From the shuddering earth beneath Ramor-Tai monastery, something was rising.
The Disciples staggered back as the ground shook, cracks appearing in the ancient stonework of the Ramor-Tai courtyard before their very eyes. But it was not – each man would say afterwards – a spontaneous thing. Each line carved into the ground was controlled – like a series of precise, clean cuts being made across willing flesh.
The Regulators faces flew to the skies, and as a single unit – Tiger and Dragon both – they directed their arms up to the heavens and hummed a chant that sounded like the chorus of a thousand angelic voices singing to the Old Gods.
But, of course, what the Cultivators were really hearing was the masses of Qi the Regulators were releasing from their throats as they summoned a great circular dome out of the earth, its walls shining and pure against the midday sun, its foundations being dredged up like it were some sunken shipwreck lost to the ages and now rediscovered by a crew of intrepid adventurers.
Within merely a few minutes, the Disciples of Ramor-Tai beheld their arena, and the truth of the Masters’ words became abundantly clear to them: working through the mortal bodies of the dozen Core Regulators of the monastery, the Dao had provided.
Longhua flew to the very top of the colosseum and let the flaming sleeves of his robe fly from his shoulders, sending them into the air above and dazzling the Disciples with a display of fireworks that lit up the sky even in the searing daylight – a display that probably shook the entire Wasteland and gave the villagers at the mountain’s base the impression that the Dao itself had been called to the earth.
“When he wants to,” Feng-Lung whispered to XJ-V. “Master Longhua really can be quite the theatrical performer.”
The Cog nodded as he watched the Regulators breathe a sigh. Relief, perhaps? Or maybe an exhalation that released any excess power? The Cog couldn’t say. One thing he knew now for certain was this: there were powers that lay far beyond his ken that he would have one day if his feet remained planted on the path of the Cultivator – the path his Creator had meant for him.
Both Masters Longhua and Yoma-Dur then gave their final address to the crowd as the last firework sputtered into brilliant life above them all.
“Let the tournament of Aun’el begin!”
…
Thirty challengers. Thirty days.
XJ-V considered the odds as he made his way through the narrow interior of the Scaleclaw Colosseum – corridors brimming with ancient engravings of the Tiger and Dragon Sects that gave one the impression that it had stood here for centuries. In truth, the Cog wondered whether the other buildings of Ramor-Tai truly did bare the marks of Qing’s old Dynasty or whether they too had been torn from the earth and molded by the power of the Core Regulators.
He traced his metal fingers along the walls and tried to get a sense of their spiritual potential – sensing the Qi energy that radiated up through their insides but feeling the connection to the Dao was weaker here than outside. Perhaps he was finally feeling the effects of what Mah-Jung had told him last month – the Dao seemed silent lately. Reticent…
He put such thoughts from his mind as he found the Disciples’ quarters within the Scaleclaw halls. There were a few stout, stone beds practically affixed to the walls of the chamber and the low-hanging, arched ceiling bore images of warriors battling the demons of Qing’s time – demons that fell before the weapons of man – culminating in Qing’s battle with Yuwa himself.
XJ-V greeted his fellow Brothers one by one as they engaged in some final Katas, himself sparring with Feng-Lung as day turned to night, and the first battles of the tournament were about to commence.
“Cultivators of Ramor-Tai!” a voice echoed through the silver bowels of the colosseum chambers. “Make ready for the first of our glorious bouts – Brothers Carsimer of the Dragons faces Brother Armenra of the Waiting Tigers! Spectators take your positions! Betting spirits place your bets! Aun’el casts his watchful eyes upon our brave fighters in ten minutes!”
XJ-V frowned at the bombastic tone of Ori’un. Whoever had decided to make him the announcer clearly knew what they were doing. But it was probably more realistic to assume that the Planeswalker had taken the duty upon himself.
But something else bothered the Cog about the Planeswalker’s words. He turned to Feng who seemed dazzled beyond all measure to hear that the grand tourney was about to start and asked, “Bets?”
Feng grinned, clapping his compatriot around his metal shoulders with a sweaty arm and leading him towards the colosseum pit.
“Come, good XJ,” he said. “It’s probably best you see them for yourself.”
…
The stars twinkling in the cloudless sky above Mount Tai provided ample illumination for the great spectacle about to unfold in the Spearclaw arena pit. Droves of Cultivators sat in the pews that ran the length of the circular dome’s perimeter, each one cheering for their Brother that bowed and readied himself for the great gong that would signal the beginning of mortal combat.
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Such bouts would be until one opponent yielded, or until one of the Masters decided the contest had reached its apex. Though, according to what XJ-V had learned from the copious tomes of Gira’s library, there were occasions during Qing’s reign where such bouts were said to have lasted for days, even weeks on end.
That was time the Cultivators didn’t have. XJ-V knew this only too well.
He was taken in, however, by the sheer scale of the whole spectacle. He had never seen all his Brother Disciples so animated and contained in one space, with the sky clear above them streaked with more of Longhua’s grand fireworks displays laced with Master Yoma-Dur’s pinpoint lightning strikes that arced their way through the night like great, spectral eels.
But more impressive were those who were distinctly unlike his Brothers – those who sat in their own little sections of the arena pews, waving hands that held little slips of translucent paper at one another. They were vaguely male, and bore embroidered, low-cut attire that told XJ-V these were men from the time of Qing – spirits. Ironically, they were more animated than anyone in the crowd.
And on closer inspection, XJ-V noticed that each man bore four diamond-cut eyes.
“Canjie,” Feng-Lung said as they took their seats. “Spectator spirits. It is said they are the ghosts of those who had often gambled on sports events or tourneys in their lives with such gumption that their hobby persisted after death.”
XJ-V watched the cluster of four-eyed old men argue with eachother other odds, and even witnessed the beginnings of a fight between two men who felt the odds given to them were unfair.
“This world never ceases to amaze me,” XJ-V pondered aloud. “You would think that such men would give up and go home by this point.”
Feng chuckled. “It is entirely possible they never left those seats in life,” he said. “Perhaps they have waited for another match down there in the depths of Mount Ramor all this time, probably dreaming sweet dreams about the next bet they would place.”
XJ-V watched the rabble’s business transactions reach a melting point as both Brother Carsimer and Armenra took up their positions on the earthen ground of the arena floor.
“To sleep in ignorance,” XJ-V said aloud as he watched them. “To dream sweet dreams – that does not sound like the worst life to lead.”
“But it is not one for us, eh Brother?”
The Cog turned to see Kai-Thai of the Tigers behind him, clothed in ornate dress robes and chewing on an apple with as much gung-ho gumption as a starving mare.
He had brought his willing prisoner with him, as usual.
“Hmpf,” Fai-Deng snorted. “This bout will be over shortly. Brother Carsimer lacks discipline. He will fall like the mouse before the lion.”
All three of his Brothers looked at each other with astounded faces.
“You speak of discipline, Brother?” Feng-Lung scoffed.
“What a change is here!” Kai-Thai agreed, throwing spittle and apple-spit across all three men’s faces. “The most ferocious of all the Tigers bets against his own!”
Fai-Deng ignored the quips and took a seat beside XJ-V, his bare knuckles glued to his knees, rapt with attention even if he doubted the spectacle would be worth his time.
“The true warrior knows the limits of his own kind,” he said. “He bets on the right man, not the man he would rather see win.”
Amidst some playful ‘oooohs’ from his Sect Brother, Fai-Deng then turned to the Cog.
“What say you, Brother?” he asked. “Do your eyes see which of these two first challengers will achieve victory?”
“I am afraid my powers of prescience have not yet developed,” XJ-V replied.
“It must be the one thing dear Brother Fai has not yet beaten into you!”
“Kai,” Fai-Deng replied. “Shut up.”
The Tiger Brother shrugged his shoulders and took his seat, all their group knowing that he would not obey the command to remain quiet in a million years. Silence was simply not part of his nature.
The fight began and progressed with excitement from every corner of the arena, Brothers taking up chants tailored especially to both men as they spun and kicked their limbs through the air, employing all their Earth-Grade techniques with poise and balance that even served to impress XJ-V. The Cog had come to forget just how talented the young men of the monastery were, and just how much such talent was tempered with humility these days. No better example of that existed than the Tiger who now sat rapt beside him.
“A fair strike, Carsimer!” Fai-Deng roared, drawing the ire of more than a few of his fellow Sect-Brothers sitting below him. When such brothers turned to see it was Fai-Deng who had cheered, however, any complaints they might have had died in their throats.
“I see our Tiger Brother’s reputation still precedes him,” Feng observed.
“Not without good cause,” XJ-V agreed. “Even Arha whispers of Brother Fai’s reputation among the novices he has taken under his paw.”
“For that I owe both of you,” Fai-Deng replied, casting a curt bow in both XJ-V and Feng-Lung’s direction. “Your forgiveness in the face of my pride was a lesson I needed to learn. I would not be the Cultivator I am today without you both.”
Feng-Lung and XJ exchanged bewildered looks as Kai-Thai spat crumbs into the crowd from the half-eaten koi-fish he was currently engaged in chewing.
“Such a metamorphosis!” he spat. “Accomplished through blood, sweat, tears and, well, the oil of a Cog, I suppose! It is one of the only reasons I am attending this lavish competition, to tell you the truth. These little bouts mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. Most of us are here to see the Cog do battle with his old rival, and his old friends, and see who truly has learned the greatest lessons of these strange last few years. Oh, Brothers – it is enough excitement to send even the most stone-hearted Master quaking in his sandals and -!”
“Will you shut your mouth!” Fai-Deng roared, reaching across both Dragon Brothers for Kai-Thai’s crumb-covered robe. “And where did you get that fish?!”
As the Tiger Brother’s started their own food-fight in the pews, XJ-V’s mind wandered through his laughter. He was amazed once again by the changes evident in Fai-Deng’s character. Even more amazing was the notion that he would admit that such a change had been something necessary for his own development. It was a curious thing – a fact of human existence that seemed so distinct to their natures and so anathema to his own: humans were supposed to change.
Yet Kai-Thai’s words had struck him with another reality: he would have to fight his Brothers. And he would have to win.
But could he really best a Tiger that was now in his prime?
***
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