Fatherly Asura

[Gu] is never aflame, I have come to see.

Upon horseback, the [Dour Faced Strategist] returned. A depleted host at his back, sounding only the mud beneath their soles.

The history of this victory was plain.

How the [Gu] had gnawed as if these Martial geniuses were kindling or leaves to further a ravenous blaze.

“Venerable Lord,” I greeted.

No head within this procession raised. Intent held only on the tail ahead, the wing or sodden pad.

“Cultivator,” I called ninefold, drawing attention at the last.

A daoist of heavy gaze. “Scholar, Amituofo.” His word of parting.

“I would know.”

Four strides west, an immortal collapsed. The wisps of his [Spirit Boar], blue.

[Dour Faced Strategist] stalled his partner, spared one glance, and continued thereafter. And in this turn I saw the scars.

The mask of blackened veins upon him, and the [Demonic Urges] that would not claim so stalwart a being. “[Asura],” he whispered, chilling the very air.

I blinked, addressing next the pale-faced daoist at my side. “How many?”

Poorly massed beneath skin, his own [Demonic Urges] bulged. A pureness of rage, and precursor to madness. “For a Lord among [Demons], only one was needed.”

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

Wind ruptured the mountain, and golden fragments rained upon the area.

His Path was [Winter’s] answer.

To speak it aloud, to conjure its aspect into his [Dao], the toll had taken less than a single wave of the hand.

Fu scraped himself to the balustrade. “We have gained an understanding of this [Trial], brother, sister,” he weakly gestured, alluding to the half-severed [Demon] across.

The wind had punctured it in the same manner as his [Dao], bursting a hole through its internals so that naught but the edges remained.

“Could this effect be multiplied? Or is this the limit that [Insight] will grant?” he pondered, drawing a viscous slew of bottled [Origin Qi] from storage to mend his injuries.

“Four [Seasons] hold four faces. [Autumn’s] Decline might be repeated. Yet-”

Before the Old One might answer, Shuidi and Fu nodded. “Repetition will not grant insight, and this opportunity should not be squandered. We will seek fresh understanding, saving Inevitability for a final resort.”

“As you say, youngling.”

Something had aligned within his [Dao], so Fu could feel. A confirmation for using his Path, perhaps, or the fledgling steps towards [Epiphany].

Hushi stroked his face, as if possessing a whisker. Fu listened to the coming impressions.

“Surface level [Dao]. Or aspects. To be Steadfast or to hold Propagation in mind. I fear the daoists or the more profound that we are to face,” he agreed.

The arena dissolved at their crossing, unveiling an emptied doorframe from which a small vine sprouted.

Fu put forth his palm, cradling a peach as it blossomed within. “It contains [Insight], no? In rejuvenation and knowledge.” His [Senses] confirmed it: some resonance of [Profundity].

Sweet to bite.