Ten Thousand Tragedies

Wu Hao had thought of the mountain as a wild beast, earlier. It was a curious thought, one more driven by the fact that he was walking into the supposed animal's mouth more than any sense that the mountain really was alive.

He was coming to rethink that, though, because as he tried to run as fast as he could through the tunnels of the mines, deep below the surface of the ground, he heard the mountain roar.

Struts keeping up the tunnels cracked as he ran past, their ends already being swallowed up by the walls transforming and reshaping themselves again. There was a deep sense of qi running through each of the walls, that same qi that the martial artist chasing him possessed. Even as he passed by another section of the mine, it narrowed, attempting to catch him, to crush him.

Wu Hao didn't let it. His breath sounded harsh in his ear, and with the shift in the mine shafts the lanterns had begun to break or warp or had just vanished outright, leaving him to sprint from one spot of light to the next, passing the darkness in between.

If not for his qi sense, he might have smashed into a wall not five seconds after he'd started, but the same ways that the martial artist out there was trying to use to trap him were the exact weapons Wu Hao was using to try and stay ahead.

Because behind him, the martial artist was coming.

Wu Hao risked a quick glance behind him and saw, in the distance, the man's core advancing rapidly forward as beneath his feet a wave of deep earth carried him forward at a pace that matched Wu Hao's, if it didn't just outdo it entirely.

Occasionally pulses of qi lanced forwards, spiking into the wall and then burrowing forwards like worms rapidly, until finally they arrived near Wu Hao and sprang out of the walls as spear-like spikes of earth. They could appear from anywhere - roof, ground, the sides, even in front of him - and he had only a second to try and dodge, if that.

It was like an obstacle course, except the obstacles were alive and out for his head. Considering his deathsworn training the only thing that differed was that the obstacles lived, though.

Grimacing, he ignored the burning in his legs and thighs from the running. At least that had driven the pain from his shoulders from his mind, though it was still there. Just muted, with his body helpfully recognizing he had bigger issues at the moment.

Another spike of earth launched out of the ceiling and Wu Hao dove forwards, rolling as he did and gathering qi to his feet. Before he'd even fully come back to his feet again or had a chance to, he detonated the qi and found himself unrolling in mid-air, with even the grace of a martial artist barely helping him not crash and stumble into the ground.

One knife left, he thought. He really should've kept more of them just for cases like this, but then he hadn't thought about that at all.

But he still had his failed attempts. Ripping them from his belt where they'd done nothing but bounce against his thigh and prick scars into his legs, he infused them with just enough qi to activate them and threw one at random into the distance, as far as he could.

It smashed into a lantern and unleashed a short roar of qi that wound up doing nothing. The martial artist in the distance slowed just a little, though, and that was all that Wu Hao had needed.

Because now he'd reached the chasm down which he'd plummeted.

The problem was that it was far harder to ascend than it was to descend. Martial arts had accomplished a lot, but that was thing that Wu Hao hadn't managed to break through yet.

The chasm loomed up above. There were stairs, but they were thin and barely visible in the darkness. There was a platform, but that required someone up above to Wu Hao took one single breath more to think about it, grunted something under his breath, and then gathered more qi to his feet.

There was a tearing sensation as he blew himself off his feet again with his improvised technique. The Dragon Ascending Gate Art hadn't seemed all that difficult when he'd first read it through, but he hadn't had the time to properly master it. He'd been tossed from crisis to crisis, and though in theory he had all the time in the world, it never actually felt like it.

As he touched down and felt the raw wounds on his feet bleed onto the rough, dirty stone of the stairs, he grunted with more pain. His feet were bleeding, his shoes were in tatters, and his socks had been obliterated when he'd first jumped like this, leaving nothing but sodden rags wet with rain and blood.

Then he did it again. He could just make it across the chasm with a single leap, and though it was consuming his qi at a rapid pace he was also advancing far faster than he would have by just trying to run up the stairs.

But with every jump he felt the martial artist come closer, and the earth around the stairs began to wriggle and twist and contort.

On the edge of jumping, he had to dodge an earthen spike with a roll that mashed his face into the stairs and left him staggering to get back up before another spike was fired. The qi in his feet went wasted, and the next spike blasted through his foot before he had a chance to dodge.

Wu Hao's mind went nearly blank with the pain, but what brought him back to consciousness was the realization that he was going to die here.

For all his bravado about confronting a second-grade martial artist, this was all he'd amounted to?

Gritting his teeth, Wu Hao fushed out the last of his knives, aiming at one particular target. This was stupid and in all likelihood it'd accomplish nothing, but he had to try. Dying wouldn't be anything new, but he wanted to at least be able to die after having tried everything he could.

"Rending Dagger Art," he mumbled. "Void Rip."

The stream of qi that rushed out of the tip of the knife was sad. He'd used up most of his qi on simply trying to get to this point, and though his reserves were deeper than they ought to have been, even deep wells could run dry.

Nonetheless it cut through the strong rope that was holding up the platforms. One of them had been located up above, while the other had been located down below, connected by a single rope, one end connected to each platform.

That rope frayed and then broke as the Void Rip cut through it.

Almost the same instant, the platform from up above plummeted, the way Wu Hao himself had plummeted earlier. Wind whistled below it from its weight, the rope whipping after it with its loose end flailing in the air.

Hopefully it'd land on the martial artist's head.

He watched with bated breath, forcing his feet to keep moving closer to the edge despite the blood loss making his head spin and his foot hurting like hell. The hole in it yawned in ways that he could have sworn he felt, warping with every step.

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Qi surged up, Wu Hao close enough to the edge that he could see the martial artist throw his arms up against the platform before the stone and earth around him wriggled and surged forwards, and then Wu Hao saw nothing anymore.

There was a loud roar of wood smashing into a barrier of earth and being utterly obliterated from the impact, though.

But the qi was still moving through the earth. It wasn't disappearing the way it should have, if the martial artist was dead. It'd been shoved down some, but that wasn't enough.

Left with no other options, Wu Hao pulled his saber from its sheathe across his back. It'd cracked into every other wall and the sheathe was looking dirty, matted with dirt and grime as it was. The saber itself had looked better, too - it still bore the scars from last night's clash with Shan Kong, when technique had smashed into technique and both sabers had been ripped into.

Nonetheless when he hobbled forwards, he took a certain reassurance from its weight as he stood at the edge. The cloud of debris and the dust that had risen from the crash hadn't abated yet. That left him with only his qi senses, and the earth barrier had begun to twitch again as qi worked through it, pulling it back enough to form a hole the martial artist could pass through.

Wu Hao sensed a few thick threads of anger run through the martial artist's qi, though. His qi had been quiet and still initially, but it'd begun to churn in ways that betrayed a deep agitation.

That hadn't been there before the impact. It was impossible to make out if he'd actually inflicted any wounds, but he was forced to presume that if he had, they were superficial enough not to matter.

So, Wu Hao thought, and if not for the dust choking his throat at the moment he might have sighed. Time for the third plan.

He heaved his saber higher, gathering qi. The tiger's roar in his ears had begun to sound weaker throughout his flight, and there was more to it than just that the desperate flight had left him low on qi. There was a fundamental disagreement to all of it, to what he was doing, but those were thoughts that he couldn't spare.

At least it agreed with what he was going to do next. The qi finally caught in the loop he wanted, with the loud snap that echoed whenever he used these techniques. Electricity crackled along his blade, buzzing angrily whenever a current ran over the cracks.

Wu Hao waited until the hole in the barrier had grown enough that a child might poke his head through. He didn't like to admit it, but currently he was a child, of sorts.

"Storm Cutting Saber Art," Wu Hao spoke, forcing the last of his qi into the saber. "Chasing Thunder."

Then he took another step forward, over the thin edge of the stairs, and let himself fall forward.

The qi in his technique let him pull away from the demands of gravity for a moment, instead angling his fall in ways that weren't natural. It was one of the most difficult techniques of the Storm-Cutting Saber Art, and there was a reason Wu Hao hadn't ever used it before. It required a height difference that was substantial, just for starters. It required enough time to set it up, it required a stationary target.

Those were difficult conditions to set up, but now Wu Hao had managed to arrange them almost without intending to.

The tiger's roar echoing in his ears, Wu Hao let go of all the rest of his inhibition and just clung to the hilt of his saber, letting it pull him forward faster and faster. Qi streamed from him, turning him into an arrow in flight.

Earth flashed by as he skirted the edges of the hole in the barrier - he heard a sickening crunch and a brutal flareup of pain in his leg - and then he saw the martial artist. The man's eyes widened in shock for a single instant before Wu Hao smashed into him.

The roar of power - the qi clashing, electricity dissipating against the stone if not for Wu Hao's coarse control keeping it leashed at the edge of his saber - the sheer physical weight of the wind pulling at him, tearing at his clothes, the feeling of a hand pressed against his face trying to get him off - something hitting his side like a ten-ton hammer.

Then Wu Hao knew nothing for a while, his brain nothing but fuzzy static as even signals from his senses failed to pierce through the haze of pain.

When he came to, he sat slumped down against the side of the mine shaft. His lungs, he noted almost dispassionately, had been so choked with dust that if he swallowed water right now he'd barf up mud. The foot that hadn't been pierced clean through was mangled from the impact of his attack. His hand was missing skin, fingers, and he could see several bones, if he squinted. His other arm was broken but whole. The last knife that he'd kept in reserve had pierced into his liver, and that was a horrifying hurt all of its own. His qi was just gone.

Also, his saber had utterly shattered.

At least he'd broken the other arm than when Shan Guoxi had killed him. Groggily Wu Hao thought to himself that variation was important in life.

And opposite him, the martial artist struggled to his feet. Blood dripped from his eyesocket and beyond, where a part of his face seemed to have been torn away as if by a cleaver. An eye was gone, the skin was ruined as if by fire, an ear had been ripped away. Several of the patches on his skin had peeled back from the impact. The man's muscles spasmed as he moved.

But he moved nonetheless. Wu Hao's last strike had failed to kill him.

"You," the man whispered into the long, sudden silence. "What's your name?"

"Wu Hao."

"I'm Lan Yongbin of the Stone Soul Sect," the martial artist said. He raised his arm high, dregs of qi pooling in his hand.

"Heart of Stone Art," the martial artist said, nearing Wu Hao with dragging steps. "Stone Crusher."

Only now that Wu Hao could see the movements of the qi properly, slowly, did he recognize it as claws, the scales overlapping to form something with actual, physical weight as the technique completed itself.

The martial artist, still tense despite the fact that he was holding a weapon and Wu Hao wasn't, looked down at him. There was some admiration in his tone and his qi, but all the same Wu Hao would have rather that he hadn't had to die to achieve it.

"You fought well, but it ends here," he said, and reared back.

"No," Wu Hao said honestly. "It never ends. It never will."

Wu Hao managed a sickly grin that lasted until the claws tore through his heart.