The Ancient Spires did not rise from the earth so much as they stabbed at the heavens. They were jagged, obsidian needles that pierced the clouds, creating a permanent vortex of screaming wind and freezing sleet. While the fifteen-million-man army struggled with the logistics of the lower passes, the true outcasts of the world were the only ones capable of maintaining the Calamity’s pace.

  Princess Valen led her dwarven battalions with a rhythmic, mechanical clanking, their heavy runic armor sparking against the frozen rock. Beside them, the goblin tribes moved like a green tide, their squiggle-banners whipping in the gale. They followed the vertical streak of violet fire that was Jian, but as they reached the mid-slopes, the path was blocked.

  A legion of "Stone-Singers"—automated gargoyles left behind by the First Era architects—erupted from the mountainside. These weren't creatures of flesh; they were constructs of living granite, their eyes glowing with a cold, pale blue light. They moved with a synchronized, grinding precision, their wings of sharpened slate cutting through the air like scythes.

  "The boss didn't stop," one of the goblin lieutenants hissed, looking at the distant shadow of Jian leaping across a chasm miles above. "He left the trash for us."

  Valen raised her obsidian mask, her eyes sharp with a sudden, fierce joy. "He didn't leave it for us because he was lazy, you green-skinned rat. He left it because he knows we need the materials. Look at the joints of those constructs! That is 'Aura-Lead'! It is the only metal capable of channeling the Nothingness without melting!"

  The battle that followed was a symphony of hammer and fang. The dwarves formed a testudo of technological shields, the blue-white Aegis-fields vibrating as the gargoyles slammed into them. Valen didn't just defend; she used a heavy, steam-powered pile-driver to shatter the constructs’ cores, harvesting the glowing blue crystals. The goblins, led by Kiri’s elite scouts, climbed the gargoyles' backs, driving daggers of Underworld iron into the "Aura-Lead" seams.

  As the last construct fell, a hidden seal on the mountain face groaned and opened. It was a "Primal Vein," a source of raw, unrefined ore that hadn't been touched in ten thousand years.

  "An offramp," Valen whispered, touching the glowing rock. "He gave us a base of power. If we refine this, our armor will be able to withstand even a High Immortal’s strike."

  "We stay here!" the goblin leader shouted. "Secure the rear! Forge the steel! We catch up when we are sharper!"

  Miles above, Jian hit the upper plateau of the Spires and immediately recoiled, his hand flying to his nose.

  "Gods," Jian rasped, his voice a jagged stone in the thin air. "It smells like a latrine for giants. How can something that lives in the sky be so... unhygienic?"

  The entire plateau was covered in a thick, yellowish crust of frozen ammonia and acrid musk. It was the territory of the "Storm-Roc," a creature so massive its wings supposedly spanned the valleys. It was also clearly a creature that didn't believe in boundaries. The stench was a physical weight, a stinging, chemical fog that made the copper light in Jian’s eyes water.

  Oh, Jian, don't be such a prude, Kyuzumi’s voice purred in his mind, her spectral laughter echoing off the ice-walls. It’s just territorial marking! It’s the scent of a male who thinks he’s the king of the world. I find it quite... invigorating. It reminds me of the 'Epoch of the Primal Jungle,' back when you were a six-legged panther and I was the moon.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "It smells like a turkey that’s been eating rotten fish, how'd you know I was a panther?" Jian muttered, his stomach letting out a low, predatory growl.

  The fox laughs myseriously...

  Kiri appeared in a blur of shadow beside him, her small green hand pointing toward a massive, bone-white structure at the very peak. It was a shrine, carved directly from the skull of an even larger, ancient beast.

  "The heart," Jian whispered.

  He walked toward the shrine, his boots crunching through the frozen urine-crust. He didn't use a cloak or a mask; his "Edge Aura" simply burned the stench away in a ten-foot radius. As he entered the bone-shrine, the wind died down, replaced by a heavy, rhythmic chanting.

  A local mountain tribe, dressed in furs and stained with ritual ash, was gathered around a massive, obsidian altar. In the center of the altar lay a young man, his throat bared to a jagged knife held by a high priest who looked like a walking corpse.

  "Oh, for the love of the script," Jian sighed, leaning against a rib-pillar. "The 'Sacrifice to the Sky-God' arc? Again? I’ve seen this one in three different realities. The hero saves the victim, the victim turns out to be a secret prince, and the god gets angry. It’s a classic anti-meta trap."

  The high priest froze, his milky eyes widening as he saw the tattered lunatic standing in his sanctuary. "Who are you to interrupt the Great Offering? The Storm-Roc demands the blood of the pure to descend!"

  Jian walked forward, his steps echoing with a terrifying, hollow finality. "The Storm-Roc doesn't care about your blood, puppet. It cares about the resonance. And the Old Man put this trap here because he knows I hate predictable dialogue. He wants me to save the boy so he can trigger the 'Celestial Retribution' sequence."

  He reached the altar and, with a casual flick of his wrist, tossed the priest through a stone wall. He grabbed the sacrificial victim by the collar and dumped him onto the floor.

  "You're free. Go find a hobby," Jian rasped at the terrified boy.

  He turned to the altar, his eyes turning a swirling cocktail of gold and void. "You want a sacrifice, Director? You want to see the strings move? Fine. Let’s see what happens when the lead actor gives up a piece of the set."

  Jian didn't hesitate. He called out the Nothingness Blade, but instead of swinging it at an enemy, he turned the edge toward his own left forearm. He sliced deep, the dark blade drinking his "Tainted Blood"—a substance that contained the residue of the Flood Dragon, the Garuda, the Fox, and the High Immortal Haxar.

  It was a sacrifice of pure, concentrated karma.

  The blood didn't hit the floor; it was sucked into the obsidian altar. The mountain began to tremble, a sound like a thousand drums beating in the earth. The sky above the shrine didn't just part; it shattered.

  A vertical column of white, pressurized air punched down from the firmament, leveling the bone-shrine and sending the tribesmen flying like leaves. From the center of the column, the Wind God descended.

  It wasn't a bird. It was an "Advanced Primal Spirit," a creature of solidified atmosphere and emerald light. It had four wings made of living hurricanes and a head that was a shifting, translucent mask of storm-clouds. It let out a screech that wasn't sound, but a drop in barometric pressure that made Jian’s ears pop and his skin itch.

  Now that's a meal! Kyuzumi screamed in his head, her spectral tails thrashing with an insane, hungry glee. Eat him, Jian! Eat the air!

  Jian licked his lips, the copper light in his eyes exploding into a predatory brilliance. He stood in the center of the hurricane, his rags whipping around him, his Nothingness Blade vibrating with a sound that challenged the storm.

  "Finally," Jian whispered, his face breaking into a wide, terrifyingly sane smile. "A turkey that actually looks like it knows how to fight."

  The Wind God tilted its translucent head, its wings snapping forward to unleash a blade of vacuum that promised to erase everything in its path. Jian didn't dodge. He lunged, a vertical streak of fire and shadow, meeting the god of the sky head-on.

  The play was entering its final act and Jian could feel his stomach grumbling.