Fatherly Asura

[Spirit Beasts] swarmed, and despite the terror, Fu saw it was no final blow.

No.

Affixed beneath the vast shadow of these erupting hordes, he could not but stare at the matching tide of cultivators that heralded these creatures. Nightmares each, drawn from fable.

Serpents first. Which broke all rational thought. Then scores of Qi-soaked horrors. Great beasts of tusk and fang, wolves, birds, whales and more. As though a full bestiary had leapt from parchment.

And their descent brought instant ruin, for distantly, where first this breaking wave arrived there plumed iridescent smoke and a span of debris that would litter from here to a thousand li away.

The tournament islands shattered ahead, splitting the ground to have the open air below swallow unfathomable amounts of spectators, contestants and [Spirit Beasts] alike.

Fu pushed Qi through his brooch as he watched on, and drenched him veins in a [Half Cloud Step] to rally against the sheer enormity of it all.

“Who could-” His words died as this first blow became a second.

Far above, resting within the Heavens, the voice broke once more. “The [Spring] wind dances, and the leaves scatter.”

Qi, or an unparalleled [Dao] poisoned the air in some majestic concert. It arrived as a golden breeze, and in ribbons of pristine gold. But where Fu’s own insight could only previously glean small streamers, here the Four Corners Prefecture was shown in entirety.

Hushi’s impression screamed in that moment and it was all Fu could do to throw himself to the ground.

A single moment passed, solidifying the gold. A conjuration of leaves, each a profound treasure of no small intricacy and wealth, filled the flowing breeze.

Bisecting all that were caught in its wake.

He was dulled upon the ground, so afflicted by the [Spring Equinox] and by this sudden onslaught.

But the effect was clear as stifled screams erupted. Grief-stricken, fearful and agonal.

“Hushi, Shuidi,” he gasped, rising. “Are you well?”

Twin impressions returned in the affirmative.

“Sisters, brothers,” he called next, sifting through the devastation of gently lilting leaves. They hung in the air, adrift, but harmless if his eyes were to be believed.

Zhu swatted them aside regardless, distrustful. “Serpents,” he said, and stripped a well torn section of his upper robes. “This is a mystery I’ve no intention of discovering.”

In sequence, his division arrived. Udvah held no smile. Linhua’s sabre was drawn, her eyes wide upon the ever-closing horde.

Fu set his eyes upon Zhao Po. One arm in ribbons, and the other, missing. “Brother, this is grave.”

The man, despondent, stared through his comrades.

His [Spirit Hares] were similarly affected. A bisection through the stalks of one’s ear, and a gushing, bloody leg upon the other.

A breaking, closer rumble was swallowed by the tens of thousands of citizens as they trampled over one another with a view of reaching the main [Spatial Array].

More pertinent… more pertinent were the specks. Not from within the crowd, but two strides from Fu’s right.

Daffodil-hued. A match of the [Spirit Woodpecker] whose feathers bore the same. Or had once possessed.

For Niwai’s entrails stained what little remained.

Turgid flesh and distended lumps flowed like crimson dumplings from her open stomach, painting the few steps behind she had managed before collapse.

A swift step put Fu at her side, and he cradled the pallid Vajra’s neck. “Sister.”

One weak twinge held her head taught. Some incredible force of will that her unfocused eyes land upon him.

“Still…”

Linhua rushed to take her sister disciple’s weight, barging Fu aside.

“Linhua… I’m still….” choked Niwai.

Mere moments remain.

Fu put a hand upon both women’s shoulders. “Peace, sister. Niwai. Rest well. We will have need of your blade before long.”

Blood poured between her once immaculate teeth. “A disappo-”

Gone.

In a flash Fu retrieved her spatial ring, and rose. “Gratitude Niwai. Uktaka. We are less for your passing.”

There… there is no time for this.

Hushi drew a revitalising sliver of [Air Qi], granting the strength Fu needed to harden his heart to this. Less, perhaps, than he might have thought.

The skies screamed with chaos, a maelstrom of vivid clashes.

The crowd yet rampaged, mulching the carpet of their fellows.

The Cloud Gathering division navigated this, arriving two stages distant at their squad leader’s request.

“None beneath the Heavens rival a Pillar. What madness we face is unheard of. Bold and foolish. All, I would know your thoughts,” he said, palming his chain.

Zhu levelled one tong fa. “[Demons] might be so bold.”

“Amituofo. A mystery. This penniless seeker could not dare guess.”

Linhua’s eyes were vacant, prohibiting answers.

“Vengeance,” whispered Zhao Po. “My partners, my little-”

Udvah’s gun smashed across the youth’s head. “Amituofo. Life comes first, no?”

Once more the skies roared, drawing a line of cold sweat down Fu’s back. A fear ingrained in his blood.

Even clad in miasmic Qi, [Profundity] and a kaleidoscope of warring patterns, no soul need put in their eyes to see the rise of [Gleeful Viper’s] four titans. [Spirit Serpents] that dwarfed the Heavens, the Four Shaded Spear and the very gate that glistened before the sun.

Queerer, then, he saw their cultivator.

As clear as limpid water.

Nu Wa crossed the skies in simple steps, for the air strove to supplicate itself in her presence, brushing aside all so she might walk. Her [Dao] graced the world around this, and Fu… Fu knew joy.

Pleasure gripped him gently. Mirth. The levity of a joke well told. What warmth came when Yuqi greeted him after hard labour. When Yuling progressed in her studies. When he had witnessed his only son triumph in the [Dao Contest] to secure his future.

“My disciples beneath the sun, my disciples beneath the moon. Bestill these doubts and take heart. A [Spring] glow is no terror to those who have basked as long as we. Righteous serpents, shake free their hold.”

Her voice was a harmony.

Nurturing and rousing.

Zhu exhaled, his expression severe. “Love. It’s akin to this, I’d wager.”

“Amituofo,” grinned Udvah.

This madness had begun but minutes prior. But these gathered Sects had not rolled over like dogs. Amidst it all, their heroes had rallied.

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Warships. [Spirit Beasts]. A resurgent tide of cultivators. Innumerable [Defensive Arrays] that Fu rejected from the [Old One’s Whisker].

“We will do as our Young Mistress commands,” said Fu. “Stalk the periphery and dispatch what we can. Those in the sun will take the dragon’s share. It must be this way until further duties arrive.”

Uncertainty rose, yet none could question their senior.

The swaying, golden leaves rallied once more. Heaven’s cruel joke that made tatters of all beneath the Cloud Gathering division’s feet.

🀦

A great toll from the [Dao of Wayward Breezes] had Fu heaving. Sequential activations that wound him as a gust from collapsing island to the shattered remnants of the Four Corners Prefecture amidst a perpetual rain of earth.

He took a second, longer breath, and emerged from the husk of a shattered pagoda. Some tenth story floor, he guessed, for it was well upon its side.

Udvah’s [Dao of Sanctuary] unfolded on a crumpled roof not two heartbeats after his [Spatial Qi] had delivered him safely. From it, his fellow disciples arrived.

“One motion,” Fu called. “We know not the strength of these beasts.”

Thus they advanced to fly across the rooftops. Or what pox-marked, patchwork remnants existed in the once grand skyline. Yet, such was the extent of this invasion that they were met in no more than one hundred strides.

Cultivators, here.

Daylight hid little, but the ritual slaughter of citizens masked attention from the ghosts lurking above.

These experts were Vajra, one and all, clad in the same orchid hanfu as Fu knew their leader to be. Empire, he recalled, pondering what lesser domain would dare strike against the only true Empire beneath the skies.

Or, more poignantly, what Empire would dare attack such a gathering of immortals?

They neared, surrounding the street. Below, blood spilled. Sprays, if impersonal, for the five cultivators there beat their weapons forward if separating wheat from chaff.

[Senses] spoke of their cultivation, of late [Core Formation].

And so on.

For the next held those at the peak, another held some interspersing of early and middle, but proved too numerous to defy.

The Cloud Gathering division could only dash. Rooftop to rooftop, rubble to rubble, navigating fresh death and miasmic plumes so numerous it seemed the clouds had turned allegiance to work against them.

“It is the swiftest fish that outpace the net,” said Fu. “Deeper. We will tend to the stragglers that do not walk here.”

Wanton slaughter warded the ghost’s passage, as it had before, and delivered them into the ruins of an alchemist’s shop. Through the fourth floor, in which craters had broken the rising facade.

Fu caught those below, flaring his [Old One’s Whisker] as Zhu expanded his own [Senses].

[Unparalleled Axe Arts].

A loftily named technique these allies hold.

It gave some semblance of belonging. An identifier that, between sky-blue robe and heritage, that of [Spirit Apes], may well have named them as the Sky-Blue Axe Ape Sect.

No invader’s technique was stored within [An Array in One Hand’s] memories. A troubling implication indeed.

He activated his brooch.

The division flocked like phantoms.

[Half Cloud Step].

Hushi launched as his cultivator entered the air, arriving to ensnare an Imperial’s arms below to allow a great, gushing axe blow to tear open her chest. Fu’s was similar, blurring to plunge his blade into the ribs of one before arriving at the next.

A hobbling wave.

Udvah and Mangalam swallowed their weapons whole.

Linhua’s soundless [Art] compounded about their heads, allowing both she and Fuzhi to puncture necks and ankles.

Zhu’s simplicity crushed skulls.

Zhao Po’s [Core Formation] cultivation had stemmed his injuries, but extolled poor marksmanship with but one arm to throw.

Truer still than Fu’s own, he mused.

Contented after seven more deaths, they retreated once more. A flicker that brought them from the fight so suddenly that no voice remained that might challenge their appearance. Yet this did not forestall a chasing shout.

“Dishonourable scum,” called the allied experts, multiplying with each gathering troupe.

“Shadow-dripped curs.”

“Black hearted bastards.”

Yet such insults came sheltered, from places of safety. Passed when Fu’s sole had returned to the skyline. Never surfacing when a handful of strides separated ghosts and loud-mouthed fools.

In eight trips, Fu ordered pause. Beneath the [Spring Equinox], their depths were stifled. So saying, Shuidi’s absorption of the ambient Qi was thin. A pain to conduct, as if all things had become the bountiful [Season].

Other sources hinted of this theory.