Fatherly Asura

Golden wisps conspired to block his flight, but the Blue did not meet him. From her perch in skies above, floating- flying or treading upon the air itself as those of grand [Cultivation Realms] are enabled to do, she merely watched.

To engage with any more than this blocking [Intent] she cast upon the area was beneath her.

Strain pooled sweat to Fu Gao’s brow. An effort that emptied his mental reserves as he failed to conjure [Dao] after [Dao]. His cycling between that of Wayward Breezes and Withdrawal lasted mere moments, for he was no man to hammer useless against walls.

So he knelt, kowtowing as the Hound-partnered Yellows swarmed him. Qiang-wielders of mundane look. Faceless peons as the Empire of Abundant [Spring] required.

No people to underestimate, and yet, Fu Gao’s thoughts went to Beggars.

Do all you can, Shuidi.

In the narrow between stomach and rooftop, his [Spirit Crab] rushed. The curtain of fabrics made by his position clad her well, pitting diminutive pincers against the floor-wide {Array] inscribed there.

To aid, and finding that only his [Dao] was blocked, Fu Gao breathed out minor wisps of his suppressed mist. Natural flows as one might see upon a frost-laced [Winter’s] morning.

“Desist,” growled a lead Yellow, if one non-descript among these ranks.

“Cultivator, this is a facet of my Path. What is there to fear from moisture when the rain lashes so?” Fu Gao expelled more mist, seeing it snake amongst the Imperials’ feet to minor effect.

Below Shuidi worked tirelessly, orchestrating the [Lightning Conversion Array’s] downfall from an area no wider than the space from navel to chest.

Fu Gao suffered a blow for his insubordination. His cheek smarted where the Qiang-butt struck, as did the Yellows visibly loosen to see that he mounted no retaliation.

But it would come.

He saw here that the Imperials dared not act without this Blue’s instruction. Indeed, grips maintained and hounds snarled, yet propriety or some lack of initiative held.

Blind are the fools that do not strike danger when it appears.

Any distinguishing sound amidst the incessant rainfall proved a trouble to determine. Resounding clashes of the three-part battlefield some ways distant barely surfaced here, nor did the signature of their devastating Qi breach much through ambient [Lightning] or [Water Qi], to say nothing of the myriad other [Affinities].

Fortune however, had the Blue enraptured.

Those warring immortals in the far-flung skies suddenly erupted with tremendous force. One broad, scything wave slashed from their epicenter.

Felt by all, and seen by all.

The space above Fu Gao’s head distorted in its passing. A blade’s swing. A horizontal cut to part the rain that then rushed to reach all corners of the [Imperial Realm].

Shuidi seized such a chance, intensifying the mist so that it pierced this ground-spread [Array] in myriad places.

Wrath fell in a devastation of lightning with immediate effect.

No longer harnessed by the [Qi Conversion Array], if for heartbeats, Heaven’s fury obliterated the closest point.

The Blue.

Of [Lightning Affinity] or no, the corona of impact shed such heat, light and sound that the cultivator’s [Dao]-hold released. Suffused by [Spectral Qi], Fu Gao washed through the rooftop and phased swiftly to descend many stories in quick succession.

Flight? Retreat? No. His thoughts coalesced on Bo, and the [Dao of Wayward Breezes] carried him forth.

There came bridges unending. Covered passages between the sky-scraping structures that turned and twisted- homes, perhaps, or establishments of a bygone time, for he saw a rarity in the world of cultivation.

Dust.

A coating of disuse over neglected resources or instruments, furniture or screens. This mattered little save to inform of this realm’s purpose.

Nothing more than a battlefield. Some tempering ground to prepare Yellows or Blues against [Demons], or a willing slaughterhouse to stem their advance. Such theories were for scribes, for Pinxui and those with time to spare.

Slivers remained of Bo’s pipe. A taste that the [Hundred Immunities Fruit] lustfully gulped.

Buildings were traversed.

More.

Bridges crossed and corridors crossed. An hour passed in this fashion, one for every of these ten structures entered.

And then, voices, heard as he neared where the three-way war raged above.

Poor attempts to whisper, harsh against the winding corridors. Hushi parted to follow another avenue, mistrusting of how the sounds bounced from several passages.

The voice is not of our Beggar.

A gloom held the corridors, for what light came through intricately styled windows was dulled by the external rain. Ideal for Fu Gao’s passage and how it delivered him ever closer.

To a bridge where coloured hanfu flashed.

Of these cultivators ahead, those of green and not Green, or red and not Red, fled. Words were exchanged aside rushing step, overseen by surer experts at the flank.

Gao Fu’s memory rekindled, with aid.

“Crimson Shoal Sect. Further ahead, True Serendipity Association.”

Gratitude, old master.

Names from the [Spring Equinox] tournament, some life ago. Clear Sky Imperials, transported and landed as his Wayward Winds had been.

Why here?

Shuidi’s [Senses] touched upon their [Realm]. The rearmost cultivators were of late or middle [Core Formation], though their disciples held no commonality. Weak, he mused, or fresh cultivators. Perhaps the pall-bearers, flag-carriers or aides.

No toe yet on the Martial Path.

How have they survived?

A Beggar appeared at their fore, having Gao Fu’s fist tighten.

“How much longer must we tread these accursed halls, beggar?” growled the Crimson Shoal’s assumed senior. In his hand was a trident, forcefully thrust to direct his disciples.

“P-p-peace master cultivator. The White Dragon Alliance is not distant, bu-but, ah- you see-”

As brash fools were wont to do, a cultivator’s [Intent] assailed the Beggar. “Speak plainly, pustulent trash.”

“More [Demons] roam,” struggled the reply.

Fu Gao stole closer yet, nestled in the ceiling some shadows back.

Names. Sects. Alliance. Only this Beggar is clear.

Rash-touched cheeks. A singular [Spirit Rat]. Filth coated fabric. If any [Heritage] was clearer, then it would be that of snakes and the Cloudy Serpent Sect. With a firming of brow, Fu Gao set his priority on following the junior.

He did not expect the Heavens to align, but his traitorous target might yet come running if pressure was applied.

The response to ‘More [Demons] roam’ was swiftly deliberated, foisting a swift counter to what had been said. Once more at the end of his trident, disciples flocked. Unsteady feet now, and slim in number, for this Crimson Shoal senior had ordered a sparsity of his number to tread the corridors alone.

Expendable souls. A wise coward, this.

Fu Gao followed only his mark, pushing a resonance through his brooch.

Then, he felt the [Gu]. True absence.

The Beggar’s group were startled to inaction. Caught as the breath was in their chests, and drew [Spirit Beasts] and cultivators to hunker.

Corridors blurred as Fu Gao rushed above them, leaving nary a sign by grace of his [Clouded Ghost Arts]. The air, undisturbed due to his recent mastery of the technique’s [Mind] aspects. And so he followed the discomfort in his [Core].

How it warned against nearing this [Demon].

Corridor. Doorway. Arch. Wall. Corridor. Junction. Arch.

And-

A distended physique pried itself from the ceiling. Human-like, as his previous encounters had shown. The [Demon’s] magenta flesh near shone in the gloom, casting a clear silhouette of too-long, spindling limbs.

Of the malicious cleavers in four hands.

There were notes on equivalency. A [Gu Core] for a [Qi Core]. A [Gu Foundation] for the same of those who defied Heaven.

Fu Gao blurred forth in the [Wind Phantom Strides].

The [Demon] bled.

A better note on equivalencies, he thought.

So began a dance in close confines. Four edges chopped, or swooped, for the grace here was no brutish display. Smoothness held in the diving blades- swallows in flight, perhaps, for the arcs that narrowly missed his flesh were strokes to behold.

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[Might] pounced Gao Fu from the walls. [Control] snaked his lashing chain between distances, ever-chaotic, ever-guessing. As a serpent to this swallow, the links snapped crooked to wound at extreme angles.

Chimes rung. Metal scraped. Then, the [Demon’s] throat was spilled and Fu Gao loosed a small breath.

Benefits within benefits.

His ring swallowed four cleavers of queer composition.

“The p-p-presence of [Gu] has- Master cultivator- the [Gu] signature has vanished,” exclaimed this poor excuse for a Beggar.

Down the distant corridor, the Crimson Shoal senior grunted. “Lead then. Else your seniors at the Sect will hear how unfavourable your escorting has become.”

Fu Gao faded into the gloom.

🀦

Nine hours passed.

The numbers became meaningless beyond that.

How many bridges, structures, [Demons], deaths, wounds, words exchanged.

For one that held a recent importance in numbers- for a senior, a head of the Wayward Winds that held priority in discovering his resources, timings, and sum totals for all things - Fu Gao allowed the statistics to fade.

He saw the bridge ahead, the two bridges above, and the [Demons] that crowded each.

A vexation.

More so, the absence was suffocating.

Fu Gao waited in such discomfort. Awaiting the source of his resonance.

[Spectral Qi] wisped him through stories within the sky-scraping structure, and clad half in gloom he observed through the lashing rain. Beyond the intricate window, beyond even the regimented [Demons], metal met.

To hedge a fool’s guess, this White Dragon Alliance.

Said for the Beggar’s Bo-absent group that cowered not so far from here. Target yet to emerge, Fu Gao balanced the scene. For his own face to be known, and allegiance, there was no solution save for ending the traitor’s life.

But villainy inspired more. Not for pride, but for benefit.

Moments passed, and his brooch resonated to mark Udvah and their disciples only a small number of paces away. When returned, they entered the dust-thick room to meet upon a knee.

“Senior,” followed in whispers.

“The Beggar Sect has betrayed us,” he said simply. “Foreign lands have made them forgetful.” Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on novel·fiɾe·net

Curious then, Udvah’s brow changed. Hard set where laugh lines were prone to appear. As did Mangalam’s gaze become a thing of cool ice. “This lacking disciple would not think their memories so short. Amituofo. A poor thing.”

“The senior, Bo, is cunning. Traitorous. He will be reminded of his transgressions against the Sect by losing that which his Beggars seek to gain. And more,” Fu Gao said, never turning from his overlook. “Disciples, I expect you to employ all that you have learned.”

“As you say, senior,” they shared.

A plan was shared, orders were given, and those named as ghosts faded into gloom.

[Half Cloud Step].

Distant from the [Demons], the [Gu] could not touch him. Not as his soles touched the stories below to have him skulk behind the Crimson Shoal cultivators.

Twenty paces distant.

And from here Shuidi expelled a single droplet of [Water Qi]. A mere rivulet that expanded the more was fed- a dewdrop, then ball. One so enticing, so blatant in composition that there came a lull in the [Demons] some ways ahead.

Opposing arches welcomed the bridge on either side. Entrances between the sky-scraping structure: between this, and the [Demons’] side. Their formation crowded the latter, awaiting a chance to enter the fray that sounds indicated within.

His Qi changed that.

Lines of the [Demons] peeled off with feral hunger, tasting the water that so loudly blossomed in their rear passages.

Footfall thundered.

Theirs, and the Clear Sky cultivators.

“Crimson Shoal,” roared their senior-most disciple. “Ready your arms!”

To counter, those of the True Serendipity Association drew no weapons, instead drawing on the power of their [Spirit Beasts] to manifest myriad Qi borne-

I know this mistake.

Strength blazed throughout the [Demons] in the face of this rising Qi. With eyes as markers, the change went unnoticed. But in [Senses], in feel and presence, the [Gu] within them swelled in excitement.

One by one the cultivators of the True Serendipity Association waivered, collapsed or stumbled, bereft of [Inner Qi] and the vitality it afforded.

Futility, and of a sort that had them simply break. Despair struck in variety, for no two souls were the same. Some remained still. Others grew maddened, scrambling for anything to strike against the incoming foes.

Wiser souls turned to the gloom, and fled within.

Then, in half, the Crimson Shoal clashed against an indomitable wave. Those foolhardy enough to believe in victory. This weight of [Demons] drove them ever back, bloodily. What [Prowess] the Sect held, insignificant against sheer numbers and Qi-stealing breath.

Fu Gao waited for the call.

Still the Crimson Shoal senior was silent. Scores raked his chest, yet he still stood. One foot upon a scarlet [Demon’s] corpse, his trident in another’s gut. Thrust after thrust had him hold the line, but it was a single rock in the stream.

“One current circles the world, and all marvel at its white edges. [Dao of Sharpened Waves].” Such an evocation of the [Dao] - one called - spoke of power.

As did its showing.

From the senior’s speech, golden characters plumed. A brief entanglement that turned each into a solid surf, cast forth to slice the advancing [Demons]. On, rapidly, clearing such space that the bridge’s opposing side and the foes there could be seen clearly.

Great impacts sounded thereafter. Adjacent and higher bridges were abandoned so the [Demons] might greet the source of this power. They fell amidst the rain, and in equal number, landing to sizable noise each.

Smaller resonances of [Dao] passed to Fu Gao’s rear.

The Crimson Shoal senior noticed.

[Half Cloud Step].

To quantify [Might]... to quantify speed… Hummingbirds were a rare sight in Thousand Shore City. Was Fu Gao a match for their wings? The appearance of lightning, not yet. Though his swiftness was within this spectrum.

For the world was not its full speed. The [Demons] rampaged with lust-fuelled expression, and in doing so, appeared as if constrained by a thick and turgid oil. No hastening thing as might be lathered upon hull or bow, nor preservative, but something to slow to just below their regular rate of movement.

The villain noted how his victim from the Crimson Shoal Sect shared this fortune.

His neck strained, slowly, uncertain of the shape that flew by. His jaw set in pain, unable to parse the just-suffered blow.

Five fingers fell improperly, severed as Fu Gao sliced clean all that held his trident in place.

His second motion vanished him with this same swiftness. A bound that took him from the senior’s reach and down darkened corridors. Further from the fray, and on.

The cries reached far here.

Fu Gao barely noticed, and instead surged to lead a pack of three. “Is it done?”

“Amituofo,” grunted Udvah. “It is.”

“Then await me at the [Paifang]. The Beggars deserve more.”

🀦

A ghost should not be troubled by traversal.

Udvah was not. A cultivator of [Spatial Qi]. Of newfound [Dao]- a compliment to the first.

The disciples were untested.

Fu Gao was.

Deep behind the fray of [Demons] and fallen Crimson Shoal experts stood a structure as any other within the realm. It held gloom-soaked corridors that wound from junction to straight, a foyer as had been first encountered at arrival.

A [Spatial Array], central.

The chamber that played host was a tall affair, once-grand, perhaps. [Spectral Qi] put the ghost atop it, dancing through walls to spectate.

But at rest, resonances passed through his brooch. The prior engagement with Yellows and Blue had laid a treacherous path for his Wayward Winds, and Udvah’s limited communication pulsed only that they had yet to be waylaid.

Nameless cultivators stood at the [Array]. An expert, tending to the intricate inscriptions at another’s urging, and a second, tan-robed woman. Late-stage [Core Formation], at a glance, and possessing of curious [Spirit Beasts].

The first, twin bats of skeletal… Simply bats of skeletal frame. Fleshless. [Demonic] to observe but no thing unnatural to Heaven.

Merely a reflection of its [Death Qi] Path. Or of a [Dao] aligned with such misery.

Hushi remarked on the fear it might inspire.

Shuidi curbed his interest, reminding the octopus just what he might appear as if removed of flesh.

Second, of the tan-cultivator’s partnership, was a great brute. A thing spied in his Clouded Courts inauguration, perhaps. Fu had thought it a cow of singular, nasal horn. Yet while this held the same furless hide, here were minute scales and three protruding length in place of one.

Conversation passed, and the Old One recorded names spoken. If incense was held, three sticks might have burned before anything of interest was shared.

Even then, those below were no enemies.

“The Beggar vexes with empty promises.”

Fu Gao passed to a lower eave, welcoming all the echoing hall conveyed.

“He holds use, no?” spoke the [Death Qi]-cultivator. One Zhenbao. “A dull blade cuts better than a stalk of grass.”

“Summon him.” replied the second. Unnamed, but ill-tempered.

“Beggar Bo was here not four hours prior. We’d not interrupt his work, such acts would be against our interests.”

AIr grunted from the [Spirit Cow’s] nostrils, as it did her cultivator’s. “Our interests are the [Demons] and [Spring] Imperials. Not vying favor nor currying relationships. If a bond is to be forged let it be done against such foes.”

“Earth Tyrant Hall is righteous.”

“Earth Tyrant Hall is a finger, where before it was an arm,” returned a grunt.

The rigidity of body language marked neither as friend. Merely allies of circumstance, if a fool might guess. And yet the second’s words pulled both into contemplative silence, and a look of shared melancholy.

“My Western Bone Cult-” tried Zhenbao, trailing.

Fondness came at a clasped shoulder, one to have the [Death Qi] cultivator’s knees near buckle with strain. “[Dao-Named] war above. Our banners will fly before long. Mended. Now, summon this Beggar.”

“This Beggar?” laughed Bo.

Off-guard, the hall’s occupants rounded. Zhenbao grew evidently wary, closed in posture. To the sun-facing, characters of his ilk: of suppression and secrets, were miscreants.

Dangerous elements.

With pipe a-twirl, Bo spared an improper bow. Something indicative of a station that his [Realm] should not hold. “What stories I’ve to share, friends. Stories that you’d not soon believe!”

Tandem grunting marked the tan woman’s mood. “We would join the fray. Give news on survivors, and who might arrive to join our own cause. That is all we seek.”

Bo chuckled. “Well, it is what you paid for. Such a curious [Mystic Realm], an avenue truly, for three groups are under escort as we speak. They’ll lend your little voices strength in this White Dragon Alliance, no?”

“Three? There is such a good thing?” shared tan.

“If children of [Foundation Realm] are to your liking, friend?” The woman menaced Bo with a step forward, having his laugh louden. “Ho, peace!” he placated. “Neutrality in all things. Would you bite the pustulent hand that feeds? To make an enemy of the Beggar Sect is to pray for an itch that can’t be scratched!”

Zhenbao proved a voice of reason, recalling the woman. “Name these survivors, Beggar Bo.”

“Retrieval and naming are separate affairs, no? Unless these decrepit eyes deceive, the middle grade spirit stones in my pocket are for the first?”

The [Spirit Cow] shattered all beneath her foot. Cracks spiderwebbed from the impact.

“But, for civility’s sake, I’d of course share other news for free,” suggested Bo, pluming such a smoke that it drove the pair back in irritation. “News of Serpents.”

Lightning struck. Without noise. Without heat or light.

Shock exposed the cultivators’ true thoughts, leaving both to gape. “There is news-”

“[Thrice Clouded Boa] is close?”

Bo absently rubbed his fingers. “Apologies. Didn’t I mention the payment? This pipe you see, a terrible vice. [Mind Poppy] leaves are somewhat of a weakness, but that is something I’ll disclose for free. No, news of Serpents is-”

Teal arms blurred, ensnaring the unwitting daoist Whitefur.

Fu Gao’s blade punctured Bo’s eye. “A matter best spoken by the worthy,” he said, icily, severing the Beggar’s tongue in a swift rise. “Or do Earth Tyrant Hall and the Western Bone Cult seek to conspire? Are they traitorous fiends of his stripe?”