Fatherly Asura

One of Five are Three.

For.

Against.

Impartial.

Nothing imperils the Clear Sky, and so, are three truly impartial?

What need have Plums, Serpents or the Fourth for aid?

None, and so I mark these as spare.

The Sage, the Monk, the Pilgrim.

Venerables follow in the Sword, the Spear and Alchemist.

Filth is listed thereafter.

The Fist, the Doctor and Fool.

“Forks: A River of Cherries,” - Author Unknown

[Summer’s] sigil rose.

“Stillness” retorted this [Demon].

Remembrance everlasting. The generational fear, ingrained in a thousand cycles unending.

[Autumn’s] sigil blazed.

“Barren.”

Realization. That which lines clouds, a darkening stripe behind all that might soar in white. A grey portent to herald how far all will fall.

[Winter], and change.

Contest became circuit, and sentiment became mantra.

Fu’s lungs heaved for breath, his grip ever tightening upon the balustrade. Indeed, this [Demon’s] image was dense.

A counter, perhaps. Opposites, perhaps.

Yin to Yang, dark to light. Motion against stagnation, if only within the small composite he drew.

Shuidi took breath aside him while Hushi awaited the [Demon’s] response.

Plundered Breath. How trite it would be to align it with base fear. No aspect of our Path, but a simplicity in nightmares and dread.

The [Demon’s] words were lost to this arena, arriving silent amongst further change. For the gold’s luster dimmed, browning this tundra and losing much of its radiance. A decline from [Autumn’s] Barren aspect, or the precursor to her insight of [Winter].

Then Hushi’s reply followed.

[Spring] thereafter.

[Summer], [Autumn], and [Winter] once more.

Words lost meaning, for intent became all.

Hushi’s against the [Demon].

Between strained breaths, Fu’s eyes remained upon the shifting scene of [Dao]. A canvas saturated with their clashing insight.

Brother… how vast is your understanding?

The dimmed tundra tasted of staleness unmatched. No expansion of [Senses] was needed to feel the absence upon his skin. The impotence in each browned grass or stagnant, listless mote of air within.

To see the mists of their [Dao]: unmoving. Hollow. Mere images wherein the [Profundity] was as inert as the [Demon’s] conjuring.

How they reduced and thinned.

Fu struggled to gasp.

The [Demon] leered, further unmaking Hushi’s [Dao].

Blind as the mists finally vanished from sight.

“Winter’s Child disappoints. His Epiphany goes unused,” she called. “Challenge was sought. A contest of Paths. You of Wind and I of its absence.”

With a twisting of her palm, the tundra’s stagnation intensified. A force of attrition, well suited for [Demons]. It permeated Hushi’s skin, the faded avatar of his conjured [Dao], poisoning them with a malignancy of mental drain and impotence.

Will choked within them, as lethal as any retched gasp.

And yet the [Spirit Octopus] had wisdom beyond Fu’s once-mortal ken. A truth engraved upon his boneless form, as it was upon Shuidi’s shell. Lesser, was the truth upon his own flesh, pale in imitation.

[Profundity] sparked a reaction upon Fu’s [Ink], pregnant in expectation.

Hushi dared a look at his cultivator.

We seek the words then. A statement to align your gifted understanding. Gratitude, brother. I see the way of it.

Fu held no great love of pain, and so rose from the [Dao] of this fledgling [Demon]. One reinforcement of will, bolstered through his own [Principle]. As he waived it aside, the tundra ahead shuddered.

“I extend my gratitude, noble [Demon]. Our meeting was indeed fateful, if sadly early,” he said, dipping his crown.

Bemusement sounded in her laugh, but no conversation followed.

“In transformation, motion. In stagnancy, stability. But what fear comes from it? What inspires dread from immutability?” Fu challenged.

“My Path is not of dread and stuttered breath,” she returned.

“Yet absence consigns you to it.”

Golden luster peeked from the tundra’s harshest lines, for the very foundation of her [Dao] began to chip as if porcelain.

“Clouded insight, Winter’s Child, of which I will have no part.”

Fu’s lips thinned, contemplative. “Stagnancy entombs you. From absence comes absence, and from change, struggle. This is life, in benefit and disaster, growth cannot come from rainless skies.”

Each syllable escaped wisps of gold, mounting across the arena.

“Cease this,” sang the [Demon].

Bisected clouds emerged betwixt each foe, drifting so that each motion revealed its perfect halves of white and black.

A thought brought golden thunder to crackle within.

“From [Plundered Breath], fear empowers. Dread-laced gasps. But all such breaths are a gift: a benefit. Borrowed air to fill one’s lungs comes only from wind, and returns thereafter.Thus I say, Seek lightning’s presence and the chaos of potential. The tumult within grey skies, change’s herald.”

The [Demon] shared a concerted shuddered with her manifestation, and Fu… stalled. As did the massing [Profundity].

His [Dao] panged. A sharp pain spread throughout [Spirit] and mind.

Hushi spurred him on.

I see it, brother. Yet this coming [Dao] is of a strength I can barely contain.

An [Epiphany] had arrived in tandem with his insight. Odd, for it came more as confirmation or a filling of shallow pools.

Understanding as he uttered an old phrase. “No less than this is required.”

Not words for this new [Dao], nor consolidation through speech. But an understanding of his massed [Seasons] and the small talent he held in delivering [Profundity] to others.

The sentiment and intrinsic knowledge he held. All a truth, encapsulated in the wisdoms he had shared his entire life.

So he spoke aloud but one final time, and these statements proved twins of one another in delivery. “Embrace change’s strife. As in cloud’s limitless struggle, succumb or be nurtured. [Dao of Coming Tribulations].”

Heatless light jolted upon the [Demon], bursting from his manifested cloud. Arcing lightning wreathed her form, plunging her to her knees.

Once of melodic tones, her scream turned shrill.

Abject terror painted her face.

A force to feed Fu’s [Spirit], for this swelled in proportion. As did blood burst from his mouth, coughed in lungfuls under the duress of this [Dao].

Too vast for his insight.

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[Ink] burned, and yet his eyes bleared.

A waking breath welcomed fresh agony, pooling blood into the corners of his mouth. [Air Qi] held it fresh, subduing the metallic taste of mortality, but a vile sensation nonetheless.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Hushi impressed his presence some strides distant. Shuidi proved closer, nestled in weakness within his hanfu’s folds.

The contest area is gone. Where might we have-

Fu’s will demanded stillness, for swiftness might have broken him. Firm upon the ground - supported by the wall where he had awoken - each morsel of his body tensed at the sight no more than an arm’s length away.

Silver in silhouette, solidifying with each blink. A [Demon’s] proffered palm. The peach freely given.

“Warrior,” it said- he said.

“I greet you,” steadied Fu, observing all he could.

A being of slender stature and sapphire-hued eyes. Unique among individuals, of which this fresh lounge held many. Hundreds, skewed well against the favor of Fu and the scant cultivators about here.

All in wide berth of this exchange.

A moment passed. This silver [Demon] placed the peach, retracting so Fu might claim it without entering his reach.

“An honorable act, noble stranger.”

“Honorable?” came the reply, amused. “This fruit dropped from your clutches. You hold low expectations of these fellows, it seems.”

Shuidi’s [Senses] breezed upon the [Demon], and all that returned was queer.

To what being do we speak? The immortal foe, yet clad in [Qi Suppression Arts]? [Gu Suppression]? He holds no [Core] nor absence to detect.

“You search me,” the [Demon] noted, inclining his head. “How is this done? I would have you attempt again, Warrior, if it is no imposition.”

Fu drew first from the [Origin Qi] nestled within his [Hundred Immunities Fruit]. While an unfathomable were stored in his ring, he would not reveal such here. With a circulation, the power set about cleansing much of his mental toll.

“It is improper. Less so after discovery,” said Fu.

“This I ask in earnest.”

Once more Shuidi’s [Senses] expanded, and the [Demon] revelled as it washed upon him. All the while his fingers stirred, tactile against the sensation.

Still, the [Spirit Crab] felt nothing.

“An application of will,” he said. “Like so?” Some gentle [Intent] thrust itself upon Fu’s person, weighty and… negligible in equal measure, for it carried no malice within. “Ah, I see now. Less an exertion of the [Spirit]- hmm. Curious. No. It is a magnification of the [Senses].”

Something primal drew Fu’s fist to form.

Something primal drew an uproar from the [Trial’s] current occupants.

Hundreds of mouths let spill thousands of cries. Some of indrawn breath, others outrage or of interests piqued. Common among them were complaints, and more so, fear. Those about them shed their facade of civil gathering: this farce of immortal enemies at peace, and let their hatred seethe toward the silver being.

And yet, poor was the unwitting assassin. Those that let surprise rule.

“The [Boundless Dao] are for all, and [Intent] might manifest from any soul. However, a [Demon’s] words are swallowed by [Gu], parsing no resonance with the Qi as you have just done.”

The being stroked his hairless chin. “Justly naming me as aberration. Must I intervene, or will fear keep these peoples at bay?”

Fu held no great love for the surrounding glowers. Proximity marked him as someone, and to engage his [Dao of Wind’s Present Whispers] was folly beneath such volume. “The hearts of others are ever unknown. Challenge might arrive, or mystery might hold back an advance. Many among the Sects might view you as an affront.”

“At least to you, I am tolerable.”

“My peach was returned when no need pressed you. Kindness is a rarity within the Jianghu,” smiled Fu. “Gratitude is all I press in your direction, stranger.”

An eruption of voice came from across this hall. “Yaoguai!” it bellowed, drawing a susurrus in repetition.

A [Demon]- A true [Demon] emerged from the segmented crowd. Sleeveless in robe to display four azure arms, an [Asura], hands well tightened upon four hilts.

“Yaoguai?” pondered the silver being.

“Spirit, monster, other,” shared Fu. “Of the tales that scare children into propriety.”

The air by this being’s hand flashed, birthing a gnarled rod of wood. “Yaoguai. The sentiment is most fitting. My name comes, thus is taken,” then came distortion and unparalleled madness, for Fu gazed upon his mouth to see a dislocation of sound. “[Dao of Slumber].”

An obliteration of violet wisps overcame the scene. Its [Profundity] that of matriarchs, immortals and elders of his own Sect.

Sleep swept the [Trial’s] inner space, lulling each [Demon], [Spirit Beast] and cultivator into a sudden collapse.

We dream. What else would explain this?

Contrary to thought, Hushi was awake. Shuidi’s watch held intensity. Fu held no fatigue but that of his prior trials.

Yaoguai’s rod vanished. “Respect is much here, is it not? Prideful acts and vanity. None will wake and discuss this, I expect. My presence has implicated you, Warrior, and for this I will apologise.”

“Gao Fu,” Fu shook, gesturing to his companions in turn. “Hushi and Shuidi.”

“Gao Fu. Hushi. Shuidi. Reparations are owed.”

Fu’s instincts allowed him to rise, affecting a high bow. “We do not sleep. To be excluded from your technique is gift enough.”

“A bar set low, this. That respect is given for so paltry a thing, your realm is poor, Warrior. Offense is offense, only fools meet it with violence. Please, name a thing, I will leave before these aggressors wake.”

Shuidi impressed a desire, and Fu gave it-

“You wish to see the technique again, Mage Shuidi?” Yaoguai answered. “No, the oddity that occurred when I voiced it. Yes,” and so the violet [Profundity] returned. From his lips came the [Dao of Slumber], although the motions did not match its sound.

“Another word was said.”

“This power, I know it by a different name,” Yaoguai looked to the slumbering crowd. “How resilient, that they already stir.” A fresh treasure arrived, and Fu soon found a sealed flask within his hand. “A small token. Acceptable currency in any realm, I am told.”

I feel humbled to experience so fateful an encounter. So confounding and extraordinary. Indeed, it is dream-like, no?

His partners agreed, though Hushi held fixation on the flask. Of foreign wood and mortal construction, patterned with white roses.

In any realm, they had scarce seen its ilk before.

Fu stowed it, and gave a departing bow. “Our meeting will stir my memories for many moons to come, master Yaoguai. I feel the richer for it.”

“Thank you, no. Gratitude, Gao Fu, Hushi and Shuidi. May your Fate be kind, and delivered on favourable winds,” he said, and promptly winked into nothing.

Silence.

With interest, Hushi’s arms unsealed the flask. A pale liquid wobbled within, bread scented and fragrant.

“Grain ale,” the Old One whispered. “And yet, beyond Heavenly.”

“A gift for Zhu, perhaps. Though he would need to drink much to believe all that has transpired.”

🀦