Brent Stinebaker
patreon
II-66Bad Instruction (I)
🕑 Added 2025-02-14 18:39:19 +0000 UTCA word of advice to all lords, tyrants, and emperors who wish to be. If you are going to force your will on one of your subjects, or perhaps a wayward companion, make sure that they have something to fear.
If they cannot die, and you cannot reliably overcome them each time, every time in martial combat, they have the option to simply ignore you, maddening as it is.
When such times arise, you are forced to indulge in that most lamentable practice of rational discussion…
-Wei An Wei, The Realmbreaker
II-66
Bad Instruction (I)
Wei observed a few things as he watched the Scion of Death battle the Magma Alchemist. The first was the Scion’s training, or rather the strange nature of his training. His fundamentals were sound, though the way he struck and lashed with his blade was unorthodox, to say the least. Sometimes he swung it as a club, while at other moments he recovered it with stunning skill, wielding a massive slab that moaned like the lightest rapier. Afterward, however, he would evolve into something more bestial—savage, wide, brutal slashes that left him open before he recovered and maintained a solid guard.
From this, Wei saw that Vendrian was in a constant battle not only against his enemies but also against himself. The Hound strove to take hold, gnawing through his consciousness, and to fight with a focus and skill that required the mind of a man. And the Hound? What meaning did skill have to the Hound? They were a being of death, elemental. Even if Vendrian was cut down, his death would not be permanent. More importantly, it became someone else’s problem—for when he fell, another would assume the duty of death in his stead.
The Mad Alchemist, meanwhile, was quite the opposite. Unlike when facing Agnesia, the creature did not have any advantage in capability or speed, but it struck with precision and focus. Its fists impacted the Hound’s skull, his armpits, and other vulnerable joints at a rapid pace. Crystalline shards exploded from the walls, striking the sides of the Hound’s body and knocking him off balance. Through it all, the Alchemist glided—dancing upon the lava-choked ground and maneuvering on a platform of obsidian.
None of this mattered to Vendrian. He simply pressed on, falling like the inevitable breath of the coldest winter. The volcano could erupt and spew heat into the sky, maintaining its warmth a little while longer, but the rivers would freeze, the winds would chill, the trees would shrivel, and in the end, entropy would take the land. Such was how Vendrian won his battles—through attrition and entropy. Yes, his Strength was monstrous; yes, the cold he exuded sapped all the power and potential for his enemies to retaliate. But he was simply hard to kill, and he wouldn’t stay dead.
He charged upon the Magma Alchemists with reckless abandon, his strides turning obsidian fragile and brittle, the stones and volcanic glass shattering under him, while the lava itself could not touch him. The Alchemist found itself constantly backing away, always retreating, and with each passing second, the coldness only grew. It was as if Vendrian were a channel—a doorway to another realm where the coldest cold spilled through, where a final winter awaited to consume all.
Watching this, Wei could only shake his head in disappointment and scorn. “You are too blessed,” he muttered under his breath, then considered his system and all the benefits it conferred. But if there was one thing it couldn’t grant him, it was a second chance. If he was struck down, that was that. If he was too wanting, too weak, too slow—that was all. Vendrian’s flaws were laid bare before him, and his strengths required no cautious preservation. So he fought recklessly, and this wouldn’t do for Agnesia. It was also unfair for the Magma Alchemist.
Thus, he gave Rafael a look. “I’m going to make this affair even,” he said to the lich.
Rafael cocked his head. “Wait, what do you mean, even?” he asked,
Wei patted the lich on the shoulder and grinned. “Give me an illusion. In fact, mask me from perception and sight.”
“I wish to…” Wei cast a glance aside as a column of spearing ice shot up through the air in the distance. It was vast and thick, cleaving into the surfaces of the valley, and like a second tooth pushing its predecessor free. Several lava-blasts followed, but they were quickly smothered by the cold. “...make this more of an even fight.”
Rafael looked at him dubiously, somehow conveying worry without eyes. Or a face. Or skin or muscles. “Wei, I… is this wise? Are we not doing this to help Lady Agnesia?”
“But what if I offer an Aspect Advancement?” Wei queried.
“Say no more,” the lich said, waving his hand. Rafael began to trace patterns in the air, constructing Ciphers as he drew from his own Essence, from the light in the air, and from the heat that surrounded them. Wei grinned as layers of work fell over him. He saw his hands grow translucent, felt a shimmering barrier wrap around his body, and soon his Essenceshifted, drifting closer in the battle as he sought to even the tides.
As he found the alchemist, they were tumbling head over back—a patch of their body completely encased in ice. By this point, the alchemist had covered over 20 kilometers of distance, accelerating upon his platform of obsidian. Meanwhile, the trail he left behind was rapidly freezing, an ashen cold crawling over the magma’s brightness. Vendrian and his sword-bound sister were coming, and even Essenceshifted, Wei could feel a turbulent chill grinding against his very spirit.
A massive, looming figure flickered along the contours of the steam lingering in the air. A dull shape manifested—too coherent to be a mirage, yet too soft to be matter. The Hound’s shadow fell, and for a moment, it eyed Wei. But it did so indifferently. It didn’t matter what schemes he was concocting or what he planned to do. Its focus was solely on one matter: Death. And on his scion.
Wei noted the alchemist’s body, judging it for wounds and damages. To his astonishment, the Magma Alchemist remained mostly unharmed aside from that single patch—a patch where unhealing ice was chewing through its flesh. Testing his own power against the Hound’s once more, Wei washed through the Alchemist, channeling himself as a gust of divine wind. Even though he infused his celestial flame into the wind, caressing and coiling around that patch of ice, he found himself unable to remove the harm. His Reconstruction could not restore what had been broken by the grave chill. How annoying.
He took to the air again, the Alchemist turning and lashing out with its fists. It sensed him, but it couldn’t tell exactly where he was. Compared to Agnesia, Wei had far more vectors of attack to unleash upon this foe, yet he wasn’t interested in cutting them down. Rather, he wanted to see if he could make this fight any harder for the Scion of Death—if only to embarrass the man and mock him afterward.
“FOCUS YOUR ATTACKS BROTHER! FOCUS!” Mourning cried.
Ah. Wei watched as the sword flashed, wrenching and wrestling with her Hound-consumed wielder. While Vendrian seemed lost, his blade made up for his fugue by aiming strikes and channeling her own power. Truly, this was a most unfair battle for the Alchemist. But even so, the battle Mourning fought was a losing one. Vendrian seemed barely there, more natural disaster than person, a blizzard trying to smother a volcano.
“Wei, what are you doing?” a chat message filtered into his perception, and the young master couldn’t help but chuckle. Agnesia was speaking to him now, her frustration evident even in textual form.
“I’m merely trying to guide him and to make this entire exercise worthwhile to you.”
A brief pause came from her, and the next message followed. “How is this supposed to help me? He’s just swinging wildly, dumping so much power out—it’s absurd. How does he have so much essence? I have nothing compared to him. He’s the son of Death, and I…” Her message ended there, clearly conflicted and feeling overshadowed.
Wei understood. Sometimes, though certain disciples might try their very best and give all they had, what separated them from the others was a lack of talent—a lack of inherent understanding or instinct. He had always pitied those disciples. Indeed, he even admired them for continuing to train despite what they didn’t possess. Yet, the heavens were cold, and the stars didn’t care. You couldn’t be better if it wasn’t in your blood. Such was the decree of fate. But fate, like anything, could be defied if one simply continued—if one kept surviving.
A swell of Essence descended from the jaws of the valley. From high above, through thick clouds, came the shine of a crescent moon—and then another, and then another. Suddenly, Wei realized they weren’t moons at all, but rather the projectiles flung by the Scion of Death. They crashed down, striking the land like meteorites, each curving missile impacting the ground and spreading a deathly frost wide.
The Magma Alchemist, to its credit, vanished—sinking into the magma and swelling through the ground, across volcanic cracks, as it continued to flee. It was almost a cowardly action, but Wei saw the logic in it. One needed to avoid fights they could not win against foes too overwhelming for them. This was wise, especially against an adversary like the Hound. It was certain that the Magma Alchemist could likely put up a fight, but by whatever measure, the alchemist must have known that Death’s Bastard was beyond its means to overcome indirect violence.
Thus, the young master realized two things. One was that the Magma Alchemist was far smarter than he had given it credit for. And the second was that Vendrian wasn’t much of a critical thinker. For as soon as the alchemist’s signature dimmed, and it fled through the volcanic cracks, Vendrian continued bombarding the length of the valley—crashing and freezing every patch of land he could find, completely thrown off by the adversary’s subtle actions.
The young master shook his head. Powerful, enduring, and blessed with immortality aside, the Scion of Death had some pretty major weaknesses—among which was the fact that he couldn’t keep his own mind at all. A pity. Wei went after the Magma Alchemist now. There was nothing for it; better him than that stumbling, berserking fool.
Wei followed the alchemist up along the sheer cliff of a valley, then through the uneven surface of a climbing volcano. Eventually, as he rounded the very top, he found himself diving after the magma alchemist, moving toward an obsidian platform hidden at its very core. The volcano here was cracked and veined with gleaming arteries. However, it wasn’t active—not yet. The alchemist rematerialized, erupting from the ground in a splatter of lava. As it rose, it assumed a cross-legged position, meditating and trying to recover the essence it had expended while facing the Scion of Death.
At a few moments of respite, before announcing himself with a swirl of condensing wind, the alchemist craned its neck slightly, turned, and regarded him. Wei held out his spear, showed the pale fang, and then dismissed it.
“You fight well,” he said, complimenting the creature. He wasn’t sure if it understood him or if it was even fully sapient, but it was quite intelligent—and for one to practice the martial way, they deserved proper respect.
He then got into a stance as one of Agnesia’s messages loaded. “Okay, now you’re just trying to humiliate me.”
“No,” Wei replied with a smirk crawling across his face. “I’m not trying to humiliate you. I’m just going to do what Vendrian couldn’t. Without wasting half as much Essence. Watch closely, Agnesia. Observe the patterns and flaws in its attacks. This is how you will discover your path to victory.”
The Alchemist turned, facing him as it clenched its layered fists. Fractals danced around its body, and a layer of glass and obsidian hardened along its arms. “That’s right,” Wei said. “Give me this moment.”
Another message loaded in from Agnesia. “I can’t believe you. You’re using this—this moment that you’re supposed to instruct me—as some kind of cock-measuring contest with the Scion of Death.”
Wei rolled his eyes. The girl needed to understand one thing: pride. Pride mattered more than anything else. Pride meant he was the best warrior, that he was the one true patriarch of the Drowned Sky Sect. The moment he established his dominance, the better things would be for the future.
“I can’t believe you,” Agnesia sent. One could practically hear her annoyance and frustration.
“Oh, be calm,” Wei replied. “My ways will see you led right anyhow. You will not be able to fight like him anyway. The brute is a blind savage, smashing through things with overwhelming force and power. More than that, he just can’t die.”
For a few beats, neither the Alchemist nor the young master moved. Wei gestured, beckoning the creature with a wave of his hand, but it refused to take the bait. Disciplined and skilled, it was a pity he would have to kill this one—but also, it proved to be an interesting study. He still had no idea why it fought like a cultivator.
Well. He needed to best it. Maybe observing him break it apart might give her some inspiration or motivation to Agnesia. If nothing else, she didn’t want to be left behind as dead weight. And so, if he couldn’t instill proper technique in her, perhaps he could at least fan the flames in her heart.
Just then, Wei felt a trickle of Essence gliding beneath him—a hair-thin sliver of power so subtle he might have missed it if his senses hadn’t been honed from months of battle. His omniscience caught what felt like a gradual building of fiery power, and the young master sneered. But he had overjudged the Magma Alchemist. For all its virtue and skill, it was still just a monster—not above underhanded means to bring down a foe. It triggered its attack: a jet of volcanic lava shot high into the air, cleaving through the space where Wei had just been. However, the young master was already moving.
Wei shot toward the alchemist, and they came at him, the ground beneath them cracking apart. They accelerated with streams of flame propelling them forward, their fists reared back, preparing to fall like a wrathful avalanche. Wei met the assault in kind. Striking as lightning, he was just a bit faster than the alchemist—just enough with all his skill.
A first blow sailed, seeking to take his head. The blow was strong enough that it might have broken something, but Wei pulled it off balance and slipped a palm between its many trashing limbs. His blow struck the Alchemist under the armpit, and he felt a set of ribs fracture. Hm. Human in biology as—
A sudden coldness fell over him. The young master felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and then suddenly, an entire section of the walls behind began to freeze.
Both he and the Alchemist stopped fighting.
Wei let out a sigh. “Apologies, friend. I thought we would have more—”
And then the walls shattered into broken shards of ice as Death’s Bastard came barreling through.
Comments
Dar-Angol
This never gets old,aside from the "cultivator" angle,he's more Demon warrior/mage at this point..
Daf High-Voltage
Tftc
