Fatherly Asura

“Women-loving, [Might]-bloated, pride-seeking giants that believe themselves the second coming of the [True Golden Demon].”

“Are they?”

“[Pishacha[? Bah, they are quicksand amongst mud. No more.”

“Diversity of [Demonic] Attributes,” conversations with [Dour Faced Strategist]

Ban Bingbai’s chuckle drew a grin across Fu’s face that could not be banished, as it did for Zhu at his side. The warmth of his grip granted a final squeeze to their shoulders, grandfatherly where a man of Sects of reaping, [Demonic Arts] and assassination should have possessed only cold, and he bid his disciples turn.

“Do not,” he smiled, displaying the absence of teeth whose sockets yet bled and the stain of such within his waning, cobalt beard.

Was it normal for this depth of sadness to rise?

Fu’s relief had set his emotions rampant and he sought to master himself before next he spoke.

“The Jianghu endorses revenge,” said Zhu, and his gaze held fury. “I’d involve myself in so fruitless a notion for this. Tenfold.”

Their Master wheezed, and the hands that came now were for support over the delight of comfort and greeting. “Oh-ho,” the blood trickled, staining more of his lips. “My disciples. I see now that you would raze the Heavens were it asked. Indeed, look, you have done much already. Peace. I unburden you from vengeance. Yes. It is unwished.”

Motion unfurled Guang from his stained hanfu. A troubled head and shell that emerged smaller yet than Shuidi had ever been.

Tanshuai fluttered before him, shedding a melancholy light.

“What might be done?” asked Fu, simply.

“Here?” steadied Master Ban. “It is a hollow breath beneath this sun. An imitation that grants me little. So thrice. Yes. Thrice will I rely on my juniors. For rescue. For strategy. For a crutch.”

Fu pushed a resonance through his brooch. “This disciple hopes his preparations are of some benefit,” he said, and the surrounding space stirred.

“Amituofo. Fondest greetings are offered, senior,” spoke Udvah, at once upon a knee. His [Dao]-primed palm already proffered.

Many eyes held this gathering. Factions and powers. Aligned or otherwise.

History assured Fu that the [Hollow Hegemon’s Splinter] would have their words forgettable in a span of hours. If not, there were means to scour them from memory.

Bingbai’s lack of concern lent credence to this. “My greetings returned, junior. Yet I see not the rash Niwai or uncertain Linhua? The fresh-faced Zhao Po? Have the clouds but three to harvest their rains?”

“I’d intrude, senior,” said Zhu. “Our brother holds a tool of aid, should you allow it.”

A wide smile answered, and Bingbai’s mouth seeped before he disappeared into the [Dao of Sanctuary].

The ghosts loosed a collective breath. Though between the more experienced pair, shoulders tensed. They sensed the approaching [Ink].

An ethereal parchment that need not be read for the many lips that uttered it.

“Called in a single face, the three might have dimmed. In four, the [Boundless Dao] smiled upon her.”

The [Crimson Waters Sage] thrust her clear bemusement upon Su Sa, shared in expression by those of the [Cherry River Pilgrim’s] cloth.

Zhu grunted as Su Sai basked in the focus of thousands.

“Only as the [Trial] tempers might we discover the meaning of this [Ink], for no riper berry stands than those out of reach,” he proclaimed, shifting importance to the tower’s peak. “Contest with this [Demonic] scourge is the only certainty beyond one’s cultivation. Beneath Heaven, is this not so?”

A valued disciple, Fu did not relish his place.

“Zealous. But a child cannot understand the depth of those words,” the Cherry River youth sighed. “Your fire burns strange. Perhaps with lies, or false belief. Doubtless, you are no unparalleled genius. Merely one that has weathered this occurrence. This much I sense no falsehood from.”

“A liar, yes,” agreed the [Crimson Waters Sage].

Her [Spirit Sharks] thrashed in circuit, but to Sai’s credit he did not flinch.

“[All Sky Wood] was its name, venerables. The first occurrence within my Four Corners Prefecture. No more might I say, on threat of [Dao Oaths] and honor. Neither can be forsaken.”

Worded so, no lie was spoken.

Swift were the thoughts of immortals.

These two delegates- the tallest of peaks between Empires, made clear that the time for words had ceased.

First in the Cherry River youth, who seemed to move with great dispassion towards the entrance. “Auspicious,” her solitary farewell.

“Tread well,” voiced the [Crimson Waters Sage], addressing no figure but the air.

So began a procession of solemn gait. What fervor that attached hand to haft or clenched grip around sheathed jian soon faded. A clever ploy, perhaps, or an open challenge set by those that stood so far above.

For they had not struck, nor prohibited attack.

Fu remained among the talentless and fearful, watching as hundreds ascended and thousands followed into the [Trial’s] vast entrance to be swallowed by walls of swirling water and stone.

His head craned higher.

To a distance that spanned many hundred li. Clutched among the haze of distance he puzzled over the shapes that mirrored his own. An inversion to entrance and base that saw a flood not of hanfu and [Spring’s] vibrant tones but a march of [Demons] in the full spectrum of what forms they might possess.

Ascending, just as those of Heaven’s Path did.

🀦

It would be a facet of the hsiang sheng to gain insight here.

Stagnant wind was his rival. An air with no motion. No transformation. Clouds might hang within it. Decorations more than implements.

To be a cloud here, he pondered on.

To what might it relate?

In each finger he held his [Dao], an exercise in simplicity. A scorn-raising gesture to geniuses and unparalleled daoists, certainly.

He crossed each off in turn.

For stagnancy held not an accumulation of rain, nor a change that might herald a wayward breeze.

Queer skies lined this hollow Realm. Embanked clouds clotted the tower’s centre, as these were twinned- shared between two earths.

Stagnant still.

Fear could come from this, and so, is it my [Dao of Plundered Breath]? What are your thoughts, my brother, sister?

Hushi fanned with tethers of wind, though he could conjure so little in this barren place. And this is where his imagery resided. A cousin to mists, as the others parts of his soul were. No. He was a beast of air and currents, aligned with spectres.

Valuable against Shuidi’s own insight. Hers, of moisture, fugue and what waters might bring.

[Air Qi] and [Spectral Qi]. [Air Qi] and [Water Qi].

Fu ruminated, finding a resonance in this stagnation.

Yes. Fear comes from this. It looms above, unchanging. If wind is the essence of transformation, if it is the law of change, then its opposite must be inaction and solidarity.

The tower rumbled, sharing tales of all that transpired within. Such occurrences had lessened over the two days across which Fu had contemplated.

An immortal might know this fear. Change. A threat to their troves of power and treasure, standing and renown.

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Ribbons caressed Fu’s hanfu, those of artificial beginning. Flown from Hushi’s outstretched arms.

His mind was drawn to a crossroads, with paths he wished to chase spread before him. All his [Dao] would grow, as was this not the way of things? Vexation came when compounding his insights along a singular Path.

All aspects became all aspects.

The wind was the wind. Such as he knew it.

And was this not also the [Dao]?

“I dive, and the waters grow darker. The same waters, and not,” said Zhu, unfurling from his own meditations.

“The [Third Pool] eludes me.”

“Holding as many [Dao] upon your [Ink] as you do, that’s troubling. My [Spirit] feels stifled. Near emasculated in comparison,” he said. “But then I recall you’ve the bearing of a crippled grandfather, and my mood lifts considerably.”

Fu spread a mocking smile. “Your perfection is a curse, brother. How I pity the unenlightened wallflowers of this Empire.”

“Yes. although I’ve found solace in knowing that my dear brother will never suffer as I have.”

Small smiles.

There came a change to raise their heads from it, in time. Hours beyond this latest rumination, Mridul’s cry cut clear.

Oh?

In [Senses], Zhu would have already known. But to see this, and that, drew the first pang of pity the ghosts might have felt in an age.

Thorns gagged the Imperial’s words, having him bleed and struggle as he made after a well-angered daughter. Indifferent, she cared not for the empoisoned hollow in his chest as her strut carried her far from the crippling Fu’s stolen [Origin Qi] had imparted.

Having her ascent begin.

“A foolish girl.”

“No more than late [Foundation Realm],” answered Fu. “This [Trial] of immortals will leave nothing of her.”

Samudra’s sands spluttered after her, lacking the rigidity of mere days prior. A flaccid, formless reach that left this daughter untouched.

And so the Imperial collapsed in a heap, scraping the ground with impotent fingers.

🀦

The fourth day forced all hands.

Numbered among the fearful were more than experts.

Martial servants.

A cup-bearer, with [Prowess] that might overturn the lesser Sects with ancillary cultivation alone.

The merchant, whose wares might be ransomed for kingdoms. Her arm well able to defend them.

Weak and unwilling, these souls sought no combat.

The key used within [Imperial Realm 777] did not discriminate, it lifted all from its confines. For was this not why Fu had employed it? To make simple Bingbai’s retrieval, without [Arrays] and Imperials to block him.

And now…

The realm’s will set forth its challenge.

Its demand. Its tithe. Its requirement that need be met.

Outraged torrents of water peeled from the tower’s surface to deliver this message. A cylindrical flow that cast a shrinking perimeter around the unwilling. Grand at first, but unmistakable in the vanishing ground that fell beneath it.

As its inceptor, the Wayward Winds were unsurprised.

They flew in response.

Within the [Dao of Sanctuary], Kavya’s [Shaded Vestiges Knot, and Hoon’s [Four Rebirths Cradle], the collective disciples arrived at the entrance.

A mere five, outwardly, with Fu and Zhu to bolster the previous [Constellation Seed] bearing juniors.

“It is felt,” said Fu, addressing each. “A wind that does not blow is dampened. Diminished. For what might come, rely on all you have learned. Heroes are unneeded.”

Zhu moved first, and the others followed in procession. Small steps Into an impenetrable gloom, and one that spirited each away in turn.

With Aarushi’s tending our master will have recovered some facets of his strength. Her medicinal disciples are not without means, nor are their [Constellation Seeds] lacking.

His step took him into gloom, and [Spatial Qi] whirled about him to deliver a fresh destination. A domed expanse no more than three li in each direction. At its head grew stairs, hewn from blackened ivory and finished with pale lanterns that cast light without brightness.

The [Ink] returned, wisping before him.