Disgusting.

Vile.

Repugnant.

The man in the cloak sneered. He hadn’t been able to clean the expression off his face since he’d arrived in the maze of Katarn, but his robes never touched the filth, and his steps danced across the surfaces of the putrid puddles as he flowed through the alleys.

How many people knew the truth about the maze? Probably nobody who lived there still. A curse was thick in the air. It twisted the Qi, and the people who breathed it.

A tangle of tight alleys through uninhabited buildings. All of them sealed shut. All of them full of thousand year old corpses.

Indeed, power could not afford to be merciful. A truth the Red Dragon Empress had known well when she’d invaded the city. The Copper River was so named for the contaminated blood that had colored its waters. Katarn had been the example that none of the other cities in the Ardus River Valley had wanted to follow.

He loved history. He just didn’t like walking through its filthy remains.

The man was almost done with cleanup.

He arrived, and descended into the underground. The fools were waiting for him in their gaudy little hole. The carpets were faded and had grime tracked all over them. The couches and cushions were too colorful and clashed. There was even a golden candelabra devoid of candles. One of them had a little Qi and sat on a makeshift throne. Pathetic.

“Sneer! There you are,” said the one with Qi, “you disappeared after that business with the Patriarch. We weren’t sure if you had gone home already.”

He hated these street names. Soon enough though, nobody would be calling him that anymore. “No, just tying off some loose ends. Cleanup is almost done.”

“Great! Drink with us!”

This street trash was overly familiar.

“I can’t wait to get back to business as usual,” said a huge pig of a man.

The hooded man spat. On second glance, the pig man had some Qi too, and it tasted wrong. Too pure. The Qi of a child, or children.

Maybe he’d take his time with this task. He wouldn’t even need his chakrams.

“The organization thanks you for your service,” he said, throwing back his hood and smiling. “They also said they won’t be needing representatives in Katarn anymore. They will be moving in to do business directly.”

The men exchanged confused glances.

Then he moved.

The thugs were still looking at where he’d previously been standing when he grabbed the arm of one of the men and pulled, ripping it clean off and sending him flying into the wall.

He paused for a second to give them a chance to realize what had happened, then stepped over to the disgusting fat man. Pushing his Qi into the dismembered arm, he poured intent across the limb and stabbed it into the fat man’s belly, bursting his core with a pulse.

The vile man screamed and collapsed as his stolen Qi rampaged through his veins, rejecting his body, turning his skin grey and blood black.

Hmmmm… What should he have for dinner? He still had a beautiful leg of lamb left from the larders of the Osirus. Maybe he could find some mint jelly? He’d found the combination quite pleasing when he lived up north.

“Nice try, but I’m a cultivator too,” said the boss of the goons.

“You’re an ant.” He sneered.

Then there was blood.

*******

Fish-Lips was jogging. He just knew that he’d get a good reward this time. Basher liked nothing better than revenge.

But something was off.

A boy scurried past him, not even bothering to take a wide path. He was pretty sure that was Ashy-Ary, the little pyromaniac.

He slowed as he neared the base. Descending into the underground, it smelled off. Coppery.

Fuck.

The back of the room was no more than a collapsed pile of rubble where the building atop the hideout had once been. His comrades were there, in front of the debris. Or their heads were.

He had to assume that the rest of them was strewn about in the splatter of blood and flesh that coated the walls and floor.

Little-Fist’s head balanced at the top of the pile, swollen and grey with black veins crawling across it, mouth frozen in a rictus of agony.

He ran.

*******

Mupali’katana ran for her life.

It had all started when the snakes began their migration toward the east. Toward the great presence that had been growing. Approaching.

Things like this happened all the time in the wild. She and her fellow badgers were used to the push and pull of natural cycles, but as the presence got closer, she’d gotten the distinct impression that it was somehow unnatural.

“Sett-Mother! I’m tired!” Bargan’atar was always complaining.

“Save your breath for running, you fool!” she shouted back at him.

Right now, it was just the two of them and the younglings they carried on their backs. Her unawakened kin had already fallen behind. It was a tragedy, but as long as a male and female survived, there was hope. They could build a new Sett.

The earth shook and a rattling hiss that sounded more like a rockslide set all the remaining leaves to quivering.

Paratmari’ilthunana, mother of the wilds, what was this thing?!

*******

After watching Katarn’s towering walls–and the massive glowing sigils that marked their faces–fade, a sigh of relief had escaped Ren’s lips. It was like he’d finally left a cage that had forced his spirit to stoop and it could now stand at full height. At least that was how it felt at first.

Life on the road wasn’t so bad. At least there was hot food and shelter every night. And safety.

Ren peered out of the passenger wagon at the caravanahri who were on foot. They were hardened men, with the scars to prove it.

He got to watch them train every night when they made camp. He’d never seen men move like that. Such precision and brutality. Headman Tamul was a particular treat to watch. Not only did he seem to have eyes on the back of his head when the other men flanked him during training, but sometimes he would move with impossible speed or leap over the heads of his opponents to strike from behind or above. Often, he was little more than a blur to Ren’s eyes. Once, he’d even sliced clean through a tree trunk with a single swing of his sword.

With men like that around, there was nothing to worry about. It was hard to imagine that bandits who could overpower the mercenaries existed out here in the wilds. Things sure had changed though. When he was traveling as a kid, they hadn’t needed guards like this.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

When he’d asked the headman about it, the man had put a heavily calloused hand on his shoulder and said, “It’s not just the bandits, lad. The wards set up by the Red Dragon Empress to protect the major roads from Aether Beasts have been gradually failing since the collapse of the empire. But don’t worry. Beasts are our specialty.” The man had smiled then and returned to training.

Was that the real reason they’d settled down? Ren hadn’t stepped foot out of the city in six years. Not since the day he and his family arrived in Katarn. The city seemed so wondrous at first. But after everything that happened, part of him was grateful to be leaving.

He’d forgotten what the road was like. Forgotten how a forest smelled. The wet earth, the crunch of leaves, the way the sun glimmered through the canopy overhead. It all reminded him of running circles around his parents’ cart and playing “cultivator battle'' with… with his older brother. He barely thought about Ryu anymore-

“You’ve got a look about you, child,” said Osai. “Like you’ve traveled off somewhere far away, and aren’t sure you want to be there.”

Ren started. It was best not to think of such things. The past was the past. Besides, the rest of his family still needed him. He needed to keep up his preparations for what was to come. Turning another page, he tried to focus on the tome that weighed down his lap. It was utterly dry, boring as a brick. Even more boring than that actually. But he’d promised his mom he’d try to get a non-combat role, and Norn had looked so worried.

If he was being honest, there was his own cowardice at play too. Though he’d spent a lifetime dreaming of epic battles and adventures, his time on the streets taught him about the heart of violence. An ugly, scary thing.

Besides, if he worked really hard, it might be possible to become a surgeon for the military. Then he would have the resources he needed to research a cure for the wasting rot. A cure for his father. At the very least, he’d be able to handle the treatments himself.

But did he really need to know the name of every bone in his hand?

“Why don’t you take a break?” said the old man.

Ren waved him off. Every moment he wasted listening to stories felt like a betrayal. He took a deep breath, trying to resettle. Even breathing felt like it was getting harder the past few days. Like there was an invisible weight on his lungs.

Maybe he was just tired of being stuck in the back of a “passenger” wagon that was mostly full of crates of trade goods. He’d paid seven silver rupees for passage with the caravan. Nearly his entire savings. Ren hadn’t had the gall to ask the old man how he afforded the trip.

“I’ll tell you about the stages of cultivation.”

He perked up and closed the book.

“You may have heard that in the old empyrean religion there are three major stages of cultivation. First is cultivating the physical body. Second is cultivating the spiritual body. Third is concerned with divinity.”

Ren was hooked now. Osai had promised to teach him when they’d first met, but so far, over all the months they’d been talking, the man just told stories. A lot of times those stories had led to realizations that helped Ren deepen his understanding of the Broken Path, but that was beside the point.

“The immortals have a similar view. Instead of stages, they refer to realms of attainment and experience, which correlate to access to internal planes of reality. The first is called the mortal realm. Only one in a million who start the path of cultivation ever make it past the mortal realm, but as they approach the peak they enjoy longer living potential, the ability to cultivate a larger core of Qi in their dantian, and a broader range of abilities and techniques.

“This power enables them to accomplish superhuman feats. Much like what you witness from our headman when he trains. But ultimately, they usually can only hope to bend the rules that bind us mortals.

“The second realm is called the immortal realm. This is due largely to the massive increase in lifespan and power that separates ‘mortal’ cultivators from so called immortals. But what sets them apart, and fuels their power, is a connection to the spiritual realm, and an ability to draw directly from the Great River. Many immortals eventually ascend to higher planes of existence. To be considered an immortal, it is not just enough to touch the spiritual realm, one must anchor its power in their own spirit.

“Those we call the gods, who reign from their heavenly thrones, are considered to have reached the third realm, the divine realm. They are pillars of existence, either unifying with a foundational concept, or becoming one.

“Finally, the followers of the Way claim that there is a realm beyond that of the gods. What they mean when they say ‘Way’, is a path that leads beyond–a continuum upon which the soul travels that transcends death, reaches back to the great void, and forward to infinity. Much of their teachings have been lost to time. Factions that worship various gods have hunted them down as heretics for claiming there is anything above or beyond the heavens. Gods are a jealous bunch, and those who gather power in their names are not much different. Though he renounced all teaching, my Master, the ultimate heretic, had his eye on that unknown horizon of the unfathomable.”

Ren scratched his head. “So there are some people who are more powerful than gods?”

“Some believe that to be the case. It is important to understand that advancement and power are two separate things, and there are many forms of power. Some mortals can transcend the ordinary laws that govern nature. Those who cultivate bonds to spirits are one such exception. Spirit cultivation paths are popular in Ardus. Mastery and knowledge are two more such paths popular in the wider world.”

“Like Kozin the Unbroken?” asked Ren. “He challenged the heavens with nothing but his axe.”

Osai nodded. “Glad to see you were listening.”

“But wasn’t he defeated by the god of war?”

“Yes, but do you think just any man can meet the blow of a god on the edge of his weapon and survive long enough to take a second? With no formal path, no cultivation of Qi, he slew beasts that could destroy cities. He was a unique soul, yes, but the point is that advancement through the realms isn’t everything. Wits often defeat brawn. And there are infinite paths to ascend or gain power. That is why the Empyrean ranking system was created. A separate measure of combat ability. Do you remember the ranking levels?”

Ren searched his memories. “Untrained, Professional, Specialist, Warrior, Elite, Paragon, Hero?”

Osai’s face crinkled into a smile. “Very good. You’ve got a sharp mind on you. If you travel beyond the borders of the republic, you’ll see those are also known as Rank F, E, D, C, B, A, and S, respectively. In general, it is said that on open ground a Professional can defeat at least two Untrained combatants, a Specialist is worth at least two Professionals, then the gap increases. A Warrior is worth a least three Specialists, and so on with Elites and Paragons. Power gets too variable and hard to quantify after the level of Hero, but it is safe to think of them as walking armies. It is as much about how you use the strength you attain, as what level of cultivation or which techniques you’ve mastered. What gear you have and how well you use it is also a major factor.”

Ren held his chin and thought. “So what rank is Headman Tamul?”

“What does he look like to you?”

Ren squinted out the back of the wagon at the brawny caravanahri. He didn’t really know. The man seemed impossibly strong and Ren wasn’t even sure of the line between a professional and specialist at face value. “Warrior Rank?” he guessed.

“Hmmm. I suppose it was unfair to ask you with your current level of experience. I would guess his men are about Warrior rank.”

The Headman often sparred all four of his men at once. Ren’s eyes widened. “Is he an Elite?”

“At first glance, it would appear so. But I have a feeling he hasn’t been tapping into his full strength.”

“A Paragon?”

“That’s my guess. At the peak of that level. Probably worth… about a hundred well trained and well equipped men in a stand-up fight to the death on open ground. But what do I know? I’m just an old man. It’s no wonder the merchants were willing to take our money to offset what they must be paying this team.”

Ren sat in awed silence.

Osai braced himself as the wagon lurched over a bump in the road. “Ah. When we met I told you I’d teach you about your name.”

Ren looked down. This wasn’t exactly his favorite subject.

“‘Ren’ is an ancient word. Nowadays it is used in the eastern isles to refer to all lotus flowers, but in the old tales the first being to reach beyond the third realm did so while studying a specific ancient lotus, said to have been a gift from beyond the heavens. This flower was the ‘Ren’, and is widely known as the symbol for the peak of cultivation, the unknowable, ultimate ascension above even the gods.”

He let that sink in. His parents had never told him about the origin of his name. A little pride rippled in him. Silence bloomed between them for a time, swallowed in the greater silence of the forest around them along with the clomping of hooves and grinding of soil under wheel.

“What about Faqirs, elder?” He’d heard about wandering madmen who weren’t cultivators or warriors but could still perform miraculous feats. Garam had often spoken of Sai Rubie, who was known to talk to himself frequently and eat dirt and rocks, but was also famous for feeding the poor out of a bottomless pot of stew. It was even said that the stew changed flavors and ingredients based on his ever-changing moods.

Osai gave him a hard look.

“I mean- what about Faqirs, Osai.”

The man chuckled. “Very good, but let's start with the basics first.”

He shut his mouth.

“Growth is largely driven by challenges and tests. Tribulations, as cultivators like to call them. But some are greater than others. According to the followers of the Way, there is a major tribulation at the gate between each realm along the path of ascension.”

Ren nodded. Lots of stories and heroic legends referenced the tribulations. They had something to do with sacrifice and virtue, but it was all pretty vague. How did Osai know all of this? What kind of person had this 'master' bee-

“Blessed fucking light!” One of the guards shouted.

Ren poked his head out of the wagon in time to see two large badgers bolting across the road, not even slowing as they dodged between the legs of the guard. It looked like they had baby badgers hanging onto their backs.

“Form up!” ordered the headman. His face was grim as he looked to the east.

The caravan slowed.

Osai put a frail hand on Ren’s shoulder. His face was deadly serious too. “If you see a chance to run, take it.”

“What do you mean?” The weight that Ren thought he’d been imagining was even heavier now. Every breath was a strain.

Then there was a sound. A rattling, rumbling hiss that shook the trees and the wagon and Ren’s bones.

The caravanahri lowered into battle stances, spears at the ready.

“HOLD!” Tamul commanded.

Then the world descended into madness.