Fatherly Asura

…pale against so ancient a divide.

[Thrice Clouded Boa] cannot be spoken of lightly, nor the secrets that might ransom Empires for their cost.

Clear it was, that serpents wished the [Boundless Dao] granted another name.

Not Thrice, but Four.

Rumbles of this tale spread as split earth, consuming all pavillions in whisper, guesswork and a wealth through brokers of deed and story.

Yes, disciple, I recall it.

Here did I sit, and across, your grandfather scribed missives as you scribe these words.

‘The daughter. The sister. Nu Gua,’ came their cries, for the [Boundless Dao] was yet to know her.

Strayed from all that is righteous. Foresworn against [Heritage].

No serpent builds her fourth Path.

In folly, so told, it is the eel.

Then from grace she toppled: peerless as Heaven’s will knew, and yet a shame upon the Pillar of her Mother and the eternal-spanning roots of the Cloudy Serpent Sect.

Elders of Tail, Fang, Scale, Rattle and all aspects most revered, held highest and extolled as virtue.

They spurned her.

Even Thrice-Bonded, this was seen as quarter-stained.

Her burden to carry.

Her standard to fly for those serpents that were not.

“Pariahs of Heritage,” by [Buried in Papyrus]

The honorable cultivator- the storied cultivator would stand, stalled in determination against this oncoming [Dao]. Of nobility and might, so did his partners.

What force of gold manifested was subtle, enshrouding the conjured talismans with a glow so radiant that stars would pale in comparison. So their swiftness rose: their precision and reach, forming cyclones of [Profundity] amidst their [Affinities].

Yes, the storied cultivator would stand defiant. Some matching [Dao] would burn in counter, four cornered shields made of wind’s history. A [Dao of Four Horizons], suppressing flame with tidal squalls, air with a desert’s memory and more, for storied cultivators were peerless.

Fools.

The [Heavenly Spectre’s Shroud] was swallowed by stone, depositing Fu no less than three floors below.

Yet warmth pursued. The invariable sense of power, giving chase.

In a scatter of heartbeats the stone above became as molten gold, heralding the arrival of Fourth Dipped Quill’s threat. Be it flame or earth, this mattered not.

Only that no stone slowed its advance.

Seamless Execution. A [Dao] so named might hold myriad benefits. Might it never cease its pursuit? Lend perfection to the task at hand? Disregard realm and strength alike to achieve its intended purpose?

Pinxui might lend a scroll here, debating the respective densities of ziggurats. Values of average Qi reinforcement possessed by materials of this realm, and if not, then averages and laws regarding [Imperial Realms] of similar composition.

Would this lend strength to his own efforts?

Fu’s motions burned by instinct alone, for this he held faith in. Another drop in floors, and this molten fiend gave chase, glowing-

The corridor ahead went incendiary.

A junction drowned.

Half a pace above the talismans sundered each connected brick.

All, swifter than a single moment.

Many defensive treasures had been spent in his duel with Mridul, but the remainder flew now. En masse.

[Dao of Four Horizons].

He became the wind and his partners fled in opposing corners, for in [Spirit] they were one and the same.

Hushi fled east and Shuidi west.

Fu stormed the center, riding an edge so close to these talismans’ aggression his [Constitution] was frayed in proximity.

But the molten force surged from all corners and this [Dao] proved relentless. Against his own talismans; shields; spatial vessels and myriad treasures errantly thrown in their path, few whittled any strength before shattering.

Explosions rained.

Bulbs of expanding chaos orbited Fu’s each step, erasing the ziggurat’s passages with dire certainty.

Where might I flee?

[Half Cloud Step] blinked him some li distant, reaching a subterranean spread of the [Spirit-Killing White Marsh Array]. Roots of roots, deeper than the staging ground where [Spring’s] Imperials marshalled.

So again, to another extremity. An east, or far side.

The same.

Moths rose. The talismans chased. Debris crumbled about him.

A ghost’s heart fretted not on this, but the tragedy occurring far above. His absence would allow Fourth Dipped Quill to regain control of the [Array]. The time Fu might buy for Yifei was to end, swiftly.

Some may settle, thinking a clutch of hours proved sufficient.

The [Dao] within his heart warned this was not enough.

Thus his next leap, phase, roll and brought him higher. With lacking haste he returned to a devastation of open space, where explosion and violence had carved a glaring hole in the ziggurat’s framework.

Then Fu conjured rain.

[Dao of the Ephemeral Cascade].

Perhaps it descended as hammers might, or perhaps it came as spittle. Instinct only spoke that it did, even so far distant as the ziggurat’s outer structure was.

A dodge. A dance. A blur.

Fu recalled his [Dao].

A personal disciple would not be felled by walls. Stone is no foil.

He leapt inverted, bypassing the [Earth Qi] talismans as forged stone cycloned not an inch from his douli. Bile surfaced in his mouth, and true pain from proximity. His flesh solidified, becoming a thing of substance and mortality even in the residual spray of this Qi.

The ground embraced him.

Physically.

How brittle he felt as stone, earth and detritus buried into a peculiarity of flesh. No scratch nor wound surfaced. No blood. Pain came in sensation, but it was of fading wisps. As if a fog lessened and his vital essence began to drift.

Explosions blossomed.

[Earth Qi] neared once more. [Fire Qi], [Wood Qi].

Fu saw in bleary eyes how widespread this destruction was, doomed to face it with so little faculties to dodge.

Closer they came. Swifter than he.

Almost.

[Dao of Four Horizons].

With lacking limb and unresponsive body, Fu blinked into the maelstrom of [Water Qi] and pulled. Borne of a True Imperial’s strength and [Dao], the pain was immeasurable. A threat against even one on water’s path.

Of [Water Resistance] as afforded by Shuidi’s bond.

The eye consumed him, and then, he consumed it. All about him the raging torrents and talismans reduced, draining as [Pull] drew the element into his [Core] and [Constitution].

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Then-

[Half Cloud Step].

Air followed, suffering this same fate as Fu’s body half-rejuventated. Half, for not all the Qi behaved as he sought. Some fled, some lashed or drowned, other fragments dissipated. A True Imperial’s talent was no meager thing to unmake.

But his hand tightened, as if seizing the reins of a thrashing buck. The [Air Qi] and [Water Qi] thrust aside by his [Pull] morphed, weaving broken clouds about this underground hall.

[Dao of the Ephemeral Cascade].

His command jittered [Profundity] through the subterranean clouds.

[Dao of the Ephemeral Cascade].

The second call loosed rain, and Fu’s mind near tore apart as he conjured the primary principle of this [Dao].

A cycle.

A beginning and end.

Fu shamed his vocation with a singular roar as every sensation, element, raindrop and talismanic vortex suddenly ceased.

Stalled.

Paused as if captured upon a peerless artist’s still-wet canvas.

The ghost drew a ragged breath.

Once… once is not enough.

[Ink] burned.

🀦

His juniors lacked the same swiftness as he.

Pinxui did not dash, but set vexations on the [Array] from li below. His scholars, [Array Masters] and martial juniors of similar aptitude beset this quarry in the same fashion.

The Fatherly [Asura] was no island. And yet, he floated.

In rhythmic clashes Fu returned, a haggard breeze against Fourth Dipped Quill. From leap to leap, the [Origin Qi] reaped from [Dances Upon an Ivory Sea] was… depleting. Vials of its liquid form, [Pills] condensed, vast containers into which his hand plunged between bouts of striking.

Barely two hours had passed.

Mental energy could not be replenished by Qi, but cushioned, and all he did now would revisit him tenfold when rest finally came.

Thus, once more, he tempered his resolve.

[Earth Qi], and [Earth Qi] alone thundered toward him. Vortices that numbered no less than one hundred.

Fu blurred throughout the massed Imperials, clashing in yet innumerable quantities with the [Demonic]-tainted [Beast Tide]. Above blue-clad cultivators and their partners, uniformed as their Empire demanded, or at their rears, undersides and shoulder.

Merely a ghost.

The [Earth Qi] neared, and he dove in repetition.

Thin barriers of the ziggurat's framework passed him by as his spectral form descended, appearing in an annihilated expanse below. All fragments and dust.

Fourth Dipped Quill’s talismans pursued.

They entered the rain-soaked expanse Fu had wrought here, thundering to its bottom floor heedless of the lashing wet.

[Dao of the Ephemeral Cascade].

Cessation.

These lethalities of earth stalled once more, frozen mid-rotation.

Fu’s [Spirit] cursed him, awash in brittleness. The [Heavenly Spectre’s Shroud] paled, losing wisps of his form by the breath.

Clouds manifested below his feet, now insubstantial even to him. But the ghost surged, ascending back whence he came. A dance to emerge amongst the Imperials’ ranks…

Once more. Again. Another time.

The battlefield was a blur. Smudges of color and no more.

His [Dao] lapsed, having restrained Fourth Dipped Quill’s techniques for less than a clutch of seconds- winnowing Fu all the while.

So came the [Dao of Flawless Execution]. A [Dao] to never miss its mark. Of perfection.

Correction.

Fourth Dipped Quill’s hundreds eviscerated the ground beneath him, renewing their chase with the swiftness of near-immortal vengeance. They threshed the ziggurat’s floor, the slaughter’s floor, like ravenous beasts fleeing a greater torment.

As if to swallow all.

But Fu turned not, ignoring how Imperials were torn once more asunder by their senior’s techniques, and passed a command through his brooch.

Our… our cousin must hold the rest. These thousands… these thousands and Lords, let none say our support of them lacked.

At that moment the [Spirit-Killing White Marsh Array] shattered and the [Paifang’s] violet sheen vanished, cueing an end to the rampaging spill of beasts.

More, perhaps, for here the sun of his Cloudy Serpent Sect called her challenge clearly. Words bolstered by a substantial hiss, setting tremulous hearts amongst Yifei’s foes. The Inner Disciple might have surged, sundering a thousand fools with a single swipe. Those of [Spring’s] elite might have fallen.

But this ghost knew only blackness.

🀦

Voices roused Fu from slumber. What sparse fragments remained of his Qi-forged body ached, though he was little more than a gaseous puddle and knew not where the exact injury had claimed him.

“Gao Fu,” echoed in his mind. The Old One, weary, for their mental link was as one and not. “Youngling. Rise.”

Blue silhouettes marched down the ziggurat’s passages.

Beasts.

Blades.

A promise of blood upon each.

Fu grasped what he could of crumbled stone, flickering through most before loose granules clung to his flesh. The effort of sustaining physicality… he might have coughed blood, was his body filled with it.

To conjure [Dao]...

No.

A trite thought rose. All he required was more Qi, another taste of [Origin Qi]...

No.

His [Meridians] were burnt. Overtaxed and near the brink of shattering. Such was the toll of a fight against one True Imperial.

Such was the attempt.

Even upon the ground, gingerly mustering the will to move, Fu passed promises of next and coming times. Best saved for later days.

Hushi. Shuidi.

The impressions were faint. Returned under duress, but alive. That above all had him stand, solidifying his mind. One pulse cycled his spent [Core], two, three, and a fragile fourth. Small invigorations that lent purchase to his wobbling stride.

He blinked clear a better sight of the passage, hearing now a simple word.

“Assassin,” it rang.

No rampage ensued. Rather the Imperials of Blue sharpened, expanding in uniform step a presence not unlike that of the keenest blades.

Fu felt their [Intent] reach him, combined in living [Array]. A force of… diminished eyes could not tell, but he saw no end in this narrow passage. Ten abreast, to begin, extending row after row.

His chain fell slack, loud against the stone.

The Jianghu held stories of these moments. An unrivalled blow. A peerless strike. How the talenteds’ cultivation prevailed or how Martial [Prowess] condensed in the face of crisis.

A hundred strides were swallowed by their march.

No Heavens would smile here. Not for fishermen nor assassins.

Should an [Epiphany] arrive in this darkest of hours- where [Spectral Qi] failed to penetrate wall, [Constitution], [Dao], limb and Qi failed to rise- it would not come for Fu.

His ring delivered an item, gripped between loose fingers. Exchanged for a chain. In truth, he knew nothing of it.

Imperials might.

As might the talented.

Heaven’s chosen, perhaps.

As if a beacon, the inconsequential [Dao Treasure] cast aside this ziggurat’s darkness. A set of scales, hewn from queerest, reddest bone. And this he held aloft, ensuring the growing [Profundity] reaches all [Senses].

The march slowed.

The [Intent] waned.

Fu made a mockery of [Heritage] now, spitting on the geniuses or [Reliquaries] that had imparted their insight for coming generations. For another treasure materialized, some scabbard of woven leaves, scented like sunflowers.

This he tucked within an armpit.

Blue footsteps stalled.

A whistling frond emerged next, recalling a [Summer’s] warmth upon its passing tune. The [Dao Treasure] was clutched betwixt his teeth.

Now his Imperial foes became entrenched, and no [Intent] could do more than splutter against the sight.

At the fourth withdrawal he ceased, whipping a velveteen shroud over one shoulder. What it invoked… mattered not. These treasures were priceless to all but he, or others like he, those that had not condemned themselves to personal insight.

His [Dao] related to his Path.

Other [Dao] were not of his concern.

Yet the trove of wealth here was akin to multiple fortuitous encounters, reaped from the very Empire it was now employed against.

The Imperials sat like ordered dogs. So too did their partners suffer, however far from the lotus position they might seem.

[Epiphany] overcame them all.

Be it of whistling frond, scales or shroud. In four treasures, an aspect of their contained [Dao] would touch most paths.

[Twisted Mockeries Heartplume].

A breeze split from his chest, manifesting in unseen limbs. His twin of wind’s breath. Unhampered by damage or strain.

Fu collapsed to a knee, scattering the [Dao Treasures] into dust-strewn places. Too much damage had occurred, and he held not the fortitude to command his [Mockery].

“Foolish young one. Presumptuous.”

Old master.

“Blame lies here. Yes. This old master does not deliver his promises. Ever moving. Too swift. You hold not an immortal’s pace.”

Can you aid… can you aid this lacking disciple, old master?

The voice in his soul fell silent.

Outwith Fu’s control, his [Senses] expanded.

“In imitation. A technique was promised. It might be imparted now, at cost. My mind will go to this, Gao Fu. Dormancy. Until proficiency is reached, this old master will slumber.”

Impressions encroached on Fu’s [Spirit]. Reticence and longing. A melancholic tint that recalled the Old One’s imprisonment at [An Array in One Hand’s] behest.

I will strive to hasten this. On… on my word, old master.

These [Dao Treasures] were finite.

To run…

Already did Imperials stir, crediting their talent with the [Boundless Dao]. A fool’s errand, to force insight upon the Empire of Vajra before him, but were such lengths not needed by the talentless?

Presence drained from Fu’s mind.

His [Ink] burned, and he held not the faculties to hold back its arrival.