The sound was thunderous.

It reached the depths of the sea, stretching to the northern reaches beyond the Break.

Even those off the lands on the islands could feel the rumble.

“Strike it again.” A voice with a gravel tone barked.

The long brush in the hands of the young man pointed at the bell.

He wore robes of pure white, untouched by the dust of the lowly mortal world.

Black stripes and gold accents danced down the canvas of a robe.

After he gave his order, he looked down, watching.

Behind him, a makeshift platform poorly placed on a hill ratting, a great and ugly bell hung high on its peak.

The ringing shook the mountain, stretching deep into the world's veins.

A deep blue mist shaking free from the bodies of those gathered below.

Disappearing for the second time, the mist returned to the bodies which it shook from.

The man with the brush gritted his teeth, waiting for everything to be ready once again. He already planned for this.

People moved in a hurry behind him.

They wore robes similar to that of the man with the brush.

Less decorated, just as well groomed and cleaned.

The third one assigned to hit the bell waited with a pale face.

Watching the second one to strike fall back to the ground, others walking by to carry his unconscious friend out of the way.

He stared up in the sky at the young man who was giving orders. No one turned to see his desperate eyes.

The man with the brush was eagerly watching the masses below, waiting for the third ring.

A few hundred people stretching down the hill, men, women, young and old, staring blankly at the bell, hands raised, palms facing the moonless sky.

Fingers disappearing in the dark of the lightless summer night.

“Senior Brother, is this necessary?”

A woman floated to the sky, standing at the man's side.

She wore a robe identical to the man’s own, while her expression was the opposite.

“It could be. That is why I'm doing it. Many from our sect and many others have searched for it before.”

“Every source says it's in this little region. But no one has found it. This bell will give us a hint.” The man said.

He was losing control of his face as emotions leaked through a stoic facade.

“Senior Brother, we never acted in the open like this before. It could be a disaster. What about the rest of the plans?” She asked.

A young woman caught the attention of the two in the sky as she floated up from the ground.

She stopped before reaching them, cupping her hands to perform a bow.

“Master. Master uncle. I have brought the man you asked for.” The young woman said.

“Good, good, come watch, someone, place him near the base of the bell. Quickly before the strike.” The man announced.

An old man who was blank in the face, matching the rest of the people kneeling around him.

His hairline was receding, the little that was left of it tied in a tail at the base of his neck.

He wore a robe that was cream colored, a crane drawn on its back, and the word heaven on the right side of his chest.

His knees were bent at the base of the hill, only a few arms away from grabbing the bell.

Bruises on his face and bloody, broken fingers became obvious when reflecting the light.

Yellow stones provided light from the ground.

Shining around the bell and people scattered throughout the hill.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Its light reached just above the old man's brow.

His hands disappeared in the dark as his arms were lifted like those behind him.

“Senior Brother, you go too far. You should have returned him after the soul search. Do you think they won’t investigate?” The woman asked.

“Junior sister, there is no need for your conduct. I have planned for that. You should know I am not a fool. The bell will be ours in time, but it will serve perfectly as a scapegoat. Don’t forget the seeds we planted in the place we found it.”

“You plan to start a war?” She asked.

The younger girl found it odd, the two of them arguing. They were there for the same reason, arriving there together.

Rumors of their coupling were not uncommon.

“War, does it matter? We won’t be involved. I will have at least some sort of news before leaving this little world. Let the creatures of this lower world kill each other. We just have to find what we are looking for.” The man spoke, flying to the side.

“Senior brother, you have fallen into obsession!” She said.

“What did you say?” the man turned his head, nearly batting her away. “Junior sister, something is clouding your mind. Your disciple has become better than you in recent days.”

“The bell won’t serve the purpose you want it to. You're jeopardizing not just our sect's chance, but all others as well.”

“Enough! We can continue this when we return to the sect master hall tonight. We’ll see who he sends back to this place, Junior sister.”

A group of people in the same robes took out a dozen fist-sized stones shining with white light.

The bell absorbed the light, turning the stones to a shadowed gray.

The person near the bell had suppressed his nerves, hearing the words of the beardless man that led them.

It was better to do as he was told than to face a punishment.

He raised his fist to strike, staring at the blue rusted misshapen bell.

The fist made the air curl as it traveled.

The hand touched the bell, and the wrist and fingers folded.

The person who threw the punch vibrated madly before falling back. His bones shattered from finger to toe.

The sound was as loud as the first strike.

It was much louder than the second, lasting longer than both.

The mortals of the world lowered their heads with their ears covered.

It shook the very existence of the mortal world.

Back and forth the heavy rusty bell waved, vibrating.

Not a speck of the dust, or dirt, or deep blue rust fell.

Those close recoiled, even those strong enough to walk in the sky.

The bell slowed as quickly as it rang and silence took the night once again as all sounds stopped.

A blue mist, dark as a pit in the ocean, leaked from the bodies of those kneeling around the hill.

“It’s that. That is what we want. I know it.” The man with the brush raised his arms.

Most of the mist traveled up the hill, the bell drinking away.

Some tried to return the host that it fell from.

The men and women in white robes swiped their hands, slowing the mist, blocking the bell and bodies.

“Quickly stop it, collect it, contain it, let nothing absorb any more!” The man shouted, his face turning red.

It was the first time his junior sister saw him wear his emotions in such a manner.

Before any word of this mission, he only ever smiled a soft smile.

The man swiped his brush across the air, and the mist stilled.

Contained in a barrier unseen to the eye, the mist tried to flow.

All would have been invisible to mortal eyes, even if they were there or conscious to see it.

Those kneeling, the people which the mist came from, moved and changed.

Most of them fell limp as they rapidly shrank.

Desiccated in seconds, teeth and eyes became bare to the world as lips and eyelids receded.

Only a few remained with their eyes whole and blank, hands in the air, facing the bell.

They were cultivators among the people of this little world, the immortal practitioners like those in the sky.

However, even those with great strength were slowly becoming unrecognizable.

Those in white robes followed the brush-wielding man, lowering to the ground.

Unable to escape, the mist danced in two directions.

“We have to follow it.” The man said, staring at the mist.

“People are coming! They're from many sects!” A voice called dashing through the sky, stopping in the air in front of the man.

“Elders, all the sects of the South are traveling in our direction. They are coming to investigate. They are coming together!” The lookout’s news was more than unwelcome.

“Damned! Fine, contain it, quickly! Use inert stones and space rings if you must. Quickly!” The man said.

Pushing the messenger to the side.

The man swirled his brush in a circle, pulling most of the mist from the ground around the bodies.

Pushing it down and up, the mist was coalescing above the heads of those kneeling.

Forced into a shape as it started floating to the brush-wielding man.

Condensing before it reached him, a pearl of purple floated, fettered, and forced by the hand of the man.

He waved his hand, the pearl disappearing, going into the ring on his finger.

“Junior sister, prepare everything to retreat. We will return to the Sect the moment the noon sun rises. This will serve as great news.”

The brush disappeared in the same manner, vanishing into his ring with a swipe of his hand.

“Congratulations, uncle master,” the young woman said, staring at the man with admiration, blind to the bodies beneath her shoes.

“No need. It's not much of a feat. Haha, it is rather curious, that,” the man said, nodding his head at the old man closest to the bell. “It seems not everyone in this little world is useless.”

The only one to remain alive when the powers of the South arrived was the old man.

Kneeling, slowly growing skinny before the bell. His hands raised to the sky, eyes slowly drying.

It was the bell itself that gave more of a shock.