Ash blew, and many were the feet that left no impression atop it. Not on eaves and arches, nor the pagodas that remained rigid under such weight.

  Green fshed.

  Robes painted the skyline, muted to suit their vocation. Near unseen against the falling powder and the unnatural darkness of this night.

  And much more.

  Amidst it all, a figure walked. Crimson-cd. Twinned [Spirit Serpents] at rest on his shoulders. Their presence, a violent shout through the stillness.

  Green fshed again to number hundreds. The Imperials, massed in expectation.

  Fools, guessing.

  He saw them as the Cloudy Serpent disciple walked pinly, coming to rest atop a well-patterned bridge. Some stylised affair that served as crossing to the ash-flow beneath.

  Gestures came from below as the Imperials passed messages in rey. Suppressed [Arts], shared to each among them in mental transmission. Another mistake to add to their growing list.

  “It is not the one we seek.”

  “His presence alone warrants intervention.”

  “The [Asura] would not walk in light.”

  “[Spring] sustains, it does not rush.”

  Affirmations touched the minds of many, be they silent grunts or breaths, all in shared agreement.

  Then, through this mental transmission, more concerns rose.

  “Another of the Serpents arrives.”

  “A ring emerges east and west, exiting from the storefronts.”

  “Imperial homes. The district is compromised.”

  Silence.

  The Greens awaited instruction and confirmation both, fanning their myriad forces to cast a rger net among the rooftops.

  All the while, the sun-facing Serpents took to casual stroll.

  “One hundred. All of middle [Core Formation Realm]. Smaller bdes of grass- heed this, and advance with caution. Their presence is an affront to the Empire. End this insult.”

  In bckness, a whisker was stroked. A douli, set. Resonances, sent.

  And yet the Fatherly [Asura] remained.

  [Spectral Q phased a tide of Green through the stonework, blurring robes and weapons into action. He spectated but one of them, pcing his attention on the weakest link within his Wayward Winds.

  A scene pyed here. But one repetition of many.

  Limb and fang rushed from the bridge’s underside, birthing the great head of a spectral [Spirit Wolf] and the jian-den hands of her cultivator. Their arrival was as swift as lightning, but held only the portent of thunder.

  For a heartbeat passed, and the [Spirit Wolf’s] head fell- wet and severed atop the stone.

  Half a li east, two [Spirit Buzzards] suffered a loss of wings, and their cultivator, a rapid dismemberment.

  West, and a shorn-scalped Vajra was emptied of blood.

  North, South, and each cardinal direction set about the sun-facing Sect showed a swift demise for any cd in Green. Death orbited their shadows, ridding the path they took of any appearing spectres.

  So on these disciples pressed.

  “You have delivered on your promise,” passed a voice, addressing the darkness of her pagoda, far-flung from this scene.

  Fu emerged at her right. “A good fisherman counts his catch upon the shore.”

  “A truth,” she agreed, hands ever csped behind her back. “How will those of your vocation respond? Grant me insight into the dark, if you would.”

  Light spilled across the city first, calming any need for reply.

  Seven [Seasons] had changed much of this ash-soaked realm, for where once the avenues were open and passable, there stood checkpoints. A masterwork of [Arrays] upon the freshly erected watchtowers, guard stations and Warships that lined the skies.

  No more than the [Reliquary’s] nine-ringed pace. An indomitable mountain at the realm’s heart.

  From which this light, and this tide of Imperials burst forth.

  The air moved behind.

  “As expected,” Fu said.

  Qinshi’s [Spirit Baboon] howled in delight as an Imperial fell from its grasp. Those of te [Core Formation] made such efforts trite, and the tangerine hued beast distastefully flung the corpse from the balustrade.

  “Three more approach. Soon they will see futility, and send their taller bdes of grass,” added Fu, set upon the fring horizon.

  “Quite,” she agreed, intent on the same sight.

  From a great, yawning doorway within the nine-ringed pace, the true host of Imperials made themselves known. Thirty thousand, in estimate, and a little over that with intelligence. Such was their preparation- this massing.

  “Our first taunt was successful. Can the same be said for what follows?” she queried, for this was her way. Not with malice or expectation, but in search of simple truths.

  Something rushed from the eaves above, phasing in [Spectral Q. Then, concerted, the floor and walls revealed a further three cultivators.

  No less than Green, holding variety in their bonds. Possessing of no small [Might], they blurred.

  Blind to the awaiting eight nooses.

  Hushi snapped these spectral fiends on approach, contorting the heads of those that deigned end this grand csh before it truly began.

  The [Spirit Baboon] seemed perturbed that it had moved too te.

  “Would that my station allowed such methods. An efficient method, crippling another’s cultivation.”

  An ashen wind blew, and Fu felt no assassins within it.

  “You are satisfied? Outstanding. Then let us our parts commence.” So saying, the woman unveiled a resplendent qiang from which a grand banner hung. “A sickness grows, unmet by sisters. A wound festers, granted time. All end from meager beginnings, and this shall be known. [Dao of the First Attrition].”

  A serpent flew from her banner, stripped of stitch and cloth to become some ethereal beast of ruddy golden light. It snaked and enrged, weaving its own tapestry in the ash-soaked skies above much of the city.

  The advancing Imperials baulked at its appearance, for their unified march stuttered by a single step.

  A rumble filled this absence. No force of three thousand, nor cd in the wrapping of Green Imperials, but a wave of half this number. Crimson-draped and abreast a wake of their bonded [Spirit Serpents].

  “True Serpents do not bend to grass,” amplified Qinshi, and these Cloudy Serpent Sect disciples erupted from the city’s homes. Then, to Fu, a question was repeated. “Presence is an assassin’s greatest boon. Known, or unmade. The task of your flock grows difficult.”

  An offensive statement. A second-guessing or undermining. From Qinshi, the Tearless Strategist, it was not intended as such.

  Gao Fu cared little either way, but spoke in assurance. “Those within your disciples’ shadows, strategist, were merely our schors.”

  [Dao of Wayward Winds].

  ?

  There came resonances aplenty. Brooches, bracelets and a litany of artifacts within the Wayward Winds employ. Exposition on these matters did not trouble Gao Fu, for another held oversight into communication and rey.

  In simplicity, all held their own tasks.

  A Warship’s deck held rushing cultivators, illuminated not solely by the [Array] circuitry that thrummed across pnk and tile, but by the impressive sight that cultivators of their realm granted. To see within gloom or to expand [Senses] in even minor ways to notice what those weaker could not.

  An [Imperial Devastation Lattice].

  An uncommon force of destruction held cultivators in formation, straining in their hundreds with the lotus position upheld. It seemed a mass ritual, linking the consciousness and efforts of each that lent the [Profundity] power.

  Fu saw this circle of bodies, and the flow of Qi and vitality grow a great fugue of ten thousand golden swords about the vessel’s hull.

  Mounting, as if the Heavens deigned to sharpen these instruments themselves.

  So he stepped.

  [Three Wisps From Breath].

  An exhation blustered mist across the deck in moments, and his palm curled. Thirty-two needles solidified within his fog, disrupting each circuit in procession.

  [Dao of Wayward Winds].

  “Folly.”

  The Old One did not guide for so familiar an [Array] as this. Shuidi’s mastery proved simirly unnecessary.

  But both held derision towards these Imperials and their ways. The dual-edged bde of identical design and mass-production. Myriad as they were, if one could be broken so could the others.

  Thus Fu dispensed with the twelfth and final Warship that darkened these ash-den skies. Dashing this bde against them.

  Camity tore the skies asunder as he flew across the rooftops. What light- what force and heat was conjured as these vessels exploded was rivalled only by the [Divine Serenities Phoenix] in scope, and night was so well consumed that a sun might well have bzed across this realm for its strength.

  “Our Warships!”

  “Wrath falls from the Heavens.”

  “[Spring] sustains. Roots as ours will not bend in fear.”

  “The [Nine-Ringed Ashen Array] yet remains.”

  One among the Imperials held thoughts aligned to Fu’s own, for his mind was upon the realm’s central pace.

  The Cloudy Serpent Sect’s purpose here. A seat, or star, to add to their expanding nds.

  Fu’s [Senses] tingled in warning, prompting him to perch.

  Halfway across the city, the Imperials had begun their counter. It rose as percussive drums, radiating with their progress.

  Thump.

  Watery [Killing Intent] formed above the heads of each.

  Thump.

  This water coalesced, lime in hue, moulding.

  Thump.

  Seven horns emerged atop a lion’s head, forged of this [Killing Intent]. From terrible jaws did it roar, combining the might of the marching Imperials to send many a Serpent to their knees.

  Yet Qinshi’s [Dao of First Attrition] snapped back. The ethereal beast swelled in rising, baring its own fangs in challenge.

  Fu felt the weight of these forces settle on his [Spirit]. A mountain each, daring those beneath their glory to strike.

  The sun-facing shed first.

  Heroes of his Sect. Peerless experts. Distant cousins that ascended from their forced-upon knees to level jian; axe; qiang; talisman and gun against their foes.

  [Dao]. [Intent]. [Art].

  These effects were too myriad to count.

  Too loud.

  Fu pushed a resonance through his brooch, and conjured his own [Dao] so the wind might steal him from this pce. And so it carried, chasing a tendril that delivered him fifty paces from the pace’s outer walls and the dormant tempest of ash that held it safe.

  “From within, youngling. Impassible. Incorruptible, otherwise.”

  Hushi left his midden, setting three arms in proximity to the [Nine-Ringed Ashen Array]. So birthed a squall of teeth. Ash-borne constructs that bore a likeness of [Spirit Sharks], thrashing towards the space where the [Spirit Octopus] probed.

  In their thousands.

  Even now, old master?

  “As said, youngling.”

  He stroked his whisker, and stepped through [Array] and wall both. It required little force of will, nor a tithe from his [Core].

  The defense’s jaws snapped further as he emerged within the pace, chasing his presence until it faded with a step into the eaves. An interior of grand corridors, and an opulent design that betrayed the true defensive potential.

  Air moved ahead.

  He regarded a flow of figures.

  Talented. Why then, do they cast pebbles against the waves?

  Assassins of Green navigated the eaves before him. About him. A [Spirit Panther] clung to the wooden arch upon which his hand rested. Its breath was cool, and came with all the regurity of a middle [Core Formation] expert.

  Fu stepped through their center, and made to ascend the rings.

  Formations held tight in each of the meagre chokepoints. Imperial spears, readied for an expectant breach. Uniform at the base of each vast staircase they sought to defend.

  One for each ring.

  Shuidi craned from her shell, no more than a speck against the soaring height of this structure- nor a ninth of it. Her impression warned of much that Fu’s eyes could not glean, as was her talent.

  But they stepped, and one ring was conquered.

  An [Array] of summoned, golden discs remained dormant behind him. Ten steps further and the thousand uniform Imperials did not cast their gaze upward.

  Few ever did.

  A fact that transcended realm.

  “A depth of walls hides the [Nine Ringed Ashen Array’s] core. Not height. Adjust, youngling.”

  Fu felt at the wind, expanding his [Dao of Wayward Breezes]. Clear ribbons in his sight, ebbing and snapping to distant points. Impractical points.

  And so he cradled one in his palm, and blew gently.

  There a fresh breeze blew, as if a ripple travelling upstream. These winds changed for it, bending through archway and screen with subtle motion until the destination aligned more with what he sought.

  In moments the [Array’s] core pulsed before him. Curious, for it drew much from a central [Consteltion Seed]. The jawbone of a monstrous [Spirit Shark], about which myriad circuits of [Profundity] gred.

  Hushi shared his warning.

  A great chamber housed this core. Some many li high. Darkened in spite of the shedding light, pulsating characters and gold that held in its center.

  Brother. Sister.

  His partners vanished.

  The first alcove held a poisoned bde, as weak and brittle as its owner. A droplet spshed as Fu forced it through its wielder’s eye.

  Impure.

  The seventeenth-visited alcove confirmed this. A turgid, devastating poison reaped from the sac of a thousand-year old beast. Something debilitating, engineered to cripple the [Stomach Meridian] of any it touched, to set a reaction in pce that would cause paralysis and internal damage.

  Cruel. Powerful.

  Saturated in impurities.

  A minnow against the leviathan within his [Channels].

  But Fu wasted nothing, and reaped a percentage into his [Hundred Immunities Fruit]. One drop of countless, for this was all its worth.

  Then nded once more at the entrance.

  With another breath his pipe fumed, crawling as slow insects might atop a carcass until the chamber held a surface of light fog.

  [Dao of Pilged Breath].

  “[Asura],” greeted one before him. This green-shawled woman, a jian sheathed upon her lower back. “We expected your return.”

  Fu felt the encroaching assassins. How their readying breaths held firm as a sea of bdes lowered from the shadows. “Talk is unnecessary, cultivator.”

  “Perhaps so. And yet, a slight must be corrected,” she said.

  A fresh figure blurred to front. “Do you recall me, [Asura]?” it spat.

  Two [Spirit Vultures] menaced the air above his head. A scarred affair, pgued by the bckened marks of a violent cold.

  “A captor during your imprisonment.”

  The douli shook. “Apologies.”

  Such indignation had the cultivator tremble. “Taller bde,” he rounded. “Seven [Seasons] have I waited. Cultivated. Prepared. My vengeance must be sked.”

  Behind, the woman dispensed a nod.

  Little followed but a blur. Twinned shrieks as these three partners plunged beak, dagger and talon into Fu’s heart.

  A true blow, if the Fatherly [Asura] still stood there.

  Without effort, he tore the head of his chain from this cultivator’s skull. “Much can transpire across a heartbeat. Do not discount Seven [Seasons].”

  They came then, the engulfing shades of green.

  Slow.

  A rush of metal, missed. [Dark Q ensnared the space where his bckened hanfu had trailed, or the previous image of his chain.

  Fu stepped. Ever a step against Green, for they chased what was, or where was. An afterimage of the ghost, untouchable as he struck the [Cores] of rushing [Spirit Beasts]. One blow to fell them, and another as their cultivator cttered to the arena’s floor.

  Their fear, palpable.

  His [Dao of Plundered Breath], swollen.

  When he withdrew his bde from the st of these hundreds, Fu set his eyes upon the jian-wielding leader.

  “An adequate test,” she offered. “A prayer unheard. Whispers silenced. Final gasps answered. From the recesses of [Spring’s] light, know futility. [Dao of the Hundredfold Night].”

  At such an utterance the light fled until little remained of the surrounding circuitry but a trickling glow. A stifling weight grew from Fu’s foe, a presence of eyes quite unlike those he had felled previously.

  Hushi’s form blurred, swatting aside a shadow that lunged for his cultivator’s rear.

  A rabbit, if grim and deadly. Admittedly swift for the innocuous nature of this animal, but a danger to his [Senses] at mere proximity.

  “Ninety-nine,” announced the leader. Then, she was gone.

  [Poison Art: Wind Phantom’s Breath].

  Fu’s bde scored against his foe’s jian, pulsing. At will, the surrounding mist became malefic, saturating all he had conjured with a sliver of what he held within his [Hundred Immunities Fruit].

  “The night cannot be poisoned,” replied her disembodied whisper.

  An element transformation technique. Separate from her [Dao of the Hundredfold Night]. Her style matches my own.

  Bdes met.

  A count began.

  A mirror began.

  He rounded to parry the assassin’s attack, and in the same breath a simucrum struck at his rear, barely countered. Then they would fade.

  Repeat.

  Strike.

  The [Spirit Rabbit] answered Hushi’s blows.

  Alternated. Blurred. Faded.

  His foe’s whispers sounded upon each cng. A descent into peril, this much the blind might see. Fu was driven back as they mounted, for each close grew narrower. Each parry, slower. They danced, whirled, and gained no ground upon-

  “One,” sounded her whisper.

  [Three Wisps From Breath].

  Mist rushed from his pipe.

  One hundred figures eclipsed him. One hundred jian, and one, not made of this foulest bck.

  The Fatherly [Asura]’s arm met them.

  His second, his third and fourth. [Water Q and [Air Q sprouted from vacant space: from opposing shoulders and a socket that held memory, grasping these plunging jian with hands made of his elements to swat each aside.

  “The [Asura] comes,” the whispers chased, and more, for her shadows came tripartite as the count returned. “Ninety Nine.”

  So the [Wind Phantom Strides] loosed. Palms met the rushing spectres, and his chain flew as a serpent to strike all they could not touch.

  “One,” came again.

  Countered.

  A further “One,” rose. Four times. A fifth, sixth and seventh, multiplying the specters upon him and the fervor of this Imperial until at st she drew back, returning the [Spirit Rabbit] to her side. “An exercise in futility.”

  “Forgiveness, cultivator,” Fu said, withdrawing his pipe for propriety’s sake. “I have been indulgent.”

  Her “Oh?” seemed incredulous, delivered with a steepled brow. “[Spring’s] shadow as my witness, you will know our vengeance. Prepare.”

  Fools spoke, and so Fu did not.

  “An end to whispers. Once vanished, once buried. Cold lips might speak no further. [Dao of the Hundredfold Night].”

  [Three Wisps from Breath] ceased at will.

  A hundred bdes were then delivered through Hushi’s flesh to match the hundred bdes thrust through Fu’s expectant stance.

  One head fell, cut, from the [Spirit Rabbit’s] shoulders.

  “H-how…” the Imperial rasped, coughing blood before she fell.

  Fu and Hushi walked through the dissipating spectres. Through extended jian, tip, bde, arm and all.

  The mists of their bodies reformed about each passing intrusion. Unharmed, as their [Constitution] granted, and the pair set about their hermetic sister at work on the [Consteltion Seed].

  Her impression was chiding.

  “A bde cannot cut cloud, sister,” he smiled, hovering his solitary hand above the [Array]. “Now, let us untrouble our cousins, yes?”