Jogging in a field and jogging through the woods are not at all the same thing. The ground isn’t flat here, and some points are dubious to tread due to mud or carnivorous plant life. They have to weave through trees, both standing and fallen, avoiding roots and bramble as they get deeper and deeper into the DarkWoods.
She’s handling herself surprisingly well though. Even for the fact that she’s in foundation. Five hours in and she’s not even winded, while she can hear her friends panting behind her. It’s probably the Qi she reasons, that lovely, lovely Qi. It’s feeding her body with energy that supersedes oxygen by miles, working through every muscle, bone, and organ. Her foundations are getting noticeably better, she can feel it. Every step the Qi works eagerly through her body to fill in the gaps. It’s almost as good as her blood infusion.
In more ways than one.
Blood infusion gives small bursts of ecstasy with every clump of Qi she feeds her blood. This? This is like a never ending wave of subdued euphoria. Five hours, and she feels great. Like divinity itself has inhabited her body, like the dao of good vibes is coursing through her veins, like bathing in liquid ambrosia.
It is overwhelming.
If she didn’t know that she’d turn into a beast-blood, she’d probably stay a few months just to savour the feeling. She has nothing against beast-bloods, Karaz was one after all, and she…she deserved better than what she got. Writhing in agony from an infection to the guts was too harsh a death for someone as lively and innocent as her. If anything is proof of the cruelty of the world it would be that, and the multitude of disciples that died because the Elders did nothing.
Some anger flares at that thought, but also a touch of complacent sadness.
What is she going to do? Give cultivators multiple realms above her and centuries worth of experience a piece of her mind? There are easier ways to die.
But back to the point, she has nothing against beast-bloods, but that’s not the same for most of the population of Rikidan. It is no secret that they are considered tainted or cursed, it’s actually openly talked about.
It’s an image problem.
She can’t be a merchant and a beast-blood, it just wouldn’t work. The only customers that’d be willing to trade are the Underground, and they aren’t the most reliable trading partners, considering it’s a collection of cities used by the bandit clans as neutral territory. Otherwise maybe the tribals? It would be hard to drive a merchant caravan near a foci though, and that’s assuming they’d even be willing to talk.
Point being, merchant life and beast-bloods just don’t mix.
Which means they should really start going away from the foci instead of towards it, but Rakan’s the one who charted their route so she just has to hope that they’ll start distancing themselves soon. Speaking of Rakan, he’s absolutely covered in blood. Not his, but of the many beasts he’s taken detours to crush with his club, it’s kind of surreal, one second he’s there, the next he has his club bearing down on some offending beast that got too close.
Luckily the robes he’s wearing can clean itself because that is an impressive amount of blood they’re absorbing right now.
-
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“Good” a stone cracking steel says to the boy bleeding profusely on the floor. Panting on his hands and knees. “You’ve progressed admirably Falthom, truly it is a masters pride to see their disciples progress so swiftly.”
“Yes master,” Fathom says between gasps.
The gleaming sculpture tilts its head, it shrugs then kicks the boy in the ribs, sending him flying into a pillar. “If you can talk, you can fight, boy.”
-
Lotus stance is unnecessarily uncomfortable for a meditation stance. Yet it is the stance Rashia takes whenever she has the opportunity to, which is getting rarer and rarer considering the greater beasts are starting to move. They’re likely due for a beast tide soon, a shame it would be so close to the new initiates. She looks over to the dozen or so bodies swinging their swords, maybe she could convince the master to let her send a few of her disciples this time? It’s possible, they only have little over two hundred with the new additions.
A lightly muscled man with wild black hair and deep purple robes with the countenance of an eccentric walks into her hall. She doesn’t see him with her eyes of course, those are closed, considering her meditation. She sees him with her aura, a complicated technique that she’s only just managed to make applicable to battle, in the last decade or so. It lets her see him completely, not just the limited vision biology would grant her, she can see the little twitches that indicate a breakthrough, can see how his Qi roils, like a book on the verge of bursting open. He’s close, so very close, if only he spent more time on his cultivation.
“What is it Vozen?” the drawing of the blade says.
“I did It master Rathia!” He says excitedly, “I finally made it work. It took a while but with the right scripts and organization anything is possible! Now I just need to downsize-”
“Vozen,” the sliding blade interrupts, amused, “slow down, I don’t even know what you’re talking about right now.”
He gathers himself from his twitchy excitement and coughs into his hand like a presenter clearing their throat, “well, master Rathia, I’ve managed to do a partial conversion of Qi in a new meditation room, all we need now is to advertise the benefits to the disciples and we can embark on a new path. I’m thinking of calling it acclimation.”
“Hmmmm,” the cutting of air says, “that’s good. Very good. Once again you have proven your worth Vozen. Don’t let any disciples enter now, I and the other masters will discuss in our next meeting before moving forward.”
He puts a fist in his palm and bows.
“Of course master,” He says.
-
It smells something.
Something sweet and savoury.
Meat untainted yet filled with vitality. It licks the chops of its very large mouth. Its head has grown. Its eyes used to be on the front of its head, but with the swelling of the skull they shifted to be on the side. That’s okay, it can see through scent now, and feel through sound. It has become such a wonderful thing of many limbs and voracious violence. It’s claws dig deep into the earth as it pushes the life/change into its legs and bursts into motion. The scent is not close, but they are not moving fast either, it will be a simple hunt for it, and such delectable treats will be its reward. It crosses the territory of the Many-Serpent and the Dove-Of-Eyes, not worried about retaliation from such weak creatures. It bounds through the forest, and anything too slow to move, or foolish enough to get in it’s way is run through by one of its spine-pikes and fed to a mouth that is much too big and filled with too much teeth, ground down into paste before they fall into its gullet.
They all taste the same, filled with a life that is wrong, twisted, misaligned. Like biting into something that has bitter undertones to an otherwise perfect meal. The ones who aren’t changed just taste bland, so it leaves them alone, to grow into something worth tasting and eating. It is rare for the Pure Ones to be so close, rare for them to dare enter the radius of its nose, but every now and then one who is either foolish or bold will come, and it will feast. It can smell that this is more than one, truly a day worth commemorating!
It’s getting closer, it can see/smell them through the woods, can practically taste them. A geyser of water gushes through its mouth as it salivates in anticipation. How long has it been since a good meal? Since satisfaction? Too many seasons, it knows, too many seasons indeed.
It crashes through branches and bramble, crashing in front of its prey like a meteor sent from the heavens. They stop and freeze in fear, It takes a deep whiff of their scent.
Mmmmh.
It smiles and it does not look like a smile because its mouth does not look like a mouth, it gets on its hindmost legs and lets out a deafening roar.