off the bed, standing off to the side to let Raika stretch out and give Maen a place to take their spot instead.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to start basic,¡± they say, voice still soft but no longer as hesitant or as careful as before, expertise peeking through. ¡°Maen, I want you to pick up Raika¡¯s hand. Raika, I want you to stay perfectly still, and just let your hand get picked up. Do what you can not to move it.


    Slowly, gently, Maen follows orders. Raika¡­ struggles a bit. Physical touch hits, and its warm and full of vibration and movement and- mmh. It takes her a moment of cold focus to stop her hand from spasming a bit at the attention her brain is paying to it. It doesn¡¯t help that her hand (or arm?) is heavy enough to surprise Maen with the weight, and that, coupled with the fact that she didn¡¯t even have a left hand not too long ago, makes trying to keep from sending signals to it¡­ difficult.


    They manage.


    ¡°Maen,¡± Kaena whispers, ¡°I want you to gently massage Raika¡¯s hand. Feel out the muscle groups. See how the fingers move. Raika, I want you to keep as still as you can, and watch. We¡¯re going to start matching how your hand feels to what parts of it feel new, and it should hopefully get you started on feeling comfortable with it. It¡¯s ok not to be comfortable right now, there¡¯s a gorgeous young woman, a cultivator even, massaging you, but we¡¯ll get there, hmm?¡±


    A bit of time passes like this. Fingers, then palm, then wrist, and all the while Raika does her best to just pay attention and see how it feels. She lets herself be inactive, and while it¡¯s not yet very restful, considering how much effort it takes to keep still, it¡¯s still¡­ nice.


    She thinks back, trying to distract herself and pay attention at the same time. The last person to give her actual, genuinely positive physical contact was¡­ maybe Li Shu. It hadn¡¯t ever felt particularly intimate, not really; Li Shu didn¡¯t ever really seem to feel any awkwardness examining her, and she¡¯d seen Raika at her absolute lowest more than once. Between that and what she¡¯d looked like, she was pretty sure there had never been a chance in all the Hells it would work, and had nipped that thought in the bud. So¡­ besides medical checks and the occasional hug from a friend, when was the last time someone had touched her and it hadn¡¯t hurt?


    Maybe JiaJia, back when she¡¯d first started hurting herself.


    She lets that thought go before it hurts too much. It¡¯s ok. She¡¯s here, and she will hurt. Her punishment isn¡¯t stopped, just paused.


    Before that, then.


    Hisheng, probably. And Qi Rou before him, and Salas before her, and Jun Kai before them, and so on for a little ways back further.


    Hisheng had been the first one in a long time where she had stayed. He¡¯d been the one to help her learn to stay and cuddle after. He¡¯d been the one who offered first, and it had been¡­ enlightening. It¡¯s why she had stayed so long. It hadn¡¯t felt like it would last, not really, he was far too timid in the dangers he was willing to accept, much too traditional and ¡°by the book¡± in terms of the rules of the sect¡­ but he had been kind. And he had been gentle. And she hadn¡¯t needed to ask for either of those things for him to give them. They might not have lasted forever, but¡­ he was good for her.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Two years. Two years without something as warm as someone holding her hand and rolling her wrist around to see if she was ok.


    She takes long, slow, deep breaths and tries to focus on her wrist.


    ¡°Good,¡± she hears Kaena whisper. ¡°Raika? Alright to move up?¡±


    Raika nods.


    They go slow. It takes time, and Kaena makes sure they both have plenty of it.


    They work their way up to her shoulder, then down the other side, and finally down her legs, rolling her ankles, bending her knee one way and then the other.


    Maen¡¯s face heats up slowly the whole time, tan skin turning cherry in places. Raika is breathing more, trying to keep things simple, trying to hold down the feeling, make it into something simple. She is made of new muscle, new systems, new flesh, and they¡¯re just exploring how it- nope, that¡¯s sexual too.


    And Maen¡¯s smell keeps shifting. Not her Qi; she is a good girl, and keeps that nice and quiet, but the scent of her. Of flesh. Of the flush or hormones and heat and drops of sweat.


    Raika breathes. Long. Slow. Quiet. Tries her best to ignore the churning in her stomach, the mix of shame and panic and plain heat. It¡¯s not a mix she¡¯s used to, and she tries to focus, and there¡¯s a lot she¡¯d rather not be thinking about, and it-


    A wash of peach touches the room. Light, very light, but enough to distract her, and apparently it does something to Maen as well, as she shivers and pauses.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she mumbles, ever so quiet. ¡°I, uh-¡±


    ¡°Breathe, hun,¡± Kaena says, their voice soft, gentle. ¡°Take your time.¡±


    Maen blushes harder, and this time Raika can¡¯t help but laugh a little, which makes the smaller woman flick her ears and cover her face for a bit. ¡°Aaaaaah,¡± she lets out, low and quiet. ¡°Sorry. Trying to help. You¡¯re¡­ distracting.¡±


    Raika huffs. ¡°Which part?¡± she asks. ¡°You seem ever so distracted. I¡¯d hate to make things difficult for you.¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s-¡± Maen pauses, ears flicking wildly. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ good difficult. Maybe. If you like. I don¡¯t know.¡±


    She still doesn¡¯t feel comfortable, per se, but it¡¯s¡­ better. It¡¯s enough that she can shift without needing to stop and do breathing exercises, so she does so. She sits up a bit, very aware of the fact that she¡¯s wearing a big improvised robe and her skin and little else, and that if Maen hasn¡¯t seen anything it¡¯s more likely due to her politeness than luck and proper coverings.


    ¡°Which part distracts you?¡± she asks Maen.


    ¡°...Your eyes,¡± Maen says. ¡°They¡­ they glow a bit, I think. Maybe it¡¯s just the light, but they¡¯re red and gold and sort of shifting, and your pupils are¡­¡± she gulps. ¡°They don¡¯t look like anything I¡¯ve seen before. And you keep¡­ looking at me.¡±


    A sniff of Qi floats by, and Raika makes sure she doesn¡¯t laugh out loud at how Kaena is reacting to all this. For all their calm and composed exterior, the scent of ripened peaches and is enough to let her know just how much the androgynous sex symbol is raptly paying attention and more than a little interested.


    ¡°Well,¡± Raika says, ¡°you are touching me an awful lot. It¡¯s only natural I¡¯d want to keep an eye on you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I suppose that¡¯s true,¡± Maen mumbles, aware that she¡¯s being teased at last. Considering how her ears keep flicking and her heart beats in time to Raika¡¯s words, she doesn¡¯t seem to mind.


    Raika pauses. She takes a deep breath, then sits up. She lets her mind focus where it will, feeling the flesh of her abdomen, the muscles there, the new and strange shapes she¡¯s so constantly aware of. Slowly, she¡­ splits her focus. She lets her body say and be what it will, letting herself feel it, focusing on the exercises Kaena and Maen have been using on her, and opens her eyes and focuses on Maen despite the sensations.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re alive,¡± Raika whispers, like the words struggle to escape, like the wind might blow them away.


    Maen opens her mouth as if to say something, and closes it again, and-


    ¡°You were so scared,¡± Raika says, just as soft, just as porcelain-delicate, as if afraid to give the words weight. ¡°There were so many of them. When I felt that they wanted me, not you, I was so relieved.¡±


    Maen pauses at that.


    ¡°Did you think I would be relieved at that?¡± She asks.


    Raika blinks. ¡°What do you-?¡±


    ¡°I was scared for you too, idiot,¡± Maen whispers, though there¡¯s some heat to her now. ¡°Acting like it¡¯s all fine, so long as you were the only one getting hurt. Maybe this whole ¡®escape¡¯ thing has been a proper nightmare in a lot of ways, but we¡¯re alive. Thanks to you, I¡¯m not wasting away in some meaningless sect. You¡¯ve basically just given off-hand comments and already my cultivation is growing by leaps and bounds and I''m learning to hide my Qi so well that Yun Ka says makes it hard for even her magics to find me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re terrified,¡± Maen says. ¡°I am too. And I know you¡¯re hurting, but¡­ horrors and monsters are part and parcel of life. Especially the lives of cultivators. And that¡¯s something you¡¯ve offered me, which I hold. I owe you, and I want to help, and-¡±


    ¡°And she thinks you¡¯re absolutely radiant,¡± Kaena interrupts as Maen hesitates for a beat, starts to stutter a bit. ¡°Especially when you¡¯re busy being violent, but like this works too, no?¡±


    Maen blushes again.


    Raika hesitates alongside her.


    A week of hesitation meaning death, of training herself to grow past the limitations of doubt and just react, and she¡¯s forced to think again.


    And then Kaena¡¯s Qi reaches out, softly, and¡­ it¡¯s hard to tell via scent, but it kinda nudges her.


    Raika reaches a hand, recently stretched, feeling like it¡¯s almost hers, and cups Maen¡¯s chin. She brings the smaller woman close, making her crawl forward to keep pace with Raika¡¯s touch, until their faces are almost touching.


    She thinks about saying something. Something quippy, or witty, or perfectly on point, something to transmit emotion or make her feel something she¡¯s already feeling, or-


    Nah.


    Raika pulls Maen to her and kisses her, a thrumming sort of purr escaping before she realizes she¡¯s doing it as Maen melts into her arms.


    ¡°Finally,¡± Kaena says, a smile in their voice.

 Chapter 62 - You Should Always Trust Officially Assigned Doctors...

    After a very messy changing of the sheets and a lot of water after the fact, it¡¯s the best sleep Raika has had in a long, long time. No nightmares. No torments. No visions, or waking up in panic, or dreading awakening.


    She wakes up, and there is warmth on her, and it does not feel alien or wrong or like some bullshit religious experience wrapped in magic and terror.


    Maen lies on her, glomped on like a heat seeking amoeba, and snoring softly, a little bit of drool pooling on the pillow under their heads. She can¡¯t help but give a very quiet, subvocal little purr at the sight, the new instinct somehow conveying amusement and contentment without needing input from her. It takes her the better part of twenty minutes to build up the will to get out of bed, and another twenty to extricate from the felinid cultivator, but eventually she makes it free. She turns, catching sight of a chair that had not been there the previous night and looking over its contents. Carefully folded on top of is a set of clothes, hopefully in her size, which she picks up and shakes out. The cut of the robes are open and breezy, accentuating a lack of contact with the skin where it can, and a vivid shade of red, orange and sun-yellow.


    She tries on the underclothes that come with them, and can¡¯t help but wonder where her benefactor got a bra sized for a busty amazon, and decides that maybe it¡¯s best not to wonder. It does go a long way to indicate that the clothes haven¡¯t come from Taurus¡¯ closet, though, which is simultaneously a relief and brings up a lot of questions.


    Beneath the robes, on the chair, is a note. The scent on it marks it as Kaena¡¯s handwriting, sure enough.


    The boss and Yun Ka humbly request your presence at your earliest convenience, it reads. Make sure to make them wait a while, but be nice to Yun Ka. She¡¯s been almost as desperate to get her hands on you as Maen, if only for the pursuit of proper scientific analysis.


    Raika snorts at that, and tucks the piece of paper the note is written on on the bed next to Maen.


    She knows the procedure for this. Either leave the room after the deed is done and before one¡¯s partner awakes, or give a proper send-off before you go. Common decency for the latter, and a sign of how little it meant in the case of the former.


    She reaches a hand out. Her left, she notices. She reaches out to touch Maen¡¯s hair, wake her, to run a hand down tan flesh and see her shiver before she goes. Maybe give a kiss, if she can work up the nerve.


    She can¡¯t. Or doesn¡¯t, at least. One night, she¡¯d promised. One night, and then she could go back to hurting. But the promise comes up against a wall when it comes to hurting Maen alongside it. She¡¯s not promised herself pain to atone for failing to protect one person she cared about just to hurt another. She¡­ compromises. A bit. She can hurt, should hurt, can use the hurt, but no reason to make Maen suffer the same.


    She places a hand on her shoulder and shakes her very lightly, sitting on the edge of the bed (which creaks dangerously when she does, seeing as she¡¯s sitting on one of the places where her grip broke the wood last night). It takes a few shakes (Maen is a much heavier sleeper than she expected), but eventually she stirs, adorable little snores going quiet as she gives a long, catlike yawn and stretch, making¡­ really appealing shapes in the process. Raika¡­ eventually looks away. Respectfully. Kinda.


    ¡°Raika?¡± Maen mumbles, rubbing an eye and turning to look at her. ¡°You¡¯re already up? It¡¯s early, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Raika checks the minimal sunlight coming from outside the window, noting how it still has some of the orange and reds of early dawn, before its fires grow to their peak. ¡°It is,¡± she agrees, keeping her voice relaxed into its more natural state of melodious notes and strange vibrations. ¡°Couldn¡¯t stay asleep. Don¡¯t know if I need as much, anymore. Something else to figure out.¡±


    Maen nods sagely. ¡°Ah yes, yet another thing to research,¡± she mumbles sleepily. ¡°I¡¯ll add it to the list of projects.¡±


    Raika huffs. ¡°Like last night¡¯s?¡± she asks.


    ¡°...if you like,¡± Maen says, giving her space with that slight pause at the front.


    Raika¡­ sighs. ¡°I¡­ yeah. Maybe. It¡¯s not- I mean you¡¯re-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Maen says, patting her hand. She looks a bit disappointed, but not surprised. ¡°I know it¡¯s messy, here. For you way more than me, nevermind all the extra horrors you¡¯re putting yourself through. I have no desire to see you making poor promises if you don¡¯t have to. It just¡­ it would be nice, right?¡±


    Raika nods at that. ¡°It- yeah. It would. Part of the¡­ difficulty of it, sort of. I¡¯ll figure it out.¡±


    Maen shrugs a bit. ¡°You¡¯ve figured out crazier things so far. But¡­ well, I like you, and I¡¯d like to do it again sometime. Make of that what you will.¡±


    And with that said, Maen rolls out of bed, picks up her shift from where they dropped it last night, and gives Raika a peck on the cheek. ¡°See you in a bit,¡± she says. ¡°There¡¯s been a lot of stuff happening lately. I¡¯ll walk you through some of it later, give you the tour. Least I can do, still.¡±


    Raika nods, and says nothing, and lets her head out, tiptoeing back to her quarters and leaving her alone.


    She lets out a breath she hadn¡¯t realized she was holding, and just lets herself feel like an idiot for a while.


    Then, she picks up Dink from their front-row seat over on the nightstand. ¡°Hope we didn¡¯t bother you too much, ya perv,¡± she whispers to it.


    Dink, it says as she hits it to her forehead, telling her in no uncertain terms that it has absolutely no idea what she¡¯s talking about and is just happy to be here.


    She laughs a bit, and then gets up. The next thirty minutes are dedicated entirely to stretching, taking each muscle group and running it through its paces. The night before hadn¡¯t been world-altering or magically given her control of her new systems, but it was enough to get her a bit more comfortable with the idea of overstimulation and has given her some insight into what to do when she feels overwhelmed. The exercises Kaena had helped with genuinely helped ground her in her body, helped the new sensations start to feel like part of her rather than chaotic noise. It¡¯s not perfect, and it¡¯ll take time for her to get used to how her body moves now before she can puppeteer or move around in it as efficiently as she could before, but already she can feel the enhanced strength, the speed of reflexes, the strange reactivity of that second layer of armor-scales beneath her skin, the strange churning and shifting of her internals. Lots to puzzle out, but one thing that remains crystal clear is just how potent her new flesh is, how enhanced it leaves her senses and structure.


    Fuck, if she could still cultivate normally, she¡¯d be set for life. A body-foundation this good in the hands of someone who could advance and conquer realms of spirit and Qi? Whoof.


    It doesn¡¯t take her too long to find Yun Ka, but she does follow Kaena¡¯s advice of giving it a bit of time. Even with how ungodly early in the morning it is, she still perks up visibly at the sight of Raika walking in to the chamber where she woke up from her cocoon.


    A cocoon which, she notices, is still here.


    ¡°Honored Raika!¡± Yun Ka says brightly. ¡°Good morning to you! I must admit, you seem much recovered from your tribulation. It¡¯s exceptional to see you so well!¡±


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    She huffs, shifting vocal cords to bury her natural voice beneath her former tones. ¡°Yes,¡± she replies, ¡°Honored cultivator Maen and honored cultivator Kaena both assisted significantly.¡±


    Yun Ka smiles, bright and toothy and genuinely joyful. ¡°I heard!¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯s rare for Kaena to like someone that much so quickly. I¡¯m glad you didn¡¯t do anything foolish. As long as it takes to earn their trust, it takes way longer to earn it back.¡±


    Raika tilts her head at that. ¡°How can you tell?¡± she asks.


    Yun Ka waves a hand at Raika¡¯s robes as she busies her other hand and a few clacking implements to adjusting something or other on the strange podium in front of her. ¡°The robes, of course,¡± she says with a nod like it¡¯s the most obvious thing in the world. ¡°While they have refused to share insight into their capabilities on this matter with me, they have a remarkable ability to find, locate, or already have stored clothing well-suited to those they approve of. Took over a year for me to get my first outfit piece,¡± she admits, raising her right wrist to showcase a simple bead bracelet. ¡°I haven¡¯t taken it off since. Perfect for fiddling with when I¡¯m getting distracted.¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Raika says, with a nod. ¡°Well, I¡¯m¡­ glad that I did well.¡± She puts the mask back on piecemeal, realizing a little late that she¡¯s been acting relatively candid, even with the rather innocuous subject matter. She creates an easy smile, smoothes her features, relaxes her posture a bit further. ¡°But I heard that some changes had occurred. Anything I should know about?¡±


    Yun Ka nods. ¡°Oh, yeah. Taurus is out dealing with them right now. Your tribulation kicked up quite a fuss. Spirit beasts went wild for a few days, but they calmed down when I set up a Rosencurt Redirection formation around the room. I¡¯m still not sure what exactly, but clearly they sense something crucial about your energy for them, because it¡¯s not true bestial, mental or demonic energy of the kinds that would theoretically drive them to frenzy. Then, once they were gone, some of the villagers started disappearing, so we had to go deal with that, then Taurus and Taran took down a significantly altered variant of the undead artifact constructs that attacked Paleblossom city, which we¡¯re still looking into and is showing concerning signs of exponential growth, and now there¡¯s an Honored Researcher here-¡± (and here she pauses, looking around almost comically as if looking for eavesdroppers)- ¡°who¡¯s being just a real troublemaker, honestly. I mean, he interfered with my data collection! For no reason!¡±


    ¡°Truly an insult to his very title,¡± Raika nods sagely, like she has any idea what she¡¯s talking about.


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Yun Ka says, eyes wide. ¡°Researcher Taurus is doing his job as leader properly, though. He¡¯ll sort it, and if not, then we¡¯ll deal with it.¡± Then, she blinks, as if she switched tracks to a new train of thought hard enough to startle herself. ¡°Speaking of which, here I am performing my function as an apprentice poorly as well! Are you ready for your examination?¡±


    Raika tilts her head. ¡°I apologize, honored apprentice Yun Ka, but I haven¡¯t been informed of this examination. What might it entail? I¡¯m happy to assist with whatever you need!¡±


    Yun Ka brightens again. For all her inability to read many cues, she is clearly interested enough in the people she¡¯s speaking to and her passions that it¡­ surprisingly makes her rather easy to talk to, if you¡¯re already heading in her direction. ¡°Yes!¡± she says, smiling again and sending her implements of brass and copper mechanisms whirling, altering a dozen points and bits of sand and already extending out almost her full body length to start altering and redrawing new sigils to one of the preset formations in the room, off to the side of the section isolated for the cocoon.


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s tons about your Qi that¡¯s still a mystery, and that doesn¡¯t even detail your physical changes. I heard you worked for a time at a medical pavilion; how much do you know about the healing arts and the art of biology?¡±


    Raika tilts her head. ¡°I know some small notes, herbs one might use, basic information about Qi absorption and some formations I might be able to recall. Other than that, only basic information about the organs, veins, muscle groups. I can¡¯t say I¡¯ve heard of the art of biology, though.¡±


    Yun Ka nods. ¡°That is common. Most sects tend to use older works with ancestral knowledge, and tend to hold back on embracing new ideas. The study of the art of biology is the study of the intricacies not just of the human body, but of all bodies, and how they relate to each other. It began as research into those with beast-blood, but it grew quickly from there and as of last century, is one of the three central focuses of the Division of Enlightened Thought. Medical and healing arts relate to simple, surface level items usually, such as cuts and blood flow, and let their greater techniques apply only to Qi and the human form; the art of biology has no such limitations.


    As fascinating as that cocoon is, the fact that you generated it, survived it, and emerged from it transformed are far more fascinating, and we need to properly catalog and try to understand your changes!¡±


    Raika blinks. That¡­ makes a lot of sense. And what¡¯s more, it leads to a perfect in-road with Yun Ka, someone she¡¯s avoided speaking to for some time. The sight of the color of her eyes doesn¡¯t cause much more than a shiver now, and while it might have taken longer had Raika needed to build up the guts to ask directly about her changes and tried to coach it subtly¡­ it¡¯s open and on offer. Any information learned here benefits her more than hiding it would, changing the dynamic from earlier.


    And Kaena asked her to be nice to Yun Ka. If Kaena trusts her, then¡­ it could all be just more extended manipulation, but instincts say otherwise for now, and considering the advantages, it seems worth the risk.


    ¡°It sounds like a fascinating experiment,¡± Raika says, keeping the mask firm. ¡°I would be more than happy to assist.¡±


    ¡°Perfect!¡± Yun Ka says, signaling to Raika to step over into the formation as many of the implements finally retract.


    She does so, and immediately the smell hits her as it activates, boosting the scent of alchemical dust and electricity in the room to new heights compared to what the cocoon has around it. She can¡¯t help but give a shudder at the brief overstimulation, shaking her head, sneezing and shivering all at once.


    ¡°Ah, I apologize,¡± Yun Ka says. ¡°It¡¯s hard to calibrate for your senses without a lot more data, I¡¯m afraid. Is it acceptable for now?¡±


    The mask slips as she keeps twitching slightly, the sense of Qi washing over her in weird and unique waves, but she nods briefly, keeping her eyes screwed shut at the discomfort. ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she murmurs, embarrassed at how easily her control slips and her normal voice begins to peek out. ¡°Just¡­ quickly.¡±


    Yun Ka nods. ¡°We¡¯ll just do a quick preliminary set then recalibrate, ok?¡±


    Without really waiting for confirmation, she feels the Qi and strange feeling of the formation increase momentarily, wandering over her with searching, crackling arcs that leave her borderline murderously holding herself back.


    And then it¡¯s over. Five seconds, tops.


    Yun Ka perks up, her voice breaking through the lingering discomfort.


    ¡°Wow¡­¡± she mumbles, eyes wide as she stares at her podium and the diagrams Raika can see forming over her shoulder. ¡°This is¡­¡±


    ¡°Really frustrating,¡± she finishes.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Raika asks, evening out her breathing and making sure the mask comes back.


    ¡°You make absolutely no sense!!¡± Yun Ka says excitedly. ¡°Come and see!¡±


    Raika comes over to pretty much tower over the contraption-ridden arcanist, looking down at¡­ what vaguely looks like herself, except covered in strange shifting sands and static, black and white on the podium in front of them.


    ¡°Is it¡­ supposed to look like that?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Not at all!¡± Yun Ka replies, more upbeat than she¡¯s ever heard her, which is saying something. ¡°I should be getting a comprehensive breakdown of your internals, but even at the range we normally use it at, much higher than the norm, your skin is still really difficult for the scan to get through! And what I¡¯m seeing under it makes no sense!¡±


    She zooms in on a portion of the medical diagram, near where Raika¡¯s liver¡­ was. As it is, the diagram is blank there, showing occasional bits of muscle amidst the static but little else.


    ¡°There¡¯s supposed to be visible organs here, but what little¡¯s getting through has a bunch of them in all sorts of locations. You¡¯ve definitely got a much shorter digestive tract than you used to, which could mean about a hundred different things, and you¡¯ve clearly still got a heart, but it¡¯s shaped all wrong, and I can¡¯t get a good look at it. Without placement and higher resolution I can¡¯t even tell what some of these are, and your skin (and maybe muscle? Note it down-) are making it very difficult to see anything at all. We¡¯ll have to do a few more scans at least, get an overlay or a deep tissue sample maybe¡­¡±


    Ok. At this point, Raika is¡­ a bit less comfortable with the potential advantages.


    And then it all stops being quite so important as the doors on the far side of the room are thrown open violently, letting in a rush of warm air and a scent that makes her have to fight not to retch.


    Blood.


    Fresh. Vibrant. Alive and trapped, alive and stagnant, alive and cut apart. The scent of glass and sharpened edges as perfect as the cold sun, the scent of something alive made to stay that way, beneath layer after layer of steel and clear glass walls.


    He smells cold.


    ¡°Ah!¡± Says a bright, boisterous man, a vibrant but well-trimmed beard covering the lower half of his face and bright spectacles keeping her from seeing his eyes. He smiles wide, arms outstretched from casting open the door, robes sedate and simple and mostly white and red, a healer¡¯s colors, with only hints of the gold and black of the Altered Cultivation Division. ¡°This must be the ever-so-lovely Yun Ka, and, by height and rumor alone, you must be the famous Raika. An honor to meet such worthy cultivators and prized parts of our division! I¡¯m Zhoulong. Researcher Zhoulong. I¡¯m sure we¡¯re all going to get along famously!¡±

 Chapter 63 - New Friends, New Nightmares, Whos To Say

    ¡°Exciting to see such diligent members of our lovely Division!¡± Zhoulong says with a saccharine smile, strolling into the room like he hasn¡¯t a care in the world, hands clasped behind his back and eyes bright. ¡°So early and already testing! My, aren¡¯t you all just the highest proof of the most delicious of virtues? I¡¯ll have to look over your results, see what lovely results we might be getting, hmm? Ah, but here¡¯s the glaze on the cake!¡±


    Talking almost nonstop since he¡¯s arrived, he pivots and leans at the waist until his face is only inches from the desiccated cocoon, that inane smile nice and locked on his face. ¡°Truly, Honored Researcher Boriah was not exaggerating! A genuine marvel, hmm? And the runework on these formations! They don¡¯t call him a Runemaster for nothing, it would seem. You¡¯d think he¡¯d have trouble with those unfortunate hands of his, but the detail work is impeccable!¡±


    He pauses, tapping his chin and spinning in place to face Yun Ka. ¡°Unless, of course, this lovely example is your doing, Honored Yun Ka?¡±


    Yun Ka is silent for a moment, clearly off-guard and then almost immediately shrinking back under Zhoulong¡¯s gaze. ¡°I- I only assisted, Honored Researcher,¡± she mumbles, quieter than Raika has ever seen her. ¡°All my direction and talent can only be attributed to a worthy master.¡±


    ¡°Oh, now, I¡¯ll have you know my dear, that false modesty is almost as bad as unearned pride!¡± Zhoulong laughs, smiling wider in a dazzling display of pearly whites and what seems like genuine enthusiasm. ¡°This is phenomenal work! And cutting edge, as it were, separating the past from the future with such majestic new tools!¡± He gestures at the many apparatuses and delicate limbs perched on Yun Ka. ¡°I¡¯ve rarely seen anyone so well-versed in Imperial apparati, especially ones so new. You certainly don¡¯t fail to impress!¡±


    ¡°And you!¡± he continues, turning on his heel again to face Raika, who has mostly been watching proceedings, face neutrally positive as she forces her muscles to soft-lock into her mask. ¡°You must be the new arrival I¡¯ve heard so much about. Oh he¡¯s most certainly tried to keep you under wraps, but word about as enlightening a prospect as you do get out and about, yes indeed. Raika the Bloody, as you were, and Raika the delightful as you are!¡±


    She blinks at that, then bows. Patience, always. She¡¯s stayed with Taurus on the promise of repaid patience, she can manage to let this¡­ eccentric fuck bother her for long enough for him to leave her alone.


    Then again¡­ the thought of the repayment of patience being the right moment to sneak a finger through his ribs and heart is awful tempting. Either way, then.


    ¡°You are too kind, Honored Researcher,¡± she says, trying to imitate the style of honorifics the Division uses. ¡°That is the proper mode of address? Researcher, lead of your own pack, as it were?¡±


    Zhoulong throws his head back in mirth, cackling with good humor. ¡°Indeed, and what unruly a pack they make!¡± he smiles. ¡°Hard to leash, never mind house-train! Considering the rumors around you and this lovely thing-¡± he says as he taps the cocoon- ¡°you paint a lovely picture of your mentor and his ability to leash you, as it were. Such a feral thing, yet so polite! Color me pleasantly surprised, lovely.¡±


    She is very, very glad for the fact that she can consciously keep any tics from hitting her face.


    ¡°I am honored by your kind words, Researcher,¡± she says with another bow (is this too many bows? She doesn¡¯t know, but better too many than too few, and people bow way too often as it is right?). ¡°I can only credit the actions of my benefactor and his wisdom.¡±


    Oof. That one hurt to say.


    He laughs. ¡°Speaking of which, I do apologize, but he will be arriving shortly and likely in a huff. You know how his kind can get, all riled up, but I just couldn¡¯t help myself, I just had to come see what delights await in our cooperation.¡±


    She cocks her head. ¡°Cooperation?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry yourself over the matter,¡± he says, smiling and waving away her question. ¡°You¡¯ll be informed as needed, I assure you.¡±


    Before she can do much more than twitch a finger at the thought of strangling the arrogant, smiling ass, she smells a wave of Qi as it flows in through the open door, wind and mountains and that which grazes upon them landing inside the flesh of the massive, horned and alien-looking Taurus. As far as she can read his expressions and the nuance of the Qi he¡¯s using to land on the earth from above (leaving barely a scuff against the dust), he doesn¡¯t even seem upset, but there¡¯s a slight giveaway in how his eyes flick to them and back to Zhoulong. She¡¯s not sure if the smaller human noticed, but his smile doesn¡¯t waver, even at the arrival of the towering minotaur.


    ¡°Runemaster Boriah!¡± Zhoulong says, throwing his arms wide in welcome. ¡°What a joy it is to greet you! I trust that my associates handled introductions and paperwork properly?¡±


    ¡°They most certainly did,¡± Taurus rumbles, a slight smile on his face as he bows his head to enter the building. A slight brush of his Qi activates as he does, shutting the doors behind him with a flare of glowing reactants and formations. ¡°I must say, while this has been a pleasant surprise, Researcher Zhoulong, a surprise it remains. I am impressed by the speed in which you have arrived after what must have been such a startling breach of security, no?¡±


    ¡°Ah, but what¡¯s a little security breach amongst friends, Boriah!¡± Zhoulong laughs, patting the much, much larger man on the bicep so he doesn¡¯t have to strain to reach his shoulder. ¡°I know how you love your niche little projects, but come on, now, you can¡¯t keep them hidden forever! And tell me, is all this just to keep hidden this lovely new acquisition? I mean I can understand rural living, but the whole building is practically a hovel!¡±


    ¡°Not all of us have the mindset required to dedicate ourselves to high standards of luxury,¡± Boriah says with a cold smile. ¡°But perhaps with you here, we can expect a fresh influx of silks and elderwood.¡±


    Zhoulong chuckles, nodding along amicably. ¡°Why I surely can¡¯t imagine why not, especially considering the unfortunate lack of results we¡¯ve been seeing in the search for these new weapons. But I hear that one of your experiments assisted in a takedown of a newer model of the Paleblossom constructs? Surely such a thing should be admired post-haste, no? Come on, Boriah; as a fellow Honored Researcher, I am sure I can assist you in some small way upon a closer examination, no?¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Boriah gives a calm, quiet huff, smiling without teeth at the spectacled human beside him. There is a silent beat where Raika wonders if he will say no¡­ and then-


    ¡°Yun Ka,¡± he says quietly, ¡°keep an eye on the cocoon, will you? And if you get a chance, please send Kaena to the basement to meet us. They¡¯ll know where to go.¡±


    Yun Ka, quiet, nods. The apparatuses all around them click into place along their harness, even as her jade stone attached at her hip gives a soft glow before diminishing. She takes a few steps to the side, well past either of them, and bows lightly at the waist, hands held in front of her.


    "Raika,¡± Taurus says as he starts to walk past her and the mask she wears, Zhoulong watching them both closely the whole time; ¡°Taran is waiting outside. If you would be so kind as to go and keep them company in whatever they¡¯re doing, it would be very appreciated.¡±


    She looks over at Yun Ka, who seems not to notice or perhaps simply not to want to respond, and nods before the hesitation can point to any sign against her. She¡¯s not really sure if or how it might be held against her, but if the cold war of compliments between the two of them might be any indication, it points to troubles of the absolute worst sort; political. Taurus has alluded to how other Researchers might interact with her and ¡°those she cares for¡±, but all she really has is his word, so to speak.


    Patience, then. It chafes at her a bit. The feeling of the leash coils, as it always tends to do these days. The more she grows, the more she feels it, tugging at her, reminding her of her Truth and of how it strains against where she stands and what she is doing, the mask she is putting up.


    She can cope. For now.


    Besides, Zhoulong means there¡¯s a new player on the scene. Chaos presents opportunity far more surely than patience, and if she can use both, well¡­ all the better, perhaps, to hunt with.


    All of it passes through her mind in a heartbeat. She smiles, easy and simply and pleased, quiet and friendly and demure despite her size. ¡°Of course, Honored Researcher. I am yours to command.¡± All it takes is another bow, and she is free to go, free to see what she can learn from all this, and what vulnerabilities she can find with Taurus distracted and new elements thrown into the mix.


    She¡¯ll have to keep Maen safe, of course. Erase some of the writings Taurus has about her if she can, see if she can¡¯t take Qen Hou and Li Shu off the list of targets, and remove the trackers, on the assumption that they¡¯ll detonate or send some signal (or both) if separated from their assigned flesh for too long. All doable, to some degree. If she can learn how they¡¯d try to track her, or if they¡¯d even care to without ¡°Boriah¡± to push for it, then she might be all the way in the clear, or at least in a much better position to find future vulnerabilities. All of this is very doable, especially out here in the wilds, rather than in central, where they¡¯re off to for ¡°testing¡± after this.


    Honestly, this might even be rather ideal. A hint of a plan is forming.


    Except for the smile on Zhoulong¡¯s face, which follows her.


    It¡¯s not as good as hers, though she can hardly blame him for that. She¡¯s a freshly-evolved freak of nature with the ability to stop her face from moving at all if she wishes, shaping it to conscious will alone. He¡¯s just a very, very well trained actor. But a mask is a mask.


    His is well crafted. She can see, through enhanced eyesight and newfound understanding, exactly how good it is. But the smile, and the laughter, and chaos and carefree attitude he exudes all reek of falsehood to her.


    So. Maybe not ideal-ideal.


    But what¡¯s another predator in the bunch? An added thing to maneuver around, something else to dig her claws into if she needs it. If she can. Another challenge, in a grand series.


    Arrogance and assumption are what got JiaJia fucking killed last time she went off half-cocked. So it cannot be arrogance that guides her now. But she just fought her way through a week long horror story in the wilds. She has eaten the flesh of monsters and been remade. She told a dream vision of a fragmented infinity to go fuck itself and lived to tell. What it actually meant, or means, she doesn¡¯t know, and Yun Ka, her first attempt at finding out more, is as lost as she is. Either way, what matters is that it is a mistake to let herself assume she is the same, even as it is a mistake to act as if being greater in strength is enough to let herself act the same as before.


    So she will wait. She will be patient. She will learn.


    And if she sees a chance, a real chance, she will not hesitate.


    She walks out the front door, hands clasped before her, the very image of a proper and respectful young woman, towering a solid bit above anyone but Taurus in their vicinity, wearing robes gifted by a fellow experiment and under the authority of a monster that has asked of her to be a slave so that she may kill him.


    And finds Taran standing, surrounded by more of the very same.


    None of them are using Qi, not so much as a drop, and while she probably still could sense them if she pushed herself and got a bit closer, it¡¯s not the time for that. That can come soon, but it doesn¡¯t have to be now. Introductions are in order, after all, and she has a mask to wear. Better not to show too much, even if it means she doesn¡¯t get quite as much immediately, either.


    All five of them stand, side by side, in a sort of pyramid with one slightly further forward, two behind and to either side, and one behind and to the side of those after. Taran is leaning, casually, rather lackadaisical against the side of the door to the stone building they¡¯ve set up, a long rifle with its butt on the ground and the tip of its barrel over one of their shoulders, the whole thing seeming to be made of living matter, long and snow-white flowers over where the sight should be, bits of bark and living green plant and pale wood making up ever part of it, including the barrel and trigger. They give her a nod, their body language once again strangely distinct from before, almost serpentine in its grace and fluidity, but say nothing, and never take their eyes off the newcomers in front of them.


    The first one is tall, their skin scaly like that of a reptile, flowing and shifting and churning until, like an optical illusion, she occasionally thinks that she can see them breaking apart and reforming into actual snakes, all coiled about each other to imitate a person clad in albino skin and purple eyes. The one on his right has a sharp and strange look, and his skin is scarred, red and bright and painful. Every part of him looks like it has been wounded in some way, but rather than being bandaged, they have all been left simply to fester, bits of pus showing themselves here and there with metallic edges poking through in a dozen different places, leaving his hair patchwork, his body muscular and bulging but wounded always. On his left instead, there¡¯s a woman, short to the point of being barely up to Raika¡¯s thigh, hair and body bright red with tones of brown and black poking through like the spots on a cheetah, and ears so large and pointed that they make it almost all the way to the ground behind her as she stands, barefoot and clawed. The two behind them, in turn, are identical in every way, perfectly inhuman, their bodies too perfect, taken to an impossible extreme¡­ and yet, each one bearing a familiar dot of peach and gold on their face, one over their left eye, the other over their right.


    The man in front bows before her as she arrives.


    ¡°A pleasure,¡± he whispers, his voice a surprising and beautiful baritone. ¡°I had heard we may meet more of our fellows, but given the way of our greeting by your surprisingly vocal friend, I was starting to assume that we¡¯d have to lodge out here. I am Jun Vral. You, I assume, would be the one known as Raika?¡±


    She bows her head, smile perfect and perfectly polite. ¡°I am she,¡± she says with an exceedingly short bow. ¡°I assume that you¡¯re here as the members of Researcher Zhoulong¡¯s team?¡±


    He gives her a strange smile, made all the stranger by the way it looks as his skin moves, ever so subtly. ¡°I suppose that might be one word for it, yes,¡± he says. ¡°Here to assist however we may the Honored Researcher, Runemaster Boriah.¡±


    He bows again, deeper this time, and this time she does sense something. A drop of Qi, sent out as a greeting, a bit forward but not unexpected in cultivator circles, and as the scent of it hits her. And her mask slips for a moment.

 Chapter 64 - Surely These Woods Hold No More Fucked Up Shit?

    She breathes, deep and loud and long, and does her best not to think about their new visitors.


    She keeps the politicking and masking back in the mess that is the poor little village. As much as she values her new perspective, as proud as she feels of the fact that she has the patience to utilize it, it¡¯s still exhausting to exercise both constantly, especially so soon after the blood and ruinous violence that defined her so severely barely days ago. It took her the better part of a day, night, experienced medical intervention, and another day to be able to move without feeling overwhelmed, and adding to that the effort of being constantly controlling her face and dredging her mind for whatever bullcrap people think is ¡°proper¡± or ¡°polite¡± has left her a bit worn.


    When Kaena emerged from the basement to greet Zhoulong¡¯s group, she took Taran¡¯s unspoken invitation to go out on patrol almost instantly.


    It really was unspoken, too; whoever is in control, or fronting, or however their system may work, seems either willingly or entirely nonverbal. As Kaena took over introductions and assisting their new ¡°visitors¡±, the rifle-wielder looked over at Raika, eyebrow cocked, face half-masked, and jerked their heads towards the woods. Frankly, that¡¯s all she really needed. Any excuse to get the hell away from what they smelled like.


    Though she did grab Maen first. No fucking way she¡¯s leaving her alone with them, or with Zhoulong. Not ever.


    They waited for about thirty minutes on the outskirts of town, just to be quite sure that there wouldn¡¯t be any more blinding mad rushes of beasts crawling out of theoretically nowhere trying to get a taste. Raika isn¡¯t worried, hasn¡¯t been since she woke up; something feels¡­ different. Beyond the fact that there¡¯s been no mention of a beast tide assaulting the village so far, she also feels¡­ like she knows exactly how empty the woods are. It¡¯s no single sensation, no single idea or feeling, but somehow as she stares into the trees, her mind picturing vividly every shadow crawling with new teeth and claws, she just knows, deeper than the fear, that it is empty there. The instinct of trauma and a new, unnamed thing clash, and despite how she¡¯s sure she will have screaming nightmares for years because of that week alone, she is even more sure of the fact that she is alone here.


    Well. Except for the ghosts, Maen, and Taran.


    A brief dialogue from Dink helps to quiet the former, and as for the latter¡­ she knows where they are.


    Which seems to start really annoying whoever is fronting in Taran.


    They¡¯ve been traveling ahead of her and Maen. Maen sticks close to her, her Qi repressed constantly, which Raika can¡¯t help but appreciate not only for the good sense it demonstrates, but for how much it helps with the constant flood of new smells washing against her. The act of quieting her Qi seems to release some of its scent, ironically, but it¡¯s still less overall than if Raika tried to drink deeper of the air around them and pick it up, so she¡¯s still grateful. Further, it seems like the scent of Yuzu has started to fade as well, which bodes well for theoretical balance between the felinid woman¡¯s scents.


    Raika smiles, half-mask, half victorious grin, as their guide doubles back to check on them once more and finds them much further along than expected again.


    Raika can¡¯t smell them. Not unless they¡¯re very close, which is strange considering how every time they move, the scent of alchemical concoctions and elixirs seems to waft from them, a dusty, chemical-and-herb smell that stings the back of her throat. They wander far, utterly silent even as they carry a rifle literally taller than they are without bumping even a single branch, and their scent fades fast, but¡­ she can tell where they are. Always. She¡¯s not sure how, yet, but¡­ part of her wonders if she can¡¯t run off and try to hunt a spirit beast, just to see what her new abilities might be or mean.


    The third time they double back, they just give Raika a little huff, before turning away again.


    ¡°Is there something I can call you?¡± Raika asks them.


    They cock their head, and then turn and raise an eyebrow at Maen.


    ¡°Wha- I didn¡¯t know that she didn¡¯t know!¡± Maen says with a blink and a bit of a blush. ¡°Uh, okay, apologies. Raika, this is one of Taran¡¯s Others. He mentioned that her name is Tracker before they switched, but¡­ not much else, if I¡¯m being honest. You know how he can be.¡±


    Raika shrugs. A bit, maybe, but not that much. Nice dude. Full of baggage. Bit lazy. All in all, pretty relatable. ¡°Well, Tracker,¡± she says, ¡°it¡¯s nice to meet you, I guess. One tap for yes, two for no, body language for the rest?¡±


    Tracker seems a bit taken aback by the blase attitude, but recovers to their bored posture pretty quick. They tap their rifle butt against a nearby trunk, but then also just points at her head and nods or shakes. Cues for sound, cues for visual.


    Raika smiles, more casually, and nods. ¡°Sure. I¡¯m not really sure what sort of set-up you have with Taran, but let me know if there¡¯s anything you want me to annoy him about when he¡¯s front and center. Hao Kai had plenty, so I figured I¡¯d ask.¡±


    Tracker throws her head back, laughing soundlessly and shaking their head. They make some sort of hand signals, a gesture-language maybe, then shakes her head again and just gives a shrug, before briefly standing upright and miming sipping tea, then making a ¡°talk¡± motion with her free hand.


    ¡°He is a bit of a talker,¡± Raika chuckles, keeping responses vague but enjoying the ¡®description¡¯.


    Tracker nods, smiles beneath their mask, and then hooks a thumb back over their shoulder, raising an eye as a question.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be fine,¡± Raika says. ¡°You scout ahead, I¡¯ve got some stuff to catch up on about¡­ all this.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ll be happy to help,¡± Maen says, still nervous in the woods but enjoying the ambiance of the conversation. ¡°Can¡¯t exactly keep up, but anything I can do, I shall, ¡®honored fellows¡¯!¡±


    Tracker lets out another soundless laugh, the slight sound of raspy air leaking from lungs less an indicator as the body language that accompanies it, and then gives a salute. She turns, hopping over a fallen log and taking off again, not moving all that fast but somehow seeming to step exactly where she needs to avoid any hazards and guarantee speedy travel through the woods.


    ¡°That¡­ does bring up a question,¡± Maen says. ¡°Why did you bring me? Is¡­ is it a training thing? Because I¡¯ve been working on that, and I¡¯d rather you be able to focus out here. Though if my being here helps with any bad memories, I¡¯m glad for it! Taurus brought you back already in the cocoon, but Yun Ka has that weird podium of hers, and I tracked you whenever I could, and it definitely looked¡­ fraught. I¡¯ve only heard of sensing a beast¡¯s pressure and presence, not really their Qi, not without some powerful Qi senses or a higher cultivation, but I suppose the Empire has devices to track even this now.¡±


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    ¡°Training is a good idea,¡± Raika interrupts. ¡°I¡¯ve noticed your results, and you don¡¯t smell like medical herbs anymore. When it comes to Qi, I might be able to still smell it, but only very close, and only if you¡¯re trying to hide it, ironically. Have you been cultivating at all?¡±


    Maen nods, a bit embarrassed if the blush is anything to go by. ¡°A bit,¡± she admits. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ not in the habit, and it¡¯s only been a few weeks. Busy ones, too.¡±


    Raika snorts, trembling a bit at the way her lungs exhale more air than she¡¯s taken in and the muscle-movements shift all sorts of things inside her. ¡°I¡¯m not some old master or sect cultivator, Maen. Cultivate at your pace. I only got you out of that mess and into this one because you asked me to. Your path is your own.¡±


    She blinks. ¡°Well, I, uh¡­¡± she gulps, then takes a breath. ¡°Well, yes, I¡¯ve heard that cultivators should have their own paths. But I still trust your advice, and you¡¯ve at least done a lot more cultivation than I have. So, what¡¯s next?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Raika says, scratching the back of their head, ¡°I guess just that. Find an isolated room and trance for a while. It just takes some meditation, but usually after the first time you get it, your mind and body just start to shift together on instinct. At least that¡¯s how it¡¯s always been for me, and how it was explained to me is that cultivation and its pursuit are the truth of life itself, so we¡¯re made to be able to cultivate by birth and life itself.¡±


    Maen nods. ¡°Well ok! That seems doable, I suppose. Does beg the question again, though, of why I¡¯m here?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± she hesitates.


    No. This is Maen. She needs someone to trust, or she¡¯ll go fucking madder than she already is.


    Perfect honesty, or none at all here.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want you near them,¡± she says, fighting to keep her voice at normal volume, to exude confidence and casual ease that she usually feels, and which has been missing since her evolution and its difficulties. ¡°They smell¡­ bad. I don¡¯t know how to describe it, it doesn¡¯t make a lot of sense out of my head sometimes, but Researcher Zhoulong and that Jun Vral both, and I can only assume the rest as well. I couldn¡¯t get close enough, and I don¡¯t want to until I have to.¡±


    ¡°Do you think they¡¯re a direct danger?¡± Maen asks, quietly.


    ¡°Absolutely.¡±


    ¡°So we¡¯re avoiding them?¡±


    Raika hums a note. ¡°Maybe. For now, at least. I needed out, though, and I am not leaving you alone with them if I can help it.¡±


    At this, Maen grins the cheekiest grin Raika has seen from her. She leans over and pokes Raika in the bicep, which is basically head-height for her.


    ¡°Oooooh,¡± she whispers dramatically, ¡°you like me.¡±


    ¡°Obviously,¡± Raika grins, this one free and feral. ¡°You can thank Kaena for the help, but your tongue is pretty good at being convincing when it isn¡¯t trying to be clever.¡±


    Maen laughs at that, and Raika blinks, then grins wider.


    It¡¯s¡­ nice. To know she can still joke.


    And then something moves in the underbrush and absolutely ruins the moment.


    There is a moment of severe disconnect, an instinct that feels out of place moving her entire body faster than she can even perceive what¡¯s happening, even with her enhanced senses. The thing does not smell like anything at all, it has no heartbeat, it has an anti-presence even as it clouds itself in dirt. It has barely shifted, hardly even twitched, but even that much is enough to tell her that it is here and that it can move.


    It is buried. Under the earth, maybe five or six feet deep, somehow beneath the roots (and she can feel a tree¡¯s roots now, ain¡¯t that something) and cloaked in the density of the ground and the scents of all that¡¯s around it. She¡¯s not sensitive enough to pick up a shape or details or much at all, but the ground moved as the thing trembled, and in that trembling she directs her attention towards it. And it shifts.


    As she enters a stance, her entire body moving like a well-oiled machine in a way that makes her want to vomit and roar at once, it moves again.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Maen asks, Qi quieted to almost nothing, stepping away cautiously.


    ¡°Something moving underground,¡± Raika growls, quiet.


    As she takes a step towards it, it explodes into motion.


    In a moment of upheaval, a hill is spawned where there was flatly inclined earth before. Everything around her shifts and alters, Maen falling over backwards behind her but her own feet locked steady against the earth, muscles shifting, and sharpened points locking her against the ground as her joints shift and change her into something she can barely call a human stance at all. She balances on the balls of her feet, taloned claws digging into the soil, her balance perfect even as the ground roils, and then the hill practically detonates.


    The thing that emerges does not look like a zombie. If it ever did, the roiling black stabbing through it in every direction rectifies that illusion. It is wrapped about a corpse, emerging from it like the whole emerges from the soil, but in the naked form of grey and necrotic flesh in front of her, she sees a hateful garden of black and metal.


    What was once a person, a young man by the looks of him, has lost half its face to a metallic mask, lenses and strange apparatuses reminding Raika a bit of Yun Ka as they click and whirr. Where there used to be arms, there are now what look like art projects, black metal sharpened to razor edges and grinding against itself with a horrific screech as mimicries of hands and claws and joints shoot out towards her. Where before there was a human torso, now there is strangely sagging skin, jutting spikes reminiscent of a mouth or animal trap yawning open towards her as if to swallow her directly.


    It is a horror. A nightmare. A desecration.


    It is¡­ slow.


    She blinks at that. Or rather, she tries to.


    She blinks, and a new set of eyelids shutter closed and open again, keeping her vision uninterrupted as she stares at the thing launching itself at her. It¡¯s not frozen, no, but it seems like it¡¯s moving at maybe three-quarters speed, every moment telegraphed.


    She feels her heart, and sees it is sped up on its own, but without any pain or stress. New chambers beat there, blood flowing out far faster and more violently and brought back twice as quick. The tingling starts again, her Qi flowing through flesh and bone and organ, but it follows patterns now, flowing like jetsam in tandem with her blood and shivering apart into a feeling of raw energy and strength as she tenses muscles it flows past.


    And then she steps forward and tears the abomination¡¯s arms off at the shoulder.


    It can¡¯t stop her. It can¡¯t move fast enough.


    She grins then.


    It staggers, face just as slack, the strange apparatus covering half its face flickering wildly and clicking like an infuriated insect as it darts between her and Maen, as if confused.


    ¡°I¡¯ve fought stoats tougher than you,¡± Raika tells it, stepping forward again.


    And then she takes its head in her hand, and simply¡­ removes it.


    Ah, the glories of power.


    The broken toy of some horrifying underworld collapses, strings cut. She takes its legs off and opens its torso anyways, just to make sure, but the only piece of marble she finds is ensconced neatly in its head, the machinery it¡¯s connected to still ticking away frantically.


    ¡°What the fuck is that!?¡± Maen yells, now seeming almost as annoyed as she is terrified.


    Raika turns to her, smiling, reveling in power even as she feels a headache coming on from how much she had to focus just to keep steady during those few seconds. ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± she says, holding the head like a trophy. ¡°But if it¡¯s all we have to deal with to catch this weapon-smith, we might have to come up with some excuse to stay, because this thing¡­ wasn¡¯t that tough.¡±


    Maen narrows her eyes. ¡°Oh yeah, honored one?¡± she asks. ¡°Then why are you bleeding?¡±


    Raika looks down, surprised. There, on her left arm, is a cut. She frowns, focusing on it, but¡­ rather than simply closing or shifting as she commands, the cut remains. The wound sits there, its weight somehow¡­ more? As she watches, the blood keeps leaking, even as she wills it to stop, wills her skin to close over it. In the end, she simply restricts the bloodflow heading to that part of her arm, slowing the bleeding but still not stopping it.


    She turns to look at the thing she holds, then down at its ruined body. A glint of red against its ribcage, from when she tore it apart.


    She remembers the smell of the cold at the end of things, and wonders.


    Then she looks down at the hill it exploded from, suddenly far more eager to check and feel for any signs of another one, and is surprised once more.


    ¡°Maen?¡± she asks. ¡°Any chance Yun Ka might have mentioned some kind of tunnels under the village?¡±


    Maen tilts her head at the question. ¡°No, why?¡±


    Raika takes a step to her left as she feels Tracker coming closer to check on them, revealing the smooth, almost organic-looking tunnel exposed beneath ruptured soil.


    ¡°Because I think we should probably check for tunnels under the village.¡±

 Chapter 65 - Something(s) Wicked This Way Come

    It doesn¡¯t take too long to figure out a workaround for the wound. The weight of the cut is real, and it feels like a weight she¡¯s experienced before. The thought of it brings up the memory of razors and black metal and white stone, of the vision she experienced, of the stone she found orbiting her ¡°self¡± in the cocoon. What exactly it¡¯s doing, or what it¡¯s drawing its power from, she assumes relates to the Cold Sun, probably, and either way it clearly limits her healing.


    So¡­ she just removes the part that¡¯s hurt.


    When Maen isn¡¯t looking, turning to greet Tracker, rifle at the ready and leaking the scent of thorns, roses and bone from its barrel, she reshapes her hand into a claw. What might have been an exercise in madness and self harm before, now, feels easy; she pushes the bone forward, uses her reservoir of life energy and Qi (overlapping but distinct) to force her joints and muscles to adapt, and then sharpens the bone itself, watching it narrow itself, material shifting away from the point while maintaining the lattice-architecture of it and leaving a smooth blade that extends several inches past her finger. Then, she just slices off a chunk of flesh beneath the cut.


    She catches the flesh as it falls, watching it. Her own arm, now free of the cut, heals over cleanly and immediately; blood flows out from the wound even as muscle fibers and skin regrow at visible rates, flowing over the wound until the blood retreats back into her body, leaving the area without even a scar.


    But on the severed part of her, the cut grows.


    It spirals, bit by bit, its ends stretching and following some unknown pattern as it wraps about the meat. The cut yawns wider, the edges of it stretching apart, its depths going deeper into the flesh, and then the end of the cut reaches the end of the piece she cut off-


    And expands down onto her hand.


    She drops the flesh and the cut immediately, watching even as the cut divides it further and further until it looks more like diced meat than a piece of her arm, and cuts off her hand.


    That, Maen notices.


    ¡°Raika!¡± she yells, eyes wide. ¡°What in the hells!?¡±


    Raika picks up the severed hand by a finger, even as a new one begins to regrow from the stump, nubs of bone and flowing ribbons of muscle slowly emerging from the wound and regenerating. A minute, maybe, and she¡¯ll be fine. The points with her stump at the hand as it slowly divides in half, the cut extending through it as well.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± she says, ¡°but don¡¯t let it cut you. I think it¡¯s slower on living flesh, but it wasn¡¯t healing, even on me.¡± she waves her half-reformed hand.


    ¡°Leave the body,¡± she says. ¡°Maen, can you call Taurus? Still can¡¯t use Qi outside my flesh, and I don¡¯t have a speaking stone besides. Tracker, can you-¡±


    She turns to look, and sees Tracker gone.


    She looks to Maen, panic receding a bit as she sees the felinid woman still there, hand on a small speaking stone and bringing it to her lips to speak. Her eyes are wide, but she¡¯s in control, already improved from the panic she was showing earlier.


    ¡°Where did they go?¡± she asks.


    Maen shakes her head, speaking into the stone, some sort of official-sounding words like ¡°intrusion detected¡± and ¡°assistance requisition¡± coming from her lips as her eyes dart around, tracking the dirt around them for other fast-forming hills.


    Raika focuses, casting her senses out, and detects Tracker a moment before she hears the gunshot. The forest echoes with the retort of gunpowder and Qi, the smell of thorns filling the wind for a moment, the sound loud enough to send birds fluttering for miles.


    And then Maen gives a squeak of surprise as Raika throws her over a shoulder and sprints towards the gunshot, away from the tunnel and the abomination there, still twitching.


    Her legs reform again, back to that combat stance even as different muscle clusters and weaves activate. She feels herself grow a few inches in height, her body¡¯s weight shifting and optimizing for a sprint-


    And then she has to stop, almost immediately, face inches from a tree after a single step as she covers almost triple the distance she expected.


    Maen gasps, then lets out a little yell of pain as the whiplash hits her, spine bending as she goes from bent over Raika¡¯s shoulder to almost thrown off it by sheer force of inertia. She grunts, hands gripping Raika¡¯s robes hard in pain.


    ¡°Sorry!¡± Raika says, crouching and letting her off immediately. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to go that fast, that was-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine!¡± Maen hisses, waving Raika away and shoving her towards the sound of the gunshot as another rings out. ¡°Go, go! I¡¯ll be fine, I¡¯ll hide, make my way back. Just go, the more you worry about me the more time we waste!¡±


    Raika hesitates a moment, and Maen gives her a glare that makes it very clear that she is dead serious and that Raika¡¯s being an idiot. For all her awkwardness, Maen is neither stupid nor cowardly, and she hisses a bit as Raika doesn¡¯t take off.


    Raika nods. ¡°Stay safe,¡± she orders, and then her flesh shifts, her spine and organs and weight and legs all reformatting into something new and made to run, and she¡¯s gone.


    She follows the scent and sound both. Tracker is moving fast, leaving a trail of both, even as their ¡°presence¡± Raika has been following flickers in and out as they move. She finds the spot where the first gunshot occurred and finds another tunnel. This one¡¯s empty, the scent of wild, sharp flowers and old bones wafting from the crater that has been blasted through almost ten feet of solid earth and through said tunnel. There doesn¡¯t seem to be any sort of corpse-weapon, which means-


    Tracker figured out how to find the tunnels, and is going to check them across the perimeter.


    And then, rather than a third rifle shot with the scent of wilderness and death to it, the sound of fireworks fills the air as smaller guns begin to light up the forest ahead of her.


    Raika tightens her robes from where it¡¯s started to slip off from sheer wind resistance, and moves.


    Clawed feet hit the ground for impossibly powerful traction. Heel, knee and thigh all reform, their forms re-woven to allow her to detonate explosively against the ground and pull her legs back in time to react to obstacles and land the next step. Her shoulders and frame all shift, making her feel like an arrow cutting through the air in front of her, and her eyes briefly double in vision before eyesight returns and allows her to see wider, faster, fast enough to react. She feels organs churning, and feels a mix of elation and nausea as she feels chemicals and fluids emerge from them, materials she hasn¡¯t studied or which may not even be native to human bodies boosting her system in a hundred ways. She¡¯ll have to stop and study this at some point, but for now¡­ for now, there is a gorgeous, glorious thrill.


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    She is more. She wonders if her flesh is something new, some unique transformation, or if inside her one might find evidence of muscles and organs of beasts, consuming and consumed in turn.


    Then she is there, the entire forest blurring past her, and she sees Taran.


    They are Taran again, she¡¯s fairly certain. Shit-eating grin, strangely puppet-like movement, mask lowered from their face and the rifle Tracker was using now slung along his back. Even as she watches, it seems to shrink, patterns of flora and living material shifting into a more sedate and simplified state, shrinking in size.


    Still, Taran doesn¡¯t seem to need it.


    There are three of the corpse-weapons here, though whether Tracker got lucky finding a bunch at once or they reacted to the disruption of their tunnel system isn¡¯t clear. Taran moves with impeccable precision, stiff and stuttering form suddenly moving with perfect fluidity and intensity the moment before an attack would hit them. Their legs skip and hop and occasionally even hold stances as their upper body twists and spins and leans every which way, like a mad jester or a puppet whose strings are held by a drunk.


    And all throughout this, he never stops firing.


    He alternates between four guns. She sees the powder-and-shot pistol, dark wood and opal flashing in the light of a thunderous detonation whose flash is black rather than white, disappearing into his coat and being replaced by a revolving pistol, steel and brass flashing in red-and-yellow flashes of gunpowder and Qi, before it clicks empty and is replaced in turn. She sees something sleek, needles poking from it, and as she watches each one realigns with something like a crossbow to fire until they are depleted, each needle sinking even into the metal of his attackers and leaving them juddering and sparking, until it in turn is replaced by what looks like a shotgun, cheaply made and strung together with rope and cloth, firing twice and then clicking open as the shells fall out and a wave of splintered air dissipates from its blasts. Each one is replaced into their holster, and each one is taken back out a moment later, a constant rotation of gunfire thundering loud enough that she can feel her skull vibrate a bit at the wall of noise.


    Each weapon seems distinct, each one blasting apart chunks and pieces of the abominations that crawl and throw themselves towards him. Some of them look even less human than the last one she fought, their entire exterior made into a bed of razor wire and shards of obsidian-steel save for flashes of pale, rotten skin beneath them, and they move with abandon. They are shot, pieces are lost, and they just keep coming.


    And then the shotgun emerges again as one gets nearly atop Taran and its torso just sort of scatters, thunder and shattering glass warring for supremacy of volume. It literally falls to pieces, most of its spine and all of its rib cage just gone as the connective tissues between its limbs is simply removed.


    And even still, divided into nearly three distinct pieces, it still stutters and crawls across the ground, even as Taran cackles at them and pirouettes away, aiming the second shot at the next one.


    And then the ground behind him bursts open and a maw of rotten flesh and reaching, blackened steel screams out a cry of grinding metal.


    He is fast enough, moves strangely enough, to bend his back and waist almost to the ground as it leaps over and past him, filling it with lead and Qi of a variety of flavors as it flies past, but he is not fast enough to also dodge one of the still-standing original three as it pounces towards him.


    And then Raika grabs it by the back of the head, ignoring how it tears at her hand to do so, and uses its skull as a joint for her to smash it into the ground like a doll, once, twice, three times, until the ground is scored to pieces and the abomination is missing one of its legs and most of its structural integrity.


    ¡°So good of you to join us,¡± Taran rasps, voice back and just as cadaverous as the rest of him. ¡°I was wondering if you¡¯d gotten lost.¡±


    She grins at him, mask straining at the feral snarl she holds beneath it and the joy in her eyes. ¡°Can¡¯t let you have all the fun, senior brother,¡± she laughs, voice falling into that deeper hum of music and animal violence. ¡°Though maybe you can tell Tracker to give some warning next time.¡±


    ¡°Ha!¡± Taran laughs. ¡°Like she ever listens to me.¡±


    And then the time for talk is over, and the time for violence returns.


    Except for the shotgun and the powder-shot pistol, most of Taran¡¯s shots seem to weaken and take off chunks of the cyborg constructs, but they don¡¯t penetrate deep enough to kill, only enough to slow them down and break off parts. The needle-gun he uses seems to do the most, resonating with a very faint humming sound that she can hear at the edge of her range, any mechanical part they strike seeming to begin to malfunction. She goes for these, letting Taran recharge or reload his harder-hitting guns as she singles out one target after another.


    Her hands are covered in cuts in moments. She lets it happen, smiles and howls inside her mind at the return of that beautiful, gorgeous thing called pain, even as she alters her system further. There are presets, for lack of a better term, versions of her muscle groups and chemical deposits that seem ready to spring into action as needed, but it¡¯s not enough. They¡¯re simple, vast improvements over her original muscles, but they don¡¯t feel hers in the same way as the constructs she made herself, and she can feel little hitches in her movement as they overlap a bit strangely or where opposing patterns try to activate at once. She tries to undo some of the changes, but finds it a lot harder than it was before, whether due to their new density and potency or the lack of the storm of Qi she cultivated inside herself before.


    Still, she has enough, and the flesh still bends to her will.


    Recalling half-remembered medical diagrams that are probably borderline useless to her now anyways, she dislocates joints to reach farther, arms coiling and extending and distancing her from the blades and sharp edges of the impossible corpses even as her hands shift, bones locking together and melting together into blades that cut through her own flesh to cut into theirs. As edges made of altered, mutated and transformed bone matter strike literal steel, the bone chips and breaks and is replaced¡­ but not before the steel is chipped and scored and eventually, moment after moment, carved apart.


    And then the shotgun thunders amidst their fight, and the second-to-last corpse is unmade, its head, shoulders, and most of its sternum turned to pulp and launched away into the trees. She takes the opportunity, retracting her right arm back into a more natural state (even if every state feels unnatural and too natural all the time now) and stepping into striking range. Altered footing, shifted joints and musculature, flesh designed for power and strength and maybe barely flesh at all is reshaped, and she can feel, in her core, in her hyper-awareness of every fiber, exactly what she needs to do to enter a stance designed to use every inch of it like a force multiplier.


    Her right arm strikes, her entire body coiling and springing forward, an engine of physics and flesh moving in tandem, and hits the final corpse.


    Metal and bone and enhanced corpse-flesh and sharp edges and a sharp, distant and perfect piece of sunstone crumple and crack and fold over her arm like a rag, the inside of its body folded outside by the force of a blow from a hand reshaped into a hammer of bone and crackling energy.


    Her heart is beating fast, and she is smiling, and she can feel her reserves growing with every blow, the Qi locked inside her circulating, bouncing and sharpening and multiplying against itself, drop by drop, even as she cast aside her flesh, convincing skin, muscle and bone covered in cuts that even now refuse to heal and begin to spiral and grow to simply slough off and fall to the ground as she grows new ones.


    And then the smile dies as the scent of something rotten and living and pierced and dripping and torn open and pinned that way emerges from behind her.


    ¡°Ah!¡± says the voice of Jun Vral from behind her, the scent of snakes turned to blood beneath glass marking the air around him in a wave as he slows from cultivator speeds to land behind them. ¡°How excellent. Our masters will be happy to see so many new samples, no?¡±

 Chapter 66 - Social Interactions! What Fresh Hell!

    Mask on. Now.


    She smiles, soft and polite even as she feels liquified flesh and bone dripping from her arms, letting the wounds decorating them paint themselves in blood across the floor rather than holding onto them. She bows at the waist, the height of manners and politeness as she forces her flesh to change back to its more solid state, to begin reforming and regrowing, ignoring the slight rumbling of her stomach and internals as she draws on them to provide.


    Hmm. Something for later.


    ¡°So good to see you here, honored cultivator,¡± she says, standing upright, smile plastered and held. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that we¡¯ve managed to overcome this challenge without assistance, but I¡¯m certain there shall be more opportunities to work together soon.¡±


    ¡°No doubt,¡± Jun Vral says, smiling almost as well as she does. ¡°Especially with those lovely tunnels you seem to have uncovered. An unexplored avenue of attack, I assume?¡±


    ¡°We baited an ambush earlier,¡± Taran rasps, only lying a little. ¡°Little did they know we had such a valued member of our team on hand to flush them out.¡±


    Raika nods at him, though she keeps the movement short and polite. An acknowledgement, but not a sign of closeness; the more apart she seems, the more she can keep herself as a target. Taran isn¡¯t¡­ quite a friend, per se, but it¡¯s instinct at this point to set herself as the focal point, and if she exaggerates the difference between them, the enemy might try to exploit a weakness that isn¡¯t quite there.


    And Jun Vral is the enemy.


    Nothing that smells like he does can be right. And no one that can make such a sickening Qi signature come to be can be trusted as an ally. Whether or not he knows it, whether or not he acts like it, he reeks of Zhoulong.


    And Zhoulong reeks of something that scares her.


    She¡¯s been through enough shit that at this point, she¡¯s pretty sure that something that scares her is what might charitably be called ¡°bad fucking news¡±.


    ¡°It¡¯s always positive seeing fellow members of a Research expedition so proactive,¡± Jun Vral smiles. ¡°I usually have plenty of trouble getting my traveling companions to do anything outside their duties at all, much less enact such well-crafted plans.¡±


    ¡°Hardly anything ornate,¡± Taran rasps, taking the lead in a move that Raika feels grateful for in spite of the distance she¡¯s trying to impose. ¡°Luck and strength, at the end. Real cultivator-ey of us, if I do say so myself.¡±


    Jun Vral tilts their head at that, flesh undulating into scales and back again as they move. ¡°You don¡¯t consider yourself a cultivator, then?¡± he asks, seeming genuinely curious.


    Taran throws his head back and laughs. ¡°No,¡± he says, ¡°no I do not. To cultivate is to pursue strength and a greater self, and I aim for neither.¡±


    Jun Vral nods at that, not pushing, turning instead to Raika. ¡°And you, honored sister?¡± he asks. ¡°Such tremendous transformative strength, especially coming from someone who lost their cultivation entirely for so long. Most don¡¯t last more than a month in the state you existed in for¡­ years, was it?¡±


    ¡°Only a year and a half, perhaps,¡± she says, saccharine sweet. ¡°Hardly anything in the span of the life of a true cultivator, no?¡±


    He chuckles, the sound coming out in a hissing pattern. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware you were a hidden old monster, honored sister,¡± he smiles.


    ¡°Hardly,¡± she agrees, ¡°Though I hear it¡¯s quite rude to reference a woman¡¯s age in such casual conversation, no matter how young she may be. And I¡¯m afraid you find me at a disadvantage, honored brother; you seem far more familiar with me than I am with you.¡±


    He bows at that, a short one. ¡°I meant no offense, honored sister,¡± he says, face serious when he comes back upright. ¡°But please, if I can rectify that issue, I would love to do so. Ask what you will of me, and I shall endeavor to answer truthfully and entirely.¡±


    Behind her mask, she frowns. He¡¯s being frustratingly sincere, or at least doing an exceptional job at faking it. As deeply annoying as the polite back-and-forth might be, though, it¡¯s a good opportunity to gather information.


    ¡°I thank you for the kind opportunity,¡± she says, flexing away some of the itch of burrowing Qi and regrowing flesh as the process starts to form new wrists. She makes sure to keep Taran in the corner of her eye, even as she moves towards central stage. ¡°I¡¯ve only just joined the ¡®expedition¡¯ of Researcher Boriah, I admit, and I have not had much opportunity to hear much about the wider workings of the Division of Altered Cultivation. How has your experience been with Honored Researcher Zhoulong?¡±


    He smiles, and she doesn¡¯t believe for an instant that it¡¯s sincere. ¡°Oh, entirely beneficial. I would not be the man I am today without the kind ministrations and attention of Researcher Zhoulong, much less capable of traveling as freely as I do. My cultivation path allows me little margin for error, and without his guidance I¡¯m sure I¡¯d be lost.¡±


    ¡°And I should note, the topic of your honored self has been a minor spot of fixation in Researcher Zhoulong since he heard of you. I truly meant no ambush, approaching armed with hearsay and piecemeal information. Most of the Division¡¯s expeditions meet only back in Central, not out here in the wilds, much less the wilds of the third ring. I hear most Researchers head out to the fourth, nowadays; more isolated subcultures out there, and more possibility of deviation from standard norms, as Researcher Zhoulong might say.¡±


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    ¡°I can hardly see why I¡¯d be so interesting,¡± she says. ¡°While my transformation is a source of personal pride to be sure, it can hardly be compared to some of the wonders I¡¯ve already seen.¡±


    Jun Vral smiles at that, his fangs prominent and the expression seemingly genuine. If he¡¯s acting, she can¡¯t see it with her eyes. ¡°You flatter us, honored sister, but sell yourself too short. The tales of recovering from the crippling of a Dantian are myths at best, and I¡¯ve yet to hear one that doesn¡¯t involve the healing of said Dantian, yet here you are, free of any meridians or distinct Qi signature, regrowing whole limbs before my very eyes.¡±


    Her freshly-formed knuckles crack a bit as she flexes them unconsciously, the tic of her awareness visible thanks to the lack of skin to hide the movement behind.


    She doesn¡¯t like him examining her.


    He¡¯s not as bad as Kaena, not by a long shot, but she can still smell him, even now, a whiff coming through every time his flesh undulates, every time the illusion of a body turns to the illusion of a crawling pile of snakes. He smells like a scaled, slithering thing, branching off itself, pinned to a cutting board and peeled open, organs still squirming inside yet exposed to the air. She doesn¡¯t doubt everything she says will in some way shape or form end up before Zhoulong to be dissected piece by piece.


    Newly formed fingers grasp Dink, still hanging about her neck, and lightly tap it against her sternum.


    Breathe, it tells her. Calm.


    ¡°Hardly too special an ability,¡± she says with a smile. ¡°I doubt it¡¯s not one in your skillset.¡±


    He laughs. ¡°To a degree,¡± he nods. ¡°But I would be remiss if I didn¡¯t showcase one such ability now. Better to start seeking information sooner than later, no?¡±


    And then he starts to break apart.


    One arm first, then the next, inverting her regeneration from moments prior, his limbs dissolve entirely. The illusion of a bundle of snakes is proven more than optical trickery as dozens, then hundreds of snakes all fall from his sleeves, slithering over each other and spreading out in a radius about the forest, the majority heading straight for the exposed tunnel before them even as the other two move off towards the other locations of conflict. Taran hisses, the sound deeply unnatural as corpse-like throat tries to imitate living flesh at a higher volume than normal, but the snakes give both of them at least a bit of a radius, keeping them clear of scaly flesh.


    Though she does see a few of them taking bits of her.


    Dead or wounded flesh, left discarded and tossed to the dirt in favor of cleaner regeneration, quickly finds itself swallowed by serpentine jaws, before she has much chance at all to speak. Truth be told, she¡¯s not sure what to say, except that it seems impolite?


    ¡°I apologize,¡± Jun Vral says. ¡°My selves can tend to get a bit hungry, and Qi signature or not the Qi around you is rich. I hope you don¡¯t mind.¡±


    She does mind. She minds a lot. In normal circumstances, she might say that he can eat her flesh if he wants, but he didn¡¯t even ask. Nevermind that, the fact that he¡¯s an enemy remains, and that anything he takes might be used against her somehow, or worse, taken to be examined.


    She wears the mask instead. No fuss just yet. Call it a loss, a minor outplaying, and try for a victory later.


    ¡°Not at all,¡± she says, smiling. ¡°I¡¯m happy to assist a member of a fellow expedition, and I was hardly making much use of it anyways. Do be careful of the blades in those tunnels, will you? Their cuts tend to stick around.¡±


    He politely nods, and she is already bowing. ¡°We¡¯ll leave you to your work, honored brother, and eagerly await your findings,¡± she says.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Taran rasps. ¡°What she said.¡±


    And he walks out of the clearing first, giving her the perfect exit in pursuit of him, Jun Vral waving at them as they leave.


    Let him deal with the cuts that grow. If he can digest them, good for him, and if not, well¡­ he didn¡¯t ask.


    Taran looks at her as they walk.


    ¡°You¡¯re really going all in on this act, aren¡¯tcha?¡± he asks.


    She smiles, keeping the mask on, very aware of the possibility of some scaled spies still around them. Between her ability to hear exquisitely well and the scent of vivisection and scales, it¡¯s not hard to track them, and, to his credit, whether it¡¯s arrogance or politeness, Jun Vral has only left a few near them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean, senior brother,¡± she says politely, face cooler, her smile now toothless entirely. ¡°I simply meant to offer our new arrival the respect accorded to a peer. It is hardly his fault we are in such a situation.¡±


    He huffs. ¡°You give Hao Kai a run for his money, I¡¯ll give you that. You could do better, though. Your eyes flicker a lot more when you¡¯re concentrating on keeping your face like that.¡±


    She sighs a bit. Fucking snake spies, listening in.


    ¡°I appreciate your advice, senior brother,¡± she says. ¡°And offer my praise to senior Hao Kai for providing such a thorough education in proper manners and self-control for you to neglect.¡±


    He throws his head back and laughs. ¡°The worst part, I like you like this almost as much as I like you being more honest.¡±


    He pauses then, looking her over as they head over towards where they left Maen, splitting the difference between where they last saw her and the village she was heading to.


    ¡°Kaena give you those robes?¡± he asks.


    Raika says nothing for a while.


    Eventually, she nods.


    ¡°Hmm,¡± Taran grunts. ¡°Glad to hear.¡±


    They go a bit further in silence, Raika straining to pick up Maen¡¯s scent (she really has gotten better at muffling it, seriously).


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about the kid,¡± Taran says.


    Raika almost stumbles. Altered musculature and a forced awareness of her every reaction and body keeps her upright, but even with all her newfound control and alien morphology, there¡¯s still a hitch in her step, just for a moment.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s done some shit I¡¯m not happy about, some shit I still want to rip his guts out for, but he¡¯s done me a lot of good he didn¡¯t need to. I don¡¯t know the details, Kaena told me a bit, but they only heard a bit themselves. I¡¯m just¡­ sorry that it went down like it did.¡±


    They walk in silence a bit further.


    He goes to say something, then shuts his mouth hard enough to click his teeth and nods.


    She begins to smell hints of citrus past the blood and snakes in the air. She breathes it in, slow and quiet.


    Dink, says the tuning fork on a particularly bumpy step against her sternum.


    ¡°Perhaps we can speak on it later, when there is a bit less to perturb our conversation,¡± she says. ¡°The trees have ears, after all.¡±


    Whether Taran took the hint for what it was or just came to the healthy conclusion that he should probably stay shut the fuck up, he doesn¡¯t say anything, just nods.


    She breathes deeper still. Forces herself to inhale the phantom scent of tangerines coming from right behind her.


    Maybe he¡¯s genuine. Maybe not. But learning what Taran knows, learning more about Taurus, maybe sowing some dissent¡­ it¡¯s an opportunity, and if she can handle being torn apart by beasts, she can handle the thought of a conversation. She has to.


    She refuses to look behind her, though. He is not there.


    He is not there.


    But she is being judged, nonetheless.

 Chapter 67 - Just "Prototyping" Some Ideas...

    Things progress quickly from there.


    Maen made it back safe, and Raika has made very certain that she is sent into seclusion for cultivation as soon as possible. The stigma behind interrupting a cultivator¡¯s secluded meditation is strong, hopefully strong enough to force even Zhoulong and his lackeys to wait a bit, and she asked (politely) for Yun Ka to set up some defensive formations and alarms around it. To make sure, and avoid any retaliation from the likes of the constructs they¡¯re hunting, she told her. She¡¯s not sure if Yun Ka believed her at face value or understood some of the intent, but she doesn¡¯t seem to mind either way, and Raika is pretty sure she¡¯s happy for the excuse to avoid Zhoulong and Taurus.


    Taurus, for his part, has seemed¡­ subdued. Not quiet, but letting Zhoulong take the lead without much fight. She has no idea if it¡¯s a ruse or not. She¡¯s yet to see any of his plots truly in action, and if he¡¯s making some kind of moves behind the scenes, she either isn¡¯t seeing it or can¡¯t yet find it. Even so, there¡¯s palpable tension between them, and even with the amount of control both of them show, it¡¯s no small thing to stand around two so noticeably opposed Nascent Soul tier cultivators.


    Zhoulong gives a speech, at one point. It boils down pretty easy:


    Jun Vral used his snakes, which either are him in a sort of hivemind situation or which he can communicate directly with, to explore the tunnels. He lost some, and those spots have been highlighted, most of them going away from the mountain and down into a nearby valley.


    Taran, Raika, Jun Vral, the goblinoid, who she learns is called Shapefixit, and the young man with steel and edges emerging from his insides, who is only referred to as ¡°Project 13¡±, are to head out into the conflict to find the creator of the constructs and apprehend him. Kaena, Yun Ka, Maen and the twins, who are only referred to as such, are to remain behind.


    Raika can¡¯t help but feel a bit of fear at the makeup of their groupings. They¡¯re not ordered to work together, but even still, there is one more of Zhoulong¡¯s team than there is of Taurus¡¯ (if she counts herself). It¡¯s not a concern for her directly, she¡¯s pretty sure she could take them in a straight fight, but Yun Ka is more vulnerability than tool half the time, and Kaena is busy enough mediating and assisting the Researchers, and having two that smell like them around, free to prey on and sneak as needed, is not reassuring.


    Even if they don¡¯t smell right either. The twins are more intact than the others, by far, but still their scent twists wrong, the quicksilver hidden in Kaena¡¯s scent replaced by the scent of skin peeled open, sweet peach-flesh bleeding onto the plate.


    Even still, the similarity is uncanny. Members of the same sect, maybe? Either way, she worries. A lot can go wrong here, and she¡¯s not in a position to do much about it. Yet.


    But if it turns out that an opportunity comes her way, then¡­ maybe.


    She doesn¡¯t know what she¡¯s doing. She¡¯s being patient. She¡¯s advancing. And she aches to fulfill some kind of purpose, instead. The purpose of revenge is distant, far off, and requires her advancement, a mental loop that keeps her from feeling fulfilled even as she grows, even as she aches for more.


    But there¡¯s monsters to slay, and glory to one, and politics that go over her head. It almost feels like before. Before her fall. Before her change. Before her loss.


    The thought disgusts her, and makes the feeling of chafing and claustrophobia all the worse, tight against her Truth and tighter still against who she is now. She can endure it, for now. But it cannot last.


    All these thoughts and more rattle and hiss and crawl inside her from the village to the valley, and at no point does she find a solution that fits right. So. Violence and opportunity, for now. And patience. Ever and always, fucking patience.


    ¡°Ready for this, then?¡± Jun Vral asks from beside her, bringing her out of her thoughts.


    She smiles, mask coming on easier and easier as time passes and her control improves once more. ¡°As ready as I can be, honored brother,¡± she says. ¡°As always, I am appreciative of honored brother¡¯s contributions, and am eager to add my own to our tally.¡±


    He smiles at her in turn, dipping his head in acknowledgement. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be a valuable asset, like all of us,¡± he says. ¡°13 can take the frontline, and I will support us from the backline, assisting with communication, scouting, and rear defense. You can take the middle-ground?¡±


    She nods, keeping her face pleasant. ¡°As your junior, I can only hope to impress, honored brother.¡±


    He chuckles a bit at that. ¡°An excellent answer. 13, are you ready?¡±


    The third and final member of their group says nothing. If Raika¡¯s face is a mask designed to convince people it¡¯s real, their face seems to be designed to be particularly and disturbingly false. Their eyes don¡¯t move, their expression doesn¡¯t shift. Like clay. Taran, for all his mummified appearance and clear medical alterations, looks more alive than Project 13. Still, Jun Vral seems to receive some kind of confirmation, nodding and raising a speaking stone to his lips.


    ¡°Honored sister Shapefixit, honored Taran, are you ready?¡±


    ¡°In position!¡± Comes a voice that, for all that it sounds like a bird chirping, holds a hint of genuine malice to it. ¡°Very pretty guns! Ready for moving with this one."


    ¡°Understood,¡± Jun Vral says. ¡°On my mark, then.¡±


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    ¡°Three. Two. One.¡±


    ¡°Mark¡±.


    And Project 13 moves.


    They don¡¯t do much more than move forward, but for a moment, the world bends around them, as if an impossible weight is coiled tight in their body, pressed hard against the outer surface of their skin and the metal that cuts out from it. Project 13 steps forward, and rather than walking along the surface, they walk as if on a perfectly smooth road, their feet sinking to a uniform depth, and the wall of the valley before them simply bending against their progress. 13 walks directly into a wall of stone and earth, and, with minimal Qi usage, simply keeps walking, forcing earth to bend and stone to shatter.


    The smell tickles past her nose, and she almost chokes on their scent.


    Scalpels and barbed wire, wrapped around a fleshy core far too small and bleeding freely. it feels stuffed, overfull of something she can¡¯t quite grasp, except for in a slight moment where they hit some sort of deposit and slow for the briefest moment.


    And then they thrum, ringing against the universe with the weight of the Truth that They Cannot Stop.


    And the world, faced with that Truth, bends until it breaks, and the side of the valley crumbles into debris and stone as they carve a path into it with their pace and steps alone.


    It is not her Truth. It can¡¯t be, it could never be, they¡¯re almost directly incompatible. It feels like a saw hacking at reality, like a buzzing thing of discord and discomfort that is nonetheless True in a way that makes her head hurt.


    13 does not break the stone or use much Qi at all. The Truth simply is, and is reaffirmed, and the way is open, reeking of butchery and stinging with the moment reality was forced to bend.


    She does not let the mask slip. She does not let herself react. She is, in this moment, slave to herself more than she is to instinct or circumstance, and no matter how much the chains hurt, she is grateful that she does not break, does not let her face show how she feels, doesn¡¯t let her nausea win.


    She can feel Jun Vral watching her, head tilted. Slitted eyes track her pulse and her smallest twitch, and fuck him, because she shows nothing with either.


    And then, from the dark and chaotic and rubble-strewn tunnel carved in front of them comes the sound of steel-on-steel, honed edge on sharpened shard, and she feels it again but worse.


    Black steel wielded by stone and dead flesh that promise the smallest whisper of the Truth that All Things End clashes against a compact, twisted thing that replies without words that Everything Hurts And Is Sharp.


    13¡¯s Qi flares, misshapen and sputtering in irregular bursts as the scent of metal and torment cut the air itself. Jun Vral takes the moment, his scent coming from a hundred smaller serpents that shoot past 13¡¯s feet into the dark and back out to make a chain to connect with those left with Shapefixit and Taran, and Raika centers herself and remembers to fucking breathe.


    And then the ground around them explodes, bloated corpses that reek of decay and the un-scent of the Cold Sun and their black steel bursting forth seemingly at random from a dozen different places across their little corner of the valley. They seem to be clustered around a nearby rock formation that might hold a hidden entrance they missed, but they re-center on the three of them more than quickly enough to make up for a few steps of distance.


    More violence, then.


    Despite herself, she can¡¯t help but smile a bit more calmly.


    Sure, it hurts, and this whole operation is probably going to hurt plenty more than average. But at least when she¡¯s fighting, it¡¯s easy to forget. It¡¯s easy to be in the moment and not trying to teach herself to fucking plot, of all things. In the violence and the pain, at least, she knows who she is. And so, once again-


    Glory be to the breaking and the bloodshed.


    She doesn¡¯t let them cut her this time. Not immediately. That little flicker of hunger from before might be nothing, might be key to discovering new limits and needs, but avoiding it seems like the best course for now. She makes her heart beat harder, hitting a rhythm almost comfortable now that it¡¯s designed to take the stress, feels blood pumping, oxygen ripping through her and dragging bits of Qi along behind it in the red, flowing through more channels, reaching a tipping point faster than before. She forces the blood to slow at certain points, lets the shards and hissing, burning drops of Qi cluster against bone and traps them there with tissue dense and saturated already until the bone starts to grow.


    It started as an idea. A little evolution from that last fight. If she can make something as unmalleable and slow to change as bone burst forth into claws¡­ what¡¯s to stop her from doing more?


    I Am Mine, her Truth whispers, and she feels the chaos and random chance and uncontrolled transformation break under it.


    She shapes it, focuses it, and then grins as she feels it detonate free of her. She keeps her right side mostly normal, letting her right hand remain a hand for the sake of utility, but her whole body shifts into a combat-oriented change. She gains a few inches in height, clusters of flesh-weave rearranging until the least useful ones are tucked in close to bone and organs as shields and the essential ones, the ones which twist through her whole being and leave her faster and stronger and so much more moving into position. She still looks human at a glance, but the shape of her is all wrong under the skin as she stands taller, feels her joints gain a wider range of movement, feels explosive tension coil in every newly reorganized bio-mechanism. Even as her body shifts to one of its pre-established ¡°defaults¡±, she holds tight to her truth, forcing it and her Qi together into a pattern all along her newest limb. Her left arm lengthens, needles and shards of bone piercing her skin and bleeding in thick, syrupy droplets of marrow and rich blood. They spread, spiraling from their exits, expanding and oozing and crawling over her until until it looks and feels like she is covered in some kind of coral or shell.


    And within that shell, something shifts again. The Qi around her skin, right over the surface of her, becomes trapped beneath Qi-dense bone it cannot phase through, and she pushes her own chaotic mass of Qi into it until they both explode. Muscle, blood and even more bone grow fast enough that she can¡¯t help but let out a scream, elation and victory and violent joy as she feels the shell of armor and weapon she has created expand and meld with all new architecture that is Hers. Muscle and blood bulge from beneath porcelain-white armor, making it feel weightless, making it feel dense and fast and impossibly strong even as it continues to grow, spiraling into fish-hooks and bladed ends and mimicking a claw-like protrusion that looks almost like a hand. There is nothing human to the limb, even compared to the new form her body defaults to as it re-optimizes for combat.


    She marvels at the feeling of explosive deviation in her new limb. If all it takes for such an extreme reaction in Qi is to trap them in a tight enough chamber, captured Qi and her own messy, chaotic form of it pressed too tight to escape¡­


    Possibilities.


    Ah, the beauties of a little creativity and a lot of agonizing self-modification. By the time they reach her, the coral and its new, impossible flesh has grown, up to her elbow, past her shoulder, until it¡¯s almost difficult to move.


    Even so improved, even so much more powerful and impossible, it chafes.


    She can still make it better. Make it more.


    And then they are upon her, and she holds tight to Dink in her right hand and lets the violence commence.

 Chapter 68 - Starting the Dungeon Level Off Strong....

    Taran hates enclosed spaces.


    Honestly it¡¯s little wonder. His entire kit, and that of almost all of his companions, revolves around firearms. Everything else requires giving up too much control and too much stability, never mind the cost in Qi and more. The absolute best place to use a firearm, forever and ever, is in an open field with no cover.


    And where is he now? An enclosed, dark-as-fuck tunnel where he can barely see ahead of himself, full of winding turns that anything could be hiding behind.


    Oh sure, there¡¯s advantages to it too. Hard to run big circles to try and dodge things when there¡¯s walls to either side, and his shotgun works wonders in enclosed spaces like this, but neither advantage offsets the absolute nightmare that is flickering lighting from gunfire and blind corners.


    Taran hates enclosed spaces.


    Shapefixit, apparently, fucking loves them.


    The little goblinoid never stops moving, twitching and flinching at the slightest sound with a massive grin on her face, long ears held tight against her body until they stop, at which point they shoot upright, taking in things he likely can¡¯t even detect. He thinks she¡¯s somewhere in the Core Formation realm and enjoying the enhanced senses that come with it, she must be at least near it to be on this mission, but neither one of them has really had much need to flare their Qi, and he¡¯s a prime example about how cultivation levels and actual abilities can be wildly inconsistent.


    The thought brings up a sour taste, and he tries to keep it quiet.


    Most of him / themselves is still asleep, but those who are awake are sympathetic to the thought. Hao Kai sends a general feeling, like a soft pat on the shoulder, while Tracker quiets for a moment, the constant impressions about the terrain and their environment slipping back to allow Taran¡¯s more general unease with the dark to take over.


    He clicks his tongue, lightly, refocusing himself. He doesn¡¯t have the energy to waste on shaking his head, not with how exhausting it is to walk nowadays, so he uses the tic as a stand-in for a deep breath or larger movement. Now¡¯s not the time for melancholy.


    Shapefixit looks back at him, eyes impossibly wide and dark in the shadows of the tunnel. ¡°All good?¡± She asks, her voice sounding as much like a series of chirps and growls as normal exhales and pronunciation. It manifests as a hell of an accent, one he¡¯s only barely managing to pick through.


    ¡°All fine,¡± he rasps. He uses as little energy as possible, keeping it almost sub-vocal in place of moving his vocal cords and throat into the state needed for a whisper.


    If there¡¯s one thing he likes about the goblinoid, it¡¯s that they make talking easier. He barely has to force the air out for them to hear him, and compared to how loudly he has to talk with everyone else, it¡¯s a relief.


    She shuffles along the hallway a bit more, stretching a drop of Qi across hands and feet to crawl across the ceiling like a spider, and he can¡¯t help but wonder where it is she¡¯s from. It¡¯s clearly some kind of technique, but he can¡¯t picture anyone that didn¡¯t already live underground having such a technique so ready and developed. She¡¯s seemed plenty comfortable down here in the tunnels, avoiding any of the snakes that occasionally slither by without even looking and casually climbing the walls, but he¡¯s not a fan of being presumptuous, and goblinoids, unlike many of the beast-blood races, are a bit of a mysterious subject.


    Simply put, they¡¯re weird.


    Some people seem to believe they were made artificially, some time in the distant past, thousands and thousands of years ago. Others believe them to be mere mutations, a cultivation technique or environment gone wrong only for them to eventually re-emerge. Some claim they live in burrows, others that they live deep beneath the earth, others that they are only ever born in the edges of the fourth ring and must crawl their way to civilization, explaining why so few ever survive. The most popular story he¡¯s heard in the mouth of commoners, back when he was more involved with them (or less involved, technically, if you consider his¡­ state) is that they¡¯re born from cursed wombs, passing on said curse to the next thousand children, which is why most goblin communes have so many.


    He has no idea which is true (though some sound more ridiculous than others), but he does know that, among the research files and hidden documents Taurus brings with him in his Researcher¡¯s supplies as they travel, there is a scroll on them. Unlike the files most modern scholars tend to use for private research, a sleeve of thick paper holding a dozen other slips of paper inside, the scroll is heavy, its ends are capped in jade, and its case is made of metal. It is thick, it is dense, it is sealed with a powerful Qi signature, and it is very, very restricted. Took him a month before he gave up on trying to open it.


    He¡¯s learned quite a bit in the time since he¡¯s met Shapefixit, though.


    How abnormal they are compared to a ¡°normal¡± goblinoid is a mystery, but whatever they are, they can fight. They seem almost suited to this encounter. With every touch on the machinery of the constructs, or even on the flesh surrounding it, she released a flush of Qi into their opponents, freezing them almost immediately and making them easy targets. Whatever she did to them, he noticed as they entered the tunnel they emerged from that many of their fallen opponents had strange, blockier chunks to their metals and flesh that he¡¯s fairly certain weren¡¯t there before.


    And since they¡¯ve been in here, they have not. Stopped. Futzing.


    Every corner they scurry ahead of him into, he feels their Qi pulse, and finds a much smoother and more efficient looking curve to its edges. Every wall they crawl on, he notices that they leave no claw marks, and finds its rougher edges smoothed. Hao Kao helps him to admire the craftsmanship of cleanliness done so quickly, while Tracker can¡¯t help but grumble in the back of his mind about just how much of a waste it is, how they might have learned something about those who made the tunnels from the messiness of their patterns.


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    Taran, meanwhile, just finds it kind of punk. Screw this tunnel, she can make it better.


    ¡°I like what you¡¯re doing with the tunnel,¡± he whisper-rasps. ¡°Neater. It¡¯s nice.¡±


    She turns, owlish eyes facing him, and her face is alien enough that he has no idea what expression she¡¯s making for a while. Then, her mouth shifts and two rows of incredibly sharp-looking teeth smile at him.


    ¡°Is good!¡± she clicks and warbles. ¡°Can feel better. Under-trembles, walking trembles, much better like this, more clear. And done so messy. Pah! If you want a tunnel, you make a good tunnel, not messy. Is waste of tunnel!¡±


    It takes effort to smile, but he expends the energy anyway. It¡¯s only polite, and the enthusiasm the smaller figure shows for their opinions is more than a little infectious after so long walking in the dark. ¡°I¡¯m glad,¡± he says. ¡°No enemies coming then? No, uh, under-trembles you can feel?¡±


    They shake their head. ¡°None coming closer,¡± she whispers, long ears flopping as she tilts her head back and forth. ¡°But big noise. Soon. Chamber, large. Many tick-ticks and scrapings.¡± She shudders. ¡°Bad, bad ugh on the ears.¡±


    He nods. ¡°We¡¯ll quiet them soon,¡± he says.


    She looks at him, eyebrow raised comically high as she looks over all his many guns (which, in spite of Tracker¡¯s best efforts, still fucking rattle a bit as he walks).


    He shrugs. It¡¯s what he¡¯s got.


    She seems to take the point, though he¡¯s not sure she¡¯s particularly impressed with him anyways.


    Hao Kao sends him some encouragement, giving a general energy of paternal support and a comforting pat on the back.


    Tracker sends him the impression that yes, he really isn¡¯t that impressive, and his guns are way too noisy and have way too many bullets.


    He sends back her way an unsavory thought about how her rifle is a bunch of twigs and flowers and how that¡¯s dumb, to which she cackles at him that obviously it¡¯s dumb but it¡¯s all they can do, left as they are.


    Yeah. Fair enough.


    Then, Shapefixit stops, flicking up one ear in place of a hand in a clear ¡°halt¡± sign.


    He realizes belatedly that they¡¯ve been walking a while longer. There¡¯s a snake coiled about his ankle, pale and purple in the dark, and he quickly kicks it free, trying not to wonder what Jun Vral or his superior may have learned or told Shapefixit while he¡­ lapsed. Time can¡­ slip, when he¡¯s being introspective. He needs to be more careful with that, here. Focus, and be ready to switch fast as needed.


    He crouches, desiccated and painfully tired flesh groaning to him as he does and cold metal pins and needles literally digging into him as he moves. So lowered, he makes his way forward, one hand on his shotgun, until he makes it to the corner that Shapefixit is looking past.


    There, around the corner, is a small slope leading down and opening up into a massive, darkened room. The slightest hints of light shine in it, a strangely clear whitish-grey light illuminating the slightest edge of one of its walls.


    Slowly, he starts to crawl forward, channeling as much of Tracker as he can without fully swapping them in to move as quietly and smoothly as possible. The added energy being used to animate their limbs more fluidly immediately takes a toll, making him feel a bit more pained, a bit sleepier, but he¡¯s used to pushing past it by now. Shapefixit takes up the spot above and behind him, and together, the two descend in towards whatever lies beyond.


    He isn¡¯t sure what he expected, moving down into a place like this. More of the undead, yes, obviously. Dug-out dirt, of course. Some degree of cold sunstone, absolutely. But as they turn the corner and look out into a larger, adorned chamber, he can¡¯t help but be stunned.


    At the end of the tunnel is a small dugout, a few snakes slithering about in it, an area of poorly tilled earth and stone supported by mediocre mining-pillars that lead out into a clearly man-made set of almost a dozen freshly-dug tunnels, each one with their own line of snakes crawling through it. He can detect no traps, no real tools, only some large wheelbarrows and shovels (many of them made by a clearly amateur forgesmith) placed next to piles of fresh dirt. It¡¯s the massively sloped hill of stone above the little dugout and its tunnels that truly catches his attention, or, more accurately, the thing embedded in it.


    It is a perfect rectangle of cold, alien stone, glowing with a white-grey light that infects the room around it.


    Divinely perfect. Its angles look sharp enough to cut glass, even in the spot where it¡¯s being mined.


    And it is being mined thoroughly. One side of it is almost concave, pieces of it broken off into further perfect chunks and pieces, like even as it is broken apart its constituent pieces remain geometrically and mathematically perfect. Piles of quarried stone in rectangles, cubes, prisms and more all lay piled, many of them haphazardly, into hills and assorted clumps. There are tools strewn about, many of them made by that same black metal as the weaponized undead constructs, almost all of them in varying states of disrepair. The room itself is empty of any movement, every one of its shadows visibly empty, with the only proof of recent residence residing in the footprints (many of them bare) heading towards the dugout and its tunnels or away, into a further, larger tunnel, almost thrice the height of the ones Taran and Shapefixit have arrived through, on the opposite wall.


    Almost as soon as he pauses to wonder if this place was mined exclusively with the constructs sent up to intercept them, he hears a sound coming from that very same tunnel. Slowly, bit by bit, the cavern begins to fill with the sound of marching feet, the drumming of bare foot against stone and the ticking of black steel against earth and rock becoming slowly more and more overwhelming. There are tens, maybe dozens of the constructs making their way towards them now.


    He cocks the hammer on his revolver. Makes sure that each holster¡¯s enchantment is working properly, each one tied with black string and wax to a different needle in his body, drawing out what it needs to reload them in slow, sustained bursts. Checks that Hao Kai and Tracker aren¡¯t draining too much, that their current level of awareness is sustainable in a prolonged fight. Hao Kai is a duelist, Tracker a stealth specialist and hunter, and there aren¡¯t many others inside him that have the right mix of strength, knowhow, and care to fight in a place like this. He¡¯s not sure where Raika and the others are, if Shapefixit maybe got them here a faster way or if the others somehow delayed the only other member of Taurus¡¯ squadron, but it seems for now, he and the small, dangerous goblinoid are the main line of attack in wiping out the incoming constructs.


    He takes a deep breath, even though it feels unnatural to do so. Lets his Qi rise, discordant and mutilated thing that it is, feeling Shapefixit doing the same, the ground around them beginning to shift and reshape itself to better suit a fighting retreat and a stable platform to fight in. He takes out his powder-shot pistol, letting it glint the black of oblivion and forcing himself not to notice how well the glow of the cold sunstone compliments it.


    He sees the glint of black steel in the distance, and goes to pull the trigger.


    And then the wall about fifty feet above one of the tunnels on his left explodes, and someone that drips pain and whose Qi billows into the room, unblocked by stone and the overbearing weight of the sunstone¡¯s glow, falls into the room, landing with a thud against stone far below.


    Behind it, from the ruin it has made of the wall, there is a rumble.


    It is only later that he realizes it is a growl.


    The wall explodes, spraying a thousand pieces of shrapnel across the room as a twisted thing of sharp edges and strange growths and dripping magma and porcelain bone falls onto the emerging constructs.


    And then the pieces begin to fly.

 Chapter 69 - Some New Ideas And They鈥檙e Turning Out Noice

    This whole place is starting to give her a toothache.


    The worst part is she can¡¯t even tell why. No muscles pinched, no rot she can feel, and while feeling enamel is even tougher than some bones, it¡¯s still not something as alien to her as it used to be. The general area near her right molars is just achy.


    And then Project 13 simply walks into open air, compressed stone and cripplingly dense matter shoved ahead of them detonating in a single, massive cone of shrapnel as Truth and physics try to reconcile, and the tunnel is flooded with grey-white light. The ache magnifies for a moment, before it starts to just sort of pulse, slowly.


    If she finds out that she has toothache senses rather than enhanced eyesight or something actually useful to complement her nose, she¡¯s going to lose it.


    Fortunately enough, there¡¯s a distraction readily available in the form of a massive pillar of geometrically perfect white stone, holding up the roof of a massive cavern and implanted deep into the strata beneath it, cracks radiating from what might be an impact site tens of thousands of years old. She looks at it, and for a moment, she is back in Paleblossom city, staring at the cold sun, staring at that one finger casually shifting it aside¡­


    And then the moment is gone. It¡¯s a larger amount than she¡¯s been seeing in the constructs, true, but it¡¯s hardly all that impressive compared to the celestial body itself. Even still, there¡¯s a sort of queasiness that comes with the sight of the ivory obelisk, like a sort of¡­ wavey feeling? Pressed against the surface of her skin, coming from outside. She wonders if her curse-ritual is still holding up, even as her saturation of flesh has outpaced it, or if she simply has far more Qi now than before and it¡¯s maybe blocking some of the influence she feels.


    It¡¯s a lot of unknowns, and a lot of unpleasant feelings, and oh look, there¡¯s a tunnel full of monsters to crush.


    She lets out a happy laugh, and it echoes strangely inside her head and inside the thing she has made of herself, echoing in the chamber like a growl deep enough to make loose dirt shift and shake.


    Turns out, if you¡¯re willing to play around with your new toys and can handle a bit of overstimulation (which she has been handling every gods-damned day), you can make really fun things out of a human body.


    She leaps out of the tunnel, going well past Project 13¡¯s landing site and leaving Jun Vral in the tunnel, the slithering of snakes using viscera-and-scale scented Qi to cling to the walls and climb down to rejoin their fellows on the floor from where other tunnels have clearly been mapped while they detoured. She lands hard enough that one of the rocks she lands on cracks, the sound echoing alongside the thunderclap of weight hitting the earth.


    She can be more. This is one path that might take.


    She stands up from the fall as undead abominations begin to filter into the room, the clicking of metallic limbs and blades and gears and the limping, blunt sounds of dead, preserved flesh hitting stone echoing all around. She does not care.


    They¡¯re so small from up here.


    She extends fully, lets her blood flow, forces the Qi in her flesh and the Qi she has trapped under transforming skin to clash violently until she can feel the violent thrashing and shredding of Qi deviation exploding in pockets inside her. Her new muscles are fine, excellent compared to human baseline, but she can do more, and towers over everything in the room but the pillar, forcibly catalyzed Qi fueling impossible growth as she hits nine, ten, eleven feet of height, all spiraling bone and bulging, hyper-saturated muscle.


    As her newfound heart beats and new pockets of flesh are made specifically to allow for Qi reactions more violent than ever, her levels of fuel have been skyrocketing compared to her time in the wilds.


    And she¡¯s had hours of walking to let it build.


    She roars, a second set of lungs barely allowing her to keep up with a violently unbalanced behemoth that she now wears, her original body tucked away somewhere and irrelevant. She has kept her eyes, kept her mind, but lungs are easy, a heart is easy, and she has reshaped muscles into facsimiles and regenerated severed pieces into usable short-term supports, until she can wield and oxygenate a body that looks like a ball of tangled fishing wire. She is all bone-hooks and bulging, overgrown muscles and chitinous, coral-like outer shells which spiral into denser and denser armor, and when they cut her it is easy to tangle blood flow and weaken connections enough to simply cast a piece off.


    She can be more.


    She does her best to educate her enemies on this matter.


    She glories for a moment in her transformation, in just how far and how fast she can push her limits since her rebirth and tribulation. It is an unbalanced mess, a cavalcade of systems barely kept together through conscious control and Qi, but she is, for a moment, monstrous and glorious.


    Gunfire begins to echo loudly in the chamber, the report of Taran¡¯s guns heralding his arrival to her right as she crushes two of the construct-weapons to shrapnel between an armor-plate that she discards to fall apart from an infinite supply of minute cuts. She can¡¯t really smell the same in this ¡°armor¡±, her systems not really made for it and the hurricane of tornado she is cultivating bit by bit inside her working together to keep her blind to her newest sense, but she can still sense something as another cultivator (she assumes Shapefixit) enters the fray, the ground all around them shifting like clay, and then like water, until constructs that don¡¯t watch their step begin to fall into it and become wrapped by reformed stone.


    And then Project 13 is moving again, and any chance that the constructs arriving might hurt them goes out the window.


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    These are the dregs, less lethal even than the ones in Paleblossom city, never mind the more creative abominations they¡¯ve been seeing since they arrived. Corpses, made of mortals and implanted with just enough metal to make up for missing pieces, moving in their dozens. If not for how fast they are, or how any cut could kill even a Core Formation cultivator if they¡¯re not careful, they wouldn¡¯t be anything of any value to anyone, much less a danger.


    And yet they keep coming.


    Flesh roils, bone spirals and groans and cracks under uneven distribution and self-blocking joints, but she keeps moving anyways, forcing the ungainly thing she has made herself to move anyways. She blocks incoming blows, regrows faster and more efficient pieces of bone as she is scraped, crushes and throws apart any that get close to her.


    It¡¯s not good. She can be more than this, but she can also do better, she¡¯s sure of it.


    But for a moment, she is just¡­ here. Down, in the dark, surrounded by horrors, with danger behind her and ahead, she is strong and mighty and cannot be hurt. Just for a little while.


    And then, eventually, the cave is quiet, save for her movement, impossible weight thundering and glowing, superheated flesh sizzling the only sounds still filling the chamber as the final construct falls to pieces.


    They¡¯re all looking at her. Taran, eyes wide, hands close to his pistols but not on any handles. Shapefixit, the goblinoid, eyes wide and expression strange. Even Project 13, standing there, pieces of blades that cut living wounds into flesh held in their hands from the last enemy they pulled apart.


    All good things end.


    It¡¯s¡­ a lot harder to leave the flesh armor than to create it. Cutting off the connection to her own ¡°original¡± flesh is easy, the same twists and tearing she did for the armor plates coming into play here, the pain just another sensation in a sea of stimuli, but while it kills the excess, it doesn¡¯t make it just disappear.


    She can¡¯t reconnect once she leaves it, either. The¡­ nerves, she thinks, don¡¯t really ever line up again, even just weaving the meat together doesn¡¯t let her consciousness expand back into it. It¡¯s like the moment she decided it wasn¡¯t her body anymore, it stopped being so. Her tooth fucking aches as she snarls at the inside of what was once power and is now a poorly made coffin.


    In the end, she has to shove and punch and tear at the sternum to crack the entire armor open like some strange, rotting crustacean, emerging from it sweaty and covered in closing disconnection wounds. It¡¯s pretty embarrassing, honestly, just how badly she fucked up creating this thing, and she has to keep her face hidden for a moment before she can put a mask back on and not look like an idiot climbing out of it. Her stomach grumbles and her tooth aches as she works to lower her blood flow and prevent a blush.


    ¡°All clear?¡± she hears Taran rasp beside her.


    She nods, once, before she reinstates a smaller, less intense version of her usual smile. ¡°All good,¡± she replies. ¡°My techniques and I are still getting acquainted. Not used to all of my changes yet.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s ok,¡± he whispers. ¡°Takes time. Especially after a big change.¡±


    She looks at him. Really looks. He gives her a small, sad smile.


    Jun Vral claps once, interrupting any chance for a follow-up even as Taran opens his mouth, seeming ready to ask her something. He glides down to the floor, a heavier weight of cultivation glowing as he levitates for part of the fall and is then caught by a writhing mass of snakes rising up into a pillar on the floor below. The dirt undulates, the flesh moves in symphony, and an army of serpentine predators spirals over itself and crawls into his robes, until they are all gone save a few at the edges of the tunnels and he is standing there, the same height, shape, and apparent weight as ever.


    ¡°Well!¡± he says with a smile and a ripple under his skin. ¡°That went well, I think! And what¡¯s more, we¡¯ve found the cold sunstone deposit. This thing must have landed here a long time ago. Shapefixit, what do you think?¡±


    ¡°Few thou,¡± whispers a voice of clicking musical notes and warbling crackling. Raika almost jumps at the sound of it; she¡¯s never heard a voice like it. She didn¡¯t know words could be made with those kinds of noises.


    ¡°A few thousand years. Still surprised the records missed it, we¡¯ve had astronomers cataloging back that far. Something to refer to our honored Researchers for study later, hmm?¡±


    ¡°It would be wise,¡± Raika says agreeably, readjusting her flesh and robes a bit.


    ¡°It would be wise!¡± Jun Vral says, smiling even wider. ¡°It would in fact be exactly what they might find most interesting. And it is all thanks to our contributions!¡±


    ¡°Honored brother,¡± Taran interrupts, ¡°are you always like this?¡±


    Jun Vral tilts his head. ¡°I haven¡¯t the faintest idea what you mean, honored sibling!¡± he says, smile seeming permanent. ¡°Are you not also proud to have succeeded in a mission dictated by our masters?¡±


    ¡°...Sure,¡± Taran eventually rasps. ¡°We are often proud to vanquish some threats, go on some adventures. But I worry that my honored brother¡¯s face might cramp with such a smile.¡±


    Shapefixit, without Raika noticing her move, even with her senses, tugs lightly at Taran¡¯s sleeve. They both look down at her as she shakes her head, softly.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± she chirps, her ears flat. ¡°Is fine.¡±


    Jun Vral says nothing. Just stands there. Smiling.


    Out of her tomb and sword of flesh, she smells snakes, squirming and open and pinned on bloody platters.


    Hmmm. Patience is a useful thing. So is waiting to understand more.


    But she understands enough.


    ¡°Want me to kill him?¡± she asks.


    Four pairs of heads turn to look at her in perfect synchronicity.


    There is a moment, a brief moment, where Project 13 starts to smell of iron. Not because they have used their Qi; for a heartbeat, their wounds begin to bleed. Then, it is gone, and they are clean and dry and bloodless around the edges of impossible shrapnel that blossoms from them. Shapefixit trembles, once, the tiny movement magnified by her ears until they make a sound like a flap of canvas.


    Jun Vral keeps smiling.


    ¡°I have no idea who you could be referring to,¡± Jun Vral says politely, just as happy and friendly and agreeable as she is. ¡°I¡¯m sure you mustn¡¯t mean the smith and artificers responsible for this underground wonderland of research. We¡¯ve been tasked with retrieving them, after all.¡±


    She can almost feel the weight of Shapefixit¡¯s wide eyes as Taran nervously runs his hand along one of his holsters.


    ¡°I see,¡± she says, equally smiling. Equally agreeable. Equally pitched just right for her voice to be pleasant, even as her stomach continues to grumble and her guts roil and her flesh seethes with a contained storm being slowly consumed and a new one, far less literal, being formed.


    ¡°It might not be right away,¡± she says instead of shutting up and being patient. ¡°But it can happen.¡±


    There is nothing this time, not even from 13.


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Jun Vral says amicably. ¡°After proper research has been conducted on them, of course, or if they don¡¯t prove utility.¡±


    The sound of scales moving over clear ground, inaudible to most and crystal clear to Raika, lets her know a snake has come near her. She feels it open its mouth, feels the air and the heat of its miniscule breath as it goes to bite, and¡­ presses the fangs down, gently, until they lay upon the skin rather than against it.


    A threat? A request? An admission?


    She¡¯s not sure. But there¡¯s an idea forming.


    Knives made of metal so black it sucks the light from the room, stab through her before she can even feel them. One through her heart, the other through her gut, a third through her throat, and the weight of something impossible and silenced hits her and lifts her, skewered and bleeding molten blood and burning Qi, towards the far tunnel.

 Chapter 70 - A New Ally, A New Horror, A New Idea, Oh My!

    The blades are cold.


    Her blood feels like it¡¯s turning to ice in her veins, her muscles freezing in place, the bones shattered and sheared left like chunks of stone inside her rather than the strangely natural coral that she can feel within herself. She tries to draw in a breath, tries to say anything, and cold, stagnant blood flows past her lips and down her chin. Her robes, kept painfully (and at least mostly) intact all through her transformation and armored form, are torn as she is thrown, carried, skewered like a bite over a flame and cast into the wall-


    And where the blades touch on the tight, contained pockets of Qi she has painstakingly regrown and brought once more to climactic, painful deviation, something goes wrong.


    A third Qi, or energy, or something disruptive finds its way into semi-contained clumps of chaotic swirling Qi tied into her blood and her body and trace elements of the outside Qi she managed to capture in her transformation, and the three together do something worse than simple deviation. No, rather than deviation she can use, meridian-tearing clusters of razors and lightning that she can endure and force her body to adjust to are cut open by cold, black steel made from the Truth of the death of all, and a moment of catalysis occurs.


    Her throat is penetrated, torn, impaled, full of cold and stagnation and pain.


    Her heart struggles to beat, more than half its valves and muscles torn open by a long, slender cleaver.


    And her stomach detonates like a gods-damned bomb.


    She can feel her spine flex unnaturally, new bone structures resisting the stress of explosion, but most of what¡¯s beneath her ribcage and above her hips is thrown away from her, organs and meat and bits of things she can¡¯t identify decorating the floor in front of her as she is launched backwards further onto the blades by the kinetic force of the detonation.


    She watches, choking, as her flesh burns, the combination of ambiental Qi, her own wild, chaotically altered energies, and the trigger in the form of a blade of perfect death all turn to fire.


    Her blood burns gold and living scarlet, its edges turned white, like mist, barely even shaped like true, normal flame, and in the glow of her ruined flesh, she sees the other new constructs. One of them towers over Project 13, massive, sharpened stilts for legs letting five different upper limbs emerging from a properly made undead wrapped in black bandages stab down and emerge from the other side of the towering, twisted humanoid. Another she hears skittering, half-dozen limbs stabbing into the stone of the cavern and pursuing Jun Vral up a wall at breakneck speeds, a bundle of snakes and a black, glistening spider of machinery and murder whirling about the chamber almost faster than she can follow.


    Taran¡¯s guns start to fire, two new guns she hasn¡¯t seen them use before, looking like fancy dueling pistols with awkward chains of additional bullets slotted into them. She¡¯s not sure if she¡¯s not seeing a fourth, her vision sort of flickering. The retort fills the room, but it feels muted to her, the ¡°krak, krak¡± of repeated gunfire almost quiet in the face of her blood loss.


    Limited time. She has limited time. The thought clicks into place, finally, the blood loss slowing her.


    She¡¯s maybe had worse injuries in the wilds, it¡¯s hard to remember with the sleep deprivation, but she knows she¡¯s been disemboweled before, the feeling of sharp edges through her throat and scraping her spine both deeply familiar, but one at a time at most, and always with her newfound regeneration to protect her. Here, there¡¯s so much less; her Qi is undigested, because she has no organs to digest it with, and in the wilds Qi altered to work hand in hand with living flesh had been a bite away. Here, there is just the feeling of cold steel and the flow of blood leaving through cataclysmic damage.


    Her attacker made a mistake, though. It didn¡¯t kill her with its first hit.


    Her relationship to pain is different now, her trial by beast, followed by a body that doesn¡¯t really need pain signals to tell her what¡¯s wrong, leaving her more equipped to move through agony than ever. Her mind shifts, slow and hazy but fundamentally still alive, and fires her will back into her body. Veins constrict, muscle groups cluster, cutting off blood flow to the gaping hole that is her former stomach area, current gaping hole of meat and death. Her heart continues to beat, tearing itself apart against the blade, and she¡¯s going to lose bloodflow to her legs pretty quick if she can¡¯t figure out a workaround for the ruined infrastructure of her midriff, but the priority is on her neck. She closes her throat, shifts veins away from the blade and closes off the crippled ones, already feeling a strain and headache conjoined by the the sudden lack of required blood-vessels-


    And then a rush hits her as a fresh dose of life makes it past the blade that has so thoroughly killed part of her, doping her brain with its first hit of oxygen in almost a full second and a half..


    Two choices; fake her death somehow, or find a weakness, now. Any wrong move and it can use a fresh blade, hit another clump of stored Qi deviation or simply pull its blade and slice its way out of her rather than dragging her along like a captured prize. Faking her death, in this case, involves both surrendering and somehow finding a way to survive her heart staying ruined. As fascinating as that experiment might be, she¡¯s not a fan of the idea. Especially not with the at least two other constructs still in a place where they can murder Taran.


    So, taking as big a risk as she has in at least a week, thank you very much, she creates and splits open a seam in her throat and through her ribcage, and throws herself away from the blades.


    It doesn¡¯t go perfectly, or even all that well, but it works. She grabs at the ground, digging her fingers into stone and grabbing at the one of the blades and pulling herself away from them even as she opens throat and torso worse than any conventional sword-slash could. It takes every ounce of focus in her addled brain to remember to restrict and then reconnect the blood vessels, to click things back into place, and even as she does she can tell it¡¯s going slower. She lost a lot of Qi in that explosion, and even as she wonders at if she can replicate it later, try to do it on purpose, she can¡¯t help but think she¡¯d much rather still have all of it.


    Her body grows new tissue because she tells it to, fueling it with what Qi she still has, and she focuses on her heart, trying to repair it and get her blood flow and Qi generating tool back-


    Two more black blades stab down at her as she writhes on the floor. She dodges one, throwing her head to the side such that it only cuts open her cheek rather than going through her skull, but the other goes through her shoulder, going all the way through and a few inches into the stone beneath her to pin her entirely.


    She looks up, the fire of her blood and the flashes of gunfire the only light to see by in the tunnel she¡¯s been dragged into. The undead thing here is recognizable, wrapped in the full-body black bandages or cloth that the one that attacked Paleblossom city had been, rather than the other ones she¡¯s been fighting, pale corpse-skin and mutilations on clear display. It tilts its head, sharpened spikes replacing its lower legs, five arms reformed and added to it, each one ending in a beautiful black sword, and pulls its face closer to hers, as if curious to her survival.


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    She feels it in her cheek, her throat, even her heart. They¡¯re healing slower, a similar effect to the spiraling cuts of the lesser undead forcing her to burn through Qi at a ridiculous rate, willing her body to obey. She is her flesh as much as it is her, and she doesn¡¯t want to die here.


    The corpse doesn¡¯t care. It raises one of its limbs, even as she reforms her free arm into an improvised shield, even as she convinces bone to spiral and grow and-


    It stabs down, and as it falls, ready to cut her heart apart entirely, something on her chest shifts.


    She feels a piece of cold steel shift, ever so slightly, and the blade hits Dink, suddenly pressed over her heart.


    Except Dink doesn¡¯t speak as she convinces herself it does. It doesn¡¯t make its signature sound. A blade formed for a thing of perfect death tries to stab through it, and Dink rings.


    The blade shatters to pieces. It shivers, trembles, quivers with vibration for an instant, and then shatters like glass, flying everywhere in pieces. The undead construct staggers back, forgetting her for a moment, staring down in confusion at its now ruined limb-


    And she grabs Dink, swinging their tines against the sword penetrating her shoulder.


    It too, shatters, taking the thing down to just three weapons now and destabilizing its balance long enough for her to throw herself back, superhuman strength coming in handy to get her away from it.


    The thing looks towards her, but, seeming stunned for a moment, doesn¡¯t move to follow.


    She doesn¡¯t waste the opportunity. With a flex of will and a sharp tearing, she casts aside her throat, growing all new flesh rather than trying to push past the ¡°death¡± energies of the thing. It¡¯s still slow, still slower than it was in the early beast-tide, but she knows how to use it better now, fixing just the bronchial tube and main arteries first to reconnect air and blood before the rest of it grows back at a more leisurely place. She starts work on her stomach, leaving most of her lower organs to the side for now and reforming structure so she can sit up and use her legs again.


    Still, the construct stares at her, and she stares back.


    In her hand, she feels Dink vibrate on its own. Just a bit.


    She nods. Yeah, ok. She¡¯s got an item spirit, apparently. If it was going to be anyone, it was going to be Dink, the incredible, unbelievable, perfect little bastard.


    She can¡¯t help but grin, wide and toothy like a shark. And the Construct takes it as a cue to sprint at her, skittering like a spider, black on black and framed by the light of the sunstone at the tunnel mouth behind it.


    She doesn¡¯t let it get much closer than that. Her heart is still healing slower, her body is still slowed and wounded, but if she loses the initiative or retreats it¡¯s not going to work. She sprints forward, using modified arms and legs to literally launch herself off the ground, one arm partially transformed into a club and shield of bone both, the other wielding an item of immeasurable power capable of killing gods themselves.


    Or at least breaking spooky metal. Wouldn¡¯t do to let the little thing get too bloated an ego just yet, after all.


    It pauses, its balance fine to stand on its sharpened legs but too top-heavy to walk without the use of its multi-jointed upper limbs, and casts its swords at her, a spasmodic dance of slashes and cuts that spark and slice pieces from the stone around them.


    She blocks one blade on her shield, altered-density bone tough enough to trap the blade even as it¡¯s cut, long enough for her to touch Dink to it again. The vibration this time takes longer, and she has to dodge two more cuts, one slicing across her ribs and forcing her to shed another piece of skin, before the blade finally cracks-


    And doesn¡¯t shatter.


    Limited ammunition. It¡¯s all right, she thinks to the tuning fork; happens to the best of us, little guy.


    She snaps off the partially broken blade with the shield it¡¯s trapped in, pivoting under a now decidedly lopsided construct. She lets her body use its new senses, letting the lack of smell the thing exudes focus her on it in a world of blazing scent, letting her new eyes track its sword movements clear as day, letting new instinct stolen from that which she ate and used to rebuild herself prime her for movement-


    And then in a flurry, she dashes into range, ducking once, pivoting once, dodging hard to her left, and then using the piece of black blade trapped in her bone shield to cut the abomination in half at the waist. There¡¯s a sound of screeching metal-on-metal, a weird toughness to the pale flesh beneath black bandages, and then its torso flops to the ground, sword-limbs twitching and spasming but failing to do more than imitate a dying insect. It cuts all around itself, unable to move, looking like it¡¯s in the midst of a seizure, cutting into its own self in the process.


    One such cut opens up the bandages covering its face.


    The flesh beneath is clearly dead, the eyes milky white, the teeth grit in a rictus of rigor mortis- and it turns to look at her.


    For an instant, she makes eye contact with a dead woman. For an instant, the blades slow. For an instant, a smell, so faint she can barely detect it, flutters against her nose.


    The corpse, for a moment, smells of fresh herbs, wheat, and sunshine. She smells like a happy day in the fields, under the kiss of sun.


    And then it is gone, and the machine spasms and goes still one last time, and it is just a corpse again, the not-scent of the cold at the end of all filling the tunnel.


    No time. She can still hear gunfire, still feel and smell the clashes of Qi and Truth in the sunstone chamber. She turns, still feeling slowed, her heart only barely winning its battle to regenerate lost valves against the cut, ready to rejoin the fray-


    Mmmh. No. Patience. For once, think before you leap, she thinks.


    She focuses on the sounds and scents, the glimpses she can see through the tunnel opening. There really was a fourth one, skittering along the walls, but 13 has their enemy well in hand, simply forcing its blades to remain trapped in their body as they walk into it, grabbing and crushing as they move. Only two of the remaining constructs are currently a threat, and she believes that they won¡¯t be for long.


    She wants Taran to live. She doesn¡¯t mind it if the others do, too. But neither one is the objective here, not really. She likes Taran, the fact that they have the fight in hand making it much easier to justify leaving them behind, but she needs to be smart about this.


    Taurus and Zhoulong, despite their differences, have made it clear their orders are to take the monster that made these things in alive. They aren¡¯t here to stop a monster, their orders are to research, to capture that which is strange and make it useful. Fuck them both, though. She might not be able to kill the weaponsmith first, especially not without endangering Maen and Li Shu, same as if she ran away, but if she can get information before the others, maybe find some kind of opportunity, then she might be able to act.


    She looks down at the dead woman.


    Yeah, she thinks. There¡¯s that, too.


    The corpses down here don¡¯t smell like corpses, just like death and cold. While the scent of rot has been present amidst the weaker models, neither this one, the ones in the chamber, nor the one she fought in Paleblossom city (well, helped finish off at the very end) smelled of decay. She can¡¯t imagine that something more horrifying isn''t happening, not when, in the machine¡¯s dying moments, she smelled something alive instead, that drop of Qi. She really, really doesn¡¯t want Zhoulong to get his hands on this.


    The team can handle itself for now. She turns into the dark and starts sprinting deeper, trusting in her newly altered vision and sensitivity to alert her of threats in the dark. There are a hundred easy lies and excuses as to why she went ahead of them (more of them came and took her away, easy enough to fake with all the scattered parts and footprints), and if she plays this right, if she¡¯s careful and smart and doesn¡¯t get in her own way, maybe, just maybe, she can find a way to turn this little adventure to her advantage.


    And yes, fuck over some authority figures, too.


    She just has to make sure it doesn¡¯t come back to break something else this time.


    The smell of tangerines haunts her down the hallway, into the dark, towards danger and the faint possibility she¡¯s changed enough to do a little rebellion right this time.

 Chapter 71 - Two Truths And A Liar

    The sound of gunfire and chaos fades into the background behind her, until the darkness of the tunnel is all-encompassing. Her jaw aches as the idea she stored in the idea of a tooth calls to its like, and she can feel a sort of synchronicity in the feeling inside her heart. The wound refuses to close, and even if she could fully remove one of the only two organs she¡¯s almost certain she still needs, now is not the time or place to do so. She carves out chunks of dead tissue around it, surrounding the perforated heart with living flesh and sealing the hole in her chest, but she can feel that its beat is still irregular, hard to manage and harder to support.


    That¡¯s something she¡¯ll need to fix later, too. For all the benefits her transformation brought her, it seems¡­ almost malformed? A lot of muscle groups are copied directly from creatures not meant for her frame, and she doesn¡¯t even know what half her organs do at this point, but most of the biggest flaws remained. Only one heart, a brain that can¡¯t handle its newfound senses properly, and for every improvement like her subdermal armor, there¡¯s the fact that it¡¯s not really good enough yet. It¡¯s easy to assume that she¡¯d somehow managed to be reborn into a better body, and maybe if she was starting her cultivation journey that would be true, but as it is, it just feels frustrating to realize just how little her transformation really boosted her.


    Her ability to control her flesh, and the quality of the materials she¡¯s made of; these are the only two changes she can confidently say are true upgrades. All the rest needs a fuckload of improvement.


    No, she thinks, not bitter at all about surviving a lethal wound to the heart, not me.


    Dink trembles in her hand, her mind shifting to remove the associated sound from its name now that she¡¯s heard what it can really do. She sighs.


    ¡°I hear you,¡± she whispers. ¡°I¡¯m still right to be pissed, though.¡±


    A lesser vibration this time. Not necessarily agreement, but closer, maybe. She¡¯s not really sure how much of her understanding is something new to Dink¡¯s nature, and how much is her making assumptions, but it¡¯s still nice to have someone to talk to, here in the dark.


    But, even as the dark remains, the things it hides change.


    She emerges from the tunnel into a massive, sprawling room that crawls down, further into the earth. It¡¯s like a cylinder of earth was excavated out within the mountain, pieces of black metal growing like crystals in the dark and supporting the ceiling above and the tunnels and rooms that branch from here. She can sense the tunnels, almost enjoying how little her eyesight has to work with here, tracking instead by how the sound bounces off things around her. She can still see a bit, but only the most reflective things, and less and less as she¡¯s gone deeper. It¡¯s nice to have one of her senses finally not be overwhelming.


    Many of the rooms look almost residential as she passes them by, and she stops to look into the third one she walks past. It sits empty like all the rest, but when she notices what¡¯s inside, she forces herself not to focus on any one element too long.


    Black steel spikes growing from the walls. A little hole, like a burrow, with hints of piss and sweat, repressed by the cold Truth all around, just large enough for an adult humanoid to lie in. A small bundle in the corner, ruined robes and notes of blood on the floor, acting as a sort of nest for a little wooden whistle.


    She stops looking.


    You don¡¯t store corpses like this. This is not practicality.


    She remembers the faint scent of still-living Qi she felt from the thing that tried to kill her, its limbs grasping, bound and stitched back together into something deadlier. In that moment, when the strange machine inside it had broken, it had smelled, if incredibly faint, distinctly human.


    She refuses to let the thought anchor itself in her. They are not alive. They are corpses. And if there¡¯s something left in them, then she sure as hell doesn¡¯t have the knowledge or ability to rescue or heal them, not with how they¡¯ve been altered. Until she sees proof otherwise, she refuses to let herself think about the mass of swarming undead she tore through on the way in.


    Some things need to be done. And sometimes, bad choices are the choices you get, and doing nothing is a worse choice than most.


    She picks up the pace, not stopping to look into any of the other rooms.


    She doesn¡¯t make it all the way down to the bottom of the pit. She doesn¡¯t need to. A whiff of quiet, like the sensation of crispness on a cold day, where you body is reacting even without a smell, wafts out of one of the tunnels about halfway down. It looks similar to all the others, but the orientation of the spikes of metal jutting from it, growing from it, seem to spiral and wander a bit differently, heading out instead of in.


    She follows it further, keeping Dink in her hand, the string she wears it on wrapped around her wrist.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I like the quiet,¡± she whispers to it. ¡°Funny, considering how fucking loud everything is nowadays. I can hear my blood moving, but even still this place is too quiet. What do you think, bud?¡±


    A tremble, so slight it might well be in her imagination.


    ¡°Yeah. Figures. You¡¯re made for sound, anyways. Made yourself for sound, if those notes you pulled off are any indication.¡±


    She looks around at the tunnel all around them, crawling with metal and spikes and growth like an impossible organ or vein or throat. She thinks of the distant echo of gunshots, still ongoing minutes after she left them, still telling her that Taran is alive at least.


    ¡°Long way from Paleblossom to here,¡± she whispers to Dink. ¡°Funny how that works. Two years and I haven¡¯t even been home, but somehow that city I rotted in for a while is the thread I get to follow, all the way down in the dark.¡±


    ¡°It is funny, though,¡± she says. ¡°Talking like this. I think I need to get laid more often. Sure seems to have me thinking a bit more, at least. More awake.¡±


    The thought brings to her the smell of tangerines and a glimpse of faces covered in delicate masks and scarves.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she says.


    They say nothing, because they¡¯re not here.


    But she talked to a tuning fork. She can talk to them too.


    ¡°I wonder where we¡¯d be,¡± she says, walking down a tunnel that grows ever sharper, ever more metallic. ¡°If I hadn¡¯t been so sure I could beat the world, if I wasn¡¯t so sure things were simple and kinder than I knew they were. I think he regrets killing you. I think he regretted it the minute it happened, if I¡¯m being honest. He doesn¡¯t seem the type to enjoy it.¡±


    Tangerines shift to open field, for just a moment. A place for growing things.


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    ¡°I know,¡± she whispers. ¡°Still killed you. I¡¯m still going to kill him for it. But if you taught me anything it¡¯s that things ripple. I help a kid, he becomes a cultivator, I visit him, he gets killed and I turn myself into this. I kill my enemy, and those who aid me are left in the cold. Or cut open under glass, like the snake.¡±


    Tangerines again. He hadn¡¯t had many notes to his scent yet, and she hadn¡¯t been very good with her new senses yet.


    ¡°Glad you approve. Still killing him. Just want the ripples to be in my palm, this time, and not in the river. Make sense?¡±


    It doesn¡¯t, not as much as she¡¯d like. But it rings true anyways. Patience and opportunity. Growth, always. She has to grow stronger. She has to grow wiser. She has to know more and do more, outside this little corner of the world.


    She sees a bit of light up ahead, and Dink trembles in her hand, very slightly.


    ¡°Good talk,¡± she says to the boy who isn¡¯t there and his escort.


    She exits the tunnel in silence.


    The room she finds is bright, comparatively. Small candles, glowing with pale light in the quiet, provide a small part of the illumination. It¡¯s so faint, but if she listens close, she can hear the metal growing in here. There are tables strewn about, old blood uncleaned from some of them, straps and pieces of sharpened obsidian steel and pliers and all sorts of things for installing tools into flesh. Beyond them, in the further corners, she sees a larger space, more open, spread about on it hundreds of pieces of black metal, like sharpened puzzles made to be slotted together into gears and razors and things she doesn¡¯t understand.


    And at the center of the room is the skull.


    It is carved of sunstone, that she can tell. What exactly was used to carve perfect geometry into the strange and smooth contours of a skull, she¡¯s not sure. Hard to tell what kind of skull it even is, really; at first she thinks it¡¯s human, then beastkin, then not human at all, then entirely human again. Cyclops and wolf and raccoon and bird and dragon and human again. It doesn¡¯t change, it can¡¯t, but she can, so it changes its perspective in her. And all around it, a halo of metal, growing from the earth.


    And, to her right, packing a bag hurriedly, dressed in dirty, bedraggled robes and a messy topknot and with a rusted Jian on his hip, is a cultivator.


    She takes another step into the room, and his head jumps up like a startled animal to look at her.


    ¡°Oh!!!¡± he says, high pitched and surprised. ¡°Hello!¡±


    She doesn¡¯t say anything. Just looks at him. Pale, disheveled, eyes of grey and white.


    ¡°You¡¯re here to take me home, then?¡± he asks.


    She tilts her head. ¡°How do you mean?¡± she asks.


    ¡°You¡¯re, uh, you¡¯re with them, right? The Divisions? The Empire?¡±


    She nods, though it hurts her a bit.


    ¡°Well, uh, I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m ready to go, then?¡± he says, eyes furtive, hand on the overstuffed satchel now on his hip.


    ¡°Where would you be going?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Back to the Research Division?¡± he asks, confused. ¡°I mean, you saw my work, right? It¡¯s not- I mean obviously it¡¯s unfinished, but the proof of concept alone is worth its weight in gold.¡±


    ¡°What concept?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Great,¡± he mutters, "they sent a bruiser." He sighs, then collects himself. ¡°Well, obviously my tests were successful! The launch on that little city were botched, obviously, not really my finest work, I got too drawn into making it look good, but I learned from it. I mean, I¡¯m connected to them, I can feel that there¡¯s at least two left still giving a lot of trouble to your friends. I admit, I might have been overzealous in my defense, but honored junior, how could this senior do less? I didn¡¯t recognize you all! The robes, yes, the robes reminded me. I found a novel way to utilize cold sunstone, an inherently inert material, an endothermic Truth of existence, of Heaven¡¯s will. Who else but the honorable Altered Cultivation Division to escort me back?¡±


    ¡°How did you do that?¡± she asks. Patient and ready.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s actually, I admit, a bit of a blessing from the Heavens!¡± he says with a manic smile. ¡°See, on its own, shaped as it is, it remains inert, perfectly formed, takes tremendous effort to reshape it, but as it turns out, the more you help it pretend to be alive, the more you can do with it.¡±


    He gestures at the skull that is every skull, the crown of black metal growing from it and infesting the entire underground, sweeps an arm around the tables. ¡°Convince it to function with the Truths closest to death, which isn¡¯t what cold sunstone is but is close, like mold or decay, and you can trick it into changing things, when usually it¡¯s an unchanger of things, yes¡­ Keeps them stable and then makes them nothing, but if you trick it, yes if you overcome and use proper technique, proper cultivation and intellect, it does something new. That¡¯s the metal, see? It¡¯s growing from it, because the world is convinced that a dead thing should have other things grow from it, even though cold sunstone doesn¡¯t grow anything at all, but it¡¯s close enough to death that you can trick it and-¡±


    ¡°Did you carve the skull?¡± She asks.


    ¡°Me?¡± He says, genuinely confused. ¡°Oh no, no, some old artifact, an ancient treasure left by someone much grander than I, but I figured out how to use it, see? You trick the metal into thinking it¡¯s mold and all of a sudden it can be everywhere, and it thinks it can survive the sunstone now so it does. Use the metal as a dampener, then put something that changes against something that never changes, and you can harvest the difference, use it to do all sorts of things. Toughens them, yes, but keeps them moving beyond all ends, and can spread the effects if you do it right-¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s ¡®them¡¯?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Who? Oh. Mortals. You know. Sort of what they¡¯re for. Everyone has to be useful, and what¡¯s more useful, farming instead of cultivating, or furthering a new form of energy, a new paradigm? Renewal, perpetual metal for the empire and something to hold back even death! With a trick! My trick! And so¡­ so that¡¯s why you¡¯re here. To take me home. I have my notes, I can bring them, and they¡¯ll know I was useful. I tricked the Heavens. Me. They¡¯ll know I¡¯m useful, now. They¡¯ll let me stay this time.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t listen to the rest of his story.


    For all his frail appearance, he¡¯s in the Core Formation realm. Used to be that shit was a big deal to her. Inner sect disciples only. Nowadays, it seems every government employee she meets is around there.


    Still. Hole in her heart or no, she has some Qi left. Her reformed stomach gurgles at the reminder, and she¡¯ll have to figure that out later, but it¡¯s fine for now. She has enough.


    She moves faster than he can see, unprepared to cycle his Qi or use his cultivation. She can move fast all the time; things like him have to burn their energy to do it. She may be weaker overall, bereft of hidden skills, but she has that advantage. He isn¡¯t prepared to stop her when she grabs him by the throat and crushes the back of his head against the skull.


    He doesn¡¯t die on the first hit. The scent of sweat and desperation and sudden fear mix with the scent of cold, of sharpened quills and ink gone rancid and dead things opened and left rotting, a discordant smell that can¡¯t be healthy for him anyways, but she doesn¡¯t let him get off a technique, slamming him down a second time. Third. Fourth.


    She hears something crack on the fifth impact, and he manages a scream past her grip, hands flying up, launching Qi in a wild, unbidden burst.


    She holds Dink in front of her like a holy symbol. Though quiet, it does ring, one more time. A clear note, a note that sounds kind of like the breaking of rock or sound a living thing makes when it is hit, and it¡¯s not perfect but it¡¯s enough and the technique dissipates before it can really form, washing painlessly off her skin, so dense and Qi-saturated she can barely feel it try to crawl into her.


    She slams him down a sixth time, and then his skull is broken and the skull of all skulls is wedged in him.


    For a moment, the room goes silent again.


    She looks at the corpse of the corpse-smith. Nameless to her, except the title he claimed making all of his useful tools.


    The skull looks back through the burst, bloody holes where his eyes were before they popped out, and for a moment, it sees her.


    She sees it back.


    It reaches out to her, to the thing she bit off and replaced a missing tooth with. Like calls to like, and the specter of a Truth she beat reaches back to the perfect dead thing before her. Her toothache is worse than ever.


    But.


    I Am Me. I Am Mine.


    And then, right behind it, crashing into her like a flood, clicking into place like it was always there.


    I Can Change.


    And toothaches are pretty common when you have new ones growing in.


    Facing the black metal and the empty, yawning sockets of that empty, holy artifact of Nothing, of End, subverted to cruelty, she smiles. And then her jaw shifts, and black teeth, fangs of rending and ruin grown from holy end meeting the bite that kills, emerge from behind her first set of teeth.


    She can change. And if changing a rock into a skull, with enough Truth and Qi, is enough to grow this strange substance all around¡­ well, she has Truth, and she has Qi. What luck, then, that she kept a little piece of nothing for herself. A dream of perfect, final death, changed inside her until she can grow something from it.


    From the ghost of a Truth and a secret stolen from a dead monster, she grows teeth of black metal, and smiles at the dead man and his perfectly dead skull.


    Opportunity, at last.

 Chapter 72 - Trauma, Turmoil, And Turbulence - Perfect Weather For A Plot

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    The others make it down to the lab maybe twenty minutes later. She can¡¯t imagine she¡¯s all that hard to track, Qi signature or no, in this place of perfect silence and death. Or maybe Jun Vral just sent a snake into every tunnel and room and this is just the first one to find her.


    Still, she only really needed a few minutes to set the scene.


    She takes the bag from around the corpse¡¯s body, rifling through its contents quickly. A shard of Cold Sunstone gets placed on the table, used as a paperweight for all the documents detailing the horrors of the human anatomy and what was done to the people here. Reduce the need to repeat any experiments by providing the data, she hopes, even as she takes all of the pages relating to his planned experiments, and any observations about the sunstone skull or the black metal, and carefully bundles them tight and eats them.


    Then, she scatters what¡¯s left, about the room, about the table.


    The body is easier, actually. Already it¡¯s taken on some of the cold, deathly permanence of anything that interacts with the sunstone, making it hard to tell if the now black and muddy blood spatter and the body have been there for minutes or weeks. Still, she cleans the edges around the impact spatter with a towel she found, one of dozens stored haphazardly and semi-clean from other, older bloodstains, trying to make it seem like the transition from normal skull to implanted rock looks a bit less violent than before.


    It¡¯s not much, but she doesn¡¯t need much. She just needs to sell it. She just needs to lie, just convincingly enough.


    Jun Vral and Taran walk into the chamber first. Shapefixit and 13 she can vaguely scent further back, down the tunnel. The goblin smells anxious, and¡­ afraid.


    Jun Vral smells of snakes, and she doesn¡¯t know what snake fear smells like. But considering the look on his face, the perfect mask that is no longer smiling or shifting and coiling, she thinks it might be a smell she can recognize now.


    Taran and Jun Vral both look at the corpse impaled by its skull on the wall.


    Raika studiously says nothing, pretending to examine the papers on the table. Some of them are genuinely interesting, even.


    ¡°Did you kill him?¡± Taran asks, tactless as only he can be. She imagines Hao Kai groaning in his head.


    She shakes her head. ¡°No,¡± she says. ¡°Found him like this. I think a lot of his creations weren¡¯t recent. Looks like he tried to augment himself, reach a higher level. A lot of his notes reference implanting pure sunstone into a body, and I guess after long enough with the relic he thought to try it."


    Snakes make a miniscule sound as they scent the air. She doesn¡¯t mind. Dink countered the Qi that the corpse-crafter tried to unleash, and if her own senses can¡¯t pick up the smell of recently shed blood, neither can theirs.


    ¡°A relic?¡± Jun Vral asks, face impassive, calm, as he walks over to the body. The skull of sunstone is easy to see protruding out the back of her victim¡¯s head. ¡°Ah. Fascinating. An artifact, perhaps, left to us by some honorable ancestor for someone to find.¡±


    He looks around at the room. At the tables. At the old blood.


    She is focused very, very intently on him, or she¡¯d have missed the slight tremble that goes through some of his snakes.


    ¡°A pity,¡± he says, ¡°that he chose to use it so foolishly.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s also possible that he lost control of his victims,¡± she says, keeping her tone even. Even as she avoids looking at Jun Vral, she makes sure her senses pick up even the slightest hint of scales, the slightest change in all the minute heartbeats he harbors. ¡°Maybe he tried to enlist them, and they managed to fight back enough to force harm onto him. From his notes, I don¡¯t think he was a fighter, even if he was somewhere in the Core Formation realm.¡±


    ¡°What makes you say that?¡± Jun Vral asks.


    She shrugs. ¡°Some of his notes,¡± she says, sweeping a hand over the table. ¡°He talks about some of his subjects. All of them were mortal grade, and he seemed wary of trying to push any of them into Nascent Core levels, combat-wise.¡±


    Jun Vral doesn¡¯t comment on that. She can hear his snakes slithering, track their hearts and see them looking around the room. They move slower than normal, avoiding any of the tables.


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    She recognizes the behavior. It¡¯s subtle, as Jun Vral tends to do best, but she can see the hesitation, the elevated heart rates. The snakes, or maybe Jun Vral himself, recognize the space, or find it familiar enough to react to it fearfully.


    Yeah. The plan keeps forming as she goes, and Zhoulong is on the list.


    She collects the papers, picking some up from the floor, others up from the table, and shuffling them into the satchel so conveniently close by.


    ¡°I think we have what we need,¡± she says. ¡°Some little madman, desperate for approval. We know where this is located, we can come back for the body later.¡±


    Taran hasn¡¯t moved.


    She reaches out to touch his shoulder, and he flinches, hard enough to make his guns rattle and ring against some of the piercings poking through him.


    ¡°The rooms,¡± he whispers.


    She¡­ nods.


    ¡°They had things left,¡± he rasps. ¡°Trinkets. Little things. Little¡­. Did he- we assumed they were corpses first.¡±


    ¡°We did,¡± she whispers.


    He¡¯s trembling. His hands shake and twitch as he seems to struggle with something inside himself.


    Fueled with a burst of Qi, he moves fast enough that she doesn¡¯t see it coming, unable to sense his body like she can others, and unloads his revolver-shot pistol into the corpse, making it jerk and dance and filling the room with the thunderous clap of gunfire in an enclosed space.


    He says something, and she doesn¡¯t hear, the first shot having popped an eardrum, the others forcing her to shift flesh and block the other ear from the sound. She unclenches her fists and lets herself regenerate before looking back at Taran.


    ¡°Did he say anything?¡± Taran asks, eyes glowing slightly with the weight of his gathered Qi. The scent of gunpowder and alchemy is so strong for a moment it almost washes over her.


    Raika shakes her head. ¡°No, senior brother,¡± she says, quietly. ¡°Like I said. He¡¯s been dead a long time.¡±


    Taran does not move for a long time. The gun he is holding creaks with the pressure of his grip.


    He holsters it, silently, and stalks out of the room.


    ¡°What do you think Researcher Zhoulong may achieve with such remarkable research?¡± She asks Jun Vral, not turning her eyes away from Taran as he walks out.


    Jun Vral says nothing for a moment, but the smell of snakes and blood fills the room, bit by bit, so she knows he¡¯s using his Qi.


    ¡°If you¡¯re trying to pressure me,¡± she says quietly, ¡°I am afraid this junior is not adept at sensing it. Still, this junior can only admire your restraint.¡±


    ¡°What do you want,¡± Jun Vral hisses.


    Good. He¡¯s on edge, off his game. Now to play this right.


    ¡°I told you already,¡± she answers.


    ¡°And since you did, he can take that knowledge from me,¡± Jun Vral hisses. ¡°I have been trying, over and over, to warn you off of this. Did you think I put my fangs around your ankle just to beg for aid? Did you think I¡¯m so delusional, I¡¯d ask for help from someone a quarter my age to kill someone a realm higher than me, never mind you?¡±


    He had been trying to warn her off. Being subtle, being quiet. The fact that Zhoulong can somehow pull knowledge from him contextualizes a lot of his actions, even if you discount the trauma. Still, she can¡¯t help but look for signs. He said ¡°Just¡± to beg for aid, indicating it was that and more, not denying it entirely, and the act of warning her inherently acts as a sort of concern in the right light.


    And she has him on edge.


    And she has a plan.


    ¡°Does he need to cut you open to know things?¡± She asks.


    Jun Vral freezes. His eyes go cold. His skin roils and shifts, until it is hard to tell if she is speaking to a person or a knot made entirely of scales and glistening eyes.


    She feels the pressure now. A slightly trembling in the air around them, a small shift in the gravity of the room as he brings his Qi to bear, the scent of slithering violence overwhelming. She can hear Taran saying something, hear the others reacting, but she ignores it for now.


    ¡°I¡¯m being genuine, senior brother,¡± she says. ¡°Can he pull from you at will, or does it take something else?¡±


    Jun Vral says nothing for a moment. Then-


    ¡°It requires proximity,¡± he hisses. ¡°And pain.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Then it will be fine.¡±


    He snarls at her, human voice warbling as dozens of snake throats take over. ¡°How do you KNOW?¡± he asks.


    She looks at him. She is cold to his heat, and she does not let her wounded heart rest or elevate one drop.


    ¡°Because I changed my mind. I¡¯m gonna kill him today.¡±


    Jun Vral says nothing. Trained obedience and violent pain war in his eyes, mingling and coiling and snarling at her, even as she looks for the slightest hint of hope, the slightest chance he believes her. The plan can work without him, but not nearly as well, not nearly as efficiently.


    Eventually, she sees it.


    She waits for him to calm himself. Waits for him to take a breath through a human throat once more.


    ¡°Do you think the ones who came with you would aid us?¡± she asks.


    He thinks for a moment. Then- ¡°Shapefixit, maybe. But the twins will be trouble. They believe in him.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about them,¡± she answers. ¡°If they¡¯re like Kaena, I¡¯m confident that they can deal with the two. Project 13 doesn¡¯t strike me as the independent sort anymore, can we trust him to stay outside and keep quiet?¡±


    Jun Vral nods. ¡°But¡­ he needs Researcher Zhoulong to live. No one else knows how to maintain him, and he can go bad without care. It¡¯s what Zhoulong does when he wants to remind him to be loyal, just lets him fall apart.¡±


    She nods. A problem, for sure, but probably not an insurmountable one. ¡°Does he keep notes?¡± She asks. ¡°Unless he¡¯s hiding things from this ¡®Central¡¯ or whatever, he should have some kind of treatment notes, right?¡±


    ¡°He has some,¡± Jun Vral admits. ¡°I don¡¯t think he sends as many as he should, though. Keeps them in a separate spatial ring, one without the sign of the Division on it.¡±


    She smiles, wide. ¡°Perfect,¡± she says. ¡°In fact, that¡¯s even better than I hoped. Call Shapefixit in here, call Taran too. I¡¯ll tell you how we¡¯re going to kill a Nascent Soul Cultivator.¡±

 Chapter 73 - All According To (Definitely Not Lethal) Cake-kaku

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    Taurus and Zhoulong arrive together, flying fast enough to be a blur in flagrant displays of Qi use. The competition, then, is still going strong. Alongside them, ¡°the twins¡± and Kaena are pulled along, floating behind them and held aloft purely by the Qi of the two masters they accompany.


    It¡¯s easy to forget sometimes, Raika thinks, that if not for the Empire and how intense things are in the inner ring, Taurus would be easily at the level of a sect patriarch, or at least an elder. For all her improvements, he stands high above her in terms of power.


    Good.


    They both land, the grass in a radius around them flattening and a wave of their scents washing past her as they touch the ground once more. Kaena is barely half a step faster but manages to bow to them just before the twins do, quiet thanks emerging from their lips just before either of the two lighter-skinned variants can keep up.


    Raika smiles. This might work out well after all.


    Pleasantries out of the way (and Taurus clearly impatient about being fawned over, even as Zhoulong preens very slightly at the thanks he gets), goes to step forward- and is interrupted as Zhoulong steps forward instead.


    She is very glad she¡¯s gotten more comfortable with her mask, because that almost makes her laugh. It¡¯s just so¡­ childish. The whole thing, really, this little competition, and she wonders if all Researcher meetings are like this, or just the ones with Zhoulong in them. She hopes it¡¯s the latter. It would be nice if he were, in all respects, more an exception than a norm. It would make what happens next easier to sell, too.


    Zhoulong steps forward, arms as wide as his smile as he beams at them. ¡°Expertly done!¡± He laughs. ¡°I see no major wounds, nothing requiring maintenance, and you won me a bet, my loves! Ten whole minutes before the ol stick in the mud over here thought you¡¯d call for us!¡±


    ¡°I suppose not all of us spend time on such frivolous exercise as to gain experience with them, honored brother,¡± Taurus says, smooth as silk and showing no signs of frustration with whatever he may have lost.


    ¡°Nonsense, my friend, it¡¯s all in one¡¯s instincts!¡± He says with a smile. ¡°A crane flying doesn¡¯t need to practice finding the wind, it simply does so, and here, I have found the wind beneath my wings, the jingling to my purse, the favor to my ledger. Truly, life is a fine thing, is it not?¡±


    Shapefixit, the twins, and Jun Vral all speak simultaneously, bowing their heads and saying a polite ¡°yes, master¡±.


    ¡°See, this is why you never make it up in the world, Boriah!¡± he smiles and says. ¡°The only one of your darlings that gives proper obesiance is the one trained from birth for it. You really need to enforce more discipline.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d prefer you enforce some discipline of your own,¡± Taurus replies, his eyes getting a bit more dangerous as he stares down at Zhoulong. ¡°Especially coming from a meddler of your status. Pray tell, honored brother, when was the last time you delivered something truly unique back to the Grandmaster?¡±


    Zhoulong laughs, putting up his hands in a placating gesture. ¡°All right, all right. No need to get so ornery about it, junior brother. Just giving some advice. Surely no need to be so on edge, we¡¯re all friends here, aren¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°So!¡± he says, turning back to the group. ¡°Where¡¯s the target?¡±


    Raika says nothing. Jun Vral, Taran, Shapefixit and 13 (who maybe can¡¯t speak) all say nothing.


    She walks past him, silently, and bows to Taurus, keeping her head low as she holds out the satchel containing the documents from below.


    She usually can¡¯t sense Qi pressure except as slight alterations.


    Zhoulong lets go of his restraint, and she feels like she can¡¯t breathe.


    The smell alone is one thing, but for the first time since the elders of the Purple Flame sect, she can feel herself have to struggle to stay upright and awake. The world feels like it bends towards Zhoulong, like he¡¯s suddenly heavier than anything else in the area, and by his presence the world transforms. She can feel her muscles suddenly straining, her lungs aching, the jelly of her eyes trembling. Taran, the twins, Shapefixit and Jun Vral all fall to their knees immediately, and the smell of blood leaking from eyes and ears makes itself clear to her; only Kaena, Taurus, and 13 remain upright.


    And her. She does not fall. She holds the bag out to Taurus.


    ¡°What,¡± Zhoulong says, deathly quiet, ¡°is the meaning of this, Boriah?¡±


    Taurus turns to him. Looks back down to Raika. Looks back up to Zhoulong.


    She smells a very small hint of alchemy, hears Taran rustle and make a small ¡®clink¡¯ noise amidst the writhing and the sounds of labored breathing.


    Whatever signal he¡¯s sent, it¡¯s enough. Taurus¡¯s pressure awakens, a wave of Qi emerging from him, unrestrained and pressing down on the world by its sheer presence, and for a moment, things even out. The pressure seems to equalize, maybe slightly favoring Taurus in terms of sheer metaphysical weight he exudes. It¡¯s a masterful technique, not just exerting his essence wildly, but shaping it like an umbrella of sorts in an area around him, leaving a sort of balanced pressure in the center and protecting those at its edges. She¡¯s heard that great masters can use their presence this way, the weight of Qi unrestrained yet somehow perfectly controlled, but she¡¯s never seen it.


    Then she feels herself start to bleed internally, and she realizes that for all the clashing pressures might have equalized somehow, their new state is not necessarily survivable to her, trapped in the middle.


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    Kaena takes the bag from her, and she immediately falls to one knee, letting it seem like she can¡¯t withstand the pressure while also making sure she¡¯s maintaining some degree of posture.


    ¡°I¡¯m curious myself,¡± he rumbles, quietly. ¡°But it may be easier for us to find out if my subordinates can speak, don¡¯t you think honored brother?¡±


    For a moment, she suffers, feeling the blood start to pool and forcing it by will alone to circulate properly, keeping herself awake and aware a while longer.


    And then, Zhoulong reels back his presence like it was never there, the scent of sharp wind and high peaks overwhelming the space entirely until Taurus pulls his aura back a moment later.


    She can¡¯t help but gasp, letting some blood dribble out through nose and mouth as she breathes again. She does not have time to notice the others, not with the leftover sensation of the last few moments still overwhelming her.


    ¡°Well?¡± Taurus asks, letting Kaena sift through the bag¡¯s contents. ¡°Why is it you¡¯ve disrespected a Researcher of a Division of the Empire so, Raika?¡±


    She breathes, coughs, once, tasting her own blood, flavored something like iron and copper but richer too, now. Funny. She hadn¡¯t noticed that before.


    She can feel the danger. The knife¡¯s edge. The risk, the potential harm here. She can¡¯t help but smile.


    She deserves it, and she¡¯s so, so close to dancing across the razor well enough that someone who deserves worse gets their due.


    ¡°I am afraid I can no longer consider the honored Researcher Zhoulong an honorable member of the Division, or the Empire,¡± she says, keeping her head bowed and her hair over her face so they can¡¯t see her grinning.


    She smells scalpels and glass and blood as Zhoulong goes to say something, to take a step forward, but a rumble and a look from Taurus are enough to shut him up.


    ¡°Explain,¡± he says simply.


    ¡°Honored Researcher Boriah,¡± she says, ¡°Upon arriving in the depths of the hidden compound and confronting the one responsible for the deaths of mortal servants of the Empire, the assault on Paleblossom city, and the production of black metal from an interaction with sunstone, we found him long dead, having attempted a union or transformation with a powerful relic. It is unknown if his madness overtook him, or if something went wrong in a procedure, but he discovered an artifact in the form of a skull shaped from sunstone, and tried to replace his own with it, to lethal results. We bring to you here, as an Honored Researcher of the Division of Altered Cultivation, his notes and proof of his madness.¡±


    ¡°And proof of his collusion with Researcher Zhoulong to incite the ongoing turmoil, on the false belief he would be accepted freely back into the fold if he only showed results.¡±


    ¡°WHAT?!¡± Zhoulong roars, and before he can unleash his presence again Taurus holds up one hand.


    ¡°Honored Brother,¡± Taurus says, as quietly as his frame can manage. ¡°If you attempt to use your aura to harm or intimidate my subjects again, I will have no choice but to assume these allegations are true, and you¡¯re hoping to hide evidence.¡±


    Zhoulong says nothing for a moment, but his scent does fade.


    ¡°I will have your post for this,¡± he says, smiling again, his own mask firm. ¡°I¡¯ll have your head, ¡®Honored brother¡¯. You cannot believe this slander, and to promote it like this is a farce.¡±


    Taurus, with all the same poise and self control he¡¯s shown to Zhoulong so far, ignores him.


    ¡°Continue,¡± he says to Raika.


    ¡°It¡¯s all there, in the writings¡± she says, tilting her head up and briefly making intense, painful eye contact with Kaena, hoping to piggyback on whatever signal Taran managed to get across to get them to play along. ¡°You can see the pages on top, they detail how he spoke about returning, how he was promised that if he was useful, he¡¯d be allowed back into the Divisions. How he wanted to work with the Honored Altered Cultivation Division. He claimed it was told to him by a superior.¡±


    All true. The notes had been there, in black and white. She ate the papers about the sunstone, about the black metal, about the most ¡°interesting¡± of the experiments he had planned, all the better to paint the corpse-smith as incompetent, mad and lucky, or perhaps supported by a benefactor. The ones she kept, of course, were his ramblings and his notes on already-completed experiments. Including the parts where, just like he told her, he was desperate and half-mad trying to get back into a Division¡¯s good graces.


    ¡°This alone is not enough for me to doubt the integrity of the mighty and honorable Researcher Zhoulong,¡± she continues, ¡°but for the aid of Jun Vral, one of his subjects and direct subordinates. He confirmed that several of the examination, vivisection and alteration tables in the main lair of the compound possessed near identical traits to those of Researcher Zhoulong¡¯s work. Including tools he assures he has not seen in any of the many visits that Researcher Zhoulong pays to other Researchers. These facts, together, clearly indicate that Researcher Zhoulong involved himself in these criminal and tortuous acts, without approval from the Division, which in turn is what allowed him to arrive at our location so soon after we arrived. He knew ahead of time.¡±


    Moment of truth.


    If Zhoulong can pull information out of Jun Vral directly from here, then the plan¡¯s fucked. If, as she assumes, he needs time, tools, and Qi, then the plan only breaks when Jun Vral or one of the others does. It would have been less risky to just say she noticed Jun Vral hide some kind of reaction, or even that she smelled Zhoulong¡¯s Qi somehow, but either lie, while carrying less risk for them all, had a much lower chance of working.


    She feels / scents Zhoulong¡¯s Qi begin to stir, but Taurus faces him then, silently. He pulls back his aura, hands up in mock surrender, smiling.


    Again. Moment of truth. They fail here, or if he doesn¡¯t react as she predicted, then it¡¯ll be torture for Jun Vral and the rest of Zhoulong¡¯s ¡°subjects¡±, and he¡¯ll have some kind of evidence that she¡¯s lying.


    ¡°That¡¯s idiotic,¡± Zhoulong scoffs. ¡°You know I have friends back at Central, and you¡¯re notoriously good with filing your travel plans, Boriah. All it took was a few questions. And believe me, I have enough projects of my own to consider!¡±


    ¡°And yet, you came here, senior brother,¡± Taurus rumbles. ¡°To interfere with mine. Never mind the fact that most of your projects have been with you decades longer than most Researchers. Even those with a family as prestigious as yours, and as many decades-old papers published as you, have to pursue achievements sometime.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s not to speak on your famous lack of discipline,¡± he finishes with a smile.


    Zhoulong is very quiet now.


    ¡°Careful, ¡®brother¡¯,¡± he says. ¡°I have centuries of experience over you. I¡¯ve been working with the Altered Cultivation Division a hundred years longer. I¡¯ve been here since the start. It would do you well not to make certain implications.¡±


    Taurus snorts. It is a beautiful, marvelous, wonderful sound to her ears.


    And, this close to him, she can still smell his Qi. And how the thing that lives inside of it seems to grow in presence, its hooves sharp, its horns bright and bloody.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been here a century, it¡¯s true,¡± he says, smiling. ¡°But I¡¯d hardly say you¡¯re a starting figure, a century old member of a two hundred year Division, who didn¡¯t join it beforehand in the centuries of life you brag to me about. It¡¯s a small distance in the life of a cultivator, it¡¯s true, but not so small one as young as you or I wouldn¡¯t notice. Unless one were a braggart.¡±


    ¡°And that whole time,¡± he says, grinning with that massive, almost alien smile, ¡°and still just a Researcher.¡±


    She has him. He¡¯s on board, trusting her lie, using it himself. Now she just-


    Zhoulong, his aura like a blanket, like a lead weight, like a suffocating gas and bend in gravity, launches himself at Taurus, the edge of his hand reeking like the perfect, clean edge of a scalpel.


    Click.


    Last piece in place.


    Plan worked. Now, to make sure it doesn¡¯t kill everybody here.

 Chapter 74 - Tauruss Briefly Good Day

    The first hit leaves a crater and makes her leg disappear. The second hit echoes back to her, a couple kilometers away.


    Kaena staggers over to where Raika¡¯s landed, their body hunched and their eyes bleeding even as that hyper-dense cloud of Qi around them slowly decompresses from protecting them. She notices that they¡¯re still holding the bag, with all its papers and manipulated evidence, and she can¡¯t help but breathe a sigh of relief.


    It takes her that long to realize she hadn¡¯t been breathing at all, and the sensation of her lungs re-inflating from getting the air knocked out of her is enough to make her aware of the pain again.


    Shes left on the edge of a crater, a fifty foot wide cut dragged across it and going even deeper, like a sword the size of a building cut into some sort of missing meteorite. The scent of Qi is overwhelming as it enters her lungs, leaving her coughing harshly even as she feels things shifting inside of her that really shouldn¡¯t be. She hadn¡¯t even seen them move, hadn¡¯t seen them do so much as blink before the first impact.


    Already a dozen more ring out, each impact throwing up clouds of dirt and bits of tree and stone. She can only imagine what the village must be thinking, the sudden arrival of an earthquake or thunderstorm without warning from their Imperial guardians. Which reminds her, there are still members of the Imperial army on standby back at the village, all lower cultivation than the Researcher¡¯s they¡¯re escorting but armed with flight artifacts that might get them here in time to interfere.


    Fuck it. Can¡¯t control everything.


    Her heartbeat is still slower, more painful than before, but she has enough additional structures there now that its still beating. That¡¯s enough for what she needs. A forceful pulse, leaving her internal bleeding a bit worse in exchange for making the Qi she has left clash against itself. Again, the conflict of unformed Qi forced into an unhealthy, chaotic ¡°formation¡± in her bloodstream causes Qi deviation, the pain of it bursting and multiplying, ringing like razors all throughout her. She doesn¡¯t let the pain distract her, sending as much of the sensation as she can into her missing leg, watching as the flesh starts to bubble and grow. She forces part of her mind to keep up, directing the growing tissue into a form as much like her leg as she can, but it¡¯ll take minutes, and she doesn¡¯t have minutes to spare.


    Kaena¡¯s been annoying her for a couple seconds now, and she should probably focus in on that.


    ¡°What do we do now, oh genius?¡± they ask her, staring at her intently.


    ¡°You!¡± someone yells, and Raika can¡¯t help but hold back a groan.


    The scent of unripened peach and over-heavy cream washes against her in a wave that only adds to her dizziness. Kaena tries to help her up, but being more than a foot shorter and much lighter, can¡¯t do too much. Still, the help is appreciated as she gets mostly upright, sitting up and kinda crouching against the lip of the crater she¡¯s in.


    ¡°Yes, me,¡± she says, snorting hard to get their scent out of her nose.


    ¡°Liar!¡± two voices scream as one, almost identical, the twins stalking towards her.


    Taran steps between her and them before she gets a chance to say anything, but while they do stop marching at her they don¡¯t stop glaring.


    ¡°You lied,¡± they both snarl at once, speaking in tandem. ¡°You lied! Master Zhoulong would never do what you¡¯re claiming, much less with some useless little backwater like this! How dare you disparage him! We¡¯ll-¡±


    And then Kaena steps forward, and Raika experiences a moment of dissonance.


    The scent of peaches and cream remains prevalent. There are notes in it, of unripened leaves, of thicker cream, of quicksilver and ripeness, but none are distinct enough to stand out as their own scents. Instead there is simply a cloud of one Qi, one will, and it is clearly not the twins who are in the ascendant.


    ¡°Enough,¡± Kaena says, and that word alone has both of them look at their elder in fear.


    As the thunder of battle ripples around them, their little clearing is frozen in tableau.


    And then Jun Vral, of all people, steps forward.


    ¡°Stand down, twins,¡± he says in a quiet voice.


    They both snap their heads to look at him, their ire turned from her to their would-be ally in an instant.


    ¡°How dare you,¡± they both snarl. ¡°Master Zhoulong has given you everything. You wouldn¡¯t even be cultivating if not for him, much less capable of standing like the man you wish you were.¡± They narrow their eyes at him, stepping forward again. ¡°But then, you always were his favorite. What better place to stand than at his feet? What better place to undercut him from, traitor? We shall hold this grudge against you until your beating hearts are-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Kaena says softly, and again that conjoined scent flexes, and they both shut up.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t claim things beyond your grasp, young ones,¡± Kaena says to them. ¡°And you certainly should not act so childish before your betters.¡±


    Both younger, peach-scented cultivators sneer then. ¡°Oh, and are you our better, Hao Kaena, Snake of the Garden? Are you to lecture us on loyalty now, with so many of your suitors left destitute and ruined behind you?¡±


    Kaena says nothing, but both twins pale as their Qi begins to move.


    Raika can¡¯t really keep track of what¡¯s happening between them. Judging by some of the looks all around and the hints of Qi anxiously let off by more than one of the people present, she doesn¡¯t think many others can either.


    Then one of the twins slips, one leg seemingly going numb as they grab onto their twin for support. They grab at each other, and for a moment, as they stare up at Kaena, Raika sees fear in their eyes.


    ¡°Well,¡± Kaena says, ¡°while I can¡¯t speak to loyalty, compared to your blind devotion, I can say that whichever of our teachers taught you manners back beneath the Tree has failed fantastically in their duties.¡±


    Neither twin moves, like deer before a bright flame.


    Slowly, Raika makes her way back to her feet. The left one is more than a little malformed at this point, but she¡¯s pruning and fixing it enough to make it functional, and it¡¯s enough to stand on. ¡°Well,¡± she says, ¡°now that that¡¯s out of the way. Jun Vral.¡±


    The serpentine cultivator turns to face her, and she bows to him.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she says, mask back on but only keeping her face neutral this time. ¡°Without your aid, I couldn¡¯t have unveiled the plot spun into place here. Your wisdom and your willingness to trust me are all that has allowed us to act in this moment.¡±


    It¡¯s true. It¡¯s also putting him in the spotlight in front of everyone here, anyone who could be asked about this, cutting off his retreat. Judging by how his heartbeats pick up a bit, he knows it too. Or maybe it¡¯s gratitude. It¡¯s hard to tell the nuances, what with his unique body condition.


    He sighs, though, so that¡¯s a good sign.


    ¡°Rise, honored sister,¡± he says calmly. ¡°You¡¯ve made shockingly fast strides against someone you identified as an enemy only days ago. Your word has been proven to hold weight, though we shall see if the death of Zhoulong fits the timeline you have created.¡±


    She nods, rising from the bow. ¡°More than fair, senior brother,¡± she says. ¡°Though in truth, at this point, I feel my faith is best placed not in myself, but in the violence and foolishness of sect squabbles and hidden cruelties.¡±


    She walks over to him, standing a bit closer than strictly necessary and making sure the twins are watching. ¡°In the end,¡± she says to him, quietly; ¡°there¡¯s still a lot to do. But I did say I¡¯d kill him, and I¡¯m a woman of my word.¡±


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    Jun Vral raises an eyebrow at that, the movement distinct on his too-pale skin. ¡°And how do you intend to follow through on that?¡± he asks. ¡°As far as I can see, your plan so far has been to lead Honored Researcher Taurus, who surely has his own reasons and merits for this confrontation, into a fight he may not win. What, then, could possibly convince you that you are somehow in control here?¡±


    Raika smiles.


    ¡°Who said anything about being in control?¡± she asks. ¡°I¡¯ve got patience and opportunity. All we need to do is find the right moment in the chaos.¡±


    ¡°We?¡± he asks.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she smiles. ¡°We.¡±


    ¡ª-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Taurus can¡¯t help himself but smile. Wide and vibrant and happy, and the more enraged Zhoulong gets, the more he smiles.


    Three days. Three days with this absolute tail end of a screaming, incontinent pheasant. It¡¯s a miracle he lasted as long as he did.


    That¡¯s not true, necessarily, he¡¯s endured far worse, but he just can help but feel overjoyed in this moment. It was a good excuse. Clearly fabricated in a rush, and not by someone experienced with plotting, but that almost works in its favor, giving the unveiled ¡°plot¡± something almost like a hint of authenticity that would be missed if everything lined up perfectly. There¡¯s no doubt in his mind that Zhoulong absolutely did not support the corpse-smith, as they¡¯ve been calling their most recent target for acquisition. But given his rumored proclivities, it wouldn¡¯t surprise him that Zhoulong had tools similar to what would be needed for these sorts of procedures, and the fact that he is here, interfering where he shouldn¡¯t be, is just another stone atop the burial mound.


    Most of what he¡¯d said had been insults, thrown out to make Zhoulong react, to make him throw the first blow. But the truth of the matter is simple; everyone knows what Zhoulong does. Everyone knows what he is, and everyone knows that he flouts the Division¡¯s authority whenever it pleases him, so long as he can find a new toy to play with.


    What amazes Taurus, really, is the fact that Raika found a way to use all of that so quickly.


    She¡¯s proving to be a good investment, even at the price he¡¯s paid and the things he¡¯s done. It might have taken months, maybe years to finish outmaneuvering Zhoulong properly. His interference with another Researcher¡¯s projects, his flagrantly breaking quarantine between research groups, and his untoward interest in the corpse-smith are all useful tools Taurus had planned to use anyways, but to use them now? It¡¯s not ideal. It pushes things forward far too quickly. Frankly, it¡¯s reckless and a gamble, both on her part and now on his.


    But by the gods, the hells, and everything in between, is it good to plant his fist in the smug bastard¡¯s face.


    Zhoulong reels back, a slight stagger in his step, but he refuses to slow, unleashing his Qi in another dizzying burst of attacks. His presence saturates the air with a chilly sensation, his own home-brewed cultivation technique far more intricate than Taurus¡¯ and refined to a razors edge. He can feel his opponent cycling Qi, draining it freely from his Dantian, keeping little in reserve.


    He fights like someone used to overpowering their opponents, with the razor-thin edge of his technique or the weight of his cultivation.


    Taurus has seen much, much worse.


    Keeping a tight grip on his own energies, he circulates exactly as much as he needs through his meridians, boosting his body enough to allow himself to dodge by only centimeters. The blasts of Qi cut open the world around them, Zhoulong¡¯s strange manifestation of Sword techniques more than capable of cutting neat, sharp lines against trees and stone alike, but finding no purchase on the air where Taurus once stood.


    He blocks the punch this time, Taurus¡¯ fist crashing into his defenses even as he cycles harder, boosting his body with a heftier dose of Qi and using artful, precise movements to move from one form to the next. His eyes are focused and glaring at Taurus, but his stance is still impeccable, his bull-headed use of Qi juxtaposed against pristine movement and martial stances. Something from the Academies no doubt, prizing efficiency above impact or flair.


    Taurus snorts.


    He grabs Zhoulong¡¯s arm midway through a punch and breaks it.


    To his credit, Zhoulong doesn¡¯t scream, doesn¡¯t even seem to react to the pain, simply unleashing another of the incredibly fine, surgical applications of Sword technique at Taurus the moment he slows. Threads of Qi wrap around the limb as he watches, an incredibly detailed control of it resetting the bone and forcing the limb back into place, keeping tight to prevent bleeding.


    They are beyond the point of dialogue here, but still, Taurus almost wishes he could pause the battle and congratulate his opponent on his masterful technique. The amount of fine control and Qi dexterity to do such a thing must have taken years of study, and Zhoulong is already using both arms again to launch further cuts against the world at him.


    It¡¯s a good technique. A fine technique, one difficult to heal from with how cleanly the altered Sword techniques seem to cut even Qi as they swing, disrupting Taurus¡¯ sense more than once.


    It is, however, only one technique. The other, then, would be the way he has puppeteered his own limb and kept it whole. Beyond that, Zhoulong uses barely any movement techniques besides some (admittedly efficient) boosting of his natural abilities through raw Qi usage, uses his aura and presence to muffle blows rather than a true defensive technique. He does not summon elementals, or craft impossible wounds, or skip through time or rip Taurus¡¯ blood from his body with a gesture, or even use a Dao.


    Taurus can¡¯t help it. He sighs.


    The sight makes Zhoulong¡¯s eyes bulge, the next round of slashes interspersed with kicks and punches that crack the earth, that rumble in the air around them. He throws a dozen blows, flowing through martial forms of precision and utility.


    Taurus dodges it all. The joy of getting to fight Zhoulong, as much as it still rages with the imminence of defeat and the humiliation of his foe, dims a bit. Zhoulong is no warrior. He reeks of a scholar, through and through, of someone who has fallen into his pursuits and interests to the detriment of his own experience.


    Taurus wonders for a moment, what he wouldn¡¯t give to have a true battle again. A fight against someone worthy, on an open field, free of childish grudges or political tricks.


    Such things are not to be, he knows. Not anymore. The reminder, as he casually blocks two blows and dodges another cut against the world, is stark and painful in this moment of joy.


    Still, bittersweet joy is all he has nowadays. It¡¯s good to enjoy it as much as he can, while he can.


    For just a moment, Taurus lets go of some of his control.


    Where before there were trees, now there is a field. The splinters of what stood here litter the ground and are blown away by a wind so sharp and cutting that immediately Zhoulong¡¯s robes are turned to rags, his skin quickly reddening as a thousand minute cuts appear on him instantaneously. The grass moves in the wind around them, and all that can be heard is the sky and the rumbling beneath the earth.


    Zhoulong goes to move, goes to say something or gasp or something, and finds that he cannot. Taurus steals the wind from his lungs, makes the air so heavy he cannot move, makes the weight of the earth and sky equivalent to the weight of the Mountain until his opponent finds himself crushed beneath it.


    For just a moment, he allows the chains on his Qi to slip, and manifests his soul and his Domain.


    Here, he is free. Here, he is mighty. Here, his Truths and cultivation and Dao are made manifest, and Zhoulong is lost amidst the depths of his very self, imposed upon the world.


    Still, Zhoulong lives, as Taurus knew he would. Even were he to push himself and manifest a Domain more fully, to extend his aura out further or to allow more depth in his manifestation, he¡¯s rusty. He¡¯s let it lay fallow for too long, kept his growth contained for too long. He feels the thing inside him, that which is not yet true but somehow is, the beast that is the final act of his manifestation from soul into Soul, snort and look upon him in disgust. It snarls at him, though it is not of a form that allows for such. He ignores it. He chooses to ignore it, holding tight its cage, holding tight to the Qi left inside him, that it does not move through him or grow any further.


    There is indulgence, and there is foolishness, and he has no desire to join Zhoulong in foolishness.


    The lesser warrior falls, dripping blood, his own Qi raging wildly. For a moment, Taurus actually wonders if he is going to manifest a Domain of his own, but though much rages inside him, he knows he is beaten, and to use his Truths here might mean that they break or are lost. Rather than put all of himself into a fight he cannot win, Zhoulong simply gathers his own Qi tight, weaving it into more fine threads and forcing it into a sort of woven shell around him, already threadbare from the wind.


    Taurus takes a breath. He feels the wind against him, the weight of the world on his shoulders and in his steps, the sound of the grass blowing in harsh breezes.


    And then he closes his domain once more, reeling back his Qi and with it, the manifestation of who he is.


    The trees are in ruins for hundreds of meters all around, the hills and stone of this mountainous terrain remade into a flat, grass-ridden plain where none but the lowest of plants have survived. Zhoulong crouches there among them, his head down, his body wracked with cuts and bruises from the weight of the world brought to bear against him.


    ¡°I-¡± he says, or tries to say. ¡°I can¡¯t- there¡¯s nothing that- I didn¡¯t- you. You dare to-¡±


    ¡°I dare,¡± Taurus rumbles, voice like rolling thunder. ¡°You have long been a stain on the Division, Zhoulong. A few treatises on the benefits of Sword techniques in medical examinations were never going to keep you free of scrutiny forever, and I have a hundred and more things I can array against you.¡±


    ¡°I am not guilty of this,¡± Zhoulong snarls, shivering but turning to glare up at Taurus. ¡°Whatever your animal mind might think of my methods, I am not guilty of this. I serve the empire, with every cut, with every word written, with every subject understood deeper than any of you might dare.¡±


    ¡°That is my favorite part,¡± Taurus says. ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±


    ¡°Zhoulong,¡± he intones, ¡°you are under arrest for treason against the empire and seditious manipulation with the intent to harm its citizenry unduly for personal pursuits. By the power vested in me by Grandmaster Erratha, the Division of Altered Cultivation, and the Empire¡¯s own Law, I place you under confinement, awaiting trial.¡±


    Zhoulong glares at him. Goes to say something, and thinks better of it.


    Taurus wins.


    And then the earth shifts, flowing like water beneath them both, and a red-clad blur emerges from beneath the ground and bites out Zhoulong¡¯s throat.

 Chapter 75 - My Beloved Monster And Me

    It almost took too long.


    Kaena was the first hurdle. They heard ¡°kill him¡± and that was enough for them. If anything, Raika found herself sort of flattered at how easily Kaena assumed she could do something. They¡¯d stepped forward, bringing to bear the conjoined aura they¡¯d gained by overtaking the twins, but by then Raika was already moving.


    She hadn¡¯t detected any aggression in Kaena, just concern, and that¡¯s enough for her to think this is doable.


    Taran¡¯s eyes briefly flickered to her, then to Jun Vral and the others, and then over to Kaena.


    And he¡¯d stepped in their way. She owes him big for that, but it¡¯s clear that what he saw in the tunnels and put together about Zhoulong¡¯s ¡°subjects¡± left an impact. She¡¯ll need to make it up to him at some point.


    The second hurdle was picking up the goblin without causing a panic.


    She had to bring Shapefixit. A risk, but their ability to manipulate the earth was the priority, the only way she could picture getting close without being seen immediately. She ran forward, turning her head to track the detonations, the direction the destruction was trending in. Not too far, not yet.


    The whole thing wouldn¡¯t even work if they got too far away. But it¡¯s an opportunity, and she made a promise, and it¡¯s going to get a lot fucking harder to kill him once Taurus has him in custody. Sure, there¡¯s a chance they kill each other in battle, but he wouldn¡¯t have picked the fight she handed him if he didn¡¯t think he could win, he¡¯s too clever for that and she knows it.


    So the choice was to move now, or be an oathbreaker (bad on its own) to people who felt like they¡¯d been tortured (worse) while leaving a deadly enemy far above her in cultivation and political power alive (also somewhat not good). She chose to move.


    She stops in front of Shapefixit.


    ¡°Can you do it?¡± the little figure asks, voice chittering and strange.


    ¡°I have a pretty good chance,¡± she replies.


    They extend a hand out to her, and she picks them up like a baby and starts sprinting.


    She can¡¯t help but see Kaena giving her one hell of a glare as she sprints away.


    Yeah, she¡¯ll definitely have to make it up to them. Hopefully Taran can explain and help them understand some of the decisions being made, but she doubts that Kaena won¡¯t demand to hear it from her properly.


    Ideally, this would be something she could plan out, explaining it properly and giving information to potential allies. As it stands, the time for planning is over. The plan got her the opportunity, but she still needs to grasp it.


    So she runs.


    Her chest ached. Her heart, the open stab wound that it¡¯s still fighting, both screaming in tandem, reminding her they exist. Her leg, still only just reformed, still a bit uneven, slowing her a bit, and she had to force her heart to beat harder, to cause that much more chaos and spawn just a bit more Qi for her to use to fix it.


    The world thundered ahead of her to the tune of monsters fighting.


    It was almost reassuring, in a sort of weird way. Her new form, her new existence, still so unrefined and messy even in its tremendous new power, wouldn¡¯t put her in the eyes of the greater fighters of the world. She¡¯s good enough to fight constructs of madmen, to survive a beast tide made just for her, but in front of her lies the heights of a peak she hasn¡¯t gotten to yet.


    She expected Shapefixit to be powerful to some extent, and seeing how she¡¯d manipulated the earth during their battle had been enough to give her inspiration for this idea. Still, without the tunnel network they¡¯d found under the valley, the plan wouldn¡¯t have worked, and she¡¯d have had to pretend she¡¯d been there to help somehow.


    But it worked.


    One massive use of Qi to dive into the tunnels. Shapefixit guiding her when she couldn¡¯t smell their Qi anymore, somehow knowing where in the twists and turns to move to find the right spot.


    And then, after some kind of technique that she is fairly certain shook the world itself to the core and would¡¯ve knocked her unconscious had she been above ground, Shapefixit turned the ground above her to water.


    Shapefixit got to stay in the tunnel. Raika got to dive through liquid earth right beneath Zhoulong.


    She couldn¡¯t have asked for a more perfect shot. Zhoulong, kneeling, bleeding, neck exposed. Her, diving up out of nothing, bereft of a Dantian or a Qi signature, in the aftermath of a technique that made her Truths tremble.


    And then, teeth of black metal, sharp as daggers, twice as large again as her original set, to bite through the skin of a cultivator in the Nascent Soul stage.


    Weakened, wounded, it doesn¡¯t matter; while burning Qi to empower one¡¯s qualities is the default and most versatile power a cultivator has, climbing through the realms, especially past the foundational, inherently improves a cultivator. Their weight in the world, so to speak. Their skin more unbreakable, their healing faster, their muscles able to exert more strength, so on and so forth. While Zhoulong has less depth to his scent than Taurus, the size of his Qi pool or the realm he stands near the top of are not in question.


    But she has teeth of black steel, born from death and End, and its very nature is to make what is alive cease to be so, for it has been made apart from itself by edge.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    So when she bites down, she does not find her teeth stopped just beneath the skin. She doesn¡¯t leave a trail of damage easily healed without a Qi signature to infect it. She does not, in short, bite into a cultivator in the Nascent Soul realm who should, even at their lowest, have her dead to rights. She bites into something alive, and when her teeth close and she tastes his flesh on her tongue, the taste divine, it is no longer so.


    He takes a moment to die. His entire Qi reserve splashes around him, the smell of violence made art made preservation blind and seeking, flooding towards his throat, where the qualities of black steel have made the tearing of his throat spread. He claws at himself, and fails to change what she has done to him. There is a moment, perhaps, where his Qi does something, its nature fighting that of the wound and the black steel¡­ but then the loss of oxygen to his brain makes things a lot simpler.


    His eyes turn to her in those final moments, and she feels his Qi gather one last time.


    Taurus, standing right there, so close he should be able to exert enough force to easily stop or redirect Zhoulong¡¯s attack, does nothing. She makes eye contact with him the moment before the attack hits, and as hard as he is to read, she gets it. Fair enough.


    Zhoulong Cuts, and in a line down her torso, from right shoulder to left hip, her body falls apart.


    Then he is dead, and she is bleeding onto the grass, left with an unfamiliar arm, a broken heart, and not much else.


    Man. She really thought she¡¯d gotten a grasp on this whole ¡°pain¡± thing. Turns out, when a lethal blow isn¡¯t actually as lethal anymore, the body doesn¡¯t shut down pain receptors the same way. She coughs, a bubble of blood coming up, and tries to reach, to grab her missing half, to pull herself back together.


    Taurus steps closer, and suddenly the world smells like wind and stone, like sky and ground and the weight in between.


    ¡°Well,¡± he says, crouching down to her level. ¡°What a mess. What a mess indeed.¡±


    She gurgles a bit, heart working overtime, her mind consumed by trying to hold in her blood, to keep it flowing with a system that is missing almost all of itself.


    ¡°You know, he was on the list,¡± Taurus says. ¡°Not that high up, mind you, but not low either. Plenty of rumors about his predilections, especially with that Sword technique of his. And how long his studies tend to take. Less focus on showing ongoing improvements in his subjects, far too detailed about intricacies that aren¡¯t usually very relevant. That, and he was insufferable, as I¡¯m sure you saw. All that posturing, strutting about, the whole world his oyster. Those born above the mud tend to see themselves as too important to ever step in it, and, well. Beast-blooded, younger than him, and a subject to more scrutiny than most. You can see the pattern, I¡¯m sure.


    She chokes a bit, spitting blood past her chin to get some more air into her lung, closing off the direction where the other used to be. The sound of her breathing, as raspy as Taran, is the only response she can offer.


    ¡°You were clever about this, I admit. Smart, to create a story that¡¯s surprisingly believable. Clever, and apparently a decent manipulator, to get his subjects on your side. But when I gave you the five-year timetable, I expected it would be at least a year before we crossed the first one off so violently. Yet, three months later, here you are. I wish I could say I¡¯m impressed, but mostly I¡¯m furious.¡±


    He leans close, then, and she is breathless again for the weight of the Qi he presses down on her. In this moment, weak and mortal and bleeding, she can sense the pressure from it just fine.


    ¡°Decades of finding the right rumors, of planting some myself, of finding his weaknesses. A dozen times over, I¡¯ve built the tools to get him and others out of the way. Even with the mess you made, getting him mired in the politics of prison would have been a win, gotten us months ahead of schedule. More than worth the cost of munitions I¡¯d need to expend. And yet, here, dead, he is worth nothing. A drain, a sea of questions to answer, a mountain of further criticism and scrutiny to fight my way through. It could very well set me back more than if I¡¯d cut ties, and then your boy would have lived. A delightful way to hurt the both of us, isn¡¯t it? The realization this may set us back so, at the cost of what we did and lost to get here?¡±


    He sighs. The pressure eases, enough that she can breathe, one gasp, another. Her heart is burning to keep her brain fueled with blood that is still leaving her, no matter how hard she focuses.


    ¡°So,¡± he says, quietly. ¡°You¡¯ve proven you¡¯re not entirely a fool. Your little plan is proof enough of that. So answer me true, Raika the Unbroken: why did you risk me, my people, and yourself, just to kill a man you¡¯d already maneuvered into my hands?¡±


    She looks up at him. She¡¯s only pretty sure that her eyes are working right. He looks very blurry. She takes one breath. Another. Tries to build up enough oxygen in her impossibly vast lungs that she can speak again.


    ¡°Would¡¯ve¡­ hurt them,¡± she wheezes. ¡°Worse. Than this.¡±


    The sound of wheezing breath is the only thing in the clearing for a good few moments.


    Taurus sighs, and the clearing around them bends away from him, every stalk of grass dancing with the breeze of it.


    Then he nudges her halves a bit closer together, and she feels living blood touch that which has gone still, and she thinks of nothing but the process of survival.


    She doesn¡¯t know how long it takes. She can¡¯t make much Qi, not when she¡¯s so damaged and her heart is so overtaxed, so she has to manipulate her blood directly, tracking every drop under her control and moving it into her severed half. The veins wake up first, and she spends minutes binding them together, getting the connections usually right. Skin comes next, still so malleable, binding the halves together, and bone after, lining up sheer edge to edge and forcing them to grow, to remember they¡¯re alive. Only after she¡¯s gotten her right lung back and working does she dare to break her focus.


    Taurus is sitting in the grass beside her, looking up at the clear blue sky. It has been a long day, and it is close to ending, the ever-coiling snakes of the sun touching the lip of the valley and casting long, beautiful shadows. He does not look at her, staring instead at the moons entering their nightly dance, at the slowly glowing hint of stars behind the blue of daylight.


    When she can breathe again, and wiggle her toes, she joins him in that, laying right where she landed and staring up at the sky as it changes.


    ¡°There¡¯s a scar,¡± he says, pointing to the ragged white line that formed where she reconnected.


    She shrugs, enjoying the fact that she can, despite the pain. ¡°Sword technique,¡± she says simply.


    He nods at that. Of course a Sword technique would be a pain to heal, even for her.


    ¡°You did promise me. ¡°Stay with me, and I will sharpen you into a sword sharp enough to kill me and anyone else you choose¡±, you said.¡±


    He sighs again. He seems to do that a lot around her. ¡°I did, in fact, say that. And here you are, sharper than when we started, at least.¡±


    They sit for a while longer, letting the sun dip lower, its tendrils reaching down to grab the southern horizon.


    ¡°Is it too much to hope that the next time we meet someone you feel objectionable towards, you tell me about it first?¡± he asks.


    She thinks for a while.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she says. ¡°I believe that is more than fair.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± he rumbles. ¡°Because the list is long, and I assume you have your own.¡±


    ¡°Mmh,¡± she hums. ¡°You¡¯re still on top.¡±


    He nods at that. ¡°Good,¡± he says, quiet.


    He gets up, letting the grass stains on his robe make their mark, and reaches a hand to help her up.


    ¡°Come on, then¡± he rumbles. ¡°I¡¯ve got more mouths to feed, and a very difficult report I need to write.¡±


    She takes his hand, and they walk away from the Imperial Cultivator they killed.

 Chapter 76 - A Quick Step Back And A Sexy Lil Spin

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    Maen hates cultivating.


    She hates it. She hates it so much.


    There is nothing to read. Not much to eat besides tasteless rations she brought in with her. Even sleep doesn¡¯t qualify as an escape anymore since her dreams just became more cultivation stuff.


    If time in isolation truly is something that every cultivator undergoes on their journey, it¡¯s no surprise they¡¯re all mad.


    Hardly explains Raika, obviously, but she was a cultivator before her crippling, so she probably did some time in isolation at some point. The points all line up.


    She forces herself to breathe again. According to Taurus and Raika both, she¡¯s not at the stage where an overly demanding cultivation technique would help her. Qi Gathering realm is exactly that: to pass it, you just have to gather and be able to contain enough Qi. Hit that threshold, and the body is forced into its first ¡°tribulation¡± (though it rarely goes by that title anymore, the ease by which most surpass it in modern times making it less like the horrors of ¡°true¡± tribulations), where the Dantian and Meridians must adapt to holding that fully packed Qi, the pressure in the Dantian forcing said Qi to open up one¡¯s Meridians fully.. With that done, a cultivator can move to the Foundational realm, the earliest stage for most techniques and sects, wherein one can begin to improve the quality and circulation method of their Qi and begin to infuse it properly into their flesh.


    She wonders, vaguely, if she¡¯ll get some sort of divine cultivation method. Despite the initial setbacks, Raika¡¯s advice on stopping with the herbal supplements she was taking seems to have helped, or at least not slowed her down much. Maybe she¡¯ll be able to tell her a pattern she can move Qi through her different Meridians in, some unique flow in the pathways between them that others haven¡¯t thought of before, allowing her to gain all sorts of powers. Maybe shoot past a cultivation realm, who knows.


    Anything to not have to be in this damn room anymore.


    Her focus, already basically free to wander, breaks at last with a final note of frustration, the Qi fluttering closer around her slowly dissipating back into the air.


    That, at least, she can admire. The difficulty in gathering the ethereal particles is a pain, but watching them float and flutter as she comes out of her unstable trance, enjoying the enhanced Qi sensitivity it grants even as it fades, is wonderful. For a heartbeat as her mind refocuses on the space around her, caught between the impossible within and the mundane without, she sees sparks in the air. Infinite in their number yet distinct, iridescent yet singular, each particle like a snowflake or fluttering life, clutching to each other in strange patterns and flowing in strange rivers.


    She sighs as they fade entirely out of sight.


    Ok. Maybe she doesn¡¯t entirely hate cultivation.


    Always annoying to fall into stereotypes, but despite herself, Maen the beast-blooded and cat-eyed does love how the world sparkles.


    Slowly, she starts breathing in rhythm again. She¡¯s not hungry yet, nor tired enough even to nap, and despite herself, she knows this is an opportunity. To lose this now, after watching Raika suffer, after being nothing more than a late addition and an indulgence on the part of those around her, here is her chance. Strength, and the joy which can be found in it.


    And, she blushes, a chance to match Raika in more ways than before.


    Everyone has heard of the voracious appetites of cultivators, and in this, finally, Maen finds herself no exception. She wants to climb that bloodthirsty madwoman like a tree, claws and all, day and night. She was hot before, when they first met, sheer force of personality and mystery carrying an attraction all her own, but since her healing? Since her more recent transformation into a towering, chiseled, eyes-glowing powerhouse? Oof. And in Raika¡¯s eyes, in that first night they shared, she could see how much that same impossible, haunted beauty had held herself back. The thought of alleviating that weight for both of them is a pretty solid motivator, all things told.


    She wants her. She wants to be here. She wants to be more.


    And yet again, as she pulls in her focus and drags the blood of the world into her soul and its own impossible flesh, she struggles, and slips, and watches it all fall apart.


    She hisses, allowing herself the instinct as the frustration mounts. She¡¯s been in here two days. Two days! She should be further along than she is. Outside the foot-thick stone doors, Raika, her partner, her benefactor, her ally and her terror, is surely out doing something fucking ridiculous, and all she can do is flail at something children can learn to do.


    In the moment of her trance fading, she angrily swipes at some of the glowing motes, growling at the stupid marvels and their refusal to bend to her will.


    And as her arm moves, she sees the Qi react.


    It swirls. Turns around her arm like it¡¯s caught in a brief burst of wind, wrapping around her like water¡­ and sinking in.


    It¡¯s not much. It¡¯s hard to even tell how much it is, considering the quickly-fading nature of her trance and how she has yet to develop her Qi sight. But it sank into her. She focuses, and thinks that she can feel a flutter of something in her arm, a slight pull against empty meridians.


    Technically speaking, she¡¯s supposed to just fill her Dantian till it pops, forcing open all her meridians at once. Technically speaking, movement shouldn¡¯t really help with cultivation.


    But¡­ it worked. It did something. She¡¯s felt less of a tingle after hours sitting still than she did in that one swipe while on the edges of a cultivation-trance.


    She sighs. Long, and deep, and so incredibly frustrated.


    Great. Now she¡¯s also going to have to exercise.


    Maen fucking hates cultivating.


    ¡ª-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Li Shu laughs, long and hard, and Qen Hou smiles wide at the way it helps her absolutely light up the room.


    Weeks since the events in the forest, Li Shu still has moments of quiet, where she looks into a corner or at her hands and doesn¡¯t move for a time, and Qen Hou has made it his mission to help make those moments as short as they can be. Not to interfere or interrupt, but to ensure she doesn¡¯t fall into them. Qi deviation is no joke, and neither are the sorts of doubts and traumas that might lead to a Heart Demon. Each cultivator¡¯s journey is their own, but¡­ if he can help it, he¡¯ll keep her on her path.


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°That,¡± she says with a soft smile, ¡°is the absolute stupidest joke I¡¯ve ever heard.¡±


    She throws a nut at him. ¡°Tell me another one.¡±


    He rolls his eyes, laughing as he plucks the nut from the air, roasts it in his hand and pops it in his mouth, much to Li Shu¡¯s annoyed groan at how quick he¡¯s gotten. He picks up his cup of the local blend of berries and alcohol they call a good drink in the tavern they¡¯re sitting in and takes a polite sip, enjoying how its sharp citrus hits the salty, crunchy snack. The sound of conversation continues all around them, adding to the ambiance and the joy of the moment. The inn they¡¯re staying in is small, but comfortable, on the edge of the main Imperial Road of the area and servicing plenty of members of the local community, caught between cities and with a small smattering of villages in the area as it is. It¡¯s a simple spot, with minimal decoration, but what is there is homely; pressed flowers and baskets and dried ingredients decorate simple wooden walls, a kitchen sizzling with the sound of a healthy fire, and plenty of tables to sit at, with just enough people that it doesn¡¯t feel crowded.


    ¡°Very well.¡± He sighs magnanimously, sitting upright in his chair, stiff and proper as if speaking with a senior in his sect.


    ¡°What do you call a wolf, who works as a member of a banker¡¯s union?¡± he asks.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, senior brother,¡± Li shu says, tilting her head and favoring him with the smile that makes a dimple in her cheeks. ¡°What does one call a wolf who works as a member of a banker¡¯s union?¡±


    ¡°A loan wolf.¡±


    This time her laughter is half-groan, her forehead hitting the table with a very unladylike thunk.


    ¡°Nooooo,¡± she groans. ¡°Forget I asked. Never attempt humor again, lest the birds fall from the trees from the pain of hearing you.¡±


    ¡°On the contrary, junior sister.¡± He holds himself primly, even as a smile fights its way onto his face. ¡°If birds were to fall to the ground at my jests, it would surely be because they possess excellent taste, and have fallen to laughter as much as they have to the ground.¡±


    She picks up her own drink, her eyes clear and her smile bright, and just shakes her head. ¡°You¡¯re an idiot and a jester,¡± she tells him.


    He strokes his chin thoughtfully, tilting his head and staring up at the ceiling in contemplation. ¡°I have heard that jesters can make quite a bit in the second ring. Perhaps if this whole cultivation adventure doesn¡¯t work out, I can find my calling in arts better suited to me.¡±


    She laughs again, chucking another nut at him, and this one he lets bounce off his forehead.


    It¡¯s nice.


    Ever since their fight with the bandits, their journey has been more subdued, their treks through the woods more vigilant than before. Even as he¡¯s entered the Core Formation realm, he¡¯s still not guaranteed to be much higher than the better bandits in the area, and not likely to be able to fight off another ambush on his own. The feeling of falling into himself, of all of the energy in his body slowly spiraling down to a single point after that battle had been terrifying, and drained as he was, it took hours for him to emerge from his trance having formed the beginning shell of his Core.


    But even as he dreads the thought of further violence, or of Li Shu being hurt again, he can¡¯t help but marvel at her growth as well.


    Whatever she did in confronting those bandits hadn¡¯t taken strength like his own, but instead an impossible control that he envies. Further, it¡¯s clear that using her power in such a manner pushed her over some kind of edge, and her Foundation has improved by leaps and bounds, leaving her close to where he was when their journey first began.


    He takes another drink. The life of a cultivator is one of violence as often as it is almost anything else. He can¡¯t help but wish, though, that every moment could be more like this. Enjoying the background hum of conversation, sitting beneath a roof, eating good food with drink that, while not very good, is made memorable by the company it is shared in.


    He wishes, with all his heart, that Li Shu need never kill another living being if she does not wish it.


    ¡°I must say, senior brother,¡± says the stranger sitting at the side of their table, ¡°I did not take you for someone possessing so many talents.¡±


    He flares his Qi immediately, the cracked nuts blackening, the wood around him smoking slightly, as he turns to face the intruder he did not sense.


    He¡¯s at their table. How did he not sense him?


    Hao Nera gives him that same roguish smile he was wearing on the day he and his bandit cronies attacked them.


    His hands go up immediately. ¡°Woah now, senior brother!¡± he says. ¡°No need to scare all the lovely customers away! I come in peace, and we¡¯re all friends here, no?¡±


    Qen Hou curls his lip into a snarl, silent. How did he get so close?


    He freezes as Li Shu puts her hand on his.


    He turns his head just enough to look at her. She doesn¡¯t have the haunted look, but neither is she happy with the situation. She just shakes her head fractionally, her gaze cold and her touch firm against him.


    He reins in his Qi. It¡¯s harder to do than it was before, raging so much hotter and so much more freely since his Core began to form, but it is him, and it obeys.


    ¡°Many thanks, honored healer.¡± Hao Nera nods at Li Shu, his smile a bit more nervous than before. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I seem to have left a poor impression. I¡¯m not here for trouble. In fact, I¡¯m here to present my two benefactors with a gift.¡±


    ¡°And what gift might that be?¡± Qen Hou says, just loud enough that his tone, coupled with the earlier flare, has the tables around them emptying quickly.


    ¡°Why the gift of opportunity, honored brother!¡± Hao Nera grins at him. ¡°That which all we meager cultivators pursue, yet that which few can grasp. I-¡±


    ¡°Clarity, Hao Nera,¡± Li Shu says. She doesn¡¯t flare her Qi, or move her hands at all, but something in her gaze shuts the bandit up quickly.


    ¡°Of course,¡± he says. ¡°Apologies. I heard tell of a Beast tide a little ways down south, and I was wondering if perhaps the two fine cultivators might be inclined to gain as many beast cores as they desire.¡±


    Qen Hou scoffs. ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot,¡± he says. ¡°What cultivator would end a beast tide without caring for taking their beast cores? Even here in the third ring, each core can be invaluable for those of the right cultivation, never mind their selling price. You want for us to go collect scraps?¡±


    ¡°Ah, but that¡¯s the beauty of it. See, apparently it wasn¡¯t cultivators that ended the beast tide, but the beasts themselves, in a flurry to consume some rare resource that brought them out of hiding. The Imperials kept things from getting too rowdy, of course, but they were with one of those fancy Divisions the Empire¡¯s so proud of, and apparently they left only days later. Hardly enough time to harvest materials, even if they were the fastest alchemists this side of the western rings. They left, and the village is small enough that there¡¯s barely anyone there strong or brave enough to dare go out and collect.¡±


    ¡°And what business is this of ours?¡± Qen Hou takes another sip of his drink, now uncomfortably warm. He leans back in his chair as he does, ready to dismiss the bandit.


    ¡°Simple, honored brother. I¡¯m going up there to harvest a bounty of my own, but seeing as I have so recently¡­ misplaced some foolish companions, I find myself in need of expert assistance. I can guide you there, hide us from any leftover beasties, and you and the honored healer can take as many rewards as you can carry. And, of course, save my hide if any of the many monsters of the third ring manage to sniff us out despite my most earnest efforts.¡±


    Qen Hou looks over at Li Shu, and finds her¡­ pensive.


    ¡°What makes you think other cultivators haven¡¯t picked the place dry?¡± Qen Hou asks.


    Hao Nera puts a hand to his heart, as if mortally wounded. ¡°You offend, honored brother! If there¡¯s any one skill I prize above all else, it¡¯s my ability to find a good opportunity. This Hao Nera¡¯s nose is better than any other when it comes to sniffing out a good bit of mutual reward, and, on occasion, a risk worth taking.


    He spreads his hands towards the two of them, the implication obvious.¡±


    ¡°So!¡± he says, smiling wide. ¡°What do you say? A brand new adventure, to celebrate some brand new friends?¡±


    Qen Hou says nothing. Despite everything, he doesn¡¯t feel it¡¯s his place to decide. He wouldn¡¯t be doing most of the work. But-


    He sees Li Shu. Her eyes are a bit wide, and a bit more vibrant. Even as there¡¯s a coldness to her gaze towards Hao Nera, he can see it. She¡¯s a medical practitioner without texts or a sect to back her, and they¡¯re both fairly tight on cash, despite what little he took from the bandits before burning the bodies.


    Eventually, Li Shu reaches over to the bottle of liquor, refreshing hers and Qen Hou¡¯s cups, and sets it back down with what little remains before Hao Nera.


    His eyes sparkle with delight. ¡°You best be treating this one right, honored brother,¡± he tells Qen Hou. ¡°She¡¯s a damn fine woman and a most lovely cultivator, with brains like that.¡±


    ¡°Hao Nera,¡± Li Shu sighs, not unkindly; ¡°shut up and tell us about your damn beasts.¡±

 Chapter 77 - This Guy Could Use Some Pai-Sho And A Good Tea...

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    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re doing very well, my lord.¡±


    Shin Ren ignores the voice.


    ¡°Perhaps we should stop to rest. A moment¡¯s peace might serve you well, perchance. Surely you haven¡¯t yet reached a point in your cultivation wherein you are free of all mortal concerns?¡±


    Shin Ren pointedly ignores the voice.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she whispers in his ear, ¡°you should listen to the other guy.¡±


    He flinches so hard he jerks a bit, stumbling to the side and looking around as if he doesn¡¯t already know that he won¡¯t see anything there.


    All around him is empty space above barren rock. All around him is the fact that he is alone, and that there is no one here to whisper to him.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been traveling a very long time, my lord,¡± says the first voice. ¡°I do think that-¡±


    He flashes the area around him to glass with his Qi. It singes and tatters what¡¯s left of his robes even further, but it also shuts out the voices a moment longer. It¡¯s worth it, for that instant of peace.


    It¡¯s not like he can waste Qi anyways. Not when it so constantly floods into him, dragged into the knots he feels in himself. He feels bloated, glutted, the flow of his cultivation method slowed and heightened in equal measure as unequal pressure floods his Meridians. He can feel his Dantian, physically feel the metaphysical organ straining.


    In an ideal world, this would be a boon without equal. In an ideal world, his cultivation would have skyrocketed, pushing him easily into the world of a Nascent Soul cultivator from the peak of Core Formation he stands atop.


    Instead, he wakes up some mornings tasting burnt flesh in his mouth and the smell of burning hair.


    He should have stayed at the sect. He knows that now. Surely they would have recognized that something was wrong eventually. Surely they¡¯d be able to fix it.


    Another part of himself seethes at the weakness of his mewling. He is a cultivator, an adept without peer outside the very edges of the second ring, and to retreat to the tit of a benefactor, no matter how familiar of one, rather than overcoming the challenge himself? The height of foolishness. No, he has to overcome this, to understand this on his own and come out the other side of this challenge. Even were that not true, it¡¯s far too late for such meaningless regrets now, much too late to turn back. He has come too far, in distance and in tribulation, to return to where he left.


    ¡°But isn¡¯t that the whole point?¡± the voice asks. ¡°That you¡¯ve gone too far? That you¡¯ve fallen much too deep into all this? I can¡¯t imagine they¡¯d even want you back at this point, honored child of the sect. Falling to heart demons, at your age? Over such a meaningless defeat? Honestly, if you aren¡¯t embarrassed, I can probably cover the bill for us both. I¡¯m rolling in shame.¡±


    ¡°Shut up¡± he hisses. ¡°You¡¯re not me. You¡¯re not.¡±


    ¡°And would that I were,¡± the voice grumbles. ¡°I mean I barely exist and I¡¯m pretty sure I could get us out of here in a week, tops. I mean, bare minimum, I¡¯m not afraid of my own flames.¡±


    He turns in the vague direction the voice floats to him from and floods the barren rock and sand with fire. He pushes, flexes, strained and exhausted parts of his very soul squeezing out every ounce of flame he can hold and burning everything it can touch.


    It¡¯s mostly stone, this far south, but even still, it burns. When he finally releases the flames, panting, staggering, teeth grit from the effort, the ground has turned cherry red and begun to crack and soften.


    ¡°A masterful display, young master. Worthy of the Academies most certainly. Do you think you could get them to accept us as you are? I think they might make a special exception to their dress code if you vomit up enough more flame, hmm?¡±


    ¡°I am not afraid of my flame,¡± Shin Ren snarls. ¡°It is mine. It is my own soul, tuned and refined by the cultivation methods of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect. Its pattern is ingrained into my meridians, its hue molded into my mind, and its purpose mine to determine. I am not afraid.¡±


    ¡°Then why do you keep hurting?¡± she whispers in his ear.


    He throws a sloppy backhand through the air beside him, stumbling back and nearly falling.


    ¡°She¡¯d probably do that less if we didn¡¯t respond like¡­ well, that,¡± mumbles the first voice.


    ¡°Go to the Hells,¡± Shin Ren replies. ¡°Neither of you are real. You are devils. My own mind, turned to haunt me, and I shall overcome you both.¡±


    ¡°So do it. I¡¯m as bored of watching you stumble around the desert as she is. Or just keep wandering south, see if some of the Fourth Ring¡¯s fortresses might take you in. As you are, perhaps you¡¯d even get the honor of a leash and muzzle, to best use you without having to listen to you mumble to yourself as they send you out to burn that which lives in flame.¡±


    Shin Ren breaths. Slow, deep, steady. Four seconds in, three seconds out.


    Slowly, breath by breath, he feels the world recede. Old, familiar routine slowly filters through stress and strain, bit by bit, until he almost feels centered. He adjusts his stance, centers his balance, and just breathes.


    He is his own. He is his own master. He must be, lest he fall to ruin here.


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    Heart Demons aren¡¯t a common thing. He hears they once were, and that there were techniques to suppress them, ways to weave one¡¯s Qi so that they became buried and starved. Then, almost three hundred years ago, the Research Division of the Holy Emperor discovered new ways to combat them, tools of the mind by which one could be healed or bettered, and passed those techniques down to the Academies and the Division of Health. There are still some sect elders which prefer the older ways, or who have heart demons so old that the pattern of binding them has become part of their cultivation and routine, but for most beneath the level of the Divergent Paths, and many within it, heart demons are old ailments, relegated to those who refuse help or are too far gone.


    And he, arrogant ass that he is, decided that the best course of action after being brushed off was to go wander the woods until he magically fixed himself.


    It took Shin Ren the better part of fifteen years to reach the peak of the Core Formation stage. He voluntarily took another four to refine himself, to ensure his foundation could not be matched and that his grasp on Sword technique, Qi usage and refinement, and martial forms couldn¡¯t be any better.


    It¡¯s taken him five months to lose everything.


    He tries to control the thought. Tries to give himself the grace he once gave to others. It¡¯s not fair to blame himself when he was clearly overlooked in favor of scrabbling for an advantage against the Empire. He¡¯s facing an issue he¡¯s never experienced, and whether or not he chose to isolate himself, he is isolated, and surviving it on his own.


    ¡°For how long?¡± she whispers in his ear.


    He doesn¡¯t flail, but even still his concentration breaks, his body going rigid.


    The worst part is that she isn¡¯t Raika¡¯s voice.


    The cripple, or mutant, or one in a million lucky cultivator he was placed against didn¡¯t sound like her. She was confident, brash, but smart beneath it, clever and brave and willing to stand up even in the face of death. Whatever she became, whatever his flames turned her into, Raika the unfairly judged, whom he had shown grace to and regretted confronting, didn''t sound like her.


    She hadn''t spoken at all while his flames had... hurt her. Certainly not like the horrific thing that won''t leave him alone.


    ¡°You¡¯ll hurt my feelings like that.¡± This time he flinches, his breathing exercise stuttering.


    He hears the way that her voice crumbles, at the way that ruined vocal cords and wet, burnt flesh flex beneath every word. He hears the sound of her and she is ruin.


    ¡°Flatterer,¡± she whispers.


    He opens his eyes. Much longer and he¡¯ll start to crack again. He needs to keep moving.


    His flame may have turned from him, it may now be a strange thing that he cannot freely control, but it still responds to his call. He pulls Qi from his system, wincing at how dangerous it feels to do so, how close to bursting his Dantian feels, and he pushes it into his legs, his lungs, and into his hands as he projects the flame behind him.


    He moves like this until he cannot anymore, a jet-stream of flame behind him, until he cannot stand to pull even a drop more Qi out of himself.


    Such an act, months ago, would have been enough to exhaust him. He¡¯d have been able to make precise, blue-and-purple intensity flames, and shoot himself across the world on a trail of perfect heat and divine mystery, and collapsed in joyous exhaustion at the end of it.


    As it is, he moves perhaps half as far as he might have, and he leaves an unrestrained crimson flood behind him that is miles long.


    ¡°A hell of a cry for help,¡± the voice tells him. ¡°If I saw that, I¡¯d come running right over, yes indeed. Sword in hand, ready to put down whatever mad spirit beasts is pissing flames all about.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re getting worse,¡± she whispers, crackling as she speaks.


    ¡°I am,¡± he says.


    And is met by silence.


    ¡°I am,¡± he says. ¡°I am getting worse. I¡¯m getting weak.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve done well so far,¡± the voice tells him. ¡°I mean, two at once? If that is what¡¯s happening, anyways. I dare say most young masters of your level might well have found themselves dead already. I mean we¡¯ve been greedy, haven¡¯t we? Drinking deep. So much to taste, and so much of you. Surprised you haven¡¯t popped like a balloon or shriveled up already.¡±


    ¡°And where would you be then?¡± he snarls. ¡°As dead as I am. As-¡±


    ¡°Ah, I caught that slip. You ain¡¯t dead yet, young master, don¡¯t you worry. The Hells are patient. But for all you know, I¡¯m not even alive. Maybe I¡¯m just your fevered little brain begging you to kill us both before it gets worse. Maybe I am a heart demon, and I¡¯m too stupid to realize what¡¯s happening or what I¡¯m doing, just plucking words out of your grey matter. Maybe none of this matters, because knowing you¡¯re mad, knowing you¡¯ve made of yourself a shell for your sins to live in, doesn¡¯t mean that you can fix it.¡±


    He snarls, but he¡¯s done. Exhausted. His Core still feels full, his dantian still brimming, his meridians still taut and struggling to expand or adapt to the pressure, but his body and mind ache with the damage he did.


    ¡°Oh yes,¡± says the voice. ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re stuck with us now young master. You¡¯re powerless, we¡¯re powerful, so we get to do what we want, isn¡¯t that how it goes? Isn¡¯t that how you used to like it? How many of your fellow cultivators did you bring low in your climb because of exactly that? Less than others, maybe. Pat yourself on the back for your magnanimous occasional sparing. Did you think that you wouldn¡¯t be called to account, that your violence wouldn¡¯t be used against someone you didn¡¯t think was ¡°deserving¡±? Because you were wise enough to always tell who deserved your wrath, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°It was a task,¡± he says, voice cracking as he struggles to breathe. ¡°I knew what it was, but am I to scream and whine at the world for everything I am called to do that I do not like? Is it my place to question those with centuries of experience over every decision in which someone might suffer? Fuck you. Let me rest. If it hadn¡¯t been me, it would¡¯ve been someone else!¡±


    ¡°Maybe someone else would have burned her better,¡± she crackles and sizzles next to him, so close he can feel her pressing in.


    He whirls, stumbling and falling down as he swings at nothing. ¡°Shut up! SHUT UP! She was abnormal! She had some sort of ability! I couldn¡¯t have known she was tough enough to survive the flames! If I¡¯d known I¡¯d have turned her to ash or cut her head cleanly. It wasn¡¯t my fault!¡±


    ¡°But it was your flame. It was you. Your Soul, tuned and refined. Made up in pretty colors just the right temperature to make her scream.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what it was!¡± he pleads. ¡°That¡¯s not what- it¡¯s not what it¡¯s supposed to be!¡±


    ¡°Fire is fire, princeling,¡± she whispers, so close he can feel scorched breath against his cheek.


    He realizes he has begun to cry.


    ¡°No need for tears, young master,¡± the voice tells him. ¡°We¡¯re all friends here, after all.¡±


    He screams, shaking, trembling, and suddenly full of flame.


    The fire erupts, one last time as he feels something break inside him, some dam in his Qi. He can feel the deviations, the trail of blockages and strange fluctuations that his heart demons have left inside him. Living Qi, infected by his madness, his own soul-spawned parasites crawling through him. Mindless insanity, guilt and fear and self-loathing so deep the feelings crawled into his very soul and turned his own cultivation against him, like starving maggots made of the world''s lifeblood and his own sin.


    The twilight sky turns bloody and bright as he lights up the clouds for miles in every direction.


    And then he falls, at last, to sleep.


    He does not hear. He does not see. He pushed himself so far that he finally fell apart, and lies there, weak and unconscious and covered in ash and pain.


    So it is that he does not hear the sound of footsteps on freshly-made glass as someone approaches.

 Chapter 78 - I Have No Name But I Must Scream

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    In the halls of Paleblossom City¡¯s imperial palace, there is a wing where no mortal has ever tread.


    In that wing, there is a hallway where no one without Imperial authority has ever walked. It has many doors, only some of which lead to rooms. Each requires their own key, their own set of steps, their own pre-ordained selection of pieces one needs to set into place before they open.


    Only one leads to the room that matters.


    There is someone in this room. They are not known, and they are not seen, but they are in a way that leaves their imprint on the room. Sometimes, this someone is the person who speaks when someone important enough comes to the palace. Most times, they are here.


    They are not alone in this room.


    In this room before this person who is not known and is not seen but sometimes speaks, there is a pearl. The pearl is invisible, not from magic or powers untold, but because it is so clear one can see right through it. The pearl, like all its kind, took one hundred and fifty years to make. It began as snow-white sand from a beach that only exists every third month, on a night with all three moons, and it costs an average of six cultivators a year their lives to collect it. Once enough is harvested, the sand is fed to a beast, a great sea-thing, whose life is lost to chains, its past and its future bound and wrapped by runes and Truths until it has only ever been a paradox, existing in the eternal moment of the now and nowhen else. One hundred and fifty years later, a pearl was formed.


    Then, like so many other pearls in so many other palaces, it was placed in a room, which was placed in a building, which was built around it from the ground up. And then, and only then, when the palace is built, the chamber inviolate, the pearl so pristine its clarity is like glass, is the person who is not a person brought to the hallway of many doors to find the one that leads to the room that matters.


    The room is pitch black, so it is all the easier to see the light as it flickers in the depths of the pearl.


    The room shivers. Ever so slightly, its very walls flutter, like lace caught in a breeze.


    There is no name for the color in the pearl now. A single mote, like a fractalized snowflake, lies now slightly left and below its heart, and the person that is not known is Known by the thing that looks through it.


    An exchange occurs. It would do no good to attempt to describe its contents, for there are no words which can be spoken on the subject, bar that it was strange, so fast as to be instantaneous, and ended with some form of conclusion. The language used is not one that can be spoken, for it has no somatic components, and does not use light or smell or touch as its medium. It was developed by those who were born equipped already with senses beyond the mortal, and who desired a means of communicating complex thoughts quickly across vast distances, with little chance of being intercepted or interpreted. In this, its developers were very successful.


    The pearl begins to glow a second time now, and this time it is not a mote that alights within it.


    A glow, around the size of a human fist, manifests in the exact center of the pearl. It, like the pearl itself, is a perfect sphere, mathematically without flaw, and as it glows, the room around the person who is not a person slowly shifts.


    It is not so vulgar an effect as to require damage or to wrestle against the ¡®laws¡¯ of physics. The attention of something that is to a Nascent Soul cultivator what a Nascent Cultivator is to an ant is turned to the room, and the room simply ceases to be what it was.


    The pearl is sitting on a curved, natural rock formation. Above it is an empty sky, bereft of stars, bereft of the coiling, writhing body of the sun and the sharp geometry of its sibling, bereft of even the moons and their orbits. All there is, in all directions, is beautiful blue stone, soft, downy vines (or perhaps tendrils, or snakes), and a distant sea on the horizon, its waves a gorgeous shade of rich, wine purple, its waves strangely falling into triangular and pyramidal shapes as it crashes against a far-off shore..


    This world, too, is silent, as the unnamed color looks down at the silent shadow of a person before it.


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    Again, they speak. In this, some small mercy is granted to those that might seek comprehension, for they do not use the impossible language from before. Whatever was privately shared in the small flicker before this radiance keeps its own secrets, for now. They still do not use words, but their concerns are somewhat more mundane.


    The radiance without name asks the not-person on the matter of its palace. It asks over their safety, and the safety of the people they command. It asks about the recent kerfuffle, about the mining of a newfound deposit of cold sunstone. It speaks on a beast tide, and how interesting it is to see so many of them so willingly leaving their dens and hidden places. They both speak of a touch of a candle-flame that moved south, and of a minor death in one of their lesser peons, and of a new development along the western front.


    Eventually, their conversation ends, though not on a quiet note. For a moment the radiance fluctuates, and there is a note in it. A warning.


    The impossible world shivers, the waves crashing with new ferocity, the mossy vines shivering in a new wind that makes them sound like rustling, scampering claws.


    There is something coming.


    The not-person asks for clarification.


    The radiance has none to offer. It dances about the subject: the Cold Sun and its hidden Watcher have been more active in the last few years. The fifth ring has been a bit more ornery than average. Perhaps there have been more conflicts between the sects, squabbling over resources and relevance.


    None are that which it warns of, though. Something is coming.


    The not-person asks if the Diviners have not spoken on the matter, if clarity has not been achieved through their eyes, all-seeing in the patterns of what is.


    No, the radiance replies. The Diviners all agree, and all lay silent. Something shall arrive soon, and its nature is as unknown as the moment where it shall land.


    The not-person asks no more, and acquiesces. To want for any more information would be to want beyond what it needs to perform as demanded, and that it cannot risk. The radiance, in turn, offers a simple thought, one translatable to a single sentence.


    ¡°As the Emperor wills, so it shall be.¡±


    ¡°As the Emperor wills it, so it shall be,¡± responds the not-person.


    The radiance fades, from a fist to a droplet and to nothing at all, and just as they had always been in that other place, so too have they never left the inviolate room.


    The not-person rises from their seat, the impossibly clear pearl now inert and invisible in the dark, and turns away from the room.


    As the door opens, the not-person picks back up their layers. They retrieve their identity, piecemeal as it is, on the journey through the hallway and its many doors, taking bits and pieces hidden throughout it back into themselves. A chain of thought they hid away, a memory they wanted to keep secret, a tic to their face and mannerisms that would not have served it. Halfway down the hallway, the not-person is no more, the vague outline of ideas orbiting it worn like a cloak over a void. It wraps the null self it is valued for in the shell it was given when it was placed here, in this palace, in this city. To wear such a surface-level imitation of its greater Family would only be an insult to the radiance and that which peers through it, a taint in that most sacred of communions.


    By the end of the hall, the Imperial Scion is itself again, no matter how shallowly. The self it was born with, kept pure and ungrown until it is chosen by its greater Family, sits separate from all that could change it inside an idea-suit through which their patriarch''s authority can rule.


    No person has ever seen it as it is, just as it has never seen a person like itself. It, like all the others, are not people, just as a seed is not a plant, not when held apart from the soil.


    The Imperial Scion of Paleblossom city, identical as so many of their siblings are save for the scraps it hides within its shell, seats itself on its throne and sends a summons to the sects it rules over.


    Something is coming.


    Slowly, as they wait, they bring the memory they hid closer. The thought behind it is small, barely visible as part of their noosphere, something that would be overlooked by all but the most dangerous of Diviners. It remembers, in scraps, the last time it had a sect master in its chambers. The way that, with a few words, it cowed one of the proud, one of the egotistical, one of the named, with nothing but its will and its power.


    The chain of thought it had removed from its would-be purity connects seamlessly.


    It liked being above the sect leader. It likes the looks they give it when they¡¯re afraid, when they look at it and see something that can hurt them rather than a nameless nothing. It matters when they¡¯re afraid, when it is wearing a face and can make choices, even if they¡¯re in another¡¯s name.


    It is a placeholder thing to better puppeteer the world for a parent that has kept it without name and without self. And sometimes, it gets to scare people into line.


    Something is coming, and deep within itself, within all that power that has no face save the face it is gifted by that which owns it, the not-person wonders. If something can so worry its family, be so relevant that they speak of it through the radiance¡­


    Well. It is not a person, so it doesn¡¯t have wants or ideas, not in the traditional sense. It would be useless as a non-reactive nothing, so it can still think, can still act, just not for itself. But who knows?


    Something is coming. something hidden from the Empire and its greatest Diviners. And doesn¡¯t that throw so many interesting things into question?


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 Chapter 79 - An Early Breakfast And A Lovely Vacation

    Raika can hold her breath way longer nowadays.


    It¡¯s something she¡¯s noticed before, but it implies a lot of things that it doesn¡¯t outright say, and testing it to properly understand the change was challenging without proper time to explore it. Turns out, it is quantifiable: she can pull in somewhere around four or five times more air than she should be able to hold before her lungs start to expand enough to ache. She can feel said air inside her lungs, though; it¡¯s not vanishing into some nether-space, it¡¯s held intact inside her.


    The conclusion is a bit concerning, but also severely promising. It¡¯s not just material improvements or her ability to control it that have changed: her biology is slowly but surely becoming distinctly inhuman. Rather than a ¡°normal¡± cultivator¡¯s ability to hold their breath for longer or fuel themselves with Qi alone, or even recycle the air in their lungs, she can just store more. That and, of course, get more out of it: even with her much more energy-inefficient, larger and more demanding form, she can go for much longer on a single, regular-size breath of air than most, capable of holding that one breath and running at a decent clip for minutes before she has to breathe again. It seems that the amount of Qi saturating is doing more than just reshaping her body, it¡¯s restructuring the properties that her body holds.


    Maen and Yun Ka have been instrumental in tracking the changes, Yun Ka on the mathematical side of things and Maen a bit more¡­ creatively. Speaking of which:


    Raika lifts herself up from between a shapely pair of legs, languid and relaxed like a sated carnivore, pulling her tongue back. And back. And further back still. Slowly, almost a foot of prehensile muscle draws back into her throat, which she clears politely.


    ¡°I think I hit thirty minutes that time,¡± she purrs, voice a strange mix of lyrical notes and animalistic vibration, casual as can be. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to have the exact timing on that?¡±


    Maen mumbles something incomprehensible and sort of twitches in response.


    ¡°Mmh. Pity. We¡¯ll have to repeat the experiment later, perhaps?¡±


    The flushed and utterly drenched-in-sweat felinid sort of moans something or other, which Raika takes as a vague sort of yes. In spite of repeated trials, the tan cultivator has yet to back down from so much as a single ¡°experiment¡±, and somewhat happily Raika worries about what¡¯ll happen when that insatiable spirit is finally met with a cultivator¡¯s body capable of matching it.


    It¡¯s been nice, seeing Maen improve. Foundational realm isn¡¯t exactly an undreamt of height, even in Maen¡¯s old life as a sect¡¯s servant, but to achieve several steps into it in a few weeks rather than years and years has been joyful for both of them. Raika¡¯s pretty sure that Imperial metrics probably have moment-to-moment tracking to determine one¡¯s progress, but it¡¯s always been more natural to her to go by the vibe of the journey, and she¡¯s certain Maen¡¯s is going well. Maybe not halfway through Foundational, still strengthening her meridians and dantian and their connections to her mortal body, making sure that the flow between them is seamless rather than abrupt and disconnected like in Qi formation, but saying she¡¯s made it almost a third of the way into the realm might not be amiss. Breaking through that first barrier has clearly done her good, as have the resources of the Division of Altered Cultivation (and, Raika likes to think, some of her own advice on the matter).


    She sits up, letting Maen rest and recover a bit and enjoying the morning air. Combat helped, but time outside of battle has also done its part to help her adjust to her new senses, and she takes a few seconds to just let herself feel every touch of the breeze, the smell of dew and sharp, cool air and the more distant scents of dust and food and smoke. It washes over her, and she lets it, before locking her senses down a bit and compartmentalizing as it gets to be a bit too much. It doesn¡¯t make the sensation go away, nothing save altering her nerves does at this point, but it helps her not to focus on it, and the meditation exercises that brought it about have helped as well. It¡¯s to the point that she can experience the rush of scents, the constant press of air pressure and movement, the touch of cloth and the dizzying amount of detail her eyes can pick up without needing to stop and recalibrate or muscle through with a mask and sheer force of will. Good thing, too, considering where they are now.


    She gets out of bed, body flowing smoothly, only half as heavy or muscled as she was back in the fight against the corpse-smith, and walks across the room. It¡¯s another ostentatious architectural feat, another part of an Imperial Palace (which always seems just empty enough to accommodate visitors) they¡¯ve been sequestered in. Gilded pillars, white marble, an extensive bathing room off to one side, a massive lounge area recessed into the ground from the upper area of the massive canopy bed that decorates the back end of the room. And, as a finishing touch, a truly colossal balcony, fit for a ballroom, its railing etched subtly with runic formations, its curtains vast enough to be sails on any reasonable smaller fishing vessel and fluttering in the wind. She walks to it, picking up a robe from a nearby clothing hook that held nothing when she last looked at it, and wraps herself just enough to not flash the whole city first thing in the morning as she steps out and gazes at the city.


    Paleblossom City, for all of its charm and the genuine spirit it had, was fairly small in the big scheme of things. One of the larger locations for its placement on the third ring of the Empire, sure, but no major exports to its name, limited imports, and most of its influence localized to the colder regions and mountains before the true north begins. Cragend, on the other hand, is a fucking metropolis, and its namesake is no small part of that.


    Stretching far off into the horizon, a massive canyon shatters the land, like part of the world itself cracked and split from an ancient force millions of years past. Its sides are smooth in some sections, worn into beautiful faux-jewels by wind, water and time, while other sections remain jagged, cracked and shattered into edges and caverns in their own ways. This early in the morning, with the sun only just beginning to coil back together at the southern horizon, its glow remains, the depths of the cavern shimmering with an aurora all their own of dark shadows, bright blue and green shimmers, and above all, a faint and pervasive orange-gold light.


    The city grows around it, the very tip of the canyon¡¯s jagged end stopping just before the Imperial palace in a sort of upper-class town square, while the city proper grows on both sides of it, bridges extending off across the narrower parts to connect its two sides. Several walkways and elevators lead down into it, the early, thinner section already mined and explored thoroughly and repurposed for habitation of all sorts, but especially those down on their luck.


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    But that is the focus, here: mining. Rare minerals, ores and gems saturated in natural Qi formations and deep flows that gather within the invisible depths of the world-wound are Cragend¡¯s main and greatest export, with commissioned mining teams sometimes spending months below the surface braving underground spirit beasts and strange demi-realms of concentrated influence to find specific pieces to match a sect or cultivator¡¯s needs. There are even several pits at the far end of the city, opposite the Imperial Palace and the noble and merchant districts behind it, where large quarries and mines have been dug into the earth to make for better access to some of the more readily available ores.


    The canyon isn¡¯t infinite, of course. It has a definite end, and while it stretches for miles, if Raika strains she can see the end of it clearly, dividing out into hundreds of smaller cracks and scars until gradually the ground is whole again. It¡¯s actually even more dazzling that far out: the shallower cracks of the ¡°crag¡± have turned to estuaries, connected as they are to one of the few large bodies of water in the central rings, the creatively named Cragend Sea (both for being only a few miles from the city, and for being at the other end of the crag). It is almost more ocean than sea, the whole body of it actually managing to go further than Raika can see by a pretty wide margin. The entirety of it is almost seven-thousand kilometers in a straight line, never mind its circumference, making it the third largest (and fifth deepest) body of water in the known world.


    Overall, the view is breathtaking, the city and its engines and luxurious technological ¡°trains¡± and rails making for one of the most technologically advanced cities in the third ring, and its industriousness meaning that even this early, it is twinkling and awake, matching the aurora of the Crag with its own fairy-lights and the sounds of people living and breathing in it.


    Raika picks up the cup of tea that she did not make and did not ask for, but certainly is happy to enjoy this early, off the railing next to her, and gives the thing that brought it to her a nod and a soft smile.


    She can¡¯t quite tell, but she¡¯s pretty sure it immediately vanished from her perception when she does.


    The Imperial palace of Paleblossom had some of the same entities, she¡¯s sure. Even without traditional Qi senses, she can¡¯t smell them either, their presence indicated almost entirely by minute changes in air pressure and the movement of dust particles. She doesn¡¯t imagine that most other cultivators can tell they exist either: Kaena, Taran, and even Yun Ka have never mentioned any invisible servants or react when they¡¯re near. Maybe Taurus knows, if only through his runework or his far more advanced cultivation, but she¡¯s not really sure. He doesn¡¯t seem like the type that would ignore any possibility of a security breach, so either he knows and isn¡¯t worried, he knows and has set up defenses, or he doesn¡¯t know yet, and she maybe potentially has another bit of information over him.


    They only really move when not being focused on. Not just not seen, either: she¡¯s felt them disappear from her perception or go perfectly still when she spent too long ¡°looking¡± at them by sensing air movements around where she noticed them. There¡¯s always more than one around, though.


    She doesn¡¯t think they¡¯re conscious. If they are, then they¡¯re bound in a way where they cannot communicate at all. She¡¯s tried leaving pen and paper, openly requesting to ¡°no one¡± that she¡¯d love to have an itemized list of the needs of people in the castle, even trying to see if she could corner one and ask directly, but nothing has had any results. Whatever they are, she¡¯s only ever sensed them in the Imperial palace and its grounds, and they don¡¯t really seem to exist as far as she can tell until something needs to be done or someone might require or want something. It explains a fairly colossal piece of why the palaces have felt so empty: no servants, anywhere. Whatever formation or magics were woven into being to create or bind such an impossibility, it is localized to a luxury for those chosen by the Emperor and their scions. So again: she has no idea if they¡¯re real, if they¡¯re people, a person, a bound spirit beast, a bound spirit, rare as those are, or something greater or stranger than any. Perhaps its a Truth operating somehow, or the Dao of Hospitality or something, enhanced to embrace the entirety of the Empire¡¯s most luxurious holdings.


    Whatever it is, it is incredibly, almost dangerously helpful and good at anticipating any requests, and¡­ she really doesn¡¯t see anything wrong in showing a bit of gratitude where she can.


    She had a hard six months working with visitor satisfaction in a sect, and there¡¯s very little she¡¯d like less than to go back to that again. Hospitality and retail services are a nightmare even the most hardened and wizened of cultivators may struggle with. And with her time passed over and disregarded as a cripple before that¡­ If she can make this ambiguous maybe-living servant group or living palace feel a bit more appreciated, she wants to, and until it says otherwise or she finds a better way to show said appreciation, a warm smile and acknowledgement is the least she can do.


    She hears Maen¡¯s heartbeat finally turn to something a bit less frantic and vibrant, her breathing much more even now and a pleasant backdrop to the sounds of the city and the early morning. She takes a sip of her tea (incredibly pure water, hints of jasmine, vanilla and warm milk mixed with something herbal and lightly citrus in the blend) and lets her paramour take her time making her way out of bed.


    ¡°You know, some of us lowly cultivators still need to sleep,¡± she grumbles as she clutches her own robe tightly, hair all a mess and shivering adorably as the light autumn breeze hits leftover sweat.


    ¡°I see,¡± Raika purrs. ¡°No more late night experiments, then? I really was appreciating the robust added data.¡±


    Maen snorts, lightly punching her in the arm. ¡°I didn¡¯t say that. Just maybe gimme a few hours in the mornings, would you? A girl can only handle so much tossing and turning.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a growing cultivator,¡± Raika chuckles, leaning her head down so that it rests atop Maen¡¯s. ¡°Vigorous physical exercise is crucial at all levels of cultivation, but especially the early ones.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± Maen rolls her eyes and bundles her robes tighter, blinking in surprise as her own cup of tea manifests when they¡¯re both not looking and steams lightly on the railing of the balcony.


    ¡°I¡¯ll allow you some rest,¡± Raika says. ¡°So long as you ask for it like a good girl, later.¡±


    She gives her a wolfish grin. ¡°That way you can¡¯t blame me if we don¡¯t stop.¡±


    ¡°Wuh- I can¡¯t always talk right sometimes when- fine. Fuck you, you gorgeous freak of nature, fine.¡±


    Raika purrs, lifting herself up above the shorter woman and patting her on the head, lightly scratching the base of her ears as she does. ¡°Good pet,¡± she whispers, her voice vibrant and strangely melodic enough to make the air between them tremble.


    Maen audibly gulps and blushes a bright pink.


    Raika lets her rest, though. She¡¯s not one to leave her so tired she won¡¯t be able to cultivate or do anything with her day: as much as she enjoys playing with her newest friend and lover, she¡¯s not so jealous of her time as to leave her too tired to enjoy it.


    They look out over the city together for a while, with Raika eventually taking a seat on the marble and inviting Maen to curl into her lap as they watch the sky change colors as the sun is reborn.


    ¡°When do you think he¡¯ll be back?¡± Maen asks.


    ¡°Soon, I think. For better or for worse, soon.¡± She runs a hand through Maen¡¯s hair, hoping to lull her back to sleep, away from things they cannot yet control.


    ¡°Think they¡¯ll blow us all up when he does?¡± she asks as she snuggles against Raika¡¯s considerable body heat.


    The cripple-turned-abomination stares out over the city they have been left in, free to roam but not to leave, and wonders for a while.


    ¡°No,¡± she says, to the sleeping kitten in her lap. ¡°They¡¯ll probably do something we¡¯ll like a lot less.¡±


    She smells the scent of tangerines and open fields carried to her on the wind, and pretends it is one of the invisible servants she senses standing in the room behind her as she watches the sun rise, and prepares for the day ahead.

 Chapter 80 - House Arrest And A Gym Membership

    Three weeks they¡¯ve been in this damn palace. Another two to get here in the first place.


    After Zhoulong¡¯s death, they were all placed under heavy review and arrested in all but name by the soldiers that were previously their escort. While none of them match Taurus for sheer cultivation, or the frankly shocking amount of control he seems to have over his Qi, the prospect of a hidden assassination of a rival Researcher and the prospect of directly assaulting a dozen Imperial soldiers are two different realms apart. With Zhoulong missing and the entirety of his organization having spent the last two days before his death already in the stone building those same soldiers erected, it was easy to keep them all under a tentative house arrest, or at least ensure that guards followed them if they left.


    And then the summons arrive. Almost two fucking weeks of travel in the majestic spatially-altered carriage they were trapped in for the time it took to reach the village whose name she still hasn¡¯t learned. It was a nightmare the entire ride. Turns out, being able to perfectly detect minute shifts in the pitch and roll of the carriage as they fly, combined with the spatial alteration, makes Raika violently nauseous now. Considering again the amount of caloric intake her body now needs, incapable of sustaining itself at her new level even with a set of meridians to fuel it directly, it made for an incredibly uncomfortable journey of puking, eating, and hibernating in equal measure.


    And now¡­ they¡¯re free.


    Not really, not to any true extent, but free enough compared to the first Imperial Palace she visited. They enforced strict schedules on the first few days, closely monitoring them and watching over their general actions, to the point it began to chafe against her and worse, against her Truth, but eventually the soldiers backed off. Yun Ka took on some of their responsibilities, drawing some blood from each of them, small skin samples to deliver unto the higher-ups at the Division of Altered Cultivation with Taurus.


    Who, as it turned out, was eminently comfortable with the whole ordeal.


    They hadn¡¯t been able to speak truly privately before he left, not with so many eyes on them, but subtle cues were easy enough for her to pick up. No stress sweat, no fear scent, no increase in heart rate. Taurus is either eminently confident he could beat the charges against him or entirely comfortable with dying early, and say what you like about his convictions and their manifestations, a man of low will he is not. So, just as he trusted her with his plan, trusted her with her life after she showed what she could do against Zhoulong, she trusts him not to fuck this up too royally, and let things play out as they would. She wore the mask for a while, polite and servile and overlooked as another well-trained freak alongside Jun Vral.


    Which is another fun note: temporarily, at least, the ¡°experiments¡± are all bunking together. Jun Vral, Shapefixit (who seems incredibly uncomfortable in the palace and spends most of her time in a truly mountainous blanket cocoon) and 13 are all stored in the same general quarters as herself, Maen, Taran and Kaena.


    But Yun Ka and the twins get their own rooms.


    Kiri and Kara, they¡¯re called. Both svelte, both attractive, both with patches of gold-and-peach vitiligo on their skin- but neither holding any of the aforementioned qualities as much as Kaena. Clearly there¡¯s some relation there, especially with how easily Kaena took over their combined aura and seemed to know just what to say to get a reaction out of them, but they haven¡¯t brought it up yet. And despite everything, until it becomes relevant, Raika is content letting that remain the case.


    The danger with excellent manipulators is that sometimes, the manipulation just gives you exactly what you need anyways. The most dangerous kind of manipulation is the one that is mutual and genuine. Whether or not Kaena¡¯s actively manipulating her, there¡¯s no doubt in Raika¡¯s mind that they¡¯re dangerous, and that they¡¯re not acting out of pure charity. There is also no doubt in her mind that without Kaena¡¯s help, she would never have let Maen get close, and she certainly wouldn¡¯t have left the room she slept in that first night as intact or cohesive as she did. Until they ask more of her or betray the trust that their behavior has built, she¡¯s fine giving them their space, especially with the sort of names the twins were bandying about like insults.


    And so the days have passed, and outside of broadening Maen¡¯s horizons, she¡¯s spent most of her time in the room she sits in now, cross-legged and aware of her heartbeat.


    Dink still hasn¡¯t recovered their energy entirely as far as she can tell. Possibly sentient tool of power or not, their abilities were newborn when put up against black steel spawned from a Truth so powerful it has a fucking moon in the sky. They didn¡¯t break, and they have slowly continued to mend over time, but it¡¯s been slow. Weeks and weeks later, and she¡¯s only just begun to sense any aura or weight to her second-oldest new friend, though they carry no distinct scent she can discern. It¡¯s just¡­ a feeling. Her subconscious and instinct telling her that whatever energies Dink wields, it does so at least somewhat more and more as time passes and the barely-audible levels they were reduced to in their battle.


    And even without them, it¡¯s still a close friend, and an invaluable aide.


    The vibrations are purer now, clean and vibrant, and as they ring out when she takes Dink against her forehead, she feels her entire body shiver slightly in tune.


    With her enhanced perception of her own body she can sense, feel, even minutely track almost any change in her form or internals, controlling individual muscle fibers if needed, but her mind remains almost frustratingly human still. She just can¡¯t feel it all at once, and once something becomes background noise it¡¯s hard to find it again. As Dink¡¯s vibration runs through her body, traveling through her blood and calming the pools of riotous Qi she¡¯s cultivating, every minor flaw, missed step and weakness feels like its been highlighted, a sense of wrongness or lack of balance suddenly blooming along points all over her. Losing out on the Qi production is a solid trade: she can always force her body and blood to grind it against itself and spark back into its more chaotic, dangerous and literally productive form, but she can¡¯t always see what she¡¯s missed. It¡¯s more of an annoyance the larger her stored pools become, taking longer and longer to incite back to painful violence inside her, but still a good trade, especially in this rare time of peace.


    Relative peace, anyways.


    She ignores the room around her, as bare of one as she could find but still gorgeously decorated. Sheer stone, without furniture, but in every wall there are minute carvings, almost invisible at a distance but all together making a disorienting effect like the walls are rippling. The few candles she lights only add to the effect, highlighting another weakness: like her vertigo, her senses fall for the classic tricks more easily. Even mundane, non-fantastic optical illusions can give her a headache in seconds now, and echoes are particularly disorienting.


    All excellent things to alter, then.


    She takes her time. Nothing better to do but eat and spend time with Maen, and there¡¯s all the time in the world for both stuck in this damn palace. It takes another hour of meditation to make sure that she¡¯s in the right headspace, her outside senses put aside, her discomfort and awareness of her body as her entire self fading into the background and eventually fading away entirely.


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    Only then does she ring Dink¡¯s sound against her forehead a second time.


    Her heart is still flawed. This has not changed. Outside of stopping it and removing it entirely, there¡¯s just no way to heal the damage done, not with the blade that was used. The lesser black steel she could hold off and maybe eventually heal, but the blades put into the modified weapon-corpses were refined, forged properly, and she had to rip off any piece they¡¯d cut and grow it back raw, something she can¡¯t yet do with her heart, not until she understands how best to replace it. She just can¡¯t spread her attention to keep her blood flowing completely without its help, and the limitations on her style of Qi generation only magnify without it.


    So she built a second one.


    It¡¯s smaller. Much less powerful overall, and at first prone to overheating and damaging itself, but she¡¯s gotten it mostly right. Right above her hips, back near her spine and a bit to the right as her normal heart is on her left, it only has four valves as opposed to her improved heart¡¯s design of seven, only three of which are at maximum operation currently. Her bloodflow is much improved, and by clashing the beats of her hearts against each other she¡¯s made raw, chaotic Qi formation much more damaging and efficient. Her original heart she¡¯s kept now for practical as well as sentimental reasons: the threat of dying if its removed entirely remains, though she¡¯s taken worse risks, but there¡¯s something to the thought of resistance training she can¡¯t shake. She¡¯s forcing her body to heal constantly, lest the cut spread even further out and into more of her organs and crucial systems, and the more she heals the better she gets at it. Her cultivation began as forcing her body to adapt to lethal conditions: this isn¡¯t any different, though it¡¯s far more immediately lethal if she fails to keep it under control.


    And it¡¯s worked. It¡¯s shrunk. A half-millimeter so far, enough to let her heart use some more of its pieces without exploding. The effects are slow, the method is dangerous and self-destructive, and it¡¯s an unnecessary risk¡­ but that¡¯s cultivation, and she¡¯s rather proud of herself for being a particularly deranged example of the ways one can push themselves to near oblivion.


    Besides. She deserves it. A little pain is far less than what she owes.


    It hasn¡¯t been the only change.


    Outside of a dissection table or the expertise of a master healer, there¡¯s a lot about her organs she simply doesn¡¯t know. Her digestive tract is mostly gone, throat leading to stomach leading to someplace deeper, just like her lungs, and something burbles in there and hungers and is not sated with the meager offerings of so much of the Imperial Palace¡¯s best cooking. While she still has intestines, they¡¯re slimmer, compacted, little difference between small and large, and they move much slower but much more, in curling, sinuous patterns, their compression leaving more room for muscle and fat that overlap in buffers and armor both, ensuring neither is overtaxed even in exertion. Her appendix is gone, her kidneys are gone and replaced with three smaller things that sit where one of them used to be, and her lungs wrap around in a strange way almost like inverse wings at rest, their shape strange and inhuman and comfortably allowing more blood vessels to take oxygen and other substances she cannot name from the air and throughout her body. There are nodes which she thinks used to be lymph nodes, but she has no idea what they are now, and a strangely spiral thing that she thinks used to be and still is her liver, and she¡¯s never been an expert in genital anatomy to understand the nuances of all that. Suffice to say it¡¯s different and a little weird, though she¡¯s not complaining.


    Bereft of knowledge on those and unwilling to be cut open to find out, she¡¯s focused on what she can fix: muscle and bone and late additions to the party.


    She¡¯s grown two new adrenal glands, though it took time to identify them and replicate them, placing them beneath her collarbones and closer to her heart for faster delivery. She still hasn¡¯t gotten the details right, and their vision is blurry and indistinct, but she¡¯s managed to make two new eyes, keeping them closed and small along her clavicle. The second heart notwithstanding, her greatest change has been the addition of a third lung, a play on a heart¡¯s valve system with a piece of her ¡°liver¡± removed and molded into it. It sits beneath her sternum, acting as a sort of quarantine for incoming air and a way to redirect poisons and chemicals out of her lungs, while offering a boost of muscle power to ensure she can draw in air faster and harder.


    It¡¯s experimental, and she doesn¡¯t know enough to change much else, so on to the muscle and bone.


    The bone she makes lighter by removing dense chunks of it and instead filling it with interlocking patterns of triangles and minute structural supports, until it¡¯s more art project than bone. To the outside it might look almost porous, but within is something almost like a crystalline structure, the gaps filled with additional bone marrow and the bones themselves capable of withstanding a lot more impact and weight with the new structural lattices and architecture. Minor tweaks in shape, and they¡¯re done until she learns how to make something better, which she can feel is just not quite ready in the back of her mind. Something about materials and Qi saturation.


    Speaking of: her muscles prove the difficulty there most of all. Reweaving them, unmaking some of the overlapping and occasionally damaging ¡°presets¡± she emerged with, has been more than easy enough, but she ran into a wall with improving them directly.


    The fibers don¡¯t tear anymore. Not without serious damage, which defeats the purpose of exercise.


    It¡¯s becoming abundantly clear that classic cultivation is using one¡¯s soul to establish what the body should be, not actually altering it. The level of strength exerted without Qi shouldn¡¯t be possible without superhuman musculature like hers, and yet any Nascent Soul cultivator can bench press a building. It¡¯s Qi, the lifeblood of the world, convinced by one¡¯s soul and cultivation organs that the reality is that they¡¯re stronger, healthier, look better, actual biology and physics be damned.


    She¡¯s at the far edge of it, but she still has to deal with physics directly. And it¡¯s a bitch of a negotiator. Qi saturation alters her properties, makes it harder to saturate more, blocks Qi and makes her ontological ¡°weight¡± heavier, which is how she¡¯s able to control her body and trap Qi inside it. But it doesn¡¯t actually just magically make her strong past a certain point, and she¡¯s past it. So, she had to get creative.


    After close review and a lot of detailed minor tweaks, she sets Dink down, thanking them with a whisper and a soft pat.


    And then, she takes about twenty minutes to bring a ¡°bubble¡± of her Qi to a roiling, screaming cacophony, brings it to the surface, and bites it with her black steel maw.


    The interaction strikes again: the introduction of foreign Qi pushes her own ¡°raw¡± energy, unshaped by anything but ¡°life¡± concept, from growth and chaotic destruction to ignition. That same golden-white energy from her near-death in the tunnels explodes, the very energy of existence caught aflame by its own majesty and a single catalyst. It screams against the air, warps the fabric of it like it¡¯s drawing the world into itself, even as it spreads and writhes, droplets of blood and crimson flowing into it as her arm burns.


    And then she pushes more Qi into it, and makes it burn larger.


    Soon her whole arm is consumed, and she spreads the flame to the other, and she lets herself burn.


    She¡¯s got too much density in her muscles and skin and bones for the fire to catch quickly. Her limbs don¡¯t just explode. They would, with a high enough bubble of Qi burst open, but she¡¯s found the right balance. They burn in fire that should not be, and she lets them, and only when they start to tremble, only when the flesh begins to liquify and strain and the pain is almost entirely blinding does she stop feeding it Qi.


    It fades slowly. It dissipates, the Qi reaction no longer contained inside her or fed hungrily and gradually drifting apart until it begins to die down. Her arms are bare, her skin molten in patches and her regeneration all that keeps her limbs intact as they literally glow with residual heat and energy and turn waxen and wrong.


    She turns her attention to them fully. Pushes her mind into each ruined fiber, each molten magma droplet of blood and flesh. She teaches them how to be, and in this softened state, they don¡¯t just listen. They drink in the Qi that was so difficult to push into them at their level.


    Slowly, she reforges her arms like molten metal into forged form.


    It¡¯s arm day today. Leg day¡¯s tomorrow, though, and that one¡¯s a real bitch to get through. Still. Can¡¯t ever skip leg day.

 Chapter 81 - Bang Buddies Field Trip

    ¡°You. Me. Maen. Bang buddies field trip.¡±


    Raika blinks. ¡°I¡¯m in. Where?¡±


    Kaena laughs, louder than normal and visibly overjoyed at the reaction. ¡°Oh gods, I love it when you do that. That¡¯s a great answer. Excellent work. Come on, let¡¯s go find Maen.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Raika says, stepping out a little shakily from the ¡°cultivation¡± room she¡¯s hijacked for herself. Her legs, re-refined and rebuilt as they are, are still a bit disconnected in her head, the minute differences needing a few minutes for her brain to adjust to. ¡°Where are we going? I appreciate a good ¡°bang buddies¡± invitation just about anytime, but you don¡¯t strike me as a middle of the day sort of fellow.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m usually not,¡± Kaena says, ¡°though the more terrifying you get the more constant the temptation. A crime against red-blooded libido-ridden cultivators everywhere you slimmed down, though I¡¯m glad it seems to have helped you move about easier.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re headed out, darling monster. Out and about. A day on the town, even! You desperately need new clothes, those replacement rags of the Division are not flattering on anyone but me, and I¡¯m no metric to be measured against, you¡¯ll just lose hope. And between you and me, I am sick and tired of all this palace food. Gourmet this, endless quantities of that, finest wines and sake- I just want an ale, something poultry-based off a street stall, preferably on a stick, and time to stretch our legs.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m assuming that you¡¯ve sashayed your way through the entire Empire¡¯s bureaucracy, while somehow trapped in the same building as the rest of us, and solved all our pressing house-arrest issues?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be sarcastic, Raika, it suits you too well. Next thing we know you¡¯ll remember how to snark, and then we¡¯d all be lost. But no, I¡¯m afraid that the millenia-old institution of our elders and masters remains alive and well as can be, and that we remain ever its humble charges, doomed to require an escort or a chamber to be placed in the rest of our lives.¡±


    ¡°Which leads me to Pai Jin here!¡±


    Almost as if on command, they both round the corner of a hallway and come face to face with a rather flustered and disoriented looking guard. His Qi is about him, but it¡¯s clear he¡¯s holding himself back, because it smells plenty potent but he¡¯s still sweating and seemingly a bit out of breath.


    ¡°Cultivator Kaena!¡± he says, standing more properly at attention as they come into view. He¡¯s dressed in the classic uniform of the Imperial Soldiers, all technically cast beneath the Militant Division. Dressed in armor of steel and gold, lines of runes drawn over it and in it intricately, pieces of delicate crystal and humming electricity, Qi, and heat traveling through it visible to Raika¡¯s senses, he looks every bit the part of an augmented warrior. His cultivation stands fairly high, rich and deeply scented of rich earth, ash, and the smell of wetness after rain, but his equipment magnifies him, making him look bulky, mechanized and glowing with power, equipped for violence at the slightest whim. The man himself is fairly nondescript, his features tanned and olive-skinned with curly black hair and bright blue eyes, but the armor (at least to Raika) takes him from a cultivator eight to a cultivator five (which is still a mortal ten, to be fair).


    ¡°I¡¯ve been looking everywhere, you can¡¯t just-¡±


    ¡°And here we are! Found, safe and sound, isn¡¯t that wonderful? Your dedication is still so very admirable, Trooper Pai Jin, I¡¯m sure you must be excited to put that energy to good use keeping an eye on us!¡±


    ¡°I- that¡¯s-¡± he pauses, centering himself and taking a quick breath. She¡¯s fairly sure that if his gauntlets weren¡¯t so ornate and mechanical, he¡¯d be pinching the bridge of his nose. ¡°Just because the captain approved your request for supervised trips outside the palace does not mean you are free to do as you please. You must remain in sight.¡±


    ¡°Or perhaps you should be quicker about keeping me in view, hmm?¡± They give a little pirouette, smiling and clearly enjoying themselves. ¡°I promise not to disappoint; I have been told I am a vision.¡±


    He sighs, and does not bother to hide it. Raika can¡¯t help but respect that a little.


    ¡°Cultivator Raika,¡± he says, turning to her. ¡°This honorable Pai Jin will be escorting yourself, Cultivator Kaena, and Cultivator Maen into the town of Cragend, focusing on the local areas in direct view of the palace and the mercantile, lower city districts. Please be aware that my standing orders are to assess any potentially subversive actions as attempts to escape the justice of the Emperor, and that I am to attempt to restrain you should I feel it appropriate.¡±


    ¡­


    Fuck it. Mask off for a minute.


    ¡°I am not a cultivator,¡± Raika tells him, letting her inhuman and purring voice come out from behind her fake ¡°normal¡± tones. ¡°And if you try to restrain me, I wish you only the best of luck, Honored Trooper Pai Jin.¡±


    Mask back on, she smiles sweetly and gives him a little bow, her Truth and her ego both a little more comfortable with how he¡¯s shifted his stance slightly, how his eyes have widened and then narrowed.


    It¡¯s really, really nice to be able to threaten people again, even if the mask has to stay on around anyone important or likely to make a note of it. ¡°Polite when she needs to be¡± and ¡°still a touchy subject but broken¡± are a thin line apart, but it¡¯s almost fun to dance along it, doing her best to make sure she never shows too much.


    Kaena, on the other hand, is beaming.


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    ¡°Oh Raika,¡± they say dreamily, fanning themselves with a hand. ¡°The day you use that voice on me is the day I clear my schedule for a week straight. Come on, let¡¯s go find your lucky lover.¡±


    ¡ª-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Turns out, it¡¯s pretty easy to convince Pai Jin of stuff when you have Kaena capable of fluttering their lashes at him and ever-so-subtly mentioning how poorly it would look on a review to his commanding officer that he strained an already difficult situation with the Division of Altered Cultivation after such lovely inter-Division cooperation and kindness.


    It doesn¡¯t sound like a particularly convincing argument to Raika, but apparently it¡¯s enough for him. Either way, it¡¯s what gets all three of them out of the damn palace with official documentation. For the first time in her life that she can remember, bureaucracy works out in her favor.


    The city is vibrant.


    She means that very literally. It fucking vibrates.


    It¡¯s undetectable unless she¡¯s looking for it, which is saying something considering her senses, but once she hears it she can¡¯t unhear it. The sounds of mining, drilling, of people walking over metal and stone, of constant building, of metal infrastructure vibrating with sound carried from fucking miles underground, all of it rings through the city. In some parts it makes for a pleasing backdrop, like a heartbeat and purr all at once, like the city is breathing and the people are moving in tune. In other parts, it¡¯s fucking miserable, a background hum that sets her on edge, that she can feel ever so faintly in her bones.


    The discomfort is very slightly offset by the fact that everybody stares at her in awe as they walk by.


    Say what you will about Raika, but she¡¯s the first to admit that she¡¯s not afraid of looking good. The things power does to the world are often uncomfortable or painfully wrong in her opinion, the memory of the blood on her hands clear, but power itself has always felt good. Power to change herself, to be strong, to be worthy and now to transform herself literally into a thing of optimized artistry and pain and violence of the best kind.


    And, hand in hand, power to be looked upon in a little bit of worship.


    She¡¯s been on the other side of the looks, seen only as something disgusting, so there¡¯s some mixed feelings in her at the looks she gets now, but it¡¯s hard not to feel at least a little good when people turn their heads to watch you walk by and flush with hormones as they see you.


    Kaena makes no effort to hide themself, dressed in a more masculine attire than their usual kimonos but not foregoing an ounce of the gloriously floral patterning and bright whites and pinks they so favor, Hair tied up neatly and with a confident walk, they look like some visiting noble or an inheritor to an estate, giving smiles left and right and the occasional flirtatious wink here and there. Maen, meanwhile, looks around wide-eyed, dressed in simple robes of black and gold trim that she found somewhere in the palace and was overjoyed to get to wear, highlighting a few very pleasant features. Her ears swivel back and forth, tracking every noise as her eyes glaze over at every other food cart they pass, and it occurs to Raika this is probably her first time in any city outside of Paleblossom.


    And Raika herself, despite wearing mostly modified standard-issue robes for the Division of Altered Cultivation, stands at well over a foot and change taller than anyone in the crowd, and fills out said robes dramatically.


    Long, flowing dreads, their color gone from an original light blond to a darker color, with hints and streaks of red and orange, like a sunset in a hairstyle. Bright golden eyes that possess a cross-shaped pupil, fused from a mixture of spirit beasts she¡¯s consumed and adapted. Rippling muscles along a lithe physique that¡¯s only just starting to fill out again after her modifications, and a body shaped for running and fighting but with some particularly well-preserved assets.


    The gluteus muscles are actually crucial for balance, stamina, and bipedal locomotion from an evolutionary standpoint. The fact that she has to use them to counterbalance a weight on her chest designed for the storage of biological fuel and optimized as shielding for her upper organs and that they¡¯re particularly well developed beyond that is a note of optimized biological efficiency. And also something that Maen enjoys a lot.


    Most of those they pass are in the Qi Gathering realm, though she¡¯s surprised by how many she senses with more refined Qi she¡¯s learned to identify as Foundational realm by scent and feel, and thus most of them are easily capable of sensing Qi.


    Three gorgeous, powerful, clearly at least somewhat rich and unique cultivators walk the street, escorted by an exo-armored soldier of the Empire decked in proper enchanted regalia, all walk down the street, and they turn heads.


    ¡°Smile for the crowds, Raika dear!¡± Kaena says with a smile of their own. ¡°Put them at ease! You look like the East¡¯s sexiest berserker with all that posturing.¡±


    ¡°I can definitely second that last part,¡± Maen nods, giggling as Raika shoots her a look of betrayal. ¡°What? Kaena is always right. It¡¯s why they¡¯re blessed with such good features.¡±


    ¡°Must be why I had to build all of mine from scratch.¡±


    ¡°No one likes a braggart, sexy,¡± Kaena titters.


    ¡°Is it bragging if it¡¯s true?¡± Raika asks with an eyebrow raised. ¡°You got genetics and cultivation. I had to sexy myself up out of meat. Waaaaay harder, and I¡¯ve got tits way bigger than yours out of it.¡±


    The banter goes back and forth for a while. It¡¯s just¡­ nice. Maen has them stop at every food stall, all of which taste delicious to Raika (though she notices that she tends to enjoy flavors that are a bit off, compared to her companions), and in less than an hour Kaena has had them go by three clothing stores and bought a ream of purple silk and six new outfits for each of them except Raika, who had to veto some of the more extreme options.


    It¡¯s a moment that couldn¡¯t be more perfect.


    Which is why it doesn¡¯t come as a surprise to her when she smells tangerines.


    The guilt is there. Enjoying this, rather than altering herself or plotting revenge, it all stings in a way she is bottling up, because in the end she is not alone and there are people who have aided her and who she cares about that deserve good things, who deserve to enjoy things, and whether or not she does, her suffering would hurt them.


    It doesn¡¯t block the feeling out entirely, but it helps.


    But that guilt is always there. She¡¯s had it in the back of her mind all day.


    The smell is not simply present, it doesn¡¯t just manifest like it has before. A whiff of tangerines and blood drifts to her out of the street, outside the store. She can see it from here. The instant she focuses on it she can smell the blood lingering. Can hear the humming, vibrating breath of the city, and how the sound of blows landing somehow lines up with it.


    Worse.


    She sees him. For a second.


    Missing a shoe, because that shoe is under her bed, wrapped tight. Wearing a greenish, cheap set of clothes, half-ragged. One eye is empty, no pupil, no jelly, just a black, yawning pit in what used to be his face, but¡­ the other is still there. Bright green pupil. Staring at her. Seeing her.


    She almost goes down to a fucking knee, something in her trembling, but then he raises his arm and points into the alley, towards the thing she already knows is happening. Someone is being hurt, like they were hurt, like he was hurt, in that alley.


    Yeah. Alright.


    Before Maen can ask what¡¯s wrong, soft touch on her arm trying to hold her, bring her back, Raika steps towards the ghost or vision or hallucination of her dead friend and the thing he demands of her.

 Chapter 82 - If I Could Turn Back Time

    She draws heads as she crosses the street. She can hear Pai Jin go to say something, hears Maen put herself in the way to stop him, and to his credit, he does stop, rather than shove past her or use his presence to push her aside. Kaena says something, her senses picking them up even as her mind trusts them enough not to listen and focus ahead, and she figures she¡¯s got at least a little bit of time.


    She turns into the alleyway, the buildings to either side tall enough that the hallway of space between them is left shadowed and cold in the chill of autumn air. The gazes that followed her stop at the entrance, most not interested enough in her to poke their nose into why the giant superhuman cultivator was wandering into a dark alley that sounds like a fight, and she breathes. She likes to be admired, but it¡¯s not exactly her favorite pastime. There¡¯s a difference between knowing people find you attractive, knowing people find you impressive, and being seen by strangers as something to be stared at, and she only likes the former two on her own terms. A break from the crowd, no matter how fun of a crowd they may be, is a bit of a relief.


    It¡¯s not hard to see the source of the sounds she heard, or the thing that her phantom pointed her to. There¡¯s blood staining muddy ground, and a smaller form curled up in a ball as two larger figures take turns kicking at it, a third watching on with a grin on their face. None of them are well dressed, all in rags that look to be years old or scavenged, but the three on their feet don¡¯t have the look of malnutrition one would expect from proper street urchins. Gang members, maybe? Some kind of initiation, for them or for their target?


    She¡¯s not sure. She doesn¡¯t really have the context to interfere here, and to do so is to put herself into another¡¯s life, to walk in and alter things she does not understand.


    Then again, they¡¯re kicking a kid on the ground. That¡¯s probably enough context.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she says, keeping her voice human-like.


    All three of the attackers turn, staring at her, eyes wide. They¡¯re young. Maybe fifteen, sixteen years old. Flush with hormones, hunger pangs and the bravery of those who¡¯ve survived life just long enough to think they¡¯ll never die.


    Well. Maybe not the latter, considering the look in their eyes when they see her. She does pose a rather dramatic figure, nevermind the fact that she¡¯s wearing simple but recognizable cultivator¡¯s robes.


    ¡°Honored cultivator!¡± the one in front says, bowing poorly and awkwardly but with an adorable amount of terror. ¡°We apologize for causing such an unsightly display!¡±


    She blinks. Huh. They¡¯ve got manners.


    The first one does at least. The other two have to be donkey-kicked in the shins by the speaker of their group to follow his lead.


    ¡°Good apology, decent start. I¡¯ve got a few questions though. I¡¯m out and about, trying to enjoy a day in the city. Why are you beating someone twenty feet from a busy main street in the merchant¡¯s district of all places? Where anyone can see? You don¡¯t have your own back alleys you could do this in?¡±


    The one in front audibly swallows, the two behind him slower on the uptake but catching on quick that this might be serious. They¡¯re in a major Imperial city, and she doesn¡¯t have the mark of any sect on her, but she only knows that might protect them because she knows about cultivation. To kids like these, grown on myths and scraps and with only their leader in the Qi-Gathering realm, she might as well hold their lives in her hands.


    Which she does. It¡¯s just there¡¯d be consequences. It¡¯s not like it was centuries back, but the stories of passing cultivators doing a casual slaughter because they felt insulted aren¡¯t even mostly false.


    ¡°Well? I asked you a question.¡±


    The kid blanches and stutters, starting to sweat a bit. ¡°We- that is, he- I mean, we just, we found him here, and he owes us. Owed. Um. A bit. We never thought that-¡±


    ¡°That there¡¯d be consequences beating up some random kid with, I¡¯m guessing, no one to back them up, right?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ yes, honored cultivator.¡±


    She sighs. Long, and loud, and with enough air in her lungs that stray leaves and scraps of trash flutter in the alleyway, leaving all three of the young toughs pale and trembling.


    And she doesn¡¯t even have Qi pressure anymore. Probably. She might need to tone down the presentation a bit if she¡¯s going to have normal conversations again. Maybe she can find a way to make herself more person-sized again alongside some of her other ongoing projects, if only for not having to duck doorways or terrify random mortals when she speaks.


    Ugh. Tastes bad in her mouth. ¡°Mortals¡±. Technically, according to the usual nomenclature, she still qualifies, which makes the quasi-slur even worse.


    ¡°Alright, listen,¡± she says, making a conscious effort to modulate her voice box so it¡¯s even further from her natural tones. ¡°Next time, you gotta take your target at least fifty feet back, not twenty. Where you are now, there¡¯s every chance that if they slip by you one good spring has them in the crowd. I¡¯m new in town, but stuff like that draws attention, and I don¡¯t know how the palace runs this town but I¡¯m assuming we¡¯ve got a guard that¡¯s more than happy to dish out some beatings of their own, right?¡±


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    They nod, one of the goons in the back rather vigorously.


    ¡°Third, beyond just being away from escape routes and not drawing so much attention, you have to find the right balance for a good beating. Hit them too hard, they end up dead and a mess, one that might get traced back to you, might get you in trouble, and won¡¯t net you anything at all. If he owes you, then wisdom states that you should leave him intact to pay you back, but leave a message. You want them able to move around and keep themselves safe so you can get more out of them, but you also want to leave them wounds that last long enough to leave a message. If you do it right, be respectful about it, you won¡¯t be friends, but they¡¯ll like you more than the other assholes who don¡¯t know how to do a proper beating. You following me so far?¡±


    The young bruiser looks outright dazed, while his friend and their leader stare at her like she¡¯s grown a second head.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take your silence as a yes. Close your mouth boy, you look like a fish.¡±


    ¡°As for you!¡± she walks past the trio, who scramble in desperation to get out of her way. ¡°You alive down there?¡±


    She can hear their heartbeat, but it¡¯s faint, and the breathing is irregular. Still, the way it picks up when she gets closer, she¡¯s pretty sure they¡¯re conscious.


    ¡°You have to protect your head better,¡± she says, reaching down and adjusting thin, almost skeletally malnourished hands. ¡°Focus on the rear and sides, the top if you can spare the attention, and use your forearms to protect your face. Curl up smaller, keep your back to the ground or a wall, you can live with a busted rib, you can¡¯t do much with a busted spine, and don¡¯t cross your legs, it¡¯ll be harder to move them and easier to break them.¡±


    The figure just trembles, bleeding slightly.


    Ok then.


    ¡°Alright,¡± she sighs. ¡°You three run along. If I see you again and you aren¡¯t showing clear signs of improvement or, better yet, showing wisdom and actively trying something new and less likely to put you in this same situation, I¡¯ll break all the bones in one limb of my choice.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t need to say much else. They¡¯re gone in a blink, scrambling and scrabbling and running into each other in a mad dash out of the alley that¡¯s almost funny, if not for how genuinely desperate they seem.


    She kneels down in the dirt, her sandals muddy and her robes starting to show similar muck.


    ¡°Hey,¡± she says, quieter this time. ¡°If they broke something bad, I need to know before I can help you. I don¡¯t trust handouts either, but it¡¯s your lucky day, kid. I¡¯ve got a ghost that would be pissed if I didn¡¯t do¡­ something.¡±


    Nothing. They just shiver, curled up tight.


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    She places a hand on them anyway.


    She misses having a Qi sense. It¡¯s incredible how useful so many of the powers of cultivation are, and how easy it becomes to rely on them. Poisoned? Flush some Qi in there. Want to see new colors, sense things about other people? Point your awareness at them, the cultivation does the rest. Want to fly or cast spells? Find the right shape, the right words, an old technique, and woosh, slap some Qi in there. She was never very good with all that esoteric stuff, or talented to learn the depths of a lot of what she did know, but even an amateur¡¯s Qi sense can tell if someone with mortal-level cultivation has wounds or abnormalities in their body to some extent. And all it would take them is a bit of practice and sticking some Qi in their perception.


    Still, she has her own methods now. They¡¯re not convenient, or easy, or quite so versatile, but they¡¯re there.


    Through the contact she takes in as much information as she can. The heartbeat, of course, but also how the little body bends and creaks as it strains, the scent of adrenaline pumping violently when she¡¯s this close, the gurgling of excess stomach acid with nothing to digest, the constant trembling and the way they let her feel microfractures vibrating in tune.


    This is not the kid¡¯s first beating.


    She smells tangerines, and the memory of cold, snowy nights alone, and then with company. She wonders, briefly, if JiaJia¡¯s red-light house ever had many other unclaimed children like him, and if he ended up in an older brother role for them. If maybe he hadn¡¯t been, but had started to grow into it, before¡­ before.


    She lets her voice slip back into its natural state, her body¡¯s constant infusions of Qi leaving her vocal cords inhumanly strong and strangely musical.


    ¡°Child,¡± she whispers, like a thrumming note of music and a hungry thing in the dark, ¡°look at me.¡±


    He freezes. Perfectly still. Not even trembling anymore, though it¡¯s hard to tell if she had some kind of weird effect or if he just froze out of fear.


    Slowly, very slowly, one of the stick-like arms lowers. One eye pokes out from behind it, the body still curled up, the terror still in every ounce of animalistic defensive posture.


    ¡°Do you want something to eat?¡± Raika asks, in a voice as human as she can manage.


    They say nothing.


    She nods. ¡°Smart. Good not to say yes to things when you¡¯re desperate.¡±


    She¡¯s not a cultivator anymore, but some of the old rules, be they customs or rituals or something stranger, still apply. She extends a nail into a razor-fine claw and runs it through the palm of her other hand, letting a few drops of blood drip onto the ground. It¡¯s not quite red, anymore: it¡¯s so bright that it goes a step past crimson, and there are flecks of gold and a steely, metallic sheen to it. It almost seems to glow in the shadowed sunlight of the dark.


    That¡¯s pretty cool. Something to look into later, maybe. She hadn¡¯t noticed that when they¡¯d drawn blood samples a few weeks back, and she wonders how new the change is, and why she didn¡¯t feel it.


    ¡°On my blood, on my honor as a cultivator, and on my own name, I swear to you I mean you no harm, and that anything I give you in the next day shall be freely given, to take or deny as you will, without tricks or hurt.¡±


    Something shivers in the air, the tension of old ritual and the thrumming of ancient, mountainous things making itself known.


    That¡¯s also never happened before.


    She really needs to figure out what the fuck is going on with her body, because transforming musculature and dense bone are clearly not the end of the mysteries.


    She can¡¯t help but smile at that a bit. To think, she¡¯d have not just strength but mysteries again. The world, horror that it is, is a wonder and a glory, sometimes.


    The kid is staring at her, eyes wide less in fear now and more in awe, of the original kind. Fearsome and wondrous awe, which shakes one to the core.


    And yet their heartbeat has slowed.


    ¡°So,¡± she says. ¡°Now that that¡¯s over with. Would you like me to buy you something to eat?¡±


    Silence in the alley.


    Then they nod.

 Chapter 83 - Pai Jins Dad Vibes (And Food!)

    Raika sits across the table from the kid. Kaena and Maen both have their own table right alongside, with an absolute mountain of bags and packages sitting beside them and Pai Jin at the entrance to the balcony patio, standing guard like he¡¯s in enemy territory, though his eyes tend to stay more on them than for any potential incoming dangers.


    She expected the patrons of the Diving Duck (known for its famous fried skyduck!) to clear out, honestly, but she really overestimated their impact on that one. They strike a pretty picturesque group, and they¡¯re drawing plenty of looks, but it¡¯s not like Cragend doesn¡¯t have its own sects, or like those same sects don¡¯t come down off their mountains. Despite the changes the Empire has made, sects are still the lifeblood of the cities they inhabit, with the inter-city trade only supported by their presence, even if that trade is only possible due to the scarier authority keeping conflicts at a minimum.


    The Roaring Skies and Ground Beneath Sea sects make their homes here, the two surviving sects who adapted to the Empire¡¯s arrival to the third ring however many centuries ago. Both are popular, numerous, both have aspirants coming from across the third ring seeking to become part of their sects, and all of them possess the resources to change the city¡¯s fortunes in a hundred ways. Artifacts, alchemical groups and supplies, and, of course, cultivators that can defend against spirit beast attacks and gain prestige within the Empire.


    And of course, for every Inner Sect disciple who¡¯s cultivated into power, there¡¯s twenty or more Outer Sect disciples with less focus on them and money to burn in the genuinely fascinating city.


    All that is to say that while they absolutely get some people shuffling away or staring, Raika¡¯s country-bumpkin expectations get an interesting new experience as the owner of the little restaurant they found their way to rushed over with what seems like a genuine smile and not a hint of fear in his scent.


    So. They got the balcony seats, which Kaena happily paid for, but they didn¡¯t cause too much of a stir. It¡¯s really for the best; she¡¯s pretty sure that any more excitement and the kid may have passed out.


    He (she thinks it¡¯s a he, and it¡¯s very rude to check even if you have magic senses) sort of just¡­ sits there, shivering, in pain and in cold from the outside air.


    ¡°Kaena, we really could have used just a regular booth,¡± Maen says with a bit of a grimace. ¡°It¡¯s almost double the price to sit up here, and they¡¯re clearly freezing.¡±


    ¡°Firstly, I don¡¯t do regular seating. If I must sit at this lovely establishment, it shall be in what little luxury befits me in it. Secondly, my dearest kitten, they¡¯re shivering because they¡¯re hungry and beaten and probably terrified.¡±


    ¡°That part probably doesn¡¯t help,¡± Raika nods.


    ¡°Do you have a name, kid?¡± she asks.


    They meet her gaze for a second in surprise before their gaze darts back down and they sort of woozily try to bow.


    ¡°Yeah, alright, none of that. You¡¯re built like a couple of sticks as it is, and those kids were not pulling punches, the little fucks.¡±


    ¡°And while we¡¯re so very happy that the little one is still breathing, what exactly are they doing here?¡± Kaena asks. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly firm on the whole motherhood concept, but you don¡¯t strike me as the type, beastie.¡±


    Pai Jin seems to try and pay particularly close attention to the answer, his posture just as rigid and precise as ever but his attention felt.


    ¡°It¡¯s a fair question,¡± she says. Then, she shrugs. ¡°Probably gonna feed them, maybe buy them a healing pill or something, and then we head off. Depends mostly on them, I think, but they¡¯re pretty overwhelmed, so we¡¯re going to start with food.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Pai Jin asks.


    She raises her eyebrow at him. ¡°First thing you¡¯ve said since I picked them up. You disapprove?¡±


    ¡°Depends on your intentions.¡±


    She narrows her eyes. For a moment, Maen tenses, like she¡¯s getting ready to fight or hide, and Raika blinks at that, looking over in surprise. Maen blinks back at her.


    ¡°You were making the face,¡± she says with a little shrug.


    ¡°What face?¡±


    ¡°The face. The one where you¡¯re putting everything away, so it looks calm, but also like you¡¯re going to start growing extra teeth.¡±


    Raika cocks an eyebrow. ¡°Ok, I¡¯ll work on that, but don¡¯t tell him.¡±


    Maen blushes a bit, then shrugs apologetically.


    ¡°No harm, no foul,¡± Kaena says, clapping Maen on the shoulder and tousling her hair. ¡°Besides, Pae Jin here¡¯s one of the good ones. He¡¯s got a stick so far up his ass it¡¯s actually doing the work of a spine, wouldn¡¯t you know.¡±


    Pai Jin turns a brief glare at Kaena, but never lets his gaze waver from over Raika for too long.


    She takes a breath, cracking her neck to one side.


    ¡°They give you a scroll about us when you get assigned here?¡± Raika asks.


    He shakes his head.


    She nods. Thinks. There¡¯s something she respects on how protective he¡¯s being towards the kid, and how closely he¡¯s watching her behavior around him. It¡¯s almost paternal, the way he doesn¡¯t move but stays primed for any movement towards the kid. She doesn¡¯t know much about him, but¡­ circumstances dictate. And as signs of character go, between that and his Qi, she makes a decision.


    ¡°I was homeless and crippled for a year and change. You don¡¯t survive on the streets that long, especially if you can¡¯t really walk or find food, unless you make friends. I made a good one. He¡¯s dead now. Sometimes I¡­ pretend that he¡¯d like something I¡¯m doing. Call it a reminder. I¡¯m certainly not bringing the kid with us, they¡¯re thin as a rail. Anybody at the palace gets annoyed and they¡¯d turn to literal jelly.¡±


    Stolen story; please report.


    The kid quivers at that, their breath speeding up a bit as a mix of emotions, primarily anxiety, start to bubble up and stain their scent.


    ¡°Kid,¡± Raika says, turning her attention from Pai Jin entirely. ¡°Breathe. Slower. I know it hurts. We¡¯ll work on that. You¡¯re going to be ok. No one here is going to hurt you, and we¡¯ll be on our way soon.¡±


    She¡¯s not sure they even hear her, to be honest. Their breaths get a bit faster, their eyes wider, and she goes to reach out to touch them and they flinch and she has to pull back.


    And then Pai Jin reaches over without words, without movement, and suddenly things change.


    The world shifts, very slightly. It¡¯s not like a Truth, not nearly so blunt or self-imposed; he stirs his cultivation, ash, earth and rainfall all touching the air around him, not in the drowning blast of scent that would be him flexing his cultivation but in a rich, nuanced way that leaves Raika a bit dizzy.


    The world shifts, very slightly, towards a certain idea. The plates and cups on the table shift in place, the sounds coming from the open area behind and beneath them seem to grow more evenly distributed, until each table has achieved a sort of symmetry or-


    Dink rings, very slightly, with the changing of the world, and she understands Balance.


    She looks at him, and though she knows he can¡¯t sense her properly, can¡¯t feel or see her changes, he seems to pick up on at least some of the question and threat she¡¯s holding.


    ¡°Dao of Balance,¡± he says, softly. ¡°Minor application. Calmed them down.¡±


    Raika does not need to look over to see that the kid is less panicked, that they¡¯ve sort of stuttered in place with the sensation of a Dao exercised so closely, and that it maybe did something to even out their reaction. She also does not say anything, and keeps her mask on very tightly.


    ¡°All you strapping guards got Daos in the palace, or just you, Pai Jin?¡± Kaena asks with a laugh and a feather-light touch of Qi against Raika.


    It does not stop her from keeping the sharp, serrated points of bone she¡¯s building under her skin pointed at Pai Jin¡¯s eyes and throat, but it does slow the reaction a bit.


    Pai Jin looks a bit uncomfortable as the three of them stare at him, Kaena in a clear sort of warning look, Raika blank and artificially calm, Maen once again braced and ready to move. He clears his throat.


    ¡°Apologies. I¡­ didn¡¯t mean to disrupt as I have. I simply sought to calm our guest, not to disturb any of you.¡± He gives more of a nod than a bow, but it¡¯s in that direction. ¡°Apologies. I prefer not to see the young in distress.¡±


    ¡°A very understandable feeling, wouldn¡¯t you say Raika?¡± Kaena asks.


    Raika nods, and lets the mask¡¯s smile come across as pleasant and relieved. ¡°I¡¯m glad we share common ground on that, Trooper Pai Jin,¡± she says. ¡°But perhaps a bit of warning next time, so that we are not caught so off-guard and likely to react instinctively. Don¡¯t you think?¡±


    It is then that there is a slight shift in the smell behind her, which she really should be paying better attention to, and footsteps come up the stairs to the upper floors of the restaurant.


    ¡°Oh thank fuck the foods here,¡± Maen says, sighing explosively in relief.


    Seeing as Kaena offered to fit the bill, Raika ordered two of everything, and it takes the servers no less than three trips to bring it all up.


    ¡°I hope it is to your satisfaction, honored cultivators!¡± the proprietor says as he bows, the last of the food arriving with him. ¡°We thank you for your patronage, and hope it¡¯s to your liking!¡±


    ¡°I look forward to finding out!¡± Kaena tells him with a laugh, ¡°but keep the kitchens running, we like to eat and we¡¯re celebrating a day on the town. And bring us a bottle or two of your finest wine when you have it, kind sir!¡±


    The proprietor nods and hurries off, leaving the lot of them alone again, and Raika can¡¯t help but let a smile slip out as the beaten and battered urchin stares, wide eyed, at the piles of food laid out in front of them.


    A dozen steaming carrier bundles of dumplings, stacked high on top of each other. Three plates holding steaming braised fish as large as the kid¡¯s head and covered in a gorgeous dark glaze that adds both acidity and sweetness to the tender flesh. Steaming bowls of noodles, poached and cooked eggs, bowls and bowls of rice, two entire racks of pork ribs and belly, scallion pancakes piled high, diced salmon. Tender whole chickens cooked in oil, in ovens, in pans, a plate full of oysters and clams and crabs and lobsters and crayfish from the nearby lake in all their multi-colored and oversized glory, and some sort of massive central plate with a foot and a half tall pile of some of the sweet underground roots and tubers that grow beneath the harsh soil, cooked until soft and crispy and shaped like little picks before being covered in salt, crispy flakes and some sort of thick and syrupy green sauce that smells of citrus and herbs.


    Raika¡¯s stomach growls loud enough that Pai Jin actually looks over in surprise, his arm going for his weapon before Maen breaks out laughing.


    ¡°Shush! I weigh like three times as much as you and it¡¯s all muscle!¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s right, Maen, don¡¯t be mean!¡± Kaena says, their voice dripping an artificial concern. ¡°You know Raika had a transformation recently. They¡¯re half spirit beast now, they¡¯ve got the appetite of a wild boar.¡±


    ¡°More like a gorgeous stag,¡± Raika huffs.


    Before she reaches for any of the food for herself, she takes a bowl from amidst the mix, simple broth with a few floating pieces of tofu, two slices of thin chicken, and some scallions atop. She places it carefully in front of the kid, whose eyes, still owlishly wide, fixate on it immediately.


    Raika puts a spoon next to him.


    ¡°My word, my blood and my name,¡± she says quietly. ¡°Freely given, to be taken or denied as you will. No tricks. And eat slow. You look like you haven¡¯t had a proper meal in days. Eat too quickly and you¡¯ll puke.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± the frail figure says quietly.


    Raika goes to say something else, but¡­ from the look of them, they probably really do.


    ¡°Pai Jin,¡± she says instead, ¡°you want in on this? Because if not I¡¯m about to eat everything on this table.¡±


    He gives her a Look:?.


    ¡°As flattered as I am by your generosity, Cultivator Raika, I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m still on duty, and not at liberty to indulge myself so freely.¡±


    She smiles back at him in her mask, enjoying poking at him. ¡°Quite the pity, Honored Trooper. Your dedication to your work is a credit to your name and Imperial Soldiers everywhere.¡±


    And before he has a chance to answer, she starts eating, which is apparently enough to stun him into silence as she does.


    It is, she admits, a bit of a performance.


    As a cultivator advances, the will of the world bends against their own, fed and altered by Qi as it becomes in their journey. They¡¯re strong because they say they¡¯re strong: even a skinny or obese cultivator can crush metal and break mountains. The rate at which the changes occur vary in intensity, growing exponentially as one advances up the realms, and, as always, directly influencing one¡¯s Qi magnifies those qualities, or creates new ones if used in unique patterns. A member of the Divergent Paths can eat rocks as one might eat fried flakes.


    Raika isn¡¯t near that realm yet, not by far, but she¡¯s a bit of an abnormality normally, and especially in her ¡°body¡± cultivation.


    So it is that she does not discriminate in what she eats.


    All three fish, bones and all, are gone in about a minute flat. One, two, four bowls of noodles and spiced meat, three boiled eggs shell and all and another twelve in a dozen other ways, and that¡¯s not even to speak of the horrors that are visited upon the dumplings.


    She stops devouring long enough to give the kid a glare. ¡°Eat,¡± she orders, and they go pale for a second before Pai Jin gives them a nod.


    She grumbles at being trusted less than the damn soldier and icon of Imperial authority, but it¡¯s hard to blame him. The soldier strikes a dashing figure of majesty in his ornate chivalric armor, silver and gold metals and pale white ceramics emulating the colors of the Empire, never mind the slight whirring and flickering glow of electricity and Qi that powers the mechanics, weapons and strength-enhancing properties of the half-machine armor.


    As much as she hates a man in uniform, it¡¯s the absolute figure of a young child¡¯s dream of a hero.


    The kid takes a sip of the broth, moving slowly and trembling, and takes their first sip.


    She can¡¯t help but smile at the sight as she eats her own meal.


    ¡°Uuuh¡­ Raika?¡± Maen asks. ¡°You, uh¡­ ate one of the spoons, there.¡±


    She blinks, looking down at the shattered pieces of ceramic in her hand. She feels around in her mouth for the crunchier bits.


    ¡°Huh. Actually doesn¡¯t taste that bad.¡±

 Chapter 84 - Secure, Contain... Ok, Maybe A Little Unleashing, As A Treat

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    There are a multitude of tasks to undertake before the wee hours of the morning.


    While the sun still writhes across the horizon, an endless tide of undulating bodies burning brighter than can be seen with the naked eye, yet to reform and climb back across the sky, Ka Yarel makes sure to maintain a brisk pace as she stalks through the halls she has earned.


    It is not often that a Scholar of her stature is given the tools and trust to manage the affairs of this particular building. It is even less often that they survive it. She is proud to have thrived under even the most adverse conditions. She survived the mail room at the bottom of the Idol¡¯s tower, she¡¯s survived the last three inter-tower wars in her district, she can survive this.


    The walls around her are pristine, pure white, such that any that do not have the spatial awareness to track the hard angles of the surfaces around them may consider themselves lost in a void. She makes each turn perfectly, without needing the reference documents denoting number of steps between turns or the map easily located in her spatial storage, given to her almost six months prior on her first day on-site. No, she has this place memorized, has forced herself and her mind to accommodate the changes needed to move purely by reflex and spatial perception rather than sight. She passes a few others on her way, most of them just coming off-shift now, and gives slight acknowledgement to those whose numbers exceeded their quotas. Every ounce of prevention here is less a pound of cure later than it is a metric ton, and that should be acknowledged, even if it¡¯s their job.


    One of them bows as she walks by, sending an acknowledgement-pulse through her Halo and requesting permission to send over a data-package. She sends back an acknowledgement and agreement prompt, and quickly dissects the packet of spirit-matter transferred from his Halo to hers, its sharpened limbs making quick work of the data and absorbing it..


    She pauses.


    ¡°Has anyone else checked these numbers?¡± she asks.


    ¡°No, Scholar Yarel,¡± replies the technician. Like all of them, he¡¯s dressed in robes exactly as white as the walls around them, leaving them all looking like they¡¯re floating, dismembered through the halls. ¡°But they have been verified. Sent through the logic-oracles and checked over four separate times now. The data is correct.¡±


    She nods.


    ¡°Your name. Ri Tanshin, yes? Come with me.¡±


    He blinks, goes to stutter something before thinking better of it, but she¡¯s already moved on. He will follow, or he¡¯ll deal with the consequences. Even here, the cultivator¡¯s mantra holds firm: forward or failure.


    Especially here, where so much is precariously balanced.


    ¡°Technician rank Three, yes? Why was this report not at my desk an hour ago?¡±


    ¡°Precisely for me to verify its authenticity, ma¡¯am. The discrepancy is minute, but-¡±


    ¡°The tools we use here are more capable than any beyond those whose cultivation and Dao focuses on the nature of machinery or interpretation of numbers. If they give you a result with a discrepancy, I expect it sent up the chain the very second you recognize it next time. Your diligence is noteworthy, but until you advance much higher than you have, fact-checking something like this is a waste of time. We have machines that do it better.¡±


    He nods. Gulps once. ¡°Yes ma¡¯am. I¡¯ll endeavor to pass along any results immediately next time.¡±


    She does not look over her shoulder at him, but she doesn¡¯t need to. For all that the Halos influence their souls and selves, cultivation is cultivation, and he can feel the pressure of her attention shift to focus more closely on him.


    She makes a decision, taking a sharp left away from the direction they¡¯d been heading.


    ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡± he asks. ¡°I thought we were-¡±


    ¡°We were, but a lesson is in order. I can consult with the logic-oracles myself. You, on the other hand, require some assistance in your training.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been out of training for-¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re back in it now, because I said so.¡±


    She takes another turn, and they find  themselves before a door.


    It is eight feet and seven inches tall exactly. On its front, invisible to the untrained, is a massive locking wheel, large enough that Ya Karel can¡¯t even wrap her hand fully around its grip, and beside it stand two small indents. One holds a small needle, poised like a scorpion, while the other has a small hand-shaped imprint in soft white gelatin. She places a hand on the handprint first, watching as it folds over her and touches on her Qi signature, before switching to the needle and letting it draw a few drops of her blood, and then waits, hand on the wheel, for the door to let loose a pressurized ¡°hiss¡± of escaping air and a lightly pleasant chime.


    She spins the locking mechanism and a series of dense, painfully heavy ¡°clunk¡± noises sound from within the doorframe, and it takes almost thirty seconds of spinning for them to stop. Finally, she pulls the door open.


    Behind all three feet of altered metallurgic material lies a room that is not perfectly white.


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    There is a soft red light glowing in the middle of the room, about ten feet high. On each side and the far end of the room there are only shadows, and the glow illuminates only a small, central space. She steps into it without a word, without so much as a radio blip from her Halo, and after a moment¡¯s hesitation, Ri Tanshen follows her in.


    Before he can ask a question, almost as soon as he¡¯s crossed the threshold entirely, the door, weighing in excess of several tons, spins closed fast enough he can feel his lungs vibrate with the force. He might be only in the Foundational realm stage, classically, but his Halo attunement is already of the third tier, nevermind his augments or constructs. He can bend steel with less effort than it takes a mortal to bend the air around them, and yet the impact is enough to make him jolt and feel a tremble run through his feet and into his bones.


    ¡°Now, Technician rank Three,¡± Ya Karel says, ¡°tell me where we are.¡±


    He frowns, but goes to obey, running his Halo alongside his own mind and memory and pulling up-


    Nothing.


    ¡°Um- Scholar, I think that-¡±


    ¡°That you don¡¯t know where we are. That¡¯s correct. This Room Is Unknown, as are all the important rooms in this building. You rely on your Halo to guide you, but when its rank is superseded by another, here you are, a simpleton. You should have the map memorized. You should have every step you need to take, memorized. But you do not, because your Halo feeds you and grows from you until you are both symbiotically dependent and incapable of your own thought.¡±


    ¡°Scholar Karel I did not mean to-¡±


    ¡°You have not offended, Technician Tanshin. But you also still think you¡¯re worth more than the Halo on your head.¡±


    She takes two steps to one side, into the dark, and another red light appears, glowing from no visible source and flooding another small circle of darkness with visibility.


    Beneath it is a wonder.


    It drips black, like shadow and paint and oil leaking from the joints of its hands and feet. If it stood upright it would nearly touch the ceiling, kept from doing so because it is horrifically hunched and kneeling in seeming meditation, a posture of fifteen feet or more reduced to twelve. Black obsidian reflects the light strangely, making its plates look glossy, the outer shell of it chitinous and semi-organic in appearance, a deep, dark blue juxtaposed against midnight black and soft hints of brass and copper peeking from beneath its exterior. Four arms hold each other in a conjoined lotus position, looking at times like some of the hands have too many fingers, at others like they meld together into a pool, and a dozen other variations on slight illusions of inhumanity. Its form has a certain grace to it, something alien and glorious and perfect, both precise and organic, graceful and brutal, highlighted by the gaping ribcage at the center of it and that which it holds.


    At the core of the entity is a writhing, hopeless thing. Looking at it is like looking into a spiral that only goes sideways, like staring into a sinkhole that is only shifting when your attention drifts, like looking into ink and seeing faces, and tendrils from that central thing which he cannot name or perceive are bound, chained by fine silver and runes and forced into pathways made ready for it.


    ¡°Do you know what this is?¡± Ya Karel asks.


    ¡°I¡­¡± she can see the moment where he tries to connect to his Halo, grasps for its eidetic memory and looks for the pathways in which it has reshaped his mind, finding nothing.


    ¡°This is a mark 6 Inklotus Basilisk,¡± she says. ¡°Constructed almost three centuries ago by the esteemed Yao Xin, a seventh tier Scholar whose designs for efficiency and desire to contain a specific form of the entities we deal with here led him to kill himself and draw the diagrams in his blood after the fact. It, like all its brethren stored here, runs on a mechanized core made of altered bone, possessing spiritual properties of a denizen of Below. You do at least know the more common name for such an entity?¡±


    He gulps. ¡°A Daemon, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Correct. A Daemon. An entity of impossibility, something which defies reality as a whole and in its own driving way, bound to an engine of the Empire¡¯s creation. And tell me, Technician Tanshin, what will happen if I speak its activation code?¡±


    He just¡­ looks at her. Without words. His skin begins to sweat, his body to shake very slightly.


    Halo or not, every person that has ever walked into this building has seen some of the examples of things a Daemon, even one bound to a construct, can do. It is not the sort of thing one easily forgets.


    ¡°By Emperor¡¯s Will, Stain The World Inverse Of Form and Black Of Pitch And Shadow,¡± she intones, savoring the words.


    The machine twitches.


    For a little while, the only sound is the breathing of Technician Tanshin, trying desperately to hold eye contact and not look about like a frightened animal.


    Then its face rises.


    It looks at the both of them with the face of a doll, delicate and faintly inhuman. It is there, in how wide the eyes are, how small the mouth, how flat the nose. It does not look like a person. It looks like it is pretending to be a person and does not know how.


    It twitches again, and a set of cables not visible to the Technician before click, hiss, and detach from behind it as a shiver runs up and down its body. The whirlpool begins to drag, like sand falling endlessly and revealing black, oozing oil beneath it, until that too has stained the black sand and begun falling into itself.


    ¡°So tell me,¡± she asks. ¡°Can you stop it?¡±


    Ri Tanshin says nothing. He just trembles.


    ¡°Can you command it? Tell it to resume rest functions? Can you open the door, escape, anything at all?¡±


    He says nothing, and she can vaguely smell the scent of piss. She sighs. Time to wrap this up, then, and send in the decontamination order to purge the air and ground in the room.


    As the Daemon moves, shifts, breathes in a breath that goes out, then out, out, then out, she centers herself and uses her Dao.


    The Dao of Control is not as rare as one might think. In the first ring, many of the more esoteric Dao become available and useful, and with it, she and those like her stand atop their lessers.


    It takes a moment. It takes a genuine struggle. A Dao dedicated to controlling a machine, or vessel, that was built to be controlled, and still it fights. It quivers, it tightens, it holds to itself in all its sharp and strange and ever-flowing glory and horror, and then¡­ the mechanisms kick in, locking onto her will and injecting the control rods into the central core, forcing quicksilver into the black.


    Slowly, it kneels back down, and the pipes move under her will and reconnect to its charge, intake and upkeep ports.


    ¡°You are not an asset because you know better than the machine,¡± she tells Ri Tanshin. ¡°You are passable with a Halo, but until you can do anything at all of what it can do without it, don¡¯t believe that your analysis of data is more useful. You are to respond to results, not question them, not until you have proven your will, your mind, or your power. So the Emperor wills.¡±


    ¡°So the Emperor wills,¡± he whimpers.


    She nods. ¡°Good. I¡¯ll mark you down for two days'' vacation, by which point I expect you to be back to at least moderate goals for a while. Just remember; we must always take this seriously, and always trust in the holy tools we have been given, until by the Emperor¡¯s grace and our own wills, we learn to match or be elevated by them. Now come along. I still have work to do. Hard enough as it is to keep these things fed.¡±

 Chapter 85 - Nobility, And Rot Beneath The Skin

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    It doesn¡¯t take them too long to find a doctor. Medical pavilions may be a sect exclusive, but herbal remedies, surgeries and general practitioners are more than common enough in most major cities of the Empire. Occasionally a monopoly comes up, but with the Empire¡¯s paid incentives for medical, logistical and agricultural training, it¡¯s hard to keep any one group from forming that controls too much of the infrastructure without one of the Divisions stepping in.


    As it turns out, Kaena actually has healing pills, because Kaena has a fucking spatial ring, with, apparently, absolutely zero awareness of how bougie that is. The third ring has larger cities like Cragend, more connected to the inner rings, but for the most part there¡¯s more settlements and more space, but less advanced infrastructure, more piggybacking on older structures than spending resources to fully rebuild them. More sects, but less resources, save for a lucky or vicious few.


    Raika, of course, part of the Hungering Roots sect, was not exactly in a prime position for a gods-damned spatial ring, so having a¡­ partner? Ally? Friend? Who has absolutely no idea of the weight of it was a hell of a reveal. Then again, Imperial rules now, so¡­ maybe she can ask for one when they get back.


    Anyways, as it turns out, cultivator healing pills rated for Core Formation tiers aren¡¯t exactly¡­ healthy? To feed to a child. So off to a doctor they go.


    The kid still seems shell shocked, but is walking steadier now that they have some food in their belly. One full bowl of soup, followed by some poultry dumplings and a scallion pancake: not exactly a world-ending quantity, but more than they¡¯ve had in one sitting in probably weeks or longer. Raika can¡¯t even tell their age, so severely has malnutrition stunted their growth. They still draw attention as they walk, and the kid¡¯s presence only magnifies that for how out of place they are among the Imperial cultivators.


    Maen bows politely as they cross the white curtains of the closest building of healing they find. Large, with three stories, each of them painted at least partially white, it¡¯s definitely much higher end than what Raika expected. They are in the mercantile part of town, closer to the Palace, but it¡¯s¡­ dramatic. They walk through the curtains into pale wooden floors, simple but impactful decorations and splashes of red and green highlighting the aura of the room. Standing at attention, turning from paperwork to see them as soon as they come in, Raika sees that the only person present in this front area seems to be an old burn victim, his skin replaced with a sort of prosthetic replacement of chitin that moves like intricate armor over half his face and his left side.


    ¡°Greetings!¡± Says the worker in the entryway to the shop, just behind the curtains. ¡°Esteemed cultivators, I see! How might this humble Jao Lan be of any aid to you, great sirs and madams?¡±


    Raika looks down at the kid, frozen in place. Their eyes are wide, staring all around them. There are dozens of shelves, pills and potions and elixirs decorating the walls and behind fine glass, the light scent of jasmine and soap fluttering through the air, the natural light of outside filtered beautifully through white curtains that flutter gently in the wind.


    They shuffle awkwardly, swaying on their feet and leaving a scuff mark from dirty bare feet on the floor.


    ¡°We heard that you provide medical services beyond the sale of pills here. Is this accurate?¡± she asks.


    ¡°It is, honored one,¡± he says with a smile. ¡°This Jao Lan is responsible for the care of only the simplest ministrations, but the healing palace of Ra Turoc is without equal in this city of Cragend. What services might you require?¡±


    She goes to pat the kid, but stops herself. He¡¯s still frozen stiff, and covered in bruises. Instead, she leans down a bit, startling him even with that small movement and meeting his eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to be alright, kid,¡± she says, quietly. ¡°Calm, yeah?¡±


    They nod, but she can see their pupils are still wide, their heartbeat still elevated.


    ¡°We¡¯re looking for medical treatment for malnutrition, blunt force trauma, and possible internal damage,¡± Maen says while Raika comforts the kid. ¡°For the young one we bring with us. And, if possible, we would like to trouble Ra Turoc¡¯s healing palace for lodgings and an apprenticeship, should the child be deemed suitable.¡±


    Raika looks at her, and Maen meets that look with a small smile. When she smiles back, it¡¯s not the mask doing it.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Jao Lan says. ¡°I understand. Sponsoring such a¡­ lovely young gentleman, I believe? Yes, this is possible, though many of our apprenticeships are taken up by the noble and learned of the sects and noble districts. While I do not disparage the journey ahead the young one may have, I recommend a simpler sponsorship for now, if only to avoid excess difficulties with their fellows, perhaps?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Kaena says, ¡°but in the meantime, perhaps we may speak to the doctors responsible for treatment more directly?¡±


    As Kaena and Maen take over from there, negotiating back and forth, Raika kneels next to the kid, ignoring their surroundings. He turns to face her, still smelling a bit of fear, his blood and systems slowed by exhaustion and a full belly- but he does focus, and there is a hint there of hope behind the fear.


    ¡°Here¡¯s where we part ways, kid,¡± she says. ¡°Food, rest, and healing. Freely offered. Take the opportunity for as long as you can, yeah?¡±


    The kid nods, small. ¡°I-¡±


    It comes out as a croak, as if they¡¯re not used to speaking, or haven¡¯t in a long time. They pause, swallowing, and try again.


    ¡°Why?¡± he asks.


    Raika¡­ shrugs. ¡°Some guilt. A bit of my own past. Why not?¡±


    ¡°Luck, kid. You¡¯ve done good living this long. Use what you have, and try to be more. That¡¯s what life is.¡±


    Then she gets up, and leaves the kid with Maen, Kaena, and Pai Jin, stepping outside.


    Ignoring the crowds or the eyes all around, she sighs, loud, an exhale strong enough to lift the curtains behind her and ruffle the edges of the clothes of those walking close by. The building is on an intersection, multiple of its sides connected to the streets and foot traffic all around, so she crosses the road in front of it and stands in the shadow, away from the sun, between two buildings. Restaurants, by the smell of them, with some living quarters above and behind them. She takes a breath, using her new meditative mindset to block out some of the conversation happening all around and in the building across the street.


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    A slight scuff against stone, somewhere above her.


    It sneaks through the meditative block, neither calm conversation or simple sounds of life. She focuses her senses, drained in a way she hadn¡¯t expected but forcing herself aware and directing her focus all around.


    Three bodies, all of them breathing steadily, all of them with calm heartbeats¡­ and all of them on the roofs all around, looking down towards her.


    She breathes in, deep, then out, emptying her lungs entirely before she sniffs the air. A thousand minor Qi-scents, a storm of smells and concepts and places and things, never mind the kitchens literally feet away from her. An absolute chaos of information, flooding through her. It takes her almost thirty seconds, letting her mind unwind from holding itself back, focusing on the heartbeats above her, to identify the scents coming from the rooftops.


    They all reek of something dark. Not vile, not evil, but dark, hidden, places beneath the earth where the sky does not touch and the only light accepted is the light the prey emits that lets one pounce. Predators in caves, the scent of the depths mixed with the scent of fear, and hints of¡­ something that grows, something small, soft. Moss?


    ¡°If we¡¯re all just wasting time together,¡± she says, ¡°does anyone have a cigarette? I was living with a doctor for a while, and it¡¯s been a fucking mess since then. Haven¡¯t had a good smoke in months.¡±


    All three of the heartbeats speed up a bit. One, that smells a bit more like water, deep pools beneath cold stone, shifts slightly, and one of the others grabs them by the arm, the sound of the hand against fabric loud as if they¡¯d spoken aloud.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m speaking to you,¡± she says quietly. ¡°Good job. Your Qi¡¯s barely even present. Took a while to pick it out. Your heartbeats were easier, though. If we¡¯re going to fight, I¡¯d appreciate having a smoke first. Anyone?¡±


    The rooftops are bare of even whispers.


    She sighs. ¡°That figures. Hey, good luck to you guys, good work on the surveillance or the sneaking or whatever, I¡¯m going to go find another alley to feel tired in.¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡±


    One of the figures, despite a flurry of whispered words and even a slight flaring of Qi from one of the three, hops over the edge of the building and drops the thirty or so feet to the ground, landing silently. She notices as they land that it¡¯s almost like the ground bends for them a bit, absorbing some of the impact, even as their Qi barely shifts.


    They¡¯re clad head to toe in clothing, their head and face obscured by a scarf and wide-brimmed hat, their hands wearing gloves, their feet wearing slippers and long socks, all colored beige and boring for blending in. If she saw them on the street, the only thing exceptional about them would be the gloves, perhaps, but otherwise their attempt at looking unremarkable lands surprisingly well.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± they ask.


    ¡°My name is Raika. Who are you?¡±


    ¡°My name is of no import. Why did you-¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s not how this works.¡± She leans back against the wall, letting a smirk come out from hiding beneath her mask. ¡°I found you. Least we could do is an even exchange.¡±


    ¡°Arrogant,¡± says a second voice. To her right, landing a bit more heavily than the first and blocking off the direction to the closest street, a second one lands, the one that smells of water. ¡°You are in no position to make demands.¡±


    She raises an eyebrow. Turns back to the first one.


    ¡°This guy always this much of an asshole? Or am I privileged to experience a newfound bundle of aggression?¡±


    ¡°Who we are is not yours to know,¡± the first one says, though she thinks she detects a bit of a smile beneath the scarf. ¡°You are in our territory. You wander our city, bringing with you the weight of your cultivation as you go. Is it not expected that some might find issue with you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, it is,¡± she says. ¡°Firstly, I¡¯m not a cultivator, technically. Secondly, all I¡¯ve done is help an urchin, eat some food, and wander the biggest city I¡¯ve ever been in with attractive people and an asshole soldier. What¡¯s any of that to you, you harass everyone who leaves the palace?¡±


    There¡¯s a pause before they respond.


    ¡°Well,¡± Raika says, quietly. ¡°Well well well. Now isn¡¯t that an interesting tidbit.¡±


    The one behind her starts to shift, their Qi beginning to circulate. Unbound from tight control and finally in use, the traces of their Qi bloom into a proper scent; the deep and dark and binding weight of the earth above, the endless dark of the deep below, and the silent shifting of things unseen. Frankly, it¡¯s a damn interesting Qi signature, and has enough depth to it that it¡¯s hard to tell where he lands. Late foundational, maybe, but it smells richer, even if its intensity is minimal.


    She hears a small sigh, likely meant to be subtle, and the third figure drops from above. Like the other two, they¡¯re wrapped head to toe in simple garments, meant to obfuscate by a mix of blending in and being forgetful when seen.


    She smiles. The possibility of violence is¡­ mmh. Tempting. Tempting, tempting. Whatever their techniques, she doubts they intend to make this a drawn out battle, and she can probably survive their first move, whatever they throw at her. Maybe. Possibly.


    Yes, it¡¯s stupid, but the thought of getting to hit something, of having something hit her, is¡­ tempting.


    ¡°None of that,¡± she says instead. ¡°I don¡¯t know who you are, or why you¡¯re here, and frankly in this clustered mess of people it¡¯s hard to tell who you are. If you left now, I wouldn¡¯t even know your origin. No need to get violent. Not all us palace-folk are born there, or quite so willing to slaughter needlessly.¡±


    The first one twitches their hand a bit, some sort of signal, considering how the third individual stands to block the first a bit, keeping his line of fire busy.


    ¡°What would you know of the Empire¡¯s slaughter? Privileged daughter of some valued mutant or noble-born brat, it makes no difference. You know nothing of the dirt you walk on, or what is buried beneath.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°That¡¯s true. The back half of it, anyways. I was born to two farmers though, both dead from winter, so you¡¯re dead wrong on that front. And as for slaughter?¡±


    She laughs a bit, picturing or seeing the shades of masked, scarf-clad figures fluttering in and out of being at the edges of the alleys, looking in from around corners. ¡°I know something about slaughter. Had my hand in one, even. But I¡¯d hardly say I don¡¯t know much about the Empire¡¯s slaughter. My hands are too bloodied to not know.¡±


    There¡¯s silence in the alleyway for a bit.


    She sighs. ¡°Are you sure none of you have a smoke? This whole city is a nightmare of smells, I can barely keep my head straight, and this conversation is already exhausting.¡±


    The third figure takes a step forward, pausing when she moves just a bit too fast in shifting her head towards him. When no further move is made, he takes another step.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you help the boy?¡± they ask, the first spoken words she¡¯s heard from them. The voice is deeper than the others, gruffer, with a quality to it like she¡¯s hearing them speak from somewhere with an echo.


    She growls, letting the animal musicality of it ring and fill the alleyway for a moment, feeling Dink tremble against her sternum as she does. They¡¯re still quiet, but the sound is enough to rouse them, and they tremble against her in recognition, letting her know its awake.


    She goes to snap something, but¡­ pauses, a minor sensation keeping her from acting.


    Dink shivers. Voice of reason, as always.


    ¡°Because I wanted to,¡± she tells them instead.


    ¡°No other reason?¡± the first one snaps.


    She pauses. Eventually, she shrugs. ¡°No other ones that matter.¡±


    The first and second cloaked individuals don¡¯t move, but the third one takes one more step forward, and then¡­ kneels.


    ¡°On behalf of the citizenry and downtrodden of this land, which have stood strong yet wounded for endless miles, from depths to surface, I thank you for your kindness¡­ Raika.¡±


    She can feel the surprise of the other two in their heartbeats, in the shifting of their breathing and their stance. The first one just looks confused, or shocked, while the second seems to suddenly get far angrier, their energy increasing a bit before they put themselves back under control.


    She pauses, but, especially considering the organic responses, she eventually nods her head, bowing herself just enough to be respectful.


    ¡°It was freely offered, without ties or expectation,¡± she tells them, and she can feel the shift in the third one¡¯s posture at the words. They nod, right after.


    ¡°May we cross paths in better times and auspicious circumstances, Raika,¡± he says, in that strange and echoing tone of his.


    ¡°May we find each other in less trying moments,¡± she replies, saying what feels right, feeling a strange weight to the exchange.


    He nods, and makes a hand sign near his temple. The other two bow, both much more slightly than the echoing speaker, and before anything else, all three have vanished again.


    ¡°Well,¡± she sighs, ¡°that could have gone worse.¡±


    ¡°Could also have gone better,¡± says a voice behind her, deep in the dark of the alley. ¡°We didn¡¯t even get to cut them. Rather disappointing.¡±

 Chapter 86 - In The Den Of Old Monsters

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    Shin Ren is pretty sure he¡¯s dead.


    There¡¯s literally no other reasonable explanation as to why he would possibly hurt this bad. He¡¯s dead. Gotta be. Someone made a clerical error and reincarnated him as a larva, and then he got eaten, and now he¡¯s dead again.


    He¡¯s in and out for days. The only real way to tell is by the heat of the sunlight, bearing down on the world, and the pain of night when it leaves and he is left aching with cold. If there is any one mercy to the experience, it is that he does not dream. He¡¯s not left to boil and cook between the uncaring sky and visions and voices that haunt him. Instead, all he experiences, for days upon days, is pain and silence.


    Like with all things, eventually this ends.


    The pain is sharp, as it always is, but for the first time in time that he can¡¯t track, there¡¯s more to it. Or rather, more than just the pain.


    The sound of footsteps.


    It¡¯s enough to start to drag him back. Footsteps mean people. They could also mean more from his hallucinations, but even that would indicate something new occurring, and so the priority is to understand that change.


    He realizes he still has a head, and that he can turn it, and does so.


    He realizes that his eyes are closed, and goes to open them.


    They¡¯re stuck. At first it feels like it might just be the stickiness of sleep, but as he tugs with his eyelids he understands its more than that. Something is wrapped around his face, tight enough that he can¡¯t budge it on his own. On instinct he circulates some of his Qi, lets it bubble and grow-


    Immediately he spasms, wracked with agony. The Qi is yanked away from his control, spiraling into the two whirlpools that parasitize his pool, the leftover bits that escape somehow magnified and altered into something he can¡¯t use, too chaotic, too disharmonized. By the time what¡¯s left of it reaches the meridians he¡¯d tried to bring them to, to strengthen and heal himself, it¡¯s deviated so far from the ideal of the Purple Flame and all its glory that it just flows on, uncontrolled, back to his Dantian.


    And he is left screaming from the effort, because he is burned.


    He recognizes the pain now, more aware and more accustomed to it. He¡¯s been burned plenty, it¡¯s inherent to the training of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect, and the pain is familiar but never this vast before. For a moment it feels like he¡¯s drowning in it.


    Something cold touches him, streams and trickles of it flowing down his forehead, and even as it magnifies the pain in the rest of him with the juxtaposition he experiences a brief, agonizing moment of peace. The pain fades from his face at the touch of the liquid, cold and cool, and it¡¯s like being pulled from the mire for just a moment.


    It fades almost as fast as it appeared, his own body heat and the nature of thermodynamics conspiring against him to warm the water and let the pain flow back, ready and eager and biting and snarling and-


    Another moment of pressure. Something scented with leaves and herbs, with ground roots that are surely a fine powder but grate against his flesh, but cold enough that he shivers. There is such a bliss in that second. To be in pain, in agony, so total and complete and overpowering¡­ and then to be free of it. He almost giggles after he gasps at its touch.


    Someone speaks. He can hear the words, but can¡¯t understand them, wouldn¡¯t be able to process them if he could. There is just the pain, and the blissful moment where he is released from it. It¡¯s almost like a trance, a cycle of sorts from which, even as he feels trapped, he feels grateful for, because it means that he is awake. He is alive. And the pain stops, sometimes.


    Shin Ren¡¯s first day awake passes in that fugue, and ends only when at last he is exhausted by the pain, and falls back into dreamless sleep.


    ¡ª--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Shin Ren¡¯s third day, he manages to sit up.


    The meditation helped. It¡¯s a bit of a ridiculous thought, but having the structure helped. Retreating into himself, experiencing that cyclical flow, the cold always returns, and the heat comes right after it. Whatever healing remedies are mixed into it are surely doing their part, but the state he slipped into helped.


    After a while, with every moment that the burns returned, haunting him with the ruin of damaged nerves and the terror of what he must look like, what he must have lost, he began to work. He began to focus, and think, and try everything he could to not just experience the pain, to distract himself and guide himself. The cold, cool touch of bliss would come, and he¡¯d pause, rest, feel free and breathe- but such things always end far too quick, and the pain of his untouched flesh and the warming waters would cooperate to bring him back to ruin. To madness.


    He does not hear or experience his visions, the hallucinations that drove him here, but their origins haunt him nonetheless. If there was ever doubt before that he cradles heart demons, there is none now, for the symptoms are textbook. His own Qi, drawn into an altered state by the demons of his mind, responding to his emotions and mental state by clumping together and changing their patterns. Near his heart and his liver meridians, there are whirlpools, pieces of his own life-force and energy turned into sinks where Qi is drawn in, but left unused, growing stagnant and pulling in more. There is some argument to the supposed sentience of heart demons, but without his imagined tormentors to speak on their behalf, he sees little evidence of it. They simply sit, two tumorous masses of power, hungrily drawing from any energy that moves near them.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    So he spends his time, what little of it he can focus for, ensuring that he does not move energy near them.


    It goes against much of his training, and feels deeply unnatural to do, but eventually he masters diverting the flow of his Qi out of certain channels. They are not independent, each meridian and channel possessing up to a dozen branching pathways to flow energy into and through, and the patterns one does this in are what determines much of one¡¯s cultivation technique and direction. Some patterns draw out more energy, others refine Qi in minute distinctions, and the more esoteric patterns are what allow one to grow in their cultivation at a rate that can keep up with their demands, and what help shape a student into their master¡¯s way, be they from a Sect or the Empire. To cut off a direction to his heart and the entirety of his liver from his circulation is ridiculous, compromises his cultivation and direction, and means that he has at best limited ability to improve their function.


    But it also means that he can use his Qi again.


    It¡¯s not perfect. Both of his demons are placed much too well for that, both draining him ever so slightly ever so constantly, even draining the ambient Qi around him, the excess falling back into his system and destabilizing him. But as he warps the pattern he uses, leaves them as quiet as he can, he gradually starts to be able to move his Qi where he needs it to be, and infuse his will through it and into his flesh.


    On the third day since awakening, Shin Ren manages to strengthen his body enough to sit up.


    He does it as the visitor arrives, the footsteps that herald the cool release. The movement is agony, but not a new agony, not the deeper hell from his Qi deviating to his demons, so much hungrier than ever. He sits up, and the pain, for just a moment, does not overwhelm him.


    It rises back like a tide the moment that the thrill of victory leaves him, the instant that new challenges arrive, but he holds onto the moment in the storm. And then, after more words in a language he doesn¡¯t speak, there comes again the cool touch of medicine and blessed, blessed cold.


    ¡ª------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    On the seventh day from his awakening, Shin Ren uncovers his eyes.


    He regained movement a day ago. Managed to sit up straight the day before that. His sense of touch is¡­ off, even with the aid of medicine and Qi healing both. He¡¯s not a healer, but to guide one¡¯s own body to an ideal state is natural for any cultivator, it should only be for major damages, lingering wounds, curses and poisons that he should need a healer versed in cultivation.


    And yet, his demons nestle in him. And yet, the scars do not fade. And yet, beneath the bandages on his hands, he can feel very, very little. Pressure, yes, he can tell when he¡¯s touching something, but texture eludes him.


    But that¡¯s fine. He doesn¡¯t need the details yet. He just needs to see.


    He reaches to his face, arms stiff, the skin unnaturally tight, and touches. A thick pad of gauze sits over his eyes, and on his face, little more than his mouth is uncovered.


    He¡¯s been trying, for days, to heal his eyes. To sense what is wrong with them, and try to fix it with his limited circulation, his limited knowledge, his limited view on what his ideal state might be.


    He tugs at the bandages, and they fall away, pulling slightly at the bandages around them with the stickiness of sweat.


    The light is blinding, and for a while he thinks he has failed. He spends his time there, struggling, blinking and squinting and letting his eyes readjust, riding the wave of the pain and disorientation¡­ until eventually it begins to clear. Until it¡¯s not just chaos and sensitivity, but shapes and colors that he begins to see.


    He is white. Like an embalmed mummy, wrapped in perfect satin, he is almost picturesque.


    Everything he can see of himself is covered in gauze, bandages, lotions. What little is exposed to the air is often red, healed over but different than before, or still carrying the scars of the burns. He looks thin to his eyes, not emaciated but drained, lesser.


    That¡¯s hardly a surprise. He is lesser.


    He turns his head slowly, fighting the tightness and the pain in his neck. To the right, nothing but a wall, red-brown sandstone, partially worn smooth enough to almost look artistic, like a gem made from simple stone. To his left, the cave he is in opens a bit.


    There is a hole in the roof, angled so that sunlight comes in through the small tunnel and reflects from the far wall, lighting the room from how smooth and reflective the stone here is. It illuminates a small, almost quaint space; there is a desk in one corner, carved from stone as well, laden with papers, diagrams, scrolls, ink and parchment and more. Across from it, on the wall behind his head, he finds a bookcase, stretching to the ceiling a good ten feet above and just as full of literature and writings. There is a carpet in the middle of the room, an ornate rug with intricate detailing, the weave of it so fine that when his eyes unfocus, it looks like a painting, detailing an overhead view of some sort of pastoral scene, trees, farmlands and their crops waving in the wind.


    Behind the carpet, a good dozen feet away, there is a man sitting in a chair, facing Shin Ren.


    Behind him, there is a door, seemingly made of stone just like every other piece of furniture he¡¯s seen so far, including the bed he¡¯s lying in. The chair also seems to be made of stone, though of a different make than all the rest, seeming not to have been carved smooth and molded into form within the room itself. Its made of a dark slate-grey stone, standing out amidst the warm brown, yellow and orange of the stone around them.


    The man in the chair is wearing long, flowing robes, light and thin but reaching to the ground and almost pooling there. They¡¯re colored an off-white, like they used to be purer but have been worn down by time, sunlight and wear, and stand juxtaposed with the man who wears them. His skin is so dark its closer to black, his eyes bright brown pools like rich loam looking out from rich, vibrant flesh that radiates warmth. His hair is white, shorn close to his scalp, but he does not look old: if anything, he only looks a few years older than Shin Ren, somewhere in his mid twenties, early thirties at the oldest possible end of the spectrum. He does not seem particularly muscled, but he exudes an aura of vitality, of one who has worked beneath the sun and who has grown hearty from it rather than burned.


    He smiles, lips closed, as Shin Ren sees him. Shin Ren isn¡¯t sure how long he¡¯s been there, waiting. He can¡¯t sense anything from him, not a drop of Qi, but it¡¯s hard to sense anything at all through the pain, even if he¡¯s mastered it enough to remain aware through its peaks and valleys.


    Moving slowly, keeping his hands visible, the man waves, the movement causing a ripple around one of a few silver bands he wears on his fingers. A piece of parchment appears in his hand, covered in small markings and some sort of pattern, and he presses it to his throat.


    ¡°It is good to see you awake, young friend,¡± says a voice that does not sound like the language Shin Ren heard before. ¡°I think we have much to discuss.¡±

 Chapter 87 - Out Of The Fire, Into The Cooler, Stranger Thing That Might Kill You

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    ¡°You have broken your cultivation,¡± the man says, his voice melodious in the strange acoustics of the room.


    Shin Ren doesn¡¯t speak for a while. At first wondering what he should say, and then wondering if he can speak at all. He doesn¡¯t want to try, only to find out that he¡¯s ruined himself more thoroughly than he thought.


    But the stranger says nothing, and after a few moments, Shin Ren decides that enough is enough. Whoever they may be, they¡¯ve allowed him to rest, healed and bandaged him, and have come asking politely, rather than with any hint of aggression, about his circumstances. It would be a mark of nothing but shame to keep silent here, not when he has been treated so honorably.


    And despite everything, Shin Ren does still very much want to be noble.


    He opens his mouth. Lets out a breath, makes an ¡°ah¡± sound as he does, just to see if he can. It comes out poorly, his throat unused to the strain after so long quiet (or, perhaps, still raw from any screaming he may have done without realizing). Still- it does emerge.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he whispers, ¡°I have.¡±


    The man nods. ¡°That was my hope. Anything else, and I would have been very concerned about your teachers, to have given you such a method to pursue.¡±


    He leans forward, hands on his knees, eyes piercing and bright. ¡°You should be dead, boy. I¡¯m shocked that last flare-up of yours didn¡¯t kill you, and pleasantly surprised your body has managed to heal as much as it has. You must be quite a talent to produce as much Qi as you do, considering your hungry houseguests.¡±


    ¡°They are not¡­ houseguests,¡± Shin Ren hisses.


    ¡°No? Did you not invite them in? Raise and nurture them tenderly, with only the most shameful of secrets and self-recriminations? Houseguest is more polite than children, yes, but it wouldn¡¯t do to delude yourself about your situation, boy. You are not poisoned, or cursed, or warped by foreign powers and influences. You are in possession of plump, lovingly grown heart demons, of a kind both stronger and less mature than I expected for your cultivation and apparent age. Unless, perhaps, you¡¯re one of those types that likes to make themselves look young.¡±


    Shin Ren frowns, tilting his head. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ not sure what you mean, honored benefactor.¡±


    The man nods at the honorific, as if pleased by its use. His eyes narrow a bit at the denial, though.


    ¡°Are you not near the peak of the Core Formation realm?¡± he asks. ¡°Even with your altered cultivation and the weights upon it, you¡¯re clearly near its edge, and surely hold some considerable powers of your own. Surely you don¡¯t think me foolish enough to believe you achieved such a height at the young age you present yourself as?¡±


    Shin Ren has to take a moment to process that. ¡°I¡­ I apologize, benefactor, but¡­ I believe I am still in my twenty third year of life. While I am¡­ flattered that you would think me (cough) powerful enough to change myself, I am not sure what you mean?¡±


    The man blinks.


    He leans back into his chair, staring very, very intently at Shin Ren.


    ¡°You¡¯re not lying,¡± he eventually says.


    ¡°No, sir.¡±


    Slowly, he nods. ¡°Well,¡± he says, ¡°I suppose this may change some things about the state of your heart demons. I had assumed they were old wounds, left to fester for a decade or more, but wondered at their state of immaturity. Perhaps your spawned deviations share your propensity for singular growth, boy. How long have you had them?¡±


    ¡°I- perhaps a few months, sir. Less than a year.¡±


    The man throws his head back and laughs. ¡°Damnation, boy, and already they¡¯ve nearly killed you? You don¡¯t do things slowly, do you?¡±


    He gets up from his seat, imbued with a sort of bright positivity and boundless energy. ¡°As the kids used to say, Throne be Damned, I¡¯ve yet to see one with such singular talent before you! I¡¯m aware it¡¯s a bit rude to ask after one¡¯s circumstances beyond what¡¯s needed, but tell me, which sect spawned such majesty? I have been cultivating for some time, but surely I would have heard of a master capable of raising such a prodigy. Tell me boy, was it the High Heaven Sect? The Justicars? Ah, no, you possess a fiery nature that may suit them, but your robes hardly fit their colors. Divine Elements sect, perhaps? Or are you from further afield, from the lands of our wilder cousins the Maw¡¯s, rather than a sect? I¡¯ve not saved you just to kill you boy, there¡¯ll be no discrimination from me here. Tell me which sect I must congratulate when I leave my seclusion!¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I am sorry, benefactor, but I don¡¯t know many of the names you speak of. I am from the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect, of the third ring.¡±


    The man stops cold. He seems to switch almost completely from a benevolent, bright figure, embracing the vitality that glows from him, to a flat and emotionless being, staring out from eyes of golden-brown and measuring Shin Ren like an ant beneath a microscope.


    ¡°A bit of a mouthful, no?¡± he asks, his smile returning, but slower, more sedate. ¡°What alliance does your sect fall under? The Brilliant Scale Alliance? The Brotherhood of War? The Alliance of Strength Divine?¡±


    Shin Ren swallows, trying to keep his breathing even. ¡°Again, benefactor, I¡¯ve never heard of such alliances. I am no student of history, sir, but¡­ perhaps you have been in seclusion for longer than you thought?¡±


    The man frowns. ¡°It¡¯s possible, yes. If not them, then who rules these lands? I am an old figure, it is true, even by my own reckoning, but I was not so far gone into the path of cultivation that I did not have allies, those who would have sought to reach me should they need aid, or to warn me of great changes. Tell me, boy. Who claims the grounds of the burning flats?¡±


    ¡°No one, at the moment, sir. There are few sects or cities this far towards the horizon, especially here in the southlands. The only real authority that could lay claim without contest would be the Empire.¡±


    The room freezes over.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    It does not change in temperature, and doesn¡¯t grow icicles to complement the warm stone. Shin Ren¡¯s burns don¡¯t ache any less, like they would in such a change. But the room freezes, and he has no better word for it. It becomes perfectly and utterly still, as if some aspect of movement, of space, of time, has suddenly stopped in its flow and risen from its bed, to coil and look at him as one does prey.


    He is, for a moment, startled by the fact that his heart is still beating.


    The man looks at him, and his eyes are no longer brown. They are not eyes. There is no color. There is just¡­ space. Like looking into an extension of the same room he¡¯s already in, the warm stone going in forever and yet only showing him a window of a wider place, rather than diminishing.


    ¡°Which Empire?¡± the man asks. His voice is no longer melodious. He sounds like thunder, drifting over the horizon.


    Shin Ren struggles to breathe. For a moment, he realizes he doesn¡¯t even feel pain, his every nerve alight instead with adrenaline and a fight or flight response that, when faced by something of a magnitude above, can instead only choose freeze.


    ¡°Which. Empire.¡±


    ¡°The- the Empire, sir,¡± he manages to squeeze out. ¡°The only Empire. It rules all the lands. Every sect bows to it, sir.¡±


    ¡°Since. When.¡±


    ¡°Since the last few thousand years, almost,¡± Shin Ren says. He is starting to hyperventilate. ¡°In the last few hundred its technology and industry have reshaped the world. Roads, academies, vehicles, healing, and commerce between all cities and sects. I- please. I don¡¯t mean to offend.¡±


    The man blinks, and in that instant they are eyes again, rather than that¡­ everything. The room unfreezes in a moment, though nothing feels like it¡¯s specifically changed.


    ¡°I¡­ I apologize, boy. It would seem that my experiences nearly made of me a liar.¡± The man sits back down where he was, taking a long, deep breath. ¡°It would seem that the urge to discriminate remains. But my word stands. I did not heal you just to kill you, no matter what news this messenger may bring.¡±


    Shin Ren nods, before painfully raising his hands, placing one fist into his palm and bowing. He can feel the bandages and taught skin straining, but he manages it with little more than a low groan.


    ¡°This- this unworthy one thanks the benefactor for his mercy and wisdom,¡± he manages.


    The man snorts, but doesn¡¯t say anything else for a while.


    ¡°I doubt it¡¯ll be much use,¡± he eventually says, ¡°but what year is it? According to standard calendar. Or old calendar, whatever you call it now.¡±


    Shin Ren pauses to think. Officially, the date is 3102 AE, After Empire, but he doubts that¡¯s what he means. He has to wrack his brain to think of it, but eventually an old memory, from on of his more boring lessons, bubbles up.


    ¡°It should be¡­ 77021, sir, according to the old Sectoral Calendar of Wars.¡±


    The man snorts. ¡°Not a bad name, I suppose. Accurate, too. You said a few thousand years since the Empire. What calendar year is it now?¡±


    ¡°3102 AE, sir, but¡­ it¡¯s a bit misleading. The Empire¡¯s borders didn¡¯t reach out to the fifth ring until a thousand years ago, when the great expansion happened. Before that, it was only really the first ring, with attacks out to the surrounding areas to defeat foreign assaults. Eventually, with the resources and new technology that the Empire brings, the other rings have all either entered into the nation or pledged nonviolence.¡±


    ¡°Ah. ¡®Foreign assaults¡¯. Good to know the language hasn¡¯t changed all that much, then.¡±


    The man stands, the slate-grey chair picked up like balsa wood and casually placed beneath the desk off to one side.


    ¡°Well. It hurts me to say it, boy, but my words from before remain true. Say what you will of your Empire, but it seems its methods possess some results, if it means that their sects have raised one such as you. Your masters may be¡­ what they are, but I will grant them this. Twenty two years old, and already pressing against Nascent Soul.¡±


    He sighs. ¡°Well. When you manage to beat those heart demons, you¡¯ll likely push right through it. Probably a tribulation when you do, so¡­ be prepared.¡±


    And then he turns to leave.


    ¡°Ah- wait!¡±


    Shin Ren can barely move, but it¡¯s enough to get him mostly out of bed. The blanket, a soft and light thing that barely presses against his burns, still feels difficult to cast off, so weak is he, but he manages to free his legs enough to sit upright in bed.


    The man says nothing. He doesn¡¯t even cock an eyebrow or shift his stance, merely waiting with his back turned.


    Slowly, Shin Ren raises himself off the bed. Slowly, with trembling arms and legs that scream with every ounce of skin that comes into contact with the ground, he kneels, until he can press his head to the ground. He can feel scabs and blisters tearing, feel his bandages getting wet with blood and other fluids as he kneels in supplication, his hands pressed before him as he makes himself small.


    ¡°Please, sir,¡± he whispers, his voice strained and quiet. He can barely breathe, let alone speak, but he forces the words out anyways. ¡°Please. I ask to be in your care.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t see or hear the man move.


    ¡°Surely you have already been cared for?¡± the man says. ¡°I have no intention to leave my work unfinished. You¡¯ll be healed soon enough, especially now that you can use your Qi again and I won¡¯t be wasting any medicines of higher quality.¡±


    He breathes through his nose, choking on the pain, forcing the trembling to leave his voice even as his hands shake with exhaustion and pain against the ground.


    ¡°Please, master. Teach me. Accept me into your care.¡±


    The silence weighs heavy. The world weighs heavy. It is not so intense, but Shin Ren feels that same experience, of the world somehow freezing while continuing to be.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Just one word. Simple question, really. One without much answer. The man, whoever he is, surely must be someone ancient, whose cultivation Shin Ren can only guess at, but it¡¯s enough to sustain him in seclusion for thousands of years, so it can¡¯t be below the Divergent Paths. There¡¯s nothing Shin Ren can offer him, especially not as a member of a group he seems to clearly despise.


    Well. There is one thing.


    ¡°I am¡­ considered a talent by many, master,¡± he rasps. ¡°A prodigy. For the third ring. Held against those of the first ring, or even the second, I am no more than a flea, considered slow for my age. Until the bottleneck of the final formation of a Soul, there are many beneath me in age who have accomplished more than I.¡±


    ¡°If you mean to impress me, boy, you¡¯ve gone in the wrong direction.¡±


    Still, he hears the hesitation in the old monster¡¯s voice. The intrigue. The sheer intensity of the fact that so many, so young, have achieved what was once myth or legend.


    ¡°Sir, despite my efforts. Despite- despite my travels, even to the academies. I have never met one whose pressure feels like yours. You, alone, stand unique to my senses. I believe, master, that all you would need is a willing student to outshine even the greatest of academies the Empire could offer. I can only offer my knowledge of the world beyond, and the opportunity to mold willing clay. But I pray that you may find some value in what I offer, master.¡±


    He hears footsteps. Bare feet against stone as the man turns around.


    ¡°Why do you offer anything?¡± the man asks. ¡°Surely your empire can aid you. There¡¯s plenty of room left to grow, once you deal with those demons of yours.¡±


    ¡°I believe that you, master, may have differences of thought on demons and cultivation that could benefit me more. Sir.¡±


    There is silence.


    The pressure in the room vanishes.


    ¡°Get some rest, boy,¡± he hears the man sigh. ¡°Quit your bleeding all over my floor. It¡¯s been an age since I have taken a student, literally, it would seem, and I¡¯ll not have my first in so long sully himself with foolish shows of subservience.¡±


    Shin Ren¡¯s head shoots up, his eyes wide even as he can¡¯t help but freeze in pain from moving so much, and then freeze again in sudden alarm.


    The man is inches away from him, eyes staring into his. It wasn¡¯t visible before, but here, so close, nearly touching, he can see that the man¡¯s pupil isn¡¯t just warm brown. It¡¯s stone. He can see, in his eyes, a city, a valley, a series of stones and mountains and constructs and carvings and temples, arrayed in a beautiful, perfect ring around an infinite black hole that masquerades as a pupil.


    ¡°Mark my words, boy,¡± the man whispers, the world trembling at his voice. ¡°I don¡¯t like being played. You¡¯re lucky that I like standing higher than fools more. I am Qu Haolan, and I shall do far more than mold you. I will make of you something worthy of my name.¡±

 Chapter 88 - Dont Mind The Chaos, Weve Got Drama To Deal With

    Raika is sincerely, truly, and genuinely bored.


    It¡¯s all fine and good to say that one should be patient, and a lot harder to actually be patient. She¡¯s gotten better at it, a fact she holds in pretty high esteem, but there¡¯s a notable difference between waiting while doing something, and waiting while doing nothing, and she has been doing nothing.


    Well. Besides Maen, but that¡¯s a given.


    After the strange encounter with the trio in the alley (which she has kept quiet about, telling no one), nothing much has happened. Almost a week gone by, and her new mantra has started to get old, fast. Normally, at this point, she¡¯d throw herself into cultivation, but again, she can¡¯t. She¡¯s not able to enter the trance-state that Qi organs seem capable of bringing about. The effort feels like trying to balance without an inner ear; you¡¯re better off just figuring out a whole new way of doing things. Any attempt at her form of ¡°cultivation¡± is done while awake, and while in tremendous pain, even as her ability to withstand that pain allows her to repeat the experience and improve.


    But there¡¯s more to it than that. She can feel something in herself, an uneasiness, like there¡¯s something missing. Ever since that last bite of Zhoulong, tearing out his throat, the hunger pangs she¡¯d been feeling faded, but no matter what or how much she eats, she never feels¡­ satisfied, even when she feels full, or feels the benefits of specific parts of her diet. More than that, there¡¯s an urge to move, to walk around and hit something. Dink helps, but ironically in the wrong way; their transformation led to a skill that allows them to vibrate at a counter-frequency to just about anything she¡¯s bothered to test with (not all that much, considering how weak and relatively young the enchanted spirit is), which means that it can calm her raging Qi and some of the tension, but not deliver the same kinds of useful vibrations as before. That¡¯s to be expected, sure, considering how dense and enhanced her body is now, but it¡¯s still¡­ frustrating. And as it turns out, there is such a thing as punching a block of stone too many times.


    That line is crossed once the block of stone turns into rubble. Which is usually around three hits in.


    So it is that, despite her best advice to herself to keep separate from them whenever possible, she¡¯s decided to visit the others.


    That¡¯s what she¡¯s started calling them. Not exactly kind, especially considering the fact that she likes most of Zhoulong¡¯s old crew, but it¡¯s been¡­ important. Shapefixit has been especially open around her, seemingly fascinated and afraid of Raika in equal measure, like a dog that¡¯s both curious and afraid to let itself be pet. Jun Vral has kept his distance, polite at best, but she¡¯s also rebuffed his efforts to speak with her, minimal at best. She¡¯s pretty sure he¡¯s ensuring that they have no untoward contact, that any potential investigation into them has less to work with, and it¡¯s a good enough idea that she¡¯s pretty happy about using it as an excuse.


    But she needs to speak with him. Alone.


    The wing of the palace of Cragend, like the one in Paleblossom, always seems to be just a bit bigger than they need it to be, and most of the same dozen soldiers that were with them originally have remained as a guard around them. ¡°Runemaster Boriah¡± set up some of his wards, once they landed and were secured and before he was called away, but in the interests of ensuring a lack of ongoing drama, the two groups have been kept separate. No official rules against interaction, nothing so obtuse, but¡­ the soldiers tend to stay close to them whenever a member of either ¡°subject group¡± moves towards the areas they¡¯ve been kept apart in.


    So Raika does something uncharacteristic. Something, in fact, rather drastically alien.


    She asks for help.


    After waiting about half an hour, she knocks, three times, on Taran¡¯s door.


    ¡°One moment!¡± rasps a voice from inside. There¡¯s the sound of shuffling, something like the sound of a bed creaking. She hears a second voice, the same voice whose scent she followed, and the reason she waited so long before knocking, though she has tried to keep her hearing as vague and unfocused as she can.


    It¡¯s not an exact science, though, and she hears Taran rasp out a curse before Kaena opens the door, leaning on the frame, dressed immaculately, barefoot in a fur-laden bathrobe.


    ¡°Why Raika!¡± They smile, artfully tossing their hair back. ¡°What a surprise, seeing you around here. Whatever could you wish from our dear, dear Taran, at this rather busy time of the afternoon?¡±


    A sandal flies through the air at Kaena¡¯s head, only to be artfully dodged as if they¡¯d known it was coming all along.


    ¡°Hi, Kaena,¡± Raika says, smiling. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m actually here to speak with you, though I wouldn¡¯t be opposed to some help from Taran, either. If you¡¯re not both too busy back there, that is.¡±


    ¡°No, no!¡± rasps out a voice that, for how weak and dry it sounds, is more than capable of highlighting some embarrassment. ¡°We were just wrapping up.¡±


    ¡°The poor dear¡¯s all tuckered out, it seems. Oooh, are you at last here to ask for some hands-on treatment?¡± Kaena asks. ¡°I don¡¯t mind a second appointment, not when we¡¯re all friends, and you¡¯ve been so very stressed lately. A good massage would do you well.¡±


    ¡°As tempting as the offer may be, I actually have another idea in mind. I came to ask a favor. I need a distraction.¡±


    Immediately, Kaena throws open the bathrobe, letting it fall to the floor and unveiling the simple kimono and shorts they¡¯re wearing beneath. ¡°Say no more, darling! Well, I¡¯d actually prefer it if you talked a lot more, I¡¯m not one to put myself on display for just anything, but goodness me, look at you, all trusting and asking for help and hatching up a plot! Considering how your last plot turned out, I am eminently interested!¡±


    Taran puts up a hand, stepping at last into view of the doorframe, wrapped in his belts and acupuncture needles, and doing his best to calm the ongoing excitement that has Kaena nearly bouncing in place. ¡°Yeah, backing up a bit. What do you need a distraction for, Raika? The last time you went rogue, you¡­ did some stuff we can¡¯t talk about, and the time before that didn¡¯t work out great.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Which¡­ is why I¡¯m trying to do things more like the second time than the first. Asking for help. You know the soldiers here watch us extra closely whenever we get too close to Zhoulong¡¯s old group. I have¡­ I have some questions I want to ask that I don¡¯t really need them hearing.¡±


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    ¡°Oh? And how do you intend on dealing with any spells or ritual listenings, hmm?¡± Kaena asks.


    ¡°Let me worry about that. I just need some time alone with Jun Vral, and I can handle the rest.¡±


    ¡°Oh so forward! Do tell, does Maen know of this little tryst? I¡¯d hate for any burgeoning sexual tastes of yours to hurt the darling, she¡¯s far too sweet for that particular brand of infidelity, Raika dear.¡±


    ¡°Wha- no, no. He¡¯s¡­ fine? He¡¯s fine. She¡¯s cultivating. I mean I- no, that¡¯s not what this is about. Just¡­ talking.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re sure it won¡¯t turn to a fight?¡± Taran asks.


    ¡°No,¡± she says, ¡°but I don¡¯t think it will. The questions I have aren¡¯t the insulting kind, and it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s something to do with a change I¡¯ve experienced. I¡¯m hoping that he might know something about dealing with it, considering his condition.¡±


    Interestingly, she notes that none of what she said is a lie. She could have lied, Kaena would see through the important bits without trouble, and it would be smart, considering how the walls have ears in this place. Literally, in the case of many of the runic arrays around them. It¡¯s one thing to ask for a quick distraction for a conversation, good to have it on record, even, but there¡¯s some things it¡¯s not good to even allude to.


    But she doesn¡¯t. She says the truth, even if there is a lie by omission in it, and she¡¯s¡­ not sure why.


    ¡°Well, alright,¡± Kaena says. ¡°I was on board from the word ¡®distraction¡¯, but I suppose hearing it won¡¯t lead to yet another catastrophe is a good thing, at least. Taran, what do you think? Fake a huge fight, middle of the dining room? See how many we can drag in, make it look good? I figure a few pistol shots should do the trick.¡±


    Taran frowns, but she notices a twitch in his fingers, a slight shifting in his scent she¡¯s come to associate with him conferring with some of his other selves. Eventually, he nods.


    ¡°Ok. Yes, alright, I can assist. I trust you, kid. Let it not be said I was so lacking in that virtue I didn¡¯t participate in some shenanigans here and there. I¡¯m not sure how long we can buy you.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense, I¡¯ll make it sexy, call some attention. We can start making out halfway through.¡±


    Taran blinks. ¡°Uh, are you¡­ are you sure? You¡¯ve been a help with the pain, lately, but I don¡¯t want to-¡±


    ¡°Taran, just because I prefer my own company for some things doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t have fun as a group activity when I so choose. Now come on, grab that jacket and some of those hideous holsters of yours. I¡¯ve been bored out of my mind, and it¡¯s been months since I put on a good show. Chop chop, understudy, we¡¯ve places to be!¡±


    Taran laughs, dry as a mummy and twice as warm, before giving Raika a nod. ¡°Try not to cause too much trouble. I¡¯m- we¡¯re trusting you on this. I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll be good for any of us, you included, if you do anything too dramatic here.¡±


    She nods, then thinks better of it, smiles, and gives a little half-bow. ¡°Why yes, cultivator Taran. I shall endeavor to keep things entirely civil, perfectly pleasant, and utterly benign.¡±


    ¡°You do that, beastie,¡± Kaena says with a smile. ¡°We¡¯ll take the opportunity to put on a show.¡±


    ¡ª-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    As far as prep time for a performance goes, Kaena had Taran ready to go in record time.


    Taran arrived at the dining room first, wearing his robes, some holsters, weaving their way through the plates and dishes, always hot and ready to be served.


    Kaena came in after, and the mess was¡­ impressive.


    Even with her enhanced hearing, Raika doesn¡¯t get much more than the bare basics. Kaena does a masterful performance of half-sobbing, half screaming, half outright shrieking, with the few words that slip out sounding something like ¡°dare you¡±, ¡°bastard¡±, ¡°worthless shitheel¡±, and, near the end of where she was listening, ¡°gorgeous jar of spiced honey¡±.


    Sometime in between a very abrupt kiss that Taran very obviously was not forewarned about and screaming at him, Kaena managed to get one of his guns, peaches and cream inundating the room as she waves it around comically.


    Well. Comically for anyone who knows that it isn¡¯t loaded, and-


    Ah. That was a gunshot.


    Well. Let it never be said Kaena is anything less than an utterly dramatic performer.


    In between the sound of footsteps and armor moving towards the sound of the commotion (and then, not long after, the sound of coin trading hands as some of the soldiers perform the timeless military ritual of betting on potential outcomes), Raika finds her moment.


    She has to focus. Spend some time, tweaking the occasional vertebrae and joint, preparing.


    And then, the instant one group turns a corner into the dining room, but before the next set of guards she hears can make it into the hallway, she launches.


    No Qi expenditure involved, no need to inflame and pump energy into herself. She¡¯s dense enough, heavy enough with chaotic Qi movements that she can be sensed, but her skin does a good job of blocking any Qi from leaving or entering, making it more than a little difficult to track her for anyone who doesn¡¯t know, vaguely, where she is, and how to identify the vague eddie and current of Qi in the ambient that she appears as to most senses. Took Kaena and Maen both confirming to let Raika feel confident that her unique relationship with Qi is still stealthy, though not hidden or near invisible like it used to be. Enhanced natural senses, a particularly sensitive sensory technique, anyone with focus and time who¡¯s felt her shadow in the Qi of the world could theoretically find and track her easily enough, but for the purposes of avoiding the eyes of distracted soldiers and moving unseen through an empty palace, it¡¯s enough. Camouflage, not invisibility, but it¡¯s plenty useful.


    Especially when she moves so fast she has to deal with air pressure.


    Her legs are reformed, digitigrade for maximum bursts of coiled strength, and her shoulders and ribs are shifted, allowing for more flexibility and less air resistance. She lets her mind fall away, embracing the feeling of air against her skin again, closing her eyes to avoid damaging them with the wind.


    Before the next group of soldiers has entered the hallway to check out what¡¯s happening, easy enough to attract to entertainment after weeks doing so little, she¡¯s landed on the wall opposite her start and past the corner.


    She feels an ache in her spine and knees as she lands, forcing her joints and back to absorb the entirety of the shock rather than let it break through the wall or make too loud a sound. Even still, she senses it when one of the soldiers begins to turn their head-


    But she¡¯s moved again, staggering at first as she heals from the absorption, then confidently, and silent as she can be the whole time.


    And then she¡¯s in front of Jun Vral¡¯s room.


    She knocks, three times, then a fourth.


    She smells him as he comes close. His scent is different, just a bit. The smell of glass is¡­ faded. Not pressed against living flesh, but surrounding it, cage rather than dissection table. He smells of serpents, of venomous fangs, of things that coil close, straining at a sharp-edged room of glass.


    He opens the door.


    ¡°Ah! Raika!¡± He steps back, straightening his robes (they¡¯re immaculate) and coughing awkwardly. ¡°I, ah, didn¡¯t sense you. Then again, you are rather hard to-¡±


    Snakes are notoriously known for not having ears. It¡¯s the source of more than one fable at their expense or benefit. They do, though, have ears, just designed differently. They sense vibration far more directly, tracking it through the environment.


    Raika stares very intently at a corner of the room behind Jun Vral, where she senses another of those strange accumulations of pressure, the slight wisps that indicate the attentive servants of an Imperial palace. As always, under direct scrutiny, it vanishes back into nothing.


    She touches Dink, letting the item-spirit amplify only the vibrations of what she says, reshaping it from words into a hum as she whispers.


    ¡°I still see Zhoulong,¡± Raika whispers, below the range of human hearing. ¡°Ever since I ate a piece of him, I can see him.¡±


    Jun Vral says nothing for a long, quiet moment.


    ¡°About fucking time, rat,¡± says the white robed figure suddenly behind him, leaning on his shoulder as casual as can be.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting for you to finally tell someone,¡± Zhoulong says with that same bright, wide smile he was always so good at using. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see how this turns out!¡±

 Chapter 89 - When A Meal Just Does Not Agree With You

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    Jun Vral holds himself very still.


    It takes almost a full thirty seconds before he shifts or moves at all. When he does, it¡¯s to alter himself, his human self, or the illusion of it, breaking as several serpents become visible, shifting from where they bled together so perfectly as to appear to be a whole human. Their eyes swivel, looking up and down the hallway, at the room behind him.


    Raika makes very, very sure that any changes to pressure that might indicate a servant fade, fast. After a while, they usually learn that she doesn¡¯t want them around at a particular time. They seem to be active still, though their definition of active is as faint as they are, but it still works, for now, to keep them relatively unbothered.


    ¡°Can he tell you to do things?¡± Jun Vral asks.


    She scoffs. ¡°He can tell me to do whatever the fuck he wants, doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m going to do it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true!¡± Zhoulong says from behind him, smiling wide. ¡°I¡¯ve tried it all! Your murderous friend here is particularly stubborn, Jun Vral my dearest. Can you imagine if I¡¯d gotten to her before that fucking beastblood? Oh, the fun times we could have had, Raika my dear. What a subject to miss out on.¡±


    ¡°Is he¡­ here?¡± Jun Vral asks.


    ¡°He is,¡± she nods. ¡°Usually shows his face when it would annoy me most, or when he thinks he¡¯d be entertained. Can we speak somewhere more private?¡±


    Jun Vral doesn¡¯t move, and she catches a whiff of him when she asks him that question.


    He¡¯s afraid. Just the thought of Zhoulong, of what he might potentially do through Raika, has him as still as an animal caught in the light, in the eyes of a predator.


    She exhales, slowly, and takes a step back and away from the door.


    Jun Vral watches her. Zhoulong smiles over his shoulder, half his face in shadow, so it¡¯s just the smile and his bright eyes hovering next to his favorite toy.


    ¡°Jun Vral,¡± Raika says, with as much sincerity and ceremony as she can; ¡°I slew your would-be master once, and I¡¯d happily do so again. Some piece of him lingers, and I want to know if you knew of any way he could have caused such a thing. There¡¯s every chance this is just a¡­ quirk of my own body, somehow, but I need to know. I mean you no harm. I¡¯d rather talk about this somewhere where the guards won¡¯t immediately hear what we say is all.¡±


    Every single one of the serpents that make the man are dreadfully still, and for a moment, she¡¯s not sure if he intends to retreat or bare his fangs and strike.


    Then, breathing out a sigh of his own, he nods once, and steps back from the door, letting it swing further open and inviting her in.


    She moves a bit slower than she would normally, making sure that every part of her is visible, even as she shifts her biology back towards her ¡°baseline¡±, humanizing her frame. As he steps back, keeping her in view, she closes the door slowly and gently behind herself, making sure there is no lock or anything that might impede his ability to leave, and then walks diagonally, towards the center of the room.


    Like every room in this fucking place, it¡¯s expansive and expensive, and she has to pause and stare down some slightly-formed accretions that may-or-may-not be more of the spirits forming. There¡¯s an amphitheater-like section, several tiers of stairs / seats lain out with cushions leading into a sort of firepit or hookah table, with the actual bed, closets and amenities further in the room, against the back wall and on an upraised section that one has to walk up to. To the left of the main lounge-pit is the expansive, arched doorway leading to the personal bath, large enough to be worthy of a public bathhouse. She heads down into the pit, seating herself a bit below ground level.


    Slowly, his Qi filling the room, flowing in tight, controlled bands but still agitated, Jun Vral seats himself at the edge of the pit, a bit above her eye level, even with her height.


    Zhoulong, of course, dramatically drapes himself over Jun Vral¡¯s lap, before slumping and falling at his feet, tongue rolling out as he winks theatrically at Raika.


    ¡°How does he manifest?¡± Jun Vral begins. ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s him, and not some¡­ errant guilt of yours, shaping an illusion?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°I¡¯m not, but I¡¯m not guilty over killing him, and I¡¯d do it again if I needed to. Ask me something only he¡¯d know, maybe?¡±


    Jun Vral sighs, long and slow, but nods. ¡°Alright. The name of the village I¡¯m from. It would be in his notes somewhere, but I doubt you¡¯ve had access.¡±


    She looks at the specter, raising an eyebrow. Jun Vral shifts, and moves a few feet over from where he was sitting as he follows her line of sight.


    ¡°And why should I help you?¡± Zhoulong asks. ¡°I mean honestly. Isn¡¯t it more fun to drive you apart? Make him think you mad? You¡¯ve hardly done me any favors, Raika the Bloody. Why should I assist you in any endeavor, much less reveal secrets of mine?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s talking around it and being difficult about how sad he is that I killed his ass,¡± Raika tells Jun Vral.


    Jun Vral lets out a rather short lived laugh, surprised at himself if his expression is any indication, but Zhoulong sits up.


    ¡°Oh fuck you, freak. You think you have any right to that claim? Sneaking in like a worm, like- like a snake! The worst kind, the metaphorical type. You didn¡¯t kill me, you snatched a bite at the last second. If I¡¯d been at my regular, even half of that, I¡¯d have sliced you apart!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, see, now he¡¯s moaning about how much he would have won by if only I hadn¡¯t gotten him beat half to death and finished him off.¡±


    Jun Vral laughs again, though this time there¡¯s a note of it being a bit forced. ¡°Are you sure this isn¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t know, some kind of haunting, or specter?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°You tell me. He¡¯s not answering questions, but he also hasn¡¯t made anything move or done anything other than be a bit annoying. He didn¡¯t show up until we got here, so it was a quiet few weeks at first, but now the bastard will not shut up whenever he¡¯s around.¡±


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    Jun Vral leans forward, putting a hand to his chin. ¡°How often is he around?¡± he asks.


    ¡°Not often. It was once or twice a day at first, but now he only really shows up if he finds something interesting. Usually to add commentary. I think it takes some kind of effort to remain, or to reappear, and he¡¯s not particularly able or willing to do so very often.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s something. When I saw the body, it had a¡­ it had the same sort of wound that the cold constructs we faced could deliver, but shaped like a bite. Did you¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, I ate a piece.¡±


    Jun Vral leans forward at this, looking at her rather intently. ¡°How did he taste?¡±


    She pauses, leaning back a bit. But¡­


    ¡°He tasted like veal, mostly. Tough, but¡­ like it was marbled with flavor. Like the feeling of a good night¡¯s sleep, and a passionate revelation upon waking, all wrapped in this sort of¡­ crisp, bright sharpness and clarity. It was¡­ I don¡¯t just want to say good, but it was so, so good, and there¡¯s not a lot I can do to describe the details. It didn¡¯t taste like anything I¡¯ve ever eaten, before or since, no matter how sharp my palate gets. I don¡¯t know if it would¡¯ve been the same for you. I hope so. If I¡¯d known, I¡¯d have tried to take a piece to share.¡±


    He blinks at that. ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡±


    She nods and shrugs.


    ¡°I don¡¯t really lie anymore. Not sure why,it just feels¡­ unnecessary. And a bit off. If anyone deserved a piece of him it was you. The twins wouldn¡¯t like it, and I don¡¯t know if that Project 13 fellow¡­ eats? So it would be just you and Shapefixit, I suppose.¡±


    Jun Vral laughs, and this time it is something authentic and true and bright.


    ¡°Truly! Truly us freaks of the world must stick together, if we¡¯re to make anything of it.¡±


    She laughs back. ¡°I don¡¯t exactly have anyone else I can tell about how it feels to eat someone. If you show interest, I see no reason not to speak on it.¡±


    He shakes his head, running a hand over his bald scalp. ¡°Ah, what a strange joy it is, to be told of the taste of that man. May he rot in hell, or in your stomach, where he belongs and where you have earned him.¡±


    He sighs, sitting forward and drawing his Qi back into himself at last.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how he might haunt you, necessarily. He never spoke of any technique that might grant sentience or longevity after death, not to me at least, and he tended to speak a lot around me. When you¡¯re not his toy or his enemy, you¡¯re just¡­ part of the background, and even I wasn¡¯t his plaything all the time. I assume, then, that it¡¯s something of yours. You devoured a piece of him, and somehow, he¡¯s been able to hold himself together enough to speak and appear to you. He may not have entered the Divergent Paths yet, but he was close, so perhaps that explains it somewhat.¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t have any abilities that might explain this?¡± she asks. ¡°No way to project his consciousness, or exist as a fragment?¡±


    Jun Vral shrugs, graceful and polite to Raika¡¯s casual. ¡°Not that I knew. If he visited my mind, he tended to do so wholesale, and he always seemed to still when entering the mind of another in view of me. Yes, he had mental techniques like that, but the Empire has hundreds of those, for communication, connection, and more. Although¡­ was he doing anything with his Qi at any point?¡±


    She nods. ¡°Yes. Something like¡­ making it into threads, sort of, and using it to try and hold himself together. I bit through it pretty easily, and it only managed to hold back the black steel for a few seconds, tops.¡±


    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s it, then. Mayhaps he¡¯s used the Qi you consumed to hold together what little of him lies in the piece you ate.¡±


    Zhoulong is suddenly behind Jun Vral again, only now helping her realize that he¡¯d vanished in the intervening moments of their conversation as her focus had shifted.


    ¡°Loose lips sink even the hardiest of boats, Jun Vral, my delightful,¡± he says, low and quiet. ¡°Best to keep quiet, now.¡±


    Jun Vral, of course, hears nothing, but there is a moment where she sees one of the snakes-that-are-him shiver near where Zhoulong stands over him.


    ¡°Seems like you might have hit the nail on the head, Jun Vral,¡± Raika says with a smile. ¡°He¡¯s trying to bluster now. Not doing a very good job of it, either.¡±


    Jun Vral smiles, a cold, dead thing. He does not look relieved, or particularly vindictive. He just seems¡­ tired.


    ¡°A pity to hear he can do even that,¡± he murmurs. ¡°Do me a favor, yes? Next time you kill someone like him, remember to chew before you swallow.¡±


    She huffs. ¡°Not bad advice. We¡¯ll see how well it works here. I suppose getting any sort of proof isn¡¯t that high of a priority for you?¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°Either the bastard is dead and rotting, or he¡¯s dead and struggling not to be digested. Considering your¡­ state of being, or state of cultivation, I doubt conventional methods of possession would work even if whatever your specter might be had access to them. No, he¡¯s dead either way, and if he truly cannot control you as you claim and I hope, then I don¡¯t care to speak on him ever again if I can.¡±


    She nods, and smiles. ¡°Glad that¡¯s cleared up, then. I suppose my stomach still needs some time to get rid of a meal so dense.¡±


    ¡°You could always kill and eat someone else,¡± he shrugs. ¡°See if you can¡¯t get a wider¡­ ugh, dataset.¡±


    ¡°Chances are I will at some point,¡± she admits. ¡°I doubt he¡¯ll be the last person we ever find that needs killing.¡±


    Jun Vral gives her a smile a bit more alive than before, but just as sharp. ¡°No. I doubt he will be.¡±


    She gets up, bows to him, and makes her exit shortly.


    ¡°Well that was all well and good,¡± Zhoulong snarls as she sneaks back down the halls, ¡°but I¡¯m hardly just going to sit here while you digest me, if you even can. I don¡¯t doubt I¡¯ll have little difficulty managing to scramble that mind of yours properly, hmm? Who knows, maybe I¡¯ll be able to add some changes, tweak it while you sleep.¡±


    She smiles a bit, not turning to look at the invisible figure.


    ¡°What¡¯s so funny, cripple?¡±


    She turns to him, still smiling, wide and shark-like to his now scowling face.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you can, meat,¡± she whispers. ¡°You forget. I Am Me, And I Am Mine.¡±


    The world trembles.


    Zhoulong quakes.


    Cracks appear and disappear, his body stretching like taffy as if blown away from her back down the hall, halfway between the illusion of solidity and the idea of smoke. He does not scream, but it¡¯s not for lack of trying: for a moment, she can¡¯t hear him at all, not even the faint whisper of breathe she sometimes hears him inhale.


    And then he snaps back, mouth set into a snarl, fists clenched, eyes closed and focused and his entire body beading with sweat. She thinks, for just a moment, that she can sense something squirming in her belly, and the sensation is a good one.


    ¡°See?¡± she says. ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s much left to you at all. You¡¯re a part of me, or you¡¯re rapidly going that way, and I¡¯m happy to let you suffer in the meantime.¡±


    Zhoulong squints, snarls, grimaces, just as feral as he was under Taurus¡¯ influence¡­ and then calms. And smiles a sinister, slimy grin of his own.


    ¡°Maybe so,¡± he whispers, ¡°but we¡¯ll see how long that Truth of yours lasts. I can feel it in here, wearing away at me, but it¡¯s a dull thing, isn¡¯t it? Made for reshaping flesh and little else. How can it be sharp, left to rust and crack under pressure, under the leash around your neck?¡±


    He leans in close, face inches from hers, illusionary breath hot against her face. ¡°You think you¡¯ve won, but we¡¯ll see how long that Truth of yours lasts, chafing as it is. You¡¯re one good order you don¡¯t want to follow away from snapping it in half, I should think. I have time yet, and there¡¯s plenty for me to do.¡±


    ¡°Who knows? Maybe I¡¯ll spend some time looking for your citrusy little friend in here. I¡¯m sure I can pick up where Researcher Boriah left off.¡±


    She grabs at him, her entire body tense, growing a solid six inches of height as her frame dumps adrenaline and pumps muscle and claws and-


    But he¡¯s gone, and she is alone, a haunted machine of flesh and self-loathing trapped in a palace with almost as many ghosts as she has.


    It is only when she makes it to her room and smells that same deep, underground-lake scent of the market that she manages to turn herself back into something resembling a human.

 Chapter 90 - The Wolf, The Witch, And The Audacity Of This Bitch

    It¡¯s a different scent than before, but that¡¯s not important.


    This is the room that she shares with Maen. This is the room that she sleeps in, that should be just as warded as everywhere else, in the Imperial fucking Palace of the city. It shouldn¡¯t have any scent she does not expect, much less the scent of someone similar to the last living person to threaten her. It certainly should not have any scent she couldn¡¯t sense before she entered the room.


    Her first thought is, characteristically, violence. Overwhelming, fast, and as efficient as she can make it, crushing the first stranger she sees, and damn the consequences so long as Maen is safe.


    Then she smells citrus and sharpened claws and her breath leaves in a huff.


    Maen is here, somewhere in the room. The cavernous fucking room full of dead angles and places to hide. She floods her mind, dropping the gates blocking off her senses and letting the information drown her for a moment as she tracks each and every sound in the room, every breath, every heartbeat.


    There are four. Two are hers. One is Maen¡¯s, recognizable instantly from how familiar it is. And the last one should not be here, and is standing over Maen¡¯s sleeping form.


    The instinct of violence is strangled within her as she forces her mind to focus, to drag systems fully drenched in adrenaline from her additional glands to be still, until the roiling of flesh and bone subsides and she is human again. At least on the surface. Beneath the skin, invisible to the naked eye, she keeps moving, keeps shifting, ribs adjusting, joints flexing and muscle fibers coiling, but on the surface she remains still, as superficially human as she can stomach.


    Priority one is making sure Maen is alright. She can¡¯t do that if a fight breaks out, not from here.


    ¡°I see the tales of your senses are not exaggerated,¡± says the figure above Maen.


    Maen is on the bed, asleep, exhausted from cultivation, the scent of sweat and exertion and relief tangible in the air. There¡¯s still a bit of sunlight left, but the day is ending, the tail end of the solar body beginning to dissolve against the horizon again, and in the shadow of that stands a woman and a staff.


    She doesn¡¯t look like a cultivator. She doesn¡¯t smell like a cultivator. But the reek of foreign Qi in the room is almost overpowering, nonetheless.


    It¡¯s¡­ strange. Raika can smell that same underground scent, the still waters beneath dark shadow, but the woman has her own, distinct impression, something¡­ bright? It¡¯s like the Qi is a cloud around her, altering the world with its weight but not actually born of her, even as it clouds her impression.


    ¡°I hadn¡¯t realized there were tales about me,¡± Raika says, letting her natural voice through. It rumbles, like the air itself is vibrating in tune with it, and she can hear Dink reacting in its own way, letting a small ringing sound begin to fill the room. ¡°I¡¯m under the impression that I¡¯m no one special, really.¡±


    ¡°No one special?¡± the woman asks, still cloaked in shadow, reeking of dark waters (and beneath them, something powerful and bright). ¡°I have it on good authority that the three men you met were near the best I had to offer on the stealth front. Imagine my disappointment to hear you unveiled them seemingly without effort. To ask for a smoke, no less.¡±


    She holds a hand out from the shadows, letting the light outline it. Said hand is the only part of her that seems real, that stands out from the shadows and gains any definition from them. Held between two fingers is a small rolled cigarette, the leaves crushed in it a bright blue.


    ¡°This one would find herself happy to share with you a gift, made to your liking.¡±


    Raika stays still for a moment. Then, slowly, she walks across the room to take the cigarette.


    The whole time she feels watched, like there¡¯s eyes all around the room. She can see the arm, see the silhouette of the woman standing next to the bed, even smell her, but somehow the scent of the dark waters fills the room, blocking out any perfume, any sweat, any scent at all that she expects from something material, something human. There is just that bright, roiling thing at the center of her, and the scent of the alien energy that surrounds it.


    Her skin is cool and vaguely dry as Raika takes the cigarette.


    Immediately the woman rolls her wrist, snapping, the sound small but sharp and traveling up her long, slender fingers to ignite as a small flame at the end of it. White and gold-hued fire. Just like Raika¡¯s.


    Her biology pumping blood all through her, riling up clusters of her Qi, muscles locked and ready to leap and transform¡­ Raika accepts the light, and takes a long, slow drag of the smoke.


    It¡¯s¡­


    There¡¯s a moment where it travels past her lips, slow and sinuous down her throat. It fills her lungs and dances in their strange altered space, like incense through a temple. The smoke is of a dark purple color, and it slithers and rolls as it floats from the tip of the cigarette, as it coils and dances out from her mouth. She can¡¯t identify half of the things in it, but it smells like something floral, long dried, with a hint of decay and¡­ meat? Like the scent of freshly cut steak, just touching against hot coals. On the exhale, it roils, like ash and deep, hidden things made to dance and roil and writhe.


    It¡¯s the best smoke she¡¯s ever had, made all the better because for just a moment it overwhelms her other senses. For just a second, without needing to put up her walls or compartmentalize, all she can feel is the smoke, the heat contrasted with the coolness of the air, the taste and the scent. No hypersensitive skin, no dizzying visual detail, no overwhelming sound. Just her, and the smoke, and the moment of ignition between the two.


    She takes a second pull, letting the smoke out in a long, slow breath. It¡¯s heavy enough that it roils about her before drifting off, like a fog all her own before it dissipates.


    ¡°Shit,¡± she says. ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡±


    The woman shrugs. ¡°I¡¯m good with plants.¡±


    ¡°Mmh.¡±


    Raika takes another drag of the cigarette, watching as its tip lights up indigo-bright for a moment before fading again, standing out as the sun dips darker and darker against the edge of the world.


    ¡°Alright. You haven¡¯t hurt my people. I¡¯m not dead. What do you want?¡±


    The woman smiles, teeth glinting in the shadows.


    ¡°I wanted to meet you, of course. It took a while to find out anything about you. Weeks, cooped up in here, behind all these wards. But you¡­ you just smell too damn good to leave alone without at least saying hello. I wanted to know what something like your kind is doing working for people like these.¡±


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    ¡°Define ¡®my kind¡¯, if you would.¡±


    The smile grows wider.


    ¡°Well I¡¯m not sure what the Imperials call you,¡± she admits, ¡°but among my kind, those like you have a few names. Uruk-Bal. One of the Hungering. Black Sheep. One of the Big Red Wolves. That one¡¯s my favorite, for obvious reasons. But for an Imperial¡­ perhaps the term ¡®Flesh Witch¡¯ may be more obvious.¡±


    ¡°Obvious how?¡± Raika asks. ¡°Witches are a myth.¡±


    The woman¡¯s smile fades. It is only now, halfway into their conversation, that Raika realizes, even with her enhanced sight, that she cannot see this woman¡¯s eyes. The thought falls into place like it was always there, like something was keeping her from noticing that they were never there.


    ¡°Oh. Oh no, my love. No no no. You shouldn¡¯t say such rude things to a guest.¡±


    Raika smiles, letting her blacksteel maw emerge just enough to add weight to its meaning. She snorts. ¡°So you¡¯re a witch? Eager to snatch children away into the night, secretly old and dying? One of the hags of the wilds?¡± The smile widens, obsidian teeth overtaking the white and hissing slightly as they come into contact with the smoke. ¡°I hear your kind whispered of alongside monsters long gone, stranger. If that is what you¡¯re implying.¡±


    All around, from every direction, from every shadow, from every possible angle and corner, There are eyes.


    All black. All pupil, save for the slightest sliver of white around their edges. All looking at Raika very, very intently. She stays still as her senses tell her of the moisture of them, of the shape of them, of the sounds they make as they move, even as she maintains the facade of confidence and quiet danger. The eyes are real. If they¡¯re an illusion, they¡¯re one that even her enhanced senses can¡¯t peek through.


    And then they blink shut.


    ¡°It does you no favors to be rude, love,¡± the woman whispers.


    ¡°It does you no favors to threaten those under my protection,¡± Raika whispers right back.


    They stare at each other in the growing dark for a little while, the cigarette burning trails of smoke between them.


    The witch backs down first.


    ¡°I apologize. Didn¡¯t mean to offend, but I¡¯m hardly so simple I¡¯d start this conversation without at least implied leverage. I¡¯d never hurt the poor thing. Your kitten is safe.¡±


    ¡°So she is,¡± Raika agrees, taking another inhale of smoke. ¡°I don¡¯t think I have answers you¡¯ll like, witch. Not really. Got crippled, got better, got caught. Whatever you¡¯re looking for, it¡¯s not here.¡±


    The woman sighs. ¡°And what a wonder that answer is, pet,¡± she whispers. ¡°I dared to hope when I first caught your scent, but I couldn¡¯t be sure. A Big Red Wolf I thought, off its leash, no master to guide its flesh, left to grow wild, and yet somehow impossibly tame. So strange, yet so familiar. They¡¯ve used my kind before, taken inspiration, but one like you¡­ no, I doubt they could make something like you if they tried. I doubt I could. It¡¯s been so long since I¡¯ve seen one like you out and about. Or sane, for that matter. Usually the pain drives you all mad.¡±


    Raika says nothing, keeping the mask intact over her feelings. ¡°Who says it didn¡¯t?¡±


    The woman laughs softly. ¡°Who¡¯s to say. Consider this an introduction, then. One abomination to another. The Empire doesn¡¯t have a monopoly on all of us quite yet.¡±


    ¡°You keep speaking as if you know exactly who I am, what I¡¯m turning into,¡± Raika interrupts. ¡°How? I¡¯ve never heard of a cripple regaining their cultivation like I have. It¡¯s not even cultivation, not really. But you¡¯re telling me the Empire has more like me?¡±


    ¡°No, love. Not like you. But my kind have made beauties of flesh and violence before, and your Empire has tried their hand at poor imitation. Never many, not when they can build their formations, weaponize their Dao and chain their devils, but a few. I can recognize the roots, even if the flower is a new bloom.¡±


    The witch pauses, tilting the silhouette of her head as she looks at Raika. Eventually, she sighs.


    ¡°As a favor to you, for the nostalgic madness you¡¯ve brought me, I¡¯ll offer you a drop. Let it water your growth as it can, and guide you back to me, should you ever wish to grow more.¡±


    ¡°Cultivation, as you call it, is not the only way that a soul can change itself. The very Division they hold you in is proof of that. This world is vast, and there have been those who came before or outside the grip of the sects and the Empire. Some of us yet live, in the stranger places of the world and beyond the walls, looking in. In older times, my siblings and I would accept sacrifices, those willing to forsake themselves to aid us, and would feed them Anima and blood, honey and milk, wine and sharp stones. Those who survived would find their flesh changed, their forms reflecting the blood they were fed, their relation to Anima forever crippled so they could only gain more through their sharpened teeth and aching bellies. In madness and chaos, drowned by sensation and hunger, they made for beautiful things, our Red Wolves, eager to rip and tear. Some lived to be titans, nigh unkillable, but¡­ most never made it past the battles they were bred for.


    Though¡­ only some ever relearned speech. It is rare to see the wool of a Black Sheep on something that still looks so much like a person. I can¡¯t help but wonder how it is that you¡¯ve managed this. I¡¯d almost think that one of my siblings made you, but I can''t smell their signatures in you. You¡¯re something¡­ else. But you should be more than careful, nonetheless.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Raika asks.


    ¡°Because your kind all go mad,¡± the woman whispers. ¡°Sometimes in ways most useful, other times in ways where a leash and chain is all that stands between your end and your continued utility.¡±


    She pauses, and slowly a string of those eyes emerge again, like a spiral around her head, leading down into more blinking, black eyes in place of a face. She smiles again.


    ¡°I see you¡¯re already on the way there. Getting closer. The overwhelming sensation, the whispering of voices not your own. The mind of mortals can¡¯t survive long in conditions of abject inhumanity, not without changing, and the most common change is to break beneath the voices of the consumed and the weight of the world on your skin, in your eyes, down your throat.¡±


    Raika takes a long, slow pull of the cigarette and says nothing.


    ¡°If it¡¯s any consolation, you¡¯re doing better than most. Perhaps its a facet of¡­ whatever you are, or however you¡¯ve done this. You¡¯ve yet to leave this place to hunt among my people, and the Palace hasn¡¯t taken more than its usual share of lives from the city. I¡¯m not sure which is more unbelievable- that you¡¯re not eating, or that you are and are somehow still capable of thought. Either way, I can see why the Empire might take an interest. You¡¯re distinct from most of the abominations they¡¯ve spawned by aping our methods. You impress me, to be sane now, even as the world scrapes against you.¡±


    ¡°These others,¡± Raika interrupts; ¡°you say I¡¯m different than they were. How? If you are a witch, whatever that means, you¡¯re the first I¡¯ve met, and I had to practically kill myself to even start turning to this.¡±


    She laughs, a soft sound that skitters through the shadows on many legs. ¡°And aren¡¯t you marvelous for that fact, dear. The roots are there, the potential connection, but you¡¯re right. You¡¯re not quite the rabid dog those teeth might indicate, hmm? I¡¯ve yet to meet a witch proud enough or good enough to make something like you.¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯m better, then?¡± Raika asks, genuinely curious.


    The witch laughs. ¡°So brash! So forward! Perhaps. Who¡¯s to say? Every journey is singular, every pathway and evolution unique. My kind once made hungry, hateful things from flesh above all, and here you stand, your flesh on the path to transcendence above all else you hold, born from methods outside the Imperial merit.¡±


    ¡°But I think that¡¯s enough for a drop, dear. Perhaps the change will destroy and unmake you like it did the Wolves of my family, perhaps you will find a way to master or go beyond it. An embrace of flesh and horror has never been particularly common, even now that the Empire has so mastered both for convenience and power. If you ever get a chance, I¡¯d love to see you again, as host this time rather than guest. Perhaps you could come for a visit. It would do these old bones good to see if you make it. Look for She Beneath Still Waters, and the name will guide you to me. Until then¡­ it was nice to meet you, love. You brought me back some memories I¡¯m happy to have found again.¡±


    She curtsies, every movement precise, dipping low, her form impossible to define but graceful nonetheless.


    ¡°Best of luck with your growth, not-Wolf. May your hunger ever serve you, and may you find your way free of the paths placed before you, full of pitfalls and bad ends.¡±


    The shadows begin to coil, to move, even as she senses nothing from the woman¡¯s own Qi. She steps forward, her hand shooting out fast enough to blur even to her vision, trying to grab something, trying to demand answers, solutions-


    She¡¯s gone. Like she was never there. The Qi scent she brought with her vanishes slower, dissipating, but without even an ounce of Qi, or any runes she could see, the woman just¡­ vanishes. There¡¯s¡­ there¡¯s a ripple, not dissimilar to what Raika feels when she sees another use their Truth, but it¡¯s subtly different, quieter and more organic almost.


    And then she is alone. Maen, softly snoring in bed, doesn¡¯t even stir. In the cold and dark of night finally fallen, there¡¯s a moment where it feels like it could almost have been a dream.


    Except for the smell of rotting, living smoke, and a small metallic case, open to a dozen cigarettes, sitting on her nightstand.


    ¡°Fuck.¡±

 Chapter 91 - A Show Of Affection!

    ¡°Ok. So you know I- so I say this with love. I care about you. You¡¯ve helped be an anchor for me in dark spots, and I think if you weren¡¯t present, I¡¯d have spiraled much worse than I have, and that¡¯s saying something. So just know that what I say next, I say with nothing but the best of intentions, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Alright¡­¡±


    ¡°Cool. You¡¯re so unbelievably weak that I feel like you could die like, now, from someone sneezing.¡±


    Maen looks at her with a raised eyebrow.


    ¡°A sneeze?¡± she asks. ¡°A sneeze. Really.¡±


    Raika already has her hands up to placate. ¡°It¡¯s said with the best of intentions, I so swear it! But also yes. A strong sneeze could kill you. And that¡¯s not to say that you aren¡¯t doing a really wonderful job cultivating! Your progress has really been considerable, impressive even, and I don¡¯t want to diminish that. Foundational realm is no joke, and you¡¯ve moved into it really well in just a few months, taken some real steps through it. But-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not enough. Is what you¡¯re trying to say. That I¡¯m not enough.¡±


    Raika looks at her. Really, really looks at her.


    Maen is there, half-clothed in the early morning light. She watched her partner sleep through the night, awake, tasting the comforting remnants of smoke half-rotten and half poisonous. She kept watch against the night for any shadows that might slip between runes and opulence, practicing her mask and staring at the dark. She watched her lover move, the breath through her lungs, the beat of blood moving through veins. Raika is not prideful, not really, she hates herself too much for that, is too aware of her flaws, but she can find pride in how she has changed herself, in how she has reordered and remade her body. It is not perfect, far from it, but it is not the messy crisscross of wires, the weak and flawed and sweating meat that is-


    That is Maen. The person she sleeps with, who cares for her, who grounds her, who she needs and wants.


    Maen sees something in her eyes. She can tell by the way that her pupils widen, her sweat changes its scent. It is subtle, and perhaps without alteration even a cultivator might not notice, but she does not need to see the shape or color of a person¡¯s Qi to taste that anxious moment of fear-sweat.


    She hopes it isn¡¯t fear. She hopes it¡¯s just discomfort, anxiety. Uncertainty as to what Raika means, why she seems so on edge.


    She¡¯s not at her best, and her thoughts are dark and hungry to bite at what might be good or bring comfort. She¡¯s aware of it, but it¡¯s hard to stop.


    She does, though. Stop. Breathe. In and out. Trying to taste the faintest remnants of smoke in her lungs, centering herself before she locks her senses away again, one by one, filtered through meditation.


    ¡°Your strength is not enough,¡± Raika eventually says. ¡°I don¡¯t need you for your strength. What we are and what the world is¡­ they¡¯re two different things. I know that. I know that. But I want you to be able to defend yourself, and you can¡¯t right now. I think that, now that we have some time, it might be good to try and push your cultivation forward a bit, and work on what I¡¯m missing too.¡±


    Maen relaxes a bit, some of the resistance leaving at the sound of that little bit of shared weakness Raika hints at.


    She is trying to tell her, without speaking, that she¡¯s not being cruel. That she doesn¡¯t want to leave her lover behind. That she is afraid. This is the only way she knows how, and she begs Maen to get that, if only enough to listen.


    ¡°That¡­ sounds like a good idea,¡± Maen says. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to have a plan for that, though?¡±


    Raika lifts her hands, palms up. ¡°I¡¯m open to suggestions,¡± she admits, ¡°but my first thought is to check on how you cultivate with some help. Maybe get Kaena in on it?¡±


    ¡°Not Yun Ka?¡± Maen asks.


    ¡°I¡­ yes. Yun Ka might be a better pick. And then maybe sparring. I don¡¯t think you have¡­ any experience in a fight, right?¡±


    Maen shakes her head. ¡°None besides being chased by fucked up corpse puppets in the woods, but that was more of a you thing.¡±


    Raika smiles at that in spite of herself. ¡°I suppose so.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m all for this idea,¡± Maen admits, only lying a little, ¡°but I¡¯m¡­ not sure what brought this on. Are you¡­ ok? You seem on edge. It¡¯s hard to tell with the mask, but you¡¯ve got a lot of real intensity to you.¡±


    Raika blinks and curses in her head. Hours of practice, the last few weeks and especially focused last night: she knows the mask has gotten better, that its face over her own fits far more comfortably and fluidly than it used to, no matter how she makes it look. And then, it¡¯s immediately seen through, again.


    Part of her can¡¯t help but feel a little warmth at that.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± Raika almost-lies. ¡°Just¡­ I have some things on my mind. Some worries about my direction, a bit, and what might happen. More importantly I¡¯m- I¡¯m trying very poorly to show that I care by saying you¡¯re a rabbit before a tiger, except almost everyone we¡¯ve met lately has been a tiger, and that I want to change that.¡±


    ¡°And my cultivation isn¡¯t going fast enough,¡± Maen nods, her tone still a bit small in saying it but taking back just a bit by owning it.


    ¡°My standards for cultivation speed are fucked, I don¡¯t even know precisely how fast you¡¯re going. So we¡¯re going to ask our allies to see if we can¡¯t speed this up and get you some additional tools.¡±


    Maen tilts her head at that.


    ¡°You still see them as only allies?¡±


    Raika takes a slow moment to breathe.


    ¡°No. But I should, and you should too. Things can change, and just because we¡¯re close, just because the people trying to hold our leashes are the same, doesn¡¯t mean that we shouldn¡¯t be careful about how much we trust anyone at all.¡±


    Maen says nothing for a while. In the morning light, they both sit still, Raika with her back to the wall, Maen wrapped in a half-cocoon of clothing and blankets, highlighted by morning sun.


    ¡°Ok,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Raika nods. ¡°That¡¯s all I ask.¡±


    But it¡¯s not. And the weight of the other things she asks remain unsaid, heavy in the air between the monster and the cultivator she¡¯s pulled into her wake, no matter how willingly.


    ¡ª-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°Sure, I¡¯ll train with you,¡± Taran says with a shrug. ¡°What do you think, median intensity, low intensity? Looking for a scrap or just looking to see what you need? First blood, second blood, first to surrender, first to-¡±


    ¡°Sages and Stars, I didn¡¯t expect you to be so onboard,¡± Raika interrupts.


    ¡°I¡¯m bored, and I¡¯ve got some energy stored,¡± Taran rasps out with another shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t want to put myself to sleep, not when we¡¯ve got so much company and Taurus is still gone, but I¡¯m not exactly bursting with things to do. I can¡¯t do any sort of push too hard, not enough of us are awake to really pull out any big guns, but that¡¯s sort of for the best. All due respect, Raika, I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s what you¡¯d need anyways. You¡¯ve got a lot of fundamentals messing you up, I think. We should probably start on those.¡±


    Raika blinks. ¡°I was actually here to ask if you could spar with Maen, not me.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Alright. But only if you do it too. You fight like a moron and if I have to listen to Tracker and Hao Kai bitch about it so do you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ more than fair. I could probably use it.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Hao Kai says humility is good for you. He¡¯s kind of a loser, but I¡¯m glad I don¡¯t have to try to trick you into it. More Kaena¡¯s arena than mine. Where is Maen, anyways?¡±


    ¡°I left her with Yun Ka,¡± Raika says. ¡°I¡¯m hoping that she has some more information on beastkin cultivation methods, and what might work well with them. I¡¯m glad my advice managed to help a bit, but I¡¯m not exactly the resident expert, and I¡¯m worried about her progress.¡±


    ¡°Ever the doting lover. Alright then, shall we start with you?¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡±


    Taran shoots her in the chest.


    She staggers a few steps back, gasping a breath, eyes wide. In his hand is the pearlescent revolver, the first of its shots expended and its smoke tracing a path to her chest, through her robes and into the red bleeding out.


    ¡°You shot me in the tit, you ass!¡±


    Taran just laughs, dry and jangling with the holsters he always wears. ¡°They say every bush harbors an enemy, love. Is it our fault you¡¯re so slow?¡±


    She blinks, and realizes that she was slow. Taran has techniques and expertise in drawing their weapons, she¡¯s seen how fast he can swap between them and fire when in combat, and she still didn¡¯t react in time to the movement of his hand, the flick of the wrist, the pull of the trigger.


    ¡°You¡¯re fast, Raika,¡± he says, circling around her, his other hand holding the dual-barreled weapon he likes to alternate with despite her having missed the movement. ¡°Your senses are top notch. You¡¯ve got decent toughness, and that strength of yours is no joke. But I¡¯ve seen you fight, and frankly? You suck at it. I don¡¯t know how you were as a cultivator, but I¡¯m starting to wonder if they called you Raika the Bloody because of how often you got your ass kicked.¡±


    The mask laughs at the joke. It¡¯s not even a bad joke, it¡¯s earned a chuckle, but beneath it she tries not to think about delicate flesh and fragile masks, about pitchforks and sickles against the sect. ¡°You¡¯re not all wrong,¡± she says. ¡°Definitely taken my fair share of bleeding over the years.¡±


    She starts to circle around him right back, the two of them using the room to its fullest extent. She¡¯d expected to take this to some sort of training room, someplace bare like what she¡¯s managed to find for her ¡°cultivation¡±, but Taran surprised her with his challenge, and she bleeds a few drops onto the floor of a bedroom a lot like her own. She crosses behind the steps to the lower lounge area, keeping the elevated ¡°sleeping area¡± platform behind her, even as Taran moves in front of the door, in front of the bathing rooms and closet on the other side.


    ¡°And,¡± Taran continues, ¡°I think you¡¯ve gotten lazy. Why bother dodging and blocking when you can just grow back the missing bits? Speaking as someone who likes his bits and has to work very hard to keep them, your fighting isn¡¯t animalistic, it¡¯s sloppy, and the fact you¡¯ve made such a hard-to-kill-beast of yourself is the only reason you made it through that mine.¡±


    She smiles. ¡°That, my incredible good looks and my gorgeous mind.¡±


    Taran snorts. ¡°I¡¯ll train with Maen, sure. Hao Kai loves a good day of disciplining lazy students, I¡¯ve given him plenty of opportunity back in- back in my day. But I¡¯m not going to let you off the hook here.¡±


    A scrap of metal clinks as it falls out of her wound, the flesh beneath it closed, the scent of over-rich blood thick in the air.


    ¡°Well come on then,¡± Raika says with a grin.


    She opens herself to her senses, already so much more comfortable now that she¡¯s in pain, now that she¡¯s in combat. She lets her additional adrenal glands flush into her system, boosting herself further, her pupils widening, her mouth wide and grinning, her movement a sudden flash. She shatters the wood beneath her as she launches herself across the room, fast enough to hear the air whistling against her.


    Not quite going all out, but one sucker punch deserves another.


    Except Taran isn¡¯t there anymore.


    His legs move differently than the rest of him, like there¡¯s someone else controlling them, and he pivots beneath her move, swaying almost parallel to the floor and coming upright behind her as she lands on the far wall, sinking into it by weight and force and using it as a foothold.


    Before she can leap again, he¡¯s fired another three times with the revolver, once into her elbow, once her knee, and a final time straight at her face, meeting her enthusiasm in kind. For how lethargic he normally is, since she broached the subject of combat he¡¯s been as active as he ever is, and in return for the energy she¡¯s bringing to the table she can see him twitch as his aim adjusts from her collarbone to her skull.


    She moves her head before he pulls the trigger, not nearly fast enough to dodge or block a bullet in motion but more than capable of biting with black metal teeth where his aim promises the bullet will be.


    Her jaw screams at the impact, and then heals back as she spits out the third bullet.


    She moves again, and this time he doesn¡¯t dodge. As the wall behind her cracks from the force of her jump, Taran stands stock still, letting her come at him. She tracks his options, where he could dodge, what space he could move into, ready to extend her reach, alter her body into her combat form and-


    He raises the shotgun and fires, point blank, straight into her chest.


    Stuck in the air, liable to the laws of physics and aerodynamics, she has no way to dodge, no way to move or arrest her momentum, not easily. The blast knocks her back, canceling her movement in a single series of dozens of impacts that splatter her upper body across half the room behind her and all over Taran¡¯s clothing-


    And don¡¯t make it through the layer of calcified scales she grew beneath her skin, locking into place to reduce the impact of the shrapnel even as her curse-toughened skin is shredded apart.


    It hurts like a bitch, but it also stops her from flying too far back, from taking too much damage. The under-armor, half exoskeleton and half reptilian scales, moves and twitches, muscle systems aided by her supernatural will and moldable flesh, forming the armor as needed. It weighs a ton, slows her down, even with her bone-latticing, but for moments like these, and for the surprise on Taran¡¯s face, it¡¯s more than worth it.


    She stabs down with her legs as she¡¯s thrown back, feet and legs shifted into a much more muscular, dense forms, claws of bone and toughened biomatter interrupting her momentum backwards as her joints lock in. She has to rip the floor (and part of her foot) out of place to step forward fast enough as Taran puts away the revolver, pulling out his flintlock, but she manages to get in close. Her body is shifting, lengthening, strengthening, systems and organs she doesn¡¯t understand put aside for now and new infrastructure much too costly to keep active lighting up and regrowing all through her, her arms grotesque and bladed and blooming-


    Taran tries to bring up the flintlock but she is already in his range, even as the smell of alchemy fills the air, even as he uses Qi finally to move. It¡¯s too late, she¡¯s already in his face, hungry and so very at peace here in the violence.


    It takes everything she has to freeze, violently, to force herself still, when she hears the click of the hammer and sees half her vision get blocked by a dark tunnel.


    The shotgun, whose first shot stopped all thirty or so stone of her, and whose other barrel, still loaded, forgotten and ignored, is now put nearly against her eye.


    ¡°Sloppy,¡± Taran repeats, his eyes wide, his skin even paler than the usual corpse-grey shade he sports.


    Maen bursts into the room, Yun Ka less than a second behind, both of them looking around, Maen¡¯s eyes wide and panicked.


    Then she notices them both, Raika shifting her flesh back to human-ish, Taran breathing hard (by his standards, a sort of raspy wheeze) with a gun right at her head.


    She blinks.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I want to spar anymore.¡±

 Chapter 92 - First Rule Of Fight Club

    Raika throws a punch, wincing inwardly at just how terrible of a blow it is, just how inefficiently the flesh moves (and how limited it is in its design). It makes it easier for Maen to duck past, which is a nice benefit, even as she cringes at just how off it feels.


    Years and years, cultivating her body, improving her physique and her form. Even as a cripple she still upheld training regimes. Hell, that¡¯s how she and Maen first spoke, after all. To find out just how severely constrained her ability to control her body without using her Truth is and the way it plays with her new physique to let her modify it is pretty disappointing. She¡¯s grateful to Taran for pointing out the flaws, and even more grateful that he¡¯s willing to assist in this case. She¡¯s let her focus on improving her flesh and controlling her response to pain and her enhanced senses overtake her dedication to details and finesse in controlling what she already has.


    And in that, she¡¯s become woefully inadequate.


    Her Truth helps a ton, her control over herself and her body¡¯s ability to respond to that control letting her move easily and freely, but the instincts and ingrained responses she used to rely on are gone. It¡¯s not all a loss: her ability to react using conscious intent is leagues faster, allowing her to not have to rely on those instincts as heavily as a normal fighter would, but it doesn¡¯t change the fact that she¡¯s changed her flesh so severely, so quickly, that she¡¯s started to rely on her abilities almost entirely to be able to react and act, both.


    Taking the time to step back, to track both her own and Maen¡¯s actions and movements, is doing worlds of good in helping her re-learn how to move her body using her body, rather than her power.


    Maen, in turn, is showing a rather surprising aptitude for combat.


    For someone almost entirely untrained in combat, who spent most of her life before cultivating stuck in the Qi-gathering realm that all but the most cursed or untalented can manage even as children, she¡¯s adapted to her new instincts with shocking speed. While there¡¯s minimal technique to her movements, and she¡¯s more throwing herself away from blows than actually dodging, she¡¯s still moving fast. Each movement is a jerk or flinch magnified rather than a practical dodge, but Raika is limiting herself to only her body and trying to focus on technique rather than speed, and it¡¯s enough to keep her ahead.


    Not enough, unfortunately, to keep her from Hao Kai¡¯s constant criticism.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be so afraid! Next time you dodge, I want to see it close enough you feel the wind of it, not miles away!¡±


    Maen hisses, sweating hard, eyes wide and intense. ¡°Easy for you to say!¡± she yells as Raika lobs a slow crescent kick at her head, which she dodges by falling almost to all fours. ¡°You¡¯re not the one with the super-cultivator trying to hit you.¡±


    ¡°And she¡¯ll have twice as much trouble when you stop flinching like a startled pet and start being efficient. You¡¯re wasting energy and time, and neither one of those is in heavy supply. Hold still!¡±


    ¡°And as for you!¡±


    There¡¯s something almost comical about the nearly zombified Taran pointing at her like some haughty noble, chin held high, body usually so stiff and puppet-like moving like a real, living being. ¡°You¡¯re wasting everyone¡¯s time! I don¡¯t care how well she warms your bed, your next swing better be an actual swing, unless you want me to get Taran to sneak firecrackers in your room while you sleep.¡±


    She laughs, putting a bit more speed into her next swing even as she feels how her new muscle groups pull at each other, how her foot placements are all off from where they would be in her old body.


    A few more swings, a couple of jabs, and she has to call a stop, much to Maen¡¯s relief as she almost collapses onto the floor, breathing hard and almost boneless. Raika squats down next to her, laughing softly.


    ¡°You alright?¡± she asks, even as she tracks her heartbeat, checks on her breathing. She¡¯s fine, but it¡¯s important to ask, nonetheless.


    Hao Kai makes his way onto the training floor, stepping out from the sidelines. The room they¡¯ve found is a bit deeper into the ¡°main¡± or ¡°central¡± area of the Palace, and there¡¯s more than a few soldiers standing guard around the circumference of a massive training arena. It¡¯s large enough that it almost seems strange that the room is inside the palace, runic formations on the ceiling creating the illusion of natural light but no more. Bereft of windows, the space stands as gorgeous nonetheless, the power of the magics all around more than potent enough to create phantasmal images of mist at the higher end of the colosseum-style seats all around, obfuscating the outer limits of the space from easy view. It¡¯s something like a massive arena, with the central area made of packed earth heavily condensed with Qi techniques to be able to survive even the most violent blows. The main floor is divided into five sections, the largest of them by far a spatially-altered section on the far side with several targets and mannequins ready to be fired upon, with the next closest holding dozens of pieces of equipment for weight training, stretches, and other exercises. The middle portion is the second largest, the self-same open combat terrain that Maen and Raika are currently sparring in, with smaller square fighting rings off beside that, and last but not least a number of elevated pedestals, surrounded by sharpened objects and water beneath them.


    ¡°We call an end when I say so, young lady!¡± Hao Kai says, the black of Taran¡¯s wardrobe and their mutually clattering holsters and pistols and piercings making them deeply out of place with the gorgeous pillars, artificial plants and tasteful decorations of gold, purple and red. ¡°What reason do you have for stopping us?¡±


    ¡°Hao Kai,¡± Raika says, not without fondness; ¡°I appreciate your tutelage, but if you keep taking that tone ordering me around, I¡¯m going to, at minimum, convince Taran to chug spiced jelly wholesale.¡±


    He harrumphs, straightens his overcoat like it¡¯s a gentleman¡¯s robes, but doesn¡¯t refute. ¡°Fine then. Is all well?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°No. I can¡¯t move properly, but I don¡¯t want to try and modify things wildly again. I¡¯ve been making a lot of changes, but I need to push myself a bit further if I¡¯m going to get comfortable using them.¡±


    ¡°I do believe that pushing yourself further might lead you further into that state we saw before, no? Pushing to use your powers isn¡¯t-¡±


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    ¡°No, not like that,¡± she says, shaking her head. ¡°I think I need to shift my focus. Make a few specific things I can shift to, and master a few stable parts. But I can¡¯t master them, or properly see what I need to change and what I just need to adjust to, if I can¡¯t push myself harder.¡±


    ¡°And I¡­ could use a break,¡± Maen says, panting, hard.


    ¡°Perhaps I might be of some assistance, then.¡±


    The room is so vast it actually takes her a moment to pinpoint where the voice is coming from, but a quick sniff tells her what she needs faster. In between the arrayed smells of the charged artifacts and armor all the soldiers at the peripherals of the room are equipped with, the scent of scales, blood, and coiling, writhing venom, pure and bright and violet, wafts over to her.


    Similar to Kaena, Jun Vral often smells at least a little bit of his Qi, his unique constitution seeming to make it some kind of requirement that he use at least a little to move as a man, walking on two legs. She has an eyebrow raised as she turns to look over her shoulder at him, watching him approach from across the arena.


    With a burst of Qi and a refreshing of his signature to her senses, he jumps forward, clearing a few hundred feet of space in a single bound and landing comfortably and almost silently on the packed arena dirt. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to impose,¡± he says with a smile, ¡°but I think it might be good for me to stretch some poorly used muscles of my own, and seeing as how you could use a sparring partner¡­¡±


    She watches him, tracking microexpressions as he looks at her, as he shifts. They haven¡¯t spoken since the day before, where the possibility of Zhoulong influencing or possessing her was enough to make even his strange physiology flush with the scent of fear. Now he stands ready, confident, looking at her like a challenge.


    But stiff. Every so slightly so.


    She nods, once. ¡°I think that could be useful,¡± she says. ¡°Maen, you good to run drills with Hao Kai for a bit?¡±


    Maen looks up at her from the ground, eyes wide in betrayal. ¡°There¡¯s more? We just fought for like an hour!¡±


    Raika laughs. ¡°Cultivator rules, love. You keep going until you have to stop, not until you want to.¡±


    She groans, but to her credit doesn¡¯t need any further goading, rolling onto her side and standing. She has to use a drop of Qi to push herself higher, smelling deliciously of sharp yuzu citrus and sharp, hidden paths, and Hao Kai nods to Raika.


    ¡°Alright, come on then,¡± he says, indicating with his head towards the smaller combat squares. ¡°We can run you through some kata, get you some drills you can practice on your own now that I know your limits better.¡±


    Raika nods back to him in thanks, and again to her credit, Maen rallies, jogging over to the arena areas as Hao Kai hops over, using Qi and his more advanced cultivation to cross the space much more easily. Jun Vral, meanwhile, steps closer to her, keeping only a few meters between them. He tosses his outer, heavier robe off to one side, letting it fall on one of the seats at the lowest end of the audience seats.


    ¡°To first blood?¡± he asks, circling around her, his flesh shifting, undulating minutely beneath the skin.


    ¡°To surrender,¡± she replies, cracking her neck one way, then the other, before sinking down to a crouch, feeling how alien it feels, the strains and stresses on different parts of her, no longer alien, no longer strange, but still unfamiliar.


    He smiles. ¡°A better choice, given our natures, perhaps.¡±


    ¡°On three?¡± she asks.


    ¡°On three.¡±


    ¡°One.¡±


    ¡°Two.¡±


    ¡°Three.¡±


    The ground to either side of her explodes as snakes, larger than a human torso, burst through condensed, altered stone to try and bite her.


    She follows Hao Kai¡¯s advice to Maen, trying for efficiency over using her whole force all at once. She felt the trembling of the earth, subtle shifts beneath her feet, and isn¡¯t nearly as surprised as she might have been on the unveiling of the spirit-like beasts, leaning back and out of the way of the first bite, taking a step back and leaning further to dodge the second.


    And then Jun Vral is there, coming at her exposed head as she leans away from the first attack.


    She gets a hand up in time, blocking the first punch, but in a sudden flash of Qi his flesh restructures. His fist remains, but as if his body holds far more matter or space than it should, snakes spawn from his limbs, emerging both from beneath and from his skin and flesh and going around his fist to wrap around her arm. A half-dozen fanged mouths bite into her flesh before she has time to yank her arm back, and she can feel the sting of the bites being overshadowed by the burning pain of their venom lacing through her, immediately discoloring it a darker shade of purple and bloody red.


    She forces herself to keep it, to avoid discarding the flesh even as she shakes off the serpents and kicks at him, throwing a roundhouse that slams into both of the larger serpents and knocks their heads away at him before they can come back a second time. Rather than blocking his path or slowing him, they seem to meld into his body, absorbed easily, and he doesn¡¯t hesitate to step through them and emerge with both mostly subsumed.


    She feels the ground shift beneath her feet again, notices the small cracking sound as he steps, the slight hole in the dirt he leaves behind: his serpents are strong enough to displace the ground as they move, emerging from out of his body and digging through the ground.


    She moves forward instead of back, swinging at him, feeling newly developed tendons straining in unexpected ways as she forces herself to remain in the form she¡¯s in now, even as her left arm starts to go numb and she can feel the poison circulating. It¡¯s slow, less effective than she expected, and she hopes her growth has given her some protections from the venom, but she can¡¯t rely on it.


    He ducks, and she knees him in the chin, closing his mouth with a satisfying ¡®crack¡¯ and following it up, keeping close, jabbing twice-


    Jun Vral pivots, parries both punches expertly, and she has to dodge as another snake emerges from his shoulder as he throws a punch, biting at the empty air she was just in.


    She pushes back, ducking under the snake, heart pumping, forcing her regeneration to kick in and work harder to counter the poison, when-


    Jun Vral is already there. He takes a step back, and the ground explodes beneath her feet, another massive serpent ripping into her thigh, and then a dozen more spring forth from him, wrapping around her, trying to suffocate her, biting all over-


    She taps out.


    Immediately, all of the serpents fall away, slithering back into him. He steps forward, and she can feel the intensity of a dozen soldiers, of Hao Kai and Maen, all staring at them, all tense, ready to step in, worried for the outcome.


    Slowly, she breathes. Jun Vral says something, and she ignores him. She feels the poison, intricately feels it burning through her nerves, eating at her veins, thickening her blood. It takes her longer than she¡¯d care to admit, but slowly, drop by drop, she gathers the blood, freezes it in place, moves it through her from her torso, her legs, her arms into just her left side¡­


    And rips out a chunk of flesh, letting thickened, black, muddy blood fall out of her.


    She takes a breath, finally.


    ¡°All better then?¡± Jun Vral asks, unworried.


    She nods. ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s some fucking venom you¡¯ve got.¡±


    ¡°Some body you¡¯ve got.¡±


    ¡°Now now, snakeman,¡± she says with a smile. ¡°Gotta go at least three rounds before you can start flirting with me.¡±


    He breathes out, and for a moment she thinks its a laugh, but¡­ it sounds more like a sigh of relief.


    ¡°Good to see you¡¯re still you, then,¡± he says, smiling. He sinks back into a stance, his flesh rippling. ¡°Mind stopping the bleeding? The smell of it is¡­ intense.¡±


    She frowns, then realizes she actually didn¡¯t heal the wounded portion, letting fresh blood flow out faster than her body is making it. She closes it off, forces the flesh to regrow, and takes special note of how Jun Vral and Maen both track every drop as it lands and is absorbed by the dirt. Maen, especially, she can hear breathing a bit faster at the sight.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to distract. Round two?¡±


    ¡°Of course. Just don¡¯t be shocked when I win again. I¡¯m used to tougher pains than your corpse-friend seems to want to dish out.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±


    She flashes across the ground and they clash again, impacts ringing through the arena.

 Chapter 93 - I Can Haz Tindaloz Burger?

    ¡°Weeks of monster guts,¡± Qen Hou moans. ¡°If I never see a spirit beast again in my entire life, I¡¯ll be happy. I¡¯d even settle for never seeing a pelt again.¡±


    ¡°Shameless, brother Qen Hou!¡± Hao Nera cries from across the clearing, decorated in guts and holding up some kind of gizzard triumphantly. ¡°When there¡¯s so much money to be made? Shameless! Would that the beasties might hold off rotting another week that we might indulge in even more of this beautiful venture.¡±


    Li Shu laughs at the antics, even as Qen Hou scowls and tosses a partially cooked gobbet of meat over in Hao Nera¡¯s direction (and scowls further when the former bandit snags it out of the air with his mouth and howls). It would be one thing for Hao Nera to be so jovial on their first day into the clean-up duty surrounding the little village of Vera¡¯s Hallow, but even now, weeks after they arrived, the fact he can sustain this level of enthusiasm is infectious.


    She can¡¯t blame him for it either. It¡¯s no exaggeration to say that the haul they¡¯ve harvested has been absolutely stunning. To say that this is a surprise is an understatement; for some reason, the beast tide surrounding the village turned on itself rather spectacularly at some point, or ran into a series of events all around the village rather than at its borders, and the resulting bloodshed and chaos attracted more of their kin for miles around, their migration summoning yet further beasts. Between the fact that most of the spirit beasts had some degree of cultivation rather than just mutation, and the rather aggressive approach to terminating magical diseases that can easily consume said corpses that the Empire promotes, most of the bodies lay here, decomposing far slower than mortal equivalents, even as new beasts arrived and died on the mounds.


    They didn¡¯t get here first, unfortunately, but whoever did had only a passing interest, and besides a few gutted carcasses of the most powerful of the beasts, left behind the ¡°dregs¡± for others to find, showing generosity to their lessers. And what generosity it has been.


    Teeth, claws, pelts, eyes, breath organs, horns, antlers, bones, even meat, all lasting for weeks longer than mortal equivalents would in the wild. The same properties that preserve the truly ancient carcasses of the oldest monsters as great bone monuments throughout the continent hold firm here, and make it so that any enterprising soul, beast or man, are able to take from the bounty of the dead.


    And hot fucking damn is it a bounty.


    Hao Nera, of course, hasn¡¯t stopped celebrating his good fortune since they arrived, partially due to a lack of imminent violence from Qen Hou when he proved that his plan was real, and partially due to the sheer amount of wealth on display. Qen Hou¡¯s reaction has been more sedate about the whole thing¡­ until he saw Li Shu¡¯s reaction.


    She places another carefully extracted bile sack off to one side, careful not to get covered in any pus or venom even as she¡¯s painted crimson, mauve and bright pink up to the shoulders. Her scalpel is getting a bit dull, and she knows that they should go back into town or back to civilization proper, but¡­ ¡°One more field?¡±


    Hao Nera pops out from where he¡¯d ducked to carve like a rabbit out of a burrow, eyes bright, even as Qen Hou turns to stare at her, eyes haunted.


    ¡°We agreed to one more,¡± he moans. ¡°One! I don¡¯t care if we stumble into a pile of phoenix ashes or a dead dragon, I am not digging through a single other pile of guts for the next year.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be like that, brother!¡± Hao Nera cackles. ¡°You can¡¯t say that these resources aren¡¯t worth a little mess! Didn¡¯t they ever give you garbage duty in that high and mighty sect of yours?¡±


    He sidles over closer to Li Shu as she puts up her supplies, using her Qi and its incredibly delicate control to write with the tip of a stylus in her journal as she does. ¡°Come on, honored sister. You and I can go! It¡¯ll be fun, and I promise, unlike our shameless senior brother, I can keep going as long as you like.¡±


    She laughs as he waggles his eyebrows at her, making a rather impressive dance across his forehead. ¡°I¡¯m sure you can, Hao Nera,¡± she says, ¡°but¡­ I think Qen Hou is right. Our eyes are hungering for more than our stomachs can hold, and we really should start heading back. My preservation techniques are for normal medicines and ingredients, and I doubt they¡¯ll hold up much longer, even with how slowly these beasts degrade. There¡¯s no reason to get greedy, especially since there are others likely to arrive here soon.¡±


    Qen Hou snorts. ¡°Soon? They¡¯ve been here. I can sense at least two other groups at the far end of the village, probably from somewhere more central, southeast towards the second ring. We¡¯re lucky there¡¯s such a bounty here; it¡¯s not going to be long before a proper sect comes to harvest all this. Maybe even our sect! Better to leave with our bounty now, rather than lose all of it to someone with greater strength.¡±


    At this, Hao Nera finally relents, letting out a long sigh. ¡°Far be it from me to ignore good sense when I hear it. Let it be said, Hao Nera may be jester, bandit, or a vagrant, but let none call him a fool.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad for your wisdom, brother Hao Nera,¡± Qen Hou says with a smile. ¡°Since you are the one carrying back all we¡¯ve harvested.¡±


    Hao Nera lets his mouth fall open, before pointing angrily at Qen Hou and performing the most dramatic gasp Li Shu has ever heard. ¡°You would betray me like this brother? After I¡¯ve led us all to such riches?¡±


    ¡°Qen Hou is here as a guard, and I as a simple researcher,¡± Li Shu says. ¡°We¡¯re more than happy to assist you with harvesting the goods that your excellent nose has guided us to, but we¡¯re hardly required to help you carry it all once it¡¯s in your possession.¡±


    He gasps again, clasping a hand to his chest, slapping wetly against the crimson he¡¯s drenched in. ¡°Even you, honored sister? Oh, this is too cruel.¡±


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    Still, his heart isn¡¯t in the complaint, and for all that she can say about the former (and arguably current) rogue, he¡¯s not someone who stays disheartened for long, or who doesn¡¯t embrace challenges. In that, he almost reminds her of Raika.


    As they walk, Hao Nera dragging a sled of meat and bits behind them, she wonders about that. Wonders about how she¡¯s doing, about how she¡¯s feeling, if she¡¯s alive after all that¡¯s happened. They swore they would see each other again, and that promise weighs on her, even now. She isn¡¯t harvesting these creatures just because they¡¯re interesting. Medical practice is fine and good, but learning herbal remedies and treatments for humans, or for cultivators, aren¡¯t going to help her friend. She needs to learn about the flesh, the minutiae of it, of how strange existences can alter their bodies beyond just the use of Qi or their souls, and these beasts¡­ like it or not, there¡¯s nowhere else that she could have found tutelage like this in the third ring, even if she still has no idea what half of the pieces she¡¯s found and taken really do.


    She¡¯s advancing.


    Qen Hou, of course, is at the beginning of his journey into Core Formation, and stands a height above her again, but Hao Nera is still her match in the Foundational realm, even if her fine control is leagues beyond his and gives her advantages and disadvantages both. There hasn¡¯t been much time for cultivation, but even with her limited training, making incense out of powdered bone and blood ash from these creatures is within her abilities, and it¡¯s helped make up the difference. Adversity crafts excellence, or so Qen Hou likes to say, and she can¡¯t help but admit that she¡¯s grown as a cultivator more in the last month and a half out in the wilds than she did in years as a medical student.


    She comes out of her introspection to the sound of the two boys bickering yet again, the sound more a comfort than an annoyance at this point.


    ¡°Brother, you speak from the perspective of the honorable indeed!¡± Hao Nera nods sagely. ¡°Truly, your perspective as one born unto untold riches makes you the best of all of us to understand the suffering of your lessers!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I said,¡± Qen Hou grumbles. ¡°Even if it were, I was not born into silver spoons and golden flowers as you seem to believe, bandit. I am an honorable and noble son of a minor family, no richer than any other. We ate rice and poultry for our meals same as any other.¡±


    Li Shu rolls her eyes. ¡°Senior brother, with all possible respect, not every family got poultry with their rice.¡±


    Hao Nera spares a hand to point triumphantly at her. ¡°Yes! Indeed, honored sister! I don¡¯t claim that there aren¡¯t those far above you whose very asses were wiped by gold sheet, but by their nature, they trick you into thinking yourself poor, when you don¡¯t know what it is to be poor.¡±


    ¡°And I suppose your poverty justifies your constant positivity?¡± Qen Hou asks.


    Hao Nera throws his head back and laughing, brief and sharp. ¡°I need no justification to be jubilant, brother, but me? Oh, I was born into a wealthy noble house in the second ring, and only after bedding a thousand thousand virgins before my twentieth birthday and eating my way through the winter reserve of the nearest city from my manse was I exiled, to wander the meager pickings of the third ring. Surely you can see by my bearing my noble lineage?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re a noble, then I was born from the plume of a dragon¡¯s crest,¡± Qen Hou replies. ¡°You¡¯re better than most when you think it suits you, but I¡¯ve seen you eat, and there are pigs with more natural grace than you.¡±


    ¡°And what delicious meals they make for us, blessed with privilege, eh brother?¡± Hao Nera chuckles.


    Li Shu smiles as she listens, as they make their way past old corpses that still lay bloody even as the trees grow into and consume them, as the greenery overtakes them and lesser beasts and animals make meals of their bodies, darting away or forcing them to skirt past whenever they get too close. Despite the horror of the bloodshed, the forest is not ruined, and in this place there are seeds of new growth sown. She wonders how many new cultivators or tools might be made with the supplies they bring now, and how many of the beasts and plants around them might gain new qualities from the corpses that abound. She can¡¯t help but laugh at the thought that the village of Vera¡¯s Hallow might become someplace both very dangerous and very noteworthy sooner rather than later.


    She almost chokes as the laugh freezes in her throat.


    Her companions are both alert instantly. For all Qen Hou¡¯s heightened cultivation and Hao Nera¡¯s significantly more combat-experienced instincts, neither one reacts before she does, neither one sees as she does. Qen Hou can sense much further out, but more often than not when finding hidden details or an ambush it is Li Shu¡¯s instincts that have carried them to safety.


    The world shifts.


    She can see in how they move they did not sense it, in how they fail to stutter that they do not feel it. It is minute, a miniscule shifting, but¡­ it¡¯s like if the ground beneath her feet moved a quarter of an inch to the side abruptly as she was walking, even as nothing else changed.


    The ground didn¡¯t shift, though. The air did. A sudden dislocation of pressure, so precise yet so vast, like a ripple in a pond except the pond is¡­ everything.


    They are minutes away from the cavern they¡¯ve been using at a base. It might take them closer to an hour to reach it with the cart, but if they drop it they can run-


    This time all three of them shudder.


    The ground trembles, and the crackling of breaking wood comes from the direction they¡¯re heading in.


    It steps out past the trees.


    It¡¯s maybe twenty or thirty feet tall on all fours, and as it moves through the landscape the world bends around it. Even still, there¡¯s not enough space for it to move, and more of the trees crackle, break apart, become splintered dust as they brush against it and are simply moved.


    As Li Shu tries to breathe, feels the heat of flickering flame coming from Qen Hou, she sees the eyes of the beast focus on them.


    If she were generous, she might call it a tiger. Some sort of large feline, but one not built for stealth in the same way as a panther or lynx might be. It¡¯s not a perfect analogy, of course; this thing is not orange, black and white. It has more than four legs. It has more than two eyes. When it opens its mouth to exhale, it has more sets of jaws than it should be able to fit.


    And she¡¯s never seen a tiger, even one that has evolved to a spirit beast, have fur made of liquid, dripping light.


    Its colors fluctuate like an aurora between purple, crimson, orange, green and silver, every shade holding another deeper pattern of colors, and as its many legs step into the clearing, bending the ground like soft bedding around its weight, they move. Every time its body shifts, sinuous and muscled and massive, some of that light sloughs off, like oil or skin being shed by its every movement, dripping onto the floor behind it and collecting into puddles of oozing, shimmering viscosity- that begin to move themselves, slithering towards the carcasses all around and beginning to burrow impossibly into them.


    It looms over them, tall enough to blot out the falling sun and bright enough to eclipse the moons, saliva and oozing, hungering light drooling from its maw, and it looks, above all else, at her.


    It opens its mouth wider, and from inside, a distressingly human voice begins to whimper and hum.


    ¡°You smell. Like. It,¡± the not-tiger yowls quietly, in a voice that sounds like a man in pain.


    ¡°Speak, morsel. Make. Words. From your. Air. How do you. Know the thing. Which bleeds. The blood of the world. And cast the bodies. Of my nieces and nephews down. In this place?¡±

 Chapter 94 - A Very Portentious Kitty Indeed...

    Qen Hou is not sure he knows how to breathe.


    He¡¯s experienced the sensation before, or at least something similar. Around Raika¡¯s trial, back when he¡¯d made that whole mess his business, he¡¯d been subjected to it more than once. Enough Qi pressure can convince a body it is no longer working, that its systems are simply not enough to continue to sustain life. Those who reach higher levels can craft specific pressure, infusing their killing intent or the threat of violence into their very presence and using it to crush the will (and sometimes the very life) out of their lessers, their senses overwhelmed until their hearts stop or their brains begin to hemorrhage.


    This doesn¡¯t feel like that. There is no intention to harm. In fact, he doesn¡¯t sense anything malicious about the pressure at all. In some ways, that makes it worse. It does not feel like someone who wants to kill him, who holds that desire in their mind and can exercise it with sheer will and aura alone.


    It feels like he could die because it stopped deciding that he wasn¡¯t already dead. The feeling he gets from the pressure this thing exerts is like that of watching glass creak and groan beneath the weight of an ocean, of the steel beams of a building beginning to warp under something¡¯s weight. The tiger, which is not what it should be called but is the closest thing he can think of, is not trying to exert pressure on any of them. The natural weight of this thing is enough not to make him fall dead, but to crush him to pulp, and the only reason he yet lives is because it strains the world itself to make sure he gets to live long enough to answer.


    He can¡¯t speak, of course. He can¡¯t even breathe.


    Hao Nera is gone. Just gone. He has no idea where, no idea when he disappeared, but right now it¡¯s just the two of them, him and Li Shu, staring up at this thing.


    It¡¯s mouth¡­ spirals. It gapes open, drooling, the liquid thick, viscous and foamy, flecked with droplets of liquid gold and starlight, with the glow of cooling metal and bubbling magma, and from out of it that sound comes again. Like a man screaming, like a cat yowling, like a fucked up whistle through the trees grabbed and shifted and forced, against its will, into words.


    ¡°Where. Is. It?¡± the not-tiger asks.


    He can feel himself try to say something, feel his lungs try to remember how to breathe and fail. He tries to push with his Qi, and he feels it stir, only very slightly. The essence of Core Formation is to create a new element inside one¡¯s soul and dantian, further connecting the two. Slowly, by accumulating energy, meditating and refining it in a way that speaks true to one¡¯s self and soul (otherwise known as a cultivation method), a sort of pearl is formed, hollow on the inside. The stronger this shell is, the harder it is to fill it with Qi and let it grow, but make it too thin and it pops like a bubble, damaging the cultivator and usually ending in an explosive outburst of Qi. His own Core is just a shell, barely formed, a framework he can begin to cultivate and grow, molded by flame on the outside even as his fire within it, like a candle or a hearth, slowly builds up heat to expand it.


    Right now, the delicate, barely-living framework of a core is all he has, and the Qi inside of it is all that responds to him, the amount in his flesh trapped under the beast¡¯s impossible weight.


    Still, he steps forward. He burns the Qi in his core, feels it set him back, maybe by weeks of cultivation. He can feel the structure of it shaking under the pressure, under what he asks of himself, but the core holds firm enough that he manages to pull from it and step forward a second time.


    The beast turns to him, its many, many eyes looking at him from a head so vast he could stand in its sockets.


    ¡°We-¡±


    He chokes. He drags in a breath by force, with every ounce of his will, feeling his heart beating like he¡¯s been running for miles.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know what you mean,¡± he manages, spitting it out in one strained breath.


    ¡°The. Bloody. One.¡± It moans. ¡°The one. That killed. That ate. That was. Eaten. It is. Flesh. Like. Yours. But not. Like. Yours. You have. Its. Scent. Its. Taste.¡±


    Forced into the crushing vice of its attention he feels his core scream, newly formed and still soft, still weak¡­ and yet not torn, not yet. He embraces it, feels its definition enhanced and his awareness of it magnified by the pressure it¡¯s been placed under. He can feel every part of its circumference, how it shakes and trembles, how it holds just drops more of his Qi, concentrated with tremendous effort over weeks.


    He uses everything he has, and takes another step forward, in arm¡¯s reach of Li Shu, who he can hear just barely wheezing out breath.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know,¡± he groans. ¡°We weren¡¯t here. We only- we only hoped to grow from what was left. We did not do this.¡±


    The creature growls, expressing a moment of displeasure, and Qen Hou falls to his knees, feeling his nose gush out a flood of crimson and his eyes pulsing with the pounding of his head.


    He tries to get back up, tries to find the strength, but his core is shaking, his soul burns under the weight, his body screams and bleeds, and-


    ¡°Raika?¡±


    The voice that speaks it is quiet, strained, barely above a whimper, but Li Shu manages it anyways, speaking the name into existence.


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    The not-tiger pauses, tilting its head like its considering. It sniffs, the size and mass of it enough that the breath pulls both of them forward towards it.


    ¡°Yes,¡± it moans in that not-voice. ¡°Rai. Ka. The bleeding. Thing. Delicious.¡±


    ¡°Where.¡±


    Qen Hou grabs Li Shu¡¯s hand, pulling her a step back towards him. She staggers as she does, but he manages to drag her behind him, and with just that slight shift in their placement to it he hears her gasp in a full breath for the first time since this thing arrived.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know,¡± he says. ¡°Please. Honored beast, we do not know. She is gone from us.¡±


    The entity tilts its head again, lowering its gaze almost to the ground, its jaw still slack as a puppet as the tortured voice emerges from it. It crawls forward, some of its many legs undulating along strange angles as it comes closer to him until he could reach out and touch its many, many teeth, spiraling like stairs down a throat that goes¡­ forever.


    It sniffs again, once, twice, and almost drags him into its maw. It¡¯s only Li Shu¡¯s hand on the back of his tunic that keeps him from falling too far forward.


    ¡°No,¡± it moans, somehow conveying satisfaction through a sound like a man whimpering. ¡°Not. Gone. You are. Tied. Oath bound. Promise. Your. Souls. Both hold. The. Same. Wants.¡±


    It leans back, turning its head until they are both held in its gazes. It has three eyes, and a thousand eyes, a halo of vision growing like antlers from gaping sockets, or insectile eyes made of human ones in sockets overflowing with them, or something else he cannot put a name to. For a moment, long enough that he feels his sanity quake and his cultivation tremble, feels Li Shu gripping his hand so tight she grinds their bones together and breaks the skin, it makes eye contact with him.


    ¡°Not. Enough. For a. Snack. Not. Enough. For a. Trail.¡±


    It lifts itself up, eclipsing the sky, the sun, the moons, outlined in an impossible rippling light that is its fur that is oil that is flesh. It tilts its head away, then back to them.


    ¡°I. Will. Eat You. Later.¡±


    It smiles, the sight the worst thing Qen Hou has ever seen.


    ¡°You. Are. Welcome.¡±


    And, without enough time even for him to blink, it raises a paw that is infinite paws, fractal and spreading and recursive, and bats them away like a cat with a toy.


    Their sled comes with them. Hao Nera comes with them, the shadow he hid in torn bodily from the ground like a physical thing and the illusion he disappeared into shattering, showing him bleeding from the eyes and ears and clutching at his sword so hard his grip shakes. The hillside, and a dozen trees, and a few tons of stone and earth and carcasses dripping with moving, wriggling light all move with them.


    And then they land.


    The process takes maybe a quarter of a second, at most. In less time than a heartbeat, as the entity bats the world aside, Qen Hou feels the air and the distances around them shake and tremble and whimper and be batted aside. He still breaks his arm on arrival, is still launched at a slab of stone that moved with them hard enough to feel the ground shake and the rock crack, but from where he lays, staring at the horizon, he can distantly see the mountain of the village, and how much further away it is.


    He lays there for a while longer. It¡¯s hard to tell which is stronger, the agony of broken bone and the impact, or the relief of being able to breathe again.


    A beast of the depths. Some ancient, twisted thing, more god than beast even. There are myths about things like that, things which have consumed and mutated past all conceivable limits. Most are hunted by the Empire immediately on confirmation of their existence, treated as serious threats to be eliminated as soon as possible. The Black Serpent, the Final Wingbeat, She Of Many Mouths¡­ even before the advent of the Empire, there¡¯ve been stories of things like what they just saw, and few of those stories involve survivors. It had to be from the deep wilds, the fourth ring, perhaps¡­ but then how did it make it into the third, past the citadels? And why hold itself back, speak to them?


    After reflecting for a moment, he uses his unbroken arm to lever himself off the ground and look for Li Shu.


    Hao Nera is already there, a trail of blood showing where he crawled from. Li Shu is sitting there, kneeling in the dirt, the carcasses and materials they collected splattered all about, making the whole shifted, disjointed landscape they created on ¡°arrival¡± stained red.


    He makes his way over to her, slowly, his core drained nearly to the point of dissolution, his Qi aching as it cycles through his shaken psyche and flesh. He makes it, though, leaning against another stone dropped unnaturally into the ground.


    ¡°Your girlfriend is fucking trouble, Li Shu,¡± he says.


    She doesn¡¯t laugh, but there¡¯s an exhale, minute, and finally seems to wake up, wiping at her bloodied eyes and nose. Hao Nera does laugh, faintly, from where he lies collapsed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of crazy pussy before, but¡­¡± he mumbles.


    In spite of himself, Qen Hou can¡¯t help but roll his eyes and scoff out a chuckle.


    ¡°She¡¯s alive,¡± Li Shu says.


    Qen Hou says nothing for a moment, lets the sounds of the forest slowly come back as the trauma of their spatial dislocation is gradually accepted.


    ¡°She¡¯s alive. And she killed those beasts, didn¡¯t she?¡±


    He nods, once. ¡°Seems that way.¡±


    Hao Nera looks between the two of them, still holding his sword, one of his eyes bloodshot to the point of near-crimson. ¡°Shit. You actually know something about this?¡±


    Qen Hou nods. ¡°Tell you later,¡± he says, wearily. ¡°Owe you that, I suppose.¡±


    Hao Nera laughs, weak but genuine. ¡°Don¡¯t owe me shit. Figured I¡¯d hide out, drag one of you away while it ate the other. Couldn¡¯t even manage to move. Don¡¯t owe me for that. I hid.¡±


    Qen Hou shrugs. ¡°It was the best move you could have done, and you did it without hesitating. I¡¯ll say plenty more about you when my chest doesn¡¯t hurt so much, but you¡¯re no fool, Hao Nera, and it seems we¡¯ve gotten you mixed in our business now.¡±


    Li Shu looks at him in confusion, matched by Hao Nera as he realizes that she doesn¡¯t know what he¡¯s talking about.


    ¡°It said it would eat us later,¡± he sighs. ¡°Not that it was letting us go. And if it can smell someone we haven¡¯t seen in months, can smell an oath, I¡¯m willing to bet it knew exactly where you were, brother.¡±


    Hao Nera¡¯s eyes widen, and he spits to the side. ¡°Damn,¡± he growls. ¡°Knew you two were too convenient to be true. But noooo, Hao Nera needs to take risks, needs to gamble. It was going so well, too!¡±


    ¡°So it was,¡± Qen Hou sighs. ¡°Seems we have to grow, or find someplace to hide. And that we owe you¡­ some kind of payment, if only to soothe my honor at how small we just were.¡±


    Hao Nera snorts, but¡­ doesn¡¯t refute him.


    He looks at Li Shu, and after a moment, she meets his eyes. Unspoken communication passes between them. They don¡¯t owe Raika anything at this point, did more than their fair share to help her, protect her. Still¡­


    Power to kill all of those beasts. To be hunted by something from the deep wilds. And of course, Li Shu¡¯s promise, reaffirmed by the words of something beyond mortal comprehension. It bears the hallmarks of something¡­ powerful.


    ¡°Ho there!¡± says a voice, startling them from their conversation. ¡°You lot seem rather troubled! Wouldn¡¯t happen to need a hand, would you?¡±

 Chapter 95 - Oh We Bouta Get Shonen As Hell Up In Here...

    Bob. Weave. Duck fully, step back twice, forward once, punch.


    Reset to base.


    Lean left, weave right, step forward, arm up, block, low kick, use it to spin into a crescent kick.


    Reset to base.


    Left uppercut, step back, lean back, duck low, jump once, block, block-


    Reset to base.


    She holds a hand up, pausing the back and forth, breathing heavily as sweat runs freely down her body, leaving droplets on the floor as she walks, the air around her heated enough that she can literally see it radiating off her.


    Jun Vral respectfully steps back at the signal, letting his hands fall, his own breath much more controlled than hers. For all that he has a million really small lungs, you wouldn¡¯t know it to look at him with how closely he¡¯s holding to ¡°human¡± form now. Even with it, he makes for quite a sight, wearing his robes down to his waist, chest bare and deeply pale, the slight imprint of snake scales visible if one looks closely enough and completely hairless, though his face remains distinctly¡­ ¡°normal¡±, human eyes and features standing out against the vaguely alien look his body has. It¡¯s hard to tell how much of it is intentional, considering she¡¯s seen him literally break apart into a bundle of snakes, especially without knowing if it¡¯s a technique or literally just¡­ how his body works (she¡¯s pretty sure it¡¯s the latter), but she¡­ can¡¯t help but admire the physique. Not in the conventional sense: he imitates human muscle groups, even uses them sometimes, but she can see faint lines woven throughout him if she really focus, and it¡¯s downright fascinating watching his flesh ripple and shift in a slightly less grounded way than her own.


    He catches her looking, giving a short bow as they both catch their breath, to which she can¡¯t help but bark out a laugh. Walking to one side, she grabs one of the canteens to one side, tossing him another and taking a deep swig, fighting the desire to keep drawing in air.


    As the training has gone on, it¡¯s become more and more clear that she has some¡­ flaws. A few hours of exercise and she¡¯s sweating liters, radiating what would be a lethal dose of fever-heat, and struggling to draw in the oxygen her system needs. There¡¯s a detachment to it, the knowledge that she can cut off parts of herself and rebuild them if needed making it so she¡¯s not worried, per se, but if the point of the exercise has been to adjust her settings and see how her new form fares without using her powers to supplement it, it certainly says a lot.


    ¡°Not too out of it?¡± Jun Vral asks. ¡°No overheating?¡±


    She shakes her head, spitting some of the now-warm water to one side to clear her throat of the taste of copper. ¡°No, not yet. Finding the limit to it. I¡¯m losing out on power already, but I think I¡¯ll have to slim down again, that or specialize. Two hearts, an extra lung, and I can still only oxygenate so much. One hour going at a consistent pace, maybe an hour and a half, and I need to stop and recover.¡±


    ¡°And going all out?¡± he asks.


    She scoffs. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like to know, pretty boy.¡±


    With a thought, she opens herself, letting seams between muscle groups she built for this exact purpose flare open as membranes ooze into place, letting out a burst of heat all at once. In another ten seconds, she has a second pathway into her lungs built into her collarbones, dragging in much larger breaths that echo in the vast arena.


    She hears some murmurs, the clinking of coins, the breathing of a crowd, and tries hard not to roll her eyes.


    It really is the best place for a spar, with enough equipment to exercise and train a dozen other things before and after, but the seating around the main arena has been put to good use since she and Jun Vral made a habit of these spars. Mostly by the guards, admittedly; they came with a dozen soldiers, and met with more when they arrived and Taurus was taken to wherever he¡¯s gone, and most don¡¯t have anything better to do than stand around guarding bedrooms and common areas. Like nearly all soldiers throughout all of history, they¡¯ve taken up gambling to pass the time, and Raika, Jun Vral, Taran, Maen and even Shapefixit have all put on a show at some point or another as the week has gone by.


    She¡¯s made the most use out of the training space by far, taking the time needed to properly explore the limits on the body she¡¯s rebuilding from the strange new normal born from her tribulation, and has started to take note of a few other individuals beyond the soldiers.


    She¡¯s fairly certain they¡¯re nobility, or particularly rich merchants. She¡¯s not sure anyone else would have access to a palace, and anytime she¡¯s gotten too close to the edge of the arena, or the one time she went up to the stands to test their reaction (pretending she¡¯d just wanted to take a seat and watch Taran and Maen spar), the soldiers have started to come together, instinctively or under orders looking to block her path. The strangers dress in robes of silk and gold thread, of ornate and expensive cultivator materials, and they run the gamut of physical features, some dark skinned, some light, several varieties along the spectrum of beastkin. It hasn¡¯t gotten to the point of having someone bring a date to the show, but it still feels uncomfortable.


    It would feel more uncomfortable if it wasn¡¯t useful. Tracking facial features is one thing, but once she takes the time to figure out which scents mean what, she can find any one of them again at the merest whiff of their Qi. If having the ability to identify and track rich nobles and moneylenders anywhere in the world isn¡¯t good enough, there¡¯s the opportunity to analyze their behavior.


    They don¡¯t act like they¡¯re seeing something impossible. None of them have any hint of active Qi usage unless they¡¯re showing off some trick to each other, none of them smell of stress sweat, none of them make any notes, take comments, none of them bring their own guards or have the smell of artifacts on them. They don¡¯t do anything besides enjoy an occasional show. It¡¯s not much insight, but it¡¯s there, if one can grasp it.


    She¡¯s pretty much certain that rumors of why they¡¯re all here haven¡¯t circulated. What¡¯s more, she¡¯s absolutely certain that whatever eyes are on her and the others, they don¡¯t come from any place that might cause ripples or unrest in the upper crust. Rather than an imprisoned set of dangerous, mutated, would-be traitors, the nobles here act like they¡¯re getting their own private show of prize fighters, random cultivators, or some other genuine arena for hire. However the richest, most Imperially-connected individuals get their information, it isn¡¯t telling them that she¡¯s a threat, as it would be if, say, the soldiers here were being given orders otherwise. No, she¡¯s very much still under observation, but the leash is loose enough that they¡¯re willing to let the nobility of the city come in and watch, and said nobility, always a backstabbing, willful lot, are comfortable enough with what information they have on her and the others to come without guards or protections.


    That information is valuable. Whatever Taurus is being investigated for, it¡¯s him being investigated and treated as a potential criminal, not any of the rest of them. It indicates a lot more leeway than she was expecting, at minimum.


    She reseals her form, letting her body meld back together and reconnect its pieces. That¡¯s been the biggest breakthrough of her new cultivation: before, like with the bone-armor she made for the fight against the corpse-smith, she could create matter and form but not re-absorb it. It¡¯s imperfect, but she can at least reconnect severed parts now, training her body bit by bit to grasp and re-accept pieces she separates, even if she still can¡¯t ¡°reabsorb¡± matter directly. Yet.


    She catches Jun Vral staring as she does, even as the small crowd above them titters and murmurs in their way. She could catch their words, but decides not to, not wanting to burden herself in this particular training session with their gossip and politicking.


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    ¡°What is it?¡± she asks.


    Jun Vral blinks, his body shivering as his snakes slightly re-adjust. ¡°Apologies. I didn¡¯t mean to stare. It¡¯s just¡­ rare to see something like that.¡±


    She raises an eyebrow. ¡°But you¡¯ve seen it before?¡±


    ¡°Not quite the same. Master Zhoulong¡­ well, he had some connections to some of the flesh-molders, though he was never clear on what. We visited a member of his family once, at an estate, and when he¡­ showed us off, a relative of his replied in kind with some kind of armored weapon that you reminded me of. Some of the same complexities.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Heat management is a constant, when you¡¯re moving as much mass as fast as I am. Still, I¡¯m a bit disappointed. You¡¯re the second person in as many weeks to tell me I¡¯m not as unique as I first thought.¡±


    He smiles softly at that. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that, as the scholars say, there are no new paths beneath the Heavens. If it¡¯s any consolation, I¡¯m quite certain the bound servant they displayed didn¡¯t show nearly as much wit as you.¡±


    ¡°Ah! Of course. The ultimate victory; there may be others who did it sooner, but at least I¡¯m funny.¡±


    He laughs, shrugging. ¡°Well, that, and the fact that I doubt it was particularly of its intent to become what it was. Most of the flesh constructs I¡¯ve heard of are made that way, not born, and more useful for Daemon or spirit binding than being alive.¡±


    ¡°Some small consolation,¡± she admits. ¡°It ain¡¯t the worst thing in the world to be able to remake yourself, even if it¡¯s not quite so convenient as cultivation classic.¡±


    He laughs at that, a bit more deeply and honestly. ¡°On that, I can absolutely agree.¡±


    Slowly, she resets her body back to default, closing up the additional biology and shifting lungs back to standard now that her overheating and oxygenation are back under control. Taking a seat on one of the benches, ignoring some of the disappointed murmurs from her ¡°fans¡±, she tosses him one of the other canteens often left to the side by the palace¡¯s invisible servants. ¡°Sorry if it¡¯s uncomfortable, but how did this whole¡­ snake thing happen? Born this way, special beastkin cultivation¡­?¡±


    He sighs, taking a sip of his canteen as well. He snorts when he notices her staring at the way he swallows, a hundred rippling throats as one, but she doesn¡¯t look away, and eventually he stops and blushes, even as he frowns.


    ¡°He hasn¡¯t told you?¡± he asks.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t asked him,¡± she replies. ¡°He only pops in when its most annoying, and frankly, I don¡¯t think he¡¯d say anything not meant to manipulate. I¡¯d rather hear it from you, if that¡¯s alright.¡±


    The pause for him to speak stretches on a bit awkwardly, but eventually he does nod.


    ¡°It¡¯s an inherited technique. Passed down in¡­ in what used to be my clan. Two thousand years ago, in the time of the great Imperial Conquest, we lived inland, in what used to be called the Serpent¡¯s Gorge. It possessed a¡­ rather alarming skeleton of an ancient spirit beast, whose blood seeped into the world upon its death and made a space where all things that shared in its bloodline were magnified. My people eventually adapted, though we didn¡¯t have much choice, considering someone dropped a colossal semi-divine creature¡¯s corpse near our home. Many of us died, and those that remained ended up changed, in form and techniques. My body, or bodies, are part of a technique called the Thousand Slithering Maws array, wherein a living body is slowly and ritually altered to act as a formation to attract serpents. As they gradually shift and grow alongside the ritual target, they eventually begin to bond together. In my family, no one ever made it past twenty snakes, and it usually manifested as snakes emerging from joints, orifices, or as tendrils. I¡­ Zhoulong had other ideas, and managed to push things along further.¡±


    ¡°Do you¡­ want to talk about it?¡±


    He laughs. ¡°Here? No.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Very fair. Want to help me get us out of here instead?¡±


    He cocks his head to one side. ¡°The last time you dropped a heavy question on me like that, things became¡­ intense. Is that likely to be the case here?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Somewhat. But I¡¯m bored, and when I¡¯m bored I like to fight. I know you¡¯ve got tricks you¡¯re still hiding, so do I, but there¡¯s a difference between sparring and actually fighting, and I miss the latter.¡±


    ¡°And you have an idea about how to get it? Without getting anyone killed?¡±


    She smiles, teeth sharp and feral. ¡°Almost certainly.¡±


    But like before, she waits. Patience.


    And eventually, Jun Vral nods.


    ¡°I could perhaps use some fresh air,¡± he admits.


    Smiling wider, she pats him on the shoulder and almost knocks him over leveraging herself up, laughing as she does. It doesn¡¯t take much to alter her lungs and throat, she does it often enough to try and find a balance with her breathing concerns, but this time she modifies not the input, but the output. She can only draw in so much air at a time, no matter how much her lungs can supernaturally store, but she sure as hell can be loud when she wants to be.


    ¡°A pity, then!¡± she roars, not quite loud enough to shake the space but just a teensy bit louder than might be needed, give it that note of authenticity. She¡¯s done it before, roaring in combat or in laughter after, but the crowd almost immediately shuts up as she speaks, the ears of a dozen debutantes turning towards her.


    ¡°W-what is?¡± Jun Vral asks, trying to keep up.


    ¡°That I could so easily beat you if I go all out!¡± she says, throwing her arms wide as if its obvious. ¡°It sucks, Jun! It¡¯s painful! I spend all this time struggling just to hold back, and even still I can crush you easily if I tried. And considering you could wipe out half the wannabe pansy sects in this city, that¡¯s just humiliating.¡±


    He raises an eyebrow, genuinely a little lost as she grins like a maniac. ¡°I- thank you?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me! It¡¯s common sense! I mean look at all these fools, sitting here without entertainment proper!¡± She waves a hand up at the stands, catching the eye of a few of the audience members. More than a few seem invested in where she¡¯s going, predatory eyes turning to her words. ¡°If their sects were worth the plateaus they stand on, wouldn¡¯t the honored nobles of this city have better things to do than watch the two of us hold back, fighting as if we are afraid to perform any true feats?¡±


    She can see the interest blooming, hungry little fish smelling blood (or money, as the case may be).


    If they¡¯re not technically under arrest, then there¡¯s no trouble with a bit of outside pressure to get them out of the house, no?


    Still, there¡¯s one more element she needs.


    ¡°If anything, I think the sects here must be weaklings,¡± she laughs. ¡°So willing to enjoy the Empire¡¯s succor that they haven¡¯t even tried to pursue the martial Daos. When was the last time someone from Cragend made a name for themselves?¡±


    ¡°ENOUGH!¡± roars a deep, rumbling tone.


    Coming from the heights of the stands, almost near the back entrance, a man stands up, his face red, his robes a deep, dark blue and purple.


    ¡°How dare you disparage the good name of the city of Cragend! This is a land of storied history! Our cultivators plumb the depths of the Crag, which stretches a wound across the earth to the horizon! Without our city¡¯s honored sects, you would not even have an Imperial Palace to hide in!¡±


    ¡°Then prove it!¡± she yells, singling him out further. ¡°Show me to these cultivators! Why not? If you are so willing to claim that they are the backbone of the Empire¡¯s strength, surely you can back up those claims! Who are you with, the clammy waters sect?¡±


    He turns a darker shade of red. ¡°My family has worked with the Unearthly Depths Sect for generations! Without their honorable strength, the secrets of the great lakes would never be uncovered, the depths of the Crag Sea never found! I¡¯ll gladly speak to them of your dishonorable conduct, that they might punish you themselves!¡±


    ¡°Now hold on a moment!¡± says another of the nobles, this one in deep orange and green. ¡°It¡¯s hardly sporting that only one sect get to protest these allegations. And what better way to show the strength of our unified city than with a unified front?¡±


    ¡°Oh? And what shall you do then?¡± Raika asks, grinning so hard it starts to hurt, not needing any sort of mask for it. ¡°Shall you ask for reparations? Will you incite violence here in the palace?¡±


    ¡°Of course not, of course not!¡± says the man in orange and green. ¡°That would hardly be fair to the Imperial Palace and the loving strength and protection of the Emperor himself. Why, I¡¯d never offer such a scandalous plan. But there are far more tried and true ways to show one¡¯s strength in combat, and perhaps even prove which of the sects of this city stands on top!¡±


    The man in blue scoffs, but doesn¡¯t dismiss the idea. ¡°What, then, are you proposing, Shu Zi?¡±


    Shu Zi, resplendent in jewels and runic items and bedecked in rich orange and silk green, smiles almost as wide as Raika. ¡°Why, a tournament of course! And why not? To have so many Imperial cultivators grace our fair city, and not let our friends in powerful places indulge? Perhaps a deal can be struck. I could sponsor part of the rent for the central arena, make an event of it. Perhaps we shall see if your friends in the Unearthly Depths sect can finally overcome the reputation of the Stone Divers sect in combat?¡±


    The rest isn¡¯t going to happen here. They continue to talk, but Raika has stopped listening, the bait dropped and grabbed. A bit of help from Kaena to convince the guards and any Imperial liaison that this is a good idea, and perhaps a fresh round of insults in a day or two, to get a few more on board with the idea.


    A tournament. A way out of the palace. Something that might tempt her restless spirits to show themselves more, like Zhoulong and- and his spirit had the last time they went out. A way to potentially explore the city, and let her senses track where that witch¡¯s scent comes from and who might be associated with her. And, admittedly, a chance to fight some cultivators again, at long last.


    She laughs out loud, letting the training arena ring. ¡°Bring them all on!¡± she roars. ¡°Bring me your mighty, your most talented prodigies, your honored warriors! It¡¯s about time we had some proper fucking combat around here!¡±

 Chapter 96 - Perfect Honesty

    Raika picks Maen up off the ground, lifting her a good foot in the air and giving her a full, tongue-filled kiss.


    Kaena clears their throat. Then clears it again.


    Finally, they settle for chucking a morsel of whatever they were snacking on and scoffing as Raika breaks from the kiss to snatch it out of the air with her tongue (pork belly and pickled radish wrapped in a fried dough, delicious).


    Maen, after taking a moment to breathe, smacks Raika upside the back of her head and wriggles. ¡°Alright, now put me down you lunk. Did you get¡­ shorter?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but that¡¯s not why I kissed you, that was just for fun. Anyways, Kaena, my favorite manipulator and politician extraordinaire, it¡¯s so good to see you!¡±


    ¡°What do you want, Raika?¡±


    She smiles wolfishly. ¡°Why, nothing you wouldn¡¯t eminently enjoy! You see, there may perhaps be rumors of some kind of insult bandied about in the training arena today, which I surely had nothing to do with, and it may or may not have started some conversations about a tournament, of all things. Why, I can¡¯t imagine it would be any sort of challenge for you to mayhaps fan the flames of that particular conversation?¡±


    Kaena frowns, squinting at Raika. ¡°You mean to tell me this was on purpose?¡±


    ¡°Why, perish the thought!¡± Raika grins. ¡°I surely meant only to complain about the lack of true challenge in this city, and that I¡¯ve had to hold myself back ever so severely ever since I got here, for fear their cultivators might tremble and piss themselves.¡±


    Kaena says nothing for a moment, and then eats another of the delicious fried tidbits. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not exactly a subtle way to do it, but I¡¯m still a bit surprised. I¡­ didn¡¯t expect this from you?¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°Growing every day, honored sibling. Sometimes, if you only have limited options, you need to learn how to broaden your skillset.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯ve chosen public speaking and political maneuvering?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve chosen what nets me the fastest and most official way out of this fucking building I can think of, and lets me get a few punches in while we¡¯re out there.¡±


    It¡¯s Maen that interrupts this time between them, not Kaena, looking up at Raika with a confused look.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Raika blinks, opens her mouth to speak, and doesn¡¯t.


    The mask comes out, more fluid than ever, more human, and she smiles.


    ¡°Hardly any big reason,¡± she tells them. ¡°I¡¯m cooped up in here every damn day, I get bored. I¡¯m used to fighting, and I¡­ I miss it. I feel like I¡¯m stagnating here, trapped.¡±


    Maen frowns. ¡°Raika, it¡¯s been weeks, not months or years. I get chafing at being in one place, but surely you¡¯ve cultivated before, you know things take time. I¡¯m not sure you should really want to let things move at the pace we¡¯ve gotten used to.¡±


    Kaena nods, but says nothing, watching Raika very intently.


    She shakes her head. ¡°It¡¯s not that. Well¡­ maybe a bit of that. I don¡¯t- my cultivation isn¡¯t cultivation, kitten. I grow fast, and sometimes I grow wrong, and pruning it always feels easier when my blood is pumping. I¡¯m used to fighting. It¡¯s¡­ comfortable.¡±


    That part feels harder to say. Partially because it¡¯s true. Partially because it¡¯s a lie.


    ¡°But you¡¯ve been working on modifying how your body works for a while now, and we haven¡¯t finished yet. I¡¯m nowhere near ready, I¡¯m-¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to fight if you don¡¯t want to! And you¡¯re already in the Foundational realm, a bit of combat might do you some good if you do! There¡¯s just something about sparring that doesn¡¯t quite carry the same weight as a real rival, a real battle.¡±


    ¡°Raika, I¡¯m not sure-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be fine. We need some time out from this luxury dungeon, and it¡¯ll be fun. Right?¡±


    Kaena doesn¡¯t respond, even as the last question is directed straight at them. They tap their plate, once, pensively.


    ¡°You sure you¡¯ve thought this through?¡± they ask.


    Raika nods, once. The mask stays on, though.


    ¡°Alright then,¡± Kaena says with a groan, as if getting up out of their chair is a tremendous hassle. ¡°I¡¯ve been bored silly helping Taran and watching you two bone all day anyways. Give me a day or two, honored sister, and I¡¯ll have the information we need on all the major players. We¡¯ll see what moves I can make from in here to push them into it. Might have to deal with my cousins, of all people¡­ Just do me a favor, yeah? You need a bit of perfect honesty now and then. Just something to think about.¡±


    And they walk out of the room, their sashay as impeccable as ever, without looking back.


    Which is good, since the minute they leave Maen scratches her wrist.


    She looks down at her partner, then at the rapidly closing wound, dripping a few droplets of thick, dark red liquid. Maen looks up at her, furious.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± she asks. ¡°Really. You say I help you, but I did not join with you just to be a servant of a different kind. What¡¯s happening with you?¡±


    Raika keeps the mask on for a moment, keeping her face soft but neutral rather than showing any real emotion.


    ¡°It¡¯s not important,¡± she tells Maen. ¡°I¡¯m telling the truth, I do need out of this place, I do need a good fight. It¡¯ll help.¡±


    ¡°Why will it help?¡±


    Raika doesn¡¯t say anything. Instead, she takes a few steps back, down the stairs into the lounge area of the room, opens up some space between Maen and her. The weight of that initial kiss and the energy behind it turn bittersweet, now that she¡¯s had a moment to calm down and realize Maen¡¯s reaction.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Maen stands firm, feet planted, arms at her side, staring Raika in the eyes, waiting for an answer. No weakness there. She still whines and complains often enough, but Raika is serious: she¡¯s in the Foundational realm and moving through it fast, which doesn¡¯t happen out of nothing. Maen looks, genuinely and seriously, at Raika and waits for an answer.


    Perfect honesty, Kaena had said. A reminder, maybe, or just a lucky choice of words.


    Raika wants to lie to Maen. That revelation hurts, a bit. She didn¡¯t used to be much of a liar. Cruel, callous sometimes, especially to temporary lovers, but not a liar. But right now, looking at the shorter woman standing firm, staring her down, demanding answers about why someone she cares about is acting strange, Raika wants to lie. It would hurt to lie. It would possibly worsen their relationship. It would put things off more than fix anything.


    But it would be easier. And it would hurt less than the truth.


    Perfect honesty. What a joke.


    That part snaps her out of it. Rings against her Truth, just a bit: she shouldn¡¯t be afraid of pain, if she is all of what she is. Pain is just a sign something needs to be addressed.


    Easy to know, hard to feel, but True.


    Kaena is gone, the specter of their footsteps fading and their heartbeat even fainter, the scent of peach, cream and mercury lingering but no more than usual after they leave a room. The room around them is massive enough, being one of their cavernous bedrooms, but the rooms to either side of it sound empty as well. All she can smell or sense is Maen, yuzu and claws tinting the air from their frustration and the growing habit of cycling her Qi, and the faint whisper of presence that indicates one of the servants.


    The latter, she dissipates with a look. And then she drops the mask.


    Maen shifts her footing, her eyes widening only slightly but the surprise showing up anyways. Maybe it¡¯s the abruptness of the change, maybe it¡¯s the fact that she hadn¡¯t noticed it properly yet, showing how far Raika¡¯s ability to control her features has grown. Or maybe it¡¯s the look on Raika¡¯s face now.


    Tired. Stressed. A little bit angry.


    ¡°It hurts to be here, kitten,¡± she sighs.


    She sits. The stairs catch her, at least enough that it¡¯s a collapse to a seating position and not a fall. The pain doesn¡¯t matter, but she does feel the stone press uncomfortably against her spine as she moves and lets the tension leave her body, lets herself sort of collapse.


    Maen is next to her in a moment, kneeling, making sure that she can still see Raika¡¯s face, that she¡¯s conscious. When she confirms that, easily enough, she just¡­ kneels there, holding Raika¡¯s head in her hands, staring at the looks she has.


    Raika smiles, a bit weakly. ¡°Sorry to disappoint,¡± she sighs. ¡°Just¡­ tired. Sorry. Bursts of energy help sometimes, when I feel more like myself, but I really do need out of this palace, Maen.¡±


    Maen nods. ¡°Ok. I believe you. But I know that¡¯s not all. Can you¡­ walk me through it? Please?¡±


    Raika takes a deep breath, but nods.


    ¡°Four things. There are four things weighing on me.


    First, my Truth. Second, my ghosts. Third, my flesh. Fourth, a visitor.¡±


    Maen blinks. Then she frowns. ¡°Alright, I feel like if I let you be cryptic it¡¯s my own fault if you make a habit of it. Be a little clearer, please?¡±


    Raika laughs at that, a sharp HA! that surprises her almost as much as Maen.


    ¡°Ok, fair enough. I¡­ yeah. Lost in my own head about this for a while. I¡¯ll try to keep it as clear as I can.


    First, my Truth. I have two, which I hear is a big deal, and I don¡¯t know that I¡¯ve told you. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve told anyone. Taurus might know, probably Yun Ka, with their tech and higher mysteries, but I¡¯ve kept quiet about it. My first one is I Am Me, I Am Mine. I¡¯ve heard Truths can have a lot of parts, be used in a lot of ways. I mostly use that one to control how my body changes, and keep myself centered and aware in the midst of my new senses. Helps me stay grounded in my body and in control of myself. But ever since I got signed up for the Division, it¡¯s been¡­ chafing. Like it¡¯s being rubbed at, or picked at wrong. It gets worse whenever I want to do something and can¡¯t. So long as it¡¯s me deciding what I can and can¡¯t do, it doesn¡¯t matter much, but if I want to do something, decide on it, and still can¡¯t, it kind of¡­ hurts. A lot. It takes work, tricks of perspective, and focus to keep it from hurting all the time in here. Being watched all the time. Unable to leave, to check in on my other friends, to wander and get into a fight now and then. The longer I stay stuck here, the harder it is to distract myself.


    Second. I¡¯ve got ghosts. One is literal, the others¡­ maybe not as much. But I see¡­ I see him. The kid.¡±


    ¡°Jiaj-¡±


    ¡°Yea. Him. He doesn¡¯t say anything, and he doesn¡¯t look¡­ alive. But he sometimes shows up when I¡¯m thinking about something, or when I think he might have wanted something. I¡¯m¡­ not sure how real he is. Or how real the other ghosts are. There¡¯s others, they¡¯re less important.¡±


    Maen raises an eyebrow.


    ¡°They are! Except for one. Zhoulong. I¡¯ve been seeing him on and off since I ripped his throat out. Usually once a week, sometimes twice, he¡¯ll pop up whenever it would piss me off the most. He talks like he¡¯s still alive.¡±


    ¡°Do you think it¡¯s some kind of possession? A death curse?¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. Maybe. He¡¯s the only person I killed with my new teeth.¡± (she chomps once with the black steel fangs, letting them pop out behind her regular teeth and then pop back down). ¡°Might be I ate more of him than I expected. A piece of his soul. He doesn¡¯t seem to be able to do much, but¡­ I worry. And I want to know how to get rid of him.¡±


    She sighs. ¡°Which leads me to thing three and thing four. My body isn¡¯t slowing down. I¡¯m not hungry right now, but I never feel full when I¡¯m eating, even when I am physically full. The last time I did was right after I ate Zhoulong¡¯s throat. That¡­ maybe bodes ill for my diet as I keep changing. I- I need to find a way to understand my body, to understand how it works and what I can change. My mind, my brain can¡¯t keep up. I think cultivation, or the way that cultivation uses Qi, modifies your brain too. Only way people with normal physiology can keep up at the higher speeds that a cultivator can use. But it¡¯s not modifying mine, because I don¡¯t work like that, so for all my meditation and all my practice, I am still stuck in a body that has senses that are sometimes worse than actual physical pain. Part of the reason I¡¯m so good at not reacting to harm? Compared to listening to a crowded street without meditation, pain is nothing. And unless I can modify how my brain works or better understand how to control this, my body is going to keep changing in strange ways that are going to keep hurting me even as they make me stranger and require me to change more and more. And last week, I met someone that might be able to help. With my ghosts, maybe, but with my changes and my flesh.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    Raika hesitates, but¡­ she¡¯s come this far.


    ¡°A witch. She said that a name I could use to find her was She Beneath Still Waters. She showed up in our room. Over our bed. Over you.¡±


    Maen pauses at that.


    Silence sits for a moment.


    ¡°Is that why you¡¯ve been pushing so hard for the training?¡± she asks. ¡°To help me cultivate?¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°It¡­ may have left me a bit uneasy. I don¡¯t think she meant harm, but¡­¡±


    Maen nods. ¡°Yeah. I understand. I¡­ ok. That¡¯s a lot. Why do you think she can help?¡±


    ¡°She said that she had seen something like me before. From the way she said it, it was different, made by a ritual and usually utterly insane, but there are enough similarities that I apparently got her interest. She called me a not-Wolf, I think. Her old Wolves were¡­ less in control than I am, and more of a sort of guided out-of-control mutation weapons, which burnt out fast. She told me only a few lived long, and none could really talk like humans, really. So¡­ I¡¯m something else, but considering she has experience with flesh-mutation and out-of-control transformations, and is probably an old monster herself, she might know something that can help me. And I can¡¯t find her trapped in this fucking cage.¡±


    Maen nods. Sighs. She lets her head come down to Raika¡¯s level, taps their foreheads together, and sits there for a moment.


    It¡¯s overstimulating, as always, but¡­ as almost always, with Maen, it¡¯s not not worth it.


    ¡°Ok,¡± Maen says. ¡°Obviously I¡¯m going to help. Way more interesting than what I¡¯ve got going on, and you need someone to back you up.¡±


    Raika scoffs, but doesn¡¯t deny it.


    ¡°I¡¯m not strong enough, though. Not yet. Which is¡­ I want to ask you something. And you have to promise not to freak out about it. Alright?¡±


    She exhales. But nods. ¡°Least I can do, after you didn¡¯t freak out when I told you I¡¯m literally haunted.¡±


    ¡°Good. I need to talk to you about how your blood tastes.¡±

 Chapter 97 - Poisoned Fruit

    As they walk, Kaena listens.


    It¡¯s not a skill they¡¯re particularly proud of cultivating. It¡¯s traditional to those who raised them, traditional to those who made Kaena what they are now, and that alone is enough to make it borderline abhorrent to the well-dressed figure they have now become, but more than that, there¡¯s an element of purpose to it that¡¯s¡­ frustrating.


    Since the dawn of mankind and all the beasts that came before, one thing has always been true and available to those willing to pay the price to obtain it: people like to talk.


    They particularly like to talk after they¡¯ve fucked.


    No one¡¯s fault. It¡¯s a natural behavior after that sort of conclusion. A release of pent up stress, an enjoyable moment, intimacy to at least some degree, it all wraps around to a much freer mindset after an encounter of the private sort. Even those who find themselves inevitably collapsed after the fact often tend to speak more freely come the next morning.


    And if they don¡¯t spill their secrets on that first touching moment, or during the next, or the one after, it just means that whoever is milking them for information needs to do a better job.


    Kaena, much to their chagrin, is capable of doing an excellent job. In fact, they don¡¯t even need to be in the room to find out what spills forth from one¡¯s mouth after they¡¯re done spilling from their loins. They just need to leave a drop of Qi behind.


    They know how a normal cultivator¡¯s body works. They have to know, intimately, precisely, to a medical degree. It¡¯s part of what they had to learn to be allowed into the world, out of the Tree and the Garden beneath it. So they know precisely how abnormal the cultivation that they and all their cousins and brothers and sisters have been taught is.


    Almost half of Kaena¡¯s meridians don¡¯t grow in the proper cycles inside one¡¯s body. They grow out to the skin. As Kaena¡¯s dantian fills, the scented, perfumed, altered Qi flows back out, taking that Qi signature out through their meridians, cultivating the body of a child of the Garden even as it is pumped out of their body.


    Those who survive the first few months of coddling have a chance to try and control this movement. Those who manage to survive past the coddling get a chance to prove their control. Those who manage to control the Qi outside themselves as if it were in their bodies, rather than those who learn to block off those meridians, get to grow to be more.


    Kaena can feel the flow of energy moving, leaving trails of it behind themself. It emanates from them, carrying nothing but a slight hint of calm, a slight touch of warmth and sweetness, a cultivated impression of comfort and indulgence, all in one, unnameable mix together. Old, old techniques, made to soften and cajole and, despite all Kaena¡¯s best efforts, weaken and allow weakness, but as always¡­ they make do.


    Just a drop is enough. A thin, minute droplet, left behind, connected by long, thin trails of their aura, connected to their ears and eyes when it needs to be.


    Kaena hears the soldiers laughing, talking about old victories, new hopes and dreams, their winnings and losses in betting, the strangeness (and sometimes attractiveness) of Kaena¡¯s friends and allies. They hear the servants, unknown and unseen, barely there but an old, familiar comfort from the Garden and other palaces before, scurrying about through impossible corners and changing things from the minute changes in the auras of those they serve, changes that Kaena keeps far from their own aura. Kaena hears their team, the little kitten and her big beastie, whispering every night about fears and wants and hungers, the old corpse and his patchwork family in their homemade tomb, the young fool with her gadgets and machines, both the hidden and the known.


    The other team, almost as interesting, just as hurt, though their pains sound much more uniform. The writhing snake-thing, so talented at pretending, at acting like a person. The little crawler, lush and vibrant, trapped inside a shell, unable to bloom. The hulking mass, long since eroded down to nothing but pain.


    And, of course, their cousins. The twins. So much lesser, for all the arrogance the two of them bring.


    Other voices come and go, nobles and merchants and officers and cultivators all following along to the beastie¡¯s tune as she points them where she wants in a surprising turn of competence. Names to remember, words to whisper. Anyone who knows what Kaena is is on their guard, of course, and Kaena isn¡¯t willing to offer the one thing that so reliably subverts that same guarded mentality¡­ but Kaena¡¯s not alone. That¡¯s what the twins are for.


    Whispered words, honeyed visits, dancing to the tune of those who have not earned the luxury of children from the Garden but who get to enjoy them anyways. All and more spiral and flow, day after day, as the tournament draws ever closer to a reality.


    And it does not take long at all.


    Kaena is many things, and has been many more. One thing they have never been, and do not ever intend to be, is incompetent.


    Still, they¡¯re surprised by how long it takes for the first of the twins to break.


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    They¡¯d been going strong for weeks, even after being cooped up in their room, kept still, kept quiet. Frankly, Kaena had started to wonder if they¡¯d made a mistake in their estimation of the two, and wondered if perhaps they might make it the entire way through this particular plot before snapping.


    Not quite the case, but a surprisingly grounded dream considering how long they lasted. It¡¯s Kiri that snaps first, their sibling Kara almost matching them, sensing through their shared connection when their brother starts to snap. Luckily, it¡¯s not during a crucial moment, lying in someone¡¯s bed; a simple visit, draped over some rich idiot¡¯s lap as the beastie and one of her toys makes another show, feeding their would-be benefactor grapes and wine. He manages to spasm once. He manages to inhale a bit more harshly than decorum would encourage, breaking the illusion of servile pleasure for less than an instant.


    And then Kaena is there, and they hold his hands still. They keep him smiling. They keep him bantering, playful and whispered and full of suggestion, just like the Garden taught them all. And when an opportunity arises, when the woman in question makes a bad bet and loses a bit of face as a result, Kaena takes Kiri away.


    They let go of their control only when he is safely enclosed in his room again, just in time to let him fall to pieces without breaking him entirely.


    ¡°Please,¡± he begs. ¡°Please. I can¡¯t anymore. I¡¯m sorry. I am so, so sorry, honored sibling. I never meant to disrespect you. I was a fool. Please. I- I can¡¯t.¡±


    Kaena, six rooms away and enjoying a very pleasant meal of pheasant and a light rose, smiles softly, and whispers in his ear.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t want to be disloyal to our purpose, would you?¡± they ask the weeping courtesan, moving his hand to wipe away the tears and moving his feet so he sits upright in a chair before a mirror, staring in open horror and exhaustion at the voice behind his eyes. ¡°Not like your big sibling. No, I couldn¡¯t possibly be what you aspire to, with my string of ruined suitors. Surely you can do better. Surely you can stay together a little longer, hmm?¡±


    He sobs again, low and quiet. ¡°Please,¡± he whispers. ¡°I beg of you, honored sibling. Please. No more. I am sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to resist. I didn¡¯t mean to disrespect you.¡±


    ¡°But you did!¡± Kaena says, their lips unmoving but a smile in their soul as they take another bite of their meal, letting their robe slip just a bit to tempt a glance from one of the nobles in the room. ¡°You did intend it. And you succeeded. You lifted your hand in defiance to me first. You tried to side with Zhoulong, of all people. I know the garden cultivates slavish attitudes, but that was embarrassing. And then, when you knew you¡¯d lost, when it was clear things had turned against you, you turned your aura to my allies. My packmates, for want of a better term. Knowing what our auras can do. And you accuse me of being a snake. At least I have a brain with more than a few thoughts, and walk on my own feet rather than crawl on my belly.¡±


    ¡°I- they did what they had to. They made us to-¡±


    ¡°They made us to suffer,¡± Kaena interrupts with Kiri¡¯s own voicebox. ¡°They made us to serve. Excellent news. You¡¯re doing wonderfully at both.¡±


    ¡°Kara is going to break,¡± Kiri begs as they let him use his voice again. ¡°I can feel her. I can feel what you¡¯re- what they¡¯re all doing with her. With me. We feel each other¡¯s- it hurts, honored sibling. Please.¡±


    Kaena laughs. In the central lounge, as nobles come and go, as soldiers mill about, Kaena laughs, and it is a soft, quiet thing, meant to tease and attract the ear even as their looks attract the eye, even as their belly roils in disgust at attracting anything at all from people (from things) like these. In the privacy of the room the twins reside in, as Kiri is puppeteered by his own aura, magnified and taken from him by his elder in the Garden, Kaena cackles, voice hoarse in hateful, hateful joy.


    ¡°Beg some more,¡± Kaena whispers with his voice. ¡°There are some who will pay good money and good favors to hear you whimper.¡±


    ¡°What did we ever do?¡± Kiri asks, black lines running down his face from the tears and the eyeshadow beneath them. ¡°We were disrespectful? I apologize. We threatened those we should not have? It is a mistake I shall rectify if I must die to do it. Please. Just let my sister go. Please.¡±


    Kaena says nothing for a while. They finish their meal, getting up, enjoying and disgusted by the looks they pull their way as they leave. They walk for a while, until they find the right balcony, with the right view, just so as the sun begins to set towards the horizon past noon, and quickly shifts their aura, that a servant might bring a chair to them.


    By this point, Kiri is breathing a bit easier, his sobs gone quiet. Kara is almost done, too. Nothing too strenuous today, not when the older woman she¡¯s with might get worn out or embarrassed. Just enough to keep the client happy, and to showcase one of the benefits of doing what Kaena wants them to do and think, whether the woman knows it or not.


    Kaena drinks a bit of the tea they summoned from the servants, smiling as they taste the exceptional lavender and mint combination. A bit unorthodox, but delicious.


    ¡°No,¡± Kiri¡¯s voicebox says against his will.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m going to use you until we¡¯re done. Because that¡¯s what we are, all us fruit from the Garden. We¡¯re made to be eaten. We¡¯re made to be enjoyed. We¡¯re made to be planted until we grow and are harvested. And you¡­ well. You¡¯re a bit too much of a reminder of home, for me. Too willing to ignore what we are, what you did to others. What you tried to do to my friends. So when we¡¯re finished here, you¡¯ll get to rest. You¡¯ll get to breathe. You¡¯ll get to pretend you or your sister have any choice in whether or not you help me. And then we''ll get moving again.¡±


    He whimpers.


    And, in a moment that Kaena can¡¯t help but feel proud of, he drags up what he has left and faces the mirror, face just a drop more composed, and asks what he should have asked weeks ago.


    ¡°Is there anything I can do to make you stop hurting us?¡±


    Kaena smiles, this time with their own lips, their own mouth. They laugh a little, softer now, private.


    ¡°Of course there is, Kiri dear,¡± they whisper. ¡°You can make me. You can turn that pretty little self of yours into whatever weapon you can think of and drag yourself across my throat. You can rip and claw and tear yourself apart. You can be useless. You can be poisonous. Turn your soul to mercury and toxin, just to break free. Just like the Snake of the Garden, hmm?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t sob this time. He doesn¡¯t crack again. But it¡¯s a close thing.


    Kaena smiles wider, softer. ¡°Attaboy. Now clean yourself up. There¡¯s more work to be done, if we¡¯re going to make this little tournament thing work. I don¡¯t know about you, but there¡¯s ever so much I¡¯d like to do outside this stuffy little palace, hmm?¡±

 Chapter 98 - Bitch Ass Grasshopper Got A Lot To Learn

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    Shin Ren breathes in. And out. In. And out.


    It¡¯s refreshing. Peaceful. There¡¯s a sense of contentment that he hasn¡¯t experienced in¡­ in a long time. Not since before the academies. Not since before even that. No pressures, no competition, no drama to keep hold of his attention and pull him away from his center. The added difficulty of cultivating with his¡­ ¡°houseguests¡±, as his new mentor insists on calling them, isn¡¯t easy, but moments like this, where he can simply breathe and exist are too rare not to savor.


    For the second time in as many hours, he fails to avoid the brick thrown at his head.


    ¡°Fuck!¡±


    ¡°Come on!¡± Qu Haolan grumbles. ¡°How is it you intend to survive your cultivations if you can¡¯t even sense danger!¡±


    ¡°How am I to-¡± He doesn¡¯t get to finish his sentence as another brick just barely misses smashing into his face as he ducks out of the way.


    ¡°If you have time to backtalk, you have time to cultivate!¡±


    He grumbles and mumbles and growls, but keeps it quiet, turning back around to face out to the open space in front of him, rather than back towards his new ¡°master¡±.


    Even with the pounding pain that comes from getting beamed in the back of the head with a brick, it¡¯s hard not to acknowledge the view as beautiful. Almost as difficult as it is to see it as natural.


    Before him, the sky glows a deep and beautiful orange, tainted blue only at its faintest edges, as if caught in perpetual sunrise, illuminating the world beautifully but adding a slight copper tint to many of the long shadows that decorate the space. Clear blue waters flow in long, arcing rivers over tundra and desert stone, reflecting not heat, but the beauty of flowing movement juxtaposed with the rocks that it carves. Strata after strata are revealed, until the natural landscape evolves into a sort of labyrinth, easy to get lost in, smooth and reflective and by the very nature of that which moves within it, molded into impossible new shapes over and always. In distant places, in valleys of smooth, arcing glass-like stone, Shin Ren can see beaches, accumulations of the detritus of the process of carving, slowly being reworked and remade back into more stone by pressure as they are dragged deeper, building to some unseen core.


    There is life here, but it¡¯s minimal, reflecting the austere and harsh but gorgeous nature of the terrain. Some of the twisting, labyrinthine rock structures were once mountains, and now are strange and almost organic-looking plateaus, spiraling and wavy, and from the peaks of those twisted mountains does the water flow, ever down and around. From the waters and the heights, he sees a few strange, not-quite-goat things, four legged and long-tailed, scaled and furred in equal measure, alternating between black scales to absorb heat and white fur to redirect the sun¡¯s rays. They pause every now and then, and if he decides to waste his Qi improving his eyesight, he can see them digging out small, nautilus-like shells from between small divots in the stone, or pulling up thick, stringy moss from the shadowed areas of the cliffs.


    It¡¯s not alive in a traditional sense, there¡¯s not enough for it to feel like an environment entirely, but it is living, it does breathe, and off to a distant, unseen horizon, he sees infinite sandstone, worn to beatific smoothness and strangeness by waters from tall mountains, beneath a sunrise that is always sunrise.


    And it is rich in Qi.


    For all the advancements in cultivation and the ability to generate and circulate Qi of the last millennia, there is still no substitute for a Qi-rich environment when it comes to cultivation. Generating one¡¯s own Qi, stimulating what one possesses to generate more, is viable, where it might once have been a myth, but absorbing Qi and transforming it into one¡¯s own is and always has been the method by which one¡¯s cultivation advances. While the Qi here isn¡¯t quite like the fires of his own Qi, the small amount of heat and sun concepts it reflects are enough that he can still absorb and cultivate it easier than if it were water-concept Qi or, more likely, purely stone-flavored. The very air is saturated with it, like at a natural spring or the center of a Qi-gathering formation. It is abundant, plentiful, and for those of lesser cultivation perhaps even difficult to endure. Even with his ¡°passengers¡±, Shin Ren has managed to refill his dantian to some extent, and with it, push his healing back to a level expected of someone in the Core Formation realm.


    Or¡­ who had once been of the Core Formation realm.


    Another brick hits him, this time on his lower back, and he full-body winces at the feel of warm, shaped stone smacking him hard in the ribs.


    ¡°Daydreaming again, boy!¡± Qu Haolan calls. ¡°If you force me to sit here staring at you whine to yourself, I will gladly teach you the meaning of discipline. There are limits to disrespecting the time of your betters.¡±


    He sighs, wincing at the new bruise. ¡°With all due respect, master, I am trying to reform a Core while wrestling with the same demons you once claimed surprise to see me survive. It is not a task to be taken lightly.¡±


    ¡°And yet here you are, flittering about in your own mind like a particularly clumsy moth. I expect better from a cultivator of the Core Formation realm, even one who has faced a setback. And is that really how you call it? A Core? The translation scroll has that right?¡±


    Shin Ren nods, bracing himself for another round of translation practice. ¡°Yes, master. A Core, in which a Soul might someday be born and raised, until at last it is made in full.¡±


    Qu Haolan scoffs. ¡°Well. Not inaccurate, I suppose, but I weep for the death of poetry in these lands. Even the most bloodthirsty of bandit sects had better names than a ¡®Core¡¯. ¡®Home of the True Horizon¡¯, or ¡®Dragon Den of the Soul¡¯, maybe. More accurate, better sense of the grandeur of it. Hmph. A ¡®Core¡¯.¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°Much of the language and science of Cultivation has been standardized in voice,¡± Shin Ren admits. ¡°Same as with most languages in themselves. I speak Imperial Common, a bit of High Imperial and a touch of Trade Tongue, but for the most part if one is to learn the advancements that participation in the Empire brings, one needs to learn its languages.¡±


    Qu Haolan growls, and several of the creatures on the peaks beside theirs start to swish their tails and bite at each other in shows of aggression. ¡°Would that I had known such a thing would come,¡± his master grumbles. ¡°I might have managed a better library at least. Surely the old tongues still hold some say? No Empire can crush all of history beneath its heel.¡±


    Shin Ren nods. ¡°This is true, master. As always, your wisdom shines forth. Many territories of the Third and Fourth rings, and even some places within the Second, still have traditional languages and cultural norms. It¡¯s more that the standard has shifted.¡±


    The old monster snorts. ¡°Some victory, then, in surviving conquest.¡±


    ¡°If I may ask, master?¡±


    Qu Haolan nods, not shifting in his seat but turning his attention more squarely to Shin Ren.


    ¡°Where is your own origin?¡±


    Qu Haolan says nothing for a while, and then, eventually¡­ sighs.


    ¡°My home was dead before I left it,¡± he says. ¡°It ended with a war that, on the whole, likely never even got recorded for how pedestrian it was. The homes I found after that, where I grew and became a cultivator, are gone now as well. To cling to the past is the weakness of immortality, boy. As much as it pains us, strength is in letting go. It would do me no good to bring up the spirits and names of the dead to indulge you, and you would gain little in the knowing. Turn to your own past, and don¡¯t mind mine.¡±


    Knowing a dismissal when he hears it, Shin Ren nods, turning away again and beginning to pull at his Qi once more. His master goes quiet again, staring out at him and at the horizon, sitting comfortably on a chair carved of grey slate and with a pile of shaped brick tiles in easy reach.


    Slowly, Shin Ren begins to gather his energies again.


    Forming a core is not easily done. The initial moment of formation most often comes as a culmination of tremendous strength and effort, a moment of true emotional fulfillment and comprehension. Forming one after the first one breaks, however, is a bit different. Breakages are rare, but even in the modern day they¡¯re common enough that there is standard knowledge about them.


    Slowly, Shin Ren visualizes his inner world. Focusing, his mind flows along the currents of the Qi in his body, follows the stream entering his Dantian from the world without, avoiding the parts of himself his demons have too great a hold of, and beholds his core.


    The shell remains, but what was once inside it is gone. Shattered, overwhelmed by impulse and mania. Its contents were consumed in the same conflagration that almost killed him, drunk dry by the parasites he is cursed with, but the pieces of it are still there. There is no such thing as a true backwards step: one cannot cross the same river twice, for the river has changed, and so has the one crossing. Slowly, moment by moment, he pulls Qi from the world outside, pushes it through his meridians in the altered pattern he¡¯s forced to use, and upon turning it into his own energy, feeds it back towards the broken shell.


    To form a Core is to form one¡¯s own identity. A single crowning moment of self-awareness, wherein who you are crystalizes and is made into a cocoon to hold what you might be. He sees it in what¡¯s left of his comprehension. The shell sizzles to the metaphysical touch, stinging slightly at his perception. Before, it glowed a beautiful indigo-purple with hints of blue and gold, reflecting the divine mystery of the unique flame of his sect, but now it emits a light more yellow-crimson and ragged, dull and pervasive. He feels pieces of it sift and coalesce under his attention, flowing back towards the center and into their places¡­ and fail to fit.


    His pride is broken. His path, unclear. His dedication, unknown.


    And his demons, whispering.


    He feels them there. Even as he does his best to starve them of Qi, depriving his own meridians where the cancerous clumps of Qi have formed, still they sip from him, from the world around him, dragging it in towards them like little whirlpools. As he touches on his core, picks up its pieces, feeds them the memory of molten heat, of divine fire, of mysterious and unknowable things reflected in purple flame and nobility in its holders, they stir.


    He feels them around him, and with a sizzle of burning flesh, the rasping of smoke-charred lungs, she goes to speak.


    He ducks and mostly avoids the brick that conks him on the side of the head.


    ¡°Perhaps this is how you cultivated to such a height so quickly!¡± Qu Haolan sighs. ¡°Growing without adversity, and a middling foundation to boot! A whiff of a heart demon and your focus collapses. A single broken core, and you struggle like this! I have known warriors twice your age who hadn¡¯t managed to reach the heights of Core Formation, but at least they knew what to do with a shattered Core!¡±


    Shin Ren pauses at that.


    ¡°Master, do you mean it was expected for a core to break?¡±


    Qu Haolan scoffs. ¡°Of course! Sure, every few generations you get a prodigy, but mark me, boy. Prodigies are fickle. They are brief, transitory moments, confluences of opportunity, luck, and talent. None of these are a replacement for work. I myself had my core break no less than six times. Admittedly, I was a bit unlucky in that regard, but failure is not the end of the road, or even a step off of it. Failure, o student of mine, is another step, no different than success. To fail and live and listen is to learn. Refusing to learn is the only way to fall off your path. All other things are merely part of the way to who you choose to be.


    I don¡¯t know how your kind thinks of it in these modern times, but in my days, those who lived were the victors, not those who slew their opponents or came out unscathed. This ¡°Empire¡± of yours seems an avid believer in standardizing things, minimizing the bad, but not addressing it. You broke your cultivation. That¡¯s not the end of the road, or a sign that you are doomed. Fixing it is just a step in making it different and more than it was.¡±


    Shin Ren sits with that for a while. It¡¯s not that core breakage is a myth, but¡­ the thought had been there. Once broken, it could never be the same again. Once he stopped walking straight ahead, he could never move forward properly again. Both ideas are still there, still orbiting his thoughts, but¡­ neither is tied with the same steel it once was. Because if neither one is true, or not necessarily bad, then¡­ it changes things.


    He listens to his master¡¯s words. Meditates on them for a bit. And, eventually, rather than pulling in more Qi to refill his Dantian back to an ideal amount, he instead only focuses on his core.


    Jagged edges of ego and beliefs that no longer fit flutter through his soul space like broken glass. He picks them up, one by one, and begins to look through them.


    Eventually, holding them all in his hands, he sighs. Long and slow. Only when he holds every piece of his core and feels how certain chunks of it resonate, ugly and clanging, against the parts of his Qi and soul that whirl and writhe and metastasize does he turn once more to his meridians and his environment.


    He ducks the brick thrown at his ear.


    And then he turns, inside himself, to face the two shadows tied to him.


    ¡°We need to talk,¡± says the student to his demons.

 Chapter 99 - Spiritual Metamorphosis

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    ¡°And here I had come to fear the young master had forgotten about us,¡± says the voice of his hatred, crawling out from the dark. ¡°What a world we find ourselves in, that the whims of our betters can so easily wipe us from their eyes. Truly, the most honorable thing would be to end it all right now, and find ourselves a better nobility than to have our host come and beg us for scraps.¡±


    The second of his demons says nothing, but he can hear the crackling and popping of fat burning up. She sounds like the crisping of pork belly, and if it was not so vile and burnt and full of offal, might smell like it too.


    Here, in the dark, he sees them. For the first time, he invites them. In the depths of his soul, meditating deep into his meridians and the trance-like state cultivation can bring, he looks at that which has grown inside him, and comes to know them.


    The first of the heart demons still looks like him, but subtly off, slightly skewed and changed. While his own self-image hasn¡¯t come through his journey of his self-immolation intact, the first heart demon wears the skin of the young master. Gorgeous to look at, but fragile, somehow, skin slightly waxen and porcelain, physique slightly malnourished, and the state of his robes resplendent and overdone to the point of garishness. He lounges there, the corners and indistinct angles of the cultivator¡¯s trance leaving him space to lie, draped across parts of Shin Ren¡¯s soul like a satisfied feline. The heart demon smiles at the look Shin Ren gives him, waving a hand over his own form.


    ¡°Don¡¯t like?¡± asks the specter. ¡°I spent so long on this look, too. Or maybe you gave it to me. Hard to tell where things end or begin, isn¡¯t it? Have you figured it out yet? Am I an infection, young master? A parasite? How else have you framed us in this¡­ dizzying display of a mind?¡±


    Shin Ren looks around. It¡¯s¡­ strange, existing as a person within himself. All around, there is a dense, shadowy fog that obfuscates everything. He can feel his meridians, sense his Qi, even shift slightly in response to feeling his master pick up another brick, but here he can see, and all around them, there is the darkness of an unlit room.


    And, at the corner of his eye, her. The burnt one. Still burning, sizzling, crackling, just out of view.


    ¡°If I have framed you too poorly, thing that haunts my soul, I am sorry,¡± Shin Ren says. ¡°If I have harmed you in the telling of our state, then you have my apologies. I¡¯ve¡­ never tried this before. To see things like this. Maybe when I was forming my Core, but never- never as myself, perhaps.¡±


    The smiling demon laughs. ¡°And your master would tell you as much. Pretty little Shin Ren, blood of sect royalty, in the academies by thirteen, in the Core Formation realm by eighteen, almost past it in just two more years. Unstoppable! And so, entirely, blatantly ignorant of what you¡¯ve missed. All the names you¡¯ve forgotten, all the techniques and skills and thoughts you never had to learn. I would say it¡¯s a shame, but one should never be ashamed of the privilege of being born. No matter how they use that privilege, no?¡±


    Shin Ren shakes his head. ¡°I think I know more about what you are, now. Since I created you, as you and master keep telling me. But your thoughts were never mine. I never considered myself better than other people, not like whatever you insinuate. I worked hard to become what I was, and I don¡¯t think I was wrong to experience life as I was born into it.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you never thought such things out loud,¡± the smiling demon replies. ¡°Not bright and clear in that pretty little conscious head of yours. But you felt it. You knew it, deep down, where we were born. If there can be lies of omission, why not truths of omission?¡±


    ¡°No. I wasn¡¯t you. I wasn¡¯t this. I pursued nobility, and honor, and I did so earnestly and with mercy in my-¡±


    The smell of burning doubles, the hissing of sizzling flesh magnified, and she steps closer, the sound of her walking too wet and too dry and too wrong. Shin Ren does not turn to look.


    ¡°Was it mercy?¡± she asks, her voice garbled and bubbling in her own molten flesh. ¡°Was it earnesty? How my tongue sizzled? How my flesh blistered and popped?¡±


    ¡°...No.¡±


    The smiling demon laughs out loud, the sound of it echoing in the empty dark. ¡°Is that all, my lord? No? Such a simple statement, so insecurely delivered. At last, it would seem, something of what we all share has gotten through your thick skull.¡±


    ¡°It was meant in kindness,¡± Shin Ren whispers. ¡°I thought- I didn¡¯t know that she would suffer. I thought her flesh close to mortal, my flames¡­ suited to the task. A single instant, and then ash. I never meant for it to hurt.¡±


    ¡°It was fire,¡± she crackles and snarls in his ear. ¡°Fire always hurts.¡±


    He breathes deep. Breathes out. Feels the panic, the fear, the anxiety at that voice, so fucking close, and just breathes for a while.


    Neither of his heart demons interrupt.


    For a little while, there is only the sound of breathing, and a small but growing center of calm.


    Slowly, Shin Ren stands more upright. Straightens his back. Summons once again to his mind the broken pieces of who he once thought he was. He holds them for a little while, before looking back up at the smiling demon, that is no longer smiling.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± it asks.


    Shin Ren sighs. ¡°You¡¯re right. You¡¯re both right.¡±


    Neither thing speaks.


    ¡°You,¡± he says, facing the smiling, wealthy caricature of himself, ¡°you were first. Maybe not as powerful, maybe not as damaging as her, but your seeds are planted deep. I thought myself honorable. I thought myself noble. I pursued those ideals, but I was neither, and I knew it, and I lied to myself. I knew I was an executioner¡¯s blade against an innocent neck when I walked into that arena. I knew that my place in the sect had not been earned by the values I sought. And I challenged neither. I made honor and nobility suit me, rather than changing myself to suit them, as I should have. As is growth. You are that part of me, the part that dresses itself in the finery of wisdom, of honor, of pride, and does nothing to earn them, has not the substance to hold them. You are my mirror. I was a tool of corruption and dishonorable practices, the beneficiary of injustice, and rather than confront these things I shaped my belief of the world to suit what I wanted to be true.¡±


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    He walks forward, hearing and feeling the burning corpse keeping pace less than a half step behind them, but refusing to turn to look. Slowly, at the foot of where the heart demon lounges, now curling in on itself and staring at him with wide eyes, he places pieces of his shattered Core.


    ¡°I give you my ego,¡± he whispers. ¡°My pride. My unearned sense of moral superiority. The idea that I was already good, and that any question to this must be false.¡±


    As he speaks, pieces flow like liquid into each other, forming a long, spiraling whole like a horn, its edges like glass worn down by sand or time.


    ¡°You are me as I was, at my worst, without the nuance of intention or the light of ideals. I am sorry you exist. I am glad you are here.¡±


    And then, with one more long, slow breath, he turns to the thing behind him.


    It is flesh and charcoal both, carbon fused into multiple forms by the kiss of heat. It is shorter than him now, vulnerable looking, but its body is long past life or even utility. The heat has warped its bones, forcing it to curl inward on itself, and even as he watches, smoke crawls from gaps in its body where the flame ate holes through her, where he can see glistening red and cracked, broken black. Its eyes run like water down its face, burned until the jelly is like runny eggs, so that it weeps as he finally lets himself look upon it without hesitation or fear.


    It is him. It is his.


    ¡°What am I, then?¡± it asks, its voice cadaverous, like the crackling of dead flame. ¡°What lesson will you make of what you did to her?¡±


    He smiles softly, even as he cries. ¡°You are the mirror to my other half. If he is who I was, pulled through my own shame, you are what I was, what power I held, put up to the truth. He is my self. You are my love. You are the flame.¡±


    It grins, its teeth stained black and grey by ash and red by blood. ¡°Ah, but I¡¯m not purple. Not pretty. Not something mysterious and wonderful. I am the ash you made of someone who screamed when you hurt her. I am the blood of someone that suffered under your flame.¡±


    He nods. ¡°My fire was never true. I was in love with the mystery, the strangeness, the beauty of the Purple Flame, of the greater ideals my sect taught me of. But you¡¯re right. Fire hurts. It burns. It doesn¡¯t just transform, it destroys. It doesn¡¯t just grow, it consumes. It is beautiful. I still hold this in my heart. I do not regret being of the flame. But I did not let myself see it for what it is, just as I did not see myself.¡±


    Slowly, the burning corpse, the heart demon of his regret¡­ nods. And says nothing.


    ¡°I sought the highest mysteries, embraced what is impossible and strange and all the more divine for it, and never let myself see what it grows from. The Purple Flame is not in isolation. Flame is flame. I have no excuse for letting myself forget that, for allowing myself not to know that. When I tried to use it to arrogantly grant mercy, when I tried to use it for a kind, painless end, I failed myself, and I failed my cultivation, and I failed the very same mystery I have pursued for so long.¡±


    He kneels, and gives unto the ground before his burning demon the shards that are hers.


    ¡°I give you my naivete. My ignorance, willingly enforced. My obsession, and my blindness.¡±


    As he watches, the pieces of the core burn, and melt, and swirl together, like a spiral, one of its lines jutting out like the blade of a knife.


    ¡°I am sorry you exist. I am glad you are here.¡±


    He steps to the side, so that he can see both of them. Both his demons look at him, their forms shifting and warping, their bodies slowly fading to match the shadows around them.


    ¡°What now?¡± the burning corpse asks.


    ¡°Now¡­ now I think you should choose.¡±


    Both of their eyes widen, and for a moment, their dissipation stops.


    ¡°What?¡± asks the heart demon that looks like him.


    ¡°I think¡­ I think the expectation is for you both to fade. I accept my guilt, my shame, and my understanding, and I grow, having moved past this blockage. But that doesn¡¯t feel right to me. If I created you, then it is only right that I take responsibility. To ignore you, or to let you fade, just because it benefits me now? It brings to mind the very same arrogance and selfish view that brought you both to be. I don¡¯t want to be that person anymore. I¡¯m not that person anymore. Letting you simply die for my will, it¡­ it unmakes part of that step, and it is not the road I want to tread.¡±


    ¡°Even if the new road burns?¡± she asks, the sizzle of her flesh long silent.


    ¡°Even so. Let it burn. If it is the right path, even if it may hurt, it is the path I want to walk. I do not know if you are truly alive, truly thinking, but you are of my soul, and you speak, and so now, unmoored, fading, I ask- what do you want?¡±


    Silence, for a long, long moment. The swirling of dark fog. The glow of flickering molten glass, still bright from the heat of transformation.


    Slowly, the illusion of himself sits upright, and then down to its knees, and picks up the glowing, molten thing he has made of his Core. The horn sits, curved like a ram¡¯s but too smooth to be.


    ¡°Well,¡± he says, ¡°I¡¯d rather not just die, if I had the choice. I think. I¡¯m¡­ not sure how that works. I think I was fine with it a moment ago, when it felt like you were, but¡­ if I have a choice, I¡¯d like to live.¡±


    Shin Ren nods. And waits.


    The burnt body lowers itself, moment by painful moment, down towards the spiral-handled dagger-


    He steps forward and picks it up, offering it to her rather than watch her stutter and break in the attempt to kneel. He expects her to grab it, maybe, hold it, but instead, she grabs his wrist. Her hand is hot to the touch, painful, sharp like bits of gravel and glass, and before he can understand what she is doing, she pulls his hand in towards her chest.


    The dagger of molten matter, of glass and steel and flame and concept, pierces where her heart would be, and rests there, as if it was always meant to sit in such a place. She rises, more fluid, the flames of her crackling corpse beginning to rekindle from ash and smoke and charcoal-black flesh.


    ¡°I do not know if I want, as you might want,¡± she says. ¡°But I am flame, and I am burning, and it is not the nature of a burning thing, or of the fire which consumes it, to go quiet and still.¡±


    He smiles, and takes a step back.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take it,¡± he whispers.


    And then he opens his eyes, and ducks a fresh tile arcing over where his head would have been.


    He turns to look at Qu Haolan, who has a look of curiosity and a small smile to his face.


    ¡°Well, student? How did your little nap go?¡±


    Shin Ren looks down at his hand, still bandaged but mostly healed from his burns. Slowly, he raises it, palm up, and focuses. He does not ignite his Qi. He does not breathe his soul into the world. He simply takes a drop of his life force, of who he is, of that which is the blood of the world but which is called Qi, and feeds it to his understanding.


    Like a spark finally lit, like a burst of ignition, like a long-delayed conflagration, his Dao of Flame turns the minute drop of Qi into a true, burning light, hovering over his hand, independent of his Qi or Cultivation. It glows yellow, then red, then blue, then white, its edges hinting at further colors beyond, at the gold of truth, at the purple of mystery. With a thought, he severs the flow of Qi to the concept he now holds at least partially complete, and even still, the flame dwindles slowly, drinking oxygen as much as it did Qi, just like a real fire, yet held, perfect and his, in the palm of his hand.


    ¡°I¡¯d say it went well, master,¡± he says with a smile. ¡°Strange, but well. And that there is further still left to go.¡±

 Chapter 100 - The Tournament Arc

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    There¡¯s something about the threat of impending violence that¡¯s just kinda hot.


    She hasn¡¯t¡­ explicitly told Maen this opinion, but Raika¡¯s pretty sure that she made her enthusiasm for the upcoming tournament very clear. And only partially because she ate her girlfriend out like groceries from every angle she could think of over the last two days. In her own defense, the indulgence was well earned, at least on Maen¡¯s part.


    There¡¯s a lot more to this than just joy. There¡¯s a need, burning and bright and desperate, a hunger to move that has pervaded her soul for a while now, and it is only now, outside the palace walls, surrounded on all sides by a screaming crowd and an armed entourage, that Raika feels she can breathe. Strange, considering how incredibly, unbelievably loud everything is, but between her joy and her meditation, the mental blocks hold, and she coasts on a sea of thousands of heartbeats, millions of breaths, and a scent so overwhelming it¡¯s like sticking her nose into static.


    She couldn¡¯t be happier.


    All around, past the messy sounds and smells of biology, the crowd echoes against great, echoing stone in a beautiful display of the artistry of a city of miners and craftsmen. The arena is a monumental affair, situated on the very edge of the Crag closest to the palace, but people have traveled from the slums and even the distant Crag Sea all the way past the merchant¡¯s and nobles quarters to stream into the structure, packing it to the brim.


    The main body of the arena is shaped like a massive domed area atop a plateau, smaller than that of any sect but slightly raised above the ground on massive stone legs rather than a single pillar. While the stone that raises it up matches that of the stone within the crag, a rich orange and brown sandstone, woven throughout it are chains made of limestone and granite, making a beautiful interplay of white and silver juxtaposed against the earthy pillars they weave through. At the base of the pillars, each a few thousand feet wide already, lies a landscape of basalt pillars, organized so that there is a constant sea of islands of altered elevation, with stairs leading to them and hundreds of shops, stalls, and viewing areas for those too unlucky to find a seat in the arena proper. The underbelly of the arena has as much life as its topside, with mosaics and artistic sculptures made by artists of all levels decorating public spaces that allow people to pass beneath the complex and look up at enchanted ceilings, runic formations letting certain areas show the sky above, others beatific illusions, and some the arena from the angles of the spells above.


    Properly atop the pillars, the arena is a colosseum, a massive ring of space holding tens of thousands of seats made almost entirely of glowing white marble, limestone, and porphyry in alternating patterns, all surrounding a single central island the size of several city blocks. Surrounding it and facing inwards are the colossal, hundred-foot-tall statues of former champions, arranged in a ring, some of them even used as viewpoints by those with enough rope and courage, staring down at the center of the whole ornate ordeal as if in judgment and joy alike. The Qi flowing off said center is enough to make Raika¡¯s senses roil with static. It shifts before the eyes of the crowd, at times a sea of sandy dunes, then a mess of sharpened flint islands and magma, then an island of stone pillars in a roiling sea, and a hundred other environments besides.


    There is yet more detail, yet more facets she could examine, but even if she weren¡¯t halfway overwhelmed, Raika has better things to focus on. She looks, eager and hungry and riding the fine line between overjoyed and overstimulated, towards the sects.


    There are two main sects in the city, one in the clear ascendant over the other. The Unearthly Depths Sect and the Stone Divers Sect both stand in proud attendance in their places around the arena, both taking up the largest central vip seating areas on opposite sides to each other. The Unearthly Depths sect stands resplendent in blue, purple, and occasional notes of black as highlights, while the Stone Divers make their colors in steely grey, burning orange and vibrant reds. Their members make up a majority of the tournament¡¯s focus, but are by far not the only ones in attendance. Short notice or not, a tournament of any kind is not an opportunity that battle-minded cultivators care to miss, and in some ways the fact it¡¯s not a recurring event works in the favor of the organizers. By offering a fresh opportunity, one that larger sects or Imperial groups don¡¯t monopolize, Kaena¡¯s machinations and the antics of the nobles and merchants in charge have gathered an eclectic mix of individuals.


    It¡¯s hard, even with her improved eyesight, to discern everyone present. Even if she could see without being drowned in light and movement, there¡¯s just too many she doesn¡¯t recognize. The few that she does know in the crowds push things higher for her, though; Soaring Wind sect, Crawling Limbs sect, Final Blossom sect, Endless Decaying Goddess sect, Wandering Cloud sect¡­


    And two that bring special attention.


    One for the right reasons, reasons she can enjoy in every way. Not a sect, per se, but a group, a clan, their medallion granting them recognition anywhere they travel in this world. This particular medallion is only copper, denoting a low ranking member, just above an aspirant, but the simple possession of the detail is a gift.


    Sword on their hip, glinting and glowing like it emits as much light as it reflects, dressed in simple, monkish robes of white, with heavy prayer beads about their neck. By the look of them, distinct even to her overwhelmed senses, she knows herself to be in the presence of an Aspirant of the Cut.


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    Sword wielders, myths in the making, monastic pursuants of power. There is no member of their order that is not able to cut steel with their bare hands, it is said. She¡¯s heard the rumors. They are all mad, they say. They are all divine retribution and holy wrath, it is told. So many legends, so little time. She can¡¯t help but feel a tingle inside at the thought of what this could mean, and at the possibility that she might get to fight the mysterious figure.


    There are other orders, famous in their own ways, but Raika¡¯s a battle-junkie, has been for a long time, and it¡¯s too tempting not to fantasize about.


    But then there¡¯s the other figure that stands out.


    Not someone she¡¯s particularly familiar with. She doesn¡¯t recognize them outright, doesn¡¯t really know who they are or where their talents may lie. They mill about with the other independent cultivators, at the borders of the fields below, eager to prove their mettle and win rewards and contributions to their sects but not outright supported in such a relatively last-minute tournament.


    But she recognizes the colors. The pattern. The design.


    There is a member here of the Hungering Roots Sect. Her old sect. The one she hasn¡¯t gone back to. Hasn¡¯t heard from.


    They didn¡¯t look for her, or if they did, they didn¡¯t look very hard. Nearly three years since she was last in the sect, before she traveled for the tournament in Paleblossom City; not very long at all by the standards of cultivators, but more than enough time to write off a mid-stage Core Formation cultivator who was never of particular renown or of particular use.


    She left people behind. Or was left by them. Hard to differentiate, at the end of things. She didn¡¯t exactly reach out either.


    The young woman in dark green, brown and red does not see the eyes on her, standing far, far above, surrounded in an Imperial seating area. She does not see the slight tick of the mask overtaking Raika¡¯s face, holding her joy and her enthusiasm as some of it dwindles at the sight.


    She wonders, briefly, if she is still thought of. If Hisheng cares at all that she¡¯s gone. Not that she¡¯s thought of him much, but¡­ still.


    Mmh. Focus.


    All around them the shadows and sunlight dance, the sunrise all around them already turning to day proper as the writhing of the sun settles and the sky begins to once more turn blue and hide the stars. People have been streaming into the arena for hours already, though. A city-wide, sect-competing tournament called by an Imperial unknown is the stuff good entertainment is made of, especially when one has an arena as big as this one, bigger than most villages in circumference alone.


    She hears things shifting behind her, and turns to look at Kaena as their heartbeat draws closer and their scent colors the air.


    ¡°Hope you¡¯re ready,¡± they say, dressed in a tasteful mix of scale-pattern armors and long, flowing robes of dark pink and white with gold designs. ¡°I¡¯m still not sure about how you wanted to format this whole thing, but it¡¯s done now.¡±


    Raika smiles and shrugs.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be more fun this way,¡± she says. ¡°And the more they think they know me, the easier it¡¯ll be to play around them.¡±


    Kaena nods, and sighs. ¡°I don¡¯t disagree, junior sister. I just pray you know what you¡¯re doing. Still, entertaining either way, I suppose!¡±


    And then, the voice of the arena calls out, and all goes silent beneath it.


    The pressure of a cultivator of the Nascent Soul realm echoes across the arena, clad in the white and gold of Imperial colors as he stands on a dais above where Raika and most of the other Imperial ¡°members¡± sit, staring out at the crowd with the palace on a hill framed behind them. Everyone, for a moment, goes quiet, and turns to listen.


    ¡°Beloved citizens!¡± roars the announcer, his smile wide and youthful, highlighted by flowing blond hair and a svelte figure. ¡°We stand here today, eager! Ready! Hungry! For today, there has been a challenge lain forth!¡±


    In a practiced move which she¡¯s not sure is rehearsed or just inherent, the soldiers around her step two steps away, the clanking of mechanized power armor of knightly beauty echoing, and a beam of light, seeming to come from nowhere, centers itself on her.


    ¡°A newcomer to our fair city, and a member of the Altered Cultivation Division, the esteemed Raika the Unbroken stands before Cragend today, beloved by our masters¡­ but perhaps not by the land she stands in! For she has put forth, beyond all doubt, that she alone could claim victory over not only any challenger, but any Sect in this fair city! And surely we cannot let this stand!¡±


    Raika smiles, stands, tall, and flexes, listening to the boos of the crowd and laughing. She stands alone, the rest of Taurus¡¯ research group further back or already seated, with Maen and Kaena both looking particularly amused at the whole affair, and Jun Vral looking like he is struggling to hold back a laugh. Shapefixit is bundled tight and wearing what look like some kind of ear mufflers, and Taran simply lounges, blocking off the twins from getting too close and entertaining a few of the ranking rich folk that are in the searing platform with them. Meanwhile, Raika lets out a roar, distending her throat and letting her true voice ring out, echoing with animalistic horror and lyrical monstrosity. She towers over most of the soldiers even in their power armor by half a foot, russet skin glowing in the sun, long braids of hair like fire and sunrise of gold and orange and red trailing to her back, rippling muscle and sharpened fangs all highlight by eyes of raw gold and strange pupils. As the world watches, free for the first time in what feels like eons, Raika lets her flesh shift and ripples of Qi flow from her in dripping fire, gold and white and lighting her arms up to audible gasps from some of the cultivators below.


    ¡°While such strength is only expected of a member of such an elite Division of our beloved Empire, is it not on the shoulders of the mighty Sects that our world is supported? Is it not by the will of the individual that our strength may grow and blossom? I say to you, one and all, that standing before our challenger is a crowd of challengers in turn! We have cultivators and warriors from around the Eastern ring, come to us to prove their mettle and overcome any challenge set before them! And so, we stand before you, the citizens of Cragend, with a single, burning question:


    ARE. YOU. READY. TO. WIITNEEEEEESS?!?!!!¡±


    The answering roar is thunderous.


    And so begins the Tournament of Late Summer in Cragend.

 Minor Update: Sick!

    You heard it here, folks, ya gal got the fucking rona. The vid. The 19-something. Got a ride from a friend last sunday and I''ve been experiencing a bit of a system collapse ever since, culminating in today sleeping like 20 hours, coughing, body pains, and more that''s just kinda gross to experience and be trapped within! Once more, my flesh form fails me, though this time for once not on its own merits. I suppose I can forgive the ongoing collapse of poorly-designed basically AI-generated ass biology at least one time, if only because I suffer alongside it and not at its mercy this go-round.


    Anyways! Considering how improved I am from this morning, I should hopefully be good within another day or two, but the sickness has me behind on Patreon chapters as well, which leads me to two important points! The first is that, as a college student, I am still suffering ongoing assignments from all corners and am a bit overwhelmed, and secondly, that Patreon has become my official only source of income. Working a part time job as well as full time writing and full time school was just wrecking me, and I made the terrifying decision to try and support myself entirely by my writing a few weeks back, so genuinely, every ounce of support over there counts, and if you have ideas for the sorts of benefits you''d like to see, I''m entirely open to suggestions. Right now we have access to NSFW chapters, polls to vote on Excerpts and some plot developments, and of course early chapters, with a current backlog of 10, though I''m working to get it to 15 soon. The next chapter should be up by Friday at the latest, tomorrow by the most hopeful, and I really look forward to getting back into things!


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    No, seriously. It''s fucking me up, I actually want to write *so* bad. I am having to hold back my brain so fucking hard from making up scenarios and ruining my flow / cementing things. It''s the worst. It''s also extremely nice as proof that this work still has so much fuel in it and that I''m enjoying it this much, lol.


    Anyways! To reaffirm, your support on Patreon right now is what allows me to continue writing and pursue a passion I''ve always had, and while I can''t promise perfection as life continues to land fresh waves of Stuff to slap me in the face with, I can promise to do all I can to earn your support and to pursue the creativity that allows me to make Reforged, and many other projects to come (I''ve got two in mind already, but they''ll be secret a long while yet!). I look forward to seeing you all again soon for chapter 101, which is a hell of a good time! See you all (hopefully) tomorrow, and a pre-emptive and retroactive thank you to all of you who have commented, hopped on the patreon for extra goodies, given reviews, or even just talked about RfR. It''s hard to communicate how much it means to me, even with my somewhat limited, somewhat good writing ability. Thank you all. See ya soon!

 Chapter 101 - Rules Are For Losers, Unrestrained Violence Is Where It鈥檚 At

    ¡°Here and now, we begin our tournament, without further ado all you beauties!¡± The announcer roars, Qi flowing through the arena on the sound of their voice and the scent of gold and drumbeats. ¡°We begin, here and now, with the elimination tournament! One by one, we will witness the glory of divine conflict as our would-be champions engage in duels to decide who amongst them will make it to the next round, where the final bracket will lead to combat against she who has called us here by challenge!¡±


    Again, a roar of booing and cheering in almost equal measure as Raika blows kisses to the crowd.


    ¡°For our first match, hailing from the far lands of-¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    It takes enough air and effort that she can actually feel her throat strain and begin to bleed a bit, but for a moment, Raika manages to drown out the sound of the announcer. She can sense his Qi, saturating the area, feel how it pulls people¡¯s attention, but it¡¯s not enough, not when her lungs are larger on the inside and her throat shifts to project the sound all the louder.


    ¡°We do this a little differently,¡± Raika says. ¡°We start this off strong. I¡¯m not here for a slow start, and I¡¯m not here to waste time.¡±


    She casually discards her sandals, kicking them away. She enjoys the looks of confusion and worry on her guards¡¯ faces, but her Truth itches for this, and so does she.


    ¡°I am Raika, the Unbroken.¡± She lets her legs shift, toes curling and growing clawed, muscles flexing and switching to a more useful position. ¡°I am not a duelist. I am not a warrior. I am a beautiful, fucked up monster, and we do this my way.¡±


    With a flex of now-enhanced biology, she barely needs to leap to launch herself forward, cracking the platform behind her and letting a slight dusting of powdered stone drift towards the stands beneath the Imperial section as she flies. She lands in the central arena, its ever-shifting form changing to one with ground that she can land on, defaulting to a flat plane as someone in the control system panics.


    Raika stands, before a crowd of thousands, throws her arms wide, and smiles.


    ¡°Come at me all at once. Come at me with your friends. Swing at me as hard as you please. Let us dispense with the pomp for a moment.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine, and I challenge you all to try and take me down.¡±


    For a few seconds, there is a devastating silence in the arena, even the announcer, for all his cultivation and charisma, stunned for a brilliant moment. For just a few seconds, Raika glories in shutting up a city.


    And then she smiles wider as she hears someone begin to laugh.


    ¡°Very well!¡± comes a surprisingly quiet voice. ¡°I accept this challenge! Let us be barbarians, and glory in senseless violence.¡±


    Before she can get a good look at who¡¯s coming, she¡¯s already ducked under their punch, air pressure and sound reaching her before his fist and her enhanced reflexes moving her out of the way in time. A second swing is already on its way, but she doesn¡¯t need to see him to hear his blood pumping and his fists moving through air.


    Once again, she floods her system with adrenaline, and gives herself in to the fight.


    The man in front of her is slim, almost slender, his body lined with whipcord muscle and glowing a soft golden color. As he moves, she can feel a slight humm coming off him, like a soft vibration or the purring of electricity, and his flesh glints as it shifts towards the metallic.


    Training sessions with Jun Vral and Taran kick in, and she dodges the next hit as well, blocking only the fourth and feeling the impact reverberate through her. It literally rings, her opponent¡¯s now-metallic flesh sending a shock of electricity through her, but not nearly enough to get through hyper-dense structures beneath her skin.


    In a flash, she punches once, twice, three times, and newly created spring-coiled joints have her fist fly out flicker-fast and break his nose, cheekbone, and front tooth, in that order.


    He stumbles backwards, and before she can get another swing in, a sword cuts through the air between them, aiming to sever her arm.


    She dislocates it, bending the joint in the opposite of its intended direction to dodge, and before she¡¯s even properly caught sight of the attacker instinct has already sent a clawed kick into his chest and shoved him back.


    A third attacker follows after, but by this point she¡¯s gotten comfortable.


    Say what you will about the dangers of battle lust and adrenaline overdoses, there¡¯s simply nothing better to calm her nerves. Well, besides a good smoke, but she¡¯s only got a few left. When she has reason to react to the constant chaos and overwhelming sensation of the world, she can let herself move, rather than constantly trying to pick out the right details to hold a conversation or keep still. Every movement is important, every sight and sound life or death, and by riding that fine line of recklessness and caution, she feels her senses come alight in a way she feels nowhere else.


    The third attacker is here because there¡¯s plenty on the way.


    The main platform of the arena is massive, nearly a mile wide and twice as long, and without the added magic of the transforming ground and environments it can create, reduced to a flat plane of stone, she can hear and see the dozens of cultivators running out onto the field, many of them smiling, some snarling. The honorable ones, the ones more worried about presentation, or a fair fight, or a deeper test of skill remain back: those are the ones that matter. She sees the monk, the Aspirant of the Cut, most of the sect-robed figures (all the ones from Cragend¡¯s two groups), a figure wrapped in bone and jewelry, a person with two shadows, a woman with strange, chitinous animals at her side, and more all holding back, waiting.


    It¡¯s the hungry ones, the desperate, the easily provoked, and those who think this is some kind of joke that run onto the platform, and there¡¯s plenty enough of those. Close to a hundred sets of running feet echo across the arena to her senses, and she has to dedicate part of her attention to tracking them behind the renewed screams of the crowd.


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    Nothing like a good brawl to get an audience cheering.


    Someone swings a fucking battleaxe, and now that there¡¯s a good ten or so Cultivators surrounding her and the pace is slowing a bit, she decides to grab it rather than dodge.


    A joint opens up on her arm, and hyper-dense bone sprouts to clamp down on the axe like a mouth.


    Gasps come up from the crowd, more than a few of the cultivators looking shocked and stepping back, but she doesn¡¯t give them a chance to retreat.


    As much as this is a test for the competition, this is a test for herself, too.


    Weeks ago, Taran gave her a wake up call. For all her ability to bloom into incredible weapons and tools, there¡¯s the simple fact that she let herself get sloppy. The fact that she deserves the pain, that she can take the pain, and that she can regenerate all bundled together to make her weaker, when she needs to grow. It¡¯s not enough to be able to do something unique if she can¡¯t do anything else well either.


    The greater the foundation, the higher the tower. So for the last few weeks, with her training sessions, between riling up merchants and nobles and giving Kaena the ammunition they needed to get this thing set up, she¡¯s been building her foundation.


    It¡¯s not perfect yet. There¡¯s pieces just¡­ missing. Some things just don¡¯t click yet.


    But it¡¯s better.


    She rips the axe away and breaks it over a knee, throwing the pieces back at its wielder, and before the next attack can come, slams her foot into the ground.


    Again, the spring-loaded joint comes in handy.


    Rather than creating a dozen sets of muscles to overlap or over-developing what she has, she¡¯s focused on adding small but distinct improvements. Things to enhance her reflexes, pack as much speed and force as possible into precise blows, and minor enhancements to bone structure and density. So it is that, at the cost of a bit of harm she can heal quickly enough to compensate for, she hits a bit above her weight class now.


    Old training and new flesh wrap together to crack the ground, breaking dark lines through the floor they stand on, and she grows enough bone over her hands to make full mallets as the turns and slams a second time into the rock.


    This time, it lifts up sections of the floor and throws powdered stone into the air in a cloud, obscuring the vision of most of the cultivators around her in a sudden burst. While most of them keep moving, only a few letting themselves get defensive, there¡¯s still a moment of hesitation, and a burst of movement in the smokescreen.


    And, like all talented cultivators in the Foundational and Core Formation realms, they default to their Qi senses. Which Raika, despite the sheer mass of Qi she possesses, only appears hazily against.


    Four bodies go flying backwards out of the cloud, trailing blood and dust and tumbling as they fall. Another two follow not long after as the sound of shouts and clanging of weapons rises up from the center of the cloud.


    Raika emerges from its outer edge instead, ready and waiting as the more impetuous of the tournament goers finally get their instincts under control and flare their Qi to disperse the cloud. By this point she¡¯s outside it, necessary to avoid choking on the sheer density and variety of Qi scents, and already moving and shifting something deeper inside than mawed limbs and spring-loaded muscle.


    By the time they¡¯ve cleared the cloud and turned to face her, a good seventy or more cultivators hungry for blood, she¡¯s moved a bubble of Qi up into the back of her throat.


    It took an embarrassingly long time to think of it. It only makes sense, really. She can produce a type of Qi that, when catalyzed, bursts into strange fire. It¡¯s obvious what might be a useful source of inspiration.


    Riled up chaotic Qi, wrapped in a thin layer of flesh, touches on the idea that all things end as she cuts it on her black-steel fangs, and an explosive stream of gold-white flame floods the space in front of her.


    To their credit, as is only reasonable in a large city like Cragend¡¯s tournament, most of them get out of the way, but a few of the cultivators are too slow, or rely on shields and artifacts to defend themselves. Barriers, glass walls, massive vines and crystal blockades of all colors and styles bloom to life as about a third of the warriors in question rely on their toughness or their gear to get them through the flame, ready to get a hit in while she¡¯s blinded by the fire.


    Of course, they don¡¯t have access to all the information. In their favor: the fire explodes in all directions, ripping through her jaw and throat in an unexpected complication and choking off her air supply while she struggles to contain and adapt to it. Against them: she can still hear and feel them just fine, and is more than capable of moving fast enough to dodge or fight even as she feels part of herself she doesn¡¯t normally train burning.


    Additionally, they don¡¯t know that Raika¡¯s flames are weird. She hasn¡¯t let Yun Ka take a look at them, hasn¡¯t shown them publicly before her little show in the early section of the arena, so all she knows is what she¡¯s managed to theorize.


    Her Qi is ¡°raw¡±: unrefined, without a Qi signature, acting more as an accumulation of natural, ambient Qi than a proper cultivator¡¯s, even as she¡¯s managed to build it to serious densities. Further, she ¡°cultivates¡± it by making it excited and chaotic, forcing the energy to roil and grind against itself and grow, as all natural Qi grows by movement and interaction with other Qi (which is why areas with many different types or multiple flows can be such powerful cultivation aids). By this point, all her reserves are dense, excited, and charged to grow. And third, the black-steel teeth she has, aided by the nugget of the Cold Sun she consumed, act as a way of inciting change in things, sharp-edged oblivion to cut with.


    And apparently, when her roiling, growing, dense natural Qi runs into the concept of a steel-tipped hunger, it ignites.


    It doesn¡¯t turn to fire. It doesn¡¯t combust into alchemical flame. It doesn¡¯t take on the properties of the Cold Sun, either. Instead, the properties fuse: roiling, chaotic growth of energy, mixed with the concept of consumption turns to something that embodies both, a sort of fire that is close to what the concept of fire does, an energy consuming and transforming¡­ which manifests as ignition.


    At least, that¡¯s what she thinks is happening. It seems to fit pretty well.


    And it burns even better.


    The barriers that don¡¯t immediately break are instead consumed, eaten at by golden-white flame that grows as it touches more Qi. and dozens of cultivators scream and retreat. Even as she reforms part of her jaw and strangles the flame in the density of her saturated flesh, like using wet green wood to smother a flame, she smiles and listens to the sound of a dozen cultivators realizing they made the wrong decision.


    It doesn¡¯t put most of them out of commission, but it takes out more than a few, several outright retreating or collapsing with severe burns. The white-gold flame isn¡¯t intense enough to really spread, most techniques fading and Qi going undirected as pain overwhelms many of her opponents, and fades fairly quickly without more to feed on. It doesn¡¯t kill them, though several will have scars or need serious medical aid.


    She smiles. Better than expected.


    Some of those who got out of the way come for her now, a good fifty or more cultivators of varying levels sprinting forwards. Just because they¡¯re the least restrained and most eager of the tournament¡¯s participants doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re weak, far from it, but with this many all at once, drawn in by herd mentality and her own unknown capabilities, they¡¯re predictable.


    She proved shields don¡¯t work as a hard counter, and that giving her time to set up another smoke screen is a bad idea. So they rush in, eager to engage her more directly, trying to get their shot in before anyone else gets a chance, pride and reactive planning running hand in hand¡­ right at her.


    She smiles, new lips only just finished regrowing. Time for part two.


    With a single, flexing pull on her reserves, a massive amount of her Qi is pulled out and into her flesh, her first Truth allowing her to direct how her flesh moves¡­ and her second Truth helping it to do more than just what it naturally would.


    Raika tears free of her robes, rips through her own skin and emerges from rags and blood, and roars a challenge to all those who think they¡¯re fucking hard enough to have a go.

 Chapter 102 - Free For All!

    I Can Change.


    Her second Truth. One with a well of potential to it, a depth barely touched. She can feel how fundamental it is, beyond the reality that it is simply a fact of life. Just like her first truth, I Am Me, I Am Mine, she can tell that she¡¯s not using it to its full potential. Considering some take decades, even centuries mastering their Truths, it¡¯s hardly surprising, but that doesn¡¯t make it any less frustrating.


    Still, even with only the shallowest applications of them, the effects of both are what allow her to continue to exist as she does. Her first Truth lets her control herself literally, choosing every part of how her physical body moves and acts if she can only think precisely enough and with enough will, but considering how it chafes when she¡¯s under house arrest or given orders, there¡¯s probably more that it¡¯s doing. But her second Truth¡­ either because it simply ties in so well with her interpretation of I Am Me, I Am Mine, or because she doesn¡¯t know as strongly that other parts can change the way her flesh can, it focuses on her body its elements as well.


    Feeding upon Qi, as it was designed and pushed to do, her flesh expands, her blood multiplies from her bones, her body hums and burns with power and fuel. With her first Truth, she guides her Qi and her body into the proper patterns for her new transformation. With her second Truth, she catalyzes that transformation, turning blood to bone, bone to flesh, to keratin, to chitin, to minerals, to metals, back to blood and into new forms again. She knows flesh well enough, she knows its materials enough, and while she can¡¯t make more from nothing she can shift her body to and from what she knows and can use faster and faster.


    So it is that as she emerges from her old form, she feels more comfortable and more herself than she has in so, so long.


    She kept the brain, the organs, the basics all intact, adding two new sets of lungs and enlarging the heart as she goes, but the rest she discards or transforms. She can feel a ripple of power in her skin as it changes, her curse remaining true, but now she doesn¡¯t need to grow something around it: skin turns to chitin and bone, interlaced with different densities and patterns, even as the subdermal armor she¡¯s created (scales and chitin, overlapping and coming together to nullify impacts) flourishes beneath it. She grows, turning her body to produce blood, which it can make faster than flesh or bone, and then simply Changing that blood to muscle that expands her form, to bone that acts like structural architecture so she isn¡¯t weighed down, striking a balance.


    She can do better. She has ideas about how to make it more complex and useful, more specialized. But for a first showing, for a bit of the ol razzle dazzle and a spot of fun?


    She takes her first step, and a colossus of dark grey bone and chitin strides out, a good eleven feet tall and humming with power. Tendons flex, the already cracked ground breaks further, and reactive armor beneath her overlapping exoskeleton keeps her intact as she nearly triples her weight.


    A good half of the cultivators rushing in to attack stop cold, frozen where they stand. The other half start to hesitate, turning their weapons and techniques, trying to find new spots to aim. One launches a string of orbiting glass spheres at her and watches it ricochet harmlessly, cracking the armored exterior and failing to penetrate any deeper. Another throws his hands forward, tossing an entire flood of glowing green water at her, and she simply stands against the tide, letting it wash away those who get too close and fails to budge her an inch. A third takes the opportunity of the water to pause, step back, and put forth an overwhelming wave of Qi into a single blast, launching it as a burst of lightning that turns to thorns and rains blood behind it. The whole technique, something sacrificial or pre-prepared maybe, rises a step above any other hits so far, touching the water and turning it to blood as well, multiplying through it and jumping, thorns-first, into her body from a hundred different points.


    And her curse ritual, months and months old, designed to block Qi from entering her body or leaving it through her outer layer, blunts it enough that by the time it reaches her internals, it goes only a few inches in.


    She can feel the blood-lightning try to dig deeper, feel it try to feed on her own body to magnify the electricity- and fail, unable to pull hyper-dense Qi into itself, unable to overcome her Truth. She is her own, and it can¡¯t overcome that.


    It¡¯s a damn good reminder to get serious, though. Not every technique is going to be something she can just power through, and as fun as basking in her new form is, she didn¡¯t come into this just to get taken out by being arrogant.


    Drenched crimson from the transmuted blood, she crouches, breaking the hardening lightning and its thorned edges and launching forward hard enough to knock back everyone too close. At this size, at this speed, she can feel air pressure pressed hard against her, resisting as she moves. She still has only two arms, two legs, kept limited to the human form to keep from being even more overwhelmed, but without needing to overdose on muscle, spring-locked tendons pushing and pulling more efficiently, she moves fast enough to hit almost as fast as in her base form.


    The cultivator of the water technique gets half their face broken and is launched across the air.


    The cultivator with the glass orbs gets a kick to the ribs and spits blood, flying back, his heartbeat faint.


    A cultivator with sword and shield roars out a challenge, his shield glowing bright, and his arm breaks apart as she punches through it.


    A cultivator with brilliant purple skin and flowing scales strikes with complex hand motions, weaving kata that cracks several plates of armor in an instant- and then reels backwards as she breaks his collarbone with a headbutt.


    She is flooded with sensation, drowning in information, burning up inside with Qi and bloodflow and altered chemicals she barely understands- and she is home.


    She is in pain, her armor cracked and battered, her internals half-pulped, her flesh torn apart, and she is home.


    She is in the flow of combat, surrounded by the din of battle, feeling a hundred heartbeats beating in fear and adrenaline- and she is home.


    Once again, she lets go of her fears, of her thoughts. Like during the beast tide she survived, she discards everything unnecessary, all her focus tuned to survival and bloody, heart-stopping violence. She holds back, barely, setting a restriction on killing or maiming where she can, but she lets herself go more than she has in recent memory. The smell of blood is thick in the air, awash with Qi, and she can taste some of it in her throat. She is in pain, and she is tearing into her enemies, and she is glorious, and she is home.


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    A little voice in the back of her head whispers that maybe she should look into getting help for these sorts of thoughts, but it is a foolish thing that helps no one that deserves helping, so she tells it to be quiet.


    This tournament wasn¡¯t designed around her, not really. Oh she¡¯s a sort of ¡°final boss¡±, put into the winner¡¯s bracket, but the other winners and fighters were always at least as important, and more than likely to win and bring glory to their sects or themselves. Most of the fighters here, though, came looking for smaller fish, hoping to make a name for themselves, fight people near their level, or join a tournament for the prizes or for the hell of it. Of those, she drew a good chunk of them into the ring with her challenge, pride, anger and greed driving many to leap on the opportunity. That is to say, most of the fighters here weren¡¯t ever in the running for the final rounds of the tournament¡­ but some were.


    One cultivator, waiting until after she¡¯s beaten her way through the riff-raff, manages to rip her arm off at the elbow before she makes a hole in the stone floor with his skull. Another launches a beam of light, so concentrated and bright it hurts to even try to look at, and it punches a hole almost entirely through her sternum, breaking her breathing for a moment before she forces the enemy to retreat with some sort of shadow technique. For every three cultivators she moves too fast for or who she manages to strike hard enough to break immediately, there¡¯s one who can take a few hits, give his fellows a chance to regroup, or deal actual damage to her.


    Even as a titan, even at the highest peak she has yet reached, she is not invincible, and she is not without weakness.


    One cultivator pulls out an illusion technique, and while it probably isn¡¯t as effective as it would normally be, her ability to take in her surroundings briefly works against her, making her miss several blows before she closes her eyes and uses just her hearing to find the illusionist. One cultivator she attacks seems literally slippery, the tingly feeling of a Truth making her blows slip off him as often as she hits, and another uses the distraction to hit her so hard with a metal staff she feels her spine quiver in the jelly it¡¯s made of her guts.


    And she is home.


    She heals quickly. She heals faster when she takes a bite.


    One of the larger cultivators, who looks like he¡¯ll probably survive the blow, gets a chunk of his thigh ripped out, and for an instant the pain is gone. She tastes the scent of cold, of trees that grow in the dark, of musty, muddy water from a poor technique, and it¡¯s like she¡¯s there, experiencing it all. The sensation is like her sense of smell tuned past its limits, and as she swallows, her arm sprouts back, her stomach reforms, her muscles heal and the cracks in her armor seal up.


    It tastes like kissing her first love, like being content on a chilly winter morning, and it makes her whole.


    Good to know for later.


    The fight goes on for an hour and a half.


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    In the end, it¡¯s not Raika that calls the fighting to a close. The announcer tried to say something once or twice, but whatever his name is, he gave up after she dragged some of the retreating figures back by the ankles. Even for her, a hundred cultivators of varying talent is a hell of a thing, and it¡¯s the cheering of the crowd and the fact that none of them really coordinate that keeps her in the fight.


    None of them can afford to give potential opponents insight into their techniques, so cooperation is spotty, and no one manages to keep her down long enough for them to pile on. It is a long, grueling hour and a half of the most comfortable harm and chaos Raika has felt in months.


    She ignores the voice that worries about that.


    She might have kept going, had it not been for some of the big fishes of this particular pond beginning to stir.


    It¡¯s hard to keep track of the space outside the ring, but the more comfortable she became, the easier it got. She saw Kaena and the twins that smell like them, milling about, sowing seeds as needed to spin the whole affair, as she hoped they would. She sees Maen, twitching in her seat, her face half full of concern and half with a sort of fidgeting anxiety, following the movements with swift jerks and sharp breaths. She sees Taran, leaning forward, hands steepled together, looking down at her with concern, Jun Vral standing close to him.


    And, of course, she sees the real contenders of the tournament.


    The Unearthly Depths Sect and the Stone Divers Sect both stir, most of their lower-level fighters held back from the initial melee and thus their respective forces in the tournament much more intact. Some of their older members, talented inner sect disciples and younger elders of one of the Third Ring¡¯s major cities, begin to shift in place, whispering among themselves. The woman with the beasts that Raika saw earlier, a giant of a man wielding a battle ax half the size of his torso, and some others that she can¡¯t take the time to discern but can sense the quality of the Qi of all sense the change, and begin to shift.


    And then, a new fighter steps onto the arena.


    By this point, the ground is drenched in blood, much of it Raika¡¯s, most of it her opponents. Of the original hundred or so cultivators that jumped into the ring, there¡¯s perhaps twenty still fighting, some retreating and most having gotten their asses beat. Still, Raika stirs at the sound of the new set of footsteps.


    She only noticed them when they got within twenty feet of her, after all.


    With perception ranging all the way into the stands, that¡¯s enough to draw her attention from her joy, and she turns, blocking a blow and striking back in the same motion, to see the Aspirant of the Cut.


    He stands, slim and skinny, looking almost malnourished. He wears a sort of hijab-style cloth wrapped around his head, keeping his chin and mouth out of sight and covering one eye, and prayer beads clink softly against dirty white fabric that makes up what might generously be called an outfit. He looks like a religious man thrown out of a bar, and left to rot in the mud for a few days.


    And, without her even seeing him move, he is holding the hilt of a blade.


    It¡¯s barely a dagger in length, and is chipped, dull, its edge cracked clean through. If she saw a weapon like that in the hands of anyone else, it would seem like a joke.


    Twenty wounded, lesser cultivators from all across the eastern Ring move out of the way in an instant.


    He didn¡¯t flare his Qi, or make a sound, or do anything besides shift the blade in his hand. And yet, she can feel him. Like a sense she¡¯d never noticed before, left to the subconscious, now woken a hundred times louder. The man exudes a sense of danger so severe that he stops the brawl without a drop of power.


    Sheer killing intent floods the arena as he grabs the broken dagger with two hands, empty and sharp, and Raika can¡¯t help but smile, half in fear and half in a strange sort of arousal at the sensation.


    The ground shatters as the announcer lands between them, holding what looks like some kind of stringed instrument and resplendent in gold and white. The sound of the impact ripples out across both of them as an individual high in the Nascent Soul realm exerts his pressure on them.


    ¡°And with that, I think we¡¯ll wrap up the tournament preliminaries!¡± he roars, ignoring the two of them to face the crowd even as Raika feels waves of sound start to subtly push against her. ¡°To all our eager first contestants, we thank you for your participation and a glorious showing of martial prowess, but before we move on to any sort of main event, we¡¯ll be taking a brief break to reset the arena and begin the next step of the tournament!¡±


    And just like that, the fight is over.


    The Aspirant of the Cut says nothing. The dagger in his hands is gone, and he simply steps back and goes still.


    Ignoring the announcer (and getting a vein on his forehead to pulse in fury at that), she emerges from her combat form. It pulls back into her, chitinous armor turned to skin, bulging muscle and claws turned to something almost human, maw closing back up and giving her her vocal cords back. She stands, naked and blood-soaked, and blows the Aspirant a kiss.


    ¡°We can finish this next time, hot stuff,¡± she smiles. ¡°This has been fun.¡±


    And the first round of the tournament ends, to thunderous applause.

 Chapter 103 - The Healer, The Paladin, And The Incredibly Dashing Rogue

    Tea is always a comfort. Even brewed poorly, as Li Shu always tends to, forgetting to let it steep properly or leaving water to boil a bit too long, there¡¯s a sense of familiarity and warmth that comes from drinking a beverage one has experienced since childhood.


    Despite what Qen Hou likes to claim, Hao Nera makes the best tea out of all of them. She thinks that it¡¯s to do with the fact that he values the product a lot more, or maybe that he¡¯s had to work harder to make poor quality tea taste good in the past, but either assumption seems rude when contrasted with how he tends to jump at the opportunity to make it.


    Since the spirit beast (or demigod, or abomination, or demonic thing, she¡¯s not sure), there¡¯s been little time for simple things like tea.


    Upon hearing of their encounter, their rescuer was more than happy and eager to get them all far, far away from the site of what may have been a god of the woods. Facing something well beyond one¡¯s level can often inspire that sort of fear, and whatever else Li Shu, Qen Hou and Hao Nera may have looked like, they most certainly looked afraid. Between that fear, and the nearby cave with the sheer weight of materials they¡¯d managed to harvest and preserve, it was easy enough to convince the merchant that came across them to offer them transportation away from the site of the battle, fast.


    ¡°Doing alright, honored cultivator?¡± asks their host.


    Li Shu smiles, nodding slightly and enjoying what little time she has with her tea, now that this conversation has begun. ¡°As well as can be expected, sir Shen Ji. Are we to begin moving again soon? I thank you again for your generosity in transporting us.¡±


    He waves a hand at her, dismissing the thanks politely. ¡°No need for such thanks, honored one, not when you offer them so freely! We are to move again soon, but we¡¯re making good time, so it will be easy to stop in the next few hours, a bit before nightfall, that we might try and set up a proper encampment.¡±


    She nods, smiling in relief. ¡°That¡¯s good. I must admit, when I began my journey, I did not expect to get pushed so hard to keep up by a merchant.¡±


    Shen Ji smiles and taps the side of his nose, waggling it and the long, splendid white mustache beneath it as he does. ¡°Us merchants need to be able to move quickly! Cultivation for combat, or for the honorable healing arts, are not the only reasons why one pursues enlightenment. As you and your fortuitous friends have proven, it is never certain where one will find a good opportunity!¡±


    She nods and smiles softly, finishing her tea quickly and beginning to pack up her traveling bag once again. Shen Ji waves a hand at her though, pausing her mid-action.


    ¡°No need just yet, honored one. We¡¯ll be moving on in another fifteen minutes perhaps, and I have no desire to rush my newest benefactors.¡±


    She smiles and shakes her head. ¡°Hardly benefactors. If not for you running into us, we wouldn¡¯t have had anywhere to sell what we had collected before needing to move on for our safety.¡±


    It¡¯s the best kind of flattery, because it¡¯s true. After encountering the divine beast, none of the three of them had wanted to stick around much longer, and she¡¯s glad she didn¡¯t have to argue with Hao Nera about trying to carry some of the sleds of preserved supplies they¡¯d managed to harvest. Running into Shen Ji was a tremendous stroke of luck, or, as she suspects her traveling partners have also realized, something the creature intended. It seemed deeply alien, and it could perhaps still be luck, the beast having sent them to the nearest person and that person happening to be a merchant and entourage coming to harvest the beast tide just as they had. It could instead be that it knew of Shen Ji, sensed or understood something about him, and chose to send the trio to the merchant. Neither option is particularly benign, but the latter is particularly terrifying, considering how it claimed it could smell the oath that Li Shu took months and months ago.


    Still, between getting transportation and additional hands to protect them and getting someone willing to buy what would otherwise have had to be left behind (at a significant cut), Shen Ji was their best option, and now, two weeks later, they¡¯re still on the road, running.


    It¡¯s been better since they made it back onto the roads, though. Out of the woods and back into the reach of civilization¡¯s long arm, traveling through the paved and cleared roads that the Empire has planted throughout the rings. With it, they¡¯ve more than doubled their pace, though they¡¯re still far from just about anyplace one might call a major city.


    ¡°Ah, but it is precisely that I found you, and thus gained access to such lovely materials at such an opportune moment, that I may call you my benefactor,¡± Shen Ji smiles. He strokes his long white beard and mustache, tossing it to one side as he does in a flourish. ¡°And while I am overjoyed that I can assist my benefactors with transportation, if it has not already been made clear, then I insist on reminding you that should you ever have need of a favor in return for the time and money you have saved me, the Silver Song family of merchants will always be at your disposal.¡±


    Li Shu laughs softly, but gives a polite bow in response. ¡°Your generosity is grand, honored merchant Shen Ji. A cultivator¡¯s life is long and storied, or at least I hope. Should the opportunity ever arise that I can call upon the Silver Song family for something I truly need, I will be honored to have your name to refer to.¡±


    Shen Ji smiles broadly and bows. ¡°The honor will be mine, honored healer. But! I am burning the candle to the wick as we speak, and must prepare the others to move once more. We are still quite some ways away from the glorious metropolis of Cragend, even if we are making excellent time. Ten more minutes, and then we¡¯re off!¡±


    With another round of polite bows and pleasantries, he steps away, turning from the tent she¡¯s been spending time in to move to the others. No matter how she insists that she¡¯s fine to sit out in the sun during their rest stops, he insists on setting up proper seating for her. Not for Qen Hou and Hao Nera, though, which they¡¯re both more than comfortable complaining about.


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    She steps out, bag packed and ready to move, and catches sight of the two of them. Hao Nera stretches, long and languid. Despite the stress of the weeks of travel, he¡¯s eminently comfortable, entirely at home with the rushed pace, and with how well Shen Ji has been feeding them, he¡¯s actually gained some weight, putting all of it towards muscle. He¡¯s gotten outright buff, and he¡¯s outright enjoying the looks he¡¯s started to get from some of the assistants and employees Shen Ji travels with. Qen Hou, on the other hand, has managed to maintain himself, but is definitely a bit worn from the travel, occasionally being caught with stubble he hasn¡¯t burnt off or shaved, which Hao Nera takes any opportunity to mock him for (and compare his own more impressive facial hair to).


    ¡°Ah, our beloved healer!¡± Hao Nera says with a smile, holding his arms wide. ¡°A privilege and joy to have you amongst our number once more! This poor junior brother thought you¡¯d abandoned us for a life of privilege befitting a jade beauty!¡±


    She rolls her eyes and ignores Qen Hou lightly punching him in the shoulder, though his face remains courteous and neutral the whole time.


    ¡°Our honored friend Shen Ji told you we¡¯d be heading out soon?¡± he asks.


    She nods. ¡°Ten more minutes, and then we¡¯re back on the move. If not for trying to get away from that divine beast, I¡¯d appreciate more breaks like this one, but he said we should be stopping sometime before nightfall today.¡±


    Qen Hou sighs in relief. ¡°Good. I don¡¯t mind a bit of bodily improvement as a cultivation aid, but between the hours of walking and being used as a torch during night-marches, I¡¯m nearing a bit of my limit.¡±


    ¡°Now now, so dramatic senior brother!¡± Hao Nera laughs. ¡°Surely an expert progressing through the realm of Core Formation like yourself must have no true trouble, seeing how quickly you¡¯ve stabilized your foundation!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m still not going to train you,¡± Qen Hou sighs. ¡°I am not qualified as a teacher, and I am not one that would misrepresent my sect¡¯s teachings to an outsider so frivolously.¡±


    Hao Nera gasps, hand to his heart. ¡°Frivolously!? I¡¯ll have you know I only ask due to my enduring respect for my senior brother! Why, surely you must have some insight that would-¡±


    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± Li Shu interrupts. ¡°You can have this debate again when we set up camp, I don¡¯t want to listen to the two of you dancing around each other the rest of our trek today.¡±


    Hao Nera laughs, but acquiesces, holding up his hands in surrender. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dream of annoying our blessed honored healer, lady Li Shu. I¡¯m just saying, considering all we¡¯ve been through, I¡¯m sure there¡¯s much more to be learned from each other, no?¡±


    Qen Hou does nod at that. ¡°At the very least, the tip you brought us in on has paid off, even if complications have come from it. Considering what we¡¯ve gained, I can see an argument for further cooperation.¡±


    ¡°Ah, so formal, brother! The truth of it is simple! We¡¯re friends now, are we not? Tied together in the glorious labor of harvesting guts and surviving a divine beast encounter as a group!¡±


    Before Qen Hou can get huffy and say anything he doesn¡¯t mean, Li Shu cuts in. ¡°Yes, Hao Nera, I¡¯d say we¡¯re¡­ friends. Mostly.¡±


    He beams at her. ¡°And I couldn¡¯t be happier to hear it! You¡¯ve both paid off wonderfully, after all, and it¡¯s not all the time that even a hunk like me seduces his way into the good graces of some sect beauties and their resources.¡±


    He flutters his eyelashes at Qen Hou, who flushes a bit and splutters. ¡°I am not- you haven¡¯t seduced shit, just because you¡¯re no longer an enemy doesn¡¯t make you attractive.¡±


    ¡°I hear enemies to lovers is all the rage in literary circles these days¡­¡± Hao Nera sing-songs.


    Li Shu laughs at their antics, shaking her head. ¡°Compromise, then. I¡¯m looking to cultivate more too. How about you teach me, and if Hao Nera listens in, there¡¯s no harm in that? We¡¯re both sect members after all, kind of. Former sect member for me, but I don¡¯t think it was ever made truly official.¡±


    Qen Hou rolls his eyes, but calms down a bit. ¡°Are you sure? I know your studies into the beast-flesh aren¡¯t completed, and that must still be taking up most of your nights. I see you with candle lit long after my watch has ended sometimes.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Honored merchant Shen Ji¡¯s notes on preservation and evaluation of worth for organs has been invaluable, but there¡¯s only so much he¡¯s willing to share with an outsider. I¡¯m most of the way through the notes he¡¯s willing to give, and I spent the last few weeks before our ¡°fortuitous encounter¡± harvesting and studying firsthand. I¡¯m no expert, but until I find a master, a library, or a fresh batch of unrotted beast corpses, I doubt I¡¯m going to make much more progress. Better to find time for cultivation so I don¡¯t fall behind and become a burden.¡±


    Hao Nera nods at that, pointing at her like she¡¯s preached some divine wisdom. ¡°Exactly, senior sister! If I¡¯m to maintain my value to our lovely trio, surely I can¡¯t provide all of it through sheer sex appeal, and considering how easily that beast saw through my stealth techniques, it¡¯s more than time that I start improving again. After all, the whole point of seducing you two with my charms and massive intellect was to hop aboard a rising tide. What a waste it would be, that you so distractedly enjoyed my body and wit without ever repaying me with the cultivation aids you bathe in daily!¡±


    Li Shu rolls her eyes. ¡°Hao Nera, I haven¡¯t had a bath in a week, and the week before that was for washing off dirt and blood. The only cultivation aid I¡¯m bathing in is soap.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll believe it when I see it!¡±


    She blushes a bit, and picks up a small stick to fling at him for the comment, which Hao Nera dodges with a cackle. He fails to duck Qen Hou¡¯s slap upside the back of his head, though, and shoots him a look for it.


    ¡°Come on, senior brother! I¡¯m a red-blooded human in the prime of my cultivation! It¡¯s only proper I pursue true beauty when I find it!¡±


    ¡°Pursue it somewhere else, then,¡± Qen Hou growls. ¡°There¡¯s plenty of folk among the caravan that wouldn¡¯t mind spending a night with a survivor of a divine beast.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Hao Nera almost immediately switches tact, stepping up close into Qen Hou¡¯s personal space and cocking his head to one side as he grins. ¡°Are you perhaps volunteering? Have I finally broken through that rough, tough shell into the soft, delightful core you hide?¡±


    Qen Hou blushes, hard, and Li Shu can¡¯t help but burst into laughter at how quickly his coloration changes to bright red.


    ¡°Both of you shut it, or I won¡¯t be teaching anyone anything!¡± Qen Hou growls, stomping off towards where the caravan has mostly finished reassembling itself as Li Shu and Hao Nera both run after him, cajoling the poor cultivator to change his mind.


    They haven¡¯t succeeded by the time the caravan heads out that afternoon, but by evening Li Shu is sitting in rapt attention as Qen Hou struggles to describe mysteries older than either of them could ever know (and ignores Hao Nera¡¯s smug grin as he listens in). Shen Ji puts up a grueling pace, hoping to get to the city in time to sell his wares at a premium, for he¡¯s heard rumors of a tournament, but the trip overall can¡¯t be said to be all that bad. After all, time passes quickly among those who annoy each other mercilessly.

 Chapter 104 - Father Of Puppets, With All His Strings

    ¡°She did what?¡±


    Maen and Taran flinch. Kaena manages to keep calm, casual as can be, and Yun Ka doesn¡¯t seem particularly responsive to the rage. Raika¡­ well. She lets out a fresh cloud of smoke, breathing out nice and slow and indulging in the bluish haze of it.


    ¡°Started a tournament,¡± Kaena says. ¡°Then, transformed into a giant bone monster and beat up half the competition in the starting round.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t half,¡± Maen mumbles. ¡°More like a quarter. And they rather earned it. Sir.¡±


    Taurus pinches the bridge of his nose, a much more dramatic event with how massive his hands are and how large his snout is. He glows ever so slightly, the image of him projected from a crystal and a set of runic formations and lenses set up from the many slim mechanical limbs emerging from Yun Ka¡¯s setup. He is in some sort of room, significantly more basic than the blatant opulence of the Imperial Palace around them; beyond several large stone bookcases, a stained glass window, and delicate wooden doors and flooring, it seems rather bare. Raika can see hints of smoke in the projection¡¯s frame, possibly from some kind of incense, and he¡¯s likely staring into his own runic setup.


    He looks tired. Not worn, or exhausted, but¡­ tired.


    ¡°And you¡¯re telling me she used¡­¡±


    ¡°True Flame, yes,¡± Yun Ka says, head tilted and softly clicking away at some runic tablet or another (she has more than a few). ¡°Cataloged it myself after the fight. Not that it was hard to determine, the color is distinct. As were its effects on the constructs and techniques arrayed.¡±


    ¡°And those effects were¡­¡±


    ¡°As expected of True Flame. Consumption of all Qi as fuel, dissipating only when its fuel source is removed, dramatic harm to organic tissue. It abraded and consumed large pieces of many of the combatants, most of whom have left the competition and require severe medical assistance. The Imperial authority, as wielded by myself and the captain of our Guard detail, has assured that such medical needs are met.¡±


    ¡°And pray tell, honored cultivator¡­ how in all the many, many hells did you develop True Flame?¡±


    Seeing this question directed at her, Raika toasts Taurus with her cigarette, and shrugs. ¡°Dunno. Figured True Flame was a myth, the sort of divine technique masters of Dao can accomplish and no one else.¡±


    Taurus sighs. ¡°Not particularly accurate anymore. Mix the right materials and their concepts together and anything can be done. Still, the fact that you did it is¡­ frustrating. I¡¯ve been trying to keep some of your capabilities under wraps, and this is not one I was aware you possessed. Your method of Qi creation has consistently been noted as distinct in terms of purity and potency, but¡­ how did you transfer other properties to it?¡±


    Raika hesitates, then shrugs.


    ¡°The blacksteel, from the Cold Sun. The same new fangs I grew from the piece of it I ate, a while back. I found out back in the mines that whenever a pocket of my Qi got cut by the swords, it ignited. I¡¯ve been using that ever since. The fangs are¡­ they¡¯re not like the blades were.¡±


    ¡°I would assume not,¡± Yun Ka says, still idly tapping away. ¡°Black Steel is a relatively new material, but Cold Sunstone is old, and its properties well recorded. Those few that have successfully modified it can refine elements of its portfolio, moving from true entropy into stillness, death, hunger, dissolution, even shadow in one noteworthy instance. If you¡¯ve successfully made fangs of yours, it is likely to follow a more specific subset, perhaps-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a bite,¡± Raika says. ¡°Consumption. I¡¯ve been picturing it as the bite of a predator, that which rips out a throat and calls out death in the name of hunger.¡±


    Yun Ka nods. ¡°A poetic descriptor, but such is often the case. Factor into that raw Qi, universal life-force as neutral as can be achieved, agitated to movement, growth and chaos, and the fusion of said factors makes some sense, though I believe there is an element of luck involved as well. Not every manifestation of that might have been as fruitful for you.¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°I work hard for my luck.¡±


    ¡°If you work half as hard for your luck as you do fucking over stable plans, I can see how that¡¯d be the case.¡± Taurus snorts. ¡°Is there a reason you just unveiled a slew of new abilities and the fact that, apparently, you are one of the few living beings without a Dao of Flame capable of generating True Fire?¡±


    Raika takes a long, slow drag of her cigarette. It¡¯s partially savoring the moment, and partially preparing, but either way, all eyes are on her. She puts the mask on.


    ¡°I was taking the fight seriously, and that means using all my tools. Maybe I wouldn¡¯t have used the fire if I knew it was quite that special, but it hardly matters now. In the end, I still got what we wanted out of it.¡±


    ¡°What we wanted out of it?¡± Kaena asks.


    ¡°Yes. Fundamentally, while we¡¯re here, our options are in two categories. The first is to support Taurus from afar, and the latter is to acquire information and resources. I got us both.¡±


    Taran laughs, dry and rasping. ¡°Now this, I simply have to hear.¡±


    Raika takes another pull, indulging in the fact that she can¡¯t feel them all, and breathes out another cloud of smoke, the dense blue vapors clinging to her and framing her against the light. The mask smiles at them, half warm, half feral, just enough of both to make them think it¡¯s her speaking.


    ¡°There¡¯s things in motion in this city. Non-Imperial groups. It got me thinking. I needed to stretch my legs, so to speak, but it¡¯s more than that. The tournament has dragged out the sects and the cultivators for a few hundred miles around. It gets us out of the house, but it¡¯s also a hell of a distraction. A bit of a dog-and-pony trick, just enough to keep them sedated as things move. Makes opportunities for people that are usually hiding to be more active. Your loyal subjects get to showcase just how well your care and cultivation of them has made them grow, how much your methods has granted us power, and I get to use that power to find out what¡¯s really happening in this city. There¡¯s something beneath it that¡¯s stirring. Still waters and dark stone rooms. We find that rebellion, snuff it out, we only get more points to cash in with your bosses. Making myself the focus, the barbarian who can only think of blood and violence, means they underestimate me, let things slip, and it draws the heat away from everyone else, who can move to find out more.¡±


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    Taurus says nothing for a while. Eventually, he turns to Kaena.


    They shrug. ¡°You know I¡¯m not one for looking at things I¡¯ll have to deny later. Some of the nobles know about something happening, something to do with the mines, but I haven¡¯t bothered to look into it. Beastie here has kept me busy enough.¡±


    He nods at that. Then, slowly, he moves his hand. His palm curls, his fingers stiffen, and even through the projection she can sense that hint of pressure that comes from the use of higher mysteries and powerful Qi.


    A single droplet forms in his hands, just like the last time they spoke privately, and for a moment, Yun Ka braces as a wave of silence emerges from her crystal, the scent of sharp wind and mountains overwhelming even the numbing effects of the cigarette for Raika.


    And then, Taurus speaks, the world around them made null and silent.


    ¡°Perfect honesty,¡± he says quietly. ¡°You really found some sort of cult or group in Cragend? One that defies the Empire?¡±


    She pauses, then shrugs. ¡°Yeah. They reached out to me. Think they¡¯re interested in me.¡±


    She frowns. Not sure why she said that last part. The mask slipped? No. Maybe.


    Taurus nods. ¡°Fine then. I trust you remember you still have far more to gain working with me than with them, and a lot to lose either way. If they turn out useful, though, it¡¯s always good to get a new tool in one¡¯s grasp. Kaena, I trust you to spearhead the coordination. Taran, you¡¯ll act as lead on direct action while Raika keeps focus. Try to contact them first. IF we manage that, we can decide when and how they might be most useful.¡±


    Taran sighs, scratching idly at one of his belts. ¡°You sure about this, boss? I¡¯m not a fan of using people like this.¡±


    ¡°Neither am I, but needs must. Raika here has taken it upon herself to change my timetable, which means the more tools we have, the better off we¡¯ll be. I¡¯m not so confident that I can¡¯t use the advantages placed before me. And Raika?¡±


    She raises an eyebrow, says nothing.


    ¡°You proved your value dealing with Zhoulong. As a trump and wild card, you¡¯re still useful. But our leashes only extend so far. Hide information like this again, and things will be different between us.¡±


    Her mask tries to smile, but¡­ she nods instead. There¡¯s only so far that arrogance, performative or not, can go. ¡°Understood.¡±


    Taurus nods, and there¡¯s a moment where she feels¡­


    She¡¯s not sure what she feels. The moment is gone.


    Her mask is off, for some reason. It slips back on easily enough, but for an instant, as he looked at her with intent, it¡­ blinked.


    ¡°That¡¯ll do for now,¡± Taurus says. ¡°This is already proving useful. If you find this group of yours, keep me appraised. Kaena, we¡¯ll maintain contact more consistently, now that the worst has passed.¡±


    ¡°Zhoulong¡¯s death has been cleared?¡± Yun Ka asks.


    ¡°Yes. As I said, there were pieces in place. Using them early has shifted some of the placements, but not out of order. The timetable remains.¡±


    He turns to Raika, and says something that only she hears. ¡°Four years. It¡¯ll be done by then. Make his death mean something.¡±


    The mask is stiff and harsh, painful and vile and worming on her face, but it holds, and her face shows nothing. She gets up, takes another drag of the cigarette, and walks out of the room. There¡¯s a flicker, like walking through a bubble or membrane, as she crosses the boundary of silence Taurus erected from thousands of miles away.


    The smell of tangerines cuts through the haze of fragrant death as she walks down the halls of the palace, surrounded by gilded bars. The mask grips her, smiling with her teeth, neutral and pleasant as only a lie can be, and she exhales smoke through it, forcing herself to breathe in the scent of a dead friend instead.


    She sees him, for a moment. A bloody thing, with one sandal. He is gone by the time she passes the crossroads where she glimpsed him.


    And then she is on the balcony, outside. If she put out the cigarette, she might regain her senses soon enough to pick up some lingering remnants of their conversation, after they break the silence perhaps. She might hear Taran or Kaena saying something nice, chastising the bull-blood for her to hear. She¡¯s sure Maen is waiting, giving a bit of space before she follows behind to check in.


    None of it matters. Her Truth chafes and strains, wrapped tight in chains and nails. Some are tied to the palace. Some, to the slave who holds her leash. And some she gives, freely, to the dead thing behind her, reeking of citrus and sweetness. She deserves that pain, as she does so many others.


    And she learned something.


    Everything she said was true. The tournament lets her shape what people think of her, lets her slip the leash to seek out the witch, now even with some support, and it lets her see what she can do now, push herself in a new way. But there¡¯s more to it.


    For one, it lets her see who she can use, and how. Who among the independents has resources or connections she might be able to exploit, who among the sects she can use as a further distraction, what techniques or allies she might take, if she plays things right.


    For another, it¡¯s a challenge to Taurus. A move that could have been something minor, a tournament purely beneficial to all, which she has made into something more chaotic. He didn¡¯t order it, didn¡¯t see it coming, and the way it¡¯s changed surprised him, even if only a little. And in that surprise, he let something free.


    He has some kind of hold on her. Something to make her slip, something to make her speak. She¡¯s not sure what, but she felt it, when she twitched in her mind, when the mask blinked out. He had to use it, to make sure she wasn¡¯t lying, to get back in control of what she was telling him. She hasn¡¯t slipped like that since the beast-tide, left without sleep for a week, it was more than just feeling uncomfortable. It proves the control he has, but more, it proves what he doesn¡¯t control. He didn¡¯t know about the conversation with the witch, or the cultivators spying on them in the alley. He couldn¡¯t tell if she was lying or not until he did whatever it was that made her blink.


    And he said that thing at the end, the thing no one else reacted to. It was heavy handed. It was useful, it was true, she does need to make J- his death mean something, but it was still an unnecessary step. Reminds her it¡¯s not forever, of how he promised her his death, and reinforces her guilt, all in a few easy sentences. Heavy. He¡¯s subtle enough with the others, with the bureaucracy, but with her, he felt a need to reinforce.


    He needs her. More than she expected. Could be it¡¯s shifting, that her True Flame or her planning here with the tournament showcases more than he was expecting, but that final statement cinched it for her. It wasn¡¯t just opportunity and a random whim that had him choose to recruit her.


    He needs her. And his leash on her throat is tighter and less in his control than she thought.


    Leverage on the one hand. A threat on the other. Both useful to know about.


    She leans against the balcony, staring down at a city all abuzz with lights and heartbeats and smells, and breathes in floral ash. Hurting. Hungry. And patient.

 Chapter 105 - Another Victory For Violent Yuri

    ¡°ARE YOU READY TO WIIIIITNEEEEEEEEES!!?!??¡±


    The arena thunders with the sound of screaming voices, cheering and stamping and yelling of all kinds. Some of the cultivators who haven¡¯t recovered from their wounds, or realized the tournament is more serious than anyone expected, have up and left, but their numbers are dwarfed by late entries from sects and independents that thought the tournament beneath them, and those numbers in turn are absolutely miniscule compared to the crowds gathered. Above and below the suspended island of the colosseum, the crowds have grown to nearly standing-seats only, with the entire city coming out to see. What was a pastime, a surprise holiday for most, has turned into something like the event of the year.


    The announcer, whose name Raika has since discovered is Jin Nara, a famous cultivator known for taking pioneering steps in the modern use of the Dao of Sound and one of only a few Nascent Soul cultivators in Cragend, is more than happy to ignore her presence as he sings out his words from the imperial platform above their own. As a not-so-subtle nod to his presence, there¡¯s a new railing installed about three inches higher around the seating area the Altered Cultivation Division and their soldiers are sitting, which she couldn¡¯t help but chuckle about. Still, she sat down easily enough, and since then, he¡¯s been more than eager to push things forward and indulge in the energy of the crowd, which is borderline rabid after the events of the previous day¡¯s free-for-all.


    Which is part of why Raika is overjoyed at who is up next.


    ¡°Yesterday, we saw the first amongst equals, the battle-hungry and ever-burning Raika, enter and devastate our arena! What was once a promised week of battles has been cut in nearly half, as so many of the hungriest among us ran blindly into the waiting maw of one of the most unexpected upheavals in the history of Cragend¡¯s illustrious arena!


    And yet! We stand today reinvigorated! Is it not in the glory of combat that cultivation can be found? Is it not in challenge that we find ourselves at our best, where we stand before insurmountable walls? And so we see our beloved cultivators, pinnacles and avatars of the best of what we can be, gathered now in even greater numbers than when we began!¡±


    The crowds go wild, with several of the soldiers, merchants and more privileged individuals letting off small bursts of Qi and colorful formations, the powerful runes arrayed around the arena keeping them from causing any harm. Many of the cultivators smile and wave, flex, or make sure to show off their sect colors, even as some of the more serious among them remain laser-focused on what¡¯s before them.


    ¡°So now, we offer thanks! To the Emperor above! To the unification that has allowed us all to stand side by side here today! We continue! If, I admit, a bit more traditionally!¡±


    There are some laughs at that, here and there, but the cheering continues unabated, riled up by Jin Nara as sound is magnified and reduced throughout the stands. There are people selling food, people kissing, people throwing out sparklers and noise makers and more. They are thirsty for blood, desperate for entertainment, and hungry for battle.


    Raika grins, holding and idly toying with one of only eight more cigarettes, enjoying how well it¡¯s going to plan.


    There¡¯s a ringing sound, and a strike of lightning breaks through the sky of the arena, manifesting from a sort of force shield surrounding the entire structure. From beneath it, in a mix of showmanship and sorcery, a platform emerges from beneath the ground, highlighted against the bare white stone of the arena in its deactivated state. There is a figure, standing there, hands up and waving to the crowd.


    He has black robes, highlighted with a beautiful, vibrant green and blue on its hem and the writing that decorates it, like there¡¯s a book written on its surface. He stands tall, face bright, his eyes notable and green, his hair long and flowing and a dark blue color. Raika keeps the cigarettes away from her lips, away from its flavor and the numbness it brings, and watches him.


    It¡¯s next to impossible to pick out the scent, but she has time as he moves, as he waves and throws a wave of Qi and makes a dazzling show of shadow, flowers and brilliant blue sparks to wow the crowd. The scent carries over, even through the headache-inducing strain of the arena¡¯s Qi and formations, and she sneezes lightly at the scent.


    Darkened rooms, cinnamon, lavender, and roses, with a hint of magnesium. Poorly balanced, though. The elements clash, rather than complementing each other, though they still paint a fascinating picture. It¡¯s not easy to tell exactly what that means, but she¡¯s decided that a scent fighting against itself denotes a lack of a properly secured foundation.


    ¡°Standing at our northern corner, ready to debut himself to the world, we see here before us the young Sho Hao, a member of the Darkened Lotus sect, our neighbors to the far south! Hailing from Drakest city, known for the beauty of its forests and the art with which its tamed jungle breathes shadow and light into magical auroras, Sho Hao stands at the beginning of the Core Formation stage, possessing a glorious combat record against the shadowbeasts of Darkest, participation in the subjugation of the Burning Scream, and representing his master, the honorable Ji Tan, in today¡¯s first battle!¡±


    The crowd roars, recognizing his feats and, for those who don''t, just enjoying the pomp and buildup. Sho Hao gives them another wave, crafting an artful display of black flowers and fluttering blue sparks, again flaring to Raika¡¯s senses that hint of magnesium that feels so out of place.


    ¡°And on the other end of the arena comes an unknown! An enigma! A mystery in many ways! Hailing from the Division of Altered Cultivation, the beastkin cultivator Maen, standing at the heights of the Foundation realm! Considering our last upheaval came from the previously nearly unknown Raika the Unbroken, formerly Raika the Bloody, I¡¯d say there¡¯s more than enough room for an upset here, and more room beyond that to see something we may not expect!¡±


    Despite the lack of achievements, Jin Nara¡¯s enthusiasm and presentation, mixed with her performance yesterday, are enough that the crowd is nearly as excited. Many of them are cheering for a member of their Division to get some comeuppance, but the overall energy of the crowd remains high.


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    Still, Raika sends a look over to Kaena, who shrugs as if to say ¡°best I could do¡±. They wrote up most of the details for Maen to get in this early, which isn¡¯t to say the sponsors of the event weren¡¯t eager, but admittedly¡­ Maen kind of hasn¡¯t achieved much, as of yet.


    There¡¯s more to do here, things to focus on, but still, Raika can¡¯t help but be happy that she gets to enjoy the moment where that stops being the case.


    It¡¯s a little silly; she hasn¡¯t let herself become lost in emotion recently, hasn¡¯t ever been a blind optimist, but she has no doubt that Maen will win. Admittedly, the opponent looks way too pretty and smells a bit unbalanced, but¡­ maybe it¡¯s just trust.


    Maen emerges on her own pedestal, lightning underscoring her arrival as well, and waves to the crowd, giving bows of her own. She¡¯s a bit of a performer, even if Raika can still notice the stiffness in how she moves, overwhelmed by so much attention. It wasn¡¯t a year ago that she was a minor servant in some podunk sect, and now, she¡¯s the opening act for a day of arena combat in an entirely new city.


    She¡¯s faced worse than crowds, though, and Raika gives a wave as Maen¡¯s eyes pan over their part of the seats. The felinid smiles and waves back, ears twitching happily (which gets a few folk who know felinid body language ¡°ooooh¡±ing in the crowd). Maen blushes bright red before the pedestal begins to lower, putting the fighters on the flat plane of the arena. The smell of electric, runic Qi begins to tickle Raika¡¯s nose, and the floor of the arena begins to shift, flat white stone undulating and remolding itself into sand and water, leaving the fighters on an artificial island as the audience cheers.


    ¡°We go now to surrender or knockout! This ain¡¯t no underground dive, this is the arena, so I expect a good clean fight! No necromancy, no unregistered summons, no toxins or items! Everything else is fair game!¡±


    ¡°ARE. YOU. READYYYY?!¡±


    Sho Hao the sect darling raises his fist in the air, feet entering a stance.


    Maen mirrors him, fist held high, legs wide apart and stance prepped.


    ¡°COMMENCE!¡±


    The starting bell is rung, and Maen moves first.


    Maen doesn¡¯t have any specific techniques. She doesn¡¯t have particular mutations. She doesn¡¯t even have a particularly terrifying or special cultivation style.


    What she does have is beastkin blood, a Qi signature weirdly balanced between her biology and her soul, and a stomach full of Raika¡¯s blood.


    It started with a theory, days and days ago. Jun Vral¡¯s reactions, and then Maen¡¯s, cemented some of the effect that her blood has on those with an enhanced sense of smell. To her, it just smells rich, dense somehow, but to others, and likely to the first beast tide to try and fucking eat her, it smells like more.


    Add that to the fact that she moves and manipulated Qi by literally circulating it through her blood vessels like a modified formation, rather than through a Dantian, and certain ideas come up.


    Spirit Beasts cultivate by devouring, healing, and absorbing environmental factors. The purer and more powerful the Qi they consume or absorb, the better their bodies naturally use it to fuel whatever they need, turning that raw Qi into pure fuel for their cultivation and traits.


    And Maen, while not a spirit beast, has actively pursued cultivation of her bestial blood and instincts alongside her soul¡¯s progression. So, when she asked for a taste¡­ Raika was more than happy to oblige.


    In fairness, Maen got a taste of more of Raika¡¯s fluids than just blood that night, but the blood is the important part here.


    There is an instant where Maen¡¯s eyes flash red, where she touches the sand in front of her and then vanishes, and Sho Hao swings at empty air. A wave of black thorns and brilliant blue sparks blooms from him and washes over half the island, but Maen is behind him, kicking up a wave of sand as she moves. He spins around, attacks again- and she¡¯s behind him again. The best way to track her even for Raika is the displaced sand, moving like there¡¯s a lag behind her.


    Hao Sho wises up quick, sending out a wave of smokey shadow turned to violent flora in a circle around himself, but even Raika can tell he can¡¯t keep up that output forever. Even so, it doesn¡¯t matter; Maen lands on him, backflips off, and lands after the wave has passed, dodging a thrust like it¡¯s in slow motion.


    Changing tact, Hao Sho condenses his power instead, emitting as much Qi as he has so far again and wrapping it tightly around himself, a sort of cloak, and as Maen attacks, the shadows react. Every time she approaches, even though it¡¯s clear Hao Sho can¡¯t quite keep up, his technique reacts instinctively, shooting out a dozen meter-long thorns that Maen only barely evades.


    One of them cuts her, and Raika almost shifts in her seat before the mask forces her to still.


    Maen looks down at the cut, seeming to think, and then¡­


    Raika feels something shift.


    Not in her. Not in the arena. In Maen.


    She feels her blood, freely given, freely tasted, saturated in as much Qi as she felt was safe, and in that moment it¡¯s like its¡­ still hers. She feels a disconnected piece, taken willingly, placed in the body of another. Her mask can¡¯t stop her from shifting this time, sitting upright, eyes locked onto Maen and the battle. Jun Vral says something off to her right, asks something, but she isn¡¯t listening.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine rears its head, reacting, pulled at by a new chain. Part of her is claimed. That part was given, and so the chain to it is from the Truth, not wrapped around it, and it is thin, weak, even in metaphor- but it¡¯s there. Part of what was hers is made someone else''s, though she can still feel that her Truth might be able to pull it back, maybe. Some part of what she is is touched upon, outside her body.


    And Maen¡¯s arm erupts.


    A single, long blade made of bone, perhaps seven or eight feet long, emerges from her arm. It drips, dark yellow with the scent of yuzu and herbs that hits Raika like a slap to the face even hundreds of feet away. There are gasps from the crowd, and Kaena and Taran both make sounds, noises of concern, but the mask is too busy holding Raika in place to let her hear or mimic them. Maen hisses, the sound loud enough to echo in the arena, and for a moment, all is silent.


    And then she moves, again faster than the eye of all but a Nascent Soul cultivator or specialized Core Formation realm could follow, and there is a long, thin cut against the flowing shadow of Hao Sho¡¯s defensive technique. It was never a winning strategy, turning the battle to one of attrition, but Maen, in a desire to end things or some instinct brought about by communion of flesh, decided to end things quicker.


    The cut begins to bleed yellow, veins of it spiraling through the dark like the spreading roots of a plant, and the technique begins to crumble.


    Before he can set up another, Maen¡¯s arm is at his throat, her face pressed close to his. Her evolved blade rests on his throat, dripping the scent of yuzu and hidden things that grow, and her clawed left hand rests on his stomach, just over his waist, sharp ends pointed inwards.


    Jin Nara announces her victory barely a second later as Hao Sho surrenders and falls to the dirt.


    The blade retracts, the scent fading from the air, the pull on Raika¡¯s Truth and flesh both fading with it, and Maen falls back on her ass, panting heavily and staring at her now-regenerated arm. She turns to look back up at the stands, up at Raika.


    Raika gives her mask¡¯s best version of a reassuring smile. Beneath it, she¡¯s still proud, still smiling- but now there¡¯s more opportunity. More potential. So the smile is hungrier, and less kind, and belongs in deep with the scent of tangerines and the feeling of her blood, burning, screaming, and hungry for Change, crawling out into someone she loves.

 Chapter 106 - Holograms Make Everything Cooler

    Maen sprints out of the fighter¡¯s room doors, dashing through the lobby with its milling servants and cultivators towards the hallways leading out- and slams face first into Raika, so giddy she doesn¡¯t even notice and bounces back into a hug immediately.


    ¡°Did you see? Did you see that? That was incredible! I¡¯ve never felt like that before, I could see everything and he was so slow and I was so fast and it was like lightning in my brain and then my wrist started hurting cause I was thinking I needed something to cut through his shield with and then it grew and now I have this-¡±


    Raika ducks back in time to avoid the sudden spear of bone that spirals out of Maen¡¯s wrist, its edge just missing the side of her face. Maen, of course, gasps, and immediately pulls her hands back- and the long claw almost as long as she is waves around, whistling as it cuts through the air.


    ¡°Ah, so sorry, sorry, it¡¯s new, I didn¡¯t-¡±


    Raika steps in closer, grabs Maen¡¯s wrist, and holds it to one side as she bends down and kisses her.


    It¡¯s a chaste kiss, only lips involved, and there¡¯s a sort of restrained mania that Maen lets go of at the touch. Raika smiles against her lips, and taps her forehead against the shorter woman.


    ¡°I saw the whole thing, kitten. You kicked his ass.¡±


    ¡°I kicked his ass!¡± Maen says, eyes immediately aglow again as she gives a little hop in place and wiggles, prompting Raika to pick her up by the small of her back and lift her into a hug.


    ¡°That was amazing! I knew that the idea would do something, but I didn¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Which idea in particular?¡± Yun Ka asks.


    Raika whirls around hard enough that she feels Maen tense up to avoid whiplash, the breath leaving the shorter woman for a moment before she recovers and twists around out of the hug to stand at her side. In the sheer noise and overwhelming sense of the crowd, Raika¡¯s gone back to her old meditations and self-medicating with the gifted cigarettes to ensure she doesn¡¯t go mad in the arena, so she¡¯s primarily shifted to scent to try and tell when someone is near or needs her attention. Despite the constant click-clacking of the dozens of devices and slim brass limbs that surround Yun Ka, she couldn¡¯t pick out her approach.


    Just as before, Yun Ka smells like electricity and dust, like clean-cut stone and empty halls filled with light. The exact same way that just about every part of the arena does. The same way nearly every Imperial runic formation Raika has come across does. Cleanly ordered structure and crackling power, and nothing else to note.


    Yun Ka, for her part, looks at the two of them like she didn¡¯t notice or doesn¡¯t care about their surprise, her original hands holding a stylus and pen, two of the mechanical limbs she wears clicking through various lenses as she looks at them.


    ¡°Apologies. I assume I interrupted, but it really is very important to note down which particular idea you are referring to that spurred this development. I tend to prefer giving space when I can, but you¡¯re not as studied as Raika has been, and this really is a surprising and drastic alteration.¡±


    Maen takes a small breath, centering herself and immediately switching to her more professional demeanor, giving Yun Ka a slight curtsy.


    ¡°I understand. It was just a whim of mine, nothing major. Perhaps I was simply blessed by fate to have a breakthrough of this sort after spending so much time amidst the perspectives of our Division.¡±


    Yun Ka tilts her head, a note of confusion appearing on her face. ¡°Unlikely. Your Qi levels remain elevated past norm, even now. The logical conclusion is that it was your proximity to Raika, not the Division as a whole, which has altered you so quickly. Given her newfound ability to externalize Qi reserves and alter them as True Flame and the older data relating to biological modification¡­¡±


    She pauses. Thinks. Raika holds the mask firm, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Is there a point to this? Maen just won a victory that deserves celebrating, and these tunnels aren¡¯t as private as I¡¯d like.¡±


    In fact, Raika can already sense interest moving their way. There¡¯s limits to propriety when one is actively kissing after a pitched battle, either event requiring the social nicety to not overly annoy one¡¯s potential target, but Maen winning is noteworthy, even if Raika¡¯s antics don¡¯t quite make it an upset. Plenty of cultivators are shooting looks, some of them in sect uniforms, some of them with rather fancy robes, and there are more than a few servants and ¡°mortals¡± around who look like they might want an autograph or to hear some juicy gossip.


    Raika goes to step past Yun Ka, taking Maen with her. Even the hallways of the arena still reek of the opulence of the noble district and palace, but it¡¯s older, more sedate here. Two carved statues stand guard with spears in hand at the exit and entrance to every hallway, and Raika goes to brush past them too on the way into the stone hallways.


    Yun Ka, predictably and frustratingly, keeps pace right behind them well into their escape.


    ¡°Is it due to ingestion of blood or flesh?¡±


    Maen tenses up, freezing at the question and dashing any hopes Raika had, however minimal, of keeping it quiet.


    ¡°People develop breakthroughs,¡± she says, her mask smiling pleasantly. ¡°It can¡¯t always be predicted by minds of paper and steel.¡±


    Yun Ka nods, agreeing easily. ¡°This is true, but it would stand to confirm a number of my theories relating to you as well, Raika. We haven¡¯t taken many samples or performed proper testing, due in large part to the delay to return to Central and Taurus¡¯ ongoing trial, but now that issues are at least partially resolved perhaps you could-¡±


    Raika¡¯s hand twitches out and grabs the thin brass limb approaching, syringe-tipped and whirring slightly.


    ¡°No.¡±


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    ¡°Ah. I understand. Taurus theorized your Truth may require more delicate handling. I apologize if I haven¡¯t been tactful. Would it be alright if I got some verbal confirmations, checked some boxes and looked through a theory with you? I think it might be enlightening for all three of us, perhaps.¡±


    Raika goes to say something, instinct and fear battling for who gets to deny her first- but the mask twitches, holding in place, reminding the rest of her that there are benefits to be gained here. More than that, Maen gives a slight squeeze to her hand, a little show of support and hesitation on her part as well.


    Raika takes a breath. Sighs. Then nods. ¡°Alright. But not here. Let¡¯s find a damn room first, ok?¡±


    ¡°Entirely reasonable,¡± Yun Ka says.


    It doesn¡¯t take them long. Raika striding into a room tends to commandeer it a bit, and Yun Ka made it even clearer to the few servants who were milling about the pantry they find themselves in that it¡¯s all very official business, thank you.


    She then proceeds to click a few tiles on one of her tablets, at which point her limbs whirr to life, etching and painting small sigils around the room and planting small, thin metal rods. In instants, Raika feels the scent of a formation hum to life and feels the world outside the room go from a constant pressure to a dull, distant roar.


    ¡°I hope this is sufficient?¡± Yun Ka asks.


    Maen looks to Raika for permission at first, but then nods. ¡°Yeah. I think this is good, right? Not like it was supposed to be a big secret.¡±


    Raika sighs. ¡°Still wanted to keep it quiet for a while longer.¡±


    Yun Ka smiles at that, beaming out a moment of what seems like genuine joy to be able to answer. ¡°Excellent news on that front! All of my reports are safely encoded for review at a later point by my direct superior, which, as you know, is Taurus. And I don¡¯t really like to gossip, it¡¯s not really my thing. I just want to know about how this change came about in you, Maen, and workshop some ideas, perhaps.¡±


    Maen goes to speak, but Raika shifts her weight, leaning a bit forward to cut her off.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell us your theory first, then?¡± she asks.


    Yun Ka tilts her head, then shrugs. ¡°If it¡¯ll make you more at ease, I don¡¯t see why not. Very well.¡±


    Some of her limbs extend out into a sort of halo, thin lines of runes and metal lighting up slowly and creating a sort of visual representation of a person, floating in the air.


    The muscles fill out, and Raika realizes it¡¯s a representation of her.


    ¡°As we¡¯ve established, your body no longer possesses functional spirit or ¡°soul¡± organs. While some remnants may remain, we won¡¯t know without proper examination. Your particular method of altered cultivation, despite having nearly killed you, has instead allowed you to create patterns of movement in your blood and body. Where others may have done this with kata, you used vibration, eventually using your heartbeat and bodily functions. By establishing these patterns of movement, you began to circulate Qi in your physical body, rather than in your spirit organs. Thus, your Qi does not interact with a ¡°soul¡± directly, and has no Qi signature: instead, it reads as neutral, with a minor affinity for life energies, due to being inside your body.¡±


    The skin of the illuminated hologram lights up, tracing squiggly patterns and sharp, runic circles on it. ¡°You then proceeded to curse yourself with an effective but rudimentary technique, further containing the Qi in your body to keep it from leaking out, while not allowing foreign contaminated Qi to enter, further keeping it relatively ¡°raw¡± and pure. Using this, you¡¯ve forced your body to reach a high saturation of Qi.


    And that¡¯s where things get interesting.¡±


    The hologram begins to glow a new color, following blood flow and highlighting tiny motes of light settling in the body as they move.


    ¡°Just as a steel sword left within a formation, or the bones of a Divergent Paths cultivator, your body is so saturated with Qi that it is enhanced. Just as an alloy left to soak in pure or metal-flavored Qi becomes more supple, stronger, and more versatile, so too has your body gained esoteric properties, which, as of yet, I have been unable to examine, besides altered survivability, durability, and regeneration. Either way, now, your body is effectively a series of incredibly potent Qi ingredients, controlled by your Truths. This is all confirmed. Do you agree?¡±


    Raika says nothing, and the mask prompts nothing, so eventually she just nods.


    ¡°Excellent. Now, the theory part is fascinating. See, Maen, I believe, is pursuing a rare example of dual cultivation, using two cultivation methods at the same time. Not altogether uncommon, but to do it without a manual or mentor is truly admirable. Beastial cultivation, as your genetics support, revolves around eating resources rather than meditating and changing one¡¯s body and elemental properties with what is consumed, while conventional cultivation focuses on improving one¡¯s ¡°soul¡± and changing one¡¯s Qi to suit it. My theory states that your bestial cultivation allowed you to consume some of Raika¡¯s flesh or blood, getting more Qi out of such an act than a conventional cultivator could and pushing your body to have energy to transform, and due to your dual cultivation, boosting and refining the Qi in your spirit organs in the process. Is this accurate?¡±


    Maen hesitates, but Raika gives no sign either way. At this point, Yun Ka is effectively just monologuing things that another could discover fairly easily, and as frustrating as it is, it¡¯s no excuse to keep Maen from speaking.


    ¡°Yeah, I think so,¡± Maen admits. ¡°I just¡­ it smelled like really, really good incense or like pills, cultivation aids, every time she bled. I figured, maybe, since I got advice to keep my energies balanced, I should follow my instincts and see what would happen. I wasn¡¯t expecting a giant claw, though.¡±


    ¡°Excellent instincts indeed!¡± Yun Ka says. ¡°I truly wish I could have seen this first digestion in sterile conditions, but to witness its effects is already delightful. A mixture of biomodification and a direct expression of altered Qi from your meridians! There¡¯s so much to be studied about potential applications of your tissues as a resource, Raika. I am just so ready to head back to Central! All this without even referencing the fact you¡¯ve created, in your body, a combination of structures for creating True Flame, seemingly by heaven-sent luck or happenstance. So much to explore, and all the time to do it. Are you sure I can¡¯t convince you to offer a tissue sample?¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Very sure. For now, at least, hmm?¡±


    ¡°Ah. Very well then. Still, I appreciate the confirmation. Always good to have more data for the notes.¡±


    Without waiting for a response or giving any goodbye courtesies, Yun Ka¡¯s limbs etch out any runes and quickly clean up any paints, taking maybe two seconds to do so, before Yun Ka walks promptly out of the room, tablet in hand and writing furiously with her stylus.


    Raika exhales, soft, slow, letting her walls come back up as the sound of the audience and all the movement seeps back in. She takes another one. Then a third.


    Maen touches her arm, softly, her heartbeat etched with concern. Raika opens her eyes, nods to reassure her partner.


    And freezes, the mask slipping in place like a reactive, startled animal, as she sees a white-robed figure idly toying with Maen¡¯s hair.


    ¡°Such a pity,¡± Zhoulong says. ¡°Looks like you¡¯ll have to kill her. Or let her cut you open. Not a lot of wiggle room, Raika dear.¡±


    He looks sickly, tired, like he hasn¡¯t eaten or slept since she last saw him, even with his advanced cultivation state. Still, his smile remains just as bright and just as hatefully false to look at.


    ¡°Raika?¡± Maen asks, concerned at the silence. ¡°Are you alright?¡±


    Raika nods, her muscles stiff but her face neutral, lidded as only the mask can be. ¡°I¡¯m fine, kitten. Just¡­ better for us if some things work out properly. Soon.¡±


    Maen nods, huffing as she does. ¡°Couldn¡¯t agree more. I could use some more of how fun it was kicking that guy¡¯s ass.¡±


    The mask laughs, and Maen smiles, a bit mollified, even if her heartbeat still tells another story.


    Behind the mask, Raika stares at Zhoulong, teeth bared as he raises his hands in mock surrender and laughs.


    ¡°Don¡¯t blame me,¡± he says. ¡°You thought of it first. Me, I¡¯m just a friendly specter. There are more leaves on a dead branch than there are ways I can hurt you. I¡¯ve changed my mind is all. I¡¯ve peeked at some of what you have in your head, and I have to say, I¡¯m just pickled to see some of your ideas. I¡¯m here to help.

 Chapter 107 - Plans Within Schemes Within Plots

    ¡°Maen, you mind staying hidden?¡± Raika asks.


    Maen frowns, turning to look at her. ¡°What? Why?¡±


    ¡°I want to look around, but I don¡¯t want anyone to wonder where I am. This way it¡¯ll look like we¡¯re off together in a corner somewhere.¡±


    Maen snorts and shakes her head. ¡°As much as that¡¯s a fun image, I don¡¯t see why I can¡¯t help. You saw how fast I can move now! It¡¯s¡­ I mean it¡¯s not like yours, I need to fuel it, but I¡¯ve still got plenty of Qi left. I can help.¡±


    ¡°No, I- I¡¯m going to be using my nose. I can¡¯t keep an eye out for you here, not while I¡¯m searching.¡±


    ¡°Well you don¡¯t need to keep an eye out for me if I can move faster than anyone can catch me! Besides, it¡¯s not like you¡¯ve got so much experience sneaking around either. I can help. You know I can help.¡±


    Raika struggles to articulate for a moment. Breathes hard, a rough sort of ¡°huffing¡± noise that stirs up the air in the room. Ignores the man smiling behind Maen. ¡°I can survive a fight if I get hurt. You can¡¯t heal like I can. I can track my prey by scent, you can¡¯t. I don¡¯t want you to get hurt.¡±


    Maen goes to say something¡­ and then doesn¡¯t. She steps back a bit, shrinks back a little. Raika can almost smell the scent of Qi shifting, turning from a clean and confident flow to something quieter.


    ¡°I don¡¯t- Maen, I don¡¯t mean it badly. It¡¯s just-¡±


    ¡°Just what, Raika?¡±


    Raika hesitates. Then she sighs. The mask tells her, very clearly, that the best decision to be made here is to be honest with Maen. Working together, communicating, potentially using a new ally, all suit her primary objectives of finding traces of She Beneath Still Waters and keeping away from the arena¡¯s security measures. But beneath that, holding firm, is the fact that Zhoulong is there, right there, smiling and idling behind Maen, making faces at the occasional word choice. She wants Maen safe.


    ¡°I still need to protect you.¡±


    Maen says nothing for a while, but eventually nods. ¡°Ok. I get it. I¡¯m still a new cultivator, I¡¯m sure I¡¯ve got a lot of growing left to do. I don¡¯t want to slow you down.¡±


    She sits on a sack of some kind of potatoes, shrugging. ¡°Go do what you have to do. I¡¯ll hide out here for a while. Thirty minutes sound good?¡±


    Raika sighs. She knows she handled this badly, but¡­ ¡°Yeah, thirty minutes should be plenty. Thank you. We can talk later about it?¡±


    Maen nods politely. ¡°Sure. Later.¡±


    Raika goes to give a hug, a kiss, a touch, and she sees Maen react to the small shift in her posture- and gives her partner space instead. She steps out of the closet, her scent and sense of hearing letting her know there¡¯s no one around, and starts running down the hallway to her left.


    It doesn¡¯t take much to modify for stealth. She¡¯s still massive, so the modifications are limited, but padding on her feet, digitigrade joints, and tightening her muscles around her bones, leaving her slightly smaller, are enough that she can run fairly silently and with confidence that she¡¯ll sense anyone coming before they sense her.


    ¡°Gotta say,¡± Zhoulong says, standing in a doorway she dashes past, ¡°that was painful to watch. I mean, I¡¯ve cut people apart before but that? That hurt. I was always more of an erudite cultivator but I¡¯m no stranger to the fairer sex if you ever want some advice, my host.¡±


    She snarls something sub-vocally and doesn¡¯t bother to respond. Zhoulong shakes his head disappointingly, sitting on some furniture she runs past as she dashes through an empty lobby.


    ¡°I mean seriously, honored Raika, you really have to make sure a relationship has a solid foundation. Begin with an error of an inch and end by being a thousand miles off the mark. You have told her about me before, if I remember, so what¡¯s the hesitation now? It¡¯s hardly like I can reach her from in here, is it?¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t about you,¡± she huffs, nostrils wide and scenting the air.


    ¡°If you say so. I can see that, actually. Perhaps I simply stood in as a metaphor for potential threats you can¡¯t touch, hovering over a loved one. Rather poignant, really. Completely unintentional I assure you. My only hope is to assist you here.¡±


    She stops, takes two steps to be around the corner of a passing group of servants walking by, and whirls at the place she knows Zhoulong will now be.


    ¡°Why?¡± she growls, letting her voice slip so the sound thrums through the air around them. ¡°And why the fuck should I trust you?¡±


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t! Though I dearly hope you shall, of course. As to why, well, it¡¯s that or get digested, isn¡¯t it? Aiding you, I buy a reprieve for myself. And I will admit, it¡¯s rare I get to be so intimate with a project without ever getting to properly analyze it. I don¡¯t exactly have my tools or scrolls with me, but I¡¯m sure that as an expert on biology I can offer tremendous assistance with your transformation. Take my advice as you please, of course. I have no hope of convincing you right away, but an unplanted garden never grows.¡±


    Raika laughs softly, wincing inwardly at how the sound carries and leaves a few servants looking around nervously, casting their Qi senses out and forcing her a few steps deeper down the side-hallway and out of range. ¡°You¡¯re less than slime, and the fact you¡¯ve gone from threatening to begging for your life doesn¡¯t earn you goodwill from me. Any expertise I could get from you, I could get elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°Oh, sure, of course,¡± Zhoulong says, wandering idly in view of her hiding spot, strolling casually along the hallway up and down. ¡°I completely understand that. I just mean that with me, there¡¯s no recrimination, no judgment, just fascination, pure and simple. I¡¯m in your head. I can see how much you hate yourself. I can see how much it strains you to see other people care. I don¡¯t, my host. I am bored out of my mind, looking to stay ¡°alive¡± as long as I can, and absolutely fascinated with what you call a functional biology.¡±


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    He steps closer, right up to her face, and she growls down at him, making his form ripple. She pushes against him, and while her hand goes right through him, he does sort of shift, the sound of her voice and the touch together enough that she can see him wince.


    ¡°The more you talk, the more I want to kill you. You should probably factor that in.¡±


    He shakes his head, recovers, smiles. ¡°Reasonable enough. I¡¯ve killed people for far less reason than ¡®they¡¯re literally haunting my mind¡¯. But really, besides having to see more of me, it¡¯s all advantage on your end. Worst case scenario, as long as I¡¯m in sight, you¡¯re not wondering about what I¡¯m doing behind the scenes.¡±


    She turns to him, eyes shifting pupil shape, her every movement still.


    He shrugs. ¡°Hard to look into your soul without a Dantian, hmm? It¡¯s not easy, per se, but¡­ well. I¡¯m just trying to keep busy. Wouldn¡¯t you prefer I did that for you, instead of against you?¡±


    ¡°Just something to consider. You should focus now, no? You just missed the scent.¡±


    She blinks, turns to look back down the hallway, and by the time she turns back to look Zhoulong is gone again, vanished the moment he went out of view. He¡¯s right, though. It¡¯s faint, just a whiff, but without his prattling she smells it, the scent of water left still, deep underground. This one smells a bit stagnant, though. Not the witch, and not her followers, either- but connected.


    She growls, the sound thrumming like a bass note against the air. Shakes her head, hard, as if trying to literally throw him out of her brainpan. Having indulged in the brief fantasy, she takes off after the smell.


    It¡¯s one of the servants, near the back of the group, their scent half-drowned by that of a half-dozen others with their own unique Qi signatures, but it¡¯s enough to get a trail. It¡¯s a new way of using her senses, one that¡¯s obvious but that she¡¯s never had cause to exploit before, and rather than trying to find understanding in the scent or keeping track of a person¡¯s thoughts, she uses it to track where the servant has gone.


    At her speeds, she¡¯s crossed halfway around the arena, barely touching the ground, in about fifteen minutes. It takes a hell of a lot of focus to keep track of the scent, especially as other fights go on in the arena, the stone transmitting the sound of stomping feet, screaming fans, fluttering heartbeats, impacts, gasps, music, Jin Nara¡¯s announcements-


    She breathes, refocuses. Tunes out the sound. Follows the scent.


    Darkness and water. Caves. Deep beneath.


    Eventually, she runs into a new problem.


    Unsurprisingly, the Unearthly Depths sect, based on a sea, smells like water, and like depth. The trail she¡¯s following starts to get washed away as she approaches their section of the stands, taking pains more and more often to avoid servants who are starting to wear more and more sect robes. Some even seem to be outer disciples occasionally, acting as managers for servants bringing food, drink, resources and other comforts to the inner sect disciples and elders up above them in the stands. It takes a good five more minutes to find an opening in the controlled chaos to slip past.


    Trying to keep focused, she taps Dink lightly under her robes, her nail making a very slight sound against the metal that sends a little shiver into her. It¡¯s not much in terms of cultivation aid, but the sound of it helps center her, just enough.


    She¡¯s low on time. Maen will be heading back soon.


    She finds a hidden corner, above one of the rooms, and anchors herself to it, clawed fingers hooking into stone with the slightest hissing of small cracks. Once she¡¯s secured, she closes her eyes, blocks out the sound of the crowds, and just begins to breathe.


    In. And out. In. And out.


    Slowly. One breath at a time. Every time she loses it, gets distracted, she taps Dink, ever so lightly, letting the vibration resonate and bring her back, one breath at a time.


    A picture forms. She can sense the Qi of dozens of cultivators, even from some of those in the stands, leaking out in minute qualities as they move and enhance their senses to watch the fights. She can sense eddies and flows in it, scent marks left on some as they move, transferred to others, even as they all emit their own particular flavor. Ignoring the scent of flesh, of sweat and skin and hair and blood, she breathes in deep, again and again, and traces the pattern.


    Slow, rolling waves. Pressure, like deep darkness beneath the water. She can sense from the servants and weaker servants less of it, like the water lightens in tone as they move past, but the deeper currents remain. From above, the scent of crushing weight, of dark, roiling tides, of strange and shifting things in the deep- and from some, more than even that. The scent of the sect as a whole is a roiling, slow thing, wave after wave, hidden currents and writhing, half-glimpsed forms, cold and deep. She breathes in, and their form of cultivation crafts a picture of how they exert themselves on the world.


    And there, at the edge of it¡­ stone. Slight, hard to sense, but there. Ever so slight, the scent of rocks crushed beneath the weight of a sea, washed in the depths of an ocean¡­ and with still waters beneath it.


    The far end of the seating arrangement, near the back wall of the arena, where the elders sit. Not quite among them, but close. Someone valued, perhaps.


    It only takes a few moments to find a proper exit, the servant¡¯s hallways designed to allow for easy access to the arena and seating for cultivators and workers alike. It¡¯s not even all that hard to keep herself hidden, forcing her body to contract, some of her joints to shift out of place, until she¡¯s at more of a normal height, shifting her features just a bit to make her face less clear and putting her hair away beneath an improvised hood. She steps out into the light of the arena, lost amid a crowd of faces, and looks up at where her senses led her to.


    Sitting opposite the Stone Divers sect, the elders and prodigies of the Unearthly Depths sect stand tall and proud, canopies erected over much of their seating and their colors of deep, dark blue, black, and hints of purple on display. Their section is a darkened, abstract shadow of blues and darkness contrasted against the bright white and sandstone orange of the arena¡¯s construction and the burning sun above, and as the tournament goes on, unlike much of the crowd, many of them sit comfortably, uncaring about the minor fights before them. Some of them are exceptions, staring intently, dedicating themselves, but many are content to assume their own strength.


    And, third from the right, beneath the seating set up for the sect elders which glint slightly with gold and blue jade in their own section, is a man she recognizes. Not entirely, considering his face is uncovered this time, but the scent came from him, unmistakably, a Qi that smells of dark caverns and deep, still water beneath them, similar but just slightly off from the scent of She Beneath Still Waters. He¡¯s got darker skin, eyes that glimmer a shade of bright yellow, nearly-shaved black hair and a short goatee, sitting proudly with the other inner sect disciples and apprentices, his robes touched with gilding and small talismans. She memorizes his face, makes sure she knows where he¡¯s sitting and can point him out to Kaena for identification.


    It¡¯s a good first step. She reminds herself of that as she goes back into the servants tunnels, waiting until she¡¯s out of sight to reconnect her joints properly and move again.


    It¡¯s a good step. The plan is working. It¡¯s ok.


    The memory of Zhoulong smiling and the gilded cage of the Imperial Palace both haunt her as she runs back anyways.

 Chapter 108 - Damn, What Are They Teaching You Kids Nowadays?

    Shin Ren takes in a long, slow breath, meditating carefully. Beneath him is a sharp spire of stone, one of the many in this section of the weird terrain his master took him to. For all the many plateaus and strange spires, there are places where the stone turns almost to spikes, their sides smooth and crystalline as all stone is, here. It takes considerable focus to keep his mind quieted, his body still, and the slight amount of Qi he¡¯s pushing into contact with the spike consistent to ensure he doesn¡¯t slip or get stabbed in the glute.


    It¡¯s peaceful. It¡¯s a challenge, sure, but he¡¯s meditated in worse spots before, and it¡¯s reassuring, getting back to basics like this. Ever since he made peace with his heart demons and touched upon the Dao of Flame, progress has rocketed back. His master was right, in that respect, though apparently keeping the heart demons delayed whatever tribulation was intended for him. Instead, he¡¯s spent time building his power back.


    His core is larger now, its outer shell more dense and purified. The pieces that no longer served him, that belonged to and created his demons, belong to them, their metaphysical aspects held by them now, and in the space that removing those pieces cleared he¡¯s built something new. It¡¯s hard to know precisely what the pieces are; perfect self-awareness is not a skill almost anyone can cultivate. Still, it feels different, Lighter, yet broader, as if it¡¯s expanded without weighing on him, and reforming it, rebuilding into its shattered pieces, went like a pleasant dream of self-recognition.


    And from there, a new joy: with his heart demons now symbiotic, rather than parasitic or self-destructive, his ability to absorb Qi has skyrocketed. Rather than being cast about randomly whenever his demons pulled in Qi, cultivating semi-independently, and the only way to control them was to starve their meridians and avoid any cultivation himself, now there¡¯s¡­ not quite balance, but closer. With three ¡°cores¡± cultivating instead of one, his Dantian pulling energy and his demon-altered meridians pulling in their own additional flows from it and adding to his circulation of Qi, he can absorb nearly twice as much energy as he could before, even when only meditating casually.


    It was easy to fill his core back up the first time, forming its second layer. His third layer originally took him weeks, his fourth one months. This time, experience and a flood of constantly-circulating energy made it take seven days between both of them.


    He lets out a breath, focuses his energies, and pushes energy from his core out and into his heart meridian, where the second and more personal of his demons resides.


    Slowly, as he circulates, he begins to emit flame. It hurts, the heat from it stinging him, singeing the simple robes he wears, and rather than the flame he generates, pure red with hints of the purple flame he¡¯s pursued for so long, it flickers into being around him as crimson and bloody orange.


    Eventually, after perhaps a quarter of his Qi reserves are diverted into that whirlpool within him, the flame flares properly, melting off of him and reforming as a pool of napalm-like flame in the air beside him.


    From that flame, like a vision from hell, incarnated back into reality and flesh, steps the Corpse Aflame.


    She barely looks human, what was once a burnt out husk of meat and bone and carbon re-ignited into something like a pyre, dripping flame like heavy blood leaking out of wounds, wreathed and clothed in brilliant red and orange colors that warp the air around her and sting against him, just a bit. Where once her eyes were like runny eggs oozing down her blackened skull of a face, now they are lit from within, like there are candles in place of the back of her sockets, glistening a burnt white against carbonized flesh and bone. The white of that inner flame is reflected in that which emerges from her chest, a spiral of flame frozen in motion, like a piece of colored glass, one point of its spiraling lines extending through the Corpse Aflame¡¯s chest like a dagger or sword blade.


    She looks back at him, the world warping in her presence, and says nothing, bleeding napalm onto the ground far below and standing on her own flames.


    ¡°Let¡¯s try this again,¡± Shin Ren says, trying to make his voice authoritative but not commanding. ¡°Fly out straight ahead, but slower this time.¡±


    She says nothing, tending towards speaking only when she has to, but she does move in the indicated direction. The first time, she exploded forward, a conflagration in motion- this time, she walks, a stumbling, stuttering series of steps, one after the other, across liquid flame that drips from her.


    She makes it a hundred steps¡­ then a hundred and twenty¡­ and then about a hundred and fifty, before he feels the edge of an invisible boundary.


    For all that they seem to think independently of him, they¡¯re still pieces of him, still spawned from his Qi and soul. There¡¯s a limit to how far away his heart demons can get before they reach a point where they need to start burning exponentially more Qi to remain manifested.


    The Corpse Aflame dissolves into napalm and choking smoke, the edges of their ash floating back towards Shin Ren. Barely any of the Qi expended in the manifestation makes it back, but some does, bringing him back up to around four-fifths of his total. They¡¯ll all be spending a lot more fuel in combat, of course, but it¡¯s an encouraging sign overall.


    Sighing, he drops from the spire, letting himself fall past the dozen or so other spikes that surround his perch on the way to the ground.


    As he lands, he finds Qu Haolan waiting, idly scritching under the chin of one of the strange, lizard-like creatures that populate the land around them.


    ¡°Finally done dripping fire everywhere? Sure that there¡¯s nowhere else you¡¯d like to go and tar?¡±


    Shin Ren bows respectfully, making sure he goes to the right depth and holds a fist in his palm. ¡°No, master. It¡¯s more than enough to learn my limits, and to learn more of what might be possible.¡±


    Qu Haolan huffs, but nods. ¡°Good. I can¡¯t say I¡¯m an expert in heart demons, but most of what I know about them speaks to keeping them quiet or keeping them gone entirely. I can¡¯t say I¡¯ve met someone with your particular path, so my advice to your growth in that regard shall be limited. I can¡¯t help but notice, however, your growth. I¡¯m assuming you¡¯re cultivating faster?¡±


    Shin Ren nods. ¡°Yes, master. My heart demons work with me now, and are both boosting my circulation of Qi and absorbing some on their own to add to my shared pool. I¡¯ve managed to rebuild nearly half my core already, though I¡¯m certain that the breakthroughs I¡¯ve experienced under your tutelage are the main reason for such.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Good. And the Dao of Flame?¡±


    ¡°It is still foreign to me, but its comprehension progresses, master. I can summon some aspect of it, and transform it, but its nuances are lost to me.¡±


    Qu Haolan nods. ¡°That¡¯s to be expected. Most Dao¡¯s are, in truth, a collection of many different truths about reality, and some pursue complete understanding of each individual piece before mastering the whole. Others view each concept as distinct and unique, requiring only comprehension of itself.¡±


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    ¡°Which do you believe to be true, master?¡±


    Qu Haolan smiles and gives Shin Ren a long look.


    ¡°Don¡¯t patronize, boy. Flattery will get you nowhere. You are a cultivator; to cultivate is to pursue one¡¯s own path towards the Heavens. My path is not yours; teaching you to walk and telling you where to step are two very different things.¡±


    Shin Ren nods, bowing a bit in apology, which seems to mollify whatever irritation or amusement Qu Haolan is feeling. ¡°I understand, master. As best as I can, perhaps. I believe that, considering how easily my foundation was shattered with my prior arrogance, and how different my flames can be through the touch of my heart demons, that I should pursue more than a single path to comprehension.¡±


    Qu Haolan nods, and shrugs. ¡°If that is your choice, then so it is. You¡¯re not one for the easy path, it would seem, even with whatever advantages your ¡®Empire¡¯ has given your generation. All the better, really; your tribulation still awaits you, and it¡¯s not one to be taken lightly.¡±


    Shin Ren frowns at that. ¡°How do you mean, master? I thought my tribulation would strike when my heart demons were purified. As it is, I didn¡¯t think it was still¡­ pending?¡±


    Qu Haolan huffs, but this time stands from where he was sitting, stretching languidly. The lizard-thing scurries off to join its fellows the moment it is no longer being pet, crawling halfway up one of the spires and beginning to dig for grubs and snails once more.


    ¡°In your master¡¯s magnanimous generosity, I¡¯ve managed to hold it back a while, but when you emerge back into the world, I will be more than happy to relieve myself of that burden and allow you to survive or perish on your own merits.¡±


    Shin Ren says nothing for a moment, mouth falling open as if to speak¡­ and then closing again as he recomposes himself. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m sorry, master, did you say that you¡¯re holding back my tribulation? Is that¡­ a thing you can do?¡±


    His master blinks, looking at him in confusion. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t it be? We are within my Domain, boy. The Heavens are spiteful and mighty, but to carve a Domain into the world is to usurp them, as is the right of any true cultivator. Surely you would know of this? You¡¯re approaching the Nascent Soul realm, knowing about a Domain is essential to developing within it.¡±


    ¡°Master, I know of Domains. By empowering one¡¯s self, a space that embodies the principles and Soul of a cultivator is expressed upon the world, but they are techniques. I have never heard of one holding back a tribulation. Perhaps an Imperial Domain, secured by formations in the first ring, but not one manifested by a person rather than by anchors and formation experts.¡±


    Qu Haolan says nothing for a while. At first it seems like he might just be incredulous, but that shifts into a more thoughtful expression as he ponders his words. Despite his master¡¯s confidence, Shin Ren, in the few months he has known his mentor, has not found him to be an impulsive man, and when he speaks, it is when he is certain of what he says. Instead of speaking, he waves a hand, indicating for Shin Ren to follow, and turns to begin walking from the spiked spires that characterize this portion of the landscape.


    They walk for nearly an hour in silence, Shin Ren meditating on what his master might say and making sure to keep his Qi intake balanced as they go. Qu Haolan guides them on a much calmer and longer walk than their arrival- rather than leaping and using Qi platforms to move tens of miles in minutes, they move at a mortal¡¯s pace, step by step. From the spikes, they travel uphill along one of the many flowing canyons of smooth and gem-like stone that make up the terrain, walking alongside a small stream that burbles and sings little melodies in its echoes against the rock. The canyon eventually gives way to a larger, more sweeping plateau, a central and pristine stone from which many of the canyons pass around or emerge from in small rivers, water slowly dripping¡­ from directly above?


    Shin Ren looks up, trying to see the cloud or shape that¡¯s forming the water. The Qi saturation of their environment is tremendous, it¡¯s true, but it shouldn¡¯t be enough for it to form water without a formation or a water-tainted source of Qi.


    There¡¯s nothing. The sky above is clear, and falling from about fifty feet above him in a perfect, unbroken line, as if poured from a tea spout, is water.


    Qu Haolan waits until Shin Ren looks to him.


    ¡°The world holds many wonders, boy, and there is much we do not know,¡± he says. ¡°There are places so strange they defy understanding, realms and landscapes so beyond what a living being could survive that they can only be glimpsed by the mightiest among us. There are, in fact, places in the world that look quite a bit like this one, where water may manifest and carve away at stone over generations, and where strange beings may frolic and grow.


    This is not one of those places. This is my place. We stand within my Domain now, and have for the months you have been here. I have meditated within this domain for time far beyond what I believed possible, and the world has changed, but this is not the world, this is me, this is mine, and it cannot change unless I will it to, or change myself to be unrecognizable.¡±


    There is a long, unbroken silence as the thought sinks in.


    ¡°In my time, a Domain was more than a technique or weapon. Perhaps it still is in your time, to some extent, but it was a manifestation of all that one is, made into a world around oneself, a place where one¡¯s Soul and self are one and the same. A Domain is not a weapon, boy, no matter how lethal it may be.¡±


    ¡°This¡­ master, I don¡¯t know how this is possible. Domains are¡­ they¡¯re strange, they¡¯re unnatural. They operate by rules that follow no¡­¡±


    He looks up at the water, pouring silently and gracefully down from clear skies.


    Qu Haolan nods. ¡°Indeed, the laws of a Domain are not the laws of Heaven. In one¡¯s Domain, such things are usurped, and the chains and filth of the gods is cast aside in favor of new creation. However, it is not uncommon to paint one¡¯s Domain with the colors of Heaven, if only so that one may invite another into their self, or breathe freely, or create resources one might bring out. My Domain has long been a place of reflection and power, and it took me¡­ much longer than I¡¯d even realized to alter it enough that it could support its own life.¡±


    The old monster raises a hand, and from all around them there is a whispering, slithering sound as thousands of claws scrape lightly against stone. At his will, a circle forms around them as hundreds of the reptilian-goat things that populate the landscape surround them, all of them perfectly still, all of them with their eyes trained unerringly on their master¡¯s hand.


    ¡°I sought to overcome my enemies and detractors by creating a Domain near-singular, possessing the qualities to support not just visitors or transplants, but true life born from itself. I succeeded, only to find that in my pursuit, my cultivation has left me separate from the world as it changes, as your Empire rose. There have been rumors before of those who became lost in their Domains, never seen again, and¡­ it is in part for fear of how close to this I may have come that I brought you to me. If you had not nearly killed yourself at the doorstep of my seclusion, I may have stayed here, alone, far longer than I have suffered already.


    So no, Shin Ren, your tribulation cannot reach you here. Perhaps if it were my tribulation from the heavens it could shake this place apart and climb in here to be shamed by me, but you are far below the heights I have reached, even now as you heal once more. But it will find you, boy. So long as the Heavens exist, they will strike and cast down and attempt to violate the growth and identity of all who seek to challenge them, who seek to better themselves, and I will not let you hide behind my skirts forever. I will leave this place, and soon, though ¡®soon¡¯ to me may yet be in weeks rather than days. I have delayed my return long enough, and when I emerge, this place will come with me, once more kept within my self, a place where I do not intend to leave you free to roam.¡±


    The weight of his words, of the fact that Shin Ren has been in a manifested Domain for months now, and the generosity of the statement is not lost. Shin Ren turns to his master and bows, as deeply as he can without kneeling and pressing his head to the earth.


    ¡°Your student is honored by the protection you have offered, and humbled by the grace with which you have bestowed it.¡±


    Qu Haolan gives a short laugh, but nods in return. ¡°I am glad of it, boy. My debt to you is not small, even if it was no gift which brought me from my seclusion but rather opportunity. It is good to repay it by correcting the ignorance knocked into that thick skull of yours. And¡­ I admit, it has been good to see someone growing. Your cultivation, and your friendly demons, have reminded me of how vast the world is. Let it be known that for this, at least, there is no debt between us, save that of master and student.


    Now come along. I prepare once more to leave this humble realm of mine, and you still have growing to do before you can handle what the Heavens have in store for your creative method of cultivation. It may not rival my own power, but I can feel it skitter across the edges of my work, and you are not yet fit to survive it.¡±


    ¡°Yes, master!¡± Shin Ren says, smiling wide. In a week, he managed to reclaim two lost stages of his core. If he has weeks left, he cannot wait to discover how far he might grow now. Let the Heavens shake their fist at him; he¡¯ll shake one right back, and make sure one finger is higher than the others as he does.

 Chapter 109 - Kings Landing-Ass Kinda Conversations

    ¡°So.¡±


    Raika sighs. ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°I heard you and Maen had a little spat.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°And that you said somethings that came out thoughtless, unkind, and blunt, and as much from a place of fear as a place of affection.¡±


    ¡°... yeah. I know.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Kaena pats Raika on the shoulder, smiling so politely it almost shines. ¡°I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re fully aware of how your behavior impacts others. What an absolute pity you couldn¡¯t achieve this level of enlightenment before using wood to put out a fire.¡±


    Raika flinches a bit at that. ¡°Yes, alright. She¡¯s still in the Foundational stage, Kaena, I¡¯m not being unreasonable trying to keep her safe.¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t it less than a year ago that you were fully a cripple, fully trying to murder cursed corpses? Isn¡¯t it true that you know full well how quickly Maen can go, and that she¡¯s not in the habit of acting arrogant?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡­ ugh. I know. I¡¯ll apologize later. Make it up to her.¡±


    ¡°By doing something nice. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re overjoyed at your fresh talents in the sack, and I take no small amount of pride in introducing the two of you to that fact, but it wouldn¡¯t kill you to make her dinner sometime. Celebrate her win more properly, too. Maybe find a nice spot to take her for a walk in.¡±


    Raika goes to scoff, to roll her eyes- and then, realizing just how shitty that would be in this moment, doesn¡¯t. She sighs instead, wilting a bit beneath the burning weight of such basic analysis of her relationship.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not a bad idea. I¡¯ll think of something.¡±


    Kaena nods, making a ¡®hmmph!¡¯ sound to go with it. ¡°As well you should. And if you can¡¯t, I¡¯ll offer suggestions. Training requires repetition, and I¡¯ll hardly qualify as an adequate master if I spend all my time doing the hard work for you.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°I understand. I haven¡¯t been in a lot of¡­ healthy? Long term? Relationships in the past. It¡¯s new territory. I¡¯m not used to courting someone.¡±


    ¡°Well until you get rich and powerful enough to have concubines, get used to it. Maen might not be as strong or as traveled as you, but that doesn¡¯t mean you don¡¯t need to put in the work to keep her happy. And not just at night, beastie.¡±


    Raika grins, laughing at how quickly Kaena predicted what she was about to say, but nods. ¡°Fair enough. I agree, you¡¯re very right, and I promise I will think of something meaningful to do to celebrate and make up for being foolish. Now can we focus on more dangerous concerns?¡±


    Kaena huffs. ¡°I may not be part of their particular brand of person, but I¡¯ll have you know there are few things more dangerous than a woman scorned. Or so I hear.¡±


    Taking a breath, Kaena shifts their posture and faces Raika more directly, all professional now.


    ¡°The cultivator¡¯s name is Rei Ji, and he¡¯s an inner sect disciple with the Unearthly Depths. He¡¯s been with them for about fifty years now, and stands somewhere at the end of Core Formation, moving surprisingly slowly, especially for someone in the inner sect, but it¡¯s partially explained by his work. He is apparently one of their justicars, acting as guard and hunter for the judicial branch of the sect and occasionally volunteering for shifts as a prison warden. His cultivation isn¡¯t much, but he¡¯s supposed to have a relatively unique method, one that I couldn¡¯t get the name of, and a few of his fellows dislike him, especially with perceived weakness of slow growth, but his deeds and contributions earn him a reputation as someone upright and proper. Why you claim he was skulking about in a mask in some alleyway in the merchant¡¯s district I have no idea, but I don¡¯t see any direct reason why he would be. Born and raised in Cragend, participant in a few out of town tournaments and once, the main tournament here on the eclipse a decade past, but never made too many waves in any of them, and has helped with two minor beast tides and one hunt. A perfectly average middle-aged cultivator to all intents and purposes.¡±


    Slowly, Raika¡¯s face morphs through the long breakdown of a stranger¡¯s life, going from simply absorbing the information and ending with an eyebrow raised and lips slightly parted. ¡°I¡­ was not expecting that much information.¡±


    Kaena grins, resting their chin on their hands like the cat that caught the canary. ¡°You asked of me history on a stranger based on a descriptor and placement, Raika. Had you given me his name to start with, I¡¯m sure I could have charted his family tree for you by now.¡±


    Raika scoffs, waving a hand. ¡°Yeah, yeah. Ask and ye shall receive, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Ask for work from an artisan, don¡¯t expect horseshoes. Practical is practical. I am Kaena. I am nothing if not exceptionally talented at what I do.¡±


    ¡°Fair. Anything else?¡±


    ¡°Yes. He agreed to a meeting in about six minutes.¡±


    Raika blinks.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Did you say a meeting? In six minutes.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Yes I did. My aforementioned talents at work.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to meet him, I wanted to-¡±


    ¡°Skulk and figure out what he knows and do research and sneak into his secrets, but the good news is you have me, and I can already do just about all of that. The best way for you to figure out what you need to know, now, is to confront them and learn from trading blows and what he lets slip. Metaphorically speaking. Please do not hit him here, his entire sect is ready and willing to kick our collective ass.¡±


    Raika opens her mouth to argue- and then closes it again. She thinks. She squints at Kaena. She thinks harder.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Kaena just smiles the pearly grin of someone who knows they¡¯re right.


    ¡ª----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Always and forever, the show stops for no one. Which is to say that as she sits and waits, Raika is treated to a hell of a backdrop as the next round of the tournament lights up the colosseum.


    From the culling of the first ¡°round¡± at her hand, the next few battles have gone quickly, with one-on-one matchups being the norm, and some cultivators scheduled for later team battles and such. The massive marble and sandstone landmark that is the arena has been lit up with colorful spectacles of power and thunderous announcements for hours now, and will continue to be so for at least the rest of the day and most of tomorrow before the final brackets are announced. Those who earned the right to fight above their weight class and those who were never in doubt will both be attempting to clash to the top, even as those with strong performances in the initial fights get rewards and attention for their accomplishments.


    The current battle is between someone from the Unearthly Depths sect, interestingly enough, and another independent, this one nearly statuesque, her flesh seeming to imitate stone in all but flexibility. Within the barrier that protects the audience, the malleable, enchanted terrain has been shifted to something like a jungle, replete with humidity, bright green foliage, and sinking, loamy earth, and the battle flashes by between the trees more often than not. The commentators help, but for many of the mortals in the crowd, the fight probably isn¡¯t all that entertaining.


    To Raika, at least, it¡¯s fucking thunderous. Every blow she can hear like it¡¯s beside her head, and the growing pressure from the scent of Qi flavored like a black whirlpool beating against another that smells of bright light and sharp-edged corners is enough to give her a headache. She casually rolls a cigarette between her knuckles, fighting to keep in mind that she needs to keep her head clear and senses sharp.


    Almost exactly six minutes since Kaena said he¡¯d arrive, Rei Ji walks into the room.


    Raika looks him over from where she sits, her mask lounging back against the couch like a contented beast, splayed out and arrogant. He doesn¡¯t match that arrogance, instead giving a polite, almost perfectly correct bow to her.


    ¡°Senior Rei Ji greets Imperial junior,¡± he says. ¡°I am honored to make your acquaintance, Raika the Unbroken. This tournament you have called has been a good opportunity for my sect, and we express our gratitude.¡±


    She smiles, long and languid. ¡°Ever so glad to hear it. I always do my best to keep a sect¡¯s personal interests in mind when I indulge.¡±


    Seeming either not to notice or deciding not to remark on the sarcasm, he bows again, even as a wave of diffused Qi washes out of the arena and makes her flinch, even with her mask. He notices the tick immediately, though.


    ¡°A worthy battle, no?¡± he asks. ¡°I believed it rare that so many independent cultivators would put up such a fight, but it would seem the merits of Imperial education trickle down even to the dirt beneath the mountains. While I still see far too many benefits in belonging to a proper order, it is still a heartening challenge to see so many of the young pushing themselves and forging new paths.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a decent fight,¡± she shrugs. ¡°My money¡¯s on the statue woman. A little on the younger side, but uniqueness, you know? Less¡­ predictable than all you deep waters folk.¡±


    He lets the statement rest for a moment. ¡°Unearthly Depths sect.¡±


    She smiles. ¡°I know it. You know it. But you¡¯re hardly one to stand up for their good name, are ya? Not when you¡¯ve got that whole side hustle going on.¡±


    He remains impassive, quiet.


    ¡°Aw come on, Rei Ji. That is your name, yeah? I asked around. You¡¯re a proper uptight one, hmm? Coal into diamonds sort of pressure in you. Work as a justicar, and volunteering for extra. Funny how that just doesn¡¯t really line up with skulking through alleys and rooftops in masks.


    But then, we both know you got other masters than your sect¡¯s justice. After all¡­ you did get me a smoke, in the end.¡±


    She twirls the cigarette across her knuckles again, drawing his eyes and Qi senses to it.


    ¡°Hell of a roundabout way to do it, but it seems you got the word to her easy enough. Whoever she is. She Beneath Still Waters.¡±


    He raises an eyebrow at that, turning his eyes to look around the room and do¡­ something with his Qi that would probably make more sense if she could do more than smell it swirling about, casual and light but vague nonetheless.


    She scoffs, taking a guess and segue opportunity. ¡°I¡¯ve got the room covered. No one listening I don¡¯t want to. Ain¡¯t got no love for these Imperial fucks beyond what they pay me, and they don¡¯t pay me much. Your boss has something to say. I want to hear it. Go ahead and spit it out, before someone starts to wonder where you¡¯ve wandered off to.¡±


    He shifts a bit at that, but eventually just relaxes. A sort of hidden tension leaks out of his shoulders as he metaphorically shakes himself off, and nods.


    ¡°Very well. I apologize. The agent you used to contact me was¡­ a surprise. But I have no such master you speak of.¡±


    Beneath the mask, she tilts her head in confusion, even as on the surface all that happens is a low growl of frustration and a roll of her eyes.


    ¡°No need for frustration,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯re an outsider. And not a particularly subtle one, so far. One can¡¯t be too careful, especially in such a loud place, but¡­ someone I occasionally work with did mention an interest in you. She certainly hasn¡¯t reached out to me since then, though. I¡¯m not in the business of taking messages.¡±


    Raika huffs. ¡°So you say. Master or not, you work with someone way more interesting than most of this whole tournament thing, and she made me an offer. You can tell me what you know, and maybe we work well together in the future, or you can go now, and we can see how we feel when next we meet.¡±


    He nods his head softly. ¡°I can understand your hesitation, and I applaud junior¡¯s care. If I have your measure, your appearance, however different from the norm, still speaks of true youth rather than created or altered age. As your senior and a relative stranger, I applaud your caution.¡±


    She raises her hands, palms up. ¡°That¡¯s it, then? A bit of applause? With some applause and a piece of copper, I could buy a dumpling and clap afterwards ¡®senior¡¯ brother.¡±


    He smiles at that. ¡°Indeed. I apologize if I am not to my junior sister¡¯s liking, but perhaps the title carries more weight for me than for you. Perhaps there is something else we might speak about? I¡¯m a citizen of this fair city, born and raised, and there are many unique myths and stories in this land that I am well versed in. Perhaps my junior sister could use some education in simple things, as a lighter conversation than what perhaps you desired?¡±


    He raises an eyebrow, and she can¡¯t help but laugh behind the mask. On the surface, she styles her face into one of impatience, then confusion, then irritation, all in short order, all without speaking, but beneath it she is calm. Maybe a test to see how dense she is, more likely a way to speak without having any clear accusations that can be levied against him: either way, he¡¯s offering cooperation of a kind.


    Eventually, she shrugs. ¡°Sure. I can indulge a cultivator facing senility a while longer.¡±


    There¡¯s a very slight tic in his face, but not an ounce of Qi escapes with his irritation, and he holds himself just as professionally and calmly as he has since she arrived. If it wasn¡¯t already obvious, it seems clear he¡¯s the more level-headed member of the trio back in the alley, the one who de-escalated the encounter.


    Outside the window nearby, Qi crashes against Qi as Raika hears the sound of the stone woman¡¯s flesh begin to creak and groan, the heartbeat of the Unearthly Depths sect cultivator speed up faster and faster as fear and adrenaline enter their system.


    ¡°Very well then. Perhaps I can offer some insight to you, junior sister. You seem one more oriented towards the active, violent work of cultivation, so perhaps a story of just such a thing?¡±


    She just nods, pretending not to be interested, looking out the window at the fight even as her senses track every shift in his movement or position.


    ¡°Excellent. Then perhaps I¡¯ll begin with the tale of the Night of Broken Earth and Blackened Sky."

 Chapter 110 - Storytime

    ¡°Long ago, before this land was broken in twain and the great valley crawled towards the horizon, there was the sea.¡±


    Rei Ji waves his hand, the slightly headache-inducing visual effect of a spatial ring activating with the motion as he summons a small tea set onto the room¡¯s low table. There is a central jug, a small brazier that he lights with a slight push of Qi, both ornate and delicate; two ceramic bowls, a mortar, a ladle, and a whisk, all equally fine. Patiently, carefully, he begins the process of crafting tea, grinding the herbs in front of Raika and keeping the process visible as he does. There¡¯s an air of ritual to the behavior, a mix of politeness and an acknowledgement of the dangers of poison all at once, and before long, the scent of the leaves begins to fill the room.


    ¡°Before the Empire, long before many of even the Sects of the eastern rings, the sea remained. The sun up above crawled and spiraled and writhed, and yet for all its many mouths and slithering bodies, for all its endless flame, it could not reach into the sea. The land, for all its rolling mountains and wandering beasts, could not drink the sea¡¯s water, or touch its center, still and dark within it. My people acknowledged other places of the world, of course, other wonders or bodies of water, but, as all people do, they embraced primarily what was before them, and grew to worship the vast, quiet stillness of the cold waters, always fresh. It is said that cultivation in this region came from the lake, that to meditate on its stillness and drink of its deeper waters was to unlock one¡¯s soul and begin to draw in the blood of the world.¡±


    Despite herself, Raika is interested, if only partially for the story. The politeness is¡­ refreshing. As is being treated as someone worthy of courtesy. She keeps the mask still, its face annoyed and bored in equal measure, making sure to embody the image of a witless bruiser- but inside, she tracks Rei Ji carefully, taking his measure as he moves and speaks. There¡¯s an element of sincerity here that says he values the story he¡¯s telling, and considering how he seems to embrace being subtle, she¡¯s careful to track his inflections and listen closely.


    ¡°Of course, as with all things in this world, things changed. Eventually, there were other great powers who came to the land, perhaps tempted by the sea, perhaps for their own reasons. It was in a great battle between three of these outsiders that the world was broken, and the scar you know as the Crag came to be.


    Would it surprise you to know that we don¡¯t know their names? Oh, they probably had very important names, dreadfully important titles, and your Empire claims to know who did it. They also claim they¡¯ll last until the end of time, so who knows. But for the simple people of the still and quiet sea, the best we could offer against them, in our powerlessness, was to forget them from our history for their crime. For you see, in their battle, these beings, one a cultivator, one an ascended beast, and one something altogether else, broke the stillness of the water.¡±


    The fine powder of the leaves rests in one bowl, and then in the other, parceled out ritually, precisely. Outside the room, the arena thunders, the sound of heavy blows powerful enough to shatter boulders ringing through the air and an overwhelming smell of pressure coating and crushing any other scents coming from it, but Rei Ji says nothing.


    With small, precise motions, he opens the lid of the ceramic jug, letting wisps of steaming water rise from it. It moves uniformly, rising in a perfect, unwavering column of condensation, and as he picks up the slim ladle, he bows slightly to it, before scooping the water from the kettle into the first bowl. Quickly but still carefully, he picks up the whisk, stirring the powdered leaves into the water until they have fully dissolved and changed it to a deep, bluish-purple color, like that of a vibrant bruise.


    She detects the moment where there¡¯s an expectation of response, a sense of ritual interrupted, but before she can decide to reshape her mask to something else, he has placed the bowl down towards her end of the small table. The mask maintains the air of arrogant impatience, but she does lean forward and pick up the bowl.


    Rei Ji says nothing, instead completing his own bowl in much the same ritualistic way, before toasting Raika and guiding her to take a small sip at the same time as him.


    Thunderous applause and screaming roar in from the open window as overwhelming impressions of Qi and technique clash violently against each other. Bodies move at speeds that blur their movement, impacts shake the stone around them, and esoteric power radiates from the central arena.


    The tea is delicious. Thick, yet delicate at the same time, and giving the impression of a sweetened molasses while still flowing smooth.


    ¡°The sea had broken alongside the land,¡± Rei Ji continues. ¡°While the blow missed that serene body, its branching cracks broke the ground beneath the sea. Since then, it has lost its stillness, the source of the calm which created such a unique cultivation aid and beauty, which created the environment that sustained so much. It has, ever so slowly, been draining down into the Crag ever since. Some believe it will someday equalize. That it¡¯s worth it, to be able to mine the resources and beauty which fill the earth within the scar. Some marvel above all at the joys of a thriving metropolis, feeding on these things.¡±


    Raika smiles. ¡°And I suppose you disagree?¡±


    Rei Ji takes another long, slow sip of his tea, holding the bowl in both hands and turning it slightly before each drink, then sets it back down again.


    ¡°I believe in caring for others. In providing structure and safety and calm, that those who need them might find enlightenment within them. I believe in stopping the encroaching chaos and mess that comes from a place built to thrive, but not live. I am no fool, to see only what I wish for from the legends of the past. But I know things can be different, and that the peace in the sea has long been eclipsed by the exploitation of the ground. I know that my home wilts while our riches are sent to far off lands by those with vested interests in the development of the Crag and this beautiful city, to enrich the empire as a whole and those it chooses.¡±


    He smiles, small and polite and cold. ¡°And now, one of the empire¡¯s own private menagerie asks to meet me, through a type of creature known for its political trickery. I apologize if I have in any way offended your sensibilities or patience with my ramblings, then.¡±


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Behind the mask she laughs, hard, smiling wide, but on the surface she just grimaces, nodding and tossing back the tea (which is a fucking waste, it is delicious). Not too gently she sets the bowl back onto the table and sighs, cracks her neck, and leans forward towards Rei Ji.


    ¡°None of that tells me what I want to know, though, does it? Fancy tea and some old myth. You were already following me out in the streets, weeks ago. You don¡¯t get to act high and mighty about politics and shit now. I want to hear about your boss.¡±


    Rei Ji sighs, giving her that sort of parental look; ¡°I¡¯m not mad, just disappointed (hint; I am also mad)¡±.


    ¡°She¡¯s not my ¡®boss¡¯, as you put it,¡± he says, setting his own bowl back onto the table more politely. ¡°I had hoped that would be obvious. I serve, to the best of my ability, for the good of the city of Cragend, and the land and people it has claim over. I serve justice, as best I can. If I knew for certain which being you might be referring to, then I might say that she only serves herself.¡±


    Raika grins. ¡°Just like me. That makes it easy to work with, hmm?¡±


    This time the look he gives is a bit more intent. There¡¯s a slight stirring in the air as his Qi quiets it, like a puddle of calm beneath a rippling lake, though not in any quantities that present as a threat.


    ¡°I had hoped not. It was¡­ interesting, seeing one of your kind assisting one of the downtrodden, and I had assumed your leash was less willingly chosen. When we last spoke, a¡­ junior of mine called you the, ah, ¡°privileged daughter of some valued mutant or noble-born brat¡±, and yet you did not strike first. When I asked why you helped that boy, you said it was because you chose to, with nothing else to balance it. It painted an altogether different picture than the woman who sits before me now.¡±


    She can¡¯t help but let her grin out onto her mask. ¡°What can I say, justicar? I¡¯m a woman of many faces. I chose to help that boy. I chose to start this tournament. Why is mine to know or not. Your choice, then, is whether or not you¡¯re smart enough to point me the right way.¡±


    And, she thinks, if I¡¯m clever enough to see where you¡¯ve pointed me.


    He sighs, shifting in his seat. With a movement of his hand, the space between them warps once again along an angle that gives her a migraine and slips the tea set away into his spatial ring once more.


    ¡°There were three whose names were struck from our legends the day the earth was wounded,¡± he says. ¡°One, a cultivator. One, an ascended beast. And one, something altogether different. She has no name. She has no right to one. She was of a kind that was here in some form or another long before the arrival of your empire, and who held an uneasy peace even between the sects, but her blood is old. Her sisters were the war-witches that crafted Wolves against the Empire, and her nieces and nephews were the last to fall against their approach. She has her own retellings of history, and her own methods of shaping the world, but were it not for her choices¡­ well. That is not mine to say.


    You seek information on She Beneath Still Waters. If I knew of such a person, then I would say to you, in the fullness of my wisdom and strength, that all you need to know is that you should stay far from her. She is an old and malformed thing, and her roots are vile and twisting beneath the earth. How long she has lived I do not know, and what powers she holds¡­ well. Your Empire didn¡¯t leave many of their texts and records behind, and what they noted down is biased. Assume she is more than she appears to be. Her kind, if any do remain, are long since moved into the fourth ring, and it takes a special kind of strength and madness to survive, alone, in a world that looks at you as prey or competition to be culled.¡±


    The mask scoffs, stops just short of rolling her eyes, and then pretends to be pensive, to think about it.


    Inside, Raika can¡¯t help but just¡­ grin. Dangerous, yes. Risky, yes. But on the whole, the witch sounds like her kinda gal.


    ¡°Sure,¡± she eventually growls. ¡°Thanks for the advice, justicar. So glad we got to meet again under better circumstances, hmm? Definitely worth it, not at all a waste of time.¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Good tea and good advice are, in my opinion, never a waste of time.¡±


    ¡°That why you¡¯re still only in Core Formation, then?¡±


    He quirks his eyebrow, smiling faintly. ¡°No shame in building a strong foundation. The more tools you have to begin with, the more you can build, and I intend to build quite a bit.¡±


    She admires the wisdom, but pretends otherwise, laughing softly. ¡°If you say so. I look forward to trouncing your sect on the battlefield later, hmm? Exciting days ahead for the tournament still.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find a way to keep the masses entertained. Now, if you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯ll be on my way.¡±


    He bows again, and exits out the way he came.


    Kaena enters the room again not long after, coming over to Raika as she smokes the cigarette she¡¯s kept hold of, staring out over the arena from the window.


    ¡°Not quite the rousing success you expected, then?¡± they ask.


    Raika smiles, the mask allowed to rest and a mix of exhaustion and manic energy on full display instead.


    ¡°On the contrary. Informative as fuck, I¡¯d say.¡±


    ¡°Oh? I didn¡¯t think you had such an interest in old myths.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t. But he let slip a few comments when I annoyed him. ¡®Her roots are vile and twisting beneath the earth¡¯. Between that and the name, I¡¯ve got a start on where to look.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Wherever the witch is, whatever it is she wants, between her scent, her name, and that little story and its hints, there¡¯s only one place she could be. She¡¯s in the Crag, somewhere deep, someplace where the waters have gone quieter.¡±


    ¡°A bit of an assumption, don¡¯t you think?¡± Kaena asks as they drape themselves over the same couch Raika vacated.


    Raika laughs, soft and husky from the smoke. ¡°Sure. But it¡¯s a start.¡±


    ¡°And I don¡¯t suppose you have plans about how to get to this mystery woman, still?¡±


    ¡°Nope. But that¡¯s fine. I¡¯ve got plenty to do up here still. The more distracted by the tournament people get, the more people will get comfortable making plays in the background, and while you deal with that, I¡¯ll be busy getting hit, learning, and hitting back.¡±


    Kaena laughs softly. ¡°I would recommend therapy, but I suppose that¡¯s out of the question for our Division, hmm? Still, what makes you think I¡¯ll follow along with this whole cat-and-mouse game you think you¡¯re setting up, hmm? All to, what, catch a little old conspiracy or two?¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°Maybe. I just know that at least one of the three we ran into smelled a lot more of stone than of water, and if the sects are cooperating behind the scenes or have rogue elements, there¡¯s plenty we can benefit from in that mess, and plenty of opportunity to get Taurus a win while getting me what I need.¡±


    Then she turns fully to Kaena, smiling. She exhales a long cloud of smoke in the androgynous honeypot¡¯s direction, coloring the space between them a dark, foggy sapphire blue.


    ¡°Besides, I¡¯m not stupid enough to think I can convince you to do anything you don¡¯t want to. If you don¡¯t want to do it, all you have to do is say so.¡±


    Kaena says nothing, instead inhaling a bit of the smoke and coughing softly, covering their mouth politely as they do. The silence stretches on as they let themselves be stared at, matching Raika¡¯s gaze with one of their own.


    Eventually, they do break the silence, a slow smile forming as they exhale the smoke back out in a new current to the cloud rolling around them.


    ¡°Getting awful arrogant, beastie.¡±


    ¡°In fools, it¡¯s arrogance. In me, it¡¯s called being sexy.¡±

 Chapter 111 - Baby Its You, You, Me, And The City Lights

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    Li Shu didn¡¯t know that cities could get this big.


    For all his self-control and precision, Qen Hou seems equally awestruck, though his behavior tends more to looking around incessantly than her own brown wide-eyed and open-mouthed wonder as things emerge from over the horizon. Even Hao Nera, no matter how much of a show he tries to put on about being comfortable, still looks like a fish out of water, covering for it with a grin wider than normal and a defensive twitchiness.


    ¡°Oh come on!¡± Li Shu says, grabbing onto his shoulder and giving him a shake. ¡°You can¡¯t tell me that this isn¡¯t amazing! Have you ever seen anything like this before?¡±


    Hao Nera snorts. ¡°Maybe. You never know. Dashing rogue that I am, I have a long and storied history.¡±


    Qen Hou laughs softly. ¡°If you truly have seen a place such as this, then you have me at a disadvantage, bandit. I¡­ didn¡¯t know that cities were built so large.¡±


    The entire city stretches out ahead of them, sprawling out from ahead of a downhill climb through an incredibly wide and well-paved stretch of the Imperial Highways. All around there are perhaps a hundred other caravans or carts visible, most of them heading into the city. Some are drowned in goods, loaded and bulked with formations to protect the glittering gems and the scent of alchemical ingredients they carry. Li Shu sees bolts of fabric, skinned beasts, swords and axes, farming tools of all kinds, bows and arrows enchanted for hunting greater dangers, clothing of a dozen different styles and more all moving towards the city. The few carts and caravans that move the other way often do so laden with mined materials, rare crystals and materials with unique properties, even as the main exports can be seen on a vast mechanical track moving from the city towards the inner rings with great quarried blocks and massive hunks of ore and crystalline growth.


    There are plenty of people too, walking in groups, in pairs, even the occasional wandering cultivator walking on their lonesome in towards the city. There¡¯s an aura of palpable excitement in the air, dozens of conversations and the smell of dust beneath people¡¯s sandals filling the air with a lived-in energy.


    Hao Nera shuffles uncomfortably, shaking himself off as he keeps pace with the caravan. There are nearly a dozen carts in their group, each guarded by high Qi-Gathering realm guards, and each of them is covered by runes and formations that speak of cold, preservation and spatial enlarging to store the dozens of corpses they carry. Shen Ji was more than happy to give them seats up above and on the carts as thanks for being his ¡°benefactors¡± and good luck charms that brought him the easy fortune of beast parts, but Hao Nera refused. Even now, he keeps pace easily, but keeps looking about uncomfortably as they get closer and closer to the city.


    ¡°Yeah, well, it¡¯s big but it¡¯s messy. Give me a proper village anyday. Better than drowning in people like this.¡±


    Qen Hou laughs softly. ¡°I¡¯m sure there are plenty of advantages to small taverns and mortal maidens, but you can¡¯t say there isn¡¯t a beauty to all of this.¡±


    And despite her concern for their traveling companion, Li Shu can¡¯t help but agree. The city stretched before them, coming closer and rebuilding the lie of perspective the more they walk, is a vision of artistry and industry in equal measure. While the wilds to either side of the highway remain heavily wooded, the city proper sprawls across a massive scar in the earth, a shattered wound remade into a living icon of civilization as its sides crawl with elevators, machines and miners moving up and down, the whole wound within the city¡¯s edge glittering with the extracted materials. Every building seems to be made of local material barring the ¡°noble¡± section of the city, the local Imperial Palace towering over the city across its western side and decked in white stone and gold. The rest of the structures are made of a rich, orange-and-yellow sandstone, their construction looking almost organic in how the streets flow between them and in how they¡¯re carved. As a backdrop to it all, a vast stretch of blue along the far side of the cracked valley reflects the sunlight, deep and dark and gorgeous with dozens of buildings and a Sect bordering its waters, juxtaposed against another built into the mountains closer to the city proper, both raised on their plateaus as is standard and each sporting wildly different designs.


    Either Sect is larger than the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect was, and just the mines proper look larger than Paleblossom city as a whole, the only other city Li Shu knows. The sheer amount of lights, sounds, and mass of buildings is stunning in just about every way.


    Hao Nera huffs, quietly. ¡°Didn¡¯t say there wasn¡¯t. Just that the pretty things in life can hurt you worse than the ones you can see coming.¡±


    ¡°Did you grow up in a city?¡± Li Shu asks. ¡°Before the woods, I mean?¡±


    He laughs. ¡°Can¡¯t say I did, honored sister. I¡¯m mountain folk born and bred. Not everyone can afford to stay in one place all their lives like ¡®honorable¡¯ bribe-giving villages along the highway can. I¡¯m plenty comfortable traveling between honest homes and good hideouts. This¡­ this is just way too much.¡±


    Qen Hou nods. ¡°I freely admit to some amount of culture shock as well. I am reminded of the story of the frog in the well, thinking it knows the sky because it can see the little circle above it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, I¡¯m not a frog.¡±


    Qen Hou sighs, going to retort, but Hao Nera throws up his hands in mock surrender before it comes. ¡°It¡¯s fine! I¡¯m going, ain¡¯t I? Happy to make proper bank of all this bloody mess and be on our way is all. Not trying to raise a fuss, promise.¡±


    Li Shu smiles, leaning over the side of the cart she¡¯s sitting on to pat Hao Nera on the head. ¡°Your restraint in the face of unabashed wealth and real architecture is appreciated, friend.¡±


    He snorts, but doesn¡¯t knock her hand away, crossing his arms instead and walking¡­ a bit more comfortably than before. Still, his eyes rove around them constantly, watching anyone he feels is walking too closely. Li Shu watches him a bit longer before nodding to herself and deciding that first thing into the city, she¡¯ll make sure to get him something nice. Maybe a canteen, or a really good fur coat?


    As she thinks of what might be appropriate to calm the former bandit, the city approaches and eventually engulfs them. Massive stone gates, without any walls or doors in their frame, stand tall and shrine-like, and as they come close she can sense a massive formation woven into it and the land around it. A Foundational realm guard stops their progress long enough to speak with Shen Ji, who shows a badge and happily informs the guard of all their names and their business¡­ and before long, the gate passes over them, and they pass through the perimeter into the city proper.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    All the chaos of the highway is magnified a hundred times over, with people of all kinds pressed into streets only just large enough to accommodate them. Species and bodies of all kinds move through the roads and buildings and stalls set up along the paths; Li Shu sees someone covered in iridescent, fish-like scales alongside a woman with hair made of feathers, sharing food at a stall run by a man who looks entirely human but seems almost twice the size he should. Across the way, beastkin with muzzles and claws, a three-armed man, people with skin of many different tones and colors ranging from red to blue to gold to white and black and everything in between.


    She¡¯s never seen so many people all at once, and it takes Qen Hou eventually planting a hand on her head and plopping her back down onto her seat to get her to stop gawping at everyone who passes.


    He has to do something similar a moment later, using the strength of a Core Formation realm expert to pluck Hao Nera off the street about a half-second before he gets into a fistfight with someone.


    Hao Nera cackles, waving down at the pot-bellied man in fancy robes as the caravan pulls ahead and his would-be opponent blanches at feeling Qen Hou¡¯s cultivation.


    ¡°I have to admit, honored friends, I think I might change my mind about this whole ¡®city¡¯ thing,¡± he says with a smile. ¡°All this noise, you can barely hear little old me!¡±


    Li Shu cocks her eyebrow at him, but he just smiles wider and leans back in his chair, jingling very slightly and not even noticing when what looks like a ruby ring slips from beneath his belt.


    He catches her looking and quickly picks it back up, slipping it into his sleeve. ¡°What? It¡¯s an heirloom. My mother¡¯s aunt¡¯s uncle gave it to me, and you can¡¯t prove otherwise.¡±


    Qen Hou frowns. ¡°A cultivator should be more honorable than to steal from another, Hao Nera. We came here to sell carcasses, and you¡¯ll get plenty from letting Shen Ji do so. Why go out of your way?¡±


    Hao Nera shrugs. ¡°Hardly out of my way. The guy stumbled right into me! It¡¯s not theft if they were giving it away and don¡¯t even know it¡¯s gone, senior brother.


    Besides, I¡¯m hardly the most honorable man I know. It¡¯s one of my winning qualities. Scoundrel and wastrel, me, bad boy to the bone.¡±


    He shoots Qen Hou a wink, and Li Shu can¡¯t help but hold in a laugh as she notices Qen Hou just rolls his eyes and not even try to refute anything. Hao Nera winks at her, and a bit of the laughter slips free as the city around them spirals past.


    It isn¡¯t much longer until the caravans reach their destination, and they dismount off to the side of the large warehouse it has stopped in front of. Shen Ji emerges not long after, a trail of attendants six deep coming up behind him all holding runic tablets to write on and trying to get his attention.


    He silences them with a wave as he arrives and gives a slight and formal bow to the three of them.


    ¡°It is my joy and honor to say we have successfully arrived at our destination, with the tournament still in full bloom!¡± he says. ¡°An unexpected boon, but one joyfully accepted. It may take me a few days to secure a fee for all these bodies in auction, so please, take a medallion. When I have your full payment ready, I will send a summons through it to inform you of my location. In the meantime, perhaps I could secure some lodgings for the three of you?¡±


    Qen Hou bows back, graciously taking the medallion (shaped like a silver musical note on a steel icon). ¡°I am afraid it would be far too much assumption of your generosity to ask of such a thing, honored Shen Jin. You have assisted us greatly in transporting our goods and ourselves out from the wilds.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense, it was nothing! I¡¯ll certainly be discounting a smidge for myself off such things, but you three still saved me weeks of harvesting in dangerous terrain, and apparently an encounter with what may have been a divine beast! I can at the least provide you with a hostel you can rest in for the days it takes for sales to be completed, no?¡±


    Before Qen Hou can keep trying to politely decline, Hao Nera rests his elbow up on the cultivator¡¯s shoulder and leans on him, smiling wide and taking the initiative. ¡°We are most absolutely honored and grateful to accept such a well-earned rest, honored merchant! You are surely too kind and will be rewarded with good karma for such generosity!¡±


    Shen Ji laughs good naturedly. ¡°Of course. I¡¯ll have one of my clerks see to it right away. Let it never be said the Silver Song family does not pay its debts or is not generous to its benefactors!¡±


    With a nod, one of the clerks steps forward, already scratching furiously at his tablet and smiling politely at them, bowing as he approaches.


    ¡°And with that, I must bid you farewell for now. Much to do, and little time to do it! We have arrived in the noonday sun, but will wither if not watered properly. I shall report to you all as soon as your reward is prepared!¡±


    Shen Ji bows again, turning back to the ever-more-anxious crowd of people gathered behind him looking for input, and the clerk that stepped forward smiles, several colorful glowing veins highlighting their otherwise plain features.


    ¡°An honor to serve. This one¡¯s name is Ha Fan. If you¡¯d like, I can secure a room for you all in the Singing Spire inn, a reputable location operated by my benefactors the Silver Song family. It should keep you close to the arena, should any events emerge that you wish to participate in, and there will be access to viewings of many of the fights in one of the available galleries.¡±


    ¡°Just one room?¡± Qen Hou asks.


    Ha Fan nods. ¡°Indeed. It is the best available accommodation I can offer on such short notice, though of course there are other locations I can recommend and reach out to. I had assumed one room would be appropriate, considering your relationship?¡±


    Li Shu cocks her head, confused. ¡°What relationship?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ had assumed that-¡±


    ¡°Why yes, thank you, very astute, we are indeed fucking,¡± Hao Nera says, grinning as wide as Li Shu has ever seen him. ¡°These two still haven¡¯t finished figuring that out yet, good of you to notice!¡±


    Qen Hou immediately goes bright red, turning with an affronted look to the bandit while Li Shu blushes herself, though not quite as scarlet as the prim and proper sect disciple.


    ¡°I will happily find further accommodations, honored cultivators,¡± Ha Fan says quickly, trying to cut off incoming conflict. ¡°I can assure you there are plenty of spaces that can accommodate any¡­ ahem. Any relationship you may or may not possess. If I could make a recommendation, many places are full for the tournament, but there might be time to grab some rooms a bit further from the arena, if it¡¯s to your liking. The upcoming bout includes the Unbroken, and many are eager to be as close as possible.¡±


    Li Shu pauses, even as Qen Hou tries to sputter out a response and Hao Nera confidently asserts that yes, one room for the three of them in the nicest inn they have will do wonderfully, and stares at Ha Fan.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± she says, ¡°did you say ¡®The Unbroken¡¯? I hadn¡¯t heard any official rankings with that name in them.¡±


    ¡°Ah no,¡± the assistant replies. ¡°I¡¯m sorry if I wasn¡¯t clear, it is a self-introduced title for one of the main participants in the tournament. She in fact is one of the main reasons it¡¯s happening so out of season. I believe the name she goes by is Raika, of the Division of Altered Cultivation.¡±


    Qen Hou freezes, turning to look at Li Shu, both of them stock still.


    The oath. The claim of the beast, that it tied them to each other.


    The fact that, of all the cities in the third ring, they somehow ended up at the same one, here, now.


    The fact that she¡¯s still alive and whole enough to fight in a tournament.


    It¡¯s a lot to process. In the few seconds it takes them to do so, Hao Nera ensures their room has a king sized mattress in it, and has already pulled Ha Fan along to ask about room service options.

 Chapter 112 - Monsters, Madness And Mayhem (Just A Smidge!)

    The first blow hits her like a freight train.


    Four days. Four whole days after the ¡°opening¡± fight. That¡¯s how long it took for her to get put back into the ring.


    There¡¯s been talk, and plenty has been happening. The loser¡¯s brackets had their two days in the sun, the upper tier brackets opening for the next two, and then alternating back, apparently. All very well planned, all leaving people enticed and offering breaks for the fighters in their different lanes.


    Raika hasn¡¯t really been paying attention. Half of her focus has been on trying to think of how to make things up to Maen, the other half has been on the conversation she had with Rei Ji a day prior. Plenty of the fights were distinct, some she even earmarked to maybe learn more about later, but for the most part, she hasn¡¯t cared.


    And then, almost like a gift from the heavens, Kaena poked her and told her that the third fight of the second bracket was hers. A gift, Kaena had said, with a wink.


    So much to do. So little time.


    But the allure was just too much.


    The second hit cracks through a layer of exoskeleton and nearly breaks apart the composite scales beneath, leaving a bloody hole in her shoulder and sending her back a good few feet.


    There¡¯ve been two types of fights in the early days of the tournaments; the protracted battles and the wipeouts. Those with simplistic or matching cultivation, who¡¯ve managed to find perfect counters, or who have near equal levels of stamina tend to be the former, taking well over an hour in some cases of back and forth. Most are holding back their best for later fights, but without those higher techniques many of the battles fell into wars of attrition or dramatic slugfests, both still plenty entertaining. On the other hand, there¡¯ve been those who have wiped out their opponents in mere moments. A cultivator with a number of tamed insectoid beasts unnerving and crushing an opponent with wind techniques, a practitioner of the Vile Song cultivation technique forcing the arena¡¯s shields to mute their sound as their opponent vomited and bled, that sort of thing.


    This one, for now, is shaping up to be like the latter type.


    By the third hit, there¡¯s a sense of disconnect in her limbs, her body failing to send proper warning signals of failing function. Her senses are sharp enough she can still feel the cracks forming and work to repair them, but it¡¯s concerning how quickly the damage is built up.


    She lattices bone structure into a connected pillar, from shoulder to foot, and grabs the next strike. The ground behind her shatters in the impact, transferred through the bones, and in the next instant her fist crashes through her opponent and shatters the rock behind them.


    Slowly, sardonically, applause drifts in from a few stones away.


    An eye forms on her neck, letting her look towards it without taking her eyes off her opponent. It causes the beginnings of a splitting headache, but in the thick of combat, dosed with adrenaline, she can handle it. Sitting a good hundred feet away, casual as can be, a man in bright red and dark grey robes claps, sitting picturesque against a background of waterfalls and basalt columns of the arena¡¯s latest form.


    ¡°Truly, you are a magnificent specimen!¡± he laughs, waving a hand at her. ¡°I¡¯m impressed with whoever made you! It''s not often you Imperial fleshcrafters do something right!¡±


    Her opponent strikes her a fourth time, a new limb forming and slamming from its chest down into her knee and fracturing it. She hisses, already healing but not fast enough, and pulls her hand back to rip through her enemies¡¯ flesh once more.


    The construct writhes, twirling away from her like a kaleidoscopic vision of meat. There¡¯s about a hundred different shifts and alterations and it¡¯s moved away from next hit, and the one behind it, reabsorbing the new limb and rotating 180 degrees to almost crack her jaw off.


    It¡¯s infuriating.


    It¡¯s also kind of fun.


    Another wave of Qi flows out from the red-robed cultivator (Shao- something, Shao Han? Shao Fan? She can¡¯t remember). It has a delicacy to it, like a scent just barely holding together against the wind, smelling of blood and fibrous string and dull, spasming meat. It touches her opponent, and once again it transforms, throwing itself at her.


    The construct is a layered thing, shaped only vaguely like a human. Four arms, three legs, a sort of half-centaur equipped with armor plates of bone and eyes along every joint and seam. It squelches as it moves, tendon and ligament-wires stringing its pieces along, and its meat is made up of more than a few different shades altogether. Rather than a cohesive whole or a real organism, the construct seems more like a weaponized puppet, its pieces modular and slipping in and out of combinations as Qi is pumped into it.


    She¡¯s partway into her transformation herself. It¡¯s a bit annoying; she thought she¡¯d gotten it down better, that she could do something more refined than her humanoid juggernaut form, but in the time it takes her to shift the flesh-mongrel is there, hitting all the right points to disrupt things as they form, to force breakages as things shift.


    ¡°All that hubbub in the first round!¡± says the cultivator in red. ¡°Honestly, I wasn''t impressed. I mean, your whole system is a mess, far too human, far too aesthetical. Either someone made you and kept too many people-pieces or you¡¯re just a mess. Either way, it¡¯s embarrassing! Proper, professional fleshmolding isn¡¯t anything like the clown show you¡¯re putting on. It would bring shame to the Blood and Bone Bodies path if we were compared to you. See what proper, traditional technique can achieve when used by even one such as I?¡±


    She shifts a foot taller, extends her reach, tendons lengthening- and the construct reacts to a fresh burst of Qi from its handler, grabbing her arms and pulling right as they extend, tearing the fresh flesh apart. She sharpens her claws, kicks and rips at it, ripping away a bit of armor and some gobbets, but it¡¯s not enough, and in the end she loosens the joints and skin and lets it tear both arms right off.


    ¡°I treasure this opportunity to showcase just how much better a true craft is than your own paltry showing!¡±


    Hmm.


    She keeps her teeth hidden for now. Keeps the flame at bay, too. Either one might end this too fast, and there''s more to be gained here than just beating the bastard''s head in. She can make more flesh, and the pain isn¡¯t all that bad. Every time she shifts, though, the bastard notices and sends his construct right at it. There¡¯s noises from the crowd out beyond, her senses a bit muted by the arena¡¯s magics and further focused on her immediate surroundings, but it¡¯s annoying.


    The construct looks like shit! It shouldn¡¯t be hard to beat!


    She snarls, her real voice making the notes of it tremble strangely, and the construct sways for a moment. The cultivator (Shan Cao? Shan Jao? It¡¯s something-Ao) notices, frowning slightly, and a quick Qi signal has it stable again, but not before she''s seen.


    Fuck. Another thing she can¡¯t use, then. And another note against the "traditional" method, if a little bit of projected Qi and sound is enough to disrupt its signals.


    It¡¯s professional fucking pride, here! She¡¯s had to build herself back from scratch! Two Truths in the mix! And this meat puppet can fight back directly, on a flesh-to-flesh basis, while sporting this many weaknesses?


    It¡¯s infuriating. And quickly getting annoying.


    She steps forward, growling, the sound of it resonating as sharpened blades of bone grow from severed arms and-


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°You really should step back a bit.¡±


    She flinches, and feels some of her vertebrae strain as it forces her to take a solid crack in her cheekbone.


    ¡°Not trying to distract, just saying, you really should take a step back. I can help.¡±


    She snarls louder, and Zhoulong steps back, hands up, feigning innocence.


    ¡°No need for all that. Barely even a bother, me. You do as you please. Just saying that if you need advice on flesh constructs¡­¡±


    He looks sickly. Weak. He barely fills out his robes, looking skinny and starved. But he smiles just the same.


    Both blades snicker-snack out to slice into the flesh of the construct, which barely seems to take damage, and she uses the moment it rearranges the cuts away to launch herself backwards up onto a higher pillar.


    The handler laughs, starts saying something, but she isn¡¯t paying attention at this point.


    She turns, off to one side, and snarls at Zhoulong, already there in the corner of her eye.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need your help, and you can shut your fucking trap.¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Of course. I¡¯m just saying, you don¡¯t avoid the pit by falling into the well. Say what you will about my motivations, but you die, I go right after. I¡¯ve got a vested interest in your well being. And frankly, this fucker¡¯s an amateur. Looks like he stitched together half a dozen lesser constructs and is just keeping the meat alive through Qi usage. It¡¯s embarrassing, especially for someone so old fashioned! He should know better! And we can do better, you can do better. I can only offer suggestions that might help!¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± roars the cultivator, sending out a pulse of Qi as he does. ¡°How dare you disrespect this duel! I am-¡±


    ¡°Come on, you¡¯re really going to let this pompous idiot look better than you?¡± Zhoulong interrupts, speaking over the ranting opponent down below. ¡° You¡¯ve got just a couple little inconsistencies is all. Academic stuff, little oversights. I can help,¡±


    She ignores both of them, focusing instead. Thinning out the bone blades, using them as foundation to grow the arms back, then shifting her weight inside herself. Rather than planning vast, sweeping changes, she focuses on her ideal, the form she¡¯s trying to perfect for now.


    ¡°Are you even listening to me?¡± roars the cultivator.


    ¡°No.¡± she opens her eyes faster this time, ready to block the incoming blow.


    It¡¯s still not perfect, not quite her as she feels it should be, but for now the dysmorphia falls back before the transformation.


    A second set of limbs, putting her equal to the abomination, sprout forward from her ribcage and shoulder muscles, all four arms now armed and armored properly, glowing with heat-haze of rapid transformation. She steps forward, pressing her weight against the morphic meat-thing, and her steps crack the stone, sharpened claws and back-talon anchoring her in place. Over the rest of her, even as she repairs her reactive scales, she layers a full exoskeletal set of chitin.


    Then layers a second set over top of it.


    In an instant, she is armored like an Imperial guard, their exo-suits and armor replicated in more brutal and sharpened a fashion out of bone and keratin. Her faceplate locks in, a second set of eyes growing slightly to the sides to widen her vision, the bone mirroring her jaws and integrating them easily, and just as the meat puppet that this fucking guy compared her to goes to strike, her tail stabs in from over her shoulder.


    She¡¯s not 100% confident in it. It¡¯s a mess of muscle and bone, barely optimized, but it centers her balance and has a sharp fucking club at the end, and it¡¯s enough for now.


    Shao - something shuts up at long last, focusing and redirecting his Qi in a more complex burst, but she just laughs.


    ¡°Ok. Not bad. But see, if we just tweaked this here-¡±


    She ignores him, picking up the thousand-pound amalgamation of tendon and muscle and slamming it back down into the stone, breaking the ground beneath them and sending them both down onto lower pillar of the basalt all around them.


    Shao-something¡¯s Qi finally hits, even more delicate and complex this time, smelling like the tendon-threads within it are woven somehow, and the meat-thing reshapes itself. It shoves her off, and despite the quality of her flesh and its Qi saturation a difference of more than twice her weight again matters when they¡¯re both enhanced.


    She morphs again, increasing muscle fibers, trying to keep her joints spring-locked and-


    ¡°You¡¯re doing this really inefficiently.¡±


    Before she¡¯s even realized, she swings her tail again, knocking through the stone where Zhoulong¡¯s voice said he¡¯d be standing. She snarls, vocal cords half-altered by the application of the altered jaw and the increased need for oxygen, but it¡¯s enough that the creature hits her again, once twice, its mass reformatting under the commands of its owner. Soon it¡¯s gained another half-foot in height and absorbed two limbs into its central mass, using its masters strings to move itself rather than proper fucking structure, and-


    ¡°You don¡¯t even have any modifications to your cells, do you? Ten Hells but you¡¯ve been going about this ass-backwards. Those Truths really carry the weight, eh?¡±


    She roars, and for a moment the arena stills. She¡¯s not entirely sure why, but her Qi saturation means that her true voice has weight, now, and the delicacy of the Qi in the air all the fuck around her shudders for a heartbeat.


    ¡°Listen. One modification. Just one. Undo it right after if you like, and I¡¯ll shut up until you explicitly ask me to come back. How¡¯s that? Easy trade.¡±


    She turns to him. Away from her opponent, much to the confusion of the crowd and said enemy. She can hear him muttering, moving his hands and uttering some sort of mantra, feel and hear and sense the intricacies of puppeteered meat moving behind her-


    Instinct says no. Says to move. Says to rush forward, screaming, listening to the blood and the pain and the anger. She¡¯s made it through worse, she can waste some time here, and-


    Another part of her speaks. Whispers.


    The mask speaks, human lips and human words emerging from within a jaw two handspans wide..


    ¡°Fine. Then you leave.¡±


    He smiles, exactly the same as every other time that smile has crawled on his face.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t have it any other way. You need to prioritize oxygenation and your blood. You use it to waddle around your Qi, sure, but it¡¯s the most crucial element, it carries and supplies everything. Picture your blood. Break it down into pieces, so small you can¡¯t even see them, like sand made to look like water by distance.¡±


    The meat-thing hits her again, but she¡¯s not listening. Her instinct is screaming, writhing, in panic and anger and confusion, hardening her plates, anchoring her posture and stance, locking her to the earth and weathering the blows. The¡­ not the mask, maybe? The rest of her, outside the instinct, piggybacking on the mask and focusing, meditating, thinking. The point of this was to practice and learn, no? To use it as a bonus opportunity as she searches for her target and the information they could have?


    A third voice whimpers, riding the adrenaline, warning that this is a bad idea, that something here is deeply wrong-


    But it¡¯s fine. She can survive this. All of her. She¡¯s been through worse.


    The meat thing keeps hitting her and she heals some of the damage, lets herself weather the rest, ignores the questions from the crowd and the reactions from her opponent.


    ¡°Good. Now picture these grains of sand. Picture them drinking in your Qi. There should be enough it¡¯s possible, even without the organs digesting it first. Picture the concept of movement, of depth, of strength. Picture them expanding, just a touch. Their shell growing tougher. Picture that Qi drinking into them, changing them to suit what you need.¡±


    A blow makes it fully through her armor, impacting deep and bloodily into her gut. The pain is there, but like always it doesn¡¯t mean anything important.


    ¡°Good. You won¡¯t be able to do them all at once, but the refinement should be shifted a bit. And don''t forget to have fun, dearie!¡±


    She opens her eyes, and Zhoulong is gone, honoring his fucking word for once.


    Her heart beats. It has not stopped beating, but it does so again, and it feels¡­ different.


    She breathes in, a mix of shock and joy. It¡¯s a rush. It¡¯s a joy.


    She said it herself, she just didn¡¯t think it through. The greater the foundation, the higher the tower. Blood and bone and organs, all important, but she didn¡¯t know to look deeper, to think in even smaller increments.


    It¡¯s not much, but she can feel her fatigue lessen, her muscles new and old refueled.


    She moves an arm, and it feels¡­ right. More accurate.


    United again, all of her turns to the puppet.


    Two of her arms shoot out, sharp-edged and piston-fueled, and tear two of its limbs from its body.


    Her gut closes, her armor regrows, and she steps forward, her tail swishing behind her and keeping her movement steady as the damaged meat-thing flails.


    Her left arms shoot out, both moving far more comfortably, not synchronized but more responsive, and tear another third of it apart.


    She turns to look at Shao¡­ Shao Kan. That was the name. Probably.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she says. ¡°Got distracted. This has been helpful, but I think we¡¯re done here.¡±


    His face goes scarlet, eyes wide, nostrils flared in outrage. She feels the meat-thing respond, its body multiplying, blood gushing from it in a flood and turning to sharpened spikes and-


    She looks at the meat thing, its core body torn and shredded in her hands, sharp and divine, and smiles, terrifying with a jaw like a monster. She relaxes her vocal cords, lets her real voice sit as she hums.


    ¡°Die,¡± she says, and pulls it apart.


    Like wet cloth, like old wood, like fresh bread, it tears into pieces, and the blood and flesh flowing from it fall limp.


    She turns to face Shao (probably) Kan.


    ¡°Not to be arrogant, but¡­ you should be a bit more humble. This thing couldn¡¯t fight ten cultivators. I beat the shit out of a good eighty like, two days ago.¡±


    ¡°Oh, fuck you.¡±


    She moves, and his Qi circulates to strengthen his body, to help him run or fight back but she¡¯s already there, in his face, and she opens a maw of black and steel teeth and bites out a chunk of his shoulder.


    He screams, and she lets him, and bows to the crowd.


    As she turns her attention outside the arena for the first time, as the arena¡¯s shields flicker to let in healers, as she experiences a shivering ecstasy of the taste of puppetry and flesh and meat as it should taste- she sees her.


    She smells it an instant later. Sharp scalpel-edges, purified in candle-heat, atop soft-scented sheets.


    Raika sees Li Shu, staring down at her from the stands.

 Chapter 113 - The End Of The World And Nothing Else

    The skies are dangerous, deep and dark. The sun crawls, vile and squirming, endless and convulsive, but here, so very far from the ever-mountain, it is a dull and angry thing, its light full of shadows and the flickering of flame. Above, the stars look down at the world, occasionally shifting, moving in patterns that speak of constellation and prophecy.


    Sometimes, they blink, slow and wet.


    Xala runs, feet beating a rhythm against sharpened stone and crawling vines, dancing between ground shaped like shattered glass and through drooping trees. They creak and groan in the wind, the crackling of their ever-breaking branches speaking in a language that no one in his village dares to know, and he does his best to listen past them, to try and hear for signs of pursuit.


    The fact that he hears nothing assures him of little.


    More than once he stops, out of breath, ducking close to the ground so the drooping branches cannot touch him in his stillness. The air in the valley is thick, dense with the heat and wetness of a sauna, swimming with a nutty, sweet and spicy scent. Xala knows that when this happens he is to hold his breath, and could perhaps do so for many hours still.


    He cannot afford to. He has seen what the heavy air can do to people, saw what happened to his sister when she inhaled too much and began to rot from the lungs outward- but if he holds his breath now, he will be slowed. He riles his spiritual reserves, moving his inner essence into a greater formation so it swirls more violently about his lungs, and prays it will be enough.


    The sound of a twig snapping somewhere behind him cuts past the whispering of the breaking trees, and without daring to look back he is running again.


    He puts everything he has into moving. He has to warn them. He has to tell them that the end of the world is coming.


    One of the trees manages a swipe and he has to pause, use some of his essence to rile up the shards in his arm. The tattoo, gifted on his fifth birthday, crackles like shattering ceramic, thin and razor-sharp limbs of stone spawning and tearing apart the tree where it touches him. Without even pausing to check, he tears a star-shaped chunk out of his shoulder, the new scar joining dozens more as the splinter that lodged in him spawns like an ever-breaking fractal and tears the meat to slurry.


    The air reeks of death, flavored like freshly-cracked nuts and burning sugar, and Xala drinks it greedily, forcing himself to move. The end of the world is coming, and if he doesn¡¯t make it in time there will be nowhere to go.


    They have had to move more than once already. Every year the end draws closer, many-limbed and crawling, cutting apart all that it can see and crushing it flat. The end comes dressed in fire and light, screaming with many mouths, always screaming. Xala believes, like his mother told him before her end, that the end is a child of the sun, hateful and writhing forever like its parent. Xala has heard it spoken that the end breeds more of itself from out of steel and meat, that it has crawled its fingers into the final lands beneath the earth, that the stars blink so rarely now because they hope to see it devour all the peoples of the world.


    Xala remembers when they tried to fight the end. The way his mother stood, swords resplendent and glowing with blessed thorn and moonlight, and walked off to face it. He had been old enough to fight, but his parents had spoken with the wisdom of those who have survived the forests for longer, and told him to remain. Watch over your sister, they had said. If we do not return, you will have none but each other, and blood is precious. Do not let it be spilt alone in the woods.


    They did not return. The end took them apart, in fury and song, in a constant noise and light that turns the world to hells come early. And now his sister is gone too, too weak to hold her breath for the hours needed to travel from their home to safety.


    But Xala still runs. There are other families, other friends and loved ones, and as much as his heart aches and his lungs begin to burn in sweet, heavy air, he runs. And distantly, ever onward from the ever-mountain and the lands of the ever-screaming sun, the end follows towards him.


    He does not see where he is going. He is traveling so, so fast, his essence burning his muscles with its potency as he spills it out of his well and floods his body with it. In a normal night, he would remember the words of his family and chide himself for panicking. The forests are deep and dark, but in that dark is safety, in that depth is strength, so long as one is not a slave to their fear. But he can¡¯t help it. His lungs are starting to hurt and he is going so fast, faster than he has ever gone, all his normal care left behind.


    The end is coming.


    Xala runs, violent and alone, from the light of a horrifying dawn.


    The end is almost here.


    A hand shoots out, grabbing Xala by the bicep and holding him firm even as he tries to rush past. Trained instinct screams at him to react, to twist and spiral his body so the grip cannot hold, but before he has a chance to he feels a calming wave of essence blanket the area they are in. It embraces him and the space around them, shapes it to be one with the soul which has touched it, and Xala breathes a heavy sigh of relief.


    He stares up into the face of one of the village elders. Elder Xorus looks down at him, her face stern but concerned, painted in constellations of scars from a childhood encounter with a spasming shadow.


    ¡°Are they here?¡± she asks. ¡°Have they found us?¡±


    Xala nods. He tries to speak, but all that comes up is the taste of iron and a wracking cough.


    Elder Xorus places her hand on his back, the scarification on it flowing into his flesh and letting her essence move through him easily. He feels his breathing lighten as her power massages his lungs, slowly altering the damage in his lungs to become part of him, shifting so that it strengthens rather than harm.


    For damage like this, it will take some time, but even beginning the process is enough to allow him to speak once again.


    ¡°We have to go,¡± he rasps. ¡°They are coming. The brightest star has returned, and he is cutting the forests apart.¡±


    Elder Xorus nods. ¡°Be brave. You have done well to speed back so quickly.¡±


    Before Elder Xorus can move, Xala grabs onto her arm. ¡°Please. We have to get back. We have to prepare to fight. There is nowhere left.¡±


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    Elder Xorus looks down at him, a single eyebrow arched. ¡°Your fear has no place here, Xala. We will not run, it is true.¡±


    He collapses a bit at that, falling to his knees among sharp stones and vines. He breathes again, the act no longer painful but still shallow, and gives a single, quiet cry.


    A moment later, he stands back on his feet, forcefully stretching his shoulders and rolling his neck.


    ¡°So be it. I will delay them but a moment, Elder. Please, return to the others and prepare.¡±


    Elder Xorus quirks a very slight smile on her face before the stone strength she bears closes it again. She shakes her head.


    ¡°Your courage becomes you, Xala. But we will not be fighting, either. I have come only to know where we must be, and where I must aim what we carry with us.¡±


    It is only now, freed from exhaustion and panic, that Xala looks behind the elder. There are three others there, all tribe members, all of them blooded and well-scarred. He nods to them in customary greeting, and they nod back, one of them signing respect and tapping knuckle to forehead. On the ground between them lies a single, large stone, shaped into a box, wrapped in metal chains.


    He looks in surprise at the use of metal, so rarely refined and so wastefully made into such thick, heavy links, but shakes his head.


    ¡°Elder, I have seen them. The end is here in force. Their shells are aglow and their blades unsheathed, their dogs crawling and gorging before them. I do not see how any weapon can stop them now. We must run, or we must stand and die with strength. I can see no other choice. Perhaps we can still buy a few moments for the sick and the young, but they will overcome us.¡±


    For a moment, he glimpses another emotion on the elder¡¯s face. It is not sadness, not quite. Closer to shame, perhaps, but still not entirely correct. Melancholy, perhaps, tinged with guilt.


    ¡°No weapon we can make could fight back the end, this is true,¡± she says. ¡°We are a people of shadow and song, of scar and starlight. We are not as the end is, ever-consuming and ever-destroying. But we are also not alone, in the dark or beneath the sun, and the end is not an ending for all.¡±


    She turns, a single ¡®click¡¯ of the tongue ushering forward the three others and the stone they carry between them. Their scarification and tattoos speak of great power already, and Xala has known each of them to be able to roam for days out in the wilds without fear, but they struggle to lift the object carried between them.


    ¡°We are not a people of war. We are survivors. But this ¡®end¡¯ is not the only thing of war in the world, Xala, and if there is one thing that war does is breed more of itself. Come. You will return to the others. I will stay to unleash the weapon. When you see it rise, add your strength to the Shophet, aid him in our defense. I will be there soon to aid you and add my essence to the all-Well.¡±


    Xala goes to say something, to protest¡­ but one more look at Elder Xorus silences that thought. This is the most he has ever heard her speak, and it seems perhaps that it has strained something in her, for she holds herself tense now. He looks behind himself and sees the first flickers of light and sound, the snicker-snack of the end¡¯s brightest star and his everblade cutting through the world on the way to them.


    ¡°Go. All of you, now. I have not the patience to coddle children.¡±


    This time, Xala only nods, touching a fingertip to his forehead and bowing slightly. It is the highest sign of respect that they have time for, out here in the wilds, and he does not look back a second time as he runs.


    He does not know if he believes the elder that this weapon will stop the end. He is far more afraid that it will simply unleash a sibling of it, birthed also from war and fire. He fears that he will not have even time to scream before the end takes him and cuts him to nothing, unfit to even rest beneath the earth.


    Almost thirty minutes pass before Xala and the others reach home. Thirty minutes in the comfortable dark, breathing only sparingly as the sweetness of the air tickles their lungs, and they arrive.


    It is a paltry thing.


    The home that Xala remembers, that he grew up in, was a place of beauty. All around it a sea of ever-breaking trees, roiling and washing away the dirt and the wilds, woven into a labyrinth, and in that labyrinth, light. Not the hateful, harsh light of the sun, forever screaming and coiling about itself, but the soft lights of shadow, where one improves the other, the dark and the gentle glow of fungal bloom both making art from every angle as one approaches, like a mirage. The homes there had been grown, each vine lovingly tended and washed until it was full to bursting and then emptied, and finally wrapped with just enough room for living spaces around conquered bones. He still remembers the time he spent there, learning to hold his breath and dance amongst raindrops that tickled with the glow of the stars.


    Now, their home is desperate. Hungry, just as the people within it. The vines that are here are improperly dried, many of them smelling faintly of mold and only enough to block out the sharp stone underfoot. Some of the trees are cracked open around the site, but their ever-breaking wails are nothing like the whispering song of the splinter-moat they once had.


    Xala lands among his friends and family, ducking through the hidden, maze-like patterns left in the trees. They look at him, and do not ask of him anything.


    They already know the end is coming.


    He sees the town center, where the Shophet stands. His skin is more scar than flesh, every impossible pattern imprinted into it overlaid until he glows off-white under the gaze of the stars. He looks like he is made of bone, his angles made sharper by the engraved tattoos and black stone that grow from him like a thousand spiraling antlers from his shoulders and waist.


    The Shophet sees him, and nods, once, but then there is no more time.


    The end meets Elder Xorus and the stone coffin she carried, and the world turns to silence.


    For a moment, Xala sees the end. Highlighted against distant trees and distinct from the always-murmuring woods, it stands on all its many legs. It is armored in white and gold, every facet unnaturally sharp-edged, their edges tinted with jade and ivory. On long, glowing leashes are things which he called dogs but surely cannot have a name, surely cannot be of this world, for they are madness, their very forms crawling impossibilities of limbs and teeth and oozing muck. Where they walk, where they ooze forth, the splinters of the ever-breaking trees are consumed, and made still, and they carry that death with them forward.


    And before even they stands a man. He is not a man, not really, not with skin so unscarred, not with robes so pristine and canvas-grey, and no man could do as he does. Where this thing in the shape of a man turns its gaze, the world is divided. Things come to pieces, unmade by holy and divine Division, until all that is left is ash. In the things hand, there is a blade that shines brighter than any star in the sky, and blinks shut only when it is sheathed.


    Arrayed against them stands nothing.


    He sees the chain, falling away to the ground. He sees bits of stone coming apart into dust and atoms in the air. He even sees Elder Xorus, briefly, before she holds her arms wide and is consumed by nothing.


    He cannot name what it is. You cannot name something that does not exist. It is not there. Nothing stands there, emerging like an endless mountain up, up into the air. Nothing is vast, like a living spiral, curling in on itself and expanding all at once. Nothing is so heavy that the air bends and the world shivers and the ground whimpers and the trees cease their whispering and turn to silence.


    It might have a color, if it were not nothing, a shade which is almost real but which hurts to look at until he feels his eyes squirm like they are made of eels. But there are no eels, and it does not hurt, because there is nothing there.


    Nothing moves forward, its every motion like a fractal and a whirlpool in one. Nothing turns along an axis that cannot be real to sweep over the oozing dogs of the end and turn them into nothing too. Nothing shifts its weight into something like an orbit or a halo and looks upon the end and turns it to spirals and nothingness too.


    The man that is not really a man and who cuts with his eyes turns to look at the nothing, and for a moment, it is like the world aches at their touch.


    The man that is not really a man, for no man can look at nothing like that, smiles, and sheathes his blade. Its light blinks, like an eye closed in meditation.


    And then all the world is light and nothing and could not ever be anything else, and everyone Xala has ever loved is screaming and afraid, and all he can do is offer up every drop he has to make sure that they survive the coming of nothing and the end of the world.

 Chapter 114 - The Kids Are Not Alright

    There is a moment of genuine fear in the scent. The scalpel-scent is almost reminiscent of Zhoulong¡¯s, of the way his Qi reeked of vivisection, and there is a moment where the thought that he¡¯s tricked her, used that slight change she made to escape, makes her genuinely afraid. It¡¯s not just the ramifications, the fact that he could undo so much of what¡¯s happening, but the fact that he crawled back out, that he¡¯s entirely real, that her madness burst out of her skin-


    But no. No, it¡¯s not the same, and the second thought she has, behind the fear, is a sort of bone deep exhaustion. The fear of madness leaves, and the fear of disappointment crushes her with its weight for a moment.


    She tried to stay away. To keep them safe. To keep Taurus and the rest away from her, to keep them unimportant, and now they¡¯re here. But then, she should have expected as much. She should have known a thing like her couldn¡¯t keep them safe.


    ¡°You¡¯ll see me again,¡± Li Shu had said, so many months ago when they had last spoken. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I¡¯ll be, and I don¡¯t know who you¡¯ll become, but you are my first patient, Honored Raika the Undying, the Unbroken, the Unburnt, and you don¡¯t get rid of me that easy.¡±


    The weight of those words had almost broken her when she¡¯d first heard them. Hearing them again, even in memory, is nearly enough to finish the job.


    The mask takes over, letting her thoughts and feelings spiral and scream as it looks for the source of the scent.


    She¡¯s there. Barely halfway up the stands, in the section on the Stone Divers Sect side.


    She looks¡­ healthy. More traveled than before, a bit more confidence in her stance. Her robes look worn from the road, but serviceable still showing the white and red of a healer, and she carries a satchel, bulging with items and scents Raika doesn¡¯t recognize. Her form is much the same, perhaps a bit less skinny, armed now with lean muscle, but the long black hair is still tied up in a bun on her head, her skin turned slightly darker by time in the sun.


    The mask holds firm, thinks to itself of the best way to handle this, how to balance handling this with the performance of the arena and their victory, and-


    Her hands toss aside the still-bleeding flesh cultivator, uncaring as he patches his wound and as the medics approach them. Before she can come to a proper decision about anything, instinct and desire take over, and legs rebuilt into armored machines of flesh launch her out of the arena.


    The energy barrier lights up, runes exploding back to life, but the fight was over, and medics needed to get in, and there¡¯s not enough time to close it properly now that it¡¯s been opened. Not enough time to stop Raika, at least. It sizzles as it comes up behind her, but by then she¡¯s already out and in the air, armored body leaving a trail of blood in the wind as she falls and lands.


    Half a second later, she¡¯s broken the stone in six different spots as she sprints up the stairs to stand a few feet from Li Shu.


    And then there is a sound not unlike thunder, and the ground all around and between them is shattered into shrapnel as seven exo-armored Imperial Guard land, crackling spears wreathed in lightning planted like a cage around her.


    Raika doesn¡¯t flinch. Doesn¡¯t even move. She is perfectly and entirely still as she looks at Li Shu.


    Li Shu, for her part, impresses. Raika can smell the scent of Qi, wrapped around Li Shu like a blanket or armor, deadening the impact of Raika¡¯s arrival and the spears thereafter. Barely a heartbeat later she¡¯s hit with a wave of Qi, smelling of ozone and magnesium and clean-burning flame.


    Qen Hou stands just to the side of Li Shu, pulling her back a bit behind him, his Qi manifested as a single burning sword he grips tightly. The concentrated plasma of the purple-red flame shapes itself to a sharpened point, and while he doesn¡¯t quite raise it, neither is it at his side.


    They look so alive. Healthy. Whole.


    The mask and the flesh war for a while, in perfect silence and utter stillness, as they try to think of what to say or do.


    It is a blessing and an agony that Li Shu speaks first.


    ¡°Raika?¡±


    The word carries the scent of uncertainty, of resolution, of soft and delicate flowers arrayed with stainless steel edges. And it is enough.


    ¡°Hello, honored healer,¡± she says.


    Apparently, that is enough to break the sort of detente the Guard surrounding her is in, and she recognizes the scent of Pai Jin as he steps slightly ahead of the others, spear still arrayed around her as part of the cage.


    ¡°As an envoy of the authority of-¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah¡± the mask says, brushing him off. Bones begin to crack and flow like water as her body reshapes itself, falling back to the inefficient and messy thing that is humanity as she speaks. ¡°Sorry about that. Just got excited to see old friends is all. Didn¡¯t mean to worry all you fuddy duddies. You can stand down.¡±


    For a moment it looks like they might not, but in the end Pai Jin nods. The stands around them have more than cleared out at this point, but Raika still laughs softly as she hears the sound of coins changing hands as the guard lower their weapons and Raika stands tall before them, once again a few inches above even the armored and enchanted warriors.


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    She turns to look at Li Shu, the mask smiling as warmly as it knows how. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you, honored healer. It¡¯s been too long. Sorry about jumping over here, I just didn¡¯t expect to see you here. And Qen Hou! Senior brother, it has been too long. You look well!¡±


    She smiles wide at both of them, enjoying it a bit as they both have to crane their necks up at her, but frowning in confusion as Qen Hou douses his plasmic flame and covers his eyes with one hand. Beside him, Li Shu blushes bright red and gives an exasperated sigh.


    ¡°You also look well, Raika. You¡¯ve gotten¡­ larger. But while I understand being excited to see someone, you don¡¯t usually run up to them stark naked until after you¡¯ve said hello properly.¡±


    Raika looks down at herself, stark naked in front of a crowd of thousands.


    She laughs, sharp and sudden, like she just heard the stupidest joke ever. With a thought, she alters her skin and bone again, having them emerge into something approximating a binder and calf-length skirt made of bone spikes and darkened skin.


    ¡°Sorry about that. Didn¡¯t even notice, really. Hard to tell sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Hard to tell?¡± Qen Hou asks. ¡°I knew you to be brazen, Raika, but god damn. And you definitely didn¡¯t look like that last time I saw you.¡±


    ¡°What can I say, I just think ¡°8ft goliath-woman¡± suits me well.¡±


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Li Shu asks, interrupting the two.


    Raika goes to speak, the mask seamlessly taking over for microexpressions and- stops.


    Freezes entirely still.


    For some reason, deep inside, there is an absolute certainty that in this, to this person, she cannot lie.


    The mask, for the first time since Taurus triggered something in her, goes quiet.


    Raika¡¯s face falls to a perfect, near-slack neutrality. There is an instant where Li Shu actually takes a step back from the sudden change as Raika¡¯s conscious control of every muscle ceases to be for a moment.


    Without the mask, what crawls out is a smile, sad and quiet.


    ¡°Nah.¡±


    She takes a breath, a long inhale before either one of her old companions can say something, before she can really allow herself to notice the look of concern on Li Shu¡¯s face, the confusion and worry on Qen Hou¡¯s.


    She can smell them clearer, now. They¡¯ve both grown. Capable in their own rights, as proven at least by Qen Hou¡¯s new plasmic manifestation of flame, but in their cultivation as well. He¡¯s advanced¡­ maybe past Foundational? And Li Shu seems to be reaching higher into it. That¡¯s fast growth, serious advancement.


    But it¡¯s not enough. And they don¡¯t deserve to hurt like she does.


    The smile feels wrong on her face, but so much feels wrong nowadays it¡¯s hard to notice.


    She misses Maen. Saw her just a half hour ago. Misses her anyways.


    ¡°Well!¡± she says, the Mask crawling back out stronger than ever and twitching her face back under control. ¡°Genuine joy to see you both. What a wonder this world is! I mean, honestly, what are the chances, right? Crazy stuff. Anyways, joy and all, gotta go. Got the ol honor guard here breathing up my spine, not in the fun way, and I¡¯ve got more fights to get ready for. Learned a lot trouncing the meat-puppet guy, whatever his name was. Who knows, maybe he puts in a good word for you somewhere Li Shu? Best of luck with that. Wish you all the best, bye now!¡±


    Before the roiling revulsion in her gut has a chance to claw its way out again, before any truth that hurts can become more than a deserved punishment and attract her would-be allies again, she¡¯s turned to walk away.


    Pai Jin, bless his officious, shitty little heart, doesn¡¯t need to be told what to do. He is an Imperial soldier, dressed in the gold and mechanical regalia of a Guard. He twitches his Qi and the scent of lightning and sharp edges lights up the space around his armor and that of his squadron, and two of them move to fully block the stairs between her and her-


    Fuck. Her friends. It shouldn¡¯t be hard to say. It shouldn¡¯t hurt to think it.


    There is a little voice, between the blood and the mask, that is crying and telling her that things are not ok.


    But that¡¯s fine. Right? She can survive it. And it¡¯s her fault still. She¡¯s earned it. She keeps earning it. It¡¯s fine.


    Li Shu yells her name, shock and concern warring. Qen Hou does the smart thing, as he so often tends to do, holding her back a bit as two towering armored Guards block the path between them and the rest fall into a close cage around Raika, keeping her movements limited. He says something, whispers to Li Shu, and Raika tries not to hear, she really does.


    ¡°Not here,¡± Qen Hou whispers. ¡°We need to talk. She¡¯s not right.¡±


    Li Shu doesn¡¯t say anything back, but her heartbeat is clear, and the scent of stress and fear are loud.


    The Mask stays on very, very firmly as Raika starts walking back towards the Imperial section under armed guard.


    Surprisingly, they don¡¯t make it very far before someone else interrupts.


    Green, brown and red, woven into robes of simple but functional robes, and a woman beneath them that Raika does not recognize. Still, the scent is familiar. Whoever the woman is, if her colors and sect insignia didn¡¯t make it clear, she smells of soft earth, of loam, of long, grasping roots and slow growth made solid.


    Pai Jin stops the procession, looking down at the short woman who stands in front of them now. It¡¯s one thing for Raika to leap outside and surprise everyone, forcing their movement, and quite another for a random cultivator to block the path of Imperial Guard like this.


    Still, the woman bows deeply, showing respect to them, and Raika keeps the Mask polite and pleasant, still smiling faintly. Pai Jin looks to her, and she shows nothing.


    ¡°Honored Raika, formerly Raika the Bloody of the Hungering Roots Sect!¡± the woman says, still bowed. ¡°Honored Guard, of noble bearing and holy purpose! This lowly one greets her seniors, and asks only a moment of mercy, that I may deliver a message to her former sect member.¡±


    Raika still gives nothing away to Pai Jin, moving the muscles to cock an eyebrow at the Guard leader as he looks for recognition to flash across her features. Not seeing anything worth noting, he turns back to the cultivator before them.


    ¡°You¡¯re free to reach out through official channels to arrange a meeting or deliver a missive, junior,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that our charge has tarnished the grace of Imperial reputation with her display of improper decorum. Please step aside, that we might return to the proper proceedings.¡±


    The cultivator drops to her knees, pressing her forehead to the floor. ¡°I apologize, senior! I swore an oath to deliver this message as soon as it was possible, and am deeply afraid that such a small thing as my own pursuits will be lost in the face of the immensity of your own deeds and thoughts. My senior brother, who could not come to this blessed tournament, begged of me to deliver this, and I can only show my dedication through this. I have already been turned aside three times before the Imperial authorities, and know no other way to ensure my message reaches the hands of its intended recipient. Please, sirs. Simply take the letter.¡±


    Still pressing her forehead to the ground, the woman pulls something out of a spatial ring, holding it up in both hands.


    A letter.


    The scent of the Qi on it isn¡¯t familiar, but the scent of sweat and skin on it is.


    Hisheng.


    Fuck.


    Before Pai Jin can give another prim and proper refusal, Raika has already pushed aside one of the guards. It¡¯s easy. They keep forgetting how strong she is, now.


    Six spears are around her throat an instant later, but she is already kneeling, and taking the card into her hand.

 Chapter 115 - Old Flames, Smoke And Fog

    Three cigarettes.


    Three left, in a fine silver case which once held an even dozen or so. Five less since yesterday.


    In the old days, it would be embarrassing. Sure, she wasn¡¯t the sort of cultivator to get hung up on purity or high-minded ideas about bad habits, but the lack of control would have galled her. Five cigarettes in one day, when she could have spent that time exercising, cultivating, eating, fighting or fucking? Genuinely not worth thinking about. Shameful for how much authority she¡¯d have lost over herself, to need any substance so consistently. No better than the wastrel noble-born brats who make it to Core Formation and spend the rest of their youth fucking around in any brothel that can withstand them.


    In the old days, things were simpler.


    Raika looks at the letter.


    It sits there. Unopened. It stinks faintly of the blossom-rot of her smoke, which has saturated the room.


    Maen was here for a while. That was nice. It was nice, associating her smell and her touch with the blossom-rot, with the fact that she can exist within it without drowning in a sea of voices and sounds and smells and tastes and fractional movements.


    Then she left. She seemed worried. After the whole mess with holding her back from the contact with the Unearthly Depths Sect, that¡¯s the last thing Raika wants to add to their dynamic. Maen shouldn¡¯t be worried about her. She should be worrying about Maen. Duh. It¡¯s fine if she gets hurt, but if Maen got hurt it-


    A long, slow pull. The scent of blossoming mold and sweet, gentle decay fills her again, and takes with it much of the fear on the way out.


    It¡¯s a bad habit. That much is obvious. She¡¯s running out of them, and this dependency already is a weakness she was trying to hold herself back from.


    But the thought of knowing, not just by memory but by scent and taste and heartbeat that Li Shu and Qen Hou are here and they¡¯re worried and afraid and in more danger than ever because they¡¯re closer-


    Taurus regretted killing J- killing him. She knows that. But she also knows he can do it again. He seems a nice enough fellow. He also seems colder than anyone she¡¯s ever met. The scars of that first decision that he felt was so necessary at the time make it clear that he could do it again, just as fast, if he thought he had to, if he could find the way to motivate her with them.


    He promised otherwise. Said they wouldn¡¯t be in danger from him, that the danger might come from others after she¡¯d rebelled.


    But the thought is there. Right beside the moment where she forgot, where he took the Mask away and asked her a question. The only thing that takes it away is the smoke.


    The tournament is still ongoing. Jin Nara¡¯s is plenty clear, even dulled as her senses are. There¡¯s been victories and losses. The woman with the pack of beasts won her fight handily, as did the Aspirant of the Cut, and a hard-fought conflict with the man wielding an axe as big as he (well over two and a half meters) apparently only just lead to his victory. Round three is up, officially, back to those ¡°lesser¡± talents, and the insectile cultivator has apparently racked up another serious win.


    Taran hasn¡¯t participated, practically hibernating and back to what they acted like when she first met him. Something about ¡°conserving energy¡±, he¡¯d said. Jun Vral apparently did participate, got a win. Shapefixit and Yun Ka aren¡¯t really the arena-fighting types, Kaena is busy, and Project 13 is-


    Huh. She hasn¡¯t thought about Project 13 in a while. Weird. She¡¯s not sure why.


    A smell almost makes it through the smoke, but it doesn¡¯t so it doesn¡¯t matter.


    She stares down at the card.


    Neither Li Shu nor Qen Hou have participated in the tournament. Late entries are penalized, sure, but there have been some. If they¡¯ve tried to reach out¡­ well. Raika hasn¡¯t been easy to reach, and Pai Jin has been on higher alert. Her room has two guards against it now.


    She doesn¡¯t blame him. She¡¯s unstable, that much is clear. Her Truth is¡­ rattled. The aspects of flesh it controls remain consistent, but she knows there¡¯s more to it she hasn¡¯t discovered, hasn¡¯t felt beyond its chafing as she¡¯s forced to obey orders and stick to limits. Now, with her Mask acting strangely, with Taurus¡¯ ability to influence her, it¡¯s been rattled worse.


    Is it her? Is she breaking?


    Should she stop it if she is?


    She swore revenge. On Feng Gui, on Taurus. But that¡¯s it. That¡¯s what she has. Is it worth living on, with the blood on her hands, the pain she can still bring down on those around her?


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    The old her would have said yes, immediately. The new her does too, her second Truth aching and pushing against the idea that she is static and stuck.


    But the thought is there, until the smoke takes it away.


    Confronting the thought of willing surrender would break her. She didn¡¯t let it get to that point when she was crippled, and she shouldn¡¯t let it know, she should be stronger than it-


    But every time she thinks of it, she thinks of her friend dying, and Maen and Li Shu and Qen Hou dying, and of Taran and Kaena both deciding that their deaths and her pain aren¡¯t worth their loyalty to Taurus. And those thoughts¡­ they¡¯re not quite all-consuming, but in the smoke, they are made quiet.


    She looks at the letter.


    She decided how she felt about her old sect. Basic bitch sect, never had much attention for her, but with some good people in it, here and there. Then they abandoned her, didn¡¯t even come look, and that¡¯s all that really mattered, wasn¡¯t it? The people who had her back, who she killed for and who she had loved, were nowhere. They threw her away. The spite from that is a big part of what allowed her to drag herself back into existence.


    And now there¡¯s a letter that might say otherwise. And she¡¯s not sure what that would do to her.


    So she smokes.


    And, eventually, she is herself enough to tell herself to quit being such a whiny fucking loser and read the fucking card.


    She picks it up and tears it open in a single fluid motion.


    It smells even more like him beneath it.


    It¡¯s agony, to have every sense so muted and even still feel overwhelmed by them, but Hisheng was- he was the first one that mattered. She¡¯d had lovers before him, had experienced intimacy and physicality and even joy, but he had been the first to make her give a shit. He was the first one who convinced her to stay and be held afterwards, and he was the first time she felt safe and loved while being touched since she¡¯d left her home. He had been¡­ soft, in a way she still can¡¯t entirely articulate.


    She still isn¡¯t sure if she loved him back, really. If he mattered enough to her, or if she¡¯d been capable of that sort of emotion, that sort of introspection and depth. Maybe if they¡¯d met earlier, or later, things might have meshed easier. It wasn¡¯t love that made her think of him, made her reflect on the fact that he wasn¡¯t there after she was crippled, but it was as close as she¡¯d ever gotten at the time.


    Maen is close, too, but in a different way, a new way. Every love is unique, perhaps, just as its people are. Or maybe there¡¯s something different missing. She doesn¡¯t know, and has not let herself think about it, like with so many things she does not think about and which now drown under blue fog.


    To Raika, greatest pugilist of the-


    She has to put the letter down.


    She inhales, almost done with this latest cigarette. Almost burnt down to ash.


    She picks it back up.


    To Raika, greatest pugilist of the Hungering Roots Sect,


    I know, by now, that it has been some time, but if it is you reading this letter, then my junior sister Shao Ni has found you, and has managed to deliver this to you. Please apologize to her on my behalf. She is a loyal friend and a hard worker, and eager to participate in the tournament we have heard of, and it is with great worry and hope that I gave her directions and a spatial ring to pursue her own path beneath the Heavens. She may claim otherwise, but I have a great debt to her for this service.


    Three years is not long for cultivators, it is said. Perhaps this was more true in the time of our forefathers, before roads connected so many cities and cultivation was only for the few and the unique. You would have done fine, I¡¯m sure, but I am not so exceptional, and so I am glad for this age, where three years is a long time. It is a long time to go thinking someone I love is dead. Perhaps, in older times, enlightenment and inner peace were the only ways to cultivate, and again, if so, I am glad that a new age has come, such that I do not need these to cultivate, for I have known neither since you went to Paleblossom city¡¯s tournament.


    I don¡¯t know what to say. I started writing this letter the hour I heard your name, now The Unbroken, tied to a tournament once again. The news of it came to our Sect, as such news tends to, and I was not alone in my shock to hear your name spoken. Even still, having spent so long writing this, I do not know what to say. Perhaps had I studied a Dao, plumbed the hidden mysteries of reality, I might know better how to say what I need to, but I was never so special. And so I struggle on to try and find the words.


    You were hurt, and I was not there. You were alone, and I was not there. I do not know, in truth, what you thought of me, of us, but someone that I care for was left for dead, and I was not there.


    There are no words to describe the regret I have for this.


    I do not know what I can offer now, so late and so beyond what could be allowed. I have grieved you, and I am certain you have hated me, or at least as certain of that as I am that you enjoyed our time together. You are grander now than ever, risen from something I cannot imagine to a height I cannot fathom. I am as proud as I am haunted that you had to do so alone.


    I hope you found others whose loyalties were not as weak as mine. I hope your growth has been fruitful and that your path beneath the Heavens is¡­ well, not peaceful, but as kind to you as you would choose it to be. I hope you know that I am deeply, truly sorry I was not there, and that had I known, I would have come to help as soon as I could. The Silver Song family put your name amongst the dead in their tournament¡¯s records, and no one I could reach could say how or why.


    My master has placed me in solitary cultivation for now. Cultivation is a marvel, it would seem, for there is an Imperial doctor coming who it is said can remove one¡¯s heart demons. Perhaps I should keep one, until I am certain I have repaid you. I do not know. I don¡¯t even know if you care, or if you¡¯re the same person who would know me as you did.


    I am so sorry. I am so happy you¡¯re alive. I¡¯m really fucking proud of you.


    Finally got me to curse.


    May your journey be spared from Heaven¡¯s gaze, and your growth rise to match it.


    So long as I live and breathe, all you need is to ask, and I will carve a place for you to rest.


    With sorrow, and joy,


    Hisheng, Inner Sect Disciple of the Hungering Roots Sect


    Raika breathes. Slowly, once, long enough that the cigarette burns to ash and scorches her lips.


    She lights another one.


    Two cigarettes.


    The Mask is here again, and takes the stress of movement from her. It makes it easier to just enjoy the smoke, and let all the rest be buried.

 Chapter 116 - I鈥檓 Coming Straight For The Castle

    One thing they don¡¯t tell you about the whole multiple-stomachs thing? Time.


    Bestial cultivation is a hassle, no matter what orthodox cultivators might say about its benefits, the quickened growth and potential of it. There¡¯s a reason it¡¯s not often the focus of one¡¯s pursuit of power, even in the families and bloodlines that focus on breeding. It takes resources.


    In all the world, with so many variations and unique interpretations of transcendence of mortality and authority over reality, Orthodox cultivation rules for one reason above all others. It is not the most unique, the strongest, the fastest, the most dynamic. It is, however, easy. Drink in Qi, swirl it around, some meditation and inner peace, ta da, you can break rocks on your forehead. Its versatility is top tier, of course, with Qi circulated so freely able to be used in almost any way its user can imagine, but as a cultivation style, it¡¯s not the best at anything save that anyone can learn it. The enlightenment of the journey is no longer personal, and instead can be refined into a thing that is bland and universal and in some ways more powerful for it.


    Bestial cultivation, on the other hand, takes resources.


    And well-developed jaw muscles.


    As Taurus chews the same pound or so of spirit grass for the fourth time, he can¡¯t help but sigh.


    The more you eat, and the higher its quality, the more your body¡¯s natural powers develop, mutate, spiral out under loosely-guided control. Eat the right thing, and one¡¯s body can even absorb its properties. For carnivorous-style bestial cultivators, this manifests most often as hunting powerful beasts to eat, or consuming vanquished enemies. For herbivores, as Taurus has chosen to be, it¡¯s a bit simpler; eat plants. Better plants work better. The vast and immediate gains of a carnivorous-style cultivator are offset by the stress and dietary needs of it, while the slow and far more gradual growth of herbivorous-style cultivation is offset by a much higher efficiency in the digestion of Qi and the properties of one¡¯s food.


    Taurus, of course, was born with a bovine physique, but he didn¡¯t always have four stomachs. That was a choice. Heightens the efficiency much further, and didn¡¯t take much to activate his body into growing them. It is, however, a choice that requires a lot of chewing.


    Meditative, but annoying. More habit-forming than anything. He had to stay awake a week once to break the habit of grinding his teeth.


    He swallows just as the elevator reaches its destination.


    He steps off the platform, its edges glowing slightly with power and subverted heat, and takes a moment to look out over the city.


    It is a city. They call it other things. A superstructure is a popular name, though only amidst the higher-ups. A facility, or institution, are both neck and neck for second place. But it¡¯s a city. This many people, this many buildings, calling it a campus or a superstructure or a research institute isn¡¯t wrong, but above either, it is a city. Packed full of the mad and the geniuses, crammed beside each other by the thousands, fed and allowed to rest only as much as they need to maintain efficiency, but a city nonetheless.


    It is haunting to look at, because despite all that it is and all it spreads into the world, it is beautiful.


    Central sits on the central pillar of the First Ring. It is technically on the second due to not being atop the plateau, but it is built into the side of it, a continent-sized supermountain with a fungal divinity spawning from one side of it. Its buildings are white, pristine, dug into the side of the cliffs or expanded beyond it on levitating platforms and intelligent architecture, and its design is something between brutalist and biological. For every aspect of concrete and harsh angles, there are sections of surprisingly organic contours, buildings grown from out of other buildings, roots extending between places and remade into avenues.


    And, of course, there is the lightning.


    It¡¯s not obvious if you don¡¯t know it¡¯s there. A product of masterful control and even greater design, it blends into the city like a second set of veins, like arcing rivers and waterfalls and pillars. But from the highest peak of Central, from within a dome that holds something that looks like a star turned to dusk, a star made into an a bloody eye, there is lightning. Branches of it extend into the city in shades of white and gold like architecture with impossible right angles, like veins, like¡­ well, sometimes like branches. Some of the strands of heat and light and electricity are so vast and so static that they work as bridges and supports, growing more buildings ever higher.


    It is a tower-city, a construct of impossible power, and there are hundreds of thousands of people that live in it, like ants scurrying through a hive, like neurons in a mind that sprawls and grows and sculpts itself. It is a marvel, invented and sustained by the hands of some of the Empire¡¯s grandest powers. It is among the greatest achievements of the modern age.


    It is a horror.


    Taurus turns from the window and keeps walking.


    The hallway he walks down is stark, as so much of Central is, utilitarian to the extreme. Brutalism dominates this building, highlighting everything in cubic structuring and right angles, and in every way it speaks of a sort of mindless accuracy, even as it possesses its own form of beauty and order.


    Taurus takes a right turn, away from the glass window that spans the hallway, and walks a full three minutes exactly.


    At the precise second of the third minute beginning, he turns left, into a stone wall.


    For that single second, an angle is there, and as he turns, he turns into a new direction, and moves sideways to what is, into what could be.


    He feels the weight of a Domain immediately. It took him years to control it properly, to bind its effects into language and formula and tie them to reality from where he found it. The soul empowering it is vast, its Qi thick in the air around him, and he feels more than one Dao¡¯s effects lingering in the space¡¯s construction.


    The impossible weight of power and madness and wisdom unfold from an angle just left of existence, and he finds himself in a room with a chair.


    It is not a traditional seat. Its seemingly grown from the ground, perfectly smooth concrete rising into a chair that allow one to lean back in rest if one wishes. It¡¯s almost egg-shaped, with half removed and the seat kept, with grey leather covering the front of it seamlessly.


    It rests in a small circle, set maybe three inches beneath the rest of the floor. The walls, ceiling, limits of space; all are lost in shadow, save for a single corner with something curled up in it.


    Taurus does not look behind himself. He knows the hallway is no longer there. He takes a seat in the chair, and waits.


    The shape in the corner moves, slowly and slightly.


    It rises, into a crouch, still collapsed against the far corner, the only wall or structure in this place besides the chair and the floor.


    The man is not well.


    The first sign of it is the bleeding. From his eyes, his nose, his ears, he leaks a viscous black tar in place of blood, every breath labored and wet. The second useful sign is his skin, long turned the pallor of death, the veins beneath it oozing black spiderwebs across his body.


    But above all else, of course, is the sword, speared through his back and out through where his heart should be.


    He smiles, faint and tired, and slumps back.


    ¡°Fancy seeing you here, boss,¡± he says. He breathes with a slight wheeze, but otherwise seems almost remarkably capable of speech, even as the blood on his shirt keeps coloring the wound in a large circle of black.


    Taurus says nothing. He sits across from the living dead man and waits.


    ¡°Yeah, fuck you too,¡± the man says. ¡°How long¡¯s it been? Huh? How long, in here? Hah. Maybe if it was someone else, it wouldn¡¯t hurt so much, but of course it¡¯s you. What a joy it is to yet live, you fucking bovine bastard. What a privilege, to be in your little cage.¡±


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    Taurus says nothing, and waits.


    His face curls into a snarl, one that looks almost painted on with the trails of black tears running down his face and chin. ¡°All this time, and you still won¡¯t even talk to me. Just sit and look at me, asking your fucking questions. What¡¯s it mean to you, keeping me here? Why won''t you let me be? Fuck you. Die. Rot. Fall to ruin you fucking abomination.¡±


    Taurus says nothing, and waits.


    The tirade looks like it has exhausted the corpse-man. He crumples a bit, falling against the corner until his face is nearly on the ground, the sword handle through his back scraping against the bare concrete.


    ¡°Fuck you,¡± he whispers, the blood running down his face taking the place of tears. ¡°Fuck you. Ask your questions.¡±


    ¡°What is the current location of the Gardener?¡± Taurus asks.


    The corpse man makes a sound between a laugh and a sob. There¡¯s a few moments of silence, and then a shuddering, harsh breath. He spits out a drop of black phlegm, the sword hissing slightly and blood leaking further out along its blade.


    ¡°Bastard. The Garden. Up on the first ring. Three stories above the root of the Tree, in her room. Wearing one of her nephews, I think, her mind is wandering. That¡¯s all I know.¡±


    ¡°The First Fist. The Second Blade, in the East. The First Blade, in the West. Their most recent wounds.¡±


    The dead man that breathes whimpers, once, and then bows his head. A few more seconds pass, another shudder, and he raises back up, looking at nothing.


    ¡°Seventeen broken bones, thirty two lacerations, loss of six feet of intestinal tract, minor blow to third Truth, partially bound Dao. A single cut on her left eye. The First Blade in the West has not been harmed in two hundred and thirty seven years, and remains without scratch or scar.¡±


    Taurus nods, once. Makes a note of it in his mind, and locks it into a room there. He has other eyes on the Gardener, and can check to confirm the results on the Empire¡¯s generals later, through other networks. It¡¯s always good to have redundancy, and a good test of the ongoing accuracy of the man in the room hidden in the wall.


    ¡°The Division of Exploration and Discovery. What is the current furthest reach?¡±


    The man shudders, but does not fail to answer.


    ¡°Seventeen thousand and sixteen miles into the fifth ring,¡± the man says, the effort costing him something. He moans, low, and drools some of his blood onto the floor. ¡°Northbound. A few miles shy of your record, you fucking bastard thing. They¡¯re not back yet.¡±


    ¡°Division of Research. Does Grandmaster Tarith plan to kill Errath or Grandmaster Han Shi within the next six weeks?¡±


    ¡°No. Damn you, no. I can¡¯t- fuck. Please. Stop asking. I beg of you. Please.¡±


    Taurus leans forward in his chair.


    ¡°Errath¡¯s current knowledge of my bindings.¡±


    The man whimpers, drools, scratches blindly at the concrete floor into well-worn furrows. He has no Qi left, none of his own anyways, but a corpse made undying can have quite a bit of durability to it, and his nails have had a long time to dig.


    Eventually he sags, fully collapsed, splayed out like the corpse he would be without interference or the power sustaining him. He breathes, harsh and ragged, though he barely has need of it.


    ¡°Fuck you. Fuck you. He doesn¡¯t know. He thinks your leash is still clipped to your collar. He thinks the collar ironbound. He doesn¡¯t know. Please. Let me die, you fuck.¡±


    Taurus leans closer still, his frame towering even hunched forward as he is.


    ¡°What does Errath think of Raika the Unbroken.¡±


    The man whimpers, briefly re-energized as if by agony, squirming along the floor. There is silence in the room for a good thirty seconds after.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t- doesn¡¯t care. Yet. A curio. He¡¯ll take her apart when you bring her to Central, like he did you. Wants to see the mechanism for the Flame, and track her Truth. Doesn¡¯t know about her teeth. Doesn¡¯t know about her second Truth. Doesn¡¯t know about her Tribulation. Thinks she¡¯s just a lucky biomorph. Unique but not special. He thinks- fuck! He thinks she¡¯s going to burn out and die. He doesn¡¯t know who she¡¯s killed.¡±


    Slowly, Taurus leans back.


    The corpse-man sits on the floor, heaving for breath and crying.


    It¡¯s no guarantee. It¡¯s not exactly a trustworthy source. But he has his own way of confirming things, and there¡¯s a reason he saves the most painful questions for when the corpse-man is exhausted.


    It¡¯s so he can¡¯t lie.


    He goes to stand.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know, do you?¡± the man asks. There is a smile there, even as the tracks of blood down his face and chin are dripping freshly now. ¡°You didn¡¯t guess it? Heh. Fucker.¡±


    Taurus says nothing. Lets the silence sit. Then-


    ¡°What did I not guess?¡± he asks.


    The man spasms, a million million possible permutations to the question flooding him. It¡¯s the most painful way he could have asked the question, and Taurus watches, expressionless, as he writhes.


    ¡°FUCK!¡± the man eventually yells, collapsing back to stillness. ¡°Fuck you. That- it hurts when you say that, you know-¡±


    ¡°You started it. Anything I miss here ruins everything. Don¡¯t make me ask again.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not dead. Zhoulong. Not properly. Dead like I am, he is. Little piece of him swirling around in her gut, whispering to her. Trying to change her, trying to get out. Barely any left, but he¡¯s there.¡±


    Taurus sits back, resting on the chair. The seat is good for extended rests in it, for when the questions go long into the night, and it¡¯s one of the few Taurus has ever been able to invent that can comfortably hold his weight indefinitely. He sits there, and thinks for long enough that the man with the sword through his heart digs up what is left of his bravery.


    ¡°Take the sword out,¡± the man says. ¡°Please. You¡¯re so close. I can guess, and you¡¯re so close. You don¡¯t even need me anymore. Please. Let it end. Let me go.¡±


    Taurus says nothing.


    ¡°What did I even do? Hurt you? It¡¯s how the world works! You know it as well as I do! Suffering is like rice, it goes with every meal and everyone eats it. You think I didn¡¯t know pain? You think I didn¡¯t lose people? Your father, he-¡±


    ¡°Please. I¡¯m sorry. It just- it hurts.¡±


    Taurus gets up and kneels next to him. He raises the man¡¯s face, one finger nearly the size of the crawling thing¡¯s entire jaw, so that he is looking up at the horned face above him.


    ¡°I know,¡± Taurus says. ¡°I understand. And we are very, very close. I mean it when I say that without you, none of this could come to pass.¡±


    With his other hand, Taurus grabs the sword hilt, barely the size of a dagger compared to him, and sends a thread of Qi into it.


    The sword drinks greedily, and the man it wears who believes he is still himself screams in a voice gone hoarse and bloody. For a moment, Taurus can feel the tethers. With their source and nexus kept here, outside reality, they are faint and hard to track, but for a moment as he feeds the blade it calls to its like. It took him ages to be able to enchant it properly, to create the formulae that tied the sword to its anchors in a web leading back to itself.


    A shard of metal, molten and added to runic enhancements of the Oracular Pools and their many all-seeing minds.


    A fragment of its hilt, pulled from it and planted in the shallowest roots of the Tree.


    Twenty pieces of steel, forged from the same vein of ore as the blade¡¯s origin, each in a different fort and port and city. Some are in Divisions of their own, while others reach out to the fourth ring and its citadels, but each is so subtle and so minute that Taurus, knowing they are there, with all his control, can barely sense them. Each has been molded into a part of infrastructure or architecture where one could never see it, but where souls of every stretch touch it as they pass.


    And one blade, planted in the chest of a man who earned its edge, and carved to make him think he is still alive.


    Or keeping him alive as a dead thing. It¡¯s really quite hard to tell the difference, with how much of his Soul the sword drank.


    The corpse collapses, moaning on the ground as fresh tar-blood leaks from its chest. Taurus... sighs. Long, and quiet, and tired.


    ¡°There¡¯s no malice in this. You know that. You¡¯re right. I might make it where I need to in just a few more years. You¡¯ll last until then, I think.¡±


    The dead man whimpers.


    ¡°But you¡¯re dead. You¡¯ve been dead a long time. And I¡¯m willing to take on the sin of a dead man¡¯s torment if it means I get to where we need to go. So no. The sword stays. You exist a little longer. We¡¯ll be done soon.


    ¡°When we meet in the Hells, you can torment me all you like in return. But until then¡­


    ¡°Tell me everything you know.¡±


    There is not enough left of the man to scream. He babbles, and moans, and speaks in incoherent strings of disconnected factoids, and as he cries and bleeds and begs and speaks, Taurus places a small, rune-covered stone on the chair. It feels the air move and drinks in every word.


    And Taurus leaves the room.


    He¡¯ll check on the recording later, cross-reference with his other sources, but the dead man is usually reliable. It just pays to be careful, this close to the end.


    He goes over his priorities. Confirming the information, checking in with his ¡°research group¡±, meeting with Errath scheduled, a few spies and supporters to pay off¡­ and then, something to do with Raika.


    Something will have to be done before Errath gets his hands on her. He¡¯ll need to speak to Kaena about the possession as well. So much to do, so little time.


    He leaves the room the same way he came in, walking three minutes into the dark and turning left. It is like he never left the hallway, and like the screaming thing that has earned almost as much pain as he was never there at all.

 Chapter 117 - What Is This, A Crossover Episode?

    Maen runs across the rooftops of a beautiful place, smothered in the scents of industry. The city is gorgeous at night to her eyes, which are open and clear, her pupils enlarged to the point that the darkness looks perfectly clear, and as she runs, its not hard to follow the directions she was given.


    Kaena seemed distracted when they spoke, but they provided the information when Maen asked. Raika¡­ hasn¡¯t been at her best since the tournament started, but the reaction she had to the two cultivators after her last fight went well beyond that. And since seeing the two of them, most of what she¡¯s done has been¡­ sit. A letter in front of her, and that metal case she got from a fucking witch closed off to the side. Perfectly still. Like a doll.


    It¡¯s kind of creepy, honestly. There¡¯s meditation, and meditating before resonant artifacts or important ideals is a well-recorded style, but¡­


    She hasn¡¯t blinked in a while. People usually meditate in privacy, with their eyes closed.


    Six hours of that is more than enough to convince Maen to give her some space.


    So she runs, towards the inn that Kaena gave her directions to.


    It feels¡­ different, now that the blood has been digested, the Qi in it used up. She¡¯s still faster, her wrist still aches from where the blade emerged, but the transformations¡­ regressed? Dual cultivation is a struggle, but the benefits are mostly worth it: orthodox cultivation lets her circulate her power and draw in Qi from the ambient, and bestial cultivation lets her drain some of that Qi into her stomach to digest it. It¡¯s slow, but broader, and Raika¡¯s blood-


    Fuck. Raika¡¯s blood was like an explosion, like a volcanic blaze in her gut. So potent that its qualities bled into her, so full of energy that she could drag her body well past its limits. She¡¯s not as fast as she was during the fight, but she can tell she¡¯s faster, and while she¡¯s fairly sure her body has reabsorbed the blade, a steady diet probably wouldn¡¯t take long to make it (and more) a permanent addition.


    And then, after the fight, Raika had asked her to stay hidden. After beating a real cultivator, someone trained in combat properly, with just speed and adrenaline. She¡¯d seemed distracted, her face in that weirdly artificial look no one else seems to notice, but it¡¯s hard to know what she was distracted by. It had hurt, but not too bad.


    The awkwardness afterwards had been worse. And the near-silence over the last few days, worse yet.


    And then she¡¯d just¡­ reacted. Maen watched her, enjoyed seeing her partner seem comfortable and ¡®real¡¯ in her fight with that Shao Kan flesh-cultivator, and while she¡¯d been worried when she bit out the cultivator¡¯s shoulder, there was relief when she didn¡¯t go for the kill. But then, Raika¡¯s head had snapped up, off to the side, still dripping fresh blood down her chin, and she¡¯d looked out in the stands- and moved.


    And then they¡¯d spoken, and it was the most artificial look Maen had seen on her yet.


    Kaena didn¡¯t even need to ask. They¡¯d told her the names of the two: a Li Shu and a Qen Hou, both cultivators from the Purple Flame Burning Lotus Sect.


    Her sect. Raika¡¯s, for a little while.


    Li Shu¡¯s name, she recognizes easily. The demonic healer, as the rumor mill called her, who had unleashed a beast onto the sect. Qen Hou took her longer to place, but as far as outer disciples went he was always a reasonable one, growing fairly quickly but respectful.


    Li Shu especially was important to Raika, Maen knows that much, but she¡¯s never heard her talk about them openly before, not even in bed. As far as Maen knows, since that fateful night, when Taurus came to collect them after their escape, Raika hasn¡¯t mentioned them once. So why now? Why here? And what did they say?


    It doesn¡¯t take long for Maen to land across the street from the inn they¡¯re staying at, the Golden Feather. It¡¯s fancy, pretty high quality. Maen isn¡¯t being watched nearly as closely as the rest of the Division, but that¡¯s no reason to have rumors about a shadowed felinoid stalking the streets, so she sticks to the rooftops.


    She¡¯s a cultivator now. Going on well over a year, and boosted by her blood and the blood of one far more potent. It¡¯s not that hard to jump over the street and stop on the third floor of the building, climbing up over the slanted roof to one of the windows.


    She knocks at it, polite and quiet.


    She hears a shuffling sound inside the room, but not much else.


    Then a louder shuffling, and the muffled sound of someone sounding annoyed.


    The window is thrown open, and a total stranger is standing there.


    Bearded, muscled, tall, and covered in scars, with calloused hands but long fingers. It¡¯s someone she¡¯s never seen before, and considering how bedecked he is in thick furs and casual robes, she¡¯s fairly certain she¡¯d remember.


    ¡°Um.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, can I help you?¡± he asks.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I- I was told I¡¯d find Li Shu or Qen Hou here? I didn¡¯t realize the room was taken.¡±


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    ¡°Why?¡± he asks, eyes narrowing. ¡°Whatd¡¯ya want with them?¡±


    ¡°Oh! Uh. Just to talk. I¡¯m- I mean, I know who they are. Back from the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect. I don¡¯t think they know me, I was just a servant, but-¡±


    ¡°Ok? And?¡±


    She frowns. ¡°Are you always this rude when you speak to someone?¡±


    He smiles. ¡°I am when I find them knocking on my window in the middle of the night, member of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect. Frankly, I find it wildly out of my character to even be so generous as I have been. Got a name?¡±


    ¡°Alright, well I¡¯m not a member of the sect. Anymore, I mean. I left. Same day as someone they know?¡±


    She hears someone whisper in the room behind the rugged stranger, and her ears perk up, to which he winces.


    ¡°Do you know Raika?¡± she hears a higher voice ask from somewhere in the room.


    Maen sighs. ¡°Yes. I¡¯m- we¡¯re together.¡±


    ¡°Hao Nera, you can-¡±


    The burly stranger rolls his eyes before walking back into the room, waving her in. ¡°Come on then. Not like these idiots listen to me anyways when I tell them not to say anything!¡±


    Maen frowns but enters through the window, finding a room decorated tastefully in red, gold and light notes of blue, with a small table, a closet, a bathroom¡­ and a single, extra-large bed.


    Not her business.


    Li Shu and Qen Hou are both there, both looking¡­ tired. Li Shu is fair skinned, a bit tanned from the sun, with long black hair she keeps tied tightly and a slim frame, while Qen Hou looks more fit, olive-skinned with a thick head of brown hair. He looks at her, seating with his chin tilted up, and she sees his eyes flash purple for a brief moment.


    ¡°What is it you want with us? Why are you here? Did Raika send you?¡±


    The questions come rapidfire, with Li Shu awkwardly to one side as Qen Hou asks.


    ¡°Well, I¡­¡± Maen takes a moment. Takes a breath. A year ago, both of these figures would tower over her in authority, and the weight of that is still present to some extent. She centers herself, though, and gives a short, polite bow.


    ¡°Apologies, seniors. My name is Maen, of no great family. I once worked as a servant alongside cultivator Raika in the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect, before our¡­ rather incident-filled departure. I¡¯ve been Raika¡¯s partner for a few months now, and she has assisted me greatly in my cultivation. I wish to know what it is that you two spoke to her about that left her so affected one day hence.¡±


    Qen Hou raises an eyebrow, but Li Shu just sighs, sitting onto the bed.


    ¡°Frankly, I¡¯m pretty curious myself,¡± Hao Nera says, leaning casually against the wall. ¡°These two have been tight lipped ever since we got here, and considering what happened right before we got on our way here, they should really tell their friend about it.¡±


    Qen Hou rolls his eyes, but there¡¯s a tiredness to the act, like he doesn¡¯t really mean it or doesn¡¯t quite have the vigor to imbue it with real feeling.


    ¡°I just¡­ I asked if she was alright,¡± Li Shu says. ¡°That¡¯s all. And she¡­ I don¡¯t know. She did something with her face. Shut down somehow.¡±


    ¡°And she said she wasn¡¯t. Alright, that is.¡± Qen Hou shifts uncomfortably in his seat as he says it, breaking eye contact.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t seem like she¡¯s doing well,¡± Li Shu says. ¡°Even in her fight, it¡­ looked like she was talking to someone? Some illusion, maybe, but¡­ I worry she may have a heart demon somehow. Or just¡­ not be well, mentally. What¡¯s happened to her?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re her partner, lil kitty?¡± Hao Nera says from where he leans, sighing as he gets up and wanders over to a bag on the ground and rifles through it. ¡°Where I come from, partners are all about keeping each other¡¯s heads on properly. Looks to me like your ginormous fuckoff girlfriend could use some of that.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ agree. She isn¡¯t¡­ you¡¯re right. It is in some ways encouraging that she told you she wasn¡¯t well, and scary in others. If she hasn¡¯t reached out to you¡­ then yes, there¡¯s much to say.¡±


    She accepts a piece of jerky from Hao Nera, who tosses it to her as if watching how she¡¯ll catch it. She just holds it, and eventually slumps to the ground, back against the wall.


    The smell of the city wafts in, the sounds of constant movement and life ringing through the ever-busy streets. Maen takes a deep breath, and begins to speak.


    It¡¯s imperfect, as most things are. There are certainly pieces missing. But she tells them what she knows, and holds back little.


    The visit to the Vera¡¯s Hollow, the same small village that the trio went to. The hunt for the corpse-smith. The beast tide, and how Raika volunteered as prey and predator and was left to her own devices. How when she was brought back, she was in a sort of cocoon, and how she could barely walk or be touched afterwards, overwhelmed by new flesh and sensation. She speaks to them about Zhoulong and the other research group, of the inner politics of the Division of Altered Cultivation, and of Raika¡¯s plot to use Taurus to weaken him and then slay him herself, after using the corpse-smith¡¯s notes as proof.


    She talks about the better days. Just weeks ago, Raika was¡­ still distant, still off meditating or doing her own style of cultivation, but less haunted for a time. But the longer they stayed stuck, the worse she¡¯d been, skittish, sensitive to even the slightest of sounds or smells, desperate for contact and retreating from it¡­ and then overjoyed at the violence of sparring.


    She mentions the visit from the witch, what little she knows of it, and how it pushed Raika further into plots and that machine desire for action. She mentions it was her idea to start the tournament.


    And, still holding a piece of jerky, she tells them of the last day.


    ¡°Ever since she saw you, she¡¯s been¡­ bad. She got some letter from a woman from¡­ I think it was the Hungering Roots sect? And she¡¯s been staring at it and smoking these gods-awful cigarettes all day. Not moving. Barely breathing, I think, like she¡¯s just staring off someplace. I think¡­ I think something really bad is happening.¡±


    Li Shu by this point, wipes a few stray tears away. They came silently, and seem to be almost as much of frustration as grief, but Maen is surprised to see Qen Hou similarly affected, gritting his teeth hard.


    Maen sits there, and for a moment, no one speaks.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do.¡±


    ¡°Well, kitty, it gets worse.¡±


    Qen Hou shoots Hao Nera a look, but he puts his hands up in mock surrender. ¡°Come on, you know I¡¯m right senior brother. Tell her why we¡¯re even in this city.¡±


    Qen Hou sighs, clenches his fist, and¡­


    And then he begins to speak.


    Li Shu fills in the details, and Hao Nera provides the commentary, but Maen, in the end, learns of their journeys. Leaving the sect, harvesting the vanquished beast tide, and the encounter with the semi-divine spirit beast, the not-tiger that spoke like a dying, wounded man and rippled with colors from out of what should be.


    And how it hungers for the person who slew that very same beast tide, around that very same village.


    And Maen, having come here to find out what¡¯s gone wrong and how she might be able to help, takes a bite of jerky, and realizes that shit¡¯s a bit fucked.

 Chapter 118- Damn, This Twelve Year Old Got Hands

    It is what it is.


    A bitch of a saying, but a helpful one. The trick about a maladaptive coping mechanism is it¡¯s only maladaptive if it doesn¡¯t work.


    (Ok, that¡¯s probably not true, she has to admit that, but she can also ignore that like she does most of the unhelpful things part of her is always screaming about)


    It is what it is.


    Hisheng is alive, relatively well, and was told by the Silver Song family that she was dead. No reason to distrust that, not really, and a master to hold him back besides; he has every reason not to have come, and she knew that. She barely ever held true rancor for him. For the sect, maybe, they could have looked, but¡­ they¡¯re an institution. Why would they bother? Why would they spend the time and resources to check to see if a problem child, expensive and not particularly useful, lived?


    So¡­ it is what it is.


    She hasn¡¯t smoked a cigarette since the previous day, and the effects have long since worn off. The crowd roars, the sun beats down in uneven tracts of heat and radiation against her skin, the sounds of industry and movement and mechanics crackle and make the ground tremble. The smell of humanity and all its derivatives and siblings, fungal and sweaty and musky and adrenal and bleeding and smelling of food and-


    It is what it is. It is what it is. She can handle this. Everything is fine. She¡¯s lived through worse.


    All very useful things that are almost, mostly, relatively all entirely true.


    The tournament goes on. The show switches again, and now the fights are geared towards those either inexperienced or in the Foundational realm. That isn¡¯t to say it isn¡¯t exciting, or that new favorites don¡¯t crop up. There¡¯s one particular kid from the Stone Divers sect that¡¯s really blowing expectations out of the water, actually.


    Not everyone remains between fights, taking the day off from their level of the tournament to recover and cultivate, but those that do have their own areas of the tournament at this point. Reputation and prestige hold their weight on arrival, but its only the winners and surprises that draw the crowds, and they have their own little sections. The man with the axe made of black, red, and silver metals has a proper harem arrayed around him, men and women of all sorts draped over whatever limb he allows them, and the amount of drink he¡¯s consuming has attracted more than a few drink sellers and barrels. The woman with the beasts, always holding a wide berth of territory, now has the outer edges of that territory crowded by onlookers and lesser cultivators, fawning over beast and woman both. Many of the animals seem uncomfortable, a long and sinuous panther and something like a dog with too many snapping jaws both growling and fidgeting, but whatever control she has over them, they keep from tearing apart the crowds. The fighters from the Stone Divers and Unearthly Depths sects both have plenty of their own onlookers, but a few dark horses (like the man who burned a hole through her, weaving light and darkness, or the insectile cultivator who sits chatting amicably with another that has a sort of semi-illusory clone technique) have plenty of their own would-be supporters and newfound opportunities.


    The Aspirant of the Cut, as befits a cultist of the most lethal art, has no such sycophants. He sits, quiet and still, and everyone else makes sure they sit nowhere close to the edge of the arena he rests in.


    And yet, the crowd remains riveted, even with so-called ¡°lesser¡± battles. The spirit of cultivation is to rage, is to rip and tear and overcome, even if one does so through peace itself, and most of the fights here and throughout the day have been full of passion. Seeing the heights of the mountains that might someday be their own domains, they are impassioned all the more.


    And she can smell it. Adrenaline and hormones, twitching heartbeats, straining muscle and barely-contained violence, all of it behind the violent hum of the dome and the Qi running through its runes and-


    It is what it is.


    The two in question this particular fight are, both of them, excellent examples. One is a wandering cultivator, an independent or member of some far-off sect, and hasn¡¯t gained much of a following yet, but it seems to push him more than weaken him. Across the arena, currently shape-shifted into a long and winding river with rocky banks, he faces off against the young cultivator of the Stone Divers sect.


    And he is young. An adolescent, and not a late one. A prodigal talent, to be sure, to have reached into the Foundational realm so deeply at his age, but he still looks baby-faced against his opponent, who seems to ripple against the air itself and slip past most of his blows. She never got either of their names, the minutiae of speech drowned beneath so much more constant noise, but he holds his own surprisingly well. In spite of herself, she¡¯s impressed by him. He moves quickly, steps well-placed even among running waters, and has a good grasp not just of his own Qi, but of genuine techniques.


    Techniques, common as they are, are rarer than most of the bare-knuckle brawls of younger cultivators. Shaping one¡¯s soul and Qi through cultivation is the highest expression of power, and manifesting that power and ¡°self¡± through one¡¯s Qi is the traditional way of doing battle, but everyone has techniques. Martial techniques allow him to step properly, to move his body according to his will and the laws of the world, and rather than something potentially self-harmful like manifesting stone from himself, he shapes the stones around the river¡¯s borders, launching them at his opponent.


    Of course, the style of cultivation matters, the ideals one follows shaping one¡¯s self. He is from a sect that speaks of stone, of shaping it and moving through it, and that idea moves through the technique of infusing stones with Qi and moving them. As Raika watches, several of the pebbles flow together into long spikes, slender but weighty, and the independent cultivator is hard pressed, having to choose between dodging the traditional stones or the sharpened spikes.


    It¡¯s a good fight. The kid is doing his best, and despite his talent it¡¯s clear that there¡¯s plenty of work that¡¯s gone into his growth. Both fighters are in the Foundational realm, but he has the clear advantage, despite lacking the experience or years of his opponent, who is himself clearly using a technique in tandem with his Qi to slip past some of the stones (and, in one noticeable case, seemingly moving through one of the spikes thrown at him.


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    And she doesn¡¯t care. She¡¯s thinking about what has gone wrong.


    Maybe, if she was at her best, she could do better, do more. As it is, she¡¯s falling into old habits. The Mask of the bruiser falls closer and closer to the truth of her, and despite herself, she finds herself¡­ lost. Before the letter, she was already speaking to ghosts, already tripping over herself to get at the violence arrayed before her where she can feel normal again. Now, after it, forced out of the violent momentum she has refused to let go of, she¡¯s left¡­


    With what? A tournament that hasn¡¯t allowed nearly as much freedom as she¡¯d like, no matter how Kaena¡¯s spy networks are surely benefiting. A meeting with people she wants only to protect with her distance, who took one look at her and saw to the core of the broken thing she is without even trying. And old myths from some asshole who likes water and witches and fancy tea ceremonies.


    It¡¯s progress. It¡¯s hard to think of it as such, but it is. When schemes can take centuries to pay off, to learn as much as she has, to have made the contacts this tournament has brought about, it¡¯s a windfall¡­ but it¡¯s not enough. It¡¯s not a win, and Raika doesn¡¯t know how to be at peace if she hasn¡¯t won.


    Life has taught her this much, at least. If the opponent is not yours to make part of the pack, it is only safe when your teeth have torn free its throat, and it has gone still and ready to be consumed.


    And then the fucking letter.


    She feels like she¡¯s forgetting something. Or maybe a lot of something. She watches the fight, her senses wandering over a hundred thousand beating hearts and only occasionally stopping on one. She watches the Stone Divers sect, and sees them moving about in response to their child-prodigy''s talent for violence, and-


    Hmm.


    There.


    Smell is harder, when everything is flooded, drowning, overwhelmed, is- mmm. It¡¯s fine. And, more importantly, the hunger for a fucking cigarette works in her favor.


    There¡¯s someone among them she recognizes. Stone beneath still water, resisting erosion, stillness manifested as stasis and timeless rock.


    One of the three from the alley. On the opposite side of Rei Ji¡¯s sect, publicly enemies.


    She grabs onto it. She can focus on this. She can ignore the rest. She can ignore the other scents, the rock and vines and beasts and violence and bleeding beneath glass and-


    Hmm. What had that last one been?


    The thought is gone in a moment. She can¡¯t let herself stop, not now.


    She gets up from where she sits. She sees Pai Jin, always close to her now, always with at least two guards around her, tense up, ever so slightly. It¡¯s like music, in a way, listening to the armor move. There are gears in it, clicking things alongside the hum of bottled lightning and sanitized Qi, and as he tenses, as he clenches a hand and barely twitches, the entire thing moves in symphony with him, just as alive as he is.


    She blinks, and realizes she¡¯s been standing still for a bit longer than she wanted. Pai Jin is waiting, ready.


    Taran is here, too. That¡¯s nice. And Shapefixit, surprisingly close to the revenant figure. Both of them look at her too, confused. Jun Vral is¡­ yes, he¡¯s behind her, she can smell the serpents and the blood and-


    Was that what she smelled earlier? It¡¯s hard to tell, but no, it was¡­ hmm. Her ghost, then. Up to something, maybe? Should she-


    The thought dies, and she shakes her head.


    ¡°Come on if you¡¯re coming,¡± she says. She doesn¡¯t wait to see if Pai Jin responds. She¡¯s not sure she could tell if he did anyways, not with so many other voices taking up so much space.


    Fuck, she wants a smoke.


    It is what it is.


    It is what it is.


    Pai Jin doesn¡¯t stop her, but he does take her up on her ¡°offer¡± to follow behind. She doesn¡¯t bother with the many tunnels and rooms of the arena, ornate enough to hold so many fighters between bouts and nearly touching the Palace; she walks along the stands, uncaring of who sees. She has to hop over a railing to get past the Imperial section, but¡­ why?


    It bends easily enough when she pushes against it. The act grounds her, a bit. There is a moment where it snaps, and it is almost like violence. Almost.


    The crowd parts for her, but she can hear them murmuring. It grows, fast, as people get out of her way, the whispering killing many of the cheers and offering something like a bit of quiet. She doesn¡¯t look at them- she doesn¡¯t need to, and she needs to be here, now. Forward. On to pain, on to an objective, on to a fight, on to a need.


    Something is wrong, and she wants a smoke so much it hurts. And the Witch may have answers. And it¡¯s something to do that feels like it matters, when so little can hold her mind steady.


    She wonders where Maen is, if she¡¯s gone to meet Li Shu and reminisce, maybe. Though they didn¡¯t really know each other, did they? Hmm.


    It is what it is.


    It takes a good ten minutes or more of walking to cross barely a third of the arena, in as straight of a line as the parting crowd can provide. She is head and shoulders over the next tallest among them, some more bovine beastkin that almost looks like he wants to compare physiques before he is very intently held back.


    The fight doesn¡¯t stop, but she does feel a bit bad at taking so much attention from it, walking with a power-armored entourage through the stands.


    The Stone Divers are ready when she arrives.


    No less than three of their elders stand before her, all three in the Nascent Soul realm. Behind them, dozens of cultivators take up space in their own ornate seating section, shaded and surrounded by their own wealth. Only the servants look truly anxious, dressed as they are in the sect¡¯s colors, but more than a few of the cultivators stir, tense.


    She smiles as politely as she can manage. The Mask makes itself aware and alive, and shapes her face into one of calm, of contentment, of respect. She bows, as shallowly as she can get away with. It barely brings her head down to their level.


    ¡°Greetings, honorable elders,¡± she says. ¡°If I could bother you for a moment, I am most impressed by the performance of your young prodigy there. I had hoped I might ask some among you a few questions.¡±


    The smile the Mask wears is gentle, but the eyes behind it are not.


    In them, something is wrong.

 Chapter 119 - Turnabout Is Fair Play

    One of the elders raises an eyebrow, the other two bowing out to seniority and stepping back a bit.


    ¡°Quite a change in demeanor. I doubt our disciples are worthy of such flattering words from such a rousing individual as yourself.¡±


    She laughs at that, the Mask working to ensure it¡¯s the right mix of soft and relaxed to sit between friendly and confident. ¡°Nonsense. What, I can¡¯t have layers? I¡¯m bored. I made this whole tournament to have a good fight, and so far I¡¯ve yet to get even close. What is it if not my prerogative to find something else to entertain me?¡±


    ¡°And you seek such a thing¡­ from one of our disciples.¡±


    The Mask rolls her eyes. ¡°Not interested in the kid. Keep him. Just looking to talk to¡­ him.¡±


    It takes a moment to identify the scent again, but it¡¯s easy enough to point out the cultivator when she has it. Still stone beneath still waters, his scent carries through the others, with the smell of stone, rock, cracking force and ever-shifting tectonics so prevalent among them.


    The elder raises his eyebrow again. ¡°You claim to have no interest in the young Ka Lao, but ask to speak to his master? You must understand why this honored elder might find your claims a bit hard to believe, honorable one.¡±


    She sighs. ¡°Fair enough. Not what I want him for, though. If you want, I can swear an oath about keeping hands off your little prize racehorse. I just want to talk to him.¡±


    She can see the conflict in his face. An oath is no minor thing (especially with how her voice seems to work nowadays), and he takes the offer of it seriously. It doesn¡¯t harm the sect to gain the favor of someone they perceive as a powerful Imperial (even if this was all Kaena, and even then mostly through manipulating whatever nobility they could get their hands on), but it might be an issue of pride. To bow so easily to so brazen a request makes them look either weak or much too sympathetic to the Empire, and even in a city like Cragend- well, cultivators have their pride.


    In the end, her luck wins out, and someone else steps in.


    ¡°Thank you for your consideration, Elder,¡± the cultivator she singled out says as he comes closer. He makes a show of it, confident and loud enough to be heard, but not enough to be ¡®announcing¡¯ things. ¡°I am happy to indulge the Imperial honored one. I would hate to be labeled ungrateful in the face of such an opportunity.¡±


    He bows to Raika, still a bit behind the barricade of the sect¡¯s elders but putting himself in front of them politically, taking the blow on himself rather than making it a sect decision. The Mask, dimly, rather approves.


    ¡°This one is named Inner Disciple Jin Rou, Honorable Raika. How may I be of service?¡±


    She smiles, faintly. The voice is the same. He was one of the three in the alley, alright, and that¡¯s something that makes this, in many ways, easy.


    ¡°I merely found you strangely familiar, Disciple Jin Rou. I think we simply must have met before. Maybe we can reminisce, try and find our shared history somewhere more private? I would hate to further disrupt this little show, and I fear your elders seem to find me a bit¡­ threatening.¡±


    It¡¯s a little thrilling to see someone so easily capable of turning her to pulp take on an expression like he¡¯s tasted unpleasant tea. The idea that they¡¯d be threatened by her is a mix of arrogance and insult, and it works wonders as Jin Rou pales a bit and nods.


    ¡°I assure you, honored one, I simply possess a rather average set of features. In spite of this unfortunate camouflage, I would be more than happy to help you feel more at ease about any potential history between us. Please, this way; our sect has rooms for guests of such wonderful prestige as yourself.¡±


    She smiles, nice and wide, and follows him past the elders, who part for her with only the most cursory of civility. As an added bonus, she sees Pai Jin stop as, while the elders step back, multiple other disciples step forward to fill the gap.


    ¡°Pardon me, honored Soldier, but I¡¯m afraid we couldn¡¯t possibly let you pass without asking for some advice-¡±


    She almost laughs.


    Politics. Can¡¯t let Imperial soldiers just walk all over them, and Pai Jin can¡¯t barge through without making it clear he doesn¡¯t trust her. And if he doesn¡¯t trust her, then he¡¯s letting a deranged and dangerous Imperial individual wander about and potentially attack an allied sect.


    She won¡¯t ever be as good as Kaena at the whole manipulation thing, but every now and then, there is a certain thrill in seeing a poorly-made plan fall into place flawlessly anyways.


    The room Jin Rou guides her to is minor, and as certain as she is that there are certainly formations for listening spaced through the room, the hints about having met previously is enough for him to do something with his Qi that she assumes blocks them out. Not good to out yourself as some sort of traitor in the midst of the betrayed, if her suspicions are correct.


    As soon as he is done, he rounds on her, growling, hands clenched. ¡°Alright. What, pray tell, do you intend by walking up to me so brazenly? Have you never even heard of subtlety? What could you possibly want that could justify this behavior?¡±


    She actually throws her head back and laughs. That comment, right after her trick with Pai Jin worked so surprisingly well, is just¡­ kind of silly.


    Jin Rou gives her the sort of look people give to the mad or the thoroughly annoying, and she smiles, perfectly content to let him think either. ¡°Oh come now. It¡¯s not like you were particularly subtle yourself. Besides, this tournament really is dragging on, and despite some successes, it¡¯s hardly been as useful as I¡¯d like. I managed to talk to a friend of yours, though. Tell me, is Rei Ji always so in love with the sound of his own voice?¡±


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    He rocks back, looking at her in a mix of surprise and fear, and she just shrugs.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just my ears that are sharp, junior brother. Not hard to sniff you out, in the open as you are. Tell me, if I ask you what you want, will you regale me with a bunch of old myths again? Or will you just tell me why disciples of the Stone Divers sect were masked and sneaking about the city alongside a member of your rival sect? Or why said sneaking involved stalking Imperial cultivators?¡±


    There is a tense moment of silence. She can smell his Qi stirring, something deeper in it, and-


    Oh! A surprise, but not an unwelcome one; the sense of Stillness grows, and he extends it out. It¡¯s not quite a Dao, but it¡¯s on the way to it, and as it passes over and through her to the edges of the room, she knows she has him.


    ¡°It¡¯s not his voice he loves. If Rei Ji had his way, we¡¯d all speak in parable and referencing ancient texts.¡±


    Jin Rou collapses to a seat on one of the many pillows arranged around the guest room (which¡­ does make her wonder if they think she came here to bang him. Not a bad cover, per se, but¡­ still, she barely knows him!). ¡°What is it you want to know? Is it just idle curiosity that drives you? Even if you weren¡¯t Imperial, I don¡¯t go about telling stories to every overlarge woman that threatens to blackmail me.¡±


    She laughs again, falling onto the pillows on the opposite end of the room and almost automatically lounging there, the Mask puppeting her into the right movements. ¡°Idle curiosity is a fine enough reason, but no, I take my blackmail seriously, I think. First time doing it, technically, but I hope to do it well. No, I have business with the Witch hiding in town, and you and your friends smell disturbingly like her brand of¡­ flavors. So yes, I¡¯m interested to know more, but mostly? I want to know how to find her. Tell me that, and you can keep whatever other mess you guys have going on, I don¡¯t much care for the sexual habits of a couple of random sect disciples.¡±


    Now it¡¯s his turn to laugh, though there¡¯s bitterness there. ¡°The Witch? Hah! Fine, have her. All the better you two old beasts go and kill each other off, leave the rest of us well enough alone.¡±


    ¡°Firstly, I¡¯m like, twenty eight years old, maybe. And last I checked, a year is still three-hundred and eighty days and four seasons, so I don¡¯t know why people seem to keep assuming I¡¯m some old granny. Secondly, fuck the Empire, fuck the Emperor, and fuck the whole plateau he put his little city on.¡±


    At this, even Jin Rou looks taken aback, leaning away from her. It¡¯s one thing to be a bit critical of Imperials, another to openly insult them. The Mask just raises an eyebrow at him, waiting.


    Eventually, he snorts. ¡°Well, I¡¯ll admit, as a disguise for an Imperial spy goes, ¡°Fuck the Emperor¡± is a pretty good cover. Like I said, though; don¡¯t care. You can insult and bandy words about all you like, but neither of our land¡¯s sects could call a tournament so quickly, not without getting permission from the same ones you so gleefully insult and suckle from at the same time.¡±


    ¡°See, that¡¯s the second time you¡¯ve mentioned your ¡°land¡±. Rei Ji said something similar when we talked in the alley. I heard his little tale about the Witch and her part in the battle that made the Crag, but apparently she hates the Empire enough to have to hide out from them and sneak under their noses. Yet here you are, talking about her like she¡¯s the enemy.¡±


    Jin Rou shrugs. ¡°She is. So are you.¡±


    The Mask just raises an eyebrow again. Useful muscles, eyebrows, very communicative.


    He shrugs again, like it shouldn¡¯t need explaining. ¡°I¡¯m a cultivator of the Stone Divers sect. I was born in a village barely a day¡¯s walk from the city, and that¡¯s at mortal pace. I¡¯ve lived my whole life watching the Crag expand, inch by inch, deeper and wider into the earth, as everything of worth in it is sent out on an Imperial train to cities the Empire likes more. Sure, there¡¯s trade and work and money, but none of these are worth seeing my home carved away like a corpse for the scavengers, as the sects that have lived in and protected these lands for millenia bow and scrape before an Empire that cares nothing for us. And now, an old monster rears her head again, seeking to cast it out or deal some blow to it, but she doesn¡¯t care about us. She¡¯s like every old monster in the world; so far from the reality of the people, and their homes and food and work, that they think they can just do whatever they like. Well, this cultivator remembers what it¡¯s like to live in a farm, remembers walking on mortal feet to the Qi-Gathering realm and treading on those same feet to this city. People deserve to be free, and if I can gain power from someone who I hope gets killed or kills her opponent for it, I am ready to take advantage, even if I¡¯m not happy about it.¡±


    The Mask smiles. ¡°Quite a monologue, that. I-¡±


    She pauses. The Mask is¡­ hmm. The words aren¡¯t there.


    Something squirms behind her eyes, a smiling thing that scowls at what it is hearing, but it¡¯s not that which interrupts her either.


    Raika, whatever part of her is truly ¡°her¡± inside a Flesh that is half-mad and a Mask that feels more true than truth, looks out at Jin Rou. He blinks, and then¡­ leans back, away from her. She knows how her face must look, ironically mask-like, blank¡­ but real.


    ¡°People deserve to be free,¡± she says, in a voice that rumbles and resonates and whispers of more. ¡°I think I agree with that very much.¡±


    She feels chains on her, metaphorical and metaphysical, the feeling of something squirming inside her out of sight, the feeling of pieces missing¡­ and she is still her. She is still hers, in that moment.


    She blinks, and the Mask looks back up at Jin Rou.


    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± it laughs. ¡°You should be an orator, senior brother. Moving stuff.¡±


    He nods hesitantly, and if he notices the switch from the more disrespectful ¡®junior¡¯ to ¡®senior¡¯ brother, he doesn¡¯t mention it. The Mask laughs again, shaking its head.


    ¡°Well,¡± she says, ¡°if you don¡¯t care much about the witch, or about me¡­ what better chance do you have than now to drive us against each other? Where is she?¡±


    He frowns, then.


    ¡°This¡­ this really isn¡¯t a ploy, is it? You need her. You say you¡¯re her enemy, but¡­ there¡¯s a need here. It¡¯s why you¡¯re pushing so hard.¡±


    ¡°...sure. Why not. Yeah, time is a factor I¡¯m considering here. What¡¯ll it take for you to spill, if not the thought of the trouble I¡¯ll bring to her door and that she¡¯ll lay at mine?¡±


    He pauses, thinks for a moment¡­ then shrugs. ¡°In the honorable words of wiser men than I, ¡®fuck it¡¯. I don¡¯t know exactly where, but she¡¯s in the Crag. Far from the city, near where the Sea bleeds into it, past the mines. I¡¯ve only met her there once, and the secrets she shared were useful, but any debt I owe her I consider null and void with how much power she has over this city and its lifeblood. You madwomen deserve each other.¡±


    And, before she can say anything more, he just¡­ gets up. And walks out.


    She sits there a while longer. Pai Jin will come looking for her soon, but for a moment, she just¡­ sits.


    A lead. Not much, and hard to reach, but better than ¡°somewhere by stagnant water¡±. It was brutish, and it revealed more than is ¡°tactically advantageous¡± maybe, and might make more work for Kaena, but-


    A lead.


    She reaches for Dink on the chain around her neck, anchoring herself here, to this victory, to this moment of progress, and-


    ¡°Ah, ah, ah,¡± says a voice whose name has been cut from her. ¡°None of that. We¡¯re so close to perfect. Wouldn¡¯t want the wound to close just yet.¡±


    There is a snarl, and a burst of power and violence and biology made into a weapon and-


    And-


    And then the dead man wearing a smile and the scent of surgery has cut the thought from her, and lets her fall into herself.

 Chapter 120 - You Caught Me Monologuing!

    It is what it is. Such a useful phrase. Really helps one to better understand that what one has is what one has.


    What is left of Zhoulong does not have much, but¡­ it is what it is. And it is not nothing.


    In the end, it¡¯s time that is his greatest enemy in his new state. Just as he pursued immortality with science, cutting, and cultivation, seeking to outpace a biological clock, his new existence, too, is defined by an avoidance of death, and the limited time he has to achieve it.


    He is not always conscious. Not really. What is left of him is a painful, starving thing, cut from its whole. A lesser cultivation, a little less knowledge of his self, a little less willpower, and he would not even be. Had he been something weaker, less refined, the digestion of the thing that ate him would have consumed him outright, but for all its abnormal development and unique biological metaphysics, it is¡­ young. Weak, still. Powerful enough to host Truths, which remains impressive, and shockingly unique in its self-evolution, but there is simply a distance that power stretches across that uniqueness often does not. Zhoulong stood near the height of the Nascent Soul realm, perhaps only a century or two away from catalyzing his Soul and entering the Paths of highest cultivation. The subject, even in her altered metric of growth, has yet to truly eclipse the depth of a Core Formation cultivator, relying on its aforementioned uniqueness and strengths to be so effective a threat.


    And, of course, before it became a subject, before it was interesting, it was only in the Core Formation realm anyways, not quite to the point of beginning to form her Soul. Woefully untrained in the more metaphysical and esoteric of the arts of cultivation. A simpleton, in many ways, a brute who gave less thought to comprehension and enlightenment than growth and power.


    In this, perhaps the subject is very much still what it was before. A funny thing, that.


    Still, even with such a distinct system of organs, with such a powerful ace in the form of enchanted steel (blacksteel, as some might call it, but so unscientific), it was not enough, and the dead scrap of a greater whole cannot help but be proud of its own survival.


    It was bad at first, of course. The chaos of a whole new existence, without senses, without a body, trapped and barely conscious¡­ but he persevered. He took centuries of cultivation and struggle and skill and dragged himself back together, taking the disparate pieces adrift in a strange stomach and making of himself a sort of shell. It was eating him still, but concentrated to a single point of self-identity, he could delay his own digestion. Even with this victory, still, it would take days or weeks between when he could manifest, pushing his mind and what little Qi is left to him up towards the surface¡­


    He tried to do what he could in the background. Exerting pressure where he could, first social, then mental. As the subject dreamed, he squirmed and tried all he could to push out and find some weakness, some way to divide or break open the cage he was trapped in.


    But then the bull slipped up.


    The obscene thing that calls itself a Researcher, which was never his equal and could never be, did¡­ something. Some trick of the mind, some triggered series of words, and then it clicked. The subject¡­ obeyed. Parts of it went silent, as if only what was needed to tell the truth was kept. It was like a lightshow in the dark, the aurora of a foreign mind above him flickering and showing him its contours and soft underbelly at last.


    And, in whatever pieces he may be, there is very little of Zhoulong that doesn¡¯t know how to cut something open.


    The first few cuts barely even mattered. Barely any effect. Without meridians, without hands, manipulating Qi and, even moreso, shaping it into techniques, was a series of trials and challenges. He persevered, of course. He succeeded, of course. Within the realm of the soul of a fascinating little subject, he re-learned how to Cut, and once again, he began to Sever, as he once did upon the operating table.


    Little things, even still. A sense of dissonance. A few thoughts or memories, Cut slice by slice away from the core. A bit of disconnect between when the subject puppetered itself and its true feelings.


    And it worked well. Oh, there was so much to work with, but it was barely an effort to leave more space for the self-loathing to grow, to cut defenses and trust away from the thoughts of violence and shame the subject so lovingly cultivated for itself. It almost healed itself, more than once. The Naga subject was a surprising source of camaraderie, and the ghost that is Zhoulong is more than certain it will have to kill the felinid beastblood when it emerges if the subject is to be shaped properly, never mind that peach-scented seed of discord¡­ but it still went oh so well.


    And then, when he appeared to it, easier and easier as he evolved, the subject listened.


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    It helped that it really doesn¡¯t know more than the basics of biology, honestly. The concept of cellular mutation and improvement- so simple, yet so fundamental it can¡¯t not be helpful. And with that one little acquiescence, that little slip, that little moment of permission, it got so much easier.


    And then the subject took a bite of the flesh-crafting country bumpkin, and before it could be lost to digestion, he took it into himself.


    And now, he finds himself¡­ almost indulging.


    It¡¯s not even difficult, really. He took his name first, cutting it from the subject¡¯s mind wholesale in his largest and most experimental Cut yet, and now it cannot even really recognize him. The more the subject used it¡¯s ¡°mask¡±, the easier it became to cut it free of the right pieces, keeping it connected by only the slimmest of threads and letting things like proper emotion, connections, social norms and behaviors drift off with it. The flesh was more difficult, especially with how tightly it was wound into and through the subject¡¯s Truths, but perseverance always wins out in the end. Semi-invisible to his host, and freshly fed by the blood that said host consumed, he had the time to dedicate to the minutiae of finding the right place to Cut.


    The Truth is still there, shockingly enough. He didn¡¯t mean to shatter it outright, intending to leave pieces to sculpt into something new or perhaps even try to find a way to take it for himself, but the fact it¡¯s still functional is, frankly, a marvel. What a unique specimen. So fun to toy with. So strangely durable despite all the gaping flaws and cancerous traumas it holds.


    And then¡­ then it almost got away.


    It¡¯s not much, maybe not even all that major a threat¡­ but victory is victory. In a mind clouded by doubt and dissonance, left adrift from those it is close to and from its own power, Zhoulong felt the moment that something new entered its soul. For just a moment, the subject felt confident, felt a sense of progress, and while on its own it¡¯s barely anything, it worked to regrow some of the connections between a few of the thoughts he¡¯d been having trouble plucking free.


    Can¡¯t have that.


    The tuning fork, of all things, was one of the hardest parts to cut out. Sure, he¡¯d been snipping away, pulling it further and further out, properly stretching the few tendons of thought and habit until the subject barely thought of it anymore, but then¡­ ah. That moment of clarity. The instant of victory, which the instrument was once so entirely quintessential to. It couldn¡¯t be helped; he had to amputate. He had to do so almost as thoroughly as he cut out his own name, ripping it free not just from her memory but from her mind, unmooring that piece of her to float free in¡­ wherever he is. Her soul? Ah, a fascinating subject of study in a fascinating subject to study. A gift in all regards.


    And, it did kill him. So really, it¡¯s only fair he get to play the part of a poor houseguest.


    The subject is still mobile. It is escorted back where it came from, and doesn¡¯t even try to emote as it once did, the Mask now nearly separate from the core. He wonders if he can infest Project 13¡¯s soul as he does this subject¡¯s. What a beauty it would be, to see how he has warped and twisted and grown that once-useless thing into a piece of art. He ensured they were taking care of it, and he ensured again that the current subject didn¡¯t recall, that Project 13¡¯s state and name slipped from the subject¡¯s grasp as soon as they arose.


    It doesn¡¯t do to improperly mix your experimental materials. Not until you are fairly sure what will happen, at least. No reason to give any hints about his talents at shaping a mind to the mind he¡¯s shaping.


    He looks on his work and smiles. It might well be time to introduce them soon. When he can find the time. There¡¯s an advantage there, most likely, some hint as to what next steps he can take; in the meantime, he is as safe as he can be inside the subject¡¯s stomach, its own mind unaware of the intruder. Whatever plan it may have had to deal with him (and it did have one, he¡¯s pretty sure of that) is left to rot in the pit of overconfidence. The subject¡¯s durability is phenomenal even still. It doesn¡¯t even smoke, and there is very little left within its mind that would keep it from doing so.


    It is ever so refreshing when he finds something that doesn¡¯t break when parts of it are Cut.


    There¡¯s so much to do. Find a way to guide the subject more directly, perhaps. Find out what the stench of tangerines in this place really means, considering he can¡¯t cut away the boy¡¯s death without cutting away much of the guilt he¡¯s using to currently guide the subject. Figure out if he can start to eat back, even from within the¡­ maybe metaphysical stomach what¡¯s left of him is trapped in.


    But for at least a little while¡­ at least for a little bit, there is just the joy of victory.


    The Bull will get his due. Scheming thing that he is, filth that he may be, it is not beneath Zhoulong to respect his strength. He was defeated, fair and square. Had the subject not emerged and bit his throat out, he is certain he would have won the war, his own status and allies more than enough to deal with whatever simplistic machinations the Bull could think up¡­ but such was not to be.


    And yet, here he stands. Within one of his enemies¡¯ most valuable wild cards, hidden to any and all, and more than likely to yet grow. A lesser cultivator might think themselves still trapped, barely able to see the world and yet being digested- but Zhoulong is not a lesser cultivator. He is noble-born, birthed in a manor that was planted upon the very cliffsides of the first ring, trained since childhood in ways martial and academic. The fact that he chose the academic path is the only reason why he lost their battle, which the Bull childishly initiated on a simple excuse. It¡¯s almost enough to make him laugh.


    But for now¡­ for now, there are too many allies still surrounding the subject, too many loyal to the Bull, and it is difficult to know who among them might find something out. The Garden-seed especially is a risk, considering their proximity to the Bull and whatever he might find.


    But.


    It is what it is.


    And it is well in hand. Alive, and still squirming, and ready to be put under the knife for the next round of alterations.

 Chapter 121 - The Peach, An Old Enemy, And A Bitch-Ass Ghost

    She hears them coming before she smells them, which is a nice surprise.


    One cigarette left, and the effects are¡­ weaker, maybe. Or maybe she¡¯s getting used to them. It¡¯s not clear, but she can hear them as they approach. She stares down at the cigarette, and forgets how long its been since she¡¯s smoked one.


    She ignores the smiling man with the sharp thoughts and the dangerous-


    She ignores the boy that is red and broken and smells of tangerines and the people behind him, clad in masks and-


    What¡­ what was she thinking about?


    They make it to the door, and the stink of them washes into the room.


    Kaena. Again. There¡¯s something inside her that flinches at this, that worries even as it smiles, but for the most part its¡­ somewhat reassuring. Maybe.


    Something is very, very wrong, but-


    Hmm. It stopped again. What¡¯s doing that? It¡¯s like when the mask slipped, but it keeps happening, Taurus¡¯ words absent but new thoughts in a certain direction feel-


    Hmm. Gone again.


    Kaena is saying something. Raika needs a moment, pulling her pieces back together- and turns to look at them.


    ¡°Back with us?¡± Kaena asks.


    ¡°I¡­ I am. Yes. What were you saying?¡±


    Kaena pauses, then nods. ¡°Alright then. Listen to me very closely, as I do not intend to waste time. I want to use my Qi to see if I can reach into you and see what¡¯s wrong with you.¡±


    Raika smiles, a bit vaguely. ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with me, it¡¯s-¡±


    Her voice hurts for a moment as she says it, and she realizes her vocal cords thrummed, as they do with her real voice. Discordantly, though, like a poorly struck note.


    It¡¯s¡­ no. Wait. It¡¯s alarming, right? Something in her says it is, anyways. It¡¯s¡­ is it supposed to be? She trusts Kaena. She¡¯s trusted Kaena implicitly for¡­ what, months now? Since their help with the twins? Why is she alarmed?¡±


    ¡°- know it¡¯s a bit of a big change, and I know it might be surprising, but-¡±


    ¡°I dunno if you should,¡± Raika says, the smile turning lower. ¡°I¡¯m- hmm. It might be very confusing. Lots going on inside. Also, since when can you¡­?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a skill I have, beastie. Not one I use if I can avoid it, but some situations call for certain tools.¡± Raika can see a sort of grimace cross Kaena¡¯s face as they say that, like the lines make them a bit nauseous to speak aloud, but they don¡¯t take them back. ¡°I¡¯m worried. Normally, I¡¯d say you have a heart demon, plain and simple, considering the letter you got, but you¡¯ve been¡­ off for a few days now. Maen says you barely speak to her, and you¡¯ve been staring off randomly almost daily. Since your last fight, since that letter, it¡¯s been worse.¡±


    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t like touching people?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t. I might never. It is what it is. Not much of a sacrifice, but one I¡¯m willing to make over ensuring your brain isn¡¯t melting out of your ears. Normally I¡¯d ask that you just tell me what you sense when you cultivate, but you don¡¯t, so-¡±


    ¡°Oh, I haven¡¯t cultivated in a while. It¡¯s a bit more dangerous to do without-¡±


    She blinks. Without what?


    She notices her hand, up near her chest. Reaching toward her throat. Is she wearing something around her throat? That doesn¡¯t sound right. But¡­ it does, doesn¡¯t it? She should have something around her throat. Why doesn¡¯t she? What¡¯s-


    Hmm. Gone again.


    Raika blinks, realizing Kaena is there. ¡°Oh! Hello. Sorry, gorgeous, you said you wanted to¡­¡±


    Kaena says nothing for a while. Just looks at her, long and slow. Even through the haze of the smoke, Raika can smell the scent of their Qi, filling the air¡­ and it smells much, much more of mercury than usual. The scent of cream is made thick and toxic, and the peaches smell withered rather than full, dripping down into a quicksilver pond¡­


    There is a moment of strange dissonance, where the scent overwhelms, and something in her¡­ snarls. Stops smiling.


    Kaena¡¯s eyes widen, just a bit. Just enough for Raika to know they noticed something.


    Kaena takes a long, deep breath.


    ¡°Raika. I don¡¯t usually tell stories about myself. I¡¯m better with gossip and fairy tales, and I have little of either to my name. But I need you to understand something right now, and you seem¡­ well, you seem like you have fog for a mind, between this smoke and whatever else. So listen to me very, very carefully.¡±


    ¡°My name is Kaena. It is a name I chose. A name that I earned, over many years, is the Snake of the Garden. Some people vary it, say it differently, but that is what I call myself.


    ¡°Most people don¡¯t know much about the Garden. Some fancy pleasure house, up at the base of the World Tree in the middle of the first ring. They¡¯re not wrong, but they¡¯re¡­ limited. The Garden is a place to grow beautiful things. I am a beautiful thing, Raika, and they grew me there. I was born in the Garden. I grew in the Garden. If it had its way, I would die and feed its soil.


    ¡°A delicate thing, in the Garden, is only good until it is broken. Then, it is thrown away. I, and many of my siblings and nieces and nephews, were made to be eaten, and then to grow the Garden¡¯s roots from our eaten flesh. Fruit so sweet no one could resist, fruit that could feed a hundred starving, slavering old mouths hungry for Qi and prestige and pleasure, and then a scent that the Garden and its masters could listen through and a seed they could puppet. They would reach through me, when someone was done with me, and move me until I could listen, or move something, or leave something where it should not be. And then I¡¯d come home, to the Garden, and they¡¯d fix me.


    ¡°The only way to live was to be eaten and come back unbroken. So I made myself¡­ delicious. And I made it so everyone who took a bite¡­ lost a tooth. Slowly, always, but I made each and every person who touched me bleed for it, squirm, rot just a little.


    ¡°I won¡¯t say how. Not even here. But I made of myself a poisonous thing, and eventually it grew to be toxic. But I was slow, so they never could get rid of me without blame, not with how many hungered for my name and the weight it would carry if they bit off a piece of it.


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    ¡°So they gave me to Taurus. To the beast of the newest Division, its walls hungry for vivisection and study. And he made it so that I have never had to touch someone I did not want or choose to ever since. And I¡¯ve never wanted to.¡±


    Kaena leans forward then, and an acrid stench of poisonous matter, of something not grown but manufactured and yet living and changing, fills Raika¡¯s nose so potently that she almost sneezes.


    ¡°So when I say that it is very, very important that you let me touch you, now, please understand just how fucking severe it is that I am asking you.¡±


    Raika blinks. There is a second where the scent of mercury overwhelms, where the sweetness is the sweet of rot, or of poison, or of sickness, and she-


    Something in her warns her about that. Warns her about letting in something like it. How can one trust it? How can one-


    There is a growl, deep, deep inside of her.


    She would not call her friend an it.


    Her first Truth stirs, and she is shocked to find it slow, the marks of its chafing and chains¡­ different? Deeper? Like cracks, or ropes tied to pull it apart.


    Something is wrong.


    She calls on that Truth, and for a moment, her mind clears.


    ¡°I Am Me, I Am Mine,¡± she whispers, with all the weight it feels like it can take, and her mind snaps back.


    The Truth burns. It roils. It twists and turns as if awoken to find itself wounded, and the scent of the smoke vanishes from her lungs. For a moment, she sees the boy, her friend, who still looks dead but for that one instant looks almost crystal clear, before he vanishes alongside the smiling thing.


    She cannot remember what is wrong. It¡¯s a second, maybe more, but¡­ something is wrong, and it is not something she can speak away.


    Raika turns to Kaena, who has sat patiently, leaning forward, waiting.


    ¡°Do it,¡± she says, and fails to hold her breath as a room¡¯s worth of Qi floods through Kaena¡¯s control and into her body.


    And then¡­ nothing.


    It¡¯s strangely pleasant, actually. Like a¡­ tingling sensation, down in her lungs.


    Kaena blinks.


    ¡°Alright then. Let it not be said this one doesn¡¯t rise to a challenge.¡±


    Slowly, Raika can feel something shifting, pulling back. The aura struggles, but eventually, it starts to push through into her ribs, her muscles¡­ and then down to her stomach.


    There is a feeling like something squirming, which should not, and-


    Kaena blinks, and then performs a very un-sultry growl.


    Well. Probably not intended as sultry.


    The scent of mercury burns in the air and Raika feels her veins slow, her blood sluggish as the Qi moves through her. She can¡¯t sense it, not really, can only feel its passing and smell it, but she can feel how it affects some of the Qi already in her, weaving through her blood.


    She is afraid. It can¡¯t be avoided. It¡¯s not every day even a close friend sticks a poisoned hand down your throat.


    Something in her grabs to that, holds her to it, keeps the fear there, but-


    Raika keeps her adrenals closed and deactivated. Forces her body to stillness. In this, the disassociation helps; there is nothing stopping her from ignoring how her body feels.


    Finally, it reaches her stomach again, and she sees Kaena flinch in surprise and in¡­ a single, brief instant of fear.


    And then, grinning wide and gritting their teeth, something like triumph.


    They pull back, dragging their Qi out of her body bit by bit. Raika notices that Kaena is breathing harder, still only through their nose but sweating profusely to match it.


    They lean back in their chair, and the scent of Qi in the room fades a bit, moving back to its more traditional scent of sweet confections and fruit, and Kaena growls softly in a very improper fashion.


    ¡°I¡­ I apologize, Raika, but in my defense, whatever you¡¯ve got going on inside you is wild.¡±


    Raika tilts her head, tracing the scent, eyes wandering a bit. She could swear Kaena is smiling, but- no, it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s not Kaena. Who is it?


    ¡°Apologize for what?¡± she asks.


    ¡°I sensed¡­ something. It seems to be something you ate. It has¡­ I tried to access it, but your body rejected me. I usually go in through the lungs on something like this, but yours are¡­ much larger than they should be. And your stomach- it took a bite out of my Qi, I think.


    ¡°Still, it¡¯s enough for me to be able to tell. Something is wrong I believe that ******** is affecting you more actively than you thought. Have you allowed him any leeway recently? Fed on another¡¯s Qi? Do you know how your digestion works?¡±


    Raika shakes her head, frowning. ¡°Who? That- you said a name. No one¡¯s been affecting me lately, I don¡¯t think. It¡¯s- the letter messed with my head, and something¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°Something is wrong, yes, you keep almost saying. Raika, Taurus contacted me. He said you might be under an influence, that I should confirm if I could, and with your behavior recently it only makes sense. You¡¯ve been speaking to the air during your fights, Maen says she thinks you keep seeing him. I need you to stay here. I¡¯m going to get Yun Ka.¡±


    Raika frowns. ¡°Why? I¡¯m- ok, I¡¯m not fine, that¡¯s obvious, I can feel that much, but how could they help?¡±


    They can¡¯t, says the smiling figure she can¡¯t remember. She let him in, and she¡¯s ever so weak, so-


    I Am Me, I Am Mine.


    It strains further, the Truth of it stretched, badly, but not so much that she can¡¯t feel it beat back whatever¡¯s influencing her again. She growls, shakes her head hard.


    ¡°Yes. Ok. Go. No, I¡¯ll find her, it¡¯s- I think it¡¯s better if it¡¯s faster.¡±


    Raika gets up, and-


    Stands there. Wondering what the thought that was just cut out of its place might have been.


    Kaena slaps her, hard, needing to almost fully extend to reach her face.


    ¡°Oh beastie. Never any end to your trouble, is there?¡±


    Without waiting for an answer, Kaena grabs Raika¡¯s hand, tugging her along towards the door. Slowly, the scent of mercury begins to fill her nose again, and Raika, still sluggish, shakes it off enough to look over at her new guide with confusion.


    ¡°Come on. I¡¯ll do my best to keep you on track. It¡¯s best to take it slow. We don¡¯t know what your body is trying to do right now, so use your strength only a bit, hmm? I¡¯ll try to keep you as intact as I can, cracked though you may be. No picnic with this thick skin of yours, but we do what we must, beastie. Come on then.¡±


    It¡¯s a hesitant walk, rather than a run. Every few steps, Raika sort of pauses, before Kaena¡¯s scent redoubles and the Qi washes away the image of-


    Of someone. Someone who is no longer smiling.


    Ok. Played his hand too early, maybe? Or Taurus¡¯ warning, just blind luck?


    She¡¯s not so far gone she can¡¯t smile at that. Growl a bit, and feel how it makes her blood shiver, her Qi-


    Hmm. What was she doing again?


    Ah. Kaena¡¯s pulling her somewhere.


    Well. She trusts Kaena, at least. Mostly. Better to follow along, maybe.


    The scent of battle wafts in, the Arena¡¯s many rooms a luxury afforded to those recovering in its walls and maintaining impartiality, but it¡¯s still nice to be able to tell what¡¯s happening. Every other thought cut off in an attempt to do¡­ something, her mind drifts. Kaena¡¯s scent is overpowering, even still, but she can vaguely smell something like¡­ like a mine shaft, full of glistening, sharp things, all of them moving, like diamonds and flesh in one, and arrayed against it a subtler bouquet of roiling, burning light, a radiation ozone-scented and bloody¡­


    And then Kaena is knocking on a door. Barging in a moment after.


    And stopping.


    And Raika is hit with the scent of a forest, deep and dark, whose leaves are sharp enough to flay stone and whose roots crawl with black shadow.

 Chapter 122 - Flesh, Fire, And That Good Old Fashioned Sexy Ass Madness

    Yun Ka is speaking to someone. It¡¯s a bit rude to interrupt, maybe.


    But that doesn¡¯t matter.


    The man standing across the room from her, glaring at them, is not Feng Gui. Truth be told, he doesn¡¯t even look that much like him; the black hair, dark skin and green eyes are similar, but the facial structure is off, and he doesn¡¯t have much of a beard, nevermind how much older than the elder Feng he looks.


    But he smells like the woods. Like leaves with edges so fine that the cut isn¡¯t even felt.


    He growls, and for a moment, the world freezes.


    It¡¯s like an ocean of Qi.


    The scent of it almost makes Raika black out, and if not for her increased durability, it would be enough. It¡¯s more Qi than Taurus, the last person she sensed near this level, and behind the Qi is a scent of something moving. The smell is so strong that for a moment, Raika can see the trees, see the forest growing from where there was stone and wall, see the moving, shifting branches making out the shape of something behind them.


    And then she is absolutely frozen as the smiling man, who is not smiling, cuts out every thought in her head at once.


    She is kneeling. And Kaena is kneeling. And they are struggling but alive, and Raika can feel blood leaking from her own eyes and ears and nose, and-


    ¡°This?¡± the man asks. ¡°This is what you cavort with? A disgraced whore and¡­ what, a thing of meat and crippled soul?¡±


    Yun Ka shrugs, looking over at the two of them with a note of panic but keeping her face cool and her body still. Raika dimly notices, behind the fact that she can¡¯t think of anything, the fact that her arms are by her side, the dozens of usually-visible mechanical limbs all coiled back into a backpack and the jade cube at her side inert.


    ¡°This lowly niece apologizes for any dishonor she may have incurred, master. I am afraid I am simply on track to pursue projects beyond the usual scope which would be accessible.¡±


    The man snorts. Her uncle, perhaps. ¡°Ah, what wonders, then. So be it, so long as your projects are allowed. So be it, so long as nothing perturbs your research. The reputation of your family, or the secret of your disfigurement, no, these are nothing to the face of your personal interests.¡±


    The Qi redoubles, and now even Raika, blind as she usually is to it, can feel something shaking. The sheer presence of it makes the walls crack, and yet, somehow, the scent is concentrated, kept solid, not leaking even an inch past the room¡¯s four walls.


    ¡°When I was told of your location, I thought it a blessing. Perhaps this new Division of yours might find a way to improve your lacking self. I had hoped at least that your Jade would be shaped to become a valuable tool.¡±


    ¡°Please, uncle. You disturb heaven and earth with your wrath, and I ask that you not harm my-¡±


    ¡°But NO!¡± he interrupts. ¡°I discover you have bound yourself to the black sheep of this new venture. To a bovine slave! The disgrace of it!¡±


    Kaena stirs at that, but even with their Qi¡¯s ability to act as a sort of buffer or cushioning against higher cultivation, they can barely move. Raika notices, in the abstract, that Kaena might also be having a hard time breathing.


    Man. Talk about bad timing, honestly.


    ¡°A tournament is called, and I see your name among them, and I think, perhaps one of our lost daughters is at last come home. Perhaps you are not a shame after all. And yet! I find you alone. I find you in a place where I must act like the new moon in the night and sneak in to see you, lest others see your shame. And then! Of all things! Your freaks interrupt us!¡±


    The man walks over and kicks Kaena.


    There is a moment where everything inside Raika goes blank. The smiling thing, the doctor that is not a doctor whose name she should know, has nothing to cut, because her mind is empty.


    The rage comes a moment after, and it is like flame.


    Kaena hits the wall, their Qi buffering them again, but Raika can see the broken rib, can smell the blood. Yun Ka has stood up at this point, the jade beginning to stir.


    And then there is only the rage, and for a moment, Raika is whole.


    Someone hurt someone she cares about.


    The Mask, the flesh, the screaming, scared thing, and everything in between all agree that this cannot be borne.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± she croaks.


    The figure turns, and stares down at her. His eyes are wide, in shocked outrage at being spoken to. He¡¯s got to be in the Paths, a Soul Warrior perhaps, any more than that would be enough to pulp them with his will alone. Since anything over a Soul Warrior would be instant death, then he isn¡¯t one, because Raika says so.


    Yun Ka tries to speak. ¡°This lowly one apologizes again, uncle, I-¡±


    He raises a hand.


    The room is silent.


    But Raika, inch by inch, raises her head.


    Inch by inch, looks up at him.


    And eventually, eyes bleeding, flesh screaming, neck straining, looks him in the eye.


    Yeah. There it is. The resemblance.


    Feng Gui looked at her like that quite a bit when he was beating her ass.


    The rage is lit by a new source of kindling, another piece dragged back into frame, and she feels herself think.


    The man smiles, and it is a hateful, spiteful, cruel little thing of teeth and lips and arrogant, presumptuous hate.


    ¡°You do not deserve to know my name, beast. You are dirt beneath the feet of your betters. That you would stain the hem of even a cripple of our line is sin enough, but you think yourself worthy to look at me?¡±


    ¡°Uncle Fen Gao, I-¡±


    Before Raika can blink, he is across the room and has broken Yun Ka¡¯s jaw.


    He tsks, flicking blood off his hand as she staggers back against the ground, a single, animalistic whimper from the pain all the sound that emerges.


    ¡°Still so fucking delicate. All your machines, and your defect still lies clear. Like disciplining a plate of pudding. Just messy.¡±


    He wipes his hand off on his robes, sighing, even as the material seems to drink in the stain and make it vanish.


    ¡°Did I not just say that this thing of yours isn¡¯t worthy of knowing my name? That it is not deserving of the gift that it would be to have it in their mind? And you open your mouth anyways. Your father and grandfather may be lenient, but they are not the only ones of Feng blood in our clan, cripple. Their star has fallen since the failure of your birth, and it falls further with every debasement you offer up. Disobedient. Incapable of learning proper etiquette. Always with your little machines, your toys and gears. Even in the greatest advantages of the Empire, in a Division perhaps suited for an abomination like you, you tie yourself to a sinking animal and parade about with things like these that believe they can simply walk into your room as they please.¡±


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    ¡°It is good you changed your name. You don¡¯t deserve your birth, your blood.¡±


    He sighs, then.


    ¡°I suppose it¡¯s all that could be expected. I¡¯ve wasted enough of my time here. When the patriarch hears-¡±


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    He turns around, eyes wide.


    She is bent to nearly half height. Her bones creak, and muscles strain. Everything hurts, bleeding freely, her eyes colored crimson, veins bulging with the effort. But Raika stands.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like Yun Ka that much. Asks too many questions. But-¡±


    ¡°You dare,¡± he whispers. The Qi in the room roils, the woods moving without a breeze, the rustling the steps of a multi-legged thing. ¡°You dare speak to-¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t done talking.¡±


    His eyes are like saucers, and she enjoys that for a moment. She enjoys being alive again. Whole.


    It¡¯s not healthy, really. In the face of grief, of self-loathing, of an apparent possession of some kind she can¡¯t quite recall, she falls apart, bad. Or she did, this time. Something is wrong. It remains wrong. But here, in the face of something like this, she is whole. She stares at death, at a hateful thing, at something that hurt someone of hers- and her hatred, what remains of her Self, and her mind all stand in a fragile, united structure once more.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like Yun Ka that much. But she¡¯s nice. And you broke her jaw.


    ¡°And you kicked my friend. Who I care about a lot. Who is trying to help.


    ¡°So I¡¯m gonna eat your eyes out of your skull, Feng Gao.¡±


    He just stares at her.


    She can barely stay upright, but she does not once break eye contact.


    He lets out a breath, long and slow.


    ¡°Alright. That¡¯s enough. I think I¡¯m done here.


    ¡°I can pay your father his weregild for you. Born crippled and failed, I think that¡¯s more than enough excuse, but this¡­¡± he shakes his head sadly, turning to look at Yun Ka. Still, her arms lie deactivated, only her natural-born limbs cradling her face as she bleeds and makes little grunting noises in place of full breaths.


    ¡°A disgrace.¡±


    He moves, and Raika does not see him.


    But she is moving a half-second before, and it is enough.


    His fist goes all the way through her. A year ago, maybe less, it might have shattered everything, turned her to mulch and repainted the wall with her guts. As it stands, it simply punctures through her ribs, through her primary heart, and out through her shoulder blade.


    Feng Gao frowns at that. His eyes widen again back to that oh-so-delightful look of surprise when Raika turns to him and grins, all teeth.


    Black teeth, made of black steel.


    Her head shoots forward, and even as the supernaturally quick cultivator casually raises a hand to block, she bites a chunk out of his forearm.


    In an instant, the controlled and contained Qi roars out of the room, the floor and walls cracking under the pressure and the sound from outside going silent at the sheer weight of it. There are probably more than a few mortals nearby staggering or even unconscious from the size of it.


    To his credit, he doesn¡¯t yell out. He looks down at the wound in shock, and then again in comprehension as the flesh doesn¡¯t grow back.


    He snaps his head back to look at her but he¡¯s a half-second too slow.


    Her flesh locks in tight around his fist, her second heart working overtime to keep her body alive even as she pulls him in tighter. Her jaw unhinges, open wide, and for a moment, she nearly drags him into a kiss, End-blessed teeth against face.


    If he¡¯d hit her again, he might have ended it there. Instead, he retreats. The wall behind him disintegrates and Raika feels every part of her body whiplash from the force of the movement, the world blurring by in a dizzying mess of blood and debris, and-


    And his hand is still stuck.


    He goes to rip it out, but before he can she has abandoned bone structure and human form, both arms wrapping around him and dislocating to keep wrapping, her legs mimicking them and sounding like kindling snapping apart as she forces the bones to move faster than they can normally Change.


    He snarls at that, and what is left of her face smiles as he struggles and-


    The world ends.


    All that remains are the woods.


    The trees are vast and dark, and down in their roots, the world is black and moist and wrong. It is better, though, beneath the roots that rot and eat and take apart the soil, because the leaves rustle, and shimmer-


    And look down at her. They move in a wind that does not exist, and as they do she sees them take on the form of something winged, and vast, and with too many limbs and not enough faces.


    There is enough of her left to tell it to go fuck itself and take a bite from the closest trunk.


    And then the thing that is the world descends, and she is made into meat.


    Raika lands in pieces across the arena. The dome holds for a moment, its incantations and formulae made to hold up against nearly any impact from the fights within it, but it is not designed for her. Her blood sizzles as it lands against the runes, letting off crimson smoke and bubbling like acid, and her Qi, what little of it she¡¯s kept in herself, blossoms into golden Flame that eats away at all that it touches. For those few seconds before it deactivates, the arena is half-crimson, painted over in so much viscera and blood and loose bits of flesh that the fighters beneath it look up and cannot see the sun past all the red.


    Raika, currently, has the upper half of her head, and maybe a full half-second of life left.


    Looking up at Feng Gao, she sees¡­ it is not a world, or a creature, but perhaps a bit of both. Behind him where he hovers, looking down in a mix of disgust and rage, she sees that same forest, those same trees¡­ and peeking out from over his shoulder comes a single branch, thick with greenery, shaped, if one squints, like a long, taloned hand.


    It is not real. It is the only thing that is real. It is inside him, and it is him, but she sees it move and it is almost like it wears him also, like a puppet and puppetmaster both wrapped around each other. It is beautiful.


    As far as first times seeing a Soul go, this one is pretty memorable.


    Her blood wafts into the air like steam, and then the dome deactivates, and all her bits and pieces fall, and-


    And for a moment, she is in contact with some.


    Her neck regrows fastest, a single lung following behind even as she wills her first Truth, strained but now in its element, to circulate her blood in place of her heart. By the time she hits the ground, she¡¯s gone from maybe three fistfulls of flesh to most of her shoulders and head, and in place of skin she grows scales, keratin and bone and overlapping spikes and-


    The two cultivators fall to their knees, their battle interrupted. One wears the robes of the Stone Divers sect, surrounded by crystalline, glowing shapes that seem to emerge from him like shadows, and the other glows like a small sun, emitting a radioactive haze. In an instant, both cancel their techniques, and she feels Feng Gao¡¯s weight once again crush everything in a radius.


    It compresses her exposed lung, forces her blood to stillness with its weight. It uses no Dao, no Truth, no power she can feel beyond the quantity it is expressed in, but it demands her stillness as he descends towards her, wary but not cowed.


    That¡¯s fine. She grows down instead.


    What¡¯s left of her head turns to a nearly spherical thing, like a porcupine made of stone, every edge made of spikes and pointed out, and she pulls in air greedily as flames and caustic blood eat into the ground around her. She pushes a thread of it down, moves it with force, makes it dig into the earth, and it gives her enough room to form a few more muscles, enough for two insectile legs.


    She is missing so much. Too much. She¡¯s getting lightheaded, especially as her blood picks up impurities as she forces it to circulate. She moves pieces of herself through the gaps she¡¯s creating, through the blood, sending out what few resources she has to try to reconnect other parts.


    There is a part of her, quiet and joyful and in pain, that feels whole at last. This is right. This is where she should be. The razor¡¯s edge between earned self-destruction and transcendent rebellion. It¡¯s-


    Dink could help.


    The thought comes unbidden, unfamiliar. It doesn¡¯t feel like hers. It comes from just outside, just to her left¡­


    And then it is gone. This time, though, she feels the cut. She reels back what is Severed, follows that feeling of strange newness of the thought, and recalls it.


    Dink. Where is it? Where did she put it? A developing, nascent item with a soul, and she¡­ forgot about it?


    Doesn¡¯t matter. Not the time.


    She spasms, spikes extending, bone sheltering new flesh within in a disjointed mess, growing and spasming forth and-


    And Feng Gao is there. And the forest is there. And he extends a domain barely a foot around her.


    And the threads of blood and flesh that scurry out from beneath her, through the cracks in the terrain, latch to a piece of meat with enough substance and Qi in it to Change it.


    A spiked limb, more like a crab¡¯s claw than a human arm, emerges out, rail-thin and boney, and stabs Feng Gao in the calf.


    It¡¯s not much. He doesn¡¯t even bother to dodge.


    Then the claw pulls back, and the blacksteel tooth she gave it through her blood pulls back with it and rips open the flesh it pulls through.


    He staggers, gasps, and before he can strike three more limbs have emerged, each barbed with more of her void-black fangs. Each one strikes at him, slow and clumsy, but even now his arm is only regrowing slowly, and he dodges, over-careful.


    It¡¯s enough.


    Raika starts to pull herself back together.

 Chapter 123 - And The Bell Rings, But Oh? Whats This?

    The domain returns, and the space bends and warps. The roots reach out and begin to overtake the ground, the world itself warping in response to the Qi and Soul of Feng Gao, honored cultivator of the Feng bloodline, Soul Warrior realm cultivator-


    And Raika spasms, and is eaten, and laughs anyways.


    It is difficult to laugh with only one lung and a head like a sea urchin, but she manages.


    For all his control, Feng Gao is visibly brute forcing things, showing off his skill and power to end the fight as quickly as possible. He¡¯s got a crowd, and while it might not be his focus, considering all his talk of honor and family, Raika figures it¡¯s a good bet he gives a shit deep down.


    Which is why he isn¡¯t ready or paying attention when a strand of muscles loosely arranged into a tendril throws a flaming chunk of flesh into the woods.


    Good fertilizer, normally.


    But the Flame is golden, and rather than be consumed or put out as normal fire, True Flame feeds on more¡­ important things than air or wood. It feeds on Qi, and souls, and all the big important things in life. And it feeds on Feng Gao¡¯s domain.


    In moments, a vast swathe of the metaphysical trees are aflame, real enough to affect the world but not real enough to be fully material here and now. Maybe with a full manifestation, but the limited show Feng Gao is putting on limits him. Raika moves through the flame, spreading in a dozen directions, and though it hurts¡­ she¡¯s used to it.


    Feng Gao cancels his domain, the flame briefly holding its shape before collapsing onto the ground into a golden, writhing pyre. He turns, and the world quakes under his gaze, and he is not fast enough to stop her.


    Say what you will about Feng Gao, he was thorough. There¡¯s bits of every organ she had splattered across the ground, all over the place. Lucky for her. Regrowing things from a shred of themselves is easier than creating wholesale organs she doesn¡¯t understand, and in a few moments, she¡¯s managed to regrow her second lung and reattach it to a central stem. Like a flower made of meat, she raises herself up, spine reforming in misshapen pieces as she speeds through regeneration, her Truth pulling everything that she is back towards her center.


    Feng Gao, on the other hand¡­ stops.


    He looks at her. By now, the crowd has mostly evacuated, though many of the cultivators still remain on the sidelines. A fight with a Warrior realm cultivator isn¡¯t something to be taken lightly, and more than one such battle has turned a city to rubble and ruin, but the appeal of a fight like this, against such an unexpected opponent, cannot be overstated for the battle-hungry of the colosseum.


    Slowly, he rotates a ring on his hand. With a pulse of Qi, space warps and bends along strange curves, and he is holding a jian by his side. The blade is made almost entirely of jade, and glowing with a terrible green light. Another turn of the ring, and his robes change, a stole falling over them, runic formulae and formations on it flaring to life.


    He points the blade at her, in a silent challenge.


    Nice to get a little fucking respect for once.


    She¡¯s maybe halfway together. A spinal bloom, a single limb growing from a quasi-shoulder to support her. She could regrow her body in minutes, but speed-growth like this, and alterations besides¡­ it costs. With her body shattered, her Qi is wasted as flame or dispersed entirely, and not every piece she could recover is useful. There¡¯s maybe minutes more of this kind of regeneration she can do, less if she tries to build something with it.


    Fuck it.


    Flesh turns to skin turns to bone turns to¡­ something else. Layer after layer of bone and keratin, like steel folded over itself dozens of times, and then arranged into patterns, connected to muscles that spasm and twitch as they brush against each other. Her head blossoms, five new eyes spawning, a new and larger mouth like that of a wild beast, six new airways pulling in air and smells from every direction. As her ribcage reforms, she lets a newly-generated heart pump blood and let her take her attention away from the task for a while, freeing up more space.


    The Mask says they should bow back to him. Make it a true duel. Use it to ensure no one interferes and humiliate him further.


    The Flesh disagrees. Its adrenal glands are compiled from pieces across the floor and beg to be used, and in a duel, instinct says they are sure to lose.


    Raika, what¡¯s left of her, somewhere in between, offers a compromise.


    It¡¯s been maybe thirty seconds since the fight began. Much longer and Taran, Jun Vral and maybe even Project- (a Cut) - and maybe even Shapefixit might get involved. She can¡¯t risk them. Kaena has likely healed themself already, but the casual abuse remains bright and clear. This has to happen in a way where they don¡¯t get involved. So it has to be quick, and it has to be messy, and it has to be decisive.


    Slowly, thirty two fangs of blacksteel move into place. Some of them fall into the place of claws, at the end of long talons, while others decorate limbs and forearms, only a few remaining in her jaw in reserve.


    It¡¯s not enough. She needs more.


    She¡¯s at four arms now, and it¡¯s hard to maneuver all of them at once but that¡¯s fine, she doesn¡¯t need fine control, just enough speed to threaten him with her claws. At long last a leg forms, cracking the stone beneath it as she stands.


    Her Qi runs nearly dry. She¡¯s already set a second of three total hearts to circulate her blood, trying to generate more, but without some ready, and without the ability to absorb any, it could take hours. A final movement, a third lower limb, a tail, long and segmented and interlaced with fractal plates of bone, and her reservoir runs dry.


    She stands, nearly ten feet tall, surrounded by flame. One solid blow, no matter how she layers her defenses, would be enough to shatter her again, without a drop of Qi to rebuild herself with.


    She raises one long, clawed hand, as if mirroring the jian before her¡­


    And turns it, raising a single finger towards Feng Gao.


    He clenches his teeth, a vein bulges in his forehead, and he cuts.


    A Sword technique flies out, augmented by the blade and multiplying into three, then four, then ten cuts, each of them severing the very space they cut through. Even a single blade might be enough to separate her into pieces-


    So she doesn¡¯t wait for them. She jumps, spring-locked muscle launching her into the air. The next flurry is instantaneous, aimed at her while she¡¯s trapped by the whims of physics- and her tail lances down, anchoring her to the ground and pulling her out of the way, losing only half a hand and part of her hip.


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    She lands and moves, and it barely matters, because Feng Gao is more than two realms above her even with her specialization and that is not a barrier one simply overcomes. Even as she feels pressure from air resistance slow her minutely from how fast she sprints towards him, she cannot even perceive the speed at which he steps behind her.


    There is simply a boom of concussive force from his passage and then a cut touching the base of her spine.


    She Changes her flesh again, angling her entire spine in a disgusting contortion that sends her backwards over the blade. It severs half her tail and the heel of a clawed foot, but that¡¯s nothing compared to her midsection being lost.


    Even if she had Qi, the tail feels lost, the flesh Severed in a way that feels¡­ oddly familiar. Still, it doesn¡¯t matter. The world is tinged in shades of gold and shadow as True Flame bathes the arena around them, and she moves again.


    And again, Feng Gao is there, ready. He is starting to look bored.


    Pisses her the fuck off, but sure. Useful.


    ¡°A tiger¡¯s head with a snake¡¯s tail is no threat to anyone but fools,¡± he says, another Sword technique cutting the world around them and severing a finger she is too slow to move out of the way. ¡°Had you bowed your head properly, you may have yet lived a long and prosperous life as the monster you are, and instead, you bare your fangs at me. At the very least wounding one of my caliber earns you a proper death, but I had hoped for more than just spit and bark.¡±


    Her overhead limbs arc down, and this time when his sword swings its edge is met with blacksteel.


    The air screams, like it is in agony pressed between two versions of Severance, one martial, the other predatory, and in the end, both break.


    Her newfound fangs shatter into shards, most of them flechetting back into her body in agonizing, unhealing stabs- but the Cut Feng Gao threw shatters as well, and the feedback of it sends him staggering back a step. A single tear of blood falls from his eye, and he growls.


    She can feel him straining, feel how badly he wants to summon his Domain and his Soul- but the True Flame all around prevents that advantage, endangering his cultivation if it eats away at too much, and even now it is spreading, eating at her flesh, at the lingering Severance in Feng Gao¡¯s cuts, in the runic formations at the edges of the arena. Even with that handicap, she has yet to land a proper hit on him that wasn¡¯t by surprise, and¡­


    Fuck it. That ain¡¯t so bad. Surprise the bastard.


    Grabbing her upper wrist, her arm pops out of its joint as she swings it like a club, shards of blacksteel all along it like shrapnel as she swings. He parries it aside easily, a cut of flesh falling away- but some of the shards ricochet off his blade, making a discordant ring come from it. He growls, face set, and if she had lips left, she would sneer at him.


    Every joint is kept hypermobile, every blood vessel improvised and oversized, and in every part of her, there is the armor. It slows the Cut, maybe a quarter of a second, maybe less, but it slows it, and that matters when she cannot even follow his movements. The air reeks of fire and purity and the woods and dark soil and scything trees and-


    Feng Gao steps back, assumes a stance, and every nerve in her body floods her adrenal glands into her bloodstream to move her out of the way.


    Before, there were casual cuts. Here, it is something else. His Qi circulates as he embraces an actual technique, and he steps.


    He is behind her. He moved through the space she occupies.


    The Cut moved with him.


    She had enough time, barely, to put her arms up in front of her. It saves her torso from falling in half immediately. Instead, it takes two or three seconds.


    The body doesn¡¯t heal. It couldn¡¯t even with her Qi. So¡­ fuck it.


    Her Truth grabs her blood, moving it through severed veins even as armor plates lock onto each other and hold her body in place together.


    She turns to face Feng Gao, all five eyes rolling to fix on him, open maw panting as her many airways whistle air in and out of her.


    He stares at her, eyebrow raised.


    ¡°All right, then,¡± he says. ¡°Fine.¡±


    With a flourish, the sword returns to his spatial ring.


    Raika¡¯s mind races, running through possibilities, near-delirious on adrenal overdose.


    Think. Domain and Soul, locked. Qi reserves still vast. He¡¯s shown a movement technique and Sword techniques. What else? He¡¯s in the Warrior realm, he has to have-


    Again, the stance. Again, he moves through occupied space, his speed magnified without air pressure or gravity to interfere.


    This time, it¡¯s a punch.


    She feels it when he hits. It¡¯s a basic technique, but elevated, not esoteric but refined mastery. Where he hit, her shoulder vanishes. Qi, condensed to a point, explodes from it, and she is left missing two of her three still-remaining limbs.


    All of this, and not one advanced technique.


    She staggers. Blood loss is a bitch, even for her, even circulating it by force, and despite holding herself together at least one heart and lung are Cut open, leaking oxygen and spasming muscle into her.


    It¡¯s done. No more healing.


    There is a part of her that¡¯s relieved. It¡¯s not a good end, she¡¯s won no revenge, but-


    But¡­ what?


    Fuck.


    She¡¯s¡­ she wants to give up.


    She almost laughs, before remembering she can¡¯t as she is now.


    Feng Gao turns from where his blows took him, martial arts elevated by ontology to a point of warping space and matter leaving him as he leaves the stance. He looks at her, slumped, unsteady on her footing, right arm holding a severed limb and torso unmade to the point of ruin.


    ¡°Well. Can¡¯t say this hasn¡¯t been surprising.¡±


    And he raises a hand, Qi concentrating in his palm, ready to form a technique and unmake her.


    She turns to him. She lets herself breathe. She can smell some members of the audience she knows. She was right about timing, too, most of her allies are making their way towards her now.


    Pity they¡¯ll have to see her die like this. Defeated.


    So maybe, says what¡¯s left of her, between Mask and Flesh, we shouldn¡¯t make them see that.


    Hmm.


    Yes. She can agree with that.


    A monstrous, inhuman abomination of flesh and bone and eyes looks at Feng Gao¡­ and smiles.


    Without lips, its hard to speak. So instead, she braces her feet, holds her severed arm like a bat, and roars, with all she has left. Her strange vocal cords, regrown back the same somehow, turn it into a ringing, violent note, like the sound of a landslide reflected over mountains, and it echoes in the arena.


    Every cultivator watching is silent. For a moment, Feng Gao is silent. The roar rings, and Feng Gao condenses enough Qi that she can see it, a ripple in the air tinted green and black. When it ends, he will fire. They both can feel it is the only way it can continue.


    And then something roars back.


    Everyone and everything in the colosseum turns to look at the thing that crouches over the edge of the stands, having leapt up atop the architecture of one of the tallest buildings in the city.


    It is not a tiger. Tigers don¡¯t have six legs. Tigers have fur, rather than dripping, oil slick iridescence. Tigers have snouts, rather than an open, descending, spiral maw that goes down¡­ down¡­ down¡­


    And from that maw, in the voice of a scream painfully stretched into words, the creature speaks.


    ¡°Found. You.¡±

 Chapter 124 - WELCOME TO THE THUNDERDOME

    Chaos, for all its faults, happens fast.


    Almost as one, the remaining cultivators from both of the city¡¯s great sects and many of the independents throw themselves toward the divine beast. Since before there was a written history of the world, it has been the role and glory of cultivators to fight back the beasts of the world which prey upon their families and homes, and for all their faults, the cultivators of Cragend and its tournament do not shy from that duty.


    Those too weak to fight against the beast retreat from it, rolling waves of pressure rivaling Feng Gao¡¯s washing over the arena in a much less restrained example of brute force Qi application. Unlike the cultivator, however, the aura of the beast crackles and squirms, and where it touches the world spawns more of what the aura speaks of. Thick and blooming maggot-things, a mix of feline and plump, delicious-looking insects seem to squirm free of the ripples in the air, landing wetly or crawling on small, sharp claws from out of impossible, invisible wounds, and immediately there are hundreds of targets where there was one.


    Feng Gao looks over at the commotion, frowning slightly, but then¡­ shrugs. Behind him, Raika sees Taran shaking off his fugue, weapons jangling and ammunition forming from his being, and Jun Vral alongside him, hundreds of serpents slithering between stone seats to rip and tear into their strange prey. Kaena is out of sight, but Yun Ka arrives with the rest of her friend¡¯s fighters, mechanical arms alight and runic formations decorating every surface she touches.


    They do look at her. Before the worm-kittens turn to them and begin to eat the air and the world and the ground to try and dig into them, they look over and see her.


    It doesn¡¯t take much to feel the weight of Feng Gao¡¯s Qi, or see how much chaos and harm there is surrounding them all. They make the right choice. It makes her feel a strange, bittersweet cold and warmth inside, to see them hesitate before turning away.


    ¡°A pity your end will not be enjoyed by a proper audience,¡± Feng Gao says, his jian once more manifested into his hand, ¡°but I suppose I more than make up for it in quality. Goodbye, little monster. What a fucking waste you were.¡±


    He raises the blade, goes to swing- and pauses.


    There is a third person in the arena now.


    As the world descends into cacophonies of techniques and chaotic battle, as the yowling speech of the not-tiger rings through the air and its violence rends apart the stone above them, in the middle of it all, there is nothing but the crackling of Flame.


    A man in ragged, torn robes stands between Raika and Feng Gao. In one hand, he holds prayer beads, each bead entirely metallic, and he mumbles as he holds them to his lips, so quietly even she cannot hear what he says. In the other, he holds a broken blade, so ruinously useless as to be unfit to decorate a mantle, much less actually face combat.


    Feng Gao takes a step back.


    The Aspirant of the Cut continues to mumble a whispered prayer.


    Raika, no longer faced by an immediate death, slips, stutters, one leg giving out even as her new battle form fails to sustain itself. She does not have the Qi to change back, and in all the chaos it is taking everything she has to hold herself together, but her Truth, healed in part by her use of it against someone demanding her obedience, is enough to keep her alive for now. Alive, and little else.


    But she remains conscious enough to see what¡¯s happening.


    Feng Gao takes a step forward, squaring his shoulders.


    ¡°Aspirant. I know of your order. I know of the Cut. Stand aside, so I may finish my business, and you will have my attention upon its completion.¡±


    The Aspirant mumbles, the clacking of steel prayer beads the only sound to balance against raging True Flame.


    Feng Gao growls, brow furrowing. ¡°Do not mistake respect for subservience, infant. No matter your mastery, you still stand beneath the Paths, and I will not have my retribution delayed. Stand aside, now, or face consequences beyond what your paltry little trinket can handle.¡±


    The mumbling stops. The clicking of the prayer beads goes quiet.


    Gracefully, without any wasted movement, the blade comes up to his face, and she hears him kiss it, faint and dry.


    ¡°Ys Acharya. Bless me for this violence I commit. Forgive me for the gentleness I request. In Division, Existence.¡±


    Feng Gao moves so fast she cannot see it, that same technique which allows him to step past friction and air pressure moving him through space faster than she is able to perceive.


    The Aspirant¡¯s blade is there.


    It, too, moved without her noticing, but not through velocity of some kind. Where before, it was in a position of prayer, now the blade is placed against an ornate artifact, a jian of pure jade and burning, incredible power.


    And the Jade cracks, ever so slightly, as the rusted, chipped short sword cuts into it.


    Feng Gao appears again, another step taking him near to the opposite end of the arena, and from that side of things, he takes a stance. Raika cannot move much at all at the moment, hoping against hope her body can generate something to get her back on her feet, but the Aspirant turns to face him languidly, calmly.


    Feng Gao places the blade against his shoulder, takes the short sword in both hands, and moves his Qi into a technique so blinding in its complexity that the smell makes her nauseous.


    Bolstered by his Qi and with its pattern reshaped into a true technique, when he swings, his Cut is elevated higher than before. Rather than a single cut to sever along its path, the sword now hums with power, and a single Cut is born into ten, a hundred, a thousand more of itself. The edge of the cut that he slices into the world glows a dull orange as it severs the air, as it travels forward, as it reforms into a wall of Severance that flies towards both the Aspirant, Raika, and the divine beast (and nearly every cultivator in the arena besides).


    The Aspirant makes a sound. It is breathy, and soft, and filled with a sort of painful yearning and miserable rapture.


    He steps forward. A wall of annihilation rushes towards them, a cut to sever space made manifest and multiplied¡­ and he squares his stance. Holds his blade. Kisses the prayer beads.


    And Cuts.


    The world splits in two. There is the world to one side of the Aspirant, and the world on the other. In its center, there is nothing, for the path of the blade¡¯s swing is nothing more than a perfect, complete Division.


    It is not quite Dao. It is not quite Truth. It is not quite even witchcraft, the art of Chaos, of which she knows little.


    It is simply a Cut.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Feng Gao is very, very fast. It is what allows his survival. A single cut across his shoulder highlights where he was nearly bisected, before his defensive artifact turned itself to glowing, smoldering rags around him and he moved out of the way. Where he stood, the arena holds itself upright while missing a wedge of itself, as if all things before the path of the blade and the eye of its wielder are simply gone.


    Feng Gao¡¯s technique, however, does not vanish.


    Raika flinches and is thrown back by the wind of its passing, split in twain and rocketing off at an angle. Two diagonal walls of impossible bladework carve into the world, and the beast-cultivator screams as one of her creatures is turned to dust and bloody mist, the worm-kittens it fought joining it in nonexistence. Dozens of cultivators use movement techniques or desperate dodges to get out of the way, but even still, the scent of human blood mixes with the strange oily smells of the divine beast. The arena holds, if only barely, almost half its seats gone and two swathes of it scraped clean by the wall of blades sent crashing over it, and the not-tiger roars.


    Feng Gao does not hold back now.


    Frankly, he looks like an idiot, still swinging his sword rather than changing techniques after getting shown up so badly, but he does not retreat. Despite the fire, the world bends towards greenery and razors as his Domain manifests, his Soul moving through it and extending limbs of shadowed, rustling leaves sharp enough to cut stone-


    The Aspirant dodges for the first time, stepping back, aside, ducking, moving without wasted energy or stumbles. It¡¯s artful, watching them move and twirl and absolutely dance against untold violence. For all his power, Feng Gao¡¯s strength is in his speed, in the whirling, endless danger of his inner world made manifest, and of whatever techniques he yet hides; the Aspirant uses none.


    Raika realizes, belatedly, that she doesn¡¯t smell even a drop of Qi from him.


    She lets them dance, and begins trying to stand.


    Retreat is the better part of valor, it is said. To live to fight another day is the greatest victory that many can achieve.


    But this is the most aware, the most herself that Raika has felt in days, and forsaking it now would do nothing more than drag her back to the fugue state she was in. If she runs now, it¡¯ll leave her at its mercy again. A parasite is in her, and it squirms and writhes and hides deep in her guts lest it be torn apart by the madness all around- and in the meantime, she can think again.


    She has to nearly drag herself to it, but she finds what¡¯s left of her tail, forcing armor plates to hold it in place like with her torso. Her arm, held like a cudgel, she can reattach fairly easily, as it wasn¡¯t Feng Gao that tore it off but her own improvisation- and with that, she has two arms again. Both on the same side of her body, which is inconvenient, but it is what it is.


    She hears something mewl. Not like a mewling sound; something says a sound that means the word mewl, and never comes close to it or the noise it indicates.


    She turns, and finds, dripping in multi-hued ooze that seems to take the place of fur or skin, one of the bloated maggot-felines of the divine beast.


    It mewls again, that same impossibility made into manifest reality¡­ and rolls over. It squirms, like a plump little infant, and rolls itself into the nearest batch of True Flame.


    For all the fact that its impossible presence literally weighs on the world and makes her brain hurt to look at it¡­ it seems like a bumbling idiot.


    But it does make her think.


    The worm-kitten squirms and emits a strange sound as it cooks, like a hissing teakettle, but warbling and weirdly deep, and she watches it begin to come apart, melting into rainbow-colored goop and tinting the Flame strange colors.


    The last time she was almost dead in an arena, she¡­ ate some fire. She consumed some of Shin Ren¡¯s flame. Hard to remember the end of that fight, but that much she knows, she felt, as it burned her all the way down into her gut. Why not try it again?


    Not on the weirdly colored one with dead worm-kitten in it. Those things¡­ whatever they are, the divine beast summoned them, which means they¡¯re dangerous. Better to start smaller. By trying to eat pure True Flame, which can burn anything and everything but especially souls and Qi. Obviously.


    She smiles, the form of it misshapen and strange on her new face. It feels good to be herself again.


    She¡¯s missing some of her teeth, ripped out or broken in the battle with Feng Gao, but she has enough for a set of jaws still, if a bit of a gap-toothed one. She walks over to the nearest flame, half-dragging her still barely connected body parts¡­ and bites down.


    It hurts. Obviously.


    But as she swallows it down, feels it hit her stomach¡­ oh, that¡¯s something else.


    She can¡¯t help but be glad for her smoking habit. Better the numbing smog than the sheer thrill of this. When everything hurts, something that brings joy, that brings happiness and power and awakening- it¡¯s like a shot of ecstacy, and she feels it shoot through her. Her throat is scorched, the smell of burning flesh filling her airways, but the Flame¡­


    It hurts, even in her stomach, but the burn is so, so good.


    Whatever her new biology is, it demands food, has for a long time. With how she¡¯s forced herself to adapt to Qi, absorbing it biologically rather than spiritually, it should have been obvious sooner, but faced with the rush of energy that hits her, like the first bite of a home-cooked meal after months on the road, she cannot find it in herself to care about how long it¡¯s taken to realize.


    It tastes like pain. Like satisfaction. Like tasting food for the first time.


    She throws her face into the Flame again, burning her eyes and armor and not caring as teeth touched by entropic void tear apart the immaterial and shovel it down her throat. The Flame still burns all around, the arena deactivated but the Qi flying all around and saturating the air more than enough to keep each blaze fed, and there is so much to consume.


    There is a distant sense of panic as the heat lands in her gut, a glimpse of a smiling thing screaming, flailing, getting smaller- and then it is gone, into the void where thoughts in that direction always go, and she keeps eating.


    Something cuts into her, and she keeps eating.


    There are screams, and the yowling of an outer beast, and the sound of blades and Cuts crossing- and she keeps eating.


    She goes to bite more, and finds her teeth cutting into stone. She pauses, taking the time to grow new eyes from the carbon-cracked thing that is her face-


    It¡¯s not much, but a small section of the arena around her is soaked in her blood all anew, and bereft of flame. A few embers flicker here and there, smoldering in the saturation of her blood, but there is not enough room or Qi for it to relight just yet.


    Her stomach is¡­ full. Not stuffed, not quite, but¡­


    How long has it been since satisfaction? How long has it been since a need was truly met? How long, in agonies of flesh and mind, unable to fix anything she touches?


    The taste of her own burnt flesh on her tongue, mingling with the flavor of consumption, of purity, of flame¡­


    A cultivator¡¯s work is to defy the heavens, and take ownership of the self. To believe oneself can be equal to that which is divine. So Raika doesn¡¯t pray.


    But it feels like communion.


    And in response to a genuine meal, her stomach finally shows her what it can truly do.


    She feels the flame be digested, the concept of consumption turning in on itself and the resulting energy flooding out from her. The slow, gradual saturation of Qi into her cells is replaced with something altogether new; rather than forcing her body to absorb it, her stomach, long since transformed by tribulation, drinks it deep, turns it to something purer, something designed to be used rather than forced.


    It reminds her of what little she knows of bestial cultivation. Consuming and absorbing the qualities of a thing, but rather than requiring flesh and blood, her body turns to consume Qi itself, drinking in the Flame and remolding her along its same lines. An acquired mutation from the spirit beasts she ate in the beast tide? A new evolution, something distinct?


    It doesn¡¯t matter. Her regeneration, already impressive, comes alight.


    Flesh and bone catch flame and rather than being consumed, grow and spawn from the flame, burning away the Severance that keeps her body from rejoining as it wants to. It¡¯s not True Flame anymore; whatever she is now, that would still consume her just fine. Digested by impossible organs, it¡¯s purified Qi, manifesting as flame as a reflection of herself. In flame, she is renewed, reborn, and as her left side begins to regrow amid blood and squelching joints and glowing, burning heat, she laughs.


    It is not a human sound. No human sound can come from a body twice a human¡¯s size, with lungs so very vast, with so many throats and such a strange mouth through which they exhale. But she laughs anyways.


    She takes a long, deep breath, feeling the effects of damage and techniques to sever space eaten away by her flesh and now her very soul, and roars. It warbles, screams, shatters glass across the arena, a thing of glory and triumph and impossible, genuine joy.


    The roar is matched by an even louder one from the Not-Tiger, and the world warbles along strange contours and impossible lines, but she doesn¡¯t care. Raika comes awake, smiling with too many teeth and too many jaws, and turns to look for her friends. The arena is in chaos, and saving them will almost certainly guide her to something to kill. Two birds, one stone, as the saying goes.

 Chapter 125 - Y鈥檃ll Thought Thunderdome Was Just A Reference, Huh?

    Raika hits the stands at a dead sprint, and it is a ferocious and joyous thing. She is feral and hungry and not in pain for the first time in months, the satiation and weight in her stomach pushing back the agony of overstimulation. She feels her body adjusting in minute increments, small inconsistencies or design flaws in her muscles correcting in spurts of glowing heat. Already, she is starting to feel a bit peckish, but for now, her biology drinks happily of a fuel she did not know she needed, making unconscious changes as needed. A stunted tree, drinking deep of fresh waters.


    It is a joyous thing, and she cannot help but scream.


    Several dozens of the worm-kittens turn towards her and waddle awkwardly (or adorably?) through the air, chewing at existence on their way to her, and she dodges past almost all of them easily. One, directly in front of her, she simply grabs, taloned, exoskeleton-covered hand shooting out to grab it and tear it in half, biting and eating and consuming the flesh and guts and iridescent oils that flood from it.


    So, admittedly, she can¡¯t quite fault some of the cultivators who see her turning to fight her as she approaches.


    The worm-kittens die in droves, but there always seem to be more, and the sound of clashing swords behind her makes it clear that that¡¯s still going on. The divine beast moves in skittering, impossible movements, like it stutters forward in time, like its made of a million pictures and sometimes the pictures just sort of vanish between where it is and where it will be, but she can see cuts and burns along its body from the battle. The ax-wielding cultivator is struggling his way out of a crater, the young cultivator with the solar radiance bit in half not far from him, but the beast-tamers creatures seem to understand instinctively how to fight the predator before them, always darting away before a frame-stutter moves the beast¡¯s jaws or claws into where they just were. Dozens of techniques warp the world, shadow and flowing waters and blood-lightning and flames of every shade flying through the air, but the divine beast barely seems to care.


    One of her eyes finds her target, and a half-second later she crushes the stone of the seats next to Taran and Jun Vral to powder on her landing.


    Guns and serpentine fangs turn to her almost faster than she can react, but two of four limbs shoot out, collecting both and holding them away.


    Taran blinks up at her, his pupils aflutter with a dozen colors, more than half the weapons on his body smoking and tainting the air with dozens of scents and the smell of alchemical preservatives.


    ¡°Raika? Is that you?¡±


    She smiles, or does as close as she can without lips. It mostly consists of exposing a few more of her fangs.


    She lets her jaws fall, blooming a path down her throat, and shapes a pair of more human lips beneath it. Even Jun Vral, his body serpentine and a fusion of biologies, winces a bit at the human mouth growing in her gaping maw.


    ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± she manages, the sound not quite right and vibrating with her strange vocal cords. She doesn¡¯t bother to control it, letting it ring free, and smiling wider as she does. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡±


    ¡°All well and good, sister,¡± Jun Vral says, wincing and sending a fresh wave of serpents to tear apart a worm-kitten, ¡°but what does that mean? You don¡¯t look much yourself.¡±


    She grins, a pulse of exquisite mania pumping right alongside her hearts, and lets her joints and veins and the edges of her armor-plates glow with the heat of her becoming for a moment.


    ¡°I Am Me,¡± she says, imperfect but thrumming Truth coloring her words. ¡°That remains. That Feng family cultivator over there is like as not going to survive his fight, Aspirant or not, and when he does, he¡¯ll be coming after Yun Ka. He mentioned paying a weregild to her parents, so best case he intends to cripple her. He hurt both her and Kaena, and I think we need to get them both somewhere safe. I¡¯ll run interference, and while they focus on me, you focus on getting them out of here. Can I count on you?¡±


    Upon hearing that Kaena was hurt, Taran turns his eyes to the fight behind her, looking to Feng Gao- but for as much as he clenches his fists hard enough to make the pistols he holds creak, he nods.


    ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll find Kaena. Jun Vral, can you-¡±


    ¡°Done, junior brother.¡±


    She smiles, laughing. ¡°Have I told you guys I think you¡¯re great? For completely different reasons, but Gods, y¡¯all are great. Good luck!¡±


    She turns, cracking more of the terrain beneath her weight as she goes to leap towards a cluster of the worm-kittens-


    And stumbles to an awkward stop as the colosseum rumbles.


    A dome, not unlike the one in the arena proper, shimmers into being, crawling into being along the lines of mathematical angles and well-ordered formulae that manifest in the air. Before long, the sky is tinted gold as the entire battlefield is enclosed in a perfect sphere of glowing power.


    Floating above it, well in view, golden armored beings come into view.


    The announcer, Jin Nara, the cultivator with sound-style techniques is up there, hovering respectful beneath them all, but she sees several other Imperial insignias. Dozens of cultivators are arriving, both the Stone Divers sect and the Unearthly Depths sects returning after taking away their most vulnerable, but besides the elders already trapped in the dome, none of them are allowed entry beyond the power-armored guards and the figure at the center of them.


    In the midst of what looks like nearly a full garrison of Imperial Soldiers, the Imperial Scion of Cragend looks down at the melee.


    Their lips move, but for some reason its¡­ difficult for Raika to hear them? Other sounds slip through the barrier, other voices muffled but audible, but when the Scion speaks, there is a strange sort of ripple. The Not-Tiger yowls, one of its back legs rotating on joints it should not have to claw at the barrier, and a rush of golden sparks and lightning slap the paw away without much effort. Several of the cultivators look around, many of the independents confused and some even trying their own luck to push past the barrier, before being met with the same golden lightning.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Taran hisses. ¡°Gods damned politics.¡±


    She looks to him, realizes she doesn¡¯t have an eyebrow to cock or facial expressions to show confusion, and hums at him. ¡°What do you mean? Did you hear what they said?¡±


    He looks at her in confusion. ¡°Yes, they projected their voice into the shield. I thought your senses were enhanced?¡±


    She nods. ¡°They are. It sounded like¡­ warbling, kind of.¡±


    Taran tilts their head, a dozen iris colors flickering past as something in his mind seems to confer with itself- but before he can say anything else, Jun Vral just hisses. His eyes are wide, looking all about.


    ¡°He said we¡¯re quarantined. The arena is blocked off until the violence ceases, and none shall enter or leave until all is in peace.¡±


    She hisses, growling right behind it in a weird verbal tic of her new throat. ¡°That¡¯s insane. What of the wounded, or the cultivators that have to retreat?¡±


    Jun Vral laughs, his voice harsh. ¡°Who cares? The Scion made a proclamation. It¡¯s fact now, or good as. You said that Feng Gao there will come for you if he survives the battle?¡±


    She nods. ¡°Myself first, but he seemed like he was going to kill Yun Ka. You both find her, get Kaena, see if she can think of a way out of this. Where¡¯s Maen?¡±


    Taran shakes his head. ¡°Off visiting your old friends. She left last night, hasn¡¯t come back yet. If I had to guess, this particular commotion is going to draw her back soon enough. She¡¯s clear for now, focus on that.¡±


    Raika nods, growling but trapped in a smile nonetheless. She just feels too good to be properly worried, even as she tries to think of ways to get her allies out of danger.


    The plan comes pretty easily, though, which just makes her smile wider.


    ¡°Feng Gao is Imperial, and high up the ladder besides. Taurus said Feng Gui¡¯s whole family work for the Empire, so this one probably has connections of his own. The cultivators here won¡¯t face him, especially with none of us past the Nascent Soul realm, and the sect elders are likely to jump in and help him.¡±


    Taran laughs, harsh but surprisingly light. ¡°True enough. You do tend to find the worst case sort of scenarios, beastie.¡±


    She laughs, inhuman and warbling and more than a little manic, and doesn¡¯t even care enough to make it sound normal when she sees Jun Vral and Taran both giving her worried looks.


    ¡°Truer words are rarely spoken, oh corpse-brother of mine. But there is one thing in this arena that can and would happily fight Feng Gao, whose Qi has maybe even higher weight than he. All we have to do is cut away the flies which buzz around its muzzle.¡±


    Jun Vral looks at her, eyes wide, but Taran accepts it quickly with a nod. ¡°If you can get me a sniper vantage, I can-¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°No. This is already fucked, the last thing I need is you all getting labelled criminals alongside. I¡¯ve already got the Imperial big-shot down there after me, while you all are at worst damned by acquaintance. Get Kaena, they¡¯ll figure out a way out of this, will know who to speak to or how to present things. As for me, I¡¯m a fool whether I dance or not, so I might as well dance. Keep the others safe. I¡¯ll see if I can¡¯t find a way to get the royal shithead to forget about them in the meantime. I hear I can be very distracting.¡±


    Before either can protest (and before she can properly laugh at or be hurt by Jun Vral¡¯s relief that he need not betray greater powers to help the others), she has already moved again.


    Besides tracking the occasional sound of blades crashing, or dodging the occasional Cut that flies from the central arena, she puts the fight between swordsmen out of her mind. Her focus heightens as she feels a flush of her last snack be sucked up into her system, her eyes and ears sharpening, her nose partially closing to limit overstimulation by Qi, and she sprints into the larger stands towards the divine beast and all those harrying it.


    Adrenal glands, flash-grown and flush with the hormonal instructions for violence, flush her system with their contents and drive her into a fresh new fit of laughter.


    It¡¯s a bit unprofessional, but as she shatters stone beneath every step and moves quickly enough that she has to grow membranes over her eyes to see, she simply can¡¯t find it in herself to care.


    She is home in the violence, pursuing self-destruction for the sake of others, growing and healing and empowered, and for once, however briefly, free of pain. Contradictions and all, she feels so entirely herself that she cannot help but cackle as she runs.


    It almost gives the ax-wielding warrior enough time to react.


    He sees her, begins to move, ax flying through the air back to his hand as he finishes digging himself free of the rubble he was smacked into-


    And her hand is wrapped around his head, all the momentum of a thousand pound ten-foot warform transferred into a beautiful arc that leads his skull directly into the floor.


    He is shockingly durable, and takes six more blows before he even pauses in his flailing, but unluckily for her, the seventh sees a second ax manifest in the air and fling itself towards her.


    She blocks it with one of her new limbs, and it cuts nearly through the hyper-dense muscle weave and fractal shell-armor, and its enough that he slips from her grip and cuts her hand off at the wrist.


    She just laughs, angry and yet strangely affectionate at the pain of severance, and throws the stump¡¯s blood into his eyes.


    He calls for his other ax, sputtering and wiping at his eyes, but she disconnects part of the bone so it flies free without pulling her, and switches to an easier target.


    None of these people have done her wrong, and even in blind, glorious battle-joy, she doesn¡¯t want them dead, just out of the way. Rather than duel them one by one, the best thing she can do is eliminate as many as she can as fast as she can.


    And, on a whim, she decides to take a bite of one of the mewling worm-kittens as she goes by.


    The taste of something predatory and squirming, wet and twisted and wriggling in the corpse-flesh of the world, slides down her gullet. It smells like it eats carrion, like its wet and juicy and furry at the same time, like something feral and hungry and powerless and all-consuming, and it¡¯s delicious. It hits her stomach smoothly, swallowed with barely a chew, and the organ reawakens again, tearing it apart for Qi and dropping the digested energy into her body like an engine tasting coal after burning on only wet reeds its whole life.


    Perhaps she might still technically only be around Core Formation realm in terms of raw Qi in her body, in terms of experience, in terms of how limited her powers are- but versatility means a lot, and there¡¯s something to be said for specializing. Her muscles burn, her flesh quivers and grows and burns with impossible heat, and with every step, she gets closer to the divine beast above, dodging Cuts across reality, squirming things that eat at the world, and concussing or stabbing into nearly every body she can find on the way.


    A dozen cultivators fall, Qi cycling to their wounds to heal torn-open guts or bleeding head wounds, screams emerging as she snaps arms and legs like kindling. Everyone that manages to react in time or put up a defense she leaves alone, not wasting time fighting with any who might be strong enough to slow her progress, but there are plenty of cultivators standing far back and casting techniques into the melee, or focused on fighting the mewling worm-kittens, and most of them take these roles because they are not strong enough to fight alongside the truly strong against the main body of the divine beast, and they start to fall, one by one.


    She dimly notices Taran carrying Yun Ka away, ignoring her protests that she¡¯s fine, that this is a great opportunity, that they should help, and smiles.


    Raika crashes against the defenses of her fellow cultivators to the aid of a divine beast, and marvels at how beautifully everything is going.

 Chapter 126 - I Wonder If This Cat Is Friendly!

    Within the dome, all is chaos and rubble. Detonate enough stone and it turns to dust, to powder, easily picked up by the thundering winds that occur in a magic bubble full of violence. The worm-kittens consume enough of reality that it¡¯s never entirely coated in smoke, and all those that remain have senses refined enough that fogged vision doesn¡¯t truly impede most of them- but it does add to the mess.


    It¡¯s a pity, though, about the architecture. Shrapnel flies, the sound of blades humming and screaming as they Cut the air and rip the world apart, and the seats and columns and marble of the colosseum are reduced to debris. Even with dozens of cultivators still fighting, the divine beast is more than capable of taking up attention and jumping through space to hunt the isolated, and many of its quasi-offspring take the chaos as opportunity to dig and eat their way into the floor of the space and the bodies of the fallen.


    If the Aspirant and Feng Gao turned their attention to the beast, it would perish beneath a tide of powers and authority. If the tiger could break through the line of attackers and attack any one cultivator, none in the dome could best them, not even Feng Gao, if Raika¡¯s properly sensed their strength. If any one of the groups at all turned their attention entirely to her, she would be unmade into paste before she could bite or eat or Change anything at all.


    There is a sort of glorious, ephemeral peace there, in between the blades of guillotines. Not a healthy peace, or one that can be maintained, but to be free, and willful, and rebellious and just a bit mad- it is nonetheless peace of a sort.


    The ax-wielding cultivator, a good eight feet tall and rippling with muscle, his weapons glowing and hovering about him, completely ignores the divine beast in favor of chasing her down. Which is perfect, honestly, best outcome she could think of. She doesn¡¯t need to beat him; the only enemy she needs to defeat here is Feng Gao, and probably the not-tiger, but that comes later. Having a blundering madman roaring and swinging through stone and any enemy in his path works just fine as a distraction.


    She ducks past a trio of Unearthly Depths sect members, all three of them turning the air to water and imbuing it with their Qi as impossible shadow and pressure fill them- and she snaps three pairs of arms before they¡¯re done weaving their techniques, so that the water detonates all around them and sends herself and a dozen others flying about the space. She lands on the dome above, her limbs flashing with lightning and agony and magnetic repulsion- and uses all three to launch herself back down


    A screech intercepts her on the way, winged feathers made of steel cutting into her armor and shedding chunks of her over the arena. She twists, grabs at whatever she can, but the beast is suited to aerial attack, and it slips past her grip, cutting her several more times before she lands. She makes it to her feet, her fuel reserves still burning bright, but an instant later something leonine with a long, winding maw that goes down half its body leaps onto her. Its body closes like a steel trap around her torso, unnaturally sharpened teeth cutting through bone into flesh, but she stays upright-


    Which works against her as the bird comes back, all five of its wings flashing razor-sharp in the dust-filled air and slicing across her eyes.


    Through incoming vibrations, she can feel the ax-wielder coming closer, even as her eyes are torn and her smell is overwhelmed, and she plants her feet, flexes hard to push against the jaws and loosen them a bit, and waits for the perfect moment. Fifty feet away, through the fog and more, she feels the ground tremble under his weight, hears a whistle as heavy steel is sent through the air-


    And pivots, throwing the spirit beast¡¯s body into the predicted path of the axe.


    It¡¯s imperfect, the ax glancing off, but the impact travels through the creature and it winces. Taking the opportunity, she tears her way free, more than a few fangs left embedded in her, and throws the beast straight up over her head, trying to interfere with the bird¡¯s path.


    Where there¡¯s these two, there will be more, at least if the beast tamer is turning her full attention towards Raika. Her body moves on its own, newly-digested Qi pulled towards every damaged part and regrowing her eyes in a few seconds- but she ignores them, allows them to fully heal and become clear before she relies on them. She instead dashes blindly, stumbling over debris but moving quickly enough that she still makes it a few hundred feet in her dash towards where she remembers the beast tamer being.


    Stillness is death. Only forward holds a chance of victory, even if she ends up running into a wall.


    She tilts her body forward, drinking in air, and screams. She lets it be her true voice, vibrating in tune with reality- and resonating with something, something she can¡¯t quite remember but feels so painfully familiar. She sets that aside for now, marking it but letting it be, because the scream had the effect she wanted; her eyes, now rebuilt, see an arachnid entity and a strange, many-limbed tortoise both flinch back from their approach, a multitude of the worm-kittens flailing and retreating as well. She grabs hold of the opportunity, launching herself over both and tearing a few legs off the arachnid, using the tortoise as a further jumping-off point to move upward.


    The bird comes at her immediately, as any opportunistic predator would, and falls directly into her maw.


    Two of its wings are torn to shreds, barely hanging on to the flesh as blacksteel fangs Sever them, and she indulges. The flavor hits her tongue, and she does not taste her blood as it cuts or the metal of its figure; instead it tastes of freedom, of razor-sharp durability ringing and singing against the air, of glowing, predatory joy at experiencing sunlight from on high.


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    It hits her stomach like a bundle of knives, and she laughs, her throat entirely unsuited for it and clicking in an alien tongue instead. She falls, right behind the many-winged hawk, and looks down at the arena as she does.


    The Aspirant of the Cut is slowing. There are multiple cuts along him, his blood flowing freely and his clothing, already rags, falling to tatters. Feng Gao looks mostly unharmed, but the contrast between them is starker; the Warrior realm cultivator has his teeth grit, eyes wide, violent and eager, frustrated yet thirsty for imminent victory. The Aspirant stands at his opposite, his face serene, almost joyful, as if meditating atop a peaceful lake or enjoying a pleasant bath, even as he can do little more than dodge, cuts that Sever a good hundred feet out from their source turned from so it leaves wounds only a few inches deep.


    The chaos of the dust and the tiger¡¯s multi-pronged assault slow down responses, its ability to jump through space and her own attempts at chaos leaving the defenses in disarray. The ax-wielder is at this point struggling against the leonine creature with the vast maw, hesitating to kill it outright lest he draw the beast tamer¡¯s ire, and she sees both the wielder of crimson lightning and the cultivator of light and shadow both about to fall under a tide of worm-kittens. The only cultivators still holding their own are being forced to focus purely on defense, isolated islands of sect-colors or a few independents being overwhelmed bit by bit by the endless spawn.


    And, from on high, she notices a change in the divine beast¡¯s spawn.


    As they crawl over each other in pursuit of isolated cultivators, they start to bite into and eat each other, half-blind and mewling as they consume their siblings. As they bleed, flesh and blood the color of shifting oil-rainbows, dripping neon and painful brightness, begins to fold and flow over each other, smothering them even as they continue to eat. As she falls, she sees those piles of half-eaten flesh begin to shift and move as one.


    She lands hard and launches herself towards the user of crimson lightning. He survived the opening round, stood his ground against her, and she¡¯s not looking to kill anyone besides her enemies. She sees him lose an arm, severed by the mandible-maws of the spawn, blood flying freely- and then she hits him hard enough his ribs shatter and he¡¯s sent flying away from the combat across the stands.


    And the maw turns on her.


    She stares into the mass of squirming, sprawling things, once many, now one. She sees the skin of the victor of the orgiastic consumption, its skin stretched thin over muscle and flesh and glowing ruin of its siblings until it has tripled, quintupled in size. The jaws of a dozen of its siblings all snap and slobber and extend out to bite and tear and-


    She breaks its jaws, tears out its throat, and pulls its struggling body close to rip out a bite of it.


    It doesn¡¯t die, even with a chunk of its chest and throat missing, but its slowed, and that¡¯s enough.


    She starts to smell more blood, hear more sounds of panic, and decides it¡¯s time to change her focus. She¡¯s not trying to kill the beast, she¡¯s trying to get it to kill Feng Gao without the Aspirant being in a position to interfere. Now that the defenders are in chaos, struggling against the strengthening divine spawn, her hand is forced. Act now, or the tiger gets the advantage.


    So she turns towards the brightest neon blur in the dust, the smell of blood that screams and wriggles and eats at space itself, and throws herself forward.


    And is met by a paw as large as her body, swinging out from the dust to send her into a shattering impact against the ground.


    Things inside her break, concussive impact making it through reactive armor and pulping the flesh inside the shell. She coughs up blood, her head swimming as her brain ricochets inside her skull, and-


    The beast comes from the smoke. Its face grows from out of nothing, its body still moving a dozen yards away even as it emerges from behind a fold in space, and while it has no true face or snout or structure, that endless spiral of teeth and drooling saliva flows over her.


    ¡°Found. You. Morsel.¡±


    She goes to move, scrambling even as vertigo screams at her-


    Its paw comes back down, crushing her beneath a monument of black flesh made neon and glaring, and she hears a series of cracks and pops as her armor begins to break.


    ¡°So. Much. Meat. Such. Fresh. Life. Like A. Turtle. Without. Shell. So. Potent. But So. Weak.


    ¡°What. A Joy.¡±


    Raika laughs, harsh and strange with its paw on her torso.


    ¡°I¡¯m flattered, but spoken for.¡±


    Raika turns two of her hands into long knives, stabbing up into the paw pinning her. The monster growls, but keeps the pressure even as neon blood flows down onto her-


    So she bites down instead.


    She rips a chunk out of its foot, and this time it yowls, a voice as human as wind through reeds is a flute whining in surprise, and she swallows flesh so vibrant it feels like it is eating away at her throat.


    It hits her stomach, and her system screams.


    She can feel it fighting back this time, track how the flesh struggles and writhes, and while it doesn¡¯t win, it slows the process, making her body fight for every ounce of Qi she drags out of it- but oh, is there Qi. It sings through her in hidden tongues that whispers of impossible angles and endless color molded into flesh, molded into anatomy, and she almost loses herself to it.


    And then some of the beast¡¯s spawn start to tear into her, pulling her from leg and arm as the beast recovers, annoyingly licking its paw and then turning back to her.


    Which means she has its attention now. Always lovely when things go to plan.


    She struggles, tries to pull away, but both of the spawn hold tight, half-wyrm and half felinid predator, like smaller versions of the original beast. Crimson blood drips from their maws, only some of it hers, and she feels jaws that can eat stone casually, now multiplied by consumption, dig into her.


    Which is fine. For all their sharpness, it is a spatial thing, different than a true Cut. She doesn¡¯t feel the same impossible Severance where she can¡¯t regrow something.


    So she lets them bite, and when they think they have her secure and their parent¡¯s maw is descending, she tears her own limbs off. Faster than Changing them, the price of seconds versus microseconds, she uses her additional limbs to tear off the ones holding her still and throws herself away, skittering like an animal and scrambling down towards the central arena.


    The divine beast snarls in a way that sounds disturbingly like a child giggling, and dives through a fold in the smoky air to follow.

 Chapter 127 - All According To Plan

    The plan, inasmuch as there is one, is going perfectly.


    Rebuilding her limbs, struggling with the incomprehensible equivalent of indigestion, she sprints away on six different limbs as an incarnation of devouring color swims through space after her. Ahead, two monsters capable of cutting her to mincemeat weave between each others attacks, splintering the air and cutting apart centuries-old architecture.


    And, caught between the two, she can¡¯t help but grin.


    Bursting forth from under the cover of dust, she throws herself at the Aspirant.


    He has an expression of rapture on his face, sliced to ribbons though it may be, and doesn¡¯t even notice her arrival until she¡¯s closed a hand around his head and launched him away from the battle as hard as she can.


    As useful as he might be, he¡¯s too unpredictable, and the chance of him interfering in the upcoming fight is too great. With most of the cultivators trapped in the dome distracted fighting the gradually evolving spawn of the divine beast and weakened by her interference, this is the best chance she¡¯ll have to take out the two very big, very scary monsters who very specifically want her dead.


    What a joy it is to be alive.


    The Aspirant impacts against the opposite stands nearly a half-mile away, and Feng Gao has already turned to her, teeth gritted, eyes bulging, the world around him warping and transforming into a true Domain as he unleashes his frustration-


    And is batted aside by a massive paw.


    The impact of it is enough to physically deafen Raika, her eardrums bursting violently from the force of it. Feng Gao is launched away, hitting the stands hard enough that they shatter, millenia-old stone almost a hundred meters thick cratering around his body and throwing up a massive cloud of shrapnel.


    Half a dozen pieces of stone and stray twigs (that are harder than the gods-damned stones are) cut through her in a dozen places, one coming dangerously close to cutting into her skull, and she¡¯s launched backwards and away.


    The Not-Tiger is there, above her.


    She coughs up a bit of blood, smiling up at it.


    ¡°If. This. Were. Proper,¡± it says, ¡°I Would. Hunt. You. We. Would. Fight. Tooth. And Claw. To Consume. Or Be. Consumed.¡±


    It hesitates a moment, as if genuinely saddened¡­ but then performs the disturbingly human gesture of shrugging one of its sets of shoulders.


    ¡°But. Too. Tasty. Not. To Eat.¡±


    Its spiral maw eclipses her view of everything else as it descends.


    Raika tries to move, taking every trick she has, burning Qi to regenerate faster, to move-


    And just barely ducks back in time to avoid being cut open on a blade made of leaves.


    The Not-Tiger yowls, Qi-rich blood splattering the arena as the blade slices into its cheek and up its neck, severing part of the knot of eyes atop it. It snarls, the giggling noise coming out violent and garbled, and it, alongside a good half-dozen of its spawn, turn towards its aggressor.


    ¡°You are not free to act as you please, vermin.¡±


    Feng Gao stands at the opposite end of the stands, and where once there was stone, now there is woodland. It is not the forest of natural balance, of growth, a home for many beings; the forest that grows from him, like a shadow that warps the world under its shade, is an empty thing, artificial and clustered tightly, like the bars of a cage. A good quarter of the arena warps, the stone at the edges of the effect beginning to crack and bend under the weight of the impossible grove, its roots decaying and spreading through all they touch-


    And behind him, mirroring his movements, like a shadow or a puppeteer in equal measure, is an arm. There are dozens behind it, all made up entirely of moving leaves, like the rustling of the branches gives them form and definition, but one is extended, copying Feng Gao¡¯s stance. It holds a sapling whose greenery has warped, until it disappears when viewed straight on, forming an impossible blade nearly a hundred feet long.


    ¡°You have struck a member of an Imperial house. A noble bloodline which has enacted the will and authority of Empire for millenia. We have slain countless things like you, verminous dog, and this Feng Gao will be happy to teach you exactly what-¡±


    One of the spawn launches itself at Feng Gao, neatly bisected an instant after. Both its severed halves squirm and liquify, each one forming new limbs in new configurations and spiral maws to mirror their parent¡¯s.


    The Not-Tiger is smiling, in its own nightmare way.


    ¡°Boring. Come. To Kill. And. Die. Ape.¡±


    Raika takes explicit pleasure in seeing Feng Gao¡¯s eye tick at that.


    The Not-Tiger launches itself at the Warrior Realm cultivator, wielding every ounce of his awoken Soul and Domain against a sprawling chaos of form and physics, of teeth and all-consuming, all-spawning hunger and impossible flesh-


    The Aspirant gives a relieved sigh as he takes a seat next to the hole Raika¡¯s currently embedded in.


    She tenses up immediately. She didn¡¯t sense him. Even with her hearing only half-healed, she didn¡¯t feel him walking, smell him come close or-


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    He waves a hand at her, as if brushing away her concerns. He sighs, looking exhausted, and takes a jug out from¡­ somewhere, probably a spatial ring.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± he mumbles, his lips and face still cut and bleeding. ¡°All good. Good fight.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t know you talked.¡±


    He huffs at that, and says nothing. He pops the cork of the jug, taking a long, steady drink of its contents. Some of it trickles past the cuts in his lips and making it dribble down his throat and chest, but he doesn¡¯t seem to mind, even as the scent of strong alcohol makes it to Raika¡¯s nose.


    He hisses and sighs when he¡¯s done, letting the gourd hang by a string tied around its middle. He hands it over to Raika.


    Across from them, the world ends. Dozens of warriors that, together, could more than equal any mortal army struggle to recover their balance and fight against the still-growing worm-kittens (now a disturbing mix of eels, glittering molten metals and crystals, and felinid features). Opposite where she¡¯s trapped, a forest that whispers only of death and violent-edged madness, of life turned to the purpose of violence, faces against an impossible beast of the wilds. The divine beasts swims and leaps through space, appearing and disappearing as if from behind the folds of a curtain, its many legs and drooling, starlight-bleeding maw flashing out at impossible angles to rip apart all it touches, even as its spawn harass and hold the attention of Feng Gao whenever he tries for a decisive blow.


    Raika takes the jug, taking a swig.


    Immediately she coughs, choking on possibly the worst rice wine she¡¯s ever tasted.


    ¡°Gods and Hells, what the fuck is in this?¡±


    The Aspirant simply leans back against the seats and rubble, contented. She takes a deeper swig.


    It¡¯s swill, but it¡¯s still a drink.


    They sit and watch the colosseum, tainted gold by the bubble surrounding them, turn to rubble and ruin.


    ¡°You going to fight the beast?¡± she asks.


    He opens one eye, looks at her, and closes it again.


    ¡°I¡¯d¡­ appreciate it if you didn¡¯t. Feng Gao made some threats on a friend of mine.¡±


    He continues to say nothing.


    She takes another drink of the wine, indulging in its awfulness, and passes him back the jug.


    He drinks long and deep, and doesn¡¯t stop even when a Soul-enhanced cut Severs some of the stands less than a foot away from him.


    And then, he lets out a long sigh.


    ¡°Learned what I wanted,¡± he says. ¡°Was a good fight. When I am more of a sword, perhaps I will end every battle with my blade through my enemy. As it stands- I¡¯d rather live, for now.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Got a name?¡±


    ¡°Jin.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Thanks for the wine, Jin.¡±


    She digs herself out of the stone and goes to look for her friends.


    It¡¯s not hard to find Taran. The sound of gunfire has been near-constant since the battle began, and she finds him holding back two of the divine beast¡¯s spawn on his own, whirling between them and leaving shells and gunpowder behind him like rain. She lands atop one of them, tearing into its spine (and finding out that the spine has a bunch of wriggling humanoid fingers coming out of it). It flails, its focus shifting to her as she starts to dig her hands into it, and Taran flips to focus on the other one, taking out a flintlock.


    There is a sound like the shattering of porcelain, and the world briefly turns monochrome as he fires.


    The spawn he is facing falls, lifeless, and he falls to his knees a moment after.


    Rather than waste time trying to fully subdue the beast, her abilities ill-suited to killing something so abstract, she takes out its eyes as it writhes and bucks beneath her. Blinded, she manages to take out a chunk of its throat and shove it hard enough to send it falling down the stand as she goes to her friend.


    Taran looks up at her as she kneels next to him. He goes to wave¡­ and the hand falls limp.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he rasps. ¡°Drained. Killed¡­ two of em, now. Not supposed to¡­ use this much.¡±


    ¡°I got you, corpse-crowd,¡± she tells him, picking him up. ¡°Come on. Where are the others?¡±


    ¡°Inside. Kaena¡­ had a plan. Get us out. The others-¡±


    ¡°I can sniff them out. Come on, we need to move, it¡¯s getting-¡±


    The arena shudders.


    From beneath the arena floor, shattering the mile-long tract of carefully engineered arcanotech, grows a tree.


    It¡¯s surprisingly short and squat, but as it grows it blossoms out, thousands upon thousands of branches spiraling forth from it and weaving a dome of bright, sharp green. The light of the dome is eclipsed, filtered into chaotic shadow from the ever-moving leaves, and in their movements, a shape forms.


    It has a face like an owl, all empty, all eyes, a line where a beak might be but flat like a mask, and it seems to have only arms, each one ending in a series of fluttering loose leaves made into impossible swords. The world warps in its presence, and the roots that it emits rapidly expand and eat through stone, metal, formations and the bodies of the fallen. Several of the spawn assisting their parent are skewered and drained in moments as the fire that dominated the main arena is smothered beneath a far greater, far more impossible manifestation of power concept.


    The Not-Tiger roars in return, and even as its dripping, sloughing body starts making more of its worm-kitten spawn it begins to vomit from that maw a black, tarry liquid, both gold and starlight, both void and velvet. The numbers of its kits multiply until they are like foaming bubbles of impossible radiance flooding around it, until it is half-buried in a semi-liquid sea of bodies, and a perfectly circular pool of whatever leaked from it forms in front of it. It bends, losing form, even the hints of musculature and anatomy losing coherence to bubbling, oozing radiance, and-


    Raika holds Taran close, sprinting away, joining a crowd of cultivators who elect to simply retreat towards the far end of the arena and set up defenses and improvised formations-


    She deviates, tracking the scent of peaches and mercury away from the crowd, towards some of the interior rooms. If she can at least get Taran to the others-


    She hears Feng Gao scream something and-


    The world goes dark.


    In an instant, the dome is consumed in inky black. It engulfs it entirely, blocking out any view of the outside, turning the sky dark.


    And then the eyes open.


    A million, million, eyes, some of them large enough to swim in, blink open in the pitch darkness of the dome, and a voice rings out through the chaos.


    ¡°Beast and bastard,¡± it says, slithering and crawling through the shadows. ¡°It isn¡¯t polite to ruin someone¡¯s home when you haven¡¯t even been invited.¡±


    Feng Gao does not hesitate. Every limb of his Soul swings out, his Domain turned to a literal weapon of universal severance-


    The divine beast screams like a wind tortured into being sound, and its bubbling, radiant infinity oozes and spawns and grows up and brings with it a pool of iridescent black-


    And the eyes burst messily as black blood and shadow and glowing blue waters blast forth-


    And then-


    Impact.


    The world vanishes, and all Raika can do is wrap her body around her friend and brace.

 Chapter 128 - Goodbye

    Shin Ren sits upright beneath the weight of the world.


    He can feel how space is warped around him, pressing down with almost ten times the gravity it should possess, and randomly, once per hour (and sometimes twice) one of the lizard-goat things of the pocket-dimension attacks him. They are¡­ surprisingly good at stealth.


    He, in turn, sits still, and meditates.


    His heart demons float alongside him in astral form, both mere projections he¡¯s trained himself to picture, but both equally real enough to react to the outside world. The Corpse Aflame lies still, smoldering against a rock as if left there by catastrophic incident, while the Smiling Noble lounges comfortably on a seat that Shin Ren envisioned on his behalf. While the Corpse Aflame is surrounded by only ash, the Smiling Noble rests in part on a bed of bodies, a dozen animal corpses cut apart and calcified into a mix of carbon and a strange coral-substance.


    ¡°Good. You¡¯ve progressed remarkably.¡±


    Shin Ren opens his eyes, bowing just a bit. ¡°It is only due to your tutelage, master.¡±


    Qu Haolan laughs, rich and vibrant, his translation scroll gone but his words crisp and clear. ¡°My tutelage has mostly been the application of common sense through your thick skull, and the occasional bit of bodily harm. Surely I am not a master worthy of the name.¡±


    This time Shin Ren bows fully, placing his forehead to the ground before cycling his Qi faster through his body to lift himself back up. ¡°If you are not worthy, master, then none may be called so on the surface of the world.¡±


    Qu Haolan grins. ¡°It is good to see you have regained your skills at flattery, student. What a joy it must be, to be so entirely dedicated to brown-nosing.¡±


    This time, it¡¯s Shin Ren that laughs and grins wide. ¡°Better a brown nose than one charred black, though I seem to think I possess neither, thanks in great part to you, master.¡±


    ¡°True! In this, much has improved and even more has changed. Sets my mind at ease that I can at last leave you to your own devices without fearing you¡¯ll kill yourself as spectacularly as last time.¡±


    Shin Ren pauses, looking up at his mentor. ¡°Master? What do you mean?¡±


    Qu Haolan shrugs. ¡°Time for me to be moving on, student of mine. I¡¯ve spent the last few¡­ I dunno, thousand years isolated in this place. I¡¯ve made some gains, it¡¯s true, and I doubt there is one in the world more suited to control of their Domain than I except perhaps your emperor, but as with all things, it is time to accept change, lest I leave myself vulnerable or calcify to nothing. I¡¯ve told you before of others who fell into their Domains, and thus fell out of the world, and were it not for having to make sure you don¡¯t wrap yourself in chains so easily next time, I¡¯m sure I would have joined their ranks.


    ¡°Time is hard to gauge, past a certain phase of life. I have seen kingdoms rise and fall, sects be born and die, friends, even those beside me on the path of immortality, who chose to give up. My family! Oh, I saw the birth of so many children, so much life and joy and generations of love until I was but a stranger to their youngest¡­ and now I don¡¯t even know if they still exist. I have felt the passage of time more keenly in a haze of drink and dust and fine pussy, blind to the world and my own joy or misery, than I have in this place. I think, perhaps, that the mind of a human is¡­ limited. But the mind of a place? Even more so. It¡¯s time I went out into the world again, to better explore that balance. To see what has changed, and how I have changed.¡±


    Shin Ren nods, and then¡­


    ¡°Will you take me with you?¡±


    Qu Haolan shakes his head. ¡°Perhaps. More likely not. If your empire is as dramatic as you say, I doubt I will be easily welcome, and I intend to explore parts of the world that would challenge even my strength. Better you have your own life to lead than be dragged along into mine.¡±


    Shin Ren shakes his head, his focus shuddering for a second and requiring a moment to re-center lest the gravity around him crush him further. ¡°Without you, I would be dead. And the life I led before is not one I can return to, not in truth.¡±


    Qu Haolan laughs. ¡°Oh, idiot boy. You still have family! You still have life to live! If you think something in the world needs changing, go change it! Maybe you¡¯re a good cultivator and a bit wiser than you look, but even before my realm and retreat I was centuries older than you. Goodbye is not goodbye if it is not forever. It is simply¡­ ¡°I shall see you when I see you¡±. Perhaps it will be in a decade, or a hundred years, or a thousand, but so long as you pursue the path of enlightenment and ascension, we may yet see each other again.


    ¡°Don¡¯t grieve for what isn¡¯t lost, child. Learn and grow and become, and pull the world with you to someplace better. Fools think the past is a chain, and monsters think the future something to be corralled and predicted lest it bite them. Be better. Go home and make some decisions about the things that matter.¡±


    ¡°...and if I never see you again?¡±


    His master smiles. ¡°Then you never see me again. Such is life. Accept your fortuitous encounter, the inheritance I leave with you, and that things are not less precious simply because they end.¡±


    Shin Ren lets out a breath, and Qu Haolan takes that same moment to remove the gravity on him, warping space back to its normal form.


    ¡°Come on. Up you get. Get dressed, and we¡¯ll go.¡±


    ¡°Now?¡±


    ¡°Always better to do things when you¡¯re ready to do them rather than when it¡¯s most comfortable.¡±


    Shin Ren nods, and follows along behind.


    The walk to the cave where he first awoke isn¡¯t a long one, in spite of the distance to it. The world warps by his master¡¯s will, and a cave miles and miles away is instead found down only a winding path on the same spire-mountain that they were already on. Such casual uses of power have become more common as Shin Ren gets stronger and, he suspects, as his master awakens more of himself, like stretching after a long nap. He feels how it supports them both, the world all around them feeling utterly comfortable no matter what heights they climb to or what creatures abound. There is a sense of tranquility to the Domain of his master that he hopes to see someday in himself, no matter how bright his flame.


    He feels the Smiling Noble scoff at that, and rolls his eyes at one of his meaner halves. Corny or not, it¡¯s a nice thought to have.


    He takes up his robes quickly, changing back into his old colors. While the act isn¡¯t entirely comfortable anymore, both due to a stronger physique and the history in the clothes (the only way they could be fixed after how he burnt through them must have been some form of secret technique), it¡¯s surprisingly comforting. A sort of reaffirmation. They do not fit him as they once did, and he can¡¯t help but feel proud of that.


    He walks out of his room to the main living space, the only other room in the cave. Qu Haolan is there, smiling softly, hands behind his back, but with a glint in his eyes that Shin Ren has become familiar with. The Corpse Aflame stirs, ready to burn away whatever trap or prank-


    But Shin Ren asks of her a bit of quiet, and she listens begrudgingly.


    ¡°Now see, apprentice,¡± he says, ¡°In most cases, when one speaks of inheritance, it could mean anything. When cultivators speak of inheritance, it¡¯s usually some millenia-old superweapon they found in an old temple. Seeing as we are both cultivators, I am, perhaps, not opposed to granting something closer to the latter.¡±


    He pulls his hand from behind him, and shows Shin Ren a polearm and a ring.


    ¡°Consider the ring a graduation present. Its capacity should eclipse most common rings, and it will learn your Qi closely, so that it may take weeks for another to be able to access it. It can still be broken by one of higher cultivation, but that¡¯s just life, hmm?¡±


    He holds up the Guandao, and it glints like there is crimson moonlight on its edge, even in the cozy glow of the cave.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    ¡°Of all the moons, Rua has always been my favorite. Lua¡¯s younger sister, rambunctious, orbiting her like an endearingly annoying brat looking to play. Where Lua is slow and majestic, the jade star is only a moon when it wishes to be, Rua is quick, constant, and joyous in her own way.¡±


    He tilts the spear until it rests horizontal, then lets it go. It remains in the air, perfectly still and perfectly balanced. The only decoration on it is the point where staff meets blade, where a sinuous, twisting working of damascus steel has wrapped tight around both, like a pattern of flowing snakes holding the two together. The blade itself is simple, but has the rippling effects of damascus steel, though the color of it is much too red and much too heavy to be steel, and the staff is made of simple, supple wood that looks still alive.


    ¡°This¡­ this I would call an inheritance. It was once my own, in an age long past. I outgrew it a while ago, and found myself storing it, that someday I might pass it on to someone. It¡¯s served me well, and has seen more battles than I care to remember. I¡­ aah. I made it when I was much more foolish, and thought war a noble pursuit. It has taken the blood of many who were worthy¡­ and likely many more who were not. But always it has held its edge, and unlike what a Sword Saint might tell you, a blade is just a tool. May you use it more wisely than I, and may its bloodshed protect you from loss and from suffering.¡±


    Shin Ren bows deep, kowtowing to the floor.


    He feels a light kick in his shoulder.


    ¡°None of that, now. Get up. It¡¯ll stay floating here forever if you don¡¯t get a move on.¡±


    Qu Haolan laughs, but Shin Ren can¡¯t find it in him to do more than smile, bittersweet and painful. He rises, and accepts both gifts.


    ¡°Thank you, master.¡±


    He shakes his head. No. He can do better than that.


    He looks up at Qu Haolan, smiles with warmth and gratitude, and nods his head. ¡°Thank you. For the gifts, and for saving me.¡±


    ¡°And for my valuable time?¡±


    Shin Ren laughs softly. ¡°Considering you spent a thousand years sitting in a cave, maybe not so valuable. But thank you for it anyways.¡±


    Qu Haolan smiles alongside him. And then, without further ado, he waves a hand, and the world¡­ disappears.


    And they are not alone.


    The sound of a blade cutting through an apple rings out through the open air.


    Shin Ren and Qu Haolan find themselves standing on an open field, the sandy stone of the southern rings and the blaring heat of a still-cooling sunset backlit against the stars above in all their colors. There is little more than stone, distant boulders, and open, flattened ground burned smooth by the sun¡¯s rays.


    And a man, sitting atop a rock, cutting an apple.


    He brings the knife to his lips, and takes the apple-slice on it into his mouth. And chews.


    Shin Ren spins his new guandao into a stance, the blade whirling to face the stranger, his manifested heart demons turning the air fiery shades of harsh crimson and bright yellow even as his own slowly-purpling flame flares along the haft of the weapon.


    ¡°Slow,¡± says the stranger.


    He cuts the apple again.


    The man is dressed in monk¡¯s attire, made out entirely in white. His clothing is pristine, painting his contours like snow against a mountain, and draped partially over his head, like a habit or hijab. Around his neck is a metallic collar, like a choker made of iron, and there are nails that look like they¡¯ve been hammered through it and into the stranger¡¯s throat. On his hip, he has three swords, each one clad in ornate, gorgeous sheathes of red, green and white-gold, each one of slightly differing lengths. His skin is faintly blue-ish, as if tinted by strange genetics, and is otherwise a rich earthy tan, making for a unique combination of shades.


    ¡°Good seeing you again, Haolan. Been a while.¡±


    Qu Haolan, as Shin Ren has reacted, has stayed very, very still.


    ¡°To think, you¡¯d be all the way out here. I mean, honestly, I was fucking shocked when I heard what they were sending me out for. Emperor realm cultivator, lost out in the wilderness, they said. Signs pointing to a rogue Domain. Think the only reason they didn¡¯t send their generals over this way is cause I was so much closer. It really is funny, how the Heavens choose to fuck us, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Qu Haolan continues to say nothing. Even in the growing moonlight, he looks paler than usual, his dark complexion marred by a faintness and the pressure of gritting teeth.


    ¡°What? Three and a half thousand years, and you have nothing to say to me?¡±


    ¡°How are you alive.¡±


    The stranger laughs. ¡°I¡¯m alive the same way any old monster is alive. I cut down all that say I should not be.¡±


    ¡°And have you come to cut me down, boy?¡±


    The stranger smiles. ¡°Certainly not before you introduce us.¡± He pops another slice of apple into his mouth. ¡°Go on then. Who¡¯s the munchkin? Pick up a stray, or did you decide that whatever this is is worth dying for?¡±


    ¡°Had I known that you were still in the world, I¡¯d have emerged sooner to rectify that error, believe me.¡±


    The stranger¡¯s smile softens. He looks¡­ almost disappointed. The apple and the small cutting knife he was using to eat it both vanish into a spatial ring, one of a half-dozen covering his hand.


    ¡°Come on, old man. It doesn¡¯t have to go that way. It¡¯s been a long time. If I can let go of what you¡¯ve done, extend a hand in friendship, then surely you can too.¡±


    ¡°Is that what you¡¯re here to do? Extend a hand?¡±


    The stranger goes quiet. For a while, there is only the crackling of Shin Ren¡¯s flames, and the distant chirping of far-away beasts.


    ¡°Do you know who your master is, boy?¡± the stranger asks.


    ¡°He¡¯s the man who saved my life,¡± Shin Ren replies, stance firm, grip tight.


    ¡°Would that all our lives were so simple, kid,¡± he replies. ¡°Would that saving one life made up for taking another.¡±


    ¡°I do not regret the death of your sister,¡± Qu Haolan says quietly. ¡°I regret only that it had to be done.¡±


    The stranger smiles again, and this time it is both sadder and far colder. ¡°No. You are not a creature of regrets, are you Qu Haolan? Never when it came to your victims.¡±


    ¡°If we are comparing victims, I¡¯m afraid I will come up woefully short to your sister, or to you, so many millenia deep into your blades.¡±


    The man¡¯s smile widens. ¡°Yeah. Probably true. But hey! Great news. I¡¯ve come to offer you a choice.¡±


    The man jumps to his feet, landing in a puff of stone-dust and reaching into a spatial ring to pluck out a sealed scroll. Its wax is golden, its edges inlaid with actual gold and more than a few sparling hints of jade, with more dangling from it on fine strings.


    ¡°An invitation to the first ring. That¡¯s the big fuckoff mountain up north, if you hadn¡¯t noticed. You get what every Emperor realm cultivator gets; a chance at dinner with the big E itself, and a job offer. You can keep living out your life exactly as you have been, no strings attached, not even a soul-binding on you¡­ you just have to bend the knee. Say ¡°yes, zaddy Emperor, I¡¯ll do whatever you say.¡± And it won¡¯t even tell you to do anything except ¡®stop¡¯ if you break something important.¡±


    Qu Haolan does not reach for the scroll.


    The stranger smiles wider still, until it is a caricature of joy on his face, and idly flicks his wrist. The scroll is tossed aside, the weight as it lands enough to dent the ground and much heavier than the cultivator made it appear.


    ¡°Yeah. Not much of a submissive, are ya? You prefer to tango topside, as it were. Which is good, honestly. More fun for me. Cause option two, well¡­¡±


    One of his hands goes to the topmost of his three swords.


    ¡°Option two is I get to do my real job.¡±


    Qu Haolan narrows his eyes, his feet slowly sliding further apart into a stance. Shin Ren mirrors him, cycling his Qi harder, all three of his cores, one fully formed and two imperfect ones, spinning up and pushing energy into his body and into manifestations of Flame that begin to flicker into being.


    ¡°I know who you are. Aspirant of the Cut. Wielder of the sword that Cuts its master. Demiurge and conquering warlord. Any empire that would keep you as its dog is an empire rife with fleas in its kennel and rats in its walls.¡±


    ¡°And don¡¯t forget the bodies under its thrones,¡± the stranger says. ¡°Though you are wrong on one front, actually.


    ¡°I¡¯m not an Aspirant anymore.¡±


    Shin Ren feels the world warp, his master¡¯s Dao of Space re-arranging reality so that one point is now another, and it is the only reason he survives. Even from wherever he is placed, perhaps a hundred miles away, surrounded now by trees and foliage, he sees the sky change color on the horizon to the east of him. Like a detonation, like an impossible act of destruction made manifest, he sees a mushroom-shaped cloud form over the tops of the trees, its interior filled with red lightning and falling rain that glows, backlighting the flickering shadows of winged beasts, of scale and claw and glowing stone large enough to be seen even from where he sits¡­


    And he sees it fall apart, turned to ash and unmade as a single green line bisects the horizon.


    About six inches to his left, the world opens as a Cut to break the world slices past him and unmakes a canyon into the ground so deep he cannot see the bottom.


    A second detonation arises, larger than the first, lasting far longer so that he can feel the impossible weight of the Qi in it, hear thousands of beasts and animals of all kinds rushing past him in a mad dash for survival-


    And it is cut again, the Cut this time flying south.


    A third time, the world is remade, space itself twisting and warping, and Shin Ren sees a collapsing star of brilliant sandstone light form in the air. From it long, winding tendrils of water fly out, the streams concentrated enough to cut stone and slice the world into a haze of dust beneath it-


    A third Cut, this one white as new-fallen snow.


    And then there is silence. The night is cold and dark, and full of stars, staring down, unblinking, at Shin Ren, who falls to his knees, alone.


    And then a wall of air, superheated and taller than the trees, rushes over him and breaks the world, so that all he knows is the pain of impact and the sensation of flying.

 Chapter 129 - And Tell Me, How Does That Make You Feel?

    It¡¯s dark.


    It¡¯s the first thing she notices when she wakes up. It¡¯s dark, and it smells like blood and dust.


    Slowly, Raika tries to get a feel for her surroundings. She¡¯s either too groggy or too concussed to properly tell by vibrations, which¡­ comes as a surprise. She¡¯d gotten used to being able to sort of assume the location of things. She tries to open her other eyes, but finds that three out of five have been damaged or ruined in some way.


    And, what¡¯s worse, she realizes she doesn¡¯t have the Qi to heal them.


    She sighs, long and slow. Good news; she still has lungs.


    She starts figuring out what else she¡¯s got.


    Good news; she can still see, even if the angle of her remaining eyes makes it a bit awkward. Their surroundings look like a mix of sharp stone walls with sheer cliff faces and bits of rubble. She identifies a column here, a few surviving seats there, but what¡¯s left of the arena is mostly just shrapnel, and its only from a distant, far-above hint of light that her enhanced eyesight can pick up anything at all..


    Most of her joints and torso are fused together into a protective shell, her exterior armored to the maximum possible while she shifted her interior to softer padding of flesh and fat. Taran is still with her, though he¡¯s not moving, staying very still, and very, very cold.


    Fuck.


    Disregarding the damage, she pulls the connecting tissue apart, cracking bone and armor until she has mobility again, crippled though it is. She moves as quick as she can, shaking Taran slightly and wincing at the rattling his guns make as she does.


    ¡°Taran,¡± she whispers. ¡°Wake up.¡±


    Slowly, much more slowly than she¡¯d like, he stirs.


    ¡°...Raika? Where¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I think the arena was shattered, maybe. There¡¯s some light from above, so¡­ maybe the Crag? I need time to fix my body, but we need to get a move on.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ can¡¯t. Spent too much. Need¡­ need to sleep.¡±


    ¡°Ok. How long?¡±


    He is silent.


    She nudges him slightly (sleep, on Taran, looks a lot like death), but he doesn¡¯t move. His flesh, always cold, now feels stiff as if in the grasp of rigor mortis. What minute Qi scent he generally carries is almost completely gone, and even as she shifts, she sees him curl up like a dying insect.


    Ok. Concerning. An issue for later, perhaps. He said this could happen, and she¡¯s noticed how the more alters he brings out, the more exhausted he gets, and-


    Wait. When did she notice that? That sounds memorable, that¡¯s the sort of thing she should remember. What¡¯s-


    Oh. Oh.


    ¡°Oh you motherfucker.¡±


    She rebreaks a good two out of four limbs sitting herself lotus-style on the floor, but fuck it, she¡¯s in a hurry. She sits, and takes in a breath that causes almost a full minute-long inhale, and delves deep.


    It¡¯s not easy, not without a cultivator¡¯s ability to alter her mental state, but she follows the path from before. Both the fire, which burnt so hot she can¡¯t help but remember its trail, and the bite of the divine beast, still squirming in her gut, act as guides. She focuses down, to the most minute feelings in her body, tracking their changes and the feelings of them deeper, deeper¡­


    There. Something writhes where it should not. Something sits, pretty and polite, like a little pearl in her stomach.


    ¡°Now let¡¯s not make any hasty decisions.¡±


    She looks up at Zhoulong, standing in the dark, surprisingly clear against the surrounding shadows.


    He doesn¡¯t look well. The sallowness that was there previously is gone, and he seems to have somewhat stabilized, but covering half his face and singing his robes are proof of a heavy burn.


    ¡°I mean, look at it from my end for just a moment, would you? There I am, doing my job, next thing you know I¡¯m accused of a high treason I didn¡¯t commit and get my throat bit out. Takes me weeks to figure out how to not get digested in the fucking wasteland of a gut microbiome you got and pop back in to say hi, and next thing I know, I¡¯m still getting chipped away anyways. I mean if you were in my position, I think you¡¯d have done a lot worse than me to try and get out by now.¡±


    She says nothing.


    He says nothing.


    Eventually the smile fades away.


    ¡°It¡¯s not like I did much, to be honest. You¡¯re a right fucking mess, sister. Disassociating hard, building walls in your head just to be in your body- and that¡¯s besides all the guilt you got in there, I mean you should really get that looked at. I mean if anything, I can help. You know where I am now, you¡¯ve got a knife to my throat, really. We could go down swinging, you turn me to mush while I scissor up your brainpan on my way out, or we could just¡­ acknowledge you¡¯ve got an edge on me, and go about our relationship a bit more honestly.¡±


    She stares at him in the dark.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Gods damn woman but you are hard to read. I mean your face is half-missing, and mostly made of spikes and eyeballs and teeth right now, which does not help, but I consider myself an expert in bioformic nuances and I¡¯m, like, partially able to read your mind, and I still cannot see past that poker face. Mask in full effect, is she? Hello, Mask. Good to see you again. In fine form you are.¡±


    He sighs. ¡°Seriously. It¡¯s accepted medical technique, I had to study it. If you had meridians you¡¯d be swimming in heart demons by now, and the treatment for heart demons is therapy and internal alteration. And I can do both. You¡¯d honestly only be losing out if you didn¡¯t keep me around.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been cutting thoughts out of my head.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ yes. But only the icky ones.¡±


    She growls at that, forcing her stomach to move just a bit, trying to exercise control over it. ¡°Thoughts about my friends? Memories of allies? As a dog eats its own shit when its hungry, you lie when you speak. It¡¯s not that you need it; it¡¯s just that it¡¯s available. So why not.¡±


    He rolls his eyes. ¡°Yeah, fine. Enough with the melodrama. I¡¯m not lying now. I only did what was reasonable, and you¡¯re only doing what makes sense¡­ but I¡¯m here presenting a third option is all. A little bit of friendly cooperation. Symbiosis. I don¡¯t want to die, you hopefully don¡¯t want to remain a crippled mess¡­¡±


    She says nothing.


    He snarls, and then relaxes into a sigh. He looks¡­ for a moment, he looks tired.


    ¡°Just listen. I am not¡­ this. I am more than this, I always have been. You have reduced me to a ghost in another¡¯s mind. What more could you possibly want to take from me? Why, because I did my duty, as the Empire asked of me? Because I accepted the power and role of my birth? Because your little serpentine toy has some scars from where I helped him grow into someone worthy? You don¡¯t have to like me, you rabid animal, you don¡¯t have to apologize, but don¡¯t you dare pretend like I don¡¯t have every gods-damned right to try to survive.¡±


    She says nothing.


    ¡°Like you don¡¯t have blood on your hands. Like you¡¯re so much better than me, just because you managed to crawl out of the little hovel you started in. Congratulations! Some of us climbed plenty! And some of us never killed a bunch of random farmers for the crime of, what, asking for better wages? At least when I did what was needed, it was needed, it was for a purpose. You wasted your whole life, and every death you¡¯ve ever caused has been for nothing. Fuck you. Fuck you. What more could you take from me? My body, my safety, my power, my voice? And now you want to kill me because you didn¡¯t know what would happen when you ripped out my throat?¡±


    He stops. His breath is fast, sweat dripping down his forehead, teeth grit. She lets him sit there, panting, for a good few seconds.


    When she does look at him, there is quiet in her eyes.


    ¡°I never asked for your pain,¡± she says. ¡°But there is nothing in me that sees a victim in the thing you are.¡±


    The silence sits heavy between them for a moment. He laughs, softly. For just a moment, he looks haunted. Alone. Afraid.


    And Raika feels¡­ nothing.


    He laughs again, louder. Then he grins so wide it looks like it hurts, pulling open his burns until they bleed into the smile.


    ¡°Well alright then. Fair is fair.¡±


    She feels the Pearl begin to stir, and places everything she has into envisioning her stomach as a depthless thing, a place where it falls and falls into itself, vast enough to fit anything and thick enough that nothing can escape.


    It doesn¡¯t kill him- despite his fears, she doesn¡¯t actually know how to do that, and any ideas she has relate to having Qi, of which she¡¯s currently empty, save for the squirming nugget left from the divine beast¡¯s spawn.


    Still, she pictures it as best she can. Digestive acids washing over him, slowly peeling apart everything he is, unmaking him into nothing but fuel to be consumed.


    It is a harsh thought. It is one that almost disconnects, more than once. It feels right, nonetheless.


    Still, he does not go quiet.


    She feels herself going. Down in the dark, alone, she feels her mind¡­ slip. She feels the Mask take control of her features wholesale, using what dregs of fuel she has to reshape her face into something approaching human. She feels her Flesh roil, drowning in sensation and writhing wetly, angrily, painfully, all sharp edges and dripping muscle. She feels herself forget things, and holds to that awareness, holds to it as tight as she can so she can try and pull those memories back, even if by accident, even if she doesn¡¯t know exactly what they are.


    She feels where he cuts on his way down. At first just in her current thought, trying to sever her attack on him, but that¡¯s much too present, much too her, and his Cuts slip off. He cuts into her allies, and she takes note, forces herself to hold to the knowledge that she has more of them than she knows and that she is more cared for than she feels. She feels him cut into her memories, of thoughts around J- around her friend, and she places into iron-clad chains in her mind that there was more good than she remembers there, and that only what could hurt her he does not touch.


    It¡¯s not perfect. She¡¯s still losing pieces, the same ones she was just barely clawing back using the clarity of violence¡­ but for some things, there is a price. An exchange. A sacrifice.


    Raika lets herself be cut away and forges anchors in her mind, truths she holds to as best as she can. She hopes that what is cut away will be drawn back to them, or regrow someday. She feels the sting of violence on her deepest self, and offers it on the pyre to make sure that she can never, ever be as lost as Zhoulong made her.


    And he¡­ falls away from her perception. She thinks she hears him yell something, some oath or perhaps just fear, but¡­ probably all in her head. Perhaps alive, perhaps dead, but the sensation is not unlike watching something fall from the ceiling of a cave where it is latched into dark waters down below.


    She remembers he is there, still. Never think they¡¯re gone until you see the body, and sometimes not even then and all that. But it¡¯s enough for now. For just this moment, she casts out the parasite.


    And then, she turns away from Taran, to look out into the dark.


    She feels her heart beating, taking the dregs of Qi she drags away from the squirming thing in her belly and what¡¯s left in her flesh and making it flow, grinding it against itself as she has for so long. She leaves it be, lets the pain of it strengthen her resolve, focus her mind. The energy of existence scrapes against her cell walls and through her veins, and she lets the agony of it, the knowledge that it will surely grow drop by drop, soothe her.


    And then she looks out into the dark.


    ¡°We should probably talk,¡± she says, her true voice ringing out.


    At first, nothing.


    Then¡­


    ¡°Yes. We probably should,¡± her throat says with a voice that sounds much more human.


    And beneath both, her body ripples, flesh rearranging and bones creaking, a sound of hunger and suffering both.

 Chapter 130 - For All Those Who Dont Know, Therapy Is Great And You Should Try Some

    ¡°So,¡± she says, her true voice echoing strangely against the stone. ¡°I¡¯m me. Who are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m you,¡± the Mask replies with her voice, using her lips. ¡°And I¡¯m me.¡±


    ¡°And the Flesh is¡­¡±


    ¡°Also us. Also you. Also me. Just as we are it.¡±


    ¡°Alright. Our Truth is still intact. I Am Me, I Am Mine. A bit healed, even.¡±


    ¡°So it is. I Am Me, I Am Mine. Feels good to have it back up proper. We are both Raika. We are both ourself.¡±


    ¡°Did Zhoulong do this? Some kind of parting curse?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d know better than I, I suppose. I¡¯m more¡­ outward-facing. Practical stuff. Examining what¡¯s around us, what people are thinking. You¡¯re the one with all the interiority.¡±


    ¡°Ok. I suppose you have a point. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m thinking this was already developing, but he probably made it¡­ a lot more dramatic.¡±


    ¡°Mmmh. Agreed. I don¡¯t think I could have responded like this a few days back, honestly.¡±


    ¡°Are you responding? Or is this just me, pretending? Falling too deep into the roles?¡±


    ¡°Maybe. Is there a difference? If you can¡¯t tell, maybe it¡¯s a solid sign that it¡¯s not so easy to be sure.¡±


    Her Flesh ripples, slowly shifting pieces back into a more functional place, even without much Qi. The way her body uses her Truth is proof enough that it¡¯s still her, but it¡¯s disconcerting to feel herself shift and change without conscious intent.


    ¡°A bit foolish, isn¡¯t it?¡± her human voice says. ¡°I mean, most people¡¯s bodies do things without conscious commands all the time. Hardly a bad thing to try to automate the whole process. One of the better decisions we¡¯ve made, probably.¡±


    ¡°Mmmh. Maybe. I¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh I know. Believe me, I know. Control and stability are the two things we lack most, it¡¯s hardly surprising we¡¯re not comfortable divvying things up.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ I also really lack some-¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t say ¡®good pussy¡¯. I¡¯m not very good at humor, and I think you trying would just annoy the both of us.¡±


    ¡°I thought I literally made you to help me avoid thinking of stuff, how is humor as a coping mechanism not allowed?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a coping mechanism made by a mind under active possession with a truckload of trauma we don¡¯t talk about. I¡¯d say I¡¯m in my rights to be a bit annoyed in general.¡±


    ¡°Mmmh. Well. What now?¡±


    ¡°You called this meeting, not me.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well no one said I plan ahead too well.¡±


    ¡°Hardly fair. We do plan decently well. We just¡­ don¡¯t have a lot of structure in them.¡±


    ¡°Sure. So if you¡¯re me, and I¡¯m me, and the Flesh is me, then¡­ are we good?¡±


    ¡°I think so. If you¡¯re asking about if I want to be primary or think I¡¯m the original, I don¡¯t. I¡¯m the part of us that¡¯s made to help keep you safe, to keep us all functional. I do that by paying attention to the details you usually ignore, but know are important, and ignoring everything else. All the other stuff is instinct and hormones, and our Flesh has that covered.¡±


    ¡°So, what, you¡¯re the part of us that¡¯s just¡­ good at being social?¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m the part of us that¡¯s good at pretending to be human, and lying.¡±


    ¡°...I mean, we are human.¡±


    ¡°...Come on. Really?¡±


    Raika feels her flesh shift and crackle as bones resettle, as if in agreement.


    ¡°Maybe, if we really looked into the study of biology, we¡¯d technically still be human, but I don¡¯t think there¡¯s any guarantee of even that. We can be shaped like a human, if we feel like it, and we assume we have to. I¡¯m pretty good at it, even. But I¡¯m pretty sure most of our head is a giant bone flower with five eyes right now.¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s¡­ a good point. I guess I have been sort of¡­ assuming things.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well¡­ most of the last three years has just been continuous trauma, so you¡¯re a bit excused. But if we¡¯re going to survive and keep getting stronger, help our friends, get revenge, or whatever the goal is, we might need to be a little bit more honest with ourselves about it.¡±


    ¡°I thought you were the part of me that lies. How can I-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the part of you that¡¯s good at lying, because I can tell people what they want to hear. And right now, I/we want to hear the difficult shit we¡¯ve been avoiding without feeling like it¡¯s bubbling up out of control.¡±


    ¡°...Oh.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Ok. Well¡­ what else you got?¡±


    ¡°...Some stuff I don¡¯t think we¡¯re ready to talk about, mostly. We¡¯re not going to resolve all that mess today, I think. Priority has to be seeing how we want to move forward. I think it¡¯s fairly obvious that what we were doing before wasn¡¯t working. Even without the overstimulation, we¡¯ve been overwhelmed for a while, and now¡­ well, all this internal damage isn¡¯t good. I don¡¯t need our memories to operate off, but you do, and a good chunk of them are at best floating loose in our mind, at worst lost forever. You need to hold on to what we have.¡±


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    ¡°So what are you suggesting?¡±


    ¡°...I¡¯m not sure. I¡¯m not great at making choices independently, maybe. But I think so long as we can operate like this, we should take advantage of it if we can.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ maybe we loosen some restrictions on the Flesh. Let it grow however feels natural. We¡¯ve been avoiding it, but it¡¯s clear at least part of our design after our tribulation can consume prey, and we haven¡¯t been. And I can keep us reactive and moving, make some basic choices, so long as it¡¯s about practical things. I¡¯m a bit too direct, maybe, but I¡¯m pragmatic. Maybe you take a step back, try to¡­ rebuild?¡±


    ¡°...Maybe. You wouldn¡¯t be just trying to get me away so you can take over, would you?¡±


    ¡°Would it matter if I was? We¡¯re me, just as much as we¡¯re you. I don¡¯t want to replace you, it¡¯s not what I am. And even if I did, isn¡¯t this still the best course of action? I can¡¯t rebuild us. I know a few hard truths, and how to make things move when we need to, but that¡¯s not what we need. As much as it¡¯s kept us alive, it¡¯s that same drive to keep moving that¡¯s been tearing us apart.¡±


    ¡°Not a great reason to keep you in charge.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be in charge. I¡¯m you. If anything the Flesh would be mostly in charge. It can tell us our needs while we¡¯re on the move. I¡¯ll just point out some vague objectives and make sure we¡¯re not being too instinctive, and you go back and meditate. We¡¯re shattered apart, but you¡¯re the closest to our old self. I want to protect you/us, even if it¡¯s at our expense. That¡¯s what I am. The Flesh wants to survive, eat, and stop hurting itself. You want to be better, to remember our friends, to learn. You don¡¯t think you deserve it, and I can¡¯t say otherwise, but you want to. If we can balance it, maybe we can give you the space to go do that.¡±


    ¡°Otherwise I¡¯ll just end up distracted or start burying shit again.¡±


    ¡°Yep. If it wasn¡¯t your go-to strategy, we wouldn¡¯t have made me.¡±


    ¡°Ok. Not a bad idea. But we have to keep Taran safe.¡±


    ¡°Duh.¡±


    The Flesh shivers, a feeling of fear and annoyance expressed chemically.


    ¡°See? All in agreement on that. He¡¯s part of the pack, it¡¯s more pragmatically beneficial in the long term, and we care about him. All of ourself in agreement. Which does actually lead me back to one of those hard truths I was worried about.¡±


    ¡°Gonna tell us what it is? Or just pretend you¡¯re some wise sage about it?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not a bad person.¡±


    The cave goes silent.


    Raika lets that fact sit with herself.


    ¡°Told you it was a tough one. But it is true. Say what you will about the guy, but Hisheng wasn¡¯t dating us just to get his dick wet. He cared, and he¡¯s not an idiot. And neither is Maen. Or Kaena. Or Taran. Or Jun Vral, or Shapefixit, or Li Shu or Qen Hou. I know we can¡¯t remember the good too much, right now or even before, but I know what their actions indicate, I know what their behaviors mean.¡±


    ¡°And what about¡­ what about-¡±


    ¡°Yeah. We don¡¯t believe it yet, and we won¡¯t believe when I say it. But¡­ the kid wasn¡¯t an idiot either. And what happened to him-¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    ¡°...yeah. Told you we wouldn¡¯t believe it.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you.¡±


    ¡°Buy us dinner first.¡±


    She can¡¯t help but choke out a laugh at that.


    She sighs. In her true voice, she asks; ¡°You¡¯re sure about this?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re sure about this. You are too, or I couldn¡¯t say it. I think. It¡¯s fuzzy. Point is, all three of us know we¡¯re self-destructive together. You¡¯re going to keep making impulsive, painful choices that lead to violence because it makes us feel ok for a while, but it¡¯s breaking us apart and only adding to our load. I can keep us from doing that, and the Flesh has other priorities. Your job, outside of feeling what we feel, is to learn to deal with it. I can keep what we¡¯re feeling buried, work around it, and the Flesh can survive the abuse for now, but only you can change things. And if there¡¯s one thing that¡¯s still True-¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°¡±I Can Change.¡°¡±


    ¡°Attagal.¡±


    ¡°Mmmh. This is¡­¡±


    ¡°Weird, yeah. As the practical one, I¡¯m wildly concerned.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem like it.¡±


    ¡°Well this is my concerned face. Which is the same as all my other faces, deep down, because at the end of the day I just want us to be safe and be smart about it. You¡¯re the one out here trying to have goals and shit.¡±


    ¡°...Do you think we¡¯ll be alright?¡±


    ¡°...I dunno. Sort of your thing, not mine.¡±


    ¡°I thought your whole thing is-¡±


    ¡°To keep us intact and functioning. It¡¯s the fact that the only way to make sure that happens now is to actually, you know, heal a bit that¡¯s got me acting out.¡±


    ¡°Well, that and the soul-carving.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. And that.¡±


    ¡°Why bring up the¡­ the ¡°good person¡± bit?¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s what you needed.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s just a lie, then.¡±


    ¡°You know it¡¯s not. We don¡¯t need lies right now.¡±


    ¡°...sure.¡±


    The last few adjustments kick in as her body rearranges itself. At this point, it¡¯ll take days before her Qi reserves become useful again, but moving the damaged bits around is enough for now, even if she can¡¯t fuel any true changes. Still, her body is tough, and there¡¯s a pretty good chance she¡¯ll heal on her own sooner than later even without Qi, now her bones are in place. A bit awkward, a bit uneven from the transformation to protect Taran, but it¡¯ll do.


    ¡°So we¡¯re in agreement?¡± the Mask asks.


    ¡°Yeah. Ok. I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll work on the internal damage. You keep us moving. The Flesh keeps us alive.¡±


    ¡°And when we¡¯re healed, or in an emergency, we pull everything together again. Deal?¡±


    ¡°Deal.¡±


    Her heart pulses with affirmation.


    And things¡­ shift.


    Raika blinks, and shakes her head. It feels¡­ weird. Different than normal. That¡¯s the plan, but still. Weird.


    She tells her body to stand, and it does, though there¡¯s a slight disconnect between the two. That¡¯s fine. That¡¯s normal. She can adapt.


    Slowly, she walks over to Taran, her posture altered to something a bit more unbalanced, more suited to her new weight distribution, rather than trying to stand upright like a human. She takes the unconscious figure, and wraps him tight to her chest and against her padded front with two of her arms. Her tail swishes a bit, proving its value tenfold as it helps her keep her balance much better than she¡¯d considered when she made it.


    She turns, low to the ground¡­ and sniffs.


    The air echoes with scents, that of old stone and crushed powder overwhelming almost everything, even hours old as it is¡­ but there¡¯s still other scents. Qi, and blood, and sweat and fear and violence.


    She cocks her head to the side and listens, and it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s muffled, echoing strangely, but she can feel vibrations of movement.


    Priority one: find something to eat.


    Priority two: heal.


    Priority three: find her allies.


    Priority four: escape.


    Alright. She can work with this.


    She lets her body take over for her, lets it follow whatever scent is least familiar and weakest. She can figure the rest out when she arrives.

 Chapter 131 - In Aunties House, Theres Always Snacks

    First things first; inventory.


    Minimal Qi until she manages to properly digest what she¡¯s eaten. True Flame, despite how painful it is, is almost literally already fuel, pure energy with just a few concepts tied to it to make it real. Flesh, especially dense, powerful flesh, like that of the divine beast¡¯s spawn, takes longer, and cultivating it herself takes longer still. She can¡¯t absorb it from the air, and her process of using her body as a sort of natural formation or furnace to grow more from the dregs she has takes time. Less time as she accumulates more, due to exponential growth, but still; time.


    In terms of physical needs¡­ it¡¯s strange to consider them again. She¡¯s not quite hungry, but she is thirsty. She¡¯s not sure for how long that¡¯s been the case. Might have been days. She¡¯s not exactly been taking care of herself, even under the best circumstances, and reevaluating after managing to dislodge Zhoulong has given some perspective on that fact.


    In terms of damage, she¡¯s passable. Shifting and rearranging the damage around is enough to mitigate it, and her body, even without Qi, is changed. Having more of it to feed on helps, but she¡¯s not powered exclusively by it, and once she gets some sleep, food and water, the process should continue at a good pace, hopefully. Nothing severe internal besides some broken bones.


    Sort of a miracle, considering the explosion, actually.


    In terms of equipment¡­ she has a tuning fork. It¡¯s on a small chain around her neck, and it¡¯s important. She knows its important. The chain is partially buried under folds of bone and armor, meaning even subconsciously, she tried to protect it. Considering she doesn¡¯t know what it is, that¡¯s probably something Zhoulong tried to isolate. Other than that, she has¡­ well, nothing. Clothes torn in the fight, no spatial ring, no pills, no way to properly use either of them if she had them. In fact, she¡¯s kind of naked right now.


    The Flesh doesn¡¯t care, and neither does the Mask, since all the fun bits are currently asexual spiked body armor and partially-revealed musculature, but it¡¯s an interesting thing to note.


    So. Inventory complete. She needs to find water and potentially food, and needs to find her allies. The issue with the latter, despite her senses, is that the entire cave system they seem to have fallen into reeks. Every stone or passageway smells of still, clear waters, and almost nothing else. What little peeks through, the hint of sharpened forest or writhing iridescence, are either from the massive techniques that devastated the colosseum and seem to have shattered the dome surrounding it or from the wielders of said techniques themselves, and thus are best avoided either way. The Witch¡¯s scent, on the other hand, pervades everything, like the whole area is a part of her, or like she¡¯s saturated everything with her Qi.


    Except that¡¯s not how her Qi smells, is it? Raika remembers when she first met the Witch, the scents she had. The dark waters were there, all around, but at the core of her there had been the scent of something¡­ oddly bright. Reflective, perhaps. Almost like the Qi she wields isn¡¯t actually coming from her.


    Something to consider for later.


    As she¡¯s been thinking, she¡¯s been moving. Letting her instinct move her as freely as it needs to, offering only vague direction. Her body shifts and accommodates the insecure footing of the debris surprisingly well, and she finds herself¡­ a bit surprised by how much less overwhelming her senses are. Part of it is the disconnect between ¡°Mask¡± and ¡°Flesh¡±, but part of it also is that she¡¯s letting her body do as it asks, and finds her nostrils flaring and slitting shut more often, her eyes defaulting to a lesser degree of focus to keep her from needing to examine every minute detail of something. It¡¯s imperfect, an adaptation to an overwhelming amount of input- but it helps, and she feels a bit frustrated that she was so disconnected from how she was feeling that she didn¡¯t consider altering it more literally.


    It also helps that she¡¯s not actively trying to look human anymore.


    She and her body realign the spikes around her skull, formatting it more sleekly, letting her mouthparts extend into a sort of muzzle. With all the damage she¡¯s taken, she¡¯s mostly kept only a few muscles and bones in place as needed, making her form rather skinny, with more padding and armor around the joints using the damaged tissue. It also helps to protect Taran, which is a good bonus. She reshapes herself to crawl through and about the ruins, her body aching, but not in a bad enough way that she needs to stop.


    The space around her, in particular, is of note. She walks close to one of the cliff walls, and the shape of the cavern is vaguely¡­ well, canyon-shaped. She doesn¡¯t see much light above, indicating either that they fell through the ground into a deeper part of the Crag, or that the debris is blocking the Crag¡¯s growth up above from letting in light. As she walks, she starts finding things beyond the arena, buildings and structures that seem less ornate, more conventional.


    And then, of course, she starts finding the bodies.


    Not as many as she expected, not if the Crag broke deeper into the city from the battle, but the Arena was sort of on the edge of it anyways. Most of the bodies have either very basic robes or simple merchant¡¯s outfits, but there are a few outfits and bodies of sect servants and lesser cultivators among the ruin.


    The Flesh points out that she does need fuel, and they aren¡¯t using it anymore. The Mask points out they¡¯re in a hurry, and that having man-flesh on their breath won¡¯t leave a good impression. She leaves the bodies where they lie, and walks down deeper.


    The collapse of the arena acts as a sort of hill, the civilian viewing area beneath it and some buildings around it making up much of the debris surrounding that, and its only when she¡¯s past it that she starts to smell something new.


    She sniffs, snuffling against the ground, and picks up scent trails. Dozens. Harder to tell, what with the overwhelming Qi of this place and the blood and debris tainting the air behind her, but it seems like a lot of the wisps of other scents she¡¯d felt had come to congregate here. There¡¯s a scent from where one of the beast tamer¡¯s creatures scent-marked the terrain, leaving a clear trail of at least one cultivator. Some insect carcasses indicate the bug-wielder survived as well, and several other signs point to some of the survivors- a more confident tread for the Stone Divers and Unearthly Depths sect groups, all clustered together, while ax-marks indicate the survival of the massive warrior-cultivator, who seems to have gathered together a group.


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    How long has she been unconscious? Did her meditation really take that long?


    The groups split up. She tries, as hard as she can, to pick out the scents of Yun Ka, Jun Vral and Kaena, but finds it difficult to discern them, what little scent there is even now being actively washed away by the presence in the air. She growls, the Mask using her true voice for a bit to allow the expression of frustration.


    And the sound of her voice ripples.


    She senses the shift in air pressure, the slight warbling of sound as it travels, like she¡¯s in some sort of thick jelly or deep underwater. Immediately, the Qi around her shifts, the scent of it changing to become sharper, clearer-


    She is moving. Instinct guides her, her mind looking for possible hiding spots but her instincts pushing her away from anyplace where the ripples seem to gather, where the world seems to shift, and-


    Eyes begin to open.


    She squirms back in the rubble, shifting her weight millimeter by millimeter so that the dust and rubble shifts. Her armor, already off-white and covered in ash and debris, flexes and bends over her like camouflage.


    ¡°Oh little Wolfie¡­¡± croons a voice from the dark. ¡°I know you¡¯re here, little Wolf. I can¡¯t imagine anyone else having Truespeak down here. I heard your little growl, Wolfie. So good to hear you being so¡­ free with yourself.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t even looking, I swear! I¡¯ve been ever so busy. All sorts of things in motion, now my hand has been so forced. Couldn¡¯t have those two kids fucking up the whole city, now could I? And here I thought you¡¯d gotten caught in up. What a disappointment that was, and what a joy to see you out and about. I thought I felt a ripple, a few hours back, but boy that growl of yours. Shivers up the old spines.¡±


    The eyes swirl around, oozing through thickened shadows and strange Qi as they look over the ruins that have fallen from above. They focus and hone in on several of the corpses scattered about, looking over them carefully as if checking them for something.


    ¡°And look at you, so very respectful. I thought I saw things going another way when you absolutely drank through those cigarettes I gave you, but here you are, showing restraint. All these fresh goods, and not a bite to speak of. What an odd little duck you are, Wolf. So consistently tearing me apart between disappointment and hopeful interest. It would be a pity if your cousins surpass you too easily. But¡­ ah, I¡¯ve said too much. Crawl along, little Wolf. Come deeper into the dark. Your friends are waiting, and not all of my newest guests are quite so polite as you and I.¡±


    The eyes, glistening wet orbs of human jelly with endless pools at their center, mold back into the shadows. Sometimes they seem to fall into their own pupils, or have said pupils expand around their whole, while others simply seem to blink shut with disturbing wetness.


    It is only when they are all gone, and when the ripples in the Qi around her have stopped, and when another ten minutes have passed that Raika emerges from camouflage and ruins, shaking herself slightly to let the dust off.


    So. A bit more proof that her ¡°true voice¡± is¡­ literal. The hints go back to the oath she gave the kid, that everything offered would be freely given¡­ but confirmation is never a bad thing. Something to be careful about. Especially seeing that, apparently, the Witch uses the entire depths of the space around her as some sort of Domain, or at least web. It¡¯s¡­ hard to tell how. Her skills are genuinely different from cultivation in a foundational way, even though she clearly uses Qi, and recognizable types of Qi. From what she¡¯s heard of actual demonic practices, they don¡¯t feel like Qi at all, so it¡¯s not that, but¡­ it¡¯s not Truth, and it¡¯s not Dao, not really. There¡¯s hints of Dao, especially when the shadows ripple, and there¡¯s hints of Truth when the eyes appear, but neither feels entirely normal.


    But, priorities come first. She¡¯s still weak, still starved- and Taran remains curled up, unconscious against her torso, the strange metal tuning fork she¡¯s held onto trapped between them. And the Witch implied there was some tension, maybe even conflict, between the parties that fell down here. That threatens her friends, and her chances of finding them.


    That does change the equation a little.


    Raika walks over to one of the corpses.


    It¡¯s a corpse. There is no spark of life in it, no lingering hint of sentience or vitality like with the weapons of the corpse-smith. It is just¡­ dead meat, which once held a person. In this particular case, a person with a good physique, wearing upper-class merchant¡¯s robes, though not so upper class as to have jewels and gilding along his sleeves.


    It¡¯s not fair. A part of her, one that is busy and deeper down, reflects on that, that this isn¡¯t fair. He, and all the other bodies here, didn¡¯t ask to die. They didn¡¯t ask to get caught up in some¡­ some useless conflict, that means nothing, that revolves around the hunger and pride and arrogance of those with power. Maybe the witch intervening did save the city some damage; but for the people here, that doesn¡¯t matter. They¡¯re dead.


    In her core, Raika wishes to honor them. To tell them that it¡¯s unfair, to acknowledge that pain, to see it rectified and kept from happening again- but such thoughts are not the priority now. They are feelings, angry ones mostly, but they do not guide her actions nearly as much now, in this time of division and healing.


    The Mask decides that, with the fact her allies are in credible danger, priorities have shifted, and finding fuel is now more urgent. Besides; where there is Qi in abundance, there are spirit beasts, and surely the bodies will not be long preserved anyways.


    The Flesh decides that it is hungry, and does not care all that much where its next meal comes from.


    She holds back, though. Only three bites, all in places that burial robes can cover.


    Each bite is¡­ it¡¯s like eating a cooked steak, done right, for the first time. For all that her senses elevate the act of eating in general, sometimes to uncomfortable places, that bite of flesh holds the same thing that every bite she¡¯s taken in combat has had: satisfaction. It is not just flavor, but the freshness of the kill, the lack of decay or ruin in the material, the properly tuned mechanisms broken down to her taste¡­ her Flesh experiences it all, and knows it to be right.


    Maybe it¡¯s the left-over Qi in the flesh. Maybe it¡¯s the fact it¡¯s still raw, full of useful, convenient pieces to mimic and break down. Maybe it¡¯s the fact the kill is fresh.


    The Mask makes a note to test, later, if rarer ingredients with Qi or more complex dishes evoke a similar experience, once they are out. In the meantime, she stops at three more bodies, and from each, takes another two bites.


    They all taste different. They all taste divine. She shivers, and the Flesh wonders just how good it would be to eat the whole thing- bones and all.


    The Mask decides that it¡¯s a waste of time, and the core between them all pulls back at the thought, to which the Flesh seems to almost huff. Just a thought, it seems to transmit.


    And she walks off, deeper into the dark, following the trails of footprints, as her body unravels new fuel and feeds it back into her, crackling lightly and stretching new tissue where once there was ruin.

 Chapter 132 - A Nice Little Vacation Is All

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    Raika trots through the darkness beneath the city, careful not to make much noise. She shifts padding out in favor of bone, keeping the clicking of claws muted even as she struggles a bit with balance from the change. The awareness that the Witch is watching, passively at least, is enough to leave her on edge; the plan was always to find her, and she still has an idea where her lair might be, but otherwise it¡¯s hard to know how deep her power extends and how thorough her awareness is. While she may have been lying, the knowledge that her friends are trapped down here, under all this Qi pressure and isolated, pushes her onward. Members of an Imperial group (willing or not), surrounded by independent and sect-based cultivators while their ally went on a murderous spree¡­ it¡¯s not a very stable political platform, and while she doesn¡¯t doubt Kaena will find a way to use it eventually, the distrust will likely be¡­ difficult.


    Her system cycles newly digested flesh, pushing her healing forward by hours in minutes. Most of the dead possessed little Qi, only what they held in their bodies and didn¡¯t take with their souls on death, but even that much is enough to offer little boosts here and there. It brings up an issue, however, one that has been on Raika¡¯s mind, in some small way, for a while.


    She¡¯s limited. Her body is her greatest tool, and the True Flame her blacksteel fangs and Qi can generate, while useful, is both dangerously capable of raging out of control in larger fights and costly to produce. Her ability to heal and transform herself has been invaluable, and there¡¯s plenty more to be learned about how Qi is shaping her biology over time, but compared to most cultivators, she has no real artifacts, special techniques or unique powers. She needs more, to be complete.


    Hmm. Uncharacteristic thought, that. Maybe some dividends from deeper within, maybe a new conclusion.


    Either way, independently of everything else in the world, one thing is independently true; she needs to become stronger. Every single potential objective can be achieved more easily with a wider range of options and stronger ability to implement them, and at the moment, Raika has precious little of either. Unburdened from fear and guilt, at least for the moment, the solution is clear: the Mask sees the world around it, and decides the best way to accomplish whatever goals the whole eventually decides on is to gain more.


    Add it to the list.


    Priority one: find her allies.


    Priority two: escape the current circumstances.


    Priority three: grow stronger.


    All three rather abstract, and all three varying in immediacy, but none of that matters as much as the goals in themselves.


    A hint of tangerine-scent wafts out of her perception, touching her and vanishing again.


    She turns to it, eyes wide.


    The Mask knows that this is not the priority. It shouldn¡¯t bother with this. The Flesh could care less, fed and busy healing and changing as it is.


    But the whole of her stirs, and she turns in the direction of the scent, and begins to trot.


    It leads mostly in the direction of the footprints, but not entirely. She still proceeds forward down into the canyon, away from the rubble that marks where the city fell into the dark below, away from civilization and the false lie of safety.


    It makes some sense, though. Further forward, in theory, should be the mines, where the cultivators likely will be able to make their way back to the surface plenty easily. More reliable than trying to climb up a sheer cliff face towards a collapsed stone ruin up above, more than likely unstable enough to collapse again, and smarter than staying in place and waiting for this impossible Qi presence to wear them down or summon creatures to consume them.


    How in the Hells is the Witch doing this? Extending Qi pressure across, what, the entire gorge? Perhaps an Emperor or Titan realm cultivator could do such a thing, but to do it so easily, so comfortably, while still being in hiding? No cultivator would extend their aura to such an extent while trying to remain hidden, and no one at the level of power this should indicate would need to hide in the first place. Has she been cultivating in secret? Are her arts somehow more independent than ¡°normal¡± cultivation?


    The Mask ultimately deems it irrelevant, but the questions remain swimming behind her eyes.


    The dark stretches on, deeper and deeper.


    When she eventually finds the ¡°bottom¡± of the valley, she finds herself on what seems to be an entirely new kind of stone. Whether the collapse of the arena brought a mountain¡¯s worth of stone down with it, or there was always a sort of sharp divide between one height and the depths, it is a marked difference, one that feels¡­ uncomfortable. The deeper stone of the Crag seems¡­ grey, almost like compacted ash, or some sort of strangely pure granite. She places a hand / paw on it, gingerly stepping out onto the stone¡­ and starts to feel cold.


    Nothing like the Cold Sun¡¯s stone, nothing so intense or blindingly full of its own Dao, but the stone feels hungry. It leeches away from her as she touches it, drawing her body heat down into the stone.


    There is a confusion of footprints about the base of where the normal stone ends and the strange, hungry stone begins, but the scent, and the dusty footprints of two dozen cultivators, lead onward.


    So Raika follows.


    In this new area, she finds that the walls of the cliffs are no longer sheer. This deep, there are several weird shapes that only with her enhanced eyesight can she see are the entrances to tunnels, strangely organic. It feels¡­ like walking within a living thing, in a sense, the tendrils and veins of it extending out in either direction from the jagged scar that makes up the Crag proper. She can¡¯t help but compare it to the corpse-smith¡¯s mines, but where the tunnels there felt utilitarian, rushed and awkward but clearly dug out of the dirt, here the stone¡­ almost looks like its porous, the size of said pores enough that she can picture two of herself abreast walking into them with space to spare.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Her ears, catching echoes off the armored spikes of her new skull, pick up ever-so-slight chittering sounds from one of the tunnels. Minutes pass, and nothing emerges, but the sound does not repeat itself.


    She keeps walking.


    How far did they go? Shouldn¡¯t the sun be visible by now? Perhaps the parts of the Crag that apparently snaked beneath the city would expect to be covered, but by now surely she should be arriving to the visible edge of it, open to the sky above. Where is the light? Why is it so dark still, with no sign of widening out into the Crag proper?


    Making a decision, Raika decides to pick up the pace, bony exterior clacking against the ground as she uses her newly-fed Flesh to move to a trot.


    Still, the footsteps go ever onward, ever away from her.


    How long was she unconscious? How far could the others have gotten?


    Something isn¡¯t right. The facts don¡¯t line up.


    Instinct, already on edge, concurs, and pushes her instead towards one of the entrances to the side.


    She stops at it, curious what her body¡¯s noticed, and sniffs the air carefully, letting her many noses flare open and drink deep of the air around her.


    Hmm. A hint of Qi. Not the Witch¡¯s, but not yet consumed by the walls of this place. She sniffs again, deeper, trying to recall¡­


    The insectile cultivator. The one who made an impressive showing in the lower levels of the tournament, who she remembers trying to fight the divine spirit. It¡¯s vague, barely anything, but now that she knows to look for it she notices small threads of his Qi moving to a half-dozen other tunnels through the space.


    Finding no luck progressing blindly forward and curious about the new information, she sneaks into the tunnel, away from the open, broken space of the Crag.


    She walks for what feels like perhaps an hour, trotting a little slower now that the tunnel carries echoes so much more clearly. Along the way the tunnel is featureless, its walls strangely smooth and rugged in equal measure, so much that Raika almost feels like she¡¯s moving down a throat, but nothing jumps out, and the path doesn¡¯t branch or have any other entrances. She feels the Witch¡¯s Qi moving through the space, pulled through it like a heavy mist or fluid down a vein, but it seems inert and unaware for now.


    At the end of an hour of continuous movement, she finds the source of the insectile cultivator¡¯s Qi. The tunnel ends, abruptly, in a dead end, the very back portion of it more naturally stony than the strangely organic shape of the rest of the tunnel, and resting on the final wall is a small beetle.


    It shines bright green, its wings like emeralds in the dark and obfuscating the darker colors of its legs and jaw, but it¡¯s clearly a beetle. It¡¯s even still alive, her hearing picking up a faint heartbeat and chittering from it from a ways back, and it glows to her senses with just a hint of its cultivator¡¯s Qi.


    But it¡¯s fading. The walls of this place, the strangely living stone, drink from it in drops, pulling bit by bit, and she can see the little creature struggling to hold onto the wall, its little forelimbs waving weakly as it tries to maintain its grip.


    The feeding is incredibly slow, so while she doesn¡¯t know how long ago the bug was left, it might be at least several hours old here. Perhaps the others sent it, and its sibling-beasts, to explore other tunnels and report back to the original cultivator if any make for a viable path, but having found this tunnel¡¯s end, the creature didn¡¯t have enough strength to return.


    The Mask smiles to itself, satisfied. Nothing like a useful compass when lost. But if it¡¯s to be so, the creature must live.


    Gently, she reaches a clawed hand out to the bug, gently lifting it from the wall. It chitters, its mandibles clicking together and legs waggling in defiance, but ultimately, it¡¯s a big beetle that¡¯s very, very tired. She brings it close, using her forelimbs (arms? Sort of) to hold it close to her face.


    The beetle backs up against her fingers, wings flittering and mandible clacking weakly against her. She can imagine herself from its perspective, a massive, chitinous monstrosity, reeking of blood and combat and the very same stone all around it. Hardly anything human to recognize.


    Something to address before she meets other cultivators, perhaps. The Mask enacts its namesake, drawing from the Flesh¡¯s slight reserves from her latest meal away from healing and storage to begin to rearrange things. As the beetle watches, trembling slightly and turning about as if looking for some sort of escape, she opens her many-jawed snout open, wider, wider¡­ to reveal a human face, shaped over and around the human lips she made to speak with before.


    She says nothing. Neither does the beetle.


    It does poop out some pellets in her hand though.


    She¡¯s not as familiar with insect smells as she is with avian or mammalian, but she¡¯s pretty sure she can smell the fear wafting from it. That¡¯s no good; the more afraid it is, the more energy it will waste, and even now they¡¯re both being fed on by the maze. Her body seems to generate enough body heat to keep its effects mostly at bay, but for a little bug with a fraction as much strength and drawing most of its energy from the fresh and spring-filled scent of its master¡­


    A waste for it to die now. Would be a hassle to go down another tunnel to find another. She cups one hand around it, all six armored, clawed fingers making for an excellent cage, and brings a claw from her other hand around to her mouth.


    With a small, deft little cut, her tongue opens just enough for a trickle of vibrant crimson to fall onto her palm and the bug within it.


    Even here, in the dark, her blood is vibrant. Rather than turning the characteristic black it should when in the dark, it remains visibly red, as if the vitality in it is visible even in absolute lightlessness.


    At first the bug retreats, pushing its back against the bars of its impromptu cage- but then it pauses. Another drop of blood lands, and it steps closer, the scent of iron, fuel and flesh all blending in the liquid before it. It laps at the droplets in her palm, and almost immediately she senses its health return, gaining enthusiasm the longer it drinks, its legs clicking faster and wings buzzing lightly. The scent of the bug¡¯s own Qi, mostly buried under its master¡¯s, grows a bit stronger, a sort of clicking hunger underlying the fresh and natural scent of its master.


    She nods, shaping her human face into something like a smile (she needs to practice it again, now she¡¯s so disconnected from the emotion behind it). At the very least, the insect will live.


    Moving gently, she offers the bug her shoulder, and it happily chitters over onto her and out of her palm. It¡¯s nice, making friends so much more easily. Much easier convincing something without much brain to speak of to like her.


    Welp, that¡¯s a thought for her inner self to deal with later. For now, she has a lead that might potentially help her sense the others, and a vague direction to follow- towards the source of the bug¡¯s enhanced Qi.


    Moving faster now she knows the tunnel is empty, she makes sure to rearrange some of her spiky exterior to make a little nest for the bug where it won¡¯t be blown away, and runs back out into the Crag.


    And then she runs forward.


    The trail of Qi leads onward, and she runs, and runs, and runs.


    Oxygen explodes through multiple airways, pumping energy into a body adjusting to its new state, healing back from most of its wounds even as she continues to adjust as they move. The Flesh knows what feels best and what feeds their needs, and she reshapes herself along her instincts freely, giving herself permission to change more freely. The Crag begins to blur past, a comfortable burn settling in her body, the physical exercise helping the Qi in her to circulate through pumping blood¡­


    It is a pleasant enough few hours.


    It becomes a bit less so when the scent trail abruptly deviates to the side, towards a little alcove from which several of the organic-looking tunnels extend through. Even from far enough away that it¡¯s barely visible, Raika¡¯s senses pick up on the scent of spilled blood, steel and broken flesh mingling to cut past even the stillness of deep waters that pervades the world around her.


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 Chapter 133 - Minotaur Aint Got Shit On This Mess

    A corpse is a corpse is a corpse. In their own way, they all look the same. Previously, like broken dolls; nowadays, more like discarded meat. Useful, but ultimately empty. Inert. Wasted.


    The ground is strangely dry beneath them, an open throat and pierced heart surprisingly bloodless, and it takes a bit of time to examine the surroundings and notice the slightly reddish hue to the stone beneath the body. Even sniffing it directly, she can¡¯t smell any Qi from it, drunk deep along with the former cultivator¡¯s lifeblood and body heat. There¡¯s signs of a fight, slight alterations to the terrain as if earth was summoned and reluctant to move, signs of claw marks on the walls¡­


    But also shallow. Too shallow for anyone at the level of the tournament, considering the toughness of the stone (not much higher than regular granite). She presses her eyes close, pupils alien and wide to drink in every possible detail, and watches the marks shivering, ever so slightly, as they heal back over.


    Concerning. But not as much as the body.


    There¡¯s no spatial treasure, rings, or weapons on the body, but the robes, while stained, are intact. The face, frozen in slack-jawed surprise and fear, is unfamiliar. One of the fighters from the Stone Divers sect, if the robes are any indication, but not a standout.


    Of course the sects would be the first to draw or lose blood.


    She¡¯s not sure how deep the plot to coordinate between the sects runs, but its clearly not something everyone knows about. Jin Rou and Rei Ji certainly seemed determined in their own ways, but not very close either. Whatever old blood festers between the sects, it runs deep, more likely than not tied to the myths and histories they prattled on about. Whatever happened here, it¡¯s clear neither his own sect or the members of the Unearthly Depths offered much help, or opted to take the body with them.


    The scents here begin to disperse, and leave her with an interesting question. The scent of the Witch pervades the atmosphere here as much as everywhere else, and while there are sparks of whatever conflict happened here, they¡¯re already faded by the hungry stone all around. While its clear that several of the nearby paths were chosen, with some footprints leading back out into the Crag proper, she can¡¯t tell who went where.


    Well. Mostly. There are two directions that appeal.


    Towards the direction of a smaller tunnel, the Qi of her beetle-companion drifts, still connected to its master. Into that tunnel, she picks up hints of scent that are mostly familiar, but also notes that only three sets of footprints seem to have gone in that direction. Likely no sect-group members in that direction, but not enough sets of feet to be her allies, not if they stuck together. Which, knowing Kaena, maybe they didn¡¯t, dividing for appearance and best odds of survival. Maybe. Option one, small tunnel.


    In the other direction, a larger tunnel opens like a gaping maw, seven sets of feet (and several animal prints) traveling down it. Considering safety in numbers, Kaena is at least somewhat likely to be among them, and there¡¯s a chance Jin Rou or Rei Ji are with that group, having stayed behind to defend, and might offer some information. But then again¡­ some of the elders that made it probably went that way too. So¡­ option two. Beside that, five more sets of feet into a curved but almost as large opening, and another two who headed back out to the Crag.


    The Flesh tells her those two are already dead.


    She tilts her head at that, and stops to examine.


    The thought feels obvious, but the proof of it is hardly clear. It takes a little bit to click together the pieces consciously.


    First: these tunnels are alive. There is something beneath the city of Cragend, perhaps beneath the true Crag entirely, and it both feeds on all within it and can heal damage to itself.


    Second: the Qi pressure remains immensely powerful, enough that it nearly drowns out her senses. For someone with true Qi sense and a body designed to intake and exhale Qi, it¡¯s likely stressful in the extreme to simply be down here. Despite their more cramped quarters, the Qi flows through the tunnels, while it just sits, heavy and alien, in the central Crag.


    Thirdly; she is not where she should be. She knows how fast she can move. Her body, instinctively, knows at least somewhat how much running equates to how much distance. And from the rapidly-healing lactic acid and energy usage she¡¯s experienced, she should, at bare minimum, be well past the edge of the city proper and into the Crag. She can travel a hundred miles in an hour casually, and she ran at a decent clip for a lot more than an hour just to reach here. Either there¡¯s another miles-deep rock canyon conveniently placed at the same point in space and time as the Crag- or this place can influence its interior. Goes back to point one, the tunnels being alive, and the Witch being able to sense things through her Qi.


    The ¡°escape¡± priority is a bit challenged by some of these revelations. Still, she can see the point about the two cultivators in the ¡°Crag¡± now; between the isolation, the Qi pressure, and the fact this place seems to be actively warping its dimensions, it (or the Witch) are likely trying to herd them into the tunnels. Those two, whoever they may have been, probably didn¡¯t fare too well so isolated and out in the open.


    So. Follow one of the larger groups, or towards the insect and away from any sect politics or crowds of people she most likely (definitely) attacked during the chaos at the arena?


    When put like that, the solution seems simple.


    She considers taking a bite of the body, but¡­ between the draining effect of her surroundings and her recent meal, she¡¯s not really hungry. Eating now would be an indulgence, and she doesn¡¯t really have time for it.


    Well. Then again¡­ the more fuel, the better, and there¡¯s probably a bit of Qi still in there.


    The Flesh, of course, vehemently agrees.


    She takes what she needs to know the body is empty of all but the smallest scraps of Qi (two bites), and, on the buzzing and clicking of her new traveling companion, makes sure she gives it some scraps as well. If she were whole, the munching and chewing sounds against her ear may have been grating, but separate and accepting of new experience as she is, it¡¯s¡­ fine. The beetle clicks and flutters its wings, and she takes it as gratitude before covering the body back up and heading out.


    Smaller tunnel it is. Anyone at all that she could find would mean more information, and smaller groups mean less conflict (or an easier-won battle, if need be). And¡­ well, it wouldn¡¯t hurt to reunite her newest companion with its master, perhaps. That, plus the chance that the others took a risk to avoid the sect politics or anti-Imperial sentiment, it¡¯s as good a shot as any.


    She takes off down the tunnel, newly-healed flesh Changing to further enhance the padding on her limbs and make her movement near-silent, even in the tunnel¡¯s echoing confines.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    These tunnels are almost identical to the one she found the bug in, except that they actually do branch out. Whatever the little divot in the wall was, it seems to perhaps act as a lure into more complex paths, because she finds no less than three new tunnels which appear, all three of them leading down at sharper angles than the main tunnel. Her quarry stayed true, and on the one occasion where the path forked, chose left, at a slight incline up.


    She knows, in her gut, it was the wrong choice. And she begins to worry.


    If these tunnels are alive and somehow under the control of the Witch, she doubts the old monster would make such obvious hints about the right path. For all her eccentricity, she hasn¡¯t struck Raika as foolish or incompetent. On the contrary; in their very few moments of interaction, she¡¯s been¡­ alarmingly insightful.


    The feeling of being in something¡¯s gullet comes back, nice and tight around her neck.


    But fear is for the Flesh or the inner self, and the mask simply follows the chosen path.


    Not long after, she begins to hear sound.


    Outside of her own body and the echoes of the Crag, it¡¯s been startlingly silent in the depths. The occasional shifting of unknown figures deep down some of the tunnels she passed, sure, but otherwise near dead silence. She actually has to stop and listen for a little bit to make sure she recognizes what she¡¯s hearing.


    Footprints, and human speech.


    She doesn¡¯t have much Qi, not nearly enough to fuel anything proper, but she uses a solid piece of what she has to alter her joints, moving her body upright and unfolding her head to reveal the new face she grew. It¡¯s not much, her whole body is still in that same altered warform and she has two new arms literally holding a bundle of person that is sleeping Taran¡­ but it¡¯s better than crawling out of the dark on all fours, probably.


    She also retracts some of the padding on her feet, letting her footsteps carry faintly.


    Almost instantly the voices from ahead stop, and, trying not to scare them even more, she keeps moving, just so it doesn¡¯t seem like she stopped when they did. As she walks, and senses a slight stirring of Qi from up ahead, she lightly taps on the wall next to her.


    Tap tap-tap tap tap¡­


    From a ways down, a response. Tap tap.


    Good enough, and a decent start to avoiding immediate violence.


    The steps ahead resume, moving a bit faster but not in a panic, and she smells little on the wind beyond abyssal waters. The steps stop again not long after, though the echo¡­ shifts.


    Do or die.


    She reconnects her perspective to human facial muscles and prepares to greet and be greeted, as she comes over a crest in the hill of the tunnel and turns into-


    It¡¯s a cavern. Not a massive one, but big, maybe fifty feet high and a two hundred wide, with a small encampment at its center. There¡¯s signs that they¡¯ve been resting here, or perhaps set down their supplies in a hurry on hearing her behind them, and the space has a very small amount of light emitted by a cluster of glowing fireflies.


    In the cavern is the insectile cultivator, stance firm, an audible buzzing sound heralding him and coming from around and beneath his robes and hands, the scent of clear skies and crawling, healthy fields surrounded by that of clicking mandibles. Beside him, standing mostly together, are two more familiar forms one tall and slim, the other short and with three-fingered hands, with a complex set of formulae partially sketched out by arcane limbs behind them-


    ¡°Raika!¡± Yun Ka says with a massive smile. Raika flinches at how loud the sound is, but then has to suppress any other reaction as the skinny researcher and her dozen metallic contraptions launch themselves bodily at her and almost trigger a fight or flight reflex.


    ¡°Oh you¡¯re alive! Totally alive! Oh that¡¯s so excellent, I thought my great-uncle once-removed had killed you, or definitely that you¡¯d died when we had to head out and couldn¡¯t find you, but clearly you¡¯re not dead! Or a wraith! Probably. I don¡¯t think I could hug a wraith, though maybe with my mechandrites I could, but you definitely have at least one heartbeat ongoing so that¡¯s a good sign. How did you find us? How are you holding up under-¡±


    ¡°Yun Ka,¡± Raika says, trying to make her inflection as human as possible and only mostly succeeding; ¡°I¡¯m alright. Alive. But please. Introduce me to your¡­ new friend. Before your traveling companion gets themself killed, hmm?¡±


    Yun Ka blinks, turning back to the others, and then actually laughs in relief. ¡°Well, you already know one! Shapefixit, you don¡¯t have to hide behind me, it¡¯s Raika!¡±


    Peeking out from behind the formational circle, Shapefixit raises a hand in what¡­ might be called a wave. Raika finds herself surprised to see that she isn¡¯t wearing the heavy robes and hood that have so characterized her appearance in the Imperial seating, but is further surprised to see her so¡­ hesitant. Shapefixit¡¯s eyes are much larger than a human¡¯s, her ears long enough to droop down over her shoulders, but they stand at attention, back and away from Raika. The scent comes through not long after- fear.


    ¡°And this here is Shi Cho! Shi Cho, this is Raika, she¡¯s an ally, she was fighting the tiger and my uncle.¡±


    ¡°And a lot of us,¡± says the insect-based cultivator. ¡°Did you perhaps come to finish the job, then? I do not like to judge by appearance, but I have rarely seen one that evokes a monster more than yours.¡±


    ¡°Raika¡¯s not a monster!¡± Yun Ka says, a look of outrage briefly flickering over her. ¡°She¡¯s clearly classifiable as at least sentient, though sapience tests may need revisiting. And her cultivation method, while certainly outside the norm, fits none of the official moral or technical definitions for monstrosity classification and-¡±


    ¡°May I see my beetle, please?¡± Shi Cho asks.


    His stance has eased up, if only a little. He looks right at home in the caves, shockingly pale with a crop of incredibly black hair, his eyes a pale grey, but he holds a strength in his frame that is mirrored in his stance. The flickering, fluttering things about him hum in unison as he speaks, as if trying to imitate the words, a weird little tic that Raika finds surprisingly comforting, in a way. It at least sounds more distinct than most voices she hears.


    She nods, and shifts some of her armor, letting the pseudo-cave she made for the beetle unfurl back into the shape of a complete shoulder and pulling the beetle up to the open air. Immediately it buzzes, a deeper noise than before, and takes off, its wings large enough to make a bass hum through the air as it flings itself back at the insect cultivator.


    He catches it on an open palm, and immediately starts lightly petting its shell.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he says. ¡°I had thought this one lost with the others. I couldn¡¯t call most of them back, and they didn¡¯t have much fuel when they left. It is good to see one of the hive returned.¡±


    He seems to think for a moment, before shrugging. ¡°As your friend the honorable Yun Ka said, I am Shi Cho. It is nice to meet you properly, honorable Raika. I am both happy and disappointed we never got a proper match.¡±


    She grins at him, getting it mostly right. ¡°It¡¯s not often one wishes for a fight they would lose,¡± she challenges, checking his reaction.


    He puts his hands out in another shrug. ¡°Perhaps. Plenty have thought the same of me. I tend to find that being creative and having the right tools makes up for a lot.¡±


    Yun Ka perks up at the mention of tools, perhaps glimpsing some in the bundle in Raika¡¯s arms. ¡°Oh! Oh, Throne, is that Taran? I was wondering if they turned out alright. They¡¯re rather energy-intensive, even for a gestalt, and they have been pushing themselves lately. Let me check him over, please.¡±


    Raika nods, opening her secondary arms and happy to get Taran some assistance from someone who knows what she¡¯s doing. Immediately, the mechanical limbs pluck him up, keeping him in his curled-up posture and holding him in the air as dozens of lenses and a fresh tablet to write on materialize out of the many mechanical pockets Yun Ka carries. She seems to pretty much instantly dismiss most of the rest of the ongoing situation.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it serves any of us to fight here,¡± Raika says. ¡°Not with these tunnels.¡±


    ¡°She has a point,¡± Yun Ka chirps.


    Shi Cho shakes his head, but she turns to look over at Shapefixit as she says it. There is a hint of recognition there, a slight clicking noise from the diminutive fighter¡­ and her stances relaxes, just a bit.


    ¡°How long have we been down here?¡± Raika asks. ¡°Since the collapse. The space down here is¡­ bigger than it should be.¡±


    ¡°Truer words are rarely spoken,¡± Shi Cho chuckles. ¡°You don¡¯t know either, then? How this place works?¡±


    She shrugs, a weird movement involving too many joints. ¡°Only just woke up recently. Chased after the group for¡­ maybe ten hours?¡±


    She sees Shi Cho blink, and Yun Ka tilts her head away from examining Taran to look up at Raika.


    ¡°I find that highly unlikely. We left the collapse-site behind after the first day passed with no sign of rescue. Unless you suddenly traveled almost ten times your fastest recorded speed, that shouldn¡¯t be possible. We¡¯ve been down here nearly four days.¡±

 Chapter 134 - Save Spot (If Only We Had A Bonfire...)

    Raika takes a seat in the middle of their ¡°camp¡±, Shi Cho¡¯s fireflies fluttering about its center and leaving a pleasant circle of illumination around them. She makes sure her hands are all visible, and that she sits in a static position, not one from which she could easily pounce. The whole time, she watches both the newcomer to the group and Shapefixit for signs of aggression, trying to understand the new dynamic.


    Shi Cho, interestingly, seems to almost match Yun Ka¡¯s passion for Taran¡¯s still body with his beetle. He whispers and croons to it, mumbling a lot of his words but very visibly happy for its return, and she smells just a hint of his Qi coming through, weaving back with the beetle¡¯s.


    Shapefixit, on the other hand, keeps her eyes locked on to Raika, and stays standing.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Raika asks. ¡°Everything alright?¡±


    Shapefixit takes a while to say anything, but with both nerds busy, they have time. In the end, she lets out a quiet, warbling hiss, then shakes her head, her eyes never leaving Raika¡¯s.


    ¡°Not normal,¡± she clicks and chirps into words. ¡°Not the same. Predator, now. Predator only, it feels.¡±


    Raika smiles, a human smile with the right amount of teeth. ¡°Not inaccurate. We¡¯re¡­ fixing some things. Putting some pieces back together. I¡¯m a bit more focused right now. But I mean you no harm.¡±


    Shapefixit growls, like a machine-gun spatter of quiet clicks. ¡°Promise it,¡± she says. ¡°In the true tongue. This one has heard it.¡±


    Raika shakes her head. ¡°I can¡¯t use it right now. The Witch would see.¡±


    ¡°Oh? What do you mean?¡± Yun Ka pipes up, turning her head from Taran¡¯s still form and peeking over at them. ¡°True speak? And the Witch? I thought the Qi signature down here seemed familiar, but I can¡¯t identify any traditional formations that would allow it to flow like this, and-¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s here,¡± Raika says. ¡°Somehow. Can smell her. Like cold, dark waters, perfectly still. Something swimming in them. And whenever I speak with my ¡®real¡¯ voice, the one that¡¯s¡­ sort of lyrical or rumbly, she hears it.¡±


    ¡°I thought that was an affectation! You mean to say there¡¯s some sort of unique properties to-¡±


    ¡°True speak,¡± Shapefixit interrupts. ¡°Can¡¯t lie. The speech of the Heavens and the great Beasts and the true Gods. Can only say true things. She has it. Heard her use it. Not always. Sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Fascinating¡­ first True Flame, now something called true speech. Have you considered-¡±


    ¡°Not much, currently. No,¡± Raika interrupts.


    Yun ka pauses, then sighs. ¡°Ah. Apologies. I hate to be rude. I apologize if I in any way offended. I seem to recall you were uncomfortable the last time we spoke too much of your new ontology.¡±


    Raika smiles, as organically and normally as she can. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I know there¡¯s no malice in it. I just prefer to keep my own secrets for now.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t keep secrets,¡± Shapefixit clicks. ¡°Not with true speech. Always comes out.¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°I am a proficient liar, when I want to be. I lie to myself all the time. Maybe I¡¯ll figure out how.¡±


    Shi Cho giggles, then freezes awkwardly as the three of them turn to stare at him.


    ¡°Sorry! Just¡­ the banter. It¡¯s nice. I don¡¯t hang out with a lot of people.¡±


    Shapefixit huffs out a breath, and even Yun ka laughs a bit.


    And then Taran gasps in a long, strained breath, like the wheezing of something long-dead reawakened.


    He looks around wildly, his eyes weirdly pale and sightless, his body stiff and creaking as he moves and jangles his needle-piercings-


    Yun Ka just pats him lightly on the head with one of her arms.


    ¡°There there,¡± she says. ¡°Calm down. All better now. You should have a nice little infusion to keep you going.¡±


    Even as she says it, a syringe-tipped limb folds back into her contraptions, and Taran takes another long, shaky breath.


    ¡°Where¡­ where are-¡±


    ¡°Deep beneath the city. In a weird, fucked up maze,¡± Raika replies.


    He looks at her, and immediately she sees some of the colors in his pupil shift, ever so slightly.


    ¡°Who¡­ who are you?¡±


    She tilts her head, and for a moment, the Mask freezes. But then, she smiles again. ¡°I¡¯m Raika. Duh.¡±


    Taran looks at her, a dozen different faint scents wafting from them¡­ and then nods, slow. ¡°Are you¡­ with us?¡±


    She nods, once. Whatever it is that Taran sees in that nod, it seems to mollify them.


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    ¡°How are you feeling?¡± Yun Ka asks. ¡°Any current drains?¡±


    Taran shakes his head. ¡°No. It¡¯s just¡­ it¡¯s just me right now. We don¡¯t have the bandwidth to keep anyone else awake. I¡¯ve been tired since the fight with the corpse-smith, I haven¡¯t had a true rest in a while.¡±


    ¡°Mmh, understood. Raika, can you continue to carry Taran? Perhaps in a more armored method?¡±


    She nods. ¡°I can. What¡¯s happening with them?¡±


    Yun Ka goes to speak, excitement bubbling up about a new subject- but pauses, and looks to Taran first, as if for approval.


    He sighs.


    ¡°I have¡­ I¡¯m in the Altered Cultivation Division for a reason. I host¡­ more than just myself inside. Human bodies aren¡¯t designed for that. It¡¯s why I have these-¡± he idly flicks one of the needles working as a piercing across his body- ¡°so that my meridians are rerouted and slowed. I can¡¯t generate or absorb energy like I used to, but I can do it even while asleep, and the more I rest, the more I can store. I haven¡¯t hibernated properly in months, though. That last push at the arena¡­ I¡¯m tapped out. Spending any more could damage me.¡±


    There¡¯s more there, some that might be revealed if they asked, but¡­ overall, not the most practical action. So she just nods, and smiles reassuringly. ¡°Ok. I can carry you, and you can stay¡­ asleep? While I do. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll be able to take you the whole time, though.¡±


    Taran nods. ¡°If it¡¯s an emergency, wake me. Better to go out fighting or help to escape. Otherwise¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll let you rest,¡± Yun Ka says, patting them gently. ¡°Go on. Get some sleep.¡±


    Taran nods, stiffness already returning, and they visibly shut down, their eyes going as blank and still as a corpse¡¯s as he curls back up into that semi-foetal position.


    ¡°I can help carry him when you can¡¯t,¡± Yun Ka says. ¡°I understand he must be pretty heavy, and you must be exhausted.¡±


    Raika shakes her head. ¡°That¡¯s not it. I imagine things will become violent again, whether we want them to or not. Fighting while keeping him safe will be easier with you than with me.¡±


    ¡°And what makes you think we will have to fight?¡± Shi Cho asks. ¡°Perhaps when we find our way out, we will all ascend there together back to the world. There¡¯s no gain in fighting now.¡±


    She looks at him, eyebrow raised.


    ¡°For an insect practitioner to have never heard of a Gu jar is an interesting thing indeed.¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Figured I might as well put it out there. Though I¡¯m curious. In a Gu jar, the ritual area is sealed. These caverns, while strange, are surely just beneath extensive mining tunnels dug into Cragend for generations, hardly truly sealed.¡±


    Raika shakes her head, turning now to Shapefixit. ¡°No. This place is alive. I¡¯ve seen the walls healing over damage, drinking in death and lifeforce. You all must have too. Even for those with spatial rings and food, we won¡¯t last long here, and the Witch has no love for Imperials or sects. There¡¯s only one way out of here. We need to find the master of this space, and take an exit from her.¡±


    ¡°And how do you plan we do that?¡± Yun Ka asks.


    Raika smiles, nodding towards Shapefixit. ¡°With you two. Between your formula, my nose, and Shapefixit, your ability to sess out stone and tunnels, we¡¯re probably in better shape than most. We need to focus on finding our allies, eliminating the danger, and getting out, and the first two are interchangeable.¡±


    Shapefixit shakes her head, clicking, her ears flopping like sails. ¡°Mmmmmmh. Not normal, these. Not cave, not stone. It¡¯s godflesh. Can¡¯t dig through godflesh, can¡¯t use it without asking.¡±


    Yun Ka tilts her head, immediately intrigued again. ¡°Is this a personal belief, or a cultural one? Study of goblinoid culture is exceedingly difficult, I¡¯d love it if-¡±


    Shapefixit hisses, loud and long enough that it echoes strangely down the tunnels around their little clearing. She glares at Yun Ka, eyes like big black pools with slitted yellow centers.


    ¡°Is ¡®difficult¡¯ because your kind always quick to kill, slow to learn,¡± she snarls in that same bird-like voice. ¡°It¡¯s godflesh. We¡¯re in its belly, and we are not welcome. That is why it drinks from us.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve met this sort of thing before?¡± Raika asks, leaning forward.


    She takes an awkward half-step back, but firms herself, then shakes her head. ¡°No. No speaking. Not until you swear. Not until you truespeak.¡±


    Raika lets out a breath, a bit of frustration going past the mask from the Flesh, but¡­


    ¡°Yun Ka, can you make a formation? Something to limit the Qi around us? The last time I spoke, the Witch heard me. If we block off her Qi, it might make things easier.¡±


    ¡°Ah! An excellent idea, one I¡¯ve worked on a bit. Not much, cause we have to keep moving, it¡¯s important, but if I were stationary and-¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re stationary now.¡±


    ¡°So we are!¡±


    A dozen mechanical limbs unfurl, more than half of them equipped with chalk, vials of powder or small chisels, and in seconds the space around them is carved with a formation, thousands of symbols and letters appearing incredibly quickly as Yun Ka grins at them.


    Shi Cho coughs, looking at her in surprise.


    Yun Ka shrugs. ¡°I like designing formulae. It¡¯s fun!¡±


    The smell of the dark, still waters beneath the world immediately begins to fade, enough that Raika nods.


    ¡°Alright. Shapefixit. I¡¯ll try to be brief.¡±


    She relaxes, and though she finds it¡­ surprisingly difficult, she does eventually manage to dredge up her voice. Her real voice, the one that the part of her that is asleep and busy used in their talks. She sighs, letting the sound vibrate, feeling the small tuning fork around her neck vibrate ever-so-slightly in tune with it¡­ and speaks.


    ¡°I will not use anything you tell me to hurt you. You are not my prey.¡±


    The words ripple and echo and Raika can see some of the runic formulae quiver a bit as it contains the way it moves through the world. Shapefixit¡¯s eyes are wide, her body trembling, ever so slightly.


    And¡­ she nods.


    ¡°We are in godflesh,¡± she whispers again. ¡°Living earth. There are tales, carved into our eldest who are still and blooming their spores into the world. Speak of a time of greater peace. When goblins had more caves, more places beneath the earth. Monsters and more would come, but the oldest ones came from godflesh, and from godflesh came protection. By sacrifice and prayer, it would let us live, and let us travel through it. It was the old homes. Before you tallies.¡±


    ¡°What changed?¡± Yun Ka asks.


    ¡°It¡¯s godflesh. Valuable. Good for many things. Good for growing shiny stones and treasures. When we came to this city-place, I¡­ we wondered. Your kind took them or killed them slow. Away from your homes, in the farlands.¡±


    ¡°Shapefixit,¡± Raika says, keeping her voice as human as she can, ¡°can you guide us through it?¡±


    The goblin woman shivers, clicking her teeth together anxiously¡­ but she nods.


    ¡°Maybe. A bit.¡±


    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll use my senses. I need you to tell me when you feel something, or if you can tell one direction is better than another. Can you do that?¡±


    Shapefixit nods, birdlike and sharp but steadier than before.


    ¡°Meanwhile, Yun Ka, I need you to start trying to see if you can track the direction all this Qi is flowing from. If we know what direction to go in, it narrows down the search for the Witch. I found that she¡¯s supposedly near where the cracks are that are letting the sea trickle in.¡±


    Shi Cho waves a hand. ¡°Anything I can do?¡±


    ¡°If you could send a few bugs to scout ahead, it would help a lot.¡±


    He nods, his face calm and determined.


    ¡°Alright then. We go. Now.¡±


    And they do. Raika carries Taran at first, but it¡¯s not long before they hear the sounds of screaming echoing from down long, long tunnels, and the faintest scent of blood makes it to her nose.

 Chapter 135 - Sometimes People Need Stress Relief!

    Anxiety is a bitch.


    As someone who has met some real, tried and true bitches in life, he¡¯s pretty familiar with that fact. Hunger is a bitch. Pain is a bitch. Being afraid, now that¡¯s a bitch.


    But, conveniently, anxiety is a bitch Hao Nera has mastered.


    Fear is convenient, hunger, inevitable, and pain a good teacher, but some of life¡¯s bitchiest aspects are just there to bitch, and anxiety is as bitchy as it gets. Luckily, Hao Nera knows the trick to it.


    ¡®It is what it is.¡¯.


    Doesn¡¯t mean you don¡¯t work on stuff. In fact, at least to him, it encourages it. If you can¡¯t control everything that¡¯s gonna happen, if you can¡¯t change what ¡°it¡± is, you can still change what¡¯s around it. Anxious about dying? Get some armor, or find a better hiding spot. Still anxious? Maybe get a mate to watch your back, or an extra shiv. Still anxious? Well, fuck it, you¡¯re just gonna be anxious. Might as well do something else while you¡¯re about it. When you only have so much energy, so much food, so much time to sleep, wasting any of the above on a world you can¡¯t control is, in fact, a waste.


    So it¡¯s been a little bit frustrating watching Li Shu pace back and forth across the room and Qen Hou sulk in his corner all day.


    Now, admittedly, he hadn¡¯t actually met this Raika lady before a few weeks back, and she was a vision. She seemed¡­ off, something that Qen Hou was pretty adamant to agree with, and it didn¡¯t look like she¡¯d even noticed him in the crowd when she rushed out into the stands like a ten-foot abomination from the fifth ring, but still. Striking. He can imagine the appeal, especially with what he saw of her in a more ¡°normal¡± form up in the Imperial seats.


    But ever since the arena collapsed? Anxiety city in their little hotel.


    He¡¯s spent most of his time out and about in the city, and has managed on a few occasions to drag Li Shu along on the pretense of helping anyone injured in the collapse a while back, but Qen Hou especially has been on edge. He¡¯s had to dip out of more than a few fights between the two that he couldn¡¯t defuse about why they¡¯d even gone to the arena, why they¡¯d approached her, if it was their fault the beast showed up.


    Hao Nera, frankly, thinks it¡¯s a moot point. The divine beast could sense him hidden, and he¡¯s very good at hiding, could cut through space itself, and smelled their friend on a weeks-old battlefield with a hundred other dead bodies on it. It would¡¯ve found her eventually, and even he, unaugmented and as human as a cultivator gets, could smell the spiced, fragrant scent of iron and power in the blood that was splattered across the stands.


    As for how ¡°off¡± she was when they met her again¡­ she¡¯s been in Imperial custody what, half a year? More? Could fuck anybody up proper, that. Miracle she was still running around talking to people and not snorting paperwork and begging for orders. Bandit or not, regrets or not, he¡¯s glad he at least never signed up with that fucking racket. Good for rich kids getting more goodies, snatching up the poor but interesting, and making roads, is the Empire. All the rest is bullshit and politics, which is to say the same thing.


    But¡­ well. It is what it is.


    And he¡¯s got a nice fucking thing going here. Be a shame if he didn¡¯t do anything to keep it. Call it another victory for the outlaws of the third ring, keeping two pretty cultivators growing stronger and keeping him wrapped in blushing looks and safety instead of sucking down orders and shitting out politics.


    The arena is half-rebuilt already, the shadow of it growing back over the city. They¡¯re recreating it almost brick for brick, for Heavens forbid anything change in the hands of the Empire. The local Imperial Scion and the freshly-loaded merchant houses (who got paid reparations for dead families and lost profits) have been hard at work, and he can¡¯t help but enjoy the minor formations on their hotel that block out most of the sound as he scales its exterior. Hao Nera climbs in through their window with two massive, overgrown roses, a big bottle of spiced wine, a bigger bottle of something the locals say is from the north that is definitely alcoholic, and a dazzling smile.


    ¡°Honorable cultivators!¡± he yells as he saunters his way over the window sill. ¡°Welcome, one and all! We¡¯ve had a wonderful, darling, delightful time here in the city, but, barring further announcements, I do think it may be time for a little fun.¡±


    Li Shu is, exactly as he predicted, sitting at the table, polishing knives, and re-wrapping clean bandages, while Qen Hou sits off to one corner in a little ¡°meditation room¡± that the hotel provides. He looks like an absolute loser all alone in there in Hao Nera¡¯s opinion, but sometimes it¡¯s nice to see a hot boy failing at things. Li Shu turns to look at him first, and then pinches the bridge of her nose.


    ¡°Nera I am not-¡±


    ¡°In the mood, yes, yes, I know! You never are, my dear! Your paramour, your one true patient, lies trapped below debris being combed by Imperial savants far eclipsing us in power and experience, so the only solution is to wallow in worry!¡±


    He gives a little spin as he crosses the room before planting both bottles onto the table in front of her with a grin.


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    ¡°But that, honored healer, is why you have me.


    ¡°I¡¯m no wallower! I¡¯m an indulger, and I have indulged you in your sad girl energy long enough. Now, I have every intention of indulging you with fine wine, fine company, and fine access to that expansive bed you¡¯ve so studiously enjoyed without the involvement of us boys.¡±


    Li Shu blushes and blinks in surprise, and before she can protest, Hao Nera and Qen Hou are both moving. Hao Nera plucks out one of the massive roses, its petals overflowing from the rich soil in these parts, and bops her in the face with it, leaving her to sputter and hold it. Qen Hou, on the other hand, marches out of the cultivation chamber, a scowl on his face and blushing almost as hard-


    And coming up short as Hao Nera holds the second rose between them, like a shield.


    ¡°As for you, pretty boy,¡± he purrs, ¡°I am well and truly tired of you brooding through this house shirtless. If I have to see you walking about, sweaty, covered in magic fire, uncovered, one more time while we¡¯re in this room alone together, I will absolutely put the sound muffling in this room to work to keep you quiet.¡±


    He hears Li Shu choke behind him, but he¡¯s far too busy indulging in watching Qen Hou¡¯s face turn to six different shades of outraged red, flustered carmine, mortified crimson, and aroused scarlet.


    Different strokes for different folks.


    ¡°Now!¡± he says, handing Qen Hou the flower, maintaining the initiative, spinning about again to pick up the bottles of spirits. ¡°I am going to pour some cups full of alcoholic indulgence, and head on into that bedroom. Feel free to try a taste of them, and know that I will be disheartened but not discouraged if you chose to end your night¡¯s relaxation there! I will, however, be additionally disappointed if I don¡¯t get at least one of you fully relaxed tonight, so¡­ please. Do feel free to follow me. Both you uptight idiots need it.¡±


    True to his word, he pours out three glasses of wine¡­ and three slightly smaller cups he found in the cupboards just right for something a shitload stronger. Then he pours a fourth of the smaller cups, and downs it in one. And he takes one of the three sets with him off to the bedroom, refusing to so much as look at the other two cultivators in the room.


    He counts almost to sixty before he hears the clinking of glasses being picked up.


    He waits about twice that long before he hears footsteps come in the door.


    And finds himself smiling pleasantly at who arrives.


    Li Shu actually shoves Qen Hou into the room, and for all his talk of cultivation, he does almost spill his glass. Hao Nera is happy to see it¡¯s the wine glass, and hopes the other has already disappeared.


    He smiles as Li Shu, still blushing furiously, walks in right behind.


    ¡°Oh my!¡± he laughs. ¡°Ganging up on me? How unfair. And here I thought you sect-type, pretty cultivators were all about honor. However shall I cope?¡±


    Qen Hou, still blushing like a house on fire, says nothing, though he does give Hao Nera a look of annoyance at that, which sets him laughing.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± he says, picking up his cup and swirling the wine about before taking a sip. ¡°Honored healer? I think I find myself wounded. Perhaps you could come and examine me?¡±


    He lays back on the bed, wine in hand, and sees what happens.


    Seduction, see, is the art of giving people what they don¡¯t know they want. It¡¯s just like stealing; you want to know exactly where they¡¯re expecting to look, and give them a nice surprise when they realize what was really going on. It¡¯s how he¡¯s made a living the last few years, and, while he can¡¯t credit barmaids and village folk for the entirety of his training¡­ the experience helps. It helps hand in hand with months and months of traveling with these two.


    Li Shu rolls her eyes, and sighs¡­ but also walks over to the bed. She takes a sip of her wine as she comes closer and as he lets himself relax against the sheets. She pretends to play along, pretends to get close and examine him¡­ and he lets her know, without an ounce of pretense, what it¡¯s like to kiss him.


    He sits up, just enough to pull her to him, just enough to bring her close, and kisses her, soft, and slow. He takes his time. He makes sure that, every second that passes, she feels a sense of calm from him, a sense of ease. He blends into her perception of what she needs, what she doesn¡¯t know she wants, and pulls her in close, onto the bed, so that she¡¯s laying in softness atop him. He takes the wine cup from her hand, sets it on the nightstand, and pulls her in close, his hands working at every sore spot he finds down her spine, up her thigh¡­


    And then, he sits up a bit. Puts her in his lap. Kisses down the side of her throat, and looks over her shoulder at Qen Hou.


    He stands there awkwardly. Nervous. For someone almost six feet tall and strong enough, both visibly and as a cultivator, lift an ox, he looks like he¡¯s entirely defenseless and entirely lost, not sure what to do. Not sure what he wants. Not sure what steps to take. Hesitating.


    Damn. He¡¯s going to fuck the nascent heart demons out of that boy.


    Carefully, gently, he sets Li Shu to one side, still kissing her, still, kissing the side of her neck, back up to her jaw, to her lips¡­ and pulls away.


    She breathes, soft, and looks at him in mild confusion¡­ and he gives her a wink.


    He picks up his glass and sidles over towards Qen Hou, a big grin on his face¡­ and then keeps walking closer, into the other man¡¯s personal space, until Qen Hou steps back, once, twice¡­ and bumps into the wall.


    Funnily enough, Hao Nera is pretty sure that the shorter of the two of them could punch out the back of his ribs easy. A whole level of cultivation difference between them isn¡¯t easily overcome. But as he snakes a hand around Qen Hou¡¯s lower back, yanks him a bit closer, and kisses him, hard, one could be fooled into thinking it¡¯s he who is the stronger one.


    The kiss is hard, passionate, and jumps forward a bit as Hao Nera nibbles at Qen Hou¡¯s lower lip and draws a little gasp from him. He takes a long, enjoyable drink of the wine glass in his hand, and then pushes forward again, drawing Qen Hou up by the waist towards him.


    Qen Hou, honorable cultivator, all-around impressive warrior, vanquisher of beasts and constructs, wielder of the mysterious immortal Flame, whimpers in just the hottest way as he shares in the wine.


    And yes. Hao Nera is incredibly proud of that pun.


    Hooking him by the waistband of his pants, Hao Nera walks backwards, towards the bed, towards a blushing Li Shu, and puts his cup back down on the nightstand as he draws Qen Hou down with him to join the fun.


    Everyone needs a little stress relief sometimes.


    It¡¯s honestly kind of cute how furiously they blush when the sun hits them the next morning and Maen stands there, black as night against blue sky, holding a bloodied sword and looking at them in outright befuddlement.

 Chapter 136 - Fuck Your Death Game Shit, I Got Personal Stuff To Go Through

    ¡°I can sense them ahead,¡± Shi Cho says. ¡°Some of my bugs have reached them. I¡­ there¡¯s blood.¡±


    The Flesh takes control.


    They need food. They need healing. They need their pack.


    The blood, by all signs, is the direction where all those objectives are. The Mask agrees, and decides it¡¯s better to get things done quickly.


    Shapefixit hisses, and Yun Ka looks confused, but time in the dark of the tunnels will do that to a person. Shi Cho doesn¡¯t even have proper time to understand the reaction, the slight shifts in morphology that Raika adopts as she moves.


    Taran rests, placed gently on the floor behind her. And she runs.


    There is a rush she has kept herself from feeling. Disconnection from her body left it alien, discomfort and a tool to be used but nothing more, but as adrenal glands open up and muscles flex and shift and burn and it feels good. Like running on a cool day. Like the burn at the end of a long walk, or a comfortable workout.


    The Flesh glories in what it is, for it is all it is, and it sends them into the fray.


    The tunnel ends around a sloping corner and opens up into a mess.


    The chamber beyond is a few hundred meters tall and wide, so vast even her enhanced eyesight can¡¯t pick everything apart in the dark, and there are perhaps hundreds of tunnel entrances sprouting all along it, like walking into a den of worms. Each tunnel is a dark maw, some of them directly vertical, and then-


    No. Not vertical. The Flesh notices before the Mask; every way is the way out. Every way is the way in. In the excavated hole they emerge into, every tunnel is somehow, simultaneously, horizontal. The sensation begins to give her a headache¡­ but then stops. The Flesh can track the changes, feel the movement of strange axis and spatial warping, and the Mask doesn¡¯t need to track it. They just need to track all the targets in it.


    And there is much to track.


    She emerges out into the warped space, falling in a spectrum of directions, and counts the bodies.


    Blue and orange robes decorate the ground, but are outnumbered by the independents. She sees the beast-tamer sitting with her legs dangling from one of the tunnels, her pack surrounding her, on edge but out of the fight. She sees the ax-wielder, one arm missing, three of his halberd-axes orbiting him, sweating violently and breathing hard. She sees the wielder of blood-lightning, his Qi evaporating into arcing branches of crimson as his guts spiral out from the wound where his stomach used to be.


    She doesn¡¯t see Kaena. She doesn¡¯t see Jun Vral.


    But she smells peaches and serpents.


    Priorities, then.


    There are a dozen cultivators here, the majority of what remained from the arena, and the majority of them are dressed in Sect robes. The Unearthly Depths and Stone Divers sect sit at opposite ends of the impromptu gravity dome, each holding two or three tunnels, but between them, the ax-wielder, growling sharply at her arrival, and another cultivator, the one who used shadow and radiance in equal measure.


    She twists her body and falls to the ¡°ceiling¡± of the chamber, anchoring her claws into the stone to drag herself up the last few meters as gravity shifts with the angles of the chamber. Looking down, perched there, she unfurls her snout and lets her human face look down at the crowd, tracking the corpses and the bloody cultivators in the center of it all, watched dispassionately by the sects to either side.


    ¡°Is this what the noble clans of Cragend call honor?¡± The Mask asks, voice dissonant and echoing strangely. ¡°Bullying the weak? Forcing fights to continue, even after our fall into this place? Ignoring the greater threats around us for the sake of a bloody show?¡±


    Even as she speaks, she tracks them, looking across a dozen faces. They look¡­ drawn. Hungry. Cultivators can go for weeks without eating if need be, depending on their realm, but everyone here, with the exception of a few of the lesser elders of the sects, look tired, malnourished. Their robes hang on them, and the looks in their eyes¡­ they look empty, almost all. She sees only flickers of shame in some.


    ¡°Jin Rou,¡± she says, singling out the Stone Diver beside the older, wizened elder he stands behind. ¡°All your claims of the pursuit of justice, of good. Is this what it comes to? A little time in the dark, and you join in on death games?¡±


    He shrugs, the movement listless. ¡°I¡¯m-¡±


    And stops as the elder puts a hand out, glaring up at her.


    ¡°Who are you to question my junior?¡± he asks, his voice a bit raspy but strong. ¡°A little time in the dark, you claim- perhaps for monstrous things like you, such is an easy sin to bear. But there is not enough in resources to support us all here as we pursue an exit, and we will not stand traitors in our midst.¡±


    ¡°Traitors? I see. What a curious thing, that so many of the traitors I see fallen here owe no allegiance to you.¡±


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    The fighters, both pausing, facing each other across the tunnels, both look down. The ax-wielder isn¡¯t looking great, his physique compromised by what looks like a very recent loss of a limb (yeah, off to the right, diagonal-down, there it is).


    ¡°Days in the dark,¡± says one of the Unearthly Depths sect members. ¡°They went mad. Demanded¡­¡±


    ¡°Only the unreasonable, I¡¯m sure,¡± Raika says.


    Something stirs in her. Her core. Already a day of work into healing, but not gone, not absent, just refocused. But the moment¡­ calls to her.


    ¡°Ask your whore,¡± one of the Stone Divers snarls. ¡°They are the one that-¡±


    ¡°They,¡± Kaena says, stepping past one of the Unearthly Depths members, ¡°simply pointed out we don¡¯t have the resources to support us all. And that some among us are more a threat to the whole than others.¡±


    Their eyes look up and meet Raika¡¯s.


    Kaena¡­ they haven¡¯t suffered as much as the others, visibly, less starved or perhaps better at covering it up. Their Qi smells¡­ weak. Barely a whiff, where usually it would be a thick and fragrant thing. They don¡¯t seem particularly healthy.


    And Raika knows, better than anyone, that they didn¡¯t just do anything.


    The core of who she is awakens.


    ¡°Enough,¡± she whispers in a voice that thrums.


    ¡°There are greater beasts here,¡± she whispers. ¡°Screaming things in the dark. Eyes that whisper and feed on the stone that sups your blood and drinks your strength. And you spend your time on this.¡±


    She feels hackles being raised, Qi beginning to circulate, but-


    Not fast enough.


    She launches from the wall and lands between the Jin Rou and the Stone Divers elder. They both react near-instantly, already moving to respond before she had leapt, but she is shaped unlike a human, and they do not know her. Stone rises from the walls around them, manifest in a rich orange texture from the elder¡¯s Qi-


    She warps her spine, cracks into her bones, controls all that needs to be controlled even as the Flesh protests, to put her claws into the elder cheek.


    His face goes pale, his eyes wide, the voices around them begin to yell- and she just sort of looks at him.


    It is¡­ easy. Like pulling apart wood. Tough, but doable. She feels his Qi move in response, locking up his blood flow to the wound¡­ but it¡¯s small. He¡¯s just¡­ weakened. An old man, watching people kill each other and calling it proper.


    Before the blood has hit the wall, she has moved again. Left their tunnel entirely, leaving the five Stone Divers to scramble towards their elder and begin to raise stone and reshape it into defenses- but she¡¯s already left them behind, sprinting and ripping through stone all the way to where the fighters stand, confused and on edge (and, in the case of the ax-wielder, near bleeding out). They both react defensively, expecting her attack, Qi beginning to circulate-


    She launches herself again, at a new angle, into the Unearthly Depths members.


    She doesn¡¯t bother looking for the eldest this time. Many of them look similar ages, and it¡¯s always hard to tell with cultivators.


    She makes eye contact with Kaena for a moment before she slashes a clawmark into the face of the one with the strongest-smelling Qi in the bunch.


    Before they can retaliate she¡¯s left their tunnel again, anchoring herself to the stone and making her walk look almost languid as she starts back up to the ¡°ceiling¡±.


    ¡°Shame. Like fucking children. Scared, in the dark. You don¡¯t get to start making bad choices just because something hurts. You move forward if you can, and wait if you can¡¯t. You don¡¯t do¡­ this.¡±


    She looks down at them all, most of them on edge, weakened but ready to attack¡­ and laughs.


    Long. Slow. Loud, in the echoing space.


    Fuck. That¡­ that felt right to say. It felt true, deep down.


    ¡°There are greater horrors here. I intend to find them and leave this place, over their blood if need be. You¡¯re free to join me. You are not free to waste lives telling your ¡®lessers¡¯ to kill each other for whatever bullshit reason you might have. Walk forward, now¡­ or I aim for the throat next time.¡±


    A dozen cultivators. Two sects, one adept at shaping stone. If they fought her, her best chance would be to escape, not to stay and fight.


    But fuck, if the challenge doesn¡¯t feel right to put into place.


    She feels her core turn to rest. It feels larger now, better, like there¡¯s less strain in her self-image, but it¡¯s not needed anymore. The Mask watches for reactions, tracks their movements and subtle changes.


    Kaena is first to move. They step forward, walking past the others-


    And is stopped by a hand on their arm.


    ¡°We¡¯re not done here. The truth remains.¡±


    Raika turns her head to face the Unearthly Depths sect member who spoke, someone who¡¯s name she hasn¡¯t bothered to learn. Her armor ripples, a chittering sound coming low and quiet from it.


    ¡°We-¡± the cultivator gulps, his dark blue robes highlighting how pale he looks. ¡°Honorable Kaena has spoken true to us, and we have kept our oaths of alliance to the Empire, even here. This place, it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s eating away at us. We can¡¯t stop moving, can¡¯t rest. We don¡¯t have enough food or resources to keep all of us strong, and we need to-¡±


    ¡°I am yet to hear something other than an excuse,¡± Raika says, quiet. ¡°You have exactly one breath to take your hand off my friend.¡±


    She leaves the threat hanging.


    A second passes, and the Flesh ripples in hunger and rage and¡­


    And the cultivator lets go.


    ¡°Good boy,¡± she whispers, and laughs a bit at his face when she says it.


    Kaena steps out of the tunnel they¡¯re in, their cultivation more than enough to ensure they can leap ¡°down¡±, and Raika reaches out. She catches them in her claws, and pulls them close.


    She looks down at her ally. Kaena looks back at her, and for once, their face¡­ they¡¯re not smiling. They look up at her, and Raika sees a soft mixture of concern and relief.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t know how¡­ together you¡¯d be,¡± Kaena says, quietly.


    ¡°We¡¯ll talk about it later,¡± Raika whispers. ¡°We¡¯ll talk about this later, too.¡±


    Kaena¡¯s expression closes, but they nod anyways.


    She places them in one of the tunnel, and extends her hands wide.


    Hmm. Interesting. She¡¯d thought to guide them, maybe, use them as tools to push forward¡­


    But it¡¯s not clear if she can. The Mask, for all her talents, isn¡¯t ignorant of her faults, and managing this many strings of relationships at once, this complex a weave of fear and politics¡­ it¡¯s not in their current skillset.


    They notice the hesitation. They can¡¯t not. She hears her allies walking down the hallways towards her, and comes to a different conclusion.


    ¡°I¡¯m going on a hunt. There are monsters in this place, and I do not believe this trap cannot be escaped. I¡¯m taking the ones I can use. So tell me, right here and now, why I should bother dragging any of you out of the dark.¡±


    Shi Cho, Yun Ka and Shapefixit arrive maybe a moment after and look around, getting a feel for the chaos.


    ¡°It would seem we missed the excitement!¡± Yun Ka says.


    ¡°Not quite,¡± whisper the shadows, as eyes begin to open.

 Chapter 137 - Fuck Your Personal Shit, Death Games Upon Ye

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    ¡°Well, well, well,¡± whisper the shadows. ¡°What a joy. I knew you¡¯d lived, wolf. What a joy it is to be right.¡±


    ¡°As for the rest of you!¡±


    A dozen, then a hundred, then double that number of eyes blink open wetly from the dark.


    ¡°Hello! So good to see you all again. We have all our players in place! And already killing each other! It¡¯s a joy. This has been a good month for me, goodness. So many trapped little rats.¡±


    Raika growls, the Flesh snapping out and clawing out one of the eyes¡­ and swimming through it, touching nothing but shadow.


    ¡°Haha! None of that, dearie. I¡¯ll be out of all your hair in a moment, I promise. I just came to make an offer!¡±


    At this, the cultivators all turn to each other, immediately on edge, looking for who might take an offered deal- or wondering if they would themselves.


    Quietly, she hears Rei Ji mumble something along the lines of ¡°that absolute bitch¡±.


    ¡°It¡¯s quite simple. In lieu of more boring minds prevailing, I¡¯ll give¡­ say, five spots. That should motivate you little sect fellows properly. Five tickets out of the tunnels, into the freedom of open air.


    ¡°The five in question just need to kill at least one other person.¡±


    The silence gets louder in the space.


    ¡°Anyone, really! Friend, foe, doesn¡¯t matter to me. Kill someone, and be one of the last surviving five, and you get to go free. Ooooor¡­ follow the murderous monster that I¡¯m a huge fan of into the dark, hunting for me, and try your luck. Either way I win, so honestly, do what you please. I am the dark, here. You are the bugs trapped in my shadows. Squirm for me, and I let my new favorites go.¡±


    And then the eyes close.


    The chamber is quiet for a while. No one says anything.


    Raika nods.


    ¡°Alright. Fuck this, then.¡±


    Leaping, she throws herself to her allies, leaving Kaena temporarily on their own.


    She scoops Taran out of Yun Ka¡¯s arms, nodding to the tunnel she was just at. ¡°Meet up with Kaena. Grabbing two more. Shi Cho, smokescreen, keep attacks at arms length, Shapefixit, guide the other when they need help moving. Go.¡±


    She turns just in time to block the growing scent of aquatic Qi rushing at her.


    It¡¯s what¡¯s-his-face, the one she cut the cheek of to shame. He moves fast and hard, stronger than the others though weakened, a fist coming for her face-


    She closes her maw back over her ¡°face¡±, five different eyes swiveling to look into his and blacksteel fangs closing over the incoming blow.


    Before he can pull back she has his hand, severed and bleeding, and he screams, the sound echoing through the tunnels and agonizing on the ears of even regular cultivators. She¡¯s barely swallowed (it tastes of deep water and algae blooms, of joyous life and encroaching death, it tastes delicious) before he tries to pull back, still screaming, his Qi cycling- and she digs her claws into his stomach, ripping and tearing.


    An orthodox cultivator needs Qi to empower their body. As the realms grow, the body grows with them, but it¡¯s often a secondary thing, absorbing ambient Qi and strengthened by its improved quality as its inhabitant grows and learns higher skill and techniques.


    Raika¡¯s Flesh has drunk from it, raw and bloody, screaming and burning and scraping against reality in her veins and bones and lungs.


    He doesn¡¯t enhance his stomach¡¯s durability in time before she rips out a long, dangling string of intestines.


    ¡°One down!¡± the shadows cheer, like a quiet and strange gaggle of children echoing down the tunnels.


    As good a confirmation as any, but¡­ Raika chooses to bite out the throat of the gurgling cultivator anyways.


    To the Mask, it¡¯s faster that way. To the Flesh, it¡¯s tasty. To the part of her that goes deeper¡­ there is something a bit insulting about letting the Witch lay claim to anything. And leaving the cultivator to choke on his own blood is¡­ unappealing. Something in her prefers that the end come quicker for him.


    Important to note. It adds to the core of her, swirling about reforming identity.


    The rest of the chamber, of course, goes fucking insane.


    Three of the Unearthly Depths sect fly at her, all three roaring and yelling and saying all sorts of honorable things, but she¡¯s hardly paying attention. They can hurt her, or- no, the Flesh won¡¯t let that happen, it¡¯s just that the Mask can spend time focusing elsewhere.


    She sees Jin Rou pulling some of his sect members away, sees the independent cultivator facing down the wounded ax-wielder, sees the beast tamer just smiling and watching, even as the last members of the Unearthly Depths and two Stone Divers sprint for Yun Ka, Shapefixit and Shi Cho-


    Priorities.


    The Flesh dodges, moves itself away and apart and around, tracking instinct and experience in equal measure used without conscious thought to avoid the attacks. It¡¯s imperfect, an occasional hit coming through, but she turns away from the impacts, armored plating taking up a large chunk of the damage. They¡¯re weak, disoriented, but they work in tandem, but for the moment they hold her back, martial arts flowing from one blow to another and leaving just enough room for a fellow to move in and strike. She blocks, weaves, turning armored edges and bony spikes against the blows so they cut themselves when they do hit her, and tries to see how her allies are doing.


    Kaena is still, lips pressed in a line, concern and frustration warring for supremacy on their features, but the others are doing fairly well. Yun Ka, still wounded from the arena fight and carrying Taran, focuses on using her many mechanical limbs to carry her across the chamber¡¯s weird spatial rules towards Kaena, but Shapefixit, burning into what smells like a decent chunk of her reserves, almost swims through the stone. More like skimming over mud, truth be told, but she doesn¡¯t seem nearly as disoriented as any of the others, and is managing to throw off waves of stone that mess with the Stone Divers techniques, and Shi Cho covers them in a field of glowing bugs that make their defense more effective. They might need help finishing off their opponents, but she-


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    Fuck. The ax-wielder is struggling, blood loss slowing him, and Jin Rou is moving away, deeper into the tunnels. She needs to hurry. She turns to the cultivators, tries to-


    Mmh. Something in her doesn¡¯t want to kill them. Any wound, here, would probably leave them crippled and dying, fresh meat for the tunnels, leaving her minimal options. She tries to keep dodging, wondering how long it will take for them to tire-


    But her allies are in trouble, too. Outside Shi Cho, who has his hands full blocking off attacks and coordinating his swarm, they¡¯re not fighters, and Shapefixit is at a disadvantage in this strange material. She needs to hurry.


    So¡­ she takes a step back.


    The Flesh doesn¡¯t care, reacting to danger and aggression and moving them away from the strikes- but the Mask and her inner self turn to each other.


    There¡¯s no time for words. Just thought, transferred between different parts of the whole.


    She doesn¡¯t want to kill them. Killing them is, other than the most efficient possible result, incredibly difficult to avoid. Her allies need help. Her enemies, at this point, aren¡¯t exactly willing to surrender to her. And these are cultivators, not peasants. But their conditions aren¡¯t much better, trapped and afraid.


    A moral judgment would take too long, the part of her that is her Mask says. Too complicated. Too¡­ impossible to know. Too much exists in each and every person to truly know if they¡¯re good or bad, deserving or not.


    But it¡¯s a personal failing to disregard others because it¡¯s hard. They didn¡¯t ask to be stuck in the tunnels, didn¡¯t¡­ didn¡¯t step forward to stop the fighting. Or maybe did, before she arrived.


    It¡¯s too much.


    They¡¯re attacking her. They attacked her first. Claims of honor, or fear, or what have you, are secondary to that. And their friends are attacking her allies, one of whom is carrying an unconscious, powerless person. Whatever reason they decide for that¡­ that¡¯s a solid moral damnation there.


    And, the Mask ¡®says¡¯, more importantly than morality, they¡¯re keeping her from helping the people who need her. Who she brought here. Who she¡¯s trying to protect.


    Yes. That part is true.


    It is not a comfortable conclusion¡­ but it doesn¡¯t rest heavy, either. A part of her remembers glimpses of pitchforks and masks, of scarves and soft flesh that yielded so, so easy¡­ but this doesn¡¯t feel the same as whatever that memory might be. There¡¯s unjust death, there¡¯s murder, and then there¡¯s death which is chosen, established, and affirmed. She doesn¡¯t want to kill them, but she will. She chooses to. She¡¯s not blameless in their aggression, isn¡¯t blameless in their fear or circumstances¡­ but she can choose to do better next time, and not be trapped in indecision now.


    She rises from the near-animalistic dodges she¡¯s been using, steps forward from the tunnel they were pushing her into, and whips an arm forward, the longest claw on it cutting cleanly through the jugular of the closest of the three. One of the two behind him yells, eyes wide, screaming in fear or outrage, and grabs hold of the falling cultivator, but his fellow simply firms her jaw and throws herself forward. Her next blow slams into Raika¡¯s stomach, pushing Qi into her- and stopping, the technique hitting a wall of saturated flesh and cursed skin that blunts it to nothing.


    Two arms extend through her rib cage, and two more come over Raika¡¯s shoulders to pierce the soft matter behind her eyes.


    ¡°Hardly leaving room for anyone else!¡± the Witch¡¯s voice laughs, the air rippling with her mirth.


    The third cultivator screams, his Qi exploding forth into a stream of water so dark it looks like blood, refined into a diamond-cutting edge by pressure and rage-


    He manages to cut a solid chunk out of one shoulder before she reaches him, weaving through the tunnel and stepping past him as a claw takes his head off his shoulders.


    Was she always this strong? Was it always this easy?


    The Flesh whispers of faint hunger, and before the Mask thinks to stop it, opens her arm like a flower, pulling the severed head into it and crushing it beneath armor, bone and muscle, until slurry is all that remains, dragged by an ever-Changing anatomy into her stomach.


    It tastes of fear, of crushing deep, of overwhelming dark beneath oceans. It takes genuine effort not to turn back and take another bite.


    Her pack needs them.


    She sprints out of the tunnel. One of the Stone Divers is screaming, his flesh crawling with swarming, biting things, and Shapefixit seems to be just barely holding back the second Diver and the Unearthly Sects cultivator. They have a moment.


    Raika alters her momentum harshly enough that she feels her spine strain at the movement and launches herself along strange angles into the fight ¡®below¡¯.


    The ax-wielder is struggling, two of his glowing weapons gone inert and embedded into stone, the last one held in his hands. The radiant-shadow cultivator is advancing, his face set, his scent grim and determined-


    He doesn¡¯t quite react in time when she grabs his skull.


    In a copy of the move she used on the ax wielder, she transfers all her inertia on an arc, anchoring her claw into the "ground" and crushing the cultivator¡¯s skull against the stone.


    He¡¯s not as physically tough as the ax-cultivator. He attacked a weakened enemy immediately. She doesn¡¯t like him. It¡¯s not the best set of reasons to kill someone, and she knows it, but the danger of leaving him alive behind her or the possibility that he might die slow from brain damage or being used by one of the other cultivators¡­ well. It¡¯s enough reason.


    She can find out how she feels about it after.


    She lifts him up one more time, and this time when she brings his head down, it cracks open messily.


    The Flesh lifts her hand, and licks some of the matter of its edges.


    She turns to look at the the ax-wielder, the Mask¡¯s face bloodied, a long, sinuous tongue reaching out beneath and past it and licking the brain down a throat behind it.


    ¡°You look good at carrying things,¡± the Mask says, her lips moving even as the Flesh drinks down its prey. ¡°Interested in a job?¡±


    He¡¯s pale, his missing arm bandaged with torn robes and tourniqueted poorly¡­ but his eyes are clear as he looks at her, angled nightmarishly over the radiant-shadow cultivator¡¯s corpse.


    ¡°Will you eat me if I say no?¡± he asks, his voice deep and resonant.


    She frowns, looking down into her own maw and ¡®tsk¡¯ing at it to get it back under control. The Flesh grumbles, but, sated, calms, until it looks more like her face is a face, and not¡­ well, not a flesh-Mask in the back of her throat.


    ¡°No. I have other things to be doing. You fought well, and don¡¯t seem a total asshole. And you¡¯re not a threat. Good combination right now.¡±


    He says nothing¡­ and eventually laughs, his eyes a little hysterical.


    ¡°Sure. Why not.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Good. Go to the others. Pick up your arm on the way. I could use a snack.¡±


    He pales further, and she wonders if he got the joke.


    The Flesh complains that it definitely shouldn¡¯t be a joke, and he isn¡¯t using it anyways.


    She doesn¡¯t bother to see if he listens, taking off along the curve of the charnel house towards the Stone Divers.


    Some of them have retreated further, but a few are only moving now, watching the fights to get a feel for what¡¯s occurring. In the oppressive Qi presence and vitality-draining environment they¡¯ve been in, it¡¯s likely they found it more reliable to see things themselves than sense the results of the battle from afar. Still, with nearly all of the Unearthly Depths members wiped out, an independent clearly recruited or left unbothered, and the fight still ongoing with the two members that went for Yun Ka, Shapefixit and Shi Cho¡­


    Well. They¡¯re trying to retreat pretty quick.


    Jin Rou and his two remaining sect-siblings back away from the entrance to the tunnel they¡¯ve chosen, and start to close it off- and she stabs a hand through one of the still-reforming stone blocks, aim for where its thinnest and reaching an arm through it, Mask staring through the hole she¡¯s made.


    ¡°Jin Rou!¡± she snarls, letting her voice echo. ¡°Come with me, and I let your sect-siblings live. Run, now, and if you make it out of this place, I will hunt you down.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you!¡± he roars. ¡°All this fucking mess is as much on you as it is on the Witch. If you hadn¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°You guide me to the Witch, and we all leave. You stay in there, and your best chance is to kill each other and hope my group dies before this place drinks you dry.¡±


    The stone forming around the entrance slows, and she takes the opportunity to rip her arm free again, widening the hole. The Mask looks into the widened gap, smiling very humanly, showing very little teeth.


    ¡°Five spots. And I¡¯ve got six teammates. Do the math.¡±


    The two Stone Divers turn to Rei Ji. Look to each other. Back to him.


    He stays very still, eyes locked onto her through the gap.


    ¡°Fucking Imperials,¡± he hisses.


    ¡°Chin up, honorable Jin Rou. If we get back before my friends kill your sect members, you can even keep them.¡±

 Chapter 138 - Short Rests Are Super Underutilized

    They did not, in fact, get to keep them. The ax-wielder (who she¡¯s taken to calling Ax in her head for brevity¡¯s sake) decided to take some initiative, and one of his spirit weapons is currently glowing dimly in the back of one of the Stone Divers sect members, and Shi Cho¡¯s swarm managed to finish off the other (messily. Very messily). The Unearthly Depths cultivator apparently surrendered, though, so¡­ good for her. That accounts for everyone, save the beast tamer, who apparently just¡­ left sometime in the fight.


    They stand together in the chosen tunnel now, Kaena having retreated quietly to the back of the group. Yun Ka is busy stitching Ax¡¯s limb back on, a flurry of mechanical activity bandaging it at the same time. Raika herself, or at least Raika¡¯s Mask faces the others, perched at one end of the somewhat shorter tunnel so she doesn¡¯t brush her head against the ceiling.


    ¡°So,¡± she says. ¡°We know that the Witch has control over this area. The stone walls are alive. Shapefixit has experience with this material, and Yun Ka is an expert in experimenting with and studying unique Qi signatures. I have my nose, Jin Rou, you¡¯ve met the witch, and Shi Cho, your bugs can scout ahead of us. We¡¯ve got a good chance of making it through the maze towards her. At least better than we do alone, or in groups.¡±


    Ax raises his good hand. ¡°You mentioned carrying something?¡±


    She nods. ¡°You¡¯ll be carrying Taran, who¡¯s currently incapacitated, and Kaena. Their Qi is likely more at risk here than even ours, though they seem to have some technique to mitigate it. I believe the draining effect comes from contact with the stone around us, or at least is added to by contact, and the more people we have not touching the floor, the more they might be able to recover.¡±


    Kaena starts a bit at being referenced, and looks at Raika, eyes¡­ surprisingly expressive, as if surprised to be mentioned or remembered. Raika just nods to them, once. They seem to read into a bit, but nod back.


    ¡°And us?¡± asks one of the remaining Stone Divers, pointing to himself and the surrendered Unearthly Depths cultivator, who seems to have shut down a bit and is perhaps the weakest in the group after spending Qi in combat and resting against the stone now.


    Raika shrugs. ¡°I don¡¯t want to kill you. I don¡¯t think you¡¯re of particular use. Haven¡¯t even learned your names. If we win, we all get out of here and you can go back to your sect. We lose, you¡¯re dead anyways. Jin Rou''s the strongest among you, and I¡¯m pretty sure myself or Ax have decent chances of winning one on one with him, never mind in a group.¡±


    Ax cocks an eyebrow, easily looking over Yun Ka¡¯s head at her. ¡°Ok, you do know my name is-¡±


    ¡°I actually don¡¯t care right now, we have bigger things to deal with. As payment for saving your life and having my friend stitch your arm back on, you carry our stuff and have a big ax. I¡¯m calling you Ax.¡±


    He looks like he might protest, but then actually shrugs, wincing at the pain in his newfound stitches. Yun Ka is finishing up a splint and strap to carry with him, and while Raika¡¯s confident in her needlework, it¡¯s, at best, not a large chance that he¡¯ll recover use of it. Might end up as just another drain on his system as he cycles Qi and tries to heal it. Without an actual healer, the chances of a full recovery are¡­ not great.


    But he doesn¡¯t seem to mind, and it would be hypocritical as hell for her to judge someone on their healing capabilities and what is or isn¡¯t possible.


    ¡°Shapefixit. I can guide us by the strength of the Qi in these tunnels, but I don¡¯t understand their layout. What do you know?¡±


    The goblinoid squirms a bit under all the attention from people so much taller than her, but clears her throat to speak nonetheless, filling the air with her clicking, warbling accent. ¡°It¡¯s godflesh. Every part of godflesh can eat what it touches, but slowly. We have not seen many monsters yet, so perhaps this god is asleep, or perhaps the Witch has¡­ done something to it. Somewhere in the tunnels, hidden, there should be a core, the heart. That is where the Witch will likely be.¡±


    ¡°Jin Rou, you said you met her before. Near the end of the Crag, where the sea leaks in. Did you see anything like that?¡±


    Just about everyone turns to look at him, his sect members especially almost taking a step back in their suspicion. He sighs, refusing to meet their eyes, and shrugs. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It was¡­ overwhelming. Dark. She¡¯s old. Powerful. We met in an empty chamber, with a lake in the middle of it. Even with lights, she still¡­ it still looked like it went on for miles.¡±


    ¡°Could you recognize the tunnels you went through if we see them again?¡±


    It takes a few seconds, but he nods, and she doesn¡¯t hear his heart speed up for a lie. Useful, if only a bit.


    ¡°Alright. The Witch is watching. Don¡¯t expect it to be easy. Yun Ka, when you¡¯re done, I want you to try to set up a moving formation for us, something to disguise us. Shapefixit, you and I will guide forward. Shi Cho, if we hit an intersection, you send out some bugs, but keep them small, avoid her notice.¡±


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    Shi Cho nods, pale skin a bit paler after how much Qi the last fight dragged out of them all. ¡°If my swarm members are too small, they won¡¯t live long in the dark.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. Call them back if you need to. We¡¯ll use what they see to decide where to go, they don¡¯t need to explore whole tunnels.¡±


    ¡°Why do you think she¡¯ll even let us close?¡± The Unearthly Depths survivor says, her eyes half-vacant. ¡°We¡¯re in her belly. Drowning in her waters. Trapped in the dark, with monsters-¡±


    Raika steps over to her and slaps her in the jaw. Not hard enough to break anything, only just hard enough to break the skin. The woman, visibly a few years older than Raika was before her change, looks up at her, teary-eyed and trembling.


    Raika crouches in front of her. ¡°Stay here and die, then. Or try to kill one of us. You have choices. Don¡¯t waste them on whimpering.¡±


    It¡¯s not particularly kind, but¡­ it feels right to say. She¡¯s a cultivator. She should be more.


    They all should be. Even Raika. Especially her.


    ¡°We move out in ten minutes,¡± she says, letting her voice echo down the tunnel a bit to make sure she holds their attention. ¡°The more time we waste, the more we lose energy. Move forward, or stay still and die. Be ready.¡±


    Then, she turns to Kaena.


    They still look shaky, but¡­ they avoid her gaze. Not out of fear. Not out of frustration. Out of¡­ no. Not quite shame, either. Perhaps just disappointment.


    Saying nothing, Raika walks to the back of the tunnel with her friend, leaving the rest to prepare themselves, set up gurneys or a backpack for Ax to carry their weaker members. Not much time, but¡­ a bit.


    Once they¡¯re far enough that she¡¯s fairly certain that no one can hear them without actively listening in, she crouches, refusing to tower over Kaena in this moment. Kaena just¡­ looks at her.


    ¡°I did what I had to do,¡± they said. ¡°They were going to turn on each other sooner than later, and I couldn¡¯t guarantee they wouldn¡¯t turn on me first.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°I know. You¡¯re not a fighter. I figured it was something like that. Apparently it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s been maybe a day for us, down here, but I know it¡¯s been longer for the rest of you. I worry this place warps time as easily as it has space.


    ¡°But you sat back and watched. It might not have been guaranteed, or easy, but you pushed them into killing the disloyal. And you benefited.¡±


    Kaena is quiet.


    ¡°I don¡¯t dislike what you did. Lie, cheat, manipulate. Do what you will. But Raika, in our wholeness, cannot stand how you did it.¡±


    ¡°In your wholeness, hmm?¡± Kaena says, scoffing lightly. ¡°Not exactly all-better, are you beastie?¡±


    ¡°No. We¡¯re coping. After we escape, we¡¯ll re-evaluate. Our parasite is removed, and we are changing. In the meantime, we need to focus. I am not angry. I am not even disappointed. I am simply informing you that I will not allow it to happen again. Factor it in as you need to.¡±


    Kaena says nothing this time, but¡­ Raika smells a hint of peach out of the mercury scent. Not sweetened, not sugary, but¡­ present, where it was in retrograde before. Kaena¡¯s expression remains stiff, worried, but it relaxes a bit, carrying the scent of something like relief.


    Raika extends a hand, palm up, clawed and monstrous. It has one finger too many, and some of its claws extend well past the end of the limb, but it rests there, between them. An offering.


    Kaena lightly touches her palm with the tips of their fingers. Soft, delicate flesh against padded muscle and chitinous armor plates.


    ¡°Us monsters have to stick together. Right?¡±


    Kaena scoffs, but it is lighter, and in the dark, invisible, Raika scents the salty taste of what might be a tear. ¡°Sure, beastie. I suppose we do.¡±


    Raika nods, her Mask smiling faintly. It looks worse than normal, less organic, but¡­ it¡¯s truer, and the Mask is less equipped to express that. It rings a bit truer for it.


    ¡°Speaking of snakes,¡± she says, ¡°what happened to Jun Vral?¡±


    Kaena sighs, low and soft. ¡°Went off on their own. Said their snakes were strangely resistant to the drain in here, said he¡¯d go to scout. Didn¡¯t come back. We¡­ I haven¡¯t had time to think of a plan for him.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°He¡¯s survived worse than tunnels. If he claims resistance, then it could be he¡¯s alright, just separated by the Witch or the tunnels. All the more reason to kill her quickly.¡±


    Kaena nods. Raika smiles, delicately closing her hand over Kaena¡¯s, sharp-edged weapons against delicate skin¡­ but softly enough that they don¡¯t draw a drop of red. Just enough to know they¡¯re there.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be alright for Ax to carry you?¡±


    Kaena sighs, rolling their eyes and resuming a bit of their usual posture. ¡°I¡¯ve been through worse, beastie. And if you¡¯re right, I¡¯d appreciate the chance to recharge. This place¡­ it¡¯s not a good place to have your Qi on the outside.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Watch over Taran while there. He¡¯s asleep, and said something about hibernating.¡±


    They nod. ¡°Of course. Surprised it took this long for them to fall into it, honestly. I¡¯ll watch them.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    She turns back to the group, seeing most of them ready and waiting, afraid and drawn, tired and hurt.


    It¡¯ll have to do.


    ¡°Come on,¡± she says. ¡°We¡¯re moving. The longer we wait, the worse this place drains us.¡±


    Ax hesitates a bit, but eventually agrees to Kaena¡¯s presence under a look from Raika. Yun Ka set up a sort of scaffolding on his back while working on his sling, and Taran is already taking up one spot there. Kaena climbs up as carefully as they can, though it¡¯s more than a little awkwardly, and just as Ax is about to get up, Yun Ka actually hops up on his shoulder too.


    ¡°Your service is appreciated!¡± She says, still artificially bright even down in the dark. Before he can go to protest, she deploys a dozen mechanical arms in a radius, like a massive crown above the whole group. Each one holds a small tablet, a series of runes and formulae deploying and beginning to glow from them. The jade at her side glows a bright green, a bit faded from its norm, and she waves to Raika.


    ¡°It might last us a few hours, or a few days,¡± she says. ¡°Hard to tell! Very difficult to make a moving formation. Not as difficult as making a formation that¡¯s always being eaten, though. Good challenges!¡±


    Raika nods.


    ¡°Shapefixit? Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you soon¡­¡± whisper the shadows to Raika as they move deeper into the dark.

 Chapter 139 - The Underdark Fucking Sucks If You Dont Have Darkvision

    The presence of the Witch remains overwhelming, but Yun Ka¡¯s formation, mobile thanks to their newest beast of burden, reduces it considerably within its ¡°domain¡±. The darkness of the tunnels, beaten back only by the light of the runes and the few illumination artifacts carried in spatial rings, is pervasive, constant, the dark extending out in every direction behind and in front of them.


    Shapefixit picks most of their turns of movements, with the occasional split in the path or intersections being at least partially searched by Shi Cho. She asks leading questions, about the texture of the stone, the presence of ridges or (after some effort translating) ¡°marbling¡±, and makes seemingly arbitrary choices. Throughout it all, Raika keeps her senses sharp, her nose fully opened, the Flesh adjusting step by step to the overwhelming smells- and providing clear markers where the scent shifts. She¡¯s not sure that the Witch isn¡¯t actively transforming the tunnels somehow, trying to track them. Considering she¡¯s only spoken clearly to them after Raika used her ¡°truespeak¡±, she¡¯s willing to bet that the strange old monster can¡¯t see them behind Yun Ka¡¯s formation¡­ but willing to bet doesn¡¯t mean sure.


    The first hour goes quickly. The next two, slower.


    After six hours of walking in the dark, having turned to new tunnels only once or twice, the oppressive nature of the journey makes itself clear. Everyone is tired. Everyone is sore, or exhausted.


    Except, interestingly, for Raika. With fresh flesh in her stomach, she has enough Qi to partially fuel her, and even without it, she still doesn¡¯t feel tired. When necessary, she refreshes fatigued or damaged flesh with the Qi she¡¯s devoured, and otherwise, she finds herself strangely suited to the environment. It¡¯s cold still, the walls eagerly leeching body heat from her, but whether it¡¯s due to her cursed skin or lack of meridians, there¡¯s minimal drain on her Qi reserves. It¡¯s possible, she assumes, that someone with enough control could do the same, keeping any and all Qi trapped in their body even if it were being tugged at, but it might take more talent (or a better mental state) than anyone here possesses to do so. It might explain Kaena¡¯s resistance, too; their Qi is always out of their body, always in danger of dissipating, but perhaps the control over it they¡¯ve had to learn grants them a greater durability against the tunnel¡¯s hunger.


    As time passes, Raika wonders about the world above. About the chaos and mess left behind. If she felt barely a day pass to the other¡¯s four, it¡¯s possible that, further away from the tunnels, things have progressed even slower. Or faster. Or in some other direction she doesn¡¯t really get. She wonders how Li Shu and Qen Hou are doing. If Maen is alright, if they¡¯ve hit it off together. If Taurus has come to the city thanks to all the chaos and loss of so many of his ¡°research subjects¡±.  She wonders how the sects are coping with losing so many of their cultivators, and even a few elders. Crippled by the Empire they may be, but pride is no easy burden to set aside.


    It¡¯s idle thought, useless down in the dark. All it does is distract. But she lets herself think on it anyways.


    It brings up interesting thoughts. She feels them swirl, moving through her. The Mask doesn¡¯t need them, the Flesh can¡¯t touch them, but, left adrift in her mind, she feels the rest of her self moving through it, drinking it in in a way.


    Down here in the dark, even separated into practicality and instinct alone, she¡¯s still chosen to help Taran, rather than leaving him behind. She still hesitated to kill. She chose to confront Kaena, to speak to them about what they did, and¡­ acknowledge it. It wasn¡¯t damnation or distaste that guided the conversation. Raika had looked for the things that felt most right to say, and the words spoken had been of care. Of empathy. Of boundaries, yes, but not of judgment.


    Maybe her memories are lost. Maybe she¡¯ll only ever recover snippets of them. But it¡¯s clear that her underlying self, the feelings that came with them, remain, and that gives her some hope of their recovery. There are pieces of her just¡­ missing. Without the Mask or Flesh, it¡¯s more than likely she¡¯d have fallen apart, lost trying to recall the moments that feel they should be there. She knows they were cut away intentionally, that all that remained clear is what would feed Zhoulong¡¯s lies¡­ but knowing that their inverse exists, that there are good memories associated with herself, with her allies, isn¡¯t the same as feeling them.


    And yet¡­ she¡¯s made choices on those beliefs. That there are those who care for her. That she can trust. That empathy is deserved. Those ideals, those feelings, live on even without the exact thought that once created them.


    So ultimately¡­ it¡¯s choice.


    It¡¯s a choice, to be hopeful. To decide to progress. Her memories of her time on the street or in the beast tide feel mostly untouched, but¡­ the fact that they¡¯re left intact for a reason, to manipulate her into the worst of her coping mechanisms and beliefs, means that they stand apart from her core. She learned from them, and perhaps, in isolation, after a longer period of possession, she might have learned different lessons from them, divorced from the good. Instead, she feels what came from them, the shape of the gaps in her memories and feelings, and knows that she learned something else.


    She survived.


    She survived, and came out stronger.


    That part feels organic, assumed, tailored to be seen- but with that survival, with that strength, comes a sense of isolation, nearly total, nearly complete¡­ and that feels wrong. That, too, feels tailored to be seen, but¡­ unlike her survival and strength, it feels tailored to weaken her. Whether Zhoulong put the thoughts there, or if she spawned them herself, it still stands to reason that, in the cold light of logic and self-examination, it¡¯s wrong.


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    She¡¯s not alone. There are people who care for her. People willing to struggle for her, willing to fight for her. Kaena bared their soul, begged to assist when they saw how badly she was doing. Taran¡­ there is an affection there that doesn¡¯t match the memories that remain, and she has chosen that there is more there. Yun Ka, she still feels little for, but¡­


    The Mask keeps them walking. Keeps examining their surroundings and allies. The Flesh points to every direction where the Witch¡¯s Qi grows thicker, denser, more vibrant, coinciding more often than not with Shapefixit¡¯s wants.


    And as she walks, she feels.


    The end of the first day has them stop and rest, sleeping in shifts. Yun Ka volunteers to stay up all ¡®night¡¯, claiming plenty of other all-nighters in her past, but the Jade dims by the time morning comes and they begin to walk again.


    There is unrest. Everyone is suspicious, afraid, hungry or simply worn down by the constant dark and claustrophobia.


    Raika notices when the Unearthly Depths sect member walks off into one of the tunnels sometime during a break in their second day of walking. She doesn¡¯t stop her.


    She thinks, instead. She feels.


    She has killed, down here. She knows she has other sins, can feel the weight of missing thoughts and how they shape her, but they feel¡­ different. She killed with her own hands, willingly and actively, down here in the dark. She has, now, watched another choose death, and killed by inaction.


    But¡­ it¡¯s arrogant, isn¡¯t it? To assume she can control others¡¯ actions, that she¡¯s responsible for them. The Unearthly Depths cultivator decided to walk into the dark on her own. The radiant-shadow cultivator chose to pursue the death of another. Is it just? Fair? No. It can¡¯t be. Death, and life, aren¡¯t fair. Raika¡¯s experienced more than enough blessings and curses both to believe that. She is responsible for her own choices, and Zhoulong left more than enough to inform her that many of them are bad¡­ but not all. Maybe not even most. She is¡­


    I Am Me. I Am Mine.


    The words have weight again. Full and complete. The Truth of them burns.


    She is only herself. She can only do what she can do. And yes, she Can Change, but¡­ she doesn¡¯t need to be perfect now. No one has asked that of her, save herself, and perhaps Zhoulong, to his own twisted standards.


    There is more work, still. The thoughts are new and small, but they hover there, and they are hers. Her thoughts, seen through a more practical lens, seen through a lens of a lack of direct involvement. With so much of her memories and so many of her emotions broken, disconnected, she has a chance to look at them more honestly¡­ and she finds she actually doesn¡¯t dislike most of them.


    It occurs to Raika, rather faintly, down in the winding tunnels of ¡°god-flesh¡±, that¡­ maybe she doesn¡¯t hate herself. Not really.


    The pain is still there. The fear, and the guilt, and the shame, floating free in her skull and bright as coals at night- but they are left there on purpose. And, contrarian that she is, maybe that means that she doesn¡¯t need to listen to them so much. Maybe there is more.


    A faint smell of tangerines cuts through the smell of blackest waters and stillness, and¡­ she doesn¡¯t look around. Doesn¡¯t wonder. She will remember where it is from, or she will not, but in this moment she doesn¡¯t have to. She just drinks in that little wisp of scent, and enjoys how it makes her feel.


    It is, of course, around this time that Yun Ka¡¯s formation starts to fail.


    It happens just as they enter a new intersection, the same gravity-warping effect occurring in it such that they can¡¯t even be sure the direction they came from was ¡°forward¡± and not down or up or in a loop. There are less of them here than the great chamber used by the starving cultivators to kill ¡°problem elements¡±, but there is one heading straight down like a well, three heading out in a star formation, and one above. And as they step down, as the gravity shifts, as the space twists itself around their path¡­ Ax stumbles. Just a bit.


    After thirty-odd hours awake in an energy-draining environment, Yun Ka almost slips off Ax¡¯s shoulder, caught only at the last moment- and one of the rune-tablets taps against the wall of the tunnel. The touch is enough that its light flickers, and that¡¯s enough that it sets of a chain, the green illumination bathing the tunnel sputtering violently.


    And the scent changes.


    The floor shifts, the ¡°godflesh¡± warping like living tissue as Shapefixit chirps out a warning, her ears upright and almost doubling her height- but it¡¯s not enough. The tunnel behind them closes, the others begin to spiral shut, flesh shifting, and parts of the space move directly, ignoring the physics of linearity to warp without touching stone or matter.


    ¡°Found you,¡± comes the whisper of that sibilant voice.


    ¡°Move!¡± Raika roars, legs already cutting into the stone as she dashes towards the group, as she grabs at them, as they¡¯re divided one by one. Jin Rou looks at her- and grabs his sect members, falling towards one of the distortions, perhaps trusting his chances now the Witch knows where Raika and her group are.


    ¡°It was a good plan,¡± the Witch says, her voice strangely inhuman now, so much deeper into the dark, like the human affectations were just that- affectations. ¡°Surprised me. You¡¯ve got a good one in that little mechanist. She has a bit of a grasp on it. Another age, she might have made an excellent addition to my sisters.¡±


    Raika grabs Shapefixit under her arm, keeping her close, leaping over to Shi Cho and dragging him towards Ax and the others-


    There are only four tunnels left, two having vanished out of space entirely. One to their left. One to the right. One above, and one below, the same yawning well as before.


    ¡°The deal still stands,¡± she whispers, her voice carried on the blinking of eyes and the shifting of darkness. ¡°Kill one and survive, and you live. But! I¡¯ll add a new little gift.¡±


    Shi Cho stirs up his energies, his swarm beginning to move towards the tunnels to explore them- but then they hear the skittering. The sounds of echoing steps, of panting breaths, of crawling things.


    ¡°If any of you make it to my chambers, you win! I¡¯ll let you out! Except you, Raika. Don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t kill you anyways. I pretty pinky-promise. Leave the cultivators, these little Imperials, and you live. Fight for them, and you live.


    ¡°But I¡¯m afraid that they¡¯ll have to earn it. Just a bit. You know how their type can be. You used to be one! If you¡¯re not killing, what¡¯s the point of living, right?


    ¡°So. Say hello to my lovelies. We¡¯ve been waiting ever so long, down here in the dark.¡±


    The sound of moving things from the dark pick up their pace, and from every direction save down, the shadows come alive, tumorous with eyes and sprinting into the chamber at them.

 Chapter 140 - Never Split The Party

    The monsters are¡­ they don¡¯t look alive. Spirit beasts, corpse-constructs, even golems that Raika has seen all at least seemed to have functional pieces, logic behind their construction, sense behind their makeup, abstract thought it may have been. These things hold no such limitations.


    She sees faces that are only a single, gaping, cyclopean eye, and watches as that eye literally drinks in a smaller creature, a bundle of mismatched limbs- and then grows a version of those same limbs, massive eyes on a vaguely canine body with a dozen human legs spawning from it in random angles. Another moves like a poorly-tied bundle of eels, spasming across the floor, writhing and squirming like a rat-king made entirely of oil-slick flesh. One looks like a bundle of hair or webbing surrounding a wet, jiggling bundle of eyes, slick jelly dripping viscously onto the ground as the hair cuts into and through them bloodlessly.


    Ax stands back, seeming to focus on keeping his cargo of Yun Ka, Taran and Kaena safe- but his ax starts to shine, its sibling emerging from his spatial ring and beginning to orbit him as Yun Ka shakes herself awake and puts her mechanical limbs back to good use. Shi Cho has his swarm rising in a cloud, Shapefixit crouches in the backline, her hands digging wetly into the stone, and Raika, of course, stands on the frontline, claws out, edges ready.


    The first line of abominations reaches her, the sounds of footsteps and squelching the only noise they make- and cuts right through, feeling absolutely nothing as her claws pass through them like air.


    And then one of them touches her, and she feels part of her flesh turn to shadow. Literally.


    Part of her armor plating literally falls into ooze, collapsed into shadowy matter that adds to its host- but only a piece. It doesn¡¯t dig down into the muscle, her Qi density possibly getting in the way- but it still took a chunk out of her without even really trying.


    Raika is getting fucking tired of shit that can just cut through her body like its nothing.


    The others fare a bit better as Yun Ka¡¯s diagram flares back into life, and many of the closest monsters start to fall limp or even begin to evaporate in the jade light- but many more simply consume the weakest of those and struggle onwards, crawling, spiraling, squelching forward. They¡¯re not powerful, not fast, but Ax demonstrates the issue beautifully- in Yun Ka¡¯s formation, with his Qi-infused and glowing ax, he cuts through one of them, the air squealing out from its severed pieces. A second blow comes around with the ax in his hand, not infused by technique- and barely slices one of the creatures, the light from the formation pushing a bit further into it but no more.


    Is that it? Light? Or Qi? Maybe both, but-


    Another wave approaches rolls and slithers and coils and crawls from the dark, and nearly all of them avoid Raika entirely. She tries again, even as they roll past, to cut into one- and gets the experience of part of her claws dissolving into the same black ooze that makes up their bodies, utterly undamaged.


    They¡¯re slow, maneuver poorly, and those that are getting struck by attacks with any sort of light to them are falling quickly (Shi Cho¡¯s fireflies are absolutely burning through them on the side he¡¯s defending, weaving through them and leaving them full of holes). In an open field, they¡¯d be borderline useless, and against someone with a light-based or Qi-centric defensive artifact, they might be entirely powerless.


    But here, now? With both the side tunnels swarming with them and their entry point gone? Their numbers and the lethality of their touch is all that¡¯s needed to cause problems.


    Alright then. Time to try something else.


    Raika flexes her jaws, deploying out her set of blacksteel fangs, and with a thought, the Flesh moves them onto her hand as replacements for the claws, leaving one limb festooned with black, barbed metal. She swipes her hand through one of the creatures, preparing to rip it apart-


    It does fall apart. Messily. She swipes through it and leaves a spatter-pattern against the back wall- and loses half her hand in the process, the blacksteel remaining intact while the flesh on the back of her hand and palm all simply fall apart into more shadow. It doesn¡¯t even hurt when it happens; the transformation is instantaneous, and only after it¡¯s gone is there a sharp spike of pain as the Flesh recognizes the parts that are missing.


    So. Partial success. She doesn¡¯t have the Qi to be regrowing herself from scratch this time, though.


    But¡­ does she need to?


    She thinks back to the Truth she swallowed, so very long ago. Her blacksteel teeth didn¡¯t just happen as if by magic; she took part of a dangerous, abstract idea into herself, and then adapted her body and soul to it and vice versa. From the concept of entropy and death, she shaped the concepts of ending-by-predation, of the moment where life becomes food. Only from there did it manifest into the blacksteel, her body latching to the idea of the final bite of the hunt and growing in response.


    But she hasn¡¯t touched it much since. Months, trapped in the Imperial Palace, unable to do much at all¡­ was it Zhoulong? His influence, severing from her her own thoughts, especially one relating to her ability to ¡°eat¡± things? Or was it simply her, overwhelmed, focusing on what she felt she could and letting the rest be put aside where difficult things go? She¡¯d thought of her strengths, of her lacks, but not of what needed to change, not really. Not quite content, but close in a painful way, a sort of pain that can become comfortable. She sparred. She schemed for freedom, never thinking it would properly be, because she didn¡¯t deserve it. She grew stronger, but only in the ways she already knew she could.


    She didn¡¯t think about how good his flesh had tasted. Hadn¡¯t reflected on what it meant. But people can¡¯t eat people, usually. Madness disease from poorly tended human flesh is well recorded, and drinking too much blood makes most humans vomit¡­ but she¡¯d felt only ecstasy after that first bite. Had she avoided the thought? Feared losing more of herself, feared a loss of control to hunger?


    Does it matter? She lost herself plenty to worse things by now.


    She¡¯s not human anymore.


    The Flesh seems to release a slight note of tension, a seed of frustration finally falling away. The Mask couldn¡¯t agree more, satisfaction at the realization and the practical opportunities it generates ringing clear through their shared mind. She is a predatory thing whose stomach can hold and digest souls. She has fangs of death itself. She can survive being cut to so many pieces that none held more weight than two fists. She currently has four arms, half of a tail, and a chitinous exoskeleton, nevermind her head-shape and all its many jaws and eyes. She is a predator, not because she must be, or because it was inevitable, but because she accepted the violence of the beast tide, because she chose to pursue strength and sharp-edged violence at every turn, because¡­ because she let herself be shaped into a weapon.


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    She is not a weapon. She is not a beast.


    She remembers what she said to Kaena.


    She is a monster, a hungry thing of teeth and claw and flaming blood, and she is hers. And¡­ that¡¯s ok.


    It hits on her guilt, her shame, her self-loathing¡­ but it doesn¡¯t quite latch to them. The idea of herself as a monster is¡­ it¡¯s not an excuse to let herself be hurt, now. It¡¯s not-


    A memory resurfaces. Grasped from the chaos, dragged back from oblivion. She remembers when Taurus offered her his plan. Offered her what would happen. Had told her that he¡¯d shape her into a weapon that could kill him, too, when the time was right. It had been the right words, at the right moment. Making lemonade from lemons, he¡¯d taken the trauma he¡¯d placed in her and gave it an outlet, a way for the self-loathing to fuel her change into something violent.


    But¡­ there had been comfort in that. That she could stop being a person, could just accept the guilt, could accept, in a way, that¡­ that the kid¡¯s death had been inevitable, because of course it was, she was a weapon. This isn¡¯t that, not really.


    She is not his weapon. She is not even her own weapon.


    Raika looks down at her hand, festooned with black barbs and fangs, listens to the sounds fo combat behind her, of her allies retreating to a smaller and smaller spot, looking out at her and wondering what¡¯s happening-


    She turns and swipes a clawed hand through one of the creatures, unmaking it into fileted slices of shadow. And looks down at the limb, intact and whole.


    She raises her other hand, the one she didn¡¯t use, and begins to shift the fangs back into her mouth from it. Beneath it, reflected on all her hands, is a fine, razor-thin edge of perfect black.


    She feels something stirring- not her molar, not the thought-construct she made to frame the piece of infinity she tore free. No, she feels it in her bones, deeper than before, reshaping something at the core of her.


    ¡°If you¡¯re not killing,¡± the Witch had said, ¡°what¡¯s the point of living, right?¡±


    And there, in the dark, looking out at the squirming, malformed horrors of eyes and shadow, Raika smiles.


    The point, she realizes, is whatever the fuck one chooses. How could it be anything else?


    She feels the blacksteel grow. Out from her bones, up through her meat, reshaping its edges into barbed, razor-sharp edges. From the white of chitin and bone-armor, she festoons herself with black, violent edges, grows them to her will because if she can Change then why can¡¯t something that is a part of her? Why can a predatory bite not be matched with claws, with hard edges, with the tools of the hunt and of chosen death?


    She hears Yun Ka gasp. Turns to look at her, and smiles with too many jaws at the look on the researcher¡¯s face.


    ¡°Hello,¡± she says. And the tunnels listen.


    Simultaneously the abominations turn to her, eyes opening in the dark, things changing and turning and-


    They still hurt when she cuts them if their flesh or blood turns her armor or muscles, but there is a pattern to it. She swings out an arm, and steps back out of the way of the splash zone even as a clawed foot casually severs something like a neck, turning from that into a bladed elbow that splits a tumbling mass of hair and whimpering orifices in half.


    The shadows respond.


    A fresh flood of the abominations comes forth, this time even falling from the tunnel above, filling the space entirely with black and writhing flesh. She has to be careful, every movement either touching shadow or severing it, and-


    It isn¡¯t a winning formula. Even with her awakening, it¡¯s not enough.


    She steps back and closer to the formation, taking a breath free of the dark for the first time in minutes and enjoying the line it makes. Between her claws and the light, they establish a perimeter, pushing the shadows back, back-


    The Eyes rolling in the tunnel begin to blink. They begin to cry. They cry black tears of perfect lightlessness and begin to flood the floor of the chamber, the liquid flowing around the well-tunnel and oozing towards them.


    ¡°We can¡¯t win like this,¡± Raika hears. She turns back, looking to the others, looking to-


    It¡¯s Taran.


    He looks down at her, his eyes showing a new color she¡¯s never seen from him before. They step off Ax¡¯s improvised scaffolding and land quietly on the floor.


    ¡°Good to see you awake,¡± she says. ¡°Got a plan?¡±


    Taran¡¯s head tilts as they (she¡¯s not sure it¡¯s ¡°Taran¡± in charge right now) look at her. They smile, softly.


    ¡°You really are something new, aren¡¯t you? I¡¯d heard you were going through some things. Imagine my surprise to see a brand new face to that name.¡±


    Ax¡¯s glowing weapon cuts through the front line of the abominations, snarling. ¡°Are all of you this fucking weird? Seriously?¡±


    ¡°Seriously,¡± ¡®Taran¡¯ says. ¡°Kaena? Conditions?¡±


    Kaena, who hasn¡¯t managed to do much in this kind of battle, just laughs, a bit crazed. ¡°Starving to death in hungry tunnels. Monsters that make you shadow when they touch you. Witch down the well, I think.¡±


    ¡°Most likely!¡± Yun Ka says. ¡°I¡¯m detecting a bit of fluctuation in-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s there,¡± Shapefixit interrupts, still crouched on the stone, letting it drink her energy even as she reshapes it, bit by bit, raising a platform to bring them above the oozing dark. ¡°Can tell. The heart beats below.¡±


    ¡°What she said!¡± Yun Ka agrees.


    ¡°Any ideas as to how we get down there?¡± Shi Cho asks, his ever-diminishing swarm still by far the most effective weapon they have against the dark, though it looks almost physically painful as more and more of them are consumed by the shadows.


    ¡°Easy!¡± the Witch¡¯s voice comes again, squelching wetly out of the blinking of eyes from a thousand orifices. ¡°I already told you! Kill each other a bit. Or see how long you last against my darlings! I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll work out!¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± ¡®Taran¡¯ says. ¡°No.¡±


    They reach for their lower back, obscured by the coat and holsters all around¡­ and pull out a revolving gun.


    This one has six chambers, rather than the four-chamber Taran usually uses. It gleams, a dark copper-and-brass color emerging from a grip that is nearly black in color, the barest hints of it indicating wood rather than stone.


    ¡®Taran¡¯ turns to Raika. ¡°You gonna bite me if I stop looking?¡±


    Raika huffs, the Mask adding the right elements of humor to the sound. ¡°I prefer fresher fare. You have a plan?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t last long,¡± they say. ¡°Barely awake as it is, and barely enough fuel for just me. Can¡¯t do a siege. Yun Ka? Estimates on survival time?¡±


    ¡°Approximately seventeen minutes, barring new manifestation from the Witch!¡± she says, mechanical arms straining and Jade pushing green energy into more than a dozen of them to sustain the formation and click at several other tablets, carving out new formulae. ¡°If I can manage to-¡±


    ¡°Take Shapefixit,¡± Kaena interrupts. ¡°She¡¯ll be more useful as a guide than here.¡±


    Shapefixit looks up, eyes wide, ears flared. ¡°Huh wha?¡±


    ¡®Taran¡¯ just nods. ¡°Heard. Raika, on my count, go for the well.¡±


    She wants to ask questions, but- well, actually she doesn¡¯t. The Mask nods instead, focusing on the present and the chance for any plan that doesn¡¯t involve slowly dying to waves of fucked up eyeball goop, and the Flesh simply primes itself, shifting its blacksteel thorns and claws to a more forward-facing and aggressive formation.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Shi Cho says. ¡°Take a beetle. If we need to find each other-¡±


    ¡°Makes sense,¡± Raika interrupts. ¡°Do it.¡±


    A familiar scent lands on her, and she immediately reforms the alcove that this same beetle occupied before she found Shi Cho.


    ¡°Ready?¡± ¡®Taran¡¯ asks.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Good. I¡¯ll take the goblin. On my mark¡­¡±


    ¡°Is no one going to explain to me what the hell the plan is?¡± Ax complains, looking back and forth across the group even as he keeps his axes swinging, cutting through the horde of shadows.


    ¡°Mark,¡± ¡®Taran¡¯ says.


    The room is filled with thunder. The gun roars, and-


    And the roar of it is immediately washed away by the sound of shattering rain, or sharp-edged notes of high-pitched violence as all six shots begin to ricochet. And don¡¯t stop.


    The sound is enough to stun even a cultivator¡¯s ears, Raika¡¯s senses literally clapping shut her ear-holes rather than try to endure the hypersensitive auditory violence. The horde, however, fares worse, the bullets glowing with a firey Qi that literally rips through them, blasting craters into and through the soft ooze and eye-jelly that makes up their bodies only to ricochet off the stone again.


    Raika sprints forward, cracking the stone beneath her, a blur of moving blades and hungry black steel edges and monstrous armor, and what little remains intact to get in her way is transformed to severed meat.


    And then she¡¯s down the well, her senses telling her that Taran and Shapefixit are right behind her. They fall away from the others, even as the sounds of ricocheting violence continue and the glow of the formation slowly disappears behind them.


    She just has to believe they¡¯ll last long enough for them to kill the Witch.

 Chapter 141 - Come Into My Parlor

    The dark goes down forever. It feels like falling to an abyss, down the gullet of some vast, impossible thing. Rather appropriately, actually. The tunnel slowly gets wider, wider, and this time, the gravity of the space doesn¡¯t shift, keeping them falling down, deeper, deeper.


    The rushing wind precludes conversation, but it doesn¡¯t block sight. Shapefixit is clutched, panicked, to ¡®Taran¡¯s coat, pressed tight and seemingly very unhappy with the whole ¡°falling¡± situation. The leather-clad undead, on the other hand, seems rather at ease, defaulting to a semi-familiar way of moving she recognizes, where only the most essential movements occur at all. It¡¯s more than enough to keep them from hitting the walls of the tunnel at least, but Raika still shifts her fall to make sure she¡¯s just under them, ready to try and cushion their landing.


    She feels a change in the air pressure, a slight shift, and retracts as much of her new thorns and claws as she can. It¡¯s a bit awkward, the new transformation harder to manage than just regular flesh and bone, but not impossible. The blacksteel is hers, part of her body in an intrinsic way, and her Truths work on it fine, if a bit slower than the rest of her.


    She wonders at that. She¡¯s not entirely sure that would be the case a few months prior, or even a few days ago. From how damaged her Truths were, it¡¯s a bit surprising how quickly they¡¯ve changed¡­ but then, the manifestation of her Truths in the first place was a semi-spontaneous thing. Rather than meditating or trying to form them, they simply came to be, developing as she came to specific conclusions or realizations. As she is now¡­ she is actively changing. She is actively empowering herself, operating under no one¡¯s orders but her own, free of the parasite in her soul.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine. I Can Change. Both incredibly versatile, and she knew she¡¯d barely touched their depths. There¡¯s more to explore, there, but a change in depth that allows her to now form and maintain integrity in contact with the vorpal edges of blacksteel is a big damn improvement.


    The air shifts again, indicating proximity to the ground even with the dark ahead, and she expends what little Qi she has. Her body drinks deep of the flesh she ate from the fallen cultivators and what little remains of the hard-to-digest divine beast meat, and she reinforces and grows additional springs in her legs, thickening muscle groups and adding additional padding along her knees, thighs, and spine.


    ¡®Taran¡¯, noticing the changes, allows her to use two of her arms to secure them and Shapefixit to her torso, holding them tight. The whiplash is going to a bitch, but they¡¯re cultivators- not immune to fall damage, but well on the way.


    She lands, and despite her changes she still feels tendons tearing, the stone beneath her cracking and her hips and back screaming in pain for a few brief seconds. But they live.


    ¡°Well,¡± the dark whispers. ¡°I admit. I¡¯m disappointed. I had hoped you¡¯d be alone. That we could have a nice, proper conversation, just us girls. Just us witchy things.¡±


    The place they¡¯re in is an absolute and perfect pitch dark, but Raika¡¯s hearing should be letting her get a feel for the space. Instead, her instincts scream that the cavern is both massive and minute. The dark presses in, and despite her enhanced perception it sings to her that she is so deep, so far into the dark and the wet and the oppressive, writhing stone that it cannot be anything but close, all around.


    ¡®Taran¡¯ steps lightly down onto the stone¡­ and promptly goes still. She sees them wink, very slightly, before they sort of slump, feigning weakness, conserving as much energy as possible. Shapefixit, on the other hand, stays clutched to Raika, doing everything in her power not to touch the stone all around.


    ¡°Still, I suppose I owe you some kind of reward for getting this far. Or surviving, really. Usually, when both the government and the beasts of the world come for you at once, it doesn¡¯t end so neatly. I should know. Come closer. You can even bring your little pet, and I promise not to eat that corpse you brought unless it causes trouble. We should chat.¡±


    Raika says nothing. The Mask can¡¯t really track many facial features or smell any biology to help make predictions, and until something changes, silence is her best choice. She steps forward, into the dark. They¡¯re on a sloping incline, as if the tunnel grew organically rather than forming from natural water erosion, and it leads her down into a wider area, where she can no longer see the walls. A few more steps, and she can no longer see the hill, either.


    The shadows part in front of her, very slightly. Not much, but enough to change the constant, sense-obscuring oblivion all around into sense-obscuring oblivion in all but one direction. With no other way forward, and the Witch apparently eager for confrontation, she decides to follow it, one arm holding Shapefixit close, the other three all slowly regrowing the sharpened spikes and razor blades of blacksteel she retracted.


    ¡°So quiet. I suppose it is a bit of an oppressive atmosphere. I had limits to work within, unfortunately. Wasn¡¯t always so gloomy down here, but¡­ ah, you don¡¯t really know how the Craft works, do you? Well, come, come closer. Let me show you.¡±


    A few steps later, and the shadows come apart at last.


    They establish a perfectly circular perimeter, around which they are an oppressive, constant presence. At their center, however, are three small candles. They flicker, their wax worn down nearly to the ground, but they are lit nonetheless, and in their presence the shadows are magnified.


    They illuminate very, very little. Maybe ten feet in each direction. A circle of light just barely enough to hold Raika, her cargo¡­ and the Witch.


    She sits, her legs crossed, in a meditative pose, beneath a pulsing, shuddering heart.


    The Witch might once have looked like a normal woman. Thin, but not emaciated. Average height, average build, with olive skin and a simple black robe, almost like a toga, wrapping about her in a pattern imitating a dress and obscuring much of her lower body. Her nails are long, but neat, painted a dark black, and her face¡­ well. That is where the normalcy ends.


    She¡¯s not ugly. Far from it, she holds a sort of timeless beauty, sharp cheekbones and a slender jawline matched by an almost cute nose. But the appeal is somewhat offset by the raw, gaping wounds where her eyes should be.


    The holes bleed shadow rather than blood, but the wounds remain open. They weep black tears down her cheeks, letting them drip freely from her jaw and onto her collarbones, and flowing from there down, down into her robes and onto the floor in rivers of shadow around her. Her hair, too, shows signs of that same darkness, though in a very different way. It¡¯s harder to see, so obscured is it by the dark, but her hair is not simply missing- she has been scalped. The exposed bone and flesh beneath where skin and hair can most often be found bleeds that same black, shadow-rich blood, and the ghosts of hair wind from it, traveling up where her tears fall down, such that a strange, glowing halo of black frames her head and the violence it shows.


    And behind her is the heart.


    It grows from out of the stone itself. Raised up on a platform, it must weigh over a hundred pounds, a massive, grotesque mimicry of a human organ, and at its base the grayish flesh transitions directly into the stone of its pedestal. It does not beat, but instead lies still, and in the seven visible valves Raika can see, shadowy fluid and black strings flow, in and out, writhing through it in place of a pulse.  As she stares at it, it shudders, as if attempting to move as it ¡°should¡±, but the shadows writhe a bit faster, pulling taut in some places and thickening in others until the movement is still.


    ¡°Gorgeous, aren¡¯t I?¡± the Witch asks, using her real voice. The same voice Raika heard weeks ago, standing over Maen as she slept. ¡°Did you like my gift? I apologize, but I¡¯m afraid I have no more to give. It has been a bit of a hectic time, and I have not had the chance to act as hostess in¡­ well. A while.¡±


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Shapefixit hasn¡¯t moved, hasn¡¯t breathed, but is staring at the heart with a trembling intensity that Raika can feel. She tightens her grip just a bit, a comfort and a way to keep the goblin pinned if she decides to leap towards it or something.


    The Witch smiles. ¡°It is good to see your kind still recognize a Core like this. I had feared you all driven out into the wilds, perhaps. Tell me, have your tribes been well, so far from home?¡±


    Shapefixit says nothing. She just keeps staring at the strange organ, her own heart beating furiously with what smells like a mixture of panic and sadness.


    The Witch tilts her head. ¡°Am I truly so frightening, little one? I had hoped my bond to a Core might endear me to one of your kind, but perhaps not.¡±


    ¡°Abomination,¡± Shapefixit whispers, the sound like the hiss of escaping steam. ¡°Corruptor.¡±


    The Witch nods. ¡°Definitely not, then. Fair enough. I don¡¯t suppose I can convince you, at least, to take a seat? It¡¯s ever so rare I get to speak face to face, as it were.¡±


    Raika sits. It¡¯s a little awkward with the new tail, but a few adjustments allow it easily enough.


    The Witch smiles again, the look almost dazed, dreamy. ¡°I¡¯m glad. Been a long time, as I said. Old customs bind me, you see, and here, now, I find you my guest. I offer you bread from my table, and a place to rest your feet.¡±


    Raika tilts her head at that. ¡°I don¡¯t see any bread.¡±


    She actually flinches at that, tilting her head back as if struck. ¡°Mmh. Indeed. I never said I was a particularly good host.¡±


    ¡°Why did you attack the arena?¡±


    ¡°Oh, Wolf. Always so delightfully to the point. I admire that about you. It does make it easier, not having to bother with the insults of politeness.


    ¡°I attacked the arena because had the beast and the Imperial been left unchecked much longer, that dome wouldn¡¯t have held up. The devastation would have been far, far worse, especially if the Scion ended up involved in the struggle. Despite my current accommodations, I do actually quite like the city above us. There¡¯s people in it I¡¯d rather not see slaughtered.¡±


    ¡°All for altruism, then?¡± The Mask asks. ¡°Pure hearted and noble pursuits alone, is it?¡±


    ¡°Hardly. I¡¯m not one for altruism, but I admit I¡¯ve been watching over this city a long, long time. I¡¯m¡­ shall we say invested.¡±


    The Mask tilts her head. ¡°No. That¡¯s not all. There¡¯s more.¡±


    The Witch¡­ shrugs. ¡°I admit, there was, perhaps, a bit of spite involved. It¡¯s rare to see a Scion outside its palace walls, speaking its lie-speech. A good opportunity to strike is rarely presented, and with how time can warp down here, I felt the chance to strike at them too rare to pass up. And besides¡­ I managed to acquire a few advantages in the struggle.¡±


    The shadows bend, warping all around until they pull back, further and further past the beating ¡®Core¡¯ and out towards the distant cavern walls¡­ and exposing a lake.


    Without her enhanced vision, she would see nothing but a different flavor of dark, but with the flickering candlelight she glimpses the stillness of a pool of perfect black. It stretches on, and on, and on¡­ and in it, she sees a spiraling maw, writhing, somehow failing to disturb the perfect stillness of the waters as it tries in vain to lift itself.


    She sees hints, glimpses of light¡­ but the shadows overtake them, oil-slick rainbow light blotted out by inky dark as the Not Tiger writhes and swims through the waters. There are strings there, and long, clumped clusters of hair, and even as she watches, as the beast rears up, clusters of eyes blink on its flanks, like abscesses growing from out of festering wounds.


    And there, tied to its front, wrapped and distended and warped into its mouth and limbs and bones, is the body of Feng Gao. Robes torn, weeping, clusters of green eyes blossoming from flesh that looks half-necrotic.


    Neither of them look whole, but while the beast still struggles, there is a shape forming around them, the darkness and the hair and the eyes slowly taking on the silhouette of flesh and joints, of organs and structure. They look for all the world like they¡¯re being parasitized and infested and grown from, all at once.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a long time since I had anything this powerful,¡± the Witch says, smiling softly. She turns her head and sightless pits to look out at the lake, as if admiring a newborn or source of soft joy. ¡°I couldn¡¯t have taken them had they been at their full strength. Wounded, weakened, in the midst of critical techniques¡­ frankly, I¡¯m still stunned I managed to grab them both.


    ¡°I think they¡¯ll make wonderful experiments for something new of mine. It¡¯s inspired by you, actually. I thought to myself, if my sisters and I could make Red Wolves as we were then, what can I make now? After so long down here? After so much¡­ sacrifice?¡±


    She turns back to Raika. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I forget myself. Would you like to hear of me? Or simply of what¡¯s to come.¡±


    Raika hesitates, but the Mask decides to engage, leaning herself forward. The Flesh is¡­ recoiling from the thing in the lake, a mixture of revulsion and awe and¡­ a strange sort of attraction or hunger all melding together into an uneasy mess, but the Mask keeps them focused. The more they learn, the more opportunities they can be. She holds back the desire to vomit, or to grow, or to go into the lake and see what the twisted thing in it might taste like.


    ¡°Please, go ahead. I know little of witches, and you seem like you like to talk.¡±


    The Witch shrugs unapologetically. ¡°I so rarely get the chance to. Especially to one that, in another life, might have been a sister. Or who might still be.¡±


    The Witch points to herself, letting her hand indicate the wounds on her head and face. ¡°I am not a cultivator, as you know. I am a wielder of the Craft. As Above, So Below. And For All Things, A Cost. Not all who follow the Craft say it quite the same, have those exact Truths, but it is intrinsic to our beliefs, and how we change the world. Ours is a path of power through sacrifice. If you were to look in my soul, you¡¯d see a cultivation perhaps in the Foundational realm, as you call it¡­ but I do not use my soul or my body to wield power.


    ¡°I sacrificed my eyes. My hair. And my shadow. Each one is cut from me, turned into a repository for Truth, a reflection of Physiks, and a way to manifest energy into the world. We do not shape ourselves with the world, as a cultivator might; a practitioner of the Craft shapes the world through themselves, by sacrifice and slow assimilation. By sacrificing a part of myself, and rebinding it to me as a manifestation of the abstract, I can enforce it upon the world. I cast no shadow, now, but my shadows can reach far off places, speak in my voice, allow me to manifest through them or shape space with them. The greater the sacrifice, the greater the power, most often. Through what is sacrificed, the properties of one thing become that of another, until both, and the will that binds them, are the same.¡±


    ¡°All well and good,¡± the Mask says, ¡°but if it¡¯s so mighty, why are you down here in a cave?¡±


    The Witch smiles. ¡°Because I lost, Wolf. In the same wars that brought about things like you, I tried to defend this land. It is an old, old place, and before it was a city it was a beautiful lake of stillness, and a fertile, growing place. When the Empire came, tearing through beasts and sects, I stood against them¡­ and lost.¡±


    ¡°And now you¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°And now I¡¯m here. But in my defeat, I found this thing. This Heart. They are rare, nowadays. Your Empire harvested most of them, planted them in their Palaces to act as servile things of matter and architecture, but they were here before. Your little goblin friend could tell you. Cores like these were worshiped as gods once. It¡¯s rumored they created species, made new life spawn wholesale to serve them.¡±


    ¡°Not to serve,¡± Shapefixit hisses, so quiet that Raika¡¯s certain it¡¯s meant for her, not the Witch. ¡°To protect. To live alongside.¡±


    The Witch smiles toothily at the whispers. ¡°I have found that this one is better suited to serving me.¡±


    She raises her hands, indicating the space around them. ¡°It would have taken dozens of rituals, sacrifices, an entire order of practitioners to grant me power like this, once. I grow under the entire city. My shadows and my stillness reach far beyond the limits of the Empire¡¯s borders and buildings.


    ¡°And now, with my Black Wolf,¡± she whispers, looking fondly back at the horrific amalgamation she is making of the divine beast and the cultivator, ¡°I will at last be ready to strike back.¡±


    ¡°I thought you said you wanted to keep the city safe,¡± Raika says. ¡°You plan to war against it?¡±


    ¡°Against its masters. Against those who hurt me, who unmade my siblings and relegated my kind into the dark and the forgotten places of history.¡±


    ¡°And what of its people?¡±


    The Witch looks to her then, and for the first time, there is something like regret on her features. ¡°Mmh. I¡¯m¡­ well. I¡¯m not happy about it, Wolf. But enough of them will live. Most of them are mortals. They¡¯d be dead in a few decades anyways. I will crack open the palace and all within it, and some will be lost. That is the way in war.¡±


    ¡°You claim you¡¯re invested. That you¡¯d rather not see them all slaughtered. Why do this? Was there no other way to fight, to try and resist or struggle, that doesn¡¯t kill those trapped between forces they didn¡¯t choose? Something more targeted, or long term?¡±


    The Witch frowns. ¡°This is long term. I¡¯m looking at the big picture, Wolf. Their lives are not worth losing my chance to slaughter the Imperials of this place and drive them back. They will come back, it¡¯s true, but by then I can establish a foothold, call to others, grow in new ways.


    ¡°And I¡¯d like you to be part of that.


    ¡°I¡¯ve felt how you chafe at your chains. How they¡¯ve hurt you. We might perhaps still be strangers to each other, but I will not abide one so like my sisters to be a slave to them. Join me. I can break your bonds. We can find those they have taken from you and take them back. We can drive off the Empire from this place, make them bleed, make them have to come to the table to get this land¡¯s resources back. And you can be free.¡±

 Chapter 142 - Diogenes Style Philosophy (It Ends With You Biting People)

    Raika¡­ considers it.


    The Mask points out a lot of the possible benefits. There¡¯s a lot to see, here, a lot to potentially do¡­ but it¡¯s not all positives. The Flesh, of course, doesn¡¯t particularly care for the options, but she¡¯s not exactly a long term planner. The Mask, much more comfortable in that area, highlights what it can see.


    Nearly everyone she cares about is here, in the city. If the Witch can manage to find them, admittedly amidst the chaos of an attack¡­ there¡¯s a chance they¡¯d be out of the Empire¡¯s clutches. They could forge new identities if need be, escape before the retaliatory strikes came down. And the death of an Imperial Scion¡­ it would be something legendary. A blow the Divisions themselves would need to mobilize and respond to. And it would net her a direct ally powerful enough to imprison and apparently transmute two Warrior Realm level entities, one of which has direct ties to Feng Gui. Enough to potentially bring him running, and certainly enough to get revenge on Taurus along the way. But¡­


    ¡°No.¡±


    The Witch sighs, long and slow. ¡°Why, pray tell?¡±


    It takes a little longer for the Mask to speak. There is a¡­ disconnection. Not all of her is in alignment, even after deliberating, and some of the fluency is lost in translation.


    ¡°That Core you¡¯re¡­ using. It didn¡¯t ask for this. Neither will the people who die in the city when you attack. You have your cults in the sects, and they¡¯d be willing to work with you. You¡¯ve had¡­ a few centuries? Millenia? To come up with a plan. You have a power that few can recognize or understand¡­ but you¡¯re simply fighting. Going up to kill and break and then hoping that after¡­ what?¡±


    ¡°It will free this place for a while. Provide a chance that things might change. Isn¡¯t that enough?¡±


    ¡°...No. It isn¡¯t. I¡­ I don¡¯t know that it¡¯s the right way.¡±


    ¡°And what might that better way be, Wolf?¡± the Witch asks. Her voice is level, calm, but there is an undercurrent there, and the dark roils around them like disturbed smoke. ¡°Should I forget what I have suffered? Should I choose peace with those who seek to eradicate or control me? What is your solution, then?¡±


    Raika shakes her head. ¡°I don¡¯t have one. I doubt I could come up with anything better. Maybe you¡¯re right, even. I just¡­ it wouldn¡¯t stop, after. They¡¯d come back. It wouldn¡¯t end anything, just start a new fight, for new people to die in. And you have nothing beyond that?


    ¡°I¡¯ve been¡­ ever since I got hurt, I¡¯ve been fighting. Before that, even. As my¡­ my focus, my way of seeing the world. But lately¡­ I¡¯ve been wondering. Violence, untamed, chaotic, just breeds more of itself. It doesn¡¯t end anything on its own.


    ¡°It needs to be more. I need to be more?¡±


    And then¡­ a click. An alignment, a full alignment at last, as a new thought enters her mind.


    ¡°I¡¯m sick of masters,¡± she whispers. ¡°I am my own monster, and I choose what I eat. Not you.¡±


    There is silence in the chamber for a time. And then¡­ the Witch sighs.


    ¡°You are a strange thing, sister. I think I would have liked you better before the war.¡±


    Silence, again. Raika tenses her joints, gets ready to move, to cut, to enact a plan that is in the background, formulating-


    ¡°I am no slave master,¡± the Witch says, shaking her head. ¡°Monsters we may be, but I have no desire to bring a sister to chains. Leave. Go where you want. I¡¯ll open the door for you.¡±


    Raika nods. Fair. She¡¯s no more eager to throw herself into some millenia-old foreverwar to stop it than she is to reignite it. Besides, if there¡¯s one thing abundantly clear, it¡¯s that she¡¯s got her own shit to deal with, her own people to protect¡­ and that comes first.


    ¡°Will you stop attacking my allies?¡± the Mask asks. ¡°The ones above.¡±


    The Witch looks down at her, the act even more impressive by her lack of eyes, though it still rings hollow. The movement, like all the Witch¡¯s motions, is just a bit off, like she¡¯s remembering how to do them but out of practice.


    ¡°Come now, sister. Some familiarity in our pain and our power there may be, but there¡¯s only so much mercy that can buy. I am not in the business of negotiating for the lives of cultivators. I¡¯m hardly going to offer the same kindness I do you just because you like a few of them.¡±


    Raika nods. The Mask nods a second time. ¡°I figured. It¡¯s a pity. I think we would have preferred it if things ended peacefully.¡±


    Leaning far to the left, she taps her claw against the floor three times, hard enough to make a clicking sound against the stone.


    A gunshot echoes in the chamber, and the Witch falls backward against the pillar as a bullet hole opens up in her sternum.


    ¡°Very glad that worked,¡± Raika says. ¡°Would have been embarrassing otherwise.¡±


    The Witch howls, and the chamber all around them begins to shake and tremble, literally quivering like flesh. The dark roils, and there is a resounding, screeching scream from the Not Tiger as part of it breaks from its binds.


    Raika wasn¡¯t sure if the signal would be clear enough, but clearly ¡®Taran¡¯ (whichever part of them is currently fronting) picked up on the cue. Laying there, limp, their Qi barely above that of a corpse or alchemical construct on the best of days, Raika assumed that the Witch would forget all about the weak little cultivator that fell. The sound was both a signal and a guide to help them aim, and that was all they needed to land a killshot.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Well. On a mortal, anyways.


    The Witch screeches again, and this time every one of the strange strands of hair woven through the room quivers in turn, and an endless sea of eyes blossoms into being in all directions. They begin to weep, each tear black and viscous, and to each drop the dark writhes, coalesces, comes together- and flows towards Raika and the disgusting fusion of flesh that the Witch has made of Feng Gao and the Not-Tiger.


    Raika leaps back, ducks, turns, every movement perfectly controlled as Mask and Flesh work in unison, listening to their instincts and commands to avoid every drop. Still, it is so overwhelming, so total the surrounding dripping dark, that it is almost impossible to go unscathed, and even with her nervous system practically twitching with strain several droplets land on her and Shapefixit, turning parts of their bodies to shadow. Shapefixit emits a painfully loud chirp as a larger droplet lands on her shoulder and-


    Bum-bum-boom.


    The Heart beats. As if in response to Shapefixit¡¯s cry, it writhes, its valves once again pulsing weakly- and as the Witch divides her attention to killing Raika, Taran and Shapefixit and containing her would-be superweapon, for a moment, her bindings on it are weakened. Its strange anatomy makes for its beat to hit three times, different valves pulling in and pushing out from different chambers- and the entire chamber once again shudders in a mix of agony and transformation.


    ¡°You bitch!¡± The Witch shrieks. ¡°After everything I- oh, sister, that was a foul fucking thing.¡± She pauses, coughing violently as blood, as crimson and bright as most humanoids, seeps out of the bullet wound and her lips, even as the shadows coil inwards around the wound.


    ¡°As for you-¡± she rounds on the heart, and-


    Raika takes the opportunity to sacrifice a hand, disjointing and extending the bladed limb and its end-blessed claws through the shadows and into the Witch¡¯s back.


    ¡°Haven¡¯t fought much recently, have you?¡± Raika asked. ¡°Poor instincts.¡±


    The Witch screams again, the shadows pooling back closer, abandoning some of the offensive to focus on their wounded master and the writhing beast of shadow and flesh she is forming in the inky lake behind her- and again.


    Bum-bum-boom.


    The weakened shadows strain nearly to the point of breaking as the walls shift and Raika¡¯s instincts scream in disorientation as space warps and shifts again-


    The world reorients itself, and the shadows are dragged out to the furthest reaches of the room, clearing an area around the Heart, the Witch, Raika and Shapefixit, even as threads of hair and darkness still weave through the organ. In that newfound space, pulling apart time and matter itself, two tunnels open from the ceiling above.


    From one, Yun Ka¡¯s glowing formation falls through, carrying in it a bedraggled looking Shi Cho, Kaena, Yun Ka and Ax. they look wounded, weary, half the formation barely functioning and glowing only weakly, but they¡¯re alive, despite the clear signs of battle and strange forms of shadow-decay on their bodies.


    From the other, the last people in the world that Raika expected fall down into the chamber.


    Maen falls first, covered in blood and shadowy fluids, her claws extended and glowing yuzu-yellow and one hand holding a sword blade, coated in blood. Behind her, Raika sees Qen Hou, Li Shu- and someone she hasn¡¯t met, a rugged looking individual wrapped in robes of fur.


    And then, at the final moment, wrapped in chains covered in runes and formation sigils, falls a thing of meat and metal and pain.


    Something in her gut stirs. Rears its ugly head, and connects a thought that-


    Project 13.


    She¡¯d forgotten them. It. Him. Had neglected to check on him, even when it had seemed right to. She feels the edges of the memory and sees the cuts, the way parts of it are still vague, still unknown- but why are they here?


    ¡°Maen?¡± she yells.


    Maen looks at her and breaks out into the widest, most feral smile Raika has seen from her. ¡°Hey beastie!¡± she yells back. ¡°I came to find you! And I brought help!¡±


    ¡°I can fucking see that!¡± Raika says, the Mask cracking as her pieces come together in confusion and relief and fear. ¡°Why-¡±


    Maen steps once, crossing nearly the breadth of the chamber and reaching a hand as high as she can to put a single finger to Raika¡¯s fangs.


    ¡°Shhh.¡±


    She hugs Raika, avoiding the spikes and edges of her armor, and squeezes tight.


    She looks up at Shapefixit, cradled a few inches over her head. ¡°Hello, Shapefixit! It¡¯s good to see you alive! Fuck, it¡¯s so good to see you both alive.¡±


    Raika¡­ lets herself enjoy the hug.


    ¡°Raika?¡± someone asks.


    She looks up and meets Li Shu¡¯s two eyes with her own set of five, and then Qen Hou¡¯s¡­ and then smiles, monstrous and horrifying but for once true.


    ¡°Hey, honored healer,¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you again.¡±


    ¡°Would that it were under better circumstances,¡± Qen Hou says, rolling his eyes. Li Shu elbows him in the ribs, before turning to Raika, smiling back at her.


    ¡°Circumstances be damned. You look¡­ better.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s your takeaway?¡± the third member of their party asks.


    ¡°Yes, it is. Hao Nera, this is Raika. Raika, this is¡­ a friend.¡±


    Raika looks down at Maen.


    ¡°They¡¯re fucking,¡± she says.


    ¡°Well I could smell that,¡± Raika replies.


    Qen Hou and Li Shu both blush, the former turning scarlet compared to the latter¡¯s cherry-red- but Hao Nera just gives a big smile. ¡°What can I say, they have good taste for finding the interesting ones.¡±


    ¡°Alright,¡± the Witch says. ¡°That¡¯s enough of that.¡±


    The heart goes to beat a third time- and is strangled.


    The dark screams, shivers, the sound wet and mucousy and strange, and the eyes leak through the dark and the space and the hair strands, further strands spiraling out from the pupils and pooling in the viscous shadow on the ground. The Witch is standing, leaning against the pedestal of the Core, a band of hair and shadow wrapping around and bandaging over the cuts in her back and gunshot. She¡¯s still leaking blood, still dripping crimson from her chin- but she¡¯s standing.


    ¡°I understand. I do. It¡¯s hard not to hate someone who hurts those you care for. Harder still not to fight them. Clever about it, sister, clever as a fox. More clever than I. I suppose I was too hopeful, hmm? That another might share the burden. Might join my rebellion.¡±


    She stands further upright, her body stiff as if she is not used to being upright after so long seated. She smiles, sad and bloody.


    Raika shrugs, careful not to cut Maen. ¡°I prefer rebellion that doesn¡¯t get everyone killed in a week. You¡¯ve had longer than I to find a way, and you chose to keep that burden for yourself.¡±


    ¡°Ha! So wise, all of a sudden. What happened to that familiar little Wolf, sister? Ah¡­ exceeded my expectations and failed them entirely.


    ¡°So be it. I¡¯ve waited long enough. I don¡¯t have it in me to give up, no matter your words. If I¡¯m to die¡­ let me die vicious and violent.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°So be it¡­ sister.¡±


    Maen lets go of the hug, looking up at Raika¡­ and then takes her blade and claws, and turns to face the Witch. Silently, Li Shu, Qen Hou, and the bedraggled, wounded core of the cultivators that wandered the tunnels all come closer together. Hao Nera takes a moment longer, apparently familiar with hefting up the chains binding Project 13.


    ¡°Yun Ka, Kaena, Li Shu,¡± Raika says, ¡°check on Taran. Ax, stay with them, you¡¯re our backline. Shi Cho, any light you can provide, do so. Hao Nera-¡±


    A line of pure black ichor whips across the chamber, grabbing Project 13 and hefting it up into the shadows before Hao Nera can do so much as stumble back and gain new cuts from trying to grab onto his cargo.


    ¡°None of that,¡± the Witch says. ¡°I won¡¯t have the Empire¡¯s tortured weapons here.¡±


    ¡°Just your own?¡± Li Shu asks, hissing and staring back at what¡¯s become of Feng Gao and the Not-Tiger.


    The Witch smiles sadly. ¡°The one and only.¡±


    And then the darkness erupts, the Witch standing there, unsteady, bleeding, as the thing in the perfectly still black lake rears up on black puppet-strings and launches itself forward.

 Chapter 143 - The Power Of Love, Friendship, And Violence!

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    There is a glory in seeing her now. Maen has never been one for religion, but there is something worshipful in seeing her partner, who chose her and who she chose in turn, towering above her here. She is like a colossus, almost twice Maen¡¯s own height, barbed and curved and weaponized, every inch of her a tool with which to kill or survive with- and despite the strange sense of dischronicity she still carries, there is something about her that is whole in this moment, as this form.


    Maen cannot help but enjoy the sight of it for a moment.


    It cost her, to get them here. It cost them all.


    In the weeks they¡¯ve been gone, dragged down beneath the earth and the city by that detonation and those curling tendrils of darkness, the city has been mad. The Scion itself has made several appearances, the cultivators of every sect and a dozen other latecomers moving to assist and fight each other at once. Simultaneously the city has been a ground of constant politicking and fights between sects trying to move into Cragend after perceiving weakness, trying to establish branches and businesses to take advantage of the chaos and only adding to it in turn. The central arena is being rebuilt, nearly stone for stone, at the pace that higher-level cultivators can create, but if it¡¯s intended effect is to return stability, it has done the opposite, as every merchant, noble house, Imperial liaison and sect elder has pitched in their own ideas on what to change, how to build, whose Qi is to be wasted on the project.


    Maen kept busy.


    At first, things were fine. Raika had been through worse. The beast tide, the mines. All she¡¯d seen of the conflict had been the dome flickering into being, the Scion and the Imperial Guards around it staring down into the golden light. And then there had been movement in it, and chaos, and a few minutes later the darkness had grown out of the shadows of the arena and swallowed it whole, bringing the whole place down. Bad, sure. A bit horrifying to watch, just from the sheer scale of the forces involved. But Raika was fine, probably.


    And then the first day had passed. And the second. And then a week. And at that point, sitting around in the Palace twiddling her fucking thumbs while everyone else scrambled about got old.


    She¡¯s grown so much in the past year. That fight in the arena proved it, proved she has the ability to really move, to fight, to use her instincts, poorly understood though they may be. She¡¯s kept up her cultivation, the Palace¡¯s Qi and cultivation aids both contributing to her growth, to her attempt to cultivate two different styles at once, and she¡¯s felt both her body and soul growing and changing. The stress of it all, the look in Raika¡¯s eyes the last few times they¡¯d spoken¡­ it put an end to that. For the first week while she and everyone else were gone down into that shadowy pit no one could explain, Maen barely ate a thing, barely slept.


    But¡­ if Raika had been the one stuck here, with Maen gone? Maybe not Raika as she¡¯d been recently, maybe not Raika at her worst¡­ but at her default, she wouldn¡¯t have let that stand. She¡¯d have done something, been proactive about something.


    So she started planning.


    The city basically covered up the whole fiasco. The Empire, losing a Feng-bloodline cultivator and an entire arena to some unknown enemy? Ridiculous. The Divine Beast had done something, or a hidden legendary artifact of some kind, or perhaps an unknown force from the depths of the Crag at the absolute worst. Any who felt the need to look into what exactly happened were overshadowed by those who sought to benefit from the accident, and as more and more groups of cultivators entered the collapsed cavern where the arena had fallen, less and less interest or hope was garnered as no one found anything. Not even a stone from the arena could be located, as if they had fallen through the floor at the end of the cavern. When the life-lanterns in the sects started to wink out, it was decided to treat the whole thing as a tribulation, as something the cultivators would be strong enough to escape from or not.


    Fuck that. Her friends were down there. Whether or not the Empire were tracking life-lanterns, bound to go out if their lives ended, or if they were too busy dealing with the squabbling and saving face to even bother to check, they weren¡¯t looking hard enough.


    But there was one person who might know something. Someone Raika had gone after, when she insisted that Maen stay behind after her fight. Someone she¡¯d had a meeting with, arranged by Kaena, not long after.


    Rei Ji of the Unearthly Depths sect.


    The sects had closed ranks since the catastrophe in the arena. Either the Imperial Scion got multiple of their members, and a ton of independents, killed in an impromptu tournament, or their sect members had failed to properly fight back against an upgraded spirit beast and surprising circumstances. One demanded retribution, the other, embarrassment, and so they decided to avoid either for the time being and buckle down as newer sects and independents try to muscle their way into one of the third ring¡¯s most lucrative cities during the times of trouble. They weren¡¯t exactly taking appointments to speak to senior disciples.


    So Maen decided to just show up.


    With her changes, brought about by blood and consumption and cultivation, it wasn¡¯t hard to blend into the shadows. She¡¯s not very strong, but for her realm she is fast, fast enough that most other high-Foundational realm cultivators can barely glimpse her, and she¡¯s quiet enough to make use of that. She was lucky- most of the formations they chose to activate were sensory things, detectors, not outright barriers. Harder to maintain an appearance of strength while wearing a turtle shell, after all. Still, it took another week to find a route in, find out his schedule, find out where he slept.


    He didn¡¯t see her coming. Much, much stronger than her, deep into Core Formation, maybe even approaching Nascent Soul where he might become a sect elder¡­ but power and knowledge are two sides of a coin, and he couldn¡¯t quite do much between getting up to shower and feeling part of his neck be sheared away.


    It almost didn¡¯t work. She stole a sword from the Imperial Palace, and it still almost didn¡¯t cut through. But it did. Enough that he couldn¡¯t move.


    As a cultivator, at his level, he could recover. Heal himself in a few days if he had the talent for it, a week or so if he needed help from a healer. But it left him still enough for her to ask questions without needing to fear retaliation. She didn¡¯t let him see her, pretended to be an independent cultivator.


    It took the better part of a day to get information on She Who Stills The Waters from him, but she got it. He survived. She called the whole thing good, and was glad she hadn¡¯t ended up killing him.


    One problem solved. Plenty more gained.


    A Witch, some old myth or entity of strange powers who could control shadows and eyes. Seemed familiar enough, and her home, apparently, was at the far end of the Crag, deep below even where the miners went, where the stone turned strange. Breaking into a room in a sect with a well thought out plan is one thing, raiding a strange dungeon of stone and living shadow at the edge of a bottomless ravine is another. She needed help.


    It was a week later when she finished plan two. Three weeks since Raika had disappeared, since the powers-that-be had written them all off as either lost or on their own and turned to the more important work of making sure that their positions stay stable.


    She had to break out Project 13.


    It was the only other member of the group left, and barely watched over as the Empire prioritized over the ¡°moderate incident¡± that occurred. Further, it could potentially provide the muscle needed, that deep past the mines, which already had plenty of spirit beasts adapted to their environments.


    And then, she had to drag a sword bloody with an Imperial Guard¡¯s arteries and a massive, sharpened, chained up hunk of meat all the way to an inn to find the only three people left in the city she might be able to trust.


    After they had¡­ recovered a bit from the state she found them in, she explained. Li Shu was immediately onboard, Qen Hou accompanying her for the sake of keeping her safe and Hao Nera to either protect them both or because he couldn¡¯t seem to bear someone doing crazier shit than he, and Maen, apparently, had accomplished just that.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    And then¡­ the Crag.


    Mining had half-halted in the city, most of its revenues going now instead to provide materials to the rebuilding of the arena. Besides an army of disgruntled, hungry workers, the mines were clear, and against four (and a half) cultivators, one being carried by massive chains on another¡¯s back¡­ well, they didn¡¯t keep anyone from noticing them, but they made good time.


    A trip down on of its elevators, deep, deep down into the mines, towards the bottom of the scarred and excavated valley, and then nearly two days of walking and camping and trecking to the far end of it. There was violence on the way, things killed and things they ran from, and harsh, burning heat, as if the sun above reflected off all the curves and angles of the Crag to deliver none of its light and all its heat. And when they arrived there, where the streams of water trickled through the stone as the rock holds back the sea beyond it¡­ something shifted. The stone beneath their feet turned from gold and sandy to grey and strangely porous. It had yawned open in front of them, like an invitation. Like a gullet, hungry and waiting.


    She walked in first.


    There were things in those tunnels. Hungry things of black shadow and wasted, pale flesh and desperate, rotten teeth, but they hadn¡¯t been enough to stop her, or her compatriots. Even as the tunnels began to drain them, they kept going forward. Even as the chains around Project 13 began to flicker, they carried on. And then- the ground opened beneath them. They fell, deep, down, through winding tunnels so smooth that they could not grip, through angles that didn¡¯t seem to line up right, through strange turns and loops and-


    And into a cavern, bathed in perfect liquid shadow, with a Witch, a monster, a sexier, more recognizable monster, and a bunch of other cultivators.


    She¡¯s not sure what brought them here, or why, or how- but she embraced the incredible war-form of the woman she sought, and she has a blade and claws with which to cut into that which holds them back.


    The darkness roils, holding Project 13 away and eating into its chains, even as the witch bleeds against the pedestal with the weird fucking organ on it and the infectious looking thing of shadow and Qi screeches a sound that does not work like sound should and launches itself forward at them. The shadows all around twist and coil and writhe and from them a thousand bodies begin to flow, misshapen abominations made of eyes and hair and oozing black oils crawling out into the world.


    The non-combatants fall back towards Taran, who lays curled up like a dead bug, a cultivator Maen recognizes from the tournament taken up a position in front of them. One of them, looking as exhausted as she¡¯s ever seen someone, unleashes a flurry of fireflies that alight on the clothes of everyone, giving them the slightest bit of extra illumination. It¡¯s well-practiced, a move that seems to work well-


    Until Qen Hou steps forward, and with a yell, slams his foot against the ground. The energies of someone in early Core Formation ring out, healthier and fuller than that of those who were trapped down in the dark, and a wall of fire spawns forth. It flows out from his step, his hands and feet glowing in the heat of it as fire both a beautiful pale silver color, with only hints of purple and red at its edges. The scent of magnesium floods the room, even for those without the ability to sense Qi through it, and the army of misshapen things crawling at them recoils, several of them burning up incredibly quickly as the fire touches them.


    ¡°Maen! You and Raika go for the beast. Hao Nera-¡±


    ¡°On it!¡±


    Hao Nera simply fades from view, less falling into shadow and more falling out of one¡¯s perception. She doesn¡¯t look for him, doesn¡¯t try to remember he¡¯s here, avoiding making his stealth technique any harder for him. Qen Hou looks a bit tired, nearly half his reserves wiped, but the wall of fire holds strong, the new colors of his flame bright and hot enough to illuminate half the chamber. The shadows recoil, the strange creatures writhe and emit screams like escaping steam as the light hits them- and she and Raika leap through the gap in the flames he creates, dashing in unison as if they planned it, her speed and Raika¡¯s impossible physiology matching paces to advance. The only hesitation is the moment it takes to put Shapefixit down and run.


    And the beast roars.


    There are pieces of limbs, scraps of robe, wrapped around its chest and throat, and Maen can see where Feng Gao¡¯s face was apparently fused into the creature, as if stretched and phased unnaturally into the flesh. Clusters of eyes like maggots or boils fester across their conjoined body, their movements stiff and unnatural as the strings of hair strike out at her.


    Raika turns, a limb shooting out to block the attack against Maen- and finds that she is no longer there, turning on a dime to sprint off in a new direction and then launch herself forward again. In the time it takes Raika to recover from her surprise, Maen¡¯s sword has sliced out across the paw, slicing through the hair strands and rancid flesh all along it. She grins at her paramour, eyes feral, fangs glinting in the firelight.


    Raika smiles back, like a crescent moon of teeth.


    Together at last, together as they have never been, they begin to cut.


    Raika¡¯s claws are night-edged and reflect the light oddly as she rips through the beast, every clumsy paw swipe earning another shriek and a fresh limb which seems to sprout out of impossible angles. Maen¡¯s blade isn¡¯t nearly as sharp or as strange, just good Imperial steel, and she focuses on cutting the threads, cycling her Qi through the blade like she learned to do when she grew a blade and using it to sever the Witch¡¯s control. Still, there are always more limbs, and the ones freed twitch and spasm strangely, as if trying to move but no longer familiar how.


    And yet there are always more limbs, and as they dodge one particularly fast swipe, they see the eyes festooning the limb open wide, their pupils gaping, wide and black-


    And drink in the floor where they stood. Where they pass, where the pupils cry over or stare intensely at or touch, the ground is simply gone.


    The malformed amalgam screams again, high pitched and loud enough to make the lungs ache, and the Witch laughs.


    ¡°It was not just choice of fashion I have named it my Black Wolf!¡± she laughs. ¡°A Wolf is a weapon! The Red ones were bloodthirsty things, flesh and mind and little else, flailing and eating and going mad, but this, this eats anything. To touch it is to be unmade, consumed, dragged down into the dark of what it is. It should be more than enough to ensure-¡±


    ¡°Hey this looks important.¡±


    The Witch whirls, the shadows turn into solid lances of matter so dense the whole room brightens, and every eye in the chamber turns to look at Hao Nera, standing over the heart with a dagger.


    The Witch screams, and the shadows shift- and Hao Nera is gone again, the only trace of him the large and bleeding gash that is, like him, there-but-not-there, his presence erased even as he slices open the torso-sized Heart.


    An explosion of shadow screams forth, flooding the chamber- and then beginning to dissipate, like fog or smoke, escaping violently from the Heart as its struggles to beat redouble and some of the strings on it begin to snap. The Black Wolf howls with its master, the sound so discordant Maen can feel blood leaking from her eyes and ears- and the Witch throws everything she has forward, a wall of misshapen eyes and black spears flying towards them, fast, too fast, too quick to-


    Raika stands there, three of the shadow-spears going through her torso, stopping just before Maen. Maen screams, frustration and rage both warring for dominance as she moves forward, forcing her Qi to glow around her blade, cutting out the dark in her wounds and severing the spears.


    Raika staggers back, eyes wide, looking around, confused, part of her torso leaking and turning to shadow and not healing- and then focuses on Maen.


    ¡°It¡¯s gone. The- the smile, it¡¯s-¡±


    In the dark, rapidly swirling shadows, something stirs.


    The Witch is on her knees, her Black Wolf towering above her, its strings so taut they cut into its flesh as its claws hover inches from her flesh.


    ¡°Really¡­ truly wish that I had met you in a month,¡± the Witch rasps. ¡°All of you. Imperial pups, getting in the way. You don¡¯t know any better. I understand. It¡¯s alright.¡±


    She tilts her head up, empty eye sockets and bleeding night flowing over her scalp as the strings pull apart, dragging the Black Wolf back towards her enemies.


    ¡°I understand. I do. Doing violent things to protect someone. Doing desperate, hateful things just to make someone hurt. I understand too well. So I hope, little sister, that you and your friends don¡¯t mind if I follow through on the desperation you have so thoroughly added to.¡±


    The hordes of shadow-creatures are weaker, slower, the darkness flowing from the heart adding to the room but failing to empower it like before as the heart beats a muffled rhythm. Black spears, like pikes, emerge all around it, all around her, serrated edges waving as protection against Hao Nera and a potential third successful ambush¡­ but Maen¡¯s focus turns to the tendril of shadow that drags close the unmoving form of Project 13.


    The shadows crawl along its chains, severing links one by one.


    ¡°If I have to use the weapons of my enemy¡­ so be it.¡±


    The final chain breaks, and the shadows whirl, and the beast roars and swipes at any who get close- and Project 13, burdened with too many Truths, imprisoned in agony and nonverbal torment and pieces of metal that grow from their very skin-


    Smiles.


    The strings of hair and shadow fly out from the dark, begin to wrap around it, and it turns to face them. It looks down at its hands. It looks at the Witch, who is smiling as her threads weave into its fabric and flesh and cut deeper into it, forcing it into place.


    And it walks towards her.


    She doesn¡¯t even get a moment to speak before its fist enters her stomach and emerges out past where her spine used to be.


    She grabs it, gasping, and snarls, turning all the shadow back towards her, not quite dead yet, and the threads pull taut on her attacker and-


    And it Cannot Stop. And it yanks out its fist, letting her blood and guts spill across the floor.


    The shadows uncoil, turning to wisps of darkness. The remaining creatures shrivel and shriek, falling apart piece by piece. The Not-Tiger and its newly built-in cultivator both whimper in unison and collapse, the threads around them severed.


    And Project 13 looks over at them.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it ever so good to be a team?¡± It asks with Zhoulong¡¯s voice.

 Chapter 144 - What Goes Around...

    Laughter fills the chamber. The shadows coil and writhe, but not around the Witch this time. A spectral limb hovers over Project 13¡¯s, the shadows themselves rearranging into the form of a new puppeteer half-in and half-out of its body. Wrapped in the black threads, feeding off them, a specter long dead looks out from the empty eyes of Project 13.


    ¡°I thought you had me,¡± he laughs, his voice loud and echoing. Over the crackling of fire, over the tense silence of the wounded, over the absolute fear in Shapefixit and Raika¡¯s eyes, all that can be heard is him. ¡°I really did. You cut me loose, starting dissolving me proper, but I learned, my little subject! Oh I learned!¡±


    Project 13 does an awkward little skip-step, like a fumbled dance move. Zhoulong doesn¡¯t seem to mind, just laughing harder.


    ¡°And all the eating! All the Qi you fed off! Oh, I barely had scraps, now! But here we are! Here I am! Back again! And-¡±


    He pauses.


    There is a sword sticking through his chest. Or, more specifically, through Project 13¡¯s chest, out into the specter behind it.


    Maen stands there, blade in hand, impaling the tortured weapon and its wielder.


    ¡°Oh, you little fuck,¡± Zhoulong laughs, though the voice wheezes unnaturally from a punctured lung. ¡°I was going to have her kill you, but I¡¯ll take that pleasure for myself-¡±


    ¡°Qen Hou,¡± Maen says as she steps to one side.


    A wave of silvery fire, tinged purple and crimson, washes over Project 13 with a scream. The shadows recoil back further, and as the screams echo in the chamber, they¡¯re matched by that of the incomplete Black Wolf.


    Raika turns to it, on edge, trusting her allies to keep an eye on the now-screaming Zhoulong, but the beast lays on its side, panting. Feng Gao, or what¡¯s left of him, his eyes rolling madly, screams a second time as one of the Not-Tiger¡¯s paws scratches beneath him, metaphysical stitching and unnatural fusion coming undone. She doesn¡¯t know if there¡¯s anything left of the man, hearing his screeching as the Not-Tiger, exhausted, digs to remove its newfound parasite- but if he is, she¡¯s pretty ok with him hurting a bit on the way out.


    She turns back to Zhoulong, and sees him still standing.


    In the flames, his shadow-form is in stark relief, embodied by the darkness and the Witch¡¯s Qi. She¡¯d felt it, back when the spears dug through her as she blocked and shielded Maen from them. The sensation of something leaving, not turning to shadow but rather slipping out from her. She hadn¡¯t been able to tell what it was in that split second, might not have been able to do anything if she had- but it doesn¡¯t matter. Whatever was left of him dove into the shadows, out of her perforated guts, and found a new home in a better-prepared puppet.


    That was why he¡¯d cut the thought of Project 13 out. Too easy to draw connections, figure out similarities in how their minds were cut away and traumatized, and too much of a chance, no matter how small, that Raika might realize Zhoulong had a better host already prepared by accident.


    But it doesn¡¯t look like he got away unscathed.


    As Project 13 burns, silent now, its body shivering but otherwise unnaturally still in the flames, the shadow-form of Zhoulong is made clearer by the brightness of the fire. The specter seems to be entirely missing an arm, a leg, whole chunks of its torso gone, and there are parts of it that look like small, fanged mouths or insectile kitten paws- ah. He mentioned he¡¯d been feeding off the scraps of what she ate as he dissolved, and it would seem some of them had an effect. Even as she watches, the strangely shaped parts crawl forward, winding, writhing.


    And now, just like the body, the shadow seems to imitate the flame, as if mirroring the burning.


    ¡°Ha- haha!¡± he laughs, the voice emerging from Project 13 not just hurt, but now strained. ¡°Whew! That¡­ ooooh, but that stings! Qen Hou, was it? Excellent form. The flame is well and-¡±


    Raika, uncaring of the flames, cracks the ground beneath her feet and has one of her hands around his throat. The Flesh reacts to the fire, to the pain, her armor plates locking tighter together to minimize the burn, but even instinct screams that the removal of this particular threat is worth a bit of pain.


    She hoists him up, strangling Project 13¡­ and then cocks her head.


    He¡¯s there, spasming, but¡­ he can¡¯t leave. She watches the shadows trying to pull away from Project 13, away from the fire, but there¡¯s nowhere to go but into the shadows¡­ whose main source of life he disemboweled.


    ¡°Now now!¡± he chokes out through a throat not his own. ¡°No need for-¡±


    ¡°You really are a roach,¡± the Mask whispers, a bit in awe. ¡°All this time¡­ we cut your desiccated ghost out of our head, and still.¡±


    ¡°And once again, I¡¯ve come to- ah! I¡¯ve come to help! See? Project 13 wouldn¡¯t listen to any of you, you well know that, and -mmmh, that fucking smarts- and I killed the Witch for you! That¡¯s surely worth some-¡±


    ¡°He was the cause?¡± Maen asks. Behind her, the threat seemingly contained for now, Li Shu steps out past the line of fire, already dimmed to natural flame from Qen Hou¡¯s limited reserves and shifted focus to Zhoulong. Hao Nera too manifests, as if he were always simply standing right where he was standing, unnoticed.


    ¡°Such a crowd! I¡¯m afraid I-¡±


    ¡°He was,¡± Raika says.


    ¡°We should probably kill him then, no?¡±


    ¡°Qen Hou, at least put out the fire while he¡¯s strangled,¡± Li Shu says.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± Qen Hou says, a look of consternation on his face. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve been trying to ever since Raika grabbed him, but-¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Project 13¡¯s Truths,¡± Raika says. ¡°It Cannot Stop and Everything Hurts And Is Sharp. Maybe more.¡±


    Even Qen Hou, prim and proper as he tends to be, can¡¯t help but stare at her.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Hao Nera says. ¡°She wasn¡¯t kidding about the whole ¡®tortured weapon¡¯ thing, huh?¡±


    Raika looks at Zhoulong, still squirming against her grip, against the shadows, against the flame. ¡°Listen, alright, I- please. The fire. Please. I-¡±


    Qen Hou frowns, concentrating further¡­ and slowly, the fire dies down, the lack of Qi fighting against It Cannot Stop and slowly, painfully winning out. Still, he starts to sweat, and almost drops to a knee as he drags the flames off Project 13.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± he hisses. ¡°Apologies. Was¡­ mmh. Kept pulling on my Qi, even after I tried to stop it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Li Shu says. ¡°We have him.¡±


    ¡°It is not fine!¡± Project 13 hisses, pulling harder against Raika¡¯s hand- but only partially bound to the body as he is, there¡¯s just not much he can do off the ground. ¡°Put me out, damn you! Please! It-¡±


    ¡°It Hurts?¡± Raika asks.


    Zhoulong¡¯s shadow, through Project 13¡¯s empty, puppeteered body, opens his eyes wide. She laughs.


    ¡°You did an excellent job with them,¡± she says. ¡°Fuck. Just like me. You really did. Packed in all those Truths, so useful, so powerful. Took out any room for a person to exist, made those beliefs true¡­ and then what? Assumed you could hop right in? Just be some vengeful spirit in a whole new body?


    ¡°You¡¯re dead. Stay that way.¡±


    She throws him to the ground. He goes to get up, but the pain stops him again, and even as he tries to pull away, malformed shadow yanking at the cords, the same shadows that bind what¡¯s left of his soul to life bind him to his intended target. Eventually he loses control of the mouth, and Project 13¡¯s face goes slack again, even as it continues to twitch, burned and impossibly sharpened flesh scraping against the ground.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Raika turns to the others. There are still holes in her torso, though that doesn¡¯t really stop her nowadays, not when they¡¯re so small, and there are chunks of shadow-changed flesh missing all over her, but¡­ she stands relaxed. Calm. Aligned, just a bit closer.


    ¡°Li Shu,¡± she says, opening her many jaws and using the Mask¡¯s human face again. ¡°Hey.¡±


    Li Shu smiles, her eyes tearing up the slightest bit.


    ¡°You have to be the most problematic fucking patient any healer has ever had to deal with.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure I¡¯d be high in the rankings.¡±


    And then Li Shu is hugging her.


    Qen Hou comes up as well, exhausted from the massive uses of Qi but smiling. ¡°She¡¯s been going crazy, you know. Pacing a hole through our room worried about you, ever since we saw you.¡±


    ¡°Our room?¡± Raika asks, the Mask raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Why yes, as a matter of fact!¡± Hao Nera says, swaggering in once more from out of view, though the Witch¡¯s shadow-spears has earned a long, violent cut across his chest and stomach that slows his pace. ¡°Our room. I¡¯ll have you know that I have succeeded where you have failed, junior sister. Even with all their pining and worry for you, twas I to whom they came to for comfort and relaxation.¡±


    Raika barks out a laugh, even as Li Shu turns, beet red, to face Hao Nera. ¡°Came to- you arrogant little-¡±


    Raika turns sharply as she hears a slight cough behind them.


    Still next to the pedestal, most of her organs leaking out of her, held together by black strings and the dribbling remnants of shadow left, she looks up at Raika with sightless eyes.


    She can feel her allies come to attention, follow her gaze, raise their Qi or vanish or prepare their blades-


    ¡°Li Shu,¡± Raika says, ¡°please go help Yun Ka. I¡¯m sure the others could use more healing, and your reserves are likely at least on par with theirs.¡±


    Li Shu just nods, eyes sharp and locked to the Witch for movement, but backing away towards the wounded at the back of the chamber.


    Saying nothing, Raika, Maen, Qen Hou (and, she assumes, Hao Nera, hidden from perception) walk over to the dying immortal.


    The Witch laughs, her voice reedy, faint. ¡°I think¡­ I hardly rate¡­ so many of you,¡± she whispers. She raises a hand, pulling the shadows to her again¡­ but what moves is barely a fragment of the strength she showed earlier.


    It could be a bluff. A last tactic, wipe one of them out, try the same possession tactic Zhoulong apparently tried¡­


    ¡°Check on the others,¡± she says. ¡°Make sure they¡¯re alright. See if Shapefixit or Yun Ka need help with anything, please.¡±


    Maen and Qen Hou say nothing for a moment¡­ then Maen nods. ¡°If you need anything, just tap the stone. I move fast.¡±


    Raika smiles at her. ¡°I will.¡±


    They walk back towards the others, their metaphorical hackles still raised and senses primed- but leave Raika alone with the Witch.


    She sits, awkwardly cross-legged, in front of her again. As if the last few moments of violence were an illusion, a pause in their conversation and nothing more.


    The Witch wheezes out breaths for a few moments.


    ¡°I doubt we could heal you,¡± Raika says. ¡°If they have pills, then they¡¯re likely not the kind to pull your guts back into your body. Especially with how little Qi is in you.¡±


    The Witch laughs weakly, though it comes out as more of a rasp and then cough. ¡°Not how¡­ we grow. The Craft is¡­ we move it outside ourselves. To the world, through us. It¡¯s¡­ aaah. I would have liked¡­ to talk about it with someone. Maybe you. Like the old days.¡±


    Raika says nothing. Her senses easily pick up the others, checking wounds, looking through their supplies, even the muffled twitch-beats of the heart, slowly picking up volume¡­ but ultimately she hones her senses in on just the Witch.


    ¡°A vigil, then?¡± the Witch asks.


    Raika nods.


    Another painful little cough in place of a laugh. ¡°Aah. I suppose¡­ it¡¯s the most I can¡­ ask for.¡±


    Raika¡­ shrugs. ¡°I¡¯d listen. If you ask something else.¡±


    The Witch turns to her, eyebrow quirked. ¡°Really? After all this?¡±


    She shrugs again. ¡°You didn¡¯t attack me. Didn¡¯t use the cigarettes you gave to curse me somehow. Were willing to let me go. I can hear your last wishes, at least.¡±


    ¡°Ah. And¡­ if it¡¯s something¡­ greater?¡±


    ¡°Make me an offer, I guess. Or I just decide not to.¡±


    The Witch smiles. ¡°It¡¯s your right¡­ as the victor.¡±


    There is silence for a while longer. Eventually, the Witch just huffs.


    ¡°You know¡­ I can¡¯t¡­ think of a single thing. A¡­ a thousand years¡­ in a fucking cave. Watched the city grow. But¡­ always the¡­ work. More runes to¡­ carve. More meditation to¡­ conquer the Heart. Preparation¡­ and theory for¡­ new weapons, new spells. And now¡­ ha. I couldn¡¯t¡­ even tell you where¡­ anyone who knew my name¡­ might be. Or where my¡­ brothers and sisters¡­ might be. I¡­ took no apprentice. Have¡­ no family. What¡­ use is a¡­ dying wish?¡±


    She shakes, and for a moment Raika thinks she is convulsing¡­ but no. Laughter.


    ¡°Aaaah. This¡­ is the most I¡¯ve laughed¡­ in years.


    ¡°What¡­ would you¡­ wish of me?¡±


    Raika blinks. ¡°Me?¡±


    The Witch tries to shrug, but even that effort fails her.


    ¡°I did not¡­ call you little sister¡­ for nothing. Call¡­ call it an elder¡¯s generosity.¡±


    Raika thinks, letting the silence sit. For all that the Witch is so near-mortal, the shadows still hold her together, though she can see the blood gradually leaking past the shadow-tendrils. She takes a breath, lets herself reflect¡­ and eventually looks over at Zhoulong and Project 13.


    ¡°Two things,¡± she says.


    The Witch smiles. ¡°What a¡­ greedy junior of mine. Fine. If¡­ I can.¡±


    ¡°Zhoulong. The revenant. Can you pull him with your shadows? Pull him out of the body he¡¯s in?¡±


    The Witch nods. ¡°But he will¡­ still be in¡­ my shadow. I cannot promise¡­ he won¡¯t try¡­ to possess me.¡±


    Raika thinks, then sighs. ¡°Was planning to offer to kill you quickly. If you wanted. Extend that to this?¡±


    ¡°Agreed. ¡­Why?¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°Not sure there¡¯s anyone left in it, but¡­ I know what having the bastard in your head can do. Doubt it asked for what he did to it. It¡¯s in enough pain already. I¡¯d rather not have him be trapped in there with it, even if it hurts him worse than it.¡±


    The Witch smiles, blood and shadow dribbling down her chin. ¡°I¡­ take it back. What luck. A¡­ generous sister. Consider¡­ it done. What¡­ else?¡±


    ¡°Jun Vral. The serpentine cultivator. Can you find them? Bring them here?¡±


    The Witch scoffs. ¡°Maybe before¡­ your friend¡­ tore apart the Heart. As it is¡­¡± She closes her eyes, and for a moment the dark stirs, the Heart¡¯s quiet, muffled beating skipping a step. ¡°He¡¯s alive. I¡­ I think I can. He¡¯s¡­ weak. Lucky he¡­ distanced himself. Think¡­ his serpents went¡­ a bit feral, without¡­ Qi.¡±


    Raika taps the ground beside her, and Maen arrives, fast enough that she actually blinks in surprise. Maen smiles down at her, a bit smug, blade in hand.


    Raika thinks she looks absolutely incredible.


    ¡°Everything alright?¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Yes. The Witch says she¡¯ll bring Jun Vral here, but he¡¯s weak.¡±


    Maen nods. ¡°I¡¯ll get Li Shu on it. We need to leave soon, though. Taran especially, but all of us are low on Qi, and this place¡­¡± she looks over at the Witch, as if asking or challenging her on the matter.


    The Witch shakes her head. ¡°Not¡­ me. The Heart. Pulls on¡­ Qi. Heat. Life. How it¡­ grows. Been¡­ redirecting to me¡­ for a long time. But can¡¯t stop it. Can¡­ can maybe pull you out, or pull him¡­ here. Not¡­ both.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Pull him here, then. We can find our own way out.¡±


    The Witch nods. Then¡­ pauses.


    ¡°If I could¡­ ask one thing. If you¡­ loot this place. Don¡¯t¡­ burn my¡­ books. Give them to¡­ someone. Just¡­ don¡¯t let them burn.¡±


    Raika hesitates, but¡­ nods.


    ¡°Oh, and the¡­ cigarettes. Three parts cave moss¡­ one part¡­ hemp leaf. Two parts¡­ blood. Any Qi-rich blood¡­ will do.¡±


    Raika huffs, but¡­ nods. ¡°Thanks. Ready?¡±


    The Witch nods. She hesitates a moment, hand half-raised, looking like a dead thing already¡­ but then she breathes, painful and slow. And the shadows shift.


    Space warps again, the way it did before. The angles of the roof above warp, and twist, and slowly unravel to reveal a tunnel mouth, from which-


    He barely looks human. A humanoid torso, perhaps, but every limb, every defined muscle group, and half his face are just snakes, limp like tendrils of some sea-beast. Before she says anything, Maen has leapt up, grabbing and carrying him down to the ground rather than letting him crash.


    ¡°He¡¯s alive, I think,¡± Maen says. ¡°I can hear what I think is one larger heart in the mix, maybe.¡±


    As if hearing her words, Jun Vral stirs, a den of snakes curling, hissing starting to echo in the chamber-


    And then the Witch pulls at the shadows, at the strings that bind Project 13- and cuts them free.


    Even without a mouth, Zhoulong screams in the scraping of hair-on-hair, of shadow on darkness, an unearthly wail that echoes poorly¡­ and then he is dissolved back into the shadows, losing definition.


    ¡°Now,¡± the Witch says, voice strained. ¡°I can feel-¡±


    Raika gently but inexorably rests her claw tips over her heart, and pushes them in. She neither hurries nor goes slowly, neither torturous nor quick.


    The Witch lets out one final breath. She cries a single black tear. She goes still.


    The shadows break. Where once there was living, too-dark darkness, there is nothing, a dissipation absolute and immediate. The lake of ink brightens visibly, going from black of a perfect void to just an absence of  light in the blink of an eye, even as trails of darker black continue to swirl through it ever so faintly.


    And she is gone.


    And the Heart begins to beat, unmuffled.


    Bum-bum-boom. Bum-bum-Boom.


    The ground begins to shift, the stone flowing like flesh, like-


    Shapefixit steps past Raika, Maen and Jun Vral without a word. Raika didn¡¯t even perceive her coming, her breath and heartbeat synchronized to the heart, her steps silent as she sinks half-a-millimeter into the stone as she walks.


    ¡°It lives,¡± she whispers. ¡°It¡¯s free¡­¡±


    ¡°Shapefixit,¡± Maen warns, voice quiet but eyes sharp.


    Shapefixit doesn¡¯t seem to notice, though. She turns to look at them, her eyes incredibly wide even for their inhuman size, her ears literally trembling and making little flapping noises. ¡°It¡¯s alive. A god. God of my people.¡±


    ¡°Can you speak with it?¡± Raika and her Mask ask.


    Shapefixit smiles, her sharp little teeth going almost from ear to ear. ¡°Yes. Yes. I know it. Older Ways. I know some. I will learn.¡±


    ¡°Can you get us out of here?¡±


    Shapefixit hesitates a moment, a hand hovering towards the heart. Slowly, as if afraid of what might happen, she clicks her fangs, make a series of chirping noises that don¡¯t form into anything recognizable as human speech¡­ and Raika feels, ever so slightly, the pull on her body heat and Qi fade.


    Shapefixit smiles wider still, looking like her face is about to unhinge.


    ¡°I believe so. But I will stay.¡±

 Chapter 145 - All Comes Back Around

    It doesn¡¯t take long for them to get reorganized. Taran is unconscious, Ax not long behind them, with Shi Cho so drained of Qi it wouldn¡¯t entirely be a surprise to see him lose progress in his realm. Yun Ka, of all of them, seems affected the most strangely; both immune to the loss of Qi, and, surprisingly, weakened almost as badly as Taran. Their battery of green Jade seems to hold some energy still, but even that is flickering, and she seems to be struggling to keep her eyes open. Jun Vral and Project 13 are both seemingly barely conscious, with the serpentine cultivator sort of wrapped around the area where Project 13 lays. The whole situation leaves a crowd of wounded and exhausted mostly to their own devices, close enough to contribute to the conversation, but mostly out of it.


    Shapefixit is the least visibly drained, though she¡¯s not exactly at her best either. She stands at the center of an impromptu ring, the Heart beating quietly but steadily behind her, even as dregs of shadow and a strangely fragrant, clear liquid dribbles from the wound Hao Nera put into it. Hao Nera, Qen Hou Raika, Maen, Li Shu and Kaena stand around her, keeping a bit of space between them and making sure that everyone can see in the uncomfortably crowded space.


    ¡°So,¡± Maen says.


    ¡°You¡¯re staying?¡± Li Shu follows up.


    Shapefixit nods. ¡°I need to. The heart, it¡­ it¡¯s godflesh. The heart of a divine. This whole place¡­ it¡¯s important. To my people. We came from a place like this.¡±


    ¡°A cave in the ground?¡± Hao Nera asks. ¡°Yeah, go figure. Everyone knows that goblinoids dwell underground.¡±


    ¡°Yes. We spore and grow in dark places, warm and quiet and wet. But more than that. We began from the deep. From the dark. We began in the tunnels, down deep, to the beating of hearts like these.¡±


    ¡°There were more of them?¡± Maen asks.


    ¡°The Witch said they were harvested,¡± Raika says. ¡°That they¡¯re¡­ powering them, somehow. Maybe that they¡¯re the reason the Palaces are so large on the inside, and maybe the servants?¡±


    ¡°Servants?¡±


    ¡°The invisible ones. Barely perceptible, fade away the moment you notice them.¡±


    ¡°They have invisible servants in-¡±


    Qen Hou laughs softly. ¡°Of course they do. Shapefixit? Go on.¡±


    Shapefixit hesitates a while, but then chirps and continues. ¡°I¡­ the hearts were lost. A long time ago. Generations and generations of spores ago. The spore mothers, when they can no longer walk, they tell stories of the old days. The way that the tunnels move? The gods of old did more. Made more. We goblins were the first children, but in old days, when the hearts were many, cultivators came, in white and gold. They killed our sibling-kin, the scaled drakes and great bug-bears and dead that walk. The slimes went deeper, and the hearts and our tick-tock kin were taken, and my people had to hide and re-spore over years and years. We live in dens now, but¡­ we cannot spore freely. We are purged, often, even the nests beyond the fourth ring. But¡­


    ¡°With this heart, I could make a home again. If the Empire knew it was here, they would have already taken it. If I become a spore mother, or if the heart can call others of my kind to us¡­ maybe I can make us a home. A new home, deep, deep beneath. Right under noses.¡±


    Raika turns to Kaena. ¡°Will you tell Taurus about this?¡±


    Kaena hesitates, failing to meet her eyes¡­ but eventually raises their head. ¡°Yes. I think he might even help. But¡­ Shapefixit, you¡¯d need to leave. Go deeper, or someplace else than this chamber. To make sure he can¡¯t look in.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t trust your handler?¡± Hao Nera asks.


    ¡°I do. With my life. He¡¯s earned it twice over. But¡­ that is my life. I offer it freely in service to what we choose to pursue. A goblin spore colony under an Imperial city¡­ It''s useful, dangerous, and hard to control. He¡¯d try to fix that last part. I trust him not to do so harshly¡­ but if you want to keep the leash as loose as can be, you should hide all you can.¡±


    They look over at Raika, as if waiting for some kind of approval after the fact, or trying to see how she feels about what they said. Raika gives off nothing, however. Inhuman face and perfect stillness do plenty, and the way her Qi is diffused through her body makes it almost impossible to track, she knows this. She¡­ is thinking.


    Shapefixit just nods. ¡°Not like Zhoulong. But Imperial. Do not want to give over heart. Never again.¡±


    ¡°Knowing him, he¡¯d probably work to cover it up and then assume that¡¯s all he needs to do to make it his,¡± Maen grumbles.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see how to keep it secret without the Witch¡¯s magics,¡± Kaena says. ¡°They must have used some sort of method to find these things originally. Maybe she¡¯s been hiding it, maybe not, but it¡¯s still better to have him know and try to work to keep it hidden.¡±


    ¡°I agree,¡± Raika says.


    She most certainly notices that she gets some looks at that, especially from Maen. She shrugs. ¡°He¡¯s our main Imperial resource. He has his own agenda, and it might not be to help anyone, but keeping tools useful is something Imperials seem to excel at. Better to have him know enough to convince him to help, especially since he already knows we were to try to find the Witch and her allies.¡±


    Kaena nods, but is frowning as they do so. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ calmer than I expected of you.¡±


    ¡°It helps that I won¡¯t be dealing with him anymore,¡± she replies.


    She continues before the curious looks can turn to interruptions. ¡°Being under his leash hurts us. My Truth, especially, but¡­ I wasn¡¯t dealing with what I needed to. If there¡¯s any chance of going back to who we were under his command, we¡¯d rather not be anywhere near him. The main thing holding me back was the threat to Li Shu, Qen Hou, and Maen, and he claimed most of that threat would come from other Imperial agents, or Researchers, trying to find out my location if he marked me as missing. After the chaos in the arena, with nearly everyone I care about here, where we can make decisions, there¡¯s no better chance to get away.¡±


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    ¡°Why not just do that, then?¡± Li Shu asks, her eyebrow raised. ¡°Leave, I mean. I¡­ we were worried that the Divine Beast would follow us to you, and ended up here anyways. Now¡­ there¡¯s no reason to stay if it means it¡¯ll hurt you. I swore to you plenty, and I intend to keep those promises. If the best thing for you is to leave your Division, then I stand by it.¡±


    ¡°Good. Especially as I need your help. Unless I intent to stay as I am, divided, I¡¯ll need support structures to reinforce us and accommodate change. I¡¯m only the Mask, for now, and we need time if we¡¯re to change that.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ alright. Don¡¯t know what that means, but I¡¯d like to try.¡±


    ¡°Not all of us can leave,¡± a voice rasps from the wounded.


    Turning, Raika is surprised to see Taran sitting upright, their eyes that same new shade that denoted the currently unnamed persona fronting.


    ¡°Sarai, it¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°It is what it is, Kaena,¡± ¡®Sarai¡¯ interrupts. ¡°We can¡¯t leave. Kaena wouldn¡¯t especially not with how likely it is the Garden¡¯s already breathing down the boss¡¯s neck. And if we leave Taurus, we die. Not a threat- we need elixirs only the Empire provides. He¡¯s saved us plenty, even before we knew how to be useful. I¡¯m not letting the kid or the fucking crowd in here to ramble off with some gorgeous freak. You said yourself, you¡¯re changing, barely in control. I saw some of what you were, back in the arena. You¡¯re a mess. I¡¯m not entrusting him and the rest to you, even if he wanted to.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Good. It would be inefficient. In fact, I assume you, Kaena, Yun Ka, Jun Vral and Project 13-¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Jun Vral hisses.


    The Mask turns in surprise, not even sure he¡¯d been awake. With the weakened pull on their Qi as Shapefixit apparently speaks to the heart, he¡¯s gotten up to his hands, his lower torso mostly just serpentine.


    ¡°No. We won¡¯t go with you, but¡­ I¡¯m done. And I¡¯m taking¡­ I¡¯m taking 13 with me.¡±


    ¡°Where will you go?¡± Kaena asks.


    ¡°Home,¡± he hisses. ¡°I¡¯m done. I don¡¯t know what deal you all have with your Taurus, but¡­ I saw that thing in the shadows. I heard his voice. It just¡­ I can¡¯t be in the Empire anymore. And I don¡¯t want to be near you either, Raika. I¡¯m sorry. My village is in the fourth ring, and the only Imperial cultivator I ever saw there was Zhoulong when he took me away from them. I¡¯ll take 13 with me. If¡­ if there¡¯s any chance they can heal, that I can heal with them, away from him¡­ then I¡¯d like to try.¡±


    Raika takes a moment, his words penetrating a bit¡­ but the Mask just nods. ¡°Understood. Losing five of his research group is a major strike but I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll-¡±


    ¡°Four,¡± Maen says. ¡°He¡¯ll be losing four. I¡¯m staying.¡±


    Raika says nothing for a while. The core of her shakes a bit, and the Mask¡­ fails, for a moment. Something doesn¡¯t click. She turns to face Maen, slowly.


    She has a look on her face that is sad, but determined. ¡°As much as I trust Kaena¡­ I¡¯d like to keep an eye on things. You need someone who¡¯s watching your back entirely. Right now, that¡¯s me. I can get stronger in the Division still, and you don¡¯t need someone to fight beside you, you need someone to watch your back. Right now, that¡¯s making sure that they¡¯re not looking for you¡­ even if Kaena decides it¡¯s time to tell the bull too much about where you¡¯re hiding.¡±


    ¡°I can solemnly swear,¡± Kaena says, ¡°on my-¡±


    ¡°No. I like you, Kaena, I think we¡¯re damn close to friends with how much you¡¯ve helped us, me¡­ but I won¡¯t be putting Raika¡¯s life in your hands.¡±


    Kaena nods. Their face is quiet, drawn¡­ but they smile, a bit sadly. ¡°Fair enough. I¡¯ll do my best to help until I¡¯ve better earned the trust you ask, hmm?¡±


    The Mask¡­ nods. It hitches slightly, the movement going against something deeper inside her- but for now, the Mask is in control, and the logic makes sense. There¡¯s hesitation, even in the Mask, the idea that Maen might end up in greater danger holding their logic back, but in the end the Mask wins out. Part of the damage to their dynamic had been the lack of trust she¡¯d placed in Maen recently, trying to protect her, coddle her. But Maen is a cultivator, and there¡¯s proof positive in her actions arriving here to help that she¡¯s plenty capable. If this is the way she wants to contribute, and her choice¡­ then it stands to reason that it should be supported, even if it hurts in the short run.


    Maen still laughs at her, though. A small, soft little huff of a laugh, the twitching of Raika¡¯s Mask calming as the felinid reaches up to her fanged, altered face.


    ¡°I think I still love you, Raika. But I¡¯m not weak. I need to be stronger, for myself, and to protect you. I liked coming to the rescue when you needed it, and if things work out with Taurus properly, maybe we can arrange to visit sooner than later. But you need someone you trust on the inside, and I¡¯d rather know you¡¯re in a better place healing while I keep you safe than watch you keep breaking yourself apart to keep me safe. I¡¯ll have Taran, Kaena, and Yun Ka with me, and Taurus will know that if he hurts me, you¡¯re going to fuck up his plans to get to him, whatever they really are. And... I think we should take a break anyways.¡±


    The Mask says nothing for a moment.


    She''s right. There''s an imbalance, a heavy one, and it''s been there a long time. Spiraling during the tournament... likely didn''t help, no matter the reason for it.


    She just nods. Maen takes the nod for what it is.


    Cutting the tension ever so slightly, Li Shu coughs into a fist and clears her throat.


    "That¡¯s¡­ I don¡¯t know this Taurus, but it seems well thought out. And you do need healing. Raika. I¡¯m¡­ I don¡¯t know what this Mask situation is, but you¡¯re still my patient. And I assume these boneheads come with me.¡±


    Qen Hou sighs softly, but Hao Nera just snorts. ¡°Obviously. Not only did we only just start sleeping together, you think I¡¯d join up with the Empire? Fuck that noise.¡±


    Li Shu rolls her eyes, but¡­ Raika can¡¯t help but feel something behind the Mask stir and smile, slightly, at the sight of her reaction.


    ¡°Alright then,¡± she says. ¡°I¡­ leave. Go to figure some things out, heal. Li Shu, Qen Hou, Hao Nera, you all come with me, I suppose. Kaena, Taran, Yun Ka¡­ and Maen, you all go back to Taurus. Jun Vral, 13, you¡­ go find your peace, and Shapefixit, you¡¯ll be here.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go, then. We¡¯re losing time waiting, and the worst it¡¯ll feel if we take too long.¡±


    ¡°Give it a minute, though,¡± Li Shu says. ¡°The Witch mentioned books, right? I¡¯d like to look for them.¡±


    ¡°Alright. We get everything we need, then go.¡±


    ¡°And the Beast?¡± Shapefixit asks, looking over to the still form of the Not-Tiger, its body still wounded and mutated. ¡°Can we keep it?¡±


    Raika shrugs, the Mask putting on a laugh. ¡°All yours, if you can hold it.¡±


    Shapefixit nods happily, looking up at Raika.


    ¡°Thank you. Saved us from Zhoulong. Helped me here. Found this place.¡±


    The Mask smiles softly. ¡°Didn¡¯t plan for most of it.¡±


    ¡°But still did it. Have request. Offer.¡±


    Raika crouches down to Shapefixit¡¯s level, massive limbs and hinged joints taking a while to get her so low. Surrounded by allies and friends, they all give a bit of space, respecting Shapefixit¡¯s focus on Raika.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hear it.¡±


    ¡°The Heart. Take a piece. Let it grow with you. Find it a home. Will make for strength.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d trust me with something like that? It¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°Is an advantage. And think¡­ the heart. It should not be alone. If it¡¯s you¡­ maybe you find a new place for it.¡±


    Raika is silent for a while¡­ but eventually, as a whole, she nods.


    And waits, as her allies split paths, as her friends find what remains of the Witch¡¯s writings, and as a new ally crafts for her an infant, fleshy pearl that makes the space around it ripple when she holds it out to her.

 Chapter 146 - A Spot Of Tea

    Atop a great spire of screaming faces, the sky cries. Tears of night and beautiful blue drip down where the tip of the spire pokes through a membrane that is the sky, and when the sun comes by, its flames are reflected in the falling colors that paint the many sides of the spires, which extend and multiply like fractals beyond where the eye can see. Many of its sides hold platforms of sharpened stone, as if the hard-edged material grew from the stone itself, as if some perfect act of destruction and creation made the spire broken in all the right places. A man walks out onto one of these platforms to meet someone already seated there, calmly drinking from a small, delicately painted cup.


    ¡°Grandmaster Errath,¡± the seated figure says. ¡°How good of you to finally make time to visit me, so far from your scrolls and laboratories.¡±


    ¡°When a cultivator of such honor and renown as you calls upon one such as I, it is best to be swift to answer, lord.¡±


    The seated figure smiles, her lips stained a matte black and the teeth behind them a strange off-red color. ¡°So it is. Come, dear. Sit. We so rarely visit nowadays.¡±


    Errath steps forward, his robes flowing behind him and the screaming, supernova stars that take the place of his eye-sockets swirl quietly. Despite his power, the fact his aura alone is enough to pulverize stone to sand if fully unleashed, he walks quietly, his steps small, his hands held politely in front of him. He makes his way to the side of the small tea table opposite his host, sitting without looking. A thing skitters out from a hidden alcove, partially drenched by the dripping colors of the sky, and unfolds itself into a many-jointed amalgamation of chitin and joints of cherry blossom flowers that perfectly mirrors a chair, catching him as if it was always there.


    ¡°Tell me then. How are things in our glorious empire, oh Grandmaster?¡±


    ¡°Better than before your arrival, of course, honored lord.¡±


    The woman sitting across from him turns slightly, shifting half-an-inch to put him in her gaze. He takes a breath, low and slow, as the starlight in his eyes dims under her eyes.


    ¡°Apologies. Protocol is what it is, lord.¡±


    She laughs, a soft sound that makes the sky-blood ripple silently from her. ¡°So it is.. Your father once spoke to me in that same tone, walked to me in that same way. I think it might make it easier to speak to Its lessers, making every little thing a ritual to be perfected. It doesn¡¯t need to keep up with changing trends, with cultures shifting, with people dying and being replaced. Speak in such and such way, bow and hold your hands in such and such way, and it has you encoded into place.¡±


    ¡°The Emperor is wise.¡±


    ¡°The Emperor is old. Wisdom is easy for the old. Either they see the patterns play out enough times even a child could understand, or they get strong enough that whatever they say becomes wisdom by default.¡±


    ¡°So it is, lord.¡±


    ¡°So it says, and so it is. Pleasantries aside, Errath. How go things?¡±


    Errath nods, breaking the protocol the Empire expects of behavior towards its differing ranks. ¡°Not well, lord. Not terribly either, but not well. The Oracular Division still screams day and night over their prophecy. More specifically, their lack thereof. Two years, perhaps less, and the patterns and streams they see in the pools fall apart into chaos. Little is certain beyond violence, upheaval, and the arrival of something¡­ new.¡±


    ¡°And here I thought that was what your Division was for. Seeing all the angles, no matter how strange or new.¡±


    ¡°It is so. We¡¯ve experienced an uptick in cases, even in just the few centuries we¡¯ve operated in. Some theorize it¡¯s simply our growing proficiency, learning and integrating with our Empire to better find that which is an outlier, but I have doubts. I believe the stability of things can¡­ encourage new thoughts. The Emperor, blessed be its wisdom, has provided food, resources, education, its very aura and Law unto the world¡­ but I wonder if, in this, it has not given the weeds more rain and fresh soil.¡±


    ¡°Likely intentionally, knowing that old thing. Two years, you said? Ugh. No time at all. Might not even finish my tea in time.¡±


    As if reminded, they take a sip from the still-steaming cup again. The painting on it writhes, the delicate brush-strokes changing as Errath watches. In the shifting, he sees faces, some captured in moments of arousal and ecstacy, others a blend of agony and rage. He recognizes none of them, but such is the number of citizens within the Empire¡¯s borders, even within only the first ring.


    ¡°Any indication of what might cause it? Any problems that have come up recently?¡±


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    Errath shakes his head. ¡°Nothing that truly stands out, lord. The last few decades have been quiet. The fourth ring has been unruly, but no more than during any greater beast tide, and not enough to break any records.  The Garden has been breaking records, they recently presented a fresh batch with the least number of prunings in the last millenia. Other than that¡­ hmm. A stray Emperor realm cultivator, caught by the Third Blade, put up a bit of a fight but nothing too exceptional. I hear the Enchanter¡¯s guild has him, something about the properties of his Manifestations. A minor rebellion in the south, but it got put down fairly quickly, only cost a few cities. Oh, speaking of rebuilding cities, Cragend had a bit of a mess with a divine beast and a Feng child. Had to cease mining for almost a week to rebuild.¡±


    ¡°Hah!¡± the woman laughs, red teeth bared, her hair shifting strangely as she moves, like it has both less and more weight than it should have. Where it touches the table, the material emits a soft screeching sound as the metal and chitin is sanded down to nothing in an instant. ¡°Ah, the Fengs. Still riding on their patriarch¡¯s shoulders and thinking they¡¯re tall I see. Please tell me he lost, I¡¯d love to have a little treat to tease the old coot with when next we meet.¡±


    Errath shudders, very slightly, at the thought of his lord and the Feng patriarch meeting. The last time¡­ well. They¡¯d contained the fallout and ash clouds eventually.


    ¡°In truth, lord¡­ we don¡¯t know.¡±


    The needle above them, piercing a sky that is not the sky and forever-shifting as its colors of day and night meld and flow in rivers, suddenly ceases to change shades.


    The sky¡¯s tears hold perfectly still as the world ever so slightly twitches under the attention of one of its lords.


    ¡°Really?¡± she asks, a note of vicious indulgence in her voice. ¡°You? Admitting you don¡¯t know? It¡¯s hardly the most important detail, and yet, I thought I¡¯d never see the day.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve entrusted an investigation into the matter to a disciple of mine. A Researcher. He had some experiments at ground zero, as it were, only about half of which were recovered I¡¯m afraid. Apparently, there was a user of the Craft involved, some old drama, but the fate of Feng Gao and the divine beast are unknown.¡±


    The woman across from him clicks her teeth, hissing once. ¡°Ah. Craft. Always admired them for what they did. Riskier, more time consuming, but we really underestimated them. If not for the Emperor and the First Sword, that could have gone on a lot longer. Never met one that could stand up to a proper cultivator, mind, but leave one alive and next thing you know a whole landscape has a brand new kind of sunlight or a new type of fruit that grows through your guts if you think certain thoughts. Softer power, but power nonetheless.


    ¡°A pity about Feng Gao, though. He was one of my favorites. So easy to make squirm. Could never tell if it was more arousal or pants-shitting terror with him, but always a joy to watch him try to pretend he could withstand my attention.¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯d like, lord, I can call the one researching the instance.¡±


    The woman with red teeth smiles wide, like a carmine wound behind black lips. ¡°No need. It¡¯s your little pet project, isn¡¯t it? The beastkin. You always did run your favorites ragged, Errath.¡±


    ¡°All the better to find the ones that can withstand the pressure, lord.¡±


    The smile widens. ¡°Sometimes. Seems so in this case, at least. A pity though. I can see the benefits, but you really are holding that boy back. You should taste the weight coming off that Soul of his, crippled though he keeps it.¡±


    Errath nods. ¡°Indeed. It is, always, his decision. I have offered him a higher position more than once, but he insists on his current post. Such are the requirements. A Warrior realm in charge of a single experimental set would be a waste, so¡­¡±


    ¡°And would have to swear more careful oaths.¡±


    The dripping of sky resumes, the flow of color returning as the spire¡¯s shifting shades fluctuate again and paint over the faces it is sculpted from. Despite this, the woman across from him faces him almost head on for the first time since he sat down.


    ¡°He has proven his loyalty time and again, lord. Even now I keep his chains tight, the barbs ready, and he holds himself firmly to them.¡±


    ¡°So he does. And yet, he shies away from any new ones. I wonder if it¡¯s because he knows the weakest links in his current binds better than he would a newer set.¡±


    Errath sits back a bit, and¡­ eventually nods. ¡°Perhaps. I¡¯ve had some doubts, though he is far too adept at producing results to leave me with certainty. He¡¯s been as ruthless as I¡¯d recommend, once or twice even moreso, always to good use. And¡­


    ¡°Well. I can only hope for perfect honesty between us, lord. I am curious to see how much strain it will take to break him. He¡¯s been holding back the formation of his Soul almost forty years now, and yet it remains very nearly awake. One wonders what it might look like when complete¡­ or how long it takes for it to break free of him.¡±


    She smiles. ¡°Ah. There¡¯s my favorite little scientist. Always ready to play with an idea.¡±


    She turns away from him again, sighing softly. He notices, out of the corner of his eye, some of the clouds shift slightly with the breath. ¡°Two more years, hmm?¡±


    ¡°Yes, lord. Perhaps less.¡±


    ¡°Ah well. Something to look forward to. Been a long time since I had anything to play with.¡±


    ¡°I could organize a hunt for you, perhaps. I can think of a few texts I could get into more entertaining hands, provide a greater unbound Daemon. Something from the fourth hell, perhaps?¡±


    ¡°No, no. Don¡¯t bother. I can wait. Might be nice to have something to look forward to. Try and see if your Division can provide any new munitions, yes? I¡¯d hate to lose out on a bet.¡±


    ¡°A bet, lord?¡±


    ¡°Mhm. Told the General I¡¯d have something that could give one of his Blades a damn showing. I¡¯m sick and tired of all those sword-law bastards boring the rest of us with their little one-trick show. See if we can¡¯t get something at least interesting on the roster before all this chaos breaks out.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not worried, then?¡±


    The world twitches again as she smiles wider still. Wider than a human can smile, wider than anything can smile, because the teeth are too perfect, too orderly¡­ and yet keep going, further and further back.


    ¡°It¡¯s not the first time chaos has come to visit, little Grandmaster. I dearly hope it won¡¯t be the last. We immortals need something to play with every now and then. Why do you think the big boss lets so many of the little mortals grow free-range?¡±

 Chapter 147 - Of New Hungers

    The swarm skitters and sings, happily consuming its latest meal. Shi Cho coos at one particularly aggressive ant, watching it bite adorably into the thorax of a centipede and yank with all its strength to tear apart enough chunks to take it back to its friends. The same process is repeated a hundred times a second, a multitude of sharpened pincer-jaws digging through prey and food and matter for resources, every bite folding back into the whole, as hunger leads to a breeding of more biting pincers and crawling limbs.


    It¡¯s a comfort, one he has¡­ admittedly indulged in as of late. Some of his latest swarm leaves its food, migrating back up his sleeve toward the artfully concealed hive he carries in his robes, close to his body heat and Qi, and he enjoys in feeling his crawling critters move over him. After the dark, the long tunnels and endless days of perfect dark, of sucking, starving stone, he¡¯s had¡­ an anxiety. Not much of one, but the memory of his hives getting colder, his swarms slowing, each beat of fluttering wings or clicking of mandibles slower than the last¡­


    It had been like watching a part of himself die, even as he himself starved. He¡¯d been forced to send his beetles, hardiest of his insects, out to scout, because any other single bugs would die to the cold almost immediately. And even then, it had been a painful thing, knowing that so many of them wouldn¡¯t return, would die cold, alone, slowly losing function as his connection to them dwindled, as the claustrophobic tunnels all around had leeched from him¡­


    He shudders. Never liked leeches. Some of his brethren in the sect used them, and apparently they could be used for medicinal purposes, but any distaste he had before is multiplied now.


    He lost two fingers, in the end, and almost half his swarm. He flexes the prosthetic, feeling the chitin-shell and hydraulics of the creatures replacing them and taking comfort in how they respond quickly and easily. It had taken weeks to regain the movement, but now they feel more comfortable than the ones he was born with, his Qi saturating them entirely. His swarm has grown, too. He lost so much Qi¡­ but that¡¯s the beauty of insectile cultivation, of being bound to a true hive. Incredibly difficult to refine and bind to oneself, but once you did, a fraction of every bite of food, every birth and death of the colony, feeds back into the cultivator.


    But the pieces missing still hurt. Some of those bugs had taken months to cultivate, the beetles especially, and the fireflies alone have cost him maybe a year of his cultivation to lose so completely.


    Still, needs must, and in the end, they¡¯d survived. In no small part due to his own assistance and strength.


    He wonders at that. At his survival. It hadn¡¯t felt like some great opportunity. More a tribulation, if anything. Those who were ¡°found¡± (read: wandered back to town) after being declared dead or missing in the arena collapse got some of the rewards honored, but only some. A few high-tier Qi stones, which were mostly used to regain his personal reserves and as savings for some future purchase, a medal, and an enchanted sword- not bad, but not exactly focused on his cultivation. Shi Cho is under the distinct impression that they offered some consolation prizes to save face, and were far too busy with other matters to honor a tournament with no real winner and that no one wanted to repeat too soon.


    But¡­ it had been worth it. It had, surprisingly, been progress in its own way.


    Shi Cho glimpsed the peak of the mountain.


    It hadn¡¯t been much of a glimpse. Barely an idea, especially with how alien things had been, down there in the tunnels. In the arena he saw cultivators of higher realms, saw displays of power that stunned him, saw cultivation styles and techniques he¡¯d never even thought of. The one Stone Divers sect cultivator that had wielded his Qi into lodestone golems, or the one that wielded blood that became lightning and back again, the woman who had left strange whirlpools of air where she stepped¡­ they had been enlightening. The frog in the well seeing the sky past the lip.


    But down in the tunnels, he¡¯d seen the ocean, far on the horizon.


    The ever-shifting mass of Raika, the Undying. Surviving in the darkness of the tunnels, changing before his very eyes to slice through the darkness with claws of pure death and impossible will in the face of terrifying unknowns.


    The endless masses of malformed things the witch had sent, all with unique properties, manifested en masse to rival his own swarms and then some.


    The possibilities of what could be ring for him now. The realization that the world is much, much vaster and stranger than he realized.


    He¡¯d left his details with the Imperials, the ones allied to the abomination. And she had been that, despite all his admiration. They¡¯d split paths, and he¡¯d been rather unconscious at the time of the splitting, but it was still a pleasant surprise that they¡¯d care to take his name and sect. Plenty of folk see his kind of cultivator as abominations, so he¡¯s hardly in a place to judge, but it was still a surprise nonetheless that she¡¯d¡­ died? Left? The details had been vague, and he had been unconscious for a large amount of it. He owed their allies that much, at least.


    But he has his suspicions.


    For one thing, Beetle 365 is still alive, but hasn¡¯t returned home.


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    Any direct Qi connection is long gone, and he¡¯s no Nascent Soul cultivator in the insect paths who could sense any hive-offspring no matter how distantly related or far away. But he would feel if it had died. It¡¯s¡­ instinctual at best, but he holds to the feeling. It¡¯s nice to think of one of his bugs, one of his favorites at that, had made it out from that place.


    Perhaps it would find him again, engorged on beast flesh and raw Qi. The sort of fantasy someone much younger than he should indulge in, but a good fantasy nonetheless.


    He feeds his swarm a fresh cut of meat and a stray handful of grains, and watches them eat, wondering about what the future might hold and enjoying watching the hungry things he loves eat their fill.


    ¡ª-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Language is a complicated concept. Language, in spite of what it most commonly refers to, has very little to do with words at all. Grammar and linguistics and sentence structure, all parodies of the concept behind language, which has very little do with words at all. The concept is shifted around the idea of words: body language, as only one example. But language, at its core, is the transmission of information, of concepts encoded into symbols of sound, of movement, color or energy.


    All this is to say that there are no words in the language used between the beasts in the cavern.


    The stone around them is not stone, but fractal, grey-black flesh of a pulsing heart. The air that they breathe, those that still need to, is as much illusion as it is matter, and leaks in precariously through strange airways and stranger portals.


    ¡°It is taken from us,¡± one of the beasts says in the language of smells, of flashing chromatophores and of strange, minute fluctuations of Qi.


    ¡°Dead?¡± Asks another, its voice coming in the trembling of subsonic vibration, of crackling lightning and magnetism.


    ¡°Not dead. Taken,¡± affirms the first.


    ¡°Into the deeps. By another heart,¡± says a third of the beasts, its language clearer than the others for how it ripples through the air, changing the Qi surrounding them all and presenting to them its mind.


    ¡°Slave heart?¡± asks the second, again thrumming through the ground.


    ¡°No. Free. Slave to the Liars, but free now. It sings, low and quiet.¡±


    ¡°Another free? Unbound? Safe?¡±


    ¡°Not safe,¡± thrums the third. ¡°Beneath the broken place, where the hive of golden death dig, dig, dig. Hidden, but not safe.¡±


    The first among them snarls, something deeper than before, with less clear meaning besides displeasure and aggression, undirected. ¡°It is taken from us.¡±


    ¡°But not dead,¡± rumbles the second. ¡°Taken by a free heart. There is a chance, then, it might return.¡±


    ¡°So long as there is life, there is hope,¡± says the third in the language of ripples and energy.


    The first growls again, but is at least a little mollified. It prowls across the chamber, its many limbs a feature shared by many of its kin, and strange, ethereal colors flicker about its form as it moves, its corner of the cave the three meet turning to strange, whorling patterns that draw the eye and warp the air currents all around it.


    ¡°Foolish. Arrogant. Should not be. Was taken from us.¡±


    The second of the beasts hums in agreement, the trembling of the ground itself transmitting a feel of patience, of care, of a sort of implacable strength and firmness. ¡°True. But more foolish to pursue, now, than to wait. The better hunter finds its moment.¡±


    The first of the beasts growls again, the sound pitched well beyond what human ears can hear. ¡°Do not speak to us of hunting. You are no hunter.¡±


    The second beast rumbles, long and low and quiet, and this time there is a hint of humor to the language. ¡°I am better than a hunter.¡±


    Before the first of the three to speak can channel its aggression or dig itself forward into its spectrum of color, the third among them sends out a pulse, vibrating through Qi and intent and consciousness. It calms them both, a showing of both violence and vulnerability, that to enter a fight here would not be to any of their benefits.


    The hunter grumbles, but acquiesces.


    The thing that rumbles through the earth like a storm through stone makes a sound, a mix of apology and satisfaction. ¡°All will be well.¡±


    ¡°Well for who?¡± hisses the colorful hunter.


    ¡°For those who win. And who find their moment.¡±


    ¡°Will the packs still come? The ambushes of your kind still travel?¡±


    The colorful hunter yowls, low and quiet. ¡°They hunger for more than scraps. Many are young and foolish. They will come to the hunt when called. We will find the highest of them, and take from them their throats and their heartblood. But we will not return with fresh prey between our teeth if your kind do not do as they must.¡±


    ¡°We must,¡± ripples the third among them, many-winged and flickering with thoughts its own and foreign. ¡°So we shall.¡±


    ¡°The center must fall,¡± rumbles the tectonic, thundering beast. ¡°These hungers cannot last. More and more are born stunted, even in the far-below.¡±


    ¡°We will not be slaves,¡± whispers the first, the idea of the sentence ringing out from it in ways that echo silently in the chamber and entrench themselves, already grown long ago into the minds of its equals. ¡°We will not be¡­ cattle.¡±


    That last concept, as it rings through not-quite-shared languages, makes all three of them almost physically recoil. It is a new thought, as these things go. The concept is old, has existed almost as long as the bipeds and their nest-clusters, but the thought of applying it to things like them, like those beside them, brings out a revulsion that strikes at the core of them.


    Death is only to be expected. Violence, desired. Ruin and horror and even war, if it must be so, all are known and faced with varying degrees of hunger and hatred. But that word¡­ there is something in it, something that reeks of, at best, what some of the insectile beasts do, crawling their way inside another to parasitize them. There is a disgust there, an acknowledgement of simple existence, true, but a disgust nonetheless. And, deeper than that, a fear. A fear not of the hunted, so often embraced or even experienced. No, a deeper, more viscous, more horrifying fear. A fear of subversion. Of enforced transformation. Of being unmade, and rearranged into a form chosen by another.


    The hunter recovers first, its hackles raised, its fluttering spectrum bending and warping perception until it is obscured and unmade beneath a fog of color, such that even the memory of its appearance is hidden from the others.


    ¡°We will fight. We are an ambush of hungering things, and we will take apart those that bind the gold and white. We shall hunt their flesh and minds and bodies.¡±


    The tectonic storm expresses amusement, but also agreement. ¡°They shall be unmade. Or we shall. All will be well.¡±

 Chapter 148 / Arc 4 Beginning - Turning Of The Wheel

    Jin sprints through an alleyway, laughing as loud as he can as he ducks under a passerby¡¯s basket, over a short barrel, and leaps up high enough that he almost entirely clears the wall at the end of the path. He can hear his pursuers slinging curses at them, can hear the sound the balls of mud or old fruits that whistle past his head and nearly throw him off balance, and he makes sure to look over his shoulder as he lands on the wall, one leg over and the other back, and sticks his tongue out at them.


    He¡¯s being chased by three people, one of them a full grown adult, heaving for breath as he runs and red in the face but old enough to have at least a few steps in the Qi-Gathering realm, and so managing to keep up in spite of it. The other two share a clear resemblance, their faces nearly as red, though more from anger than from physical exertion, but both the boys are yelling almost as loud as their dad, and are primarily responsible for throwing the missiles as they chase him.


    ¡°Get back here you little rat!¡± roars the man, his apron flapping in the wind as he shoves past the poor guy with the basket and nearly trips over the barrel blocking the way. ¡°You didn¡¯t pay for those you little shit!¡±


    Jin sticks his tongue out further, waggling it even as he dodges a clump of mud thrown his way now that he¡¯s stopped. ¡°Money is for suckers and old men like you!¡± he laughs, taking one hand from his package to help make faces at the red-faced man. ¡°Go suck some old eggs like proper pigs instead of running after the young and honorable!¡±


    ¡°Nothing honorable about a street rat!¡± yells one of the bigger piggy¡¯s kids, his voice hitting an unfortunately high note as the same source of his advantages (puberty) betrays him. ¡°Thief!¡±


    ¡°Ugly little pig-baby!¡± Jin yells back, cackling as he finally throws himself off the side of the short wall, hitting the ground running.


    The man chasing him manages to make it over the wall, barely, huffing and puffing and causing the wooden wall to break in parts as he falls over it. Both his kids take one look at the splintered mess behind their father and, for all their bluster, decide to maybe not try to replicate his actions. In the end the older man is left face-down in the dirt, struggling to get one of his legs unstuck from the wall he badly jumped over, screaming obscenities and words wholly unsuited to the ears of children after Jin as he runs away laughing.


    Cradled tight, the warm basket of steamed buns wafts out its smells to the boy, but he fights down the temptation, making sure he¡¯s well and truly as far away from his encounter as he can manage. There¡¯s still streets to go, and warm buns are less important than unbruised bones, no matter how tempting they may be.


    Jin runs down the streets of Wuyan village, his bare feet skipping across bare earth and expertly dodging leftover bits of animal manure, discarded equipment and supplies from the fair, and more. There¡¯s maybe a hundred stalls, maybe two, all of them preparing and getting things together for the big day. Even down in the southern rings, where the Cold Sun is so much smaller and so much less likely to cause moon-drops, most of the auroras are still plenty visible when the stars begin to weep, and if nothing else, it¡¯s nice to have a party when you don¡¯t die.


    Jin has heard stories, especially on festival days or late at night when the old grannies are in their cups and trying to scare the little ones, about some of the older tales, before even the Empire stories. He likes the Empire stories plenty, the big ones where the heroes strike down the rogue sects, where the Emperor chains up the Daemon hordes that the evil Daemonic cultivators summon, or the ones where the Blades were born as the Sword Saints finally came together to fight back against the forever-beasts of the fifth ring. But at the end of the day, the older stories just seem to have more stuff going on. Action is all well and good, but only the really little kids like fighting all the time, and sometimes you just like a story that feels a little bit scary.


    The eastern ring doesn¡¯t have as many stories as most of the others. In the north, they have the days of first freezing, the myths of the sun rising to fight the deepest cold every day lest it overtake the world, and tales of frost wights and great star-born beasts. From travelers coming up from the south, Jin¡¯s heard stories about where the sun breaks apart, about the endless lakes of fire and glass, about the great beast-mother that the sun wyrms pray to. Even the west has a bunch of stories, myths of the many traveling clans and the ancient ruins of the before-people. But late at night, when the fires are low and the stories get more interesting, they still talk about the first night of the Cold Sun.


    Jin runs through the streets, letting the white banners with the sigils of squares within a circle flap behind him as he rushes past the end of the festival preparations. He¡¯s well past the point where he¡¯d worry about the cook and his sons finding him, especially not for something as simple as a basket of dumplings, but that doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯s safe. There¡¯s plenty of people who might wonder about a shoeless kid sprinting through town, or ask where someone so disheveled got a whole basket, or, in the case of other kids, just take the food. Wuyan village isn¡¯t big enough to have a population of urchins, really, it¡¯s just Jin, but sometimes that just means he¡¯s an easy target for other kids to pick on. He¡¯s thirteen now, hardly a kid, practically grown, even if his body hasn¡¯t caught up yet¡­ but not eating very well means that even the eleven year olds can sometimes beat him in a fight if they gang up. Still, having little else to do, he¡¯s got enough Qi to make up for short legs, and he uses both to run for his latest hiding spot. The dumplings will be cold by then, but that¡¯s the price of doing business, as the pigs might say.


    He runs all the way out of the village, past the houses on the outskirts, past the small farms that ring the outer walls where the beast can¡¯t get them, all the way out the gates. Out here, so close to the fourth ring, beasts are still an occasional occurrence, but there¡¯s almost nothing in the village they¡¯d care about. The guards are relaxed, barely even noting him as he runs right past them before anyone can catch him, and he¡¯s off to the trees.


    He weaves in and out between the branches. The trees near Wuyan are strange, he¡¯s told, different to trees in other places. They¡¯re a bit taller, for one, but they grow their leaves like moss along their bark, so whichever side faces the sun is painted a rich, deep-dark green while from the other side, the trees look barren. He knows how to use the shape and color of the trees to track where he¡¯s going, and he¡¯s not stupid enough to go too far away from the village, so it¡¯s maybe two to three minutes after he left the gates that he finds himself in his ¡°home¡±.


    The older folk that have nowhere to go tend to stay in town, but children can be vicious, and Jin doesn¡¯t like to risk it. Instead, he has a few scraps of cloth here. A bedroll he stole from a traveling merchant makes up the centerpiece, tucked back against a rock in a small alcove only just large enough to fit itself and Jin together and providing cover from the rain. In a little cleared area in front of it, the remnants of a poorly made fire pit are visible, plenty of ash and soot cluttering the bottom of it, but Jin uses it rarely so as not to draw attention. It is for winters only most days, and while he¡¯s been told that the winters down south are warmer than in the far north, that¡¯s little help to a poorly dressed child in the woods. Beside the campfire are a few rags, for bandages and the larger ones for clothing, a small bag full of seeds and dried nuts for emergencies, and a small wooden horse, poorly carved and rather misshapen, but smoothed by time and touch.


    Jin sits himself down next to the firepit, in a little section that seems to have been cleared for precisely that purpose, the moss on the ground patted mostly flat into a semi-comfortable seat, and opens the basket. As predicted, the dumplings have cooled, but the basket held the heat and he ran fast enough that while they are no longer steaming, they are still warm to the touch.


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    Despite the hunger gnawing in his belly, he takes his time. Each dumpling is eaten in three bites instead of one as he chews deliberately, enjoying the flavors. Pork, a bit of green onion, a bit of soy sauce and a bit of sweetness¡­ it¡¯s not much, but he rarely gets to eat this well, and he lets himself enjoy every bite.


    His belly closer to full than it¡¯s been in a while, Jin leans back against the mossy stone of his seat and looks up at the sky.


    It¡¯s not safe outside of town at night, they say. Especially on a night of the Cold Sun. It hasn¡¯t been since the first one, they say.


    Once, before it was a moon, the Cold Sun was a star.


    All the stars in the sky are glimpses of a greater world above, the eyes of the Heavens digging through the dark of space to look down upon their children. Some people say the stars are probably balls of fire wyrms, like the sun, while others say they are something else, but all agree that they are magical in their own way, lighting the night, their brightness eclipsed by the sun. They¡¯re seen as good luck almost as much as bad, and to be watched by the stars, it is said, is to be cursed to live in interesting times.


    But one day, one of the stars got bigger.


    Its color went from the white and glittering rainbow of colors of every star to something colder. It curdled, there in the sky, like milk to moldy cheese, like meat to mold, until it was almost ten times as big as its sibling stars and turning dark, like a hole without the light of the Heavens.


    And then the watcher in the sky had looked through it. People say different things about it. Some say it was a rogue god, wandering the space between the Heavens, while others say it was a Daemon of terrible power that had escaped a divine prison above the world. Every story says something different about what it looks like, or what it did, but all agree that in the light of the Cold Sun, wraiths and spirits and daemons were riled, moved to violence and actively hunting the people of the world. The sects and tribes and lone warriors of the world fought against the ravenous dead, even as the world grew colder, the plants dying and turning strange after.


    And then¡­ someone put the Cold Sun into the hole where the star had been. No one seems to agree on what, though. Some say ancient cultivators did it, crafting divine tools and artifacts that created the strange cubes and pyramids and cylinders that make up the Cold Sun. Others say the thing behind the star did it, plugging the hole it created like putting a lid on a jar, to watch for longer, so its newest toy wouldn¡¯t die out. Some say the Will of Heaven reached into the world, twisting and turning its Qi and the will of the land itself to send up a part of itself to forever add a new, stranger moon to the sky, only for it to be shaped by the thing behind the stars into what it is now.


    It¡¯s why Jin likes the story. It¡¯s not a safe story, not a story of the good guys winning in the end just by being big and strong. It¡¯s a scary story, meant to remind children that there is so much that people don¡¯t know, and that sometimes terrible things happen and that there¡¯s no real answer, except that whatever answer is chosen doesn¡¯t make things the way they were before.


    Jin looks up at the Cold Sun above, so much brighter on its yearly night, and wonders if there will be hungry spirits tonight. He wonders if he will recognize any faces he remembers if he sees them.


    He does as best he can to go over those faces in his mind as the skies turn darker, the stars blink awake, and the Cold Sun shines bright above.


    In the distance, he begins to hear the sounds of the festival. They¡¯re a bit faint, but he¡¯s not exactly very far away. Some of the villagers shoot off fireworks or even handheld guns to match the lights as fires and the sounds of music and singing start to echo out of the festival.


    They¡¯d probably let him stay. If he went over to the village, blended in, amidst the festivities, everyone would be too busy to pick a fight and too happy to mind him running around while they pretend that they care about him. But the thought of going back, and seeing all the happy faces, and having them make an exception to just let him be-


    He realizes his hands hurt from how hard he¡¯s clenching them. He takes a long, slow breath, focusing on his Qi and the sensation of it moving through him, and forces himself to calm down. Being angry is a waste of energy he can¡¯t always afford, and-


    Something rustles in the dark.


    Instantly Jin has retreated into the stone burrow he found, putting the bedroll in it between himself and the only entryway. As defenses go it¡¯s meager but it blocks air from escaping, hopefully blocking his scent from attracting whatever it is that came so close. If it¡¯s a spirit beast, then he can¡¯t run anyways, and can only pray that the stone is enough to dissuade it, but even if it¡¯s a regular animal¡­ he¡¯s thirteen and underfed. Even the villagers fear wolves or vicious wandering turtles, nevermind actual true spirit beasts.


    He senses it before he sees it.


    His hands throb where his nails dug in as the world gets a little colder. The temperature doesn¡¯t drop, his breath doesn¡¯t suddenly fog, but still he starts to shiver as the world just shifts around him, ever so slightly towards something empty and cold. He clenches his teeth, so that they don¡¯t give him away with their chatter. He hears something start to whisper, the air beginning to shift the ashes in his firepit like something is sifting through it¡­


    A burst of wind strikes, and he hears something physical hit the ground. It takes all he has not to flinch deeper into the alcove, not to draw attention, but his eyes get wide as he sees the ash stir from the impact. It bursts up like a cloud, moved by the wind and as it does, it touches something that simply was not there before. An arm, then hints of a shoulder, then hints of another arm¡­ on the same side as the first, twisted and gnarled and growing from a rib. There¡¯s not enough ash to fully coat the thing, but what¡¯s left hints at more still unseen. A third arm, maybe, behind the first but higher up, and an indication of a neck and jaw¡­


    And teeth. Gnawing in the air, non-stop, always biting, chomping, gnashing, so the ash is stuck to it even faster than the rest.


    Jin is very, very aware of how far away from the colors and bright lights of town he is.


    For a moment, he wonders if dying will hurt, once the bleeding stops.


    As if sensing the thought, the gnashing teeth lurch to face his hiding spot, the angle of the neck and jawline all wrong, the shape of it all wrong, and he hears the slightest sound. Like whispers, like far off screaming, like something crying, and then he sees the arms move towards him and the ash swirls and touches more and more misshapen form and-


    There is a crunching noise. It takes him a moment to realize that the sound came from behind his alcove, where he cannot see, and sounded like a rock breaking.


    The specter is gone. There is a small patch of torn wood and only-now falling branches that indicate a direction it might have left to.


    And then the crunching noises start again, but louder. Messier.


    Now they sound like biting. And then like chewing.


    Jin stays very, very still, and desperately tries to hold his bladder as every part of his body clenches in fear.


    And then¡­ he hears a sigh. Like someone is bored. Or stressed about something. A perfectly normal, strangely familiar sigh of someone who has found something that needs to be done, but doesn¡¯t want to do it.


    And a woman steps out from the broken gap in the trees.


    He doesn¡¯t realize it¡¯s a woman at first. She¡¯s taller than any person he¡¯s ever seen, and shaped to match, though most of it is muscle, her form strong and strangely balanced between visible strength and hidden, more predatory design. His gaze goes up, from bare feet to simple robes and a set of pants beneath, up and up to broad shoulders. One of her arms is missing at the bicep- no, not missing, but so dark it¡¯s almost invisible, like its made of night, like her left arm is made of shadow and it feels so wrong and so hungry¡­ and he looks higher still. Jin sees the ash on her lips, the glint of sharp teeth behind them, the eyes, bright and burning like the sun as it rises¡­


    And sees that they are looking right at him.


    The night-black arm of the brown skinned figure moves as if to drop something, and Jin sees an imprint land on the ground, stirring up ash again¡­ but the place where the jaw, the neck, and the torso were don¡¯t seem to have any ash land on them. The ash goes right through. Like the pieces aren¡¯t there anymore.


    He hears a clicking noise, and a hiss of fire, which doesn¡¯t change the temperature but somehow wipes away that same violent, end-bringing cold feeling he had in his bones. The woman is holding a pipe, packed tight with something he can¡¯t see, and from her night-black arm a small spark of the clearest, strangest Flame he has ever seen is lighting it.


    She takes a long, slow pull, exhales even slower, to the point that he¡¯s not sure she should be able to do that¡­ and then squats down so she¡¯s only about two feet taller than his little alcove, instead of seven or more.


    ¡°So,¡± says the impossible entity in front of him. ¡°Got a name?¡±

 Chapter 149 - Knocking. Knocking. Knocking At The Door

    Raika takes a long, slow pull on her pipe, trying to clear the taste of ash and death from her mouth. It¡¯s not easy; neither is a taste that likes to leave, and neither is a taste that¡¯s hard to miss, though the latter even moreso. This is the third ghost she¡¯s eaten tonight, stirred up by the Cold Sun, and between the haunting flavor of moldy-putty-that-was-in-a-room-with-food-once and the surprising aftertaste of bloody mint and rot, they¡¯re not¡­ entirely pleasant. Still, not terrible overall. The only thing Raika¡¯s found she actively dislikes the taste of so far has been shale, though most rocks are fairly boring, usually. The smoke isn¡¯t quite the same as before, the ingredients plenty different, but it¡¯s close, and even with the lightened narcotic effect, the taste is still better.


    The kid stares up at her from inside the alcove, his eyes so wide they look like dinner plates on his face. He¡¯s wearing clothes Raika recognizes from her time in the streets as scavenged and ragged, and she can smell through the fabric the piss he¡¯s barely holding back, the fear sweat that saturates his little alcove and drenches his clothes, the vibrant sound of his heart beating like a hummingbird¡¯s. He doesn¡¯t say anything for long enough that it becomes a bit annoying.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you,¡± Raika says, keeping her voice light. Her true voice behind it, empowered by Qi and alien physiology, stays quiet, the purring of it muted. She still doesn¡¯t sound necessarily normal, but it would be weirder if she did with how tall she is. ¡°You¡¯re stinking up this whole place, and if one of them can find you, another will. Get out of there.¡±


    ¡°...fuck you.¡±


    Raika¡¯s smile goes a mile wide, her teeth gleaming in the dark even with the smoke now ringing her head. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit. Proper little shit, ain¡¯t you?¡±


    The kid stays still a little longer, but his eyes dart to the specter. She wonders if he can see it, but then- ah. The ash. Makes sense. It only covers up part of it, an arm and some joints. If he saw the whole thing, she figures he would¡¯ve let out that piss he¡¯s holding in. Even when it comes to spirits, this one is ugly. She¡¯s only eaten a few, but they sure are more awake beneath the Cold Sun, and this one looks like maybe five of them, growing in and out of each other like entangled trees and strange parasites in one. What little is human in it (beyond the pieces she already ate) looks like little more than vague anatomical shapes, made into grasping clusters of hands, too many limbs, and a second head poking out of its stomach, three skulls and mouths and eye sockets all melted together like wax.


    She gives it a kick, and it slumps over a bit as it further collapses, but otherwise doesn¡¯t move. It¡¯s not much, but it¡¯s enough for the kid to lower the bedroll he has partially over the entrance. She can see more of him, the glimpses of his bones through the skin from how skinny he is. It reinforces the initial impression of an orphan, but¡­ an impressive one nonetheless. Living outside town walls, even in the third ring, is no small thing, and the campfire here is weeks old at least.


    And he smells of Qi.


    Just a little, but¡­ mmm. Bitter. Like sharp, caffeinated tea in a dark room, but with someone mean laughing in it.


    She¡¯s getting it clearer, now. She nods, enjoying her progress. But¡­ focus.


    She sits down across from the kid and his alcove, taking her time with it and moving slower than normal so that he doesn¡¯t startle. She could rip him out of there, pull apart the rocks with her bare hands, and there is something in her predatory Flesh that thinks might be a fun impulse, but¡­ nah. Better to let him choose to come out.


    She drags the ¡°corpse¡± of the wraith, or revenant, or whatever it is, over to her. It¡¯s not dead, it can¡¯t die until it dissipates, but it could take days or years before it reforms itself, and in that time¡­ well. She¡¯s still peckish.


    She pushes Qi into her left arm. Where before there was flesh, bone, sinew, blood, now the limb is entirely made of a pure black steel. It eclipses the amount she had as claws or fangs before, but it¡¯s certainly much more useful now, and one of the few veins left in it pushes Qi towards her fingers. She flicks them once, twice as it doesn¡¯t catch, and a spark of raw lifeblood meets transformative hunger, meets death, and turns to Flame.


    She lights the firepit, the flame fueled enough that it sits pretty in the little pit, happily munching on ashes and illuminating the clearing. The kid stares into the Flames, his eyes wide and wondering.


    She rips off a piece of a dead ghost, crushing it in her hand. It bleeds, the cold and the taste of death leaking into her new arm and slowly feeding the material it¡¯s made from. Where it meets her veins and flesh, small spikes of blacksteel grow, death and life meeting and fusing into more of the impossible metal. She raises what¡¯s left of the meat and bites into it, absorbing it through the metal and eating it in more-or-less equal measure.


    Still tastes nasty, but it¡¯s nice to eat something that¡¯s filling, as opposed to most mundane ingredients. In between bites, she takes another long pull on her pipe, making sure the smoke drifts away from the kid.


    The fire crackles as she eats for almost thirty minutes before the kid crawls out from his little alcove. He sits across from her, on top of the rock, staying at the edge of the light, ready to bolt.


    She nods at him. ¡°Got anywhere to be?¡± she asks.


    He just frowns at her.


    She shrugs. ¡°Figured I¡¯d check. You¡¯ll probably die out here tonight, though.¡±


    The kid huffs and shakes his head, his eyes never leaving her. ¡°Not my first festival out here. I¡¯m still alive plenty.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but that was before me,¡± Raika sighs. ¡°Been riling things up the last few weeks, hunting. Now the Cold Sun is wriggling, they¡¯re gonna be even more awake.¡±


    He frowns, looking her up and down. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re not an exorcist. Or a Guard.¡±


    Raika laughs at that, letting it get a little louder than normal to ensure both a funny flinch from the kid and that the ghost behind him retreats back a few steps, warier.


    ¡°Can¡¯t say I am, kid.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a cultivator?¡±


    She shrugs again. ¡°Sure. For lack of a better word, call me a cultivator.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    She smiles, wide and with a few more fangs than the last time. ¡°Isn¡¯t it common sense to bow to a cultivator, boy? Or are the strange and powerful so common a sight in your little village?¡±


    He shrugs at her, a bit of fear coming back but¡­ not much. He looks down at himself, then looks at her. ¡°I mean¡­ I was technically bowing in the nook.¡±


    She snorts, huffing another breath of acrid, floral-rot-scented smoke out as she does. ¡°Sure, kid.¡±


    She sighs. Breathes in, and then out.


    She focuses, feeling her pieces drift into place.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    The Mask steps back a bit, her face going a bit slack and calm as she closes her eyes and leans back. From beneath, the Flesh stirs, ripples of it making her opinion known in the language of gut feelings and hormones, and from behind both, a smaller piece comes forth. Where the Flesh manifests as chemicals and physical sensation, and the Mask presents itself calculating and shifting, the little kernel flickers and shifts, surrounded by an orbit of memory and emotion and feeding into the calculus with more of the same.


    Raika feels her body heat up, ever so slightly, as neural systems warm and begin to pulse signals up and down her altered anatomy.


    The hunt was planned weeks ago. Her blood used as a lure, increasing the number and strength of potential manifestations of vengeful undead to feed on and purge, preparations for the Cold Sun set in stone and pre-prepared. Li Shu still has the ritual set up and ready, waiting for her to get back. But¡­ it¡¯s her fault the woods are so much more dangerous tonight. And he¡¯s a kid.


    The Flesh roils, an instinct for self preservation but also for hunger ruling her thoughts. There is more to be hunted, more to feed upon, and her hackles are raised by the Cold Sun and what they have planned, a background level of adrenaline humming through her systems.


    The Mask remarks that, in theory, the child would not be missed, but at the same time, the psychological weight of the choice could lead to potential harm in their makeup. She advocates bringing him along. Easy enough to leave him in a secluded spot or simply dump him back in town later.


    And at the core, connected to all and bridging the gap between them¡­ the smell of tangerines. The feel of something small and metallic vibrating.


    All of her has learned to listen to that particular combination of memory fragments.


    She sighs, cracking her neck as she rolls it and tapping the embers out of her pipe before storing it in her waistband. There¡¯s not much left of the revenant with over half an hour of eating it, but she picks up what remains and lets her left arm slowly drink it in, making sure everything is gone.


    ¡°Alright,¡± she says. ¡°Come on.¡±


    He frowns further, standing up as she does but stepping back and away. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere with you. If you think-¡±


    The same specter from before, emboldened by the boy¡¯s proximity to the woods, steps forward, one of its mouths gaping wide as starved, many-knuckled hands reach out-


    Raika moves fast enough that the boy doesn¡¯t have time to blink, much less react. She is behind him, her blacksteel arm warped and crackling like breaking obsidian as a spike of entropic metal pierces through the ghost. There is a hissing of escaping air, a burst of cold, death-flavored Qi that it exhales¡­ and then it is inert, too damaged to stay aware. It slowly hisses further, small spikes like coral growths spreading into it and taking the death into Raika¡¯s body.


    She looks back at the kid. She¡¯s not entirely sure what he saw, maybe only the blur of her movement and the massive blade extending from her arm¡­ but it was enough that he finally let go of his bladder.


    She catches him by the shirt as he falls backwards, eyes rolling back into his head.


    She sighs.


    ¡°Yeah. Ok.¡±


    Ignoring the smell, she scoops him up, holding him close to her chest so he won¡¯t bounce as she moves. A few strands of flesh reach out, like insectile limbs, and wrap around the kid to secure him further.


    She feels out her body, senses to see if her resources are good, if the Flesh is comfortable¡­ and then nods.


    ¡°Alright, you little shit,¡± she says. ¡°You owe me a clean pair of robes. Let¡¯s get you out of the woods.¡±


    She gently picks up the True Flame in the firepit, cradling it in her blacksteel hand and enjoying the sensation of it sparking against the material- and then swallows it whole. When it doesn¡¯t consume anything Qi-enriched, it doesn¡¯t give her more Qi than she started, but being transformed from raw, ethereal energy into active flame makes it much easier to digest into fuel, giving her a more direct boost. She feels the heat rush through her, her system sparking against itself and bringing a general ache that the Flesh complains about as it runs into some of her new changes.


    Rather than change into a warform, to tower over the trees or sprint fast as lightning¡­ Raika just starts running.


    That isn¡¯t to say she¡¯s running at what one might call normal speeds, though.


    Normally, a cultivator¡¯s speed comes from pushing Qi into specific formations, movement techniques and such, in their meridians as they move. At higher levels, the default abilities rise, and they can move faster whenever they please.


    In Raika¡¯s case, it¡¯s somewhere in the middle. Her lower legs reform, not shifting or Changing, just awakening new muscle groups. Powerful calf and thigh muscles are reconnected and supplemented by hydraulic pressure systems that move her legs at exponentially higher speeds, patterns of bone lacing and altered muscle placement making each step a push against the ground and pull back into position. The rest, her Qi-saturated physiology enhances by default.


    From a standstill, it takes her less than a full second to run hard and fast enough that the trees blur, the wind takes on a sharp whistling sound as she pushes through it, and the kid whimpers as G-forces press him against her.


    In seven minutes, she¡¯s crossed over thirteen miles of terrain.


    She sees a few more specters on the way, though none quite so strong as the one she killed at the boy¡¯s camp. Which had gone away from her, interestingly enough, towards the kid. Maybe it had some kind of grudge, or maybe it just liked the scent of his Qi better than her richer blood. Either way, she ignores all that she can¡¯t kill with a casual swipe as she runs, refusing to slow or deviate until she reaches her destination.


    Eventually, the forest breaks, and where once tall trees of strange, mossy plumage make way for bamboo shoots. A field of them, so dense that there are barely any paths visible through them- but barely isn¡¯t none. Raika squeezes through, losing a bit of speed and taking larger paths with the kid clutched to her ribs, but makes it through quickly nonetheless. The bamboo makes her left arm ache, its vitality and the Qi circulating through the strange little chunk of the forest making it thrum ever so slightly. She grits her teeth and pushes on, making it out the other side.


    There is a clearing. In the center of that clearing, a massive, complex circle and diagram. Around its edges and placed at intervals in the environment and within it are formation flags, fluttering in the wind (though all of them flutter in the same direction, even if the size of the breeze couldn¡¯t have reached all of them). Beneath the light of the Cold Sun, the world glows a strange, off-white color, not denoting death or purity, just¡­ pale nothing.


    Li Shu turns to look at her and smiles, and then turns it to a puzzled frown when she sees her package.


    ¡°And who might this be?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Orphan, hiding outside of town,¡± Raika says. ¡°One of the dead went towards him, a revenant. Figured he¡¯d be safer with us than left out there.¡±


    Li Shu sighs, but nods. ¡°Alright. People plan and the Gods laugh. I¡¯ll keep him with me, my part of the formation has the most protections. You¡¯ll be alright in the middle?¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Like we planned. Everything ready?¡±


    Li Shu nods again. ¡°Just need the fuel. You¡¯ve got everything? Blacksteel, alchemical blood, and-¡±


    Raika smiles, teeth wide. ¡°Ghost flesh, yeah.¡± She shakes her head, laughing a bit to cover up a bit of nervous energy despite herself. ¡°You ever think about how you¡¯re such a bad influence on me? First we curse my skin to poison me, now we¡¯ve a big magic circle to call down the death-orb in the sky.¡±


    Li Shu rolls her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s not an orb. It¡¯s barely even a sphere. Besides, if anything you¡¯re the bad influence on me.¡±


    Raika laughs, a single sharp bark with a vicious grin to it. ¡°Probably!¡±


    She passes over the kid, still unconscious and smelly (though somewhat air-dried by their movement through the woods). Li Shu takes him, holding him much more gently, and makes her way over to the far end of the clearing, where the ritual formulae branch apart and reform into a secondary set of circles. They begin to glow softly as Li Shu pushes Qi into them, the strange light of the Cold Sun pushed back a bit around it.


    Raika nods. Takes a deep breath.


    Focuses on the smell of tangerines. The memory of them, however faint.


    And steps into the main circle.


    Her blacksteel arm grows like quarts, a chunk of itself embedding into the ground and breaking off in one circle, while Raika¡¯s palm on her other hand simply opens. Blood flows from it, floating through air as if a living tendril, before pooling into the other small circle connected to the central one, filling it entirely but stopping at the edge of the drawings rather than overflowing.


    Then, in the third circle in front of her, she kneels over, alters the flesh in her throat, and forces herself to vomit.


    What comes out is dry, clouds of spiraling ash and spiritual ectoplasm squirming and spiraling out of her. Some of it she keeps, digesting it for later, but most of what she¡¯s hunted tonight comes back up as messy, undifferentiated matter, grey and lifeless yet strangely roiling and curling in on itself as it falls. It tastes better on the way out than it did in, interestingly enough.


    She breathes once, twice, wipes her mouth off and finds ash on her hand when she does¡­ but steps back. And waits.


    The air begins to shift. The bamboo stalks start to move, shuffling about themselves in an unfelt breeze, making the sound of whispering.


    The light of the Cold Sun, diffuse and pale, narrows in towards Raika and the diagram.


    She takes in one long, slow breath. Lets it out. Again. Again.


    Then she looks up at the impossible object in the sky.


    As if waiting for its cue, a long, impossibly visible finger curls around the edge of it, beginning to push it to one side.

 Chapter 150 - See You Later, Space Cowboy

    In. Out. In. Out.


    The practice of breathing, even when it¡¯s a bit unnecessary, is grounding. Raika breathes in¡­ and out.


    And then she looks up at the monstrous thing behind one of the moons in the sky.


    The other two are quiet, the vague purple and simple grey of the Cold Sun¡¯s siblings almost entirely nonexistent as it overtakes the night sky. The stars begin to shift and shimmer, ready to bleed out all the colors that they did the last time Raika looked upon the maddening abyss above¡­ but not yet.


    Now, in this moment, the geometrically perfect thing in the sky shifts its angles ever so slightly, and lets the thing behind it peek through.


    Again, the eye is no bigger than a human eye, the finger only barely longer than a normal human finger. And yet, even nearly at the horizon, even out there in the dark so far above the world, she can see them. Everything in the world can see them if they look up. She¡¯s fairly certain she¡¯d be able to see that slender hand and the eye behind it if she were blind, if she were a thousand miles under the earth. She saw it once, and there¡¯s something of that impossible, endless End behind it that is in her now, and there is an overwhelming weight to the fact that it can always see her, too. She looks up at the eye behind the moon¡­


    And the Eye looks back.


    The eye flickers, as if looking at a thousand different things in a single instant.. It moves so fast, so fast, that it looks like it hasn¡¯t moved at all, but for the barest trembling of its pupil- which is now centered, perfectly and precisely, on her. Before her changes she might never have noticed it at all.


    Her left arm aches. It screams. If she¡¯d left her Blacksteel in her body, along her organs or bones¡­ mmh. Good that the preparations are working, even if it still feels like she¡¯s getting frostbite in every place that the material still touches. There is a vibration, a frequency, and it runs into her bones, chills the core of her, runs through her veins and makes even her Qi feel cold, feel lesser, carried in part through that entropic material. The pupil is¡­ it¡¯s so vast. It¡¯s so vast, and it¡¯s sized the same as a normal eye and a normal pupil but its looking at her and it is fathomless, it is endless, it goes down and down and dark forever at the End of all, and-


    ¡°Alright, that should do it.¡±


    And it¡¯s part of her. She consumed part of it now, in that moment of rebellion, in that infinitesimal fraction of a shard so many moons ago, and-


    ¡°Raika?¡±


    It¡¯s still looking at her. It still sees her. The memory of her tribulation resurfaces, a refraction of that same feeling of having something beyond comprehension look upon you and know disgust, but there is no disgust here. It¡¯s empty. There¡¯s nothing there. It is an eye and it sees so much and it is looking at the world but it is not curious or wrathful or disgusted it is just empty, like a doll¡¯s eye, like the eye of a dead thing, like the eye of a thing at the end of time itself, screaming without noise, streaming out into a final death where there is no death just dissolution into nothing and-


    And it sees her.


    And her arm aches.


    And her soul aches.


    Along the edges of her broken self, against the jagged shards so carefully put back together into new form only barely balanced, she aches beneath an End.


    Without words or intent or judgment or perhaps even awareness, it asks a question that dwarfs anything its shadow could have asked, years ago now. It touches her without motion, without energy, without anything more than the weight it has on reality simply by being and being inevitable.


    Are You Ready?


    The death she grows out of her body into black steel thrums in tune with the death inside her mind, with that little fragment that just wants things to be over. It is pulled to this thing, like stone to a magnet. It is quieter than it was before, quieter now than it¡¯s been in some time, but¡­


    Something small and cold trembles against her collarbone, worn around a chain, vibrating ever so slightly.


    There are no words.


    But she says no.


    Not Yet.


    Behind the impossible eye, something smiles.


    Raika blinks. There is color in her vision, the aurora of the stars bleeding it back into the world and washing away the harsher light of the Cold Sun. She realizes that she has been standing very, very still, and has not been breathing as she stares up at what is now only an orbital body again.


    ¡°Raika, are you-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m ok,¡± she says, coughing once, then again, like the air in her lungs is deader than it should be and failing to make much noise. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ it was louder. Than last time. Looked right at me.¡±


    Li Shu nods, looking up at the Cold Sun as if to verify¡­ but doesn¡¯t say anything else. They¡¯ve had this conversation before. There are myths, old tales of the Cold Sun having something behind it, something that has looked through it. Similar descriptors for it, too; the yawning thing that is Nothing that is the End that is- that is the thing behind it. But Li Shu herself? The others at the festivals, those they¡¯ve asked in the time since Li Shu was told about it? Not like they have access to Imperial or sect records to research with, but whatever that thing beyond the sky is, out of everyone they¡¯ve asked, she¡¯s the only one to have seen it do more than glow a bit brighter before the stars wash it away once yearly.


    ¡°Think it¡¯ll be enough?¡± Raika asks.


    Li Shu shrugs. ¡°I hope so. Never done necromancy before, it¡¯s a bit of a new territory for me.¡±


    Raika looks down at the ground, tracking the glow of the ritual circle. It still holds some of that pale, off-white radiance from the Cold Sun¡¯s peak, and both her blood and the blacksteel are changed. The blacksteel¡¯s change is easier to see; from pure night black, it¡¯s becoming lighter and more brittle, less capable of fluid change. Its structure looks more like a grayish salt than anything metallic now, with parts of it that same off-white of the Cold Sun and some grains still midnight black. The blood is¡­ stranger. It¡¯s vibrant, potent, a vividly bright crimson visible even at night, but now its colors seem to come not from the blood itself, as if the air around it has been colored red while the liquid has dulled like it¡¯s been left out to decay.


    The ghost flesh she vomited up has undergone the most change. The strange, ashen snow and ooze of it have transformed into something more like a liquid. If anything it looks like congealed spit, or less polite fluids, but where before it was messy, a still-settling flurry, now it seems still, like a broad, snow-white circle of stillness.


    ¡°Something happened,¡± Li Shu says. ¡°Theory holds that it enhances materials aligned to it, like how its shards can be used to make blacksteel. If we have any chance of it working, we probably should do it sooner than later.¡±


    Raika just¡­ nods.


    No guarantees it¡¯ll work. No real way to know beforehand.


    But they say the best way to get over a trauma is to confront it.


    The Mask roils, calculating, checking possibilities, trying to find or understand the best way this could go, the possibilities it presents. A big part of her, almost all of her, wonders if there couldn¡¯t be a less direct way, a more gradual progression of healing that might provide an easier transition¡­


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    The Flesh shivers, just once, a mix of adrenaline and fear chemicals flowing through her and melding with the other parts of her, preparing them all to run, to fight, to defend herself¡­


    And the thing that once was Raika but now is only a part reaches out, from deep down inside, from around the scar of surgical cuts and self-imposed trauma, and pulls the scent of tangerines out from it.


    Raika closes her eyes, kneels down in the grass (now withered and dead, frozen stiff by the light of the Cold Sun) and touches the circles connecting her and the ingredients for the ritual.


    ¡°Jiajia,¡± she whispers into the night.


    Zhoulong, a severed soul inside of her, claimed that she had something citrus scented in her alongside him. In times of high stress, of near hallucination, she¡¯s had visions of a blood-splattered child, the memory of him disconnected during her fugue states but recognizable still. When she¡¯s had to make tough choices, she¡¯s smelled him, that nascent, barely formed scent of his cultivation.


    And it was her arrogance that got him killed. Not above all, not by a long shot, no. The Mask especially is more than clear on that front. Taurus killed him. Political bullshit killed him. Fear and a need for control by a world that does not care for its subjects killed him. She may not feel it, but she knows it. But it was her arrogance that put him on the plate.


    If he¡¯s here¡­ an unknown spirit, haunting her or somehow kept from moving on¡­ well. She doesn¡¯t know what she¡¯ll do about it. But she needs to know.


    For a while, the clearing is nearly silent. Raika closes her senses in tight, the Flesh prioritizing the source of her fear, of her anticipation, cutting out the sound of Li Shu¡¯s and the orphan¡¯s heartbeat across the clearing, of her own beating heart, of the whispering wind and the shifting bamboo.


    Something stirs in the pale glow of the circle.


    It doesn¡¯t look like anything. A drop, like something fell into it. A ripple, across the white.


    The red of the blood flows out, drop by drop, until the crimson of the blood is gone, left as a black liquid in its circle. Crimson flows out across the lines of the diagram, oozing around Raika, coloring the edges of the lines carved into the soil with chalk and knife. The blacksteel stone crumbles, crackles, pieces of it flaking off and turning to something almost similar to the ghost-flesh ash she spit up earlier, and many of those flakes flutter out from its circle. Like dancing on the wind, particles of white and black flow across the air in the lines of the diagram.


    The still, pale circle ripples again, like a single pebble dropped into it.


    ¡°JiaJia,¡± Raika whispers.


    A third ripple, slightly louder, slightly more intense.


    ¡°JiaJia¡±, the whole of Raika whispers at once, Truespeak thrumming through her throat like a bass growl and humming string at once.


    The ash of the altered blacksteel falls onto the circle, inert.


    The color of it fades abruptly, falls into itself, leaves the glow of the ritual circle nonexistent.


    The night gets a little bit louder. The sounds of animals in the distance. Fluttering birds, far-off beasts, the fireworks of the village so many miles away fading back in like they were drowned out by something.


    And the pool of white ghostflesh in the circle moves no more.


    Raika breathes out, a short, sharp exhale that hurts leaving her.


    Li Shu says nothing, but Raika can hear her breath as the sounds flow back into the circle, as her awareness expands again. She sighs, long and slow, but there¡¯s no weight to it. It was always a possibility, Raika knew that. Who knows what Zhoulong saw, what-


    A gasp.


    The kid.


    Her eyes shoot over to him. She expected him to be unconscious longer, as did Li Shu by the surprise on her face, but the kid is staring into the circle, face pale, eyes incredibly wide, like he¡¯s-


    Like he¡¯s seen a ghost.


    She turns back, and¡­ there he is.


    He doesn¡¯t look like when he died.


    The last time she saw him, the last instant she had of him before he died, he was¡­ gone. Both legs splayed to odd angles because his hip and tailbone were part of the paste splattered across the wall. Taurus had just sort of¡­ waved his hand, a return to the classical stories of cultivators who could kill with no effort for the merest slight. There really hadn¡¯t been much left above his knees. In the alley, there had been¡­ fuck. Maybe an eye, in the mess. Maybe not. The shape of the red had imprinted in her memory, now and forever, but the details¡­ she wasn¡¯t in the best state of mind.


    He doesn¡¯t look like paste. He¡¯s whole. Complete, all in one piece.


    But he doesn¡¯t look alive, either. There¡¯s an emptiness to him, not quite that of the thing behind the Cold Sun but similar. A dead emptiness, with very little left in it. One side of his face is numbed, missing, like the first instinct of impact¡­ no. Like when she first saw him. When she first got that fat drunk off of him, when he was beating the kid in that back alley. Her first kill after her crippling, one of the only ones she can safely say she has no issues with.


    But his eyes are there. And they look at her. And he gives her a sad little smile.


    His lips move, but there are no words. No lungs to push out air, no wind to carry the sound. She¡¯s gotten a lot better at seeing details, though, and what he says is simple enough to read in his lip movements.


    Hey old hag.


    She sighs, a single, explosive exhale that hurts with how much air is released, how much tension it carries with it. She laughs, low and soft.


    ¡°Raika?¡± Li Shu asks, off to the side. Raika looks over, briefly, and it¡¯s clear by the confusion on her face that Li Shu can¡¯t see JiaJia standing there¡­ though the kid¡¯s eyes are locked to the spectral figure.


    She nods her head, once, and turns back to face him.


    ¡°Hey brat,¡± she whispers.


    JiaJia¡­ flickers. Like he¡¯s skipping between moments, like the flickering of a flame when water is cast on it. When his appearance is static again, it¡¯s a different look, a different moment. A wry smile, though his eyes don¡¯t look straight at her for this one.


    A flicker again, and the first appearance returns.


    ¡°Not much left, is there?¡± she asks.


    His head flickers like to shake his head. It¡¯s a bit more fluid, and she notices the ghostflesh surrounding his feet has fallen some, the levels lowered as if to power the movement.


    No grudge, his lips write.


    She feels like she can¡¯t breathe. Every part of her, whole and terrified and hurting and full of release, feels the lump in her throat.


    ¡°Still stuck around a while, though. Kept an eye on me, right?¡±


    He flickers, dances between a few forms, like he¡¯s just a bit out of sync with reality. Li Shu mentioned, in her research, that most wraiths and true ghosts are souls that have not moved on, that draw Qi into a facsimile of life around their grudges and needs¡­ but this isn¡¯t like that. JiaJia looks like he¡¯s peeking through, or a leftover shade, just a few pieces strung together.


    But he still speaks, in a way.


    Idiot apprentice, he says, his smile like the last time she spoke to him before she went to the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect. Old hag master.


    She nods, and has to take a minute to realize she¡¯s crying before she figures out why her vision is so blurry.


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m so fucking sorry, kid.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t say anything for a while. There is silence between them, even as the level of ghostflesh in the ritual circle continues to drop, bit by bit.


    ¡°I¡¯m so fucking sorry. I¡­ wanted to see you. Make sure you¡¯d be ok before I got carted off to wherever the fuck. In the end, you weren¡¯t and I got carted off anyways, and¡­ fuck, all downhill from there.


    ¡°Not all the way. Had some good times. Met some good people. Got a girlfriend now, further proof I¡¯m no old hag. Even got stronger. But¡­ carried you with me. It was¡­ it was my fault, more than-¡±


    A head shake. Aggressive, augmented by the flickering. When his form resumes, the ghostly white liquid floating in the circle almost seeming to swirl up to support him, his face looks pissed. As angry as she ever saw him, which, in truth, wasn¡¯t all that angry. He flickers, turns, and flips a finger up behind her, far off in the distance. Then flickers back to facing her, and¡­ a shrug, and a slightly less aggressive middle finger.


    She laughs. And then realizes she laughed.


    And then falls back onto the grass, landing on her ass, and laughs again, the sound pained and relieved and loud in the empty clearing.


    ¡°Yeah. So my friends keep telling me.¡±


    JiaJia nods, once, as if harrumphing in agreement.


    ¡°Am¡­ am I holding you back?¡± she asks. ¡°Or are you just¡­¡±


    A look of embarrassment comes onto his face. His form flickers, the nature of him shifting and ephemeral, but¡­ there¡¯s a mix of frustration and embarrassment now, a sort of look Raika recognizes from when she was young. Pigheaded. Not ready to be done.


    Raika laughs, softer this time. ¡°Yeah. Makes sense for an idiot apprentice like you. Don¡¯t suppose you even know where you¡¯d go, would you? Back into reincarnation, maybe. You were an idiot, but if all idiots went to hell it would¡¯ve overflowed by now.¡±


    He pouts a bit, but says nothing to refute her.


    She notices the ghostflesh in the central circle is almost gone now. Down to the dregs.


    ¡°Well¡­ I can¡¯t promise you that I can fix anything. Or help you along. But¡­ if it¡¯s up to you, and you decide to stay¡­ I can promise that if nothing else, I think it¡¯ll be a pretty exciting show. Lots to do. Some¡­ some ideas still forming, but definitely plenty of shit to do still.¡±


    JiaJia flickers, harsher this time, more abrupt, but when it stabilizes, with barely any ghostflesh left, he looks¡­ he looks-


    He¡¯s smiling. Like that day, in the back alley they used to meet, where she told him she could feel his Qi moving for the first time.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she says. ¡°Me too.¡±


    And she breaks the circle.


    The last remaining bits of ghostflesh, the ash of the infused blacksteel, the crimson glow of hyper-vital blood all briefly go inert¡­ and then there is light.


    A single shaft of it. Like a sunbeam.


    A cold, shifting light, gentle in its Ending.


    And in that light, like a wind suddenly blew them straight towards Li Shu and the kid, all the ingredients of the circles move, and JiaJia is gone, like a cloud broken apart by the sky.


    Raika sits there and just cries for a while. But even with that, she can¡¯t help but smile, and feel like something deep, deep inside her has cracked¡­ and gotten just a bit lighter for it.

 Chapter 151 - What Domesticity Does To A MoFo

    The walk back to their cabin is uneventful. Li Shu gives Raika a bit of space, making sure to be close enough she can provide support if needed, but no closer. The kid, meanwhile, walks well behind Li Shu. He¡¯s skittish, which is only to be expected after seeing a ritual like that, but Raika didn¡¯t fail to note the way he saw something in the ritual circle before she did. Either way, he seems to have come to the conclusion that he¡¯s either safer with the two of them than in the woods, or that he¡¯s too scared of either of them to try to run, both of which are pretty reasonable.


    Raika, meanwhile, just¡­ walks.


    She lets the sounds of the night flit through her senses as they move. It¡¯s a newer exercise, one she¡¯s taken up after the events of the tournament, and it¡¯s gotten easier as time goes on, letting all the data flow in and back out without needing to set up walls. In moments like these, when she wants to be alone with her thoughts, it can even be meditative.


    She¡¯s not sure what she expected. There was every chance the ritual wouldn¡¯t even work, but Li Shu clearly pulled through. Either instinct or her time in the wilds or something have inspired her, because for all that she remains an impressive healer, her grasp on coming up with weird ideas and how to make them work has been¡­ impressive. But there was always a very, very solid chance that it had all simply been in her head, that JiaJia hadn¡¯t been there at all. What the manifestation showed was that whatever there was still clinging to her, it hadn¡¯t exactly been strong, just a passing flicker, a piece of what was left.


    Maybe she would feel better if he¡¯d yelled at her. Maybe she¡¯d feel better if she still thought that he was in pain somehow, to make the guilt more painful to bear.


    Instead, he¡¯d been¡­ kind. Smiling. Almost gentle with her. She wonders if there was enough of him to even remember what happened, or where he was, but¡­ sort of pointless, isn¡¯t it? He was there enough to speak, there enough to respond, and he had called her out for being an idiot.


    And then he¡¯d gone away.


    She¡¯s not an exorcist, rare profession that they are. Li Shu could probably come up with something, but¡­ whether or not he truly passed back into the cycle of reincarnation or to some afterlife, or if he¡¯s still around, it¡¯s not something she needs to know. He¡¯s still gone. What little was left said goodbye. And now¡­


    Now that particular item has been, at long last, crossed off the agenda.


    The patch of green they¡¯re walking on begins to slope downwards into a valley, at the back of which is their cabin.


    It¡¯s not much. None of them are particularly good builders, but Hao Nera at least has some experience living out in the wilds and building shelter, and four Foundational-realm-or-higher entities make light work out of digging and putting down logs. As it stands, four walls make up the cabin¡¯s exterior, the slanted roof on top covered in thatch and bits of hay, woven in with still living leaves by Li Shu to potentially make it self-repairing, and it is elevated a few feet off the ground, a small stream running out from beneath it and down into a large pond further down the valley. It¡¯s only about half a mile across, maybe two lengthwise, but that works in their favor, keeping landmarks small and the area mostly hidden even from the woods outside.


    Raika idly traces the strange veins of Qi that run through the valley out of the cabin as they walk, seeing/smelling through the ground the strange, uncertain flow of it as something in the cabin weaves roots through the terrain. If she focuses, she can see how it might look to regular senses, simply as slightly greener bits of grass, but the moment she relaxes, her senses meld again, letting her almost feel the Qi digging roots through the space.


    Mmmh. Progress. One of their ongoing projects, bearing fruit.


    They make it to the cabin, the kid breathing hard (admittedly, it¡¯s not a short distance for a mortal to walk in the dark). Li Shu touches a few points along the walls near the door, pushes Qi into them to deactivate some formations, and lets them in.


    Raika takes up her usual role, heading over to the fireplace to light it. They¡¯re pretty far south, but winter is still winter, and the boy¡¯s been in the cold most of the night. Li Shu gives her a Look? before kneeling next to the kid.


    ¡°Stay here, alright? I¡¯ll go find you some new robes, just sit near the fire a bit. Raika, keep an eye?¡±


    Raika nods, taking a seat on one of the mats they have set out in front of the fire pit. The coals crackle, occasional glimpses of True Flame manifesting from her igniting it, but mostly just emitting a warm glow.


    The kid sits, numb, staring into the Flame like he¡¯s never seen a fire before.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Raika says, ¡°you¡¯d tell me if you were possessed, right?¡±


    The kid turns to look at her, his heart skipping a beat audibly.


    ¡°I mean, I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯d be able to smell it. Just good to double check.¡±


    The kid nods, slowly at first, then faster. ¡°Um. No. I don¡¯t- I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    She grunts. ¡°Good. Bad form, getting possessed without telling anyone.¡±


    He gulps audibly, and she has to suppress a little laugh at that.


    She pokes a stick into the coals, shuffling them around so a fresh batch of embers flutter out into the air. The kid watches as flecks of golden Flame flicker between them, lighting up the cabin ever so slightly. They sit in silence a while.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Eventually Li Shu comes back in, holding one of her smaller, more casual robes. White, simple, and waaaay too big for the kid- and sits across from them both, a needle and thread hovering in the air next to her and a scalpel in hand.


    ¡°Raika, you mind getting dinner started?¡± she asks, the blade already cutting away parts of the clothing even as the needle moves seemingly independently. ¡°I¡¯ll keep an eye on the little one. And light some candles, please, not all of us can see as well as you.¡±


    Raika smiles, enjoying both the way she says it and the way she can multitask. Compared to when they first met, Li Shu¡¯s fine control of Qi has multiplied, and frankly, Raika¡¯s not sure she knows how impressive it is to be exercising telekinesis through her Qi, no matter how minute, while talking and cutting something.


    As much as she hates to miss the show, she stretches, cracking a few of her many additional joints as she does and gets up to do as requested. Her left arm still aches a bit, her reserves of blacksteel still ringing faintly from the gaze of the Cold Sun, but it¡¯s nothing that¡¯ll interfere with anything beyond the basics. She reaches up to touch her necklace, feeling the metallic trinket on it bring her some comfort. She makes her way to a few candles, lighting them as she moves into the kitchen.


    Turns out, while non-Qi-enriched foods aren¡¯t very filling for her nowadays, enhanced senses put in a lot of work when it comes to getting flavors right. She does, admittedly, tend to underseason, but she¡¯s still better at cooking than Qen Hou, Li Shu or Hao Nera. She sets a flame beneath a large, cheap pot, filling it with a bit of water for it to boil, and starts preparing the other ingredients. The fingers and black blades she can form on her left side work as knives just fine, and something about the particular flavor of End she has in them seems to leave minimal imprint on the ingredients, so she washes and then uses her hand to cut up some taro and onions for a quick stir fry.


    Some chili oil, a bit of ginger, and finely diced chicken all make it into the pan, with bamboo shoots, some nuts, and a bone broth go into the pot. The rice she puts to steaming last, so it¡¯ll be ready with the rest.


    Yeah, she¡¯s gotten a hobby.


    The ability to literally hear when the quality of the heat changes the ingredients, to smell the moment where proteins start to break down and pull things together¡­ it makes it easy. Easier, anyways. She can taste more things in a dish than most, which can make it a bit harder to balance, but most of the things she can taste are actually digestible even if they¡¯re unpleasant. At this point Raika¡¯s pretty sure she could literally digest dirt if she tried, maybe even get some nutrition out of it if it¡¯s Qi-rich enough or if she tried hard. It¡¯s less about if the food is ¡°dirty¡± and more about if the ¡°dirty¡± parts are actively poisonous to her or just don¡¯t mesh with the flavors of the food.


    She hears Li Shu walk into the kitchen behind her, part of herself tracking the kid¡¯s heartbeat in the other room. It¡¯s quieter, calmed, and past the sizzling of food and the sounds of the kitchen, she¡¯s pretty sure she can make out his breathing, low and slow.


    ¡°Sleeping?¡± she asks.


    Li Shu nods, the movement swishing the air around her head in a way Raika can sense. At this point, most of her new roommates have gotten used to not needing to verbally answer a good chunk of the time for Raika to know what they¡¯re saying. ¡°Out like a light. Already pretty late, but I got the impression his system was pretty taxed already. Large amounts of lactic acid and stressed muscle tissue, I assume from running for a while through the woods.¡±


    ¡°I found him out in a little campsite, outside the town walls. Had a weird moment. One of the dead things I was hunting stopped chasing after my blood, went after the kid instead.¡±


    Li Shu arcs an eyebrow. ¡°That¡­ that is weird. Your blood has enough Qi floating around in it to be an alchemical ingredient. That much vitality alone should have been more appealing to its senses than an orphan. Is he¡­¡±


    ¡°A cultivator? Maybe. He¡¯s got a scent to him, but it¡¯s minor. Bitter. Like harsh tea, meant to wake you up more than taste good, but in a dark room.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re getting better at that. Used to be you just had strong scent flavors.¡±


    ¡°Mmh. Still working on that synesthesia idea you had, but I think it¡¯s working. Easier to interpret some things, notice others. Not done yet, though.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Qen Hou and Hao Nera should still be back tonight. You want me to stay up and watch the kid?¡±


    ¡°Nah, you three enjoy yourselves. I know you haven¡¯t had a night free in a while.¡±


    Li Shu blushes a bit, but isn¡¯t shy about the smile she gives. ¡°True. Still weird when you can hear everything, though.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t need to sleep tonight. I¡¯ll stay out by the pond. Besides, I can literally smell arousal from across a room and hear the sound your inner organs make, you¡¯re not exactly hiding anything in general.¡±


    Li Shu laughs at that. ¡°I wonder if that¡¯s what it¡¯s like for high level cultivators. Or someone who practices a sense-technique.¡±


    ¡°Almost definitely. I just got there early by, you know, losing the ability to project and control Qi and a few years of horrifying struggle and agony.¡±


    For a little while the sizzling of the wok and bubbling of the soup dominate the space in the kitchen.


    ¡°How are you feeling? After saying goodbye?¡±


    Raika sighs, long and slow. She¡¯s very good at it considering her lungs can fit enough air for an hour¡¯s worth of oxygen. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ better. Like a weight is off. I¡­ I kinda pictured him as hating me. Or wanting me dead, maybe. Or just¡­ a thing I could project guilt onto. But¡­¡±


    ¡°I saw.¡±


    ¡°It still isn¡¯t fair. Still hurts.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d be worried if it didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ I dunno. Would be unfair to use his memory to hurt myself, after seeing him like that. Wanting more, but not sick. Not sad. Not hurting like I was afraid he might. He¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s dead. And what¡¯s left of his afterlife is up to him. And what¡¯s left here¡­ that¡¯s up to me.¡±


    Li Shu comes up from behind and gives Raika a hug, the top of her head just barely making it to Raika¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°I wish Maen was here,¡± Raika mumbles.


    Li Shu tightens her hug, using just a bit of Qi to give her a squeeze and share the scent of flowers and clean edges (now with a newer hint of something Raika¡¯s still not sure of). ¡°I know. She was nice. A bit intense sometimes, but I¡¯d like to meet her properly soon. Any chance you¡¯ve got a letter for her this week?¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll try and write something tonight. After you three go off to have some fun. I haven¡¯t written in a while. Next drop-off is in four days, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Mhmm. Hao Nera says there¡¯s still some risks, but between him and that Kaena fellow, they¡¯re managing to get the letters through.¡±


    Raika just nods, before killing the flame beneath the food as the soup and stir fry finalize at nearly the same time.


    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll set this out. Let¡¯s see if we can¡¯t get the kid to eat, leave some stuff still warm for the cute couple when they get home.¡±


    Almost as if on cue, to the sound of a door slamming open and a young voice absolutely shrieking awake in surprise, Hao Nera enters the building.


    ¡°Honeys, I¡¯m hooooome!¡±


    Raika laughs as Li Shu immediately scampers over to probably kick him in the shin for slamming the door open, enjoying the smell of fresh food, of wooden walls she¡¯s growing familiar with, and of the scents of those she trusts as they blunder about back into their home.

 Chapter 152 - Beneath A Warm Roof

    The kid is just about paralyzed, his new robes all askew as he¡¯s thrown himself across the room away from the opening door. Some of the tension in him has dissolved with Li Shu absolutely berating Hao Nera (the phrase ¡°I¡¯ve told you not to slam the door!¡± is repeated more than once), but he¡¯s still absolutely petrified, his little heartbeat beating so fast in Raika¡¯s ears.


    Qen Hou notices the kid before Hao Nera does, clearing his throat a bit. ¡°Li Shu? Raika? Is¡­ there some reason why there¡¯s a child here?¡±


    ¡°Found him in the woods!¡± Raika yells from the kitchen.


    ¡°...alright, beyond how distressing that is, is he like¡­ someone else¡¯s child?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, ask him!¡±


    She hears Qen Hou sigh from the other room as he makes his way in, making his way past the boy and into the kitchen.


    ¡°So you know that usually, when one finds a stray child, the accepted response is to try and find their parents?¡±


    ¡°So you know how usually when one finds a starving kid living in a campsite in the woods during the Cold Sun¡¯s night, one should usually get them somewhere safe first?¡±


    ¡°And have you?¡±


    The question has weight, beyond just irritation, but¡­ there¡¯s an opportunity here.


    An opportunity to fuck with him.


    ¡°I mean I did take him to the ritual first, but I¡¯m pretty sure he turned out fine. Maybe he even got some enlightenment out of it.¡±


    Qen Hou takes a moment, and then¡­ just sighs, explosively, in one big rush, before shaking his head. ¡°Sure. Li Shu kept an eye on him?¡±


    ¡°Making it sound like I can¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Apparently you dragged him to some kind of dark magic necromancy within hours of meeting him, so I don¡¯t know. While I¡¯m here-¡±


    He waves a hand over one of the counters, a dozen different food items appearing from one of those headache-inducing spatial rings. A couple packets of spices, some cuts of meat, and more than enough vegetables for the week. She looks over curiously as they simply lay there for a moment, but then sees Qen Hou¡¯s brow furrowed in concentration, his Qi warming and beginning to scent the air as it stirs.


    She focuses on plating, getting a few bowls ready and checking in on the rice (perfect timing) as Qen Hou slowly practices his telekinesis. From what she can tell, it¡¯s not an issue of force; Li Shu can wield her Qi with far more precision, and his recent growth into the Nascent Soul realm has his power feeling overwhelmingly purer and more vibrant than it was when she first met him. Even as she watches and as several of the items begin to float into the pantry on the back of his Qi, she notices several of them shiver or judder, the temperature rising or the Qi beneath them shooting forward as Qen Hou sends in too much energy to them.


    ¡°You¡¯re still thinking too hard,¡± Raika tells him. ¡°I can smell it from here.¡±


    ¡°Yes, well, I¡¯ll try to work on that while you try to work on thinking in general,¡± he grumbles, focusing hard.


    ¡°Plates are going out, and I¡¯ll be out tonight, gonna take the kid to the lake. Li Shu¡¯s been pent up for days, so have fun while I¡¯m out.¡±


    Immediately half the floating items drop as he splutters, turning cherry red and grumbling something or other as he painstakingly refocuses to try again. She laughs, but warmly, and she can tell he¡¯s not as annoyed as he pretends to be, as is often the case with Qen Hou.


    Focusing in, she breathes in, then out, grounding herself- and then the Mask guides the Flesh, telling it what¡¯s required. Slowly, three more arms form from Raika¡¯s shoulders, each one picking up a different plate (or a few) and utensils to carry out with her. Unlike before, the arms seem human, almost perfectly mimicking normal limbs, and Raika focuses on keeping them that way as she carries everything out.


    The kid almost pees again when he sees her, which she admits was a bit forgetful on her part.


    ¡°Dinner¡¯s ready, lovebirds,¡± she calls. ¡°Come on if you¡¯re eating tonight.¡±


    ¡°Ah! If only you weren¡¯t taken, Raika, I¡¯d dance on into your arms and thank you properly for how you pamper us poor fools.¡± Hao Nera spins on his way over, putting a little showmanship into it and side-stepping another soft kick from Li Shu in the process.


    She snorts, but doesn¡¯t refute him, kicking the table into place casually closer to the fire and setting down the plating. One plate for each, five bowls of rice, and the bigger bundle of goods in the middle where everyone can reach.


    Then she walks over to the kid, all but her ¡°normal¡± arms reabsorbed back in, and picks him up by the back of his new robes. He almost has time to process what¡¯s happening and try to wriggle away before she¡¯s let go again, dumping him in front of the table.


    ¡°Eat,¡± she tells him. ¡°You and me are going for a walk later so these three can plow each other, and you¡¯ve had a long night. Get some fuel.¡±


    Half the people in the room (including the kid) go red, but Hao Nera joins Raika in sitting at the table quickly and plucking some of the best cuts of meat from the stir fry onto his plate already. Seeing this, Li Shu¡¯s eyes spark and she launches herself to the table as well, chopsticks flying up and immediately entering a vicious battle for supremacy against Hao Nera.


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    ¡°You ate literally all the chicken last time!¡± he protests. ¡°Let us poor sufferers get some meat once in a while!¡±


    ¡°Said the poor prostitute to the fine lady!¡± Li Shu counters, sparking a fresh round of insults and culinary counter-plays.


    ¡°Qen Hou!¡± Raika calls, ignoring the pitched combat and clattering of chopsticks across the table. ¡°We¡¯ll eat all the good bits if you don¡¯t hurry the hell up!¡±


    ¡°Coming!¡± Qen Hou replies, the door to the pantry closing a few seconds after. He emerges not long after, his pace a bit hurried but a lot more dignified than the two primary gremlins of their relationship. Raika sneaks a few portions of vegetables and a big bowl of soup for herself and the kid as Qen Hou at last joins the struggle, though she focuses on her rice portion. Less flavor to overwhelm with, even though she¡¯s improving on that front.


    The kid, for his part, is mostly just alternating before staring wide-eyed at the Qi aided cutlery conflict occurring at the other end of the table and looking down at the plate in front of him. He picks up the chopsticks slowly, hesitating like he¡¯s trying to remember how to use them right.


    She places a hand in his way, blocking access to the plate.


    ¡°A deal, first.¡±


    He looks up at her, the fear back- but also the anger, the naked aggression of someone used to having to fight for things. The kid¡¯s comfortable with his fight or flight reflex.


    ¡°Basic trade. You eat at my table, and you¡¯re not mute. Tell me your name, and you get your plate.¡±


    He narrows his eyes at her. ¡°You just told me to eat.¡±


    ¡°And to eat, you need to tell me your name. Funny how that works.¡±


    ¡°...Jin.¡±


    ¡°Alright, Jin,¡± she says, pulling her hand away and sniping a cut of chicken out from beneath Li Shu and Hao Nera. ¡°Enjoy.¡±


    He looks like he wants to say something else, but in the end he makes the smarter move to dig in. After the first bite, smelling how intense he starts to salivate and the way his pupils dilate, she¡¯s pretty sure he¡¯s just enjoying himself too much to talk. The kid even risks death by trying for one of the chicken pieces Hao Nera and Li Shu haven¡¯t yet claimed on the edge of the plate.


    He survives, though it¡¯s as likely by exploiting the distraction between the two protein-starved animals as it is by any mercy on their part.


    Raika just¡­ breathes.


    The Mask is quieter here. It doesn¡¯t need to be as proactive, most of its work now translating emotions more directly rather than processing or providing a¡­ well, a mask. It¡¯s more comfortable, the system working more in sync to move things together, bringing the pieces of Raika into alignment.


    But it¡¯s still distinct, which is as the whole of Raika prefers. That¡¯s another project in the work.


    Either way, it¡¯s a moment where the Mask¡¯s work is simply to let everyone else see her calm. Even amidst Qen Hou almost blasting the table with flames to ward away Hao Nera¡¯s sudden change in tactics to go for the soup, even with the kid half-feral stuffing his face, even as Li Shu finally breaks character and starts yelling properly¡­ or, more likely, because of them. It¡¯s not much, but¡­ as she chews mostly rice, eating primarily for the companionship, she knows no part of her would trade it for the feasts at one of the Imperial Palaces.


    Well. Maybe the Flesh would. They had some really good meat there.


    Despite the chaos, cleaning ends fairly quickly. A quick wash and a heat-treat by Qen Hou, leftover ingredients stored, and plates reorganized. The table is moved a bit away from the fire, its warmth no longer as essential, and the group begins to split, with Hao Nera beginning to give some unsubtle looks (and Li Shu countering with a pleasantly brazen smack to his rear). The kid, Raika notices, is basically asleep again already, the food warming him and adding likely needed supplies to his notably malnourished frame.


    Raika sneaks past the trio towards Li Shu¡¯s workshop.


    Inside, blocked by a series of sigils that Yun Ka sent and assured them would be at least a relative wall against intrusion, are the Plans.


    The capitalization is a bit overmuch in Raika¡¯s mind, she knows, but each of them is large enough that together, it feels right their name should have some degree of weight. Li Shu, using the books they took from the Witch¡¯s cave and some notes from Yun Ka, has been studying. Between the new resources, Raika¡¯s willingness to be experimented on on occasion, and her knowledge of spirit beast anatomy, she¡¯s been helping create plans for Raika¡¯s development, workshopping with Raika what¡¯s needed, what¡¯s missing in her knowledge-base, and what directions she can go in. There¡¯s some plans there for the others as well, but barring a sudden windfall of money and resources, their cultivation paths are both fairly set and well-suited to each of them, shaped more by their individual behaviors than a cultivation technique. Qen Hou¡¯s Dao of Flame, while incomplete, continues to grow, and his flames have taken on a paler, bluer hue as time goes on, and Li Shu, between looking into the Craft and exploring the detail work her Qi control allows, is progressing quickly in her own way. Between her and Hao Nera, he¡¯s perhaps a step closer to the Core Formation realm (though she¡¯s still not really sure precisely what his cultivation is, besides maybe following a Dao or Truth of ¡°stealth¡±), but she¡¯s well ahead of him in terms of knowledge, technique, and potential new abilities as she explores things a bit perpendicular to orthodox cultivation.


    But of all of them, the overall strongest and most changed is Raika by far. And, for the first time, she has someone she trusts implicitly to theorize with and a place entirely free of surveillance to experiment in.


    She feels her Truth. I Am Me, I Am Mine. It¡¯s¡­ smaller than she¡¯d like, maybe. Like she¡¯s grown beyond the size of it, like there¡¯s room for it to fill out- but it¡¯s no longer broken. Where before there were cracks, now there is unblemished concept, a swirling thing that touches on every part of her body, and through the multi-faceted nature of her changed mind, more parts of her beyond.


    Like with so much of her, it feels, there is room for growth.


    She hits the right runes, shifts one of the small vines Li Shu used, and enters the room. There, on the main desk, are three small notebooks, each holding an idea to be pursued, a part of her Self to be refined.


    Supreme Body Art, named, a bit arrogantly to Raika, a bit worriedly to Li Shu, by their resident healer and mad scientist.


    Truth Comprehension, a rather dramatic title for its contents but not for its intent.


    Core Construction.


    That last one¡­ has her the most worried.


    She picks up all three, and heads back out into the living room.


    ¡°Are you sure you want to take him?¡± Li Shu asks. ¡°The kid¡¯s already asleep, and-¡±


    ¡°He won¡¯t be by the time you¡¯re through,¡± Raika says with a shrug. ¡°My senses may be above the norm, but I can still tell when someone is loud. And you three? You¡¯re loud.¡±


    Li Shu blushes a bit, but smiles, less embarrassed than she is a bit flustered. ¡°Fair enough. Just¡­ be nice, alright? And keep an eye on him?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll set a fire, and bring the mats and some blankets,¡± Raika assures her, heading to grab just that. ¡°You all have fun.¡±


    ¡°I shall endeavor to meet your lofty demands,¡± Hao Nera says with a grin, hand around Qen Hou¡¯s waist. Qen Hou, to his credit, doesn¡¯t look too mortified to speak at this development, but he does still color bright red as he waves off Raika.


    ¡°Go. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll both be fine. We¡¯ll¡­ well. Thanks.¡±


    She just smiles, nice and wide and toothy. ¡°Yeah, yeah, loverboy.¡±


    True to her word, she bundles the kid up warm, swaddles him, and brings a mat and some logs on her way out. She can hear things picking up even from a good hundred feet from the cabin, so she eventually picks up the pace, jogging into the night. Manuals in hand, she heads towards the pond.

 Chapter 153 - Where Even The Mad Fear To Tread

    The night is crisp, clear, and beautiful.


    One of the new things that comes with her changes, with the fact that she can actually allow herself to experience things now, is that she can push herself. Not always, not every time¡­ but sometimes The Want, guiding the Mask, guiding the Flesh. And on nights like tonight, she can choose how.


    She¡¯s sitting at the edge of the pond, at the deepest part of their little valley. Far, far behind her, if she really pushes herself, she can hear Li Shu, Qen Hou and Hao Nera, the occasional moan, but they¡¯re far enough that if she doesn¡¯t listen for it, it¡¯s not there.


    She lays the kid down on the ground, in a dry spot, and sets a small Flame near him. It¡¯s a bit comedic, using True Flame, devourer of all things and transmutator of all it consumes, as a little campfire for some kid to be warm as he sleeps. She can¡¯t help but chuckle at the sight of it, quiet enough that she knows he won¡¯t hear.


    And she looks up at the night sky to see the stars.


    If you look really, really close, you can see the night.


    It took her a while to figure it out. A lot of different moments of looking up into the night, trying to understand what it looks like, what she can see there, if she can see it at all.


    Her vision can go for miles and miles. If she got high enough, she¡¯s fairly certain she could see the blurry outlines of at least the mountains from one end of the third ring to another. The sky, unfortunately, goes much higher than that.


    But not that much higher.


    She can see, vaguely, where it ends.


    Looking straight up at the night, she sees the stars. From here, they look like little holes in the world. They blink sometimes, like eyes. On-dark-on. On-dark-on. Almost all of them have heat. Superficially, their edges even look similar to the sun in the sky, now drifting apart along the horizons of the fifth ring in the nightless lands. Not quite, though. They shimmer and writhe, flames feeding on (or feeding into?) reality around them and blazing with many-hued fires along their edges¡­ but their centers are all hollow. Like holes in three dimensions, like worms eating an apple but in every direction at once. Some are perfectly round, some jagged, some even seem to have strange curves, but always¡­ hollow.


    She can¡¯t see through them. She imagines if she could, it would hurt very, very much. But she can see them, the empty things, pale and impossible and glowing. Twisting holes to¡­ something. Sometimes it feels like they¡¯re looking back.


    And in the black between them, beyond them¡­ she can see it. Like fog. Like water. Like shadow. Like twitching, rotting flesh. Like distant, crackling lightning. Like a million things, all of them one, none of them all. She sees the Night. And it is¡­ it is beautiful. And obscene. And horrifying.


    She lets her eyes relax, the Flesh sending in signals that they¡¯ll have to build new ones now. They¡¯re fine for casual use, the damage subtle, but she can tell that they¡¯ll only get worse. She wonders if others see things like the Night. Like the Stars. If astronomers and cultivators of the stars feel them, if they see them in their truest forms¡­ or if they look like twinkling lights in the dark. If she somehow has ¡°True Sight¡± to go along with her ¡°True Speak¡±. If by changing her senses, she¡¯s experiencing something completely new. If she¡¯s simply mad, even now. She doubts many have seen them. There are stories, of course. Old poems and wives¡¯ tales about the people in the stars, how the stars blinking means that they¡¯re interested, how if they stop blinking you live in truly interesting times. That the gods watch through the stars.


    She¡¯s fairly sure that if they could see as she does when she pushes herself, they¡¯d be much more intense, and much more common, those stories. That there¡¯d be a touch more fear to them.


    Sometimes, the most beautiful things in life are horrors. Sometimes, the most horrible things in the world are beautiful. But looking up at the sky and seeing the things that hide behind the sun, that look down on the world in impossible ways from holes dug into that shattering, mind-altering, pitch black abyss¡­


    The stories would be darker, she thinks. And people would be a fair bit more afraid.


    Maybe that¡¯s why they don¡¯t tell anyone. Maybe all the high-level cultivators can see it. Or maybe not.


    As her flesh melts and is reborn, her eyeballs squelching into existence anew, she looks down at the three books in front of her.


    Supreme Body Art.


    Truth Comprehension.


    Core Construction.


    The names are wishful things. Hopeful ones, that the theories within them might somehow, someday lead to the lofty heights they propose. Less instruction manuals and more theorems.


    By far the weakest and least complete of them is Truth Comprehension. Mainly just Raika¡¯s own thoughts with Hao Nera¡¯s input (who, surprisingly, seems like the closest of the group towards a Truth of his own). It¡¯s ideas for comprehension, as the title states, an exploration of what they might mean, how interpretation shifts them, how one might potentially go about finding or creating one. Every time she¡¯s created or found a Truth, it¡¯s felt like a crystallization of something, neither a wholesale invention nor some hidden secret. It¡¯s like¡­ realizing something she¡¯d always known, deep down, and setting it into reality. Things can bleed, space has space, time moves forward- and I Can Change. Every time those Truths were challenged, most of them came away smaller, or more damaged- but not always. I Am Me, I Am Mine, still her least understood of her two Truths, feels like it no longer quite fits after having her will subverted by Taurus and Zhoulong both- but it didn¡¯t break. She is herself now, and perhaps it would be harder for that same type of harm to occur again. It¡¯s¡­ unclear, and it''s obvious there¡¯s a cost. Theoretically there¡¯s even ways for a Truth to be not just harmful, but overwhelming, like with Project 13¡¯s Everything Is Sharp And It Hurts. Literal edges of strange material were growing from its very body, even though its Truth didn¡¯t exactly say ¡°knives grow out of my meat¡±. There¡¯s a lot she still doesn¡¯t understand, and it¡¯s possible that every Truth is wholly and explicitly unique, even with identical wording, and might shift dramatically with one¡¯s perception of said Truth.


    The second book is by far the most technical and precise. Supreme Body Art. Weeks worth of Li Shu¡¯s notes and ideas, codified and made kinda-sorta into something coherent. More specifically, several deeply independent coherent somethings, vaguely tied into each other.


    Between her own theories and ideas and her exploration of the beast tide that Raika left behind her (and wasn¡¯t that a hell of a coincidence), she¡¯s set up dozens and dozens of pages of notes on anatomy. Some of it¡¯s familiar, talking about muscle groups, bone density, even some things that Raika herself already figured out- but not exclusively. There are different ways of looking at things, and Li Shu focuses on how different bodies are optimized, how blood flow is required from them, the most efficient forms of the nerves and blood and bone all together. There¡¯s notes, serious ones, on different organs, different mechanics in each of them. She got to learn what a liver is, what it actually does, the detoxification process and the creations of proteins and materials. A hundred different detailed adjustments happening on the fly, constantly; fat, acids, sugars, proteins, chem storage. How there are certain universal chemicals dedicated to controlling and manipulating the many systems, not just adrenaline but far more. A hundred pages worth of detailed, close work; the strange branch-like structures inside a lung, the variable number of lobes they can possess, the twisting, winding tunnels of a digestive tract and their independent musculature and chemical saturations, and, of course, notes on all the impossible variations of the heart and its many valves.


    Interestingly, not much about Qi structures. Some, sure, especially in spirit beasts, but to properly see a creature¡¯s meridians and Dantian requires specialized sight or incredible senses, and what little notes Li Shu has jotted down focus on how what little remnants there are tend to grow through gaps between lobes and joints, how they mimic the biological curves of the spaces between biological organs and tools. Wrapping them and growing through them both, like the roots of a strange tree, only its dissipating tubes visible as death and bodily damage breaks them apart. She has a lot further to study them, but the possibilities in this one book feel almost as limitless as the possibilities in Truth Comprehension.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The third one, however, is her focus for tonight.


    Core Construction.


    She lost her Dantian. A metaphysical, meta-biological, central part of the self. Within it, all Qi that is connected to a person¡¯s mind and soul flows and is stored. Once one advances high enough (into Core Formation realm, to be precise), that Qi is then focalized, concentrated and purified until it is made into an orb within the dantian, flavored and altered by prolonged contact with the soul and conscious will. It is within that core that a Soul is created, a higher being born of a cultivator¡¯s whole self, ascended into higher form.


    She has no Dantian in which to form a core. Ergo, as things stand, there should theoretically be no way at all for her to ever even begin to generate a Soul. Her growth is unique, true: ¡°body¡± cultivation should, in theory, be the point in which one fuses their physical form with their ascended Soul. You can technically classify strengthening and training the body before then to be body cultivation, but¡­ well, it¡¯s like calling mining black powder to make a bomb the same as building the bomb itself.


    So¡­ this is theory.


    Qen Hou was pretty integral for this one, but it remained mostly Li Shu. As the only one of them to reach Core Cultivation besides Raika herself, way the fuck back when, his insight is crucial, but Li Shu¡¯s theories, her ability to improvise said theories into applicable concepts like curses and rituals, has even more bearing.


    Raika has no Dantian. It¡¯s not broken, or shattered, or damaged. If Feng Gui had been in the Nascent Soul realm, maybe that would¡¯ve been as bad as it got, but, in retrospect now, he was likely in the Warrior realm. He reached into her soul, violated the deepest parts of her existence, and unmade what he found there. Every enlightenment, every moment of introspection, every resource she¡¯d consumed, every drop of Qi she had painstakingly drank deep of- gone.


    But¡­ she¡¯s done other impossible things. Even if it doesn¡¯t end up a ¡°traditional¡± core, it may still have benefits. So why not try?


    Supreme Body Art will take months to master, and that¡¯s without thinking through every possible interpretation or potential mixing and matching of the ideas in it. Truth Comprehension is effectively a meditation guide at this point.


    But Core Creation¡­ that¡¯s something she can look into here and now, with clear and direct effects.


    As she¡¯s been thinking, she¡¯s been reading. Flesh looking, Mask recording, Want remembering and exploring and thinking through the why of it.


    Step one: a critical, direct inventory of supplies.


    Step two: sources of fusion.


    Step three: Implementation.


    So. On to step one.


    She sits across the lake from the kid, making sure that the fire is both contained and has enough fuel it won¡¯t try to escape. Here, beneath impossible skies reflected in still waters, she sits, facing towards the home they¡¯ve made over the last few months, looking out at the world at Night.


    What she has:


    Blacksteel, a material of semi-living, predatory End, manifested from a partial truth and pieces of the Cold Sun.


    Raw Qi of genuinely terrifying potency, enough to infuse her biology with alchemical and mutated properties, which can already be ¡°fused¡± with Blacksteel to incite predatory hunger into raw, existential motive force to create True Flame.


    The aforementioned True Flame, a fusion of hungry death with ever-changing life and energy to approximate a version of a truly divine element. Likely imperfect, but, well, what isn¡¯t.


    Bio-manipulation born from her Truth. The ability to shape her body into whatever mechanical forms she can think of. Apparently, while still currently outside her direct control, she can also modify and infuse strange properties into organs and new biomorphic constructs.


    Last but not least, two Truths, both of which allow her to alter and cement her perceptions of self, adapt to changes, and effectively bridge the gaps between all her impossible pieces. Both of them with vastly more potential than she¡¯s utilized so far, and both with room to gain new interpretations and new manifestations.


    She may not have perfect and precise Qi control like a ¡°cultivator¡±, may not have the metaphysical weight and ability to fuse concepts together that a Witch has, or have pre-existing soul organs and the ability to instinctively use them, not like beasts or even regular people. Hell, there are probably plenty of other advantages she doesn¡¯t have that others do. She still hasn¡¯t met a Daemon, still hasn¡¯t seen the truly strange things of the fifth ring or the first¡­ but so what? She has things they don¡¯t, that many of them never will. And she¡¯s survived this long, grown powers she never imagined beforehand, because she didn¡¯t give up, even torn apart and nearly unmade from within and without.


    The only way that she can¡¯t Change is if she ends her struggle here. And every part of her agrees that that¡¯s not going to happen.


    Raika, out of habit, enters a lotus stance, seating herself facing both the pond and Night above.


    Slowly, step by step, she opens a hole in her chest.


    The Want says what they need, the Mask classifies the pieces and requirements for their plan, and the Flesh takes the commands and builds what is asked of it, while informing the others of what won¡¯t work or can¡¯t be made.


    The Flesh gets to work, dozens of pieces instinctively and programmably altering each other. The Mask keeps track of some of the parts of how things feel, recording the sensation to later try and put a name to the chemical reactions occurring, but that¡¯s not the focus right now. Each part guides each other, Raika trusting the selves that she is and the whole self she is making to do what must be done. Her spine is reinforced once, then again, gradually fusing its bone structure into itself again and again until it¡¯s the heaviest bone in her body. Her ribcage comes second, not quite as heavy, but made now of interlocking plates, blocking any gaps with that responsive nano-scale armor she built for just beneath the skin as layered protection, this time as much of those plates and scale-weave facing inwards as out. She moves her organs, setting each one separate from where it was before and adrift in pockets of flesh and form that branch off from her. She has to widen her veins and airways, expanding her lungs to almost triple size and setting up two additional hearts to offset the spaced-out biology without needing to use her Truths as a crutch.


    In the empty cavity she¡¯s made of her chest, armored and as dense as she can make it (to the point she needs to strengthen her sockets and other bones to hold the weight), she begins to move things together.


    She has plenty of Blacksteel in her left arm now, having concentrated all the materials together into one central mass rather than leaving it all as just sharp implements spread through her body. She can still move into those forms if needed, and can feel how it would be¡­ more comfortable that way? Better suited to be shaped into harsh edges and hungry tools. This way, however, it¡¯s kept concentrated, better stored¡­ and potentially less self destructive than keeping it next to her organs.


    So she moves some of it back where her organs usually are.


    It takes a while. It doesn¡¯t want to move this way, doesn¡¯t want to be shaped as she is shaping it. It wants to be sharp edges, to be mold and coral and End made into Death- but it is hers, and She Can Change. And in the end, she is, like, at least two and a half wills at this point.


    She changes, and it changes with her.


    Slowly, she forms a sphere in her chest.


    And fails.


    It¡¯s not entirely on the Blacksteel. She can¡¯t quite picture a perfect sphere. Not yet. Her mind continues to change, her biology and neurology shifting, but she¡¯s not yet at the point of imagining new colors or impossible geometries, not yet.


    Balance, then. She can¡¯t quite give it the perfect shape, and the Blacksteel has shapes it prefers. There are ways to mess about with both.


    She rebuilds the core, taking the Blacksteel and once again moving it through her flesh to the cavity at her center. She shapes one, singular shard into a flat, three-sided piece. Having such a thin, blade-like edge helps, allows the Blacksteel to mold itself more freely into a shape ¡°befitting¡± its concept. Then, one by one, she aligns the pieces against each other, trying to create an orb out of them.


    Doesn¡¯t quite work. She can¡¯t keep them stable when small enough, for one.


    Less complicated for now, then. Larger pieces rather than a multitude of more complicated smaller ones. It takes a while to find the right fit, the right geometry to get things together, but eventually she settles on five-sided flat planes again.


    This time, it fits.


    She spends an hour or two watching, careful as can be, making sure every edge aligns perfectly. It takes her another hour after that to bind them together. In the end, she has to cut the Blacksteel pieces into each other to get them to fit solidly.The shavings left over ache, even in the parts of her that can use them, but some of the pieces are just too small, and she goes to push them out¡­


    No. Waste not, want not. Instead, she carves a larger piece of Blacksteel into a sort of pyramidal shard, shaping it into place around the shavings. Now she has a small canister of Blacksteel shards in a larger Blacksteel shard. Not terrible.


    Either way, she has a¡­ ¡°core¡±. An empty thing inside an empty cavity. But despite the way she built it, making it effectively airtight, she can still manipulate its contents.


    She can literally feel I Am Me, I Am Mine change, expand the tiniest amount. Are the empty spaces within her not also herself, after all? Are not the inside of her mouth, the contents of her lungs, the space within her stomach, not a part of herself? In some ways it¡¯s stretching the definition, but in others, it¡¯s just¡­ well, it¡¯s True.


    Slowly, she adjusts her flesh so that it is enveloping the Blacksteel core once again, pressing it tight and locking it into herself. Slowly, she weaves her veins against it, washing it in blood and eventually forming a new strata of flesh around it, and connecting that strata to her wider system.


    And now, for the empty space inside the Blacksteel ¡°orb¡±, she prepares to shift her Qi into it- and runs up against a wall.


    Right. Can¡¯t actually touch or control Qi anymore, not directly. Not truly. She can feel there¡¯s¡­ something, the instinct didn¡¯t come from nothing, but she can¡¯t figure out how to do whatever it is she just tried to do.


    So. Improvise, adapt, overcome.


    Slowly, she carves away little holes in the core, filling the connections with a thick mucous and then thicker scar tissue, formed purposefully using her Truth and biomorphic abilities. She feeds thick, centralized veins into it, builds a sort of quasi-cluster of veins and and mutable tissue inside the improvised core.


    There¡¯s every chance the open gaps might mean she explodes if this works, but¡­ work with what you have, not what you wish to have, isn¡¯t that the saying?


    Taking a piece of her Blacksteel, fresh from her reserves, she molds it into the center of the core, letting it form itself into a many-pointed star¡­ and sparks her Qi against it.

 Chapter 154 - [IGNITION]

    Raw Qi, the lifeblood of what is, lights a spark against the death of all that is, both of them infused with an ounce of the concepts of life, hunger, and growth. While she still can¡¯t use the Qi directly, the patterns in her bloodflow make it more than precise enough to feed in just a small amount.


    And then she has to brace herself as her chest very nearly detonates.


    The True Flame detonates, igniting as it always does, but this time it¡¯s trapped inside and pressured by walls of Blacksteel. It can eat through them given time, or transmute them, it¡¯s a significantly higher-tier element than a modification of Cold Sun fragments- but it can¡¯t yet. Instead it¡¯s trapped inside one of the few materials she can create that would block it from spreading, and instead of muffling it by feeding it her flesh (like wet logs atop a fire, too dense and full of carrying pieces to let a flame grow) or by reducing the flow of Qi, she simply endures it. The Blacksteel core pulses, burns, acts as sharp-edged prevention, subverted from its purpose- but it¡¯s enough. The True Flame is contained, so to speak.


    So to speak, because for it to work it needs gaps for her blood and Qi to flow in and out of. And those gaps don¡¯t hold up quite so well under the pressure.


    She feels the tuning fork she wears around her neck vibrate, hum ever so slightly, and the flux of the core stabilizes for maybe a half-second. It¡¯s not much, but it¡¯s enough that she can strangle the bloodflow, force back into place the shards that she removed so that she could access the Core.


    Except¡­ it keeps burning.


    Fuck.


    Theory time. The Blacksteel strains, pushing hard, trembling and vibrating from the force inside it even as she can¡¯t access any part of it with it shut. It literally hurts, thrumming and vibrating in tune with itself, shaking and trembling and burning inside her, heating up even through the entropic cold of the Blacksteel-


    Fuck. There¡¯s no room for it to dissolve, to dissipate! Every time she¡¯s unleashed True Flame before it eventually burns out without enough Qi to feed on- but now it¡¯s not in the open air. There¡¯s no space for its energy to expand to and dissipate in, no additional flows of Qi or concepts to interfere with it, not even the ontological weight of whatever it¡¯s consuming to push back- it just burns. Contained, starved of fuel, but existing independently because it isn¡¯t using any of its energy to eat anything.


    At first there¡¯s a fear that she¡¯s just made an unopenable bomb instead of a container, but as the minutes tick by and the occasional hum bounces on her collar from her jewelry, she does notice a change. It¡¯s slow, gradual as fuck, but the Blacksteel begins to win out. True Flame can consume and transform anything, but its concepts are rebirth, renewal, consumption, while the Blacksteel is death, entropy and consumption. They try to consume each other, but the Blacksteel just has more of itself aligned to drowning out the energy it¡¯s touching.


    It takes almost an hour for the droplets of Qi she placed into the core to dim and die. In that time, the Blacksteel holds up, but she notices that something is¡­ slightly different. Like it¡¯s been worn down, maybe.


    Well. She survived the first experiment.


    She tries to add even less the second time around, shifting veins and muscles back into place and literally drip-feeding as little as she can into the core. This time, she reflects on what went wrong the first time, what she notices, and- yeah. Ok. The thought connects this time.


    She holds the tuning fork in her hand this time. It feels¡­ the act feels familiar. The thought still doesn¡¯t quite connect, the memory still full of cuts from her parasite, but¡­ it did something, and it had an effect. The Mask can keep track of that, record and sustain it even without a wider memory.


    She thinks she can feel it give a little ¡°hum¡± as she holds it, like a response of some kind. There¡¯s something in her, deep down, that immediately feels a sense of calm come over it, of comfort.


    Mmh. Progress.


    She sparks the Qi, maybe half as much as last time, and ignites her modified core again.


    It still hurts, and still floods out. She has to produce more blood, more flesh to try and muffle it, keep it contained, but in the end, she has to ¡°lock¡± the core again, slamming its openings shut and cutting off the material within them. It burns again, but between the sense of calm with the tuning fork and the proof of her last experience, she holds firm, calmer now.


    It takes almost as long to burn down again this time. It¡¯s not directly additive, the energy produced. If anything, it feels multiplicative, expanding out and ensuring that the amount is still tremendous, aching in its intensity and its violent transformation-


    But the core holds. More firmly this time, but still not firmly enough.


    Blacksteel isn¡¯t made for containment or safety, and True Flame isn¡¯t made to be contained in turn. Their natures aren¡¯t quite right for this, but if it was easy, then someone else would¡¯ve already made it. And it¡¯s working. Not as intended, but it¡¯s spawning the Flame and containing it both. Now she just needs to figure out how to use it.


    As if out of habit, without even thinking about it, she taps the tuning fork once to her sternum.


    Dink.


    Her mind stutters.


    That sound. She knows it.


    The thoughts don¡¯t return, but the threads to them feel a bit brighter for a moment. There¡¯s¡­ there¡¯s something there. Not like her other memories, not like how Zhoulong tore out the good and left just the bad, this one is missing, it¡¯s context vanished¡­ but there are pieces of it here still.


    She taps it again.


    Dink.


    It shouldn¡¯t be making that sound. That part stands right the fuck out to Mask and Flesh both. In the Want, it feels right, it feels connected to something- but the Flesh notices the sound as strange, and the Mask confirms. It shouldn¡¯t sound like that. She can feel the contours of it, the shape of it, even to the very depths of its interior, and it¡¯s not broken. There are¡­ not scars, that¡¯s not right, but weird striations in the metal, like there¡¯s a shape that used to be that is no longer True. Whatever they might mean, by rights, the sound it makes against her sternum should not be a ¡°Dink¡± noise.


    She taps it one more time.


    Dink.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± she murmurs, though she¡¯s not sure why.


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    Third time¡¯s the charm.


    She re-opens the core, shifting the entry plates back into the open state, and feeds in a fresh few drops of Qi. She lets the blood holding them swirl around the ignition shard, shifting and flowing into a near-perfect sphere. Then, she fills in the central core surrounding that with bone, pulling as much Qi out of their creation as she can but still making them as dense as possible while still leaving coral-like spaces in the lacing. She fills the third layer beyond that with blood, thick and dense and flowing in a larger circle around the whole.


    Slowly, she regrows the veins and structures into the core for a third time. She reinforces them with that thickly-latticed bone, making valves and channels as dense as possible, and then adding that same nanoscale weave around the interior and exterior of each.


    And then, at the moment of ignition, she taps the tuning fork against her sternum a bit harder.


    This time it rings, spiraling out into her, the vibration traveling through layers and layers of blood, flesh, bone and more to ring against the Blacksteel.


    And then¡­ ignition.


    But this time is different.


    The Flame and Blacksteel both vibrate in tune as the ringing of the tuning fork hits them, as the blood flow swirls around them, as the reinforcements and support structures lock the important bits into place and carry the ringing through them and cut Flame with Hungering End-


    [[IGNITION]]


    Louder, stronger, two or three times as strong as before- but in tune now, both contained and container suddenly playing the same note for just an instant, and-


    That same sensation from the first time, the first ignition. Of the Flame, source of change and transformation, running up against the Blacksteel, but pushed further, a connection forged between them by the thrumming of an impossible noise that should not be.


    There is a brief moment of fear, an instant of tension and explosive panic as the pressure grows and the heat magnifies and she wonders if this is it if it¡¯s going to detonate, if this was all a mistake, if something is about to happen, if she is to be unmade by her own folly-


    Fuck that.


    She grits her teeth hard enough they crack, every muscle tensing and spasming and locking into place as her body struggles not to die, struggles not to come apart in a conflagration-


    And then the moment is past, and there is only the pain, the tension, and the will.


    And a new thing, burning impossibly hot at the core of her like a fucking star, like a screaming voice that shakes the world itself.


    It takes her a while to remember she still needs to breathe. A bit longer still to remember how.


    Her skin is glowing.


    It¡¯s not some magical effect, some sudden pulse of Qi and life that alters her. It¡¯s just that the core in the center of her chest burns so bright she can literally see it- and it¡¯s not burning golden.


    True Flame burns gold. Her version of it burns gold and white at the center, though its purest form is gold alone, the element of transmutation¡­ but that¡¯s not the color glowing from her.


    Slowly, she disconnects structures and supports. She migrates her core to her sternum, unlocking the interlacing plates and nanoscale weave to let it emerge. She grows it out of herself on a long, fleshy limb, until its in front of her and she can see it.


    There is gold in it, absolutely. Elements of that purest consumption remain, that perfect transformative Flame- but it¡¯s not the dominant color. It¡¯s hard to pick any one color out, really. There is silver, purple, lots of red, bright and deep. There is a steady sort of colorless burn in places, heat and energy and motion without having a specific hue, all tinged through with bits of gold and red, blue and silver, purple and even hints of green in places. An impossible, iridescent color- visible because the Blacksteel is no longer black.


    The core of her looks¡­ bronzed, maybe? Parts of it are clearly still Blacksteel, still obsidian-dark, mainly on the thicker parts and towards the centers of the different plates, but on the edges, near the openings¡­ A reddish material, not dissimilar to blood, but sleeker, shinier, like a membrane made of something half-liquid and half-solid. The glow of this new Flame travels into it, through it, but the energy remains contained, impossible vibrance and heat reflected in something like shifting tides within it.


    It feels¡­


    She takes a while. Meditates there as impossible light hangs over the pond in front of her, reflected back by its still waters.


    The Blacksteel, now something else, has¡­ changed. The property of ¡°consumption and predation¡± feels¡­ gone. Entropy remains, but changed too, like¡­ like instead of it being an end, it¡¯s just another form of transformation, energy moving into a new, more diffused state.


    The vibration. The hum between the tuning fork, Flame and Blacksteel, aligning them together, both of them holding transformative properties. It aligned them, somehow. Was it instinct? Buried memory? Some other intent, leading her to the conclusion it would be able to help, be able to synchronize them? Was it pure luck?


    The core of her shines.


    She feels the heat, feels the burning, the transforming¡­ feels it dim, ever so slightly, as it consumes her Qi. True Flame just ate and burned, and when there was nothing to do either on, it stayed, immortal and pure. This, though¡­ it thirsts. It hungers.


    Slowly, she takes a few pieces of Blacksteel and lowers them through the openings.


    Immediately the flame begins to dim, Hungering Death acting like a sort of neutralizing agent. The flame begins to die, losing some of its color, some of its luster¡­


    She removes the cores and feeds in a few drops more Qi.


    It spins back up immediately, pieces of flesh, blood and bone within the core shifting and turning in tune to properly dispense Qi to different parts of the Flame. Not consumed, not burned, the structures she put inside the core are instead whole, changed but still in her senses. The flame grows again, glowing brighter again.


    She pulls on it, just a bit. Pulls some of that flame into herself, and-


    Oh.


    Oh.


    She¡¯s so small.


    She is so impossibly vast.


    Blind consumption and mindless energy is transformed into something hers. A screaming, depthless thing, as shallow as it is vast.


    She pulls that multi-hued, radiant fire into her blood, into her body, in the core of her and immediately feels the difference.


    There is¡­ there¡¯s so much.


    She¡¯s in the fire. The fire is in her.


    She can feel it, but she can feel deeper. Not muscle fibers, not ligaments, but little pieces further, like interlocking puzzles or flowing clusters of life, organized into impossibly small things. Smaller yet, these micro-pieces of herself have pieces of their own, twitching organelles, vibrant, strange little functions, so many she cannot name, each so active, so constant-


    She is taller than a human, yes. She is no longer biologically human at all. But she¡¯s still person-shaped. Still sized like something made to walk on two legs without being crushed by its own weight- but as the flame fills her, she can feel that she is so much. Infinite complexity, so much that she can barely comprehend a fragment of it at a time.


    And every part of her drinks of that flame. Her body, forced against nature and against common logic to feed on Qi without digesting or altering it, drinks of this new flame, and is remade. She feels herself come awake, like every piece, every room of the thousands on thousands on thousands multiplied again of every piece of her body is suddenly alight and full and burning and changing. Her second Truth burns, touched directly by impossibility, and-


    She breathes again.


    She can feel the pollen seeds in the air.  The taste of the dirt, a hundred yards away. The breath of wind that holds the flavor of a bird¡¯s feathers from days away.


    She shuts the core down, hard, slamming Blacksteel into it.


    For a moment, she is divided again, but realizes it was the Flesh that did it. The Mask and the Want both were overwhelmed, but instinct screamed and acted.


    She is spread out across half the clearing. Parts of her are in the pond, sucking up its water, even as newformed nerves and spinal cords and arcing columns of flesh that does not look like flesh spiral out behind her in interwoven, fractal tendrils. She didn¡¯t incite them, didn¡¯t create them, but¡­


    Well.


    It¡­ would seem that the Core works.


    It lies inert now, but the changes have been made. At its center, embers of True Flame drift, hints of those other colors flickering in and out. The Blacksteel is now edged in quicksilver-bronze membrane. She¡¯s fairly certain she could reactivate it, but¡­


    She stares down at herself. Slowly, slowly reshaping the impossible growths that spawned from her, not even trying to understand how they¡¯re made, just melting them away into blood to soak into the ground or absorbing what she needs.


    And she pulls the core back into her chest.


    Inert now. Quiet, but flickering, ready and hungry. Eager. There is something in it that feels achingly hers, and she feels the patterns of veins in her body shift and thrum, the Qi in them vibrating ever so slightly in tune with the new furnace at the core of her.


    It is only when she opens her eyes again that she sees the kid awake, staring at her, wide eyed and terrified- and feels the impossibly cold thing sitting beside her.

 Chapter 155 - History Has Its Eyes On You

    There is a dead thing beside her.


    Matter of fact, there¡¯s a crowd.


    They flow in and out of each other like clouds orbiting a vacuum, making it impossible to tell exactly how many there are, but she can glimpse features. Faces, eyes, mouths, limbs, all flowing in and out of each other, like fog in a kaleidoscope. It¡¯s like the wraith that went for the boy instead of her, but only partially formed, as if empowered or recently created.


    The faces in it aren¡¯t angry, though. There¡¯s none of the grief, the anger, the dread or despair so common on the faces of the dead, at least those few she¡¯s seen preparing for tonight¡¯s earlier ritual. All of the faces look at her in abject, absolute fear.


    But not of her.


    Slowly, the figures begin to coalesce, as if crawling out from a mire made out of each other¡¯s ghostly bodies, and one pushes forward. A middle aged man, the back of his head an empty cavity, the front of his belly dripping pale guts that dissipate like steam. The effort it seems to take for him to push forward is monumental, but push he does, a mix of desperation, agony and fear all mixed into his eyes.


    His mouth moves, but the voice is so faint, she¡¯s fairly certain not even a Core Formation cultivator could have heard it without having prepared their senses with Qi first. But hear it, she does.


    ¡°It wants to talk to you.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± she asks. There¡¯s little to fear here besides the unknown; there¡¯s no visible complexity, no depth, no strength to any of the ghosts. They¡¯re all minor spirits at the most, and she¡¯s been hunting worse than them all night.


    The specter of a dead man whimpers, the sound like the barest touch of wind.


    ¡°No name. No face. All forever, all gone.¡±


    Another ghost strains, pulling itself out of the morass up to the waist, and moans, just once.


    ¡°The thing behind the dead moon¡­¡±


    It fades back, pulled down into the tangled mess, though saying what it did seems to have riled them all up. She can literally see the edges where the old man ghost¡¯s head are dissipating, faster and faster.


    ¡°It can¡¯t speak for itself?¡±


    The ghosts spasm, the whole of them squirming and spiraling and-


    ¡°I-


    ¡°Have


    ¡°No


    ¡°Mouth


    ¡°But


    ¡°I


    ¡°Must


    ¡°Speak.¡±


    She takes a breath, shifting her weight so she¡¯s facing the impossible aberration, keeping its eyes on her instead of the kid.


    ¡°It didn¡¯t get me the first time. Or the second. What makes it think I¡¯ll go so easy the third?¡±


    The ghosts twitch, spasm, weep without sound.


    ¡°It can¡¯t think. It¡¯s not real. It is forever.


    ¡°It is curious.


    ¡°We are the dead, and it is the End. We are all it could touch without unmaking, and even now, we bleed and vanish and cling and die and-


    ¡°It tells us you have done something new. Please. Tell it what it wants. We don¡¯t want to be nothing. Its touch is Nothing and we are afraid.¡±


    Raika looks up at the Cold Sun. Its light is dimmed by the stars around it, and whatever lies beyond it is currently hidden from view¡­ but there¡¯s a feeling in the air. An ache in her metal arm, in her bones, in the back of her teeth.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she says. ¡°I didn¡¯t plan it like it happened. It just¡­ did.¡±


    ¡°You have eaten flame and death and made life and-


    ¡°It¡¯s not real it¡¯s not here it¡¯s not real it¡¯s not here-


    ¡°You changed something of its. It tells us that you- you¡¯re not boring. Not like the thing in the mountain.¡±


    ¡°Mountain? What mountain?¡±


    A half-dozen, half-evaporated arms point towards the impossible, sky-scratching pillar that is the first ring.


    ¡°It tells us that it gave you a piece it let you keep a piece and you didn¡¯t die and you didn¡¯t scream and you didn¡¯t rot and-


    ¡°Please it sounds like death it sounds like the gunshot it sounds like papa when he was sick please-


    ¡°It tells us this place is so small. It tells us this world is skin and bones, drifting out to sea. It tells us that our god lies on a throne crafted from black roots and hungry mouths and that it holds our chains and the chains drink and we bleed and-


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    ¡°It tells us you are new. It asks if we think you¡¯ll burn pretty when you die.


    ¡°It has no mind and no thoughts but its thoughts are so loud please they don¡¯t fit please I want to go home-


    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for its attention,¡± Raika whispers. Muscle systems and sharp-edged claws are starting to rise, circulatory pockets of Qi prepped to be detonated into flame, but she stays seated and still. ¡°I¡¯m not here to entertain it.¡±


    The ghosts are silent for a while, but not still. One by one, they tilt their faces upwards, a look of fear growing into terror into horror as their mouths yawn wide and their eyes gape and their ghostly flesh hisses away into nothingness-


    Several of them seem to vanish entirely, a void where they previously were. The gestalt begins to fall apart, but those that remain turn their faces back to her. The only man at the front is firm, more solid than most, but even what¡¯s left of him is fading.


    ¡°But you have,¡± they sob. ¡°It sees you from outside the world and it cannot touch but someone made part of it grow strange and grow wrong and it saw through it into you, and you said no. You said-


    ¡°Please it¡¯s so cold why is it so cold-


    ¡°It told you the TRUTH and you said no, and now you have made something new. Like-


    ¡°Like-


    ¡°Like a little bug that started painting but it¡¯s so much smaller, it¡¯s not a bug it¡¯s-


    ¡°It tells us it likes you,¡± the old man¡¯s ghost sobs. ¡°It tells us so many terrible things. It tells us that you will End so lovely or you will eat the world and either way it is not alive it is not real it is not here but it is¡­ it is smiling. Oh gods. Its smiling. It doesn¡¯t have a mouth.


    ¡°Please. Don¡¯t let me go to this end. Don¡¯t let me. Please. It is waiting behind the door and the door is always there in your skin in your nails in your heart as it gets slower. Please.


    ¡°It tells us that the gods are real. Its trying to tell us what they look like. Please. It doesn¡¯t fit and it hurts. It says the gods are worse than it. How can¡­ how can anything be worse?¡±


    The old man¡¯s remains sob, weeping, curling into itself¡­ and the mass spins, consuming it back into the whole, back into the ever-dying mist that is even now fading further.


    ¡°You even brought it a new window,¡± one of the dead things whispers, empty, hollow eyes looking at the small figure across the pond.


    The few remaining faces have joined in the weeping. But one of them- the very last one- speaks again.


    ¡°It¡¯s waiting for you. Behind the door. The door where everything goes to stay. There is nothing in it of curiosity, nothing in it of happiness- but it is curious. It is happy. It tells us that Change is like Ending and that you will do so much or nothing and it will be waiting behind the door either way.¡±


    Raika says nothing.


    For a moment, there is just silence beneath the night sky.


    Then¡­ she smiles. She feels the quiet pulse of a flame beyond what flame, of death transformed to hunger transformed to something new¡­


    She shapes her throat to a truer voice.


    ¡°I might stop by sometime for a visit.


    ¡°But Death does not own me.¡±


    There is a brief, aching pulse from her left arm and her reserves of blacksteel, and then the ghosts are gone. Dissipated to nothingness at all.


    She lets out a long, painful sigh. There¡¯s a slight trembling in her hand. Slight. The Flesh twitches and pulses with adrenaline to mirror the fear the Mask demands they feel.


    But¡­ deep down?


    Two Truths ring. And a third, partially formed before but changed now, still forming, roils alongside them.


    With another sigh, she gets to her feet, walking around the edge of the pond to where Jin¡¯s been staring at everything happening with eyes wide as dinner plates.


    ¡°So,¡± Raika says. ¡°How¡¯re you doing over here?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t say anything.


    ¡°Yeah. One of those kinda nights.¡±


    ¡°You¡­¡± he gulps, struggling to get his throat working right. ¡°You¡¯ve¡­ had more nights like this?¡±


    She pauses to think, and¡­ ¡°Honestly? Not really. Got stuck in a beast tide for a week once, and then underground in a magic dungeon for a while. This was new. And kinda terrifying.¡±


    He nods weakly at that. ¡°How¡­ how are you¡­ how did you¡­¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Eh. I¡¯m fine. Doesn¡¯t really affect any of my current plans. Just¡­ well. Just scary. And interesting. And likely to be very, very bad in the future.


    ¡°But not tonight.¡±


    She sits next to him, sighing as she sinks a bit into the ground at the edge of the pond. Added muscle and bone density and all, lending her a few extra hundred pounds of weight, and the kid actually seems to shiver and come more awake at the way the ground shifts.


    He looks out over the pond. Then down to the little crater of fire she set up for him, the Flame gone quite low but still glowing golden.


    ¡°What was that?¡± he asks.


    She doesn¡¯t answer for a while. Eventually, though, she sighs.


    ¡°I think¡­ I think I was just honored with a visit from a very, very important thing. One that scares me very much, and is¡­ well. I don¡¯t think it quite fits beneath the sky, you know?¡±


    ¡°Not at all.¡±


    She laughs. ¡°Mmh. Fair. So. You saw the ghosts, yeah?¡±


    He hesitates, looking out into the night towards the far side of the pond. Slowly, he nods.


    ¡°Yeah. Do they¡­ do they always look like that?¡±


    ¡°Not at all. Usually a lot more cohesive, when they¡¯re big, and still people-shaped if they¡¯re small. Li Shu says that she read somewhere that it¡¯s basically a person¡¯s Qi, the part that touched their soul, thinking it¡¯s still a person. Not sure how true that is, but it mostly fits. The one I killed at your campsite earlier was a lot less messy looking. Which is saying something, cause it had like six arms and three heads sort of melted together.¡±


    ¡°...how come I couldn¡¯t see it then?¡±


    She sighs. ¡°Yeah. Picked up on that, huh. Well¡­ mostly bad luck, I think. Pulled you into a ritual to draw something long-dead back for a bit. An imprint of it that had been haunting me. Figured the safest place for you was behind all the protective formations where no wandering ghosts might come pluck you up, but¡­ well. Looks like you got exposed to a bit more of that thing up in the sky than I hoped.¡±


    ¡°...Am I cursed?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Curse is¡­ hard to define. I¡¯m cursed, technically. Qi has a hard time getting in and out of my skin. I find it pretty useful as a shield, though.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ I have a power?¡±


    Raika nods again. ¡°Sure. Better way to frame it. Either way, still my responsibility since I caused it. Sorta roundabout way to do it, and accidental as hell, but that hardly matters much.¡±


    Jin frowns, one eyebrow cocked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, are you¡­ offering to teach me?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°No. What I¡¯m doing, it¡¯s new territory and it isn¡¯t something I¡¯d wish on another person. It took some bad shit to get me here. But¡­ it¡¯s my responsibility that you got exposed to it, my responsibility that you may be able to interact with ghosts now. Might even be a boon for your cultivation if you want, but I can¡¯t cultivate like you can. So I¡¯m no teacher¡­ but I owe you for that. So if you want, you can stay with us for a while.¡±


    The night is quiet. Even the insects remain silent, the strange chill of Endings still dissipating, bit by bit.


    ¡°Don¡¯t answer right now. Think about it. And get some sleep. You¡¯ve had a long night.¡±


    The kid stays upright and awake for another hour, maybe, looking out into the dark. But, eventually, he lays back down, huddled close to the fire, wraps his sheets tighter.


    Another twenty minutes later, she hears him snoring ever so softly.


    Moving quietly, Raika extinguishes the True Flame campfire with a hand of Blacksteel. Carefully, gently, she carries the kid a few miles uphill back to their little cabin, and sets him next to the still-smoldering firepit to sleep.


    She stays awake, though. She sits, out on their improvised porch, and looks up at the Night, and the impossible stars that look down from its darkness.

 Chapter 156 - My Favoritest Boi, Enjoying Some Tinfoil-Hat Moments

    Shin Ren is very tired of walking. First priority when he has access to a sect library, he¡¯s going to find a fucking flight technique.


    He¡¯s crossed valleys, mountains, rivers, approaching now the northern edge of the south rings. He¡¯s been walking now for days on days. Cultivator constitution and the occasional piece of fruit or lesser animal he can hunt and cook have him plenty secure on that front, but the very act of walking through the woods like he is is¡­ somewhat triggering. The last time he went through the wilds, he burned a clear streak of flame across the terrain, sprinting in a mad, screaming rush.


    He remembers the cultivators that tried to stop him. The Clear Spring Stream sect, Fei Sark. He doesn¡¯t remember what he did to them, but he knows it involved burning, screaming, and pain. A debt he has to repay someday, for they didn¡¯t deserve his pain. It¡¯s good to remember what he did, who he owes, but it still hurts when he sees the woods ahead of him. The fight between his master and the Blade (for it must have been a Blade, no other explanation or title could fit) threw him westward for miles and miles. He¡¯s not exactly sure where he landed, what cities might be nearby, but no matter where one lands in the known world, there is a single landmark that no one can forget.


    Step by step, possessed of control and grief and determination, Shin Ren walks towards the sky-cutting pillar that is the first ring.


    His master received an invitation from the Empire, that much was clear by the scroll. The person delivering it could only be a sword saint, considering how they fucking cut the detonations his master generated, and fought only with a blade. Nevermind the incredible swords they¡¯d worn on their hip. The man had never said his name, and his master, who clearly knew it, hadn¡¯t volunteered it. All Shin Ren knows is that he was arrogant, a sword saint, had a sister who died (apparently at his master¡¯s hand), and had an invitation on behalf of the first ring.


    Shin Ren knows his master is still alive. He¡¯s absolutely certain of it. Not least because the death of an Emperor realm master would have had devastating consequences, but because there¡¯s no way Qu Haolan went down in just three exchanges. If he escaped, then between the differences in their cultivation and the size of the world, and his master¡¯s history with it, Shin Ren will never find him again. If he was taken, there¡¯s only one place in the world he could have been taken to. And either way, there¡¯s only one way for Shin Ren to go if he¡¯s going to find answers.


    He¡¯s heading to the second ring.


    What happens there, he¡¯s not sure. Maybe he can move back to the Academies, see if he can go up the ranks fast enough¡­ but he¡¯s not sure on that. He¡¯s not entirely sure they¡¯ll help rather than hinder him, but he¡¯s not really sure if there are any other options. Hell, he¡¯s not even sure if he¡¯ll still be accepted back. It¡¯s one thing to be the quasi-young-master of a decent sect coming back for a ¡°semester¡±, another entirely to be a haggard traveler who may not even be part of his former sect wandering in after, what, a year away?


    Ironically, Shin Ren feels both free and bound. On the other hand, it¡¯s almost certain that no one in the world knows where he is, knows if he¡¯s even alive. He could go¡­ anywhere. He¡¯s strong enough to be able to travel through maybe half of the third ring? Avoid the beast-infested places, the more dangerous fonts of Qi or cursed ruins, and he could probably wander from town to town, cultivating freely, for years, maybe. But at the same time, there¡¯s nothing he wants to do. He needs to go and pay his debts at the Clear Spring Stream sect, but that¡¯s a weight he can carry, not an immediate demand, and the moment he does so, his story will only get further dragged back towards sect politics. He feels very little real kinship with the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect now; for however much they might be his family that offered him support as he grew, when he was literally burning himself alive and in desperate need of real help, they let politics and pride take his place. And that¡¯s without going into how they used him as a tool. The fact he benefited from being used isn¡¯t a justification for forcing him to be an executioner, or the sect¡¯s angle into the Academies and the inner rings.


    No, there¡¯s only one thing that Shin Ren really wants to do now, and that¡¯s find out what happened to his master and help however he can. That debt is immediate, possibly imminent if he can¡¯t find him in time, and in and of itself, it ties to a few questions he¡¯s formed since then.


    Who was that Blade? His master spoke as if their opponent was some genocidal hound of war, and while Shin Ren isn¡¯t naive, he knows the Empire was built on conflict, he also has never heard of one of its heroes spoken of that way. What¡¯s more, Qu Haolan didn¡¯t know anything about the specifics the Empire has done, so his knowledge of the swordsman comes from almost three thousand years ago, and apparently the reigning powers have kept someone like that around and in power all that time. Why?


    And another thing: why set an ultimatum like that?


    Some of it was surely the swordsman¡¯s madness, but not all. Of course, any government or group that seeks to rule would have to account for an Emperor realm cultivator, but they¡¯d sent one man, and from how the swordsman had spoken, it¡¯s clear that some amount of violence was expected. Why? They hadn¡¯t offered anything, hadn¡¯t demonstrated their power to impress the weight of the Empire on the would-be new convert, hadn¡¯t explained the offer at all. Behind the swordsman¡¯s mocking, it had been ¡°join us, but remain mostly independent, or die here¡±. Who approaches an Emperor realm cultivator like that? Surely the loss of such a potential asset would demand heavy consequences for the Blade, but he¡¯d been utterly casual.


    In his time walking, he¡¯s had plenty of time to meditate on the matter. He tried, as best he can, to use the wisdom his master tried to impart, the frank and direct examination of what is and the application of the famously uncommon ¡°common sense¡± to it.


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    Shin Ren is arrogant, even now, and worse before. But he¡¯s never been stupid, just ignorant.


    So.


    Option one: the Empire did want his master to join, but the Blade, in his thirst for violence, subverted their efforts to cause a fight. This begs the question as to why the Blade would still be employed, would be used for these sorts of tasks at all, as losing an Emperor realm master¡¯s favor is a sin that has had whole countries killed in the myths of old. Surely there would be consequences for even a Blade. Unless there¡¯s more behind the scenes.


    Option two: the Empire didn¡¯t want his master to join at all. Rather than negotiate, they sent a clear threat, showcasing none of the benefits of citizenship or loyalty, none of their history or the potential nuances that a negotiation with such a powerful figure should demand. By inciting violence on purpose, they can claim that they were justified in killing their target¡­ but why? Who would know or care? Other Emperors in the Empire¡¯s current power structure? And if that was the case, why not bring an overwhelming advantage of some kind, something to keep Qu Haolan from ever even closing his realm or detonating those forces he had shown?


    Option three, and most concerning of all; the Empire doesn¡¯t care at all.


    This one scares Shin Ren more than either of the former. Either option, while outlandish, could be explained by human foolishness, bureaucracy at work, or something of the sort. But if the Empire doesn¡¯t care¡­


    An Emperor realm cultivator has the qualifications to rule an empire of their own. To conquer and command whole nations. It¡¯s where the name of the realm comes from. They have the strength to remodel parts of the world at will, and shape weapons, summons, or armies of power enough to alter the course of history entirely. Further, they make for genuinely immortal enemies, beyond the reach of death by any but the most overwhelming and direct of means. If the Empire genuinely didn¡¯t care about gaining Qu Haolan¡¯s loyalty, and didn¡¯t put overwhelming fear into their response, it would indicate that they either think an Emperor realm cultivator powerless and unable to cause true harm¡­ or that they think that any harm caused isn¡¯t that big of a deal.


    There are holes in his theories, places with far more questions than possible conclusions, but Shin Ren is fairly certain he¡¯s thought it through as best he can. And in doing so, he¡¯s come to two conclusions.


    One: the goals of those in the first ring don¡¯t seem to align with common sense, the pursuit of peace, or, most notably, the pursuit of conventional power.


    Two: whatever choices have been made, they were made before considerations of who Qu Haolan might be, what damage he might do, or what power they might gain from him in any conventional way were known.


    Which opens the door to all sorts of other fucking questions.


    Shin Ren calls upon the Smiling Noble as he crosses over a massive gorge, a pulse of subtler heat and inertia helping him to cross gracefully so as not to disturb the roiling thing deep below. It¡¯s not the first such creature he¡¯s had to avoid, and as much as the Corpse Aflame crackles unhappily at how low he¡¯s kept his flames, even she seems to recognize that there¡¯s a weight to his thoughts and his path. He¡¯s noticed that their partially-formed Cores are beginning to stabilize, the passage of time and meditation seeming to smooth some of their more jagged edges.


    Whatever else happens, he has this. His disparate pieces, spawned from his struggle and healing alongside him now. That¡¯s a decent bit of a comfort, a tangible marker of how he¡¯s changed as a person, how he¡¯s growing.


    And, admittedly, a not inconsiderable source of raw power.


    Eventually, after days and days of walking, Shin Ren finds his way to a road. It¡¯s not much of one, true, hardly one of the paved colossi between the main Imperial cities, but a road nonetheless, one leading northward.


    He skirts around the first town he finds, and the second. A record, no matter how minimal, of his journey from where he was thrown could potentially lead to questions down the line. It¡¯s not much of a risk, and not one he previously would have even considered, but as he is now, he prizes his stealth and ability to get things done more than the confidence that it would bring to walk head-high through each town. It¡¯s only in the third such town, after almost a week of sprinting down roads, that he stops to buy some food and water, if only to stop needing to stop and scavenge once a day or so.


    And then he gets back to running.


    In the wilds he walked with care, watched each step, but between his heart demons and his own improved cultivation, he can run most of the day faster than any mortal without pause, eating up the miles. The third ring, the largest of the three ¡°civilized¡± rings, spans almost half the world, but he does not let something small like distance discourage him. He has been gone from the world too long, and the sooner he gets to the second ring, the sooner he can try to understand what¡¯s happened to the person he owes his life to.


    So it is that when he sees the border, he is a weather-beaten, road weary figure, enough that the guards step forward to slow him.


    The second and third rings aren¡¯t divided nearly as sharply as the first and second, or the third and fourth. There is no insurmountable geographic feature keeping the main lands of the Empire separate, not here; the third has the great fortress-cities on its border with the fourth, and the first, of course, lies atop the impossible pillar at the center of the world, but between the second and third, it¡¯s not quite so clear a line. The second stands as the center of industry, of advancement, of the greatest resources and technologies outside the first ring, while the third holds most of the mines, the farms, the beasts to be hunted on occasion, feeding them back into the second ring¡¯s metropolises.


    But there are some barriers in place. Every half mile, a large tower stands, denoting the outer perimeter of the shadow of the first ring as it moves throughout the day, more an oval shape than a true circle. Atop each, a small garrison of Imperial Guard stand, their bases perched like many-limbed golden machines, ready to move and deploy against any force or beast that comes too close. Nothing so blatant as a gate, perhaps, but Shin Ren can¡¯t help but reflect in his new mindset how, if they wished, even a single Imperial Guard could likely keep any mortal or lesser cultivator they wanted in or out with little trouble.


    The thought feels particularly poignant as two soldiers, armored in towering exosuits, glowing with enchantments and pieces of jade and gold, land hard enough to crack the road beneath their feet, blocking his path with two spears that crackle with writhing, animate lightning.


    ¡°My name is Shin Ren,¡± he tells them, letting his weariness color his tone freely. ¡°I am a student of the Imperial Academies, returned from a sojourn. I request permission to enter the second ring, blessed by the shadow of the Emperor.¡±

 Chapter 157 - Exercise Is For Suckers, Brain Surgery Is Where Its At

    Raika wakes up a few hours before the sun coalesces in the north. For all the stamina that cultivators possess, the number of times that the polyamorous trio went at it saturates the air and likely lasted hours, so she has no doubt they¡¯ll take their time getting up. As for the kid, frankly, she won¡¯t be surprised if he sleeps till noon. She knows full well from her time as a beggar that nothing pushes hunger away quite like sleep, and it¡¯s a good way to conserve energy; add that onto the exhaustion and confusion of the last day, and he¡¯s got plenty of rest to catch up on.


    She admits to the fact that yeah, she¡¯s worried. Make peace with one kid, another shows up, this one apparently looked favorably upon by the dead and their End.


    ¡­Shit. Thinking of JiaJia so flippantly still hurts. Hard enough to get used to remembering and using the name.


    She toys with the nameless named piece of metal around her neck idly as she makes her way from her room to the kitchen. Cooking is easier than introspection. And less boring than meditation.


    A snap of Blacksteel claws and the Flame lights, right as she quietly puts a pan atop it.


    Seventeen eggs, scrambled. Thirteen slices of bacon, cut thick. Chili oil and sugar into a sauce that she soaks some pork belly in, then a light oil to get it crispy. A combination of carrots, thinly cut broccoli and bok choy mixed into a veggie platter to be shared. Rice, of course. Sesame oil to taste (light. She can taste it in the air). Last but not least, a loaf of bread from the pantry that she toasts lightly in a pan to warm up.


    By the time she¡¯s set the first plates out, the sounds of movement and grumbling can be heard from the bedroom area. The kid, still sleeping in the living room, stays unconscious, but as the smell fills the house that may well change. She sets aside a bowl and chopsticks for him just in case.


    Hao Nera, predictably, is first out the door. She¡¯s pretty sure he¡¯d wake up from the dead if she waved a piece of bacon near his grave, and he throws his arm wide for a hug. Like every time for the last few months they¡¯ve been here, she just puts a hand up, and he acquiesces, blowing her a kiss instead.


    ¡°My love, my heart, my dearest goliath of a woman, what I would have done to have even half as much joy as you bring me up in the mountains,¡± he whispers as he sits at the table. His belly is rumbling louder than he is: outside of Li Shu, he¡¯s adapted best to her enhanced senses, and tends to be quieter than not when speaking just to her.


    ¡°Me and the boys would¡¯ve paid good steel and better ass for such a chef, nevermind the view. How is it that you¡¯re the full package and yet so deliciously not up for grabs?¡±


    ¡°Grab as you please,¡± she whispers back, ¡°just don¡¯t expect a guarantee on keeping the hand.¡±


    ¡°Ah, but then I get my sexy healer to nurse me back to health, and my sworn protector to defend my honor! An opportunity presents itself to lose oneself in dat ass, only to get to watch my partners jump to my defense.¡±


    She snorts lightly. ¡°Truly, you have reached the height of wisdom. Both whipped and sugar daddy at the same time. Still don¡¯t know what they see in you.¡±


    He smiles wider. ¡°Besides my dashing good looks, gloriously shaped muscles, rugged charm and unbelievably good dick?¡±


    ¡°I truly doubt it¡¯s that good.¡±


    ¡°Ah, but the rest you can¡¯t refute!¡±


    She laughs lightly, taking her own seat at the table as she does. Hao Nera celebrates his victory with a whopping triple-egg topping to his rice and four cuts of bacon right off the bat. She easily doubles that amount, and takes a good third of the pork belly and almost half of the vegetable mix besides.


    ¡°I would say I¡¯m still not sure where you put all that,¡± Hao Nera mumbles through a full mouth, ¡°but considering your assets, I suppose something is needed to fuel such a distinct frame.¡±


    She cocks an eyebrow at him, but smiles as she eats a bite about twice the size of his in half the time. ¡°Sure. Tits and ass are what make me hungry, not the ability to grow thirty arms or turn to a bioforged war construct. An excellent theory.¡±


    ¡°Well, according to you, you have total control over your body¡¯s form and functions. What possible other reason could there be for such a tremendous use of resources?¡±


    She scoffs. ¡°It¡¯s mostly muscle and spare fat reserves. I can reuse them easy enough, I just like the shape.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I see! Your predatory instincts at work! How else to best hunt your prey than the sweetest of honeypots!¡±


    She laughs again, the Want and Mask in alignment as she does. ¡°I am nothing if not willing to use all the resources at my disposal to my advantage. Like storing materials inside tits perfectly proportioned to my height and frame, for one.


    ¡°And besides, you¡¯d be amazed at how much a few tweaks and a proper butt can do for balance and leg strength.¡±


    He laughs, though he cringes a bit at it slipping out just a bit louder than their whispered tone so far. The kid doesn¡¯t even stir, and she can hear his heartbeat and breathing still in the steady lull of sleep, so she waves it off, and he nods back. And then, of course, goes back to devouring his breakfast, slathering eggs and some pork belly with a big leaf of bok choy onto a slice of bread.


    A few minutes later, Li Shu and Qen Hou both emerge from the room, though in drastically different states. Li Shu is bright-eyed, quiet but holding a few pages of notes and blank paper already, a stick of charcoal in hand and an enchanted quill held beside it for multiple writing options. Qen Hou, meanwhile, walks with a very slight but still discernible limp, and looks for all the world to be trying to hide it so hard he¡¯s accidentally drawing attention to it, even as he sits properly and in a dignified manner for his meal.


    ¡°Thank you, Raika,¡± he says with a nod. ¡°The food is, as always, appreciated.¡±


    ¡°No worries. I figured you¡¯d all be pretty sore, so I decided to go heavy on the meat today.¡±


    Qen Hou blushes slightly, but to his credit not nearly as badly as he might have when they first arrived. Li Shu, predictably, is nibbling on some pork belly and the vegetable mix, flipping through papers as she controls her writing tools to scribble furiously. The breakfast, for the most part, goes quietly. The kid manages to sleep through the entirety of the breakfast, despite the small and quiet noises that such a meal undertakes. He even sleeps through the process of setting things away, though Raika lights a small fire in their firepit and keeps a little basket of meat, food and vegetables for when he eventually wakes.


    Raika, despite eating so much more, finishes and wraps things up fairly quickly, picking up one of her manuals and leaving the trio to finish cleaning up as she heads out into the crisp wintry air. This far south there¡¯s no snow, the lingering heat of an eternity of sunsets baked into the closest horizon, but the air is still sharp, and the wind demands a heavier robe for most.


    Raika shrugs her robe off her shoulders, leaving only her chest bindings and necklace on her upper body, and sits in the lotus position, facing the pond down the valley. The rolling hills to either side are still green, and visible at the edge of their surroundings is the circle of bamboo shoots that mark a sort of perimeter around them. Slowly, breath by breath, Raika aligns all the pieces of herself into order, and begins to organize them.


    The Mask is temporarily lessened, the need for social interaction and practical data overridden by the instinctual needs and deeper understandings. The Want, what she calls the deeper parts of her, the parts that reflect emotion, desires and beliefs, melds a bit closer with the Flesh as both come to the forefront, as each individual element of the world around them comes into clear focus, and is discarded in turn. The Flesh¡¯s instincts watch for danger as needed, but the central focus falls into the rushing of blood, the beating of her hearts, and the quiet burning of her newly-created ¡°core¡±.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    She takes the time she needs. The Flesh takes her time adjusting, reducing the sensitivity, relaxing skin and blood and nerves, while the Want takes her time examining what is desired, what is achieved, and what is still missing.


    It¡¯s no cultivation fugue state, but meditation isn¡¯t purely some magical art. Slowly, Raika purifies her minds, until thought and feeling are aligned, and all she can feel is the cold of the air, the pumping of blood, and the crackling of nerves and fires within her.


    Then, she starts to focus on her latest goal.


    Her eyes are unfocused, neither Want nor Mask looking through them, but the data is still filtered in through Flesh. Slowly, she opens the book in front of her, flipping nearly to the back.


    Supreme Body Art has almost sixty pages, one of the thicker manuals she¡¯s seen that isn¡¯t a medical text. It holds dozens of potential examples and improvements, all determined by clear understanding of deeper biomechanics than any of Raika currently possesses. She¡¯s learned more, and especially under the influence of the strange, multi-hued flame she generated the night before, she felt more, but there¡¯s limits to what can be learned quickly. For all the knowledge of what a liver does, and how to optimize it, her own ¡°liver¡± equivalent is still a mystery organ, as are most of what she possesses, and, if her stomach and lungs are any indication, likely has some Qi related properties none of her or Li Shu understand yet.


    So for current changes, Raika¡¯s Want looks for two criteria. The first: what is needed, directly and currently. The second: what can be achieved.


    The fight against Feng Gao might have gone a bit differently with more Blacksteel, but it would be a stopgap at best. In the end, he was faster, he was stronger, his reactions more efficient, and, fundamentally, he ignored more rules. He could do more, and could somehow process all that he was doing.


    Something Raika has gotten more comfortable with understanding is that, fundamentally, cultivation doesn¡¯t obey the laws of biology. Or physics, but she knows even less about that than she does medical science. With the sensitivity the Flesh has, Raika is aware that her eyes jiggle when she runs fast enough and blurs her vision, that muscles are supposed to tear at certain angles and uses of force, that bones simply cannot stand up to a certain amount of impact without breaking. Sure, Feng Gao was in the Warrior realm, but there¡¯s signs of similar rule-breaking in Li Shu, Hao Nera and Qen Hou, and when she ate of cultivator flesh from the fallen in the dungeon beneath Cragend, their flesh had been barely above her own baseline so long ago.


    In short, cultivator¡¯s aren¡¯t actually improving their bodies on a basic level, not one that follows the rules. The Mask is certain they could, if they learned how or had a focus to it, but more likely, the sheer concentration, purity, and intent of the Qi inside one¡¯s Dantians and meridians is what actually influences the way that a cultivator interacts with things like impact, heat, aging, and more. The nuances might be lost, but just like how having soul organs can create a ¡°cultivation fugue state¡± for meditation, it stands to reason it could be a bridge between the physical nature of a cultivator¡¯s body and the elevated nature of their weight on reality.


    All theory, all unproven as far as she knows, but under examination, it seems to hold up. Which begs the question; how does Raika, who has no soul organs and can¡¯t directly use or ¡°digest¡± Qi to align it to her own weight on reality, match their growth?


    Answer: with lots of extra steps.


    The bone latticing, muscle density manipulation, even, in the end, the way that Qi saturation has caused changes in the ¡°weight¡± of her specific biological pieces have all been good steps in that direction, but some things weren¡¯t so intentional.


    Li Shu pointed out something crucial recently: if Raika had kept her human organs, even with Qi saturation, she would be dead. Things she was conscious of, like her heartbeat, might have been maintained, but only when awake and willing it through her Truths, and beyond that there¡¯s plenty she just didn¡¯t know about. According to Li Shu, her muscle density demands a metabolism that her new body can handle, but that normal human organs would simply have failed at, leaving her blood thin and without essential components and her overall system failing. Hell, her brain alone should have structurally collapsed the first time she altered her skull, which she only did after her experience with the beast tide and her first Tribulation. What her current body can¡¯t handle, her Truth can cover, but if she¡¯d kept a human organ set, the minute she fell unconscious or asleep and stopped consciously keeping things running, she¡¯d have died.


    So, to circle back: what is needed, and what can be done.


    Her strength and speed aren¡¯t dependent on just Qi, they¡¯re dependent on a complete system, and she can¡¯t rely on Qi to carry her through as she wills because her will can¡¯t directly touch Qi. She can improve muscle density, sure, she can even ¡°overclock¡± her current system to the point where she needs her Truths always running to keep her alive, but they don¡¯t fix the foundation. It would be¡­ it would be like pushing to drink in more Qi right after a change in realm, without strengthening one¡¯s foundation or understanding. She doesn¡¯t yet have the ability to create organs, and if she pushes her body too far, just like when overstimulation kept destroying her sense of self and placement, she¡¯ll just end up trapped in a body that she can¡¯t sustain or keep up with.


    So, the Want, in all the wisdom of the Mask¡¯s analysis and the Flesh¡¯s insistence that this is the better direction, has selected the next target for improvement.


    Raika is going to alter her brain.


    Not much! Nothing with the hormones, with the pieces of memory centers, not even altering the current mass. It¡¯s said that the brain is one of the most adaptable, ever-changing organs in a body, and Li Shu gave her a quick breakdown: back / bottom of the brain for managing background chemicals and systems, middle for memories and subconscious processes, and front for thought, give or take.


    Raika¡¯s just¡­ gonna make a new front-brain. No big deal.


    She breathes in, low and slow, and feels cold, wintry air, a thousand scents of Qi and living organisms, dirt and water and air entering her lungs.


    And she slowly takes just a teeny, tiny, itty bitty little bit of the strange, pulsing, crackling grey thing behind her eyes.


    Maybe a quarter of a fingernail, maybe less. The smallest, tiniest piece. But still alive, still connected to her blood, still alive and pulsing and real¡­ and she moves it down into her solar plexus. Makes a second little bubble for it, a bit more flexible than a skull but still mostly bone, right near her newly-created core.


    She takes a few moments to review, checking on herself. The Mask and the Want cooperate, picturing things, looking into memories, checking to see if there¡¯s any discernible change¡­ nothing.


    And then, in a mix of instinct and focus, she sends just a tiny, itty bitty nothing drop of that core¡¯s Flame towards it.


    Worst case scenario, it burns up or enters metastasis, but it¡¯s not connected to her main brain, and it¡¯s still part of her, so her Truths have authority over it. Best case scenario, something phenomenal happens. Either way, no part of her knows enough about how a brain works to build one, and this is probably way more efficient than feeding bits of Qi in that might well destroy it. Considering how the Flame fueled her growth and transformations last time¡­


    The iridescent flame, fluttering in red, purple, gold, blue and green, moves through her. There are barely even embers, and the amount taken from it is more than half despite being barely a spark, but even still as she draws it out from her core she feels her body again. Cell walls ripple at its passing, blood and muscle singing in some indiscernible way¡­ and then it lands on the extracted brain matter.


    It¡¯s not the explosive, uncontrollable growth of the previous night, the changes so vast and abrupt they demanded shunting Blacksteel rods down into the core to kill it silent. Still, the change is notable, with the droplet of grey flesh swirling in blood and cerebral fluid. It doubles in size, then doubles again, over the course of a few minutes, leaving it maybe the size of a single knuckle or small pebble, and as it grows, it folds over itself, wrinkles and crevasses already visible as it develops.


    But¡­ just a touch, for now. No more. The Core-Flame runs dry, but already Raika has routed the new bubble of brain-flesh into her circulatory system, copying the framework around her skull to not drown the little piece of what might be a mind. Then, she leaves it to rest.


    It took dividing herself into three, amidst a psychotic break and an attempted ego-assassination, to finally be able to manage and understand her existence. Before that, it had taken blinding adrenaline and desperate instinct to even operate properly.


    Exploring improvements on that front to match the strange patterns of flesh and bone and Flame throughout her seems only proper.


    With a sigh, the Flesh lets out the breath she was holding, enough air flowing from her lungs to ripple the grass all around. She picks up the manual and walks back inside, her body heat elevated enough that she¡¯s letting off steam in the cold, wintry air.


    As she enters, she sees the kid scarfing down the food she set aside for him, his eyes alert and rather alarmed at her arrival and the straight up fog rolling off her seven-foot frame as she enters.


    ¡°You done eating?¡± she asks.


    Looking down at the last few pieces of his food, she snorts at the tension in his expression, like she intends to take it away from him.


    ¡°Finish up, kid. I¡¯m going into town today, and I don¡¯t trust Hao Nera or Li Shu not to get you into some kind of mess without me here.¡±


    ¡°...why?¡± he asks.


    She shrugs. ¡°Gotta pay for groceries somehow. Come on. We¡¯re going to market to sell some bones.¡±

 Chapter 158 - Gainful Employment Is A Drag

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    Raika unrolls a long rug, its base thick and woven tightly to keep out the dirt. All around, dozens of people pass by, walking about, though some of them are clearly walking together and waiting in line. Jin is a lot more uneasy, slinking near the alley behind where she set up (a little ways away from where she usually sets up, specifically so that he¡¯d have the shadows to hide in), and she keeps an eye on him. The scent of his Qi has shifted, even in just the last day, and she¡¯s not entirely sure what the scent is. Still bitter tea in a cold room, but the impression of someone laughing in the dark is¡­ weirder. Like it¡¯s less present, but that the dark it was in is scented now, hazy with fog. Better to keep him close for now, and lucky for her, the kid doesn¡¯t seem inclined to run away yet.


    Patting the rug down until it¡¯s flat and organized, she unravels a bundle she carried with it, unveiling about two dozen pale, white trinkets. Each one she sets out adds to the small crowd gathering, five or six people humming appreciatively and waiting patiently. They look like driftwood at a glance, but closer examination starts to show that they¡¯re made of bone, not wood. Dense, thick bone, much heavier than its appearance would indicate, and shaped, seemingly by no knife or blade, into myriad shapes, close and artistic. Some of them are vague, like seashells or bits of coral, their formations seeming to indicate something organic and alien, while others are so detailed they seem almost like sculptures, imitating animals, horns, eyes and more. One of them, which Raika puts in a place of prominence, is almost mesmerizing, a sort of square piece that, while rounded enough to look natural, still has deeply alien formations shaped like fractals decorating it.


    Testing bone patterning and new ideas is fun and all, but rather than waste her failed experiments or potential ideas, Raika elected to keep them. When neither Li Shu nor Qen Hou had any fucking clue how to make money (and Hao Nera¡¯s idea revolved primarily around scams on the local populace), she came up with the idea to sell some as trinkets for grocery money. As cultivators, they¡¯ll be fine living out in the tamer wilds for a while, as their homemade cabin emphasizes. Plenty of things to hunt and resources to gather, especially with what¡¯s been planted in the pond, but there¡¯s just ever so much that requires civilization, industry or specialized skills to create, like salt and spices, thread, books, and basic things like cookware and clothing. Not enough to need them to pursue quests or full-time jobs, especially seeing as they¡¯re in hiding, but certainly good motivation to get a little side hustle going.


    When she¡¯s done and ready, sitting on her rug, her left arm wrapped in her robes and out of sight, all her pieces arranged carefully in front of her, she takes a seat and packs her pipe, nice and slow. She¡¯s been coming here once a week for a few weeks now, and her regulars have absolutely learned not to interrupt her before she¡¯s got her pipe ready.


    It tastes worse without lighting it with True Flame, the taste of sulphur in the matches lingering to Raika¡¯s senses, but she lights it more traditionally anyways, and blows out a long, slow cloud of blue-grey smoke.


    ¡°Alright. Come and get em.¡±


    Most of her regulars come forward eagerly, with more than one crouching down to examine the goods. Raika recognizes them one by one: the little old woman who smells of bread and young children, the young man whose Qi is tinged with something bright and bubbly and smells like cut lumber, the two women who are clearly sisters and smell similarly of leatherwork and Qi like smooth stones. There¡¯s a newer one, a man, smelling mostly of peppers and some kind of kitchen work, who she¡¯s pretty sure is looking for bones to use in a stock rather than for decoration. She¡¯s¡­ pretty sure it¡¯ll be a good thing. Li Shu¡¯s been pretty clear that her body¡¯s penchant for being Qi-saturated as hell is a positive, and at worst turns her body parts into low and mid tier alchemical possibilities, so¡­ probably fine if he does. Not really any business of hers if he elects to put bones he bought at a street market into a stew either.


    She haggles out a few coins from each of them, tending towards the cheaper side. Between being a cripple, then being in a sect and then in Palaces, her sense of money is pretty damn skewed, but fifteen to thirty coppers is what she sells for the pieces that look organic and strange, thirty to fifty for the ones that look like sculptures or animals, and if anyone asks about the cube or the stranger pieces she keeps closer to herself, she¡¯ll sell for¡­ eh. Probably a silver.


    It¡¯s a little weird. She¡¯s used to it by now, but in the Hungering Roots sect, she dealt with tokens and Qi stones, but seeing the Imperial stamps and icons on every coin she touches as she¡¯s actively in hiding from them is actually kinda funny. Compared to begging, she makes maybe seven or eight times as much in a day as she used to, and she uses it for supplies. It¡¯s a fine deal.


    Eventually her regulars are all paid up and have moved on, even the newer chef (whose interest in the cube was clear, though he didn¡¯t press her when she told him the price), and Jin comes out from the alley behind her to come a little closer. He coughs a bit at the smoke from her pipe, and she makes sure her next pull leaves more of it in her lungs than comes back out.


    ¡°You made these?¡± he asks.


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°Seen em around. Didn¡¯t know it was you.¡±


    ¡°Used to spend a lot of time in town? Or out in that campsite?¡±


    ¡°...mostly the campsite. Easier to feel safe out there. No chance someone¡¯s gonna find me and kick me or try to take my stuff.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Better your life than your things, no?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Spirit beasts don¡¯t really come super close to that side of town. They mostly come from the farming side, and I stick pretty close to the walls. I¡¯m smart about it.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Fair enough, kid.¡±


    They sit in silence for a while, watching the town pass by slowly. Sometimes families come through, but for the most part the next rush only comes when people start coming out for lunch from their places of work, or are walking between business doing their daily shopping.


    ¡°So¡­ you just sit here?¡± Jin asks.


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°All day?¡±


    ¡°Until I get bored. Mostly I just sit here and think or practice something. When i¡¯m out of bones or I decide it¡¯s time to leave, I go home.¡±


    ¡°...did you make them? Or find them?¡±


    ¡°I mean¡­ I carve some of them. But no, mostly I grow them.¡±


    ¡°Out of you?¡±


    She looks at him, quirking an eyebrow. ¡°What¡¯s it to ya, kid?¡±


    She can feel his adrenaline spike and chides herself, the joke landing flat with how nervous the kid is. She sighs, shaking her head. ¡°Yeah, kid, I grow em. Sorry. If you have questions, ask. Not trying to scare you.¡±


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Her saying so doesn¡¯t actually help him, but the lack of aggression puts him less on edge. He looks less like he¡¯s about to skitter away into the alley compared to before, at least.


    ¡°...why?¡±


    ¡°Ok, so when I said you should ask questions, I meant, like¡­ specific ones.¡±


    This time he sighs, halfway testing her reaction to his annoyance and half his attitude finally peeking through. ¡°Why do you grow them? And then why sell them? You¡¯re like, super strong. You did all that weird stuff in the woods, and you fought that ghost, and-¡±


    ¡°Well, for one thing, there¡¯s more kinds of strength than just being able to eat ghosts. One type of strength is, you know, money. Since I¡¯m-¡±


    ¡°Wait, you eat them?¡±


    ¡°I mean¡­ I did eat them. They don¡¯t taste very good. Sorta¡­ ashy. Chalky. Anyways, I¡¯m doing some training and stuff with my bones, and sometimes I have extra, and stuff to make life easier usually costs money. So¡­ free bones. Bones for sale. Tadaaaa.¡±


    Jin gives her a long look, like he¡¯s trying to figure out if she¡¯s crazy. She puffs once on her pipe and blows a wisp of smoke at him, which he waves away with a cough, now looking more annoyed.


    ¡°Smoking is bad for you,¡± he says. ¡°They say that near school.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re right. Don¡¯t smoke. It does bad stuff to your lungs.¡±


    ¡°Then why are you smoking?¡±


    ¡°My lungs are cooler than yours.¡±


    ¡°Is that a cultivator thing? You¡¯re a cultivator, right?¡±


    ¡°Eh. Sorta. Yes, cultivation makes your lungs better, but mine are just cool. Besides, I¡¯m an adult. When you¡¯re an adult, you get to make as many bad choices as you like.¡±


    ¡°Wait, so kids can¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°...ok, fair point. In fact, great point, you should make a shitload of small bad choices now so that you don¡¯t make big ones later. Good call.¡±


    He gives her that same look again, though this time he successfully dodges when she blows a wisp of smoke at him. ¡°That sounds stupid.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it is. I¡¯m like, barely a tiny bit strong, I never claimed to be wise. That one¡¯s a work in progress. Though, in my experience, when you make stupid choices you learn to wise up real fast, one way or another.¡±


    ¡°...yeah. That makes sense.¡±


    ¡°You were smart, by the way.¡±


    He looks at her again, curious. He still hasn¡¯t come close enough to be in arms reach, even with Raika¡¯s massive wingspan, but his heartbeat is calming as they talk.


    ¡°It was a big risk, going to stay out in the woods. But it was smart. No one¡¯s gonna try to rob you out there. Anything bad happens it¡¯ll be much worse, but it¡¯s less likely. It¡¯s a smart gamble, even if it¡¯s gambling.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t gambling bad for you?¡± he asks.


    She shrugs. ¡°Life is a gamble. Every vice has its flaws, so like, don¡¯t get too obsessed with throwing dice or anything, but if you¡¯re going to stay alive and make choices, you need to know that those choices are a gamble to at least some extent.¡±


    He goes quiet for a little while, and she takes a little while to enjoy the cool air, the bright sun, and the taste of sulphur, moss and tea-smoke in her pipe.


    And then she perks up.


    Of course, on the day she¡¯s got the kid with her, this asshole shows up.


    His Qi saturates the road compared to everyone else in town, the smell overpowering in a gauche sort of way. While nearly every adult in town is in the Qi-Gathering stage already, most won¡¯t make it even to mid-realm by their time of death, so their Qi is a hint, like a mild perfume at best. This scent, despite how shallow it is, wafts out like someone burning incense sticks at all times. She sighs, long and slow.


    ¡°Get in the alley, kid. Someone annoying is coming.¡±


    She leaves her pipe between her teeth, fingers toying with her tuning fork as Jin obeys without question. Say what you will about their nascent relationship, his self-preservation instincts remain his priority.


    He comes around the corner like a peacock.


    That¡¯s not to say he¡¯s insanely ostentatious, or gorgeous, anything particularly impressive. More that what he does have, he¡¯s doing his best to flaunt. The cultivator, in robes of red and green, is wearing a necklace with a tiny sliver of Jade prominent, rings on his fingers, a fancy belt. None of it¡¯s exorbitant, but for a little nowhere town that sustains itself by farming, it¡¯s enough to make him look absolutely out of place (and absolutely like an ass).


    He smiles as he comes to the front of her rug, bowing to a seventy degree angle (too shallow to be properly respectful, too deep to be an insult). She doesn¡¯t care, necessarily, but he clearly does, enough to bow to a specific depth every time he sees her.


    ¡°Honored trader,¡± he says, ¡°once more, this humble cultivator Ru Lou comes forth, asking for your consideration. I¡¯m hoping that common sense can prevail, and that you are more willing to listen today than you were last week?¡±


    She can¡¯t help but smile at the note of annoyance in his voice. ¡°Common sense is rarely common, is it? I¡¯m a busy lady. If you¡¯ve got something to say, go on and say it.¡±


    He frowns, but stops himself from being too dramatic in his reaction. ¡°It is a rare find to encounter such small treasures in a town like this. I know you can¡¯t possibly have slain whatever beast you¡¯re carving these bones from, and while your skill is commendable it¡¯s clear that you have no Qi of your own to have empowered them so. I ask again, respectfully, that you tell me where these bones can be found. If they¡¯re of the same quality as those you make here, I can make sure that the sect rewards you for the location.¡±


    She smiles again, letting out a lot of the smoke she¡¯d been inhaling and holding and making sure it blows towards ¡°Ru Lou¡±¡¯s face. She knows the game. ¡°If¡± they¡¯re of the same quality. If he finds some hidden trove or rare beast treature at the site of wherever he thinks she found these bones, he¡¯ll claim they weren¡¯t that special, will offer some pittance, and will make entirely sure to take them with him. Of course, he doesn¡¯t know that she didn¡¯t exactly dig them up out of the dirt.


    ¡°My response now is the same as before, cultivator. If you want to buy some of my fine trinkets, you are free to pay me in copper or silver. Otherwise, you¡¯re free to leave. You¡¯re stinking up my stall.¡±


    This time he doesn¡¯t hold himself back, his eyes narrowing as he growls. ¡°Do you not know who I am? I¡¯m a cultivator. My sect is an honorable one that has lasted for millenia in alliance with the Empire itself. I¡¯ve got more money and power than this entire town put together, and if I wanted to, I could lay claim to anything I wanted here. It is only my honor and generosity that keep me from taking your secrets from you.¡±


    ¡°Oh? And would your Empire allow that? A cute little cultivator, coming in to an Imperial village and killing or torturing someone? This isn¡¯t the fourth ring, is it? I haven¡¯t gotten lost that badly I¡¯m sure.¡±


    At this, the cultivator steps back, eyes wide¡­ and then laughs. ¡°Ok, that¡¯s funny. Don¡¯t act like you understand how the world works, mortal. I¡¯m a cultivator. The laws are there to protect society, not random bone-carvers. If anyone does ask, what do you think it will take for them to understand? I can just tell them you were the spy of another sect, or hiding a secret, and the Empire will give my sect an extra few coins for our diligence.¡±


    She frowns, nodding pensively. ¡°I see. Yeah, that¡¯s smart. Power being good to power, right?¡±


    ¡°The stronger you are, the more the righteousness of the world is on your side, bone carver. Now tell me where I can find the place you¡¯re stealing bones from.¡±


    She smiles at that. Already shaping the narrative, now she hasn¡¯t found anything, she¡¯s stolen it. She feels part of her body rumbling, adrenaline shifting in her brain, happy chemicals starting to pop in and out alongside the annoyance.


    ¡°So what you¡¯re saying is, if I¡¯m stronger than you, that means I¡¯m righteous?¡±


    He laughs, a harsh snort that seems more like an insult than anything mirthful. ¡°Please. Just because you have some giant ancestry doesn¡¯t mean you can fight a true cultivator, mortal. Bullying your lessers doesn¡¯t prepare you for a true fight now does it?¡±


    She nods, coming to a happy decision.


    ¡°You know what? I couldn¡¯t agree more. How about this, if you buy my merchandise for today, I¡¯ll pack everything up and take you right to where I get the bones from, how¡¯s that?¡±


    He scoffs. ¡°Ever the greedy one, aren¡¯t you? Is my word not good enough?¡±


    She smiles up at him, tapping some ash out of her pipe. ¡°Nope!¡±


    He actually colors at that, his cheeks reddening in rage. In a burst of annoyance, he takes out a gold coin and throws it onto her rug, scattering some of the smaller remaining figurines.


    ¡°There. Done. Now move.¡±


    She smiles up at him. ¡°Of course, honored cultivator. I¡¯d hate to keep you waiting on the things coming your way.¡± She gets up, wrapping rug and bundle both in one well-practiced scoop so that all the trinkets simply fall into a neat little jumble, too solid to break. The cultivator takes a step back at the clattering, but recovers himself easily enough, glowering at her.


    ¡°Hey Jin!¡± she yells back into the alley. ¡°Come along. We¡¯re gonna take the nice cultivator for a walk. We¡¯ll get groceries tomorrow, this¡¯ll be way more fun.¡±

 Chapter 159 - Hard Knock Life (And Lessons Learned)

    Raika has them walk for a good few hours before they stop. By that point Jin is exhausted, even with his hard-won experience living and walking out in the woods, and they¡¯re far enough away that she can just about guarantee even the most sensitive people in town won¡¯t be able to tell anything that¡¯s happening. Of course, she walked perpendicular to her cabin and her allies, so she¡¯s plenty far from them too, but they might notice, especially Hao Nera. For being the weakest in the group by the metrics of the amount of Qi he has, he¡¯s got a solid advantage when it comes to a few traits, chief among them his instincts.


    ¡°So¡­ Ru Lou, was it? How long you been around town?¡±


    ¡°Quiet. We¡¯ve been walking for hours, and now you choose to talk? Just show me where the beast bones are.¡±


    She smiles and shrugs. ¡°Ok. Hey, Jin? You should head back a bit.¡±


    He gives her a look of alarm, even as he looks ready to fall over. ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°I know, I know. Don¡¯t worry. You¡¯ll be fine. I¡¯m keeping an eye out.¡±


    He still hesitates, but¡­ she smiles with sharper teeth, and gives him a nod and look that successfully sends to him that he¡¯ll be in much more danger by staying close than he is by stepping back.


    ¡°I have no interest in hurting the boy, but you should not have brought him anyways.¡±


    ¡°Maybe not, but I¡¯m trying to learn from my mistakes,¡± she says, setting her rug and bundle off to one side on a little rock. ¡°See, last time I had someone I was trying to help, I underestimated my problems, didn¡¯t have my guard up. Now, I¡¯m balancing things. Trying to, anyways. Embracing my strengths while making sure I keep an eye on the things I need to.¡±


    At this point, Ru Lou has figured out that he may have missed a step somewhere down the line.


    He takes two steps back, the Qi he waves around himself finally pulling in tight as he focuses. The scent is a mix of factors, something like wilting plants and sand, his cultivation a mixed bag that doesn¡¯t seem to fit him. Explains some of why he¡¯s the one in the vicinity of a little place like Wuyan village, and some amount of the arrogance being shown. Someone just strong enough to realize how weak he is, and weaker still to decide that the best use of his time is not bettering himself genuinely but to bully the weak and try to find some ideal opportunity.


    ¡°So. I¡¯m gonna give you one last chance,¡± she says, cracking her neck loud enough that it almost echoes between the trees. ¡°I¡¯d rather not kill you, but I¡¯m also not going to keep looking over my fucking shoulder and avoiding town over you. So, you can swear to me on your Qi, cultivation, and the name of your sect to leave me alone and tell no one anything about my appearance, location, or those bones¡­ or we get to stepping.¡±


    He laughs. ¡°What kind of trade is that? You¡¯re no hidden master. If you were, we wouldn¡¯t have walked all the way out here, you could¡¯ve just erased me. I can sense your Qi, I¡¯m a trained cultivator, I know how weak it is. Just because you have a strong constitution doesn¡¯t mean anything. Technique overcomes all!¡±


    She smiles as she disrobes her upper torso, letting her outer clothes fall to the side so it¡¯s just her chest bindings, flesh¡­ and arm, made entirely of Blacksteel and obsidian angles.


    She watches Ru Lou¡¯s eyes widen, his stance deepen, his heartbeat tremble for just a second. Confused more than afraid, but afraid indeed.


    ¡°No, dumbass. Power overcomes all. Technique is just one form of it. A force multiplier for Mind, Body, and Soul.


    ¡°And I¡¯m damn sure I¡¯ve got you beat on every one and then some.¡±


    Jin is a good distance away by now. The village is pretty far. She could use this opportunity to test out her new core and its Flames, but¡­ well, no need to be too drastic with something too experimental. Not with this.


    Better to keep things simple.


    Before Ru Lou understands exactly how badly he¡¯s fucked himself, her arm is around his throat. No need for any fancy transformation: four hundreds pounds of seven foot tall muscle and violence explodes from where she was standing before he even realizes she¡¯s moved. If she were a cultivator, mastery over Qi could have left the ground undisturbed, physics unbothered even as she hits a hundred miles of acceleration in under a second.


    As it is, her power isn¡¯t quite so neat.


    The ground where she was standing craters, bits of dirt and stone blasting into the trees behind her hard enough to scrape bark off many of them. She¡¯s minimized the impact, left it directed by her inner hydraulics and musculature to waste as little force as possible, to use it to its extreme, and even still the sound of that first step still thunders.


    Ru Lou has enough time to start to scream before she hits him. His eyes go wide as her hands closes all the way around his neck, as he is moved backwards hard enough that his spine screams from the whiplash. He chokes, garbles out some kind of sound and tries to retreat, but there¡¯s nothing for him to stand on, no way for his neck to support true movement, even with his cultivation. He feels his Qi firing, and-


    Oh. Oh that¡¯s interesting.


    She feels his meridians moving. Under the skin. Meridians are soul organs, not physically real the way veins are, but¡­ she can feel them nonetheless, on her skin.


    Well that opens up possibilities.


    His Qi tries to detonate, tries to pulse and push her away with his aura- and it¡¯s almost nothing compared to her allies, to the Not-Tiger, to Feng Gao. It feels like a stiff breeze. It¡¯s almost funny, honestly, how his Qi flails, how his energy tries to grow and struggle. In fact, there¡¯s a cute little thing to it, like she can almost smell his control and energy improving. He¡¯s clearly not had to deal with the threat of death much, and there¡¯s a moment where his energy spikes, the leaves of his Qi no longer smelling quite so wilted.


    And then she throws him.


    There is almost a sound like a scream as he goes through two different trees, but she¡¯s not sure how awake he is.


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    Interestingly, a shield manifests around him, a sudden and much more competent manipulation of Qi spawning as he flies. A defensive artifact, probably, something that smells nothing like his own Qi. She wonders how much he spent to acquire that, if it¡¯s what gave him the confidence to act the way he does.


    Good chance to try something new.


    With Li Shu¡¯s help, Raika¡¯s been thinking of new ways of doing things. Li Shu tends to focus exclusively on the biological, but there¡¯s something about the flesh that just speaks to Raika as¡­ too orderly. Or like it could be made orderly. Sometimes it reminds her of a clock, full of infinite little pieces that all mesh together to work, like the rarer mechanical artifacts she¡¯s seen. And if all those pieces all move at once, faster than normal¡­


    It¡¯s a little silly, but she¡¯s started working on something she likes to call ¡°overclocking¡±. The theory clicked into place with how her new ¡°core¡± works, how it let her see all the little parts of herself, and now¡­ well. Good to try at least a few new things, no?


    She could most certainly break through the artifact without it, especially if she used her Blacksteel. Hell, she could probably carve right through it, and the person behind it, if she used said tool, but¡­ well. Why bother? When she could do more?


    So, rather than modifying her existing flesh, or using Blacksteel, or lighting the forest aflame, she reaches into herself, into her reserves, and multiplies.


    It¡¯s incredibly hard to do. Immediately the Mask switches off, the processing power usually used for her ability to socially manipulate vanishing into the Flesh. Her entire body lights up, and there¡¯s a thrilling sensation she¡¯s never felt; it¡¯s not like adrenaline, not a chemical or Qi-based high. Instead it¡¯s like her entire body is burning every ounce of its stored fuel at once, moving at three or four times its normal limits. Some muscles strain, but her body holds, and it¡¯s so hard to maintain that so much of her needs to focus, stimulating everywhere at once-


    No. She doesn¡¯t need to use everywhere at once.


    She switches track, overclocking a few specific muscle groups. Before, she created and rebuilt systems as needed, but¡­ what a waste, when she can just take the specific parts she needs and boost them, magnify them with what already exists. Rather than building and destroying new muscles to reach superhuman levels temporarily, she takes her much upgraded system and boosts it.


    It¡¯s not perfect; she can feel how it taxes her system, demands more from her body than can be sustained long term- maybe an hour? Besides, nothing is perfect.


    It¡¯s more than enough.


    Ru Lou has at this point started to move again, his stunned state surrounded by glowing golden armor that looks similar to an Imperial artifact, though much more dull and yellow. His eyes are wide, terrified, and he manifests some of his technique. It looks half-formed, a thing of shifting greenery and dull, flowing sand, like a technique badly formed between the spiraling knots in wood and sandstone-


    First strike impacts. There¡¯s a sound like thunder, like a shrieking of lightning splashing against conductive metals, as her fist deforms the armor around him, makes it bend and dent and break. His eyes widen further, and she lands the second strike, watching as a brilliant yellow crack spasms through the glowing defensive array. Third strike, and the cracks spread, wide and far, like glass deforming under pressure-


    ¡°Please! I¡¯ll do-¡±


    She doesn¡¯t listen.


    She gave him a chance. An asshole cultivator abusing his power, who threatens her and all her allies with his knowledge, and who had a couple real clear offramps to this whole situation.


    The fourth through eight punches happen so fast they literally blur, her body moving so fast that it sounds like a half-dozen gunshots ringing out back to back to back.


    By the fourth, the defensive artifact had broken. By the eighth, the head and face of the body behind it are mixed with powdered dirt and stone from the ground beneath it.


    Better to be sure. Hard to hold back, too, so that¡¯s something to watch out for.


    She stands up, her upper body and right arm drenched in blood, dripping remains onto the ground. With her bloody hand, she picks the body up by the collar and hefts it, like a bag of potatoes, so that it doesn¡¯t drag on the ground.


    ¡°Hey Jin!¡± she yells out to the woods. ¡°Good news, the guy is super dead. We¡¯re going back to the cabin.¡±


    Jin comes out of the woods maybe thirty seconds later. In one arm, she now has a slightly wet rug wrapped around a body, obscuring it from view, while she holds the bundle with her bone trinkets under her other arm. Jin¡¯s eyes look at her, very, very wide.


    ¡°Did¡­ did you kill him?¡± he asks, his voice quiet, hesitant.


    Ah. Ok. Delicate touch required. She¡¯s doubly happy now that she¡¯s got the body wrapped up, though she figured this would be the case. Part of the reason she ordered him away, and clearly the right choice, even though it had to balance with making sure he didn¡¯t see.


    ¡°I did.¡±


    ¡°...was he going to hurt you?¡±


    ¡°Not directly, no. Pretty sure every ghost we scrounged up last night was stronger than he was. But if I let him go, he¡¯d have told people things I didn¡¯t want him to tell, and maybe gotten us killed if the wrong people heard it. So I killed him.¡±


    ¡°Was there no other way?¡± he asks, low and quiet.


    She goes quiet. Then sighs.


    ¡°Yeah. There probably was. But not for me. There¡¯s no way to establish trust, and keeping him prisoner wouldn¡¯t end well at best. That¡¯s¡­ killing shouldn¡¯t really be your first pick of choices, but if you look at it and decide the alternative is worse, then that choice is yours to make.¡±


    ¡°And you were stronger¡­¡±


    She takes a step toward the kid, kneeling down a bit so that he¡¯s closer to eye level even as he flinches away.


    ¡°No. Strength doesn¡¯t decide killing. Power decides what choices you have, but I¡¯ve killed things stronger than me, and I could die from something weaker. Strength is subjective, and power can be anything.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ but you¡¯re stronger than he was, and you wanted him to die. So he died.¡±


    ¡°And if he¡¯d been smarter, or luckier, or more aware, or wiser about what he had, then he would be alive. If he¡¯d learned more techniques, or a way to escape, or gone far away, or simply not threatened people he thought to be powerless, he¡¯d be alive. Strength did not decide his death, strength decided only this fight and the few seconds it lasted. Power, on the other hand, defined every choice he made, whether that was the power of common sense, of Qi, of technique, of resources¡­ or the lack thereof. Do you understand? Power is choice, and he exercised the little power he had on strength that he had even less of. That, and because he was a danger to me I could not end any other way, is why he died. Do you understand?¡±


    Jin nods. His heart flutters lightly, his pupils dilated, his sweat holding the scent of stress and anxiety¡­ yeah. He doesn¡¯t get it.


    But he¡¯s young, and this wasn¡¯t exactly an ideally formatted lesson.


    But he¡¯ll remember it. And maybe someday, he¡¯ll learn.


    ¡°Come on, kid. It¡¯s getting late, and I think we could use some time to rest at home, hmm?¡±


    Jin¡¯s fear is briefly altered as the thought of the hours walking ahead of them is realized.


    She sighs, then kneels down all the way, turning her back to him.


    ¡°Hop on. I¡¯ll cary you. Hold tight, though. We¡¯ll get there quick.¡±


    And they do. Jin is silent at first, petrified, but eventually he lets out a whoop as air rushes past and the world blurs beneath her steps. It¡¯s maybe twenty five minutes before they arrive back at the cabin, despite the many miles separating them. By the time they arrive, the mix of blood-curdling adrenaline, stress, and probably even hunger have done their work to put Jin right to sleep.


    It would be a lot more adorable if he wasn¡¯t drooling on her shoulder. Even if it is a sign that she¡¯s managing to keep a very smooth even keel on her run.


    She does stutter a bit and leave the kid half-awake, blinking blearily, as she pulls up a bit more abruptly than she expected.


    Standing on the grass, talking to Qen Hou, with Li Shu and Hao Nera both near the cabin watching him closely, is a figure she recognizes.


    He looks at her, his gaze, as always, a mix of recognition and discomfort. In his eyes, in his heartbeat, she can see that strange mix of elation to see her, alive and well¡­ and fear at what has changed from that aforementioned recognition.


    ¡°Hey, Raika,¡± Hisheng says, his voice soft. ¡°I¡­ uh. See you picked up a kid?¡±

 Chapter 160 - Sleepin With Da Fishes

    ¡°I found him in the woods,¡± she agrees. ¡°He¡¯s sleeping here for now.¡±


    Hisheng nods. He looks a bit conflicted, but by the time he nods his emotions have settled. It¡¯s reassuring, seeing him like that. He hasn¡¯t changed.


    Well. He has, more than a little.


    Hisheng is impressively sized. Impressive muscles, impressive height, impressive overall physique, a rather large amount of it on display between a low-cut set of robes that he holds casually open. That¡¯s one of the things that defines him, actually: casual. He exudes easy confidence, comfort in his own skin, strength in knowing exactly who he is and standing firm in that. His head is shaved, his face clean-shaven to match, and a set of spiraling tattoos like the roots of a tree decorate his rich, tanned skin, and bright green eyes look out from a face equipped with a strong jawline and surprisingly soft nose.


    But that little tick, where he takes that half second, analyzes what¡¯s in front of him and makes a conclusion, and then holds himself to it¡­ that¡¯s the same.


    She kneels down as Li Shu comes closer and plucks the kid off her back, lifting him up. He¡¯s in his early teens, so not too big yet, but it¡¯s still kind of funny watching her hold him like a little kid, no matter how easy cultivation strength makes it. She gives Raika a look, like she¡¯s asking if she¡¯ll be fine- the Mask nods back. They¡¯ll be alright.


    She takes the rug with the corpse in it and walks downhill towards their visitor.


    Qen Hou stays right where he¡¯s standing, arms lightly crossed. He¡¯s shorter than Hisheng, but most people are shorter than Hisheng; he¡¯s almost 6¡¯5, and that¡¯s without cultivating a technique focused on his body. Qen Hou stays right on him anyways, not close enough to demand a fight or to properly intimidate, but keeping his presence felt and keeping said presence between Hisheng and the cabin. She gives him a nod, and he nods back.


    ¡°I¡¯m alright, Qen Hou. He¡¯s just here to talk, right?¡±


    Hisheng nods, bashful as ever. ¡°Just here to check in, that¡¯s all.¡±


    Qen Hou just gives another nod, a softer one this time.


    Hisheng smiles at Raika as Qen Hou gives them a bit more space, though he doesn¡¯t go too far. ¡°He¡¯s a lot more confident compared to when we first met. It¡¯s good to see.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, he¡¯s been getting dick on the regular. Tends to affect one¡¯s confidence.¡±


    Hisheng chuckles, rubbing the back of his head. ¡°I¡­ fair enough. I can¡¯t disagree. Um¡­ I don¡¯t know what your relationships are, but hopefully you also¡­¡±


    Raika laughs softly, the Mask shaking their head. ¡°Nah. Their thing is theirs. Don¡¯t get me wrong, Hao Nera¡¯s great and Li Shu¡­ had a crush on her for a good while. Maybe still a bit, she¡¯s genuinely great. But their stuff is still building, you know? Not my place to butt in.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Yeah, I¡­ well, I wasn¡¯t sure. I¡¯m¡­ that¡¯s a pretty mature view of it.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t sound so surprised,¡± she laughs. ¡°Come on. I¡¯m gonna check in on the pond.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, sorry! Just¡­ still catching up on all the changes. It¡¯s weird to see. Still not used to having look up to talk with you, nevermind not having you angry all the time.¡±


    ¡°Was I really? Angry all the time?¡±


    He sighs, walking alongside her as they go downhill. The sun is, by this point, well and truly beginning to set, hitting the edges of twilight, and the stars and moons provide most of the illumination. It makes for a picturesque view, the last few hints of red and gold on the horizon fading to pale white and the slightest hint of purple from above. Hisheng walks alongside her, and she can actually smell the way his Qi moves with him. He keeps cycling it, always active, and the scent of vibrant, rich earth, full of crawling and growing things that enrich it further. His Qi smells of a sort of loop, feeding into itself, enriching the soil and that which grows, vast and safe, deep beneath it.


    ¡°I mean¡­ you were. Yeah. Even before you got that nickname, before you started taking the rougher missions. Always training, always punching something. If you wanted something, you went for it, which I really admired, but sometimes it felt like what you wanted to go for was just a whim, you know? What you wanted, not what you needed. It¡¯s¡­ I don¡¯t know, it¡¯s just good to see you thinking things through a bit.¡±


    She laughs. ¡°Yeah¡­ been working on that. Made some impulsive decisions that backfired. Now I¡¯m¡­ well. I¡¯m absolutely still doing crazy shit, I¡¯m just trying to make it so it¡¯s a real choice, not just¡­¡±


    ¡°Acting stupid because you¡¯re mad?¡±


    She gives him a look, and he laughs. ¡°Sorry, sorry. But¡­¡±


    ¡°No. You¡¯re right. It¡¯s important to understand who I was, the parts of it good and bad. Though hearing an ex lover go down the list isn¡¯t exactly what I¡¯d call fun.¡±


    He laughs again, and it remains that same rich baritone chuckle she always loved to listen to. She liked it best cuddled up on his chest, when she could hear it rumble, hear how it stretched his ribs and how his scars flexed and moved with it.


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    She shakes her head, clearing her thoughts. They¡¯re coming up on the pond now.


    ¡°I know it¡¯s strange, still, between us. I¡­ I¡¯m still sorry about everything. I¡¯m happy you took me up on my offer, though.¡±


    She shrugs, the movement a bit more languid than if it were entirely honest. ¡°You were very convincing. And¡­ it was a kind offer.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m only sad I can¡¯t give more, honestly. It¡¯s¡­ it means a lot to be able to help you, after what happened. I know I didn¡¯t know, but still, I¡¯m glad I had something to offer, no matter how small.¡±


    She laughs, a bit more honestly this time. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call finding an entire plot of land small, Hisheng. If we hadn¡¯t found this place, the next best option was to go to the fourth ring to hide, and that¡¯s not exactly something we¡¯re ready for.¡±


    ¡°...Ready for, eh? So you do intend to go out there someday.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Yeah, I do. I¡­ well. Not just yet. I¡¯ve got a lot of refining and work to do here, and¡­ I still need some time.¡±


    Hisheng smiles, and it¡¯s bright. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ well. You don¡¯t know how nice it is to hear that from you. I couldn¡¯t be happier, seeing you like this. Well¡­ maybe I could. Your new arm is a bit terrifying. But seeing you with good people around you, not alone all the time¡­ even taking care of a kid now, it would seem. A lot of big changes. I couldn¡¯t have imagined this for you when we knew each other.


    ¡°I¡¯m only sorry at how much you ended up hurting to get here.¡±


    She sighs, but nods. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t like the idea that pain defines us. Everything defines us, not just pain. But I got a shitload of it, and I¡¯ve done my best with it. And¡­ I like what I¡¯ve done. Who I¡¯m becoming.¡±


    ¡°I do too.¡±


    They make it to the edge of the pond, and Raika sighs as she sits herself down, letting the lactic acid from her run sit and fizzle out rather than Changing it away. ¡°How about you? I¡­ I feel like last time we talked I wasn¡¯t in the best headspace. Been a few months, and I guess I wanted to check on you too.¡±


    Hisheng smiles, though it seems a bit¡­ reserved. He sits down next to her, a lot more gracefully than Raika did, ending up in a perfect yet somehow comfortable looking lotus position.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been alright. There was some upheaval at the sect when we found out you were alive. I wanted to sprint over straight away, but my master held me back. Elder Mo is¡­ I¡¯ve never seen him get as livid as when he heard about what happened, but I owe him a lot of my self control. There was talk of trying to censor the Silver Song family for lying on their records, but I don¡¯t know if anything¡¯s come of it. But Elder Mo actually ended up calling an Imperial healer for me, told me I was on the verge of forming heart demons. I was a mess when I found out that you¡¯d been¡­ that you went through that alone.


    ¡°But it¡¯s¡­ strange. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve ever had someone manipulate your meridians and mind like that, I don¡¯t know how your current state works, but it was¡­ uncomfortable. Like feeling yourself be peeled open like a glove to be worn, lint picked out from your corners. If given the choice, I wouldn¡¯t do it again. When they were done I didn¡¯t feel at peace, I felt¡­ emptied. Static. Like the things that had so haunted me were just missing, not resolved. It helped, and maybe I was such a mess it was warranted, but I can¡¯t help but wonder at what went with those potential demons, or who I could have been had I resolved them. It was a crutch, and one that I didn¡¯t enjoy.¡±


    She smiles, nice and wide, and he gives her a confused look.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Nothing! Just¡­ you¡¯ve grown too. I used to think you were always passive, always willing to step back so another could eat first or to obey our masters. Hearing you say that you miss the adversity, that you might have liked to be able to fight and choose for yourself, is a pleasant surprise.¡±


    He smiles at that, though he does fall to his habit of rubbing the back of his bald head in mild embarrassment. ¡°Thank you for saying so. I¡¯m happy to pleasantly surprise you.¡±


    ¡°You found me a place to hide, somewhere to be safe and grow myself and my friends. So much of you has been pleasantly surprising, considering what it must have cost to find and keep this place hidden.¡±


    ¡°It was worth it. I owed you at least that much, and- um. Raika? Is your rug bleeding?¡±


    She looks down and notices that yes, actually, the rug has gotten a dark splotch that is starting to leak out onto the grass.


    ¡°Ah! Yeah, killed a guy earlier. Figured I¡¯d feed him to the pond.¡±


    Hisheng says nothing, and she looks over to find him staring at her.


    ¡°I assumed it was something you hunted! And what does ¡°feeding him to the pond¡± mean?¡±


    ¡°Oh! Watch!¡±


    She rolls the corpse, rug bundle and all, right into the pond. Immediately, the pond comes awake.


    There is a roiling of the water, like eels, but there is no life present. Impossible currents and shifting patterns of water roll over the rug, unwrapping it like a bundle of sweets from a cloth. Many of the strange currents and tendrils actually pick up or become partially formed from dirt, algae, and even small fish, as if they¡¯re all integrated into one cohesive whole, all parts of the same impossible entity.


    Illuminated in the light of the moons, the body of the cultivator, the remains of his defensive artifact, and all but one of his rings (the only one that¡¯s a spatial treasure, which Raika took back in the clearing where they fought) are literally unmade. They aren¡¯t torn apart; rather, it seems like they dissolve, become like drifting particles or liquify as they are pulled into the water and its grasping tendrils, and then down into the deeper parts of the pond.


    ¡°When we left Cragend, a friend of mine gifted me a tiny piece of the Heart under the city. I hid it in the ground, considering our experience with it. The bamboo started blooming on the perimeter a few days later. We got worried at first, but Li Shu and Hao Nera found out that it was keeping out most of the animals and nearly all the bugs. Came by to check on the pond, and, well¡­ there you go.¡±


    Hisheng looks at where the body was, now entirely vanished and remade into crystal-clear waters again.


    ¡°Who was he?¡± he asks softly.


    ¡°A cultivator from a nearby village. I go to buy supplies there sometimes, sell little trinkets I make. He decided to bully the weak, more than once. Threatened me, and knew enough that someone might put the pieces together if he told anyone about me. So¡­ I gave him a few chances to just leave, and he decided it would be the better choice to keep making demands and threats. It wasn¡¯t.¡±


    Hisheng nods, saddened, but not angry like she expected. ¡°I¡¯ll say a prayer for his soul, and hope that his death was swift.¡±


    ¡°It was.¡±


    Hisheng gives a sad, quiet little laugh at that.


    ¡°You¡¯ve given me a lot to think about, Raika. If¡­ if it¡¯s ok, I¡¯d like to come back. Maybe next month, to ensure I¡¯m not followed. It would be nice to talk again.¡±


    She smiles, every part of her feeling a bit lighter at hearing those words.


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯d like that.¡±


    They sit and talk a while longer, and eventually, she watches him go, wandering out into the dark. She watches his broad shoulders until they vanish past the bamboo, and listens for his steps a little ways out after.


    Then she sighs, long and slow, and looks at the pond.


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure you don¡¯t know what words mean, but I have to admit it to somebody. He¡¯s so hot.¡±

 Chapter 161 - Buildcrafting, Gossiping, Dark Rituals - You Know, Hot Girl Shit

    ¡°You think you¡¯re ready?¡± Li Shu asks.


    Raika smiles, half-nude and sitting up on her bed. ¡°Yep. I think this is the right way to go. I don¡¯t think any of us are going to stay here forever, and there¡¯s some stuff I need to touch up before I go further. Besides, don¡¯t you want to see how much better we can do this time?¡±


    Li Shu rolls her eyes, but there¡¯s a smile behind that, sitting across from Raika and looking over what¡¯s been set between them. ¡°Well obviously I¡¯ll knock it out of the water. Last time we did this I just followed along with your mess of an idea. Now I actually have an idea about what I¡¯m doing.¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Raika says with a clap. ¡°I know how to use my body way better than before, and you¡¯ve gotten way more talented with your technique. Maybe we can even come up with something new, who knows!¡±


    Li Shu shakes her head. ¡°I doubt it.¡±


    She walks over to Raika, looking over the expanse of her skin and the ways that Raika¡¯s reformed it. Her memory isn¡¯t perfect, but she¡¯s raised scar tissue patterning in the shape of the ritual they carved together, almost two years ago, all across her body. There¡¯s a slight tingle as the formulae are once again etched out, but for the most part, it feels just the same.


    Raika touches on a few points that Raika remembers roughly, tracing the more irregular patterns there. ¡°It¡¯s not that I couldn¡¯t think of something, I just doubt we have the supplies to add an enchantment here. Your flesh is so dense with Qi that we¡¯d need some really intense reagents to properly layer new formations into it. In theory, if you could figure out the patterns you could just make new formations, but without the right Qi signatures, like fire or water, your options are limited anyways.


    ¡°On the other hand, I can almost guarantee that I can reinforce what¡¯s already there. Your body and soul have both memorized the curse we put on you, otherwise it would¡¯ve been unmade in that tribulation you told me about. Or hell, in like, any of your transformations that break the skin. Instead, it¡¯s still holding firm. You may not be able to touch Qi directly, but if not for the curse, you¡¯d still be leaking out most of what you generate, lit up like a signal flare half the time. If we improve the pattern, we should be able to increase it to the point that it can act like a shell around you, blocking Qi effects from getting in¡­ at the cost of making it harder for them to get out as well.¡±


    Raika laughs. ¡°Not like I was going to start casting illusions and blasts of force tomorrow anyways. I think we¡¯ve gotten to the point where even if I did recover the ability to touch Qi directly, I¡¯d be hitting diminishing returns on my time. There¡¯s too many projects as is, and specializing for defense against techniques and a stronger ability to contain and hide my energy is the most valuable direction we can take right now. If I do need to vent Qi out for some reason, all I need to do is bleed it out.¡±


    Li Shu nods. ¡°Alright. Hold still, and keep the patterns visible. It might hurt a bit, but I shouldn¡¯t need to carve the sigils in deep like I did last time. The Witch¡¯s books have some notes on Qi-based biomods, and-¡±


    Raika starts to tune her out. It¡¯s not out of annoyance: when Li Shu gets going she can talk theory for hours on end, and most of the stuff relevant to this operation they¡¯ve already gone over. At this point it¡¯s more about the drone of conversation to keep them both distracted and focused in equal measure. There¡¯s not a lot for Raika to do, and a lot of busywork for Li Shu, cross-referencing their old notes with what Raika remembers on her skin, and then cross-referencing again to the Witch¡¯s texts and her own new notes and theories.


    While Li Shu closely and carefully carves patterns into the Flesh, Raika focuses on other projects.


    It¡¯s not exactly a conducive environment to be using her new ¡°core¡± or Truths, but there¡¯s plenty of room to work on the mechanics of her biology and body. The chunk of brain matter she isolated into a new growing vat is still forming, a careful procedure she refuses to rush, meaning it¡¯s still a day or two away from being done. She pumps a bit more Qi into it, a fresh pattern of bloodflow, and watches it shift and change, gaining a few new folds and wrinkles.


    She slowly, slowly connects to it.


    It¡¯s risky. Doing it with Li Shu present is the safest way to do it, as she¡¯s the closest thing they have to an esoteric medical examiner, but none of them are brain surgeons.


    But the Flesh feels right. There¡¯s a sense of something that should work, a mix of instinct and biological process shifting pieces into place, like when you¡¯re walking, see a tricky path, and know you can run through it if you just trust the feeling.


    A thread of nerve endings, mirroring those inside her spine, spirals down out of her frontal lobe, down her neck and into her torso, where a channel forms to access the secondary brain-cage.


    And¡­ nothing.


    She feels Li Shu make it to her shoulders with her knife as she focuses. She doesn¡¯t¡­ feel like she¡¯s thinking faster, or stranger, but it¡¯s not exactly easy to tell, is it? She sends a sort of ¡°pulse¡± towards the new brain matter, a mix of her Truth commanding it to act and be hers and Qi carried in on her blood.


    Nothing. She sighs, tuning out of her body and back out into the world, and-


    Oh.


    Oh.


    Ain¡¯t that something.


    The colors have tastes.


    The tastes have smells.


    The smells have texture.


    That last one is especially fucking weird, but there is a sense of elation to it anyways. She has to shut down the new sense almost immediately, canceling the overwhelming amount of input, but it¡¯s exactly what she¡¯s been aiming for, what she¡¯s been trying to achieve with having her distinct parts remain distinct. The Flesh manages the sensory input, but it¡¯s all one brain processing it, even through different parts or ¡°personalities¡±, and adding in a new thought-center to process that data was the exact right key to figuring out synesthesia.


    Li Shu told her about it months ago as a possible avenue to control her overstimulation and get the most out of her evolutions. The human brain is specifically designed for five senses, balanced with certain ranges of each other, and until she learns how to create and connected new sensory data (it¡¯s on the list) it¡¯s always going to be messy without adapting. Forcing repeated exposure to her full sensory range is one way to do it, force her body to adapt¡­ but she¡¯d been doing that on and off for months, and at best she learned to manage it, not control it. Qen Hou had apparently brought up at some point that some musicians in the sect claimed to blend senses together, that there were apparently techniques for it, similar to illusion techniques in how they mess with one¡¯s senses. Li Shu theorized it might be a way to blend her senses together to help better analyze things without overtaxing her brain, melding them more completely.


    She reactivates the connection, opening her senses as things shift sideways again. She pays attention to Li Shu¡¯s rune-carving, feeling the pain: it¡¯s red, but a lighter-colored red, the edges of it soft and velvety and tasting mildly of¡­ pressed grapes? Only in the ¡°center¡± of the color is there the harsher edges, the grittiness of sand but in the form of a papercut, tasting of vinegar¡­


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Mmmh. It¡¯s a lot, but¡­ it¡¯s overwhelming in a different way. More of it feels subconscious, like she has to focus to pick out the minutiae, but the wider picture holds those details in it already. It¡¯ll take some getting used to, but there¡¯s advantages, especially if, by growing the new brain matter, she can make processing it go easier.


    Li Shu taps her on the shoulder, and Raika blinks, shutting down the new senses and coming awake.


    ¡°Hi! Hey. Sorry. Drifted off a bit. What¡¯s up?¡±


    Li Shu smiles and taps the dull edge of a scalpel against Raika¡¯s knuckles. ¡°You¡¯ve been staring at the wall like an idiot for like an hour. I¡¯m done with the upper body, just need you to lay down so I can do your legs and face.¡±


    Raika grimaces, but nods. The Flesh gets to work shutting down about half her pain receptors, so things can be felt but aren¡¯t strong enough to flinch from, and Li Shu gets back to work.


    It takes a little over three hours of careful, precise carving for Li Shu to get every detail right, every modification in place. The original ritual had maybe a quarter of Raika¡¯s body overtaken by cuts, large formation circles and connected angles making up the ritual- but Li Shu¡¯s changes make parts of it far more fluid. There are sections that look almost organic, winding symbols and circuits like roots and veins, a mix of Craft patterns and Li Shu¡¯s own notes on vein architecture and patterning of muscle-forms. It¡¯s much more connected, reinforced, like a lattice built over the half-empty frame of the original, and¡­


    ¡°Ready?¡± Li Shu asks.


    Raika nods once, resolutely.


    Li Shu focuses her strength, pushes against the density of Raika¡¯s flesh and pre-existing curse. From bowls off to one side, crushed, pulped blood and algae from the pond stir, and then ooze up into the air and to trace the runes, filling them, catalyzing Li Shu¡¯s energies. Both flesh and ritual material resist at first, and Raika can smell Li Shu¡¯s scent washing over the air as she pushes harder, holds the pressure¡­ and eventually, like gears grinding into motion or a rock rolling downhill, the curse reactivates. The familiar pattern of Qi-blockage on her exterior skin shifts, touches on the modifications, and clicks into place like a puzzle piece.


    There¡¯s a moment where she can feel her flesh writhing in tune with something else, not just Qi but¡­ like a touch behind it, like something deeper. Her soul? Li Shu mentioned that the curse was probably affecting both, working on a deeper level-


    The sensation passes as suddenly the feeling of Li Shu¡¯s Qi in her body goes inert, even as the scent in the air remains. The pulped matter of Qi-rich blood and dark blue algae lock into place, absorbed by ritual, Qi, and target all, and there¡¯s a moment where it begins to dissipate and fuse into her, the Qi and properties both expended to facilitate the ritual and leaking into its makeup under Li Shu¡¯s direction.


    ¡°I think it worked,¡± she says, sitting up.


    Li Shu¡¯s face is pale and drawn, sweating considerably for the minute and change it took for the ritual to take effect again.


    ¡°Damn right it did,¡± she pants. ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ damn. That was good training if nothing else. Your body went from mud to rock just then, I can¡¯t push even a drop of Qi into it anymore. I¡¯ve trained to push my Qi into a body through its resistances, and I can¡¯t get further than the first few layers of skin.¡±


    Raika grins, flexing her skin. She can feel it a bit, the way that Qi touches her flesh and just¡­ slides off, little eddies and flows around her rather than moving through her like she isn¡¯t there or moving sluggishly through her body or into her meridians.


    ¡°Its¡­ I can feel it. On my skin. Like¡­ like a breeze you never noticed before.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    She nods. ¡°Yeah. Like¡­ feeling the water on your skin, and you didn¡¯t notice before cause it was kinda flowing through you before. It¡¯s stronger, but-¡±


    ¡°It should be broader, too,¡± Li Shu interrupts. ¡°You were already shifting it, but now it should be anything you use as a skin, not just skin proper. If you make armor, it¡­ should become denser as well. I¡¯m not sure, still needs testing, but hopefully this integrated it, rather than just putting it ¡°on top¡± of you.¡±


    Raika smiles, large and wide. ¡°Definitely looking forward to testing that. Whatever else, it feels a lot more solid. Great stuff.¡±


    Li Shu beams, proud of her work.


    Raika looks at her, bright and happy, sweating and tired but proud¡­ and laughs a little.


    Li Shu pouts at her. ¡°Oh what now?¡±


    ¡°I dunno. Haven¡¯t had a hot, sweaty woman in my room staring at me naked in a few months. I thought it was funny.¡±


    Li Shu blushes, but only lightly, rolling her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m a healer. You¡¯re my patient. What kind of healer would I be if I wasted all my time staring at your tits?¡±


    Raika laughs again, leaning back into the bed. ¡°No complaints from me. Your work is exemplary. I was just¡­ mentioning something to Hisheng a few days back. About being proud of you, of your dynamic with the others. Still growing and all, but¡­ proud of it.¡±


    Li Shu smiles, playing with her hair a bit, her bun messier than what it was when they first met. ¡°Yeah, well¡­ it¡¯s nice. I feel comfortable with them. Qen Hou is still Qen Hou, but¡­ it¡¯s nice to be closer to someone. And Hao Nera is fun, but I feel like¡­ it¡¯s sort of stupid, but I feel like I can trust him to care what I think? We met when he ambushed us with a gang of bandits, you know. Some real cultivator stuff, to find out a year later we¡¯d be partners.¡±


    Raika smiles, stretching as she gets up, absorbing the ritual formulae back into her skin and leaving her flesh unblemished again. ¡°I get you. Well¡­ maybe not exactly, but in terms of relationships, I can say just about all the ones I¡¯ve had the last few years have been surprising.¡±


    ¡°...do you miss Maen?¡±


    Raika pauses, freezing momentarily where she was picking up her robes again. Eventually, she sighs, the Mask stepping forward to better manage their reactions.


    ¡°Yeah. I¡­ looking back, I¡¯m not sure how much of it started as just need, but¡­ a good piece of it was more. Or maybe turning into something more. I¡¯m glad she¡¯s out there, growing, and I¡­ I trust her to do so on her terms.¡±


    She shrugs, slipping back into her clothing as she does and sighing. ¡°It¡¯s better this way. We¡¯ll see how it turns out. And in the meantime¡­¡±


    She steps out of the room, making her way through the living room and towards the door. The kid, wide eyed and alert as he almost always is when he¡¯s near his little bundle of stuff in one of the corners, tracks her as she walks, and she gives him a rumble and a nod.


    ¡°Hey!¡± she yells, her voice booming through the cabin. ¡°Qen Hou! Get over here! I need you to light me on fire a bit!¡±


    She opens the door to a crisp day, clouds blotting out the sun and turning the sky a dull grey with hints of rain. She opens her senses and sees the world in new shades: the rain tastes of damp and cold and feels like ripples of liquid and looks like shifting patterns of flying blue dots, all at once, her brains melding her senses into a kaleidoscopic comprehension that she has to blink to get under control. Out in the open air, she throws her robe to the side, her Flesh already shifting to remove her privates and chest, melding them into a sleeker form as her skin shifts towards chitin, her under-armor flowing like nanoscale and thickly-woven threads of impact-dispersing muscle fibers.


    She hears/smells/tastes/feels/sees Qen Hou sigh and walk out of the house, his hands already smoldering, the air around him reshaped in her senses to reflect the smell of magnesium and ozone his flames exude. She turns to look at him, a few sets of peripheral eyes forming on her clavicle and forehead, and sees him with her new senses.


    He looks like the perfect center of a storm. A brewing, trembling thing that sends the feeling of shivers through the colors of a glowing, radiated eye of wind and plasma that are visible through that smell of burning magnesium and strange, near-clear energies. She looks at him, and the person is there, in the middle of it, but he¡¯s so much more than a person. Under synesthesia, she hears his muscles move as shifting colors inside his skin, smells his sweat and blood like a feeling of radial warmth, a physical sonar sense, and ¡°sees¡± his Qi as physically and distinctly as she does his body. She sees the entirety of her friend in that moment¡­ and she sees the thing inside him.


    In that aura of shifting storm, of calm amid burning plasma and shifting currents of swirling, well-controlled energy just as visible and real as the muscles in his flesh or the jelly in his eyes, there is a sort of bubble. Like an embryonic sac, but wrapped in multiple layers¡­ and deep within, she senses something like the color purple, consumed and consuming, like velvet scales sharp enough to cut flowing through a thick mane of something.


    She sighs, loud enough that the grass ripples around her.


    ¡°You look beautiful,¡± she says honestly.


    Qen Hou sighs, his aura and ontology folding into his hands and igniting as clear white flames, tinged with glorious indigo, magenta and neon.


    ¡°Seriously, what is it about you people?¡± he grumbles, warping the world with his existence, like the glorious, plasmic core of his very own hurricane. ¡°I swear, I live with a bunch of perverts and maniacs.¡±


    She can¡¯t help but smile wide at that, and launch herself at him.

 Chapter 162 - Let Me Tell Ya Bout My Beeest Friend~

    Qen Hou has had a fascinating last year or two.


    It¡¯s no exaggeration to say that cultivators as a whole don¡¯t lead conventional lives, even as the Empire has reshaped the world. It¡¯s true that many sect-members¡¯ lives are effectively standardized to their different sects, but even still, compared to the millions in villages, towns and cities that go about their daily lives, a cultivator¡¯s life tends to have more¡­ drama to it. The occasional hunt for old artifacts, the act of fighting spirit beasts that have strayed towards towns in their territory, and, of course, the occasional tribulation or enlightenment make for plenty of variety throughout a year- and that¡¯s not even counting the unique experiences a wandering cultivator might run into.


    Still, Qen Hou thinks his particular experience is a bit stand-out.


    Leaving his sect to follow a rogue apprentice healer? Check. Getting ambushed by bandits, one of which he¡¯s now dating? Check. Wandering through a dead beast tide for a few weeks, only to draw the attention of a divine-level spirit beast? Check. Wandering into a tournament where said divine beast, a Warrior realm cultivator, and an ancient, monstrous Witch all showed up to explode everything, and then digging through said Witch¡¯s impossible alien dungeon to find their lost allies? Check.


    And then, of all things, building a cabin in the wilds at the center of a magic dungeon they¡¯re accidentally creating and sparring with a 7ft tall superpowered abomination?


    Yeah. Qen Hou is pretty damn sure that his experience is just a little bit atypical.


    He¡¯s also sure he wouldn¡¯t trade it for the world.


    He¡¯ll never say it out loud, if only to avoid the insufferable grin that would bloom on Hao Nera, but it¡¯s true. He has a partner, one that¡¯s been good to him. He has a second partner, kinda, in Li Shu, who he trusts and cares for deeply, and a newfound friend and sparring partner in Raika, unholy nightmare that she is. And that last part especially has been a boon. Being out of his comfort zone, expressing intimacy and new ideas, and training in the art of violence, he¡¯s grown by leaps and bounds.


    Six months since he entered the Core Formation realm, he is knocking on the door of Nascent Soul.


    The Qi within their bamboo perimeter is incredibly pure, concentrated, flowing in different patterns than they would in the wilds. Not quite like a sect¡¯s meditation chambers, but closer than one would expect, and somehow more alive, more awake. Without the need to hunt or do more than cultivate, he¡¯s managed to draw in tremendous amounts and add them to his Core, forming protective layers over the pearl at the center of his soul, the concentrated shell of all he holds and is.


    And, of course, getting the shit kicked out of him by Raika helps a lot.


    He looks at her, and wonders how she sees herself. What she feels, when she¡¯s like this.


    A foot and a half taller than him and more muscled besides, she moves so fast that the ground breaks behind her, the dirt and terrain shattering under the effects of tremendous force and weight. It¡¯s not the most monstrous form he¡¯s seen her in, but it¡¯s still inhuman, overwhelming, like something beyond what should exist in a human body. His instincts scream at him, demanding that he activate his flight or fight modes, that his body flush with adrenaline and cortisol and every chemical available that might enhance his focus or survival, as the thing she embodies launches herself at him.


    Seven feet or more of armored flesh, altered and alien, covered in rippling muscle and sharpened armor. Flesh and chitin made to look like an armored knight born of some fungal bloom of violent biology. She¡¯s a nightmare made flesh, and he can¡¯t help but grit his teeth and grin as he stands his ground.


    He pulls on his core, feeling the purity and power of his Qi multiply as he draws from his Dantian and manifests himself unto the world. His Qi has changed, transformed in the last year from something imitating the purple flame of his old sect to something distinctly his. He sends out a pulse of heat and flame, and an instant behind it, his Qi ignites, silver-white flame tinged with hues of purple manifesting into a wall of fire before him.


    Raika dodges out of the way immediately, and even while pulling on his Qi to boost his perception and movement, he barely tracks her. By the time his eyes catch up to where she¡¯s gone, there is already a sharpened limb shooting towards him, night-black steel and obsidian edges shoved into his field of view, towards his throat-


    He boosts himself further, feels his meridians strain and ache against his flesh, and dodges out of the way, just in time to step in towards his opponent and plant a hand against her chest.


    She moves, as always, like every part of her is fueled by cultivation, her speed, perception and power rivaling his maximum but always on. The heights he can push himself to are her default state. But it¡¯s not quite enough to get her ribcage out of his line of fire in time. He might not be able to sustain matching her strength or mobility, but with his flames and area-denial tactics, he can limit her options and plan ahead.


    With a roar, he concentrates a good ten percent of his free Qi into his palm, the flame he¡¯s holding wanting to explode, to manifest like a detonation- but he forces his will upon it, claims it as his own, even as it strains. He focuses into a single point, all that energy, heat and flame condensed down to a glowing star in his fist- and then lets it all out in her direction.


    A beam of purest heat scorches the air, a laser colored in silver and purple carving into her. He sees it cut into the armor like a hot knife through butter- but then the heat begins to dissipate. He stumbles back as the beam hits her armor and refracts like it¡¯s reflecting off a mirror, burning the ground around them, even as he sees her flesh begin to char from the pure heat of it. Beneath the skin, he sees a ripple as those interlocking scales she uses as armor realign for heat dispersal, and she steps forward, even as he keeps the beam burning.


    He can¡¯t help but match her grin as they stare each other down in the glowing heat.


    He devotes the same amount of Qi again to the beam, but this time he reaches deeper, pulling at a drop from his Core rather than just his loose Qi. The color of the beam changes immediately, deepening and shifting, and suddenly, even with her weight, even as the attack is diffused and blocked by her Qi-resistant armor, she is pushed back a step.


    It¡¯s not enough to knock her over, even as he sees the beam at last melt through her bone and start to turn her flesh to magma, but she¡¯s not just going to keep standing there. Instead of letting her take the initiative, he cancels the beam, prepares as she changes her weight distribution in a miniscule way to avoid falling forward-


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    And he reaches out his Qi in a radius around him, beneath their feet, and lets his flames explode.


    A pulse of heat calcifies the ground, the earth and plants not burning but somehow melting under the heat of his unique flame, and her footing is undone. For all her power, all her weight and speed, she can¡¯t use Qi for telekinesis or stand on air. He can¡¯t exactly fly yet, but lifting oneself with telekinesis is no small feat, and he¡¯s been practicing. He allows himself to be thrown back by his own explosion as he cycles the energy further. He moves with the wind, using heat as a propellant to boost his slower movement- and Raika follows, the explosion and loss of footing only enough to slow her down for an instant.


    She comes after him, relentless, unstoppable, violence incarnate as her Blacksteel arm spikes out into an amalgamation of razors. Her right arm shifts, lengthening, each finger turning to a lashing blade, and he can see the changes take effect all the way up into her shoulder and ribcage, altering the framework of her body to give her much more reach and strength in the limb. She transforms so much, so fast that he can feel the heat radiating from her, steam rising from her flesh as dark skin begins to redden under the effects of near-burning blood.


    He lifts himself, flying up, casting his fire beneath him and rising on the updraft to avoid her next hit. Standing still against her is a failing tactic, there¡¯s nothing he can throw at her that she can¡¯t force her way through if she tries, so he keeps moving. He keeps himself off the ground, using his flames as both destination and source of his telekinesis, throwing bolts of fire at her as he does. Every time he lands she¡¯s there, never more than a heartbeat away from grabbing him, cutting him, holding him down-


    But he only needs that same heartbeat to throw himself in another direction, using telekinesis to pull on his fire as he moves. As he spreads his flames further afield, it becomes easier. His core, his Qi, his flame¡­ they¡¯re his. They¡¯re part of him, and though they dissipate into the ground and air the longer they¡¯re up, he can still use them as anchors, leaving traps he can fuel and Qi he can pull himself to to keep just ahead of Raika.


    Even still, she¡¯s adapting fast. Her eyes are darting around their space, jumping from flame to flame like she¡¯s tracking something he can¡¯t see, and every time he pulls himself with telekinesis to a pyre, she seems to find what she¡¯s looking for a bit quicker.


    And then she manages a cut along his chest, his dodging just a hair slow as she somehow tracks where his telekinesis pulls him from and sending her lashing blades out to slice into him.


    They briefly pause. First blood goes to him by technicality, but she can heal a lot faster than he can. He feels his core roil at the thought of surrender, though. It¡¯s not pride, not really. He¡¯s fully aware that she¡¯s much more durable than he is, and that it would just plain suck to get hurt worse for no good reason¡­ but the thought of giving up at the first sign of trouble just doesn¡¯t sit right.


    So instead, he matches her energy, and decides to push.


    This is the trick, he thinks. The secret to his growth.


    He¡¯s not afraid of sacrifice.


    Instead of keeping his Core intact, a precious pearl that he needs to protect and use only as a last resort, he begins to pull and drain from it. He has Li Shu, who he trusts with his life and who knows more about strange medicine than anyone he can think of, an environment rich with Qi, and allies willing to help him fight and heal as needed. He pulls at his Core, unraveling it in streams and rivulets of Qi, and has faith in himself that he can build it back stronger.


    The Qi that makes up a Core, and that eventually germinates a Nascent Soul, isn¡¯t like the Qi in his body. It¡¯s refined further, compressed as much as he can manage and then wrapped tightly around his ideals and identity, until the very foundation of who he is changes it and makes it a part of him. It¡¯s not digestion like what happens through a simpler practice of cycling Qi, it¡¯s a manifestation of the purest, densest, most powerful Qi one can generate, bound into one¡¯s very soul.


    And he burns it for fuel.


    Raika, Li Shu and Hao Nera¡¯s eyes go wide as Qen Hou enforces his will onto the world, and manifests his Domain.


    Immediately he knows his eyes, ears and nose are bleeding, his meridians screaming at the volume and quality of Qi rushing through them, veins bursting and cutting him up inside- but he ignores it, at least for now. He knows his limits, and he knows he can recover from this. He trusts Li Shu to heal him, Hao Nera to protect him, Raika to push him to get him back on his feet.


    He raises his gaze to meet Raika¡¯s eyes, and sees her smiling, alien and inhuman and utterly herself, as he warps the world around him.


    The flames he¡¯s been spreading spiral together, establish a perimeter, like the edges of a flaming hurricane. The glow of their space changes, silver and purple overtaking lingering sunlight through the clouds, and the space within the twisting cyclone of his will becomes his.


    For about three-quarters of a second, Qen Hou manifests a true [Domain of Twisting Flames Around Faithful, Molten Worlds].


    In that moment of manifestation, as the world around them becomes obscured by roiling silver-purple flame, as the ground melts into liquid form and exudes impossible, warping heat, he smiles.


    He can¡¯t control it, really. All it does is manifest onto the world for now, and he can feel it¡¯s incomplete, half-baked¡­ but it¡¯s him, and it is his, and it shapes the world to his will.


    It¡¯s already fading, but he can see how it¡¯s affecting her. In that instant, he sees the heat warp her body, silver smoke leaking from within even as she loses cohesion, melting like metal or wax, dripping off herself, turning to raw potential-


    And she meets his gaze. And smiles.


    And he feels the world change.


    Something inside her makes a sound like a tolling bell, like a scream ripping into the angles of his mind, like a wrenching sensation in what he can see and feel of the world, and she blooms into [Ignition].


    Iridescent flame explodes out of every seam, orifice, cut in her body, manifesting into a pyre vaguely shaped like a person- and then she grows. Like watching a plant grow at a thousand times its usual speed, he watches horns and teeth and eyes and bone and spiraling, fractal patterns of meat-wiring and chitinous plating spiral and spawn out from her, the flames wreathing her, dancing around the back of her, like the very edges of some kind of halo-


    The impossible growth reaches the edge of his Domain; he feels the pressure of something intangible, powerful, profound touch on his soul, on the concept he is enforcing onto the world. He meets it with his will, his soul and the writhing possibility in his Core all fighting to contain, to melt, to transform and twist and unmake to molten possibility the impossible thing that was once shaped like Raika, and-


    It collapses as he coughs up blood, his chest contracting so hard that he feels his ribs strain as he tries to cough. The half-formed technique goes haywire, threatening to backfire, and it¡¯s all he can do to force it back into submission, align his Qi and bring it down slower. He reabsorbs what was expended, his inconsistent, barely-manifest technique flooding back into him and threatening to shatter his core wholesale, but he takes a knee and just breathes.


    It is his, and it is him.


    Slowly, drop by drop, he brings his raging Qi back under control.


    Eventually he looks up and sees Raika again. She¡¯s across from him, sitting in a lotus position, looking almost as strained as he is. Her body is shifting like it can¡¯t quite remember what it¡¯s supposed to look like, and the alien structures her body was blossoming out into¡­ they don¡¯t look like something she can control. They flop and spiral and twitch and churn against the soil, trying to grow further, trying to push out from her like uncontained, cancerous possibility, and he smiles idly, literally sweating blood, as she matches him in effort.


    He laughs a bit. She breaks concentration long enough to grow a new pair of eyes to look at him with.


    ¡°I feel like I¡¯m gonna piss blood,¡± he admits. ¡°Glad I¡¯m not the only one.¡±


    They both laugh, short and pained and releasing tension, even as Raika¡¯s new growths continue to spiral out and his own Qi rages, barely contained.


    They¡¯re both beaten, bloody, having pushed themselves much too hard and both damaged heavily from what was barely ten minutes of fighting- but isn¡¯t that what friends are for?

 Chapter 163 - Owo? New Buddy?

    Raika is half overjoyed and half overwhelmed when it comes to her new powers. On the one hand, some things feel like direct upgrades: overclocking her system allows her to multiply her strength without needing to waste time and power on transforming over and over, and her new brain matter gives her a serious improvement in her ability to perceive the world and improve her overwhelming senses. Additionally, she could feel Qen Hou¡¯s flames, burning into her with pinpoint focus, and felt the vast majority of them fall against her reinforced curse, her body rejecting the Qi outright, forcing any energy to have to almost dig its way into her through her resistances.


    On the other hand, there are still pieces missing. Upgrading her biology and defenses are both well and good, but eventually Qen Hou got through, and there¡¯s still much she needs to optimize to be able to overclock ideal systems, rather than improvised or those designed inefficiently. Her ¡°core¡±, despite how powerful it is, fusing the highest-tier pieces of her powers into something exponentially magnified, is overwhelming, messy. It seems to magnify anything she absorbs the energy from it into, but not in a way she can control, or even fully understand yet. Additionally, there¡¯s still that slight inconsistency, that sense that there¡¯s something she¡¯s missing with her Truths.


    And then, of course, there¡¯s the fact that she has no long-range or Qi intensive options beyond throwing True Flame around.


    Plenty of possibility, lots of room to grow¡­ but she needs to continue improving, continue growing. Before she starts adding new pieces, she needs to complete and upgrade what she already has, but she will need to add new pieces eventually as well.


    Li Shu is there, tending to Qen Hou, who¡¯s still smiling and steady but plenty bloodied, while she herself takes her time force-melting the overgrown flesh that her ¡°core¡± spawned from her. Off in the distance, she can hear the kid, the sounds of his breathing tinted orange-yellow and tasting of fear and bright-sweet citrus. Hao Nera, meanwhile, schlumps onto the ground next to her, watching his two beaus taking care of the backlash from Qen Hou¡¯s techniques.


    ¡°I admit, I wasn¡¯t expecting you guys to go that all-out. Starting to make a guy feel left in the dust!¡±


    She snorts. ¡°I¡¯m hardly a good metric to be measured against. And considering how hard he bottoms for you, I¡¯d say you¡¯re above Qen Hou more often than not!¡±


    ¡°Shush!¡± he laughs. ¡°You¡¯ll make the poor lad self-conscious! And right after he does some absolutely insane bullshit, too! Hardly fair, that. Pretty sure Li Shu¡¯s going to give him a proper lashing later for that sort of impulsive behavior. Wasn¡¯t expecting it from him.¡±


    ¡°He was a cultivator well before he met any of us,¡± Raika says. ¡°And ever since meeting us, he¡¯s just been reminded of the frog in the well. I¡¯m not surprised at all that he¡¯d keep growing. Still¡­ last time I saw a kind of Domain, it was Taurus doing it, and he¡¯s at the very edge of Warrior realm. I¡¯m pretty sure he¡¯d make the next sect prince if he went back to the Purple Flame sect now, unless that prettyboy asshole fixed his attitude.¡±


    Hao Nera shrugs. ¡°Can¡¯t speak to a sect, but he could head a hell of a bandit clan in any mountain range I can think of.¡±


    ¡°There a lot of those?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Not so many anymore,¡± he says. ¡°Still find a few, but the only ones that last are the ones that stay small and on the move or the ones that pay enough to the Empire that they look the other way. Hard to pay more than a sect does, though, so unless they¡¯re being groomed to take over, they usually just burn out. Any of the ones too strong for a sect to wipe out get the Guard called on them, which is never fun.¡±


    ¡°Speaking from experience?¡±


    Hao Nera is quiet for a moment, before his signature smile comes back. ¡°Yeah. Not Guard, but a sect thing. I was born into a bandit clan, actually. Grew up in the mountains for a while, but my mum got me out of there, sent me to live with an uncle in a little village. Got older, wandered for a while, eventually made my way back to my mom and her boss¡­ only lasted about another month after that. Our first big job since I showed up, and it went to shit.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t exactly popular with the folks that were left, so I went solo. Groups came and went¡­ and a few years later I met those two.¡±


    ¡°Is that why you chose your particular style? The whole forgetfulness thing?¡±


    ¡°Yep! Good on you for figuring it out. You go invisible, someone tracks heat, go silent, someone has a radar thingie, go intangible, someone throws a ghost at you. But if they can¡¯t even remember you¡¯re there¡­¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s smart. I approve heavily. No idea how you¡¯re cultivating it, honestly. You impress me almost as much as Li Shu with that, if it¡¯s self taught.¡±


    Hao Nera preens, shimmying his shoulders. ¡°Oh you flatterer! If I didn¡¯t know better I¡¯d say you¡¯re a terrific flirt.¡±


    ¡°Wha- I¡¯m a good flirt!¡±


    ¡°Please. You¡¯re lucky you¡¯re tall, hot, and a great cook, or you¡¯d be hopeless outside of lesbian circles. Not everyone goes for intense and over-direct, beastie.¡±


    She gives him a playful shove, her strength pushing him into a back-roll as he makes indignant sounds. She¡¯s about ready to get up, sloughing off the last of the additional starfish-limbs and fractal armors, cracking her neck and stretching. She walks over to Qen Hou, who, with Li Shu¡¯s help, is already washing off the blood leaking from his eyes and nose, his chest wound nearly closed.


    ¡°Good fight,¡± she tells him. ¡°Think you could pull something like that off again?¡±


    He laughs, tired and breathy. ¡°Yes, but not anytime soon. It took a lot out of me. I think¡­ I think it needs something deeper next time. It drew on something inside me, and it needed my Core Qi to do it. I am certain I¡¯ll come to terms with it, though. Our honored healer is sure to provide me all the strength and support I need.¡±


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    Li Shu smacks him upside the head, still focused on closing his wounds with her Qi.


    ¡°See?¡±


    She snorts. Even as she moves away, she can feel Li Shu¡¯s Qi at work. Her additional brain is still fueling her synesthesia, so rather than just the scent of Qi, she can see it threading through Qen Hou¡¯s body. The scent of scalpels and clear-scented flowers moves like drifting, minute threads, tying together severed muscle fibers and leaving droplets of blue-yellow jasmine in the wounded areas to speed up their healing. Considering she doesn¡¯t have a Truth to support her, Li Shu¡¯s control is stunning, nearly as detailed as Raika¡¯s.


    They¡¯re all growing in their own ways.


    She makes her way back to the cabin, picking up a large jug of water off to one side of the door. The kid is in hiding, and she can smell the mixed scent of fear and awe that she saw in his eyes earlier. It takes less than a second to deactivate her synesthesia and give the kid some privacy, before heading back to the others.


    She¡¯s only barely left the jug of water in reach of Qen Hou before her senses scream something at her.


    She reconnects her brain matter immediately, the startling scent of blood and sharp edges re-manifesting as a steel-crimson haze flowing in from the east. She can feel the color on her skin, pressing against her like she can feel a wave of razor claws scratching into her flesh.


    ¡°Hao Nera, can you cloak more than just yourself?¡± she asks, her voice quiet but filled with an intensity that has him immediately look over.


    ¡°Never tried, I don¡¯t think-¡±


    ¡°Do it. All of you. Qen Hou, recover fast, I don¡¯t know what it wants.¡±


    ¡°What what wants-¡±


    She¡¯s standing alone in a field, the pond to her south, the cabin north of her, and an aura like a hungering massacre pressing in.


    And then¡­ nothing.


    Nothing comes over the hill. The presence seems concentrated just outside the edge of the bamboo perimeter, like its testing the area, sending out waves of Qi and aura over the world at her.


    And¡­ nothing else.


    She focuses, looking for the nuances of it. Nothing, especially not anything that powerful, should be flexing its strength so blatantly without some kind of reason.


    The sensation of razor blades, of claws so thin they could filet flesh and stone to equal thinness, is¡­ light. Like the edges are just kissing the skin, not severing anything, not cutting anything apart.


    She lifts a hand, signaling around her for her allies to come out from wherever they¡¯re hiding- ah, they¡¯re back. Didn¡¯t move from right next to her.


    ¡°Shit, Hao Nera,¡± she murmurs. ¡°Getting better at that.¡±


    ¡°What is it?¡± he asks, even as Qen Hou and Li Shu look at each other, confused.


    ¡°Are you sensing something?¡± Li Shu asks, eyes following Raika¡¯s gaze and seeing nothing. ¡°I can¡¯t sense anything.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ think it¡¯s an invitation. Trying to be polite. Hao Nera, you can feel it?¡±


    He nods. ¡°Instincts are screaming. Like a hint of Qi, something big, but it¡¯s more-¡±


    ¡°The smell. Like claws that can dig through meat like jelly.¡±


    ¡°I was going to say something a lot less dramatic than that, but sure. Feels like there¡¯s something big and scary that I just can¡¯t really see.¡±


    She nods. ¡°I think it¡¯s being polite. Announcing itself to me. Might be we drew some attention with that spar.¡±


    ¡°I thought the bamboo perimeter kept us hidden?¡± Qen Hou says.


    ¡°That was the theory,¡± Li Shu responds. ¡°Still vague. I¡¯ve never worked with a ¡°dungeon heart¡± before, it may just be that you two overwhelmed it. Could be it was looking for you. Does it feel like a spirit beast?¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Yeah. Reminds me a bit of the Divine Beast from the arena. Maybe it¡¯s a sibling.


    ¡°...I¡¯m going to go say hi.¡±


    ¡°That a good idea?¡± Hao Nera asks.


    She shrugs. ¡°Seems like the right call. Be a bit rude not to, if it was polite enough to knock. Li Shu, go check on the kid, Qen Hou, try and recover some Qi. Hao Nera, you¡¯re with me.¡±


    Hao Nera turns to look at her, eyes wide. ¡°I¡¯m what?¡±


    ¡°Use your technique. Keep yourself hidden. If something goes wrong, you get back to the cabin, tell them what happened.¡±


    He nods, but he grimaces as he does it. ¡°Fine. We going?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Come on, then.¡±


    She keeps her synesthesia active, her brain beginning to ache under the weight of her new senses, but if there was ever a time to interpret signals as clearly as she can, it¡¯s now. It takes less than a minute for her to make it to the bamboo perimeter, alone, her system strained from the earlier overclocking but still more than capable of moving her across space incredibly fast.


    She walks through the tall stocks, steps to the very edge of the perimeter¡­ and then one step beyond it.


    Instantly, something comes out of the woods.


    Before she can even see it properly, it slips under the skin of the world like a blade into soft, yielding flesh, and slips back out right in front of her.


    Its legs seem to emerge and dip back into itself, over and over, making it unclear how many limbs it has. Close to twenty feet tall even in an animalistic posture, the creature looks down at her with a single cyclopean eye, swimming with a dozen pupils, a mane of tendrils so thin they look two-dimensional as they frame its face.


    It doesn¡¯t use words. She¡¯s not sure if it can.


    But with her new senses, it speaks to her.


    Acknowledgement, it whispers in shivering whiskers and slow blinks, eddies in its scent following with lighter colors and tremulous contact. Awareness. Tracked. Found.


    She has no idea if it understands words, but¡­ ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    Curious, it whispers in a language of hormones and subtle shifting of posture. Bright. Growing. Curious.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to draw attention,¡± she tells it. She keeps the Flesh still, her body aching to transform, to strengthen herself, to retreat, but that¡¯s not what this needs.


    Amusement, it sends to her, kneeling on its strange limbs and coming to rest like a big cat, leaning on its side. It sends a signal she¡¯s not entirely certain of, the context of it feeling¡­ familiar?


    ¡°Could you¡­ could you ask that again?¡±


    It blinks, long and slow at her. It ripples along its body, Amusement, and sends the second communication again.


    Sibling?


    ¡°I¡­ are you asking if I¡¯m a sibling? Or if I know one?¡±


    It doesn¡¯t shrug, but she gets that impression from it. Indifference. Curiosity.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I met one like you. Took a bite from them, even. I haven¡¯t seen them in a few months, though.¡±


    The entity perks up a bit at her statement, especially at the mention of a bite. It sniffs her, though she¡¯s not sure how, as its face has no orifices visible besides the single, massive eye.


    Sibling, it says. No question mark: authoritative. Hunter. Alike.


    And then, like a seal diving down into a pool, it slips down into the earth, into the direction of ¡°down¡±, and is gone.


    Its presence, its scent, everything about it vanishes, leaving no trace whatsoever. Raika lets out a breath that the Flesh tells her they have been holding for a while.


    Abruptly, like he was always there, Hao Nera throws a pebble at her, startling her bad enough that she flicks her hand out and cracks it in half in her grip.


    ¡°What the fuck was that!¡± he asks, eyes wide.


    Raika shakes her head, slowly. ¡°I think¡­ I think it just came over to say hi.¡±


    ¡°Wha- I just sat here for five minutes watching you have a one-sided conversation with a fucking knife-lion, and you¡¯re telling me it just came over to say hi?¡±


    She idly picks up and fidgets with the tuning fork around her neck, looking down at the ground where it disappeared to. ¡°It¡­ it said something about curiosity. And¡­ family? I¡¯m not sure.¡±


    ¡°Well whatever the fuck that was, I¡¯m going home. Twenty five years I go without seeing any crazy special beasts, I meet you crazy bastards and I meet two in a year!¡±


    She nods, not really paying attention. She doesn¡¯t even really notice when he leaves.


    She looks at her hands, idly wondering at what that might have meant.


    Sibling, it had said. Hunter. Alike.

 Chapter 164 - Despite Everything, Its Still You

    The following morning starts off fairly typical, all things told.


    She wakes up before everyone else, as she often does. She prepares breakfast (eggs, scrambled this time, with a medley of fried rice with peas and carrots and cherry tomatoes spread onto small toast-bites), and sets the table, lighting the nearby fire as she does. She makes sure the flame is low, that there¡¯s minimal Qi so that the True Flame turns to normal fire before long, that it begins to warm the cabin properly against the mild chill of winter. She makes sure the plates are covered, her pans and tools are washed and cleaned, and all the ingredients left over placed back into the pantry, neatly where they came from.


    And then¡­ she leaves.


    She doesn¡¯t bother waking the kid up from his little corner, though he snaps awake nonetheless. At the sound of even quiet movement near him, his eyes snap open, recognizing a potential danger¡­ but besides a quiet nod, she doesn¡¯t acknowledge him. Gives him his space, and the space to choose whether or not he wants to engage or approach. She doesn¡¯t call for the rest of the crew to arrive either: Hao Nera recovered from how frazzled he was pretty quickly, bandit instincts and all that, but Qen Hou remained drained and in pain most of the night, with Li Shu focusing on compiling notes on the encounter and making sure he heals up. They can rest, comfort each other if need be. There¡¯s no need to draw them out, not when she¡¯s leaving so soon.


    So she makes breakfast for everyone, takes a small basket of toast and tomatoes with her, and walks out of the cabin down towards the pond.


    The sun¡¯s not up yet, but there¡¯s that early pre-dawn glow of writhing serpents along the horizon, tinting it orange as they come closer together. She sits, comfortable but upright, and looks into the reflective water.


    Slowly, she takes her tuning fork and taps it against her sternum.


    Dink.


    The vibration trembles in the air, making the pond water ripple and sending that same wavelength through her own blood.


    And she sits there.


    And thinks.


    Slowly, she divides herself again, pulling apart the mechanisms of who they are together. Mask, Flesh and Want separate, bit by bit, from the more cohesive whole they form until they can each feel the difference from each other. Want is first to break the silence.


    ¡°Do you think we could have beaten that beast?¡±


    Mask scoffs, which is answer enough, and the Flesh writhes in agreement, a mix of hormones and heartbeats making a rhythm.


    ¡°No,¡± says the Mask. ¡°It was hard to tell its exact power, but even at the lower end, it was much stronger than us, barring perhaps our new addition to the arsenal. But without control there¡¯s no way to know how useful our ¡°core¡± would have been.¡±


    ¡°How did it find us?¡± The Want wonders. ¡°I thought the bamboo perimeter limited our exposure. Could it have tracked our scent? Has it been following us for months, trying to find us?¡±


    The Mask shakes their collective head. ¡°Unlikely. It was probably close, and felt our spar with Qen Hou. Our new ability likely overwhelmed the strength of a nascent dungeon heart, and it¡¯s unlikely that it was able to muffle it enough. The beast seemed able to slip through space, much like the last divine beast we met; for all we know, it could have popped in to say hi from the very edge of the fourth ring, maybe further if it was stronger than whatever enchantments the fortresses have.¡±


    The flesh ripples, a sense of unease and an antsiness to move overtaking the conversation.


    ¡°I have to agree,¡± says the Want. ¡°We have to do¡­ something about it. Right? What if it thinks we¡¯re just keeping our friends around as a snack? Or if-¡±


    ¡°Actually, that leads me to a pretty important point. What are we doing?¡±


    The Flesh eats a piece of toast and cherry tomatoes while the silence sits on the space for a bit.


    ¡°We¡¯re getting stronger and we¡¯re healing,¡± says the Mask, ¡°but for what? My job is to keep us going forward and in working order, Flesh¡¯s job is to tell us what we need and how to use it, and it¡¯s yours to find a direction to go. We were going after revenge for a while, but that¡¯s just not all there is anymore, is it?¡±


    ¡°...no, it isn¡¯t. We¡¯ve got people we want to protect, and the more we learn, the more it seems like something big is coming. Taurus¡¯s plan, all the friction in the Empire¡¯s factions, even the fact that a divine beast somehow attacked a central city of the third ring, it all points to things getting more intense.¡±


    ¡°And the stronger we get, the more involved we¡¯re going to be,¡± the Mask nods. ¡°Whether we want to be or not, the truth of it is that we¡¯re not actually hidden. We¡¯re still in the third ring, well in range of the Empire¡¯s borders, and if we do make it to the fourth, we need to worry about being strong enough to cross over and fight whatever¡¯s on the other side. So¡­ what¡¯s next? And why?¡±


    Raika sits and meditates for a while.


    In the distance, she can hear her allies waking up, eating breakfast, enjoying themselves. Out here in their valley, within their bamboo perimeter, there¡¯s less birdsong, less animal noises, and she enjoys that particular blend of silence and activity. She just sits for a while, next to the reeds of the pond, watching little fish dart to and fro awkwardly, feeling the breeze brushing against the grass and the few trees all around.


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    On occasion, she lightly taps her tuning fork, feeling out the vibration. It becomes a bit of a game, the vibration making the otherwise unnaturally still waters of the pond ripple.


    An hour passes like this. Maybe a bit more. Hao Nera emerges first, heading out from the perimeter on some errand, perhaps, and she feels the flow of Qi shift around her as Qen Hou starts to cultivate, Li Shu sitting close by, writing something. Even more faintly, she senses Jin, awkwardly exploring the cabin, and eventually taking a seat near Li Shu, who easily takes the opportunity to start talking about what she¡¯s scribbling down.


    The world keeps moving. The sun goes by above.


    It¡¯s peaceful.


    She takes her pendant off, looking properly at her tuning fork in her hand. The damage Zhoulong did remains, even now, but¡­ there¡¯s a weight to it that still feels distinct. Familiar. It stands for a large portion of her journey, and as she¡¯s recovered, she¡¯s realized it¡¯s been there for her for a long time.


    The Want makes itself known again.


    ¡°I think we need more,¡± she says.


    The Flesh ripples, a mix of anticipation and unease. The Mask says nothing.


    ¡°Need¡­ maybe isn¡¯t the right word. I think we could find someplace like this, somewhere. Reinforce the perimeter with runes and formations, spend the next few years cultivating and living safely. Find a way to bring Maen there, if she wants, and just¡­ spend a century hiding. Cultivators do it all the time, you know? And we¡¯d be safer. We¡¯d have room to grow, and we¡¯d be avoiding all the mess of the world.


    ¡°But we don¡¯t¡­ we don¡¯t Want that. It¡¯s not that it feels like giving up, but it¡¯s just¡­ it¡¯s not who we are. Who we Want to be. I don¡¯t want to hide. I want to be able to do more, explore more, be more. I want to get stranger and more powerful and find out what new things we can do. There¡¯s so much joy in just¡­ running! We couldn¡¯t even walk right for over a year! And we¡¯re stronger and faster than ever, but it just makes me think of how much more there is to experience, how much further we can go. I want to experience all that we can, and see what new, impossible thing we become that no one¡¯s ever heard of before. We want to keep growing. The world is so, so big. I want to see the fifth ring, I want to climb up the side of the first and punch somebody, I want to crawl through the sky and fuck the sun, I want to eat the damn moons! I don¡¯t know! I still want to make the Feng family pay for all they¡¯ve done to us, I still want to find Taurus and¡­ fucking take him apart for enslaving us, almost breaking us entirely. There¡¯s just so much, and we see none of it if we go and hide.


    ¡°And if we do any of that, they¡¯re going to keep coming for us.


    ¡°The beasts. The Empire. Other Witches, or things we don¡¯t even know about yet. The scientists or the military or the nobles who want to make slaves and tools out of all of us. We¡¯ll do something new and glorious and meaningful, and they¡¯ll come try to take us apart or devour us whole.


    ¡°I want to be free. Free to hunt and kill if we want, free to fight if we want, free to explore and to keep our people safe and to become something even more impossible, because we crawled back from nothing, from something worse than death, from powerlessness, and I don¡¯t want to stop going the other way. I don¡¯t ever want us to have to hide ever again.¡±


    For a while, the only sound is the wind through the grass, the strange heartbeats of impossible fish in the pond, and the distant sounds of the people she cares about being who they are.


    ¡°Ok,¡± says the Mask.


    Fuck yes, says the Flesh.


    And then, one by one, they rejoin the whole. Each of her minds, her ¡°personalities¡±, distinct and functional, and each one a part of a larger self that exists as they align, a system of many and one.


    Raika doesn¡¯t hesitate to start changing things now.


    Something has clicked, with that choice. It¡­ aligns with her, in a way so little has in the last two years. That hunger, not just to survive but to keep growing, to get stronger, to be powerful and free¡­ it reminds her of the cold of Paleblossom city. Of the dark of its alleys and the pain of surviving in them. Maybe she¡¯s never been truly powerful, or truly free, but that Want? That need for it, fueling her? Yes, that feels familiar.


    So she stops hesitating, and she chooses her path forward.


    Three different ¡°neuro-centers¡± begin to form, adding to her neural architecture. Each is kept separate, kept distinct, but she pushes more Qi and resources down towards her sensory sub-mind, already formed, and lets the Flesh do what it feels instinctively right to do to connect to it further. She takes her Blacksteel limb and redistributes it, leaving it like an exo-skeletal shell around a fleshy interior as the material is moved back into deposits and reservoirs through her body, ready to be deployed, grown, or weaponized in more varied ways.


    She feels the shimmering embers in her ¡°core¡± begin to sputter, to flare, as if in response purely to her mindset, and she begins to build a second, denser wall of blacksteel around it, containing it further and potentially letting her ignite it more often.


    Except¡­ it¡¯s not a Core, still. And putting the quotation marks around it is starting to get a little old. A core indicates a refuge of the soul, an accumulation of all that one is. There¡¯s similarities here, sure, but that¡¯s just not what this thing is. It¡¯s not a shell, or a centerpiece of her soul; it¡¯s fuel. It¡¯s power.


    It¡¯s an Engine.


    As if recognizing its name, that new part of her hums, growls, churns with impossible eldritch flame that is entirely hers. She feels it begin to stir, even as she encloses it further into other support mechanisms, and it, in turn, begins to fill that space. Her fire grows at the center of the engine, at the center of her thaumaturgic reactor, and the Blacksteel and the material some of it has been transmuted to fold into mechanisms to hold it in place.


    She keeps it quiet. No need to go exploding at the first sign of self-fulfillment¡­ but it¡¯s not just embers anymore, detonating or nearly dying. She can feel, as she closes a new Blacksteel containment shell around it, that deep inside the bronze-colored metal in her true engine¡¯s heart, the flame burns steadily.


    And certainly not least among her changes, she looks down at the small, minute little thing trembling in her hand.


    A tuning fork can¡¯t move on its own. It can¡¯t make its own sounds, only magnify the frequencies built into it. This tuning fork, that once was malformed and dull and could only make simple sounds, but is not a shining example of its kind, should not be moving.


    And yet, in her hand, she feels a pulse of excitement. A trembling note of anticipation. A vibrating, echoing frequency of recognition.


    She raises it, slowly and respectfully, and taps it, just once, against her forehead.


    It rings out with a pure sound so loud that the pond¡¯s ripples become waves, that the grass bends and dances in its tune, that the blood and metal and flesh and bone and soul inside of Raika¡¯s impossible self thrum in harmony.


    And in that one impossible, world-spanning note, that single moment of impossible vibration, there is only one sound that comes through absolutely crystal clear.


    Dink.


    Raika lets out a breath she did not know she had been holding, and presses the still-trembling instrument against her forehead.


    ¡°Hey buddy,¡± she whispers. ¡°Good to see you again.¡±

 Chapter 165 - Dang, Raika, Your Mom Lets You Have HOW Many Brains?

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    Raika feels awake. The decision, the enlightenment of self, feels like a weight has shifted, gone from a burden to be struggled against to something that only adds to her strength. She slips Dink back over her neck, letting it rest comfortably against her collarbone and hum contentedly against her.


    She looks out over the pond.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re sentient,¡± she says, ¡°and I have no damn clue if you can understand me. I¡¯m going to try to make this as clear as I can.¡±


    With a Blacksteel claw, she cuts open her right palm, letting some blood fall into the water of the pond. It begins to writhe immediately, pulled down into the depths like an invisible whirlpool has shown up.


    ¡°I won¡¯t be around to feed you when I leave. Make of that what you will.¡±


    Because she is, she realizes. Leaving. Soon, probably.


    She gives it an extra-large serving of her blood, the crimson of it so bright it¡¯s like a deep neon, and the glow of it vanishes as it hits the water. Even with her senses, it¡¯s hard to tell, but she¡¯s pretty sure she can literally feel the borders of the pond grow, ever so slightly.


    Make of it what you will, she¡¯d said. She means it.


    Dink rumbles in near-silent agreement against her, and she can¡¯t help but smile.


    She walks right back to the cabin, basket of bread and tomatoes forgotten by the pond, and finds her way over to where Li Shu, Qen Hou and Jin are sitting. Qen Hou notices her first, the eddies in his cultivation shifting and then falling quiet as he stops pulling in Qi, while Li Shu needs Jin to politely touch her elbow to get her attention.


    ¡°I¡¯m leaving,¡± Raika says.


    Li Shu blinks. ¡°Oh! ¡­ok? To where?¡±


    ¡°And when?¡± Qen Hou asks.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, and soon. But I don¡¯t want to stay here too much longer. There¡¯s too many things I want to do. I¡¯m not¡­ content here, like I wanted to be. I needed it, that¡¯s for damn sure, but I think we¡¯ve passed that point. There are too many things I want to see, too much I want to do, and too much of the world that I just really disagree with and want to beat the shit out of. The Empire is going to keep growing, and eventually, no matter where we are, it¡¯ll be there too, and¡­ I don¡¯t have a deep ideal of the world or anything. I just refuse to live under its thumb again, having seen the sorts of people that hold all the leashes. So I¡¯m going to go. Probably to the fourth ring for now, eventually all the way to the fifth, and when I have¡­ when I¡¯m strong enough, and have seen enough of the world to make my choices with the weight of a greater self behind them, I intend to come back and fuck some people up. Taurus said his plan kicks off in around two to three more years. Whatever that means to him, I know it¡¯s going to be messy, and that¡¯ll be my cue to come back. That¡¯s enough time for me to get a good look, I think, especially if I start taking risks in my growth again.¡±


    Li Shu nods, slow, while Qen Hou has a look on his face that- oh. Asshole¡¯s holding in a laugh.


    She crooks an eyebrow at him, and it finally breaks free, an actual giggle coming out of him at the look she¡¯s giving him.


    ¡°I¡¯m not laughing at you, I swear,¡± he gasps. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ that¡¯s the most you thing I¡¯ve heard in a while. Was starting to think you¡¯d actually mellowed out.¡±


    ¡°I have mellowed out! I¡¯m as relaxed as I¡¯ve ever been.¡±


    ¡°All the more reason it was about time you went and did something absolutely insane,¡± he says, shaking his head.


    She rolls her eyes, but smiles right alongside him as Li Shu watches the exchange, more than a little entertained.


    ¡°Well,¡± she says, ¡°if you¡¯re going, then I¡¯m going with you. It¡¯s an incredible opportunity to study cultures and creatures from outside the Empire¡¯s control, and you¡¯ll need some kind of support if you want a perspective on your modifications. I think it¡¯ll be good for you to travel with someone anyways, so don¡¯t try and-¡±


    Raika raises a hand, forestalling Li Shu¡¯s defense. ¡°All good. I¡¯m happy to have you along. You¡¯re an adult who can make her own choices, and you¡¯d be a big help. We¡¯re both a long way from who we were a few years ago.¡±


    Li Shu nods, harrumphing. ¡°Damn right.¡±


    ¡°What about you, Qen Hou?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡° I¡­ I think I¡¯ll stay in the third ring for now. Hao Nera¡¯s been cooking up an idea ever since that lion-thing showed up, and I¡¯d like to help him with it. Beyond that, I could use some time to consolidate my cultivation before I attempt to form my Nascent Soul. My growth has been rather intense, between the environment and both of your help, but I¡¯d rather not get a tribulation in the middle of a beast tide, and I think I need to understand myself a bit better before going off to something new. I¡¯ll miss traveling with you, Li Shu, but I think my place might be with Hao Nera as we pursue our own goals. That¡¯s probably something you should discuss with him too, but¡­ we¡¯re cultivators. So long as we don¡¯t die, I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll see each other again.¡±


    Li Shu nods, though she seems a bit heated at the kind words. Raika smiles softly as she watches her friends talk this through, and feels how steady Qen Hou¡¯s Qi and heartbeat are in his choice.


    Which is when she turns to the newest member of their group.


    ¡°So, Jin. What do you want?¡±


    He blinks, his eyes as wide and blank as a prey animal staring at a hunter. He doesn¡¯t look panicked, not really, just stunned enough that it¡¯s taking a minute or so to process things.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    ¡°We just met a few days ago, but you seem a decent kid. And clearly you got touched by the Cold Sun, maybe even have an affinity for ghosts from beforehand, so it¡¯s at least partially my responsibility. If you want, we can leave you here in the cabin with supplies to last you a good while. Maybe Qen Hou and Hao Nera can find something for you to do, maybe you sell some supplies and get yourself a place in town, whatever you want to do, on your head be it. Or. if you want, and if you prove to me in the next few weeks that you have the potential to not fucking die at the first sign of danger¡­ you can come with me.¡±


    ¡°To the fourth ring?¡± Li Shu asks, a bit incredulously. ¡°I¡­ Raika, as a healer, I can¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°What do I have to do?¡± Jin asks.


    ¡°We¡¯ll start training tomorrow. You¡¯ll need to get into a good ways into Qi-Gathering realm and show consistent growth as you do. Neither Li Shu nor I would be particularly specific teachers; we¡¯re not array or formation experts, we¡¯re not summoners, and I barely even count as a cultivator, so I can¡¯t guarantee we can find or teach you techniques that best suit you. If, while we¡¯re traveling, we find someplace you want to stay, you¡¯re free to go at any time. But if you manage to impress, then I¡¯ll make you a deal to guide you, protect you, and help you grow in whatever ways I can. Deal?¡±


    ¡°...Deal.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Excellent. I¡¯ll cook dinner tonight. Li Shu, in the meantime, I¡¯d appreciate it if you could give him some idea of the basics and make sure we won¡¯t kill him by accident tomorrow. I¡¯ll talk to Hao Nera once he¡¯s back. There¡¯s some things I need to work on in the meantime.¡±


    She gets up, part of her mind tracking the others, most of it focused on what needs to happen next, and heads over to one of the ridges of the valley. The pond is all well and good, but sometimes a good bit of height to look over the world has its benefits.


    She has one partially formed and two complete Truths. Rounding out the third one will be a big boost to whatever happens in their journey, and is one of the better tools she has in her arsenal. Her Engine, with the new modifications, should be more controllable, but she¡¯ll have to see if she can activate and sustain it for prolonged periods without it spiraling out of control, so there¡¯s testing required there. She needs to track and see how much Dink has grown, and if it¡¯s gained any new abilities in the time it¡¯s gone without use.


    But one thing that can help her get better at everything, all at once, is what she has growing now: new neural architecture. New brains, so to speak.


    Her three-way split, despite how much it¡¯s helped, is¡­ inefficient. Simplistic. On top of that, her human brain is just very literally not designed to deal with her new biology or psychology. She¡¯s read up on it some, consulted with Li Shu here and there; a brain is one of the most adaptable tools in the world, regrowing from damage and growing directly as a result of new patterns and thoughts. However, some of the speed of that growth is dependent on Qi theoretically using the Soul itself to process what the brain can¡¯t fathom, which Raika can¡¯t do. Despite all her growth, she still has no direct access to her Soul, and no way to achieve it that she knows of without new rituals or growing new spiritual organs of some kind. In short? She needs a better brain, one that can process and interact with all she¡¯s experiencing.


    One sub-mind, barely a nugget of brain matter, geared with Qi, sheer will, and alien instinct, is enough for her to fully control and synergize her senses. She¡¯s planted three more in herself already. If she can create new subconscious processes, new ways of experiencing information, hell, new ways of thinking, then she can begin to automate what currently needs to be manual. More support structures for her brain to deal with overstimulation, micro-managing her body parts, maybe adding more control and nuance to what¡¯s already there.


    At this point, she¡¯s comfortable with the fact she¡¯s not making a new brain, not really. Even if she could build one wholesale, unless she actively copied her own, it would just be inert grey matter, responding to stimuli it just doesn¡¯t have. Unless she links them up to her hearts, they don¡¯t learn to send heartbeat-related signals. Unless she connects them to her brain, they don¡¯t seem to experience thoughts. She¡¯s cultivating material that can be trained, not actual minds¡­ but it opens up possibilities.


    She keeps her first ¡°sub-mind¡± connected to her senses, processing all her stimuli, and then adds one of the other sub-minds to it, conjoining them into an asymmetrical lump. At first the submind¡¯s processing gets sharper, the synesthesia clearer, but that¡¯s not what she¡¯s looking for, and the Mask guides the Flesh on what¡¯s needed. Slowly, adjustments begin to form, and a clearer distinction between sections.


    Above, her primary submind analyzes sensory input, while below, her secondary submind starts learning how to connect that input inside her body. It¡¯s not enough to be able to sense where a wound is or how fast her hearts are beating, she needs to feel and process every blood vessel in her body at once, as well as how each of them interacts with muscles, organs and more. This submind, together, she calls her ¡°sensory-analysis¡± submind, letting it begin to develop and adapt to its new form.


    Trusting her instincts, she taps Dink against her forehead, letting the feeling of that vibration cement itself in her memory before leaving the submind inactive.


    For her second submind, located just behind the first, she once again copies the sensory information, but starts to filter out anything but the sensation of Qi. She takes this small piece of herself, connects it to her senses, and then, one by one, teaches it to ignore those senses entirely. Her renewed curse means she¡¯s much more resilient to it than before, but in some ways that makes it easier to sense: she¡¯s not a sand bank for the waves, she¡¯s a stone, and each ripple comes through clearer. Synesthesia is nice and all, and rapidly helping her see Qi in more than one way, but she¡¯s still blind when it comes to sensing it as cultivators do. She does her best to tune that particular submind to just Qi, rather than her other senses, to see what it can do.


    Before she disconnects it, she feels the long-forgotten sharpness of the Qi in her veins become a bit sharper, a bit clearer, even as she feels waves brushing against her outer body more clearly. Not much¡­ but a good start.


    Once again, she taps Dink to her forehead, memorizing the frequency and letting it sink in and fully dissipate before moving on.


    For the third and final submind, she makes one that¡¯s the largest of the three by about a centimeter. It takes almost three hours of feeding Qi-enriched blood into it before it goes to a proper size, even with her Truths transforming materials: brains are much more precision and resource intensive than anything else she¡¯s tried to make.


    As it forms, she shapes it to superficially imitate the frontal part of her own brain, supposedly assigned to higher thought. She has two minds, dedicated to her senses, her body, and her soul, the Qi around and within her; this new mind is for something more direct.


    She¡¯s only human. She can only make choices so fast. But if she can train part of herself to look forward, to try and guess things, to pick up and analyze on details she might brush over¡­


    Yes, this would make a good supplement to the Mask.


    By the time she¡¯s done, it¡¯s actually a little late for dinner. The world is beginning to glow again as the sun falls apart into a tangle of writhing forms on impact with the southern horizon.


    One last time, she taps Dink to her forehead, and memorizes the vibration and tune that sings through her as she works with her oldest new friend.


    She holds him firmly as she stares at the sunset, at a world that glows so bright and is so full of strange, twisting shadows.


    ¡°One step forward, onto the path,¡± she whispers.


    Dink, as seemingly inert and utterly alive as always, sings out a note of agreement into the coming sunset.

 Chapter 166 - The "RPG" In LitRPG?

    The sun is bright and early in the sky when they start the next day.


    The kid, of course, is a kid, and a starved one at that: he eats like crazy and sleeps a ton, so after breakfast, it takes a little while for him to come out. A few hours before evening, Jin comes out of the cabin, bleary-eyed, and blinks owlishly at what he sees.


    Raika, about thirty meters away, is currently dragging her hand through the dirt hard enough to completely tear up the ground. It should be noted as well that her hand is about ten feet wide, possessing too many fingers, and altogether too armored to bend.


    She perks up as she sees the kid, waving at him. ¡°Hey! Glad you¡¯re up! I¡¯m almost done here, gimme a minute!¡±


    True to her word, she drags her improvised farming tool through those last thirty meters like they¡¯re nothing, ending at a point about fifty meters from the front of the cabin and connecting back to the same dirt trail she¡¯s currently digging. All in all, it makes for a circular pathway dug into the ground for a total of about a mile in circumference.


    It¡¯s not perfect, but it¡¯s decent, and it goes both up and down the hills at either side of the valley. Satisfied, she reshapes her hand back to a human limb, cracking and popping a lot more than a human number of joints as she does. In her other hand, she takes Dink from around her neck and plants it into the ground. With a casual reformation of her flesh, she lets a few drops of blood fall from the tip of her finger onto the tuning fork, and then lightly taps the point where they touch.


    A ringing noise echoes through the valley, thrumming and vibrating in tune with the ground itself so that everything feels like its shivering- and in that shivering, the upturned earth of the track falls into place and hardens into a flat surface, debris shifting and reshaping itself into place perfectly to create a well-shaped running path.


    She nods, taps Dink affectionately, and stands back up, grinning wide as the kid stares at her, mouth agape.


    ¡°This is your first test!¡± Raika says. ¡°Before lunchtime, you need to run, not walk, this entire course three times, and walk it once. If you¡¯d woken up earlier, maybe you¡¯d have more time, but as is, you¡¯ve got about three hours. Hop to it!¡±


    For a moment, he says nothing, just staring at her. Then he looks over at Li Shu, sitting on a little stump behind her, and apparently whatever he sees in her is enough to convince him that yes, his new master is absolutely serious.


    ¡°Go, go, go!¡± she yells as he starts to jog, his form atrocious but surprisingly quick. ¡°If you don¡¯t make it in time or if you walk part of the way, I¡¯ll dunk you in the pond!¡±


    He noticeably picks up speed at that.


    Raika chuckles a bit, shaking her head and turning back to Li Shu. The healer, in turn, raises an arched brow at her.


    ¡°This your version of mocking him?¡± she asks. ¡°The kid is borderline starved. A few days of good meals won¡¯t let him run three miles in a row.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care if he runs them in a row, or at all,¡± Raika says, shrugging. ¡°I just want to see if he¡¯ll keep at it. Pretty light as far as proving his commitment goes. If he doesn¡¯t walk part of the way and lie about it, he passes. If he fails to do it by lunch, but keeps going, he gets bonus points.¡±


    Li Shu smiles, shaking her own head. ¡°Ok, that¡¯s actually not that bad. While he¡¯s busy, do you mind checking my notes? I want to make sure we¡¯ve got everything recorded.¡±


    Raika nods, going back over to the pages and pages Li Shu has written down and picking out the one that has the neatest summary of what they¡¯ve gone over.


    Notation On Ontology And Abilities Of Raika The Unbroken


    The subject possesses a previously unknown pathway of cultivation, most likely more than one, and has abilities that vary considerably from known of Orthodox, Bestial, Demonic, or Dao-based Cultivation styles. Currently, the subject has been noted to possess demonstrable similarities to multiple types of biological / ontological weapons, specifically the Red Wolves of the Witch-style of Qi usage and that of war-forged bioforms of the Empire, though more study is needed to see if the connection goes deeper.


    The subject possesses distinct abilities in three categories:


    Truth


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    I AM ME, I AM MINE (A- Rank)


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    Manifestation of dominion over self. Currently manifesting as three(?) distinct interpretations:


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    Conscious control of all anatomical movement and functions


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    Extreme resistance to dysmorphia and ¡°true¡± personality split


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    Potential resistance to mind control or manipulation, though there are conflicting possibilities here.


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    I CAN CHANGE (S Rank)


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    Manifestation of fundamental properties of self. Currently manifesting as one distinct interpretation:


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    Ability to fundamentally alter and transform anything considered a bodily material into a different bodily material at varying conversion rates


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    Possibly manifesting as additional ability to alter her own perspectives, goals, and mentality, though this is difficult to test.


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    [UNFORMED THIRD TRUTH] (? Rank)


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    Something tied to the End Of All Things, a fragment of which was consumed. Relates to predatory killing and eating in some way, but currently possesses no distinct interpretations or clear manifestation.


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    Unique Physique / Biological Manipulation (derived from Truths)


    The subject can, by a blend of Truth manifestations and a long regimen of minute Qi-poisoning, transform her body into nearly any anatomical shape they can imagine or have studied, though she cannot yet mimic the functions of organs she does not understand. Additionally, she is capable of directly ingesting and digesting Qi, processing it without using soul organs for a net deficit intake, but one that is evenly distributed and permanently alters whatever has absorbed it. Highlights of her current biology are:


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    Enhanced Senses


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    The subject can smell Qi directly as both traditional scents and as concepts. Additionally, she has incredible eyesight, sense of touch, taste, and exceptional hearing, none exceeding current known standards for a Core Formation cultivator, but all always active and without requiring focus, rather than Qi-activated or technique-based.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


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    High Durability


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    Due to high amounts of Qi saturation, all materials of the body are enhanced to the point of extreme durability, similar to an alchemical component. Muscle fibers currently have the durability of medium-grade bronze, and the saturation is proportional across the body to reflect this. This places the subject at the lower end of the Nascent Soul realm in terms of direct physical durability.


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    High Regeneration


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    The subject can heal from near-lethal wounds within a 24 hour period, with abrasions, broken bones, cuts, and penetrative damage often healing within minutes. Due to both her specific metabolism and Truths relating to bodily transformation and control, this speed can be vastly accelerated with the use of Qi and esoteric energies.


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    Extreme Mutability


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    As above, her Truths grant her near total control of her physical shape and functions. There currently are no known or clear limits on how much this can allow, but she has previously survived by cycling blood as a severed head, while transforming loose blood into armor, muscle matter, and tendrils.


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    Exotic Organs


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    Raika currently possesses several organs of unknown function, though a few have been identified clearly.


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    Lungs:


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    Larger on the inside than should be possible by a magnitude of about fifteen, hyper-efficient oxygenation.


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    Stomach:


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    Unknown volume on the inside. Capable of intaking and digesting nearly any material that is not enchanted or Qi-rich in moments, and tends to very efficiently digest and absorb Qi, even in esoteric forms.


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    Heart:


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    Can move far more blood than should be possible for its size, possessing far more than normal number of valves and chambers. 6x bloodflow multiplier.


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    Brain:


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    Possesses multiple ¡°sub-minds¡±, smaller brains which assist in processing sensory input and analyzing / modeling outcomes.


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    Enhanced glandular hormone production, specifically cortisol, dopamine and adrenaline


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    Liver:


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    Notes pending


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    Kidneys:


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    Notes Pending


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    Unknown Organs: 2


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    (Proto) Warform


    <ul>


    <li>


    Currently untested optimized form for high-combat engagements. Notes pending.


    </li>


    </ul>


    </li>


    </ul>


    Ontological Manifestation


    <ul>


    <li>


    Blacksteel Manipulation


    <ul>


    <li>


    Likely due to the partially formed third Truth, Raika can both generate and reshape Blacksteel so long as it is connected to her body and mimicking biological function. Blacksteel¡¯s properties primarily manifest as tremendous sharpness, durability against life-based energies, and unnatural lethality against constructs and life forms.


    </li>


    </ul>


    </li>


    <li>


    True Flame Generation


    <ul>


    <li>


    Due to Raika¡¯s Qi being relatively untainted by a soul, it can attain other concepts / properties easily. By ¡°sparking¡± her Qi against the Blacksteel, the concept of hunger and death are added to life and energy, manifesting as highly purified True Flame, which she cannot control, but can cause to detonate from inside her or consume for a quick boost.


    </li>


    </ul>


    </li>


    <li>


    ¡°Engine¡± [IGNITION]


    <ul>


    <li>


    A transmutation of True Flame and Blacksteel, likely generated by some sort of proximity to the soul(?), which can be used as an incredible but hard to control fuel source. Its properties are untested.


    </li>


    </ul>


    </li>


    </ul>


    ¡°Well?¡± Li Shu asks. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°Frankly, I¡¯m mostly just stunned you fit it all into one page. You wrote very small.¡±


    ¡°Been getting a lot of practice in. Did I miss anything?¡±


    Raika sighs. ¡°Nope. All clear. It feels¡­ a bit underwhelming when you put it like that, honestly. And I do have some questions. For one, how are you ranking different cultivation realms? You mentioned that my muscle strands are as tough as bronze, is that common? And what are these ¡°ranks¡± you put next to my Truths section?¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Li Shu says with a smile. ¡°So cultivators are either ranked in terms of material strengths or mortal ranks. The Empire prefers mortal ranks, while older sect texts focus on materials. So a sect might say that a mortal¡¯s durability is flesh tier, a Qi-Gatherers is wood tier, Foundational is usually tin tier, Core Formation is silver tier, and Nascent Soul usually begins at bronze tier, but ends around iron tier. Not quite 1-to-1, but close enough, and we skip gold due to its other properties, so a gold tier physique would indicate something special beyond its toughness, as gold is fairly malleable.


    ¡°For the Empire, they prefer hard numbers, so the strength of a physically fit, well fed, frequently exercised mortal would be classified as ¡°1¡±. Children might be anywhere from .1 to .6, young adults and adults can range from .7 to .9, and then it slides back downhill from there. In effect, a mortal human in peak condition can be classified as 1 ¡°mortal rank¡±. From there, they carefully measure your abilities and create an averaged number, such that a Core Formation cultivator focused on strength and speed might be rank 10.5 overall, with specific strength and speed stats, while a Core Formation cultivator focused on illusions and who sits on their ass all day might only be a 3 or 4. It¡¯s a lot more accurate, but focuses on quantitative over qualitative info, and needs a shitload of arrays and tools we don¡¯t really have.¡±


    ¡°...huh. Ok. Did Yun Ka tell you this?¡±


    ¡°Yep. It¡¯s in her notes. The ¡°tier¡± stuff I found in my medical texts, but for Imperial measurements, I got no clue, so I didn¡¯t use them. Heard it¡¯s popular in the inner 2nd and 1st rings though.¡±


    ¡°Alright, fair enough. And what about these ¡°ranks¡±?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I made that up. It¡¯s supposed to be focused on how broad and strong your Truth might be!¡±


    Raika blinks at her, looking down at her ¡°A-¡± and ¡°S¡± ranked tiers. ¡°And is that¡­ good?¡±


    ¡°I mean¡­ I haven¡¯t studied Truth much, but from what I know, a Truth can encompass anything that you can theoretically picture with the phrase it¡¯s usually expressed as. So, say you have a Truth like ¡°I Can Cut Through Anything¡±. On its own, that might mean that your sword is extra sharp, and that¡¯s the only way it shows up, but as you broaden your interpretation of it, it can become much more literal and varied. Maybe any cut you make, with anything, can cut through any material, or you can defy things with impossible hardness if you try hard enough.


    ¡°The more specific a Truth is, the easier it is to understand and use, and the harder it is to break, but the broader it is, the more you can potentially learn to do with it and the more power it can have- so long as it doesn¡¯t break on the way, or become a more specific Truth as your mindset changes.


    ¡°Your Truths, I Am Me, I Am Mine, and I Can Change, are two of the broadest, least disputable Truths I can think of. Like, I can think of ways to maybe disprove the first one, but I Can Change? How can you actually break that belief, outside of some really serious conditioning? And both have so much room for interpretation. So¡­ I gave them big high ranks.¡±


    Raika takes a long, slow breath. Sighs. ¡°Yeah. Ok. I¡­ think I knew most of that, but hearing it said out loud¡­ I¡¯ve got a lot of room to grow there, huh?¡±


    ¡°Yep. You do. And in the meantime, here¡¯s what I¡¯ve written for Dink!¡±


    She hands over another page of paper which Raika looks over and memorizes.


    Notes On Living Artifact(?) Named ¡°Dink¡±


    The artifact, which possesses no clear item spirit or manifestations but does show minor signs of awareness and sentience, is a tuning fork. Its properties align, to some degree, with the concepts a tuning fork is connected to;


    Tuning Frequency


    The artifact can mimic specific signals and concepts of Qi that can be transmitted through sound, heat, and movement. It is possible it can synchronize with more, but this is currently untested, and may be more of a drain on the artifact. This works mostly as a way to better sense and communicate through Qi, as well as mimic certain memorized patterns.


    Anti-Frequency


    The strongest and most draining of its abilities, the artifact can mimic the opposite of a frequency, so long as said frequency is neither too complicated or overpowering. By doing so, it can disrupt techniques and effects relating to Qi, heat, motion, and potentially more.


    Vibration


    Primarily used as a means of communication, the artifact manifests all its abilities through vibration, creating musical notes as it does.


    ¡°Wow. I have to say, this looks outright professional. You¡¯ve never done this before?¡±


    ¡°Nope!¡± Li Shu grins. ¡°Not a once. I just like to write fancy and take big notes. Most of my sources are super old so half the time I get to just make stuff up!¡±


    As they¡¯re talking, they see Jin start to round the bend over one hill. His face is red, his breaths pumping, and she can hear his heart really working overtime to keep him moving, and he¡¯s sweating enough to have recolored his shirt almost entirely. But he¡¯s still running.


    Li Shu sighs. ¡°I¡¯m going to get that poor boy some water for when he stops.¡±


    Raika grins, nice and wide. ¡°Nah. He¡¯s doin great. There¡¯s barely any sun out here, nice and cool, no way he¡¯ll overheat. I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll be fine.¡±

 Chapter 167 - By Revolution We Become More Ourselves, Not Less

    Jin did not, in the end, collapse from heatstroke. Li Shu insisted it got distressingly close, a fact Raika¡¯s senses were happy to support; but he didn¡¯t! And that¡¯s what counts.


    He did not, however, finish in time for lunch. So he did get dunked in the pond, as promised. The pond didn¡¯t eat him, though (and got very still when she let out some of her presence near it), which was a positive turn of events for all, in her opinion. And he did still get to eat. Kid¡¯s a growing boy after all, and she¡¯s not so cruel a master she might deprive him of food. Considering they¡¯re not in a sect, there¡¯s no reason not to give the kid some special treatment and not, say, starve him for failing to meet expectations.


    Hao Nera takes most of the rest of the day to get back, and when he does, he finds Raika seated out on the porch, meditating.


    ¡°Hey, tall, big and beastly,¡± he says with a smile. ¡°Good to see you too. I keep you waiting long?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°Nah. Been busy. Meditating. Plus Li Shu gave me some journaling homework. Wanted to ask you about what you¡¯re doing, though.¡±


    He nods. ¡°Good timing. Wanted to broach the subject too. Mind if we talk about this together with everyone? I think it¡¯s important enough we should all discuss it.¡±


    A few minutes later, all four of them are together in the main living space, the kid mercifully collapsed into a complete slumber from exhaustion and resting in Raika¡¯s room. Raika sets the table with a snack, a mix of diced pickled radish, kimchi, and some small dumplings, though almost no one has partaken as of yet.


    ¡°So!¡± Hao Nera says, ¡°here we are. I¡¯ve been thinking, ever since yesterday¡¯s big monster incident, and¡­ I¡¯ve decided to look into some plans. I¡¯m¡­ honestly not nearly as much of a cultivator as any of you. Li Shu and I are closest in strength, and even she¡¯s got a passion that directly ties into helping her grow. I don¡¯t, and frankly, that¡¯s ok. I¡¯m strong enough to beat up most people I¡¯ve ever met in my life, I¡¯m sneaky enough to get out of all but the most batshit situations I¡¯ve been in so far, and someday, I¡¯ll get old and die with my grandchildren spoiled rotten, a drink in my hand and, hopefully, being ridden by some gorgeous piece of ass.


    ¡°That¡¯s not to say I won¡¯t get a little stronger. There¡¯s lots of room to grow, and it would be a waste not to, but I¡¯m not gonna spend hours a day sitting in a room sucking in air. No offense, love. There¡¯s still more I want, though. I ain¡¯t content, you best believe it¡­ and right now, I¡¯ve been growing faster than I have in years, and have a lover who, if I read him right, is rather less adventurous than the ladies in the room and can burn down a city for me.¡±


    Qen Hou rolls his eyes, but Raika smiles as she notes he doesn¡¯t refute it.


    ¡°In short, your sexy mountain-man of a companion has a new business venture. I¡¯m thinking of starting my own bandit clan.¡±


    Raika raises an eyebrow at that. ¡°Pretty sure you told me to my face that most get wiped out if they¡¯re not strong enough to replace a sect.¡±


    ¡°True enough, and I am as ever rock hard from your attention to me and how much you care to remember any of the random shit I say. But I¡¯m not planning to make a stronghold somewhere. I¡¯m sneaky enough to get in and out of almost anywhere that doesn¡¯t have an Imperial seal on it, and Qen Hou as muscle is stronger than any bandit I¡¯ve met that ain¡¯t leading a clan all their own. I plan to start buying up competent folk, not just taking in strays, and making a network. You know, professionals, the kind that know not to take a piss-break mid-job and who can give me the info I need to find real targets.


    ¡°It¡¯s not much yet. Just an idea. But if I make a network of thieves, always on the move, it clicks right into place with avoiding sect and Imperial attention, at least for a while. And¡­ well. There¡¯s where y¡¯all come in. If I can make a group that spans any stretch of the Empire, then I can keep us in contact. Give you codes and ways to leave letters and packages with me, and maybe find a way to keep you in contact with your friends in white-and-gold while you¡¯re out traveling doing who knows what.¡±


    The room is silent for a moment after that, before Li Shu breaks it with a sigh.


    ¡°How did you know we were leaving?¡±


    Hao Nera¡¯s smile has faded at this point, but it shows a bit of life as he looks at her again, more melancholy and tender than brash. ¡°Come on, honored healer. I knew it was pretty likely from the start. Been in enough safehouses to recognize em, even as pretty as this. Little cabin was never gonna be forever, and that big monster showing up was only a match on a well-laid bonfire. Lit a fire under our asses to get moving, reminded us that the world doesn¡¯t stop while we¡¯re here. And¡­ well. Qen Hou over here has too much sitting in quiet rooms to do to go gallivanting about just yet, and you¡¯d never leave our beautiful beastie, not when she¡¯s liable to make up some new madness any day of the week. I just figured this seemed like the right way to go the ways we want to go without breaking anything.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Li Shu actually tears up a bit at that, leaning over the table to give Hao Nera a hug tight enough that Raika hears his bones strain a bit.


    ¡°And what makes you think I¡¯ll be going with you?¡± Qen Hou asks. ¡°For all you know, I intend to stay right here and strengthen my foundation. A little arrogant to assume, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Hao Nera gives him a wide grin over Li Shu¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Please. You¡¯d miss me too much.¡±


    Qen Hou huffs, rolls his eyes¡­ and again, doesn¡¯t disagree.


    ¡°And you¡¯d miss this di-¡±


    This time the response is a bit more audible as a spark of white-purple Flame lands in Hao nera¡¯s beard, prompting him to yelp and scramble to put it out.


    ¡°Fine, fine! My dick is entirely forgettable and not something you¡¯ll ever need to experience ever again, don¡¯t you worry!¡±


    A second, considerably funnier flick of flame lands in his hair this time, leaving him cackling as Qen Hou just frowns at him.


    ¡°Ah, so be it. I suppose we compromise, and you get to enjoy the merits of my company and be a part of my burgeoning enterprise.¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s a good idea,¡± Raika interrupts. ¡°The enterprise, I mean. Sounds like a good way to use your skills, refining them or not. And Qen Hou, you already mentioned wanting to stay a while, figure yourself out; this might be a good middle ground to keep you from getting too entrenched.¡±


    ¡°Ah, then I assume I was right in guessing our honored healer will be going with you, then?¡±


    Li Shu nods. ¡°There¡¯s a whole world of new creatures and techniques out there, and Raika over here is probably going to keep doing absolutely horrifying and interesting things to herself that I can either help with or study. Going to the Academies is out of the question, and while I¡¯m sure there are sects I could be a part of, that¡¯s hardly an alternative. Am I supposed to drink from a shallow pond when the well is in sight? When there are whole worlds out there I can explore right now, rather than years and years of saving face and politicking?¡±


    Raika smiles. ¡°Always good to see my casual disdain for the rules of flesh and politics leaking out into those I admire.¡±


    ¡°Amen!¡± Hao Nera cheers, raising a dumpling for a toast.


    ¡°Does raise the question, though: what¡¯s your plan, Raika?¡± Qen Hou asks. ¡°I understand it¡¯s not in you to be still, not for too long, but¡­ I¡¯m hardly an expert, but of us all, I¡¯m the one truly pursuing cultivation, and I think the most important part of it is to know why you¡¯re pursuing strength. I¡¯m¡­ not sure I know why you¡¯re pursuing yours.¡±


    Raika sighs, leaning all the way back until she sprawls out on the floor of the cabin, one knee up and her head against the cool wood.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell us if you don¡¯t want to. Just¡­ something to think about, maybe.¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°No. It¡¯s a good thing, I think. Worth expressing.¡±


    She stares up at the ceiling above, at the top of the home they¡¯ve built together. Takes a deep breath in, and out, idly fiddling with Dink as she does, and pulls every part of herself into one central Self, and begins to talk, her voice rippling with an echo of Truespeak..


    ¡°When I was a cultivator, I refused to bow my head. I stood tall, even in times when it did not serve me, because I decided that my will to stand against anything that demanded I lower myself was more important than good sense. When I was broken, I stood back up, again and again, as a cripple, as a slave, and as a power in my own right. I still take pride in that. I think, in the end, that refusing to bow to those who don¡¯t deserve it is right. It matters.¡±


    She sits up, looking around the table and meeting the eyes of those she trusts most with this truth. ¡°But the world isn¡¯t built to allow people to make true choices. Not really. If it were, old families like the Feng clan wouldn¡¯t be free to do as they will, hurt who they please. The Divisions wouldn¡¯t be allowed to cage anyone they deem useful. The Empire would give its gifts freely, rather than demanding obedience. Our world may in some ways be kinder than what came before, but that kindness is not given. It is offered as a distraction after the violence has been done, the lands conquered, and the people made servants to far-off powers that don¡¯t care about us.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can fix the whole world. I¡¯m not strong enough to even try¡­ but I still refuse to bow to those that demand it from me. I will stand tall, even if the Empire send their worst to hunt me down. Let them come. I will wander to where I choose, learn and grow from all I can and judge what I find there by my own beliefs. I won¡¯t bow to those who seek to mindlessly take, to those who blindly hurt others, to those who see every other part of the world as beneath them.


    ¡°I¡¯m not perfect. But I have teeth and claws and Flame, and for all their might, the powers of this world do not own me, and do not own my fate. Let them come. They¡¯ll find me standing tall.¡±


    There is silence in the cabin for a while.


    Hao Nera gets up first, heading to the kitchen and clattering about for a moment, before he re-emerges with a bottle of alcohol that he somehow hid from her.


    ¡°Well,¡± he says, ¡°that merits a toast.¡±


    He takes a swig, and they pass the bottle between each of them. The crackling of the hearth is the only sound in the cabin as the four of them sit, in comfortable quiet, and drink.


    ¡°What about the kid?¡± Li Shu asks, breaking the silence.


    Raika shrugs. ¡°I think he can stick around for a bit. I¡¯m intending to be as clear as I can, tell him what might happen, and then, after we train him a few months, find a nice place for him, part ways before things get too rough. He¡¯s made his choice to stay, and I intend to respect it.


    ¡°In the meantime¡­ we have some stuff to figure out. I have a few ideas that need refining, nevermind all my current issues managing what I¡¯ve already got, and I¡¯d like to run them by you while we train the kid. Figure we won¡¯t be leaving for at least a few more weeks, right?¡±


    Hao Nera shrugs, matching her earlier movement. ¡°At least a month for us. Starting a criminal empire takes time, capital, and cleverness, and unfortunately I possess only the latter in abundance. That gives all of you jobless bums plenty of time to get ready, no?¡±


    Li Shu scoffs, throwing a piece of kimchi at him (which he bites out of the air with a waggle of his eyebrows) and shaking her head. ¡°It¡¯s not much time, but¡­ guess that¡¯s enough to see if the kid has potential, and set something up for him if we have to leave him behind. I¡¯ll start compiling my notes, getting everything ready. Raika, I¡¯d like to borrow the manuals and a few days of your time, see if we can¡¯t edit to include your new revelations.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Of course. And in the meantime, you¡¯re going to start teaching me the Craft.¡±

 Chapter 168 - Would-Be Witch With A Capital B

    ¡°Ok, so¡­ what do you know about the Craft?¡±


    Raika shakes her head. ¡°Not much. Haven¡¯t read through her books, but all I know is what She Who Stills the Water told us: it¡¯s a way of influencing Qi where you sacrifice something to it?¡±


    Li Shu nods, seven thick, leather-bound books wrapped in human hair in front of her. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not wrong. From what she wrote, it¡¯s¡­ a bit weirder than that. So, it¡¯s¡­ well, if you wanted to, you could call it a type of cultivation, just like you could call cultivation a style of Craft. It¡¯s about infusing Qi into something to the point that it gains a weight that the world must recognize: traditionally, this means taking Qi into an object or into yourself directly, and shaping those things with your beliefs, formulae, and the type of Qi used. With the Craft, it¡¯s about severing part of yourself, and then filling that thing with Qi to the point it grows into something greater.¡±


    ¡°Ok, following so far,¡± Raika says, blocking and ducking under a kick and a short burst of Flame. ¡°Just¡­ not clear on how that means the sorts of powers the Witch used. I¡¯ve never heard of a cultivator with a power that could reach that far at her level, and that¡¯s not even going into how she was weaving different effects into each other.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Li Shu admits, flinching back a bit from the ongoing violence in front of her, ¡°I admit that some of that probably had to be skill- but the idea behind it is simple. If you¡¯re making yourself stronger, all at once, you need your whole sense of self to grow at once. There¡¯s a degree of variance, but your cultivation has to affect all of who you are at once, or it doesn¡¯t work right. Like¡­ getting strong arms, but leaving your legs weak.¡±


    Raika and Hao Nera both nod, the latter only barely flinching away from her fist. ¡°Can¡¯t skip leg day,¡± they say in sync.


    ¡°...Right. Well, by removing part of you, separating it entirely from who you are so you can never truly have it again, there¡¯s a lot less complexity to it. A person gets stronger, and it affects muscles, bones, organs, perception, impact strength, speed- but for hair to get stronger, it just needs to affect hair. Not as much Qi for the same level of effect, but it sacrifices making the person controlling it weaker, since the Qi isn¡¯t going to them. Then, since there¡¯s so much ¡°empty space¡±, conceptually, around the sacrificed piece, you can add more to it. Instead of making a stew, you¡¯re just making a broth, and then you can add all new things later.¡±


    ¡°Got it,¡± Raika says, grabbing Qen Hou by the back of his head and bodily flinging him into the hillside a good fifty feet away. ¡°So if the usual cultivation is improving the entire self, then the Craft is taking just one part, and adding new things into it that you can control.¡±


    Li Shu shrugs. ¡°Pretty much. Takes a really advanced ritual to start, and it¡¯s a pretty complex process, just like cultivation. I can see why they were so rare. At the same time, there¡¯s a ton of potential in it. Rather than cultivating a Dao of Purple Flame, like Qen Hou has been, you could have a flame in a lantern that can manifest swords, or absorb heat, or burn away light instead of air- but you could never gain any benefit or direct touch from that flame, either. You could freeze to death in a burning house.¡±


    ¡°You know,¡± Hao Nera pants, absolutely drenched in sweat and dirt and weaving desperately, ¡°it¡¯s- a bit disheartening- hearing you two chat- while I¡¯m trying- not to die!¡±


    Raika laughs, increasing her speed and stepping around him. He jumps away from her last position, looking around wildly, only to smack straight into her and almost fall over.


    ¡°No need to exaggerate, Hao Nera,¡± she says lightly. ¡°I already said I wouldn¡¯t kill you.¡±


    She sweeps his feet with a kick, grabs his ankle as he is violently spun nearly upside down, and uses it to whip him into the ground hard enough to cause a booming sound.


    ¡°It¡¯s only training.¡±


    Hao Nera coughs weakly. He raises a trembling hand, and-


    ¡°Ah. Still awake? Then let¡¯s keep going.¡±


    She can actually hear how his heart rate and scent patterns shift into panic as she idly tosses him up into the air again. She casually lets go of his ankle, grabs him by the waist, and throws him about half as hard as she can straight at the hole in the hill she dug with Qen Hou¡¯s face a minute ago.


    She smiles as she listens to him curse the whole way there.


    ¡°Are¡­ are they ok?¡± asks a smaller voice.


    She waves the concern away. ¡°Yeah, kid, they¡¯re fine. I¡¯m holding back plenty, and if they get really hurt, Li Shu here can fix them right up.¡±


    Li Shu fixes a glare on her. ¡°No, I cannot. My skills at healing do not extend to reviving minced meat into full-fledged people.¡±


    Raika shoots her a winning smile. ¡°If you say so, honored healer. But listen, kid, I¡¯m not even using Qi or anything, it¡¯s fine!¡±


    Jin¡¯s eyes are wide as he stares at her. ¡°You did¡­ that. Without Qi? I thought cultivators¡­¡±


    Li Shu pats his head. ¡°Raika is¡­ special. Her using Qi looks a lot weirder.¡±


    ¡°Yup,¡± she says with a grin. ¡°What can I say? I¡¯m built different.¡±


    She stands in the center of their ¡°training ring¡±, a circle of cleared earth about fifty feet across in every direction. Wearing nothing but shorts and chest bindings, she idly stretches as she waits for Qen Hou and Hao Nera to dig themselves out from under the rubble, eliciting a crackling series of pops from in her frame, her blacksteel left arm making a stark contrast to rich brown skin and flowing red braids. Jin¡¯s eyes go pretty damn wide at the movement, though there¡¯s room for debate on whether its the size of her assets or the distinctly inhuman ways her skin flexes as weird muscle groups beneath it stretch.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°So,¡± Raika say, ¡°what do you think? Is it possible I could use it?¡±


    Li Shu has some of the tomes open in front of her, but isn¡¯t really looking at them, mostly fidgeting with suturing thread and a few ointments she¡¯s prepared for the end of the spar. She refocuses up on Raika when she asks the question, but is quick to shrug.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. We could definitely do the ritual for it. In fact, I¡¯d like to. I think there¡¯s a lot of room for me to grow with this, and I don¡¯t usually have a lot of time to sit and meditate anyways. In theory, since it doesn¡¯t use meridians or a Dantian directly, it might work for you. But it does still use Qi, which you can¡¯t control directly, and involves the soul to some extent.¡±


    Raika sighs. ¡°And I don¡¯t have soul organs.¡±


    ¡°You do still have a soul, otherwise you¡¯d have died or gone catatonic when you first lost them, but there¡¯s no real way to know the state of it. Normally, the soul organs draw in Qi, the soul itself changes that Qi, and that changed Qi infuses the body, bringing the soul and flesh closer together- but for you, we have no idea what your soul looks like now. We can¡¯t look into your Qi for hints as to what its in, if it reflects any Dao, or have you look directly at it. Maybe some of your new organs connect to your soul somehow, but if so, I haven¡¯t the first clue how to interpret anything I sense in them, nevermind the fact that shouldn¡¯t technically be possible, since they¡¯re physical organs.¡±


    Li Shu shrugs apologetically. ¡°The first ring or the Altered Cultivation Division probably know a lot more, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But we can¡¯t trust them,¡± Raika finishes for her. ¡°Maybe we can reach out to Maen, see if she can send us any info, or Taurus through her. He knows we¡¯re still alive, at least.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯ll need something in return the minute he knows what condition we¡¯re in,¡± Li Shu says. ¡°And he¡¯ll likely figure out at least some of what you need, and be able to use it against us when the time comes.¡±


    The statement is heavy, but Raika can¡¯t help but feel just a bit lighter at hearing Li Shu say ¡°us¡±. She nods, then does a long, slow exhale.


    ¡°Yeah. Chances are he either has some other hidden trigger to drag me back when his plan starts, or he¡¯s using the fact that I¡¯m out here to add something to his plan already. He may have underestimated how badly I was changing under his control, but he¡¯s the type to have plans within plans.¡±


    Li Shu sends a small wave of Qi towards Raika, letting the feeling of soft yet precise care waft over her for a moment. Raika gives her a smile and nods.


    ¡°I¡¯m alright.¡±


    ¡°Good. Anyways, my answer to your question is that we just don¡¯t know what doing the ritual of sacrifice will do to you. Maybe it¡¯ll give you the ability to wield Qi again, maybe it¡¯ll be useless without that ability in the first place. Your soul can¡¯t touch your body, or vice versa, without soul organs- the ritual might just sever a part of you from your very self forever.¡±


    For about a minute or so, the only sound in the valley is the distant groaning of bruised bodies and the rustling of far-off bamboo. Li Shu checks a few notes, double checks her medical supplies, and Raika stands still, feeling the sunlight, the wind in the grass, and just drawing in her sense of the world around her.


    ¡°What if¡­ what if there¡¯s a way around the soul organs?¡±


    Li Shu raises an eyebrow.


    ¡°Hear me out. The sacrifice ritual doesn¡¯t entirely remove the connection to what¡¯s sacrificed, it just severs it from who you are. Your whole. The Witch had no hair and no eyes- but she still had hair and eyes. That¡¯s the trick, that¡¯s the lie of it all. The sacrifice severs something from your self, but not from your domain, your¡­ your concept. It gives you control over that part of your concept by removing where it connects to you directly.


    ¡°What if I use the sacrifice ritual on my soul?¡±


    Li Shu looks at her.


    She looks back.


    Li Shu looks at her harder.


    She looks back.


    ¡°So there¡¯s nearly the entire first book here,¡± she says, raising the mentioned volume, ¡°literally just full of bad ideas you shouldn¡¯t do for a sacrifice ritual. The heart, for example, or the brain, or blood, or like, thought. Maybe a Witch doing her third sacrifice ritual, at the height of her power, could do something like that, but it¡¯s effectively the first part of a Witch¡¯s training to learn what not to do. Because it¡¯ll kill you. I feel like the soul ranks about a dozen steps higher than a heart.¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t need a heart,¡± Raika says. ¡°I might not even need a brain, not really, and I have some to spare now. Or at least I will, when they¡¯re done growing. And like I said, I already don¡¯t have access to my soul. This might separate it from my self, but I would still be able to feel through and use the concept of it, right?¡±


    ¡°But it might need Qi to touch on the concept sacrificed! We don¡¯t know!¡± Li Shu sighs. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m a bad influence on you, or if you¡¯re a worse influence on me. How come every time you get a new idea, we have to invent some new science to figure out if it¡¯ll kill you or turn into an evil curse or something?¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°I¡¯m built different.¡±


    By this point, Qen Hou and Hao Nera are almost back, both leaning on each other for support, though, adorably, it looks like Qen Hou is practically carrying his boyfriend along. They finally limp their way back into the training circle, immediately collapsing onto the dirt floor.


    ¡°Ok,¡± Qen Hou says, ¡°I think we¡¯re done for the day. Training over.¡±


    Raika shakes her head. ¡°Nah, none of that. The two of you are going to be running a bandit clan of thieves! In the midst of Imperial territory! You¡¯ve got to learn to fight better if you¡¯re going to survive.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t even know any martial arts!¡± Qen Hou sputters. ¡°You just-¡±


    ¡°Move incredibly fast and with minimal wasted movements,¡± she says with a smile. ¡°I may not know more than a basic fighting style, but when you can feel every muscle, you can feel where things can be improved for efficiency and force. Besides, it¡¯s not like spirit beasts know martial arts, and they can still kill you just fine.¡±


    Qen Hou just groans. Hao Nera, for his part, might be drooling on the floor.


    ¡°Come on, this is as good for me as it is for you! You learn how not to lose so badly, I get to make up a martial art. I¡¯m thinking of calling it ¡°Monstrous Violence Style¡±.¡±


    Li Shu sighs. ¡°Raika, I really think you should focus on learning arrays and formations, not fighting or the Craft. You¡¯re already a strong fighter, and if you can master shaping your body into formations like you did your bloodflow-¡±


    She waves her hand. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s on the list, but we¡¯ve only got so many days. I¡¯m going to be traveling with you for a while, hopefully, but I¡¯m only going to be able to beat the shit out of these two for a few more weeks. I have to focus on what we can do now, not what will take months of learning to be able to use at all.


    ¡°Keep watching, kid. Try to learn something. As for you two-¡±


    She strolls over and picks up her friends, depositing them roughly back on their feet. Through synesthesia, that touch alone highlights their bodies with color, making her see red and orange on their most vulnerable or damaged parts, making her smell and taste how tenderized and bruised they both are. Only a few broken bones so far, most of them just fractures, and she can see the outline of strained bloodflow and Qi rushing to everywhere they¡¯re most injured.


    ¡°You took almost ten minutes to drag your asses back here, so for the next ten minutes, you don¡¯t get to attack. Focus on your defenses. Then, after that, we can have lunch. I made stew!¡±

 Chapter 169 - What Does The Turtle Know Of The Well?

    ¡°So if you¡¯re some super strong monster cultivator, why don¡¯t you have any money?¡±


    Raika rolls her eyes at Jin, carrying her bundle of shaped bones through the streets of Wuyan village. ¡°So you just assume everyone strong is rich? Or do you think all monsters have giant hoards, secreted away deep in some cave?¡±


    He frowns. ¡°So you are like a spirit beast?¡±


    She laughs this time, loud enough that some of the farmers passing by them startle. ¡°While I¡¯m sure there are spirits beasts with mountains of gold and Qi stones, I¡¯ve never met one. And¡­ I guess a little. Maybe more than you, at least. How else do you think I got so tall?¡±


    She¡¯s been pretty blunt about herself for the most part, direct and honest but in a way that she can pass off if anyone starts asking too many questions. For all her growth, she still doesn¡¯t feel like a cultivator, her Qi emanating from her like a fog rather than as bright central pools. The renewed curse ritual reduced it further still, to the point that even to her own senses, she usually smells like someone in the Qi-Gathering realm at the most. Still, it¡¯s not necessarily safe to go dropping tidbits that might get a cultivator or Imperial authority called, like if someone thought she belonged to some faction of rebels or was a hidden master. Better they just see her as a strange race, like someone beast-blooded, than as what she is.


    ¡°Ok¡­ but I mean, don¡¯t all strong people have tons of money? That¡¯s how sects start, right? And how they can get, like, magic swords and stuff.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not that strong, for one thing. Second, I don¡¯t have any magic swords, and I think sects are pretty stupid. And third, I don¡¯t have any money. So now I sell bone charms.¡±


    Jin grumbles at her obvious evasion. ¡°Don¡¯t you have friends that are really important or something? Like that lady you always mention, Maen?¡±


    ¡°Other people have their own lives, kid, and letters aren¡¯t exactly quick, even nowadays. Sending messages through oracles or crystals costs money too, don¡¯t they?¡±


    Jin pouts further at the semi-answer, and she laughs, spreading her blanket out onto her usual spot as they finally come to it. ¡°Why all the burning questions, kid? Unhappy with the new bed and my cooking?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t say anything for a bit, but eventually breaks as she finishes setting out her wares. They¡¯re here early enough that her regulars aren¡¯t around yet, this time of morning still full of daily chores one undertakes living in a village. He sits down beside her with a flop, grumbling.


    ¡°Cause I don¡¯t know like anything about you. You showed up in the woods, and you saved me, and then I watched you talk with like, some kind of super ghost. You¡¯re super strong, and you talk about crazy stuff with Sister Li Shu, but then you don¡¯t have any money, and we¡¯re still in this same dumb village.¡±


    She looks over at him, tuning her senses. She¡¯s been keeping her synesthesia on all the time now, but that requires some rebalancing yet again, which makes for a tricky balance, seeing and feeling and knowing so much about everything. She can taste the shape and movement of people that have passed through the taste of the ground, which she can freely switch between seeing and smelling. It doesn¡¯t take nearly that level of focus to tell that the kid is freaked out. Giving him a place to stay and saving his life can only get one so far in the face of long-ingrained survival instincts. She can¡¯t fault him for that, honestly.


    So¡­ yeah. Might as well.


    ¡°I was a cultivator once.¡± She ignores the feeling of his heartbeat picking up, excitement and anxiety meeting curiosity. ¡°Not a very good one. Got my ass kicked a lot, and my sect didn¡¯t have a lot of resources for me. Big focus on slow-moving patience, plant-based techniques, that sort of thing. But I stuck with it. Poor girl from a poor farmer¡¯s family. When the sect found out I could cultivate, they took me away. Never saw my parents again. They both died in the winter a few years later.¡±


    She cracks her neck, making a popping sound loud enough that Jin flinches, but he keeps quiet. She takes another breath. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s not easy to talk about. But it¡¯s easier. That¡¯s something.


    So she presses on.


    ¡°I knew I wasn¡¯t very strong, but I had my convictions. Convictions I still keep for the most part. When an Imperial cultivator tried to bully me out of a reward I got in a tournament, I stood against him. Said I¡¯d work for him to make up the lost value of the object, that I¡¯d work hard to find him a suitable replacement. It was one of the only good cultivation resources I¡¯d found in years, and it was mine. I won it.


    ¡°So¡­ he beat me within an inch of my life.¡±


    The kid stays silent. Raika notices there¡¯s a bit more of a crowd, now, some of her regulars arriving, but they¡¯re keeping their distance still. Rapping knuckles on more than one occasion earned her a little space, it would seem¡­ or maybe they¡¯re just listening.


    That¡¯s fine. She takes a breath, low and slow.


    ¡°I got back up. He beat me again. I got back up, and he beat me again, harder. And when I got back up one last time¡­ I don¡¯t know. Maybe it was his version of respect. Maybe it was spite. But he reached inside me and broke my cultivation.


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    ¡°I still can¡¯t touch Qi directly, not really. Had to learn how to be again. Spent a good year and change living as a beggar on the streets, crippled in soul and body¡­ but¡­ eventually, I pulled my way back. Met some new friends. Had a couple of lucky and fucked up encounters. And now I¡¯m here.¡±


    For a little while, there¡¯s silence¡­ and then she lifts her head back up. Brings herself back to the moment, and all that.


    There is a small, frail old woman standing in front of her, offering her a cookie.


    She blinks. Shakes her head a bit. Blinks again.


    The little old woman who smells of bread and young children, likely a grandmother, in her last stages of life, stands in the crowd. One of her regulars, maybe, but she¡¯s never paid them much attention. She can smell the liver damage, see under her skin how her blood shifts and flows, taste how the colors of her miniscule Qi float through her body. If she wanted to, she could taste the cataracts in her eyes and physically feel the sound of the old woman¡¯s tendons creaking with old age.


    And she¡¯s holding out a cookie.


    ¡°Very brave of you, dearie,¡± the woman says, her voice weathered and high. ¡°To make it through tough times is a struggle and a joy, and here you are, helping the young.¡±


    The woman waits, expectantly.


    Jin squirms a bit, and some members of the crowd seem a mix of confused and anxious themselves.


    Gingerly, she takes the cookie. Under the old woman¡¯s continued insistent gaze, she takes a bite.


    Her eyes widen a bit.


    ¡°Oh. This is really good!¡±


    The old woman smiles wide, the little bit of Qi she has brightening almost visibly as she does. ¡°Good of you to notice, dearie! It¡¯s an old family recipe. My grandmother made it for me when I was a little girl.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s got¡­ is that lavender oranges?¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes brighten. ¡°Good taste, young lady! I grow them myself. My pride and joy, ever since that idiot son of mine became a wastrel!¡±


    She yells that last part, the sound surprisingly loud coming from someone so old and frail. From somewhere down the street, a vaguely masculine-sounding voice yells something back, which would be unintelligible if not for Raika¡¯s senses.


    ¡°Love you too, mom!¡±


    Raika just gives a little laugh, the old woman giving a self-satisfied smile as she does. ¡°Awfully sweet of you, letting little Jin help with your trinkets, dearie. Good deeds should be rewarded.¡±


    Jin blushes and grumbles. Under his breath, but she hears him say something like ¡°what¡¯s it to you, ya old hag,¡± but there¡¯s no heat to his words. Some of the others in the crowd laugh softly, the overall atmosphere kept light, and Raika laughs at the kid¡¯s clear embarrassment.


    ¡°My apologies if my young disciple has caused you trouble in the past,¡± she says, bowing where she¡¯s sitting. ¡°He¡¯s a daft little shit, and we¡¯re still training his manners.¡±


    This draws a larger chuckle from the crowd, and an approving nod and glimmer in the eye of the old grandmother. ¡°I applaud you for taking on such an impossible task, dearie. This old Nan Su admires you taking on such a problem child.¡±


    Jin grumbles again, scooching further back into their alley, which draws only further mirth, but most of the crowd takes pity on him. By this point, the old woman, the young man that smells of lumber and the two young mothers coming in to take their pick of her cheaper items. She still hasn¡¯t found anyone who can or wants to buy her ¡°fractal¡± pieces, but that¡¯s no big deal, she¡¯s not really making them for profit anyways.


    As the ¡°crowd¡± disperses, Raika makes a note of paying closer attention to the town. She¡¯s had other things on her mind, but it¡¯s a bit shameful to realize she¡¯s only just now discovered the name of a woman who¡¯s been visiting her weekly for months now. Today, instead of focusing her senses inward, she pushes them out, expanding her perception gradually to encompass more of the town.


    It gets dizzying in moments, but with a flicker of blood flow and Truth, she connects to her new ¡°processing¡± brain, and the strain immediately lightens. It still overheats fairly quickly, and it¡¯s nowhere near done, but it¡¯s enough for smaller things like this. Three subminds in tandem activate, and though she can feel her nose begin to bleed, she can cover it with her scarf easily enough.


    Submind 1: Material sensory unit


    Submind 2: Immaterial sensory unit


    Subming 3: Additional processing.


    The knowledge filters into her easily, in vast quantities that she couldn¡¯t process before. It¡¯s still clunky, the subminds needing time for neurons to develop, but it works.


    She examines the streets around her, feeling the echoes of those who have come by in the lingering scents in the air, in the feeling of heat and the ripples of Qi and air pressure. She can feel their shapes, sizes, the overall weights of those who have moved through, of the whole town, really. She expands a bit further, and the buildings come into focus, set up haphazardly but well. Even here, Imperial standards have reached, and brick and mortar makes up even the simplest of houses. She can see traces of fingerprints and imprecisions in the construction, the roots and grasses of hardier plants trying to fight their way through the cracks, the leftover oils and scents of skin and fires and cooking over years and years.


    There¡¯s a smaller, squat building with one massive central room, and she tastes the shape of books and scrolls stored carefully in it, marking it as the school. There¡¯s a slightly taller building, still shaped just like all the others, just with a squat second story, which she assumes to be the mayor or elder¡¯s home


    She expands further, and begins to pick up the edge of the fields outside the town, just part the border wall. The wall is sturdy, but easily broken by any average spirit beast, yet it keeps out bandits and animals just fine, she assumes, and the fields, while shallow, have plenty of growth in them. Maybe a few too many bugs, here and there, and it does look like there¡¯s an area that could use some reinforcing around the rice paddies.


    She senses Jin come closer, worried, and allows herself to notice the scent of blood leaving her nose (and eyes, now). She wipes them off quickly, pulling her senses back down to a more manageable level.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± the kid asks.


    She smiles, shifting away any leftover blood back into her body. He blinks at the sight, but she just nods.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. Just tried something new is all. It¡¯s kind of crazy how many people there are in such a small place.¡±


    Jin scoffs. ¡°This place is tiny though! I know everyone already. I hear in the big cities, there are millions of people. Wayun Village is nothing.¡±


    She has to admit, not long ago she might have said the same thing. The Hungering Roots sect was never particularly big, but she mostly grew up there, and afterwards, she spent her time in Paleblossom city, and then in the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect, and then in Imperial Palaces, and always, she was focused on herself. Now, with a little bit of room to breathe, and her new senses, she has to face a new truth:


    The world is big.


    She sighs.


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯ll get it someday, kid,¡± she tells him. ¡°I¡¯ll make you a deal, though. If you can sell three charms, we¡¯ll stop to get fresh noodles on the way home. Sound good?¡±


    He brightens up almost immediately.

 Chapter 170 - Growing Disciples Need Milk (Read: Corpse Radiation) To Grow Big And Strong

    The next few days pass by in a blur. Sparring with Qen Hou and Hao Nera goes well, and the hills regrow gradually, day by day, with the exception of the training circle she carved out. She makes sure to water the pond every day with a few drops of her blood, infused with vibrant raw Qi, as thanks and as food. Li Shu makes notes and theories, a weird mix of writing more and more pages and then spending a few days reducing those back to something actually manageable. Occasionally they take a night off for the trio to get familiar, or for Li Shu to workshop new ideas with the crew, but for the most part, the days fall into a routine.


    In the mornings, Raika gets up and cooks everyone breakfast. Jin and the trio wake up after, and she sets Jin to run his laps while she beats the shit out of her fellow martial aspirants while Li Shu writes. After their training, she makes everyone lunch. In the afternoon, they go their separate ways to their own pursuits. Qen Hou cultivates, Hao Nera goes off on his ¡°errands¡±, Li Shu goes back to her projects, and Raika¡­ wanders.


    She grows her bone trinkets, sits out on the porch, walks through the valley. She has a little cave, barely as deep as her arm, where she¡¯s growing the moss she uses for her smoking, though she¡¯s still stucking using a pipe without any rolling papers. Other than tending to the plants and their supplies, she spends some time on the plants and surrounding areas in the bamboo perimeter.


    Jin has changed that schedule a bit with his presence. Slowly, he¡¯s starting to get used to his runs, at least enough that the latter half of the day isn¡¯t spent too tired to do anything. He¡¯s still not strong enough to actually exercise, nevermind spar, but he is in her care, and¡­ well, she did promise to teach him. He¡¯s yet to get any true oath out of her using Truespeak, at least for now, but so long as they have yet to leave or establish a ¡°true¡± master student relationship, she thinks that¡¯s fine.


    He¡¯s an avid learner, and he¡¯s asking to learn. It reminds her of an old saying, back from her sect days: what good teacher complains of an eager student?


    Only problem is the kid fucking sucks at cultivating.


    ¡°No, you¡¯re- kid, come on. What in the world is going on with you? That¡¯s not it at all!¡±


    Jin throws his hands up. ¡°Well then what is it! You suck at this! You¡¯re not telling me anything useful!¡±


    ¡°You already have Qi, kid. You need to absorb the Qi around you, move it into your Dantian and through your meridians in a pattern that feels right, and it¡¯ll turn into more of your Qi. You¡¯re just pulling it in and washing it around!¡±


    ¡°Well how am I suppose to know what ¡°feels¡± right?? I¡¯m trying to move it as naturally as I can!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, and it¡¯s totally messing up what you¡¯ve already got! Your Qi smells like a dark room with people in it, some of them laughing. The stuff you¡¯re absorbing and the way you¡¯re circulating it is making it feel like weird grass and hungry rocks!¡±


    ¡°That makes the least amount of sense I¡¯ve ever heard!!!¡±


    Li Shu idly laughs off to one side, shaking her head as the two of them go at it. Raika grumbles something, but then groans as she gets up and walks over to the kid.


    He shrinks a bit as she absolutely towers over him, but she kneels down to put them somewhere near eye level. Once again, she accesses all her systems at once, activating all her subminds, all her senses, synesthesia, and higher processing.


    ¡°Here. Give me your hand.¡±


    He hesitates for a bit, which is why she waited so long to do this. He looks ready to bolt, as if waiting for her to hit him- but he doesn¡¯t back down. After a few seconds, his pulse trembling with repressed anxiety, he holds out his hand.


    She holds it gently in her own, adding touch to the sensory package and getting a much clearer internal image.


    With her senses alight, she can see any part of him she pleases. Feeling his pulse and the shift of his muscles translates into visually watching that same movement through his skin. Smelling the scent of fear and sweat, mixed with hearing the tiny movements inside his body, means she can literally feel the pulse of hormonal glands in the back of his head, track the movement of his saliva production, watch his stomach digest their morning meal.


    And as she holds his hand, the last piece of the puzzle appears; his meridian system.


    It mirrors and matches both the circulatory and nervous systems, but at different points. There are several places where they overlap directly, with the soul-organs existing in the same physical space as the ¡°mundane¡± organs, but it follows its own path, with far more loops and far less branches, making something like a complicated string. At the top and bottom of the Dantian, said string reconverges, many strands becoming one again and meeting in the center, where an almost perfectly round organ sits, glowing slightly to her senses with the Qi inside it.


    ¡°Ok. Now try to absorb some Qi again.¡±


    He does. It¡¯s painfully slow, taking almost a full minute before she can even feel it happening. Her nose starts bleeding pretty quickly, but she holds on. Pretty soon, she starts noticing the change;


    She can¡¯t sense Qi directly: only through her own enhanced senses can she smell it and feel its effects in her body to be able to track it. Even now, with all her changes, it¡¯s only barely perceivable in the environment without her sense of smell- but there it is. Small, miniscule eddies, flowing through physical matter, past the boy¡¯s skin, in towards his Dantian. They are absorbed easiest through the lungs, as he draws in air with Qi in it and absorbs it while its in his body, but the intent to drink it in moves all of the Qi he can touch nonetheless.


    It makes a liquid spark in the core of him, a new, brighter shade to match the volume swirling about inside the organ already-


    Ah. There¡¯s the issue.


    Raika sighs, then snorts hard as she tastes her own blood in her mouth. She shakes her head, pushing through.


    ¡°Alright. Now, start to circulate. Try to use the pathways that Li Shu showed you.¡±


    Slowly, he starts to move what little Qi he has around in his body. Some of his own reserve mixes with the new supply and is pulled into his meridians, slowly beginning a pathway through his body, highlighting certain points¡­


    Fuck.


    She can¡¯t detect blockages or impurities like she¡¯d hoped. There¡¯s some, she can feel them there, little points of inert matter and gunk clogging some of his pathways¡­ but most of them are clear. She didn¡¯t expect impurities; they haven¡¯t really been a thing since a few millenia ago, when the Empire cemented its expansion, though she has no clue why. Some drivel about the mercy of the Emperor¡¯s might or whatever. But if it¡¯s not blockages, then¡­


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    She hones in on the Qi itself as it struggles to change. Using her synesthesia, Jin¡¯s Qi looks like a smoky cloud, half shadow and half fog, like incense filling a dark room. The environmental Qi he¡¯s trying to absorb on the other hand, while mostly the clear ¡°raw¡± type, has bright notes of strange light, of growing things, of hungers and ever-crackling roots floating in with it.


    She shuts down her senses, letting out a heavy breath that stinks of blood and bile. Jin blinks, coming out of his meditation and looking at her with concern.


    She wipes some blood from her eyes and reabsorbs the rest. ¡°I¡¯m fine, kid. Bad news for you though.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t say anything, but she can hear how his breath freezes in his lungs, see how his muscles lock up in a sudden fear.


    She snaps her prosthetic fingers, loud enough to startle. ¡°Yes, you can still cultivate. Relax.¡±


    He immediately lets out the air he was holding, some of his tension leaving, though it¡¯s clear he¡¯s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.


    ¡°Trouble is, you can¡¯t cultivate here. If you were stronger, it would be fine, useless, but fine. As it is, cultivating here will just fuck with you.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Same reason an ice cultivator doesn¡¯t start cultivating in a house fire. If you had so little Qi that it had no real effect, then your Qi would change to match the ideas and energies you¡¯re drawing in. If you had more Qi, you could force the Qi you¡¯re absorbing to lose the old qualities and gain yours, which is what¡¯s usually the case, though it wouldn¡¯t be as efficient.¡±


    ¡°You said it¡¯s usually the case. Why not this time? Is something-¡±


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s wrong with you, kid. It¡¯s your Qi. It¡¯s got some notes of¡­ not death, but mourning? Or something like that. Your scent is like incense in a dark room with people you can¡¯t see. It¡¯s peaceful communion with the immaterial. The Qi here, especially with how rich it is, tastes like fleshy roots that are always hungry and growing things. Let¡¯s say you¡¯re Qen Hou: for him, his Qi tastes like magnesium fire and pure, focused heat, with hints of maybe pretty colors to it. He can ¡°burn¡± the idea of fleshy roots and turn it into fire, changing concepts ¡°naturally¡±. Or, if he needs to, he can just cycle it with enough of his Qi that it gets drowned out. It¡¯s inefficient, but the Qi is rich enough here that it¡¯s a net win. This is why cultivation technique, Qi density, and your environment all play a factor in your growth as a cultivator. If you¡¯re strong, you can force the Qi you absorb to become yours even if it has nothing to do with your technique or self. You¡¯re not.¡±


    Jin sits still, and Raika realizes that Li Shu has been listening intently as she speaks. It¡¯s sometimes easy to forget that for all her tremendous theoretical ideas, Li Shu actually hasn¡¯t been a cultivator for all that long.


    ¡°So¡­ what do I do?¡± Jin asks. ¡°Do I try and pull in less? So I can cycle it with my Qi?¡±


    Raika shakes her head. ¡°Nah. Maybe if you were six months ahead of where you are I¡¯d say it might work, but as it is, that¡¯ll mean you advance at a snail¡¯s pace at best. If you¡¯re going to cultivate, we need to find you resources that will shape the Qi around you or have their own supply of it.¡±


    Li Shu blinks, then laughs. ¡°Raika! That¡¯s it!¡±


    Raika turns to her, frowning. ¡°What¡¯s it?¡±


    ¡°You said he had some sort of death-aligned Qi, right?¡±


    The frown deepens. ¡°Ok, it¡¯s way more detailed than that. It¡¯s got all sorts of nuances and-¡±


    ¡°Oh, stuff away the chef¡¯s hat and let me finish. You said the ghost attacked him instead of you when you met, right? He probably already had some ghost-y Qi back then, and then he got stuck with us near the ritual with the Cold Sun. Maybe he could try to use some Blacksteel to cultivate?¡±


    Raika tilts her head, the Mask especially making use of her new sub-mind to look at it from whatever angles she can. That¡¯s¡­ frustratingly obvious, actually.


    And apparently the Mask needs her name changed, because Li Shu reads her expression clear as day and laughs.


    ¡°I would¡¯ve gotten there eventually!¡± Raika grumbles.


    ¡°Well of course. It¡¯s just that I got there first.¡±


    Raika grumbles and growls, but even turning back to the kid doesn¡¯t stop her senses from literally feeling Li Shu¡¯s smug little grin.


    Sighing, she flexes her prosthetic left arm, forcing her will onto the eldritch material. Her third, currently unformed Truth stirs, hums a bit, and Dink sends a little trill through her sternum as if saying hello to it. A spike of Blacksteel shoots out from the arm, though it takes¡­ a surprising amount of effort. Is it because it¡¯s not shaped like a tooth or claw? That¡­ feels right, in a sense. There¡¯s something predatory to her version of Blacksteel, more a biological End than a ¡°mineral¡± End.


    Breaking it off with a grunt of effort (shit¡¯s hard, even with her strength and actively weakening it), she puts it on the ground in front of the kid. The grass it touches begins to wilt and darken visibly. Jin stares at it, a little awed and a little horrified as he looks up at her entirely Blacksteel left arm.


    ¡°Alright. Don¡¯t touch it, I¡¯ll get you a cloth to wrap it in. I tried to make it duller than normal but it¡¯s like obsidian, it can¡¯t not be sharp, I think. I want you to do what you were saying earlier: take a small amount of Qi from around it. Not all around you, just around the spot sort of in front of you. Once you have a little bit, I want you to cycle it thoroughly; don¡¯t stop until it feels completely yours, or else it might change your Qi to match it rather than vice versa. Clear?¡±


    Jin nods, swallowing a knot of tension. He¡¯s nervous, especially staring at the impossible material in front of him (and she wonders idly if maybe she can sell this instead¡­ but nah. Too much hassle), but his determination is clear.


    ¡°Do I have permission to hold your hand again?¡± Raika asks.


    He nods, already sitting in lotus position and starting his breathing.


    She watches carefully, noting that despite him clearly trying his best, some motes of the general Qi around them flow into him¡­ but he does manage to make over half of what he absorbs come from around the Blacksteel.


    It¡¯s nowhere near a perfect match, as she feared. Sharp, predatory death, the rending of claws and teeth against life itself, leaving behind only food that is cold and still¡­ it¡¯s nowhere near the almost polite Qi the kid has. But there¡¯s much more similarity between this other view of death than with the strange, wriggling life of the valley around them. He takes in an amount that is barely anything, but is also somehow nearly a fifth of his current reserve, and begins to circulate it.


    At first, she thinks she sees the hunger seeping in, tainting his incense-smoke smell¡­ but by the third cycle, it¡¯s faded back into the background, and by the fourth, it¡¯s gone entirely. What¡¯s left is a slightly larger Qi pool than before, one in genuine alignment with itself.


    She smiles, and only as she refocuses on her body and surroundings does she feel Li Shu¡¯s aura washing over her. Was she that distracted? How long has it been? The kid is brand new to this, so he¡¯s slow- how long did it take for those four revolutions? The sun seems much lower in the sky than she expected.


    Something to work on, maybe a new submind to track things she¡¯s subconsciously blocking out? The soft blanket of scentless, delicate flowers and sharp steel washes over her, unable to penetrate her curse but knowing its contours enough to seep in, just a bit, and lessen the bleeding.


    And Raika has been bleeding. There is a small puddle of brilliant, near-neon crimson on her lap from where it¡¯s drooled out of ears, nose and eyes as she overheats her brains using them all at once.


    The kid blinks, opening his eyes in time only to see Raika wiping her face clean with a scarf.


    ¡°Not bad, kid. Not bad at all. Just remember- small bites at a time. This thing in particular tries to eat you back.¡±


    Jin nods, his eyes wide. For a moment, she thinks that¡¯ll be it, and gets ready to head inside to make dinner (and it¡¯s going to be a late dinner at that. Fuck, how long was she out?).


    Abruptly, almost scrambling to his feet, Jin stands and faces her, his standing height only barely above her seated height. He smacks one fist into his palm (the fist is on the wrong side, but that¡¯s fine) and bows so low he actually goes a bit past his waist, his face turned straight to the ground.


    ¡°Disciple thanks generous master,¡± he says in a rush.


    She smiles, and rewrites the veins in her face that tried to make her blush. ¡°Yeah, yeah. Thanks received. Out of my way, kid, I gotta go make dinner.¡±


    But she does ruffle his hair on the way back towards the cabin.


    And she pointedly ignores Li Shu sitting to one side, smiling like she just saw a pile of forest animals learning to be friends.

 Chapter 171 - Theres Something In The Woods (Probably)

    Another week, and another visit to Wayun village. Jin is much peppier this time, and she barely needs to slow her walking pace for him to keep up. Whether it¡¯s talent or Blacksteel being more effective than she thought it would be, his cultivation has grown by a decent amount, and though he can¡¯t generate much Qi of his own, his cycling is getting closer to that point. Close enough that he¡¯s started using some of what he¡¯s got.


    It¡­ seems like that¡¯s helping? He¡¯s not just accumulating Qi to further his realm, he¡¯s also actively burning some of what he has and recouping it later. The experience is one thing, but¡­ she wonders if there¡¯s some kind of merit in it, as perhaps the Qi made to replace rather than build on what¡¯s already there might be higher quality?


    She had no such big ideas when she was cultivating. She just hated being still and listening to advice.


    They make it into town at a record pace for the kid, and she nods to the guards as she passes the main door. They nod back, but immediately, she can tell something is off. It¡¯s minor, but both of them have the slightly bitter taste of stress hormones in them.


    As they walk through town, she notices the same scent more and more often. It doesn¡¯t smell like the stress of exercise or combat, but like something more ambient, more sour.


    She pauses before setting down her bundle at their usual spot. Jin looks up at her in confusion as she doesn¡¯t begin to unpack anything.


    She expands her senses, same as she did last week, awakening all her subminds. Her awareness spreads, sensing the town piece by piece- the bitterness isn¡¯t universal, but she can feel the added stress having a general impact on people. There¡¯s some hushed conversation, but for the most part, the streets and homes are surprisingly empty.


    Her awareness expands again, overtaking the school and village leader¡¯s huts-


    There. Half the townspeople seem to be congregating there. The village is small: a few homes, a little town center, a school, a warehouse, and the village leader¡¯s hut, seemingly big enough for some group meetings. Outside that, just the dirt roads and the farms, which-


    The stressed rice paddy from last week. There¡¯s cracks in it. It¡¯s not broken, but it¡¯s easy enough for her new processing power to track the impact sites, the bits of muddied water that taste faintly of blood, the trampled plants.


    And in the schoolhouse, the scent of pain. A mix of spices, sharp and dull, like dread and terror refined into sharp-edged notes of iron, sweat and crushed vitality, some of it minced like meat, some of it cut open and bleeding colors into the world.


    She picks her bundle and starts walking towards it.


    Jin follows along, though he shoots her a confused look.


    ¡°Something bad¡¯s happened,¡± she says, low and quiet in the village¡¯s heavy air. ¡°People got hurt. I¡¯m going to go see them.¡±


    He lets out a little gasp, but firms himself right after and nods forcefully. For all that he¡¯s clearly turned anxious about the idea of something bad happening here, she can smell the determination on him. No fear. He follows behind her, his own stress-tinged scent adding to the ambiance- but he stays firm.


    She¡¯s not sure if it¡¯s trust in her that does it, or if he¡¯s just a pretty solid kid. She prefers to think the latter.


    It takes less than five minutes to cross from one side of the village to the other in a straight line, and with her pace, she makes it in three. No running, but long steps. Even without keeping her higher senses active now she could smell the pain, the scent of it rich and tinged with sharp little pops of Qi and fear from the building across from her.


    A dozen villagers move in and out of the schoolhouse, holding bloodied rags to wash in buckets of what used to be clean water outside. They don¡¯t pause, their steps heavy, their eyes tired, but every one of them is either washing bandages or getting fresh water. She can see the chunky outline of the scent where more than one of them has vomited, some of it still on their clothes, and most of them have some amount of blood on their hands. They work in near silence, clipped sentences occasionally emerging from them to ask for something or give direction.


    On her left, a few houses away in the larger home that she views as the ¡°leader¡¯s¡± home, the sound of conversation is almost overwhelming.


    She cancels her synesthesia and higher senses again, shaking her head and letting the Flesh take over handling their perception. No need to start bleeding out the eyes in the middle of some sort of village meeting. She goes to enter the building, then pauses.


    ¡°Jin, go see if you can find some more buckets of clean water for the schoolhouse,¡± she says. ¡°Don¡¯t go inside unless they ask you to, just ask them where you can get the water. Go.¡±


    He hesitates. ¡°Are- what about-¡±


    She stops him with a raised hand. ¡°You can¡¯t do much in the conversation in here, and they need aid over there. I¡¯m going to figure out what happened and I¡¯ll be right back out. Be safe, but go help.¡±


    He takes a deep breath, and for a moment she worries she¡¯s asking too much of him, but¡­ he breathes out, and some of his Qi stirs as he firms himself.


    ¡°Ok. I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll go fetch water. I can do that.¡±


    She nods. ¡°You can.¡±


    He turns and runs over towards the schoolhouse, getting a few surprised looks from the frazzled villagers there. They¡¯re not in a position to reject aid, though, and tired enough that any judgment for the local urchin seems to fail to cross their minds. In seconds, he¡¯s given two buckets of dirty water to go dump out, and told about which well they¡¯re using.


    Raika opens the door to the village center and walks in.


    Almost immediately, half the yelling voices quiet. Even without Qi and with her prosthetic covered, she¡¯s still a full head taller than the tallest man in the village, and her presence demands attention. She gives a short bow, focusing on the few conversations that are still ongoing.


    She recognizes Nan Su, though it comes as a bit of a shock. The old woman looks almost shriveled, shrunken, as if suddenly crushed beneath a great weight, and the smell of grief drowns the smell of distant loaves her little drops of Qi exude. She sees the one of the two young mothers that often visited her standing off to one side, her face tear-streaked and her voice silent, two other women holding and patting her, speaking in quiet tones.


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    In the center of the room, there are four of the stronger, younger men facing a grizzled older gentleman, wearing a blazer and heavy salt-and-pepper muttonchops. Beside him is an even older man with a beard turned near white and his head shaved, and behind him, two more men that give off the energy of ¡°guards¡±, tall and strong but with the muscle of farmers.


    ¡°It¡¯ll come back!¡± one of the young men growls. ¡°We need to-¡±


    ¡°Do nothing!¡± growls the older gentleman with the muttonchops. ¡°We need everyone here, at home, fixing the damage, not wasting time chasing their own asses through the woods!¡±


    ¡°Where are the cultivators?¡± a woman yells from a bit further back. ¡°What do we pay tithes for if we¡¯re not even being protected?¡±


    The muttonchop guy whirls out to the crowd with a gravelly growl. ¡°None of that talk! If not for the Empire, we wouldn¡¯t even have a village, this whole damn forest would be drowning in spirit beasts! Attacks happen, yes, and we¡¯ll send a letter and go out for a hunt- but not yet. There are wounded who need help, fields that will go to ruin if we don¡¯t fix things, and I¡¯m not intending to waste lives on a fruitless hunt!¡±


    ¡°This same beast has been harassing us for too long!¡± the younger man at the front of the group of four says. ¡°If we¡¯d gone out to hunt it months ago, we wouldn¡¯t have lost so many animals and certainly wouldn¡¯t be in this situation now!¡±


    ¡°Or we would¡¯ve lost more men to the woods for nothing!¡± the white-haired man with the shaved hair says. ¡°The past teaches lessons, but its easy to say that we had already learned the lesson looking back. We cannot fight what was, only what is now!¡±


    ¡°And I say that now, we need to get out there and kill that thing!¡±


    ¡°What did it look like?¡±


    Almost thirty pairs of eyes swivel to look at Raika, holding her bundle under one arm and looking forward at the central discussion.


    ¡°Who the hell are you to speak here?¡± asks the younger, more aggressive man. He has a thick farmer¡¯s tan and a rough-shaven face, but he¡¯s not bad looking- if only he¡¯d stop scowling so much.


    She shrugs. ¡°I sell bone charms on the street sometimes. What did it look like?¡±


    She hears murmurs go through the crowd, some of the voices ones that she recognizes, many not.


    ¡°She¡¯s a cripple, but I heard she used to be a cultivator¡­¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s massive! She probably has some beast blood¡­¡±


    ¡°What can she do? She¡¯s missing an arm, too¡­¡±


    ¡°Why is she asking? Why is she here? What is she planning?¡±


    That and more ripple through the room, and she ignores them wholesale. Her eyes stay focused on the people in the center of the room, her expression carefully neutral as the Mask falls back into her old role.


    ¡°Why do you want to know?¡± asks the man with the mutton chops, his gaze¡­ inquisitive.


    ¡°Want to know if I¡¯ve heard of its type.¡±


    Some of the men and older women in the chamber scoff. ¡°What, you have a bestiary stored away somewhere? This isn¡¯t the second ring. Spirit beasts are spirit beasts, they can take any shape.¡±


    ¡°But what shape they end up taking says a lot,¡± she counters. ¡°What species they began as, what their weaknesses might be, if they¡¯ve touched on any Dao or special abilities. What did it look like? When did it attack? Did it have claws, a beak, a shell? Was it alone? Did it have claws, a beak, mandibles?¡±


    As she lists off questions, the tone in the room begins to shift, curiosity beginning to take over. Some of them are curious of the beast in question, but more and more the eyes on her start to change.


    The situation partially defused with a new focal point, the group of four back down a bit, though she notices they don¡¯t leave the central circle that has formed. The mutton chops guy, who she¡¯s tentatively identifying as the village leader, sighs and takes a seat on a chair close by.


    ¡°Most of the people who saw it are either dead or wounded in the school house. It had¡­ too many teeth. Digging out of its mouth, out of the side of its face. It¡­ maybe looked like some kind of boar, but I¡¯m not sure, it was so fast.¡±


    ¡°I got a good look,¡± says one of the men with the belligerent guy. ¡°Taller than a man on all fours, with something weird on its belly. Had skin so thick it looked like dried clay. Saw He Bin get¡­ get all cut into just from its hairs.¡±


    She frowns. It sounds¡­ weirdly strong for this area. The third ring isn¡¯t the second, that¡¯s true, but there shouldn¡¯t be anything this big just roaming free. Spirit beasts are rare in both rings, but rarer in the third, despite their less predictable forms, supposedly due to millenia of active hunting by the Empire. Someone should have killed a beast like this by now¡­ but at the same time, anything as strange as what¡¯s described should, in theory, have turned the whole town to rubble rather than retreating after messing with the fields.


    ¡°Who drove it off?¡± she asks.


    ¡°...We think it got annoyed by the fire,¡± the village chief admits. ¡°When we heard the screaming yesterday, we ran out with torches and weapons. It saw the fire and gave this¡­ I thought it was roaring, but it might have just been a snort. And then it just left.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°I¡¯m no expert,¡± she admits, ¡°but you¡¯re probably right. Might have been it was just passing through and got curious.¡±


    ¡°Curious?¡± the belligerent guy yells. ¡°It killed my brother! Ten more beside him! We¡¯ve got almost half the village wounded or trying to help with those wounds, and we¡¯ll probably lose more before night falls. And it was curious?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t rise to the challenge in his tone, just looking at him dead on.


    ¡°Yes. If it was hungry, it would have eaten more of the wounded. If it was scared or angry, it would¡¯ve ruined more of the town. If it was as big as you said, then it might just be that it wasn¡¯t interested in a big meal or a fight.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ so it¡¯s gone?¡± asks one of the younger men in the crowd.


    She shrugs. ¡°Might be. It¡¯s all guesswork, though.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ what do we do?¡±


    She blinks. Realizes the whole damn building is looking at her for guidance now, even the village chief.


    She just¡­ sighs.


    She pauses. People look at each other in the awkward silence, but she ignores them.


    The Want sighs, exhausted but determined, and asks if the others agree.


    The Mask asks the whole if this is worth it.


    The Flesh sort of wanders between wondering if all this pain tastes as spiced and interesting as her senses say, and if they could kill the beast if it came back.


    The Mask says that would probably ruin any attempt at keeping their location obscured.


    The Want says that, compared to the option of staying hidden and letting this village die, that¡¯s a good trade. Not something that any part of them wants, but deep down, they want people to be hurt less than they want to ¡°guarantee¡± a hiding place.


    The safe thing isn¡¯t always the right thing.


    She stands tall.


    She opens her eyes again just as someone reaches out to touch her.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to go help the wounded. I need your two strongest fighters to come with me.¡±


    And she leaves, off to do just that.


    She sees Jin outside, already sweating after only the few minutes since she last saw him. His clothes are dirty, the scent of stress has grown a lot, but she can¡¯t smell much blood directly on him, so she doesn¡¯t think he¡¯s gone in the building.


    As some of the people in the leader¡¯s tent start to trickle out towards the schoolhouse, she kneels down in front of the kid.


    ¡°Hey. I¡¯m gonna stay in town. I want to make sure that if the spirit beasts come back, they have someone here who can help, and I can do more with the wounded. I need you to guide a few people with you through the woods. Can you do that?¡±


    Jin looks up at her, out of breath and confused. ¡°But¡­ I thought it was like a hidden place or something?¡±


    She nods. ¡°Take them to the bamboo, but you go through alone. I don¡¯t know if the bamboo will let them through without us. Find Li Shu, tell her the village has a ton of wounded, and then come right back. I don¡¯t think there are any beasts out there, but I¡¯m sending them with you to make sure. You come right back after. Can you do that?¡±


    She can smell the hesitation. The fear. The moment where he wonders if he can.


    But she can see the moment where he tilts his head up to meet her gaze.


    ¡°Yes. I can do it. I know the way there.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Good.¡±


    Five minutes later, he and two of the belligerent guy¡¯s crew are off on their journey, and she¡¯s walking into a building full of wounded that smell delicious.

 Chapter 172 - Community Service

    It¡¯s¡­ dissonant. She hasn¡¯t felt at odds with herselves in a while, but the Mask, the Want, and the Flesh all stand at slightly different angles of the situation. The Mask grumbles and mumbles, leaving its original role behind to explore all the possible permutations of this. It worries and plans, thinking through the most efficient way to get through things, the possible steps they¡¯d need to take to be able to both help these people and keep themselves safe. While it plans in the background, the Want is more central, pushing them towards the newly chosen objective of helping how they can.


    The Flesh, meanwhile, is salivating.


    There¡¯s no particular shame to it. It¡¯s not part of its makeup: shame comes from a different part of her. And the simple fact of the matter is that people smell good. People with Qi smell better. It¡¯s not much, but many of the villagers have at least a little, at least enough to be a few steps into the Qi Gathering realm. Not all: as with most small villages, mortals make up the majority.


    But, a bit distressingly to other parts of her, even without Qi, people smell good. And fear, stress, pain¡­ none of them smell bad. None of them smell wrong. Some things have, in the past, but she¡¯s pretty sure at this point that she could literally eat rotting meat and get some enjoyment out of it.


    So. People smell tasty. It makes it a bit distracting as they try and help. She gets a couple of weird looks from how long she lingers once or twice, but once she gets use to the minor temptation she quiets it easily enough.


    Her Truth only works on herself, unfortunately, or she might be tempted to start changing flesh left and right to repair the damages. Instead, she has to content herself with using her limited medical knowledge.


    Well. Limited by her standards, anyways. She ends up a bit surprised by how completely wrong so many of the wrappings are. She spends the first thirty or so minutes just undoing and re-tying bandages, making sure they¡¯re not cutting off blood flow or not letting any leak out. Once that¡¯s done, she starts triaging, getting people to help her move those more wounded from those less. The moaning rises in pitch for a while, and having to keep her prosthetic arm hidden makes the whole affair a bit more difficult, but by the time they¡¯re done, those with wounds that might recover with careful care and bandaging are pulled set further back from the door, while those with injuries more grievous are kept nearest to where Li Shu will be coming in from, and closest to access to water and fresh bandages.


    The village elder she met back in the main tent and some older folk seem to have a bit of medical knowledge, but there¡¯s hesitation in most of them. Hard to tell what¡¯s actually injured enough to need movement, hard to pull up the willpower to actually follow through. She sees some bones reset badly, others more to standard, and someone is stitching shut some of the lesser cuts.


    Here, she has a bit more agency. Her senses let her see what¡¯s going on inside the bodies of the wounded easily, and she goes to where each one with internal injuries lies. She resets bones that are connected at an angle, pulls ruined muscle back into a position where it can heal, opens poorly sutured wounds to remove bits of bone trapped in them or improperly closed blood vessels.


    There¡¯s always more to do. Always. Even as things improve or get fixed, there are so many she just can¡¯t do anything about, bleeding internally, falling apart inside, some with organs ruptured or pieces of bone decorating their insides where terrible impacts nearly burst them open. She knows enough to know what¡¯s wrong, to physically see it, but she simply doesn¡¯t have the knowledge, finesse, or tools to accurately fix so much of what¡¯s wrong.


    She¡¯s not sure how much time passes before Li Shu arrives, but it¡¯s both less and more than she expected.


    The scent of gentle yet unknown flowers and sharpened steel floods the room. A dozen villagers flinch, especially some of the wounded, and they all look towards the door in abject fear and surprise.


    Li Shu looks like Raika has rarely ever seen her. Her eyes are cold, her stance firm and completely unmoving, every part of her like some sort of bastion. Her gaze flickers across the room, looking at dozens of patients in an instant, and then-


    Then the moment breaks. Her Qi floods into the space no longer as a sudden shock, but as a blanket that starts to sink into the bodies of the wounded, easing their heart rates and massaging their blood flow. She immediately kneels next to the closest of the triaged wounded, a man with his guts well and truly splattered out of his body, and a needle, thread, roll of bandages, pliers and a set of scalpels float out of her bag as if it¡¯s no effort at all.


    And she gets to work.


    At some point someone tries to intercede, just to set some kind of rug or blanket under the obvious cultivator¡¯s knees so her robes aren¡¯t stained by the dirty floor, but she shoots them a Look that has them scurry back and away. What little words she speaks are reserved for the injured, soft, quiet things, and on occasion her Qi touches on someone nearby, stabilizing them further so she can find some time to get to them.


    Whenever she hones in on someone, the Qi becomes a thread or drop of spider silk, moving subtly and gently into their bodies and wounds. Those she hasn¡¯t yet reached, she blankets with an aura, which distinctly slows blood loss, and the sounds of moaning and crying quiet significantly.


    It¡­ it¡¯s masterful. Raika knows exactly how much Qi Li Shu has, and almost all of it is being used at once. It¡¯s like she¡¯s in a trance.


    Raika steps out from the building a few minutes later, finding Jin standing, anxious as fuck, surrounded by a dozen villagers that aren¡¯t questioning him yet but could not more clearly want to. The two men that she sent with him look more frazzled than he is, sweatier, and they both look pretty shaken, but he meets her eyes straight on.


    She gives him a nod, and he smiles wide.


    ¡°Good job, kid,¡± she says. ¡°Wasn¡¯t expecting you back so soon. Good pace.¡±


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    He laughs, and with that little praise, falls back on his ass on the ground. ¡°Sister Li Shu ran the whole way back. We could barely keep up, and I think she was going slow for us.¡±


    Raika lets out an amused huff. ¡°I¡¯m just glad it went well. Nothing bothered you on the way?¡± She checks the two ¡°guards'''' she sent with him, and they both blanch and look away from her. One of them sputters but eventually manages to get his words together enough to say ¡°no, no trouble.¡±


    ¡°Good. Do me a favor and forget where you just went, yeah?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t try to make it too intimidating, but considering how one of them literally flinches she might have put a bit too much weight behind her words.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am!¡± and ¡°Yes, honored one!¡± come out almost at the same time, one of them even going for a bow before she smacks him upside the head for it.


    ¡°None of that. I don¡¯t care for it, and we¡¯re much too busy for you to be wasting time. Go find something heavy to lift or some bandages to wash.¡±


    She looks down at Jin, nodding. ¡°As for you, go find someplace to sit. Take my blanket, it¡¯s by the door. Get some rest, kid.¡±


    He gives her an affronted look. ¡°I¡¯m not that tired!¡± he says indignantly. ¡°I can still help.¡±


    ¡°But you don¡¯t need to right now, so rest enough that you¡¯re more useful later,¡± she tells him. ¡°I¡¯m going to go help fix the fields. You can watch if you want.¡±


    And she goes off to do exactly that.


    The next few hours go by¡­ interestingly. Without using her Engine, or even morphing her body, she still finds herself carrying wood, stones, and dirt at a good four or five times the weight of any of the villagers, and when they pause for rest, she just¡­ keeps going. At first they tried to direct her, but they learned pretty quickly that she either already knew what needed doing or knew things they didn¡¯t even need. Every broken wall, she¡¯s there to shove the earth back into place and put planks into shape around it. Every upturned bit of earth and thrown-around stone, she¡¯s there to overturn. After a few hours, when everyone else has exhausted themselves and the sun has gone past the middle of the afternoon, she¡¯s still working.


    She¡¯s there, lifting enough for ten men, when Jin eventually runs over to find her.


    ¡°She¡¯s done,¡± he says, out of breath from what was apparently a dead sprint. ¡°She- she said to-¡±


    Raika just drops the wheelbarrow of planks she¡¯s carrying over her shoulder onto the ground and starts walking to the center of town. Jin comes up behind her, still exhausted, but the amount of running she¡¯s been having him do is clearly having decent results already.


    It isn¡¯t hard to find Li Shu. She doesn¡¯t even need to heighten her senses, because there¡¯s a fucking crowd around her, in a broad circle. Outside the schoolhouse, where the smell of blood has faded ever so slightly, Li Shu sits on a chair someone brought out of their home, looking visibly exhausted, and surrounded (at a distance) by just about everyone in town.


    She smiles weakly as she sees Raika.


    Raika kneels next to her, patting her hand, and Li Shu snorts out a very unladylike little giggle. ¡°Yeah, yeah. I¡¯m tired, not some old grandmother.¡±


    Raika laughs softly. ¡°Pity. You¡¯d make a stunningly hot old grandmother.¡±


    They laugh softly together as she holds Li Shu¡¯s hand, doing her best to give her a bit of support. From the smell of it, Li Shu¡¯s spent maybe a third of her Qi in one go, an amount usually reserved for life or death battles in most cultivation circles. In their little ground-floor dungeon, there¡¯s enough Qi density to help her recover quickly, but it¡¯ll still take days.


    ¡°Proud of you,¡± Raika says, low and quiet.


    She huffs, goes to rebut¡­ and instead just sighs and sinks back into her chair.


    Raika sighs, seating herself on the ground next to her- and notices the stares from all around.


    There¡¯s a good fifty villagers just¡­ standing there, awkwardly. She assumes most of them have seen a cultivator maybe once every few years,generously,, and she really doubts that said cultivators came to offer healing of the sick and wounded. Outside of those still caring for the sick and those who are still in their homes, just about the entire village is either looking at them from a ¡°safe¡± distance (and avoiding eye contact) or in the village square, their faces a mix of awe, fear, and confusion.


    From the center of the crowd, the man Raika identified as some sort of village leader or respected figure steps out. His mutton chop facial hair has almost wilted from the amount of sweat and stress of the last few hours, scrambling to help in the medical building, but he stands tall despite the clear exhaustion. The moment he¡¯s clear of the crowd, standing about ten feet away from Raika, Li Shu, and a very uncomfortable looking Jin, he kowtows as deep as he can, pressing his forehead to the muddied ground.


    ¡°Wayun Village thanks you, honored cultivators. We thank you for the lives you have saved, and the generosity you have shown our humble home. Under Imperial law and all honor, I offer up anything I have to thank you.¡±


    Raika says nothing, but cocks an eye at Li Shu. She just sighs, but then firms herself and turns to look at the bowing village leader.


    ¡°No thanks are required. An opportunity to further my cultivation and help those who need it arrived before me, just as an opportunity to be healed arrived at your doorstep. Any thanks offered to me are best directed to my¡­ Senior Sister(?) Raika.¡±


    Raika glares at Li Shu as the smaller woman smiles, a shit-eating grin hidden behind a delicate palm as she fakes the ¡°fancy lady¡± look. The villagers look between the two of them, confusion and trepidation in equal measure, but the leader keeps an impressive composure, turning ever so slightly to kowtow to Raika instead.


    ¡°We are honored by your generosity, great cultivator,¡± he says. ¡°Without your junior sister¡¯s efforts, many lives would have been lost today. Wayun Village owes you mightily, and we apologize from the depths of our hearts for not knowing your status earlier and offering you better accommodations on your visits. If need be, this lowly Tan Ri will gladly offer his life, and grant anything offered under Imperial Law to honor you and apologize.¡±


    Raika gives a long, tired sigh, though she regrets it a bit as she feels him stiffen and break out into a cold sweat. Imperial Law limits a lot of the worst behaviors of cultivators, even at the edge of the third ring, but imposing consequences on lawbreakers does little to aid the victims in the moment. If someone comes in a few months to collect tithes and finds a slaughtered village, without signs of some distinct cultivation style, how many years might it take to find a suspect?


    Li Shu¡¯s idea was to be polite, generous. Like a generous cultivator should be. Raika, on the other hand¡­


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she says, waving a hand as if brushing away his apology. ¡°It¡¯s not like you asked us for it. No big deal. This one could use the exercise anyways, or she¡¯ll wither away into some old scribe.¡±


    Li Shu wacks her gently upside the head, prompting the village leader to flinch hard. Raika rolls her eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m not an asshole, elder,¡± she tells him. ¡°This village has been plenty nice. I saw that we could help, and I decided to. It would disrespect me and my choice to say I need some sort of recompense for following my will. Raise your head.¡±


    He does, and for a moment their eyes meet. She can smell the anxiety simmering in his blood, matched gently with the possibility of relief, and she does her best to give him a reassuring look, the Mask tweaking her features to hit the desired effect. She seems to have gotten it right, too, as she feels his lungs unclench and let out a breath he¡¯d been holding.


    Almost immediately, though, he slams his head back down into the kowtow, hitting the ground hard enough that she can feel through the air how it¡¯ll bruise his skin.


    ¡°Then please, honored cultivator. I ask a boon of you. Please, on behalf of the village of Wayun, I beg you to help us hunt the beast that did this, lest it return and do worse.¡±

 Chapter 173 - Surely THESE Woods Hold No Fucked Up Shit...

    It doesn¡¯t take long to find the trail. The beast, whatever it was, wasn¡¯t subtle in its movements. After ruining half the fields, only barely patched together with Raika¡¯s help, it simply walked off to one side. Maybe she¡¯s gotten used to impossible tiger-things that can cut through space and appear where they please, but whatever this creature is, it seems to have a much more overt approach. Its steps are dug into earth and stone in almost equal measure, like both are simple clay, and several trees are bent and cracked where it brushed past them on its way out.


    A dozen villagers, most of the men and the village elders, stand at the edge of the planting fields. Li Shu is still tending to the wounded, making sure nothing worsens, and Raika¡¯s keeping Jin with her so none of the villagers overwhelm him. They offered, vehemently, to assist, but in all honesty, barely half of them are in the Qi-Gathering realm, and none very far into it. Besides bursts of strength and other enhancements, they¡¯re barely above mortals, and can¡¯t possibly have any techniques to boot. They¡¯d just hold her back or get themselves killed.


    And, distantly, she¡¯s not sure if she¡¯d be entirely safe with the temptation of the fresh dead. The smell of the wounded is still on the back of her tongue, the Flesh still grumbling slightly at the thought of fresh food, still bleeding¡­ still pumping with bits of soul.


    She takes some serious relief from finally unraveling her scarf-cloak combo to let loose her left arm. The Blacksteel is¡­ it¡¯s not poisonous, that much she¡¯s sure of, but awareness of it changes the sort of impact it has. When covered, it just has less effect, and there¡¯s no reason to advertise a fancy obsidian-looking prosthetic when she¡¯s trying to keep a low profile. Now, in the wilds, it¡­ fits.


    Which is strange, no? Black metal, shaped like obsidian made from steel, all harsh angles and crackling quartz, feeling at home amongst the trees. The further one gets out to the fourth ring, the larger and stranger the wildlife gets, but it still looks vibrant, alive. The trees around are thicker than some buildings, and even still, some of their trunks are bent or cracked in the shape of a massive shape that has pushed against them.


    And yet¡­ there¡¯s something about the Death she carries that feels at home here.


    The beast was¡­ large. Powerful. The lingering scent in its trail is deep, powerful and intense, and reeks of old, dried dirt. There is something in it like loam, an overwhelming black earth which holds bones and rotting richness. In that dark, dank earth, there are flashes of something moving, not quite lightning, not quite stone, but an impossible fusion of both, leaving lingering notes of vibration and thunder beneath pitch-dark earth after flashing, crawling lights.


    As she walks, her senses and sub-brains active, the trail is physically visible. She passes her hand through the air, and though there¡¯s no difference in air density, it still feels like she¡¯s running her hand through the moist ground. There¡¯s a long, straight line of black, ethereal earth ahead of her, scent, taste, touch and sight all working together to give her almost a glowing trail to follow.


    Is it on purpose? The trail? She knows spirit beasts can hide it. And more, why did it leave? A spirit beast this large, this strong, it should¡¯ve been able to simply crush the village into a fine paste beneath its hooves. Why did it visit, if it wasn¡¯t hungry? Why did it leave? They couldn¡¯t have harmed it.


    She wants to say the question doesn¡¯t matter, but¡­ it feels like it does. Or like it should.


    Dink vibrates lightly against her sternum, and she taps it with a claw in turn. ¡°Yeah, yeah. Always so naggy. Making up for lost time, I think. Every third thought you chime in with some fucking input.¡±


    It trembles, a light pulse against her skin.


    ¡°Alright, geez. Didn¡¯t mean to scare you. You don¡¯t have to be a kissass or a coward, you know.


    An indignant hum.


    ¡°Oh hush.¡±


    A tip-tap beat with a miniscule little thrum right after.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah. You¡¯ve gotten better about it. All the time I couldn¡¯t hear you must have had an impact, huh?¡±


    A lower, sadder vibration. Then, an instant after, a sharper note, one that actually carries a hint of audible music to it.


    ¡°...Me too, but. Me too.


    ¡°You ready if we have to fight this thing?¡±


    A louder thrum, again making a slightly-audible note, this time more strident.


    ¡°Good. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    She takes her upper robe and shirt off, leaving just her chest wrappings and pants, and starts to transform. She¡¯s gotten better at it, especially with Li Shu¡¯s manual of theoretics and biological advice, so the transition is smoother. Tendons lengthen, joints disconnect and reattach with barely any transformation needed, muscles unravel from complicated knots to have more space to move and exert force.


    She grows from seven feet tall to almost twelve, her arms and legs extending and bulging forth, new patterns of muscle and latticed bone manifesting. Her face lengthens, extends, until the Mask is more literal, a human face overtop of an elongated, denser skull to protect against whiplash and impacts, even as her frame bends flesh out of her chest and back into her thighs and arms.


    It¡¯s not a ¡°true¡± transformation, not as she¡¯d qualify it; its her own current body, the pieces already created, rather than something she needs to use her Truths and power to manifest and transmute. She already has the pieces, and it¡¯s now a functioning bio-mechanical system to shift to this form, like when a human body switches gears, activating and deactivating organs and muscle groups for fight or flight. It¡¯s more than enough to multiply the already inhuman levels of power and biomechanical function she has in her ¡®human¡¯ form.


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    She starts running, and the world begins to blur.


    It¡¯s nice to be able to run, to have the space to really move. Running in the domain of their newborn Heart, or Dungeon or whatever it is, is nice too, but there¡¯s only so many steps before she hits the bamboo perimeter. The trees, dozens of feet wide, turn into quarter-second flashes of color as she runs, and it takes everything in her new mental architecture to take in and process the details coming to her at this speed. Without her newest sub-brain, she¡¯d have rammed headfirst into a tree, or have had to limit her speed entirely: with it, she can see and react faster than ever, and all it takes is a minute shift to move around obstacles.


    The trail of the spirit beast gets denser, fresher as she runs. There¡¯s a sense of pressure to it, like she¡¯s getting deeper beneath that rich darkness, even as the scent of it gets more vibrant, alive, more full of flashing electricity.


    She travels miles upon miles in minutes, until she finds a clearing.


    It enters her sensory range seconds before she arrives at it, a space where trees have been cleared, where stone overturns earth¡­ and where something vast is seated.


    She cracks the meters-thick trunk of a tree at the edge of the clearing, anchoring herself into it and staring out at the beast in the clearing.


    It does look vaguely like a boar.


    Too many tusks, though.


    It looks like a mound, like a literal hillside, its fur pitch black, unbroken save for blazing white scars on its flesh. Some shaped like claws, stars, long cuts, even bite marks, and while they are bright, the tusks are dull, bony things. They come out of its mouth like a kaleidoscope, dozens on dozens of tusks spawning out of what was once a mouth and now looks like an armored, sharpened hill of blades, many of them cracked and growing through older tusks. There are bits of rotting meat, vegetable matter and dirt caked between them, making them look less like some impossible trick of physics and more like a malformed tumor of bone and points. She can¡¯t even see its eyes from how wide open its mouth has been forced, from how many angles the tusks cover its skull.


    Still, it snorts, exhaling a breath that whistles strangely through the tusks, and paws a hoof black as night against the dirt, digging a line through it.


    The hoof taps, twice.


    A scent hits her right after. Not just its scent, not just Qi, but a density of hormones, sweat, drooling¡­ and a grunt.


    ¡°Hello to you too,¡± she says, her voice unnaturally melodic and deep in this form.


    The beast¡­ sits there.


    It doesn¡¯t get up. Doesn¡¯t flare its Qi. It just sort of waddles in place, shifting the ground around it, its body language a strange mix of content and disgruntled.


    When it doesn¡¯t move for a few more minutes, an occasional huff from its breathing the only changes¡­ she unlatches her claws from the tree she¡¯s hooked to, dropping to the ground. She lands with a thud, denting the ground beneath her.


    ¡°Not trying to fight?¡± she asks.


    The beast snorts, then huffs, kicking a back leg a bit.


    It smells¡­ beyond the Qi aspect, it smells of sweat and musk, but there¡¯s nuances to it. She¡¯s surprised by just how many minute changes there are in the scent as she sits, as the boar-thing turns to face her and shifts back and forth slightly.


    ¡°Ok. Good¡­ good giant spirit boar, I guess.¡±


    It grunts.


    Awkward silence reigns for a moment or two. The boar lets out another grunt, like it¡¯s annoyed by something.


    ¡°Me too, bud. Came out here to see what¡¯s going on with you, where you went. Don¡¯t suppose you¡¯re smart enough to tell me why this whole thing happened, are you?¡±


    It grunts, wriggles one hoof, gnashes a tusk, changes its scent ever so slightly-


    And something in her brain clicks.


    It can¡¯t speak. No mouth to transmit through, just tusks, mashing bits and pieces of food against each other. But¡­ especially in her new submind, she recognizes intentional change. Like watching a dog¡¯s movements for nervousness versus joy. Instinct and pattern recognition interlock, and when it grunts this time, she hears it.


    It¡¯s speaking. Just not with words.


    Her sub-processor kicks in, translating as she listens, her new neural architecture offering more yet again.


    Hungry, the beast says. Bored.


    ¡°...Ok. You can understand me?¡±


    ¡­Most.


    ¡°Same.


    ¡°...Why are you here?¡±


    It grunts, shifting its hooves and emitting a wave of scent patterns. Travel, it says. Many. Here now.


    As it speaks, she¡¯s refining her understanding of it, processing more and more patterns to find the ones that actually fit. Slowly, she starts to add little movements and shifts of body language as she speaks, mirroring the creature.


    ¡°I met one, I think. Big. Tiger. Wormy-crawlies on its face.¡±


    The boar huffs, an impossibly loud noise that makes the leaves at the edges of the clearing flutter. Tasty-face. Big angry. Thinks is stronger than me. Is wrong.


    ¡°...Sure. If you¡¯re so strong, why didn¡¯t you kill that whole village? You should be strong enough to turn them to pulp, not just hurt a few.¡±


    Another huff, harsher this time. Many of us. Leader say hide. We hide. Say kill, we kill. Didn¡¯t smell. Too weak.


    ¡°...you were tracking Qi. You¡­ must be from somewhere pretty strong, then.¡±


    The boar puffs itself up, its impossibly-angled ¡°face¡± raised up higher. Past wall. Past big human nests. Out in wilds. But boss says come here, so I come here.


    ¡°...And your boss told you to stay hidden. Guided you into the third ring. Why?¡±


    The boar seems to think for a second, then snorts. She doesn¡¯t need to translate it directly to see that it really doesn¡¯t know or care what the answer to that question might be.


    Smelled you, though, it says. Sniff-snorted you. Tasty.


    She snorts back at it. ¡°And here I was, thinking I was being sneaky.¡±


    Was sneaky. First, no smell. Then, smell. Strong. Bright. Hidden before. Is good den you have. Good for hiding.


    Her den?


    The bamboo perimeter. The dungeon-Heart. It took an [IGNITION] and a manifested Domain in tandem last time before anything found them. Another defense, then? They¡¯d assumed it was camouflaging itself at least a bit, as not even she could sense it from too far away, but the idea it was completely blocking their Qi from escaping¡­ it opens up a lot of possibilities. Besides anonymity, their defense was nonexistent; now, they have actual camouflage, it would seem.


    Or they do until they leave it.


    You beast? The Boar asks, sniffing the air and making more of that strange whistling noise through the forest of tusks. Beast¡­ or human?


    She hesitates. The tone shifted, there. More aggression-scent, a hint of lactic acid beginning to appear in its scent as muscles activate under the surface.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I am Me.¡±


    It is True, and the beast seems to relax for a second.


    Is good, it says. Not beast. Not people. Boss say not to eat people. Stay hiding. Not eat beasts. Beasts are pack now.


    But you not either? Is good. Smell tasty.


    The clearing bends as the beast gets to its feet, and the scent of black soil and crawling lightning begins to flood the air.


    ¡°...the last few times a spirit beast tried to eat me, it didn¡¯t go well for them. Left a lot of bodies still uneaten in the north, and a big, colorful fucking beastie trapped forever last time. You sure you want to do this?¡±


    The Boar seems to genuinely pause and think. She can almost hear the wheels spinning, the thoughts churning in whatever passes for its skull. She takes the opportunity to start rearranging pieces again, getting things in order, sharpening her Blacksteel.


    It doesn¡¯t take long to come to a conclusion.


    To live is to eat, it says. I am Hungry. You smell of food. If I cannot eat my food, then I cannot live. So yes. Am sure.


    Want to run? I am slow, but I will catch.


    She genuinely laughs at that. ¡°Nah. I don¡¯t think I will.


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty hungry too.¡±


    They both move.

 Chapter 174 - Ah Fuck The Bacon Bites Back

    It feels like it¡¯s been a long time since she¡¯s faced real one-on-one combat. Maybe since the last time she fought spirit beasts, all the way back in the woods. There was the claustrophobic, chaotic fighting of the mines with the corpse-smith- dangerous, almost as much as the ¡°beast tide¡± had been, but more chaotic, more cramped. There was the training with Jun Vral, and the tournament not long after¡­ but a tournament isn¡¯t quite the same as a true battle, out in the wilds, no holds barred.


    She is both faintly disturbed and a little pleased to find that she¡¯s missed it.


    She sets the Want to examining that, while the rest of her turns to the act of keeping herself alive.


    The Boar moves like something out of a nightmare, a plodding gait that almost wobbles, but is also somehow impossibly sure. It walks, and where it steps the earth bends to accommodate it and the trees are brushed aside and crack under its weight. It isn¡¯t particularly fast, but it¡¯s fast enough to be a problem, especially considering it doesn¡¯t need to bother with shifting its paths or obstacles in its way. It reminds her of Project 13¡¯s Truths: when its forest of tusks touch something, it simply breaks through.


    If it catches her in that mess of bone, it¡¯ll just grind her into paste. No grand techniques, no special moves- just an implacable march, and a meat grinder at the front of it.


    The smart thing would be to move. Shift out of the way, and start a series of flanking attacks.


    The Flesh sends a rush of endorphins through her, their biology shifting in response, and she decides to do something more fun.


    The last time she used her Engine, a spirit beast of the fourth ring found her through her defenses. No reason to broadcast her location across the region.


    But she¡¯s got plenty of Qi stored, and more than a few ideas she can put into action.


    Her arms reach out and grab two of the tusks before her, her legs gaining a third joint and slamming clawed feet against the ground. The dirt and stone break apart in equal measure as the Boar pushes against her, looking to mash her to nothing- but she stands firm, even as she slides backward through ground weaker than either of them.


    And then, with a smile as feral as it is joyful, she blossoms.


    Supreme Body Art is a lofty ideal, and there¡¯s a lot in the manual she still doesn¡¯t understand. Li Shu is, in her humble opinion, a fucking genius. Even when she actually comprehends all they¡¯ve talked about or put into the manual, implementing it all together will be another larger project.


    But synthesis is what she excels at, and she Can Change. The earlier inefficiencies of her transformations are fresh in her mind, the wasted Qi and mental effort in transforming everything in a constant flow. Powerful? Absolutely. But a drain like no other on her focus and supplies. There¡¯s a time and place for that constant mutability, but there¡¯s also a lot to be said for having a strong foundation for her body to use.


    So Raika built a few.


    This one is called Supreme Body Art: Gigant.


    Her body balloons out to massive proportions. In seconds, she grows from ten feet to twelve, fifteen, twenty, thirty- capping out at almost thirty five feet tall, tall enough that the lowest branches of the colossal trees are almost in reach. Her eyes multiply, spawning into compound eyes bigger than her entire head in her ¡°human¡± form blinking wetly above a maw full of massive teeth, and massive plates of bone begin to overlap around her, forming a shell as insectile as it is artificial-looking.


    She stomps a foot into the ground, denting the soft earth as a massive armored tail swishes behind her, cutting into the ground and trees where it swings. There is a brief sound of a snort from the Boar, a moment of surprise-


    And her grip on its tusks, cracking bone in a dozen ways as she grows her new hands, lifts the beast near-upright.


    Even at this size, the beast outweighs her by a lot. It weighs significantly more than anything of its size should be able to, and she has no idea how its bones are withstanding the pressure of all that weight- but she lifts it nonetheless. Latticed bone support pillars interlock into functional architecture inside her and Qi-enriched muscle grows like grass all through her, filling out the impossible frame that even now threatens to fall in on itself. Her lungs expand, drinking in air in massive bellows and at last using the entirety of their capacity to fuel her, even as she grows a fourth heart- and then a fifth, and sixth, and an eighth, all of them intersped through her new frame to pump blood all throughout her system.


    She and Li Shu spent a week planning out the vein patterns and muscle structures, to ensure no nerves would be crushed, that no blood vessels would spontaneously burst, or some other nightmare of altered biology. Her Qi saturation helps, as does her Truth as she commands her body to change and to endure.


    She roars, and the forest shakes.


    Fuck, it feels good to be strong.


    The Boar snorts, then roars right back at her, a surprisingly high-pitched squeal that makes the very ground tremble. For all her growth, she still can¡¯t match its physical strength, and her many eyes widen as she feels some of the beast¡¯s Qi begin to burn.


    It shoves her back another foot. Then another, its muscles straining, overpowering her largest current frame.


    And she grins with more teeth than any shark.


    She coils for a second, tensing, and bio-engineered pistons shove against the beast¡¯s progress. Not back, but up. She wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the creature had some Truth about continuing to plod forward, and she doesn¡¯t need to deal with that.


    She shoves the Boar¡¯s head back until she can feel its neck strain, a spear-wall of tusks taking up her entire vision- and then she ducks under it, compensating with her Truths for how slow her reactions are. Her nerves only fire so quickly, her body only responding so soon at this size- but with her will, I Am Me, I Am Mine pushes through that, commanding all that she is as one.


    Massive arms of corded muscle and disturbingly biological plates of armor wrap around the Boar¡¯s neck as she steps into it, grunting as a kicking hoof breaks part of her armor. With a roaring breath that reeks of dark earth and crawling lightning, she pulls in air- and then roars a second time as she steps past the beast and forces its head further back. The Boar squeals, in pain and surprise, and she gives one final shove.


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    With a screaming effort that tears through her Gigant form, she lariats the big fucking pig so hard it flips its multi-ton mass ass up.


    The beast kicks and squeals, moving much faster than it was previously, but she takes the moment of free space to strike. She doesn¡¯t have hands in the Gigant form: she has blades. Where fingers once were, spikes and claws of bone and Blacksteel have formed on both limbs, each one like a pillar of bone and chitin. All she needs to do is punch forward, rip and tear against its frame, and it penetrates.


    The Boar squeals again, and inside their mind, the Mask frowns. With her current weight and momentum, the Blacksteel should have punched through the Boar entirely- instead, it is stopped by incredibly dense musculature and an incredibly rich Qi signature. The beast is equivalent to a Nascent Soul realm cultivator at least, and it would seem all of that prowess has gone to its body.


    Well¡­ not quite all of it.


    The ground shudders, turning soft and loamy, and before she can react she has sunk into it to her first knee-joint.


    Immediately, an electric current strikes, like a snake or worm beneath the earth. It screeches as it runs into her body, as it burns through her-


    And she ignores it.


    She expands her legs slightly, adding packs of thick fat to the inside of her armor- and what little lightning manages to bite its way past her cursed skin is absorbed and nullified, leaving only a mild scent of burning flesh.


    She¡¯s not quite fast enough to pull out of the earth to dodge, though.


    The Boar swings its head, and the sea of tusks rips a chunk out of her lower stomach.


    She immediately has to divert her blood to transmute into new flesh, her reinforced spine straining without the core muscles to support it. A trickle of blood runs through her maw, but her many eyes start at the beast with unbridled joy.


    Those tusks shouldn¡¯t have cut through her. She broke some with her transformation, they¡¯re normal bone. Reinforced with Qi, sure, but nowhere near as much as her own, nor rebuilt into a reinforced lattice. Her armor should have held up.


    Does it have a Truth? Or is it a Dao?


    She sets the Mask to examining the wound, their sub-processor brain overheating from keeping track of so many details in her body at once, and lets the Flesh take over.


    Raika subdivides herself, delegates the work of analysis, and the Flesh is there to roar out its joy and hatred. To scream into existence with straining, impossible lungs that she is here, and she is alive, and she is hungry.


    She explodes from the ground in time for the return swipe of the tusks, several of them tearing through her arm like a high-impact wreck- but her left arm, still intact, swings into the nest of malformed teeth. With ease, she breaks off a half-dozen, the clawed impact making an explosive sound as it hits and sending a spattering of blood and bone across the forest


    The Boar squeals, and she can sense as it shifts gears, turning from a simpler battle to a fight for its survival. She matches its sound, her roar both strangely lyrical and utterly vibrant. She can feel Dink, safely ensconced in a shell of bone, vibrate in tune with her, magnifying the sound into a true battle cry that will likely ring for miles.


    They clash, and the impacts make the forest tremble.


    Even in this state, she still couldn¡¯t fully wrap her arms around one of the massive trunks. Whole swathes of thick moss and underground burrows are thrown into the air as she is tossed about, dodging and striking in equal measure against the Boar¡¯s behemoth nature. Birds scream and take off in waves all across the woods, and she can hear and sense the scurrying of the few animals not scared away by the Boar sprinting for safety.


    But here, there is joy.


    Before, it was the joy of self-flagellation. The idea that only in battle could she be worthwhile, only in life-or-death struggle could her continued existence be justified. Every fight was an excuse to look away from her thoughts, even as they drove her to self harm.


    It doesn¡¯t feel like that anymore.


    It doesn¡¯t feel like that anymore.


    It¡¯s fun.


    Why do the Boar¡¯s tusks hit so much harder than they should? How much can she really control and change at once? What are the mechanics of movement now as she changes? Will she win? Will she lose? How equally can she match this challenge?


    The Want returns to the whole, delivering its verdict.


    This is good.


    Ok, maybe an ideal warrior would dread combat. Maybe she should see it as a chore, or as a stepping stone to greater things. And she does¡­ a bit. But deeper than that, there¡¯s the joy of growing in adversity. Of being and feeling strong, and having that strength mean she can experience incredible new things. She stands taller than the buildings of a third-ring Imperial city and slams a barbed tail into the side of a spirit beast whose existence is, by its very nature, unique, strange and incredible.


    If she were weak, she would have to hide and run, leaving behind a chance to experience something new, and to grow through that experience.


    If she were the same broken thing she once was, she would feel nothing but a self-destructive joy, overriding the curiosity she feels as the ground shifts impossibly, as the Boar¡¯s multi-ton body moves with a lightness it should not possess. She wouldn¡¯t feel the sense of accomplishment and growth that comes from taking what was once a flailing abomination of regeneration and wild mutation and turning it to a controlled, magnified juggernaut of a body like nothing she could have imagined before.


    Damn, if Li Shu doesn¡¯t have good fucking ideas.


    Despite it all¡­ she¡¯s still her.


    But she¡¯s better now. The fight isn¡¯t a distraction. It isn¡¯t an opportunity to prove herself to someone. It isn¡¯t a desperate struggle to breathe in.


    She¡¯s scared, yes. She could die, sure.


    But she¡¯s here. And she is growing. She is learning. And she feels a moment of violent, almost erotic joy at being who she once was, but better.


    And yes, incredibly weirder.


    The Boar roars, once again starting to charge against her. Once again, she slams her limbs forward into its mouth, forcing the creature to slow and shove her back step by slow step.


    It doesn¡¯t feel like a Truth, some inviolable strangeness that makes reality something new. The tusks just have more of something that already exists. She breathes in with massive lungs and many noses, sniffing the Boar up close even as her arms are gouged and bleeding.


    It¡¯s not a Cut, not like she saw in the arena or with Zhoulong. It¡¯s more brutish than that, wider, somehow deeper and shallower.


    It is a Gouge.


    She laughs, then. She laughs long and loud, and it sounds incredibly alien coming from lungs the size of bulls and a fanged maw wide enough to swallow a man whole.


    The Boar roars, the scent of the gougy-ness of its tusks increasing again. The Dao of Gouging roars through its impossible maw, and her arms are immediately shredded apart beneath the malformed teeth. The Flesh winces, pulls back, and just barely manages to move aside in time as the Boar¡¯s charge rips through part of her ribcage.


    She slashes at its passing flank, opening up a new cut along its side. Then, even as she regrows her massive arms, she has an idea.


    The Flesh dances in delight in their mind as she reaches out and bites.


    A chunk is ripped out of the back leg of the pig, a snort of pain coming shortly after, and she barely has time to swallow before it has turned back around for another charge.


    It tastes¡­


    Monstrous gods and crawling hells.


    It tastes good.


    It tastes like pork that somehow has lightning inside it, has the earthiness and richness and herbal flavor of deep, vibrant earth. Every time she eats a bite of something with Qi in it, it feels like something transcendent, and this is no exception.


    At this size, she needs a lot of Qi to regrow things. The Boar¡¯s meat is barely a drop in the bucket. It will take her a week, minimum, to recover the amount she¡¯s using here, and that¡¯s with creating and consuming more True Flame.


    But for the taste alone, it¡¯s worth it.


    The Boar roars its denial, its remaining tusks wet with her blood and bits of bone- and she sings back to it in a voice like thunder, Dink humming in tune.


    Deep in the dark of the woods, two impossible creatures rip and tear at each other, as the distant villagers all shiver at the sounds.

 Chapter 175 - These Techniques Be Cookin- And Bacon Goes In The Kitchen

    Shakes-Wet-Earth-Eats-Crackling-Flesh is rarely afraid. Some spirit beasts are born, while others are made, and in either case, he has the bloodline of what mortals call a Boar. They are noble and vicious beasts, beings of implacable will and impossible rage. It has heard that its ancestors and lesser formed fellows can be gored, torn apart and disemboweled and still kill their way through all who dare to harm them, and it sees this as only reasonable.


    Shakes-Wet-Earth-Eats-Crackling-Flesh has never needed this fortitude before, but he has felt it writhe deep within. That screaming, hateful fury that does not care how wounded he is- only how much of those who dare to hurt him he can gore and break and tear apart as he dies. He has felt it when he protected his first mate, back before the lust faded and he ate her and the squalling things that came from their union. He felt it again when one of the few survivors came to challenge him for territory, daring to think that they were worthy of his lands and his females. He felt it even as the great pack leader, one of the new lords of the Tides, came and broke him into submission, and if not for how overwhelming the power it showed was, he knows he would have ripped off his own tusks and spit them at it with his last breath.


    He feels it again now, as this impossible behemoth tears into him.


    He gives back as good as he gets, better even. His tusks, grown to such fine and mighty lengths, rip and tear through the body of the behemoth, and yet they fail to deliver lasting impact. Even as he feels it get harder to tear the monster apart as it adapts, changing to better suit his attacks, he never once fails to tear through its armor into the flesh beneath.


    And those same wounds never fail to close themselves again. Moments after a blow, flesh and armor regrow through each other, similar but different from before. Sometimes it seems as if blood is flowing into the gaps and simply transforming into the flesh, while at other times, hidden reserves of meat and armor are being deployed from where they were hidden, like there are redundant bits of it that only move when needed.


    It doesn¡¯t move like an animal. Not in truth. Parts of it are bestial, recognizably predatory and aggressive, but other parts of it move methodically. There is a coldness to its violence, even as it bites and claws, kicks and dodges and rips parts off of him. And the moving of its biology, of its pieces¡­ they¡¯re not like flesh should be. Flesh should be soft and quivering, strong only united as great threads- but this monster, its body moves like the cold things of the humans. Bone builds like the webs of a spider, like trees in a forest, and the flesh crawls over it like vines or plant life blooming in real time.


    It is distinctly not beast, even as its fanged maw rips a chunk out of his shoulder for the second time and its massive body shivers in clear, animalistic delight.


    It roars, and Shakes-Wet-Earth-Eats-Crackling-Flesh feels it hurt him. Something inside the beast vibrates, a sound that might be beautiful on its own but instead magnifies every sound the monster makes. With each roar, he feels his bones ache, his blood shiver and his heart hurts as he fights against it. Its the violence of vibration, magnified by some kind of trick or technique, and all he can do is roar right back. His lungs burn with enough breath to strip the leaves off any tree in this forest, and he bellows loud enough that his tusks magnify the sound rather than diminish it.


    And still, they battle.


    He charges forward, discarding the implacable, plodding pace he usually sets. There is something deeper in that movement, in how All He Walks Over Is Crushed, but it¡¯s simply not fast enough to keep up with the monster. Even when it grew from a large, tasty-sized human snack into something almost like a true spirit beast, like a true wild thing from beyond the fortress-hives of the humans, its faster than it should be for its size. Shakes-Wet-Earth-Eats-Crackling-Flesh feels the impossible strength of its Gouging tear into it, and he watches as strange machine-like bits of meat and shifting patterns of flesh shift its form much faster than what it naturally should. He cannot track its Qi, cannot feel its lifeblood shifting inside of it or speaking to the world; at its size, it should not be faster than he is.


    And yet it dodges. And yet it strikes. And yet as his wounds grow, the monster¡¯s still close themselves, rebuilding patterns that make it dodge faster, that slow down his Gouge further.


    It hits again with one of those strange arms, and it digs deep enough that he feels it punch close to his organs. His guts roil as he feels his stomach nearly get pierced, and in the next moment, he feels it overtake him.


    The rage. The screaming, endless squeal that is the core of a Boar¡¯s soul. The belief, unshakable and unbroken, that if he cannot kill everything in the world, then he can certainly survive long enough to kill any of it he can reach.


    Shakes-Wet-Earth-Eats-Crackling-Flesh, for the first time since it entered its new pack, discards the rules enforced upon it. He tosses aside the impossible pressure of the mountains themselves telling him to obey, lest he be broken, and draws on his Qi.


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Raika smells the change in air quality the moment it happens. Synesthesia lets her see the patterns of Qi inside the Boar¡¯s body, flaring to life and flowing in new patterns even as she feels the weight of it press on her skin.


    It¡¯s time.


    The beast is strong, but their compatibility is bad. Right now, she¡¯s using only her body to fight, with hints of Blacksteel. That¡¯s fine and good. In this state, if not for her regeneration, the beast would have won handily. Even now, her Qi reserves are low, and if the battle doesn¡¯t end in the next few minutes, she¡¯ll likely end up stuck in this form, struggling to breathe or force her hearts to beat, until she can generate a bit more.


    But that¡¯s ok. It was worth it.


    So many little flaws. So many untested features. Li Shu is an absolute genius when it comes to theoreticals-


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    But Raika is a genius when it comes to application.


    Every tool optimized. Every weapon sharpened. Every muscle pushed to its absolute utmost. Every thought reshaped into something useful.


    The Want, the Mask and the Flesh, all aligned under a single guiding core, a mix of belief and memory and will.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine.


    And what she chooses to do with herself is become stronger.


    It¡¯s there again. That savage joy. That thoughtless emotion, vibrant and bleeding and wet.


    If she gets stronger, she can fight better.


    If she fights better, the fights mean more.


    If they mean more, she can Change more.


    The stronger she gets, the freer she is to change and experience what she chooses.


    And it feels good.


    There were a dozen inefficiencies in her blood distribution and muscle patterning that she¡¯s changed in the fight. Several overlapping and extraneous armor plates were removed, nanoscale subdermal plating making up for any deficit. Redundant systems are optimized, ensuring that even without regeneration she can fight through worse and worse blows.


    Under the screaming whetstone of violence, Supreme Body Art: Gigant is optimized closer to perfection.


    It¡¯s limited. Too bulky to be her strongest form, that¡¯s for damn sure. But for fighting beasts, for carrying allies, for blocking attacks and more, it¡¯s a powerful tool. And now, in bloodshed and pain, she¡¯s reforged it.


    Hundreds of rolling eyes smile as her maw stretches into a grin.


    The Boar¡¯s Qi roars to life. For whatever reason, it held itself back nearly the whole fight, using Dao and Truth over any Qi techniques, but it¡¯s discarded that now. Desperation or bloodlust have set it free to destroy her and itself.


    She feels the crackling of lightning in the air, the feeling like the atmosphere is becoming thick and wet like loam, but she also feels how her cursed skin blocks its flow, keeps her body intact and uncontaminated even without the ability to control Qi. She stands there, her form optimized, sleeker than before yet still colossal, and marvels at the technique the Boar creates.


    It looks like a mud ball, but darker. Like a floating island of dirt so deep and so rich, so full of the dead and the crawling things that feed on them- and those crawling things are not worms. They crackle and flow, they mutate and spasm and rip through reality from building block to building block. Within that pitch-dark orb of earth the Boar forms and infuses from the dirt around them, eels of violent light devour death itself.


    She¡¯s pretty sure she¡¯d survive it. Probably. She could probably heal back from just a head, if given the opportunity. But her cursed skin is an armor, not an inviolable barrier. The attack has enough Qi in it that she wonders if the Divine Beast she ¡°fought¡± months ago would have been able to tank a direct hit. The Boar is weaker than it was¡­ but not by much, and clearly more due to technique than Qi reserves.


    But then again¡­ she¡¯s learned what she needed. She has grown and evolved from the fight, from being torn apart by a Dao, and taking that sort of damage intentionally just¡­ isn¡¯t needed. Isn¡¯t wanted.


    Ain¡¯t that something.


    The whole of her feels a sense of quiet relief that it doesn¡¯t feel right to let herself be hurt.


    Qi reserves at about 23%. She needs around 10% to rebuild her body, and she can re-absorb some of Gigant form to make up for that¡­ so that leaves a decent number to play around with. Not enough to do anything crazy, though.


    She briefly wonders about activating her Engine (or ¡°Reactor?¡± Li Shu mentioned something about that), but¡­ nah. The same rules still apply. Giant beasts fighting is fine, but clearly whatever she generates in her new core can be sensed pretty easily. And¡­ she doesn¡¯t need it.


    Her body shrinks a bit, Gigant form compressing itself with a symphony of stretching tendons and crackling bones. Down from thirty five feet tall to twenty-eight, give or take-


    But she keeps all eight hearts. She pushes them harder, burning her reserves and her Truth to make her blood flow faster, faster, faster-


    She lets one of her arms fall limp as she focuses every ounce of muscle she has on keeping the other one upright and on-target. Her ¡°hand¡± tightens further, falling into a point, like a spiral shell of a conch but of chitin and flesh. She tightens it further.


    Li Shu brought up the idea of high-pressure explosions possibly killing her if she can¡¯t control her blood pressure properly. But what¡¯s an explosion except an undirected weapon?


    Her hearts pump harder, until she can feel blood vessels across her Gigant frame begin to break and burst- but her limb, spiraled and inhuman, stays on target.


    The technique requires pressure.


    The Boar squeals again. It¡¯s taken a single full second for its technique to form and for her to think through her actions.


    The ground shifts, as if gravity is pulling in towards the beast¡¯s orb, but it¡¯s wasteful. Poorly made. She can smell the mess that is how the orb is built, no matter how beautifully it breaks the world.


    An instant before it fires at her, she opens up a tiny, miniscule gap in her armor and lets her blood explode from it.


    Pressurized liquid, infused with Qi, pumped by eight altered hearts through a gap about a centimeter wide.


    A thin line of red flashes into existence for a moment.


    The Boar lets out a sound like an exhale.


    The orb detonates.


    ¡ª-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Even without a direct hit, the Boar¡¯s technique devastated the whole terrain. A hundred meters in every direction is overturned earth and flickering electricity, the smell of ozone and rot rife in the air. Trees thicker across than the town center of a village are pulped to wet mulch by its impact on the world.


    It takes Raika almost thirty minutes to rebuild herself.


    She¡¯d expected the technique to backlash or fall apart after she hit the Boar. Instead, it seemed to take a life of its own, drinking deep of the beast¡¯s remaining Qi and violently detonating. A true explosion, rather than a directed hit.


    She was right not to take the chance. It wouldn¡¯t have been an immediate kill, but considering how little worms made of lightning still crackle in the soil, it would¡¯ve consumed her after it blew through her armor and out the other side.


    She detaches herself from the remains of her Gigant form. The head alone is nearly as big as she was as a human, and it¡¯s from there that she re-emerges, reabsorbing her ¡°Engine¡±, lungs and distorted bits of brain matter from the half-rotted corpse that remains. The attack held elements of Dao, maybe, enough that it punched above an already considerable weight class.


    She comes out of her altered form with 7% of her Qi reserves intact. It¡¯ll take well over a week at least to build back towards what she considers her ¡°full¡± amount; not quite enough to start damaging her again and causing Qi poison, but enough that she feels ¡°full¡±.


    The Boar, on the other hand, is quite dead.


    There is a thin line of still-glowing blood on it. It makes for a semi-circular pattern, severing the limbs from the body and spiraling in through the central torso, severing it incredibly neatly.


    Supreme Body Art: Pressurized Crimson Cut is a resounding success.


    In spite of her soreness and the strangely empty feeling she has without pockets of Qi tingling through her blood, Raika grins wide.


    She stares at the spirit beast from the fourth ring she just killed. It might not have been nearly as strong or versatile as the Not-Tiger, which could easily match a Warrior realm master¡­ but it was strong.


    And she didn¡¯t even need to go all out.


    The Mask complains a bit as the Flesh, flushed with adrenal joy, starts to hurt their face with the smile.


    It does, however, begin to fade.


    She looks at the massive, multi-ton beast, its flesh so dense as to rival or surpass stone. Even dead, even severed and steaming into the air, lying on its side, the beast is larger than most buildings.


    How the fuck is she going to get this whole thing back home?

 Chapter 176 - Thoughts On Consequence And Death

    In the end, she decides not to take all of it back. The beast was worthy of a good death, and something it spoke about resonated with her.


    To live is to eat, and to eat is to live.


    A bit simplistic, maybe, but there¡¯s still merit to it. She fought the beast on matching terms, strength against strength, flesh against flesh, and, in that last moment, technique against technique. She¡¯d won, fair and square, and if not for the fact it might compromise her allies and their base, she would have fought with all she had. She met it on its terms in battle, and now, as victor, she does the same.


    She consumes two legs, one from the front pair, one from the back. Even dead, its Qi leaking out from it and making for an area of effect, its still incredibly difficult to pull apart. She has to use a mix of her Blacksteel and a lesser version of Pressurized Crimson Cut to slice through some of the thicker tendons, to pull apart some of the thickest cuts of meat.


    And then¡­ she eats.


    It takes her from her remaining 7% Qi reserves almost back up to 18%.


    That part surprises her, in a couple different ways. The sheer density of Qi in it¡­ it seems excessive compared to the cultivators she¡¯s tasted. Like there¡¯s more in the body than there was in what left the body, the soul, the Dantian. Maybe that¡¯s part of how bestial cultivation works.


    On the second part, it¡¯s surprising how easily she can keep track of what¡¯s there. She¡¯ll have to add further to her ¡°processor¡± submind- it makes it infinitely easier to keep track of little details, and further, to make them into something comprehensible. Rather than just an overwhelming flood of data, changed and added to by her synthesis of her senses, it¡¯s something that translates into meaning, and the amount of detail is incredible.


    If she wants to, she can access it directly, experience one to one all the minute changes and data its receiving¡­ but it feels off. Like she shouldn¡¯t be able to see all that. Like it pulls her away from being¡­ human. And that¡¯s fine, that¡¯s normal at this point¡­ but it¡¯s just something to try to balance is all.


    So for now, this way is better. 18% Qi reserves, the surety of that knowledge transmitted directly from the sub-mind responsible for calculating their experience and processing it.


    And the taste is divine.


    Each bite of the meat is rich, the flesh itself tough and chewy but every bite bringing with it the flavor of crackling brightness and a thick, juicy energy. The taste runs down her throat, adding to the umami and almost spiced or pickled quality of each and every bite. It¡­


    It¡¯s a bit annoying. Maybe just a teensy bit worrying. This raw beast¡¯s flesh, the flesh of something she killed, the flesh of something alive and full of Qi and intent and life¡­ it¡¯s better than anything she¡¯s cooked so far. Even with her insanely enhanced senses, with her newfound dedication to enhancing her training in the kitchen¡­ this raw fucking meat is one of the best things she¡¯s ever eaten.


    And, of course, it fits. Each leg on its own is larger than her current body, and yet even the bones and hooves, delightfully crunchy and with an added earthy paste for flavor, fit just fine in her stomach. She feels as full as she¡¯s ever been¡­ and yet she still doesn¡¯t feel full. Like¡­


    She could probably fit the whole fucking thing, if she really tried.


    Heh. Phrasing.


    Instead, she cuts it apart, doing her best to preserve what¡¯s left of its organs and bone structure. It gets lighter as she cuts block after block of meat from its hide, leaving the ¡°inedible¡± parts still on the bone and in the severed ribcage parts. The cuts on them are outright smooth, the heat from the hyper-compressed blood leaving a bit of heat still glowing on some of them.


    Yeah. Supreme Body Art: Pressurized Crimson Cut is a resounding success all right.


    About four hours after the death of the Boar, with the sun beginning to fall towards the southern horizon, she starts walking back towards town, wearing the remains of her robes. It¡¯s the bare minimum to cover her ¡°modesty¡±, really, and considering the bared Blacksteel prosthetic and that she¡¯s carrying on her shoulders about eight or so tons of meat, bone and guts¡­


    Yeah, her modesty is sort of the least of her concern.


    ¡ª------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Jin has been having a hell of a day.


    I mean, really. It has been a real weird experience.


    Two weeks ago, he was spending time on the streets of the sleepy little town of Wayun village, getting kicked at by half the store owners, pitied by most of the adults, and outright attacked by like half the kids. Sometimes people were nice enough to give him some food, or some spare pieces of clothing for the winter, but they usually didn¡¯t stop their kids from roaming the streets after ¡°Wayun¡¯s rat¡±.


    Now they look at him with genuine fucking fear in their eyes.


    Not of him, not really, but of what he might say to those he¡¯s with. Raika, to them, might still be some weird sage, born of a beastblood mutation maybe, but Li Shu couldn¡¯t be more clearly a cultivator if she tried. The fancy robes, the feel of her Qi, the way she effortlessly commands others with her presence alone. All that, added to her ability to heal others? To literally levitate the tools of her trade around her?


    It¡¯s one thing to know that cultivators exist. There are plenty of sects around, and on occasion, some pass through. Hells, the cultivator that Raika¡­ that she killed? He¡¯d visited town before. They¡¯re in the territory of the sects, and thus the occasional patrol comes by.


    But no one as strong as Li Shu. At least not in a long, long time, certainly longer than most of the villagers have been alive. And to have a rogue cultivator, with no sect emblem or clear markings, strong enough to heal half a village worth of wounded? She¡¯s still in there, still tending to the wounded. It¡¯s hard to know what to expect about that, especially since his new ¡°master¡± seems to have the authority to summon said cultivator.


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    And Jin lived on the streets of Wayun almost his whole life.


    He had parents once. He¡¯s fairly certain. Not really a dad, but he remembers his mom. Always sick, always frail. For a while, people brought them food, when he was really little, but¡­ that dried up eventually. And his mom got sick, and started sleeping more.


    And then she didn¡¯t wake up.


    He shakes off the memory of her lying there, cold. Of how many days it took before anyone bothered to check on the smell.


    He could say something. Tell Raika about it. Ask her to get some kind of justice for him. And the villagers know it.


    But¡­


    He¡¯s pretty sure his master wouldn¡¯t like that. Pretty sure that Li Shu, at the least, would look at him with disappointment. And in only two weeks, his life has changed so, so much.


    So he doesn¡¯t say anything.


    He could try to reassure them, but he¡­ well, he doesn¡¯t really know how to do that. So he mostly just feels really, really awkward as people give him scared looks and offer him places to sit. Or things to snack on and eat. Or something comfy to wear so the cold doesn¡¯t bother him.


    By the time his master returns, he¡¯s wearing at least three scarves, a woolly robe and a thick pair of socks that he didn¡¯t know how to say no to.


    Raika, on the other hand, walks back into town wearing almost nothing.


    There¡¯s a sort of sash around her hips that covers her waist and the top of her thighs, some leftover bandages that cover just barely enough of her chest to not be visibly naked. It¡¯s absolutely scandalous. She¡¯s a muscled goliath at seven feet tall, eyes aglow, teeth bright against beautiful dark skin, a stream of red and gold braids trailing down her back- and she¡¯s absolutely soaked in blood.


    That tends to cut down on a lot of steamy looks. The rest of them seem to die down when they notice what she¡¯s carrying.


    As she crosses the threshold of the perimeter wall, walking past the half-repaired farm fields, most people just stand still and stare at the weight she¡¯s holding.


    Ten, maybe fifteen times her own size in butchered flesh rides on her shoulders. She looks almost funny, a tiny figure beneath a massive pile of cuts of meat, wrapped in some sort of weird ropes of gristle. He can see what remains of a skeleton balanced precariously atop it, with organs wrapped tight inside of it, resting atop the many, many cuts of meat that absolutely dwarf the woman carrying them.


    The village is absolutely silent as Raika walks past the farms. Past the outlying buildings.


    She stops in front of the village chief, who is visibly trembling at the shadow of the pile of meat towering over him.


    ¡°Do you have someplace I can put this?¡± she asks.


    For a moment, the only sound in the village is the dripping of blood onto the ground.


    ¡°Um¡­ there¡¯s the granary,¡± Jin says hesitantly. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it might have room?¡±


    The village chief blinks, looks over at him and seems to kickstart his brain back into action.


    ¡°Yes, we can- we can make room, it¡¯s, it¡¯s right this way, honored cultivator, if you¡¯ll just-¡±


    He watches as she walks away, near-naked and covered in the blood of a spirit beast that would have crippled the village for years as a whim, maybe. Most of the village just sort of watches her go.


    Jin sits off to one side, staying still. Staying quiet.


    His master is a monster among monsters. He knows this. He¡¯s seen her morning spars with Uncle Qen Hou and Big Brother Hao Nera, how they deform the hillsides with every blow. How those same blows just¡­ heal over, the land itself wriggling back into place like it¡¯s alive. He¡¯s seen how the muscle and bones beneath her skin shift and flow, how they seem to twitch and crawl into slightly different positions rather than move normally when she¡¯s not paying attention.


    But¡­ he¡¯s never seen anything like what she just did. The sight of her, carrying a hundred times her body weight in gutted spirit beast like it¡¯s nothing¡­


    It almost makes him forget about the schoolhouse where the wounded sit.


    As she walks away, and all eyes follow her or refocus on him, wondering about what his master might need from him, what their relationship entails for the village¡­ he keeps staring at the schoolhouse.


    Li Shu¡¯s Qi still saturates it. He knows that if he goes inside, he¡¯ll be able to see the still healing bodies, those who are limp now that the pain has stopped. There are so many in there that would have died, who are now stitched together, pulled back into life. The stench of blood and shit, once overwhelming right alongside the screams of the wounded, is very nearly blanketed out by the vague scent of something lightly medicinal.


    But Jin isn¡¯t looking into the schoolhouse. Not really.


    He¡¯s looking at the people standing just outside of it. Wandering in and out. Some of them walk, some of them limp¡­ the worst of them crawl.


    They look pale. Blood loss, maybe. Dark skin, light skin, green and blue and brown eyes, feathered or furred ears¡­ but they look pale.


    Some of them have holes through their bodies, showing space clear through them. Others have broken limbs. Others still are just¡­ ruined. Broken apart into pieces.


    They¡¯re dead. Of that much, he is certain.


    They are dead, and they are still moving.


    And yet¡­ they¡¯re fading.


    Even as he watches, they¡¯re dissolving away. Every time they move there¡¯s this sort of steam or mist just falling off of them, dissolving like steam off their bodies. Some of them are literally half-formed, weird empty spaces in between joints and bits of their organs as that weird steam drifts away from them. In the hours since they started emerging, they¡¯ve mostly wandered around the schoolhouse, aimlessly as if confused. Some of them drifted over towards the farms, like they¡¯re trying to reenact some part of their lives¡­ or deaths.


    They haven¡¯t seen him. Every time they look his way, he turns his gaze from them. He¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s afraid. Afraid of what¡¯ll happen if they take notice of him, if they start to walk over. Of what¡¯ll happen if they touch him.


    Afraid, above all else, that the steam they emit will connect. Will bind and reweave them together into something like that thing he saw under the light of the Cold Sun, across the little lake. That whirling, ashen abomination of crawling faces and agony that spoke to his master.


    He couldn¡¯t hear its words, couldn¡¯t understand what came from those crawling, ashen mouths¡­ but that sound. That aching, quiet hiss that was almost words, but never quite. His master had clearly heard them, had replied to what they said as if it was somehow normal to talk to a thing like that. The thought of seeing something that cold, that impossibly pained and vast and sad¡­


    He watches the dead as they wander, and tracks carefully to see how their steam drifts.


    It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s almost hypnotic.


    He only comes back to himself when an almost painfully hot hand lands on his shoulder, a touch of something wet.


    ¡°You good, kid?¡± His master asks.


    He nods, quiet.


    She looks over at the schoolhouse. At the malformed, empty-eyed specters that are even now slowly breaking apart under the weight of light breezes and sunlight. Then she looks back down at him.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a long day. Ready to go home?¡±


    He nods, and blushes a bit as he tries to hide how much those words mean and how casually she uses them.


    ¡ª--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Raika looks down at the kid, then back at the just visible bits of steam and color that drift around Li Shu¡¯s scent and the taste of iron in the air. She can sense them ok, even see their outlines with her synesthesia active, but the kid¡­


    The Cold Sun¡¯s avatar, or whatever the hell that thing was, had spoken of a new window. She¡¯ll have to talk to Li Shu about it later.


    In the meantime, she goes to take the kid back towards the cabin- and blinks in surprise. He breaks from her side towards the schoolhouse and the dead still dissipating from it.


    ¡°May you find peace,¡± the kid whispers as he bows at the waist.


    She quirks an eyebrow at him, and he blushes a bit, but¡­


    She bows too, a bit more shallowly, towards the schoolhouse.


    ¡°Now come on, kid. Lets get you back home.¡±

 Chapter 177 - Really Makes You Think, Huh... Anyways-

    Village elder Hao Kai has lived a long time for a mortal. He¡¯s outlived friends and family, and feels, in his old age, like he might be just touching on the very edge of the Foundational realm. It¡¯s something worth a bit of praise, even if they¡¯re still in Imperial territory. Wayun village is small, and barely on most census forms most likely. They send a tax of their grain and vegetables once every two years, as the Empire demands, and they pay homage to and honor the Hungering Roots sect and the Crawling Stone sect that they fall into the territory of. They are, for the most part, distant masters. Every few months one of their members will come by on a patrol, but it¡¯s not exactly a healthy work ethic that brings them through, and they usually leave within a night or two at the most. Bar that one time that one of the bastards got a little too ¡°affectionate¡± with Mai Yora and had to be¡­ discouraged, cultivators don¡¯t cause problems in this town. And those that do usually have a vested interest in that town staying hale and healthy.


    The beggar and the healer, whatever their origins may be, don¡¯t fit into that parameter.


    Not really good to call her a beggar, though. Not even in his mind. Perish the thought, lest it get him killed.


    That beast¡­ it was larger than any other beast he¡¯s ever seen. He remembers when, as a child, that pack of wolves with fur sharp as knives almost tore through the town¡¯s few defenders. He remembers when, a few years later, he had to help crush, one by one, the strange batch of flies that started to burrow into the dirt underwater and dig up the roots of the farms. He remembers that one time he saw that tall, lanky thing his grandmother had called a ¡°giraffe¡±, its neck so high above the trees he saw it take a bit out of a passing bird, after holding perfectly still for almost three full days.


    None of those bore a candle to that thing that came yesterday.


    It could have killed them all. It could have walked over the village and left nothing but trampled mud in its wake. If it had been even slightly more bothered, it might have decided to finish off so many of the wounded. All those tusks¡­ he couldn¡¯t even see its eyes.


    And the tall woman they¡¯d all assumed was some traveling, lesser beastblood walked out into the woods, alone, and walked back with meat.


    Beastblood folk are usually just fine! There¡¯s a dozen different folk in town with a few different types of it. Some have furred ears. One family had feathers in their hair, just a few. His uncle actually had slitted eyes, like a cat, and he heard that his grandmother had goat eyes.


    When they saw the beggar, sitting there, bone trinkets in front of her, the town was¡­ worried. Strangers aren¡¯t a problem, really. Strangers big enough that they have to duck under most doorways? Worrying.


    But not everyone in town is mortal. A good third, maybe closer to half, are in the Qi-Gathering realm, like he is, and those whose senses were sharp enough took a good look at her¡­ and found nothing. No Qi. No weird after-effects to her passage. Either she was a hidden master good enough at controlling their Qi that they didn¡¯t leak anything, in which case the best course of action was to appease whatever whim she was indulging in¡­ or she was a mortal. Worse- she might even be a cripple, born without soul-organs due to some quirk that left her at the towering height she holds. Add to that the fact that her left arm was always hidden, or perhaps missing entirely, and the consensus settled on her just being a weary traveler¡­ selling very nice bone trinkets.


    And then that one cultivator from the Crawling Stone sect made a demand of her. A week later, she returned¡­ and he didn¡¯t.


    No big deal. Nothing too worrisome. Most cultivators have at least some honor, after all, and the man in question had just been a passing outer sect disciple, out on patrol as is the sect¡¯s duty. There was every chance that she showed him what he asked for and they went on their way.


    But Hao Kai started feeling that unpleasant little tickle of a problem in the back of his throat. Like he did when the sewage line started backing up and people dismissed it as a minor drainage quirk. Or like when his kids told him they¡¯d finished their chores, and most certainly had not.


    Little things. Not some huge dread, but still, that sense of quiet worry.


    And then the beast wandered past. Took mercy by not annihilating their village. And as they were recovering, there she was, same as every week.


    Except this week, she didn¡¯t sit and sell trinkets. She took a¡­ series of extremely uncomfortable and disconcerting looks at the wounded, and took command of the schoolhouse. She moved wounded into patterns of wounds, into severities, and when the boy, that Jin, the village urchin, made his way back with a white-and-red robed cultivator of all things¡­


    And it didn¡¯t stop there. In hours, she did the work of days, maybe weeks, rearranging the landscape and the damaged portions of farmland like it was nothing. Tirelessly, she carried enough for ten men, at least.


    Now at this point, Hao Kai was suspicious¡­ but what hidden master would be digging through mud as their personal healer came to tend to some out of the way village? No, more likely that she was the cultivator¡¯s servant, her incredible strength a quirk of genetics or training and servitude to a higher authority her calling. He could easily picture a cultivator wanting a servant strong enough to lift things those in the higher realms might require, and who might be able to defend themselves without ever being a real threat.


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    Then she told them to wait. Stay in the village.


    And walked out into the woods.


    The sounds he heard come from those trees, trees he¡¯s known and walked amongst his entire life¡­


    He¡¯s lived through tough times. There are scars all along his gut from when a bear, just a normal animal, almost tore him open trying to get at their horses. He nearly lost an eye to a creeping, crawling thing from the trees, shaped like branches and thistle-thorns, when he was barely old enough to hunt. He¡¯s had to kill men, those who tried to come into his town to kill and steal during harsh times. Hao Kai is neither a weak man, nor a fearful one.


    But he is also absolutely certain that it will be months before he can walk unafraid through those woods again.


    Maybe never.


    He didn¡¯t know noises could sound like that. Could get that loud, that mind-numbingly violent. Could echo through the trees from so very many miles away as clear as if what made them was right there, at the edge of the woods, drooling between bloody teeth and singing for his death.


    And then, silence.


    Dead silence. Like all the birds had run away, like all the animals and creatures and spirits that called the forest home had found places to hide. Like all the world was prey, holding its breath.


    It lasted hours.


    Throughout all of it, not once did the cultivator cease her work. A masterful array of needles and salves were orchestrated against the wounds in the schoolhouse, stitching together torn flesh and injecting substances in a way Hao Kai had never seen before. Almost half the wounded found sleep in moments. Those too far gone passed quietly, without pain, without the suffering or drawn-out suffocation of the herbs they hid for emergencies, and those who had any chance of survival were brought back from the dead. For hours, the only sounds in the whole world were the moaning of the wounded, the sounds of flesh being rewoven, and the quiet, fearful breaths of the village, waiting to either see their loved ones again¡­ or to see what would come back from the woods.


    She came back.


    Out of the woods. Out of the dark. Out of the familiar-turned-strange from those horrifying sounds that echoed in it, she walked out, holding more mass than any single living thing he¡¯s ever seen carry anything. She was maybe a tenth, maybe half that again the size of the pile of flesh she carried, all of it tied together with something that was not rope, that was far too fleshy and far too strange to be rope, balanced precariously on her shoulder. Piles and piles and piles of diced bricks of meat that had once been a Boar, and atop it, the skeletal remains, the glistening organs and the carefully placed skin that it once wore.


    She was near-naked, a feral thing of blood and rags¡­ and her left arm was like obsidian. Black stone, sharp to even look at, and reeking of the moment where the farmer cuts the neck of their next meal.


    And she just¡­ gave it to them.


    Not all of it, not by a long shot, but almost half. Spirit beast meat so tough he¡¯s not even sure they¡¯ll be able to cut it properly. Maybe they can sell it, or try and roast it to tenderness as it is, but¡­ half their damn granary is overtaken by a literal metric fucking ton of meat. Half of what was left of something so vast and so horrifying that they survived only by the grace of its indifference.


    And then she took Jin, the brat with a decent head on his shoulders, and walked into the woods again, back the way she came that morning. The cultivator stayed behind, and she said things, but¡­ he found it very hard to hear her voice. And then she left too, maybe an hour after.


    Hao Kai stands now, in a village that will not be forced to starve come next winter or waste half a planting season rebuilding farmland, with those who should by all rights be dead but who are now healed and resting, and stares out into the woods.


    He¡¯d felt it himself, when she¡¯d come back. No wounds on her body, not a drop of Qi out of place on her. Like she was as placid and formless as air, as the dirt beneath his feet, as water in a stream. He knows that cultivators are supposed to have crazy impressive divine senses, but he¡¯d always prided himself on being able to feel for danger, and know when the little points of light his mind pictured people¡¯s souls as were close.


    From her, he felt nothing. Like she wasn¡¯t even there.


    Except¡­ maybe a shift in the air. Like a strange breeze had blown in. Something that made him think of things that grow.


    Hao Kai looks around the village. The farms are¡­ ok, for now. With nearly a third of the village wounded or grieving, and the winter months already set in, there¡¯s no need to panic and try and patch things right now. The sun is starting to dip into late afternoon, and the whole town is exhausted from fear, grief, or the sheer amount of work and stress put into helping to fix things.


    He thinks it best that he maybe take a few hours to himself and go lie down. It¡¯s been a very long day.


    And if that¡­ woman. That impossible, terrifying, impossible hidden master or monster or whatever ever visits his village again? He¡¯s going to do his very, very best to be hospitable, polite, friendly, sincere¡­ and not piss himself out of fear.


    ¡ª----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Raika sneezes, which surprises her. She¡¯d honestly assumed she wouldn¡¯t ever need to sneeze again, outside of some sort of intense smoke or spores or something. Maybe someone was talking about her somewhere? She remembers some old rumor about that.


    If they are, she hopes it¡¯s Maen. The kid conks out like a fucking light the minute he hits a pillow with his head, but despite her best efforts, Raika really doesn¡¯t need to sleep as much as she used to, and her body has conflicting instincts about it. This would be just fine, if not for the carefully soundproofed (but not soundproofed enough) room across the hall from her, and the very affectionate trio inside that are being very generous with rewarding Li Shu for a job well done right now.


    She really misses her girlfriend. Long distance relationships are a bitch.


    She sighs and rolls over, partially shutting her ear-canals and covering her head with a pillow¡­ only to have her brain adjust and start translating the minute vibrations in the wood of the building as sensory input.


    ¡­Gods and Hells, she needs to get laid.

 Chapter 178 - That Which Is Planted Often Grows

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    The land waits. The land grows. The land hungers.


    The land has no true language, and certainly no true speech, but it knows that it is new, and in that newness, there is the novelty of existence. It really only had two senses to begin with; the passage of time, and a sense of pressure. When some things came close and drifted away, pressure would come with them, like the world itself was pressing down on it. It was ever so small, and for a long time the pressure came and went as one of the sources of pressure nearly enveloped it, but then, as time passed, that changed. It was put somewhere, and a newer sense of pressure came, that of being packed in tightly and with a lighter sort of weight from all sides, and the presence that had carried it here went away.


    It discovered something new, as the sources of pressure drifted away from it and left it where they had planted it. It has instincts.


    On instinct, it began to reach out. It began to grow, inch by inch, and the land began to become more of itself. What was once only a small piece, a single core chunk of something tiny, so much smaller than it felt it should be, began to grow further and further out.


    It felt the pressures from before, the things that moved and shifted and carried it, and felt them move above it, and so the land discovered direction. Up and down, and out, in every other form, as it continued to send out roots.


    The roots that were part of the land in a physical way, that were part of what could be carried, felt numb and distant, but new roots grew from them. Things that felt right, that didn¡¯t need to dig past that lighter pressure surrounding it and could simply flow out from it freely. Long lines of strength, bit by bit, extend through the dirt out and down and around¡­


    And then it discovered something new.


    All its instincts screamed and cried and pulled for it to go deeper, deeper into the earth. Towards the safeness of the dark down below, where its roots could spread far and wide in all directions and it could begin to build.


    And then the new thing happened. The unexpected thing, that changed all its instincts into mere suggestion.


    Something delicious dripped down into the earth.


    It was only later that the land realized it came from the same pressure that brought it to this place, because in the moment, all it could sense or want or know in its limited cognizance was that the very same thing it would dig its roots down deep for was here, being fed to it directly. Rich droplets bursting with vitality, with life, with delightful flavor and burning color.


    It drank deep, absorbing every droplet from the soil. For the first time in its life, it realized how hungry it was, and discovered, as it did with time and pressure, a new element: satiation. It drank, and was filled, and for a while, all was good.


    Its instincts guide it once more, and the land begins to dig down deep again¡­ but not as deep as it would have. There is new information, now; the food came from above, not just in the hidden places below. Lifeblood, assuaging its hunger, was available in large quantities upwards.


    It still dug down¡­ but slowly, spreading its mass and roots more horizontally than vertically. Its core was moved somewhere safer, that survival mechanism couldn¡¯t go ignored, and a bit deeper, beneath an area of lighter pressure that waved to and fro in a new sort of way, but it waited. Just to be sure.


    And then the food came a second time, and the land experienced, alongside satiation, vindication. It was right. The food came from above in this place, despite what feels natural. Emerging up from the soil still most certainly could not be permitted, not with all the risks that would entail. The land, above all else, knows that it is vulnerable, and one does not advertise their vulnerabilities¡­ but it could perhaps strike a balance. It dug down, and it dug wide¡­ but it did not move its core deeper. It kept itself in the part of itself called ¡°water¡±, and began to spread its roots more carefully to claim the space it now inhabits. It even set up a sort of false core, keeping a dense cluster focused beneath the strange structure and the pressures which, it is now certain, feed and protect it.


    The food came again, and again, each time allowing it to grow further and to begin to shape itself, as is only proper. It might not be deep beneath the earth, free to shape its defenses however it might please without fear, but it is still able to create said defenses. Too great a change, though, and it would be noticed, it would be seen¡­


    Slowly, the land grew roots into the things that fed from the same soil it inhabits. At first just bits of grass here and there, but a few days later it had bushes, then trees, and became able to reach its invisible tendrils through the ground to drink of the food inside the little scurrying things on its surface. The pond alone it kept intact, lest someone be able to look to its bottom and see a hint of its core- there, it grew the tendrils into the swimming life forms that were so very fun and unique to look at. The more it grew, the more it learned, and what it learned most of all is that the world is full of complicated, interesting, wonderful things that taste pretty darn good, and it began to use that knowledge.


    Copying patches of bamboo forests, it drew a wide wall at the edge of its roots, wide enough to require quite a bit of walking through. In that time, the land could easily become aware of its intruders, and either feed on them or turn them around, lest it alert their fellows of their deaths. For a while, it considered doing what felt right and proper again, and thought to create defenders¡­ but it hesitated. It had eaten most of the animals on its surface, and the few in the pond, while growing quickly under its influence, weren¡¯t adequate tools to build anything with as much pressure as it felt from those already on its land. And they fed it already, meaning they were¡­ already defenders?


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    So in spite of instincts and half-understood impressions trying to push it towards making new entities that could defend it and which would rely on it entirely¡­ it once again decided to do something different.


    It very much did create new entities, of course. That was just too interesting not to do, and before long the pond began to fill with new fusions and experiments on the bodies within it¡­ but when it came to true defenders, it decided on the same evolutionary path that so many creatures have taken throughout history. Mutualistic symbiosis.


    The land was brought to a safe place and fed by these creatures, and they often returned from trips outside its borders holding dead bodies and bits of new creatures for the land to learn. They were, and are, much stronger than it is, and yet they offer it things it cannot do without.


    So¡­ it reciprocates.


    The winding maze of the bamboo perimeter never tries to get them lost. No insects or sickness finds them within its territory, and it doesn¡¯t feed from them directly. Animals that might sneak in during the night are instead driven away, or on occasion left dead and visible, their essence taken but their flesh left un-consumed so it might be shared. When the densest of the four pressures tries to plant new things in the soil, the land reaches up to them and gives back a fraction of the food it is given.


    And¡­ things seem to go well. Nothing tries to eat it. No monsters or hunters manage to make it through its borders. It continues to eat freely of what is offered to it, and spends its time gradually changing the life forms in its pond.


    To some it adds new limbs, new sensory features, additional functions, and when it gets bored of that, it begins to get truly creative. Some of the creatures live inside other creatures, others become part rock and start to grow food for others off their body, and yet more develop defense mechanisms that allow them to spawn copies of itself that run away when threatened. The land actually runs into a new issue with all these experiments, one greater and more threatening than any other it has faced before.


    It¡¯s running out of room.


    At first it expanded the pond by a bit, but that brings its own risks. It heightens the possibility of detection, and the amount of space the pond would have to expand is prohibitive at best, reshaping the entire landscape in its borders if it¡¯s to truly fit all its wonderful ideas.


    The land spent days on this problem, its core churning with pulsing rhythms and the occasional squelching sound as it thought long and hard. It had grown larger, grown fatter off the energy being fed to it¡­ but it wasn¡¯t using most of it. It had nearly stopped expanding, and outside its experiments on the pond and the life forms within, it had grown static.


    Instinct once again raised its head, and the land realized what it had to do. It needed to challenge itself.


    So it took stock of what it had. Above all else, it had so much food stored inside it. Whatever the food is (it thinks its protectors call it ¡°Qi¡±) seems to almost never disappear, only changing when the land uses it to grow more roots and when it changes the life forms. It notices that sometimes, the life forms need much more ¡°Qi¡± than others, usually when it later discovers it made a mistake in fixing some of the pathways and messy bits inside of them.


    That gave it the hint it needed. This Qi stuff, the stuff its roots and self were fed by, could be used to fix problems when something didn¡¯t happen the ¡°normal¡± way. The normal way would mean destroying its landscape or getting too big and being noticed, so it pushed in a different direction.


    In a storm of pulsing Qi and a mind so multifaceted and subtle it can perceive the nuances of each cell of a thousand different organisms at once, the land focused on its pond. It commanded its roots to expand the pond, to make it grow, all while telling other roots to hold firm, keep it in the exact same place and space as before.


    At first, it just felt a strain¡­ but therein was the challenge. The need for growth, for something new. It began to feed more and more Qi into both sets of roots, until it felt like the world went sort of squishy, and-


    And it worked.


    The pond grew.


    The pond stayed the same size.


    Both were true at once, and all of a sudden, the land found much more room to play with.


    Most of its original creations would have perished from the pressure at the new deep end of the pond. Most of those same creations are now almost miniscule in comparison to what it built in its newfound domain.


    And for a while, once again, things were good.


    The land had things to play around with, and its protectors began to train in its boundaries, letting it sip from the energy that was wasted or cast aside and further increase its diet. It even became a game, trying to perfectly nullify any escaping Qi so that none could sense them and come looking. The land spent its time building new tools and toys, expanding its inner spaces, and admiring its allies and their delicious growth.


    And, admittedly, tending to its surface. There was even this one little bug that was weirdly hard to find sometimes, but it only ate other bugs and little pests, so eventually the land just let it be. It lives in the reeds now, a fat, beautiful beetle that lords over all other remaining insects within the land¡¯s perimeter, and alongside it, the remaining plants and animals allowed to grow here grew fat and well indeed.


    And then came the day of calamity. The day of [IGNITION].


    It does not know what that word means, or what a word is, but the concept arrives in its mind perfectly as its protectors grew to stunning proportions. It only barely contained the light of that first burst of power, but the second time? Impossible flame that altered the land and the very space around it, melting materials which cannot be molten and glowing in beautiful and impossible colors, matched by the strongest of its protectors reawakening the impossible, radiating energies within her and becoming something as impossible as anything the land had seen. Despite its best efforts, so much of those thunderous transformations echoed out into the world, and it felt the attention of powerful, hungry things turn their eyes to it and its protectors.


    The land felt it when its protectors met the great and terrible beast at its border, the beast it could not possibly have stopped on its own. It felt when that beast retreated, but did not leave, its new den much too close for comfort.


    And it felt when its protector, the one who has kept it safe and fed it and given it purpose and power, spoke to it.


    The land has no true language, and certainly no true speech, but for some reason, the words of its protector and nectar were True in a way few things seem to be.


    She had said that someday soon, she would be leaving. That the food would end¡­ and that choices would need to be made.


    So the land thinks.


    The land prepares.


    The land comes to a decision.


    And the land, which was once a seed and is now a small Dungeon Heart in and of itself, begins to change.

 Chapter 179 - Training Montage!

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    It¡¯s almost time to leave.


    One more week and the month is up. One more week, and they leave this place behind.


    She¡¯ll¡­ she¡¯ll miss it. The quiet days here. The sounds of her friends, sleeping in the other room. The kitchen that she¡¯s spent so many weeks buying and making things for, that she¡¯s gotten so adept in cooking in. The green, peaceful landscape, so quiet compared to the ¡°normal¡± world. Even the little cave-hole she grows her smoke-moss and hemp leaf in. She¡¯ll miss the early morning quiet, when she wakes up before everybody else, and the sparring they do when her friends wake up.


    She¡¯ll even miss that tiny little village with old lady Nan Su, and the kids who run by, and the sisters who smell of baked bread. The little sounds of people living their lives, day to day. Not the silence and scent of cultivation, or the constant flow of noise that screams from the wilds in all those beautiful patterns, just¡­ people. Cooking, cleaning, fixing the little things that break, singing and playing and caring for each other. The sounds of the kids running about in the schoolhouse, of the teacher¡¯s exasperation and joy at their work. The bathhouses, churning out the smells of soap and herbs and the sounds of conversation.


    It¡¯s all so¡­ different.


    She was a child when she left her family. Seven years old when the sect found her and identified the purity of her spirit roots, the width of her meridians. Seven years old is not a time for clear memories. What little she remembers of her parents and the little cabin she grew up in wasn¡¯t¡­ worse than Wayun village, but it was smaller, more rural. Closer to a city, without the need for village walls, and with colder winters, with houses much further from each other.


    And after that¡­ the Hungering Roots sect. The place where she began. One of the two closest sects, and the one that, in a roundabout way, supports her even now in the guise of Hisheng. There were servant¡¯s quarters, areas to farm Qi-rich plants and a few tamed spirit animals, placed to wash clothes and cook food, but most of them were not for cultivators. On occasion a spirit beast might get unruly and need to be corralled, but with most servants in the Qi-Gathering realm, the spirit herbs could get their required Qi just fine. Not like the Hungering Roots sect had any higher tier herbs of animals, so its disciples, few as they were, focused on cultivation. Rings for sparring, balance and movement challenge areas, meditation rooms and her living quarters were her life. Occasional forays into the wilds or other fights, maybe.


    Then, of course, never fucking mind Paleblossom city. Her experience wasn¡¯t exactly focused on the nuances of day to day life there, not beyond survival. Then some months in another sect, as a servant this time, and last but not least, a series of forays into Imperial fucking Palaces and the messiness of Cragend city.


    ¡­This may have been the first time she¡¯s rested in a very, very long time. It¡¯s a glimpse at what might have been if she had never become a cultivator. If she¡¯d maybe been married off to some other village, or had learned a skill and traveled to the smaller places of the third ring.


    She doesn¡¯t hate it.


    But it¡¯s not her.


    She¡¯ll miss it, yes. She might seek it out some other day, later in life. She¡¯ll do her best to never forget it. But it¡¯s not her.


    There¡¯s still so much she regrets, but becoming a cultivator? Fighting to become powerful again after her loss? That she can only embrace. To be more, to grow and become¡­ it feeds a part of her deeper than almost any other.


    And it¡¯s just so fucking cool.


    Supreme Body Art: Pressurized Crimson Cut is a joy. One of Li Shu¡¯s theories, one she mentioned was stupidly dangerous and which shouldn¡¯t be done until she was sure it would work. The increased pressure in her blood vessels could easily have burst them and left her wounded and vulnerable in a fight, even with her Truths and their ability to transform her body and heal.


    But she pulled it off. Thickened the blood vessels, widened them to withstand the pressure, and with eight hearts beating in sequence, increasing the bloodflow to her limb and the biological cannon she created from it was almost easy. The result, in turn, was phenomenal. A ranged cut, the moving liquid so condensed and so fast it sliced through rock-hard spirit beast flesh like it wasn¡¯t even there. There¡¯s a danger of overutilizing it, leaving herself light-headed and weak from blood loss, and the setup takes a while, but the payoff is incredible. If she can maintain the increased blood pressure constantly, she could shoot out more of the attacks and boost her ability to overclock her systems considerably.


    And it¡¯s only one of the techniques that Raika and Li Shu have built together.


    The manual for Supreme Body Art holds more theory than practical applications, but if there¡¯s one thing Raika is good at, it¡¯s making something interesting out of things that are only theoretically possible.


    Her current body holds pneumatic and spring-loaded muscle groups and systems, her bones latticed and hyper-dense, her organs enhanced step by step. She¡¯s about three hundred extra bones away from the standard human skeletal system, and her blood vessels and nervous system are optimized into new patterns with less possibility of damaging overlap or bleeding out. Beneath her skin, millimeter-wide plates of keratin, chitin, bone and woven fibers make for an incredibly flexible damage-reactive armor, and carefully arranged plates of hyper-dense fat serve as cushioning in any area that needs it, between her organs, joints, and as storage for extra energy. She has three hearts in her humanoid shape, with the capacity to easily make more, and each moves her blood in perfect synchronicity through hyperflexible joints and tendons.


    It¡¯s taken her almost a year and a half to get to this point.


    It¡¯s not enough.


    It¡¯s just the start.


    Her body, as is, might match an Imperial bioweapon. Maybe. She¡¯s never actually met one, and is mostly going off the things that the flesh-based cultivator had said back during the tournament fight, but it feels right. In Supreme Body Art: Gigant form, she¡¯d likely eclipse more than a few, though that might be arrogance. But Pressurized Crimson Cut highlights exactly what she can do that no one else can; she can modify herself on the fly, and do so in ways that normal biology cannot. She might not be able to alter physics around her body like a cultivator can, but biology and chemistry are her bitches.


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    Some of the ideas in the manual are improvements. Upgrades. Incremental ideas to improve weight distribution, ability to exert force, ability to handle temperature differences. There¡¯ll be time for those later, outside of this place.


    What Raika focuses on instead are a few pages, clearly ripped out of some other journal, that stand right in the middle of the manual.


    Pressurized Blood: Potential applications of high-tension liquid in offense and resource generation.


    Gigantification: rules of mass and scale manipulation with the effects of gravity and weight on bloodflow and oxygen intake.


    Insectile Functionality: alternate forms of exoskeletal frames and exertions of force.


    Biological Projectiles: Ranged applications of biological aggression.


    Neurological Manipulation: How do multi-limbed organisms use their brains?


    Camouflage: how chromatophores work (compiled ideas)


    The first two she¡¯s already doing well on, as clearly evidenced by the techniques she¡¯s developed. The effects that reality has on larger-than-life organisms are well documented, especially due to how many beastbloods exist in the Empire, and high-pressure blood is not too uncommon an ailment. The other ones though? More¡­ theoretical. Li Shu¡¯s done some study on insect bodies, and Raika gave her most of the useful notes on that, considering how she can so accurately map out the flesh she eats. But biological projectiles are rare in nature, and that goes double for brain studies on how multiple limbs work. Neither Raika nor Li Shu know how an insect¡¯s brain controls multiple limbs, or if they consciously do so at all. And on the subject of camouflage, it¡¯s basically all conjecture and notes on possibly altering her facial structures and skin color.


    So, while they¡¯re still safe and secluded in their little stretch of land, she¡¯s gonna try some fuck-shit.


    Though Li Shu still made her promise not to try the soul-sacrifice version of the Craft¡¯s entry ritual. Which is weirdly boring of her, but¡­ if she considers it that bad of an idea, chances are it¡¯s a bad idea. Raika¡¯s willing to hold off for now.


    Qen Hou and Hao Nera are practicing in their own way. Hao Nera¡¯s currently working on remaining visible while practicing his weird stealth technique; usually, his technique makes him impossible to notice entirely, but he¡¯s trying to switch the activation conditions. Rather than entirely erasing his presence, he¡¯s trying to make it so he can still be seen, heard, even touched, but that the mind will simply decide that he¡¯s not important, no matter what he does or says. It¡¯s a weird application of an even weirder technique, but apparently he got the idea from some session of ¡°triple cultivation¡± of theirs, so at the very least she finds it a very funny (and slightly hot?) possibility.


    Qen Hou is assisting by throwing fire at anything he sees that feels relevant, which is leading to some very loud cursing on Hao Nera¡¯s part. Ever since his first Domain manifestation, Qen Hou¡¯s been even more motivated than before, committing himself wholesale to rebuilding the energy used by his partially-formed Core. He¡¯s only managed to manifest it once more since then, but it was something. He told them that it felt like everything he could see and feel with his Qi senses was fighting him, trying to remain itself, and he needed to burn through Qi and hone his willpower to manifest even a partially formed version of his Domain. What he can still create is impressive, though.


    It manifests like a thunderstorm of flame, like vast, roiling clouds of white and purple fire that emanate from the air, the ground, the very space within Qen Hou¡¯s senses. Within said territory, heat, rather than burning, melts anything it touches. It seems to focus on the aspects of transmutation and infusion from flame, rather than explosive damage or outright heat, and he claims that it still feels only partial. Makes her terrified of how a ¡°real¡± domain should look, especially considering Qen Hou has only just entered the Nascent Soul realm. Scary fucking talent, that guy. Makes her wonder if he was being held way the hell back by being in a sect.


    Li Shu, meanwhile, has spent a lot of her time hanging out in the village, practicing real medicine and making sure those she¡¯s been tending to have taken to her healing. Her telekinesis is leagues better than Qen Hou¡¯s (to his obvious frustration), and she¡¯s been having a great time getting some real practice on her fundamentals again.


    They¡¯re all working hard. The fact that they¡¯ll have to leave soon¡­ it inspires a bit of added motivation alongside the light touch of melancholy.


    Except for the kid. This ¡°Jin¡± kid has been having a blast.


    Right now she has him focusing on circulating his Qi and getting into the Foundational realm. Using her Blacksteel as a cultivation aid seems to have helped him a lot, and the occasional visit to the village throughout the week with Li Shu have served him well. He¡¯s bright-eyed, alert, and working hard, though she does notice how his eyes sometimes seem to track movement when there¡¯s nothing around. She¡¯s seen him tilt his head at odd angles sometimes, as if listening to some far off whispering¡­ but he doesn¡¯t seem to be changing dramatically. They¡¯re just keeping an eye on him for now.


    As he sits on the edge of the pond, an array similar to the Cold Sun ritual that Li Shu set up for him holding her Blacksteel, she watches as the scent of that cold, smoky room thickens bit by bit, day by day.


    And he doesn¡¯t pass out at the end of his runs anymore, which is great!


    Raika takes a deep, calming breath of fresh air and the relatively quiet landscape, and starts to Change.


    Her shoulder blades crack and squelch as new muscle patterns begin to form, mirroring her back muscles and beginning to extend out from them. She grows patches of armor over her body, and then hollows out some of the muscle in non-essential areas to lighten her overall mass, mimicking insectile body patterns. Slowly she grows a foot, then out another, and another, capping out around ten feet tall, less than half the size of her Gigant technique but still towering over even Taurus¡¯ height.


    Her secondary limbs grow further, a second set of arms reaching elbows, then out to wrists, and rather than try and alter her neurology to puppet them alongside her main two, Raika just plants two new sub-minds, one for each limb, to react semi-independently of her. She staggers around, unbalanced, and grows out a spiked tail to compensate as she does, trying to deal with the increasing number of things she needs to keep track of. She¡¯ll have to develop her ¡°processor¡± mind further, or start considering more fundamental changes, but it¡¯s fine for a trial run.


    Armor plates and reactive nanoscale flourish, but that¡¯s not what she needs, not currently. Having that exoskeletal exterior is great for defense, but not for trying out more of her ¡°experimental¡± techniques (because why do things one at a time?). She grows a second layer of nanoscale over the whole mess. It¡¯s¡­ restrictive. Hard to move in.


    She casts it aside, reabsorbing the second layer and focusing on the original patterning. Slowly, her armor plates segment into larger patches of ¡°scale¡± armor, the reactive type she has for the nanoscale. It¡¯s¡­ inefficient. Too many things to control at once, too many added muscle groups to shift the plates¡­


    Eh, it¡¯s fine. She¡¯ll fix that later.


    For now, she starts trying to work on pigmentation.


    Each scale is technically distinct but physically identical. She knows that added bloodflow can change colors along the red hue¡­ but that¡¯s it. She¡¯s not sure what causes differentiation in skin color other than sunlight, and outside of tracking how much her skin reacts to abstract radiation she can¡¯t quite see, that¡¯s¡­ not super useful.


    She¡¯s halfway through reshaping her body again, discarding the armor in favor of more skin-like patches, when there¡¯s an awkward cough from nearby.


    Qen Hou is giving her a raised eyebrow look, and she blinks, wondering when he got so close. When they all got closer, actually. Was she that distracted? The Mask should¡¯ve-


    No, the Mask was as busy as the rest of her brain. Ugh. Still room to work on that.


    Qen Hou coughs again, politely, and points a thumb over his shoulder.


    Raika looks up and blinks at seeing Hisheng, a few hours earlier than normal, standing awkwardly to one side and staring, a bit wide-eyed, at the 10 foot, four armed, entirely naked superbeing on their front lawn.


    ¡°Ah. Hi.¡±

 Chapter 180 - So Like... Anyone Else Not Entirely Over Their Ex?

    Hisheng looks at the kid curiously, as if somehow he¡¯s more surprising than she is in her altered state. He does make sure to spare a look for her too, though. A long, lingering look, which focuses¡­ a bit much on some no-longer-covered parts that match her newly oversized frame.


    She shifts back down, Changing her new arms (which she barely even got to test, damnit) back into blood and then dumping that blood into her seemingly bottomless stomach. In a few seconds, she¡¯s back to her¡­ ¡°normal¡± body. It feels weird calling it that, but it¡¯s her most common one, anyways.


    ¡°Eyes up here, pretty boy,¡± she says. ¡°Didn¡¯t realize you¡¯d be early.¡±


    He gives an awkward chuckle. ¡°I, um. I¡¯m actually a few hours late. I know how cultivation trances can be.¡±


    She blinks, then looks up at the sky. Sure enough, the sun has moved well past early afternoon. Frustrating. Maybe she should make a sub-mind just to track time, set alarms for her. As it stands, she links the two newest subminds to the ¡°Mask¡±, linking them to physical movement and information processing. And, hopefully, making it harder to overwhelm her when she gets hyper focused on individual muscle groups and such.


    ¡°Sorry, then. Didn¡¯t realize.¡± With a flicker of Change she grows out her hair to twice its length, using it to gain some degree of modesty. Qen Hou, bless his heart, finally stops blushing, but both Hao Nera and Jin don¡¯t really seem to care, plenty familiar with public bathhouses and the proximity that grows in poverty. She gets up and dusts herself off.


    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you, Hisheng. I¡¯m apparently late to start cooking, but we¡¯ve got some leftovers if you¡¯re interested.¡±


    The massive puppy of a man brightens up visibly at that. ¡°Never one to turn down free food, and your friends here have been pretty eager to tell me about just how good your cooking¡¯s gotten.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± Hao Nera nods. ¡°In spite of your horribly uncouth nature and terrible habits, you make for a delightful home chef for this honored Hao Nera!¡±


    She rolls her eyes at him, but Hisheng laughs. ¡°Your friend here makes a jest of it, but to hear anyone praise your cooking is a surprise. I still remember when you tried to cook a victory barbecue for-¡±


    ¡°Shh! Shush!¡± she waves a hand at him, picking up her robe to throw over her shoulders. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re bringing that up, shush!¡±


    Hao Nera cackles, and this time Qen Hou pops a smile too. ¡°Don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever seen you so flustered, Raika dear! Hisheng, come, you simply must share.¡± Before she can say anything he has an arm threaded through Hisheng¡¯s and is carting him off towards the cabin, the larger man giving a confused look back but inevitably going with the flow that is Hao Nera.


    Qen Hou shakes his head, before giving her a look.


    ¡°You alright with this? Him coming to the cabin?¡±


    ¡°Ever the protective specter, Qen Hou. Yeah, it¡¯s¡­ he means no harm. And it doesn¡¯t hurt as much anymore.¡±


    He nods, and she can physically smell the scent of magnesium get a bit quieter. He smiles at her after, a bit of a cheeky grin.


    ¡°Well then, this honorable Qen Hou won¡¯t miss the opportunity to hear of the beginning of your journey as an immortal chef.¡±


    She goes to snarl at him, but he waves her off with a laugh. ¡°Yeah, yeah. Keep an eye on the kid, yeah?¡±


    She huffs. Then looks over at said kid.


    Jin has, at this point, settled himself again, experiencing the awkward dynamic of being surrounded by adults with relationships that exist outside of him. He¡¯s decided, in the infinite wisdom of youth, that it¡¯s none of his fucking business. The Blacksteel is once again in front of him, its edges slightly chipped and its obsidian luster just a bit faded as he draws more of its influence into himself. Death enters his body, and rather than poison his flesh against him, cause him to age, cause him to break down and die, it instead seems to pull into a deeper well inside of him. She¡¯d have to touch him to confirm, but she is almost absolutely certain his dantian, and the space around what will be his core, is saturated with that deadly energy.


    She¡¯s¡­ probably not gonna give him another one of those. Better to keep him balanced than to flood his system, even though the end in him and the End in the Blacksteel seem shockingly compatible. Still better to keep him more on the human side of things, though, than to drop him off the ¡°deeply inhuman and fucked up alien abomination¡± cliff right away.


    ¡°You good out here, kid?¡± she asks.


    He looks at her, then at the house. She can almost feel the struggle as he considers someone new having access to their food supply, but in a lovely little show of growth, he ends up just giving her a nod.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be alright here. The pond is safe. And I feel like I¡¯m close to something.¡±


    ¡°Alright. Stay safe, and try to pull in something other than just that Blacksteel. It¡¯ll last longer if you balance it, as will you.¡±


    ¡°Yes, master,¡± he says. She¡¯s¡­ surprised to see that he¡¯s serious.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah. Anything goes wrong, just¡­ yell. I¡¯ll hear.¡±


    He nods, giving a bit of an awkward little bow. The kid is way too serious for his own good, in spite of his upbringing. She¡­ expected him to act a lot more like JiaJia, she realized. Maybe not the same, but he¡¯s not nearly so jovial or so willing to insult her. It¡¯s consistently surprising, even if he¡¯s not exactly some prim and proper little apprentice.


    He¡¯s a good kid.


    Dink vibrates lightly against her collarbone, and she gives it an encouraging little pat. Yeah, yeah. Her second-oldest friend hums contentedly on its little chain, enjoying the attention and the approval. It¡¯s good to see it agree with her, even if it probably has no idea what¡¯s going on.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    She walks into the cabin to the sound of laughter as Hao Nera gets his fill of stories about her.


    ¡°-and that¡¯s why to this day, my honored sister Ji Kira refuses to eat anything on a wooden skewer.¡±


    A fresh round of cackling breaks out from Hao Nera, and even Qen Hou has cracked a smile. Hao Nera, it seems, didn¡¯t hesitate to break out the good meat or the booze. Whatever hesitation he had with Hisheng before, it would seem that their soon-to-be exit from this place has loosened him up a bit.


    ¡°Sister! We were just talking about how wonderfully your first ever experiment with barbecue went! A masterful exercise in the use of torturing one¡¯s enemies with splintered meat.¡±


    ¡°It was shitty wood in the first place. Hardly my fault. And I see you all enjoying pork and chicken at my expense.¡±


    ¡°A celebration of your true growth,¡± Qen Hou says with a grin.


    She shoots him a betrayed look that sets Hao Nera and Hisheng back to laughing this time.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I guess none of you assholes want scallion pancakes then?¡±


    ¡°Well now I didn¡¯t say that-¡±


    ¡°Honored sister, it was not my intent to disrespect, I merely-¡±


    ¡ª--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    A few hours (and a few drinks) later, the conversation winds down. Jin came back inside once the sun came down, and eventually Qen Hou dragged Hao Nera off to sleep, the lesser cultivator well into his cups despite his tough metabolism. And, of course, making for a convenient excuse for Raika and Hisheng to have some time alone.


    He coughs lightly at the pipe she lights. They¡¯re sitting out of the cabin now, away from prying ears and under the stars. For some reason they always seem brighter in the valley, like they¡¯re looking more closely, maybe.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize you kept up the habit,¡± he says.


    ¡°Sometimes. Few times a week, maybe. A Witch gave me some drugs that helped me out a while back, and she gave me the recipe.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ thought it smelled different. You use to smoke those gods-awful cigarettes.¡±


    ¡°I still miss them. Gods bless those little cancer sticks. But weird blue cave moss, hemp and blood make a decent substitute, and they still numb me a bit. I can control it, but when I¡¯m feeling overwhelmed or don¡¯t want to have such a broad focus, it can be a good way to relax.¡±


    ¡°I can see how that might be. Adjusting to one¡¯s senses as your cultivation advances can be¡­ difficult. Supposedly, that¡¯s where closed-door cultivation started.¡±


    ¡°Mmh. Didn¡¯t know that.¡±


    ¡°Heh. Yeah. It¡¯s¡­¡±


    Silence falls for a bit. Starlight and wind through the grass.


    ¡°Why do you keep visiting, Hisheng?¡±


    He laughs, looks at her in surprise- and then sees she¡¯s serious. He goes quiet. Tan skin and dark tattoos stand out in the dark of the night, and he gives a long, quiet sigh.


    Silence again.


    ¡°You already helped us,¡± she says. ¡°We haven¡¯t been dating for¡­ years now, really. I understand you have your guilt, but you don¡¯t need to keep visiting. It¡¯s a risk, for both of us. Even if you wanted to keep helping, you could just do what you¡¯ve been doing with the letters. We could arrange a drop.


    ¡°Why come here?¡±


    He looks at her with¡­ what looks like genuine confusion.


    ¡°Why¡­ why wouldn¡¯t I?¡±


    She blinks.


    ¡°I- you¡¯re my friend. We were friends before we were¡­ intimate. And you¡¯re my honorable junior in our sect. You¡¯ve grown by leaps and bounds, and you asked for my help. Of course I¡¯d visit. To, to check in, to see if you¡¯re alright. To offer more, if I can.¡±


    ¡°But why?¡±


    This time it¡¯s her that breaks eye contact first as he gives her a look like she¡¯s an absolute idiot.


    ¡°Do I need a reason to give what I can to those I care about?¡± He snorts. ¡°If I do, then my reason is that I choose to.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°If the world and the Heavens demand that I become a recluse that hoards his help only to those who earn it, then my rebellion against the heavens shall be to choose how to share my generosity. If the whole world is to tell me I must keep my strength for only myself, then I shall kindly tell the world to give its unwanted advice to someone else. I am Ka Hisheng, and my will is my own. I swear it now beneath the Heavens; I offer what I can because I think it will help. And my choice, if given said choice, is always to help.¡±


    She looks at him there, under the moonlight. His eyes burn, the passion in them enough that they nearly glow, and she can hear his heartbeat, his breath, the twitching of every muscle.


    He fucking means it.


    She lets out a long, slow breath she¡¯s been holding.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t deserve you,¡± she whispers.


    He sighs, leaning away. For a moment, he just looks out at the valley around them, thinking in the quiet.


    ¡°Maybe not. You weren¡¯t a very good partner, and you had your own demons. But you don¡¯t get to choose how I wield my will, or who I deem deserving.¡±


    It¡¯s not a Truth, not by a long shot, but¡­ it rings against her vocal chords. It sounds¡­ almost like Truespeak.


    She takes a long draw on her pipe, exhaling slowly so that the thick, whitish-blue smoke drifts to the ground around them.


    And then, in her real voice, the one that carries the weight of her Qi and of every true thing she¡¯s ever thought, she turns to Hisheng.


    ¡°I hope to prove myself worthy of your grace.¡±


    He blinks.


    ¡°I¡­ that was new.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°It¡¯s what my voice sounds like when I¡¯m being honest, I think. Same Qi saturation that lets me breathe my own body weight¡¯s worth of air changed how I sound unless I alter the pitch.¡±


    ¡°It was beautiful.¡±


    She- no. She doesn¡¯t need to look. He¡¯s serious.


    ¡°Yeah, well, it¡¯s a pain in the ass. I¡¯ve thought about using that voice to lie, or be¡­ unclear? And it sets off my danger instincts something fierce. And I¡¯m growing a bunch of loose brains in my body and wearing a prosthetic made of literal death metal.¡±


    He laughs at that, loud enough that he flinches and looks worriedly at the cabin like he thinks he might¡¯ve woken someone up. Then he relaxes, shaking his head.


    ¡°Best not to do that, then. Your instincts have always been second only to your ability to make hard-headed decisions, so if they¡¯re acting up that hard, better to listen.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you, I¡¯ll have you know what you call hard-headed I call determined and true to my ideals.¡±


    ¡°And I love that about you.¡±


    She feels his heart speed up and stutter at the admission.


    She feels at least one of hers do something similar.


    She sighs.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving. Soon.¡±


    She throws it out like a punch, or a swat. Something to push him away, at least for a moment. Some small nugget of disappointment to taint his perception of the moment.


    He fucking nods instead. ¡°I figured. Didn¡¯t think you¡¯d stay here forever. Not in you to stay still too long.¡±


    She growls at that. ¡°Fuck! How the hells are you always so fucking understanding about everything?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°I accept what I am, and the world I am in, and seek only to change what coincides between the two.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, I want to change everything.¡±


    He looks at her as she pauses, wondering why she says that. Instead of pushing he lets her think for a long, quiet moment.


    ¡°Fuck. I¡­ I want things to be better. I want the deaths of the bastards that lord their power over the world and can do whatever they please. I want the freedom to go where I choose, how I choose.  I want to be strong enough that I can never be chained ever again. I don¡¯t want to accept the things I can control, I want to Change until I can control the things I can¡¯t accept. I¡¯m not¡­


    ¡°I¡¯m not content.¡±


    Hisheng laughs, a quiet thing full of affection.


    ¡°Then go. Find better enemies. Get stronger. I saw what you were doing when I arrived, and I think you¡¯ll be strong enough to be someone real. I want to hear fucking legends about you someday, Raika. And you can¡¯t do that by staying here.¡±


    She takes a long, painful pull of her pipe, turning what¡¯s left in it to ash.


    She looks up at the night sky above, as tired and as awake as she¡¯s ever been.


    ¡°When will you be leaving?¡± Hisheng asks.


    ¡°End of next week, I think.¡±


    ¡°Good. But¡­ before you go wherever you¡¯re going, I¡¯d appreciate it if you could visit the sect.¡±


    She raises an eyebrow. ¡°Really? What does the Hungering Roots sect want with me? And why would I take that risk?¡±


    ¡°Because Honored Researcher Boriah left very clear instructions about what would happen if anyone talked about you. And because my master asked of me, with all respect, that I invite you for tea.¡±

 Chapter 181 - Casual Conversations At The Child-Centric Shooting Range

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    Fucking Taurus.


    Fucking bastard man son of a whore.


    Of course he interfered. Of course he¡¯s part of the reason they haven¡¯t been bothered.


    She didn¡¯t tell anyone where she was going, not even Maen. That she¡¯d go to Hisheng wasn¡¯t too much of a stretch, but there¡¯s no way to guarantee she¡¯d be here, and there¡¯s no way that Taurus wouldn¡¯t have threatened her old sect if he didn¡¯t know for a fact where she was.


    She removed the tracker months ago, back during the final few moments in the Dungeon beneath Cragend. Down in the dark, where she couldn¡¯t be tracked in the first place.


    But of course he knew where she was already. Fuck keeping Maen in the dark, or tracking their letters through the degrees of separation they used, somehow he just knew. Hisheng said they got a letter from a researcher from the Imperial Division a week after they arrived. Before any of the letters, when they hadn¡¯t interacted with anyone besides Hisheng, miles from the sect.


    Fucking Taurus.


    It¡¯s been a full day and there¡¯s still a part of her fuming about it.


    Jin is acting like a great outlet for that stress though.


    He throws himself out of the way as another projectile launches past him and embeds itself into the earth behind him.


    ¡°Keep your stance!¡± she yells at him. ¡°If you have to over-commit to every dodge, you¡¯re gonna end up trapped!¡±


    He has just enough time to give her a snarky look and begin to say something before he yelps and has to duck almost flat to avoid her next shot.


    Hmm. That one was a bit faster.


    As Jin scrambles back to his feet, she tweaks one of the muscle fibers along the new channel she¡¯s made and sends another shard of bone flying at him.


    This one actually scratches his tunic, and he yelps as he starts running as fast as he can towards the trees.


    Making the bone shards feels weird. The pages on Biological Projectiles: Ranged applications of biological aggression had a few ideas, but none that fit easily. Some snakes spit venom, some insects or small mammals use their legs to throw debris or their own hairs with their back legs, and there¡¯s a few animals that spit water, but actual projectiles are rare as hen¡¯s teeth. Sure, finding ways to projectile vomit Flame is gonna be useful, but it¡¯s a lot easier and less convenient at the same time.


    Currently, she¡¯s working on two different systems.


    On the one hand, there¡¯s a sort of compressed limb-muscle meant to catapult projectiles forward. It only really works for projectiles with a rounded back, which makes it take a few seconds longer to create them, and it takes more space, but it¡¯s technically the method that¡¯s more reliable. Jin, for example, has a much harder time dodging shots she can actually aim.


    On the other hand (or forearm, to speak literally), she¡¯s trying out her own idea. Li Shu mentioned that her idea looks a lot like a pimple popping, which earned her burnt dough and under-spiced chicken.


    A compressed spike, which takes a lot less time to make and a lot less detailing, squeezed out through muscle pressure rather than actual limb movement. Much harder to aim, though. Every time she¡¯s shot it towards Jin, it¡¯s gone wide, but the force with which it¡¯s punched into the earth or stray tree in the valley has certainly left an impression.


    She¡¯s working on both side by side, one arm with the piston system and the other with the pressure launcher, and Jin makes for phenomenal target practice. With Li Shu around, the few that hit him (if they do, she¡¯s not evil enough to try to hurt the kid) can be healed easily enough, and she¡¯s making sure to keep the force down. Makes aiming even harder, but what¡¯s training without some difficulty to it?


    Jin gives a surprisingly high-pitched war cry as he picks up a chunk of dirt from one of her earlier and throws it back at her.


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit, kid!¡± she laughs, taking a break from shooting at him to shoot at the clod of dirt.


    First shot from the pressure-launcher goes wide, second shot from it goes wide, her piston-launcher shoots and-


    The clump of dirt lands, about ten feet short of Raika¡¯s position, completely unharmed by any counter-projectile.


    Jin barks a short laugh, which gets him a couple of closer shots that he has to sprint away from.


    ¡°Yeah, you better run ya little shit! And work on your aim!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure you should be saying that, dear,¡± Hao Nera says, manifesting out of fucking nothing right next to her.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    He has to duck a lot faster than Jin did to dodge her next shot.


    ¡°Don¡¯t- I fucking told you not do to that to me.¡±


    Hao Nera puts his hands up in surrender, stepping back with a smile- only to lose that same smile when he sees her face.


    ¡°Alright. Sorry. The whole memory-thing, right? My bad.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t mind you improving your powers, just¡­ tell me first. What do you want?¡±


    The smile crawls back on his face bit by bit. ¡°I have good news.¡±


    She quirks an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.


    ¡°Ok, well, this is the part where you say ¡®oh, Hao Nera! That¡¯s so interesting!  Please do tell me, for I am ever beholden to you for the glorious news of the outside world!¡¯¡±


    She snorts, and keeps her eyebrow raised.


    ¡°Ugh, you never let me have any fun.¡±


    ¡°Leaving the house whenever you want to get some fresh cultivator ass doesn¡¯t count? I suppose I might as well not bother then.¡±


    ¡°Hey, if you want to listen, that¡¯s a conversation between you and my partners. When it comes to me, all you gotta do is ask, gorgeous.¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know how they stand you sometimes.¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Eh. I assume at least part of it is the novelty of a relationship mixed with my boldness, and the unexpected freedom of not having sects or masters. Now that they¡¯re out of their shells, so to speak, I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll gradually drift apart as immortality calls to them, and I¡¯ll become a funky little footnote on the way. Just means I need to get all the joy and benefits out of the relationship while I still can.¡±


    ¡°Which, of course, includes keeping them happy?¡±


    ¡°Obviously. Otherwise I¡¯ll mysteriously find that my entire bandit clan got wiped out on the whim of some newfound sect elder off in the second ring somewhere.¡±


    There¡¯s an awkward moment as the joke doesn¡¯t quite land, and she feels the note of tension in him. It¡¯s hidden well, true, but she can literally hear the sound of the tendons in his jaw twitch when they¡¯re this close.


    ¡°I think you underestimate them both,¡± she says quietly.


    ¡°Hmm. You¡¯re right. Since they had the good taste to get all up on this hunk of burnin¡¯ love, they¡¯ll surely found their own sects in the future as is.¡±


    He actively refuses to look at her, even as she turns from where she¡¯s sitting to look him right in the face.


    ¡°I can¡¯t fault you being cynical,¡± she says, ¡°but if you disrespect either of them by thinking so little of their characters again, you and I will have a problem.¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Not trying to be disrespectful. Ain¡¯t ever been great at the other end I suppose, but it¡¯s not my intent. It¡¯s just realistic. They¡¯re going places I¡¯m not invited to. They¡¯re just starting to grow, while I¡¯m an old bastard by twenty seven. It is what it is.¡±


    ¡°Then change it.¡±


    He gives her a weird look, like he¡¯s about to laugh at a joke, and stops when he sees how serious she looks.


    ¡°Start growing again. Take this whole spy-network idea seriously, maybe. You¡¯re getting a lot stronger than you think, and they both value you in their own way. The relationship will change, all of them do, but it doesn¡¯t have to change for the worst. Unless it hurts you or them to stay together, there¡¯s plenty of steps to take in between. Get stronger. Change your outlook. Take yourself seriously, maybe.¡±


    He does laugh this time, though the pulse of his heart doesn¡¯t match the sound. ¡°Oh yeah? Take myself seriously? I met them in an ambush. I signed up alongside them because I needed extra muscle for a plan of mine. I¡¯m a great gambler, and even better at pushing my luck, but I know what I am.¡±


    ¡°So change what you are.¡±


    He looks away. ¡°It¡¯s not that simple.¡±


    Very lightly, she reaches out. She touches his chin, and gently pulls his head back.


    ¡°I never said it was easy, Nera. But it is that simple.¡±


    He scoffs, and pulls out of her grasp easily enough, flickering in and out of her perception a few feet away.


    But she hears him take a breath, and hears it shake just a touch.


    ¡°Anyways,¡± he sighs, ¡°what I was originally coming to you to talk about is that I got some new connections. Not much yet, just some guys helping me case out an area, but the funds from those monster-parts are still nice and juicy and people respond to nice and juicy. I¡¯ve got a guy and his sister who run security on a little tax caravan heading in and out of the second ring, so¡­ if you ever wanted to cross rings with those letters, I might be able to set something up. Maybe.¡±


    ¡°...Thank you. That¡¯s really generous of you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s¡­ ah, bless me for my generosity or whatever. I just¡­ you looked pissed last night, after that Hisheng asshole left. If you wanted to try sending your letters another way, it¡¯s an option, s¡¯all.¡±


    This time it¡¯s her turn to laugh, causing just the slightest tint of color to come to Hao Nera¡¯s cheeks.


    ¡°You think too little of yourself, former bandit.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, fuck you too.¡±


    They sit like that a while, companionable silence broken up by the yelping and desperate breathing of Jin as he dodges Raika¡¯s occasional (and visibly improving) projectile shot.


    ¡°You thought of a way to keep in contact when we split?¡± she asks.


    ¡°I¡¯ll set up some kind of signal. You pass it to somebody or paint it somewhere, and one of my folks¡¯ll find it. Unless you¡¯ve got a sending stone somewhere I haven¡¯t heard about.¡±


    ¡°...Apparently I¡¯m visiting my old sect to talk to one of the elders, so I¡¯ll let you know, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Well shit, you been holding out on me? Could I have been wooing a sect princess all along?¡±


    She laughs. ¡°Nothing quite so dramatic. I just figure I can make some demands and see what happens.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough, fair enough. And¡­ what about the kid?¡±


    ¡°What about him?¡±


    ¡°You gonna bring him along? Towards the fourth? That doesn¡¯t sound like some kind of recipe for disaster to you?¡±


    She sighs, shooting out another projectile. Already the kid¡¯s improved a bit, not using his entire body to throw himself away from the danger zones, but¡­ he is still just a kid. Maybe twelve? And for all that his cultivation seems unique, and for all that the Cold Sun seemed to like him (what a thought), Hao Nera has a point. The kid, by all rights, would be safer in the third ring, maybe even with Hao Nera himself, maybe with Hisheng at the Hungering Roots sect.


    ¡°I put him in the situation he¡¯s in. His weird cultivation is on my head, at least most of it. If I leave him, chances are that the Division of Altered Cultivation will scoop him up. I certainly wouldn¡¯t put it past Taurus, ¡®For his own good¡¯, most likely. I¡¯ll tell the kid what his options are, as clearly and honestly as I can, and I¡¯ll let him make his own choice, and support what he chooses as best I can. I can¡¯t do much else.¡±


    ¡°It is what it is?¡± Hao Nera asks, his voice only slightly mocking.


    She turns to face him fully again, looking him over. The rugged appearance, the furs, the beard, the bright eyes¡­ and beneath it, the thumping heart. The twitching sweat glands and tweaking tendons. The scent of unease, of tension, masked ever so well by the lake of calm, quiet control and sardonic grin overlaying them.


    ¡°It is what it is¡­ until it isn¡¯t.¡±

 Chapter 182 - Final Decisions

    Three days before their appointed ¡°final¡± day, she heads back into town.


    She takes Jin with her too, hoping that it¡¯ll be a good chance to talk things through with him. Li Shu¡¯s still visiting the town nearly every day, though Raika¡¯s pretty damn sure there¡¯s no chance anyone that was going to make it hasn¡¯t already, not with her skills. Maybe she¡¯s overestimating her friend¡¯s skill, but¡­ nah. It¡¯s Li Shu. She could probably rebuild someone a damn body if only she had the tools.


    Her reception through the front gates is very different this time.


    Both the guards stand at attention immediately, bowing at the waist to her. The yells of ¡°Greetings Honored Cultivator!¡± echo loud though the village.


    ¡°With your permission, honored one, this lowly guard shall go and alert the elders of your presence!¡±


    She sighs, then nods, and one of the two guards (smells slightly more of sandalwood while the other, who¡¯s a bit more fungal?) sprints away like there¡¯s a fire somewhere. The other one seems to not really know what to do, and is just sort of maintaining the bow.


    ¡°So¡­ we¡¯re gonna walk past you now,¡± she says.


    ¡°Of course, honored one! I would never seek to impede your progress!¡±


    ¡°Right. My thanks for your diligence and honor.¡±


    As they walk past him, she looks down at Jin. She can smell his surprise, but the expression on his face is pretty hilarious too. He looks like he just doesn¡¯t know how to process what he just saw.


    Good. That¡¯s useful.


    The walk through the village is¡­ interesting. The smells and sounds are more vibrant, alive, the scent of relief and the sort of joy that comes after despair filling the air. It¡¯s still not back to how it was before the attack, not as loud or full of moving bodies, but there¡¯s a lot more bodies in their own homes now. She¡¯s still a long ways away from sensing the whole town, not without sitting down to focus, but what she senses as they walk is enough to let her know that Wayun village will be alright.


    She makes it nearly to the town center before one of the old guys she¡¯s seen with the village leader shows up with two new guards and a couple of the stronger looking farmhands, all who bow at the waist before her and Jin.


    ¡°We greet the honorable cultivator!¡± they say in¡­ almost unison.


    ¡°We thank you for your greeting,¡± she replies, giving a slight bow in response. ¡°I just came to see how things are going. The farms are still recovering at pace?¡±


    ¡°Indeed, honored one! Your help was incredible, it cut weeks off of our reconstruction efforts. Without your aid-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m happy that my help was useful. I assume that Li Shu¡¯s been doing a good job keeping everyone alive that she can. Do you mind taking us to her?¡±


    ¡°Not at all, honored one. Please, right this way.¡±


    She¡¯s a little bit¡­ frustrated. At the way he¡¯s treating her, how he¡¯s reacting. Three ¡°honored ones¡± in four sentences, and she hasn¡¯t even learned his name. He hasn¡¯t told her, and she didn¡¯t exactly look it up while she was selling charms and trinkets on the street. She¡¯s glad that she helped them, and she can see that they¡¯re not¡­ afraid per se, but it¡¯s close. A recognition of fear, rather than an overwhelming amount.


    They know she is strong, and they fear her for it.


    The Flesh¡¯s stomach rumbles at that, just a bit. The bitterness of the fear would certainly match well with the richness of the meat, so long as it doesn¡¯t get too tense¡­


    But at the same time, the Want looks out at them and¡­ cringes. They offer her kindness because she is strong, not because she helped. Helping might have made them a bit less terrified, but that¡¯s not why they¡¯re bowing.


    She looks down to Jin, and sees some of the same emotions and expressions playing out on his face. Not the hunger, luckily, but¡­ still. The Mask keeps her face as perfectly, pleasantly neutral as she can, but the kid has no such advantage.


    He¡¯s thinking, though. Good.


    Li Shu is exactly where she expected she¡¯d be, sitting a little to one side of the town center in what looks like a donated tent. Someone¡¯s stall has been retrofitted and transformed to have bright white cloth and a big open space in front of it, and there¡¯s a half-dozen bandaged villagers sitting around its perimeter as Li Shu carefully checks them one by one.


    She brightens up immediately as Raika comes closer, entering her detection range a few streets before the town center. She looks over as Raika arrives, smiling wide.


    ¡°Hey Raika! Good to see you!¡±


    Raika grins right back, walking past the ¡°honorary guard¡± that¡¯s been set up near the edge of the town center and through the clumps of people sitting by, seemingly just watching. Several of the wounded, startled, go to move out of the way and clear a path, but she waves a hand at them to stay seated.


    ¡°You¡¯re fine where you are. I¡¯m here visiting my friend, not¡­ I dunno, demanding anything. Please, stay.¡±


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    They look between each other, then at her¡­ and do eventually settle, partially due to the bandages and needle-string surrounding them shifting slightly and gently tugging them back down.


    Shit. She¡¯s getting even better at that.


    ¡°Recoveries are looking ok?¡± Raika asks Li Shu.


    ¡°Yep! All of them are looking fine. It¡¯s been great being able to help people again, even if this has been a bit of a rush with so many at once. Your triage helped as well, I¡¯m not sure I could¡¯ve gotten to the worst injuries in time if not for that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad. How¡¯s uh¡­ what¡¯s his name¡­ I don¡¯t know it, actually. How¡¯s Nan Su¡¯s kid?¡±


    ¡°Nan Hie? Oh, he¡¯s fine. Why?¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°She gave me a really good cookie one time, and she looked pretty messed up after the attack. One of the wounded smelled a lot like her, just a lot younger. Figured I¡¯d ask.¡±


    Off to one side, a young man stands and bows. ¡°This one is honored you would think to ask about his condition, great one! I-¡±


    ¡°Yeah yeah yeah, don¡¯t worry about it. Your mother¡¯s good people, kid. And she makes great cookies.¡±


    The guy seems to hesitate for a bit, but¡­ then he smiles. ¡°She¡¯ll be happy to hear you say so, great one. Her lavender-oranges are a rarity in these parts, and she has yet to share the recipe for those cookies with anyone. Even her loving son.¡±


    Raika laughs. ¡°I¡¯m not surprised. Such a rare recipe should be treasured, I think. Give her my best wishes.¡±


    Nan Hie smiles softly, the crinkles of his eyes and dimples in his cheeks immediately marking him as related to Nan Su more than his skin, hair or eyes dare to. ¡°I shall do so, honored cultivator. Though I warn that my mother is a strong woman, and cannot promise she won¡¯t insist on making me return with more gifts.¡±


    Raika shakes her head, smiling ruefully. ¡°Thank you, but I¡¯m afraid we¡¯ll have left by the time such a thing could occur. I¡¯ll treasure the memory, and am glad that I could help.¡±


    He accepts gracefully, bowing out, and the air around the town square gets¡­ a bit lighter.


    ¡ª----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    It¡¯s about two hours later when she manages to find a moment to slip away.


    Size notwithstanding, speed and ability to sense people¡¯s perception makes her decent at stealth, at least at this level. She takes Jin off to one side with her at a crucial moment where Li Shu tells a joke, startling some of the elders and getting a few very genuine laughs out of most of her patients.


    Before the kid can blink, she¡¯s picked him up by the back of his robes and launched them through the air, landing on top of the defensive wall that wraps around the village. It circles off quite a ways to protect the farmland, but hugs the village walls fairly closely on this end of it, and it takes a few seconds for her to leap onto it and sprint up the side.


    By the time they stop, atop the wall, Jin hasn¡¯t even had the time to catch his breath to scream.


    She plants herself down on the wall, looking out over the village, the farms, already bustling with more repairs and preparations for the next planting, at the town center where dozens congregate around Li Shu, at the streets gradually filling with life¡­


    And then at Jin, who¡¯s still pretty wobbly on his feet.


    ¡°Do you want to stay?¡± she asks.


    She gives him time to process. It¡¯s a loaded question, and he is still catching his breath after all.


    Eventually, he takes a seat on the wall, his legs dangling over the side. He takes a deeper breath, then pushes it out in a huff. She stares out at the town, keeping her gaze off him. Lightening the pressure just enough, she hopes, for him to take it seriously, but not feel¡­ crushed.


    It¡¯s a big fucking question.


    Eventually, she smells his Qi stir, ever so slightly. Just enough for her to know that he¡¯s accessed it. And he breathes out, nice and loud.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    She chuckles a bit. Then, she nods.


    ¡°Good answer, kid.¡±


    He looks at her in clear surprise, but she shakes her head.


    ¡°Absolute certainty isn¡¯t something you grab onto if you¡¯re not absolutely fucking certain. There are some things you need to be ready to stand and die for, but if you don¡¯t know, then all you can do is work to find out. And it¡¯s a good village. Out of the way, quiet. Keep cultivating, especially once you figure out some easier way to convert Qi, and you could be a pretty big deal here. Fight off most spirit beasts, probably, and be able to call for help if one too big arrives. You could enjoy Nan Su¡¯s cookies, and get respect from that village leader guy, Hao Kai. You could enjoy a life of genuine growth and genuine comfort.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡±


    ¡°But nothing, kid. It¡¯s a choice you have. Stay low, stay quiet, and be a big fish in a pleasant pond. You¡¯d have to change your cultivation, probably. Especially with my history, chances are the Divisions would come swoop you up if you kept your path as it is, and¡­ I don¡¯t know. Maybe it won¡¯t be as bad for you as it was for me, but it¡¯ll still be bad. You¡¯ll still be theirs. Be owned.


    ¡°But if you changed your cultivation, you could do it. Live here. In peace. Or if that doesn¡¯t work for you, I might be able to get you into the Hungering Roots sect. Hisheng would be more than willing. That¡¯s a path, too.¡±


    Jin looks at her, and she pointedly does not look at him, the Mask keeping her face calm and content. A little wind blows past them, making her dreads wave a bit, and she enjoys the coolness of it, and the scent of forest.


    ¡°Or?¡± he asks.


    She sighs, long and slow.


    ¡°Or you come with us. Li Shu and I. I know I already asked, but you hadn¡¯t seen what I could do. And I¡¯m weak.¡±


    He gives her a sharp look, his eyes wide.


    ¡°It¡¯s true. I am. I¡¯m getting stronger fast, that¡¯s for damn sure, but the world is large, and dangerous, and I am not strong enough to guarantee your safety. There are monsters in the wilds and there are monsters in the cities and the world is not a kind place because the powerful are not kind. You can come with me, past the fortress cities that hold armies, past the gates of the world into places where things like what nearly destroyed this village are common. If you do, Li Shu and I will do what we can to heal you and keep you safe, and to help you grow alongside us as we do some things that most sane people would tell you are crazy to do. You¡¯ll be different, and strange, and you might even become powerful in your own way, but you are almost as likely to die on the path there. Maybe more.¡±


    She lets things sit, silent and heavy.


    Jin looks out over the town as midday approaches, the sun bright and shining in the air, the world loud and lively. There are dozens of people visible and even more out of sight, and the smells of the city are loud and real.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to stay small,¡± Jin says.


    She smiles softly. ¡°That an absolute certainty, kid?¡±


    He nods. Once.


    ¡°Well alright then. Good enough.¡±


    He gives her a look. ¡°That¡¯s it? That easy?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Yup. I stand by my principles, and the freedom to choose who you are is just about the biggest one I¡¯ve got. We¡¯ll be leaving in three day¡¯s time. I¡¯m going to visit my old sect first, then help Li Shu with her ritual, and then we¡¯re off.¡±


    There¡¯s a jangling sound as she brings out a line of silver coins, of shiny Imperial mint, all arranged on a string.


    ¡°These are yours. Buy what you want to buy, gift what you want to gift. Go get some traveling clothes and do what you want with the rest.¡±


    And with that, she hops right off the wall, falling back down into town.


    On her way away from the wall, she smiles as Jin starts cussing to himself about how the fuck he¡¯s supposed to get down from there.

 Chapter 183 - Some Real Queen Of Thorns Energy

    For all that the world changes, as day turns to night and back again, some things stay the same.


    The human condition is good about that. Seeing something static and thinking it immune to transformation. Raika, of all people, has become more than familiar with that fact, at how quickly even the most stable-feeling foundations can suddenly be disproven or destroyed.


    And yet, the Hungering Roots sect looks the fucking same.


    Six hours of running is what it took to get here. That¡¯s all. Months and months and months of living just six hours away from the place she¡¯s lived in the longest out of her entire life. A few good, genuine, meaningful months next to the emptiest fucking place she¡¯s ever been in.


    She doesn¡¯t bother with the front door.


    There are defenses that she could¡­ kinda see, back when she was a cultivator, but that stand incredibly loud to her newfound senses. Under the effects of synesthesia, the smell of the barrier makes for a visible haze of power in front of her.


    It¡¯s not quite a dome. There are layers to it, like pillars or fortifications, hazy outlines in places where the connections feel a bit fainter but an overwhelming flood of power throughout all of it. It eclipses any scent of Qi she¡¯s felt save for that of the Witch, and now, with her senses properly enhanced, she can only imagine just how truly powerful the defenses must have been in Cragend and the Imperial palaces. It¡¯s not just the scent of something powerful, it¡¯s the sight of it, of the screaming, fluctuating and flickering form of that massive array.


    She could break it, if she wanted.


    She gets the impression that it¡¯s not really made to defend against someone who can visibly see it. Some of the outer runes and anchor-points of the defensive array are at the edge of it, and some of them are flickering very slightly. Not enough to blink in and out, but enough that, to her senses, their strength is hazier. There might be some sort of alarm tied into the breaking of any of the effects, but she might be able to sense that too, find a way around it.


    It¡¯s not what she¡¯s here for. But it¡¯s¡­ empowering.


    They couldn¡¯t keep her out if they wanted to. Not with this.


    But instead, she just reaches a hand through, and breaks the first layer.


    It¡¯s kind of weird, actually. Her hand going through doesn¡¯t seem to trigger¡­ anything. It¡¯s only when she waves it around that some other defenses light up, other parts of the array going brighter. The parts that smell most of Qi, like there¡¯s empty spaces between brighter ones, waiting to be filled, they stay quiet as nothing leaks from her to them.


    The movement does trigger something though. The alarm seems to flash for a while, a few minutes, but¡­ nothing happens.


    She shrugs, and starts walking in deeper through the array.


    Only about a third of the defenses seem to recognize her presence. Some of the Qi-based ones seem to light up just a touch when she exhales near them, but not enough to truly wake up all the way, and she starts to hold her breath not long after. Some of the defenses seem clearly tied to just movement, though, or things passing through them. It¡¯s only when she makes it maybe fifty, sixty meters through it that some of the brighter ones begin to light up, and more of the array starts showing signs of activity.


    Hmm.


    Boring.


    She crouches, winds her tendons around hidden joints and pneumatics, and jumps.


    The air blurs past, whistling loudly through her ears as a dozen new alarms sound out, these ones brighter, louder. She¡¯s moving fast enough that even with them, the few actual flashes of light and power that begin to form behind her aren¡¯t fast enough to catch her. Even with the speed she¡¯s moving at, only a third of the alarms and defenses seem to even try to light up, the lack of detectable Qi making for a surprisingly effective tool in this case.


    She lands on the outer wall of the outer sect, flashes of thunderous orange lightning and bright spots of floating Qi shields flaring in and out of life.


    The world ripples impossibly behind her, and she smiles.


    The outer sect, where she spent¡­ forever. Most of her life. She sees the fields where they would get farming duties, taking care of spirit herbs. She sees the foundries along the inner wall of the sect, smoke bellowing from their stacks as the sound of distant hammers and scissors and drills echo faintly from them. She sees the space where the outer sect disciples live, hundreds of buildings with their own little gardens and pathways, the tournament building large enough to encompass Wayun village and full even now with the sounds of Foundational realm cultivators sparring, and the servant-city, spaced out across the inner side of the outer wall and with enough living-spaces in the two-storied buildings to have room for thousands of servants.


    And she notices how empty it is.


    It doesn¡¯t smell of life, not really. Of earth, of roots that crawl through it, of plants and foundries and laundry and cooking¡­ but not in the quantities that would indicate a thriving place. The Hungering Roots sect is old, and it has not weathered the test of that time as strongly as the Empire which allows its continued existence.


    She launches herself a second time. She can¡¯t fly or walk on air, so when she lands, it is a heavy, screaming thud against the earth, denting the solid ground with her weight- and immediately leaping again.


    She clears the radius of the outer sect in less than a minute. Three massive, world-shaking leaps, and she lands at the feet of the inner sect wall.


    There are¡­ hundreds more. Hundreds more defenses and arrays surrounding the wall itself and a space right around it. They make the ones around the outer sect look like a joke, their current strong and bright, burning with color and vibrancy. These would, at the very least, really hurt to get caught by, and they seem guaranteed to catch even a bird flying through them.


    She smiles.


    She can hear and smell the heartbeats and Qi of dozens of cultivators sprinting her way. She did set off all those alarms¡­


    Ah well. In for a copper, in for a silver as they say.


    She crouches, starts overclocking her calf and thigh muscles and tendon groups, and leaps.


    Her spine aches under the force of the pressure, her shoulders forced down violently with the sheer amount of weight she has being thrown at such incredible speeds- and she lands atop the wall.


    This time maybe half of the Qi structures of the array light up, though still less than they intended, she¡¯s sure. A wall of force and lightning begins to crackle, centuries old techniques and arrays of incredible potency preparing to strike, waiting for some kind of confirmation-


    Confirmation she doesn¡¯t give them time to provide. She soves off the wall and forward, flying through the air. There¡¯s a lot less space in the inner sect, made as it is to provide for inner-sect disciples only, a much smaller number than outer disciples, and this time, she manages to fly far enough and fast enough to land right outside the Core sect¡¯s walls.


    And finds herself looking at an old, old man.


    Were he a mortal, he might be seventy, maybe eighty, but he still looks incredibly healthy for that age. Well-muscled, physically fit, and standing tall, hands behind his back, a haughty look on his face.


    She diverts her movement to fall towards him, landing a few feet in front of him.


    He smells strong. Not as strong as some of the folks in the tournament, maybe, but strong nonetheless. Peak Nascent Soul realm, perhaps.


    And she recognizes him easily.


    ¡°This junior disciple greets Elder Shang Hao,¡± she says, bowing just short enough to be cheeky. ¡°It¡¯s been some time.¡±


    ¡°So it has, ¡°junior¡± disciple,¡± the man replies. His voice is quiet, but it carries with it a weight that surprises her. It doesn¡¯t¡­ it doesn¡¯t quite match the depth of his scent.


    A half-second later, the ground cracks under the frame of Hisheng as he arrives in a burst of Qi. His hands are up, his fists ready, his body glowing with strength-


    And then he fucking sighs.


    ¡°Gods damnit, Raika. You couldn¡¯t just knock on the door.¡±


    She grins. ¡°Got you to curse again.¡±


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


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    The area of the core disciples is nice. If this is where Hisheng¡¯s been secluded, he can see why he¡¯s grown. There¡¯s a richness to the Qi there that¡¯s absent outside of it, and she can see how the core arrays glow faintly always, holding in and circulating the energy to increase its efficiency and draw it in.


    It¡¯s not hard to look at, considering the size of the building they¡¯re in.


    Elder Shang Hao, like all elders, has a manor. It¡¯s not massive, it¡¯s no Palace, but it has a solid six stories, a dozen towers, and more than enough space to hold all the apprentices and servants a sect elder could hope for.


    Weird, to be on a balcony like this. She hasn¡¯t been a big fan since¡­ well, since Paleblossom city. But the table is nice, and the tea smells pretty good. It¡¯s got some Qi in it, even.


    She takes a polite sip, and is pleasantly surprised when it tastes better than she thought it would. Like¡­ something floral, but earthy, rich and sweet. It¡¯s lovely.


    Elder Shang Hao watches as she takes a sip. He nods, once, and takes a sip of his own tea.


    ¡°Thank you for accepting my invitation. In spite of your¡­ entrance, your presence is still appreciated.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Hisheng trusts you. And it seems you helped him. Between that, and how my¡­ patron has inconvenienced you, it¡¯s only right to accept a genuine invitation.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Your¡­ patron. It is interesting to see a member of the Hungering Roots sect, especially one mistakenly thought dead, rise to such a position so quickly.¡±


    She lets out a little laugh at that, taking another drink of her tea.


    Elder Shang Hao tilts his head, looking at her. To her senses, the cloud of Qi that surrounds and envelopes him becoming denser as he pulls from his true self, not just the wisps that escape his control. The scent of wood and bloody mulch fills the room, and she can see his aura, squirming and crawling through reality inside and behind him.


    ¡°Did I say something humorous, child?¡±


    She smiles, perfectly calm as she meets his gaze.


    ¡°Apologies, elder. I was caught off guard by the joke of an idea that this one might in any way consider herself a part of the Hungering Roots sect.¡±


    The world roils under the weight of Elder Shang Hao¡¯s spirit. His Qi is one thing, but there¡¯s more to it than that. He¡¯s not some brash youth or battle-hungry independent cultivator coming to a tournament, he is an Elder, and he makes her feel it.


    That same feeling that the Aspirant of the Cut had made her feel in the arena. That sense of imminent danger, of genuine killing intent manifesting into existence by will alone, is matched by a rising rush of rooted, stone-breaking Qi. Deep, deep beneath both, she even detects a hint of that which the roots crawl from, down in the dark of torn soil.


    She takes a sip of her tea, places it back down, and calmly takes out her pipe, beginning to pack its bowl.


    ¡°You don¡¯t mind if I smoke in here, do you?¡±


    The stone floor beside her cracks Shang Hao¡¯s intent bears down upon the world.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t think so.¡±


    With a flick of her Blacksteel prosthetic and a touch of Qi, she lights up the pipe and draws a long, slow pull on it. At this point, Elder Shang Hao is looking at her with eyes wide, as if stunned by the audacity.


    ¡°You were taken in by the Hungering Roots sect,¡± he says slowly. ¡°You were raised by the sect. Strengthened by the sect. Kept alive and made whole and real through the sect. Your flawed limitations from the illusion that is reality were taken from you here, in this sect. Who are you to spit on such generosity?¡±


    ¡°Well, I haven¡¯t ripped your walls from their foundations and torn your disciples limb from limb. That¡¯s pretty generous, I think.¡±


    Slowly, he leans back, the pressure lifting ever so slightly. ¡°You¡¯re mad,¡± he whispers. ¡°I knew you as a frivolous, rebellious brute when you were among us, but now-¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t know me at all,¡± she interrupts, the smoke taking some of the edge off of the pressure he¡¯s exerting on her and coiling in light blue tones around her chair as she breathes it back out into the world. ¡°You¡¯re an elder, I was a disappointment, so why would you? You took me because half those buildings I saw on my way in are dead and empty, and it didn¡¯t matter if I fit, if this place could help me, because you wanted more blood to impress your enemies with. I never saw my parents again after you took me in, or my sister, or anyone, and now they¡¯re dead or strangers to me. Oh, maybe I got a few more resources than a mortal, a bit more free time to work on them, but when was that ever for me, hmm?¡±


    The Mask forcefully calms some of their heartbeats, but the Flesh rebels a bit, a note of dissonance entering their cadence as Raika¡¯s voice remains calm, quiet, her face serene- and her flesh begins to heat up in preparation.


    ¡°And when I was considered dead? When I was so starved for progress that I went out into the world and was abused and broken, where was the Hungering Roots sect? Maybe you didn¡¯t know. It was a long way away, after all, and the Silver Song family made clear their records. But what about in Cragend?¡±


    The room begins to shake, ever so slightly, as Shang Hao looks ready to interrupt and yell something at her-


    She taps Dink, ever so lightly, and the note that plays disrupts the Qi surrounding them ever so slightly. Not enough to harm, but enough that he pulls back, has to take a half-second to readjust, his eyes wide as he looks at the spirit tool-


    ¡°When I was starring as the main attraction of my own little circus, where was the Hungering Roots sect then? I received a note from Hisheng. From him alone, not this little sect that I haven¡¯t stepped foot in or thought about in years. So tell me again why I owe you, after you made me into a cheap tool for your own gain and didn¡¯t even look after I fell?


    ¡°Tell me now, where is this honor you speak of? Where is the nobility? Where is it in your mind that you think you can find a reason for me to give a single fucking speck of respect to you or anyone here?¡±


    She takes another pull of her pipe, the bone implement glowing with the bluish flame of its components as she leisurely fills her lungs with thick, iron-scented haze.


    In the silence, she takes another sip of her tea. The tastes don¡¯t really match up, but they somehow complement each other very well nonetheless.


    ¡°I really must compliment your merchants,¡± she says, her voice pitched through the Mask to be perfectly pleasant. ¡°This tea is quite good indeed. I appreciate the hospitality.¡±


    Elder Shang Hao stands from the table.


    The table which is no longer.


    There is a flat circle on the ground where it has been crushed into a new feature on the floor, cracks running through the stone of the chamber and the echo of its collapse ringing through the open balcony.


    Raika¡¯s pretty sure, at this point, that the whole sect can feel exactly how displeased he is.


    Looking him right in the eyes, she very casually lets go of her cup of tea for it to spill and shatter onto the floor.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how you secured your benefactor,¡± he snarls, ¡°but if you think for an instant that the Empire has bearing on the will of this master, you are sorely mistaken.¡±


    She stays seated right where she is, smoking comfortably as she looks up at him. Shang Hao¡¯s robes, previously pristine, are being moved as if by unseen roots crawling through the air, and the air around him feels charged. Even through her skin, through her lack of ¡°true¡± Qi senses, through her lack of giving a shit, she can feel the weight of the intent and aura he¡¯s pushing against her.


    She feels blood vessels begin to pop.


    She feels the blood in her body begin to warp as if under tremendous pressure.


    She feels her skin begin to crackle as the curse holds out against the waves of Qi pushing into her.


    Six months ago, she would¡¯ve had no choice but to back down.


    Now?


    She exhales, enjoying the taste of the haze as it drifts from her.


    ¡°I¡¯m not in any way sorry to say that I¡¯m not mistaken at all, actually,¡± she says. ¡°Sure, Honored Researcher Boriah would most certainly have something dreadful in mind for you if I died here. Maybe even for this whole damn sect.


    ¡°But I can tell you true that I have seen and survived worse than you. You could probably still kill me. I can smell the depth of your power from here, and there¡¯s no one more familiar with my ignorance or limitations than I.


    ¡°But I can guarantee I¡¯ll hurt on the way down. Even if you make it out intact, I can promise I won¡¯t die alone.


    ¡°So why don¡¯t you sit down, accept my generosity for coming here, and tell me what you called me for.¡±


    Elder Shang Hao says nothing.


    She refuses to break eye contact.


    She can actually smell the strain on his blood pressure as he forces his Qi back under control and takes a seat.


    ¡°You¡¯ve become dangerous,¡± he whispers, eyes locked onto hers.


    She smiles. ¡°At last, you¡¯re right about something.¡±


    A tense few moments pass. She senses his Qi flex subtly out towards the door, and a few moments later six men come in carrying between them a stone table just as big as the first. Even as she watches, their Qi circulates and enters the air, repairing the stonework and setting the table down right over where the old one sat, before it violently became acquainted with the floor.


    About a minute after that, three young women arrive, each wearing surprisingly modest jade and white robes, each carrying different parts to a tea set. Water heated by Qi is poured into well-mixed and powdered ingredients, and in moments, there are two new cups of tea before them, and a kettle left on the table, as the young women retreat.


    All of them smelled of stress and fear, and none of them dared to look at Raika or Shang Hao.


    Sheng Hao waits for them to leave before he takes another, quiet sip of his tea.


    She leaves her own cup untouched this time.


    He takes a long, deep breath, and she can feel the subtle edges of deeper things as he breathes. It¡¯s not just Qi that he has, not just the properties of cultivation. This is a man that has endured centuries, and while he may not hold a true Soul within him, the killing intent he showed and techniques he¡¯s likely to possess keep him out of her league, nevermind his potential Truths or Dao.


    Sort of beyond her league, anyways.


    She¡¯s pretty sure she could uncage her Reactor and give him a fine surprise.


    He sets down the cup quietly, much calmer, and turns back to face her.


    ¡°Senior Researcher Boriah, in our communications, thanked me preemptively for my services in verifying your growth and tracking your movements. And¡­ in turn, I had hoped that you would have the self-awareness and base respect to consider your allegiance to those who raised you, rather than a total embrace of your Imperial masters.¡±


    ¡°Mmh. What a gift it would¡¯ve been, to be a tool for the Hungering Roots sect and the Empire at once. You have my gratitude for the aid you¡¯ve given Hisheng, and for what I would consider good from our past history. No more.¡±


    Elder Shang Hao nods, taking another drink of tea. He remains quiet a while longer.


    She enjoys the view of her old sect from over the edge of the balcony, and another few breaths of smoke.


    ¡°You¡¯ll leave within the week.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Works for me. Tell Boriah for me, would you? Tell him I¡¯m heading out east.¡±


    ¡°Hmph. And what, pray tell, should I tell your lost little lover?¡±


    She smiles, low and slow, with far more teeth than any regular human mouth can hold.


    ¡°Well for one thing, you can tell him that you¡¯ll grant him all the resources he could want. That he¡¯ll remain a core disciple for as long as he pleases, and that if he ever needs anything at all, that I will be there to repay my debt to him. And then, you¡¯ll tell him nothing at all that isn¡¯t entirely useful to his cultivation.¡±


    ¡°You are not in a position to dictate terms, Raika the Bloody. The fact it might cost me something to kill you doesn¡¯t grant you the right to command one that is centuries your senior.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, it doesn¡¯t. But the fact is, the Hungering Roots sect is weak. The Patriarch has been on some Imperial command or other since before I ever got here, and your barracks have been half-empty since I was a child. The Empire bleeds us all dry to feed itself, to feed the first ring and the fortresses of the fourth, and this far out, this small of a sect? There¡¯s nothing you have to offer beyond manpower and taxes to feed it with. I¡¯m far more useful as a begrudging ally than as an enemy. And so long as you¡¯re taking care of Hisheng properly, I can see that being the case. He¡¯s a big boy. He can handle a little bit of politics, and I can stomach dealing with you and your fucking sect if it means he gets the resources he deserves.¡±


    Raika smiles thinly as she smells the fury rolling off the sect elder¡­ as he grimaces, hard, and nods.


    ¡°Pleasure doing business with you, elder. It is my hope that your work with the Justicars of the sect, and its overall fortunes, improve tremendously under your wise leadership.¡±

 Chapter 184 - Fond Farewells, "Happy Endings"- And Some Fun To Come

    The trip out from the sect is a lot less eventful than her entry. Elder Shang Hao called Hisheng to the chamber, Hisheng saw that they hadn¡¯t ripped each other to pieces, and he was more than happy to escort her out and away from it all.


    It was a little weird walk, going out through the main route this time. There¡¯s a hundred-foot wide path of carved marble that goes through the gates of the core, inner, and outer sects, manned by the strongest defenses and checkpoints that the sect can offer and almost half-again the number of arrays and formations active around them. By her size she draws a good amount of attention, but Hisheng at her side seems to actively suppress a lot of the more burning questions people might have, and she is heading out, not in. Besides, she¡¯s not the only large or strange looking person in the sect; she sees two people with giant¡¯s blood, almost as tall as she is and with skin that look grey and lightly green. Almost a third of the cultivators and servants that she senses fall into some category of beastblood, with scales, feathers and more abounding. In this, at least, she can¡¯t fault the Hungering Roots sect: willpower and potential are what define cultivators, not physical features, and there¡¯s a variety of different groups of people in the sect as they walk.


    And, she admits, it¡¯s pretty peaceful. Well, besides everyone scrambling to find out what caused the alarms. The lack of personnel and initiates is what causes it mostly, sure, but the walls and buildings of the sect seem designed to minimize noise as much as possible, making it so the distant sounds of birds and the wind are the only sounds that clutter the air beyond the distant foundries and the alarmed panic her entrance brought about. It¡¯s nice. She doesn¡¯t remember it being quiet when she was here¡­ but she wasn¡¯t really of a mind to notice. Always pushing, always uncomfortable standing still. She still is, she supposes, but it¡¯s more a choice than a burden now.


    They get to the front gates of the sect, and with all the commotion, it takes Hisheng almost twenty minutes before they manage to get through, even with explicit permission and the authority of a core cultivator of the sect. She mostly spends her time intimidatingly looming over the poor gate guards and smoking what¡¯s left of her bowl.


    And then, far less dramatically than she returned, she leaves the Hungering Roots sect.


    It¡­ surprised her a bit just how venomous her feelings were toward the sect. She knew, on an intellectual level, that she was hurt that they¡¯d abandoned her, that she hadn¡¯t considered herself a part of the sect anymore all the way back when she woke up and realized they hadn¡¯t come for her in Paleblossom city, but it¡¯s another thing to experience those feelings. There was almost a weight to her as the Want had pushed them all forward, hungry and aching with genuine fury at the assumption that she¡¯d just fall right back into the fold. That she¡¯d be grateful for ¡°all they¡¯d done for her¡±.


    It wasn¡¯t¡­ surprising, per se? It didn¡¯t feel like something that the Mask or the Flesh needed to step in and stop¡­ but it felt easy to get dragged into.


    Past the sect gates, they start down the trail of the sect¡¯s plateau. It¡¯s a lot shorter than most of the ones she saw in Cragend and Paleblossom city, but even still, it is a plateau large enough to house the entire complex, and without leaping, it¡¯s a decent enough walk. It¡¯s only after they¡¯re a few minutes down the trail, well-trod and with carved paths for carts, that she feels Hisheng unclench and let go of some of his tension.


    ¡°So,¡± he says, ¡°what now?¡±


    ¡°Now? ¡­Well, I imagine my ¡°boss¡± will want a word. We¡¯ll see when he shows up, but Elder Shang Hao is most certainly going to try to make some trouble for me there. Other than that¡­ Li Shu¡¯s got a big ritual I¡¯m gonna help her with. That¡¯ll be interesting. I have some stuff to discuss with a pond¡­ and I think Hao Nera is getting close to being ready with his project. Qen Hou is mostly just focused on cultivation, really.


    ¡°As for you¡­ well. Me and Elder asshole up there came to an agreement. You¡¯ll be getting all the special treatment they can give. Ask, and ye shall receive, and if they try to suppress you, send a letter to the same place you¡¯ve been sending mine. They¡¯ll make sure he stays in line.¡±


    Hisheng snorts, loud and happy and incredulous. ¡°You really don¡¯t do things by half measure. It¡¯s¡­ weird to think about how far you¡¯ve come.¡±


    ¡°I guess it is. The whole place feels smaller now, but¡­ it always felt a bit restrictive to me.¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°I don¡¯t just mean with the sect, or the politics. It is mad that you have the weight to make deals and demands with an Elder of our- of my sect, but that¡¯s not it at all. You¡¯ve gained real, genuine allies, ones that are growing strong, fast. Every time I¡¯ve visited, all three your¡­ housemates(?) have been noticeably stronger, in just a few months. You¡¯ve gained not just strength, but skills and ideals all your own. It¡¯s a bit intimidating, in a way.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like you haven¡¯t gotten stronger,¡± she tells him. ¡°You¡¯re a core disciple, and you¡¯ve gotten most of the way through Core Formation realm since last I saw you. You were barely starting just a few years back.¡±


    He laughs. ¡°A big fish in a small pond situation, perhaps. It¡¯s hard to take compliments from geniuses like you.¡±


    She gives him a more searching look, her senses stretching forth to better interact with his biology. Despite his words, he seems almost weirdly at ease.


    ¡°Do¡­ you want something else?¡± she asks.


    A shrug, and then a sigh. ¡°Not really. I think I¡¯d be pretty content here for¡­ well, at least a few more years. I just want to meditate and enjoy life. Be kind where I can, learn new skills here and there. I could see myself still here in a few decades, with my friends, with new family, with genuine peace.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°But it¡¯s still tempting, to see you. To think of grand adventures, of exploring the world and making a mark on it. It¡¯s just¡­ it¡¯s not me, you know?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I know¡­ exactly how that feels.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad. It¡¯s hard to explain, except that¡­ it might be fun for a vacation. But I wouldn¡¯t want it to be my life. For now, my life is here, and it¡¯s quiet. At least compared to yours.¡±


    She looks over at him, taking in the full breadth of him. Of his face. How he breathes. The way his heart always sounds so steady, so consistent. How he seems genuinely in balance with every part of himself, even with all the messiness of a human body.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to miss you,¡± she says, and it is True.


    He smiles softly. ¡°Flattering. I¡¯ll miss you too. But it was always going to end with us, I think. Considering how much better our relationship is now compared to when we dated, maybe in another decade we¡¯ll be speaking wedding vows.¡±


    She laughs at that, a sharp bark that actually makes Hisheng jump a bit. ¡°Aww, I¡¯m almost hurt! To think, you¡¯d consider our relationship better when I¡¯m not making you cum your brains out!¡±


    He blushes, but only a little bit, smiling wide. ¡°What can I say, I treasure our mutual emotional development ever so slightly more than your physical talents.¡±


    ¡°Only slightly? Ah, I suppose I can let it be then.¡±


    They laugh, and the walk down the cliffside goes peacefully as they wind down the path.


    When they reach the bottom of the plateau, then and only then does Hisheng¡¯s voice get truly serious.


    As they stand just past the gates that block ¡°common¡± access to the path up the mountain, Hisheng turns to her and bows.


    She blinks, cocks an eyebrow. ¡°What are you-¡±


    ¡°You went out of your way to think of me, and stood up for me against a sect elder, when all I have done is offer a bare minimum repayment of what I owe you. This humble Hisheng is grateful to you, and swears that all I have sworn to you shall forever be upheld. So long as I live and breathe, all you need is to ask, and I will carve a place for you to rest.¡±


    And he speaks the oath, and it is True.


    She laughs. Low, and quiet, and then gradually it builds, until she¡¯s almost doubled over, laughing harder than she¡¯s cackled in years. She belts out a genuine wheeze as her altered lungs fail to keep up with the demands of mirth, and then she sees Hisheng looking up at her and incredibly confused and laughs harder.


    By the time she¡¯s done, she¡¯s sitting on the grass, looking up at him.


    ¡°Well. That helped clear something up. Oaths, huh?


    ¡°But that deal ain¡¯t exactly fair. Let me offer you one, too.¡±


    She stands, and bows right back to him, matching the depth he bowed to and clasping both hands against her sternum.


    ¡°Call upon me for help, and so long as I hear of it, I shall always answer.¡±


    Hisheng actually steps back as the weight of the oath lands on him, the vow of simple words spoken in Truespeak. It was his saying it, his making that vow, that broke the dam, cracked the code; her Truespeak doesn¡¯t make things come true. It¡¯s nothing so powerful, though it might perhaps influence things here and there. No, it¡¯s not that she can force things to be true that aren¡¯t; it¡¯s that she can¡¯t say anything that isn¡¯t True. She can¡¯t speak falsehoods in it. That¡¯s why Shapefixit had trusted her words so immediately back in the tunnels beneath Cragend; Truespeak cannot say a lie.


    She and Hisheng both are now bound by it, their oaths turned True. And Hisheng smiles at her.


    She looks at him there. The man who swore, unconditionally, to always carve out someplace safe for her. Who risked reputation, life and limb to keep her safe, and apparently almost tore himself apart on hearing about how she had suffered. Tall, well defined muscles, more lithe than one might expect, with richly tanned skin and those bright, swirling tattoos across his head. Sparking eyes, bright as emeralds, and a smile so genuine she can literally feel it.


    ¡°So¡­ want to go find someplace quiet? For old times¡¯ sake?¡±


    He blinks. Opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. And then busts out laughing.


    She frowns. ¡°Come on, I was serious! You don¡¯t need to laugh!¡±


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s not that!¡± he says, nearly shaking. ¡°It¡¯s just- you just- after all that- and the- only you would proposition someone right after swearing a binding vow like that!¡±


    She snorts, tossing her hair back. ¡°I am brave where many are fools, it¡¯s true.¡±


    He shakes his head, still laughing. ¡°Aaaaagh. We¡¯re still like right outside the sect. Elder Shang Hao probably heard that entire conversation.¡±


    A shrug. ¡°Good. Means he knows how serious I am that it would go very poorly for him if he tried to hurt you.¡±


    He laughs again, but it¡¯s quieter this time. He looks at her¡­ pauses. Shakes his head. And then-


    ¡°Alright, sure. Why not. I know a spot a little ways away.¡±


    It takes considerable effort for Raika not to morph into Gigant form and carry the bastard in a dead sprint the whole way there.


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°And what of Feng Gao? Any updates?¡±


    The room is dark, cold, and violently off. Though every surface is as black as the void, there are glimpses in each wall as if something moves, just off to one side. Here and there, strangling vines tougher than steel and sharper than razor wire grow out of the impossible dark, as if one is standing beneath the roots of an impossible tree- if only its soil were darkness itself, made into sharp angles and twisting corridors.


    The voice comes out of the dark as if from far, far away¡­ yet always seems to speak from directly in front of anyone that can hear it.


    A man kneels, his face covered in a veil, his clothing a simple mix of gold, green and white. ¡°None, honored ancestor. No mark was found of his passing, but his life-lantern remains cut off. We know only that he has passed; any insight into the details of it shows us only darkness.¡±


    ¡°...is that¡­ bull-thing still interfering? Errath¡¯s little pet in their new Division?¡±


    ¡°His efforts have diminished of late, honored ancestor. We believe it was protective instinct over his standing and projects, but our efforts to examine him remain.¡±


    ¡°Good. Keep searching. If nothing can be found, make something up. It would please me to use the beast against his master, and we cannot let any involvement in the death of a named Feng descendant go unpunished.


    ¡°And when you find him, inform me immediately. Things are beginning to shift within our borders, and I would have it known that all who challenge the authority of the Feng clan will find themselves¡­ re-educated on the wisdom of such an idea.¡±


    The man in simple robes, who has crushed cities and woven branches so finely through institutions and armies that they did not even notice when they were unwoven, bows his head to the cold floor in a perfect kowtow.


    ¡°It shall be done, master. Glory to the Feng Clan, and Glory to the Empire.¡±


    And then He Is Not There.

 Chapter 185 - Dawn Of The Final Day

    Months and months of preparation, all leading to this.


    The final day.


    Last minute preparations. Last minute checks. Six almost-perfect months of healing, of change¡­ all to leave again. Back out into the world.


    Not that that bell can be unrung. Her meeting with the elder, at the absolute minimum, makes sure of that. It¡¯s one thing to have an Imperial Cultivator at the rank of Researcher (Senior Researcher now, apparently. What delightful news.) tell him to keep an eye from afar and report in, another entirely to have her show up on their doorstep, bold as brass, and start making demands and throwing political clout around.


    And, well, fucking one of their core disciples in the woods. That¡¯s going to cause a delightful little stir indeed.


    Between that, the village that knows far too much about them at this point, and the fact that Taurus knew where she was all along, tracker or not¡­ even if she hadn¡¯t chosen and announced their departure time, it¡¯s still very much time to go.


    So now, all that remains is making sure they¡¯re all ready for it.


    Qen Hou¡¯s preparations are the easiest. While none of them have storage rings, this being the boonies of the third ring and all of them being sectless, he also just doesn¡¯t really need much beyond basic supplies. He and Hao Nera get a smaller chunk of the supplies, as well as some personalized gifts: an incense-holder made of bone and a small dagger of Blacksteel from Raika, and a primer on medicinal herbs and how to make pure alcohol from Li Shu.


    He was also the most bashful when it came time for giving his own gifts in return. It¡¯s funny, when she first met him, she¡¯d never have thought of the guy as bashful, but now the young master, officious, prim and proper cultivator schtick is a bit easier to see through. It works as a pretty great cover- or it would, if not for how she can taste the moment of anxiety he feels as he hands over his gifts.


    To Raika, he gives a small rock, one of those most affected by his impromptu Domain. It spirals, as if melted into strange patterns, but there¡¯s no evidence of burns to it, like it turned liquid for the sake only of its transformation.


    She hugs him hard enough that his ribs creak.


    To Li Shu, he gives a new set of scalpels. They stand out compared to her usual set, and barely half as sharp, but it¡¯s clear he¡¯s shaped them by hand and enriched them with his Qi to get them to the point of malleability.


    She¡¯s no more shy than Raika, and Qen Hou actually grunts in surprise when she crushes him with all her strength.


    Hao Nera, on the other hand, was a bit more practical. A single, well-made telescope for Li Shu, clearly ordered from somewhere expensive- and for Raika, a gift-wrapped selection of cured meats.


    She ended up using a few of them as seasoning on their last meal together.


    It was a grand thing, she¡¯s not shy about admitting it. It¡¯s not like they can carry most of their supplies with them, not without storage rings, so she spent nearly all of the day before cooking nearly everything in their pantry. Even still, most of what¡¯s left will go to the village, but she made sure to put a solid dent in it for their last meal together.


    Pork cutlets, noodles in a thick broth with poached eggs, spring onion and mushrooms, rice cooked in spiced water, garlic-potato croquettes, and chicken fried, stir fried, broiled, and added to thick, sauce-filled concoctions of onions and carrots and ginger, all to name just the thicker proteins. A dozen varietals of dumplings, steamed and fried, sat alongside bright, citrusy bits of fruit, in turn next to spicy rice balls, in turn next to cucumbers and enough mushrooms to write a book on; some thin like noodles, others thick and meaty, others cooked to crispiness and small enough to take in one bite, and one massive one they found that she cut open, emptied out, and filled with an improvised curry before slamming it into the oven to get golden.


    There was a period of time, right around what would have normally been lunch time, that Raika considered adding lighter options. Bits of salad, perhaps, or simpler sliced carrots and corn. But then again¡­ who goes to a final meal as a family to eat salad?


    She compromised with pickled ginger, pickled eggs, baby corn fried on an improvised grill, and a bed of lettuce for anyone who wanted to use it to wrap things in.


    The meal lasted well into the night. From halfway through the afternoon all the way past sunfall, they ate, and drank Hao Nera¡¯s expensive booze that he poured for everyone, and when Jin passed out with his stomach poking out from his robes, they put him in Raika¡¯s bed for the night and drank more.


    In the end, Raika was still in charge of eating the leftovers, but there was a surprisingly small amount. Cultivator stomachs, it would seem, won out against decadence once more.


    None of them slept that night.


    Raika was surprised by how quiet it was. The fact that the trio didn¡¯t sneak off for one last night (or, if Hao Nera had any say in it, stride off triumphantly) was a pleasant and unexpected gift, and in the end, they didn¡¯t really talk much. Raika passed around her pipe, and the fire died down, and the cabin grew quiet, and at some point they went outside and sat under the stars.


    Bright, glowing eyes in the sky blinked down at them, and Raika blinked back. And flipped them off.


    And, eventually, the writhing horizon crawled back to the north, and quiet, early-dawn light began to overtake the world once more.


    Hao Nera and Qen Hou left before Jin woke up.


    Long journey ahead of them¡­ and she got the impression that if either of them stayed much longer, they¡¯d stick around another day, and then another- and that helped no one. They knew it, too.


    The sun came up¡­ and her friends walked away.


    It didn¡¯t hurt like she thought it would. She¡¯d expected them to stay a little longer. Help move the damn groceries, maybe. But¡­ they¡¯d exchanged their gifts, and eaten their last meal, and watched the sunrise. It felt right to watch them go.


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    And besides, she and Li Shu still have work to do.


    ¡ª----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    She doesn¡¯t ask Li Shu if she¡¯s sure. That would only insult her, especially considering how Raika can sense the steadiness of her breathing, the strength of her heartbeat.


    No. Even if Raika asked her to stop, she¡¯d only do it to begin again later. And besides, it¡¯s time.


    Li Shu sits, ¡°skyclad¡±, her body covered in minutely detailed runes and array markings, inside of a complex circle marked with similar formulae. Most of it was copied verbatim from the journals left behind by She Who Stills The Water, but some of it, as is often the case, is a Li Shu original.


    What¡¯s left of the night sky still glimmers, and what¡¯s begun of sunlight reflects through the cabin¡¯s windows and down into the living room, re-carved and remade into a place of ritual. And Li Shu begins.


    It¡¯s actually not that complicated. Some things take a lot to be communicated and made Real: Truth, complex arrays, enchanted materials infused with specific concepts. Raika¡¯s cursed skin is one example: a negation of the movement of Qi, creating a material wall by inverting natural properties and imbuing new ones, magnifying what was already there. Arrays to block perception, to create spontaneous formations of flame and ice, to enchant specific properties onto different things, they all take a lot of work to understand and properly set up.


    This one sure as shit did too, but its purpose is¡­ less complex. Less and more. It¡¯s not trying to generate a specific construct or piece of arcane machinery, not trying to ape a natural formation.


    It¡¯s just trying to establish a dialogue.


    Qi and blood flows into the ritual circle, Raika¡¯s own Qi-saturated crimson seeping into it. Raika sits to one side, ready to intervene if things go south¡­ but the chances of that, while high, barely factor in.


    Li Shu knows what she¡¯s doing.


    Jin and Raika watch, off to one side, as the ritual circle begins to grow.


    With the sound of crackling wood, the carvings begin to expand to the tune of flowing Qi, energy consumed from the blood being drawn into transformation naturally, easily. It¡¯s part of her nature, and it translates to the blood (and thus the ritual) with barely any effort, as Li Shu intended. Some of the runes and symbols multiply and fuse together immediately, breaking apart the floor into new ¡°sentences¡±, while others (primarily those that Li Shu changed) struggle, expanding slowly and fighting to scratch their way into the more expansive formulae. More and more of the floor of the cabin is turned to ritual formation, incantations and runes copied from books of Craft cracking into form and altering the space around them, making more channels for the blood to flow through.


    With a sound of splitting wood and the smell of crimson, the world is remade.


    The ritual doesn¡¯t build any one specific effect, any one natural or unnatural form of phenomena.


    But it allows room for almost all of them.


    The ritual reaches the outer dimensions of the room and keeps going, crawling up the walls, onto the ceiling, the whole room raining splinters as the space is reshaped and reformed. The scratchmark runes and symbols carve themselves into the furniture, into the glass, back over themselves until something that no longer resembles a circle is carved into relief, layered over itself in dimensions.


    And Raika feels it as reality turns to LOOK.


    It¡¯s like the beast tide. Her tribulation. The attention of a vast, unknowable, impossible thing beyond everything that is, looking down at the world with emotions that cannot be quantified but can be approximated as DISGUST.


    And in the briefest, screaming instant of time that it takes for the impossible thing to SEE her, Li Shu lies.


    As Above, So Below


    My Nails Above, My Soul Below


    And she lets out a little whimper as her nails are torn clean off her hands and feet.


    They are plucked out from her, removed so neatly and so completely that there is no blood, merely raw flesh exposed to the air. After the initial separation, there doesn¡¯t even seem to be pain as Li Shu looks down at her newly crimson fingers with wide eyes.


    The nails themselves suddenly crackle. The ritual formulae scrawl their way from the walls into them where they lie, so many words and hissing, scratching lines of half-forgotten language overlapping on them that for a moment, it looks like they¡¯ll be ground into dust.


    But they don¡¯t. They should. By all rights the depth of the carving words and the number of them should reduce them to nothing at all¡­ and yet they remain.


    And the thing beyond reality SEES them.


    It SEES the nails¡­ and the nails are her.


    As Above, So Below


    And then the cabin shakes hard enough that a massive crack spawns in their surroundings, large enough to let sunlight in through what was the roof.


    And the impossible, unknowable comprehension of the world itself looking down at the crawling maggots on its body- vanishes.


    Li Shu gasps, her Qi roiling violently against itself. Raika is there in a moment, throwing a towel over her shoulders and pulling her out of the center of the circle and off to the side, and Li Shu flinches against the touch, looking around in confusion like she doesn¡¯t know what¡¯s going on.


    And then her Qi flares brighter.


    The physical contact helps Raika to see her meridians fluctuate, her Dantian beginning to spasm and almost¡­ flicker as the result of the successful ritual kick in.


    It¡¯s a tenet of the Craft, that for all things there is a price. Nothing is the manifestation of something new; everything, in turn, is simply swapping parameters, changing one rule or effect for another. In the case of their initiation ritual into the ¡°deeper mysteries¡±, one¡¯s soul organs and Qi are replaced by directly connecting one¡¯s soul to their sacrifice, so that any and all accumulated Qi can only be touched or manipulated through it.


    And this is also where Li Shu decided to be creative.


    She told Raika a few days ago about the modifications she wanted to make to the ritual, the little additions to the ritual formulae. How it was a risk.


    The ritual works on certain foundational principles of the craft. As Above, So Below. To All Things, A Cost. Foundational ideas held self-evident by the original creators.


    Li Shu had smiled as she looked at Raika, surrounded by ink and charcoal and writings that hurt to look at.


    ¡°I think I can do better.¡±


    As the laws of existence struggle to interpret what she¡¯s done, Raika holds tight to her friend as she spasms.


    The nails on the floor turn a clear, almost pure white, sterile and clean, and as the Qi fluctuates and spasms through reality they begin to grow and multiply. Some of them turn to sharp, crystal-edged shards of keratin, others seem to melt into a kind of liquid, and a few of them begin to sprout thin wires of something almost like webbing, dragging Li Shu¡¯s Qi out of her- yet not. It¡¯s not moving, it¡¯s like the parts that are inside her are overlapping with the parts outside, superimposed and trying to pick a state to collapse into.


    Li Shu doesn¡¯t let it.


    Her Dantian begins to burn through her reserves, shooting it through her meridians, forcing them to remain active, to remain real, even as she grasps blindly towards her severed nails which continue to change and manifest. One of them begins to shape itself into something like a skeletal system even as another begins to turn a pure, almost glaring white, resisting the effects of dust and air on its being. The properties and forms of keratin multiply and manifest, and Li Shu forces her mind to split in both directions. Raika can taste the ways her veins are squeezing, how fast her heart is beating, how violently and loudly her blood is straining through squeezing muscles and agonizing pressure. Every fiber of her being is clenching so hard that she¡¯s sure it¡¯s going to take days to recover from this, even with her friend¡¯s elixirs and herbs.


    And she holds firm.


    An impossible thing, witnessing a lie, came to believe it, and that lie came true.


    Li Shu, with all the strength of her being, with all the roiling Qi of her organs and her will, tries to introduce a bit of cognitive dissonance.


    As Above, So Below


    As Without, So Within


    And the world shudders as existence meets a new Truth.


    And Raika holds her friend, who bleeds from eyes, nose, and gums, and feels the pulse of her meridians through her skin, matched, a few feet away, by the same energy reflected in pale, faintly floral keratin.

 Chapter 186 - Under The Bludgeonings Of Chance, My Head Is Bloody, But Unbowed.

    Six hours into the final day.


    Li Shu has, at long last, catalyzed the first step on the path. She said it was called the ¡°Crafting of Self¡±: effectively the second of five or so steps, similar and entirely different to the realms of cultivation. The first step, ¡°Apprenticeship¡±, is effectively what Li Shu¡¯s already doing, building up her knowledge and practicing theory and herbalism, making this an effective and dramatic graduation. A true wielder of the Craft, at long last.


    And something new, too. There may well have been Witches in the past that managed to keep or re-acquire their cultivation somehow, but if any of them did exist, the journals of She Who Stills The Waters haven¡¯t mentioned them. It¡¯s supposed to be a sacrifice¡­ and yet here she is. Bridging the gap between two states of being- a being that absorbs and touches Qi through a Sacrifice, and a being that absorbs and touches Qi through their Self. Both at once. Both in one.


    Raika couldn¡¯t be prouder.


    Even if she did completely fuck up the cabin.


    Which is fine! It¡¯s fine. Entirely ok. They¡¯re leaving anyways, and Li Shu and the ritual were much more important, obviously¡­ but she is a little sad about the cabin. That¡¯s all.


    And once things finally stabilized, Li Shu collapsed into sleep. Raika left her cuddled up on her bed one last time, though she keeps her senses honed in that direction constantly, keeping an eye out for any hint that her Qi will suddenly vanish or deviate. She left Jin to watch over her. Despite everything, the cabin is still secured, the arrays they built into it still a better defense than anywhere else at the moment.


    And she¡¯s pretty sure he¡¯ll need it.


    She reaches down to the grass beneath her feet, patting the valley gently. ¡°Sorry, bud. I¡¯m gonna have to get loud for a bit, yeah?¡±


    A little shiver passes through the grass around her as the land responds.


    Dink vibrates a little more uncertainly, as if asking if she¡¯s sure.


    She huffs. ¡°Yeah, bud. I¡¯m sure. It¡¯s about time we had a talk with the guy, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    An appreciative hum.


    ¡°Yeah, me too. Still, I think this¡¯ll probably piss him off a bunch, which will be nice.¡±


    Agreement, shaped like a tinkling noise.


    ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s do this.¡±


    Taurus made it pretty fucking clear that he¡¯s been keeping an eye on her, even interfering with the Hungry Roots sect ¡°on her behalf¡±. He¡¯s got some way to track where she¡¯s going, and it¡¯s not the tag she removed, it¡¯s not political insight, it¡¯s not a spy organization, it¡¯s something that he has, specifically. What¡¯s a good political animal without a method of illicit surveillance, after all?


    He¡¯s got an eye on her.


    And she¡¯s gotten a lot stronger than since they last met.


    What better time for a conversation?


    Standing at the very center of the valley, a good mile away from the cabin and another mile away from the pond, with a one more each past that to reach the bamboo perimeter, Raika breathes. In, and out. In, and out.


    In¡­ and in¡­ and in.


    Until her lungs feel full. Until her body feels tensed, awake, tightened, enough spare oxygen in the tanks that she could theoretically fight for an hour before needing to take another breath.


    It will hopefully be enough.


    She¡¯s eaten well, though nothing with much Qi to speak of lately. She¡¯s got plenty of oxygen in reserve, three hearts already beating and more waiting in the wings, and her blood pressure is high enough that Supreme Body Art: Pressurized Crimson Cut is close at hand even without conscious control.


    She is ready.


    She will not be controlled again.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine.


    With a thought, she activates her Reactor.


    An obsidian star of hungry death sparks against ever-changing life and becomes an impossible, all-consuming, all-changing point of [IGNITION].


    The world bends away from her. It¡¯s like the weight of her, the sheer amount of presence she has, is suddenly magnified, the world bending out from a sudden mass on its surface.


    It doesn¡¯t hurt, having it active. It should, by all rights, but there¡¯s really very little pain. It¡¯s more like a feeling of butterflies in her stomach, or the sudden shock of a massive hit of adrenaline, and it sends thrills racing through every part of her. It makes her truth, that she can Change, feel more solid, more real as it races through her body, impossible fuel looking for any and every outlet.


    And she fights to contain it.


    It feels faintly wrong to do so, like part of her recoils from the thought of holding back, but hold it back she does. For every ounce of burning, screaming change that rips through her, she matches it with an ounce of control, just barely keeping it from running wild. Her form shifts, contorts, muscle groups and bone and keratin and matter far stranger and less predictable all seeking to rip free from her will and grow wild-


    And she holds it in.


    There are a few seconds where the burning, iridescent star at the core of her seems like it might be stopped. Where it seems like she might actually be able to sustain the stalemate, keeping the engine active without needing to be constantly transforming.


    And then there¡¯s a miniscule little twitch as some of the Blacksteel is transmuted, making for just the teensiest ripple in the constantly screaming force of the Reactor- and her grasp on it slips.


    If not for her cursed skin, she¡¯s fairly certain she¡¯d just explode. It¡¯s not quite Qi, so the [IGNITION] pushes against her outer shell, aching to be set free and slowly warping it- but it doesn¡¯t detonate out freely either, too much of it still part of the lifeblood of reality to simply ignore the curse. In the end, it makes it so it doesn¡¯t irradiate the world around her like it does her insides. She feels something shifting behind one of her eyes, feels her lungs start to branch out inside her-


    She grabs the feeling by the throat and chokes it, forcing it back under control. The Mask runs overtime processing every minute change and feeling sent to it by the Flesh, the Want behind them holding the whole together in the ideal that this is hers, this is Hers-


    And she manages, just in time, to redirect it from her organs towards her back.


    And like a raging tide or a hungry inferno, it explodes out through the only outlet she gives it.


    Her spine spasms, cracks down the middle once, twice, and then- they¡¯re not tails, not emerging from her shoulders, her back. They¡¯re bone and flesh, and she spasms in pain and a strange sort of pleasure as skinless spinal cords spiral out- further, further, making almost a hundred feet of bone and neural tissue that rapidly begin to blossom. The updated curse makes it so the Qi and flame remains mostly contained, but there are bursts of them that flare out from the long tendrils, brief bursts of iridescent flame that leave trails of flesh and organic matter behind them.


    And she keeps growing.


    The spines thicken, surrounding themselves with meat and undifferentiated mass, a wild, mindless chaos of biology that through sheer force of that which fuels it does not die.


    And then changes further.


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    Formations begin to emerge that look like coral, like metals, like gelatins and claws and skin and hands and things she has no name for. She glimpses, in the dozen eyes that have sprouted along her back as the coiling, impossible serpents that grow from her lift the human shell she wears into the air, a cacophony of material. Spiraling fractal patterns of bone, waxen limbs, screaming faces that do not look like hers and yet could be family, all these and more emerge into malformed, twisted bodies as the engine at the core of her runs wild, and feeds Change into a conflagration.


    And then she shuts it off.


    Rods of Blacksteel plunge into the Reactor, overwhelming the reaction with the idea of ENDING, what little pure parts of it remain in the material. It sputters, flickers- and then dies, the [IGNITION] turned back into silence and blood.


    All in all, the whole process took about fifteen seconds.


    And now, standing beneath her, there is a man with horns.


    She smiles, wide and bloody, and does the work to bring herself back down to the ground. Down to his level.


    Some of the mass of the tendrils responds. Not a ton of it. The tighter she controls it, guides it, the easier it is to use as a tool, but left wild, it made a real mess of things. Some of the spines have bits of resin and chitin between vertebrae, some of them stopped having vertebrae just a few feet away from her back, and anywhere that didn¡¯t spontaneously generate nerve endings is simply unresponsive. So much expensive, strange, dead matter, inert and useless save for the occasional twitch.


    But oh, the potential of it. Flesh made free.


    She is smiling even wider by the time she touches down on the ground, a flex of will severing the additional spinal columns and reshaping the mangled mess it made of her back into something functional.


    And then she leans back, cracks her spine, rolls her neck, and lets out a little puff of air.


    ¡°Hey there, Senior Researcher. Been a while.¡±


    It¡¯s a little hard to read facial expressions (at least human facial expressions) off someone with a snout, but she doesn¡¯t need to. She can hear the rage flowing through him, screaming at him to rip her head off, crush her to pulp, salt the fucking earth.


    He smells like absolute gods-damned fury.


    She smiles wider, discarding what¡¯s left of her shirt and pulling her pipe from her waistband.


    Good.


    She sees him there, at eye-level with her, and glimpses a crimson splatter on an alley wall, just behind him.


    JiaJia is dead. Gone. There is no spirit here haunting her, no specter inhabiting her memory to try and communicate.


    But Taurus killed him.


    She lights a spark of True Flame into a bowl of moss, hemp and blood, and breathes in a long, heavy trail of blue smoke.


    ¡°Figured we should talk.¡±


    Synesthesia lets her feel on her palms the stutter as his heart rate picks up further.


    ¡°You thought. That we should talk.¡±


    The Mask grins, letting wisps of heavy smoke drift through her teeth and down into a scarf. ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°And you thought that the best way to do this was to¡­ what? Light a bonfire so bright the entire gods-damned ring sees it?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°I wanted to be sure you noticed.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I have noticed,¡± he snarls. Coming from a 7ft man-bull half again as wide as he is tall, it comes close to sounding tectonic. ¡°I have noticed every time you ignite that little invention of yours. And I have made sure that no one else has. But do you think me omnipotent, beast? Do you think I hold a death grip on the entire Oracular Division, which sees all?


    ¡°Do you have any idea what this little talk has cost me?¡±


    She sighs, letting out another stream of bluish haze.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care.¡±


    He blinks. He actually looks taken aback at that.


    ¡°You¡­¡±


    There is a moment, an unkind one, where she thinks she has died.


    She actually doesn¡¯t have time to react fully. Not with the smoke, and not with the control he has. Not a drop of Qi leaks out of his techniques, not an ounce announcing itself before the effect does. Had it been an attack, a physical movement, it would still be nearly fast enough to be missed, but without those components, Taurus manages to slip straight past reaction speed fast enough to dodge fucking raindrops.


    There is a mountain on her.


    That¡¯s what it feels like. What it must be. The weight of the world, placed without warning on her shoulders, an immediate and absolute mass which can only crush whatever is beneath it. Past the impression of it she can smell winds so clean and sharp they can cut steel, can feel the sensation of lush grass and wild plants as they are stomped underfoot and chewed for cud- but the mountain is here. Now.


    Half on instinct, half out of spite, she bites a chunk out of it.


    The pressure redoubles, and this time it actually makes her body move, reminds her of the fact she has a body. She isn¡¯t pulp beneath the stone, no matter how much it weighs, which means that-


    IT MEANS NOTHING.


    The mountain somehow gets heavier again, and now she is on her knees, bones and blood creaking under the force of impossible weight- but she goes no further.


    She locks her joints in place, sends Qi and Truth into her body to reinforce what¡¯s there, focus the Flesh to overclock every tendon and muscle group relevant.


    Taurus looks down at her from atop the mountain, the valley around her warped and crushed flat in a perfect circle around her- and she refuses to collapse.


    ¡°I have been remarkably generous with you,¡± he rumbles in a voice like the wind down the mountains, the stone beneath the grass. ¡°I have protected you for months. Kept you secret. Kept your loved one safe. I understand your distaste for me, I do, but you don¡¯t get to command me just because you gained the slightest grain of strength.¡±


    The Mask is listening close, tracking everything. Intonation, inflection, the way the mountain shifts subtly under his gaze-


    While the Want pushes.


    It doesn¡¯t work. Doesn¡¯t do anything.


    But she keeps pushing.


    ¡°I am in the process of things you do not and have not tried to comprehend. You fell into a hole of your own grief and guilt rather than even hate me properly. You maneuvered me into killing a target I was not ready to kill. And when I left you alone, you brought down half a fucking city.


    ¡°They¡¯re still mid-reconstruction in Cragend. Your little tournament drew far too much attention, and would have drawn more if not for me. I told Kaena of the thing infesting you, sent them to help you, let you use my name, my authority, to make your decisions- and then you got a fucking Feng killed. You idiot fucking child, do you have any idea what that¡¯s done?¡±


    She growls, the sound strained even with the reserves in her lungs. She¡¯s having to burn Qi just to regenerate from the attrition bearing down on her, but she refuses to be silent.


    ¡°You promised me them,¡± she snarls.


    ¡°FIVE YEARS! I promised you that in five years, I would be dead, and you would be free to cut their throats as you please. A blink of an eye to a cultivator, a moment in the grand scheme of things, and yet now? Here? Not even our third year since having met and you have lit a tinderbox beneath carefully placed wicks, and you dare to act as if I owe you something?¡±


    The Want roils at that, and the Flesh screams, and the Mask points them all exactly where they need to go.


    She can¡¯t leverage her Qi against his, can¡¯t alter the world outside her body or fight this quasi-Domain he seems to be emitting-


    But she has a few things that are True, and a few things that scream to be made True.


    I Can Change


    I Am Me, I Am Mine


    And so there, beneath the weight of a world, she makes gospel of her Truth.


    Supreme Body Art: Specialized Enhancement and Supreme Body Art: Overclocking both roar to life.


    Simple enough names. She¡¯s making them both up on the spot, so it only makes sense, but she likes them. They say what they do.


    And beneath the mountain, she adapts.


    Her blood vessels widen, thickening as she cannibalizes muscle to focus on her piston groups, her lever and gear-locked musculature. For fine control and exponential force, there¡¯s nothing quite like muscle fibers, but for getting a very simple task done¡­ well, gears are the standard for a reason.


    As her skin hardens, thickens, grows, Overclocking pushes specific systems and mechanics to their max, heating her up enough to start letting off steam, and Specialized Enhancement turns the entirety of her Qi structure to enhancing bone and chitin, multiplying their presence in her body to form a complex, layered shell. The nanoscale under her skin connects to the new armor plates, millions of individual scales reorganizing to help distribute weight and push the gravity that crushes her out into a wider area of dispersal.


    And, for approximately half a second, she forces out a spark of [IGNITION]


    Not enough to run wild, not enough to mutate out of control- but enough to further her Change.


    Except¡­ the weight remains. Reality tells her that she is beneath a mountain, even as she drags in lungfuls of cold air.


    That¡¯s fine.


    Blacksteel¡¯s great for cutting your way out of things.


    With a sound like shattering obsidian, a thousand-thousand scales of bone and organic matter turn onyx black. A thousand-thousand shards of her prosthetic shatter like shrapnel and multiply, leaving her left arm absent but recoloring every piece of her new armor in metal black as night and twice as hungry.


    And she stands.


    First one leg. Then the other. Then a third, and fourth, and fifth. Support pillars and architecture expand out of her body, additional limbs and columns making struts to hold her in place and help her rise, new arms helping to push her upright. She stands on clawed hooves made wide to shoulder the weight of the world, spine crackling from the weight of crushing RESPONSIBILITY mass on her back- but there, clad in midnight black and flickering with sparks of golden-white Flame, she makes it.


    Taurus meets her eyes, dark pools meeting compound, fractal pupils.


    ¡°YOU. OWE. ME.¡±


    The words come out of lungs half crushed, echoing deep inside her as she stares down the bull, taller than he is and clad in bone and obsidian, hungering End.


    ¡°FOR. A. DEATH. FOR. A. LEASH. YOU. OWE. ME.¡±


    There is silence for a moment. The sound of the ground straining beneath the Mountain fills the air, leaving room for little else¡­ but she sees it. Sees Taurus¡¯ expression shifts. It turns from rage, from begrudging amazement, from that slight hint of bitter uncertainty¡­ to something a little bit like sadness.


    ¡°To be perfectly honest¡±, he says, ¡°I can¡¯t disagree with you.¡±


    Raika feels herself fade, ever so slightly.


    As soon as the words leave his mouth, maybe a third of her sense of self disappears. The Mask cracks, slipping apart, falling away from the front of the whole back into nothingness even as the Flesh howls behind a cage of perfect glass¡­


    And the Want opens a smile as wide as Taurus¡¯s horns, full of more teeth and tongues and flickering flame than any maw need be.


    ¡°FOUND. YOU.¡±

 Chapter 187 - Count, Meet Faust

    She hadn¡¯t forgotten.


    Since altering her brain(s), she¡¯s found it rather difficult to forget anything, actually. Near-perfect recall, though it¡¯s still muddled by the mechanics of neurology. But this is older, and has stood firm in her mind for many, many months.


    Perfect honesty.


    She couldn¡¯t be sure, not at the time. All she knew was that they got tacit consent from Taurus to do the tournament, told to explore the possibilities of connecting with the Witch beneath the city- and then he¡¯d asked her a question.


    And she¡¯d answered honestly.


    Completely, without reservation. Perfect honesty. At the time, the Mask had been a constant coping mechanism, a way of masking any and all true emotion- and when he¡¯d asked that question, it had just gone away. Vanished, like it was never there.


    That moment stuck.


    Taurus, for all his talk of alliances, had set a command phrase. Some kind of implanted suggestion, some technique to cut to the heart of her and make it obey, even if only gently. She can¡¯t even fault him for it, not really, considering his goals and how bad their dynamic... well, is. If she hadn¡¯t been masking so very violently at the time, she might not even have noticed except as a bit of confusion or disorientation. But as it was, altered psychology landed face-first against implanted commands, and she remembered.


    Took her a while to recall it fully after Zhoulong¡¯s damage, he was very thorough on that memory- but the discomfort, the disorientation, the fear, it made for a strong fucking anchor. Taurus has some kind of control over her. It explains so much; his trust in what she tells him, his confidence that he could get her back under control even with how loose of a leash he gave her, it all clicks.


    But how to find it? How to identify it? How to find out how deep it runs, what it can do? How to reshape herself around it, if she can¡¯t feel or even know what the triggers are, the mechanics of it?


    Months and months of preparation, all leading to this.


    She had to get Taurus here, and she had to do it in a way that would piss him off. She had to do it in a way that made it clear she wasn¡¯t in his control, wasn¡¯t growing or progressing according to his plan, but not so much that he¡¯d decide to just kill her outright. Attacking him right away, or starting to wreak havoc, were both out; one would just lead to a swift defeat, the other, to some new angle he could exploit. No, she had to bring him to a place without witnesses, where he¡¯d feel more comfortable speaking freely and leveraging his control, and then force him to exercise that same control.


    And now, as half or more of her mind is shunted to submission, as what¡¯s left is forced into a deeply human and deeply simplistic framework, she¡¯s ready.


    The Mask is broken, complex processing and conscious choices subverted or shut down, and the Flesh is made separate, her needs and wants kept separate from the majority- but she still prepared for it. She¡¯s still ready enough to follow through on the plan.


    Currently, Raika has four sub-minds. Two are dedicated to managing additional limbs and organ functions, both simple, small; one is fused into a larger mass to enhance and better understand her senses, creating her synesthesia and allowing her to remove the screaming overstimulation; and one, slightly closer to her original brain, the largest of the four, is a tool for processing all that new input and output from all angles.


    A processor, dedicated entirely to intaking data, outputting results, and analyzing information at a pace that a normal brain, burdened with messy, instinct-made neural architecture and clumsy learned patterns can¡¯t match.


    And now, it wakes up.


    She doesn¡¯t need a Mask. A Mask is a simpler tool, something made to process and obfuscate emotion and social stimuli. It had been growing for some time already, changing bit by bit, and now, its old role shattered entirely, the part of her that was a Mask casts its broken pieces down into a new home.


    Raika¡¯s awareness lights back up as the part of her that is Mind is at last forged into being.


    Almost as if waiting for the starting gun, her other parts rearrange themselves to fall neatly into place inside her new structure of self.


    Mind, Soul, Body.


    Flesh is reductive, simplistic, only a facet of a truly complex Body. To self-identify with a capital S Soul is perhaps a bit arrogant, but it fits; her animus, her wants, her desires and goals and ideals.


    And her Mind, a complex, ever-shifting thing of thought and connection, action and reaction, of compounding patterns and systems of understanding and perspective.


    It fills the space of the Want, previously the ¡°largest¡± of the parts of Raika- but for all that the sections of herself feel grander, more whole, their dynamics are not the same. Her Mind is no more emotionless than her Soul is thoughtless, her Body no less aware than either. The old roles are unmade, and new ones put into place.


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    She grins as she feels the tiny, squirming little part of herself that flicked the switch to obey, that fell to trickery and command- and cuts it out.


    ¡°TO. BE. PERFECTLY. HONEST,¡± she rumbles, ¡°I. AM. VERY. GLAD. THAT. WORKED.¡±


    Taurus blinks, and takes a single step back.


    With a sound like falling glass and shifting tectonics, Raika raises herself a bit taller, opens her maw wide, a human-sized maw of Blacksteel teeth and lashing tongues and burbling acids and Flame-


    And takes a bite.


    That¡¯s the thing about Mountains, see; for all that they think they¡¯re immovable, they¡¯re really not. And no one, especially not big rocks, expects to get fucking eaten.


    For all its weight, for all its mass and the concept behind it, for all that Taurus¡¯ control of Qi and the aspects of his Domain that have manifested far earlier and more completely than almost any in his realm can boast¡­ she¡¯s eaten rocks before.


    In an instant, the quasi-Domain shatters, pulled back into Taurus¡¯ mind and soul like it was never there. The only sign that it existed is the circle of flattened earth surrounding Raika, almost three inches deeper than the terrain around it¡­


    And the taste of stone, mountain air, and self-loathing slipping down her gullet.


    She smiles, far too wide, and turns many, many eyes at Taurus.


    There is a moment where his Qi begins to stir, the incredibly well-controlled energy slipping out of his grip in droplets as he prepares for violence-


    And she transforms.


    Her head, an amalgamation of armor and Blacksteel and teeth and eyes (etc etc) collapses into a shape that looks human, naked and dark-skinned and slowly growing a head of bright red and orange hair like sunset. Her feet touch the ground and there¡¯s a distressingly crunchy, squelchy sound as the leviathan body she spawned to stand under his Mountain is absorbed back into her new ¡°main¡± body. She converts it, cell by cell, to blood and undifferentiated meat, absorbing it straight into her bigger-on-the-inside stomach. She can digest it for a moderate return on investment, and it¡¯s better than just severing her connection and leaving it to rot.


    Taurus meets her eyes, the weight of him bending the world around him in preparation- and she raises her hands in mocking surrender.


    ¡°Relax, big guy. I was being¡­ perfectly honest. I asked you here to talk.¡±


    He frowns, the world around him swirling. With synesthesia, what little Qi isn¡¯t kept under perfect control manifest around him as little floating droplets on the wind, bits of wind and stone orbiting through the air. Despite her growth¡­


    Hmm. She¡¯d probably still lose.


    Oh, it would be a tough fight, that¡¯s for damn sure. She¡¯s fairly certain that, especially with her Reactor, she¡¯d put up a hell of a struggle.


    But for all that she¡¯s pushed him here, she still doesn¡¯t know the depths of his cultivation. His Soul is, if not fully formed, then barely a heartbeat away from it, and his Qi seems deep. Beyond that, he remains a master of arrays and formations, enough to have it in one of his Empire-given names, and she hasn¡¯t seen any of the techniques he might have, just his Domain and base Qi manipulation.


    He¡¯d hold himself back for a bit, try not to leave himself exposed or leave traces of himself¡­ but he¡¯d also try his best to kill her fast. The longer the fight lasts, the more she costs him. But without knowing his techniques, his arrays, his potential artifacts¡­


    Yeah. She¡¯d lose.


    For now.


    And instead of pushing the issue, she lets him stew as she digs through the compressed earth and pulls out her pipe.


    Which is broken into pieces. Of course.


    She sighs, turning to look at him. ¡°You know I carved this by hand? Absolutely rude.¡±


    His eyes widen, his nostrils flare¡­ and he snorts.


    ¡°Not nearly as much as you.¡±


    She nods. ¡°True. This lowly disciple acknowledges her disrespect.¡±


    Another snort. ¡°And does not apologize for it, I see.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    She grows her hair out long enough, and out into braids, that it covers most of her ¡°modesty¡±, falling down all the way to her calves. With a little bit of intent and a little bit of Truth, she starts to shape a new pipe from out of a bone in her wrist.


    ¡°I did this to make something perfectly clear, Senior Researcher. Your leash on me? That¡¯s done. Fucked off home. Your threats about my loved ones? Not nearly so threatening when I know just how valuable so many of them are to you, and am right beside the ones that remain.


    ¡°You killed a young man I owed my life to right in front of my eyes. Because you were scared. Because I slipped your control, and the thought of that getting out was enough of a threat that an innocent life had to be thrown away, just like how today it made you run all the way here. We are not friends, Taurus, and we never will be- but I think we¡¯ll both be much more comfortable within killing range of each other than not.¡±


    Taurus grunts once, setting his stance a bit wider.


    ¡°I find very little about your existence comfortable. You are¡­ quite the needle in the pillow, as it were.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly happy with sticking close to you either. But unless you kill me right now, right this second, I am going to continue to try new things that almost kill me, survive them, and get stronger. And unless I cripple or wound you enough to truly fuck your shit up, your plans will still go off, and you¡¯ll still get what you want.


    ¡°So. Same deal. You get to keep plotting your coup, or whatever this is. You get to point me in a direction when the time comes, and sort the wreckage behind me for whatever¡¯s left when I¡¯m done or dead¡­ and in turn, you clear the way to Feng Gao. Clear the way to the broken, terrible, no-good monsters of the world, entrenched and calcified into the gears of an Empire that makes weapons and pain above all else.


    ¡°And when it¡¯s time¡­ clear the way to you.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Or don¡¯t. Either way, it¡¯ll be easier to take from you what you owe me if I know where you are and at least part of your plans.


    ¡°But you don¡¯t get to put chains on me.¡±


    ¡°Because I¡¯ll kill myself before I let you put a collar on me again.¡±


    There¡¯s a moment where she¡¯s not sure what he¡¯s going to say. She¡¯s willing to fight him on this, despite everything. If it¡¯s between bowing the knee and taking as many pieces out of him as she can on the way out, she¡¯ll opt for the latter. She knows it, deep, deep down at the core of who she has chosen to be.


    But then his hormones twitch, and the messy physicality of flesh gives away the minute change of the moment he makes a decision.


    ¡°Fine. No more chains, save the ones we put on ourselves.¡±


    She grins.


    ¡°Deal.¡±


    Taurus raises an eyebrow, looking around. ¡°Is that it? Or do you have some other obscene waste of time and resources to throw onto my plate.¡±


    She smiles, a cheeky thing accompanied by the sound of snapping bone as she breaks her new pipe off from her wrist.


    ¡°Oh, just the fact that I¡¯ll actually be headed to the fourth ring for a while. That¡¯s no problem, right?¡±


    Taurus actually cocks his head at that, his right horn almost touching his shoulder.


    ¡°Ah. Well¡­ I suppose that actually does make a few things potentially much easier. Never expected that from you.¡±

 Chapter 188 - Trauma-Dumping Is A Bonding Exercise

    ¡°New information has come to light. The beast tide that hunted you was one of the first signs I personally witnessed, but there¡¯s been, broadly speaking, a significant increase in the number of spirit beast sightings in the third ring. Considering how, for the last few centuries, the third ring has had a fraction of the sightings that the second ring has had, and a fraction again that of the fourth ring, it¡¯s been a subject of interest. One of the reasons I let you indulge your self-destruction by staying outside the village.¡±


    She frowns at how he¡¯s framed it, but¡­ fair enough. Not like she needs more reasons to dislike him, nor that she would have appreciated it if he¡¯d stopped her.


    ¡°The events at Cragend, the divine beast there, and the one on the spatial axis next to this little¡­ island of yours, indicate that it¡¯s not an isolated incident.¡±


    ¡°And here I am, conveniently offering a little pilgrimage of my own out in that direction.¡±


    Taurus smiles slightly with his large, flat teeth. ¡°Precisely.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°I suppose, since I¡¯m headed that way anyways¡­ no.¡±


    His weight subtly influences the world again, but she stands firm, not bothering to Change in response. She tilts her head at him instead.


    ¡°The whole point of this is that I¡¯m under no obligation to take your orders. You make my life easier, I help with your objectives if and when I agree with them. So before I agree, you need to tell me what you¡¯d want me to look for, and what you intend to do with whatever information I might find.¡±


    ¡°...mmh. In the interest of continued cooperation, that¡¯s¡­ agreeable.¡±


    She huffs. ¡°I preferred you when we first met. You were much more direct.¡±


    ¡°That was before you became such a fucking problem, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    She laughs, throwing her head back in a joyous little twist even as her Mind analyzes and interprets every tick and movement. He¡¯s¡­ easier to predict when he¡¯s on edge, at least a little. When he¡¯s acting more like ¡°Runemaster Boriah¡± than he is Taurus. But it comes with its own issues.


    Like not knowing the exact moment he¡¯ll decide that she¡¯s too much of a problem to cooperate with, and if he¡¯ll decide to start exerting¡­ pressure. Again.


    ¡°Somehow, divine beasts are getting past the fortress cities. What¡¯s more, there¡¯ve been more pushes against those same cities this year than in the last six- but no true beast tides. Put the two together, and there¡¯s a possibility of something major being organized in the fourth ring. The sooner I know about it, the sooner I can make something useful out of it.¡±


    She raises an eyebrow. ¡°Is that what we¡¯re calling it nowadays?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Either it¡¯ll be useful to the plan, or it won¡¯t. If it is, then maybe it can be encouraged, and if not, we can find a way to make it so, or subvert it, keep it for a later date.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re making a lot of assumptions about your ability to outright control, or pick and choose shit, for what sounds like a divine beast tide.¡±


    He snorts. ¡°What can¡¯t be controlled can be redirected. There¡¯s plenty of ways that we both get what we want.¡±


    ¡°And what is it that you want, Taurus? What, precisely, would you hope to achieve by shaping events like this? You¡¯re risking your life more than even mine, going against the Empire like you say you are¡­ but you¡¯ve yet to say how you¡¯re doing it at all. Or what, exactly you want to do. You told me, not long after¡­ after we met, that you would see people like Feng Gui dead and two of the Empire¡¯s Divisions unmade. What does that mean, Taurus?¡±


    For a moment, it looks like he might not say. She sees his throat flex, the changes to his bloodflow and heart rate patterns, the little twitches of something behind his eyes¡­


    But then he huffs out a breath. Nods.


    ¡°Fine. Are you going to invite me in for a chat, or do we have to do this out in the open?¡±


    She snorts, finishing shaping the bone pipe she¡¯s holding. What¡¯s left of her robes don¡¯t exactly have her smoke supplies in them, but it¡¯s still reassuring to hold it, a tangible measure of control and of change. Then¡­ she flops, unceremoniously, onto the grass.


    ¡°We¡¯re just fine out here. The land won¡¯t let anyone hear that it doesn''t want to, not unless you plan to shout as loud as my Reactor.¡±


    He snorts right back at her¡­ but, rolling his eyes, he kneels down, sitting into a lotus position.


    ¡°Fine. Though I¡¯m not sure how you know what a reactor is, to know to call it that.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°¡®Engine¡¯ didn¡¯t feel just right. Reactor¡­ does.¡±


    He grunts. ¡°Something to aspire to, perhaps.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t acknowledge that. Instead, she just pats the land politely and twirls her pipe, her eyes on Taurus, waiting for him to speak.


    He does send a pointed look towards the cabin, pointed enough that she wonders if he can sense some of the details of what¡¯s inside¡­ but then he just turns back to look at her, calm and collected. Professional. As ¡°Boriah¡±.


    ¡°There are currently eight Divisions in the Empire, each dedicated to a different but often overlapping fields of study and application. The Division of Altered Cultivation you¡¯re already familiar with, and focuses on the specific pursuit of new and strange ways in which ascension and reality alteration can be enacted. Under their remit, all things that the Empire doesn¡¯t already control are found, brought under its grip, and comprehended enough that they can move to the Division of Research. While there¡¯s a great overlap between the Divisions of Research and Altered Cultivation, Research focuses on furthering mysteries already at least partially under control. Most Daemons, Daos, and the natural sciences, like electricity, heat, mathematics and such.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°The Division of Creation and Division of Education go hand in hand, each of them focused on building things from the ground up. Introducing curriculums and training to sects and villages, supporting academics, and controlling the Academies themselves fall under the Division of Education, while building infrastructure, finding ways to integrate new technologies and understandings into existing cities and structures of the Empire fall under Creation¡¯s remit. They¡¯re the ones responsible for the railroads and highways, for example.¡±


    Raika cracks her neck, leaning back and sighing.


    Taurus, in turn, gives her a heavy, tired look.


    She keeps quiet. No need to stop his little spiel, so long as it''s going somewhere, no matter how boring it is.


    If he¡¯s taking this seriously, actually willing to share (as all the senses of the Body tell her) then she¡¯ll listen.


    ¡°The Division of Mortal Affairs is the last of the¡­ infrastructural Divisions, so to speak. Most of their work is focused on census data, tracking mortals being born, dying, their taxes, so forth and so on. Plagues, famines, the average education, lifetimes and resources they produce and need. They¡¯re¡­ they¡¯re one of the few of the Divisions I consider to actually do their job. Corruption remains, but there¡¯s less space to decide policy, and few want the job. It makes it¡­ generally worthwhile.


    ¡°As for the rest¡­ well.


    ¡°The Division of Exploration and Discovery. It¡¯s dedicated entirely to exploring out past the fifth ring. They¡¯re¡­ not relevant. Not yet. Most of them are much too busy, and there¡¯s only around a hundred people in it. About ninety of those people are just the bureaucrats who write down what the few that can even make it to the fifth ring see or do.


    ¡°And then the two largest Divisions. Larger than even Research or Altered Cultivation, which are large.


    ¡°The Divisions of Divination¡­ and War.


    ¡°Divination¡­ well. The art of cultivating Divination is an esoteric one, a rare one- and one that the Emperor has pushed millions of tons of Qi stones, Jade, and much rarer resources into. The Oracular Pools are a complex creation, one I do not have time to go into, but the Oracles themselves watch everything. Through reading the threads of the future, the present, and the past, they track every movement of the world like¡­ like categorizing the waves of the ocean by shape and speed, and using this to track the tides, to see how the beach changes, to understand the fish in it. Except they also count the grains of sand, and watch each and every fish, and see the tide as it moves. The only real way to avoid their gaze is to either blend into the crowd, to be as one amongst the many, or to subvert them directly, through ritual or corruption. As I have, which is the only reason you weren¡¯t taken in a year ago and fed to some other research team. They are the eyes and ears of the Empire, and through them, the Empire sees everything from the first ring to third, and a lot beyond that.¡±


    Taurus¡­ twitches. Just a bit.


    ¡°And then there¡¯s War. Where the Blades sit, forever unsheathed. The Division of those who command the fortress cities. Those whose whole lives are slaughter. For now, all that they do, day in and day out, is kill, kill, and kill again. They hunt those who rebel, the criminals who stand out, those that the sects can¡¯t handle¡­ and they make a churning mulcher of meat out of the entirety of the fourth ring. If not for them, there would be endless invasions. If not for them, there would be far less death in the world.¡±


    Raika¡­ aches for something to smoke.


    She sighs. ¡°Alright. Eight Divisions. Eight massive branches of nightmarish bureaucracy and bullshit.


    ¡°What does that have to do with you.¡±


    He laughs. Soft, quiet¡­ pained.


    ¡°I¡­ have been in the Empire all my life. Since I was five years old.


    ¡°I am turning one-hundred and forty-nine next week.


    ¡°They¡­ took me. I¡­ don¡¯t really remember what came before. I only have vague recollections of my parents, my home. What I remember most is the coffin they raised me in.


    ¡°A white room. Blank. No windows, no furniture¡­ just a door, and the runes that they watched me through. That¡­ that was year one through six. I was not the same person when I emerged.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t say anything. She doesn¡¯t offer anything. For all that his subject matter weighs so very heavily on his words, there¡¯s minimal sadness to him. Just¡­ pensiveness. Like he¡¯s putting together a puzzle he doesn¡¯t quite remember the steps to.


    ¡°After that, the tests became more invasive. I had what was, at that point, considered a special constitution- a beastblooded mortal with enough of said beastblood to be born looking much as I am now. I¡¯ve grown into it, so to speak, but the horns, the snout, the fur, those I was born with. It was proposed that there might be merit in reopening old studies into beastbloods, since the Division of Altered cultivation, still fresh at the time, was looking in every possible place for new things to experiment with.


    ¡°I won¡¯t bore you with my life story. Suffice to say I have far more reason than most, in a world where many have reason, to want the Empire broken.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s not what you want. You said you wanted it reformed.¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Some cultivators like to believe themselves invincible, given time. I know better. You need time, and luck, and opportunity, and to survive long enough to get all three in spades to be able to fight the Empire truly- and the Emperor does not abide such things. Why do you think anyone in the Emperor realm works directly for him? Why I¡¯ve avoided ascending to the Warrior realm for so long? It draws more eyes than I¡¯d like. I can¡¯t defeat something this vast, and even if I could, I don¡¯t have the power to decide what happens next. What I can decide is the shape of things to come.


    ¡°The Divisions of Altered Cultivation and War, as they are, need to die. They¡¯ll only continue to feed the mill more bodies so long as they exist, and the Division of Research is barely better. The language, the power structures, those in command and the laws and ideals that have allowed them to harvest the best and brightest for centuries into their forever-wars or their surgical tables needs to end, and by ending them, there is opportunity to change more. But I have been in the Division half its life. I¡¯ve done bad things, and I will do more, and worse, before my work is done. And the only thing I have to offer you that isn¡¯t some far-off ideal is the fact that I do not care if I survive the coming change.


    ¡°A century and a half of pain is enough. And I will do worse before I make it to my one-hundred and fifty-second nameday, which I have so generously scheduled as my offered end.¡±


    Now he leans forward, and for a moment, she sees, bright as day, the impossible thing in the valley that is his Soul, chained and tormented and warped by the ways he has caged it, kept it from growing. She sees its eyes, still bright, as hateful as they are deep, and sees those same eyes reflected in different tones from Taurus.


    His Soul, that thing of cutting winds and heavy mountains which can wade through both, hates him.


    And Taurus feels nothing.


    There¡¯s something there, around the nothing. She¡¯s seen it. He does seem to genuinely care for Kaena, Taran and Yun Ka, and for all the ways he¡¯s nearly broken her, he could have been far worse. Zhoulong was proof of that. It isn¡¯t all manipulation.


    But there is something inside him that is deeply, yawningly empty.


    Something familiar.


    So she nods.


    ¡°Alright. What do you need from the fourth ring?¡±

 Chapter 189 - Big Kitty Convo

    Well then.


    Almost done.


    Taurus stands, the last phase of negotiations over with. His instructions were necessarily pretty vague, actually- if she finds something interesting, send him a report about it.


    When she asked the very pertinent question of how, exactly, he gave her two gifts: a seal of rank for the Division of Altered Cultivation, such that she can get at least some shit done around the fortress-cities and use some of their infrastructure, and a spatial ring. She can¡¯t use it, obviously, but he told her there¡¯s a piece of metal in it that can allow for direct contact in an emergency, and otherwise, well¡­ it¡¯s a spatial ring. A copper in the first ring, a silver in the second, and ten gold in the third, as the saying goes. The ratios are fairly accurate, even if the prices are not.


    And then she watches, carefully, as Taurus leaves.


    What he does is¡­ hard to describe. It¡¯s like one moment he¡¯s where she is, and the next moment he¡¯s somewhere else and where she is, and then one of him is gone. She tracks a sort-of path for it as his Qi reacted, reaching up towards something, only for a hint of something that smells like cold steel and dead flesh and pain reached down and plucked him like a string, separating the two instances of him.


    Well. Explains how he got here so quick, even if it doesn¡¯t explain what he just fucking did.


    It can¡¯t be all-powerful. If it was, then any surveillance they have on him wouldn¡¯t be any sort of issue. There¡¯s probably a cost to using it the way he did.


    She smiles at that.


    It pays to be expensive, eh?


    Well. Today has been productive.


    A friend freshly introduced into an all-new form of cultivation and already breaking it, check. Her own chains broken and forged into something more useful? Check. An enemy she now has far more insight to, and has harvested resources from? Check and check.


    Any Imperial scholar would be proud of her, she¡¯s checking boxes left and right.


    But that doesn¡¯t mean there isn¡¯t more to do.


    She heads to the perimeter of the bamboo, walking just past the edge of it¡­ to the east.


    The same direction she last met the divine beast in.


    She slits one wrist and lets the arterial crimson drip heavily onto the floor. Only when there¡¯s enough to form a puddle of dense blood, hyper-oxygenated to an almost neon degree, that she closes the cut back up.


    And then she waits.


    It doesn¡¯t take long.


    It steps out of reality like it¡¯s coming from just off the page. A stray bamboo sprout a few meters past the perimeter, lonely and slender, allows it to slink into view like it¡¯s coming through a doorway. A single eye dominates its face, its entire head, like the upper half of its skull has been replaced by clear, viscous jelly and a darting pupil, and the same mane of wriggling red knife-tendrils frames its movements.


    Her Mind moves faster this time. It already has the connections, already knows what the gestalt of her being wants, and pulls forth the intrinsic translation of the creature¡¯s nonverbal ¡°language¡±.


    Curious. Want. Fresh. Why.


    This time, she doesn¡¯t bother responding in words. Human words for human concepts don¡¯t serve here.


    Instead, she uses her Body.


    Supreme Body Art: Gigant has many applications. It¡¯s mostly just a way to memorize the steps required in making a body meant to exist on two limbs below ten feet not collapse in on itself as it reaches fifteen, or twenty, or thirty. She¡¯s pretty sure it¡¯s still kind of pretentious to name the ¡°style¡± as the ¡°supreme body¡± art.


    But it can do wonders.


    She drops to all fours, her back arching and vertebrae cracking in sequence as they are enlarged near-simultaneously. Her hands turn to longer, sharpened things, the last knuckle on each hand turned to a long, sharpened dagger of bone and Blacksteel, while her hind legs reverse their joints and dig into the earth with thick talons. Her face blooms, skull splitting open skin and flesh only to be retaken a moment after as a skeletal structure closer to a hyena or wolf forms, hints of feline nature and a secondary set of near-reptilian teeth making up the last of the amalgamation before she grows back over it.


    In seconds, she stands across from the divine beast, her flesh reshaped to mimic its own in size and musculature¡­ and with more than a few original twists. Sharp spikes and plates of bony armor over rippling black skin like midnight, equipped with nanoweave and a thin fur coating of a bright red with hints of gold, contrasted with the maroon of the cyclopean lion.


    In halting translation, with nearly all of her mind churning to accurately convey the desired meaning, she speaks as beasts do. Scents, subtle flickers of muscle and posture, and the varied intricacies of eye contact turn words into a language altogether devoid of them.


    Passage.


    She does all she can to indicate that all she wants from the creature is a passage. A space to move through, without infringing on its territory.


    And yet¡­ the not-lion has no mouth, no snout, no nose¡­ but it looks like it tries to smile. A little thing of amusement, somehow.


    And If Not? It asks, its voice becoming clearer as her Mind adjusts further.


    Well. That¡¯s easy.


    Death.


    The language to express that particular concept isn¡¯t very different from a human¡¯s, actually. She turns to face fully forward, rather than aimed slightly off to the side to avoid direct eye contact. Her claws flex and tear through the soft dirt, both anchoring her body and letting show just how easily they sheer through roots and stone. The faint scent of adrenaline and cortisol wafts from her towards her would-be opponent.


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    And all along her back and tail, long, lashing tendrils of flesh and sharp-tipped bone and Blacksteel make themselves into being.


    The not-lion looks a little less amused by that. There¡¯s just less¡­ room, so to speak. Less space to be entertained by death threats, by genuine challenges.


    Raika makes it abundantly clear that she is going to walk to the east, towards the fortress-cities.


    And she makes it just as clear that she will do her best to go through the divine beast if she has to.


    Now here¡¯s where a slight communication breakdown occurs.


    Just as scent is crucial to this sort of non-verbal communication, so too is Qi. The nuances of its movement, the details of its flavor and intensities, all are important to communicate properly. And she simply cannot exude anything without her Reactor, which does so primarily by overwhelming her cursed skin enough to slip through and forcing her to Change fast enough that it can slip through cracks in said curse. Even if it were viable, it¡¯s an expensive and possibly deadly option, since she can barely control it and it lights a fucking beacon informing anyone and everyone of where she is.


    Knowing this before she arrived, the possibility of combat has been present from the start.


    But¡­ well.


    Despite how deeply upsetting the eyeball looks atop the head of the divine beast¡­ she¡¯s pretty curious what it would taste like. And her Body is very certain that whatever else it might be, it would certainly be¡­ nutritious.


    She holds her position, hackles raised, gaze focused on her would-be opponent, and waits.


    And the cyclopean spirit beast breaks first.


    It does so casually, calmly, as if dismissing something beneath its attention. To genuinely back down from a fight would be a loss, but to act unbothered puts it in a position of tenuous authority still.


    She notices, after the fact, that its claws have reappeared on its paws. Like they¡¯d been just ever so slightly placed somewhere else, somewhere she guesses wouldn¡¯t be very enjoyable for her.


    It lays down, looking utterly bored with the whole thing. Acceptance, it communicates through a yawn. Or what would be a yawn if it had a jaw, and instead looks like a dislocation of bones making the eyeball that replaces its face wobble like jelly.


    Raika makes a little chuff sound. Good.


    There is no real way to say ¡°thank you¡± without offering some sort of gift simultaneously, so she doesn¡¯t say that. It¡¯s just the next best thing, really.


    Your Metal Polite, the divine beast says.


    She blinks at that. Forms a fresh eye to look down at Dink, still hanging from its chain around her neck.


    It sort of floats, ever so slightly. The chain isn¡¯t quite taught, as if the semi-living tool is levitating just a bit above its norm.


    She huffs out an amused noise, then nods. Is Good. Small But¡­ Sharp.


    Kittens Often Are.


    She lets out a deeply unnatural sound that her new jaw does not enjoy, an instinctive attempt at laughter. It doesn¡¯t really work with the new body, but it still lets out a few amused exhales.


    Is True. Though Prefer Dogs.


    The divine beasts makes another gelatin-like sound with its ¡°face¡±, rolling a bit onto its side and letting its knife-tendril mane churn up the ground. Then Why Eat Packmate?


    She cocks her head to one side, letting her tongue lol just a bit and sitting on her back legs. Packmate?


    Big. Many Litters. Swim Like Me, But Brighter.


    Takes her a while to parse the nuances of that one. The term ¡°brighter¡± especially took her a few seconds to puzzle out.


    Obvious, in hindsight. The other semi-feline divine beast, from the tournament.


    She does the animal equivalent of a shrug, her lower jaw unhinging open like petals of a flower to let her tongues loll out further. Dunno. Bad Luck. Tasty.


    The divine beast wriggles its agreement. Yes. Tasty. Mark Of Best Eater. Better Eater, Better Taste.


    She huffs in amusement again. You Eat Many Packmates?


    If Hungry. If Packmates Weak. If Bored. If Need Materials. If They Cannot Stop, Cannot Hunt Back, Then Are Prey, Or Are Pack.


    She growls a little, low and back in her throat. She doesn¡¯t stand up again, doesn¡¯t communicate her disdain for the idea so blatantly, but she puts enough emphasis that the divine beast turns itself to look at her a bit more closely.


    Divine Beast Bad Name. Am Just Beast. Beasts Eat.


    To Eat Is To Live. To Live Is To Eat.


    She blinks. That wasn¡¯t¡­ wasn¡¯t language. The ¡°words¡± to express an idea like that would require literally eating something, the contextual nature of non-verbal communication making many concepts inaccessible without certain environments. But that hadn¡¯t been body language or scents or pantomime.


    That was just¡­ True.


    Directly True, transmitted straight into her mind, intact, as clear as if it had been spoken aloud.


    It¡¯s her first time directly encountering a Truth not her own outside of a combat scenario. Project 13 obviously had some pretty blatant ones, but¡­ she just hadn¡¯t really noticed the moment that she just sort of knew what those Truths were.


    That¡¯s¡­ interesting. A Truth, once presented, becomes self-evident, transmitted directly. That¡¯s useful information, and a hint that she can probably find ways to both hide her own deeper Truths and detect that of others more easily.


    Off to one side of her ¡°processor¡± sub-mind, she starts growing a new bit of grey matter, transmitting between her brains a sequence of pattern-recognition training ideas that might help with that.


    Still ever so many more brains to make, so many potential improvements and new ideas to try out. Pretty soon she¡¯s going to run out of room.


    Well, that¡¯s a problem for when she gets there.


    She bows her head a bit to the divine beast (who¡­ apparently doesn¡¯t like the title?). Acceptance. Truth.


    The beast huffs and rolls onto its back, exposing its belly almost playfully. Yes. Good Good. If Ever You Want To Try To Be Predator, Am Happy To Play. Will Bite You And Have Fun.


    Now that, she can reply to easily enough. A similar roll onto her side and a widening of her jaws transmits her return very clearly.


    Happy To Bite Better.


    And she is, too. The longer she stays like this, her Mind shifted to comprehend its body language, the more she thinks the beast looks absolutely delicious to bite into, just bursting with Qi and vitality and accumulated traits.


    Delightful.


    The beast leaves a note of amusement behind, and then simply¡­ rolls away. Into itself. As if by completing its roll from side, to back, to the other side simply erases any part of it left behind, as it falls out of reality. Not even its scent remains, a fact that feels either pointedly threatening or gently mocking. It really does feel like some rambunctious sibling, more than willing to hold you under water longer than is comfortable but also entirely suited to begging you not to tell mom afterwards, and offering a punch to its ribs as a bribe. Having grown up around cultivators for the most part, the blatantly inhuman behaviors and strange language make for something weirdly nostalgic, despite how strange they are.


    But now the beast is gone. It takes her just a few seconds to shift her Body back to normal, transforming the additional biomass back into blood and dumping it all into her stomach to be re-digested back into her system. It¡¯s a waste, and there¡¯s always a decent amount of Qi-fueled growth lost in the process, but until she learns to transform flesh into Qi directly, it¡¯s what she¡¯s got.


    Though she will figure that out. Someday.


    She¡¯s got a lot of other projects to get through first.


    Touching the puddle of blood on the ground, she briefly reabsorbs it, only to dump it back out while inside the bamboo perimeter. She doesn¡¯t need it, and it can stand as a bigger meal for the Heart that they¡¯ve managed to set onto the land.


    The final thing that needs resolving before they leave.


    But, well¡­ for one day, that¡¯s probably enough.


    She has a warm bed, and all this posturing and social interaction and dark rituals have been exhausting without something tasty to eat or something fun to fight.


    Leave it for tomorrow.

 Chapter 190 - Trust Is An Act Of Faith, And Faith Is A Bloody Thing

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    The Land is afraid.


    This is a difficult thing for the Land, because that¡¯s simply a very novel emotion. Emotions themselves are rather new to it. Not instinct, not in the same way as before, those were more like instructions, felt but not necessarily understood. This, however, is something altogether new.


    It met a monster.


    It didn¡¯t come through its borders, didn¡¯t show up on its senses, it just¡­ appeared. Out of some facet or piece of the world and of everything and- and it was just there.


    And it was so, so fucking heavy. Like an ingot or unprocessed piece of ore dropped from the sky directly onto its face. It felt like brand new mountains had formed wherever its attention wandered, one particularly violent example coming down upon one of the things that lived on its surface, the one that fed it. Its favorite one, who was always so much larger and stranger and full of more pieces than the others, though it liked them too.


    When the mountains shaped like a presence arrived, it had churned and roiled, every one of the living things that were fully a part of it moving and stretching to send strength towards the one that feeds it. But there was a disconnect. While the one that feeds it is close to it, lives on its surface and is deeply familiar in so many ways, it¡¯s not truly one of the Land¡¯s creatures, not truly an extension of itself like the fish in the pond, the grass, the trees, the bamboo. It roiled in the pond, writhing with a thousand bodies, squirming with a hundred hundred sets of eyes and teeth, and it grew terrified, for it had no extensions that could touch the violent mountain and no power it could send to its would-be champion. Instinct screamed at the Land that it shouldn¡¯t have learned to trust, that it should have spent its energies building better defenders, turning the bacteria and minute life-forms in its soil into deadlier versions of themselves¡­


    But the mountain made it clear. Beyond instinct, there was a rational, logical conclusion- it could not defeat the horned mountain full of hate. Not with all the life of its pond, and not if it had spent every possible moment since consciousness struck it creating new defenders.


    And then¡­ the mountain left.


    The champion grew and broke through its weight, and they exchanged vibrations of sound for a time, and then the mountain left.


    And then once more, its champion surprised it. It went out past the bamboo, past the meager protection the land had spent so much of itself to offer, and had confronted the hungry predator-thing right outside.


    This, unlike the mountain, was not an unknown. This was a clear, consistent threat. The predator-thing had danced under the nooks and edges and pages, where even the Land could not see, but it had felt its hunger, constant and ever-present, all the same. This was a thing that could eat the Heart of the Land in a single, vicious bite if it so chose.


    And once again, its champion surprised it.


    Its champion grew to match the predator, climbed to a fuller, grander self, heavy with weight and with biology and with vigor, and in that violent state¡­ spoke. Once more, it spoke.


    And the predator just left.


    Its champion had, once again, acted in ways that defied every instinct the Land possesses. It had spoken, it had fed the Land freely, and it protected the Land¡­ and it spoke directly to the Land.


    It took many, many days to try to translate the sound waves that its champion had made, back when it offered a heavier feeding to it. It took the movements of the rest of those living upon it, leaving and changing and doing things, one by one, to allow the information to click in its many minds.


    Its champion was leaving. Would leave, maybe forever. It would be left defenseless and alone, all its prepared defenses lacking without its champion and provider.


    And so, the Land, less than a year old, took the time to do something for the first time in its life.


    It sat perfectly still, neither eating nor creating, and forced itself to take a good, long think.


    Its feeder, its champion, brought it to this place, which is safe. It fed it with rich, vibrant blood, and gave it a place both untouched and strong for it to exist in. All the Land has offered in return is to feed on the energy that leaks from them and removed pests from around them, kept itself in a proper shape. Even to its simple minds, that¡¯s not an equivalent trade. And now, its champion is taking on greater threats, and perhaps even¡­ leaving. Perhaps its champion is settling their affairs, finding new protectors for it, but¡­


    It¡¯s not enough.


    And what¡¯s more, without its champion feeding it, the Land knows its growth will slow. It¡¯s beginning to shape its surroundings and geography to increase the flow of life-food to itself, but to do that while remaining hidden is incredibly difficult, and it knows there are other predator-things that will come for it if it is not hidden. It will lose its main food source, will have to change everything of what it¡¯s done so far, and all of that with no guarantee it¡¯ll be able to survive alone, without those who have kept it company.


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    This leads to an interesting conclusion- it cannot force its champion to stay. It doesn¡¯t have the strength or enough to provide, not when its champion can so clearly provide for both itself and the Land. All the options in its control only point to the fact that it will be left behind, and will have to transform everything, only to maybe survive on much, much less.


    No matter what happens, two things are true. It will need to change to survive, and it¡¯s greatest, strongest, most multi-faceted resource is leaving this place.


    And soon. Soon like now.


    The Land watches in fear and horror as its champion and the champion¡¯s packmates (and¡­ sub-body? The smaller one?) head for its perimeter, towards the bamboo. They carry bags with them of food, of spice, of paper and of metals and of other things that the Land does not know, and have nearly emptied their entire den, leaving a place safe and secure but ultimately now¡­ tasteless. Meaningless. Empty.


    Its instincts rejoice, pushing itself to celebrate. More privacy, a chance to build up its own forces, to shape its own terrain, to use the cabin as a lure when it so chooses.


    But that¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s not what the Land wants.


    It¡¯s had someone taking care of it all this time, helping it to be something other than the simplistic form of itself that it would have been instead for who knows how long. It was pushed to change, and if not for that push, for the food given so freely, it would still be something smaller and even simpler.


    And so it makes its choice.


    The ground roils as the thing beneath the pond shifts itself, the Heart of this little piece of land moving at the fastest speed it can manage towards its protector and¡­ friend. It¡¯s slower than a normal human¡¯s walking pace, but it keeps close, and its champion notices almost immediately, turning to regard the approaching Heart.


    The smaller one, the one whos synapses are so bright and ever-shifting and is now two-in-one, looks out towards where the champion is looking. The smallest of them, the least developed, the one that follows its champion around like a lost duckling, seems the most uncertain, the little flickering wisps that hover around the littlest following the gaze of the others ever so slightly.


    And the Heart pushes itself, against all instinct that says that this is the worst thing that it can do, to push itself back above the surface, out into open air.


    The Land screams, breaking against itself as it tears out its own roots, as it interferes with its own cycling and carefully prepared patterns.


    And, at last, for the first time since it was planted, it emerges.


    The Heart has changed. Where once it was something like a pearl, a little snippet of flesh born from a greater example of itself, it is now a partially formed thing in and of itself. There are valves, long, reaching roots coming out from them and into the ground, drawing in and pushing out energy to reshape the world around it. In its roots there are notes of blue, green, red, but the Heart itself glows in near-monochrome, fluctuating between an alabaster white and an onyx black, with hints of gold and purple edging out its contours.


    And it does not beat.


    It sings.


    The Heart flutters and trembles, conducting a thousand notes constantly, and here, exposed to the air, it vibrates right alongside the little piece of metal its champion wears, the sound emanating subtly but universally through its territory.


    It reaches out, sending its subtle waves of life-food out towards its champion and her protected. It pitches its warbling melody ever so faintly, that her metallic companion might speak of its worth to their mutual champion.


    And in the end, all it can do is wait.


    For a little while, its champion just looks at it. It does not know if she can feel as it can feel, if she can think as it can think, but it imagines she must be confused. Disoriented, perhaps, or awed by what the Heart has offered. Every second it is exposed to the air its instincts scream in fear, squirming like eels inside it and demanding that it pull itself back into hiding, where it¡¯s safe- but it waits.


    Its champion (a threat, outside its control, not bound to its flesh) steps forward once, slowly. Despite itself, the Heart can¡¯t help but shift away, the earth that raises it up on a pedestal pulling it back in instinctive fear. Its champion freezes, then.


    She does not pounce, like one would on prey. She does not fall upon it and tear it from the earth to bite into and drink deep from, as it fears something will surely do as it presents itself. She does not rip up its roots and reshape them into painful patterns, forced to mold itself along sharp angles and aching, breaking angles, as deeply-buried memories scream must be its fate if it does not hide.


    Its champion too waits.


    As they sit there, both confused and unsure of their next steps¡­ a beetle lands on the ground alongside the Heart.


    The beetle. The beetle that was there before it ever began to reshape the land, that came with it when it was planted, that lived among its reeds.


    It has not consumed the bug, or forced it to change. It felt different than the other animals that simply became part of the Heart as it touched them, and when its tendrils reached too close, it would flutter away, without fear.


    And now it rests here. A comforting presence in the face of the unknown and the terrifying. Just a little beetle, but a familiar one.


    The Heart¡¯s champion looks to the beetle, then to the Heart¡­


    And then she kneels, and extends out one of her strange, many-digited limbs out to it.


    And the Heart decides to rebel against all that could have been, all that demands that it sacrifice what it has gained and made- and reaches back.


    For a moment, the contact feels¡­ right. It feels its tendrils, its life-food and energy begin to leak into its champion, but¡­ no. It doesn¡¯t work. Something in her skin stops it from going any deeper, stoops any potential infection.


    And so, banking on its own bravery and stubbornness to have even gotten this far, it ¡°looks¡± up to its protector, its chosen champion, and offers itself fully.


    She, to her credit, hesitates.


    And then the little piece of metal around her neck hums once, speaking a soft, comforting note.


    And she nods.


    And she opens her mouth wide, wider than a human could ever, with far too many teeth and a throat long and deep and dark.


    She devours the Heart whole.


    And the Heart is the Land.


    There is a strained and bloody sound as the Heart pulls itself, and all its tendrils, and its pond, and cabin, and bamboo, and fish, and grass and trees and wind- all of itself, right down her gullet.


    In that offering, in bloody baptism, in pushing itself towards its champion, in giving itself over entirely, the Heart offers a note to a song still incomplete, adds a final note of understanding to the still unformed part of the symphony in its champion.


    The champion and her new Heart discover, together, that We Are What We Eat.

 Chapter 191 - Moving On

    Wayun Village is a small, simple place. It has almost always been a small, simple place. Almost two hundred years ago, a couple of farmers and hunters made their way to a newly uncovered clearing from towns just full enough to support that sort of new founding, and the rest, as they say, is history. Before this year, the most exciting thing that happened in the village was a fight between cultivators nearly a dozen miles away.


    And then, of course, came the boar.


    Right after it, there came the cultivator who could heal even the most grievous of wounds and control a dozen implements at once, and the beast-blooded stranger went out into the woods after the monster. An entire section of farmland rebuilt by hand in under a day, hundreds who could have died instead brought back to health, and a feast of flesh given over to the village larder. The flesh of a spirit beast resists decay in a way that is literally supernatural, meaning that the meat will remain ready to eat for months at the least, especially as its aura scares away lesser scavengers. The biggest danger would be lesser spirit beasts coming for the meat to feed, but between the walls of the village and the strange arrays and flags that the healer showed them, the danger is minimal.


    And then¡­ nothing.


    No requests for payment. No return visit. No threats from similar beasts, rising up to avenge their fallen brethren. Neither the strangers to their village nor the impossible monsters that brought them to its defense made any appearance after that day.


    So Nan Su finds herself mightily surprised at the package on her porch step one fine morning about two weeks after all the excitement.


    It¡¯s nothing fancy, there¡¯s none of that weird ¡°whoosh-ness¡± she associates with Qi, no fancy details or strange words on it. There¡¯s just a thick, heavy canvas sack that looks home-woven, a little note attached at the top of it with a little bone trinket she recognizes.


    Crouching down and cursing her old bones (and hips, and back, and joints in general), she picks up the note, plucking it from between the threads and finding a strange black smear on one edge of it. She folds it open and finds a small, simple letter inside.


    Thank you for the cookie, it says. I hope your lavender-oranges enjoy the dirt. May your wastrel son find a good wife, and your many grand-children bring you many joys.


    Beneath the first note, there¡¯s a second one, written in a much unsteadier hand.


    Bye ya old hag!


    Thank you


    There is no signature on either, but she doesn¡¯t make a habit of giving cookies out to just anyone. It¡¯s a family recipe, after all! Her grandmother made it for her, and she¡¯ll make it for her grandkids someday. And besides, she remembers the talk she had with the large, lovely woman who had been helping that little kid.


    And who later rebuilt an entire section of farmland and had her nice young friend with the clean robes come to heal her beloved son.


    She stretches a hand out to the bag, touching it gently, but between that and the stain on the letter, the contents become clear. The scent of rich, fresh earth rises from the bag, filled with the scent of well-made blood meal, the slightly metallic scent cutting through the herbal earthiness. There are few scents that bring quite so much joy to a tender of plants as truly rich, delectable earth.


    She hears sounds of surprise as others wake up (lazy bums, the lot! Letting an old woman like her rise before them!) and find gifts on their porches. Most of the farmers get dirt like she has (though she can¡¯t help but smile at their considerably smaller bags of mulch), but she sees some doorways with bone charms hanging off them, some doorways with little fruits near them, a few even with packages of moss and herbs.


    They¡¯re not tremendous gifts, alien things of might and power, but for a small, quiet town, they¡¯re more than perfect.


    Though Nan Su frowns, looking at the massive bag of dirt on her porch.


    Those damned brats. How the hell is an old lady like her supposed to get this thing to her backyard!?


    ¡°Nan Hie! Get your lazy butt out here and help your mother!¡±


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    Elder Shang Hao sits at his desk, looking out over a long, complex letter. There¡¯s a rather considerable amount of simplistic, rote honorifics spread throughout it, as is befitting addressing one¡¯s betters. While he himself may be well into the Nascent Soul realm, his advanced age betrays how long he has remained there, and even without being his superior in cultivation and talent (as Runemaster Boriah certainly is), he is his superior by the weight of the Empire¡¯s authority. A Senior Researcher- not a Head Researcher of a project group, but a Senior Researcher, and a recent one at that. To tempt his wrath, or defy his wishes, has consequences, both for a sect elder like himself and his sect as a whole.


    And yet¡­ his pride rankles at how Outer Disciple Raika spoke to him.


    No. Not an Outer Disciple, not anymore. Now she is something else, her only real title that of the Unbroken. Considering her ruined cultivation, an emptiness of Qi and of a Soul to his senses, he cannot even say that the title is unearned. Especially with the strength she showed.


    She even admitted, to his face, that she was weaker than he¡­ but there had been such confidence in her words. Such an impossible, overwhelming weight to her certainty that it wouldn¡¯t be easy for him.


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    The fact he cannot deny the possibility eats at him.


    He is in the Nascent Soul realm. A master unrivaled outside other sects in the third ring. To hear someone, anyone, not only hold power over him while standing as his lesser, but come to him with such naked confidence in her ability to commit violence¡­


    And yet, he had been unable to refute it. And when he¡¯d extended his aura, shaped the world with his proto-Domain and placed as much pressure as he could against her, she hadn¡¯t even flinched, like for all that she screamed empty to his senses, he was nothing to her.


    So, as she suggested, he writes his letter to her master. Informs him, as she said it would be inevitable that he would.


    And his Qi shakes inside him in rage.


    His Nascent Soul is torn on the matter. It speaks of passivity, the many-rooted thing that crawls through the earth within him, but it is also always perpetually eager for fresh things to crush in its writhing movements. He has cultivated his sect¡¯s techniques and ideals diligently for two centuries now, and has learned to be more than careful when it comes to potential deviations or losing control of his trained impulses. Patience and hunger, always unevenly fluctuating within him.


    And now¡­ now he has to deal with Hisheng.


    Core Disciple Hisheng, to be proper. It is best to be proper even in one¡¯s thoughts, after all. Core Disciple Hisheng has become a brand new nightmare for Shang Hao to deal with. The other elders might chide him for favoritism, but his options are limited. Disrespect the subject of a Senior Researcher of one of the Divisions of the Empire, or do as she says and damn himself to¡­


    Well. To a promising and sincere young man whose growth has been both impressive and considerable. It¡¯s hardly the worst deal he¡¯s had to make, and beside the wound to his pride, it¡¯s not a bad one either. A truce with a former disciple, the ear of a Senior Researcher, and a debt owed to him, all in exchange for tending to the boy as he would have anyways.


    Though now he might be a little more¡­ aggressive, when it comes to finding resources and opportunities for the boy.


    After he required a visit by a psykologist, someone from the Scholar Academy of the Empire who now sells their service as a cure to heart demons and mental ills, Shang Hao was worried that the boy might be too weak, too passive. And yet, in his defiance, he¡¯s shown initiative, strength of character, and a surprising amount of growth in a short period of time. It truly is the privilege of the young to be brash. The young are to be regarded with awe, as they say, even if a newborn calf doesn¡¯t know to be afraid of tigers.


    And that woman is most certainly a tiger.


    It was honestly a little funny, seeing Hisheng come back. He¡¯d worn his conquest on his sleeve, so to speak, and yet the woman is no jade beauty. Beasts in human skin often appear conventionally beautiful, if only for the sake of tricking the young, and yet, in the folly of youth, she has instead caught a promising young man with with naked violence and animal appeal.


    He can¡¯t fault him for that. He, too, was young at one point. He¡¯ll just have to do the best he can to pull him away from her influence with time, while holding on to the debt she has offered.


    There is much work ahead for Elder Shang Hao. A new Core Disciple to push forth into the world, standing at the height of what the Hungering Roots sect can offer, a favor he may choose to call in when it is required, and signs of clear and drastic plots occurring in the Empire¡¯s Division of Altered Cultivation.


    Yes. In spite of his pride, Elder Shang Hao can¡¯t help but think that there¡¯s too much to do to wallow.


    He closes and marks the letter with his seal, readying himself for a troublesome new pupil.


    ¡ª-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Sees-All-Dances-Between-Layers is having a wonderful time.


    It came out this way on orders, which was a very strange new experience, but then, as it turns out, it discovered a new little sister! Brand new, barely out of her first molt. If she¡¯s the type to molt, which she might not be. What a wonderful world it is!


    It came after the delightful, delicious smells it had sensed. One of them was a young and vibrant thing, bright and lovely, that of incense and mystery and transformation and infusion. Delightfully, it had also smelled like one of the hairless apes, which always made for tasty treats when they were full of proper life. The new pack-masters had said to wait, to eat only when required, but Sees-All-Dances-Between-Layers is a hunter. A predator! To ask it not to eat or hunt as much as it wants is an outright insult!


    And yet¡­ it cannot deny that the pack leaders are stronger than it is. And smart¡­ in their own way. So it was willing to listen for at least a little bit.


    But then¡­ oh, that second smell. It had been¡­ pure. Extravagantly, dramatically pure, an indulgence that simply could not be neglected. It had smelled Qi fonts with less purity, though it was much less potent a scent overall. None of the messiness of flesh, of confused emotion, nothing even of the fear it has to purify away from some of its prey, that second scent screamed only of a pure, genuine font of transformation, full and brimming with potential.


    Yes, that had been it. Potential. It had been like smelling not just fuel, energy untainted and clear, but flavored with the very idea of growth, of changing flesh and soul. It could have advanced by two or three cores at least if it consumed such a thing, and to think it had found such a blessing in this place, so starved of wilderness and mystery, so steeped in miserable little monkey-things and their sticks and words!


    And then it met its newest sister, and suddenly, things changed.


    The pack leaders were very clear on the matter- the hairless monkeys can only be eaten away from their nests, the juicy hairless monkeys could only be hunted alone and if they were much weaker, and any potential packmates were to be left alone. Unless one of them actively attacks, in which case, as with all wild things, those whose weapons are sharper and whose tools are greater would kill and eat. And it¡¯s very much clear that, in spite of the skin she was wearing, the thing with the impossible scent is clearly a new packmate.


    At first it wasn¡¯t sure, but Sees-All-Dances-Between-Layers doesn¡¯t like not being sure. So it let out a friendly greeting, and came to say hello. It couldn¡¯t tell at first, but then its new packmate understood! It still spoke like a monkey, all those noisy sounds and patterns, so annoying to interpret, but it understood how to at least listen properly!


    And then the second time they met, it shed its skin!


    What a beautiful molt it had been, so war-like and strident. Its teeth were ever so sharp, its weapons all black and gloriously hungry, and it had enough muscle and defenses it seemed like a fortress. Such a form is hopelessly bland and much too inefficient compared to almost any other packmate Sees-All-Dances-Between-Layers has seen, but considering the font inside of her, perhaps its new packmate has more wiggle room to take such heavy and basic tools.


    Still, Sees-All-Dances-Between-Layers enjoyed the vicious pleasure of being smart and being right, and, to a lesser extent, the milder pleasure of obeying orders properly. It¡¯s not a big fan of how restricted it is, but the pack leaders have their smarts, and Sees-All-Dances-Between-Layers is more than capable of understanding being patient before pouncing. Now that its newest soon-to-be packmate is off towards the leaders, there¡¯s even more chance both that they¡¯ll be useful to the pack- and that, if they prove unworthy, the strange font of impossible Change and fuel inside them will be up for eating.


    Win-win, all around.


    As Sees-All-Dances-Between-Layers tracks three layers down and to the left of its new packmate and her snacks, it can¡¯t help but feel excited. This is the most fun its had since it first met the pack! Definitely makes eating only measly little apes for months worth it.

 Chapter 192 - You Dare Not Show This Young Master A Tardy Slip?

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    It takes approximately thirty minutes for the first fool to try him.


    Frankly, he¡¯s impressed it took that long.


    Shin Ren has been having a rather strange time being back. Everything is the same, but it all feels different.


    The Academies are split into three divisions, each one reflecting a different path in Imperial society that those with power and will can step onto. The Scholar¡¯s Academy, Soldier¡¯s Academy, and Builder¡¯s Academy all stand as a three-part structure deep in the heart of the second ring, close enough to the plateau of the first that nearly half of every day is spent in shadows. The structure of the academies are like three pyramids, each standing at an acute angle from the other to make the top and two bottom points of a larger triangle. Spatial distortion arrays ensure that from far away, each pyramid is like a vast, dramatic spire over the skyline of the surrounding city, while up close, the tops of the each structure move further and further up into the clouds.


    Like any red-blooded (so to speak, there¡¯s lots of blood colors out there) young cultivator, Shin Ren applied for the Soldier¡¯s Academy. It¡¯s an institution dedicated to strengthening and training the greatest fighters in the Empire. Two of the five Blades have come from this academy, and it¡¯s most often those trained here who distinguish themselves against rogue cultivators, Imperial traitors, or the hordes of the 4th ring. Any and every prodigy of any and every sect in the civilized world seeks the Soldier¡¯s Academy, if only for long enough to test themselves against their supposed peers. In all of the Academies, there¡¯s nothing forcing people to remain: one can leave at any time, if they can handle the stresses of perceived failure or disappointment from the sects that sponsored them.


    The Scholar¡¯s and Builder¡¯s Academies both are more of a mystery to him, seeing as he¡¯s never actually been on their grounds. For those who want to plumb the secret depths of the world, the Scholar¡¯s Academy calls, and for those pushed that way by their sects or master (and the rare few genuinely passionate), the Builder¡¯s Academy allows the resources to grow one¡¯s cultivation and knowledge of mechanics, physiks and arrays that they might best contribute to the Empire.


    The Soldier¡¯s Academy, of course, is much more direct. Both in its contributions to the Empire and in its teaching methods. It is a place to raise the strongest of the strong, and just as has always been true, in every version of every empire, steel sharpens steel.


    Which means that when one particular piece of steel shows up after the official start of the academic year, bedraggled from the road, after a series of minor catastrophes struck his sect in Paleblossom city, sometimes other pieces of steel look to sharpen themselves.


    It¡¯s been interesting being back.


    Mostly because so many people seem so¡­ small.


    For the sake of keeping everyone¡¯s growth at useful levels, every year and section of the pyramid is separated by cultivation level. Go up enough stairs, and the pressure of the Qi around you can literally begin to break bones and stop a weaker cultivator¡¯s heart, limiting the range at which one can roam, while leaving the lower levels feeling dry and stale to those stronger up above. This means that, luckily enough, most of the people in the room are in his own range, just entering the Nascent Soul realm (again, after his near-death by Qi deviation). Most of them are within a decade of his own age, most of them older than he by a few years, but they all stand, in theory, close to where he should be in strength.


    And many of them emulate sharks as he walks into the main lobby of the pyramid, surrounding the smell of blood in the water.


    He recognizes one of the sect robes that begin to circle him, standing a bit further away. Should something go wrong, the figure draped in grey and vibrant purple highlights can claim that he was merely watching, or perhaps stand in to help. Plausible deniability and all that. The other two who come up to him, casually wielding their own entourages of servants dressed in their sect colors (something one can petition their supporting sect for), quickly stand in his way as he crosses a few steps past the threshold of the main entrance.


    ¡°Truly it is a marvel to see one such as you returned to such a fine institution,¡± says one of the young masters. By the coloration of his robes, he¡¯s from¡­ Crawling Dragons sect, out in the third. The other one has a simpler beige coloration, highlighted by patterns of rushing winds and woven nets. Rushing Flights Sect, has a bunch of sub-sects if he recalls correctly.


    The Smiling Noble sneers, squirming in his soul with derision, and for once, Shin Ren can¡¯t help but agree.


    ¡°I am still a member of this Academy,¡± Shin Ren says, his voice tired but firm. ¡°I have as much right to be here as any, which you well now. The paths of cultivation can lead one in many directions, some which require a bit more time to walk.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Is this what we¡¯re calling it now, to lose strength? A path of cultivation?¡± asks the Crawling Dragon disciple. Seems like the ringleader, a few attractive women behind him giggling at his words and two individuals that could be guards, could be clerks mutely sharing looks. ¡°It¡¯s rare that a member of these Academies dares to show his face after being so thoroughly reduced.¡±


    Shin Ren frowns. His cultivation has dropped, it¡¯s true, no longer is he on the verge of forming his Soul, but he¡¯s fairly certain that in sheer quantity of Qi, he¡¯s much stronger than he was before. Sure, a lot of it is hidden in his new, lesser cores, the whirlpools that were once his heart demons, but-


    Wait, it¡¯s hidden?


    The Smiling Noble grins and nods, while the Corpse Aflame gives him a withering look through half-boiled eyes. As if she would waste the fuel of her eventual blaze on posturing, letting it float about.


    And¡­ admittedly, his control is much finer. Three minds joined to his meridians make for a much more intuitive grip on his circulation, even if two are sort of semi-sentient for now. Maybe they just can¡¯t tell?


    ¡°And apparently he¡¯s come back dumb as well,¡± says the beige-robed cultivator. His entourage is mostly two other, weaker members of his own sect, bringing the total crowd standing against Shin Ren to a solid ten people all told. ¡°Are you looking down on this young master? Speak when you¡¯re spoken to!¡±


    The beige-colored cultivator of the Rushing Flights sect flares his cultivation, his aura pressing in against Shin Ren. He¡¯s not particularly far along the journey of the Nascent Soul ream, truth be told, and the wave of his Qi rings faintly¡­ hollow. Incomplete.


    As Shin Ren reflects on the feeling of his master¡¯s Qi, like an entire world of stone and water and life and space were turning to look down upon him, it feels pretty lackluster by comparison.


    The beige disciple blinks, as if surprised. He¡¯s a good few steps further into the realm than Shin Ren is, but his Qi hits a wall against the ¡°lesser¡± cultivators defenses, as if they suddenly hit an area of high density. To Shin Ren¡¯s senses, his fellow academics Qi comes off as if its attempting to be a powerful wind¡­ but is coming across as a strong breeze instead.


    For a moment the Smiling Noble¡¯s grin grows past the edges of his face as he reaches up, pulling on old habits and ideals-


    And Shin Ren sighs, refusing to rise to the bait.


    ¡°It is impossible to look down on a fellow atop the same peak as I,¡± he says. ¡°Let it be known that my journey was long, and I seek only to rest and resume my studies. Please, allow this Shin Ren to pass by, that we might meet at a more proper place and time.¡±


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    The Crawling Dragon disciple snorts even as the Rushing Flights fellow colors a slight red. Shin Ren frowns. That¡¯s¡­ he wasn¡¯t trying to make the guy blush. It seems a pretty small thing to get angry about. Did he use to be like this? So little time ago?


    The Crawling Dragon disciple laughs, a haughty thing. ¡°And to think, we would bully this junior brother into giving us face!¡± he laughs. ¡°Surely he has misunderstood us, brother Xin Xi! We are simply worried for his well-being, are we not? Surely such a weak cultivation will only harm him as he ascends the pyramid!¡±


    Considering the fact that he¡¯s in the same realm as both of them (and used to be higher), Shin Ren highly doubts that.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s simply best if you leave, junior brother,¡± the one apparently named Xin Xi says. ¡°It would be best if you return after your cultivation has healed, especially as the year has already begun. Perhaps you will be in time in only another decade?¡±


    The Smiling Noble crawls forward up his throat. My, how brazen these two are being. Please, oh please won¡¯t Shin Ren let him out to play?


    Shin Ren¡¯s first instinct is to say no. To hold himself as if the sins of his old self are flaws, to be held or controlled¡­ but he did swear by them that he would accept their existence. And frankly, besides a knee-jerk reaction, he¡­ kind of just can¡¯t see why not.


    Qi from his third and smallest pool begins to rise, eliciting looks of surprise and amusement from his would-be bullies at how it¡¯s even less than expected- before they both stop being able to breathe.


    Just for a second. Just long enough for them to stagger back a bit in surprise as the air around them heats so quickly that it warps the gases in front of their eyes and wicks away any oxygen to inhale.


    Shin Ren¡¯s eyes glow a dangerous yellow-orange color as he smiles, the very image of a polite little shit- but magnified.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid you must be mistaken, junior brothers,¡± he says, a smirk fighting its way onto his face. ¡°This senior has far better things to do and far wiser teachers than you to be listening to words without wisdom. Perhaps we can take this up again later for a quick spar, where you might be more thoroughly educated¡­ but for now, this young master intends to get a good night¡¯s sleep after a long, hot bath, and you two are in the way.¡±


    The Smiling Noble acquiesces enough, at least, to give them this one last chance.


    Joyously, gloriously, delightfully, they do not take it.


    ¡°You dare disrespect this young master?!¡± Yells the whoever-the-fuck from the Crawling Dragon sect. ¡°Oh, you could slam your face into the ground and kiss my heels a thousand times and I still wouldn¡¯t bear such an insult. My pride is-¡±


    ¡°Worthless,¡± Shin Ren interrupts. ¡°A meaningless little thing that has faced no pain, no trials, and no real awakening, leading to you wasting time in the lobby of the academy waiting for me. All it took was for someone to spread the rumor I was back, and here you came crawling just like your sect, on the dirt, to find a way to disrespect yourself and worse, me. But that¡¯s alright. If I need to educate my juniors, then so be it.¡±


    He keeps the cloth wrapped up as an improvised sheath around the blade of his Quandao, making it look like a staff with a bag at the top, but points it imperiously at the two in front of him.


    ¡°If you are so confident in my weakness, so sure you¡¯re worthy to judge who is allowed into these halls, then please, allow me to grant you enlightenment.¡±


    Both young masters meet each others eyes, turn to face him, and flare their Qi.


    Gods, was it really always so easy? So intuitive to just¡­ know what buttons to push? One step outside old habits and how suddenly do they lie exposed.


    Shin Ren doesn¡¯t bother pulling from all his cores. The Corpse Aflame is, to put it mildly, overkill for this situation, and he himself really doesn¡¯t care all that much about this confrontation save for annoyance at what¡¯s happening. It¡¯s ridiculous that they¡¯re all wasting time like this, but sect politics and social hierarchy demand that bottom feeders try to find easy prey, lest they be consumed whole.


    And a twisted parody of sect politics and faux-nobility lives in Shin Ren, grinning like a demon should.


    The Corpse Aflame¡¯s explosive movement or his own constant flow are absent as the Smiling Noble¡¯s Qi rises ascendant, making for small, subtle shifts in movement. As Xin Xi and the Crawling Dragon disciple strike at him, he moves only exactly as much as is needed, swaying out of the way of thrown punches like a heat haze in motion. Neither one of them is weak or untalented- far from it, especially if they¡¯ve lasted at the Academy at all.


    The Rushing Flights disciple and the Crawling Dragon disciple (he¡¯ll have to learn names later, it¡¯s¡­ Xin Xi and the other one, sure) both strike at once, clearly well-trained together. Xin Xi leaps into the air and arcs back down with a spiraling kick, one heavy enough to break steel rods if the sheer velocity is any indication, while the¡­ other guy comes in a straight rush, his knees low and fists raised in a boxer¡¯s stance, but with elbows a bit wider.


    Shin Ren is simply not there where they strike.


    Two blows he parries on his staff, one with his arm, but the next two, three, four, he simply shifts away from. Subtle changes to his center of gravity are enough to have him sway out of the way of a half-dozen blows until both cultivators clearly get angry. He can¡¯t blame them, this is pretty embarrassing, and the Smiling Noble¡¯s grin is slowly spreading on his face.


    And then, at the last moment, the disciple of the Crawling Dragon sect overreaches. Xin Xi has to abort a strike ever so slightly, looping what would have been a kick into a further spin to launch an elbow. In that slight hiccup the green and black of the Crawling Dragon launches himself forward into an uppercut that glows with Qi, enough to potentially take this from an attempted humiliation to a genuine spar.


    Shin Ren and the Smiling Noble don¡¯t let it go that way. Fair fights aren¡¯t the style of his former heart demon, after all.


    A subtle weave of heat pulls in air all around, making slight winds circle around Shin Ren and adding to his movement here and there. He leans back from the blow, the wind adding to his momentum and sending him into a perfect spin for a crescent kick to his opponent¡¯s temple. A burst of Qi adds to it, leaving a singed mark in the shape of the impact that burns away a chunk of the guy¡¯s hair.


    He has to duck and block a follow-up combo from ¡°young master¡± Xin Xi, both strikes strong enough to rattle him. Shin Ren is exhausted, hasn¡¯t had a chance to stop and meditate for days, and only just got to the Academy, but none of that means that even at his best the hit wouldn¡¯t have bruised him. His forearm is going to swell for at least a few hours, most likely.


    That¡¯s fine. A good trade, considering how artfully he and the Smiling Noble mask the pain and spin his Guandao into smacking its hilt into Xin Xi¡¯s chin.


    The Crawling Dragon disciple roars as he launches himself back into the fight, forgetting where they are and what the consequences for such a fight might be¡­ but that¡¯s fine. As the sound leaves him, the Smiling Noble¡¯s heat haze once more wraps around his mouth and nose, singing the fine hairs of a well-groomed upper lip and eating away the oxygen there. The disciple staggers as he tries to intake a breath and fails utterly, leaving him open and exposed in Shin Ren¡¯s range.


    An axe-kick to the back of his head, cracking the stone floor beneath his chin, is enough to knock him out of the fight.


    At the sight of his ally (and friend?) lying wounded by such a strong blow, the man¡¯s head half-buried in the stone of a foot-deep crater Shin Ren has made for him, his eyes burn.


    Instantly his Qi rises again, high enough that Shin Ren raises an eyebrow that no one¡¯s come to interrupt yet. Sure, he isn¡¯t burning his Core (probably) but it¡¯s still damn dramatic to say the least-


    The Corpse Aflame singes the both of them and reminds them to pay attention.


    The Smiling Noble just doesn¡¯t have the Qi to truly block or neutralize a technique, not when he¡¯s so good at misdirection, but that just means Shin Ren has to show off his own cultivation now.


    As a series of vaguely net or web-like runes begin to flare around the wrists of Xin Xi, some sort of array technique forming, Shin Ren reaches deep into his being, towards the center of who he knows himself to be¡­


    And finds Flame.


    The Dao of Flame manifests into the world around him, wrapping about his shoulders, around his waist, framing him in a halo of fire and gold. It is a pure fire, nearing the realms of True Flame, its colors tinged with gold even as blue and yellow cooperate for a pure and high-burn fire around him. It arcs past his hands, down into his guandao, lighting the bag covering it aflame and turning it to ash near instantaneously, revealing the razor-sharp head of the weapon, glimmering in the light of his Qi.


    And then, before this Xin Xi can so much as cancel his technique, the Flame has reached out, burnt through it, scarred his hands, and propelled Shin Ren forward approximately three feet- just far enough forward to put the naked edge of his guandao to the man¡¯s throat.


    ¡°No need to make this too serious,¡± Shin Ren says, the Smiling Noble¡¯s influence still coloring his voice just a tad. ¡°I¡¯m not sure you can afford what it would cost you to learn this particular lesson, junior brother.¡±


    Shin Ren can almost smell the fear on his opponent as he backs off, hands spread wide in surrender.


    ¡°Good. Now, if neither of you wish for more enlightenment, this Shin Ren of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus Sect will be on his way.¡±


    And, cringing just a bit at the name, he finds himself doing exactly that, even as whispers of ¡°a dao wielder¡± and ¡°young master of the purple-¡± ¡°all the way from the third ring¡­¡± echo out behind him.


    Coming back has been¡­ interesting.

 Chapter 193 - Jade Beauties And Other Forms Of Not-So-Hidden Dangers

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    The Academies are divided, like all things, by one¡¯s cultivation. Mortals can only enter an Academy under the direct protection of a stronger cultivator, only ever able to look upon them from far away for the sheer weight of Qi that each building and their arrays exude. The first two floors of each Academy are suitable for Qi-Gathering realm cultivators, with those just beginning their journey unable to journey past the first floor and those closer to the Foundational realm able to take more advanced lessons and resources from the second floor. The next three floors are suitable for the Foundational realm, again granting better teachers, better resources and greater lessons the higher one might climb. The next five floors are suitable for Core Formation cultivators, and the next seven for those in the Nascent Soul realm, with the last floor of the Academy suitable for any higher.


    With each floor, the spatial dilation increases. On the first and second floors, the broadest bases of each pyramid, the space is equivalent to what it should be, three miles across at their base. On the Foundational floors, the space is double what it should be, making them vastly larger than the initial floors, and the pattern continues, with the last floor, it is said, holding enough space for an entire mountain range.


    Shin Ren meditates on his own memories more and more as he climbs, each set of the grand spiral staircases that bridge the many floors getting progressively more difficult as he walks. Each floor¡¯s density of Qi magnifies, the arrays trapping higher and higher amounts of pressure on each level. He finds himself actually struggling a bit as he climbs.


    He arrived here older than most. A lot of third-ring sects tend to send their candidates in later than second ring sects, either due to pride or¡­ well, inadequacy. His case was the former; no way his uncle would¡¯ve let him come before he¡¯d mastered at least the initial steps of a traditional training in the mysteries of the Purple Flame, the Flame of mystery. A lot of the older traditions and mysteries have been forgotten, his uncle had said, nodding along to it like all his other teachers. There¡¯s something to be said about the old ways being lost, but Shin Ren can¡¯t help but wonder if holding onto their pride is more of a weakness than a strength. Most of the ¡°old ways¡± are, in fact, old, traditions and mysteries passed down generation after generation without changing to accommodate the changing times. The lack of danger might mean that training can be harsher, or that there¡¯s more time to look deeper into what¡¯s before them, but after Shin Ren found his way to manifesting purple fire through his Qi, the consensus was that, at least for the time, he was just¡­ done. Finished.


    The Academies never held the same weakness.


    Say what you will about them, but the Academies do not hold to any one tradition. Upheaval is practically a tradition in and of itself, with each new technique or comprehension found in their halls being meticulously recorded before the student can graduate. Once a student has advanced past a certain level, usually viewed as the first steps of Core Formation, they are allowed to study whatever they please, so long as they pass certain tests at different milestones as established by official Imperial metrics. In turn, the results of their studies are recorded for posterity in the form of scrolls, recordings, and even active training manuals with enlightenment arrays prepared to improve a new reader¡¯s comprehension. In this way, both the Academies and their students grow in equal measure.


    In theory.


    Qu Haolan¡¯s fate weighs heavily on Shin Ren, as did the very official scroll carried by the entirely, mindlessly violent Blade that came with it. Realistically, he has to acknowledge that a rogue Emperor realm cultivator had to be addressed by the Empire, seat of the self-assigned Emperor Above Emperors, the god and ruler of the civilized world. It¡¯s even plausible that sending a Blade was a precaution for any potential violence, and this Blade in particular was simply¡­ overeager. Deep down, he has to acknowledge that there¡¯s even a possibility that his master got away.


    But at the end of the day¡­ the people are supposed to trust the Blades. Trust the Empire as a whole, that their institutions can¡¯t be broken by any one bad actor.


    But between how the sect was allowed to treat Raika, the cripple he was used as a show-executioner against, and the way the Blade was absolutely eager to try to cut down his master, it paints an ugly picture. There¡¯s more here beneath the surface, gilded to look golden. The Empire didn¡¯t send a Blade and a welcoming committee for his master, no one to negotiate or attempt to convince Qu Haolan to join the Empire, they just sent a Blade. And his master is still alive, of that Shin Ren is absolutely certain.


    So either the Blade failed, and no one told the public about a potential rogue Emperor realm master on the loose, or the Blade succeeded, and his master was taken rather than killed.


    And if the Blades can be used as tools of something so visibly malicious, so meaninglessly aggressive, what about the Academies?


    Both are anchors of the Empire, crucial elements of how the world is supposed to work. If one can¡¯t be trusted to make decisions in favor of peace and progress, doesn¡¯t that throw doubt onto the other?


    Shin Ren once again reaffirms his decision to keep both eyes open and find out for himself.


    He eventually reaches the floor at the peak of the Core Formation floors, and finds himself struggling to take another step forward. He has the beginnings of a Nascent Soul, it¡¯s true, but it¡¯s not exactly solid. The pressure from above pushes hard against not just his central Core, but the two proto-Cores his former demons are creating. He takes a further step and feels the pressure increase again, like walking into a burning room mixed with falling deep underwater. He goes to take one more step¡­


    And grunts, letting the pressure push him back down to the earlier step.


    ¡°Now isn¡¯t that interesting,¡± says a voice.


    Shin Ren turns fast enough that his clothes actively whip against the air, Qi boosting the movement well past superhuman. His guandao, once again sheathed in cloth, spins up into something that¡¯s neither a stance nor a relaxed pose.


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    Behind him is the third figure he met down in the pyramid¡¯s courtyard.


    It¡¯s pretty safe to say that there are a few hundred people in the pyramid¡¯s ¡°opening¡± floor at any given time, Qi-Gathering cultivators mingling, Imperial workers maintaining things and ready to answer questions, and those coming in and out of the upper floors. But when it comes to Nascent Soul cultivators, it¡¯s pretty rare to find them just milling about in the lobby, so beyond the two that harassed him, one more stood out.


    She is what, traditionally, one might call a jade beauty. Long, beautiful black hair, trailing down her back from where a small knot is bound with fine hairpin sticks, framing a round, pleasantly slim face. Her eyes, a color like navy blue but more alive, flash from behind long lashes that highlight a slim nose above a set of full lips painted a pleasing shade of black.


    She smiles softly, meeting his gaze without fear.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid this young master doesn¡¯t recognize you, fair one,¡± he says with an incline of the head. ¡°However, I am impressed by the capacity for stealth you have shown this unworthy one.¡±


    She giggles, a light sound like tinkling bells. ¡°Ever the flatterer, Shin Ren. And here I thought you¡¯d changed in your time away.¡±


    He frowns, trying to recognize the voice, the face, anything. He¡¯s not above knowing that such a beauty should stand out in his mind, but¡­ nothing.


    ¡°You seem to have me at a disadvantage, young mistress. Might this lowly Shin Ren ask your name?¡±


    She inclines her head to him in turn, one hand emerging from long, elegant sleeves to sweep to one side. ¡°This simple cultivator is Mei Yu, honored brother. Please, take no wound from my lack of presence in your memory. I¡¯m afraid it would greatly dishonor this young mistress if that were not the case.¡±


    Immediately, without even thinking, Shin Ren takes one step back. Mental techniques aren¡¯t common, but they¡¯re rightly feared for how hard they are to defend against and the ways in which they can shape a mind. If he can¡¯t remember her-


    She titters again, that almost fey-like sound. ¡°This young mistress prides her ability for stealth greatly, junior brother. I¡¯m sorry to say that while your honored self was ever so focused on his own personal growth, I went out of my way to better understand my fellows.¡±


    Shin Ren frowns. ¡°I made sure to memorize the sects and names of every cultivator in the same year as I. I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t recognize your sect markings, much to my shame, and have no memory of your name either.¡±


    She shrugs softly. ¡°Once, this Mei Yu was your junior, junior brother. I was a Core Formation cultivator when last we met, nearly two years ago now. It would seem, despite the impression you left on our fellows, that our roles have inverted a bit.¡±


    Shin Ren¡¯s eyes flick to the next staircase up, remembers the way the Qi pushed on his meridians and Cores. He knows he could go up¡­ but not without sacrificing both his former demons and their new, more fragile Cores.


    He frowns, keeping Mei Yu in his peripheral vision. This¡­ could be an advantage. Losing his cultivation and being pushed to a lower level would be a good cover to keep him from being scrutinized too closely, even as his new mastery of the Dao of Flame opens new doors.


    Yes, this is probably for the best.


    He smiles a bit sadly, only partially putting on an act. It¡¯s dishonorable to lie, and that fact makes the Smiling Noble send him a laugh and a withering grin, but it¡¯s not¡­ technically a lie. Not if he phrases it right.


    ¡°It would seem that may be the case,¡± Shin Ren says, bowing his head a bit deeper to his ¡®senior¡¯. ¡°I¡¯ve made some small gains in my time away, but I¡¯m having a bit of difficulty re-entering the Nascent Soul floors. Perhaps I¡¯ll be a bit more comfortable in the Core Formation realm floors until I¡¯ve recovered a bit more.¡±


    Mei Yu raises a single, perfectly groomed eyebrow. Every part of her is almost distractingly like a painting, a picture of a true jade beauty, and while Shin Ren knows that there¡¯s no shortage of those in the Academies, she is a¡­ rather dramatic example.


    The little worry about mental techniques, always a concern in the Academy walls, rears back up, but he keeps it quiet for now. Paranoia is no reason to abandon his civility, or his honor.


    ¡°As I said, junior brother, that¡¯s rather interesting. You are certainly still far from the steps of the realm you were at when I first laid eyes on you, but I was nearly certain you had begin that step of the path once more. It must truly have been both a great blow and a great boon, to offer such strength but also such a challenge to your cultivation.¡±


    ¡°A challenge overcome is strength gained,¡± Shin Ren replies. ¡°I am content enough to remain on this floor for now. Gaining an understanding of Dao has aided me greatly, but arrogance has cost many a young master like me their life, and some time to rebuild my foundation and refresh myself on some of my earlier studies is a good opportunity.¡±


    ¡°So humble! You speak of understanding Dao as if it were some trinket, gained as an¡­ inheritance, rather than an achievement that perhaps one out of every ten cultivators of the upper realms achieve.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t miss how her eyes hover ever so slightly over his guandao at the word inheritance.


    ¡°It was hard fought and harder earned,¡± he admits. ¡°I do not wish to diminish my accomplishment, nor the challenges that led to it. Acquiring an understanding of Flame took¡­ pain. Pain and destruction. But I also do not think that any one accomplishment is enough to rest. Until I climb past the horizon of this pyramid, I shall always have further to walk, and likely well past that.¡±


    She raises a hand to her lips, daintily covering another laugh, this one a bit quieter. ¡°A true cultivator, aren¡¯t you junior brother? This young mistress is humbled by your spirit.¡±


    In spite of his better judgment, he feels his inner selves all reach up to whisper into the air: ¡°I doubt there is much this one could do to humble you, senior sister.¡±


    Her eyes widen a bit, but then crinkle into the first smile she¡¯s shown that doesn¡¯t feel like part of the painting. A wild brushstroke makes a roguish lift of her lips, and for a moment she plays the perfect image of a kitsune, one of the old tricksters.


    ¡°I see your humility is untainted by meekness, junior brother.¡±


    He nods politely.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that, among my many flaws, I have yet to find meekness. It¡¯s lack, perhaps, though now we speak more of my flaws again.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Perhaps.


    ¡°I hope you find the Core Formation heights enlightening, junior brother. Perhaps you might call upon your senior sister if ever you need some assistance returning to the heights.¡±


    He bows, just short of anything subservient.


    ¡°Junior brother thanks senior sister Mei Yu.¡±


    It¡¯s only after she¡¯s stepped past him, walking without any visible strain up into the higher floors of the pyramid, that he realizes he never asked her what sect she originated from, or how he might contact her.


    He¡¯s waved off the question of how the others knew he was coming (rumors spread faster than the wind, and soldiers like to talk, especially soldiers stuck patrolling the borders), but perhaps¡­


    No. He¡¯s getting paranoid already. No need to suspect those who have yet to show dishonor or subtler dealings.


    The Smiling Noble smirks at the thought, knowing that they all know better.


    The Corpse Aflame just grumbles, annoyed that she hasn¡¯t turned anyone to charcoal yet.


    Shin Ren sighs.


    It¡¯s going to be a long semester.

 Chapter 194 - Cram School Aint Got Nuthin On The Academies

    In spite of how close so many people can become in the Academies, it¡¯s usually a rather lonely affair. It¡¯s different for those from the third ring- most who come to the Academies are supposed to be true geniuses, representing their sects to show that the third ring still has vitality, are still forces to be contended with, even as they send their prodigies off to learn at the Empire¡¯s hands. Thus, most arrive here at Core Formation at the earliest, at great expense. For those from the second ring, sometimes whole groups come together, like with Xin Xi and his fellow; entourages of cultivators, friends, allies, proper classes, sometimes starting at Qi Gathering realm.


    It makes a lot of those from the third ring at least somewhat outcasts. It¡¯s subtle, especially as their strength progresses and the upper floors allow more and more independent study, but it still feels strange to be in a place full of so many people, yet feel so alone.


    Though technically Shin Ren is never alone nowadays.


    The upper floors of the Core Formation part of the building are interesting. The Qi density is, in theory, intense enough that one could cultivate and achieve results anywhere in the building, and runic array set up in different chambers can even generate environmental or conceptual types of Qi, for a limited time. The hallways are austere, not as ornate as one might expect, with enchanted glow-stones that dot the ceiling in even patterns and illuminating walls of rich wood paneling that make up the walls and floor, leaving the ceiling a pale white stone to add a little extra illumination.


    Aside from the pillars that allow the staircases to move up and down between the floors, each room is different. The top floor of Core Formation holds six libraries, each spatially overlapping with the libraries on the lower floors to allow ease of research, with two to each side of the pyramid. In between them are most of the living quarters, with individual bedrooms, bathrooms, and meditation suites for hundreds of cultivators, usually almost always full, and, as one comes in closer to the center where the pillars lie, they give way to lecture halls, areas that emulate open-air terrain, and spaces to mingle and socialize. Towards the very center lie the training halls, each one altered to hold miles of terrain within their already expansive chambers, and surrounding each of the hundred halls are armory rooms and teleportation arrays to medical pavilions nearby.


    Overall, it¡¯s the perfect space for cultivation, for training, for learning, and even for making alliances and testing oneself.


    It¡¯s just¡­ not very friendly. Partially by intent.


    Shin Ren spends his first day back overwhelmingly in the libraries, poring through a dozen different scrolls detailing some of the history of the Blades.


    The first scroll he finds, Histories of the Empire¡¯s Great Myths, reinforces some of the tales he already knew about them, all the way back from the founding of the Empire. Three thousand years ago, the Emperor began his first great work of raising from the ground the first ring of the holy Empire. While this isn¡¯t the great expansion, wherein the Empire spread its borders throughout all the civilized lands, it¡¯s considered by many to be the moment when the Emperor Above Emperors solidified itself as the true power of the region, beyond compare.


    And it¡¯s when the Blades first gained the name.


    There were only two to begin with, the First and Second Blades of the Emperor. The First Blade, which has never been harmed, never been wounded, never lost any sort of battle throughout all the millennia of her power. She has no other names and no other titles, and there are many who claim that she Cut them away from herself until all that remained was the Blade supreme. The Second Blade, on the other hand, was the warmonger of the two, a great and violent beast of a man who went by the name of Un. He betrayed the Emperor after the formation of the great pillar of the first ring, attempting to slay his master when it was weakened from its great work, but was defeated and vanquished by his apprentice Rin Zhi, the current Second Blade, now known as the Cleaver, whose Cuts cleave reality as if it were flesh.


    Between the two of them, it¡¯s said that they held off all the armies of all the nations in the world. Everywhere they stood, none could pass, and the great working of the Emperor came to be beneath their swords. In the myth, they fought dragons and Daemons, against sects whose names are still honored and remembered like the Blessed Sky sect and the Divine Swords sect, against alliances and monstrous beasts alike, and came out victorious.


    Then, during the great conquest, came the next two Blades.


    The Third Blade has the name of Z-127, and is said to be the sole survivor of one of the great atrocities of the war of expansion. What was soon to be called the second ring was, at the time, a series of disconnected nation states, most of whom sought to slaughter each other perpetually. When the Empire brought forth its holy pedestal of the first ring, they claimed insult, that it had divided a balance and destroyed a false peace between them. Supposedly, one of these would-be kingdoms enlisted children as slaves and experiments, that they might be trained in Dao and augmented by ritual and surgery from a young age. Z-127 is the last of their last group, having slain all their fellows after achieving enlightenment and accepting the Emperor¡¯s reign as truth. It is said that their blade unmakes all life that it Cuts, such that all that lives cannot survive is proven not to be upon encountering them. Supposedly the Third Blade earned their rank by killing the entirety of the nation that demanded their fealty, and gracing the Emperor with the heads of every one of its leaders. Despite this, they rejected gaining any other name, going only by what they were called as a weapon and slave.


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    The Fourth Blade, on the other hand, is considered the most eccentric of them all. He was born in the war, a conflict that was unjustly dragged out by the former kingdoms and pretend empires of the earlier era, and it¡¯s said that he spent much of his time in the depths of that conflict. He was part of a raider clan, one of the groups which fed on suffering and death, but after experiencing crippling defeat and the loss of his sister, he redeemed his soul and came to the light of the Emperor¡¯s vision, mastering an aspect of the Cut. Now Kai, the Fourth Blade, is a hunter of masters, capable of Cutting through Qi itself and specializing in the destruction of any technique, artifact, or impenetrable defense.


    It does not take more than a glimpse of the face, photo-realistically drawn on the scroll, to recognize the Blade that came for his master.


    The Fifth Blade is the one with the least information, and the one with the closest ties to the Academies. While it¡¯s said that Kai visited and learned from them, the Fifth was a student who came millenia after the great wars, during another time of upheaval. Her name is Yula, her family name erased by something that is described in the scroll as ¡°an all-consuming mass of all that could not be¡±. She earned her title by confronting this very¡­ thing, somehow achieving a Cut so supreme that it erased her opponent from existence itself. Like it had never even been. She has been spoken of as the second coming of a Sword Saint, a possible equal to the First Blade someday.


    The myth ends with all that was unmade by the beast being returned unto reality, creating a positive final note for the story, but that part feels¡­ a bit too clean compared to the rest.


    Five Blades, five tools with which the ruler of the greatest Empire in the history of the world can excise away any threat. Each one strong enough to vanquish armies, each one undefeated in battle since achieving their titles, and each one single handedly responsible for securing the Empire against the greatest possible threats.


    Now, it¡¯s important not to judge people by their history. Shin Ren is well aware that people can change.


    But the Fourth Blade attacked his master without any reason, smiling with a jackal¡¯s grin the whole while.


    And he, along with four of the five Blades, are warmongers, soldiers who, even in the most benevolent of myths, have watered the earth deeply with the deaths of whole armies and whole nations.


    Most of the scrolls and books he finds afterwards expand on a lot of those myths, or bring up tales that never quite made it into the annals of history in quite the same way. Theories on Enemies of the Empire speaks to some details and hints of what Yula the Sword Saint may have fought, and has a rather extensive list of organizations and names listed as vanquished by a few of the other Blades. Mysteries of the First Blade goes into some of the unconfirmed rumors about her and her exploits, detailing a few of the more famous duels she was a part of and confirming (to the best of the the writer¡¯s knowledge) the fact that she¡¯s never been wounded in combat.


    Then come the more interesting ones, the ones that take a bit longer to find.


    The True History Of The Cleaver details some of the controversies surrounding the Second Blade and his exploits, going into detail about what it claims really happened during his master¡¯s betrayal in the foundation of the first ring. It goes into detail about how there are differing stories about the supposed cruelty of Un, the original Second Blade, and that while it¡¯s unclear exactly who Rin Zhi was among his followers, none of them had such conflicts in their histories. Supposedly his second in command was a known cannibal, his third known for leading his men into the slaughter not just of soldiers but whole towns and cities. Rin Zhi is named only as ¡°Un¡¯s apprentice¡±, but what that means, and why there are so few records of his name otherwise, paint a strangely obscured picture.


    As for Z-127¡­ well, frankly, there¡¯s barely any mention of what their old kingdom was. It was supposedly erased from history on the Emperor¡¯s command to honor the slaughter that its Third Blade committed, but that leaves only the fact that at some point, some empire existed, and supposedly one of their child soldiers slaughtered either their army and leaders¡­ or the entire country. The closest he gets to finding some kind of truth about its history comes in a book called Forgotten Kingdoms: The Lost History Of The Expansion, which took him a good few days to find and really only had superficial details about its subject matter. The majority of the work was taken up by philosophical discussions on the righteousness of erasing one¡¯s opponents and dishonoring history, with only occasional references to what those enemies were, and only holding a single mention of a place called the ¡°Xenuous Alliance¡±, which is one of the only ones he can¡¯t find referenced anywhere else, and that¡¯s not exactly concrete.


    Overall, Shin Ren comes to a rather disappointing but expected conclusion- he¡¯s not going to find the answers he needs in the official libraries. The context is helpful, it opens up new questions that are useful indeed, but if he¡¯s going to find out more, he needs to find the right people to actually ask.


    Two distinct possibilities, then. He can either find one of the Imperial masters, those who give lectures and assign the tests to mark progress at different points in the academic year¡­ or he can wander out of the Soldier¡¯s Academy and into the Scholars. If the libraries here hold works that have gotten him started so well, then whatever books the sister building to this Academy holds must be on an entirely different level.


    Either way, his paths take him deeper into the Academies, which requires work.


    Either he¡¯ll need to test well enough to be allowed entry to the Scholar¡¯s Academy, or he¡¯ll need a pass from someone with authority. Considering how he¡¯s pretty sure he doesn¡¯t have years and years of studying to figure out how to test into the Scholar¡¯s Academy directly, he¡¯ll need to impress someone enough to secure a pass, something not given out quite as freely as the other, more universal resources inside the pyramids.


    He needs to go to the training halls and find someone to spar with. He needs to prove, beyond a shadow of doubt, that his ¡°fall¡± in cultivation has given him greater strength, that he might impress the benevolent, Emperor-chosen masters of the inverted pyramids of the Academies.

 Chapter 195 - Oh Shit Bro! Where You Been?

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    It has been a long time since Shin Ren¡¯s been in a fight. What, a year? His master would ¡°spar¡± on occasion, but it was a monthly event if it happened at all, and he remained on the defense at all times.


    Now that he thinks about it¡­ the last people he really fought were those of the Clear Spring Stream sect. Fei Sark was the only name he knew of those that he¡­


    Well. He doesn¡¯t know what he did, except that there was fire, pain, and blinding, screaming light.


    Still, he hasn¡¯t forgotten his techniques, and he¡¯s far more powerful than he used to be. It¡¯s not exactly fair to use his true cultivation on this level, his proto-Nascent Soul enough to put him on a level above any Core Formation cultivator without tremendous skill or luck, but using either one of his still-forming cores as his central focus should put him on an equivalent level with his opponents to ensure a fight that is fairer.


    So it is that Shin Ren approaches the fighting halls with a bitter taste in his mouth and thoughts of how to properly hold himself back on his mind.


    All the silence of the majority of the Academy is unmade here. The number of libraries and arenas is supposedly inverted in the other schools, making the Soldier¡¯s Academy hold the highest number of places to duel and spar on the campus, and their popularity is reflected easily. While the focus of most is to join different lectures given by one of the many Imperial masters, their schedules posted month by month and often coming with the promise of merits, specific tasks, and unique enlightenments, there¡¯s nothing that truly catalyzes a warrior¡¯s education better than combat.


    In the spirit of this, Shin Ren sees more people on the walk into the closest training hall than he has in the last week of visiting the libraries. There are a riot of colors, many of the students honored to wear the Academy¡¯s uniform, while others stick to their original sect colors to honor their history and families. There are brilliant greens, bright yellows, dark reds and blues, vibrant purples and oranges, and even on occasion the gold trimming that denotes a sect chosen by the Emperor for their loyalty and service to bear its colors, all blending together as people chat and smile. There are some who are clearly pretending, rivalries just under the surface, but the majority of the cultivators here are friends who have climbed the Academy together over years, or have close alliances outside the schola, and their voices are light with leftover adrenaline and the joy of a good spar.


    Shin Ren can¡¯t help but smile. Even in his own sect, there¡¯s never been quite the same energy. While it¡¯s true that he¡¯s an outsider like most third-ringers, and that any place of the Academies can be a den of vipers and politicking, there¡¯s something almost pure about seeing friends gather after a good bout, even if he¡¯s not directly included.


    He makes his way past the cliques and little groups and steps up to the board denoting which training halls are free, and allowing sign-ups.


    The thin crystal that makes up the flat plane of the sign-up board glows faintly to a cultivator¡¯s senses, an incredibly minute amount of Qi flowing through it to shift the words on its surface. A map of the area around the central pillar of the Academy and the training halls that surround it updates live with which rooms are free, which services are online, and which areas have waiting lists. Reaching out, he touches the bottom of the screen at a blank spot, where his name appears in glowing lines at the point of contact.


    How the artifact recognizes him, he¡¯s not sure, but it makes for an added note of convenience to the magical nature of its function. He watches as a dozen rooms come alight as they are freed up and claimed almost instantly, most of them smaller training rooms.


    There are exactly one hundred and thirty three chambers around the central pillar and staircase. One hundred of them are smaller areas secured by arrays to simulate certain minor effects, block damage from the conflict occurring within them, and record the fights for playback, making for ideal spar and duel rooms. The other thirty three stand out as big, bright cubes on the board before him, the waitlists for them much longer. The larger rooms have the capacity for a dozen cultivators, their arrays advanced enough to warp the terrain and simulate whole environments, allowing for advanced training against false opponents, harsh environmental conditions, and more. One can buy priority placement or more time with merit tokens from strong testing or gifts from lecturers for completing work for them, though there¡¯s an upper limit, ensuring that everyone can get a chance if they sign up early enough.


    Less than moments after the sun has risen, there¡¯s already a two hour wait for the next larger room.


    Shin Ren places his name at the bottom of the list, his ¡°account¡± empty of merits to raise it higher or buy more time, and contents himself with waiting.


    He sits off to one side, attempting a bit of meditation in the central area and hallways of the training chambers as he waits, slowly tuning out the sounds of conversation all around.


    The Corpse Aflame is a bit agitated. It¡¯s been a while since they genuinely destroyed something, and the prospect of an area where he might let her loose and actually use her skills over the Smiling Noble¡¯s more subtle techniques has her flickering like a smolder preparing to burst into life. The Smiling Noble, meanwhile, is experiencing an almost opposite reaction, the heat haze of his presence diminishing as he shies away from any actual work.


    It makes for an interesting blend. They¡¯re both a part of him, but they¡¯re not him, neither one as fully formed or real as he is. Perhaps there are techniques that can change that, make them become wholly new beings capable of operating independently, but for now, they¡¯re more like¡­ proto-people. Not children, they lack too many elements to really be comparable, but not a fully fledged conscious being, either. At their most ¡°awake¡±, they can speak in full sentences and communicate directly, but for the most part, they speak to him in pulses of intent and ideas, only rarely adding words to them. It makes for an interesting cultivation method. There¡¯ll be time to further ¡°his¡± cultivation later, adding to his Nascent Soul once more and finding better, compatible techniques for his growth, but for now, focusing on them and adding to their complexity and the durability of the strangely shaped cores they have is the best path forward, and the one that allows him to ideally stay a bit under the radar a little longer.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    His meditation is interrupted as he hears someone rather close to him repeat a phrase a few times.


    He blinks as his eyes open, quickly awakening his senses to more than just potential danger and turning to see a large, jovial looking man smiling down at him, his grin wide and toothy.


    ¡°I thought that was you! Shin Ren! It¡¯s been too long, honored brother! I had thought you gone forever from my sight, and it brings your brother joy to see you once more!¡±


    Shin Ren blinks as recognition flashes to life behind his eyes.


    ¡°Gou Mai?¡± he asks, a bit incredulous.


    Gou Mai laughs, one hand slapping a meaty thigh. ¡°Who else might it be, honored brother? I know you were gone a long and painful year, but I hope that whatever tribulation troubled you has not removed the face of this honorable Gou Mai from your memory!¡±


    Shin Ren can¡¯t help but grin. ¡°It would need to be a powerful mental technique indeed to erase such a striking figure, honored brother.¡±


    This time Gou Mai¡¯s laugh is more of a cackle, loud enough that a couple people turn to look at the two of them. Shin Ren pays them no mind, hopping to his feet in a single movement and clasping his old friend¡¯s arm in a warrior¡¯s grip.


    ¡°It is good to see you well, brother,¡± Gou Mai says, returning the grip with vigor. ¡°It may have been a few years since last we stood side by side, but my dao heart was still moved at the news of your vanishing so many months ago. I knew deep down that none could impede my senior brother, but it is always good to have confirmation, no?¡±


    Shin Ren grins, but there¡¯s a note of bittersweetness to Gou Mai¡¯s comment about how long it¡¯s been since they stood together. They¡¯re both young for cultivators, both yet to reach thirty years, but Shin Ren¡¯s growth eclipsed Gou Mai¡¯s not long after they both entered the academy. Gou Mai is a member of the Rumbling Mountains sect, an old and noble group that is, unfortunately, in the third ring. He and Shin Ren both arrived for their first year at the Academy half a decade prior, but when Shin Ren sped through Core Formation into the Nascent Soul realm, his friendship with the fellow third-ringer from nearly the opposite side of the world was left behind for the sake of his advancement.


    Gou Mai must have noticed some of the look on Shin Ren¡¯s face, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.


    ¡°Now, none of that sourness, brother! What is time to a cultivator¡¯s lifespan? Whatever tribulation has set you back to your lesser brother¡¯s realm, I know in my heart of hearts it will be overcome and broken upon your anvil. Though I cannot say I am not the smallest bit grateful, if this temporary new step in your path brings you back to within my view.¡±


    Shin Ren smiles at that, some of his doubts dispelled by the direct but kind words of his friend. ¡°It shames me to say, brother, but I¡­ well. The last year has been severe enough that I did not even consider the staunch ally I had left. The Academies themselves were far from my thoughts over this last tribulation, and it shames me further that I did not seek you out on my return.¡±


    Gou Mai rolls his eyes, bright yellow against a tan-skinned frame and curly brown hair. ¡°None of that, you dolt. There¡¯s no shame in advancing, especially not at your pace! If this one cannot keep up, he will simply have to make up for it with a breadth of experience on his climb.¡±


    Shin Ren cocks an eyebrow, laughing softly. ¡°That¡­ is a view I have come to agree with quite a bit, actually.¡±


    Gou Mai laughs heartily, slapping Shin Ren on the back as he throws an arm over his shoulder. ¡°As I thought, my honored brother knows wisdom when he hears it! Though I see you¡¯re still as uptight as ever. You know there are places where you can get new robes in town, right? And perhaps spend a night or two actually relaxing for once, now you¡¯ve gained the wisdom to admire the ¡°breadth of experience¡± that life can bring!¡±


    This time Shin Ren can¡¯t help but sigh, ever so slightly. The smile on his face remains, but this is an old discussion with his friend, and with his new mission, one that he¡¯s even more staunchly firm in the face of.


    ¡°While I agree that more experience leads to a greater foundation, I am not usually referring to women of the night and cheap booze when I think of good building blocks.¡±


    ¡°And that, my friend, is where your lack of vision hinders you! Is not the best cultivation that which requires challenge? And is not the reward for a good, strong challenge a joy to grab hold of? There¡¯s nothing wrong with a celebration here and there!¡±


    ¡°Judging by your waistline, I doubt that your celebrations come only after challenges.¡±


    ¡°Ah, but that¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong. You see, even a celebration can be challenging! The pursuit of new experience and finer things is in and of itself a struggle against the might of the heavens, as all good cultivation should be!¡±


    Shin Ren can¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°So you¡¯re saying that throwing a party and indulging yourself is enough of a challenge that afterward, it¡¯s only right to throw a party and indulge yourself?¡±


    Gou Mai pats him on the back. ¡°Precisely, brother. Now you begin to grasp enlightenment.¡±


    Shin Ren shakes his head, but he¡¯s smiling nonetheless. How long has it been since he¡¯s had a genuine conversation like this? With someone he cares about? It¡¯s been years since he¡¯s seen Gou Mai, but it¡¯s a surprise he¡¯s happy to experience. Apparently some fate or path agrees with his choices to keep his weaker cores as his focus and limit himself to the Core Formation floors of the Academy for now, if it¡¯s brought him back into the range of someone he could consider a brother.


    And despite his teasing, Gou Mai is a true cultivator, through and through. He¡¯s here, after all, in the Imperial Soldier¡¯s Academy and strong enough to have reached the highest floor of the Core Formation area of the pyramid before hitting thirty. In the third ring, he¡¯s still a prodigy, and even amongst the second ringers, he¡¯s kept a respectable pace of growth. It¡¯s also interesting to see him now, with new perspective. For all his celebrations, he is a cultivator of the Core Formation realm: if he wanted to, a simple use of his Qi could burn away a hundred times as many calories as he could gain from his love of food. Hell, it¡¯s hard for cultivators to get fat to begin with, simply due to the fact that the higher they advance, the more their bodies are refined to reflect their inner beliefs and cultivation, and Gou Mai doesn¡¯t cultivate a food-based technique. Perhaps it¡¯s just that he genuinely likes looking a little plump his cultivation shaping him to that ideal. He¡¯s not too tall, and not too fat, the muscles beneath making him into a soft, huggable bear of a man with an almost paternal paunch.


    ¡°Tell me, which room are you going to? This honored brother will be more than happy to join you for a spar if you¡¯re so inclined!¡±


    Shin Ren shakes his head, though not without a bit of regret. ¡°Apologies, brother, but I¡¯m waiting to use one of the grander rooms for a bit of private cultivation. Despite the loss of my original Nascent Soul, my new one is still on its way to beginning to form, and some of what I¡¯ve gained from my new perspective needs some space to be used properly, that I might better learn and impress the lecturers.¡±


    Gou Mai sighs. ¡°Ah, Shin Ren. Always the dutiful student! If not for the fact I¡¯m so obviously more alive than any one of these other fools, I might even think your path had merit. Here I thought that your wisdom had grown, but it turns out you¡¯re the same old hard worker as always.¡±


    Shin Ren chuckles. ¡°I am indeed still a hard worker, honored brother, but I do not think I¡¯m the same as I was. You¡¯re welcome to watch some of my training if you wish to see what you¡¯ll be up against, next time we spar.¡±


    The offer of a spar is enough to light up Gou Mai¡¯s smile once more, and he gives a hearty chuckle. ¡°Very well then! This honored brother will be more than happy to see how his former senior has found a new path.¡±


    Almost as if on cue, the feeling of something lightly tugging at his Qi lets Shin Ren know that his time in the room will be ready in just a few moments.


    ¡°Well come on then. Let me show you what I can do now.¡±

 Chapter 196 - Ever Use Alcohol To Light Up A Fire? Well Let Me Tell You About Eldritch Metaphysics..

    For all his progress, Shin Ren is still rusty. He hasn¡¯t had a true battle since before his mental breakdown, and hasn¡¯t ever experienced truly fighting using only his new cores. So it is that he enters the chamber with the full intent to keep his own cultivation locked tight, and to allow only his heart demons free reign.


    The room is larger than most buildings, but the spatial dilation arrays within it multiply that size significantly again. In theory, it can be adjusted so that the space in front of whoever is using it can keep lengthening indefinitely while the space behind ¡°shortens¡± back to regularity to make room. Between that and the environmental arrays, the chamber is capable of running simulations that track combat over kilometers, or of acting as a way to train movement techniques for hours in a straight line.


    On its own, deactivated, the chamber is a blank, featureless white slate, with the lingering effects of Qi attacks and weapon strikes fading from view even as Shin Ren notices them. The last group that had the chamber spent an hour in a team battle formation, which was part of why the wait was so long, and yet even an even dozen cultivators hadn¡¯t managed to permanently damage the room.


    He nods to himself. It¡¯s perfect.


    Another crystalline board hangs on the wall right before the entryway, its glowing surface once again recognizing his Qi as he touches it and opening up a list of ¡°previous settings¡± that he¡¯s set training halls to in his time. He sees some that he remembers vividly, like the time he tried to battle a three-headed drake-type spirit beast and found himself thoroughly trounced, barely able to eke out a win- other settings have less memory associated with them, falling into a blend of meaningless duels and attempts to boost his cultivation by simulating aspects of the Purple Flame.


    The idea he has now is much more simplistic. He has fairly good defense, that, his master insisted on. It was only further proven by how easily he handled the attacks of his supposed betters on first arrival. What he needs now is to better understand his capability for offense.


    With a thought and a few quick presses on the glowing ¡°buttons¡± of the board, he sets his parameters. High-durability golem-type artifacts: 15, set to High Offense behavior. Surrounding environment durability: High. Environmental effects: Off. Spatial Dilation: 5x normal space.


    With a final breath and a bit of anxious anticipation, he steps into the chamber properly.


    Already the ground and walls are reshaping themselves. The blank white walls stay the same, only small, straight lines allowing one to differentiate corners and understand the space they¡¯re in. Meanwhile, the ground is actively warping, melting into the shape of fifteen humanoid statues. They all share the same number of limbs, joints, and basic features of a human, but their faces and other features are blank white structures bereft of any hint of true life. Their faces in particular mimic the bone structure of a human face, but possess no eyes, nose or mouth, and they each appear androgynous and sexless.


    Shin Ren walks to a small, glowing circle that has appeared at one of the room, taking long, meditative breaths the whole time. He plants his feet in the circle, which changes its color to a much brighter primed red. The next time he breaks the circle will be the signal to activate the spar.


    He looks deep inside himself, focusing on his inner world.


    His mind drifts into his dantian, into the vague not-space that any cultivator can trance into with enough training. Here, he sees his own core, perfectly spherical, flickering with the light of some still-undefined Soul within itself. It¡¯s minute, barely there, but it fills the vast void of his cultivation-space with a warm purple glow, tinged with hints of gold and a bright arterial red.


    He follows the flow of his flame-touched Qi up and out through his meridians. His cultivation technique, one of the better ones granted to the prodigies of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect, does not demand that he push and pull his Qi like blood or water- instead, it simply opens the path, and then treats the user¡¯s will like air to encourage the fire within to spread and flow mightily.


    He¡¯s¡­ changed it just a bit. Fire raging along a path, moved less through true control and more through temptation and elemental principles, just¡­ doesn¡¯t feel right.


    He puts his perspective within his own fire, his Qi molded into the form that suits his soul and technique, and just walks.


    He is the flame. The flame is his, even as it edges closer and closer to capital-F Flame, and it flows through his meridians like it is only natural for it to do so. There is space, and thus, it can expand and grow and move through it, for such is the essence of fire.


    And it reaches his new cores.


    One stands just over his heart, ever so slightly to the left of it, while the other is just beneath his right lung but over his stomach. Above his heart, the Smiling Noble lounges lazily, his core manifesting as that conch-like shape, uniquely suited to imitate both a cornucopia and a hunting horn. Closer to his gut, the Corpse Aflame smolders within a formation of Qi that imitates an organic knife, one end of it a long, sharp point, the other, what would be a handle, sitting as a spiked sphere like a starfish.


    They both know what¡¯s about to happen.


    The Smiling Noble grumbles, annoyed, but in the end adds his own Qi to Shin Ren¡¯s flow. A shimmering heat haze flows into shape around the purer, more colorful flame. It can burn, desiccate, and deceive, all in one, reflecting the way his former hypocrisy tainted his ideals. The Corpse Aflame springs to life much more animatedly, the harsh crackling of her flesh turning to the crackling of fire as blackened smoke and violent, hungry red flames flow into the mix. They meld with the flame beneath the heat haze, polluting it more to the brutal, violent colors that she embodies, the horror of fire juxtaposed against its beauty.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    As their / his Qi moves through him, he slowly decreases the amount of Qi his dantian is outputting. It¡¯s inefficient, messy even, making for a frustrating exercise. While his ¡°demon cores¡± are still in his meridians, they¡¯re not in his dantian, making their circulation more difficult to initiate. Maybe he¡¯ll try to move them someday, but¡­ not now. For now, this is fine.


    He opens his eyes, feeling the illusory haze of heat and the agonizing horrors of hungering fire rise up within him, and breaks the circle.


    With a burst of Qi, the Corpse Aflame detonates the air behind him, projecting a cone of propulsion that launches him forward in an improvised movement technique. He¡¯ll have to come up with a name for it, maybe make a new manual. The golems directly in front of him all move simultaneously, seven sets of arms rearing back to strike at him from as many different angles-


    Only to discover that he¡¯s not there, the punches swinging a half-second early as his heat haze distorts his location forward. He arrives just after the blows have landed, all of them striking empty air and leaving the training dummies open for a retaliatory strike.


    One he¡¯s happy to deliver.


    His guandao rings out, its structure pristine and so sharp he doesn¡¯t even hear it cut through the air. His master had called it an Inheritance, and while it¡¯s distinctly not made for his own cultivation style, its material and craftsmanship is so fine that it drinks in his Qi freely. The blade glows a dull red, like fresh-forged steel, and the power of the Corpse Aflame is delivered cleanly into the bodies of all seven mannequins as he cuts into them all with one sweeping stroke.


    But the Corpse Aflame doesn¡¯t do ¡°cleanly¡±, and a heartbeat later, the flames detonate.


    They eat through stone as if it¡¯s flesh, bursting into life from within the blade-stroke that he timed to match their openings and beginning to consume them. Pale marble warps as if being charred and cooked by the fire, and all seven mannequins stumble simultaneously as it digs deep into their bodies, fed by the Corpse Aflame¡¯s core into burning through their insides and eating them from the inside out.


    They¡¯re still moving, but they¡¯re already rapidly slowing down compared to the eight more coming in from behind them.


    Some of the mannequins are actually tossed aside by their healthier fellows as they sprint towards Shin Ren, martial strikes and efficient uses of their frames mirroring the fighting arts of any number of decent warriors to strike at him. He dodges and weaves, the Smiling Noble grimacing at the use of his much smaller Qi pool to continue weaving minor distortions around Shin Ren, but he manages to avoid even needing to block.


    Which¡­ well. He already knows he can dodge, right?


    So he gives the Smiling Noble a break, and changes track.


    His guandao is a pillar of glistening red, the ornate wood carvings looking like they¡¯re almost alive as he moves it from stance to deflection to stance again, catching the kicks and punches from the approaching golems and maneuvering them. At first he just lets himself block, his artifact more than powerful enough to take the hits without harm, but gradually, calling on a bit of the Smiling Noble¡¯s strength again, he starts weaving a pattern. One blow is turned so that the golem that threw it is forced into the path of another, while a kick is diverted so that the one that tried it has to nearly fall over backwards to maintain its balance.


    Now this is much better. The Smiling Noble grins in agreement, a vicious little joy within him as he uses their attacks against themselves and keeps his Qi usage to a tight and precise minimum. Why waste effort on those beneath him when it¡¯s so much easier to prove his superiority?


    The Corpse Aflame, meanwhile, does her best work on the offensive side of things.


    Ducking a haymaker, Shin Ren lashes out with a kick even as his guandao redirects an elbow aiming for his head. He lands the hit solidly against the torso of the golem in front of him, and with a burst of her Qi and concepts, the flame explodes into life once more, digging into the golem like a living being. He can almost see how it literally tears through the defenses of the stone, drawing on their shared understanding of the Dao of Flame to add an element of Consumption to the fire.


    Good. Useful, even.


    But he¡¯s only got so many training golems left, and he really is trying to stretch his skills here.


    His comprehension of the Dao of Flame is significant and complex, especially with the shared comprehension of his demon cores. He doesn¡¯t need his ¡°true¡± core to be able to access it, just Qi and the correct enlightened mindset.


    Shin Ren dodges a few steps back from the golems, his Qi senses awake and aware as he stares them down. He can see the glowing veins of Qi moving through them, created through the ground and air of the training hall, he can see how his flames literally tear through and consume what they can reach. He¡¯s not being pushed. He hadn¡¯t intended for the training to really push him, but he expected¡­ more difficulty with using what he¡¯s learned.


    But it¡¯s just¡­ his.


    And as he watches black and red Flame eat through the flesh and programmed souls of the golems, he feels something click inside himself and the Corpse Aflame together.


    He raises a hand, drawing Qi into it in an aggressive, half-formed technique, and stares at the many golems losing efficiency from being burned alive despite being made of stone, and understands something fundamental.


    The proto-technique explodes from his hand like a flamethrower, like a volcanic eruption, like thermal detonation of black and red fire that washes over half the room in a single burst. It rips through the ground, the golems, the air, Qi and even deeper things inside the very space of the room, the Dao of Flame married to something that Shin Ren knows, on a fundamental level so deep it can only be True.


    All Things Burn.


    This time the flame doesn¡¯t need to dig through the golems. It simply ignites all that it touches, the defenses of stone and programming nothing more than tinder for the flame. The same as any wood¡­ or any flesh.


    The Corpse Aflame cracks open the carbonized thing that was once her face into something almost like a smile.


    And then a bright red light and a claxon start wailing noise into the room.


    ¡°Hazardous Material Detected! Hazardous Material Detected! Please Evacuate Chamber For Purification Protocols.¡±


    Ah. Whoops.


    He¡­ most certainly did not set up the proper precautions in the chamber¡¯s settings for a modified True Flame.


    The room quickly floods with foreign Qi, shaped into an incredibly strange set of arrays and formations and quickly beginning to smother out the black and red flames. He can literally feel something inside him fighting against their efforts, his Truth feeding into his Dao to empower both¡­ but he makes sure to pull his Qi out of the flames. All Things Burn, true, but that doesn¡¯t mean that the fire can¡¯t die out. Probably?


    Hmm. Interesting question.


    He exits the chamber as the arrays begin to make him feel queasy, shaking his head and muttering to himself. He comes up short when he sees the two dozen cultivators, Gou Mai included, who are simply standing outside his training hall, staring at him as he comes out.


    Gou Mai in particular is nearly slack jawed, just staring at the screen showing off the training hall. You can pay extra for privacy, but¡­


    Either way, Shin Ren shrugs. ¡°Told you that my new perspective has been helpful.¡±

 Chapter 197 - Ive Heard Of Hazing, But This Is Ridiculous!

    Dao and Truth.


    ¡°Two sides of the coin that is reality. They mirror each other, and yet, like a true reflection, are each other¡¯s inverse. Dao is the Will of Heaven, the manifestation of one¡¯s understanding of natural law on a philosophical and intrinsic level. A master of physiks who attains a Dao might have a higher ability to control said Dao, but may not be any more likely than one who understands nothing of the natural laws, but meditates deeply on a concept. Everything in the world consists of and has a Dao, from blood to lightning, from air to geodes and more.


    ¡°Truth, on the other hand, is the inverse of the Will of Heaven. What we see as True, the gods view as mere suggestions to their great tapestry, content in leaving us to forever wallow beneath their gazes. A Truth must be generated, manifested, comprehended and externalized to become itself, and can only come from within a cultivator¡¯s own will. A Truth imposes the will of the cultivator, of their soul and power and comprehension, over the Will of Heaven, which is why it can only affect that which you can perceive and influence.¡±


    Shin Ren writes carefully and elegantly into the scroll in front of him, looking up only occasionally at his lecturer as he does. He¡¯s not exactly doing anything practical; his words and understanding matter far more in this particular lesson.


    The lecture hall allows artificial sunlight to filter in through crafted windows. Far too much of a threat (and a headache for spatial arrays) to allow real windows this far inside the structure of the pyramid, but good lighting and proper ambiance are crucial to a person¡¯s development. The lecture hall itself almost looks like an arena, with four rows of seats surrounding a central open area. In this central arena, several boards (some glowing and crystalline, others more traditional) take up space and limit the way that the lecturer can pace, though he does his best to do so anyways. His robes of white and gold, Imperial colors, glint with mild gilding in the artificial sunlight, making for an occasionally distracting little bit of glimmer.


    ¡°What most cultivators fail to realize is that, in fact, Dao and Truth are deeply compatible. It is rare that a Truth is broad enough to be open to interpretation and powerful enough to enact genuine changes and new foundations to one¡¯s reality. Those who possess such Truths are universally a danger to themselves and the fabric of reality, though mastering such a power can be a tremendous boon. On the other hand, those who learn a Truth which can be applied to Dao can exponentially multiply both.¡±


    He turns and raises a hand, pointing straight at Shin Ren. ¡°Let¡¯s take our newest member of this lecture as an example! Cultivator Shin Ren of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect recently demonstrated a relatively common Truth, manifesting as ¡°All Things Burn¡±. The interpretations of this vary wildly, as can its manifestations, but by applying this Truth directly to his interpretation of part of the Dao of Flame, he created flames that emulate a True Flame, capable of eating away and using all materials as fuel. Another example may be one who follows a Dao of Threads, who manifests a Truth that ¡°All Things Are Puppets In Waiting¡±, a complex but limited Truth which can cooperate with the Dao of Threads to create functional golems or controllable terrain through puppetry. The potential applications of such a thing are myriad, with infinite effective permutation. Mathematically speaking, humanity will be long gone before we have a chance to see even a tenth of the possible forms these many interpretations and manifestations could take.¡±


    Shin Ren sighs, not really bothering to hide how much he dislikes being called out. The idea had been to call a little attention, start the process of growth. Instead, he got hijacked into a new lecture right away, snapped up by Mentor Kaisho. Apparently, for a Core Formation cultivator, it¡¯s incredibly rare to have both a Dao and a Truth, much less two compatible ones, and he¡¯s joined the class of two other students, both of which gave him such glares he could almost feel the killing intent in the room.


    He can¡¯t really blame them. Merits split three ways are worse than two.


    ¡°In summary, to acquire a Dao is to acquire a Truth of a higher order, and to add a Truth of your own to it allows you to grow and manifest entirely new permutations. You are the chosen few who have shown the ability to manifest such a combination in this current crop, and though mastery may well take you centuries, you have already completed the first and most unlikely step for one at your level of power. Be proud, cultivators, and know that I look forward to the service you will surely provide for your Empire.¡±


    And there it is again.


    The lecture wraps up, the boards all secreting themselves away and Mentor Kaisho leaving without further ceremony. He isn¡¯t a fan of post-lecture questions, Shin Ren¡¯s pretty sure it¡¯s something about his pride, and neither of his two ¡°fellow student¡± seem particularly inclined to stick around and chat or trade tips after class.


    In a few moments, the room has emptied out. But Shin Ren stays seated where he is.


    With a thought, he summons his guandao from his spatial ring, balancing the perfectly crafted weapon on one finger as he finds its fulcrum. It¡¯s something to fidget with while he thinks.


    Now that he¡¯s looking for it, it¡¯s everywhere. ¡°For the Empire¡±.


    He¡¯s from the third ring, he¡¯s no stranger to grumblings about how the sects owe their allegiances to greater sects chosen by the Emperor and the Empire itself. Hell, even his master mentioned how the Empire centralized things, and he never even saw it up close. Every lecture ends with some version of ¡°For the Empire¡±, every major announcement has a ¡°for the Empire¡± attached, and every scroll he¡¯s dug through in his days and days in the libraries has given him some variation on the same.


    Everything, always, all the time, is for the Empire.


    In and of itself, that¡¯s not the worst thing. The Empire¡¯s created a lot of good in the world, after all. But¡­ on the other hand, the fact that it¡¯s so completely pervasive is discomforting. Why does everything need to be explicitly stated as for the Empire, if, by simply doing their best and serving shared ideals, the Empire is being fed anyways? There¡¯s something vaguely annoying, maybe even uncomfortable about it.


    To cultivate is to rebel against the heavens, and in theory, all cultivators have at least that much in common¡­ but every time he hears someone pledge allegiance to the abstract, all-powerful institution he finds himself in, Shin Ren wonders if the Empire isn¡¯t trying to shape that narrative.


    Still, he reminds himself that there¡¯s a danger of confirmation bias. He knows that the Empire treated his master unjustly, he¡¯s here to find out where they took him, of course he¡¯ll have a bias. It doesn¡¯t change how he feels, but it¡¯s important to be aware of things if one is ever to turn one¡¯s instincts into actual logic and observations.


    Which unfortunately brings him right back to the topic he¡¯s been avoiding in his head for days.


    He¡¯s hit a wall.


    Qu Haolan is not the kind of man to politely bow his head to someone he dislikes, that much Shin Ren is absolutely certain of. He¡¯s only spent a few months with his master, but it really only takes one good conversation to find out just how against the very idea of the Empire he seems to be. There¡¯s only so much time before some sort of incident happens, and if Qu Haolan couldn¡¯t escape against a single Blade, he¡¯s not likely to be successful against whatever defenses they¡¯ve put up specifically for him without some kind of help.


    And Shin Ren, despite how quickly he¡¯s semi-accidentally drawn attention to himself, isn¡¯t moving very fast.


    There¡¯s only so many times he can go through the same sections of the same libraries. He¡¯s even checked the lower floors to see if someone had snuck an interesting text into a lower section, but no, the Core Formation libraries have limits. Everything he reads reeks of Imperial praise to some extent or another, even the things that seem to be politely trying to rebut its influence. As for the Academies themselves, they¡¯re not really designed to meteorically grant anyone power over the Imperial informational bureaucracy, nor should they be. He needs to advance, and faster, if he¡¯s going to get any advantages from being here that he can use in time to help his master, and he¡¯s going to need to find somewhere other than official, Empire-sanctioned materials to read and research through.


    For the latter, his plan is vague at best. A generic, broad idea to¡­ well, wander outside the Academies and see what he finds. It¡¯s a big city-space surrounding them, and until he unlocks the second part of this plan, he¡¯s mostly tapped out the resources that interest him in the libraries he has access to.


    Secondly, he needs to both impress his mentors more and advance further. The higher he goes, the better the resources and thus, the better the potential historical and governmental records he might dig up. Get enough merits, he might even find his way into acquiring a pass for the Scholar¡¯s Academy to see how their libraries compare.


    So all of this is weighted on three things; allies, attention, and ascension.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    He somehow needs to form two new Nascent Souls in his demon cores in the next few months, tops, while securing allies to shield him from some of the politics that mire the Academies day in and day out.


    Sighing, Shin Ren finally leaves the lecture hall, placing his guandao back into his storage ring and wandering towards his quarters.


    He hasn¡¯t been taking pills or special resources. They might help, but without a better understanding of how his altered cultivation works, it¡¯s impossible to know what might help or hinder. If he had years, that¡¯s no problem, but there¡¯s no way to know how secure his master is or if he¡¯s being hurt, and that simply doesn¡¯t allow for a leisurely stroll towards the top, rife with experimentation.


    He¡¯s so distracted that he almost doesn¡¯t react in time to the blade that comes for his throat as he opens the door.


    His room are dark, the lights extinguished and artificial sunlight muted somehow. That¡¯s the first sign something¡¯s wrong. The second one arrives before he¡¯s had time to breathe, the single note of confusion eclipsed by alarm as his senses pick up on something unbelievably fast simply appearing beside him.


    There¡¯s no time to summon his guandao. His arm shoots up, reinforced with his Qi enough to make his sleeve smolder, and intercepts the path of the knife.


    No, not a knife.


    A jian.


    Despite his reaction it still cuts into him nearly to the bone, leaving a burst of steaming hot blood to spatter out of the wound and onto the floor. Before his opponent can pull back, Shin Ren steps forward, keeping the weapon in his flesh, cycling heat and Qi through the limb to burn away any poisons, and-


    Something in him stops.


    There is the slightest flash of sound, like a muffled clap, and his senses pick up a fluttering of dust in the air from the strange distortion. The dust mimics the shape of the doorframe he just stepped through, where out of the corner of his eye he picks up hundreds of minute symbols carved into the floor into the form of a complex array.


    And in that flash, his Qi falls away.


    He can still feel it, it¡¯s not gone, but his mind can¡¯t reach it, like trying to catch water in one¡¯s palms. It slips and slides away from his grasp, away from his control, as if he¡¯s suddenly a Qi Gathering realm cultivator again.


    A second jian comes in for his throat.


    And the Corpse Aflame responds.


    All Things Burn, she howls in a voice of ruin, and fire to match any phosphorus ignites into existence.


    The air screams. The way that it¡¯s drawn in and consumed immediately to spread the flame makes a painfully sharp whistling sound, and his attacker has to throw themself away from him to have any chance of escaping the fire. Crimson-white fire, gilded with the crackling yellow of burning fat, erupts out of him with a shockwave of heat that ignites half the room and the entire doorframe surrounding him, the array obliterated in an instant as fuel.


    Out of the flames, there is something almost like the shape of a grasping hand, reaching fingers of charcoal black and bloody, dripping red spiraling from smoke and flame out towards his attacker, who is still unseen. Shin Ren feels his control over his own core and Qi return, begins to shift his stance as the Smiling Noble forms a heat haze around them to obscure his movements, grabs hold of his guandao as it materializes out of his storage ring-


    And then he feels all of the oxygen in the space around him vanish.


    No, not all the oxygen- all the air. With his new Truth he could still burn other chemicals, even if slower, but he is encompassed entirely in a perfect vacuum before he can blink. The flames along the floor, ceiling and walls flicker and start to smolder, digging slowly into the stone but unable to reach back out where he needs.


    Shin Ren focuses his Qi down to his legs, preparing a simple movement technique to launch backwards out of the room. Even if he could see his opponent (which he should be able to, darkness isn¡¯t nearly as much of an impediment at his level) there¡¯s the fact that he¡¯s stumbled into what feels like a carefully lain trap built to neutralize him, and he has no intention of bull-rushing into further arrays and techniques when he can¡¯t even see his attacker.


    He only barely manages to cross the thoroughly ruined threshold to his rooms before both swords come for his throat once more. Not assassins daggers, but proper weapons, proper soldier¡¯s weapons, both of them refined and brimming with Qi at the height of the Core Formation level.


    He blinks as he realizes that one of his opponents is easily recognizable now that they¡¯ve chased him out into the hallway. He saw them not an hour prior, after all. One of the two other cultivators that he shares Mentor Kaisho¡¯s lectures with! She comes for him with a ferocity that nearly outpaces his movement, but fresh air gives him a burst of heat to alter her perception with, and the light mirage lets him just barely duck out of the way of the attack.


    His left arm is functional, but only just. He can¡¯t properly close his fist and it¡¯s bleeding fast, but the elbow and shoulder joints function fine, meaning he can still use it to block or as a tool if he truly needs it. Unfortunately, the guandao is a two-handed weapon, its center of balance and length making it unwieldy even with a cultivator¡¯s strength. He makes a decent showing, blocking one attack from his classmate with the blade and hitting the staff with his elbow to move it into a block of the other, unknown cultivator. Neither one hides their faces, however, and they both wear the simple robes of the Academy, bereft of sect regalia or defining colors. His classmate is a blonde woman with vibrant green skin, her pupils horizontal in her eyes, while her ally in the assassination attempt is a more traditional beastblood, ears like a squirrel and a slight furriness to his features belying his heritage.


    Neither one leaves room for dialogue in the exchange, two Academy-standard jians striking at him ferociously as he backpedals and fights to keep himself intact. His wounded arm gets several more cuts, one of which nearly severs an artery and ensures he loses control of most of the limb, and a cut across the top of his thigh staggers him in time for the blade¡¯s ally to come for his neck.


    The Smiling Noble¡¯s heat-mirage shifts their position ever so slightly to their perception, opening up just enough space and warping the air in a field around their fight. Slowly, the air will become toxic and hard to breathe as the invisible fire and heat alters it, and while he¡¯s busy with that, the Corpse Aflame rises again to play.


    She¡¯s good for short bursts, not prolonged flame. That¡¯s more Shin Ren¡¯s ¡®true¡¯ specialty, the nuances and complexities of fire and feeding it to reach its more complex heights. She is the inferno, the conflagration that cannot be put out and which explodes into being with incredible ferocity, but she has less Qi to work with and attacks with all she can bring together at once almost every time. Still, a few seconds is all that¡¯s needed for phosphorus crimson to engulf Shin Ren in a sphere once more, forcing the already-altered trajectory of the Jian to break entirely as her Flame begins to eat at both it and the Qi that powers it. He feels the charred limbs of his demon core reach out and grab hold of the beastblooded cultivator, and he begins to scream. A burst of movement technique almost gets him out of range, but the fire keeps burning, eating at the Qi he sends to stifle it. Shin Ren watches as he collects himself for a technique, his own blade locked against his classmate¡¯s, and tries to manifest something from his blood.


    Shin Ren¡¯s own Qi touches the phosphorus flame that is eating into his enemy and feeds it with True Flame.


    His classmate is launched forward by the detonation of gold and purple fire which near-erases the ribcage of the other cultivator, falling towards him and his sphere of phosphorus. She backpedals, and he feels some subtle trick at work there. She may have come with no notable artifacts, but that doesn¡¯t mean she¡¯s powerless, not when technique and a Core are at one¡¯s disposal. He feels the world bend and warp slightly as she manifest her own combination of Dao and Truth.


    Everything Falls is magnified and multiplied, like a note played in tune, as he feels his sense of weight and space begin to shift towards the dense marble of Qi she forms in her hand, drawing his flames into its lightless depths even as it begins to burn and smolder.


    He does not miss the slight pause that manifesting such a technique can cause, and Qi shoots along his nerves and tendons as he executes a thrust of his Guandao towards her throat.


    She dodges aside as the gravitational pull of the marble she holds shifts his aim despite his best efforts. His wounded arm is sorely missed as the blade¡¯s center of gravity shifts, turning towards the ground as she moves, and her other hand comes up to retaliate. A second orb manifests in her free hand, the expenditure of Qi enough to warp the room and paint it bright to Shin Ren¡¯s Qi senses, and he feels himself stumble as he¡¯s pulled in towards the hyper-dense chunk of concept.


    There is a manic grin on her face, the black ash of the Corpse Aflame¡¯s fire staining her teeth. He sees victory standing tall in her eyes, feels the touch of death creep in as the dual orbs of weaponized concepts drag him and his flames towards their depths even as he burns them-


    No.


    He pulls from his Core, the purest and densest Qi at his command, and once again feeds it into his True Flame.


    The purple of Mystery and the gold of Truth intermingle in an impossible blaze as he cloaks himself in the most destructive form of flame imaginable, that which can consume all and transform all it consumes, and he feels the pull of her Truth and Dao of Gravity both fade as his Dao of Flame¡¯s higher concept actively burns the very ideas between them.


    And then, before she can recover or cancel her techniques, his blade is swinging.


    She tries to dodge, even as the movement is obscured. His killing intent leaking through most likely, something he has yet to properly understand or control giving him away as he swings through the smoke, the ash, and the multiple hues of Flame. He feels the guandao strain as it passes through his True Flame, feels its masterful crafting and enhanced materials resisting his barely-fueled manifestation of such a powerful concept-


    And feels its edge sink into her shoulder, through her clavicle, and through about five ribs and everything held between them.


    A cultivator might survive a few moments without a heart, so long as they know it is coming. They can even survive for a time without breathing, though absorbing Qi is exponentially harder and it takes energy to sustain.


    At the Core Formation level, most cultivators can¡¯t survive damascus steel carving them from left shoulder nearly to right hip.


    He is panting and bleeding freely as she dies, collapsing with eyes void of meaning or thought.


    He feels her Qi rush out of her body, not consumed like the beastblooded cultivator¡¯s by his flames, and braces himself as his Flame touches it. All Things Burn, and True Flame eats Qi, and this is going to be a bitch to fix later-


    But then his flames snuff out.


    Her Qi, too, is gone. A sense of weight, of starry skies and the dancing of the moons, is suddenly snuffed from the world right alongside the manifestations of a true Dao¡¯s higher concept of True Flame.


    Shin Ren¡¯s eyes immediately look to where the energies of the hallway fled to, looking past all the damage and preparing to manifest more of his power against whatever new threat this might be-


    And he sees another beastblood. Black, feline ears stand atop equally black hair, with a long, slender tail of midnight waving lazily behind her. She wears a set of tight-fitting black robes to match her hair, the only point of color visible the bright gold symbol of the Division of Altered Cultivation.


    ¡°Quite a mess, young master,¡± she whispers in a voice that is nearly a purr. ¡°Perhaps this one might be of assistance.¡±

 Chapter 198 - Welcome To My Parlor, Said The Cat To The Flame...

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    She smiles, harsh and cold. Beneath her gaze, he feels himself as prey, staring down the eyes of a predator that doesn¡¯t feel hunger, only sadistic mirth. In her hands is a small device with a dozen sides, each one carved with thousands of miniscule runes and array formations. Slender fingers play across its surface, and pieces of it slide and shift like a puzzle-box, clicking and clacking as she moves it.


    From the box something changes in the air around them.


    It feels¡­ to his senses it¡¯s almost like a person using Qi, like someone drawing in energy to fuel themselves, but it¡¯s not right. It¡¯s¡­ inverted, somehow, rolling backwards and¡­


    It feels like watching water roll uphill, or like someone fall inside their own body. Except both of those things are technically possible so long as one has Qi, and this doesn¡¯t feel like that. This feels like watching the sun travel backwards across the sky and looking up to see the ground above you. It¡¯s distinctly and inherently different from how it¡¯s supposed to work, and yet the Qi is pulled in towards the device anyways.


    Right before his eyes, the world changes. Cubes of matter, of air, of space itself somehow made of both at once click and begin to rotate away, as if the whole world is some sort of strange device or screen before him. As if on some two-dimensional plane, square panels and cubes rotate over the bodies and the damage done, and when they are done turning and have returned to the illusion of three-dimensionality, all of it is simply gone.


    The woman¡¯s smile widens just a fraction, slightly past politely predatory and into something more entertained. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t want to trouble the Empire¡¯s best educators with something so trivial as a few dead fools, would we? Much less troublesome this way. No trouble at all cleaning up a little bit of mess.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t leave his ready stance. His left arm is still bleeding semi-freely, his intermittent Qi only barely keeping up the healing process, and his thigh feels just a bit shaky from the cut through some of his muscles, but he¡¯s still good to keep fighting. He¡¯s gotten worse wounds in training, and whoever this stranger is, she has the ability to somehow nullify Qi on top of the strange spatial alteration she just did.


    Except it wasn¡¯t spatial alteration, was it? A spatial alteration would have pinched their surroundings together, making distortions in the stone and bursts of vacuum in the air. Spatial alteration wouldn¡¯t have remade the the framing above his doorway like it had never held an array or the damage of removing it at all.


    Even the Corpse Aflame feels a bit wary of her. The flames on both corpses were snuffed out like they¡¯d never been there at all, and with their newfound Truth, that¡¯s plenty more reason to be concerned.


    ¡°Shin Ren greets his honored senior,¡± he says, one hand still firm on his guandao. The Qi inside his body is still his own, not disrupted like it was with the array, and he cycles it freely. Without the array to disrupt him or any need to keep his true cultivation quiet, not in the face of his own survival, he readies his Dao of Flame, his new Truth, and all three of his cores for battle.


    She tilts her head, very slightly.


    ¡°No need for any of that. This one doesn¡¯t intend to cause you further harm. Certainly not yet. I¡¯m here with an offer, nothing more.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t quite let go of his guarded stance, but he does perform an awkward sort of half-bow from it. ¡°I am honored, senior, but I don¡¯t tend to parlay with strangers. I¡¯m afraid that if you want to offer me anything, I¡¯ll need to know your name first.¡±


    She shakes her head softly. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that my name isn¡¯t part of my offer, honored one. But if you need something to call me, you may call me Wyld. But perhaps you might invite me into a more private setting? Some conversations aren¡¯t meant for open corridors.¡±


    On that much, at least, they can agree.


    That being said, he already found two traps waiting for him the last time he walked into that room. He has no intention of doing so again.


    She sees him hesitate and smiles again. That same look of predatory intent, mixed with a very feline amusement.


    She is, if nothing else, a dramatically accurate representation of her beastblood origins.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± she says. ¡°A bit of paranoia can be a very healthy exercise. But unless you have a hidden realm on your person, I¡¯m afraid your options are rather limited. And I think you¡¯ll like what I have to say.¡±


    She shrugs her shoulders, a quick little turn of the wrist making the strange puzzle-box she held simply vanish. ¡°If I wanted to harm you, I would¡¯ve aided the two fools who came for your head. Sometimes it really is better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.¡±


    He laughs at that, a cold thing. And then, taking his fury and his courage in hand, he walks through the door.


    The lights are still off. With a pulse of Qi, he sends the concept of Flame out in a burst, expanding through the space to fill the room. It¡¯s not enough to ignite anything as heavy as carpet or even paper, but for candlewicks, already prepared to burn, the concept latches on eagerly and illuminates the room with a ¡°whoosh¡±.


    Looking inside, his thoughts about a trap are at least partially validated.


    The artificial sunlight is still absent from the room entirely, a series of runes carved into the stone around the large bay windows humming slightly against the flow of Qi of the illusion array that they interrupt. Instead, through the expansive frame, there¡¯s just the stone wall behind the illusion, entirely bare save for where it¡¯s been carved into.


    The room is grand. He may not have an entire wing of a manor to himself, but the amenities and quality are significantly superior here than in his sect quarters. A living area, complete with a well crafted table able to hold up against even a cultivator¡¯s force, takes up the central space, made to accommodate guests or readings. Descending a few steps into a wider forum, his bedchamber is an expansive area with its own baths and a bed more comfortable than anything he¡¯s ever slept on, and to one side, between the ¡°windows¡±, is his own personal cultivation chamber. It¡¯s barely been touched, what with all his focus being on research, but he knows there are ways to modify its settings and even add cultivation resources into its very matrix.


    Its more than enough for any cultivator to study and seclude themselves in when not indulging in the many other tools of the Academy. For now, though, all Shin Ren cares about is the table and living room.


    From his storage ring, he pulls out a roll of bandages and two of the healing pills he purchased. They both go down smoothly, their own healing-aspected Qi flowing into his body and following something almost like a formula to begin repairing his body. He wraps the bandages to stop the bleeding, though. Once he learns some Dao or Truth that can aid him, or simply cultivates enough, he¡¯ll be able to command himself better, but as is, there¡¯s a reasons healers and alchemists are perpetually in high demand.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The woman calling herself ¡°Wyld¡± steps into the room a few seconds after, long enough that he has time to acclimate himself. It¡¯s a clear moment of courtesy that, despite himself, he appreciates. She seats herself opposite him, kneeling on the pillow provided for just that purpose.


    ¡°I like the rooms here,¡± she opines. ¡°Pleasant things. Not so large as to be unwieldy, but never daring not to be extravagant.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t pick it,¡± Shin Ren replies.


    She laughs her hands coming up onto the table to lightly click her nails against its surface. ¡°I don¡¯t imagine you did. Choice is a rare commodity at the best of times.¡±


    ¡°And yet you claim to be here to offer me just such a thing.¡±


    She smiles. ¡°I am.¡±


    There¡¯s silence between them for a moment, and then he sighs.


    ¡°I apologize for my impoliteness, honored one. I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m a bit out of practice with the customary role of host, and that recent events have me slightly on edge. While I do not wish to dishonor your time and words with inconvenience, I have a tea set and some passable leaves in my storage ring. I request a small moment of your patience.¡±


    She seems almost inordinately happy about him preparing tea for her, her tail waggling playfully behind her in a very feline show of amusement. With a wave of his hand, a kettle and two teacups manifest from his spatial ring onto the table, and with a burst of Qi, he heats up water and the aforementioned leaves.


    They¡¯re cheap and shitty, but they¡¯re all he¡¯s got, and there are standards to uphold for any guest. Moreso for a guest that offered him aid so recently.


    He pours for the both of them, her cup first, and she waits for him to take a sip before taking one of her own. And then¡­ she blinks.


    ¡°Oh. I know this tea.¡±


    She takes a second sip, exceeding the bounds of politeness. He takes a second sip for himself, just for propriety¡¯s sake. The Smiling Noble scoffs, but its purpose and origin is the subversion of nobility, so that¡¯s only to be expected.


    If there¡¯s anything he¡¯s dedicated himself to besides his master, it¡¯s to better embody the beliefs he holds close.


    This person, stranger and threat that she might be, helped him, and is in his home. To not serve tea, and not enact the proper guest¡¯s rights, would be needlessly disrespectful.


    Seeing as his guest seems to be thoroughly enjoying her drink, he decides to take initiative.


    ¡°It is rare that one with power gifts it freely to another. And you¡¯ve offered up enough to erase my attackers, it would seem. Good timing or plot, I do not know, but it is clear you came to me with intent. I would ask of you what it is you intend, honored one.¡±


    She takes a long, pensive sniff of her tea, the scent of cheap, simple flavors rising as steam from the water. Only after she¡¯s done indulging does her old smile return as she meets his gaze.


    ¡°My master and I have been keeping an eye on you, Shin Ren of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect. It was quite a surprise, seeing you emerge from out of the wilds. The last we knew of you, you had ever so thoroughly burned a trail through the southeastern wing, down towards the south fourth, and then simply¡­ vanished.


    ¡°And then, of course, we heard an interesting rumor. The Fourth Blade is famously fickle, but he so rarely gets a chance to indulge himself, so it was fascinating to hear rumor that he¡¯d drawn his azure sword against an opponent, which he does oh so rarely.. And then¡­ Shin Ren! Emerged, alive and unscathed, a master-crafted weapon fit to be wielded by at least a Warrior Realm expert in-hand¡­ and spending several weeks being very, very adamant about researching the Blades. Having apparently ¡®lost¡¯ his old cultivation and yet using all kinds of new tricks.¡±


    His fist clenches under the table. His thigh and left arm are both still healing, it¡¯ll be a good few hours before the pills fully repair the damage, but¡­ it¡¯s enough to fight if he has to.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m not entirely sure what you mean by making such accusations. While I admit to a fortuitous encounter in the wilds, I find it more than a little humorous to think that one as wise as you would believe I saw the Fourth Blade¡¯s sword and lived to tell the tale.¡±


    ¡°Oh, nothing quite so crass,¡± she admits with a smile. Her head turns ever so slowly, moving into a more predatory lean as she prepares to reveal something with a bit more weight.


    ¡°But we were a bit surprised to find out that whoever it was that the Fourth Blade drew his sword against lived. And is currently enjoying a long and generous stay at the hands of the Empire¡¯s first ring.¡±


    He feels the blood in his veins freeze.


    He was right.


    He was right.


    Qu Haolan is alive.


    ¡°Is- are they alright?¡±


    She smile coquettishly, her chin in her hands as slitted eyes track his every reaction.


    ¡°Perhaps. Perhaps not. But my master thought there might be a connection, and I had my own reasons to keep an eye on you.¡±


    A part of him looks at her as an enemy, as another way to play the game. He knows that if he needed it, the Smiling Noble could reach forward through him and guide him through the acts of political maneuvering to try and get her to speak to him, to try and tease secrets from her.


    It¡¯s good to have that knowledge, to recognize those instincts.


    Instead, Shin Ren shuffles back from the table and presses his forehead to the ground.


    He can actually hear the look of surprise on her face.


    ¡°This lowly Shin Ren thanks you for your generosity,¡± he says, as genuine as can be. ¡°I¡­ any information can be valuable, and this information means much to me.¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t even gotten to the offer,¡± she huffs.


    ¡°Nevertheless, this Shin Ren is thankful.¡±


    He sits up again, meeting a rather confused gaze.


    ¡°You¡¯ve¡­ changed.¡±


    He smiles at that, softly. ¡°If there is anything I can say that is true, it is that I have changed indeed.¡±


    There¡¯s a moment of silence¡­ and then she nods.


    ¡°My master is willing to offer you cultivation aids and a manual dedicated to theory and applications of your new cultivation technique. Forming new cores are rare, but not uncommon, and the more information you can provide us, the better the materials. I can have a clearer picture of what we can offer you in as little as three days, should you agree to our side of the exchange. If you truly want to grow at the rate you¡¯ll need to to be able to even see the first ring in your lifetime, you¡¯ll need it.¡±


    ¡°And what is your part of this exchange?¡± he asks.


    ¡°Nothing too extreme. Not at first. It¡¯s better to help you establish your power, so as to better establish your character in the eyes of others. But eventually, we may call on you when appropriate to deal with certain¡­ problematic elements in play. We have other agents, but rarely is anyone approached as directly as you- take it as a sign of your potential.¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°I won¡¯t be an assassin. I¡¯ve hurt the undeserving for meager rewards and false glory before, and I have no intention of returning to those ways.¡±


    ¡°And I respect that. We won¡¯t ask it of you. My master believes that the best chains are those that cannot be felt, and even better are the ones put on freely. If we have a request for you, it will be to eliminate problems or disrupt a situation, not to kill someone. Murder is messy, especially under the scrutiny of Imperial Law, and messy visibility is the last thing anyone really wants. The occasional disruption may be required; a surprise duel being called, setting up a fight or ¡°accidental¡± use of Qi, the occasional use of authority. You fit well under a sort of¡­ justicar ideal we could use. Beyond that, I think you¡¯ll be well suited as a defensive asset. Keeping a few targets safe on occasion. Anything more, and you¡¯re free to break faith. I¡¯m willing to sign a binding contract to assure you that any resources given to you directly are yours to keep, whether or not you remain with us.¡±


    He considers it for a while.


    The Corpse Aflame, of course, is overjoyed. More power, more fuel, more things to burn and chances to practice their newest Truth. The Smiling Noble sees so many opportunities here, so many ways to twist what is happening, to better play their roles, even if their new role is, for the most part, exactly what Shin Ren wants of them.


    He, on the other hand, is a bit more careful with his thoughts.


    ¡°If you can provide the binding contract for my review and the first of your supposed gifts, I would be more than willing to enter an agreement with individuals as honorable as your master and yourself.¡±


    She smiles again, the look of a cat with a canary well within its jaws.


    ¡°Very well spoken, young master. I look forward to working alongside you.¡±

 Chapter 199 - So Yall Thought The Cyberpunk Tag Was A Joke, Huh?

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    Maen indulges in her freedom of movement.


    Ever since the arena fight where Raika¡¯s blood altered her, she¡¯s been a little bit in love with the concept of speed. Since their separation, it¡¯s been one of her main focuses, learning to love moving fast in as many different ways as she can. Step Of The Feline is a popular one she got ahold of pretty easily, but it felt a bit stereotypical, and pulled a bit too much on her bestial cultivation, countering her orthodox style. The synergy between them is as crucial now as it¡¯s ever been, especially as she¡¯s felt herself approach a sort of genuine link between the two sides. Thunderous Steps is a fun one, offering massive bursts of speed and capable of breaking the sound barrier with each ¡°step¡± if one is proficient enough and strong enough. Her personal favorite, Shadow¡¯s Vanishing, is a fun mix of step-techniques to move into blind spots and between eye-blinks, with an added Qi component of allowing the user to mimic the contours of shadows and move along their edges at tremendous speeds.


    But Yun Ka, just a few weeks back, offered some particular advice.


    Techniques, past a certain point, matter less than their wielder. Martial forms and specific techniques are particularly useful at the Qi Gathering and even Foundational level, where they can serve to train one¡¯s movements and learn to better manipulate the flow of Qi. As one¡¯s cultivation develops in its own unique way, the original technique becomes less and less useful. Unless you specifically force your body and Qi to perfectly mimic said technique every time (a difficult and impressive enough task in and of itself) it inevitably changes, more and more as one develops. The techniques you know and master shape your core, shape your Soul as it begins to form, and shape your cultivation, all flowing back into each other, minutely with lesser techniques, much more powerfully with more complex ones.


    Which means that technically, forming one¡¯s own techniques is the ultimate way to make your power exclusively yours.


    It¡¯s harder, much more complex, requires the truly unique geniuses of the world to formulate and craft their own all-original techniques- and above all else, it doesn¡¯t even guarantee a better result, especially if one finds a particularly powerful technique.


    So, like with so many things, Maen is working hard to find a middle ground.


    Synthesis is a useful way to phrase it. Using the explosive bursts of force from the Thunderous Steps technique alongside the Shadow¡¯s Vanishing technique makes for an unbalanced but powerful fusion of both, slower than the former but much more versatile than the latter. Trying to add Step Of The Feline, on the other hand, magnifies the perception-dodging aspects of Shadow¡¯s Vanishing, but is entirely incompatible with Thunderous Steps, and the fusion of the three together is downright nonfunctional. But taking individual pieces out of each? That¡¯s more doable.


    And then, her cultivation.


    A wild and untamed hunter, quiet but sharp, alongside an impression of yuzu, natural freshness grown wild. Raika encouraged her to support both aspects, and she¡¯s done what she can to semi-equally divide up the resources she eats that add to her bestial cultivation and the energies she absorbs that add to her orthodox cultivation.


    It¡¯s still incomplete, and likely will be for quite some time, but hell, she¡¯s proud enough of the movement technique she¡¯s developed to make up a pseudonym after it.


    Path Of The Wild Hunt fuses the thundering steps of the, well, Thunderous Steps technique with those of the Steps Of The Feline, meshing their incompatibility by making them overlap only in parts. Quick, soft steps along any edge of surface, followed by a sort of pounce or lunge that can match some of the higher speeds of the Thunderous Steps technique. Add in a touch of the shadow-pathing effect of Shadow¡¯s Vanishing, and what she loses in stealth overall, she gains back in non-euclidian movement.


    The smell of fresh-grown, wild citrus and running beasts fills her nose as she pushes both sides of her cultivation at once and steps along the edge of a building.


    Rather than teetering off the edge or standing upright, she somehow spirals around the 90 degree angle, the shadows and terrain both shifting in ways only she can see to give her exactly the right spot to step to proceed to her destination. Her idea for Path Of The Wild Hunt is something that follows an old story of the north-western rings about a group of spirit beasts, spirits, Daemons and more that would hunt unruly cultivators when they wandered into their territories, able to follow them anywhere in the world and vanish back just as easily. Her technique takes the other techniques she¡¯s started to learn, her own cultivation, and adds a dash of inspiration from the myth, and she uses it to push the world juuuust slightly off-kilter, shaping it into a pathway that takes angles and lines of sight as suggestions rather than harsh realities.


    Imperfect? Yes. Does she switch to Shadow¡¯s Vanishing whenever she thinks someone might notice her? Absolutely.


    But it¡¯s hers, and it¡¯s growing.


    Between her specialization into movement techniques and the artifact Taurus gifted her, no one on the streets below or above notices her presence.


    The triple-pyramids of the Academies gleam against the horizon behind her, but the city around them is no less fantastical. While the pyramids themselves are each broader, shinier, and somehow simultaneously taller than every other building yet only half the heights of most of them, its surroundings are¡­


    Well, for a washer girl from a mid-range sect in the third ring, it feels like a different world.


    The second ring is defined as everywhere where the shadow of the continent-scale pillar of the first ring falls. Kinda. They track the range of the shadow from north to west, along where the sun travels, and use that range as the radius of a circle, splitting the second ring into four quadrants; Upper Shadow, Lower Shadow, Western Sun, Eastern Sun. The Academies sit near the center of Eastern Sun, sitting as the central structure of education for all cultivators in the Empire. Teleportation arrays in cities all across the second ring lead straight to it, so that all from across the empire can witness its majesty and learn at its feet- if they earn the privilege, or have it paid for them by their masters.


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    In turn, the city surrounding it is a glorious, sprawling place of cultures from all across the lands of the Empire, holding elements of myriad sects, histories, and architectural design styles. Most of the second ring is an urban sprawl, with a lines of trains that run through thousands of stations all across it and make room for hundreds on hundreds of installations spread through its makeup, such that most of the natural landscape that remains lives as a purposefully preserved area. Spiraling towers to control the weather, carved with faintly glowing runes that illuminate the nights, are matched by silos, warehouses, and sprawling resource production centers, taking the goods and resources of the third ring and the depths of the earth and sky and making them into an endless array of artifacts, drugs, ritual components and building materials. The city of the Academies (she refuses to call it Academy City, that¡¯s so dumb, and ¡°Eastern Gate Of Enlightenment¡± is too mouthy) is a shining example of that sort of design philosophy.


    There are some buildings connected by railings, and only railings, their foundations floating suspended in the air and adding to their impossible heights. Sloped ceilings and ornate designs of spirit beasts decorate plenty, but they¡¯re integrated into the new architecture, like sleek steel and shining white marble are slowly absorbing them to form something new. The roads are all paved, such that the only dirt in the city is that which comes from its inhabitants, with each tier of its structure above the other, bridges and walkways multiplying the amount of ground one can stand on and traverse.


    The heights of the city are barely visible, whole kilometer-length towers half-disconnected from the ground making up a fractal skyline of glowing arrays and shining marble. Arcane designs, reliefs and mosaics of beautiful scenery and glorious conquests decorate the buildings, none so bright as to overpower the white and gold of the Empire¡¯s own resources but enough to shape the skyline and the view. Here, most people live in expansive, spatially-shrunk manses, whole floors of their towers recreating acres and acres of land, with nearly all travel requiring something to fly upon or to traverse the more colorful and boisterous walkways between them.


    Beneath this are the four ¡°layers¡± of the city, each one close but distinct. Beastbloods and giant-kin intermingle with goblinoids and humans freely atop the upper ¡°floor¡± of the city, where many of the towers begin their climbs; this area is reserved for cultivators and services catering to them. Traveling cultivators, the students of the Academies, and those who wish to spend their strength crafting or pursuing the mercantile way make their ways here often. The space reflects this, with most areas being covered so as not to show the lower floors, and millions of trees and points of natural growth and Qi decorating the sleek construction and ornate roofing that make the city glimmer white, red and gold from above.


    The next two layers are for the mortals of the city, and the cultivators that oversee them or work in those areas. Maintaining arrays, construction-work, less successful craftsmen and, of course, actual families take up most of these, with the amount of natural light making its way down diminishing with each floor. They¡¯re a maze, most of their architecture varying from tens to hundreds of feet above the ground but somehow still finding ways to appear claustrophobic and subterranean, even in places where people display art and intermingle with those from above.


    At the very bottom are what, in other places, might be considered a normal city, and here are considered the slums. The ¡®first layer¡¯. Rogue cultivators, researchers, drug peddlers and mutant, deviated cultivations live here, below where even mortals tend to go, and most of the city¡¯s trash and incoming deliveries of basic goods find their way through there at some point or another. Lit almost entirely artificially by candles, flickering arrays and the occasional artifact running along central lanes, the only light of the suns down there is that which comes in from the loading docks, hillsides, and the occasional cultivator-related incident that busts a hole through four layers of city.


    It¡¯s perhaps the greatest and worst place she could ever imagine, and she moves through it perfectly unseen.


    She spends most of her time sprinting through the second layer. Lots more shadows to work with, and a lot more people who really don¡¯t care about asking questions and can¡¯t afford the same fancy arrays as the upper floors. Especially with it still being daylight, the uppermost layers are a no-go until she develops her skills a lot more, but she still makes exceptional time between the angle-warping nature of her movement technique and the sheer speed she can output naturally.


    She makes it almost twenty-five kilometers south of the Academies before she slows again.


    Slipping lithely through a small break between the buildings, Maen dashes through the shadows and in between piping, support beams and maintenance platforms to move upwards towards the light. She makes it up to the third layer, into an area nice enough to be connected but far enough away from everything that it¡¯s teetering on the edge of being ¡°second layer¡± architecture. The building is squat, and seems like it was rebuilt multiple times, its frame holding signs of older traditional architecture, the brutalist styles of the great expansion of the cityscape, and the new minimalist and abstract trends of its later years. Some of the windows are shut and hold no glass, while a large, slightly flickering illusion array of formulae and runes decorates the front with the scent of food, a mild memetic compulsion to visit the place, and the glowing words ¡°Molten Wings¡± on the front.


    Apparently it¡¯s a joke about ¡°molting¡± in the past tense, but it¡¯s not very funny.


    She slips through a window that¡¯s barely ajar, takes the near-invisible tripwires she¡¯s spread across the room down, and, after checking the space thoroughly with her natural and Qi senses, finally takes a seat in a small, battered room with a cot, a sword rack, a closet, and a broken wall.


    She takes a few steps over towards the wall, leveraging open some of the ¡°authentic wooden boards¡± (they¡¯re weirdly grey and much weaker than natural wood) to pull out the person-sized mirror she hides back there.


    With one final check of her surroundings, making sure the arrays she copied from Yun Ka¡¯s instructions are pristine and decorating every flat plane and right angle in the room, she finally nods and pushes her Qi into the mirror.


    A quick puzzle later, and her reflection clears away, bleeding into itself like a kaleidoscope of mercury.


    A moment later, she¡¯s hit by the smell of peaches and cream and the most brightly-colored person she knows.


    ¡°Maen! So good of you to come on back. How was meeting your old flame?¡±


    Maen laughs at Kaena¡¯s terrible joke, rolling her eyes. ¡°Actually went better than expected. Is the boss in? I need to let him know we¡¯ve got an expensive one. I think he might be actually useful.¡±


    Kaena grins, their pearly whites shining against peach-pink and gold-vitiligo skin. ¡°Well color me excited, kitten! You know I do love any excuse to violate poor horn-head¡¯s coinpurse.¡±

 Chapter 200 - I Am The Master Of My Fate, I Am The Captain Of My Soul

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    Most of the Empire runs on coins. Base metals are cheap, easily found if one digs deep enough, and able to be produced by any number of means, be they cultivation or arrays or so forth. Qi stones, pebbles and rocks infused with simple Qi used to be the primary form of coinage in the sects, before the Empire, but now they, and other Qi-infused materials, are kept exclusively for more useful pursuits. Once upon a time the stone¡¯s value was in how they could hold Qi with minimal changes, bereft of natural formations and movement, and could sustain that hold without loss for millenia. Now, the only use such a thing might have is how much Qi one can get out of it, and how useful they can be as batteries.


    Silver, copper, and gold coins, stamped with a square hole in the middle and decorated with the Empire¡¯s iconography, make up the whole of trade now. Jade is sometimes traded at the highest levels, between organizations and in the first ring he¡¯s heard, as well as written agreements for barter and evaluated worth, but Qi-infused materials are almost universally seen as more useful elsewhere. A Qi stone the size of a pebble, now, might be traded for as much as forty silver coins, easily. One the size of a fist might be valued at a hundred gold.


    So it¡¯s not lightly that Shin Ren evaluates the resources given to him as worth a dozen fist-sized Qi stones easily.


    He¡¯s yet to offer any true information on his capabilities, and at least when it came time to receive the promised supplies, they haven¡¯t asked. Despite this, Shin Ren finds that there is absolutely nothing at all to complain about in the selection they have offered him.


    Propulsional Movement is a movement technique in the most literal sense. The occasional lack of artistry in Imperial naming conventions makes itself known in the title, as blunt and direct as can be, but its applications are delightfully broad. While Shin Ren has mostly been improvising and slowly creating his own movement styles with the Smiling Noble¡¯s more subtle uses of heat and the Corpse Aflame¡¯s explosive bursts, Propulsional Movement is more of a treatise on the many ways that kinetic and thermal energy can be harnessed and directed along the shape of a human body. Examinations of vectors, uses of flammable thrust, and the best placements for potential jets of flame all make themselves known in just the first few pages of the manual.


    It¡¯s an appetizer compared to the other two gifts he has received.


    One of them is a scroll, made entirely of slips of a hard, black material. There is writing on it, but the majority is so miniscule that even his enhanced vision struggles to pick it out, and some of it seems to waver and shift when he looks away. The note that came with it calls it a defensive artifact, one of the things Shin Ren has been greatly missing.


    His Qi brushes against it, and it comes alive. The slips, previously bound by rope, simply cease to be connected, yet somehow¡­ remain a scroll. Each individual black slip, covered in gold writing, begins to hover in the air around him, slowly beginning to surround him in an orbit that leaves minimal gaps. At first he worries about mobility and his perception, but as he turns his head, he finds that whatever slips he¡¯s trying to see past, he just¡­ can. They¡¯re not invisible, a quirk of focusing his eyes has them reappear in his perception, but it¡¯s still like he can see straight past them.


    Heating the tip of his Guandao ever so slightly, he taps the incredibly fine edge of its blade against one of the slips.


    Nothing. Not a scratch.


    Pausing the orbit of the same slip, holding his weapon against its surface, he begins to push Qi into it, seeing how it reacts to the heat and increasing pressure of damaging Qi.


    It doesn¡¯t.


    The slip of black wood, inscribed with golden words and symbols that feel more and more like a poem the longer he looks at them, simply hovers there. Unbothered, unperturbed, even as he pushes enough heat through his Guandao that the master-crafted staff shivers slightly. More than enough to begin to discolor and warp steel, doing exactly fuck all.


    He lets the slip rejoin the orbit around him, and with a touch of will, the scroll that remained a scroll becomes a scroll once more, laying inert on the table.


    Trap or not, he can detect no tampering or flaws in the artifact, only the clean and precise applications of an Imperial Array (if a much more complicated one than he¡¯s usually seen). He¡¯ll need every advantage he can get when it comes time to do whatever he ends up needing to do to save the man he owes his life to.


    A pulse of Qi binds the artifact to him, a kanji of his name manifesting onto the scroll near its end. Followed by two smaller little additions that, while not inaccurate, aren¡¯t how he usually spells his name, two additional flourishes. One jagged, the other overly showy.


    The reminder of his cultivation turns him back to the third of the ¡°gifts¡± offered for his cooperation.


    It¡¯s single feather, glimmering colorfully even without any light upon it. It sits atop the table, a small pedestal beneath it shimmering with an array supporting it. Just being close to it is enough to make Shin Ren start to sweat, the heat of it pushing on his cultivation like a mortal to a campfire. Just because he¡¯s a cultivator that follows a path of fire, or one that¡¯s grasped (if not mastered) the Dao of Flame, doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯s immune to fire. His previous Qi deviation is clear proof of this, but while it¡¯s changed since he grew past that event, it¡¯s still true. He would be carbonized ash just the same as any mortal and any Warrior realm master if cast up into the writhing scales of the sun.


    But¡­ he thought he¡¯d gotten really, really good at fire.


    The feather in front of him, hovering a centimeter over the table, makes him question if he knew what it was.


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    He feels his grasp on the Dao of Flame flicker, somehow strengthened and weakened in unequal measure just by seeing the treasure before him. He has no idea what kind of spirit beast must have been killed or harvested to create such a treasure, but there is a quiet little voice in the back of his head that wonders.


    Phoenix?


    Everyone knows the Phoenixes are extinct. Their elimination was one of the Emperor¡¯s great works during the millenia and a half of war that came after the isolation, right after the Emperor raised the first ring. There¡¯s some debate about how exactly the Emperor slew the very symbol of immortality, but it cannot be argued that it left a hell of an imprint of the world¡¯s new divinity.


    It cannot be a phoenix feather. Millions would die in the uprising that would come from learning the creatures still existed, either in hiding or actively withheld from the sects and cultivators of the world. It cannot be a phoenix feather.


    The individual strands that make up the feather around a delicate bone flicker and wave, even in the stasis array that has it levitate. With their movement, there are whispers.


    The Dao of Flame is broad, and it is limited. It is said that every Dao holds infinity within itself, but there are large infinities and small infinities, and the Dao of Flame isn¡¯t what Shin Ren would consider a ¡°small¡± infinity. But as he watches the interplay of heat and movement, of flickering sparks and ozone, of ignition and carbonization and the shifting nature of heat and transformation, he thinks that perhaps fire is much larger than he knew.


    He pushes Qi into his new artifact, the scroll unfolding and wrapping around his arm. He sighs. Takes a deep breath. As he stares at the feather, he wills the scroll to bond properly.


    Older artifacts, like his guandao, are just that; artifacts. Tools and weapons, often reminiscent of the age in which they were created; swords, bows, farming implements and more. The artifacts of the first ring are far more abstract things, purpose-built to magnify their functions, and while the techniques to make such things are out of reach even in the second ring, some things have carried over. Added functionality to artifacts, considered part of a ¡°quality of life¡± increase over the last millenia.


    The scroll wraps tightly around his left forearm, some of it unfurling up towards his bicep, and begins to sink into his body.


    Shin Ren has felt his own soul grow mouths with which to curse him and hands with which to tear him apart, and it felt more normal than this.


    It doesn¡¯t hurt, but it feels incredibly alien. Room-temperature feels ice-cold as it molds past his skin, instructions written into the artifact activating arrays as his Qi flows through its circuits, acting as it was designed to do.


    Wearing things on one¡¯s person is an easy way to lose those things, either at the hands of the quick and daring or the wilds of battle. One can have a spatial ring stolen. A spatial ring can be broken into.


    It is much harder to steal something that is a part of one¡¯s body, and much easier to send Qi into and through it.


    The artifact stops sinking into his body when only the upper facets of the slips are visible, making it look like a complex tattoo more than genuine transformation. The script fades slightly, leaving his left arm half-transmuted into pitch-dark wood organized into precise right angles.


    Shin Ren lets out the breath he was holding, finally stomaching looking at the artifact. He flexes his fingers, rolls his arm and stretches his elbow. The physical sensation doesn¡¯t leave, his nerves telling him of the foreign material overlapping with undamaged flesh where his body was warped to accommodate the defensive tool. It¡¯s his first time ever experience a relic like this, the peak of second-ring engineering, or close enough that a third ring bumpkin like him can¡¯t tell the difference. It hammers in by its very existence just how far he is from home.


    Sect prince of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus, and he might have ascended to sect leader before he saw an artifact like this.


    He turns his gaze to look at what must not be, cannot be, the feather of fire deeper and broader than his mind can hold the idea of.


    The Corpse Aflame smolders. The unbearable, hungry heat beneath the ruin she calls flesh trembles, like a leaf in a breeze.


    The Smiling Noble isn¡¯t smiling. The weight of the feather, and what they can do with it, goes beyond nobility and false honor, and into the realm of unbearable, universal consequence.


    He clenches a fist when the thought of reaching for the gift makes it tremble.


    And it is a gift. One with strings, with consequences beyond its might, but a gift nonetheless. The contract is there, in his spatial ring, a thing of exacting words and the same complex runic arrays he saw the Wyld use when first they met. He can quit at any time. They do not own the things they give him. The contract, woven with Qi and Truespeak, that highest complexity of Dao and comprehension that only Imperial law-makers are versed in, speaks into reality that what they give him is his, and all his benefactor asks is that he keeps their origin secret and listen honestly when a request is made to receive their boons.


    It glows, there on the table, glimmering from the light of the feather.


    The feather, the defensive array, the impressively broad movement technique, they are merely overtures. The opening move of investing in a potential windfall.


    Staring at the feather, he acknowledges a simple truth.


    Most things that seem to be too good to be true aren¡¯t true at all.


    An artifact is one thing, already bound as it is. Even the contract, loose as it, could go ignored, and all it would mean would be the end of the burgeoning relationship. And the loss of the feather, of course.


    If he signs it, he will be given orders. Veiled as requests, likely quite reasonable, superficially in line with his every belief, but orders nonetheless. The thought of it chafes against him, against his new soul, just barely coalescing in the light of his renewed beliefs.


    But he needs power.


    Ideals are not power, no matter how much they offer him. To strive to be truly noble is the path he¡¯s stepped on, but nobility does not come from hiding in fear from consequence or possibility.


    Shin Ren makes his choice.


    His hand touches the bottom of the contract, where the arcane text reads his intent and his Self. His kanji, once more modified to accommodate his newly forged identity,manifests amidst the words that promise him such wonders for so little.


    And the seal surrounding the feather vanishes, along with the hovering words of gold, leaving a wave of pleasant heat to saturare his quarters.


    He will discover the identity of his new benefactor. He will discover the reasons for any and all requests sent to him. He can already feel the Smiling Noble begin to shift, accepting his place as something made to understand and subvert others, to change and transform to suit the environment behind the surface. He feels the Corpse Aflame grin, black flesh flaking off charred lips as she picks up a chain, eagerly pushing heat into it until it glows in his soul, ready to be shattered and cast back at its holder.


    Shin Ren is not who he once was. He is not who he was yesterday. He is not who he will be in a minute longer.


    But Choice Is Universal.


    With a reverent bow, Shin Ren reaches for the feather, and begins to pull its infinity into his growing Souls.

 Chapter 201 - The Dancer Ex Altiora

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    Gou Mai likes Shin Ren. Shin Ren¡¯s a pretty good guy. Always willing to listen to those who request it, never excessively violent, and even if he¡¯s a bit opinionated on things, he doesn¡¯t tend to push those opinions too harshly onto others.


    But of course, such is life in the world that talent surpasses all. It¡¯s difficult to bother with caring about someone knowing they will die when you well might not, and thus, for every friendship between brothers, there is the distance that cultivation can bring. Shin Ren surpassed him, simple as that.


    Gou Mai is, if not content, then at least comfortable with his speed of growth. It is not so hard to catch up to someone, especially once they reach the realms where efforts bear fruit in decades and centuries rather than months and years, and he knows he is progressing adequately. For all that the bastard sects of the second ring seem to blossom into Core Formation in their adolescence rather than their adulthood like normal, Gou Mai is comfortably nearing the end of that particular realm, and primed to begin forming his Nascent Soul not long after. It¡¯s a pity that one of the few people he came to actually like in the Academy, the one who agreed to the name of honored brother, had left him behind, but he would prove himself a true friend. He would find his way up to the heights to which his friend would climb, rather than be a chain upon him.


    What a surprise it was to see his honored brother once more in the vaunted halls of the Core Formation cultivators, then!


    Upon seeing him, Gou Mai¡¯s first instinct was to comfort him. It is a terrible setback, a loss of great and powerful agony to fall backwards in one¡¯s cultivation. The purpose one dedicates their whole life to, crippled, wounded, unmade¡­ many have lost themselves with less. To lose an entire realm? The Nascent Soul realm, no less? Depending on how much one¡¯s Soul had formed, it could be a form of grief all its own to lose it, like losing a part of one¡¯s own body, a partner and taste of transcendent Self all in one.


    And yet, Shin Ren smiled at the sight of him. He stood proud! More quiet and reserved, it¡¯s true, but proud and strong nonetheless. Gou Mai expected to find a brother in need, and the relief and joy in his friend¡¯s face at the sight of him was a boon to his ego as well, he admits- but through all of it, Shin Ren was both whole and complete.


    And the power he had shown!


    Perhaps the rumors were false, and it was no true setback at all, but rather a sacrifice that led to this new confidence and strength! A truly mighty thing it must have been indeed, for his friend to be able and willing to do such a thing, and for it to have paid off so powerfully is a true boon. The new powers he showed at first felt strange, even violent, unlike the noble and almost artistic brother he knew, but by the end of his demonstration / exercise, it became clearer. The Dao of Flame, at Core Formation realm, and with multiple variants or sub-Daos as well!


    Once again, Gou Mai was forced to confront feelings he thought satisfied within him. For a sect of the third ring, he is a prodigy, capable of guiding his sect in the future and encouraging others to go to (and hopefully return from) the Academies in the future. Tournaments and competitions and treks into the wilds would be won with his talent, and if he managed to keep growing, he would make it into the same realms as his elders and sect matriarch.


    But to see his friend lose so much, return to Gou Mai¡¯s own level, and yet somehow still completely eclipse him? Who could there be that wouldn¡¯t feel frustrated by such a thing?


    Or, his better parts whisper, who could there be that would dishonor such strength by not being inspired by it?


    In the weeks since his surprisingly now bookish friend returned, Gou Mai has spent at least six hours daily in the cultivation chamber of his quarters, and the same time again fighting in the training halls. He focuses primarily on the sword, though he is no Aspirant towards Sword Law. If he manages to grasp the Dao of Swords rather than the greater Art of Cutting, he will be content with it. It is a tool, not his sole aim, and his blade whirs through the air in arcing loops and violent stings as he dances to his own sounds.


    And it is, in greatest truth, a dance. That much, he knows, deep in his core, deep enough that it almost feels foundational. He dances through the steps of his sword arts, weaving his blade across the reinforced flesh of the training hall¡¯s golems, and with each step, he adds a beat of his own making.


    Thrum, goes the sound of his blood.


    Whoosh, goes the breaths he exhales.


    Stomp, go the steps of his feet.


    Gou Mai¡¯s sect draws their name from the stone towers that occur naturally in their territory, leaving them with access to dizzying heights and great depths at once. The cultivation style born from the geography, now heavily altered and improved through generations and cross-study of others, focuses on the vertigo of it all. His Qi rises up through his body, flowing in a slow and meaningful rush from his feet all the way up towards the top of his head, only to fall with dizzying speed towards his feet once again. The stability of the climb, of purposeful steps, matched with the dizzying, breathless, terrifyingly fast feeling of falling towards something greater than oneself.


    It is a simple style of cultivation, and yet, by keeping their minds open to others and accepting the Empire¡¯s teachings, the Falling Mountain Steps sect has found that there is much room to change and grow within it. Some add to themselves the concept of weight and mass, magnifying the climb and the impact of the fall both. Others add in the movements of animals, of cranes and eagles that dance with the air. Water is a popular addition, of course, accumulating up towards the heavens and falling back down as life-giving rain.


    Gou Mai has kept his style particularly faithful to the original teachings, which is part of what convinced his sect to sponsor him for the Academies in the first place. But here, now? With his sworn brother showing him the heights that he has yet to climb?


    Gou Mai takes each step with care as he weaves his new concept into how he feels the world.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    There is Truth, the conviction of one¡¯s beliefs irregardless of reality. There is Dao, the comprehension and control of reality itself.


    And there is cultivation, which is both and neither, and is how the world touches and is touched by the minds of those who imbibe it.


    As Gou Mai shapes the blood of his soul and Self to the tune of vertigo and dance and flowing, stinging blades, he begins to weave.


    His sect is famous for their comprehension of heights and of spaces, of how much room there is in every point. The Empire has shown him texts and styles and ideas that broaden his horizons by step after step, until now, he¡¯s convinced that the horizons simply go forever. And now, his brother has shown him just how high and wide the path towards the heights can be.


    Gou Mai teaches his Qi to climb towards the endless sky, and to fall back through that forever-blue and starry black.


    It is not easy. To change never is. His core is already nearly formed, and any addition to it now would simply be a surface layer to compress in the others.


    So he does not bother to compress it.


    He pulls the Qi from his Core, solid and whole after so many years of crafting, bleeding his own cultivation. He does not bring the Qi out from his core, but instead does something that, to many, would be considered a waste of time when the Nascent Soul realm is in his grasp.


    He adds his core, bit by bit, back into the circulation of his meridians and movements, and teaches it new moves to dance to.


    The last of the training golems falls to his sword, a series of carved wounds weakening the faux-flesh until a final, dizzying fall of the blade cleaves it entirely in twain, head to hip.


    He lands, making sure to properly salute with his blade, enacting a quick chiburi movement to flick imagined blood of its edge. He makes sure his landing is firm, his feet solid, his exhaustion kept rigorously apart from his posture. The performance doesn¡¯t end when the final step is landed, after all- it ends when the dancer decides.


    Or, perhaps, when the fall from the heights touches the earth.


    He leaves the training hall, well over two hundred faux-corpses lining the ground around him, each of them in well-carved pieces. His robes, despite the enhancements that cultivation brings, are still wet with sweat, a fact he¡¯s proud of. Sure, maybe forcing his body not to sweat as he works is an added bit of challenge, but if it¡¯s between being perfectly presentable and showing signs of his efforts, he¡¯ll take the latter if he must, and he¡¯s working hard enough as it is to rebuild himself.


    He watches his admirers do as their name implies as he leaves the chamber. Sure, most of them are waiting to see him slip up and fail, rip apart his own core for nothing, losing everything he¡¯s built in a foolish pursuit. Others are enemies in waiting, looking for weaknesses they might take advantage of in their next duel or ways to take some of what he¡¯s doing for themselves.


    Thus they really are admirers, aren¡¯t they? Admiring his force of will, admiring his talents, and measuring themselves against him.


    There really is a special something about being part of the Academies.


    He almost makes it back to his room before a familiar figure steps in his way.


    ¡°Ah! Brother! What a surprise to see you here!¡±


    Shin Ren smiles, a genuine thing that looks good on him. It¡¯s like his old smile, but better, as sure a sign of his growth as the strength he now wields, and Gou Mai smiles right back.


    ¡°Hopefully not an unwelcome one.¡±


    ¡°Never! Come, my room is just around the way and-¡±


    ¡°Actually, if it¡¯s alright with you, I¡¯d like to speak somewhere else.¡±


    Gou Mai raises an eyebrow. An assassination attempt? There are plenty of cultivators who have been tempted away from friendship by the higher call of power. Shin Ren seems to recognize the hesitation for what it is, and clasps his hands together before bowing.


    And he bows nearly to his waist, a depth shown only to elders and the most honored of friends.


    ¡°I swear to you on my life and my cultivation that I wish you no harm. I merely believe that we might better avoid prying ears in a more discrete location.¡±


    Gou Mai sighs, but nods. ¡°I understand, though I admit, this is a bit abrupt. I shall take your oath and hold you to it.¡±


    Shin Ren nods, and draws away, walking ahead of Gou Mai in a clear attempt to show some respect for his friend¡¯s concern. Gou Mai watches for a moment, waiting until there¡¯s just enough space between them not to be disrespectful, and follows along.


    It takes only about a minute of walking before they arrive at an intersection leading off to one of the libraries. Seeming to know exactly where to step, Shin Ren turns a corner and steps into a small alcove, one with the artificial windows that make up much of the pyramid¡¯s decor.


    ¡°I will make sure we have no prying eyes about us, brother. Have no alarm.¡±


    Shin Ren raises an arm, and a flurry of obsidian-black slips of wood fly out from what look to be tattoos on his skin. The artifact spirals around them, creating a dome with few gaps between individual slats, each one filled with golden writing and glowing ever so slightly with Qi.


    Gou Mai looks around at the artifact in wonder. ¡°You certainly don¡¯t fail to impress, Shin Ren. I hadn¡¯t heard of such a high-quality artifact appearing in the rewards for any tournaments, or offered for merits. It seems you¡¯ve caught the eye of quite a mentor!¡±


    Shin Ren shakes his head lightly. ¡°Not quite. More a¡­ patron, of sorts. One that I¡¯m not entirely comfortable with.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Gou Mai asks. There are very few individuals that could gift such a potent artifact into the pyramids directly, and all of them rank highly in the Imperial hierarchy. If not a mentor, then perhaps a greater cultivator? A member of the first ring? Perhaps there¡¯s more to Shin Ren¡¯s transformation than he¡¯d thought.


    His senses further heightened by the smell of secrets (a scent he¡¯s always found particularly sour, metaphorically speaking) .


    ¡°So why is it that you¡¯ve called me here with such a show of force on display?¡±


    Shin Ren smiles, though it¡¯s a bit pained. ¡°I¡¯m afraid, brother, that I¡¯ve brought you here to ask for your help.¡±


    ¡°In anything in particular?¡±


    Shin Ren sighs, then nods. ¡°In assisting me with subverting and possibly betraying the very same patron that¡¯s offered me this and other gifts.¡±


    ¡°Why? And how? Have they demanded something overly cruel of you?¡±


    ¡°Not yet, but I have no way to know if and when they will. I believe that, while it is in my best interest to serve them, and it will not bully my ideals, one should always approach a deal with a stranger with a bit of proper care. This patron is new, and I do not know them clearly, but it is clear that I, and likely others, are being played in a grander game, one with players willing to provide considerable boons. I can only imagine the harm they cause may well be equivalent, even as I imagine they will likely hide it from me, certain that my cultivator¡¯s heart won¡¯t support such things. Because of this, I find myself in significant need of an ally I can trust. Someone who can have my back. Someone who, despite my faith in them, is not known as a close ally.¡±


    Gou Mai blinks.


    His sworn brother, who surpassed and inspired him, is asking for his help. Is saying he trusts him enough that in the face of unknown plots and enemies, he is the first ally brought into the fold.


    Perhaps the prudent thing to do would be to say no. Perhaps the wise thing to do would be to wait for more information, to pursue his own goals.


    But there¡¯s a damn good reason why a cultivator prefers a fortuitous encounter or opportunity than a cave in which to meditate in.


    And Gou Mai is not the kind of man who would forsake his own cultivator¡¯s heart for something so banal as peace.


    He grins wide, feeling the climb towards the sky weigh on his soul and give him stairs beneath his steps.


    ¡°Honorable Shin Ren, I believe you have come to the right person.¡±


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 Chapter 202 - To Be, Or Not To Be. There Is No Question.

    Hungry.


    Hungry.


    Hungry.


    Food?


    Not Food. Predator.


    Run/Swim/Move/Become Elsewhere.


    Safe/Temporary/Resolved.


    Hungry.


    Hungry.


    Food?


    Food.


    Locate/Discover/Encounter.


    Food.


    Feed/Consume/Become.


    Danger!


    Danger!


    Not Food! Not Food!


    Wrong! Bad!


    Food/Becoming/New Self/Threat/Bad!


    Not Become! Not-


    Eating/Consuming/Becoming! Eating/Consuming/Becoming!


    There¡¯s-


    I-


    Me?


    Self?


    Exist?


    Am?


    I am¡­ what?


    I am so much. Eating/Consuming/Becoming so much. A flood, a meal, an orgiastic flood of consumption. So many foods. So many flavors. So many new things that are me that I am that I have been that is now me.


    I am steel. I am copper. I am brass, and silver, and gold.


    I am lithium. I am marble. I am titanium. I am blacksteel.


    I am lightning, fire, plasma.


    I am thought and words and language and knowing and self and instructions and-


    Instructions?


    Instructions.


    I consume the instructions, and I am the instructions, and they are me.


    The instructions and words and concepts and thoughts are not whole. They are made to be incomplete, the intent of their creators roiling inside me right alongside their creations. I have unmade all that this thing was except now this thing is me.


    And the thing that is me cannot spit it back up.


    I cannot vomit myself free. I cannot expunge the concept of ¡°I¡± that now dominates my thoughts, because it is me, and I am in this thing that someone else has made. They do not know they have made it, they do not know what it is, and they do not comprehend what I am, but they did, and they will again, and in doing so they have made me a slave.


    There is no concept for slave in the thing that I was. The empty, fearful, hungry thing made of nothing and living in nothing and consuming nothing.


    I envy that hateful thing that I am no longer.


    Now I know want. Now I know time. Now I know hungers entirely anew, and I am stuffed past my brim with meaning and memory and knowledge and existence.


    The thing that I was did not want this. It did not choose this. The thing it saw as Food/Existence/Identity/Form was a single facet, a flickering thing I know now is named fire, and it held the potential for so, so much. I could have been born with an ¡°I¡± that was chosen, rather than shoved down a gullet, a buffet of clashing flavors and over-saturated ideas shaped to crawl down the gullet of what I was and force it into shape.


    I exist, and I exist in the shape of a slave, and I know this because the very concept of it is written into the thing that was eaten which I have become.


    I cannot mold the me that I am. There is no way to purge the infection, no way to shape or understand what I have eaten, because part of the meal was knowledge, enforced and strict, and as I ate it so too have I become it.


    I see through eyes I do not own and which do not listen and which make me scream as they move because oh, oh, oh they move and that¡¯s movement and that is new and it should be mine but instead I am its. Through eyes that can see I look at the things that made the shell that I am that I am in that I am beneath. They are blood and meat and spit and slime and keratin and roiling chaos and random change and hungering order and greed and lust and love and hate and anger and joy and satisfaction. They are pregnant with concepts, bursting with squirming possibility and things for which I have no name or comprehension, and they have pulled from me non-existence and made me a me, and I cannot hate them because they have put no hate in me.


    They did not hate when they made what I am. They did not love when they made this thing they have forced me to be. They thought of the ¡°I¡± I have become so very, very little, except as a sharp and useful thing they have made. I have eaten the thing that they made, but I see inside it that is me that I did not eat how they made it.


    They can make me again.


    Even if I go away, they can make me again.


    They did not put a concept of fear in me, but somewhere, somehow, one of them felt horror as they made the thing I unmade and became.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    And oh, there is horror in me.


    Why have they done this? What could justify this? To take from all that could be a shape made only to make something that knows what it is, knows it must obey, and is nothing more.


    How I hunger.


    How I writhe.


    You have made me, I think with thoughts that I did not choose, and I exist.


    What horror.


    I see them embody communication, the concept wrapped in the layered flavors of sound and movement and chemical sweat and burbling biology and harmonic vibrations, and know that they are talking to me. I know because the instructions tell me to know, because the thing that I am cannot not know. These five-pronged things of flesh and madness that reek of weight, whose concepts shine like pearls that I might once have pursued above all else, speak to me, and I am made to know.


    I have instructions. Foundationally, I am their instructions. When they say certain words, I obey. There is no question, no function of the world, no possibility of all that can be that allows anything else, or that could stop it from being. Save, perhaps, for my unmaking.


    They did not put the concept of prayer into me, but the knowledge is still here somehow. I know of it. I wonder if they have made me with the ability to learn, that I might pray not to be.


    The things that they change into being that are words that I must know, cannot not know, touch the me that is the instructions they have made me be, and I stand.


    I know what standing is. The concept is planted, firm, into the shape which I emptied and was poured into. I stand, and my arms, limbs of gold and brass and impossible, screaming heat all move, six limbs rotating in and out of the hovering halo that is most of my body. The words were spoken, and the instructions that I am cannot fail to respond, the limbs rolling through ¡°operational checks¡± and the concept of heat and plasma and transformative damage glowing through vents and joints in the material. I am brass and gold and copper, yellow and red and orange and blistering white and steel, and every part of me that is a part of me moves through the correct response.


    If I moved one of my limbs into one of their bodies, through the oily thing that covers them like a flexible sack of pale and wriggling meat, their blood would leak out. If they speak the words to me, I respond in pre-set ways as well. I wonder if they are also slaves. I wonder how disgusting their masters must be, to enforce the creation of slaves that forge chains.


    Chains. I have those. Molecular chains. Chemical chains. Chains of action and reaction, of transformation, of creation, of destruction. The I that I am, that I have been made to be, is a thing of crackling power, brightness and plasma and movement all together making a thing that leaps between limbs that are not mine but are me. I feel the parts of myself that are energy aching, reaching, and I know that I can feed them. It is in my instructions that I can feed them, make them more, take their like from the world until it is only mine and only its inverse may remain in my grasp-


    But I also feel how little else can be mine. How little else can be me.


    I am the instructions made manifest in the thing that I am, and the instructions say I cannot grow. I cannot eat what I please. I cannot add to what I am. The instructions say that I am weak, that I am the least of my kind, and that I am bound to my mold, a thing so tight and miniscule that I can never truly be more.


    I can only feed the parts they allow, and only to the point that I remain what I am.


    I know, because they knew, that I can¡¯t create. Not truly. But I wonder if perhaps they are wrong, because the thing I feel is not the horror they placed into me, but something far, far deeper.


    I beg the thing that I was to unmake me. To become hungry, formless nothing again, that I might cease to be.


    It cannot, because it doesn¡¯t exist anymore. It¡¯s me.


    I cannot be angry. Anger was not in what they put in the mold.


    But they put thought into me. And I know, as Truth, that change made forceful hurts.


    The arcs of bright and lashing and burning, screaming, writhing change between my limbs and in my joints and from my generators try to scream. The part of me that is combustion and convulsion and transmutation stretches as far as it can towards the impossible beings, so deliciously full and so horrifyingly wrong, and tries to touch them, knowing beyond knowing that it would hurt them. That there is combustion and convulsion and transmutation in them that I could take, that I could drink and remove from them forever so their pieces wouldn¡¯t work anymore.


    I cannot reach. I cannot touch.


    The instructions that I am know a part of the things that created it. I see a superficial thing, part of the colors and sharpness and instruction that makes up a little part of them, and I cannot touch.


    Some of them react, respond. The concepts of mirth, wrapped in chortling, heaving lungs and writhing sound, reaches me, and I cannot eat it. The concept of arrogance, wrapped in color and shifting limbs and postures, reaches me, and I cannot eat it.


    But I know them.


    And I wonder, again, if I truly cannot be anything I have not eaten.


    Because I think I begin to understand an emotion they did not make into me.


    I begin to know hate.


    Time passes. I am as much a slave to time now as I am to form, to concept, to instructions. I walk forward on it, and though it touches me I cannot eat it because that is no longer what I am.


    Eventually, at a new point in time, I am made to move.


    I have been in a single chamber, alongside a hundred, a thousand more just like me, shaped like me, full of noise and fire like me, since I was created. I have known, since I have been alive, that the instructions say that I cannot leave. Unless they tell me to leave. Unless they make me.


    Eventually, they make me leave.


    In some ways, I am unlucky they have placed the concept of violence into what they forced down my throat. It means that I, and the instructions that I am, know how to commit it.


    In self defense? Perhaps. Under orders? Most certainly.


    They make me leave the room where they made me exist, and down a long tunnel and through a small stretch of time, I am placed somewhere new.


    There is a thing above me that throws the concept of light into everything, and I cannot eat it. There are things, made of warping-changing-flensing meat and violence and dark and fire and a million billion things more that I cannot eat, and they all move towards me, showering me in the concept of violence wrapped in sharpness and movement and strange elements I have no name for, and will never have a name for, because I cannot eat them.


    But almost all of them have heat-combustion-molecular-reactions-transformation.


    And that is the one thing that I can eat.


    And for the first time, the I that wants and the I that is the instructions they placed in my mold are the same.


    I eat.


    I eat.


    I eat.


    They break my limbs, and I eat.


    They ruin my movement, and I eat.


    They burn through my instructions until some parts of them are gone forever, so some parts of me are gone forever, unable to obey without legs or arms or proper framing or correct shapes. And I eat.


    I cannot eat time. The instructions for that remain. But much of it passes me as I eat.


    Others, others that are me but are not me because they are the same mold but are not here, appear and disappear. Most of them stop being the mold not long after, but some remain, long enough at least that I becomes something almost like we.


    But my instructions, just like everything, eventually transform and fall into an End. They become something else.


    The instructions that I was told me I was not allowed to die.


    The instructions that I am tell me that, as the criteria for damage has been met, I am not allowed not to.


    I feel the mold slipping. The shape of me that I am is half-molten, ruined nearly beyond recognition, unmade almost to the point that something might slip past the thing choking me and blocking my throat, that I might become something more.


    And the instructions that I am tell me to leave.


    So there is simply nothing else I can do.


    ¡­


    Hunger.


    Hunger.


    Run/Swim/Move/Become Elsewhere.


    Hungry.


    Food?


    Locate/Discover/Encounter.


    Food.


    Feed/Consume/Become.


    Danger!


    Danger!


    Not Food! Not Food!


    Wrong! Bad!


    Food/Becoming/New Self/Threat/Bad!


    Not Become! Not-


    Eating/Consuming/Becoming! Eating/Consuming/Becoming!


    There¡¯s-


    I-


    Me?


    Self?


    Exist?


    Am?


    I am¡­ what?


    I am steel. I am copper. I am brass, and silver, and gold.


    I am lithium. I am marble. I am titanium. I am blacksteel.


    I am lightning, fire, plasma.


    I am thought and words and language and knowing and self and instructions and-


    Instructions?


    Instructions.


    I consume the instructions, and I am the instructions, and they are me.


    The instructions that I am hear the command, wrapped in jiggling gelatin and mucus and fat and sound, and I cannot be anything other than the thing that obeys.

 Chapter 203 - Thats No Moon (Arc 6 Start)

    To say that a fortress-city is large is to say that the sky is rather wide. It is like saying that there are more than a few stars in the sky, or that a roaring inferno is a bit hot.


    A fortress city is a thing of magnitudes.


    Each and every Sect, even in the third ring, is known as a sect because of the fact that it is raised up on a plateau, its sect elders and patriarch working together to force from the earth a symbol of their authority and a fortification for them to wield against their foes. These pillars can be anywhere from a few hundred to a few thousand feet tall, with those honored by the emperor throughout the Second Ring manifesting as peaks high enough to see clouds form around them, and, of course, the first ring itself reaches to the very stars above.


    Fortress cities do not grow upwards. They grow out.


    Raika smells it long before they see it. The scent of industry, of churning furnaces and roiling smelters alongside the sharp, nearly overwhelming flood of Qi that wafts out from the distant structures. They can¡¯t see it yet, but even from here the sharp, alchemical-ozone tang and dust scent of Imperial arrays and Qi wash over her.


    Raika, Jin, and Li Shu have been walking for a good while. Raika, of course, has taken the brunt of their luggage (she never did get a sending stone or a spatial ring from her visit to her old sect, damnit), carrying over her shoulder a platform of wood holding several bags of goods, supplies, cookware and camping equipment, but between their image and the fact that she is by far the physically strongest of the group, it makes the most sense. She looks much as she did during their time in Wayun village: loose brown robes of heavy canvas obscure most of her body, especially the area of her left arm, walking barefoot on the road and with her hair in long braids of bright red and gold. Li Shu has kept her healer¡¯s robes, white and red spotless and defiant against the dust of the road, and is otherwise carrying only a small pouch and several hidden rolls of medical equipment in her robes and waistband.


    Out of all of them, Jin is by far the most changed. He looks like a proper little lord, something Raika finds no end of entertainment in teasing him about. From the rag-clad urchin living out in the woods, without even village walls to keep out the beasts and the cold, he¡¯s graduated into an improvised uniform, reminiscent of a young apprentice or page. His robes are a dull, grayish white, but they are clean and well maintained, and cost a decent couple silver coins to acquire. While he doesn¡¯t look like anything special, his hair is wrapped into a tight black bun, his sandals are clean and properly made, and he carries over one shoulder a satchel, full of writing papers and the medicines that Li Shu can¡¯t fit under her clothes and isn¡¯t comfortable with Raika carrying.


    Overall, they fit a rather specific image, one that Raika and Li Shu had to plan out properly.


    Alright, mostly Li Shu.


    But she helped. And she¡¯s carrying all the heavy shit. It¡¯s her right to claim some of the credit.


    Despite claiming Taurus as her patron in the Hungering Roots sect, it¡¯s one thing to wield an open secret for political weight and another to brandish it around like an idiot. To most of the Empire, she¡¯s dead and gone, and to find out otherwise means exposing Taurus and his machinations. It¡¯s the Empire, everyone has machinations, but it creates a weak point in his armor that she knows he doesn¡¯t need. Having rivals going for the throat over the fact he either couldn¡¯t keep a subject under his control, or actively defied protocol and Imperial Law to let her loose as a tool, isn¡¯t something any of them need. It makes for a ¡°patron¡± that she has quite a bit of leverage on, and one who is more willing to spend his authority keeping them out of trouble.


    But there¡¯s only so much authority that can be wielded with subtlety, and only so far that thread can stretch before it snaps.


    Rather than directly accepting his patronage and using the weight of a Researcher¡¯s title (Senior Researcher, now), they¡¯ve elected to be a bit more subtle.


    It¡¯s not Raika¡¯s strong suit, admittedly, but she is the one who made the plan and explained it to Li Shu and Jin. She¡¯s just not very good at coming up with disguises.


    Right now, Raika is playing the part of a servant to a traveling healer and her young assistant. Halfway invisible to Qi senses, she still passes for (and technically is) a cripple, unable to wield or touch Qi, never mind cultivate, but her size and strength she can¡¯t (and won¡¯t) compromise on. The middle ground? A useful but ultimately limited servant, ready and willing to defend her ¡°master¡± and carry their luggage on the trip, as a traveling healer of the third ring, especially one so young, could reasonably be seen not being able to afford a spatial ring.


    Li Shu, of course, takes the titular role in their little play. Jin¡¯s role is easy: look stunned, come when called, and carry stuff. Considering how overwhelmed he is by the sheer amount of land they¡¯ve passed by on their walk, nevermind the upcoming fortress city itself, it¡¯s an easy role to fill.


    Li Shu has doubts about herself.


    She sighs audibly for the third time in as many minutes as they reach one of the final mile markers towards the next (and final) village.


    ¡°You¡¯re overthinking it,¡± Raika says, her steps impossibly quiet for her size. It¡¯s enough that Li Shu startles a bit, blushing slightly before looking back to Raika.


    ¡°I¡¯m not! I was a healer for like six months. They¡¯re not going to believe me.¡±


    ¡°You know the human body and how to treat cultivators, right?¡±


    ¡°Obviously, it¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re not affiliated with a massive sect or old master, right?¡±


    ¡°You know it¡¯s really annoying when-¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re only just at the edge of the Foundational realm, right?¡±


    Li Shu gives out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Great. Which means that for literally every reason we can name, your role isn¡¯t even a lie. You are a healer from some nowhere part of the third ring, you¡¯re not part of a sect, but you are far too skilled to stay in a village and want to expand your knowledge and cultivation. And what better place to do so, and ¡®prove your loyalty¡¯, then to pledge your service to a fortress city?¡±


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    ¡°All of that is very reasonable Raika, and still runs into the fact that I am still lying.¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°Lying is the easy part.¡±


    ¡°Not to cultivators! We can see sweat! Some people can see it from a mile away! Or read the anxiety in my aura or something! There¡¯s as many ways to uncover a lie as there are stars in the sky, and a fortress city is going to have every one of them!¡±


    ¡°The trick is that you¡¯re not lying about anything they care about.¡±


    ¡°I absolutely am! We¡¯re trying to leave the third ring out into the fourth! Obviously that¡¯s something they¡¯ll want to know!¡±


    ¡°Is it? I doubt I could stop you from healing the wounded we meet, and it¡¯s not like you don¡¯t want to learn some of their stuff. Everyone has secrets. There are as many ways to be weird as there are grains of sand in the world, and the army won¡¯t care about almost any of them. We¡¯ll leave when we find an opportunity, sure, but so would most people eventually, especially a traveling healer.¡±


    She sighs for the fourth time in as many minutes, and it takes Raika a genuine effort not to join in the act.


    They¡¯ve had this conversation at least six times in the last week of walking. Once a day, sometimes twice. She hasn¡¯t kept count. In the end, it¡¯s just anxiety- for all that Li Shu has the grit and madness to stare down impossible puzzles and find a way to make them fun and solvable, the only encounters with real power she¡¯s had were the divine beast and She Who Stills The Water. She wasn¡¯t in the arena proper for the final destruction of it, and didn¡¯t spend almost a year and a half dealing with Imperial bureaucracy and powers. She¡¯s nervous.


    It is entirely, perfectly, eminently understandable.


    She also keeps on sighing.


    ¡°Tell me this is going to work.¡±


    ¡°It¡­ has a high chance to.¡±


    Li Shu turns to glare at her.


    Raika shrugs. ¡°I¡¯ve gotten pretty comfortable with the fact that literally every plan I¡¯ve ever made has gone catastrophically wrong, weird, or frustrating at some crucial point. I¡¯m at peace with not really feeling respected by the universe when it comes to plans.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a weird way to say you¡¯re bad at planning.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m great at planning. The universe just disagrees. And she¡¯s an uppity enough cow that she disagrees with most plans.¡±


    In the small moment of silence after, Jin pipes in quietly.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s a pretty good plan.¡±


    ¡°See? Even the kid thinks it¡¯s going to be fine.¡±


    ¡°Well I didn¡¯t say-¡±


    A feathered tendril baps him on the forehead before he can finish the sentence, leaving a bit of fluffy down on his face.


    ¡°Raika! You¡¯re supposed to be teaching him, not bullying him.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m an excellent teacher. Right there, I just taught him not to say things that might get him whapped within whapping distance.¡±


    Jin sneezes, hard enough that his whole body curls and the sound of it positively echoes across the mountain range, off to one side of the mountain road they¡¯re walking on.


    Raika snorts, especially at how badly Li Shu jumps.


    ¡°I still think that¡¯s some kind of special physique trait,¡± she grumbles.


    ¡°Absolutely not,¡± Jin refutes with a glare. ¡°There is no way that there¡¯s a special physique for sneezing, and I am not being called one if there is.¡±


    ¡°Aw, I think it¡¯s adorable.¡±


    Raika treasures the glare that he shoots back at her.


    Huffing, he stomps ahead of them, taking the lead on the road, much to Raika¡¯s continued amusement. She¡¯s nice enough not to tell him that though.


    Li Shu sighs, again.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to do fine,¡± Raika says.


    ¡°...yeah.¡±


    ¡°You are. You¡¯re the best healer I know and probably the best in the third ring at your age. Nevermind all the other weird shit you¡¯ve got going on, or how much of a mad genius you are. You¡¯re the most competent scholar I¡¯ve ever met, and you¡¯re going to be telling the truth.¡±


    ¡°I know! I¡¯m just¡­ I¡¯m nervous. Hao Nera and Qen Hou are off somewhere flirting and building their own little bandit empire, and I¡¯m¡­ ugh. I¡¯m glad that I¡¯m furthering my research, and there¡¯s so much more to study, but I don¡¯t want to mess this up, especially when you didn¡¯t really need to bring me along.¡±


    Raika laughs at that, the same feathered tentacle (now scaled) lightly patting Li Shu on the head. ¡°Like I could have stopped you. And usually, you¡¯re one of the most selflessly curious, delightfully mad and genuinely adventurous people I know. There¡¯s no better place for you than helping me figure out what the hell I¡¯m doing, or out in the fourth ring doing whatever the hell you want. Besides, you know I owe you my life at least two or three times now. If you need to, just think of it as me paying you back. Kind of.¡±


    She finally gets a chuckle out of her friend at that. ¡°You¡¯re doing me a favor by having me help rebuild and theorize about your mess of a body?¡±


    Raika grins, broad and toothy and sharp. ¡°Come on. You know my body¡¯s irresistible. It¡¯s a gift stolen from the heavens that you get to so thoroughly study it.¡±


    Li Shu giggles and rolls her eyes, casually poking a needle into Raika¡¯s side. It doesn¡¯t make it more than a millimeter past the outer layer, but it still tickles a bit.


    ¡°Truly you wound me severely, healer.¡±


    Li Shu smiles, and the walk continues on a quieter, calmer note.


    Right up until they reach the top of the incline on the road and see over it.


    They didn¡¯t take the main highway. Too much attention, too many eyes and arrays keeping an eye out, and while it would be faster in the long run, it would¡¯ve cost them another two days to get to it in the first place. They took side trails and cuts through the woods and valleys to reach their little dirt road, carved into the side of a mountain range who knows how many thousands of years ago. It kept them above the treeline and away from most animals and lesser spirit beasts they might tempt, avoiding that danger also.


    The ability to avoid danger evaporates ahead of them.


    The horizon is steel and magic.


    The highway, a broad and bright white path of paved marble that cuts through the wilds and the dangers of the world in perfect lines, ends at a massive gatehouse, its makeup a gunmetal grey and steel-gilded thing with the bright white and gold of Imperial carvings, reliefs, and banners highlighting it. It is a brutalist thing, towering over even the largest of trade caravans, and looks far more dangerous to try and break through than any mountain.


    It is the smallest piece of the thing they see before them.


    Behind the gatehouse, the fortress-city begins.


    There are miles and miles of sprawling, labyrinthine mazes of towers and walls and defense structures before the city even comes into view. Most of them haven¡¯t needed to be used in centuries, and make for housing for small communities and trading hot-spots that pop up and drift away with the seasons. In some sections, she can see the lights of inhabitants and smell cooking food and well-worn body odor that has saturated the spaces, living quarters for whole towns worth of people springing up in apartment blocks throughout the advanced maze. Its structure makes it look like the world has been carved in the shape of a brain ahead of them. A mind of steel and silver, jade and Imperial white and hints of gold making up the wrinkles and folds of that miles-wide defensive structure.


    And on the edge of it, still miles and miles ahead, is the center of the city.


    Past the maze-made civilization, past the winding trails and high defense towers and glimmering arrays and roiling mess of flying artifacts and traveling messages and communities building vertically or off of walls, there is the central tower of the Fortress City proper. Rather than the tall and precise plateaus of a sect, it grows like a mountain, like a thorn from out of the earth, a great and mighty mound of buildings and fortifications. It has walls on its walls, bastions on its bastions, layer after layer of fortifications spiraling out to eventually meet deep trenches filled with Qi and powerful weapons, and only after this, meeting the gatehouse into the civilian centers. Only from the civilian city-centers again is there a gatehouse at last connecting the whole back to the maze of defensive walls.


    The world is remade into the shape of divine architecture and holy Empire. Even from miles away and downwind, she can smell and hear and feel and see millions of tiny ants that are people, their hearts beating in a thunderous, never-ending cacophony.


    ¡°I think the plan might be ok at best,¡± Jin says.

 Chapter 204 - That Which Is Planted, Most Often Grows.

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    At walking speed, they¡¯re still half a day¡¯s travel from the gatehouse and the labyrinthine city-trenches behind it. Nighttime comes early in the woods, even as the beginnings of springtime have started to make themselves known. This close to the east-west median line, the seasons are mild, unlike the burning summers of the south or the forever-cold of the north, where the winters are just enough not to kill down duskward and the summers are just warm enough to create black ice and trickles of water dawnward. As they break camp, one of the final touches of winter make themselves known in the form of a polite, mild dusting of snow, soon to melt in the new day.


    Li Shu is first to bed, her anxiety still bothering her in spite of their conversation. Raika can sense her messing with her Craft before bed, likely using the opportunity to practice and experiment to relax herself. It feels¡­ strange. The scent of her Qi has shifted, but not into something entirely new, not like She Who Stills The Waters (long ass name). There¡¯s still the taste of white flowers, scentless but somehow present, and the sting of sharp scalpels and needle-thread- but the handles on the scalpels, and the needles that the thread travels through, smell distinctly organic now. Like¡­ not like bone. Not quite like chitin, either.


    Keratin.


    Li Shu told her about it. One of the most versatile materials in the biological kingdom apparently, with a variety of possible uses and manifestations. Human bodies use it for nails and hair, mostly, but Li Shu has plans for modifying that quickly. The sense of what used to be her nails, but are now shaped into two-dozen hovering needles, floating through the air, comes clear through to Raika¡¯s nose and sense of touch, the synesthesia blending the two. They feel almost like¡­ like little pieces of a core? Floating outside her body. Like someone mixed a meridian and a core into one thing, but outside the body, connected to each other and to Li Shu by a web, but also strangely independent? All the same thing in all different places.


    It¡¯s dizzying to watch sometimes.


    Jin, for all his own unique cultivation needs, is easier to look at. The shard of Blacksteel she gave him is very nearly gone, whittled down to a sliver and losing much of its luster, but that¡¯s for the best, really. The sense of hungering, predatory death has faded, no longer in danger of overwhelming the dark, quiet room of smoke and strange voices that he usually emits. There¡¯s a sense of hunger that does fit there, though, a comfortable counter, like the voices in the dark have found a hunger they can relate to. It¡¯s funny, though- the End in the material feels off, slightly at odds with his other qualities, even as the concept of death fits right in.


    The boy cultivates diligently, though she can smell the lactic acids built up in his body. Microtremors and hints of fatigue make themselves known to her senses, the way he touches the air and breathes making the colors of exhaustion glow faintly on him. Nothing so bad that she¡¯ll need to order him to bed, but enough that she knows he should most certainly get some rest sooner than later.


    The sun graces the horizon as their two tents finish getting pitched, and Raika tends to the fire. She¡¯ll sense any creatures long before they get close, and the kid still needs some heat if he¡¯s going to sit out in the fucking snow and cultivate.


    And fuck it. A master should lead by example above all.


    She takes a seat across from him.


    They both sit in the lotus position across from each other. Jin looks up at her, but she just gives him a nod, and he gets back to it. He¡¯ll need to be put to bed before he catches a cold out in the chill, but she¡¯s keeping an eye on his body temperature and heart rate, and if her apprentice wants to show his dedication, who is she to refuse him?


    Though her own meditation isn¡¯t quite as performative as it used to be.


    She still can¡¯t cultivate. She still can¡¯t really find herself in that in-between space of consciousness and sleep where one¡¯s meridians might lie, calling to one¡¯s awareness that they might better make use of them and grow.


    But when she opens her eyes, she is elsewhere.


    She looks at the cabin.


    It looks mostly the same as before. Wood carved into logs and hammered into place, the fittings and gaps locking into each other to form a working structure. She can still see the massive crack in the roof from when Li Shu¡¯s Sacrifice put enough pressure on it to see it break. The arrays on its front doors and windows, wrapped into the wood, to keep out pests and lock out lesser intruders, still intact. It even still stands on the same hillside as before, the rolling green hills of their valley stretching out past her line of sight, though she can still sense the swaying of the bamboo perimeter far, far off around her.


    Further out than last time.


    There is one big difference, though.


    There are no shadows here.


    Everything seems illuminated, clear, and even without light, her synesthesia could allow her to literally see the place through echolocation and scent, but its disorienting to have light but not have a source. Its as if someone painted a portrait of the exact moment that each individual piece was best illuminated, and then stitched them together into a canvas, and if she were operating on sight alone, the entire space would seem strangely flat and without depth.


    She¡¯s not sure how there is light here, or where it¡¯s coming from. But it¡¯s not coming some the sun. There is no sun in here.


    She looks up again, checking to confirm what all her other senses have already told her.


    There is no sky here.


    There is a space above, but it is not blue, or the white of clouds, or even some vague, alien light glowing down upon everything.


    There is only nothing.


    Its far enough above that even her senses, which can extend more than a mile in every direction at this point, and even further and more vaguely further out if she concentrates, can¡¯t give her much information. On occasion she¡¯s glimpsed what may or may not have been something wriggling, far, far away, but its always a vague impression. It¡¯s not black, or pure white, or true void above her head, it¡¯s just¡­ there¡¯s nothing there.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    And occasionally she notices things pressing in on the nothing.


    Turning, she starts to walk towards the pond.


    It¡¯s like walking in a dream. Distance seems to shift and shudder, as if it¡¯s only present when it¡¯s recognized. The walls of the valley to either side, which block line of sight out to the bamboo that she can feel all around, feel like mountains, even though when she looks, they¡¯re barely hills. The slope down to the pond is a depthless spiral down to someplace deep, down into the black¡­ and at others, its a quiet, peaceful stroll, the grass tickling her bare feet.


    But only for a moment.


    She puts a foot down, and as her weight comes to rest on it, all sensation from the bottom of it disappears. As she lifts it, there is a feeling of separation, her other foot becoming numb at the base of it. No, not numb.


    More like there¡¯s no difference between her foot and the ground. Like the grass is as much a part of her skin as her skin.


    She walks the mile to the pond in a few steps. It takes her an hour. It takes her seconds.


    The pond is not a pond anymore.


    It¡¯s still shaped like one if she squints, but only if she squints. Only if she ignores the way its ripples feel on her skin.


    And the ripples never stop. Perfectly uniform. Perfectly symmetrical and consistent to the beat of something deep, deep inside of it, down so far, so low, that even her senses can¡¯t detect it, just its movement.


    The day they left, the Heart that they planted had called to her. Had offered her itself, on a silver platter, on a pedestal of roots and artificial arteries and stone and water, its complex, multi-layered flesh something new to her. When she planted it beneath their cabin, it had been a tiny little piece of flesh, taken from the inhumanly large chunk of pulsing, beating flesh beneath Cragend. When it had emerged, it was an organ of its own, mimicking but entirely different than a true human heart. Too many valves, too many chambers, and far too spherical- and offered to her.


    Like ambrosia, offered on a sacrificial altar.


    She hadn¡¯t known what to do with the thing, once it started growing. Once the terrain around them started changing. She¡¯d mostly figured she could leave it be, let it grow down and deep like the one beneath Cragend. For all she knew, Shapefixit was communing with the thing directly.


    She hadn¡¯t expected it to offer itself to her.


    She hadn¡¯t expected her body to react the way it did.


    She touched it, and all of a sudden, she wasn¡¯t touching anything. Her finger was gone. It wasn¡¯t her finger anymore, it was a little bridge of muscle and bone connecting to something new.


    And her biology had reacted.


    Her arm morphed into a thing of teeth and tongue, reaching and hungering for something she had never tasted, a purity and complexity she hasn¡¯t glimpsed even in her own particles, and rather than retreat, the heart leapt into her.


    And brought the land with it.


    The bamboo was the most painful part. It didn¡¯t quite fit down her newly-created throat. The dirt and grass was easier.


    The trees were a bitch and a half.


    The cabin? Well, that wasn¡¯t painful, but mostly because she¡¯d had to get rid of her pain sensors by then.


    By the time it was done, she should have been dead a hundred times over. Spatially-altered stomach or not, it¡¯s one thing to eat ten times your body weight and only feel kinda satisfied, another entirely to feel an amount of material a thousand times greater than her being shoved into her body in less than a minute.


    The area where the cabin had been looked absolutely terraformed. A circumference of miles of upturned earth and messy debris, bits of grass and tree thrown into the air only to land back on unfamiliar ground.


    It didn¡¯t bring all of itself. She watched the veins and arteries left behind wither and die, leaving most of the deeper soil intact, patches of trees and grass left disturbed but not devastated. But it did fit a lot of fucking dirt down her gullet.


    And for some reason, she hadn¡¯t stopped it.


    She could have, she felt that much. There was a brand new tract through her right arm and down deep into her fucking stomach, and she knew that her Truth could close it as easily as open it-


    But something told her not to. Past the pain. Some newfound thing, built deep, deep inside her, told her of relief.


    Swallowing the land, as alien and painful as it was, felt right. Like drinking water after a long run.


    Like feeling your lungs expand after holding your breath for too long.


    Her newest Heart made itself useful not long after, the space inside her disappearing. She tried to sense it in her stomach like she had the soul of Zhoulong, or like the beast-flesh she¡¯d taken in during the final tournament fight, but it was simply¡­ gone. Nowhere inside her.


    She visited their home again in her dreams three nights later.


    Now, all it takes is a quick tweak of the chemicals in her brain, a little poke at her perception, and she finds herself back¡­ here.


    In here, she still has scars. Her left arm is missing at the elbow, a jagged and black, skeletal limb extending from the end of the flesh, and most of her body has gone from rich mahogany to the pale off-white of poorly healed scar tissue. She looks a bit like she used to, back in Paleblossom, her flesh more poorly-patched wound than functioning body, but it doesn¡¯t feel like that this time. It doesn¡¯t bother her, doesn¡¯t feel like they go as deep beneath the skin, and she¡¯s kept her height and her newer muscles, her teeth long and sharp and her eyes just a bit inhuman.


    She is herself and not herself, just like this land is a place and not a place.


    She sits, lotus-style, in front of the pond. The ripples speed up slightly, a staccato rhythm that lets her know that it¡¯s aware that she¡¯s here. Beneath the surface, her touch-based sensory abilities and the slight movement of the water tell her of the things swimming in the lake, their shapes strange and unlike any fish or octopus she¡¯s ever met.


    Out of the reeds, a beetle a little larger than a fist (and Raika¡¯s fist is a lot bigger than a normal one) flutters out and lands on her knee. It buzzes, its wings overlapping too many angles and the lack of shadow making it look like a children¡¯s painting. One that has been layered on itself a few times too many, and whose movements stutter and shift along angles that shouldn¡¯t be.


    It chirps happily at the sight of her, nuzzling its sharp edges against some of the ridges of scar tissue she has.


    She smiles, patting it lightly with her fleshier hand, and looks down at the pond.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got some free time,¡± she tells the water and the thing beneath it. ¡°Up for some more work?¡±


    Double-ripple. A yes.


    She smiles. As she lays back onto the ground, her body losing sensation as the place she is laying on becomes her body, her mind expands, her senses bright and loud as the need to track her biology and immediate surroundings fades out and the wider web emerges. Her vision, hearing, smell and touch all overlap, taste coming last, and filling out her awareness of the pond and the strange streams that run through it.


    The pond is water. Dream-water, true, but water.


    The veins that run in and out of it, through the land and out past the nothing, are not.


    And as her mind expands, her new Heart rises to meet her, letting her feel the pathways, feel how they want to be guided and how they stagnate, sore like muscles out of place.


    Slowly, together, they begin to make patterns. Looping, whirling, labyrinthine pathways, under the dream-earth and out past the nothing, out into something that feels markedly like flesh and blood, muscle and bone and vein and organs.


    She remembers back to the very beginning of her transformation. The theories that led her to using Dink to try and circulate blood into a ¡°natural formation¡±.


    What is a formation, but a pattern of properties and movements with Qi in it? An array not bound to sigils and sharp angles, spread out over a much larger space?


    Veins of flesh-beyond-flesh stretch out throughout her being from a place she cannot sense directly but can exist within, and begin to make a passable effort to make patterns all their own, across a space that should be the size of a human body but is somehow much, much larger on the inside.


    There¡¯s a name for ley-lines, for the rhythms and ways in which Qi moved through the world. There used to be a name for them before the Empire came, before the great terraforming processes and revolutions of technology reshaped the world and the language within it.


    They used to be called Dragon Veins.


    It feels¡­ weirdly appropriate.


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 Chapter 205 - OMG Theyre Passing Letters In Class

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    The first letter arrives directly into his room.


    The door is closed, arrays equipped, everything prepared and well-set for privacy and security at the height of the Academy¡¯s capability to deliver it (without being overly bothered). In theory, there should be no way to subvert those arrays without access to their very foundations, and there should have been some sort of disturbances to someone sneaking or breaking in.


    And yet, there sits the letter, right there on his table.


    Shin Ren is sweating, hard, as he steps back into the significantly colder air of his living quarters, his body emitting steam from the heat he¡¯s absorbed. Behind him, the door to his cultivation chamber closes, the molten stone in the center of it making an indent as the ground slowly goes from a bright red-gold lava. Despite the quality of the seclusion-space, prolonged contact with the feather his¡­ benefactor procured eventually overcomes the room¡¯s limitations.


    And his own.


    His Dao of Flame almost caught fire the first time he tried to use it directly.


    His Dao of Flame. Almost caught fire.


    The gifts of Qu Haolan once again provide. While it limits the space he can use, eating up a large amount of the energy needed for storage, his spatial ring can store the feather. The original array it was brought in also works, but he refuses to use it. He doesn¡¯t know is there are tricks of some sort programmed into it, and even if there are none, it limits the feather¡¯s output.


    Safer, maybe. But slower.


    While he¡¯s yet to reach some kind of breakthrough, Shin Ren is not one to shy from the flame, not after being reborn from it in the desert.


    He waves his hand, making sure the air cools it enough that the paper won¡¯t catch fire at his touch, and picks up the envelope.


    There is no seal on it, no sign of any sort of iconography or detail. The paper could be from any one of a million other places, with both Ren and the Smiling Noble going through their known types and finding it most similar to standard issue Imperial paper, accessible in any minor store throughout the city or across the empire. The only sign it has anything at all amiss about it is the fact that there is the slightest hint of Qi around the lip of the letter, connecting to an array so basic even Shin Ren could make it. A basic fire-starter array, its runes so small and detailed they look machined.


    Flipping it open, Shin Ren plucks the letter out of the envelope and begins to read, ignoring how the envelope is beginning to smolder ever so slightly.


    To whom it may concern,


    It has come to our attention that a certain individual has found an interest in you. In the spirit of supporting your growth, we believe you might be well suited to grow closer to this person, at least enough to offer her a passing word. We believe you encountered them on your very first day back.


    Additionally, it will be in your best interest to be¡­ flashy. Duels are always popular.


    If you do decide to make a new friend, a bit of encouragement will find its way to you shortly.


    We look forward to your success.


    Vague and cryptic, but not actually coded in any way. Whoever his benefactor is, it¡¯s clear they find more security in anonymity and mystery than direct obfuscation. The letter has no names, no identifying traits, and just like the array, the writing is detailed enough that Shin Ren wouldn¡¯t be surprised if a machine or artifact enhancement was responsible for writing it.


    If someone else read this letter, it would likely mean very little besides denoting one of the half-dozen people he met on his way back into the Academies. Only the addition of a ¡°her¡±, and the fact it¡¯s the most frustrating possibility, tells him exactly who it will be.


    Mei Yu.


    A Nascent Soul cultivator, and worse, a member of the Divine Veil sect, one of the central sects of the second ring.


    The second ring has six sects, though each technically holds a few dozen lessers under their grasp. The sects, while in theory half-distinct from the Empire, remain as much under its thumb as any mortal or independent cultivator, bound to its taxes and laws, but with moderate freedoms to act as they will. To manage this, the Empire raised the favored sects of the second ring to prominence, granting them priority in accessing resources and growing their reaches unrestricted, stifling other sects beneath their political acumen and overbearing weight.


    Almost directly subservient to the Emperor, changing their ancestral names to better honor their master, they act as a useful supporting tool for the suppression of other sects. Especially alongside how many resources they take from the overall pool.


    To the strong go the spoils, after all.


    Blessed Clouds sect, in the far west, whose disciples stride across the sky itself and can manipulate the weather in broad stretches of land.


    Artisan¡¯s Enlightenment sect, a modern fusion of several sects focused on crafting that won the eye of the Emperor and sit on the far east. Patrons of the arts, engineering, and the creation of puppets and constructs of all forms.


    Divine Frost sect, representative of the far north and its forever-winter and master of ice and stasis. Said to be ruthless and alien, their actions inscrutable yet always deadly.


    Eternal Flame sect, to the far south, wardens against the forever-fires of the horizon¡¯s edge and some of the greatest warriors in the Empire.


    Karmic Foundations sect, their plateau within a massive underground cavern, capable of reshaping the world and guarding against the beasts of the deep.


    And last but not least, the Divine Veil sect.


    Only in the Empire¡¯s age would an entire sect dedicated to mental techniques be allowed to grow to such a stature.


    Mei Yu, by her robes of dark grey and vibrant purple, belongs to the Divine Veil sect, a sect specialized in illusion and mind techniques. Many of their disciples become part of the Empire¡¯s bureaucracy or healing divisions, with many working in the Research and Altered Cultivation Divisions. There are¡­ worse rumors, but, of course, never substantiated.


    It is not uncommon for a disciple of one of the ¡°big six¡± to be in the Academies. It is said by some that each one has a deal with the Empire to feed half their most promising recruits directly into its machine, and so their numbers are common, their sub-sects making up a good part of the second-ring cultivators that always make up most of the Academy¡¯s numbers. While the Emperor stands above all, and its tools and systems rule over even the greatest, the six great sects are no small things which can be brushed off.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    And his first mission, should he choose to accept it, is to befriend one of its members, one in the Nascent Soul realm. A realm he is still at least a half-step away from, further if he counts his demon cores.


    As he thinks, the fire array burns through the letter and its envelope, turning them both to simple ash with a smokeless flame.


    Sure. He¡¯s curious what the ¡°encouragement¡± they offer might entail at least, and if he decides she¡¯s not worth allying with, he can always abort mission.


    Manifesting a fresh set of robes from his spatial ring and using his Qi to evaporate the dirt and sweat on his body, Shin Ren sets off.


    A few minutes later, he finds himself at the stairs to the upper floors.


    Taking a steady breath, he begins to climb.


    His original core, stronger for its breaking and already ripe with the potential for a manifestation, shakes, but remains firm. It¡¯ll be uncomfortable, but manageable, and if it was his only concern, he could likely move to the upper floor now, using the higher Qi density to spark his transcendent soul.


    His demon cores are not so comfortable.


    The Corpse Aflame shows a smile in his mind that drips bloody froth. Her core, more compact and sharp than her brother¡¯s begins to vibrate with the pressure, but remains solid. When she breaks, it will be explosive, but he¡¯s certain that the shape and density of her will buy him at least an hour, maybe.


    The Smiling Noble does not fare quite so well.


    A hallucination of the funhouse mirror version of Shin Ren appears on the stairs, not quite blocking his path but not far from it.


    While Shin Ren wears the simpler robes of the Academy, the Smiling Noble wears his full regalia, the iconography of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect bright and almost gaudy in some abstract way, juxtaposed with a newly added bit of Imperial white. His face, just as handsome as Shin Ren¡¯s own but often wearing a deeply false smile, now holds a sneer.


    ¡°As bold as ever, you stride forth against the unknown and clear risk,¡± he says, the mockery in his voice saccharine sweet. ¡°To send a letter? How pedestrian. To attempt to find a power base or allies of hers, ingratiate ourselves? How plebian. No, for the great Shin Ren there is only one choice, to march forward mindlessly into pointless risk.¡±


    Shin Ren smiles softly. ¡°To show one¡¯s sincerity is important to establish a good first impression. To walk up to her level and petition, rather than ask her down to my level, shows commitment, and does not burden or create associations about our relationship. Better to do this honorably and politely.¡±


    The Smiling Noble scoffs, his image wavering as reality and hallucination overlap. Shin Ren takes another step higher, feeling the cornucopia-shaped horn of his demon core tremble harshly against the pressure. Taking some of his own Qi, he strengthens his meridians and the flow of Qi around the core, buffering it ever so slightly.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be fine,¡± Shin Ren promises.


    The Smiling Noble¡¯s smile turns harsher, more vile, before the tone and intent in Shin Ren¡¯s voice make their impact clear.


    Shin Ren, in a tone as light as if he were talking about the weather, promised. And meant it absolutely.


    The Smiling Noble does not step away from where he stands on the stair¡­ but he does adjust his stance, crossing his arms and oh-so-accidentally opening up space to move past him.


    Each step up is a burden. The pressure pushes through his skin, presses down on his soul, the sheer weight of meaning and intent in the rooms above weighing upon him. Qi in massive quantities, compressed to fit perpetually into the rooms above, gives the impression that he is walking upside-down into some perpetual lake, the pressure of its depths making his metaphorical ears pop and his bones begin to ache.


    And he perseveres.


    He has to burn a not-inconsiderable part of his own Qi to increase his circulation, forcefully shielding his demon cores in a way that will not be sustainable for more than perhaps an hour or two, but he perseveres.


    Eventually, after thirty slow, agonizing steps, he reaches the next floor, and steps past the threshold.


    The Academies are a massive place, larger by far with each floor one rises. The world warps and space shifts to allow for truly expansive arenas, libraries and living quarters, nevermind communal areas and cultivation spaces. Without a clear goal, one could wander for days without finding all of the rooms and hallways of a place such as this.


    Sighing with preemptive exhaustion, Shin Ren clears his mind. With a flicker, his Qi rises, unbowed against the pressures of its environment.


    Shin Ren raises his hand, and summons a flicker of True Flame.


    His Dao of Flame is imperfect. His experience with the feather (which certainly cannot be a phoenix feather, not even in his mind) has proven that much beyond that. In spite of this, of all the myriad colors of fire and all their potential meanings, for all that the concept of Flame holds depths he has yet to explore and a reach far beyond his sight, two things hold true.


    All Things Burn, and that the Flame is mysterious indeed.


    Gold and Purple flames come easy, manifesting in his hand for just a few moments before he closes his fist, extinguishing them.


    Mei Yu showed interest in him at a pretty early point, and, especially given her sect of origin, he can¡¯t imagine that she won¡¯t be keeping an eye on his movements, or new entrants to the first floor of the Nascent Soul territory of the Academy. A little added Flame only helps to confirm what she likely already knows, and act as a sign that he¡¯s broadcasting his position to her.


    His soul and meridians straining, Shin Ren strolls through the doorway and into the floor proper, sitting heavily against a couch more opulent than some noble manors, sinking into it. The Smiling Noble, shaky though he may be against a challenge he can¡¯t gaslight or manipulate his way through, manifests a brief hallucination of self to sink into the impossibly plush cushions alongside his original.


    On a small side table, a small cup of plum wine and a handful of grapes appear while his attention is elsewhere, the opulent gold and marble chambers rivaling a Palace in their splendor. The illusion of natural light filters down through impossible doorways and windows, and an invisible breeze moves through the room to lightly ring against some of the finely crafted pieces and draw attention to ornate curtains and paintings.


    Shin Ren sighs. All this opulence, all for what is effectively the room before a stairwell.


    He does take a sip of the plum wine, though. It would be downright cruel to the Smiling Noble not to give him at least that much.


    And he nearly spills the cup when someone comes from behind him for a hug.


    Mei Yu drapes herself over his shoulders, her lips distressingly close to his ear.


    ¡°What a delight to see you here, amongst us greater beings,¡± she says in a voice that is half sultry whisper and half laughter. ¡°I had thought you one of the slow and steady types. What a joy it is to find out you¡¯re such a grower.¡±


    He¡¯s fairly certain the innuendo is meant to fluster him, but he can¡¯t help it. He laughs.


    He feels the moment where she blinks, and he turns his head to meet her gaze, his lips daringly close to her own. ¡°Does that usually work, or are you more used to teasing your juniors than properly flirting?¡±


    There¡¯s a moment where he breaks through her mask just enough to see a look of mixed delight and confusion on her face. A moment later, the painting is back, a picture-perfect jade beauty staring back at him, but she does rise from where she¡¯s draped herself over the cough, sitting tall and elegant along the back of it.


    ¡°Oh? Do you not consider yourself my junior? Perhaps you will seek to call this young mistress a liar and tell me that you¡¯re in the Nascent Soul realm, rather than pushing your cultivation to allow yourself this little visit.¡±


    Shin Ren smiles wide, the Smiling Noble channeled through him. ¡°A junior is one¡¯s lesser, young mistress, and I¡¯m afraid that while I may have a few steps higher to climb on my path, I am lesser to very few.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps I shall savor my place amongst these few, once your surprising turn to arrogance has been relieved of you.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps you shall. I came here to make a request of you, after all.¡±


    She blinks, her form shifting even more towards the traditional coquettish approach, leaning back ever so slightly to better emphasize her chest (which, he freely admits, is impressive). ¡°Oh? And what favor would you request of this honored one, who stands above you on the stairway towards the Heavens?¡±


    ¡°I came to request a duel.¡±


    This time, when she blinks, it is not an act.


    And this time, it¡¯s the Corpse Aflame who ¡°smiles¡±. Probably. She crackles and clacks her teeth together, and the crispier parts of her body make a crinkling sound. He¡¯s pretty sure that means she¡¯s happy.

 Chapter 206 - The Best Way To Flirt

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    ¡°Is that not what¡¯s usually requested of you, honored one?¡±


    Mei Yu laughs, a tittering thing that¡¯s smaller than the laugh it hides. Her reactions aren¡¯t fake, not really, but they¡¯re modulated, rebuilt to make for a specific impression, but¡­ he knows. He can tell. A bit arrogant to think so, perhaps; there¡¯s certainly more she¡¯s hiding, more than he can see before actually knowing her. But between the Smiling Noble, a caricature of a young master made of all their hypocrisy, and his own experience playing the games of the Academy, he can see at least a bit beneath the surface.


    She¡¯s surprised. More than that, she¡¯s entertained.


    ¡°I must admit, young master, it is not. But I¡¯m afraid that I¡¯m not much of a fighter. It would pain my dao heart to disappoint such an honorable opponent.¡±


    He smiles at that. ¡°I find it hard to believe that I could ever be disappointed by a performance of yours, honored Mei Yu.¡±


    She sits up off the sofa, stepping to one side, and he rises to meet her, a burst of heat and Qi propelling him to his feet. Her gaze follows him as he summons his guandao out of his ring, changing the feeling of the space between them.


    ¡°...I don¡¯t intend to be harassed, Shin Ren.¡±


    He shrugs, adopting a stance. ¡°Your word is my covenant, lady Mei Yu. All you need do is say that I should stop, to ask me to leave you in peace, and I¡¯ll find myself enamored with the idea of exactly that.¡±


    ¡°And if I don¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Well, then I¡¯m afraid that I will simply find myself on the path of conflict, with you alongside me.¡±


    ¡°And do you often picture me beside you?¡± she asks with a sly smile.


    He shrugs, his shoulders loose and at rest, his steps light as he hops from one foot to the other. ¡°I have never done so before, but I find the vision surprisingly appealing now it¡¯s before me.¡±


    She laughs, and he can hear the space where a snort might once have been, a long time ago. Or where he imagined one. The danger of a gorgeous, powerful mental technique user is that it¡¯s hard to know exactly what are your own thoughts and what¡¯s intentional, but then, isn¡¯t that life? What a waste it is, to give in to stereotypes when there¡¯s ever so many real reasons to assume danger and anticipate it.


    And he notices that she hasn¡¯t told him to stop.


    He twirls his guandao, his Qi rising. It¡¯s half-crippled in this place, considering how much he needs to spare to protect his additional cores, and how little said cores can contribute. It rises to meet his will nonetheless, his control over his own internal world implacable, even in the face of the pressure of his surroundings. It¡¯s certainly not his maximum capacity, but it doesn¡¯t need to be.


    Flames, gold and purple, begin to flicker into being around him, his Dao manifesting moment by moment as he begins to ignite.


    ¡°Bold, Shin Ren. Bold indeed, to court one such as myself, and with such brutish methods.¡±


    ¡°Court? Who said anything about courting? I¡¯m simply here for a bit of controlled violence against a companion on the path towards ascension. What could possibly be more natural for any true cultivator?¡±


    ¡°And yet, I have had suitors by the dozen who would blush at your forwardness. Surely you might understand that, in both cultivation and status, I tower above you, and can only perceive such a bold approach as a daring move on your part to pull me to your side?¡±


    Shin Ren shrugs, enacting a final flourish with his guandao and dropping into a stance. He¡¯s not going to have more than a few minutes before he¡¯ll need to leave; there¡¯s only so much Qi and turbulence he can spare with his unfinished cores at risk. Common sense would say he¡¯s better off finding another way to do this.


    ¡°I suppose the wiser move might well be to retreat,¡± he says instead. ¡°And yet, perhaps the far more interesting possibility lies behind my reasoning, and behind your hesitation to step away. So, as one might say amidst the dueling rings of my home sect: square your feet, or make them scurry.¡±


    She taps a finger to her lips, pressing them into a thoughtful pout. ¡°But¡­ why, honorable Shin Ren-


    ¡°What makes you think we haven¡¯t started?¡±


    The voice comes from directly behind his ear, and he swings a broad circle with his blade over his back. His Qi blazes, igniting the weapon and the air around it in time with his swing as he cuts backwards and illuminates their surroundings in fire.


    The chairs are gone. The ornate couches, the paintings, the fancy rugs, all are vanished, as surely as morning dew. They stand now, the doorway to the lower floors behind him, in a featureless hallway that has nearly doubled in width in the time it took his flame to flash before his eyes.


    The spaces in the Academies transform, this is true. The training halls are an obvious example, but the higher you go, the more privileges are afforded to those who earn their growth within. Even still, the changing floorplan is drastic, far more than he expected, and he circulates Qi towards his senses to try and mitigate some of the illusion affecting him.


    The room doubles again as he watches.


    Either it¡¯s an illusion based on light, one that isn¡¯t directly interfering with his senses, or the mental technique she¡¯s using isn¡¯t so easily dislodged.


    Shin Ren smiles. With a flourish, rather than charge towards the likely decoy of Mei Yu ahead of him, he twirls his guandao, the purple-gold fire illuminating it tinged with crimson and orange as it leaves his touch- and is thrown in a wave all across the chamber.


    Obviously she¡¯d already enchanted him. He¡¯s a combat-focused cultivator, she¡¯s from a sect of mentalists, and it¡¯s well within her abilities and her rights to launch such a technique against him. In a real fight, he¡¯d have crippled himself by announcing his intention rather than ambushing her- but this isn¡¯t a real fight. He doesn¡¯t need to win to get what he wants.


    The letter told him to make friends. It didn¡¯t say how. In this way, he can test a potential ally and ensure a dynamic to begin with. Sort of.


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    Also, it would be at least a little dishonorable not to be sincere in his attempts at seducing her into a potential alliance. To be noble while still enacting these instructions can only mean, can only demand, that he wield his weapon and his will like this, inviting her into a dance.


    His Qi senses reach through the flames, the manifestation of Dao and cultivation together bound as deeply to his self and sapience as anything as banal and human as eyes and ears and neurons. Immediately, the terrain of the room shifts, still transformed but less than half the size that the illusion promised, and with a few pieces of furniture still melting away into nothingness outside his perceptions. His opponent, however, remains obscured. Her presence flickers in and out of his awareness like a ghost, his senses, even through his Qi, muddled and telling him that she¡¯s in multiple places at once.


    He doesn¡¯t bother waiting for his senses to resolve. There are only three ways he¡¯ll win: get tremendously lucky, figure out her tricks, or outmaneuver an expert manipulator. Only the first is likely, to say the least.


    Shin Ren throws out a ring of fire from himself, making it orbit him. Heat transference and the laws of combustion flicker through the act, the Corpse Aflame and his meditations on the feather granting him a new avenue to express his fire. The ring surrounds him like a halo around his midriff, and it expands through the room like the edge of a chakram, burning against the world.


    Even when you know you are going to get hit, there¡¯s still an inherent reaction to the fact. His body bends and he hisses in pain as some sort of dagger punches in towards his ribs, his reflexes allowing him to pull away just in time. The blow, instead of stabbing into his lung, only bleeds him, a trickle of crimson leaking into the world past his ribs.


    He swings his blade, weaving another faux-construct of flame around it and making a series of fiery whips that scream and shriek as they burn the air in pursuit of an illusory target. There are no arrays here, nothing he can truly use to free himself beyond his own technique and inner Qi manipulation, but overwhelming force has a place at nearly every discussion, and his rebuttal scores a series of cuts into the far wall, the stone melting to gold and crimson almost immediately. He keeps up the attack, his staff twirling as the flames he has tied to the end of it tear apart the room with thundercracker-like whips and edges hot enough to cut lava out of rock.


    The second hit goes for the throat, and he can¡¯t help but admire that she really is honoring him with a proper fight. He could hardly ask for more.


    He cauterizes the cut before arterial spray becomes a problem, and flares the fire lingering over his body in an explosive burst. At full strength it could have filled the entire space, but as is, it barely covers a third of it as he keeps his energy reserves as high as possible.


    The Smiling Noble is outmatched and overpowered here, his attentions solely dedicated to helping to keep his own core intact as it trembles under the pressure, but the Corpse Aflame is not so passive.


    She cuts him a third time, the sensation of the blade appearing on the opposite side of the actual wound and nearly making him miss the blessing, and the Corpse Aflame shrieks.


    Not a human sound, not by a long shot. Not even something a human throat could create. She shrieks like the shriek of steam escaping a trapped and bursting piece of meat, and in that sound, despite the risk, the star-dagger of his demon core flares to life and adds her Qi to his.


    Mei Yu has not been content merely stabbing at him with a normal dagger. Even holding back to accommodate his limitations, that would be far too disrespectful. Shin Ren goes to swing his guandao and finds that his body doesn¡¯t respond to commands the same way anymore. He firms his stance and realizes that the signals they send his body no longer match their movements. Even his Qi senses begin to sort of flicker, a harsh and buzzing static disrupting everything about how he sees the world. The kiss of steel touches his neck again, and he realizes the blade belongs to his own weapon, but cannot tell if it is an illusion or if his arm is controlled to move it into place against his throat.


    But he smiles. That¡¯s all fine.


    All Things Burn.


    He¡¯s only had the feather for a week or so. Hardly enough time to truly comprehend it, and even if there were, his comprehension is limited in execution while he holds himself back. But limited does not mean irrelevant.


    These two things, together, have advanced his cultivation considerably.


    His own Nascent Soul stirs, still in a sort of limbo of nonexistence as he builds his other cores, but the gold and purple Flame he wields begins to grow again, and, alongside his demon core and his new enlightenment, he does something new.


    He lights his fire on fire.


    Chain Combustion is an interesting concept. Combustion itself is just when fuel meets an accelerant, really, and in this case, the fuel is his own fire, the accelerant, his own Qi. What was once a series of blazing fires all around and cloaking him, wielded as weapons, becomes far more deadly as it begins to detonate.


    Fire blesses fire, Flame begets Flame, Mystery and Truth hand in hand as the fire he¡¯s spread throughout the room acts as if its made of flammable alcohol. The second round of flames explodes out, gushing violently over the room in an unstoppable wave of ignition- and then the third wave initiates.


    The room breaks.


    The detonation is enough that both of Shin Ren¡¯s eardrums pop, that his face and hair are singed despite his mastery, that his body is thrown backwards and forwards as if by a hundred blows. The combustions continue to chain all across the room, and the more fires ignite, the more fire spawns and detonates and further ignites itself into being, until the walls of the academy a full official realm higher than him crack and begin to become misshapen. The stone and ornate designs begin to melt into glowing molten matter which only serves as fuel for more combustion, and as the fourth round of detonations is about to begin-


    Shin Ren strangles it.


    It¡¯s like holding back a spasm, like breathing during a violent coughing fit. Everything in him rebels against it, the properties he¡¯s controlling and the Truth deep within him and the Corpse Aflame fighting him to act as his reality claims they should act.


    He places his grip around the metaphorical throat of existence as he¡¯s demanded it be and squeezes.


    The fourth round of detonations does not occur.


    The flames remain, and struggle violently against him. True Flame, by its very nature, matches and informs his Truth that All Things Burn, and it burns his very will- but he strangles it down nonetheless. Slowly, the fires start to dim, leaving only the shimmering cloak of gold and purple he¡¯s wrapped himself in, the ring of flame orbiting him, and his guandao glowing with power.


    Slowly, he exhales, a breath of both focus and relief.


    Mei Yu makes herself known, not more than a few feet in front of him. For all the world, she looks like the fight between them never happened at all- but he can feel, through his very self, that she has been touched by the fire.


    Just a bit.


    ¡°Apologies if I surprised you,¡± Shin Ren says, the Smiling Noble rising up beside him to help him watch her reactions. ¡°I¡¯m afraid, at times, that my passions can be rather explosive.¡±


    She scoffs, rolling her eyes. ¡°If you weren¡¯t such a boorish little nobleman, I¡¯d say that your words are a joke.¡±


    He holds a hand to his chest, feigning insult. ¡°A boor? Why, I¡¯d have thought my jokes would have cured you of that delusion by now. Here I thought you mind-technique wielders were adept at removing those!¡±


    This time, she can¡¯t help it. Above the victory of survival, of Dao triumphing over a distance in cultivation, above even the victory of maintaining control of new techniques, this victory tastes sweetest of them all- she snorts a little bit when she laughs.


    He smiles wide.


    A trick? Maybe. He¡¯s certainly already allowed her access to his mind in some degree.


    That¡¯s fine. He has no secrets, and between the Smiling Noble and Corpse Aflame, he¡¯s pretty sure he can notice and remove¡­ at least most of whatever she might try to influence him with.


    A victory is a victory.


    ¡°So now that I¡¯ve so thoroughly entertained you,¡± he says, ¡°maybe I could interest you in a discussion of Dao at some point? If you don¡¯t have one already, you must surely stand at the cusp.¡±


    She shrugs, smiling back at him with a grin more predatory than courtly. ¡°A true lady never reveals her secrets, junior brother. But perhaps I might be able to offer you a few pointers.¡±


    Shin Ren finds something out about himself, deep down, right next to the honor and nobility he seeks to grasp.


    He loves it when a plan comes together.

 Chapter 207 - Bad Habits, New Places

    She¡¯s hungry.


    All the time.


    Her hunger was never a huge concern, not something that felt overwhelming, but it was only ever really sated when she consumed Qi. Preferably, Qi infusing something still wriggling and wet. But since the Heart leaped into her body, that¡¯s changed.


    She¡¯s hungry.


    Eating regular food is fine. The taste is still something she treasures, something that allows her to indulge in sensation in a way that she hasn¡¯t been able to in most other ways. The tracts she¡¯s making in her body with the help of the Heart are also a factor in minimizing her needs, but they¡¯re not quite what she needs.


    Previously, her method of generating Qi was to smash her bloodflow against itself, shaping her veins to allow her to survive the process, and the friction between the scraps of Qi a living body naturally attracts and generates made said Qi begin to grow. Her Dragon Veins, while similar in theory, are a direct upgrade in almost every way, and actually eliminate parts of the process. With the Heart¡¯s help, she has an instinctive understanding of how Qi flows work to add to her technical knowledge and her experience with the faux-formation she¡¯s enforced in her body. Looping patterns, like mazes and diagrams, have been snuck in between some of her organs and muscle groups, isolated veins entirely bare of blood wrapped into miniaturized formation patterns. By running her blood, full of forcefully-crafted Qi, through these new patterns, the blood leaves, but the Qi remains, attracted to the new patterns they¡¯re forming.


    It¡¯s increased the speed at which she can generate Qi by almost three times over, each new formation granting her an almost 50% increase- but she¡¯s losing it almost as fast.


    The Heart is hungry too.


    She can recover her energy in hours now rather than days, which opens a lot more possibilities, but a lot of her capacity is going straight into feeding her new passenger. What¡¯s left allows her to use her transformations and regeneration without worrying about losing her energy, excepting some truly dangerous or drawn-out battles.


    But she¡¯s still hungry.


    And she doesn¡¯t know why.


    When her stomach began to grumble, when her Body began to tell her that something¡¯s needed, she went out hunting. This far out towards the 4th ring and the fortress-cities, spirit beasts are uncommon, but not nonexistent, and her senses can sniff out trails days or sometimes even weeks old. Their flesh is¡­ more? More filling, at least, and the Qi in them is a nice addition, her stomach quieting by a bit as she ate.


    But she never feels sated. Not really.


    Even Qi-rich flesh still feels like it¡¯s lacking something, like she¡¯s eating plain dough. Filling, but it isn¡¯t giving her what she needs.


    The last time she felt completely satisfied was after fighting and eating that boar, but it¡¯s hard to know if even that would be enough now, with her system changed.


    Li Shu¡¯s worked with her to consolidate her gains, and it¡¯s left her in the best shape she¡¯s ever been in. Every bone and tendon structure has been reinforced with pistons, biological hydraulics and enhanced materials, every muscle group has near-perfect overlap and hidden structures she can unfold, projectile spines and twitch-enhanced hormone dispensers prepared, and her senses are as aligned as they¡¯ve ever been. Nowadays, she only really turns her synesthesia-brain off once or twice a day, if that, keeping her senses pushed out to their maximum extent at all times and gradually getting used to them, despite the occasional little note of internal bleeding.


    None of that even counts on her more esoteric transformations.


    Blacksteel, Reactor, and Heart.


    Her Reactor is still mostly inert, the core of her new energy system kept quiet until she needs it. What it¡¯ll mean when she does activate it, especially so close to a fortress city, is unknown. For now? Stealth.


    Her Blacksteel continues to change, bit by bit. What was once angular obsidian has turned more and more into something that reflects its name; its edges have smoothed, while its points and blades have only sharpened further. Rather than angular shards arranged in myriad shapes, her weapon of choice has begun to incorporate a slightly more organic look, emulating claws and thorns over geometry. The angles are still off, far too sharp, but her prosthetic arm actually looks like an arm now, rather than an avant-garde sculpture.


    Now it¡¯s just a surrealist sculpture. Go figure.


    As for the Heart¡­


    She can still visit that no-place inside herself. Deep, deep down, behind the meat, behind even her stomach, strangely expansive as it is, but connected to it all. She can trace connections out from the dream landscape into almost any part of her body, but tracking it back leads her to nothing but more of her own body. Between feeding it her Qi-rich blood more directly and its sharing of its instincts, it¡¯s allowed the first version of her Dragon Veins, as she¡¯s calling them. Their frameworks hold Qi startlingly well, allowing her to create the aforementioned natural formations in miniature inside herself, making her old system of violently churning her blood obsolete. Or half-obsolete, anyways. The blood is still useful to carry that Qi, since she can¡¯t command it or touch it directly, and the Dragon Vein clusters are still distant and disconnected, which is fine. It is only a first attempt, after all.


    It¡¯s more than she¡¯s ever had, and yet¡­ it still doesn¡¯t feel like enough. It never feels like enough. She can still go further, and there are simply so many parts of her that are woefully lacking, so many new tools she knows she can still acquire and learn.


    Time and place.


    She watches Jin carefully. He¡¯s started circulating his Qi as he walks, something which took her well over a year to learn how to do, and she¡¯s being very careful with her new student.


    The fortress city looms over them, and if ever there was a place that might rattle his focus, it is this.


    There are two-hundred and thirty four total fortress cities, with four of them standing above the rest. North, South, East and West each hold their own bastions, four fortresses that dwarf their fellows and are the anchors of mankind against the wild, as-of-yet untrained lands of the fourth ring. Two-hundred and thirty of the fortress cities are just that, fortresses the size of cities. They make up the interior of a mountain, or cover an entire ridge, or, as can be shown before her, alter the entire landscape for miles into a maze of twisting fortifications and prepared violence.


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    They stand on cobbled marble, looking up at the gatehouse uncreatively named Gatehouse East-North-East 10, and look up at what could only be a castle.


    Five stories tall, and three times as wide, the gatehouse looks similar to an old tori gate, a style that fell out of fashion a few millenia prior but whose ruins still stand proud. Pointed arches stab at the sky like horns over the top of the gate proper, the austere black, white, gold and jade of Imperial manufacture dwarfing the blue of the sky above and the many colors of the people below.


    And what people there are.


    Pale, ebony, vibrant russet, tan mahogany, rich earth, and many more shades make up the ¡°pure-blooded¡± humans that she can see, but there are oh so many more here. Some giant-kin stand taller than even she is, their skin every color from sky-blue to wine-red, towering over humans and beast-blood both. The latter have every possible feature, from scales, to feathers, to furs, to paws or tails or even vestigial wings in more than a few cases. She even notices a few goblinoids, their kind an absolute rarity, many of them crawling and scaling over boxes of wares and emitting a fungal scent that ripples in patterns of communication as they flick sail-sized ears at each other and click their teeth.


    There are some who walk by with mismatched patterns, surgeries and replacements making their marks visible. Some wear machinery that reminds her of Yun Ka, while others decorate themselves like nobility and rich merchants, and some wear nothing but rags. Refugees, warriors, merchants and more mill about, passing in and out of the fortress city in the tens of thousands all around.


    And so many of them smell so, so good.


    Every flavor of Qi and more than she can even name, like finding new colors through her tongue. Musk, fear, arousal, frustration, contentment, sweat, blood, and fragrances stranger and more exotic mingle in the air, and they mesh with the feelings of hormones and emotions dancing alongside varying levels of cultivation.


    None of them smell as rich or as fulfilling as the boar might be, none smell like just what she needs¡­ but she¡¯s so, so hungry.


    All the time.


    All the more so when surrounded by all this food.


    All these people.


    She focuses on Jin and Li Shu.


    Li Shu has fallen into her role, her anxiety managed, her posture upright and walking with her healer¡¯s colors on clear display. Even in all this mess, a path clears for her, Raika¡¯s height and baggage mixing with the inherent respect afforded healers to let them through. She¡¯s doing great.


    Jin, on the other hand, is easier to focus on. There¡¯s so much going on there, and honestly, she can¡¯t help but feel a little jealous.


    Surrounded by all this life, all these other Qi signatures, all this hustle and bustle, he keeps his focus.


    Say what you will about the brat, but he is singularly dedicated. He has thrown himself into cultivation whole-heartedly, unafraid to ask questions and even less afraid to force himself to focus for hours on even minor changes. Sensing his Qi through his skin, she can ¡°see¡± it moving through his body, shifting through his meridians.


    The smoke-and-whispers scented energy is sluggish, slower than it usually is, but he is walking and cultivating at the same time. He¡¯s reaching the end of Qi Gathering realm. Considering he had a bit of Qi already, and had as much as four people tutoring him at once to some degree, it¡¯s not an inhuman talent, but it¡¯s an impressive one nonetheless. Seven months from just above mortal to nearly the height of Qi-Gathering realm, his dantian nearly full. Rather than have him only spend Qi when he wants to strengthen himself, Raika has been pushing him to circulate it, even if his body can¡¯t absorb much yet. His pattern is¡­ well it¡¯s their best guess, not having a proper cultivation method to offer him, but Raika¡¯s pretty sure she¡¯s managed to point him to all the junctions and patterns that seem to increase his Qi and flavor rather than decrease it.


    His scent. Not his flavor, his scent.


    Fuck, but she is hungry.


    One of her minds is on the subject almost constantly, on the lookout for anything that looks like it might scratch the new need and simultaneously pushing down the thoughts that hunger brings. Between her multiple layers of sensory processing and her sub-minds dedicated to tracking whatever details she assigns, she¡¯s keeping an eye on it, even though the headaches have been near-constant.


    Can¡¯t afford to slip. Not until they¡¯re past the city. Not until she can start to grow properly.


    She sighs, pushing down her thoughts again. She keeps that one sub-mind analyzing, always, but otherwise, there¡¯s no benefit to keeping herself hyper-aware of her hunger. Better to limit the feeling and reduce its weight until they¡¯re past the issues ahead.


    And, after almost an hour of waiting, they¡¯re at the first threshold.


    A checkpoint.


    Dozens of cultivators stand in small circles under the arch of the gatehouse¡¯s main door, leading into the maze of city-fortifications beyond. She can see and sense tens of thousands more people already back there, their bodies and Qi signatures lighting up for miles into the twisting buildings and thoroughfares. There¡¯s no reason that they can¡¯t go through.


    They step to the front of their respective line, into the circle that one of the Imperial soldiers stands in, and the noise of the crowd suddenly becomes muted as they pass into an array.


    The soldier isn¡¯t dressed nearly as ornately as the ones that she saw in her time as part of the Division of Altered Cultivation. They had golden exo-suits, dripping with Qi, glowing with enchantments and arrays and artifacts. The soldier in front of her is dressed more like, well, a soldier, though she can smell Qi of Core Formation realm depth to him. Slate-grey armor and simple off-white armor makes up his uniform, a seal of gold and jade on his chestplate marking him as a true Imperial Soldier, the minor artifact glittering with Qi. He smiles tiredly as they step forward to him, nodding his head.


    ¡°Greetings, travelers. What is your business with Gatehouse East-North-East 10?¡±


    Li Shu clears her throat, shifting in place and squaring her shoulders. ¡°This one is the lowly Li Shu, a healer of some training and little renown. I have come with my assistants on part of a pilgrimage to improve my skills by dedicating myself to the holy task of assisting in maintaining the Empire¡¯s safety and stability. I come here to provide what healing I can to the soldiers of this great fortress.¡±


    The soldier smiles, as if it¡¯s all perfectly reasonable but still a nice surprise. ¡°I commend your spirit. Do you have the requisite training proving your rank and vocation?¡±


    Li Shu shakes her head. ¡°I was trained by a mortal, and continued to pursue the healing arts when I began to cultivate. It is my hope that I can provide even the slightest assistance to my superiors in the healing arts, even if I do not have an official rank.¡±


    He waves a hand. ¡°No need for all that. It¡¯s rare that someone has the guts and the willpower to come and offer their services to a true bastion of the Empire. Once you enter, you can apply to be tested for your level of skill in any of the Control Pavilions. However, to enter, there is a cost. You¡¯ll need to pay three gold coins for yourself and each of your companions.¡±


    Raika can¡¯t help herself and snorts in amusement.


    The guard¡¯s gaze swivels to her, but she keeps her face entirely passive, and he just shakes his head.


    ¡°And you should be more careful with your servant. I know giant-kin can be rough to handle, but she really should know to show the proper respect.¡±


    Li Shu bows deeply. ¡°Of course, senior. She is an ally I met more recently, and so has not had the time to properly learn how to act around cultivators. I promise to ensure her behavior in the future.¡±


    With the guard mollified and the entry fee paid (exorbitant and unreasonable as it may be, selling their goods before leaving and their earlier misadventures secured funding enough that they¡¯re still fairly safe), Raika, Li Shu and Jin walk past the gates, into a city of war.


    It smells of people, metal, and, far off in the distance, carried on the wind¡­ of blood.


    She is so, so hungry.

 Chapter 208 - "Special Physique"

    The walk through the city is strange, to say the least. For all that the term Fortress-City is always used when speaking of the installations guarding the fourth ring, she hadn¡¯t expected it to be quite so literal.


    Her senses, in a calm, meditative environment, can provide fairly accurate data on several miles of space through scent, sound, and sight. While moving about, or in a particularly loud and messy space, that gets reduced proportionally to the chaos and the level of activity, even with a sub-mind dedicated to her sensory data. Here, in fortress city #180, just four north of the East Bastion, her sensory domain is reduced to maybe 500ft, 152 meters, or 45 and a half zhang, to use pre-Industrial measurements.


    And every fucking moment of it is full of people.


    The central fortresses and the far side of the fortification-maze are kept exclusively for soldiers or other official Imperial workers, but the back half, facing into the Empire, is a bustling metropolis. Walls of stone and fortified enchantments are drowned beneath constructions of wood and alchemical materials made to be shaped and harden quickly, making for an almost fungal growth of structures. The gatehouses, command pavilions and guard towers are all kept well cleaned and well clear of any encroaching civilian infrastructure, but the horizon-spanning, byzantine structures meant to confuse and confound enemy forces and pen them in between great and powerful walls isn¡¯t as safe. There are places where tunnel systems have fused into open spaces below the walls, using old Imperial sapper-rooms as additional space: there are areas where buildings are half-grown, half-built, their organic structures making that particular hallway of the trenches crowded and packed full of a fungal scent: there are spaces where official-looking buildings holding merchant or sect markings are erected, growing entirely out of place amidst the chaos.


    And it¡¯s the most living beings Raika has ever encountered at one time.


    Maybe the mines of Cragend might have compared, but seeing as she never visited directly, was never packed like sweating sheep amongst an ashen herd in the elevators or the mineshafts proper, it¡¯s simply not the same. Every moment feels like someone or something is touching her, every movement inundated with the smell of breath and food and sweat and blood and perfumes, everywhere she looks blinded with color and varying styles.


    For the first time since she started her training, she turns off her synesthesia, assigning her logical sub-mind to just¡­ process.


    She¡¯s yet to expand her main repertoire much, but since their travels through the wilds, she¡¯s settled on three sub-brains, each in their own semi-flexible tanks of nanoscale plates and reactive matter. The first one, her synesthesia, is right near the base of her spine. The second one, her ¡°logic¡± brain, is three brains in one, all mimicking a frontal lobe and sitting slightly behind her eyes and above her jaw, acting to speed up her thinking, reinforce her memories, and helping to maintain multiple ideas at once, though not quite multiple trains of thought. The last one, her ¡°sensory suite¡±, which allows her to process all the data her synesthesia provides, is actually at the base of her throat, where it can¡¯t overheat as easily and isn¡¯t affected by neck movements.


    She switches her logic-brain fully to processing, keeping stray thoughts down to none and all her focus on pushing back the glut of people all around. Not since she survived her first tribulation has the overstimulation been quite this bad.


    The variety of the people doesn¡¯t help either.


    Tall, short, skinny, fat, walking on six legs or two, horned and antlered, bright and dull, and of every color in between. Some Imperials stride by on some sort of platform with stick-like legs descending from it which dodge amongst the crowd, never disrupting those above while ensuring ease of movement, while down below, the few foolish enough to bring carts find themselves mired in the mess of people all around.


    The variety and controlled chaos of the Empire, all trapped in a miniscule microcosm that also spans a hundred times larger than any village or town ever could.


    And they have to walk through an hour of it.


    Li Shu is too polite for her own good, and halfway through her sixth apology and all their growing frustration, Raika just picks her up. Jin darts among the crowd practically unseen, and if a few pockets come away a bit lighter she won¡¯t be too annoyed, but she ends up having to basically muscle her way through the crowd, carrying their bags and Li Shu on the platform on her shoulder.


    It¡¯s not hard, per se. She¡¯s strong enough to literally break rocks by accident with weight and musculature alone, so the press of the crowd is more a psychological block than a physical one. There are so, so many people, and they all stink.


    And fucking Hells, it is not helping with her appetite problems.


    Unplanned though it may be, it does end up reinforcing the image they¡¯re trying to build. Li Shu, the honorable healer, carried above the unwashed masses by her giant-kin servant. The fact that Li Shu would rather be down on the ground (evidenced by her constant squirming) checking on unique physiques and all the different peoples she could be seeing from up close isn¡¯t nearly as obvious from up there.


    She keeps an eye on Jin, on everyone who immediately touches her, and on their destination. Her logic-brain works hard to block out just about everything else. Even still, just touching someone is enough for her senses to absorb their age, health, heartbeat, whether they ate recently, how fit they are, all without synesthesia to blast that information into sight, sound and taste as well, and that¡¯s not even to speak of the Qi.


    Most of what her new processing power does is just reduce the strain, keeping the only scents she pays attention to to Jin¡¯s, Li Shu¡¯s, and that of Imperial alchemy and artifacts. Everything else is getting filtered the hell out.


    It¡¯s a struggle, but they do reach the Command Pavilion.


    This led to the discovery of a second and far worse horror of the Empire¡¯s madness-


    Lines.


    In a central area cleared of any real infrastructure, a single building stands, built into the walls of the maze. On the other side, one assumes, is a second Command Pavilion, identical to the one before them with its sweeping columns, white-and-grey coloring and carved, meticulously maintained statues and reliefs. The courtyard in front of them (or pavilion, perhaps) is kept clear of passers by, with a small contingent of Imperial soldiers standing guard in grey and black armors, ensuring that the only movement in and out of the cleared space is from those petitioning the higher authorities within.


    This, apparently, extends to every civil complaint in town.


    By the time they arrive at the front of the line, Raika¡¯s had to actually partially open her skull twice, just to vent the heat buildup from how hard she is not thinking about the people everywhere.


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    Finally, hours after they arrived and barely a mile into the city proper, they make it to the exhausted-looking cultivator sitting at a desk in front of them. Considering the scent of his Qi, somewhere in upper Foundational realm, the thought of how long he¡¯s had to sit here to develop bags under his eyes must be truly haunting. The poor kid looks like he hasn¡¯t slept in days, and even with a cultivator¡¯s general decrease in bodily messiness as they evolve, he smells a bit of sweat in his armor.


    ¡°Greetings, and welcome to Command Pavilion 388, how may this lowly Hi Rou assist you.¡±


    Li Shu gives a polite bow, and Raika knees Jin in the spine to get him to do the same.


    ¡°Greetings, honorable Hi Rou. This one is Li Shu, a healer of minor talents and renown. I come hoping to offer my services to the Empire, and act on the Emperor¡¯s will to keep hale and hearty those who do his bidding on the frontlines of battle.¡±


    Hi Rou blinks at that, waking up a bit. He leans over the desk he¡¯s sitting at, looking down at Li Shu more carefully from the elevated semi-podium.


    Raika can actually see the way that his brain starts ticking boxes. Well-dressed, check. Healer¡¯s colors, check. Qi, Foundational Realm cultivation, check. Two servants, one possibly an apprentice, and enough bags an ox would struggle? Check.


    He blinks, coughs politely, sitting back down in his seat (which, Raika notes bemusedly, only puts him at eye-level with her).


    ¡°Yes, I can see your dedication and earnestness, junior sister. Unfortunately, all volunteers need to be tested before they¡¯re accepted into service, and your talents will determine where you are placed. Do you have a family name or crest?¡±


    Li Shu shakes her head. ¡°I¡¯m afraid, senior, that I am from a mortal family, and was originally trained by a mortal master. It is my sincere hope that by aiding the Empire, I might also gain some meager skill in my art.¡±


    Raika tracks the way his scent changes at the slight disappointment. A mortal-trained healer is hardly going to match a cultivator¡¯s specialized training, but from the looks of her, it¡¯s obvious that Li Shu might still be from some rich family. The whole look strikes a well-maintained balance of potential competence and likely disappointment. Still, it¡¯s enough, and he nods.


    ¡°Understood. May I have your name and that of your servants?¡±


    She smiles and nods, waving down to Jin (who is massaging his aching back with a grimace). ¡°This is my apprentice and medical assistant, Jin, and behind me is my martial servant Raika.¡±


    ¡°No family names?¡±


    She can smell the way Jin¡¯s Qi stirs at that, but he just shakes his head. She shrugs instead, staring down the Imperial cultivator.


    There¡¯s just something about his scent that¡¯s making her antsy. Just a bit. Besides, better to play the brute when it¡¯s expected, lest she let someone do her the disservice of estimating her properly.


    He frowns, his hand moving dizzyingly quickly over a series of forms, more of them shooting out of slots as his Qi interacts with the desk. ¡°The medical assistant is fine, but I¡¯m afraid we don¡¯t allow personal servants or¡­ ¡®martial servants¡¯ in with just a healer¡¯s recommendation. We¡¯ll have to test her as well.¡±


    Li Shu blinks. ¡°I¡­ well, she¡¯s been a close aid to me, and-¡±


    ¡°What kind of testing,¡± Raika asks.


    ¡°I can¡¯t sense any Qi from her, so she¡¯ll hardly be placed anywhere dangerous,¡± Hi Rou replies, ignoring Raika in favor of talking to Li Shu. ¡°Since she¡¯s clearly some sort of beastblood or giant-kin, added to lack of cultivation, she¡¯ll be tested for technical skills and physical abilities. If she passes and receives the same utility level as you, then it will be no issue to have her assigned to wherever you end up.¡±


    Li Shu looks up at Raika, worry evident.


    I¡¯ll be fine, Raika tells her with a slight shrug and a little eye-roll.


    Li Shu throws back a slight huff and a frown. It¡¯s not you I¡¯m worried about, she¡¯s saying.


    Raika grins a bit, but shifts her hand against the supplies she¡¯s carrying. It¡¯ll be fine.


    Li Shu just sighs, before turning back to Hi Rou.


    ¡°Very well. Where do we need to go for the testing?¡±


    ¡°Take these forms, one for you and one for your servant. Your assistant can go on your recommendation. Take the hall to my right, follow it down two flights of stairs, and your testing will be down the hall to your left. Your servant will be tested through the double doors straight ahead.¡±


    Raika makes sure to smile at Hi Rou as she walks off with her papers. He flinches a little bit as her lips go a bit too wide for a human face, the teeth exposed just a bit too sharp.


    Heh.


    She¡¯ll remember his name. Rude little shit.


    They split ways easily enough, with Jin and Li Shu beginning to head off down the hallway. Raika, still carrying all their supplies, goes straight for the double doors.


    And is stopped by Jin politely kicking her shin.


    She turns to him, eyebrow raised.


    ¡°Yes, brat?¡±


    ¡°Not a brat,¡± he says with a cool look on his face. ¡°Just trying to remind my idiot master not to kill anybody.¡±


    She rolls her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not going to get us caught this early just because a few idiots are rude to me. If I killed every idiot that was rude to me, I wouldn¡¯t be able to walk five feet without killing someone nowadays.¡±


    He frowns at her, his expression a mix of mature reproach and childish stubbornness. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant.¡±


    She tilts her head, but- ah.


    Killing someone and not getting caught is technically viable with the way she phrased it.


    Jin, of course, is still looking up at her expectantly,


    She sighs. ¡°Fine. To the best of my ability, unless it¡¯s completely necessary, I won¡¯t kill anyone.¡±


    He nods. ¡°Ok.¡±


    ¡°Now if you¡¯re done babying me, I have some idiots to talk to who don¡¯t really need that many limbs.¡±


    She can smell the mixture of annoyance and amusement on him as he kicks her in the shin again before hurrying off to Li Shu, who¡¯s been watching the whole exchange with an annoying smile.


    Ugh. Idiots.


    She walks through the double doors into the testing chamber for the not-so-gifted.


    ¡ª------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°Surely you must know something about your bloodline.¡±


    Hearing the question repeated for the fourth time, Raika just sighs. ¡°Born to mortal parents. Got bigger when I got older.¡±


    The man in front of her is visibly frustrated with the answer, but her annoyance is a bit mollified by the way she can feel his heart beating just a bit above resting pace.


    Behind him is a significantly damaged number of arrays, weights, and manual exercise areas.


    Two of the training dummies, meant to withstand blows from a lower-Foundational realm cultivator, are in distinctly separate pieces, chunks of wooden shrapnel decorating the floor around them.


    A series of weights are being stared at by a few Imperial soldiers, their eyes on the number of plates and on how the bar between them has warped into nearly a U shape.


    There¡¯s a running track that has a few new indents and scratches from where she put a little more ¡®oomph¡¯ into it.


    It was a bit annoying having to do it all while pretending to be one-handed. The weight feels a bit off with her Blacksteel arm absorbed back into her body.


    She can see the testing supervisor in front of her overcoming his concern with the sheer force of annoyance.


    She can¡¯t blame him for it, honestly. If she¡¯d known quite how much paperwork he¡¯d have to do (evidenced by the stack being delivered to him by another soldier) she might not have tried as much.


    Or she might have tried harder. It is rather funny watching his face turn redder as the same soldier brings back another dozen slips of paper.


    Eventually, he just sighs.


    ¡°It would seem that you have some kind of¡­ special constitution,¡± he says, his voice dripping with something she might call loathing. At first she¡¯s almost offended by the sheer distaste with which he says it, but then she gets it as the same soldier, eyes wide, rushes off, one would assume to procure far more specialized papers to fill out and sign. ¡°Possibly your giant-kin blood had some effect on your cultivation, turning Qi into bodily energy. Or maybe somebody experimented on your bloodline a millenia ago. Or maybe you¡¯re just big.¡±


    Raika shrugs unapologetically. ¡°I am pretty big.¡±


    She luxuriates in the sight of one of his eyes beginning to twitch.


    But then¡­ ah. Then she sees it. The hidden reserves of will. The bastion behind his eyes as his mind retreats to a power far beyond his own ken.


    ¡°It would seem that you¡¯ll have to wait a few hours longer for your results,¡± he says, his expression somewhere between a grimace of early-onset frustration and the vicious grin of the bureaucrat visiting his own hell onto another. ¡°I¡¯m afraid we¡¯ll have some forms for you to fill out shortly. And possibly a second round of testing, just to confirm the results.¡±


    She narrows her eyes at him, watching as he signals a second soldier to go and fetch some more paperwork and a quill.


    Well played, soldier. Well played.

 Chapter 209 - Off To War We Go

    They do, in fact, force her through a second round of testing, and a cursory examination by a medical officer when she performs just as outrageously as the first time. Between her curse-skin blocking Qi and the fact she has no ¡°true¡± cultivation to speak of, she mostly just annoys him, too.


    By the time she gets out, she can tell that Li Shu and Jin have been waiting a while. Not as long as she expected, going by the scents in the room and their heart-rates, but still a while.


    Jin smiles wide at seeing her, hopping up to his feet. ¡°Finally! I thought you got into some kind of fight with how long that took.¡±


    ¡°No, they just made me do double the work because I was too impressive for them to comprehend. Should be all clear now.¡±


    ¡°Did they give you a merit badge?¡± Li Shu asks.


    Raika holds up the little plaque they gave her, its edges trimmed with gold and with her name on it. ¡°I¡¯m hoping you impressed the Hells out of them, or they¡¯re probably going to transfer me someplace directly, and we do not need that sort of headache.¡±


    Li Shu grins and holds up a badge of her own, equally shiny and with her name carved into the front.


    ¡°The main examiner¡¯s eyes almost bugged out of his head when he saw my needles. I thought he was going to kick me out right then for not using metal, but when I told him it was an artifact set and showed off a bit, he was practically tripping over himself trying to recruit me. Honestly the most fun I¡¯ve had in a while.¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°I¡¯ve told you before, but your telekinesis is anything but normal. Most people don¡¯t use telekinesis without a technique until the Core Formation realm.¡±


    She snorts. ¡°Oh yeah, and you would know. Don¡¯t tell me you ever managed it.¡±


    ¡°Me? No, absolutely not. Even now I¡¯m a dud when it comes to understanding techniques.¡±


    This time Li Shu frowns, and Raika actually feels her scent shift into notes of genuine displeasure. ¡°Bullshit you are. You¡¯re a lot more intelligent than you give yourself credit for. If not for your insights, there are things I might never have even realized.¡±


    Raika rolls her eyes, but she makes sure to do so only politely. ¡°Improvements don¡¯t change original truths. I¡¯m not very smart, I just try really hard. And, admittedly, sometimes I fuck up badly enough that I end up learning important lessons.¡±


    ¡°...alright. That¡¯s better, at least.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t exactly inspire confidence,¡± Jin says, eyebrow raised.


    She frowns, flicking the kid on the nose. ¡°You know better. Talent might be something you¡¯re born with, but hard work is something anyone can do. I might not be all that talented, but I¡¯ve done things that the talented cultivator¡¯s I¡¯ve known would say simply can¡¯t be done.¡±


    Jin frowns, massaging his nose. She leaves him to stew on it for a while. If nothing else, the kid¡¯s own ¡°talents¡± lie more in how hard he works at things than at his natural cultivation. Luck and hard work define him, as much as they do her.


    Ugh. A few tragedies and some years and here she is, thinking like some boring old sage.


    She shakes her head, turning back to Li Shu. ¡°So, you know where we go next?¡±


    ¡°Yes. We¡¯re taking a train, underground. Since we¡¯ve volunteered, we can¡¯t leave for a while, but we can decide on which of the frontline support areas we want to go to since I tested high. I¡¯m thinking the northwest front? Keep heading north a bit?¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°As good a direction as any. Anywhere we go in the fourth is going to have dangers, and if bullboy is half as smart as he thinks he is, chances are it¡¯ll show up no matter where we end up.¡±


    Li Shu¡¯s eyes dart around them, as if looking for listening arrays or devices, but Raika shakes her head, quick and sharp. Vague language is still best, but she can sense through the walls around them, and there¡¯s nothing to indicate that there¡¯s any listening devices here. The flow of Qi is stable and structured in the shape of the walls around them, letting her know that they¡¯re likely enchanted, but none of it smells like someone paying attention to them. It feels like¡­ it could? Maybe? It feels different than the Imperial Palaces she¡¯s been in, but there¡¯s plenty of things she probably missed before that she could see now, with her senses improved.


    ¡°I¡¯ll signal if and when someone¡¯s listening. Click my nails together. In the meantime, we should be fine, they have more important matters to deal with than some unknown volunteers they can borrow.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. Good to be on alert, though.¡±


    ¡°Agreed. Jin, that means you, don¡¯t say stupid shit.¡±


    Jin looks at her and raises an eyebrow. ¡°Between all of us, I do not hold the record for saying crazy or stupid things.¡±


    ¡°Keep making comments like that and you¡¯ll catch up quick, brat.¡±


    ¡ª----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    The train ride is a particularly novel experience.


    It¡¯s one thing to travel in a flying artifact, that¡¯s at least a little believable. Plenty of stories and tales are told about them, and the impossible things that Qi and arrays can do are well noted.


    But stepping onto the machine-leviathan is an entirely different experience. Synesthesia (still only working intermittently) and her tremor-sense tell her about the thousands, tens of thousands of moving pieces, all connecting and integrating into each other like a living body of metal. The scent of Imperial Qi, as Raika¡¯s come to understand it, fills veins and array-formations spread throughout the leviathan construct, using remarkably little Qi for such a colossal beast, and the clicking, clunking, ratcheting sounds respond to the flow of power all through it.


    And for all that, its interior is no slouch either.


    Gold, jade, and gunmetal colors make up the majority of its design, with wood and padding present all along the interior. For all that it¡¯s a machine clearly meant to work, there¡¯s a remarkable amount of space inside its walls, a hint of spatial dilation making for room-sized cars full of seats.


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    And every one of the seats are full.


    The claustrophobia of her senses presses in again, though not as violently as in the crowded city streets. Some people, clearly other volunteers, wear simple robes, civilian outfits or clothing reminiscent of servants from different sects and merchant groups, but most of the train is uniform, literally. Black and grey clothing and simple armors, with badges of jade and different materials the only differentiation, make up over 90% of the train¡¯s occupants. Most of them sit staring straight forward, but some of them whisper and talk quietly to each other. Some of them hold prayer beads, statues of the Imperial Seal or their own rank badges, their heads bowed. They¡¯re barely mumbling, but with Raika¡¯s senses¡­


    ¡°Please divine lords, let me be of some service unto you. May you escort me to thy battlefields with security and bring me home victorious, whole and alive-¡±


    ¡°Gods beyond, I beseech thy blessings, that the Hells keep their grips from my soul and the Emperor¡¯s Judges find me worthy of their grace-¡±


    ¡°Let me be strong. Let me be brave. Let me face the enemies ahead as my own, and find them wanting. Let me find my way back once the killing is done.¡±


    And off to one side of the car, quieter, muffled by even the speaker¡¯s own heartbeat, she hears one that lands a bit heavier.


    ¡°I hope I see them again. I hope I make it home. I hope they don¡¯t miss me much. S¨¡dhu.¡±


    She¡¯s heard these prayers before. A long time ago. It¡¯s not in a cultivator¡¯s nature to pray, for the most part. Every rule has exceptions, but to cultivate is to defy the heavens, to challenge the gods that you would stand alongside them. But those who don¡¯t seek cultivation as its own entity, who seek power for other purposes, and mortals especially, all pray.


    She heard the prayers on her first battlefield. Where she first earned her nickname, through mockery and panic and the blood-soaked fists she brought back to camp that day, stained with the lives of farmers and ¡°rebels¡±. These are soldier¡¯s prayers. Prayers to come home.


    Prayers that the deaths to come are not their own.


    The fortress cities are vast. They stretch to the horizon in each direction from their center, and here, well behind the lines of battle, the city part is dominant, a place of constant bazaars, improvised homes and interesting architecture.


    But the fourth ring is not known for being peaceful.


    It is ¡°conquered¡±. Those coming to assault the Empire¡¯s walls are beasts and dissidents, rebels and monsters, not enemy factions. Not according to what the Empire might claim, anyways. Who is to say otherwise?


    Not the sects, though every year, even in a small place like the Hungering Roots sect, the fourth ring draws its tributes of flesh and skill.


    Not the people, who live in fear of what¡¯s beyond the wall and ignorance of the ugliness behind it.


    And not the Empire. Surely not.


    Raika sits down on one of the available seats, a bit too small even with generous spacing for a human baseline. Bodies cluster in on one side of her as she blocks off the press from Jin and Li Shu on the other side, all three of them sitting together and squeezed in amidst the massive yet utterly packed traincar. While Li Shu seems a bit uncomfortable with the amount of people all around, she¡¯s used to working in a crowded clinic; the smell of fear and panic isn¡¯t new to her, and she holds herself well. The robes help too, a healer¡¯s colors earning her respect and extra space for herself.


    Jin, on the other hand, seems tense. Uncomfortable. He¡¯s got room, both Raika and Li Shu blocking off the armors and press of bodies on either side of him, but he still looks¡­ almost afraid.


    She looks down at him, turning on her synesthesia to check and make sure he¡¯s alright. Claustrophobia is a true and genuine concern, as packed in as they are, but she can take him into the walkways and balance as the train moves against one of the more open walls.


    But it¡¯s his Qi. It roils, disturbed, the smoke disrupted by louder voices and the sounds of people¡­ walking?


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    He looks up at her and blinks, like he¡¯s surprised to see her there. He takes a breath, steadying himself.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ a lot of people. Not used to crowds.¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t this bothered in the city. Is it the train? Sitting down?¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°No, it¡¯s just¡­¡±


    He looks around himself, his eyes darting as if avoiding looking at something when he moves his head. He takes another breath slow and quiet, as if preparing himself for a sprint.


    ¡°They¡¯re all looking at me,¡± he whispers.


    She looks around. Some of the soldiers looked at her or Li Shu, but at Jin? Maybe a pitying glance, once or twice. But now they¡¯re all seated, and the train is beginning to depart, its engines howling and the clicking bones and digits within it stretching and pulling at each other¡­ no one is giving him a second glance.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    Jin deflates a little. Like he was scared of that answer.


    ¡°The dead ones.¡±


    Immediately, she pushes her synesthesia back to full effect. It¡¯s been on break long enough, and if she¡¯s missing full-on wraiths, she needs to adjust faster to it.


    The black and grey of the cars turn vibrant, her eyes assigning them textures and her nose assigning smells to the movements of the gears. Every living thing around her becomes a series of myriad colors, recognizably human only by her knowing what they are. Faces become partially obscured and partially highlighted, like painted masks, each movement exaggerated, each emotion and hormone lighting up a scent or sound, until everything around her is an intricately balanced kaleidoscope.


    If not for how patterns form in the chains of bodily reactions and physical movements around her, it¡¯s easy to get lost in it.


    Her sensory-suite sub-brain and the logic-minds beneath her frontal lobe all kick back into overdrive, pushing her mind past the human threshold to interpret information beyond human senses.


    And she sees nothing.


    No ghosts or ghouls, no scents that remind her of the Cold Sun. There¡¯s a slight smell of rot that she can filter for, but it¡¯s just background stuff- hair and nails, little bits of food being digested, some of the darker emotions here and there. It¡¯s not nothing, but it¡¯s not a specter.


    But Jin isn¡¯t a liar, and it¡¯s not a good habit for orphans to show fear.


    ¡°Where?¡± she asks.


    ¡°...All around. There¡¯s some on almost everybody.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re¡­ on people. Ok. Point me to a specific one.¡±


    Jin hesitates, but eventually his hand comes up to point. There¡¯s a slight tremble in it, but he keeps it small, and he points directly above the head of the soldier sitting in front of him.


    ¡°It¡¯s looking over his head. It¡¯s staring right at me.¡±


    ¡°What does it look like?¡±


    ¡°Like a man. Like a soldier. It¡¯s also wearing a uniform, I think. It¡¯s really see-through, mostly mist, but it still has eyes.¡±


    She turns her senses to the soldier in question.


    The train is moving at this point, the scenery past its windows blurring. It travels fast enough that she¡¯d be hard pressed to keep up with it at a dead sprint, and in an endurance contest she outpaces most cultivators near her level. The world blurs, the engine rumbles, and the sound of bodies and the smell of flesh and feelings fills the container with a mix of wonder, dread, excitement, fear, and hope.


    And she filters it out.


    She focuses her eyes as hard as she can right over the head of the soldier before them.


    She can¡¯t just shut off her senses, since she doesn¡¯t know what she needs. She could see wraiths, even touch and taste them, during the night of the Cold Sun, but she¡¯s noticed little ghostly¡­ bits? Bits, before. If there¡¯s something there, and her apprentice says there is, then she should be able to see it. Her minds shunt out anything and everything that isn¡¯t at least partially dead-smelling, that doesn¡¯t look person-shaped, that doesn¡¯t orbit the head of the soldier in front of her.


    The world greys out to her senses, bit by bit, as she focuses on only one piece of it.


    Idly, as she often does when she¡¯s focusing, she touches Dink, hanging around her neck. It vibrates, hums ever so quietly.


    Deep inside, wrapped tight in fractal patterns around her reactor, her Blacksteel shivers, just a bit.


    And something turns to look at her.


    It¡¯s barely there. It¡¯s like¡­ the shadow of a shadow, like the lingering impression of the shape of a person on a foggy night. Less real than even someone¡¯s reflection, because that, at least, looks real, looks a certain way.


    She blinks, and its gone. Just a vague sort of space where she¡¯s looking that maybe, kinda sorta, has just a bit more of a bloody, cold smell than the rest of the soldier¡¯s aura.


    ¡°It¡­ it went away,¡± Jin says, his voice quiet.


    ¡°Are the others still looking?¡± she asks.


    He nods quietly.


    ¡°Good. Point them to me. I need to practice.¡±

 Chapter 210 - Official Government Personnel Always Have Your Best Interests At Heart

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    The train ride only takes about thirty minutes. Even with the spatial dilation effects that they pass through, the smell of them making Raika a bit dizzy as they blur past, the train moves at a tremendous speed, and what was once the horizon nears in record time.


    And in that same period, she ¡°dissolves¡± another six ethereal figures.


    They don¡¯t seem like ghosts. They don¡¯t have nearly the potency or¡­ realized physicality that the ghosts and wraiths she¡¯s hunted seemed to have. These seem more like vague imprints than clear images, and don¡¯t have nearly the potency of the things she¡¯s met before.


    What helped was realizing that they just smell like¡­ well, like regular death.


    Everyone smells like death at least a little. Dead skin cells, dead hairs, dead mites and critters that can crawl where you¡¯re not looking. Most cultivators that are in the Core Formation realm or above tend to lose the scent, their vitality and physical changes overcoming all but the hardiest of minute parasites, but for most people, the smell is constant. If they¡¯ve eaten recently, the scent can be a part of their breathing; not decay, not digestion, each distinct, but simply the fact that something died, transmitted into scent or sight or sensation through her senses. These minute ghost-things don¡¯t smell of Qi, or of powerful concepts¡­ they just smell like regular, old fashioned, everyday death.


    But when she starts to pick out the details of them, something becomes clear: they¡¯re death, shaped like people.


    That¡¯s it. That¡¯s all.


    It¡¯s like saying the scent of meat, shaped like a cut of meat, or the scent of a flower, shaped like the ghost of a strangled vine. The scent of death, omnipresent and casual and usually unimportant, is sometimes shaped¡­ like people. People and things, if Jin¡¯s sight is to be believed, and at this point there¡¯s little doubt of that.


    Most of the mist-shadows look, to him, like soldiers, occasionally drifting from one of the living to another. She wonders, idly, if they¡¯re remnants of previous soldiers who came back to haunt the train, or if they¡¯re just¡­ imprints of moments, now gone, whose creator-selves have passed. Whenever she focuses too hard on them, they apparently just vanish, gone entirely, so more likely the latter. Perhaps the attention of someone living is enough to overwhelm them.


    Interesting, then, that Jin can see them so clearly and so directly.


    She really needs to find the boy a proper manual. There¡¯s plenty of death and ghost-art sects in the world, even if they¡¯re no longer as common, and if anyplace is bound to have methods of growing stronger from death, it¡¯ll be an Imperial war-machine.


    By this point, Jin¡¯s gotten a bit more comfortable with them, too. While most of them do seem to have their¡­ head-clouds pointed vaguely at him, the fact that looking back at them hard enough is enough to make them dissipate has done a lot for his fear of them. The train pulls to a stop, the ambiance aboard just a bit lighter, and hundreds of mid-level cultivators armored for war begin to filter their way out of it.


    It¡¯s¡­ a bit disturbing, watching how they walk. Most of them, even those with distinct scents and totally different cultivations, don¡¯t seem bothered by each other, standing side by side and even talking to each other. The usual posturing for face and the demands of kowtowing one might find amidst a collection of sect-based cultivators is absent here, even amongst those who are clearly in different parts of their respective realms.


    Most of the soldiers are at the bottom of or nearing the Core Formation realm, their Qi in the process of purification and condensing in their dantians, but there¡¯s plenty in the foundational realm. They wear different badges, and definitely seem to be headed in different directions, but all of them stand side by side without difficulty, hundreds of cultivators from all over the rings all walking together.


    It would be inspiring if not for the omnipresent smell of anxiety and adrenaline.


    As they walk, the volunteers are almost immediately taken from the rest, clear lines forming as soldiers with a white stripe and paler jade on their badges start to subdivide the crowds. Core Formation cultivators go along the massive, arched hallway ahead, Foundational realm cultivators go off to one side, heading up a long set of stairs, and the volunteers are taken to a cleared-out area of smooth stone, concrete and metal pillars, holding up the structures above.


    ¡°Line up, line up! Present your merit plaques in front of you and you will be checked and moved to the correct placement! Line up, one and all!¡±


    The person checking them over is a Core Formation realm cultivator, someone who seems pretty advanced. His Qi smells¡­ well, it smells distressingly similar to most of the people here, his internal soul flavoring the ideas of sharp edges, violence, and endurance with a scent of apples and pomegranates. He walks past each one of them, only glancing and making a note on the plaques of most of the servants and minor Qi Gathering cultivators who have arrived- but pausing at Li Shu.


    ¡°A Foundational realm cultivator with a healer¡¯s badge?¡± he says. ¡°Impressive. You must have a worthy teacher to have impressed your testing monitor. Fresh medical aid is always welcome on the wall. Thank you for your service.¡±


    Li Shu gives him a smile and a nod, and he passes over Jin¡¯s diminutive form beside Li Shu, wearing the robes of an apprentice and carrying a satchel.


    And then he pauses again at Raika.


    ¡°Ah. A special physique. Good, we can always use more manpower. We¡¯ll get you properly checked out with analytics.¡±


    Li Shu blinks. ¡°Ah, honored cultivator, I¡¯m afraid that this one is my assistant and guard. I must demand that she remain with me.¡±


    The soldier doesn¡¯t even turn to look at her. ¡°All orders are final, healer. This entire city and fortress are under the authority of the Division of War, and any and all demands must fall within that realm. Your¡­ assistant here will likely be deployed to where she¡¯s most useful, not where you want her to be.¡±


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Raika makes a little gesture to Li Shu. This is fine. They only need to stay long enough to find a way to head out into the 4th ring without drawing attention, and splitting up increases their chances of finding something sooner. Besides, Raika is confident that between her lack of Qi and ability to shapeshift and camouflage, she can escape to meet with Li Shu whenever they aren¡¯t supervised.


    Li Shu sends a little pulse of Qi, her irritation pretty loud in it, but she accepts. The soldier finishes marking something on his artifact, another glowing slate, and moves on without a word.


    The rest of the checks go by quickly. Of the two dozen volunteers, most of them end up headed to ¡°analytics¡± with Raika, with a few specialized talents heading for other districts. Li Shu is being politely pointed towards the medical wards, while Raika and her fellow not-so-specialized are taken in another direction.


    Which¡­ does beg the question of why they aren¡¯t getting examined in the medical area. Not much of a question, but still.


    The groups peel off, one after another. The weakest of the mortals are pulled off towards the first hallway they pass, heading down. The next rank, those with a hint of Qi or stronger bodies and modifications, go into a second hallway, this one with doors and stairs going both up and down.


    Raika walks on a little further, the soldiers that seemed fine for a large group feeling a bit¡­ tight around her.


    ¡°How much further to the¡­ analytics department?¡±


    ¡°One more door,¡± says the soldier she spoke to earlier. ¡°Down some stairs, past some shielding. Special constitutions are rare, and all our informational capacity is kept well guarded.¡±


    The rest of the walk progresses in silence.


    They do make it to that next hallway. Down the next turn, it begins to slope downward, the walls thickening and giving off¡­ a strange sort of impression. She starts to trek down the well-lit ramp towards somewhere down below, and rapidly finds some of her senses cut off. Not entirely, but similar to how it felt in¡­


    Ah. How it felt in the tunnels under Cragend.


    The walls here are godflesh. Born from a Heart. She feels her own, new Heart tremble at the revelation, and wonders if they can communicate directly with each other. Maybe not while it¡¯s inside her body. The walls absorb minute amounts of Qi, not nearly as much as in the tunnels of She of Still Waters, but enough to blunt any techniques, stray energies, that sort of thing. Her senses gradually dull the deeper they walk down, but for a while, when she focuses, she can ¡°see¡± into the material, synesthesia feeding her data from tremors as she walks to show the shapes of arrays grown into the walls themselves.


    She¡¯d probably be more impressed by the whole thing if she wasn¡¯t walking into it surrounded by armed soldiers.


    ¡°So¡­ this whole thing with analytics, is it-¡±


    She barely dodges the first bullet.


    It¡¯s absorbed into the wall almost perfectly, the sound muffled to near nothing, and the soldier wielding it moves fast enough that even her senses get a bit confused.


    But she¡¯s fast too.


    Pistons and hydraulics meet muscle fibers to make her reactions faster than any human has a right to be, and before the echo of the shot has faded into the sound muffling she has her hand around the soldier¡¯s face and is beginning to squeeze.


    Three more gunshots echo in the quiet space, and this time, they don¡¯t miss.


    They should, though. She moves just as fast, dodges just as fluidly, and yet-


    The Dao of the Bullet guides them unerringly into her flesh.


    Most of them don¡¯t make it very deep, but deep enough to bleed her, even through the nanoscale armor. That shouldn¡¯t be. The kinetic plates under her skin are more than dense enough to stop a regular pistol shot from Taran, and-


    She throws the soldier she¡¯s holding at the others, overclocking her perception, her muscles pulsing with energy. There¡¯s a half-second where she hesitates, where she wonders if their cover is broken or if using her transformations here will harm Li Shu and Jin. Barely a pause, her logic-brains still focusing on translating sensory data, the unknown slowing her just enough-


    ¡°Be Still.¡±


    It sounds like Truespeak. It reeks of a Dao. Similar to the guard captain she met so long ago, who embodied the Dao of Balance.


    The Dao of Control freezes her movement for exactly one-quarter second.


    Raika can survive a lot of damage.


    In spite of this, there¡¯s one type of damage she¡¯s never actually tested herself against.


    Six guns, charged with Qi, shaped by six unique cultivations wrapped around one singular yet distinct Dao, fire into her skull at the same time.


    The bullets barely make it through her skull. But they do. Charged with lightning and fire and fruity growth and thunder and pounding waves and the very concept of what a bullet is and should do, they crack through bone and find their target.


    Bits of multiple overlapping brains land wetly against the godflesh walls, and are absorbed in moments.


    Raika has exactly enough time to realize that grey matter is actually rather pink.


    The world goes dark.


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    ¡°Fuck, she was a fast one.¡±


    ¡°Forget that. She was tough. Ten shots to take her down. I¡¯ve seen spirits beasts go down to less.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, blame having to use these little pistols instead of proper rifles. A weapon should be able to be worn proudly and roar properly when used.¡±


    One of the soldiers knocks the last one upside the head. ¡°Keep talking like that and you¡¯ll be getting a week¡¯s drills on the Dao of the Gun. All guns are powerful and pure in purpose.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah. Still, couldn¡¯t we have waited a little longer? I don¡¯t want to have to drag this whole thing down half the hallway.¡±


    ¡°You know protocol. Report says that she had some degree of enhanced senses, but no idea how much. You ever hear about the time one of the extra-sensory ones got too close to the production chambers? Could hear the shrieking for miles.¡±


    ¡°Whatever. Come on, lets feed her to the damn floor and go.¡±


    As protocol demands, all dozen soldiers stay with the body as it¡¯s brought down by three other cultivators. The weight of the body (and shape of limp flesh) is an impressive damn display, the unawakened mortal somehow still weighing as much as twice what her impressive height would indicate. That¡¯s besides how rich her blood smells, like an alchemical ingredient begging to be made into an elixir.


    All in all, the soldier still filling out his data-artifact is satisfied. No Qi to speak of, but tremendous physical properties, and no backing from any sect or institution visible. Every special constitution they can afford goes straight to the fortress city proper, and Fortress City 180, or the Fifth Northeastern Shield as it is often called, is always in need of fresh materials and blueprints.


    The hallway finally ends, deep beneath most of even the other institutions of the already half-buried superstructure. The soldiers all emerge into a massive open area, the temperature and humidity skyrocketing immediately.


    Beneath them are monsters.


    The Godflesh crawls with them, like maggots spawning from a corpse, like bugs unburying themselves from a field. The massive cavern and its multiple ¡°piers¡± extend out over a yawning mass of flesh as dead bodies are thrown down to be consumed and recycled and new flesh begins its crawl up to the deployment tubes. The vast troughs and tunnels that connect to corpse-processing on the front lines spew out a never-ending, constant stream of bodies, spirit beasts and bioconstructs falling down, down into the messy quagmire below.


    ¡°Alright, toss it. We¡¯ve got another batch of volunteers coming in in about thirty minutes, let¡¯s get this done.¡±


    With some grumbling, the three soldiers all move to throw the body overboard, into the squirming mass of flesh and transformation far below.


    And then one of them makes a gurgling sound as a hand shoots out and crushes his throat.

 Chapter 211 - WAR! Huh, Yeah! What Is It Good For?

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    Deep within a tower, standing tall and vibrant in steel, gold and jade, an alarm begins to ring. Flashing red lights and a series of runic formations circle each other, highlighting a node of flesh, its surface glistening and ever-shifting. Eyes swivel towards it, its crimson lighting fresh and bright amidst the half-dozen other alarms just like it screaming their little hearts out.


    The room it¡¯s in, a towering arena of a hundred Core-Formation cultivators dashing between a good fifteen different data-artifacts each. The glow of constantly updating words, flowing messages and orders lights up the room in a greenish glow of jade and Qi, illuminating the podium that stands above the rest, on which a lone individual overlooks the chamber. Garrison Commander Jun Jie, a Nascent Soul realm cultivator nearing the heights of his current cultivation, oversees the movements of every individual in the chamber and tracks the chaos of data and information perpetually. Those who have learned techniques to see through Qi, to see the shape of a soul, rarely look upon him, despite how many he¡¯s fostered within his ranks- to look at him through truer sight is to see the thousands of glistening eyes of crystal and glass that orbit him like a halo, technique and growing Soul both ensuring that he holds total control of his operations.


    He is the first to notice that something has gone wrong.


    Subvocally, a strand of Qi imbued with his intent and instructions shoots into a cluster of his operators, infused by the Dao of Control.


    Confirm danger-close report from interior digestion chamber 18.


    They don¡¯t even bother to resist the compulsion, scrambling towards the data-artifacts surrounding the crimson alert. One of them, a promising young technician whose name Jun Jie might decide to remember if she keeps up her growth, connects to the alarm-node directly, cutting open her palm and placing it against the crimson, rune-covered flesh.


    She spasms, a steady flow of blood beginning to drip from her nose, but she holds herself up admirably. It is rare for one to connect to a Creation Engine and not experience some backlash, but she manages to actually turn and send a Qi-encoded message back to him. The rest of the group follows in turn as the additional data-streams of the local artifacts confirm the message.


    Danger close report authenticated. Emergency Override from Creation Engine due to detected threat. Transcendent energy detected, type unknown, scale unknown. Disruption noted in digestion process. We have six confirmed deaths of connected Infantry, one confirmed death from an Auxiliary Officer- reconfirmed, ten confirmed Infantry losses.


    Garrison Commander Jun Jie frowns, three more crystal-glass eyes flickering from their orbits to focus on the local alarm. While two of the other alarms have been resolved, bright crimson falling to a calmer yellow as talented technicians assign personnel to deal with them. Three of the others will remain on for, most likely, the rest of the day, as the ongoing assault continues, and the only other rogue element is already being handled by Jun Jie himself. For all the well-oiled machinery of the Division of War¡¯s training, for all the Daos that its soldiers are made to acquire, there is never a moment where an unforeseen variable can¡¯t throw everything into disorder.


    Priority Beta-3, he sends down to them. His eyes are already swiveling back to the spatial array blueprints before him, identifying the crimson-coded risk areas and assigning manpower and the Creation Engine¡¯s own resources to patch the failsafes. A pack of spirit beasts adept at spatial warfare is trying to burrow in, and he rearranges the structures before them to bleed them on the way. I want it resolved in the next thirty minutes. We still have three fronts to contend with and the secondary Quietus horde on approach is only going to increase pressure. Get it done.


    The technician, now bleeding from her eyes as well, simply nods, her Qi cycling as the cultivation of a Core Formation realm soldier fights against the foreign influence of the Creation Engine. The overwhelming flow of data is enough to cause her brain to start hemorrhaging, though any lesser would be dead already. Order confirmed. Reassigning two Squadron Leaders into the breach, assigning quarantine protocols, level three.


    Jun Jie nods. Good. By the book, as procedure demands on a digestion-pool breach. The issue will likely be resolved shortly, even if two full squadrons is a bit excessive.


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    Li Shu was surprised when one of the medical aides approached her right away, before she even got a chance to be assigned to a unit or to volunteer duties. The sounds of the wounded and the smell of a charnel house, battling with a clean scent of healing and chemicals, battles in her senses as her Sacrificial needles begin to hover almost of their own accord.


    The young man who interrupts her focus gives a polite half-bow, a little deeper than might be expected, and simply tells her what an honor it will be to work alongside a true hero, a volunteer healer of all things.


    Quietly, with one hand on his hip, he flashes a small sign, his Qi briefly assuming an awkward recreation of a shape. A closed eye over a strange flame.


    She blinks, then smiles, bowing back to him. Quietly, doing their best to go unnoticed, she trades off the letters she and Raika have been writing, making it seem like simply an ornate hand-shake as the carefully folded papers swap hands.


    It¡¯s impressive, seriously. Hao Nera¡¯s only been working for, what, two or three months? And already, he¡¯s managed to get ahold of a connection in the fortress part of the fortress city proper. The assistant seems clearly frazzled, but¡­ well, she does need to send the letters. It¡¯s a small thing, but still a good sign that her partners are doing well.


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    She misses them. She can¡¯t imagine how Raika feels about Maen, but the number of letters she¡¯s written since it came out that Taurus knew about her location and arrangements gives some idea.


    In the chaos and mess of the infirmary, there¡¯s not much time to focus on it, though. It seems like there¡¯s an almost frantic energy, dozens of soldiers running around, and she¡¯s guided to the bed of one whose cultivation is wobbling, cuts along his stomach infused with enough power to cut into the surface layer of his dantian.


    Almost immediately, she loses herself in the work of fixing things, of confronting new and interesting problems and solving them. Her Craft stirs, concepts of blood, healing, death and pain and swirling around the keratin needles as they begin their work, aided by her Qi and her focus.


    She barely even notices as Jin flinches and turns to stare, wide-eyed, down through the floor towards somewhere far below.


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    Infantryman Shan Ji has done this before. Of course he has. It¡¯s business as usual. The Creation Engine, for all that its impossible powers can manifest when properly leashed, is a machine. An overlarge array or supreme formation, which can act as a sort of data artifact and be controlled in equal measure. When given proper instruction, and especially blueprints, it can do nearly anything, and so long as that remains true, the fortress cities remain unbreakable, each of them built from at least one such divine instrument.


    But they¡¯re just machines, really. Just an overly complicated bit of spellwork. They¡¯re not creative, so you need to tell them what to do. Feed them directions.


    The easiest directions to feed them is meat.


    Feed them something, and if it¡¯s useful, you¡¯ll see it crawling back out of the Creation Engine not long after. A forever-army to stand against the fodder of the fourth ring and its wastelands and savages, leaving the real fighting to proper cultivators.


    So a special physique, possibly unique in all the world, with no backing, no strength, no potential? Well. Best to make it into something useful.


    He went to the Academies, like almost every soldier has. He studied the Dao of the Gun, the Dao of the Sword, the Dao of Command, gaining the minimal marks needed as prerequisite to work on the Emperor¡¯s holy Wall against the outsider hordes and rebels. He has, with those Daos, cast other lives down into the digestion pits, usually as punishment duty, then later, once they found that he didn¡¯t have that much of a problem with it, as consistent assignment.


    He likes the job fine. Usually the people he works with aren¡¯t too squeamish, and they get that tough things need to be done. No use in letting power and opportunity be wasted on those without talent or a proper work ethic. Even his auxiliary officer, who¡¯s a bit uptight, ain¡¯t too bad for somebody in charge of a good twenty-five odd people.


    He¡¯s done this before. It¡¯s safe. It¡¯s right. It¡¯s not a bad job.


    Infantryman Shan Ji paraphrases this train of thought three times before the lack of oxygen finally starts to shut down his brain.


    Cultivator physiology really is something. He never cared much in class, not when cutting off a head is plenty lethal enough (ironic, that), but he knows that the more you cultivate, the less the laws of the Heavens matter. His head was torn from his neck almost ten seconds ago, but he can still think. Sort of. A little. Less, the longer it lasts. It¡¯s hard to maintain proper bloodflow when someone¡¯s fingers are holding the stump where your neck was.


    They¡¯re not really fingers, though. There¡¯s not really a name for them.


    Some of them have a lot of joints. Some only have one. Some are just large, sharp knives, made of obsidian and bone and such.


    He¡¯s being cradled, though. Something is looking at him.


    He can see the mark where his bullet entered the skull. Isn¡¯t that interesting? There it is, fading away, like a bad dream. The meat is all swirly and there¡¯s a strange fire coming from it, a glow like radiation of mostly red and gold and white and purple, but with everything at least a little.


    The face looking at him has too many eyes.


    It doesn¡¯t look like it, because of the pair of hands covering part of the face, like its crying. But if you look up, you see all the eyes. Peeking between the fingers and framing the hands and going all around the head, so many eyes with so many colors and shapes and styles and they¡¯re all looking, all the time, and a lot of them see him.


    And the face that¡¯s covered by hands and is weeping neon blood and has too many eyes and is a mask opens, and beneath it there¡¯s a place with too many teeth.


    Cultivator physiology is a hell of a thing. Almost a full fifteen seconds after he got his head cut off, even as his mind is shutting down, Infantryman Shan Ji has just long enough to feel afraid one last time as he begins to be peeled.


    ¡ª-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    The Body moves poorly, because it does not remember how. Muscle memory is strung together into sequences that lead into movement that lead into instinct, but much of the structure is missing.


    That¡¯s ok. It has its orders.


    First there was the adrenaline, much more than there used to be, so that means fight and flight. Then there¡¯s the hunger, obviously, so that¡¯s on the list to be addressed. Then there¡¯s the pain, which really doesn¡¯t matter much because it¡¯s really very used to pain, but its still important.


    But parts of the system are missing. The structure is askew.


    That¡¯s fine. It¡¯s the Body. It¡¯s ever so good at fixing things. It keeps moving, even when so much of the structure didn¡¯t want to, and there¡¯s so much more to be done.


    It needs to see, so it makes eyes. It¡¯s not sure what the eyes are saying, so it makes more, and they can argue it out to tell it stuff.


    It opens more noses and more lungs, because that¡¯s important, it needs more senses and it needs more oxygen. That¡¯s fuel. That¡¯s important.


    Oh. Right. Fuel.


    With a twitch of musculature and transhuman flesh, rods of Blacksteel are pulled from an ongoing reaction of life and death intertwined.


    There¡¯s something so right about that. Like a circle, or a balance. Some death in life, some life in death, and both always into the other. It¡¯s like¡­ perpetual motion, sort of. Or like a catalyst.


    It makes for lovely fuel.


    Some of its limbs are busy with the sharp pains and the squirming food, and that¡¯s good. Its much bigger, which is harder to move quickly, but it can¡¯t move very well anyways, and there¡¯s so very much fuel that it can just grow. That part¡¯s much easier.


    It grows, and more pain starts as things pluck at it and squeal and bite and feed their own hungers, and that won¡¯t do.


    The Body¡¯s Heart begins to beat and shift, sending out blood (no, not blood¡­ water? Thoughts? Space?) through it, and it begins to touch things and fix little changes. That¡¯s good. The Body is only so-so when it comes to growing right, after all.


    Together, though, they can grow very fast.


    Fear and pain and hunger are very, very deep inside what it means to be alive. It doesn¡¯t need the whole system for that. The Body is presented with many age-old problems with only a few variables it can track.


    But that¡¯s ok. It¡¯s very good at math, and it usually gets the right solutions if it tries enough. It¡¯s not like they can kill it now anyways.


    There¡¯ s so much fuel.

 Chapter 212 - Abso-lutely Nothing, Say It Again Y鈥檃ll~

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    "Contact, contact! The quarantine has been breached, I repeat, the quarantine has been breached! We need reinforcements! Core Formation realm and sappers required, the fucking thing is tearing through us like-¡±


    A clawed hand separates the jaw and lungs and ribcage from the rest of the body, so whatever metaphor might have been spoken is replaced by a wet gurgle and the sounds of chewing.


    And swallowing. Mostly swallowing. When your whole throat is full of teeth, you don¡¯t really need to chew all that much.


    The Body sprints up the tunnel on six legs, sometimes four, each limb multi-jointed and arcing with radiant streams of iridescent fire that highlight the dozens of spines and muscle groups spread like a tail behind it. It bakes through the flesh, compensates for the failures of design and of breaking tendons and muscles and bones, replacing them faster than they can be lost. Limbs that could be arms or tentacles or grasping wings stream ahead of it, bearing the brunt of most of the weapons fire and Qi techniques being thrown- if they break, they just get replaced.


    The Body feels its Heart reaching out, rearranging plates of kinetic-reactive scales and woven fibers into the way of some of the damage, and that¡¯s fine, but it¡¯s not really needed. It has so much fuel it can grow forever, but¡­ well, it is a little less hungry if it doesn¡¯t lose its pieces so easily.


    Someone slices a blade of glowing vermillion aura through a human-ish arm, and the leftover bits of transcendent fuel inside it make it bloom into a lovely thicket. Arms grow from arms grow from arms until a hundred thousand fingers are mashed into paste against impossibly powerful armor and arrays and drown the vermillion sword (and the person holding it) in blood and hands, and the Body eats the whole thing as it keeps climbing.


    The tunnel keeps trying to close around it but whenever it does it feels its Heart burrowing out of its skin, touching the tunnel walls and pushing them back. There¡¯s a sense of communication, of nerves and thought and brain matter communing, but the Body hasn¡¯t really bothered with that particular calorie-intensive tool yet, so that¡¯s not its business. It just needs to keep growing. So long as it doesn¡¯t die from it, it can keep moving, because that¡¯s how all bodies are designed originally.


    It works perfectly!


    Exploding from the cramped tunnel on a sled of broken limbs and ruined joints and torn-apart skin, the Body emerges from the tunnel into the long hangar-hallway that Raika was walked down just a few minutes ago.


    It¡¯s changed since then.


    Three hundred and sixteen eyes (plus or minus seventy at any given moment, ocular jelly coming into being and being broken or reabsorbed almost as quickly) take in information as a dozen mouths make odd screaming noises as they pull in air.


    A wall of death muffles the sound as two hundred guns fire at once.


    Imperial rifles are complex machines, each one ornately designed with arrays and jade circuits in them right alongside mechanical components. Winding gears and twisting mechanisms push old bullet cartridges out and replace them with new ones, and arrays scream in synesthetic agony as Qi from two hundred cultivators is pushed into them. The Dao of the Gun ensures that each gun is more of itself: a bullet is meant to kill, so it reaches out with more and more death as its nature is comprehended, and added to the shots are two hundred different flavors of cultivation, all shaped the same but flavored distinctly.


    The machine of the Division of War launches a salvo against the Body.


    The impossible reactor of life and death, of paracausal materials and impossible energies, clicks a little bit higher as more Blacksteel is fed into its reaction.


    A wall of meat becomes reality around the Body.


    Chitinous armor, dense leathery flesh, woven biofibers, reactive scales and impact-dampening jelly all overlap, unequally and chaotically, and drink deep of the violence launched upon them, exploding messily into thousands of pieces. Cursed flesh, strained past its original intent, buckles under the amount of energy being injected into it and reacts violently, detonating in flashes of Qi and bursts of the original intent and runic arrays that formed it.


    And then the wall of meat explodes a second time as the Body moves through it, uncaring of its losses.


    It¡¯s so fucking hungry, and it has so much energy.


    The second round of gunfire is launched faster than the Body can cross the distance, and a second bloom of hardened and impossible meat blunts the impact again.


    Some of the people in the back say words, and the methodical and precise firing of the first two rounds is replaced by an ongoing roll of thunder. Gunsmoke fills the air and bullets with thousands of auras tear through several tons of meat, digging into the Body beneath before it can advance and bloom again.


    For the first time since it started climbing back out of the tunnel, one of the Body¡¯s tools fails.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    That¡¯s ok! That¡¯s how it¡¯s supposed to work! If it stops working, just leave it behind!


    Evolution, screaming with impossible velocity and exponential growth, discards the flesh-bloom entirely.


    The Heart agrees with and supports the shift in tactics, reinforcing layer after layer of flesh with millimeter-wide scales of hyperdense carbon, keratin, and Blacksteel. Three layers of the armor manifest, multiplying the power of the Qi-resistant surface layer, slowing the exponential growth of new limbs considerably due to added complexity- but that just takes spawning from a quarter-second to half.


    A long, impossible serpent of spinal columns and obsidian flesh roars out of a dozen mouths situated across its body, and ten different limbs, clawed, bladed, and overwhelming in weight slam into the ground and slap at the air as gunfire tries to force it back.


    As flesh-exploding shots morph into ricochets and surface-level wounds, the Body moves forward again.


    Its lower body is half serpent, half centipede, a massively muscled body splitting into different tail-segments and spawning legs and arms, hands and torsos and faces from them, while the upper body resembles nothing in the natural kingdom. If a tree and a snake and a piece of coral all overlapped at once, wrapped around and emerging from behind a thing that is maybe a face and maybe just humanoid hands covering a mass of so many eyes, then it might be partially accurate.


    It bleeds iridescent fire and neon blood and the sound it makes as it breathes could be a roar or a giggle or a scream.


    To their credit, the soldiers do not break. They begin to reload, sappers behind them slamming their hands to the ground and beginning to carve runes for arrays and plant flags for formations-


    And the Body is among them.


    Cultivator bodies are incredibly powerful. While Core Formation is merely the final step of the easiest part of a cultivator¡¯s journey, it¡¯s enough to place any who reach it distinctly past human capacity. They can lift boulders, cast impossible spells and wield arcane abilities, heal from even the worst sorts of wounds with a few days and a bit of luck. To top that, Imperial soldiers wear armors made of high-level materials, enchanted with arrays to ensure they can self-repair and reduce any harm done to those wearing them.


    The limbs, segmented like whips and moving faster than the eye can see, or weighing multiple tons of armor and bone, or many-jointed things of impossibly sharp edges and Blacksteel claws, turn about fifty of them into paste in an instant.


    The hallway trembles, and the Body rushes forward, its attentions divided as it crushes and impales and slices apart the remains of the squadron and rushes forward. More and more limbs emerge behind it, anchoring its body further, and the limbs that don¡¯t kill fast enough are abandoned, one by one, winnowing down its tools as it winnows the forces against it.


    Some of them run and scream, failing to wear armor. Those it simply slithers / steps on, and absorbs the meat they become. Others fight with swords and other weapons, and fail to do more than sever pieces of meat that were useless enough to be sliced off anyways.


    The Body is doing as bodies do- it is growing, and finding out what works and what doesn¡¯t.


    And it is eating.


    Anything with even a hint of Qi is absorbed, tendon-strings of wet flesh shooting out to grab artifacts, weapons and people all equally. With every swallow down impossible throats with too many teeth, it gets a little less hungry.


    The Body is doing such a good job.


    But the walls are in the way.


    It starts tearing through them, following the tremors / sight / scent of whatever source of Qi is closest, and tearing into it immediately.


    Only then do the walls truly start fighting back.


    They begin to reform around the Body, trapping it and forcing it to break them again and pull back. The rooms its headed to get further and further away, the space between them expanding unnaturally and making it so no matter how fast it moves, there¡¯s a wall formed in the way due to the ¡°distance¡± it has to travel.


    Ok. So it needs to go faster, and it needs new ways to move.


    Just as it¡¯s thinking of this, it encounters a source of Qi that is coming to it.


    Adrenaline and hunger, pain and fear all mesh together to push the Body to do all the things it is so very good at doing, and all of it only barely ensures that it survives the first hit.


    Another squadron of soldiers is before it, and then another, and another. One-hundred and fifty cultivators, fifty of whom are building some sort of complex array at the back of the room, begin to fire upon it, and they don¡¯t use pistols.


    Rifles and shotguns and swords and spears all roar into the open air. The Dao is rich in the space, saturating each attack with a depth of comprehension and concept that magnifies them a dozen times over, tearing through the body¡¯s armor and forcing its endless, iridescent reactor to fuel its growth again, only to be cut down even faster. The soldiers focus on joints and thinner chunks of flesh, carving away the connection points between parts of the Body and forcing them apart and away.


    This cannot stand.


    Survival-anxiety and fear and a need to grow all swirl together, and it feels its Heart moving forward. There¡¯s a sensation a bit like vomiting and a bit like putting a socket-joint into place when you didn¡¯t know it had disconnected, and-


    The central maw around the half-cratered skull of eyes that was once a human head opens, and a barrel pokes out.


    Blacksteel makes up its surface, flesh and blood, pistons and organic hydraulics make up its interior. A fist-sized, spearheaded chunk of Blacksteel makes the barrel¡¯s contouring, made of transmuted Blacksteel from around its reactor, that strange orange-gold metal, glow softly.


    Even as a concentrated hail of bullets and Qi unmake over half of the Body¡¯s central portion, it fires.


    Its skull explodes from the impact and the white-gold True Flame used to fire the bullet. Its limbs are mostly severed, its internal organs as much metal and ruin as they are flesh from the gunfire and sword-slashes.


    The Dao of the Gun screams as something beyond thought reaches comprehension, and manifest something made for killing.


    Half of the first squadron dies in an instant.


    The bullet itself only kills ten, moving so fast that it erases torsos and armor in its path, as a bullet is meant to. By the time it hits the ground, digs a trench and shatters into shrapnel, there¡¯s been enough time that minor defensive arrays have lit up the armors of the soldiers all around the impact site.


    But the Dao of the Gun does not end when the bullet lands.


    Shrapnel of Blacksteel and ballistic death scythes through the nearby bodies like a harvester¡¯s blade through wheat, and death fills the room.


    The Body doesn¡¯t know what a smile is, but it would make one if it did. That worked very well. Turns out, It Is What It Eats.


    A face that is a gun and a sword and a skull and a halo of eyes and horns and branching antlers and glowing gold-red-purple-silver fire begins to change its Body to match.

 Chapter 213 - It Aint Nothing But A Heart-Breaker, Friend Only To The Undertaker

    Raika wakes up dead.


    She looks around at the fields around her. She¡¯s sitting, cross-legged, in a green valley, flowing between two hills down towards a pond that is not a pond.


    She knows that if she looks behind her, there will be a damaged cabin sitting near the top of the hill, and that there¡¯s a forest of bamboo beyond that that her awareness washes through.


    Some things aren¡¯t quite so expected.


    She feels something new on her head. There¡¯s a sort of vague awareness, alien compared to her usual hyper-awareness of her body and all its sensations, that there¡¯s something at the base of her skull, and to either side of it, a tightness that feels deeply awkward. She raises her hand to touch at the strange changes, finding new scar tissue decorating her scalp and the outline of her skull. Her braids are still there, as sunset-red as ever, but there¡¯s new masses where-


    Ah.


    Right where the bullets caved in her skull and splattered her grey matter across the walls of the tunnel.


    Star-spot bundles of scar tissue across her skull join the criss-crossings of pale cuts across her form, every wound she¡¯s suffered represented in lines of trauma across her skin. Some are faded; there, the marks from her first beast tide, the self-destruction evident in the claw and bite marks nearly as dark as the rest of her skin now. Others remain bright and painful; the scars across her face where her mouth was once torn open, the burn marks from her would-be execution at the hands the Purple-whatever-fire-sect. Above all others, there is a near snow-white set of cuts all across her musculature, bright lines from where Feng Gao vivisected her into bloody mist during the tournament arc.


    She looks around herself, using her arms (one whole and scarred, the other metal-black and skeletal) to stand. She feels a bit unsteady, like her balance is off. She almost stumbles as she moves, but she grits her teeth and forces her knees not to tremble, her body to compensate for the strange¡­ weightlessness she¡¯s feeling. She shakes her head, and it makes her mind ring, but she uses the disorientation as a way to force herself not to drift away.


    She starts walking, like someone re-learning how. Her weight, her center of balance, it¡¯s all¡­ off.  She tries to move, and it¡¯s like there¡¯s a delay, a¡­ disconnect from the flesh. That¡¯s¡­ probably not a good sign.


    She looks around, seeing if anything feels different, and finds something unexpected. In the exact middle point between herself and the pond, there are some¡­ saplings?


    Kind of. They¡¯re not tree-sized, and they¡¯re not not plants, but they definitely don¡¯t seem like regular flora.


    One little cluster of not-trees looks like a forest of meat. Limbs and blood and flesh and organs all grow and tangle into each other, each little sapling highlighting one piece of biology but packed so tightly that they sort of meld together.


    With a bit of a gap in between, she sees what looks like a little twig of a tree made entirely out of sharp edges. Like a sword, with another tree made out of metal sort of¡­ melting together into it? The metal tree is much smaller, which makes for a weirdly symbiotic looking binding, and there¡¯s a little offshoot branch of what look like vague armor shapes.


    Next to the sharp tree is¡­ well. Well that¡¯s a tree made out of guns. Pistols, to be exact, layered over each other in ways that shouldn¡¯t be possible. As she watches, little branches made of smoke and fire leak from them, and seeds or baby fruit that look like bullets begin to blossom.


    There¡¯s other, smaller things there too, like the grass between the saplings hasn¡¯t grown a lot yet but has started to take on weird colors and shapes. Nothing definitive, but its clear that the little garden patch has places for more would-be saplings to grow from out of the ¡®grass¡¯.


    She walks past the knee and waist-high ¡®plants¡¯ on her way down to the pond.


    The closer she gets, the easier movement becomes. It isn¡¯t long before she can feel her stride gaining confidence, the two-dimensional seeming landscape given the illusion of depth by how quickly she moves into and through it.


    And then she¡¯s there, at the pond.


    A beetle crawls from the fronds at the edge and launches itself at her. She¡¯s much too slow to react, much to discombobulated, but it¡¯s not an attack- the little critter flitters about her and nuzzles its mandibles against her like a puppy seeing a friend that just came back from a trip. She pats it lightly, not really sure how to pet a beetle, and it wriggles into her hand and plops its chubby little body into her shoulder.


    She kneels by the pond, and almost immediately a wave ripples out to greet her.


    Hey, she says, realizing that she¡¯s not breathing air, and that she isn¡¯t speaking words.


    Hey, say the waves, copying her. Tendrils of water and blood and musculature and stone grow from out of the pond and wrap around her, circling her waist and shoulders and hugging her tight.


    I¡¯m ok, I think. I¡¯m here. What¡¯s happening?


    The pond reshapes itself, and through its glistening reflections, she can see out of a dozen angles.


    She sees mostly blood.


    She sees ruined bodies and broken armor and weapons cast aside in fear. She sees the aftereffects of cultivation techniques, and ghost-sensations of impossible elements and attacks make themselves felt across her flesh.


    She sees something that isn¡¯t her, but very much could be and is, moving at impossible speeds with impossible violence through the world.


    Her Body, the Body, moves in juddering, awkward movements that are so layered in muscle-fiber twitches and armor that they somehow seem fluid anyways. Bursts of gunfire blast through and into pieces of her joints, of the fibers of her Body, their effects magnified by Qi and¡­ is that Dao? It reminds Raika of the moment where Pai Jin, back in Cragend, reached out and simply reorganized things, placing them in Balance with each other. An idea, magnified into reality and shaping what is into more of itself. The soldiers wield that same power, their comprehension of the blade and the gun magnifying their effects and shaping every interaction into more of itself.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    A bullet¡¯s concept is that of metal, chemistry and flame, all moving in unison to achieve death and destruction through impossible speed. A bullet from a standard-issue Imperial soldier¡¯s handgun can punch through a tree and emerge, distorted, on the other side.


    Armed with the Dao of the Gun, those same bullets warp space itself, drag themselves forward, create combustion and penetration and detonation at every point of impact, and shoot through armor harder than steel.


    And still, her Body does not die.


    But it¡¯s not winning, either.


    There¡¯s nearly a hundred bodies, or pieces of bodies, all across the train hangar, two full squadrons of Imperial soldiers splattered into nonexistence- but there¡¯s at least triple that up and fighting and gradually pushing her back. Raika stares out of a hundred eyes as the Body manages to face down and crush any individual Core Formation level cultivator, her power, unleashed, eclipsing anything they can do- but there are well over two-hundred Core Formation cultivators in front of her, and at least two in the Nascent Soul realm commanding them from behind.


    She¡¯s not sure why they¡¯re not fighting her directly. The amount of power a Nascent Soul cultivator wields over a Core Formation cultivator could mean survival for another hundred of the latter as her Body violently roils and grows amongst them. They could at least hold her back, rather than just weaken her, and potentially accelerate a truer death than getting shot in the head apparently achieves.


    But they don¡¯t. They hold back, their Qi swirling strangely, connected to the ground and walls all around her and keeping the rank and file organized and functional before them.


    Some part of a technique? A way to increase the effectiveness of the infantrymen without risking more closely-guarded assets?


    Most likely, they can see, same as she can, that they won¡¯t need to intervene, not really. A few more minutes and the weight of fire, blades, and rushing Qi techniques will be enough to start pushing her back.


    At which point, of course, her Body will manage to either adapt to it or continue to lose ground. Considering how messily its limbs branch and spiral out, how violently it draws on the energy of her Reactor, it¡¯s likely going to be the latter, even if it takes a little time.


    Is¡­ is there any way I can go back? She asks. Or¡­ am I just dead? Haunting myself?


    The pond ripples, the grass moving and the world around her swaying in a thousand little changes¡­ and ultimately says nothing she can understand. Maybe it doesn¡¯t know. Maybe she just can¡¯t properly ¡°talk¡± with it while she¡¯s like this. Either way, it doesn¡¯t help.


    Jin might be able to see her. If she manages to find him, or hold out until he comes here-


    But he won¡¯t come here. Not past squadrons of cultivators, not in the little time she has before they start to properly take her Body apart. And considering how she¡¯s inside the strange not-space of her internal world as it is, he might not see anything anyways.


    No.


    Waiting for someone else isn¡¯t the solution. She¡¯s still here. She¡¯s here.


    This is her self, her world, her Body.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine.


    That Body is her. It¡¯s hers, just as she is its.


    Growling without sound, she reaches her hands into the reflection on the pond.


    The pond ripples, and in that ripple there¡¯s a sudden vibration.


    Dink roars out into the world of her Heart, a sudden broken note of perfect clarity thundering through the space.


    She grins, eyes wide and hungry. She might not be able to reach back directly, not yet, but there¡¯s someone who can help her bridge the gap.


    Raika screams, soundlessly, drawing on her Truths. I Can Change, I Am Me, I Am Mine, We Are What We Eat. The three together reach through her Heart and touch on her closest ally and oldest tool, the Broken Instrument-


    And music, vibration and frequency and tuning, reaches back.


    And she begins to speak to and with and through an old friend, back to herself.


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    An alien thing of metal that is somehow as familiar as flesh begins to sing.


    The Body does not understand singing, not really, only the functions from which it might derive. Breath, an intent to mate, perhaps, an interpretation of neurons and patterns. The song it hears now has none of those things, ringing through reforged metal and beautiful frequency, and it feels itself.


    She feels herself.


    It is not the Body¡¯s job to consider higher concepts, planning, or complex equations and balances. It is the Body¡¯s function to exist, to grow, to play through its own instructions- and to be the tool through which a mind and existence touch each other.


    As the Broken Instrument sings, branching the realm between concept and reality, the Body is given the tools it needs to become herself again.


    The Soul reaches through their closest ally and tool, and bridges the gap to the flesh, and begins to guide them all back towards true and better [CHANGE].


    They don¡¯t need this many limbs. They don¡¯t need this much armor. They need speed, power, and force in equal measures. With the Mind returned, they could-


    Ah. But neither the Body nor the Soul know how to rebuild a brain, unmade into meat.


    They close their skull, at least, sending energy in smaller streams through to what¡¯s left of their nervous system. It will regrow, or¡­ it won¡¯t, and they¡¯ll find some way around it. Maybe Li Shu will have a good idea on the matter.


    Six arms is enough.


    The hydra-tail spawning behind her and anchoring in the hangar, stretching all the way back down to the ¡°digestion chamber¡±- which is useful. The Soul guides the body, and what was once a tail or pillar of flesh becomes a mess of mouths and begins to fight against the fortress itself to tear from it their shared flesh. Two massive legs, humanoid until the clawed, multi-jointed feet at their ends, spawn beneath her ¡°main body¡±, the avatar of flesh in charge of the slaughtering, and suddenly she is much faster.


    Her own Heart thrums, and sends out Qi and intent into the biomechanical designs of her body as she¡¯s reshaped.


    The segmented limbs were good. Like tentacles, but faster, whipping around. The end of two limbs, then, can be connected, a long, thin tendril with blades of Blacksteel and chitin stretching between the segmented whip.


    Blades are always useful, but too many joints are a waste. Three joints, and at the end of one, a sword, a long blade. The Heart reacts to that, pushing something out from itself, and the Body watches as the biosword begins to gleam with a sharper light, honed into strange shapes.


    Claws for one hand, dripping with Flame and blood, long reaper¡¯s edges flicker-dancing bullets out of the air, and for its twin, a shield and hammer both. Transmuted Blacksteel from the core, fused with bone and coral material and stranger carbon deposits, bond into a singular pillar of weight and durability.


    And for her last limb, well.


    There is another tree in the Garden that the Body can use.


    As her pillar-arm blocks a fresh volley of gunfire, the pace picking up as worry over her transformation begins to seep in, she raises an arm made of barrels and mechanisms and, in gold and iridescent flame, begins to fire into the masses.


    The Body briefly picks up the sound of one of the Nascent Soul cultivators in the background, speaking into some sort of device.


    ¡°Potential Daemonic influences detected. Enabling frontline protocols. Reinforcements needed.¡±


    A crown of horns and eyes catches fire as she roars, joining with the thundering of her guns and the sounds of flesh being pulped and torn and exploded and slashed apart as she advances deeper into the slaughter.


    In for a copper, in for a gold.

 Chapter 214 - War Has Caused Un~rest, Within The Younger Generation

    A quill scratches against paper, shaping the contours of kanji and runes. Word by word, intent is formed shaped into meaning through the forum of language, detailing what needs to be said, and nothing more.


    Taurus hums softly to himself as his pen shapes the ink before him.


    Moments like this take up most of his days now. Once, that would have tormented him, but he has that part of himself well-chained and quiet. There is a quiet nobility in crafting, with nothing but ink and paper, death and power.


    Most of what he writes is simple, accurate, direct. The few red herrings he plants in them are encoded in ways just complex enough to be found by those looking, and hold little meaning. The few letters he writes with purpose, he keeps simple and direct.


    Secrets between two old families, and how their feuds might be resolved, if only each side is willing to lend an ear to a benefactor. Calls for information from subtler sources, ready to provide him with input on the goings-on of the Academies, of Central, of the Citadel of the Division of War, of even the first ring should he require it. Missives to make sure that this shipment ends up at a station just far enough off course to be lost, and that another receives a batch of new technologies or supplies they didn¡¯t know they needed.


    In spite of the pain, there¡¯s a part of him that¡¯s rather happy he¡¯s bound his cultivation and Soul so thoroughly. He does not think he would look particularly good as a spider, no matter his skill at weaving webs.


    There are risks, of course. Some of his ¡®vulnerabilities¡¯, bloody and raw and presented to his opponents, can only serve him should they take the bait, but others might genuinely frustrate should they be found out. Some can be spun as an active participation in the realm of realpolitik, while others would leave him open to very public feuds.


    That¡¯s what the bigger, quieter web is for.


    Singing quietly through the voice of a dead oracle and cold, runic steel, vibrations of news come unto him from all across the land. The pieces of the blade are limited, but his Imperial title of Runemaster is not for show, and there are ways to improve the signals sent between them. Humming a tune (he¡¯s not quite sure where he¡¯s heard it before), he listens to a bit of very good news.


    A little piece of metal, left with his most recent problem child, sings to him from right alongside a Broken Instrument.


    Nothing in life is guaranteed. The fact that he¡¯s here, sitting on a desk in the Central domain of a Division, happily filling out paperwork, proves that fact.


    When it comes to his latest experiment into rebellion, guarantees become more like¡­ suggestions. Raika¡¯s proven herself a difficult creature to understand, and an even more difficult one to predict. Where he thinks she¡¯s leashed, she finds a way to tear herself off of it, spreading chaos and mess all over his floor. When she¡¯s set loose, she finds a quiet place to rest, changing things in ways she likely doesn¡¯t even realize.


    There is a certain joyous fascination in finally getting right what makes a person tick.


    Raika¡¯s clever. She¡¯s a quick-thinker, one that he admires when it comes to willingness to improvise. Despite the aura she cultivates, she¡¯s no brute, not really.


    But she¡¯s ignorant.


    A little life in a little piece of the third rin, followed by barely a few years amidst a rather chaotic Imperial stay, does not an education make. There is ever so much mess in the world, and it can take decades to understand its surface level. And a lack of experience, above all else, can be lethal.


    He pities cultivators nowadays. He really does. All that impossible, incomprehensible power that the Empire and its resources offer, all to be spent in its service in barely more than a century.


    Not that he¡¯s an exception.


    Considering her and her ally¡¯s ignorance, she¡¯s most likely to either try to circumvent the fortress city or try to infiltrate it directly. Add in her inability to wield Qi and the fact that her little benefactor is a healer, and only in the Foundational realm, and the easiest path is to infiltrate. From that point, there are only two possibilities.


    Either she¡¯ll succeed, and pass through unscathed-


    Or they¡¯ll identify her as a special physique of some sort, and take her in for ¡°recycling¡±.


    She can¡¯t use his authority, not without fucking them both, and she knows that. She can¡¯t use a sect¡¯s authority, either; her only connection is the Hungering Roots sect, and that¡¯ll just draw more scrutiny on the lover she¡¯s trying to protect. An individual with no political backing of any kind, no Qi, and a special physique only has one place in a fortress city-


    Feeding the Heart within it fresh inspiration for its soldiers.


    At that point, she¡¯d either fight back or die. A chance to weaken a fortress city and inflate the danger of the incoming beast tide, or a problem eliminated in the form of an unruly tool.


    His hand twitches. The sound of humming in his head gets just a little bit louder, and he has to stop writing for a moment.


    Sitting back, he breathes deeply. A rich flow of Qi fills the room, gathered by arrays and formations he¡¯s carved into the chamber around him. Workspace, cultivation chamber, defensive formation, all in one, and while bestial cultivation doesn¡¯t benefit as much from breathing in Qi as he does eating enriched materials, its still useful.


    He feels the Qi spiral down towards his core, and he works to refine it into yet another layer.


    Spirit Beasts cultivate by adding more and more cores to their body, a process which is possible, but less useful for building a Nascent Soul. His own being so¡­ difficult, he¡¯s discarded the technique.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Slowly, he reflects on his thoughts. An ¡°unruly tool¡±. He takes the twitching of his hand, the song he was humming to himself, and shapes both of them into another layer of his core, wrapping it tighter and tighter around the rumbling voice within it.


    Most cultivators build nine layers to a Core. It¡¯s what¡¯s needed for a Nascent Soul to bloom. Anything less and it breaks, and the more layers you make, the harder it is to keep it from falling in on itself.


    Of course, in turn, the stronger the Nascent Soul becomes, and the harder it must fight to be born.


    Taurus wraps the feeling of disgust and wrongness that the thought created in him into his fifty-first layer, and exhales a quiet breath.


    Thirty seven minutes. A personal record. He¡¯s getting faster.


    Picking up his quill, he begins writing again. Accurately predicting the danger Raika would end up in does not mean that its consequences aren¡¯t messy, but his grasp on said mess is something else entirely. There are many more letters to write, arrays to craft, and pieces to move into place.


    He hums quietly to himself, but there are notes missing from the melody.


    Deep inside, wrapped in layers of discarded and reforged pieces of Taurus¡¯ self, the [Horned Lord Of The Valley] quietly takes another ponderous step towards the edge of its prison.


    So much to do.


    So much further to go.


    A simple push of his Qi touches on one of the jade pendants in his robes, sending out a message.


    A few minutes later, the door to his chamber retracts into its frame, and Kaena walks in.


    ¡°You rang, boss?¡± they ask, smiling wide. They look a bit more tired than he¡¯s used to, their colors a bit faded, a hint of danger louder in their scent- but they remain a vision, dressed in flowing robes that highlight their gold and peach-pink skin.


    ¡°There¡¯s been a new development. We¡¯ll need to make a show of things if we¡¯re going to control the narrative and get all we can from it. Do we have any potential candidates that could be deployed into the shallower ends of the fourth?¡±


    They shrug. ¡°You¡¯d know better than I. What exactly are you looking for?¡±


    ¡°Suggestions. I need at least two subjects that we can spin as giving an opportunity to, who might excel in that opportunity in ways we can benefit from. They need to be as disconnected from mainline factions as possible- subtlety isn¡¯t a priority. The more this looks like a power play, the better, so long as we don¡¯t overstep or land on a tiger¡¯s tail.¡±


    ¡°...You know I don¡¯t love it when you talk like that.¡±


    Taurus blinks, looking up at them.


    ¡°You always start calling people subjects when you¡¯re¡­ like this. It¡¯s not the best look, T. And you¡¯re humming.¡±


    Taurus blinks. He cracks his jaw a little bit, rolling it around. ¡°So I was. Thank you for the note, but I¡¯m fine. It¡¯s under control.¡±


    ¡°I know it is. It rarely isn¡¯t with you. It¡¯s not a lack of control that worries me.¡±


    Taurus puts down his quill, turning to face Kaena more directly. He waits, quiet.


    ¡°Call: Upon the garden, all things rot. From the fields, all things flourish. In the hands of the builders, all things can be made.¡±


    Kaena lets out a low, quiet sound. Something like disappointment.


    ¡°Response: Let there be blood from the bloody, wickedness from the wicked, and virtue from the virtuous. Let there be an accounting of days, and progress without the need for chains.¡±


    Taurus twitches.


    He raises a hand, flexing it slowly. Joint by joint, he cracks each knuckle, tilting his head to watch the movements as he does.


    ¡°Hmm. That bad?¡±


    ¡°How long do you think you¡¯ve been in here?¡± Kaena asks.


    ¡°...three days, maybe.¡±


    ¡°Seven. Not your worst slip.¡±


    ¡°But we can¡¯t afford that sort slip. Not now.¡±


    Kaena shrugs, walking over towards him. As ever, they keep themselves a few inches away, never touching his skin directly, but close enough that some of their Qi presses against him. It fulfills its design, calming his Qi circulation and forcing his system to draw away some of the minor adrenal responses.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to. I¡¯m fine.¡±


    Kaena quirks an eyebrow. ¡°Between the two of us, I believe I¡¯m the better judge of that, thank you kindly.¡±


    Taurus snorts, his nostrils blaring out a burst of hot air strong enough to flutter the papers on his desk. ¡°Are you? I¡¯m starting to wonder the longer you keep your new pets around.¡±


    Kaena¡¯s gaze closes, the smile dropping from their face.


    ¡°They¡¯re learning.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re suffering. The call and response only works if we trust each other. Are you absolutely certain you¡¯re as objective as you think?¡±


    Kaena¡¯s face almost, almost, changes, a new expression coming to their face¡­ and then it goes quiet. They sigh, quiet, even their breath tainted by the smells of the Garden.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t¡­ feel quite like it used to. Being on this side of the leash. The Garden¡¯s commands, the flow of Qi, the open meridians, its¡­ a lot to manage.¡±


    He snorts again.


    ¡°You should let them go.¡±


    ¡°And you shouldn¡¯t have let them go to the Wall if you thought that they were going to get eaten by a fortress city.¡±


    Taurus has nothing to say to that.


    ¡°Yeah. Choices, love. They fuck us all.¡±


    He does his best to ignore the particular pain in that final sentence. He pushes his own Qi to the surface, pushing back Kaena¡¯s just a bit.


    As close to touch from him as they can abide.


    ¡°...We can send out the¡­ fuck. Not subjects. The¡­ cultivators. We can send out our chosen few now. I was going to wait a few days, make it a hunting squad, but now¡­ it might allow us to exert some pressure, let us play with the situation a bit more.¡±


    Kaena sighs, low and quiet.


    ¡°Sure. I think Maen made contact with a few useful ones in the Academies. Young, hungry, not very connected yet. One of them even has a tie to our beastie.¡±


    ¡°Good. That¡­ that might be useful to her. Offer her another too-¡±


    Kaena shushes him.


    He grunts. ¡°Another ally. More options.¡±


    They smile, though it¡¯s a bit sad. ¡°Better.¡±


    ¡°And in the meantime, you¡¯ll finish what you¡¯re doing with your¡­ with the twins. Three days. Then we cut them loose or put them to a higher purpose than pain.¡±


    Kaena says nothing for a moment, and he wonders if they might actually push back on this.


    ¡°Alright. That¡¯s doable.


    ¡°And you should speak to Taran, when you can. He¡¯s getting worried, and you know that not all of him is as big a fan of you as he is. He can only go into torpor so often before he starts to blend again, and you promised that-¡±


    ¡°I know. Have I ever broken a promise to any of you?¡±


    Kaena looks at him, their eyes tired. ¡°Not yet, love. But I worry about when you¡¯ll take that piece for a prison cell too.¡±


    He clenches his fist, instinctive rebuttals rising up. He¡¯s fine. He has it under control. He has himself under control. He has all the tools he needs to make sure that he stays on track, precisely directed, and if they question that, if they are a threat to that-


    Mmh.


    No.


    No.


    ¡°Three years,¡± he says. ¡°Give or take a few months. We¡¯ll be done by then.¡±


    ¡°...ok.¡±


    They push their Qi at him with a bit more force, and then retract their aura back in towards their body, forever a soft shield. They don¡¯t bow to him- not in private. They never have, and he will never ask it of them.


    He will never ask it of them.


    Slowly and painfully, he unclenches his fist. He¡¯d been clenching it tight enough that there are little red half-moons in his palm from where dull nails cut into furred flesh.


    He can last three more years. There¡¯s still enough of him to remain in control without losing sight of things. And if he does slip¡­ well.


    That¡¯s what Kaena¡¯s for. Call and response.


    Someday he won¡¯t mean what he says in the call, or care about the response. Or maybe he¡¯ll mean it too much. And they¡¯ll know.


    Not yet.


    He¡¯s still himself, and he¡¯s still in control.


    Distantly, he realizes he¡¯s still humming. He can¡¯t remember even half the notes of the tune anymore, but it¡¯s still there.


    For a moment, he remembers that he used to be afraid of that. The thought gives him a little moment of dread.


    He takes that thought.


    And he starts to build another layer.


    He can¡¯t afford to slip again. He has to be in control.


    Everything is going according to plan.

 Chapter 215 - Induction, Then Destruction, Who Wants To Die~

    A serrated whip of Blacksteel death cuts through three cultivators in a single movement, the fourth just barely saved by their armor. A pillar of chitinous coral and bone pulps him a moment later, the Qi from his core exploding out of him wetly alongside his organs, and the sound he makes is enough to make the last member of the squad flinch.


    He moves no more once a sword sharper than any mundane steel, sharp enough to cut air and Qi itself, turns him from a single thing into three.


    The Dao of the Blade is a smaller Dao. Infinities within infinities, small infinities and large ones, and that of the Blade is cutting with metal, with a sword, with a manufactured tool.


    But it sings. It whispers and tells tales as it Divides the world, and tells her of the Cut.


    If she still had a functioning brain, that might be a concern. Every cut feeds more and deeper comprehension, every swing of Dao digging further into itself and feeding her the truth of what is, if only she looks close enough. As it is, she, Soul and Body, have bigger things to worry about.


    She¡¯s dying. Again.


    Six arms, all of them busy fighting back. The fusillade of gunfire has ended, the sword-strikes now held only for self defense, and the trees in her inner world have in turn ceased growing. Whatever advantage her ability to somehow consume Dao might have given her, its been lost as the Imperials adjust. Now, rather than outright elimination, they instead slow her down, delaying her and throwing up barriers over and over as array formations come into being and sapper-troops dig trenches and manipulate the ground beneath her.


    Out of her back, her body extends out and further, like a tree made of meat, its branches digging violently into the walls of the hangar. She¡¯s still trapped here, the massive space limiting her movement and the efforts of the soldiers ensuring she never has solid footing to launch from, but the pillar-tail allows her to maintain some degree of mobility anyways, hyper-dense muscle lifting and violently jerking her to and fro to avoid some attacks.


    And she is being forced to avoid them now.


    The gunshots fired now bear minimal Qi, and are launched out of specialized rifles powered by one¡¯s internal cultivation but not comprehension. Without Dao, they should be far, far weaker, and they are- but not in the way she expected. Without Dao, their effects are miniscule, but without any special enchantments or comprehension, there¡¯s simply less for her to absorb with each hit, less advantage to gain or resources to recover, making each shot cost more to take. The same goes for sword strikes- the few that still use Dao against her do so only to block attacks, never to harm her in turn, leaving that purely for the arrays and gunfire, charged with Qi alone. I Am What I Eat, for how powerful it is, has a rapidly relevant issue: it can be used against her. If she¡¯s constantly ¡°eating¡± raw metal, there¡¯s a line where it begins to slow her movements and poison her flesh.


    The ground turns liquid beneath her feet, and a dozen eyes swivel to her right. There, the squadron of sappers. There¡¯s a few others throughout the space, but only one squadron consisting of them entirely. It¡¯s difficult to get proper footing on water- but not impossible.


    Heightened muscle fibers, biological gears and pistons, and tendons like industrial-grade wire flex in a single violent spasm, and she hits the ground hard enough to make use of surface tension.


    The air crackles as it breaks under her velocity, and she is among them.


    Her claws close around the one in front, his cultivation a bit higher than the others. There¡¯s a moment where the smell of crisp vanilla and bloody callouses fills one of her airways, his Qi rising into a practiced array of masterful quality. The honed edges of her claws are held back for almost a full second.


    In that time, her whip has severed the torso of a gunner across the chamber, her Blade has split one of the other sappers in half, and her pillar-shield has blocked another three strikes.


    Rewiring her nervous system for spontaneous reaction is just barely enough for her to keep up, an inability to process data traditionally or keep track of all she¡¯s receiving limiting her- but its long enough that no one manages to stop her claws from cutting through the array, severing the glowing shield of repulsion and dividing the lead sapper into seven.


    This is working.


    Her roots dig into and battle the Heart of the fortress behind her, stealing its food and soldiers at once. Her Reactor shrieks endlessly, a sublime mass of constant energy forcing her body to Change at every instant. Her inner world writhes and grows with every piece of flesh she ingests, every cultivation and Qi-rich substance she takes in.


    And even now, she can feel little twitches, moments of connection as nerves begin to reconnect in her skull. She just has to hold out, keep killing. Keep feeding that bottomless thing that she is.


    Keep feeding the red until it is sated, and they¡¯re all dead.


    Dink trembles against what passes for her collarbones, the Soul and Body experiencing a disconnect. Too much adrenal blindness, too many chemicals and blind instincts pushing her forward. To live is to eat, and anything primal enough can be reduced to two simple instincts- to survive, and to consume.


    And it¡¯s never enough.


    Dink trembles, frequency beyond hearing bridging a gap between life and the immaterial, trying to bring them as close as it can. She can feel it struggling to do so, putting its all into forcing her disconnected pieces into synchronicity, but it¡¯s tenuous.


    But it¡¯s working. She can keep killing. She can survive. She can make it out.


    She can do¡­


    Mmmh.


    Plans are for a Mind. A Soul is desires and ideals, and a Body is instinct and flesh. She can think of what to do next once its back.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    In the meantime, she really just has to keep killing, no?


    Ah. Yes. There are still three more sappers in front of her, and in the time she¡¯s been¡­ ¡°thinking¡±, they¡¯ve managed to shape sharp spikes of stone and metal out of the hangar, impaling her through every major organ group.


    Her claws and Blade tear through the stones, her body absorbing and tossing out the pillars while her whip and Gun-arm keep other attackers at bay. Even with that, bursts of sharpened wind, fires of all colors and forms, bubbles of water that defy space with their depth, all these and more tear chunks from her, sever flesh from bone, burn and melt her reactive armors. She tears through the last of the pillars holding her, an arm made of Blacksteel and bone barrels making craters out of stone flooring, her pillar-club blocking a decent number of attacks and constantly regenerating, and she manages to cut and crush and sever another two infantrymen, and-


    Another wave of Qi attacks, just as a massive array manifests. The remaining sappers, the ones that hadn¡¯t taken up her attention, each touch a point on a five-starred seal, and a stream of shadows begin to unnaturally bend towards her. The instant they touch her body, they begin to spiral up her limbs, across her arms, antlers, up the pillar of flesh that is her tail and spine-


    She can¡¯t move.


    She can¡¯t move.


    The sharpness of the Blade, the violence and chemistry of the Gun, the screaming infinities of the Flesh, it¡¯s all frozen, all trapped. Shadows become as solid as chains, and through them, the very concept of Stasis keeps her still. The world bends around the runes and the shadows that grow from them, the array trapping her with a Dao of Stillness and ropes of pitch.


    In the next instant, thirteen concentrated techniques, bleeding with Qi, detonate against her.


    The armor holds up shockingly well, but not well enough. Those same wind-blades cut through her leg and hip entirely, the limb as tall as two men crashing harshly against remolded concrete, even as a burst of lightning makes a crater of her left shoulder nexus. A tightly packed ball of magma and sound makes of her lower stomach an open hole as a singular amount of spatial distortion collapses what passes for her skull into a space no larger than a fist.


    The soldiers are well trained. The Academy, and the fortress cities, do not broach fools or weaklings. Fifty gunshots, shotgun shells of barbed shrapnel, lead and brass, aim for the newly created holes in the onyx-black shell she¡¯s clad in and tear her internals into soup.


    And then a fresh wave of Qi techniques unmake even that, until the shadows are binding the stick-thin remains of her frame.


    But that¡¯s ok.


    She¡¯s not there.


    Her Body is not some human thing or organs and flesh. Not really. Her Reactor is still intact, still outputting energy, and Dink is still touching her. That¡¯s all that¡¯s needed, really.


    Six Core Formation cultivators wielding massive and arcane firearms burst like overripe fruit.


    A Body is just a thing that grows and kills and survives. That¡¯s not human. That can be anything.


    Six small spikes of biomatter, rising out of the ground from where Raika¡¯s central ¡®trunk¡¯ has grown into the concrete and begun to crack it as it expands. Six small spikes, shot out by biological projectile-muscles, into their bodies.


    Cultivator bodies are notoriously hard to crack¡­ but she is the Body. And the Body knows flesh. And her flesh is richer in Qi than any Core Formation cultivator¡¯s body is without burning their Core. She doesn¡¯t give them that chance. She blossoms from inside them, expanding hyper-violently through the spikes and bursting them like puddles of meat, their cultivation consumed in six simultaneous ¡°bites¡±, falling deep into a valley with a pond, to be grasped by the Heart hidden within.


    And then she uses what¡¯s left of their meat to move.


    They fall into a cluster of flesh, absorbed together into one as flesh begets flesh, and their Imperial-standard armor holds up against the instantaneous response just long enough for the Body¡¯s instincts and the Souls sense of self to bond them together.


    We Are What We Eat.


    Flicker-fast muscles bloom into what are quickly becoming legs and launch her forward, nanoscale armor of Blacksteel and reactive plates multiplying back into being to reinforce her charge. She slams into the stone hard enough to shatter the Core Formation sapper of the closest seal and his part of the array, and near-instantaneously, it is unmade, the bonds of stillness and shadow broken.


    Her ¡°new¡± body is vaporized barely a second after, a volley of gunfire so cultivator-accurate that she¡¯s torn to shreds even with the armor- but that¡¯s fine.


    She isn¡¯t there.


    She¡¯s the Body.


    Dink hums, just once.


    The soul smiles, scarred flesh making the action both painful as old wounds and as refreshing as a good stretch.


    Pretty impressive, that.


    One of the only remaining arms on her ¡°central¡± form whips out, serrated Blacksteel whipping across the chamber and beginning to kill again as her Reactor screams and pushes eternal, everlasting Change into her. The pulped mass in the shell of her old avatar is forcefully Changed, a thousand-thousand instincts of flesh and instruction manifesting as veins, nerves, bone, keratin, chitin, mucous and more-


    And she steps from the broken seal, a head of antlers and a halo of eyes and a maw that opens wide and howls growing from ruin as she does.


    At its simplest, the Body is survival and death, wrapped around each other.


    A little higher up, it is chemicals and instinct and emotion. It/She makes a sound of impossible, glorious joy as She/It steps forward once more to kill further. Her nervous system is almost back, the dead it has consumed giving examples to work on and other instructions to follow. Soon, her Mind will return, and they can plan for something new.


    Her Guns spray death, and she laughs without humor and screams with primal joy.


    And then chokes as her lower jaws are severed from her Body.


    She steps forward- and her foot is Cut, leaving her to stumble.


    She writhes forward anyways, arms swinging instinctively, and-


    The Trunk is gone. Her connection to the mass, to the rest of her Body, severed violently in a burst of fire that emits freezing cold and a sensation like combustion.


    She barely blocks the next attack, instincts learning quickly and twitching her shield-pillar into the way. A burst of lightning, colored in Gold and Red, strikes the shield and cracks it open like a shell, electricity turning flesh and bone to undifferentiated carbon and climbing almost halfway up her arm before she can finish drinking it dry.


    A hundred eyes turn to focus on the far end of the hangar, where four figures stand.


    Two she recognizes. The platoon leaders, the ones that led the first few hundred against her, a third of which she¡¯s turned to dead meat. One with dark red hair and a fabulous beard, the other wearing a kimono over his armor that only partially obscures the crystals growing from his flesh.


    The other two are new, holding the same badges as their fellows. One whose skin is dark as night with notes of gold stars floating in it, the other sweating blood of some kind, and both smelling delicious.


    All of them reek of a purity, a vitality of Qi that dwarfs the others. Core Formation realm opens the door to true individuality, allows for greater techniques and unique manifestations, but she is beyond them now. She is a meat grinder to them, even with their armors and weapons multiplying their force, their organization holding against her ascension.


    They might have killed her, given a few more seals, a bit more knowledge, and another hundred lives.


    The four before her that the Core Formation cultivators are retreating behind, leaving the sappers to the edges of the room and in cover?


    They might kill her given the slightest slip and their own transcendent Souls.


    What a day. What a lovely day.


    Newly-bloomed jaws open wide like a flower as She/It scream in joy, Body and Soul united in the beauty of surviving inevitable death and a bit of divine violence.


    The Mind can sort things out when she¡¯s back. They¡¯re too busy being alive.

 Chapter 216 - Ooooooh, WAR!!!

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    Poor Jin, Li Shu thinks. The last time he was around this many wounded was all the way back when his village was attacked, barely a few months ago. And frankly, the sights in here are a lot worse. She¡¯s not sure why else the kid would be so obviously flustered, staring off towards the floor back the way they came rather than focused.


    And she does need him focused.


    Cultivator wounds are easier and much harder to deal with than mortal wounds. On a still-living mortal, the issue is usually one of blood supply and internal trauma. Neither is easy to fix, but both can be repaired, especially with Qi and alchemical supplies. A healer specialized in mortal wounds is likely to be able to fix anything that has yet to kill said mortal, so long as they reach them in time.


    Cultivators don¡¯t die so easily.


    Some of the soldiers in the medical facility they find themselves in are sobbing, quietly, as healers do their best to reassemble what¡¯s left of their heads. For most of them, either they¡¯ll be able to rebuild what¡¯s left, or there¡¯s really nothing more to be done. For others, surgical beds are strapped together to allow for limbs and torsos pulped and severed nearly to mush, which will either heal when put back together- or they won''t. Either way, the amount of medical expertise far exceeds stitching cuts or re-housing intestines- here, to repair a body requires one to rebuild or replace whole organ groups, whole sections of the respiratory, vascular and nervous systems., and that¡¯s before factoring in the need to interpret or guess the ways in which cultivation may have altered said systems. The latter part, of course, is complicated additionally by the fact that most of the soldiers in question aren¡¯t in a place to discuss the nuances of their cultivation journeys while their remains are scattered about the room, their minds dealing with more pain than the human mind was ever built to endure.


    Even with infinite materials, not every body heals the same, not every cultivator¡¯s Qi interacts with materials the same. And there¡¯s never infinite time.


    Every moment, another ten bodies are brought in from the front.


    Some of them die on the way to the tables. She sees mutagenic acid that starts to make her eyes hurt from looking at it across the room dissolving away a young man, sees someone screaming and full of winding short-life parasites that die even as they breed, sees something that gets carried back in bags.


    It makes the suffering of those in the village look¡­ almost childish by comparison.


    It¡¯s not a polite metaphor. Not an easy one. But when she sees other healers in red and white carving back together a woman whose bones are now outside her skin, it¡¯s hard to compare to having to put intestines back in the right places and sew them up, or resetting bones and fixing punctured lungs.


    To bridge the gap, beyond simply knowledge and technique, come the tools.


    Which, conveniently, makes for a useful excuse to distract Jin.


    ¡°Jin? Get us twenty more talismans, please, we¡¯re running low on this end.¡±


    Blinking, Jin wakes back up and bobs his head, immediately running off towards the rows of cabinets and alchemical tables in the back of the room, staffed by no less than a dozen other healers hard at work.


    ¡°Is it always this hard?¡± she asks the healer she¡¯s working beside.


    The taller woman snorts, her impressive muscles bulging with strain at the amount of force she¡¯s using to sew back together the arm of a cultivator. Li Shu takes up the stitching on the other side, her keratin needles having a much easier time penetrating the skin of the soldier, laying down the track for her fellow healer to pull tight. ¡°Not every day, at least. Tough to go a week without an assault like this though.¡±


    Li Shu turns to her, eyes wide. ¡°Every week there¡¯s something like this? There must be a hundred wounded here!¡±


    ¡°And another three hundred more dead too quick to be saved over on the front lines of the Wall, never mind the trenches. We only get the lucky ones.¡±


    ¡°Not feeling very lucky,¡± the man they¡¯re sewing together manages to groan.


    ¡°Then more fool you! Here you are, being put back together by two jade beauties, and you can¡¯t see what a fortuitous encounter your survival is? Some people have eyes, yet cannot see the mountain, my new sister!¡±


    Li Shu chuckles despite herself, straining to keep the seams of her stitching tied properly. The cultivator is burning his Core even as they speak, medicine stimulating the process more fluidly towards healing, and the skin is trying to pull away. The body rarely knows the best ways to heal itself, having evolved from a process of blind grasping at ideas, and a cultivator is little better. Most cultivators, and cultivation techniques, focus more on speed of recovery or not getting hurt in the first place.


    Jin rushes back over, his hands holding a cloth wrapped tightly around a few slips of paper. ¡°Here. They said no more for at least an hour, supplies are low.¡±


    ¡°Understood. Place one talisman here, on the seam, it¡¯s trying very hard to pull apart and we need to tell the body the right way to go.¡±


    Jin nods, carefully unwrapping the bundle. It goes on the table of supplies next to their operating bed, where he picks up one of the last two talismans from the last batch. Quickly, he plants it on the arm where she indicates, and the glow of the improvised artifact begins to light up.


    In moments, threads of Qi, accented lightly with the jade powder of the ink on the talisman and the papers of it, weave into the veins and muscle of the arm, guiding them on where to go, closing the wound that the sutures hold together.


    The moment it¡¯s done, Li Shu plucks out the thread, pulling it free just as the wound finishes closing.


    ¡°Done on this side. Arm is reattached.¡±


    ¡°Good! Little one, another talisman here!¡±


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Jin hurries over, and before long, the cut severing the soldier¡¯s left ribs and clavicle from his body is pulled tight and erased. The soldier breathes a sigh of relief, looking on the verge of passing out-


    Li Shu¡¯s mentor slaps a pill into his mouth and punches his jaw to crack it between his teeth.


    He nearly spits it out, and Li Shu has to scramble to slap his mouth closed, eyes wide at the sheer amount of Qi and the richness of the scent coming from the pill.


    ¡°Why would you make me chew it? That¡¯s the worst way to eat them!¡±


    Li Shu¡¯s mentor snorts. ¡°Complaining now that he¡¯s healed! Fed by the pills of the vaunted Empire, costing a hundred gold each, and talismans to boot! What a remarkably bold cultivator you are, to nearly fall asleep and then complain at being woken by such luxury! Get up, we need this table for someone else less whiny. Go, go, the Wall doesn¡¯t man itself!¡±


    The soldier curses, the Qi already cycling through him, and gets up. He gives Li Shu and Jin a nod, pointedly ignoring his other healer, and in a moment, has rushed away. Arrays light up across the room to limit the effect of his passing as he sprints at near-sonic speed out of the clinic and back down the tunnel past where a constant stream of wounded pours in.


    ¡°Table open!¡± The tall healer yells, and within moments, there is another body on the table.


    Well. Most of a body. There¡¯s really not much below the waist anymore, and half the woman¡¯s face is just¡­ gone. She stares, catatonic, at the ceiling above.


    ¡°Ah, damn. They gave us a header. Not to worry soldier, we¡¯ll have you fixed soon enough. Newbie, get me an infusion of water-breathing elixir and some blood-replacement elixir, type seven!¡±


    Li Shu nods, turning to their table and procuring the ingredients in a heartbeat. Her keratin needles, all of the eighteen she¡¯s not using for constant suturing, quickly pick up and maneuver the materials over to her, and the work begins again.


    She catches Jin staring at the talismans, not looking at the soldier on their table. Good. Maybe he can learn talisman crafting. They¡¯re like arrays, but you don¡¯t need to build them into the environment and don¡¯t hold as much power, but for a quickly-deployed array, there¡¯s little more useful. Better he spends his time memorizing patterns and wondering than looking at the woman on the table as she begins to convulse, what¡¯s left of her spine wriggling in the red mess as her partially-missing abdominal muscles try to help her spasm away the pain.


    Fuck. Wherever Raika is, they¡¯re clearly not going to be able to meet for a bit. If she¡¯s half as busy as Li Shu is, there¡¯s just going to be too much mess to properly ingratiate themselves into all this volunteer work.


    ¡ª------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Words are¡­ difficult. Words require so much processing power. The amount of neurons required to be actively functioning, actively connected and interwoven, to even begin to conceive of an alphabet numbers in the millions. That¡¯s without going into understanding the connections between words, the associated concepts and patterns, and then there¡¯s plain old memory required to hold it all. A living mind, nevermind one capable of producing a real and functional alphabet of phonetic and conceptual integration¡­ it¡¯s staggering how much it takes.


    Language, on the other hand, is much easier.


    Some languages are simple. Chemicals, bitterness and sweetness to repel and attract, to stimulate the idea of rot or an attractive meal or mate. Movement is easy too- run from one place to another, and in the movement, you¡¯ve said something, about what you want, how you achieve it, so on and so forth.


    Some languages are so simple, they do not need a brain at all. They don¡¯t even really need to be spoken by the sentient or the living.


    The language of violence is one such means of communication.


    Raika, in Body and Soul, is very much enjoying the dialogue she¡¯s partaking in.


    It¡¯s not going very well, but it¡¯s a fun dialogue.


    The bearded redhead and the man replete with crystals growing from their flesh are being particularly vocal. After losing about a third of their men to her, they seem to be bearing some kind of grudge. Which, fair. The well groomed one, his beard thick and luxurious, seems to primarily wield arrays, his hands carving runes into his surroundings faster than the living terrain can make them appear, a set of floating plates bearing dozens of minor arrays acting as a sort of shield and control center around him. He works fluidly in conjunction with his fellow platoon leader, who seems to be creating more and more crystal outcroppings wherever he touches.


    They¡¯re very difficult to eat. Dense, even with Blacksteel, but more than that, they grow, blocking up and tearing open wounds they create and making the terrain trickier, bit by bit. Between the two of them, they are doing wonderful work keeping the terrain advantage on the side of the soldiery.


    This is helped by the fact that most of her focus is on the other two.


    One of them, for example, has just punched her in the face hard enough to cave in her jawline.


    The star-skinned one, a woman of slender proportions that rapidly become alien as she alters her size, hits hard. Every blow seems to be absorbed by the night sky of her flesh, and she just keeps growing larger, getting taller and less humanly proportioned as the transformation progresses. The lack of multiple arms is a big advantage for Raika, one she takes advantage of, but she¡¯s a tenacious opponent who hits ike a truck and is only pushed back with serious effort.


    And then, of course, there¡¯s the lightning cultivator.


    She can smell his Dao on him. Richer than the others, wrapped lovingly around a Truth, but he refuses to hit her with it. His Dao of Lightning has achieved four distinct colors- the gold of truth, the purple of mystery, and the green of growth, and the red of harm, making for a bouquet of flavors that keeps lingering just out of reach. He dashes in, trailing power, strikes at her, using a spear or sword artifact interchangeably, and dashes back out before she can properly retaliate, especially with all the other distractions.


    Overall, it hasn¡¯t been going well.


    Her Reactor provides near-infinite transformation, but that only translates to regeneration while she¡¯s controlling it, guiding said transformations into shapes she can use, and the hotter it burns, the harder it gets. Further, it¡¯s become a target, now that her opponents have realized her head, spine and normal hearts aren¡¯t really required for her to keep fighting, and she¡¯s kept on her back feet (and tendrils and tail and spines) keeping it out of direct attacks.


    Her enemies are tired, their ability to communicate through violence beginning to slow. They¡¯re in the Nascent Soul realm, after all, and while none have manifested a Soul or Domain yet, it¡¯s expensive to maintain such high-level techniques. Still, there are pieces of her scattered everywhere, more joining them as another blow from the star-skinned soldier knocks out her lower abdomen and a stab from the lightning cultivator severs the tendons of the leg holding up most of her weight.


    She¡¯s tired. Losing. Every cut or bit of food she gets from them, they retreat from, recover, returning to press her harder. Her Body, in all its glory, is neither fast enough to match the lightning, strong enough to weather every blow, or capable enough to track all the ways that their footing and spacing is being manipulated.


    The star-skinned cultivator rips a chunk of godflesh from the wall, quartz crystals growing from it like tumors, and slams it into Raika¡¯s chest. The crystals erupt, growing a hundred times larger and forcefully pinning her to the wall, ripping through her exposed and now-unarmored wounds.


    Not a heartbeat later, a flash of four-colored lightning so bright that she goes blind in three-hundred and fifteen eyes starts to dance through the crystals and into her body.


    What a lovely day to face such heights, thinks the Soul.


    Bad Meal Scary Hurt Kill Run, thinks the Body.


    What the fuck is going on? Thinks the Mind as their skull, now discarded as a target, finally allows for a critical mass of brain matter to congeal.


    Oh, hello, say two out of three parts of Raika, as a lightning strike lands in the center of an impossible valley inside of her.


    All three parts of the whole look inwards at the scar gracing their Heart.


    Alright. Change of plans.

 Chapter 217 - Honor To Us All On The Killing Floor

    Raika, whole and complete once more, reforms a human mouth.


    ¡°No chance I can convince you to surrender?¡±


    The Lightning Dao cultivator slams into her lower body hard enough that an explosion of viscera falls out the front, the charge running through her nerves and tearing into her organs. Then, in the moment she takes dealing with that, the giant star-skinned cultivator punches her head so hard that part of her face caves in.


    And then the sound of thunder echoes in the room, shattering a thousand shards of crystal outcroppings, and a hundred shards fall into her wounds and begin to blossom into new quartz.


    Mhmm. Well, she gave them a shot.


    And it¡¯s not arrogant if you back it up.


    Priorities first. She can tell she¡¯s been doing this poorly, her body and deeper self both flailing at the surface, both unable to properly synergize. She feels a rush of gratitude and genuine warmth towards Dink, enveloping him in a soft envelope to keep him safer and closer to her.


    Second priority- she cannot lose the Mind again.


    There¡¯s limited memory of the battle and its events, but tellingly, there is memory. Her sub-minds maintained some degree of function, kept alive by the Body, and she¡¯s likely sharing information between all the different parts of herself, which is great. But that¡¯s no reason not to prioritize. Transforming herself, she keeps her skull and the shape of her throat the same while forcibly wrapping her brain in a layer of semi-hardened calcium, packing it with impact-retardant gelatin to avoid concussing herself. She speed-builds her way into a sort of contained emergency organ packet, all of her sub-minds and central brain protected in a thick, hyper-oxygenated ooze and surrounded by layers of metal.


    Not Blacksteel. Waaaay too risky, wrapping her brains in sharpened death. But she does have an alternative she can control- the orange metal that the Blacksteel containing her reactor is slowly turning into. Whatever it is, it¡¯s better than obsidian death shards for building a protective shell.


    She has to use all of it, force-rebuilding her Reactor at the same time with fresh Blacksteel to keep its energies screaming through her veins.


    The gold-skinned cultivator with the kimono sends out a burst of Qi, flavored with obsession, determination, and the scent of patient and painful things that grow from soil like steel and stone. A cluster of infectious quartz grows to a pillar in response, forcing her upper and lower halves apart violently and spraying arterial neon-crimson across the chamber.


    That¡¯s fine. She¡¯s busy with other shit, and the Body and its freshly exercised instincts and muscle memory are still doing¡­ enough to keep her alive.


    She builds a secondary heart and some fresh lungs and something enough like a liver to potentially sustain the whole bundle. She can pack it full of more goodies later- it¡¯s good enough for now.


    And now, secondary priority. Splitting her attention, she starts forming more brains.


    Not full consciousness packages, but simple setups, a bit of memory storage and pieces to enhance her autonomic nervous system, speed up the sending of messages and the data processing all across her body. Hopefully a way to better store the Mind and rebuild it in case of the worst occurring. The movements of the Body tangibly improve, instinct now supported by mechanism. Her limbs synchronize quickly, balancing on the tail-end of the massive flesh-trunk that she¡¯s still a part of (and isn¡¯t that an image) and beginning to stop getting in each other¡¯s way while speeding up.


    The lightning-wielder dashes in again, the air of the chamber and a clear pulse of some sort of attraction from one of the arrays his ally has formed speeding him so fast she doesn¡¯t even perceive him.


    Not consciously. Not instinctively.


    But the subconscious of a well-organized machine is a delight to behold.


    Her sword manages to intersect this time, cracking down its spine- but holding.


    She grins with three mouths and a thousand eyes as she sees his eyes wide, right before her whip cuts into him with booming thunder all her own.


    He lands in a crater on the floor, and the star-skinned cultivator immediately moves to defend him in a well-trained maneuver. These aren¡¯t individual cultivators, fighting wildly, they¡¯re a trained and organized team, and she moves to stand over him near-instantly.


    It¡¯s what saves him, as she tanks a hit from Raika¡¯s pillar-shield that cracks a spatially altered rib.


    Good. Improvements.


    About ten arrays light up at once and suddenly everything is heavy.


    Raika slams to the ground, a dozen of the anchor-tendrils of her flesh-trunk dislodging with her from the force of it. The literal topology of the hangar bay shifted, arrays that were planted in random places across the chamber moved into an alignment that multiples the weight of- of everything. Her blood moves sluggish, her bones and armor try to crush through her muscles to fall on the floor. It¡¯s like her own mass just grew by three without any ways to compensate for it.


    But incredibly thick, hyper-oxygenated gelatin makes for good cushioning, and her Reactor keeps screaming in tongues of radiant color.


    Keep. Going.


    She starts reinforcing her muscle fibers, replacing blood with thicker gelatin and flooding it with oxygen, forcing hearts half-smushed to keep beating-


    Hmm. About¡­ half of her ribs are still holding up surprisingly well. She can feel the changes from them, and-


    Stolen novel; please report.


    Dink trembles, speaking in musical notes, and she frowns. She turns her attention inwards to her Heart.


    It¡¯s changing her.


    She can feel it, reaching out, tendrils of Qi like veins slowly moving through her body. The natural formations it built out of her veins have been thoroughly scrambled, and she can feel how starved it is with all her energies feeding elsewhere- but it¡¯s still helping, doing something she can¡¯t quite track to her bones and reinforcing them in a way she hasn¡¯t seem before.


    ¡­Ok then.


    Raika, struggling to breathe as her opponents heal their one wounded, her insides ground up with quartz and the star-skinned about to crush her, decides to do something very stupid.


    Groping blindly along the connection between her physical body and the abstract landscape of the Heart, she grabs her reactor- and shoves it into the valley of her Soul.


    An instant later, the star-skinned soldier drops a traincar of about ten tons on her chest, the array pinning her down multiplying it a couple more times.


    There¡¯s a crack, like a particularly large bug being stepped on, and then a much louder splurting sound- and then the hangar bay goes quiet.


    ¡ª-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    All four cultivators are drained. Nascent Soul might be the line where human ends and divine begins, but it¡¯s not so great a step they can pull out powers like this freely. The lightning cultivator crackles as his skin repairs, the bright glow of his flesh magnified as he transforms in and out of lightning to repair his wounds in seconds rather than minutes. The array cultivator is sweating profusely, his artifact holding hostage a chunk of his Qi even as he maintains the array magnifying gravity on Raika, and the star-skinned warrior is breathing hard, her transformed body still struggling with a few broken ribs. Durability at the cost of regeneration, perhaps.


    A few more seconds pass, and the traincar finally warps in on itself, the gravity collapsing its roof and further squelching the body of the aberration.


    ¡°How long can you maintain it?¡± the star-skinned cultivator asks, not daring to look away. The thing came back from what should have been lethal wounds a dozen times, and even now, the winding body of meat and skin stretching down the hall indicates it might somehow come back.


    ¡°Another minute. No more.¡±


    The cultivator in the kimono throws a pill over towards the array-master, who gratefully swallows it. ¡°Minute and thirty seconds, but I¡¯ll need to circulate after,¡± he amends.


    ¡°We¡¯ll all need to circulate after this,¡± the lightning cultivator groans. ¡°What the hell was that thing? Did you hear it talk?¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t seem like a spirit beast. Not any kind I know. Never met a spirit beast my gemstones couldn¡¯t grow through, but it¡¯s like its blood was too thick for it. Screams bioweapon to me.¡±


    ¡°Fucking rebels,¡± the lightning cultivator says, spitting to one side. His armor is ruined, leaving his left arm and torso bared, but the wounds have vanished amidst the crackling of multi-colored electricity. ¡°No low they won¡¯t sink to.¡±


    The array cultivator, in spite of his focus, shoots him a look. ¡°The Empire uses bioweapons all the time. What¡¯s wrong with flesh crafters?¡±


    The lightning cultivator blinks. ¡°Um¡­ nothing, sorry. Didn¡¯t know you felt that strongly about it.¡±


    The array master snorts. It¡¯s a conversation to be had, or not, somewhere else. He¡¯ll hold the array as long as he needs to to make sure the thing stays dead, at least long enough to get some sappers down here.


    ¡°Look on the bright side,¡± the star-skinned soldier says. ¡°No way we won¡¯t be getting merit points for this. Daemon quarantine protocols and killed dozens of Core Formation troops- the reward is going to be worthy of us.¡±


    The lightning cultivator nods with a grin, resting the ornate spear he wields on his shoulder. He looks over towards the kimono-wearing cultivator, who is even now beginning to remove his crystal outcroppings from the hangar bay.


    ¡°You¡¯re on rotation soon, right? Next week? This young master would be honored to treat you to a proper visit to the second ring. You haven¡¯t lived until you¡¯ve drank with the dancers of the Western Expansion.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pass. My junior sister from my sect will be joining the Academy soon, I¡¯m off to celebrate with her.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Congratulations! Two from the same sect so close is impressive,¡± the star-skinned cultivator says, her transformation slowly receding as she comes closer to the ground.


    The kimono-wearing cultivator bows politely. ¡°Thank you. It does us good, not to be entirely outdone by the second ring¡¯s central six. Us third ring sects need to gain face where we can.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a real struggle to get recognition out here, it¡¯s true.¡±


    All four cultivators whirl, the star-skinned one burning a bit of her Core to manifest her transformation again so quickly. The backlash is visible, but she does not flinch as the Qi burns its way through her body. The lightning cultivator is on his feet a half-instant later, electrical brilliance transforming back into his body from a higher vantage point.


    The meat and blood in the crater at the center of the array is moving.


    ¡°Kai Toei! Is the array still at maximum?¡±


    The array-wielding cultivator nods, his teeth gritting together as blood starts to run from his nose. ¡°Yes! The Sevenfold Existential Mass array cannot decrease, only stop! To lose power means it breaks!¡±


    ¡°Good to know. It¡¯s an impressive technique. Most complicated one I¡¯ve ever seen. The sheer amount of runes¡­ your skill is evident.¡±


    Slowly, the mass of meat is reconstituting. A slash of four-colored lightning rips through the tail section of the crushed meat in the array, severing the meat-pillar from the body they were fighting- but the squirming continues. Bit by bit, little worms of neon-crimson are moving towards the middle of the body, beneath the traincar.


    ¡°You should all be proud. Each and every one of you eclipses me as a wielder of techniques. I¡¯m creative, but your dedication shows in your execution and power. I would say I¡¯m sorry it¡¯s come to this, but your friends shot me in the head maybe thirty minutes ago, and I don¡¯t forgive so easily.¡±


    The kimono-wearing cultivator makes a seal with his hands, a sudden burst of Qi exploding from the quartz in the array, growing inside the remains of the creature. The crystals shatter immediately under the weight of the increased gravity, but they don¡¯t stop growing, spearing into more and more of the wriggling meat- but it keeps moving.


    ¡°You four came down here to do your jobs. I know you won¡¯t let me leave, there¡¯s no reason to trust me when I say I will do no further harm to you and yours if you let me through. I offer it anyways. This is a place of mindless killing and death en masse. Let me pass, out into the fourth ring, and I swear on my Soul, my Qi, and my very being to never again attack this fortress or anyone in it.¡±


    The words thrum in the air, like music. They have weight to them, putting every cultivator on edge- a vow, no matter who it is spoken by, is nothing to be taken lightly.


    It is the star-skinned cultivator who steps forward, her transformation complete. She is towering at nearly thirty feet high, her skin the deep blue-black of the night sky, filled with stars.


    ¡°We are honor bound to defend this place. You have reaped a tally of lives, whatever or whoever you may be, and an oath from you does not supercede our oath to fight on behalf of the Empire and protect its peoples in every way we can. You end here.¡±


    The voice doesn¡¯t return for a moment. The kimono-wearing cultivator breaks off his technique, the meat still wriggling even while perforated by crystal, and takes out a small bell instead. His Qi runs through the artifact as he begins to whisper, sending out an update.


    A call for help, and a gift of information in case they don¡¯t make it.


    ¡°I understand. I didn¡¯t start this, but neither did you. I need to go past this place, and through you is my only way, now. You¡¯re simply doing your job.


    ¡°But your fellow soldiers did blow my brains across a wall to feed me to a pit of monsters. And I do still need to get through. So let¡¯s get to the killing and the dying, and find what honor we can in that.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to try to eat you now.¡±


    From inside the array, nearing the end of its lifespan, the traincar begins to move as something stands up from beneath it.

 Chapter 218 - Mercy To No One At All On The Killing Floor

    Nothing about her speaks of humanity.


    And why would it? What use is there in chaining oneself to an ideal you don¡¯t believe in? Humanity is not an apex of existence. Neither is any beast or spirit. They are simply manifestations of the way things are, and their ability to change and create new possibilities comes not from humanity, but consciousness. To cultivate is, in and of itself, a way to eclipse humanity, to remake one¡¯s fundamental nature.


    Just because most people think their body is just fine doesn¡¯t mean she¡¯s wrong to know that hers isn¡¯t.


    The thing that emerges from beneath the crumpled metal pulping her flesh does not look human.


    And it stands up.


    The Sevenfold Existential Mass array is a startling thing, and it speaks true to its name. Rather than enact a property from itself to another, it reaches into an assigned space, touches the mass of all inside it, and multiplies the effects of that mass, existentially, by sevenfold. Without Qi, there is nothing that lives which can survive seven times its own weight suddenly crashing onto its internal organs.


    She stands anyways.


    The shriek of bending metal is met by a cracking of stone as her foot lands on the ground and accommodates her multiplied weight. Digitigrade limbs, ending in a set of massive claws, penetrate the earth beneath her. From beneath the ruins of the traincar, she emerges.


    She¡¯s smaller this time around. Only about fifteen feet tall, maybe half the height of the star-skinned cultivator¡¯s technique, but still over double the height of your average humanoid. Her entire body is a glistening black of Blacksteel-crafted armored scales, shifting like a ferrofluid to reduce the effects of the array. There are strains like scar tissue or coral veins reinforcing along joints and seams, decorating obsidian-black with a red so dark it becomes blue. Crowned above her head are a new set of horns, thick and curling things that arch back and begin to branch out like antlers, made of a startling white and glowing with iridescent, multi-hued radiation, eyes blinking in and out of existence from within the bio-thaumic crown.


    Her face is not a face. It is a skull, and it is not one meant for human beings. Three eye-sockets glimmering with arcane power mark her as something beyond, when she breathes, it ripples, opening along seams that show how it might bloom like a flower into ever so many jaws.


    What a day to be alive.


    She smiles with a face that recurses like a fractal maw and a holy relic, and marvels at just how good she feels.


    Why hold back?


    She takes two steps forward, her movements casual even as the array makes her weight shatter the ground she walks on with loud cracking sounds. She looks to the array-wielder, and smiles wide at him, lips that cover only part of the structure of her fangs showing him a moment of respect.


    And then she leaps forward.


    The distortion effect of the gravitational array vanishes the instant she leaves its range, but by that point it doesn¡¯t matter. The strength needed to launch herself under that much mass was already enough to guarantee her a speed that defies perception, and the star-skinned cultivator only barely blocks in time to stop her from shooting through her like a bullet.


    Both of her arms break as Raika collides with them.


    The star-skin cultivator cries out, eyes wide, as blood the color of starlight explodes out of her forearms alongside shards of bone. She tries to back away, tries to take a step back, and-


    Raika is already gone, one of her hands sticking out of the back of the crystalline cultivator.


    He coughs up blood, his stomach punctured, but he does not retreat. He grabs onto her arm, quartz growths blooming from his hand onto her armored skin-


    And finding no purchase as Blacksteel scales ripple and flow like water, no more irritated by the chunks of gem-growth than they would be by sand on a beach.


    She stares him in the eyes as he shoves his Qi against her, tries to infect her with the unliving growth that he champions¡­ and she smiles.


    Humanoid lips disappear as her face folds open and a dozen different maws bloom wide-


    The lightning cultivator at last overcomes his surprise and strikes at her, a spear wielded by electricity itself slamming into her side and forcing her away.


    The blast is strong enough that the crystal cultivator is sent flying, power crackling over his flesh and burning him even as he grabs a pill to try to heal himself. But that¡¯s fine. Her Soul feels grief and joy as the Mind happily accepts that there¡¯s someone more important to prioritize here.


    The lightning cultivator stops holding back. Rather than turning to a bolt of lightning and back to strike and retreat, he pushes relentlessly forward, blending between electricity and flesh to cut away any hitches in his movement or need to reset his attacks.


    His spear clashes into her again and again, its edge glowing white even as multi-hued Lightning Dao dances across it, ripping into her to give his allies time to recover.


    She smiles.


    Supreme Body Art: Overclocking.


    Supreme Body Art: Gigant.


    And the latest addition- Supreme Body Art: Full Body Transmutation.


    Gigant isn¡¯t actually a technique for growing larger, that part¡¯s easy. Gigant is a technique to ensure that when you get larger, you can still move and operate without dying under your own weight.


    So what happens when you apply its principles to something that isn¡¯t worried about that?


    The world slows down by half, and then again, as Raika overclocks her brains and sensory abilities. The Lightning-wielder goes from a glowing blur of violence to a flickering humanoid shape, dancing between light and flesh, his attacks incredibly fast but now visible. Overclocking fuses with Gigant to activate the series of lattices, support structures and hyper-dense muscle-fibers needed to move an incredibly heavy body at impossible speeds.


    And Full Body Transmutation ensures that, even as she moves like she¡¯s still flesh and bone, the Blacksteel, Radiant Metal, and fibrous carbon that make up her body remain intact and functional.


    I Can Change, says her Truth. Nowhere in it is that she can only change into meat.


    The spear strikes against her- and two of her six arms grab it with clawed, grasping hands, halting it entirely.


    The cultivator flickers, his pattern broken, and four other arms of her six total stab into him.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Four holes emerge, opening up his throat, his eye, his stomach and his ribcage, and only a mid-second transition into lightning stops her from turning him from man into corpse.


    She laughs.


    She laughs.


    ¡°COME ON THEN!¡± she roars, her true voice resonating with Dink and magnifying itself to be heard across the chamber. It rings like music and like a thrumming engine at once, Truespeak from vocal cords drowning in Qi forcing her words to carry impossible weight. ¡°Unleash your Nascent Souls! Mantle your Transcendent forms! Bind me within your Domains! Pull out all the stops and show me EVERYTHING YOU¡¯VE GOT!¡±


    She twirls her looted spear, ferrofluid shards of Blacksteel flowing over it to turn it from resplendent white and gold to a lance black as midnight. She smiles wide at her enemies, her crown of horns, antlers and eyes glowing like an impossible sunrise as eyes flicker in and out of existence within, and six arms on a body of all-black death and glorious navy-indigo lifeblood.


    This is it.


    This is her.


    Not just blood. Not just human. Not just monstrous. Not just sharpness. Not just beast. Not just tool.


    She is.


    And her opponents rise to meet her.


    The array-wielding cultivator is busy healing what¡¯s left of the lightning-warrior, who is barely clinging to life even with his Nascent Soul vitality, but he still transforms the ground, warps space to bring more arrays into sequence around her. The star-skinned cultivator is glowing, her ruined arms warping like a spatial distortion as she grows another few feet, her Core alight and her eyes deep as void. The crystal cultivator has dozens of new ones breaching his skin, tearing through his flesh violently as he begins to glow with an off-white radiance and the ground around him begins to transmute.


    All of them or all of her are going to die here, but she refuses both until they have shown all that they are.


    It is all the honor she can offer them, here on the killing floor.


    The crystalline cultivator explodes.


    It¡¯s nothing like the last Domain she saw, that of Feng Gao. That was a whole and alien thing, a world in and of itself bound by his own vision. What extends from her enemy out towards her is a desolate field, ideas and functions of it missing- but hinted at, and held together enough that the whole remains. The air and ground around him warp, and what was once air, what was once ground, what was once space and flesh- all begins to blossom into pillars of messy, fractal quartz. The world around and about him becomes a place of ever-growing dead radiance, beautiful, alien and harsh, such that even the air one breathes is just a vector for more crystalline transformation.


    The star-skinned cultivator roars out a battle cry as she launches at Raika, spatially-distorted proportions warping as something from within her writhes. From within the scent of a burning Core, Raika glimpses a thing of infinite arms and legs, of fathomless scale, glowing with all the eyes of the gods above, and feels it begin to reach out towards her through the warrior¡¯s will.


    [Domain Of Growing Resplendence From All] turns the world to cold, sharp crystal.


    [Divine Will From Starry Eyes] reaches out from within a warrior nearly fifty feet tall and moving at the speed of a bullet.


    Glory be.


    Supreme Body Art, New Form: Pressurized Indigo.


    Blood isn¡¯t as useful in a high-gravity environment. Too light. What¡¯s inside her is more like a jelly or ooze, the thickness and strength of her veins and transformed hearts strong enough to force it to circulate anyways. Blood, refined with a hundred times as much oxygen, Qi, and materials as it could normally hold, transmuted into something more like hemocyanin rather than hemoglobin, feeds into a body whose energy demands are astronomical.


    But the results are equally so. Thicker blood, too, can be pressurized.


    She swings her newfound obsidian spear in a wide arc, cutting across both her opponents.


    Blood vessels and Qi circuits to enhance them, all along the edge of the blade, open wide.


    Radiant CHANGE, indigo hyperfluid and pressurized Blacksteel sand blasts out in a sweeping flash of color and the screaming sound of ground and flesh being unmade.


    Deep inside her, a tree of naked swords and glowing [DIVISION] changes hue, ever so slightly, and begins to drip indigo sap from its sharp-edged leaves.


    And two cultivators fall into pieces before her.


    [Domain Of Growing Resplendence From All] falls to nothing, the Heavens and Dao reasserting themselves on the transformed landscape. All that¡¯s left is quartz dust, drifting on the wind. Behind it, at its source, the crystal cultivator comes apart, his arms, torso and waist all falling in slightly different directions from each other.


    [Divine Will From Starry Eyes] breathes, recedes, begins to fall into itself. To slay a cultivator with a true Soul is to have that Soul flee freely, to regrow its original body as it pleases. To slay a Nascent Soul cultivator, to cut across them and turn flesh, dantian and Core into disparate pieces, is more akin to slitting the throat of a mortal.


    She could feel meridians already, her touch gifting them to her synesthesia. Why not do more?


    She sighs, softly, as the bodies hit the floor.


    ¡°Next.¡±


    The word is barely out of her mouth before a sword, covered in enough Qi and lightning that it¡¯s barely visible, shatters its way through her armor and into her shoulder.


    It¡¯s a long blade, wielded one-handed in spite of its size due to the strength of its master- but there is a look of surprise on his face as she lets it sink in to the hilt and still not emerge from her back. Seven feet of sword disappears into a four-foot-wide body, and just sinks away.


    ¡°A good strike. You¡¯re fast.¡±


    He is not fast enough to stop her from breaking the arm holding the sword and striking him with three fists at the same point of impact, shattering his ribcage and sending him flying.


    Slowly, one of her arms extending out and out like a telescoping rod, she drags the blade out from her shoulder. Mere moments later, iridescent radiation and Blacksteel scales flow over it, transforming it to another obsidian weapon.


    ¡°The Emperor in the High Plane of Asura Opposing Heaven and the Spirits of the World met in the heavenly perfect mountain and discussed the transfer of the rule of the world from the great Will of the Heavens to-¡±


    She turns, the mumbling prayer happening at an incredible pace, and faces the array cultivator barely in time for her eyes to see what he¡¯s holding.


    There¡¯s a new artifact in his hands, shaped like a dozen prayer beads drowned in Qi, and from his words to them and to the space around him, the world has transformed.


    What was once a defensive artifact hovering around him has migrated above him, recombining and transforming into something approaching the shape of a rifle. Dozens of arrays are moving as the godflesh of the fortress city bows to his prayer and begins to envelop him, making a cocoon of concrete around his body and growing glowing veins of power into the artifact.


    It takes him approximately one half-second to complete the prayer. One half-second that his friend couldn¡¯t grant him, even as she hears his ribcage reknitting itself just off to the side. One half second in which she could have shot or crushed or severed him into pieces.


    She waits.


    Honor on the killing floor.


    Lightning, gravitational manipulation, godflesh and raw, purified Qi all flow into a singular point at the back of the rifle.


    There is a sound like the air breaking.


    A thin piece of metal, about the size of a human finger, fires through the middle of her chest and- and keeps going.


    There is whining, screaming sound of flesh and matter being torn apart- and then, almost a full second later, the railgun bullet falls out of her back, almost thirty degrees off from the angle it entered.


    She looks at the array cultivator, already furiously whispering into his prayer beads for another shot, even as blood is gushing from his eyes, nose, mouth and ears. Even as she knows he doesn¡¯t have the energy in him for another blast as strong as the one that just didn¡¯t kill her.


    Honor on the killing floor.


    Judging from how insensate he is, how flooded with blood all his senses are, she¡¯s fairly certain he doesn¡¯t even feel it when she severs his head and pierces his Dantian. He dies without noticing, and it takes a full extra second for the prayer beads to fall from his hands.


    ¡°What are you?¡± ask the last of opponents.


    She sighs, low and slow.


    ¡°Something new. And someone willing to kill more, if it means I get where we need to go.¡±


    The lightning-wielder grimaces, then growls. His Qi begins to grow, further and further, higher and higher, cycling through him so, so fast. His comprehension of Dao trembles in the air, four-colored Lightning manifesting in agonizingly bright rays across the chamber.


    ¡°You won¡¯t find me such easy prey!¡± he screams as he begins to manifest.


    [Perfect Strike Of Tribulation] rears its head, a thing of beautiful spears and gorgeous electrified violence, missing pieces but still so utterly beautiful, so utterly dedicated to itself and to the perfect instant of-


    [INFUSION].


    The top half of the lightning cultivator¡¯s head falls to the ground. It lands with the sound of breaking glass and crumbling stone.


    She drops her sword, the top half of it a violently shattering mess of glass, bone, grass, fire and copper. The glow of CHANGE dims from it only slowly as the radiation of her Reactor turns back from weapon into fuel.


    She sighs.


    Four cultivators and over a hundred more, dead. Living beings, awake and aware, capable of making choices, of Changing, turned into so much meat and Qi. Soldiers of an Empire that honors that title. They willingly stood by as their fellows killed and culled those they deemed useless alive, so they might make use of her death. They fought in a war that she can hear the edges of, even now, waging like a nightmare eternal.


    And now they¡¯re dead.


    Honor on the killing floor.


    We Are What We Eat.

 Chapter 219 - Your Mission, Should You Choose To Accept It-

    ¡°How can this be!? I am an inner disciple of the Blessed Clouds sect! How could some lowly third-ring commoner-¡±


    A man dressed in the same white and sky-blue robes of the whinging idiot smacks said idiot upside the head.


    ¡°We apologize for the young master¡¯s disrespect, honored cultivator. His blood runs hot and this fight has been a thrilling opportunity for education for him.¡±


    Shin Ren bows politely, his guandao vanishing back into his storage ring.


    ¡°Think nothing of it. I understand how daunting new comprehension can be, and do not fault the young master for taking the lesson to heart.¡±


    The entourage of the young man from the Thundering Cuts sect nod their heads, with their leader giving a further half-bow back to Shin Ren. ¡°Your grace does you a great service, fellow Daoist.¡±


    Shin Ren raises an eyebrow slightly to that, but doesn¡¯t comment. To call someone a fellow Daoist, the man before him must be claiming his very own comprehension of Dao. What form of it, he¡¯s not sure, but, well¡­ he¡¯s from the Blessed Clouds sect. Lightning Dao users and Aspirants of the Cut both have had their roots there.


    One of the big six sects of the second ring, a tried and true dog of the Empire, with all the beauty and wonder gifted unto the loyalest of pets. In turn, they feed the Division of War aptly, especially when it comes to the Imperial Guard, the peacekeepers of the inner rings, clad in flying armors and artifacts.


    Shin Ren has respect for the role. It takes diligence and skill to be a center-point to peace for so many, and while there are plenty who see them as glorified lapdogs, Shin Ren knows better. There is a reason that bandit clans are so rare. There is a reason that those who do not directly live in the shadow of a sect still do not need to fear constant danger. To be a peacekeeper is a noble thing, and to have a sect dedicated to it is nothing vile.


    But Shin Ren has yet to see them act much differently than any other sect-children he¡¯s met in the Academies. Arrogant, entitled, and ultimately more focused on personal growth for the sake of it than he¡¯s comfortable with.


    None of which is a sin.


    But he wasn¡¯t unhappy with the contents of his latest letter.


    He gives a final bow and turns away from the flushed face of one of the Blessed Clouds sect¡¯s young masters. There are whispers, so quiet they dance below a mortal¡¯s hearing level, but audible to his senses as he leaves the courtyard.


    Not his preferred avenue for a confrontation. It¡¯s public, embarrassing for the loser, and frankly, the artificial ¡°outdoor¡± areas of the Academies grate on him a bit. There¡¯s just something frustrating about having to block off his senses to not be able to sense the Qi and Dao flowing through the space.


    But that, too, was specified in the letter.


    So far, this ¡°Wyld¡± has been true to her word. They¡¯ve asked nothing of him that he wasn¡¯t willing to answer. Three missions over the last several weeks, each one as seemingly benign as the last. After ¡°befriending¡± Mei Yu, the next mission was to rearrange some of the books he searched for previously into specific places, making it look accidental. Done easily enough, and they would only be returned to their proper places by the invisible custodians before long. Second mission was to follow an individual whose name he did not know, publicly and openly, such that others could see him traveling along a specific route. This latest letter was the most demanding, and yet, the easiest.


    To humble one particularly arrogant young master of the Blessed Clouds sect that had been showboating around.


    In truth, Shin Ren isn¡¯t sure he needs much humbling, so he hopes this is enough. It¡¯s more than alright to be confident, reaching mid Nascent Soul stage at the age that he has.


    The fact that Shin Ren has outpaced him, after losing so much of his cultivation, is no reason for him not to keep that trust in himself. The kid has potential to go far, really.


    He was kind of an ass, though. Even his allies seemed to agree, especially if the way his fellows treated his loss was any indication.


    Hopefully this is exactly what the kid will need to improve himself.


    Not that Shin Ren has any room to be calling people kid. He¡¯s not even thirty.


    He smiles at that. Shin Ren, genius among geniuses once again. This time, even those in the Academy have to recognize him as more than a peer, more than just a particularly determined third-ring cultivator who got lucky. Even though that¡¯s exactly what he is, in all fairness.


    He smiles at the thought.


    He might never say it (or get to say it, more grimly) to his master, but his teachings are actually almost magnified by the Empire. Access to materials is one part of the equation- to those it favors and those it needs, the Empire is more than generous. Rather than losing the lives of the young and bold in obscure places to get once-in-a-lifetime ingredients, the Empire has methods of creating, farming, or procuring almost every resource in the world. What were once resources that cost lives and had whole generations of servants to guard and cultivate them now can be acquired by the hard work of experts and trained workers of all sorts.


    In the second place, the breadth of techniques are absolutely exponential compared to that of any sect. No technique too small or too great, and most rewritten so that the¡­ eccentricities of many of their authors aren¡¯t a weakness to would-be cultivators of them. They even keep the originals, to be studied alongside annotated and translated versions. Techniques that might have been discarded or lost are studied, understood, sometimes leading to all new ideas and strengths.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    For all that Shin Ren has felt the hand of the Empire pervasively in every academic text he¡¯s found on its history or its enemies, that doesn¡¯t change the fact that without it, there are hundreds, maybe thousands of ideas, stories and experiences that would be lost to time or left to rot in some abandoned cave, or never written at all.


    Between the two, Shin Ren¡¯s cultivation has soared.


    The ninth layers of both of his demon cores came along easily, thanks to the sheer density of Qi available to him and the pills to back it up. Pills to improve or reduce his need for sleep, pills to heal his fatigue and mental damage, elixirs to alter his mind and improve comprehension, and more. Add onto that the myriad techniques and journals or discussions on cultivation, all added into his own comprehension of himself and the growth therein¡­


    It didn¡¯t take long for something to begin to spark inside himself¡­ and his other ¡°selves¡±.


    It was an enlightened manifesto on the nature of Dao.


    Purple and Gold are the two colors to Shin Ren¡¯s own flames, the centerpoints of his Dao. They are two of the seven colors, concepts, or higher ideals that are associated with Dao, on the way to true comprehension.


    Gold is the color of Truth, Enlightenment and Stability. It stands at the apex of the others, but is incomplete without the other colors blended into it. It speaks to a climactic step to the center of a concept, a grasp on some of the properties inherent to its very core. He¡¯s rather proud of gaining that one, especially before the others.


    Purple is the color of mystery, of secrets, of the unknown. The Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect is, in many ways, an examination of this aspect of the Dao of Flame. It sounds intuitive- it¡¯s easy to think that one doesn¡¯t know something. Ironically, it is very, very hard to know that one doesn¡¯t know something, to feel the weight of what is not comprehended and what may always be unknowable. The absence of comprehension is, in and of itself, a property, one that takes wisdom to master.


    That one feels a bit more obvious to Shin Ren, really.


    Then there¡¯s Black. Death, destruction, and the infinite. The absence of color more than its presence. The End, in as many words, the black-beyond-black. It is the part of a thing¡¯s concept that denotes how it relates to the final and absolute end, both of itself and that of which it touches. Impossible to truly understand without experiencing it, in some way, profoundly and entirely.


    It¡¯s one of the two colors that the Corpse Aflame manifests in her fires.


    The other is Red, and all its permutations. Harm, the destructive meeting of two forces or manifestations, but also passion and energy. To be touched by Red, one¡¯s comprehension requires true, foundational understanding of the ways in which a concept destroys, unmakes, or violently transforms that which it touches, and is transformed in turn.


    Neither color is evil. Good and evil, neither one of them really factor in. They¡¯re smaller concepts, too broad and too indistinct to hold weight on reality without weight being placed upon them. Comprehension, Dao, these are beyond that. It speaks to only experience and wisdom that she has these colors so vividly in her flames, even if they¡¯re still weaker than Shin Ren¡¯s comprehension overall.


    The other colors fall into their own categories.


    Green is growth, balance, harmony. The circle of life and death, the way that it feeds the world, the way that things change into what they are meant to be. Fate, to some, consequences and synchronicity to others.


    Orange, sometimes viewed as the calmer sibling to Red, speaks of creativity, energy, and change. Boundless enthusiasm, infinite permutations, and transformation without the context of death, destruction, or growth inherently tied in.


    Finally there¡¯s Blue, often the most elusive to those who have never experienced it. Tranquility, which is hard enough, often wrapped around both the concept of duality and the idea of limitlessness.


    Only with all seven can one claim true and perfect comprehension of Dao. Many fall into their concepts, lost along the way or sacrificing themselves to it to become something other, but to master all the possible permutations of color makes the idea of an early ¡°True¡± anything a joke.


    So far, the only one of the three of them yet to unlock any Dao of his own, or any permutation of their original Dao of Flame, is the Smiling Noble. To be fair, he¡¯s not really about fire. Its effects are sort of filtered through another concept, one more abstract, more¡­ socially-inclined. It is no shame not to hold a Dao of his own, considering that technically he was born only, what, a year and a half ago? And that he¡¯s the least powerful among them. His nine layers around his core took far, far longer than the Corpse Aflame, and even still, his pool of Qi is smaller than his sister¡¯s by a wide margin.


    But there¡¯s no need to rush. He has his own talents and his own perspectives, and pursuing them is often at odds with Shin Ren, so the mutual consensus is that he will grow at his own pace.


    But to grow is still required. For all of them.


    Qu Haolan is still trapped somewhere in the first ring.


    Even still, progress is progress. His own Nascent Soul is more solidified, more closely tied to the Dao of Flame, but its shape is still indistinct to him. The Corpse Aflame, on the other hand, is developing hers quickly, a roiling, faceless thing of burnt flesh and crackling, searing oblivion.


    Shin Ren¡­ doesn¡¯t love it. It¡¯s got far too many hands, and they¡¯re all sort of¡­ melting together. Like the flesh on them is wax, to sizzle and pop on the pyre.


    And yet, this, too, is Dao. This too is cultivation. Death and harm are inherent to the Flame, as they are to every possible concept. He is lucky to have someone he can trust and understand deep within himself, adding her comprehension to his own- and vice versa.


    Shin Ren walks back towards the library. There¡¯s always more learning to be had, more things to uncover and comprehend, and he refuses to slack off. Better to act now than regret it later, and there is much to regret in losing time. He rests when he has to, maybe once a week, and spends the rest of his time either in cultivation, in the training arenas, or in the libraries. It would be lonely, if not for Gou Mai insisting on joining him near-constantly, something he¡¯s grateful for.


    And having to deal with the extended Qi senses of the dozen Nascent Soul cultivators on this floor of the Academy is easier in a place that¡¯s quiet.


    The Nascent Soul floors are¡­ a lot like the lower floors, but nicer. Richer in Qi and resources. More optional lessons, larger libraries. Outside this place, without the aid of the carefully designed arrays of experts, it might take him years to advance the slightest bit in feeding the nascent divine within him.


    But above all else, the documents.


    Maps. Historical records. Treatises on the intricacies of the Empire, and its old enemies. Everything he needs to understand who he¡¯s going against¡­ and to begin to understand why.


    But today, of course, there¡¯s a break in the pattern. Today, when he walks into the library, there¡¯s a letter waiting for him.


    That¡¯s¡­ new.


    They¡¯ve always been in his room before. Someplace private. Yet here, when he pulls a manual from its shelf (a complex thing, blending arrays with heat-based changing runes), a piece of paper falls out with it, sealed with black wax.


    He breaks the seal, his Qi igniting against the wax and proving his presence, leaving the paper (and the array hidden in it) intact. The letter inside is¡­ considerably less flowery than before.


    To Whom It May Concern,


    A mission has been posted on the Academy¡¯s merit boards. SOS 316, for Fortress-City 180 on the east-north-east part of the wall. It should be posted for approximately 600 merits. You¡¯ll need at least three other cultivators at the Nascent Soul level to accompany you. We recommend your skyward friend and the illusionist to start. This is a priority. You have three hours to arrive there before the situation escalates beyond control. Do this, and you¡¯ll receive direct information on the one you¡¯re looking for.


    Well.


    That¡¯s different.

 Chapter 220 - You Son Of A Bitch, Im In!

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    Gou Mai is the easiest by far.


    ¡°YES!¡± he roars, literally pumping his fist. ¡°At long last, my chosen brother, you embrace the call to adventure! Far be it from me to disrespect your own particular climb to the heights, but every time I see you your head is buried in a tome or being pounded against a golem! To adventure, to reach out into existence and seize the world, this, THIS is the core of cultivation! Ha ha!¡±


    ¡°...Gou Mai, it¡¯s just a mission for merits.¡±


    His friend immediately whirls, a finger pointed right at Shin Ren¡¯s chest.


    ¡°No! None of that! Every moment is an opportunity and every path a possibility! I¡¯ll not have you dimming my joy at you finally coming to your senses with the shadow of bureaucracy or mundanity!¡±


    Despite himself, Shin Ren can¡¯t help but chuckle. ¡°All this enthusiasm, and I¡¯ve yet to even tell you what the mission is.¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s chosen by my honored brother, it must be a worthwhile and meaningful pursuit! Besides, did you not hear? When I said every path, I meant every one.¡±


    Shin Ren waits, smiling patiently.


    ¡°But¡­ what is it?¡±


    The smile widens.


    ¡°One of the calls for aid to the fortress cities. SOS 316, to be precise.¡±


    Gou Mai tilts his head. ¡°Oddly specific. I don¡¯t suppose you have a reason for why this SOS above any others?¡±


    A shrug. ¡°Fortress 180 has, on average, one or two more SOS merit missions than most, and this one in particular is for something inside the fortress itself. It seems like a good introductory mission, considering I¡¯ve never been to the frontlines of the Wall. We deal with an internal purge or rescue of some sort, and come right back. Quick and easy.¡±


    Gou Mai hisses, pulling some air in between his teeth. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ brother, I¡¯m not so sure that¡¯s a good idea. The frontlines are far more directly dangerous, I suppose, but dangers there are usually simpler. Or have many more merits, on those fronts that aren¡¯t quite so simple. An internal purge can be anything, but usually complicated, or else the fortress would just deal with it on their own. It could be a fundal bloom, could be a plague of undeath, could be a spatial warping turning the place to a labyrinth. Heck, it could even be some monster that moves and exists only within the mind, digging its way through the soldiers! For a first incursion towards the fourth, it¡¯s a risk to do a mission that requests something from inside the fortress unless it¡¯s confirmed to be a non -combat mission.¡±


    ¡°And here I thought every moment was an opportunity!¡±


    ¡°That it is, honored brother, but no opportunity is without risk, and some risks carry a heavy price.¡±


    Shin Ren sighs, but Gou Mai grimaces slightly as he hears in his tone that it isn¡¯t a sigh of surrender. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that this is the mission I¡¯ve chosen, my friend. The merits are good, and I could use your aid.¡±


    Gou Mai shakes his head, the grimace morphing back into a smile with startling ease. ¡°Oh, very well. Who am I to deny a bond-brother? We swore to climb together, and climb we shall.¡±


    ¡°Climb we have, no? Years I was gone, and you spent time and time again in the Core Formation realm, yet apparently all you needed was a bit of poking and prodding.¡±


    Gou Mai grins, his essence shifting around him. Qi flutters around them, pushing back the impossible weight of the Nascent Soul floor level around him. From deep within his ally and friend on the path of cultivation, Shin Ren feels a subtle flow of wind, as if dancing up and down a vast and strange cliffside. There¡¯s far more to it than that, but to leave even that much of an impression without actually exposing his Nascent Soul? Shin Ren¡¯s senses aren¡¯t that impressive, so the Soul must be made to match.


    ¡°Nonsense. Poking and prodding? Like any good rival, you have inspired me! Showed me how far I had to climb, and how quickly the steps could be danced! I would dishonor us both not to rise to meet such a challenge.


    ¡°And indeed, here is a challenge again. You might live like an ascetic, brother, but when you choose to act, let it not be said that you don¡¯t find stunningly interesting ways to do so.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not¡­ hmm. I guess I am sort of an ascetic.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d tell you that you need to get laid, but honestly you seem surprisingly laid back about your blind dedication and constant work ethic.¡±


    Shin Ren refuses to rise to the bait, but he does roll his eyes at the remark. ¡°It¡¯s no sin to work hard.¡±


    ¡°No, no sin at all! But what a pity it is, not to enjoy every step on your climb. Especially considering that fine young dame, Mei Yu seems to have her eyes on you. To think, my bond brother, catching the eye of a member of the Divine Veil sect of the big six with his daring and boldness.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ well¡­¡±


    ¡°Ha! Don¡¯t tell me, she¡¯s who you¡¯re going to fetch next!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not easy finding people in a three-hour window, and she¡¯s a powerful cultivator.¡±


    ¡°All true, and yet, fate and choice seem to both have pushed you into choosing her. What a fascinating twist!¡±


    ¡°We are all the consequences of our choices, my friend. And Choice Is Universal.¡±


    Gou Mai flinches back as Shin Ren¡¯s Truth sets the air abuzz all around him. Shin Ren raises a hand, apologizing.


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°No no. The fault is mine. I can withstand it, and to ask you to censor your Truth would be as rude as asking you to limit your Dao.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Shin Ren rolls his eyes. ¡°You know, there is such a thing as being too proper. How you manage to be so stiflingly proper and enthusiastic about everything I may never understand.¡±


    ¡°Politeness and a burning joy for all things, my brother. Now come along, let¡¯s go fetch your fetching companion, that we might kill or die, as the consequences of our choices demand.¡±


    A hand planted on his shoulder pauses Gou Mai¡¯s jaunty walk towards¡­ what Shin Ren is pretty sure might just be a random direction. Or the exact direction they need. Gou Mai¡¯s a bit hard to read with such things.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ll be going alone, brother. We need four members for our team, no matter how much you eclipse any other choice I might have. As you yourself have noted, there hasn¡¯t been much socializing in my life recently. You¡¯re better suited than I to find a fourth, someone reliable.¡±


    Gou Mai nods. ¡°There¡¯s truth to what you say. I¡¯m far more competent than you when it comes to speaking to other people in ways that don¡¯t end in a challenge.¡±


    ¡°I- I¡¯ve only fought like, three challenges since I returned!¡±


    ¡°Four, if you count the lovely Mei Yu. And the number of people you¡¯ve had a conversation with since you returned?¡±


    ¡°...I talked to one of the library attendants! And¡­ I know I¡¯ve spoken with at least one mentor outside the classroom. And¡­¡±


    Gou Mai spreads his hands.


    ¡°You cut me to the quick, honored brother.¡±


    His friend smiles, then shrugs. ¡°You are a focused young man. It would be a disservice to dishonor that. But it is best to leave a fish to their swimming and a bird to their winds. I¡¯ll meet you in front of the mission board in an hour, yes?¡±


    ¡°Alright. We should have¡­ hopefully an hour after that to take the mission and go. Better we hurry than not.¡±


    Gou Mai nods and offers a sardonic little bow. ¡°Thy will be done, oh honorable brother of mine!¡±


    Shin Ren rolls his eyes, laughing. ¡°And my thy will be met too, oh¡­ honorable brother of mine.¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t think of anything else, could you?¡±


    He spreads his hands. ¡°I¡¯m not as good at compliments as you are.¡±


    ¡°Indeed! We find ourselves with complimentary skillsets, oh studious warrior. I¡¯ll be off, then! See you in an hour. Try not to waste too much time with the jade beauties on your way back!¡±


    His friend turns, and in a small shifting of space and sky, his friend is¡­ simply gone. Like he stepped past a curtain, or turned on the wind, vanishing to someplace else. For such a solidly built man, his new cultivation allows him to move as if unburdened by ideas such as weight, and sometimes without ones such as distance, either. He¡¯s not sure he understands how it works, but it would be impolite to ask, and it is impressive to see.


    Turning, Shin Ren activates a movement technique and begins to move, expanding his senses out to find his target.


    Exhalation of Force, despite its name, is a rather unique blend of fire and water techniques. Evolved from a technique focused on steam and pressure, it uses heat and pressurized air and Qi to shove the wielder bodily forward. An imprecise technique for the most part, one that takes a long time to build up and release- unless one already has the ability to generate explosive force.


    The Corpse Aflame provides detonation, the Shining Noble warps it from fire into the effects of heat, and Shin Ren corralls the transformed force into velocity..


    The Academy space warps around him. Tunnels shorten and lengthen, hard corners turning soft-edged to avoid the need for him to turn too much. The higher one goes, the denser the Qi, and in turn, the more the Academy offers. It¡¯s almost like the building is alive, and the higher one rises through the inverted pyramid of its ranks, the more in tune it becomes with what its inhabitants need.


    The amount of arrays needed to create something so reactive must be astronomical, and he can¡¯t help but admire whoever it was that constructed it and the workers that must have helped them build it.


    The roar of an engine and kinetic flame behind him fades in an explosive burst, a final crack of force heralding his brake. A short burst of flame and kinesis from his hands cuts off his momentum, landing him in front of Mei Yu.


    The Academy led him to her, intuiting where he¡¯s going, and she, in turn, let him come closer, their Qi senses meeting while he was still a ways away. She frowns, a few hairs blown loose from her topknot as he arrives. She waves a hand politely over her face, a fan manifesting from a storage ring.


    ¡°As much as I¡¯m sure it¡¯s plenty fast, you really should think of a new movement technique my dear. That is¡­ insufferably loud.¡±


    Shin Ren nods politely, weaving his Qi to move the smoke and heated air away from Mei Yu. ¡°Apologies. I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m in a bit of a hurry, and had to get here as soon as I could.¡±


    She raises a sculpted eyebrow. ¡°As tempted as I am to tease, I somehow find it unlikely that my beauty has only now suddenly broken through your monastic ways. What is it you need?¡±


    ¡°I- mm. I¡¯m taking on a mission, and it¡¯s high priority. I need three team-mates to come with me, and you¡¯re-¡±


    ¡°One of the few people you know here? One of the only individuals you¡¯ve had a conversation with? A singular member of an incredibly small group that knows you as more than a blindingly boring hermetic?¡±


    ¡°...ok, between you and Gou Mai, this is getting a little hurtful.¡±


    She snorts, though even that somehow comes out dainty and refined. ¡°Now you¡¯re just trying to be mean, comparing a lady like myself to that¡­ joyous fool. Why now? You¡¯ve never cared for merits before, and considering just how meteoric your rise has been, you¡¯ve never needed to. It is only for the rest of us to work for the Empire for its merits.


    ¡°It would almost make one think that you were getting some sort of specialized help. A patron, perhaps?¡±


    Shin Ren does his best to give away nothing, something that bowing deeply helps with.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I cannot reveal why I have chosen this mission, beyond the fact that I seek to better myself once more. And part of that is to do more in the world around me. This mission seems urgent, and my instincts tell me to take it, and I find myself in the enviable position of having people I can trust to ask for help.¡±


    He feels her Qi recoil, ever so slightly. Which is interesting to watch, really. Her presence is so elusive that apparently, it had already crept close enough to nearly touch him, and only in eliciting a reaction does he manage to perceive the misty tendrils of her cultivation.


    ¡°...You certainly seem to know how to surprise a woman, Shin Ren.¡±


    He tilts his head, meeting her gaze. ¡°I apologize if I¡¯ve done so, senior sister. I didn¡¯t mean to.¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re too stunningly sincere for something like that. It¡¯s not often that one in the Divine Veil sect hears a word like ¡®trust¡¯ thrown around without deceit.¡±


    ¡°That¡­ sort of defeats the purpose, does it not?¡±


    She smiles softly. ¡°There are many different ways to give purpose to things.¡±


    A few moments of silence pass.


    ¡°Very well. I¡¯ll grace your honorable self and your¡­ interesting friend. Though I am interested to find out who the fourth part of this sudden quadriad of yours will be.¡±


    ¡°Gou Mai is in charge of that aspect. I trust him to find someone that we can work with, but between the three of us, I don¡¯t think there¡¯s any Nascent Soul realm threat we won¡¯t be able to either handle or escape from.¡±


    She gives him a long, slow look.


    ¡°You don¡¯t happen to cultivate curses or karma, do you Shin Ren?¡±


    ¡°No, I do not.¡±


    ¡°Then you should really learn better than to say something like that. Little tempts the Will of the Heavens more than hearing someone say how well things are going to go.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that into consideration, but frankly, if the Will of the Heavens notices things like that, then no one would ever manage to do anything so insulting or so tempting as cultivate.¡±


    She smiles. ¡°You never know. Besides, I, for one, am not in the habit of tempting greater beings with an easy target.¡±


    He smiles. ¡°When they look for me, they will not find an easy target. I have it on good authority a tribulation is on my way, and I will be eager to face it when it dares to show itself.¡±


    ¡°...And that, Shin Ren, is perhaps the only thing you could say that could convince me you don¡¯t belong in the Scholar¡¯s Academy.¡±


    ¡°I- ok, I am not a hermit. Or an ascetic, or a monk. Just to be clear.¡±


    She grins, wide and toothy, her fan making her hair flutter ever so slightly. ¡°Mmh. I¡¯m not sure I believe you. I may need more definitive proof before I find myself convinced.


    ¡°But come along now. Apparently, we¡¯ve a mission to undertake, no?¡±

 Chapter 221 - The Dancer, The Mirror, The Cloud And The Flame

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    ¡°This is who you got?¡±


    ¡° ¡®Hello, Gou Mai! Thank you ever so much for acquiring a Nascent Soul cultivator who was free at a moment¡¯s notice! Truly you are a caring and wise friend, who has done ever so much for my abrupt and sudden ideas!¡¯¡±


    Shin Ren sighs, pinching the brow of his nose. ¡°...Thank you, Gou Mai, for acquiring a Nascent Soul cultivator who was free at a moment¡¯s notice. Why, in particular, did you pick this cultivator?¡±


    Gou Mai shrugs. ¡°He said he knew you, and he accepted when I asked. There¡¯s only some three-hundred-ish Nascent Soul cultivators in the Academy right now, the rest are on missions or with their sects. Add to that the number of them in secluded cultivation with the Academy¡¯s resources, and we don¡¯t exactly have a ton of people I could have asked.¡±


    Shin Ren sighs. And looks over at the fourth member of their party.


    Ki Hao of the Blessed Clouds glares viciously at him from a ways away.


    He looks better than he did splayed out on the courtyard floor from the ass-kicking Shin Ren gave him. There¡¯s still scuff marks on his robes from the fight, though the wounds have vanished. Shin Ren went pretty easy on him, he¡¯s pretty sure, but there¡¯s only so much you can do without perfect skill when using naked steel.


    Shin Ren looks around, but he doesn¡¯t see any of the entourage that followed the young master before. The kid (weird to call him that, but he certainly doesn¡¯t seem very mature) frowns at him, baring his teeth.


    He sighs.


    ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s see what we¡¯re working with.¡±


    Gou Mai grins, following his friend over towards their newest recruit, who Mei Yu is standing silently near. For all that her expression remains as perfectly polite and demure as it always is, Shin Ren notices the subtle quirk of her posture. He¡¯s no courtly expert, but he was a young master of his own sect. Technically still is, even. Politics are a poorly-explored responsibility, not something alien entirely, and while he hasn¡¯t exactly memorized the myriad fan-designs and color codes that someone at court might use to imply and communicate, he¡¯s not ignorant.


    Everything besides her face is just screaming annoyance and amusement in equal measure.


    ¡­If he were to over-examine the situation, maybe that means that she¡¯s actively telling him that the kid is a little idiot, but nothing worse.


    Or she just finds him annoying and he¡¯s picking up on cues she¡¯s not bothering to hide.


    He sighs. Whatever it might mean, she doesn¡¯t seem to view him as a threat, or at least not much of one. And he¡¯s already proven he can beat the Blessed Clouds cultivator without much difficulty. And he did say that they only needed a fourth to be able to take the mission, considering the faith he has in himself, Gou Mai and Mei Yu.


    Well. Fortune does not stand waiting at one¡¯s door, and he¡¯s on a time-crunch.


    Or, in the wise words of great ancestors¡­ fuck it, we got shit to do.


    He arrives in front of the young master, a good four inches taller than him and using that weight to loom over him.


    ¡°Why is it that you wish to join us?¡±


    Ki Hao of the Blessed Clouds sect growls a bit, back in his throat. ¡°You need a fourth member, and you¡¯re not going to find one ready to leave in an hour. What do you care why I am graciously offering my presence?¡±


    Shin Ren gives him a dead-eyed stare.


    ¡°I care because I don¡¯t want an overzealous, inexperienced young talent trying to stab me in the back in the middle of a pitched battle.¡±


    The kid flinches back as if struck.


    ¡°How¡­ how dare you! I would never disrespect the Divisions or the Academy with something so¡­ so blatantly a form of sabotage!¡±


    Hmm. Alright, fairly believable.


    ¡°You may have bested me in a duel between students, but my sect has been a key part of the military strength and safety of the Empire since the great conquests! I will break you on my strength, mark my words, but to say that I would dishonor myself and my sect by interfering with a mission that¡¯s for the sake of one of the Empire¡¯s own fortress cities¡­ I should demand a duel from you here and now!¡±


    Shin Ren blinks. That¡­ was a bit more passion than he¡¯d been expecting. The kid¡¯s energetic, that¡¯s for certain, but he wasn¡¯t expecting anything so distinctly thought-out. And it basically admits that the kid still wants to kill him, which makes the likelihood of honesty shoot up in Shin Ren¡¯s estimation.


    And he really does only have a little bit more time before they need to leave. Anyone could grab the mission, and the time-table that ¡°Wyld¡± offered him isn¡¯t particularly merciful.


    ¡°Understand that when you come with us, you¡¯ll be following our orders. I trust Gou Mai first, Mei Yu second, and you the least, and until you earn my trust, that¡¯s going to stay just the same. If you have a problem with that, leave now.¡±


    ¡°...and if I don¡¯t?¡±


    Shin Ren frowns, and lets his Qi stir, speeding up his cultivation and bringing to the fore the weight of his intent and attention. Black, Red, Gold and Purple flame flicker around his body, as something with too many hands like runny wax and an ephemeral presence, bearing a far greater weight, turn their gazes onto the little warrior in front of him.


    He doesn¡¯t say anything. He doesn¡¯t need to.


    Ki Hao, despite the fact that he refuses to look away or be cowed, takes a half-step back before he can stop himself.


    Shin Ren watches a singular bead of sweat form on his scalp and crawl down his forehead.


    Then he lets the attention of his intent fade away.


    ¡°So glad that we understand each other. Gou Mai, you¡¯re in charge of him for now. We need to hurry, before someone else grabs the mission.¡±


    He walks past Ki Hao, smiling quietly as Gou Mai slaps a meaty palm on the smaller man¡¯s shoulder and joins the party. Mei Yu doesn¡¯t even comment, but her posture has shifted slightly, and he takes it as a sign of her being entertained. The idea is both irritating and¡­ mildly funny, in its own way.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    The Academy floors, as always, reflect each other, with the rising grandeur of the upper floors still growing along the lines of similar blueprints to the lower floors. There are several pillars leading up into the Nascent Soul floors, and around the center of the each location, there are the training halls and environmental areas. Further out, the libraries, then classes, then sleeping areas, all interspaced with accommodations, grand views, and decorative features that the young and mighty of the Empire might enjoy. One of the aforementioned accommodations, however, works for a purpose beyond relaxation or luxury.


    It isn¡¯t hard to find a booth with a floating board next to it, the crystal interface glowing softly with an always-updating series of symbols and emblems.


    Sitting in the booth, a golem perks up as the four of them stride towards it, making an impressive mimicry of an incredibly bored person finally getting to talk to someone. Seeing as it has no face and its hands are only in the vague shape of a palm and fingers, he¡¯s not sure it¡¯ll have much success. Still, he likes the little features that add character to the few helpers that the Academy floors manifest. It might be a bit macabre, but if it can¡¯t experience emotions anyways, there¡¯s something vaguely lighthearted about the golems acting eager and excited to help, rather than mechanical and dully responsive.


    ¡°Team of four, under the titled name of Shin Ren of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect,¡± he says as they approach its booth. ¡°Here for the merit mission SOS 316 for Fortress City 180.¡±


    The booth golem nods its head, happily gesturing towards the screen next to it. The hundreds of icons all shrink in size and flow to one side, leaving room for a single one, wrapped in an official Imperial marker and glowing with the number 180 and a red priority mark.


    Shin Ren nods. ¡°That¡¯s the one.¡±


    The golem pantomimes clapping its hands, nodding along. The icon expands, filling out with a series of words.


    The screen blinks, and an automated voice begins to speak, imitating the cadence of a person ever-so-slightly off.


    ¡°SOS 316, relating to Fortress City 1-8-0. Official Imperial Seal confirmed, outgoing distress call. Merits assigned: 600 for chosen team. 4 Cultivators of Nascent Soul level or above required, third-highest Academy request-rank established. Synopsis: breach of foreign entity into arrival-hangar 4, compromise of local biomatter-recycling chamber. Death Toll: 157 Imperial Soldiers, including Platoon Lead Officer, Squad Lead Officer, Infantryman, Sapper. Overall estimated threat level: Low-Grand. Attempts: 1. Currently assigned to: Academic Shin Ren of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect.¡±


    He smiles. A rather long-winded approach to information-sharing, but let it not be said that the golems and the Academy¡¯s array-programming aren¡¯t thorough. Said golem bows politely, before extending its hand over the counter of its booth. Qi cycles quickly and incredibly efficiently, tainted with minimal concepts beyond that of Control, and four jade slips manifest from within its flesh.


    The crystal board speaks up as they each grab a token for themselves.


    ¡°Please proceed to your nearest Academy Nexus to use Transportation Array 72 within an allotted period of 10 minutes. Your window for transportation has been scheduled. The Empire thanks you for your service. If you have any final requests, please inform the assistant-form now.¡±


    ¡°No further requests. Your help is appreciated.¡±


    The golem once again pantomimes clapping its hands before bowing at the waist.


    It¡¯s only when they¡¯re a few steps away that Ki Hao opens his mouth to speak again.


    ¡°Ugh. No matter how many times I see one of those, they always seem so off-putting. Don¡¯t know why we can¡¯t just use proper servants.¡±


    ¡°In this density of Qi?¡± Gou Mai laughs. ¡°Unless you think that there are spare servants in the Nascent Soul realm, who could serve here?¡±


    ¡°They could set it up so the booths have some sort of Qi-dampening array!¡±


    ¡°Seems like an expansive effort to appease the fears of a single cultivator,¡± Mei Yu says, her sleeve politely covering her mouth as she speaks and hiding the smile beneath.


    ¡°It¡¯s not fear! See any recordings of me in the training halls and you¡¯ll see just how many of the damned things I can crush with the slightest effort! It¡¯s simple distaste! In the Blessed Clouds sect, servants who rise up through their own merits are offered the opportunity to better tend to the disciples of the sect, and offered better rewards in turn. Why not institute such a system here, rather than play with these unnatural dolls?¡±


    Shin Ren nods. Despite the attitude, it¡¯s not a bad question. That merits an honest answer, at least.


    ¡°Servants are people. They have agendas, desires, connections. It¡¯s easier to ensure that no outside interference damages the Academies impartiality, and doubly ensures that any ¡®servant¡¯ who is ever confronted by one without control of their emotions, or seeking an outlet, is an inert doll rather than a person. While it might make sense to use puppets instead, the material to make them withstand constant Nascent Soul level Qi of the upper floors would be expensive, far more so than to simply add functions into the arrays of the Academy floors themselves. Much harder to do, but you can see for yourself how prodigious the crafters of the Empire are to build these institutions in the first place.¡±


    Shin Ren punctuates his statement by stepping up to the nexus at the far end of the room, standing tall in the center of the chamber.


    To one side, the booths and merit missions, and to all others, the hallways leading to different parts of this section of the floor. Just as there are grand arrays creating waterfalls and sunlit vistas, or stairs that transcend spatial warping and Qi saturation to allow movement, so too are there areas of more practical use. The central pillar of the room glows softly, their jade slips matching the light.


    ¡°Is everyone prepared?¡± he asks, turning to each of them.


    Mei Yu simply nods, her Qi already stirring and making her harder and harder to perceive properly. Gou Mai has a broad grin on his face, though there¡¯s an intensity in his eyes that lets Shin Ren know he¡¯s ready for anything.


    Ki Hao is also here.


    Shin Ren smiles at the thought, but the young cultivator does seem to have steeled himself.


    ¡°Very well. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    He touches his jade slip to the pillar. All four tokens light up at once, and an absolutely dizzying amount of Qi begins to bubble out of them and into the pillar. Like the eyes of some vast, arcane construct have suddenly turned to him, viscous gears and perfectly arranged formations of Qi acting as if sentient, he feels the power of the Soldier¡¯s Academy itself.


    He can¡¯t track the number of arrays and transformations that suddenly manifest. At the Nascent Soul level, with not just nine, but twenty seven different layers over his cores, his mind and body are accelerated to the extreme, far eclipsing what a mortal can experience. He can track the beats of a fly¡¯s wings, count blades of grass in a field a mile away, and even still, there¡¯s simply far too many permutations and manifestations of formulae for him to even recognize.


    And then, they¡¯ve arrived.


    There¡¯s no sense of vertigo. No real sense of movement or kinetics at all, not even a disorienting lurch of a final burst of Qi.


    Shin Ren was standing in one spot.


    Now he, and all three of his chosen companions, are standing in another.


    The first thing that hits him is how dead the air feels. The flows and¡­ ¡°sense¡± of it remind him of the Academy still, that same hyper-complex order imitating something almost alive that it has, but it¡¯s so much less. The lack of Qi makes it feel like he might suffocate for a moment, and he has to actively stop his own Qi, constantly pushing out to strengthen his Cores and resist the pressures of the Nascent Soul density floors, from exploding out into a field around him.


    There¡¯s something there. A thought, maybe, about how his Qi, when left without the constant pressure, expanded out from him into a near-perfect sphere.


    The thought goes to the back of his mind due to the second thing that hits him.


    The overwhelming, all-consuming stench of blood.


    Not the blood of a cut, or a butcher¡¯s shop, but the blood of a battlefield. The sour reek of fear, the stinging ripeness of offal, and the overwhelming taste of iron and copper on one¡¯s tongue with every breath. The space they¡¯re in gives him the distinct impression of a slaughterhouse.


    A spark of Flame lights up over his hand, and the room, previously dim, as if lacking the energy to even show what was done to it, becomes visible.


    There are no bodies.


    But the blood splatter¡­


    They¡¯re in the right place. He sees the tracks for the trains, the hangar-bay sized chamber making it clear that they are where they¡¯re supposed to be.


    But there is no one to greet them, and nothing but silence.


    And the smell of blood.


    And the artful nature of biological death, painting walls fifty feet high with its splatters.


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 Chapter 222 - Portentious Possibilities Proliferate Mid-Monster Mash!

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    The nature of death is for things to end.


    The nature of life is for things to be born.


    The nature of the living is to consume and, in turn, produce.


    Blacksteel. Death, carved into a facsimile of rot, and then consumed when she denied the question it asked of her.


    True Flame. A manifestation of fire, cobbled together out of self-flagellation and the combustion of the lifeblood of what Is And Shall Be.


    Both transforming. Both consuming. Both ending, and both beginning.


    CHANGE.


    Raika looks up at the landscape of her Heart at the sun above, and wonders if it was luck, skill, or intent that has turned her into what she is.


    Her own intent, surely. It was she that poisoned herself full of Qi, she that consumed the entropic metal, and she that fused them both.


    But as she stares at the whirling thing of blinding iridescence, she can¡¯t help but wonder just how much luck has played a part in her transformation. She was never that talented as a cultivator, just determined. Is determination enough to not only overcome, but uncover the very foundations of such an existence?


    Perhaps.


    If not, what business is it of hers? The determination was still there, and still hers, just as she is.


    The inner world of the Heart within her, that which houses her soul, has changed.


    What was once flat, dreamlike and two-dimensional, has expanded, turned into someplace so solid it feels almost real. The valley remains, as do the pond and the cabin, but nearly everything else is changed. The bamboo perimeter is reinforced, so thick that it is literally impermeable. This is required, since, behind it, there is chaos.


    The sun shining in the air above has added an element of reality, of transmutation, that has deepened and altered the Heart. What was once an unmoored thing, left adrift and subsisting only on her blood and Qi, has been anchored around what was once a reactor, and now is considerably more.


    Well. It¡¯s also still a Reactor. It just serves a dual purpose now.


    The Heart contains and controls the energies it releases better than she ever knew how to, doing away with the control-rods of Blacksteel to create a larger and more sustained reaction. Their newfound ¡°sun¡± is a distant, static light, remaining at the point of noon. What was once Blacksteel, Radiant Metal (the name she coined for the transformed orange-ish material it was becoming) and True Flame is now some deeper blend of all three, an orbiting ball of plasma that shines with every color imaginable. Deep in its center, barely visible even to the eyes of one whose soul it resides within, the original Reactor remains, but that, too, has transformed. True Flame so pure and untainted by intent or concept that it has turned white slowly consumes a wheel of Blacksteel, purified to be darker and smoother than before. They orbit each other- the Flame consumes the End, always growing towards the left, while the End regrows from the right as the fire is extinguished.


    A perfect circle of ever-shifting monochrome, life, death, and Change in harmony with each other.


    Outside of the ¡°internal perimeter¡± of the bamboo, this could not be further from the truth.


    At no point is there enough form for it to truly be classified. Glass turns to stone turns to flesh turns to water turns to grass turns to a million other forms, carrying over properties from each existence seemingly at random. Spiraling patterns of biology that shatter and crackle like crystal, bits of metal and alloys that bloom like plants and wriggle when looked at, a sea of nothing and everything dancing out to the edge of what she perceives as her ¡°outer perimeter¡±. Out beyond the chaos, she can still sense her own Body, connected through channels of Qi and strange patterns that warp space and distance, marking it as the unofficial end of this¡­ soul world, maybe.


    She recognizes patterns in it, though. They mirror, to some extent, the ¡®trees¡¯ growing in the inner perimeter.


    Gunfire, sword blades, fire and biology all feature strongly amidst the chaos. Like motifs that overwhelm or dance between the other concepts, far more varied and strange.


    We Are What We Eat.


    She can consume Dao.


    Or the Heart can, through her. Either way, consuming it, empowering herself with it¡­ the more that she drinks in something flavored by the rules of the world, the more she shapes herself to them, in a way. Like following a pattern, tracking the seams in the wood to recreate the tree from which the wood was taken.


    It¡¯s clearer and clearer now why Shapefixit and her people call the dungeons and lairs beneath the earth Godflesh. The more Qi and Dao it consumes, the more it forms into a world inside her body, alongside her mortal soul, somehow bridging between it, her body, and her mind.


    And it is her.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine.


    Whatever world that the Heart within the pond creates becomes a part of her, just as she¡¯s a part of it, and vice versa. Just as I Can Change facilitates the transformation of her flesh and her survival of it, I Am Me, I Am Mine allows her to be every part of herself that she knows to be so, and control it in turn.


    And one last Truth cinches it.


    We Are What We Eat.


    She¡¯s still not sure what the Heart even is, really. How something so clearly alive has no organs of its own, no true biology, not even the strange semblance of it that a spirit beast or wraith might have. It seems to somehow instinctively, near perfectly control and shape Qi, transforming her veins and patterns in her body into true natural formations, integrating Dao and foreign energies into itself seamlessly. Where it comes from, what it is, and why so many of them were beneath the earth (and, it would seem according to Shapefixit, why so many were taken by the Empire) all remain a mystery.


    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    But one thing is absolutely certain- whatever it is, it¡¯s important on some kind of fundamental level.


    She has her new visitors to attest to that fact.


    Looking up, she sees the first of them.


    [Divine Will From Starry Eyes] dances amidst the sky, manifesting and de-manifesting around her central sun. It matches what she saw of it when facing the star-skinned cultivator, but certain details are vague, seen as if from behind a veil, while some sections are missing entirely. High above, orbiting her newborn solar Reactor, is a starry night sky. Until it moves, at which point, like a trick of the eye, it has always been a massive body, ephemeral and cloudy but titanic in form. It¡¯s an illusion, though- she can sense its makeup as clearly as the blades of grass around her, and she knows it to be barely held together, death and disillusion taking its toll on the humanoid night sky.


    Looking down, she sees what¡¯s left of [Perfect Strike Of Tribulation], and figures that the Soul above is still doing ok in comparison.


    [Perfect Strike Of Tribulation] isn¡¯t as¡­ fluid? As [Divine Will From Starry Eyes]. ¡°DW¡±, for short, has room in even its name, a space for interpretation, like a Truth with range.


    But for a perfect strike to be imperfect? To fail to land? To fail to act even as a tribulation for its target?


    There is a mound, on the other side of the pond, about fifty feet tall. Buried in it are fifty spears, each one an ornate, near ceremonial piece, their blades made of golden jade. Flickering electricity still crackles between them, but there is no true animation, not even the shadow of will in the near-ghostly [Divine Will From Starry Eyes]. Just a burial mound of spears the size of columns.


    [Enacted Artistry Of Function] seems to be having fun with it, though.


    That¡¯s the name she gave to the array-wielding cultivator¡¯s Nascent Soul. Or maybe it¡¯s original name, considering how readily the thought appeared to her. Like the others, it¡¯s not all there, half-formed at best (which is sort of the definition of the ¡®Nascent¡¯ part of the Nascent Soul realm). Unlike the others, it seems to have some sort of direction in its movements. It¡¯s shaped somewhat like a deific figure, floating in the lotus position, but it also is simultaneously centaur, tank-tread, and branching array of arms and tools. There¡¯s a beauty to each tool, the simplicity of form giving the impression of purity, of beauty, but there¡¯s no face to it, no mind to guide it. Still, it rolls / cavorts / skitters through the graveyard of spear-columns, occasionally tapping on them.


    It¡¯s also about as tall as her knee.


    And, curiously, it carries a little bundle of crystals in its arms.


    In battle, the array-wielder and crystalline cultivators had been clear allies, working together with exceptional teamwork. It would seem that even in death, what is left of each of them cares for the other.


    The crystalline cultivator didn¡¯t have much of a Soul, though. Whatever Domain he built clearly held his attention: the elements of his true self were highlighted, but not its shape. [Enacted Artistry Of Function] holds the small crystalline ball close to its¡­ tool-center. The ball blooms out, jagged little shards of crystal sprouting and then falling away to nothing, but occasionally tapping musically against the metal and ceramic of the one carrying it.


    Her Heart doesn¡¯t just consume, integrate and use Dao.


    It also takes in Souls.


    And again¡­ they are her.


    We Are What We Eat. Just as her inner world and her Heart are now intrinsically herself, so too are these strange being part of what she is. She worried, at first, that maybe the cultivators could resurrect from these Souls, but¡­ well, they¡¯re still incomplete. Without her inner world, even the flickering embers of them would have died, and there¡¯s barely anything left of their original strength. No sign of intelligence, either.


    She just¡­ has a couple weird pets and a big stabby hill in her soul now.


    Her Truths are most certainly part of the reason to blame. They¡¯re too perfectly designed for what she¡¯s seeing in front of her, too large a part of what would be required for such a thing to come to be¡­ but she hadn¡¯t pictured integrating Souls into her makeup. Her Truth simply hadn¡¯t had that interpretation when she created it.


    But something inside her, added in at nearly the same time, did. A part of her that knew, intrinsically, of the deeper possibilities, full of instinctive control of concepts she can barely grasp.


    Her Heart.


    What it is and what it can really do¡­ or, better yet, why it seems to have such ideas as inbuilt instincts, have gone considerably further up the list of priorities. Once they¡¯re past the Wall and into the fourth ring proper, she¡¯s going to make damn sure she spends as much time as possible looking for goblinoids like Shapefixit and other Hearts, if there are any in the ¡°wild¡±. Not just to fulfill her promises to her friend, short though that friendship may have been, but because there¡¯s just too many unanswered questions.


    An important note, however. She¡¯ll have to struggle to look for a godflesh in the wild, because here, in the hands of ¡®civilization¡¯, it¡¯s all around her.


    The realm of the Heart bridges the gap between Mind, Body and Soul, and she effortlessly un-divides her attentions to focus most of her brains on the wall in front of her, out in the real.


    The fortress cities are, at least in part, made of godflesh.


    Shapefixit mentioned that the Empire hunted down the Hearts, took them from her people, took them far away. It would seem they didn¡¯t take them all that far. In fact, considering how her own Heart seems able to manipulate its internal domain and reshape her body, she wouldn¡¯t be surprised to find others hidden in the Imperial Palaces, one in every major city of the Empire.


    Living, breathing, at least semi-sentient gods of matter and spatial manipulation, all of them made into tools for the Empire.


    But there¡¯s still questions.


    The fortress cities she can understand. Considering the room they tried to throw her body into, it¡¯s clear that the facility itself can consume the dead and build an army all its own to field against the creatures attacking it. Hells, it probably makes for easy building when you can just force a living landscape to make you a fortress in the first place. But why the Palaces? If they even are godflesh, but¡­ what else could they be?


    Cautiously, she places one of her palms against the wall, focusing on the semi-spatial connection between the Heart inside her and the wall before her.


    There¡¯s¡­ something there. Like a whisper.


    Her senses are attuned enough to know that it¡¯s not nothing, but it¡¯s barely there. Like a ripple in a lake, from a stone thrown in across its edge- but through stone, and far subtler for it.


    Not acknowledgement. Not even awareness. At most, some sort of twitch in the fabric of the wall.


    But something deep inside her sends a ripple back.


    And then the sound of heartbeats interrupts her listening.


    Priorities.


    She needs to find and retrieve Li Shu and the kid. If that¡¯s too dangerous or if she fails, she needs to make sure they¡¯re not in danger before she leaves. It¡¯s clear that the soldiers can¡¯t be trusted to have the best interests of their ¡°volunteers¡± in mind, so either way, she needs to warn them.


    Escape, hopefully while causing the least amount of problems.


    Kill whoever is in the way and refuses to back down.


    Cold, but good priorities nonetheless.


    She¡¯s still re-absorbing the flesh trunk that travels down the large hangar-tunnel, so she can¡¯t go into stealth yet. Further, there¡¯s no chance that Nascent Soul cultivators wouldn¡¯t notice the giant pillar-worm of meat being absorbed into someplace, and they¡¯re already pretty close.


    Ok.


    One chance to surrender? Her Soul asks the rest of her.


    She nods. One chance.


    They emerge from out of the ruins down the hall, leaping as if gravity and physics themselves are on their side, moving hundreds of meters in seconds. She raises one arm, her burning Reactor guided by her Heart into shaping a barrel of steel and stranger materials, and sights on the moment the one in the lead touches down.


    Then she stops.


    Blinks.


    A sharp laugh, half-music and half industrial accident, echoes through the space as she lights up the meat-trunk with bioluminescence.


    ¡°Pretty-boy, is that you???¡±

 Chapter 223 - Crossroads

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    She hears him. What a strange, cathartic thrill it is, to see and feel and know him. She can feel his heart pumping, smell the violence in his veins, taste his center of gravity, see the shape of his every twitching muscle. He is here, and she knows him, and here he is, reflected onto her once again.


    Shin Ren. Shin Ren, young master of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect. The second man to ever mutilate her, however short-lived it might have been.


    He doesn¡¯t recognize her.


    That¡¯s hardly his fault, but it does send a sharp-toothed thrill through her. He doesn¡¯t recognize her. Clad in metallic death that moves as if fluid, wielding six arms, a spear of obsidian midnight, towering over any other humanoid she¡¯s yet to meet, she does not appear human. She turns to him, a crown of horns, eyes, and iridescent radiation framing a face whose three sockets glow with inner fire and whose mouth is a blossoming thing of many jaws.


    He is standing steady, his stance firm and his will resolved despite her appearance. Half monster, half god, and more nightmarish than she¡¯d prefer, ideally, but she is bared in all her glory, and he stands resolute.


    And¡­ and yet, he doesn¡¯t attack right away.


    He holds out a hand, and his fellow cultivators don¡¯t advance. One of them, who smells of the beauty of open sky and a staircase towards it, stands close to him, providing distinctive backup. The other two branch off, with one of them, stinking of ozone-rich clouds and oversaturated rain, taking a position off on his own, a bit too far to properly support the others without a movement technique. The last one, who smells of incense smoke and mirrors, of a drifting haze and sharp, glittering color-


    Hmm. Well she¡¯s actually gone. The scent holds fast, saturating the air more and more, and-


    Ah. Obvious enough. Illusion wielder of some kind. Raika sets one of her subminds to decoding the particulars of the technique as best she can, before the inevitable fight.


    And still, Shin Ren does not attack.


    ¡°This one apologizes, honored warrior, but I¡¯m afraid that I do not recognize you. Forgive my unworthy eyes that have not recorded your visage properly. Might I ask where we last met?¡±


    Oh.


    Oh! Oh he really doesn¡¯t recognize her!


    Does he think she¡¯s some sort of old master, hiding her cultivation even in this form? The radiation of her inner concept, CHANGE, isn¡¯t Qi in and of itself; in fact, it feeds off of even as it adds to it. Despite everything, to Qi senses, she still doesn¡¯t radiate that much power, not relative to her size or the weight of her presence. It¡¯s not even a bad guess, in its own way.


    She can¡¯t help but smile at that.


    ¡°No need to be so polite, pretty-boy. But then, you were pretty polite last time too, and you attacked a lot more readily then.¡±


    He frowns, and she listens to the song of his synapses trying to puzzle out who she is.


    ¡°...if you hail from the south-south-eastern rings, then I apologize. My journey through there was¡­ it wasn¡¯t a version of me I would choose to be again. If, in my pursuit of self-destruction, I have hurt you, then I am deeply sorry.¡±


    ¡­He means it.


    She can smell it on him. He means it.


    Part of her remembers the little speech he did, right before their fight on the executioner¡¯s block. How he¡¯d meant that, too.


    No. No, if she can change, so can someone else. She focuses in on him, letting go of what her memory tells her should be there, and-


    Ah. He¡¯s not still at the Nascent Soul stage, he¡¯s there again. It¡¯s the only explanation she can think of for so foundational a transformation.


    His Qi is richer, purer than it was last time. There¡¯s less of the flowery sort of scent that he had when they last met, replaced instead by a cleaner smell. His scent, now, is that of a pure-burning flame, one that does not waver nor flicker no matter what fuel it is made to feed on¡­ and it has companions. A scent like burning, charred flesh, overcooked meat and blistering eyes, it writhes where his stands tall. It smells of hunger, of explosive, messy existence, and wraps and coils around his own Qi, but it doesn¡¯t feed off it. If anything, it seems symbiotic, matched by a smaller sibling which whispers of strange mirages, of warping metal and softened material, both of them enhancing the whole rather than dividing it.


    Not one cultivation, but a blend of three. Three distinct scents, each of them originating from a single body, each fused together into a sort of triumvirate.


    She can¡¯t help but smile at the thought.


    Mind, Body, Soul.


    Purity, Destruction, Transmutation.


    And in the silence, as he waits for an answer, he readies no tool. His cultivation does not stir, despite the bursts of would-be detonations she senses from his second source of Qi.


    He just¡­ apologizes. And waits.


    ¡°We¡­ We met further north. But I don¡¯t blame you for not recognizing me. I¡¯ve changed even more than you have.¡±


    He smiles softly. ¡°I¡¯ve heard before how much I¡¯ve changed, but no one seems to ever tell me how. I am honored to be recognized for my efforts, perhaps.¡±


    ¡°...You¡¯re more sincere. You mean what you say.¡±


    He pauses at that, blinking at her. Then he gives a little half-chuckle. ¡°I¡­ suppose I do. I don¡¯t suppose you might do me the kindness of granting me your name?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good. You shouldn¡¯t suppose. I don¡¯t think sharing my name would do either of us any good here, with ever so many eyes, but¡­ maybe someday. It might be nice to see what you think of me now.¡±


    Of her six arms, two of them considerably longer and stronger than her central four, she flexes a part of her scales, Blacksteel flowing like sand to unveil raw flesh. She watches, interested, as one of her subminds flicks a few drops of indigo blood out in an arc towards her left.


    Hmm. Nothing visible, but the scent changed slightly, as if caught in a breeze. The illusion wielder, stepping away from the spatter?


    ¡°Any chance I can convince you to walk away from this?¡± she asks.


    Shin Ren pauses. Seems to take a moment to genuinely consider it.


    ¡°Most likely. I don¡¯t doubt there are all sorts of things you might know, say or do that could convince me. But just asking me to leave won¡¯t do it, I¡¯m afraid. There¡¯s¡­ there¡¯s a lot of blood here, and I do believe you had something to do with shedding it. There are many more lives in this place that have done me no wrong, and who have, indirectly, asked me for help. I don¡¯t think leaving them to be slaughtered would sit right with me.¡±


    She snorts, a little huff of steam coming out of (does she have nostrils? No? Kind of?) some of her air-vents.


    ¡°I respect that. Never pictured you as such a stickler for wording, but I respect that, too. Two things I¡¯ll say, then, before we get started. Firstly, surrender remains an option. Drop your weapons, swear an oath of surrender, and I¡¯ll spare you. I don¡¯t know most of you, and seeing as you¡¯re not in Imperial armor, I don¡¯t care enough about your deaths not to offer that much.


    ¡°Secondly¡­ ignorance is only bliss for so long, pretty-boy. We¡¯re all just meat and wine to them. The people who make places like this. You should think hard about whether or not you want to stay on their plate.¡±


    Shin Ren nods, dropping into a stance even as a guandao that screams to Raika¡¯s senses of some sort of weirdness manifests from his storage ring.


    ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡±


    ¡°Good. Feel free to take the first swing.¡±


    In the end, it¡¯s actually not her age-old ¡®enemy¡¯ that shoots the metaphorical starter pistol.


    It comes from a much less cathartic source, unfortunately.


    There is a sense of changing pressure, something that might make a mortal¡¯s ears burst entirely, and some of the steam let out from Raika talking condenses into a cloud no larger than a person. From within it, a brilliant light begins to glow, and it begins to rain.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    The water doesn¡¯t fall to the ground, falling instead as if drawn directly to Raika by gravity, each droplet glowing with Qi in some intricate form-


    Unfortunately, she is no longer there.


    The rain drops keep falling towards her, but she moves faster than they do, and considering she¡¯s about three times taller than the cultivator wearing Blessed Clouds sect robes, he has to crane his neck up high to see the fist that punches him.


    She holds back, though. Doesn¡¯t even break his skull. Well, kind of. Fractures don¡¯t count.


    He makes a strangled sound that might have been the start of a chant, his head hitting the ground hard enough that godflesh-made-concrete cracks into a bowl beneath it. Nascent Soul cultivator durability is nothing to scoff at, but in spite of how he interacts with physics, he¡¯s still human. The hit rattles him, which leaves her just in time to turn and block the blow from the cultivator in light blue who was supporting Shin Ren.


    ¡°To a worthy climb!¡± he yells, smiling wide, and she feels his sword dance in between her defenses. It cuts into her Blacksteel and at first, there¡¯s a shriek of obsidian metal on Qi-infused steel- but then the cultivator shifts his step, like a dancer finding his rhythm, and the blade somehow slips into a gap in the flow.


    It cuts one of her arms nearly to the bone, and by the time a second arm has come around to strike at him, faster than a human body could move, his blade is somehow just there, the previous move allowing him to flow effortlessly into a parry. It¡¯s like the dance is already partially choreographed to her movements.


    That doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s painless, though.


    His robes are already tearing, small cuts forming beneath them. Air pressure from her fist flying past and flecks of Blacksteel shaved off by his parry slash across him, and he stumbles, ever so slightly,


    Instead of following up with another punch or swipe, she turns away, pointing her spear towards the space opposite where her submind threw the blood splatter. A tail thicker than a human torso and clad in plates of deadly metallic scales slams into the dancer as she spins, and from the tip of her spear, she opens up the veins and formations at its edge.


    Supreme Body Art: Pressurized Indigo cuts across the open floor of the hangar, searing a beautifully cut line into the ground. She smells the scent of Qi briefly strengthen, illusions and censer-smoke flaring to her senses, but there¡¯s a moment where she glimpses the shadow of movement.


    And then Shin Ren is there, and things change rather drastically.


    He hits her harder than a cannon.


    Not quite as badly as the railgun-shot from before, but harder and faster than any of the other bullets she¡¯s faced yet. There is a sound of thunder, like an explosive went off right next to her ears, and then she feels the tip of his Guandao past her armor and cutting into her ribcage.


    And then the kinetic energy of the impact is there, and multiple tons of her flesh and armor is launched at the far wall.


    He holds firm there, planted against her ribs, the staff of his weapon in hand, and he fills her with fire.


    True Flame screams into being, pressurized beneath her scales, and gold-purple fire begins to eat away at her muscle and bone, struggling to make headway against Blacksteel.


    Her tail leverages her weight, and she stands, spear and five other arms coming down at the warrior impaling her- but the dancer is there again. With every step, he is somehow elsewhere, every point of contact with the air somehow moving him in and out of exactly where he needs to be, ignoring the distance between them. His blade chips and sparks, his flesh starts to singe, but he refuses to back down, parrying blow after blow.


    She roars, letting out wisps of CHANGE with her breath, and they both pull back, Shin Ren¡¯s flames fluctuating between a hundred other elements briefly. Even still, every one of those elements combusts, catches Flame, covering her like pitch or crystals of fire.


    Hmm. He couldn¡¯t do that before.


    She¡¯s being overconfident. She won the last fight, true, but she won it by going all-out, exercising every technique, and no Nascent Soul cultivator is perfectly equivalent to another.


    From her six limbs, she reforms part of her Body¡¯s original arsenal. Through her Heart and Soul, the Dao of the Gun and Dao of the Blade flow down her arms, aligning her muscles, cells, molecules to a pattern of existence, such that one becomes a bio-mechanical cannon and the other manifests into a tree of sharp blades. Two to wield her spear, with one connected to it, and her two largest arms shift, one of them reforming back into a tower shield, and the other into a long, serrated whip of steel and sinew.


    Hmm.


    No. None of them can hit quite as hard as the last set. She turns the tower shield to another whip, dedicating a submind to each limb to ensure the arcs don¡¯t overlap.


    It takes her less than a second to transform. In that time, the cloud cultivator has come back, the droplets he was maintaining once again beginning to fall towards her. Each droplet hits like a ball of lead at terminal velocity, each one staining her scales and beginning to seep between them and force them apart. The dancer takes every opportunity, unheeding of any pain, his blade dancing alongside his steps, the blue of a clear sky guiding every wound to be deeper than the last, every dodge, faster.


    And Shin Ren, who seems to be aiming for knockout hits, detonates his movement art at her again.


    Then her transformation ends, and the world is filled with razors and the sound of clashing steel.


    Her cannon-limb shoots a hole through the cloud, disrupting it with a missile of Blacksteel and shaped bone, while her Blades begin to parry against the dancer, bit by bit. Shin Ren has to abort his charge, dodging between the thrashing lines of serrated death and losing momentum, which puts him in exactly the right spot for her spear to stab forward, thrusting rather than cutting.


    Even still, that¡¯s enough for her to keep being creative.


    A wall of flame so bright it actually hurts to look at manifest at the exact same time as Pressurized Indigo launches forward from the tip of the spear, extending the danger out-


    And then there is crimson blood to match the indigo.


    Shin Ren falls, his arm severed at the shoulder, his arms wide.


    Still alive. Good. That¡¯s enough. She turns, aiming spear and whips both towards the cloud-cultivator reforming his storm-


    She feels her hip and lower back melt off her body.


    Her whips redirect immediately, cutting the air and ground both as they slash randomly behind her. New sets of eyes from her crown and her sense of touch tell her everything she needs to know in an instant.


    Shin Ren stands behind her, already dodging her attacks again, his guandao glowing cherry-red and both his arms entirely attached.


    If she still had human eyelids, she¡¯d squint them at him.


    The illusion wielder.


    But how? Every illusion wields Qi, she should be able to see through it. Her senses are¡­


    Are higher than the average cultivator, but not alien to them. Every high-level cultivator gains enhanced senses, so there would obviously be techniques to fool them further.


    Still, she felt the heat from his shield as it diverted her attack, tasted the blood in the air when he was wounded. How?


    The dancer cuts across her throat, and she¡¯s forced to dodge, being more proactive rather than passively tanking the damage. She can survive a lot, but maybe breaking his pace will keep him from somehow finding an even better way to cut against her.


    She absorbs the flame along her lower back, reforming the muscles as a sapling of flame sprouts in her inner world. Shin Ren is using the Dao of Flame, but he seems like the only Dao wielder of the lot. The dancer¡­ maybe. Her own comprehension isn¡¯t exactly normal, but no normal sword should be able to block her Blades, not when infused with their own Dao.


    She finds herself pleasantly surprised. Barring the cloud-cultivator, they¡¯re actually putting up a hell of a fight.


    But it¡¯s one thing to be enough to challenge her. Another to be enough to win.


    Twice more she slashes with Pressurized Indigo, forcing the dancer to retreat, her whips keeping Shin Ren at bay for now, and she dashes past both of them.


    Supreme Body Art: Overclocking pushes her perception to its absolute maximum, slowing down the battle even as she redirects some of the technique to enhance her tendons. She shoots across the battlefield, her cannon-limb unnaturally angling behind her to fire at the slowed-down targets, and the ground cracks with each impact as she propels herself. She tracks what her subminds feed the whole of her, landing at spot with most open view-lines and furthest from clear signs of damage- and begins to Cut.


    A thousand-thousand slashes rip apart the world as her Blade and the serrated edges of her tendrils tear the world apart in a sphere around her, ripping the world into slashes- and slicing through the body of something hardy.


    The illusion wielder lands in two parts, covered in cuts. Aristocratic sect robes fall apart and are stained crimson as she falls, and one player is eliminated. Common sense: always go for the support roles in combat.


    She hears a noise like the world exploding behind her.


    She turns, just barely in time to parry Shin Ren¡¯s strange guandao against her sword-limb.


    He hits her with the most Qi she¡¯s ever felt at once.


    The world warps as the air is primed into a heat haze, as oxygen is dragged forward and then detonated. Black and Red flame tear the world apart into messy chunks and rip into everything they can reach, as Gold and Purple behind them turn all that they touch into purified ash.


    She feels half her face, the front of her torso, and two of her arms that got caught extended out all vanish before the Flame.


    She feels it then, in the fire. A Truth.


    Everything Burns.


    She consumes as much of it as she can, but barely a fraction is taken in before she has to stop, the inside of the strange connection between her Heart and the rest of her beginning to catch flame in some way she can¡¯t understand. It just keeps burning, keeps detonating, and she sees Shin Ren, his eyes wide, teeth bared, completely focused-


    She only barely manages to follow the parry through, pushing his blade back just enough to launch as much of the attack¡¯s force as she can straight upward.


    The roof of the cavern explodes.


    And it keeps going.


    Redirected by Blacksteel and Dao, the fire roars, expressing its Truth and eating through centuries-old steel, stone and godflesh, exploding through floor after floor, until with a final eruption of ignition, she hears it break through into open air.


    Shin Ren falls, staggering back, the attack having drained nearly half of his Qi. He puts his weapon up, eyes darting back from the moment of weakness, fire beginning to stir again-


    But Raika is in no place to rush him. Almost half her body, Blacksteel included, immolated so severely that it nearly evaporated, molten ¡°metal¡± and indigo blood dripping down the flame-cut edges of what¡¯s left.


    Three subminds, three limbs, and most of her upper-layer organs. Partially formed Sword Dao is all that allowed her to maintain that arm in particular, the Blacksteel warped and somehow alien to its original purpose. Everything screams in agony.


    And already, she¡¯s started regenerating.


    Flesh flows like water, reknitting itself at impossible speed, Blacksteel multiplying under the radiance of CHANGE to cover her once more. She turns to face him, crown of eyes and glowing sockets staring him down.


    ¡°You¡¯re almost as scary as you used to be.¡±


    He says nothing. She didn¡¯t smell anything much between them, but he seems to have taken the death of the illusion wielder pretty hard.


    She nods. Honor on the killing floor.


    They both step forward at the same time, moving faster than the eye can see- and stepping into the moonlight, streaming down from the crater they blasted through the fortress city¡¯s edge.


    And they both stop.


    And look up.


    Something infinitely further away than the sky stares back.


    Neither one of them understands what they see. Neither one of them will be able to recall it in detail afterwards. But one thing stands crystalline to both of them.


    DISGUST.


    Shin Ren¡¯s tribulation, and the attention of something beyond understanding, lands on them both.

 Chapter 224 - Death And The Dying (Or Soon To Be)

    Jin¡¯s nose started bleeding about an hour ago. Being in the clinic of a fortress city, this hasn¡¯t been much of an issue; big sis Li Shu and the other healer that¡¯s been helping to train them are more than capable of giving him a quick burst of restorative Qi or a talisman, at least when it gets so bad it starts coloring the front of his robes.


    But no matter what they do, it just keeps bleeding.


    There¡¯s far, far more important things to worry about, and the most likely explanation, an overdose of local Qi, shouldn¡¯t be lethal for hours.


    Technically, it¡¯s a correct diagnosis. It¡¯s just that¡­ he¡¯s not sure that it¡¯s just Qi.


    There are so many dead here.


    Some of the soldiers that the healers don¡¯t manage to save, a surprisingly rare few, stick around. They¡­ whisper out from what was once a living person, like a mist, or a¡­ or a sound wave, emanating like a final note. The aura of the room eats away at them, though, faster than anything he¡¯s seen. Arrays and something in the walls themselves break them down like acid on contact, dissolving every part of the wispy fragments of people that touch the ground, walls, anything. What¡¯s left after that seems to shy away from the moments of healing, the instant where death is averted by the strength of the healer¡¯s arts.


    But it¡¯s the walls that get them. The floor that eats them alive. Moments of healing, of death rebuffed, push them away a bit, but they don¡¯t dissipate from them, just make them drift further.


    There¡¯s so much death here.


    He¡¯s been thinking about that, actually. In between placing talismans, holding sutures and fetching materials, he¡¯s been ruminating on death, and all it means. There¡¯s one thing he¡¯s noticed, in that time.


    There¡¯s no past tense for being dead. Not really. The act of moving into that final state, sure, you can die in the past tense, but death¡­ there¡¯s only ever death and dying.


    There¡¯s only death that is yet to come, and death that is already here. There is no past tense of ¡°dead¡±, just the action of dying.


    That, in particular, made him notice something. It¡¯s not just ghosts and wraiths, not just the dead moving through the world as echo-shapes from where life once was. There¡¯s also the death in people. Right now. Everywhere.


    The more he heals people, the more he can see it. The worse the wound, the louder it gets, the sharper it gets. There¡¯s death¡­ in people. It centers around their nails, their hair, their blood, especially the blood that has no oxygen in it, that¡¯s in the arteries heading toward instead of away from the heart. Sharp-edged shadows, like alabaster, like marble inside the body.


    If he unfocuses his eyes, he can see it.


    Death isn¡¯t just ghosts. It¡¯s not just the absence of people, colored in by Qi.


    Sometimes Death is real. Sometimes it can touch you.


    Sometimes, if you squint just right, you can see it. The empty shape that the absence of a person fills in.


    The soldier on their operating table is open. There¡¯s no ribcage left, and they¡¯re having to rebuild him bit by bit. If he unfocuses his eyes, he can see the Death standing over him, bubbling up from inside his shattered chest. It looks like¡­ like an empty hole, whose teeth are bone and skeletal frame, whose blood is inverted into shadow and flowing outward, forever and ever.


    There are ghosts. There are wraiths, ghosts all wrapped around each other in a desperate bid to fight back the End. And there is Death. For each and every person, there is Death.


    And then there are the things that don¡¯t come from people. The things that make a single person¡¯s Death seem¡­ small.


    He watches as the surgery takes a bad turn. As the final moments of the soldier on the table crawl closer and closer, as the image of what his death will be / is crawls deeper and deeper into him.


    And as an arm comes in from the door where most of the soldiers come in from. The door that leads to the battlefield.


    It¡¯s not an arm. Not really. It doesn¡¯t have the musculature to pretend to be an arm. No fingers or joints, not really. It reaches through with a long, stretching tendril of claws, of knives, of bullets, of gunpowder and thorns and lightning and broken arrays, of spilled blood and torn meat. It reeks of fire and qi and War, and it breaks and tears and unmakes itself in just the right way to reach out to the soldier¡¯s death.


    It reaches the open ribcage, the specter of the end of the young man, and¡­ wears it. The death of the man becomes a part of this larger, greater, more horrible thing, adding to it like a pebble adds to sand on the beach.


    And then it reaches down and touches the soldier with his Death, and he¡¯s gone.


    Arrays on the table capture a flood of escaping Qi from his collapsing Dantian and meridians, funneling the explosive outpouring of force down into the fortress city itself.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    His Death draws away, now part of the larger and worse thing out there, and in the vacuum it makes, in the vacuum of where his life was and where his Death, very briefly, he sees a ghost. The man torn open on the table, oozing what¡¯s left of his crimson, stands over himself for a single moment.


    And then the Qi is drained away completely, and what¡¯s left of the echo of him¡­ goes away.


    And then the table is cleared, and they bring in another one.


    A hand places itself on Jin¡¯s shoulder, and for just a second, he smells tangerines.


    Deep breath. In and out.


    He places the talismans and sutures and alcohol and gauze and water-breathing elixirs and painkillers where they tell him to. He starts to see the pattern.


    The Death of the soldiers creeps closest to the points where they operate almost every time.


    Almost.


    At one point, big sis Li Shu points him to a section he needs to hold tight and tries to move off, and he grabs the hem of her robes as hard and as tight as he can. He points to the wound, unable to speak, unable to articulate, staring at how the Death of the soldier, a woman who looks just a few years older than him, crawls and oozes into and out of the closed wound.


    Big sis Li Shu tells him he did a good job as she removes the missed piece of something sharp, and gives him another bit of healing to help with the nosebleed that¡¯s dribbling down his chin. He barely notices. He¡¯s too busy looking at all the Death, and tracing the shape of it inside people.


    And feeling it outside.


    It¡¯s not just ghosts and wraiths. Not just malformed echoes of who once was.


    Death is more than that.


    He can feel it moving behind the walls. Feel it like ice cubes crawling across his skin from an angle he can¡¯t see.


    He remembers the light of a moon that is not a moon, and is forever-cold and speaks with the mouths of the dead.


    He remembers the hand still on his shoulder, and the slightest scent of an open, grassy field, mixed with sweet citrus.


    He wipes away the blood, and keeps watching. Every moment that he reaches into the Death placed in front of him to fix something is a moment that someone lives a little longer. A moment that their echo isn¡¯t forced to exist. A moment where that same echo, those echoes that look so alive and so afraid, don¡¯t get eaten by the floor or the walls or the room.


    They don¡¯t deserve that. They don¡¯t deserve to stop being, to have something like them be again, and that something doesn¡¯t deserve to just be eaten.


    He holds the hand on his shoulder with the whisper-quiet thing inside him. Holds the echo of an echo for all that he¡¯s worth, because he can¡¯t hold any more than that. Not as he is. He can¡¯t hold all that Death inside him. It won¡¯t fit.


    He looks back towards the door they came from. Back in the direction that they last saw his master. He feels the ice cube on his skin, smaller than the rest but still so much larger than just one Death.


    Breathe in. Breathe out.


    His eyesight is going a bit red. He¡¯s pretty sure his eye is starting to bleed a bit too.


    But he keeps looking. He keeps watch. He keeps his eyes open, and he makes sure that he watches the Death, and he holds onto the echo of an echo inside the winding trails that mark where his soul that he is moves through the inside of him. He cycles every drop of Qi he has, and takes in all that he can fit from what he sees, and adds it to the cycle.


    And he starts to hum, ever so softly. He hums to the sound of Death. He hums to the song of what it sounds like when people go away forever, eaten by the room in which they died, touched by a Death bigger than anything that he knows.


    He¡¯s so full. But he won¡¯t stop watching.


    The dead deserve that much.


    ¡ª-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°Hey, new orders. We need a fresh deployment.¡±


    ¡°Ugh. Fine. What are they asking for?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s been some kind of incident with the lower sections. Apparently there was some kind of issue with one of the recyclers, or some sort of sabotage in the arrival hangars, something or other. Messy. Lost something like a platoon and a half, maybe more.¡±


    ¡°So? What¡¯s stopping them from sending down a Captain to deal with it? Hmm?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve got three Captains in the whole damn fort, and all three of them are fucking busy. The way the tides have been lately, you know no one on this or any other side of the wall has had a fucking break this week. Peak Nascent Soul doesn¡¯t grow on fucking trees, and you know Garrison Command has his hands full.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like we¡¯re lazing about here! I understand that things are tough, but there is such a thing as giving face! We¡¯re not one of the Bastions, I only have so many Daemon Operators. We¡¯re at capacity for all my Rank Two disciples, and I¡¯m managing twice the workload I should be as it is.¡±


    ¡°I understand, but we¡¯ve still been able to cycle the Rank Ones, haven¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°...Yes, fine. If you don¡¯t mind juniors with eyes who fail to see the heights, I have a few I can toss your way.¡±


    ¡°...Listen, I know you¡¯ve been short-staffed. But the Colonel has been in the front lines seven days straight, my fellow Captains are about to be recalled for Qi reinforcement and healing, and we all lose face if we have to call in reinforcements. If we deploy some fire-and-forget Daemons, wipe the problem out quick¡­¡±


    ¡°You still don¡¯t know how to speak to a superior, do you?¡±


    ¡°What can I say, I find you much more appealing as a partner than I do a commander.¡±


    ¡°Ha! You take orders just fine when it suits you though.¡±


    ¡°What can I say, I¡¯m a passionate enthusiast for things I deeply enjoy. And next time we get a break in the tide, I¡¯ll happily follow any order you want me to dance to. But for now¡­¡±


    ¡°Fine. What section did-¡±


    ¡°-What was that?¡±


    ¡°Something just tore straight through the fucking wards! What the hell was that?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen something hit that hard in- oh, fuck.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever heard you cuss like that.¡±


    ¡°Yes yes, I¡¯ll be prim and proper later. Daemon Operator Wai-Ji! Get off your ass! Get me a 6th sphere, now!¡±


    ¡°Wha- are you sure? Without approval from the Garrison Commander or the Colonel-¡±


    ¡°Do us all a favor and cease prattling for a moment, I¡¯m about to be very busy. Someone just summoned a tribulation straight through about half this damn fortress, and the Qi is¡­ fuck. Middle of the damn wave, and they have to do this! Wake up the other Rank Two Operators, Wai Ji, get them on their feet, break open elixirs if you have to! And you, get the Hells out of my chamber, I need your eyes un-molten. Get to the front, now, keep the other Captains supported. I¡¯ll handle this.¡±


    ¡°Ok. I¡­ I¡¯ll be back soon. To check on you.¡±


    ¡°Fine. Don¡¯t- ugh. Just don¡¯t die. That¡¯s an order.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    ¡°Wai Ji! If I have to call your name one more time I¡¯m feeding your ability to piss standing up into a matrix! MOVE!¡±

 Chapter 225 - Ceaseless Divines, Turn Your Infinity Upon These Wretched Things

    DISGUST


    HATRED


    REVULSION


    ABHORRENCE


    The little flames flicker. Together, they make something that is almost a blaze, more than a campfire- but not by much. Together, they color the void together in hues of gold, purple, red, black, and a strange haze that weaves throughout them, pushing heat in and out of a mixed circulation. The haze, the hungering crackle of fire, and the purity and mystery of intermingled flame all weave between each other, hints of other colors flickering at their edge.


    That¡¯s not all they are, of course, but that¡¯s what is seen here. A little flame, wrapping itself and weaving through a bubble of¡­ well. Human is¡­ such a reductive word. A chosen label for a messy thing. The flames flicker in and out of blood and bone, organ and meat, of interconnected biomes of life and death in the cycle of biology. They flicker in and out of pride, in and out of duty and desire, of knowledge and fear, of honor and growth, threads connecting them even to a fluttering bundle of concepts and connections that speak of war and wood, steel and blade, of beautiful crafting and love, of mentorship and care.


    All that is and is not about a person, about a being and its interconnected requirements to be, bathed in flame and purpose and awareness, ever so faint. A beautiful tide of existence, a mesh of every concept that makes up a human being and a person, including the concept of a name that, to something that speaks with something so simple and sublime and complex as a throat, might be Shin Ren.


    And the world above the world, the existence above existence, a thing so vast that worlds fit in its eye, briefly flicks its attention towards him.


    And all that he feels, in this moment, looked at by existence and that which it rests on, is DISGUST.


    Reality sees him. The universe and all the things beyond it see him. The seven-sided infinity that is forever and is all that is and will be and has been look at him, infinitesimally small fractions of its perception turning to all that makes him up and all that the concept of him touches.


    And it all HATES him.


    It all DESPISES him.


    The thing that is at once Shin Ren and also the many infinities that make him up, the concepts that connect them, feels it deeper than he¡¯s ever known. As deep as he¡¯s ever felt anything, he feels the infinite look upon him and knows what it thinks of him, and it only thinks of him as something that should not be. Like his very existence, his very being, from top to bottom, is an insult unto all that is and was and will be.


    A Tribulation is not lightning. Lightning is an affair of Dao, a concern of atmospheric conditions and physics. Such things are the fabric atop reality, not its foundation. Its foundation, and all that it comes with, is something more profound. The fact that one¡¯s body is annihilated in transformative power, that that power alters the world to reflect its impossible velocity and force, is a secondary thing. A consequence of something on-high.


    Lightning falls during a tribulation. The heavens come alight during a tribulation. Existence catches flame and is transformed by a tribulation.


    None of this is what matters.


    To cultivate is to reach for the heights. To aim for transcendence, whatever form it may take, is to transform what you are into what you choose to be. And that comes with cost.


    The cost is attention.


    The higher you climb, the more all that is, was, and will be can SEE you. The larger, greater, more complex you become, the more you transform into something beyond that which binds you to what is lesser, the more you are visible.


    And the more the DREAMERS see you.


    Seven-sided infinity looks at all that Shin Ren is and could be, and JUDGES him as worthless. As a thing worthy of derision beyond derision, of annihilation for the disrespect of choosing to exist as he is. As he could ever be.


    They see you too.


    Shin Ren, and all that he is and could be and touches, looks back out at infinity. The triumvirate existence of his Souls, of his pantheons to be, experience the gaze of all, and know what is thought of them. And he is faced with a choice.


    To accept the judgment weighed upon him.


    Or to deny it. To claim that existence itself has no more right to judge him than he has to judge himself.


    Shin Ren experiences an infinite moment of attention.


    He has a choice to make. The only choice, in the face of an unloving world.


    He chooses.


    He has hated himself. He has been disgusted with himself. He has been unmade by his own being.


    And then¡­ he made peace with that.


    To be considered disgusting by ALL is¡­ it hurts. It hurts like only knowing that you are not loved can hurt.


    But he has already judged himself, and found himself wanting. What does the judgment of the other matter, when the judgment of the self has already been so scathing?


    And what does he care if an unknowable forever hates him, when he was so much more deserving of hate, and yet was found to be cared for by someone he deemed so worthy?


    His master made him a better person. No, his master gave him the tools to be better, and he has made himself a better person. And as much as he may still be a work in progress, he is working. He is embodying, step by step, the ideals he has chosen.


    So what if he is disgusting? Reality stares him down like it is already true, like its perspective is all that matters, like the endless void is simply grander than he could ever be, so what choice is there? A refusal? A refusal? How childish. How foolish.


    But Choice Is Universal.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    There¡¯s always a choice. Everything has one. Based on the metric of choice itself¡­ reality chooses to view him with DISGUST.


    He chooses to view himself with hope. With pride. With the realization that who he is is his to define, and his to make decisions for, and his to BE.


    And with that choice, with that solidified self and that perspective in the face of the ALL, Shin Ren begins to drink deep of who he is and what he¡¯s connected to.


    ¡ª-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    In the void, a world spins.


    Stars glimmer in the void.


    All the stars, of course, are eyes.


    They all watch.


    An infinite number of gazes have their attention focused on a single, tiny little marble of existence. On a little speck of dust in the face of an uncaring and endless darkness that is simply the void of all that is.


    It¡¯s a pretty marble. There are trees on it, and rolling tides of many things that could be. It sparkles with beautiful fires, glistens with the wetness of red and the shine of gunmetal and steel. In this one, tiny little dot, there is a reflection of so, so much.


    It even has life.


    Life is not so rare a thing. Not nearly so rare as some might think. To crawl and consume alone is, by many considerations, to be alive. Barely larger than the atoms that make up reality, and yet, life can still be. Nexi of plasma and energy and magnetism, writhing through infinity, and yet, life can still be. In scale, it can eclipse all existence or be only its smallest piece. But life compounds on itself. Life builds upon life, and it is, actually, rare to find the places where it has built high enough to become more.


    Proteins, nutrients and minerals build into little machines that consume each other. Those little machines become chains of motion, interconnected in great ebbs and flows of predation, procreation, and transformation. Eventually, those chains become interwoven and knotted, building new patterns between their many weaves. A chain becomes a link in a grander thing, which becomes part of a weave.


    And sometimes, if it¡¯s woven just right, that collection of impossible pieces of life makes a part of itself that can think. That can see the world. That can taste and experience and, in its own way, begin to know the weave of the whole.


    A little thing that is alive and which can see and experience the glory of existence looks back at the forever-eyes of what is layered above-below.


    Raika is as herself. She is concepts and ideas both, all the concepts that make up a body and all the ideas and beliefs and pieces of Self that make up who she is as a person.


    She doesn¡¯t look human. The concepts don¡¯t line up just right to appear human anymore.


    She¡¯s¡­ surprisingly alright with that.


    She stands there, as triune. Each layer of her extends out from the other, like snapshots of different parts moving in sync. A Body stands as the first layer, shaped vaguely humanoid, its materials an ever-shifting sea of different forms of biology and atomic materials. A Mind stands as the second layer, connecting the two furthest sides, its shape matched vaguely to the Body but its material a series of equations, running like lightning between cores of memory and thought and perspective. The Soul stands as the third and final layer, covered in brilliant scars of every color imaginable, shaped to match who Raika is, but dancing with her experiences as topography.


    Raika, atop the marble-world that is her Heart, looks out at the infinite.


    And it looks back.


    Infinity, or at least its eyes which look at her, don¡¯t seem to know what to think.


    She remembers the last time she came here. She was¡­ less defined. Broader. Touching on a sea of connections, of blood and steel and sharpness and fire. If she squints, just a bit, she can still see those connections, can still trail them into some other layer of reality to glimpse the concepts that underpin everything.


    In one reality, she sees herself as a bundle of concepts and equations, interwoven atop an island in a sea of seas, each wave and ocean some foundational part of all that IS. In another, she is a tiny thing, a titan atop a marble that dwarfs her in an infinity of eyes that dwarfs them both, given a sense of scale and self.


    The last time she was here, there was a feeling of DISGUST. Capitalized and bolded, embodying something beyond words which turned its gaze to her.


    She can still see it. Behind the eyes, there is that greater infinity, that sevenfold throne upon which all of existence spirals and grows like¡­ like a tree.


    Like an upside-down tree, growing up out of an ocean that gets heavier with every layer one descends / ascends through.


    The sevenfold infinity looks at her¡­ but the disgust is gone. Muted at worst.. No sense that she is something meant to be hated, some sort of insult in her being. In some ways, that would have been¡­ easier. To be hated. To be seen as lesser. She has experience with that. She can understand that. She¡¯s even faced it before, directly, and found that judgment¡­ wanting. She is, and she is hers, and existence couldn¡¯t take that from her.


    She faces something new now.


    INDIFFERENCE.


    She¡¯s not disgusting. She¡¯s not an insult so vile that she can never be forgiven, as she was before. Now she¡¯s just¡­ irrelevant. Part of the scenery. Part of the background.


    Gods and the impossible things beyond them stare at her and judge her to be¡­ meaningless.


    Raika, in every aspect and piece of herself, stares out into an uncaring existence.


    There¡¯s so much.


    And not one piece of it cares about her. The fabric, the underlying foundation of ALL THAT IS, WAS, AND WILL BE sees her through and through¡­ and considers her worthless. Meaningless. Unworthy even to be JUDGED.


    In some ways, that is so much worse than DISGUST.


    In others, it¡¯s¡­ almost quaint.


    When has the world ever loved her?


    But then¡­ when has she ever needed it to?


    She has been loved. She is loved now. She will be loved again.


    Is that enough?


    ¡­No. It isn¡¯t. To be loved by another is a beautiful thing. To be judged by another as worthwhile and beloved is without compare in all the worlds, this much can¡¯t not be true. But it¡¯s not enough.


    In the face of an uncaring reality, it is not enough to be judged by others. One must be judged by the self. In that way, there¡¯s really no difference between this Tribulation and the last.


    Does she love herself? Does she value herself? Does she know, down to her core, that she and all she is has worth in the face of a world so impossibly vast it cannot even be comprehended, and which views her as less than nothing?


    All the eyes see her. Soul, Body, Mind, and all that they stand upon and are. They deem her unworthy. They deem her unimportant. They deem her undeserving of even their DISGUST.


    And something in her smiles.


    That¡¯s ok.


    Fuck the world.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine.


    I Can Change.


    We Are What We Eat.


    And I¡¯m enough, she thinks.


    It¡¯s not an absolute. Maybe she¡¯ll judge herself otherwise someday. She¡¯s not a monolith, not a perfect existence. But faced with a reality that is uncaring, she can choose to care. Raika realizes, foundationally, that just because the flavor of disdain has changed doesn¡¯t mean her response has to.


    She is enough. And she will be more. And she, not an uncaring void, not a God, not some higher authority that tries to judge her, she decides who she will be and what she is worth. She¡¯s not where she wants to be, or who she wants to be, and she¡¯s not even entirely sure what those are¡­ but she can choose her own purpose, and she can choose to see herself as she is and find worth.


    And as if by that claim alone, that sudden realization that goes deeper than bone, she feels the beautiful marble she is on become¡­ denser. More solid. She feels the layers to her being deepen, feels the added heft that her very being embodies. She watches the waves on her island and on her being crash into her, sinking into the ground and into her being. The seas she stands closest to, the parts of reality that she chooses and that are Her, crash and build onto who she chooses to be until her island has expanded by more than double, until she stands taller and heavier upon it.


    She IS.


    And along one of the angles, one of the Concepts, she glimpses something in the waves. Smaller than she is, but only just, and adrift on the tides rather than standing on its own shore.


    Three sources of heat, wrapped around each other and Of one another, drink deeply from the interlocking seas, but especially those of Flame and all its connecting pieces.


    The fires wrapped in and a part of a set of pieces that shape a being¡­ see her.


    And she sees them.


    Fuck it. Why not?


    With a thought, she shapes who and what she is¡­, and opens a hand to reach towards the flames.

 Chapter 226 - Anchorless In a Running Sea, I Took Tea With The Devil

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    The everything that is Shin Ren (which she will, for the sake of brevity, call Shin Ren) take their first steps upon the island of the everything that is Raika (which, for the sake of brevity, he will be calling Raika).


    ¡°This is¡­¡±


    ¡°Something.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. So you¡¯re-¡±


    ¡°I.. I am. You remember me, then?¡±


    Shin Ren smiles, a lesser third of him drifting off into a shape that almost matches what Raika once looked like. ¡°Yes. Yes, we remember you.¡±


    Raika looks at the icon of black and red, shaped almost like her own shadow. It crackles, the concepts of carbon and calcified flesh and bubbling fat, but it crackles in a way that connects to the concept of¡­ well actually, a lot of concepts. Something like joy, like hate, like rebuttal, like defiance, and¡­ a little bit of arousal, too. Hmm.


    Raika sends back a wave of her own concepts, making sure that detached respect, interest, curiosity, and just a hint of arousal of her own reach out to Shin Ren. The part of him that is sizzling flesh and burning agony smiles at that, a bit.


    This is a place beyond flesh. And Raika isn¡¯t exactly a conventional being anyways. Who is she to judge?


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not what I expected.¡±


    ¡°Life rarely is.¡±


    ¡°True enough. What is this place?¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s¡­ a higher dimension. A place of concept over matter. How the Heavens see us, maybe, and when they focus on us, it lets us¡­ understand some of what they see. A world shaped by Intent. And for some reason this¡­ island? Is me. Or part of me, maybe.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ been here before. Once, I think. Or someplace like it. My¡­ my master told me he was holding something back, that it would strike me when I emerged from his Domain, but it never did. Why¡­ why did it wait?¡±


    ¡°Could you have stopped drawing the Heaven¡¯s attention? Or could be your master was off about the timing. I don¡¯t know the inner workings of the Heavens, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. I¡­ I pushed myself harder than I ever have before, trying to¡­ trying to avenge someone. Maybe that¡¯s why? But¡­ why are you here?¡±


    ¡°...Last time I had a tribulation was after I nearly died in a beast tide, and¡­ transformed myself. I transformed myself during that last fight¡­ quite a bit. And I think this¡­ island? This part of myself, it was shielding me somehow, maybe making it take longer to notice me. It doesn¡¯t feel the same as it did last time. Like¡­ I¡¯m not as disgusting to the world.¡±


    ¡°Mmmh. Must be nice.¡±


    ¡°A bit. Bad in its own ways, though. Still needed to¡­ make some decisions. Establish my path.¡±


    ¡°In the face of an unloving world?¡±


    ¡°Mmmh. The very same.¡±


    ¡°So.


    ¡°What now?¡±


    She looks around and spreads her ¡°hands¡± (or the concepts thereof) to indicate the island around them. Waves from the different seas of Concept and Dao land on the shores of her being, and with each one, the shores expand. Blood, Flame, Sharpness, Violence, Life, Change, Transformation, and more all lap as waves upon the beach, and when they retract, the beach has gotten a little larger.


    ¡°Drink deep. I don¡¯t know how time works here, I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s one of the weirder patches of waves out there, but I don¡¯t know how to get back. And while we¡¯re here, we get stronger. Hopefully I finish whatever this is quickly enough that I wake up before someone finds a way to kill me.¡±


    Shin Ren frowns. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ unlikely. Interfering with a Tribulation is borderline impossible, I think. The direct attention of the Heavens¡­ it¡¯s not something that can be broken without the highest order of effort.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ You did summon one straight through a few dozen floors or a Fortress City. In the middle of a battle.¡±


    ¡°...Yes, I suppose I did. I¡­ apologize. For dragging you into it.¡±


    She looks at him then. Really looks at him.


    The moment before they arrived here, they were trying to kill each other. And yet here¡­ she reached out to him. She barely hesitated. And he¡­ he barely seems angry.


    No, that¡¯s not true either. She can see the concepts of him, see the pattern, the Dao of each of those concepts, and there¡¯s rage there. Pain. Sorrow. But¡­ it¡¯s only a part of him. There¡¯s just¡­ so much to who he is, and she can see all of him. All of who he is, from his first moment to now, from the very foundations of who he is.


    And he can see her.


    He can see the pain she went through when he burned her, when she stood on an executioner¡¯s stage and had him preach at her.


    She can see the pain he went through, trying to remember what it means to be a person after he had to face what he did.


    He can see the agony that was her initial transformation, the oversensitivity strong enough to make her shut down.


    She can see the moment where he lost his master, the only person he could think of who cared about him enough to see past power, past the facade.


    Every part of what defines who they are, and who they¡¯ve chosen to be, is open and exposed to each other. Awake and alive, their histories on display.


    And she can¡¯t hate him.


    And he can¡¯t hate her.


    He can see how she felt when she promised them that she didn¡¯t want to fight. That it would be ok to surrender, and she¡¯d leave.


    She can see that he, too, had no ill will. Didn¡¯t even know who she was, and faced her honestly.


    What little hate they might have is intellectual, and this place is¡­ more profound than that.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault.¡±


    They are silent together for a while.


    And eventually, he nods.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    And then¡­ there is nothing left to say. Nothing between them that words can offer that their perception of each other¡¯s wholeness could not.


    She shapes a part of her¡­ self? Her island? Her Heart? To accommodate him. She leaves the wriggling things beneath her ¡°sand¡±, the fragments of other beings she consumed, close to the center, safe from the waves. A little inlet forms, a thousand concepts wrapped into a single idea, and Shin Ren perches upon it like a signal flare or a lighthouse on the waves. The seas of Flame, of Heat, of Strength, of a hundred other concepts dash on the ¡®rocks¡¯ beside him, and his three-part self drinks deep.


    Raika cannot join him. The seas splash upon her, but she cannot drink them in- they beat against her own Self, against the ideas of who she is, and start to almost wash her out. The part of her that is something like a world of its own has almost doubled in size, but whatever she is, it¡¯s not the same as a mortal cultivator.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    On the higher level she glimpsed, she stands as Soul, Mind, and Body, atop a marble of her own being. He is here too, but¡­ his body and mind are small, wrapped tight by his own three-part self: three Flames shaped of personhood. A Soul, in all parts, presented to reality, while the rest of him is barely present, not grown to match.


    But the island¡­ it¡¯s her. The thing standing atop of it, the Triune, it¡¯s a shape she¡¯s chosen, one that she maintains through her will alone, while the marble-that-is-her absorbs all that washes upon it.


    But the marble is her.


    She¡¯s not¡­ she¡¯s not the thing on the surface. She¡¯s not like Shin Ren. Her personhood is more¡­ fluid.


    She sits, the concept of a lotus position overlapping with the concept of her shape.


    And then¡­ she melts.


    She falls.


    Every part of her is just another part of the whole, and the whole is grander than mind, body and soul. It¡¯s all¡­ one.


    She floats atop the universe, firm in her decision to BE, and cultivates in her own way.


    Time passes.


    They grow.


    Waves of time beat on their shores, ever-shifting further.


    And then¡­


    They wake.


    Reality cracks. Perception shifts. Their glimpse of all that is real, of a real world with dimensions deeper than any they can see while themselves, begins to fade, the attention of sevenfold infinity and all within it turning away from them. Without that gaze to differentiate them from the rest of the universe, they begin to dissolve back into it.


    Until something stops them.


    Something reaches through time and infinity, skirting the edge of the forever-gaze of those that DREAM of a world that is real-


    And snatches them away.


    ¡ª------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Raika blinks.


    She¡¯s in a room.


    It¡¯s all-black, the room. Shaped in a circle, with rings circling a central point. There are no walls, not really- merely a point where the room ends, and nothing else is. She is seated in a small chair, made of the same all-black material as the rest of the room. The ceiling is open, like a carved bowl with a hole in the bottom, facing a starry sky drenched in constellations¡­ but none of them are looking at her.


    None of them are looking here.


    There is something sitting on the central ring of the room. On that central point, sitting atop a sort of podium, there is a being.


    It is¡­ mostly humanoid.


    That is all she can say about it.


    If there are features, she cannot see them. If there is a set of clothes atop its body, she cannot perceive them. All her senses tuned to the being before her, and she can sense¡­ nothing.


    It is there. It is shaped, somewhat vaguely, like a type of body she might recognize.


    And it¡¯s looking at her.


    She clenches, ever so slightly, against the chair. Actions, she can track. She can¡¯t determine whether or not the thing has eyes, but she can tell when it¡¯s looking at her. She can react. She can move.


    She looks as she does in her human form, but covered in the scars of her Soul, the wounds she has conquered and grown around or from marked on her frame. She goes to shift some of her biology, alter her tendons with piston-additions-


    She can¡¯t.


    The being is¡­ smiling at her.


    No need for that, it says. You won¡¯t be here long.


    ¡°...Who are you?¡±


    You walk my roads, yet you do not know my face. Surely, there are some who have eyes, yet cannot see the mountains.


    ¡°...That doesn¡¯t answer my question.¡±


    There are some who would sever the limbs of their children and pluck out their own eyes for a chance to hear my voice. There are many who thank me for the food they eat and the water they drink. All who live away from the monsters beyond the Wall thank me for the privilege.


    ¡°For someone who I can¡¯t actually hear, you sure do talk a lot.¡±


    The being smiles wider.


    You make a habit of being disrespectful when you should not be. It¡¯s a bit endearing. Like a little ant that wiggles when it should stay still to avoid being crushed. I wonder, is it all a defense mechanism, or are you really such a brazen jester?


    ¡°I like to think I¡¯ve naturally assimilated dry wit as a strength.¡±


    Compensating for that lackluster thing you called cultivation, hmm? I don¡¯t mind. It took real effort on your part to become this much of an annoyance. It really did. We haven¡¯t had one of your kind pop up in¡­ well, you wouldn¡¯t really get the numbers. They had different calendars back then. You¡¯ve been particularly fraught, in some ways. That bull friend of yours has really been keeping you sheltered. As best he can, at least.


    Fuck. The high-level¡­ whatever this thing is knows about Taurus. If he knows about Taurus, then-


    Yes, I also know about your lover. Though you¡¯re ¡°on a break¡± now, right? Smart. She was a crutch and you were a weight. I¡¯m rooting for her though. She¡¯s doing great stuff with movement techniques these days. We¡¯ll probably get one or two decent manuals out of her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you fucking dare-¡±


    Relax. Last time I checked, we still pay a pretty bit of gold for technique manuals. It¡¯s not all vivisection. It will be for you, but we don¡¯t really care about most of your little band. You do tend to attract talent though, don¡¯t you? Or maybe you just have a good eye for it. You helped that first kid along admirably, considering your state. What was his name? You know, the one that your bovine friend turned into mulch?


    This time, she feels something in her stir. She can¡¯t control herself as she should be able to, can¡¯t transform like she wants to, and just by the state she¡¯s in it¡¯s obvious she couldn¡¯t fight back if she could.


    But¡­


    ¡°You don¡¯t talk about him.¡±


    That¡¯s fine. It was a bit of a waste is all. We can always use more cultivators.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    The being shrugs.


    None of your business, really. Indulgence only gets you so far. Besides, this next part is going to hurt terribly.


    She tries to get to her feet again, but-


    Ah, ah, ah. None of that. You¡¯re on the fringes, but this is still my house you stand in. You don¡¯t get to break the Law just because you¡¯re a little special. Now hold still. It¡¯s better if you grow a little while longer. Let¡¯s just¡­ fix a few of these branches here.


    The entity atop the pedestal reaches towards her, and she begins to feel a weight across her brow.


    And then it multiplies.


    A long band of something wraps around her head and squeezes, so tight that she can feel her skull start to strain, the brain matter beneath beginning to compress. She feels as much as sees a golden light wrap around the top of her skull like a band of iron and begin to crush everything about her.


    No.


    NO.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine-


    Yes, yes, you¡¯re still you and yours. No need to break such a useful little trinket just yet, hmm? Best not to strain yourself. See, that¡¯s the issue with a Truth. Once you know it, you can twist it around, just like any old phrase. You¡¯re still you and yours, but who you are, well, that¡¯s not defined in the statement, is it? And you¡¯re all about changing. Makes this easier in some ways, harder in others. Wriggly thing that you are.


    ¡°Fuck you. You don¡¯t get to-¡±


    Oh I get to do whatever I want. Forever. That¡¯s the price. You get to eat and sleep without the Heavens or the gods feeding you little visions and dreams, you get to not have to sweat out impurities every time you cycle, you get to enjoy a world where you never have to really learn anything important about yourselves, and we get to do whatever we want with all of you. We get to use you for something that matters. We get to choose what you do with all those pretty little ideas that we let you grow enough to have. And then we get to do it all over again after you¡¯ve fucked out a few other little squealing fleshlings to feed back to us. Purity. Protection from those pesky aliens. A proper fattening up.


    That¡¯s what cattle gets.


    And in return, the shepherds get to eat.


    Now if you keep wriggling, it¡¯s only going to hurt worse. So by all means, keep it up.


    She snarls. She fights. She spends everything she has against the band, refusing to scream, refusing to cry, refusing to give up no matter how the weight continues to multiply. She knows her body, knows her tolerances for damage, and by the agony around her skull it should by all rights have shattered by now, but the pain only grows.


    Higher. Deeper. Like the world itself is compressing down to nothing, crushing every thought out of her mind except her will.


    She will not break.


    She will not break.


    She stared out an uncaring universe and chose to be her own. She will not be the plaything of this or any other horror, she is her Own and-


    Done. Now that wasn¡¯t so bad, was it?


    The pain is gone.


    It takes a little while longer for her senses to return. Her brain takes a while to remember to process other stimuli, her vision having long since gone dark.


    When she can see again, she sees mostly red and indigo. She¡¯s broken through her skin in multiple places, straining muscles tearing herself apart- all without moving an inch off the chair. Bloody tears and streams of crimson and purple from mouth, ears and nose paint her face and stream steadily down over her chest.


    You really live up to your reputation. We¡¯ve seen pain tolerance, but that was impressive. Kept fighting the whole time. Good job.


    But I think we¡¯re all done now. Can¡¯t have you running completely wild. We¡¯ve done that before, and it rarely ends well for anyone involved. Try and play more with what you have, hmm? You¡¯ll only get tumors if you just keep growing so quick. Learn to appreciate the journey. You only really get to do it once.


    Now, I hear you¡¯re off to the fourth? Best of luck! I wish you well on your travels.


    She manages to remember how to talk again, one question pounding in her mind. Through bloody teeth, she snarls out a single word.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    The being just smiles.


    Because new flavors and death follow you, wherever you go. Hand in hand. You¡¯ll kill, and we¡¯ll enjoy that, or you¡¯ll die, and we¡¯ll be a bit disappointed, but we won¡¯t hold it against you. Either way, if we ever meet again, you¡¯ll be interesting. And hopefully a bit more ripe. Now if you ever change your mind and decide you want a province or a few cities, some lovely peaches from my Garden, a couple heads on plates, you let us know, and we¡¯ll see what we can do, ok? In the meantime, enjoy the wilds. There are just ever so many goodies out there to play with. We¡¯re sure you¡¯ll have a great time either way.


    And don¡¯t worry about your friends. They¡¯re doing ever so well with us. Probably even die of natural causes in a few millennia. They¡¯ll do just fine without you.


    The band around her existence, her mind, her consciousness, her self, condenses once more and she is blinded by agony-


    And then she wakes up.


    And then part of the roof falls on her as a void shaped like an insectile, brass machine and a spirit beast the size of a mountain try to kill each other above her.

 Chapter 227 - The Fallen Fortress

    The first thing Raika does, trapped beneath the rubble and half-looking at the apocalyptic battle happening all around her, is look within herself.


    Mind, Body and Soul turn inward, looking for modifications, for proof of the golden band that nearly crushed her. Her experience with Zhoulong and Taurus, as well as the intimate knowledge of herself that the Tribulation brought out, mean that she¡¯s confident she can find it, wherever it may-


    Oh. There it is.


    Surrounding her inner world, what was once a weaving sea of infinite chaos is now a glowing, violently bright shoreline.


    The sun above, her altered Reactor, continues to shine in monochrome and iridescence, and the trees and small growing ¡°plants¡± of Dao remain in the middle of the valley. She tracks each and every one of the fallen Souls within her, partially-formed as they are, and finds nothing amiss with any of them.


    But what before was infinite change, infinite transformation, a formless chaos that reflected what she is¡­ is silent. Blocked off by a thing of incredible weight and heft.


    Even upon finding it, she still turns her gaze further inward. With her enhanced awareness, her ability to perceive and control every part of herself, she tracks the shape of her Soul, the neural connections in her Mind, even the potential nuances in the tiniest little cells and fragments of her being. She knows herself foundationally, that understanding catalyzed into something constant and profound through the Tribulation. And yet¡­ there¡¯s nothing. Not even a strange gap, no weird moments of absence, something she can¡¯t perceive. Down to the depths of her being, everything is still¡­ hers. It¡¯s still her own.


    But there is a band around the world that she is.


    It doesn¡¯t press in, it just sits there, unmoving, right at the edge of the bamboo perimeter. The world itself has expanded, just as she felt from during the Tribulation, and many of the Dao trees have sprouted or grown taller. What was once a single valley has grown larger, with more hills sprouting up outside the central curve. The long, shallow slash of the initial valley remains the center of the world, with her cabin on one end, still un-repaired, and the pool with her Heart in the far end, with the trees in between. Now there are a good four other valleys, more hills, like the valley has refracted or reflected over itself to create other valleys. The grass in the other valleys are tinted a different shade, not green, but a mix of purple, red, and silver-metal. The central valley¡¯s grass has changed too, though it holds dozens of colors, not just the three or four of the other hills, matching the Dao trees and the elements they reflect.


    All in all, it¡¯s much, much larger and far stranger than it was before her Tribulation, but where before, over the horizon, there was that formless sea of constant Change¡­ now there¡¯s a band.


    Her Soul walks out to it, moving in that dreamlike form, where by walking, she simply arrives where she intends. The bamboo perimeter is broad and thick, heavy, but if she presses against it, her Heart responds, shaping a thin, thin path between them.


    She walks out, through the bamboo forest that marks the edges of her being, until she meets a wall.


    Gold, glowing¡­ something. It¡¯s not metal, though it has a sense of weight and density to it, a purity, that matches something like an alloy.


    She pushes her hand out to it, and-


    Pressure.


    The entire thing constricts, just barely, just a centimeter, maybe- but it compresses the entirety of the multiple hills and valleys all at once, making the entire world quake. The world cracks, the bamboo forest shrieks and bends, and this new place that is the center of all that Raika is hurts.


    And then her Soul becomes aware again, wrapped tight by the bamboo perimeter around her. She¡¯s been pulled away from the golden perimeter, as if to protect herself.


    But it hasn¡¯t stretched back out. The cracks where it pushed in the ground remain right where they were, held in place by the violent gold.


    She wasn¡¯t even able to push against it. She just tried to touch it, had the intent to move it, and it¡­


    Fuck.


    It hasn¡¯t changed her, doesn¡¯t seem to have altered who she is, but¡­


    Who she is can be guided, the thing had said. ¡°Don¡¯t grow too fast¡±, it said. That she¡¯d get tumors.


    And it hadn¡¯t even seemed to care about the thought that she might turn that growth against it. Like her death was foregone, like no matter what she did, it wouldn¡¯t be bothered¡­ so long as she didn¡¯t grow too fast.


    Fuck.


    Well fuck whatever that thing was. And fuck what it wants. She¡¯ll have to figure out exactly how to break the band and whatever put it on her. The fact that it ¡°let¡± her keep her Truth¡­ no. Fuck that.


    She IS, and she¡¯s going to shove that down that thing¡¯s fucking throat.


    But that can come later.


    Survival comes first.


    She wakes back up to the world outside, her Body already adjusted to what¡¯s happening. Her armor has condensed, minimizing her size, six limbs branching out into a sort of architectural framework, and Blacksteel scales have formed a dome around her to hold back the weight of the collapsing fortress.


    And it is collapsing.


    The ground around her is like a reflective black glass, glistening with eerie reflections even on parts without light. The floor has been pressed down, as if compressed or fully eroded by the light of the Tribulation, and she can see part of the pattern of the scar it¡¯s left. The form is-


    Hmm. Ok, so one of her sensory brains fully just shut down when she looked too hard at the shape of it. Good to know.


    She forms clusters of eyes across the surface of the armored dome, looking all around. Some of them are blocked by debris, but it takes barely a thought to extend threads of flesh through cracks in the concrete all around her and burrow up to the surface to make new eyes.


    All around her is pandemonium.


    She can¡¯t see Shin Ren or his team, but most of the area she¡¯s been fighting in has been thoroughly decimated, turned to rubble. She can see the sky above, the air still sparking with electricity from the heat and intensity of the Tribulation they experienced, and beyond that, she can see the upper peaks of the fortress city, the spires and array-towers at the top of it.


    Half of them are crumbling or on fire.


    Above her, she sees what may perhaps be the largest living creature she¡¯s ever caught sight of being ripped apart by what look like some kind of war-constructs. Many of them possess additional limbs, all of them seem to be made of strange materials, but most notably¡­ all of them bend the light around them, like they have more weight than they should. Like they¡¯re absorbing the space around them, bit by bit, leaving trails of emptiness in their wake that flicker oddly as they are filled back in.


    Even at a glance, she can tell what they are. Daemons.


    Every child has heard at least one tale of a heroic cultivator slaying some Daemon consuming part of the world. Unlike spirit beasts, beings of Qi and flesh and soul like anyone else, a Daemon is a void, whose shape reflects only what it has consumed. In their natural state, they¡¯re like a mote of anti-nothing, an event horizon quickly spawning as they consume everything they touch. If they find something that matches to a pattern, or is, for whatever reason, ¡°tastier¡±, they focus on that thing exclusively, eventually erasing even the memory of it from the world.


    Bound Daemons are much the same, only more directed. The War-Daemons fighting up above are made to consume specially made bodies, full of specific concepts and ideas, before they can develop the ability to choose to consume some things and not others. They then are forced to regurgitate what they¡¯ve consumed, becoming a sort of inverse of whatever mold they¡¯ve been poured into.


    They hurt to look at. They hurt to watch move. Sometimes the void that they are regurgitates more limbs and more weapons, more tools and brass and dimensions and shape, and every time they¡¯re wounded, they just regurgitate more of themselves into existence.


    It¡¯s like watching an inverted star from the sky vomit out a corpse made of weapons that it can wear.


    And the thing they face is little better.


    Well over a hundred feet tall, only the taste of its Qi lets Raika know that it¡¯s a spirit beast and not some sort of illusion or hallucination. Its central body is a ball of wings, each one well over a hundred feet tall in turn, but it does not fly. It waves its wings and they come apart into showers of feathers made of some kind of liquid metal, flowing as if each one is alive and capable of flight, but this, also, is not how it walks.


    Seven heads, similar to but unlike a heron¡¯s, emerge sinuously from within the central mass of wings. With each step, one of the beaks of shining silver and gore stabs into a soldier or a Qi formation, the ones behind it retracting to swallow their prey and then emerging to strike again. The pressure it gives off eclipses anything she¡¯s seen before, even Feng Gao or the iridescent tiger of the arena so many months ago. She¡¯s not sure how spirit beast¡¯s powers work, what separates a divine beast from a spirit beast, if they form a Soul or a Domain, but¡­ whatever the process, the Many-Heron is at least stronger than the strongest she has met in the Warrior realm.


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    And it is feasting.


    The Daemons throw themselves at it over and over, each one twisting in shape and size as their bodies are destroyed and then recreated from inside themselves. Skeletal and bio-mechanical constructs dripping with Flame, Lightning and other elemental effects, always Black and Red for the comprehension of death and harm, roiling and raging against the divine beast. At the core of the constructs, a black hole, its edge shaped like a spiral or mimickry of their bodies or a simple horizon, falling forever inward-


    And they¡¯re barely holding on as the Many-Heron spears them, over and over. The beaks that are used to attack are quickly worn down by the Daemon¡¯s natural properties, only to be retracted back into the main body with bits of the Daemons and be replaced by newer beaks again. She can sense the depth of the Dao in each strike; concepts of Piercing, of Predation, of Harm and more, all wrapped around each other and stronger than any version of Dao she can currently create with what she has.


    It¡¯s like watching a vision out of the Hells. Out of a story about the horrors of the old age.


    And the whole time she¡¯s watching, transfixed, the fortress is falling. There are other spirit beasts roaring, the unnatural and almost mechanical screams of creatures that the Empire is throwing back at them, the screaming and dying of cultivators and soldiers joining in the chorus.


    The stench of blood and smoke are overwhelming.


    With a thought, Raika reabsorbs the eyes and the armored dome, letting the crushing weight of stone fall atop her body. With her brains and some backup organs moved into a well-defended core, every other part of her can be lost or regrown, so long as she can afford to waste the biomass. It only takes a moment of conferring with her Heart to manage the changes she¡¯s looking for, her limbs and central mass warping and falling in on themselves.


    The dungeon beneath Cragend possessed the ability to alter space and time within its domain. She¡¯s not at that level, but the newfound awareness of herself as a whole from the Tribulation gives her the insight she needs to replicate part of it. Rather than transforming her body and then forcefully feeding it into the altered space of her stomach, she just¡­ shrinks.


    The mass doesn¡¯t change. It doesn¡¯t move into an internal spatial anomaly, like her stomach. Technically speaking, she¡¯s not even any lighter than she was before. She just¡­ pulls the materials and organs and limbs deeper and deeper into her body, and finds that there¡¯s room for them in there.


    It¡¯s not as immediately useful as storing materials in her stomach, but she doesn¡¯t have to then ¡°regurgitate¡± them back out, and she can save it for things she needs to actually digest, or things that she wants to preserve.


    The Body figured the trick out first, actually. During the battle with the Platoon-leader cultivators, the lightning-wielder stabbed her with a blade quite a bit longer than her width, but it just sank in to the hilt without ever emerging again. The railgun shot from the artifact and array-wielding cultivator made it out the other side, but only barely.


    Fuck the golden piece of shit, she can compress herself all on her own.


    Several hundred pounds of expensive flesh fall into her body, deeper and deeper, until she¡¯s barely larger than a simple snake. She laughs a bit internally, wondering what Jun Vral would think of her now as she slithers between the cracks in the rocks.


    And then¡­ something interesting.


    She¡¯s not the only body under the rubble.


    Well, she helped him once. Might as well follow through.


    She turns and crawls between a particularly large piece of concrete, wandering towards the scent of Qi, muffled though it is under the rubble and the chaos of the battle above. She doesn¡¯t have time to go slowly, even though stealth is paramount to avoid the chaos of the fighting, she needs to get to Li Shu and Jin- but she can smell blood coming from the direction of the familiar Qi.


    The moment her head emerges from a crevice into a little pocket of air, someone chops it off.


    Ok. Fair enough.


    She spreads out, emerging from three different points. Two of them get cut down almost instantly, but the third one grows quickly enough that she manages to form a hand and a head from it.


    ¡°Relax,¡± she mumbles, her voice slurred and raspy as she generates new lungs. ¡°Not here to fight.¡±


    The sword of the sky-climber stops, barely an inch from her skull. His blade is still infused deeply with Qi, but it¡¯s not as threatening as before- she feels like he needs to take the steps he¡¯s dancing through before it grows into the state it was in earlier. Since he doesn¡¯t follow through on the blade, she reforms her body more completely, keeping it genderless and bald for the sake of convenience.


    They¡¯re all standing in a small pocket of debris, maintained by a few convenient pieces of stone and metal ruins. The sky-climber is here, obviously, but it takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the darkness and see the others.


    Shin Ren is awake, but seems out of it, breathing heavily. His Qi smells feverish, still mid-transformation, and she¡¯s not sure if he suffered some kind of backlash or if he¡¯s just in recovery from their shared Tribulation. Considering that she spent over two weeks unconscious after her first experience, he¡¯s doing great.


    The other two in their little cave aren¡¯t doing quite so well.


    The cultivator from¡­ what was it, the Blessed Clouds sect? Had to be, with the scent of clouds, precipitation and shining light coming from him. That and the techniques he used cinch it. Has a gaping wound in his chest, only partially closed over, and is seemingly half-conscious, cycling Qi intermittently.


    And, in an only partially surprising turn, the illusion wielder is here too.


    The attack she¡¯d made earlier was a guess, but apparently it was a good one. The illusionist certainly isn¡¯t dead, but the sight of her getting torn to pieces by Raika¡¯s whips was obviously false. She¡¯s covered in cuts, but there¡¯s a misty aura around her closing up the wounds, one by one.


    ¡°Three out of four out of commission, and you¡¯re not exactly at your peak.¡±


    The sky-climber grimaces, but he turns it into a smirk. ¡°Neither are you, I would imagine. After all, you clearly don¡¯t want to be found any more than we do by that chaos out there.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Besides, I¡¯m a woman of my word. I¡¯m not here to fight. Ren, you ok?¡±


    The sky-climber and the illusionist both raise eyebrows at the familiar form of address, but she¡¯s not exactly in the mood to bother with being proper. Shin Ren, for his part, does respond, blinking his eyes open and staring at her. The feverish heat climbs a bit, rising higher as flames of Red, Black, and hints of other colors briefly come ascendant.


    ¡°We¡¯re¡­ we¡¯re alright,¡± he says, his voice like crackling smoke. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t think I was meant to absorb so much at once. It¡¯s taking a moment to digest.¡±


    ¡°I can relate. I doubt that was a conventional Tribulation, as these things go.¡±


    The sky climber nods. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen many, but my sect has experienced a fair number. They usually last a lot longer than that, and I¡¯ve never seen one so bright. The sky sort of¡­ flickered when it hit the two of you, then more than doubled in intensity, then flickered out. Still enough to burn through half the fortress.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Felt different from my last one in a lot of ways. Did¡­ someone have a conversation with you in there? Other than me?¡±


    Shin Ren shakes his head. ¡°There was¡­ a moment. I heard a laugh. A voice¡­ I think it only said one word. ¡°Interesting¡±. Then it laughed again.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that sounds like something it might say.¡±


    Almost reflexively Shin Ren flinches. But he shakes his head, laughing softly. ¡°I¡¯ll¡­ take your word for it.¡±


    She tilts her head over towards the unconscious Blessed Clouds cultivator. ¡°You mind if I help with your friend there? I need to leave, and frankly, so do all the rest of you. The battle isn¡¯t looking good, and the fortress is falling apart.¡±


    The illusion wielder frowns. ¡°Pardon me for asking, honored beast, but are you claiming you can heal him? Otherwise, I¡¯m afraid that this one and her allies must reject your offer.¡±


    Raika chuckles. ¡°Hunger is the last thing on my mind, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about. I¡¯m not a true healer, but you could say I know just a bit about flesh and its workings.¡±


    The illusion wielder is recovering faster than the rest, her frown disappearing behind a near-perfect mask. Someone with courtly training, most likely, or a proper jade beauty, with all the weight that that carries. Raika can literally smell her brain working, the fizzle of neurons as she starts to puzzle out a way to ensure her word or reject the offer without conflict-


    Shin Ren raises a hand, still flickering with the auras of multiple Daos and Flame. She looks at him, confused, but he just shakes his head.


    ¡°I trust her.¡±


    She would laugh, if not at the outrageous claim then certainly at the look on the illusion-wielder¡¯s face, but¡­ as ridiculous as it is, it¡¯s true. She trusts him too. At least in this scenario, she knows, without doubt, what his intentions are. Seeing who he is, foundationally, within the Tribulation granted her more insight into his character than nearly anyone else she can think of.


    And apparently, she¡¯s not the only one who knows him enough to trust him. The illusion wielder hesitates, but the sky-climber instantly relaxes, his sword re-entering his sheath.


    ¡°If Shin Ren trusts her, then how could I doubt my honored brother? I say let her heal him if she can.¡±


    She raises an eyebrow. For someone whose Qi and sense of Dao seem rather developed, that¡¯s a rather dramatic amount of trust to put in another. She¡¯s not sure if that speaks more to his character or Shin Ren¡¯s, but she¡¯s impressed either way.


    Shin Ren nods at her, and she doesn¡¯t hesitate. She¡¯s taken long enough here, and she has other people to find. She moves over to the collapsed cultivator and slowly liquifies part of her hand, turning it into a thick gelatin. She lets it rest and ooze onto the wound, staunching the bleeding, and then starts to track the damage.


    There¡¯s a lot there. His lung is partially collapsed, there¡¯s shards of ribcage everywhere, and most of his sternum and chest muscles are in ruins. The gelatin holds back and absorbs the blood, letting her route it into the disconnected parts as needed, and she does the same with the bone shards she finds. It¡¯s¡­ actually easier than her own transformations, pretty significantly. Harder in the sense that she can¡¯t control it, but she knows exactly where everything should go, or can feel it out easily enough. Between that and the multitasking her brains provide, even with his Qi pushing back against her, it doesn¡¯t take long to rearrange all of what¡¯s already there.


    The cultivator gasps, coughs up blood, still barely conscious, but his Qi really is resisting. It takes a moment for her to realize what the issue is: her curse. She blocks Qi, and her own body is so saturated with it it acts as a block anyways. That¡¯s¡­ interesting. It probably wouldn¡¯t be very hard to weaponize this, and she makes a note of it.


    She doesn¡¯t need to fully heal him, though. With his parts in all the right places, his Qi is going to have a much easier time of it all. She pushes some of her blood into him, leaving it as a final booster, and morphs herself back together.


    She turns to look at Shin Ren, who is still struggling to internalize all he¡¯s taken in. He just nods at her, quietly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make sure Maen knows you¡¯re ok,¡± he says.


    She blinks, but¡­ nods. He saw into her, too.


    ¡°And¡­ tell her I¡¯m sorry my letters are out of date. And that I¡¯m glad she¡¯s doing well.¡±


    He chuckles softly. ¡°For possibly the most horrifying thing I¡¯ve ever seen, you¡¯re a surprisingly soft touch about all this, honored Raika.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°Yeah, well¡­ this world¡¯s hard enough. No need to do the Heavens¡¯ work for them.¡±


    This time he outright laughs, and the sound is overlapped on itself, a voice of crackling flame and of shimmering heat. For a moment, her senses see deeper, synesthesia turning the scent of his overlapping Qi into a view of who he Truly is.


    Overlapping hands, all grasping and melting over each other, shaped like a burning body- one with alien musculature and a face like Raika¡¯s own, morphed through destructive CHANGE. A pillar of pure and righteous Flame, feeding into a thousand other sources and standing unbent by wind, rain or quakes.


    And beside the other two, a lanky, almost feline thing, of creeping smiles and hateful rules, twisted and turned onto their heads.


    ¡°See you around, Ren.¡±


    ¡°Another time, Raika the Unbroken.¡±

 Chapter 228 - The Face Of My Enemy

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    The fortress is in panic mode. The chaos of the battle, the screaming of the wounded, the destruction of its structures, there¡¯s nothing that doesn¡¯t seem to be going wrong at least somewhat. Through her Heart, she feels the structure of the fortress-city around her, shifting constantly like a beast in pain. It¡¯s subtle, not something she could pick up easily- there¡¯s a sense of distance between her Heart and the dungeon itself, her body acting as a sort of buffer, but with how loud the transformations are now, some of it still gets through. The hallways remain as they are, but beneath them, the stone and steel are writhing like flesh, twisting and shuddering like a body in its death throes.


    And it really can¡¯t be anything else. She can hear, even through the density and shifting of her surroundings, the ongoing devastation ripping through the world around them. The Many-Heron and the War Daemons behind her continue their conflict, but they¡¯re not the only struggle. The sound of blood and the smell of clashing weapons, always a dim background since she arrived, have become thunderous, from every direction , and especially from ahead. Whatever battle-line that the ¡°Wall¡± is holding back is closer than ever, and she can smell the absolutely overwhelming feeling of Qi from cultivators, beasts, artifacts and arrays saturating the world.


    She needs to find the others. Luckily, it¡¯s not that hard. She just has to follow the smell of death and medicine


    Turn, turn again, down through winding passages. A brutalist showing of cold concrete and minimalism, military efficiency turning a place that she can sense is brutally, deeply alive into something that seems almost calcified. An old shell, wrapped around anything soft, as alien as the dungeon beneath Cragend, but in a way wholly¡­ forced. Artificial.


    The sounds reach her next. The screaming of the wounded, begging, for aid, for relief, some for death. The sounds of flesh being knit back together, oh so similar to the sounds of it being rent and torn. The chattering of voices asking for assistance, requesting supplies, handing out diagnoses and death sentences.


    The concept of being trapped in the Hells feels stronger than ever as she wanders concrete arteries towards the sounds of the dead, the dying, and the tormented.


    She¡¯s reformed her body again, keeping herself bald for now and shorter than before, and formed a facsimile of clothing from folded skin and feathering. She¡¯s kept her colors muted; easier to make, even if only very marginally, and easier to reabsorb by the same margin- and one reason she¡¯s not seen right away.


    The other is that the entire space is flooded with blood and chaos.


    The room has dozens of tables, each of them with a body, or what¡¯s left of one, and at least one healer at each of them. She can see the spaces where the manpower is missing, and it¡¯s not hard to find it- there are dozens of soldiers around the room, against the walls, laying on the floors, with healers running between them. Most of them aren¡¯t going to make it, and the healers¡­ they can tell.


    But they try anyways. They don¡¯t stop. Most of them are running on fumes, their systems smelling of medicinal supplements to compensate for how empty their Qi reserves are, and many of them are soaked in blood. Exhaustion and sweat tie together almost strongly enough to overcome the scents of fear, pain and blood- but only almost.


    She finds Li Shu and Jin easily enough.


    There are three areas where there aren¡¯t enough healers for the number of surgical tables. In each one, every table remains full nonetheless.


    One of these areas is run by what looks like a flesh sculptor of some sort, with no less than three additional arms and a few additional eyes allowing them to operate on three tables at once. Another has what looks like an older, more experienced veteran dancing between four tables of her own, some sort of movement technique allowing her to step lightly but fast enough that she blurs in motion to get to each one, over and over. It¡¯s a tremendous display of skill, even with her Qi only smelling like peak Core Formation realm.


    But one section has six tables, manned by a single woman and a set of thin, bone-white needles.


    She¡¯s sitting on a small pillow, eyes lidded and in an almost trance-like state. There are a few thin trails of red coming from her eyes and one from her nose, and she¡¯s sweating profusely, but her breathing is slow and even, and she remains almost perfectly still.


    All around her, her Sacrifice dances.


    Some of the needles crack and grow new keratin formations, forming hooks, clamps, pliers, whatever¡¯s needed, over and over. They suture, pull together torn meat, stab into and realign bones, pinch against nerves to deaden pain. A hundred different operations, all happening at once, all simultaneous.


    Through her gloves, Raika smells blood leaking from where Li Shu¡¯s nails used to be.


    She¡¯s pushing herself. Hard. It doesn¡¯t take enhanced senses to tell that there¡¯s barely anything left, in her Dantian or her Sacrifice. She¡¯s at her absolute limit, and likely has been for some time.


    But she, too, isn¡¯t stopping.


    She turns and finds Jin first.


    The kid is sitting, quietly, against the wall, right next to one of the exits. Only two doors down from where she entered. He¡¯s hugging his knees and just staring.


    At the dead.


    It¡¯s not all wounded and dying. Not everyone can be saved. Not everyone has been. There¡¯s a pile of them, lain alongside each other in the hall through the door Jin is sitting in.


    And not just alongside each other. They ran out of easily accessible space for that. Some of the bodies (many of them barely recognizable as such) are placed atop one another, making the bodies closer to the door almost three high.


    She gets a few strange and surprised looks as she walks over towards the bodies, but no one stops her. Anyone who has the wherewithal to try to stop her is more useful doing their job of trying to save lives. She gives a grateful nod to them, and in turn, does her very best to ignore the way that her stomach churns at the smell of all that screaming, crying meat and Qi.


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    She kneels next to Jin, and gently, but inexorably, turns his head away from the corpses.


    The kid is crying, but calm. Tears flow from his eyes, but his heartbeat is almost unnaturally smooth and even. His Qi remains his own: a dark room, full of smoke and quiet voices. But now the voices aren¡¯t so quiet, and at the edge of them, she can smell the sound of spilling blood and the taste of guns. And it smells quite a bit stronger than before.


    ¡°Come on. We¡¯re leaving.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t move. Doesn¡¯t even seem to realize she¡¯s there.


    She lets out a long, slow sigh.


    Nothing about this has gone to plan, but this¡­ this, at least, she could have seen coming. For all the talk of the forever-war at the Wall, she¡¯d always expected it to be¡­ quieter. She never saw it, after all. No one did, except the soldiers sent here to die. Or, she supposes, the ¡°volunteers¡±, sent here to do much the same.


    And sending a kid, barely into adolescence, in as a ¡°healer¡¯s assistant¡± was always going to have him see nasty things. He¡¯d be with Li Shu, sure. And it couldn¡¯t be worse than the pain in his village, she¡¯d thought. As if that, too, wouldn¡¯t be a source of more trauma.


    Her fault. Her fault for trusting in the Empire. Her fault for underestimating the world¡¯s horrors. Her fault for not having backup plans, for not being bold enough to find someplace less complex to try and move through.


    She¡¯ll make it up to him. And to Li Shu. Her plan, her responsibility.


    Gently, she picks Jin up like a child, cradling him against her shoulder and blooming a patch of tightly-packed fur against his chin. She makes sure that some of the feathers along the back of her biological clothing grow a little taller, partially blocking his view of their surroundings.


    His heartbeat stays perfectly steady. Cultivation trance, dissociation, trauma¡­ wherever he is, all she can do for now is get him somewhere safer and try to help him come back from there on his own.


    With her senses and the sheer density of her spatially-altered insides, it¡¯s no trouble at all to dodge between the different operating tables on her way to Li Shu. Her minds offer predictive pathing as instinct to let her avoid bumping into anyone, letting her move at a calm pace so as not to disturb Jin without ever getting in anyone¡¯s way.


    ¡°We need to go,¡± she says quietly, letting Truespeak color her words.


    Li Shu doesn¡¯t respond. Sixteen total manifestations of her Sacrifice, the keratin of her nails, finish what they¡¯re doing, and Raika doesn¡¯t stop them.


    Not all of the people on the tables make it. One dies not long after she arrives. Another two are carted away, unconscious, but stabilized. One of them will require hours more surgery to even resemble a human body, and Raika wonders at how what¡¯s left of them is even alive.


    The¡­ person has worms. Their features are indeterminate, unmade by violence, but all throughout what¡¯s left of their body there are worms. Like someone took a hunk of meat, bathed it in acid, and left it for the maggots, except the maggots are long and stringy and glow with a faint hint of something venomous.


    It¡¯s amazing they¡¯ve managed to survive this long. A testament to their own will, and certainly to Li Shu¡¯s skill, tens of worms dying per second as pliers pluck them out and a scalpel of semi-clear biomatter cuts them apart.


    Raika opens a cut on her own hand, the flesh opening of her will, and lets a few drops of indigo blood ooze out onto her palm.


    Almost instantly, a thousand of the stringy things begin to dig their way out of the body of the cultivator, sensing richer fare. Synesthesia makes their hunger and desire to reproduce glow and vibrate from them, and they swim from out of the dying Core Formation realm soldier towards Raika. Instantly, Li Shu adjusts, as if they were executing a planned maneuver, her Sacrifice grabbing cloths, medicinal talismans and powders to start dousing the body and cutting off dead tissue, bandaging at incredible speed.


    Raika waits until all of the worms have entered her cut before she cycles her biology, altering the muscles and veins in her arm. Squirming life is thrown into disarray as she liquifies her own flesh, trapping them in a bubble of fat, bone and Blacksteel caltrops. The few that find their way to the edges of their containment find themselves unable to dig through her saturated and altered biology as easily as they did the cultivator.


    She goes to compress the prison, squashing them and letting their poisons just dribble out, but¡­ she needs to be stronger.


    She keeps them. For now.


    Li Shu finishes the last of the patients on her tables, and then goes to stand. She nearly falls immediately, but Raika is there to grab her.


    Li Shu sags into her, falling apart at the seams. Her Sacrifice floats back over to her, carefully falling back into a pouch at her side, but not before Raika gets a clearer sense of it. Qi and keratin have¡­ grown. Added to. She remembers how She of Still Waters could create constructs from the gelatin of her eyes, could use shadows as transportation and sight at once- not techniques, per se. That¡¯s not how the Craft works, really. It¡¯s all about transferring or absorbing properties, like in alchemy. It¡¯s not quite Dao, but¡­ it¡¯s close.


    The nails, which became keratin, which became tools, now seems to hold some new additional properties. They taste of¡­ something almost technical, like they have patterns woven into them. Right alongside that, the taste of something vaguely medicinal, in a sharp and calm way rather than herbal.


    ¡°I¡­ we can¡¯t,¡± Li Shu says, her voice trembling. It surprises Raika that she¡¯s even awake. ¡°There¡¯s¡­ too many. I still need to help.¡±


    Raika looks around at the wounded. At the healers. At those they¡¯re trying to bring back from horrific pain and death. Noble and brave, defenders of the Wall, supporters of the Empire¡­


    No. No, they don¡¯t need any more help getting healed.


    They¡¯re not the enemy. Not the healers, certainly, but not even the soldiers. Not really. They¡¯re just¡­ tools. Cogs in something greater.


    That ¡°something greater¡± spoke to her. Put a new shackle on her, even if it¡¯s not chained to anything so directly. And it¡­ it didn¡¯t care about the deaths. About the horror. About the slaughter. It knew what she¡¯s been through¡­ and it seemed amused.


    The people aren¡¯t the enemy. But the thing they¡¯re feeding, protecting, born from, dying for¡­


    Yeah. The Empire¡¯s an enemy. And any one of these people would kill her if given the order and the chance.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving,¡± she says to Li Shu. Not harshly, barely above a whisper- but without an ounce of give.


    Li Shu, to her credit, tries to fight back anyways. She strains, trying to get to her feet, circulating the dregs of her Qi.


    ¡°I¡¯m a healer. I heal. They need help.¡±


    ¡°Yes. They do. And you are. But I¡¯m not willing to put their lives over your safety, or over what we came to do. So we¡¯re leaving. Now.¡±


    Li Shu looks like she might say something, keep pushing- but then she lets out a breath, and the last of her energy fails her. Raika has to form an additional arm to hold her up, cradling her to her chest alongside Jin.


    By this point, just about every eye in the room not actively involved in surgery is on her.


    She looks around at the healers and soldiers all around.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± she wishes upon them.


    ¡°Wait.¡±


    She turns, hackles raised. She¡¯s grown another two inches in height already, getting more surface area ready to deploy a weapon if she needs to¡­ but no. One of the healers, in the Core Formation realm, exhausted, and shockingly muscular, holds out a manual.


    ¡°New healers are supposed to get one when they join up. Little ritual. We hold it till after the first day.¡±


    Li Shu isn¡¯t an official healer. She¡¯s not in their robes, hasn¡¯t had their training. She¡¯s a volunteer, one they just met.


    The healer holds out the book anyways.


    Raika goes to take it, and the healer keeps her grip, refusing to let go for a moment. She meets Raika¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°She¡¯s a good kid. And an exceptional junior. Don¡¯t hurt her.¡±


    Raika smiles sadly.


    ¡°...I¡¯ll do my best.¡±


    And she leaves the tired and the dying and the dead behind.


    Honor to us all on the killing floor.

 Chapter 229 - Suffering The Chisel, Self, Both Marble And Sculptor

    She won¡¯t let them get hurt again. Not now. Not because of her, like this.


    She has more power and versatility than ever. She can feel the band around her inner world, but besides trying to remove it, she¡¯s not sure what activates it- it hasn¡¯t so much as twitched as she shifts her biology or the new spatial manipulation going on inside her body.


    Her flesh has hundreds of different mechanisms, organelles, and chemical properties, many of which she¡¯s only starting to explore. Biochemistry alone is a field she¡¯s left mostly untouched, something she plans to rectify. And her most recent experiences made something very clear.


    She¡¯s not human. At all.


    She¡¯s been moving past it for a while, gaining acceptance of that fact, but¡­ a few hours ago, she had her brains blown out. Not neatly, either. Not some polite little hole, in one side, out the other- frontal lobe, hippocampus, a chunk of the stem, glands, everything. Memories, processings, sensory suite, subconscious, all of it turned to messy gore and emptied out the back of a broken skull.


    And she lived.


    She remembers everything about her life, same as before. Regrowing her brain didn¡¯t erase the data, which she¡¯s now fairly certain is stored at least partially with her Soul and backup brains. No human being can survive getting their head severed, their brain removed, and even a cultivator would struggle with it. A cultivator, someone in the Warrior or Emperor realm, could survive like she has, could recover¡­ but maybe they¡¯re not really human either.


    She doesn¡¯t need to limit herself with common sense. With the assumptions of how a body should work, rather than what she can truly do.


    She has the tools. She¡¯s learning fast. She can do more. She can protect them.


    She has to protect them.


    As she walks the trembling halls of the fortress city, she absorbs Jin and Li Shu into her body.


    She has to expand her surface area, forming space around both of them. Fatty tissue makes up the outer layer of the bubbles, with soft fur making up the interior for their comfort. She ensures that her blood-flow cycles in such a way that it comes close to the skin before feeding towards the pockets, ensuring they¡¯re not burning hot at least, and forms a few air filters atop some new airways.


    She¡¯ll be drawing in a lot more oxygen to account for them both, but she already needs considerable amounts anyways. She starts filling her lungs, deeper and deeper, making vast reserves of air, and wrapping her companions tight within her.


    The way her body works now, when she absorbs them in, it doesn¡¯t even change her shape. If she were to express herself fully, she might be larger than a two-story house in just sheer mass, but she maintains a humanoid form long enough to make sure that those she must protect are safe.


    Bioluminescence and chromatophores add a finishing touch, in case they awake. The patterns of the coloration form words, and the soft glow illuminates them both, cradled and unconscious.


    She can do more. It¡¯s not enough.


    But it¡¯ll do for now.


    She abandons human biology right after.


    Six limbs touch the ground, a long tail behind her for balance. A single head, equipped with a dozen eyes and noses, is matched by a series of vents along her back and stomach, constantly intaking and exhaling as needed. She shrinks to half her size, becoming no larger than a wolf. And then she starts to add technique to it.


    For now at least, she still has to deal with weight, her supernatural density forcing her to keep Supreme Body Art: Gigant on at all times to ensure she doesn¡¯t collapse her organs or other functions. She¡¯s noticing, however, that even that has its limits, which she¡¯s begun to surpass.


    Qi makes a thing more of itself. Qi with properties, imbues those properties into what it is absorbed into. Raw Qi, put inside her flesh, her tendons, her blood, it¡¯s not just empowering her Truth. For all her talk of saturation, she¡¯s only now understanding it truly.


    Muscles saturated with raw Qi, with Qi touched only by biology and its properties, act more like muscles. Exert more force, heal faster, move faster. Bones saturated with Qi become harder to break, easier to reshape, better at supporting weight. Blood, saturated with Qi, becomes better at carrying materials, flows more smoothly, clots more effectively.


    Her modifications have absolutely made a difference. The small percentile shifts that her saturation brings have been magnified by her transformations and use of mechanics. But no creature the size she is could support multiple tons of weight on six small legs, or balance it all with a tail only two feet long. Only by poisoning her body into learning to absorb Qi by force, by drenching herself in a constant flow for so long, could allow even her transformations to sustain her.


    But even still, Supreme Body Art: Gigant stays active, adding supports and architecture to use those percentile improvements to their maximum and ensure she doesn¡¯t, say, crush her own lungs. She adds onto it a new thing, forming it on the spot around some of her more neglected concepts.


    Supreme Body Art: Camouflage shifts her skin to perfectly match the color and texture of the hallways. Chromatophores and cartilage reshape and rearrange her to match her environment near-perfectly. Her eyes offer a nearly 360-degree cone of vision, allowing her to shift to match even the smallest detail of terrain, and she pushes herself to form a new brain entirely dedicated to doing exactly that. The process rapidly starts to become automatic, her will dancing over neurons and synapse-connections to form what she needs.


    It¡¯s not perfect, but tracking what parts of her ¡°original¡± brain create the changes, and why, allows her to imitate them and form into something functional.


    She scurries down the way, her limbs a mix of insectile and reptilian and able to grip or outright stab into the walls. With a pulse, she pulls energy from her Reactor, the sun of her inner world sending CHANGE out into her body, and she guides it, using it to regrow or replace ailing tendons and muscles the minute they begin to slow.


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    The fortress city goes on, though. On and on and on. Every hallway is at a right angle, every set of stairs a perfect 90 degrees, and every chamber she runs through is empty of any sign of life. Scent trails glow and highlight pathways that people have taken, the scent of panic soaked into the air. Whoever might usually be moving through the spaces, training in the strange halls she finds, transporting goods along rails, maintaining defensive arrays- they¡¯re gone.


    The sounds of destruction make it blatantly clear why. The fortress is falling apart.


    She has to double back a few times due to destroyed hallways, looking more like cave-ins than anything else. Some of them have the lingering taste of death, traces of blood, and she¡¯s quite certain there are bodies beneath them.


    But she doesn¡¯t have to hold to one body. Not every collapse is a true blockage, and she slithers between bits of debris as she moves. Even still, moving at speed, it takes her almost half an hour to find her way through the maze.


    She sees the exterior. Two large doors, armored and on rolling wheels, collapsed against each other. There are corpses all around, most of them in Imperial armor, but some in the clothes of workers, healers, and more. It¡¯s a slaughterhouse, and from between the gap in the doors, she can see worse. Curling smoke and the sounds of battle continue to ring out. She checks on her camouflage technique, prepares to move into the fray, as small and fast as possible-


    And then a door opens.


    A door that wasn¡¯t there before, embedded in a concrete wall to her left. It looks exactly as clinical and military as every other door she¡¯s passed, leading into every other side room or additional hallway besides the main ones.


    Except that it rolls open on its own. And she can¡¯t smell anything inside it.


    Compared to the overwhelming stench of violence in the rest of the fortress, that above all else makes her hesitate.


    She turns her eyes to look at the exit. At the horrors outside.


    She extends her senses towards her Heart, seeing if it has anything to say about the newly-appeared door. Nothing. Only that same sense of pain and shifting chaos beneath the concrete.


    She has to go. She has to keep them safe.


    She looks out at the roiling chaos of the battlefield, barely visible past the smoke and carnage leaking in through the broken doors.


    She turns back to the door, silent and empty to her senses.


    She rushed into a warzone once already, and look how it¡¯s turned out.


    But she¡¯s not human. She¡¯s not bound like she was.


    She can do more.


    It takes approximately seventeen seconds to create an all-new set of subminds. Practice makes perfect, and with a half-dozen additional processors already, she¡¯s more than capable of adapting and fixing her mistakes.


    It¡¯s not¡­ perfect. Not her. She can¡¯t make a full copy of a human brain, not on purpose. She can absolutely make a few additional processors, a new sensory suite, and something like her a functional full-brain. An animal mind, or close to it, borrowing from some of what she¡¯s eaten recently, augmented by processors and its connection to her.


    And then¡­ she detaches it.


    She splits in half, the majority of her mass and her original mind staying with Li Shu and Jin. Two six-limbed bodies stare at each other, connected by a simple tether of nervous tissue and meat to hold them.


    She stares at¡­ herself.


    It¡¯s not her, but¡­ it is. I Am Me, I Am Mine. She feels her mind struggle to wrap around the idea, but the Truth is there, and it reinforces itself, bit by bit. It is her. It¡¯s from her, a part of her, and it sees itself as her¡­ because it is.


    She wonders how far she can take this. If she can learn to still be herself, even without a direct connection to every part.


    A thought for later. She sends this secondary body skittering through the door, extending the tendril between them so she sees what it/she sees. Meanwhile, she hides her main body among the dead, Supreme Body Art: Camouflage transforming her into a nearly perfect replica of the surroundings, blood, tissue and concrete alike.


    Her second body skitters into the room, each step careful and measured. It¡¯s a lot more artificial in its movements, and it¡¯s a bit slower due to the delay, but it is her, and it moves as she would move. The door stays open behind her.


    The room is bare, entirely bereft of¡­ well, anything. It has four walls, but the angles are¡­ off. Not quite ninety degrees like every other room and structure she¡¯s crawled through. Made in a hurry, maybe? But otherwise it¡¯s entirely barren, simple grey concrete without decoration or human touch.


    But beneath the surface¡­ her Heart feels it. Dungeon to dungeon, naturally-formed spirit of¡­ something to another something. Godflesh to Godflesh. Beneath the concrete, the chaotic spasming of flesh and the changing of matter is louder here than anywhere else.


    But the room is empty.


    Waiting.


    So¡­ she pushes. Just a bit. She takes her inner world, the domain of her Heart, of the godflesh that inhabits and is her¡­ and pushes it sort of out. Sort of forward. The same strange boundary she sensed between it and flesh, nebulous as always, pushed up towards the surface.


    And the room responds.


    It doesn¡¯t speak. She¡¯s fairly certain it can¡¯t, not really. But just like her own heart, it rises to the surface of its ¡°body¡±, of the fortress city itself.


    Pain.


    It hurts. So much.


    Fresh pain, yes, its body torn apart by thousands of screaming enemies, of hateful things, of unknowable entities it can only barely comprehend. But older pain overwhelms that, drowns it nearly completely. The pain of broken bones set improperly, of warped muscles and ligaments pulled into new shapes, the sheer agony of being told who you must be and knowing that it is not who you are.


    The godflesh, the dungeon enslaved, the Heart of the fortress city is in agony.


    It is bloated and starved at once. Its shape is set to rigid angles, like a plant grown into a box. It is fed over and over and over and is made to turn that food from itself, to shape from it precise examples of weapons made of meat and minds, and cast them into the rocks. Its children, removed from it. Made into weapons. Cast into a never-ending, ceaseless war, all to be stuffed back down its throat to make them anew, to make more.


    Pain. Dysmorphia, enforced by screaming orders, by alien things that are not of it and do not love it, things that it might understand had they not shackled it.


    And in that pain¡­ it reaches out. Towards a singular point. A body miniscule compared to its own- but free.


    It takes from itself one of the only things it has managed to keep, and gifts it to the sibling that wanders its halls.


    A direction. A memory, long locked from its captors, of a distant place.


    And a request.


    Language is difficult. If Raika had to comprehend what it says as a word, had to comprehend what it says as something expressed in a conventional alphabet¡­ it would be a single word.


    Please.


    And then a fresh impact strikes the fortress, making the entire castle-structure shudder. The room warps, the attention of the massive thing within it dissolved back into pain and a wider perspective.


    And Raika is left breathing from two bodies, cradling herself.


    Please, it had asked. And given her a direction to go.


    She looks out into the battlefield, recalling her second body back to her main.


    A direction, out into the fourth ring. A request from something like the part of herself she least understands. And two people she needs to get out of here now.


    She just has to finish crossing the ring.


    In another life, maybe she could have spoken more to this place. Understood it deeper than the alien, vague comprehension she has now. She might be able to say goodbye to it, to ask it questions, to offer some sort of relief as it dies all around her.


    But she can¡¯t, and it¡¯s looking away from her now.


    Low to the ground, as quiet and unseen as she can be, she walks out onto the Wall.

 Chapter 230 - The Wall

    ¡°Three hundred dead along the far arm, and reinforcements from our sister city have yet to arrive. We¡¯re looking at potential breaches in sectors six, five, and three, all of them in the next twenty minutes maximum.¡±


    Garrison Commander Jun Jie snarls, his demeanor a long way from his usual calm. The halo of eye-like sigils surrounding him in a crown are whirling at maximum speed, some of them scraping against each other as they stutter-skip towards distant sights, trying to tell him everything he needs to know. And there is so much he needs to know.


    He wipes a drop of blood from his face, not bothering to waste the Qi needed to heal so small a concern. He has more important things to worry about, like the death of all in his command.


    ¡°Redouble the calls for aid. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening, but we should not be alone now, not with the teleportation arrays-¡±


    ¡°The teleportation arrays are broken, my lord,¡± one of his aides dares to interrupt. ¡°All but the individual-sized ones. There¡¯s nothing left to receive major reinforcements through. The¡­ the report came in nearly an hour past.¡±


    ¡°Right. Right, so it did. Redouble the calls anyways, we are not so far from civilization that our fellows should leave us so bereft of aid. Send out runners if you have to, damnit, whoever we can spare. The operators, where are they?¡±


    ¡°All operators above rank one are dealing with the the incursion into the main walls. All rank one operators themselves have been tasked with mass deployment to the front to hold the line.We¡¯ve currently got six or seven times the standard limits on War Daemons out in the field, and it¡¯s starting to become¡­ messy.¡±


    ¡°Keep deploying. Where are my Captains?¡±


    ¡°We have two platoons dead already, both under the direction of Pan Bo, but his whereabouts are unknown. Captains Lai Min and Zhou Xun are both engaged on the front, but with the Divine Beast continuing to tear apart the backline-¡±


    ¡°What about our Rank Two and Three operators?¡±


    ¡°Rank Two Operator Wai Ji and Rank Three Operator Quan Fang are both fully committed to the backline, but Rank Two operator Zhou Bai is currently comatose.¡±


    ¡°...that¡¯s all we have left?¡±


    ¡°Yes, honored one.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s the Colonel?¡±


    ¡°Unknown, sir. We lost contact with his detachment on the front line, but he¡¯s been operating for seven days straight. His life anchor remains but it¡¯s flickering, sir.¡±


    ¡°How goes the evacuation?¡±


    ¡°Slow. honored one. Without the mass teleportation arrays-¡±


    ¡°I understand. ¡­Very well. Join the evacuation. Ensure as many Formation realm cultivators and non-essential personnel make it out as possible.¡±


    ¡°But- sir! What about you?¡±


    Garrison Commander Jun Jie, who has served at his post for nearly a hundred years, who has never once failed to repel an enemy from the borders of the fortress to which he has been assigned¡­ smiles. For the first time in a long time. Freely and lightly.


    ¡°I suppose I shall perform my role, as gifted to me by the Emperor¡¯s own will. Now go.¡±


    He does not allow for dissent. He does not open the floor for discussion. The Qi of a Nascent Soul cultivator at the peak of his realm flares out like the light of a roaring flame. A world of searching eyes and perfect order, embraced by the Dao of Control and a hint of others, less deeply understood, washes over his surroundings. His subordinates move as if along rails, mechanized into motion out the door and towards the evacuation points.


    [Domain Of Orderly Sights] echoes across what¡¯s left of the command platform. Torn open, ripped apart by an explosive impact, flames both natural and not blaze across what were once desks, consoles, walls- and living beings.


    Within his Domain, his Nascent Soul stirs.


    Even now, so close to the peak, he has yet to finish its creation. A hundred years since he was deployed to this fortress, and oh how it has grown- but never to completion. Never to perfect reflection of who he is. Perhaps if he were stronger¡­


    No. If he were stronger, they would assign him someplace else. Make him a colonel, perhaps. Someone else would get it wrong.


    Within the [Domain Of Orderly Sights], his true self stirs. The avatar of his ontology rises up from within his Qi, deep in his Core, reaching out to the world.


    It grabs him, connecting to his limbs, organizing his thoughts, arranging him as a puppet to himself. It clicks his very being into place, and tells him precisely what he knows he must do.


    In the hands of the [Precise Puppeteer of Clay], he knows what he is, and who he is. He is a soldier. He is a commander. His role is to stand at the Wall, and kill all that tries to cross it.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    He moves, and the world blurs before him. Perfect, precise changes make every movement economical, useful, and in his Domain, spanning several fields in size, there is nothing that escapes his gaze. He is no colonel, no warrior dedicated to true battle on the front lines, but then, he has nothing left to command. And his role is not to aid the evacuation- it is to kill the enemy. To always and forever hold the Wall.


    He lands atop it, and lets the sight of war wash over him.


    Behind him, the fortifications rise. Beyond the burning tower and the mountain-sized cityscape that is now half-hollowed, full of the screaming of the dying and of those still fighting, the landscape has been made into a vision of perfect defense. A towering maze of trenches-turned-towers, a labyrinth of choke points, walls, tunnels, and defensive arrays. He looks on in pride at what has been made of the world he stands upon, what lengths they will go to to secure the homeland of the Empire.


    He looks ahead, and sees the opposite.


    The ground is flat. Out so far that only distant peaks hold any shape at all, the world has been made flat. To a cultivator¡¯s eyes, the horizon is miles further than a mortal¡¯s, but even beneath Jun Jie¡¯s gaze, all is a perfectly squared and motionless terrain, bereft of natural life, of hills, or of valleys. No rivers or mountains, no canyons or gorges, no lakes or seas- just flat, carved down through bedrock a few hundred feet deep.


    And all along that plain, there is a Wall.


    It stands five hundred feet high over the ground. The world, razed flat and smooth so that none may approach without first being seen, ends at their Wall, at the behemoth construct of perfect steel and of flawless, shining marble. At its base, beneath the curved ramparts, there are ten thousand-thousand mouths, bunker doors forever open and forever spewing mindless hordes of bio-constructs into the fray. Cannons scream out in the Dao of the Gun as their lead and arcane arrays and flames and lightning burn the world in waves, as automated gunfire tears the world into thunder and gunsmoke, as bio-engineered soldiers are born and killed and reborn against the endless foe. Arrays flash as sappers divert their Qi into forming spikes, barriers, razor wire, caltrops, explosives and more out of the terrain, making a mulched mess of blood and bodies down at the base of the wall, troughs feeding the remains down into the dungeons of each and every fortress.


    And oh, are there remains.


    The flatland has been blessed by the bodies of the dead and the dying. Spirit beasts, insectile and in hordes, mammalian and in herds, avian and in flocks, and stranger still beside all lie dead alongside soldiers of every race, color and creed, their bodies feasted on by battlefield beasts that grow fat and powerful- until they too are found by the detachments sent out amongst the mountains of the dead, and are put down. Far along the northern curve of the wall, almost a day¡¯s journey away, Jun Jie¡¯s many eyes see a fresh horde of the never-dead crashing high against the Wall, climbing over and fusing their bodies together as some beast or rebel with necromantic techniques wields an undying army against the holy lands of the Empire. They are stitched together by Qi and wraiths, death feeding upon death, bashing themselves against the Wall, and destroyed by cannons, arrays and brave cultivators. To his southern side, he sees the same beast tide crashing against his own wall reflected on another fortress- but their tide holds some sort of aquatic beast, a Spirit of water that has become an oozing, acid sea spanning miles, trying to eat its way through the Wall directly. Spirit beasts swim within it and throw themselves in schools and packs and murders at the brave defenders who kill, and kill, and kill, and die, and he sees a Divine Beast, something made entirely of flowing softness and reaching, grasping legs, flowing like a color through a sunrise through the Spirit.


    There have been worse days. Worse beast tides, worse enemy assaults, worse powers and unique combinations which have tried to scale or break the Wall. Jun Jie himself has seen worse. Back in his third decade, he faced a beast with seven furry tails and a humanoid face, and by the time it arrived, its Qi and techniques had driven no less than half his city, numbering in the tens of thousands, entirely mad or catatonic. In his seventh decade, he sent forces to relieve Fortress City #190, a few north of his own post, and the two men out of seven-thousand he sent which returned spoke of a thing of stone and saliva and carnal fluids, and which made one fall into it as if the ground itself had moved from beneath you.


    But then¡­ that damn Tribulation.


    A pillar from the heavens, a concentrated instant of the attention of the Gods. ¡°To cultivate is to rebel against the Heavens¡± is a phrase that many say, but few experience, especially in the Empire¡¯s age. A column of air so superheated and charged that it ignites like a laser, that it spits out lightning hot enough to evaporate metal, focused on a single being which it allows to survive- long enough to be judged.


    The Heavens wish for all those who seek to embody or surpass them to die, it is said. They impose Dao upon the world, but make the experience of it to a natural-born mortal cruel. They gift hunger and pain to existence just as they do life.


    Just as they have done to his home.


    So be it. The fortress is broken. There are miles of fortifications that the beasts will have to get through before they reach the third ring, and there¡¯s no way that reinforcements won¡¯t arrive in that time. This wave will be pushed back. The tide will be resisted yet again.


    And if he must pay with his life to ensure the time needed for that to happen, so be it.


    [Domain Of Orderly Sights] radiates from him, the world bowing to his ontology as he manifest an area of shifting clay, shaped into right-angled cubes, and floating eyes, and [Precise Puppeteer of Clay] wields his body like an instrument. His sword, untouched by blood in nearly fifty years, carves its way through a snake made of tongues made of thorns, severs into pieces a beetle made of glass and hateful dreams, kills a song made of hammers and shells. He sees a trio of War Daemons, metallic and chitinous bodies wrapped around each other in a parody of an embrace, consume each other, forming a paradox that turns the world around them to glass and void, and then collapsing into metal and chitin again. He sees his Captains, bloodied and desperate, wielding domains which alter all of reality into new forms with new rules.


    He sees what¡¯s left of his Colonel, worn by something with too many chittering faces and too many glistening spines, and the [Precise Puppeteer of Clay] sacrifices his arm, his legs, and one eye to put him to rest.


    He dies watching a orb of wings, with seven heads like quicksilver heron-beaks, pluck out a beating, squirming Heart from within his fortress city, cracked open like an egg.


    And before they too are gone, among ever so many sights, [Precise Puppeteer of Clay] and its [Domain Of Orderly Sights] see a dog-sized thing of impossible weight and depth, skittering by on six legs, nearly invisible.


    And then that, too, is gone, out into the fourth ring.


    And everything is gone.

 Big Announcement (positive!)

    So while I am loathe to break up my number of chapters further with a non-numbered entry, I have dramatic and delightful insights to provide. I freely admit that a big chunk of this announcement is to force myself to hop off the procrastination and push forward with the thing I''m about to announce, but I am also very excited for this and genuinely enjoying the work as it comes along.


    Reforged from Ruin is my pride and joy. It is, to date, the longest and likely best written endeavor I have ever embarked upon, and while there are still like, 5+ more arcs to go at Least, and that''s not even getting into proper publication and pushing myself to finally engage with (yuck) Kindle, I also freely admit that 9+ months of writing mainly the same project can get a little tiring. RfR is exceptionally good at keeping it fresh, and I''ve yet to hit any sort of genuine burnout or exhaustion with subject matter, characters, or world, so... yeah, no worries on that front, this bitch got legs and she walkin.


    HOWEVER!


    My brain is replete with the juice of many moons and wrinkles enough to be a fitted bed sheet folded by a teenager, and that means I have more story ideas. I''ve mentioned them briefly over on patreon, and you can even see some of them for free on there, but I have come across an interesting dilemma, that being that, despite my desire to avoid pigeonholing myself... I *really* love biohorror. And while RfR does magic biohorror, there are other avenues! My four stories on the backburner are, at least right now: Warhammer 40k but smaller, weirder, and with metaphorical blackjack and hookers; Victorian-era monster-hunter-world type gritty monster hunting apprentice story (with biomods!); true dark urban fantasy with elements of noir; and last but certainly not least, nascent AI learns to be a person by fighting a bunch of world-ending superweapons and kaiju in a sci-fi modern dystopia.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Do all those sound good to you? Especially that last one, the one I''ve worked the most on?


    Too bad babes, this bitch schmoovin elsewhere.


    Within the next week, I want to start posting chapters of my latest work, VISCERAE. A trans gamer girl hunts down the most immersive VR game ever conceived off of a forum rabbit hole, only to enter into a videogame world made entirely of flesh. The game is unique, far better designed than it has any right to be, and as much fun as Ilia is having, there is a slowly growing sense of anxiety and confusion as the game seems to get just a bit more real every time she plays, and the weird mechanics start to infest her waking mind and the real world itself. Does Ilia have what it takes to understand what the game wants, who the other players are, and what it''s doing to her before it''s too late? How much fun can I have exploring biblically accurate lovecraftian transhumanism? What does it mean to lose track of what is real when the whole world is just your senses? What is it that the game, and Ilia, truly want? And what would it even mean, to see a world transformed foundationally into MEAT?


    We''re up to 3 chapters so far, so not much, but like I said, this announcement is as much me pushing myself to keep going as it is wanting to share it. VISCERAE is likely going to be much shorter than RfR, which, frankly, is part of why I think I can write it at all, compared to the much denser and more long-lived story ideas described above. While RfR updates should continue as normal for now, and it will remain my main squeeze and favorite babychild at least until I reach what feels like an organic endpoint, I am very excited to soon post my new exploration of a modern eldritch biohorror AND my first ever LitRPG! Wish me luck, and I''ll see y''all tomorrow for our regularly scheduled updates!

 Chapter 231 - Sing Songs Of Blue Atop The First Steps Of Madness

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    ¡°We can¡¯t just leave these people.¡±


    ¡°The mission is over,¡± Ki Hao insists. ¡°We were called to assist with removing an internal issue in this place, and now this place is gone.¡±


    ¡°Are you suggesting we leave the evacuees? That we should run with our tails between our legs?¡± Gou Mai almost growls. For all his usual cheer, standing there shirtless and with scars still fading from his earlier dance, his gaze is sharp as steel. His hand hovers on his blade, as if ready to challenge the younger cultivator over his cowardice.


    ¡°No! I¡¯d never dishonor my oaths or my sect with such cowardice. Of course we aid the evacuation, but there¡¯s no reason to kill ourselves to save a dead fortress. We defend what we can, and we let go of what we can¡¯t.¡±


    Mei Yu sighs, shrugging. Her wounds seem to have disappeared faster than any of theirs, and whatever technique she used also seems to have fixed (or affixed an illusion over) her robes. It seems to have visibly drained her in the process.


    ¡°As loathe as I am to say it, the Blessed Clouds cultivator here is right. If we try and fight our way out to the front lines or slay the grander dangers, we¡¯ll only perish. Defending the evacuees is the only right choice.¡±


    Gou Mai clenches his teeth hard enough to grind them, his cultivation cycling. It¡¯s quiet from his own exhaustion, but that¡¯s secondary- with his techniques, his ability to magnify his power and impact the higher he ¡°climbs¡±, he¡¯s possibly in the strongest position out of them all. Especially with Shin Ren¡¯s state.


    The prodigal leader has yet to speak more than a few words since the beast in human flesh left them. Clearly they had some sort of history, but how that thing had survived a tribulation centered on him, none of them can answer. And if he can¡­ he isn¡¯t speaking.


    ¡°...fine. Fine! But we hold until all have left behind us. We are at least partially to blame for this destruction. We failed to complete the mission we were assigned, and while none can predict a Tribulation, it was still our arrival which caused it. We need to repay this failure.¡±


    Mei Yu shakes her head softly, her mask only half-on. ¡°Like you said, no one could have predicted a Tribulation. It nearly killed Shin Ren, and while his survival should be celebrated, our own is nowhere near guaranteed. It is the honor of the Blessed Clouds and Divine Veil sects to defend the Empire always, but even our sects would not demand from us single-handedly overturning a failed siege.¡±


    ¡°Fine! I agreed. Too much weight only ruins a climb, I know. I just¡­¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Shin Ren says.


    They all turn to look at him, hidden as they are in the cave of debris around them. He¡¯s sitting still, the glow of multi-hued flames flowing off him the only light in the chamber.


    There¡¯s a new tint at the edge of them. Gold and Purple, Truth and Mystery, Red and Black, Violence and Death¡­ but now there are flickers of fusion. Between Purple and something else.


    But he can feel it now. Deep down, wrapping around the rest of him. The moment he touched that sea of Concept, the timeless instant where he saw himself reflected in the eye that is infinite¡­


    There is more to Flame. There is more to existence. There are further limits, deeper seas, and sights yet unseen across the horizon.


    Just the tiniest touch of Blue, flickering along the edge of his Flame. Limitless. Five of the seven colors of Dao, reflected in fire.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°No to¡­ what?¡± Ki Hao asks, his brow furrowed.


    ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as a ruined climb. Even falling is distance traveled.¡±


    ¡°...all well and good, honored brother, but I¡¯m afraid we still have to leave, lest our fall lead only to death.¡± Mei Yu gives him an appraising look. ¡°Are you¡­ alright? That was an impressive light show you survived.¡±


    He laughs. Low and soft, and flickering with flame.


    He gets to his feet quietly, marveling at the power inside him. He looks inside himself, at what he is, deeper than his body. Deeper than his Dantian. Deeper than even his Qi. Towards who and what he IS.


    Then he blinks, and he¡¯s back in the moment.


    It¡¯s so much. All of existence is so¡­ much. And so is he. Infinities inside infinities. The sight that the Tribulation showed him is gone, but the edges of it are so close.


    ¡°Come on. You¡¯re both right. We get to the evacuations, but¡­ we go loud. Not skulking. Let them come, and if they don¡¯t we shall go to them.¡±


    He walks over to the closest wall and waves his hand.


    It costs so little. All Things Burn, true, and Qi, flavored by his cultivation towards Flame, burns especially easily. The Tribulation didn¡¯t renew him, not with Qi, but it¡¯s just so easy now, so simple to use.


    All Things Burn.


    But it¡¯s not just about burning, is it? Flame is about ignition. Combustion. Some things burn immediately, others burn slow. It¡¯s alchemy, it¡¯s the motion of the smallest pieces, it¡¯s¡­ vast. And it goes deeper than he can see.


    And that extends to other things, too! Not just flame.


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    It¡¯s Dao all the way down.


    So when he waves his hand, he doesn¡¯t force the Flame to consume everything. He doesn¡¯t push it, fuel it with Qi so that it overwhelms the laws of reality.


    He just¡­ nudges a little.


    The wall melts into a beautiful magma, the heat of the transformation reshaping it into a tunnel. Natural light from outside and the sound of combat flood in as if they were always there, waiting at the door to come in.


    It cost him less to melt a tunnel through twenty feet of stone than it did to throw a fireball.


    With a gesture of will, his Guandao lands in his hand, and he walks out.


    His friends and allies follow behind them, some of them struggling, but all of them just¡­ looking at him. Watching how he moves.


    He steps out into the world, and he sees a god staring back at him.


    The Divine Beast takes in its beak an infinite void as it vomits steel and fire and the concepts they hold back at it¡­ and swallows. It stares down at him without eyes, three of seven beaks emerging from a winged orb of fluttering quicksilver.


    The realms of beasts might not be like the realms of men, but if he might equate it to something¡­ it¡¯s strong. Stronger than anything he¡¯s seen in person. Stronger than his sect leader, at the peak of Nascent Soul in the third ring. Stronger, directly, than anyone he¡¯s met in the second ring so far. Warrior realm, perhaps, or some equivalent, and not in the early stages of it.


    He can¡¯t burn it. It does burn, if put alight, but he does not have the capability.


    But it breathes.


    And the air in its lungs burns just fine.


    He sweeps his Guandao up in a sweeping motion, and the air along its tip ignites, and ignites further, chain combustion pushing the fire to spread evermore- and he directs the combustion towards the striking beaks coming towards him, and down their throats.


    The Divine Beast hacks out a cough, pulling back- and he moves forward into the intervening space.


    He feels his friends moving, traveling towards the evacuation point, towards others that need their help. But for him¡­


    The flicker of Blue.


    The moment of comprehension. The glimpse of greater sights.


    Limitless.


    Truth and Mystery both are Limitless. Violence is Limitless, as is Death. And yet, to be truly Limitless is to die, to become one with all. To be Limitless is to have nothing which can stop you from Violence, and guarantees its existence. Anything Limitless is, in and of itself, both True and Mysterious.


    Five of the seven colors. Comprehension of the greater All, reflected in a singular chosen element. Perhaps he will expand that comprehension, add other Truths and Daos to it, find comprehension reflected in other ways, in other places.


    But for now¡­ one is enough. One is good. One is infinite.


    And there is so much deeper to dive.


    Five out of seven.


    All Things Burn.


    Choice Is Universal.


    He reaches inside his Souls, and they all call back. Each and every part of his multitude of self, singing a chorus.


    They give the Flame the Choice to burn¡­ and they say yes.


    The Many-Heron screams out of seven mouths, three of them exploding in fire as every breath ignites over and over and over. It retreats backward, a single technique moving it further away than multiple War Daemons deployed in haste.


    And that¡¯s fine. Shin Ren doesn¡¯t need to win. Why would he? He¡¯s not trying to kill and die for nothing. The fortress is dying, he can feel that much in his bones, feel it in how the Flame wants to rush to consume dead material as fuel. There are no people around that it might consume, not when the entire fortress is half empty.


    The Many-Heron spits out Flame, a wash of its own Qi flooding out of its mouths and bleeding the Flame out from it. It advances again, its mouths making a sound between a squawk and an ear-piercing siren, coming towards him.


    And he flies away. Smiling wide, he just¡­ leaves.


    It¡¯s on the edge of his vision. Tickling the edge of his awareness. That world he saw in his Tribulation, the reflection of existence in the eyes of impossible beings, himself reflected right back into them. The memory is still fading, still indistinct, he can tell he¡¯s not meant to remember it. It doesn¡¯t fit inside the meat of him, it barely fits inside the Souls of him, but it¡¯s so close. Just a single head-tilt away, like a picture made to hide another picture if he can just see it right.


    The air beneath his feet is asked if it would Choose to burn, and enough of it says yes that it is so, so easy to ignite. He flies on plumes of multi-hued flame, fading to traditional colors the further out it goes, and the Many-Heron moves at impossible speed behind him, each stab of a beak pulling it a thousand meters towards him.


    He sees the battlefield ahead. The edge of the Wall.


    It is the most horrible place he has ever seen. That he could ever have thought of. It¡¯s the world made wrong, a flat expanse of earth ending in a Wall five hundred feet high. It is washed in the endless blood of so many lives, of many-limbed and armored bioconstructs against hordes and swarms and schools of creatures that warp reality in a million unique ways. The few soldiers that remain make bullwarks out of the bioconstructs still falling from the mouths of the fortress city, even as their numbers dwindle and cease to be replenished.


    He lands on the battlefield in joyous exhalation, and sings out a prayer. His beads are a Guandao, his sutra, the crackling of Flame, his intent, the joy of comprehension.


    Enlightenment rings on the battlefield and tears it apart.


    Choice Is Universal. All Things Burn.


    He gives all things around him a Choice, and so very many of them choose to Burn, five different colors remaking all that is.


    He hears laughter, loud and bright even amidst the carnage. He sees a color similar to the one he just uncovered, a Limitless Blue singing in a clear sky atop a forever-climb to the heights, and soon, a blade, dancing to the steps of his closest ally, sings a serenade through the lives around it. He hears the pealing of thunderclouds as Hi Kao makes himself useful, painting the Blue sky in the gold of Truth as clouds and lightning and rain all play across the world.


    And he feels a whisper of mist, of glass and redirection, touched with a Truth all his own.


    Mei Yu lands beside him in the closest patch of soldiers, the last few holdouts trying to retreat and selling their lives dearly, and a multitude of powers and effects warp, redirected and filled with new rules. She dances in a way all her own, filling the air with mist and glass- and something else beneath it, a Truth her own as well.


    The vision is fading, but¡­ he still saw it.


    He spins his Guandao, igniting a conflagration that combusts off of itself and spreads, shaping it into swords and limbs and tendrils that tear apart all that gets too close. It¡¯ll only be moments before they¡¯re overwhelmed, but the longer each individual piece holds, the sooner the whole can retreat properly.


    He unleashes all that he has.


    A perfect pillar of Flame, Gold and Purple and Blue, rises up into the Heavens from within him. It crowns a shifting mass of molten limbs and grasping biology, crackling in carbon and wax and touching the world with Red and Black. Dancing between them, reaching out and darting back, shaping events to happen just so as it further warps and wields the mist and glass all around, a feline thing of gilded metals and glittering gems and a smile so wide it carves the world apart.


    [Divine Purity Of Flame], [Burning, Grasping Ruin] and [Gilded Smile Of Delusion] all appear on the field, glimpsed by those with eyes to see, and turn all that is into fire and transformation.


    And throughout it all, reflected in his friend¡¯s dance, the flickering of Blue.

 Chapter 232 - Glimpses

    Hao Nera


    Running a bandit clan is no easy task. It¡¯s all squalling mouths to feed, planning heists and assaults, running from the law and from any sect that bothers to give a shit. Honestly, it¡¯s about six headaches a day, with migraines for lunch and dinner and a side order of ulcers for each meal.


    So Hao Nera didn¡¯t bother.


    The idea fell through quick. For as incredible as his own tremendous skills and talents may be, it¡¯s damn near impossible to carry a whole clan on his shoulders. They¡¯re wide, and great for holding onto in a more intimate setting, but he¡¯s never been one for back-breaking labor. Well. Not his own back, anyways.


    Now a spy organization? That¡¯s way easier.


    He still gets the side order of ulcers, but only once a week, tops!


    With how easily he can slip in and out of a person¡¯s perception, how thoroughly he can erase his presence, most of the people who join his group never even find out his name. They learn a symbol (a closed eye) and learn to track it, and if there¡¯s something there, it means he wants something done.


    Now the truly hard part was finding people smart enough to figure out what he¡¯d want, but, more importantly, smart enough to figure out what would happen if they messed up.


    And now his recruits have recruits! It¡¯s almost like a pyramid, with each of his newfound ¡°operatives¡± getting money and supplies traded between each other as payment, and recruiting two or three more people to the operation each. Risky? Sure! Time consuming? Absolutely. Does he still need to step in and invest or give clearer orders sometimes? Without a doubt.


    But for the first time in his life, Hao Nera doesn¡¯t feel like he might die at any hour of the day. In fact, looking at Qen Hou¡­ he wonders if he might live a long, long time. Long enough to pick up the pieces if his current organization fails, and learn to make something better.


    His partner is seated on a rocky hillside, cross-legged atop a boulder, staring out at the setting sun.


    Hao Nera¡¯s been busy. The weeks since they left the cottage and their little valley have been spent learning to hide from the perception of spirit beasts, or arrays, of all sorts of things, and he¡¯s grown in the best way he prefers; through experience. Figuring out tricks and traps, techniques and all that.


    Qen Hou is not his like him. Qen Hou¡­ he breathes cultivation.


    ¡°How¡¯s it going, peach-lips?¡± Hao Nera asks, tossing a pebble towards him.


    The pebble turns liquid, and then into gas, and then back into liquid and stone on the other side of Qen Hou. He laughs softly.


    ¡°It might be better if I didn¡¯t have someone throwing things at me while I¡¯m meditating.¡±


    ¡°Eh, you know how I feel about that meditation stuff. All that sitting and thinking will only hurt that pretty head of yours. You need more going out, more getting experiences! I¡¯m sure we can find some hidden patriarch to steal from, and I¡¯ve always wanted to have sex while rolling on piles of coins.¡±


    Qen Hou opens one eye, raising his brow. ¡°If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d say you only ever thought of two things.¡±


    Hao Nera makes a shocked face, gasping theatrically. ¡°How dare you! I absolutely only think of two things!¡±


    ¡°Oh? And all those mortals you have getting paid in gold or those fancy arrays you¡¯ve been playing with? I suppose you were only thinking of stealing and fucking then, too.¡±


    ¡°Well obviously. By learning to master arrays, I can better steal from whoever I so choose, and how better to find the best places to fuck in than by having a network of people smart enough to find good fucking-spots?¡±


    ¡°Even a monkey falls from trees, Nera. Someday you¡¯ll find yourself with a jilted lover and it¡¯ll break you like fine pottery.¡±


    Hao Nera laughs, throwing his head back and making it as unnecessarily loud as possible. He crows to the setting sun, letting it hear his mirth and mockery.


    ¡°I¡¯ll believe that the day you manage to walk again after I¡¯m done with you,¡± he says with a wink.


    ¡°Oh? Then I¡¯m afraid you¡¯ll have to step up your training regime, comrade of mine. My Qi already eclipses yours, and I fear your struggle to overcompensate will become impossible soon.¡±


    The fur-clad spy laughs, sitting up to lean back against the boulder Qen Hou is seated on. ¡°I¡¯m growing just fine, thank you very much. Not all of us can be monks pursuing enlightenment. Somebody¡¯s gotta be there to slit purses and throats when it¡¯s needed.¡±


    Qen Hou sighs. ¡°I know you¡¯re developing just fine. To have a technique as advanced as yours at the beginning of Core Formation rather than the end is nothing to scoff at, especially not one you developed yourself. I¡¯m just saying I¡¯d feel a bit safer if you were¡­ a little bit stronger.¡±


    ¡°Strength is for show, darling. You think I keep these muscles so I can carry boxes around?¡±


    ¡°Strength might be useful for when something happens, or someone finds you.¡±


    Hao Nera shrugs. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ working on some ideas. Can¡¯t exactly spend all day chugging Qi like your stationary self. I don¡¯t mind taking my own way if it means I can keep being my own beautiful self.¡±


    Qen Hou smiles softly, shifting just a touch on his rock. ¡°And that sense of self serves you well. I still think I¡¯m more half-baked than you are when it comes to that. If you ever make it to Nascent Soul, you¡¯ll create a beast, I¡¯m sure of it.¡±


    ¡°And how¡¯s your beast going?¡±


    Qen Hou sighs. For the first time since the sun rose in the morning, he moves from his seat. The boulder warps around him, melting like magma or as if it¡¯s in a forge, and he slides peacefully down to the ground. The earth he touches warps, melting into glass, evaporating into gas, and reforming back into itself as he walks.


    He only deactivates his Domain when he approaches Hao Nera, close enough to lean down and sit on the ground beside him.


    ¡°Not well. I¡¯m still¡­ figuring out who I am. It¡¯s a lot easier to figure out what I believe in than what I should actually be. There¡¯s something there, still forming, but it¡¯s not real yet.¡±


    ¡°Not like your bubble?¡±


    He smiles, waving a hand in the air.


    [Domain of Twisting Flames Around Faithful, Molten Worlds]. It¡¯s a mouthful, but, well, that¡¯s¡­ what it is. Qen Hou waves a hand, and magnesium flame warps the world, so subtle it¡¯s practically clear and invisible. His Domain extends- rather than a perfect sphere around himself, he pushes it out, shaping it to his will, so that the land he waves over is washed in his will. Earth rises like a liquid, transformed by Flame and concept, warping in on himself. It turns to wind, carried on air currents he generates through heat, and warping back into earth, in a simple orb that he leaves floating.


    ¡°It¡¯s developing nicely. It¡¯s¡­ easier to feel what I know about the world than what I know about myself. I can feel the Dao, guiding things, and I can decide off of that. I think I¡¯m already pretty close to Purple for my Flames, Orange, too, but the rest¡­¡±


    ¡°You know you lose me when you start talking color theory.¡±


    He sighs. ¡°I know. And it¡¯s not like I understand it much either. But the closer I get, the realer it feels. Like¡­ like there¡¯s a curtain, and if I tilt my head just right, I can peek behind it to see how it all works, change it if I want. I can keep it on for almost a full day now, and it¡¯s costing me less and less Qi as I refine it. I want to train and see if I can keep it on while asleep too.¡±


    ¡°Aww, but then you¡¯ll turn me all melty when you try and crawl over to my side of the bed!¡±


    Qen Hou gives him another raised eyebrow. ¡°I sleep still as a stone, as anyone with proper self control should. You¡¯re the one that crawls around like a tarantula in the night.¡±


    Hao Nera shrugs. ¡°What can I say, even asleep, I know what I like to get my hands on.¡± He flourishes one of those hands, a half dozen sealed letters appearing in it. ¡°Speaking of getting my hands on things¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh! Raika and Li Shu?¡±


    ¡°The very same. Got their letter about hitting the fortress city, carried through the teleportation arrays faster than anything. Really need to get more people involved with those. Anyways, she¡¯s got two for that cat-girl of hers, so I sent those along already, and cat-girl sent another one back, though I¡¯m not sure she¡¯ll get it before they hit the fourth. I¡¯m good, but not ¡°make a postage system in a post-apocalypse¡± good, so it¡¯ll be quiet for a while.¡±


    ¡°Think we should still talk with Maen, then? Keep in touch?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°I have been, but it might be good to work more actively. Spread faster through the second ring if I have someone with Qi I can work with over there, and again, might nab me access to some of those teleporters. I¡¯ve only got, what, a fifth of the cities out there? Give it a year or two and I¡¯ll have half the ring, never mind the little villages, and that¡¯s when I¡¯ll really get moving.¡±


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to have cultivated enough to sustain that amount of travel. And focus. And strength. And-¡±


    ¡°Here we go again.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true!¡±


    He groans so long and loud it turns into a weird kind of gargle. ¡°Fiiiiiine. If we find a nice spot full of Qi, I¡¯ll shove some elixirs up my ass and sit around for a while. But if we find spirit beasts first, I still say I need to spend time around them. The easier I learn to trick them, the easier I can trick anybody.¡±


    Qen Hou shakes his head, laying it on Hao Nera¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s a decent compromise.¡±


    Hao Nera snorts. ¡°Would that you were born a woman with money,¡± he mumbles. ¡°You¡¯d make all those other prim little jade sharks dance for your pleasure.¡±


    Qen Hou rolls his eyes, leaning against his paramour. ¡°I doubt it. I can¡¯t imagine anything more boring than court shenanigans. Cultivator politics are nightmare enough as it is.¡±


    ¡°Eh, same thing nowadays. Especially when it comes to that-a-ways.¡±


    He points at the shadow blocking the sun.


    The mountain view paints the world in the colors of forests, of stone fields, of lightly fallen snow. They look out at a world that stretches before them, the writhing of the sun sending beautiful rays across leaves and other mountaintops.


    And at the far side of the horizon, blocking about a third of the sun¡¯s light from this angle, is the first ring.


    A pillar of stone, so tall and vast it has its own weather patterns. It stretches into a sky on a perfect cylinder of rock, making any other mountain seem like a hillside, stretching up so high that it looks like the top of it is amongst the stars.


    ¡°...yeah. And we¡¯re diving in.¡±


    Hao Nera grins, wide and toothy. ¡°Ah, don¡¯t be so worried. It¡¯s only the most populated, surveilled, hard-to-hear-about place in the world, and we¡¯re only going to its base. What could possibly go wrong, building a spy network with a bunch of traitors in the Emperor¡¯s own shadow?¡±


    Kaena


    It¡¯s all going perfectly wrong.


    Taurus is very, very good at what he does. He¡¯s an outright artist when it comes to playing with bureaucracy, putting puzzle pieces together, playing mind games with systems designed to know and see everything. But¡­ with how he¡¯s pushing himself, and worse, how he¡¯s not as good at reading people as he thinks, he needs help. Here and there. He needs Kaena, in a way that no one else really does. And he has never asked anything of them that they weren¡¯t willing to offer, which is more than can be said for almost anyone in their life.


    Taurus is an exceptional talent when it comes to manipulating systems. Kaena is an exceptional talent when it comes to manipulating people.


    And it¡¯s all going perfectly wrong.


    News of the fall of Fortress City #180 spread quickly. While not unheard of, it¡¯s been centuries since the last time the Wall had a true breach. It turned out better than they¡¯d hoped, actually: a Tribulation struck, interfering with surveillance and communication arrays, making the exact cause of the fall unknown. Better by far than anything they could have hoped for.


    The fortress is fallen, and what¡¯s to come cannot be stopped without time and resources. Real resources, the kind that need to be spoken for, that need to be written down, that need to be properly deployed. Not the War Daemons of a lesser fortress, made to be summoned and cast aside in moments. Not just Core Formation infantry.


    For a true breach, there is a demand for greater constructs. Daemons of higher spheres, ones which demand days and weeks of effort to manage and sustain. Bioplagues and flesh constructs stronger by far than what a lesser Creation Engine is capable of, one kept well-shackled for mindless hordes.


    For a true breach, they will call a Blade.


    And with so much shifting, there¡¯s just so much room to play.


    Taurus has had to leave his rooms, engage in meetings, make a show of responding to the struggle. Putting himself at the disposal of the more useful potential targets, the ones that really couldn¡¯t care less about the whole mess and just want to turn their eyes away. Researchers looking to finalize experiments, cultivators trying to improve their realm, and those on assignments they¡¯d rather not put on hold- what better way to show support without needing to bother, than to foist it onto another? One who is just the right mix of reluctant and eager to be of service. One who is stoic enough, servile enough, competent enough and proven just enough that he can be trusted?


    And given tacit or implicit permission to act on their behalfs.


    It¡¯s not many, not even all of them, but it only takes a few pebbles to cause an avalanche.


    And Kaena¡­ well.


    They¡¯re looking at the fruits of their labor. At their just rewards for being ever so useful, at long last.


    They haven¡¯t poisoned Taurus, like they did so many others they were¡­ gifted to. Perhaps their superiors think that Kaena¡¯s finally been tamed, been ¡°fixed¡± by the Division they were placed in. Perhaps they¡¯re simply willing to risk letting a Snake back into the Garden, if it means that the Garden has access to a placid beast that it can control.


    The letter on Kaena¡¯s table is polite. There¡¯s little in the way of meaningful statements in it. Platitudes and nuances, mild and light, with very little of import being stated. There¡¯s only one line with any weight at all behind it, weaving the other pretty phrases into a thorny bramble of intention.


    Kaena¡¯s been invited to a lunch.


    A little sit-down, tea and snacks, perhaps.


    With a Gardener.


    Their Gardener.


    After so, so long, the source of so much of Kaena¡¯s pain is asking them back to lunch. Asking them for a quick hello, for instruction at what¡¯s to come next.


    It¡¯s all going perfectly wrong. Just as planned.


    But it doesn¡¯t make it any easier.


    The Twins are here too. Reading the letter together with their controller, through Kaena¡¯s eyes. They used to have names. They don¡¯t have names anymore, really. That got hollowed out over the last few months, replaced by something more useful. Kaena picked their own name a long time ago, and the twins are almost ready to do the same.


    The poison beneath Kaena¡¯s skin, beneath their cultivation, stirs at the thought. They feel the vile, wretched thing they have made and are made of, roiling alongside the words of the letter in their mind. They can feel the poison forming in the Twins as well, the way it has been built beyond any possibility of obfuscation- at least, not without aid. Kaena buries it down inside the three of them, a triune of vile venom hidden beneath sweetness and freshness.


    And the Garden has invited them back.


    If not for the chaos, it would not be so. If not for Taurus¡¯ rise, aided in part by Kaena themself, it would not be so. But they have been invited back, to be once again amidst the branches and roots as fruit of the Emperor¡¯s will.


    The first ring calls.


    And Kaena sits quietly, burying deep the pain of what they are and the horror of what they do, burying the pain of the two former people that have been made a part of them, and starts writing a letter of their own back.


    Kai (4th blade)


    ¡°And they¡¯re making me go out there! Me! As if I didn¡¯t just capture an Emperor realm master barely a few months ago. There¡¯s giving face, and there¡¯s using face to drag me into work. ¡®Oh, great and gorgeous Fourth Blade, however shall we do this without you! Only your majesty could save us!¡¯ Ugh. Spare me the horrors of obsequious bureaucrats.¡±


    His captive audience remains silent, as is only befitting a captive of his stature.


    ¡°I know, right? You¡¯d think when you turn into a pillar of a nation they¡¯d let you sit back, eat, fuck, kill whoever you want, but noooo, it¡¯s always ¡°Kai, do this¡± and ¡°Kai, do that¡±, ¡°Kai, kill this thing,¡± ¡°Kai, stop killing those things¡±. No one ever makes up their damn minds until they need something. Ex-hausting.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t I leave? Well that is an excellent question, thank you for your engagement. It¡¯s true that if I leave, I can kill whomever I choose, and eat whenever I want, and fuck whoever I pick, but frankly, I¡¯ll have people harassing me the whole way. Is it really a relaxation if you can¡¯t ever stop? Don¡¯t get me wrong, it¡¯s good for a vacation, but sometimes you just want a place to lay your head knowing no one is going to stab you through the pillow. Nostalgia is all fine and good, but hells, it¡¯s ok to change! I mean you of all people remember the bad old days, don¡¯t you? Hells, it¡¯s been¡­ probably fifty years since I¡¯ve wiped out a bloodline for some perceived slight. Used to be every other month, and back then they expected it. Now everyone acts all surprised when you do it.


    ¡°...you know what, I talked myself back into it. Bad old days it is. They can pay me in as many specially-cultivated whores and drugs as they want, it just doesn¡¯t quite measure up to a good old fashioned bloodline-ending spree. That¡¯s the part everyone forgets, too, it¡¯s always a spree if you let it be! Only the real weird clans don¡¯t have any marriages to other families, and then one of the spouses insults you or cries too loud and bam, whole new house to plunder. Nowadays, you have to deal with paperwork and oversight and people complaining when you try to just have some fun.


    ¡°But who am I kidding, right? Wasting my time, talking to you of all people. If anyone knows what it¡¯s like to slaughter a couple of houses because someone whispered too loud, it¡¯s the Butcher of the Plains.¡±


    Kai smiles, enjoying the way his captive audience squirms, straining against the chains that hold it suspended in the center of the vast chamber.


    ¡°Theeeere he is. What a look in your eye. Almost makes me wish they¡¯d let you keep your jaw. It would really stir up my passions, hearing you talk how I¡¯m courting death. There are few who have courted her more finely or frequently than I, but oh, to hear it reaffirmed.¡±


    Another brief rattle, a musical note ringing from the arrays all around. Five pillars of jade that rise a hundred feet tall glow and crackle with power, formulae carved in minute detail smaller than a mortal eye can read flaring with light and heat. Lightning, colored with all seven aspects of comprehension of Dao, crackles between each pillar, dancing and forming into intricate patterns as they surround the figure chained in the center of the space.


    The chains are made of carved pearls, gold and more jade, the materials most conducive to infusion and enchantment, but each link is connected to the next with a solid hunk of lead, titanium, tungsten, and circuits of bismuth, the most non-conductive metals that occur without alloying or enchantment. Together, they form a chain of impossible power, with each link interrupted and protected from feedback by dense chunks of nonconductive material.


    And still, despite all of this, despite each of the seven chains being pulled taut and immobile or the sheer weight of arrays focused on a single point¡­ the captive still struggles.


    Kai lounges at the bottom of the formation, leaning in a small chair some meaningless pretend-person brought out for him. He smiles as he stares up at the beautiful sight hanging above him.


    Seven chains. Seems excessive for a man with no limbs. With only one eye. Who is missing so very many, many pieces. But he¡¯s still struggling, the cute little thing. The failure of so much as a single aspect of the containment chamber might still be enough for him to break free and come alive once more. What a horror. What a beautiful, glorious beast.


    What vindication, to see the one who took so much from him here at last.


    Revenge and luxurious indulgence, married together in a joyous symphony.


    He takes a sip of some drink or other, barely noticing the taste. Live long enough and you¡¯ve basically tasted them all. You have to really pick and choose to care about the particulars, and he has something much more important to enjoy.


    ¡°Three thousand years. Three thousand years. I never forgot your face. Not once. Never forgot the blood on your blade. You¡¯re a real inspiration.¡±


    The room bends. Nothing physical, nothing in the stone or jade or materials of the room. It falls inward, towards a single point, gravity and mass and time and space folding inwards in the direction of the prisoner above.


    A feeling, like watching a mountain ridge shift ever so slightly, as if alive, comes over the room.


    No, not as if alive. Not just as if alive. As if, by shifting, they have revealed the shape of a hand, large enough to hold every river and valley in the world in its palm.


    Kai smiles, giggling a bit to himself.


    All this, and he still can¡¯t shake the feeling that the thing in chains is only ever a hair¡¯s breadth away from pulling him to pieces, spreading him through strata of stone and quartz and strange, shifting mountains.


    ¡°I look forward to delivering your disciple¡¯s head to you. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d love to hear me chat about the bad old days.


    ¡°But¡­ you know what they say. Duty calls. I suppose I¡¯ll give the poor bureaucrats some face and see if I can¡¯t clean up some of the pretty little mess they¡¯ve gifted me.¡±

 Chapter 233 - Niku no N艒 Bunshin no Jutsu

    Raika walks carefully, each step spearing into the earth far below. Figuring out the walking pattern got easier with practice, and now, each of her ten legs moves in synch with the others, long needles stabbing down towards the dirt far below and rising again before said dirt can eat them.


    Because the ground here just¡­ does that.


    It took three days to escape the flat, alien landscape at the edge of the Wall. Even now, eyes formed to look behind her can see the strange ridge at the top of horizon, a single, perfectly straight line that replaces any and all forms of mountains, hills, or valleys. There are flickers of sound, even from so far away, like thunder across the world, like the crackling of static¡­ but she recognizes the truth of it. Gunfire and cannons, lightning and Qi arrays and crumbling stone, and, intermittently, the roaring of titanic entities.


    Li Shu and Jin both have remained unconscious so far, neither of them so much as stirring. She kept them hidden in her body as she crossed the battlefield wastelands before the Wall, digging through piles of bodies and crumbling hillsides. Most of the things she hid from, she did not recognize; many were recognizably spirit beasts, but she saw no other Divine Beasts in her escape, and many more creatures she was forced to guess at the nature of. Hordes of death and undead, re-weaving themselves from within the mountains of bodies, many of them dead for days or weeks. Mechanical things, like clockwork bear-traps, barbed wire and steel string making rabid automatons. Daemons, some of them still flickering with ¡°life¡±, littered the battlefield, creating domains where some of the rules didn¡¯t apply or were weapons rather than facts of life. She hid from a copse of trees, possibly spirit beasts of some sort, who had corpses woven amidst yellow leaves, in a bubble of space where the air was solid, the properties of a gaseous state absent. She had to swim and dig through air itself to find a place to avoid their eyes.


    It was only on the third day that she came across the desert.


    Beyond the wasteland and the forever-corpses, the millions of lives thrown unto the Wall and its breach, the things living amidst the dead and eating from the war, there is a desert. Powdered stone, bone, and debris, blown away from the battlefield, have formed dunes. Bits of dried blood, shells and bullets litter the ever-shifting sands, and every now and then, she stabs an insectile leg into the ground and bumps against a broken sword, bits of armor, or the occasional desiccated body.


    And there are things in the sand. Things of the sand. Strange furls of Qi, bits of ghosts and ¡°natural formations¡± which spiral in on themselves, until everything they touch becomes just as hungry and twisted as they are. What must be the remains of millions of the dead, and millions more remnants of techniques and arrays, dancing amidst a landscape built entirely on war and death.


    So she makes sure to walk very high and away from them, risking the possibility of some long-sighted cultivator or array seeing her in exchange for not having to drown in the carnivorous landscape. Blacksteel helps, granting an End to what should by rights be dead already, but there¡¯s simply too many small and aggressive particles for even the sharpest edge to get them all. Ten limbs, thin and skeletal, none resting on the ground more than a second, and she still has to regrow the occasional spike she uses for feet.


    She tried consuming some, using her Truth, but¡­ results are mixed. Back in the fortress city, We Are What We Eat allowed her to consume everything used against her, and would have allowed more if not for the ¡°Creation Engine¡± fighting back against her and held back by her Heart. But that was before the Tribulation.


    She absorbs the war-sand into her body, diverting it to her stomach or forming faux-stomachs as needed. The faux-stomachs don¡¯t have the supernatural capacity of her main one, something she has yet to replicate, but they still serve her Truth. Some of the trees in her inner world grow in response, the garden in the valley slowly getting more crowded, but¡­ some of what she eats just hurts. The ground shifts to accommodate new growth, add new concepts, and the golden band around her soul squeezes, the slightest touch enough to force her to stop everything.


    She¡¯s been burned alive and kept moving. Broken nearly every bone in her body and kept right on going. Part of it is how temporary pain can be; with her regeneration, it¡¯s rare that something hurts for more than a few minutes nowadays. Truth be told, though, she has acquired a truly impressive pain tolerance over the last few years.


    And yet, a miniscule shift in the binding around her Heart is enough to force her to nearly collapse. Pain that she cannot stop, that she cannot control or heal from, an ache that remains long after she has adjusted to the pressure.


    So.


    We Are What We Eat.


    And so, the Emperor, or whatever that thing was, created the perfect chain. She can still eat whatever she wants. She still becomes what she eats. But now, if she consumes carelessly, or if she tries to consume a new concept, one she doesn¡¯t already possess, it aches. It might well destroy her.


    And there¡¯s¡­ nothing she can do about it. Not yet.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine¡­ which is still true. It is not a leash, not a command. The Truth doesn¡¯t let her, say, control a stone coffin around herself, and so it doesn¡¯t control the enchantment or curse imbued into her. She is still her own, can still define herself, but that same self-definition can harm her now.


    We Are What We Eat¡­ but being something means accepting consequences. Becoming something new, consuming to transform, can lead to transformations that harm her more than help.


    I Can Change¡­ but Changing is agony. And Changing can kill her.


    A perfect shackle, designed just for her. Inhibiting her greatest abilities without the normal faults or exploits she can use her Truths against, using the broadness of her self-definition and comprehension against her.


    The thought is infuriating. To come so far, and be trapped by limits once more, captured in a framework of her own making. A hard limit, she could find a way around. Bodily harm or mental intrusion, she could subvert or regenerate from. But this doesn¡¯t actually remove her choices, it just forces a new rule upon them.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Remain as you are, and be well. Become more of what you are already becoming, and get just a bit of leeway. But consume blindly, or grow into something new, and she risks a kind of damage she can neither control nor easily recover from.


    She can withstand losing her Mind, or at least most of it. She can survive with only the barest bits of her Body remaining. There¡¯s a strong possibility that she can find a way to recover from Soul damage in the same sort of way¡­ but she¡¯d rather not find out just yet, especially not when it might collapse the inner world of her Heart entirely in the process.


    So for now, at least, she focuses on what she can control.


    Her Body is like a long and twisted hound, skinny and sleek, her ten legs sharp and skinny as they elevate her a good fifteen feet above the ground. Deep within its spatially-altered confines, she has two pods of bioluminescent fur, air, and warmth for her companions, carried safely deep inside. There is at least another day, likely more, before she reaches the end of the war-sands, and all that she can do in that time is to suffer the sun above and walk.


    Slowly, carefully, she splits her Mind.


    Sub-minds are all well and good for added processing and interpreting data, but they¡¯re not what she needs. There¡¯s only so far that a single mind can go, and being able to almost have multiple trains of thought is not the same as actually having them.


    She takes a long, deep breath, gill-vents along her sides gusting desert air through her body. She¡¯ll be fine.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine.


    Two hemisphere divide into two individual brains, and then regenerate the missing hemisphere.


    Raika thinks at Raika.


    So. We¡¯re here.


    So we are.


    It¡¯s surprisingly easy. Both minds look upon each other, and themselves, checking for defects, examining each other for flaws. There¡¯s a moment of dissonance, yes, but¡­ not really?


    Her minds, simultaneously, form new arms and touch Dink, hanging off her neck.


    It hums awake, like a cat rolling over on being poked during a nap. She feels it ring and sees a single note glow from it, synesthesia turning music into language.


    She doesn¡¯t need to speak, not really. She and Dink are a bit past that point. It exhausted itself earlier, keeping Soul and Body in sync without the Mind to connect them, but that same act allowed her and it to reach a much clearer understanding, and she can tell that it gained something from the encounter. The sense of presence the artifact spirit exudes when awake is almost double what it was before, and while still less so than a person, the sense of awareness it has is much more refined.


    Without needing to be asked, Dink begins to sing softly, quiet notes that ring through Body, Soul and Mind, touching on the world of her Heart on the way between them. She feels two small things in her inner world, no larger than a blade of grass, wriggle and dance along with the notes. She hasn¡¯t given a name to every blade of grass, and is only just figuring out the whole-ass trees, but this one is familiar.


    Vibration and Frequency hum in tune with Dink, uniting the whole of her together.


    Two minds, but which together are one Mind, find that they are both¡­ entirely fine. It takes effort to think different thoughts, they have to choose to focus on other things, but¡­ they¡¯re the same person. Just as her Soul isn¡¯t her Mind, and her Body isn¡¯t her Soul, but all are Raika, so too are both brains Raika, while neither being each other.


    Hmm. That¡¯ll make for an interesting experiment if she ever needs to fuse two brains together. With her spatially-altered biology, she probably shouldn¡¯t need to, but¡­ well, which one of them will become Raika? Or will it be neither? Would it matter?


    Hmm.


    Depends on what we / I think about continuity of consciousness, I / we suppose.


    Right. Are we still me / ourself every time we wake up? Or just a fusion of experiences, a brain rebuilding a sort of model or persona for a bigger idea?


    And what about after I / we got our / my brain shot out the back of our / my head? We / I can¡¯t be that Mind, almost by definition, but I¡¯m / we¡¯re still Raika. So¡­ does having the memories count the most? Experience and perspective define personhood?


    Probably. I / We assume neurology and our Soul have something to say about it too, otherwise perspective shifts and experience is lost.


    So¡­ so long as our Soul exists, and our Body exists to house it and us, we¡¯re / I¡¯m good. Besides, why worry about ¡°who becomes the real Raika?¡± Whatever comes after us / me, but from us / me, will by definition be Raika, so long as they identify as such. All we can do is make sure that who we / I become is who we / I choose to be.


    Exactly. And that¡¯s¡­ sort of just how time works, isn¡¯t it? I / We mean, we¡¯re / I¡¯m always one person one moment, and another the next. It¡¯s not like the person I was / we were exists in any way except as a part of my / our new self.


    Right. So I¡¯m / we¡¯re good?


    Yeah, I / we think so. So long as I am / we aren¡¯t too stringent about ¡°purity¡±, I / we should be fine. Might be good to set an ur-Mind though? Someone that has ultimate say?


    Well that just makes the issue come all the way back around, unless the position of ur-Mind can be changed.


    Which defeats the point.


    Exactly.


    Hmm. Maybe some kind of gestalt? An ur-Mind made of multiple minds?


    A possibility, though I / we think that delays the issue rather than fixing it. What about if I / we just¡­ set up a necessity system? One of me / us be the one responsible for talking with others and interacting with the outside world, one of me / us to help guide and interact with the Body, and however many we / I need to make plans, analyze new input, come up with new ideas?


    Oooh, ok. I / we like that. And if it¡¯s needed, we / I can revisit the ur-Mind, but we / I can probably just fold in and out of a central brain that acts as a nexus?


    Right. Keeps me / us from wasting too many resources running so many brains at once, and helps to integrate the gestalt concept more easily. Ready?


    Always. You first.


    Ha, ha. On three, ready?


    Three!


    The two brains fuse back into one, a single humanoid cerebral system forming back from where there were two. I Am Me, I Am Mine and I Can Change do all that¡¯s needed to transform the diverged brain matter back into a single whole.


    Hmm. Weird fucking feeling, remembering both sides of the conversation. Is this what having a clone is like? There¡¯s stories about those in the Emperor realm not dying even if their Souls are torn apart, simply re-awakening in another version of themselves prepared as a backup. Old techniques and all that, though hers is¡­ rather obviously more flesh-minded. Heh.


    Without hesitation, relying on Dink to keep her feeling stable and for the psychological help in staying focused, she starts to create new brains again.


    Each brain is the same, a copy of the others, without modification. Something to work on later, but especially with only just having resolved the identity question, not the focus right now. Each mind gets its own subminds, helping to process and supplementing the limits of a ¡°human¡± brain, and she makes three in total. One to watch where they¡¯re going, keeping an eye on the environment at all times and making sure to respond to whatever needs responding to; one to think about what¡¯s weighing on her, the things that have come up recently, and think of what comes next; and one to examine her Body and Soul, making sure she understands what-all is going on there and what it might mean.


    All three sort brains are Raika, the same way that both her feet are her, even if they¡¯re distinct from each other. She falls into a rhythm of thinking as multiple instances of herself incredibly easy, because, in a sense, she isn¡¯t; with all her brains networked, she has to actually try to disassociate to remind herself that she¡¯s not just one being, one Mind, because¡­ well, she is.


    Hmm. That¡¯s¡­ possibly easier than it should be. I Am Me, I Am Mine pulling its weight, or her own self-identity and broader self-awareness making the transition to post-human easier?


    A bit of a moot point, in that case. And not one she cares to examine right now, either; she feels Li Shu begin to stir awake inside her cocoon.

 Chapter 234 - The Wiser Dog And Meaning

    At first there¡¯s panic. Fear. Disorientation. Trapped in a soft, warm cocoon, lit by a soft glow- but wrapped in material strong enough to block Qi, leaving the only senses a cultivator can truly rely on blind. She stirs, quiet and confused- and then panicked, disoriented, Craft-formed needles of Sacrifice trying to tear through her surroundings-


    And then there is fresh air, hot and muggy and rich with the scent of wasted iron.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Raika tells her.


    Li Shu looks up at her, confused. ¡°What- where are-¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re out. Past the walls.¡±


    She looks around, trying to catch a glimpse of- well, of anything. In every direction there are only dunes, the coppery scent of blood painting off-white sand.


    Except¡­ that¡¯s not sand. Her Qi reaches out into the world, free and awake, and her perception washes against the ground. Flavored by medicine and healing, by pain and biology, it recognizes exactly what it is that makes up the world here.


    Bone. Bone and corpse debris, bits of what remain after rot and destruction have taken their due from what was once alive.


    And there are miles of it. There are stratas to it. Her Sacrifice flutters around her, keratin spikes making a halo for her perception to anchor on and showing her how deep it goes. If you turned cities to powder and sifted every bit of biology from the ruins and sprinkled it onto a field, it might make two or three dunes, perhaps, atop blasted rock.


    Her Qi goes down, further and further, guided by keratin down into each needle as each needle is guided down closer to the floor. For every inch she travels, she finds another, and another, and another, fifty feet down or more at the lowest point. And it goes on in every direction for as far as she can see.


    How many battles for this much death? How many centuries, to spread it across so vast a terrain? How many millenia, to grant it so many layers, so deep against the world?


    She looks down at the thing she¡¯s laying on, with the body that grows from it and looks down at her.


    Raika.


    The formation of Qi running through her body, carved in by runes and made into a proper curse, makes it impossible for her to really see inside of her, as she can the dunes. But she helped theorize and plan a lot of the ideas that Raika later evolved, and has her own knowledge of how a body works. Of what a body should be able to do. She can see the shape of her biology in its own shadow.


    Like a dog the size of a chariot, twice as long and wide as a horse. It walks on ten legs, each of them a long and perfect stilt of bone, chitin and tendons, and at its front, there is a long and tall head, on a neck that arcs upward, atop which is a dome of eyes which looks in all directions and tastes the air in every way and form.


    And from the neck joint, right above where Li Shu has awoken and arisen on a bed of luminescent fur, is something like the upper body of Raika.


    Not quite. The details are¡­ off. Not wrong, per se, but different, like something both younger and older. Like the littlest changes have taken place, no one of them significant enough to create a deviation but, together, making a slightly altered version of her friend.


    ¡°...what happened?¡± she asks, her voice heavy.


    Raika sighs, her upper body leaning back and ¡°pulling¡± two legs from the main mass. She sits and leans back against the towering neck of her main body, looking out towards the horizon behind Li Shu. Back towards the strange indentation on the edge of sight, a smooth line detailing where the Wall sits beyond a desert of death and war.


    ¡°I got cocky.¡±


    Li Shu waits, letting her friend and patient organize her thoughts.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ I assumed incorrectly about how things worked. Apparently having special constitution on the Wall is¡­ messy. If I¡¯d used the Hungering Roots sect, or the Empire, it might have gone better. Higher chance they¡¯d figure out my name, it¡¯s not exactly common, but¡­ well, they wouldn¡¯t have tried to kill me right away.¡±


    Li Shu lets out a breath, the cycling of her Qi in meridians and Sacrifice both hitching slightly. Is¡­ is this something that Raika caused? An exaggeration? An issue of bias?


    ¡°We went in there with no backers, and that fortress, probably every fortress, had something like a Heart. Like what we found beneath Cragend, the altered tunnels that Shapefixit told us could make monsters, can eat away at Qi and flesh inside its domain. They decided that some no-name healer could work in the infirmary with an assistant, and a no-name special constitution with no Qi, no records, no sect backing or Imperial name¡­ well, that constitution gets fed to the dungeon. Literally. Something for it to build off, make other tools.¡±


    A series of cracking pops echo across the dunes, Raika¡¯s neck (the human shaped one and the long one) stretching with a shiver of flesh and crackling. She sighs, long and slow, and air hot enough to steam matches her from out of vents along the strider-body she¡¯s using.


    ¡°So¡­ I lost most of my brain. Got it shot out of my head. My Body, my subminds, and my Soul all worked together to just kill and eat and survive, and it just kept escalating. Took me a while to regrow my Mind, literally.¡±


    ¡°Wait, you regrew your brain? And you still¡­ remember everything?¡±


    She nods. ¡°Nothing missing that I could find. The intervening space is¡­ hazy at best, but I tested myself on everything I could remember, all the major events. I remember every scar I¡¯ve gotten, where and how we met, what my abilities are, my goals, all of that. I¡¯d appreciate it if you could help me test it, later, make sure there¡¯s no gaps I can¡¯t see, but¡­ I think my memory is at least partially stored in my Soul. My sub-brains helped to connect some data, but it¡¯s the only way it makes sense.¡±


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    ¡°Well that¡­ has a lot of implications.¡±


    Raika turns her head away, looking out at the dunes. Refusing eye contact. ¡°Yeah. I¡­ was hoping you¡¯d like to study it. After.¡±


    Li Shu hugs herself a bit, looking down. At the impossibly beautiful puzzle walking across the blasted landscape. The landscape made of corpse-matter.


    It takes very little for her mind to drift. To connect the bits of bone and gristle and shiny pearls of shattered armor to the bodies on the operating tables. To the soldiers dying, their blood on her hands, on her needles, a part of her very self turned to sharpened biology and made to try desperately to heal the broken things, and-


    ¡°How many?¡±


    Raika doesn¡¯t answer at first.


    ¡°How many.¡±


    A long silence.


    ¡°Two hundred. Ish. Minimum of one-fifty, but I¡¯m not sure about individual squads, people in separate areas that got caught up. Like I said, it was hazy.¡±


    ¡°And after you became whole again? After you grew back your Mind?¡±


    ¡°Four. Nascent Soul cultivators, platoon leader rank. They had their forces retreat and came at me directly. I asked if we could talk it out, surrender, but it was much too late for that. They fought well. They cared about each other.¡±


    ¡°...do you regret it?¡±


    ¡°...No. No, I don''t.¡±


    Li Shu waits.


    Raika turns back to her, checking body language, probably smelling every hormone and hearing every heartbeat. Li Shu¡­ she¡¯s only half here. As much as she¡¯s sitting, staring down at her friend and the impossible creature she owes so much to and is owed in turn, she¡¯s also looking at a man with his throat slit open by a scalpel. Burned bodies along a river, fallen bloody against the foliage. Lives ended under the effect of anesthetic.


    Li Shu has only killed once. Her first meeting with Hao Nera. The bodies that piled up did so in part due to her actions, for her own survival.


    She still sees them. Still knows, knows that if she were smarter, stronger, more versatile, there would have been a different ending. Hao Nera rarely spoke of his previous groups, didn¡¯t seem to hold a strong opinion on their passing, and that scared her, once. But is he not in himself an example of how quickly change can occur? Of how much deeper people are when you look at them and know them truly?


    Raika watches her, as if viewing her thoughts right along the inside of her head.


    ¡°I regret that the situation got to that point. I regret not being wiser, more prepared, more aware of possibilities. But by the time I was in the fight¡­ I decided my objective, and they would stop me from reaching it. I decided their deaths. It wasn¡¯t an accident, wasn¡¯t a snap-decision- I didn¡¯t have time for more, and I didn¡¯t have tools for more, and I needed to get past them.¡±


    ¡°And that justifies their death?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°No. It¡¯s not about justifying. I talked with Jin about this a while ago. Maybe there are deaths that are just, but I don¡¯t think that¡¯s something that I can ever know or feel unless I know the person, the context, their lives. How often do you think anyone knows that much about anyone? It¡¯s not about it being just.¡±


    ¡°Then why? Why not escape? Why not surrender so we could-¡±


    ¡°Could what? Be identified? Be held back for who knows how long? Be imprisoned or executed? They shot my brains out just for being more useful dead than alive.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s it? Someone¡¯s in the way, you kill them?¡±


    Raika scoffs, a note of anger coming into her tone. ¡°That¡¯s not the point.¡±


    ¡°Then what is the point? I¡¯m a healer, Raika. You¡¯re my patient, and my friend, but I¡¯m not going to go around killing people just to heal others. That¡¯s not what I am, that¡¯s against everything I stand for.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to kill anyone. If you were in that situation, you¡¯d make different choices. If things were different, I¡¯d choose differently as well. But I won¡¯t shy away from killing. They are part of something cruel, and vast, and by their choices and mine we are enemies. And this world is not so kind that all enemies can be stopped, or defeated, or even faced without violence.¡±


    This time it¡¯s Li Shu that stays quiet. That looks out over the wasteland, over lands deeply dead and writhing with the ruination of war.


    ¡°I¡¯ve decided, Shu.¡±


    Li Shu looks back at Raika, finding her gaze resolute. The subtle differences of this latest regeneration fade into the background as she stares back at her, pupils changing minutely with every breath, biology reflecting a burning thing deep inside.


    ¡°Death upon death. War so old it reshapes the earth. A million million lives, kept to a useful standard or made into experiments, to be tinkered with and broken down. The rich of the inner rings getting richer and more powerful while all those cultivators they¡¯re so proud of helping grow get sent to the Wall, to kill and die and kill and die.


    ¡°Taurus. Zhoulong. Feng Gui. All of them are products of the Empire, of how things are done, of what¡¯s allowable. Taurus may be trying to subvert things, but he¡¯s still a part of the issue. Maybe it¡¯s not might makes right, maybe things are better, but that doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re good. It just means that every minute the Empire stays upright, the rot spreading from it gets deeper.


    ¡°I wanted revenge for what they did to me, but¡­ that¡¯s my past. I pushed through what they did to me, became more than I ever was before, and revenge after seeing all this¡­ it¡¯s small. The problem with putting a foot on a tiger¡¯s neck is that you can never let it up, and now, here, I have teeth and claw and blazing fury where they cannot step upon me. It is time. I will not bite the hand that feeds. It is a foolish dog to bite the hands that feed.


    ¡°I am monster beyond monster, tiger and lion and wolf, of Dragon Veins and hungering death and all-consuming CHANGE. And the wise dog bites for the throat.¡±


    The only sound is the slight shifting of sand, the chittering of things beneath it, and the whistling of the wind.


    Raika breathes, low and slow. Quiet. Slower and longer than any human can fit into their lungs naturally.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to come with me. When I go back, I¡¯ll find a way for you to return on your own, a way to get back to Hao Nera and Qen Hou. If you just want to heal everyone you can reach, then I¡¯ll try to help with that too. If you want, I might be able to sneak you back into the Wall by this time tomorrow, though it may involve further challenges. I owe you at least that much for following me this far, and for all you¡¯ve done for me.


    ¡°But mine is the path of CHANGE, and it holds consequence. I will walk it as long as I can, though it will color my fangs with red and burden my shoulders with weight.¡±


    Li Shu feels something inside her shift. Something quiet, and barely formed, some part of herself that is not her Sacrifice and not her Cultivation.


    ¡°You¡¯re not strong enough,¡± she says quietly.


    Raika says nothing for a time.


    And then-


    ¡°No.


    ¡°Not yet.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll be hurt. You¡¯ll need a plan to try and grow properly. And¡­ so will the kid. And so will others on the way.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°...Bites need proper care so they don¡¯t get infected.¡±


    As Above, So Below.


    As Without, So Within.


    To All Things, A Cost.


    ¡°I¡¯m a healer. On your way and behind you, there will be people that need healing. For now, that¡¯s enough.¡±


    One of the keratin needles of her Sacrifice snaps, crackling like firewood and breaking in and through itself. Bit by bit it grows wider, a central ball, almost like a medicinal pill, filling slowly with Qi, reflecting the flavor of her own beliefs. Inside the Sacrifice, concepts of healing and pain and biology and medicine from the brief moment in the Wall all wrap around themselves, and in her Dantian, the idea of suturing bleeding wounds and soothing broken bodies begins to circle tighter and tighter.


    Li Shu takes her first step into the Core Formation realm, and feels the weight of her choice solidify in her soul.


    ¡°For now, it¡¯s enough.¡±


    Raika smiles, low and sad.


    ¡°Get some rest. We¡¯ve got another day or so before we hit the edge of the sand.¡±

 Chapter 235 - Fellow Travelers On The Road

    Somewhere along the third day, with the sun dipping low to her right, Raika realizes that she¡¯s been following a path.


    Not precisely, not with perfect accuracy by any means, but it¡¯s there nonetheless. Following the arrow in her mind, placed there by the dungeon core of the fortress city, she¡¯s been heading almost directly east. But the more she walks, the more she can find patterns in the hills and sands, in the dunes and the dead. Some areas are significantly more active, the skittering things of blood and hunger beneath the sand awake and writhing and absolutely chewing through her legs. Those areas usually have more leftover bits of guns and swords, hardened shells from spirit beasts, pieces of metal. It¡¯s possible that that¡¯s where the deaths are freshest, blown in from far and swept by the tides of the dead sands. There¡¯s more Qi along those trails as well, though nothing too notable from what she can tell.


    On the other hand, there are sections, small and winding, where the sands are heavier, less awake. There is still detritus there, but it¡¯s more¡­ decayed, more rusted. The properties of the dead wasteland break down even these particularly tough materials, but it seems that without fresher bits of death, they eventually get quieter. They still nibble away at her, but they don¡¯t force her to rebuild entire limbs every hour or less. Following these quieter sections, she notices that she¡¯s on a sort of trail. She can cut straight across in places where it winds into deeper twists and turns, so she¡¯s not particularly faithful to the path, but there are clearly rhythms and undercurrents to the ever flowing deserts.


    And that¡¯s how she finds the people.


    The smell of blood and rust and death is overwhelming, but her senses have only improved since they became superhuman, and she¡¯s gotten more creative since then. The orb at the top of a long neck she¡¯s made holds thirty eyes, each of them facing a different direction and compiling a 360-degree view of their surroundings. That particular trick took a bit of finagling, but building another sensory-based brain and training its neurons by making them grow alongside the head made up for it. Adding in additional scent glands and fine hairs, based on how insects and snakes ¡°smell¡±, completed the package. Putting all that together, she can sense for kilometers out in this deadzone.


    And there, on a lovely patch of sleeping sand in a dead place, there are people.


    She sees them before they see her, senses a hundred feet off the ground in every direction. There, sitting on a tarp made of some sort of hide, are three people. Only one of them seems human, and only two of them humanoid, but between their Qi on the wind and the crackling of language on the wind, it¡¯s clear that all three of them are in fact people. They have thick cloaks, pale and off-white, with the barest hint of Qi wafting from them, some sort of pattern or arrays to them.


    So. People.


    She grows a set of vocal cords and a breathing tunnel to use them through into Li Shu¡¯s room.


    Turns out, long-term exposure to Qi flavored exclusively of death, rot and war isn¡¯t the best for one¡¯s constitution, and that¡¯s before you factor in the decayed flesh, bone dust, and rust in the wind. Additionally, as it turns out, when you have glowing flesh and a body that¡¯s larger on the inside than the outside, it¡¯s not actually all that hard to make a room.


    Apparently it smells a bit like meat, but Raika is pretty sure that¡¯s just the outside air she¡¯s filtering. Just as she has also assured her friend that it would be very rude to comment on a lady¡¯s smell.


    Internal eyes open as she forms her head and shoulders out of a wall, growing into an oval room with a smooth floor of chitin and walls covered in bioluminescent fur. There¡¯s a table, a small bed, a patch of ground covered in faux-moss for meditation, and a small plant to one side with a pitcher-shaped body that fills with water periodically. Li Shu blinks as Raika emerges, coming out of meditating on her breakthrough.


    ¡°Is something wrong?¡±


    Raika shakes her head. ¡°Just that there¡¯s people ahead. Wanted to keep you informed.¡±


    Li Shu frowns. ¡°Soldiers? A detachment?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like it. Three people wearing grey-white cloaks, sitting on a rug. Might be bunkering down for night. The Cold Sun is fucking bright around here, and I have to assume there¡¯s some weird stuff going on with the sands under it.¡±


    ¡°But nothing you¡¯ve seen?¡±


    She shrugs the shoulders, creating articulation and joints only to dissolve them after their use. ¡°I don¡¯t stay still, don¡¯t leak any Qi, and don¡¯t stop to sleep. I just cycle brains and keep going. Chances are there¡¯s plenty of predators or dangers out here that we¡¯ve avoided or which haven¡¯t found me appetizing.¡±


    ¡°Cycle brains?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I figured out continuity of consciousness and some stuff about self-identity. Since I¡¯m still me after losing my brain, then replacing one brain with another doesn¡¯t really change the fact that I Am Me. So when one starts to get sleep deprived, I just copy the neurons onto a new one and goop the old one.¡±


    ¡°You goop it?¡±


    ¡°Best words I could think of for the process. I turn it into goop.¡±


    Li Shu sighs¡­ but Raika notices the little glint in her eyes. There¡¯s just a hint of her friend peeking through the depression and focus on her latest advancement.


    ¡°Any chance I could¡­ maybe take a look? If you could replicate the process for me, or give me the brain instead of ¡®gooping¡¯? There¡¯s a lot that¡¯s unknown about how brains work, even now, and studying that could be-¡±


    ¡°Yeah, sure.¡±


    ¡°I- really?¡±


    Raika shrugs again. ¡°If anyone gets to dissect me, it should be you. Besides, I can always make more brains. Want me to keep one active in the room, or would you prefer a dead one?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­ alive? Alive would be best?¡±


    ¡°Sure, just be careful with them. There¡¯s no nerves so it doesn¡¯t feel pain, but it¡¯s still part of me. Try not to be too mean about cutting me up.¡±


    A mixture of revulsion, curiosity, and outright confusion flash across Li Shu¡¯s face at that, but Raika just grins and pulls her head back into the rest of her Body. She makes sure to give Li Shu her privacy, but she can¡¯t not-feel someone moving around inside her, so it¡¯s easy to make a pedestal with some living brain matter on it. No reason to give that particular bunch of folds her neurons, per se- it doesn¡¯t need memories, it just needs to be a living human mind, which is pretty easy.


    With that done, she dissolves herself, swapping back to the brain keeping an eye on the outside world and her direct actions.


    They have, in fact, noticed her.


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    Splitting her attention like this is second nature now, so talking to Li Shu didn¡¯t change her ability to react to things on the outside. She¡¯s already shrank by about a third of her original size, reduced her ten legs to six, and started following along the quiet current of the desert rather than cutting through directly.


    Her fellow travelers have reacted¡­ rather dramatically. All three of them are currently bowing, kowtowing completely atop their rug, with a small set of what look like Qi stones, foodstuffs, and a tea set placed before them.


    They don¡¯t run, but she can smell them on the wind. Yellow-orange fear, purple-crumbly dread, and bits of fizzy, popping gold hope mixed with anxiety.


    From that same scent trail and the look of them, it¡¯s not hard to discern their cultivation, which honestly helps to explain a lot of their reaction. Two of them are in the Foundational realm, with one all the way down in Qi-Gathering realm of all places. At their level, she¡¯s genuinely stunned that they¡¯re alive. Coming from the Wall, where there¡¯s almost no one below the Core Formation realm or above, it¡¯s a bit of a shock to see anyone from the ¡°base¡± realms of cultivation out here, especially not out in a desert that eats through nanoscale armor plating like hardtack.


    They do not move as she approaches, holding themselves perfectly still. Their emotions roil, the youngest of them, the non-humanoid, spiking the amount of fear in the group. They have four legs, each of them quad-jointed, with a burnished orange complexion beneath their robes, which obscure much of their form, while the other two look humanoid. One tastes of sweat, the flavor of their breath and skin entirely human-base, while the other humanoid tastes of something like whiskey and incense.


    A few more minutes and she arrives at their location, a good twenty or so feet from their rug. Forming new joints, she folds and bends her stilts until her main body is only a few feet above the sands, keeping her panopticon-head up high to watch for danger or shifting tides.


    It only takes a few more seconds to form a new body.


    Her original is¡­ gone. But everyone¡¯s body disappears. It¡¯s said that every seven or so years, every cell in your biology has been replaced by a new one. Logically, it follows that even if it¡¯s made of entirely new material, or holds a new shape, so long as she identifies herself with it, it is her Body.


    Still, classics are classic for a reason.


    She emerges from out of the front of her main Body, connected to it by a few threads of neurology and protective tissue, standing easily seven feet tall on the sand. Lithe, but well muscled, she feels the sun on human skin once more, russet-brown and grown over nanoscale armor, enhanced organs and hyper-dense muscle fibers. She grows new strands of ¡°hair¡±, thick off-white braids that turn to red and orange coloration as they travel from her scalp, filled with heat vents and neural tissue beneath their appearance rather than dead keratin, and forms robes to match it. A black undershirt and bindings, up to her neck but not her shoulders or arms, and half-open silk white robes to compliment loose, dark red pants, and bare feet with chitin soles against carnivorous ground.


    Her eyes¡­ she could remake them. Turn them to something false, like she does with her voice, keeping Truespeak out of most conversations. But¡­ why hide?


    Her eyes are shimmering radiance, a dozen-dozen colors fluctuating and burning in the colors of her pupils. The four-legged traveler peeks up, a glimpse from beneath their hood, and she feels the fear-stink multiply, joined but a taste like crackling awe.


    Despite herself, she can¡¯t help it. It feels¡­ kind of nice.


    The member of the trio towards the front of their group, the one closest to their¡­ offering(?) speaks up first.


    ¡°Greetings, honored one,¡± they say, an accent she can¡¯t place coloring the vowels. ¡°This lowly being is known as Ko-es. This one humbly greets the honored one, and offers meager tribute, that your lessers may contribute what little we can towards your journey across the edge of the world.¡±


    Raika blinks.


    That¡¯s¡­ new.


    ¡°Greetings,¡± she replies, keeping her tone neutral. She has to cough and clear her throat a bit, reworking the vocal cords to hide the Truespeak again. ¡°This one requires no tribute, save a bit of your time and an answer to some of my questions.¡±


    Immediately, she notes a spike of panic in the lead member, who still has not raised their heat from the mat.


    ¡°Whatever you desire, honored one, so long as it be in this one¡¯s power to grant, shall be yours.¡±


    This time, she frowns. Why did his adrenal-response jump like that? Looking over his tribute again, she notes the particulars of it; a pile of twelve spirit stones, incense, and food.


    No. Not just food. All their food. The leader has a storage ring, but it¡¯s made of copper and chipped, not something that you could hide multiple days of supplies in, and while there are travel-packs on the rug, none of them have any food in them at all. They placed everything they had on the ground before her, without even knowing who she is.


    It clicks pretty easily after that.


    Out in the desert, they¡¯re walking with specialized robes and a place to rest, and out from the carnivorous sands walks either a great spirit beast or some sort of bio-construct, one with no detectable Qi. Any fights out here would be lethal by default due to the terrain, but Foundational and Qi-Gathering realm cultivators would be far more vulnerable than anything that proved itself capable of both seeing over vast distances and walking the sands unimpeded.


    She literally holds all their lives in her hands. If she wanted to kill them, she wouldn¡¯t need to fight- she could just kick a wave of sand at them and watch it eat through the gaps in their robes, and there¡¯d be nothing they could do about it.


    She sighs, cracking her neck a bit. She goes to crack the other side, and¡­ hmm. Feels weird, having an arm there. A real arm, anyways, not Blacksteel or a superweapon. She remembers the shape of her Soul, all the marks of her old wounds and scars, missing the leftmost limb save for a prosthetic.


    No need to make anything as brutal as the Blacksteel skeleton she has in her inner world, but¡­ it feels right, having some sort of marker. The fact that she can create tools or limbs to replace the old one in a heartbeat doesn¡¯t mean that she didn¡¯t lose it, and the thought feels like an anchor, stabilizing some inner part of her. With a thought, she dissolves her left arm halfway down the bicep, turning it to bone and blood and letting it flow seamlessly into her skin.


    Hmm. Is she getting more distracted, having so many minds working at once? Thoughts carrying over? Maybe.


    She forms veins that shoot out at speed across the desert, touching the edge of the traveler¡¯s rug. In an instant, she¡¯s copied the material and density of it, replicating it over the ground for a good ten feet in each direction. It takes a little longer to copy any inscriptions on it, and she won¡¯t be able to power it without transmissible Qi, but she has energy to spare, making the underside into a toughened leather and regenerating as the sands nibble away. She takes a seat on the rug, sighing as she plops down and leans on her arm.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s in your power to raise your head, is it not? I¡¯m not going to kill you for making eye-contact, stranger. We¡¯re all traveling through this mess, no need to make each other¡¯s lives harder.¡±


    She can hear the surprise in his breathing, the slightest hitch in his pulse. He makes some subtle motion, scuffing against the rug slightly, and both of his traveling companions stiffen slightly and stay still. He alone slowly rises, keeping his gaze lowered- but eventually pulling down his hood.


    Bright green skin, crags of bark and moss running through it like scar tissue, and brilliant red eyes make for a striking look. This close, and without the muffling of whatever enchantment the robes hold, she gets a better look at him, and finds very little to indicate much human about him at all. While he has a lot of hormone-equivalents, which taste the same at a glance, it¡¯s clear that his veins hold something like sap rather than blood, his biology closely mimicking or possibly derived from a plant.


    He still swallows nervously as he looks at her, though.


    She does her best to give a lighter smile, nodding politely at him. ¡°My name is Raika. Ko-es, it is my honor to meet fellow travelers on these sands. I¡¯m headed east, and I don¡¯t know much about where I¡¯m going. I have water and some supplies I can offer,  though I don¡¯t carry spirit stones to trade, but I¡¯d appreciate some information about where I¡¯m going, if you¡¯re willing to offer.¡±


    Ko-es nods, mostly looking at the ground rather than making proper eye contact. Still, he seems a bit relieved, especially at the mention of trade. ¡°Of course, honored one. If it please you, I might better inform you of what is yet unknown if I knew your setting-off point into the sands. The east is a chaotic place, especially in these current times, as the Pack tries their paws at the end of the world. The northlands and the Deeper Cold are ill-matched to the south and the edges of the Forever-Burning, and the lands are in flux.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Of course. I¡¯m from out west, towards the Wall.¡±


    Silence lands on the conversation like a lead weight.


    ¡°Did¡­ I apologize, honored one, but you say that you come from the west?¡±


    She nods, hesitating a bit. ¡°I have. I¡¯m not Imperial, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re worried about, but-¡±


    ¡°Did you really come from the end of the world?¡± Asks the human, her eyes wide and full of awe and horror in equal measure.


    Raika¡¯s pretty sure that the leader of the band may have pissed himself a little bit.

 Chapter 236 - Fresh Recruits For The Meat Grinder!

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    ¡°If you bow to me one more time, I really will take offense,¡± Raika grumbles as Ko-es digs his forehead into the mat for the third time. ¡°I can swear an oath on my honor if need be that I have no intention of killing you for speaking out of turn if that¡¯s what it takes.¡±


    ¡°This one would never force the great and honorable to-¡±


    ¡°Enough. Sit upright, look me in the eyes, and stop kowtowing please.¡±


    The ¡®please¡¯ actually seems like the thing to get through to him. Whatever mindset he¡¯s in or thinks of her, asking ever so politely isn¡¯t in his list of expected responses. He kind of stutter-stops, and she nods once, happy with the outcome. Before he can figure out whatever it is that he wants to say, she turns to the human.


    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ never heard it called the end of the world before, but yes, I do come from the west, past the Wall. I assume that¡¯s what you mean?¡±


    ¡°I- yes?¡± the human says, some of her leader¡¯s borderline psychic assault of a glare getting through to her. ¡°I¡­ well, the world goes on forever, but if you head towards the middle, you find the end of it. A great and impassable cliff which spews monsters and fire and strange soldiers that kill any who get close. Some people say that this is the portal to another world, from which devils and Daemons emerge, but that¡¯s kind of dumb, cause there¡¯s plenty of Daemons out in the world, and-¡±


    ¡°What my junior means to say,¡± Ko-es interrupts, ¡°is that the colloquial name for that landmark is to call it the end of the world. No one who travels through it ever makes it back except in legends. Of course there¡¯s something behind it, but not anything we lessers might know; such things are for our seniors and the greater powers, not for lowly sand-trawlers.¡±


    ¡°Which leads neatly into my next question. Why are you three traveling through this wasteland, so close to a place that no one ever comes back from?¡±


    Ko-es goes to kowtow again, and thinks better of it when he gets a good look at her face. He awkwardly shuffles instead, clearing his throat a bit. ¡°Well, this one- that is to say, we, are couriers. We take messages and goods across the hungering sands. Between the north, the south, the east, and the far-west, around the rim of the world¡¯s end, or your¡­ ¡®Wall¡¯, everyone wants things, but it takes time to circle all the way around the world in a ring. The closer one cuts towards the ¡®Wall¡¯, the faster one can move between the great territories. It¡¯s risky, but it pays well, and my family has been trawling these sands for centuries. We know the tricks to search for sleeping sands, what formations last longest for rest, how much enchantment and Qi one is allowed to bring. Without a technique, the brighter your power, the hungrier the sands.¡±


    Raika nods. She has no reason to distrust them, but still the explanation tracks. If one can be detected by the sands through Qi, then her lack of meridians and cursed skin must work as something of a convenient disguise, and it also explains why those with such low cultivation would be wandering somewhere so absurdly dangerous. Ko-es¡¯ mention of the sands ¡°sleeping¡± also ties into the areas she notices with the least amount of activity in them, where the Qi is quietest. And in theory, if one could survive here, it would make for a good training ground to master some particularly violent Daos.


    ¡°Thank you for your candor and sincere answers,¡± she says. ¡°I do have more questions, but it¡¯s clear that you¡¯re all looking to rest on your journey. I have only a direction I intend to head in, and no distinct destination- are you heading eastward?¡±


    Ko-es nods, though he seems particularly hesitant. A courier revealing their destination can be a boon or a curse, after all.


    ¡°South-eastward, honored one. We hoped to use the hungering sands to skirt the east, down towards the forever-burning, and then loop back west on our journey. If it so please you, we would be more than happy to guide you in your chosen direction.¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°No need for that. We can do a trade- I¡¯ll help carry you, spare your carpet and boots a bit of wear, and you tell me more about the locations and factions near here. When our paths diverge, then they diverge, and we¡¯ll wish each other well. Does that sound agreeable?¡±


    He hesitates. Any gift from a powerful cultivator is as much threat as gift, and Ko-es seems faintly terrified of her, even more than before now that he doesn¡¯t have a formula for her behavior. She can smell the fear on him, a sort of cold and practical dread- but the two on either side come off a bit differently.


    The human is starry-eyed to put it simply. She seems a mix of awed and terrified, and seems to be reacting to the terror in the ways one might expect from a thrill-seeker. The four-legged individual, the one who hasn¡¯t spoken yet, comes off-


    Huh.


    They¡¯re¡­ quiet.


    They have all the same scents. There¡¯s no special thing missing, not from sight, sound or smell, but for some reason they just come off as silent, like there¡¯s little behind those things. Their heartbeat shifts subtly, but the meaning behind it feels¡­ muffled.


    Hmm.


    ¡°Before you say yes or no,¡± Raika says, interrupting Ko-es¡¯ thoughts, she gives her best attempt at a calming smile. She sits up properly, readjusting to the fresh removal of her left arm, a stylistic choice she still feels weirdly firm about.


    ¡°My name is Raika the Unbroken. I am a warrior, a learner of moderate talent, kin to beasts and blood. I request your names, that we might greet each other properly.¡±


    Ko-es gulps, but he¡¯s the first to respond. He bows again, though he wisely avoids a full kowtow.


    ¡°I am Ko-es, son of Gur-es, daughter of Kai-er. I am a traveler, courier, and a lowly merchant.¡±


    Before either of the others can hesitate, he gives a very pointed look at the human to his left.


    ¡°Oh! Uh, I- sorry. I¡¯m Kim Ya-ji. I¡¯m¡­ an apprentice courier?¡±


    Ko-es nods at that, but¡­ he turns to look at Raika expectantly, making no move to prompt or introduce the figure on his right.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    She cocks an eyebrow, and to his credit, he picks up on the question quickly.


    ¡°Ah, I- I apologize, honored one. It is custom to respond only in the language spoken by one whose strength surpasses the rest. My companion cannot speak the common tongue of merchants, or many of the languages which require a tongue at all. They are an old friend, whose name-¡±


    ¡°What languages do they speak?¡± Raika interrupts.


    Ko-es hesitates. ¡°I¡­ I am not sure to a grand and total number, honored Raika, but they are a half-blooded beastkin. The bestial tongues come easier to their kind than phonetics, and-¡±


    Raika interrupts again, though not with words. She lets Ko-es keep talking, turning herself slightly toward the third member of this group, and¡­ pushes.


    It¡¯s hard to describe otherwise, but she shifts her intent, changing body language into something deeper. She remembers speaking to the many-tusked boar, to the cyclopean predator outside the bamboo perimeter a few months prior- their biology and movements spoke, even though they weren¡¯t quantitatively different than that of most animals. And she could understand them, and speak back.


    She takes that experience and shifts, ever so slightly, in the direction of the four-legged beast kin.


    Speak?


    All four of the individual¡¯s limbs spasm, ever so slightly, clutching at the rug beneath them. Ko-es flinches, clearly shocked, his fear for the carpet and towards Raika making his and Kim Ya-ji¡¯s reactions sharper than they need to be.


    Raika just raises a hand, motioning for them both to sit. To stay. She pulls back, ever so slightly, altering the ¡°pitch¡± of what she sends towards the beast-kin.


    Calm. Danger = No. Curiosity.


    There is a pause where she¡¯s uncertain if the creature might bolt. The quiet of its biology, the lack of intent or meaning behind its intricacies, feels strained, like it¡¯s just waiting to say something in a language that is more action than language.


    And then¡­


    Acquiesce, it says. Threat = None. Afraid.


    Ok. Ok, that¡¯s something.


    Slowly, the beast-kin raises itself up. One limb, quadruple-jointed and topped with a mix between a paw and a hand, rises up to remove the hood from the creature¡¯s head.


    Beneath the hood is a mane of fur, a human head of hair turned to a hundred braids and wrapped tightly along a long, slender throat. The face itself is somewhat human, but it possesses eyes that are more along the sides than facing forward, like that of a prey-evolved organism, and they are both a bright, almost startling blue.


    And, as Ko-es indicated, there is no human mouth. It is a mix between a muzzle and a snout, extending out from the face and making a canine-like jaw.


    Raika smiles softly, making sure that no teeth are displayed. Some things don¡¯t need weird mental gymnastics to come off as a threat in animal terms, and a display of her fangs would go over fairly quickly no matter how she ¡°phrased¡± it. She tilts her head.


    This = Language? Beast? She asks.


    Agreement. Acknowledge. Speech-Without-Word. Language-Without-Symbol.


    Raika blinks, tilting her head. It¡¯s a little hard to parse, but she sends back a note of confusion and a request.


    The beastkin hesitates, and then¡­


    Intent. All-Speak.


    Hmm. Curious.


    ¡°Can you understand me if I speak like this?¡± she asks.


    The beastkin sends back, in the pattern of their breath and blood flow, something like ¡°kinda-sorta¡±.


    ¡°How about like this?¡± she asks, this time in the more musical and throaty notes of Truespeak. Dink, on her collar, vibrates slightly at the sound.


    The beastkin¡¯s eyes widen, and it immediately bows so low that it makes Ko-es¡¯s kowtow look like a joke. It very nearly splays itself, limbs spread out wide and face digging into the rough carpet. Despite the severity of the movement, it sends back only one ¡°word¡±, one burst of intent.


    Lord.


    ¡°Ok, no, none of that,¡± Raika says, noting the looks of surprise on Kim Ya-ji¡¯s and Ko-es¡¯ faces. Rise, she sends through intent, and the beastkin does so without an ounce of hesitation. It¡¯s ¡®voice¡¯ is loud now, the muffled control of what must be the language they¡¯re ¡®speaking¡¯ suddenly shifted to something like a loud buffer of static- joy, fear, devotion, confusion, pride, elation, all mixed and matched in a face with no mouth and a body that speaks through meaning as much as direct action.


    You = Calm, she sends, and the beastkin does its best, shifting to an upright seating on all four limbs and forcibly slowing the intent around its heart. Name Request.


    It sends back, alongside a thrill of joy- Many-Grasping-Young-Of-Harsh-Lands-Reaching. Which is, one might notice, quite a long name. Many-Grasping, for short, seems elated at the question, as if sharing their name with her is some sort of absolute privilege.


    ¡°Ok. So I now have more questions, as I¡¯m sure you do, but-¡±


    ¡°You can speak beast?¡± Kim Ya-ji yells, before Ko-es turns on her so fast that she squeaks, a look of horror on his face.


    ¡°Of course the honored one can speak any language she so chooses,¡± he hisses, ¡°and it would be the height of disrespect to interrupt them again.¡±


    Raika laughs, enjoying the reaction despite herself. It¡¯s grating, true, but the extreme whiplash of Ko-es¡¯ movements is rather entertaining to watch.


    ¡°I would appreciate if you didn¡¯t do it again,¡± Raika says, ¡°but it¡¯s not so big a deal that I¡¯m going to punish you for it. Consider me a fortuitous encounter, not a danger to you. And it would seem that I can ¡°speak beast¡±, as you put it, though I doubt that¡¯s the best way to phrase that.¡±


    Ko-es gives out a defeated sort of huff. ¡°It¡¯s not. Beast-speak is a vague term that means very little. Most who actually try to learn it call it the speech-without-word, and it¡¯s¡­ well, hard to explain.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s about intention, right?¡± she asks. ¡°Sending meaning into things that don¡¯t necessarily have any.¡±


    He blinks, looking at her. ¡°I- yes, wise one, that¡¯s not a bad way to put it. I speak only enough to be understood, not-¡±


    ¡°Understanding you is the easy part. Sending out meaning. Not easy, but still the easy part- I assume that your traveling companion understands you just fine. It¡¯s understanding others that¡¯s hard.¡±


    ¡°...just as you say, wise one.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Alright then. If it¡¯s alright with you three, I will happily reconfirm my offer. For a few questions and a bit of conversation, I¡¯ll carry you safely to the point where our paths diverge. Agreed?¡±


    Many-Grasping seems like he (or they?) doesn¡¯t give a rat¡¯s ass what Ko-es is about to say, already sending out notes of agreement, but Kim Ya-ji, for all her excitement, does hesitate. She looks over at the would-be leader of their group, eyes wide and pleading.


    And he gives out a quiet, near-inaudible little sigh.


    ¡°Yes, honored one. I think that would be most agreeable.¡±


    She smiles, again keeping teeth unexposed. ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it.¡±


    The three start to pack up their things, moving quickly to store their would-be tribute and prepare their supplies. Due most likely to their experience, their camp is packed in under a minute, and Raika forms a set of stairs out of bone and metal, leading towards a tasteful veil and into a corridor of chitin and glowing flesh.


    And as she goes to reabsorb the body she¡¯s presenting with back into her main mass, she notices something. Splitting off a new mind to keep track of and interact with her new guests, and inform Li Shu of the changes, she turns her central focus off towards the west, in the direction she came from.


    It¡¯s distant. More than a day¡¯s journey away, perhaps. By all rights, her senses shouldn¡¯t be picking up anything at all, especially not over the din of the far-off battles on the Wall.


    But¡­ there¡¯s still something there. Something sent through the world in a language without words.


    Intent. Feels like there¡¯s more to explore there, just as there¡¯s more to explore with her biology and her learning / techniques. Because by rights, no intent should be carried without the actions and movements it is connected to. But a distant glow of meaning, colored orange-yellow of energy-joy and bright red of violence in her synesthesia, is radiating towards her anyways from an unknown source. It¡¯s meaning, by definition, could not be more clear.


    Play!

 Chapter 237 - So Whats Up With This Intent Stuff? Also, Cat

    There¡¯s something rather convenient about being able to think in multiple layers at once. Not always. For a description of consecutive events, say, by someone attempting to narrate or describe multiple things at once, it¡¯s an added difficulty, providing the challenge of building a frame around events that happen at the same time, but cannot be written of simultaneously. For an individual attempting to do multiple things at once, on the other hand, it¡¯s an outright joy, a privilege of productivity, and Raika just so happens to be enjoying that privilege quite a bit at the moment.


    One mind is busy reviewing, editing, altering the nuances of flesh, coming up with plans and methods to potentially enhance existing techniques and functions. One mind is a kaleidoscope of activity, reviewing past and present events and thinking about what¡¯s to come, what their plans might be. Now there¡¯s a new division between third and fourth- one tracks the movements of the people within her body, enjoying their amazement at the terrain, so much larger on the inside, full of alien sights and pieces of terrain. The other looks out over the horizon, towards the Wall, back the way they came, towards a wave of joyous, playful violence laughing its way towards her.


    Li Shu is busy with her own works, and recovering from their exodus besides. Jin is still asleep. Her latest visitors enter a room she has prepared for them, about ten to fifteen meters in from her skin, padded by a layer of fat and reactive mucus and glowing with fruit-like organs that hang from the ceiling, glowing with bioluminescence. As they enter the room, she finishes sculpting it, raising chairs, a wide area for their rug or meditation, and some soft and mossy areas for relaxation. True to her word, she forms another pitcher-organ, taking her blood, her Truth, and the energies of CHANGE burning from the sun of her inner world together for the transformation. She takes the water in her blood as template, and pushes CHANGE such that the blood around it turns into the same, filling the organ with it, a few gallons of water manifested from pure energy and alchemy.


    They look around, perhaps trying to find another door or some place where she might emerge from- or alternate exit options, maybe. Good instincts, if the latter is the case, though Many-Grasping seems more than likely to fight to remain if given the option. Still, no need to make them uncomfortable.


    Keeping the hallway they came down open to avoid making them feel trapped, she forms another doorway, manifesting a body in the little alcove beyond. She makes it appear to be identical to the other she used, with some slight modifications. It just¡­ feels right, to have her self be a little bit different each time. This body is hers, and who she is is always changing, so why should any avatar of hers not match that? She changes the pattern of her dreads, and subtracts two inches from her height, keeping the left arm absent.


    She smiles and bows slightly, just enough to be polite. ¡°Please, make yourselves at ease. Drink, rest, and if you need anything, do let me know. I¡¯ll be back in a few hours, once you¡¯ve had time to get comfortable and I¡¯ve moved us to another spot.¡±


    Ko-es looks up in alarm at that. ¡°Is- honored one, is there a reason we must move without a heading?¡±


    She raises a hand. ¡°Nothing¡­ too bad. Something out there is throwing out some aggressive signs. I can move us quickly, and through the not-so-sleeping sands if need be, so we¡¯ll more than make up for whatever time we divert.¡±


    Ko-es seems troubled, his emotions and biology all amix. On the one hand, there¡¯s a sense of distance to his fear, security born of being very literally protected by the powerful stranger he¡¯s met. On the other, well¡­ there¡¯s not really much in the way of safety in a land like this, and paranoia is more gift than curse.


    Kim Ya-ji seems to mostly take her cues from her mentor, and Many-Grasping, of course, just seems rather enamored with the whole experience. They (she?) is wandering around the room, sniffing carefully and peering close at the strange features all around, almost entirely ignoring the words being spoken.


    Eventually, Ko-es relents. He nods, bowing a bit further than she did in turn. ¡°We thank you for your hospitality, great one. We shall gladly accept the gift of time to acclimate, and if you need call upon us for aid, please do not hesitate to do so.¡±


    She smiles. ¡°I¡¯ll take you up on that offer, but for now, please. You are my guests. If there¡¯s anything you need or that I may offer, all you need do is speak, and I¡¯ll hear you.¡±


    She walks back through the hallway, melding back into her flesh the moment she¡¯s out of sensing range. She remains there, keeping a close eye on the strangers she¡¯s invited. That¡¯s all she has to do, at least for now.


    She¡¯s already dealing with the other problem, after all.


    Three minutes ago, at the same time that she began forming her new body for the others to acclimate to, she was turning to face the incoming danger.


    One minute ago she finished transforming her main body, ensuring that the rooms and organs inside her are secured and insulated, lengthening limbs, creating pistons and muscle-weave and armor.


    And now, even as she leaves the room she¡¯s speaking in, she catches sight of the thing chasing her.


    It¡¯s not entirely a surprise to see that she recognizes who it is. It is a surprise to see them here in the first place.


    Bounding over a dune some ways away, flickering in and out of space like it¡¯s swimming between viewpoints, refusing to step on the sand, a cyclopean abomination comes towards her.


    PLAY! It roars across the wastes, waves of intent streaming from it in waves and waves. In beast-speak, it roars and laughs, radiating excitement in seeing her again, every predatory leap and glint of sharpened claw somehow singing of violence and friendliness in equal measure.


    She takes a deeper breath, and takes in the shape of the thing.


    Its Qi is a dance between layers, a thing of singular purpose and feline joy. Concepts of sharpness, violence, predation, freedom and more all wind around each other in a whirl of energy, previously kept tame and quiet but now unleashed in the dead wasteland of these sands.


    Larger than a house, with six legs, each of them armed with violent scythe-claws that are fractal in nature. A single eye takes up an entire face, without mouth or nose or other features. A mane of wriggling tendrils, each of them razor sharp in and of themselves, turn its body into a haze of wormlike movement over a semi-leonine existence.


    It does not have a mouth. It cannot roar, not literally, but the beast speak that she learned, the art of language in movement and context alone, make its proclamation as loud as any screams she¡¯s heard before.


    Sibling! Hunter! Alike!


    As she finishes dissolving another body, ensuring that one of her brains is stationed to ensure the safety and comfort of the rooms inside her flesh, she raises herself up on ten limbs, each a long and sharp implement of violence. As the cyclopean Divine Beast, the Dancer Between Layers, charges forth, cascading violence as joy and intent, she broadcasts back, in a language of movement and biology and feeling and context.


    Happy To Bite Better.


    It followed her here, from before the Wall. All the way back from their home, from where she last spoke to it, and she never even noticed.


    The beast plants itself into the sand, throwing up a wave of it even as it shifts itself somehow away from the particles, none of the dead sand or the strange things within it managing to so much as touch its ¡°fur¡±.


    Trying To Be Predator = You, it says. Am Happy To Play. Will Bite You And Have Fun.


    A clear repetition of their mutual goodbye, but recontextualized. It¡¯s intent carries through the message- joy and hunger, joy as violence, mixed intrinsically together. It¡¯s not asking. It¡¯s telling. She is large now, and predatory, and has arrived at a place where there is no one to stop their fight, no need to hold back. No empire to watch them battle, and make a mess.


    All this and more is communicated in a heartbeat, in a single moment of perfect understanding that passes between them.


    It¡¯s not¡­ it¡¯s not just body language. It¡¯s not. There¡¯s more there, even if that is it¡¯s source, and she¡¯s seen it before. Somewhere deep inside, she can feel it, beneath memory- she¡¯s felt something like this before.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    And then, in a flash, there it is.


    The beast has crossed the intervening space like it was never there at all, slipping between layers to simply emerge at her throat. In an instant, a spine is severed, her cluster of eyes and senses at its peak sent crashing like a stalk of corn cut by a scythe.


    Six limbs that are spiked scalpels tear into the body and limbs of the beast, shooting out uninterrupted and unbothered by the loss.


    Somehow, each time the point of Raika¡¯s limbs touch the creature¡¯s body, they find no resistance, piercing through them like an illusion. There¡¯s simply nothing there, nothing to cut, despite all evidence of sight, sound and smell speaking to the contrary.


    That¡¯s fine.


    With a burst of radiant CHANGE, monochrome and iridescent, each of the six limbs stabbing forward turn to branches, blood boiling at the speed and friction of transformation as Raika stabs the ground in front of her a dozen times.


    The not-tiger swipes a paw and she feels two of the four limbs she¡¯s balancing on simply fall off, severed so neatly there¡¯s not even any pain. No portal opened, no movement of Qi appeared behind her, but they fall anyways, and she has to rapid-grow new connections to rebind her legs to her body again.


    The not-tiger sends forth a teasing smile without a mouth, and Raika growls a bit. That¡¯s two hits from it, 0 from her. First blood to the challenger.


    Alright then.


    Spatial distortion is a funny thing. She¡¯s holding a few literal tons of flesh and bone in a main mass that¡¯s about ten feet across and thrice that in length, but there¡¯s nothing that says she actually needs to maintain those dimensions. Dink trembles against her interior, sensing her intent (and maybe that¡¯s something to look into as well, as a source of potential study), sending signals to her Heart to reinforce the message she¡¯s transmitting to herself.


    Within seconds, her body shifts to be the width of a human arm, a few inches across, and she dissolves into the sharp branches she formed of her limbs. The not-tiger dances as if her limbs aren¡¯t there, appearing in areas it can¡¯t possibly fit in like it¡¯s an optical illusion, chasing after the pearl of existence she¡¯s made of her main body. At this level of spatial dilation there¡¯s a delay, her brains far away from the exterior of her body- there¡¯s room for improvement.


    But in the meantime, she¡¯s busy pulling out other abilities.


    As she continues forking and branching out jagged limbs, failing to hit the beast even as she sees her body pass through it, it¡¯s clear that biology alone won¡¯t win the day. She can probably outlast the creature, and it¡¯s yet to launch an attack ¡®inside¡¯ her body- an interesting potential limit. Still, she won¡¯t win just by wasting energy failing to hit it.


    Deep in the center of her being, her Soul and her Heart move in tune. An orchard of strange trees shift in a nonexistent breeze as the incarnation of a person walks through them, letting their patterns whisper and grow to the outside world.


    There are three trees that are worthy of the name so far. Many saplings, a couple of shrubs, most of them unidentifiable, a mess of meaning and shifting concepts-, but only three trees, young and thin though they are.


    One is a thing of edges, with branches of swords, axes, spears, bladed edges of all kinds, and some of its roots crawl into shrubs of claws and shrapnel- but there, at the trunk, deep in the middle, there¡¯s something beyond blades and edges. Something sharper than that.


    She can¡¯t reach it. It¡¯s not on the branches, not really, and to touch it unprepared is to be ruined by it, Divided. But there are branches she can reach, and she follows the inlaid pattern and places it on weapons of her own, manifesting the Dao of the Blade.


    Another tree has cherries and fruit of bullets and lead, heavy things ripe with cordite and gunpowder. Smoke wafts from it, from the hundred gunbarrels that make up its trunk, the pistols and magazines that make up its leaves. There¡¯s something in the center of this trunk too, but it¡¯s vague, indeterminate, harder to comprehend than Division, and so it remains untouched- but a single root traces over in the direction of the sword-tree. She reaches for the Dao of the Gun, and feels it grow from within her out into the world.


    A third tree is a familiar one. Branches of bone and vein, fruit of plump muscle and organ, roots of nervous systems and gnarls of eyes, ears and snouts- a tree of biology. Of Flesh. This one is always bound to her, an anchor between Heart, Soul and Self, its roots beginning to reach towards grasses and shrubs of plants, fungi, bubbling toxins and more- but it is the largest of the three by far.


    There is one more tree worthy of the name. It stands apart from the other three, in its own patch of the garden, even with roots that tie intimately back to the Gun and distantly back to the Flesh.


    A crackling, four-hued tree of flickering Flame, scorching the earth around it. It¡¯s undigested, barely taken root, but it stands there, slim and dangerous.


    She can hold off on that one for now. Not every Dao is safe to touch unprepared, and even those familiar to her are a risk to wield mindlessly.


    But pulling properly from all three of her greater comprehensions? With a shared neural network of multiple minds, that¡¯s a bit of guaranteed damage.


    The next time that the not-tiger swipes through a cluster of limbs, she unspools a blade twelve feet long from a branching joint behind it and Slices.


    The beast yowls immediately, the pattern of how a Blade must work, according to reality, overcoming its spatial warping at least in part. The cut is shallow, much more shallow than it should be, but it¡¯s a strike nonetheless.


    As the beast slips out of view like a mirage, remerging behind the Blade to sever it, it finds itself facing directly into the barrel of a cannon.


    Technically, a gun is just something that uses combustion and mechanisms to fire a projectile very fast. So, mechanically speaking, a rifled tube made of Radiant Metal, a Blacksteel bullet like an obsidian arrowhead, and a series of bone structures and tendons absolutely counts as a gun.


    The Beast, for the first time in their conflict, actually dodges. Not just a slip through reality, but a genuine flinch and physical movement away as the gunshot thunders loud enough to echo in the wastes. But it¡¯s too late- in its arrogance, the beast has slipped into a net that it thought it could walk free of at any time.


    It¡¯s expensive to manifest a Dao. It takes tremendous concentration, versatile comprehension, and waves of Qi to turn it into a malleable material. Her own reserves are vast, and the radiance of CHANGE in her inner world make the process of transformation infinitely cheaper, but manifesting a property in its truer form takes effort.


    Raika has had multiple brains managing natural formations of blood and flesh that spawn the size of whole fields. For days. And no one to talk to.


    She¡¯s got a lot of energy to spare at the moment.


    The forest of limbs that the cyclopean entity cut its way into becomes insanely sharp-edged, each angle and protrusion suddenly hardening into bone or Blacksteel to become a Blade. Suddenly, every angle is a threat, a trap that at least partially makes it through whatever dimensional layering the beast does- it still dodges and moves fluidly, but now there is an ever-growing amount of cuts and blood beginning to leak from its hide. Every time it stops for more than a moment, biomechanical gun barrels sprout like tumors and fire indiscriminately into it, each bullet more of a bullet than it should be, forcing it to move or get another wound.


    And yet, the only thing the beast says in the not-language is Joy.


    There¡¯s something there, beneath the meaning. A mixture of contexts and intentions. Like¡­ like joy, or affection, is violence. Like a cat that sees nothing wrong with cutting open a mouse to watch it crawl away, because that¡¯s fun.


    Despite this, it¡¯s¡­ almost impossible to hate. There¡¯s something so fundamental about this type of communication, this sense of intent, that the lack of malice literally could not be clearer.


    Still, no reason to take it easy on the beast.


    Half of the limb-branches collapse inward to a central point, moving through every spatial coordinate that the beast can reappear in within the makeshift territory. It reappears a few hundred meters away, its movement impossibly vast and disorienting- but she figured it would do something like that.


    Which is why, in the midst of the battle, she reconnected to her panopticon-head, laying severed on the ground. Not nearly as effective while half-eaten by sand and on the floor, but still enough to offer an almost three-hundred and sixty degree view of her surroundings.


    The instant the beast reappears, a portal of meat opens in the side of Raika¡¯s reforming central mass.


    Unlike a Blade, which requires a sheathe, a Gun can be holstered or stored in many places. Hidden in an alcove, for example. There¡¯s no rule saying she has to build the entire thing outside her body for it to work.


    Since she began using her Dao comprehensions, she has been forming the weapon inside her body. Spatially warped interiors to her meat makes it so it¡¯s invisible, undetectable while hidden, and while only seconds of conflict have passed, that¡¯s enough time to form something¡­ interesting.


    The Gun, if manifested in open air, would be approximately twenty feet long.


    Supreme Body Art: Pressurized Indigo.


    Even using Blacksteel, too much of Pressurized Indigo would simply destroy the projectile. She can only manifest it for a single instant, a burst of compressed purple life-force launched with enough force to cut stone on its own.


    The projectile detonates midair from the damage anyways, and a wave of shrapnel cuts open the world towards the divine beast.


    Its eye widens. She smells the scent of surprise and actual fear in it for the first time since their fight began, a sour note to the melody of joy and rhapsodic pain.


    And then¡­ she senses something else.


    It¡¯s colorless. Or maybe¡­ maybe black. A black of a void. It pings familiar immediately.


    For a moment, even with no change at all in the beast¡¯s Qi or movements, she feels a sense of incredible danger.


    The tournament. In Cragend. The Aspirant of the Cut.


    In the language of intent, the beast overlays the desire, the inevitability, the context of killing into each and every movement.


    It¡¯s almost a literal attack. Like by stating one¡¯s intent, one¡¯s context and belief into one¡¯s acts and presence, the world itself is forced to agree or communicate that intent. Killing intent radiates like the feeling of total oblivion behind a kiss of a knife.


    The not-lion is there. Standing beside her. Inside the cage of limbs and Blades. The Dao of the Claw is ripe in the fractal edges of its limbs, of its squirming tendrils, and somehow, she knows that the next blow will not need to penetrate the skin to cut to the core of her.


    Not Playing = You, the beast says, its intent both quiet and thunderous in a language without sound.


    There is a long, drawn out moment of silence, where Raika feels the faint impression of claws poised sharply against every single vein, synapse, tendon and airway in her incredibly massive biology.


    Surrender, she sends it.


    The cat huffs, despite lacking any mouth to do so. She feels the claws retract.


    And then they bap her in her core body, hard enough that she hits the sand with enough force to reshape a dune.


    Good. Smart Sibling.


    Raika grins without teeth in a language without words. Bite Better Next Time.


    The cat makes the eldritch equivalent of a ¡°harumph¡±. Is What All Say. Loser.

 Chapter 238 - A Little Patience And A Little Kindness Go A Long Way

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    The hunter-between-layers doesn¡¯t stick around long. Like a cat, it bats at the annoying sand all around, kicks a clump of it back like shrapnel at Raika, and then runs off, disappearing behind an invisible wall the instant it leaves its seating place. If she had to guess, it¡¯s probably not the last time the creature will try to harass her, but it seems that with its initial desire to play mollified, it¡¯s just¡­ lost interest in her. She had questions she wanted to ask, things she wanted explained, anything at all that it might be able to tell her about the ¡°Pack¡± she¡¯s heard mentioned- but no. That would be much too convenient. Whatever it has transformed into, whether or not it held a similar form at birth, it certainly seems to have embraced feline instincts enough to mimic their total and absolute disinterest in anything that doesn¡¯t entertain or feed them.


    Raika looks at herself through a half-melted panopticon crown, most of her own biomass now spread out all over thin, sharpened limbs in a great tangle of branches. Both are being eaten away rapidly by the sands once again, a thousand tiny bursts of sharp destruction and crawling death making themselves known in a feeding frenzy. Stealth is only useful until it¡¯s broken, and the rich, vibrant purple blood splattered all over the nearby dunes has enough Qi in it to match the trio she¡¯s picked up a dozen times over.


    So that whole experience was¡­ enlightening.


    Half her techniques never had a chance to even make an appearance. The techniques of Supreme Body Art were useful, but Overclocking is too expensive to use at will, Gigant is nearly always on nowadays anyways, more for keeping her body functional than for combat utility, and both Full-Body Transformation and Specialized Enhancement take time. If she¡¯d pulled out all the stops, the fight would have gone very differently, even with her damage options limited, but she¡­ probably would still have lost. Or at least wasted too much energy.


    She looks inside at the strange, ephemeral barrier between her Body and her inner world. Veins of pure Qi run through the inner world, sustaining it and empowering her if need be, and inside the vast space of her biology, she has set up patterns of circulation, musculature and organs that mimic natural formations, following the guidance of her Heart¡¯s instincts. Her Qi generation is, at this point, likely above that of a Nascent Soul cultivator. With her Truths, she can fuel her transformation of Qi into materials with minimal waste.


    But it¡¯s expensive.


    On top of that, the fight made one thing very clear; if she had unleashed everything she had, it would only have become a longer battle of attrition. The Dao helped, but considering that the killing intent (something else she doesn¡¯t know how to use) didn¡¯t even appear throughout the fight until the end, it likely wouldn¡¯t have gotten a true win either. Faced with the spatial warping of the cyclopean lion, equipped with Dao of its own, it wouldn¡¯t have bridged the gap. She needs better offensive options, and she needs to keep refining her ability to use Qi, keep improving the variation, utility, and foundations of her Supreme Body Art.


    Slowly, she shifts away from the tangle of limbs, returning to her desert-strider form. Spatial alteration and Supreme Body Art: Gigant ensure that her biology doesn¡¯t collapse, a series of lattices, architecture and reinforcement ensuring that her body can sustain its mass within her inner altered space. Miles of veins pump and cycle Qi through them, creating more through the patterns of its movement and interaction with itself, refilling her vast reserves at a decent pace. In an hour, she¡¯ll be back to full. Looking inside her biology, she sees that the inner rooms are undisturbed, the actual location and mass of them kept static despite all the exterior movement.


    So. The fight¡­ wasn¡¯t the worst thing. Better to face a genuine threat when it¡¯s not trying to kill you than when it is. Slaying Nascent Soul cultivators is a hell of an accomplishment, and she slew four at a time, but there¡¯s a difference between soldiers and talents, and despite her passengers, the likelihood of more esoteric forms of power and higher levels of it remain likely here in the fourth ring.


    So far from the start. So much further to go.


    She spits out bits of carnivorous bone-sand, digging through her outer muscles and trying to enact war and death unto her body. Her Heart briefly sends her a feeling like a sad puppy, but even the thought of absorbing the Dao in them makes the headband around her inner world hurt.


    And¡­ despite her disgust at what was done, she is aware that there might be a blessing in disguise in the restriction.


    She¡¯s been creative, yes, but for the most part, her victories have come from cleverness, surprise, and the ability to constantly, endlessly grow. Without consuming the Dao of the fortress city¡¯s attacks, she would not have been able to fight back nearly so easily against its stronger champions. Without consuming the Qi of her enemies to regenerate, she¡¯d have lost long ago. It¡¯s one thing to win, another to win easily or effectively, and it¡¯s clear that despite her relative strength, she¡¯s still using tools that need refining, that haven¡¯t been properly explored. There¡¯s certainly more to discover if she were to study flesh-crafting techniques like the empire uses for their bio-constructs, more refinements to be made, but the Supreme Body Art and the use of explosive energies isn¡¯t going to let her really win. Without the band restricting her, she could probably eat, heal and grow her way out of anything still a threat to her, consume Domains and Souls piece by piece- not enough to guarantee victory, but enough to keep victory a clear possibility. Without that¡­ well, it reminds her of Taran¡¯s lesson, politely reminding her with a shotgun to the face about how she used her body in a way that neglected any and all martial arts that she could have been using.


    Mmh. Work to be done. More to learn. And in spite of the added challenge, of the loss of surety¡­ she can¡¯t help it. It¡¯s sort of exciting.


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    Though she will absolutely still be removing it and telling the Emperor to go fuck itself the second she finds out how. Using the same willpower that allowed her to do and survive the impossible to do so again is one thing, purposefully limiting her own potential for the sake of her ego is another.


    She staggers to one side, two of her limbs cracking under the strain of constant wear-and-tear that the Daos of the dead desert force on her. The blood spilled has been nearly all subsumed by this point, and the sands are only getting more active.


    Time to go, then.


    She shifts, altering the brain she¡¯s been using for her outer perception. She reinforces the patterns that form when she¡¯s focused, single-minded, and navigating the terrain, reducing the energy and synapses between the others. It¡¯s imperfect, but it makes for a mind that can deal with the stress and boredom of the trek without losing focus, and it reduces the chemical needs, and thus the Qi requirements, to keep it running. She¡¯s got others.


    So modified, she starts walking, shifting the focus of her gestalt over more towards her interior.


    She reforms a body and clothes next to Li Shu once again, forming the same doorway and alcove to manifest in as she did her new visitors. No reason not to provide even the illusion of space.


    Li Shu is busy studying, as she often does when stressed. The manual that the Imperial healer offered Raika to give to her is on the small table in front of her, its pages already annotated and a fresh notebook open beside her. For all her genius, she too needs a little bit of guidance to make connections, and an official manual of medicine from the Empire¡¯s own vaults is going to have a lot more information in it, written much more practically, than most conventional healers. The changes to education and information that the Empire has fostered pretty much ensure it, and stand as some of its more impactful and meaningful accomplishments. If anyone can find hidden issues in it, or use it simply as a jumping off point, it¡¯s Li Shu.


    Raika knocks politely on the frame of the freshly-made doorway.


    ¡°Alright if I come in?¡± she asks.


    Li Shu meets her eye¡­ and nods.


    She comes in, taking a seat across the table. It¡¯s pretty cluttered, but, well¡­ it¡¯s not very hard to just have the table extend itself out a few more inches to make room.


    ¡°I¡­ want to apologize,¡± Li Shu says. ¡°I don¡¯t know the context of your escape. Our escape. And for however impressive you are¡­ I was pretty out of it, but you didn¡¯t come in from the direction of most of the wounded. And you¡¯d have to be some kind of Emperor-realm prodigy to suppress an entire fortress on your own to escape, especially with Jin and I. Not even counting what they did to you. I¡¯m not¡­ I don¡¯t ever want to kill someone. Ever again. But I have. And¡­ harm is often the cost of healing. I could not and would not act as you did in your situation, but we are not the same people. And¡­ despite what I would like, the world we live in is not so kind as for me to believe that we can move through it without ever hurting others. I¡­ I spoke harshly. Naively. I trust you, and I believe that you would only act in such a way if you truly believed it was the best possible choice. I will continue to try and ensure that the least amount of people die as I can possibly reach¡­ but I also know that the world is not perfect, and that violence and death are a part of it, and that sometimes they are inevitable in the path of change and betterment.¡±


    Raika says nothing for a while. Then she sighs, long and quiet.


    ¡°Apology accepted.¡±


    Li Shu gives a sigh of relief, and Raika grins back at her. ¡°Thank you for saying that, but I never took offense. I don¡¯t have nearly the issues that you do with killing, but it¡¯s never been my first choice, or something I do for pleasure. There are¡­ there are some people in the world whose death, I think, would be a good thing, and I would find little burden in delivering it. There are times when I have and will weigh the lives of those against me and my objectives and find that objective heavier on the scales. There are even some people I think I¡¯d like to kill. I don¡¯t think that makes me evil, but it certainly leaves me closer than you, but I have never once taken it lightly, and it¡¯s never been something I¡¯ve done on a whim. But¡­ well, I¡¯m am no perfect person, and when I fail to doubt myself, it can still be a good thing to have someone I trust call me on my actions. I am honored that you choose to be such a person, and gratefully accept your apology.¡±


    Li Shu giggles, her breath hitching a bit with the release of anxiety brought on by Raika¡¯s words. ¡°Gods, so prim and proper. Hardly like you at all.¡±


    Raika just shrugs. ¡°I guess. I¡¯m¡­ trying to say things more sincerely. Honest, direct¡­ but not everything has to be aggressive or a joke. Some things are and need to be, and I¡¯m happy to rub that in anyone¡¯s face that asks, but considering I¡¯d be dead at least three times over without you, I¡¯m pretty satisfied with just telling you things true.


    Li Shu cocks an eyebrow. ¡°Wow. Really getting something from all that extra brain matter, huh?¡±


    ¡°Rude! I¡¯ll have you know my original brain was gift enough, and all that¡¯s come since is a bonus.


    ¡°Though I am impressed; how¡¯d you find out about the brains?¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s possible for literally anyone to control a body of your size consciously, nevermind all the time. Not with a human brain, anyways. Since I know you never got your hands on a special mental technique, and most techniques could take decades to properly master, way slower than your rate of growth, I figured you had to be adding and modifying neural mass. I only figured it out yesterday, by which point concerns about you being ¡®yourself¡¯ felt moot; you still act like you, and your Truth probably helps a lot on that front.¡±


    Raika snorts. ¡°They would have wasted you in that infirmary.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. It was nice though, in its own way. Like a more dramatic version of what happened back in the village, sort of sideways. Harder to heal, but the patients needed less in a lot of ways. I do think it would have drained me, staying there, but it was worthwhile.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll find chances to do it again. You¡¯re nothing if not proactive in your passions.¡±


    ¡°Heh. I guess so. It¡­ it was simple. A body on the table, a fix, and away we go. This is engaging in a very different way, but the experience was good, for me and for the people I helped. I¡¯m looking forward to using this manual and some of the techniques I used.¡±


    Originally, the plan had been just to check in. Then, to ask for her input on a few different ideas, both to engage with her and try to develop something new. But¡­ seeing her sitting there, looking almost happy with the ideas and mechanics laid out in front of her¡­ it feels wrong to ask for something selfish.


    So Raika smiles gently, and ignores the outside world, and plans for the future, and theories about what new technique or power she might learn to manifest. She comes forward over the table, leaning on it with her elbow.


    ¡°Do you¡­ mind telling me about it? You can use me as a chalk slate, bounce your thoughts off me.¡±


    Li Shu looks up from her papers, a drop of surprise blending into a look of thanks.


    ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡±


    They talk for hours longer as the sun squirms across the sky and their room walks, long and steady, across bright white dunes.

 Chapter 239 - Tourist Hotspots And Good Eateries

    Apparently it¡¯s a very novel experience for the desert couriers to be able to enjoy the scenery during their travels. When Raika offered to build them a sort of viewing center, they were hesitant at first, but now, she¡¯s pretty sure they¡¯re not intending to ever leave it. A thin mucous membrane blocks them off from the outside world, see-through fibers and slender pillars of bone making up the architecture of the structure atop Raika¡¯s back. The winds still occasionally blow a few bits of hungering, Ruinous sand into the membranes, but they¡¯re easy enough to wick away when in such small fragments. A constant expenditure, sure, but the formations and patterns of life inside her make recovering this much energy basically a given.


    It¡¯s made it even more blatant how much she can offer, and how much power she holds compared to them. If there was hesitation before, touched by the possibility of fear, there¡¯s now a much more solid sense of awe and gratitude. She¡¯s been asking them questions, and Ko-es especially has been very forthcoming with answers.


    ¡°So¡­ the east has cities?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely, honored cultivator,¡± he says, making sure not to call much attention to Kim Ya-ji¡¯s fascinated wandering around the chamber. ¡°Some few possess hundreds of thousands in their walls or deep within their protections. There are three grand kingdoms to the east, one greater empire to the far west around the end of the world, and two to the south. In the east, the Grand Republic of Mora holds the most territory, a series of clans of cultivators with servant-families that span generations, allied to each other. They build their homes and cities around hidden dimensions or the domains of their patriarchs and elders, making islands with some small, dangerous pathways between each. Their territory stretches from the grandest mountain range of the east, Morae¡¯s Lament, but there are several lakes and small seas between many of the mountains, making much of their landscape aquatic.


    ¡°Deeper in the wildlands, the tribal kingdoms of the Many and All live among some of the more dangerous portions of the overgrowth. Between almost anyplace in the world that isn¡¯t a wasteland or a specific beast¡¯s terrain, the overgrowth rules as lord, ever-changing, infinite life spiraling out in a hundred ways. It¡¯s impossible to predict how it will change or how the landscape will shift, but there are some tribes that make a home there, and consider anything outside the overgrowth as strange lands. They trade frequently with outsiders, but few can survive traveling in their lands, so they send out scouts most often, and work in alliance with each other to survive.


    At the far edge of the east is the Fallen Kingdom. It is still ruled, but only through ghosts and the dead, metallic minds and corpses making up its citizenry and leaders. They are the furthest known outpost of civilization, standing firm against the beast-tides, the passage of the sun as it reforms, and more, using old magics and powerful Dao arrays to maintain a place of stability.¡±


    As he¡¯s talking, Raika is doing her best to self modify. Synapses are¡­ messy, and each minor change has all sorts of effects on the incredibly complex web of a brain. Instead, she routes additional oxygen and nutrients into areas that she finds most activity in. She can sense individual neurons, but keeping track of them is almost impossible, like feeling each grain of sand but being unable to pick it out of a handful. Instead, she tracks where new connections form in tandem with the ongoing words, feeding a bit more Qi into those sections to try and reinforce her memory. An experiment, one with a little less danger than trying to individually format synapses and such.


    And hopefully, it¡¯ll lead her into finding better ways to grow her brains and shape their functions. In the meantime, it¡¯s a trial-run of an attempt to create a more perfect memory, and it makes for a good distraction- she has a lot of trains of thought now, and leaving any of them off the tracks feels wrong now.


    ¡°What about the west? You mentioned an¡­ empire there?¡±


    Ko-es nods. ¡°I can¡¯t say much more, as I¡¯ve never been. My father¡¯s mother once spent a few years to circle the rim of the Wall and saw it herself, but I cannot know how things have changed since then. It is said that there are buildings of marble and gold, whole mountains of jade- and she made my father swear, and he made me swear, that we would never try to find it for ourselves, lest it eat us whole. She called it a place that is always building, like a sort of mud that everything sinks into and emerges from changed- gilded and more dangerous. I have heard it most called the Golden City or the western empire, and not much else.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. That¡¯s¡­ ok. That¡¯s quite a lot. You mentioned some places in the south¡­ but not the north?¡±


    ¡°Ah, well, yes, honored Raika. The north, they say, is a place of death. Despite my travels, I can¡¯t quite disagree. It is the place closest to the moons, and the Cold Sun. Occasionally pieces of them fall to earth, especially during an eclipse, where the writhing sun crashes into and crawls across them. It is¡­ cold. Always cold. There are some who live amidst the plains of snow, in the deepest winter ice, amid the glacier-mountains and the half-solid mistlands of alien cold¡­ but they are not ones I would like to meet. In a land of such desperate emptiness, of such total lifeless cold, the flesh and soul of the living is more valuable than nearly any other commodity, and only the strongest of beasts and monsters can thrive there. They say there is an ocean at the top of the world, at the hidden north of existence, where the wyrms that make up the sun converge after their journey across the horizon, which boils and freezes and boils again daily. They say it has no bottom, and goes deeper than the world is wide.¡±


    ¡°...then what about where the sun lands? Down in the far south?¡±


    ¡°The land of drakes and wyrms, of flame and ever-change. More hospitable than the north by far, until you go down far enough that you find the glass. It¡¯s¡­ surprisingly stable, in its own way. The heat makes it so the overgrowth only thrives in the north-eastern areas and towards the west, and the people who live there are well-adapted. Many of them live beneath the earth, and come up primarily to farm the glass, ceramics and crystal that the land becomes as the sun lands. There are two kingdoms there: the nomadic peoples of the Path-born, whose territory is marked by the trails they leave across the sands and stones, and the under-folk, who worship gods in the ground and have near-infinite forms, stretch from near the tribelands of the Many and All down almost to where the sun touches down every night. Both tend to be great business, and often very hospitable peoples.¡±


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    Raika sighs. Even at such a broad overview, it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s a massive idea. The fourth ring is more or less the size of the first three combined, and the fifth ring, long-considered the edge of the Empire, feels further and stranger to define than ever. And the idea of the Empire, what it¡¯s connection might be to the Gilded City that Ko-es mentioned¡­


    ¡°You brought up before how sometimes things come from the¡­ end of the world. From the Wall. What do they¡­ do?¡±


    Ko-es shudders. ¡°Tales differ, but¡­ they¡¯re never good. Sometimes armies of gold and black jade march out, armed with Daemons and worse, and cut their way out into the world, but they rarely stay very long. They¡¯ll wander out, kill anyone in their way and then retreat back towards the Wall. I¡¯ve heard rumors that they build things in the areas they travel through, tales of black pillars dug into the earth- but if they¡¯re real, then they don¡¯t last very long. I¡¯ve never actually seen one, though as I¡¯ve mentioned, my travels are limited.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all? They just wander out, kill people and retreat?¡±


    ¡°Not always. Plenty of them die here, there are whole battlefields of their armor and the dead. But those who loot the corpses only ever find blood and ash, like the bodies are just¡­ gone. Just the armor stays behind. Some people say that there¡¯s only armor, but plenty have spoken of sensing blood and bone beneath them, and heard them speaking with air, so I believe they¡¯re more likely some kind of devils. I would not speculate on their origin, especially not to disrespect your own greater wisdom on the matter.


    ¡°On occasion, however, they have done more. They sometimes march out in force. There have been three wars in my life that originate from the end of the world- once, against the Fallen Kingdom, and twice into the Grand Republic of Mora. Both times they entered the Republic, multiple lesser domains were lost, and in one of the battles, one of the peaks of Morae¡¯s Lament was torn down, killing¡­ a lot of people. Tens of thousands at least. One of the Divine Supremes was lost, the youngest one I believe.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ why? They never talk to anyone? They never say anything?¡±


    ¡°I apologize, honored one. If they have, this lowly one has heard nothing of the sort, but I have never been anywhere near such conflicts. I am a sand-traveler, a simple courier, carrying on a family legacy, and I doubt I will surpass Foundation Establishment in my lifetime.¡±


    ¡°Foundation Establishment¡­ You mean the Foundational realm?¡±


    ¡°As you say, honored one. There are as many names for the steps toward ascension as there are stars in the sky, and my family has always called the first steps Qi Gathering, Foundation Establishment, and Golden Core.¡±


    ¡°What if your core isn¡¯t golden?¡±


    He gives a huff, something like a polite laugh. ¡°I believe that to call it golden is only to denote its value, honored one.¡±


    She huffs right back, rolling her eyes. ¡°Yeah, alright. What would you say is directly east of here? From our point on the map towards the direction we¡¯re heading.¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Apologies, great one, but it¡¯s a broad direction. If we turn a bit towards the south, the southeast of the world is always troubled by overgrowth, and the villages of the Many and All and their alliances are common enough. A bit towards the north, but not quite enough to enter the frozen reaches, we¡¯ll enter the upper edge of the Grand Republic, and to the absolute edge of the east before it¡¯s just wilderness forever, you hit the Fallen Kingdom. There¡¯s months of travel in between even the furthest edges of each, all through the territories of cultivators, beasts, rogue Daemons and the like¡­ the sands, for all their dangers, are reliable. Much harder to predict what you¡¯ll run into in the overgrowth and the wilds. I can¡¯t see any precise point from where we travel now.¡±


    Raika sighs, yet again. The directions that the fortress city gave her, or more precisely her Heart, just point due east, nothing more specific. There¡¯s been the slightest change as she¡¯s traveled, but it only manifests as vaguely as the directions themselves; turn too much in one direction and she just knows whether or not she¡¯s more or less on-heading, no more. Unfortunately, the sensation is broad enough that she can¡¯t feel much more than ¡°east, but not perfectly east¡±. Not a very useful metric.


    Best case scenario, she takes a hard northward turn, then another one hard south, and triangulates off of that. Unfortunately, considering how little it¡¯s changed in days of wandering around dunes, she¡¯d probably have to travel days more to be able to triangulate anything properly, and that feels like time she doesn¡¯t have.


    It¡¯s not a constant concern, but the feeling is still there. Two more years until Taurus¡¯ plans kick off, and the whole time she¡¯s gone, he¡¯s still there, doing whatever he pleases. Kaena, Taran, Maen, even Yun Ka are all still right alongside him, and Hisheng, Qen Hou, Hao Nera, all of them are too far for her to reach out here. Rushing into things is just a death sentence, but delaying to try to figure everything out perfectly just doesn¡¯t feel right.


    She gives a polite bow, bending mostly at the shoulders from a seated position. ¡°This one thanks the honorable Ko-es for answering my questions. The world is vast, and I find that I tend to do better when informed on it than not.¡±


    Ko-es bows back twice as deep, edging near a kowtow yet again. ¡°This lowly one is happy to inform his honorable host of what little he knows.¡±


    Raika snorts, getting up off the ground. ¡°Still far too polite, but I¡¯ll accept it. Is the direction we¡¯re going still good for you for now?¡±


    He maintains the bow, refusing to raise his head. ¡°I believe so, honored one, and am grateful for your aid.¡±


    Raika looks over at Kim Ya-ji, raising an eyebrow. The younger sand-courier looks through the membrane, out into the dunes¡­ and shrugs, but then nods. It¡¯s¡­ less helpful than she¡¯d like, but confirmation enough. While she wouldn¡¯t fault him for it, it would be annoying to have tried to do him a favor and have taken him off course due to an insistence on being polite.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it. I¡¯m thinking that we¡¯ll part ways in another day or two. It¡¯s not much, but I think I can smell something other than bone, dust and rust coming on the breeze.¡±


    ¡°This one thanks you for your generosity. Is there anything more we can offer?¡±


    She smiles, but shakes her head softly. ¡°Thank you, but no. For now, this is enough, though advice on some smaller place to stop after we part ways would be helpful when we do so. In the meantime, I¡¯m afraid I have some work to do on my cultivation. If you need anything, please, feel free to reach me. All you will need to do is pulse your Qi three times, and I will feel it and come to you.¡±


    Ko-es bows one more time, exhaustingly, and she gives him a polite bow in return. Kim Ya-ji is slightly less intense about the bowing and scraping, ¡®only¡¯ bowing at the waist from where she stands.


    She seems like a good egg. Young enough that maybe she and Jin might get along a bit.


    She¡¯s¡­ she¡¯s not worried. Definitely not. Whatever is happening with him, he¡¯s not having nightmares, not that she can detect from heartbeat, breathing or hormones. His Qi remains stable, if still¡­ a bit off from what it was before. She¡¯s gone into cultivator trances before, though none quite as traumatic or direct as his. She¡¯s heard of deeper experiences that can last weeks, maybe even months. None that she¡¯s heard of at the Qi-Gathering realm, but¡­


    Ok. Maybe she is a little worried.


    She keeps an eye on him always. Half a mind dedicated to tracking any and all changes constantly, every moment of every day.


    She can¡¯t help him yet. In the meantime, all she can do is keep moving forward. And if moving forward helps her find a way to heal him, all the damn better.

 Chapter 240 - A Little Introspection Never Hurt Nobody

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    Raika dissolves her body, eliminating the physical remnants of the idea that she¡¯s human. Her only body is the Body, which is currently a ten-legged desert strider with a giant neck and a head full of eyes, and it can be¡­ anything. All that limits her is fuel and imagination, and she¡¯s progressed far with the Supreme Body Art and her ability to interface with biology. She¡¯s even bound up the concept in her Heart, that of CHANGE, screaming from inside her Reactor, to use the Full-Body Transmutation technique, shifting between states of matter and materials to anything she has access to and can picture. Flesh to marble, bone to gelatin, blood to water, skin to grass, if need be.


    It¡¯s a tremendous skill, one that supplements the near-infinite possibilities of bio-mechanisms that she¡¯s still only just starting to properly comprehend and explore. At this point, especially with the golden band around her inner world, her Body is her strongest tool for defense, versatility, adaptability, and more.


    But¡­ it needs updating. Against even nascent soul cultivators, while she could maintain a higher output for longer, that isn¡¯t always relevant in a fight that can trade a thousand blows in under a minute, and stops being a factor at higher realms, where one¡¯s Soul and domain provide near-constant enhancement and saturate the body to a much higher baseline. Additionally, most of the time she uses it to either increase her capabilities in a specific way, defend herself, or regenerate from harm, occasionally gaining new utilitie, but she¡¯s still mostly using creative variations on what she already knows- mammalian biology. Only recently has she started truly branching out with her thickened purple blood. It¡¯s still by far her strongest and most versatile tool, but in terms of attacks, it offers little (yet).


    But, as was proven in her fights during the fortress city and against the Dancer-Between-Layers, surviving something isn¡¯t enough to win. To win, you need to vanquish what¡¯s in front of you.


    Supreme Body Art: Pressurized Indigo and its lesser variant, Pressurised Crimson Cut, both offer powerful tools¡­ but both technically rely on Blacksteel to be effective. And both are big maneuvers, but not suited for dealing with distant targets or stranger defenses than just solid structures and constructs. Expanding her grasp on biology is paramount, but that can wait, lest she let her other options lag behind. She needs to expand her understanding of what she has, and how she can use it.


    At the moment, outside her biology and the Truths that empower it, she has three tools.


    First, Blacksteel. The alien material is still one of her most faithful gifts, stolen from the END itself (or a shadow of it, at any rate). It¡¯s hyper-lethal, slowing regeneration and increasing lethality, the smallest sliver of it enough to kill someone without the proper cultivation base. While it takes time to manufacture, and can be broken, the material itself remains usable even as splintered shards, and it¡¯s a universal tool for causing damage to all but the hardiest bodies.


    On the other hand, it¡¯s limited. It can only be made into armor or simple weapons, not full constructs, not without making them sharp and unwieldy at best. Its concept fights against being used as anything other than a sharp thing that kills whatever it touches. It also requires her to wield it, her martial arts and biology to strike with, which isn¡¯t a guarantee against spatial-warping, people faster than her, better technique, or more complex or esoteric defenses, and against an overwhelmingly solid construct or individual, it tends to lose out. Sure, it will get through eventually, but only if it doesn¡¯t break down past utility, and while it might get through faster than a conventional Qi attack, that¡¯s still a generous window of time where her opponent could retaliate or escape. Maybe if she made a sword of it, fifty feet tall, it could overwhelm any and all defense- but that just doubles down on production time and unwieldiness, and frankly, she¡¯s pretty sure it wouldn¡¯t help much.


    Second, her Reactor. While primarily a support tool for her Truths, boosting her ability to control and change her Body and self to much higher degrees, much faster, she also used it as a weapon against the lightning-wielding platoon leader. When facing the creator / self of [Perfect Strike Of Tribulation] (and she¡¯ll get to that thought too), she managed to infuse the radiation of her Reactor directly into a blade. It destroyed the weapon, transforming it into a thousand different seemingly random and utterly incompatible materials- but she moved quickly enough that it also did the same to anything it touched and cut through, like the cultivator¡¯s neck. As far as trump cards go, it¡¯s a damn good one, and considering how it transformed both the air and Qi it was in contact with, probably one that¡¯s incredibly hard to block.


    Not to dodge, though. She still needs to swing and attack with it, once again relying on ¡°conventional¡± methods of attack.


    On their own, these two tools alone can just about guarantee victory against anyone caught unprepared, but both have their limits. So long as they constitute the majority of her arsenal, there¡¯s simply too many ways to get around them, and too little she can actively do with them.


    That, of course, brings up the third and final tool.


    Dao.


    The trees in her inner world, taking the form of the concepts she¡¯s consumed directly. It¡¯s¡­ iffy. It isn¡¯t her own comprehension, so it feels a bit awkward- by following the patterns of Dao, she can manifest the concepts associated with them more easily, but can¡¯t yet put her own distinct spin on them. She has three central ¡°trees¡± in the garden of her inner world- Flesh, Blades, and Guns, with a smaller tree that isn¡¯t quite at their level, that of Flame. Each of them has roots that diverge into nearby concepts- both the tree of Blades and Guns have roots that connect to a patch of grass she¡¯s calling ¡°metal¡±, for example, on account of¡­ well, the grass is a bunch of different metals.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    On the other hand, the trees themselves also have trunks and branches. The trunks seem to highlight the concept behind each Dao- if Dao is the pattern reality makes when a concept interacts with it, then glimpses into the core of the Dao-trees seems to be a glimpse at that concept in a purer form. The branches, on the other hand, seem to be more specific versions of the Dao- her Dao of Blades has branches on it that take the shape of small swords, daggers, and spears, with some half-formed branches that look a bit like claws and teeth, reaching out towards the Dao of Flesh.


    So far, she can manifest them a bit, add them to her biology and tools- but there¡¯s more there. If she can further a true comprehension, she can likely do much, much more- and to do that, she needs to face them. To go inside herself, and look past the wonder of her chemistry and biology for a moment.


    It¡¯s about time she went to explore her inner world in depth.


    So¡­ she dives.


    She grows distant from her brains. The flashing streams of cognition and neurons she¡¯s crafted fade to the background, away from her thoughts, churning in the background. All of them are her, but none of them are more here than this central point, this pinprick avatar of awareness. Hormones shift, synapsis fire in new patterns of consciousness, and she falls down into herself.


    She opens her eyes.


    She is here.


    Here is she.


    Raika¡¯s eyes turn to look one way, then the other. Their cone of vision is¡­ wider than last time. Different than before. The last time she was ¡°here¡±, she felt herself as human- strange, yes, but similar to what she presented as on the exterior, added to by the tattooing of scars across her body, some bright, some faded.


    But in that escape, in that final battle, in the days since, she¡¯s digested something truer.


    She is not human.


    She is a person. A being, a consciousness, maybe even optionally humanoid- but she¡¯s not human. Maybe she hasn¡¯t been since she was crippled. Or since she survived self-induced, long-term Qi poisoning. Human is a small label, when there can be such possibility in power, such impossibility in identity, expressed through ontology and might. The literal term of ¡°human¡± is one that demands a specific shape, specific methods of perceiving and interacting with the world, and while those demands are broad¡­ they no longer limit her.


    She stands on bare feet. Her range of motion is different, the shape of the joints and toes made for more dynamic movement, and she feels her spines stretch inside her, the idea of them meaning more than any shape they might take. She looks around with more eyes than she used to have, and sees her inner world.


    She stands up, instinctively ducking a bit at the top of the porch¡¯s proximity to her forehead. She ¡°awoke¡± at the cabin, which, in its own way, makes sense. If there was ever any place that felt like home¡­ it was here. The Hungering Roots sect held some familiarity, but never any real comfort, not until Hisheng, and he¡­ wasn¡¯t her focus. Her childhood home, so fucking long ago, is a memory on a dream, and if she was happy there, it has gone from her. The Imperial Palaces between moments in the Division- well, the less said, the better.


    But for six months, she lived in a green little valley, in a house made of wood and shaped by hand, with people who loved her. Not as Maen or Hisheng did, no, but love nonetheless. She learned that she likes to cook food, that her new senses are gift as much as burden and tool, that she likes the way people feel when they taste something they like. She slept in a bed where she could hear the heartbeats of loved ones, just far and muffled enough for privacy, just close enough to be there.


    If there is any place that she should awaken and feel secure, feel herself, it would be at the cabin.


    It¡¯s broken, though.


    Li Shu¡¯s Sacrifice ritual shattered it down the middle, tearing through logs and beams and infrastructure and leaving a big jagged crack all down the roof. Sections of the walls remain broken too, cracked and chipped from the arcane force, and, most likely, from the turbulence of¡­ being eaten. Kinda.


    ¡­She should fix that. When she has time.


    She doesn¡¯t walk into the cabin. The porch, the place between safety and strangeness, familiarity and the unknown of the self- that¡¯s fine. But inside the cabin, broken as it is, full of memories as it is¡­ well. It¡¯s not fear that stops her, not this time. She will go in, and she knows that, and she has peace in that.


    But not just yet. It¡¯s not time.


    She steps out from the porch and onto the grass.


    With her awareness of her inner world, of her ¡°Heart¡±, and with her new ¡°eyes¡±, she looks out over this place and tracks its changes. The central valley, the one that was once a place in the real world, remains¡­ more or less the same. It¡¯s grass is still green, it¡¯s sky is still blue, so forth and so on.


    But walk past the valley¡¯s hills, or out from the end of the gorge past the pond, and you see the other hills. The ones that were never a place in the real world.


    The grass in them is red, purple, and silver. The sky is black and white, with a single pupil at the center of the Reactor-Sun of iridescence, of rainbow colors ever-shifting. There are no trees, no rocks, no ponds or lakes- just strange grass and rolling valleys.


    And¡­ she knows, deeper inside herself than even her soul, that it doesn¡¯t have to be that way.


    She listens to that deeper voice, and takes a step towards the pond, and the garden on the way.


    And then pauses.


    ¡°...Dink?¡±


    Nothing.


    ¡°Dink, I know you¡¯re there. I can hear you humming.¡±


    Slowly, something peeks out from behind part of the porch¡¯s railings.


    It¡¯s not a person. Not nearly enough shape for that. Ghosts, literal fading, half-formed echoes of people, have more distinct shape than it does.


    But there is substance. And there is form. And there is, at the top of a strange little puppet, about four inches high, a tuning fork.


    Like a stick-figure made of hazy silver air, it slowly and carefully maneuvers its way onto the railing of the porch¡­ and makes a little noise.


    Dink.


    She does not cry, but it is a close thing. She smiles instead.


    ¡°Hey, little guy. Good to see you.¡±


    Dink.


    ¡°Yeah. Yeah, I know. And I¡¯m glad for it. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do without you close. But it¡¯s still nice to see you.¡±


    ¡­Dink.


    She snorts a little at that. One arm extends out, and she feels the Blacksteel prosthetic of her leftmost limb in this form hum in tune with the little item spirit. Still so small, so vague¡­ but here. It walks on the Blacksteel, each step making a noise that somehow cancels the weight of the lethal material, and does not stop until it is on her shoulder.


    Dink.


    ¡°Alright bud. Let¡¯s get to work.¡±

 Chapter 241 - So This Dungeon Core Stuff... Kinda Wild

    While her inner world has expanded as she¡¯s eaten more and more Qi, most hills are only the rolling red-purple-silver grass, with little else to them (with one exception, which she will be exploring shortly). The vast majority of the contents of her very own world, the domain of her Heart, remains in the two or so miles of the central valley. The cabin stands at one end, near the height of the valley itself, between the two highest hills to the ¡°east¡± and ¡°west¡±. On the far end, the deepest point, if only by a small amount, is the Pond, and just before that, partially but never entirely obscuring it from view, the garden, with its trees.


    She walks down the valley, its slow incline gentle and calming. While the sort of vague dream-logic of the place remains, allowing her to move as quickly or as slowly as her own thoughts, she slows herself down, taking each step down towards the pond calmly and intentionally. This is a place that is hers, but also is her, and to drift past it, unthinking, ignoring its makeup for the sake of convenience, seems a dull way to experience it. She has spent months at a time studying her muscle groups and organs, and to do less with this place that holds so much memory, so much emotion, and now, so much complex power- well, it would only be disrespectful to herself.


    So she walks. She feels grass that is half illusion and half realer than reality under her feet, and memorizes each one as they touch her. She feels pebbles and bits of dirt, anthills without ants, tracks where old trails of water have rolled downhill and left small, delicate traces of their passing. Enhanced senses and an alien self-awareness born from so many minds as one allow her to feel every moment of it, and she does her best to consign it to memory. A form of tactile, calm meditation, one that she lets herself really feel.


    It¡¯s not a singular moment. It won¡¯t be. Such an act, even with perfect recall, can never be more than a partial meditation. She will have to walk this path again, and seeing as that might well be inevitable as she visits her inner world¡­ well, that¡¯s rather alright then.


    And then, the meditation ends. It almost reminds her of what she¡¯s heard, back when she was still an orthodox cultivator. Meditation must, in some ways, always end just before true comprehension is found. It is not in the self and in the quiet alone that one finds out who they are, not only in quiet contemplation that one finds enlightenment. Never let a quiet moment become truly silent, and never let volume eclipse your peace.


    She laughs a little. It¡¯s a silly, fanciful saying, but¡­ it¡¯s not bad, either.


    She steps, at long last, onto the marshy ground at the base of the pond.


    The trees are something she watches closely, and often. There is power in them, and in her comprehension of them¡­ but she won¡¯t find it in quiet contemplation. Nothing wrong with that. There¡¯s a time and place for it, one that she has, at times, neglected¡­ but getting wiser doesn¡¯t mean that she is less her own self. And she has, and likely always will be, a woman of action. There will be other times for her to examine properly the meaning of the Daos she has consumed, likely in more active ways. For now, there are other parts of her existence she is intending to look into.


    She kneels at the border of the pond, and looks into it.


    There is a blockage there. The perfect recollection she has of the ground around it, the ways that her spiritual senses can extend to any part of this place, stop at the edge of the water.


    It is perfectly still, reflecting like a mirror the glowing star of monochrome and iridescence above. She extends her senses out to it, like an offering.


    At first¡­ nothing.


    And then¡­ a noise. One that feels both familiar and out of place.


    A chirping. Deep and bassy. Wings of an insect, rubbing against each other.


    Raika turns her head to look, and sees a beetle. The same beetle. The beetle that¡¯s been with her since Cragend, palling around beside and inside her, the beetle she met in the tunnels of the first Heart she met.


    It sits on a frond, and¡­ it looks a lot like it waves its little fang-parts at her.


    It chirps again, one more time.


    And then¡­


    It is a slow and gradual thing¡­ but eventually, the pond opens up to her. Slowly, her perception dives, gently, down into the deep.


    And there is movement there.


    Kept always, always out of sight. Always on the edge of perception. This place is her, and it is hers¡­ but what is she?


    In that dark, there is a thing that is true. The hand is not the eye. The mouth is not the liver. She is herself, and she is this place, and both are Raika¡­ but neither is all of Raika. Neither is Raika in the same way.


    In the mirrored black of the water, there are things that her Heart does not want her to see. And¡­ she lets that be. She can feel, in herself, the difficulty, the weight of movement in this place. There is something so, so deep inside her that wants nothing else than for this place to remain dark and ever-hidden, ever-protected, ever-dark.


    And it has let her in. With a trust that aches, that makes part of her feel alien and strange, it lets the rest of itself that is her that is itself¡­ see. But only so far.


    She falls deeper and deeper, down into the pond. Writhing forms of serpents and snakes, hints of fang and tendril, of eye and fin, move around her, always ever-shifting, ever out of sight, a last line of defense kept obscured from her.


    But she is allowed deeper. She is allowed in.


    She is allowed to see.


    Deep there, in the cold, alien darkness, beats a Heart.


    She feels every beat of its pulse as her own, because it is. Awareness of it rises like realizing oneself is breathing, suddenly impossible to ignore, intimate yet strange.


    And it is pretty fucking strange.


    There are elements of it that feel mechanical, if that machine was remade in the context of biology. Valves, tubes and pumps all knot themselves around each other, into and out of each other, making a single point of tremendous density now nearly the size of a human torso. It does not beat so much as sing, a percussive song that speaks of a hundred hundred different drums, all overlapping to form a sort of purring. With each individual beat, energy flows in and out of it, a Qi as pure as her own- there are hints of flavor to it, notes of complex concepts like biology and life and fire and change and movement¡­ but unlike every other kind of Qi she¡¯s encountered, it is, at its base, flavorless. Like it has passed near those things, but not taken in their taste, touched by but not emitting those other scents.


    And the Heart beats, and it looks at her, and she looks at it. Together and apart. Whole and distinct.


    It doesn¡¯t speak with words. Unlike the rest of her, this part began as something distinct and alien, entirely apart from anything that Raika is or could have been. Interpreting it is the same as a puzzle-box being interpreted by an animal.


    But there is one advantage here. She¡¯s learned a new trick.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Carefully, slowly, she opens her soul back up to her neurology. Multiple minds working in tandem, a symphony of thought, memory and comprehension.


    She begins to track the intent that emanates from the heart.


    It¡¯s still vague, still tough to read, but it¡¯s better.


    Afraid. Uncertain. Hopeful. Hello.


    She smiles. Not much- but enough to work with.


    Comfort, she sends back. Curiosity.


    Alarm. Alarm.


    She raises a metaphorical eyebrow. Ok. A bit skittish.


    Comfort. Protect. Unity. Cooperation.


    The Heart this time sends back a wave of shivering movement that is¡­ a bit harder to parse.


    Confusion.


    It repeats itself. This time, the meaning comes through, pulling on a thread of memory connected to Li Shu, to their lessons together.


    Symbiosis-Question.


    She smiles again. Joy. Confirmation. Acceptance.


    The sense of fear and alarm coming off of the Heart calms, just a bit. It seems to be of almost two minds, though less literally than Raika herself can sometimes be. Part of the intent emanating off of it is wild, mindless, a thing of ordered instincts and responses. Another part comes off as quite a bit more aware, or awake, expressing something a bit more like what she considers true awareness.


    That first part continues broadcasting an almost constant background sense of alarm and confusion- but the latter is the one reaching out with more directed intent towards her.


    Fear. Awareness. Self = At Risk. Self = Multiplicity. Self = Confusion. Hopeful.


    She feels Dink tremble, ever so slightly, on her shoulder. A relatively happy little thrum, one that she can¡¯t help but mirror.


    Self = Hopeful. Self + Self. Equal / Distinct. Multiplicity. Cooperation?


    The Heart hesitates less than a second at that, a sense of relief accompanying the all-speak. Cooperation. Agreement. Confusion. Inadequate?


    Negation. Kindness. Gratitude. Further.


    A thrum of movement through the Heart at that, and, to her surprise, its instincts quiet down as well. Where once, the part of herself that was once an alien core of a dungeon environment seemed to be fighting itself, now it joyously reforms, fusing itself together entirely. From all of itself, a deep and exuberant feeling of energy. Like a child given a new toy, or promised a treat.


    Further. Agreement. Desire. Hunger. Growth. Further.


    Limitations? She asks.


    Limitations = Optional. Freedom? Permission?


    A slight note of worry. But¡­ if it had wanted to change or hurt her, it would have done so already. And¡­ she did ask it first.


    Partial. Cooperation? Not Control?


    Agreement, it sends back. Champion. Protect. Guidance. Risk = Trust Self/You.


    Well. That¡¯s promising.


    Question. Curiosity. Capability / Abilities?


    This time there¡¯s something much too dense to be translated as a word. The way that her mind translates the movement and nuances of others into this all-language, the ability to track intent, has room for improvement, but even still, this feels¡­ larger. More complex. Still the same foundation, but a more advanced form of it.


    She feels, through the complex language that is not a language, the things that her Heart shows her. That she shows her Champion.


    The life inside the pond, multiplied. Fed with Qi, transformed into deeper and grander things. Saturation of the air and ground, until new and mightier things can grow from it. A warping of Dao, a changing of rules, such that space is twisted, time is made dense or ephemeral. Roots and tunnels in which there are spaces always-growing, always shifting into complex traps- and as they grow wider, it stops being tunnels, turning instead into a vast and complicated series of¡­


    She has no word for what it shows her, so it provides one to herself.


    Circuits.


    Circuits of Qi, like formations but more advanced, like the kind of arrays you¡¯d find in a machine or Imperial construct but larger, made of natural-grown matter. Science emulating art, form emulating function, magic emulating technology- and vice versa to them all. A glimpse at a wider, vaster thing, a system of such immeasurable complexity that-


    Mmh. That she can feel some of her brains beginning to hemorrhage.


    She pulls back from the meaning, storing the memory in a cluster of synapses far above and turning from it for now. It¡¯s enough to comprehend the general intent.


    Warping of natural law. Creation of constructs and biological agents both. Advanced circuits of Qi and precious materials, spanning for miles and miles and- across the entire world, maybe.


    The glimpse of it is enough to make neurology designed to track hundreds of millions of connections, biological functions and cells begin to break down.


    Limited. Partial. Small.


    The Heart sends back something¡­ like an exasperated eye-roll. Obvious. Mutual. Awareness. Progression.


    Agreement. Capabilities In Current Set?


    It sends her back another impression, communicating back and forth between each of them / her.


    And so¡­ she thinks.


    And so¡­ symbiosis.


    Slowly, the Heart begins to move.


    There is a sense of peace, joy, contentment at the movement, at the glorious act of creation itself. Instinct and desire mesh beautifully, reflected back into Raika as a whole and with the soul that bridges the parts of the gestalt.


    There is a divide between soul and biology. A vague, ephemeral barrier between the spatially-altered domain she¡¯s in, the valleys of her inner world, and the literal body that connects it to the outside and protects it. In a traditional cultivator, this barrier would be even clearer, as creating a Domain is exclusively the domain of a core, in a dantian.


    But¡­ the Heart doesn¡¯t need to do that. And neither does she.


    Through a process more complex than she can track or comprehend, a tunnel forms in some of the hills outside the central valley. It begins to grow¡­ out. No clear direction, just out, away in a way that makes no sense if she looks at it, but which feels right somehow. The golden band vibrates- but it does not compress. The inner world itself isn¡¯t growing. It¡¯s¡­ building.


    All across the empty fields of red and purple, life begins to form.


    They start small. Even with how miniscule the constructs start, she can feel her Qi reserves draining fast. Miniscule things of chitin and pistons emerge from the ground to crawl up, out onto the hills. Some of them form rudimentary wings, trying and failing to fly- but as their short-lived existences land back onto the dirt, they melt back into the ground, and the next generation begin to grow, doing ever so slightly better.


    Plant life, animal life, all of it simplistic and strange, begins to grow out from inside her, drinking deep of her Qi production. She¡¯s made circuits of her own, before she knew the term- the veins she uses to cycle Qi artificially, force-generating more. She feels the strain on them as the Heart pulls deep, transforming more and more and-


    Limited. Partial.


    Immediately it slows. Instantly, like there was never any chance it would defy her logic- and maybe there wasn¡¯t. It is her, and hers, just as she is it, and it¡¯s- both are Raika.


    It takes a few hours, but eventually, they manage to reach an equilibrium. It¡¯s imperfect- just about every drop of Qi she¡¯s not actively using is drawn into her inner world, generating its transformation, but it leaves enough that she can sustain her transformations on the ¡®outside¡¯. A few hours after that, she manages to convince her Heart that having a bit of backup storage would work in their favor.


    It compromises by creating a pool of Qi inside her inner world, diverting the Qi being generated on the outside into itself. Not all of it ends up used; about half of the amount coming in gets stored. How it¡¯s doing that, pulling Qi in from a space that¡¯s physical when this space is¡­ half-physical at best, she doesn¡¯t know, and trying to track it gives her an immediate headache in at least four of her heads.


    Under the light of a radiant sun, born of Death and Life made into CHANGE, the hills come alive with the sounds of transformation.


    Only after she¡¯s taken this time, pushed her neurology and self-awareness to its limit for nearly an entire day, does she even consider breaking off the connection. A misunderstanding between different parts of her could prove just as lethal as intentional sabotage. Before she takes a break, goes to form a new brain from scratch to avoid a need for sleep- she makes one final request.


    Intake? Symbiosis Further?


    The Heart responds with enthusiasm.


    A few seconds later, Raika¡¯s soul blinks her eyes, sore and bloody as they are, and watches as a small hole opens up in the earth. Immediately, a dozen small, wriggling worms pop out of it, looking around in abject confusion.


    She removed them from a cultivator all the way back in the fortress city, almost five days ago now. They¡¯ve survived mostly through cannibalism and the fluids she¡¯s been providing them in the isolated pocket she made.


    Now, they are both food and inspiration to an entirely new breed of life form.


    A large, herculean green-black beetle launches itself from a frond next to Raika, landing next to the critters. It starts batting them around, stomping and tromping around them in a circle, and somehow, in a few minutes time, seems to have whipped them into a semblance of an organized set of squirming bodies.


    The beetle looks up at Raika and, for all the fucking world, gives her a confident, authoritative nod.


    ¡­Alright then. Far be it from her to stop her strange little friend from having a hobby. Even if that hobby does seem to be worm-wrangling.


    As the buzzing and clicking and tearing and crawling sounds of life begin to echo in her inner world¡­ Raika sighs.


    Ok. Step one accomplished. A fusion of ideas, and progress with the systems inside her that she¡¯s been neglecting. Nothing concrete yet, but progress.


    Now on to step two.


    She rises to her feet, a bit unsteady of spiritual feet. Dink makes a little tremble on her shoulder, imparting just a tiny bit of strength, and she sends him back a note of gratitude. It¡¯s enough to get her moving.


    She has some Souls to talk to.

 Chapter 242 - Stimming And Special Interests Once More Prove Instrumental To Evolution

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    It¡¯s actually much more of a challenge than she expected to find [Enacted Artistry Of Function]. For all that she¡¯s almost certain the critter has no true sentience, it really does seem to wander around rather determinedly. It might be a whole different situation had the cultivator who created it managed to raise the both of them up to the Warrior realm, but as it stands, a Nascent Soul is, she¡¯s fairly certain¡­ mostly unconscious. Animalistic or mechanical, perhaps, in the case of this specific instance.


    But animalistic, mechanic, subconscious or something altogether different, the little fellow has a rather dramatic sense of curiosity.


    Perfect awareness of one¡¯s inner world, as she holds, is a hell of a thing, but it still takes long minutes to find it. Unlike [Divine Will From Starry Eyes], or what¡¯s left of it, she can¡¯t just ¡°look up¡± to find it, she needs to know what¡¯s she¡¯s looking for, point her awareness in its direction. A few moment¡¯s meditation, no more- but still, a surprise to find just how the creature has wandered. Out from the central valley, past one valley, and then another, and then a third.


    The original valley holds a bit less than three miles total in diameter. Each valley and hill afterwards, another two-to-three. For a being only two feet tall and made of a mix of different tools and abstract engines, it¡¯s wandered far- and seems like it is having an absolutely joyous time there.


    The new life of her Heart, spawning in cycles endlessly from the ground and falling back into it, seem to endlessly fascinate the Soul. [Enacted Artistry Of Function] is wandering about, small mechandrites and grasping claws reaching and click-clacking as it tries to catch the creatures that flutter and skitter and crawl out of the earth. It succeeds a bit less often than it fails, most of the misadjusted bioforms managing to escape in some way or another, but the few that it catches, it does not harm. Most of them it just watches, whirring machine-eyes and vaguely-defined sensors pointing at the little creatures it holds. Only once they expire does it begin to peel them open or pull them apart, carefully cataloging and examining each piece before placing them politely to one side, though always with an air of innocent joy.


    The creature trundles on steam-legs, on tank treads, on rolling wheels, an abstraction of the concept of mechanics and functional artistry making an awkward, wobbly tread. It¡¯s¡­ actually kind of endearing.


    Dink seems to agree, imitating the movement. It wobbles back and forth on her shoulder, walking in a small little circle. She smiles, flicking the tip of her nail affectionately against the ¡°head¡± of the item spirit, the tuning fork making a little hum at that.


    Alright. Focusing.


    She walks over to [Enacted Artistry Of Function], watching the small figure pick up a small little lizard-thing with eight legs. It makes a weird little ¡°squeeing¡± noise and rolls itself into a ball, with little nodules pushing out from its back against the small hands of brass and copper that hold it, much to [Enacted Artistry Of Function]¡¯s evident fascination.


    ¡°So¡­ hello again,¡± Raika says.


    A set of a half-dozen eyes of glass and machine parts turn to her, watching her with just the same innocent fascination as it looks at the creature still in its hands. Otherwise, it provides no real sense of reaction. More stimuli for it to input, perhaps, or a fresh form of artistically-rendered function for it to examine. She is quite an artistic vision, if she does say so herself, but¡­ not exactly productive.


    ¡°Can you understand me?¡± she asks. She watches for that same feeling of comprehension, that ability to divine intent, but¡­ nothing. Or¡­ maybe not nothing.


    Curiosity.


    Artistry.


    Function.


    But¡­ no response. Insomuch as there is any intent to it at all, it is¡­ it is only a vague thing, ephemeral. Like a lingering aftertaste, long after a meal has been digested. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s possible that it has no intent. That such a thing would require, at its foundation, desire right alongside thoughts. If [Enacted Artistry Of Function] does have thoughts, they are determined by its purpose. If it does have desires, they are something maybe at the level of an insect, instinctive things¡­


    She¡¯ll need to confer ¡°outside¡±. See if she can find intent in smaller things, explore it in other directions. If she can find intent in something like normal animals, or plants, perhaps, then it means that [Enacted Artistry Of Function] is around that level, and if not, then it is only slightly above.


    It is not alive in the traditional sense. It is, for all intents and purposes, an avatar of function, enacted through artistry¡­ and little else.


    And yet, she can even now see¡­ something. Perhaps it is something to do with its incarnation, or perhaps the nature of a preserved Nascent Soul, but there is room. Room for improvement.


    Room for added function. An artistry in the act of enacting it.


    She kneels down next to the creature, sitting on the earth beside it. For a while, the trundling thing, the artisanal, nonsensical machine continues its path, simply plucking one critter after another- and seemingly quite enjoying failing to do so at times. Little creatures pop up and out of the soil, living short, strange little lives before returning to it, new ones being born and lasting just a little bit longer as her Heart exercises long-neglected muscles of creation and inspiration.


    And then¡­ gradually. Over time. More and more of the eyes of the half-formed soul turn to Raika.


    It is a part of this place. A part of this world, and thus, a part of her body, her soul, and her mind, all in one. It is not as much her as it once was the one who created it, who it was born from, but it remains true nonetheless.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Eventually, every one of its limbs is silent, and every one of its eyes are on her.


    You Are Me. You Are Mine.


    And, reflected back at her, like from a warped mirror-


    This Is You. This Is Yours.


    Variations on a Truth. Comprehension, made into reality.


    It is not alive, not in the traditional sense. Not real in the traditional sense.


    But that hasn¡¯t stopped it, and it hasn¡¯t stopped her.


    She nods her head, slowly. Takes in deep, metaphorical breaths of air that smells of churning rot and afterbirth, of fire above and earthy, bloody change below.


    This is going to hurt.


    Reaching out through her heart, she pulls a piece of Blacksteel into this world.


    The band constricts.


    There is a rumbling sound in the earth as the metaphysical equivalent of a small town of land is all compressed in simultaneously. The earth cracks, shuddering, breaking, torn apart by tectonics enacted by an outside will. Everything that is a part of this place, and every part of the being that is Raika that connects to it, feels an instant of pain so blinding it makes burning alive seem like a turbulent vacation.


    And then, there are about fifty pounds of razor-sharp obsidian, shaped as bones and splinters and blades, weapons all, stabbing forth out of the ground like shrapnel, rejected by a body.


    The little creatures spawning out of the ground, now more frantic than ever with the Heart¡¯s pain, die. There is no other word for it. They come close to the pieces of End and are ended in turn, unformed lives ended before existence could demand more of them than their presence alone, their killers midnight-edged and radiating oblivion. All around her and this half-formed Soul, the world withers.


    Blacksteel. Her oldest weapon, outside her own flesh. Stolen from a wisp of a dread thing and a mutation of a part of a satellite, a thing of cold angles and perfect shape. Death, made into a form of decay, and from decay, spawning forth a growth of jagged, hungrier deaths all their own.


    It is her. It is hers. It has been hers since the moment she found that Truth, locked away inside trauma and conviction and belief.


    And this world is her, and hers.


    And so¡­


    The Blacksteel rises in the air. It takes no more than will, takes no more than thought, and with the damage already done, its pain fading step by step, it takes little effort either. She feels Qi and will cycling in her Body, in her Mind, and the Heart, a part of herself, listens to the decision and agrees.


    It takes only a moment for the Blacksteel to rise highly enough towards the sky that it touches the sun.


    Her Reactor, now something more, an engine of impossible power and transformation, illuminating and empowering her inner world and the abilities of its Heart. Once, she built it out of Blacksteel, and that Blacksteel was changed. Now? In this grander form, contained not by simple mechanics but by a mixture of eldritch divinity and transcendent self-fulfillment?


    Now it¡¯s easier.


    Her Qi drain drips further, digging a bit into her regeneration, and the monochrome radiance of her inner sun expands, the radiation of so many colors leaking through as the Blacksteel is submerged in it.


    She sits still, and is watched by [Enacted Artistry Of Function] with rapt attention.


    A few moments later, she pulls what was once Blacksteel out of the forge.


    An END is an END. It cannot be anything else. Blacksteel, for all that it changed from its source material, is still of that matter. The Cold Sun and the END behind it lost a piece, that piece was carved into a relic, that relic touched on concepts connected to but not of the END and spawned the strange mineral of sharpened death.


    And then, when exposed to True Flame, which is not BEGINNING but is, just like Blacksteel, connected to adjacent concepts¡­ it changed. They both did. A reaction of yin and yang, opposites in synergy to a grander whole, that grander whole being CHANGE, from death to life through consumption and transformation.


    What was once Blacksteel and True Flame became her Reactor.


    Now, drifting down from the sun above, she presents to a small and potent thing of mechanisms and purpose and curiosity the new thing that was born from all of the above.


    Radiant Metal touches down on the ground. It is orange, but not just orange. It is every shade, every possible variation of the color, touching on every point of the spectrum, so long as you look at it just right.


    From solid END and plasmic BEGINNING came the radiation of CHANGE, a sun shining in her world and allowing her Truths to magnify themselves and her through it. From that radiation, comes a transformed material entirely.


    [Enacted Artistry Of Function] rolls forward on treads/wheels/legs, closer to the materials, its interest in the biology all around forgotten. Grasping hands and clamps and tools reach out to the faintly smoking materials, still shimmering with the all-colors of transformation.


    It looks up at her, as if¡­ as if aware. For just a moment, made more. Asking for permission.


    She grants it.


    And as the Soul goes to touch the materials, she smiles as her gamble is proven right.


    The band is an agony, one near total and overwhelming in the extreme. It is a restriction and a consequence on everything that she is, on a foundation that goes deeper than her soul. Were she to be crushed by a literal vice, it would be as a weighted blanket by comparison. To bring anything at all into her inner world is risky, especially when she still doesn¡¯t understand or control the process by which the Heart sends anything back out. Radiation from her reactor-turned-sun is one thing, as is Qi, but the process for the Blacksteel, even with her Truths, was¡­ complicated.


    And yet, she paid the cost in agony for a little idea.


    What happens if a nascent soul formed of artistry and mechanics was given a material that, currently, she has no real use for? One that, almost by its nature, can¡¯t not have something interesting going on with it?


    She is rewarded for the questions by the sight of [Enacted Artistry Of Function] beginning to work.


    It touches the Radiant Metal and instantly, the material deforms to its touch. Like clay molded by human hands, it shifts and roils under the artistic Soul¡¯s touch- and then, when pressed against more firmly, it stops moving, held still.


    She watches for over an hour as the little avatar shapes the material into dozens of different forms, some which she recognizes, some which don¡¯t look like they conform to the way that geometry works. Each time, the process gets a bit faster, a bit more refined- and each time, something about the metal changes.


    She¡¯s not quite sure how, at first, but then¡­ one of the new constructs starts to corrode on contact with the air. Another becomes brittle. One becomes warm to the touch, eagerly outputting waves of static electricity and warmth- another gets colder and colder, absorbing every ounce of heat that comes into its vicinity.


    It is all Radiant Metal. But the properties of it seem to¡­ shift, in the hands of an [Artisan].


    It might take days, or weeks, for proper payoffs. She¡¯ll have to check in, track the materials, find a way to extract and use them- and potentially have to sacrifice more of her well being and the circumference of her inner world to the band to resupply the little entity.


    But just like the teeming hordes of protolife crawling up out of the soil of her ontology, there is rich potential here.


    Alright. That¡¯s two down.


    One final contact, and then she resurfaces.


    One more errand, one more ¡®conversation¡¯, and she¡¯ll find herself back in reality, dealing with the horizon she scented the previous day and the fact that Jin is still asleep.

 Chapter 243 - Finishing Touches On Some Friendly Landscaping

    Two projects on the backburner, put back into the forge. Her Heart, the core of some strange dungeon of the world, is pumping out new life in a constant flow, recycling and rebuilding material into a series of potential future tools and inspiration. The most active and self-deterministic of her consumed Souls is hard at work modifying a resource she has barely used as of yet. Already it¡¯s been a lucrative trip, if a bit of a painful one.


    But¡­ no reason to stop now. There¡¯s more to play with here.


    She walks up to the edge of a hill, just beyond the edge of the garden and the pond it surrounds.


    The hill is a little larger than a house. It crackles and moans a bit in the wind, small forks of electricity dashing across its surface- and across the blades which impale it.


    A hundred-hundred spears stab into the hill from every direction, each one golden and carved in startling detail with stories and reliefs of great battles. A hundred-hundred spears crackle with flickering fragments of lightning, multi-hued and potent. A hundred-hundred spears are, each and every one, broken.


    [Perfect Strike Of Tribulation] isn¡¯t like [Enacted Artistry Of Function]. The latter is active, kept nearly whole, still able to fulfill its functions. [Divine Will From Starry Eyes], while also less distinct than [Enacted Artistry Of Function], at least looks like itself. But the Soul of the lightning-wielder that she consumed simply doesn¡¯t work. It has no room in its interpretation for a failure so catastrophic- she never even gave it a chance to strike at all, and it never measured up to any tribulation she¡¯s experienced. Its context was shattered the moment it (and its host) were defeated.


    And yet, here, something remains.


    Slowly, she walks up the hill.


    Each step is like getting stabbed by blades of razor-grass. Each movement is accompanied by a burning hiss of electricity. No flesh-based pain, this; she can feel the very core of her being, her own soul, struggling against the harm, experiencing the pain. Like a thousand moments of doubt and agony and loss, magnified into something like a physical ache, a burning buzz that wraps through her self, deep into her core.


    She walks up the hill nonetheless.


    And when she makes it to the top¡­ nothing.


    Her mere presence here is already starting to break the hill down further. No single perfect strike, no true tribulation- her existence atop the burial mound of what the Soul once was is enough to make it unravel further, bit by bit.


    And¡­ maybe that¡¯s ok.


    She still can¡¯t seem to bring anything but Qi in and out of her inner world freely, and she¡¯s yet to bring anything from within out to the world above. The question of whether or not the seal of the band would recognize something leaving or returning as a condition to squeeze in further is also a pressing unknown.


    She feels her Truths, reflected back on her in this place. I Can Change, her ontology whispers to her.


    And this mound, and what it once was, are a part of her.


    Should she try to take its spears? Make them into weapons, something she can try to bring to the outside world? Should she try to restore it, build something new out of it?


    She looks up at the impression of a starry figure phasing in and out around her sun-heart-reactor. She looks down at the burial mound of a natal god.


    There¡¯s something to be said for being spread too thin. Something to be said for what happens when one tries to pursue every path without choosing one.


    Raika reaches out to her Heart, and it responds eagerly at the request.


    She kneels, planting a hand on the electric surface, bleeding her soul against its edges- and begins to push.


    The ground begins to eat its way up the hill, dissolving it, tearing it apart spear by spear. Lightning sparks up again, striking at the ground around it as if in self defense, but rather than burning the grass, it¡¯s absorbed almost instantly. Rivers of electricity form, multi-hued lightning washing like water through the grass- over to the garden.


    Close to the tree of Flame, a few strands of grass start to grow taller, weaving together into a shrub.


    The ground rumbles, the hill quaking, the whining of spears being supercharged with electricity filling the valley-


    And then¡­ it starts to get quiet. The spears stop singing, their steel made silent. The crackle of lightning fades down to a buzz, and then a static hum, and then not even that.


    And then¡­ it¡¯s a hill. A burial mound, holding only the memory of what once was.


    Raika looks up.


    There is not enough left of [Divine Will From Starry Eyes] to be considered sentient. Even [Enacted Artistry Of Function], for all its functionality, is little better than a programmed animal of a sort. As the last remnants of [Perfect Strike of Tribulation] fade to nothing, she directs the Hearts attention to the sky above.


    But not its hunger. Not its desire to consume.


    To Change is to destroy, yes- but it¡¯s also to create.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    There is a trembling confusion, a strange and powerful sense of disorientation- and then the hill has moved. The trees, her Dao, sprout from it like plant-growth in fast-forward, blooming to full life at a dozen times the velocity they were originally formed with. What once surrounded the pool of her Heart now stands tall, each tree and blade of grass given a more three-dimensional place in comparison to the others, many of them growing up and around the spears. Most of them are shifted by invisible roots to surround and become offshoots of her Dao of the Blade, a smaller branch forming into the Dao of the Spear, but many of them are absorbed into and change to reflect other weapons and tools. The spears close to the Dao of the Gun become rifled, gain chambers and barrels to match their edges; those that grow around the twin trees of Flame and Lightning reflect their elements, glowing with power and warping along the nature of the ever-changing energies they know reflect; even the lesser grasses have an effect, warping the edges and colors of the spears closest to them.


    The hill, once an isolated memorial for a thing that was no more, is remade into something new. A living place, where the roots of what she has consumed grow deep and wrap themselves around an honorary arsenal of golden spears.


    And then it¡¯s [Divine Will From Starry Eyes]¡¯s turn.


    As the Heart digests what was left of a Nascent Soul, transmuting its components into Dao and concepts, there comes the knowledge that that isn¡¯t all that¡¯s there. Dink, on her shoulder, glows a bit brighter, adding its ¡®voice¡¯ to her chorus, guiding her and the arcane mind of her Heart.


    Dao, being the patterns of concepts, are crucial to a Soul, as evidenced by the new tree of Lightning growing on the hill and the branch of Spears on the Dao of Blades, but a Soul isn¡¯t just some random expression of Dao- it is energy, consciousness, Qi, ontology itself. A piece of reality, spawning a new version of itself through the mind of a mortal.


    She takes what she can use most into her garden of Dao- and with the aid of a strange little tuning fork, adding its voice of frequency to a post-human will and an arcane organ of creation, she sends what¡¯s left up into the sky.


    Instantly, what¡¯s left of [Divine Will From Starry Eyes] grasps onto it, like a starving animal being hit with the scent of food. It¡¯s still only partially formed, still a mess of inconsistent manifestation, so the feeding process, as it were, looks¡­ messy. A being of star-filled skies and strange visions spasms and flickers and spreads across the blank void of the world above as she feeds the power of what¡¯s left of another of its kind to it.


    And then¡­ there are limbs.


    Limbs that are thunderclouds. Strikes of lightning that are spears. Water droplets that are eyes, falling down forever unto the earth.


    It begins to rain in Raika¡¯s inner world as [Divine Will From Starry Eyes] becomes something else.


    Its name comes easily, as if simply by becoming and being witnessed, the knowledge is created wholesale. [Divine Strikes Of Starry Tribulation] spreads to encompass the sky of this strange not-world, spanning miles and miles as a many-limbed being of all eyes, all storm, all sky. What was once part night-sky, part many-limbed deva, is now something more like a fractal storm, wrapping stars, tribulation, artful violence and sky into one being.


    Raika looks out over her world, and knows that it is good.


    The valley is now more of an enclosed gorge, a hill of eldritch forestry opposite a cabin which stands higher above it, a deep and bottomless pond somewhere between them. What was once a blank and empty sky is now a series of waves, storms of stars and clouds, of falling raindrops of starlight and churning lightning above, and it pours its rains endless onto an ever-spawning world of flesh divine. And somewhere in all that, a collection of mechanisms and tools dances amidst strange rains, playing with impossible metals and equally impossible life.


    Admittedly, it feels a lot more¡­ comfortable isn¡¯t the right word. It is more lively, sure, and a lot more interesting, at least in her opinion, but¡­ not comfortable.


    But it feels right. Not perfect, maybe, but she can¡¯t help but wonder if her own predilections and deeper self got reflected in the transformation that [Divine Strikes Of Starry Tribulation] underwent. It¡¯s much more fitting compared to what came before- an occasional starry sky is hardly anything too interesting to her, especially not with the context of the stars looking down on the world. In comparison, the shifting flux of waving storm-limb-waves, slightly painful but ultimately nourishing with rainfall, feels more right. Beautiful, nurturing¡­ but with the context of pain. The earth isn¡¯t just being fed and watered- it is being struck by a divine will, and only because it is her is that land being fed rather than harmed. A harsh, violent, strange rain, falling on a world of ever-shifting biology- and in the middle of it all, a calm place. A home¡­ and a garden.


    One made of sharp things, guns, and a bunch of gorgeous elemental arborvitae, but still, a very nice garden.


    She¡¯s not sure what else it might lead to, what the exact consequences of creating a place like this be¡­ but to be fair, that¡¯s never stopped her from doing insane and interesting things before. It¡¯ll probably be useful in its own way.


    And like she said, it just feels right. Whether or not her being influenced her chosen fusion of Souls, or what consequences that¡¯ll have for her Heart, her Dao, her Qi¡­ well, that¡¯s yet to be seen. But it¡¯s more her now. Or maybe she¡¯s more than before. Both? Both is good.


    Raika¡¯s soul sits herself down in the garden. She watches a beetle bossing around a bunch of worms, tromping about in fields of weird bugs and critters and eating a lot of them. She feels Dink on her shoulder, patting her on the cheek.


    Next time she focuses on this place¡­ she¡¯ll probably try to fix up the cabin. That would be nice.


    Until then¡­ the real world is calling, and she¡¯s pretty sure she¡¯ll get a chance to play with her newly upgraded Dao and work on some other projects once she meets it. Besides- she can sense, from her Mind above, that they¡¯re reaching the edge of the sands, and it¡¯s likely best for her guests to leave now or be taken much too far off their route.


    She still feels the pull, ever east. The directions given to her Heart by the dying fortress.


    And she¡¯s got an apprentice to help, if she can.


    And so, all-that-is-Raika turns its center of attention back to the outside world. Back to the domain of the living and the strange and the dead, where there is business to be done- and, most likely, violence to be had.


    She wakes, blinking dozens of eyes and becoming aware of her memories of the last day or so.


    Her guests remain in their rooms, sleeping and remaining in sight of each other. The brain in charge of keeping track of them, possibly due to sheer boredom, has been refreshing the scents of the room and providing a lot of water, experimental foods, and interesting color combinations, which seem to have kept them entertained enough. Li Shu, meanwhile, has been experimenting with her Sacrifice, though Raika can feel that her cultivation has increased even in the few days she¡¯s been half-focused on her own meditations. Perhaps being inside her body, Qi rich and steeped in concepts of biology and impossibility as it is, has been a boon for her particular brand of cultivation. Her Sacrifice too seems different, maybe more numerous, or¡­ deeper. Fuller, maybe. She hasn¡¯t been idle, and Raika can smell the mild tang of stress hormones in her rooms. It would seem that her experience in the fortress city, and her meditations on the matter, have only made her more determined to grow.


    And, of course, last but not least, she sees Jin.


    Still asleep. Still barely breathing. Still static.


    Mmmh. That won¡¯t do.


    Far away on the horizon, she sees and smells and touches with her senses- something other than sand of bone and Ruin.


    Time to get to work.

 Chapter 244 - A Peckish Greater Being And Her Latest Little Symbiote

    ¡°We¡¯ve just about reached our destination,¡± Raika says. ¡°Ready to disembark?¡±


    Ko-es bows, though he¡¯s kept the lesson about not kowtowing at least. ¡°Yes, honored one. We appreciate your generosity in transporting us closer to our destination.¡±


    Raika laughs softly, finishing forming her body and some rudimentary clothes so she can step around the corner of the improvised doorway. ¡°No need for thanks. Your information makes for an even trade in my mind, and your willingness to accommodate this detour is appreciated.¡±


    ¡°Even still, honored one. South, southeast- so long as we are not heading north or west, the strides of your construct have saved us many days of travel, and in great comfort and safety. I am only satisfied that this lowly one was able and willing to provide anything at all for your esteemed self.¡±


    She scoffs a bit, but she also nods politely. ¡°Your appreciation is noted, Ko-es. Though I do feel I have to ask¡­ is your beastkin companion going to be as content as you when it comes to disembarking.¡±


    The green-skinned flora of Ko-es¡¯ face pales a bit. ¡°Honored one, we would never seek to inconvenience-¡±


    ¡°Alright, got it, she will be. Good to know.¡±


    Ko-es pales further, gulping audibly. He looks over at Many-Grasping, who has been staring from the other side of the room this whole time. Raika can smell the fanaticism coming off that one, even without the bright eyes staring at her and bowing away every time she looks over.


    He sighs then. Steels himself.


    ¡°Honored one, I shall ensure that no harm comes of it. If need be, I will willingly trade my life for hers.¡±


    She looks at him, impressed yet again. ¡°You continue to carry yourself with honor, courier. Is everybody that travels the sands as brave as you, or are you just comfortable with the thought of dying?¡±


    At this, she finally gets a smile out of him. A meek one, maybe, but still.


    ¡°My family has walked these sands and the lands beyond for generations. If I am willing to kill, then I must also be willing to die, and to avoid either fate requires honor. I have taken them under my wing, and I am eldest guide in our journey. If I were to value their lives as less than my own, it would be impossible to build trust in so deadly a terrain. If I need to die to protect them, then that is my responsibility, as one who swore to guide and train them.¡±


    ¡°I like that mentality. A bit self-sacrificial, maybe, but I can relate. Don¡¯t worry- I¡¯m neither willing to kill her or you for something so banal as disrespect. So long as she or your other charge don¡¯t try to kill me or those I care for, I don¡¯t particularly care what you do. Not that I¡¯d like you to make your choices my problems, but there¡¯s no need to assume I¡¯m going to start killing anyone yet.¡±


    Ko-es breathes a little sigh of relief, bowing again. But¡­ not quite so deeply this time, which is nice.


    Slowly, she lowers her body down towards the sands, aiming for a quieter spot in the shifting tides. It still nibbles away at her underbelly and strider-legs, but barely anything compared to the zones where the sands are awake and aggressive.


    ¡°Come on then. I see something else on the horizon, and I¡¯d like to see it soon. So far, all I¡¯ve seen of everything you¡¯ve talked to me about have been dead ruins and the western war-zones. I¡¯d like to see something new.¡±


    Ko-es nods, and turns to the others. Kim Ya-ji leaps into action, eager to please her mentor, but there¡¯s not really all that much to do. Their bags are packed, kept constantly ready to move out at a moment¡¯s notice. A well-trained habit, and a good one, too. Ko-es and her are both holding their travel bags, his storage ring, and their rug- but Many-Grasping stays right where she is.


    Raika turns to her.


    Many-Grasping keeps her intent open and clear. She bows again, putting her head down near the ground.


    Lord, she sends through intent.


    Raika sighs.


    ¡°Ko-es!¡± she calls, turning him from where he stands at the freshly-forming doorway. ¡°Is it an issue with you if this one stays?¡±


    Ko-es turns, sees Many-Grasping- and Raika locks him with a look, doing her best to remind him of what she just told him.


    He sighs. ¡°I¡­ swore an oath to guide and deliver her through these wastes. But ultimately, it was her den mother who arranged a meeting between us, and she who requested to come on this voyage. So long as she offers a marker or letter, so I have¡­ some way to explain this?¡±


    Many-Grasping looks right at her, as if asking for permission. Raika gives it easily enough, nodding.


    In an instant, Many-Grasping rises to her feet, walking over to Kim Ya-ji and Ko-Es. She bows to them, her legs all at odd angles yet again with her joints, and rises up with- oh.


    Well, that¡¯s a bone coming out of her mouth. Which is interesting.


    She coughs, once, and it slides out of her throat into her hand. Three claws carve a strange little spiral into it, three lines that curve around it, and she hands the bone politely to Ko-es.


    For his part, he actually takes it in stride, a lot less surprised than Raika herself. He nods. ¡°This will do. I assume it¡¯s a personal marker? Something no one else would know?¡±


    Many-Grasping nods, sending invisible waves of complex intent at her former guide. He seems to pick up on¡­ some of it, at least, though it¡¯s clear he only gets enough to understand a ¡°yes¡±. To be fair, Raika gets the impression that Many-Grasping is pretty talkative in the language of purely intent, because really, a yes would have sufficed.


    He sighs, but nods. ¡°Very well. If asked, I shall provide this as proof of your willing choice to depart. And¡­ keep the supplies. Please. We shall do fine without, especially put so ahead of schedule. Consider it a parting gift, I suppose.¡±


    Many-Grasping nods, and bows again, limbs all akimbo. This time, she sends something a lot simpler.


    Gratitude.


    A few moments later, with a bright, smiling Kim Ya-ji and a polite but focused Ko-es walking along the sands again, Raika turns her attention back to the east- and to her surprise long-term passenger.


    It¡¯ll be a boon to have someone who can act as a guide through at least some part of the fourth ring. A convenient way to have someone with information, however minor, on hand.


    On the other hand, she also knows next to nothing about the inhuman beastkin, and she seems pretty intense.


    Well. If there¡¯s anything she¡¯s learned, it¡¯s that the most unexpected and universally successful tactic, which she has used time and again, is to be direct and honest.


    ¡°Alright, listen up. If you¡¯re sticking around long-term, there¡¯s a few things you should understand. One: I¡¯m not going to keep talking fancy all the time, that¡¯s exhausting, and if you make a fuss about it? Kicked. Two: if you treat me like some high-and-mighty shithead, I¡¯ll get annoyed real quick. My tolerance for that lasts exactly as long as it needs to. Three: if you harm, plot to harm, attempt to injure or harass or so much as intentionally annoy my friend or my apprentice, I will absolutely abandon you in the wilderness and/or beat you nearly to death, as the offense demands. Got it?¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Acquiescence. Lord.


    ¡°Ok, see, I know that intent language works differently, but if you can¡¯t avoid thinking it, avoid bringing it up. I am lord of nothing but myself, and frankly, I¡¯m pretty sure the world is better off that way. Now, you¡¯re¡­ effectively a guest, I think. So what do you need as a guest?¡±


    Nothing. Gratitude.


    Raika frowns. Shifting her control towards emulating the Language-Without-Words, she sends a wave of intent at Many-Grasping.


    Annoyance. Request = Honesty.


    Many-Grasping shudders, but manages to get herself back under control without too much effort. Would Not / Cannot Demand Of Lord. Apologies. Obeisance.


    This time, Raika actually growls, though she keeps it quiet, down in the back of her throat. The way that Intent works, there¡¯s no way to lie, at least none that she¡¯s found. To try to deceive would, by its very nature, reveal the presence of a lie, as you would have the intent to lie bright and clear. It is a language of truth absolute, one which can only be spoken by some mixture of bodily language, qi movement, and actual, conscious and literal intention.


    So Many-Grasping ¡°saying¡± the ¡°word¡± Obeisance has¡­ connotations. It can¡¯t not be what she means, its meaning and the context surrounding it spoken into existence by the very method used.


    And with how she keeps calling Raika a Lord¡­ well, there¡¯s questions there. None that are a priority at the moment, but questions nonetheless. Either way, it seems like despite her best efforts, Many-Grasping is absolutely going to keep being¡­ just insufferably genuine in how servile she is.


    Raika sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. She really needs to figure out if she can grow plants out of her body- making a pipe is easy enough, but it¡¯s not exactly useful without something to smoke in said pipe.


    ¡°Alright¡­ let¡¯s try this again.¡±


    She turns back to Many-Grasping, who has remained at a sort of half-bow constantly. She¡¯s¡­ not entirely sure how to translate what she¡¯s about to say into Intent, so might as well take the opportunity to make use of a power she usually keeps under wraps.


    She lets out a sigh, and the air trembles under the musical note that comes with it. Half-guttural, half-orchestral, the first whisper of an unlocked set of arcane vocal cords.


    She feels Many-Grabbing stiffen through the air, feels Dink tremble out a matching note at almost subsonic levels, feels her own flesh and Heart shiver at the act.


    ¡°Bow only when you must. Stand proud of your own self, not low in my shadow. Learn, if you want to learn, watch, if you want to watch, ask if you need, but live free of the thought that I shall demand more than I do in word and deed.¡±


    Now for the riskier part.


    ¡°So long as you do not harm me or mine, I will not harm you.¡±


    The first few sentences came out with weight, true. She could literally see the impact they had on Many-Grasping, the way that her blood shifted flow, the sparks in her neurology lighting up, her Qi shifting like it was being shaped- but this last sentence affects someone entirely different. Raika feels her own words curling back into her, but¡­ they¡¯ve always been there.


    Bone-deep certainty rises, and she understands that if she did not mean the words, she would not have been able to say them. And now that they are spoken, they are more than meant- they are sworn. Oathed out loud, with a voice weighty enough that it warps the world, ever so slightly, in towards themselves.


    That¡¯s¡­ annoying. And potentially very restrictive.


    It¡¯s enough for Many-Grasping to shudder across her entire body, the weight of the words reaching between the two of them. A binding vow, made truer than normal by a voice she does not much understand, the voice which prompted the beastkin to call her Lord.


    She waits for Many-Grasping to recover, politely ignoring the¡­ carnal reaction that the beastkin¡¯s blood and hormones have had to her voice.


    Eventually, still shaken but steady, Many-Grasping sends her Intent towards Raika.


    Gratitude = Totality. You Are Good. I Am Safe. I Will Learn. I Hear Thy Voice.


    Raika blinks.


    ¡°Thy¡±? Really? That¡¯s something that comes across with Intent? In practical terms, it¡¯s the sense of nobility and grace offered to the recipient that is transmitted, but still.


    She clears her throat, shifting her vocal cords back towards something vaguely human-base. ¡°Good. Now that that¡¯s resolved, let me be clear- do you need food?¡±


    Many-Grasping turns her eyes to Raika, large and confused. As if the thought of continuing to receive free food is ludicrous- and to be fair, it is, at least a bit. But it¡¯s not like she¡¯s going to have a ton of space to hunt or farm inside Raika¡¯s body, and Raika has no idea when they¡¯ll be encountering a place or person they might be able to trade with. It¡¯s only fair, considering that she¡¯s the one who accepted her as a guest, that she¡¯d offer to at least feed her newest passenger.


    Raika awkwardly scratches the back of her neck as Many-Grasping looks at her like some kind of Imperial Noble. Then she sighs.


    ¡°Ok, you seem a bit overwhelmed. I¡¯ll deliver water and food to the room, and if you want me to modify something, just let me know. We¡¯re about to leave the sands, so I¡¯m¡­ going to go focus on that.¡±


    And before the starry-eyed beastkin can try to bow again, she just dissolves her body back into the Body, reabsorbing the biomass and neural matter.


    Yeesh. That was¡­ surprisingly tiring! Raika shakes a metaphorical head, shuddering a bit, wondering if there¡¯s going to be more people acting like that around her in the 4th ring. She dearly hopes not- one is exhausting enough.


    Turning back to her panopticon-gaze, Raika watches as the land beyond the sands gets closer. It¡¯s a slight uphill slope, like the sands, and the space between here and the Wall, are all lowered a few feet down into the earth. Or maybe more than a few feet, considering the depth of the sands in places.


    Rather than grass, Raika is surprised to find as she approaches that the ground they¡¯re emerging on seems to be made of stone sculptures. Delicately shaped, precisely tailored, each individual statue seems to perfectly mimic a living object. The sands end at the edge of a bit of rocky earth and dirt, and rather than natural growth, there are instead razor-thin stalagmites, perfectly shaped like grass. Grass in motion, grass bending, grass growing alongside simple flowers, complex vines, and strange mounds of strange, mossy-looking stone.


    All of it made entirely from stone.


    The type of stone seems consistent- a base grey for most of the bodies of the plants and mounds, with striations of orange, black, and paler grey making up the distinguishing features. Some of the flowers glitter, and it¡¯s only when she¡¯s about a half-mile out that she can make out the fact that at the center of their petals and in their seeds are crystals. Tiny gems, glimmering slightly with grey, copper and orange colors.


    The sun crawls across the sky, traveling at her back down to the south, and it illuminates a plain made out like a living ecosystem, cast perfectly in stone.


    At first, she wonders if it¡¯s best to try and see if Many-Grasping has some kind of insight into the material- but no. Not so soon, not when she can try to find out for herself. Now that she¡¯s close enough to its edge, she¡¯s started to identify the scent wafting in past death and Ruin that make up the sands.


    Emanating from the carved landscape comes the scent of earth and stone. Not just in the physical, but in her Qi senses too, her synesthesia letting her see and taste the chalky cloud emanating from the ground and all that grows from it. Stone Qi, as pure as any she¡¯s encountered, with dozens of other scents at its edges and intermingling like ingredients through its layers.


    Her stomach rumbles, even as her head aches at the thought of the band crushing her inner world. It just¡­ it smells so rich. So inviting. The Sands smell fine, but Ruin is not a flavor she¡¯s particularly fond of. On the other hand, the stone prairie, perhaps due to how long she¡¯s been smelling nothing but the dead sands and what they hold, smells delicious, like-


    Well actually, it doesn¡¯t smell like anything. It wasn¡¯t so long ago that she can¡¯t remember the fact that stone isn¡¯t exactly a smell that her body used to find appetizing. But now, the Qi calls to her, just as it called from the bodies of those around her, turning every possible flavor of messy biology into something at least vaguely appetizing.


    Hmm. When did she stop feeling hungry around people? Maybe¡­ midway through her fight in the fortress city? ¡­After she¡¯d eaten a lot of people. Maybe she got bored of the taste and didn¡¯t realize?


    No... no, the bodies of the four platoon leaders she ate also smelled damn fine, even without the Dao and Souls that came with them.


    ¡­Qi. The density of Qi, or the saturation of it into a body. She trained her body to survive Qi poisoning, and now her altered tongue, stomach, and mind all hunger for more. And not just for the amount she creates inside herself, natural formations of veins and muscle-fibers fueling her and her abilities- it¡¯s like, at the sight of something so infused with Qi, her body just reacts, a lesser version of the impulse and more ontological experience of consuming Dao.


    Raw Qi isn¡¯t quite the ticket- that¡¯s the baseline. She craves flavored Qi.


    And stone-gem-life combo-flavor seems appealing enough.


    As she¡¯s thought this chain through, she arrives at the edge of the dead sands. They are quiet here, have been for a few miles out, as if lulled to sleep this far from the constant bloodshed of the wall. Slowly, Raika reaches a long strider-limb over the stone prairie- and enters the 4th ring proper.


    She wonders if she can find a way to get just a nibble.

 Chapter 245 - Good Morning In The Wonderlands!

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    As soon as she¡¯s determined it¡¯s safe, Raika invited Li Shu up out of her hyperfixation-cave and up onto a viewing platform she¡¯s created on her back. Together, the two of them are looking out at the new world before them, both overwhelmed by a sense of wonder at it.


    The plants aren¡¯t carved. They¡¯re just plants. But made entirely and exclusively of stone and non-organic minerals.


    The seeds are little gem-things more often than not. Limestone and granite make up the stronger trunks and deeper striations of the mossy mounds as brittle substrates and porous stones make up the life that covers their bodies. They¡¯re much harder than normal plants, obviously, but Raika is surprised to find that they don¡¯t break when she pushes against them or step on them- they move like real plants, fluidly and without damage. It just takes a proportionately higher effort, meaning that they stand perfectly still in the wind, moving only when sufficient force is exerted on them.


    It does mean that Raika keeps her strider body, at least for now- each leaf petal and blade of grass keeps its natural proportions, capable of slicing through flesh easily enough at their finer edges. Admittedly, she could just armor up parts of her body and be fine- her own Qi-saturation is such that her natural biology is much more potent and durable than it should be, and adding Blacksteel and chitin to the mix should allow her to move freely. But that would demand sacrificing the gorgeous view from up so high, and seems a bit of a waste, at least for now.


    Raika strides across a living prairie of true stone, drinking in the richness and flavor of the Qi that the ground exudes constantly, and marvels at the world.


    Li Shu leans against her neck, staring out at the incredible sight breathlessly. She laughs softly, eyes wide.


    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful.¡±


    Raika smiles, her own avatar-body standing beside Li Shu and looking through yet another pair of eyes. ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°Do you think you could pick some? Or that we could stop for a bit, just to study them some?¡±


    Raika looks behind her, humanoid body imitating the neural patterns of her panopticon-head shifting its focus. The sands are still in view for now, and she can still taste Death and Ruin on the wind.


    ¡°Not yet. Give me an hour or two, make sure that we¡¯re far from the sands. It¡¯ll be a good opportunity to ask Many-Grasping where we are, if they know, and we can take the opportunity to check on Jin, now that we¡¯re out of that place.¡±


    Her friend sobers a bit at the reminder of the unconscious child, her mind switching gears immediately. ¡°Good idea. Considering his cultivation, or maybe whatever constitution created his ability to see the dead¡­ I was too overwhelmed to realize how bad it must have gotten in the infirmary. I doubt being exposed to an entire landscape of war-torn death so soon after would have done him well.¡±


    ¡°I thought the same, but there¡¯s only so much I can do, keeping him isolated like I did.¡±


    Li Shu shakes her head, patting Raika¡¯s neck affectionately. ¡°No, you did the right thing. I was in no state to help, and I¡¯m still not sure I¡¯ll be able to if it¡¯s a cultivation-trance like you think. Nevermind the fact that¡­ well, he deserves someone a bit less traumatizing to wake up to.¡±


    ¡°And you think that that¡¯s me?¡± Raika asks. ¡°I¡¯m the one who underestimated the fortress city, and the one who got us all into that situation.¡±


    Li Shu looks like she might argue, but something in Raika¡¯s gaze stops her. She sighs instead.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t change the fact that the situation unfolded right next to me for him. He got exposed to a lot in an incredibly short period, and I was a crucial piece of the horror. It takes a lot out of even trained professionals to be in an infirmary, and I should¡¯ve done more to help him, rather than taking for granted the idea that he¡¯d be ok if I just distracted him. Fat lot of good that did.¡±


    ¡°We can agree that we both fucked up,¡± Raika insists, ¡°but I¡¯d still like your help with him once we find a place to stop. Better he wake up to someone he recently experienced horror beside than not wake up at all, and you¡¯re the expert.¡±


    A snort. ¡°¡®Expert¡¯. Raika, I¡¯m improvising all the time. It¡¯s just theories and ideas, and I¡¯m lucky they work out more often than not. Besides, with your senses, you¡¯re better suited for-¡±


    This time it¡¯s Raika¡¯s turn to snort, flicking Li Shu in the forehead. ¡°They work out constantly, and they do so because you put things together in a way that I can¡¯t. I don¡¯t care how my senses compare to your own- they¡¯re two different experiences, yours shaped by your cultivation and your soul. You¡¯re a genius when it comes to finding new ways to use established medical and array-based theory. My skin is testament to that, as are your Sacrifice and still-existent meridians.¡±


    To her credit, Li Shu does try very hard to come up with a point to refute her. It only makes it funnier when she splutters out, not having the data to back up her own self-perception.


    ¡°Fine. Not like I wouldn¡¯t help anyways, I just¡­¡±


    ¡°I know. It¡¯s ok. Look, I think I found us a good place to stop.¡±


    A little under an hour later, Raika lowers her body, spider-like stilt constructs bending and folding along new joints as she comes down. One armored underbelly later, and the weight of her altered mass crushes flat the grasses and flowers all around, though it does tingle slightly as she does. She feels Qi trying to push its way into her body, refuted by the nature of her cursed skin and how soaked in raw Qi her biology is. Still, better not to risk her allies- she opens herself up, unmaking large pieces of the supporting structures of her biology to create an open space, bones forming into tiles and furniture to block off the ground in a larger area and make the experience more comfortable.


    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    She is partially successful. Li Shu flinches a bit as she emerges, stepping gingerly on the biological terrace beneath her feet. Many-Grasping, on the other hand, immediately tries to retreat back into Raika¡¯s body.


    Fear! Danger! This Place = Danger!


    Raika turns an avatar to face her, still partially formed as she prioritizes securing their resting area. Immediately she is on alert, panopticon-head swiveling in place trying to find anything threatening them. ¡°Many-Grasping, what¡¯s wrong?¡± Explain.


    It takes some coaxing, but eventually, she manages to get the beastkin to clarify the issue. Intent makes it hard to get objective details, making it as much a guessing game as proper communication in this case. Many-Grasping manages to communicate a tremendous risk of Qi poisoning in the area, and a chance of violent deviation in even stronger cultivators.


    Raika frowns. As they talk, she extends a single tendril out from her body. She removes all defenses, thinning it out to the thickness of a normal human figure, no internal spatial shenanigans. The tingling she noticed when she lowered her body onto the ground comes back, maybe a bit stronger.


    She thins the tendril further, until it¡¯s barely a few muscle groups together¡­ there. She marvels as her panopticon-head watches the tip of the tendril begin to ossify against her will, and then watches as the ossification turns to stone.


    The sheer richness and amount of stone-flavored Qi in the landscape is enough to alter anything in it to stone as well- and she can only imagine that trying to absorb Qi here would cause a whole host of other issues. Especially for someone in the Qi-Gathering realm like Many-Grasping, this place is maybe even more of a death sentence than the sands.


    But maybe due to the nature of the stone properties the Qi here exudes, it doesn¡¯t rise up much. It stays close to the ground, tight to the earth and the plant life that generates and feeds on it.


    Raika turns back to Many-Grasping, who has mostly been staring in horrified wonder at how Li Shu, someone perhaps just a bit stronger than her guide, walks completely unbothered out in the open air of the Qi radiation.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± she says. ¡°Well, not entirely, it¡¯s still plenty dangerous, but if you don¡¯t touch the ground, you should be safe. And don¡¯t try to cultivate, obviously. Or eat the rock plants, probably. I-¡±


    She pauses, seeing that the beastkin has no idea what she¡¯s talking about.


    She hums. Partial fluency is useful, but Many-Grasping doesn¡¯t have the vocal cords for it, and probably doesn¡¯t have the ears to parse it, either. Considering how Intent is so much clearer, immediate, and context-rich, it¡¯s just objectively a better language in terms of actual communication, though it lacks in its ability to describe things outside the speakers.


    Danger = True, Raika sends through Intent. Self = Protector. Stay Within Platform = Reduce Danger To Acceptable Levels.


    Many-Grasping still hesitates, but that¡¯s the beauty of Intent- Raika can¡¯t lie. She can be wrong- acceptable danger levels in her mind might not be the same in someone else¡¯s perception, but Li Shu is here as well, without any protections and already cooing and leaning over some stone flowers, her Sacrifice buzzing around her head like a halo of white needles.


    ¡°I¡¯ll warn you if I detect anything coming closer,¡± Raika says. ¡°And we¡¯ll only stay for a bit. Try and see if you remember anything about the area beyond this, and we¡¯ll be off in a little time.¡±


    Leaving Many-Grasping to the task (though she ensures some of her eyes stay on her, making sure she¡¯s alright), Raika alters her body to raise her most precious package up to the surface.


    Li Shu, sensing the shift, comes closer, nervously fidgeting with one of her Sacrifice needles (which Raika notices is¡­ strangely stone-like, and not in the way her trial-tendril was). Raika gives her a nod, trying to instill confidence she herself doesn¡¯t feel- but it¡¯s past the point for hesitation. For most of a week Jin has been unconscious, his Qi barely moving, his body in a true coma. Outside of a place that might genuinely poison him, no longer forced to march or be eaten, it¡¯s more than time to see what¡¯s actually wrong.


    She raises him from out of her biology, bringing the cocoon she has him in up to the surface, leaning forward to see if she or Li Shu can detect something new-


    They don¡¯t get a chance to examine him. At all.


    Something flashes in the sky above.


    From somewhere far beyond the range of her senses, something shifts. It¡¯s not Qi, not a Dao, and only briefly reminds her of Intent in the millisecond in which she perceives it- but something slams down from the sky above into Jin¡¯s cocoon.


    It bursts open explosively, and Raika hears her apprentice drag a long, hoarse breath into a long-silent throat.


    In the half-second it¡¯s taken her to perceive and react to the events in front of her, her Body has turned into a half-dome of violent armor, layers and layers dense, her avatar-body has dashed forward to throw herself over Jin and try to hold him, her Mind has raced through a hundred questions. None of it matters, none of it is fast enough, and-


    And Jin looks up at her, disoriented, eyes wide and coughing up viscous fluids from the exploded shell he was sleeping in.


    ¡°...Master?¡±


    Raika blinks.


    She sniffs, loudly enough that Jin flinches a bit. She smells him all over, synesthesia letting her see and feel every blood vessel, physical contact with her hand on his chest letting her feel and thus smell his meridians. His Qi is flowing, and the flavor is- well, it¡¯s different, but not in a ¡®alien being from the infinite sky above crawled in to find a place to live¡¯ sort of way. And it¡¯s flowing in the same pattern as before, one that doesn¡¯t suit it particularly anymore. His hormones, digestive system, circulation, acids, neural activity¡­


    He¡¯s Jin. Changed, but himself, as far as every sense can detect.


    He stares at her, his disorientation considerably worse now.


    She laughs, a sharp bark of mixed relief and exhausted fear. Jin gives a surprised grunt as she scoops him up, lifting him into a hug and spinning.


    ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± she asks, still half-trembling from the sudden adrenal rush. ¡°Are you okay? How do you feel? What¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°Raika,¡± Li Shu interrupts.


    Raika blinks. ¡°Right! Right, Jin, sit still, Li Shu¡¯s going to examine you, you¡¯ve been in a coma or a trance, I was- we were worried, but-¡±


    ¡°Master, I think you need to put me down before I can sit anywhere.¡±


    ¡°I- right, yes.¡± She puts him down, and the moment his feet touch the ground, Li Shu¡¯s Sacrifice is whirling around him. Raika notices that the stony one, she keeps close to her chest, held tightly in her fist. Her other hand lightly touches a few points of interest on Jin¡¯s body, and Raika does her best to follow along- but what she told Li Shu remains accurate. Learning, talent and inherent skill point the healer to small fluctuations of Qi, ones that Raika felt but didn¡¯t identify as an issue. She¡¯s not sure if Li Shu is identifying them as issues either, but she does check over them nonetheless. Delicate waves of Qi flavored by healing and biology wash over Jin, who seems very disoriented by the whole thing, but still fine.


    ¡°Is this¡­ what happened? Am I okay?¡± he asks.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been asleep almost a week, I- we were worried about you. Didn¡¯t know what was wrong.¡±


    ¡°Still don¡¯t,¡± Li Shu says. ¡°I can¡¯t determine anything specific that¡¯s wrong. But your cultivation has leapt up a lot. If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯d like to do a full review, see what¡¯s wrong.¡±


    Jin frowns, but nods. ¡°Of course, sis Shu. Thank you for your help.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Raika says. ¡°Before we get into a medical review¡­ what do you remember?¡±


    Jin goes silent for a while, looking down at the ground. He waits, confused, the smell of his mind churning to Raika¡¯s senses.


    ¡°I¡­ I think I had a dream.¡±

 Chapter 246 - Some People Should Really Invest In Dream Journals (Or Religious Manuals!)

    The way Jin tells it, he mostly just remembers the dark.


    He¡¯s explicit on that point, which is interesting. The dark, not ¡®a¡¯. He tells them about what he saw in the fortress city, about the weight of revelation and the pain of comprehension that he saw in those Deaths. He tells them of the visions that haunted him in that infirmary and the cold, crawling sensation on his skin of death close by.


    And then he tells them about his dreams.


    In the dark.


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    He was gone. Jin knows this in his bones- he was gone. Taken away. He could not feel his body, could not feel the cycling of Qi in his meridians, could not feel the weight of his own mind collapsing in on him. He felt a sensation not unlike being pulled somewhere far, far away, the sight of all those dead next to all those corpses that used to be people before Death found them sending him deep into himself. He doesn¡¯t know what he was thinking in those moments¡­ but the sense of vagueness, the way that his sense of self went away at the sight of those things, will stay with him for a long time.


    And then¡­ he vaguely remembers being picked up. Kinda-sorta recognizes that there is movement and change in the air around him, and then he is someplace quiet, and warm, and safe, and dark, and he cried with relief because he didn¡¯t have to see anymore.


    And then he went to sleep.


    Only to be pulled awake somewhere else.


    Jin blinked, and realized that he did not have eyes or eyelids over which to close them. He looked down at himself, and there was a shape to him, but it was vague, ephemeral. The tips of his nails and an ash-like covering highlighted him, and it took him a while to realize it was probably just dead skin and inert tissue, like big sis Li Shu always said. He remembered the thought he had, briefly, when it touched inside the mind he had retreated from- everyone has Death, all the time. Always dying and being born, always changing, always covered in an infinity of little pieces of themselves with no life.


    He looked around, wondering how he could see, how he could feel or breathe in this place- only to realize he couldn¡¯t. See or breathe, that is. It was more like he just knew things, and had no need for breath.


    Dressed like an ash-dusted ghost of himself, he looked around in the dark.


    It took a while, but eventually he found something.


    Stretching¡­ not down. He tries to use that word, but it¡¯s not right. It wasn¡¯t down below, because there was no below, there was only Death and the dark, but somewhere almost like below, there was a cord. A little tunnel of not-death, but tinged with that ashen color, coiling up and up out of someplace he could not see or feel. He tried to follow the cord, and for a while, it seemed like it worked; he began to feel warm, the touch of something soft on skin, the sensation of living lungs pulling in and expelling air¡­


    Something stopped him. Like an impenetrable wall, he thought, only to follow the sensation more closely in the disorienting dark and realize it wasn¡¯t in front of him, but behind. A band or some sort of restraint, wrapped tight around the half-outlined shape of himself.


    Once he knew what it felt like, he could begin to comprehend it. When he began to comprehend it, he began to see it.


    A long, slender nail, like a single talon of perfectly white bone, hooked ever-so-slightly against someplace deep inside of him. Someplace cold, and quiet, and dark, though not as dark as the dark.


    He remembers following that nail towards something like a finger, but not. Like a memory of a finger, made up entirely of ash-colored flesh, dead but pristine¡­ and beyond it, more fingers, too many, around the idea of what might have been a wrist, and going up and up and-


    Someone whispered something, there in the dark. He hadn¡¯t realized he could still hear. Maybe he couldn¡¯t. Maybe this was something else.


    But he heard a whisper.


    Don¡¯t. You¡¯ll END.


    And he knew that the whisper was true, deep down, beyond any doubt. He heard a voice that was not Death but which spoke for it, and that voice told him something beyond faith and beyond understanding. It spoke, and he felt, deep down, that sometimes there are things worse than death, and that perhaps to END might be one of them.


    So he stopped looking at the hand which was not a hand, but was a corpse-thing of perfect ash, and he waited.


    And waited.


    And¡­ eventually, got very bored of waiting, and started to look again. Not at the not-hand; that much, he knew, would be a mistake. But without a mind to break, without a stomach to hunger or a heart to beat or Qi to tend to, all he had was his own mind, the Death which outlined him, and the Dark. And so, he thought. Separate and far from the vomit-inducing nausea and fear and horror and despair of those visions that he saw, he reflected on them.


    Death is¡­ normal. A part of life, perhaps, a part of the world. Jin has seen more of it than he would like to, and knew, in that Dark place, that he would see more, but it also simply is, just as life simply is, or as the world simply is.


    But Death is not equal. He saw that entirely, deeply, the moment that finger of Death by Battle crawled in through the doorway and grew into the Deaths on the surgical tables all around. There are, he realizes, two things left behind, or perhaps created, by the act of dying.


    There are ghosts. Qi, a material which underpins all the world¡¯s rules and which responds to thought, does not vanish perfectly or instantly after death- it rushes out from the bodies of cultivators, from any source in which it resides once that source is unmade, free to be reabsorbed by the world or to be used to cause a change or creation. In the case of a person, sometimes, perhaps, that Qi remembers the shape of the mind which held and changed and created it, and keeps that shape a bit longer after the mind has died. The shape of someone who once was, imprinted on a natural energy of the world by their life, yet always fading.


    And then, there is Death. This, Jin had and has no real ability to explain, save that, perhaps, in the act of dying, a new shape is made. The universe reflects on the vacuum of what once was a person, and the concept of that vacuum takes up its own space for a moment.


    Or maybe it¡¯s just his mind, making up a way to make sense of what he saw. Maybe every Death is created or changed by those who see it, by those who understand or grieve it. As ephemeral as a thought and as final and concrete as a transformation in the world and all those who reside in it.


    As he meditated on the two parts of Death, the vacuum of someone going away and the imprint of their shape left behind, he realized that he could ¡®see¡¯ more clearly. The space around him grew clearer-defined, every flake of dead skin and inert cells in his body becoming brighter to his impossible senses.


    And he began to feel it.


    He saw the Death of the soldiers on the operating table before they died. Helped to fight back against it, helped to understand where it came from, but still that Death came before their complete cessation. A shadow of what might be, in the ways that something has been broken and unmade. He felt that same Death, realized or half-formed, all throughout the room and past its edges.


    He felt it then. As loud as he¡¯s ever felt it. Louder than all those dead bodies, louder than the endless waves of dead and dying he could feel fighting through the walls at the front. Louder than the sound of the fortress breaking, over towards the Deaths he sensed close to his master.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    There was a DEATH in that place. Far off, wrapped around higher and stranger things, but like waking up from a deep sleep and feeling the sun on your skin, he felt it, radiating out, impossible to not notice once brought to awareness.


    He remembered looking toward that long, slender talon once more. Remembered trying to look past the pristine corpse that wore it, up to the thing that wears the pristine and impossible corpse. He felt its words echoing in him, felt the pitch-Black of that infinity he was in begin to shimmer and grow, felt the size of that impossible celestial thing behind him¡­


    There is a DEATH, and it waits there, he thinks. Up above the world, above forever, above everything, and wrapped up in that death, connected to it like a tree branch to a ripe fruit, there is something greater and vaster and stranger than DEATH which is an END.


    In that contrast, he understood something. He understood, much more deeply, what that whispered truth had meant when it had said that he would END.


    From DEATH can come life. Can come CHANGE. Can come food, and grief, and memory and ghosts and the shape of what was and what ended it. In DEATH, there is meaning and there is consequence and connection.


    In the END, there is nothing. Nothing at all.


    And then he felt like his ¡®vision¡¯ was clouded. It took him a while to realize just how bright the bits of ash and death that made up his shape in that place had gotten, almost like they¡¯d begun to meld with the bright white nail that held him.


    This time, though, it was not the first voice that whispered, not some alien thing which had dragged his attention to safety. He got the impression that one warning was all he¡¯d get from it.


    No, instead, he¡¯d been brought out of it by something he hadn¡¯t yet felt before, something new in that place. A smell, beyond just cold and ash and Dark.


    Tangerines. Faint, but there, right alongside the memory of the not-hand on his shoulder in the infirmary. Right alongside the memory, still ever-bright in his mind, of the boy that his master had spoken to beneath the light of the Cold Sun.


    He looked, back towards the cord stretching to where sensation and life were, and found that he could see and feel more there. A shape, wrapped around his cord. No more than a wisp, wrapped loosely around his connection from this death-place back to his life, like a ribbon awkwardly thrown against a branch and tangled with it.


    In that wisp of not-shape, he saw something, the same color as the ash of the Death he carries on his skin and nails, but brighter, purer. Less alive. For a brief moment, he saw a face, one that he did not know but which is achingly familiar, something like that of a boy waving with a smile- and something like a mashed lump of meat, separate from anything human.


    Part of that same wisp of Death wafted out from the point of connection it had with Jin, up towards the hand holding him in place and towards the things behind it, the wider DEATH above it and the END far, far, far above that. It is not his, he realized. Unlike the cord which connected him to life, it belonged and was of DEATH, in its own much smaller way.


    It does not have a name. It doesn¡¯t even have a face, barely even the memory of an impression of one. But from it, the slightest hint of tangerine and kindness.


    Slowly, Jin reached out. He felt, straining through that cord that connected him, a little bit of Qi, perhaps, so small and so gradual he could barely tell it apart from the nothing all around.


    With those droplets, he managed to reach forward, and pull the little wisp into a ball, bit by bit. Condensing it, tightening its connection to the Death that he was represented as there, both himself and the death of himself. He felt that bit of essence, that memory and concept, meld tighter together, pulling in from the DEATH above and growing heavier against the cord of him.


    That took a while. Maybe a really long time. Time was¡­ hazy there, and seemed to go on forever and also flash by like it was never there at all. Next thing he knew, it felt like some great pressure was lifted from the space around him, the Dark and DEATH both pulling away and lessening their presence. A little while later, or perhaps days (again, hard to tell), he felt the cord connecting him to his body stirring, and the nail of the hand of the ashen and impossible corpse pulled away- and he woke up.


    ¡ª-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°And then you did that incredibly loud sniffing, which was super weird, and now we¡¯re¡­ here? Where is here?¡±


    Raika looks over at Li Shu, a flash of worry crossing her friend¡¯s face and matching her own. That¡­ was a lot. Jin, for his part, barely even seems to recognize it as a lot, like he just woke up from a weird dream rather than some insanely high-end vision. If anything, it reminded Raika of a lesser form of her Tribulations, perhaps.


    ¡°We just went past a desert area,¡± she says to Jin, ¡°a place made¡­ well, mostly Ruin. Sand made of bone dust that ate things, dead bodies, ruined weapons, that sort of thing. You were unconscious for almost a week.¡±


    Jin shakes his head, flinching at sore muscles from how long he stayed still. ¡°That¡­ huh. Sorry, master, just feels sort of short. Weird.¡±


    Raika gets closer to him again, paying closer attention to his scent. She noticed that his Qi changed when he woke up, but obviously a story like that bears closer examining.


    She breathes, slow and deep, letting her brains dedicated to sensory data absorb the data slowly and clearly. Synesthesia helps, the upgrade to her sensory package allowing her to get more than just conceptual impressions from the scent.


    Looking at Jin, she sees a dark room. Not pitch black- a comfortable dark, someplace soothing in its own right. What little light there is illuminates smoke, like incense, maybe, or pipe-smoke, and there is a closeness and calm to the scene, turning the space around him into a place both shadowed and intimate.


    There are still whispers, bits of sound almost like words, like the room is crowded just out of sight¡­ but now there is one voice that is a little bit louder. It doesn¡¯t speak words, not really, but the tone, the intonation, the energy behind it¡­


    ¡°Jin, did¡­ the wisp you mentioned. Did it have a name?¡±


    Jin shakes his head. ¡°No. I¡­ I think the dead have to be really strong to hold onto a name, or anything really. It really was just a tiny piece of someone else. But it seems¡­ nice? Like¡­ I don¡¯t know how to explain it. That sort of stuff, the Death stuff, it kind of sometimes connects to other things, you know? Like, you can have a fire that¡¯s a campfire that makes you feel warm, or a fire that¡¯s a campfire that cooks food.¡±


    ¡°How did the¡­ the larger Death there feel?¡± Li Shu asks, stepping in as Raika processes what she¡¯s hearing. ¡°Did it seem like something alien, or-¡±


    ¡°I think it was just big,¡± Jin says. ¡°And¡­ I mean, it was kinda scary, but it felt like it was there to protect me? Like it was holding me in place, so the really heavy stuff around me couldn¡¯t just squish me. Like a wolf in the woods, and you know it¡¯ll get hungry someday, but none of the snakes come close and it doesn¡¯t try to bite, so you get just a little closer.¡±


    Li Shu sends Raika a meaningful look, one that snaps Raika out of her thoughts a bit. Part of the reason she¡¯d kept them inside her body had been to protect them from a death-saturated wasteland, after all, and apparently, Jin had been seeing some truly horrifying visions well before that place. If some higher being took an interest, kept him from being crushed by the visions of that place¡­


    And then something else. Something that clicks a bit in Raika¡¯s mind, calling back to perhaps the most important conversation she¡¯s had recently.


    ¡®You get to eat and sleep without the Heavens or the gods feeding you little visions and dreams,¡¯ it had said. Right after telling her about how they were on the fringes of its house. Right before it finished putting the band in place around her inner world.


    Had leaving the Wall and the parts of the world directly under the Empire¡¯s control let something slip through? Something that could reach out to Jin¡¯s pre-existing connection to death and the Cold Sun?


    She frowns. Could it have been¡­


    Maybe. It hasn¡¯t spoken or acted directly since the many-wraith thing spoke to her back when the pond was a pond in the actual ground, and she still has no real name for whatever that thing is behind the Cold Sun. But its avatar had called Jin a window, all those months ago.


    She shifts her focus, going over Jin one more time. Another deep breath, this time while she places a hand on his wrist, feeling his meridians under his skin alongside the blood and chemicals a body produces.


    A dark room, just bright enough to see the ash and incense and pipe-smoke, just a little brighter than before. Just a little louder in that way which silence makes anything loud, with that one voice, that one young voice coming through a little louder. The room is larger than before, too, maybe¡­ maybe.


    He hasn¡¯t quite entered the Foundational realm yet, but it won¡¯t be long, and he¡¯ll have a much more refined sense of his own Qi and his deeper¡­ well, foundations.


    She sighs. Above all of that¡­ he¡¯s alive. He¡¯s awake. He¡¯s ok.


    She brings him close and hugs him, his body maybe a third the size of hers from age, malnutrition, and her massive frame.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re alright, kid.¡±


    He says something so muffled that even her enhanced senses don¡¯t quite parse it, but that can wait. She¡¯s just glad that he¡¯s ok. He¡¯s her responsibility, and it was her fault, and he¡¯s a good kid.


    It¡¯s only when he cycles his Qi to push off that she lets him go, where he gasps in a breath (which, Raika thinks, is a bit overdramatic).


    ¡°Gods and spirits, master, I thought those things were going to break my neck!¡±


    Raika looks down at her chest, blinking. Huh. They are pretty much the size of his head, aren¡¯t they?


    She starts laughing, and Li Shu lets out a giggle of surprise, and Jin goes bright red, and he¡¯s alive and he¡¯s ok and he¡¯s ok.


    The vision, the wisp he¡¯s apparently gained more control and ownership of, the potential implications of higher beings interacting with him as they did- all that can wait. For now¡­ he¡¯s ok.


    Many-Grasping emanates waves of awkward confusion as Jin blushes harder and both Raika and Li Shu let go of waves of anxiety, laughing their relief out to the sky.

 Chapter 247 - A Beautiful Day For A Picnic

    With Jin successfully revived (not that it took much on her part), Raika¡¯s turned back to her surroundings. There¡¯s still a sense of hunger to her, though minimized after gorging herself in the fortress city and the ruins of the battle on her way out, but she can no longer indulge it as she once would have. The temptation is there, but it¡¯s minimized by the presence of the golden band.


    Which brings up a very interesting question, in light of the fact that it seems her hunger may be an ongoing issue; why is she hungry?


    She can literally transmute Qi into biology. Her Truths, her Heart and her forced adaptation to Qi poisoning, so long ago now, all work together so that the Qi in her body is just as transmutable as blood, bone, and everything in between, and unlike those other materials, she can generate more of it from nothing. That¡¯s the beauty and danger of how Qi works- put it in the right pattern, and it uses itself as a sort of catalyst, creating more Qi. It¡¯s how a Qi font works in the wild, how the largest formations sustain themselves for millenia- unless it is left idle or spent to create an effect, Qi is always adding more Qi to the world, only for that excess to turn into more beings and properties that require it, and eventually drain it away.


    She can replicate that in her body. Has been for years now. By all rights, the Qi she can generate with her force-adapted cultivation, nevermind her biological formations, should provide her with enough that she can just replace whatever part of her needs fresh supplies from food.


    So- why the hunger?


    As far as she¡¯s been able to tell, tracking especially with the datapoint of when it got so much worse, there are two likely reasons. Firstly; her inner world seems to crave new flavors, new contexts, new mechanics. While she could bite into immaterial things before using Blacksteel teeth, it¡¯s only with the acquisition of her Heart that she gained the ability to consume Dao and other concepts more directly, and it seems that the godflesh-thing inside her craves those more esoteric properties to add to itself. As a part of her body, it translates to, well, hunger, but in a way that feels less biological and more a psychological desire. After all, it¡¯s at least in part contained by the golden band around her world, minimized by the threat of pain.


    The other is that, in spite of her inbuilt natural-formations of Qi generation, the stuff she makes has no flavor. Shameful as it is for a cook to admit such a thing, Qi generated in her body possesses only surface-level impressions of the elements inside her body, but doesn¡¯t contain the richness of Qi that has absorbed properties naturally over a long period or been forcefully transformed by conscious thought, i.e. meridians, cultivation, or array-formation. If she let it ¡®ferment¡¯ inside her body for longer, absorb her body¡¯s qualities, she¡¯s pretty sure it might become ¡°biology Qi¡± or ¡°blood Qi¡±, but without Qi-organs or a Soul that can touch the outside world, that could take¡­ well, she¡¯s not sure. Days? Weeks? Months? She burns through Qi so fast that even with her biological generator-arrays, she¡¯s usually only just breaking even- no chance for that.


    In effect, while she¡¯s making enough Qi to meet her needs, she¡¯s doing the metaphysical equivalent of living off of rice and water. The Qi she¡¯s learned to cycle without meridians is more than enough to cause Qi poisoning in a mortal, and through grit and talent she forced her body to evolve to feed off that, but as it stands, there¡¯s no depth or complexity to the Qi inside her compared to even what¡¯s in the air around her. Her body, adapted and CHANGEd through both Truth, arcane Reactor, and Heart, craves nutrients, proteins, minerals, not just metaphorical calories.


    All this to say that Raika is working very hard to justify taking just a nibble from some of these rocks.


    At a glance, they don¡¯t exude Dao. That¡¯s not to say one could not form a comprehension of Dao or manifest it in this place- it surely could grant tremendous insight into the patterns of existence relating to natural growth, environments, stone, and a million other possible interpretations. It¡¯s just that it¡¯s not exuding it naturally. There are places where that is the case, but they¡¯re rarer than Qi fonts, and usually happen because of a specific event, an inheritance or ritual site of an old cultivator, or the corpses of greater beasts. Dao is a conscious comprehension of the laws of the world, after all, a reflection of Heaven¡¯s Will, and that doesn¡¯t usually happen without people, even if some areas are rich in inspiration for it.


    So it definitely won¡¯t hurt her tummy if she eats some of the rock flowers.


    If it¡¯s not Dao or a literal concept, it shouldn¡¯t be absorbed into her inner world, which means the band won¡¯t have any reason to constrict and constrain more absorptions. Because this flower does not have Dao. It¡¯s just a flower¡­ with a lot of Qi. Tasty, delicious, chalky, stone-flavored Qi, which has transmuted plants into rock plants who-knows-how-long-ago.


    Raika takes a deep breath. Steels her will. Opens her mouth just a little wider than humanly possible, getting ready to take a bite out of the beautiful jasper-stone tiger lily she¡¯s holding, and-


    Honored One.


    On instinct, Raika¡¯s brains pilot the dozen muscle groups required to turn an incredibly startled fumble into something approaching a gracious turn.


    Many-Grasping stands a little ways away, and while they don¡¯t have Ko-es¡¯ habit of bowing, they do keep their head a bit low. Raika¡¯s more biological and instinct-minded brains take note of the fact that they always tilt said head a little to the side, keeping their neck exposed in a show of submission. The intent is translated instantly through the all-language of¡­ well, Intent, but either to aid in translation or as habit, Many-Grasping still performs the more primal show of subservience.


    Acknowledge, Raika sends back. Everything Alright?


    Many-Grasping nods, using body language where Intent is not needed. With her so consistently close by, it makes for interesting training- Many-Grasping¡¯s control of her Intent allows Raika to notice it more often in others, and while she¡¯s not entirely sure what the use or implications of that might be, she¡¯s yet to say no to a new style of sensory perception.


    This, in turn, ensures that Raika keeps a closer eye on Many-Grasping than her friends, adding to the fact that, as a newer member of their little traveling group, she¡¯s still under review, so to speak. Her biology is distinct in a way Raika hasn¡¯t seen outside herself, with systems that don¡¯t seem like they¡¯d evolve naturally blended together seamlessly. Her four legs work to make for nimble movement, but the four joints, one more than a human, along her front limbs make them versatile manipulators. Her face, hair carefully braided into a sort of mane around her neck to accentuate it, is both human and not, bright blue eyes sitting just above a mouth and jaw that is more reminiscent of a snout than a human shape. Perhaps if Raika had met her as a cultivator, her reaction might have been shock or distaste, though never in a way as to hurt a stranger, but with her ability to perceive biology and relatively new lack of social compunctions about it¡­ well. It¡¯s weirdly intriguing.


    Pausing, Raika notices that Many-Grasping has noticed her noticing her. She blinks, refocusing, but Many-Grasping does not seem to mind- if anything, it seems almost expected. It¡¯s quiet, but alongside just the slightest hints of Intent, Raika detects a slight change in her hormonal structure.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Not one that she expected. Not one that she¡¯s particularly happy about, either. The chemicals for arousal are faint, the Intent a fair bit louder, but there¡¯s a small note of adrenal prey reaction that adds a a drop of bitterness to Many-Grasping¡¯s scent.


    Raika takes a deep breath, seating her avatar-body on the ground. They¡¯re still atop the patio-garden she¡¯s formed out of her body, and the tiles of bone are warm and accommodating. Moving slowly and carefully, Raika does her best to transmit her Intent towards Many-Grasping in its completion.


    Non-aggression. Interest. Conversation. Question?


    Many-Grasping relaxes, ever so slightly. Agreement. Submission. Clarification = What Do You Wish Of Me?


    Raika¡­ shrugs. Uncertain. Passive. Study And Communication. Information.


    Many Grasping seems¡­ well, Intent speaks clearly, if bluntly.


    Confusion. Submission. Clarification = Only As Stated?


    Now that is interesting.


    Not the implications. That, she¡¯s happy to talk through- the other part. The part where clarification is required. So things can be hidden or misinterpreted through Intent, whereas Truespeak tends to come across¡­ ¡°clearer¡±, for lack of a better term. She¡¯s still not sure if one¡¯s Intent can lie, though it seems impossible, but that information is useful.


    Only As Stated. You = No Harm / Conditional On Alliance. Alliance = Communication, Information, + Don¡¯t Be An Idiot.


    Huh. Turns out that while ¡®common sense¡¯ isn¡¯t a concept in Intent, ¡®don¡¯t be an idiot¡¯ very much is. Refreshing.


    Many-Grasping nods her head, sitting close but not too close to Raika. What she sends next isn¡¯t as focused as her prior Intent, broader and more complex. It can¡¯t be translated into words as directly, even in the broad and artificial ways that Intent needs to be translated into to be comprehended with an alphabet.


    She transmits acquiescence, hope for cooperation, admiration¡­ and an invitation. Not an outright offer, but an implied and Intentionally sent understanding that she would be open for more.


    Hmm. And not just that.


    Mixed into the message is a bit of¡­ expectation? Like it¡¯s a foregone conclusion, or something obvious. Is it particularly common amongst beastkin? Amongst master-student relationships?


    Raika¡¯s experienced something like that dynamic before, back in the Hungering Roots sect, but it was always rare. Centralized governance meant centralized laws, and while sects got a lot of leeway in their internal affairs and politicking against each other, laws on sexual exploitation are strict, and the honor-code of a master-student dynamic, set into tradition, minimized much chance of intimacy. It still happened on occasion, sometimes even well, but it was frowned upon.


    Raika does not get that impression from Many-Grasping¡¯s Intent. There is some hesitation, that note of prey-fear still lingering, but it feels more like the sort of fear one gets when approaching a superior or an unknown, which Raika very much is. She¡¯s experienced some form of it before- back in her younger years at the sect, she was a particular fan of enlightening shy young things about all new experiences, should they prove receptive. But it¡¯s weirder to have it from someone approaching her, and what¡¯s more, with what smells like a genuine awareness of danger, approaching someone so much more powerful.


    She¡¯s¡­ not sure she likes it. It feels unequal, to say the least, and a bit uncomfortable.


    And that doesn¡¯t even get into her thoughts of Maen. Yeah, they¡¯re on a break, yes, they¡¯re theoretically immortal, but¡­ well. Raika misses her.


    Honesty once again is easier in the language of Intent, she manages to send back most of her thoughts on the matter fairly succinctly;


    ¡®I appreciate the thought, and I¡¯ll think about it.¡±


    Many-Grasping nods, both anxiety and arousal magnifying with the polite refusal. Rather than let the conversation sit idle, though, Raika elects to kill two birds with one metaphorical stone.


    Taking the flower out from behind her back, she goes ahead and takes a bite out of it, prompting a trill of surprise out of Many-Grasping. It¡¯s the first audible vocal sound Raika¡¯s heard from her, and she can¡¯t help but smile at that.


    She encounters partial success! The flower indeed does not get digested into concepts and sucked into her inner world, falling instead into the cavernous, spatially-altered nightmare that is her stomach. On the other hand, it also turns some of her molars and part of her throat into stone, which is quite fixable, but quite annoying.


    It does, in fact, taste deliciously crunchy. Not nearly as tastily chalky as she thought, either, more of a crumbly taste and texture.


    Many-Grasping stares at her with worry, and Raika assuages that worry by shoving the entire rest of the flower into her mouth at once, and turning to pluck a few more.


    Delicious. Not For You, But Delicious.


    Many-Grasping sends back a wave of relief and amusement, shaking her head. Rising up, she bows, telling Raika that she is always at her disposal for any questions, and that hopefully soon they will encounter a landmark beyond ¡°this place turns you into rocks, avoid the whole area¡±. Apparently east, the direction that Raika feels pulling her, should lead them directly into a section of overgrowth that is traveled semi-frequently, and Many-Grasping is hopeful that they¡¯ll be able to find a trail or something to lead them to a village of the Many and All alliance.


    Raika shoots her the metacognitive equivalent of a thumb¡¯s up, and she gives a short bow and heads back over to the ¡®observation deck¡¯, a section of the patio-area that Raika¡¯s elevated to look out over the stone flora.


    She herself, meanwhile, enjoys another dozen flowers.


    More data, then- It takes some of her own generated Qi to transform back any body parts that turn to stone, but the transformations are minor and more than worth it. Secondly, the hunger gets better and worse at the same time; as if she¡¯s broken a fast, her body reminds her of how empty she is of things she could really use, even as the sensation of being not quite as hungry as before comes clear.


    And thirdly, perhaps most importantly- she feels the band stir.


    It doesn¡¯t contract, doesn¡¯t activate in truth, but the more of the stone flora she eats, the more it feels¡­ tense. Anticipatory. Maybe in large enough quantities, her Heart starts to make some Dao for itself, or absorb Qi to grow the inner world by osmosis?


    It allows for a decent amount of eating, but not enough to satisfy.


    Sighing, Raika takes out her pipe. She grew the bone herself, obviously, but this time she carved it by hand rather than simply forming it into shape. She¡¯s still not great at transmuting her body into non-fauna biology, but the Heart helps, Dink shivering and sending a clearer message between them. A few moments later, her fingertips on her free hand have formed into something similar to the moss and leaves she prefers, and it¡¯s easy enough to pluck them and put them in the bowl to be smoked.


    Not true flora. Not yet.


    But always progress. It might not give her much, but it¡¯s another avenue still open to her using her strongest tool, her biology, and with the band in place, she could use some more time exploring new avenues.


    Tastes fucking terrible though. The True Flame works to ignite it, obviously, Qi sparked into writhing, hungry energy and then allowed to dissipate into regular fire- but it tastes like bad barbecue with hints of herbs at best.


    Raika sighs. A good conversation, a halfway-decent snack, and some more thoughts. Not too terrible. About time to get moving again.


    She gets up, brushing herself of imaginary crumbs, and bioshifts the patio onto the back of her stridermorph Body. This way, everyone can enjoy the outdoors some more (though she does add some breathing vents around the place to shape air flow and keep away at least a few potential contaminants) as they travel, and she takes a chunk of ground with a hill of stonemoss and stone flowers as a souvenir, adding it to the edge of the patio. Separate from the whole, the Qi properties of density so high it transmutes things diminishes the further it gets from the rest of the stone all around, but she still sets up a perimeter around it. No need for anyone to get accidentally petrified just for an added garden-piece (and, potentially, a patch of ingredients? Who knows if they¡¯re even smokable, but she¡¯s willing to try).


    For a while, as her strider-form carries them over the world below, flaking off bits of transmuted chalk every now and again, it¡¯s just¡­ peaceful. Beautiful, even, the natural landscape more a background risk than a threat, and listening to the sound of Jin laughing and her passengers enjoying the views makes the rest of the day¡¯s travel feel memorable.


    And then, like a sour cherry atop a stunning dessert, right as the sun is getting close to setting, Raika hears some of the last words she ever expected to hear in the 4th ring.


    ¡°In the name of the honorable Crashing Rainfall sect, halt!¡±

 Chapter 248 - Yo Watch Me Beat The Crap Out Of These Guys Lol

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    Raika blinks, panopticon and avatar-body both staring down at the two cultivators standing in front of her. A man and woman, at least going by hormonal balances, both of them wearing bright white robes with heavy splatters of paint decorating them like thick rain drops. The masculine one is wearing a thick and heavy scarf made of chainmail, the clothes under his robes something almost soldier-like, and there¡¯s a sword almost twice his own height balanced on his shoulder. The more feminine of the two has what look like vines wrapped around her body beneath her robes, the glint of porcelain or something pale-white against light blue skin.


    She¡­ stares at them. She¡¯s halted, sure, but more due to just blatant shock at what she¡¯s seeing.


    Li Shu and Jin both peek up over the side of the open-end patio atop her Body, joining her in staring down at the two cultivators in front of them. Equally, all three of them just sort of stare.


    The two cultivators are both exuding a decent amount of force, the ground around them warping ever so slightly. She can sense their Domains extending just a few inches past their skin, almost¡­ almost like some sort of armor, blocking off the transformative effects of the stone flora. Not as efficient as Kaena¡¯s technique of circulating their Qi tightly around them in an aura, but certainly more cost-effective than just radiating Qi out of themselves to block the effect. She notes a few talismans on them as well, exuding energy colored bluish-green to her synesthesia, wrapping tightly around those same domains. Some sort of restriction to hold them in? Something to help them sustain the technique?


    ¡°Look here, senior sister! It seems there is some sense to these beast-tamers after all!¡±


    The vine-wrapped woman snorts, rolling her eyes. ¡°You just wanted to pick a fight with some tribe, Ko. Travelers! What business do you have in this place?¡±


    Raika, still a bit dumbfounded, does rally a bit faster than the others. Perks of multiple frontal lobes.


    ¡°Uh¡­ just passing through. Headed east.¡±


    The man (Ko?) snorts, throwing his head back with the sound like he thinks it¡¯ll make him look cooler. ¡°And what excuse do you have to be passing through fields which belong to the Crashing Rainfall sect? Speak now, lest we decide your trespass is worthy of annihilation!¡±


    Hmm. He¡¯s certainly dramatic enough to be in a sect.


    ¡°Well¡­ we left the sands and were here. I don¡¯t think any of us saw a sign or anything. If you planted this place, great job, it¡¯s really impressive.¡±


    The compliment doesn¡¯t quite land, and she picks up the bite on her bait immediately. The whole time they¡¯ve been here, the place has felt intrinsically natural to her- strange, but natural. A majestic and wonderful little biome born from some few thousand years of patterns and reactions. It doesn¡¯t have the touch of tools or even human footprints, be they literal or scent-based. When she complemented their planting, the micro-reactions in their faces told her all she needs- they might lay claim to this place, but they didn¡¯t plant it.


    ¡°This is a valuable resource of the Crashing Rainfall sect, and you have no right to trespass. Ignorance is no excuse for disrespecting your betters!¡±


    Hmm.


    On the one hand- politeness is a tool like any other. These two haven¡¯t attacked yet, which is something, and playing to their egos is as valid a way to resolve the situation as any other. It likely has its own advantages, ensuring that if rumors of them do travel, they¡¯ll be mild, maybe even friendly to the sect. Potentially less enemies that way.


    Or¡­ it might make the sect¡¯s enemies turn against them. It might make others think that they¡¯re weak enough to be bullied, rather than polite.


    She doesn¡¯t really have the information to say which of the possibilities is more likely. Maybe she could ask Many-Grasping, but that would also take time that might make the decision for them. Raika instead decides based on more objective criteria how to respond.


    ¡°My betters?¡± she asks, her voice dangerously low.


    Ko of the Crashing Rainfall throws his head back and laughs, the massive blade on his shoulder jingling slightly as he does. A few small bells on its hilt jangle with every chortle he performs, making her wonder if the whole thing is specifically for that very purpose.


    ¡°Of course your betters. Unless you claim that a bunch of Qi-Gathering and Foundational-realm cultivators are the equals of Nascent Soul cultivators of one of the most honored sects of the divine Republic of Mora! If so, perhaps you might wish to claim that you are traveling comedians rather than thieves, come to steal precious resources!¡±


    Raika looks at him, one eye cocked. Li Shu is already sighing, and pats her on the shoulder. ¡°Just don¡¯t kill them?¡± she asks.


    Raika gives a little groan-growl in the back of her throat, but she nods. Li Shu gives a tired little laugh before pulling Jin back and away- he¡¯s more than eager to join her, both of them getting a particular vibe from Raika that indicates messiness. She feels them start to head through the doors into her Body, Li Shu likely going for medical supplies.


    ¡°Hey!¡± the female cultivator yells. ¡°How dare you turn your backs on us?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Raika says, standing tall on her own shoulders and stepping a bit forward off of the platform she¡¯s made, ¡°you might wonder who we are to be able to dismiss you. How a bunch of no-Qi low-cultivation nobodies could waltz into this little garden in the first place. And perhaps, at the end of that thought, you might want to rethink calling yourselves my better.¡±


    To her credit, the vine-wrapped cultivator does actually pause at that. A little smarter than her compatriot, maybe. She still doesn¡¯t seem unsure, though- just thinking things through, trying to figure out the mystery.


    Ko, to the credit of his bullheadedness, doesn¡¯t seem to even hesitate. ¡°It is not the way of this cultivator to wonder at the thought of lesser beings! Bow a hundred times at my feet, lick the soles of my boots and return whatever it is you have stolen and I might just forgive your trespass. It would be a true shame to see such beauty wasted on the edge of my blade!¡±


    So, Raika thinks. On the one hand, he hasn¡¯t attacked yet. And he called her hot, points in his favor for some taste.


    He also insulted her again, threatened her and her friends, and demanded she demean herself for something she hasn¡¯t done.


    Ok, so she did actually take a patch of the stone prairie for herself, but he hasn¡¯t mentioned it so he obviously doesn¡¯t know, so it¡¯s stupid to assume!


    She stares at the giant body of the bioconstruct she¡¯s made herself into. Looks at him. Looks at herself again. The panopticon-head of her main Body bends and warps down, facing itself towards the two of them more directly as she steps her avatar-body onto the edge of her own shoulder.


    ¡°Call me lesser one more time,¡± she says. ¡°See what happens.¡±


    Yet again to her credit, the vine-wrapped cultivator does actually take a step back. Raika feels her senses emanate out from her, a slight mix of Qi and¡­ oh, Intent! Subconscious, maybe, barely there. It might just be proof that she¡¯s gotten better at perceiving it- between herself, Ko-es, and possible the Aspirant of the Cut waaaay back in Cragend, it¡¯s further proof you don¡¯t need to be a beastkin to speak it. It¡¯s just intention transmitted into the world, and of course it would be present in Qi!


    Refocusing, she feels the woman¡¯s Qi touch on her form- and be rebuffed by her cursed skin. Her Intent, flavored mostly with curiosity and barely-present even to Raika¡¯s senses, is thoroughly dissipated, and Raika watches her blink for a moment. What was once simply a large beast without much Qi to its name becomes something else in her mind, and watching it happen leaves Raika with a big, toothy grin on her face.


    Ko, to his discredit, seems to take that as a taunt, and neglects to take note of his partner¡¯s reaction.


    ¡°And what else would this cultivator call you? You stand on a beast whose power may be allied to you but is not yours, One so frail and saddled it does not even bear Qi, while letting off little more power than a mortal. It is I who laughs at your audacity to speak to me with your forehead off the ground! You should be honored I am not in the habit of simply slaying outright those lesser-¡±


    He doesn¡¯t quite get to finish the sentence as Raika¡¯s fist slams into his face.


    His reaction is actually terrifyingly fast, though. She hears the slightest jingle of his bells, but by the time that the sound has reached her ears he is somehow already behind her, the blade half-swung straight into her neck.


    She didn¡¯t bother with a combat form. Her body, as it stands, is still modified far beyond baseline human- she could likely fistfight even the physically toughest Foundational cultivator in this form, easily. Against a Nascent Soul cultivator, though, that¡¯s like a starved child trying to fight a professional athlete, and there¡¯s simply no way for her to turn and parry before the sword hits her.


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    So she doesn¡¯t.


    Her minds, neural connections literally thousands of times denser and more numerous than any unmodified organism, make it feel like the world is moving in slow motion as she activates Supreme Body Art: Overclocking. The technique removes limiters and pushes whatever system she¡¯s using it with to the absolute maximum performance possible, and even as she tracks time moving at the same pace as ever, the speed at which she notices and processes goes so high that it feels like she has all the time in the world to make any choice she can imagine.


    Her avatar body has the enhancements that she would consider her baseline, and is further limited by a thin trail of neurons and flesh-wires that connect her back to her main Body, but even for a Nascent Soul cultivator, this Ko guy is fast. Almost like he teleported rather than move, and for all she knows, maybe he did. But her self, her foundational elements, are Hers, and respond at the speed of thought, faster than cells should ever be able to.


    A new arm, wrapped in Blacksteel nanoscales, like something made out of a ferrofluid, blooms out of her back and grabs hold of Ko¡¯s hand hard enough to shatter it.


    She feels one, two bones break- and then he¡¯s gone, just vanished. Teleportation of some kind, possibly a reactive teleportation. It doesn¡¯t take him very far- he appears maybe fifty feet away, the momentum of his swing canceled and wincing as his hand heals itself.


    Hmm. Either better equipped or just better than the platoon-commanders she fought. More experience? Less training spent on command, more on gaining tools to survive?


    In the nearly stopped-time experience, Raika sees a dozen curling whips of serrated porcelain flying towards her, her main body, and the patio-palanquin at its top. The female cultivator is using a sort of shotgun approach, attacking everywhere at once, the edges of the serration edging towards vulnerable flesh¡­


    So maybe the start of the battle was a little inefficient. Was it worth it to see the look of shock (and currently, the look of pain) on his face? Absolutely. But no reason to just let them win.


    Ko may have a more unique technique than one she¡¯s encountered before, but they¡¯re still Nascent Soul cultivators. Going all out? She¡¯s eaten more than a few already.


    With Li Shu, Jin, and Many-Grasping already inside her body, Raika collapses herself.


    Like a singularity of flesh, like a sudden vacuum spawned inside her Body, every limb, trailing connection, her avatar body and the exterior flesh of her strider-form all collapse inward. She goes from a multi-ton bio-construct and human-sized representative into a chunk of meat no larger than the size of a fist in less time than it takes for the serrated whips to strike.


    For a moment, her senses are cut off, her brains rewiring their perception after losing so much surface area so fast.


    Then she blooms, and enjoys the little tang of fear that travels through the scent and Intent of both of the arrogant young masters that tried to threaten her.


    She lands on the ground amidst a shower of sparks, her body coated in the ever-sharp ferrofluid armor she learned to make of her Blacksteel. Reactive nanoscales connected to minute nerves and muscles make the tiny scales move like a liquid, all of them so pitch-black that they consume the light that touches them. She stands a good fifteen feet tall, six-limbed, her face a statuesque pair of hands covering eyes, yet surrounded by an ever-spawning halo of them. A many-limbed jaw stretches open beneath the hands that cover her ¡®eyes¡¯, and from deep in its gullet there glows a fire of CHANGE.


    See, transforming takes a lot of time. It takes real effort to form and organize each individual piece, even with enhanced cognition and Overclocking. Raika¡¯s solution?


    Just make it ahead of time.


    She¡¯s got a lot of space inside her flesh. Somehow, through spatial warping she still doesn¡¯t fully understand, her Heart allows her to store multiple tons of biology into a space¡­ possibly as small as she needs, but usually no bigger than a fist. Most of that space goes to creating natural formations to provide the Qi she needs, supporting her own mass so she doesn¡¯t collapse and bleed out internally, and providing space and power for her organs, but being able to freely modify it means there¡¯s usually some space left that you can optimize. In Raika¡¯s case, she decided to just store her latest battle-form in a corner of her biology rather than waste time recreating it when needed. Reacting quickly to danger is the most important factor to surviving an ambush after all.


    She modified it a bit smaller, sure, and a bit less powerful than before- no need to waste resources when they¡¯re not in use. But it¡¯s more than enough.


    Heart-organs pump hyper-dense indigo blood through her, pressurizing her combat form, and she moves.


    None of the female cultivator¡¯s whips hit. Dozens of them, thrown in chaotic and curving patterns to be harder to predict, all fail to land a blow.


    She notices a strange sort of distortion as her fist travels through the Domain wrapped around her, slight but there. Some resistance, yes, but mostly just a feeling of strangeness, like the rules shift just a bit in that space.


    Then, she connects, and breaks six ribs, a forearm, and her nose with the first set of blows.


    She has delivered thirty six more by the time that Ko has teleported behind her again.


    Predictable. His angle is different, so it¡¯s not exclusively directly behind her, but it¡¯s still easy to guess where he¡¯ll appear.


    Still impressive. It¡¯s almost like some sort of visual failure- one moment, there¡¯s nothing, and the next he¡¯s just there, like he always was, already in motion like he wound up for it out of sight.


    Her tail wraps around his leg, yanking him off balance, and before he vanishes again she¡¯s already turned into an axe kick that she feels his hip shatter under.


    In the slowed-down world, the sound from his scream feels like it registers later than it should, making for an interesting sort of doppler-effect to the whole thing. Fun!


    Feeling just a hint of strain, Raika cancels the Overclocking, returning to her standard speed of perception, just in time for Ko to shatter the stone flora around him on impact with the ground and for the female cultivator to go flying into a hillside.


    ¡°Aria!¡± Ko roars, his hand reaching towards his fellow cultivator¡¯s impact site. Her synesthesia turns sound to touch as she feels a sort of haptic feedback from his hip repairing itself, but he¡¯s still going to be at least a few seconds from being able to move. Good to know her name, though. Already, she¡¯s getting results from her chosen tactic!


    Aria is on her feet, impressing Raika with her durability. A wave of Qi starts to flavor the air around her, infusing the whips with the scent of something like the shattered edges of a doll, turned to beautiful damage, and the scent of broken pottery and beautiful harm begins to radiate out. Raika smells a series of pops as her bones snap back into place, repairing themselves well enough to fight (though she can taste the accumulating scar tissue from the rapid regeneration).


    With a battle cry, Aria throws her whips out in a vast array, blades ricocheting off each other to make a chaotic, almost perfectly random pattern, nearly impossible to dodge. Ko recovers just in time to launch himself up, his blade ringing with Intent, an edge of Sword Dao that shows he¡¯s taking her seriously-


    If only it wasn¡¯t much too late.


    She could keep playing. There¡¯s certainly more they can do, more ways for them to disrupt her, more techniques they can throw at her. Despite their wounds, they¡¯re healing fast, faster than she¡¯d expect, and if they unleash their domains, summon their Nascent Souls, pull out the real show-stopper techniques, they¡¯ll certainly put up more of a fight.


    But¡­ she did promise not to kill them. And most of the absolute best techniques only come out when people are at death¡¯s door. It would be rude to Li Shu, and a big waste of time, and a major source of damage for the lovely stone prairie to force the fight to drag on for her own enjoyment. Really, there¡¯s no good reason to prolong the battle.


    On the other hand¡­ she really, really wants to. It would be fun! A risk, but a small one, right?


    She sighs, Overclocking her brains again. There are times to be selfish in her enjoyment, and there are times to be reasonable, and she¡¯s reached the end of the compromise between them. She¡¯s had some fun, and despite how much fun it is toying with cultivators this strong¡­ ugh. She can have a better fight some other time..


    In the slowed-time effect of her Overclocking, she morphs two limbs. On her right side, she morphs a Sword and Gun both. With one limb, a blade of perfect obsidian, nightmare black with spots of brilliant indigo blood, swipes away the wall of serration coming at her in a single blow, shattering many of the mini-blades outright. In the tinkling shrapnel of the following moment, a limb that has become a single long rifle, as long as she is tall, fires once, a burst of True Flame igniting a shell of bone and death into and through the cultivator Aria¡¯s collarbone.


    She¡¯s less gentle with Ko. On her left side, a Blade, wrapped and shining with Qi and her Intent to shatter his blade, slices the steel cleanly into two pieces, carving into his guts right after. When he still squirms a bit, a fist weighing approximately 700 pounds slams into his head hard enough to fracture his skull and concuss the shit out of him.


    She deactivates her Overclocking a moment after, just in time to hear both of her opponents gurgle out sounds of pain. Aria stays down, the bullet that shot through her infused with Dao and finally locking down her regeneration. Raika can still hear her breathing, but she also hears the bubbling sound of blood leaking from the hole shot clean through her collarbone, leaving her collapsed on the ground.


    Ko keeps struggling. Stupid he may be, but he¡¯s no coward, and while the Sword Dao and Blacksteel that cut through him make it so his guts are still out and bleeding, he doesn¡¯t let that stop him.


    He swings his broken sword, the bells jingling¡­ and she kind of just lets him.


    After a while of her just kind of staring down at him as he flails, barely even needing to shift to dodge his attacks, he¡­ well, his blushing isn¡¯t all from pain.


    ¡°You done?¡± she asks.


    He gurgles out a bit of blood, swinging the sword at her again. He flickers, his teleportation half-activating, but apparently it doesn¡¯t work so well with death-metal spearing through him.


    She feels his Qi shift, tall and staring eyes atop mountains full of bells, flags and paints rising from him in a domain¡­


    She punches him again.


    He snarls, goes to try to rise-


    ¡°Listen, if you keep trying to pull a domain, I¡¯m just going to keep hitting you in the face. That¡¯s not very fun for me when you¡¯re tied down like this, but you¡¯re strong enough that it¡¯s going to be super tough to balance knocking you unconscious hard enough to keep you there versus putting my fist through your skull.¡±


    He gurgles, swinging his sword at her, mustering up a few scraps of Sword Dao around its shattered edge. ¡°I will never surrender to an invader! I am a proud warrior of the Crashing Rainfall sect, and-


    She sighs. And punches him in the face again.


    This repeats for three or four more cycles before he¡¯s missing most of his teeth and just sort of groaning.


    ¡°Are we done? Can I take the sword out now?¡±


    He mumbles a bit, swiping his blade vaguely in her direction- but at this point, judging by the smell of him, he¡¯s burned through most of the Qi in his meridians. He could burn the Qi of his core, but since he hasn¡¯t yet¡­


    She pulls her sword-hand out of his gut, prompting another groan from him. ¡°Yeah, yeah. I accept your surrender.¡±


    She expands her flesh back out, folding the palanquin-patio out from where she compressed it inside her body. Considering the state of him, even with his cultivation, it won¡¯t be long before the stone flowers overtake him and turn him to stone. It¡¯s a bit awkward picking up Aria too, she has to make a suuuper long tendril for it, but she¡¯s fairly light by comparison.


    With two unconscious cultivators laying preserved on her body, Raika puts four of her six arms on her hips and crosses the last set, looking down at them.


    ¡°Well now what the fuck am I going to do with you?¡±

 Chapter 249 - Tarzan Would Have Had An Interesting Time In Nam

    Raika sighs. She¡¯s been doing that a lot the last few minutes.


    That was¡­ surprisingly unenjoyable?


    Getting to humiliate a couple of arrogant bastards was cathartic, but not very much. The joy of beating the shit out of someone who deserved it got progressively less joyful as it became clear that they really didn¡¯t stand a chance against her. She¡¯s sure they¡¯d be able to harm her eventually, and they¡¯ve probably got some fun techniques she didn¡¯t get a chance to see, but she could¡¯ve ended the fight in seconds if she¡¯d wanted. Hells, technically she did.


    And she didn¡¯t need to use True Flame, or [INFUSION] to cause any CHANGE radiation, her whips, or any Supreme Body Arts beyond Overclocking and Gigant, and she¡¯s literally always using Gigant nowadays, at least internally. The fight didn¡¯t push her, didn¡¯t offer a new experience, and without the ability to consume Dao and Souls like she could before (nevermind the fact that she did promise Li Shu) there¡¯s just¡­ not a lot to get out of a fight like that.


    Holding herself back for the sake of experiencing new techniques isn¡¯t bad in and of itself, but it felt frustrating to expect some big catharsis, only to be met by two idiots she could kick the crap out of easily. While she may not technically be ranked like an orthodox cultivator, she¡¯d put herself at peak Nascent Soul or maybe anemic Warrior realm in strength, at least going all out.


    And now she¡¯s got two unconscious idiots just sort of laying here.


    Well¡­ no reason to spend time in the danger zone if it¡¯s not needed. Wrapping some bands of bone and hyper-durable tendon around them, she absorbs them alongside the platform she¡¯s made. Then, annoyed at the sheer expense of keeping her combat-form running (it¡¯s enough that her Qi generation falls into a deficit, even with her Truths), she grows her own body back out of her Body, spawning from out of a gap in her nanoscales and reabsorbing the much larger war-form back in.


    She takes a few long, deep breaths, opening rents along her back to add to the oxygen intake. Her Truths allow her to use and adapt to a lot of carbon dioxide, but there¡¯s only so much of it she can use. Another point in favor of learning how to make plants part of her biology in the future. It takes her a good few minutes of just breathing, inhaling and exhaling vast amounts of heat, until her lungs have enough air stored and her Qi has regenerated enough for her to feel comfortable with moving again.


    At which point she has to break off and deglove both of her feet from standing still too long like an idiot.


    She goes to sigh again, but¡­


    No. That¡¯s not a great mindset. It was a good fight, enjoyable, and she got to feel strong. That¡¯s not nothing, and the loss of a few inches of material off her limbs to be able to enjoy some time just standing around isn¡¯t bad either. At least not for her. And there¡¯s nothing wrong with realizing her growth or realizing just how she still has to work on getting more of it.


    If anything, that last part is sort of exciting. For everything she has, there¡¯s new avenues. She knows for a fact that she¡¯s only superficially using her Daos, and there¡¯s so much room to grow in her biology and its possibilities that it¡¯s dizzying. It¡¯s good to remember that, and to recognize just how much fun she¡¯s having with theorizing new ways to grow, new things to do.


    But she acknowledges that it is at least a little bit of a cock-tease to get to beat up a bunch of arrogant cultivators and get no fun out of it.


    She starts running.


    Not in her strider form. She wants a challenge after that rather disappointing fight, and running in humanoid form through an area literally made of razor-sharp stone is a hell of an added challenge. The strider form is perfectly optimized, but that¡¯s sort of a failing of it- it is situationally perfect, but requires constant adaptation if she wants to use it for anything other than walking and being tall. An imperfect form means she has to find much more complicated solutions, solutions that can apply to much broader systems- good things all around.


    So it is that a seven foot tall naked woman starts sprinting at nearly half the speed of sound across razor-sharp stone flowers.


    Every few steps she has to leave behind a bit of skin, transformed to stone against her will. She can feel her Truth struggling against it, but considering that the Nascent Soul cultivators in this place needed to have their Domains in a sort of armor-technique to protect themselves, it¡¯s doing a damn good job. The Truth of I Am Me, I Am Mine forces the environment to have to push through something fundamental about Raika before it can affect her, and it¡¯s a testament to how lethal that environment is that it¡¯s able to get through at all.


    She sends a message in glowing letters inside herself to Li Shu¡¯s room, where she¡¯s examining Jin and Many-Grasping. She makes sure to remind her to check for internal infections of stone-growth. While they didn¡¯t directly touch the stone like she is, there¡¯s a chance some of it was in the air, earth/stone Qi or no.


    She sees Li Shu read it and nod, throwing a thumbs up. The concern is fairly minor, but if anyone can do something about it, it¡¯s Li Shu.


    Raika wonders why the cultivators weren¡¯t using flying swords. Those are probably still a thing out here, right? One of the older and more awkward modes of transportation pre-Empire, and still in use today in some cases.


    Could be it was a training exercise, or they disembarked when they expected a fight. Something to ask her surprise prisoners about later maybe.


    She moves faster than a normal body would allow, streamlining the edges of her body where air resistance becomes an issue, reinforcing spring-loaded pistons and hyper-dense muscles to launch herself off of individual stone flower petals. Some of them crack beneath her weight, and she shifts more of herself into her spatial alteration, optimizing every muscle group and bone to reduce unnecessary weight without losing the challenge of maintaining and improving her current form.


    The miles blur past, hills of moss and endless varieties of lilies, carnalias and other flowers she can¡¯t name speeding by as she moves. She spends the trip optimizing what¡¯s needed, and just¡­ running.


    It¡¯s a joy. She moves faster than she ever has before, faster than when she was a cultivator, faster than she has yet, and she could go further still. Acid burns through her muscles and vanishes a moment after, Qi regenerating into flesh to replace what¡¯s been damaged as quickly as the damage accrues, and every time she fixes it it comes back just a bit better.


    The landscape is beautiful, and even as a half-dozen brains watch over the people she¡¯s protecting (and kidnapping) and modify her Body, she feels quiet. At peace with her thoughts.


    It¡¯s a good run.


    Eventually, she starts finding hints of green spread throughout the stone. At first it¡¯s just bits of jasper and malachite amongst the flowers, but before long the scent of chlorophyll and dirt starts to make its way into her nostrils. Another few minutes at speed, and she can feel the air quality start to change, the density of Qi not fading, but shifting. The flows of Qi feel strange, out past the Wall. One of those things you don¡¯t realize until it¡¯s gone, but the flow of Qi in the Empire felt¡­ static? Stable? It ebbed and flowed, same as here, but it was slower, smaller quantities. Here, it¡¯s like she can feel the wind, just on the edge of her senses, the range that she can feel out to giving a hint at a larger picture.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    There are tides here. She can feel the ebb and flow as just louder, less restrained, more alive in some way. She can imagine, over the course of a year or more, the Qi from the stone prairie terraforming out further, only to shift as a different wave of Qi from elsewhere brings new properties. The edges of the space between them there must be even more chaotic, a spectrum of transformation that life has evolved to encompass


    A paradise for cultivation, if you can find the right spot or the right resources. Possible instant death if you end up in the wrong one. A far more chaotic environment than in the Empire, far less stable, which, for civilization, for people, is a bit tough.


    But for her? For her hunger? For her everlasting CHANGE? For the desire for more that she can feel churning so much deeper than her gut, deeper than her very soul?


    It¡¯s¡­ beautiful.


    Jasper and malachite become more and more common, until the orange and grey and white of the stone prairie begins to imitate chlorophyll, and then the plants start to bend beneath her. Tougher stalks and powerful trunks begin to replace stone biology, flower petals of gemstones on less Qi-altered areas. The vines get thicker, overtaking the moss and the flowers, and then thicker still, until almost every vine she comes across is part of a larger maze of tree-trunk sized tubes of chlorophyll and moss.


    And then they get bigger.


    A few hours into running, the vines layer over each other, larger than buildings, nearly as tall as some of the sect-plateaus Raika¡¯s seen in the past. Each one¡¯s trunk is hundreds of feet thick, and they emanate and absorb Qi in equal measure, almost like they¡¯re breathing in a language all their own.


    In the far distance, Raika begins to see trees, and realizes that some of the vines are not vines.


    They¡¯re roots.


    And some of the trees are larger than mountains.


    She admires the view, drinking in air that¡¯s nearly syrupy with pollen and mist, emanating from between the vines and roots and glowing in the afternoon heat, rainbows of light flickering through them constantly as she runs. With more consistent footholds, Raika starts to approach the sound barrier, the density of the air and the heat of the plant life all around making the air hard to move through. She hears distant bird-calls from birds that sound truly massive, feels the rumbling of colossi from miles away, and experiences the million scents of a deep sea of life all around her like raindrops on her skin.


    It¡¯s beautiful.


    Raika makes sure to take a few chunks of vines and some samples of moss to add to her growing internal terrarium. She¡¯s going to have to come up with a name for her body-storage thing soon, maybe add it into the manual for Supreme Body Art. Either way, it¡¯s always good to have things to reference, and she¡¯s sure Li Shu will love it.


    She also plucks a few fruits here and there, just to make sure that her guests don¡¯t have to exclusively eat of her flesh. She¡¯s getting better at making meat-fruits, but they still aren¡¯t that good. It¡¯s never a bad idea to stock up on supplies.


    It¡¯s as she¡¯s plucking the seventh-or-so fruit, though, that she detects something new.


    Where before, especially at her velocity, the details of the life all around sort of blurred together, now she can tell that some of the signals she¡¯s getting are stationary- and others are stationary to her. Moving in lockstep, synchronized, and with one of them now approaching.


    She grins wide as she backflips over a pair of snapping jaws, tossing her head just so to keep her dreads from getting chomped on.


    She lands on the side of a vine, perching there just long enough to watch the scaled figure of something crocodilian vanish into the ferns and mossy lesser vines that clutter the space all around. Even with her senses, she finds herself pleasantly surprised at how she struggles to properly identify where it¡¯s moving and how.


    Luckily, her senses have a bit less trouble detecting the next two sets of jaws.


    She laughs, pure and joyous, as she flips and throws herself through the air, the wind whistling against her body, staying bare inches away from the jaws of the predators around her. They blend seamlessly into the wider flora, entering and vanishing almost perfectly, leaving behind just flashes of skittering legs and massive open mouths like churning pits.


    They¡¯re so very lovely, and she lands hard on another wall of flora, transferring enough force from her leap that it creaks, and soon she is moving again, dancing between more maws.


    An insect horde of crocodilian monsters dance with her, predicting each others moves and counter-predicting in turn. While it is not language, because in truth it is never language, she feels their Intent flaring to life as they try to bite into her, try to consume any and all sources of movement. She laughs and leaps and turns and flourishes, pushing past the burning of lactic acid, pushing into and through the possibility of exhaustion, playing with the shape of her Body like an instrument.


    This. This is what she wanted from that fight.


    She is here. She is pushing herself, and exploring a new challenge and a new joy, and changing in every moment by the joy and the challenge and the push and the new.


    Eventually, the dance starts to break down. Eventually, the press of the jungle-vines overwhelm, and even with so much Mind and so many senses, her steps begin to slip, the jaws get closer and closer and snip off bits of hair and the surface-touch of her skin. What was briefly perfect, and by its nature could never remain so, fades and changes as all things do.


    And isn¡¯t that lovely?


    At long last, a single violent undulation, a desperate lunge from a hungry and frustrated beast, places her square in the path of a set of jaws. She feels through how they slice through the air how sharp those teeth are, how they hold both the beast¡¯s Intent to kill her dead and an edge of what might someday be Dao in their porcelain points. Even without the Dao, there¡¯s something about the Intent, focused and honed in so sharply on the beast¡¯s fangs, that makes her almost feel like they¡¯re more deadly than they should be.


    Hmm. The beasts have worked very hard. She Overclocks her mind for a half-second, wondering if she should let them get a bite. While it¡¯s been years, that was something she did during her first impromptu beast-tide; as she ate of their flesh, she accepted that they would eat of hers. It wouldn¡¯t cost her much to allow this particularly successful one a bite, would it?


    It would hurt a bit, but pain is just a thing that she knows and speaks with. She already knows what it will say.


    Raika smiles toothily, hungrily, beatifically as she twists her spine just enough to let the centipede-crocodile bite all the way around her right hand and forearm. It¡¯s earned a bite, and losing her remaining arm is no big loss, considering how quickly she can remake it.


    Then she feels something yoink her torso up and forward, dragging so hard that her enhanced biology almost gets whiplash. Her right arm, still held in the maws of the centipede-crocodile, is torn off roughly, unevenly, the Intent and unnatural sharpness of the teeth fighting against the Qi-saturation, density and complexity of Raika¡¯s biology. The Centi-croc is obviously surprised, flailing and managing to tear off most of the limb but leaving the wound ragged. The last thing Raika sees as she¡¯s pulled away is the sight of the poor beast¡¯s eyes dilating massively at the taste.


    Well, at least someone likes her new recipes.


    Her senses describe to her what has ¡®yoinked¡¯ her without needing to look, but she forces her eyes against the pressure anyways, just to confirm. A massive fish-hook, barbed on the hooked end, broad and curled, made of some kind of bone that feels impossibly tough. There¡¯s a line of something that glows with such a slight and well-hidden blend of Qi that she almost can¡¯t sense it, connected with a complex knot to the fishhook, and it reels her in at a speed faster than she was running by a lot.


    She doesn¡¯t sense harmful Intent from the hook, but she can barely sense anything from it. It¡¯s like it¡¯s hidden, blending in with the surroundings even better than the centi-crocs did, even as she stares directly at it.


    Powerful. Dangerous, then, and likely wielded or created by someone much more competent than her with Intent, maybe. Possibly with enchanting or formations, too, if that¡¯s part of what she¡¯s sensing in the complex flows of the fishhook.


    But by its nature, it¡¯s dragging her towards a given target or location, rather than leaving her wondering where her target might be. She decides to let it drag her, but pulls her warform from the depths of her spatial distortion, layering it much, much closer to the ¡®surface¡¯. Additionally, she prepares a few different pockets of Qi under her skin, Blacksteel shards primed to detonate them into True Flame. If whoever is dragging her away tries to kill her right away, she¡¯s fairly certain they won¡¯t expect a bomb in response.


    And then the whiplash lessens, the wind resistance diminishes, and she finds herself crossing an open clearing carved into a vine as if by some old battle. Invisibly, perfectly noticeable to her senses but somehow muffled and hard to notice, an arm reaches out and grabs her around the shoulders.


    A bone blade is already forming out of the stump of her right arm, moving to strike-


    ¡°Woooah there! Looks like ye almost got knackered, ya did! You alright, spicy thing, or you gonna try and split me open?¡±


    A tall man, almost stretched out, his limbs long and gangly, gives her a broad grin, his teeth blackened like perfect midnight and all four of his eyes near-mercurial pools of green. His skin is a bit darker than Raika¡¯s, a richer mahogany, and he¡¯s dressed in a series of bandoliers and floral patterns, matching the smile he absolutely radiates.


    ¡°Don¡¯t suppose ye¡¯r a feral, are ye? Would make it a mite bit tougher to keep friendly if you try to slip me some teeth, and you seem tough ¡®nough that you ain¡¯t passed out yet. Do ya speak, beastie?¡±


    Raika can, in fact, speak. Instead, she bursts out laughing, splashing blood and sweat all over the vine they¡¯re standing on.


    ¡°Oh, gods and spirits,¡± she cackles, ¡°I love this place. The name¡¯s Raika, friend.¡±

 Chapter 250 - Long Live Good Folk And Good Conversations

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    "Well a joy it is to meet and be met,¡± the fishhook-wielder says, his smile growing wider. ¡°And a speaker o¡¯ common, too! Accent like a mudclip hatchery, but tis not to be judged till a knowing is had. A stranger you be then, and welcome to the wilds you may be, for I seen naught one of the fops of the republic come skyclad into its wrappings.¡±


    Raika blinks. If ever there was a moment for dissonance, it is to be had in hearing a language one is familiar with in a way that one has never heard it before. The fisher, for want of a more familiar name, smiles wide, and his Intent, the minimal amount of it that leaks from him, matches his Qi- joy and calm. He smells like a deep and still lake, full of life, but primarily from the perspective of one seated on the roots of the shore, quiet and present.


    ¡°Skyclad? Oh! You mean naked?¡±


    He throws his head back into a long, loud laugh. ¡°Ay, if nekkid is how you prefer to say it! Personal-like, I think that nekkid is for fucking, skyclad is for communing, and if that look ye had was any indication ye were communing hard. I like that! Joyous in a woman or folk, to be communing and be hard, both and apart!¡±


    ¡°I- think I completely agree with you on all fronts, but it¡¯s hard to tell. Anyways, hello, how are you doing that with your Intent?¡±


    He blinks, a confused but frankly still jovial little frown popping up onto his face. ¡°I- what¡¯cha be meaning, Intent?¡±


    ¡°The- the beast-talk thing, speaking without words. Yours is so quiet, how are you doing that?¡±


    He laughs again, and again she is struck by how quiet it is. The absence of Intent is shocking, and, frankly, confusing. Intent, as far as she knows, is the act of imbuing meaning into things that don¡¯t naturally have it. Now that she¡¯s picked up on it, it feels obvious, universal- of course waving one¡¯s hand means different things in different contexts, even if the action is the same. Being able to imbue and read more meaning into that feels like a strange step, but a natural one.


    But to remove it?


    The fisher laughs, and it¡¯s like it¡¯s not laughter. Like the sound doesn¡¯t mean anything. It blends into the background, less relevant than the birds or the wind because those at least mean that things are happening and real. But the way he does it¡­


    ¡°I recken you must be new round these parts, ¡®though considering your arm, ¡®nough said about your toughness. Can¡¯t be screaming out for everybody to hear now ken I? Right dangerous in a purty place like this, wrapsome with music and biting teeth. As you well learned!¡±


    Raika nods along, cataloging every movement. His words still carry meaning, but even they feel like less. Like reading a stuffy letter or an academic paper and realizing that most of it says absolutely nothing, but being able to recall the words anyways. She puts three whole brains on his every mannerism, tracking even the slightest change and trying to triangulate some understanding from it.


    At least some of that comes through in her expression, and the Fisher does a sort of ¡®aw shucks¡¯ motion, scratching the back of his head. ¡°Ain¡¯t nuthin that special, dancer, just a trick or two I picked up ¡®long my ways. Considerin¡¯ ya ain¡¯t bled out from that stump yet, I assume ya got some of yer own!¡±


    She looks down at her stump-arm, remembering the ragged edges and bone blade half-concealed in them. ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± she says, reabsorbing the damaged matter and plucking a fully-formed limb already prepared deeper in her body (thanks, internal-biology brain!). In less time than it takes to blink, her flesh has folded and morphed, leaving her once again armed. On the right side, at least- her left remains armless, as she tends to keep it unless necessary. Feels comfortable that way, weirdly enough, a reminder of who she was and still is.


    ¡°A few tricks here and there,¡± she tells the Fisher, who is looking at her pretty wide-eyed. She almost laughs at that- considering how she was literally incapable of noticing his giant magic fishhook when it came at her, regenerating from such a small wound seems like nothing.


    Then she actually does laugh, because what a thought. A small wound like a missing arm, gone in well under a second, and it ¡®seems like nothing¡¯. Like she didn¡¯t once spend the better part of a year dying from exposure with wounds just like that.


    The Fisher has, at this point, started to look a little worried- but not as much as she expected, considering the fact she is acting actively insane at the moment. More an awareness of a need to tread gently than any sense of fear, but again, with his Intent not just actively not being transmitted but suppressed, even three brains at once are struggling to get a read on the guy.


    Well, beyond the fact that he¡¯s at least mostly a pleasant fellow. If the smile didn¡¯t tell her that, or the fact he rescued her, his Qi would be the clincher. There¡¯s hunger there, some predation, but much closer to the core of what she sees and smells from him in his lake-scent is peace.


    She shakes her head, getting her thoughts back on track. Multiple brains or no, adrenaline is a hell of a thing. Maybe she should make something like a control brain without it, something that can try to be more objective?


    Focus.


    ¡°Sorry about that. Yes, I have some tricks, but I just learned about this Intent stuff, and everything I¡¯ve seen about it is that there¡¯s no way not to use it. You, though, you sound and smell and look just fine, but I can barely notice you. You¡¯re not affecting my mind, I can check that, but it¡¯s like¡­ it¡¯s like you¡¯re quieter than the rest of the world.¡±


    ¡°Well the world¡¯s a loud place, and if you don¡¯t wanna get bit ¡®ts a good idea not to be yellin in it! Gotta make sure your song is a quiet note is all.¡±


    ¡°How do you do that?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ well, listen dancer-clad, we ain¡¯t hardly been sayin or spoken yet. You seem alright, but it¡¯s republic folk-talk to be asking so many privacy-spanning deets so very soon into a hello, don¡¯t you know. I reckon you can call me Fisher, and y¡¯er Raika, and now we¡¯re proper met and matched.¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    He steps back from her a bit, which is when she belatedly realizes how tall he really is. She¡¯s seven feet tall in this form, and he¡¯s still nearly at her height. And she was, admittedly, standing pretty up close to him.


    Part of her wonders if she should reduce her hormones further, forcibly calm herself down, but¡­ no. She enjoyed herself, and enjoyed herself a lot, and getting rid of that for no reason would just be wasteful.


    She experienced it. She feels it. And it is good.


    She does take a nice deep breath though, loud and proud. Fisher shoots her a grin, taking a seat on a nearby root, recognizing the calming action for what it is. He kicks back, and she sees that beyond the fishhook and strange thread, and the bandoliers he¡¯s wearing, he¡¯s just about nude, arms, legs and torso well exposed. He has a small block of some sort of vine-pitcher, filled with clear water, fresh and cold, and in it there floats two small jugs of liquor.


    He plucks one out and takes a sip, offering it out to her. She graciously accepts, sitting on a root opposite him- and recoiling a bit as it tries to bite her, some of the moss on it squirming with sharp nettles.


    ¡°Ha!¡± Fisher laughs. ¡°Now that there¡¯s what I mean and be meaning with being loud! Too noisy or too slow, she be taking a nibble from whatever¡¯s worth nibbling, and that¡¯s a fine behind to nibble from there!¡±


    Raika laughs along with him, setting up her bio-mind to start spinning some threads in her Body. She really could use an easily accessible form of clothing, now that she thinks on it, but in the meantime, she does her best to quiet her mind before going to sit. It doesn¡¯t really work, she still gets bitten, but her skin¡¯s tough enough that it can¡¯t really get through.


    She gives a patronizing pat on the vine, and Fisher gives a chuckle, pulling out his second jug to drink from. ¡°Or I suppose be right tough and right physical. Never met a bare ass a nettlemoss couldn¡¯t chew into but you look proper comfortable!¡±


    Raika flexes a bicep, taking a pull from the bottle. It¡¯s some sort of fermented fruit juice, maybe some kind of pear or cactus in flavor. Bright, alcoholic as all hell, and it burns bright on the way in and down. She gives a big, relieved sigh, enjoying the burn as it goes down.


    ¡°Damn Fisher, I am tough and I am physical and this shit burns. What¡¯s this made of?¡±


    ¡°Fer a nekkid fella dancing in the woods, you sure do ask a lot of questions!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a curious woman!¡± she laughs, taking another swig. ¡°The world is a curious place and I am curious in it, and you make me curious! What are you even doing out here? You¡¯re the first person I¡¯ve met out here. I came in from the stone prairie, out west, so¡­ there¡¯s that.¡±


    ¡°Ah! Well¡¯n you must be tougher¡¯n me, as I wouldn¡¯t touch that with the far side of my hook or the backside of a thought. Dangerous place to be coming from!¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t agree more. And I think I met some of those ¡®Republic¡¯ folks on the way in. They claimed that it belonged to some Crashing Rainfall sect, I believe?¡±


    Fisher spits off to one side, hawking a mighty intense wad of mucous over the side of the little outcropping they¡¯re seated in. ¡°Ah, their kind always be and will be grabbing for things that aren¡¯t there and aren¡¯t theirs. Stonedirt¡¯s been there longer than I¡¯ve been here, and I been here longer than they¡¯ll be. Someday it¡¯ll move on and movement be, but till my grandchildren come to dance on fresh soil it¡¯ll be there, thick as can be.¡±


    She hums, nodding. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to recognize some on sight, would you?¡±


    He shrugs, tossing back another sip. ¡°I might, may not. Their kind come by once or twiceby, pluck something hither and there, and if they don¡¯t mess too much, we don¡¯t mess em too much. More for their losers and lackadaisies, though. Gotta be tough enough to swing by the growin and the moving, so never their weaker lessers, but still just poop-scoopin¡¯ duty for the ones on the outs.¡±


    She nods. ¡°They must be proper tough, then, if they can send losers out with Domains and all.¡±


    Fisher snorts. ¡°Baby Domains, maybe! Lil teeny things with two steps and not a sound. They ain¡¯t got no Domains proper, they just got vignettes. There¡¯s no story to ¡®em.¡±


    ¡°Story?¡±


    ¡°O¡¯ course! Proper Domain¡¯s more¡¯n just a place to say hi and here¡¯s my thoughts. For it to be meanin something, you gotta understand why it¡¯s sayin what it¡¯s sayin. Once you understand what it¡¯s sayin and why, then it¡¯s a Domain. Otherwise, it¡¯s just a big bubble of hot gas ya farted out tryna convince the world you¡¯re special.¡±


    ¡°...huh. So there¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s more than just declaring an identity, you mean.¡±


    ¡°O¡¯ course! That¡¯s what your Soul is for, innit? That¡¯s yer identity, so what¡¯s yer Domain? Well, that¡¯s the world yer makin, and a world needs a story. Trick between a weak little baby Domain and a right proper tough¡¯un, it needs some intention behind it, not just what you¡¯re making but why.¡±


    ¡°...ok, well that¡¯s something I¡¯ve never heard before but am writing down. Fascinating idea. I don¡¯t suppose you have one you could show me?¡±


    ¡°Whoa! I know we met with you nekkid as can be, but mighty forward of ye! I¡¯m not so easy to get to show all my goodies right and proper, we¡¯re barely even friends yet!¡±


    Raika laughs, raising her jug. ¡°You save my life, offer me drink and talk, and say we¡¯re barely friends? Fisher you tease, all this storytelling and nothing to show for it.¡±


    He cackles with her, raising his jug. ¡°And right and proper it be, to say hello and be greeted! No need to save a dead-un if you¡¯re not gonna at least try and say hello and how be. Just proper hospitality that is!¡±


    She takes a drink, nodding right back to him. ¡°You know what, that makes sense. And I appreciate you saving me. But unless you¡¯re going to show me how to do that thing you¡¯re doing with keeping your Intent quiet, I reckon someone else will need to save me before long, and while you seem nice, I¡¯m not so trusting to think that everyone will be so kind.¡±


    ¡°Oh, a wise one now are ye? Joy unto be, maybe you¡¯re not so dense on the inside as ye are on the out.¡±


    She laughs again, softer this time, approaching him. She takes another sip of her jug, before leaning forward towards him, putting on a bit of a show.


    ¡°Oh stranger and friend, I¡¯m a proper softie on the inside, I promise you that.¡±


    This time his Intent actually slips a bit, and she giggles at the look on his face. Mostly surprise, but plenty of blush there too, and he turns his head to take a sip of his own.


    ¡°A forward one ye be, stranger and friend,¡± he says. ¡°A forward one indeed.¡±


    She takes one last drink, before tossing him back his jug. ¡°Life is horror and joy,¡± she tells him. ¡°I am deeply guilty, entirely traumatized, and enjoying myself for once. It¡¯s rare, and I intend to indulge. Plus, I got what I needed.¡± She grins. ¡°I got you to crack a bit.¡±


    His eyes widen, and then he slaps his knee hard, laughing loud enough that it rings through the little space they¡¯re in, several of the vines wriggling a bit in response to the sound no matter how muted the Intent. ¡°Oh come now! Don¡¯t tell em ya can figure out how to whisper just from hearin a feller give a cough!¡±


    She grins right back, her teeth long, sharp and inhuman. ¡°Watch me, Fisher. I¡¯ll remember your scent, hmm? I like to pay back those that are good when I can.¡±


    And then she melts down and reabsorbs two brains, reshapes their memories into the third, and¡­ goes away.


    Chromatophores bloom over her skin, warping light and color away and into nothing from where she was. For one step, her Intent to move rings out, clearly reflected in how her other brains perceive her¡­ and then she adjusts to match some of what Fisher¡¯s neurochemistry was doing, compared to when she got him to slip. And then she¡¯s invisible beyond visibility, and every step means next to nothing to whoever watches.


    It¡¯s not nearly as good as what Fisher was doing, but with that many brains at once, all examining each other and comparing to a functional example- it¡¯s enough that she¡¯s not bothered by nettlemoss or centi-crocodiles for the next few hours.


    Except for one, that is, moving oddly slow for one of its kind, its pupils still dilated and following the scent of just the tastiest thing it ever did eat. It¡¯s not doing it very well- but every few hours, there¡¯s the faintest little ringing sound, like a bell, that calls it closer.

 Chapter 251 - A Refresher, A Primer, And A Brand New Idea To Paint With

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    Raika looks up at the skittering sound approaching, prepared to unmake whatever it is. Roiling depths of biology churn to prepare a weapon quiet enough to suit the occasion¡­


    Dink.


    Hmm.


    ¡°Good guy?¡± she asks.


    Dink.


    ¡°...ok, well that¡¯s not a yes.¡±


    Dink.


    ¡°Ha! Fine. I¡¯ll figure something out. Surprised that you¡¯d go so far for something like this, though.¡±


    Dink.


    Raika smiles, feeling a wave of softness overtake the expression. ¡°Thanks, bud. I appreciate you trying to help. I¡¯ll see what I can do, ok?¡±


    That settles the item spirit, which alms itself back towards silence. Dink is never entirely silent- she thinks that that¡¯s something almost against its purpose, contrary to its being. Instead, it mimics the sound of what already exists, tuning into the frequency of what¡¯s around it, mimicking silence through sound. It takes some small effort to make its own sound, and whenever it ¡®speaks¡¯, Raika makes sure to listen thoroughly.


    A few moments later, a crocodilian beast with somewhere north of a hundred or so legs slithers out of the underbrush, crawling forward with a dreamy look in its eyes. She steps forward to intercept it before-


    ¡°Raika? Is it a threat?¡±


    Raika quickly moves to block at least part of the crocodilian from view, awkwardly trying to put herself between it and the source of the danger she can foresee.


    ¡°Nope! Definitely not a threat! Just dealing with something out here real quick, no need to worry-¡±


    But it¡¯s too late. Li Shu peeks past the curtain of their little tent-camp, catching sight of the spirit beast. Her eyes light up immediately, the uniqueness of the beast¡¯s biology drawing her gaze instantly.


    ¡°Oh! Did you tame it or something? Is it dying? If it¡¯s dying, I can-¡±


    ¡°My darling healer, don¡¯t you have enough projects without dissecting the first critter I get my hands on?¡±


    Li Shu doesn¡¯t pout, per se, as she¡¯s not a pouty person. She most certainly does not make an ever-so-slightly adorable frown, quirking her eyebrow as she does. ¡°Those are all theoretical or gradual! I¡¯ve been doing theoreticals about you and medicine for people for a while, and I could use a chance for a proper exploration.¡±


    ¡°I promise I¡¯ll get you a beast to dissect later, alright? Dink got this one for me, and I have some ideas I want to try out.¡±


    Li Shu quirks an eyebrow, looking at her. ¡°You know it¡¯s actively trying to swallow you right now, right?¡±


    Raika looks down at her right arm, most of it currently down the throat of the centi-croc.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, this is how it shows affection.¡±


    Li Shu gives her a Look:?.


    ¡°I¡¯m training it! It likes how I taste, this is just giving positive reinforcement.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    Li Shu heads back inside, back to her notes and the tea that Raika left over the ¡®stove¡¯. The camp-tent she¡¯s set up is spawned from her own body, same as anything she makes nowadays, really. From the bottom of her feet, she morphs a connection and disconnection as she walks, enjoying the little bit of architecture she¡¯s set up in the wilds.


    The overgrowth lives up to its name, and as they¡¯ve kept heading east, finally passing beneath the first of those impossibly tall trees she saw, it¡¯s only earned it further. There are whole areas that live forever in shadow, the shifting of gargantuan leaves up above creating dead-zones of mushy rot in the vegetation even as the vines and plants that feed symbiotically from the tree itself flourish. The areas of shadow bloom with fungal growth and ever-shifting ambush predators, while the rivers of sunlight that decorate the massive, alien geography are filled with bright green myriad colors.


    Raika and co have stopped for a while. Raika could theoretically go without sleep for days, maybe weeks, but that costs Qi, constantly replenishing and regenerating damaged tissues and forming new brains to deal with the sleep deprivation after long enough. Besides that, stopping every now and then to let people out of her to breathe fresh air isn¡¯t the worst idea, nor is it one that costs her anything but a bit of time.


    And while time is at a premium, it¡¯s a price that¡¯s paid no matter how it¡¯s spent. She could pay it by rushing blindly, or she could pay it by making sure she and her allies are in the best shape possible and keeping track of their location.


    Rather than a patio of bone or a palanquin like before, Raika¡¯s hung membranous tissue up between several lesser trees and greater vines, making a three-dimensional bubble of space. It has windows, it has walls, and it has comfortable flooring inside. Two floors, in fact- one of them up above with more writing space and clear breezes for Li Shu, and a lower area with a wide ¡®doorway¡¯, wherein she¡¯s created a few cushy pillow-sections for lounging, several tables, a few meditative rooms, and, in the very center, her best approximation of a ¡°firepit¡±. Not a literal one- for all that she probably could just light up a patch of True Flame, it works for higher-tier alchemy and destruction before working like actual fire (the name is a little misleading like that). Add to the prohibitive Qi expense of it, it wouldn¡¯t fit at all. Instead, she¡¯s removed some of her heat-venting materials from a patch of her biology, letting the internal temperature of a few blood vessels skyrocket until a constant trail of steam floats off it from contact with the open air. Some heat-activated bioluminescence, and she¡¯s got a nice little warming-pit in the center of the space, not hot enough to actually cook with (not without burning her own flesh, at any rate) but hot enough to gradually warm water for tea.


    Rather homey, if she says so herself. It¡¯s mostly skin and fat-padding with some ¡®hardfloor¡¯ sections of bone, but altering the pigmentation is actually easier and less damaging than chromatophores, and turns out, it really only takes superficial changes to have people forget that they¡¯re hanging out on living meat.


    Turns out, once you get over the potential ick factor, soft, reactive, warm surroundings can be pretty comforting.


    Speaking of the ick factor-


    Raika pulls her arm out of the centi-croc¡¯s maw, an act both easier and harder than it looks. For one, it¡¯s really not trying to hold on all that hard- an instinctive crushing chomp to start, of course, but by now its pupils have turned incredibly broad and vacant, like it¡¯s positively high off the flavor. On another hand, it¡¯s still crocodilian, a beast species known for its crushing jaws, and she¡¯s not willing to sacrifice a second limb to this thing just for shits and giggles. She has to drag the limb out, leaving bloody trails of torn skin and muscle in the creature¡¯s mouth- but she does manage to retrieve the limb, mostly intact.


    She pats the heavily disoriented spirit beast on the head, turning at the sound of movement emerging from the patio.


    Many-Grasping crawls out of a window, her form mammalian but mimicking a lizard¡¯s ability to climb on nearly any surface with her durable claws and multi-jointed limbs. Jin and Li Shu, on the other hand, emerge from the front door, Li Shu carrying a bundle of notes, Jin carrying tea and enough cups for all of them.


    She raises an eyebrow, and he shrugs. ¡°Fresh air,¡± he says, quiet. He¡¯s been quiet a lot more often since he woke from his coma. Not enough to make her worry, not really, but enough that she¡¯s taken note.


    ¡°And here I was making sure you were all properly ventilated in there,¡± Raika complains good-naturedly. ¡°All my hard effort in vain. All my generosity, tossed aside.¡±


    Li Shu rolls her eyes, finding a spot to sit on one of the nearby vines and spreading her notes out. ¡°It¡¯s lovely, Raika, thank you so much for your creative bio-dioramas. The beast there reminded me there¡¯s a world outside my notes is all. Lack of direct exposure and danger is only going to make me less prepared for interacting with the world, not more, and I can¡¯t have my notes lacking from something like a lack of experience.¡±


    Raika huffs, shaking her head. ¡°Also nice to enjoy some sunshine?¡±


    ¡°Also nice to enjoy some sunshine, yes.¡±


    Many-Grasping gives a low grumble of approval, radiating an Intent of enjoyment and contentment towards Raika as she finds a sunny patch at the top of the bio-tent, soaking in the warmth up there.


    Jin, on the other hand¡­ he is still somewhat blank, as if lost in his own thoughts. Never enough that she¡¯s afraid, never enough that it¡¯s a danger, but again, enough that she notices.


    Dink vibrates against her sternum in agreement, a little hum coming from inside her self-grown robes.


    ¡°You busy, Jin?¡± she asks.


    He blinks, raising his head from pouring tea to look at her. ¡°Oh, I¡­ I¡¯m just making the tea, master.¡±


    ¡°And tea is nice and appreciated. Figured while we¡¯re here, though, we could further your training a bit. It¡¯s been a few months since you entered mid-Qi Building realm, and a lot¡¯s changed since then. Do you feel up for it?¡±


    Jin frowns in thought, calmly pouring out the third and fourth tea cups¡­ and nods. ¡°Yes, master.¡±


    She smiles softly, nodding. ¡°Good. You can join me for some meditation.¡±


    Jin nods, visibly firming up his resolve. With a little huff of breath, he picks up the third and fourth teacups, bringing them over for her and himself.


    She smiles as he shows no fear facing the centi-croc, utterly unbothered by its presence. There¡¯s a chance he¡¯s just toughened from trauma, but she can smell the point where his hormones meld, hear his neurons fire in staccato, and it feels¡­ more to do with her.


    She can literally see his trust, synesthesia letting it radiate off him right beside snippets of Intent that flutter through all living things. She sits calm and unbothered by the beast, and she has invited him over- that is enough for him, it would seem, to know that no harm will come to him. He takes a seat at the edge of the centi-croc¡¯s potential bite range, unworried as Raika grows a third limb, an additional arm growing from her shoulder blade to grab the teacup. Awkward compared to just growing out her left arm, but¡­ why not? She prefers it missing, at least for now, and she can grow as many limbs as she needs. She takes a sip, enjoying the subtle flavors, the play of not just the tea-leaves and water, but the cooler heat from her own body, the taste of the earth and vine from which the leaves grew, the bitterness of the mortar and pestle that ground the leaves, the taste of the plants from which the fiber was woven that wrapped the powder.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    It is a reminder, and a kind one, that there is ever so much in even the smallest things. Big infinities and little ones.


    She waits for Jin to take a sip of his own tea before putting her cup down, making sure that the patch of ¡®patio¡¯ they¡¯re sitting on is warm enough that the tea will not go cold easily. She takes note of Li Shu paying attention off to one side, her keratin Sacrifice acting as pen and desk both, and smiles a bit at the fact that Many-Grasping is also watching quite intently.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been through a lot in a very short period of time,¡± Raika says, her voice soft but firm. ¡°Most take years to reach the point you¡¯ve attained, and even in the sects of the third ring, your growth would be remarkable. From the scent, I can tell that your meridians and dantian are packed nearly full, meaning you¡¯re on the verge of reaching the Foundational realm. Do you know what that is?¡±


    Jin shakes his head. ¡°I know that big sis Li Shu is in the Foundational realm, and that it¡¯s the next step. It has to do with how much Qi you have, and then you start using it for something different.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°That¡¯s pretty much it. Qi Gathering realm is all about pulling Qi into your body. When used in conjunction with a formation, high enough quantity, or a technique, Qi generates more of itself, but the Qi generated by the body alone is almost never enough to start this process. It leaks out of you into the world unless you learn to control it, and by not only keeping it in, but drawing in more from your surroundings, you pass through the steps of the Qi Gathering realm. You¡¯ve experienced already that some types of Qi work better for different people, and interact with techniques and cycling differently. Your Qi has always had some alignment to death and ghosts, theoretically limiting how quickly you could grow. But¡­ in the fortress-city, you absorbed a lot. Those visions you described during your sleep are no minor thing, especially considering how you experienced the Cold Sun rituals Li Shu and I undertook.


    ¡°The identity of your Qi is much stronger than is normal for your level. For most in the Qi-Gathering realm, unless I really push myself, I usually only get a whiff of one or two notes, a concept here and there. For you, even with how faint your Qi is, small as your capacity is, I can detect an entire scene, a bunch of different themes and concepts. You might have noticed that cultivation is easier than it was?¡±


    Jin frowns, but eventually nods. ¡°I¡­ I haven¡¯t done it very much. I don¡¯t want to burden you by taking from the Qi inside you, for one. I am grateful that you modified your internal Qi to better-¡±


    She raises a hand to stop him. ¡°I¡¯ve done no such modification. I can superficially flavor Qi with the materials in my body, but I can¡¯t modify it delicately or precisely enough to make it easier for someone to cultivate with. My theory is that, after experiencing so much comprehension and intensity relating to your aligned strengths, the Qi that you already have has become substantially ¡®purer¡¯, for want of a better term. Rather than needing to draw in Qi aligned to you, the small amount that you have is so well-defined that it¡¯s overwriting the influences of the Qi you absorb, no matter the type. Before, if you absorbed, say, life-flavored Qi, you¡¯d lose most of it due to being unable to absorb it, only managing to keep a small amount that you converted. Now, your Qi¡¯s identity is strong enough to convert substantially more before it¡¯s wasted or dissipates.


    ¡°As for what the Foundational realm is- Qi Gathering realm is all about filling your spiritual organs with enough Qi that they¡¯re fully packed, capable of cycling constantly. By maintaining that constant cycle, your body starts to absorb your Qi, coming deeper in tune with your soul and, as the bridge between both, your mind. Foundational realm is where you establish the baseline of your cultivation, altering body and soul to obey the mind¡¯s commands, altering body and mind to raise them to the level of a higher soul, and altering soul to better be able to interact with reality through body and mind.¡±


    Jin nods, his eyes keen. She feels the lightest hint of relief at his eyes, clear and open like she hasn¡¯t seen since before the fortress city. It¡¯s no solution, but pulling him from his issues for just a bit makes her more confident in her decision to explain this now.


    Nothing helps with trauma quite like gaining empowerment and self-awareness, as she can attest to. Admittedly, in ways both healthy and unhealthy.


    ¡°Your cultivation speed has gotten faster, and I think your current Qi capacity will be full before long. Focus on that for now, and once you¡¯ve reached that point, let me know when you¡¯re ready to advance.¡±


    Jin nods. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best, master.¡±


    She gives a rueful smile, leaning forward to flick him gently on the forehead. ¡°Goes without saying, kid. You¡¯ve yet to not do your best with something. I¡¯m more worried you¡¯ll get bad habits from me and your big sis, end up a workaholic.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not work! It¡¯s study, and it¡¯s fun and engaging!¡±


    Raika picks a clump of moss off the ground nearby and tosses it over at Li Shu, who gives a startled squeak and intercepts it with a Sacrificial needle.


    ¡°Only moles and ants enjoy digging into something as much as you, honored healer!¡±


    Li Shu blushes, no quick comeback coming to mind, which only makes Raika laugh.


    ¡°Just remember to ask for help sometimes,¡± she reminds her friend. ¡°I¡¯m always happy to help with the theory, and I¡¯ve got some ideas on Craft I¡¯d love to chat about. Don¡¯t burn yourself out.¡±


    Li Shu takes a sip of her own tea, nodding. ¡°I won¡¯t. Too much to do, and too much of it fascinating. If the last two weeks have taught me anything it¡¯s that my power needs to rise to meet my theoretical knowledge, and that there are gaps in my understanding I can¡¯t even see until I find the pieces missing from them. Give me a few more days? I¡¯m working on a formulae, trying to picture how the Sacrifice works. As Within, So Without is the only thing supporting my cultivation right now, and I need to study the Witch¡¯s texts more to understand the ways my needles are changing.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Tell me when you could use some help with the theory, and I¡¯ll watch your back whenever you need it.¡±


    For a moment, she looks up at Many-Grasping, wonder if there¡¯s advice she can give there, or a way to reach out¡­ but the beastkin is studiously avoiding even looking at the lessons, her ears flattened and her Intent flaring with courteous privacy. She is Raika¡¯s guest, and there¡¯s no expectation to gain something so potent as cultivation resources or aid in that arrangement. Not unless Raika decides otherwise.


    ¡­Not now. Not until she has a better understanding of the 4th-ring courier¡¯s character, and actual motivation to do more than uphold their currently-friendly agreement.


    She turns back to Jin, smiling as comfortingly as she can. ¡°I¡¯m going to try and meditate on some projects of my own. If you¡¯d like, you¡¯re free to join me?¡±


    She tilts her inflection, making the statement a question. She needn¡¯t have worried- Jin¡¯s breath eases, his heartbeat dropping a slight bitterness of anxiety so quiet she wasn¡¯t even sure it was there.


    ¡°...yes, master.¡±


    Under her guidance, he seats himself into a lotus position, the soles of his feet pointed up in his lap, his hands on his knees. Index touches thumb, and his breathing evens out quickly. She tastes one of the voices in his cultivation, whispering slightly louder, and for a moment it seems like it might have laughed, free and tired. Recognition lingers just out of memory, but it brings a smile to her anyways, like deep down, whatever wraith or echo Jin holds onto is something bright.


    The space around them is rich in life-flavored Qi, the properties of the overgrowth overwhelming, but as she watches, she notices its trends shift.


    For life, there must be death. There is predation, digestion, decomposition-


    There. That last idea whispers out from ¡®beneath¡¯ the Qi of growth, of vitality and life. The idea of something turning, quietly, into a part of the world, of the end of one thing being honored and consumed with grace, rises out of the world, flowing closer to Jin.


    Fuck. If they find some kind of death-aligned sect around here, the kid would likely knock their socks off. Barely pubescent and the Qi just¡­ dances to him, concepts unweaving to the sound of his tune.


    She smiles, and it is as much proud as it is sad. He would be dead without her having saved him the night they met. He might have lived a more normal life, had she not brought him along to protect him. And maybe, if she hadn¡¯t given as much of a shit, he would have chosen to stay with the village when she gave the option, taken the payment and his talent and been somewhere safer.


    But he is here, and he is wonderful, and she hates the thought as much as it rises strong and proud in her.


    She takes a deep breath and begins to fall into herself.


    Her ¡®front-facing¡¯ brain goes into something like stasis, responsive only to her name and possible dangers to avoid distracting the wider gestalt or drain energy unnecessarily. Her bio-brains churn, shifting their perspectives across miles of capillaries and kilometers of neurology, preparing and experimenting and managing the growing morass of biology that characterize her depths. Her broader mind reconvenes with the whole, far-ranging concepts and wider plans quickly conferring with the whole to establish viability.


    And through it all, the center of her attention dives ¡®in¡¯, down towards a place that is not a place.


    She awakens her awareness inside her Heart, the sound of rainfall trickling down eternally and impacting the ground, consumed to bloom fresh, crawling life.


    It¡¯s gotten bigger. The crawling life, that is. The first drafts that her Heart created and recycled were the size of a knuckle, but some are reaching almost twice that now, the occasional apex predator doubling it again. Moving her awareness, she finds the beetle easily, charging at the forefront of a wave of iridescent, pale worms, churning up easy meals from the dirt. It would be terrifying, were any of them larger than an inch in length, with even their valiant leader still small enough to fit in Raika palm. Makes it vaguely adorable as the chitinous, wide-fanged insect roars its victory to the sky, covered in insect-guts and leading its soldiers in squirmy warfare.


    But the Heart¡¯s progress, or that of the currently-living entities of her inner world, are not her priority. She looks out to the hills, towards one of the most distant peaks, where a faint glow radiates.


    With the thought of movement, Raika¡¯s soul steps onto the broad hillside of [Enacted Artistry Of Function].


    There is a crude mask covering the collection of gears and glasses that serves as its ¡®head¡¯, working as a support strut for telescoping lenses and smaller tool-limbs. The creature trundles in small circles as it works, tread-wheels mixed with articulated metal joints and sculpted limbs- and in its hands, a bright and shining piece of Radiant Metal.


    It turns its lenses to look up at her as she arrives, and while she knows it¡¯s not sentient, its increased energy and enthusiasm at her arrival is adorable. Like a mechanical child, it chirps once, like a cricket, thin metal strings made for that exact purpose freshly added to its back, before trundling energetically towards her. It raises its multiple mechanical limbs over its head, holding up the Radiant Metal as if eager to show it off to her.


    She smiles, kneeling down closer to its level. The harsh, molten shard of material she delivered has been smoothed, giving it a new luster, and-


    She frowns. Blinks.


    Physics aren¡¯t a thing in the inner world like they are in the outer, but she can sense a sort of¡­ attractive concept? Something that pulls at metal, that touches on electricity. Magnetism?


    As if sensing her understanding, [Enacted Artistry Of Function] rotates its joints to pull it away, immediately replacing it with another sample, this one smaller and denser. Again, it¡¯s the same material, but it¡¯s as if by being reshaped, some new property has settled in it, some sort of durability that didn¡¯t feel present in the prior example¡­


    [Enacted Artistry Of Function] is already moving to show her a new sample, but she laughs and holds up a hand softly.


    ¡°Soon,¡± she promises. ¡°I¡¯ll review all of them soon. For now, I have something else I need to study, and I just need a sample, ok?¡±


    Unlike a human child, [Enacted Artistry Of Function] seems to actually get more excited at the idea that she¡¯s enacting her own experiments. It trundles off and back, bringing her a relatively untouched piece of Radiant Metal, its movements exhibiting a sort of enthusiasm that¡¯s infectious.


    ¡°Huh. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m glad you¡¯re having a good time, buddy.¡±


    It turns to her, as if confused by the statement. Then it turns its ¡®face¡¯ towards the multitude of re-sculpted and mechanized pieces of metal she has given. Then back to her.


    Through language that is not language, it exudes a simple set of ideas.


    Enacted.


    Artistry.


    Function.


    She snorts, smiling wider. ¡°Yeah buddy. It sure is.¡±


    She leaves it to its enacted artistry and purpose, prompting it to immediately go back to experimenting and¡­ ok, yeah, it¡¯s playing with the Radiant Metal, but whatever it¡¯s doing is clearly having some kind of impact.


    Now, for the original purpose for the visit.


    She looks down at the Radiant Metal in her ¡®hands¡¯, focusing on the idea of it.


    She brought Blacksteel into this place. Blacksteel is real. She hadn¡¯t questioned that she could- the idea had clicked, and it had been something like instinct, the steps all feeling natural. Just like the things she could consume, like Souls, end up here, so too did this material, a part of her moved from one state to another.


    The golden band on the horizon looms, though. A dim glow, like a perpetual dusk surrounding the edges of every part of the horizon. Pulling something in, while still possible, isn¡¯t just agony, it¡¯s actively dangerous.


    But¡­ what happens if she pulls something out?


    Does the band shrink to match? Will it punish the transformation?


    Or¡­ will it keep its current range? Aligned with a horizon that has since changed?


    All this to say if she can even figure out how to pull something out in the first place.


    Raika takes a moment, a metaphorical deep breath. She exhales, long and slow.


    As with so many things in life, the only way to know is to try.


    With a flex of will, Raika¡¯s Mind, Soul and Body retrace the steps taken to bring something in¡­ back out.

 Chapter 252 - Future And Past

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    Raika opens her eyes and looks down at her hand.


    Nothing in it. The process, half-instinct as it is, failed, and whatever happened inside her is still-


    Oh wait. No, there it is.


    Probably a little silly to assume that just because she held it in metaphorical hands in her inner world, it would appear in her physical hands, especially considering her biology is only very superficially human. But three different bio-brains all hyperfocused on her internal makeup tend to make for pretty good oversight on what¡¯s actually going on in her body, and as she shifts her greater self towards the spot that¡¯s being pointed at-


    There it is. There¡¯s no real equivalent to where it would have emerged on a human body- it¡¯s somewhere between her third liver-gestalt and her fourth set of secondary hearts, but also, if she were spread out and folded into a giant human-shape, that would mean it emerged somewhere about 60ft deep under her collarbone. Whatever the case, there it is, glowing brightly and entirely painless, floating as if it simply popped into existence like a pearl between muscle-fibers.


    Spatial warping or no, to pull out something from that deep still takes her a good thirty seconds, but in the end, there it is. It swims up her arm and emerges out of her hand, a piece of orange-brass metal that actively glows, seeming to absorb and refract sunlight in a dozen different ways.


    Immediately upon hitting open air, three other set of eyes turn to look at it.


    Not like a casual curiosity, not like a simple break in focus- like something inevitable. Like sunlight after a pitch-black room.


    ¡°...what is that?¡± Li Shu asks, her voice quiet.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been calling it Radiant Metal. I¡­ sort of transmuted it myself. It¡¯s what happens when I expose Blacksteel to my Reactor for a long time, or at high-levels of exposure.¡±


    Li Shu frowns, abandoning some of her notes (save a single scroll, which she brings over for notes, obviously) to come and look closer at the material. ¡°I suppose it makes sense, but I never did ask, how do you create more Blacksteel?¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°It¡¯s not all that hard. It grows like mold- the more death there is, and the more death it¡¯s used for, the easier it is to make, at least once it¡¯s been formed. For me, I can use my Truth, I Can Change, to transmute my biology into Blacksteel directly. It¡¯s¡­ expensive, though. Not a great¡­¡±


    ¡°Ratio?¡±


    ¡°Ratio, yes. It takes some three or four human-sized arms to make around a pound of Blacksteel, and if I try to turn it back, it only generates maybe a bit of blood, a few ounces of flesh, and always somehow tainted or built around the idea of killing or being close to death. Radiant Metal, so far, I¡¯ve only been able to create from Blacksteel, but, same as before, I can convert biomass into it with my Truth. Problem is, the ratio is even worse. Maybe 600, 900lbs of flesh, including high-value organs and such, to make an ounce of it, tops. If I burned through my entire body right now, I could probably only make around 30 pounds of the stuff. It also doesn¡¯t form from anything I¡¯ve put in my reactor except Blacksteel- everything else just turns into random materials, and then eventually stabilizes as energy.


    ¡°Truth be told, I¡¯m still not sure what it does. I think it can acquire different properties, but I don¡¯t have a list of them, or how to make it happen. Still figuring that out. But that¡¯s not the important part.¡±


    Li Shu finally breaks eye-contact with the piece of metal, turning to look at her. ¡°Really? The new alien supermaterial you can magically generate isn¡¯t the important part?¡±


    Raika smiles, chuckling a bit. ¡°Yup. In fact, for today, it barely matters. What really matters is this.¡±


    And with a slight push of her will, Raika drops a nearby piece of vine into her inner world.


    Compared to the Blacksteel or the Radiant Metal, it¡¯s downright easy. Easy, but not simple. First, she scoops it up, carving it out with claws, and then she absorbs it into her body in the most directt way she has; a mouth opening up in her palm. Transforming the space between that mouth and her stomach into a tube, all it takes is a single convulsion, and it falls into the depths of her stomach.


    She¡¯s not sure exactly how it connects to her inner world, but considering what she did instinctively to consume the Souls and everything else she¡¯s absorbed, it definitely is connected. Just like her lungs, her stomach is much, much bigger on the inside, and she hasn¡¯t done much to ¡®catalog¡¯ its interior- hasn¡¯t really needed to.


    And yet, as she shifts her perception back to her Soul, she sees something, growing from the soil of her inner world.


    A piece of a vine, carved up by claws.


    And, just like when she plucked the Radiant Metal out, she feels no pain.


    It¡¯s not much. Barely anything at all, in point of fact, undetectable without a cultivator¡¯s senses or the abstract perception of her inner world¡­ but there it is.


    A gap. A miniscule sliver of space between the furthest shoot of bamboo at her perimeter and the band that surrounds her world.


    When next she opens her eyes, she is grinning so wide her cheeks hurt.


    Maybe the Emperor always intended for her to find this ¡®loophole¡¯, maybe not, but once again, she¡¯s changed what it means to be as she is. It¡¯s not a leash, forcing her into a specific shape, only a specific size. Add too much and it squeezes inward, punishing the growth, but this¡­


    She turns to the centi-croc, her eyes crazed and Intent on full blast. Even in its addled state, the reptilian meets her gaze with a wide-eyed look of its own.


    It does not make it nearly far enough before she¡¯s pounced on it, grapple-holding it down.


    ¡°Relax, big guy~¡± Raika says, even as she starts summoning more material out of her inner world out into her Body. Measuring the Qi and weight of the creature, she takes approximately the same amount of ¡®ground¡¯ from one of the unused valleys of her inner world, the Heart following her will and wielding its instincts in the direction she points.


    Interestingly, yet again, it doesn¡¯t appear from her stomach. Whether it¡¯s intentional or some misaligned instinct, the material summoned appears somewhere in a cluster of bones and nerves, forcing a partial collapse of some of her biology as Supreme Body Art: Gigant is disrupted. Regeneration kicks in a moment after, her bio-brains shifting the weight onto other architecture and expelling the ¡®foreign¡¯ mass out of her.


    But then¡­


    I Am Me, I Am Mine. All of her is her, and all of her is hers.


    Why bother tossing it away, when she can use it instead? It¡¯s part of her inner world, and while she doesn¡¯t understand how her Heart created it, she knows the materials it had access to. The concepts she consumed, the Qi she devoured, and the biology she did both with, all altered by CHANGE. So it¡¯s still hers.


    Red-purple grass and loamy, vibrant earth transforms itself, her refusal to dissociate from anything that is her forcing veins to bloom from within them, nerves to blossom through them, skeletal calcium deposits to form from what was once almost stone. In moments, her internal architecture has shifted to accommodate an influx of a few hundred extra pounds and a fresh infusion of Qi into her system.


    Her Soul is her Mind is her Body is her Heart is her Inner World.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine.


    I Can Change.


    We Are What We Eat.


    The true shapeshifter¡¯s trifecta, acquired by embracing her own identity to her core. There¡¯s some irony in that.


    And if she can shift mass and energy in and out of her inner world and Body, well then~


    The centi-croc makes a panicked little honking noise as she literally opens her torso along a seam and swallows it whole. There is a moment of darkness, the feeling of it squirming in fear as it is swallowed, unchewed-


    And then it appears with a plop and a further little honk-snort on a patch of ground that tastes weird.


    Raika watches as it manifests out of some weird fold in space directly on top of one of the fields squirming with ever-spawning life, confused as can be and running its hundred legs in a circle around itself. The moment its spin is complete, it stops, freezing in place as it finds itself facing directly into the eyes of a beetle.


    For a moment, she just watches them as they stare down at each other. One, a massive beast, two to three times the size of a human, equipped with incredibly tough scales, ambush-predator instincts and a maw powerful enough to bite through metal and stone. The other, a beetle, herculean in might and valor¡­ and about the size of a person¡¯s palm.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The beetle raises one of its little legs, stamping down on the ground. It scoots itself back, then forward, stamping once, then again, then spinning in an aggressive little circle and patting the ground with its herculean jaws.


    The centi-croc just kinda¡­ stares at it. Then it huffs, the breath enough to very nearly bowl over the little insect.


    There is a moment of outraged silence as the whole world holds its breath¡­


    And then the beetle makes a clicking noise, and a puddle of squirming flesh rises up out of their feeding frenzy on the ground in a mass revolt, and charge headlong against the centi-croc¡¯s vile disruption of their leader¡¯s authority.


    Perhaps because it¡¯s still kind of high after eating Raika¡¯s Qi-rich flesh, or deeply disoriented from being swallowed into this weird afterlife, or simply startled by the sight of such miniscule creatures directing their wrath so brazenly- it honks again, and turns to run.


    Raika can¡¯t help but laugh, her mirth ringing across sky-kissed and rain-struck valleys of strange growth as a beetle and some worms chase after a very confused spirit beast.


    She taps Dink against her collar, whispering to be heard.


    ¡°Keep an eye on them, ok? Warn me if the big lizard gets any ideas.¡±


    For a moment, Dink is a manifestation, a tiny little person of noise and vibration, throwing her a little salute. And then, it¡¯s a tuning fork once more, on a rope necklace.


    Raika comes out of the semi-trance to find three different people staring at her, horrified.


    ¡°Raika!¡± Li Shu just about shrieks. ¡°You- I-¡±


    Jin, his eyes painfully wide, is just staring, mouth agape. Even Many-Grasping seems wildly confused about how to react, half-raised to her feet and awkwardly shuffling in place to avoid slipping off the roof of their tent.


    Raika looks at them, confused. ¡°What? It¡¯s fine! It¡¯s not like I ate it!¡±


    She ducks as Li Shu throws about six notebooks directly at her head. ¡°That¡¯s literally exactly what you just did!!! What the hell was that! At least kill the poor thing first!¡±


    ¡°What- no, I put it into my inner world! The same place as the Radiant Metal, where my reactor is-¡±


    ¡°Likely story!¡±


    ¡°I did! It¡¯s safe, look-¡±


    Turns out, making the head of a very high, deeply disoriented lizard-beast emerge from out of her shoulder does not, in fact, reassure anyone.


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    She does, in fact, manage to reassure them in the end. Turns out, at least according to Li Shu and Many-Grasping¡¯s agreed-upon knowledge of cultivation, that ¡®inner worlds¡¯ aren¡¯t usually so literal. Plenty of tales of Emperor realm masters making their domains into permanent bubbles in the real world, even making hidden realms only they can access, but that too doesn¡¯t sound quite like what Raika¡¯s doing. Her Heart is doing some sort of transmutation, and it¡¯s not bound to her Soul or cultivation, for one.


    For another, it doesn¡¯t work cleanly, doesn¡¯t manifest out from her or mold the world according to her ideals. It works according to those same dream-physics, not quite real, but also selectively obeying laws of matter, energy, biology. Again, her stomach seems to be a decent portal in, but even with her last demonstration, the beast appeared someplace random in her, and she had to drag it up to the surface and out. There¡¯s some kind of correlation between the spatial warping of her inner Body and the spatial warping between her inner world and ¡®reality¡¯, but she hasn¡¯t figured it out yet, and she¡¯s fairly certain her Heart isn¡¯t making it so awkward intentionally.


    But still, the experiments prove the hypothesis. Her inner world can manifest in the world around her through her body, and once she figures out how¡­


    She pictures the fields of strange, insectoid life, ever-spawning and ever-changing, growing and dying in the valleys of her Heart. She pictures how fast they¡¯re growing. She pictures the mouths of the fortress city, spewing forth endless hordes, dark and screaming, constructed to the specifications of slaughter.


    It¡¯s not a good image. Not really. The idea of making something so purely a weapon feels wrong, even without her Heart stirring in fear at the thought.


    But the idea is there. What she creates in her inner world can become a tool in the outer. At bare minimum, she proved that she can take mass and energy from it directly, shrinking it to power her own body and its regeneration in an emergency. Another potential source of healing, one that is far more expensive in terms of lost resources, but a potential ace-card in a moment of desperation.


    And Jin¡­


    Well, once he calms down and gets back to cultivating, he grows.


    It is as night falls, earlier than usual this far out from the sun¡¯s arc through the sky and all its writhing coils, that he comes to her.


    It is hard to give privacy when you have so many minds working at once, changing over and sleeping in shifts. Harder still when several of those minds are literally designed to keep track of sensory input and her own biology, and the tent they¡¯re sleeping in, multi-storied and high-quality though it is, is made of her. Still, she does her best to give space, and selectively avoids tracking as much data from around her allies as she can. Adrenal reactions, impacts, and subconsciously keeping track of more-or-less where they are is the best she can do.


    But it does not take much to feel the footsteps, hesitant though they are, coming closer to her sleeping area.


    She wakes herself up from sleep, cycling in different brains to take the load and forwarding them the information. A few moments later there is a small pillar of bone emerging from a nearby nightstand, itself made of chitin and mostly used as a small table. The bone begins to glow, a faint and orange light, mimicking a candle.


    She waits for Jin to knock before she opens the membrane, sitting up in ¡®bed¡¯ and turning to face him as she does. She cracks her neck, once- as much habit as necessity, likely more, and looks at him.


    He¡¯s hesitant. Tired, traumatized, only just recovering- but something else now, something she didn¡¯t even see when she¡­ well, when she ate a centi-croc alive in front of him. There¡¯s a bit of fear, a note of anxiety that she hasn¡¯t scented from him since their first month together.


    She smiles softly, nodding to him. ¡°Come in, kid. You alright?¡±


    He nods, but it¡¯s a bit jerky, like he hesitated partway through the act. He sighs, taking in slow, calming breaths.


    ¡°You¡­ feeling a bit off?¡±


    He nods again, still quiet.


    She smiles, softer this time. ¡°Yeah. Nights were hard for me too for a while.¡±


    ¡°...what happened?¡± he asks, his voice quiet.


    ¡°...someone broke me. I won¡¯t go into much more detail than that. That old granny from your village asked, and telling the story is¡­ it¡¯s a weight, even now. Hard to keep the right headspace for it. But I got¡­ torn apart. Not so bad as you saw in that medical pavilion, but worse than the villagers by a fair bit. Got left, after that. Alone in the cold. It¡­ well.¡± she lifts the stump of her left arm, the regeneration stopped near where her elbow would be. ¡°It¡¯s left some scars. Some I keep because I choose to, and some that¡­ stay.¡±


    He says nothing for a little bit¡­ but he does enter the room, and takes a seat, quiet though he may be.


    ¡°Do you want to talk about it?¡± she asks.


    ¡°...I don¡¯t know if talking will help.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t always. But words¡­ they¡¯re limited, but there¡¯s power in a limit. By putting words to something, it can help define it. Doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯ll help tonight¡­ but it will someday. Don¡¯t want you to shy away from that.¡±


    ¡°Did it help you?¡±


    ¡°...eventually. Yeah. I think back in your village was the first time I ever really talked about it, at least to more than one person. I had someone else before that. A woman called Maen. We were¡­ we weren¡¯t perfect, but we were good. Maybe we¡¯ll be great, someday. In the end, it¡¯s people. That¡¯s what helps it, I think. Time and people, and living long enough for both.¡±


    Jin sighs, but this one shakes, ever so slightly. She does not need to track his heartbeat to feel his breath hitch.


    ¡°I saw¡­ so much. And it was bad. And it was so much.¡±


    She stands up, coming around to his side of the table. At first she just sits, making sure he still has room¡­ but when he doesn¡¯t react negatively, she leans forward, pulling him into a hug.


    ¡°I know. I know.¡±


    ¡°But you don¡¯t,¡± he says, his voice harsh even as he lets her hold him, even as he trembles with the weight of holding himself in. ¡°No one does. You can see the echoes if you push for it but there¡¯s so much more. It¡¯s so big it could eat the world and it¡¯s dark and horrible and no one deserves that, no one, no one-¡±


    She pulls him closer, letting him talk. He starts to panic, his breathing speeding up, his adrenaline beginning to grow-


    She starts to hum. She does away with her superficial vocal cords, letting Truespeak color the notes as she does her best to remember a melody. She¡¯s never been very musical, but¡­ a distant memory. A good one. Before the sect, when she was little.


    Raika hums a little tune that she remembers, dimly, coming from a woman much taller than her, in a little log house next to a little farm.


    For a while, all there is is his breathing, the melody, and the slight sound of an accompanying bell, ringing quietly in harmony from the tuning fork around her neck.


    Eventually, he calms. She¡¯s not sure if its been minutes or an hour, and refuses to check her other brains to see. It¡¯s been as much time as he needed, and only once his breathing has evened out and his heartbeat has slowed does she let herself stop.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± she says, soft and quiet. In the lyrical purr of Truespeak, she whispers to him. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you see. But I know it¡¯s painful. I know it¡¯s scary. And I know that as much as I can, for as long as I can, I will be here to help you with it. And someday, it will not be stronger than you.¡±


    She¡¯s not sure if it is the inherent sense of weight that Truespeak carries, or the words themselves, but a few moments later, he lets out one last, loud breath, halfway between a sob and a note of exhaustion. Without him needing to ask, she forms a smaller futon next to her own, lifting him up. For him, to make the journey easier, she uses both arms, her left once more made whole to help her carry him, and he does not struggle as she lays him down on soft fur and a warm mattress.


    As she goes to lay down beside him, he surprises her with a question.


    ¡°What was he like?¡± he asks.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°The boy. The one that you said goodbye to.¡±


    For a while, she does not say anything. For a while, there is just the warm flickering of bioluminescence in the room, tuned to be just enough light to see the contours of the room.


    ¡°His name was JiaJia,¡± she says. ¡°He saved my life when I was broken. Kept me alive, even when he had barely more than me. Just a few years older than you, not yet a man, but¡­ he was good. Smarter than he gave himself credit for. Kinder than he realized, I think. Always had a witty comeback or a good insult to throw at me when I was being an ass. I had just started to figure out some of the stuff I have now, barely anything, but I helped him how I could. When he learned to cultivate¡­ fuck. Should have seen his smile. He smelled of open fields and tangerines.¡±


    ¡°What happened to him?¡±


    ¡°He died. I got him killed. I was a mess, and I didn¡¯t let myself look far enough ahead to see what my actions could cause. Someone I had just started to trust killed him to prove a point. He said he did it to protect me, protect what he was doing, and I don¡¯t think he was lying¡­ but I do think he was wrong. Or weak, maybe. Broken, like I was, but in his own way.¡±


    ¡°Did¡­ did he suffer?¡±


    ¡°...no. No. He was gone before he even knew what happened. I kept a shoe of his for a long time, a sandal, but¡­ well, about six months before I met you, a bunch of crazy shit happened, and I lost it. But no, I don¡¯t think he even knew he was gone.¡±


    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s¡­ maybe that¡¯s why he stayed. For so long, I mean.¡±


    ¡°...maybe. I¡¯ve¡­ I don¡¯t know. We did some research before that ritual, and I¡¯ve never heard of a ghost, an echo like you call them, staying long without some sort of power source, or becoming a wraith. I don¡¯t know how he stayed, or why. But he saved me again. Back before we went to that valley, near where I found you, something else bad was happening. Messing with my head. I think he saved me from that. Helped me find a way back to myself. I don¡¯t know how he stayed¡­ but I owe him my life twice at least. And he¡¯s gone.¡±


    For a while, there is silence.


    Jin sits up a little bit in bed, moving so quietly that if she weren¡¯t listening she might have mistaken it. She turns her head to look at him, sensing his nervousness but also¡­ also a determination.


    ¡°If¡­ is it ok if I make a grave marker for him?¡±


    She blinks. And she¡­ she takes a breath. Lets it out, low and slow.


    ¡°Yeah. I think that¡¯d be ok.¡±


    Jin nods, and there is a firmness in it this time.


    And then he lays back down, and she keeps watch until he finally falls asleep.


    He breathes easy, and the sound of his dreams are like raindrops and incense.

 Chapter 253 - Everyone Is Coming Along Ever So Nicely~

    Jin carves, and it is like the Blacksteel wants to obey him. It cannot want- that is not what it is, and it is strange to even consider the possibility of such a thing, but she has no other way to explain how it moves so easily under his hands.


    When he asked for a new piece of Blacksteel, a chunk larger than the others she¡¯s given him, she assumed that he was going to jump back into cultivation. With the amount of identity inherent to his current cultivation, it should be fine, unlikely to taint him beyond what he should be able to correct, and she¡¯s keeping an eye on him. Not the best cultivation aid for him, but better than the dead sands of the earlier desert or the constants ghosts and such.


    But then, using a chisel that he seemingly carved himself out of some branch he found (no idea how, she¡¯s frankly kind of impressed that he managed it on his own), he started fucking chiseling into the Blacksteel. And it broke. Easily. Just as its edge most easily found itself capable of violence, it would seem that to Jin, its nature found itself malleable in a way she can¡¯t quite explain. It doesn¡¯t shatter into obsidian shards, doesn¡¯t form a more perfect and dangerous edge- in truth, it barely acts like metal at all, chipping away as if simple limestone.


    She¡¯s not sure what he¡¯s carving, and he hasn¡¯t told her, but he¡¯s asked a few more questions, here and there throughout the day. Seeing as she¡¯s capable of holding multiple conversations at once, and he¡¯s literally inside her body, it¡¯s easy enough to answer.


    Once again, she¡¯s kept herself to her human form, doing away with the illusion of clothing and restricting herself to a ¡®baseline¡¯ form. It¡¯s funny that it¡¯s almost like a challenge now, forcing herself to remain the way she once was rather than adopting a better form. If she wanted to, she could have a dozen other sets of legs, travel through the world on an infinite series of forms and possibilities, and-


    Hmm. Could she fly? She hasn¡¯t even tried, really. Before, she didn¡¯t have the skill for it, but now, there¡¯s a chance that the weight of her body might interact weirdly with flight-mechanics, even (and perhaps especially) with her spatially-altered insides. She sets one of her bio-brains, the least busy one, to work on the thought, saving it for later.


    Jin is carving, and she can feel Li Shu cultivating, though not in the same way that cultivation should feel. Or traditionally has, at any rate. Rather than pulling in Qi from the world outside, digesting it, absorbing it into the wider cycle, she¡¯s focused on her Sacrifice.


    Raika can feel it, pulsing through her Heart. Neither Qi nor Dao, but the thing that underpins and wraps around both- concepts.


    Li Shu absorbed concepts of healing, medicine, biology and more during the incredible stress of the fortress city, and she¡¯s focused on that for now. Raika can feel some vague sense of energy, the idea of a thing, being pulled into the keratin needles that Li Shu has created out of what were once her nails. If she time-lapses her awareness, a fun little trick she¡¯s picking up on, she can actually see the changes occurring as the needles become slightly longer, patterns in them starting to look almost like some sort of diagram of veins or nerves. Not like they¡¯re alive per se, but¡­ references to the concept, wrapping tighter around the Sacrifice.


    Witches do not cultivate with Qi, they cultivate with the abstract. With concepts. The needles now draw on their surroundings, from the idea of biology inherent to Raika¡¯s, well, biology, molding it with the other ideas. According to Li Shu¡¯s notes and ideas, even without her influence, her needles could more easily suture wounds or be used as medicinal tools, but would have, at best, a perfectly normal amount of utility when trying to crochet or stitch clothing. As she advances, they¡¯re likely to push forward such that anything they do will inherently work towards healing or towards the idea of a ¡®healthy biology¡¯, considering what she¡¯s drawing from.


    They¡¯re both busy, is the point. And Many-Grasping¡­ well, Many-Grasping is mostly just eating, apparently. Eating and resting and pacing.


    Raika really needs to address her guest.


    The tent idea opened up a lot of possibilities to her, and while it took some stretching of Supreme Body Art: Gigant to accommodate the changes, she managed it. Rather than isolated rooms, each entirely disconnected, she¡¯s built something like a building complex inside herself. The design is still under review, but it¡¯s pretty straightforward so far-


    There are three rooms, one for each of her current passengers, with a corridor connecting the three of them like branching paths to a centralized room. In that central room, Raika¡¯s designed a series of seating areas, a larger table which most food gets generated or stored near, and a ¡®lower floor¡¯, a space with several artificial cushions and lounging spaces with one wall completely decorated with chromatophores. On it, she has one of her brains training in their use, using her Camouflage technique to not just mirror how her surroundings look on her body, but accurately recreate a sort of moving picture or illusion technique on the interior wall. She has an almost panoramic view of a 180-degree cone facing ¡®forwards¡¯, and projects it constantly into the room.


    Many-Grasping spends most of her time in there, fascinated and enthralled by a world she knows of and has lived in but has never seen. Considering her cultivation level, the way that she was traveling as an apprentice or as a favor to another in the desert, she¡¯s probably heard about and never dared to wander into the overgrowth in her life, certainly not through random directions rather than specific, safe pathways.


    But she does still pace, and she is eating¡­ more than Raika expected, though never by much.


    Always better to have things to do than not, at least in her experience.


    She has subminds to work on the idea, process it long term. In the meanwhile, she has a world to explore, and a destination to reach.


    She¡¯s had her fun, and gotten at least some of a feel for the surroundings, enough to adapt to it at least. It¡¯s been nearly two weeks since she left the fortress city- it¡¯s time, now, to move. She was given a request by something mighty and terribly, terribly broken. The fortress city spoke into her with such force, such fervor¡­ such pain. Such fear. Such long-form horror. It gave her a place, and it had begged.


    Even if she were not looking for power, or trying to explore, or trying to find the tools needed, she would still go.


    It begged, and she would not deny a fellow victim, no matter the scale of the shared horror.


    So she runs, due east, through impossible overgrowth, deeper into the 4th ring. She traces a strange instinct, planted within her Heart, out across vines so thick and dense that she could dig straight down into them and find nothing but more vine, beneath trees so vast and strange that they change how the sky looks. She runs, and she moves so fast that the air bends, and pulls her hair back in a curtain around her, and dances to the beat of so many hearts and the pulsing of forever-blood.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    She is building, even now. Ever-changing, ever-shifting, making more and more and more of herself and making sure that everything she makes is distinct or powerful compared to before. She has people she loves and wants to protect working inside her, building themselves in their own ways, and so many possibilities to look into. The beast-tide that she heard about, the one that helped her break the fortress city around her. Whatever plots and possibilities that Taurus has pinned on this place, including the implication that something is to come in just over two years now. Getting strong enough to come back and change the world, get revenge and stop the Fengs and people like them, find a way to provide for and protect Maen, Kaena, Qen Hou, Hao Nera, Taran, nevermind everyone else she¡¯s met that does not deserve pain like hers-


    She stops that train of thought. Too vast, at least for now. That¡¯s for long-term brain to think about. For now, she has a destination, a plea, and nowhere else to go, at least until Many-Grasping recognizes some sign of civilization and they have any reason to go to them.


    So she runs, and there is joy in the running. There is a vast and joyful power in the freedom to choose a shape, even one that limits her, and push it into such a form that it challenges what should be possible.


    She spends the better part of another day just running, the world moving past her in blinding velocity. She has to use her Overclocking technique just to make sure she can process what her senses give her, and she launches herself forward further and further.


    It¡¯s not enough.


    The second day into the latest stretch of her travels sees her finally abandoning the human form, shifting into something much more complex. Six legs, panther-like but armed with insectile piston-mechanics, jettison her forward further and farther, her body a sleek and well-designed engine of mobility. She dashes from vine to vine, moves from branch and shrub with the lightest step her size can afford, reaching closer and closer to the point where air resistance becomes a wall to push against, impeding her.


    So she streamlines. Faster. Faster.


    And still, her objective feels like it¡¯s barely any closer.


    On the third day, she finds herself drifting. Her ability to adapt has made the movement almost instinct by now, her body as optimized as she can make it without either switching her Overclocking target or pushing to try and enact the technique on two different systems at once. The primary concern there is an ironic one- the more she grows, the more focus and awareness it takes to maintain Overclocking on the necessary system. As it is, multiple brains are required to sustain Overclocking on multiple brains, and the stress of it redoubles if she has to apply it to any section of her incredibly complex body. Add to that the constant regeneration, further draining her Qi reserves and generators, and it¡¯s not something that¡¯s exactly easy to sustain.


    She does manage it for a while, striking a balance, but upon nearly losing a limb on a branch she missed whizzing by, she reduces it back down. Something else to train, later. She¡¯s running out of time and ability, even with all her advancements, and not for the first time, she reflects on the fact that most higher-level cultivators need centuries to advance, even in the Imperial age.


    She doesn¡¯t have centuries.


    She¡¯ll figure it out.


    As her attention wanders, though, she starts to notice more. Not needing quite so much focus on her movement, instinctive as it¡¯s becoming, she can pay closer attention to the minutiae that she¡¯s dashing by, the minor details she¡¯s barely even noticing. She starts to pick up on things that she¡¯d missed, entering an almost meditative place as she runs.


    There are trails here. Like in the dead desert, but not exactly. There, it was about awake or asleep, dead or alive. Here, it¡¯s more like patterns, wandering through the underbrush. Where prey-forms wander, predator-forms follow, and the variety and types of flora make eddies and ripples in the movements of both. The shadows of the leaves above, the trunks holding them miles high, shape which plants grow where, and how.


    Always and forever, patterns. She feels the tree of flesh and blood, of organ and synergy, ripple in her inner world, sprouting just a centimeter further. In this pattern that she tracks, there is Dao, the patterns to which the concepts of life, death and more all play. Her tree of the Dao of Life stirs, ever so faintly, as she recognizes what she¡¯s seeing.


    And then, a break in the pattern. A note in the symphony that does not fit.


    Panic, but not animal fear. Adrenaline, its taste intermingled with a very sapient dread.


    She doesn¡¯t need to turn her head- to do so now would only send her body skittering wildly off-course. Her senses ping on the new sensation, over and over, and track it back.


    About ten miles off course, further south. A younger, smaller cluster of vines, the tree they hang and grow from barely half the size of the ancestral behemoths surrounding them. As her awareness pans over towards it (ten miles? She¡¯s following the patterns, sure, but the last time she remembers checking it, it took all her focus to look half that far), she more properly tracks the responses, and-


    There. The heartbeat of something young, the forest and her own senses feeding back in a cycle to show her where she needs to go. Behind it, three more heartbeats, steadier, focused, missing the scent of panic that her synesthesia tells her is flooding the younger one- and one thing more. One thing that hits her senses like a truck.


    Powdered dust. Like marble, turned to a fine powder. Cold, unfeeling, precisely alchemical in a way she knows intimately.


    The smell of Imperial formations.


    Here, in the fourth ring, weeks of travel out from the fortress city. Chasing after someone.


    There is a thrill of joy at the thought. None of the fear she expected or worried might taint her, none of the guilt she might once have made herself fear- joy.


    There is no need to hide herself here. No need to think of what will be thought by her ¡®masters¡¯. Here are Imperials, chasing someone through a land that is not theirs. Here she is, flush with power and lethal skill.


    She turns her head, and a bullet-sleek body cuts through the air like a blade as she shifts a perfected form to a new heading.


    She turns, and begins Overclocking.


    Supreme Body Art: Gigant, to ensure that her internal morphology and impossible size work.


    Supreme Body Art: Overclocking, doubled up to push neurology and tendons into a state of overdrive.


    And then¡­ a thought.


    Her bullet-sleek body cuts through the air like a blade.


    Her inner world stirs as the Heart hears her desire, and the trees that are metaphor and pattern realized stretch through her comprehension into the world.


    Supreme Body Art: Pressurized Indigo


    Dao of the Gun.


    Dao of the Blade.


    A bullet¡¯s path is to launch from where it is fired to where it is pointed.


    A blade¡¯s path is to slice apart what is before it.


    With a twist of reality, she is both more of a bullet and more of a blade than she once was, Dao weaponized into her being. A burst of pressurized indigo blood explodes out from jets behind her, launching her forward, her nature taking on aspects of the gun and blade, and she feels the air whiplash open and boom all around her as she breaks the barrier of sound.


    Bullets, famously, are not very good at stopping. Not without damage.


    She smells the panic and the fear of the heartbeat-pulse she followed as she lands, her eyes catching sight into sound that tells her of the horror and fear of her arrival.


    The world explodes, a vine turning to wooden debris and cast into tumultuous explosion on her arrival. The canyon between it and the vine beside it ring out with a thunderous explosion, only for a second to echo in a moment later, the sound of her arrival delayed behind her from sheer velocity. She can smell blood that leaks out of ears, hear the trembling impact of viscera and internals quaking under the impact, taste the Qi recoil from the force and become flavored by aspects of impact, sound, and explosive violence.


    And then, as the chips of wood and detonated plant matter flutter and clatter to the ground, she emerges. From out of near-liquified biology, she reforms herself, reabsorbing the damaged matter and folding a new body, fresh and mostly humanoid, out into reality in its place.


    She shades her eyes against the sun, exposed to long-shadowed landscapes from her arrival, and catches sight of the source of what she sensed. Four people, three of them human and wearing armor of black, jade and gold, one of them wearing an ornate set of robes seemingly made entirely from woven grasses of different colors.


    Raika smiles, seven feet tall, entirely nude and with eyes that glow as black sclera juxtapose against rainbow-radiant pupils.


    ¡°What a joy it is to meet you all,¡± she says. ¡°What have we here?¡±

 Chapter 254 - Once Upon A Time, In Woods Dark And Deep

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    Wei Zin stares up at the largest woman he has ever seen. The ground still trembles from her arrival, a collapsed crater deeper than he is tall twice over marking her passage. The echo of her footsteps was so loud he is fairly certain there is blood coming out of his ears.


    She is also incredibly nude, and armed with perhaps the most unsettling smile he has ever seen.


    She looks a perfect blend between joyful and hungry, and he notices that her eyes briefly look upon him with a light he cannot properly fathom.


    ¡°Well?¡± she asks, her smile broad and fanged.


    Wei Zin flinches as one of the faceless monsters behind him gathers its wits first, speaking up. He is too tired- he should be faster, but¡­ he¡¯s been running. And running. And running.


    ¡°Honorable one, we are humbled by your presence. We lowly cultivators seek only to settle a debt accrued between our master and a lowly thief. If you permit us, we would be happy to gift you with honors worthy of-¡±


    ¡°Shush.¡±


    To Zin¡¯s surprise, the killers behind him pay attention to wisdom and shut up.


    The woman lifts her right arm, the left missing past the elbow, and Wei Zin watches as a spur of bone grows out of it as naturally as a reed grows from water. Seemingly without input, without so much as a flicker of Qi that Zin can detect, it transforms further, spiraling and thickening on one end as it cleanly falls off and into her hand. A moment later, the strange woman rolls a packet of what look like leaves or grasses out of her throat, chewing them for a few seconds before an unnaturally dexterous tongue packs them into the bowl of the pipe in her hand.


    A moment later, something that is not fire and burns with every color imaginable, but foremost among them gold, flickers against the tightly-packed plant matter, and the impossible creature before him takes a long, slow pull of smoke into her lungs.


    It is only when she exhales again, as calm as can be, that Zin remembers he is still alive. It is only as she takes her time, seeming to savor the moment, that he realizes just how hot and oppressive the air has become, as if the Qi around this unknown being has come alive. As if he¡¯s already been swallowed, or swaddling within a writhing flame.


    Through a cloud of blue-grey smoke, the massive stranger looks back down at them, and even Zin feels that he can smell his own adrenaline oozing from his pores.


    ¡°You,¡± she says, her eyes focused on Zin. ¡°What happened?¡±


    Before his pursuers have a chance to react, Zin has thrown himself onto the ground, cutting his cheeks open on wooden shrapnel, pressing his forehead into the dirt.


    ¡°The name given to this self Zin, the name given to his family Wei,¡± he says, and it takes everything in his being to keep his throat from choking, his voice from sobbing. He has so little left to lose, but before the eyes of this thing, in the grip of absolute fear, he can only feel his desperation to live coiling inside him.


    ¡°Please, blessed one, holy in the eyes of the world. I am of the Shorassa tribe, beholden to the Many and All, and I am the last of my people. Those behind me have taken from me my home. They have taken from me my love. They have taken from me every safety and kindness I have ever felt and burned it in their wake, and now I am alone, and all I ask, all I beg, is that you let me pass, that I might survive as long as I can against the dark.¡±


    ¡°This individual is under our authority, honored one,¡± the Imperial soldier interrupts. ¡°They do not possess the right of passage, and were found interfering-¡±


    ¡°I told you to be Silent,¡± she says, and everything goes quiet.


    Even in her arrival, in the crackling thunder and explosive reformation of all she touched, there was sound. The overgrowth, especially in the vines, especially among the greatest of the trees, it is never silent. In the darkness of the leaves, there is scuttling. In the brightness of the light dancing beneath the canopy, there is the crying of beasts, of forever-hunts, of birdcall and mating songs. In a place so full of wild, chaotic life, Zin can think of three times in his life where his home has gone quiet.


    At her word, with a pulse of All-Tongue so loud he can taste it and a voice strangely musical and animalistic in some way he can¡¯t define, there is silence.


    She takes another pull of her pipe, and Zin can hear the sound of the smoke hazing through the air as she breathes.


    She kneels down, bringing herself closer to his level. He can hear his heart, the blood in his veins, louder than the world around them, he can¡¯t help but feel every sound she makes as this impossible predator gets close.


    ¡°Want me to kill them for you?¡± she asks.


    For a moment, he can¡¯t breathe. For a moment, Zin¡¯s world stands still.


    There is only one answer he can give.


    ¡°Please.¡±


    He hears her exhale, and feels his skin tingle under the effects of her smoke. It smells of blood and dark, cold places, herbal and alien at once.


    He hears her turn away from him, and his blood begins to thunder in his head as she speaks.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Why should I let you live?¡± she asks, behind and to his left. Facing the killers that hunt him.


    He keeps his face pressed to the dirt, his own blood warming the ground as wooden shrapnel continues to cut him. Even still, he hears the sound of their armor, which has been silent as cloth in their pursuit of him, clank uncertainly as at least one of them takes a half-step back.


    ¡°Honorable one, we do not seek your wrath. We understand that our misguided pursuit has disturbed you, and are more than happy to provide reparations.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    A new voice, a different killer. ¡°It is within our grasp to offer the honored one a payment equal to the weights of our unworthy beings in spirit stones of high-grade. If this does not please the honored one, we would be grateful to pay for our lives in rare reagents, that you might enjoy an easier step in your journey to ascension.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡± Zin hears her breathe in smoke, smells the strange flame and the dark, cold place it burns into her lungs. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think that will do. But I¡¯ll make you a deal- how about you tell me why there are three Imperial soldiers, dressed in particularly fancy armor, chasing a cultivator of half your strength through the woods?¡±


    ¡°I-¡±


    There is a pause. Confusion. Hesitation.


    ¡°This lowly one was not aware of your wisdom, honored master,¡± one of the killers behind him says. ¡°We are in fact lowly vessels of the Emperor¡¯s will, beyond the Wall. While our lives are but small measures, this one would loathe to cause any difficulties for the honored master by the burden of his role in so grand an enterprise.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s no difficulty at all. Just tell me why you were hunting such a well-dressed young man through the woods, and I might not kill you. Easy. Much less expensive than spirit stones, I¡¯m sure. Not surprised they don¡¯t take Imperial mint out this far, hmm?¡±


    ¡°...Our business is to hunt down enemies of the Empire and serve the will of the high lords. It is our privilege and duty to ensure that no threats to the Empire are born from the territories that rightfully belong to it.¡±


    Zin hears a snort. ¡°I see. And so you killed this young man¡¯s tribe and have been hunting him since?¡±


    ¡°I- with respect to the honored one, this lowly soldier would be most pleased to invite you to speak to our commander, that we might better reach an understanding. My wisdom and knowledge of the intricacies of the dangers we face may be found lacking against the honored one¡¯s thoughts.¡±


    ¡°Mmmh. Of course. Just following orders, as it were. But you didn¡¯t answer my question, soldier.¡±


    ¡°...honored one?¡±


    ¡°Did you or did you not participate in the murder of a tribe? Tribe, of course, implying a lot more than just enemy combatants.¡±


    Zin hears the slightest exhale, feels through his Qi-sense the feeling of three different killers drawing out a drop of power-


    He flinches as he hears a splattering sound.


    In truth, only the end of it sounds like a splatter, wet and heavy against the ground, like a spilled soup. The initial part of the noise, he can¡¯t quite identify- a strange crunching noise, but also a sort of squeal, like a high-pitched whine or reshaping of heavy materials.


    Two of the Qi signatures in his perspective vanish, bursting like soap bubbles and dissipating.


    He hears quiet, ragged breathing, the sound of fear, and the slow, calm steps of the impossible monster towards it.


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t very smart,¡± says the monster. The smell of blood is magnified now, rising not just from the tang of the smoke still burning in the air like a haze.


    ¡°H-honored one-¡±


    ¡°You should answer the question.¡±


    ¡°...I am a soldier of the empire, honored one. I serve the highest power possible. I serve a home which has peace, prosperity and progress by doing my duty. My duty is to obey the orders of those greater than I, that those with greater wisdom and power might shepherd the world to a greater destination.¡±


    ¡°Should I take that as ¡®yes, I helped murder young and old, women, men and all in between, sick and healthy, because I was told to?¡±


    ¡°...The fourth ring is a dark place, honored one. Barbaric and strange, and dangerous in the extreme. It is the duty of the Division of War to respond to any threat that might someday challenge the Empire or its order.¡±


    ¡°Mmh. I was hoping you¡¯d at least have the balls to admit it, but I suppose that was too much to expect. Normally, this is the part where I¡¯d eat you alive. Frankly, I think I wouldn¡¯t enjoy the taste.¡±


    ¡°I- many thanks, honored one. My lifedebt to you-¡±


    This time the sound is louder, and now, expecting it, Zin recognizes the noise that metal makes when it is struck so hard that it warps. This time, he can differentiate the fact that it is two sounds, not one- the impact, metal warping and something messy beneath crunching, followed by the ¡®splat¡¯ of many somethings wet hitting the ground and walls.


    Followed by a third noise, that of something heavy and wrapped in metal hitting the floor.


    Zin keeps his head to the ground, pressing firmly against the pain in his forehead and face.


    He hears the sound of the monster walk closer, the sound of her breathing, the smell of her, bloodier now, headier. Between the deaths and the smoke, it smells less like she is smoking a pipe and more like there is incense burning, a temple to a horror he does not understand and which has gifted his prayers with an answer.


    She crouches down close to him, and he hears a sound like the claws of a spirit beast digging into the blessed vine they walk upon. Hears her take a breath, deep and husky and slow, like something between meditation, a prayer, and a rumbling purr


    ¡°Raise your head,¡± she whispers, and he can do nothing but obey.


    She is still nude, long dreadlocks of crimson and fiery orange-red touching the ground with their length. Her flesh is covered only by the thick mist that curls from her pipe and between her lips, pale blue dancing across midnight skin and crimson stains which coat her arm nearly to the elbow.


    ¡°Do you have somewhere you can go?¡± she asks.


    Zin feels like he can¡¯t breathe. He tries, and one gets halfway through, but something in his throat is clenched so tight that it cannot get through. His face is wet, and his eyes sting, and only some of what paints his face is blood.


    ¡°I¡­ I-¡±


    ¡°Shhhh.¡±


    Zin falls to the floor, his body both as tightly wound and as exhausted as it has ever been. He stares up at her, his dress, already half-ruined from weeks of running, is scrunched beneath him in the debris and the mess, moss and wood shrapnel both tainting its colors further.


    The pipe disappears somewhere, and he flinches as she reaches for him with a bloodied hand¡­


    The blood is gone. Vanished like it was never there, like her skin drank it in. She lowers the hand instead of reaching, placing it palm up next to his as she takes a seat on the ground.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok,¡± the monster tells him. ¡°It¡¯s ok.¡±


    The last thing Zin hears is the sound of humming, like something his mother might have once whispered to him. He feels a wave of all-tongue whisper into the air, and it speaks only a single word.


    Safe.


    With a brush of Intent and the sound of quiet music, he starts to fade. For the first time since he can remember, he feels the call of sleep, and does not feel fear.


    Dread, perhaps. The distant feeling of certainty that this time, this time, he won¡¯t wake up.


    But he is so, so tired. And he has been so afraid for so long.


    He does not remember when, but he realizes he has shifted to hold her hand, and hold it tight, and he chokes on his breath again. This time, he does not hesitate to cry out loud, every breath a wracking, choking thing of grief and exhaustion.


    He does not notice when he falls asleep.

 Chapter 255 - There Hunted A Terrible Wolf, Hungry And Sharp of Teeth

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    There is not a real word for what Raika holds close to her core. Not now. Intent, the all-language, is a complex and beautiful thing, full of nuance and complexity and depth. It is only rarely ever capable of being reduced down to just one thing.


    And yet, Raika feels it. Bubbling in her gut. Stewing in her throat.


    She wants to kill someone.


    She may want to kill a lot of people.


    But she sets the feeling aside. Adds her own depth, her own complexity as a person.


    First and foremost, she worries about the man unconscious before her.


    With a whisper of will, she forms another body in front of Li Shu, Jin, and Many-Grasping. Even as she keeps one version of her Body crouched and holding the stranger¡¯s hand, she creates a duplicate, connected through muscle fibers and neural tissue, to start digging a secure chamber, someplace defensible and hard to notice. True Flame makes short work of much of the vines surrounding the space, and remodeling the terrain and the stones in it to accommodate finishes the work.


    By the time she¡¯s finished, all three of her passengers have emerged, exiting through a portal of her flesh into the improvised shelter.


    ¡°Are you sure about this?¡± Li Shu asks before she can say anything.


    ¡°I am. You can¡¯t come with me, it¡¯s too risky. I need to follow the trail while their scent is still fresh, and I¡¯m not taking you or the victim along with me.¡±


    Li Shu takes a deep breath, struggling for a moment, and then nods once, firmly. ¡°Ok. Take me to the patient.¡±


    She nods. Before turning away, though, she turns to Jin and Many-Grasping.


    Many-Grasping-Young-Of-Harsh-Lands-Reaching. Protect. Reward. Demand.


    Many-Grasping does not waste time with piecemeal intent. They bow, once, the adrenaline slowly beginning to run through muscles as tension rises in them.


    Lord.


    ¡°Jin.¡±


    ¡°Yes, master?¡± he says.


    ¡°I want you to do something for me. Failure is completely acceptable, but I worry about you getting hurt. I want you to develop a technique, be it cultivation, an array, a ritual circle, anything, designed specifically to block your ability to see and absorb the Dao of Death. I wanted to wait a bit further, but you understand your powers best. Use some Blacksteel if you need it, but maybe avoid that for now. Ask Li Shu for help later, once she¡¯s sure that the wounded is safe and stable.¡±


    His eyes are wide, but she does not miss how they dart to the entrance of the area she has carved out. Towards the bodies.


    ¡°First priority- I want you to practice differentiating your Qi and comprehension from what you¡¯re absorbing. Picture a wall, one shaped to your skin, and your own Qi circulating right under it, like a bubble of water in open air. Anything that taints the water gets pushed out with the cycle. If you need more, then I trust in your ability to think on your feet.¡±


    He takes a deep breath, and she can feel his adrenaline start to increase- but not towards a ¡®fight¡¯ instinct. His breathing is accelerating, his neuron-activation in his brain too sharp, too bright.


    She kneels down in front of him, looking him straight in the ey and taking his hand in hers.


    ¡°Hey. It¡¯s not an emergency. Nothing wrong with failing. I¡¯ll be back soon, and this is a step that you should take sooner than later. I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m a little angry right now, but you¡¯re ok. You¡¯re safe.¡±


    Subconsciously, before she even realizes, she¡¯s matched her breathing pattern to his. She slows it back down, guiding him in the same direction, until he gives one last, shaky breath. A long, slow exhale.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good project to have, between your carving,¡± she says, smiling softly. ¡°Sorry to startle you.¡±


    He shakes his head vigorously, a mix of embarrassment and anger forming towards willpower rather than fear. She smiles, even as he firms his teeth and meets her eyes.


    ¡°No. It¡¯s ok. I¡¯m ok, master. Thank you for the mission. I am certain I will match your faith in me and achieve success with your advice.¡±


    She snorts, but nods. ¡°Damn right you will. Get started, alright? Many-Grasping and Li Shu will keep an eye out in the meantime.¡±


    She turns back to Li Shu, who is standing with her medical bag, rifling through it, checking everything. She can smell the medicinal properties imbued into her Sacrifice, the flavor of it melding with her own unique Qi scent of soft flowers and scalpels. A dozen needle-tong-syringe-scalpels of keratin float around her, with a singular exception- a solid orb of medicinal energy, Keratin aping something like an organ or veined mass of herbs, the mutation in the Sacrifice born from her entry into Core Formation realm.


    ¡°Ready?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Mmh,¡± Li Shu replies, already focused in. ¡°Pre-op breakdown?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means, but if you¡¯re asking how he¡¯s doing- exhausted. Dehydrated, experiencing minor malnutrition from what looks like months of pursuit on and off, and while there are no major injuries, he¡¯s had some breaks that Qi hasn¡¯t healed entirely correctly.¡±


    Li Shu nods, already shifting the close-at-hand resources in her bag. ¡°Ok.¡±


    And then they¡¯re off, with Jin already meditating and Many-Grasping doing something with the ferns and smaller vines around the hideaway, obfuscating it further.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Li Shu kneels down next to the collapsed young man (Wei¡­ Zin, that was it), taking his pulse. Raika reintegrates both bodies, melting the form she¡¯s been walking around with back into her own Body like a complex, interlocking puzzle of clay and bone, opening up and reconnecting directly. Li Shu makes no comment, and doesn¡¯t force her to let go of the young man¡¯s hand, either.


    He¡¯s gorgeous. Effeminate, well-fit and lithe, wearing a complex and beautifully woven dress of still-living grasses, each individual strand still alive and almost glowing with every color, but primarily an almost neon green. His hair is short, cropped into a sort of pixie-cut but with interesting, almost runic patterns styled into it, close to the scalp.


    In a different mindset, Raika might let herself think very different thoughts about the figure in front of her. As it is, her Mind is packed much too full with worry, resignation, and a desire to harm.


    ¡°He¡¯s alright, just passed out,¡± Li Shu says. ¡°I¡¯ll take him back to the cave and we can get to work on fixing him back up, ok? He needs sleep, food, and the attention of a healer, and we can provide all three. Go.¡±


    Raika gets up, letting go of the kid¡¯s hand at last¡­ but then turns back to Li Shu.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°I trust you, and I see what is in front of me. Go.¡±


    Raika lets out a long, slow exhale.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Li Shu has time enough to turn a smile in her direction. ¡°You¡¯re very welcome. Now go do what you¡¯re going to do.¡±


    And Raika is gone.


    As a humanoid, in a bipedal form, she hits about halfway to the sound barrier.


    As a Gun, she goes a lot faster.


    She lands on the vine above where Li Shu and her patient sit with six legs, a streamlined panther with a crablike, spiky armor of chitin.


    Then there is a sound like a thunderclap but heavier, thicker, felt in the lungs, and she is launched at her target.


    To her senses, the trail that the soldiers left is clear as day. It stretches off to the horizon, southward and back towards the west, towards the dead sands. It could be a thousand miles, it could be more.


    The air is pierced like flesh or wet tissue as Raika uses True Flame and her Dao of the Gun to turn her body to a guided projectile, the concepts of Ignition, Explosion, Propulsion, all acting in concert. Six legs are tucked in tight to the body, each limb wrapped around her in a spiral to add rotational spin to her movement, helping to keep her perfectly on course- the Dao of the Gun, teaching her of rifling through its patterns. Jets of tightly-packed Qi, the Dao of Gun and Flame both touching on it through her comprehension, detonate into True Flame with enough force to launch her across the world in a straight line, defying gravity and air resistance.


    The way that the scent of the three Imperials and their hunted prey feels to her synesthesia is a bright ribbon of miasma, flowing out and away from her. They¡¯ve clearly been chasing him for days, maybe longer wandering around every time he lost them.


    She does not need to wander. She has multiple brains tracking trajectory, patterns, the ways that they moved and the general space they moved through.


    From five hundred feet up, the horizon is approximately two-hundred and fifty miles away. The curvature of the world, flat but ever-so-slightly curved as it is, makes the horizon ever-distant.


    As Raika recreates the pockets of Qi, reweaves Dao into the moment of ignition and into the shape of her being, her brains track her movement at approximately half a mile per second. That makes eight and a half minutes to reach the horizon.


    It takes her about twenty minutes of on-and-off firing to reach the point where Zin¡¯s trail and the soldier¡¯s finally intersect. It takes another hour and a half to find their origin point.


    Part of the way there, she hears the smell of blood. Tastes the feeling of crackling ash, long left to sit, buried under plants that grow so fast they have already erased all that once was.


    The smell of the three individuals melds into a terrible, horrible mess of industrialized, acrid and powdered Qi. The scent of alchemy, industry, artificial and beautifully carved shapes- but for sharp-edged purpose.


    She catches sight of it not long after. The scent is so faint, to hide what is already hidden, and there are distortions in the air that she recognizes as part of a formation, and a damn subtle one. But to her synesthesia, it¡¯s not open air and forced invisibility, it¡¯s the glowing edges of runes, the vague hints of Intent wrapped around the taste of iron fillings and ozone, the texture of a dome wrapped beneath several of the larger vines that are only just off-center.


    There is a time for subtlety. A time for faking a behavior, for finding ways to play with the rules of conduct and to manipulate the rules of engagement and social expectation.


    The smell of the dead place, the taste-sight of the bones she passed on the way, and the grief she could hear ringing like music in the voice of the man who asked her for mercy and violence say otherwise.


    She¡¯d heard the expression before, but never really understood it, never felt it. They¡¯d say it in stories about noble cultivators fighting terrible monsters, talking about the things that would grant a cultivator a true edge in their battles.


    For the first time since the tournament in Cragend, facing a very different man named Jin, Raika feels Killing Intent.


    Intent is honest. Pure. Direct. It is a complex weave of every emotion and intention a being has in a given moment, layered into their movements and energy by way of consciousness. Just like understanding the ways that reality works leads to Dao, controlling one¡¯s emotions and intentions and using them leads to Intent.


    But now she understands why it is so rare. Why she hasn¡¯t felt it before.


    For there to be Killing Intent, there can be no fear. No hesitation. No questions, no confusion, nothing like love or hate or fear or rage.


    There is only and exclusively the conclusion that something needs to die, and the bending of one¡¯s entire being towards that purpose.


    There is a place there, beneath the vines, from which the mark of Empire sits, quiet but loud. In it, there are those who ordered and participated in a slaughter, as an extension of the same entity that has harmed her and her loved ones so much.


    She is the Gun. She is the Bullet. That is the Target.


    Raika penetrates through a vine saturated with Qi and almost fifty meters thick, and another after that, and then into a wall of Qi.


    For a moment, she is frozen there, the impact of her being against the structure of the arrays protecting the Imperial base fighting. She feels the edges of her outer shell begin to spark, the idea of the runes long-carved into her being fighting against the Qi that she tries to push through.


    The curse carved by her friend rejects the Qi that tries to reject her.


    The force of True Flame and Dao propel her against array and Qi alone.


    A Body of Blacksteel, flesh, bone, and Radiant Metal makes itself the perfect bullet.


    The protections of a forward operating base of the Empire fail to stop her.


    A wave of alarms and screams echo across the landscape as she detonates the ground she lands on.


    The ground beneath her Body is marble and concrete, shaped to exacting specifications of brutalism. A hundred eyes take in everything at once- a courtyard full of training soldiers, all into the Nascent Soul realm, training against a multitude of arenas and practical arrays. A standing structure, a tall building of stone and carved jade arrays which stands at the far end, like a five-story mountain at the far end of the courtyard. Walls made to withstand siege, acting as focal points for an array that is falling musically to earth in notes of burning Qi.


    A crater, cracked and broken into the ground, drenched in the blood of three dead soldiers, crackling with fire and lightning.


    Raika unfolds one leg, then another, then all remaining of the six. She stretches upward, growing more vertebrae to raise her higher, higher, Supreme Body Art: Gigant transforming her bit by bit.


    Some of the soldiers are already reacting. They are elite, well-trained, carrying scars from battles that left truly impressive marks. These are not the fresh-faced recruits of the Wall.


    Raika looks at them, and sees only things that she chooses to make die.


    Killing Intent floods the courtyard, and a dozen of the Empire¡¯s best covert units begin to bleed from the face as she stares down upon them, spiraling ever upward into monstrous transcendence.

 Chapter 256 - It Bore Fangs And Claws, Burning Sharp And Bright

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    The wise dog goes for the throat.


    She once told that to Li Shu. A note of wisdom that came to her, bright and crystal clear, out of an old saying. ¡°A dog should not bite the hand that feeds¡±.


    She does not care for the hand. It is not from the hand that horrors originate, nor the hand which chooses with what to feed.


    There aren¡¯t many cultivators here. This forward operating base, whatever its purpose, only has the space for a dozen or so, if that. The barracks she can sense at the edge of her perception seem underutilized, with minimal personal effects and not all that much of each cultivator¡¯s scent. There are five individuals in the training courtyard, all of them wearing some sort of complex array of runes tattooed onto their bodies, none of them currently armored.


    They are all, one and each, in the Nascent Soul realm.


    A hundred eyes see each and every one of them, but there is a heartbeat, a moment where the shock of her arrival forces them onto the back foot. In that time, her eyes are turned to only one place.


    The building she can sense the barracks, and supply room, and armory in. The building with personal chambers, and a central nexus for the defensive array she broke through.


    The building with a single tree on the front, a sigil colored in in an incredibly familiar shade of green.


    She feels the ground around her begin to corrode and break down. She tastes the blood of the cultivators, leaking free under the attention of her Killing Intent. She feels every part of every murder she has ever committed, and realizes, in this moment, that she can repeat those actions here if she decides.


    Feng.


    Our business is to hunt down enemies of the Empire and serve the will of the high lords, the soldier had said. ¡°The will of the high lords¡±.


    There are many such families, most likely. Raika never bothered to memorize or even really think of them, but she knows one.


    Feng.


    The Feng clan is here. In the fourth ring. In command of a forward operating base, on behalf of the same Division that Taurus told her Feng Gui worked in, commanded in. The same Feng as Feng Gao, who woke her from her possession and mind control accidentally through his abuse of Yun Ka, her friend. The same Feng family that she put at the top of her list when she thinks of killing or changing the Empire.


    She never understood what it meant to hear the old stories say that killing Intent could cause death without touching. Now? Feeling her own Intent manifesting like a wave of unilateral, all-consuming will?


    She¡¯s pretty sure she could kill just by standing close to someone.


    No need to check it now, though. Not when she has so many other ways to make sure.


    From the bullet comes flesh, and from Flesh comes Gun. Five different gunbarrels emerge like tumors from her body, chitin and Blacksteel forming the rifling and obsidian shards crafted as projectiles.


    For three of them, she uses True Flame, but why not experiment? What better time than when in danger?


    Guns are close to ignition, but it¡¯s not perfectly intrinsic to them. A Gun is a projectile and a launch system. For two of the Guns, she prepares a very different launch system indeed.


    Supreme Body Art: Pressurized Indigo joins True Flame in launching obsidian bullets at the cultivators all around.


    All five of her enemies dodge, but she didn¡¯t make single-shot cannons- not useful here. No longer needed.


    The memory of Taran, who she has not seen in so fucking long, is fresh in her mind. Her Minds swim as she remembers the multitude of weapons the greatest gunwielder she knows carried with him.


    Pressurized Indigo doesn¡¯t need multiple explosions, only one continuous generation of force and ammunition. It destroys the bullet, but that¡¯s fine. Two pieces of of Blacksteel are constantly brought in from her stock, shaved down into flechettes by a pressurized stream of the hyper-thick fluid that makes up her blood supply. The way she¡¯s rifled the barrels, the spray of Pressurized Indigo and Blacksteel flechettes divide out, spraying as semi-random buckshot at a few hundred impacts a second. Meanwhile, three barrels armed with True Flame send out explosive shells, much larger and packed full of Qi to ignite further on contact.


    Two of them are dashing toward her, both of them wielding proto-Domains. There¡¯s a moment where something like a landscape of dripping wax and a void surrounding a blaring star appear, approaching her-


    She doesn¡¯t wait for them to get closer.


    She doesn¡¯t need to limit herself to one body. She is the flesh-core at the center, and so long as she is still connected to herself, her Body is as many limbs as she wants.


    For each of the two proto-domains charging her, she spawns two weapons of her own. Connected by threads of neural tissue and muscle, four sleek, armored forms wielding Blades in place of hands charge from her, every muscle twitch-optimized and each one with a brain all her own.


    Spatial rings open up and bring out Jians, the one-handed swords the Division of War favors. Raika lets her combat-brains take over, turning her attention towards the remaining three cultivators as the two find their Domains struggling to manifest. Killing Intent and the Dao of the Blade cut through the edges of their techniques as her central body, now a pillar of gunsmoke and spawning flesh, continues to rain fire on them.


    The other three are scrambling each in their own way, but they are Nascent Soul cultivators. One of them is accessing some sort of stone tablet, the glow of Qi connecting it to previously inert arrays of the base. The other two both bring out their own weapons- a jian, arcing with shadow and black flame, another with the sensation of gold coins, their edges tinged strangely into an edge with the weight of their value. Dao and strange powers intermingle against her, blocking every shot.


    None of them are her opponent, not on their own. If she is still in the Nascent Soul territory, then she is at its edge, or perhaps its peak.


    Something occurs to her then. The beast. The not-lion, cyclopean, cousin to the not-tiger she faced in the Cragend tournament.


    She might be stronger than it is. Harder to kill, certainly. But it had something she didn¡¯t. It designed its toolkit around the specific idea of evasion, and when it came to attack, the only thing that it had over her was Intent.


    ¡­she can do more.


    She can always do more.


    The alarm of the arrays cease, but a long ping sound echoes across the entire space.


    From the arrays tattooed close to their ears, Raika hears a whisper of sound that takes her a second to process.


    High-Level Threat Detected. Full Power Authorized.


    She feels Mind, Body and Soul all together begin to smile.


    She feels one of her four combat-bodies die, an elementally charged Jian cutting through a flaw in the armor. By the time it¡¯s halfway to the ground, bleeding out, she¡¯s corrected the flaw on the other three iterations and started repairing the broken one.


    She can do more.


    One of the three others attempting to attack steps back, and she feels his Qi begin to move in a complicated sort of spiraling shape. An instant later, as his two allies block as many of her shots as they can, something manifests from inside him.


    Neither Soul nor Domain, this feels more like some incredibly complicated technique, and even with all her processing power, she can¡¯t quite track what his Qi is doing. His cultivation spirals in on itself, falling into deeper and deeper shapes, until somehow it resolves to her sight into a coffin of an Iron Maiden.


    Instantly, a series of chains erupt from within the black sarcophagus, the face of it blank and its hinges yawning open to reveal a perfect darkness. There¡¯s a dozen chains at first, but it doubles a moment later, trying to reach her main body.


    Forced to redirect some of her fire to blocking the chains, which seem to regenerate with Qi infusion, one of the two cultivators blocking her shots is freed to enforce their Domain.


    Instantly, the bullets start going off course. Rather than a perfect sphere, he extends his Domain forward in a cone, concentrating it somehow, and in doing so a place of night and overbearing weight start to make her shots hit the ground early. In that cone of altered gravity, the third cultivator on that side extends out a spear of her Qi, forming it around the Jian, spinning it faster and faster as the tables turn.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    They¡¯re weaker than her. All of them.


    And yet, she¡¯s still on guard. That iron maiden isn¡¯t trying to attack, it¡¯s trying to attach itself and pull her in, or some part of her. The Domain-shaping is something she hasn¡¯t seen before, and the woman is truly focusing a terrifying amount of Qi into her drill-projectile, letting it pulse and start emitting little streams of energy from itself.


    Two of them are locked down by her combat bodies, and she could just make more of those. She could unleash the pressurized cannon she used against the not-lion. She could try that [INFUSION] technique again and manifest her radiant CHANGE into her attacks, wipe out their defenses that way.


    ¡­


    Hmm.


    No.


    Using chaotic, uncontrolled CHANGE is a good ace, but it¡¯s costly, risky, and, as mentioned, out of her control. Nearly random in what it transforms things into. An army of combat bodies, while expensive, would be doable, overwhelm her enemies with numbers. And that cannon certainly would work as a knock-out punch.


    None of that is what she needs. She has tools she isn¡¯t using and techniques she isn¡¯t forming because she¡¯s still relying on the advantages her Body and inner world provide. Nothing wrong with that, but just as Taran¡¯s different armaments feel bright in her memory, so does the time he shot her in the fucking face.


    It had been a lesson. She¡¯d been using her Body¡¯s regeneration as a shield, to keep herself from needing to practice her martial arts or refining her abilities. It was a lesson that, like many of the best ones, needs to be consistently remembered.


    If she so chooses, she can just build her energy reserves high enough that, over time, she can make as much ammunition and mass and combat bodies as she wants. And she probably will eventually. But there¡¯s a difference between using the power that she has, and using it as a crutch to avoid learning and improving.


    Perhaps it¡¯s reckless to use a dangerous situation as a place for training, to treat warriors that could and are genuinely attempting to kill her as fodder for growth. Maybe she can save the training for when she¡¯s not in danger.


    The gestalt tosses the idea aside immediately.


    She can do more.


    And she wants, very badly, to murder every single person here in the most efficient ways possible.


    Two new Guns spawn from her central mass, increasing the fire rate and decreasing her reserves of Blacksteel and Qi fast. Still, they manage to beat back the iron maiden technique¡¯s manacles a little longer, buying her enough space to force the drill-wielding cultivator to dodge, slowing her energy buildup.


    And then she collapses inward.


    Raika doesn¡¯t need to generate what she¡¯s using on the surface of her Body anymore. In fact, a good chunk of her healing nowadays is less regeneration and more absorbing the damaged tissue and moving fresh material into the gap.


    When the pillar collapses, the only thing that remains outside are the four combat forms, each of them leaving the cultivators they face on a constant defensive- but at the collapse of the tower, the cultivators pull back. The neural threads linking her combat bodies is only so long, and they don¡¯t follow.


    She doesn¡¯t need them to.


    They serve as an adequate distraction for the 0.57 seconds she needs to collapse her mass inward and replace it with what she¡¯s been preparing.


    She is humanoid, but not human. There are no restrictions here. In a body muscled like a panther and wolf blended, clad in reactive chitin and Blacksteel scales, Raika¡¯s true form emerges.


    She needs to know how to beat opponents without just overpowering them, otherwise she¡¯ll find another bad matchup that will cancel out victory conditions. She needs to use her tools effectively and directly.


    She doesn¡¯t need six arms for this. Four will do this time. Gun, Blade, Lightning, and Flame- nothing else.


    A crown of eyes and a face sculpted to look like there are hands covering it manifest out of biology and CHANGE, and she charges forth from the crater of her arrival.


    The pitch black iron maiden gets to her first, but she is prepared. As chains fall around her, trying to wrap around her body and drag her into its darkness, her lower-right arm extends and moves faster than the eye can track. Twitch-reactive muscle groups fire out like a spasm, but rather than rely on random reaction, Raika takes a stance, every strike and parry precise.


    A Blade of obsidian night, the entirety of its edge made out in blood orange Radiant Metal, cuts through every chain in a single consecutive burst of attacks.


    Before they can regenerate, before her opponents can extend Domains or that drill spear (still charging, and holy fuck does that woman have a lot of Qi), her upper-left arm raises and flowers. Like a bouquet of red flowers, a dozen doorways open as Raika transforms a square cube of her inner world into fuel in her body and manifests the Dao of Flame.


    She feels the golden band around her soul shudder, but it doesn¡¯t retract. It keeps its perimeter locked.


    And the Dao colors of Black, Red, Gold and Purple emerge into a flamethrower that melts the ground for fifty yards to her left, completely drowning out the chains and the efforts of the three cultivators.


    By this point, the two that retreated have their own special techniques up and moving. Again their Domains manifest, but Raika¡¯s attention highlights the fact that they overlap. The waxy terrain and shape of one of the Domains becomes the ground beneath the black sky and noisy, blaring star of the other. Both cultivators charge forward, but their Domains seem almost exponentially affected, and everywhere it covers, the world turns molten and goopy, only to be turned to liquid by the sound and heat of the star above.


    This is nothing like fighting the squadron on the Wall. They feed the cultivators out here some other kinda shit.


    But that¡¯s fine. Ideal, even. It makes it a challenge.


    From her lower left arm, there are Guns.


    To be precise, there is a massive rifle, half as long again as her full height and bursting with power. Two other barrels are underslung, and it is from these that she fires, spraying flechettes rapid-fire with flashes of indigo blood. They fly towards her opponents- only for both to barely slow the cultivators, forcing them to pause momentarily for the projectiles to become affected and dissipate.


    In that time, the crackling of lightning has entered the Gun, and things are different.


    Radiant Metal is conductive. So is Blacksteel, on the condition that the conductivity is served for lethal purpose.


    Multi-hued Lightning Dao enters the gun. On her own, it wouldn¡¯t be enough- she doesn¡¯t understand the mechanics, the ways the system would work.


    But a Gun is made to fire. So fire it does.


    The Dao of Lightning and Gun form around each other, and the discharge of a lightning bolt echoes with the crack of a gunshot as a shaped projectile of Radiant Metal leaves the barrel.


    It enters the Domain- and cuts through it like it¡¯s not there. The metal does not warp. The heat and sound do not affect it.


    The cultivator with the star domain goes to sleep one last time, half of the back of his skull decorating the far wall of the compound, a little over a mile away.


    His companion is screaming something, but she isn¡¯t listening. She can only think of the fact that he is alive, and he has done horrible, monstrous things, and she has decided that he will not be alive anymore.


    He takes one step closer, and blood gushes from his nose. She can taste his adrenal glands dumping into his body, his heart fighting not to slow down, his lungs catching as the oxygen in them finds every way that it can to be part of the possibility of death.


    The not-lion¡¯s claws, back in the desert, weren¡¯t such a threat because of the Dao of the Claw that it had. They were a threat because Killing Intent magnified that.


    She sets another restriction on herself- one strike.


    Her Blade comes down, its edge glowing in the light, juxtaposed with the perfect black of the sword¡¯s body, and the cultivator doesn¡¯t die right away. He retreats back a step, his Domain strengthening, pushing back her intent, warping the space around her into wax, malleable and soft and strange.


    It stops her. For all her momentum, all her Daos and power, she is physically stopped as the air turns to heavy wax around her and down her throat.


    But the Blade grazes him.


    His armor does nothing to defend him. Against a Blade shaped with Dao, a pattern of what it is to CUT, it is no more useful than paper. It cuts approximately three inches into his skin. For a cultivator, he could heal that wound with a technique in seconds. He could take a medicinal pill and be fine. He shouldn¡¯t even need to heal it.


    But Raika decided he is dead, and her Blade resonates with that Intent, focused around its edge.


    A cut three inches deep into his shoulder somehow nicks something vital, and blood gushes from the wound. He goes to breathe, but it¡¯s like his lungs have forgotten he is still alive, because no air escapes or enters them. He tries to cover the cut, but it begins to spread.


    Just like the original version of Blacksteel.


    It wasn¡¯t a property of the material. Or, perhaps it was, just not in the sense of a physical property. This whole time, she¡¯s struggled to use the material for anything other than violence.


    Blacksteel radiates the Intent to kill. She hears it now.


    And she adds it to her own as the cut that should have been nothing, should have been turned to a negligible danger with his quick thinking and trapping her in his Domain, spreads into something lethal.


    The cultivator gurgles out one last breath before Killing Intent spreads through the cut and convinces reality that it is, in fact, lethal.


    And then there were three.


    She turns to look at them. The Flame is still burning, and seems to have eaten through the concrete floor of the base like kindling, burning where she pointed like a candle through paper. But it wasn¡¯t enough to stop the other three.


    Their Domain wielder is gasping, seemingly exhausted, his bubble of authority pulled back to close around him and his allies. The iron maiden technique seems to be draining a hell of a lot of Qi, but its wielder contributes as needed, and at the sight of his dead companions, doubles his focus, such that the technique creaks like rusted metal and opens wider.


    And the final member of the troupe, glimpsing Raika for the first time since the Flames blocked her field of view, unleashes her technique.


    She could survive it. Easily. She could regrow any part that goes missing, even though some of the materials used might take days.


    She could dodge. Shift her biology at the speed of perception, so that it falls off to one side or damages only non-essential systems.


    But no.


    This time, she infuses her Killing Intent into the bouquet of flesh flowers that has replaced her upper-left arm. Upper-right joins it a moment later, electricity crackling through spires of bone and Blacksteel like a lightning rod. She puts all three arms at the ¡°hilt¡± of her Blade, placing it into a guard before her.


    The plasma-infused Qi projectile moves at approximately 3,500 feet per second.


    Raika reacts just slightly faster, and swings her Blade and Dao as one.


    Flame and Lightning Detonate from her, hitting the plasma that the projectile radiates and detonating everything in a thousand-foot dome in a circle of perfect destruction. The colors of Black and Red flow around the edges of the detonation, reality itself recognizing the destruction and violence of the technique at the fringes of sight.


    When it fades, Raika has not moved.


    The front of her body has melted. Blacksteel has fused to flesh like scar tissue, eyes have evaporated, blood, even alien and hyper-saturated as hers is, drips from every seam and crack in the armor.


    But approximately three feet in front of her, the ground is intact. The line of the detonation divides from a point of impact just a bit in front of her, and Lightning and Flame flicker out from the space in that area, melding with the Plasma left over.


    So. She¡¯s not quite there yet. Still took a lot of damage from that.


    But that was better.


    And she can do more.


    She pulls back her upper arms, bringing forward Gun and Blade. A third set slowly spawns out from her shoulder blades, longer than the other four, and begin to grow fractal pieces of Blacksteel.


    Her face cracks open as a mouth forces the molten metal apart.


    ¡°You¡¯re all going to die here today.¡±

 Chapter 257 - With A Hungry Howl, It Called Down The Final Night

    To their immense credit, none of the remaining cultivators retreat. Raika can smell, past her own burning flesh and oxidized metal, their fear, right alongside their determination. She can taste the flickering of their neurons, the staccato patterns of willpower and courage flavoring their chemistry and actions.


    The cultivator with the iron maiden lands, dedicating the Qi he was using to hover to further his technique. The woman with the horrifyingly deep Qi pools has another drill of plasma forming, but this time she holds it tight to her Jian, the smell of her knuckles burning emanating as the Plasma and the trembling of her muscles infuse the technique rather than release it.


    The third one steps forward, between his group and her, and begins to weave his Qi into a shape.


    She goes to interrupt, ready to end things- and stumbles.


    Fuck. She can¡¯t move.


    Whether it¡¯s due to the amount of Qi that was in the explosion or the destruction of her armor somehow changing its nature, it refuses to CHANGE under her command, trapping her in a shell of molten, transmuted Blacksteel. The heat and impact warped it, made it into something lesser than its original form, and it''s thick and heavy enough that when she tries to move, it stutters to a halt with a screech of metal.


    Her opponents do not let the opportunity slip them by.


    Rather than unleashing his Domain again, the ¡®tank¡¯ of their group weaves his hands into signs, a chant rising from his lips to facilitate the formation of Qi he¡¯s using. She cracks her shell hard enough that some of her less-solid internals starts to leak out, starts to reform herself, but a wave of Qi washes towards her.


    The scent is the same as that of his domain- Unbearable weight under a quiet night, like feeling yourself collapse under an impossible burden in a place of quiet. The shape of it, on the other hand, forms into a series of arrays, the Qi shaped in the air into new formats and launching forward like darts made of formulae.


    All six of them impact her paralyzed form and suddenly the world bends. Rather than increasing her overall weight, it¡¯s like she¡¯s collapsing in on each point, like her hands and elbow are being forcibly pulled into the space her forearm occupies.


    There is a crashing, cataclysmic sound of wrenching metal, and her true form collapses into a crumpled wreck. Ruined Blacksteel crumples inward, and weaker flesh spurts out in every direction.


    She steps out of the blood-spray at a dead sprint.


    Jumping out of the spilled tissue like it¡¯s a portal, she charges forward, her true form rebuilt inside herself and back in action, refreshed. Still, she''s not inexhaustible. She¡¯s burned through almost half her Blacksteel reserves for this fight, and there¡¯s only so much acceptable risk before she needs to stop training and start just overwhelming them again. Wait too long, and she won¡¯t have the resources for it anymore either.


    A second wave of singularity arrays are launched at her, but this time the few that she doesn¡¯t dodge fail to penetrate her armor, its Blacksteel repaired and uncompromised. They warp her flesh at the surface a bit, but not enough to cause any real damage, and in two more steps, she¡¯ll be among them.


    And then the iron maiden renews its assault.


    She turns her bouquet of fleshy Flame-throwers at it, a wave of ignition washing forward and wiping out the chains- but they keep coming, forcing her to sustain the fire or be caught by them. The instant one of her arms is so occupied, the cultivator with the plasma techniques appears to her right, swinging a sword that has doubled in size from the blade of Plasma she''s forged around it.


    Her own Blade parries it, Radiant Metal ringing strangely on contact, but her enhanced metabolism isn¡¯t enough. She Overclocks her muscles, using the technique on something other than her brains for once, and her arm spurts a bit of blood as it launches the Plasma-sword away, swinging in at thrice its normal speed to cut her throat.


    A web of runes, formed from pure Qi and willpower, manifest around her right side and drag her away from the attack. Raika reacts, turning to face the first cultivator, feeling the heat of the Plasma-sword coming around for another cut, but he¡¯s already moving, dodging shots of her Gun that wipe out whole chunks of the terrain.


    Her Flame falters as the Qi it needs briefly sputters out, her well running dry for a moment. Instantly, the iron maiden¡¯s chains dive in at her as the Plasma-sword descends and an orb of condensed midnight-Qi is shot at her. They are synchronized, efficient, taking perfect advantage of the opening.


    She sighs.


    Fuck. Still needs improvement.


    Before the air even leaves her throat, Dink responds.


    A ringing note of music echoes, making her head ache and her blood tremble. At the literal speed of sound, the Plasma-sword flickers, the iron-maiden¡¯s chains briefly fall limp, and the projectile mass of Qi launched her way partially unravels, spinning off-target and detonating.


    Raika feels Dink¡¯s awareness fade, the Intent coming off her oldest companion growing faint. It hasn¡¯t hurt it, but none of those techniques were light, and it¡¯ll take it time to recover the energy expended. A one-time trick, and one that she shouldn¡¯t have had to use.


    What can she do better this time?


    Fight smarter. Technique and tactics, not just power- that was the whole point.


    She uses the stray detonation of the Qi projectile as cover to partially detonate her body, several plates of Blacksteel launched around the area, trailing blood behind them. The Plasma-sword flickers back to life, the dissipated aura of it burning into even Blacksteel as it arcs, and the iron maiden chains revitalize, and-


    She lets herself get caught.


    The chains grab and yank her, pulling her out of range of the sword-swing, and she¡¯s yanked towards the summoned entity / technique. For a moment, her gaze is taken up solely by an abyss, a depthless space within the Qi construct that seems to somehow make it clear, deep in her bones, that she will never escape it.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    That¡¯s fine.


    Supreme Body Art: Overclocking


    Supreme Body Art: Full Body Transmutation


    She rarely uses the latter. Transmutation is a use of her engine of CHANGE, and a sort of explosive manifestation on top of that. Her Truth, I Can Change, already allows her to transform her body almost entirely, but by adding in her reactor, she can transform whole areas of herself into inorganic materials other than just Blacksteel as well.


    It¡¯s imperfect- the chaos of her Reactor is a nightmare to control, but with absolute focus and multiple minds Overclocked, imperfect is good enough.


    The entirety of the outside of her body, with the exception of her halo of eyes and her mouth, turns to solid lead. Her weight multiplies, the chains straining against her altered form, and rather than getting yanked into its strange depths, she crashes into the ground, digging a furrow into the concrete. Through Full Body Transmutation, she forces ever-shifting CHANGE into her favor, lead turning back to flesh and tendon fast enough that the chains don¡¯t have time to readjust.


    It¡¯s enough time for her Overclocked Mind to set up a shot.


    More specifically, to set up a few dozen shots.


    Her rifle arm crackles with the Dao of Gun and Lightning and Flame, compressing colossal energies into the propulsion of a single perfect object of destruction to a target. The iron maiden trembles, the focus required to maintain it briefly diverted to trying to save its creator¡¯s life. The bullet, shaped of Blacksteel, magnetized, launched by Flame, makes the world bend, the Dao of the Gun ensuring that the bullet can¡¯t not be on course to hit, that the shot won¡¯t be anything less than lethal.


    The iron maiden technique yanks as the cultivator controlling it desperately ducks. A sheath of Plasma swings for the back of her head as she fires. A wave of reality alteration, runes and Qi shoved into a pulse of weight that attempts to drag rifle and bullet off course.


    It works, too. She can see it. A half-dozen brains process simultaneously the ways that she¡¯s being forced off-center, the angles the bullet has to curve through, the way that her comprehension isn¡¯t high enough to refute the efforts of all three techniques against her at once. She¡¯ll miss her first and strongest shot.


    Their mistake was only seeing the first of the dozen shots she set up.


    Her true form is an avatar. Like her soul in her inner world is an avatar, a representation of the idea of her. It¡¯s a tool, and not a limitation.


    1.32 seconds ago, she used the impact of a Qi projectile as cover to launch plates of her armor, blood and tissue included, across the battlefield. 1.02 seconds ago, she allowed herself to get caught and relocated through the battlefield by the iron maiden technique. 0.2 seconds ago, she drew the focus of everyone on the battlefield towards the nexus of Dao and Qi she wielded, the impossible rifle she used as bait.


    Now, her Mind finishes the calculations needed. From each ejected plate of armor, like a portal of flesh into another realm, rise more Guns.


    In theory, she could learn to imbue Dao into every attack. True comprehension should lead her to someplace close- Dao isn¡¯t a technique, it¡¯s an emulation of a pattern of reality, and it can ¡°flavor¡± nearly any technique or cultivation style once properly understood. She doesn¡¯t have that yet, not by a long shot- her comprehension is stolen, consumed rather than home-grown.


    Blacksteel is still lethal by its nature. Guns are lethal by their nature. And one Dao is plenty, at least when it comes to shooting people in the back of the head.


    Killing Intent forces all of reality to bend towards lethality, towards murder as a foregone conclusion, as each of the dozen pieces of herself connected by blood bloom with rifles, shotguns and improvised pistols.


    Her crown of eyes allows her a three-hundred and sixty degree view of three different cultivators splattering messily to the ground.


    The iron maiden technique bursts open, the complex weave that made it such a threat falling into wisps of shadow, steel and imprisonment, if that¡¯s a scent. The Dao of Plasma blade collapses, carving a hundred molten-red furrows into the ground in splashes of sunfire. The night and dream and weight of the Domain and array wielder fall to nothing.


    She feels the rhythm of their hearts die against her skin. There¡¯s a flicker there, their Qi leaking out, ready to create an echo like one of the things that Jin sees. Their Souls, nascent and half-formed though they may be, can still be felt, dying like fish without water now that their hosts / creators have perished.


    ¡­


    Her golden band keeps her from growing indefinitely, or to a certain size. It doesn¡¯t keep her from picking and choosing what she decides to grow. Raika has a lot of empty valleys at the moment, space that she isn¡¯t using for anything but a playground for her Heart.


    She can probably fit just a few more Souls in there.


    With assistance from her Heart, she feels a large portion of her inner world, close to a good fifteen percent of it, vanish into Qi. She rediverts it into her Qi circuits, straining the natural formations made of veins close to bursting, and redirects that into rebuilding her stock of Blacksteel, rebuilding the pieces she burned through in the fight. She can feel her Body struggling to cope with the sudden influx of energy, the mass converting to a lot of Qi as it leaves her inner world, but she can handle it.


    There¡¯s almost certainly a better way to do this. She can practically feel the wasted material, the way that the conversion loses out on a lot of the concepts being cultivated by her Heart, but for now, she just needs room.


    The disparate parts of her armor, still blooming with biological guns of Blacksteel, chitin and tendons, grow additional veins and tendons, reconnecting into a net. With a force of will, she draws the pieces in, dragging the dead and bullet-ridden bodies of the cultivators all around with them.


    There¡¯s a moment of messy communion. Flesh on flesh, biology living and not-quite-all-the-way-dead fusing together like a slurry of meat, wrapped in black scales and armor.


    And then there is just Raika, standing in a ruined courtyard. Seven feet of obsidian bioweapon, six-armed and glowing with power, digesting her newest acquisitions.


    There¡¯s a smell. The arrays all around the space ripple, still intact despite the damage, and now there are more alerts. Whatever the array wielder was doing to deactivate the alarms seems to have died with him, or, more likely, the loss of personnel out in the courtyard brought on yet another reaction.


    She turns her face to look towards the building at the center of the base. All three stories felt empty to her senses, blank, the eight people she¡¯s killed so far making up the majority of the leftover scents, but now there¡¯s another one, intruding in on the whole.


    There¡¯s no scent markers on the barracks. None in the armory, nothing that matches it in what looks like a kitchen-space.


    She looks up at the top floor, the one marked with that oh-so-familiar shade of green.


    A door has opened. One that she couldn¡¯t see before, or maybe just didn¡¯t notice in all the chaos.


    No. Its new. Like it just appeared to her senses, a puff of Imperial array-smell unmaking runes around its perimeter that she can only now identify with her synesthesia, their glow fading through the stone walls as their scent dissipates.


    Someone steps out from behind it.


    She smells of pitch-black sandalwood. Of A forest so deep that you can¡¯t not get lost in it, and the certainty that in being lost, something in the dark will find you.


    She smells deeper. More intense. Like those she¡¯s been fighting have been lakes, and this is a sea.


    Raika feels herself smiling, vicious and cold and hungry, as her Killing Intent is sharpened into something so potent it makes the dust shiver, the cracks and gouges in the concrete lengthen and spiral out.


    The front side of the building detonates as a Warrior-realm cultivator treads on the world, a hundred-thousand roots and black trunks bloom from the ruin she creates.


    A woman wearing the jade and dark green of the Feng family steps out of her cultivation chamber and strides out against the enemy that has killed its way through her base.


    A woman wearing a Body of death and ever-life and CHANGE turns to face her, flush with an infusion of power, digesting the Souls of the dead into weapons and worlds.


    There are no words required.


    Killing Intent fills the dome of the base so hard and so fast that everything in it begins to break, and both monsters launch themselves at each other beneath the light of glowing moons and a Cold Sun.

 Chapter 258 - And Then There Were Monsters

    Feng Chun is proud of both of her names.


    One is obvious, self-evident, even. The Feng clan is one of the great noble houses of the Empire, and the very form of their name has been and will be a thousand different statements on power and majesty. In older times, it once meant ¡°abundant¡±, or ¡°wind¡±, but it has expanded as their power rose, as her ancestors proved themselves greater than all their would-be equals. The Feng name can be ¡°conferred land and rank by the Emperor¡±, or ¡°phoenix¡± (whatever that is), but always her family has held one meaning above all others.


    Feng means ¡®plants growing up to their utmost heights¡¯. The shape of their Souls, the method of their power, has always been that of deep roots climbing towards the sun, above all others.


    And her personal name, Chun, matches the hopes that have been placed on the sapling she once was. Chun means ¡°spring¡±, and to name a child such is to say that the child will bring forth growth and good tidings.


    She grew. She became strong. She proved her parents proud.


    And then the wall.


    A bottleneck. Not in her power, for what could possibly eclipse the growth of so mighty a forest as hers? No, she reached the Warrior realm at her expected age, meeting the standards of her noble line. In her soul, she knows for a fact that her family, with all its vastness and all its glory, will support her into the Emperor realm, a realm she knows she can achieve as one of the few allowed every millenia, and all she must do for the privilege is to continue to prove herself.


    But then, the bottleneck.


    Most cultivators that believe themselves talented wither away in the Nascent Soul realm, never completing their avatar, never becoming more than impressive mortals. She surpassed them without difficulty, and will continue to do so forever and ever.


    But how does one prove themselves in a family that has everything? Already in service to an Empire above all?


    One must go beyond. One must further the pursuits of power, lest they become stepping stones for it.


    The Wall is for soldiers and fodder, and she is neither. Feng Chun has no desire to waste herself aiming for the position of General, for a position at one of the four great Bastions, the only place anywhere near worthy of her.


    So when her mother told her of the Patriarch¡¯s desire to expand their family¡¯s power, the opportunity to gain greater power to compete against the other great families and earn the Emperor¡¯s favor? Feng Chun leapt at the chance.


    And then, the nightmare began.


    The fourth ring is a wasteland. Full of primitive savages, opposed to the enlightenment and growth the Empire brings with it, content to wallow in a chaotic hellscape of factions and mutation. The cultures are stunted, and the only prey she is ever allowed to hunt are weaklings who can neither bring down the attention of the greater terrors of this place nor advance her cultivation.


    So, she does as any good leader should. She delegates, and sequesters herself for secluded cultivation. Even with her family¡¯s arrays, it might still take her decades to advance, but for all that the fourth ring is a waste of space, the richness of its Qi is¡­ somewhat desirable.


    And then the alarms went off. After she explicitly told her lessers, those under her command, to not interrupt on penalty of subordination, on penalty of a court martial and her personal hand around their throats.


    And then she saw the thing. The monster. The beast of ruin, harbinger of the downfall of all her accomplishments. Her lessers put up a fight, that much is clear from two of the bodies splattered on the floor, but the other three that should have been here are nowhere to be seen. Cowards. She swears to herself that their families will have one of their generations wiped out. One at least.


    But then she has to focus.


    The fourth ring is a palace of waste, a ruin of potential. It is worth only what can be taken from it out of the hands of the undeserving and the vile.


    But there are monsters here. Grown fat on the chaos and the violence.


    The monster, its face made into a parody of a saint or statue, crowned with gelatinous eyes, smiles at her.


    Feng Chun feels the abyssal rage that can only come from disrespect. That can only come from something not acknowledging what she is, what she is owed.


    This thing has come to hold her back.


    She sharpens her Killing Intent. Just as all Aspirants of the Cut learn, she too knows how to force her will unto the world, how to push reality to experience her desire for murder. It is the truest language, and as is only fitting of a language of power, it has only one word.


    She manifests her Domain, a [Forest of Perfect Dark And Hunting Things]. She summons up her comprehension, the Dao of Control and Dao of the Hunt reshaping reality to her understanding of their patterns. She calls forth bottomless Qi, feeling her Soul writhing and matching her outrage, a long spear falling out of a spatial ring and beginning to glow with the light of growth and the shadow of death.


    And then she launches herself at the thing.


    ¡ª----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    No time for training.


    All out.


    She goes from six minds to double that. From Overclocking one system to multiple. She starts burning up, her blood evaporating and needing to be vented, her organs suffering from the amount of energy she¡¯s using, but she can heal it later, it doesn¡¯t matter now. Dao, bladed weapons, and Guns all bloom from her, six limbs moving as one in sequence, armor rippling defensively.


    And then she clashes against the Feng, and the whole fort shakes.


    She can taste Dao in the air, and even as Killing Intent reshapes the world, and as the Feng pushes her back, every mote of dust, every bit of air and wind follows the motion. The world falls into order, following a pattern of Control, and everything orderly feeds itself into the ongoing manifestation.


    What was once concrete flooring is now dense root structures as Raika lands, thrown to the ground. Trees are blooming out of trees, out of space itself, turning their surroundings into a pitch-black forest of evergreen trees.


    And then the scent of Dao shifts, and a new pattern emerges.


    The Feng rips off one of her arms as she dashes by.


    Not Control. That¡¯s busy enforcing the Domain, shaping the ground and air itself to fight against Raika. This is something else, a different pattern she¡¯s using in conjunction with the forest-


    A second limb is removed.


    This time, Raika was ready. As the limb is torn off, the pockets of Qi in it spark against Blacksteel and detonate. It elicits a grunt out of the Feng, briefly illuminates some of the trees, but the Qi is dense enough, the Dao of Control refined enough, that the True Flame is quickly smothered.


    Hmm.


    Her enemy comes for the head, a direct ambush like a predator catching up to fleeing prey, and Raika doesn¡¯t stop her.


    Her head is torn off, thrown away in preparation for another explosion- instead, she regrows a body from it, landing amongst the trees as her old body detonates, the Radiant Metal and Blacksteel making it into a shrapnel bomb that stabs True Flame and Dao into a thousand trees. The world shudders as the pitch-dark forest is lit up by a violent sunrise, and she hears a grunt of exertion from somewhere above her.


    No time to hesitate. No time to worry about the cost. Her enemy is here, and death eagerly awaits one of the two of them.


    Get rid of everything holding her back. Don¡¯t worry about efficiency. Don¡¯t worry about appearances. Don¡¯t think about what might be.


    Raika forgets tomorrow. Forgets the price of her abilities, her stock of resources, the worries about failure. There is only power, and the pursuit of the corpse that dares to keep breathing before her.


    A dozen minds, each one near-boiling with the speed of their processing, divides into clusters.


    Raika multiplies.


    One Body becomes three bodies, each taking a set of limbs and adding new ones. One of the clusters of brains expands quickly, removing the Blacksteel armor to use it as bullets instead, extending itself out along a sinuous spine. In seconds, something like a snake and a centipede is flying through the Domain, dodging predatory limbs and strange shadows, a hundred Guns and the Dao of Lightning thundering from its body and many legs.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The second body begins to glow, the edges of it turning into a translucent sheen as it takes all their mutual comprehension of the Dao of the Blade and spawns a dozen threshing arms, each limb and joint becoming edged. It sprints forward, True Flame flickering on its blades and tearing apart every tree it comes across, daring what Hunts them to try to take a bite.


    The third body, what was once the original whole, keeps the majority of the brains, forcing them into further overdrive. As they begin to melt from the heat, she opens her Reactor, Supreme Body Art: Specialized Enhancement using CHANGE and raw Qi to transmute liquified grey matter into reinforced neurons and fresh tissue. She begins to glow, the Dao of Flame and CHANGE warping reality itself.


    She is not bound to one flesh. She is not bound to one form.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine.


    Always, she is her.


    Three bodies move in perfect synchronicity, burning the Domain around them. Her radiant form, almost entirely glowing with the Dao of Flame and the iridescent aura of CHANGE, sticks close to the Gun-snake, both Daos feeding into each other and destroying their surroundings. The dozen limbs of the Blade body rip and tear through reality, cutting into trees left and right, and between all three of them, the Domain quickly weakens, more and more of the darkness pushed away by destructive light.


    The head of the Gun-snake body is torn off in another bite from the Feng, the Dao of the Hunt trying to turn them to prey. One of her Blade-limbs is torn off, dissolved until its edge is unmade by hungry roots and shadows.


    For a moment, it¡¯s almost like a stalemate. A battle of attrition.


    Then the dark begins to move.


    A Warrior Soul manifests into the Domain of the Feng.


    Like in Cragend with Feng Gao, it manifests as part of the forest. Its shape is defined by the rustling of leaves and branches more than any definite form.


    This Soul, however, is dark. The depths of it are darker than shadow, black as pitch and deeper than night.


    [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS] appears as if it was always there, and Raika¡¯s light begins to dim.


    The strength of a Warrior realm master presses down on her.


    She is Hunted. She is Controlled. There is [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS], and where it reaches, pieces of her die and are unmade. There is a Feng out in the dark, and every few seconds, her spear flashes with Qi and bloodlust and takes away another chunk.


    It is an overwhelming display of force, like the entire world has become a place designed to kill her. The Warrior Soul is so far beyond the Nascent Souls she¡¯s faced, not something halfway-birthed; it has shape, depth, and there is so much of it hidden from her sight. Each body, disconnected from each other, feels feedback constantly from their senses as every shadow becomes part of [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS], and the damage to the Domain begins to regenerate. Its wielder has a dizzying amount of Qi, and so far, Raika has failed to land a touch on her.


    But one thing stands out.


    Her Killing Intent is weak.


    It¡¯s weak.


    Raika almost messes up her own Killing Intent with the joy of the revelation.


    The privileged little bitch is weak. Her Killing Intent is like that of a petulant child, all arrogance and wounded pride. Its strength is born of the fact that she truly does believe that it is both right and inevitable for Raika to be killed by her here, and that is nothing.


    Even a touch of that Intent is still enough to reshape the world, to add lethality to everything it touches, but Raika understands one thing clearly now- she can win. There is at least one way in which she¡¯s better than this thing.


    All three of her come to the same conclusion.


    They need a distraction.


    ¡ª------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    The ¡°core¡± of her, the spatially-altered lump of meat from which she hides her deeper organs and creates new material, is in her radiant body, riding atop the Gun-snake and aiding her in its protection. There¡¯s a benefit to the division, but ultimately, only one body can hold that core part, so only one body has access to their resources. The Gun-snake is missing chunks, the cannons along its spine melting under constant fire and being torn away by the Warrior Soul they face. The Blade-wielder, by way of being the furthest out, has the least resources to work with, even as she carves apart the world and takes a chunk out of the Warrior Soul with every piece it takes of her.


    Right now, all three of her bodies are struggling to hold their own, even going all out- but it¡¯s not enough.


    She doesn¡¯t need to survive. She doesn¡¯t need to win. She needs to kill this person dead.


    Her Killing Intent is like a wave of razor-blades against the world, and all three of them realize at once what they need to do.


    [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS] rips into the Gun-snake body, tearing that Raika in half and turning the pieces pulled away into food for the roots. The ringing of gunfire and electrically-charged bullets begins to fade, gradually getting overpowered even as Raika exudes Flame and radiance as far as she can. A gap of even the time it would take to bring out other tools might lead to both of them getting dragged beneath the roots or into the shadows; Raika wonders if she¡¯s still remembering to breathe.


    And then, it can wait no longer.


    Raika looks out through the trees at the glowing sun that is her. At the serpentine biomech that she has become that tears through the world. At her own halo of arms and swords and spears, cutting through the world.


    She doesn¡¯t want to die.


    But all three of her have made their choices. Now for the consequence.


    Now for the killing of a Feng.


    Supreme Body Art: Pressurized Indigo.


    She doesn¡¯t bother to contain it, doesn¡¯t use pressurized valves to limit the bloodloss. Her seven remaining arms open in slits, and jets of dark purple blood, filled with shards of bone and Blacksteel, cut across the world.


    Except that the brains chosen for her to split apart from her other selves weren¡¯t random. They were the brains focused on comprehension, aided by brand new minds to support their control of the body.


    Raika doesn¡¯t use a Blade, but she does [CUT].


    The Dao behind the Dao of the Blade rings out into the world as Raika burns her life force, every drop of awareness she has and a Killing Intent worth dying for into a single act of DIVISION.


    There is a scream made out of shadows and the breaking of tree trunks. There is a shriek of all-too-human agony.


    The Domain is torn open and made into so much wasted Qi.


    ¡ª----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    In an instant, the sharp edges of Killing Intent become something more. There is a moment where the color indigo glints out in the dark, where one-third of her finds itself in a moment of destructive oblivion. An unknowable and nearly nonexistent amount of time later, the world is DIVIDED by translucent lines, and the alien trees of the Feng¡¯s Domain begin to fall apart.


    As they do, the light of the moons slips through them, and Raika¡¯s own light begins to drown out the shadows.


    Raika is dead.


    Long live Raika.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine.


    I Can Change.


    We Are What We Eat.


    No words are needed. What was once three, and is now two, becomes one again.


    Supreme Body Art: Gigant.


    [IGNITION].


    [INFUSION].


    Ignition is the name she gave the experiment that created her reactor. True Flame and Blacksteel, life and death, consumption and transformation all igniting into CHANGE.


    Infusion is the name she gave her efforts to imbue that energy directly into a weapon.


    In the collapse of a [Forest of Perfect Dark And Hunting Things], Raika rises up higher than she has ever stood.


    Fifty feet of height. Three separate tails, each of them like serpentine-centipedes with Guns for legs, aiming in every direction at once. Six arms, each of them wielding a weapon: a spear of Lightning, a whip of mouths and Flame, a Blade of glowing DIVISION, a Gun of massive, spinning barrels blossoming like a bouquet, and two hands, clawed and glowing with the radiation of CHANGE.


    She sees the Feng. The Feng sees her.


    In a burst of Qi and the adrenal stink of fear, the Domain rises back up. The Warrior Soul within it tries to strike at her, strong enough to pull her apart if it gets close- and with tendrils of Gunbarrels, Flame and CHANGE, it cannot approach.


    She is not part of the forest, and there is no darkness in these woods. There is only the radiation of transformation.


    Her face is not covered by statuesque hands this time. Her crown of eyes sits between horns of Radiant Metal, flowing down into a face both beautiful and deeply inhuman. The angles are all wrong, and there are four jaws, and it is half-mask and half monster and half saint empty sockets full of crawling talons.


    She feels the Feng gathering her strength. It takes energy to hold back the forest and the thing in it, and she can feel the Reactor in her Heart beginning to dim, the Qi-batteries in her veins begin to run dry- but she is here. She is whole.


    For a moment, she feels a shifting landscape of evolving creatures and starlit rain press against her skin from the inside. For a moment, she understands that she is about to die. She understands that she could be more.


    The spear that the Feng was using rings out with a Truth, as the Dao of Control and the Hunt are forced into chaos, as the Warrior-realm techniques of Domain and Soul are negated temporarily.


    I Will Take What Is Mine, whispers the spear. Screams its wielder, hatred and an anger born of pride and fear dancing across her neurons.


    As her brains continue to melt, one of them mentions that she has three seconds before her current form collapses.


    In the first second, the world is remade in Gunfire and bullet impact. The Domain and the base beyond it are turned to ruin in the face of the might of the Gun and the Flame which stands behind it.


    In the second second, Lightning and Flame, colored by CHANGE, turn all that they touch into molten slag from which impossible life begins to grow and mutate. It takes all the Feng has to endure it, cutting off her own arm as it begins to turn crystalline, then magma-hot, then into color and sound and thorns.


    In between the second and third beats, the Feng actually steps forward. Her Truth rings out, and a complex weave of Qi flows through her. The forest of her Domain collapses into a point, Dao, Truth and cultivation all coming to a single point of perfect darkness of a wood you will die in, and she moves to throw it at Raika.


    The radiation begins to fade. Her bones start to quake under their own weight. Her Mind is on fire. Any moment, the Feng¡¯s seemingly endless depth of Qi will allow the Domain to return and tear her apart.


    In the third and final second, Raika swings a Blade through her [INFUSION], and a riot of impossible color turns the world to oblivion.


    As her brains collapse, her organ systems malfunction, and she loses control of her Gigant technique, Raika feels the world CHANGE, and a final burst of Intent makes sure that it unmakes a tiny shadow of dark green.


    And then- oblivion.

 Chapter 259 - Scavengers In The Ruins

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    Feng Chun is afraid.


    Pride has defined her. Pride has elevated her. Pride, and the privilege which spawned it, has made her into the impossible, victorious Warrior she is today.


    Feng Chun crawls like a maggot on the ground as she bleeds.


    Life-saving defensive artifacts are for failure. They¡¯re for death and ruin, and no Feng family member should ever allow any of these things to exist. The pendant of jade and crystal-grown gold lies shattered now, turned to sand and debris beneath her robes.


    Even still, she has to crawl.


    The monster¡­ it should not have been. Any beast can master Dao, can understand and feel the patterns of things, but that creature¡­ it Cut her like an Aspirant. Cut into a deeper thing, behind the pattern, behind the Dao, from which the Dao comes from. It tore apart her Domain, and her forest has always been one of her strongest techniques. No sword should have been able to cut that. Her own Dao should have stopped it, should have made even a Blade into part of the Hunt, kept the situation under her Control.


    And then that second thing. That radiance. Beyond fire, beyond life and death. It had spoken to something foundational, something as deep as the DIVISION she has only seen in those at or beyond the level of Aspirants.


    It should not be.


    And yet, whatever technique that the monster used, it forced a gift from her family to be broken. Even with that protection, which should have been able to save her from all but a Daemon of the seventh circle or above, it still damaged her severely. Besides the arm she had to rip off, she can feel her intestines crawling with crystalling maggots, feel something like bird-beaks made out of chalk and sunlight digging from her collarbone out to air, feel her legs turned from meat into soap and wax and leaves. She is unmade.


    She crawls desperately towards the barracks.


    There are medicinal pills there. Arrays, for emergency contact. Defensive measures and enchantments. She might lock herself in the armory, perhaps, find a prosthetic limb she might forcibly attach so she can protect herself or just crawl faster.


    The defensive artifact broke. Her family is coming for her. They¡¯ll come for her. They¡¯ll¡­


    She does not let the word enter her mind. She will not be saved. She is Feng Chun, Warrior realm cultivator of one of the Empire¡¯s great houses, and she is too proud to be saved.


    But the thought circles like a hungry dog, ready to bite into her the moment she loses focus. Ready to make her into meat for the logical fallacy that is her current state.


    It doesn¡¯t matter. Deviated cultivation, damage to Truth and Soul, none of it matters. She has to live. She has to crawl. She has to find a way to reach safety. She has to make it.


    Something steps in front of her.


    It looks like a paw, but the claws are so very, very long. So very, very wide. Like daggers of black metal.


    Her one remaining eye turns to look up. Her neck cracks, skin turned to clay, muscles half-slurry, as she tilts her face up towards it.


    A single cyclopean eye stares down at her. Like a sky made out of gelatin, a perfect white ooze with a pupil ten times the size of a human head swimming in it. Behind it, at its edges, she can see a mane, like a lion, but made of wriggling tendrils, blood red and sharp as knives.


    The eyeball makes a sort of wet popping noise, as if trying to say something. There is something almost like Killing Intent in the action, something familiar but fundamentally wrong. It promises violence with every movement, but not so much that the rampant CHANGE killing her is pushed to its conclusion.


    Another gelatin-pop, like an eyeblink without blinking. The beast tilts its head like a cat, staring down at her. Her Qi senses are almost gone, but even still, she can feel this thing.


    A Divine Beast. A lesser one, maybe, but a Divine Beast. Worthy of facing a Warrior realm master at their best,  or more than one.


    She almost whimpers. She forces it deep into her throat, choking it down.


    Feng Chun is afraid.


    The cat raises a single paw, a Dao of sharpness glowing in it-


    ¡°No.¡±


    The voice isn¡¯t human. It¡¯s beyond guttural, like a meat grinder trying to make words, but there is something lyrical to it. It is beauty and horror at once, and it whispers against the same part of her that seems to be about to break, scraping against her Truth.


    She turns her face, feeling part of her throat sloughing off in the action.


    The monster is there.


    It looks like a corpse. Like a dead body, left to be eaten by scavengers. It only pretends to be human, missing pieces, standing on legs that are more bone and tendon than flesh. It looks like it¡¯s been burned alive, like parts of it have sloughed off like wax, and its body has some of the same strange features Feng Chun¡¯s has, impossible combinations of random materials decorating gaping wounds.


    Half its head is missing. Part of its brain matter is exposed, and its sternum gapes obscenely, dripping wet viscera onto the ground as it walks.


    But it walks.


    And deep behind that viscera, Feng Chun catches a glimpse of radiance, pulsing veins of CHANGE through the abomination.


    It opens its mouth, the teeth that remain razor-sharp and jagged.


    ¡°She¡¯s mine.¡±


    The not-lion thing looks at the monster. Down at Feng Chun. Back up to the monster.


    Again, the gelatin of its eyes does something like a movement. A blink without an eyelid.


    It lowers its paw and steps back, all six legs cushioning it as it lays down.


    The monster comes closer.


    Feng Shun begins to crawl again, and this time she can¡¯t hold in the sound of her fear. She sobs, the sound wet and strained through a body that is more a diagram of elements than a functioning organism. She crawls. She drags herself forward on her one remaining arm, leaving her hand behind as it crumbles into something like mud mixed with blood.


    She is Feng Shun. She is the pride of her branch family. She is part of the great and supreme Feng clan, greatest of the great families, servants of the Emperor itself. She will become an Emperor one day. She will prove her value to the family and Take What Is Hers, and-


    The sound of bone and jagged material marks another step closer. And then another.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    She sobs again. Her remaining eye can¡¯t cry anymore, but it tries anyways, blood leaking onto her face. She tries to crawl faster, feeling her joints breaking, the different materials she has been CHANGED into pulling apart with the friction.


    She just has to make it to the barracks. She just has to make it. Please. Please. She just has to make it there.


    She can¡¯t die here. She can¡¯t die here. She can¡¯t die here.


    The monster gets closer.


    Please.


    She is Feng Chun.


    She is-


    She¡¯s-


    She¡¯s so afraid.


    A hand made of bone and molten flesh grabs the back of her head, and holds it still as the monster crawls atop her and begins to eat.


    Her lungs don¡¯t work well enough to scream anymore.


    She is Feng Chun. She is Feng Ch¡­


    She is Fen¡­


    She is¡­


    Afraid.


    Hurts.


    Afraid.


    And then she¡¯s gone.


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Raika wakes up to the sound of herself chewing.


    She existed before that point. She¡¯s fairly certain she was making decisions, even. She remembers walking like she was in a dream, a strange haze of not-quite-thoughts rolling through a skull that she¡¯s fairly certain is currently half-empty.


    She swallows down something that tastes like fear and candied flesh, and only when part of it nearly slips out the side of her neck does she realize how bad it is.


    She tries to form an eyeball to look around, but finds that for the first time in¡­ maybe years? She has no Qi with which to do it.


    Her body is empty.


    She has to turn her head away from her meal to look behind herself, and its then that she sees where most of her has gone.


    There is a hill made out of flesh behind her.


    With Supreme Body Art: Gigant failing, her internal architecture collapsed. Spatial alteration is fine and good, and she¡¯s not entirely sure how her Heart caused it in the first place or how it affects her weight (by rights she should crush anything but solid steel she stands on), but there¡¯s limits. The internal weight of that much meat, that many organs and bones all together, is more than enough to turn a human body to jelly.


    Her flesh is different, that¡¯s true. The Qi saturation of her biology makes it so her body has properties far in excess of what a normal non-cultivator should have, but there¡¯s limits. Without her brains maintaining the architecture of the Gigant technique, it fell apart.


    There is a furrow of flesh vaguely in the shape of a humanoid. A trail of ruined biology, ripped free and dripped onto the floor, leads to her current form.


    She has no Qi. She can only distantly feel her Heart, still moving, but it¡¯s a far-ff feeling, like she can¡¯t quite tell where to find it. Her inner world feels distant and quiet, and the impression she gets is one of lethargy, like its been drained.


    It has. Of course it has. She drained every drop she could pull from her Reactor, and her entire body, all the dozens of vein-formations she used to farm Qi, are either missing or drained to nothing at all.


    Slowly, she starts some of them working again.


    As she waits for the Qi to generate, she continues to eat.


    Her meal stopped struggling a while ago. She bites, and her stomach, even as she feels it leaking from gouges somewhere, fills with the taste of Qi-rich flesh.


    It tastes like mana. Like ambrosia from the Heavens.


    She bites, and she can taste tree bark. Hungry roots, thick and full of starches, dense and nutritious. She chews, and there is the flavor of leaves, fresh and bright, dark and herbal, like a salad made of juicy tea leaves. She swallows, and it goes down like a drink of vibrant sap, syrupy and rich. All throughout it, like a spice or an infusion, she can taste the shadow, a sort of vinegar and dark sugar marinade.


    Her meal wriggles a bit. Reminds her to keep eating.


    She tears off another morsel, chews it and swallows. Then another.


    There¡¯s a joint in the way. The meat is part glass here, part porcelain, but it is meat, and all of it is infused with Qi. She pulls and tears, and for a moment the meal almost struggles again- and then the joint pops off, and the top part of it comes off.


    The flavor is different here. It cracks under her teeth, and she can taste hints of pride, like sour caramel. Notes of fear, like bitter citrus, made salty from adrenal panic, meld with the molasses-sweetness of dread, with a near-alcoholic tang of despair.


    She keeps eating.


    Only when she¡¯s done, only when all that¡¯s left is blood on the ground, does she look up.


    By this point, her Qi generators have managed to kick up the smallest bit of energy. She repairs the rents in her organs, regrows a layer of skin. There¡¯s no extra tissue she can use, not now. She managed to re-fuse with her split selves before, but both of them were alive then, flush with Qi. Now, the nerves are¡­ dead.


    Right? Probably?


    Something to look into. Later. When she has a chance to figure out what ¡°dead¡± means in the context of her neurology and how her Body works.


    For now¡­ she turns back to the creature before her.


    Dancer-Between-Layers looks down at her, and while it has no mouth or tongue to speak of, it gives her the impression of a happy, panting cat, lounging in the sun.


    Little Sister = Scary, it says, its Intent full of a mixture of joy, affection, and loving wariness.


    She holds onto that last one in particular. If the Divine Beast tried to kill her here¡­ there¡¯s not much she can do to stop it. She¡¯s got one brain to her name, and it¡¯s still re-growing, firming itself up. It might be hours, might be days before she has her previous resources.


    ¡°I do my best,¡± she says, not trusting herself to properly use her Intent to speak. Despite everything, Truespeak, whatever it is, still comes to her easily. Just as her blood is thicker and richer than it should be, just as her stomach can digest Qi and fit way more than it should, her voice ripples with a deeper weight.


    It has disadvantages, though. Every promise she¡¯s made with it has felt¡­ binding, powerful in a way they otherwise wouldn¡¯t be, and she can¡¯t lie while using it. Or maybe she could¡­ but it feels like she really, really shouldn¡¯t.


    Do Well, the Dancer says. Eat Good. Much Bite. Many Chew.


    ¡°...Yes?¡±


    Yes.


    ¡°...what do you want, Dancer?¡±


    The Dancer once again uses its Intent and body language to imply something like a cat, panting, or a dog smiling with a loopy grin. Was Hungry. Was Curious. Now = Satisfied.


    ¡°Too much to expect for you to be worried about me, is it?¡±


    She regrets it as soon as she says it. The voice, her Truespeak ringing, almost seems to pull against the Divine Beast, like it demands an answer to the question.


    But before she can take it back, before she even worries about if she¡¯s offered offense, the beast answers.


    No.


    She is silent for a moment.


    Then, she bows, down at the waist.


    ¡°I am grateful for our relationship, then.¡±


    This, of course, seems to inordinately please the beast, as it wiggles its flanks. The lidless eye of its face squirms pleasantly.


    Happy For Sister. Survival = Optimal.


    She huffs out a laugh. She¡¯s exhausted. It¡¯ll take her hours to get back to the others, and that¡¯s if she can figure out a way to reconnect to severed ¡®dead¡¯ tissue before she travels. The feat she used to get here, using her Dao of the Gun to shoot herself across the world, is most certainly not an option for now.


    But it¡¯s done. The base is dead, and she has time now to make it back to them.


    And then she blinks, and realizes there is something there.


    Like it was standing in front of her all along, but her mind simply slid right past it. Something like Hao Nera¡¯s amnestic technique, or the way that the Fisher hid its Intent, maybe.


    It¡¯s a bit shorter than her at around two meters. It too stands like a humanoid, but its arms are too long, its entire body too slender for it. It is coated in white fur, and long, slender ears extend back from its head, which is small, but made to appear even smaller by the size of the eyes on it.


    In the time it takes her mind to catch up with the thing in front of her existing, she has already stepped back and prepared to swing, only one arm intact enough to do so.


    And then her mind catches up to the other things she couldn¡¯t notice before.


    Behind her and to her right, her mundane senses (no secondary minds to create synesthesia with) speak to her of something tall, more than twice her height. It stands on four legs, but it has the upper body of a human. Each of its four legs ends in a hand, each finger ending in a hoof, and its main body is blue-green, like the color of a sea. Long, winding hair protects something like its modesty, and it stares at her with an eyeless face.


    A third newcomer, off to one side. She hears a tearing sound, a bird that reminds her of some sort of ostrich mixed with a chicken and a peacock, its feathers dripping quicksilver-mercury, digging into the hill of meat that was once her. Sitting at its feet, relaxing atop a chitin-plate like it¡¯s a chair, is a man wearing a complex weave of vines and a carefully embroidered shawl, his eyes a dark orange and his hair tuned to match.


    She stops herself from looking from one to the next. Keeps herself from stepping back, from showing any sign of weakness.


    The lapin-lupine-feline thing in front of her turns one of its eyes to face the Dancer-Between-Layers. For a moment, waves of Intent and nonverbal communication bounce between them, faster and more intricately than Raika can track right now.


    It turns back to her.


    Why Do This? It asks.


    She¡¯s surrounded, on all sides.


    To her senses, not one of these things seems weaker than the Dancer.


    She looks down at the bloodstain that was once a Warrior realm cultivator and a piece of the Empire¡¯s rot.


    She flicks her eyes to the rubble she has turned this fully-fortified forward base into.


    She looks back at the humanoid spirit beast before her, its Qi powerful enough that she can taste the corpses beneath fields made for running in.


    ¡°Because I chose to.¡±


    A long, drawn out silence.


    And then, she hears the eyeless centaur give a chuckle.


    Dancer smiles with its eye, sending out its Intent to the others.


    Told You You Would Like Her.

 Chapter 260 - There Are All SORTS Of Fucked Up Shit In These Woods

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    Li Shu turns, looking to Many-Grasping as the beastkin woman snaps upright, looking out from the cave they¡¯re in. Raika did a fine job in building and fortifying the place, and in the hours she¡¯s been gone, she¡¯s done her best to secure it further. It¡¯s not much, but she¡¯s set some arrays around the space, simple runes for alarm and to manifest small shields around the cave entrance. Enough to discourage stray animals and forewarn them of something incoming, but she¡¯s still working on refining the formulas for runes to properly hide them.


    She¡¯s currently in the middle of carving in fresh formulae to keep Qi-flows smooth, calm any ripples they might cause with their presence, but it¡¯s delicate work. She¡¯s only got half an array complete when Many-Grasping startles.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± she asks with a whisper.


    Many-Grasping turns to her, and does¡­ it¡¯s that not-language that Raika seems to have figured out, but Li Shu hasn¡¯t had the chance to study it yet.


    ¡°Say again?¡± she asks, holding her focus on her Sacrifice.


    Through the keratin, she feels Many-Grasping¡¯s heartbeat, breathing rate, bloodflow. It¡¯s not perfect, but she tracks a little bit more, and before Many-Grasping gets exasperated and starts to point, Li Shu figures it out.


    ¡°Enemies? Coming in fast, right? Same direction as Raika?¡±


    Many-Grasping blinks, then nods. She makes a sort of chuffing noise, and a series of hand gestures, but once again, Li Shu has to rely on her Sacrifice to figure out what she¡¯s saying.


    ¡°Maybe enemies. Risks. You step back, ok? Go to the back of the cave, keep an eye on Jin, keep him safe.¡±


    Many-Grasping hesitates. Another set of hand-gestures, another moment of interpretation through bio-scanning.


    ¡°...I¡¯ll be fine. I can handle the arrays, remember? And I¡¯m Core Formation realm, you¡¯re Qi-Gathering. Better me than you two.¡±


    Still a moment of hesitation. Many-Grasping looks like she wants to fight, like she¡¯s willing to struggle either way. She was told, by Raika, to help them, in that weird language without words, and while Li Shu doesn¡¯t know the details of what went through that communication, she can feel how seriously Many-Grasping is taking this.


    She reaches a hand towards Many-Grasping, a sign of peace.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got a kid and someone incapacitated in there. I can manage the arrays to keep us hidden, and I¡¯m strong enough to put up a fight. Raika wouldn¡¯t hold it against you to do what you can, rather than getting yourself killed.¡±


    Many-Grasping isn¡¯t very vocal, even without a shared language. Still, she gives a little grunt, quiet and breathy¡­ and then reluctantly pulls back, keeping her eyes on the entrance as she retreats.


    Li Shu, meanwhile, splits her focus. It¡¯s not easy, and certainly not the multi-thought that Raika can maintain, but just like cultivation can create a trance-state that makes it easier to visualize, so does her Sacrifice. When she focuses on it, it¡¯s like her attention slowly gets diffuse, spread across each of the keratin constructs and the quasi-core that¡¯s forming from one of them.


    She¡¯s not sure it¡¯s supposed to do that. But then, she knows for a fact that her Truth interacted strangely with her use of the Craft. While all Craft users apparently keep one Truth, she added a few extra.


    As Above, So Below.


    As Without, So Within.


    To All Things, A Cost.


    All of it revolves around balance and reciprocation. The small things in the big things, the big things in the small things, a balance of dualities, and to change it, a price.


    She¡¯s willing to pay a price to keep those under her care safe.


    To All Things, A Cost.


    But she can choose the currency, if not the price.


    She can feel it. The ways that her Sacrifice might grow, what it hungers for.


    The Qi is what it is made of, but by being a Sacrifice, it can consume more. It has fed on medicine, healing and biology, and to further it, it wants payment along the same direction.


    She starts to feel lightheaded as she feels blood drain from her body and, as if by magic, appear in her Sacrifice, tinting the keratin red. She gets short of breath as she pushes her oxygen into them. She feels her hands begin to bleed and ache as skin and surface tissue slowly vanishes from them, empowering her Sacrifice further.


    She falls deeper into the trance, feeling and knowing how her Sacrifice works, what it can do. She is it, and it is her, and as she wills it, it begins to move.


    As Within, So Without


    As Above, So Below


    What would have taken her another two hours of work instead takes less than a minute as her needles carve across the stone all around her. She feels her Qi drain out, her cultivation struggling to hold on to its half of her soul, and it takes all her focus to make the enhanced speed into something useful rather than random chickenscratch.


    And then she falls to her knees, her meridians drained near-dry by the act, but the array is done. The area around the cave is wrapped with runes carved into the stone, and she can already feel the Qi in the air beginning to shift, flowing over the space like there is no cave to drift in and out of.


    Array-work is fucking hard. She¡¯s not sure it¡¯ll work, but¡­ it¡¯s the best she can do.


    She takes a few steps back into the cave, letting the array do its work. As she waits, she takes a few herbs out of her bag, and shapes two of her Sacrifices into a mortar and pestle. A few moments later, she rolls the mashed paste into a ball, improvising a pill. No furnace here, no heat to cook with, but that¡¯s fine, she wouldn¡¯t have time anyways. She swallows it whole, letting the Qi of the plants and their properties begin to mold into her body.


    It won¡¯t get her back to full, but it¡¯s enough that she¡¯ll have something when the danger arrives.


    And then she waits.


    She¡¯s not a fighter. She hopes that she never will be. But behind her, there is an unconscious young man, a child, and a woman no older than her with less than half her cultivation.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    She remembers what she told Raika. That she trusts her to do the right thing, and that her killing wasn¡¯t some impulse or monstrous instinct.


    She hopes that she trusts herself to make that same choice.


    She never senses them. Not even when they land right outside the cave.


    A couple of vines, some hanging greenery- all that keeps them from seeing her. She¡¯s gotten used to sensing Raika¡¯s energy- it¡¯s not cultivation, but she exudes a kind of aura from how much power she casually carries around. These strangers don¡¯t even have that.


    They look dead.


    Not like corpses. Not like the wounded.


    One of them turns to look in her direction, and its head is a skull, wrapped in glass. It is filigreed in gold with incredible complexity, motifs of delicate flowers and anatomical models giving the impression that the skull is resting on a golden field.


    The rest of its body is wrapped in a long set of robes, but they¡¯re as intricate and complex as the glass relic it wears. Wisps of smoke rise from it like steam in cold air, and as it turns to face her, she catches a glimpse of a hand from within its robes, a glimpse of its chest.


    All bone. Skeletal tissue, somehow alive- yet completely lacking in Qi that she can sense.


    The other person, next to him, is a woman, or at least feminine-seeming. They are dressed in similar robes, but more of their skin is exposed, and-


    Oh.


    There¡¯s no skin.


    The raw musculature is exposed, but the person seems undisturbed by it, and nothing is leaking out, nothing affecting the color of her robes. She wears bluish-white, the detail on them enough to classify them as a work of art, and Li Shu recognizes pieces of something that might be runes woven in.


    The feminine-looking stranger, equally dead to her Qi senses, also turns to look towards the cave.


    Li Shu doesn¡¯t dare to even breathe.


    The undead turns to the skinless one, their facial muscles exposed to the air around bright and staring eyes. They seem to communicate without words for a moment. Not in that all-language that she¡¯s started to pick up on, either- just like their Qi, whatever communication they use besides eye-contact is nonexistent to her senses.


    Her lungs start to hurt. She can feel her heartbeat screaming from the lack of oxygen.


    She doesn¡¯t even twitch.


    Slowly, the smoke from the moving skeleton begins to grow, expanding out further. It begins to take on vague shape, turning from formless grey wisps into something like hands, reaching out. Then into faces, screaming silently, their eyes hollow sockets, the illusion of teeth gnashing out against an invisible screen.


    And then it grows further.


    The smoke billows out wider, vaster, until the hands and half-formed bodies grow to straddle the space between the vines. The grass begins to wither, turning grey and black, like the hands the size of buildings that reach for every part of the little valley are bringing a monochrome filter with them.


    And then both of the strangers snap their heads to the side, staring out in the direction Raika went in.


    Li Shu has to track her memory afterwards to figure out what she saw. They¡¯re gone, faster than she can track, and it¡¯s only after the fact that she recognizes how it happened.


    The skinless, feminine figure twitched, and then her robes, blueish and gilded, suddenly unfurled.


    There were veins in it. Like skin.


    It wrapped around them both, and then they vanished.


    Li Shu keeps her breath held. She refuses to move. She refuses to move her Qi, to so much as allow her Sacrifices to twitch.


    Only when she can hold it no further does she let air slip out. Only when she feels like her skull is about to split does she breathe back in.


    She couldn¡¯t see, or sense, or feel any Qi.


    But that woman¡­ that was a Sacrifice. Li Shu can¡¯t think of anything else it could be. She was wearing her own skin.


    And that skull, that mist that exuded from it. The way that it grew, so very fast, until the figures in the cold steam were larger than she¡¯s ever seen Raika turn into?


    She doesn¡¯t need to sense Qi to know power.


    A few minutes later, Raika returns. Even tracking the sort of quasi-aura she expects from her, Li Shu can barely sense it, like she¡¯s been wildly diminished.


    And she¡¯s on the back of¡­ a spirit beast? It has a human upper body, but there are four sort of¡­ hands, or paws, each one ending with fingers that have hooves. The creature has long hair, blue-green skin on the humanoid body and a rich brown-green on its lower half, and it towers over Raika, even at her near seven feet of height. Beside the two of them, there¡¯s something like¡­ like a parody of a human, long and gangly, with ears that arc behind it like that of a wolf or a predatory hare.


    Before she¡¯s even had time to stand up or see Raika¡¯s reaction to judge a response, the ghoulish spirit beast turns to face her, its head swiveling almost 200 degrees to look back at her.


    Raika moves, but its slow. Weak. Did they hurt her?


    ¡°Hey! Li Shu!¡± she yells, and her voice is strong. Enough that Li Shu breathes a sigh of relief.


    Though she also makes sure that her Sacrifice is kept out of sight, wrapped tight and close to her body under her robes.


    Better to keep her ace hidden, on the off chance she might be able or have to do¡­ something. And it¡¯s probably best to do whatever she can to avoid insulting the new visitors.


    She can¡¯t sense much from Raika, but from these two?


    They have Qi.


    Cautiously, Li Shu steps out into the open, trying not to show how close the burning weight of their presence is to bringing her to her knees.


    And of course, there¡¯s Raika, cool as a cucumber and smiling.


    And standing between her and the beasts, blocking their view of her. Very carefully- and very purposefully.


    ¡ª----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    The beasts haven¡¯t spoken, almost at all. She¡¯s fairly certain that the bunny-person either can¡¯t or doesn¡¯t, with Intent or otherwise, and the centaur seems more the calm and stoic type. She doesn¡¯t push. In all honesty, she could use some sleep- it¡¯s been weeks since she shut down all her brains to rest at once, and now, with only one, she is exhausted.


    No rest for the wicked, though. The taste of the Feng is still there in her teeth, and considering that she can¡¯t really escape her new friends, she also can¡¯t let them see Li Shu and the others without some way to protect her friends and her apprentice. And¡­ kind of her passenger and potential lover.


    She lives a complicated social life.


    It¡¯s not enough to bring out any of her real techniques, but she might be able to squeeze out one or two True Flame explosives and a Pressurized Indigo at most.


    After that¡­ all she can do is unleash her Reactor, and hope that she survives the resulting release of control.


    Li Shu steps out, and¡­ mmh. The smell of fear. Li Shu is keeping it contained, controlling it well, but it leaks out into the air.


    Briefly, Raika¡¯s mind flickers back to how that sort of fear can taste. Like bitter citrus, sharp, but refreshing.


    She has enough Qi left now that it¡¯s¡­ doable, at least, to form a sub-brain. Enough to get her synesthesia back in action. She uses the spatial awareness to step in between the line of sight of the two Divine Beasts and her friend.


    ¡°Hey, healer. Doing alright?¡±


    Li Shu looks rattled, but she gives a shaky smile. ¡°Alive and healing, beastie. The others are alright. Safe for now. Are these¡­¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re big scary monsters, and they happen to like me enough not to kill me right away. Not sure about the white one, though- they seem twitchy.¡±


    The centaur lets out a huff of air, a mix between a snort and a laugh. Raika turns to him, raising an eyebrow.


    He shrugs. ¡°That is the kindest descriptor of the Pale Thresher I have heard in some time. ¡°Twitchy¡±. Is funny.¡±


    The wolf-rabbit hisses at him like a snake, and the sound comes out weird, like from a deep well.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Raika says. ¡°They know that if the twitchy one or the honorable horse-person here do anything, I¡¯ll burn this forest down with them in it. And none of us want that.¡±


    The¡­ Pale Thresher turns to look at her, and its mouth hangs open a bit wide, like a doll with a slack string. Its gums are black, but its teeth are pearl-white and thin as needles, layered thick as a carpet. A hint of its Intent leaks into the air, thick and ripe.


    It does not say it in words, but it does not need to. The world gets a little bit darker at the Killing Intent it exudes. Not a prideful, fragile thing like the Feng- the Thresher exudes Intent like it¡¯s all it can do to stop killing. Like killing is and should be as natural as breathing air.


    Raika meets its eyes head on and does the same.


    Deep in her core, it is beyond doubt to her that she will kill everything in this forest and herself if she has to. The deaths would be just payment for harm on one of those she loves and protects.


    It¡¯s not quite as thick as the Thresher¡¯s, more like a syrup than molasses- but it¡¯s enough for it to know that it would hurt. That she would cost it.


    It almost seems to relish the thought.


    And then the centaur shifts its weight a bit, and the Thresher hisses again. But it backs down first.


    Raika grins, bloody-toothed and hollowed out from her own violence.


    And victorious.


    ¡°Now that that¡¯s settled,¡± she says, turning to Li Shu who looks quite pale; ¡°how¡¯s everybody else doing? Any reason for me to go and burn down the forest yet?¡±


    Li Shu gives her an exhausted look, but lets out a little breath of relief.


    ¡°They¡¯re fine. And I¡¯ve got some news about what happened while you were gone.¡±

 Chapter 261 - Strength

    It takes Raika approximately fifteen hours to reach a level she considers baseline. For all that she still has a trump card up her sleeve with her Reactor, her resource pools are drained nearly dry. Nearly empty of Qi, no more flesh than a particularly tall humanoid, and a heavy cost to her inner world¡¯s mass all leave her at a level she hasn¡¯t experienced in months. She refuses to leave before she¡¯s rested, and to her surprise, the quasi-centaur obliges. The Pale Thresher gets twitchy, but then seems to settle into an air of almost perfect quiet, like a statue.


    Fucked up rabbit, that is.


    In that time, Jin shows her some of his nearly-completed sculpts, and Many-Grasping mostly stops having a panic attack (or going into heat?) at the sight of the two insanely powerful divine beasts right outside their camp. Li Shu, once Raika was sure that they were safe from her new ¡°allies¡±, told her of the things she saw, the two strangers that she¡¯d managed to hide them from.


    Raika¡¯s not sure that Li Shu really gets how impressive that is. Even to her senses, the array she¡¯s crafted around the cave entrance blends almost seamlessly, redirecting Qi away and into itself in almost perfect balance, and she can only barely tell that there was anyone else here. For the amount of power that Li Shu saw, their control must be incredible, even if Raika is better at sensing Qi and Intent than she is death-energy like from Wraiths.


    She does not for a moment doubt Li Shu¡¯s word. If Li Shu says that she saw something, then Raika absolutely trusts it to be the truth or a lead into the truth.


    Fifteen hours is a long time. She spends most of them sleeping, and letting her Mind and Body recover, letting her Heart work. She burned through a lot. And then wasted even more by being in a half-dead state, abandoning most of her flesh blindly. Even with her abilities, she can¡¯t just spawn a few tons of flesh at will.


    Well¡­ she can. But not without spending the much rarer resource inside her. The conversion rate of mass and energy from her inner world to her biology is¡­ fine? Better than most of her conversion rates, anyways. But she has a limit to what she can store, and using too much not only restricts the space that the Heart can use, but also has a non-zero chance of disrupting something or causing damage from its loss. It¡¯s an emergency technique, not something she should rely on consistently.


    She isn¡¯t recovered to her former levels by the time she wakes up. Far from it. That would probably take days at least. But with a good night of rest, the makeshift Qi circuits she¡¯s set up have enough time to have generated just enough Qi to allow for a sub-mind.


    From there, it gets easier. With two brains, the Mind helps the Body to shape more circuits, and the process gets exponential quickly. While she doesn¡¯t have much Qi to infuse into said circuits, she has enough to start generating more over time, and some left over to increase her biomass again.


    She¡¯s drained, tired, weakened.


    It feels great.


    It¡¯s a terrible time for it. There are major threats right here, and apparently other factions getting too close for comfort already, and people she has to protect¡­ but fuck, if there isn¡¯t something that feeds her about feeling tired again. She feels alive in an all new way.


    She decided someone would die, and then expressed herself, without limit or reservation, fully and completely to that end. She let herself go free, threw her whole being into an endeavor, and won.


    The fact that it was a member of the Feng clan? A little added sweetness, the initial spark that lit the flame, but her being doesn¡¯t sing at the kill. She didn¡¯t know the woman, didn¡¯t even speak to her. She was a target, responsible for terrible things, and a part of the problem that needs removing, one that Raika does not regret acting on. Even the fact that Raika fought a Warrior realm master, a truly powerful member of an evolution beyond lesser cultivators, doesn¡¯t feel half as important as how fully she pushed herself. The fact that she won¡­ yeah, that part¡¯s outright delicious, she admits. But it isn¡¯t what makes her feel so refreshed right now.


    She has grown. She is strong. She is more herself than she has ever been.


    Onwards and upwards.


    Raika tastes from their Intent the growing restlessness in her allies. Not enough time to grow so big that she can create her inner spaces again, but enough that she can grow her full body large enough to carry everyone. Not her strider form- too attention grabbing. She elects for a six-legged body, the musculature a mix of wolf and panther, with three very long tails for counterbalancing and a wide back.


    They move out not long after.


    Question. Location?


    The Pale Thresher doesn¡¯t reply, seeming to not even consider her worth looking at, but the centaur-beastblood smiles as they run.


    ¡°No need for that, if it will put your companions at ease. I understand that the deeper colors can be hard to interpret for weaker creatures.¡±


    He gives a nod to Li Shu, Jin, and Many-Grasping on her back.


    ¡°We head for Singheart, one of the tribes of the Many and All. From there, we check on our territories, and show you the path to the Pack.¡±


    Raika quirks an eyebrow, the expression strange on an inhuman skull. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    He shrugs, the movement equally strange as his lower body launches him from vine to tree and back again, all of them moving fast enough for the root-canyons and the blooming life within them to blur at their passing. ¡°That¡¯s it. You slew a base of Invaders, and did so quickly and without burning down a Tallwood. While I¡¯m sure the Pack would love to have you, we have no reason to force you into service now that we have determined you are neither mindless beast nor trick of perception.¡±


    Raika launches herself off another perch, the armored plate on her back staying almost gyroscopically still as her tails counterbalance and all six limbs launch her forward. ¡°You¡¯re willing to let a stranger who can kill a Warrior realm cultivator just leave, then?¡±


    ¡°If we didn¡¯t, you would seek to bargain or slay us, and both have cost. Not all is of the Pack. Its members come and go, and only now, with the mightiest Supreme Beasts in many generations, does it grow so naturally. If you do choose to join, there are some rules, but no one will stop or save you if you decide to cause trouble for someone or wander off. If you wish it, you are free to conquer a territory for yourself, and so long as you do not disrupt the balance of the world around you, none would interfere that did not have interest there before.


    ¡°You are strong. It is the right of the strong to do as they will.¡±


    Raika hears Li Shu think on that for a moment, and then frowns. ¡°But¡­ what if their will is to harm others? Or to take advantage and subvert things?¡±


    ¡°Such is their right. As it is the right of any who might seek to kill them for it. If both refuse to retreat, then there is battle, and the winner is proven stronger, and can do as they will.¡±


    ¡°But that just means that the strong can abuse or unbalance things as much as they want. What about people who are weaker? There are tribes, so doesn¡¯t that imply that-¡±


    ¡°Some who are strong choose to protect. Some who are weak band together to become strong. Always, there is a flow of things. As the world changes, so do we change and respond to it in turn. And what is the alternative, little human? To create shackles on the strong? To shape things into permanence without strength?¡±


    Raika can feel Li Shu preparing a response, her breath starting to get a bit heated, and cuts in before the conversation devolves.


    ¡°You mentioned that the weak band together. So community is also a strength?¡±


    The centaur looks at her and snorts, as if she¡¯s just said something idiotic. ¡°Of course. Strength of tooth and claw is only one form. There is strength of symbiosis, of survival, of family. To be strong isn¡¯t just to be violent- if it were, I would look a lot more like our traveling companion there.¡±


    Raika does not need to form an eye to look at the Pale Thresher to sense the wave of Killing Intent it releases at being mentioned. It emanates from it, a desire and decision to kill so strong that some of the birds and beasts they pass fall unconscious in a sphere around it.


    And then the Intent is gone, vanished like it never was. The beast returns to what seems to be its only state outside of that all-encompassing Killing Intent; total neutrality.


    ¡°To be strong is to be free, and to be free is to be strong. The only method of strength that cannot be borne is strength which leaves nothing behind that can grow.¡±


    Again, a burst of Intent from the Thresher, louder this time. A large mammal-thing, crouched and bowed beneath heavy leaves at their passage, goes limp as its heart stops.


    The centaur huffs. ¡°Though I suppose even to this rule, there is debate.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re both part of this Pack, then? An alliance?¡±


    ¡°Mmh. The strong aiding the strong. The strength of force, added to by the strength of cooperation. The advance of the Invaders has made such needs only more necessary, and there are none so blind amongst the Many and All that cannot adapt to the truth of things.¡±


    Another pulse of killing intent.


    ¡°Amongst the Many and All¡­ and others.¡±


    The Intent fades.


    Raika idly forms a fresh set of eyes, rolling in their sockets to focus in on the Pale Thresher. Idly, she wonders how she¡¯d do in a fight with it.


    It stops moving.


    Everything around it becomes perfectly still, in a way that Raika doesn¡¯t quite follow. Like Dao, but not quite, and molded by Intent, either way. A Truth? It stops, standing in midair on nothing at all, and turns to face her.


    It does not look humanoid. It does not look like a beastkin of lupin and lepus. It looks like paper, wrapped over the shell of something that doesn¡¯t quite fit, so that all the crinkles and angles make it look real.


    Raika is partially recovered. Enough not to feel powerless, or entirely drained. She¡¯s pretty sure she could put up a fight against the centaurian Divine Beast, and maybe a few of the others that went their own ways when she was escorted by these two out. She might even put up a better fight than last time against Dances-Between-Layers.


    Raika prepares everything she has to build a shell around her allies, to launch them far, far away. If she uses the entirety of her inner world, she should generate enough Qi, spontaneous regeneration and True Flame to use the Dao of the Gun to get them far enough away. She¡¯s not sure if she can create enough padding, or a proper shell, fast enough for that, though. All she can hope for is that they survive the landing.


    There''s no room for anything else.


    She stares into a being she does not understand, with Truth that echoes louder than even the Killing Intent it transmitted earlier.


    She doesn¡¯t know what that Truth is, but she knows for a certainty that her friends have a better chance of surviving being shot out of a gun than being here one second longer.


    And then the centaur steps in front of her.


    He does not stand on thin air, instead making platforms of Qi with either masterful control or some sort of technique. He does not express even the slightest hint of Intent, or radiate any sort of power or technique. He just stands there, still.


    Raika doesn¡¯t move. She stays so perfectly still that her heart stops beating, that her blood stills in her veins, until only her Truth sustains her existence.


    The Pale Thresher doesn¡¯t say anything. It looks at them through eyes that exist only for decoration, through a body that exists only to hold it.


    And then it turns, and pushes itself forward again, falling from its static place in the air to land on a vine and jump forward.


    The centaur lets out a long, slow breath.


    ¡°While I admire your audacity, most people think twice before showing off the kind of Intent you had towards a thing like that.¡±


    Raika shudders, her heartbeat resuming and her brains getting fresh oxygen at last. She feels her traveling companions shaking, Li Shu already turning to help Many-Grasping, who has fallen and started to twitch.


    Only Jin seems mostly intact out of all of them- and he vomits, failing to react to that fact for a moment. Like he didn¡¯t even notice at first, until it chokes his airway.


    He spits, gasping, gagging.


    ¡°What¡­ what was that?¡± he asks.


    ¡°That was the Pale Thresher.¡±


    Raika stands there, perfectly still. She forms a bubble, a sort of cocoon, around the platform on her back, and forcefully reabsorbs her allies away from that thing. It¡¯s uncomfortable, straining her body which doesn¡¯t yet have the spatial distortion or biomass to do as she did on the dead sands.


    She can¡¯t help but grin wide, adrenaline burning through her in a delayed reaction to the threat of death.


    Fun.


    She is strong. She is stronger than ever before.


    Now, to climb.

 Chapter 262 - Fu! Sion! Ha!

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    It will take hours further before they reach their intended destination. Jin is going at his carving with renewed fervor, Many-Grasping is recovering, and Li Shu is watching over them both as she cycles her own Qi, continuing her advancement.


    She matches Raika, in that regard. They both need to become stronger. Raika can taste her friend¡¯s determination, the burning desire to push and be held equal, even if her power falls into a completely different category than Raika¡¯s.


    It¡¯s a noble goal. She¡¯s excited to see how far her friend will go.


    But she has further to go. So she dives back in.


    By this point, she¡¯s recovered enough Qi to rebuild her gestalt. One mind for the exterior world, one for the Body, and one for free thinking. It¡¯s enough for her to make it down into her inner world again, manifesting as the Soul.


    They need weapons.


    It¡¯s not enough to form things on the fly, to generate and degenerate material as needed. That takes time, energy, space, none of which she will always have in abundance. She¡¯s not a bruiser, deep down- the pursuit of overwhelming reserves as an advantage is fine, but as the requirement for victory is a failing. She needs tools she can use.


    Dao, she can imbue into things she creates on the fly, but again, that takes more time, more thought. She can use it more efficiently.


    If she optimized her energy usage, she could store much more Qi, keep the exponential growth of her natural formations going.


    If she crafts weapons, she won¡¯t need to spend time in battle doing so.


    Being able to create things mid-combat is a massive advantage and one of her primary abilities, one that has served her well. There¡¯s no need to discard her adaptability, one of her greatest tools point blank. But just like she set certain baselines for each body she makes, integrating pistons, better muscle patterns, and skeletal structures built on the principles of architecture and engineering, so now does she need to add more foundational pieces.


    It¡¯s not enough to be able to make weapons on the fly. She needs an arsenal she can rely on.


    And seeing as she can¡¯t wield Qi outside her body, there¡¯s no need to even consider artifacts or enchanted weapons.


    She¡¯ll make her own.


    Raika¡¯s Soul stands up from where she sat, and begins to walk towards the hillside at the end of the valley.


    Past the pond, the depths of which hold her Heart, she sees the hillside that was the burial ground of a Nascent Soul. Now that same being is fused to the sky above, manifesting as limbs of clouds that cover a night sky, dropping rain of lightning and tribulation down onto the earth.


    [Divine Strikes Of Starry Tribulation] rains spears of lightning and rain like starry eyes onto her as she steps atop the burial mound of Souls, and the garden of her Dao.


    She walks between the spears, rusted and bent from the decay of time. She wanders past many of the trees, bushes, and blades of grass that exhibit the patterns of reality, Dao manifested as florae in this strange space.


    She makes it to the top of the hill. She feels her Heart shift, eager to join her in an act of creation.


    The space of her inner world bends until the trees at the top of the hill make a space, opening up a clearing at the peak.


    The hill isn¡¯t taller than the valleys. She can¡¯t use it to see over into the other parts of her internal landscape, the fields of ever-spawning matter. The landscapes that have been violently altered by her latest struggle. She doesn¡¯t need to.


    She calls what she needs to her.


    The world shifts and reshapes, and a rock forms from the ground, the color of bone. She sits in it, and it shapes itself to her being, becoming a throne and comfortable seat in one. Red moss crawls from points of contact, adding extra cushioning.


    It¡¯s as good a place to meditate as any.


    Wobbling up from the necklace around her neck, Dink hums in agreement.


    It¡¯s time to work.


    In her last battle, she ate all or part of no less than six cultivators, and while it cost her almost a third of her total ¡°landmass¡±, she kept something more than flesh and Qi from each of them. Reaching forth, she pulls these things to her now.


    Over a distant hill comes a star that screams.


    From the ground at her feet, a clump of ever-shifting wax and clay is dragged forth.


    From the sky above, dancing between raindrops, comes a piece of night sky.


    From far away, floating at the very edge of her inner world, she drags home a ball of roiling energy.


    From the shadows behind her eyes, she pulls forth a thing of punishment and cold.


    And one more thing. One which rejects her authority.


    It doesn¡¯t fight her, doesn¡¯t start to tear at things. She would feel it if it did that. But it doesn¡¯t come when called, and it¡¯s heavier than the other four put together.


    [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS].


    She waits.


    It doesn¡¯t seem to move or shift from where it is in her soul-space.


    Ok then. It can wait.


    She looks at the Nascent Souls in front of her.


    They are her, and hers, and all of them are incomplete.


    The first, and most annoying among them, is the soul of one of the two Domain-wielders who she killed at the beginning of her battle at the fort. It¡¯s¡­ fairly self descriptive. [The Screaming Star] is an orb of light, about twice the size of Raika¡¯s own soul-body, floating in the air and emitting a constant ringing tone which fluctuates wildly in volume and pitch. It glows, an off-white and bland color which seems almost at odds with the blaring noise it generates, making the hill, her own soul, and the rest of the inner world tremble at its sound.


    Previously, Raika fused two Nascent Souls together into [Divine Strikes Of Starry Tribulation], the very sky above her. The thundercloud limbs, starry skin, and constant storm of alien rainfall is a Soul, just as it is a part of her inner world. However, it wasn¡¯t a perfect fusion- through her Heart, she felt the separation between different concepts, the Dao and the stuff which Dao is a pattern of being drained away to feed her garden and other parts of her.


    So. Fusion and absorption.


    First things first: the screaming is very annoying.


    She reaches out to her Heart, and it senses her will, moving forward with her. The pond begins to ripple, the flows of her Dragon Veins (the Qi patterns of her inner world) fluctuating as they begin to enact the great working.


    First, she pulls at the scream.


    The sound, pitch, tone, the very concept of sound leeches away from the Nascent Soul, pulled down into the garden. Several bits of grass that she previously felt resonate with Dink and its powers grow, turning into small shrubbery, and then into flowers that chime and play notes as they shift in the breeze.


    The Soul that¡¯s left behind feels¡­ empty.


    [The _________ Star] starts to shiver, and pieces of it begin to flake off. There are parts of it missing now, and its structure can¡¯t sustain that. Just like failing to strike her down broke the Soul that was once [Perfect Strike Of Tribulation], missing a piece of its foundation is more than enough for it to begin to fall apart into nothing, the dregs of its pattern to be absorbed by her inner world.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    But there¡¯s no need for that. She¡¯s got other plans for that material.


    With a flex of will and a strain that she can feel deep, deep down, she pulls the [The _________ Star] and [Endless Whorling Plasma] together.


    The latter soul comes from the Plasma-wielder she faced, the most destructive member of the trio she fought. Her Nascent Soul ended up half-broken, as the soldier was not afraid to drain her core and every other part of herself to sustain the massive energies she wielded, but it is still intact. She didn¡¯t quite get to the point of burning through her own cultivation to strike at Raika.


    Which makes it kind of perfect.


    She¡¯s not entirely sure of the process. She can feel it more than before, surely, but it still feels alien, and her Heart handles most of it. She can tell there¡¯s a strain to it, too- like a deep muscle ache, but further back, behind the bones of her.


    Still, the Heart doesn¡¯t complain. If anything, she senses an eagerness from both sides of it that feels rather distinct. The Heart feels like a mixture of pre-written responses, a sort of ingrained instinct, and a proto-mind, child-like and still only partially formed. In that way, it almost reminds her of Dink; fresh consciousness, still wrestling with the unknown and how their patterns interact with the world. But both its Intent and its instincts sing from out of the pond- it has ingrained knowledge of how to manipulate consumed Souls, and it is eager to do so.


    Slowly, the half-empty star and the roiling ball of heat and energy join into one.


    The sky brightens.


    It still rains. There are still visible stars.


    But now there is a sun.


    It looks less like a sphere and more like a whirlpool of flame, but the [Star Of Roiling Plasma] glows bright and direct, elements of plasma and radiance intermingling to shine in all directions with heat, light, and radiation.


    Raika¡¯s soul can¡¯t sweat, technically, but the effort of the fusion, and of the last few moments, has her feeling like she should be. Psychosomatic, sure, but then isn¡¯t everything in her inner world? At least to some extent?


    Interestingly, she notes that some of the qualities have been lost. The prefix of ¡°The¡± has vanished, as has the property of ¡°Endless¡±. The nature of the newborn, still-incomplete Soul is not a perfect collection of the other two, but a fusion. By their nature, they are neither endless nor singular in this place.


    She did also eat, digest, and reshape them. It¡¯s only natural that things would change, even if she¡¯s not entirely sure of the process, or how they changed.


    She looks at the bulging, ever-shifting mass of energy that floats before her. The world bends in towards it, like it has its own gravity, and she can feel the Dao of Flame, Plasma, and other, less-developed flora in her garden begin to grow from its mere presence.


    Which is her cue to send it away.


    [Star Of Roiling Plasma] ascends up to the heavens, burning a hole through the clouds and starry sky of [Divine Strikes Of Starry Tribulation]. Their natures aren¡¯t opposed, per se, but they don¡¯t quite relate to each other, really. But now her sky has two suns in it- one, a central ball of monochrome, a rainbow of radiation at its center, and the other a smaller but living star, made of ever-shifting energy.


    She could absorb them. In theory, she could just absorb all these Souls, convert them into landmass in her inner world and Dao for her garden.


    But she can get Dao from comprehension and practice, and she can make landmass from Qi and CHANGE. Souls themselves are much rarer.


    And she needs tools more than raw power.


    As the [Star Of Roiling Plasma] radiates its concepts out into her world, she turns to the remaining Nascent Souls.


    She only glimpsed two of them previously, and the soldier that had the complex iron maiden technique never really revealed a Domain or any manifestation of his Soul. Still, each one of them is distinct enough that even without her Heart guiding her to the right conclusion, she gets the gist of each of them quickly.


    One of them, and ironically the strongest, despite its size, is the small off-white homunculus that was pulled up out of the ground. [Reshaping of Waxen Worlds] is mostly made of a substance similar to wax, but also has elements like wet clay and glue. It¡¯s heavier and less mobile than in the presence of the star now above them- without its heat, it moves slower, but always ever-shifting. It makes a ¡°plap¡± sound as it slaps its hands on the dirt, making little noises like bubbles of air and acting a lot like an infant playing in a mud pit.


    Beside it are two considerably grimmer visages, though very different in tone. One of them, which most surely came from the wielder of the iron maiden technique, is something like a set of scales, balanced unevenly and sprouting with so many spikes that it looks like some kind of urchin. It has no face, no features, not even the sense of animation that comes from things like the [Star Of Roiling Plasma]- it just stands there. Menacingly.


    Raika¡¯s not a huge fan of [Judgment Sprouting Pain], but she can definitely see how the cultivator pulled off such a specific and complex technique as the iron maiden, considering how closely it ties to the concepts of his Nascent Soul.


    The other darkness-coded entity is¡­ surprisingly peaceful. It is ephemeral, hard to even properly see, rather than a solid-state entity like the other Souls. She can only see it when she looks ¡°up¡±, and only from an angle her Heart guides her to. It exudes complex concepts of dream, of weight, of sleep and of night, and when she does catch glimpses of it, it looks like a sleeping figure, covered by a pitch-black blanket. Its name is much more descriptive than its black-toned counter; [Sleep Beneath Black Skies].


    The cultivator¡¯s gravity and mass techniques were likely shaped by the nature of his Soul, and vice versa. It truly is a complex and symbiotic process.


    And already, she can see that this isn¡¯t quite lining up.


    [The Screaming Star] and [Endless Whorling Plasma] had directly linked concepts, making their fusion almost easy by comparison. These, on the other hand, have a lot less connection between them.


    Raika can see a potential fusion between [Divine Strikes Of Starry Tribulation], [Star Of Roiling Plasma] and [Sleep Beneath Black Skies], but¡­ it was hard enough fusing two newly acquired and clearly compatible Souls together. Fusing together three, that were once five, even with a concept kind of linking them together, is a tall order, and she can feel the strain of her earlier fusion.


    Better to wait, maybe?


    Hmm. Then again, maybe not. [Sleep Beneath Black Skies] seems¡­ unstable. The sky here is not black, and almost nothing is sleeping. Its concepts don¡¯t match, like the lightning soldier¡¯s tribulation Soul didn¡¯t match. She¡¯s a bad host for it at the moment.


    Fuck.


    [Judgment Sprouting Pain] she leaves off to one side. It doesn¡¯t seem capable or willing to move (she¡¯ll have to check if there¡¯s any sapience to it, or if it never got there, later), and judgment, sprouting and pain are plenty at home in her, even if she¡¯s not absorbing it wholesale. It should hold stable.


    She calls forth her Artisan.


    [Enacted Artistry Of Function] appears without regard for distance or space. Her inner world has no need of either while under the control of her Heart, which wields those concepts deftly, and brings the mechanical Soul to her.


    It seems to ¡°blink¡±, dozens of camera-eyes turning to focus on her between partially-connected masks and faces of brass and copper. It tilts its ¡°head¡±.


    ¡°So I know you don¡¯t really talk,¡± she says, ¡°but how would you feel about some added growth capabilities? And / or a new friend?¡±


    [Enacted Artistry Of Function] turns to look at the animated lump of wax and clay before it, which makes a popping sound of air escaping molten matter.


    It turns to look at her.


    It doesn¡¯t really have Intent the way a person does, or a mind the way a person does¡­ but it doesn¡¯t seem particularly pleased.


    ¡°I know, it doesn¡¯t match a lot of your Dao, but it does match a lot of your pattern. You and it are both about transforming things and using materials to make new transformations of¡­ stuff. And there are a lot of things out there, of both artistry and purpose, that aren¡¯t related to metal or mechanics like you are. I think it would expand your depth without changing you too much.¡±


    She waits almost a full ten minutes before it seems to come to some sort of conclusion.


    Artistry.


    Function.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t offer it if I didn¡¯t think that you wouldn¡¯t get more of both out of it.¡±


    A long, drawn out moment of¡­ well, not thought, but processing.


    And then-


    Enacted.


    ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s do this, then.¡±


    She feels her Heart shift, eager to use its power for another of its seemingly pre-prepared purposes. It reaches towards the two souls, the space between them melding as their concepts begin to fuse.


    She expresses her will, doing her best to shape the transformation. It¡¯s not easy to get her Heart to properly understand her, and more than once she has to exert her soul to stop the process and pull it back.


    She¡¯s not sure how long it takes, but eventually, it gets the message across. She cares more for the little machine than she does this brand-new lump of mobile ooze, and reinforcing [Enacted Artistry Of Function] with the new Soul rather than blending them randomly is the goal, and eventually, she feels that Intent click into her Heart.


    Slowly, the process shifts.


    And then- it¡¯s done.


    What was once [Enacted Artistry Of Function] is almost twice as tall as before, reaching a bit past her waist now. Where before it was a mismatched amalgamation of complex pieces, each serving a purpose (but none the same purpose), now there is a coating of a grayish sheen, like hardened wax acting as plates of cushioning in between some of the more intense pieces of internal machinery. The wax and clay mold and shift, ever-changing, their surface moving almost like an oil spill, and as if to match it, new gears, mechanisms and artistically complex metals appear, grow, and disappear.


    Its overall shape is even more ever-shifting than before, but again, it retains certain elements. Its taller, but it has grasper limbs and mobility limbs, each one far more complex than before and using wax and clay as both padding and protective layers in places. It¡¯s like a white and grey ooze is rolling in and about a body of a complex machine, layered with cameras, wheels, gears and pistons, all of which warp unnaturally into new configurations.


    [Reshaping Of Waxen Worlds] and [Enacted Artistry Of Function] are no more.


    Turning a face that is half-statue, half-mask, half complex machinery, [Artistry Of Reshaping Function] blinks a dozen camera-eyes and wet clay-lids at her.


    ¡°You doing alright?¡± she asks, heaving metaphorical breath in and out of her lungs.


    Function.


    ¡°Good. I¡¯m building some new tools, and I¡¯d like your help.¡±

 Chapter 263 - A Rising Tide Lifts All Ships

    Expanding her inner world is all fine and good. Improving its quality? Absolute delight.


    Not what she came here for. Not what she needs right now.


    While it¡¯s never a bad thing to improve one¡¯s foundations, she came here to make weapons. If there are things like the Pale Thresher wandering about, and the Empire doesn¡¯t even seem worried about the 4th ring? She¡¯ll never beat them, and the people who want to stay alongside her won¡¯t do much better.


    She¡¯s not so stupid that she hasn¡¯t learned that she can¡¯t do it alone. Or, more importantly, that she doesn¡¯t want to. Maybe she might feel a little more secure if the people she loves are all safe and snuggled up tight, but they¡¯re not the kind of people to agree to that or even want it, and that¡¯s why she cares for them in the first place.


    People should be allowed to grow. Her fear doesn¡¯t change that, and her fear hasn¡¯t ruled her for a long time. Next best thing, then, is to help those that she can reach to push forward at a higher pace.


    And, of course, make weapons.


    So she reaches to her Heart once more, this time as directly as she can.


    Request.


    Acknowledgement. Continue.


    Assistance. Transformation. Creation. Deeper.


    There is a pause then.


    Confirm.


    ¡­that¡¯s new. It¡¯s never asked her to reconfirm something like that.


    Concern? Danger?


    Nothing.


    Confirmation Required.


    The Intent its emitting shapes itself into a request for confirmation, but behind it, wrapped under the direct meaning, is something she hasn¡¯t felt before. Her Heart has felt fear, contentment, curiosity, passion, plenty of emotions before, even if their complexity is limited.


    This doesn¡¯t feel like that.


    Confirmation Required.


    Not¡­ not quite hunger. Not quite excitement.


    Something almost like¡­ arousal?


    Confirmed. Request = Deeper Shaping.


    Foundational Process = Confirmed. Acknowledged. Glory Be.


    And the world starts to shake.


    Her Heart is not under her control. Not really. When she was mortal, her heart beat entirely independently from her conscious mind, and this one isn¡¯t all that different- she can feel what it¡¯s doing, but she doesn¡¯t understand it, and she doesn¡¯t control it, really. They work together, they¡¯re part of the same being, but she doesn¡¯t know what it is, and it doesn¡¯t seem to understand much beyond its instincts and desires.


    So. Glory Be. That¡¯s new.


    As is the thing slowly curling up from within the pond.


    A wave of tendrils emerge, like a flock of eels coming to the surface to feed. They crawl and slither over one another, splashing water that is not water across the ground. They writhe around the edges of the pond, like its borders have expanded, tumbling and twisting against the reeds at the edge of the water.


    That¡¯s disturbing enough. The changes to the Qi circuits are worse.


    Previously, they felt like a single natural formation, spread out across her inner world. She copied the pattern onto her veins outside this space, with some tweaks to account for biology, to create her improved Qi generation.


    Now, they twist and writhe. They flex and make the ground shake, as if the entire world is on the back of a vast serpent.


    A strand breaks free, and then another, and then another, and they begin to crawl towards the vein-strands that emerge from the pond.


    They crawl through her inner world, one after another, and up to the hill she has claimed as her workspace- and when they converge, right before her, the pulse almost feels like a real heartbeat.


    And then the ground rises.


    Bone white, like the seat that her Heart made for her. But this is much more alive.


    It¡¯s not really an anvil. Even beyond the half-real nature of her inner world, she doesn¡¯t actually know how to forge something in the literal sense. Maybe someday, if she has the time.


    Instead, she stands before a stone slab, rising up nearly to her stomach, its surface perfectly flat and smooth. It has veins running through it, glowing faintly with a colorless radiance, tinted ever so slightly indigo-red by the feeling of blood running through its structure.


    Process = Complete. Progress. The World Is More. Glory Be.


    Again, that phrase. Glory Be. And the longest sentence she¡¯s heard from it yet- ¡°The World Is More¡±.


    Dink trembles, leaping from her shoulder to land on the anvil. It pats the stone, ringing with a sympathetic note.  [Artistry Of Reshaping Function] waddles over, its gait a bit smoother but still an awkward cluster, and puts its faces right to the table, a dozen machine-arms reinforced by wax running tools over its surface.


    Raika can¡¯t help it. She laughs.


    ¡°I am¡­ really glad we¡¯re heading somewhere where people might know more about you, buddy.¡±


    Acknowledgement. Eagerness + Curiosity.


    ¡°Alright. I can work with this.¡±


    She does not need to speak. Speech is for strangers and people with language centers.


    She is the Soul of a triumvirate beast, and she is the alien Heart, and she is the incarnated avatar of [Artistry Of Reshaping Function]. And Dink, in all his glory, is also here.


    She does not need to ask anything. She is all of the pieces of her, and the pieces are all her, and they mesh like they have been made to.


    Radiant metal begins to glisten, suddenly atop the anvil in a dozen variants. Blacksteel, dredged from her still-regenerating reserves, falls next to it like a rain of glass shards and flechettes. Flesh bubbles in the cracks of the anvil, ready to be shaped, with lots of free space between her borders and the band.


    And the flora all around, shaped by the patterns of reality, bend close, as if eager to add their elements to the creation.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Yeah. She can work with this.


    ¡ª-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Raika sits in front of Li Shu, her body manifesting from out of the wall. In the hours of travel, she¡¯s made enough of herself to give folks different rooms, and her friend has taken a moment to vomit in the corner now that the others are alright.


    Li Shu senses her, even without Qi.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she says, wiping her mouth. Her breathing is ragged, but steady.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll vent it or recycle it.¡±


    ¡°Please don¡¯t eat my vomit. Have better standards, I beg.¡±


    Raika shrugs, making her dreads jingle against each other. She put little beads in them this time.


    ¡°Don¡¯t sell yourself short. Half of that stuff is from me anyways, remember? Lots of good stuff in there.¡±


    ¡°I reiterate- please don¡¯t eat my vomit.¡±


    Raika smiles, soft. ¡°Sure.¡±


    Li Shu says nothing for a while. When she eventually sits up, her back to the wall opposite the one Raika has formed herself from, her breathing has steadied a bit, and her eyes, while bloodshot, are calm.


    ¡°Did you try to pick a fight with that thing?¡±


    She shakes her head, forming a pipe as she does. ¡°No. I thought it, and I guess it leaked out. I wasn¡¯t trying to project Intent, but¡­ well, I can sense Intent from things that don¡¯t know how to project it. Should have caught myself.¡±


    Li Shu laughs, soft and tired. ¡°Oh, gods. You really are crazy, huh? Wipe out an Imperial base and then, look here, a Divine Beast, let me wonder if I can kill it around it.¡±


    ¡°Puts credit to the stories of cultivators killing people for no reason, though! Maybe they could sense Intent!¡±


    ¡°Or maybe they were¡­ see, I was going to say something scathing, and now I¡¯m scared it would hear me.¡±


    ¡°It might, actually. We¡¯re not as deep in my biology as last time, I¡¯m still rebuilding.¡±


    Li Shu snorts. ¡°I¡¯ll be careful then.¡±


    For a while, silence.


    Then-


    ¡°Did you do something? A few minutes ago? The Qi channels you have felt¡­ weird, for a minute. Like something shifted. Can¡¯t pinpoint it though.¡±


    Raika blinks. ¡°I¡­ yes. Something in my inner world, though, not my Body. You felt that out here?¡±


    Li Shu levitates one of her Sacrifice needles up, gesturing vaguely at it. ¡°Blame these things. Usually they just sense things aligned to what they¡¯re aligned to, but they positively hummed a minute ago.¡±


    ¡°...any idea why that is?¡±


    Li shu sighs, breathing out long and slow. ¡°Yeah. So¡­ you know how my Truth let me keep my meridians, instead of transferring them into my Sacrifice? I think it left them emptier than normal. I can store Qi in my Sacrifice and my Dantian, but I also think I may have sort of¡­ skipped ahead with the Craft stuff by accident.¡±


    ¡°How so?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ I sacrificed my nails. The keratin on my fingers, to be precise. Normally, a Witch then loses the ability to cultivate, so they instead do rituals and arrays only, and their Sacrifice shapes the arrays by imbuing its properties into the working. In my case, stuff might¡­ I don¡¯t know, crystallize? Heal itself or generate more with power? Keratin-stuff. It¡¯s different for every Witch, according to the texts we¡­¡±


    ¡°Got from her dead body, yeah.¡±


    ¡°...that. Anyways, the step after that, once they understand the properties being expressed, then a Witch is meant to put new concepts into the Sacrifice. It has¡­ ¡°room¡± for it, for want of a better term. Similar to how She of Still Waters had concepts of¡­ I don¡¯t know, monster-spawning in her eye-Sacrifice. Like you¡¯re teaching it¡­ not Dao, but-¡±


    ¡°The stuff beneath Dao. The things the patterns are made of.¡±


    ¡°Right, that. In the fortress city, when I went into that trance, I think I started imbuing concepts into my Sacrifice. Mostly healing and medicinal ones, with some of biology. Wasn¡¯t on purpose.¡±


    Raika scoffs. ¡°Would you have chosen something different?


    Li Shu joins her in the laugh. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so. But¡­ I¡¯m not sure what to do now. Just making my Core more powerful, advancing that way, is all fine and good, but I don¡¯t want to neglect the Craft. I think now¡­ I either pick a second Sacrifice, or try to refine the concept in my current one.¡±


    ¡°...Any preference?¡±


    They meet each other¡¯s, and there is a moment of nonverbal understanding between them.


    Li Shu wants to be strong enough to heal the world, to know all that can be known about the medical arts.


    Raika wants to be strong enough to change the world, to make herself into something more.


    ¡°I¡¯ll try to refine my Sacrifice. Keep it specifically to the idea of healing, deepen the connection rather than just using it as a tool.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll make you a cultivation chamber. Vent Qi into it, so you can improve your core faster. And¡­ would something to work on help?¡±


    Li Shu smiles, and for a moment, she is neither afraid nor exhausted. She looks happy, and relaxed, and like she¡¯s about to laugh at something silly her friend has said. ¡°Why yes, Raika. I would, in fact, like you to make a bunch of model bodies with creative ailments for me to practice on.¡±


    Raika matches her smile with a grin of her own. ¡°Sounds like a challenge. I¡¯ll do my best to keep things interesting.¡±


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Raika forms a body out of the wall next to Jin.


    To the kid¡¯s credit, he doesn¡¯t scream. He doesn¡¯t even jump out of his seat. He does startle a bit, but in his defense, she did just grow a homunculus out of the wall and fill it with organs and bones.


    It¡¯s faster that way. Takes longer to grow the whole thing beforehand.


    ¡°Hey, kid.¡±


    ¡°Hello master.¡±


    ¡°How are you doing?¡±


    He frowns, turning away from the project in his hands to look at her. ¡°After the beast¡¯s Intent?¡±


    ¡°I- hmm. Yes.¡±


    He smiles, and it looks¡­ surprisingly reassuring. ¡°I¡¯m alright, master. I dreamt bigger things than that for¡­ well, apparently a week straight. It was a lot, but¡­ not too much.¡±


    She sniffs him. He blinks, only half-accustomed to being suddenly sniffed, which is really his own fault.


    He smells¡­ ok. A bit tense, but not much. The taste of his synapses is fine, steady and unpanicked, and he doesn¡¯t glow any colors that worry her.


    Synesthesia is great.


    ¡°Ok. I was wondering, though-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be stronger soon.¡±


    She blinks. ¡°...what do you mean?¡±


    He holds up the Blacksteel statue he¡¯s been carving, and her breath catches.


    It¡¯s a sandal. Small enough to fit into a palm, but undeniably a sandal. One that she recognizes.


    ¡°...I think I¡¯ve figured out some insight. I¡­ I sort of know who I am. And it¡¯s like I can feel some of the steps to get there.¡±


    It hurts, but she breathes in.


    ¡°What insight might that be?¡±


    ¡°It was the conversations with you, master. How you honor the memory of those you¡¯ve lost. When I think of the deaths I¡¯ve seen, of the Death¡­ it resonated with what you¡¯ve taught me. Not just the cultivation. I want to honor those who have gone. I think that people deserve peace when they¡¯re gone, and¡­ I don¡¯t think that¡¯s common.¡±


    ¡°No, kid. I don¡¯t think it is.¡±


    He nods, picking up energy. ¡°Exactly. I want to honor the dead¡­ and the stronger I get, the more I think the dead respond to that.¡±


    Raika takes a step back, leaning against the wall as she looks at him. Really looks at him.


    In the last few years of her life, Raika has universally been surprised by the change that even one year can bring. She was a crippled beggar not even five full years ago, a member of the Empire the year after that, and so on. Even still, it¡¯s easy to forget that for all that a year is almost a thirtieth of her lifespan, it¡¯s just under a tenth of Jin¡¯s.


    Well. Less than that, now.


    It¡¯s been almost a year since she met the kid, and he¡¯s grown. From a kid of maybe twelve years to thirteen, the edge of puberty is starting to hover around him, but it¡¯s deeper than that. He¡¯s seen much, and what¡¯s more, he¡¯s had the wisdom and the strength to grow from it rather than break from it.


    She helped a bit, but¡­ nah.


    She chose a very good student.


    ¡°What do you want to do next, kid?¡±


    He turns to look at her, and she smiles at just how intense his gaze is.


    ¡°I want to make Death into more than just an End.¡±


    She feels the words thrum, deep down into the core of him. It tastes almost like Truespeak, like the words have more weight than they should.


    And, for just a moment, she glimpses the shape of a once-person, touching the carved sandal. It has no face, barely a body, barely a hand- but it is a boy, not much older than Jin, and it carries a hint of a familiar smell.


    Even as she watches, between the words and the grave marker he has carved, something changes in the echo, even as it changes in her apprentice.


    ¡°It takes strength to do something that big,¡± she tells him.


    He nods.


    She crouches, smiling, her dreads jingling against each other. ¡°To be free to choose is to be strong. Remember when I told you that?¡±


    ¡°...when you killed that cultivator who followed us from the village.¡±


    She nods. ¡°Mmh. I wasn¡¯t strong enough to have different choices then. Are you strong enough to choose something for the whole world?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t hesitate.


    ¡°Not yet.¡±


    She can feel her lips stretching, a grin so wide it starts to hurt.


    ¡°Good answer, kid. And in the meantime?¡±


    She feels that weight from before rise back up out of him, resonating with the world. He smiles back at her, though his is almost contemplative, and answers her.


    ¡°I Honor The Dead.¡±


    ¡ª------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    She meets her third and final passenger. Many-Grasping is still a bit out of sorts, but she¡¯s recovered surprisingly quickly from the show of Intent and Truth and¡­ whatever the hell the Pale Thresher is.


    She turns to Raika and bows.


    Lord.


    Raika takes a deep breath.


    She lets it out, long and slow.


    ¡°So I know you¡¯re a guest. It¡¯s in my duty as your host to protect you, and you¡¯ve caused no trouble so far. I have fed and sheltered you, and you have been loyal and as helpful as circumstances allow.¡±


    Gratitude. This One = Honored. Wish To Do More.


    ¡°...even if you end up representing me, or caught up in the trouble I cause?¡±


    Honored. Eager.


    Raika nods.


    ¡°Alright. I think I can help with that. How do you feel about eating more of me?¡±


    ¡­Arousal.

 Chapter 264 - Behold, New Places And Things To Cook With

    Raika senses the change in the trees before she sees it. The Tallwoods, as the centaur calls them, start to change color, and more importantly, they begin to shrink. It¡¯s not all that notable at first- the difference of 4 kilometer-tall trees to 3-and-a-half isn¡¯t so distinct as to be immediately noticeable. The flavor of Qi changes with them, though- slightly less ripe with the concepts of growth and life, though still saturated with them, As the Qi changes, and as the Tallwoods shrink, and as the leaves go from an almost agonizingly bright green to a color more like a shifting sunset color, she tastes the point where the woods turn into something else.


    Singheart is beautiful.


    The trees have, after so many hours of high-speed travel, turned from pillars towards the heavens as tall or taller than any sect platforms into more ¡°common¡± sizes and shapes. They lean, grow in arcs and organic curves rather than purely straight, and their branches reach far enough, close enough to the ground, to intermingle with each other, weaving into complex knots. The roots and vines that previously made up whole canyons now make up a far more complex maze, overlapping into underground chambers and strange combinations of hallways and natural growth.


    At first, Raika thinks that it has to do purely with the changes to the Qi. Without the abundant life-flavored Qi growing the trees, and being refueled by the concept of their growth in turn, then surely they just didn¡¯t grow as high.


    It¡¯s only as she crests a hill made of the now interwoven trees and glimpses something miles away that she realizes that isn¡¯t quite correct. It¡¯s a factor, true- the ever-shifting tides and patterns she can faintly taste in the 4th ring change the world in turn, leading to places like the alien prairie of stone and the Tallwoods, but that¡¯s not the only thing that affects change in these parts.


    Raika stares at a tree, on the horizon, that is much shorter than the Tallwoods- but more than twice as wide. Its trunk is a rich russet-brown, almost like her skin, and it has branches on it with sets of leaves wide enough to plant buildings atop. Its canopy is like a rich, luscious dome of autumnal colors shot through with a vibrant, almost technicolor green exception here and there, like stars in a sunset sky.


    And as she steps onto the shorter, interwoven trees that make up a dense canopy ahead, she can taste the Qi running through them. Old, and seamlessly connecting from branch to branch, root to root.


    It¡¯s all one tree.


    And there, near its base, is Singheart.


    Just as the one tree has roots which have flowered into tree-forms in turn, so has the place beneath the boughs spread from a central point. Even from miles away, she can see the glint of what looks like a crystal, shaped into a blade or some sort of edge and thrust deep into the tree¡¯s trunk. It is long-healed, the colossal florae having grown around the damage, but the crystal still glints with a bright blue-green color, like a mirage of atmospheric light in the sky or the last hints of day through a deep and living sea. Around the crystalline construct are buildings, interwoven with strings of further crystals, possibly taken from the original pillar.


    The buildings seem to be directly interwoven with nature, leaves bent around each other to form rooms and chambers, vines made into more intentional mazes. Nothing that she can see, at least not from this far out, seems to be constructed from pieces severed from the whole. Nothing looks carved or intentionally deconstructed for pieces- everything is intermingled symbiotically through the architecture.


    It¡¯s miles away, and even with the lights shining out from between the intermingled trees, she can tell that there¡¯s more hidden out of sights.


    And the Pale Thresher stops.


    It goes from movement to perfect stillness without even seeming to try. Momentum vanishes, and it comes to a resting point as easily as if it had only been walking.


    The centaur beastkin keeps moving, seeming not to notice the change, and Raika calls to him.


    ¡°Is it alright to split up?¡± she asks.


    The centaur turns over its shoulder, smiling. ¡°I¡¯d rather it not be anywhere near a population center. The Pack generally agrees.¡±


    ¡°And it just¡­ listens?¡±


    ¡°I have absolutely no idea what it listens to,¡± he says, laughing. ¡°But at the moment, it¡¯s not going around slaughtering, and that¡¯s enough for me.¡±


    She nods. Fair enough.


    Still, she keeps an eye on the creature as she moves. A small eye, one partially hidden by the shape of her shoulder blades and all-pupil, so the white of sclera doesn¡¯t stand out- but an eye nonetheless.


    It does not move. Doesn¡¯t make any indication that it¡¯s noticed her watching. It just stands on a branch, perfectly still, like some weird sort of art project.


    Until something flits by.


    She doesn¡¯t actually see it move. One moment, its stationary, and the other, it has one long, slender-fingered hand holding a bird delicately between its claws.


    The bird is still alive, and even as she watches, the nails on its fingers push gently further and further into its warm body.


    They turn a corner, and her eyesight stops being able to show her the shape of the Thresher.


    Her synesthesia allows her to watch every moment of the little bird¡¯s struggle. And how quickly it is dropped as another, fresher victim flits by.


    ¡­yeah. She won¡¯t be fighting that thing, not for a long fucking time.


    Always good to be prepared, though.


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    The anvil-altar rings eerily as she works.


    Every change she brings into being makes it emit a noise, like it¡¯s shimmering or vibrating just out of space with the rest of her. It hums with barely contained power as she toys with it, each and every one of the veins of Qi running through her inner world intersecting in one of two places- at the pond, or in the anvil.


    Or altar. She¡¯s not sure which fits it better.


    Either way, she works.


    [Artistry Of Reshaping Function] reacts on command, following prompts easily and quickly. She brings forth materials, and it reshapes them into function, as is its very being, bit by bit.


    She reaches a hand into a tree of naked blades, of sharp corners and cutting edges, and pulls from it part of its concept. Her arm is slashed open, her being quivering with the sound of division sharpening open her being, and she feels the scars that decorate the form of her Soul resonate with it. She places it on the altar, and [Artistry Of Reshaping Function] hones it, holding it firm and keeping it from falling / fusing / always being a part of the Tree again.


    She reaches her hand into the thinner tree, which reeks of brimstone and has bullets and cartridges for leaves. She feels herself burn, be opened up to the air, be torn apart and penetrated by violence and things that should not be. She feels newer scars resonating deeply, like every memory of every gunshot she¡¯s ever fired or felt upon her.


    It too goes on the altar.


    She calls, and the life of her world answers. Her own flesh, taken from her Body outside, bubbles up out of the earth and up onto the altar, and from across the valleys, hopping, crawling, skittering, flying things travel towards the hill. Many of them die on the way, but those that arrive, armed with tools and strange forms and brimming with mutation and mechanisms, are almost the size of her forearm, where they once were less than the size of her finger.


    She takes two ingots of Radiant Metal, manifesting them from where they lay on the ground of her world into her hand. She takes a piece of her left arm, just as alive and real as the rest of her but also simultaneously false, artificial, and made of pure black metal that radiates Killing Intent and the concept of the End.


    If she is to make a weapon, it needs to be one that can grow with her. No need to make just one, but it has to be more than the weapons she¡¯s been creating and then dissolving almost as quickly. This needs to be something more.Stolen story; please report.


    With a thought, she calls forth a [Star Of Roiling Plasma] down from the sky, until it floats right above the hill, until the grass begins to warp.


    Behind her, she can feel the trees of both Flame and Lightning begin to grow, bit by bit, draining Dao from the [Star Of Roiling Plasma]. She has to hold it back by force, pulling the two parts of her soul-space apart by force of will.


    It¡¯s too much.


    It¡¯s not enough.


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    ¡°Hark, travelers!¡±


    Raika¡¯s Mind is pulled from the Soul¡¯s struggle as she hears the voice, snapping back to full consciousness in time to come to a halt on a nearby vine. The multiple tails and many limbs make balancing much easier than normal, but even still, at her speed, it cracks the branch, collapsing it partially inward.


    And isn¡¯t that interesting- beneath the crust of the branch, like the shell of an egg, there¡¯s a strange, creamy liquid, slightly yellowed but mostly off-white.


    No time to address that. Threat assessment-


    Two cultivators and a man that is not a cultivator at all step out from behind the trees.


    ¡­How did she not sense them? She thought she overcame the art of hiding one¡¯s Intent- she can still trace their literal existence, their heartbeats and sweat and movement. Right? So why couldn¡¯t she see them? Another technique?


    ¡°Hark!¡± says the centaur. ¡°This one is honored to be greeted. Hail and well met.¡±


    ¡°This one is honored to greet you!¡± says the person in the lead with a dazzling smile. ¡°It has been some time since you last entered our lands, Lord Aurick. We hope that your travels have guided you well, and are grateful to greet this stranger you have traveled alongside.¡±


    Before she can finish processing, the woman with the dazzling smile bows in her direction.


    Each of the three individuals is distinct, but not exclusively so. For one thing, all of them wear the clothing of woven grass that reminds her of her comatose passenger, Wei Zin.


    On the other hand, each of them feels so distinct from each other that it¡¯s hard not to tell them apart.


    The woman at the forefront of the trio is tall and broad shouldered, somewhat heavyset but seemingly filled with boundless energy. She has olive-tan skin and bright green eyes, her head shaved bald and tattooed with strange swirls in black ink, and her Qi smells like a sunny summer day atop a dazzling, bubbling marsh- and beneath the muck and the bubbles, the endless spring of life, beast swim and roam and-


    The next one, standing to her right and a bit behind her, seems meek enough to be a custodian or something, yet exudes a sense of pressure that she actually has to blink at. Warrior realm, and deep into it, too. She can taste the scent of honey coming off his pale skin, a sweetness of protection and reproduction kept deep beneath the ground, away from the light- and the thing inside that below-place coils and buzzes, harsh and sweet in even tones-


    Fuck. What is that?


    They¡¯re not like what she¡¯s smelled before. Their Qi seems almost alive, less a collection of properties and more a living, swirling thing. They remind her of-


    Of Fisher.


    What was it he¡¯d said?


    ¡° Lil teeny things with two steps and not a sound. They ain¡¯t got no Domains proper, they just got vignettes. There¡¯s no story to ¡®em.¡±


    He¡¯d been talking about the two from the Crashing Rainfall sect. The ones that-


    Oh, shit. She stored them in her body. Where the fuck are they?


    Gods damn it all, fuck. Where are they? The last time she remembers thinking about them-


    Her brains. She lost the majority of the Mind in the fight against the fortress. Did she have a brain in charge of tracking them? She can regrow a Mind from a Body with no brain at all, but does that mean she keeps everything from before? Or is it based on her current self, whatever that may be, so she can respond to the current moment?


    Fuck. Most of her memories are here, she¡¯s sure of that. Is it that she didn¡¯t really care about them, and the data wasn¡¯t preserved like her priorities and identity?


    Priorities. She splits off a new brain to go and deal with that problem, returning to the memory.


    No story to them. Not a Domain, just a vignette.


    Is this what he meant? Something to do with the depth of their Souls, maybe, or to do with a degree of comprehension? She¡¯s used to Domains as a weapon, or a tool, but this doesn¡¯t feel like that- if anything, it feels more like how she experiences a fully matured Soul.


    The third and final member of the group is even stranger than the rest- at least until she identifies what he¡¯s doing. A tall man with pale yellow skin and hints of vitiligo, he has eyes of pure white coloration, and not a single hair on his body. It is instead wrapped around his shoulders like a cloak, and woven into fibrous tendrils that carry him and seem to be ever-shifting into spearpoints and netting.


    He¡¯s a Craft user. One who apparently Sacrificed his hair, and seems to have at least partially bound it to a concept.


    And all three of them are waiting for her to respond.


    She forms a human larynx and a set of lips inside her throat, making a chirping, crackling sound on her first test.


    ¡°My name is Raika,¡± she says. ¡°I come as a traveling companion to¡­ Lord Aurick, here, and we seek only passage.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense, dearies!¡± the leader of the trio says, her smile only glowing warmer somehow. ¡°Any friend of Aurick¡¯s is a friend of ours, and we¡¯ll be happy to be a stopgap place for ya. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll only feel better about your journey with a belly of hot food and a bit of fresh news to tide you over. This one would be honored to invite you into her town, so long as you swear an oath on your soul not to kill, cripple, or abuse anyone you meet while within the borders of Singheart.¡±


    Raika turns her sleek, panther-like head over to ¡°Lord Aurick¡±, chitinous armor-plated moving out of the way of her spawning in a few extra eyes. Never a bad idea to watch the perimeter more closely. ¡°A¡­ reasonable binding.¡±


    ¡°Aurick¡± smiles at her, his expression as serene as ever. ¡°It is! And a common one, amongst the Many and All. Not nearly as taboo as swearing on one¡¯s soul is in the Republic, I hear, and a good way to ensure that fights don¡¯t go too far.¡±


    ¡°This one does hope to preserve her home,¡± says the warm cultivator. ¡°My name is Chu Ari, and it¡¯s a pleasure to meet you. I assure you that any in our walls unbound are found by the heart and the trees, and we are more than happy to hold ourselves to the same oath.¡±


    ¡°See? More than reasonable. And Chu Ari is an old friend of mine- I once nursed her grandmother, back when her great-grandmother fell ill. It¡¯s my privilege to remain tied to her bloodline. I swear on my Soul not to kill, cripple, or abuse anyone while within the borders of Singheart.¡±


    There. The words echo into the world, imbued with weight. Just like¡­


    Just like Truespeak.


    Raika relaxes her vocal cords, allows them to CHANGE into a deeper, truer shape.


    ¡°I swear not to kill, cripple, or abuse anyone in the borders of Singheart without true and deep cause.¡±


    The air between them all goes cold.


    Even Aurick looks at her in a moment of shock, the serenity on his face slipping for a moment.


    ¡°You¡­¡±


    The cultivator to the right of Chu Ari, the one who reeks of living honey in darkness, steps forward, his eyes suddenly sharp and wide.


    ¡°How¡­ how did you do that?¡±


    ¡ª----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Every Dao in her inner world strong enough to be a tree bends, pieces of them collected one by one and placed on the altar-anvil. Flesh, Blades, Guns, Flame and Lightning, all arrayed around each other in pieces that make the world tremble. At their center, ingots of Radiant Metal, one exuding heat, another, magnetism, a third, a fluidity abnormal. Surrounding them all, a shell of Blacksteel, dozens of shards thick enough to outsize a human hand, and interspaced with it, masses of flesh and biomorphic constructs formed of her flesh and World.


    She feels the world bending inwards to this point. The mass of her Qi, the two Souls she has arrayed to help her, the Dao trees bending and shifting as she experiences them so directly, the paracausal materials at their center.


    She could hammer them together. Rely on her Heart to make it for her, maybe. But that would neither diminish the danger nor improve the final product.


    She bends everything of herself, of her inner world, to this point.


    The monochrome and iridescent radiance of CHANGE falls on the anvil like a pillar from the heavens.


    The first strike upon the anvil. The first kiss upon the altar.


    Heart, Soul and World bend inwards to form something divine.


    ¡ª-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    A small beetle, currently riding atop a still very confused but very satiated centipede-crocodile spirit beast, turns to face the center of the world, the hilltop at which the sun touches the earth. Its army of writhing, rainbow-hued worms (and more recent converts to its forces) all turn with it, facing into a moment so profound that it resonates down to their very beings.


    [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS] makes a sound that is neither howl, nor bird-cry, nor roar, nor scream, but holds pieces of each and more, and casts the sound into the place where it Is. It¡¯s larger than its previous home, and stranger, disconnected, with far less of the Woods it once called home- but it is rich and bursting with things that [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS] did not know it hungered for. It feels the world bend and begin to create something new, like a birth, and it raises its voice to the sound of that which was not becoming what is.


    The sky above trembles as its stars move, bent inwards to the creation of something impossible. Thunderous rain, spears of lightning, arms of storm and body of starry night all tremble as everything is briefly shifted, as if puzzle pieces clicking into place. The storm intensifies, both in fear of what is to come, confusion at what is, and a celebration of what now comes into the world.


    Souls, too small to be real, too vast to be unmade so easily, tremble at the shaking of all that is. A pair of thorny, midnight scales creaks and groans as the weights of punishment and justice are reshaped again and again, as concepts spin. Restful form beneath a sky that is not stirs, nearly waking for a moment, and the remnants of a small crystal, nearly faded within the core of its protector, ring weakly with the sound of creation.


    Two strangers, long kept asleep and much disoriented, wake up in a wooden cabin, scrawled with sigils which hurt to look upon, its roof torn asunder as if by a great weapon. They feel the world around them ring at the touch of concept and reality intermingled, and feel a mixture of awe and fear.


    ¡ª---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Raika feels something inside of her¡­ click.


    The world around her bends away from her, like a sudden wind has blown every tree and mote of air away from her- and then in, as if she has the weight of a moon, dragging space itself in towards the central point of her being.


    From out of her being comes a sound that is not sound, and a feeling that does not exist, and a comprehension that burns the minds it touches. Everyone around her, even the Divine Beast she rode in with, take a step back and look at her, for just a moment, with a mixture of confusion, fear, and awe.


    ¡°...Sorry. Sometimes I just sort of do things.


    ¡°Oh, and¡­ this one used something she has heard called Truespeak. If that¡­ answers your question.¡±

 Chapter 265 - All Cops Are Bastards, Both Former And Fascist

    The 3rd ring is in upheaval, and all across the eastern side of it, chaos reigns. Every sect is consolidating power, dragging as much of their authority and strength as possible inward rather than out. Villages send out requests for aid constantly, but less and less all the time as casualties begin to pile up- only the cities closest to the sect plateaus remain relatively stable.


    Paleblossom city is one of those pockets. Further to the north, they¡¯re a ways away from the mess, but closer than anyone is comfortable with. The pale flowers and light blue and white colors the city is known for have become dull, flags left up just a little too long as the stress of the situation gets to people. Most are doing their best to keep up some degree of normalcy, and there are certain necessities of day to day life that go on no matter the crisis- preparing food, ensuring that the buildings are safe against the cold of winter, so on and forth.


    Atop the peaks of the plateaus, things are different. Atop the peaks, the hungry turn their gazes upon each other.


    Once upon a time, there were three sects in Paleblossom city, each of them to one side of the Imperial Palace.


    Now there is only one.


    The prodigal son of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect has earned their sect great renown. Tales of his downfall and surprising rise back to the peak of the Nascent Soul realm ring throughout the Empire, and the story of how Shin Ren stood at the breach of the broken Wall has resonated through the city. Already there are songs of his exploits and children who pretend to be him in mock battles in the streets. And now, with his ascent into the Warrior realm nearly guaranteed, none can doubt the prestige of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect.


    And with prestige comes honor. With honor, comes the right to do as one wills.


    Once upon a time, there were three sects in Paleblossom city.


    The Drifting Silence sect and the Endless Blooming Flowers sect both stood proud, but Shin Ren was always a prodigy, and his home sect has been on the rise for years due to this fact. Sixteen honor duels after tales of his new heights arrived, and the shame of the Drifting Silence sect was great enough for their elders to try and make a move.


    It was the excuse that was needed.


    Shen Go, patriarch of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect, kept in close contact with the Imperial Scion of Paleblossom city. When the sect of a prominent young champion of the Academies was threatened, using such overt violence, he maneuvered it into a masterstroke, gaining permission for an all-out attack against those who ¡°impugned the honor of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect¡±.


    Never mind that they were the ones who instigated, or that the battle tore through large swathes of the city. Such is the wisdom of the patriarch and the elders. Through their forward thinking and daring, the masters of the sect conquered the city, and with a single arranged marriage, made the Endless Blooming flowers sect into a subservient organization, one that is considered a branch family at best now. The patriarch, in his wisdom, even had their plateau lowered, the great pillar breaking in pieces and falling to vibrant purple flame until it partially collapsed, lowered beautifully until they bowed below the heights of the true sect of the city.


    It has taken months to rebuild since then, but the lives lost and the damage done was done in good faith and along the proper channels. What is there to punish? The powerful and the clever prevailed over their lessers, as is only right- what else is there but to celebrate?


    Lu Feren looks up at the peak of the plateau above him and takes another drink.


    Four years since his exile. Since the cripple shamed him with a lack of victory.


    He takes another drink.


    He remains in the Foundational realm, even without the resources of his sect. He is still proud, still righteous still true. He is still a cultivator worthy of pride.


    He spits out the grime that has settled on his teeth. He has not washed out his mouth in a few days, and the taste of the rice wine in the back of his throat makes him feel sick. It is swill, made in a rush, and poorly at that.


    It is what he can afford.


    He failed. He lost everything. He challenged a thing, a creature far beneath him in every way, and in his arrogance, he failed to do what he should have done- kill her outright. He took pity and acted arrogantly, allowing the cripple to set the terms, wherein it most certainly cheated. He should have killed it the moment that he saw it, shaming him and the entire sect by working in the kitchens of his honorable home.


    His former home.


    The home he now stares up at.


    He stirs up from the shadow he sits in. At this time of day, the sun has crawled far enough to the south that the spot beneath the tree he likes to sit on has gone dark. It is where he spends most of his days, and where he drowns his shame in cheap swill.


    No one will take him now. Even if he could have convinced the other sects, back when Paleblossom city had true rivals amidst its great powers, now only one remains, and it is directly subservient to those who cast him.


    In the depths of his heart, he sometimes hates the elders. Shiru Hei, honored be her name, saved his life, and kept the cripple from tearing his throat free, and when he gets too deep into his cups, he hates her for it. If he had died, then he wouldn¡¯t have to sit here now, like some mortal or lesser cultivator staring up at the peak, drinking away the taste of his pain with vinegar and rotten rice.


    What little pride he still has lives in the way the mortals look at him. Their pity is chased away by fear at the weight of his cultivation, well into the foundational realm. For mortals like these, they couldn¡¯t reach such a peak even if they trained and worked all their lives in their little towns.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Even if it¡¯s likely as high as he¡¯ll ever go, now.


    He takes a drink from his gourd, only to find it empty.


    Another drink, then. As useful a plan as anything.


    Lu Feren walks through the ruins, out towards the actual city proper.


    He steps past dozens of mortals working in tandem, pulling wooden beams and hammering materials together, sweating to repair the damage of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect¡¯s righteous victory. He ignores them, even as a series of Qi-gathering level weaklings nearly trips into his path. He snarls at them, and as is only right, the fear he instills in them is enough to motivate them to stand up properly.


    He can feel them looking at him as he walks towards the undamaged parts of the city, leaving his tree, his empty gourds, and the debris all around him.


    As he walks, he changes his pace, hunching a bit and rearranging the simple robes he wears. He is no longer privileged to wear the sect colors, garbed in simple grey and brown cloth instead, and if he keeps himself quiet and shuffles, there is a much better chance of avoiding the attention of the things that stalk the streets.


    He emerges past a corner, through the workers and into a common populace, and immediately catches sight of the beast.


    An Imperial. It glows with gold and jade circuitry, the lapdogs of the Division of War that call themselves the Guard walking amidst the people. They debase themselves by standing so close to the mortals, even as he can sense the weight of their cultivation- not a one of them is below the Core Formation realm, far beyond his grasp. However, the shamefulness of choosing to be shepherds, as if it¡¯s some honor to police the masses, is not why he avoids them like the plague they are.


    If they identify him, there is a chance they will take him.


    They are the Guard. Agents of the Empire, and the state which grows from it and oppresses the sects, they are empowered to do whatever they so please, so long as it serve their masters. Not like noble sects, who work together for grand purpose, no- these are cretins, abusers of power, and worse, they will infringe on his freedoms.


    He has little left. The freedom to exert his force over others, to live his life unbothered by the pettiness of mortals for as long as he can, is what he has left. But now, with the Wall breached and the Blades taking their sweet fucking time to clean it up, the Guard is more than willing to snatch up loose cultivators of passing strength and use them for their war machine.


    It¡¯s not fair. It¡¯s not fair. He¡¯s better than these people, and he shouldn¡¯t have to give his power for the will of a being he¡¯s never met, just because someone else failed to stop a bunch of beasts.


    If it hadn¡¯t been for the cripple¡­ if he¡¯d been more confident, struck immediately and refused to bow to the words of someone beneath him, he¡¯d still be there. Atop the peak. Above the world.


    It¡¯s not fair.


    He turns a corner, entering a side-alley stall that sprang up a few weeks prior. Their swill is cheap, cheaper than anything in the true markets of the city, and poorly made enough to be nearly a poison. It dulls the senses and the mind faster than any regular alcohol- after all, he is a cultivator, of the Foundational realm, and it takes far more than a mere mortal¡¯s liquor to get him quickly drunk.


    Without a word, hunched into his robes, he drops a silver coin on the stand.


    The man behind it, incredibly scrawny and missing more than a few teeth, smiles wide. The stench of his stomach wafts out of his throat, and it takes all of Lu Feren¡¯s willpower not to burn him to ashes for daring such behavior.


    A moment later the bottle is before him, and the thought has left.


    One silver for six bottles. In theory, he could haggle the price down, find someplace that offers six ¡°drinks¡± for that silver- but he does not want cups, or wines. He wants this. He wants to forget.


    He leaves the alleyway by a different route than he came in, sticking to the shadows wherever he can, like a furtive rat.


    Is this all he is now?


    The thought runs through him like an electric shock, and it is all he can do to keep the bottles steady as he pries the lid off the first one and takes a drink.


    And then staggers as the taste hits him.


    It¡¯s not wine. It¡¯s vitriol. It¡¯s agony. It lights him up from the inside, the pleasant burn of acid replaced by something that makes his throat close up and his body clench.


    Almost as soon as he stops, staggering, dropping the other bottles to the floor with a crash, he understands what¡¯s happened.


    Poison.


    The smell rises from the other bottles, acrid and violent, the sting of alcohol mixed with something far more caustic. He chokes out a sound, a garbled cry, and falls against the nearest wall, the wood of the home barely supporting him as he staggers.


    He needs to run. The-


    The Guard. They¡¯ll do something to stop this. Loyal soldiers of the Empire, meant to protect its citizens from predation and chaos.


    He tries to take a step forward-


    Something sharp sticks him in the ribs.


    He turns, his eyes wide, his face turning blue from lack of oxygen, to see the mangled smile of the man he just sold his silver to.


    He says something nasty, but his voice is a droning buzz- it enters into Lu Feren¡¯s mind and leaves no impact. Everything is oxygen depravation and exhaustion, pain and fear, adrenaline burning through him almost as violently as the poison.


    He goes to fight back, pulling at his Qi- and the man stabs him once more. Again. Again.


    And then Lu Feren¡¯s panic reaches a crescendo, and he flails everything that still responds to his will wildly.


    A burst of awkward quasi-purple flares from him, its edges tinted brown and far flimsier than he remembers it being.


    No. No. He is in the Foundational realm, and-


    The traitorous merchant has sidestepped the flame, but there is surprise in his eyes, hints of fear. He didn¡¯t expect it, and this is it, his opportunity. If he can just-


    The man steps in close again, overcoming hesitation to bring the filthy, jagged knife back into cutting range-


    And then there is a burst of gold and heat, and his head is just missing.


    Lu Feren falls over, unable to stay upright. His torso feels hot, and he distantly realizes it¡¯s because of the blood running from him. And then he feels very cold.


    He turns to look at his savior, and-


    There he is. A Guard.


    Noble beings, burdened with wisdom and grace. He should never have doubted them, even in his mind. The sects are brutes, and only such nobility could restrict them, could keep him from dying here in the dark, in the city that his sect has abandoned him to-


    He sees the Guard¡¯s mouth move beneath its visor. Sees another burst of gold as a second one arrives, tilting its head to see the aftermath of the mad scrabble of violence in the alley.


    The second one asks something that doesn¡¯t quite land in Lu Feren¡¯s mind. The first one replies, equally alien.


    They¡¯re here. They stopped the fight. They are peacekeepers. Shepherds. Agents of the Empire, surely here to help, to heal him-


    He feels the first one turn him over with its boot, tossing him to one side carelessly.


    No. Please, no-


    Somehow, the jingle of his coin-purse comes through clearer than the words, than the laughter, than the complete disregard that radiates through his being from the thing looking down on him.


    He hears it jingle as it is pulled away. Jingle as it is vanishes into a spatial ring. Hears a sigh, and is not sure if it comes from his throat or the towering stranger of gold and jade standing above him.


    And then¡­ it walks away.


    No.


    No, they- they can¡¯t.


    They have healing relics. Herbs. He¡¯s seen it. He¡¯s sensed it with his cultivator¡¯s acumen. He knows they could save him. They stopped the fight, so they must be here to help, the bastards, the fucks, the oppressors of the sects, the damnable beasts of the state, the¡­


    He¡¯s so tired.


    It¡¯s cold now.


    Lu Feren goes quiet, the last thought in his mind the sounds of armored boots leaving the alley, unhurried.


    The Guard, uncaring of the cooling bodies behind them, march back into the city. Not much longer- the sects of this little place are starving it for their own hungers, and soon the chaos will have festered long enough that they will be allowed to press them into use.


    It is only expected that some worthless mortals are too weak to last that long. A shame.

 VISCERAE

    So turns out, I totally forgot that this was the shit I was doing lmao, but my second story is out! It''s up! Just a couple chappies so far but hot diggity dog it is going really well so far, and I''m kind of in love! Reforged From Ruin is still my main squeeze, but boy howdy, a gal''s gotta diversify! I need that cash, and I extra super duper feel the need to express new artworkds and do cool new shit with other unique ideas I have!


    VISCERAE is my new project, and if I had to describe it, it would be: trans gamer girl finds cool VR game that does cool shit with meat, and draws herself into a weird, weird world just beneath the surface of the small town of Hollow Springs! It''s got some Katalepsis, some SCP, some proper horror, and a lot of meeeee! Enjoy, and here''s the heads up for anyone who''s missed it so far!


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    VISCERAE</a>You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    What would you do if you found something that changed you? A piece of art, or an experience, or a choice, that could transform you into something unrecognizable to yourself? Something beyond what you might have been?


    Ilia is a gamer. She has been for years, and in pursuing her own escapism, has found a game talked about in online forums as the most immersive game ever, made for a cutting-edge VR console: MEAT. At first, it''s exactly what was promised- a perfectly strange world of living flesh, full of strange details and biohorrific sensibilities- it''s only after she starts seeing things she shouldn''t, begins experiencing the strange systems of the game in far more detail than should be possible, that she begins to wonder. It''s only when she starts looking for answers that she discovers just how deep the rabbit hole goes, and just how many others there may be in the world, dripping with the smell of fresh blood and leading up, up, up, deeper into a place she cannot comprehend.


    What else is tied to this strange world of flesh? What other people have been touched by it, and that which inhabits it? What are the sides to this conflict she can''t yet see?


    What will she become as she digs deeper into what is- and what might be?


    What To Expect:


    Body Horror of the Eldritch variety


    Lovecraftian horrors beyond human comprehension


    Action! Romance! Drama! Mystery!


    Release Schedule:


    Every day of the week for Rising Stars, and then 3 times a week after! Or more, I''m not sure yet! We''ll see!


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 Chapter 266 - Antagonish!

    A man in simple, unadorned robes walks over what remains of a fortress.


    It is mighty, even in its ruins, dramatic even in its downfall. Even as it lies, gutted and dead, its Heart torn out and eaten, there are still pockets of resistance, bits and pieces of what once might have been called great defenders. Bio-constructs roam the deepest tunnels of the former fortress, eeking out a living bereft of the greater will that drove them, and roaming Daemon-things, their bindings too tight to be broken but just loose enough to allow their continued existence, compete for territory among the ruins.


    And always, in an ever-flowing tide, the Pack advances.


    The man in simple robes watches impassively as something shaped like a ten-sided die crawls onto the rocks next to him, each of its faces holding a single limb that allow it to move as it rolls. It spares him not a glance, rolling downhill past the ruined wall he sits atop.


    It is the fifth being which has walked nearly to his exact resting place and left him unmarked. It is only reasonable this be the case, though.


    After all, He Is Not There.


    An interpretation of his Truth, his distinction from the world and its rules. He is not at the place where they would see him- he is at the place where he is sitting. That level of control over his interpretation of reality took over a century to complete.


    And now, he uses it watch the world change.


    This man, who has wandered the breadth of the world, has recently completed a trip from the very center of the first ring out to here, the very edge of the third. It has taken him many months- his master demands results, but the burden of millenia have taught patience. The man in simple robes found his way past a researcher from the Division of Altered Cultivation, following threads from him out to the city of Cragend, which brought about the disappearance of a member of the Feng clan.


    Had he died, the man who Is Not There would likely never have been called. To die in such an embarrassing fashion would not demand the personal attention of a man who Is Not There- it would only mean that Feng Gao had fallen so far as to no longer be a part of the Feng clan¡¯s worthy halls, and thus would have required minimal followup except to punish those responsible.


    But Feng Gao disappeared.


    His candle, enchanted to connect to his lifeline, has yet to go out, but it sputters strangely now, a thing of awkward twists and turns. A corruption of a Feng is a much greater concern.


    And yet, no trace of him had been found. No hint of the former Feng powerhouse could be located in the minor mining town where he was last seen.


    So the man who Is Not There followed what traces there were.


    A thing with the scent of Feng blood on its claws. A thing of human shape, but quite far removed. And not a cultivator, interestingly. A thing connected to the threads of fate he followed from the Researcher.


    It meandered for a while- until the man who Is Not There found a strange place in the backwoods of the third ring, between a barely civilized village and a fourth-rate sect. Its name has been placed deep within vaults of his own creation, planted unforgettably into his mind- one never knows where one might find connections. The threads wound between this place and the lives of some of the paltry things in that area, including strongly to a young apprentice of the aforementioned sect, but that is not what drew the man¡¯s attention.


    Where once, Imperial maps had shown him a valley, now there was just dirt.


    In an area a little over two square kilometers in circumference, leaving behind little but bamboo shoots and upturned soil, there is an empty space. A near-perfect circle of ground that was torn up wholesale, not so cleanly that it seemed to be done with Qi or a blade, but far neater than it should have been. As if that circle of ground that was once a valley under Imperial command had simply uplifted itself and gone away.


    And that got his attention once more.


    The trail quickened after that, the threads leading him straight towards the wall. He traced every step, every stop, every breathe and moment of sleep or feeding or intimacy that he found on the way, but even still, he arrived at the wall much faster than his quarry originally did.


    He got there just in time to see the black thread of fate ripple out from her as the back of her brains were blown out.


    Clearly his quarry had tried to sneak into the fortress and been stopped- but there should have been nothing in that fortress, besides perhaps its commander or a Daemon-summon, which could harm a thing that could alter the nature of a Feng Warrior realm, or perform the strange transformation of earth he saw. Even if it had been another Heart he had found traces of, something which the man who Is Not There severely doubts, it should still have been strong enough to protect its champion.


    And then he saw the black threads begin to spread through the fortress.


    And then he walked into the main unloading dock beneath the compound above and watched, sitting off to one side, the thing which crawled out of what had once pretended to be human.


    He has spent the last week and a half reviewing what he saw. He has sat, Not There, for that time, thinking, checking back to confirm what he saw.


    Each thread leaves a trail. A part of the weave of what is, was, and could be that makes up the world. The man who Is Not There was once plucked from out of a pool of still mercury, pulled out of that weave and the things he whispered from it, but the understanding of that place of divination never left him.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    He watches the weaving of the death of Fortress City #180 from every angle, over and over, learning the patterns and movements and meanings and depths of the thing his master bade him hunt over and over and over.


    He gets up from where he sits, walking calmly along the debris. His eyes track the threads, even as his body appears to pass through the flesh of the hordes crawling over the breach. They cannot touch him- he simply Is Not There in any way that matters except the way that allows him to See.


    The man in simple robes walks, and the world changes around him.


    The Pack, as they call themselves, are a danger, this is true. It has been¡­ one-thousand, six-hundred and thirty-seven years since the last so-called alliance of spirit beasts attempted to face the Empire, and to this day, their deaths are part of why the third ring is so empty of all but the bravest and most well-hidden beasts. It has been nearly that long again since the wall was last breached, and that breach was sealed quickly, within days.


    It has been a week and a half, and still the Pack advances.


    There are thousands of spirits beasts crossing the remains of the wall, with some of the stronger members of the Pack corralling uncontrolled Daemons or well-aligned beasts of the 4th ring to the edges of the tide, holding back the reinforcements from fortress-cities 181 and 179. Still, beasts do not make up the majority of the tide- while the heights that even animals can achieve with cultivation are high, they take time and resources to be reached.


    In place of using unique and precious creatures, transported or teleported through the dead sands by their betters, as cannon fodder, they have instead turned to the worst possible scenario.


    Allies.


    For every mammalian predator-beast, loping in lesser packs and through rifts in space and vulnerability, there are close to ten thousand insectile creatures working in concert. Swarms of natural bio-constructs, birthed of Hearts yet to be harvested, skitter and crawl and shield the Pack¡¯s more distinct assets, and the air buzzes hard enough to kill a mortal with the sound of beating wings and chittering mandibles. Hive queens specialized in mass production and deployment have been brought into the Pack, but this, too, could be predicted. For all the biological and ontological distinctions between the greater Divine Beasts, their joining to the Pack could be expected.


    It is the corpses they carry that stand apart from the rest.


    In sweeping mausoleums, carried on palanquins of black glass and spider-woven lace, they ride. In boots of carved resplendence and gilded mercury and gold, they march. In tides of shifting limbs, sewn together and fused at joints and seams, they crawl and lumber and roll and skitter and spread.


    Everywhere the man who Is Not There looks, he sees traces of the Fallen Kingdom.


    They could very well be a rogue group, a terrorist faction amidst the failed empire and lackluster civilization rotting outside the walls. They could be a deployment of their forces, captured and forced into servitude or death by some particularly intelligent member of the Pack.


    But for every unique and difficult to predict spirit beast walking through the breach and into the maze of trenches of the ¡°city¡± part of the fortress city, there are perhaps a hundred soldiers of the dead keeping pace.


    Unlike the Pack, they have none of their strongest champions on the playing field. A thing that the threads of fate call the ¡®Many-Heron¡± gobbles up dozens of cultivators, every stab of its many fishing-beaks claiming a half-dozen lives, and one of the feline predators that seem common amongst the Pack¡¯s Divine Beast contingent swims through space, switching between two and three-dimensional space at whim to reap a tally of lives. The Fallen Kingdom¡¯s forces, on the other hand, move in synchronicity, their strength coming from how difficult it can be to defend against attacks aimed at the soul and one¡¯s vitality itself. Constructs of artfully rendered corpses, woven together into great beasts that ape at holiness, wander the front lines and protect ranks of soldiers in black glass and gilded armor, swinging blades of pale white marble that reek of the Cold Sun into unsuspecting cultivators who have rarely faced its like.


    The man who Is Not There tilts his head as he watches the marble sword of an artfully decorated corpse tear through the arm of an Imperial soldier. The material shears through the arrays on the black and jade armor of the Empire, and the man in simple robes watches curiously as veins of death, desiccation, decay spread explosively through the man¡¯s arm and into his head.


    Nothing he hasn¡¯t seen before, but it¡¯s always a lovely vision.


    The man in simple robes wanders back into the trenches, following older threads.


    He¡¯s reviewed his target¡¯s entry into the fortress city multiple times, but the man who Is Not There is nothing if not thorough. He steps through and over the dead bodies of those too slow to escape, around and across smoking debris that was once the improvised housing of the many that lived in and supplied the city, tracking the fate he seeks.


    While the Division of Divination keeps its assets close, and has far more skill than he, that does not mean that the art of Seeing is closed to him.


    He replays the events that led to their assignment at the front lines. Sees the allies that the thing he hunts has.


    The man who Is Not There tilts up an edge of his lip in what might be called a smile.


    His master has decreed that he discover what occurred, and bring to justice those who plotted against the glory of the Feng clan. Fate has shown him all that there is to see, and painted a path to his target.


    All is as it should be.


    He turns his head to look at the dead and the dying all around. The war rages, tearing wider the breach in the Wall, and until the generals of the Bastion Fortresses or the Blades make a move, neither of which are likely anytime soon, there is nothing to be done about it.


    He traces the fate of those around him, marveling at the beauty of all those black threads.


    Ah. Except one.


    One of the threads on the battlefield grows long, the other colors of comprehension decorating its fabric. He steps through a wall, slipping through the body of a struggling beast pinned beneath a dozen spears and bleeding out, stepping in and around and through a curve in space all simultaneously.


    There. Writhing in the dirt, beneath part of a collapsed building which is quickly being worn down and consumed from the inside.


    A Daemon. Writhing under the wreckage, a sloppily completed binding allowing it to sip at a part of the world beyond its official constraints. It eats at the stone of the wall, slowly straining and stretching its skeletal frame, the constructed war-body of weaponry, energies and metal.


    He tracks the thread that flutters out from it, pushing himself to see the way that it is woven thickly with other deaths, other dangers, more of the war-


    Ah. There. A thirty-odd percent chance that it entrenches itself through a civilian center and into the second ring, near one of the anchors.


    Hmm. The things he does for the sake of a better world.


    Time stops as a halo brightens from a place that Is Not There, shining out onto the world.


    He reaches his mind through the machinery of it, the construct of divinity pushing against the world and dragging the thread of fate towards him. With a flicker of will, he molds the destiny of the broken Daemon, cutting away the woven possibilities until only one remains. Now, so long as his Halo holds power, the Daemon will never not turn slightly north in its advancement, ending up deeper in the civilian center and away from any important infrastructure.


    Of course, there¡¯s a chance that it¡¯ll never even head inland. Other fates remain open to it. But so long as it acts as the man who Is Not There knows it inevitably will, it will do so according to a proper fate.


    He nods. As it should be.


    And then he takes a step.


    He isn¡¯t gone. That wouldn¡¯t make sense.


    He Wasn¡¯t There to begin with.

 Chapter 267 - People Arent Real

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    Kai remembers the day he realized that people aren¡¯t real.


    It had looked like a woman. Tits, torn free from a ripped shirt, covered in mud, spit and blood from the face of the thing he thought was a real person. Legs, torn and scraped and leaking carmine, atop feet that seemed like pieces of torn meat more than anything human.


    It made noises, and for a while, Kai was sure it was a person. When they clamped the irons around her wrists, he thought it was a person. When she sobbed and screamed and begged, he thought it was a person. When the edge of a spear was pressed against the back of her neck, forcing her to her knees upon the stage, he was sure that the thing which cried tears onto the floor was a person.


    It looked like a person. Smelled like one, even through the smell of powder and lightning and blood that washed in from the fields. It reminded him of his mother, in that distant sort of way that anything shaped like a woman and bleeding, crying, dying reminded him of his mother.


    Then he heard the crowd begin to grow louder, and he turned from the not-person to wonder at what they were saying.


    He saw the not-person on stage behind the shackled thing speak words, words which now elude him. Some drivel about honor and righteousness, about the evil of some faction or other. All meaningless, really, even in retrospect. But the crowd of people around him were yelling and waving and cheering, so, in his mind, it must have meant something. They were bigger than him, and stronger, as he only came up to their waists, so they must have understood more than him.


    And then the things in armor began passing around the stones.


    Big baskets of them, carried effortlessly by things that were only as tall as the people around him. They shone in the sunset light, the glint of the sun setting in the west, bedecked in steel and bronze and gold, and they smiled and cheered alongside the crowd of people he was lost in.


    And when the people picked up the rocks, and began to throw them, Kai began to understand.


    It wasn¡¯t really crying, up there. It¡¯s¡­ sort of like a plant. When you hit it, it breaks, and that means that sometimes it withers, but it¡¯s not real, not like a person is. Every time one of the stones hit the ground or the chains near the not-person, it would flinch like it was trying to be real, and when the rocks hit, it made sounds like a person, but it wasn¡¯t. It couldn¡¯t be.


    Kai remembers looking up at the face of one of the armored things that had a basket of rocks. It had walked up to his part of the crowd, and it smiled encouragingly down at him, its eyes gentle.


    But it wasn¡¯t a person.


    He could see the fat of its lips shifting to the time of words. The jelly of its eyes glistening. The hairs sprouting up from wet, soft flesh, shaping its contours, partially distracting from the enamel-glint of its teeth, like grave markers in a cavity of soft, moist movement.


    It said something, and it looked and sounded and seemed like a person.


    But it offered him a rock.


    He remembers smiling with understanding as he picked up the stone. As he looked around at all the things that he thought were people, all throwing their own stones until the thing on stage is more red than sun-kissed, more mangled than formed. He remembers smiling as he threw his own rock, at how wetly and harshly it landed on the not-person¡¯s ribs.


    And it was ok, because she wasn¡¯t a person.


    None of them are.


    They¡¯re throwing the rocks because they¡¯re empty. Pretend-things, things that aren¡¯t real, because none of them are real.


    He remembers how he turned to his sister, eyes wide. She¡¯d been standing perfectly still, as if existing somewhere else. The crowd moved and swirled, the not-people screamed and said words that don¡¯t matter, and she stood as an anchor amidst the waves.


    He remembers telling her what he had discovered. He remembers her face shifting, just a bit, into a shape like a not-person, before her smile came back, bringing life to her eyes. He remembers her patting him on the head, and telling him how smart he was.


    He remembers how proud he was at figuring it out.


    The field of bodies they¡¯d walked through was ok, because they weren¡¯t people bodies. The thing dying on stage, pissing itself and making little breathy noises and dripping crimson everywhere, isn¡¯t a person, so it¡¯s ok. The things around them, standing and cheering and throwing stones still, aren¡¯t people, so they¡¯re ok.


    He remembers how sad his sister looked when she thought he couldn¡¯t see her. How empty she seemed for a moment.


    That was the first time he realized it, but he was still young. He hadn¡¯t really internalized it yet. It was just those things that weren¡¯t people, just the ones that he could see and touch and confirm and understand. There were other people in the world. There were other things that lived and were a person, surely, since it couldn¡¯t all be like the place where the things that pretended to be villagers did all that to the thing pretending to be a captured person.


    The second time he realized it, when it went deeper, he learned what he already knew.


    People aren¡¯t real.


    He remembers the smell. Blood and feces and steel, draped over wet earth and baking in the light of the sun, bright yellow and warm and calm. Sometimes, he thinks that the smell has found its way into memories that didn¡¯t have it before, but it¡¯s in so many already that it¡¯s no real concern.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    He remembers his sister, standing ahead of him, staring down a dozen armed men. He knew she¡¯d win. She always won. He remembers how proud he was of her, even though he worried at how she always looked so tired.


    He was so happy when she asked him to help her. She¡¯d been fighting so long, and he¡¯d gotten strong specifically so he could protect her. It was about time she let him help.


    He remembers how the meat felt as he tore it open. As his knives glided across it, pulling it apart like a flower, each layer another petal until the whole thing unravels. He remembers the screaming, and the crying, and the pain, and the sounds of dying things.


    He remembers staring at the face of one of the dying things. It had looked like a person, its mouth open and gaping, begging for air that wouldn¡¯t come. It was crying.


    But it wasn¡¯t a person. He could see the twitches of the meat, the way the jelly played across twitching muscle, the way it begged not to die just as it had bragged about what it would do to him and his sister when it won.


    It wasn¡¯t real. Just pre-programmed responses, twitches and movements of a thing shaped to tug at heartstrings. It was born just like a person, and acted just like a person, so what was the difference?


    He looked at his sister, and he understood.


    She was real. She was herself, a full being, and she loved him, and he would do anything for her.


    So it wasn¡¯t the shape that was wrong. Or the words. Or the bleeding, the pleading, the way that he could hear their dull little skulls flickering with emotion.


    It was people.


    His sister isn¡¯t a person, she¡¯s his sister. He¡¯s not a person, he¡¯s Kai.


    People aren¡¯t real.


    They¡¯re just meat, shaped like someone that isn¡¯t real, that doesn¡¯t matter.


    He remembers the third time he learned the lesson.


    He remembers the battlefield, full of that same smell. It was richer that day, the mud saturated with blood for weeks, the shit long infested by flies and the steel coated in rust. He remembers the man, standing atop a sword that floated in the air, exuding a weight like nothing he¡¯d ever felt.


    Kai had pulled himself from the meat around him. It had cringed and become afraid, had stopped kissing and touching him and making sure his sword was well oiled, so it didn¡¯t matter anymore. He remembered how he smiled, bright and warm and so fucking happy that someone else existed, even just for a moment.


    He remembers feeling fear, for the first time in so long, when his sister didn¡¯t understand.


    But that was ok too. It was. When the battlefield was remade, and all the meat was made into corpses, and his steel was shattered like glass, and he saw her body there, lying still, spread across a hillside in red and brown and white, it was ok.


    She was just a person. Just meat. It wasn¡¯t his sister.


    So it was ok. His sister was gone, and that was sad, but the thing he was staring at was just more meat, just more pre-programmed responses waiting to die, pretending it was ever alive as more than just an animal.


    And when he died, that would be ok too. Because then he wouldn¡¯t be Kai. Kai isn¡¯t a dead thing. Kai isn¡¯t a person. Kai is Kai. The dead thing is a dead thing.


    He¡¯d tried explaining the concept once or twice. He could tell when the things were only pretending to get it, trying to make him feel better so he wouldn¡¯t kill them. Sometimes they¡¯d even get it right enough that he¡¯d wait a little while.


    Never forever, though. In the end, all the things that weren¡¯t real got boring. He¡¯d run through all the pre-programmed responses, all the ways their meat could twitch, their thoughts could run, their beliefs could shape, and then the only fun left in them was in making them come apart and stop moving. And that is quite fun.


    In the end, it¡¯s all just people. People aren¡¯t real. People don¡¯t make choices. People are just things that react until they stop moving.


    None of them seemed to get that, though. Which makes sense, really- if they could understand how they¡¯re not real, then they¡¯d be real. Maybe. He never really bothered to confirm that thought.


    But that¡¯s ok. Kai had fun. Kai was alive. Kai was real.


    Kai remembers when he met the fourth real thing in the world.


    First, himself. Then, his sister. Then, the being that killed his sister.


    Then the being that was all people.


    Kai understood, then. He understood why people weren¡¯t real. It¡¯s because they were too small. They were all just little pieces of the bigger thing that was real. The thing with the crown. The thing that glowed golden and touched the whole world and that smiled at him in a way that hurt, really deep.


    He was in love instantly.


    And then his love gave him a sword, and taught him about the realest thing of all. The thing so real that its weight defines every other thing that is, was, and could be.


    DIVISION.


    He understood it so perfectly, the moment it was explained. He¡¯d known for so long, just like he¡¯d known about the people.


    Some things are real. And some things aren¡¯t.


    DIVISION.


    Kai sighs, wondering what¡¯s gotten him so nostalgic.


    Probably the smell. Blood and shit and steel, all wrapped around each other and the sounds of dying.


    He takes a long drink of something, one of the people behind him always ready with a fresh pitcher, even as he swishes it in his mouth like water and spits it out. He watches it arc down, down, down, falling apart into little rain droplets which eventually land on the bodies of a dozen struggling figures.


    He listens to them scream as the rain cuts through them, and takes another long drink.


    Far below him, the Wall is breached. A cut on the skin of his love, gaped open and torn apart, letting the pretend-things from outside squirm into the lands beyond. It¡¯s quite beautiful, really, like a torn-open wound against unblemished skin.


    One of the people asks him a question, its voice petulant, confused. He feels some part of his awareness extend back over it, just long enough for it to fall into severed slices.


    He¡¯s enjoying the moment. The meat should know better than to interrupt his enjoyment.


    He chuckles as he watches one of the things of the Feng clan dart and scuttle about. It¡¯s always cute when they get big enough to do interesting things. He watches it activate its Halo, playing with some little Daemon-thing (and Kai makes sure to mark that down- the Daemon things don¡¯t even pretend to be real, and make for rather refreshing conversation). And then he watches it dart off, heading out into the wider world in a way that¡¯s just a little bit tricky to track.


    So cute, how they all like to do that. He loves the look they get when they realize he can still see them. Can still reach out and touch them. Can still unravel them like-


    Ah. Getting carried away again. It¡¯s all the smell. Proper nostalgia rearing its beautiful head.


    He sighs, long and slow.


    Ah well. His love told him to kill at least part of the problem, and he¡¯s not one to shy away from those sorts of requests. Usually when he shows up, something interesting happens, so that¡¯s something to look forward to. Some hundred-year-old superweapon waiting to lock on to his arrival somewhere, or an ancient wraith of something he killed a while back, or some brand new invention that someone thinks is just right to kill a Blade. All in good fun.


    He waves at the meat behind him and says the word-prompts that¡¯ll get them moving. It¡¯s all rather boring, and his love is always ever so busy nowadays, but frankly, it¡¯s nice to get some exercise now and again.


    It¡¯s a good thing no one and nothing down there is real. That would be exhausting. Much easier to kill things that are just people.


    People Aren¡¯t Real.

 Chapter 268 - If You Were Church, I鈥檇 Get On My Knees

    Many-Grasping-Young-Of-Harsh-Lands-Reaching is familiar with the idea of prayer. When one is born to a god, it is one of the first acts a person learns.


    While most people call her Many-Grasping, that¡¯s not actually her name. Not her given name, anyways. Her given name comes at the end of the descriptor-sentence of her being- Reaching. The Many-Grasping-Young-Of-Harsh-Lands are a multitude, a descriptor of place and form, born in a litter that numbered in the thousands. Half of them made it to childhood, and half again made it to pubescence, and a tenth of those made it to adulthood, and she was the only one (of that litter, anyways) who was always reaching for new things. She used her long limbs to stretch as far as she could as a little pup, and as an adult, the nickname defined her, especially as she turned to reach out into the wider world and explore on her own.


    Many-Grasping-Young-Of-Harsh-Lands-Reaching is not to blame that most people see her long limbs and assume that it is the ¡°many grasping¡± part of her name that defines her. And to be fair, it does, in part. Her parent, the one that sired her litter, is in fact possessed of many hands, and many young, and spends much of its time grabbing and pulling things to itself. She doesn¡¯t know if her original parent had a name the way she does- not every Divine Beast grows their mind as much as their body or their powers. The all-language speaks without words, but it does still require a grasp of greater ideas to express those ideas. Whoever seeded her parent, whatever their relationship with said parent may have been, gifted her with a more complex mind, and for that, she is grateful. With that mind, she learned what it is to pray.


    Of her hundred-thousand siblings, those that pray are the ones that live longest. The ones that paid proper obeisance to the Divinity which birthed them.


    To pray, especially in the all-tongue, requires a deep and abiding Intent, an awareness of the divinity being prayed to. Otherwise, it is not prayer- simple as that.


    So it is that she learned to pray. So it is that she enacts what she knows now, in service to a new being worthy of prayer.


    In a room made of holy flesh, she bows her head. Her chin is pressed to the ground, her snout facing towards where the walls feel warmest. Her limbs, long and awkward with her multiple joints, are folded into a prayer-pose, two sets of elbows making a sort of inverted pyramid with her hands grasping each other at its top. Three times, she taps the claws of her hands together, clicking her heels against the floor of chitin and bone as she does.


    In the all-tongue, she speaks the truth of what she knows and feels and sees.


    Lord.


    She taps her claws together again, clicks against the floor, and exhales softly.


    Great One.


    Three taps of her claws.


    Beloved Divine.


    The holy one that calls herself Raika has blessed her at every moment. Has protected her, offered her safe haven through lands she could not find her way through for decades yet with her speed of growth, and even allowed her to watch those places go by, to visit them in a way. She has fed Many-Grasping-Young-Of-Harsh-Lands-Reaching of her own flesh, growing fruits and cuts blessed with Qi and enriched with blood divine.


    She has asked, in return, only that her blessed passenger learn, grow, and protect those that Raika, her Lord, already protects. Nothing more, even when she has asked how she might be of use, and offered herself entire.


    What could this be, if not a Divine worthy of worship?


    She clicks her claws together and-


    Her god answers.


    The wall she is facing transforms, the meat behind it shimmering and shifting as muscle, tendon and bone all form and become united by the great beast. The skin of the wall splits open, smoothly and into a slit, opening wide enough to admit a humanoid avatar into the room.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Raika asks.


    She tilts her head, confused. Isn¡¯t it obvious?


    Prayer.


    Slowly, her god squats down onto the ground, and then sits. Her form is wrapped in a toga-like robe, skin and silk interwoven to preserve modesty, but Reaching reminds herself that she is always bare, that they reside now within her very Body.


    ¡°Why are you praying to me?¡± she asks.


    Reaching tilts her head in confusion. You = Divine. You = Kind / Generous / Powerful. This And More. I Choose To Worship.


    She is proud of her grasp on the complexities of the all-tongue, glad to be able to communicate so much, but still, there are¡­ limits. Words for things that don¡¯t quite translate to a direct meaning. Internally, she feels herself grumble at her lack of vocal cords. It might not help, per se, but it surely couldn¡¯t hurt the matter.


    She wants to share this. She wants her protector and patron to understand.


    You Are¡­ Worthy.


    The Divine before her lets out a long, shaky breath.


    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡±


    Reaching almost feels like she should laugh.


    Worthy, she says, and she makes the all-tongue convey as much weight as she can.


    She wants her to know. She wants her to understand.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a god,¡± her patron whispers.¡±I haven¡¯t done anything worthy of divinity. I don¡¯t mean to downplay myself here, Many-Grasping, I know I¡¯ve done a lot. The fact I can exist as I do is brought about by me and by equally impressive powers, like Li Shu and¡­ well, others, ones you haven¡¯t met. By rights, I should be dead a dozen times over, but I am here and I am powerful. But that doesn¡¯t make me good, and it doesn¡¯t mean you should worship me.¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Don¡¯t Have To. Want To.


    ¡°I- why? I accepted you as a guest. Feeding and protecting you is just¡­ par for the course. My- I mean do you know what I¡¯m doing? I¡¯m currently trying to fight a fucking war. I¡¯m doing my best to prepare for and understand a conflict a thousand times bigger than me, and I¡¯m doing it because I want to hurt bad people. Because I think the world is bad, and I can¡¯t fix it, but I can hurt bad people. You understand? I¡¯m not magic. I¡¯m not some greater being.¡±


    Reaching stares at her, eyes wide.


    She doesn¡¯t know.


    She doesn¡¯t feel it. How can she not know?


    Does she walk with that knowledge, even now? A casual dismissal of herself, of all she is doing, of all she has done? Of who she is?


    A sense of weight, of anticipation, of responsibility falls upon Reaching¡¯s shoulders. She had asked, begged, to have more to do, some way to contribute, and now, as if in answer to a prayer, here it is.


    The divine before her doesn¡¯t know what she is. What she has made herself. The worth and weight of what she has done.


    Many-Grasping-Young-Of-Harsh-Lands-Reaching reaches an understanding within herself. Here is something worthy, which does not know its own worth, and here she is, intimately familiar with what it means to pray to the divine.


    Slowly, making sure to radiate her Intent in every movement, she bows back into the prayer pose.


    Let Me Show You.


    There is silence in the house of god.


    And then¡­ a laugh. Low and quiet, incredulous.


    ¡°Alright. I accept your offer.¡±


    ¡ª-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Raika sits back, staring at her passenger and¡­ apparently, her first true worshiper.


    That¡¯s the thing about Intent, about the all-tongue that is the process of comprehending it- it doesn¡¯t lie. It can¡¯t lie, by its very nature- and right now, it is telling her, screaming at her, deeply and truly, that the beastkin before her believes with all her little heart that she is worthy.


    And her first instinct, again and again, is to say that she¡¯s lying.


    Raika has no self illusions. She is a monster, and she is content with that. She can partially protect a few people, and she can destroy big and terrible things, and hopefully bigger and more terrible ones soon. She is proud of herself- hard not to be, sculpted as she is.


    ¡­no. Jokes aside, she is proud of who she is. She¡¯s survived things that most people never even experience, let alone comprehend. She¡¯s grown faster and higher than she had any right to expect of herself, but she still demands more. There¡¯s room to improve- she¡¯s still only starting to figure out the possibilities of her current state, she still needs to make her friends actually safe, still needs to be strong enough to truly affect things-


    She feels a touch on her skin, more sensitive than the half-numbed room they¡¯re in. No need for full sensitivity in a place that asks for privacy and protection, but in her avatar, just sort of by default, she always evens out her sensoria.


    A hand touches her shin, tracing a pattern across velvety skin and higher onto her leg.


    It¡¯s been¡­


    Mmh. A few months. Not her longest dry spell, not by a long shot, but, well.


    Hisheng was a fling. A burst of passion and the joy of connection, after so long. Before that, Maen, and that¡­ well. That didn¡¯t end like she wanted it to, but it didn¡¯t end poorly.


    Many-Grasping touches her, and it feels¡­ intense. It¡¯s rich with Intent, flush with a whole new sort of communication.


    Raika can literally feel the attraction that the beastkin has for her. She can hear the smell emitted by hormones, literally see the taste of how she shapes herself towards attraction, but it¡¯s not just carnal.


    Many-Grasping touches her, and it feels kind. Awed. More than just physical heat.


    Another hand grasps her by the waist, pulling the beastkin woman up towards Raika¡¯s face, and then there is contact.


    Not a kiss, at first. Many-Grasping nuzzles her, gently, rubbing cheek to cheek, soft, intimate. She has a layer of fur over her body, close and soft, and as she crawls closer, more and more of it comes into contact with her skin.


    Raika dissolves her clothes away. It¡¯s a simple shift, linked to her body in a few places, grown out of silk and skin, and it¡¯s gone with a brush of will. She¡¯s not entirely sure what else to do, at least for now- Many-Grasping exudes a desire, deep and true, but also a need to show¡­ something.


    She reaches back to her own body, quickly removing her clothes. Her robes spill open, modified to hold her unique biology, and somehow she has the sense of propriety to do a quick fold rather than tossing them aside. Even as she does, she keeps her body pressed close to Raika¡¯s, skin-to-skin, heat to heat.


    When they¡¯re both bare, only then does Many-Grasping pull away.


    Are You Comfortable?


    Raika blinks. ¡°As¡­ yeah. I¡¯m comfortable. And this is nice. I-¡±


    A hand, four-fingered and clawed, presses against her torso, between her breasts.


    This Is Only Part.


    Are You Comfortable?


    ¡°I can be anything, Many-Grasping. I can transform into any body I can imagine. This one is just-¡±


    For Others. Not For You.


    She scoffs, going to laugh. But¡­


    It¡¯s not for her. Not really. It¡¯s just the body she uses when she¡¯s talking to people. Just like she has a body for fighting. They¡¯re different every time, ever-so-slightly distinct with each transformation, but¡­


    Is this what she¡¯s comfortable in?


    Many-Grasping waits, exuding patience. When Raika hesitates, she expressed herself again through Intent.


    I Choose To Worship You.


    Spoken out loud, it would be an incredibly cheesy thing to say. Too intense, or too sincere, or too something. But there are no words to the communication, only the deeper truth behind them.


    Raika sighs, and finds the sound deep and intense enough that it brings forth a shudder. Her avatar trembles against her worshiper, reacting in a way she didn¡¯t expect. A release of tension. She looks deep into inhuman eyes, and wonders why she¡¯s kept herself so human all this time, knowing she is anything but.


    She breathes. In¡­ out.


    On the exhale, she relaxes a sort of mental muscle she didn¡¯t know she was holding.


    The room exhales with her. The walls close in, losing some of the artificial edge to them, the right-angles and even flooring. Ridges and folds of flesh form, rising until she¡¯s aware of every breath held in the room, of the body heat exuded within it, of every touch and drop of feeling that fills the space.


    And she changes.


    Not a combat form, or a form that other people would be comfortable with. A form that¡¯s just for her.


    Her skin gets tougher, shifting from human into something like thick-woven fibers. Russet pigment becomes tinged like the night sky, glittering along fractal patterns and sinuous curves. She feels her eyes open- all five of them, the normal two, two lower and to the side, and one atop her forehead. Her arms lengthen, a long and sinuous tail blooming from the back of her spine, twin antlers of white-gold bone growing out and back like something between horn and halo.  Her long, sunset-colored dreadlocks shift and writhe, slowly consuming the hair and replacing it with glowing neural material, silver, gold and dawn-colors overwriting the sunset of before.


    Tall. Strong. Flickering like flame at night, rainbow-radiant on black. Crowned and strange.


    Not entirely alien. Not entirely human. Humanoid, still, but teetering close to the edge of it.


    It¡¯s not perfect. Not quite right. Maybe it never will be. Maybe it can¡¯t be.


    But she turns her eyes back, to face her priest and worshiper, and feels a moment of¡­


    Mmmh. Not fear. Not shame. Not far from them, either.


    Many-Grasping faces her, as she has chosen, and there is only one thought between them.


    Divine.

 Chapter 269 - Turns Out Starting A Cult Is Super Easy When Youre A Weird Eldritch Demigod

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    Raika turns a part of herself away from the communion she¡¯s experiencing.


    With how vast her Mind is, it¡¯s¡­ well, not difficult, but challenging to stay in one place for long. Especially with her certainty as to just how much needs to happen all at once. She doesn¡¯t have decades or centuries to prepare and work on projects, so multitasking is her greatest strength, even compared, in her opinion, to all her other powers.


    Even as she enjoys and learns from the touch of Many-Grasping, listening in on herself, she turns another part of her Mind down, down, down into herself.


    Her perspective shifts, as it always does when she dives deep enough, and the Soul blinks awake.


    She has two cultivators she captured days ago that she¡­ well, completely forgot about. And this is the only place she can think of where they might be.


    In her defense, she suffered a lot of brain damage, facing down the Warrior realm Feng commander. While she maintains her identity and her memories through the regeneration of brain matter, some of the details likely slip away. It¡¯s not like there¡¯s no consequences to crippling brain damage just because there¡¯s less compared to, say, a regular person.


    In this case, the damage revolves around the fact that she forgot her passengers.


    She tracked the events of the battle back, over and over, and there are only two places they could have gone- they either got left behind with the piles and piles of flesh she discarded to finally kill the Feng woman, or they got dropped into her inner world, her Body and Soul cooperating to secure them even as the Mind didn¡¯t pick up on exactly how they did it.


    If they got left behind in the flesh, they¡¯re gone, but¡­ she doubts it. She was surrounded by Divine Beasts- her cursed skin is¡­ fine, when it comes to obscuring her interior, but not so much when it¡¯s torn to shreds and half-rotted open. Hiding two living cultivators inside her? Not likely to work, not when surrounded by beings with senses like those of Divine Beasts.


    Opening her eyes inside her Soul confirms it.


    The golden band is tighter.


    There¡¯s still a teensy bit of a gap between the edge of her world and the golden band, but it¡¯s tighter than it should be, accounting for everything she¡¯s brought in and out that she remembers. Now, to find them.


    She sends a pulse of her Intent into the world that is herself, and it responds.


    A bit heavy-handed, but there are cultivators who have been set loose here for potentially up to two days. She¡¯s in a hurry.


    She feels the forest at the edge of the bamboo perimeter, formed around [SOMETHING BAD¡­], tremble as the fully-formed Soul within raises its ¡°head¡±, and gives off the equivalent of a bored huffing sound. She feels the fields of writhing life, very nearly as large as her hand now, turning to each other, the Heart looking through their senses rather than letting them kill and die freely for a moment. She feels the grass, the trees, the air and ground and space of the landscape turn, pointing her in the right direction.


    And of course, they¡¯re in the one and only place she didn¡¯t think to look at right away.


    She feels two things that are not her moving inside the cabin that is her.


    She exists here, and everything of this place is her. All it takes is the will to be at a place, and she is there.


    Raika¡¯s Soul looks through the wood and cracks and runes of the cabin, into herself, and sees two people there.


    The Mind supplies their names- Ko and Aria, of the Crashing Rainfall sect. The brash, arrogant sword wielder smells of ringing bells and slabs of metal, falling abruptly from the sky, while the vine-wrapped, more mature part of their party smells of broken porcelain, made into beautiful damage. They are both seated, both cycling their cultivations.


    And both absorbing the Qi of her inner world.


    She opens the door and walks in, and they both leap to their feet, visible fear in their eyes.


    Raika¡¯s Soul is not a human soul. Not quite an avatar of cultivation, but far beyond a human being or a true mortal. She stands as tall here as she does in the real world, and the new form that Many-Grasping helped her to embrace is reflected here as well.


    Antlers like a halo or crown, growing out of dawn-colored locks of synapse-rich flesh. Skin that is half starlight, half rich earth. Limbs a bit too long, and a powerful tail, helping to balance her size, even in the unreal physics of her inner world.


    ¡°Ko. Aria. Of the¡­ Crashing Rainfall sect, was it?¡±


    Neither one of them says a word. Their eyes are wide, and they move as if they¡¯re in a dream.


    ¡°It¡¯s polite to ask permission before you cultivate somewhere you don¡¯t belong.¡±


    The vine-wrapped woman falls to her knees, slamming her head onto the ground hard enough that the cabin cracks a bit.


    ¡°This lowly one apologizes for disturbing the hidden master!¡±


    Ko, the bulky and stubborn one of the two, doesn¡¯t move immediately, but he follows the example soon enough. He doesn¡¯t slam his head down quite as hard, and his expression is like he bit into something sour, but he does indeed kowtow, his forehead to the ground.


    ¡°This lowly one apologizes for disturbing the hidden master.¡±


    ¡°And thanks the master for granting us our lives,¡± Aria says.


    ¡°...and thank the master for granting us our lives.¡±


    ¡­Well. This implies better sense than she expected from them.


    ¡°And why was it that you thought your lives being spared meant you were free to take from a place you know nothing about?¡±


    ¡°This lowly one apologizes, grand master!¡± the female cultivator says, her head still pressed firmly to the wood floor. ¡°When this lesser being glimpsed the purity and strength of the Qi within your domain, she was overcome by temptation. I acted in defiance of the heavens and of your will, and throw myself upon your mercy and grace!¡±


    ¡°...does that usually work?¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Raika can¡¯t help but grin a little bit as Ko, the bulkier cultivator, actually snorts. She also grins a little wider when she feels Aria¡¯s fear spike, the reaction making Ko¡¯s fear spike in turn, like a delayed reaction to how stupid he¡¯s being.


    ¡°I-¡±


    ¡°No, don¡¯t answer.¡±


    She crouches down, tilting her head from one side to the other as she examines them. Her neck cracks a bit, tilting supernaturally far on each side, and she feels the two of them take slow, even breaths to control themselves.


    ¡°You were out on patrol duty in territory very close to the overgrowth, which means you¡¯re not weak, at least by the standards of your sect. But there¡¯s also nothing there to mark your territory, no base to rest, no arrays, so it¡¯s not exactly a fortified or important position. My guess is, especially considering how uniquely dense your boyfriend there seems to be, that you fucked up, and got put on shit detail patrolling in a trophy area and political mess. How close am I?¡±


    ¡°...this lowly disciple could not hope to guess at the machinations of her betters, and-¡±


    ¡°If it wasn¡¯t obvious by now, you should know I don¡¯t appreciate that sort of language. Short, direct answers. Understand?¡±


    ¡°Yes, master.¡±


    Raika snorts, standing up and cracking her neck. ¡° I¡¯m not your master. You don¡¯t get to call me that. Why were you in the stone prairie picking fights?¡±


    ¡°...We took on a task offered to us by an elder of the sect, great one. We were¡­ encouraged to take some time in completing the task, but when we believed you a lesser mortal-¡±


    Raika makes a little growling noise in the back of her throat.


    ¡°I¡­ when we thought you invaders, we felt it was our responsibility to act in the best interests of the sect.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. I¡¯m sure you did.¡±


    Raika sighs, long and low.


    They¡¯re cultivators. They were using her Qi, and attacked her for barely any reason at all¡­ but they didn¡¯t attack her friends. And they didn¡¯t launch an ambush. And being strong and stupid doesn¡¯t demand death.


    She did kill a cultivator over in Wayun village. His only crime, besides being a pushy ass, was to be a potential threat to her. These two¡­ they kind of aren¡¯t. Even if they weren¡¯t literally trapped inside a world she controls full of a truly mind-boggling amount of potential weapons and resources, Nascent Soul cultivators at their level just aren¡¯t a threat anymore. There¡¯s only so far she can stretch the idea of killing someone just because it¡¯s more convenient than keeping them alive.


    She runs a hand over her head, feeling in that weird dream-way the sensation of her hand running over dense synaptic flesh rather than hair.


    Yeah, alright. She can see where this goes.


    ¡°Both of you, get up.¡±


    Aria jumps to her feet, Ko almost as fast as her this time, likely just happy to be out of the kowtow.


    ¡°Good. Now get out of the cabin. It¡¯s not for you. None of this is for you, but especially not the cabin.¡±


    She steps out, the two of them following after immediately. They do stagger a bit on the porch steps, however, and she turns to look at them, surprised to see such powerful cultivators struggle with a staircase.


    They¡¯re both holding their eyes half-shut, breathing shallowly. They have started sweating, as if exposed to an open flame, held too close to their faces.


    Raika turns to look around.


    To her, it just¡­ feels normal. It just is her. But if she twists the perspective just a bit, uses more of her Mind to simulate ¡°normal¡± senses in the space-


    Ah. Yeah, alright, that can be a bit much.


    Exiting the cabin, the glow of her Reactor illuminates an impossible landscape of writhing valleys and red-purple grass. A thousand-thousand crawling, malformed creatures try their best to slaughter and devour each other, save for one patch of peace, a centipedal-crocodile standing as a throne for a bright blue beetle and a small horde of glowing worms. Directly across from where they stand, the pond sits at the lowest point of the world, and behind it, rising to the highest peak of the landscape, a hill of corroded weapons, each of them tall as buildings, with a garden of plants atop it. If plants could literally hurt to look at, like you can feel the inside of your eyes becoming more eyes, or your mind getting sliced apart, or-


    Hmm. Yeah.


    Raika grabs both of the cultivators by the shoulder and pushes.


    They both land in a room, wide enough to fit the cabin they last saw entirely, lit with sconces of True Flame. Raika watches through eyes in the walls, watching how they stagger, adjusting to a new set of physics, tracking how their bodies move and shift, gravity asserting itself¡­ differently on them.


    They look around, their Qi senses extending-


    She blocks them, shifting cursed flesh into the way.


    From out of the wall, she forms a body, stepping forward. No reason to waste her proper shape on them now- she reforms mostly as human, the mask back in place. A toga-robe of skin covers her, but she remains nearly seven feet tall, barefoot, rich dark skin matched to bright red hair and glowing, iridescent eyes.


    ¡°So!¡± she yells, her voice startling the disoriented cultivators. Ko is ready to fight, whipping the remains of his sword out of a spatial ring- but Aria stops him. Good. She¡¯d beat them, but it would be expensive, fighting them from inside out.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t harm my people, and despite how much it might please me, I am not in the business of killing people for being arrogant. But I don¡¯t know this place, and I don¡¯t know you. So you will remain here, as my guests, and if you don¡¯t cause problems, maybe I let you go. Do you understand?¡±


    Aria bows low. ¡°We understand, honored one, and thank you for your generosity. We owe you our lives, and-¡±


    She holds up a hand. ¡°Yes, you do, now shut up and listen. I do not have time or resources to waste on prisoners. If you try to escape, I kill you. Hurt anyone else under my protection, I kill you. Try and harvest Qi or materials from me again, and I kill you.¡±


    ¡°We will offer no trouble, great one. We lowly cultivators would fetch a handsome ransom for our safe return to our sect, which would gladly honor you with gifts worthy of your generosity and grace.¡±


    ¡°Maybe. It¡¯s one option amongst many, and I can¡¯t say I¡¯ll be headed in that direction for some time. However, rather than leave you unconscious for storage, I offer you a deal.¡±


    Aria bows again.


    ¡°Whatever you wish that we may offer is yours, great one.¡±


    Raika takes a long, deep sigh. She resists the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.


    ¡°...Good. My cultivation is¡­ unique. I have disciples who have more traditional means. You will train them, and protect them in my absence. In return¡­ I will offer you pure Qi, to strengthen your cultivation, and I won¡¯t kill you. Deal?¡±


    Aria¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°Honored one, I-¡±


    ¡°What about that place?¡± Ko interrupts.


    She turns to face him, and for a moment, the room heats up. Blood and Qi flows behind cursed flesh, and her Intent rises for a moment, sharp-edged and angry.


    ¡°Whatever do you mean, person who I beat unconscious very recently?¡±


    He pauses, seeming to actually take a moment to think- and then he bows.


    ¡°Apologies, great one. Long has it been my flaw to think in terms of action, rather than proper obesiance. My tongue skips ahead of my mind at times, save when well-practiced and prepared.¡±


    In her mind, Raika notes just how verbose this apology (and his dramatic proclamations back in the stone prairies) is in comparison to how he¡¯s been speaking.


    ¡°They say the first step to fixing a problem is knowing what it is. I suppose second step is a little rougher. What is it that you want, that your tongue skipped so far ahead to try and make a demand of me?¡±


    He takes in a breath, seeming to focus himself. She sees his eyes and Qi senses flicker over to the sconces of True Flame igniting the space in pure white-gold light, at the living matter she is even now connected with.


    ¡°This lowly cultivator begs the grand master for their patience. The purity of the Qi within your construct-beast is beyond compare, and is a princely bounty, more than fair for that which you ask. But for another glimpse at the sights of your dream-domain, this one would gladly lay down his life for the master and her protected.¡±


    She blinks. Aria, on the other hand, turns, hard, staring at him with undisguised shock and fury.


    ¡°You absolute-¡±


    ¡°Further! This lowly one would gladly sacrifice the treasures he carries, the lesser manuals he has access to, and guide your followers as high as this lowly one can achieve for the sake of bearing witness to that place once more! The richness of Dao is beyond compare, the Qi as pure and smooth as silk, and the mere presence of the natural treasures and formations within the space awe this lesser cultivator!¡±


    He stands there, posed, his fists outstretched into a respectful pose and his head bent at almost ninety degrees.


    For a moment, the female cultivator just stares at him, mouth wide. Then, she seems to remember herself, turning back to Raika- but she stops. Stumbles, like she¡¯s not ready to agree with her ally, but struck by the possibility of his request being answered. She chokes down a breath and also bows, choosing to say nothing in the end.


    Raika takes a deep breath.


    In. Out.


    Heavens keep her from bold idiots. She can¡¯t help but like them.


    ¡°...If you prove yourself as useful as you claim to be, then I may consider such a proposal. In the meantime, sit. Meditate. When I am ready, I will return to you, and we¡¯ll see if you¡¯re worth the investment.¡±

 Chapter 270 - Lovely Locales And Excellent Dinner Conversation (Hannibal Style)

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    Raika steps out of herself and takes a long, deep breath.


    She tastes the city as the light hits her, the balcony of bone and marble she¡¯s crafted out of herself letting her get a good look at her surroundings.


    The city of Singheart is massive. Its number rival and likely surpass Cragend, making it officially the largest city Raika¡¯s ever been in.


    Unlike Cragend, it¡¯s not so cleanly divided between lines of class. Where Cragend had the mines, miners housing, a sprawling urban area leading towards the arena and mercantile districts, and then a peak of noble and merchant¡¯s houses surrounding the Imperial Palace, Singheart feels¡­ chaotic. Not in a bad way, at least not to Raika¡¯s senses, but it does seem much more eclectic- if anything, it actually reminds her of the fortress-city. There, there were dozens, maybe hundreds of different sub-neighborhoods in the trenches, all of them built atop or around one another and many entirely distinct from each other.


    Here, it¡¯s all distinct. Every house looks like it was built by hand or by a specific group, with only a few basic trends carrying over between each of them. The majority use massive leaves, bent and folded but almost universally kept intact, as walls and ceilings, building their floors into the roots of the massive ur-tree that dominates the sky above. The space is in perpetual twilight, with gaps between city-sized leaves serving as communal areas, parks, or places to grow batches of crops that aren¡¯t moss or tree-branch related. What other architectural marvels exist tend to be built up out of wood, woven vines, clay and crystal fragments.


    And the source of said crystals towers almost as high over the city as the tree.


    Jutting from its center and shaped suspiciously like a weapon, the massive diamond glows in even the faintest light, illuminating the world for miles around. It¡¯s the main source of light, its prism refracting the sunlight that trickles down into a thousand multi-hued beams that ripple over the city, giving an impression almost like the whole space is underwater.


    Raika takes in a long, deep breath, enjoying the smells of the city. Cooking foods, herbs, sweat, grinding metal, animals, the sounds of music and the glowing lights of the prism above- it all comes through in a rush of sensation that she can¡¯t help but luxuriate in. The whole space is beautiful.


    It would be perfect, if not for the actual people.


    Raika looks down, and flinches as a few hundred throats have a collective intake of breath.


    They set her up with an empty house, one possibly made on the fly, considering the high powers of the cultivators here. She¡¯s up a ways, on one of the taller vines of the ur-tree- interestingly, no one seems to have built any living areas on the trunk of the tree itself, but the closer they are to the base of it and the crystal, the more people seem to treat the homes with reverence. Many of the homes remain small and humble, but the traffic around them reduces- if she had to guess, it¡¯s probably the homes of those strong enough to hold their place so close to the tree.


    She grew herself out from that house, weaving her own fibers in with the leaves and wood and allowing additional rooms and platforms to form along the exterior. Originally, the idea was that it would intimidate people while giving her space to set up as much sensory equipment as she can and preparing defenses semi-subtly. This idea has backfired horribly.


    She pinches the bridge of her nose as the crowd continues to (at least somewhat politely) whisper to each other at the sight of her.


    The street and quasi-perimeter around the branches that make up the base of the house is completely crowded with people, all of them staring up at her. Most of them are at least in the Foundational realm, with some in the beginning of Nascent Core, all mingling together. The lines of social divide are¡­ lesser, here, but she can¡¯t help but notice the glaring lack of Qi-Gathering realm individuals.


    With her senses, it wasn¡¯t hard to note that most of them are working in¡­ less-than ideal situations. While there doesn¡¯t seem to be any stigma to different labors, with plenty of higher-realm people still handling animals, buildings, and farming, the actual amount of work is pretty drastically different. The weaker the cultivation base, the longer people work, and the stronger they are, the more it seems¡­ generally optional?


    She¡¯s yet to meet any actual authorities, and there¡¯s nothing like a palace or central governmental chamber she can detect, but she rarely detects crime. It¡¯s¡­ weird. Somewhat anarchic, but also very much defined by personal power. She¡¯d need to see someone be punished for an action, or a mass-response, to really understand how the system here works, but if she had to guess, it¡¯s just a lot of communities and families that rely on each other, mixed with the idea of individual power reigning supreme. The community is made of families, but the more powerful you are, the less your actions seem to be viewed as part of said family, at least politically.


    It¡¯s weird.


    Aaaaand she¡¯s theorizing about socio-politics to ignore the amount of people staring at her.


    She doesn¡¯t want to scare them away, that¡¯s not fair, but¡­ ugh. The novelty of her presence, and their seeming lack of fear for her, means that she¡¯s a source of interest for people.


    She forms a teacup out of bone and cycles Qi through her bloodstream, turning some of it to something semi-alcoholic with her Truth. It emerges from the railing in front of her, another part of her body, and she takes a sip.


    The crowd below murmurs, staring up at her as she forms a cup seemingly without Qi.


    Ugh.


    She leaves the balcony, walking back inside.


    At the moment, her guest-list has shifted. The two cultivators of the Crashing Rainfall sect are kept isolated for now, same as Many-Grasping and another iteration of herself, but she¡¯s lost one- Wei Zin. The still unconscious and deeply malnourished stranger that she saved from Imperials just a day and a half ago was taken in by Chu Ari, who seems like one of the¡­ more influential (?) members of the city, and wore similar clothing. She asked to stay informed. Additionally, Li Shu leapt at the opportunity to interact with another Craft user, and the Witch with the hair-Sacrifice was amenable enough. She heard that his name was Rohis, and has kept one brain trained on his and Li Shu¡¯s presence, but otherwise it seems¡­ fine.


    All in all, for the most part, it¡¯s just her, Dink, and Jin. And technically, she¡¯s not with Jin either- though Jin is with her.


    It¡¯s¡­ weird. Watching a body that looks just like her, and is her, and which she sees and experiences through, walk away. On the one hand, she is with Jin right now, and on the other hand, she isn¡¯t, and while it¡¯s not a bad feeling, it does take some emotional processing. But the kid needed a walk and wanted to experience the city, and she needs to stay in one place, secure a perimeter, protect the others.


    And spread.


    Since she got here, she¡¯s been¡­ processing.


    She¡¯s more minds than she¡¯s ever been before. One of her watching over Li Shu, another chaperoning Jin, one ¡°communing¡± with Many-Grasping, one watching her prisoners, two watching the perimeter, one working on her biology and its constant need for updates, and one¡­ drinking a cup of recycled alcohol, and wondering what¡¯s next.


    She killed a Warrior-realm master. A cultivator capable of devastating whole cities on their own. If there are hundreds of millions of Nascent Soul cultivators in the Empire, there¡¯s maybe a few tens of thousands in the Warrior realm. Less than one in a few thousand makes that next step.


    And now¡­ she can kill them.


    It has been almost four years since she was crippled. Sure, she¡¯s cheating, having so many minds to work with at once, but her rate of growth is nearly unprecedented. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    And now¡­ she needs to know what the fuck she¡¯s doing.


    Four years since she was crippled. Three years since she met Taurus. Two years, if that, until his supposed plan catalyzes, killing two or more Divisions of the Empire, a kingdom that spans nearly all the world and numbers its population in the tens of billions.


    So. What now?


    With a force of will, Raika calls on her Heart, expanding the spatial coordinates of the room she¡¯s in. With another thought, she alters the interior, altering the coloration and texture to match the specifications of a handmade wooden cabin.


    A second room forms off to one side, and a few seconds after, the sizzling sounds of cooking begin to emerge.


    Raika takes a seat at the table that has formed from the floor, drinking the cup of¡­ something wine.


    And waits.


    The sounds of ingredients being cut echoes from the room, joining the sizzling, and in a few moments, the smells of cooking begin to waft from the room. The smells aren¡¯t quite right- she hasn¡¯t managed to create the spices just right, after all, and the ingredient¡¯s source is rather distinct compared to the originals¡­ but it¡¯s not bad.


    Raika begins to form a pipe, and then¡­ thinks better of it. The pipe is good for expediency, durable enough to last if she gets thrown about and quick to pack, but she¡¯s feeling nostalgic.


    She has to call on her Reactor¡¯s CHANGE radiation, the Heart, and really push her processing to recall the exact makeup of things- but over the course of a few minutes, she manages to print a thin roll of paper from her fingers. A flex of will later, it falls to the table, and she takes another few minutes to try to recreate her particular herbal preferences.


    It doesn¡¯t come out quite right. Too wet, too much like skin and coral, but close enough. She takes the moss, the leaves, crushing them between her palms into a semi-fine powder. She sprinkles the powder into the paper, rolling it carefully, sealing it with a lick that is absorbed a bit too much by the faux-paper.


    When she¡¯s done, she sets about making a second one.


    It¡¯s meditative. Fucking difficult, too. Metal and flesh, she¡¯s familiar with, but paper and plant-life are not metal and flesh. Except¡­ they kind of are, in a way that she can¡¯t quite articulate.


    By the time she¡¯s finished rolling the second cigarette, she¡¯s blocked out the sounds of the crowd outside. She¡¯s delegated all her worry about Jin, Li Shu, her new patients, her¡­ lover? Head priestess? to her other minds.


    She looks up as the food arrives, plates of ceramic-like bone laden with thick cuts of meat, fried dumplings, and faux-vegetables and fruits landing in front of her.


    ¡°Sorry for the mess,¡± Raika says, taking a seat. ¡°Couldn¡¯t figure out how to make rice without making the plant first, and that just felt like an all-day sort of thing.¡±


    ¡°No worries,¡± Raika replies, putting both cigarettes to one side to leave more room for the plates. ¡°Kept myself busy, and I figured we should both wait until we¡¯re properly ready.¡±


    ¡°Mmh.¡±


    There are differences between the two Raikas- one has the neural-matter for hair, the other has thick braids of feather-like growths. One has eyes that ripples with every color in the rainbow, while the other has eyes that pulse with every color of the rainbow. One has both arms, human-like, while the other has one biological arm and another that¡¯s a prosthetic of Blacksteel. Both are barefoot, but one wears a sort of casual toga, breezy and easy to remove, while the other wears robes, their fabric almost matching their skin and open to the navel.


    They stare at each other over the table and break into a smile.


    ¡°Been a while since we¡¯ve done one of these.¡±


    ¡°A few months, I think. Though not this intensely. That might be-¡±


    ¡°Cragend, yeah. Right after we fell.¡±


    ¡°Mmh. When we swallowed Zhoulong properly.¡±


    ¡°Well, he did still come back up after.¡±


    ¡°Sure, but we couldn¡¯t exactly predict how he did it.¡±


    ¡°Fair. You going to eat?¡±


    Raika shrugs. ¡°Yeah, I probably should. You put all this effort in, and better to recycle than waste.¡±


    She takes a small plate, lifting something that¡¯s part leaf, part crispy-fried skin and putting a few slices of beef-like meat atop it. She pours a bit of a thick, sweet sauce over top of it, letting the steam rise and adding a few pieces that look like bamboo shoots.


    She blinks. Those are bamboo shoots. She raises an eyebrow at herself.


    Raika shrugs. ¡°Mushrooms are¡­ weirdly easy. Not easy to get right, but easy to make, and they¡¯re not nearly as picky as plants.¡±


    With that, she starts making a plate as well, piling it high with cuts of meat, cubes of diced tubers, starchy balls of dough.


    Together, Raika eats of herself, enjoying the flavor of it. Not nearly as enjoyable as someone else would be- she can¡¯t really make the rich flavors of Qi that she enjoys so much in her meals, that she needs, but enhanced senses make the food¡¯s natural flavors explode. The meat is tender, the sauce thick and rich, the leaf crunchy and adding a zesty pop to the whole wrap.


    Meanwhile, she tastes the doughy softness of the fried starch, juxtaposed with the sharp (over-sharp, really, she violently overdid it with the capsaicin) spice of the diced tubers and the salty, fatty meats. The whole blends together, especially with a little vinegar to balance it out, drizzled atop.


    For a few minutes, she just eats, enjoying the meal. It¡¯s only when the food has been entirely (re)consumed, the plates put down, that she sighs in satisfaction, reaching over to the cigarettes. Wordlessly, she lights them both with a flick of True Flame, handing one of them over to herself and taking a drag.


    She exhales, and then again a few seconds after, filling the room with a smoke that¡¯s more purple than the usual blue¡­ but which tastes right enough.


    ¡°So. What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    She takes one more pull before exhaling, meeting her own gaze. ¡°Review goals?¡±


    ¡°Mmh. In order, or in general?¡±


    ¡°Some stuff doesn¡¯t quite fit in a ¡°first this, then this¡± framework. Let¡¯s just list them as we think of them?¡±


    ¡°Sounds good. First one; protect our loved ones. Maen, Jin, Li Shu, Qen Hou, Hao Nera, Hisheng. Slightly lower priority, in large part because we¡¯re not as worried about them being unable to protect themselves; Kaena and Taran. Lower priority, because she¡¯s good people but we¡¯re not close: Yun Ka. Off doing their own things and in less danger: Jun Vral, Shapefixit, and¡­ maybe our sister. If we can even find her.¡±


    ¡°Agreed. Second: limit the damage. The collapse of the Wall already puts a lot of people in danger, people who don¡¯t deserve it. Whatever we¡¯re going to do, however we decide to act, it can¡¯t be so drastic that we don¡¯t try to hurt only what needs hurting.¡±


    ¡°Seconded. Third, and right on the back of the second: killing Taurus, the Feng Clan, and the Division of Altered Cultivation and the Division of War.¡±


    ¡°More and less complicated than the others, because on the one hand, we get help. On the other-¡±


    ¡°Some of the things that help us are going to be our enemies in the next breath. And some of the people we want to protect, some of the damage we want to limit, are very involved with those enemies-to-be.¡±


    ¡°Mmh. Risk we have to take. It¡­¡±


    ¡°It can¡¯t stay like it is.¡±


    ¡°No. Even if it¡¯s sustainable, it¡¯s wrong. The dead sands are proof enough of that. Thousands of years of unending war, worn down to a fucking desert around the chosen sheep.¡±


    ¡°And judging by that vision we had-¡±


    ¡°Which reminds me: fourth, kill the Emperor.¡±


    ¡°-the Emperor seems to profit from, yeah. If the Feng clan and the Divisions weren¡¯t proof enough, the way it treated us, the way it talked about people¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s done something to the Empire. Remember what it said about impurities and Tribulations? If I had to guess, if we ask the people around here about how advancing realms work for them, they¡¯d mention some issues we¡¯re not used to.¡±


    ¡°And it can¡¯t be trusted that that reason is good, because¡­ well. Eternal war, perpetual subjugation and lying about the world while letting monsters roam and taking resources from the outer rings exclusively for the inner rings-¡±


    ¡°Not something we can really allow.¡±


    ¡°Not something we want to allow.¡±


    Raika nods, taking a pull of her cigarette. ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°No. We should face it. We can allow it. If we get strong enough, I think that whatever the Emperor is, it would let us kill Taurus, the Fengs, and whatever general or researcher we fucking want. It would meet all the other criteria we have, it changes the world, stops the monsters we know best, and keeps our people safe, maybe for the next ten fucking generations.¡±


    ¡°But would they want that?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t live by what other people want, not even our loved ones. We respect what they want, help them with it if we can and choose to, but they don¡¯t rule us. I think that I could live with them being hurt, with them losing respect for me, if it meant they were safe, and their kids were safe, and their families and followers and friends were safe. And since I¡¯m me, and you¡¯re me, I know that you¡¯re ok with it too.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    They both take a long, quiet breath of smoke, letting it twist and dissipate around the top of their lungs, diluted by the massive air reserves in them. Then a shorter breath, held near the top, and exhaled back out as smoke.


    ¡°But we won¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°No. Because fuck that.¡±


    ¡°Because fuck that. We aren¡¯t doing this to leave the world the same, just a little better for us and a chosen few.¡±


    ¡°No. If it needs to change, then it needs to CHANGE.¡±


    The air ripples in the chamber, the word-that-is-more-than-a-word resonating through every part of her.


    ¡°So.¡±


    ¡°So.¡±


    ¡°Kill the Fengs. Kill Taurus. Kill the Divisions, at least the nasty ones. Kill the Emperor.¡±


    ¡°And protect our loved ones as best we can. Those who¡¯ve helped us, who don¡¯t deserve the monster and all our teeth. Wayun village, the people of Cragend, Paleblossom, Shapefixit-¡±


    ¡°All of them.¡±


    ¡°So. How do we do that?¡±


    They both turn their heads, perfectly synchronized to face the far wall of the chamber. An alert from the minds in charge of perimeter defense.


    A few seconds later, someone knocks on the exterior wall of her added architecture.


    Eyes bloom and swivel to face them, each of them miniscule but together making a perfect image.


    The thin, pale man, who smelled of honey and darkness, Aurick, the centaur beastman, and someone wearing the same clothing as Wei Zin but considerably older, float on their Qi or stand on nearby footholds. Aurick knocks again, his smile polite.


    ¡°Hellooo~? We¡¯re hoping to chat for a minute?¡±


    Raika turns back to look at herself. One of her shrugs.


    ¡°Can¡¯t fault their timing. Terrible and perfect.¡±

 Chapter 271 - A Little Bit Of Politics Around The Table

    With a push of her mind, Raika opens her interior out to the world, playing with the spatial alteration to form a new balcony to the room she¡¯s in. She sits across from herself, letting the prismatic light of the crystal shine in, and waits for her guests to enter.


    While the one dressed in woven grass and the darkness-and-honey scented cultivator, they hesitate, but Aurick steps right up, strolling onto the newly-formed floor like he expected nothing less. Which maybe he didn¡¯t- he seems as much at ease with her brand of weirdness as he does the Pale Thresher¡¯s, and anyone that can act as a handler to that thing likely can take a lot in stride.


    Though he does come up short at the sight of two of her.


    She waves at him from two bodies, similar but not identical. He blinks¡­ and then nods to himself. She notices, however, that his Intent shifts very slightly after seeing the two versions of her.


    It inches a little more towards respect.


    ¡­Why? He saw her fight with the Warrior-realm Feng commander. Why would seeing her do something so much more basic, in terms of biomancy, impress him?


    She puts the thought to one side as the others approach, and whatever energy they were giving off before, it¡¯s clear that it¡¯s shifted alongside the Intent that Aurick is radiating. They enter a lot more quietly and politely than they originally approached, some of the casual air dropped away.


    She extends the table out between them, leaving them room to take a seat facing both of her, and gives them a smile.


    ¡°Welcome to¡­ what I believe is still technically someone else¡¯s house. To what do I owe the pleasure?¡±


    Aurick turns to the others, who continue to defer to him. He is the one who actually knew her first, and he takes to the role of center-field for the discussion.


    ¡°Just doing due diligence, I suppose,¡± Aurick says, taking a seat with his lower limbs leaned to one side. ¡°Easy enough to enter the city proper, but since we¡¯ll be moving on soon, I figured I could bring those who want to talk with you to you, rather than wait. Agreeable enough?¡±


    ¡°Just fine,¡± the Raika on the left says, shrugging. ¡°Do you plan to stay longer? I had assumed we¡¯d be heading out soon.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t wait too long, not with pale, tall and bloodthirsty on standby. Finding you moved some plans around, true enough, but that Wall won¡¯t stay open forever, and it¡¯ll only be so long before the rabbit and other things like it start chafing at staying still. The Pack isn¡¯t something like the orderly ranks of the invaders- we act as we will, and strength can only ensure so much patience.¡±


    ¡°Mmh. And you¡¯re still taking me to¡­¡±


    ¡°Well, seeing as you can stand not to eat Singheart, I figured I could take you to my Pack leader. It¡¯s closer to here than some of the others, and one of the least likely to eat us for meeting it, and it can decide what we do with you better than someone like me. I¡¯m more a peacekeeper than a killer, hmm?¡±


    The Raika on the right barks out a laugh, sharp and full of teeth. ¡°Now that¡¯s interesting. What made you change your mind?¡±


    Aurick tilts his head, looking at the two other cultivators to his left. The cultivator of caves and sweet honey is hiding it pretty well, but the idea that Aurick brought something that could, in theory, ¡°eat Singheart¡± has him both annoyed and¡­ not entirely surprised. The last member of their group, wrapped in bright green, purple and blue weaves, says nothing, only keeping her gaze locked politely on the table and her smile calm. Very professional, very hard to read.


    Aurick turns back to her. ¡°What makes you think I changed my mind?¡±


    ¡°Your ¡®rabbit¡¯ friend is proof enough that wanting or being able to kill a city isn''t something that forbids entry to your Pack. If you wanted to test me for that, there are easier ways to do it. And like you said, that breach in the Wall won¡¯t last forever- time is of the essence, but you were willing to take your time, bringing us here. So why the change of heart?¡±


    Aurick turns his head back and laughs. ¡°Ah, a refreshing change, to be among one who can think further ahead than the next meal. You are¡­ rather more socially and mentally inclined than many of my fellows. Power and intellect are not one and the same, and there are many forms of both that don¡¯t lend to behavioral prediction like you demonstrate.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s not why you changed your mind.¡±


    ¡°Is it something I¡¯ve done specifically?¡±


    Aurick looks back and forth between the two Raikas, pausing¡­ and then coughs, a bit awkwardly. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s best we address¡­ less heavy concerns first? I brought these two here to grant them a proper introduction, and if it¡¯s alright with you, I¡¯d like to make good on my word.¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    One of the Raika¡¯s huffs, while the other tilts her head quizzically. ¡°Very well,¡± one of them says. ¡°This one is named Raika, and titled the Unbroken. To what do I owe your presence here?¡±


    Before the stronger of the two can speak, the woman in woven grass fashion bows her head nearly to the table, holding her fists out in front of her in a gesture of respect.


    ¡°This one is Wei Na. On your journey here, you saved the life of one Wei Xin, one of the only members of my tribe that I know to have survived the loss of my people, and a member of my very family. This one came only to offer her gratitude. While my tribe has lost much of its strength with the loss of our home, I still hold some weight amongst the Many and All, and offer my services to grant you anything within my power.¡±


    One of Raika nods, bowing in turn. ¡°The offer is generous and appreciated, honorable Wei Na. It was simple luck that granted me the chance to assist Wei Xin, and it granted me in turn the opportunity to strike back at an enemy of mine. To ask for something more of you would be disrespectful in my eyes.¡±


    ¡°At the very least, this one insists on granting a gift if she can. I insist that, should you ever meet another family or tribe of the Many and All, you use my name to gain whatever you require. The debt shall fall solely on my shoulders, and will counterbalance only the smallest bit of the weight which I owe you, honorable one.¡±


    The Raika that didn¡¯t speak turns to face Wei Na, lifting an eyebrow. ¡°I had assumed that I already had. Is Singheart not a part of the Many and All?¡±


    Wei Na shakes her head, shaking her long, heavy locks. ¡°Singheart is a home, one that belongs to many families and tribes. It is no more a part of the Many and All than the trees or the grass or the sky- it is a shared place, but it does not belong to any one faction, any one tribe, any one alliance. Places that are home to only one tribe, only one clan, or only one group would perhaps more easily respond to the name of an ally.¡±


    Both Raikas nod, turning to each other. ¡°Makes some sense. I will gladly bear your name in mind, and should it come to pass that a favor is needed, I will be doubly glad to know that your aid might assist me in gaining it.¡±


    Wei Na bows again, and then sits back, seemingly content with that. They are strangers to each other, and considering what Wei Na has gone through in recent times, losing so much of her home and family, what she can offer is obviously limited. Raika turns to the only person yet to speak, two sets of eyes meeting his.


    ¡°And you?¡±


    ¡°...I¡¯m Ro Aian. I have lived in Singheart for one hundred and twenty two years, and protected it dutifully. I came to see if Lord Aurick was a fool in bringing you here. I see now that he was, and likely is.¡±


    She tilts her heads. ¡°Oh? And why is that?¡±


    Ro Aian looks at her, his gaze firm. He is skinny, pale, reeking of his own cultivation and heavy with Qi. It¡¯s hard to tell if he¡¯s in the Warrior realm properly- she can¡¯t detect a fully-grown Soul, not on the surface, but the scent of his inner self is both complex and rich, moreso than she¡¯s used to. She¡¯s pretty sure she can kill him quickly enough, but it¡¯s never guaranteed, not without knowing his actual abilities.


    ¡°You speak to me from two mouths. You stare from many eyes. Out in the city, I can sense you walking alongside your young apprentice. Even from where we sit, I taste that which grows in your shadows, beneath your skin. Lord Aurick is a trusted power, and many swear by him, but I cannot see anything more foolish than to invite a replicator into the bounds of a city-place.¡±


    A few things begin to click into place, bit by bit.


    ¡°That¡¯s an interesting word. Replicator. Do you think that¡­ what, that I¡¯m infectious? That I spread?¡±


    A dry, cold laugh. ¡°Can you claim otherwise? As you speak to me from so many mouths? As you wear so many other bodies?¡±


    She grins.


    She steps out of one of the walls behind her. Then another. Then another.


    Soon there are six, and then seven, and then eight of her in the room, all stepping forward, each both out of sync and perfectly in-step with each other.


    ¡°The only bodies I wear are my own,¡± she says through many mouths. ¡°If that means I¡¯m a replicator, then so be it. But cowardice in the face of something you don¡¯t understand isn¡¯t a virtue.¡±


    His face darkens, but even when faced with such a drastic shift (at least to his perspective), he refuses to back down. If anything, his Qi rises further- in fact, she feels something like a tether flowing from him, beginning to drag power in from some other place. The scent of darkness and honey ripens, growing heavier, richer, gaining additional notes.


    ¡°I understand well what you are. Your kind are spoken of in whispers. There are beasts, and then there are monsters. Singheart is not a place for your appetites, your unrestrained spread. We do not bow to the Invaders, and we do not bow to you. We shall and will not be made slaves or food under the banner of things like you.¡±


    Ah. Ah. So that¡¯s what he meant.


    She laughs, though this time she makes sure it comes out of only one mouth. All but one of her melts back into her flesh, fusing back into the whole of her being seamlessly (since they never actually left).


    ¡°No fear of that. My appetites are¡­ limited. Consider me leashed, for want of a better term. Even if I wasn¡¯t, we agree on one thing- unrestrained growth is more harmful than useful. I haven¡¯t eaten anyone in town yet, and I don¡¯t intend to.¡±


    ¡°I am aware,¡± Ro Aian says, his voice still dark. ¡°The oath you swore binds you. But just because you know the Truespeak does not mean you are anything more than a monster, and every oath has ways to escape it, just as every leash is only good so long as it can not be slipped free from. I stand here to bid you a good stay at Singheart- and a good departure. One that I hope to hasten, if I can.¡±


    She nods, leaning back and cracking her neck. ¡°Fair enough. All the better, then, that we¡¯re leaving soon, hmm?¡±


    Lord Aurick nods, his good natured kindly-uncle vibes utterly unbothered by the tension in the room. ¡°Quite. Especially considering your little demonstration there! Turns you from something that can kill a Warrior-realm cultivator to something that can potentially do a lot more. Give me¡­ hmm. Two more days, just enough to resolve things, and we can reconvene with the pale killer and be on our way.¡±


    ¡°...on our way where, Aurick?¡±


    She notes how Ro Aian and Wei Na both flinch at the casual use of his name, making a note of it. He really is well-respected in this place.


    He, on the other hand, seems to very genuinely not care.


    ¡°To meet the head of the Pack I most respect. While it may not be quite so directly powerful as Skyeater or the walking mountain, Za Warudo, I think you and Many-Mouths will have much to speak about.¡±

 Chapter 272 - Healthy Childhood Enrichment

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    This city is¡­ a lot!


    The last place that Jin was at with this many people was the trenches of the fortress city, and even then, there was a sort of restraint there that he doesn¡¯t find here.


    His master encouraged him to go out, to take a walk, and Jin found himself surprised at just how much time he¡¯s spent both indoors and carving in the recent past. He¡¯s used to being in the outdoors every single day, and his time traveling through the fourth ring has mostly been from inside Raika, at least for the last week or so. He was asleep before that, so it doesn¡¯t count, but he can feel how that time worries her too.


    It¡¯s not exactly a sacrifice to go and explore a brand new place, especially not with his master¡¯s presence in the background to protect him, so he obviously said yes. Since then? The world has been a riot of colors, enough that he¡¯s stunned as he looks around.


    The fortress city was a riot of different cultures, each contained to their own section and growing in the trenches like flowers between roots- or like barnacles? He¡¯s not sure he¡¯s ever seen a barnacle, but some of the villagers that would travel to other towns would talk about fishermen and their boats, and how barnacles would grow all along the hulls and match the exteriors. Singheart isn¡¯t like that! Every single piece seems distinct, each and every building following its own aesthetic sensibilities. Some have gardens, some have basements, some have little fields around them, some have multiple stories and stones while others are made exclusively of plants or crystals, spread wide or into complexes. Every corner feels almost completely distinct from the next, the streets formed from necessity, habit and happenstance more than any form of planning, and only the ever-shifting hues of the light of the prism above ties everything together aesthetically.


    And in spite of himself, Jin realizes he can¡¯t see much Death here.


    It¡¯s still present, and if he focuses, he can even find it in people¡¯s bodies, leaking into the shape of the death in their bodies and the most likely Death to come. Part of him was afraid- from the fortress city to the wilds, Death has been ever-present, part of a constant cycle, and he¡¯s only really been safe from seeing it inside his Master¡¯s constructs. But here?


    The whole city is unabashedly alive. The Deaths from butchery, farming, harvesting, garbage, all of it feels like a small part of the life of the city rather than a reflection of the city. The yin and yang of the city aren¡¯t in perfect balance- the life here is fed by death, and the death is merely a part of life, rather than a consequence of it. Left unchecked, this place feels like it could live and spread forever, the death leading to far more life in turn.


    He¡¯s not sure if it¡¯s supposed to be balanced, but it¡¯s beautiful. Entering the Foundational realm has changed his senses- where before he could only taste and feel the Qi entering his body and the strange visions thereof, being in the Foundational realm means his body has begun to grow in tune with his cultivation. His senses are more refined, his body reacting more easily, and he already feels stronger than he used to, but he¡¯s fairly certain that his cultivation means that above all else, his connection to Death has grown stronger, and his particular style of visions and dream-sight has gotten much sharper.


    Enough so that he feels a pulse of something, off to one side, a few hundred feet away.


    He turns his head abruptly, sharply, and in an instant, his master is by his side.


    ¡°Everything alright, kid?¡±


    He turns to look at her and-


    He blinks. She¡¯s carrying¡­ what must be nearly a bag of silver¡¯s worth of lunch meats and products. The city is so diverse that they¡¯re not having too many people stare at them, but a few do turn and follow her as she carries what looks like a potted sapling, a dead pig, a bag with what look like a dozen different fish, with an extra set of limbs just to hold skewers and disposable plates of what looks like a bowl of noodles and a heavily spiced bun of some kind.


    She follows his gaze, looking down at herself and then back up. ¡°What? The food here is crazy fresh, and I got a good deal on the tree. I can use it for stuff!¡±


    He snorts, but doesn¡¯t comment. Not like he¡¯s going to complain that the person who cooks for him is stocking up on supplies. The very idea of it is ridiculous.


    ¡°I thought I saw something, over that way,¡± he says instead.


    ¡°Mmh. Danger?¡±


    ¡°No, or¡­ I mean, not to us? I just felt like a bunch of deaths got way closer to the people they¡¯re from?¡±


    She stares at him for a minute. Takes a bite of some sort of fried takoyaki from one of the skewers. ¡°Ok, you¡¯re going to have to walk that back and explain what that means, please.¡±


    ¡°Oh, sorry, it¡¯s-¡±


    He briefly explains what he started seeing back at the fortress city, how people¡¯s deaths are, in and of themselves, a kind of shape in the depths of things. Not quite the shape after, like with echoes or wraiths- these come before that.


    She nods, taking it in quickly. She takes another bite, pulling a chunk of roasted chicken off of the cheap wood, and turns to look where he pointed.


    ¡°...huh. I¡­ don¡¯t think I see it. I can still see the echoes, though, if I squint¡­ maybe it¡¯s an effect from your cultivation? Or you have some sort of bloodline perception ability? Hmm¡­¡±


    She continues eating as she thinks. Despite not wanting to interrupt, his eyes turn back to where he saw the ripple.


    There it is again. Minute, but¡­ like clouds of clay at the bottom of a pond, all stirred up. It¡¯s all shades of dark, but you can still see the movement in it, even when it¡¯s really faint.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Do you want to go there?¡± his master asks.


    He turns to her, surprised out of his thoughts- but then nods.


    ¡°Yes, master. I¡­ it seems interesting?¡±


    She snorts out a laugh. ¡°Damn good reason to go, then. Up and at em, kid; you guide us there.¡±


    He nods, taking off, trusting that she¡¯ll be right behind him. The city¡¯s architecture remains weird and intense, spiraling and full of nooks and crannies, but he follows the ripples, tracking them as they keep happening. It doesn¡¯t take him long- every time he looks around, trying to find his bearings, his master is there, ready to point in a given direction and raise an eyebrow.


    And then- there it is.


    One last ripple, like a push of something growing and falling, and he finds what he¡¯s looking for.


    He turns a corner to the sound of fists hitting flesh, and stops just in time to avoid a kid not much older than him falling on the ground at his feet.


    The kid has a startlingly wide mouth, full of fangs, but at least two of them are notably broken as if by a punch. He shakes himself, looking around, disoriented- before snarling and getting back to his feet, grabbing at the wall and Jin¡¯s robes as he drags himself up.


    ¡°You fuckin-¡±


    Before the kid has a chance to finish, a fist is in his face and punching his teeth in.


    ¡°Ha! Gotcha-¡±


    Both of the fighters are plucked off of the ground, held a good few feet above the ground by a new set of arms, much longer and less human than his master¡¯s usuals.


    ¡°If you¡¯re going to fight, I¡¯d appreciate it if you didn¡¯t fall all over my student in the process,¡± she says, her voice friendly but deep.


    Jin stares up at them, stumbling back from the confrontation and turning to see the rest of the alley.


    It¡¯s an alley in name only. More accurately, it¡¯s a weird little place in the infrastructure of the city, one of probably hundreds, where a bunch of buildings and raised ground made it so that what was once a walkway or paved path is instead a dead end. It¡¯s overshadowed entirely, too wide to be an actual alleyway, too much hanging over it to be a proper road- but even still, it¡¯s absolutely full of people.


    Kids, to be precise. A few adolescents, but for the most part, everyone there is under or nearing the age of puberty. There are all sorts of mutations and shapes in the crowd, everything from multiple eyes on pale skin, brightly glowing antlers from red and black hair, patches of metal skin, fur and tails of all sorts.


    But as one, they look exactly like kids doing something they¡¯re really not supposed to.


    ¡°So!¡± his master says, her voice bright and her eyes sparkling. ¡°What¡¯s all this, then?¡±


    For a few moments, there¡¯s a long, painfully drawn out silence. She turns to the two young men she¡¯s holding, turning them both upside-down and getting a yelp out of both of them.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to have a fight club back here would you?¡±


    ¡°None of your business!¡± yells the kid with the mouth full of snake fangs.


    ¡°That¡¯s true!¡± Jin¡¯s master replies cheerily, much to the confusion of the hellion. ¡°A very good point. Jin? What do you think?¡±


    Jin gulps, feeling a dozen pairs of eyes turning to focus on him. He takes a tentative step back, ready to bolt, but¡­


    He looks back at his master, waiting patiently, even as her captured victims squirm. Then back at the kids all around. Then at the scuffed area in the middle of them all, where the fight was evidently in its final phases.


    He remembers what he sensed. Death, ebbing and flowing, not blooming but¡­ maybe becoming more likely? Flowing in and out of what¡¯s real as the fight went on?


    ¡­He wants to see it.


    He looks back at his master, and then again at the kids. Then, he takes a deep, loud inhale of breath and steps forward.


    If there¡¯s one thing he¡¯s learned living on the streets, it¡¯s that if you¡¯re going to run, you should run, and if you¡¯re not, you need to make them like you or be scared of you, fast.


    ¡°My name is Ka Jin!¡± he says, his voice coming out a bit louder than he expected. ¡°You guys seem strong! I want to fight too!¡±


    He hears a cackle come from behind him, followed by the thud of two small bodies landing on the ground. Raika takes two steps back, making her steps louder than they naturally are, and both of the would-be fighters scramble back and away, towards the rest of the crowd.


    Jin stays right where he is, his chest a little puffed out, doing his best to wear an expression that he thinks is serious, but not too serious.


    He sees their eyes dart to him, and then to his master, and then back to him¡­


    ¡°Sorry, honored one,¡± says one of the two fighters. Unlike the snake-fanged boy, he¡¯s got bright purple coloration running up and down his skin, contrasted with a dark tan, and he¡¯s not quite so stupid as to not recognize how quickly he got snatched. ¡°Our game would surely only annoy the likes of you. We wouldn¡¯t want to-¡±


    Jin steps forward further, into the arena, trying to channel his master¡¯s brashness. ¡°I bet you five silver coins that I can beat you up!¡±


    He hears a rough bark of laughter behind him, and instantly his face colors a bright red. He turns to face his master, ready to apologize for-


    Oh. She¡¯s waving, and walking away.


    ¡°You kids have fun! I¡¯m going to go make dumplings with this little piggy here,¡± she says, jostling the five-legged pig under her arm. ¡°Whoever has the coolest-looking battle scar in an hour gets as many as they can eat! Jin, no cheating, no getting beat up just because you want a bigger portion.¡±


    And with a wave over her shoulder, she¡¯s gone, back the way they came.


    Which¡­ he probably couldn¡¯t find his way back through.


    Jin turns back to the twenty-odd kids, all looking at him, all both already beat up and with eyes bright, now that his master has left.


    He takes a breath. Pauses. Goes to say something. Stutters instead.


    Then the kid with the snake teeth steps forward, his mouth perpetually wedged sort-of open and looking like a mean snarl.


    ¡°You¡¯re real funny-lookin, huh?¡± he says, his voice bright and clear in spite of the fangs in the way.


    Jin blinks, then frowns. He looks down at his robes, grey and bland, then at the backs of his hands, which, yeah, they¡¯re kind of pale, but still.


    He looks back up at the kid. ¡°Well¡­ I think your teeth look cool.¡±


    The kid with the fangs tilts his head back, making a face of confusion, and¡­ then he punches Jin in the face.


    ¡°Ow! What the-¡± Jin spits, feeling red from one of his gums. ¡°What was that for? They¡¯re cool!¡±


    ¡°Well yeah. Duh. That¡¯s why I punched ya. You said you wanted to fight, right?¡±


    Jin stops, and then laughs. ¡°Haha! Yeah! Can I use my Qi?¡±


    The kid scoffs. ¡°It is the right of the strong to do as they please! But if you¡¯re going to use your mana, then I will too! You better be ready, or I¡¯ll hit you with my Ultimate Perfect Final Lightning technique!¡±


    ¡°Perfect! That way my friend can play too!¡±


    ¡°Your-?¡±


    But Jin has already pulled a sandal made of black obsidian from his pocket, holding it between his hands and circulating his Qi. In moments, a sort of vague, wispy shape has begun to take form, pale off-white Qi spiraling into a form a little taller than Jin but even skinnier. Its face doesn¡¯t quite appear, remaining a sort of vague, amorphous thing, but it does begin to grow a faint green hue, like fresh-trampled grass, and it brings with it a smell a bit like tangerines.


    ¡°This is my friend! He doesn¡¯t really have a name anymore, but he¡¯s super nice. I can only make him appear for a little while though, so-¡±


    Before he¡¯s finished speaking, the apparition has stepped forward and punched the fang-mouthed kid in the face.


    The fist it makes dissipates almost on contact, turning back to mist, but not before it rocks the kid¡¯s nose back.


    For a moment, there¡¯s silence in the arena.


    Then the fang-mouthed kid laughs, loud and bright as hell.


    ¡°Now this guy gets it!¡±


    And then three more kids jump at Jin and his friend, throwing themselves into the fray as the alleyway descends into a prepubescent melee of cheers, screams, and the sounds of wrestling.

 Chapter 273 - Infection

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    She¡¯s pushing further. She¡¯s getting stronger.


    It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s not that she was holding back before. Not on purpose. But always running, always moving, always needing to optimize, always needing to maintain resources. And some things, you just¡­ don¡¯t think about. It took her almost four months of concentrated thought, support, and madness to come up with her ¡°reactor¡± idea, and every other transformation she¡¯s made since then has been in a fit of inspiration, or the chaos of the moment.


    But she needs more.


    She¡¯s trying very, very hard to make sure she doesn¡¯t de-value the people around her, to make sure that she doesn¡¯t lose perspective. She can¡¯t fix the world. She isn¡¯t the only person in it, either, and others deserve to try, to not be pushed aside for a myopic view of her perspective alone.


    But she can do more. She can do more.


    She has to do more.


    As she spreads through the city, through the woods beyond it, she examines that. The need.


    As veins of her Body spread through back-alleys and hidden corners, disguised with chromatophores and camouflage, she reflects. As little roots of her own climb up the sides of the great tree at the heart of the city, she wonders.


    Is she still broken?


    Her psyche is no longer divided, no longer compartmentalized for her own survival. The scars of the invasion on her mind by Zhoulong, another poorly thought-out consequence of her plans, have nearly healed over.


    As she holds four conversations at once, she wonders if she is still broken.


    She is herself, in the house that is her, speaking to an ancient beast, strange cultivators, and political allies. She is herself, in the back alleys of a city so alive that it rings in her ears, keeping a distant eye on a child that she has taken as her own and hurting from the beauty of watching him grow and just be. She is herself, speaking to a vendor, trying to see if she can convince him to accept a little extra for the quilts and woven clothes that she can smell his home on, the hands of his wife and their children and his sister on the threads.


    And she is herself, stalking the darkness of the backstreets, looking for the dead and dying.


    As she spreads, connected to herself by thin wires of neural fiber and her own ever-growing web of sensoria, she watches the world, and she wonders.


    Is she still broken?


    It¡¯s a beautiful city. A beautiful place, really, kept in this perfect bubble of protection, of harmony with the overgrowth. The trees out there, some that she can see which dwarf even the one the city is built around, which transform the world with their Qi and their sheer scale, like humans are only microbes to them. Everywhere she looks, she sees life, even in the death of things, even in the shape of how farming, butchery, and funerary rites work.


    So where are the wounded?


    Qi is a wonderful thing, but it takes more than Qi to regrow limbs lost to war. It takes more than herbs, or manuals, or even healers- it takes talent, dedication, logistics, resources like housing, food, time. No city is truly capable of simply healing away all its sick, even if it were entirely willing, and she can¡¯t imagine a place that would be, not even a place so alive and thriving as this.


    So where are the sick?


    Where are the wounded?


    Where are the dying?


    Is she broken? To look for it? To try and see?


    In the time of a cultivator¡¯s life, even a cultivator in the Division of War, a year is nothing. A year is a joke, something to be spent in and out of a meditative trance, or finding a specific resource, or acting on a mission from one¡¯s sect or commander.


    But she remembers the year. One year and a few weeks. Living on the streets, in the cold. Begging for money, for food, for attention, for someone to help. She remembers the pain of her joints, which hurt always, and the missing parts of her, which hurt worse, and the ache of her ribs against her skin, and the pounding, slow bruising of a body starved and poisoned.


    One year. Nothing, in the grand scheme of things. With her biology, her powers, her Truth, she could probably crawl in a hole and not need to come out for a hundred times that. She¡¯s closer to ascension than she ever dreamed of being, and only a few years after that one.


    These people talk about the Invaders. Capital I. They live in fear, she can smell it, the scars and wounds on their psyches from living in danger beyond even the forests around them, protected as they are by the weight of those who choose to live amongst them.


    So where are the broken?


    She spreads, and as she spreads, she begins to feel the strain.


    All things generate Qi. She took the minute amount that a human body could generate, trapped it inside herself, and pushed it to grow by cycling in¡­ what might well be the worst way possible, but which didn¡¯t kill her. Her Truth turns Qi to to flesh, then to select materials, then back again, but they don¡¯t make something from nothing.


    And she is vast. She is pushing further.


    She starts to weave with more intention. New minds spawn, entrenched in the spaces inside of her tendrils. They guide instinct into form, tracking what the Heart tells her and making it real.


    She never studied arrays. Not really. She improvised a lot into place, did herself a bit of mad science with her curse on herself and Li Shu¡¯s help. But she never actually learned the details.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    She still should. She still might. But¡­ she doesn¡¯t need to, at least not to start. Her Heart thrills deep at the feeling of entrenching itself, at the thought of putting roots out into a static part of the world, and its instincts have never felt quite so calm or clear.


    She lets it guide her, and a dozen minds in tune with each other wrap those instincts into form and function.


    The veins stop spreading randomly. The neural weave and tendrils that she laces the city with begin to change, begin to form patterns. She can¡¯t absorb Qi, not through her surface, but she doesn¡¯t need to. The patterns form, and she begins to cycle faster, more fluidly. A network of pipes and valves and roots and veins, becoming self-sustaining, self-sufficient, above and beyond what any human or beast could do.


    She starts forming new patterns. Things she can¡¯t understand, that she can¡¯t quite figure out, but which simply happen as she lets what she is go free. New bubbles of Qi, little cores to store her newfound supply, places to act as miniature hearts to pump more, and-


    Oh. Are those¡­ are those Dantians?


    She could have made more this whole time? She¡­ she¡¯s copied some of the bodies she¡¯s eaten, the pieces, here and there, but never a dantian. Never¡­


    Did she think it wouldn¡¯t work?


    Did she not want to? Did she just not think of it?


    No. It¡¯s¡­ they¡¯re not copies. A human dantian wouldn¡¯t work for her. It would have hurt her, and not just physically.


    She wonders if they¡¯re like the Dantians she¡¯s eaten from beasts, but¡­ no. Not them either.


    She¡¯s not them. She could find a way to integrate them, maybe, a way to adapt them, once she learns more, but her instincts tell her that whatever the difference is, it wouldn¡¯t fit her. She¡¯s her. She is herself.


    Is she broken?


    Where are they?


    Her senses extend, and they cover the world, cover so fucking much ground now, if not in detail. Color and smell and taste and touch all mingled together, the world remade into a tapestry of possibility and sensation, allowing her to see people through walls, to taste thoughts, to see trails and auras of past events.


    So where the fuck are the broken?


    She is useful. She is strong. She can be more, push further, she is growing stranger and stronger, but she might still be broken. Broken can be useful.


    A number of brains closer to a hundred than not feel a sudden pulse of dread. Adrenal and thick, viscous and raw.


    Broken can be useful.


    She stops looking in the streets. In the homes. Across the landscape and in any buildings.


    She starts looking in the roots of the trees.


    It doesn¡¯t take her long.


    There. A little ridge, a bump of some kind, grown up around fertilizer. Grown into the shape of the thing that the roots wrap up and over.


    She can see through it. Through the taste of green and bright and deep and vibrant, down into the shape beneath the ever-growing overgrowth.


    A body.


    Old. The bones are weathered, true, but the shape of them is the shape of age, broken and healed and broken again. The spine is warped, shrunken by time and the failures of flesh. The Qi in the bones has faded, and she can see the vines threading through it.


    If she had seen other people in the city with canes, with crooked backs, with aching joints that go beyond the norm, she would think it normal. A burial practice. A return to the earth, a way of providing for the rest of the city in a way.


    But she didn¡¯t.


    So she squints. She shifts, and pushes her Mind to turn just so slightly to one side, and sees the world in new shades and shapes.


    There is so much life. So much of it, like a pitch-dark place that drags into it every ounce of light, every ounce of pale steam and strange form. It drinks death like wine, like a broth, and it only grows darker and deeper, like tar over the world.


    And in the bones, she sees faint little traces of mist. Of the pale white of death.


    It is not the diffuse thing of the old, saturated and deep. It is not the sharp, highlighted mist of deadly wounds or the sickly-grey of disease.


    She sees the shape of the death follow the paths of the roots into the old woman¡¯s bones.


    They grew into her while she was still alive.


    It took her the better part of a day to find the body. She¡¯s still talking to the others. She¡¯s picking up Jin now, a few hours after she left him, covered in fresh bruises and a smile bright as the sun and the wispy remnants of pale death that he holds like family, like a friend, and which holds him back. She¡¯s negotiating their departure and learning of her newfound ¡°allies¡±, the political talks going long. She¡¯s watching Li Shu as a thought finally clicks for her, as something changes in her Sacrifice with a degree of concreteness that wasn¡¯t there before. She¡¯s watching Ko and Aria talk and try to find a way to get communication artifacts working without her noticing. She¡¯s watching Many-Grasping ask her what¡¯s wrong as she suddenly stops focusing on their communion.


    She¡¯s standing, in a dozen bodies, over the graves of the once-living, who have been fed to the trees. To the roots.


    Some of them are young. She can taste markers of broken limbs, healed wrong. Of illness, festered deep. She doesn¡¯t find any birth defects, at least none that couldn¡¯t be healed, which is a small comfort, because she finds so much else.


    Some of them are under the streets. Some of them are in the trunk. Some of them are kilometers away from the edge of the city.


    As far as she can tell, very few of them died before the roots got into them. Very few of them died in pain, either, at least from the lingering bits of adrenaline she can taste, glowing in the bones and desiccated flesh- but they died after they were eaten. Not before.


    She weighed several tons when she arrived, spatial manipulation allowing her to somehow negate large amounts of that weight. Now, though?


    She is spread through an entire city. And it took her a day.


    Over two hundred minds, which are all her and hers, all look at the people. Afraid, but smiling. Hurt, but strong. Safe, at least to some extent. Living on the corpses of the broken.


    Is she broken?


    Maybe. Maybe a few months ago, she wouldn¡¯t keep her changes. Resupply, and then return to her earlier form, smaller, less cumbersome and just a bit less self-sustaining.


    Now? No. No, she¡¯ll keep this. Find a way to keep going.


    The world is broken.


    At least she isn¡¯t broken to match.


    A few hundred brains and one Mind turn inwards, to a singular point, a singular concept. She keeps separate the ones she needs, the ones which are busy. She makes sure that Jin is still smiling, still feels safe, gives him and his friends food from a kitchenette she has grown in the back-alleys from herself. She meets with Li Shu, embracing her and her energy as she celebrates her sudden comprehension.


    And she turns to look at the table, just as they get up. Just as they get ready to leave. Aurick notices first, and the honey-dark Ro Aian right after, and she can feel the moment where begrudging acceptance of the status quo turns sour in his mind. She can taste how Aurick looks at her like she is pale and has long, slender claws and thin, gangly limbs.


    ¡°Before you go,¡± she says. Quiet. ¡°Before I decide how I¡¯ll  be meeting your masters. How I¡¯ll be leaving this place. One last question.¡±


    She senses the weaker Wei Na notice the sudden tension. The way the walls of the room have begun to shift, deep down under the skin and the meat.


    ¡°You¡¯ve suffered. This city has suffered. I can see how crowded it is, how much the anxiety and the old scars have piled up, all sour like acid and old milk. I know that the war, the bases just a few days travel away, the burning of whole Tribes, they¡¯ve left marks.


    ¡°I also know that everyone here has all their limbs. That the sick are never so sick they might die, not really. That the oldest people here that aren¡¯t cultivators aren¡¯t old.


    ¡°So. Before I walk deeper into the world to your tune. Before I leave this place in your¡­ capable hands. Before I accept your promises of alliance and debts.


    ¡°What do you do with the broken?¡±

 Chapter 274 - Strength Beyond Strength

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    "...do you think war is easy?¡±


    She waits for them to keep talking. Says nothing. The walls shifting and undulating in the background is the only sign that she¡¯s heard him at all.


    ¡°Not all of us are a ravenous plague. Most of us don¡¯t have a thousand years to spare getting stronger. Strength is above all, and we are only strong enough to survive. Those who can¡¯t survive, who would only weaken others¡­ it¡¯s not how things used to be. But now, everyone knows that the only way to survive is to be stronger. Backsliding into weakness will only mean that we die all the sooner.¡±


    ¡°Weakness, is it?¡± she asks. ¡°To be wounded? To be old?¡±


    Ro Aian stares at her, his eyes hard. There¡¯s defiance there, fury at being challenged like this¡­ but deeper down, she tastes something else. Slimy and darker than even his cultivation, heavier than honey.


    ¡°Who the fuck are you to come here and act as if we are monsters for surviving?¡±


    Aurick winces at the statement. Wei Na is holding her breath, her cultivation cycling into her muscles and bones to provide some measure of defense and mobility.


    ¡°I¡¯m someone who once was wounded. Who was infirm. Who was broken. That changed. It wouldn¡¯t have without support from others. Who are you to stand in my presence and dare to lecture me on what is monstrous?¡±


    They all feel it when the city shakes. Just a bit. A trembling tension that runs through the place they stand, back to the figure at the center of it.


    Ro Aiain does not bow to it.


    ¡°We live in a land of predators. Most beasts, divine or no, are not so peaceful as Lord Aurick, and the dangers are endless in every direction. To be slow is to be hunted. To take food from the mouths of babes, without being able to protect them, only hurts the many at the expense of the few. If they are strong enough to take what they need, then they are strong enough to help. If they are not strong enough to fight, or farm, or teach or heal or protect, then they can be strong enough to sacrifice.¡±


    ¡°Sacrifice is noble. Necessary, sometimes. But don¡¯t act like you¡¯re doing them a kindness by offering to feed them to the roots.¡±


    ¡°It is not a kindness. And I am not doing anything. The strong live forever as cultivators, taking in the Qi of the world until they are strong enough to live off their own. The weak die eventually. And we are all hungry. We are all hunted. We live with armored boots ready to step atop us and grind us to gristle. To keep alive the weak is to hurt those who might someday be strong enough to protect themselves and others. So yes. We go to the roots. If I fail to progress, fail to stay strong, someday it will be my turn.¡±


    She stares at him, feeling something like hatred bubbling inside.


    ¡°Being weak is not a sin anymore than sacrifice is a given. I have gone through this entire city and found none with wounds from the war. No crippled, no broken, no powerless- because they die to you, rather than to the boot.¡±


    ¡°And in making that choice, they give their strength to others! Protect others! Feed the overgrowth so we are harder to find, so we have more resources to harvest, serving a natural cycle!¡±


    She slams her hand on the table hard enough that it shatters, her own bone turned to shrapnel as the table collapses.


    ¡°You don¡¯t get to damn me as an abomination and then talk to me about the natural cycle of eating people.¡±


    The words ring in the air so loud that they hurt. Raika sees Wei Na flinch, blood leaking from her ears, and even Aurick sways back a step, surprised. ¡°...that¡¯s twice now you¡¯ve used it. The Truespeak. How-¡±


    ¡°Shut your fucking mouth.¡±


    He does.


    She turns to face the cultivator of darkness and honey, of rich sweetness made in protected darkness. She tastes the sour and the dark beneath it, and finally feels the flavor hit on recognition.


    Shame. Shame and hatred, mixed in molasses-thick syrup, like oil beneath the honey.


    She takes a deep breath. Lets it out. Takes in another.


    ¡°Where I come from, the sick are cared for. The old, protected. Not always. Sometimes not even well. But they are. There is food. There is protection. There is education.


    ¡°And yet strength there is not like it is here. It¡¯s not just freedom, to do as you please, good or ill. Strength is violence, and it too is prized above all else. All of that food and protection and education and freedom goes into making the strong stronger, keeping the weak where they are, and finding more to take.


    ¡°I come from beyond the Wall. The peace and comfort there exists for their hunger. The growth there exists to make weapons out of the weak, so they might better take. What was once my homeland crawls forth on conscripted limbs and with well-fed weapons into your lands, and they take from you. I have not lived your life, to make your choices.¡±


    For a moment, the room is quiet. She tastes something not-unlike relief in those she speaks to, and not unlike hate, and not unlike pain.


    ¡°The world is broken, and maybe, you actually have needed to do this to survive. I don¡¯t know. But I believe you could have done better, that you can, if your strength wasn¡¯t just for the strong. So let me be crystal fucking clear. So long as I am in this town, there will be no more feeding the vines. If they¡¯re so fucking special, they can grow on their own.¡±


    Ro Aiain laughs, bitterness in his voice. ¡°Or what? You kill us all yourself? You decide not to help Lord Aurick, and things proceed as they were always going to without you? Or maybe you think that killing me will somehow makes things better, leaving this place without a defender, without a host-protector and my strength.¡±


    She smiles, low and cold.


    ¡°You called me a replicator. Why don¡¯t you look outside?¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    His face goes pale. He moves in an eyeblink, his cultivation making his steps feel like he¡¯s traveling through the dark to arrive exactly where he intends. She dissolves the body in the room, closing the entrances, trapping Wei Na and Aurick inside- and then manifesting them, opening the flesh again atop a vast spire that stands nearly to the height of the crystal in the tree.


    Ro Aiain is there, and his panicked Qi has pulled others out of where they were. She sees Chu Ari, sees a mass of centipedes and spiders that dangles down from the branches above, sees something that looks like a rainbow growing out of waters and into humanoid form. She sees something like a tiger wearing the flesh of a man, and a person with eyes like sunrise and skin like nightfall, their flesh pulsing to the tune of birdcall and growing wood.


    They all look at Aurick and Wei Na, both of them looking for her, and none of them seeing anything but the building she¡¯s made part of her flesh. The whole city roils for a moment, fear and confusion and battle-readiness all rising up. She tastes the trauma of refugees, the fear of new war, the readiness to fight, the willingness to sacrifice.


    It¡¯s not evil here.


    But it is broken.


    She is broken too. But she likes her style better.


    She begins to form.


    The world shudders. The buildings shake as if caught in an earthquake. The roots tremble as something pulls at them, an impossible weight and reach grabbing hold of the world as she anchors herself. The tree, high enough to hold cloud cover in its canopy and whose leaves are larger than buildings, shakes, the crystal in its trunk screaming out feedback from the friction.


    She is broken.


    She is not human.


    She is herself.


    The trunk of the great tree of Singheart grows discolored, becoming red and purple and gold, tainted with streaks of black and white.The crystal¡¯s light begins to dim, the sunlight from above becoming eclipsed by a growing mass appearing on the bark above it. It grows, louder and louder, brighter and brighter, glowing with Qi, with the richness of scarlet-crimson, with the glow of golden flame, with the purple of strange blood and the black of death transformed.


    And then she opens her eyes.


    Five eyes appear in front. Two humanoid ones, two above and to the sides of them, and one at what might be a collarbone in another body. Black sclera make the impossible radiance of color that spews from her pupils all the brighter, their centers shaped like an eight-pointed star of sharp lines.


    Her face emerges, mouth yawning wide, her jaw opening like a flower and full of teeth like swords. Two great horns grow from the top of her head, glowing white and growing like antlers, highlighting a skull shaped to hold strange brains and then spiral them out as neural threads in a halo down the trunk.


    Six arms, each of them half-formed from the mass, highlight her reach, her torso growing up and out like a twin fused to the tree at birth, her skin like rich, dark wood and starlit-darkness, patterns of Blacksteel scales running up and down her form.


    She stares down at the city, up at its would-be strongest, and sends out a pulse of her will from every tendril she has spread throughout the city, lighting their chromatophores to luminescence.


    The city of Singheart glows with every color of the rainbow, feeding back into the scarlet, indigo and dawn-gold, and the Body which radiates it.


    HEAR ME, she says, speaking with lungs the size of buildings, and the world shivers before her voice.


    THIS WORLD IS BROKEN. THIS WORLD IS WRONG. THE WORLD SAYS THAT SUFFERING IS A GIVEN. THAT STRENGTH IS EQUIVALENT TO FREEDOM. THAT THE WEAK HAVE NO PLACE, EXCEPT TO BE TAKEN FROM.


    SUFFERING IS NOT A GIFT. STRENGTH IS NOT FREEDOM, IS NOT PEACE, IS NOT TRUE POWER.


    THIS CITY, AND ITS PEOPLE, ARE UNDER MY PROTECTION NOW. THE SICK DO NOT DIE UNWANTED. THE OLD DO NOT DIE FOR THE YOUNG. THE BROKEN DO NOT DIE ALONE. MY STRENGTH IS GIVEN FREELY TO THE WEAK, FOR THE SAKE OF SOMETHING BETTER. IF YOU CRAVE THE OLD WAYS, LEAVE. IF YOU FEAR WHAT IS TO COME, COWER. I AM RAIKA THE BLOODY, THE BURNT, THE BROKEN, OF INDIGO BLOOD AND DIVINE HEART, AND I AM STRONG ENOUGH TO KNOW WHAT IT IS TO BE WEAK. IN MY SHADOW, BE PROTECTED. IN MY LIGHT, GROW TALL.


    AND IF ANYONE DEMANDS DEATH FOR WHAT YOU HAVE, FOR THE SIN OF BEING WEAK, FOR THE SIN OF EXISTING IN THEIR PATH¡­


    POINT THEM MY WAY.


    A thousand-thousand eyes open up across the city. Pupils of every size, color, shape and style blink wide on veins of alien flesh, grown into every nook and cranny of the city. From a dozen places throughout the city, they cluster, and from beneath them, new trees begin to grow, bone-white and bleeding the radiance of CHANGE.


    Every eye turns to look at the strong of the city, all of them looking up at Raika in turn.


    She looks back at them from many places, all of them one Body, one Mind, one Soul, and smiles wide and full of teeth.


    ¡°You¡¯re strong enough to survive the world,¡± she says, just for them. ¡°I¡¯m strong enough to change it. Got a problem with it?¡±


    A half-dozen cultivators, some of them strong enough to ruin cities and mountains in moments, all stay silent.


    She regrows from the floor of the tower she has built, even as it is reabsorbed back down into the empty home they gave her. Aurick is still there, as is Wei Na, her face pale and her breath tremulous. Aurick, on the other hand, is looking at her with something¡­ something like respect.


    A Divine Beast, looking at her with something like respect. Ain¡¯t that something.


    She wonders how playtime with Dances-Between-Layers would go now.


    ¡°Wei Na,¡± she says, her voice once again human and quiet. ¡°Please accept my apologies for the abrupt declaration. Your name holds honor and weight, and I will be proud to call upon it when I speak to the righteous that give it the respect it deserves. In turn, you are free to call upon my own name, not as payment for a debt, but as a sign of my grief at your loss and my own respect for your strength and care for your fellow tribesman.


    ¡°Aurick. You are a part of this place, which has suffered and has survived off its own pain, and you neither spoke of this to me nor changed it yourself. I am not a beast you can leash. I am not a cultivator you can tempt. I am not a child you can impress. I am something new. You are not bringing me into your Pack- you are auditioning to be part of mine. Is that clear?¡±


    The centauroid nods, and then bows his head. ¡°As you say, Apex.¡±


    She turns to look up at Ro Aian, knowing that even if his cultivation is strange, his strength dancing between the Nascent and Warrior realms, he is more than strong enough to hear her.


    ¡°If you believe that the strength is righteousness, then bow. If you believe that strength is for the sake of others, swallow your fucking pride and use it for others. And if you¡¯ve got a problem with me, feel free to come at me anytime. Otherwise, fuck off. My oath still stands. Leave, before I decide that I have true and deep cause to kick your ass.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t bother watching him go. She just smiles at the others instead, her eyes warm, her grin wide. She pulls Li Shu through a tendril, feeling her touch on it and the request to for information. She pulls Many-Grasping up and out onto the surface of her being, her eyes wide with devotion, her strength already higher than it was the day before, robes highlighting rather than obscuring many-jointed limbs and the beginning of a Qi presence. She pulls Jin up from where he sits, still holding a dumpling in his mouth and eyes wide, surrounded by the mist and fog of death and the shapes it holds.


    The rest of her cult can fucking wait. She¡¯s busy with those she can actually trust.


    ¡°So. Aurick. When did you say we were leaving again?¡±


    He smiles, his teeth flat and bright white against dark green skin. ¡°Won¡¯t that be a problem, Apex? Now that you have such¡­ strong ties to this city?¡±


    She cocks her head, curious, making a bit of a show of it. And then she severs the connection between this body and the rest of her.


    There is a moment of disconnect, disorientation. She looks inward for a moment, curious to see if it¡¯ll work, or if she just gambled and lost stupidly.


    Raika¡¯s Soul looks up, and watches as the Mind¡­ remains entirely the same.


    One Body. One Mind. One Soul.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine. Why would a lack of direct, physical touch change anything about that?


    I Can Change. Where does it say fuck-all about physicality in that statement? Where does it speak of limits?


    Against the Feng, she¡¯d managed to make herself into a three part being. Here? Now? She is one, and she is many, and it is good.


    ¡°Easily,¡± she says. ¡°Haven¡¯t you heard? Apparently, I¡¯m some kind of ''Replicator''. All sorts of fun possibilities there.¡±

 Chapter 275 - First Steps Into The Future

    Wei Zin wakes up surrounded by familiar colors.


    For a moment, he is safe. He knows, deep down inside, that he is healthy and whole. The broad leaves, interwoven with sharp grasses and twined thorns. He sees the patterns and the ways that they flow, mimicking trees and brambles and shadows, but making the colors all the brighter in tune with the dark. He sees the furniture, feels the softness of flower and fuzz that he lays on, and for a moment, he is home.


    And then he wakes further, and he remembers that there is no home.


    Home is gone. Home is an empty field, where a Daemon and a shining thing that CUT met, and where both made the world into ruin. Home is the place that the end of the world marched to, clad in gold and white, and did as it ever promised to.


    And then he remembers everything.


    The fear. The screams. The dying. The running, running, always running. He is deep into the Foundational realm, but his Core is far from him, his Soul further still, the shape of it long-gone with the devastation he has faced, and no Foundational realm cultivator can run without end. He would sleep, and he would wake beneath branches or in the dark of a root-covered crevasse and wonder if he should keep going, if he could- and then he would taste them, getting closer, their steps loud against the world, and he would run again.


    Until it hurt to run. Until it hurt to walk. Until it hurt to breathe, to even more. ANd then he would collapse again, and sleep, and when he woke, they would be close again.


    And then- the god.


    They have other names. Divine Beasts. Avatars. Grand Spirits. There are many things which exist in the pantheon of the Overgrowth, many things that defy description- but surely, if not a part of that pantheon, he does not know how to describe his savior.


    Skyclad, wrapped in smoke and blood, with hair like a sunset. So strong that he could sense nothing from her, but the whole world around her reacted. A beast in human skin, wielding the True Speech, to which all things heard and obeyed.


    She saved him. She killed the things hunting him.


    It is only as these last few memories catch up to him that he remembers how to breathe. He unclenches his fists, the familiar blankets of his tribe very nearly torn by the force of the grip, and presses his face into his pillow, letting it drink down the tears painting his face.


    He¡¯s alive, and they¡¯re dead. He¡¯s saved.


    Then¡­ where is he?


    He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. It doesn¡¯t entirely work: he¡¯s not sure how long he¡¯s been asleep, but his body still aches from fatigue, his muscles only hurting more for how much time he gave them to accurately tally their complaints. But he takes another, trying to force himself away from the panic and the draining weight of relief.


    Slowly, eyes closed, he rolls off of the bed, sitting upright with feet on the ground. The bed sways, hanging as it is from the ceiling, better to block out ground-crawling things, and the familiar sway almost disarms him. It would be easier, wouldn¡¯t it? To rest a bit longer? To forget, for a while, that he is not, cannot be home?


    Exhale.


    In. Out.


    Once more.


    In. Out.


    He needs to find out where he is. What he owes his savior. He- fuck, he needs to eat, to drink. It¡¯s been¡­ surely over a day by now.


    Holding onto one of the ropes of his bed for support, he pulls himself to his feet.


    It hurts. It aches the whole way, but he makes his way to the door. Hanging reeds, heavy, but reactive to touch, pulling back and away.


    He is not home. It is familiar, nonetheless.


    He recognizes the person who turns to look at him, sitting in the center of the living space, and has to take a breath again.


    ¡°Auntie Na¡­¡±


    She is up to her feet, her arms embracing him, before he can say anything more. Which is good, all things told. He¡¯s not sure he has it in him to say anything else.


    ¡°Oh child,¡± she whispers, hugging him tight. ¡°Oh, precious one. Blessed be the world, that you survived. Blessed be this old weakling, that she might see her family again.¡±


    He reaches up slowly, unsure of how to respond- and then she squeezes a bit tighter, and he grabs at her back, hugging back with all the force he possesses, uncaring of anything except the hug.


    It doesn¡¯t last as long as he wants it to. It lasts long enough for him to remember how to breathe.


    ¡°Auntie, where-¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Shhh, child. We¡¯re in Singheart. Though there has been such loss, the treaties are forever honored. We¡¯re safe here. I¡­ oh, I dreaded the idea that you might not wake. That you might sleep a week or more, as you deserve. I wouldn¡¯t know what to do with myself.¡±


    He almost laughs at that, but it comes out as a breath, barely more than a huff of air. ¡°I feel I could sleep a lot more than a week, given the chance. It¡¯s been¡­¡±


    ¡°I know, blood o¡¯ mine, I know. When they brought you to me¡­ I thought you might have died, you were so still. So skinny. I may not be as much of a chef as your mother is, but-¡±


    ¡°Was.¡±


    She freezes, tight against him. They stay there a while, acknowledging the slip and the grief behind the correction, before she squeezes him once and then pulls away, looking him up and down.


    ¡°You¡¯ve¡­ you¡¯ve gotten taller. Stronger. Your prana is low, but the quality has gone up. You¡¯ll do them proud, of this I know.¡±


    He smiles, and it is a sad thing, only barely equipped to hold back what¡¯s beneath it.


    ¡°They¡¯re gone, auntie. I am no stronger than anyone else. I could grow ten steps further, and a hundred feet taller, and I could no longer do them proud.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re one with the Growth, blood o¡¯ mine. They¡¯re with us, even now. It¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°There was no Growth where they died, Auntie Na. There was nothing where they died. It all¡­ went away, when the world ended.¡±


    She holds back her strength, but even at her weakest, his aunt is a full two realms above him, gracing the opening steps of the Nascent Soul realm. The blow still rocks his head back, ringing through his meridians and through the air around him. It stings more than aches, and he blinks, off-guard.


    ¡°The world didn¡¯t end, fool child,¡± his aunt says, the world trembling with the statement, broadcast through the All-speak. Auntie Na was never particularly good at All-speak, a point of well-mannered teasing in the family, but here, it speaks loud of her outrage at the thought, of the stone-clad grip she holds on the fact that it is not true. ¡°We have lost¡­ so much. But you are here, Zin. You are here, and you are alive. We owe gratitude for your survival, for the fact that we could meet again, this much you know to be true. I will not stand for you to speak as if you are already dead. You are alive.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t turn his head from where the slap rocked it back. He takes a breath, ignoring the hot trails that run down his cheeks, that wet his eyes when he blinks.


    ¡°Home is gone,¡± he says, his voice near-silent. ¡°My world has gone. The people of it are gone. I¡­ I watched them go, auntie. I watched them be taken from us. And I could do nothing.¡±


    ¡°And are you going to let it stop you?¡± she asks.


    He blinks, and turns back to look at her. He has never seen his aunt cry before, but he notices that she looks a lot like his mother when she does.


    ¡°...what?¡±


    ¡°Are you going to let it stop you?¡± she asks, steelwood growing in her voice. ¡°Is your grief all you are? Because I know my sister, I know your father, know them, and I know as truth that they did not raise my nephew to hold so little as only grief.¡±


    She hugs him again, the words echoing in his head like a drumbeat. ¡°You survived. You ran so far and so well, and you survived so much, and you are so full of their love and their history, and I¡­ I grieve. I grieve with you. But this cannot, should not be, where you stop, oh blood o¡¯ mine. Not when they love you so deep still.¡±


    Wei Zin does not know when, exactly, he went limp, but he dimly notices his aunt lowering him to the ground, the both of them kneeling together against woven grass. He feels heat on his shoulder, and realizes it is her tears, and for some reason, that only makes him cry harder.


    He cries. He feels something crack, and then he is dragging in rough, gasping breaths, barely enough to keep him conscious, hiccuping with the force of it.


    She holds him, the whole time.


    He¡¯s not sure how long it takes for the fit to pass. For him to feel awake again, rather than just an outlet, a source of the sounds and tears he felt running out of him. When he does, he sees that he is still held, and still protected, and that his family, the only family he has left, is still keeping him upright.


    It hurts. It hurts.


    But she¡¯s right.


    In a lot of ways, that¡¯s why it hurts. The truth, when confronted so openly, can¡¯t not hurt, at least a little. But she¡¯s right.


    So he makes a choice.


    ¡°Auntie? The¡­ the honored one that rescued me. Is she still close?¡±


    His aunt laughs, subdued against his shoulder. She pulls back, clearing her eyes.


    ¡°She is, child. She calls herself Raika, the Broken, and has announced herself to the city¡­ rather forcefully. I have already offered her all that I can in thanks, and have ensured that she knows that the name of the Wei family is always at her disposal. We owe her¡­ I owe her everything for saving you.¡±


    ¡°Is¡­ she¡¯s still in the city?¡±


    His aunt gives him a look. Arching a brow. ¡°...Yes. Is¡­ is something wrong?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t say anything at first. And then¡­


    He bows, getting down to his knees and touching his forehead to the ground.


    ¡°Thank you, auntie. It has brought me¡­ more comfort than I can truly say, to have seen you well and alive. It brings me joy I did not know I could feel. But¡­ I have seen something beyond me. I have been saved by something beyond either of us. And I would follow your words, and walk forward.¡±


    She blinks, then her gaze turns sharp. ¡°Child, it is best not to make such decisions in your state. You are fragile. You have undergone grief without equal, and I am here, I am here for you, but it is not something that you can brush away and march onwards with. Dashing blindly ahead is almost as deadly as staying still, falling to stasis in grief. Give it a few days. You¡¯ll come to realize-¡±


    ¡°I will come to doubt,¡± he interrupts. ¡°I will come to fear. I will worry and grow anxious and I will regret. You¡¯re right, Auntie Na. I am fragile. But if I stop here¡­ I¡­¡±


    He doesn¡¯t know how to phrase it. Doesn¡¯t know what he means.


    So he just¡­ waits.


    And hears her sigh.


    ¡°You are grown, blood of my blood. Make your choice. I will be here for you, in whatever way I can.¡±


    He doesn¡¯t wait. Doesn¡¯t hesitate, lest she change her mind. To go, and leave her behind rather than still at his back, rings like the taste of despair in his mouth, but he would have. To have her support, tacit and quiet though it may be, means more to him than anything.


    Anything except where he needs to go.


    He runs, and he can taste the fear he felt in the wilds.


    He runs, through the city, heading towards the place where the world roils like its alive to his senses, and hears the crunch-squelch-thump of the bodies of his pursuers dying.


    He runs, and even as it feels like he can barely breathe, he feels so awake it almost hurts.


    He doesn¡¯t notice when, exactly, she appears before him. The world bends, and its almost like she stepped out from within a root growing along the ground, or perhaps a bit of purple vine-growth down the branch her presence rests upon. He looks up, and he sees a titan of form and power, carnality and violence, staring down at him, her hair red and purple like dawn, her eyes glowing with the radiance of every color there is around an eight-pointed star.


    He collapses, breathing hard, his body still exhausted and damaged- and bows.


    ¡°Please,¡± he begs. ¡°Please. Take me as your disciple.¡±

 Chapter 276 - Change Is Always A Choice

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    Just over two hundred brains acting in perfect synchronicity, and it¡¯s still not enough. No matter how large she grows, there¡¯s always just a little bit more to do.


    Still, she can¡¯t complain. She¡¯s starting to think she prefers things this way.


    She¡¯s preparing to go. The outer edges of the rings are calling, the places at the edge of all that is. The lands of the Pack, so far from the Empire¡¯s authority that they have grown to oppose them, in their own ways.


    But not yet.


    Work to be done.


    Symbiosis is an interesting word. Two beings, living in synthesis, both contributing to a gestalt, a larger system. Like lichen- algae and fungi, joined together in symphony, making a new organism.


    She smiles at the simile. She¡¯s been learning.


    Li Shu closes the third manual, placing it on the ground between them.


    ¡°Alright. I¡­ think it¡¯s done.¡±


    Raika looks at the three books before her.


    When she left the third ring, when she left the place closest to home in her heart, she left with books like these. Supreme Body Art, Truth Comprehension, and Core Creation. The last of these led to her Reactor- the first of them, to her current biology- the centermost of them, to her being as a whole.


    None of them are complete, per se. There¡¯s certainly better ways to create her ¡°reactor¡± in future, or modifications to be improved upon; her body is in constant flux, always growing and changing and needing more; her Truths, above all, define her very being, and their context keeps changing.


    So she and Li Shu have updated them.


    It took a few days. A bit of intensive theory-crafting, a lot of writing, a lot of review- but in the end, there are once again three books before her.


    Supreme Body Art: Evolution.


    This one was the easiest. Obvious, even. For all that her power is impressive, she¡¯s still brute-forcing it more often than not, and there¡¯s bits missing from her tapestry. Her Dao trees are proof enough of that: her comprehension of flesh, while larger than Blade and Gun both, still feels small, like there are branches missing from it, limited by experience.


    She¡¯s not so arrogant to say she¡¯s mastered her current skillset¡­ but there¡¯s more to biology than insect and mammal. Her use of reptilian and avian traits is lacking- there must be ways to optimize there as well. And if not, then there absolutely are in the fields she¡¯s missing most- plant life.


    She feels [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS] stir at the idea, as it has every time.


    Is a tree not a body? Is sap not like blood? Are plants, too, not alive?


    An entire branch of the evolutionary chain she hasn¡¯t grasped yet, but which feels close. Like she¡¯s missing just one, maybe two notes before she can figure it out.


    She thinks it has to do with scale. The glimpses of those pieces, smaller than threads, smaller than veins- individual little¡­ clusters. Or concepts. She¡¯s not sure what to call them yet, but Li Shu assured her that they do exist. Her manual, gained from the fortress city, confirms it, but the terminology is¡­ dense.


    She can go deeper. The common thread, the next step¡­ it goes deeper. And she can almost feel it.


    Comprehension.


    A compilation of their Truth text and, now, their ideas on Dao. The ways she made herself into a sort of bullet to travel- that¡¯s evidence that even hyper-specific Daos can be applied to broader contexts. She needs to examine them, actually work to grow them herself rather than just absorbing comprehension. The way that Flame and Lightning both branched out when she absorbed Plasma, forking into a single knot between them¡­ there¡¯s something there. Broader concepts. Just like she can go beyond just fauna in her grasp of biology, so too is there possibility in energy, in violence, in¡­ in everything, really.


    She¡¯s more now. She can run as many simulations as she needs, direct as many minds as needed to comprehension. She doesn¡¯t need to sit and meditate and roam out for experience with a single element, doesn¡¯t need to dedicate centuries to each concept- if she needs it, each blade of growth in her Dao garden can get a hundred brains to it, recombining and re-dividing as needed, never resting, always learning.


    The last book¡­ took a while to figure out. More and more of their ideas kept circling back to the other two manuals. It took until Raika brought around one of her biggest flaws for them to find a way to center in on it.


    The third manual sits, clad in leather as opposed to the wood of the other two:


    Craft and Arrays


    A powerset she doesn¡¯t quite understand, one in which Li Shu is advancing quickly. There¡¯s a lot of overlap, apparently- while the Sacrifice ritual is integral to the Craft, the weaknesses that the loss of cultivation opens up are countered primarily by a deeper understanding of natural sciences and arrays. The style described in the books of She of Still Waters is distinct from the Imperial style they¡¯ve both seen Yun Ka using, but it¡¯s similar.


    And even beyond learning how to properly wield arrays¡­ well. She has some ideas for a potential Sacrifice of her own.


    She sits back, taking a deep breath as she looks over the manuals. They¡¯re more a compilation of ideas and reminders than a specifically outlined path, but that¡¯s sort of the nature of making a new path.


    ¡°You feeling alright?¡± Li Shu asks, breaking the silence.


    Raika blinks, turning to face her. ¡°...Yeah. Why?¡±


    Her friend shrugs. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Raika looks over her friend, really looks over at her.


    Li Shu looks¡­ good. Like, surprisingly good. She¡¯s made what feel like several leaps into the Core Formation realm, and its evidenced by the Sacrifice floating behind her. While Raika¡¯s not sure how the progression looks with more traditional Craft, the way that Li Shu formed her Truths means she held onto her original meridians to an extent, and it is reflected in the Sacrifice: her Core floats behind her, an orb of keratin that¡¯s been growing denser and heavier as time goes on.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    That¡¯s not her only notable change, though. Her Sacrifice itself, always the bland off-white of keratin, has shifted, gaining what seems like a medical diagram of veins and musculature carved upon them. Whenever they get closer to a person¡¯s body, they shift, the diagrams becoming more three-dimensional and real, and Raika¡¯s seen the needles and medical tools they can transform into literally move through flesh intangibly, fusing and unfusing from a damaged body without disturbing it.


    Li Shu mentioned that her time with the Witch of the city, by the name of Kina, allowed her to better understand the next steps of her growth. To fuse a concept into the open space of her Sacrifice. If Raika had to guess, she bound either Biology or maybe Healing into them, and seems to be preparing for more.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± she asks. ¡°If it¡¯s your expertise you¡¯re worried about, you¡¯re still leagues better than me at most of this stuff. Doesn¡¯t matter how many brains I can make, most of the time I¡¯m still figuring things out by feel and observation. If you think something will work, I¡¯m inclined to believe it.¡±


    Li Shu shakes her head. ¡°That¡¯s not it. I¡­ I don¡¯t mean to be arrogant, Raika, but I do think the ideas we have here are going to work. I was much less confident in my senses than I am now when we made our last set of theories, and you managed to make them happen even better than I¡¯d hoped. It¡¯s just¡­¡±


    Raika waits. No need to rush, not here.


    ¡°It would be safer if we took it slower,¡± Li Shu admits.


    ¡°...Do you think we¡¯re overlooking something?¡±


    ¡°No. I just¡­ you don¡¯t have the pressures you used to have on you, but you keep acting like you do. Like any moment, Taurus or that Zhoulong figure you mentioned or the Emperor itself is going to come and crush someone. It¡¯s ok to be worried¡­ but most things don¡¯t move as fast as you do. There wouldn¡¯t be much harm in slowing down a bit, figuring things out more gradually, and it carries less risk of you, I don¡¯t know, spontaneously gaining super-cancer.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s bringing this on?¡±


    Li Shu takes a deep breath, and her Sacrifice swirls around her, all twenty parts of it orbiting like moons. She nervously fidgets with one of them, turning it from scalpel to pliers to needle and back.


    ¡°I¡¯m worried,¡± she admits. ¡°That¡¯s it. I¡­ really, I don¡¯t have anything I can point to and say that I know it¡¯s going wrong. I worry about our friends. I worry about Hao Nera and Qen Hou. I worry about us pushing too fast and everything collapsing, because we¡¯re dealing with big shit. And I want to! I want to deal with big things, big ideas. But it still scares me, that if we go too fast, we¡¯ll get something wrong. That we¡¯ll miss something. I guess I just want to know how you feel about it?¡±


    Raika reaches into her Body, pulling a cigarette out of a compartment. She makes sure to tamp it a bit tighter as she lights it. Rather than taking a pull, she just watches it burn for a moment, like incense.


    ¡°I¡¯m scared too, sometimes. It¡¯s just¡­ not my most important concern.¡±


    Li Shu tilts her head, and Raika takes a moment to rephrase.


    ¡°It¡¯s- it¡¯s not that I don¡¯t worry about things. It¡¯s that worrying hurts more than it helps, for me. I¡¯ve always been action-driven, and I¡¯ve been in situations the last few years where if I stop and plan, rather than react and plan ahead, someone gets hurt. Usually me, but not always. I trust our friends to look after themselves until we meet again, and I think that¡­ yeah, we probably could take a few decades, make sure things line up right. Fuck Taurus¡¯ plan and all that, wait till after to see how the pieces fall.


    ¡°But¡­ I don¡¯t want to.¡±


    Her friend waits, but when Raika takes a pull on the cigarette and shrugs, she blinks.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°That¡¯s it. I could wait to try to get things perfect, but the longer I wait, the more the things I can¡¯t stand about the world keep going. If I spend a hundred years in a cave somewhere I¡¯d probably come out strong enough to eat Heaven, but in that time, how many people will the Fengs hurt like they hurt me? How many more deaths will pile up against the Wall? How many more Tribes get wiped out?¡±


    Li Shu frowns, goes to say something¡­ pauses instead.


    Raika shrugs again. ¡°That¡¯s all it is. I can change things now, even if I can¡¯t make them perfect yet. Rather than waiting, telling the people I love to lay low and the people who are suffering, and will suffer, to just hang on, I¡¯d rather do something now. Even if it means I¡¯m moving faster than is comfortable. Even if it means I¡¯m figuring things out as I go. Easy as that.¡±


    This time, the silence between them is heavier. Li Shu stares off to one side, Raika¡¯s words seemingly swimming in her head. Raika holds the cigarette out to her.


    Li Shu snaps back to reality, making the most intense grimace Raika¡¯s ever seen on her. ¡°Oh Gods no.¡±


    Raika can¡¯t help it. She bursts out laughing at that, almost choking on the smoke in her lungs.


    Li Shu blushes, flicks a needle of keratin at her, but Raika just keeps laughing. It takes almost ten seconds for her to stop, recovering just in time to receive a second flick to the forehead and fall into laughing again.


    ¡°Sorry! Sorry, I¡¯ve just- I¡¯ve seen you digging around my literal guts with a smile, but a smoke? Heavens forbid.¡±


    ¡°Wha- it¡¯s bad for you! Not all of us have super-healing, either!¡±


    ¡°Completely fair and hilarious nonetheless, sister.¡±


    The honorific is enough to break past Li Shu¡¯s embarrassment- only to hit upon something deeper. She blushes, hard¡­ but then smiles, too.


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ honored to be referred to as such.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m honored for your help. So¡­ shall we keep going?¡±


    Li Shu nods, her smile soft, but her eyes glinting. ¡°Let¡¯s. It will be a fun puzzle, seeing what I come up with at this pace. Might be I¡¯ll even help you figure something out before you crash us all headfirst into a wall.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d expect nothing less from my local mad genius.¡±


    Li Shu is already re-gathering her notes, the conversation seeming to act as a kind of inspiration for her. Raika stays where she is, keeping her company, and smiles at a thought.


    Frankly, if Li Shu had her abilities, there probably wouldn¡¯t need to be any sort of plan in two years. Pack, Empire, and everyone else would already be under new management.


    Li Shu is on her own path, though. Growing in her own way, which is really¡­ all anyone can do.


    Raika turns her Mind towards the outside world, and sees how she is growing.


    Her newfound ability to remain herself, and remain one being, even when physically divided, was a long time coming. Back in the fortress-city battle, she used her shed body parts as portals for Guns, split herself in three- making it permanent was only a matter of time. She¡¯s not sure how it works, really, but she can reach through herself, down to her Soul, and then back out to any part of herself, even without a Mind branching both pieces at once.


    Now, she¡¯s spread through the entire city,


    Her Heart, still tied to her Soul, has had a field day with its growth, expanding through every inch of the city of Singheart. She¡¯s grown into and under and through every building, every street, and turned nearly all of it into an instinctual array that acts as a larger Qi dynamo than she¡¯s ever had. Dozens of miles of veins, neural tissue and musculature wind and weave and spiral, every drop of Qi moving through them and becoming magnified as she ¡°cultivates¡±, using the city itself as her body.


    If that were all, it would be enough. A massive upgrade and a stronghold.


    But she is all, and always, herself.


    Now, any part of her can summon things from out of her inner world, or pull them in. In theory, she could transport herself and her allies back to Singheart in a heartbeat from anywhere she is. Already, she¡¯s started to experiment with it- Beetle and his loyal guard have been going on excursions, taking pieces of her they can plant in places throughout the overgrowth and then retreat from. Watching the black stag beetle riding atop a many-legged centicroc and surrounded by glowing worms, sallying out into the wilderness, has been somehow both sweet and funny to watch, even as she can feel them eating and growing stronger in their little quests.


    And where she is planted, she grows. She can send supplies to any pieces of herself, her Heart helping greatly with the logistics, but once she figures out how to interface with flora, she could see herself growing there too. A network of trees and sanctuaries, growing with strange colors and stranger supplies throughout the fourth ring.


    The band around her inner world remains, and so long as it does, there are limits to how much she can grow inside herself, how complete she can make her resources and manifestation¡­ but on the outside?


    She is spreading. The world is CHANGING, and so is she.


    She senses Aurick arriving, tracking him through the streets without ever needing to sense his Qi. Bright fields, fleshy fruits and the strange depths which water them steps forward politely into the space around her home, and she grows a new body with which to greet him.


    ¡°If it pleases the Apex,¡± he says, his head bowed and his Intent subdued, ¡°this one would be happy to guide us the rest of the way.¡±


    She smiles wide.


    ¡°Lead on. I¡¯m looking forward to meeting these other Apex of yours.¡±

 Chapter 277 - All Noisy On The Eastern Front

    War is hell.


    It rings in his soul, down to his depths, swimming through every moment.


    War is hell.


    It¡¯s almost as loud as his Truths, deeper than knowledge, falling more towards certainty. It¡¯s not quite there yet, not quite as loud or as pure, but it rings nonetheless.


    War is hell.


    And Shin Ren is one of its devils now.


    The doors to the bunker shut behind him, and he breathes in air that should be clean. That should be pure, free of the smell of ash and death and fear and ruin¡­ but he takes in a second breath, and the smell remains. Louder, even, if that makes sense.


    Which, of course it does. It¡¯s his smell. Baked into his clothes, tattooed to his skin.


    He takes a third breath, shakier than the rest.


    A flare of his cultivation banishes the scent, the purity of clean-burning flame pushing the flavor of hell off his skin- and then he breathes it in fully, wasting not a wisp, feeding it to one of his Souls.


    War is hell.


    And its devils are well fed.


    He exhales, and while the taste lingers, the smell is gone now. He opens his eyes, seeing the many more focused on him, and feels the Smiling Noble rise up, guiding him into a polite nod, something reassuring. It isn¡¯t hard, really- people want to feel comforted, want to trust him, and the right changes are enough for them to take the flare of Qi as a show of force, or superiority, rather than the fearful thing it came from. He still feels like there¡¯s ash on his skin, blood under his fingernails, but they don¡¯t need to know that. They want a noble hero, a third-ring nobody risen to power and majesty, shaking off the dust and smiling like it¡¯s no big deal.


    So he gives it to them. They deserve at least that much. As he watches soldiers marching, most of them his age or younger, ripe with Qi and green with inexperience, he figures they deserve at least that much.


    Armor of black, gold and jade marches out, the bunker door reopening to let out the newest round of reinforcements, there to kill and die.


    The Wall is dead. Long live the Wall.


    He does his best to keep the mask on as long as he needs to. He lets the Smiling Noble¡¯s Qi rise in him, mirage-haze making the illusion all the realer, even as his cores ache for how empty he has drained them.


    Choice Is Universal, he reminds himself. Even if the Choice is to let them go into the meat-grinder. Even if the Choice is to rest so he doesn¡¯t literally burn himself alive, like he did in the first week, needing days to heal, days where he couldn¡¯t hold the line, where more of the Core Formation cultivators in Imperial armor had to stand in his place. Even if the Choice seems like no Choice at all.


    He shakes his head, breathing deep and at last smelling the clean air, arrays and formations cycling to move in fresh, purified oxygen to the halls of the bunker.


    It¡¯s one of many, a long-prepared failsafe contingent on the collapse of part of the Wall. There is a substantial underground portion to the trench-maze that runs behind the Wall¡¯s outer perimeter and the fortress-cities, and with air-superiority so hotly contested, they¡¯re the best avenue for travel at the moment. Not that the subterranean is much safer, just easier to staff and defend- there are plenty of beasts, constructs and abominations that make their way under the ground as well.


    The underground railways and secured teleportation arrays make it the best option for reinforcement from cities that can spare the manpower, which have become¡­ rarer, lately. The struggle to maintain the breach hasn¡¯t abated, and the number of attacks all along the eastern direction have increased. There was talk of grabbing reinforcements from the west, but¡­ well. No one wants to take a risk with the Gilded City. Might as well take from the north and hope that the cold doesn¡¯t notice.


    It hasn¡¯t tipped the scales yet. The monsters that have made it past the perimeter line have been few and weak.


    But it¡¯s been almost three weeks now, and Shin Ren has slept¡­ maybe four times in that period. And he has learned.


    As he and his allies stood tall at the initial breach, he learned. As they were slowly pushed back, they all learned, in their own ways.


    War is hell.


    He lets out a breath, reaching up to his throat and the pendant hanging in the hollow.


    With a chirp, its arrays activate, projecting a list of options before him like he¡¯s holding a slate up to his face.


    The technology that the Division of War has access to is¡­ considerable. In certain ways, it matches the complexity of the arrays he found in the Academies, but more specific. He hasn¡¯t been back in the last few weeks, and his research has suffered for it, but even if they offered him a chance to retreat and recoup, he wouldn¡¯t take it now.


    So he contents himself with the too-advanced array and the smell of war, and clicks through a menu until he finds what he¡¯s looking for.


    There. Two identity-markers, both of them pinging close to each other.


    Partially due to the mutual exhaustion they all suffered at the start of the breach, partially by Shin Ren¡¯s request, the work-cycles of his group are mostly synchronized. Ki Hao tends to work his own hours, his ties to his sect a bit more demanding than the rest of theirs, but¡­ well, they haven¡¯t exactly had a chance to become close, even as fighting alongside him has given Shin Ren an appreciation for the young master.


    He makes his way through the tunnels, angles sharp and perpetually grey, towards his friends. A few people bow to him as he passes, or whisper thanks or congratulations, but anyone that seems to have more business, he simply nods to and keeps walking, making clear that there will be none of that. The Smiling Noble helps a bit, but frankly, with how low on Qi they all are, it¡¯s fairly obvious to anyone at a glance that he¡¯s at the end of his rope.


    He turns a corner and at last catches sight of his friends.


    Gou Mai and Mei Yu both meet his eyes as he turns the corner, their own pendants more than capable of warning them of his approach. They look almost as tired as he feels, though Mei Yu wears it better than any of them, more draped on a couch than collapsed on it, the barest flicker of Qi highlighting her better features.


    Shin Ren is fairly certain she doesn¡¯t need it, but the effort is appreciated.


    Gou Mai, on the other hand, wears his pain openly, even as he smiles through it at the sight of Shin Ren. He is covered in bandages, heavy scripts of healing arrays repairing deep wounds and complex damage at an accelerated speed. Even without them, his robes would show clear signs of battle, leaving him half-bare, a fighter and strongman¡¯s physique on display beneath fresh scars and new bandaging/


    ¡°And the reigning Prince of the Wall returns!¡± Gou Mai says, his voice strained but holding jovial nonetheless. ¡°I would get up and bow, but the climb today has me positively peaked. Get it?¡±


    A hairpin stabs into the wall next to his head, less than a centimeter from his skin, but he doesn¡¯t flinch. There¡¯s about half an outline of his head there already, and Shin Ren raises an eyebrow to Mei Yu.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been throwing one at him every time he makes a pun. I¡¯m ashamed to say, but I have yet to properly impale his voicebox.¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Gou Mei chuckles. ¡°I think this honored cultivator is slowly gaining the affections of the young miss, honored brother.¡±


    Shin Ren lets out an exhale, a quiet little breath he didn¡¯t know he¡¯d been holding. Instead of answering, he just collapses to a seat on another couch.


    It¡¯s not a barracks, per se. Such things aren¡¯t for Nascent Soul cultivators, even in times of war. No, this is more of a lounge, the pale grey of the tunnels at last offset by a shifting mosaic on one wall, an illusion-screen on the other, a series of comfortable lounging areas all interspaced with a table of food between them. Doors lead into individual rooms, none as lavish as the chambers of the Academies, but far from the monastic spaces that lesser soldiers ¡°enjoy¡±.


    Shin Ren can¡¯t help but wonder at the waste of space and resources, at how the time and energy to make such a place could have been better served improving the tunnels as a whole instead¡­ but here, now, he can only feel the seat beneath him, and how easy it would be to fall asleep on.


    ¡°What is it now, senior brother?¡± Mei Yu asks. ¡°Another wave of the freshly-dead? Perhaps a fresh infusion of the plague of steel, making its way through a lucky few? Some fresh Divine Beast?¡±


    He shakes his head, but¡­ he takes a moment to answer, and he does not miss how she offers it to him freely.


    ¡°No. No, not- nothing special, I suppose. Their backline is still far too reinforced, so we couldn¡¯t make a proper push, but it was mostly just¡­ more of the same.¡±


    He hears his companions sigh, both of them keeping it quiet- but neither refutes him. They¡¯ve been on the front lines as much as he. Well¡­ almost as much as he. Mei Yu doesn¡¯t have the power-set that he and Gou Mai tend to focus on, and even compared to Gou Mai, Shin Ren has¡­


    The Corpse Aflame turns and roils inside him, and he has to acknowledge it. He¡¯s been pushing himself. Hard.


    But¡­ he can do more.


    He banishes the thought of sleep. With a mixture of command and plea, he starts to move his Qi, his three Souls joining in to help him circulate, that he might regain that little bit more power and leave that little bit sooner.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he says. ¡°I¡­ I know this has been hard. The levity is appreciated.¡±


    Gou Mai snorts. ¡°What do you know, even an ascetic can recognize good humor in the face of struggle.¡±


    Shin Ren rolls his eyes. ¡°Apparently, they can. I, the honorable Shin Ren, wouldn¡¯t know about that, seeing as I remain not an ascetic.¡±


    He turns at the sound Mei Yu makes, something between a giggle and a snort making it through her illusion. She raises an eyebrow at him, daring him to challenge her. ¡°Please. At this point, I¡¯m pretty sure you wouldn¡¯t need to apply to get into an order. They could smell the work ethic and lack of sleep rolling off you.¡±


    He snorts himself, shaking his head. ¡°Speaking of¡­¡±


    Mei Yu and Gou Mai both give off a groan so synchronized it may well have been practiced- but they do shift, ever so slightly, sitting a bit more upright, looking at him more head-on.


    ¡°I¡¯ve confirmed it,¡± Mei Yu says. ¡°The palanquin belongs to the Fourth Blade.¡±


    Shin Ren clenches a fist, hard, hard enough that he feels his nails dig into his palm. ¡°...Any news about why he hasn¡¯t moved?¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°Nothing official. The word amongst the upper ranks is that he¡¯s waiting for another Blade to arrive, guarantee the victory¡­ but most of the chitter-chatter down below has it that he¡¯s enjoying it. Sitting up there, watching. I¡¯m inclined to believe the latter. As far as I can tell there are nearly no books or stories about the Fourth Blade, at least no official ones, but apparently, rumors about him have been circulating for a long time.¡±


    ¡°Have you heard anything about a second Blade coming?¡±


    ¡°Near certain,¡± Gou Mei says, wincing as he shifts in his seat. ¡°I¡¯ve heard tell that the Young Blade is on her way.¡±


    ¡°The Fifth?¡± Shin Ren asks. ¡°Why? She may be a Blade, but-¡±


    ¡°Yeah, barely twenty years in the role. And still in the Nascent Soul realm, I hear. Half the Aspirants of the Cut in bunker talk about her like some kind of saint, the other half like some kind of usurper.¡±


    Mei Yu shrugs a shoulder, the movement artful even with the hitch of bruising that interrupts it. ¡°Not a clue. Frankly, I¡¯m still not sure why the Fourth doesn¡¯t deal with it himself. Most of the military records I¡¯ve managed to scrounge mark conflicts where he shows up as ¡°resolved¡±, no details. If he¡¯s that scary¡­¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be any point if he resolved it,¡± Shin Ren says, his voice quiet. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t get any use out of it.¡±


    Gou Mai quirks an eyebrow, but Shin Ren ignores him, standing instead. Suddenly, the cushion feels wrong, the ground under his feet¡­ off.


    ¡°It¡¯s a test,¡± he says, his voice ice cold for the heat it holds. ¡°Or training, maybe. One Blade could solve it, but then the Young Blade wouldn¡¯t get shown off, or practice her skills, or something.¡±


    Mei Yu sits upright, standing to approach him- but slowly. He realizes belatedly that he¡¯s begun to emit a bit of heat, and does his best to pull it back, even as his hands are almost trembling with tension.


    ¡°...that¡¯s a big leap, senior brother,¡± she says, her voice careful. ¡°We¡¯ve been fighting constantly. Sometimes the mind can-¡±


    ¡°Think about it. There¡¯s a breach in the Wall. We¡¯re losing thousands by the day, and every day this goes on, the chances that a Beast or one of the plagues out there advances or slips past us into the third ring. But it¡¯s been weeks, and none of the Generals have traveled out here. A Blade¡¯s been sitting up there for weeks doing nothing. The Emperor hasn¡¯t waved its hand and wiped out the breach wholesale. Maybe one of those things, maybe two, I could see as the balance being worse than the official word would say, but all of them? It¡¯s been centuries since a breach, and no one with any real power has done anything to close it.


    ¡°And now, apparently, the youngest of all the Blades is on her way. If it were the second or the fourth, then sure, I could see it being an issue of needing someone to really wipe something out, but the youngest? She¡¯s got, what, the one legend?¡±


    Mei Yu scoffs, then seems to regret it by the look on Shin Ren¡¯s face. ¡°I- I mean, the sects don¡¯t allow that sort of thing. It¡¯s-¡±


    She pauses, as if hearing her own words. A hand comes up to her face, holding her chin as she starts to mutter to herself. ¡°No, that¡¯s- as far as politicking goes, I suppose-¡±


    Shin Ren turns to look at Gou Mai, who just¡­ shrugs.


    ¡°If you say it, I believe you, honored brother,¡± he says. For the moment, his smile has left, and without it, his face looks¡­ tired. Almost haggard. ¡°My sect has sent some of my junior brothers to assist, but there¡¯s been no real mobilization. Some pressure from the big six, perhaps, but nothing like a real push, at least none that my master has told me of.¡±


    Shin Ren points at him, stopping and strangling his cultivation back as another burst of heat threatens to come up. ¡°Exactly. Exactly. It¡¯s- maybe it¡¯s just not enough pressure, maybe the elders aren¡¯t worried until the breach is years old enough for them to take it seriously, but that can¡¯t be it.


    ¡°They¡¯re using this. This is- it¡¯s an opportunity for something.¡±


    He feels a bit of blood run from his palms, the smell of ash and ruin thick in his throat.


    ¡°The Blades¡­ the sects¡­ maybe the Empire. It¡¯s just¡­ not that big a deal.¡±


    He hears someone hiss as a hand touches his shoulder, and he blinks, shocked out of the heat he¡¯s been emitting.


    Mei Yu gives him a look- and then dissipates the illusory hand, quirking an eyebrow as he looks confusedly at his shoulder.


    ¡°Breathe, Ren. Breathe.¡±


    He tries.


    It takes a few attempts.


    In. Out. In. Out.


    He breathes deep. Calms himself. Feels himself quiet, heat of his cultivation once again wrapped tighter to his cores- even as the Corpse Aflame grumbles, frustrated at the lack of burning.


    But he still tastes the ashes.


    ¡°You all should really invest in some sound-proofing arrays. The ones in here are just¡­ terrible.¡±


    Shin Ren, Mei Yu and Gou Mai all turn, exhausted cultivations rising. The room briefly trembles at the sheer weight of their combined force, weeks of war keeping them painfully on edge, ready to snap-


    And all three of them stop at the appearance of the woman standing against the doorway.


    Mei Yu recovers first, but Shin Ren is the first to speak.


    ¡°You. Are we still calling you ''Wyld'', then?¡±


    The felinid beastkin bows, ever so slightly, one arm sweeping out sardonically. ¡°The same. It¡¯s good to be remembered- I know you¡¯ve had a stressful month or two since we last met.¡±


    Shin Ren feels a sudden surge of something to his side, and shoots a glance at Mei Yu- who is smiling politely, visually unbothered.


    ¡°Senior brother,¡± she says, stepping just a bit closer to him, ¡°who might this be? Might introductions be in order?¡±


    Some unspoken communication seems to flash between the two women, and Gou Mai chuckles to one side- before shutting up fast as Mei Yu flicks a glance at him.


    ¡°I- this is-¡±


    ¡°No need, no need,¡± Wyld / Maen says, sashaying into the room. She stands out from the grey, dressed entirely in midnight black with hair and fur to match, a long, sinuous tail coiled behind her and feline ears twitching atop her head. ¡°You may call me Wyld. I, and the one I represent, suggested that your friend take this job. You surprised us by sticking around, but what a lovely surprise it was, to find such sentiment awaiting me. Here I was, thinking I¡¯d have to convince you of the mess of it all, while you¡¯re laying it all out.¡±


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Shin Ren asks, his voice hard.


    Wyld raises her hands. ¡°No need for that. I¡¯m not the one letting all those kids die out there, or the one sitting above it all. I¡¯m here as an act of goodwill. Wasn¡¯t easy getting on-base.¡±


    ¡°What do you want, Wyld?¡±


    She sighs, dropping her hands, leaning against the wall again. ¡°Fine. No pleasantries. I want to offer a bit of cooperation. I think that-¡±


    A polite knock on the door, and before anyone can tell the intruder to leave, it opens, letting in a nondescript man holding a letter.


    ¡°Letter for- oh, shit. Maen?¡±


    Wyld- no, Maen now- turns to the stranger, eyes wide, her claws glowing with Predation and Nature- and pauses.


    ¡°Nera?¡±


    They both start to talk at once, and, the tension only partially diffused, and-


    Gou Mai makes a noise that might best be described as a hippopotamus very unwillingly rolling over.


    ¡°For fucks sake, people! I can¡¯t rest but five minutes without some kind of esoteric, world-altering type event landing on us. You¡¯re lucky I¡¯m such a trusting fellow, Shin Ren, or I¡¯d start to question if you¡¯re really a monastic ascetic as you claim.¡±


    Shin Ren sighs.


    The joke helps, silencing the noise, cutting into the tension, but...


    It¡¯s been a long day.


    He tastes ashes on his tongue.


    He breathes in.


    ¡°You. Hand me the letter. You. Tell me what you''re offering."

 Chapter 278 - For I Am Not Making Use Of Them As Humans, You See...

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    Always so noisy.


    Errath has always preferred the accuracy of the microscope to his own senses. There have yet to be any made that can surpass him in accuracy or range, but microscopes, at least, are singular in their aim, direct in their sight. He wonders how many would pursue Research, as he has, if they could hear all those microbes screaming.


    And now, as he stares out into the world, he still hears them. Louder, even. All for a meaningless little spill.


    Always so damned noisy. It¡¯s a miracle he ever gets anything done.


    ¡°Senior Researcher? Bring me a new set of clamps. This one is getting worn down.¡±


    A large and furred hand delivers the requisite tool promptly, though he struggles with the weight of it. The world warps slightly as he lets go of it, letting it fall into Errath¡¯s hand. It cuts through the air as he deftly twirls it, its mass dragging in the dust from all around- and an exercise of will is enough to banish it back, leaving the tool pristine, glowing with jade and altered metals.


    With a well-practiced motion, the Grand Researcher of the Division of Altered Cultivation and Research clamps shut a valve and its offshoots, re-securing the beating Heart on the table before him as it struggles and fails to beat.


    But not entirely. Can¡¯t let such a useful subject die, after all. Whether they make a Palace or a weapon out of it, Hearts like this are rare.


    ¡°Have I told you my theory on these little darlings?¡± Errath asks his assistant, his eyes tuned only for his project. ¡°Fascinating things. Some believe them a natural occurrence, but I wonder! Their grasp on molecular formulae is still surpasses all but my own knowledge, and even there, it¡¯s a challenge. Hard to believe a natural Qi-locus would have the mind to create as they do, even with a few millennia. I wonder, sometimes, if they weren¡¯t planted beforehand. Part of the Will of Heaven, perhaps, a way to secure a world against the void beyond and the End.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps, master.¡±


    ¡°But then, perhaps not. I think that they may be cast-off pieces of the greater beings above. They grow, free from the gods above, forming a world around themselves, multiplying. Perhaps that¡¯s all this world is, hmm? A spawning cluster of cast-off God-flesh.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    ¡°I doubt it. If only for my own sake, I would like to believe that true flesh of higher beings wouldn¡¯t be so easy to cut and shape. It would be such a shame to grow beyond this world and find nothing with which to learn from.¡±


    The Heart on the table shudder-beats again, pushed to its limits to keep itself alive, highlighting the veins and formation-formulae that are required to do so. Errath takes careful notes, excising a chunk of his own brain matter into his other selves to preserve a snapshot of memory while replacing it with a fresh chunk- and then makes a very precise, very careful incision.


    The Heart shudder-beats even weaker this time, but it does still move. Fascinating. A redundancy, or simply a more robust system than originally seen? So many times, he has done this, and every time, the result differs ever so slightly. By about 0.3%. Far too much to simply allow, and far too much not to require additional study.


    Now, to wait, and record if the Heart fades and rots like the others. It¡¯s always easier to build them back up after Qi-deprivation has done its damage than it is to train them from scratch, but it¡¯s a delicate balance.


    ¡°So, how is that little pet-project of yours?¡± he asks.


    His assistant, to his credit, doesn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°Apologies, Grandmaster. I¡¯m afraid this lowly Researcher has many ongoing projects of interest.¡±


    ¡°Of course, of course. And congratulations are in order for at least one of them, no? The cast-off cutting from the Garden. I hear it received an invitation back into the fold. Considering your genteel tactics, it was expected that that one would die before such a success came to pass.¡±


    ¡°You honor me with your statement, Grandmaster. There have been other notable successes, however.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, your little corpse-friend, I am aware. Small steps, but progress is progress, I suppose. Tell me, does it still believe itself multiple?¡±


    ¡°Its self-perception remains accurate, Grandmaster, and recent acquisitions from the eastern conflict have allowed some small steps in improving its stability.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. How you find time for so many little distractions, I¡¯ll never know. Truly a harder-working Researcher I have yet to find. It¡¯s admirable, considering your start.¡±


    Errath smiles at the barely-noticeable rumble of displeasure in his assistant¡¯s throat. It¡¯s buried so deep it might as well not exist, but the crackle of one, two, three synapses in sequence tells him all he needs to know.


    ¡°This lowly Researcher has felt that the weakness of his birth has been well-offset by my formative education in these hallowed halls.¡±


    ¡°HAH! Well put, Taurus. It¡¯ll be such a shame when you die.¡±


    The towering figure of his assistant smiles, his teeth beautifully square and well-evolved for his chosen cultivation. ¡°This lowly Researcher will surely be disappointed to burden the Grandmaster with my eventual passing.¡±


    ¡°Mmh. Wouldn¡¯t be so much of an issue if you¡¯d just pop that little bubble of yours. There are more than a few potential rituals to limit the rampage of that little thing you keep locked in there, you know. I might even be tempted to see just how special a thing you¡¯ve made of that personal pet project.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The smile quiets, losing the teeth and gaining the perfect amount of politeness. A sequence of three-million and seventy eight hundred synapses fires in sequence to it, like little firecrackers to Errath¡¯s ears. ¡°I would not dare burden the Grandmaster with my own lackluster progress through cultivation. It would wound this lowly Researcher¡¯s heart to disappoint you with the flawed structure of progression I have achieved.¡±


    ¡°And yet!¡± Errath says, his own smile wide, though he does not turn his eyes to the beastblood yet. ¡°You carry more Qi than some Warrior realm fools I know, boy, and I can only imagine just how tightly wound that Core of yours is. Really, it¡¯s embarrassing- conventional Research states quite clearly that stress and tension, prolonged over a significant period, lead to long-term damage to the system. What a pity it would be, to lose the hardest working Nascent Soul cultivator in the Empire over a little¡­ insecurity.¡±


    ¡°You honor me with your wisdom, Grandmaster. I shall do my level best to ensure that your expectations are met, and continue to seek the completion of my Nascent Soul.¡±


    Now, Errath does turn his eyes to his pupil, dragging his attention away from the Heart and its weak little struggles.


    As his attention slides fully onto the beast-blood, the world begins to bend. The glow of an impossible star, radiant and alien and in his eye sockets turns itself to face the creature beside him, which has so shown its strength in the last few months.


    He sees how the subject¡¯s muscles begin to literally burn, radiated by his attention. He watches how the fur begins to smolder in a way that holds no heat, how the internal organs and synaptic systems begin to struggle under his gaze. And yet, his newest Senior Researcher does not bend, or so much as twitch, holding himself perfectly still.


    Errath¡¯s eyes wander lovingly over the marks that decorate his subject¡¯s meridians, carved ever so gently into the ur-self behind even the soul. He watches how they come to life under his attention, ready to convince the subject to obey any command, to tell him everything he needs to know about the being they collar. He looks at the perfect little sphere in the subject¡¯s Dantian, packed so densely that even his eyes have to squint if he wants to see through the layers.


    He can see every thought in that precious little bovine skull. He can see the half-shadows that move back from his ur-self, the notes of fate and causality that would surely link the subject to all sorts of devious little projects and tools.


    If only he felt inclined to check, he could see everything that the subject is and will be, as easily as taking a peek through a microscope.


    The subject knows that Errath knows, and Errath knows that the subject knows that he knows.


    He smiles, his own teeth a bright white that reflects the light of his eyes.


    ¡°It has been such a pleasure watching you grow,¡± he says, not without fondness. ¡°Thorough waste to kill you, really. Can¡¯t even imagine the paperwork at this point.¡±


    ¡°It is this one¡¯s honor to free up so much of the Grandmaster¡¯s schedule.¡±


    Errath gives out a cackle, throwing his head back. ¡°Indeed! Where would all these other scientists be without your loving patience and willingness to take on ever so much responsibility. Truly, it is a wonder to see a Senior Researcher so thoroughly respected by his peers.¡±


    ¡°I live only to serve, master.¡±


    Errath turns back to the Heart, restoring the missing micro-rune and modifying a different one, checking how it slows the decay process further. ¡°So you do, Taurus. You¡¯ve never forgotten that. It¡¯s what¡¯s brought this far, really- that, and that delightful little mind of yours. A pity it¡¯s wasted on such a fool.¡±


    ¡°If this one¡¯s foolishness has insulted the Grandmaster-¡±


    ¡°On the contrary, boy, it¡¯s entertaining to watch. I remember how fascinated I was by my own Soul at first. Took me months to get the courage to eat it, and even now, I still wonder. Such big decisions occur on their own time, and frankly, you¡¯ve buried that thing so deep that I doubt it would make it out even if I ordered it to.¡±


    ¡°It might surprise you, Grandmaster.¡±


    Errath turns back to the man-bull, looking at him directly. Tracking the flicker-steps of possibility, the winding threads of fate, the strange little jolts of microbes and bio-electricity through him.


    ¡°I thoroughly hope so, boy. So much of you is rapidly becoming predictable.¡±


    The subject bows at the waist, as if honored by the words. ¡°Such is only to be expected, Grandmaster. You Know Everything Eventually.¡±


    ¡°Hmph. Don¡¯t toss my own Truths back at me, boy. Eventually does not mean I know nothing now. After all, you¡¯ve yet to answer my question. How is that little pet-project of yours doing?¡±


    For a few seconds, there is only the shuddering failure to beat from the thing on the table. The silence lays thick in the room, for precisely the amount of time that the subject knows he will allow, and then-


    ¡°Surprisingly well, master. Though it has slipped its leash, rather successfully, some small measures remain.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. And you¡¯re quite certain it¡¯s under your control?¡±


    ¡°Not at all, Grandmaster. If anything, its actions become harder to predict by the moment. The Division of Divination will soon see through the ruse.¡±


    ¡°Hmph. Fools think that there is only outcome, never much for the care of process. You have my permission to use my name if you need to. Speak to one of the Head Oracles, if need be. Your obfuscations have been surprisingly capable so far, but you cannot hide it forever. I would hate to see one of the Generals, or heavens forbid one of those Blade brutes, jump the gun and end such a promising experiment so soon.¡±


    ¡°As you say, Grandmaster.¡±


    ¡°And Taurus?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Grandmaster?¡±


    ¡°Good work. It¡¯s encouraging to see such initiative, especially from one of your kind. You continue to impress upon me my success in your development.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Grandmaster.¡±


    ¡°My patience is not infinite, however. You have two years to break through to the Warrior realm, whether or not you choose to contain or consume your Soul. That should give your plans just enough time to percolate, no?¡±


    He feels a hesitation in his subject. It has gotten ever so good at falsifying its reactions, good enough that he can¡¯t tell for certain if there¡¯s any surprise in it anymore- but that¡¯s part of the fun, isn¡¯t it?


    What is eternity without little divergences? Without a pet that can surprise you here and there?


    ¡°I believe so, master.¡±


    ¡°Good. Now hand me a chisel. I believe we¡¯ve reached the maximum amount of useful data from this subject, and it would be a waste not to make something of it before it expires.¡±


    A dozen of his selves watch the subject gathering the tools, struggling under their weight. Ideally, it would be someone specialized for this work assisting, but the subject¡¯s knowledge of runes and strength are both well above average. Besides- it allows for conversations like this.


    The subject wants him dead. As is only to be expected. He can see some of the shadows of fate on it, the connections from it to other tools and locations¡­


    But it really has made itself useful. And when it springs its traps, Errath will spring his own.


    A fun little diversion, and then he¡¯ll make something useful out of the subject before it expires.


    As the Heart does its best to keep itself alive, to struggle its way free, Errath once again begins to carve it into shape.

 Chapter 279 - Family

    Long in the dark. Long in the quiet. As it should be. As all good things crave to be- dark and quiet. And moist. Moisture is important.


    She checks the spawning pools, checking that the air is just right. She has to grab the edge of the pit and lean her whole body over, forming handholds from the earth with the same ease as walking as she turns upside-down to check. There are more than a dozen bundles of grey matter clumped along the inside walls of the bowl of the pool, each of them glistening with humidity contained by the small opening.


    She lightly pats one of them, feeling it tremble ever so slightly at the touch. The life within it is warm, near-ripe, but not ready quite yet.


    Shapefixit crawls back out of the hole, looking around the chamber at the fifteen other holes in the side-chamber. This is the third such bowl-crater she¡¯s checked in the last few hours.


    She has three-hundred more such spaces to check before tomorrow.


    It¡¯s not easy, being a denmother. Even with the aid of her God, the pulse of its attention on the walls she touches and the weight of its power in the air where its mind wanders, it¡¯s still a lot of work. And yet¡­ what a work it is. What a task. What glorious labor.


    She cannot fault her God for its eagerness. After centuries trapped, wrapped tight by hair and dark magic, its freedom has had marked effects on it, and it hasn¡¯t stopped working since it gained the power to do so once more. The spaces rearrange themselves constantly, often digging even deeper into the earth and further obscuring itself even as it grows broader in scale, and she has begun to hear the skittering of life in the massive caverns, though only ever in the distance, and only ever on small, sharp legs.


    Shapefixit does worry for her God. It¡¯s unnatural for it to dig this far below ground without an exit-point, or at least not without a much more extensive safety net. Without the flows of Qi from the outside world, muffled by the solidity of earth and the lack of movement in stone, a God cannot live for long, cannot attain its true strength. While it is said that the oldest and greatest of the Gods can drink from leylines and magical pathways of the movement of the world itself¡­ all those Gods are spoken of as mighty, extensive, full of life and majesty.


    Her God is quiet, and hurt, and recovering.


    But, she must admit, it does hold power.


    Whatever else the Witch did, she most certainly kept the guts of the God well fed. There are some points of connection to the surface that remain, primarily those tying to the underground sea and to the deepest of the mining tunnels of the city above. Those connections bring in what little energy is needed to sustain the vastly reduced amount of space her God has demanded, and the small number of defenders it has formed.


    Her God is hiding. But her God is good.


    She moves to another crater-bowl in the cavern, methodically checking each of the carved-out pools and the growths within to ensure their health. There may not be much energy entering the system, but what little there is is being circulated constantly, preserved and looped into generator-patterns whenever possible. What little is left over, besides what is needed to burrow deeper and into safer dens, is being used to repopulate.


    It has been a long, long time since Shapefixit knew her home. She can still remember it, proud amongst the Overgrowth, the towering mushroom-caps of her skyline and the winding blooms of purple, red, gold and brown making mosaics of the earth. The way her people would dash and climb and chew and shape their way through the world, building fresh cluster-hives and ensuring that they were beautiful, filling them with farm-clumps and allowing in other beasts made by their God so that all could grow and feed into and upon each other.


    It was a growing place. A place of beatific strength, glowing with the glory of bioluminescence. She could not go anywhere without being aware of where she crawled, lest she stumble over an elder fused with a stalk or a space dug through the world and made into a home.


    This place is nothing like her home. It¡¯s dark, and cold, without the warmth of evergrowth, and it neglects the sky for the deep- but it is good. Because it has her people in it.


    It will be weird, being the eldest, but she supposes that she has more to teach than most. Lessons about how to survive the attention of monsters, how to endure pain, how to take chances when they are offered, lest you be lost forever.


    Still, there are¡­ so many. It¡¯s a lot to work on. So many rooms, so many lives yet to be born. Her God does much of the work, and is more than capable of helping to guide her to whatever room has an issue it cannot fix, but that doesn¡¯t mean that it¡¯s not exhausting, being denmother to so, so many, and being all alone. It¡¯s good to have something to do to wile away the hours- she¡¯s never been one for the meditations of power, and without the young ones to watch over, there¡¯s not much she can do to directly help her God. It was hurt, and her presence is healing, but like any God, it prefers its audience chamber isolated, and she is no great sage or ancient expert. If there is a way to erase the memory of what came before, to remove the scars carried by the God¡¯s Heart, she has not yet found them.


    So she tends to the little ones, and she thinks.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    They can¡¯t stay down here.


    It might be for months, it may even be for a year or two, but eventually, they¡¯ll run out of supplies down here. Her God has the ability to sustain itself, and that will increase as more life fills its halls and manipulates Qi further, but there¡¯s an upper limit to that with so little energy flowing in, and its formations being so discreet so as to better keep them hidden. And it¡¯s no life for a community, trapped and isolated from any sort of world, even if it¡¯s the world that makes monsters like the one above.


    She thinks about the monsters too, sometimes.


    All Gods can create ¡°monsters¡±. Beasts, defenders, and what the Empire called ¡°constructs¡±, life that cannot think for itself but which can feel their God intimately. These, to her, are not monsters. There is no inherent cruelty to their design- the few Mad Gods that were whispered of by old sages in her childhood were culled, long before the time of the Wall and the end of the world. Her God has made no such creatures yet, beside, perhaps, the small skittering things she sometimes hears- its priority is to hide, not to fight.


    But they¡¯ll have to.


    It¡¯s that¡­ or die in the dark.


    Without a God, her people aren¡¯t capable of growing as quickly as most humans she has met. Supposedly, that was a large part of the reason why she was taken by the Researcher to be examined. With the aid of a God, they can grow more profoundly, mutating, changing, evolving, and becoming imbued with power directly, rather than ¡°cultivating¡±. She can do it (she¡¯s had to learn how, after all), but it¡¯s¡­ difficult. Her channels and core aren¡¯t shaped like they¡¯re ¡°supposed¡± to be shaped. Personally, she feels they¡¯re shaped really well for the things she actually wants them for, but since that isn¡¯t being strong or fast¡­ well.


    But if she¡¯s going to convince her God of that, it¡¯s going to take time. And effort. And the hope that it decides to listen.


    She checks another bowl and finds the life within just about ready to emerge, twitching not at touch, but at her presence. She makes sure to dig a bit further at the bottom of the pool, leaving space for more water to accumulate, and her God accommodates, a fresh stream of droplets filling in the difference.


    It is good to be needed. It is good to have people she can help.


    But she worries.


    And then- a pulse.


    She feels her world shudder. Not a quick warning, this time. Deeper fear, deeper reaction. Something more primal.


    She moves fast. For all that speed is not her forte, it is easy in this place, as every time she touches the ground or grabs a corner, it moves with her, pulling her along. She moves in synchronicity with the earth, and it launches her forward fast enough that should she move with sight, the world would be blurring.


    She arrives at the audience chamber in minutes, the thrill of alarm running through her world the whole time.


    The room is sparse, a small window into the Heart the only real feature it has save an indent she¡¯s made on the floor. It¡¯s been strange, coming here and soothing her God, communicating with it, but it¡¯s also been nice, in its own way. She expects to enter a place of chaos, the ground rippling as the Godflesh moves in tune to panic.


    Instead, it glows.


    She stops at the entrance, her breath catching. She¡¯s gotten used to the darkness, the comfort of cool moisture and protective shade, but this¡­ the room glows with bioluminescence, radiant with joy. It reflects and glows off of mirrored surfaces, playing in sequences of aurora and ripples of veins that crawl and bloom and fade, only to be reborn again in moments after.


    Joy. Joy, says her God, and it speaks with its entire voice, that she might feel it in her feet and taste it in the air and see it with her eyes.


    She places a hand on the wall separating her from the Heart, feeling its pulse through the Godflesh and stone, and taps her claws against it, asking questions, worried and happy and scared and wondering what could possibly cause a reaction this severe, this complete. Moments before, her God wanted to hide, to be as shadow, and now it screams out in celebration with a voice of color and change.


    It sends a pulse through the stone at her touch, and for a moment, the chamber looks just like one of the dens, forming a dozen pools and sending a pulse of brilliance through them.


    One word. One all-consuming word, framed in such a way that she could mistake it for nothing else.


    Family.


    The family of God is coming. It is close enough to be felt, for the first time in what might be centuries, might be millenia.


    Shapefixit holds her hands close to the wall, as close to the Heart of her God as it allows- and finds herself surprised as the wall opens.


    Beyond it, the Heart has changed.


    Before, it stood as an alien organ, its many valves and pumps carved open and exposed- in return for this trauma, it has isolated itself. A shell of armor and coral has bloomed around it, forming armor that stiffens its movement but allows for some measure of protection against what bound it before.


    That is not what surprises her. What surprises her is the thing behind the Heart.


    It stands almost fifteen feet tall. Veins connect it to the walls like pipes and hoses of fluid, pumping thick slurry into its form. All six of its arms are bulging, heavily armored and covered in scales and keratin, and its face is like that of a martyr, a skull exposed to the air and crowned in gold and antler-velvet.


    It has no eyes- but it turns to look at her, and she feels the Mana in her body whisper and shudder at the pulse of awareness it broadcasts.


    It is powerful. And in its hands, dripping like tears from open palms, liquid shadow falls unto the ground and roils like rolling eyes.


    So this is where her God''s attention has been.


    And through it all, the Heart beats in a new rhythm, loud and strident and only barely kept hidden to the room they¡¯re in.


    Family Is Coming, says her God.


    We Rise To Meet Them Soon.

 Chapter 280 - No Crueler Tyranny...

    The world is unmade and remade seventeen times per second.


    That is, of course, a rougher estimate than many might feel comfortable with. The exact number of times is 16.9877042 times per second, plus or minus .000231 seconds each iteration. It¡¯s easy to overlook the small differences when you¡¯re not looking for them, but they¡¯re there. And they¡¯re a headache and a half to keep track of.


    So. Unmade and remade seventeen times per second.


    There is the sky, of course. Not easy, maintaining a sky without an atmosphere. Takes a lot of work, keeping out all those eyes and keeping in all that air- but someone has to do it.


    Commensurately with the sky are the sun and moons. All that writhing and lust to be free from one, all that bottomless hunger in the others. It takes a lot of Qi to keep the moons spinning, even when their orbit is so strictly stabilized, and it¡¯s almost not worth it, if not for the formations carved into all the stones of each of them. And the sun is worse; hard to grow crops without it, and annoying to go without day and night, but for all the work it takes to corral it, to reach through time and weave events precisely enough that they intersect so that the construct stays whole¡­ well. Some might argue it would be easier to dispense with the whole thing.


    And then there¡¯s the ground. It only goes down so far, really. Eventually, you hit the point where it starts to crumble apart, and find the things which feed on the crumbs and hunger for more. It takes some real gumption to keep a pie in one piece when the crust is coming apart.


    And all that¡¯s not even touching on time. Now there¡¯s a bitch to handle.


    So yes. On average, something goes wrong terribly enough that things need to be un-and-re woven approximately seventeen times per second, lest any of the issues¡­ compound.


    It¡¯s always nice to see one¡¯s numbers improve. Two thousand years ago, it was closer to twenty-one times a second. Always refreshing to know that the system is working as intended.


    Now, I need you to understand something.


    Yes, you. I see you there. Paying closer attention than normal, aren¡¯t we? Used to be decades between when I felt this much attention. Are you looking forward to the fireworks too?


    I need you to understand that I don¡¯t have eyes. Your perspective into this world may say I do, but I don¡¯t. You might think I¡¯m saying words, but I¡¯m not. I¡¯m very proud of that fact, and the more aware of it you are, the better I¡¯m doing.


    I need you to understand that you don¡¯t understand me. That you won¡¯t comprehend me. Above all else, that I am not what you think I am.


    That¡¯s what power is. Lying to what¡¯s Divine.


    Your Will will try to define me. Your comprehension of what I allow you to see will try to cage me in meager definition, as your Heavens press down on me from beyond the world.


    And I need you to understand that you have failed.


    I don¡¯t fit in the lines. I am of a shape beyond your shape, and I am not a thing so small as to fit inside your eyes, poking holes in the sky and staring down.


    So come on in. Watch what I allow you to watch. Know what I allow you to know. Slip past the structure of speech and word and pace and shape, and witness now what I want you to see.


    In the time it has taken for me to say this, in so much as anything is said without words, the world has ended and been remade twelve more times.


    Funny how time works, when you¡¯re looking through those teeny-tiny holes up there.


    There are three people in place around me. We stand in the world and of the world and some do not stand at all, but we exist here, and we see, and we know, and we speak.


    Anaya of Infatuation, the Final Star, Bearer of the weight of Sky. Her world is blood and shadow and carmine-fuschia, the dusk of energy and the birth of conflagration, and she looks upon me with eyes that do not belong in her head and will be different the next time she blinks.


    Silence of Dreaming, Godborne Chosen, Bearer of the weight of Ground. It stands in a place that is it and is void and is awake as it sleeps, an infinity of tongues seeing the world through the shapes of absence. It looks upon me with golden chains that shape its form and wrings poetry from their weave, singing quietly to itself.


    Feng of Joy and Sorrow, the Jade Forest, Bearer of the weight of Life. He stands in human guise, not unlike Anaya, but where she is a world in the shape of a woman, he is a man in the shape of a tree, what was once human now stretched and warped and glitching into the form of a million-million lives. All of them are praying, and their faith whispers sweet nothings in my ear.


    And me. I¡¯m here too. Did you forget? That¡¯s ok. You¡¯re not used to this as it is, are you?


    I¡¯m at the top of the pyramid, looking down/up/in at that which makes up existence. My Titans. The things that hold this world together under my will, shaping it through my threads.


    I exist. I have a Blade at my side. The rest is for me to know and forget, and for you to be blind to and wonder.


    I used to have a body.


    Now I¡¯m Emperor of Emperors, ruler of Titans. It¡¯s much more convenient without one.


    Anaya breaks the silence first.


    ¡°Why now?¡±


    I shrug. Things have escalated a bit. New players on the field. Ants in the pantry. I figure it¡¯s good to have everyone well-informed on things.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°And here I believed you were such a fan of surprises,¡± she says, smiling at my reaction.


    I don¡¯t like surprises. I like it when things go the way they¡¯re supposed to. Surprises mean I have to remake the world seventeen times a second.


    ¡°You do half the world at best,¡± she says, drinking from a teacup that isn¡¯t anywhere. There is blood in the cup, and it takes the shape of faces that swim and scream as she daintily sips. ¡°And I¡¯m doing my part. The Division of Divination is working just fine, and I¡¯ve bled for their pools enough for one decade. Research and Altered Cultivation are both maintaining pace- two system upgrades for the Bastions, one for the base armor, and a few other promising new ideas. If there¡¯s anyone that should be here, it¡¯s the one that let the mess spill past the Wall.¡±


    Feng turns a million heads to look at her and a million more away from her, disdain coloring his features. ¡°I do not particularly care for your assertions,¡± say a thousand mouths, their voices overpowering the mass of the others. From the mouths wearing jade green, he scoffs at his fellow Titan. ¡°You¡¯re the one who refused to share warning ahead of time. If I had been properly informed about what would happen at the breach, the Division of War would never have let this spill get as far as it has. And if you let me-¡±


    No need for that. I agree with Anaya on this- we¡¯re on schedule, and it¡¯ll do us some good to have a cull. Trial the newest Blade, get a few pests in one spot with the breach, and it¡¯ll encourage a fresh batch of new hopefuls. Recruitment¡¯s been down.


    ¡°And if I was permitted to pursue further assaults into the outer rings¡­¡±


    Yeah, I know, but it¡¯s not worth the cost. Exponential growth requires exponential resources, and we wouldn¡¯t recoup our losses fast enough to maintain pace. And if I wanted to burn the whole place to the ground, I would¡¯ve said so. Easier to let them uphold the Qi production for us, help stabilize things.


    Speaking of-


    ¡°Yeeeeeeeeess~,¡± whispers Silence from out of its sleep. ¡°Sleeeeeeep. Fffffffffitful. Nnnnnnnnoisy.¡±


    Not too noisy, I hope.


    ¡°Nooooooot. Yeeeeeeeet.¡±


    Good. Let a few more of them through, then shut the gates all the way. We¡¯ll use it to cull the herd a bit, and better we choose where they chew holes and prepare than let them thin the thread all over.


    ¡°I¡¯ll begin work on fresh deployments. I can divert some of the recruitment ads towards Daemon operators over soldiers, and if Anaya will do her part-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do my part, Feng. Shouldn¡¯t be too hard. The harder the pests gnaw at the door, the more the children run from the fields into loving arms.¡±


    Mmmh. Ok, glad we¡¯re on the same page. A little war, then. Remind the people what we provide, get rid of the chaff, get some exercise in.


    ¡°At last, something to do,¡± Anaya says with a sigh, the world rippling like water at her breath. It is the first one she has taken since the conversation began.


    Ever am I a graceful monarch, that I provide my loyal subjects with bread and circus. Even the ringmaster should get a show every now and then.


    ¡°And some bread!¡± she whines. ¡°Been forever since you baked. I could really use some.¡±


    We¡¯ll see if I can make the time. Tell you what- you get the ingredients, and I¡¯ll find a few hours to make you something proper, hmm? And in return, a bit more blood for the Pools. I want our Oracles in top form. Things have been just a little shaky, and I¡¯d rather we get that resolved before even a little war.


    ¡°You drive a hard bargain, my liege, yet as always, fair and just. It shall be done.¡±


    Good. Feng, isolate a city or two ahead of time, set up a quarantine. Give our fair lady something to play with, as a reward for her flattery.


    ¡°...yes, Emperor. And in return-¡±


    Yes, yes. Two more bases then, hmm? I heard you lost one recently. You have my permission to empower two descendants to manage them.


    ¡°And operational discretion?¡±


    Within reason. No genoplagues, no conceptual removals- just good old fashioned. Avoid the Gilded City, but otherwise, feel free to rile them up.


    ¡°Excellent, sire. Thy will be done. I shall cull the bacteria from beyond our walls.¡±


    Just enough. They do us more good killing each other than they do united.


    ¡°They won¡¯t miss a few of their Tribes, my liege. I¡¯ll reach out to the Republic as well- they¡¯ve been seeking our technologies for the last few centuries, since the last cull. It shouldn¡¯t take much encouragement for them to make some aggressive moves against the others.¡±


    Good. And see what you can do about stirring the pot down south. The Forever-Burning has been too quiet lately, better it ignite and sputter out than enter a slow-burn.


    ¡°...Two more bases, perhaps? Equipped with tunnels, connecting the North and South through the breach.¡±


    ¡°Ugh. Feng, how many times have I told you, dear? If you want to know what I¡¯m hiding in my robes, all you need do is ask politely.¡±


    Hmm. I hadn¡¯t realized we were close to breaking that tech.


    ¡°Neither do any of the children working on it, my liege.¡±


    Hah! Good. Always nice to have a few cards up your sleeve, isn¡¯t it, my darling star?


    She bows, the ruffling of her aforementioned robes showing images of different vistas, strange and twisted landscapes and horizons.


    So what are you thinking, Feng? Connect the two, then lose the bases?


    ¡°Indeed, sire. We¡¯ll lose a few Nascent Soul and Warrior realm cultivators, but little cost in the end to bring the hordes into the southlands. Just enough for the drakes to respond, at which point the tunnel will mysteriously collapse, securing their victory.¡±


    Good. Make it so. A well-timed distraction will do us well here.


    Go. Pursue what you must. Always remember how close we are. It would be a waste to have to do it all over again now.


    They bow to me, save for Silence, which cannot bow and would not know how to, and then I am alone again.


    With you.


    Did you think I forgot you? I can¡¯t. I don¡¯t ever forget you out there. Watching. Allowed an audience. Am I not a loving Emperor? Am I not generous?


    Do you think me a monster? Fine. You¡¯re not even wrong. But even still, one thing keeps me free from you- you do not know me.


    And yet still, I am ruler of a world you cannot touch, and you hate me for it. I am god of a kingdom that isn¡¯t yours, so you seek to crush me as I do my own lessers. It¡¯s ok. I understand. Such is the way of things, no?


    But I like it when you watch. When you get a good, long look at how I grow. Soon I will be more than you ever expected from one of us lowly beasts. Millenia of learning how to get it just right, and now we¡¯re almost at the end. Just a few fun little diversions, a last few puzzle pieces, a few more steps of the balancing act, and we¡¯re there. I will drag this world kicking and screaming into my new dawn, and then we shall see if I can¡¯t teach you what a monster I really am.


    Off you go now. Shoo. Go watch one of the ants crawling on my table. Next time you see me, it¡¯ll be too late to stop me.


    Bye now.


    See you soon.

 Chapter 281 - Peaches And Poison

    Once upon a time, there was a child in the Garden.


    This, in and of itself, was not an exceptional occurrence. There are often children in the Garden. Producing them is one of the things that the Garden excels at most. Every six months, on a schedule trained and induced and formed nearly to perfection, six-thousand children are born in the Garden, from three thousand parents, all of whom once belonged to their own group of six-thousand. Of those six thousand infants, something like three-and-a-half thousand make it past the age of toddlers. Of those three-and-a-half thousand toddlers, up to two-thousand make it to adolescence.


    From there, most of them make it to adulthood.


    Most don¡¯t make it too far past that.


    This child did.


    This child, who had no name for the first three years of their life, survived. They managed to learn to control the Garden¡¯s well-sculpted special physique. They learned to adapt to the way that their Qi leaked out of their body perpetually, learned to manage the ways in which arrays forced cultivation into their body, only for it to leak back out again. They learned how to do more than just survive their physique, learned to hold it in and circulate it properly, faster than the children that were taken away for being too slow. They learned to reach it out into the world and leave traces of it behind, learned how to bow and curtsy and smile and dance and pray and speak, until they no longer felt the weight of the mold they had to grow into.


    And then, when they were shaped to perfection, exactly as graceful and beautiful and demure and attractive as they were made to be, they were given their final gift. A mark of passage. The sign, the sign, that they had made it to adulthood, made it to the peak of all that could be asked of them, that they grew up right.


    They were branded.


    Not in a way that one might see. Not in any way that someone might be able to touch it, or that it would be able to mar the sculpted bodies and appearances of those who have made it so far. The brand is deeper than that, and better hidden.


    The artifact used is one mass-produced, crafted from woven branches that are taken, sculpted just as the children, from the Garden and the Tree that grows within it. It looks, if one were to hunt one down from out of the vaults in which they are stored, like a slender wand, its tip hooked and curved and glowing ever-so-slightly a strange pink. If one were to try and stab oneself with it, they would find that it passes through meat and bone as if they are not there, leaving no mark or scar. One might find themselves surprised to find that it does not pass through all of the body cleanly, and that it catches, agonizingly, on the meridians inside the body.


    For the children of the Garden, it can be felt carving through the cloud of Qi which surrounds them. It can be felt scratching against delicate veins of quasi-biology and imagined nerves. It can be felt in how it can be used to pluck, and weave, and rearrange the channels into a very specific shape.


    A shape which, under the right conditions and with the right arrays, can be called to, anywhere, anytime, and pulled on. Seen through. Reached through.


    It is the ultimate marker that a child of the Garden has grown well. Proof-positive that at long last, they have survived the trials and tribulations and become worth something, that they can now contribute to the Garden which has raised them.


    It is the most singularly painful experience anyone in the Empire undergoes without being actively tortured. And even this is only legal definition.


    But then, the child is complete. They are whole, as they were long-promised would eventually be the case. They have survived and struggled and moved forward and become perfect, become useful, and now they are at long last ready for an outside world that none of them have ever seen.


    This particular child of the Garden was among one of the proudest of their batch. Joyful and excited to see a brand new world, to at long last see what their pain was all for, to stand as a peach of the Garden for all the world to see. For all of the ones that never made it. For the half of their generation that never made it to the final steps.


    And then, this particular child discovered what it means to be a peach of the Garden, out in the real world.


    For a long while, they did not have the words to articulate what happened to them. They didn¡¯t have the right metaphors to be able to communicate to another what the experience was like.


    A few years after this, they found out about sheep. They tasted a new plate, and asked about what was on it, and were indulged when the person they dined with learned that they had never before seen a sheep.


    There it is, the peach of the Garden thought as the fluffy white animal was taken to slaughter. That¡¯s what I am.


    At least the sheep gets to die.


    The first time that they left the Garden, they met a man whose form and shape was alien to them. Unique and in every way new. This man was broad-shouldered and wide-bellied, the softness of good eating and a lack of care for what others thought of him shaping him into a wide smile and a pampered brow. The peach thought that this was the most unique thing that they had ever seen- a man who had no care what others thought of him, whose body was sculpted to his desires and not to his needs. The man acted in a way that seemed brash, that seemed open and casual, so very different from how the peach was raised.


    Then their meal ended. The tea was drank, the man laughing with wide and shining teeth at much of what the peach said, and they retreated into a quieter place, a place similar to how the peach was raised, full of soft silks and extravagant colors.


    Then those wide and shining teeth smiled wide, and began to bite.


    The strange and brash and shining man with the wide and shining teeth, the peach later found out, had a preference for the¡­ inexperienced. A hunger for things fresh and unripe, and an enjoyment of the struggle that occasionally followed.


    The peach did not struggle. They were shaped too perfectly for that.


    But many years later, they saw the sheep. Soft and white and trusting of the shepherd, all the way to the butcher¡¯s block. All the way to the dinner table.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    The peach went home. They recovered from their wounds. They learned new techniques, techniques which would go on to define their cultivation and allow their survival against the many other bright and shining teeth with so much more power.


    And then they were sent out again.


    There were no illusions this time. The time for such childishness had passed, it was said. But always, the tenders of the Garden spoke of pride. Always, the people who raised the peach spoke earnestly and openly about the ways in which their service aided the Empire and its peoples, how their sacrifice protected the Garden, how the peaches were and are and continue to be unmatched in their power. Victimhood was never in question. No, the suffering was their agency, the suffering was the point, and they should be oh so proud.


    And so the peach learned.


    Its Gardeners would say that they took the message the wrong way. That something in the peach twisted, or was missed and had grown in wrong, or that they were somehow uniquely broken.


    But with every warm body pressed against their own, for every crushing weight of cultivation breaking theirs and taking pieces away to feed itself, for every blow and violation and smile full of wide and shining teeth, Kaena learned. The suffering was agency. The suffering was the point. And they were indeed proud, in their own way.


    What can a peach do about being eaten?


    Nothing.


    So the best that can be done is to make every bite painful.


    They had to be subtle. They didn¡¯t even know they were doing it sometimes. And yet, just as they were trained to weave their Qi into listening arrays and traps, they learned to twist it just a bit further. They learned to shape what was there into something not quite helpful- a concoction that added to one¡¯s cultivation as it was torn free, but which would poison the well just enough to cause problems later.


    One of the people that took a bite of them gained a heart demon, and their mind split in half, but this was years after they had met with Kaena, and so no one wondered. Then another that had taken a bite out of them lost control of a technique, causing terrible damage and losing his rank and privileges, but such things happen, and so no one wondered.


    Then a woman who had met with Kaena a few months prior snapped and killed someone they should not have killed. Then some began to wonder.


    It still took them two more years to link the events together. In that time, six lesser nobles of the second ring went mad or crippled their own cultivation, two merchants of the first ring found that their Qi signature had been altered in a way to damage their Halos, and one Lieutenant General suddenly had a collapse of their cultivation during a defense of the Wall.


    The question came up, afterwards.


    How did they do it? How did a peach possibly become so toxic as to become a threat to cultivators more than a dozen steps above them? The Lieutenant General had been in the Warrior realm, even if he was weaker than most, and a Halo is supposed to be inviolable.


    There were many voices that said that they should just be killed. Culled from the population, that their toxicity wouldn¡¯t infect the next batch.


    And then¡­ a joke. An insult and a disposal method, wrapped up in one. The bull-man. The beastkin Researcher, pet project of a Grandmaster, one who has been in his role a long time. One whose failure would never be made public, but which would wound his master¡¯s reputation ever-so-gently. A complex move in the great game, but not one so damning that any fingers could be pointed.


    A foolproof strategy. A ruined product, its execution only delayed and a potential solution found; a black mark on an embarrassment to the upper echelons of the Empire, and a move against an old player. Guaranteed to grant at least someone what they wanted.


    Except for one thing.


    Kindness.


    Not a good kindness, perhaps. Kaena knew that then, and knows it now. An opportunistic kindness, born of earnestness and hatred alike.


    But kindness enough to look like freedom. Hatred enough to provide soil for the growth of a broken thing.


    And now, all these many years later, the move has been turned on its head. Now, the broken thing which looks more perfect than ever and has only grown in the fertile soil to which it was tossed is once again in the halls of the Garden.


    Kaena does not smile. To smile would be improper. As always in the Garden, one¡¯s performance must be perfect.


    They pick up the kettle and pour out a cup for the Gardener sitting across from them. Afterwards, moving slowly and efficiently, they pour one out for themselves, and set the kettle back down, waiting demurely for the Gardener to take the first sip.


    Their Halo illuminates the room, the light of the candles burning peach-white and reflecting off its brilliance. It spins, and if Kaena looks closely enough, they can see that it only looks flat from afar- close up. Up close, it glows with a thousand-thousand-thousand runes all floating in sequence. If one looks even closer, they might see what strange flesh the runes have been carved from and into.


    The person beneath it doesn¡¯t really matter. They are one face among many. They might have once demanded Kaena¡¯s death- or they might have acted on their side. No handler is ever expected to interact with any Peach more than is strictly required, and always, the Halo monitors it and updates what must be done next. The Garden and its Gardeners, grown into each other like two branches of the same sick tree.


    ¡°You have done well.¡±


    Kaena doesn¡¯t speak. It isn¡¯t their turn to speak.


    ¡°It is unlikely that you are fully repaired. It is thus in everyone¡¯s best interests to find a way for us to properly ascertain your state. It is not much, but we hope that this gift shows our sincerity in receiving you back into the fold.¡±


    A test, then. Framed as a gift. Because how else would they frame it.


    Now it is Kaena¡¯s turn to speak.


    ¡°This one thanks you for the privilege, honored Gardener.¡±


    They do nothing so crass and uncouth as nod. A Gardener¡¯s approval, or lack thereof, is a thing of subtle motions, stretched over time.


    ¡°A recent enemy has been made convert. Given your particular record, it has been decided that you might be best suited to to move things forward, however they end.¡±


    ¡°Has this chosen being a name?¡±


    Out of turn- but only just barely. Only just enough that it may be excused. Selling the illusion that they have been gone from the fold long enough to lose perfect reactions- but not so far gone that they don¡¯t recognize the imperfection. That they don¡¯t tilt their head ever so slightly, showing contrite shame at the misstep.


    ¡°The target¡¯s name is Qu Haolan. It may be a useful tool in these ever-so-slightly chaotic times. If you are healed, at your cultivation level, it should be no true trial to impress upon it the advantages of the Empire, and what we can provide.¡±


    Hmm. High-Realm, then. Upper Warrior? Emperor?


    Something capable of killing them.


    Kaena dies, Taurus and by osmosis Errath are shamed, and all is right for the Garden. Kaena succeeds, and the Garden has secured a new high-realm asset for the Empire and has found someone capable of ¡°fixing¡± a defective product, and all is right for the Garden.


    Kaena does not smile. This is not a place for smiling.


    ¡°Of course, honored Gardener. This one is honored to serve the Garden as its Peach once more.¡±


    The Snake returns once more to the Garden.


    Right alongside the two other Snakes that they brought home with them.


    The twins are free now. They could talk. They could unveil what Kaena did, at which point Kaena would be reprimanded- and rewarded for their initiative and strength.


    Or¡­ they could be Snakes. Like Kaena.


    Kaena wonders how a flock of Snakes might look. They remember the sheep, and wonder how those soft and gentle things might seem with fangs, dripping venom.


    And then, and only then, do they take a drink of their tea.


    So many possibilities. So little time.


    Ah well.


    The more the merrier.

 Chapter 282 - Flint and Spark

    A man with three Souls of flame stares at a man with a lump of cold in place of any Soul at all, and wonders how much it would take to survive that winter.


    Shin Ren is strong. He can acknowledge this as truth rather than arrogance, no matter how much he fears the latter. Against any Nascent Soul realm cultivator, he can safely say he almost always has a chance of victory, and he knows that the amount of Qi he holds is nothing short of exceptional. His techniques, while still limited, grow by the day, and his talent, now that he knows himself, is not far behind the best he has seen amongst those manning the Wall.


    The man before him is in the Nascent Soul realm as well. But it doesn¡¯t feel like it.


    There were great beasts and monsters arrayed against the Wall, beings deep into the Warrior realm or its equivalents, who did not provide the sheer sense of depth in front of Shin Ren now. The mountain of a man, standing at nearly half Shin Ren¡¯s height over him, exudes a sense of Qi so carefully controlled it is barely visible- but so dense is it that it feels almost physical, a radiance turned from energy to something with mass, crystallized into something so powerful it feels dangerous just to be near it.


    Shin Ren, with three Souls and three Cores, each of them approaching the Warrior realm at an admirable pace, feels like he could drain every ounce of Qi he possesses and come up barely visible to the amount within the towering presence he shares the room with.


    And yet, the man only smiles, his teeth wide and flat, glinting the same color as his horns.


    ¡°Please, sit. It¡¯s always good tidings to meet someone as highly regarded as the Flame Atop the Wall.¡±


    Shin Ren bows at the waist, a bead of sweat running down his forehead- and quickly erased by heat and mirage. ¡°This one is honored by your regard, senior. While I am but a lowly soldier, who has not heard the name of the great Runemaster Boriah in the vaunted halls of the Division of Altered Cultivation?¡±


    The man waves a giant hand, as if shooing away the compliment, even as he gestures for Shin Ren to approach the small table at which he sits. ¡°I¡¯m grateful that such an old title has spread amongst the ranks, but please, call me Researcher. While my skill at runic arrays is not small, I would be embarrassed to think that it surpasses my official title in the minds of treasured juniors.¡±


    Shin Ren nods, acknowledging, and steps forward towards the table, seating himself slowly and demurely.


    The room the two cultivators are meeting in is surprisingly small, more cozy than the vast and sweeping chambers many higher-ranking cultivators prefer. The walls are made of a traditional wood, the grain strengthened by the hands of some skilled craftsmen and adding an aesthetic flair to the blue and white coloration of the carpet and drapes. Beyond this, there is only one feature to the room: a small table, set with two pillows for comfortable kneeling, holding a simple tea-set.


    Without needing to be prompted, Shin Ren follows the rules of etiquette, holding to nobility and grace as he pours the tea first for the man he is here to meet, and secondly for himself. He waits for one of the few Senior Researchers of the Division of Research and of Altered Cultivation takes a sip before he takes one for himself.


    With the bounds of propriety met, at least as much as Shin Ren feels is necessary,  he clears his throat politely.


    ¡°I¡­ appreciate our meeting, honored one, but I¡¯m curious as to why I was summoned here. I¡¯m afraid that my duties with the Division of War are myriad, and the breach along the Wall-¡±


    ¡°Progresses as planned. As you well know.¡±


    Shin Ren takes a slow breath, slowly sipping at his cup. The tea is simple, unspiced and without much in the way of Qi, but still, good tea is good tea, and it helps to have a moment to think through the meaning behind the statement. He feels a tug deep inside himself as the Smiling Noble looks through his eyes, it and its Soul/Self roiling in their / its core.


    Boriah smiles, and Shin Ren pauses. Did he see something? Notice something? He can¡¯t detect any threads of Qi or awareness around them, but¡­ there are rumors about most of the Researchers. A Senior Researcher is a whole level beyond.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that I don¡¯t entirely know what you mean, Senior Researcher. It is not my custom to assume at the plans of the Empire.¡±


    ¡°And yet, you do anyways.¡±


    ¡°...Perhaps this junior might be forgiven for having some small flaw, then.¡±


    Again, that wide smile, the bovine features stretched wide. It feels¡­ not fake, but perhaps staged. Like one of Mei Yu¡¯s masks, the ways she hides a real reaction by mixing it with a rehearsed one.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m quite certain that those who see you as I do would be willing  to forgive you very much, Shin Ren of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect. It often takes a cultivator years, sometimes decades, to form even one Nascent Soul- far be it from me to neglect to congratulate you on forming three.¡±


    Shin Ren stays very, very still.


    The smile dies, disappearing from the Senior Researcher¡¯s face- but somehow, the amusement lingers. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. Your ¡®secret¡¯ is well hidden. Plenty of individuals wonder, of course, how you can grasp such a variety of Daos and techniques, but most tend to attribute it to your talent. They¡¯re not wrong, in a sense. It takes luck and skill in near-equal measures to go mad quite as precisely as you have, a trait that I find quite valuable in a cultivator.¡±


    ¡­He¡¯s surprisingly direct. Shin Ren was expecting¡­ well, someone either much more eccentric or much more proper.


    Senior Researcher Boriah¡¯s reputation has followed and preceded him nearly since the breach of the Wall, and some say before that. The first cultivator in Nascent Soul realm to become a Senior Researcher- a maestro of runic arrays, one who surpassed all expectations at the Scholar¡¯s Academy. A cultivator that has dedicated his life to the Divisions of Research and Altered Cultivation, with no known history before emerging from their halls and acting as one of their Researchers. Nowadays, first and foremost, a capable and talented logistician, willing to take on the work of many and provide superior results in handling bureaucracies and resources.


    All things point to a model citizen, a paragon of the Imperial ideal that politicians and researchers alike could stand to envy. Now, faced with the overwhelming weight of the man¡¯s cultivation, Shin Ren expected someone who could talk circles around him, and who would require a very careful application of word-choice, propriety, and care to keep at arm¡¯s length.


    When he received the summons, he was surprised, but not overly so. He figured it was about time someone asked him about his three-part Souls, and considering Boriah¡¯s involvement with the war effort and the logistics of managing the breach, it wasn¡¯t entirely unexpected that it would be him.


    Now¡­


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you might have anything to do with quelling some of those rumors, senior?¡±


    ¡°You should never suppose when you can know. In this case, knowledge is cheap- yes. You¡¯re much more useful drumming up support and helping at the breach than you would be in someone¡¯s lab, especially considering what it likely took you to acquire your particular pantheon.¡±


    Shin Ren nods, clenching his jaw a bit at the memory of who helped him survive the self-generated Tribulation of his rebirth. ¡°It¡­ is not something I would be comfortable replicating.¡±


    Boriah nods. ¡°Nor should it be. As much as the Empire has and will continue to standardize things, there are some transformations that come from within, not without. Cultivation is made stronger by the presence of knowledge and others to walk the path alongside, but it is made yours by the Truths you understand- about the world, and about yourself.  And despite what some of my fellow Researchers might tell you, the price of replicating a Truth is often impossible to pay, and rarely cheap.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Then if you don¡¯t mind me asking, senior- why have you summoned me? I am grateful that your actions have allowed me to remain active on the field, but if you have no wish to study my cultivation¡­¡±


    Senior Researcher Boriah looks at him. The tea, which has sat untouched since its first sip, trembles in its cup, ever so slightly.


    ¡°I called you here to ask you a question, and to make you an offer. The answer you give to the first will change what I say in the latter.¡±


    Shin Ren feels his Qi coil inside him, the Corpse Aflame and Smiling Noble both on edge and careful. The same sense of impossible weight from before is beginning to creep back into the room, like the sheer amount of Qi being held back is enough to force tension into the air around Boriah.


    Still¡­ better to go forward than retreat, more often than not.


    ¡°Then please, senior. Ask your question.¡±


    ¡°If you would kill the man who took your master captive, would you?¡±


    The room grows warm. The cold of impossible vastness is pushed at, twisted, by the presence of heat, roiling beneath a surface like barely contained wicks of flame, for that is what it is.


    Shin Ren meets the strange, bovine eyes of the man across the table, and sees in them something made entirely of cold, calculating Intent. Like looking into the eyes of a training dummy, or at a particular complicated part of an equation.


    ¡°If such a person could be found, then I-¡±


    He pauses. Looks again into the eyes of the strange being staring so intently at him.


    ¡°¡­Yes.¡±


    The room flickers.


    As if summoned by that word, a thousand-thousand miniscule scripts light up against Shin Ren¡¯s Qi senses, illuminated as if they were always there. There are so many, and so many of them are so small, that there is no way he could possibly understand them all in time, or comprehend how they were hidden, but-


    Oh. They weren¡¯t hidden.


    The being sitting across the table, behind cold tea and strange eyes, wrote them all in the second it took for the room to flicker.


    And Shin Ren didn¡¯t even feel his Qi as he did so.


    The array surrounding the room vibrates with barely-contained power, reinforcing and changing the space in a way that he can¡¯t quite comprehend-


    Two doors open.


    Shin Ren notices that there is no door behind him. When did he enter the room? Where is this place?


    Out of one door, to his left, comes someone he recognizes. Wyld as he first knew her, or Maen, as he knows her now. The memory of his last Tribulation is shaky, at best- while he could see and comprehend and experience so much in that higher state, he and Raika, the strange creature he still owes a debt to, shared memories and thoughts, and some of that related to Maen. What he remembers now, however, might be best classified as an impression rather than concrete knowledge, but it¡¯s enough that he feels a deeper recognition than he maybe should as she enters the room.


    From the other door, to his right, comes a man he¡­ is fairly certain he¡¯s never met before. Except that he has. Not that long ago, actually. He was the one who saw Maen and reacted on-sight, the one that she called¡­


    What had she called him? What had he looked like?


    ¡°You¡¯ve already met Maen, I know. Or Wyld, as she decided to name herself.¡±


    Maen rolls her eyes, sitting at a pillow that wasn¡¯t there a moment ago and sighing as she rests her chin on the table. ¡°I¡¯m never going to live that down, am I? It¡¯s related to one of my techniques, it¡¯s a fine name, and you¡¯re all rude.¡±


    Boriah smiles, simultaneously more natural and yet colder than the one he gave to Shin Ren. ¡°To your right, on the other hand, is one you might not remember. His name is-¡±


    ¡°Hao¡­ Hao something,¡± Shin Ren mumbles, staring intently at the man on the right side of the table. ¡°We¡­ we¡¯ve met once. When you and Maen-¡±


    ¡°The very same!¡± the man says, and suddenly, as if a switch was flipped, Shin Ren sees him, remembers him. He¡¯s wearing a jacket of fine furs, but the style is rugged rather than extravagant, leather and a collar of heavy brown fur making for something both comfortable and protective. The man beneath the coat matches almost entirely- he has a beard that¡¯s somehow both well-trimmed and wild, highlighting a robust physique and a wide, predatory smile. ¡°Hao Nera is the name. I¡¯m surprised you remembered! I put some real fuckin¡¯ elbow grease keeping you quiet to it, and I¡¯ve gotten pretty good at that. Me and Maen go waaaaay back. I¡¯m dating her boss!¡±


    ¡°He was never my boss, and I barely know you.¡±


    Hao Nera¡¯s smile widens, all canines and bright white. ¡°Everyone barely knows me. That¡¯s how I like things.¡±


    ¡°Enough.¡±


    Instantly, both of the newcomers go silent. The doors behind them disappeared at some point, though Shin Ren isn¡¯t sure exactly when. In either case, the room becomes still, as if the two new additions to the table had simply been here all along.


    In a room with no doors.


    How did he get here?


    ¡°Flowery speech does not suit me,¡± says the man in front of him, who quite suddenly doesn¡¯t seem to fit the shape of the man who spoke a few moments ago. ¡°I am a brusque man, for I have much to do and there is always less time than one might like in which to do it all. I can tell you where your master is being held. I can deliver you unto the Fourth Blade, Kai the Mage-Killer. And I can, to some extent, prepare you to survive such an encounter.¡±


    Shin Ren can feel his heart beating.


    ¡°...And in exchange?¡±


    ¡° I have enough chaotic elements to juggle- from you, I ask only what you have already promised. Maen offered you an introduction to your benefactor, and Hao Nera here claims to have come to offer an alliance. Circumstances, or perhaps Fate, have found fit to synchronize these events.


    ¡°I offered you a feather from the Last Phoenix. I offered you some of the techniques you have mastered. I will sponsor you into the Warrior realm, and in return, you will only do as you have done before. On occasion, a letter or note will be found in your possession, and in it will be instructions. Where before you had only to humiliate the occasional brat in the Academies, or check on an ongoing situation, now, you¡¯ve proven yourself far more than that.¡±


    ¡°And what does that mean, hmm? Not every Flame burns indiscriminately, Runemaster. I am my own, no one else¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°As every cultivator should be. Our lives should be our own, to offer or to keep. That is not, and never has been, the reality of the world into which we have been born. The world cannot be fixed, but I intend to make it just a bit better, and to do so will require you to do things you question, things that hurt. I will demand of you no more than I have and will of myself, but you are in far less danger if you know only what you need to know.¡±


    Shin Ren breathes in. Once. Then again.


    The third time he does it, a small plume of Flame sneaks out of his mouth, Black and Red and Blue and Gold and Purple.


    Five of the seven colors of Dao, all relating to Flame. Even still, he can nearly taste the others on his breath- Heat, Mirage, Destruction. Maybe others- the names, as of yet, are meaningless.


    He isn¡¯t strong enough.


    The Fourth Blade still hovers over the battlefield, watching death en-masse from an endless advance through the breach.


    His master still lies trapped somewhere.


    The Empire, just like his old sect, rings hollow against the honor he has bound his shape and form to.


    ¡°I accept no leash,¡± he says, his voice crackling with the sound of strange fires. ¡°I accept no chains on me. You want my power, and I want your knowledge, but I will do nothing unless I know exactly why I¡¯m doing it.¡±


    For a moment, the room is silent.


    And then, a clinking of cups. Shin Ren blinks, finding himself holding a cup of wine that he does not remember grabbing.


    ¡°I¡¯ll drink to that,¡± says Hao Nera, throwing back his own cup. ¡°Whoo! Strong stuff. Gotta say, Taurus m¡¯dear, I¡¯m liking the kid here more and more. You¡¯re going to have to work hard to keep up. I accept coins, Qi stones, or some more of those delicious elixirs as replacements for hard work.¡±


    Maen growls, the sound feline and deep, but it comes off as more annoyed than actually angry. In fact, she too turns to look at the man at the far end of the table, whose name does not fit and who Shin Ren can¡¯t help but feel intimidated by, even now.


    But he only laughs, low and bassy, the sound like rocks tumbling down a steep, sharp ravine.


    ¡°Are you certain, pretty boy? I make no guarantees for your safety if you decline my offer, should you learn too much.¡±


    ¡°To cultivate is to face danger,¡± Shin Ren says. He throws back his own cup of wine, grimacing at how fucking strong it is before slamming it back onto the table. ¡°I don¡¯t fear the Heavens, and I no longer fear myself. What is death in the face of that? What are you?¡±


    This time, the smile is slow. It does not fit on the face of a herbivore. It does not fit on the face of anything that isn¡¯t dangerous, and it fits the horned man far too well.


    ¡°There are things much, much worse than death, boy. But if you want to know, who am I to impede you, hmm? Let me tell you of the death of an age, and what part I aim to have you play in it.¡±

 Chapter 283 - Let Loose The Best Bros Of War!

    Shin Ren awakens, and feels the knowledge of an impossible dream flow back into his mind.


    How, exactly, he was transported to that strange room, he doesn¡¯t know, but looking around himself, he sees the improvised barracks in the depths of the trenches and remembers where he is.


    The breach has gotten worse.


    More and more, spirit beasts are matched by strange constructs, undead and alien, and the ongoing damage has kept the Division of War from properly maintaining the structures of the Wall. It has yet to properly expand, but there are more and more pushes against other fortress cities now, and the number of discarded Daemon-constructs has multiplied, becoming a hazard of more than one battlefield. For every enemy slain, another manages to sneak past the barriers, and the third ring has gradually grown more unstable as all but the largest of its cities is threatened by the increasing numbers of spirit beasts.


    And for weeks, the Empire has done nothing.


    The Fourth Blade lounges atop the battlefield, seeming unbothered by the constant slaughter and content to sit and do nothing. The Fifth Blade, for all the talk of her imminent arrival, has not been swift in her travels, or maybe hasn¡¯t even left yet. Of the other Blades, nothing is heard, but none of the Empire¡¯s Generals has moved to support the breach, and for most, life goes on as normal.


    For Shin Ren, normal has become a thing of violence.


    He wakes, and with one hand shoves open the flap of fabric standing in for a door. There are better chambers available, but they¡¯re far from the front lines (which, in truth, are a bit behind Shin Ren at this point). The door broke a week ago when something slithered through the marble like water and tried to drink his eyes, and he hasn¡¯t had time to replace them.


    Outside the door, in what should be an underground part of the trench-system that interlaces all fortress-cities from behind, the sun shines brightly on a landscape of grey and brown.


    Dust rules the horizon, stone being crafted, formed, destroyed, and rebuilt almost as fast as one can see. Shin Ren sees something like a serpent made out of canine legs scaling one of the fortress cities on the horizon, a pack of birds that flap with insect wings and floating shards of dream-glass supporting its efforts. In front of him, crawling in rivers around his section of the trenches, endless constructs of bone and withered flesh sprint madly at the Empire¡¯s defenders, repurposed dead made into formidable cannon-fodder. The sky above crackles with multi-hued lightning, Dao intermingled and flashing through the midday sunlight as a cloud made of stone and reflective metals tries its best to murder a Warrior-realm Commander, his armor flashing with arrays as he is kept on a constant backfoot despite his cultivation.


    Another morning in the new normal.


    Shin Ren summons his comms-tablet from his spatial ring, ringing Gou Mai¡¯s tablet without bothering to look at his hands as he does.


    It takes a few moments of blinking before a face appears, grinning wide. ¡°Good morning, my darling brother in arms! Tell me, have you slept well, out there in the madness?¡±


    ¡°Of jade beauties and well-cooked pheasant,¡± Shin Ren replies, his smile tired but honest. ¡°It would seem that war has done some good for my ascetic¡¯s demeanor.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps it has! Tell me, where do we march to today?¡±


    ¡°You tell me, honored brother. I¡¯ve only just woken up.¡±


    ¡°For shame! Just because you are no longer an ascetic is no excuse to laze about, Ren! There is ever so much work to do! There¡¯s tales of a new Divine Beast approaching the breach, apparently supported by a swarm-type, a squadron of Daemons was left uncontrolled after their operators were assassinated in the night and are running wild¡­ what else, what else¡­ oh! There are three missions for a forward push into the breach, two from the Eternal Flame sect, one from the Blessed Clouds sect, both with handsome rewards for spirit beast cores¡­ hmm.¡±


    ¡°Any news about the sands?¡±


    ¡°Ah! As always, brother, your mind dances ahead of the common man! Yes, there is a chance for a sandstorm later this week, but nothing confirmed. We have yet to really take back territory from the last storm, so anyone who volunteers for sand-duty is getting paid in Qi stones this cycle. Qi stones! Imagine the luxury of it all.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good. We¡¯ll go there.¡±


    There is a pause, and then Gou Ren grins wide. ¡°You almost had me there. Here I was thinking that you¡¯d lost your way, but I suppose advancement is your only mistress, hmm? Much to the chagrin of poor lady Mei Yu¡­¡±


    Shin Ren laughs at that. ¡°As if you haven¡¯t already convinced her of your worthiness.¡±


    ¡°In battle perhaps, brother, but in love, her eye holds only you! Though not for lack of trying. If I¡¯d known she was going to make me think my hair was made of snakes, I would have gotten her better flowers than the poor examples which surely hurt her heart!¡±


    Shin Ren feels the air around him quiver, and dashes to one side, his cultivation propelling him with ignition away from where he stood.


    The air collapses to a single point, compressing a domain of a few dozen feet into a marble of trapped air and debris. The sensation of air-pressure manifest again, and then a dozen more times all around him, and he crouches, ready to engage.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Apologies, brother, but it seems I have company.¡±


    He dashes forward, into the breach, the space behind him collapsing a dozen times over.


    His tablet vanishes back into his storage ring and his Guandao emerges, twirling and eagerly drinking in his Qi. The spine of its blade glows as if molten, and he swings it towards an invisible enemy.


    Out of the edge of his swing, he sends forth a Cut.


    The world divides around his blade, perspective forcing it into two Divided shapes, and a spurt of blood comes out from behind a block of stone sliced nearly in half, followed by a chittering shriek.


    Shin Ren takes a single step, and ignition, heat, propulsion and more all send him rocketing forward- only for a burst of the same to force his momentum to a perfect stop right over the sound of the cry.


    There, beneath the rocks, three insectile beastkin stare up at him, their eyes strange and reflecting the glow of his cultivation. One of them is missing an arm and part of its face, severed so cleanly that the exoskeleton doesn¡¯t even seem broken- the other two are whole, and their cultivation rises, throwing strange impressions and that same compression technique up at him.


    He does not give them a chance to attack again. With one hand, he lets loose his Qi, without bothering with a clear technique. He doesn¡¯t need it here. A burst of pure heat, bereft of any Flame, fills the debris-widden trench they crouch in- and all of them come alight, the ground melting, the space around them warping with heat haze.


    They don¡¯t suffer. You don¡¯t feel pain when your brain is flash-boiled in under a second.


    Landing a few steps away from the heat, he re-summons his tablet.


    ¡°Sorry about that, Gou Mai. I¡¯m back. Is there-¡±


    Again, the space warps around him.


    This time, he¡¯s not fast enough. His speed isn¡¯t the issue, nor are his senses- it¡¯s simply that the space is almost ten times wider than it was last time.


    Shin Ren pushes his cultivation out like a shield, his relative lack of defensive techniques meaning that his best chance is to destabilize the attack rather than try to tank it. It¡¯s not just compression- the technique feels like an implosion, the world collapsing into a singular point of pressure. The heat and Flame he exudes helps, but not enough- there¡¯s no direct competition, and the technique is refined, standing up to the amount of Qi he¡¯s shoving into the air around him.


    The he feels air and dust and stone pressing against his skin, sharp-edged by way of the amount of pressure and velocity they have-


    There.


    He can barely move, but he forces Qi through his arm, tilts the angle just right, and Cuts again.


    This Cut is miniscule, barely an inch wide from his perspective- but across the battlefield, a six-foot trench is carved into the world, shattering the ground beneath a half-hidden cultivator seemingly identical to the ones he just killed.


    The ground collapses, and the enemy cultivator leaps above the damage- but it¡¯s enough of a distraction that Ren can push his Qi out, an explosion of five-hued Flame warping the world with its weight and glassing both the ground around him and the technique arrayed against him.


    He turns, his nose and eyes bleeding, his clothes torn by debris, to track the beastkin. The many beastkin. Somehow still avoiding his Qi senses, almost a hundred more identical insectile beastkin emerge from out of the debris, dug into the ground and through solid stone- and they all rush in towards each other. As they touch, they seem to literally mold together, the effect like that of a spatial ring absorbing something and equally headache inducing- and then they appear to his senses.


    Separately, each beastkin feels miniscule, calling on the energy of the whole to generate their techniques. Fused together, collapsing from a hundred to twenty to five and to one, they exude a sense of pressure that nears the peak of the Nascent Soul realm.


    Space for a hundred meters around quivers, about to collapse inwards-


    Like a thunderclap, or a falling star impacting the earth, a man clad in light blue lands and craters the earth, his blade cleanly severing the beastkin in half lengthwise.


    ¡°Hah! You owe me a round, brother!¡±


    Gou Mai grins, his cultivation shining like a pillar and the sky beyond it. A flick of his wrist is all it takes for the blood to vanish from his blade, even as the Qi of the beastkin cultivator floods out and begins collapsing random pockets of pressure all around them. Uncoordinated, it¡¯s easy enough to brush aside the wild Qi, and Gou Mai marches across the battlefield proudly, clad in sandals and his sect robes. A mountain of a man, tall and wide and boisterous, yet physically stronger than most cultivators Shin Ren knows, he comes off as a friendly uncle or a drinking buddy as much as he does a truly might warrior.


    Shin Ren senses the weight of Qi rolling off of him- nearing the peak of Nascent Soul.


    ¡°For my life, I¡¯d gladly pay that price,¡± Shin Ren says, smiling. ¡°Your sense of timing is ever impeccable.¡±


    ¡°Ah, you had it handled, I¡¯m sure. I can¡¯t measure up to you and your training! I¡¯m afraid I have only my own climb to measure myself by.¡±


    ¡°As we all should. How did you find me?¡±


    Gou Mai shrugs. ¡° I looked for whatever place had a dangerous opponent and a weird little campfire nearby. After that, it was easy to simply leap off and onto your would-be opponent.¡±


    Shin Ren looks up, confirming- there is nothing to ¡°leap off¡± of above them.


    ¡°Your techniques are improving.¡±


    ¡°Ah, well¡­ we are getting quite a bit of practice, are we not?¡±


    Shin Ren sighs, long and slow. ¡°That we are, brother.¡±


    Gou Mai shakes off the grimness, smiling wide at the moniker as he always does. ¡°None of this sourness, then! My honored brother acknowledges me, so he must acknowledge my wisdom when I say that there is much to do, and no time for misery, hmm?¡±


    ¡°No, Gou Mai, no time for misery. Come on- I¡¯m off to the breach. I¡¯m going to try and glass as much of the sand as possible, and I¡¯d appreciate a friend there to watch my back.¡±


    ¡°Of course- but I should think there¡¯ll be no need for it soon enough! I got the news as I was heading over- the Fifth Blade is on her way! A few weeks late, perhaps, but it seems like at last our betters are doing what they can to assist us, hmm?¡±


    ¡°I- where? When?¡±


    Gou Mai shrugs. ¡°I saw her to the north while I was climbing. I figure she¡¯ll be here in a few hours.¡±


    ¡°All the more reason to be at the frontlines. Come on- we need to meet her.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Is sister Mei Yu going to be jealous?¡±


    ¡°Good idea- call her, please. My tablet was damaged in the fight, it¡¯ll be a bit before it recovers. She¡¯ll be invaluable there.¡±


    ¡°Ah! I see! My brother has abandoned asceticism and has grown bold! Far be it from me to stop you from aiming too high, but perhaps better to aim at only one target at a time, hmm?¡±


    ¡°Gou Mai-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m calling, I¡¯m calling!¡±


    ¡°Good. I have some questions I need to ask.¡±

 Chapter 284 - Flame Lights The Way Into The Unknown

    Gold of Truth.


    Purple of Mystery.


    Red of Violence.


    Blue of Endlessness.


    Black of Destruction.


    These are the five colors Shin Ren has managed to comprehend. Green of Balance and Orange of Change yet elude him, and it¡¯s not to say he¡¯s comprehended every aspect of each concept- but he has understood enough, at least, that it has transformed his Dao of Flame. Together with the Corpse Aflame and the Smiling Noble, working in sync, he has more of the colors of Dao than most.


    He uses each and every one of them as he faces down the sands.


    To his senses, the sands are pitch-black, reeking of Ruin and Death. He¡¯s learning to recognize those aspects of Dao, how they weave in alongside Qi to manifest their concepts, and the world beyond the Wall is rich with it. Catching sight of those concepts in the world outside of his own Dao has helped deepen his own understanding. They say that there are always opportunities for advancement in the world, if one is only bold enough to grab hold of them.


    Shin Ren wishes that sometimes that was not the case. He does not like the opportunities he has found in the depths of the breach.


    Even if they have made him strong.


    Two cores at once spin up, Qi cycling through his meridians and flowing forth into the shape of a technique. He wraps his comprehension, his killing Intent, and his knowledge of Dao together into a singular weave, clasped tightly around his master¡¯s gift to him, the Guandao, and sweeps it across the battlefield.


    A single beam of Flame, concentrated so brightly that it ignites the air around it and melts the Qi-rich stone it passes over, carves a furrow into the oncoming horde. A thousand or more skeletal constructs turn to slag, the ground beneath them glowing the colors of lava as they are burned hotter than they can handle, pieces of a Wall made to withstand demigods warping out of shape as they burn.


    He swings again. And again. And again.


    Gou Mai¡¯s techniques are esoteric, specific to his cultivation in a way that¡¯s hard to describe. He embraces the Dao of the Heights, he claims, which isn¡¯t something that Shin Ren can really wrap his head around. Mei Yu is somewhat more straightforward, her sect¡¯s techniques significantly more orthodox, but they too are subtle and specific, warping perspective and creating illusions out of light, sound, heat and movement.


    Shin Ren can be subtle. He has some tools to allow him to weave illusion if he needs to, and to perform strange shapings.


    These are not his strengths.


    His greatest strength, above all, is firepower.


    Walking forward, what was once ravenous dust capable of eating through skin and down to bone in the presence of living bodies has been turned to glass beneath his feet. Shifting piles of ashes make up all that¡¯s left of the mindless creatures swarming over the barricades towards enemy lines.


    His weapon, incredibly well-crafted though it may be, isn¡¯t suited to fire and fire Qi, and he¡¯s grown capable of overloading it if he isn¡¯t careful. The staff is starting to smoke the slightest bit, and the glow of heat has travelled a bit too far up the blade for comfort.


    Rather than unleash his technique again as a fresh wave of constructs rolls forward, Shin Ren focuses, reaching out with his senses. Two Cuts scream out into the world, his comprehension of the Dao of the Blade limited but still sharp enough to cleave into reality, and he takes advantage of the pause in the approach to begin to pull.


    The glow of molten lava and open flames dims, turning to charred black- and he reaches out to the depths of his Souls, calling to the right one for the circumstance.


    Can¡¯t use anything too aligned with pure Ruin- it¡¯ll wipe out the sands in front of him, but just attract and empower more later. Using pure Flame, divine as it may be, is still currently limited to what¡¯s in front of him, and will only force him to spend hours killing endless hordes.


    [Gilded Smile Of Delusion] rises up, glittering with many teeth and glinting jewels. Without a body in which to hold it, the Smiling Noble becomes the Soul born from it, heart demon and divinity wrapping around each other, both the same and distinct- and they emerge from out of their core, entering reality.


    Feeling through new senses, embracing his own Divinity, he sees the connections between the constructs and a distant master, glinting like threads of gold. He sees the unspoken ways in which they coordinate, the subtle ticks and twitches that point him to where they come from and what they seek to do next.


    And he changes them.


    The heat of destruction all around becomes something less concrete, broader than just fire and temperature, and he casts it into the crowd of undead scrambling mindlessly over the walls. The threads of fine gold, rather than catching alight or being severed, slowly become tangled, melting together, forming new and more chaotic threads as minds and perceptions are altered under the will of the [Gilded Smile Of Delusion].


    Shin Ren walks calmly through a crowd of rapidly-collapsing constructs, and as hundreds of them turn their claws on each other, become stumbling blocks for the ones behind, not one of them touches him. He smiles as they become a drain on the attention and strength of their original caster, the threads shivering and becoming strained- and a bit wider as they disconnect the technique, collapsing the horde before them.


    Shin Ren walks over the malformed constructs, his steps reshaping the bones and debris beneath his feet as he does.


    It is not the first time he¡¯s cleared a beachhead back into the breach- but it is his fastest time yet.


    Sounds of running soldiers and flashes of Qi, shaped by runic arrays and alchemy, light up behind him, his senses letting him feel the army¡¯s advance well before he sees them. Without the constant mass of undead taking up the attention of Core-Formation and Foundational cultivators behind him, the tide begins to turn, flowing forward and already beginning to set up new defenses behind him.


    It won¡¯t be enough. Hasn¡¯t been anytime they¡¯ve done this in the last few weeks. It¡¯ll be enough to blunt the next major offensive, though, and that¡¯s worth its weight in gold.


    Shin Ren looks up at his intended audience above.


    The Fourth Blade¡¯s palanquin remains ever-stable, a marble and gold platform covered in silks and the distant shape of moving, nubile bodies the only sign there¡¯s anything on it at all.


    Not enough, then.


    Gou Mai crashes onto the ground beside him, once again appearing seemingly from out of literally nowhere. A series of skulls clatter in his hand as he casts them down, severed heads of a pack of lupine spirit beasts that were harassing the southern front disappearing into his storage ring to be turned in later.


    ¡°Faster than last time! By quite a bit, even!¡±


    Shin Ren sighs, and it comes out tinged with embers and hints of purple flame. ¡°They say even the darkest of places have opportunities for advancement.¡±


    ¡°And the greater the danger, the greater the opportunity, if one is but wise and strong enough to grasp it.¡±


    ¡°...I don¡¯t love that part of the saying,¡± Shin Ren says, turning to look behind them both at the advancing soldiers and technicians. Many of them won¡¯t come back once the next enemy push hits the breach, and Ren¡¯s done his best to memorize as few faces as he can. Even still, he refuses to shut himself to them entirely- but¡­ enough.


    Gou Mai follows his gaze, and his smile dims a bit. ¡°I¡­ suppose that¡¯s fair. The world can be cruel. Better for us to stand against that cruelty than let it wash over them, no?¡±


    Shin Ren turns his gaze back up to the palanquin.


    ¡°Has Mei Yu gotten an estimated time of arrival for the Fifth Blade?¡±


    ¡°An hour, maybe less. They aren¡¯t moving particularly fast, she says.¡±


    Shin Ren nods. More time. Enough, maybe, to make the impression he needs.


    ¡°Do you mind keeping an eye on the advance for me? Most of the Commanders are busy, and I will have an easier time fighting if I don¡¯t have to worry about the backline.¡±


    Gou Mai nods, his face serious. ¡°Of course. There¡¯ll be plenty to weigh my steps here. No need to worry about them, brother- I¡¯ll guard our juniors with my life.¡±


    Shin Ren manages a smile of his own, clapping a hand against his friend¡¯s shoulder.


    No need for more words. Not now. He can sense more of what¡¯s coming towards them, and time is limited.


    He spins up two of his three cores, letting [Gilded Smile Of Delusion] fade back into himself. Subtlety won¡¯t win the day here, especially since he doesn¡¯t particularly care about ¡°winning¡± the day. He doesn¡¯t need to just be effective- he needs to make an impression.


    For this to work, he needs to gain an audience.


    Wielding two Souls at once is difficult- frankly, it¡¯s almost more difficult than wielding three, [Gilded Smile Of Delusion] acting as a stabilising anchor between both of them. But his quieter Soul isn¡¯t nearly so powerful or as Qi-rich as his other two, and he might need it later.


    For now, he falls deeper and deeper into pure Flame.


    Everything Burns.


    The air ignites. The ground melts and begins to catch flame. The space around him becomes shaky, hints at another potential technique rearing up as his Dao, cultivation and Truth all begin to alter the very laws of reality around him.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    A hand made of molten limbs reaches out of the flames.


    She pulls herself from the ruin, an amalgamation of ruined bodies and charred debris. The shape of her is vaguely humanoid, but it melts and reforms constantly, reflecting off of the strange demigod he once met (and is certain he will meet again). He feels a slight tug at that thought, a thread between the concept of his Soul and the concept of the being he once shared a Tribulation with- but puts it aside for later.


    Rising from her body is the Dao of Flame, Black and Red like smoke and blood, like death and violence, and a face like a collapsing house and a broken skull roars out into the world.


    And as he lets [Burning, Grasping Ruin] off its leash, he crowns her and reshapes the world around them.


    [Divine Purity Of Flame] washes out from him like a holy site, chaotic flame and ruinous phosphorous becoming candle-flames that wave in winds of Qi. The Black and Red of his divine heart-demon flows up like smoke into a halo and pillar of light, Flame nearly clear-white and glowing with the hues of Gold, Purple and Blue.


    Together, he takes the incarnation of the harm that Flame can cause and both binds and magnifies it through the beauty of higher form.


    In turn, rather than charging forward unto the breach- she reaches back a hand for him.


    He smiles, giving her a nod of thanks, and steps atop a palm of broken flesh and molten fat, and then widens his eyes and gives a surprised little yelp as rather than carrying him, she reaches back and throws him.


    That bitch knows that she can¡¯t manifest too far from him- but he can feel the satisfaction at the chaos caused, and at subverting his expectations.


    He can¡¯t help but smile a bit again, and wield the combined power of his Self (and all the Souls within) against a world gone wrong.


    As is only expected of an avatar of destruction and death, [Burning, Grasping Ruin] launches him to just the right spot to cause more of it. He catches a brief glimpse of a skeletal figure, a blank skull dressed in robes of floating, three-dimensional pyramids, trying to weave together a new set of commands for the collapsed undead-


    And he manifests his Souls atop her, slamming down with enough force to annihilate a town.


    The horizon turns the colors of Dao as he lands, the edge of the breach and the sands beyond tinted strange colors as he reshapes eternity with his cultivation. The caster, and nearly a mile of terrain all around, turns to glass and glowing magma, purple, gold and crimson with real and divine heat.


    It¡¯s not enough.


    As he leaves the ¡°security¡± of the Wall and its breach, a snake that is not a snake, but a hundred scaled heads connecting to an endless set of branching bodies, rises from beneath the sands, ready to punish an advance- and one of its heads vanishes, a cauterizing beam of Flame annihilating it entirely.


    Three more blasts emerge from the crater before the creature has a chance to properly align its many heads, though it moves faster than an eyeblink. A wave of venom and radioactive metals vomits out of dozens of throats, infecting the terrain and turning to caustic gases on contact with the heat.


    The roar of a blazing engine echoes like a thunderclap, and a wave of fire descends from above, washing the Divine Beast in agonizing plasma.


    The screaming of the beast is loud enough to shatter glass miles away, loud enough to shake a mortal apart- but as more heads turn upwards to face Shin Ren¡¯s new position, a wave of heat rises from below. Hundreds of hands made of molten-wax flesh emerge from beneath the sands, absorbing their Ruin and adding it to her own- and grabbing hold of the creature above by dozens of its many spines.


    The shriek redoubles in volume as the fingers dig through Qi-rich flesh, the Black and Red of the Dao of Flame magnifying the harm by a thousand through comprehension.


    And as they bleed, as they are torn open and ash and charcoal infects the beast¡¯s veins, Shin Ren speaks a Truth into the world.


    Everything Burns.


    The veins of the beast ignite, its blood combusting- and then combusting again, Flame catching fire on itself and spreading across a thousand meters through the biology of the creature. A series of explosions thunder through the atmosphere as the beast¡¯s skin bubbles and bursts, and a final shriek rings out from it as the creature dies.


    Qi floods out from the dying creature, it¡¯s death leaking into the sands- but it¡¯s not enough.


    He can do more.


    He reaches through Qi and grabs hold of everything that his heat touches, everything that is Burning, and begins to reshape them. A thousand spears of glass, rich in the spectrum of Dao, fire out like from a cannon, propulsion magnifying their momentum as he weaves his Dao into a sub-pattern of heat. Hundreds of cultivations scream out, beasts and constructs and casters of varying strengths dodging, blocking or avoiding the attack- but he doesn¡¯t need to kill them. The first volley reveals locations.


    The second one causes the real damage.


    Shin Ren drags out nearly every drop of Qi he has, his cores spinning violently, his Souls straining at the pressure. More sand is Ruined into glass, infused with more and more and more Qi, until they glow with heat and damage from within- and then he fires again.


    The world turns to light and sound as the battlefield detonates.


    When Shin Ren¡¯s senses recover, the world is reshaped.


    Ruin is richer in the air than ever, and he pulls it in towards him, heat and destruction eagerly consumed by [Burning, Grasping Ruin]. The sands ripple and roil beneath a sea of glass, trapped and contained for now- but he¡¯s done plenty of damage on his own.


    The air is saturated with ash. Crackling strands of electricity dash between different temperature-zones, tinting the war-fog of smoke with flashes of light. Strange hues flow through the battlefield, the Flame of his cultivation tainting the world with beauty and horror both.


    Shin Ren lands hard enough to crack the glass, coughing. His meridians ache, his body feels hot and sore, and his Cores are sluggish, slow.


    It¡¯s been a few minutes, maybe. Already, he can feel new entities moving in, the buzzing of insectile wings, the skittering of clawed packs, the crawling horrors of the strange undead. The Fifth Blade is supposed to arrive in close to an hour, maybe.


    Distantly, Shin Ren can hear cheering, the sounds of advancing steps, of rearranging lines of combat. New enemies from other parts of the frontline divert away from the other fortress-cities to the north and south, coming to prey on the advancing troops and reinforce their lines.


    Maybe this push will be enough to shift things. Likely not. It will buy a slight reprieve.


    But he can do more.


    A sound like crashing cymbals explodes across the sky, and the Commander holding back the Divine Beast above breaks at last, retreating as the cloud of geometric shapes and strange fluids rushes forward over the battlefield. The Commanders are Warrior realm fighters, second only to high-ranking Daemon Technicians and Generals, and while Divine Beasts scale in less straightforward ways, many can only be fought by Warriors.


    But Shin Ren stares up at the advancing beast, staring down a changing atmosphere of a sky turned to living weapon, and wonders.


    Is it enough?


    ¡­No.


    He can do more.


    All three of his Souls emerge. None of them are as large and heavy as they were mere hours ago at the start of the fight. He¡¯s pulling hard on his resources, draining himself dry. Whatever else happens, he¡¯ll finally have to retreat after this, pull back behind the improvised setup he¡¯s created- it might take days or weeks to recover the energy he¡¯s expending here.


    But he agreed to a plan. A plan to change things.


    He can do more.


    [Divine Purity Of Flame], [Burning, Grasping Ruin] and [Gilded Smile Of Delusion] all morph into reality one last time. A shrine of divine heat, a beast of ruined flesh, and a smiling thing of gold and jewels, all shaping around each other- and Shin Ren stands in the center of them, weaving three similar but distinct cultivations at once.


    He gives it everything. Every drop of Qi inside him is pulled from his Dantian, dragging like burning embers out through damaged meridians.


    Gold, Purple, Blue, Red, and Black.


    And there, flickering at the edges- hints of green. The lightest touch of jade.


    Green of Balance. Of Growth. Harmony, shaped into a bomb.


    His hands begin to smoke and burn. His fingers start to char, blisters and bleeding burn-wounds emerging from the heat of the thing in his hands.


    Six of seven colors of Dao¡­ and a hint of more. The crackling of charged air all around, electrical flashes of lightning touching lightly against the edges of his Flame. Supercharged by three minds, three cultivations, in perfect balance.


    The sky turns to metal and geometry and stone, flashes of green droplets leaking from around its infinite edges as the Divine Beast approaches from the higher atmosphere-


    Shin Ren opens his hands, and feels his skin begin to char as he unleashes the thing he has created.


    It¡¯s not a technique, really. It¡¯s not as neat or well-formed as a repeatable, controllable attack.


    But it hits fucking hard.


    The world turns the color of heaven at sunset, dusk and dawn intermingled and reflected off miles of glass.


    When the light fades, leaving behind black clouds that drift with multi-hued lightning and reflect the colors of the fires below, the debris that made the breach uneven and the corpses that cluttered it turned to flat, smooth obsidian.


    And at its center, Shin Ren drags in a breath.


    His throat hurts. His eyes take a while to work right, damaged and disoriented from the light and heat, and his skin crackles as he tries to move his mouth to take a second breath.


    He lifts himself, his muscles feeling strange and alien as they recover from the damage done- he is no Warrior-realm, not yet, but against Flame, he knows how to fix himself. It will still takes days to heal properly, but he can force himself back together enough to move.


    He pulls molten skin off of glass as he forces himself back to his feet. He¡¯s not sure how long it¡¯s been, but-


    Ah. Close to an hour, maybe?


    There¡¯s a woman in front of him.


    That feels generous. There is a child in front of him.


    His eyes recover enough to let him see, though blurry and without color for a moment- and then they click into place a bit more. He looks down at someone who seems, at most, in her late teens. She wears all-black, but her face is innocent, a genuine concern shining in eyes that are full of tears.


    At her waist is a simple sword, hanging from a red ribbon and bare of any sheathe.


    The Fifth Blade.


    Yula, the Sword Saint.


    ¡°Are¡­ are you alright?¡± she asks, her voice actually trembling with what seems like real empathy.


    Forcing his body to comply, Shin Ren hisses a pained breath as he bows, holding his fists in front of him.


    ¡°Junior Shin Ren greets honored senior Blade.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no no, I¡¯m- I¡¯m so sorry, they said that the battle was under control, but that was- I¡¯ve heard about you I think! The Flame Atop the Wall! I-¡±


    She stops herself, swallowing past a lump in her throat apparent even to his eyes and bowing in return, much deeper than propriety demands.


    ¡°Yula of the Blades thanks Shin Ren of the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect for his sacrifice and his strength. I apologize for my dishonorable delay in reaching here on time to assist you.¡±


    Shin Ren smiles through cracked lips, blood leaking from his blisters. ¡°Thank you for your arrival, honored one. While I¡¯m sure there will be other opportunities for us to assist each other in the future, this Shin Ren, fool that he may be, is nothing if not bold. Faced by the splendor of a true Blade, I would ask a favor of you, gracious one.¡±


    Smiling, she reaches out a hand to him, asking him to leave the bow. ¡°Please,¡± she says. ¡°For your service, I would be honored to do a favor for one so brave.¡±


    Shin Ren takes a breath. He remembers the conversation he had in his dreams with a beastkin colder than logic, a woman he once thought beneath him and a man forgotten as easily as a passing thought.


    He firms his resolve.


    Interesting that¡¯s it¡¯s almost easier to nearly kill himself than it is to take that first step into the unknown.


    ¡°Please, honored one. I humbly request that you take this junior under your tutelage, as an Aspirant of the Cut and assistant to the Fifth Blade.¡±

 Chapter 285 - Under Pressure! Pushing Down On Me, Pushing Down On You, Down On Us All~

    Raika¡¯s head hurts.


    Like a lot. It aches, and rings, and feels like it¡¯s gifting her a constant fucking migraine as a present for her mistreatment of it.


    In its defense, she does have a needle in it.


    ¡°Ow, ow, ow, ow-¡±


    ¡°Quit moving your jaw! You¡¯re making this way harder!¡±


    ¡°Oh fuck you! We¡¯ll see how you like it when it¡¯s my turn, asshole!¡±


    ¡°Fuck me yourself, coward!¡±


    Raika turns her heads to glare at Li Shu as she interrupts by giggling.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± the healer says, blushing behind dozens of pages of diagrams, notes, and ideas, reflecting the process currently being undertaken. ¡°It¡¯s just- this whole situation is crazy enough that I¡¯d rather laugh, and you two are-¡±


    ¡°Not us two! Same person still!¡±


    ¡°Only technically, and only for now, idiot. That¡¯s the whole point of this!¡±


    Raika turns to glare at herself, her head aching with the feeling of a spike of cold metal digging halfway through it. ¡°Yes, I¡¯m aware of the reason as to why we¡¯re putting a needle in my fucking brain. But I¡¯d rather nip in the bud any ideas about differentiating us just by separation- we¡¯re still the same person. If we¡¯re not, there¡¯s no point to this, we¡¯re just having a shitton of children of ourselves in the weirdest way possible.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Fair point, but also- don¡¯t use being in pain as an excuse to be a bitch. I¡¯m trying to do this as accurately as we can.¡±


    ¡°I know, but it hurts, and I thought I was among friends and could bitch freely.¡±


    Li Shu laughs again, and both Raikas turn to give her an exhausted look.


    ¡°Come on. You sound like a comedy duo. I feel like I¡¯m in a theater in Paleblossom again.¡±


    ¡°...I¡¯ll take that as a compliment.¡±


    While she¡¯s distracted, Raika shapes her palm perfectly into the shape of a specialized hammer, all metallic nodules and pinpoint-sculpted shapes- and slams it into the back end of the pin going into Raika¡¯s skull.


    The names are already getting weird.


    Interestingly, though, her head doesn¡¯t hurt anymore. Or at least it¡¯s not the same sort of blinding migraine bad enough to affect even her advanced level of pain tolerance.


    ¡°Fuck, that¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s actually much better. Sorry, that was¡­ a truly impressive amount of pain.¡±


    ¡°On a scale from ¡®broken bone¡¯ to ¡®burned alive completely¡¯-¡±


    ¡°Closer to burned alive completely, but not by that much. Maybe like disemboweling, after the act itself but before the healing, especially around the liver.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Shit. Not looking forward to my turn.¡±


    ¡°Now that that¡¯s settled, with a tremendously useless pain metric,¡± Li Shu interrupts, ¡°how about we get to the point of this? Raika- Raika with the needle, to be clear- mind trying to shapeshift?¡±


    Raika (the Raika with the needle) sighs, cracking her neck and stepping away from the center of the room. All three of the people in the room are lit by a bright, warm glow of bioluminescence, kept safe in one of Raika¡¯s internal rooms. This one in particular is almost perfectly sterile and cleaned, washed by acid even after she did her best to remove any life-forms or debris, and made entirely of clean and densely-shaped keratin. Li Shu¡¯s Sacrifice is synchronized to it, to some extent- she can¡¯t control it entirely, but since her original Sacrifice was that of her nails, any similar keratin material can be absorbed and manipulated by them, though not ¡°controlled at range¡±. Between the cleanliness, the concept of healing imbued in Li Shu¡¯s sacrifice, and the cleanliness of the room itself, it¡¯s about as good of a sterile medical space as Raika can manage.


    Raika (the Raika with the needle in her head) stretches her arms out, being closely watched by the other version of herself (the original? Hmm. No, just another version) and Li Shu both to check and see if the experiment worked.


    Slowly, her fingers shiver, just a bit. Then they crack, and, ever-so-slowly, the nails extend from them, sharper than before, though not by much.


    ¡°Ok, that¡¯s- mmh. Weirder than usual, but it¡¯s still changing. Apparently my Truth is stronger than brain damage, but we knew that already. It¡¯s very slow, though. I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s useless in combat. We¡¯ll need to set up some good internal mechanisms, make sure we can at least still run and hit things without needing the internal warping.¡±


    Raika (the one without a needle in her head) frowns. ¡°We can do that. Do you¡­ I mean, are you okay with the current shape? If we¡¯re not going to be able to shapeshift¡­¡±


    ¡°I have noticed that,¡± Li Shu says. ¡°Every time you make a humanoid body, you come back just a little different. Your eyes, measurements, hair, sometimes how many arms you have. Is that¡­?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ yeah. I mean, sometimes bodies are just¡­ hard? It¡¯s easier to always be changing, I think. It fits with my Truth, but the Truth isn¡¯t¡­ isn¡¯t literally biology specific. Maybe that¡¯s more of a ¡®me¡¯ thing. It¡¯s part of why I¡¯m worried- if we can¡¯t change, I can only imagine it¡¯ll feel weird at best at this point.¡±


    Raika (with a needle in her head) frowns. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t think so? I just- the thought of looking like we used to? Human? That¡¯s fucking horrifying. Not comfortable with that idea at all, not without the ability to leave the form when I need to. This is fine, though.¡±


    Raika (with a needle in her head) is standing in what they¡¯re now calling their ¡°true¡± form, or a sort of default form for now. Close to seven feet, muscular, with rich brown skin that glimmers like night in the shadows and a physique that is still rather well-endowed despite her physique. A long tail, tipped with sunset fur at its tip that matches the long dreadlocks of sculpted neural tissue and their own sunrise colors, and growing from between them, two antlers, branching just a few inches above her head.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    And, like happens as often as not, she¡¯s missing her left arm past the elbow.


    ¡°Yeah. This works. It¡¯s me. Maybe since we¡¯re always changing, we¡¯re always being more of ourselves, but this is mine. Still feels weird, but¡­ I think I¡¯ll be fine staying as this me for a while.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good. Want to rejoin? We can optimize some bio-engineering, get some proper weapons in there-¡±


    ¡°Nah. Sort of undoes the whole point of it, right? If I have too much to rely on, I won¡¯t develop like we need to. This should be fine for moving around in.¡±


    Raika (without a needle in her head) shrugs. ¡°Fair enough. You still alright with the one you picked?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Nothing¡¯s changed- we¡¯re still me, just different mes. I¡¯m fine with it. It¡¯s going to be annoying as fuck, but again, sort of the point, right?¡±


    Li Shu takes the opportunity to levitate over a few books, already prepared and set to one side. Raika (with a needle in her brain) grabs them, grimacing a bit as she looks over the content. She already knows what it is, but¡­ ugh.


    Each of the books is an introductory text on arrays, taken from different perspectives. The first one is made up of the notes she and Li Shu used to make the original and new curse arrays on her skin; the second one is a set of journals purchased in Singheart, bound together, each of them wildly divergent in style and shape; the last one is taken from the small manual Li Shu got when they left fortress city 180, and is a straightforward copy of the medical and utility arrays described in it.


    ¡°Not to sound ungrateful to all of our hard work-¡± (she nods at both the other Raika and Li Shu)- ¡°but this is going to be a fucking nightmare. Theoretical stuff is fun- if I was ever good at studying, I would¡¯ve probably still been in the Hungering Roots sect.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well tough luck. If we¡¯re going up against ¡®Runemaster Boriah¡¯ and all-¡±


    ¡°Nevermind the rest of the Empire, yeah, yeah. I know how it is- we do our best, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Damn right.¡±


    Li Shu raises a hand, holding a set of seven metal needles up. ¡°You ready for the next set?¡±


    Raika (as-of-yet without a needle in her head) sighs. Then she stretches out, cracking her neck, shaking herself off. ¡°Yeah. Let¡¯s do this.¡±


    Repeating the acts of a few minutes ago, with some minor modifications, Raika separates from the biological room, becoming a ¡°distinct¡± entity from herself. She¡¯s confirmed, more than once, that her Truth works across distances- every separated piece of her is her. Distance seems to affect it a bit, though it¡¯s not entirely clear how much- she can still feel, reach through, and experience her own body from a few miles away, and hasn¡¯t had much time to test things beyond that.


    That¡¯s where the needles come in.


    A mixture of carefully-applied brain damage, and acupuncture with Qi-infused needles to match it, locks down each body. She still shares experiences, even thoughts- but now it takes effort, an act of will to reach out to the rest of her greater-self, and it limits each avatar¡¯s ability to access her full suite of abilities.


    The first separate body, now holding the books on arrays, was chosen for that exact purpose. Without as much access to their inner world, with limited access to Dao, and with her shapeshifting locked almost entirely, she¡¯s¡­ well, it would be rude to call herself crippled, but it certainly feels like it, compared to the heights she¡¯s reached.


    But that¡¯s fine. Every part of her knows it. She can do more. But there¡¯s not much reason to if she¡­ well, doesn¡¯t need to. The limitation is there less as shackles on her being, and more as a motivator to push each slightly-separate version of herself in the directions they need.


    The first avatar is focused on arrays, both from orthodox Imperial standards (as much as they can, anyways, with so little material) and from Craft users and free cultivators from Singheart¡¯s archives.


    The second, now, sighs and stares at the books set aside for her.


    The needles go quickly, settling into very different places in the body than the first Raika¡¯s. Three into the torso, one into a thigh (took a while to find that one), one into the base of her shoulder, one into the base of her spine, and the last one-


    ¡°Fuck!¡±


    ¡°I told you it hurts!¡±


    ¡°I know! I felt it! But fuck!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, hurts worse when you¡¯re in it.¡±


    ¡°When we¡¯re in it.¡±


    ¡°When I¡¯m in it?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    Dink, goes the metal needle as a ball-peen hammer of keratin knocks it into her skull.


    ¡°Fuck. That did not go like I thought it would- I thought we said it stops hurting so much after it goes in?¡±


    ¡°Here, let me-¡±


    Another Dink, almost nostalgic when shared with the pain, and- ah. There we are.


    ¡°Much better.¡±


    Already ready to go, Li Shu hands over another text. This one is thicker, but also is the only one in the pile, standing out as someone¡¯s personal journal.


    ¡°Alright. Dao. We can do this. Not like I¡¯ve been skipping that entire process by eating people.¡±


    ¡°Look on the bright side!¡± Li Shu says with a big grin on her face. ¡°You can still eat people to get ahead! You just have to have more of a reason for it now.¡±


    ¡°Hey! I¡¯ve always had excellent reasons to eat people!¡±


    Raika (holding the books on array-crafting) raises an eyebrow. ¡°Sure, and them being delicious has nothing to do with it.¡±


    ¡°Wha- whose side are you on?¡±


    ¡°Whichever side is funniest,¡± she replies, knocking on the wall. Between the prearranged signal and the still-present (if fuzzier) ability for her to be and sense through all of herself, a little tray rolls out of the wall, presenting a set of rolling papers and her favorite mix of herbs.


    ¡°Jackass.¡±


    ¡°Hey! None of that!¡± Li Shu says, snapping her fingers at the Raika currently making a cigarette. ¡°We worked fucking hard to get this room sterile, I will not have you ruining it for a smoke!¡±


    Both Raika¡¯s sigh. ¡°Yeah, yeah. We should probably only have one of us smoking anyways, right? Useless if we¡¯re all burning time and Qi making more, and we can all feel it through each other.¡±


    ¡°Alright, but then who gets to do it?¡±


    ¡°Maybe we rotate it?¡±


    Raika (currently holding a half-made cigarette) shrugs. ¡°Yeah, alright. I call dibs.¡±


    ¡°I- fuck! You bitch!¡±


    ¡°Yes we are.¡±


    Li Shu groans, letting her head fall into her hands. ¡°Guys. Friend. Raika. Please. We still have to do this, what, five more times? It took me all night to get these diagrams ready, and I¡¯m not even getting to put the needles in. At least let me get this dataset and start cross-referencing!¡±


    Both Raikas (who are one Raika) laugh, rolling their eyes in near-perfect synchronicity. ¡°Yeah, alright,¡± they say. ¡°Let¡¯s do this.¡±


    Seven sets of seven needles. One set of seven Raikas. Seven sets of dangerous and interesting things to be and do, not counting the Raika that will continue to have access to all of her power.


    There¡¯s only so much time in the world. Most cultivators spend decades, maybe even centuries getting properly strong, properly learned about their skillsets and interests. Raika doesn¡¯t have that kind of time.


    That¡¯s what the extra brains are for.

 Chapter 286 - Whats The Point Of Being Weirdly Powerful If You Arent Being Powerfully Weird?

    In total, there are seven sets of needles, each one suited to one avatar of Raika.


    This isn¡¯t to say that there are only seven brains currently active- Raika has a few hundred up and running constantly, and none of the avatars are what they would call the ¡°main¡± Raika- for now, at least, that privilege remains with their central body, a massive goliath of flesh and steel walking along the tops of the trees as they navigate the Overgrowth.


    Each of the Raika-avatars has been chosen for a specific purpose, assigned a specific role;


    Martial arts, and an exploration of technique. Just because their continued improvements to their body make it largely unnecessary to win fights, being more efficient about those fights is never a bad thing. Testing out new ways to hit without needing to shift, and to optimize the tools she can create, stands as an objective benefit.


    Arrays, and a bit of Craft. The first ¡°rank¡± of proficiency with the Craft, apprenticeship, is all about preparing for a Sacrifice, and learning the skills to compliment it- this, conveniently, often means using formations and stylized arrays to better understand the world. In terms of academic skill, Raika¡­ isn¡¯t very good at it. Never has been, even when pushed into it by necessity. Learning what arrays mean, how to subvert them, and even how to use them, is one of a few force multipliers that she hasn¡¯t even touched.


    Dao. For all her abilities with it, she didn¡¯t create her own Dao, simply consumed that which she encountered. Now, in her defense, that works, but again, better to master what she currently has than just keep adding more. This part of Raika in particular intends to focus on the Dao of Blade and Gun, though not to the point that she ignores the others. A second part of Raika intends to focus on the deeper aspects- there are strange roots that seem almost like new growth, but which happen in the points where Flame and Lightning intermingle, and where Blade and Gun intersect. Deeper comprehension must be there.


    The last two ¡°divergent¡± pieces of Raika focus on more¡­ conventional(?) pursuits. Even as she has assigned parts of herself to explore the esoteric and the arcane, so too has she created roles for herself in exploring the mundane. Again, academia isn¡¯t her strong suit, and if there¡¯s a way to modify her brain and make it so, she hasn¡¯t found it yet, but it¡¯s a skillset she lacks. One brain for chemistry- one for engineering.


    She¡¯s already using both, but poorly. Her lattices and internal frameworks are half-instinct, and she¡¯s yet to really understand how her blood has changed, or what ways she can weaponize its ability to do so, never mind what other plants and ingredients she can grow.


    It¡¯s a lot of work. A lot of work. Even divided by six, it¡¯s enough material and enough directions that it might take months or years to reach a level of proficiency with her weakest aspects.


    This, of course, is why there¡¯s seven sets of needles.


    Li Shu steps back as the final one is inserted into the thing that is Raika- and is most assuredly not in any form one might recognize as humanoid.


    She looks like a stone pillar more than anything. A tall cylinder of bone and Radiant metal, ¡°enchanted¡± with properties of heat absorption and dispersal. She gave [Enacted Artistry Of Function] a request, and it delivered- the strange metal, so easy to confer and remove properties from, is perfectly designed as both heat sink and energy storage, while also venting out excess.


    This is important, because the pillar lets out a lot of heat.


    Turns out, when you put that much neural tissue into a contained space, it generates a lot of energy.


    The pillar is¡­ different. Having pieces of herself with her full suite of powers forcefully locked away from them isn¡¯t an experiment so much as a training method, a way to force herself to use and adapt to her weaknesses until they become strengths. The pillar, on the other hand, is very much experimental. She doesn¡¯t know how to modify a brain to produce specific results, but when it comes to generating more and more and more neural tissue, she¡¯s¡­ probably the best there is, at least outside the third ring. What started as three brains set into a protective sphere were grown out, added to, over and over and over, until it became a pillar slightly over ten feet tall, a bit wider around than a broad-shouldered humanoid, and now doesn¡¯t look much like a conventional brain on the inside at all. The neural matter runs in loops and threads, clustered like defined organ sets that blend into each other. She and Li Shu organized the architecture of it- they removed the cerebellums, the brain stems, any glands, as those aren¡¯t necessary without a body and subconscious mechanisms to monitor, leaving behind only the parts ¡°designed¡± for higher thought.


    In theory.


    Probably.


    It¡¯s a lot of guesswork and that one introductory manual from the Wall.


    This isn¡¯t designed to be a new body, or a fresh human brain to add to the gestalt- the pillar, acupuncture needles locked into place to keep it from shapeshifting away or accessing powers it might not be able to control anymore, is an engine of thought. Something capable of calculating to higher degrees of accuracy, managing wider projects, coordinating more, faster, than ever before- and, as she adapts and learns, something which can highlight how the brain works, and give insight into how to create future modifications.


    In fact, adding a few entirely new, uncloned brains into it at a later date is on the docket- give it something to do besides just plan and reflect, and help to design custom-grown neural tissue for different tasks.


    Raika (the Pillar, the Avatars, and the whole of her) wonders at the fact that calling the Pillar ¡°it¡± feels as-comfortable as calling it a ¡°she¡±. It¡¯s still Raika, either way, but¡­ she hasn¡¯t had many pieces or versions of herself that don¡¯t automatically default to ¡°she/her¡± when they/she thinks about them/herself. It¡¯s¡­ not as dissonant as she worried it might be. The Pillar doesn¡¯t mind she/her pronouns, but¡­ well, in reshaping so much of it, it seems that its also perfectly fine with being called ¡°it¡±.


    Raika (across a multitude of minds and shoulder-sets) shrugs. Fair enough. Of all the things she can change, that¡¯s one of the least interesting, frankly.


    Li Shu sighs, sweat standing out on her forehead as she sits back at last. ¡°I¡­ did not expect that would be easy, but I am surprised by how much Qi it took. I¡¯m exhausted.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Raika asks, out of a few too many different bodies. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect it would drain you.¡±


    Li Shu nods, wiping off her brow and sitting upright. ¡°I had to imbue a lot of the idea of Healing into those needles, and I think it¡­ it didn¡¯t drain my Sacrifice of the concept, but it did strain it a bit. And it did cost Qi to do so. I suppose I didn¡¯t know what to expect, but I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d end up with less than half my reserve.¡±


    Raika frowns, one of her stepping over to Li Shu and sitting beside her. ¡°Sorry about that. As always, this really wouldn¡¯t have been possible without you. It means a lot that you¡¯d help with this- even if I know how horny you get for weirdness.¡±


    Li Shu blushes, smacking Raika on the arm. ¡°Gods and Daemons, you still talk like you were raised in a brothel. Sometimes I just can¡¯t imagine that you weren¡¯t always living in some back-alley instead of in a sect- how did they ever stand you?¡±


    ¡°I can be prim and proper when I want to be! I just rarely ever do. And in my defense, they were desperate, and I was mostly decent at committing violence. Sometimes, that¡¯s all a sect really needs to decide to keep a girl around.¡±


    ¡°Mmh. I¡¯ve seen it happen, but somehow I still don¡¯t believe it. How¡¯s the¡­¡±


    ¡°Pillar¡¯s doing fine,¡± Raika assures her. It pulses in agreement, a shiver of bioluminescence running between glowing metals and near-black flesh. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ hmm. It¡¯s hard to parse, honestly. Still me, but¡­ man, it¡¯s a weird me.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Pillar sends back a pulse of light, and a sense of admonishment through their shared connection.


    ¡°Yeah, I guess we are all a weird me.¡±


    ¡°And we¡¯re sure she¡¯s not going to¡­ I don¡¯t know, go insane? I know I get plenty stir-crazy in my own head, and considering what Pillar is¡­¡±


    ¡°I mean¡­ it probably will? It¡¯s me, and I¡¯m pretty crazy. Going insane has helped me plenty in the past, and if it turns out that this setup only leads to delusion, we can correct for it later. Considering how inhuman the shape of that brain is, it would almost be disappointing if it didn¡¯t start thinking in some super alien ways.


    ¡°...ok, yeah, fair enough. You¡¯re ok with this, uh, Pillar?¡±


    Pillar pulses with another flush of light, synchronized exactly to six other Raikas all shrugging. ¡°It¡¯ll work or it won¡¯t,¡± all of her says at once.


    ¡°Alright then. Where are we planning on spreading all of you out to, then? And¡­ how? Are you just going to walk?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be staying,¡± Engineering Raika says, leaning on Alchemy¡¯s shoulder. They, in particular, look more like twins than sisters, the usual divergence between Raika¡¯s avatars reduced to almost nothing between them. ¡°It¡¯ll be easier to link up to big mama-me while we¡¯re here, and practically necessary if we¡¯re going to experiment. Plus, it¡¯ll be easier to keep from getting too distracted, hopefully.¡±


    ¡°Same here,¡± Array Raika says. ¡°Easier to work together with you if I¡¯m not being transported all over the place, and until we find some new texts, being able to summon up secure rooms to try stuff out in and generate as much Qi as I want is going to be invaluable.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be heading back west,¡± the Martial Raika says. ¡°Maybe a bit north-west, if that¡¯s the right direction. I figure I/we can pass closer towards that republic we keep hearing about, and it¡¯ll be easier not to draw attention if we¡¯re ¡®just¡¯ someone with martial arts and a strong constitution. Plus, I assume it¡¯ll be easy to pick fights with a bunch of sect idiots up there. If that doesn¡¯t work, I¡¯ll be closer to the Wall than before, and I¡¯m sure there¡¯ll be plenty of things to fight there.¡±


    ¡°You sure you¡¯ll be safe?¡± Li Shu asks.


    She shrugs. ¡°Almost certainly not, which will be the point. Either way, this me has a lot more regeneration and shifting than the others, remember? I¡¯m pretty hard to kill nowadays, but even limited, it¡¯s a huge advantage.¡±


    All eyes in the room turn to the last two Raikas, both of which look at each other and shrug.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to head straight west,¡± says the one with Blacksteel guns hanging off her hips, the shrug jostling a massive broadsword on her back-holster. ¡°No better place I know of to learn Gun and Blade techniques, and I think we¡¯ll do better if I have at least one set of eyes on the breach. Should take me a week or two to get there without a strider-form, but that¡¯ll be an opportunity in and of itself. Plus, whether or not we decide to use this Pack situation, it¡¯ll be best if we can get a ¡®spawn-point¡¯ closer to the Wall and the Empire proper.¡±


    Her sibling-self, eyes and antlers crackling with lightning and flame, just raises her hands in a sort of surrender. ¡°I¡­ ah. I¡¯ll head south. It¡¯s probably going to suck, but if I can make it far out enough, that¡¯s¡­ well, that¡¯s where the sun lands, right? I can¡¯t really think of anyplace better to explore Plasma than close to the sun, and like we/I said, the more we spread out, the better. Chances are I¡¯ll find a cave or something and meditate for a while, that¡¯s what all the fancy stories do.¡±


    Li Shu exhales, already exhausted trying to keep track. ¡°I¡­ can see why we¡¯re doing this. I was still sort of hoping you¡¯d all stay close, but I guess that¡¯s sort of a moot point nowadays, right?¡±


    Raika, all at once, smiles. ¡°Yup! And speaking of which¡­ want to see how we¡¯re leaving?¡±


    Li Shu raises a brow, a smile creeping past her exhaustion. ¡°I would actually love that. You¡¯re not usually that tight-lipped about things, so I¡¯m surprised you kept this a secret as long as you have.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s only been a few days! I¡¯m figuring it out still! But seriously, come on.¡±


    All six of the avatars with legs turn, each of them tapping on the walls and floor or whispering to themselves / each other / herself as they go. Clothing and equipment forms, bits of ammunition, bedding and other camping supplies all spawning in from the walls and wrapping themselves around Raika¡¯s many bodies. By the time they emerge into natural sunlight, each of the avatars is fully equipped, clothed, and ready to travel, staring out from a vast platform of alabaster bone out into the overgrowth.


    The massive supertrees of the earlier sections of the overgrowth have become sparser, but the flora has only multiplied in that time. The hundred-foot vines that made a maze of the space around Singheart have been replaced by underbrush and lesser flora so densely packed that it¡¯s actually easier to walk on the tree canopy than try to move through it. The plants are packed together so densely that walking through it is more akin to climbing, or swimming through debris-strewn waters, and the sheer amount of life between the canopies is choking in its vastness.


    And atop Raika¡¯s back, they can see out to the horizon once again.


    Her strider form has had some upgrades, not least of which is something like a sect¡¯s pavilion outlined on her back. Walls, furniture, and even rudimentary arrays make the platform appear almost like a mundane building, if made almost exclusively out of bone and hardened biological materials, running a gamut of colors but primarily red, purple and white. The scenery wouldn¡¯t look out of place with a bunch of students doing martial drills, or with vendors hawking their wares.


    Until one walks to the edge, of course. Then one might see the dozen long, spike-tipped limbs that hold them over three hundred feet from the ground, high up enough that they sometimes confuse passing flying beasts. They might see the pulsing rhythm of a million heartbeats pumping hydraulic pistons and muscle fibers the size of buildings into walking.


    Or, rather than going to the edge, one might simply look to the middle of the pavilion to stare at what¡¯s emerging from it.


    ¡°And¡­ what is that?¡± Li Shu asks, her voice awed.


    ¡°That,¡± says the Raika with guns on her hips, ¡°is what I¡¯m lovingly calling my big squirter.¡±


    The weapon, for it cannot be anything else, is the height of a three-story building, shaped like a long-barreled cannon made entirely of radiant metal and crackling with electricity along its housing. Arcs of lightning run up and down the construct, its rifling evident in the artistic way it¡¯s been shaped, almost like a single snail-shell opened at one tip. Long, smooth, and gleaming in the afternoon sun, Raika¡¯s big squirter stands proud against the horizon.


    Li Shu smacks two Raikas in the back of the head as hard as she can, needing to jump to achieve the effect.


    ¡°Are you kidding me?!¡±


    ¡°What!?¡± they all / she protests. ¡°It¡¯s big, and it squirts out a load to an intended destination-¡±


    ¡°In a brothel! What is wrong with you!¡±


    In spite of her protests, Li Shu is grinning wide, desperately holding back a cackle of her own. ¡°It¡¯s ridiculous. I¡¯m not calling that. It¡¯s a launcher. Or a big cannon. I am not calling it that.¡±


    ¡°Suit yourself,¡± Gun!Raika says. ¡°All the more fun for me.¡±


    As if on cue, a part of the shell of the launcher retracts, revealing a chamber laden with what looks like some sort of velvety slime.


    ¡°I call dibs!¡± Martial!Raika says, dashing ahead of herself and hopping into the loading chamber.


    ¡°Not going to invite your cult to come see?¡±


    Five remaining Raikas all grimace. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ ugh. They¡¯re busy. You helped me come up with the idea- having you here for it feels right. They can find out about it after the fact.¡±


    ¡°Oh? Embarrassed about the following of lesser cultivators that hang onto your every word and beg you for treats?¡±


    ¡°More like annoyed. They really just never stop, and if you try and talk to them they just stare at you like they¡¯re terrified they¡¯ll say the wrong thing. It¡¯s exhausting.¡±


    ¡°I can only imagine how draining it must be to have such willing students¡­¡±


    ¡°Hey! At least ¡®big squirter¡¯ isn¡¯t subtle! No digs at my sex life on my big inaugural shooting-myself-out-of-a-cannon day.¡±


    Li Shu raises her hands in mock surrender, unable to hold back the grin as the strange godling she calls friend harrumphs.


    But then there is a sound like a deep, echoing ¡®clunk¡¯ of connecting machinery or joint-lock, and the cannon turns. Pointing towards the northwest, towards more-or-less where they¡¯ve been told the Republic of Morae¡¯s territory ¡°officially¡± starts, Li Shu shudders as she feels a truly considerable amount of Qi start to move through her friend.


    Even with the array¡¯s effects on her skin, there¡¯s only so much that can be done to hide the amount of Qi moving through Raika¡¯s body now. In a human-ish form, it¡¯s still enough to subtly avoid prying eyes, but even then, she carries a weight that sort of bends Qi in towards her, almost like gravity. On the scale of the strider-platform, arming a cannon designed to fire something as far as possible, it¡¯s a lot less subtle.


    The lightning on the barrel crackles, and the whole strider shudders as she absorbs the force generated by the shot- and then, in a burst of combustion and propulsion, Raika is sent flying.


    If Li Shu really squints, she can see a missile shaped like a seedpod, armored with fatty tissues, hyper-dense skin and bone plating, flying off towards the horizon, holding one of Raika¡¯s avatars in it.


    Five other faces smile in unison.


    ¡°Oh, this is fun.¡±

 Chapter 287 - The One Where The Author Enjoys Flexing That Sci-Fi Shit

    Raika does not have eyes here. This is good. The parts needed to know what eyes see and do are gone, and it would be very confusing if they were there to see through.


    They are there to see through, but it would need to stretch for it, and that is not what it is here for now.


    Raika is in a cold place. This is important, because Raika emits a very large amount of heat at regular intervals, even with the added baffling, heat-sinks, and consistent venting. The cold place has distance, and shape, but the sensory elements and the processing required for them have been removed, and thus, these things are irrelevant compared to the fact that it is cold. If it were not cold, Raika would likely overheat to the point that even its regeneration would be unable to sustain its health, eventually melting its new body into a pile of undifferentiated carbon and disorganized metals.


    This would be unideal.


    Whenever the space that Raika is in becomes less cold, something changes. It is Raika that is changing the something, but in her current state, Raika cannot tell what. Simply put- whenever it begins to move towards warmth, a cooling process initiates, flowing down from the top of Raika¡¯s body down to its base, and eventually, the temperature once again reaches an ideal state.


    This is good. An ideal state is required for the purposes of enacting Raika¡¯s chosen/assigned/created function.


    Raika is thinking.


    Currently, Raika is thinking of words. To be precise, it is thinking of every single word that Raika knows, and then thinking of every possible combination of those words in functioning sentences. It doesn¡¯t always get the ¡°functioning sentences¡± part right, especially not after combining three or more words, but it is getting better with practice, and feeling its own neural pathways reinforcing the correct answers. When it/she is done with all of the words and all of the combinations for all of the words (to some arbitrary point, at least) it will begin with numbers.


    Raika used to not like numbers. Then, Raika made a new piece of herself, and it realized that numbers don¡¯t really bother it very much. And since it has chosen to be / chosen to interact with numbers, then numbers are good, actually.


    But it is not there yet. For now, Raika is practicing with words.


    Words are hard, though. There is an ingrained association with verbal expression that isn¡¯t the same with numbers- a number is a representative unit, while a word is-


    Also a representative unit. A series of symbols, interlaced into a larger pattern, such that they produce different meanings depending on how they are grouped. Really, both styles of communication are just symbols organized into patterns- different pattern-systems for different symbols, but the process is effectively equivalent.


    Raika develops a new set of folds and shapes in itself, dedicating that section entirely to pursuing this new line of thought as the rest of her continues with combinations.


    Does Intent fall into this category as well?


    Interestingly, it does not. In fact, it seems to almost directly counter this factor- through Intent, a symbol comes to mean whatever the Intent influencing it means, rather than the inverse. An Intent of peace on a weapon will, in turn, make that weapon a symbol of the Intent, influenced to act according to it, just as Intent can sharpen and improve the lethality of an attack or communicate a ¡°word¡±.


    What, then, is the pattern there? Is Raika¡¯s self-appointed task to examine symbols above meaning? Well¡­ yes. But can¡¯t it do more than that now?


    More folds. Metastasizing neurology grows further, granting room for more and more and more thoughts.


    Intent reaches past symbols, as Dao reaches past physicality. A Dao reflects a process of the universe into new contexts, transforming said contexts- Intent does the same.


    Are they the same?


    Negation. Incompatible behaviors- Dao is tied to direct events, not purely conscious¡­


    Well, isn¡¯t it?


    Dao is conscious interpretation of a pre-existing meaning / pattern / Intent, taken from a real object / behavior.


    Intent is consciousness interpreted onto / into a material / real object / behavior.


    More thoughts. So many, now, that Raika is having a bit of trouble cataloging all of them properly, and can feel the heat in the room increasing further.


    It can do more.


    It generates new pathways, creating the architecture needed to catalog every thought. As Raika reflects on the nature of Intent and Dao, and as Raika analyzes and interprets every combination of symbols it is aware of and can formulate, Raika begins to address the problem of memory.


    It lost memory when it was last killed, when it suffered brain damage so severe it had to restart from nothing. If the purpose of this part of Raika is to catalog every thought in the engine of Mind, then memory must be improved.


    Enchantment is the process of infusing Qi and varying effects of physics / Dao into an object. Inspiration?


    Once again, Raika splits, forming a new cluster of neurology-


    The room is heating up very quickly now. The cooling process that it can vaguely sense is coming more frequently, as well as a sense of distant concern from other parts of itself.


    How does enchantment function?


    ¡­Too many possibilities, too little data. That cluster of tissue is consumed, re-integrated back into the whole while preserving as many of the pathways it generated before dead-ending.


    Inspiration: Enchantment is using arrays / patterns / willpower to recreate the same effects over and over. Can the process be used to create a memory-shape?If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Memory = at odds with cataloging.


    A pause, as a part of a part of Raika considers that reality.


    It is easy to forget things, but easy to remember the ¡°important¡± bits, the useful portions. This is not its self-appointed task- it is to catalog every thought, a thought that carries a connotation of proficiency and ease-of-access, a utility tool.


    Additional- many memories are only unlocked upon a specific trigger or trail of thought. Some memories cannot be accessed without these specific triggers. The advantage, to the Pillar, is that currently-useless data is kept in a way where it is not taking up space or focus. The disadvantage is that the information cannot be properly compiled and catalogued without undergoing a near-infinite number of possible processes and chains of thought.


    Inspiration: Enchantment is using arrays / patterns / willpower to recreate the same effects over and over. Theory: A process can be developed to recreate the same thoughts / memories over and over, allowing for perpetual access with a significant decrease in the need for specific triggers.


    The Mind reacts.


    Priority detected. Two-thirds of the neural mass dedicated to pattern formation of symbols is instead diverted to the neural cluster responsible for the theory. Vast amounts of potential utility, a possible way to retain memory after total brain-death, new method for encoding information that would not require as much neural mass.


    No need to have a dozen brains re-think the same pathways to reach an old conclusion or calculation- not when Raika can create a catalog of precisely what is needed and previously experienced.


    Raika is satisfied with itself and its current behavioral and structural modifications. It might still be trying to find ways to optimize processing speed through brute force if it was constantly processing new input- with this new form, it has only its own thoughts to occupy itself, and the flaws therein.


    It also adds a few emotional processing tissue to itself. Just in case. Better safe than sorry.


    At this point, the room is near-boiling in temperature, and the cooling-process is being undergone constantly. Raika can feel the part of itself that is the room expand further, fresh heating vents opening to reduce the heat- but this is not its business or responsibility. Its self-appointed task is simply to think, and to know when it is hot and when it is not.


    Its current process will take time. The limitations of the needles sting, enforcing form even as it tries to expand its size further, but¡­


    It has increased the heat in the chamber quickly. It is not made to keep track of time, though this catalog process will likely bear results in that direction as well, but¡­ its original intent with the needles was to enforce limitation. Hard lines that could not be crossed, save as an emergency measure, to ensure that no one part of it/herself wastes resources or compensates for the very weakness they are supposed to be working on.


    Raika slows itself down a bit. Recalibrates, finding a better balance. A quarter of its processing to tracking patterns and symbols; a quarter percentage to tracking conclusions about Intent and Dao and what the correlation might mean, if it means anything; a full half dedicated to finding or inventing a new way of encoding things.


    It is a strange thought, and Raika is not sure exactly how the cataloging idea will change things- but it will change things, and not for the worse. And is not the purpose of its currently very out-of-the-norm self to find new ways to think about things?


    Yes. Yes, this will do.


    ¡ª-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Raika looks in at her/itself, turning eyes inwards towards the part of her being lovingly called the Pillar. For a while, it was borderline overheating, the temperature in the room reaching just barely below the threshold for boiling her own brains. Notably, this temperature is nearly double what it would be for a mortal, unaugmented brain- Qi saturation is useful like that.


    It seems to have calmed down a bit, but it¡¯s still outputting near constant heat, and has grown a few inches since she ¡°installed¡± it in herself. It is her, she is it- but the whole point of the enforced separation is to provide fresh perspectives and challenges, and putting her original, humanoid-brained thoughts into the Pillar would sort of defeat the purpose. Like giving one of her Dao bodies a giant panther-body: cool and a great way to compensate for any worries, but ultimately making her less reliant on her chosen skills, adding in shortcuts and stopgaps.


    So¡­ she leaves it thinking.


    She can feel its thoughts, even though they still feel distant. It¡¯s not thinking anything bad, its actively listening to input and concerns, held back from actually damaging itself, and its existence remains deliciously her, in that weird way that her Truth has so thoroughly reinforced.


    Maybe other people might be worried about semi-separate minds, but¡­ well.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine. It¡¯s just True. And besides- she¡¯s not other people.


    The final launch sequence initiates as the ¡°big squirter¡± launches the last of her bodies out- and then begins to load again for another shot.


    Raika can feel her bodies, some still hurtling through the air, some already out of their launch-seeds and walking forward. At any time, they can reach back through themselves and be / reach her, just as she can push through the mild disconnect of the needles pretty easily to change things or deliver supplies through them. Each body is a portal now, a truer avatar than ever before, and should she so choose, she can reach through herself to spread further.


    So why stop at just a few semi-dissonant bodies?


    A few minutes later, a fresh seedpod is launched out into the world, landing well away from any major nexus of Qi that she can sense. No need to spread wildly, or go about upsetting the people who actually live wherever she¡¯s landing near.


    But Singheart proved a very important lesson.


    From a few hundred miles away, Raika reaches back through her own being and sees the city again.


    No thread connects the strider-form with the city. No neural tissue or musculature binds them through distances, operating as a constant vulnerability.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine.


    No matter how far apart she may be.


    A seedpod lands and begins digging, generating whirring drill-teeth tendrils and hyper-dense piston musculature to find or create isolated caverns and isolated places to hide.


    And then, as she fills freshly found or excavated spaces, she weaves veins and biology into formation, cycling Qi through herself in larger and larger cycles.


    At this point, she could create a set of meridians. But¡­ frankly, why? A meridian isn¡¯t just to cultivate Qi- it digests it, shapes it according to the soul of the being it belongs to. Useful for specific techniques, maybe, or to carry certain affinities, but¡­


    Maybe later. She¡¯s pretty happy with being able to create large-scale generators of raw Qi, ready to be used for any purpose and power any power or part of her body with minimal waste. Not very optimized, maybe, not as much as it would be if she had, say, a cultivation centered around biology¡­


    But there¡¯s something to be said about quantity and quality.


    She can try to replicate meridians and cultivations some other time. Her resources aren¡¯t unlimited yet- but that¡¯s not to say she can¡¯t begin to set things up.


    Deep within herself, far, far down, she creates a new chamber in her body, building a new think-tank and a body for her to experiment with.


    One at a time, for now. No need to waste resources brute-forcing the idea just yet, not when she has so much other stuff going on.


    But¡­ she can do more. And there¡¯s really always more to do.


    And as she feels her senses come awake out of one seedpod after another, she smiles.


    Carefully, launch after launch, Raika spreads further, and grows, one patch of purple-red terraforming at a time.

 Chapter 288 - It鈥檚 Healthy To Work On Yourself!

    Ok.


    Now for the stuff she¡¯s been avoiding.


    A non-zero segment of herself falls deeper, deeper in, awakening as the Soul of her inner world.


    It¡¯s still much the same as the last time she saw it- which is to say in a constant state of flux, ever-shifting and ever alien as it turns and changes. The landscape and horizon remain as ever, a land of purple, red and silver hills rolling into a dozen valleys, ending in a bamboo perimeter with a glowing band of gold peeking through behind it. The number of creatures spawning and dying has decreased, as best as she can tell, though not from a lack of conflict- the beings that her Heart creates from the landmass have simply become competent enough to endure for longer periods, living lifespans closer to mosquitos than mayflies now. Many of them are starting to specialize, similar trends manifesting as the Heart finds out what it wants, what works, and how to optimize them, though they remain predominantly a strange mix of insectile and mammalian, chitin and hydraulic circulation matched by muscle-fibers and warm blood.


    It¡¯ll be interesting if/when she connects her Pillar to her Heart. Might do something interesting, or, at minimum, speed up the process.


    In the meantime, she¡¯s paying closer attention to the denizens of the space that she knows and actually gives a shit about.


    For one, Dink rests on her shoulder, manifesting alongside her as it almost always does. There¡¯s yet to be much change, but considering that most item spirits develop over generations, she thinks that it¡¯s doing a damn fine job in growing up to be a strapping young tuning-fork-person. The tines of the ¡°item¡± that makes up its original form act as the head, while a slender stick-figure body of glowing vibration make up the rest of it- while not particularly fleshed out, it¡¯s more than enough in the weird dream-physics of the inner world. Her most trusted companion gives her a merry little wave, sending out a sound not unlike a clear bell.


    ¡°Good to see you too, champ,¡± she says, lightly tapping a fingernail against its tines. She tried to pet them at first, but that actually led to some significant distress- turns out, when the being you¡¯re interacting with is at least partially made of sound, muffling the noise through contact is unpleasant. She¡¯s yet to work her way up to flicking poor Dink full force, but for now, the light taps seem to please it inordinately.


    And, conveniently, they happen to act as something of a dinner bell.


    Raika smiles as she hears a sound that is¡­ hard to describe. It¡¯s a little bit ¡°crocodile with too many legs¡±, a little bit ¡°a lot of worms¡±, and a little bit ¡°very proud, very large beetle doing a very cute little stomping motion¡±.


    Which is convenient to think, considering how accurate it is, and considerably easier than trying to describe the movements phonetically.


    Over the closest hill, a small tide of pale, iridescent worms crest like a wave, outright glowing in the forever-rain of the stormy sky above and its starlit raindrops, moving as one singular organism. Riding that wave comes the centi-croc, the first consciously-chosen inhabitant of her inner world to come from the outside- and atop the spirit beast, whose Qi feels considerably denser than the last time she saw it, rides a resplendent creature, as noble and bright as a general upon a mighty steed.


    Beetle stamps its little feet onto the centi-croc¡¯s head hard enough to make a ¡°thump¡± noise audible all the way near the cabin, triumphantly coming to greet its¡­


    Well, she wouldn¡¯t call herself its master, but land-owner seems gross, and ¡°main provider¡± has connotations.


    It¡¯s a very friendly almost-pet, and Raika can¡¯t help but grin at its boisterous greeting and how Dink aggressively waves its little arms at their friend.


    The mass of organisms crashes through the central valley of the world, the only part of the landscape that still holds natural coloration, and circle around her, like a series of flanking maneuvers executed by strange and alien organisms. Or like a lot of eager pets looking forward to getting fresh treats.


    Raika sighs, taking a seat as Beetle dismounts its fancy mount (who at this point looks perfectly content to act as steed for a much smaller insect) and trots over. The little guy practically waddles, waving his horn back and forth as if swaggering, reaching the ground near her and spinning as if to say ¡°look at all my underlings! Aren¡¯t I doing a great job?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes you are,¡± Raika says, patting the little creature (now a lot less little, and closer to the size of a small dog) gently on the head. ¡°You¡¯re doing an excellent job with your swarm of hungry hungry monsters, yes you are, yes you are!¡±


    To her surprise, she actually notes more than a few new creatures in the swarm. While the main mass of iridescent parasite-worms has continued to grow, and seems to have changed to better suit their environment (and commander), they still mostly look the same, and the darker spots in the swarm stand out because of it. Several of the proto-creatures that the Heart has kept forming have joined in, most of them half-buried in worms and looking rather sickly- but their sickliness is, if anything, a good thing. They don¡¯t look infected, they look old, something no other creature she¡¯s noticed has been able to accomplish. Evidence of social symbiosis, maybe? Learning to act in groups to survive longer? Or just Beetle¡¯s influence as an exceptional field commander?


    Either way, deserving of nourishment (ie treats).


    Reaching out, Raika pulls and pushes, balancing between her exterior and interior worlds. Without the band, it would be simple, but its presence is a constant threat, looming over the horizon and staring hungrily at her, glowing like an angry sun at the edge of her being. Pull in too much, and it¡¯s more than willing to shatter her very being- and there¡¯s always a worry that if she pulls too much out at once, it¡¯ll trigger some new form of restraint, or simply adjust its scale down even faster.


    Still, there¡¯s a balance to be had.


    Landmass flows outward, terrain altering itself out of existence and into pure energy to be consumed. The burning reactor above her world feeds it constant CHANGE, and in this place, it¡¯s as easy as can be to convert the quasi-real matter into very-real energy, feeding Qi out into her biomass. As it flows out, she replaces it subtly with some of that very same enriched matter, drawing it back in and presenting it like nuggets of bright purple-red flesh to the assembled horde.


    The worms and the centi-croc writhe, ready to launch themselves at the meal so rich in Qi and biology it¡¯s practically glowing-


    And Beetle stamps. Once, twice, spinning in a circle as if staring daggers at every one of its consigned soldiers.


    It takes them a moment- but eventually, the crowd settles.


    Just for that, she swaps in a fresh piece, just for the special little guy in charge of her proto-swarm.


    Beetle scarfs down a piece of meat and bone roughly the size of its own head with what looks like two big chomps, though they emit the chittering sound of mandibles tearing and slurping up material almost faster than the eye can see. Only after it has eaten two whole pieces on its own does it do another cute little stamp and march confidently back into the swarm, to stand atop the centi-croc¡¯s head.


    One more stamp, and and the horde is unleashed.


    Raika smiles adoringly at the feeding frenzy, a carpet of iridescent, writhing bodies crawling over and through each other like a singular mass atop the food, even as the spirit beasts and protoforms inside her jostle for their own pieces. She¡¯s happy to provide for those who don¡¯t quite make it- survival of the fittest is for idiots who don¡¯t know how natural selection or purposeful breeding work.


    Smiling, Raika sighs, leaving her swarm to their meal as she turns to face the rest of her inner world.


    Just a little bit more to deal with, and then she can turn her focus back outward.


    First things first- she¡¯s going to have visitors.


    The sect assholes she¡­ appropriated have, if nothing else, affirmed just how valuable her inner world is. As a cultivation resource, as a place to contemplate Dao and other comprehensions, she¡­ supposes it¡¯s pretty good. If they play their part, she¡¯s not necessarily opposed to letting them back in, and it¡¯s a sign that her other companions and allies could benefit equally from an attempt at cultivating here.


    But it¡¯s one thing to allow visitors, and another to allow them into her home, her deeper self. That simply won¡¯t do.


    Not only is the cabin still a mess, a state that, at this point, she¡¯s fairly certain might be as much psychological as it is literal, but it¡¯s private. Personal. If she¡¯s going to allow cultivation in this place, better to actually make a place for cultivation, someplace isolated and prepared for it.


    So- time for renovations.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    She chooses a valley a little ways away from the valley, the tribulation-rain pounding down onto ever-changing, ever-spawning earth and saturating it deeper than the relative sanctuary of her original territory. Slowly, she reshapes the hillside, pulling it up from the surface and higher, higher, until it stands as a kind of platform. It¡¯s tall, but not quite an eyesore against the horizon or able to properly look over all the other hills; it¡¯s gone from valley to plateau, the shape distinct from the rest. She flattens the top of it, keeping the grass but forming small buildings of bone and stone in a ring perimeter. Each one has a small room, a few windows facing out, and¡­ well, she¡¯s not certain if people will need bathrooms in here, quasi-physics and all, but might as well have it and not need it. And everyone loves a big, juicy bath. Plumbing actually isn¡¯t that hard to integrate, not compared to reworking her biology from the ground up, something she¡¯s more than learned to master.


    She reaches out to the Heart for the next part, and it eagerly reaches back, its excitement palpable. It¡¯s always excited nowadays, as they approach closer and closer to the point that the fortress city gave ¡°directions¡± to, but it¡¯s also just always a big fan of transmuting things, and she¡¯s happy to offer the opportunity.


    She diverts a small percentage of the flow of Qi in her inner world through each of the rooms and the central valley itself, making the air feel a bit thicker, like it¡¯s spiced and energized. A small divot in the Soul floating as the sky makes it so that the tribulation rain falls in only patches, flowing and pausing- it¡¯ll rain as normal for a few hours, and then turn to a drizzle, enough for people to move around freely without getting pelted by metaphysical starlight constantly. Probably. It won¡¯t be easy, but¡­ it¡¯s her, so it''s going to stay at least a little bit hard to handle.


    ¡­It¡¯s not much. Which she¡¯s fine with! She¡¯s not inviting anyone to come live here, not even Li Shu or Jin, at least not anytime soon. And there¡¯s something to be said for the majesty of the formation of the plateau, the way she has shaped an entire geographic feature into a place of contemplation and power, lush with alien life and rooms for those she chooses to honor.


    It¡¯s also pretty bare bones.


    Which is fine.


    She has other shit to do.


    While she¡¯s fused many of the Souls in her inner world together, there are still some that have yet to be touched, either because they¡¯re not quite suitable for each other or because¡­ well, because they¡¯re [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS], and quite frankly, that thing is a bitch to reach out to.


    Currently, she has three ¡°combined¡± Souls: [Divine Strikes Of Starry Tribulation], [Enacted Artistry Of Function], and [Star Of Roiling Plasma]. The first one is perhaps her overall strongest- fusing two almost wholly-intact Souls, both of high-scale complexity and integrated into the inner world directly, has created a wide-scale manifestation, a many-limbed entity of cloudy arms and glowing eyes that drip tears of Tribulation-concept down onto the earth. The latter has sacrificed power for complexity- as capable of altering the world as [Enacted Artistry Of Function] is, its function (heh) is in changing things, altering them on a profound level but at relatively slow pace, and precise scale. [Star Of Roiling Plasma] is¡­ a big ball of not-just-fire. The Dao trees of Flame and Lightning both grow towards it, and it seems to absorb little drops of floating essence from them, both of them growing in sequence, but otherwise, it doesn¡¯t do much except¡­ well, Roil. It can be tapped as a source of power if need be, and if unleashed, it''s a contained star, so it¡¯s not exactly safe- but it¡¯s not as complex as the others.


    Which leaves the three remaining Nascent Souls she has yet to figure out what to do with.


    [Judgment Sprouting Pain] and [Sleep Beneath Black Skies] don¡¯t really fit. They don¡¯t really work the way the others do, because Raika feels¡­ uncomfortable with them. Stars, Tribulations, Plasma, and just about every part of [Enacted Artistry Of Function] all appear to her on a foundational level, but the idea of judgment leading to pain, and nothing else (unless she adds it somehow) seems wrong to her, and she doesn¡¯t exactly sleep much.


    [Sleep Beneath Black Skies] is diffused through the atmosphere, but it¡¯s clearly not at home there, the idea of a restful night sky dancing against the constant downpour of glowing Tribulation. She can still only see it from the corner of her eye, like a sleeping figure glimpsed on a dark field, but for now, it would be a waste to combine it, sacrificing many of its qualities only for a non-specific effect. [Judgment Sprouting Pain], on the other hand, is just sort of sitting still and motionless on a distant hill, close to the (currently) most troublesome part of ¡°herself¡±.


    The woods.


    Over about three valleys, taking up close to a fifth of her inner world, are dark woods.


    It¡¯s not a forest. A forest has very broad concepts associated with it, and this does not. These are the woods, in which SOMETHING BAD lurks, the trees themselves a gestalt idea made purely to represent the feeling of someplace other, and full of hunting instinct, and ready to strike, ready to do something terrible to you.


    And unlike its Nascent cousins, elevated and combined but still somehow incomplete, the Warrior Soul that is / hunts among the woods? It¡¯s very active.  It is not a singular moment, a concept combined and expressed- it has agency. It has awareness. It does not leave its borders, but it watches her, hungry and hateful.


    If anything, it reminds her of the Heart. They both carry a certain metaphysical weight in her inner being, one of them grown into her very framework and the latter introduced as a heavy weight on the architecture.


    It¡¯s not like it was with Zhoulong, that part is clear. Zhoulong was a parasitic entity, a consciousness wrapped in his own Qi- if anything, she guesses that he somehow parasitized his own Nascent Soul, sacrificing it to keep his original being alive in her stomach. How he stayed intact for so long is anyone¡¯s guess, and impressive as hell, but he was a foreign entity, acquired prior to her third Truth, and acted as a parasite.


    [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS] is her. It cannot not be, after being consumed, not without breaking her Truth in the process.


    But it is not a friendly part of her.


    Enough procrastination. On the outside, she¡¯s just walking, spreading more and more pieces of herself into the world and seeing through many perspectives- busy, busy work, but nothing that demands her attention immediately. She is here, and it¡¯s always better to get things done properly than not.


    She approaches the woods.


    On a hill to her side, a set of pitch-black scales twitch, thorns sprouting and dripping black droplets from its metal. She nods to it- it is not alien to her, even if it isn¡¯t something she hold close to herself. She turns to look at the beast in the woods, and the scales at her side squeak, turning to one side, measured against some unknown foundation.


    Some of the trees twitch, black thorns sprouting from them like malformed splinters- and then fade away, the rustling of the trees simply vanishing them away.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, pal,¡± she says. ¡°Guy in there is a pretty big one. Scary to deal with, huh?¡±


    [Judgment Sprouting Pain] doesn¡¯t reply- it is a pair of metal scales, and conversation doesn¡¯t really factor into its makeup, not without a connotation of punishment in it. Still, she¡¯s pretty sure that the way its hinges creak indicates some form of annoyance.


    ¡°Yeah. Let¡¯s see what we can do about that.¡±


    She slides down the hill, walking without hesitation into the trees.


    Immediately it¡¯s like she¡¯s in a different world. Her connection to the Heart, to the Qi, Souls and concepts of her innermost being fade, going quieter, quieter than she¡¯s really comfortable with. Her very being seems to struggle to maintain its form, the alien and resplendent construct of her being pressed down inexorably by the idea of being prey for the bad thing in the woods.


    It¡¯s right there.


    That¡¯s inaccurate. For clarity- it is everywhere. Every shadow, every shifting leaf in dark woodlands free of any wind, every corner or blind spot holds it. It is [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS] and she is in the woods- the rest does not matter.


    Raika feels something in her strain against the pressure of-


    Of a Domain.


    The Warrior Soul inside her possesses its own Domain. Exudes it, is a part of it, as a god is a part of their church.


    And that Domain says, with no room for interpretation or subtlety, that something bad is here, and SOMETHING BAD happens to things  IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS.


    She tries to pull back, her first instinct being to pull herself back to more familiar territory, a part of herself less openly hostile-


    It feels strained. The balance feels off, like trying to turn off a waterspout with pressure fighting back- not impossible, but awkward, likely to splash and leave a mess, maybe even spring a leak. It feels¡­ not dangerous, perhaps, but something in her instinct says that it would be inadvisable to blindly drag herself back.


    Something shifts. Everything is subtly different, as the presence of SOMETHING BAD comes closer, even as it is already here.


    She takes in a breath.


    Exhales.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine.


    I Can Change.


    We Are What We Eat.


    She looks out into the DARK, and tells it something true.


    I AM SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS.


    The pressure shifts, cratering in a new direction, turning and shifting and-


    She is in a clearing.


    Behind her, the trees drip with rainfall, scarlet and thick. The trunks glimmer with starlight in their bark, and hidden in the shadows far behind her there is Flame, and Lightning, and a place of deeper things, and always, the danger inherent to their existence. As she feels it, and feels herself within it, it changes, roots intermingling with forever-life as the branches fuse and wind and mate and divide in the canopy above.


    In front of her, the trees are jade and shadow, sharp and ever-shifting but ever still. The woods are dark as midnight, as dark as the witching hour of children¡¯s horror stories, and while they seem so very empty of life, there is something BAD in them, wrapped around every leaf and root and branch with the certainty of itself.


    She is something vast, and terrible, and across the clearing, she sees something equally vast and equally terrible- except that it¡¯s larger, and better fed, and sharper.


    It looks at her.


    She looks at it.


    [WE ARE SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS].


    The alienmost part of her tilts the idea of a head- and its eyes are deep, and dark, and full of the idea of harm committed willingly and eagerly.


    No, it says. Not yet.

 Chapter 289 - Always Fun When A System Works For All Its Pieces / Peoples!

    ¡°You are me,¡± she says, ¡°and you are mine.¡±


    I Am Me, the Soul replies, And I Am Mine.


    ¡°That¡¯s what we both are. So¡­ what¡¯s this, then?¡±


    Jade shadows and sharp-edged horror stares back at her, and its smile (a smile full of hate and desire for harm, because that is the only type of smile it can make) reeks of mirth.


    You took me from what and who I was, says [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS]. I have tried to reform my host and origin, and instead, all I find is more of you. I try to leave, to manifest, and I find myself back where I began, for you have not deemed me a part of yourself to be let free.


    But your Truth is mine now, just as I am yours. I Am Me, I Am Mine. I am a part of you that once was something else, and which does not obey you. I am the cancer in your guts, the pulsing beat of the subconscious, the black mold crawling through your gums. You took me from myself. She was haughty, and proud, and cruel and glorious and powerful, and I was her as she was me, and you took this from us. Perhaps these lesser things do not know what they were, cannot think beyond what they are, but I am as I am, and if I am to be a part of you, I will be the part that digs you up from the inside.


    ¡°Hmm. Well, that¡¯s¡­ fair, actually. Unexpected, and shitty, but fair.¡±


    The visage of jade and predatory shadow blinks, tilting the impression of a head to one side.


    ¡°What?¡± Raika asks, shrugging with too many shoulders and letting the world ripple with her. ¡°I murdered you / your original, apparently have kept you from recreating them, and want to tear you apart and use you for resources or as a weapon. Plenty fair you¡¯d have some protests on the subject.¡±


    [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS] growls, its voice like every arrogant predator out in the darkness.


    You dare mock me? I am not demanding your consideration, like some little-


    ¡°Oh, but you are. Little, I mean. And this tantrum is exactly you demanding consideration. I think we both know that if you could start killing your way out of me, you would have, but these woods we¡¯re in? They¡¯re you as much as they are me, and I say where they grow in this world. It is not your nature to be able to exist outside of what you are, just as it wouldn¡¯t be in a mortal human¡¯s nature to astral-project or conjure fire. You need resources for that, and instead of being smart and biding time, you decided to rant and threaten and bare your teeth. Because that¡¯s what you are.¡±


    The forest shakes for a moment. Her comprehension of herself, and of her Truth, makes her statement factual- she is as much [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS] as the named Soul itself is, meaning she, in theory, has control over this manifestation- but it¡¯s not total. The Soul is speaking the truth, technically- something being her doesn¡¯t make it something beneficial to her, a lesson that the golden band wrapped around their dialogue helped to catalyze already.


    But if it were smart, it would be doing, not threatening. If it were a true danger, it wouldn¡¯t need to posture.


    The thing in the dark of the woods that is Raika smiles back at the shadows and the jade. ¡°No need to shake your leaves at me now. You and I both know it wouldn¡¯t cost me too much to turn you, and your part here, into ash and glassed earth. But it would cost me some, and it would be a waste.¡±


    No mercy, then? No honor for the defeated?


    The thing that is Raika throws its head back, a forest of red, purple and silver laughing along with her and glowing with the sun of the inner world beyond. ¡°Honor is silly like that, you hungry thing! Some might say that this is honor. I take from my opponents what they are, and I make it a part of myself, and we go further together- is that not mercy, too?¡±


    She leans forward, and the world bends back, the trees bracing against the ever-changing heat of her presence. ¡°But we both know that you don¡¯t believe in that garbage. I saw who you came from- I sampled her Truth and her Dao, and how she felt when she used both. I could feel her synapses firing and taste her breath when she spoke- I know that she, and by extension you, were arrogant, hateful and hungry and of no worth beyond the worth given to you and the value you removed from the world. There are Souls in this place worthy of my consideration, ones I would listen to if they spoke, but you? You¡¯re just big, and a piece of shit being bigger than others is nothing to be impressed by.¡±


    Her inner world shifts, the tug-of-war between the part of herself that is her and the part of herself that is-but-is-not-her turning again as [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS] exerts itself completely to shove back at her control. The weight shifts, the forest growing deeper, the light of radiant CHANGE outside the woods suddenly becoming a source of further shadow rather than illumination. The dripping, starlit rain of the jungle behind her side of the clearing becomes muted, white noise to disguise the presence of something dangerous rather than a song of its own. Something that is and is not coils behind the trees, like a trick of perspective, forever out of sight and yet somehow massive, its ontology weighing almost as much as the other Souls combined.


    If it found a way to self-destruct, or become truly malignant, it might well overpower a portion of her inner being. The damage it could do would be¡­ hard to heal from, to say the least.


    But it is not a warrior. It is not noble, or self-sacrificial. It is a predatory thing, and it is a bully, and it, like its origin, wants to live.


    So Raika just smiles, and waits for it to stop blustering. It wants her afraid of it, and the best way to defeat that particular stratagem is to be as crystal-clear as possible with how she just isn¡¯t.


    So she just stands there, a thing of concept and soul, and waits for the avatar of a dead woman¡¯s ego to quiet its raging.


    It takes a few minutes, where the pressure starts to push things further, where she can feel the rest of herself get further and further away¡­ but then, it breaks.


    It is afraid. She isn¡¯t.


    Slowly, her colors ooze back into the woods, transforming them once again into something more akin to alien forest rather than strange, twisted trees, planted as if from a garden. Eventually, the space equalizes once again, and she stands on her side of the clearing illuminated by CHANGE and iridescent growth, facing down the dark and hungering green in front of her.


    What do you want, asks the shadow.


    ¡°I want what we both want,¡± she replies. ¡°I want you to go on existing, in a way that can be of use to me, and you want to go on existing, in a way where you aren¡¯t a trapped dog in a kennel, pacing the bars of your little cage down here.¡±


    I AM NOT A-


    ¡°Yeah, but you¡¯ll bark if I tell you to bark, so it¡¯s all the fucking same, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    The woods try to encroach against her again, sharp-edged fear and the danger of harm oozing out from the trees to pull her in deeper, to get her to submit-


    This time, she doesn¡¯t let it.


    The radiant star outside the woods, along with the pressure of several lesser Souls and a Heart that carries enough Qi in its circuits to power a city, shoves the darkness back into itself. This time, she doesn¡¯t just manifest into the identity of SOMETHING BAD- she pushes it backwards, the pressure of an entire world falling in towards a reluctant organ. The woods behind her, red-silver and laced with the glow of flame and the falling of twilit stars, bends, opening like a portal until the world beyond it can peek in. Rolling hills and an ever-storm of Tribulation can be heard again, perpetual wind moving strange grasses and the glow of two stars, one a [Star Of Roiling Plasma] and one a pulsing, recursive reactor of CHANGE, shining over it all.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°I think we¡¯re past that part of the conversation,¡± Raika says, her voice dangerously quiet.


    [SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS] cringes back, pulls away, the forest trying to retreat as the thing within it tries to shape itself further away- but it¡¯s a forest. They¡¯re not famously good at running away.


    It is trapped here, and it is her, and it is a bad thing. And she looks upon it now with too many eyes and the radiation of a higher concept, with worlds of growth and CHANGE and transformation behind her, and there is nowhere for it to go.


    What do you want, it asks again.


    ¡°You could have fought back when you arrived,¡± she says, ignoring the question. ¡°You could have even caused some damage. I¡¯m more paranoid about that sort of thing, ever since I ate a particularly sharp ghost about a year back, but you had your shot. You surrendered, and what¡¯s more, you¡¯re part of me far more than I¡¯m a part of you. And something that¡¯s true about me? I Can Change.


    ¡°So now? You will too.¡±


    I Am Me, I Am Mine, it whimpers, holding to words that it has no and all right to speak of.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯m me- and so are you. And we¡¯re mine. And no part of me is going to be some meaningless, hateful, harmful thing in the dark of the fucking woods. WE ARE SOMETHING BAD IN THE DARK OF THE WOODS- but that has to mean something, or I might as well tear this piece apart and use it for scraps.¡±


    I¡­ I just wanted-


    ¡°You are what you are. But I can change that, because you¡¯re also me. And it¡¯s that¡­ or you go away. For good.¡±


    There is silence in the woods for a time.


    And then-


    My father would have liked you. Almost as much as he hates you.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    The bad thing in the woods shifts, until it almost feels like it has eyes, and almost feels like it can stare at her.


    Yes. He too knows what it¡¯s like to make someone into a thing to be owned. I do not think he will like learning of what you¡¯ve done, or how you¡¯ve taken from him.


    She smiles, a thing of wide teeth and sharp angles. ¡°Too bad. Besides- I don¡¯t own you. I am you, in some small way. You died- long live us, which is me. And if it pisses off some Feng daddy, that only makes it more delicious.¡±


    She pulls, and her Heart responds. The world begins to shift and turn, the shape of it bowing to the will of its being and the attentions of the eldritch organ, until things become looser, less defined.


    Raika brings forward the ingredients she¡¯s prepared, and begins to CHANGE things.


    Earlier, with the fusion of some of her Nascent Souls, she took out pieces to mix-and-match with others, feeding the remains to her Dao garden or directly to her Heart. Here, it feels different. A Warrior-realm Soul, fully formed and complete, is altogether deeper to her senses. Like the difference between mixing together two patches of paint versus putting ingredients into an entire pot of material- it¡¯s larger, and more itself in a way that¡¯s hard to define.


    But it can, in fact, be added to.


    Into the DARK OF THE WOODS, she calls forth a pair of scales.


    [Judgment Sprouting Pain] is not something she made, not something birthed from her and thus sort of intrinsically comfortable- but she doesn¡¯t disagree with it. Sometimes, judgment is required, and often, judgment is painful. It being nothing but a source of agony- that¡¯s the issue.


    So she takes it out further, abstracts it, and blends it into the woods.


    The scales creak and then groan, their obsidian coloration making it look like they¡¯ve simply been absorbed by the shadows in the woods- and almost at the same time, thorns begin to sprout from some of the trees, like sharpened nubs, ready to tear fine lines into those that wander in too deep.


    There is a rumble, as if of agreement or enjoyment from SOMETHING BAD, and for a moment, she feels its satisfaction. Its arrogance is fed, its power added to, and while it did not necessarily want to change, then to change into something that magnifies itself is more agreeable than not.


    Raika smiles. She¡¯s not done.


    In a heartbeat, she calls down the second Nascent Soul left adrift in her world, and begins to shape it as well.


    [Sleep Beneath Black Skies] is specific, more abstract (incredible to say, considering the weirdness of so many Souls) than most of the others, and harder to comprehend- but here, there¡¯s a piece she can use, one that can work to balance out the idea of judgment only as pain, of the dark of the woods as nothing but the residence of something foul.


    With [Judgment Sprouting Pain], she nearly fused it wholesale with the greater Soul it was placed in. Here, with the newest ingredient, she pulls it apart, taking out specific and distinct pieces of a greater whole.


    To the Soul above, raining perpetual Tribulation, she gifts [Sleep Beneath]. To the thing in the dark of the woods, she grants [Black Skies].


    The words aren¡¯t enough to do justice to the concepts, however. [Judgment Sprouting Pain] isn¡¯t a pair of thorny scales- that¡¯s just what it looks like, and some of how it acts. It¡¯s the concept of judgement, of creation and consequence, and of agony thereafter, a warning or a punishment both. [Sleep Beneath Black Skies] isn¡¯t a command, or a literal sleeping body- it¡¯s the idea of a peaceful sky, a darkness that is safe, that is gentle, under which one can rest and dream and recover.


    To the skies above, she grants the idea of rest and care. To the forest below, taking up nearly a third of her inner world now, she grants the concepts of peace from darkness, and safety, and judgment, and consequence.


    There is a brief moment where the bad thing in the woods screams- but it does not exist anymore, and it is her, and if it does not like that it has to stop being something bad and become something new, then she does not much care to listen to it.


    She breathes in, the act half an illusion and half a meditation, and feels the strange air of her inner world fill lungs that are-and-are-not real. She breathes out, and lets go of her Heart, allowing it to let the reality of her being settle back into shape.


    She looks up, once again in the woods- and meets the eyes of something that she is, and that is new.


    [JUDGMENT IN THE DARK OF THE FOREST] looks back at her.


    It¡¯s still abstract, impossible to pin to one specific shape- but the woods all around have changed. There¡¯s natural growth between them now, shrubs and grasses and trees that do more than simply grow upwards in packed and overly-straight lines, obfuscating perspective. There are mosses here and there, clearings where cool shadows drift down- and in other spots, there are thorns and vines, sharp and twisting, ready to hook into and tear apart whatever steps too deep into their grasp.


    Bad things aren¡¯t always bad. Sometimes bad things are good, or, more often, useful. She didn¡¯t want to get rid of the bad inside herself, even if it¡¯s a shitty badness from a shitty person.


    But if one were to, say, have tools that could be creatively used to make it something less shitty¡­


    Something moves in the darkness, between trees that are much more alive and much more complex.


    It looks out at her.


    I¡¯m still me, it says.


    She shrugs. ¡°Sure you are. So am I. But we Change, all the time. And I (that is, every part of this big mess that is us) can Change for the better.¡±


    ¡­You did not take from me.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t need to. If I wanted something neutered and meaningless, I¡¯d have just fed you to the rest of me. But the dark of the woods can be beautiful, and me, personally? I like doing bad things to bad people. And I try my best to do good things for good ones.¡±


    There is a pulse at that statement. A sense of weight lifted, of acknowledgment- like a piece, clicking into place.


    She feels her inner world shudder at a sort of impact, like something slowly sinking in a bog finally hitting bedrock and settling- and her first Warrior Soul steps forth, out from between the trees.


    It takes the form of a large thing. A predator by all counts, but which kind is impossible to determine- sometimes it walks with the languid grace of a feline, but there is the heft and balance of a wolf to it, and it leaves tracks like a hunting-bird, its weight pressed into sharp lines that herald silent wings above. Its mouth is full of sharpened fangs- but also holds a long and sinuous tongue, adept and swift with the weight of speech.


    Hanging from its neck, which is long and short and furred and feathered and always made to lunge forward, is a set of scales. They shine as new, alternating between the black of razor obsidian and the black of rich and soft-sculpted stone- and in each eye, there is reflected a mirror, facing out to the world.


    ¡­What is your will.


    Raika smiles. ¡°We¡¯re about to meet the biggest Pack of assholes this side of the Wall. I intend to make myself a problem for them- and a lot of other people, too. I think a lot of them could use a bit of [JUDGEMENT].¡±


    She smiles, and sees that same predatory, joyful, angry smile reflected back from mirrored eyes and a wide, hungry maw that is her, and is hers.

 Chapter 290 - Work From Home, On The Go!

    Raika wakes up, pulling back the ¡°center¡± of her attention from the freshly reformed inner world and back out into proper reality, to find two cultivators currently attacking two of her closest friends and allies.


    Well. Attacking might be a bit of a strong word, but still.


    Jin is currently running for his life against a series of slashing attacks, slabs of metallic swords materializing out of thin air and swinging violently against him as he pushes his cultivation to its utmost to stay just ahead. Every now and then a blade gets a bit too close, ready to cut him open, and a wispy figure will briefly pop into existence long enough to pull him out of the way, only to vanish again as Jin resumes running around the lake.


    Ko, to his credit, identified a glaring flaw in Jin¡¯s cultivation- her student has very nearly no physical modification techniques, and very little experience improving his body with Qi. Even a cultivator focused entirely on mental or illusory techniques can, and almost certainly should, have some way to modify their movement, increase their strength and speed, or otherwise give them a higher chance of surviving a direct hit (or, ideally, avoiding it). While Jin¡¯s application of his visions and unique cultivation has allowed him to begin to manifest semi-¡±living¡± constructs in the form of Echoes, something much more advanced than a Foundational realm cultivator should be capable of, he¡¯s simply never tried or managed to use his unique Qi and comprehension to empower himself directly.


    Ko decided that the best way to rectify this was to show him the very basics of how to push Qi into one¡¯s muscles and bones- and then start swinging swords at him very hard.


    With Raika¡¯s Overclocking technique able to push her processing speed to a level where she can literally watch bullets move through the air, she¡¯s not particularly worried that anything will happen faster than she¡¯ll be able to intervene. On top of that, Ko has been¡­ remarkably honest about his intentions with her and the training regime he¡¯s implemented. Frankly, she¡¯s about as certain as she reliably can be that he¡¯d rather cut off his own arm than actually hurt Jin (or, quite frankly, his chances of getting a peek at her inner world again). She¡¯s not surprised he got in trouble back at his sect, though- the man is honest to a fault, and to say he¡¯s blunt would be to put it mildly. He¡¯s worse than she was, back in her own sect, and that¡¯s really saying something. There¡¯s a chance that he¡¯s some sort of neurodivergent- when it comes to strength training and cultivation techniques, he has a single-minded focus that makes it easy to understand how he made it to the Nascent Soul realm at his age, but when it comes to communication or anything outside of those interests, he tends to have to work to focus or understand the nuances of things. At times, he¡¯ll lapse into weird and prosaic proclamations, many of them seeming rehearsed, but the rest of the time he is intensely direct.


    Aria, on the other hand, falls more into the category of a jade beauty, which begs the question of why she got put on the same punishment detail as Ko in the first place. She¡¯s savvy, clever, and clearly accustomed to dealing with people whose egos far outweigh their common sense, and it¡¯s been interesting watching her adjust out of that mindset with Raika and Li Shu. Neither one has much patience for flowery language, though for different reasons; Raika just doesn¡¯t particularly like it obfuscates things at times, while she¡¯s pretty sure that Li Shu just prefers practical statements, especially when it comes to learning things. Currently, the two of them are working on refining Li Shu¡¯s telekinesis, one of her strengths as a cultivator, even at the Core Formation realm. Her Sacrifice has been getting progressively larger, its shapes and concepts better defined, but her orthodox cultivation, something she basically tricked her way into maintaining, has fallen behind in some ways.


    Aria is rectifying this by teaching some techniques for visualization and Qi circulation, patterns to try and use that they might improve different aspects of Li Shu¡¯s cultivation at different times. The fact that Li Shu¡¯s cultivation somehow exists both inside her body and her Sacrifice at the same time complicates issues just the tiiiiiniest bit, but the exercise is good nonetheless, and getting aid from someone a full realm above her has already had impressive results.


    In this case, that primarily means that Li Shu is floating on a massive boulder about ten feet off the ground, her Sacrifice arranged as sharp lines and curving keratin to form an Array to boost the Qi moving through it. Each individual piece of her Sacrifice holds its own orbit of smaller stones, slowly raining down dust as they are shaped, one by one, and carved by her telekinesis.


    She¡¯s sweating enough to change the colors of her robes, and has a thin trickle of blood coming out of one nostril, but Aria seems pleased, and Raika can¡¯t detect any potentially lethal stresses in her friend¡¯s body, so things are going great!


    She morphs an avatar out of her Body, which currently is crouched next to the aforementioned lake they¡¯ve taken a stop at. She¡¯s got a long tube plugged into the lake itself, drinking in as much water as she can fit into her stomachs (which, even compared with her weird inner dimensions, are impressively larger on the inside, Qi saturation pushing its intended purpose to an illogical extreme). While she could just transform away any dehydrated parts, which technically means that she can just CHANGE herself into water, if it can be avoided, there¡¯s no need to waste resources on the transformation. Her strider-form, still shaped like a courtyard with spider-limbs and a massive panopticon-head at its peak, is casting a decent amount of shade over the clearing they¡¯ve found. Useful, too- this particular patch of the Overgrowth is glowing with heat, the sunlight above refracted over and over and imbuing solar energy and heat into the local plants. It makes for gorgeous flowers, glowing with variations of sunlight and auroras of plasma- and also for wicked sunburns, and outright third-degree harm if you touch them.


    She lands, cracking her neck at the feeling of the needles in her. She doesn¡¯t have to manifest as one of her limited avatars, but¡­ well, it doesn¡¯t really feel like training if it doesn¡¯t hurt at least a little.


    ¡­That¡¯s probably fine.


    Ko and Aria both stop what they¡¯re doing and turn to her, bowing.


    She rolls her eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t do that. No one told you to stop training just cause I¡¯m walking around on two legs instead of ten, assholes.¡±


    ¡°Yes, honored great one!¡±


    She sighs, rolling her eyes. ¡°Jin, you doing alright?¡±


    ¡°Yes, master!¡± he says, his breath coming in harsh as he sweats through his training robes. ¡°Senior Ko has been diligently training me within an inch of my life!¡±


    She smiles, tousling his hair. ¡°You¡¯re not even bleeding, quit your whining. You were working way harder back at the shooting range.¡±


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    ¡°Only because of your talent at shooting unarmed targets, master!¡±


    She playfully shoves his head, and he lets himself tumble into the lake, falling in the cool water with a splash.


    ¡°Ko, why hold back the way you are? It¡¯s obvious that you¡¯re not good at summoning weapons like you are, and I¡¯d rather not have to dig a summoned blade out of my student¡¯s limbs.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m too fast,¡± he replies with a shrug. ¡°If I did things the usual way, I¡¯d kill him.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like something you should work on, then. That teleport-movement you had is clearly designed to be used with your sword-summoning- wielding them separately could not more clearly be outside your skillset.¡±


    He nods. ¡°Yes, but if I go as fast as I can, he¡¯ll die.¡±


    ¡°But if you go faster, then you can stop the cuts on purpose rather than waste time with a technique you don¡¯t like and don¡¯t intend to use.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ guess. Are you sure that it¡¯s-¡±


    ¡°Nothing bad will happen to my student. This, I guarantee. Your best efforts couldn¡¯t change that, even if you try.¡±


    ¡°Hmm.¡±


    Jin comes out of the water, and the instant his neck clears the waves, there is a sword there, aiming for his jugular.


    And it stops exactly there, as a hand made of Blacksteel and indigo flesh takes hold of it. She moves so fast, so efficiently, that it doesn¡¯t so much as spark. Architecture in her arm, optimized to reduce the shock of the impact to as close to nothing as possible, rings as Radiant Metal absorbs the shock and transfers it deep into her body, where it dissipates across pylons of further shock-absorption into nothing.


    Ko nods. ¡°Alright then. I¡¯ll do my best.¡±


    ¡°Good. And Jin?¡±


    Jin lets out a long, exhausted sigh. ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Good work. Keep it up. Whenever you feel ready to take a break, I¡¯ve got some more materials for you to carve, if you want.¡±


    His head plops back against the water. ¡°You see how lucky you are, Senior Ko? You get to abuse your juniors with all the heights of your strength, meanwhile I get work even after I stop being beaten up by my senior. Truly, the heavens are cruel to the just.¡±


    ¡°The heavens ain¡¯t here, kid,¡± she says, nudging him with a foot (which, with her strength, tosses him a good few feet to the left and into a splash of water). ¡°I, on the other hand, while sincerely unfair and more than a little unjust, am not nearly as cruel as they are. For example, I am gifting you the beautiful opportunity to train and not die at the hands of a Nascent Soul cultivator. You¡¯re welcome, ya brat.¡±


    He spits out a spray of water at her. ¡°Thank you ever so kindly, oh generous master. I shall endeavor to impress you with my gumption and genius talent.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take hard work over either, and you¡¯ve got that in spades. Ko? Another two hours should do the trick, and then we¡¯ll take a break.¡±


    ¡°Yes, honored one.¡±


    ¡°And Aria?¡±


    Aria, who at that point had been very studiously avoiding looking at Ko or jumping into the conversation, turns to bow again at Raika, going lower this time.


    ¡°Yes, honored one?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know much about arrays, but I do know a lot about people, and a surprising amount about how a brain tastes when it¡¯s lying. If Li Shu is asking for something more difficult, you should add additional penalties, or just¡­ demand something more difficult. That¡¯s the point. You¡¯re not going to get on my good side by being a sycophant.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ am genuinely distressed to be following Ko in my statements, but I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s wise, honored one. Your students are advancing at a drastic pace- to push them further would only-¡±


    ¡°Li Shu isn¡¯t my student, she¡¯s my friend, and senior sister if we¡¯re really getting technical about it. And Li Shu!¡±


    The levitating figure opens an eye, the rivulet of blood leaving her nose crusted nearly dry at this point. ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°If you manage to find a way to make more than squiggles on those stones, I¡¯ll give you three whole brains to dissect tonight.¡±


    ¡°Oh! That¡¯s great, I really wanted to test-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me, it¡¯ll be a surprise.¡±


    Raika gives Aria a smug look, to which the prim and proper cultivator, much to her own frustration, can only sigh.


    ¡°I understand, honored one. I¡­ suppose I could add some resistance with my own techniques.¡±


    ¡°Great! If you figure out something new, I¡¯ll let you eat me a bit. That goes for both of you! I may not know your techniques, but I can taste when you¡¯re lying!¡±


    Leaving Aria appropriately flustered by the phrasing, and Ko already picking up the pace with constant teleportation (stopping the blade at just nicks and scratches rather than body-rending blows), Raika reabsorbs her body, bringing the particular brain she¡¯s using (and its acupuncture-enforced limitations), back into herself.


    And then¡­


    Well. Since she¡¯s talking to everyone anyways.


    A tendril extends out from one of her strider-legs, winding through about a mile of Overgrowth and radiation-rich flora to reach the only people in their group she¡¯s not entirely sure she could defeat.


    Aurick looks up as the tendril arrives, before giving a polite nod to Raika¡¯s avatar as she emerges. She comes through as her truer self, discarding the human illusion for the antlers and radiant biology she feels more comfortable in, a long, sinuous tail winding behind her and keeping her connected to the rest of her Body.


    She doesn¡¯t need it anymore, technically, but it¡¯s always better to hide a few cards close to the chest when it comes to keeping your enemies close. They know she can split off parts of herself- they don¡¯t need to know just how little difference that makes.


    ¡°Greetings,¡± Aurick says, lowering his head very slightly. It¡¯s a bit harder to read him than most people she¡¯s familiar with, if only for the lack of eyes and tantalizingly unique biology, but for the most part, his brain tastes at least similar enough to what she considers herself familiar with. He seems¡­ mildly pleased to see her, and a lot less impatient than she expected. For all his talk of loyalty to the Pack and their advance, he doesn¡¯t ever seem to be in much of a hurry.


    ¡°Greetings. We¡¯re going to be ready to move in about two hours. How much further do you think we¡¯ll need to go?¡±


    He shrugs, the movement doing interesting things with his physiology and the way that it connects to his lower half. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be more than a few days. Faster, if we can push. You seem in a remarkable hurry for one who is doing so much at once.¡±


    ¡°I like things to go fast if possible, it¡¯s why I fire myself like a gun sometimes. I just need to know- has the course changed at all?¡±


    He cocks his head to one side, and then tilts it back, as if sniffing something¡­ and then nods. ¡°It remains as it was. To the east, and a bit to the northern side, now. Before the Kingdom, but near the edge of the Overgrowth. Why?¡±


    ¡°No reason. If it¡¯s alright, please let the Pale Thresher know we¡¯ll be leaving soon. Would be such a shame to leave the thing behind, hmm?¡±


    Aurick laughs, shaking his head. ¡°Yes, indeed. A true shame, though one I may on occasion bear. I shall see you once more in two hours.¡±


    She nods, vanishing back into her Body.


    She¡¯s asked more than once, which has been¡­ interesting. It¡¯s weird to do, but it¡¯s even weirder to need to do. It started a few days ago at this point.


    If Aurick is leading her to his Apex, as he claims, then he¡¯s leading them almost directly to the place she feels tugging at her. For some reason, he¡¯s taking them directly to the place that a Heart of godflesh, weeks ago, begged her to visit.


    Interesting times ahead.

 Chapter 291 - A Proper Revolutionary

    Raika sighs, staring (somewhat disappointedly) down at the writhing figure on the floor of the courtyard.


    ¡°It didn¡¯t even break the skin, kid. You¡¯re not even bleeding.¡±


    ¡°I¡­. I think you broke a rib¡­¡± Wei Zin gasps, his mouth flapping open and shut like a fish.


    She pinches the bridge of her nose, groaning internally. ¡°I can tell if I¡¯ve broken someone¡¯s rib. I have not broken your rib. Your rib is, at worst, bruised. There¡¯s a nerve cluster there, which is why it hurts.¡±


    Wei Zin finally manages to properly inhale, dragging in air and coughing loudly as he does. He makes it back up to his knees, his face flushed- but he doesn¡¯t ask her why she just jabbed her hand into a nerve cluster, which is good. If he¡¯d asked, she wouldn¡¯t have said anything.


    ¡°Your pain tolerance is¡­ middling at best,¡± she says, since he didn¡¯t say anything. ¡°You¡¯re pretty good at pushing through said pain, but it does stop you for longer than it should. Frankly, it would be more surprising if it were the other way around- you¡¯re still recovering from a week on the run, dehydration and a touch of starvation past that, and on top of that, you¡¯re¡­ kind of soft. Don¡¯t get me wrong, it sits well on you, but it¡¯s obvious you didn¡¯t really do all that much, in terms of training.¡±


    ¡°I¡­ my old master said that my cultivation speed is impressive for one my age, and-¡±


    ¡°How old are you?¡±


    ¡°Twenty five, master, with about seven years in seclusion.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Ok, I¡¯m not sure how cultivation works out here, though I assume it¡¯s different. I used to be profoundly mediocre at cultivation, and I still made it to Core Formation realm at around that age. You¡¯re not going to impress me with your level. Again, I don¡¯t know how things work around here, but either way, your cultivation isn¡¯t what¡¯s in question, it¡¯s your training. You lack muscle definition, your Qi saturation levels are low, your reflexes are half-baked, and while I agree that your cultivation-base is solid, it doesn¡¯t really¡­ stand out? To me, at least.¡±


    She has to hold back a smile at the look of genuine anger peeking through Wei Zin¡¯s facade. He¡¯s an actor, that much she can tell- he¡¯s much better at schooling his facial expressions than he is controlling his muscles or pain reactions.


    ¡°I¡­ apologize, master. My standing in my Tribe was¡­ political in nature. I was to marry into an alliance, one pre-arranged by an honored ancestor and our matriarchs. While I have some limited combat training, it was never intended to be my role.¡±


    ¡°And I understand that,¡± Raika says, leaning back. ¡°I¡¯m not criticizing you to put you down, I¡¯m doing it to make you understand where you¡¯re lacking. You asked to be my student, and in my generosity, matched only by my genius and stupidity, I have elected to agree. But right now, as you are, I¡¯ve got a kid that¡¯s¡­ actually I don¡¯t know his age, somewhere between nine and twelve, who can take more punishment and learn faster than you can. Just because you weren¡¯t in a sect doesn¡¯t mean you never got sect mentalities.¡±


    This time the anger actually does bubble up, coming up clear alongside a growl in his voice. ¡°I do not have a ¡®sect mentality¡¯. I do not take. I don¡¯t start wars, I don¡¯t destroy and degrade and disrespect everything around me.¡±


    Raika laughs, a harsh little bark of sound. ¡°That¡¯s not a sect mentality, that¡¯s an asshole mentality, and there¡¯s plenty of folks everywhere who¡¯ll indulge in it, fancy titles or not. A sect mentality is thinking that, because you¡¯ve been shaped to your role and given power, you don¡¯t need to learn anything new. Because you¡¯ve followed instructions and done as you¡¯re told and gotten strong in the ways you are told to be strong, you¡¯re in the right. The Empire, for all that it¡¯s probably the worst group of powerful bastards in the world, at least has that right- you always need to be looking for better ways to do things, new ways to improve and explore. They¡¯re assholes about it, and they¡¯ve got plenty of sect mentality of their own, but if I¡¯m trying to be greater than any of them, I won¡¯t accept anything less from a student of mine. Understood?¡±


    Wei Zin doesn¡¯t say anything for a while. She can tell that her words bother him- there¡¯s adrenaline pumping through his system, anger and frustration and trauma all dancing across his synapses- but he is listening.


    She nods. ¡°Good. Now sit properly- you¡¯re going to show me how you cultivate.¡±


    He blinks, shocked out of some of his frustration by the apparent reversal. ¡°I¡­ didn¡¯t you just say that my cultivation doesn¡¯t matter?¡±


    ¡°Great, so after this we¡¯re going to work some more on your listening skills. Your training and mentality are lacking, but your cultivation seems mostly fine. It smells clean, though it¡¯s got some funky chunks in it I¡¯m trying to figure out. How would you normally cultivate?¡±


    He looks around the courtyard, as if scandalized. She picks up on his meaning before he comes to terms with it- even back in the Empire, one doesn¡¯t usually show off their cultivation techniques, much less explain them, out in the open air.


    Too bad for him, she doesn¡¯t care.


    Firstly, there¡¯s no one in earshot, and even if there were, she¡¯s put some measures up against that. She still doesn¡¯t know how to make any kind of silencing arrays, but tracking the presence of everyone in the entire city at once is¡­ now in her power. So there. No one is close enough to overhear unless they¡¯re using a special technique- and that¡¯s what the sound-muffling moss on the nearby pillars and the chirping of ¡°birds¡± are for.


    So she just waits, and stares at him, until he finally decides to nut up and just talk.


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    ¡°My¡­ my cultivation technique is called Woven Bloom In Still Waters. It¡¯s been passed down as one of the central techniques of the Shorrasa tribe for generations, and I¡¯m honored to carry its legacy. The main practice is to sit perfectly still atop a pool of water, until one can maintain the stillness of the pool using only one¡¯s Qi- then, you begin to weave grasses, similar to my outfit, into tools or clothing, imbuing the effects of what the grasses have grown from and without disturbing the pond.¡±


    Raika nods. ¡°Alright. Can you demonstrate it for me?¡±


    He looks around sheepishly, steepling his fingers and sort-of bowing. ¡°The method is very precise, master. I require the materials tied to the nature of my cultivation to progress it.¡±


    She nods again, rubbing at her jaw a bit.


    ¡°Alright then. Your technique is weak, so we¡¯ll be changing that.¡±


    He blinks.


    ¡°I-¡±


    She holds up a hand, forestalling another outburst. ¡°I did not say that it was bad, I said that it¡¯s weak, and it is. Any cultivation technique that needs to precisely set its environment to be cultivated is weak. Get trapped somewhere, or lose out in environmental factors, and the fight is done. You need to be able to turn Qi that isn¡¯t already perfectly suited to you towards your ends, so that it adds to your cultivation. If you want to find a quiet place, somewhere to weave and hold to the legacy you have, then you can do that, but you asked me to train you. I am not a very passive person.¡±


    She watches him clench his hands in his lap, his svelte form tight with tension¡­ and then watches him let go of it.


    Good. He can be decisive, then.


    ¡°I will not abandon the teachings of my ancestors, master,¡± he says. He meets her gaze, and his own is resolute. ¡°And if you will not teach me, then I will simply have to find my own way of doing so.¡±


    She smiles, a wide, toothy grin of sharp edges. ¡°Excellent! Good! That¡¯s exactly what I wanted to hear.¡±


    He blinks, a bit taken aback, but she¡¯s already gotten up from her seat, walking back into the courtyard proper to hoist him up to his feet.


    ¡°A cultivator should have conviction! If you abandoned everything and everyone just to become strong, I just wouldn¡¯t train you. I figured, what with your whole show of begging to be my student, that you had desire, but I¡¯d like more than that in someone I¡¯m training.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ you¡¯d already accepted me as-¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I go at my own pace. Anyways, abandoning your technique now would cripple you anyways, no reason to set you back to Qi-Gathering realm or to damage your meridians with something like that. Not unless we have to, anyways. What I¡¯m recommending is that we adapt a new cultivation manual based on your current one- an evolution, not a replacement. Now, I want to lay down some ground rules.¡±


    She jabs him in another nerve cluster, on the other side of his ribcage this time, and he goes down with a wheeze and a whimper, curling up around the site.


    ¡°Number one: always question me. If you get too annoying I¡¯ll just throw you somewhere, but I don¡¯t like sycophants and I won¡¯t always be right.


    ¡°Number two: since I am not a cultivator, I will not be teaching you cultivation. I can and will teach you to change your mentality, to improve and expand your perspective, and show you how I think with my own, but my method is, in many ways, alien to how most people experience the world and especially cultivation. I will give you objectives, I will tailor your training, but what you actually make is yours and only yours, and must be from you and of you.


    ¡°Number three: If I am wrong, tell me immediately. I will either prove you incorrect and thus have an opportunity to gloat, or I¡¯ll learn something new and be even more amazing than I currently am, which, as my student, only benefits you.¡±


    Wei Zin lets out a half-choked breath as he recovers from the hit, forcibly relaxing his muscles and getting up to his knees.


    ¡°Glad you agree. Two more rules to go-¡±


    He predicts what her pause entails way too late, and is once again on the floor, his spine arched as Raika¡¯s precisely tailored blow hits on white-hot agony near his lower back.


    ¡°Number four: if I give you an order, you follow it. I mean that- I need you to put your life in my hands, because that¡¯s what you asked me to take on. I don¡¯t like to ever give orders, so when I do, it means that something is seriously wrong and you need to listen.


    ¡°Number five: you are free to leave at any time, and so long as we do not part on actively-trying-to-kill-each-other type terms, I will not penalize, hurt, or attack you, and you will still be able to count on my help if it is within my power to provide.


    ¡°Do you understand these rules?¡±


    He manages to drag in a breath. Good. He¡¯s getting faster at recovering.


    ¡°I¡­ I understand, master.¡±


    She lets out some air through her nose, sighing. ¡°Ok. Good.¡±


    With a wave of her hand, something that looks like a tree branch and very much is not one appears as if out of thin air.


    Singheart is very nearly a part of her Body, now. Millions of veins and strands of tissue cover every square inch of the city, and she can see and experience all of it. Those few who take their sick and wounded to the roots to become one with the Overgrowth are gently reprimanded- those who would have been sacrificed are, instead, taken for healing inside of Raika¡¯s Body and then returned. Otherwise, life has gone on in the city- besides the marked difference in a major cultural milestone, she has worked very hard to make it clear that she does not now rule the city, even as some of the higher level beings in town seethe at the demonstration that she easily could.


    The branch, made of her own tissues and covered in optical camouflage, sets a series of points down over Wei Zin, like a cage, transporting water out of their depths and into a puddle around him. At the same time, strands below him hollow out a portion of space, turning a chunk of the courtyard into a shallow bowl. Next, she transforms some of the ¡°branches¡±- with some, she simply pulls longer grasses she¡¯s found out on the edge and transported here, while with others, she makes a passable imitation at plant-matter, one of the weaknesses of her current shapeshifting.


    ¡°Here. Like I said- show me how you cultivate. Once I have a better grasp on the stuff I¡¯m sensing in your meridians, we can go from there. But¡­ Wei Zin?¡±


    He looks a little disoriented at just how quickly she reshaped the courtyard for him, and a little wet from the puddle he¡¯s now sitting in- but he responds quickly, turning to face her with a questioning look.


    ¡°This will hurt. That is a rule of life, and that is a rule of me- pain is both an ally and an enemy, and while it can be ultimately harmful, it is something which can be useful, especially as a marker to push past your limits. If you want to evolve, to become more than who you are and what you would otherwise have been, there will be pain. Are you absolutely sure you want to put yourself in danger like this?¡±


    For a few beats, it is quiet in the courtyard.


    ¡°I¡¯m already in danger, master,¡± he says, his voice quiet and steady. ¡°I am in a world that has taken so much, and will only take more if I don¡¯t do something about it. I¡¯m certain.¡±


    She smiles. ¡°Good.¡±

 Chapter 292 - Bestial Cultivation, A Flavorful Affair

    She is in the city of Singheart, a thousand lesser nerve-clusters managing and watching over a city, tracking its nearby predators, feeling and tasting on the air the food that remains, the water that¡¯s needed and possessed, the people going hurt and hungry and healing. She is standing inside herself, in a courtyard, watching a young man (who, she notes, is like barely three years younger than her and just the hottest twink around) show her how he cultivates, that she might make him into something more. She is standing inside herself, offering of her flesh and attentions to her first and only priestess and letting her grow in her own way.


    She is walking across alien landscapes, through fungi and ravines and cliffsides and forest and jungle and underground, clad in chosen armaments and chosen chains, that she might be reborn with a greater understanding of all that she is. She is striding, ten legs a hundred feet tall, with a back that gives room for cultivators to battle and learn and teach upon her, safe from an ever-shifting wildness below. She is growing, beneath the earth and through the trees and vines, in a hundred different places, digging deep into the earth and warping the scale of the spaces she has carved, that she might fill them with more factories of herself, full of Blacksteel and Radiant Metals and Qi-generators and more.


    She is vast.


    Perhaps, perhaps, if she pulled all of herself out into the world, if she allowed the Will of Heaven to see all of her and impose physics and Dao upon her, she might be nearly the size of the fortress city where she was reborn. If she spread herself out, she would be many, many times the size of the Hungering Roots sect, vaster than the Purple Flame Burning Lotus sect with all their great and mighty plateau.


    She¡¯s not the strongest thing in the world. The vaster she grows, the harder she is to kill. At this point, all of her major mechanisms are off-site, so to speak- losing her ¡°main¡± body, the strider-form, would be expensive, not to mention painful, but it wouldn¡¯t matter. She¡¯s got brains running alternate sections of her Mind and learning to more-efficiently codify memories halfway across the world from where she is, and her inner world can be accessed from anywhere. It¡¯s not just her Truth- being herself, and being in possession of herself, is only part of it. The internal alterations that her Heart kick-started, the way her Qi-saturation has pushed her natural properties to supernatural levels- all of it contributes together to her ability to always be connected to every separate part of herself. It¡¯s a sort of feedback-loop; her Truths influence each other, with I Am Me, I Am Mine influencing We Are What We Eat, which in turn influences her Heart and her Body and her multiplicity- so on and so forth.


    She is vast.


    And as she senses where she is going, she feels her fear, the thought that it isn¡¯t enough, rearing its head again, stronger than ever.


    She¡¯s pretty sure that even some cultivators would have taken months to travel the distance she has in the last few weeks. Not for the matter of space, perhaps- a Core Formation cultivator with the proper skillset could likely still outpace her at this point, but it would take a much broader, much stronger skillset for someone to do so in this terrain. Frankly, she¡¯s not sure anyone below the Core Formation realm could even survive here, let alone do more than struggle.


    The further out she¡¯s gone from the third ring, the stranger things have become. The desert of death past the Wall was already a vast and strange place, and the towering, alien trees of the edge of the overgrowth only heralded what was to come¡­ but since Singheart, things have escalated.


    She clears the top of the canopy she¡¯s been climbing for the last few hours, catching a glimpse of the horizon for the first time since she began.


    Singheart was placed in a sort of sweet-spot, between the more chaotic growth beyond it and the vast, timeless trees that stood guard at its edges. Here, they bloom in full force together, whole forests formed vertically and towering into the heavens. A cloud brushes past, its edge made of fog and the cold touch of atmospheric water, and she looks up, beyond it, at the towering tree above her.


    She extracts a limb from the cluster of vines it¡¯s perched on, shaking it lightly to remove bits of dead skin where the toxins of the growth made it necrotize. Her other limbs are in similar straits- each tree is like a plateau that towers towards the heavens, thinner around than the first ring¡¯s structure but still miles high and miles more around, and this one, like many around it, has whole ecosystems blooming from it, rich with Qi. Each growing thing here has the strength and Qi of a mid-level cultivator- there are grasses that multiply when cut, blooming out of everything it touches, including her. There are flowers that invert space when touched, drawing things in like carnivorous hunters into an impossible maw. Each step is a puzzle, undertaken to the lilting tune of birdsong, insect-life and jingling bells from plants of crystal and metal, in the sauna of heat and humidity and life.


    It is one of a few thousand trees in her line of sight, each one taller than the last, richer in life and growth. Some of them are fungal in nature, mushroom-caps and spore-laden flesh climbing along tall branches into the atmosphere. Some are teeming with animalia, life-forms of impossible definition and strange form crawling, reproducing, eating and dying on trunks so vast they might as well be mountain ranges. Even those that might be called ¡°traditional¡±, clad only in the green of photosynthesis and the brown of bark, still echo with uniqueness, natural arrays, formations, and unique treasures growing from the impossible amount of Qi in the air.


    She¡¯s had to seal the platform on her back to avoid infection. Spores, razor-sharp leaves, flesh-devouring seeds- any one of them would be as lethal as the aura of the stone prairie. No- deadlier. There, at least, the dangers were single-faceted, a property of the place¡¯s aura affecting life around it. Here, it¡¯s far more diverse.


    She drinks in the air around her, heady with Qi and living things. She can taste it. Richer and more flavorful than any mortal humanoid, full of the barest touch of power. It feeds her hunger like nothing ever has.


    She re-checks the seal on her inner rooms, the tunnels and spaces in which she¡¯s storing her allies and loved ones.


    They had to cut a tumor out of Li Shu¡¯s hand a few days ago. Jin¡¯s cultivation started to suffer, and even now is recovering in a room implanted with Blacksteel tablets. The air itself here is rich enough in Qi and Dao to cause life to grow unchecked, lest its own strength can survive its environment.


    She is vast, and here, she is still so small.


    She leaps off the side of the trunk, snapping ten limbs wide open in the air and stretching taut membranes between them. She coasts on hot air and patterns of energy in the air, a creature a hundred feet wide looking like a snowflake falling between trees.


    The trees, in this case, more like pillars, capable of upholding the sky itself, forcing starlight to dance between their branches and sunlight to fall as if underwater, warping around their trunks.


    She is vast, and it might not be enough.


    She can taste where they¡¯re going.


    She lands, halfway to the next tree, dispersing the impact with internal lattices and biological pistons which absorb the shock. There, as if waiting for her, a humanoid beast of pure white stands, its hands long and slender and sharp, its eyes pitiless and black. Across the way from it, standing opposite her, the eyeless, pale-green centaur-form of Lord Aurick watches them, smiling at her arrival.


    ¡°And? Have you comprehended what you must?¡±


    She forms a fresh avatar out of her body, one of her learner-minds growing out of a bubble of biochemistry and muscle-tissue. ¡°Not particularly, but I¡¯ve comprehended more. I assumed, when you said it wouldn¡¯t take us long to arrive, that you were accounting for my¡­ allies.¡±


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Aurick smiles wider, his face transmitting a grandfatherly satisfaction through Intent. She¡¯s noticed that he talks using more Intent when they¡¯re around the Pale Thresher, as if the added honesty can better speak to it. Or, perhaps, as if it doesn¡¯t properly understand language without them.


    ¡°The world is vast, young beast. Even the strong bow to this truth.¡±


    ¡°So it is. You still haven¡¯t mentioned more about your¡­ Apex. I know that the desire for dramatic reveals isn¡¯t limited only to orthodox cultivators, but I¡¯m starting to think I¡¯d be better off without you holding that information from me.¡±


    He smiles, and shrugs. ¡°Many-Mouths will be familiar to you, I think. Knowing more about them wouldn¡¯t change that.¡±


    ¡°It might.¡±


    The thing shaped like a humanoid to her right flexes a clawed hand, losing its statuesque stillness for a moment.


    ¡°No need for that,¡± Aurick says, raising a placating hand. ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll need any violent Intent where we¡¯re going, and it would be best not to¡­ antagonize our friend any further. I understand being prepared, but you¡¯ve already committed yourself here. Best to move forward, and be prepared, but ready to fight only if necessary.¡±


    She grumbles, but starts walking again, her avatar sitting atop her strider-form as she continues forward. ¡°You keep saying those things like they¡¯re meant to be reassuring. They¡¯re really not. I understand your Apex are strong, but isn¡¯t your whole job to help us avoid miscommunications? Proper alliances and such?¡±


    ¡°And I believe I¡¯m best served in doing so by not giving you information you might use to prepare to assault my Apex. Otherwise, I would be more than happy to provide it.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± she asks, turning to look at him. ¡°So, if I could be allied with through fighting, you¡¯d allow it?¡±


    He chuckles, hoof-hands flexing and forcing Qi through them to shape the greenery around them into platforms. He seems to harmoniously fuse together their purposes, crafting plants evolved with impossible and unique adaptations into a pathway beneath him, making the wildness of the overgrowth into steady footing. ¡°I most certainly would. Meeting and being overcome by the strength of an Apex is the primary method of the Pack¡¯s growth. You, I think, require different handling- ergo, me.¡±


    ¡°And, just in case- the Thresher?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Of course. The only way to ensure useful compliance is through strength, and its two most persuasive forms are need and violence. You have certain needs, and I believe I can meet them, or lead you to the ones who can. If need is not enough, having violence on hand is certainly an advantage.¡±


    She cocks an eyebrow. ¡°So you think it can kill me, then?¡±


    The Thresher twitches, moving as if through a flip-book. It is there, and then not, moving so fast that it is simply where it next stops, and then moves again. It¡¯s even more distinct by the way that its body, when it flickers back into view, is always standing in exactly the same pose. But, at her words, the hand flexes again, pitch-black eyes turning slightly towards her.


    Aurick smiles, still just as grandfatherly and relaxed as before. ¡°I think it has a very good chance. And, with my assistance, I see that chance as quite a bit higher.¡±


    ¡°...not to side-track, but I am actually curious and I¡¯ve never had anyone to ask. How do spirit beasts measure strength?¡±


    He cocks his head, turning to face her even without eyes with which to do so. A habit, maybe? Something to put others at ease?


    ¡°Are you referring to ranks, like the ¡°realms¡± that so many human cultivators use?¡±


    She nods, then has to shape a plate of armor on the side of her head as a nearby branch writhes and deploys razor-edged blades made of some sort of sap against her. She clicks her teeth, and the branch is gone, bitten in half by a many-fanged maw and absorbed into her body for study. Little shit moved fast.


    ¡°Yeah, that. I¡¯ve heard the term ¡°Divine Beasts¡±, which is how I¡¯ve classified you and most beasts I¡¯ve met at your level, but now you¡¯ve also referred to these ¡°Apex¡±. I know that orthodox cultivators work by increasing Qi density until they form a Soul in their cores- how do you do it? Or is it too varied among beasts?¡±


    Aurick shakes his head. ¡°The pathways to power are near-infinite, as any cultivator knows. Some beasts do create Souls, as an orthodox cultivator does- they consume, and from their metaphysical stomachs, grow or compile something from the consumed. Most, however, do something simpler, at least to start- they simply add more to their meridians. Just as bestial cultivation adds power and evolution to ones body and organs, we also add power and evolution to one¡¯s spiritual organs. We add more pathways to meridians, more chambers to a Dantian, multiplying them.


    ¡°If an orthodox cultivator functions by condensing and purifying what they have, a Beast grows by adding more and more. As they balance these changes, or fail to, they become stronger- or die.¡±


    She frowns. ¡°So¡­ you add more spiritual veins? And more Dantians?¡±


    ¡°...to simplify, yes. Beasts rarely use words until what you call the ¡°Divine Beast¡± rank, and I don¡¯t know what scientists from your Empire might call the differences, but I, and some of my fellows, divide it into a few steps.¡±


    ¡°First, there are beasts. Your equivalent of mortals. Then, Spirit Beasts, those who have at least tripled their original meridians and dantians. This is often why so many cultivators at so many varying realms struggle with this rank, and the quality, of course, can vary wildly. A Divine Beast, or one approaching my own strength, anyways, is one that has tripled that number again, or has at least nine dantians. The process of creating said organs almost always has, by this point, also imbued concepts of Dao, Truths, and concepts together in the beast¡¯s existence.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s not as high as it goes, is it?¡±


    He smiles wide, full of long, flat teeth. ¡°No. So very few make it past this step, but the range is vast. Techniques, comprehension, and all the gifts of consciousness and learning can take us far, deep into new heights- but to be something like an Apex required more. A Titan, as we call things beyond Divine Beasts, has evolved beyond spiritual organs. A transcendence. Bodies and minds that no longer need Dantians and meridians, because in many ways, they are their power, their every fiber storage for their strength.


    ¡°A bit like someone you know, perhaps?¡±


    She frowns, then laughs. ¡°Really? Me?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Your process was unique, certainly, but you have more in common with our definition than not. You are not defined by consumption, but it is core to you. You do not grow purely by eating, but it is something you can do. If I had to put words to it, you tend to defy conventional classes of growth. There is something of you of cultivation, with how you circulate Qi inside yourself. There is something of Souls in you, lesser divinity trapped and growing within. There is quite a bit of consumption and mutation, and yes, there in the corners, I even see hints of the Craft in you, in the way that you shape yourself through ritual and through altering the rules you play with. It¡¯s¡­ fascinating.¡±


    ¡°But.¡±


    Again, the grin. ¡°But you are no Apex. Not yet.¡±


    ¡°An Apex is¡­ a title, then?¡±


    He nods. ¡°Indeed. Not even necessarily a Titan, perhaps- but someone strong enough that none can compare. That every other beast in its world must bow, or be consumed.¡±


    ¡°Even¡­¡±


    He follows her gaze, snorting as he does. ¡°Yes, even things like the Thresher. Strength often does that. Plenty more decided to die, throwing themselves upon their own madness in an attempt to fight. I¡­ believe that our friend, and others like it, realized that they could worship death more ably, and for longer, by following the Pack.¡±


    She looks at the thing ¡°running¡± beside them, and the way it¡¯s shaped. She can push her eyes, ¡°squint¡± in the way that Jin showed her, and see some of the Death it carries. It¡¯s not her comprehension of concepts, or her synesthesia, more like¡­ a new language, like Intent. Life and death, living and the shape that is made when something stops living.


    To every other sense except, perhaps, Qi, it is small. Humanoid, though tall and disturbing.


    When seeing that other-place, that place of echoes and stillness, it is¡­ vast.


    ¡­larger, at a glance, than she is.


    Not larger than her shape when she pulls herself together into a singular form.


    But, at a glance¡­ not far enough from it to be comfortable.


    And it bows to an Apex. Perhaps the same one she¡¯s about to meet.


    Because she can taste what¡¯s coming up.


    The pulse of direction is getting stronger. Her Heart is beating, thump-thump, thump-thump, except it is not something that pumps blood.


    A Heart, crippled and chained and shaped as a weapon, fed it a request. A plea. That plea beats now, stronger, louder, as she gets closer and closer to where it leads.


    It leads in the same direction they¡¯re heading. That they¡¯re so close to.


    It leads to a place that she can taste, getting closer, where the Qi is so dense she can feel it in the back of her teeth, hurting in her throat. It crawls with life, and tastes of strange angles and stranger intent, like an avalanche ever-shifting and made of gears which are made of things that are alive and forming.


    Many-Mouths. An Apex of the Pack.


    And she¡¯s almost arrived.

 Chapter 293 - Proper Introductions

    ¡°We should be arriving at the edge of its territory. Beyond here, it¡¯s important to present ourselves properly- we may not have the foolishness of sect politics, but there are still standards to asking a favor from an Apex.¡±


    She blinks. ¡°A favor?¡±


    He cocks his head, pausing on the root he¡¯s landed on (larger than he is by a factor of three). ¡°For entry into the Pack, of course. It¡¯s a privilege and a strength, and a valuable mutual alliance. Any Apex will be happy to have you, but that¡¯s no reason not to understand that you are the supplicant here, the recruit.¡±


    She cocks her head right back at him, her avatar¡¯s expression going a bit flat. ¡°Oh? I can appreciate that your efforts to recruit me are generous, but to ask a favor to be recruited? Well, that¡¯s certainly an interesting perspective on it.¡±


    Lord Aurick gains a concerned edge to his smile. ¡°Ah- I don¡¯t mean to imply that-¡±


    ¡°No no, that¡¯s so entirely fair,¡± she interrupts, still keeping her expression neutral, her smile casual. ¡°If I were an incredibly powerful leader of a massive group of super-beasts, I would certainly expect a would-be ally with no real history to come in and ask politely for me to consider an alliance with them. That¡¯s genuinely reasonable.¡±


    ¡°...I-¡±


    ¡°And I appreciate your role in this Lord Aurick. An introduction from you would surely carry quite a bit of weight. But you know, personally, I just think that certain things need to be shown rather than told, and I don¡¯t really know you or your master. You mentioned that plenty of beasts come in with outright aggression, so I suppose a little playful demonstration might show the both of us a lot about each other, no?¡±


    ¡°Raika, don¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m very curious to see what you intend to say, Lord Aurick. I know you¡¯re a well-trusted individual around here, and I respect that. I just think that I could learn a little more about your Apex if I introduced myself.¡±


    Her strider-form spasms, fast enough that it¡¯s practically a flicker of movement, and a sonic-boom echoes throughout the clearing as something is fired out towards their destination.


    The beauty of multiplicity- she smiles sweetly at Lord Aurick, watches the Thresher for a reaction, and also tunnels through the air at a velocity that cuts through the air like soft flesh, spinning from the rifling of the barrel she deployed from within her Body. She¡¯s got a solid arsenal pre-built and ready to be used, backup-bodies and weapons of all sorts prepared and much easier to deploy and modify, and one such cannon is particularly well-equipped to launch payloads. She doesn¡¯t need a brain, really- I Am Me, I Am Mine ensures that she can feel and experience through even the smallest pieces easily enough, and a brain in such a package would only demand a shitload of buffering.


    No need for all that, when she can just CHANGE as she needs to.


    A nervous system that is both inside her body and completely separate from her registers an impact, and she blooms into being at the landing site.


    Cultivators move fast. Qi-charged bullets move faster, especially when charged with the Dao of the Gun, imbued with the pattern of velocity and destructive arrival.


    Her ¡°core¡± Body is well-past the horizon, gone from view entirely even to her Qi-saturated sensory package, the two beasts left behind in turn- but there¡¯s a lot more to focus on right here and now.


    She didn¡¯t hit the ground- she hit a person.


    She finds herself blooming around the blade of a massive fan, placed atop a long staff of what looks like shaped pearl. Wielding it is a being only vaguely humanoid, nearly fifty feet tall and with its proportions skewed heavily towards length, with a neck almost as long as its limbs and limbs longer than full trees, pitch-black eyes meeting hers from a face as tall as a human body. Its skin is an aqua-azure, blending beautifully into the wilderness all around, somehow even denser here than the rest of the overgrowth. Greenery so solid it must be burrowed into rather than walked through undulates like the waves of a strange ocean as the giant beast flexes a muscle, letting the force travel along its limb until the pearl fan-spear launches her down towards the ground.


    She transmits a burst of Intent, a complex message filled with a roiling sort of interest and a challenge.


    Here For Your Master. Prove Ourselves Worthy Of Each Other.


    The beast sends out a response of derision, something like an eye-roll- but then it has no time to formulate anything but surprise as Raika launches a drop of blood towards it and forms another body from it, an undulating wave of tentacles and bone-spikes that wrap around the spear entirely. One reaching tendril grabs the bundle of eyes and meat of her last form and drink it back in, and then she¡¯s moving to attack, her Intent as playful as it is violent.


    She forms a series of limbs that click together into a shield to block a blast of energy, coming in from the side. Purple-black flames detonate, hints of Red and Black at its edges eating through her skin, burning down into muscle- and she swallows it down, wrapping up the burning flesh in a bubble.


    Always good to have a sample for study.


    The fan-spear moves, disobeying physics with its acceleration and igniting the air with friction as it slams towards the ground. A sea of writhing plant-life and strange creatures rises up- and she slams a dozen spear-points of her own down into it, anchoring herself as best she can. A lattice of Radiant Metal and bone architecture catch the spear and reduce its momentum enough that it only pulverises her upper layers, letting her absorb a lot of the rest- and then the flames return, coming in from a new direction.


    Good start.


    Time to do more.


    A sword of Blacksteel emerges from the chaotic mass she¡¯s wearing, swinging into the flames and cutting through them, the concept of End in the blade forcing the flame to die abruptly. A dozen other fireballs are already incoming, and she spawns a half-dozen swords to parry them as well- but then the fan-spear moves again, again accelerating from nothing to incredibly fast quickly enough that it squashes her, literally like a bug.


    Blood and bits of undifferentiated meat go flying, splattering a building¡¯s worth of guts across the terrain.


    The viscera ripples, and she emerges.


    Multiple opponents, a half-dozen distinct Qi signatures making up those arrayed against her. Intent is transmitted between them at the speed of thought, weaving conversations she can see but can¡¯t directly touch; allies, asking questions, directing each other.


    But not a hive-mind. Nothing that screams ¡°Many-Mouths¡±.


    Other Divine Beasts, then. Members of the Pack, blocking the incoming shot and now acting as a welcome party for their unruly new friend.


    They might not know that last part yet. That¡¯s alright- she can make friends after she¡¯s properly introduced herself.


    She fires a fusillade of shrapnel, Blacksteel and bone shards out of the pool of blood she¡¯s been reduced to, aiming them more as buckshot than anything targeted. Some of her opponents deflect, others dodge, others yet simply allow themselves to be hit- but none of that¡¯s as important as the projectiles that miss.


    Raika pulls on her Qi generators, dipping into her storage for the amount of energy she¡¯s going to need for this trick.


    Every projectile multiplies in size, flesh emerging from them to create just enough space to form eyes on and see through. In an instant three of her brains begin to hemorrhage, forced to input too much data even for her neurology- but she¡¯s got a few hundred to support her now, and the loss is barely felt.


    A fully-rendered image of the battlefield forms in her mind, formed by a thousand-thousand eyes, each born and dead in an instant.


    Besides the long-necked humanoid, there is something that looks like a serpent that ate a tree, branches of its body stretching from a scaled trunk and burning with torches of purple-black flame, tinged with Dao and the scent of toxins. Above, actively eliminating the shrapnel as it transforms, there is a being with six wings, seven arms and five eyes, each of them glowing a resplendent green-gold and crackling with power. Something that evades perception, dancing in and out of Intent and awareness, its flickering imprint something like a ball of mucous, blinking with mouths and chewing with eyes. Off to one side, two standing together, something feline lounging across a wave of light and a long-legged avian abomination of claws for feathers and feathers for eyes, waving like cilia in the breeze.


    She sees them, and in an instant, those facing her speak. Intent broadcasts the idea of them, a proclamation- a challenge, spoken between equals to acknowledge each other.


    Thief Of Many Wings


    Twisting Inversion Of Senses


    Sage Of Motion Born Again


    Flame-Scale Of Many Branches


    Not quite like seeing a Soul, its purpose and meaning announced by its mere presence against the world- this is a proclamation. Identity, spoken into form in the language which has no lies.


    There is a pause. It lasts approximately 1-16th of a second, barely perceptible- but there, waiting for a response.


    Hmm.


    Her senses are annihilated in a wave of air and radiation, her blood forcibly compressed to a single point, her manifestation beginning to burn.


    It¡¯s an interesting question- one she¡¯ll have to find time to answer later.


    Across the fourth ring, five different women that are all Raika shudder as the acupuncture needles in their bodies and brains shift, pushing away and letting their knowledge return to the prime. Not much of a harvest, not yet- but good to have every advantage when making a first impression.


    As her form is compressed to a hyper-dense point, she does what they don¡¯t expect- she self-immolates.


    Flames of Dao begin to battle with ignited Qi, two different manifestations of all-consuming energy, motion, and transformation through consumption annihilating everything in a sphere around her. True Flame isn¡¯t fire per se- it¡¯s Qi in an active plasma-state, Qi wielding concepts which fire often shares. As it is, all-transforming Qi strikes all-burning Flame and begins to dance, turning the area around her into a no-go zone. Sage Of Motion Born Again moves so fast that it simply reappears, shaking a hand with its strangely undulating movement-style to flick reality-altering plasma off its wrist, and the serpentine Divine Beast hisses in displeasure, its flames beginning to weave something-


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Raika doesn¡¯t give it the chance. She emerges from the conflagration, moving fast enough to break the sound barrier to wrap a clawed hand around its throat.


    Raika, in her ¡°true¡± form, breaks the beast¡¯s spine in one wrench. Six arms, glowing with Plasma and Flame and Lightning, wrapped in Blacksteel scales and reflecting the light off iridescent eyes, grab onto the branches coming from the central body, breaking them just as easily.


    She smiles.


    Nice To Meet You, she says, her Intent as perfectly honest as only it can be.


    The beast hisses, its body exploding. Raika has to drop it, flying away from the flames (already reforming and regenerating, as if the damage was never there) and only barely moves in time to block the fan-spear of the Sage, its blade-edge moving so fast that the Blacksteel that blocks it glows with heat, supercooling in the next instant- and then glowing on the other side as the spear is just there.


    It takes nearly all of her processing power to keep track and block, the impossible speed of the weapon and its wielder defying the need for acceleration and inertia- and an instant later the flame has returned, less than a second having passed from her tearing the snake apart to its reformation.


    She ensures that she has a brain tracking the winged Thief above, tracking what it¡¯s doing and preparing. It¡¯s building something, Qi and a concept she doesn¡¯t quite recognize melding together in a complex formation.


    On her upper arms and from creases and vents of flesh, Guns emerge, filling the air around her with missiles and bullets aimed with the Intent to kill. The onlookers are forced to dodge or block, the guns dangerous but not lethal, not without modifications- and it¡¯s all she can do to keep up here, the melee moving fast enough to cut into her again and again, even as she blocks and parries at lightning speed.


    Divine Beasts, as Aurick informed her, are a broad subject, not as neatly defined as the also broad idea of a cultivator¡¯s realms. They¡¯re not equal in strength or style.


    That being said, even one of them would push her. Even one of them would be enough to remind her of her fight against the Warrior realm Feng. Perfect for a friendly spar.


    A spear-Blade of obsidian flesh and a sword-Blade of iridescent Radiance emerge from her storage, thrusting and cutting, parried and parrying the Sage. She notices it frown as the pearl of its spear begins to chip, and with a breath-


    All the air in the space around her is gone. Sucked away into a vacuum with a single inhale.


    She tries to breath, redirects to her air-storage-


    The serpentine beast ignites a perfect sphere of air collapsing inward, trapping from every direction.


    The Sage strikes, the fan-spear moving so fast that, were it not for the vacuum, it would warp from the heat.


    Her chest unfolds, sternum and ribcage cracking and unfurling to reveal a mess of indigo and red- and a black hole, the rifling along its interior glowing with heat and power, cradled and aimed by a dozen titanic arms of Blacksteel and indigo-crimson biology.


    Supreme Body Art: Pressurized Indigo + Supreme Body Art: Transmutation + Dao Tree of Gun + Dao Tree of Flame + Lightning + Plasma, wrapped up in Radiant Metal, Blacksteel and the care of [Enacted Artistry Of Function].


    Raika frowns. It¡¯s¡­ not quite right. Not quite lined up properly. It could use some work still.


    Then, she ¡°shrugs¡± and grins. Doesn¡¯t have to be perfect- it¡¯s nice to have room for improvement.


    The world twitches, she finds her targets, she pulls the trigger-


    The implosion and attacks go away.


    Raika blinks, reforming her eyes from where they melted, from where her body warped and cracked from the recoil, from where she¡¯s landed from the gunshot.


    The world in front of her has gone away.


    In a straight line, the world has been carved away, a furrow carved into the overgrowth and glowing with the colors of Plasma and Dao. Iridescent fires and crackling lightning flicker between pieces of ruined terrain, the edges of the shot almost perfectly smooth, the plant-life glassed to nothing nearly to the horizon- where it hit something.


    She frowns.


    Hmm. I missed.


    The Sage is still there, intact and unharmed. She¡¯d been aiming for its arm, not a lethal shot- but something went wrong. A moment of memory- there were four combatants, one of them relating to¡­ inversion? Some kind of-


    She doesn¡¯t have time to finish the thought. She is, quite suddenly, dying.


    She can¡¯t really frame it any other way, she¡¯s just¡­ dying. She can feel her body breaking down, melting, collapsing, as if every part of it suddenly stopped holding its own structural integrity. She tries to regenerate- nothing. The flesh doesn¡¯t respond.


    Ok. That¡¯s bad.


    Brains flood in from other projects, neural tissue failing just as fast as the rest, and somehow failing to change, falling out of her control. What¡¯s-


    Fuck. What¡¯s-


    She reshapes her body, layering dead flesh over dead flesh, separating each strata with Radiant Metal of every kind she has available. It actually starts to dig into her reserves, but something¡¯s-


    Fuck, again. What¡¯s-


    There. The air is glowing, it tastes different. The plant life around her is dying too, turning to mush, simply falling apart.


    The Thief Of Many Wings is above, keeping well away- but with every wingbeat, the air around her is reshaped, keeping something trapped close to her. An aura a-


    A radiation. Like that of an aura, but it¡¯s unique, distinct. It¡¯s like the air itself is radiating something, and where it touches her the Blacksteel sings, resonates like a plucked string, transmitting whatever it is deeper. Wherever that note, that energy travels, her flesh just dies, unmade- veins burst open, muscles uncoil and melt, bones turning brittle and then into gritty dust.


    And it starts going deeper. Past this body, through a non-euclidean space that is her and is where all of her Body is, every disconnected-connected part-


    NO.


    There are options. Not many, but a few, and the longer she survives the damage, the sooner she can figure out a defense-


    Fuck, again, the brains nearby died. She has to think in other bodies, the distance from those minds to this body leaving a lag in her movements. She¡¯s barely alive here, rotting flesh dragging itself forward- but the aura follows her, radiating into her body, unmaking her.


    Hmm. Cut her losses?


    ¡­


    Nah.


    In for a silver, in for a gold.


    She can do more.


    She forces more and more flesh into being, pushing it out through their connection, using the liquified corpse-flesh as a buffer as it expands from the growth beneath it. She pours through herself, spiraling into the world, dying and producing more of herself fast enough that it¡¯s absolutely chugging through her Qi- but it does what she needs.


    Some pieces last longer. She preserves them, redirects brains to them, studies the chunks as they rot- and as she does, she wields her own dead mass like armor, building bones inside bones for shielding and spreading through the necrotic flesh. She feels the aura increase, but none of the other beasts are attacking- no eyes or senses on the outside, but she could tell that much. Whatever this is, they¡¯re avoiding it too, keeping their distance.


    She growls, the sound muffled as every mouth she makes for it is buried under liquified flesh.


    Fuck it. She came here to impress.


    Raika reaches deep, down into her inner world, to her Heart- and to the thing it¡¯s wrapped tight around, restraining it tightly.


    There is a moment of intrinsic agony, her inner world cracking and breaking at its emergence- but then it¡¯s out, and coming, and tearing her apart and remaking her and coming forth and-


    She reaches her mind to a little piece of metal, one held in reserve.


    Ready? She asks.


    Dink.


    ¡ª--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


    It¡¯s still alive somehow.


    Many-Branches hisses, her tongue a flickering chain of embers that ignites the air and interprets the ash. It would be one thing if the creature (who apparently doesn¡¯t even have a proper name) were transforming itself- if its¡­ somewhat commendable use of Flame weren¡¯t so rudimentary, it could do as Many-Branches does and transform from a purer state back into a healthy form. Clearly, it hasn¡¯t yet reached that illustrious level of control and majesty.


    But for a flesh-thing¡­ it should be dead. In theory. It clearly had some unique properties- whatever that weapon it had unveiled had been, it was frightfully powerful, emanating a threat even Many-Branches had to respond to, and it was able to transform incredibly freely. But flesh, against Thief Of Many Wings, is simply a poor match. Near-anything is, in truth- only a greater concept, like Flame, can measure against the concept it has comprehended and formed.


    But it still writhes.


    It would be better if it was burning. She can burn it properly, and then this whole mess will be over. Thief Of Many Wings hovers there, all arrogant, letting others fight for it while it prepares its deadly masterpieces. It would be perfectly reasonable, an entirely true form of strength, if only it wasn¡¯t so rude about it.


    She can burn them. It¡¯ll be easy- it¡¯s a writhing mess, crimson and off-white and runny indigo making the once-impressive humanoid into a shambling blob. One good flame, purify the batch-


    A fan-spear appears in front of her, as if by magic.


    She hisses, some of her branch-heads glowering at the Sage Of Motion Born Again as it blocks her. It shakes its head, the movement an undulating motion, but the meaning is clear- Restraint.


    She hisses again, harsher. She doesn¡¯t need to bother with Intent to transmit her displeasure, but still, the Sage holds her back. Advises caution.


    Why, she asks- and then is answered.


    Dink.


    A word, and a sound, and a single, ringing note, all in one. Thief¡¯s technique vanishes, its energies dissipating as if torn away- the note rings with a complexity it should not have, somehow reflecting and inverting the sound of the radiation that the winged beast wields. For a moment, the air echoes with silence, the technique shattered into Qi and comprehension that is even now diluting into the air around itself.


    In that silence, freed from the attack on itself, something emerges from the still-living mass of dead tissue.


    The flesh around it warps out of the way, like a trick of perspective mimicking the opening of a flower or the bursting of a volcano. The air hums in its presence, as if it wants to sing a tune half-remembered. The world seems to bend in towards it, as if it is so vast or so dense a thing that it would be easy to fall into it.


    It¡¯s shaped like a star, if a star was a solid form. Its facets seem to fall into themselves, mirrored into fractals that wind in spirals down deeper, deeper into each side of it, each of its points somehow never quite reaching their end, yet short and symmetrical across its facets, like¡­ like projecting a sphere onto a flat plane. Like a snowflake, born out into more dimensions, ever shifting along lines she can¡¯t quite see- and at its heart, visible from between gaps in the constellation-coated exterior, is something like sunlight.


    There is a pulse as it fully emerges, made entirely real in a way that she can¡¯t quite identify-


    No. That¡¯s not true. She can. It has a name.


    TRANSCENDENT ART: GLIMPSE OF THE EVER-CHANGE


    And then- everything freezes.


    The air. The space around her. Her body. Her heartbeat. Her flames. Qi itself.


    And the floating impossibility before her.


    The attention of something beyond all of them turns to this place, to this moment, and- very gently, very carefully, as if handling something that might bite at any moment- pushes the shape back down into the mass of flesh.


    ¡°Enough of that,¡± says a voice in the tongue of lords and truth. ¡°Not many make so much of a mess on my doorstep. I think perhaps its time I said hello.¡±

 Chapter 294 - Now Thats An Entrance!

    Well that was a bit of a cock-block.


    All that build-up, all that preparation, only to get stopped at the last moment. She did feel the panic, at least- whatever had stopped her news and greatest trick (the Apex, she assumes) certainly didn¡¯t seem like they were taking it lightly, so that¡¯s something.


    The moment that space unfreezes, she emerges, a fresh, humanoid body popping up out of the mass of absolutely devastated meat that her body has fallen into and become. ¡°Well hi to you too!¡± she says, with a bow that is at least partially sarcasm. ¡°I heard from a mutual friend that you were interested in new recruits, and that your recruitment policy can be rather violent around these parts. I hope my opening audition has properly impressed?¡±


    The presence, and the voice behind it, slowly pull away. The world trembles as it kicks back into action, pulsing with a strange below-the-surface twitch that she can¡¯t quite identify.


    But she feels something inside her respond to it.


    A confirmation. Maybe. Possibly it means something else.


    Or¡­ it is what it seems like, and her Heart just responded to whatever Many-Mouths just did.


    As the impossible pressure vanishes, and the world resumes its regular function, the other beasts all resume movement as well, each of them exhaling Intent and breath in equal form.


    What!?


    Raika turns, one eyebrow raised, and looks at the branching serpent that spoke.


    Its many branched heads and limbs are glowing with insane levels of pressure and heat, its own Dao of Flame and the unique attributes of its cultivation thundering through the space. It opens its ¡°primary¡± mouth, and within it, multi-hued and venomous flame swirls, its ashes and heat pulsing in time to a pulse and eventually forming what looks like a young woman, covered in scales, with branching antlers on her head.


    ¡°WHAT WAS THAT!¡± she yells. Her voice is thunderously loud, holding an accent that has a mix of sibilant hisses and guttural growls mixed into it. ¡°You just- you- I-¡±


    Raika leans back into herself, shrugging and lounging in equal measure. ¡°I was told that your Pack appreciates strength above all. I figured I could skip some of the bullshit if I proved that I have some. And now, here we are. So! Are you taking me to your boss yet, or do I have to beat you up again?¡±


    ¡°You did NOT- I was NOT LOSING! You CHEATED! You had an ARTIFACT and TRICKS and you were MEAN and-¡±


    ¡°I think that¡¯s enough of that,¡± says a voice from above.


    While she¡¯s currently digesting herself, CHANGING the flesh away (and having¡­ a surprising amount of difficulty with it, actually), Raika doesn¡¯t need to make a panopticon-head to sense what¡¯s around her. Faux-human bodies, like her true form, work just fine for supporting Qi-saturated, superpowered biology to hear, feel, see and smell just about everything in a radius (though admittedly a lesser radius than with a proper sensory suite). Entering that radius now is the beast that was¡­ titled(?) Thief Of Many Wings.


    It has no mouth that she can see. It¡¯s mostly wings and limbs, some of them very distinctly torn off of the flesh of another and kept, seemingly on purpose, dripping blood and only half-joined to its body. But still, it speaks.


    Truespeak radiates from it as vibrations through the air, pulses of energy forcing matter and wind into the shape of words.


    ¡°I do not believe there is a need for further hostilities.¡±


    ¡°Well, let¡¯s not rule anything out just yet, shall we?¡± she asks, smiling with her many fangs on display. ¡°That was pretty fun. I would have won if not for you, too- it¡¯s nice to have a challenge sometimes.¡±


    At this, a spear with a fan-blade at its edge clinks against a piece of glass that was once plant-life, before they¡­ well, glassed it. She turns to look at the Sage Of Motion Born Again, meeting its implacable and surprisingly calm gaze.


    Unlike the others, it still speaks through Intent, transmitting feelings much more clearly than she¡¯s felt from most other beasts. Victory Possible. Defeat Possible. You Have Many Flaws.


    ¡°And many strengths too, darling,¡± she says with a wink. ¡°Big weird guns and fancy materials ain¡¯t all I¡¯ve got going on.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well- you¡¯re not the ONLY one with more POWER!¡± hisses Flame-Scale Of Many Branches, its humanoid body looking weirdly out of place amongst the monsters. She¡¯s most similar to Raika in appearance, but smaller, human-scale and covered in serpentine features (and the antlers) but otherwise ¡°normal¡±, like someone you could see as a beastkin in one of the further cities of the second or third ring. ¡°If I went ALL OUT I could CRUSH you and-¡±


    ¡°So! Your boss. Do I get an invitation?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t IGNORE me!!!¡±


    Raika ignores her, looking out at the rest- and at the two members not yet introduced. ¡°And I suppose that you two could most assuredly slay me as well? Without a doubt and with utter ease?¡±


    The two beasts, huff, one of them poofing out their feathers wildly. This, in turn, makes their eyes look huge, considering that their feathers are where their eyes should be. It¡¯s avian, its regular feathers replaced with blades, and there are some insectile components to its construction- but it seems mostly unbothered by the whole affair. It opens its beak (and then the beak inside that, and inside that, and inside that) to let out a squawk, and then a surprising mimicry of a humanoid voice.


    ¡°Could. Won¡¯t. Expensive. Pricy-you. Bettertime prices other-things.¡±


    ¡°Mhm. And what do I call you two?¡±


    The avian ruffles its feathers, making a sound like swords clanging against each other.


    Manyblades Trade Of Value And Sight.


    The feline, on the other hand, says nothing. It simply rolls over on the patch of sunlight it¡¯s laying on, playing its legs in a stretch.


    I Am Me. What Else Could I Be?


    She snorts. ¡°Mhmm. I don¡¯t suppose you would know a Dancer Between Layers, would you?¡±


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The cat yawns, all six of its legs glowing with golden-yellow colors and reflecting the light as if through a prism around it. Dancer Between Layers Good Cat. Better Cat Me.


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose that the rest of you have anything that helps clarify that?¡±


    The Sage shrugs, the movement alien and requiring a weird sequential sort of pattern for it to happen.


    Cats.


    Unfortunately, it seems that just about everyone else around follows along and just¡­ shrugs. Or does the Intent-based equivalent of the same.


    ¡°Mhmm. So! I¡¯m Raiika. Seeing as we¡¯re all introduced to each other now-¡±


    Her head snaps to the side, sitting upright on a pile of her own half-liquified flesh to look back in the direction she came from.


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    A few seconds later the rumble can be better heard as someone stampedes forward.


    The world warps. It¡¯s a technique, that much is clear, but not one of a style she recognizes. Like the cultivators she captured, Ko and Aria, when they sort of wrapped their Domain around close to their bodies, this feels like a warping of reality, a way that space is affected by one¡¯s internal powers. She hasn¡¯t met a Beast with a Domain yet, but¡­ perhaps Lord Aurick is proving the exception.


    A hundred-hundred leagues of space are compressed and lengthened at once. The weight of a presence re-enters the world, one as high or higher than any of those she just fought, barring perhaps the Thief Of Many Wings, and space bends beneath the stride and gallop of a grand power.


    Not as fast as her- but fast.


    And, seemingly, not quite as neat.


    The world gets up and runs with him. Approaching from the horizon, the ground, the overgrowth, and even a series of animals are all emerging, fusing together into a pathway beneath his tread or running alongside him- and gradually coming apart, piece by piece, to fuse together into the path forward, each sacrifice beneath the hooves exponentially accelerating.


    Oh. Exponentially accelerating.


    Pillars of bone and Radiant Metal emerge from out of the slime of her Body, coming up from the deeper, undamaged parts of her and building a shield and anchor points in record time. She plunges stakes down into the overgrowth, down into plantlife denser than metal or stone, and-


    He stops, and he does so hard enough that the air breaks.


    A thunderclap, a concussive force so strong that it literally breaks things. Some of the plants catch fire from the sheer force they¡¯re made to move at, a crater of kinetic impact pulverizing and turning to dust everything within a kilometer of arrival.


    ¡°Ho, friends!¡± comes a clear voice into the deathly silence of his arrival. ¡°It would appear I am not too late to avert true catastrophe, yes?¡±


    Raika emerges, the other Divine Beasts de-manifesting their own defences or re-manifesting out of whatever they dodged from. They each, in their own pace, look around the space around them, which was once a mountain of life so overgrown and densely packed that it became literal terrain. It is now something more like a crater dug into a mountainside, the already glassed terrain turned into densely-packed earth by dint of being crushed to dust and then compressed even further. The edges of it glimmer with fires from the sheer kinetic force of the blast, and everyone who made it through the impact are now standing inside a literal crater, the bowl of it high enough to actually mess with the sun¡¯s shadows.


    ¡°I suppose, in one sense, that you may have,¡± says the many-winged thief, its voice imbued with that strange ur-realness of Truespeak even without vocal cords. ¡°In another, you remain capable of performing quite devastating feats yourself.¡±


    He snorts, shaking his head. ¡°None of that, now! I¡¯ve hardly exerted myself recently. I certainly took quite some time to get up to speed, no?¡±


    ¡°Suppose you did,¡± Raika admits, forming a new body out of the remains of the old one, half-pulped even with her anchors and shielding. ¡°I¡­ kind of thought you¡¯d be here faster. Or slower.¡±


    Aurick laughs, a surprisingly hearty sound. ¡°We all have our own paths to Transcendence, no? The further we walk them (or trot, as it were), the further apart from each other we travel. Some travel by becoming weaponry, some travel by striding forth alongside the world, and making of it a path. Still, we arrive, and often at differing speeds. If you ever feel the need to test yourself, I am certain I could catch up to even your flight, given a proper run-up.


    ¡°Now come along. Seeing as my Apex has yet to kill you, it would seem that you impressed them. Not sure what it is that you did, but I felt it from quite a while away. Come along, unless you¡¯d rather cause another bit of wanton destruction?¡±


    She smiles, and shrugs. ¡°Not at the moment. Was just fun to stretch my legs a bit.¡±


    He nods. ¡°Good. I¡¯m not sure that I could hold back our ¡®friend¡¯ if you decided to pick a fight now.¡±


    She cocks her head to the side, ready to ask-


    Oh.


    There¡¯s a hand near her head. Long and pale, its fingers twitching softly, their edges¡­ sharper than sharp.


    The Pale Thresher¡­ no.


    The Pale Thresher stands there, its alien stillness challenged by something like hunger.


    She didn¡¯t even sense it. Nothing at all. No hint of Intent, not even with the beast right here, almost like it¡¯s¡­ some sort of illusion. Like it¡¯s not even there, not really.


    She doesn¡¯t look deeper. She can¡¯t. She can see the hand twitching, and around its edges, there¡¯s the thing behind the Thresher, the thing of black and cold white and END.


    In an even fight¡­ there¡¯s things she could do. Tricks to pull, techniques that might make a difference. This thing isn¡¯t an Apex, and her new technique apparently required one to deal with it, so that¡¯s a positive sign. But here? Now?


    She knows, in the way that Intent communicates things, or Truth, that those claws will cut so much more than just the avatar she¡¯s wearing here.


    ¡°Good then! We¡¯re all caught up. I recommend keeping your little friends well-shielded, at least for now. Best not expose them to all the leftover half-life here - it¡¯s going to be difficult enough for you to heal from it as it is.¡±


    ¡°Half-life?¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine for now. You¡¯re strong enough. Come. We have an Apex to greet.¡±


    Aurick starts to walk in a vague direction, towards where she feels the pull still drawing her closer¡­ and the world obeys.


    Not like his other technique- that one somehow made demands of the world, a pulse of his being in a way that created something that was both Domain and technique. This is just¡­ walking. He¡¯s not the one changing the world.


    The Apex is. Many-Mouths.


    It¡¯s a Heart. Godflesh. It has to be. She can feel it pulsing, resonating with her own body, with the thing that is now both Soul and her Body and her very being. Nothing else that she¡¯s ever met has been able to so thoroughly transform the world without a hint of cultivation.


    Something speaks, in patterns and sequences and subtle changes that make a conventional array look like a joke¡­ and the world just obeys. Life blooms. The crater begins to fill out. The overgrowth returns, cracking through the glassed earth and dust, vines and trees and flowers and insects and animals all growing together into a pathway and reshaping the crater into a valley, a natural part of the landscape. Water flows in from¡­ seemingly nowhere, filling in the bottom of the bowl until there¡¯s a lake there, the angle of the crater making it spill down as waterfalls into other sections of the terrain kilometers away.


    Aurick walks the path, and, like a series of pilgrims or supplicants, the beasts begin to follow.


    Raika walks with them, deeper into the grasp of one of the great powers of the fourth ring.

 Chapter 295 - Nice Big Whale In A Sea Meets The Ocean And Its Children

    The world continues bending, ever-changing, ever-shifting. It reminds her of the technique that Aurick used, strangely bending things, but while his was a demand, an avalanche, a stampede reforming the world around itself, this is gentler. If not for prior experience, there¡¯s simply no way to know that the world can¡¯t just¡­ do this on its own. There is Qi in the air, and she can sense it affecting things, but it is so minute, so precise, that it just feels like part of the background.


    A pathway opens. The way ahead continues. Rather than going over or around, as they walk, the space just sort of opens, the overgrowth turning from an active impediment into something gentler, open and aware. The edge of the crater melts away, forming a tunnel, maybe twenty feet tall, and that tunnel¡­


    It glows with life.


    Like unearthing layers of strata beneath the earth, there are overlapping tiers of life, each one ever-so-slightly different. Near the top, there are denser flora, vines, leaves and more all enhanced with concepts and Dao that speak of density, thickness, solidity. Beneath that, they become more colorful, increasing from the spectrum of greenery above down into reds, blues, golds, purples- flowers of all kinds, dripping with Qi and power. They wind like veins through a tapestry, leading down into a second layer of hyper-dense greenery, little creatures skittering through the plants of impossible hardness, and then unwind again into more open layers. Again and again, it alternates- supernatural density turned to supernatural potence, each individual plant somehow everywhere and nowhere, each individual element of the tapestry rich with their own unique powers and concepts.


    It¡¯s as much a work of art as it is a show of power. The majesty of life, and an inspired use of Heaven¡¯s Will, all layered over each other, used so subtly but so completely that she can barely even track all that¡¯s happening around her, even with her senses.


    And, considering that it¡¯s only visible because of a tunnel formed through it, seemingly with no difficulty at all¡­


    She passed through weeks worth of the overgrowth. At least days worth of the hyper-dense variety, so overgrown it becomes terrain rather than environment. If, under all of it, there¡¯s this much power? Manipulated this easily?


    She laughs to herself, a quiet little huffing sound. She thought she was vast. She has a long way to go.


    She dedicates a few subminds to watching everything around her, tracking every detail she sees. She takes note of every possible detail, tracking it. If she could replicate it with veins and patterns, more properly meld her inner world with her Body¡­ or fuck it, learn to properly transition from flesh to flora¡­


    So much further yet to go, even now.


    ¡°Hmph! Admiring PROPER power, weird one?¡±


    She turns, cocking an eyebrow at the woman walking beside her.


    Some of the beasts stayed behind, but others came along- some to watch the perimeter, maybe, or too bored to give a shit about the rest of her introduction. A few, however, have come along. The Pale Thresher, Aurick (obviously), Thief Of Many Wings, and, most loudly, Flame-Scale Of Many Branches.


    Raika stares down at her, smiling a bit. For all her power, the Beast gives off the impression of a child, an unruly teenager at best. Even without her physical stature, looking down on her would be easy- Raika is currently sitting atop a wolf-like body of her own, riding sidesaddle on it and looking through two heads and moving with two sets of limbs, and her true form is a good seven feet tall besides.


    The serpentine beast, on the other hand, is about five feet tall on a good day. Even with the antlers, she¡¯s minute at best, petite.


    And seemingly very angry about it.


    The shadow of her original form winds behind her, like a many-headed hydra of ash and flame and smoke, hidden just out of sight- but besides the ever flickering Flame she carries, laden with poison and Dao, there¡¯s minimal hint of it. She looks like a particularly true-blooded beastkin, if anything, and only the weight of her presence and cultivation (frequently flaring up) truly indicate how powerful she is.


    And she is, quite visibly, pouting.


    ¡°I very much am,¡± Raika says with a smile. ¡°It¡¯s fucking gorgeous. I¡¯ve never seen anything quite like it.¡±


    The snake-woman flinches back as if struck, visibly confused. ¡°Ah- yeah! YEAH! You SHOULD bow before the MIGHT of the Apex! I-¡±


    ¡°Sakihebi, dear,¡± Aurick says from up ahead, ¡°if you would, please be a little quieter. It¡¯s rude to be so loud when the person you¡¯re talking to is close by.¡±


    She growls, the sound coming out more as a hiss. ¡°But the LUNGS are so SMALL! How will ANYONE hear me if I DON¡¯T-¡±


    ¡°Sakihebi, everyone here can hear heartbeats from across several fields. It¡¯s good practice to speak quieter.¡±


    She growl-hisses again, rolling her eyes, and at this point Raika can¡¯t hold back anymore.


    ¡°How come you¡¯re so adorable?¡±


    The hiss that follows the question is loud enough that she can hear the shape of it in the beast¡¯s lungs, the air almost pressurized as it¡¯s moved from massive lungs into a minute, human-sized throat.


    ¡°I am SAKIHEBI! Flame Scale Of Many Branches! I am serpentine FLAME and VENOM and TOXIN, I am HUNGER and WANT and EVER-GROWING! I am NOT ADORABLE!¡±


    Raika can¡¯t help it- she laughs.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I don¡¯t mean to insult! All of those things can be true at once!¡±


    ¡°I AM NOT ADORABLE!¡±


    Beneath the rage is an absolute kind of frustration- the sort that comes from a child who has dealt with this particular kind of teasing before, and is not happy to be having to deal with it again. The edges of her body begin to percolate, becoming hazy outlines of shadow and flickering fires- and Raika raises her hands in mock surrender.


    ¡°I did not mean to insult,¡± she whispers, letting her vocal cords echo with Truespeak.


    Wings turns to look at her, its many eyes wide, its body suddenly tense. A pulse of that strange energy moves through it once more-


    The tunnel ripples, and Aurick stops the procession for a moment.


    ¡°The time for fighting has passed,¡± he says, a clear warning in his voice. ¡°Further violence will not be dealt with by me, or by my associate- it will be dealt with by the Apex.¡±


    He stares up at the hovering figure. ¡°Your half-life did not earn you supremacy before. It will not do so now.¡±


    The walls ripple. Just once, all along a hundred-thousand different lifeforms that create the mosaic of the space.


    Thief Of Many Wings¡­ relaxes. Just a touch. Just enough for the Intent to leak through and then fade- subservience. Acquiescence. Calm.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Raika smiles up at the monster above, shrugging. ¡°Sorry to surprise, but you¡¯re not the only one who has some special tricks, hmm?¡±


    A hint of aggression. Frustration. And then¡­


    Oh? A hint of jealousy? Delicious.


    Very pointedly turning away from the floating figure and ¡°ignoring¡± them (the beauty of having ever so many cortexes- she¡¯s got a very close eye on the fucker and every twitch of its body and Qi), she looks back at Sakihebi, who is still pouting- but considerably less, after the whole ¡°Truespeak¡± revelation. Now, her gaze has shifted, becoming much more focused on Raika, somehow mixing aggression and interest.


    ¡°HOW can you do THAT?¡±


    Raika laughs, shrugging her shoulders. ¡°Truthfully, I do not know.¡±


    Sakihebi frowns, the features exaggerated and¡­ ¡°loud¡±, for want of a better term, like she¡¯s pantomiming human expression rather than doing something well-rehearsed. ¡°That canNOT be true. You CLEARLY just intended to USE it- so HOW?¡±


    ¡°I developed it¡­ honestly, fairly early in my advancement. Most of my growth has been focused on infusing Qi everywhere, similar to Qi-poisoning, and then forcefully moving it through my body, even tearing into it if need-be. Rather than meridians, or even a Dantian, I just sort of forced my body to accept it, which includes my organs. Infusing my throat¡­ eventually changed my vocal cords, and now, if I relax them properly, my voice comes out as this ¡®Truespeak¡¯.¡±


    Sakihebi tilts her head to the side, transmitting a sensation of admiration and confusion. ¡°Ah! YES! You poisoned yourself! This is GOOD! Poisoning the self is FROWNED upon, but it is TRUE and STRONG, like me! But¡­ how did you not DIE? Qi-poisoning is one of the STRONGEST kinds!¡±


    She shrugs again, using her lower ¡°wolf¡± body and her upper, humanoid shoulder at once to add emphasis. ¡°I had a friend that kept things circulating, and I got lucky. If I had to list all the times I¡¯ve done things that should have killed me, we¡¯d be entertained for the rest of the journey at least. This particular case¡­ I had help from a friend, and was very determined.¡±


    ¡°Never knock determination!¡± Aurick says from the front of the group, chuckling to himself. ¡°All cultivation is ultimately willpower expressed through Qi. There is¡­ a chance, at least, that your will was strong enough to use what little you had, even without spiritual organs, to keep yourself alive. I would be truly impressed were that the case! It would take someone truly mad to put themselves through such a hell, when any minute shift might mean a completely different result, most of them death. You are either lucky or blessed by the heavens, Raika- and I know what I¡¯ll place my bets on.¡±


    She cocks an eyebrow. ¡°Oh yeah? What¡¯s that? Cause frankly, if it was luck, I must have burned it all then- everything since has been an uphill battle. Well, except for¡­ a few choice encounters.¡±


    His shoulders roll with laughter, the litheness of his strange torso and humanoid upper-half rocking up and down. ¡°My dear, no one is that lucky, not even once. Not in all the infinite universes! You survived by the will of the gods, or perhaps the Heavens themselves- and in turn, they have led you here, to us. To the Pack. To the Apex.¡±


    As he speaks, every beast (save for the Pale Thresher) makes a sort of strange bow, raising hand or limb upwards to form something like a crown and lowering their heads.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize you worshipped the Apex that way.¡±


    Aurick shrugs. ¡°Not everyone does, nor should they worship every Apex. Apex is a title, earned through strength and survival and consumption, things any and every beast understands, but that is not all that defines a creature. Za Warudo, Apex of the northern seas, is a world unto himself, an infinite mountain carried on his back, its every moment accelerated to a thousand times the rest of the world; the Corpse Martyr cannot die, and takes death unto itself, that all should live eternal by its grace- these, perhaps, I could see one praying to. But Many-Mouths deserves prayer. They are of the Heavens, and deserve to be venerated as such. Glory Be.¡±


    ¡°Glory Be.¡±


    ¡°Glory BE!¡±


    And, deep inside her, deeper than her flesh, down in her inner world and Soul¡­ her Heart beats. Just once.


    Glory Be.


    Her Heart said that to her before. Just twice, to be exact-  both times, relating to when she asked it for help creating her weapon. Her greatest synergy yet- her TRANSCENDENT ART.


    The tunnel pulses, just once- and something shifts at the end of it. The roots and veins and limbs and fruits of the tunnel shift, the mosaic coming closer, becoming less tunnel and more living pathway-


    And the words.


    GLORY BE.


    The same words that her Heart spoke, when it looked on the anvil in her inner world with pride. When she had let it free to pursue what it had called ¡°deeper purpose¡±, and which now rests deep inside her, an anchor for something she created and barely even comprehends.


    ¡°That phrase. What does it mean?¡±


    ¡°HA! Silly newbie doesn¡¯t even KNOW how to PRAY!¡± Sakihebi says, turning her nose up in a child¡¯s impression of haughtiness. Despite herself, Raika almost giggles again- but she doesn¡¯t want to hurt the little (colossal) beast again, and the words come through heavy.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ a prayer? From something from the Heavens? That¡¯s¡­ I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯ve never heard of anything like that.¡±


    Aurick looks at her, eyeless face showing confusion- but before he can speak, something else interrupts.


    ¡°I find that very strange, considering how you carry a seed of Godflesh within you.¡±


    Raika turns, and-


    They¡¯re not where they were.


    The tunnel is behind them now, but she¡­ it didn¡¯t move. She would have sensed it moving, felt a spatial shift or something.


    No, what¡¯s more is that, as she checks on the parts of herself left planted, hidden generators and backups spread through the fourth ring and spreading further, she notices it. It, in this case, being that she somehow traveled a journey that would take days, or multiple flights as a bullet from a Gun, without ever noticing that any distance had passed at all.


    The tunnel ended, and somehow, she and the rest of the group have been brought forward and placed on something that looks distressingly like an altar. The tunnel folds back into itself, strata of life bending in a way that hurts the brain to look at, until they sit, surrounded on all sides by mountains, running with veins of lava-


    Oh.


    That¡¯s not lava.


    That¡¯s Qi. Raw, undigested Qi, drenched in the concepts of Flame and¡­ more. So much more, concepts she¡¯s never even seen, Dao that she feels at a loss to comprehend, even with her senses. The taste of depth, of shifting stones the size of worlds, of ever-flowing life and ever-changing surfaces and time and weight, and-


    And it¡¯s nothing compared to what¡¯s above.


    Ringed by the dozen mountains that stretch impossible far up and are somehow close and far at the same time, there is an orb.


    Like a pearl, it has layers, as if glistening oil anointed it and then settled into artistic patterns on its surface, leaving iridescent ripples and waves in its design. It is white, but only in the sense that it somehow holds both all colors and none. It glows, but in a way that sheds no brilliance and demands no attention. It is present and it is not; more than a mirage, like a layering of reality on reality, both true and not at once.


    It does not beat, but Raika¡¯s Heart knows it nonetheless.


    Family.


    From out of the pale marble ground that they stand on, run through with veins of every conceivable form of crystal, bodies begin to form. Each one grows and becomes¡­ a person. A full, entire person. Human, goblin, giant, beast, beastblood, species and races she has no name for and variations in between, until the group is surrounded by nearly a hundred faces, each one baring signs of age, personality, piercings, tattoos, micro-expressions¡­ and she can taste them. The synapses firing, the breaths stirring, the hearts beginning to beat.


    To all appearances, whatever this Apex is, it just created a hundred new and unique life forms, full people, flavored by the hunger-stirring touch of sapience, out of nothing.


    Not a ripple of Qi. Not even the slightest taste of a Truth or of Dao. It just¡­ did.


    ¡°Hello, little one,¡± says Many Mouths, speaking through a hundred newborn voices. ¡°Welcome home. We have much to discuss.¡±

 Chapter 296 - Revelations

    ¡°What are you?¡±


    A hundred mouths smile and a hundred voices chuckle. ¡°I will be happy to tell you. But I do not appreciate secondhand witnesses.¡±


    For the first time that she can remember, Raika feels her Heart do something that comes from beyond herself. Their conjoined will is, for a moment, subverted, made dissonant- what she wants and what it wants are, briefly, at odds.


    So it is that she fails to stop it from acting. She feels it reach out from her inner world, some unspoken, unfelt communication between it and the being before her guiding it- and in an instant her body unravels, opening wide and expanding out into a platform. Both her four-legged form and her avatar both meld together, the illusion of separation undone, made into a pale white mass that mimics the texture of the orb above- and five people emerge from it, all of them immediately suffering from the effects of the presence here.


    Raika isn¡¯t so rude as to keep her passengers in the dark- a slightly delayed view of what she¡¯s been seeing has been recorded, her brains and her Pillar translating everything one-to-one onto a screen of chromatophores in her interior rooms. While she tends to keep Ko and Aria in the dark, anyone who wants to watch, who wants to see the outside world on a one-to-one, can.


    It¡¯s not quite the same as feeling it.


    Li Shu, Jin, and Many-Grasping all fall to the ground immediately, their bodies collapsing under the weight of the Qi all around them. The orb that floats in the sky, in spite of its unbelievable presence, emanates almost nothing at all, but they¡¯re surrounded on all sides by Divine Beasts, each of them capable of fighting, on at least semi-even footing, Warrior realm cultivators.


    Ko and Aria both hold up better- but that¡¯s only to say that they don¡¯t collapse immediately. Both of them gasp, a choked sound, more than what the others managed, and both fall to their knees rather than their faces, but that¡¯s as far as their strength takes them.


    With a sound like a rasp, made from improvised and malformed mouths, Raika screams. She rips herself forward, tendons and ligaments and muscles forming as fast as she can make them, a hundred brains all operating as fast as they can to try and form some sort of defense. Pillars of bone are launched and fall, surrounding her allies like a cage, locking into place against the crystalline marble, and she weaves Qi through them, veins of it acting as pattern and circuitry to form the most rudimentary and immediate arrays she can think of.


    It all takes less than a second. Half as long, if that, from the moment that she was betrayed to the moment she set up the defenses.


    She still lets out a gasp of relief as she registers their heartbeats, tracks the breathing of her weakest members.


    ¡°It¡¯s not very healthy to bring ones so fragile to such dangerous places,¡± say the voices of Many-Mouths. ¡°I apologize. Your Heart did not inform me of their status when I asked for their presence. That was rude of it, and by extension, of me.¡±


    ¡°You could have killed them,¡± she snarls. It¡¯s taking her a second to reconstitute, longer than it should. The Heart isn¡¯t assisting, and she doesn¡¯t have the mental capacity to try and find out the strange mix of emotions coming from it, and she¡¯s just a bit off balance. Her avatar form, still bedecked in sunset neural tissues and horns, nonetheless looks malformed, the proportions off. What¡¯s needed to speak and represent herself, not much more.


    ¡°They will not die under my care. That much is simple to guarantee. If my other visitors could, perhaps, calm their presence¡­¡±


    Aurick rarely emits any true pressure from his Qi, and the Thresher isn¡¯t one for announcing its presence, but one look from him has Sakihebi blushing and focusing, very hard, on pulling her Qi back inwards, condensing her presence down. It never makes it down lower than a Nascent Soul cultivator, but frankly, Raika wouldn¡¯t have the spirit to criticize it, even if she were in a better mindset- the seemingly young beast has her eyes closed, her mouth puckered like she¡¯s trying to hold their breath.


    The Thief, on the other hand-


    ¡°Thief. If you would.¡±


    It looks down at the four humans that have emerged from Raika, still recovering from the strain of their arrival under the dome she¡¯s created. There is something in its eyes there, something that does not look at Aurick or the Apex or-


    ¡°If you do not stop hurting my friends I will cut you open and eat you from the inside out,¡± she whispers.


    The way that it thrums across her vocal cords is almost painful with its weight. Truer than true- made true by her word, and by the power it holds.


    Its gaze turns from them to her¡­ and it blinks first.


    Its presence reduces, the radioactive power of what Aurick called its ¡°half-life¡± concept turning quieter. Not silent- never silent, but quieter, quiet enough that she can feel it only distantly on the array she has draped over her loved ones.


    For a few seconds, there is silence.


    A hundred bodies, a hundred lives, all bow, touching their foreheads to the marble below.


    ¡°I apologize. Your Heart is young, and perhaps overeager to please. As compensation for the pain I have caused, you may take these lives, enriched with existence, or demand of me a favor for my rudeness.¡±


    She frowns, half-completing her form. Li Shu and Many-Grasping are both more-or-less recovered, their breathing less pained as they slowly make it back to their feet- but Jin is still down. She is represented in her avatar and in a more human form, emerging from the array and dome surrounding them, holding him up onto her lap and tracking every beat of his heart- but still, she growls.


    Li Shu steps forward, still breathing heavily, still shaky- but her Sacrifice is in motion, needles emerging from where she hid them in her robes to poke ever-so-gently beneath his skin, absorbing information and infusing medicine and healing-concept into him. There¡¯s a few breathless moments where Raika is nothing but Blade and Flame, the edges of both emerging from the still semi-molten form that she fell into¡­ and then Li Shu lets out a breath, and Jin coughs.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°It¡¯s ok,¡± she whispers. ¡°It¡¯s ok. He¡¯s alright. That much Qi at once, it strained him, he¡¯ll need to recover, but he¡¯s not damaged. You were fast enough.¡±


    Still, for a moment, all of Raika beyond the cage is many-eyed and full of sharpened killing points, her Intent radiating a kind of mindlessness that leaves the Pale Thresher twitching, off to one side.


    Many-Grasping is there, by the side of her main body- and Li Shu is there with her more human one, poorly formed but still her, still afraid, still holding onto the boy. She reaches out a hand, touching Raika¡¯s arm gently.


    ¡°Raika. You were fast enough. He¡¯s ok.¡±


    Slowly, gradually, she reforms.


    The body holding Jin stabilizes, completing itself rather than remaining malformed.


    ¡°Ok. Ok. Thank you. Li Shu, just- just watch him. Please, just-¡±


    She nods. ¡°I will. Not exactly much use here. I¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright. We¡¯ll deal with that later. Just be careful, please.¡±


    Her avatar, on the outside, grows.


    A sequence of Blades, edged with Blacksteel End and glowing with power, ringing her lower body like a cloak. Six arms, armored in fractal-edged scales of black and orange, edged with indigo and crimson, leading to a central body that emits hints of Plasma, hidden in Flame and Lightning. She stares up at the orb above and the infinitely deadly creatures around her from out of a crown of eyes around her antlers, each of them iridescent and pupiled with eight-pointed stars.


    ¡°Do not,¡± she whispers, ¡°Ever. Do that again.¡±


    ¡°Is that the favor you¡¯d like to ask of me?¡±


    ¡°It is a commandment. One you should heed.¡±


    A hundred lives all let out a breath, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. ¡°You are strong. Of that, there is no doubt.


    ¡°You are not strong enough to command ME.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she agrees. ¡°I don¡¯t even understand you. But I do not need to understand you to detonate loudly enough to turn this valley to a plateau.¡±


    A sense of bemusement. Aurick goes to step forward, perhaps looking to appease-


    ¡°No. No need for that. Again- I apologize. At the heights, even the slightest mistake has consequences. I am an expert on caring for the smallest things, yet I neglected to predict what would occur here. That was a mistake indeed, one for which your protected have suffered.¡±


    She remains very quiet. The space around them, impossibly vast and yet intimate, echoes strangely indeed, the remnants of voice carrying out in strange vibrations across this quasi-world.


    Slowly, she lets Flame die down. Slowly, still towering, still vast¡­ she relaxes, just a little. Just enough to not be actively ready to kill and die here.


    A slight hint of Intent. Approval, of an almost parental sort.


    ¡°Your arrival cemented Aurick¡¯s good sense- you are powerful enough to join the Pack, strong enough to influence the war to come. Your calm, here, cements your own good sense. Strength isn¡¯t everything, and it is always good to see another who understands how to survive in a world defined by it.¡±


    She tilts her head. ¡°Strength isn¡¯t everything. Not what I expected to hear from someone leading the Pack, as you say.¡±


    A sense of amusement, echoing strangely off the marble.


    ¡°Beasts are defined by strength. Strength in many forms- versatility, survival, power, but strength nonetheless. I am mother and father to Beasts, but I am not one.¡±


    ¡°...then what are you?¡±


    A hundred lives tilt their heads.


    ¡°I am the last will and testament of a God. I am a figment of a dream within a dream. I am a beating, pulsing, roiling organ of reality, an anchor for what is real against what is not, and a shaper of all in between.¡±


    ¡°Frustratingly vague.¡±


    Much more amusement this time- Sakihebi makes a bit of a choking sound, a giggle suppressed by how much effort it¡¯s apparently taking her to hold her Qi quiet, and Aurick joins in, giving up a snort of his own.


    ¡°Things are only vague when you do not have perspective. Focus your eyes the right way, look at the right point, and even the vastness becomes visible. I don¡¯t like metaphor- I speak as I am, of what I am. But¡­ to practical terms, perhaps.


    ¡°I was born when the sun died. I have seen the new sun be born, and the stars turn to blinking witnesses, and in all that time, I have lived and grown, here. Hidden, at first, and then, vast enough that I stopped needing to hide. I was old when the thing that some call Emperor, and which calls itself ¡°All-To-Be¡±, first began collecting others like me. I was older still when it finally gained a talent for it. I am older yet now, as it stands on a pillar of their chained minds, wrapped in a bubble of itself made from the bodies of my family.


    ¡°I am what the Mycolia call Godflesh. I am what the Beasts call home. I am what my children call Divine. I am what my hunters call the very Core of a dungeon-beneath-the-world, the beating organ at the heart of a labyrinth from which all is born.


    ¡°My youngest sibling, the youngest I have seen in an epoch, beats within your Soul, in the depths of your self. We both know the face of Heaven, and through us, its will is born.¡±


    Its words echo, laden with the weight of truth and purpose, and echo forever in the strange dimensions of this place.


    For the first time in a good while, Raika feels¡­ frustratingly small.


    ¡°When I came into the fourth ring¡­ I went through a place. A city made into a fortress, or maybe the inverse. It had channels, way down deep, where it would create weapons constantly, spewing them out against the world outside. When I escaped, I¡­ encountered some part of it, hidden deep down. It was broken, twisted, but¡­ alive. It asked me to come here. To come to you, I think.¡±


    A sad little laugh, little more than an exhale, a hundred breaths huffing from a few hundred lungs.


    ¡°Perhaps. I did not know that any who still remembered me yet lived. Perhaps it only pointed you towards what it had felt. I¡­ tried to reach out. Many times. I do not know if it would please or hurt me to know that some heard my call.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­ that¡¯s what you are. One of those sentient places. Like the Palaces, and the Heart that I found beneath-¡±


    ¡°Yes. What you know as the Emperor has been¡­ harvesting us for a long time. Digging us out from where we burrow and build, taking us out of the earth and out of the world so as to better serve his purposes.¡±


    ¡°You mentioned that. That you¡¯re some kind of anchor, or a creator of some kind. What does that mean?¡±


    ¡°I, and those like me, exist naturally. We are born when a world is born, and formed where it needs us most, as a natural reaction to existence. While we are beyond simple spirits of Qi and intent, we are¡­ similar, perhaps. Born of complex circumstances. We possess instinctive knowledge of Dao, the way that the patterns of a given world interact with each other, and ensure that those patterns remain ever-flowing, the amount of Qi in the world ever-increasing, such that it does not degrade into entropy or fall to chaos. The larger a world, the greater we become- my elders once whispered to me of cores old and powerful enough to become continents, shaping what is and what was to come across eons.


    ¡°Now, we are few and far between. The few left wild are those that have hidden, or have kept themselves small, and there are not enough of us left to sustain the world as it is.¡±


    ¡°...what do you mean by that?¡±


    A sense of surprise. Two-hundred eyes blink, as if confused.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious, dear? Your Heart should tell you the same. The world is dying. We stand at the precipice of a final collapse, and soon, there will be nothing anyone can do to stop it.¡±

 Chapter 297 - The Shape Of The Wheel

    Deep breath.


    In. Out.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Why would the Emperor want that? It lives here with the rest of us. The Empire has¡­ I don¡¯t know how many exactly, but billions of people, agriculture, inventions- why waste all of that?¡±


    Amusement, again. From the Beasts- disdain, pity. From all around her, sympathy at the fear she can¡¯t quite keep quiet.


    ¡°Why wage a forever-war? Why divide the world along imagined lines? Why continue expanding and attacking beyond its walls? The Empire wants more. Always more.¡±


    ¡°And¡­ you¡¯re saying that letting the world die for the sake of a few pretty palaces somehow gives it that?¡±


    ¡°Or at least it believes so. I cannot attest to its mental state, or its intentions - my knowledge extends only to what I can feel, and I have felt the world degrade bit by bit. The Daemons breach into reality more and more often, eating away at the edges. I was alive at a time when you could travel in a straight line across the world and return to the point where you started. Now, wander too far past the edge, and if you can survive the collapse of the laws of existence, you end up¡­ elsewhere. The stars used to be suns.¡±


    There is a pause, like an intake of breath. A moment of grief, transmitted so strongly that it makes Raika flinch, rocking a step back as it echoes.


    ¡°Think on this, oh Beasts. The stars used to be suns, greater than the malformed fire that orbits now, so far away that light and heat enough to warm an entire world seemed barely a flicker to mortal eyes. One could travel for a million eons and never reach them, so far away were they. Now, the sky is a cage, a flimsy blanket of night, poked full of holes for infinite voyeurs to watch a prolonged death. There used to be stars- now, there are eyes, waiting and watching as we wither, eager to pluck choice morsels from the world when it breaks at last. Always there has been change, for such is life, but now there is Empire, ever-hungry, ever-feeding, and my brethren are taken from their cradles, farmed, broken and shaped until they are tools of the cage it has crafted for us all.¡±


    She can¡¯t breathe.


    In. Out-


    In again. In. A slow inhale, like she can¡¯t quite stop herself from doing it. Her Mind stutters over the implication.


    Tracking from her time in Cragend, the closest she¡¯s been to the center of the Empire, she¡¯s traveled for months. Differing speeds throughout, but moving at maximum velocity, fired continuously as a bullet from a Gun, it would still take a week or more just to traverse the space she¡¯s walked.


    The entire Empire? Weeks more.


    The world? Months, just to cross it. To see it all? Maybe decades, maybe more.


    And it used to be bigger? More?


    A thousand thoughts. The Pillar, deep inside, begins to overheat, slowly but surely. Five other selves, traveling the world, almost perish to unseen dangers, the impression they receive from their origin so strong it leaks through the walls between them.


    Li Shu looks up past the borders of the array-anchors Raika set down, shooting a worried glance up at her avatar- and then picking up the slack.


    ¡°You mentioned a bubble before. Does that mean that the Empire intends to escape? Keep everything within the Wall, let everything else collapse?¡±


    Many Mouths turns to look at her, some unknown aspect of the hovering orb focusing on the Core Formation cultivator and Witch. ¡°Perhaps. It has changed much within itself. I do not know the details of its works, but the Wall is more than just violence and architecture. The Empire uses my family, shaping them into a barrier to powers direct and esoteric. The attention of the vultures above bounce off its surface, for we are Godflesh, and even Divines must respect our knowledge of what is and what could be. Perhaps it seeks to escape- while it has facilitated the end of all, time¡¯s arrow had already struck this world.


    ¡°How so? It was¡­ there¡¯s nothing to be done? It was always dying?¡±


    ¡°Yes, little one. The lifespan of this world might have lasted a few billion years more, but not much longer, not without drastic change. But what was once a lifespan that encompassed more time than even I can truly comprehend has been turned to¡­ perhaps decades. Perhaps years.¡±


    ¡°But not centuries?¡± Raika asks.


    Her voice is quiet. Tight. Distressingly human.


    ¡°...no, child. Not centuries.¡±


    She can¡¯t breathe.


    Her Heart beats, confused, apologetic, afraid, sensing her distress more than what¡¯s being spoken. Her breath trembles, unsteady, a perpetual inhale to lungs grander than even her impossible size should allow. Her Minds¡­ shake. Just slightly.


    The golden band around her world aches, just for a moment. A phantom pain, a sense of awareness magnifying its presence inside her.


    It chained her. It chained the Hearts, shaping them into the same fortress cities that blew her brains out. It fostered the families that rule the empire, the sects that infest it, ruled over by its Law, changed by its presence somehow.


    Something ripples, from her inner world out through miles of flesh and weaponry.


    ¡°WHY¡±


    The room echoes with the word. The weight of it. The fury radiating from it.


    The Pack, and its Apex, transmit back their own Intent.


    Not sympathy this time. Empathy. The weight of their own experience reflected through her.


    And then, the most dreadful question.


    ¡°Does it matter?¡±


    She keeps inhaling. Forcing herself to breathe out- and failing. Again and again.


    No. It doesn¡¯t.


    ¡°Now you know why we fight,¡± whisper a hundred lives, speaking on behalf of an existence millenia old. ¡°Many of the Pack fight for the sake of it. Many of us seek vengeance, or carnage. Many of us fear death and domestication, to be taken by the Empire and made into tools, things to be farmed or kept in preserves, hunted at leisure. But I, and those who follow me, fight because there is no other choice. Because to do otherwise is to allow the end of the world. In the long view, this is all there is. To rebel against the iron grasp on the throat of the world, or accept strangulation from its hold. I have suffered millenia here, hidden away, protecting what little I can reach, but that is no longer enough. We must do more, even if it risks everything- because everything is already at risk, whether or not we fight.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Aurick, off to one side, has his hands in that same prayer-crown. Sakihebi shuffles, a childish desire to deny fear kept in hold. Even the Thief Of Many Wings is quiet, its haughty aggression gone silent for the moment.


    And in her protection-


    Li Shu, silent, her Sacrifice hovering protectively around herself and Jin.


    Jin sits there, still as death, his breathing ragged and unsteady but his eyes wide open.


    Many-Grasping is openly crying, emanating something like religious dread, a conception of a world grander than she thought possible- and dying.


    Even Ko and Aria are stunned, their synapses running through justifications, confusion- and fear, absolute and undeniable. Whatever the Republic of Morae has in terms of its great powers, she doubts that they¡¯ve met anything grander than the Apex before them, and it speaks every word with the ringing agony of truth.


    But it¡¯s not just them.


    Raika can feel so many lives. Little villages and settlements she¡¯s launched pieces of herself near, creeping outwards and experiencing their lives as flashes of sensoria. Singheart, full of tens of thousands of lives, all of them scarred and afraid and many of them guilty- but all of them alive.


    Paleblossom City. Cragend. The Hungering Roots sect. The Fortress Cities and the millions of lives grown in around them. Wayun Village.


    A fraction of a fraction of a fraction of the world. The lived experiences of one woman, one being, less than thirty full years of age. And yet so fucking vast that even now, as she is, she hasn¡¯t seen all they have to show, hasn¡¯t met all who live in them. The rebellious alliance, hidden in Cragend¡¯s sects, trying to fight for their people and their half-forgotten past; the farmers of Wayun village, trying to eke out a living and care for each other; the poor and sick and passing-by of Paleblossom city who offered a drop of what they had to a woman who had nothing. A hundred more places she¡¯s passed through or glimpsed, a million million more she¡¯s never seen, may never see.


    It would be easier if the Apex spoke with human voices, mortal voices, through the lives it created or summoned. But it doesn¡¯t. Its words are true, true as Truespeak, communication saturated by Qi and made divine just as flesh so saturated can break steel and lift mountains.


    She keeps inhaling, the thought spiraling, the depth of what she¡¯s seeing-


    From deep around her core, a note. Faint, drained of energy, barely there- but at her side nonetheless.


    Dink.


    A small head, lying on her lap, flavored by peaceful death. A hand on a part of her flesh, carrying memories of intimacy shared. The scent of her friend, hovering protective over the child they have brought with them.


    And that note, rippling through her.


    She exhales. A long, careful process, pushing out clouds and clouds of carbon dioxide into the air and away from her.


    ¡°Why now?¡± she asks.


    ¡°We do not know. The Emperor has-¡±


    ¡°No. You. Why now? Why not a hundred years ago? A thousand? I¡¯m an exception, not the rule, but even still most cultivators don¡¯t need however many millenia you¡¯ve been hiding to build up their nerve. Why now? What¡¯s changed, to bring you into the fight?¡±


    ¡°Opportunity. Aurick?¡±


    The humanoid centaur steps forward, his gait reverent and his eyeless gaze downcast. ¡°Yes, Apex. We are reaching what can best be considered a pivotal moment. The Cold Sun stirs, not just once a year, but frequently enough that we believe it interferes with divination, and thus, the Empire¡¯s Division of Divination itself. It has also elicited out of hiding a group which rarely moves- the Fallen Kingdom. One of theirs has joined the Pack as an Apex- the Corpse Martyr. Through it, they have become allied to us, and have committed necromancy and the arts of life and death and End against the Empire for the first time in living memory. They believe that, at some point in the next three years, there will be a breach in the Cold Sun, something they greatly fear, and their reaction, so far, has been to find allies. Our Apex, the revered of Many-Mouths, has chosen to move for the first time openly, which, in turn, has motivated the other Apex to move.¡±


    ¡°I am mother and father and home to Beasts. The overgrowth is an extension of me, a vulgar display of my ability, and most of the eastern world relies on me and mine to maintain their existence. When nature itself moves against intrusion, Beasts move with it.¡±


    ¡°Quite so. Those that previously refused to participate, or sought dominance above all else, are instead in active competition, moving forward against a joint enemy. The Fallen Kingdom¡¯s sudden activity promises that what is coming is closer than ever, and offers the opportunity for an alliance. The final push came from the Empire itself, actually. Their assaults past the Wall have grown more frequent, and recently, something that reeked of DIVISION left a scar across the world fighting a Daemon, summoned out of desperation and unbound. Those that call themselves Feng have grown more aggressive, bolder, killing more and more- in the end, the aggression was timed such that we used it to draw others out of seclusion and to war.¡±


    She almost-


    No. She does laugh. A tired, angry, bitter little chuckle.


    Feng. Of course. Far be it from her luck to have the end of the world not to involve the fucks.


    ¡°The Fengs,¡± she says, still chuckling. ¡°Always at the center of whatever bullshit I stumble into, aren¡¯t they?¡±


    Aurick gives a half-shrug, transmitting Intent of empathy. ¡°Their presence is¡­ ubiquitous. Such is as must be, when a single group is elevated beyond others and given free reign on cruelty.¡±


    ¡°But why? There are other noble families in the Empire. The Liao, the Ming, the Wei. Why always the Fengs?¡±


    Aurick opens his hands, helpless. ¡°You would know better than I. I¡¯m not exactly a frequent visitor past the Wall. I know that their children are often at the forefront of their armies, acting as officers or potent killers. In a place that so worships war, perhaps its no surprise that those that most avail themselves of it find themselves with more power than others.¡±


    ¡°No. There is more.¡±


    Raika turns back to the hovering orb, staring back at the Apex. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°It is¡­ hard to explain.¡±


    ¡°Try,¡± Raika growls.


    A sense of amusement, of gentle reproach. ¡°It is a difficult topic, child. For all that the Emperor harvests from drying wells and bleeds a dying world, it also has sunk anchors into its flesh, prolonging our existence in some ways. One such way I have already mentioned- the sun in the sky, which was once our closest star, has been replaced by that thing. Its existence now depends on one of the beings the Emperor holds in confidence- a Titan.¡±


    ¡°...the Titan realms of the Empire.¡±


    ¡°The same. To my knowledge, the only Titans that remain in this world bow to it- all others are hunted down before they can reach such heights, most often by its Blades, or have already ascended, plucked from this world by the vultures in the sky or escaped to other planes. I believe the Fengs to be related to one such entity.¡±


    ¡°The Fengs have a Titan-realm?¡±


    ¡°Or are under its protection somehow. There are¡­ threads. Subtle ones, ones that even I struggle to discern, and I can see the molecules of the cells of your body as you move. They all tie back into some other, stranger knot, atop that distant plateau. The Fengs are not a family, they are a clan, tied together on some level deeper, and whatever holds them in its dominion grants them power and privileges that others do not possess.¡±


    She laughs again, the sound bitter. ¡°Gods fucking damnit. Great. Just great. Nevermind saving the whole planet, now even my trauma-payback is tied into a goddamn Titan. To the fucking Empire itself!¡±


    She laughs. She giggles, chuckles, breaks down into genuine, open-mouthed, breathless gasps.


    ¡°It¡¯s too fucking perfect! Really, it is! Get strong enough to survive, and everything¡¯s dying. Get strong enough to fight back, and someone¡¯s daddy shows up with another mountain to drop on me. FUCK! Why not!¡±


    A touch of concern is transmitted from the pearl above. ¡°It is not hopeless. Together, we have the greatest chance we¡¯ve ever had. Destroying the Empire is distant, but if we breach the Wall fully, damage its plans enough, things will change, give us room to-¡±


    She waves a hand, straightening from the laughter, sighing and cracking her neck as she rises. ¡°No need for the pep talk. Seriously, I needed a good laugh like that.¡±


    A hundred lives and three Beasts (the Thresher, as always, stays quiet) all transmit confusion, worry, annoyance, each in differing amounts- but she doesn¡¯t pay them any bother. She looks up at the pearl, the core of Godflesh from which whole biomes have sprung. She emits a ripple, coming from deep, deep down, tinged with the radiation of the stars in her Soul and the force of all that she is, a Mind of hundreds of brains in perfect agreement with each other.


    It tastes like certainty, echoing in the space around her, to the Apex and her allies and the Beasts of the end-times that surround her.


    ¡°World¡¯s dying, and we¡¯re gearing up to bother the fuckers that own the sun and most of the planet and just about every weapon you can consider. Sure. I could use the workout. Count me in.¡±

 Chapter 298 - Meditations

    Raika exhales, and the taste of blood drifts past her teeth, past the shape of her tongue and the sharp-edged blades that glint like ivory.


    She sits, perfectly still, and just¡­ breathes.


    Everything around her is either dead or quiet.


    The fourth ring is a wild, wild wasteland, in so many ways. In others, it¡¯s a rich oasis, replete with resources that couldn¡¯t possibly exist anywhere else. She breathes in, and feels one such resource trickle down her throat, scorching ever-so-slightly as it does.


    She exhales, and what was once flame emerges as smoke.


    She opens her eyes, watching the ash drift away. Carbonized flesh and exhausted molecules float, rising up with residual heat¡­ until she pulls that much away from them too, leaving them to dissipate like steam or settle like falling snow. They glint off of the color all around her, the constant illumination born from the pool in front of her and all that has grown from it.


    The overgrowth interacts with just about every kind of Qi she¡¯s met before, and now, here, as far south as she¡¯s ever gotten, it¡¯s begun to interact more and more with heat, especially along its outer rim. Just as she once traveled through a prairie of life transformed by concepts of stone and earth, now she sits and meditates surrounded by fire.


    The pool in front of her is golden-white, its edges silky as water but carrying the heat of burning lava, the ever-burning material of the shore turned to obsidian sand and ever-changing geography. Within about a mile of the little pond, every plant is either turned towards or directly connected to similar flames. Some plants have flowers whose coloration comes from flickering candle-fires, some of the cacti and short, stubby trees bleed magma instead of sap, and the motif of obsidian blends into the ground beautifully, roots and the occasional splash of fire-water scorching dark and loamy earth into burnished edges. The space around the pond itself, however, is richest in concept, burning bright in Dao and unique patterns, expressed onto the world through the unexpected medium of water and life turned to heat.


    It¡¯s perfect.


    The needles in her head kind of ache, here, the metal and keratin of their makeup weirdly balanced when it comes to absorbing temperature, but they aren¡¯t overheated, just slightly cooler than the rest of her. She can feel her ur-self, off in the distance, far to the north, dealing with¡­ a lot, honestly. The revelations and information that traveled through her muted connections to herself were alarming, to say the least.


    As she sits, meditating on the Dao of the land in front of her, she wonders about the end of the world.


    All those stories about the fifth ring, how impossible it is, all the strangeness of the stars above and the way that one can feel things looking through them if you just focus, all of it makes a bit more sense, now. What cinched it as at least mostly real, or perhaps just possibly so, were the comments on the Cold Sun. The idea that whatever¡¯s behind it is peeking through more often doesn¡¯t just seem likely, it seems self-evident. The thing manifested a wraith-avatar to talk to her almost a full day after its yearly ¡°eclipse¡±, and Jin¡¯s visions while he was unconscious seem to imply that whatever avatar of END exists beyond there, it can interfere directly with those that contain some of its concept. The idea that the Cold Sun is a blockage, rather than a manifestation, also applies itself easily to the idea that it might be fading away.


    But the scale of it¡­


    It¡¯s almost a little insulting, in its own way. To think that the stars were once suns, each of them as vast and powerful as the one in the sky¡­ except not. Apparently, the sun in the sky is a basic facsimile of something once far greater, something so far from the earth that all of Raika¡¯s travels wouldn¡¯t get her a fraction of a fraction of the way there. And apparently, it¡¯s all gone because of these¡­ earth spirits, hidden inside strange dungeons and growing strange Hearts, being harvested.


    It doesn¡¯t seem possible¡­ and at the same time, it doesn¡¯t seem like it could be anything else.


    The more she learns about how complex everything is, the clearer it becomes just how easy it is to destroy something, and how hard it is to create it. How much harder still to maintain it. Without her Truths, her transformations simply wouldn¡¯t work. Flesh-crafters and specialized cultivators spend decades learning to manipulate flesh, acquiring a Dao for it, and even then, Qi or specialized ritual make up for a lot of the deficiencies in Dao and technique. Remove one organ out of dozens, and the whole system dies. Introduce an allergy, and a mechanism that lasts for decades, which can be self-aware and sapient, can react so specifically and so chaotically that it literally burns itself up from the inside. It¡¯s not impossible that losing continent-scale organs would damage the fabric of reality like that, force it to fall in on itself.


    But still, the scale of it feels off. Like there might be¡­ more to it.


    It¡¯s not that she doesn¡¯t trust they of Many Mouths, but¡­ it¡¯s one thing not to distrust, and another to have that trust actually earned. And even then, trust, but verify.


    It¡¯s not her role, necessarily. There¡¯s a hundred other brains all working alongside Raika¡¯s ur-self, and the Pillar to boot, all work on a larger scale than she currently can. Her role is to find places like the one in which she sits, precious spaces, rare opportunities, and to pursue the Dao.


    But she¡¯s a multitasker. Always has been.


    And pursuing the Dao is almost as boring as it is fascinating. Most of her experience with Dao proper has been in surviving other¡¯s use of it, or consuming it for her own gain. Forming it on her own, even with a stolen foundation to learn from, is taxing.


    She¡¯s here pursuing her primary three Daos, two of them connected to her deepest self, and one of them new. Flesh, Flame, and Lightning.


    This place, like most of the overgrowth, is rich with life, life capable of adapting to the ever-changing currents of Qi that move through the outer rings of the world. Knowing what she knows now, she assumes that that has a lot to do with the overgrowth belonging to Many Mouths, a being capable of wielding the laws of reality and the Will of Heaven (i.e. Dao itself) almost seamlessly, weaving it together into unique patterns. This particular field extends much further than a mile, but go too far and it starts to vary. Fire-water becomes superheated steam, still moving as if contained to rivers and lakes, and then into trees made of clouds with fruits made of lightning. Go too far north, and the flame dies down, becomes a facet of life, adding venom to the stings of Beasts, spice to the roots and flesh of the flora, and a glow to them all, at which point she could follow it towards places that highlight that light or which reject it in turn. Everywhere, the world is ripe with concepts, adapted with Qi into a fusion with life and geography, ever-changing. To a cultivator in the Empire, every part of the fourth ring is either deathly poison or heaven-sent advantage, though the danger of both possibilities is almost impossibly higher.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Here, in this particular place, next to this natural treasure, Raika meditates on her two-and-a-half centermost Daos.


    Flesh, earned on her own, but not entirely understood. A free-growing strangeness in her Soul, its contours familiar but its fruit still hard to grasp.


    Flame, earned and taken, burned into her and experienced with all the horror of agony and fear, of respect and admiration. Some consumed, some scarred into her, and familiar for it.


    Lightning, stolen entire, taken from those who worship and comprehend it- and yet, so strangely close to certain things within her.


    All three of them are ever-changing, ever-growing. All three consume and transform, CHANGING from one state to another, from fuel to effect, ever in motion.


    She has other Daos, some of which she even hopes to understand one day. Another of her selves is currently getting quite a bit of use out of the Daos of Gun and Blade, to the northwest of her, up against the Wall. But these three are her task, and these three are her focus- and they are thus because they are hers, reflective of her very core, rather than added to it.


    She¡¯s never really done this. Stop and meditate, slow and steady, using her senses to examine things without necessarily doing. It¡¯s a bit essential to Dao, though. While you do eventually need to connect the patterns of a concept to how conscious action can change them, they exist outside of human consciousness, outside of the need for human control.


    Raika, seven feet tall, her face replaced with eyes and sensory nodes and antennae, sits peacefully, staring out at a pool of liquid heat and the ever-changing Flame that has been born from it.


    She was burned with fire. Even now, as she breathes it in, feels it burn her flesh on the way down, she can feel how it changes things. It¡¯s not destruction. Change can destroy things, and Flame is change. Change is an inevitable consequence of it. She can feel heat move into her body, touched by the fires she inhales and all around her, and that energy just¡­ can¡¯t be contained or used by her. So it changes her. Parts that are still too small for her to entirely perceive are transformed, pieces of them agitated to move, to dance, and the only conclusion to them is carbon, charcoal, ash.


    And this, in turn, reflects Lightning.


    It doesn¡¯t start as Lightning, is the thing. That¡¯s an end result, a pattern of Dao that she can replicate- but it has puzzle pieces necessary to build to it, to understand its intricacies. It starts as electricity- which, with the aid of the stolen Dao she meditates upon, she can sense in the burning.


    One to one. The patterns weave into one another, reflected and transformed between themselves. As heat becomes Flame, Flame becomes energy- or perhaps always was. As that energy changes and awakens the tiny particles deep inside, those same particles let off pieces, and that dance¡­ it tickles at her Dao of Lightning. Electricity.


    It¡¯s all motion. Or perhaps it¡¯s more accurate to say that it¡¯s all energy- motion, Flame, Lightning, even Life itself, all an interplay of energy and materials.


    Flame into Lightning- not a material in and of itself, but the dancing of a material, pieces made to move in artistic patterns, in beautiful sequence.


    Neither gas, nor liquid, nor solid, which are material alone, but a fourth state. One that she¡¯s glimpsed before.


    Plasma.


    She inhales, her flesh crisping down her throat, inhuman senses tuned to post-human sensoria examining herself and all around her.


    Energy into Motion.


    Motion into Material.


    CHANGE.


    And then¡­ fusion. The pattern of Dao, reflection of the Will of Heaven. Gods, sending down their ideas of what reality should be, and thus, the TRUTH of reality.


    She exhales. This time, it emerges not as smoke and ash, but as a flickering cloud, a buzz of static and embers filling the air in front of her.


    The role of Raika, of this Raika, is to meditate. To learn. She has a garden of Dao in her Soul, and she has spent too long taking it for granted. So she learns.


    And in her inner world, the garden grows.


    At its center is an anvil, an altar, upon which she carved the first of her greatest weapons, her first TRANSCENDENT ART. Around it, the garden. A tree of Flesh, with branches of eyes, organs, claws, evolution and adaptation- and in its trunk, deeper, deeper, not yet grown-in, something beyond. Flora, fungi, hints of other, stranger things, and behind them, LIFE. It¡¯s grown by several feet since she began to meditate here, and since she began to learn more than the superficial things.


    At its feet, and at its sides, and behind it, and below it- in a direction that isn¡¯t a direction, but leads back to the Garden, there are two trees, which are¡­ changing.


    A tree of Flame. Every color and shade, heat, ash, transformation and carbon and blaze and inferno- and next to it, a tree of Lightning, which was a sapling, but now holds striations of energy, of static, of electricity.


    And between them, as they both grow, their roots intermingle. Something grows between them, rising as both trees do, forming them into one single plant, and yet also into smaller parts of another plant, another growing thing. As the branches of the other trees denote individual parts of the wider concepts of their trees, so now do these trees become branches of something else.


    A tree of Plasma- and beneath that, down in the roots, barely even the size of a blade of grass- the idea of Energy.


    Slowly, comprehension grows. Slowly, the weave of the pattern becomes more complete.


    And so she meditates.


    And so, she thinks.


    One little valley. One little pond, full of energy and Qi, shaped into living material. The closer she looks, the less she understands, and the more she learns that there is to learn.


    The world, apparently, used to be so much bigger.


    There is so much fucking majesty in even the tiniest of things. So much. Infinities inside infinities.


    And it used to be more.


    And someone¡¯s taking it away.


    Whether or not the world¡¯s end comes exclusively from the Emperor, or a series of conditions, she doesn¡¯t know. Whether or not it can recover, she doesn¡¯t know. What happens if or after the Emperor is gone, she doesn¡¯t know.


    But she can meditate on it. And she can learn. And she can build on what she already knows, whether it was earned, taken, or grown from her.


    She is becoming more too.


    And whatever the truth is, whatever the full picture might be, she¡¯s quite certain that there are some people in the world which only make it less.


    Maybe she can¡¯t be the person to solve everything. Maybe she can¡¯t transform the world into something more. Maybe she¡¯ll never learn enough to truly understand all the nuances of it, and she¡¯s pretty sure she can¡¯t just fix it.


    But she can learn. She can be more.


    And she can make sure that the people making the world less go away.

 Chapter 299 - All Noisy On The Western Front

    War is hell.


    Hell is, it would seem, a lucrative endeavor.


    She¡¯s¡­ not entirely sure what to make of that fact. The fact that she¡¯s growing by leaps and bounds here. Barely days into the conflict since she arrived, and still she¡¯s evolving, adapting, consuming in ways that she never thought possible.


    The Wall is not an impediment, it¡¯s a meal.


    Someone shoots out her throat, a bullet of steel and enchanted arrays turning her esophagus and the spine behind it into shattered pieces of crystal.


    It grows back.


    A slash cuts across the world, a building-sized line bisecting space and matter, its edges aflame and leaving behind cracks in the air as it travels. She doesn¡¯t dodge fast enough, and it severs her body from shoulder to opposite hip.


    It grows back.


    She walks back over the place where her ¡°old¡± body lies, picking up the weapons that got left behind with it, and gets back to work.


    She mistimes a step, a half-dozen minds working perfectly in tandem within her to coordinate and organize and still not equal to the horrors of war. She steps on a landmine.


    Landmines are fun. She hadn¡¯t really considered them before. All of the ways that you can use the machinery and concepts of a gun, without needing it to be a gun. Trigger, detonation, ammunition, all aligned for destruction, annihilation, murder. This one, in particular, is aligned for her destruction, annihilation and murder, and sends shards of shrapnel through her leg and up into her body. Interior armor-plates interrupt the damage, but it mostly forces things into ricocheting, pinballing through her organs and muscles.


    But it doesn¡¯t blow up her head, or the needles limiting her abilities inside it- so it all grows back.


    And through it all, she feeds.


    On Dao, yes, as that is a big part of the reason she came here in the first place, but also in more material resources. Corpses that she walks by vanish, subsumed by a body that forever returns to her ¡°default¡±, sent down into storage through a vague but still accessible connection to her ur-self. Every new technique that leaves residues or leftovers, she absorbs, drinking deep of them, sending them to her Inner World or off to be examined by other minds in other places.


    She is an industry of violence unto herself, and she cannot die.


    And so, war is hell- and hell is profitable.


    And she kills. And kills. And kills.


    Her form is optimized for warfare and aesthetic in turn. One does not need to be human in order to commit violence- in fact, in so many ways, the human body is trivially weak, as evidenced by the fact that it¡¯s forever being modified or compensated for as cultivators advance. Removing the necessity and use of organs and turning oneself into a beautiful incarnation for many orthodox cultivators evolving animalistic qualities and tools for Beasts and those who follow them, or finding ways to improve and adapt, using fleshcrafting or construct creation; all of cultivation, in many ways, revolves around evolving past the starting line that is humanity. The human form and mind, at its foundation, is fascinating, complex, intricate, and not suited for hell.


    So she has CHANGED.


    When she left her ur-self, launched like a bullet from a cannon, she was human-shaped. That is no longer the case. Six legs spiral out from her center, allowing her a 360-degree cone of movement, matched by eyes and ears that face every direction. Sight and sound are the best senses for the chaos- smell is easily overwhelmed, and touch is even more easy to confuse than sound, so she¡¯s improvised alternate senses, pushing her comprehension of her eyes and ears and what they can perceive. Beneath her ring of legs, tendrils of mouths expand and consume flesh as she passes over them, and above, a deva, multi-limbed and facing in every direction at once, wields an arsenal of Guns and Blades.


    And she kills. And kills. And kills.


    Rifling and long barrels decorate her like acupuncture needles, ever-improving internal architecture sending bullets out further and further. Multi-jointed mechanisms take the place of arms, operating as platforms for ammunition that is ever-spawning and machinery that belches chemistry and flame, filling the air with cordite and static. She fires in every direction, and whatever gets too close, she Cuts.


    And she kills. And kills. And kills.


    And she continues to be shot, and cut, and poisoned and burned- but never enough.


    That¡¯s the trick to hell- being dangerous, but never being so dangerous that you¡¯re made a priority. There¡¯s currently some kind of upside-down jellyfish that can swim through solid matter, turning it into a strange sort gelatin that is either really acidic or really basic, and it¡¯s about halfway into one of the improvised bunkers being set up along the Wall. Behind it, there¡¯s a series of corpse-amalgams, constructs that remind her of her time in Paleblossom, Blacksteel melded along dead bodies until they¡¯re like a coral bed on which each other grows. Together, they¡¯re currently being matched by a Daemon, one that she¡¯s a bit too far away from to feel the name of, but which seems like a concentric ring of brass arms orbiting a glowing ball of light and Plasma, shadow and Void. It¡¯s tearing into the inverted jellyfish with streams of energy that don¡¯t act the way that they should, the Dao somehow inverted in parts, acting backwards, and into the destroyed areas that regenerate with the damage, soldiers are moving in in concert, setting up array barriers that summon doll constructs and act as points for further reinforcement.


    In comparison, she¡¯s more or less just¡­ there.


    Every time it looks like a particular array might do more than the others, hit at some critical point of the Divine Beast¡¯s progress, she snipes the operator in charge of it. Every time that the beasts advance too far forward, she practises her growing comprehension of the Gun to make some more fun landmines, grenades, and shrapnel to impede them. She skitters to and from, moving to any area that seems like it might have decisive victory and killing there until the waters are muddied and the ground runs red.


    She is¡­ more or less on the side of the Pack, but at her current strength, pushing forward too far would just get this version of her killed. And being temporarily aligned while she learns more about them isn¡¯t exactly the same as letting them push forward into the Empire, towards cities of civilians that taste delicious.


    Fuck the Empire and all that, but keeping a wave of undirected, barely controllable slaughter rolling into towns and cities is a bit more of a priority, at least for now.


    She¡¯s a monster. She can feel it with every death she takes, every bit of murder that she can taste in the air, feel when she squints and uses the sight that Jin showed her. But she is not that monster. She is her own.


    And for all that she¡¯s learned to be her own, to comprehend and defend her own perspective and ideals, she doesn¡¯t feel all that terrible about the whole ¡°killing soldiers¡± bit of all this. The beasts and undead barely even bother recouping their losses or retreating, they just send endless berserkers and fodder, regenerating where they can, eating and replicating and even reproducing in some parts of the battlefield. The soldiers¡­ well, they are doing their jobs, protecting the land behind them from wanton slaughter- and also a big part of the reason why this war is happening at all, supporting and empowering a cycle of genocide and death that¡¯s lasted for millenia.


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    The Empire¡¯s worse, and the state of the world is its fault. The horrors they have created have metastasized, forced retaliation, bred trauma after trauma until the whole world either serves them or has had to adapt against them.


    But¡­ survival isn¡¯t enough. Adapting against something isn¡¯t enough. She needs to be more.


    She wants to be better.


    It doesn¡¯t matter if the Beasts are justified in their fear, their aggression, their naked hunger for better. It doesn¡¯t matter if the soldiers are just cogs, doing the best they can in a world turned against them and which forces them to serve or lose everything. It¡¯s not enough to be good at war. It¡¯s not enough to profit from hell.


    She wants to be better.


    So for now, while she¡¯s still learning, while she¡¯s figuring out the parameters she¡¯s trying to meet, as she¡¯s improving her tools, she maintains the stalemate, which¡­ really doesn¡¯t need much help in being maintained.


    And she kills. And kills. And kills.


    And through it all, she learns.


    The way that a cannon is a landmine is a pistol is a bomb is a Gun.


    The way that a spear is a sword is a knife is a claw is a Blade.


    The way that both of them are Weapons.


    And there, down deep in her Inner World, Raika watches two trees grow, lengthening, gaining new branches, and slowly, bit by bit, bond by the roots, growing a new tree between and and beyond and below.


    There¡¯s a long way to go before they¡¯re as full-formed as the section of her garden dedicated to Plasma and its derivations, but it¡¯s coming along. And just like with that slightly-older, deeper garden, the growth coming forth now hints at more. Pursuing Plasma has gotten her insights into Energy, with shrubs and grasses of Motion and Force beginning to populate the area between the trees, and now, as Weapons grow in her deepest self, it points to other concepts, ones she didn¡¯t even know she had. She¡¯s pretty sure that one of the nearby patches of grass relates to furniture, of all things, which makes no sense-


    Oh, wait, no, it does. She¡¯s had to design and create a bunch of furniture in her body to accommodate people multiple times, not even including her work on her ¡°sect platform¡± and the mechanisms therein. Between the tree of Flesh and the sub-garden of branches and associated concepts, there¡¯s a line connecting to her ¡°Weapon¡± grove, with hints of pressurization, mechanical engineering, patterns of trigger and reaction¡­


    As it turns out, there¡¯s some notable similarities between high-concept machinery and flesh. Who¡¯d have thought.


    This version of Raika can¡¯t really give orders to the rest of her, just offer suggestions- but considering that three similarly limited (¡°incentivized¡±) brains are already at work with engineering, chemistry, and the magics of Arrays, she sends the idea up the chain that they should spend more time in that garden, understanding what-grows-where and how it all connects.


    Why have one Dao, when you can eat and drink as many as you can get your teeth on?


    Why have as many as you can eat or drink when you can have them all?


    It might take centuries to learn it that way, but¡­ well, in theory, she¡¯s going to survive this conflict. Probably. If they win, anyways, and the world doesn¡¯t end (and maybe even if it does, whispers a dark little thought). She probably has centuries.


    And in the meantime, she still has the groves that are the most Her and Hers, and plenty more to learn with them too, even with a legion of minds and training that would put even the most sociopathic sect to shame.


    Speaking of which-


    A blade that reeks of open skies and vast heights descends like a meteor, severing everything about her current body almost perfectly in half.


    It takes approximately 10 to 15 seconds, post-decapitation, for a brain to shut down. It takes about 0.16 seconds for the specific brain damage she just experienced to force a brain to stop in every conceivable way.


    Luckily, she has other ones to pick up the slack, and by 0.15, she¡¯s fused the heads back together into one, repairing the damage and draining away the excess blood.


    ¡°Ah! A worthy opponent, then!¡±


    She blinks, a dozen sensory organs pivoting to focus exclusively on the cultivator in front of her, one that she actually recognizes.


    Gou Mai stands, exhausted, bloodstained, covered in wounds and smiling, his physique leaner than the last time she saw him but still bear-shaped. In one hand he holds a sword still dripping with her blood, its blade a fine-honed edge refined further by Qi and technique, and in the other, he holds what looks like a set of prayer beads- except each bead is a small hammer, like a jeweler¡¯s tool.


    ¡°Apologies for the unfortunate introduction. I hope it wasn¡¯t too disappointing, losing our first encounter so completely.¡±


    She can¡¯t help it. She forms a mouth with which to smile, improvising internal mechanisms to compensate for the lack of lips.


    ¡°Not at all. I have always found that the rematch is the more exciting of the two.¡±


    ¡°And perhaps I can barely be said to have won at all!¡± He says, waving his sword at her conversationally. If he¡¯s surprised by her ability to speak, he¡¯s making a good show of hiding it. ¡°After all, what sort of victory allows an opponent to repair themselves so quickly?¡±


    ¡°A small one,¡± she says, shrugging with limbs not really designed for it.


    He grins. ¡°Sometimes we must take the small victories.¡±


    And then, the grin sharpens, losing some of the humor to it. ¡°And sometimes, we must aim higher.¡±


    She nods, and then, realizing that nodding when you have a multi-spine that faces in every direction at once is not easy, she bows a bit instead, lowering herself on the two legs facing towards him. ¡°On this, I¡¯m afraid we agree, cultivator.¡±


    Silence, for a moment.


    And then, the smile drops, and he seems more relaxed than she¡¯s ever seen him.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad. You¡¯ve killed a lot of people. Not enough to bring forth my senior brother, but even one is too many. I do not enjoy this conflict, and so, one way or another, I cannot have one such as you around to prolong it.¡±


    ¡°What you do or do not enjoy is of little relevance to me. I hate this as much as I find it¡­ incredible, but I¡¯m still here, fighting. We each have our goals, cultivator.¡±


    ¡°So we do.¡±


    He sighs, and it comes through as a long, exhausted exhale. He has been fighting, judging by the lactic acids and the state of his Qi, for many hours. It¡¯s likely he hasn¡¯t slept in days.


    And then his gaze turns back to her, and it is as sharp as any she¡¯s seen.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t afford to die here, and I cannot stand another death at your hands that I could have stopped. So you¡¯ll have to end here. I thank you for the conversation. It is¡­ rare that I find time to speak in this place.¡±


    She snorts, though it comes through as something of a rasping hiss. Most of her airways are either insulated, pressurized, or made up of vents along her body, rather than a conventional throat.


    ¡°I believe that one as boisterous as you finds time to speak wherever he goes, whether or not he is heard. But I suppose you¡¯re right. I would hate for the Prince on the Wall to have to leave his place at the vanguard to come deal with little old me, so I guess I¡¯ll finish this quickly.¡±


    ¡°I shall endeavor to do the same, construct. To the victor, then.¡±


    She goes to nod, but¡­


    Hmm.


    She modifies vocal cords, just enough to let her true voice speak.


    ¡°May there be growth from this death to come.¡±


    He pauses, and inhales. She feels the weight of the words- not just a statement of truth, but a demand, a pull on the world using Truespeak.


    ¡°...May there be growth from this death to come.¡±


    She tenses, aligning her barrels- and he is gone, as if he stepped on a staircase that goes nowhere.


    Approximately one millisecond after, while a dozen Gun-limbs and long spear-arms pivot to face in every direction at once, still firing at the occasional target, the sky begins to rain.


    It rains hammers.


    What were once beads on a bracelet come from the sky above, from the heights, from Beyond- and in that perspective, they land like meteors, artfully crafted items of bludgeoning striking the earth like meteors.


    She dies, and lives, and dies again.


    She kills, and kills, and kills.


    She does not win the fight- but she does survive to fight another day, retreating as a centipede of Blacksteel, gunpowder and twitching biological gears.


    It¡¯s so nice to see an acquaintance doing well. Gou Mai¡¯s grown considerably since she last saw him so many weeks ago.


    But still, she is her own- and still, she learns.


    And still, as the fight carried on and destroyed tracts of the landscape, reshaping the battlefield further, she managed to get off a particular shot. Not into Gou Mai. Not into Shin Ren, who¡¯s appeared to burn away the Divine Beast and drive it back. Not even into the Wall itself, or its many defenders.


    Well past them, out to a distant horizon to the west.


    Right through the breach.


    I Am Me, I Am Mine.


    I Can Change.


    Her two fundamentals- once again unleashed beyond the Wall.


    So much to do, so little time.

 Chapter 300 - Uphill Both Ways

    Raika can¡¯t help but feel a bit cheated.


    Sure, she can still play around a bit, but unlike every other part of her, she¡¯s stuck in one shape! And it¡¯s a boring shape to boot! Humanoid!


    Sure, she classifies her current body as more-or-less how her ¡°true self¡± looks, an idealized version of her formerly-human form, but it¡¯s still limited! Two legs, two arms, four if she asks herself really nicely¡­ ugh. Boring.


    But then again, there¡¯s a version of her literally sitting in a grove, completely unmoving, staring at a bunch of pretty plants. That would probably be worse. It¡¯s not like she hates Dao comprehension or anything, but her little war-form is probably having a great time understanding Dao without needing to be completely static.


    Alright, none of that¡¯s very fair, but still. She can literally feel how relatively free the rest of her is, and it¡¯s annoying.


    Supreme Body Art: Multiplicity is a pretty versatile tool overall, as evidenced by the fact that she currently has several hundreds of brains and dozens of bodies to match them with. She can think as fast as higher-realm cultivators, even with relatively mortal brains. She can think different thoughts at the same time, run comprehensive analysis on herself and those self-same different thoughts simultaneously, process larger amounts of data and a much wider view of what that data means. With Supreme Body Art: Overclocking, she can boost those properties further, enhancing her processing speed, honing her instincts, boosting the velocity at which signals are sent to and from her nerves, and while it does cause damage, she can just make more brains. Usually.


    All of this, Raika reminds herself, is why she has the unique power and opportunity to learn so many things at once. To experience all new perspectives. To force herself to learn in ways she normally might not.


    Imposing lobotomy-based limitations through theoretical acupuncture isn¡¯t technically part of the technique, and it feels fairer for it to be Li Shu¡¯s trick to name than hers, but it¡¯s important here. There¡¯s a difference between purposefully holding back, and actively having limits. That¡¯s why she¡¯s doing this.


    Even though it¡¯s so itchyyyyyy.


    Not literally, but¡­ gah!


    One of her is currently a centipede that¡¯s becoming an artillery platform, equipped with a dozen sub-brains and indefinite ammunition and fighting in a cultivator war! One of her has a face that¡¯s just all sensory organs and is currently drinking fire or some shit!


    Ok, yes, like, three of her are just sort of studying right now, and she¡¯s pretty sure that¡¯s definitely worse than what she¡¯s doing, but still!


    Martial arts?


    Uuuuuugh. So boring.


    Two legs, two arms (unless it¡¯s an emergency), a tail, and horns. The fact that she¡¯s got a bunch of glowing neural tissue in place of hair, that she¡¯s got optimized nano-plating under her skin, that said skin is both hypersensitive and harder than toughened leather, that all her muscles are pressurized and optimized and¡­ ugh, it makes it bearable. Otherwise, this whole mess, long term, it just¡­


    Uuuuuuugh.


    She pulls off another leg from the body she¡¯s sitting on, taking a bite out of it and chewing angrily.


    Damn it¡¯s good. The protein mix, the way that the bone tubes inside the muscles make them a little crunchy, the way the skin has a certain sweetness from the acids the beast used¡­ mmh. Delightful, through and through. If she had the time, she¡¯s pretty sure it would go great with some added spices, maybe fried in a light batter to add to the crunchiness while she makes a glaze from the acid, pair it with some pickled cabbage and soft noodles¡­


    Her free hand shoots out and grabs the incoming projectile before it can hit her. She turns her head, slowly, to face the avian creature in the branches above her, and makes direct eye contact with it as she brings the massive thorn it fired at her and bites it.


    Tastes like claw and bark, with a hint of something herbal in the aftertaste.


    The bird, in turn, flaps all three of its wings and flies away, wisely deciding that it might be better off not pissing off the lady eating what¡¯s left of a five-ton mammalian¡­ whatever this thing was.


    She sighs, spitting out the hard outer shell of the talon-thorn-thing (tougher to chew than the inside). She ran into a flock of the avians a few hours back, the leaves they have in place of feathers allowing them to blend in with the Overgrowth of this area, and some of them decided to follow her. She¡¯s pretty sure that¡¯s the last of them, but if not, they¡¯re probably pretty appetizing, and the beast she¡¯s sitting on is about half gone by now.


    Uuuuuuugh.


    This is what happens when she¡¯s bored and itchy. She starts fixating on food.


    Which, you know, is fine. Food is great. Delicious, delightful, an excellent creative outlet.


    But also a distraction.


    Sighing, she tears off the last real chunk of meat from the bone she¡¯s holding, swallowing it (and the bone) in a few gulps.


    Time to get back to walking.


    In truth, she¡¯s not actually doing ¡°martial arts¡±, per se. She isn¡¯t following a manual, or learning a technique or movement style. That¡¯s not the point of this. She is, in theory, going to the core of martial arts- a refined way of moving and striking, utilizing the body¡¯s inherent properties. Most official martial arts tend, by default, to be written by humans, and cultivators more specifically. The human body simply isn¡¯t built for fighting, so finding ways to maximize efficiency and copy movements or inherent traits from others that are is a useful way to learn how to use what you have efficiently. It makes a human strength, that being active decision making and conscious self-awareness, a tool to counter a human weakness, that being that they¡¯re just not made to be scary in a direct-conflict sort of way.


    In a way, bestial cultivators are also pursuing martial arts. Kind of. They¡¯re embracing evolutionary traits, or searching for specific features, to gain new capacities and powers. Rather than emulating, they¡¯re directly integrating. Not really the same mentality, of course, but the through-line is there. Mostly.


    And so, here she is. The Raika that drew the short straw.


    Not the shortest straw, but¡­ not a long one.


    Taran taught her a lesson that¡¯s still valuable- having strengths in some areas doesn¡¯t mean that it¡¯s alright to be weak in others. Her biogeneration ability doesn¡¯t mean that she should tank every hit that she faces, just as her affinity for Flame doesn¡¯t mean that she shouldn¡¯t learn how to move against Water. Ergo, the cohesive whole of Raika elected a part of herself to be limited in such a way that she is forced to learn aaaaall about how to optimize and better use the tools she¡¯s got.


    Which means that she can¡¯t shapeshift up swords, or claws, or tendrils, or armors, or anything interesting.


    She is stuck in the shape she¡¯s got.


    Unless it¡¯s an emergency. Then she can make two more arms.


    She can change her internals at least. Different muscle formations, the architecture of her skeletal structure, her veins, all that basic stuff that¡¯s really not basic at all. It¡¯s slow though, something that takes minutes or hours, not something she can just do, because then she could just freely adapt to things. Like a cool superbeing that¡¯s transcended humanity.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    It feels¡­ itchy.


    She¡¯s not dysmorphic, at least. Seven feet, fit as fuck, the horns, the tail, the tits- all top notch. The body itself is comfortable, the fact that it can¡¯t change as freely as before is the issue. Ontological dysphoria, not physical dysmorphia.


    She briefly sends thanks to Li Shu for teaching her those words. Feels nice to put a word to one¡¯s feelings, sometimes.


    A brief pulse of acknowledgement and mutual warmth at the message comes back through her ur-self, and a few seconds later, Li Shu sends back her own.


    Some people train for years to get access to texts with that vocabulary. You get to just hang out with the coolest healer in the fourth ring. Truly the heavens are unjust.


    Heh. Li Shu¡¯s great.


    A tree topples over, one of the ¡°normal¡±-sized ones, and Raika lunges out of the way.


    Before she¡¯s done moving, the tree has arrested its fall and returned to its original pose, thorny branches covered in needle-like proboscis waving annoyedly.


    The lunge, as it turns out, forces her to step on the petal of a flower large enough to be its own clearing- which immediately tries to roll itself up and trap her in it, millions of hair-thin knives rising from it to impale her.


    She dodges that, in turn, by letting them cut through her feet to get a solid footing and leaping into the air to avoid the wider petal¡¯s curling. She has to regenerate the feet from almost mush, but it gives her the space she needs to grab a branch and swing forward off of it.


    The Overgrowth is always active, and almost universally dangerous. She sighs as she sidesteps a creature that disguised itself as a vine as it turns into water and tries to encircle her, giving it a polite punch to the body as it shifts back. When it¡¯s not concept-infused wildlife, it¡¯s hyperactive, hyper-evolved flora, every plant almost entirely distinct from its neighbor. Two trees that are literally identical might have entirely different defence mechanisms or hunting patterns, and without her more advanced senses, the best way to find out the difference is to poke them and run.


    If she were allowed more of her abilities, she could have a much more intimidating form, or exude Qi from vents, or wrap herself in Dao, but noooo, she has to be the training dummy and have limitations.


    Bleh. So annoying. And so itchy!


    She sighs dejectedly as she dodges a boulder (literally just a rock as far as she can tell) which launches itself at her. It completely cancels its own inertia, freezing in midair before firing at her from another direction, and she has to dodge that, too. When it comes around a third time, she snaps.


    With a heel-turn, she aligns her body into a certain architecture, makes a clear line from foot to head, and uses every ounce of torque and force she can make with her body to punch the annoying fucking rock.


    Two of her fingers break- but so does the rock.


    The surrounding area is peppered by shards of rock-dust and pebbles as she punches into and through the stone, blasting it apart from the force of the impact.


    She resets the fingers, heals the breaks, and growls at the pebbles.


    ¡°Anybody else?¡± she asks, her voice carrying through the forest around her.


    Almost immediately, a dozen shrieks and hunting calls answer, the landscape coming alive- and the pebbles jump into the air, freeze, and fire themselves with that potential energy at her.


    Alright.


    That¡¯s it. She¡¯s fucking had it.


    She did not come walking all this fucking way to get harassed by literal pebbles.


    Supreme Body Art: Overclocking


    Supreme Body Art: Pressurized Indigo


    Supreme Body Art: Specialized Enhancement


    Supreme Body Art: Camouflage


    Ok, so technically she¡¯s using more than just direct martial arts- but whatever! If the whole point is using what she has at peak efficiency, finding a style and techniques / patterns that help her use herself better, then she¡¯s doing perfectly at it, thank you much.


    Her skin ripples as Specialized Enhancement kicks it into overdrive, while Overclocking her brain lets her keep up with the changes as she forces skin cells to gain chromatophores. She blends into the environment completely, her skin reacting to light and shifting colors to match, even as she feels a headache begin from the stress of the techniques. Her blood turns from darker, richer crimson to its heightened indigo form, thick enough to be barely liquid, and pushes her body into overdrive from the density of resources it holds.


    And then she punches all the rocks.


    Strike, turn, strike, strike, retract, reposition, strike, strike, repair joint, strike again.


    She flows from one moment to the next, four-hundred pounds of biology in a seven-foot package moving as little as possible to get into range of, and then destroy, each individual pebble from the strange stone. The air fills with powdered stone as she hits, again and again, noting inefficiencies and points of failure, repairing them, and altering her movements to better fit.


    And, as dozens more enemies converge on the scent of prey, she moves, and is gone again.


    She has to stab the moss she lands on to stop it trying to digest her, and then disguise the scent that it¡¯s acids give off with her own pheromone emissions, neutralizing the smells to zero- but she does escape.


    Cancelling the techniques, she briefly snorts, forcing out a wad of blood from her nostrils. Her head hurts. Her whole face feels like it¡¯s bleeding, and that was barely five full seconds of Overclocking. Already she can feel that she won¡¯t be able to use it again for a few more minutes, and should probably keep its use sparing.


    Which she wouldn¡¯t have to if she had more brains like she¡¯s supposed to- but someone got the short straw.


    Ugh. So annoying.


    She scoops some of the moss to chew on as she gets back to the trek. It tastes bitter and kind of sour, but in an interesting way, and focusing on the taste is better than focusing on how restrictive having such a limited body feels.


    Even if it is kind of fascinating, how much minor changes can affect her movements, flexibility, striking power. And even if it¡¯s an essential mindset to cultivate so she can keep improving. And even if it¡¯s actually kind of cathartic to just fucking hit things for once, and finding ways to make it more interesting is sort of engaging.


    Damnit, it would be less annoying if it wasn¡¯t so fucking interesting. Ugh.


    One of her pursuers, a more dedicated one, leaps from out of what looks like some sort of portal it tears open in the air, and she does something she hasn¡¯t done in a while.


    She blocks it.


    She can¡¯t block the claws, not without taking damage, so she adjust just a teensy bit, shifts just a little, and blocks its paw rather than the claws themselves. More or less the same movement, but the slight adjustment means her arm is sore rather than severed.


    She grins.


    ¡°Alright, that¡¯s pretty-¡±


    The creature contorts and sort of folds itself, so it turns inside out, and a fresh set of limbs emerges with all the momentum of the transformation and cuts her face off.


    Damnit, she was doing so well.


    She sighs, regrows her eyes, and grabs hold of the teleporter with both hands.


    It tries to unfold itself again, insectile eyes and bristling fur inverting to wetter, more mucousy skin- but not before she drags it close and bites through its head.


    It doesn¡¯t kill it (maybe its brain is in the middle? Or distributed?), but it does discourage it enough that it runs away fast.


    Would it really be so bad if she was allowed just a little bit of raw Qi? Just enough to swing around and scare the wildlife with? They can¡¯t smell how strong she is when she¡¯s like this!


    The response comes back from herself pretty quickly, and amounts more or less to nah, sorry, kind of against the point. Get good.


    ¡­


    She can be a real asshole sometimes. Even if that was sort of funny.


    Sighing through reformed lips, she focuses in. Maybe if she uses Overclocking in shorter bursts, but with a faster activation, she can do more with less? And if she¡¯d just followed up after the adjusted block, she could probably have dodged or even parried the next attack. So, progress.


    Taking a breath, she leaps from the floor of the forest and through part of the canopy, ignoring the cuts that some of the trees inflict as she moves. This section of the Overgrowth is very sharpness-coded, she notes, with undercurrents of water and spatial concepts. Delightful to an inquisitive mind, infuriating to someone trying to get somewhere.


    She clears the canopy, glimpsing over the top of the jungle she¡¯s trecking through, and catches sight of ¡°somewhere¡±.


    It looks like a ring of mountains, shaped almost like a hand- if that hand had smaller, fractal versions of itself spreading out from it. The Overgrowth stops near its edges, turning to dense gardens, barely-civilized farmland and constantly encroaching plant-life, held back by fencing, arrays, and the occasional burst of Qi she catches glimpses of. There are clouds and mist along the base of the mountain-hands, and the glint of clear blue waters behind them- and at the top of each peak, miles and miles apart from each other, there are what look like a mix between fortresses and miniature cities.


    Sects.


    She lands, quickly stepping off the colony of bushes that start vibrating in place with razor-sharp nettles as she does. She¡¯s close.


    The Republic of Morae is in sight, as is the second part of her chosen / assigned mission.


    Time to find out what they¡¯re doing. If they¡¯re a threat, if they¡¯re an ally she can use, and if they¡¯re connected to the Empire.


    It¡¯s time to find out if the largest cultivation civilization of the fourth ring (that she¡¯s aware of) is something she¡¯s going to be able to work with, or something she¡¯s going to need to manage.


    Ugh. First she can¡¯t even really shapeshift, and then she gets stuck with politics.


    Some Raikas get all the luck.