Frederick found himself prostrated on the alluvial forest floor, his body wracked by violent tremors. A piercing clank startled his scattered consciousness into focus. He felt the chain wrapped about his neck unwind as wheeling rivets ground against his skin. With a muffled thump, his treasured locket cratered beneath him, ephemeral purple-black lotuses bleeding from its cracked exterior.

"Anlîthëma ..." muttered Frederick disbelievingly. "It can't be—I'm hallucinating. Yes! A divine artifact is indestructible. It's me who is broken—ME!"

As if mocking his fragile hopes, the hoary locket wailed a mix of howl and whimper. As if subjected to winds of annihilation, its rusty carapace darkened to a mat black, the unknown metal flaking into sparkling nothingness. Soon, the invaluable artifact was no more.

"Impossible. Impossible. IMPOSSIBLE," Frederick raved, head slamming against muddy ground in maddened desperation to awaken from his sordid nightmare.

ZZZH—BOOM.

A rapturous explosion of viridian lightning smote Frederick, hurtling him through the base of a neighboring sequoia. Splinters stormed matted earth as if expressing nature's rancorous fury.

Between peals of raucous laughter, a hoarse voice flush with contempt cut through the smoldering ruin, "You cannot measure the joy crippling your whorish body pumps into my veins, brother. I will relive this moment for centuries, recount it to my children, and they to their own progeny."

Frederick, countenance grim as pitch, climbed out of the timber rubble. A manic, depraved bellow shook the clearing: "Dante!"

Frederick's arms shot to his sides, body arched as if embracing divine possession.

Clink-clink-clink.

Innumerable chains spilled from his orifices, quickly subsuming his position in a grotesque jumble. The chains wove together in a blossoming ash-grey heap, crafting a demonic idol with eleven heads and countless arms.

Mantras of unknown origin resounded to signal the transformation's completion, "Bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara, lord who gazes down, oṃ maṇi padme hūṃ, oṃ alolik svāhā."

Dante appeared ineffably solemn as viridian lightning coated his body, outlining a winged basilisk no smaller than the chained behemoth opposite him.

"Ghoul, take my flank. Jester, be on the lookout for an opening," Dante transmitted with his divine sense, provoking a swarm of eldritch purple tentacles to join him at his backside.

"I'll be watching, chief, hehehe."

BHRRMM.

With a cavernous groan, a sky-blotting hand lofted above Avalokiteśvara's avatar, descending upon Dante in an open-handed slap. The crackling basilisk loosed a thunderous roar, meeting the strike with bared fangs.

SLAM.

The bodhisattva struggled to wrench its arm from the basilisk's clenched maw, their contest of brute strength ending in a draw. When it was clear escape was untenable, five more hands rose above its many heads.

"Ghoul!" yelled Dante, his draconic form cast in shadows beneath the approaching barrage. Wriggling, purple wisps interlaced about the viridian basilisk akin to a suit of armor just in time to welcome the quavering blow.

The armored basilisk careened under Frederick's overpowering might, its semi-corporeal body straining to remain intact.

"Jester!"

Opposite Dante and Ghoul, the air warped above the bodhisattva's shoulder, revealing a scythe mid-swing as it bit into the chain links with a clang. One of Avalokiteśvara's heads indifferently turned to its assailant—a girthy male wearing flamboyant garbs of red, blue, and yellow.

"Hehehe, that's not good."

"Look out!" hollered Dante, Ghoul breaking into a desperate sprint toward Jester's position. Pre-empting Jester's reaction, two enormous palms closed around him, inciting a haunting squelch punctuated by grating crunches. Bloody entrails seeped from the enclosed hands, Frederick's derisive announcement closely following, "Dressed like a fool, dies like a fool. Worry not. Your deaths will be far, far more exquisite."

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The hands unclasped, dropping Jester's mangled corpse to the earth. "Know this: You. Will. Die. Screaming!"

Both sides unleashed crazed warcries as they engaged anew, viridian lightning, purplish tentacles, and ash-grey chains colliding in a violent concerto.

**

Karma, pupils invariably circled by faint Ouroboroi, continued his journey through craggy slopes and rugged terrain.

Almost there .... Who would want to live in such a remote area? Forget the loneliness; what about delicious food? What horror!

"Hm?" Karma halted, his nose scrunched in confusion. A roiling orb flickering with dim, cosmic lights had teleported before him with zero forewarning. Most perplexingly, his brand-new, passive divination failed to react!

"Who might you be, stranger?"

"Silence, mortal. Thou standest in the presence of Anlîthëma, Great Arbiter to—"

"Shit! It can talk!?" Karma jerked backward, warily glancing at the shiny sphere.

"Insolence! Thou dare posture before Anlîthëma, Great—" Anlîthëma stilled as an azure saber extended from Karma's finger. Its viscous outline shimmered with profound dread as it squeaked, "W-what is that? Put that ghastly thing away! Sacrilege! Heathen!"

"Eh?" No longer frightened, Karma brusquely approached the panicked orb. "What do you see?"

Seeing the pompous orb unwilling to respond, Karma poised his finger as if to slash.

"Don't! I'll speak, I'll speak. I see the severance of holiness—an afront to the grand Buddhist doctrine. I see the antithesis of Karma itself!"

Karma's eyes widened; gawking at the orb, he blurted, "You know my name? I've never actually told anyone ..."

Silence.

"What?"

Karma leveled a dubious stare at the orb, absentmindedly twirling the ionic blade. "My name. You mentioned an 'antithesis of Karma,' why would my own ability be an antithesis to myself?"

"What?"

Annoyance flared across Karma's features, his arm arching back with an air of finality. "Say what again. Do it."

Anlîthëma trembled, "No, Karma is the supreme Dao governing Nirvana. You can't take it as a name, that would be ridiculous—" The orb froze, vaguely spinning toward the azure blade, then back to Karma.

"Shit! Please don't erase me, Great Old One; I meant no offense. I c-can serve you—for all eternity. I—" Glimpsing Karma's dispassionate expression, Anlîthëma concluded, "Please spare me ..."

"And why would I do that?" Karma asked blandly, inwardly bemusing the title "Great Old One."

That title seems more appropriate for Ouroboros; maybe he's confusing us?

"Others once hailed me as the Great Arbiter to the Epoch of Suffering, Calamity of the Unenlightened. Surely, that speaks to a measure of utility?"

"That depends. In your current state, can you fight?"

"No ..."

"Can you contribute to my physical, economical, or societal wellbeing?"

"Not directly—"

"Do you possess any worthwhile treasures in any shape or form?"

"Yes! I happen to know the most recent whereabouts of a Domain Catalyst."

"Mm. I ate it."

...

"What else can you do?" asked Karma, playfully swooshing the ionic blade in mock practice swings.

"I possess vast knowledge and experience in cultivation. At my peak, I stood at the precipice of the Celestial Overseer realm, only a hair's breadth away from becoming a Cosmic Arbiter."

Karma's eyes lit up, eagerly inquiring, "So you can teach me techniques up to the Cosmic Arbiter realm?"

The orb subtly rolled forward, replying in a downcast timbre, "All my techniques were branded to my Dao. I can offer advancement guidance," spinning slowly up to Karma's unimpressed visage, it added, "and general tips and tricks."

Rubbing his chin, Karma idly pondered for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea before declaring: "You may travel with me on one condition: you will be confined to my spatial pouch indefinitely. If you do not accept, I will slay you here and now."

"That ... won't be an issue, Great One. But do I have to stay in your spatial pouch? It's extremely degrading for a cultivator of my stature—"

"Unnegotiable."

**

"Where are you going?" Anlîthëma transmitted from within Karma's spatial pouch.

Yawning, Karma replied, "A woman named Penelope Selenium's villa."

"Why?"

"Assassination for a sect assignment."

"Oh."

...

Rustling leaves accompanied Karma's emergence from a dense cluster of shrubbery. No longer obscured by teeming foliage, he discovered a barren cliffside occupied only by a modest thatched hut.

Karma nonchalantly stretched his back and limbs, proclaiming, "Miss, your stealth, while commendable, is wholly insufficient to escape—"

A serrated edge ripped through empty air, cleaving the former locale of Karma's jugular artery.

"My senses," resumed Karma, tumbling out of a rightward roll. He locked eyes with a brown-robed woman oozing battle intent, her jet-black hair perfectly tied into a spherical bun. A pair of kunai protruded from her sleeves, brimming with a murderous crimson aura.

"Thief," she spat.

"Clever," scowlingly praised Karma.

Foggy air burst from Penelope's nostrils. Seemingly exhausted of conversation, she shot forward in a whirlwind of ferocity, the glint of her kunai barely visible amid the masterful display of dexterity. Karma dogged a hasty retreat, repeatedly forced to dodge imperceptible, viperous jabs by the narrowest of margins. Despite his apparent predicament, a smile tugged at his lips, refusing to be suppressed.

My passive divination completely trivializes predicting her attacks, and she exceeds me by a minor realm!

Penelope's overwhelming offense wavered as Karma's grin cracked open—not to speak—but to breathe.

SCREE—FWOOM.

A deluge of resplendent flames hewed a canal of incineration, the conical blast barely catching Penelope's foot as she sprang in avoidance. The potent flare seared her flesh with a dreadful sizzle, eliciting an agonized shriek. Swiftly distancing herself on unstable footing, Penelope summoned a green vial to her lips, downing the panacea in a single gulp. Immediately, new skin evidently grew around her charred limb.

Karma's smile finally waned upon noticing the healing potion. "You ... shouldn't have done that."