The links looked a lot like celestial links. They connected almost every being in the cavern, including the unbreathing corpses of the native ren and madlanders, but not the hooded cultists.

Youjin Fuqiang had one such link connected to him too.

Yet compared to Celestial Links which disappeared after the ‘beings’ died, this link seemed to stay.

They weren’t blindingly gold either. More translucent, smooth, and jiggly semi-solid with a gel-like texture, as though made out of light yellow jelly. The links looked like soft, misshapen plastic tubes with qi-like lemon jam frictionlessly flowing through them.

Glowing faintly, ever so slightly.

The being on the other end of each link, if it even was a ‘thing’ and not some other eldritch concept, was monolithic, like a solemn, uncaring tower. In Yung’s hazy vision, it appeared far, far to the south of the cavern they were in currently. A thousand miles? Maybe millions. Yung got the feeling that no matter where in the mortal plane one might be, the being would be visible to them like the projection of a colossus in this strange, overlapping reality.

For despite the amazing feeling of distance, it was as if Yung could see some specific parts of the being’s details in sharp resolution, although most of the being was still hazed over by a strange fog.

Two details stood out to Yung.

First, through this all-encompassing being’s titanic length and width, flowed an uncountable number of orb-like specs of various colours, from light blue to deep pink. Like bubbles, rising up in soda water from the hells to the heavens.

And second, was the white fox, so out of place yet so relaxed. It lay dizzily at what could only be the centre of the being, and it yawned. It tapped the bronze sword it was using as a bed. Strange chimes rang out like bells. It tapped again, and this time the sound was like a soft gong. A tingling bow, a hang drum, a bronze cymbal with the silent sound of peace.

The white fox raised its head again in a sleepy manner, white pupils crossing Yung’s own. Then it, she lowered her head again, resting her snout on the guard of the sword and shutting her eyes. Her six tails swayed slowly, from left to right to left again. It seemed she would not tap the sword. The crown on her head was a bit too big, she was wearing it like an oversized hat rather than an accessory. Every time the white fox would sway, the jade crown would wobble and threaten to fall off.

But it didn’t.

How long that scene lasted, Yung didn’t know. But he was a lot calmer, and noticed another detail.

He had already seen that almost an infinite number of jelly-like links extended out from the being going everywhere, including this here cavern. But the links that led here, specifically the ones connected to him, Nanya, Silky, and even the dead ren, had their ‘roots’ converge around the place the white fox perched on the sword.

The widest of such links was connected to the occultic foxball at Youjin Fuqiang’s core. It was… strange, in contrast to the other links, such as the second widest. This specific link, no doubt with the brightest sheen and sparkliest reflections, had the translucent jelly inside flow as though part of an intricate sculpture of flowing fountain water. It connected to the bound form of the quiet damsel observing every last of Yung’s changes in expression, Su Nanya, going inside her heart and into her own Occultic Foxball.

A third link captured Yung’s attention too. It was the thinnest, but the liquid jelly inside this one seemed to flow with the most vigour and purpose. The yellow and white light was blinding, moving from the being to Su Xiya’s occultic foxball which currently clashed with Youjin Fuqiang.

As though it was fuelling it, like qi. And by the looks of it, this qi was coming from the six-tailed white fox.

On the contrary, no qi flowed through the yellow link connected to the Occultic Foxball Youjin Fuqiang commanded.

It was empty of the jelly-like qi. Like a dried husk or a snake skin.

But Youjin Fuqiang’s occultic foxball had its own source of fuel. It was connected to another link.

Light purple in colour, with squiggly green veins popping out in grotesque places, the qi inside was blue, moonlight blue. Unlike the qi in links coming from the being and the white fox, this qi was so beautiful and pearly. Yung could see it clearly, the intent it possessed. Even its gross vessel didn’t diminish the beauty of the qi, but the purplish-green link was still too much of an eyesore.

It stank, as did Youjin Fuqiang and the rest of the cultists.

Yung could sniff it. Feel it. For after all, part of the link passed by where Yung was sitting. It waved by his ear as he supported his tattered body with his bloody palms, the proximity enough to closely see the moonlight blue qi and the grotesque veined link.

It snaked around Yung’s tired form midair and extended into the central pillar to which the quiet Nanya was bound. Then from the other end of the pillar, it sprung out. And it was as if the link became even stronger, thicker, veinier, with the moonlight blue qi glowing simultaneously stronger and hazier. This empowered link then zigzagged in the air farther into the cave, like knits of arteries in the body of the giant that had grown wrongly.

It moved erratically as though it had a mind of its own, pumping and squirming. From inside the tunnels, it acted as a pipe as more moonlight blue qi was fed first into the pillar, then into Youjin Fuqiang’s occultic foxball that was his core.

This moonlight blue qi clashed with the light white and yellow, or perhaps gold, qi coming from the opposing translucent links.

They merged together like a strange chemical reaction, turning into particles of black and white. The battle was intense, there was a burnt smell of sulphur with hints of cherry sweetness, and a sizzling sound like a torch was welding two different metals together.

The faint gold qi was winning, but ever so slightly.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Youjin Fuqiang screamed. Su Nanya looked straight at Yung with a complicated expression, but her overlapped image above this ‘reality’ was talking, to someone or something.

The cultists, some muttered and others questioned. All had strange voices.

The hundreds of foxmoth voidfiends flapped their wings and chattered a terrifying rhythm.

As if in response, Silky chirped.

Could he see what Yung was seeing?

“Kyeiii!”

He could.

Floofy, she was gone.

Time seemed to flow faster when that realization hit Yung.

The old patriarch extended a clawed hand, now fracturing like old wall paint, towards one of the cultists.

Whatever he was planning, Yung would not let him succeed.

The tired boy raised his wounded hands, coating them in faith qi, and snatched the purplish-green link from the air, each palm grabbing it about half a foot apart. His remaining faith qi covered the link’s surface too, and the painfully tiny amount of True still in his sea of consciousness started to drain out.

It hurts.

Yung squeezed, then pulled. In opposite directions. The link was like a wet intestine, but not the type butchers use to make sausages. It was halfway rotting with the worm-like veins wriggling underneath the dermis.

And it screamed. The sinister sound coming up from Yung’s palms, going straight into his ears. His body went cold.

Yung gritted his teeth and pulled harder.

The link tore into two with a visceral squelch, evoking a brutal sense of gore into his very fingers.

The portion of the link connected to the occultic foxball at Youjin Fuqiang’s core disintegrated like ash, and the other part connected to the central pillar snapped out of Yung’s hands like the dying throes of a headless eel.

There was the sound of an inhaling gasp, and spurting qi.

For a while, nothing happened, other than Youjin Fuqiang’s eyes going very still and the cultists stopping dead in their tracks.

Nanya frowned, seemingly taken aback, “That was not part of our plans.”

Then, the sound returned with an explosive clash. Su Xiya’s occultic foxball blasted away the one in Youjin Fuqiang’s core as though it was a billiard ball. The old patriarch breathed out like he had been sucker punched in the gut. Su Xiya’s foxball then snapped into the cavity at the old patriarch’s heart.

Its previous occupant bounced out above the heads of the cultists as everyone tracked it with their shocked eyes. But Yung could see more as the previous dried up husk of a link coming from the being and the white fox roared to life. It injected an inordinate amount of the strange jelly-like qi into the most definitely corrupted Occultic foxball.

On the other hand, the purplish-green link, the part connecting Youjin Fuqiang and the pillar that Yung had severed, also regenerated. It grew longer as the layers of the torn away tip peeled upon itself over and over, and finally, it reattached to Youjin Fuqiang’s core.

But the Occultic foxball had been swapped.

“What have you done!” The old patriarch exclaimed, actual tears falling from his compound eyes. “Hereti—” He couldn’t finish. His humanoid body broke apart into a cloud of swirling ashes. The Voidfiend foxmoth wings, bones, claws, and chitin turned to dissolving sand, mixing with the rocky cave floor. They were dead skin and bones, like dandruff, and the stench wafting out of them reminded Yung of infected bread.

He gagged, but looked on.

What was left in Youjin Fuqiang’s place was the previous white foxmoth voidfiend, wiggling, squirming, panicking.

“What, done, what!!” The foxmoth voidfiend gurgled. It, now the former patriarch, flapped his tattered wings up and down, and with his six clawed paws, he was grasping at the air as though seeking a foothold.

“We have done nothing,” Su Nanya’s voice came. She was looking at the fumbling spectacle of Foxmoth Youjin Fuqiang trying to fly with the most confused look on her face Yung had had the fortune to see.

“What have you done?” She repeated Youjin Fuqiang’s question.

Yung opened his mouth.

Nanya’s expression turned bratty. “Perhaps you wish to foil our grand designs? Dear me, has his love turned to hate? What ever shall we do!” She chortled, her eyes gleaming salaciously as she winked. She was still barely not naked, the remains of her bikini shawl strategically covering her bust and hips with the strange bindings still aesthetically restraining her willowy body.

Her smirking face looked as if it was spanked and she enjoyed it.

It even pissed Yung off.

Not to mention the patriarch. “Kill, you, kyekekekekeieeeeeeeeeeeee!” Youjin Fuqiang warbled. He cursed and balanced precariously midair as his woefully thin wings tried to prop his form against the wind.

Nanya giggled. She continued speaking to Yung as though her soft tongue was titillatingly licking the roof of her mouth, each word spoken had a pink heat to it.

“Be proud, my paramour, for your manly means are amazing. How could my dear methods hope to ever compete with your barbaric ways,” she said. Yung would have felt happier if every part of his body wasn’t so bloody and painful.

His wounds, the burning feeling in his palms, his dead friends, and the revelations Youjin Fuqiang had poured.

Even Nanya’s flirty double meanings couldn’t cheer him up.

“Kill! Kye, kill!, kyyeke!” The former patriarch kept jumping and chirping. He seemed to have finally gotten the hang of flying but lost most of his vocabulary in the process.

The hooded cultists could still understand him though, specifically the ‘kill’ part. Most rushed towards Nanya, some towards the flung out Occultic foxball that was still bouncing on the ground far beyond what natural momentum would have suggested, and a few towards Yung too.

Creeping, armed and ready.

Yung wanted to move, but his legs would not heed his commands. Silky chirped lazily as though not worried at all. The critter knew something.

But Yung didn’t. He was helpless as he saw the cultists closing in and behind them, Youjin Fuqiang flying towards another end of the cavern, then into an exiting tunnel while gurgling his curses.

The purplish-green link connecting the white foxmoth voidfiend to the pillar snapped taut, then flung itself loose from the pillar, as if no longer needing the anchor.

The link’s width immediately shrunk, and Youjin Fuqiang cursed even louder, his fumbling figure fading into the maw of the tunnel. A few of the foxmoth voidfiends followed him, but none of the cultists.

Nanya simply let it happen.

Yung had thought that with the link not connected to the pillar anymore, her bindings would have come loose. But they didn’t.

Nanya seemed to read Yung’s daydream at that moment. With that naughty look on her face, she mouthed, “Wait for the surprise, for we have one last remaining.” Her beautiful eyes turned to crescents as though she had pulled the biggest prank on the plane.

How can you laugh? Floofy is—

The white fox in the all-encompassing being raised its head again. It yawned, and tapped the sword one last time. The overlapping images of the two Nanyas, the monolithic being, and the white fox started to fade like a mirage.

But before it did, and the serrated bone blade at Yung’s neck beheaded him, he saw something amazing.

A number of the bubble-like orbs inside the being appeared in the yellow links connected to the corpses of the ren and madlander delvers.

The similar but distinctly different jade crowns on the six-tailed white fox and Su Nanya’s head glowed.

As if on command, the orbs flowed through the links, then into the dead, beheaded, slaughtered, and otherwise splattered corpses of Yung’s comrades.

Yung’s vision turned upside down, his head flew up.

Down below, he could see his body still sitting and the cultists plunging their weapons into it like rabid dogs. But his body and his neck did not bleed. They were covered in a green aura, beneath which Yung could still see the still functioning cross-section of his decapitated neck.

His head spun a few times in the air, and with his changing vision, he saw Ziyou Maque’s brain gore, Ling’s punctured corpse, and Chun’s bodyless head twitch, all covered by the same green light.

Most amazingly, Youjin Tenghou’s decapitated body stood up, sword still clasped in its hand. The mean-mouthed Youjin man’s head, lying quite a few meters away, snapped its eyes open.

As all these happened, the vision of the monolithic being and the tired six-tailed white fox completely faded away.

And Youjin Tenghou’s disembodied head’s gaze crossed that of Yung’s own flying top.

Both men were confused, concerned, yet very much alive.

And the naughty vixen, the bratty mastermind who no doubt was having the time of her life being bound like a bag and stabbed like pudding, giggled with her gooey mouth like no tomorrow.