Vice Abbot Pratigha stampeded through the Cittamātra Sect's monastic cypress halls, swaddling Tathāgata's spasming body at his breast.
Pah!
Passing the rattling frame of a sliding door, the vice abbot entered a sequestered partition of the monastery's medical ward, hastily lowering his beloved disciple on a firm mattress.
Profound Dharmic cants ululated about the modest chamber, intermingling with the scented oils and loamy incense. Pratigha channeled the Dharma's compassion in a melody of convalescence, salvaging Tathāgata's pallor its proper blush.
"The physical vessel presents no trouble; it's his mind that strays to perilous shores. How can that be? This child was meant to be the best of us—a prophet confirmed by Reverend Maitreya themself ..."
Clenching his teeth, Pratigha retrieved an Enlightenment Lotus Bud from his spatial ring and placed it between Tathāgata's lips. The convulsions ceased soon after, calming the vice abbot's aching heart.
"M-master Pratigha?"
"Namo Buddhaya, Son Tathāgata," said Pratigha, softly clasping his open palms.
Tathāgata shuddered, plaintively avoiding his master's gaze.
Pratigha's eyes widened. "Why do you wince at the Buddha's venerated address? Buddha is the soother of all sorrows, the haven at every journey's end. These were your words, Child. Your creed."
Bitter tears streaked Tathāgata's rosy cheeks, his speech a duet of word whimper. "Buddha's love was used against me, master! They planted their vile deceit in the bottommost soil of my heart. You say Namo Buddhaya, they scream Namo Asuraya. I—"
A crisp slap reddened the side of Tathāgata's cheek. "Never again will you utter such an abasing remark. Do you understand?"
Tathāgata nodded.
"I need to hear you say it."
"I understand."
"Good. Now, who is the reviler you speak of? I will not endure the continued existence of this scorge to Buddha's purity."
"I ... don't know."
Pratigha creased his brow, adopting a measured cadence. "You don't know? Of the four great sects, there are a scant few who match your strength—this, I am sure. Out with it, you need not fear them any longer."
"He wore the robes of the Abyssal Crow Sect, and—"
"He? Impossible. Our spies have informed us this generation's Abyssal Crow potentate is unequivocally female."
"It wasn't the Perennial O' prodigy," said Tathāgata, decisively shaking his head. "It—he was a man, a wielder of flame and illusion whose speed dwarfed Ilmiri's severalfold."
"What was this man's name?"
"He didn't share it."
"His appearance?"
"He didn't share it."
Exhaling a surly breath, Pratigha demanded, "Well, what did he share?"
"Derision, pain, and suffering."
**
On a parapet-styled terrace overlooking the setting sun, Dreaded Monarch Delilah—a grey-haired woman with a half-melted face that perpetually exposed her molars—lorded over her grandson's crippled form. Starting at the amputated socket where an arm had been, she bristled with palpable vitriol, barely containing her raging aura.
"Wake him up," she commanded, waving over a group of white-garbed medics with her copper-gold wristguard.
"Yes, Monarch."
Following a lengthy acupuncture using leafy-green needles, Ilmiri stirred in a dreary stupor.
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"Grandma?"—"Who?"
Suddenly brimming with rancor, Ilmiri snarled, "Tathāgata! That fucking zealot kidnapped me, blackmailed my closest friends—one of them to death—then he and that Erinyes harlot ripped my arm off and beat me with it. Where is he!? I'll kill him. KILL HIM."
**
Within a copse of sycamores moated by a raven canal, Persephone's regal, doll-like countenance reflected in Erinyes's defiant pupils.
"What do you care who hurt me?" she shrieked with venomous loathing. "This is nothing. Noth-ing compared to the torture of being your daughter. Why don't you just die, you spiteful, wicked bitc—"
Smack!
"You're right, I couldn't care less. The sect, however, does."
Smack!
"You materialized in a heap of disgrace in front of the sect leadership, your fellow disciples, and—worst of all—you did so as my daughter. Do you know what you've done to me? What I've done for you? Thankless, infantile, and worthless. This is what your father left me before I slit his throat; if only I'd done it a year earlier!"
"What you've done for me?" Erinyes splayed a toothy grin. "I'm glad I shamed you, showed the sect an inkling of the bile hidden behind that mask you wear. Also, Dad's the lucky one! With you as my bride, I'd slit my own throat long before—"
Smack!
"You will give me a name, one way or the other. This is the sect's decree, and they've entitled me some ..." Persephone procured a rusty scalpel, skimming it beneath her nostrils with an almost sensual infatuation, "leeway. Should you prove uncooperative, that is."
"You know what? Fine. I'll tell you, I hear his grandmother has a knack for flaying skin down to enameled bone. You might've heard bards sing of her tracks. The knoll of faceless screams, they call them."
Persephone's lip twitched.
"That's right, you whorish prude. Ilmiri—grandson of Dreaded Monarch Delilah—is the source of your humiliation. Is that enough, or should I say more, Sect Master?"
Sigh.
"Yes, Erinyes, that's enough," sounded a rich, melodious voice. "Thank you for your honesty; your candor is certainly ... unique."
**
"Welcome and congratulations," boomed Elder Li, scholarly as ever, "both to the achievers of Attunement for their triumph, and those who survived to one day try anew."
A cacophony of thunderous cheers reverberated throughout the lively courtyard.
"Remember, disciples: there is no loftier peak than the Dao. Cultivation is not a sprint, for what fool hurries up a perilous ledge?
"They have a name, and that name is splat."
Hearty laughter, especially from the sullen who'd fallen short in their Attunement, echoed louder than their raucous predecessor.
"I share in your rejoice. Now, onto—"
Dum.
Dum.
Dum.
"Abyssal Crow Sect! The Cittamātra Sect demands you surrender the mongrel who dared taint Buddha with his depravity," trumpeted a blue-skinned colossus from the west, a noose swaying from its left hand and a sword brandished in its right.
Its calamitous march trampled escarpments and embankments, impetuously razing nature's splendor as it drew nearer, nearer.
Elder Li, unfazed as a mountain buffeted by a summer breeze, replied, "And who would that be?"
"They know who they are."
"But I do not. If you're asking that I—to pacify your childish tantrum—massacre each and every disciple in attendance, I must adamantly decline."
"Impudent! Very well then, the scoundrel that wields illusions and flames. Fetch them for me. NOW."
"Fellow Daoist, we teach all of our disciples flame techniques, and none of them illusion techniques. How about this—what is the accused party's name? Surely, you didn't come here without a name, yes?"
Trembling with fury, the wrathful deity unleashed its sword upon the bustling lecture grounds.
"So, it comes to this," sighed Elder Li.
Caw!
A three-eyed albino crow blossomed from Elder Li's sternum, flying a circle about the descending sword. The blade lurched to a halt, enwreathed by a band of erudite pictograms.
"Come, Morrígan."
Two cavernous eyes crested the sect's undulating hills, grafted into an abyssal sea, its roiling breakers sundering rivets about the fabric of space.
Quick to follow, a gilded, sky-blotting Dharmachakra—the primordial wheel of the Dharma—rose to the west.
Shortly, so too did a nine-eyed vulture with feathers of autumn bronze make its debut, subsuming the northwestern sky.
Last to be borne witness by the trembling masses, a cowled wraith of ominous portents claimed the northeast for its own.
"The Penumbra Effigy Sect petitions Venerable Overseer to initiate the fourth culling."
"The Winged Bellicosi Sect petitions Venerable Overseer to initiate the fourth culling."
"The Cittamātra Sect petitions Venerable Overseer to initiate the fourth culling."
"Majority acknowledged. Stand by."
A blank steel slate soundlessly erected at the four sects' center, bridging the distance between Heaven and Earth. When the construction reached its zenith, scarlet runes were autonomously etched across its surface.
----------------------------------------
Precepts of the Fourth Culling
----------------------------------------
The First Mandate: Earthly Monarchs and above are prohibited from interference beyond their designated headquarters.
The Second Mandate: For every 1,000 Embryonic Inquisitors slain, an early-stage Earthly Monarch may seek exemption from The First Mandate. Every hundred Earthly Monarchs slain thereafter relaxes the restriction by one minor realm.
The Third Mandate: Heavenly Mandates found participating will be brought to the Orthenian Courts for sentencing. Minimum fine: Indentured Servitude. Duration: Indefinite.
The Fourth Mandate: 45% of each participating sect's wealth shall be contributed to the Culling Treasury. Re-distribution will be determined solely by individual performance.
The Fifth Mandate: Culling persists until a minimum of 50% of eligible participants have perished. Battle schedules will be announced at dawn three moons' past.
----------------------------------------
**
Karma blinked. Huh. Welp, that was convenient.