Fatherly Asura

(Yellow)

Cultivators. Caste.

Experts, on par with the average strength of Clear Sky Empire Sect outer disciples.

Few appearances have our intelligence scattered, and the information henceforth is collated from small sample sizes.

Those of the Yellow Caste are predominantly of a heritage with the One Hundred and Eight Seeking Vajra. (Middle Likelihood)

Observations have placed no scrutiny on an average Path of cultivation, and with the variety seen it is estimated that no limits exist on what they might follow. Be that [Body], [Mind], [Spirit] or Harmony. (Middle Likelihood)

Notably, no Yellow Caste cultivators have been encountered below the [Core Formation Realm]. (Truth)

[Spirit Beasts] appear to have no limitation as the lower Castes hold, and exist outwith beasts of burden or mundane, lower aggression species as shown with Red and Yellow. (Truth)

Within all recovered documents there is no mention of restrictions placed upon these Yellows beneath Imperial Law. (High Likelihood)

(Marches of Yellow).

[Core Formation Grade] realms.

Ambient Qi Density is comparable to that of average prefectures within the [Clear Sky Empire].

• As with Marches of Orange, the projected growth rates for cultivation mirror this. (Truth).

Marches of Yellow possess numerous establishments of this type, if reports are to be believed. (High Likelihood)

The Marches of Yellow’s juxtaposition within the [True Orchid Path] fragment intersect with the main [True Orchid Path] by a mere handful of connections, if still prohibited from direct entrances as the higher Marches suggest. (High Likelihood)

“Report: Yellow,” - Disciple Wen Pinxiu of the Wayward Winds. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by N0velFire.ɴet

He wove his trail as a bloody constellation.

Eastmost, screams rose.

West, specks of dissipating [Spirit Beasts]. Throats spilled so that death would come slow.

Gurgles. Choking, drowned things.

North held less concern, more a stockpile of bodies to be splattered from on high. Ink stains in crimson where the ghost and his junior presented corpses atop the enemy Warship’s deck.

Then on to South. To Fu Gao’s [Half Cloud Step] that danced him to the belly of an orange-robed cur, delivering a slit that spilled and saturated the Caste-defining cloth.

Chaotic repetition felled five, becoming ten and twenty when Anfang revealed her talent for cruelty. The valai-tadar was a silent scythe, severing limbs in place of the instant death her senior could dispense.

And so the screams sang until a resonance was sent through the brooch, drawing all into stillness.

Both ghosts fled into darkness to observe a misery of retaliation. How orange robes flocked from each corner, abandoning their ailing comrades; the crippled; the broken; the few that gurgled blood some few paces from where the initiates knelt. These ghosts observed it all, and absence showed the depths of fostered fear.

“Useless, un-enlightened dogs!” snarled the Yellow at Udvah’s fore. “Why do you cower? What life do you hold to be fearful of losing it? End this farce!”

The spears in each orange-clad grip rose. Authority clear, for Fu Gao knew these were no rallying words, reflecting a problem that he had not foreseen.

Blindness.

So said, for he saw not resolve in the tightening grip and readying stare of each. But hues of resignation that held no instinct for self-preservation nor honor. Merely the obligation that each of these orange held.

To the Yellow’s rear further weapons were levied, dropped aside the necks of each captured initiate. Warning motions as guessed by their leader’s impression, now primed to cut should a single word be shared.

Udvah had stilled, appearing aged as his gun bore all weight. “Master Yellow,” he said. “This humble one has no eyes for Martial talent, it was how his vessel was commandeered beneath his notice! But- but are others of your station within? Mere orange cannot defeat this spectre!”

My junior digs. Let us see what he finds.

At his side, Mangalam heaved a farcical croak. Well laboured, as it was inspected by the Yellow’s [Spirit Sturgeon].

A circling, violent looking beast of noticeable [Air Qi].

“Fear not, cousin. These wither-touched and sun-scorched fools will break the tide! Even a rotten ship holds its value in nails.” But the Yellow’s jian emerged to punctuate this, ensuring steel was to hand as he strutted to Su Sai’s fray. “Submit, dog of the Clear Sky Empire.”

That held interest.

However, Fu Gao’s terror had yet to reach its peak. With an impression to his [Spirit Crab], mist rolled. No blanket, but a vast skirting at ankle and paw that had both disappear as the orange-robed fools dared wade forth.

Three notables walked through this mire.

A [Spirit Boar], ensconced in teal Qi. The amaranth-hued bird- a [Spirit Crane] of some depiction whose motions directed those about her. And the simple cultivator of highest realm, broaching the middle stage of [Core Formation].

[Hundred Poisons Synthesis] delivered the Asp Paralysis tincture to his blade. Slathered as oil might be atop pork.

His feet blurred. Tentacles blurred.

These next delves drew a different breed of cruelty. Tendons so none might stand. Violent, pain-inflicting scores upon spines, necks, scalps, and in Hushi’s grip: manglings that delivered poison where inner bone twisted to penetrate outer skin.

The three of note- these pairs turned swiftly in the low slung mist. Whorls pushed in their wake, rounding as all did to glean where the next strike might appear.

Anfang’s valar-tadai yet flew. Across the deck came numerous shrieks as flesh was bitten, or gouges were torn before the weapon returned to her hand. Some [Art] or talent that even Shuidi’s [Senses] barely placed.

But- “[Imperial Art: Moonsong].”

Qi-rich flares inked light across the skies above, drowning the deck and balconies in undeniable light. Orbs, amaranth as the [Spirit Crane] that enacted it, hung in opposition to Fu Gao’s plan.

Their orange foes took heart at this, though their Path of [Body] stalled further manifestations from vexing his slaughter.

Light serves only to lengthen the shadows. This is a single reprieve, nothing more.

So passed long breaths, percussed by Su Sai’s nearby clash. Each meteor a drumbeat to shake the air across decks. Then, slowly, the tempo rose. Closer sounds, prefaced by grunts and groans as the villain that inflicted them observed from shade.

Paralysis claimed a score of orange, clattering each empoisoned foe to the deck. It drew the eyes of his chosen marks, and his next descent began.

A [Half Cloud Step] as any other, brushing his whisper in the [Spirit Boar] cultivator’s ear. “Serpents do not fear the light.” He felt then, the incoming blow. One propelled at a speed imparted by this brutish, tusked creature.

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Sluggish.

Fu Gao suffused his [Spectral Qi], and three motions began. That of the spear through his chest, incorporeality having it retract with no injury. Second returned his body, and had his chain fly so swift it became anchored in the man’s forehead.

Third came the [Epiphany].

Heaven-gifted, or intrinsic to his soul, for he did not devolve into a bout of madness upon the battlefield and succumb to visions of what was to come.

He simply knew.

The mist adopted it. Wisps and low tendrils slithered forth as serpents, honing in on the meaning he had gleaned. All birthed from a single breath. How the [Spirit Boar] had gasped. No demure affectation as Aarushi presented, nor of base shock.

An intake where it caught in lungs. Cold and fearful. Dread-soaked of the kind that thundered hearts and had skin turn glacial.

His [Ink] burned, and yet he felt no warmth. He knew only the mists about him, intimately, and how his tendrils stole into open maw and nostril to seize the breath there. Suffocating those upon the ground without use of his [Intent].

Bolstering his [Might]. His [Control]. His [Insight]. [Capacity], [Pull], [Senses], all. Fu Gao harvested the lagging breath, tasting their terror, and in turn, bolstered more as [Spirit Beasts] and cultivators alike succumbed to it.

Hushi blurred, maiming the [Core Formation] orange before the blade finished him. The [Spirit Crane] then.

A scythe fell thereafter, palmed by his trailing ghost. Bloody work that crippled the remnants in turn, tarnishing the air in myriad dissipating wisps.

Fu Gao nodded approvingly at his junior, and paced. With chain unslung, he turned his passage slow and purposeful. “Leap,” came his command, projected across the marrying bridge.

Maddenned eyes returned. Orange hanfu quaked. Knees met the deck. Submissive bows, and tucked tails. These dogs drove to supplication, allowing the initiates to break and stand free from peril.

“Leap,” drove the second command, and [Killing Intent] stained the air in bloody hues. The amaranth orb behind, quashed.

“Mercy, master cultivator! These lowly souls of orange beseech you!”

Bold.

[Half Cloud Step] spilled four throats in a single, metallic snap, and rounded. Such bloated [Control]- no, so bloated had this [Dao] made his strength that a mere heartbeat later his blade had skewered the warring Yellow’s [Spirit Sturgeon] ahead.

Shallow, in testament to his [Resilience]. A puncture that merely hooked. But the act that followed was simplicity itself, for Fu Gao reeled, delivering the beast into Hushi’s waiting arms.

Quiet fell upon the circulating mists, as terror still gripped the hearts of many. And yet-

“Senior. This sixty-first Aarushi extends her awe and apologies in equal measure. That we could not fend…” His doctor potentate was silenced with a wave.

A smile passed as Fu gently elevated the brim of his douli. “Gratitude, disciple Aarushi,” he greeted, feeling Anfang arrive at his rear. “But awe is best saved for our betters. We are mere ghosts, no? Now, come, if any are able. Reds yet claim this ship, and I would test if any here are diligent enough to put observation into practice.”

Thirteen cultivators bowed low.

The cousin disciple, perhaps, dipped his head.

Behind, Udvah stamped his gun. “Amituofo. As our senior says. Descend.”

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