Chapter Two Hundred and Forty Eight - Death of Antiquity

Some form of [Karma] had surely intervened for even Fu was surprised at the immediacy of this tactic. The [Hollow Realm Key] was ever included in his plans, and yet the opportunity ought not to have come so swiftly.

He had expected a thousand leaps before his plans aligned.

Now he stood, hidden in observation of the catastrophe he had wrought. Pale, sickly light expanded from the epicenter of the Key, growing into a maelstrom without boundary as the role it was embedded within began its first flicker of movement.

Atop this, [Once Beggared Ghost’s] swarm moved, the ancillary thousands within his uncountable mass- flesh seekers and hunger-driven beasts.

Yet even they were part of the hole.

The world’s regular pace resumed as the [Hollow Realm Key] detonated into a sickly sun, and here Hushi thought of it as a calligrapher’s grand brush. A white-soaked head that removed all that it passed over.

Apt indeed.

With the Cherry River Loyalist’s game in effect, the role moved onward heedless of the ancient treasure embedded within it.

In simplicity, [Artillery] crossed the board as a singularity, vanishing both itself and [Qirin].

[Cherry River Doctor] was gone.

[Once Beggared Ghost], tethered to his ancillary swarm, was gone.

Part by part the devastation to Chutu Deqiang’s imposed Order had him birth a great cough across the landscape, against which the [Plum Axe], [Cherry River Fool] and bolder individuals beneath the Calamities dared a laugh.

“See the shortcomings of your scheme, Spear?” roared the father Zhu. “Hye-hye-hye! Creativity! Passion! These things cannot be stifled! Before one hundred moons would pass, life’s flame would roar anew.”

[Cherry River Spear] began-

Nine screens manifested about Fu with such haste that he could only flinch before his [Senses] were encapsulated by gold. Some [Spatial] distortion seized hold of the world about them, spiriting all away before the previous address could be heard.

An [Inner Realm]. This is [Ninth Under Heaven’s] personal sanctum, as such, he must not have escaped our ploy.

Ever-extending corridors spread before the three, a labyrinth of decadent things within and upon each surface. Now these shifted and folded inwards, reconstructing as if a each brick were one droplet within a tide, and transforming all into a one-sided battlefield.

[Ninth Under Heaven] sat atop his throne some thousand li high, and Fu appeared below, stationary on a single gold disc about which [Primordial Qi] flowed as liquid. When spoken, the Lord’s voice delivered a pain of insignificance.

Their [Immortal Arbiter’s Soul] did not shake.

“Worth,” came the redolent address. “The [Primordial Lords of Tribulation] test us. As do they misunderstand. Amituofo. Worth is not signified by the impact in moments, but that which echoes through time eternal. This ninth-rate daoist invests not in enterprises of a single [Season], but that of all [Seasons]. What you have inflicted is the dying gasps of a kicked dog, short-lived and unsightly!”

The dual-shaded chain entered Fu’s grip, arcing once. “Lord Ninth was not troubled by our small trick. We are gladdened by this.”

“Amituofo. Gladdened. So mocking a tone is an unfortunate byproduct of the company you keep,” he thundered. “You have this ninth-rate daoist’s attention, Fatherly [Asura].”

Few ought to know our title.

Shuidi hummed in disdain, speaking inwardly. “At this juncture, it matters not. Words to unsettle us, no more. They can do no harm.”

“[Dances Upon an Ivory Sea] and [Looming Amaranth Tyrant] stand with us, venerable one. Of your cabal only three remain. [Once Beggared Ghost] will either conquer or be conquered by the [Hollow Realm] or [Cherry River Doctor]. [Venerable Reed Sage] lacks power enough on his lonesome. As to [Thrice Clouded Boa], I cannot speak,” Fu answered. “What stands plain are your crumbling foundations.”

“All this delivers is less mouths to the carcass,” rumbled his [Spirit Lion], lifting one paw for a languid inspection. “Richer repayments are the sum total of your efforts, insipid ghost.”

“That is your goal then? The Elder Serpent’s promise. More gains for the [Primordial Lords of Accumulation]. Reason might dictate that you hold enough, Lord Ninth.”

This golden existence offered something too elegant to be a sneer. “Enough? Amituofo. Enough is a state dreamt of by those without. How childish. A platitude to warm oneself by the last log upon the stove. There is only that which rests in these vaults, and that which does not. The latter this ninth-rate daoist will soon rectify.”

“Amituofo, when will the righteous hero begin his lecture? Where do the selfless pleas for the gifting of these accumulated resources go? This ninth-rate daoist awaits the call for charity or the declaration of villainy. A small indulgence.”

Fu stroked his whisker. “One’s path is one’s path. The [Dao] are myriad and limited. We might decry your villainy no more than you, ours.”

“Just so,” mused [Ninth Under Heaven]. “Amituofo. A refreshing outlook. This ninth-rate daoist will look fondly upon your belongings, for a time.”

Then burst the liquid Qi below as he intoned a single phrase.

“[Heavenly Talent: Filagree Jar of Annals].”

🀧

Many further stages existed to gain the Hollow Throne.

Plans. Counterplans. Contingencies.

Zhu’s efforts. Long’s. [Looming Amaranth Tyrant’s]. [Dances Upon an Ivory Sea’s].

Hua.

Few immortals possessed the ability to separate time within their [Inner Realm] from that which flowed outwardly, yet Fu dared to hope that [Ninth Under Heaven] was among them.

An embarrassing count of minutes had passed.

Shameful.

Enough for an incense stick to have burned, perhaps.

Again Fu would blur upward, bridging the chasmic height of golden construction until he once more appeared at the Vajra Lord’s exposed neck. His blade was true, undeniable, and yet-

A skin of ornate pottery interposed itself where metal ought to meet flesh, denying the blow as it had some myriad times before. Worse, for Fu knew now that [Ninth Under Heaven] was barely aware of his presence.

The [Inner Realm] afforded much, but his [Sovereign Clouded Existences Art] had transcended even this vaunted immortal’s talents.

Indeed the Lord sat in mocking stillness, tranquil, awaiting the inevitable mistake that frustration would bring. “The [Poison Qi] you distilled was quite unique, Fatherly [Asura]. This ninth-rate daoist would consider it a personal favor were you to offer more of this quality. A tincture to reduce one’s cultivation-”

[Tempestual Phantom Tribulations: Hail Is But Winter’s Frozen Tears].

Impossible blows came as Fu and Hushi performed in flawless concert, making their chain and arms not a singular weapon but something akin to a deluge of simultaneous arrows.

“-the [Impending Mortality Dew]. Amituofo. A blessed thing. Once more, gratitude is offered for the donation. More so, this [Dao of Cloud’s Equanimity].”

Fruitless blow followed fruitless blow.

“Attrition. A game for those with time in abundance,” offered the Old One. “To test limits is not your purpose here.”

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Fu’s swiftness only increased as his words ran inward. “[Ninth Under Heaven] possesses talent akin to Bingbai. If we might overcome this [Heavenly Talent], we could gain greater insight into the [Law of Accumulation], half-removed as they are.”

A withering impression returned.

“The two powers are not so connected.”

“The Vajra Lord stands highest in their domain of [Accumulation]. Whatever insight we might gain is crucial,” returned Fu.

“Amituofo. Time is squandered, thus wealth is squandered. This ninth-rate daoist would see such a farce ended.”

Upon each surface of the chasmic wall grew a series of golden characters, so dense in [Profundity] one might guess that their [Pool] of insight existed in the deepest fathoms. It would not be absurd to say they did.

[Dao Principles] sprouted with a chorus of annunciation.

[Dao of Memory]. [Dao of Sainthood]. [Dao of Miseries]. [Dao of Autumn’s Leaves]. [Dao of Hidden Masters]. [Dao of Healing Waters]. [Dao of Tombs]. [Dao of Exploration].

And all the while did [Ninth Under Heaven] open his endless vaults.

Heaven-touched silks flew forth aside Heaven-forged armaments, and to these the myriad [Dao] attached. Becoming whole. Extending profound limbs and queer mannerisms within a spectral glow of gold.

Warriors borne of [Profundity].

Shuidi did not care for them, and audibly hummed the sentiment. “Greed is without depth. An [Inner Realm] that seals our techniques, poisons and trinkets when used, and a [Primordial Law] that worships possessions. What bland soul is defined by what they own?”

The [Dao]-made warriors flocked towards her voice as Fu plunged an ineffectual blade through the [Dao of Surprises], blurred by the [Dao of Intent] and narrowly avoided a blow by the [Dao of the Third Eye].

“Cease such foolishness, youngling,” warned the Old One.

As you say.

Fu landed at the chasmic wall’s base.

“[Shrine of Final Skies],” he declared, birthing great tempestuous pillars all about him. Hushi’s arm fell upon the left as his did the right, casting aside much of the [Dao of Conquest’s Exhalation] so their invitation might be seen. “[Pull].”

Without human affectation these [Dao] warriors flew forth. Suits of pristine armor encased in their meaning.

“[Pull],” intoned Fu, brandishing the full might of his [Cloud Dragon Sutra], brandishing each point detailed upon his bloated [Ink].

He could not swallow the [Dao]. Yet the items-

The warrior of [Entropy] reached his chest, and against it he felt the [Sublime Primordial Spectre’s Shroud] shrink and decay.

A fading, a muting, an ending.

All came from a gown of flawless spidersilk, a-flow, demure and of paler gold sheen. Those hands within it caressed his cheek once before an immediacy of draconic winds wrenched it within the yawning portal of their shrine.

[Entropy] burst into the aether, then came [Misery].

[Tombs].

[Gluttony], a child compared to [Once-Beggared Ghost’s] true law.

[Moon’s Tides].

[Grasshoppers].

[Companionship].

But [Ninth Under Heaven’s] voice rose in wrathful passion. “You,” it rumbled, quaking the gold, the [Dao]-warriors and the air of his [Inner Realm]. “How?”

The [Shrine of Final Skies] ate further, wrenching defiant bricks and air into its expanse.

How? Confusion is too simple a trick for a Vajra Lord.

Shuidi altered the flow so that the ground beneath their shrine did not vanish, impressing caution as [Ninth Under Heaven] surged from his throne and descended the chasm with the speed of a gold-flamed meteor.

With an ire-soaked hand he dismissed his [Heavenly Talent], spreading his opposing hand in claw-like fashion towards it. His [Pull] was not to be discounted. “How?” he said, and Fu noted a loss of totality in his voice.

An uncertainty.

“This ninth-rate daoist cannot take that which is physically cultivated. An internalized [Dao] or [Constellation Seed],” he continued, ponderously. “Amituofo. The barter is struck, a truth offered. Speak, Fatherly [Asura].”

Fu felt no compunction to share.

[Primordial Qi] burst from the Lord. “Another trespassed in this daoist’s realm at this farcical tournament’s open. The same [Constellation Seed] was present. A trinket of serpents?” he spoke. “Amituofo. It must enter my possession.”

His [Spirit Lion] was suddenly present, eyes further aglow in [Primordial Law].

“By the [Boundless Dao], we will have it!”

Within his chest, the [Heartplume of Clouded Schisms] thundered. A duet, of sorts, for both it and their [Immortal Arbiter’s Soul] had rarely faced one atop their spire of [Primordial Law]. It was unprecedented.

The [Dao] were but a glimpse of something greater.

Instilled with meaning.

A flavour.

[Ninth Under Heaven] overturned his hand as his [Spirit Lion] did its paw, and the Jianghu’s fundamental strings bowed.

Broke.

Knit.

What fissure had defouled his [Inner Realm] ceased widening, staunching the flow of gold into the [Shrine of Final Skies] as if the very feat was now impossible. Indeed, Hushi furrowed to feel that their reach had been severed.

Then, a pang.

A-flow from lion and Lord came a shadow of fortifying gold about their [Shrine’s] pillars, felt outside and within.

Fu’s [Shrine of Final Skies] had him cough golden blood as the seed inside fell prey to the reach of this Lord’s [Law].

Loose. Pained.

“This wealth is not my own,” coughed Fu. “It is for a future greater than any dreamt of. You cannot have it.”

The three souls of the Fatherly Asura bled their words as one. “[Spectre Steals the Stars],” manifesting then a ruddy shift in the [Shrine of Final Skies]. Dark, [Demonic Arts] suffused the entrance as the focus of their desire sharpened.

Twin singularities clashed.

One of gold, one of considerably less luster.

[Pull].

[Ninth Under Heaven] frowned.

[Pull].

His gold had grasped half of the [Shrine’s] pillar.

“No longer will we dance upon an immortal’s palm. For too long has the Jianghu been swayed by the stagnant greed of ancient statues,” burned Fu, lacing his words with thunder as he blurred from the [Shrine of FInal Skies].

With deft savagery he plunged his palm into [Ninth Under Heaven’s] open jaw. [Pull] formed a singularity in the Vajra Lord’s throat, wrenching five sequential treasures of wet and vile composition from his gold-tinted innards.

A flick had the [Shrine of Final Skies] swallow them as Fu blurred back. “It is over, Lord.”

[Ninth Under Heaven] and his [Spirit Lion] vomited a lake’s worth of golden blood, oily and growing darker by the moment. Yet, still they stood. Still they forced upwards that all the [Inner Realm] might better hear their screams.

“Over? Over? Amituofo,” he splurted. “The Fatherly [Asura’s] death will not be swift. To dare take! To dare to think! This ninth-rate daoist’s history spans beyond record, Ninth, boy, Ninth, does your reason take leave?”

Drunken footsteps overtook his gait. Swaying in both wrists and legs.

“Once, we struggled to slay immortals. [An Array in One Hand] was a mountain, and our blade, a chopstick. He could not be carved. You can, Lord Ninth.”

[Primordial Law] flared.

The vaults about him grew a glow of characters bright enough to blind suns, and from it sped a tide of medicinal treasures to sink into the Lord’s flesh. Like a tapestry in-weave, his skin, his wounds, his fatigue, dissipated.

Stitched and mended.

Five fresh [Constellation Seeds] appeared there, and [Divine Sense] foretold that they were absorbed in an instant.

[Ninth Under Heaven] grew.

All that comprised he and his partner shifted into one, transforming their form into a singular, vast theatrical mask. White characters flowed across it, shimmering and oscillating as [Ink]-styled pictograms encircled a forehead mounted taijutu.

Shuidi thought it monstrous.

Fu only set his blades.

“Supreme World Gathering Art: Taotie,” declared [Ninth Under Heaven]. “All you hold dear is falsehood, boy, for there is no thing beneath Heaven that is not included in my domain! Renounce this misconception in the face-”

One hundred needles of onyx tone struck all places upon him.

Eye. Ridge. Bulge. Pattern. Mouth.

“Oh-ho-ho. Ever so rowdy.”

Their thunderous heart beat through ice-chilled veins.

Ban Bingbai stepped forth from nothing, inspecting a single needle upon [Ninth Under Heaven’s] unmoving gestalt. It chimed as he flicked it with his forefinger, though the Lord did not- could not move.

“Disciples,” shook Bingbai, playfully navigating the ineffectual mask. “A waste, no? To fell a [Primordial Lord of Accumulation] without emptying his vaults. Where is your prudence? The forethought for fellow serpents?”

“Master-”

“No, oh-ho-ho. That question need not be answered. We see as plain as limpid water your… intentions. My disciples, indeed, all my disciples. It is said that green comes from, and is better than blue. Hmm. I cannot tell what colour you are now, Gao Fu, but your scales no longer match my own,” he lectured, then burst an onslaught of [Demonic Arts].

Crimson energy loped and arced about [Ninth Under Heaven’s] vaults, multiplying for each surface it consumed, devouring all things in its path, and returning a tether of power back into the glinting eyes of Bingbai.

Minutes passed.

[Ninth Under Heaven] fell last.

“This phenomena. The unseating of a [Primordial Lord]. Few souls bear witness to such a sight.”

Bingbai had stood second highest upon the spire. As [Ninth Under Heaven] dissolved in [Demonic Energy], that could no longer be said. To stand aside him as [Primordial Law] cracked and shifted about him, fleeing from the fallen Lord, Fu discovered a simple truth.

One [Primordial Lord] alone. More than this, and the power dilutes. Can you feel it, brother? Sister? What comes now is far greater than what we previously felt. Bingbai cannot be countered by the same means.

The realm collapsed about them without Fu daring to move, and the simplicity of golden walls and singular opponents was replaced by a maelstrom of warring energies. An escalation from all things before.

A hum somehow carried above it all.

Above the slowly widening fracture in the [Plum Axe’s] spectral roots.

Above the bloody qiang entrenched through [Cherry River Spear’s] face, neck and left side, held by an impassive [Cherry River Fool].

Above the silent barrage of [Demonic Arts] that siphoned thousands of [Constellation Seeds] from the at-war masses.

Above the madness of a shattered game-board, the hiss of uncountable serpents, the roar of Long’s four dragons, the explosions; warping; subtlety; lightning; tides; quaking; manifestations; and restructuring of reality loosed by [Primordial Lords], yes, above it all.

One hum.

Melancholic.

A hum of mourning to welcome that pristine, four-coloured [Paifang] which sprouted in the broken ruins of Jade Songbird City.

Then followed the “oh-ho-ho,” at his side, promising a greater ruin than all these things in concert.