Tao Wong
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The Fourth Fall - Chapter 46 preview
🕑 Added 2024-03-22 13:00:02 +0000 UTCWu Ying woke, in the comforting arms of his lover. He swallowed the water dribbled down his throat, feeling it refreshing him as it slid down his throat. It eased the parched throat, made it possible for him to speak even as he noted the sweetness of its taste, the coolness and purity. Water from the springs of Zhejiang, blessed by flowing over and through a dozen limestone caves and caverns that’d leached impurities out and left it with a unique taste.
That was not the only oddity. He could feel a comforting warmth pulsing through him, helping to heal the damage he had incurred. Impossible to heal it all, of course, or it should have been. After all, the heavens ire was not so easy to dismiss; but he could feel the energy thrumming in the distance of his opponent. Nearly back to where it had begun.
Which should have been impossible... because even the pill pulsing in him was stronger than anything he had ever consumed. And it was barely papering over the damage done to him, like placing rice paper over holes in the wall and hoping the eastern wind would not peel them off.
More than the water, more than the pill that was doing its best to patch him together, Wu Ying sensed a greater injury. A crack that ran through his entire being, that threatened to split him if he exerted himself or his aura or his dao. As though he was two disparate beings, wrapped together in that same rice paper, but the rice paper was damp.
“What... what happened?” He could not help but ask as he pushed himself off the lap, though he wished he could stay there. He knew he should be in more pain than he was, even if the agony he was experiencing was enough to beggar nearly all of his past experiences.
Nearly.
“You nearly died, you fool. You’re nearly dead now,” Yang Mu said, her voice hitching at the end.
Now he looked at her, finding the courage and nearly felt his heart break at the sight. She was uninjured - physically at least. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, marring her makeup, leaving streaks under her eyes and staining her robes. Not that the blood and other liquids that had come from his body had not done irreparable damage to them already.
“How could you?”
He knew she was not really asking that question, so much as crying her despair. He could answer her, try to explain, but she probably knew all the excuses he would have made. And he had no time, none at all, because he could feel the unleashing of a dao, the opening of a ravening maw.
It sought to consume everything in its range. Already, it tore dirt, grass and the very winds into it. In-between that dao and the man that wielded it, there was something else, something he had only noticed in the distance till now that it was revealed. The thing that had worried him when he had fought the chike. And now here...
“Demon.” Yang Mu said what they were both thinking, staring at the ravening aura.
It made sense, all too much. What kind of dao was it, that required consumption, ever on-going consumption and domination? Not a normal dao, not an orthodox one. Perhaps not even the heretics would have accepted such a series of thoughts, would have allowed something like this.
The demons, whose belief systems, whose very existence was different from the humans on this land; they would understand such a dao. Maybe even encourage its growth, if the practitioner had learnt it from them in the first place. Or perhaps he had been influenced, when he had consumed the demons during their invasion.
Impossible to tell now, to trace the twisted path that had brought this unholy amalgamation.
“Damn you,” Wu Ying whispered, and Yang Mu twitched staring at him. He noticed it, touched his chest where the pill he was certain she had fed him still burnt. “Not you.” A head raised, upward. “Them.”
High above, clouds slowly began to disperse. No rain, just lightning and thunder and dragons and judgment but not help, not aid. No heavenly aid even now, as the ones who set themselves against the heavens and disrupted their rules revealed themselves right beneath their eyes.
No help, because they had rules, they had their orders, their methods of dealing with such incursions. Even if it was foolish and wrong, even if those above raged against it, the heavens would not change.
“Ah Ying...” Yang Mu whispered the words, full of concern. Not contradicting his thoughts, but concerned about such openly rebellious statements.
He did not care. What was the worse that could happen? They would not strike him down, not here. Now, here, all too late he could understand why he had broken and failed to integrate his soul and body. His was the rage of the farmer who had stared at dried fields and drowned crops, the peasant who had seen unjust rules placed upon the village and taxes extracted, over and over again with naught returned. His was the anger of a companion who had seen another punished, his life and values thrown off course by the demands of an uncaring bureaucracy. A cultivator who saw, all too starkly, that the heavens were not perfect.
“Damn them, damn him.” He looked around, searching for his sword. Saw it lying beside Yang Mu. She saw his gaze land on it, saw her lips purse.
“Are you a fool?” she raged. “You can barely stand. And only then, because I have fed you pills that would have been the envy of your sect. If my parents learn of how I used it....”
“Thank you, light of my life...” He held his hand out. “But do you really think we could flee him?”
“Yes!” she hissed. “Do you think I came unprepared?”
Surprise registered on his face. She shook her head. “I have a way to run. To bring you, me.” She hesitated, then added. “We can take Sister Yuan too.”
“And everyone else?” And there were so many others. Fewer though, each moment they spoke. That dao, unleashed, was consuming everything. That light that had blocked off the combined cultivation and auras of their opponents no longer worked, its effects shattered. Perhaps if Yang Mu had been there, at the tower, she could have done something about it.
The battle was turning again, the remaining Cai soldiers rallying. Their combined auras made them stronger than ever, and the allied cultivators were being pushed back. The remaining Wei loyalists, having started streaming out of the damaged royal palace were now caught, unable to retreat as remnants of the traitors had slammed shut the doors and the supposedly weakened opponents turned on them.
Losses, piling up everywhere. Even as they spoke, he could feel Elder Hsu’s lifeforce guttering, the Right Guardian’s flickering at the edges. A single member of the Three Swords left....
“I cannot save them all.” Yang Mu jerked her chin upwards. “Let me at least save you.”
Wu Ying hesitated, staring into her eyes. The desperate please, the unspoken depths of her need and the grief that would come when he answered. He could tell she knew she was asking for the impossible from him. Even the bend could only bend so far. And he was not, he realised, the wind.
Not really.
Not ever.
“I cannot... I wish with all my heart I could, but I cannot abandon them.” Wu Ying shut his gaze, fighting within him, Desperate to give her something, anything. Even a hint, a hope that they could survive this. He found nothing, for the man before them was stronger than they could ever believe. His dao, too great, too strong. Eyes still closed, seeking a solution, he felt something pressed into his hand. A familiar worn hilt, the leather wrapped around it moulded over hours of practise to the grooves of his hand.
He opened his eyes, to see Yang Mu standing. Smiling a soft, grim smile.
“Then, we do this together.”
“I cannot ask you to.”
“You haven’t. But here we are anyway.” She smiled a little. “You promised to show me the world. It’s a pity we never got that far.”
Wu Ying froze, something sparked at her words. He stared into her eyes, as a desperate plan bubbled at the edges of his mind, like leaking gas in the pallid swamp of his despair. A thought, a hope.
Maybe.
“Ah Ying? What do you need?” she said, knowing the look in his eyes. Understanding that he had found another desperate gamble, and even after the failure of his last one, willing to back him. He could not have loved her more, for that unfailing trust.
“A chance.”
***
It was funny, if you thought about it. That after all his time, after all his efforts to grow stronger, he once again was sheltering under the arms of his martial sister and the cultivators of the Verdant Green Waters. Even now, their Sect Head was fighting, doing his desperate best to keep the sixth General, the Right Guardian and himself alive. In another time, in another place, perhaps he might have been the Cai general’s equal. But his element was of cloud, his dao a misty, ephemeral thing - and there were no clouds, no moisture to draw upon, not in this drought. What little he had pulled from the surroundings, from the plants - it was still being burnt away.
No. Wu Ying corrected himself, forcibly, as he ran. No, the Sect Head could not have won, not even in the lush and mountainous sect home itself, not against the king. That belief, that arrogance was what had led them here. The man was a true monster, in all senses of the word.
They had no chance of beating him, even as the gathered forces arrayed before him charged over.
The last Sword of the Iron Gorge led the way, death and grief in his eyes. Weapons - three of them, his brother’s weapons and his own - hovering around him as he speared forward. Cutting through concentrated dao, the dark chi breaking apart as the concentrated focus and killing intent tore the world apart before it, as he pulled deep on chi and life blood; trading distance for years.
Behind him came Fa Yuan, her dao of balance rolled out across her. She directed the last Sword, guiding him into the gaps of power unneringly. Finding the place of balance between conflicting daos, allowing them to progress faster and easier than otherwise. Her own sword and dao was extracted, and occasionally she too would slice outward, applying blade and intent with the care of a master carver, shaving away attacks that might otherwise strike them.
Behind was Yang Mu. She had her fans out, those magnificent near Immortal-level weapons that she rode upon. She had them half-unfurled, ready to be used to deflect attacks; but still concealing their full strength. Hers was the second most important job, to transport Wu Ying in, even as the man desperately focused within.
It took all the years of traning, of self-discipline to ignore the world outside of him as he delved deep within. Desperately trying to patch together his body and form. To give him the strength to do what he needed. He knew he had to find the strength to do this, though he feared that he had gone too far this time.
It took everything to ignore the world outside, but the winds - the winds still whispered to him. Bringing with him knowledge of the wars around, of the sacrifices being made.
Elder Hsu, dead. His body wrapped around a pair of Core Formation cultivators from the Cai, stabbed repeatedly as he finished his last act, to break neck and back of his opponents before he expired.
Yin Xue, reinvigorated by the pouring blackened, demonic chi from the king, his arm stealing wisps of energy. He fought, blade and fist joined together as he pounded the Wei into the ground, sending cultivators flying backwards even as he circled around to the pagoda in a desperate attempt.
Over there, the Fourth Prince leading a cavalry charge right into the side of the fleeing First Prince of Wei’s people. Somehow managing to catch them, as they fled. No sign of the First Prince of Shen anywhere, no sign of any but their guards, and many of them pale with fear. Somehow, Wu Ying knew, they would not find the First Prince again, not on this side of the veil.
Conversations, caught in snatches.
“... don’t die. You promised to show me the plum blossoms in spring...”
“-curse your family for ten generations, stand-”
“-swing right, right! HOLD!”
“-I can’t, please, no....”
And one, closer to him. A conversation that was almost detached.
“What do you think he’s going to try?” his martial sister, even as she cut another tendril of seeking chi and dao.
“I don’t know. Something stupid,” Yang Mu said, that tone of concern and worry still heavy in her voice.
“But will it work?” heated now, as they neared the fight. Strained.
Now the crushing domain of the battling Nascent Soul cultivators bore on them. There was a reason this group was so small, only the members with great aura control, at the middle to peak of Core Formation dared even come close. That the Right Guardian, injured and missing a leg - no, both legs, somehow still managing to fight while flying - had made it this far was testament to his strength. That the Sixth General had lost his steed only and not his life, his skill.
But it was not enough, Wu Ying knew. Already, the shared aura of the group was bowing under the pressure, being crushed beneath.
“It will have to.” Yang Mu shifted, looked back at Wu Ying. Spoke softly and firmly. “You’ll have to run now.”
He hopped off the fan as it shrunk and closed, pulled back to her hand. She turned forward, stepping fast and closing the distance, snapping both fans open and triggering their enchantments. He saw as they cut apart the aura, shielded them from the influence in a curving pair of crescents.
A moment later, an answer to their approach.
Yang Mu leaned to the side, guiding her fan, her movement to catch the blast of dark and killing chi. Caught it in the shadow of her fans, swallowed it whole and then redirected it back at their opponent.
It caught him by surprise, staggered the king for a moment. Long enough for the Right Guardian to thrust a jian into the side, pierce his body with the extend blade, only to lose his weapon as it was ripped away. Long enough for the Sixth General to conjure a tiger’s paw, to strike downwards on the king and leave giant rents in the ground and a line of blood on his back. Long enough for the group to cover the distance of a rice field.
“Do you have a plan?” the Sect Head’s voice, straining came across the distance that seperated them.
Of them all, he bore the greatest burden. Even as the world was pulled into that ravening maw of desire that was the king’s body, that swallowed sword and chi and used it to reknit himself. Wounds began to close again, though slower.
“Do you?” Yang Mu asked, desperately. Perhaps hoping that the man had another option that Wu Ying’s desperate one.
“Wear him down. A technique like this, it cannot last forever. It is killing him, to use it.” Yang Shu Ren said. He drew a dozen talismans from his ring, threw it at their opponent. They were swept forward, but before they could be taken in, the Sect Head triggered the talismans causing them to explode. Flame and overpressure assaulted Meng Dai, causing him to stagger. Eyes went bloody, then cleared, but Wu Ying saw it now. The minor cracks in the man’s foundation, the same kind of cracks that ran through his own body. Flaws that were being widened, as overflowing chi and dao immortal body contested against one another. “If I had a few hundred more talismans...”
The look of hope he gave Yang Mu had her shaking her head. She was rich, she was a formation master, but she had noted the kind of talismans he had used and quality. Hundreds she might have, but few enough at the Core Formation and higher level. Rich as she might, it was only at the level of an individual - not a Sect.
The Sect Head’s actions were not without reprisal. Meng Dai snarled, pointed a hand. That same attack, but three times in size, flashed towards the man. Too far away to stop it, the group could only watch as the image of the Sect Head in the distance was burnt away, destroyed.
Only for another to appear a hundred feet away.
Illusions... or perhaps, something more real than illusion. For the Sect Head was smoking, his skin and hair on fire, the dark flames that had burnt the air and still left a smoking scar across the land taking a few agonizing seconds for Shu Ren’s clouds to put out.
“Give us an opening,” Wu Ying said. “Get me close.”
He knew that Meng Dai could hear them. He knew that, but they still had to co-ordinate. He could not trick his way close, only rely on his people. At this last moment, he could only rely on them once again.
As he always had.
“Don’t miss.”
The again was left unsaid.
Comments
Karthic
What a lead in
Andrew Livermore
If he does , inside the ring their is no doa , so would create a different playing field
