Fatherly Asura

[Dances Upon an Ivory Sea] had given no warning.

The [Cherry River Sage] had revealed naught.

Wen Pinxui had reports that read more as fable than true account.

And… was it not exhilarating?

They unfolded swiftly atop the outer groves of the Golden Bodhi Sanctuary, sparing but a single glance at the titanic growth of Fen’s [Spirit Tree]. So powerful- so dominating was its presence that a wide sea of the surrounding canopy had adopted its golden luster.

Shuidi felt even this was poor for so auspicious a meeting. This come-what-may with a [Primordial Lord]. Before Fu might caution her otherwise there came a great gale of her own summoning, carrying upon it motes of glowing [Profundity].

It whisked about each tower of bamboo, bending all things as they progressed.

All save two.

Two forms.

Two mountains.

As foretold, two possibilities.

Hushi impressed that his eyes must deceive him, for firstmost came the sight of a Pischacha’s form- that of grandiose muscle, wild, cascading hair and the mannerisms of one ill-bred for peace. Yet for all this, [Looming Amaranth Tyrant] held a grace they could not fathom.

A reverent quiet.

Had he a mortal’s physique, Fu might feel the hairs upon his arms bristle. Indeed he might feel a chill upon his nape, dryness of tongue or the tingle of sweat upon his spine.

Some pervasive force fell upon them as though the Heavens themselves enforced a warning - a simplicity of message.

Eyes are upon you.

A beast stalks.

They are ever at the corner of your eye.

Or, more so.

Prey.

“Prey,” confirmed Shuidi. “How enjoyable a domain. A well subtle thing, no?”

Fu stroked his whisker. “Old master. His partner. A [Spirit Precursor Beast] of some description. Have you encountered its like?”

The Old One remained well hidden, using more than ever Fu’s own eyes to gaze at the monstrosity of lizard ahead. A bipedal thing of draconic look, amaranth-coloured feather and scale, and defined musculature from prodigious tail to the great hooked horns upon its brow.

Little need be said on the fangs.

What approach would reason dictate? Doubtless they are aware of us.

Mist plumed from his pipe, deep, pensive and hesitant. “We extend our greetings, friend,” Fu soon called.

[Looming Amaranth Tyrant] turned with the purpose of a sunrise, holding some emotion akin to confusion upon his face. When he rose it was as though a blind man sought the wind or with the style of an old dog that could no longer parse the waft of his favoured scent.

One of [True King Realm] could not be deaf, surely, and so Fu called out once more with volume to his words.

The [Clouded Sovereign Existences Art] was intentionally diminished, and neither did the [Dao of Conquest’s Exhalation] mask them.

Even still…

“The wind speaks,” offered [Looming Amaranth Tyrant], addressing rather, the world itself. “Who causes such a shift?”

Whatever name was attributed to the [Spirit Precursor Beast], none knew, but it turned its own head more with the affectation of a rooster than any hegemon of predators. Bassy, throat-deep rumbles emerged in its search, and it offered no answer.

“We offer our greetings, friend,” called Fu for this third time, ranging close enough that it might be improper between strangers.

A blink returned, and the Tyrant’s gaze remained eastward and three heads too high.

Shuidi impressed a thought of teasing or traps.

Hushi lifted the douli, having [Profundity] flow. “[No less than this is required.]”

The Tyrant snapped about like the arrival of lightning. “Impatient souls. Dutiful souls. Kind souls. Eager souls,” he offered, pressing close his face whence the words had come. “Let neither of us suffer the vexation of this conversation.”

For one that knew the nature of wind-

For one that swallowed thunder-

Fu could scarcely react as the realm about them spun into white. It was no flare nor burst of sunlight, yet before a thought might sprout in his mind there unfolded a crushing pressure and some sensation not unlike the crossing of a [Paifang].

“The Fatherly [Asura].”

Words of reply did not come swiftly.

No.

For shamefully long moments the three could but struggle. The Tyrant had spirited them away to a place that held purity enough to rival the Cherry River.

Enough to rival the [Primordial Realm] itself.

Shuidi demanded much from the [Shrine of Final Skies], cycling of all their [Inner Qi] towards its absorbing elements over further heartbeats so that they might so much as stand straight and breath.

“Let it not be so. Have we plucked a hatchling or a dragon? The thrill upon our ears was not hollow.”

A polite smile spread across Fu’s features. “Apologies,” he said, re-inserting his pipe. “We hold a different face for our disciples. Here, I see we hold no need for subtleties.”

[Ink] beckoned.