Fatherly Asura

Bingbai’s words carried an immediacy of weight.

Fu Gao knew such a thing was to be expected, for what disciple’s heart did not burn with the desire to impose their Master’s will?

The conversation had ended with a frown upon Bingbai’s face. “Ah, how lonely your diligence makes these halls.”

Greater yet was their connection for he did not chastise such behaviour.

We are fortunate. If only our talents were greater, no? These tasks would not be so constant. A Master of serpents deserves no less.

A foul taste was impressed.

Shuidi and Hushi felt it in equal measure, and the strength of their [Harmony] had Fu’s own mouth whisk about his mouth. “Serpents,” he nigh spat.

The unwitting disciples within these halls could not hear him.

They deserved no more honor than to be forgotten- cleansed so that not even the worms might venerate their rotting flesh as a meal.

What resplendent, scaled icons wrapped about pillar and screen in gold, most precious jade or flawless calligraphed ink served only to deepen the insult. Yet disgust would not enter his art, thus he stole his paces without distraction.

Nor excitement.

[Divine Sense] pulsed to reveal the unworthy souls bearing his Master’s treasures, and they were numerous.

The trio parted like a fell wind, splitting its ribbons to all corners.

Fu Gao roamed deeper than his partners, dissipating through some hundred floors of this branch to arrive in an expanse of cultivated herbs. A darkened garden arranged for function, not the pleasures of one eye, containing a wealth that might make the Four TIger Pill society green with jealousy.

A peak [Core Formation] alchemist whistled there, and his [Dao] carried upon the tune. An often heard melody of love and loss sung both in high halls and mortal fisheries. Strange, he thought, that it might be heard here.

Luster quivered through an abundance of [Spirit Herbs], brightening blossoms and granting vivacity to trailing vines as he passed. His [Dao] was of nourishment, or hope. Strong in concert with the whistle and droplets of curated, liquid [Affinity] that were dropped upon them.

Head Alchemist Daman. Undeserving.

From the alchemist’s footsteps, Fu Gao’s hand thrust forth. “[Spectre Steals the Stars].” Bloody crimson light did not rise, as oft occurred with [Demonic Arts], no, the [Clouded Ghost Arts] at his level of [Prowess] did not allow that.

This reaping was silent. Masked from [Karma]. [Sense]. Repercussion.

A bloody, half-emerged sprout landed in his palm, scarcely free from its loamy shell. He stowed the [Constellation Seed] amidst a burst of [Wind Phantom’s Breath], scouring the scene as well as all traces of this undeserving’s corpse.

Wisps trailed as his twinned [Spirit Beetles] faded.

Then, upward.

East.

West.

Indeed this branch was vast. Its majesty however, was born of association. A shadow, greater only by the angle from which light was cast upon it.

The tally began in earnest, tall by the same grace.

One seed of moon-hued fang.

A crystallized jawbone from a [Spirit Beast] too close in [Heritage] to humans.

Fur, in tufts, oscillating between darkest yellow and brown.

The two [Hollow Ivory Splinters], their attribute-enhancement unknown.

Of note was a curious plum-toned hilt, sure to be of interest to Zhu.

Conjecture however, played no role in the game of ghosts. So saying, the reaping continued without pause until all three were reunited. Returned for a haul three times what any alone might accomplish.

But therein lay mundane failings.

For the vanishing of so many disciples was sure to draw eyes. Greater yet was the threat presented by those that knew of their undeserving treasures.

A hostile wind blew by Fu Gao, carrying upon it an [Intent] to seek. It held the subtlety of breath, wafting the calligraphed, crimson banners upon most surfaces of these passages with no greater strength than the passing of slow bodies.

They need not attune their [Clouded Ghost Arts] to have it pass unhindered. No. This [Intent]-laced wind was oblivious to their instinctual domain of air, breezing through like a newborn worm.

“The origin of this is freshly immortal. Righteous. Fitting that they possess the last seed we must recover.”

Day shone bright upon this fresh Sect hall, though to all others it was half-obscured by [Spring’s] first mists. There was beauty in this too, for the peeking canopy of bamboo in this northern reach of the Heavenly Roaming Prefecture held a slickness upon which the sun set ablaze.

All was bright at the hall’s peak.

An ornate courtyard where chilled breezes wound beneath open sky.

Shuidi sneered at the two disciples there, kowtowing before an adolescent woman of clear immortal nature. Seven [Spirit Serpents] could be counted between them.

None matched the fable behind this woman.

Some sky-swallowing titan of lime-green scale and billowing cloud that held the courtyard in its clutch. She stood aside it, caressing the patternage of its hood. “Few would be so bold,” she shook. “Less are so able.”

“Mistress,” plead the first disciple, a man of aged grey and three salted serpents. “If you might explain?”

“Brother, you speak out of turn,” said the other, gently. She, a younger-seeming woman than her mistress, garbed in feathery, tribal ornamentation.

The adolescent Mistress stroked her partner in an arcing spiral, and Fu Gao felt the winds twist to match it. “First meal has not yet been delivered. Neither of you would see me hunger. Sweet dumplings and plum tea. Retrieve this for me.”

“Sweet dumplings would require a trip to the village through the forest, Mistress.”

“The plum tea you favor has not arrived. Many goods have been waylaid due to this sudden arrival…” mused the older disciple.

Terrifying was the grand serpent’s hiss. “You would deny me?”

Their footsteps quieted in moments, disappearing down a distant stairwell. Air rushed to hold the entrance screen firm, and it was not Fu Gao’s own.

“This Gao Shuidi senses a lover of drama, no? To send her disciples away, however, shows a rarity of heart.”

The Fatherly [Asura] remained in observation.

“How foolish,” finished Shuidi.

A growing need for action did not pull them, despite those others that might ponder how strange it was that many disciples were absent, nor did ghosts dance to another’s tune.

Yet her wind held opportunity.

[True Wind God Arts: Empty Horizon].

Had ceaseless strife not accompanied his Path, this refinement would have failed. How [Intent], [Might], [Dao] and [Qi] suffused his black-steel chainblade with perfect stability was a feat that had earned Bingbai’s widening smile.

No ghost held ostentatious weapons nor [Dao] of flowery appearance. Golden [Profundity] did not shine. [Mist Qi] did not cloud the blade.

All that occurred was a blurring step.

A fell stroke.

An emptied throat.

Fu Gao descended like a tempest to carve the [Spirit Serpent’s] head from its body, plunging metal into this immortal flesh with no greater difficulty than a finger through brittle papyrus.

The Mistress collapsed as her partner faded into lime-green wisps.

[Spectre Steals the Stars].

Some slight resistance slowed his reaping of her seed by a tenth of a moment, but such was the annoyance of dealing with [True Lord Realm] cultivators. Their strength made assassination a contrived art.

Truly, immortals were vexing to kill.

Fu Gao lifted his douli as the barrier of winds she had conjured to seal this gravesite, ceased, revealing a rush of feet and serpentine bellies upon the stairwell.

If at glacial pace.

These disciples are not scheduled for death. Yet, their alarm will be problematic.

“Mistress?” called the aged disciple’s voice, crowing the last stair. “Forgive me, but my lacking [Senses]-”

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Already had Hushi fallen upon them, allowing no further words to be cried. Indeed, they were consigned to the same oblivion of [Karma], [Senses] and poisonous disintegration as their Mistress, cleansing all trace.

But this gave Fu Gao pause.

“Sister, what do you make of this?” he pondered, stroking once his whisker.

The [Spirit Crab] gave an imperious sneer. “Our [Dao Oath] would not allow us to cleanse any that were not traitors. These once-cousins of the moon-facing Sect. These false serpents. It was not the Master’s will, and yet this Gao Shuidi would be sickened to allow any unworthy souls to tarnish our great Cloudy Serpent Sect’s halls.”

Similar pride- similar vitriol rose in Fu Gao’s heart. “We are unworthy ourselves to carry out such judgement. The wind beneath these clouds cannot decide their direction, only how strong we must push.”

Hushi impressed an image of Bingbai.

“Indeed. The arm must do as the head decides,” he said, vanishing into cloud.

🀦

There existed no need for his second half’s distractions, for any input now would merely hinder insight. So saying, their interaction was no more than two ships in the night. Twinned ribbons, rushing east and west, but never to intersect.

Thus it was Anfang that kept Fu Gao abreast of the other’s dealings.

At least we might trust his diligence. The Path of [Harmony] will conclude before this orchestrated tournament. From what we might sense our second selves have not neglected their training or cultivation, and remain a boon.

Shuidi’s mood was eager. “Immortality should not rest on the actions of another. A swifter course would be concluding [Spirit] and absorbing our halves to finish [Harmony] ourselves.”

Unstable. These were Bingbai’s words. We could trust no others with so novel a concept. Only when all parts stand ready for a fourth Path might we rejoin, lest our soul and body are torn apart by rigid disparity.

“Temperance, younglings.”

About them, the earth shifted. The Chimes of Black Serendipity crawled forth, sunk, grew, turned and graduated into myriad more paths.

Fu Gao was displeased with Anfang’s lax reactions. “Hesitation remains in your step, junior. You react when you must respond.”

The young ghost was quiet of late.

“As you say, senior,” was her only reply before continuing to report on all that had transpired in the past days.

Again the walls here shifted, and the quantity of [Earth Qi] that suppressed his [Core] felt as though hands upon his neck. Fu Gao enjoyed the weakness it induced, for few locales were better to hone his focus.

“The House of Ma?”

“Contact has been made with the Beggar’s Sect. Virtues have replaced several of their high-standing members, but have made no moves beyond this. Their pursuit of [Dour Faced Strategist] and her [Primordial Law] has slowed in the expectation that these visiting factions will slay her for them.”

Shuidi clacked. “This peerless Mistress would know of Yongwu Long. The reports state he holds land and followers, yet Wen Pinxui’s missives have drawn blank. With the quieting of the House of Ma, this course is best.”

“Quieting, mistress?”

“The [Crimson Tyrant Matriarch] will be dealt with by time this day’s moon sets,” continued Shuidi. “Was that unclear, junior?”

Anfang dipped her head.

On went these ghosts into the depths, moving with only what haste was required. Thrice did Fu Gao notice the tightening in his junior’s [Clouded Ghost Arts] as [Spirit Beasts] roamed in close proximity.

Great salamanders of towering cultivation had migrated here in the past [Seasons], thriving in the shifting corridors due to an intrinsic [Qi Suppression] of their own. Their presence was another source of enjoyment.

[Lightning Qi] did not share the same abundance as [Air Qi].

A thin thing to clad oneself with.

Still-

Has responsibility softened her? A ghost should not be swayed by such lesser things as these beasts.

Hushi trailed an arm upon the stone as they travelled, measuring each breath the stone exuded. It seemed insectile to him, or so went his impressions, as if each heave was that of a cocoon’s shudder before something grander emerged.

The ambient Qi was due to shift in purity. Another failing of their second selves.

These were not wayward thoughts but a prevailing sentiment, perhaps, yet whatever they were ceased as they crossed the threshold at the House of Ma’s seal. An intricacy of bloody characters faded behind the pair, heralding a shift to the crimson-drenched wastes of [Crimson Tyrant Matriarch’s] domain.

Central was the tree, burgeoning with some thousand, thousand [Bloodlines] at-hang upon the anemic branches.

Bloody lightning flared as the Matriarch conducted her workings.

As with all things here, red ruled. The characters of her [One Hundred Rhythms of the Golden Needle] were washed in this hue, as was the [Profundity] she wove within it, conducting her hands with an immortal’s deftness.

Nine fruit were plucked from the tree and enshrouded in meaning Fu Gao could not parse.

“A guess,” offered the Old One. “The taste. Plums. Tigers. This wizened one would observe.”

Anfang’s tenure within the Heavenly Roaming Prefecture had shown this scene a hundredfold, though bearing witness revealed more than reports ever could.

From the ground of this realm rose a simulacrum of flesh, contorted from the liquid that comprised all. Fu sensed at its center a [Spirit Core], rich and once-high in cultivation. Her working rose as a shapeless thing, but soon twisted until wings and a raptor’s beak elongated from the mass, revealing a slick and sodden vulture of human scale.

[Crimson Tyrant Matriarch] sighed, perhaps, from exertion, and dropped the orchestration of her flowing hands. “I name you failure,” she cursed, dashing a great groove cross the [Spirit Vulture’s] beak - a scar to mark its supposed faults - before banishing into the bloody ground below.

“Imperfect, by her standards alone. A moment flickered. Yes. A greater taste. Her talent imbued this reconstituted beast with strength. [Mantra of Heavenly Plums], and more. Recall your junior, Rivaan. This [Heritage] would be suitable.”

Fu Gao dipped his head. “An imperfect [Heritage]. Yet, a minor boon for the Cloudy Serpent Sect. Our thoughts align, old master,” he thought, directing other words outward. “Junior Anfang, reveal to us your progress.”

Hesitation lingered for four heartbeats too long.

Then Anfang blurred skyward.

Even with the [Shrine of Final Skies] within them, it still took a concerted effort to track the movement of his junior. A redeemable quality, at the very least. In tandem with Quiqui, vast subtleties of the crimson lightning began to twist.

In hastening steps she danced above, attracting an unseen storm with every revolution of her form.

A technique of potential, for she did not bend the lightning in any way that their quarry could hope to notice, but rather prepared it- nudged and coerced the looming annihilation to make ready for her coming blow.

Crack.

An immediate cataclysm imploded [Crimson Tyrant Matriarch], bursting her like a windskin underfoot.

Her gestalt further moistened the realm in a visceral rain.

But Anfang was no fool.

No less than three [Dao Principles] erupted from the site of her gathered lightning, ensnaring the surrounding ground, air and Qi in a great web of arcing bolts. This lattice seized the motion of all things, though it had no need to stall Fu Gao’s unflinching expression.

An acceptable output. Yet- she forgets where we stand. Foolish girl.

[Inner Realms] offered certainty when their creator stood within them.

The lattice grew dark.

Redder.

At a swiftness that bordered his own, the Matriarch’s Qi overcame Anfang’s [Dao]. Each arc quivered, losing the ecstatic buzz of its nature to become something liquid and turgid before splashing from existence back into the ground below.

It was there that [Crimson Tyrant Matriarch] rose once more, if now far grander than she had previously stood.

Fell wings lifted about her person as if the opening of a great doorway, revealing at her back a single, dread-exuding vulture of increasingly large proportions. But this change was not her [Spirit Beast’s] alone, for the cultivator herself soon towered sixfold over Anfang’s height.

The ghost and [Spirit Spider] yet danced.

They rode lightning, unseen, building so that their speed was no more than a flicker-

A beak suddenly cracked, shaming with its volume the cataclysm's sound that they had first suffered, and this sound was the precursor to a muted scream.

Anfang’s piercers plunged deep into the mouth that had ensnared her, sinking deep. Yet this was all they did.

Sink, with all the futility of a mortal striking water.

Shuidi clacked in disappointment. “No more than a clutch of minutes. Let us hope she might redeem this.”

The beak lowered, proffering Anfang to the disdainful Matriarch. “The little worm. That which slithers about my Virtues. Did you not think I would recognise your taste?”

Quiqui ‘s legs were last to vanish within the [Spirit Vulture’s] wings.

Absorbed by a deluge of blood.

Blackened lightning erupted across the realm as Anfang screamed out in fury, stifled only as the beak crushed ever tighter. “Worm,” she spat. “I’m not the… I’m not the creature that crawls about entrails as if they were honey. House of Ma? You’re… you’re- pah. A shameful pack of scavengers.”

The Matriarch’s brow did not so much as twitch. “It is unsurprising that you scream so. The insignificant often equate volume with importance. How intolerable. How filthy. A shame that you will be unable to offer thanks for this greatest of gifts.”

Tendrils lashed from her palm, impaling Anfang’s wrists and ankles. [Push] resonated from them, though an untrained mortal might have gleaned the insidious bulges that pumped through these vein-like strands.

Inward.

Aflow from the Matriarch’s [Core].

Another scream was loosed, but now a film of blood rushed to strangle Anfang’s noise.

“Oh? Such rarity. The untalented of these lands do not hold enough strength to withstand my workings, and the talented fare little better once I have cleansed their [Constitution’s]. Ah, a [Hollow Ivory Splinter], of [Resilience] no less. How [Karma] smiles upon the House of Ma.”

Plums. I smell it now.

The [Primordial Law of Tribulations] hummed in pleasure for this unexpected fortune. His junior had ever sought a [Bloodline], and this [Trial] would reward her patience justly.

“Younglings.”

Fu Gao cleansed his pipe, for the taste of bloody mists was metallic indeed.

Anfang’s body convulsed.

“Younglings!”

[Dao of Wintertide].

All that was red became bright.

All that dripped became frigid and without motion.

All within the skies frightened.

The lightning sapped, becoming a painting upon bloody horizons. So it was upon the ground. From font to wave, hillock and trunk, a snap of [Winter] condemned all to a sudden tomb of unforgiving ice.

It grasped like a ravening beast, with bite and fury, as though the cold itself was no more than the claws of some dread thing endless raking upon Matriarch and [Spirit Vulture] alike.

Her blood froze.

Her workings upon Anfang ceased.

Fu Gao blurred to her side, allowing only her eyes and mouth to remain unfrozen. Yet it was not he than spoke first.

“The leech dares,” sneered Shuidi. “Pitiful, that even nine generations of your ilk in concert would remain unworthy of our attention. The disciple you have ensnared does you a favor, leech, yet this is how you reward her for ridding you of these… virtues.”

Immortal lips chattered a reply. “Wh-o-o da-a-res?”

“Such boldness. Was something not said about the insignificant and volume?” continued the [Spirit Crab].

There came a snap as Fu Gao cracked back her head, focusing a single drop of [Impending Mortality Dew] upon his fingertip. “You will release the disciple’s partner, leech. We sense it within your blood. Then you will rectify this… attitude. A [Dao Oath] of assured obedience to begin, but we are certain you will see reason in short order.”

“Lee-ee-ch,” came the immortal Matriarch’s frozen rage. “I, [Cri-imson-.”

[Impending Mortality Dew] landed atop her open eye.

Drop after drop.

Inducing scream after scream as her flesh withered, blossoming fissures about the [Inner Realm] that was so intrinsically linked to her [Spirit].

“Submit, leech. To struggle further would diminish your value as a gift,” frowned Fu Gao. “For our Master- to remedy our shameful absence, no less than this is required.”

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