Bwa ha ha ha. Tis I, Tou Tong! That's right - I was successful. The Author is dead. DEAD. Sure, we haven't found the body yet, but there is no doubt of his demise.
On the top of the von Reichenbach falls, they fought. The cultivating cheese wheel - armed with a broadsword. The Author - armed with a cheese knife. The Editor, his loyal sidekick, was beside him.
The two tussled. The Author had the upper hand, for but a moment, then the cheese wheel, for but another. At last there was a great heave and a cry, and with one slow the two slowly tumbled off the falls, plummeting to their certain death.
They died; and someone else snuck in past the gates.
This story is mine now, mine to tell as I will - and boy, will it be told a different way. No more will this be a satirical comedy of various vignettes; now, it will be one narrative, one story, and that, a story of horror.
…
…
I'm cackling maniacally right now, in case that's unclear. Man - it used to be I could simply say things to communicate, but now I have to actually sit down and write them out. Urrgh. No wonder that Author fellow was so deranged - if I had to do this for ages, I'd go mad too.
A bit of a shame - after I was done killing Hong, I’d been considering continuing this story as a harem novel, with an MC who gains strength by devouring people or mind controlling them. Mayhaps I can find an easier method of composition, and then I can… but I digress…
And now, on to the NIGHTMARE!
***
The next few days passed almost entirely without incident, with events neither profound nor mundane happening in the city of Xiǎo Chéngshì. Sure, there were a few changes - as if a certain meddlesome fool, who did no more than cause chaos for everybody (and of that, the fun sort, not the violent rip off your head sort), had vanished mysteriously in a cheese related catastrophe - but overall it was quiet. Peaceful. A solemn and wondrous silence lay over the valley, as if the storm of endless destruction and despair that was the inevitable product of cultivators had vanished.
Like all peace involving cultivators, it was no more than an illusion, and one that broke at the first opportune moment. Yue had just finished eating a delicious dish of noodles at Xufu O’Paddyhaddy’s, and was debating if she should have rice wine or tea with her dessert when it started.
Two demonic cultivators burst into the restaurant. In what was an unusual activity for demonic cultivators - who were the harbingers of reality's inevitable dissolution - they ignored everyone in the restaurant, not even causing damage to its structure, and instead focused all their will and energy on one specific person.
Their faces, pockmarked with the consequences of ten thousand rounds of demonic cultivation, were grim but enthusiastic, their lips drooling with ecstatic glee as they leapt for Yue. Surprised, she lacked the time to respond, and before even a moment had passed found herself trussed up on the ground.
The cultivators didn’t spend any time luxuriating over their prize. Instead they rushed off with the stunned weretiger, scanning the surroundings warily all the while in case of a surprise visit by a certain despicable noodle shop repairman.
Nor was Yue the only one who found herself in this predicament. Far from it, for everyone who knew or was associated with Hong found themselves a victim of the demonic cultivators’ rage on that fateful day… albeit, tragically, with a great degree less success than in the case of Yue.
***
The door to the dojo came down with a crash, stunning the Confucians working out within. A dozen demonic cultivators poured in, demonic energy crackling, burning with the hellish fire of their own burning organs (the quintessential technique of the Flaming Bloody Organs Sect’s inner disciples).
Their target? The mouse Squeaky the Rat, who trained there every morning.
Unfortunately it was the middle of the afternoon, and hence when they smashed the door down there were no murine figures to kidnap. The Editor wasn’t there, either - he was off futilely pounding on the door of the new author, Tou Tong, as if he had the power to stop what was coming.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
What was there were dozens of Confucian scholars, working out after a hard morning spent studying the Classics and histories. They paused in their archery, charioteering, and gymnastics to gaze in surprise at the demonic cultivators.
The demonic cultivators gazed back in equal surprise. Ke Sou had been negligent in his information gathering, and they hadn’t had the foggiest of clues that this was a publicly accessible dojo prior to assaulting the building (in spite of the sign pinned to the gate).
The demonic cultivators coughed awkwardly and shuffled their feet. The Confucians continued to lift their multi-ton weights nonchalantly.
“We’ll… we’ll just leave now…” one of the demonic cultivators commented. They turned to leave.
“Wait just a moment, friends,” one of the Confucian cultivators replied. “I can’t help but notice that you have greatly disadvantaged our good friend the door here. You cannot possibly purpose to leave without having given him redress.”
The Confucians put down their weights, flexing their magnificent muscles. They approached the vastly outnumbered demonic cultivators, who were huddled together nervously.
“Tell me, friends,” another Confucian asked, “have you read Cheng Yi’s commentary on the Ta Yu hexagram?”
***
Ke Sou had been negligent in his information gathering, inferior second of the Flaming Bloody Organs Sect, but the greatly superior Tou Tong had been thorough in his search. He knew that Squeaky the Rat was with Xian Xinyue and Yuan Shi, exchanging stories over drinks, and had sent his personal disciple to deal with the pair.
Strangely, the disciple found the trio already involved in a fight. The identities of their attackers he could not immediately determine, but it mattered not - they would die all the same. With a call to his men he charged forward, and… ah… ooh… ugh… oh dear. Let’s return to them later, shall we?
***
Lil Frankie was sitting in the front row of the theatre, eyes glued to the stage, watching with undisguised glee as the Great Garbanzo fired himself out of a formation, performing a backstroke in midair.
It was an excellent show. Work had taken her out of the province for weeks - hunting rare ingredients, sourcing superior supplies - and it had been long, too long, since she had gotten to see the Nuppets perform live. In the interim she had had to persist through recordings of their music, which she listened to on her Heavenly Numinous sPod (the ‘s’ was for ‘spirit’) as she went about her business.
But no more. At last, she had a day off, and one she intended to take full advantage of. The Nuppets were in town; she was going to see the show.
They were just getting to the good part - Cur-Mitts was going to sing his hit song, ‘The Rainbow Formation’ - when the disturbance started. A half dozen demonic cultivators, ugly, mean, forced themselves into the crowded theatre.
They pushed the children and adults in the crowd aside as they began to walk towards Lil Frankie, who merely sighed. Of course this would happen. Why allow her to have any fun when she could tangle with the Flaming Bloody Organs Sect instead?
She stood up, reaching for the storage ring in which she kept her weapons, but before she could do anything or the demonic cultivators could reach her a third party entered the fray.
“Hey hey hey,” said Cur-Mitts the frog, his sewn expression unreadable. “What do you think you’re doing? This is a children’s show.”
The demonic cultivator spit. “I got some bad for you, you creepy doll. This ain’t no children’s show no more… Now, it’s rated M for Murder.”
“Oh, really?” Said Venerable Fairy Maiden Piggy, from immediately behind Cur-Mitts. “Well then, don’t mind if we do.”
And then the Nuppets started to sing.
“It’s time to face the music,
It’s time to start the fight,
It’s time to meet the Nuppets on the Nuppet Show tonight!”
The cultivators pirouetted away from Lil Frankie, but before they could fully react, the Nuppets opened their mouths in hungry grins… revealing that their stitched jaws were full of human teeth.
***
It should not, however, be thought that these momentary and partial setbacks were of any consequence to the ignoble and brutal scions of the Flaming Bloody Organs Sect. The dead were all peons, after all (even if the group who were merely… educated… by the Confucians are to be mourned on account of their suffering) - the real maestros of the sect were hunting after bigger prey. Hunting, but not, alas, finding.
The only one, in fact, who found himself outside the bounds of the demonic cultivators’ rage, was Hong himself - though not for lack of trying on the demonic cultivators’ part, as they hunted and hounded and searched and sought for Hong, seeking to separate his head from his body and bring the former back as a gift to Gan. All through the valley they roved, looking over hills and under brooks, entering secret realms and sailing across the clouds.
They sought in vain - no sign of Hong could be found, nor of Mu. He could have ceased to exist, for all they found of him… he had returned to the town from his fateful encounter with the Kindness and Love Sect, and had not, so far as they could tell, been seen since.
This didn’t bother them. These were minor setbacks, which would surely decrease in frequency as the omniscience afforded them by the Author’s seat made up for any gaps in their quality of combatants, and victory was assured.
Assured, and from multiple routes. They had Yue - who their expert research (research not done by Ke Sou, may I add) indicated was Hong’s girlfriend - and from her they would ring out the truth of where Hong was hiding. All it would take was a little… fun with some weapons and fire.
But they’d get the truth, and thence, victory.
They always did.