Fatherly Asura

[Divine Sense] revealed nothing of the Greens’ [Constellation Seeds], but to possess such a sense themselves spoke volumes.

Twelve seeds between the four of us. Ivory Sea must hold six, lest Zhu holds treasures he had not spoken of. No- these thoughts are wayward. There is only what stands before us.

A curtain of ash encircled them, fiercer than the most violent squall. Further trouble lay in the contents: those who dwelled within. These [Spectral Qi] assassins, holding a concerted [Affinity] with that of the same, fiery element.

Eight advanced.

One remained.

Kavya and Ivory Sea remained incapacitated, buried by the weight of [Killing Intent].

Zhu’s tong fas sounded the first clash and Fu whirled to meet his own foe. Sheer speed struck his chain-wrapped arm, and the blade at its end barely rebuffed a pair of scoring jian.

[Spirit Tiger’s] claws. An ash-shrouded qiang. A brace of hidden daggers.

And on.

The assassins were cruel in their teasing blows, extracting a tithe of blood each time they neared. Grins creased beneath their halved masks, and excitement flared in the intensity of each gathered [Spirit Beast].

Shuidi. Hushi. I put this matter in your care.

Both his partners flew from their middens, vanishing from the fray.

His [Core] began to bloat.

[Dao of Pooling Rain].

The rain was swept aside. Stifled beneath the torrent of Heaven’s ashfall before his clouds could even form. Yet the Greens’ eyes flashed skyward, sensing his [Profundity].

A blink behind that which followed his chain.

The [Wind Phantom Strides] advanced, snaking, lashing, and lacerating the space surrounding this fray. Though [Spectral Qi] had them confident- their cultivation, had them confident. For the assassins did not shrink from it.

They stepped with their partners, allowing the chain to phase through their immaterial forms. As knives would through cloud, cutting naught.

Shuidi impressed a dire strain from the rear.

“Amitabha, time and tide wait for none,” commanded the Green’s senior.

Then they were upon the ghosts, pressing innumerable blades against his throat without a moment’s hesitation.

Waiting [Spirit Tiger] jaws. Three jian. One Qiang. [Spirit Mantis] blades.

Fu dared not breath, lest an intake sever his neck. “Peerless,” he whispered, having a shallow groove mark his chin for the effort.

The disparity is too great. These are true ghosts.

One among their number took his wrist in hand, seeming dismayed when they could not find another. “The manacles will not work on this cripple.”

Another moved, tearing open the fabric at his chest. “Hold.”

He saw a paper talisman set there, the flow of Qi well suppressed. It ashed in moments, burning a severe pattern upon his skin.

No.

The ground beneath him called swiftly then, for his legs lost all strength. His arm sagged, and his spine became unbearable. All said, for the [Inner Qi] within [Core] and [Channels] simply dissipated.

Hushi-

His impressions felt distant.

Shuidi?

Zhu grunted to his rear. “Brother,” he coughed, and a slash landed against his flesh.

Both Fu’s partners mingled among Ivory Sea’s hanfu, absorbing all the [Origin Qi] they might take for a sudden release. A strategy that would surely stall these Green enough for escape, if not choke them with an immortal’s poison.

Had we continued for five more heartbeats…

The Green’s senior hastened his cultivators into formation, with each hoisting their captives to stand. A gesture cancelled the cleared space, and ash consumed them all.

🀦

Capture.

Pain.

Blood.

Ash.

The Old One’s silence.

These prevailing thoughts cycled Fu’s mind as he sat in a construct of wood. A tomb of roots, latticed and bulging.

His first attempt at escape had burst much of the wounds upon his leg and gut, saturating what ash-pasted tatters remained of his robes. The Empire of Abundant [Spring] held clear talent in sealing, for the effects of the set talisman had reduced him close to mortality.

In [Resilience], [Might] - all.

Once staunched by ash, his second attempt was met with further failure.

To move but half a pace would close the binding roots of his cell, promising a swift end should he struggle.

Thus he remained still. Contemplative. Fu expanded his [Senses]- a meager lot. A puddle where before his ears or Qi, eyes or taste might move through a pool.

Hushi and Shuidi were near.

Paces that may well be a lake.

“Conserve your strength, fool.”

He blinked. “Woman,” he called, not wishing to name Ivory Sea.

“Woman? Please, my name is to be venerated. Not held in shadow as you oafs endorse. Proclaim it, as right,” she no less than shouted.

“Venerable Ivory Sea. If you would listen, the situation may require more discretion than you currently employ. Such volume might call down undue attention.”

Her precise location was uncertain, masked by these latticed roots. As was her health, for he doubted the Empire had spared her the same treatment as he.

“Are you injured?” he asked.

“Don’t insult me,” she wavered. “However, you differ from the plum-eyed bastard. You’ve asked out of concern- no, what do you seek to gain with this question?”

Fu stroked his whisker. “An answer?”

“A queer game to play. I’ve trivial injuries.”

“Words I am glad to hear,” he said. “I would ask what you have seen of this place? Of my fellows.”

“Nothing. Why would I concern myself with your disciples?” a scoff filled the intervening distance, marking her as westward and close.

“A fool guesses, venerable Ivory Sea, but I would say that we are your means of escape. Or perhaps there is some benefit to losing one’s [Constellation Seeds]?”

Long moments passed.

“[Constellation Seeds]. Some Paths require their loss. To complete a [Primordial Constellation Gate] twice. Thrice. Among the aged fools of the Clear Sky, there’s tale of one that’s done so seven times.”

So casual a tone, and to speak so freely.

“Seven times?” Fu exclaimed. “To what benefit-”

“Quiet, fool. The first was a gift. The second requires trade, and you hold nothing of value. It’s clear the [Cherry River Sage] denied your education. Among the few cultivators worthy of my admiration, she has done well for this. Already is the Empire polluted with over-reaching bastards, we’ve no need for more.”

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Many thoughts circled then. Whenever they might speak, Ivory Sea dripped such knowledge. A facet of immortality, he wondered, this disassociation of Master Ban’s warnings. That those closest to Heaven could not recall what was valued and what was not.

Escape comes before all. I must suppress my greed.

So saying, he looked to his finger. To the spatial ring still upon it, inscribed in [Arrays] and meaning by those of an Empire separate from his captors.

Overlooked, if Fu so chose the rarely tread path of optimism.

If not, he would think higher of the [Twenty Four Figurations] now, when placed against these circuits of Abundant [Spring].

Sweat pooled swiftly. A grunt followed through his tightened jaw.

His [Inner Qi] was but a speck, and to bend it to his will was akin to finding a single hair from nine oxen.

The mere thought of cycling his Qi brought prickles across his spine. A numbness that translated through his distant-seeming [Core]. So he strained, and fought, only touching upon his ring once blood soaked his whisker.

A stoppered clay jug landed in his lap, a preparation for his ever-delayed [Constitution] development. Just one of hundreds that brimmed with reagents.

Poisons.

Fu submerged his hand within the [Four Elements Transformation Venom].

Even with his bloated [Pull], it would not come: his command over Qi was absent. And yet the [Hundred Immunities Fruit] did not require such. Skin could absorb poison as readily as he could manipulate its energies.

The talisman’s inscription did not favour this.

His [Channels] sputtered.

With no control over its direction, the [Poison Qi] within this reagent rose as water might. A saturation of his inner workings. It cascaded, mindlessly, touching upon previous [Meridians] or his [Core], rejuvenating small patches of his wounds before moving once more.

He knew not how much time remained until his [Constellation Seed] was, as he guessed, taken for harvest. Nor that of Ivory Sea’s.

But neither could he do anything else, and so he drew more.

Heat blazed upon his chest with a violent discrepancy when measured against his [Three Eyed Spying Array]. Though any ill effect to his flesh was held at bay by the influx of Qi.

Moments. Minutes. More.

An intensity of nausea thrust bile from Fu’s mouth and gushed more blood from his nostrils. This was no proper method of cultivation, and his entirety protested against it.

The talisman’s inscription suffered an equal strain, for it was a suppressing thing. A sealing thing, intent on severing all the Qi within his body. And so it tried, vainly, until the power within it could no longer battle.

All at once Fu’s faculties returned, spraying vomit across the face of his prison. So did pain come, and other insignificancies.