Fatherly Asura

A subject that needs not the mystery that surrounds it.

Heaven blesses the blood of these clans, and so, why should it not be known to all? Is this not our pride as the One Hundred and Eight?

As upon the [Ink]:

[Dragon Ancestor’s Tapestry]

[Heavenly Talent] [Seventy Second] [Boon]

[Nine Edges of the AutumnEquinox]

[Heavenly Talent] [Seventy Third] [Boon]

[Oriole]

[Heavenly Talent] [Seventy Fourth] [Boon]

“Heavenly Talents,” by Lord Seventy Second

Mingqin would expect more.

In morality and talent.

Such a line was strange to tread, truly, for Fu nor Shuidi nor Hushi knew where to apply their pressure.

The blade of their chain did not puncture a [Core]. Throats went un-slit. No [Dao] were called to shatter the [Spirit] of their foes through [Tribulation].

The erstwhile tranquil Hushi impressed his disappointment at a lack of crunched bone.

Shuidi had much to say, and no words were kind.

But the righteous Gao Fu, envoy, high-seat and vigilant of the noble Phoenix Melody Coalition pressed on despite these… inefficient restrictions.

One faceless clanswoman of the One Hundred and Eighth plunged a spear through his misty physique, and the [Stifling Stream Revolutions] pummelled her into a bloody state. This followed for her hundred brothers, cousins or orbiting familial members. Some mere onslaught of fist, palm and heel to physically break those that came against him.

A heavenly din exploded from the fortress’s peak, seeing gold, debris and peerless energies clash within.

Long was surely enough to fell Vishram with his own hand.

The addition of Cho would only make this swifter.

Disciples of the Ninety Nine Palm Sect spilled from their bronze-hued half, leaping into the vast crowds of clansmen against which their numbers paled. Indeed it was an exercise in quality above quantity, as while these monks seemed untroubled the resources of a Numbered clan could not be ignored.

Fu swept into the main courtyard, rushing his [Intent] out in declaration. “Family of the One Hundred and Eighth, lay down these arms. City Lord Mingqin is gentle to those that do not cause trouble.”

An edge of bodies arrived, bearing [Spirit Tigers], lions and sizable feline beasts as their menacing front. With green hanfu and lowered qiang, Fu thought it an approaching forest given how dense their numbers proved.

“Hah! You dare offer such demands. My clan, this frog truly does not know the depths of the well he croaks in,” stepped forth a larger cultivator. Drama flared in his every motion as he spun, marking this speech as a spectacle. “My name is-”

“Cousin! Why lower yourself?” called an emerging woman, bearing clear familial resemblance to both the previous and Vishram. “That old man is of no trouble, and clearly he would not cause such a scene if he had sense.”

A third came, and here the crowd solidified around the One Hundred and Eighth’s supposed heroes.

“Cousin.”

“Cousin.”

“Cousin.”

The greetings were shared to a backing chorus of cheers.

Fu looked beyond appearance, seeing no sense in describing the soon-to-be-broken, evaluating their strengths instead.

Peak [Core Formation], for twelve [Spirit Sabertooth] proudly orbited those who spoke. Familiar, if far distant from the [Heritage] he had once faced. It would be curious to see how they compared to the Sepulchral Saber Sect.

Long would seek their obliteration, his thoughts on life are as precious as our own. To act for Mingqin and bring the ire of this clan however, it is a curiosity. Perhaps he knows the dead will tell no tales.

Their intention for violence was clear. Understandable when one’s realm is invaded, he knew, but a vexation all the same.

Fu contemplatively puffed his pipe.

To defeat these three will surely lessen the martial spirit of their comrades. If Long is to play executioner, then I will push him towards this role as I remain outwardly righteous.

Light suffused the [Ink] of these scions of the One Hundred and Eighth much the same as Vishram. Doubtless its sheen was dimmer, though their [Heavenly Talent] was plain - marking each as a true blooded relation.

[Intent] solidified across Fu’s fists, flickering as though a teal flame.

It was then that a fresh figure landed beside him, two colourful [Spirit Apes] at her side.

Mandrill or baboon of stern expression.

[Ink] patterned her bare arms in tones of vibrant orange, as did the matching [Intent] that mirrored his own. “[Stifling Stream Revolutions],” she noted, fastening her hair with a cord. “When this is over, we will trade pointers.”

“I am not against it,” said Fu, nodding once as the fray began.

Three hours marked the final blow.

Three bloodied Vajra lay about him.