Fatherly Asura

Fu’s eyes opened upon a scene that he would not have placed to be the afterlife. Of the myriad realms of Heaven, no tales had reached his ears of such a mundane pit.

Confusion filled him as his eyes adjusted to the dim glow that shone down only from above, and he sorted through the tales of each realm he could be placed in. To die returned one to the Great Cycle, the rotation of souls throughout the spiritual lands, passed onto once one had been measured by the weight of their living actions.

Where lies my punishment? Or my redemption?

Again, Fu’s confusion deepened.

There was a familiarity to this pit he found himself in, and that of the glow. Sitting up caused quite the revelation. First was the ease at which he did so, moving without so much as an ache.

Second, and ultimate, was the creature upon his chest.

A gelatinous beast resided there, a bulbous head that radiated a series of many legs down the side of Fu’s chest, now detaching to shift it to his lap. Circular suction cups constantly contracted as it felt about the air with its tentacles, and one such reached up to bring an uneasy smile to Fu’s startled expression.

Pushing back the douli, his douli, that covered most of the octopus’ mantle, the creature fixed him with an unblinking look.

To put aside the beast’s glowing nature for now, Fu focused on the blackened slits of its eyes, horizontal blocks within two orbs of gold. Orbs further yet immersed in the sea of teal.

And understanding flowed between them. Wordless, and profound.

“You.. you are min-” Fu began. “You are us. We are e-” He could not place the sentiment of what he felt. Still, the beast fixed its stare unblinkingly. Understanding returned in droves, as though he were waking for the first time, and again he struggled for the words to say.

I have become a cultivator. Yet how has this happened?

Making to stand, his Spirit Beast clambered up to his shoulder, and waited.

The sensation was oddly peaceful, though he knew the notion of tentacles slithering around his neck should not be. Fu stepped forwards, and the act that had performed since his infant years felt foreign and wrong. Quickly, he patted down his body, finding that no injuries had persisted since… since he had become a cultivator.

A thought that threatened to set his mind a-whirl.

He suppressed it, tearing off the rags of his tunic to leave him bare chested. Where they fell, however, he spied a twisted litter of flesh. Not his own, he thought, but torn shreds of teal that he had to bend to examine.

They were tentacles. Numbering in the hundreds, and only what remained. There was a buzz of feeling in his heart, a shared emotion of sorrow resonating from the creature, although it remained as he scooped a more intact corpse into his hands. “These were your children?” he asked, and his Bond projected more sorrow. “I am sorry. I know well the grief that loss can bring.”

This, his beast reacted at, extending a tentacle to tap at his chest. Sorrow flowed again, but as did a feeling of understanding.

“We are similar, then. Or is the reason for our Bonding born of this? Tied together such as this, I had not wished, nor dreamed of it. I am just a fisherman that strives to save his children. I…” Fu placed the torn remnants of the fledgling octopus down gently. “If you would help me, I cannot promise how I might repay you. Those that chased me in here are the most likely culprits for your tragedy, yet even to come across them I would be unable to bring them to justice.”

He took the passed along calm as an assurance that his Bond sought no such thing, and ceased speaking. Bargaining with an octopus brought him no shame, and the reality that, as far as he knew, they would be together till his dying breath was not lost on him.

They have saved me. A lifetime awaits in which I can repay such kindness.

“A good start to this would be escaping this pit,” he said, receiving nothing in return.

Ah, I shall save my breath then. I do not think they are in need of conversation.

Fu moved to the pit’s edge on unsteady feet, craning his neck at the wet, craggy surface of the stone. Much height had to be scaled to reach the top, and the moisture would not make this easy. Putting one hand in front of the other, he fastened his grip on any segment that could grant leverage, and started his ascent.

Finding it far easier than he expected.

The stone, jagged beneath the trailing water, dug into his palms. Uncomfortable, yet no more so than a light pressure. A bolstered strength suffused his grip, a solidity to his fingers, his muscles and all, that made this task a trifling affair.

Fu barely strained as he reached halfway, and only began to gently exhale another half after that.

When both palms found the crest, he pushed up to lift his body, where before he might have flopped over, or crawled. Fu placed his feet beneath him, standing tall. Elation at escaping the pit was one thing, but this, he knew, studying his palms, this strength was a marvel. To fall back would take him down a height at least five times his own, yet he was unworried.

The power of a cultivator flowed through him now.

A mere first step in defiance of the Heavens, though a step that many would never see in their lifetimes. This transcendence of his former mortality dawned many realisations. He possessed a fragment of power that placed him above the masses of Thousand Shore City, and if he strove for it, could place him above the masses of all.

Securing a future for his children where none might interfere.

🀧

The wisest choice Fu could come up with was to nourish his body, and reflect. Tales of cultivators and how they might survive on the vital juices of a single leaf for Seasons on end were common enough, and he supposed, benefits saved for those more powerful.

What realisations had come to him, and any ideals of the power he now wielded were cut abruptly short when the sound of his empty, groaning stomach had filled the small cave.

So now he sat, adopting the same position that he had seen displayed in paintings and tapestries since he was young. He crossed his legs beneath him, pointing his soles outwards while his hands remained idle. Recalling that it was named the lotus position, he then wondered why cultivators would deign to sit as such.

Mei had spoken of many things in their time together, hints at her struggles as a cultivator, such terms as bottlenecks, and meridians, and cleansing or scouring. But Fu was never interested, always asking after her day or how her scathing, overtly outspoken Grandmother had been keeping since last they had met.

He would never have traded their brief time together for anything, not to line his pouches with tael, nor to gain any higher station than that which he was.

Between the shuffling of his rear end, and the discomfort that was rising in his tailbone against the damp, stone floor, he wondered if he should have taken more of an interest.

A force of Qi was massing unlike it had before, a stockpile forming in his gut from each gulp of swallowed moss. He felt it churning somewhere behind his navel, maybe two or three fingers above, and it was unbearable.

Upon his shoulder, the octopus was writhing, each of its eight tentacles gripping tight around his neck and shoulders as it swayed in silent turmoil.

Fu tried his best to calm it, but each time he tried to move it would swat at him, an urgency passed along that drove him back into the full splay of the lotus. “Tell me how to solve this,” he grimaced, jaw clenched.

His troubles were lesser compared to his Bond, milder given the state it seemed to be in.

Draping itself, the beast suddenly pried open his mouth. Two tentacles widened his lips, slithering inside by a small margin. Fu held back the urge to clamp down, a sweat rising on his brow.

“Eat you?” he exclaimed, the same urgency returning somehow in the negative.

The situation felt dire, and the tentacles no longer writhed as fast. Before him, those golden eyes sagged, and it mimed a show around his mouth with lackluster strength. An action of something entering his mouth.

If not to eat it? Then what?

Fu gasped as the churning behind his navel sent a ripple of pain through his body, and at the same moment the octopus thumped upon his chest.

“Breathe…” he finished in favour of doing what he spoke of. Fu gulped in as great a lungful as he could manage, holding it. His bond struck again, and the Qi within him settled by just a mite.

He breathed again, and again, each time the volatile energy dissipating more, replaced with a newer, calming type. Fu drew into a rhythm, his breaths still large and gulping, yet steadier as the moments passed.

A vitality of motion returned to the octopus, and it clambered upwards, this time entrenching itself upon his head. Tentacles affixed on his temples, his neck, his shoulders and spine, Fu felt a wave of utter serenity enter him, and his eyes closed tight.

When he opened his eyes, two sensations caught his attention. What had first churned in his stomach had settled, no longer some heavy, tumbling force that wished to break him. The resident energy within was light, and pleasant, and he felt it gently billow as though his insides were some leaf to be blown.

On an instinctive level, he knew that there was room for more. Yet the second sensation was dissimilar, it was a thrum of Qi that reminded him of a hot kettle. Not some pouring, scalding touch that escaped its spout, yet the radiated warmth of being in proximity to one.

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And it came from a single spread upon his right arm.

Fu tilted his head up, finding that his Bond was beneath the douli, its tentacles absently feeling at the brim. “I shall not eat that moss again, you have my word.”

His Bond, who he supposed would need a name if such things were done, passed along a flash of understanding. Fu took it as a nod, and placed his attention on the warmth coming from his arm.

A calligraphed image of several lines adorned his skin, printed there in teal with a black border around each stroke.

My Ink. Why had I not thought to check it before?

He stroked his fingers across it, deducing it to be a symbol to denote a wind or gust, unable to check any further given that no matter how he tilted the bicep it was on, it would never be the right way up.

The octopus showed interest in this, and one tentacle joined his fingers where it pressed upon the lines.

“[Ink],” explained Fu, shuffling back in fright as the words unleashed a further sensation in his ears. A minute feeling, barely present, and one that brought a single vibration to his lobes as he uttered it aloud.

Streams of spectral, teal light unfurled from his [Ink], which admittedly was the real source of his scramble. A stock of parchment in the same colour hung in his vision, and a collection of characters came to spread in the space between edges.