Soma laughs as he dances between blades and arrows.
His world has narrowed to the pinpoint focus of violence, and it is wonderful. This is what it means to be a cultivator! He brings a khopesh down and splits a woman's skull, his other blocks, hooks and pulls the blade out of a man’s arms. The man has exactly half a second before Soma frees his guts to the open floor. His smile is wide as he dashes and lets dirt fly, and in just a moment three throats are torn open.
He hasn’t killed before, how could he have? All cooped up in his sect like some precious artifact, his fathers overprotectiveness blunting his potential. The tournaments are his only real reprieve, no one at the sect dares to truly challenge him, but the Serpent's Fang and Hallow Bones care little for his status. There he can truly be tested, his value finally measured. But he could never in his wildest dreams had he thought he’d be so blessed as to be caught in a bandit raid of such magnitude, his heart swells with joy as his blades wet with blood.
Then something amazing happens.
The next person he goes to strike blocks, and strikes back.
His smile truly cannot get any wider as he begins to trade blows with the bandit.
-
There’s so much screaming.
He always hates that part, the screaming. Maybe he’s gotten soft over the decades spent secluded from the horrors of the world. He stands at the centre of a group of writhing and screaming bandits. He doesn’t move, doesn’t have to, mortals haven’t the capability to resist, and the pathetic excuse for cultivators that the bandits have brought aren’t so far along as to be immune to his will. Normally he doesn’t get involved when a beast tide, or in this case a bandit raid, occurs. That is to let the children grow, as much as it pains him. But the world won’t be merciful, he knows this intimately, so he might as well expose them to suffering in a controlled setting. If he had his way, no child would need to know pain, the Elders call him sentimental, but honestly? He’s just tired of all the violence, tired of all the theater, and tired of all the hollow convictions.
A cultivator's life is one of hypocrisy, not honor.
A cultivator's conviction is arrogance, not bravery.
A cultivator’s dedication is fame, not altruism.
But there are good ones out there, Jorin is an example, so far along the journey and yet he stunts his own growth to teach unruly children. Korosona could apply herself to true alchemy halls and further her research, but instead she stays, providing salves for the medicine hall and concoctions for the merit hall. Vozen could explore the world to his heart's content, scouring all nooks and all crannies, but instead he satisfies himself with the Darkwoods, the Boreal Pass, and the Roudune Peaks. Then there is his friend, a scholar, and perhaps a saint. His recent curiosity the reason Dorokan is on the centre of the field right now letting arrows ping off his skin and bandits writhe on the floor.
He hears a groan.
“Finally awake girl?” Says chisel to bone, he doesn’t really need to ask, he can feel the Qi of her core, and that one little meridian flare to a more active state. She just groans at him. “You did something quite foolish, I would have thought from how the masters have described you that you’d be more cautious, but I guess even wise men turn dumb at the taste of gold.”
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The girl responds with an apologetic groan.
He huffs a laugh, “don’t worry yourself now, making foolish mistakes is part of being young, so long as you learn from them. I could regale to you all the tales of my misadventures, but i’d rather save myself the embarrassment”
She groans in understanding.
“Good lass.”
-
Yorin pushes his spear through the head of a bandit, just as master Jorin taught them. Off-hand to aim, main hand to trust. It escapes through the back of his skull, and Yorin has to kick him off to get control of his spear back. He’s killed a few, well, more than a few. He even helped take down two foundation cultivators. In all the tales of cultivators there are tales of bandits and those who have lost their way from the path, they always end with a righteous cultivator cutting them down.
He doesn’t feel very righteous right now.
He thrusts his spear through the chest of a woman, puncturing something or other.
He doesn’t know, he’s never studied the body. Tantra says it’s something called bio-logy. He doesn’t get it honestly, why people make complicated words for simple things. Why not just call it body study? Or something. Now that he thinks about it that kinda sounds dumb. Maybe he should just leave the naming to all the smart people and accept it for what it is. Oh and Tantra’s okay, well he doesn’t really know if she is, she somehow knocked herself out circulating. But she's as safe as she can be in the middle of a bandit raid, so he knows she won't die from that at least, letting him participate in the defence without that on his conscious
He thrusts his spear into the stomach of a boy not much older than him.
He really needs to get a new weapon, the spear just doesn’t suit him. He doesn’t think he’d be much of a swordsman either. Apparently Tantra’s housemate that died used gauntlets and steel shins. He’s pretty okay with fisticuffs so maybe that would work, but it just doesn’t feel right. Feels like the easy answer to a monumental question. Well, he’ll get to see his options once they get the merits. Which he's quite looking forward to, finally hunting mongrels? Sure they might just be weak spirit beasts all grouped into one category, but they are spirit beasts. The purpose of a cultivator is to cull the beasts so the normal population can live safe and happy.
He thrusts his spear
-
A punch cuts through the air and turns a skull into flying fragments and brain into separate morsels. A kick flies and there is the sound of crunching as bone escapes the confines of flesh. A hand reaches out and turns a man purple as it crushes the man's throat. Jorin looks for his next target and finds mangled bodies and moaning bandits, he scoffs.
He jumps and the ground is turned to a crater.
He looks around at his home as he flies through the air, sees where his help is needed and where it is not. He’ll have to go to Rakan, unfortunately, it seems the woman’s stopped playing with him.
He sighs and makes a platform of Qi, reality bending around the construct as he pushes off and crashes into a dozen bandits.
“What the fu-”
a head is torn off and used as a club to bash in another. But he’s not here to kill them, he turns his focus to the woman and dashes. One punch should do it, as it always does. She barely sees him coming with eyes wide, she tilts and leans back, every movement a compliment to efficiency, and dodges his punch by just an inch. She whips up her blade and leaves a small line on his torso.
Hmmm, impressive, he never would have guessed one with tainted foundations could manage to dodge him.
He goes to punch again and dodges just so before drawing another line. He grunts in frustration as the bandit woman proves to be surprisingly skilled. He strains his muscles with just a bit more Qi. It’s reckless, foundation doesn’t make you immune to boosting, it just means you won’t get damaged. Exhaustion is a different matter. Some train in efficient spending, boosting and infusing only at the moment it is needed.
Jorin doesn’t believe in that philosophy, the fastest way to grow is through stress, so he boosts whenever he gets the chance.
His fist flies just a little faster and surprises the woman as it drives itself through her guts and out the other side. He rips his hand out, letting guts fall to the ground, as the woman stares wide eyed at him. He goes to finish the job-
A tremendous amount of Qi explodes from her and she disappears.