Fatherly Asura

Skeletal jaws emerged from the inky blackness of this void, and Fu could scarcely dodge the speed at which they wrapped about his head.

A costly leap, it seemed, as the douli vanished.

He whirred, chain ready for the next peculiarity of his landing space. Walls of rich darkness whorled in liquid sludge, growing, parting and shifting as though he were entombed within an ever-shaking inkpot.

[Death Qi].

It would not do to touch-

Fresh jaws emerged to his east and north, heralding no owner as they burst from the curtains of this blackness.

These, Fu met with a sideward leap and great slashes of his chain’s blade.

If to no avail.

As with his own flesh the emerging maws were one with their element, and merely accepted the metal as it rushed through each tooth.

To backpedal brought a swift demise beneath the inky [Death Qi].

“[Shrine of FInal Skies],” he announced, stowing his chain as his [Constellation Seed] no less than exploded the black from whence it emerged.

Some vague [Spiritual] sense clad the skeletal teeth, and so his [True Wind God Arts] might prove to be a fitting counter. He descended into the first two sets with speed, nigh roaring as the third solidified his [Intent] into spiralling, misty shapes.

Three dragons formed from his directed will to tear at the emerging jaws, and within some few moments of his delivered strikes the apparitions faded like ground dust in the wind.

The pillars of his [Shrine] shed light enough to pierce only twenty paces of the Beast Lord’s, [Dao]-inflicted gloom, but as he regained his composure Fu noted enough to make observations on his location.

That word of Pinxui’s liking… pseudo. A thing to mean half-step. Where I stand must be the growing foundations of this Beast Lord’s [Inner Realm]. Some forsaken graveyard into which all of his prey will arrive.

Another douli was conjured from storage.

What rare opportunity. To survive here will grant greater insight into other [Inner Realms]. Let us see- I shall see what mechanisms await reaping, and this will prepare me all the better for the House of Ma’s vast expanse.

While [Sky’s Authority] chief ability was to transmute the ambient Qi into that of his own [Affinities], the act differed here.

[Death Qi] ruled this domain.

Meaning ruled this domain, akin to a [Primordial Law].

He sensed no [Constellation Seeds] among the Beast Lord’s flesh, nor had he done when first at battle with the beast, and so his thoughts went to that of concepts and embodiment.

Indeed, there were myriad Paths to the Heavens.

[Killing Intent]. Finality. Endings. I feel a [Dao] permeate this realm as though it is internalized through blood and [Spirit]. A pity that I have duties beyond my time here.

Fu used the nourishment his [Shrine of Final Skies] provided to mend the great gaps in his [Heavenly Spectre’s Shroud], though the repair of such pristine Qi was no small feat. Neither was stalling here an option.

The [Shrine] was dispelled, and dragons of the [True Wind God Arts] rose in its place.

But he did not blur.

Against the weight of this [Inner Realm] he readied his own [Killing Intent], casting the draconic manifestations of his technique in a bloody hue.

Myriad skeletal teeth appeared in response.

From every direction came a frenzy of ink-soaked jaws, appearing and disappearing as swiftly as they had come. He saw not fin nor tail, but [Spiritual] attacks done solely by maw and snapping edges.

Ink rippled underfoot at every step, beckoning more.

And more.

Fu let out a laboured breath within the first hour, and these became more frequent beyond. The [Death Qi] could not be avoided, for each carpet, wall and curtain of black was no less than a consuming mire.

A second hour passed.

A third and he had found no respite within the infernal ink.

“[Eightfold Arrival of the Asura],” he internally huffed, sprouting six tendrils of [Mist Qi] that he might extend his own reach.

[Intent] flowed through each arm, but proved far poorer than his [True Wind God Arts].

Do not be foolish. If it is a reflection of a [Mystic Realm], then it holds an anchor. All we must do it loose it. Or perhaps… perhaps if it is claimed then my true task will grow easier.

The novelty of such a thought reaffirmed his already ironclad resolve.

He stalled amidst the unceasing black, for there was no indication that any true progress had been made, crushing five sets of jaws as they lurched at his shoulder, neck, thigh, foot and palm. Fu then shaped his [Killing Intent] closer, having his dragons swim but one hair’s breadth from his misty flesh.

A second notion came to him.

I stand here with one hand bound behind my back. That is the fool’s path.

[Air Qi] had been his first [Affinity], [Spectral] his second. The ascension of it had not been without aid.

Fu collapsed his [Three Wisps From Breath] that his manifested arms might rescind, and instead flooded the technique with [Soul Qi].

Discomfort was a mild term for this sudden shift within his [Channels].

The nebulous energy was an amplifier. An aberrant, overlooked thing that, in records, served as little more than a bridge to transformation or a supplementary force for Alchemists and [Array] Masters.

None among his Wayward Winds nor close companions had wielded it with any degree of success, and those foes that had employed it against him were already long returned to the Great Cycle.

His palm snapped forth, laden with [Soul Qi]. Not in technique or form, but in a simple conjuration of [External Arts].

It was as shapeless as mist.

Almost intangible.

Three jaws snapped through his ephemeral [Constitution] as his strike failed to gain purchase upon them, and so he weaved about them.

It amplifies, and thus cannot be used alone? How then do the Alchemists use it?

Fu pooled his [Intent] once more, refining it so it became a nigh flame-like, [Spiritual] force at the tip of his fingers. This alone could counter the jaws, and yet he sought something more.

No small effort of will intertwined the flame with his [Soul Qi], for it was a thing unnatural and defiant to his thoughts. It diminished on contact, as though he were trying to force oil upon fire from above.

As though the heat is already too great and consumes it before it reaches the source.

Myriad jaws surfaced below, sideward and above.

Vast things indeed.

He only breathed, and looked inward to find the location from which his [Intent] originated. The physical location of his [Spirit], if such a thing existed.

An eastward jaw tore strips from his form.

A southern maw, the same.

North.

Up.

Behind.

Below.

Three from his south.

A shoulder. An arm. His gut.

Fu raced a thin line between foolishness and instinct, now buried beneath a slaughter of frenzied jaws.

Ten for each heartbeat.

Ten tears. Thump. Ten jaws. Thump. Ten gouges. Thump.

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The severity delivered clarity and amidst it Fu found his source. He reached for the percussive beat, knowing it was no mere organ within his chest but a representation of his will to succeed.

[Soul Qi] and [Killing Intent] suffused his heart, and it was then that thunder broke upon the black.

Great waves of crimson and teal surged about him, lashing with tidal fury for vast strides in all directions as he regained the ability to move unhindered. He pushed forward, refining the melding of [Soul Qi] and [Killing Intent] further, and these raging waters calmed into a serene sea of prodigious pressure, shattering each jaw that dared move against him.

Meaning populated these tides, cleansing the inky [Death Qi] to reveal a space of pristine ivory underneath, and Fu felt a minor [Epiphany] rise.

We are not the raging storm, but the shadow beneath waves. The sailor’s doom and that which lurks. Such is our [Intent]. A sea’s promise, unknown and feared.

He saw himself now, a shifting haze within the waters of his still-growing [Intent].

[Ink] burned.

And more curiously than this, a voice sang from the distant gloom he had yet to purge. “Another lives? Meet me, stranger, that such fortune might be greeted.”

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