*Ding!*
You have found enlightenment in the concept: [Cutting]
|Concept of Cutting| (2nd Aspect)
Aspect of Precise Dissection
+15 to resonance
*Ding!*
Congratulations!
You have formed a Double Aspected Mantra.
Mantra: [Sword Slash] (2nd Aspected)
My will is honed; I cut what obstructs my path.
Grade: (Good Quality)
Your body has transcended its natural limits.
62 CELESTIAL ESSENCE CONSOLIDATED.
Your mind has transcended its natural limits.
62 CELESTIAL ESSENCE CONSOLIDATED.
Your spirit has transcended its natural limits.
62 CELESTIAL ESSENCE CONSOLIDATED.
Your intuition has transcended its natural limits.
187 CELESTIAL ESSENCE CONSOLIDATED.
Jun stared at the notifications in disbelief.
What was this? He hadn’t earned this. Or… had he? The boost to his parameters aside, he thought about it for a moment, before he decided that, no, he surely hadn’t. All he’d really done was correct a mistake he’d been making from the very beginning. Should that really warrant some sort of advancement?
It most certainly shouldn’t count as any form of enlightenment.
Hell, wasn’t “finding enlightenment” supposed to be incredibly difficult? Could it really be so simple? He wasn’t convinced. Still, the upgrade to his arsenal was much appreciated. That and the unexpectedly lucrative essence bump almost made the entire death defying sojourn worth it.
Almost.
In any case, against all odds he’d somehow survived, and that meant he now had to figure out what came next.
Ivory had long since squirmed her way out from under him, and was now sitting on his chest with her head cradled in her hands. It was so out of character for her that it immediately set off alarm bells in his mind.
“Hey, are you okay? You’re really not looking too good.”
Ivory took a moment to respond. And when she finally did, her voice came out in a croak.
“Ugh…” she groaned piteously. “Head… hurts…”
Jun’s mind immediately jumped to the fight. Could she have suffered a head injury while he wasn’t looking? He’d tried his best to protect her but…? The answer came to him almost instantaneously. It would’ve been miraculous if she hadn’t, all things considered.
His hand instantly went to the dimensional bag at his side. A mending pill the only thing he could think of to help alleviate whatever pain she was in.
To his surprise, however, she began to shake her head as if in denial, before, with a shudder, she thought better of it and resorted to limply waving him off instead.
“It… won’t help… not that… kind of hurt.”
Jun wanted to ask what kind of hurt it was then, but he recognized now was probably not the best time. In any case, if it weren’t because of some physical injury, he thought he could guess what she’d done to end up this way.
“That weird timeless monochrome near the end of the fight. That was you, wasn’t it?”
Ivory risked a nod.
Mind reading, night vision, and now strange time stopping powers? What will she come up with next, he wondered. At this point, it was basically anyone’s guess.
But no, he could tell that wasn’t quite right. And while his memory of the fight was spotty at best, he remembered enough of those final moments to recognize that it was less that time had stopped, than that his ability to perceive time had increased a hundred, maybe even a thousandfold.
“How in the world did you do that?” Jun asked in wonderment.
He couldn’t help it. Given the sheer absurdity of it all, it was hard to suppress his own growing curiosity, even if he recognized the selfishness inherent in his insistence.
Once more, she risked a shake of her head. Less an outright refusal than a plea for postponement. He ruefully accepted her request. Then he too took a minute to let his body recover—washing down a few mending pills with a revitalizing tonic—before, at last, he decided it was best they get a move on. Rising to his feet, he felt the difference immediately.
His body now responded with a speed and alacrity that felt altogether surreal compared to only moments before. He felt sharper, more aware, and more capable than ever. It was startling and unlike anything he’d ever experienced.
The only thing he could reasonably compare it to was how he felt after every session of [Leaf Rides the Gale], though even then… The stark difference was likely commensurate with the sheer amount of essence he’d gained in so relatively short a time.
And it was only then that he began to comprehend just what consolidation actually meant. In that the process wasn’t merely the arbitrary amassing of power, so much as it was the simmering potential for growth suddenly realized through desperation.
As far as he understood it, the celestial essence was already there—lying dormant in his bones, his sinew, his musculature—and yet, it was only through intense struggle that all that essence was given meaning.
When he’d thought he’d given what all he had left, and was then forced to dig deeper for yet more. Only in those moments, when his life balanced on a razors edge, was he able to realize the limitless potential lying just underneath the surface, and so make of it his own.
Stolen novel; please report.
Cradling Ivory in the crook of his good arm, Jun glanced down at the severed head of the rat-kin that’d nearly killed him. Their fight hadn’t exactly been a quiet affair, and he couldn’t imagine he’d be safe here for much longer. First things first though…?
It looked like it was time to get back to his roots. Back to where this wild ride had first kicked off. Only, in this telling he wasn’t the filthy scavenger in desperate need of coin, but the brave young cultivator eager to extract his valuable prize.
Five minutes later, pointedly looking away from hands that would likely never be clean again, he found himself reminded precisely why he hadn’t gone back to scavenging once he’d moved onto better things. It was just as gross as he remembered.
After extracting the two beast cores from the rat-kin—one of them giving off a brutal crushing aura while the other, surprisingly, exuded a very sharp, piercing feeling—Jun saw no other choice but to continue on his forward march.
He was under no illusions that he could find his way back to where he’d first come from.
If he actually tried retracing his steps, he’d likely wind up more lost than he already was. His best bet, therefore, was to keep on as he had been, and hope salvation was right around the corner. Admittedly, it wasn’t the best plan in the world, but, realistically, he was already lost, right?
At this point, really, what could go wrong?
And, as if fate were conspiring against him, not fifteen minutes went by before he was shown precisely how wrong things could get. Because, mere minutes after having escaped death’s cold clutches, they were ambushed by a party of well-trained fighters.
A party that just so happened to be primarily made up of some very angry rats…
image [https://i.ibb.co/rw6tMBB/IMG-2711.png]
Interlude
----------------------------------------
Beast of the Cloth (I)
Notched Tail Silver-Eye
The distinctive stench of mildew and death permeated the high vaulted cavern.
A melancholic melange which brought to mind thoughts of tragedy. Of funeral rites and unseen burials—the ritual shaman’s malodorous cologne. It was a harsh smell for most. A sour taste on the air which often followed times of sweeping sickness or inter-clan war.
The High Priest Scyshaman—spiritual leader of his people—standing tall upon the cavern’s naturally raised dais and draped in the ornate cloak that was the symbol of his elevation, was admittedly no stranger to the many scents of misery. Nor of decay. And, for that matter, neither was the cave.
It was well known to be a holy place after all.
The periodic drip from the roof-fangs above kept a consistent tally of each second’s passing. In this way, Silvereye knew that a full five minutes had gone by since his temple had first been invaded, his meditations stymied, and his shallow well of patience sorely run dry.
Again, the young concubine attempted to get ahold of herself, and again the female lapsed into yet another fit of racking sobs. Really now, as if one feeble pink not yet past its naming was worth all of this fuss.
Raids happened all the time; it was the purview of the war bands to pillage on occasion. Would she have them kill indiscriminately, rather than reserve their bloodlust for those of lesser importance? In any case, the child shouldn’t have been gallivanting where she clearly was not welcomed.
It was nothing to get worked up about, he thought to himself. Merely something that happened. Nothing to be done about it. Indeed, the only reason something so trivial should be worthy of his attentions at all, was due entirely to the lineage of her mate.
Unimpressive though the young lordling might’ve been, one did not simply brush off the Mist-Tail Grand Elder’s grandson lightly. Not even the High Priest Scyshaman himself. Silvereye repressed a weary sigh.
Honestly, this was all such a tiresome bother. He wished he could just snatch away the small corpse and be done. Still, certain proprieties had to be maintained. And it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t profit from such a tragedy. Speaking over the head of the hysterical mother, Silvereye addressed the male, who held both the female and the dead child to his chest.
“You were right to come to me with this,” he intoned—trying to keep the boredom from his voice. “And while I know that your loss may feel absolute right now, I would implore you have faith in the master's will. I have no doubts that this… youngling of yours is, even now, frolicking through the highest reaches above. Feasting alongside many of her ancestors and fallen kin.”
“Y-yes great shaman,” the warrior stammered. “Nalla willing, she finds peace in the beyond.”
Silver-Eye’s hackles rose upon hearing the great master’s name spoken so brazenly. Thankfully his cloak did much to hide his irritation.
“Yes, well. It pains me to reiterate that peace may not be so forthcoming as you might believe, should the rites not be adhered to properly.”
He tried not to be too obvious with his mounting impatience. Finally, the daft lordling appeared to take the hint.
“Of course, great shaman! Please! Take her with our blessing! I would not be the cause of her soul’s damnation. Our daughter’s fate is in your capable hands.”
Finished, the two gave several lengthy bows before approaching, which did very little to ease his growing annoyance. He tiredly recognized their deference, as was only his due, but when the lordling finally approached to transfer ownership of the child,
Silvereye did nothing to hide his impatience.
He took the limp body into his arms, and, without a backwards glance, placed it upon a raised stone altar that’d been created for just such a purpose.
Now that he had the body in hand, he knew the time for pleasantries was at an end. With a few clipped words he shooed the two from his chambers—quoting a need for privacy which they easily deferred to. As it so happened, this time it wasn’t purely theatrics. He did need total privacy for what came next. Just not for the reasons they likely assumed.
Silvereye retrieved a set of stained surgical tools from a hidden compartment carved roughly into the stone altar: bone hammer, chisel, an assortment of blades, and practically every other nightmarishly shaped instrument imaginable.
With steady hands, well-practiced in the art of dissection, he set to work with a vigor rarely seen by that of the public. In less than a minute the small skull had been shattered, neatly pried apart, and prepared for extraction. It wasn’t a pretty sight, nor was it a pretty process, though, at this point, he barely even noticed the gore.
Far too intent on what precious things he knew lay beneath.
Too impatient to bother with unwieldy tongs, Silvereye dug his fore-claws into the still warm grey matter directly—whereupon he began fishing around somewhat haphazardly. Until, with a triumphant cry, he pulled free a small, colorless gemstone about the size of a rotten tooth. A marvel that shone a brilliant white, even through the layers of awful.
Only as an afterthought did he cradle the small body with his tail and—forgoing any of the reverence fools often showed the dead—proceed to fling the useless meat aside, to splash into the fetid pool at the temple’s very center.
A tainted water basin that was, in fact, the origin of the cave's abhorrent stench. In seconds the school of carnivorous fish, one’s he’d cultivated for many generations now, took to the generous meal with a will.
Using a bowl of clean water, he rinsed off his find until all the grime had been removed. Holding it up, he couldn’t help but admire its beauty.
The deliberate scrape of claw on stone derailed his rumination, heralding yet another intrusion upon his domain. Silvereye let out a curse, hurrying to store the vital stone and his instruments before he allowed for whoever it was to enter.
To his pleasant surprise, the male who crossed his threshold was one he knew quite well. A crèche mate, and one of the few for whose company he still genuinely appreciated. What news the old shaman came bearing, on the other hand, was not nearly so welcome.
Death in the tunnels. At least a dozen warrior cast dead. And worst of all, not a single of their vital stones had yet to be accounted for. The message was not a subtle one.
Fury roiled in Silvereye’s chest at this blatant attempt to undermine his authority. He didn’t know which of the clans was behind this, or how they’d managed to subjugate a slave of such competence. All he did know was that such a blatant affront could not be allowed to stand.
“Brother Long-tooth, my old friend, I would ask that you call a meeting of the shamanic council.”
“Very well, brother Silvereye, though might I ask what for?”
“There is to be an assembly of all the clan powers. Prominent, dwindling and insignificant alike. No one is to be spared. I have been dealt a grave insult by these events, one which demands retribution. If they would use their pet slaves to steal from me, then it’s only right they likewise pay for their foolish greed in blood.”
“Understood.”
“Take note of any clan hesitant to send their very best in pursuit of this pest. Oh… and Brother Long-Claw?”
“Yes, brother shaman?”
“Should all else fail I would have you contact the four clawed order.”
His crèche mate looked suitably taken a back by this, as was only natural. It wasn’t a decision he’d come to lightly after all.
“Is… is that wise, brother shaman? That seems… rather extreme.”
“If the alternative is that we allow such a transgression to go unpunished? Then yes. It is a risk I am willing to take. Better that the vital stones be lost to us entirely. Let those fanatics of the order stand to gain prestige in place of the clan elders responsible for this insult, and so turn this farce into a poignant reminder. Show the whole of the burrows yet again, that all that comes from taking what only a preordained shaman is due, is death—swift, brutal, and overwhelming in its execution.”