Fatherly Asura

Speeches came and all was proper.

Auspicious.

To grant face and avoid tragedy in equal proportion, Lianse took to the skies above each of the thirteen terrors, and looked down upon them. Her words were her words and mollified through simplicity.

Then unfolded the tournament.

“Go,” sighed Long. “This silence grates.”

To his left, Zhu and Tanshaui shared a similar sentiment, if in withering looks.

Shuidi hopped down from the brim of their douli. “This peerless mistress is at home above the masses. Go. Indulge. Brother’s thoughts are deafening enough.”

Fu’s head dipped from side to side, then blurred as the [Spirit Crab] plumed a simulacram of perfect mist to take his place. Mirth washed upon him from a roaring crowd when he set down upon the first platform, though the souls there that might notice him were, perhaps, one in these many millions.

As it ought to, much had changed across these [Seasons].

[Immortal Arbiter’s Soul] gleaned the first contestants, already at-steel. However, [Primordial Law] ruined much of his indulgence, and so he willed the revelation of talent away. Cultivation was ever more than values upon one’s [Ink] or depth of [Prowess].

Hushi impressed his joy at the resounding meeting of palms as Chan Gui’s [Wind God Arts] struck against the Pagoda of Chasing’s [Step of all Corners], having the supportive [Arrays] wobble in these incepting moments.

He stepped again, lower.

There a woman of the Darkberry Tribe conjured her [Dao] with breathtaking beauty to conjure the same affectation by some scion of the Sixteenth Vajra. The stern Vajra Lord stood patient, arms-clasped, and did not suffer the folly of underestimating those that followed nature’s path.

“[Dao of Inevitability],” he conjured, raising a great and golden flag in the midst of their platform.

Its pressure was that of Change and Endings.

Familiar.

Zhu’s tribesmate pursed her lips, spat, and shared disdain with her [Spirit Owl]. “So… tainted,” she shared and spat once more at the construct. “This thing of metals and cloth. Strong, yes, but infected with… grah. You are entitled to your blindness.”

The Vajra braced, and doubtless it was imperceptible to all but those with the swiftness to rival wind.

“[Dao of Inevitability?]” she almost questioned, and from this breath manifested a violent sun in the air above.

Its pressure was that of Change and Endings.

In its descent- its setting across a false, golden horizon, the weight of it blustered this Vajra to one knee, shattering his banner in moments.

The [Spirit Owl] hooted, blurred, and hammered him further into ground with a single clawtip.

“Eh- A good clash? The chief said that would avoid conflict,” she said, and turned to leave.

Fu descended once more.

Rose.

Witnessed a tide of fish turn quaking earth and fractured ground into droplets of flowing blood; a cowed cultivator shroud himself in defensive [Dao] as his fervent [Spirit Panther] tore into another with myriad spectral jian; he saw the embarrassment of the Fist of Nine Sect as one of Sikou’s grungy, wine-scented Warriors broke their knuckles, and furthermore, the shame of both the Prairie Spear Sect and [Venerable Reed Sage’s] disciples as they collapsed in concert from peerlessly timed counters; then on, leaving the Fatherly [Asura] as giddy and elated as child on their moon-day to see the honed techniques and secret mantras of the [Dragon Devouring Fist], [Red Cliff Breath of Conflagrations], [Heavenly Sword Sublimations] and myriad more, feeding, conversing and debating merrily with the Old One as comparisons were made.

He became nostalgic for Kang Jae, Zhu and even Eighty Seventh Bhandana, musing that this would best be enjoyed over several responsible wines and willing company.

Whatever shape these lands adopt, we will ensure there is time aplenty for such things.

Gasps rung in abundance for every impossible act delivered.

The blows, the [Dao], the fable unfolding before all - made more peerless for the fact that these spectators were no paper tigers themselves - enriching, or lending weight to the exclamations.

Then came one in concert.

Shiudi impressed they should return, and before the thought had finished Fu had displaced his simulacrum of mists.

Madness surrounded the highest platform by way of massing bodies. Decadent areas sat on each far edge of the contest grounds in which each faction might prepare, meditate and while away time between bouts, and now a number of the [Cherry River Spear’s] disciples had rushed forth.

Mingqin’s cultivators dared not lay hands upon the nine disciples, and scantly blocked the way with their own qiang while urging calm.

Indeed, what might they do against such a force?

Fu groaned inwardly at the reason for this outburst, and saw there, readying himself for combat across from one of the [Cherry River Spear’s] disciple-turned-victim and his bloated [Spirit Scorpion] - Yongwu Long.

“He fulfills all of the requirements,” offered Zhu. “Don’t tell me you didn’t foresee this?”

The douli dipped alongside his shoulders. “Later, perhaps. I thought he would allow greater tension to build. A more heroic show or thing of pageantry. It is almost disappointing.”

His [Senses] went skyward.

The [Cherry River Spear] would not belittle himself by intervening. No. And while the forces of Yongwu Long and Grandmother Hua held their own machination, Fu wondered if this small insult was not part of it.

Four dragons undulated upon the platform, their scale undiminished. The breath of the poor disciple before them could do naught but fall upon them.

“Insolence,” shook a disciple beyond the [Arrays].

One at her shoulder cried in similar fashion, citing such things as “Madness, cheating, dishonour,” and other things that would only manifest greater laughs in Long’s currently clutched stomach.

“Commence,” voiced the announcer.

🀧

JIhu Wanjie huffed a breath, blown back the font of [Poison Qi] that had finally matched her step. A cruel, interesting concoction of which the [Hundred Immunities Fruit] would have lapped up greedily some [Seasons] prior.

Noxious tendrils seeped from the wound upon her shin, pinning her and her [Spirit Lion] to the arena’s ground as it drained [Inner Qi] the further she struggled from this tether.

All the while the mounted cultivator of the Verdant Tided Mare Sect raged circuits about them, blurring closer for the finishing blow.

Upon a second stage, the sister Baotai stood victorious over her opponent from the Pagoda of Chasing.

Her brother fared worse, inflicted with a litany of gold-lined wounds. Some wealth of liquid metal had overcome his blood, seen plainly as he coughed up a tincture.

Chan Gui’s [Spirit Pirhanas] were held aloft by a foreign [Dao]. One that held mental connotations and manifested itself as a series of endlessly spanning mirrors, seizing their reflections and thus, their true selves.

The strata below saw one of Zhu’s tribesmates defeated by the Phantom Insect Association, and it had Fu worry over the details on display for Aunty Quan’s young wards.

Cloud Dragon Hall had no need to win.

Whomsoever succeeded here would gain only the most hollow of victories, for indeed, none of the eternal monsters above would cede the Throne to the champion’s faction.

Although, it was the poor Patriarch that did not expect triumph from his juniors.

Congratulatory cheers sounded as the sister Baotai bowed high to the crowds, sharing but a few words with the next disciple of Cloud Dragon Hall as she entered for her bout. A healthy rivalry had formed between each of his five seniors, with the exception of the ever-gentle Chan Gui, and this small exchange seemed to inject Yasodhara with lightning.

Mridul’s daughter met Fu’s gaze some many hundred li above, then put her hands to rest upon the hilts of her dual-jian. Suns were emblazoned upon the slender tassels, and the script upon them was more of [Spring’s] Empire than the Clear Sky.

Her opponent bore a cruel glaive of many barbs, a guandao,aflow with equine heraldry. All upon him was coloured the hue of sun breaching a [Summer’s] leaf, vibrant, verdant and green, finely matching the foliage-formed stallion he sat atop.

Samudra looped above.

“Of Cloud Dragon Hall, Yasodhara and Samudra, the Desert Phoenix,” announced the brave cultivator at center stage. “Of the Verdant Tided Mare Sect, Gen and Shuimian, the Young Dragon of Maturation.”

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Fresh titles borne of fresh accolades.

Fu knew well what Samudra would feel being likened to a phoenix.

Sand drenched the announcing cultivator as he moved to the platform's side, saved only by the grace of the defensive [Array’s] momentary lapse. “Commence,” he spat, trying to dislodge half a desert from his tongue while remaining proper.

Yasodhara’s [Summer] and [Dust Qi] against this Gen’s [Spring] and [Medicinal Qi].

Loud were his opening declarations, and if nothing else his booming voice sounded righteous by volume alone. “A child of foreign skies has no place here. As one that follows the path of divine forebears, it is our duty to right this. To enter a duel with me is to bear your life willingly. Knowing this, will you still commence?”

The young once-Imperial mulled this over. “Our skies have differed, cultivator Gen, yet are not the Heavens endless? Are they not shared? We have found that it matters little where one has come from, of more importance is where one aims to be.”

Gen’s features flashed indignantly. “Immaturity. Weak seeds do not grow. Weak grounds do not nourish. How like a child of [Summer] to rest. To be complacent and ride upon the fair [Season’s] efforts,” he frowned, directing his vitriol to all that lorded above. “In this place of venerables, must we face such… insolence?”

“Bold. This Gao Shuidi appreciates the sentiment, if not the lack of foresight.”

Mist puffed from Fu’s pipe, whisked into a stampede of fading stallions. “Verdant Tided Mare Sect. I did not expect them to stir the first trouble.”

The vagueness of his address saved him from insulting any one peak faction, and this fact alone allowed his head to remain upon his shoulders.

Samudra bellowed her displeasure. “Upon [Sixth Under Heaven’s] shores you would be lauded, Gen, Shuimian, Young Dragons of Maturation. Yes. It is… childishly amusing. To preach against foreign skies when you bear the same intolerances as Castes and cultivators of Abundant [Spring]. Cease this nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” fumed Gen. “A foreigner should know where they do and do not belong. I cannot say who is more the fool - the enemy that seeks refuge in a hostile Empire, or the backwater Sect that willingly housed her.”

Yasodhara almost smiled. “Once I would have taken such words to heart. Insult and insignificance would have burned as a desert’s heat. Still, to this day they might have, if not for a chance encounter with the wind. We are not poetic enough to share this through words. Perhaps, then, we might show you through martial spirit.”

The Verdant Tided Mare Sect were not paper tigers, showed as Gen and his [Spirit Stallion] melded into a thousand flowing blossoms before Yasodhara had even drawn her blades.

Hushi praised his swiftness.

These flooding blossoms blew as if held aloft by a persistent gale, granting no more than a finger’s breadth of space between each from ground to upper reaches, and through this raced an omen of incoming hoofbeats.

A cut came.

A groove that tore from east to west, then north to south, and began a deluge that sliced in all amalgams of direction. The [Arrays] shook as blossomed edges rushed against it, spilling, reforming and having the audience reel back despite their distance.

Samudra cowled about Yasodhara as her dual jian lifted, though their demeanor was slow and untroubled. “From the bare gasps of memory, stories gathered from all we have been and will be, rush. [Dao of Four Horizons].”

Ice rippled from the tip of her left jian as she softly touched the ground.

White overcame all.

The hoofbeats slowed for some few heartbeats, and the outline of both rider and beast appeared in the rapidly freezing blossoms.

A subtlety flared within Gen, and Fu took much note of those whose [Divine Sense] alerted them to the activation of his [Constellation Seed].

“Unrivalled,” whispered the crowd, and, “Such is the [Heritage] of a Divine Sect,” and “Cloud Dragon Hall cannot match those with millenia of history!”

Energy of the Yang burned upon each of the frozen blossoms as a diminutive sun blazed upon the cultivator’s brow, green and luminous. It possessed no warmth to Shuidi’s keen [Senses], holding instead an oddity of meaning that swiftly returned [Spring’s] strength to the phenomena, dispelling all things cold, dark and decaying.

Yasodhara surged [Profundity] into the tip-pierced-ground, bolstering her cold and reclaiming a near half of the arena’s blossoms. “You spoke of belonging, cultivator. This is half of mine. A gift from one father, here stands our gift from the other. [Heritage Arts: Tempest of the Sun Demon].”

Dual jian crossed and sand removed all sight within the arena. An unheavenly crash reverberated across the [Array], and granules seeped from fresh fractures upon the first of the defensive shells.

When the dust cleared, Samudra’s tail held Shiumian in a titanic press against the outer ward, and Yasodhara’s jian had drawn a thin, crimson line against Gen’s throat.

“Well fought,” she smiled. “A thousand gratitudes for the opportunity.”

Warmth flooded the Patriarch of Cloud Dragon Hall, and on instinct, he felt at the great absence of the [Three Eyed Spying Array] in his chest, for in this moment [Gleeful Viper] would have found a trove.

He forsook propriety to stand and loose a mighty applause at the display below, then laughed as Shuidi silenced Long’s audible eye roll with a spurt of water.

Insidious [Intent] prickled the two from above.

“Gao Fu,” warned [Dour Faced Strategist], if not in words, then by glare.

So it was that a more reserved Patriarch remained in his seat as one-by-one, the opening rounds of the tournament came to a close.

As Chan Gui’s [Spirit Pirhanas] turned the encasing [Dao of Reflections] into great lakes and submerged both the monastic cultivator and her four [Spirit Foxes] under the depths of each.

When the poison overcame Jihu Wanjie to such a degree that she entered the lotus amidst an onslaught of corrosive thrusts and her [True Wind God Arts] birthed dragons to fight and win in her paralyzed [Spirit Lion’s] stead.

A step was required for the last, and this [Dour Faced Strategist] could not quash.

Some million eyes landed upon him as he landed upon the second strata, stooping over the ailing form of Baotai Xiongdi as golden Qi still clawed across his body. Hushi set his arms upon Niao, the [Spirit Eagle], conjuring the [Hundred Poisons Synthesis].

[Rakshaka’s Parting Gift].

One rivulet splashed upon each partner as though the gold were a lake violently disturbed by the entry of some large boulder. A depression formed, and into this all the hostile Qi drained, vanishing within agonizing moments.

“Patriarch,” frowned Xiongdi, chiselled features well troubled. “We have brought shame to Cloud Dragon Hall.”

The crowd inhaled as one.

Fu clasped his shoulder in a fashion that loudly disturbed this breath. “If you believe that, disciple, then it is I that brings shame to Cloud Dragon Hall.”

A moment passed, and Xiongdi stood unaided. “Never,” he shook, clasping as he offered a low bow. “If it does not dishonour me further, I would resume training. My fellow disciples, my sister, I cannot face them as I am.”

“If you wish,” nodded Fu, stern and pensive as his pageantry would allow.

Mischief, or something very close, twinkled in Xiongdi’s pupils.

A rowdiness well instilled.

Shuidi thought it an excellent virtue, knowing how well it would be needed.

🀧

To see darkness fall once more was to mark the tournament’s first ending, and to clear the innumerable stands of all spectators. Those within the day’s groupings had progressed to the next stage, and would fight the victors of previous bouts in increasingly smaller numbers until a grand victor emerged.

The losers would but spectate, having missed their chance at glory.

Jade Songbird City hummed as if struck by fresh lightning, for the madding crowds had descended in good spirits and greater intoxication into the town proper, all seeking to extend the festivities.

“Mingqin’s cultivators have a troublesome night ahead. Even with Sikou as the tip of their qiang… I do not envy it,” shared Fu.

Zhu leaned against the misty balustrade of Cloud Dragon Hall’s walkway. “Bah. I’d envy our night even less.”

The shrouding of fog beyond his Sect was of such density that all sounds beyond this domain came as haunting echoes and garbled cries. Jade Songbird City was about them now, sprawling in all directions even if they held a modest berth of forest between their boundary and the ever-expanding structures.

Mortal reassurances.

An additional safeguard against Gon Ma’s insidious sight.

These [Seasons], our Path. It must be enough, for no time remains to further hone our talents. The hours draw near.

A bright, crimson crystal pulsated in Fu’s palm, interspersed with flecks of gold.

A copy rested in Zhu’s.

Gifts taken from Fu Gao’s [Shrine of Final Skies], perfected by the House of Ma’s own hand. [Bloodlines], as ripe and unspoiled as fresh canvas.

Hesitation drenched them as if a thick rain, having their cloth and skin cloy.

“Great men plant trees, the shade of which they will never sit in,” mused Fu. “Mei once said this, though I wonder what she might have said now. Immortality ruins most conventional sayings, no? Once this is done, we might sit in the shade of those trees’ offspring. Untroubled.”

Tanshuai landed atop the [Bloodline] gem, finding there a reflection of plum. Whether that would remain in the following moments was a question for Sages and Grandmothers.

It lifted towards Zhu’s brow, then fell.

“Of all gifts, it’s shamefully fitting that this final stroke comes by way of fish,” he sighed.

Footsteps sounded upon the walkway, welcoming the outlines of Hua and Ershiba, walking side by side. Strange then, or perhaps, strange once, were the deliberate looks by which they sought the former ghosts.

Indeed, Hua - flawlessly - strained for some heartbeats before landing her gaze upon them. “We have done all we might. Beyond your moon-facing talents, little else might ward against the foresight of those unending fools. Bah. If ever there was a moment where your haste might be valued, it would be now.”

Fu lifted the [Bloodline] gem. “Ryudeshui has escaped notice until now. Another day of rumination may yield greater fruit.”

“No,” rejected Hua.

“Grandmother,” called Zhu. “I’d have this done right. There is time enough for that, no? You know what I would ask.”

Whatever Heavenly configuration the [Cherry River Sage] had set about Cloud Dragon Hall for this moment went unnoticed, even by the Old One. Be it [Array], [Primordial Law] or by merit of her millenia-old talent.

Yet when the Sage of Crossroads invoked haste, it was wise to listen.

Her hum was cutting. “Of all moments.”

Ershiba moved to cup Zhu’s cheek as she addressed her partner. “Simmer, Hua. For this, we would hold back eternity. Son Fu, take your place.”

Much like the mists, hesitation turned to confusion.

“If I am to rid myself of this plum taint…” began Zhu. “The moment is certainly fitting, and overdue.”

Fu, Shuidi and Hushi met Zhu and Tanshuai before Ershiba as she cradled both cultivator’s palms, almost ceremonially with the gems upon them. “An old story comes to mind, though I cannot recall where first we heard it. Some forgotten oath spoken beneath peach trees. Not constrained by [Dao], but witnessed by the Heavens all the same.”

Thus she spoke, and the pair repeated.

“We seek not to be born on the same day, the same [Season] nor the same moon. We merely hope to see the same eternity, and live through these days, [Seasons] and moons with blood, one and the same. May the Heavens strike us down if ever this brotherhood is betrayed,” he said, naming himself thereafter. “Gao Fu.”

“Gao Hushi.”

“Gao Shuidi.”

The gem lifted in his hand.

“We seek not to be born on the same day, the same [Season] nor the same moon. We merely hope to see the same eternity, and live through these days, [Seasons] and moons with blood, one and the same. May the Heavens strike us down if ever this brotherhood is betrayed,” came the second man, speaking his name without hesitation. “Gao Zhu.”

“Gao Tanshuai.”

“We, the [Cherry River Sage], stand as the Heavens’ witness to this pledge of brotherhood. Sworn and entwined,” voiced Ershiba, gifting a kiss upon five brows. “Gao Zhu. Gao Tanshuai. Family now in name as well as heart.”

Hua hummed. “Time and tide do not favour fools. Even those I cherish,” she chastised, somewhat affectionately. “Now, consume the workings of that fish and I. Bah. One should not be so hesitant to adopt divinity. It is improper when much work lies ahead this night.”