XII | THE ABOMINATION
Yuhong felt a cold hand squeeze her heart. She had to choose between life and death, not for herself, but for others. On one side, the life of her senior brother, the one who haunted her dreams with his smile. She had a torrent of words to pour out to him, but how could she ignore these disciples? They were the stars of their sect, plucked to be thrown into the flames. They had friends who mourned for them, kin who prized them, elders who instructed them and juniors who admired them. But on the other side, it was her senior brother. She took a deep breath, but her heart beating like a war drum. She knew not what to do, each way seemed madness to her heart.
With stiff fists, she relented, “Fine, but swear, all these lives for him.” She said, her eyes were hard as steel and her belly was a nest of vipers.
Old San chortled and nodded. “Hm, I swear on the god of curses,” he stated, wielding his staff like a spear. “That if any harm will come to this boy dear, I’ll cleave my own head,” he said with a very still twisted grin and a flicker of disdain under the hood. Their plan was to bleed all the qi of the captives, and rouse the beast that carried another mark of Immortal Guan Yu’s power, but who would have anticipated a beam of destruction to crash from the sky, even the blessed Daughter of Qilin lacked such dreadful arcane magic. And there was still a thorn of doubt in his mind, after all, the presence of the divine daughter was still unknown, and their schemes involved her as well.
Yi, “Hand the sacrifices over; we are not ones to betray our words; we vow to you,” he said with poison, spreading his arms as if looking down. They had all the sway In this bargain, but they wouldn’t urge their enemies to their end and fight; they still had to summon, and if their numbers were to wither, it would all be for naught.
With all that said, Yuhong and Li Xin felt a shiver in their spines. Yuhong glanced at Li Xing in understanding, his brown hair in a ponytail soaked with sweat and flecks of blood here and there, one side of his face swollen and a wound still seeping, but it seemed like the fervor made him forget it all. His jaw was firm, but he was not afraid. He and Aegis had been readied for this. They were waiting; he still had his own card to deal with; he hadn’t used it in any of these frays. It wasn’t that he was holding back; using it would only divulge his secret and make the enemy watchful; it wouldn’t shift the balance at all. He was waiting for the right moment to use it. Yuhong’s eyes gleamed as she stepped aside and cracked the ice with a single lotus flower that soared from her palm like a bird. Her clothes billowed from the blast, and there were the sacrificed people, young men and women alike, unconscious and unaware.
This was clearly a well-woven plot, and these hooded figures were only the surface; this would likely involve a traitor in the Mount Hyung sect and many in the city. They fell unconscious without any resistance, as seen from their clothing that had barely any scars of struggle. Their group of many young, talented disciples who all decided to go out would usually have an elder guarding and leading them but where were they? They were only fledglings after all. These many unconscious bodies were likely the fruit of a spell or some mass alchemy work.
“Take them,” said Li Xin, his hands clenched around the hilt of a newly forged sword as long as he was tall, black hilt, good iron and etched with dragon carvings hand guard.
Yi, “Old Man… Take a Look,” he said, his fingers tracing the contours of the staff, feeling its squirming and writhing under his touch, as dark as the night, as if a pole had pierced through a mass of flesh and this horror had emerged, “They are eyes, look, a pair…” he said, lifting a black staff to the light.
“Indeed…” Old San murmured with a thin smile on his lips. He knocked the gemstone at the top lightly. He ran a finger over it a few more times, feeling its pulse. “Its crudely forged, both eyes—wait this boy!” Old San exclaimed with a gasp.
“Huh, old man?”
“If I’m not mistaken… the Northmen’s words were, The one who shall take your eyes.” His gaze bore into the pair of pupils, a conglomeration of colors within a swarm of tadpoles.
Er, “Huh, what nonsense is that?”
“The lightning prince, 37th, I’m not sure, as he was a mysterious figure himself,” Old San said, gripping both staffs of black. All he had known was that he was a young man. “He was the one to slay that witch.”
“If he was the lightning prince he’d already be wielding lightning” Yi retorted, glancing at the sacrifices being dragged by the chains like corpses. “Rumored to be a part of that clan too.”
Lightning itself was a very rare element to have; most would be using forged enchantments to mimic lightning. And those who wielded the heaven’s rage would not exceed triple digits; they were the only bloodline, and not everyone who wielded the blood would be able to awaken it. He could not help but doubt it.
The wind howled like a pack of wolves, tearing at their cloaks and hoods. Old San eyed the boy with the staff that bore the eyes. He must have some connections, or else how could he wield such a weapon? But it mattered not. They were all doomed, and their heads belonged to them. He smiled wickedly under his hood, his old face wrinkled and teared, his teeth rotten and stained.
“Give him back!” Yuhong shouted, her fists clenched. She saw Aegis’s limp body dragged by the hair, his blood staining the skin. His face was bruised, and she felt a pang in her chest.
…
Old San laughed maniacally. “HAHAHAHAHAHA!” he thrust his hand into Aegis’s chest, ripping out his flesh. Blood spurted everywhere, and Yuhong gasped and covered her mouth. He tossed the organs aside and slammed Aegis’s head on the ground, breaking his skull. Bits of bone and brain flew in the air, and Yuhong felt bile rise in her throat.
Li Xin’s face was twisted with rage, his veins bulging. “But the vow!” He cried out. He was baffled.
Old San laughed again, louder and crazier. He pulled off his hood and peeled off his flesh, revealing none. He had no head; he was metal. He was one of metal, a headless horror.
Yuhong’s breath quickened as she saw Aegis’s body dragged to the stones.
They all followed Old San with slow and heavy steps, against the wind that moaned and groaned. There were only five of them left, including Young Master Gu, but only four who could fight. Qi was busy maintaining the barriers outside, keeping the sorcerers at bay. If they entered the dome, it would be more chaos. They could help them kill the beast, but they would also try to take the mark. And they couldn’t escape with their flying eagles. The corpses of the giant birds littered the ground, their feathers and flesh torn.
Qi’s eyes snapped open. “The barrier!” He yelled, making hand signs as if sensing the barrier’s presence.
They looked up and saw the dome of swirling blue and white that covered them. Suddenly, a crack appeared on one side, and it widened like a tearing of rubber. The dome shattered like glass, and the wind roared louder.
“SACRIFICE THEM ALL!” Old San shouted, throwing the disciples to the stones. They convulsed like mad as black spots spread like roots and devoured them. Their flesh melted, their bones crumbled, their screams silenced.
The earth shuddered and groaned, as if in pain. The sun was devoured by the dark clouds, plunging the world into shadows. The eight stones that marked the ancient circle cracked and splintered, hurling fragments into the air. A deafening boom resounded, and the stones collapsed into dust. The dust whirled and coalesced, taking a monstrous shape. It was a skull of a man, but its body was too grotesque to stand upright. It skulked on four limbs, its flesh knitted by sinewy threads, its fur like rotting seaweed. It had two horns like a goat, its lower jaw jutting out over the upper. It had no eyes, only orbs of light that burned under its falling skin. It uttered a sound—not loud, but deep and dreadful. It was the sound of horror.
“What is this?” A cultivator in a white and gold robe clasped a green waistbelt and gasped. He felt his mouth go dry. “Should we run?”
They had all rode on fearsome beasts, charging towards the abomination. But it was now a hopeless charge. The abomination could swat them like flies and crush them under its massive paws. But they did not flee. They looked at the hooded figures, the ones who had invoked the abomination. They must have some secret, some power, or some way of destroying it.
The abomination roared in low tremors again, making the ground tremble.
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Zhenyuan. It is a hybrid of a human skull, a goat’s horns, a dragon’s body, and a seaweed’s fur. It was born from the blood of the God Pangu. Zhenyuan inherited Pangu’s power, but also his rage and violence. It rampaged across the land, rotting everything in its path, until it met its match: the Immortal Guan Yu. Guan Yu was one of the legendary venerables who served under Liu Bei, one of the forefathers of the continent. Loyalty, bravery, and martial prowess. He wielded a mighty weapon called the Green Dragon Crescent Blade.
The Blessed Daughter felt a surge of anger and frustration. “So, they had the key all this time.” She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She had thought that their efforts were in vain, that they had no hope of opening the seal. The stones were irrelevant, a mere distraction.
“Old friend Ren, I believe we should act now. If we delay ourselves further, many lives will be lost,” Sect Master Li said, his voice grave. He gazed at the abomination that loomed over them, its horns piercing the sky, its fur like a dark sea, its orbs of light like twin suns. He felt a chill in his spine and a dread in his heart.
“Relax yourselves, I’m here! HAHAHA!” Temple Master Ren boasted, his laughter echoing in the air. He stood with his arms on his hips and his chest high, his white robes billowing in the wind.
“But the deaths of those people…”
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“I believe these brats have it all handled!” Temple Master Ren said, waving his hand dismissively.
“Well, what do we do? The abomination is going to slaughter us!” A cultivator shouted, his voice shrill.
“We don’t stand a chance against it, we need to retreat,” another said.
“We are! But we are not cowards!” A mercenary exclaimed.
“But it’s the only way, we’ll die if we stay here.” A cultivator argued.
“We’ll die if we retreat!” One protested.
“No, we’ll die if we stay,” she declared.
“What are we going to do? We can’t win!” A cultivator cried.
“We’ll have to try!” A cultivator said, raising his staff.
“That’s suicide!” Another bellowed.
“So are our options!”
“It seems the time has come for us to make a choice.” A voice rang out, and all eyes turned to the source. It was a man riding a black horse, dressed in a flowing blue robe, with a white scarf draped over his shoulders. His hair was gray and his face wrinkled, but his eyes gleamed like stars.
“It is time for us to decide if we will cower and run, or if we will stand and fight.” He raised his fist in the air, and his voice echoed like thunder.
“We can either choose to flee, or we can choose to fight. And I say we fight.” He pulled his cloak aside, revealing a golden blade strapped to his hip.
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Upon a great black wolf he sat, Jun Zhou, the tearer of the barrier, a silver dagger bore the ancient runes of a cup and a man. He waited by the broken wall of the alley, his arms tense and his eyes keen, for the signal that would unleash them. But no horn sounded, no fire blazed, no voice called. Only the low and dreadful rumble of the abomination, a shapeless horror that loomed over the city, filled his ears.
“Curse them! What are they waiting so long for? Have they forgotten us?” he cried, his voice harsh and bitter. He leaned forward, as if to spring, but his wolf held still, sensing his master’s impatience.
“Peace, peace. You make too much noise,” said Iron Mountain, who sat beside him on a sturdy brown horse. He was a large and burly man, with a beard that covered his chest and a belly that strained his grey robe and rope belts. In one hand he held a wooden stake, which he had thrust through a ragged pillow and lit with a torch. In the other he held a jug of beer, which he drank with gusto. He had found a storehouse of the golden liquid, and had not spared himself or his horse from its delights.
“Peace yourself, fatty. You drink too much,” Jun Zhou snapped back, casting a scornful glance at his companion.
“Heh. You are still young and foolish, and know not the value of a good drink in times of trouble,” Iron Mountain retorted, taking another swig.
“Enough, both of you!” said Uncle Zhang, who was the third of their company. He was a near-wise old man, clad in a simple brown cloak and hood. He held no weapon, but a staff of wood. He had a calm and gentle face, but his eyes were grave and sad. He had seen the abomination rise from the depths of the earth and had felt its evil power. He knew that they had little hope of victory, but he also knew that they had no choice but to fight.
“Be silent, and watch. The time is near. The others will not fail us. They will call for us,” he said, in a low and soothing voice.
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