“Who am I, Second? A retard? Why in the blazes would I call for an assembly if not absolutely necessary?!” “I-it’s just… the other clans are already eyeing us suspiciously as is, and with what we’re doing right now…”
“And what leads you to believe why the hell they’d take their time and bother assessing the situation? Every damn Wrathinger is an overbearing, overeager idiot that can’t sit tight even with a knife to the throat! Or so it's been in the past.
Yet what now?! That fucking reincarnator, little shit pulling the strings!” The hall fell silent, but not the mad mumblings in my head. Didn't let me finish the sentence... Led by the nose! We all, led by the nose!! And without properly noticing even until it was too late.
Going over the events of the last few weeks, my bad mood took visible shape as a frigid gale blew through the conference hall. My reappearance indeed brought change to the table.
Yet not the change promised to Shadow, that's for sure. The world sure keeps changing and I am old. ...what am I thinking?! There's no such thing as age when it comes to cultivators! In a nutshell, nobody cared about me. And that's the problem!
I was left sitting in the reception room for days without anyone bothering me. My enemies and so-called allies alike all knew of my resurgence yet adhered to a watch and wait policy.
Nobody ruffled my feathers, nobody cursed at me, nobody spoke to me... nobody simply cared a fig, as if I was the most unimportant cultivator in the city.
I'm shadowed everywhere; cannot take a piss in peace. Trapped like a hurt beast. Me, of all men?! The gall!! My hands clench into two fists, the knuckles white from the force and veins bulging like furious snakes.
My peculiar predicament has got me thinking hard as of late. Why'd the darn reincarnator want to be informed about the average time spent on the loo?
Jump in and have a quickie? All that power within me I was sure I needed going forward was completely wasted at that moment. Unnecessary even! Cultivation I toiled for so long to amass.
What's the worst thing that can happen to a powerful person? Being ignored and shunned like foul air. What's even worse? Seeing that darn Lifescroll burn to cinders within barely a day.
Everything's lost. My plan is a detailed screenplay for clowns by now. I'm going to soon become shit. Chewed down to the bare bones by the Lordship for failing easy instructions! Everything officially went down the gutter. Same for the mood.
How could anybody possibly laugh at and shrug this serious matter off? I'd be the damn first to rip him a new one!! First, Fourth and Third Elder… all dead.
My brother, Shadow, too! Out of the blue, I held the shards of my clan’s management in my hands. That. Fucking. Reincarnator! My rage knows no bounds yet... Now all that's left is observing how the hyenas eat up my Balen Clan.
Thousands of bushfires burn in all cardinal directions, yet I am only one firefighter. The grand throne I sat upon adorned with all sorts of rare materials and cultivation resources I so dearly missed felt like a deathtrap ready to spring in my face.
“Erudite Patriarch, I was informed of the stalls on Spencer Street changing hands for little money. Officially, the representatives of Prefecture City Bugle played it down as a simple inheritance–––a rite of passage from old to new.”
We are not dead yet! Bribable officers, dammit... and I paid them so handsomely. Part of me didn't want to listen any longer before my rationality came to serious harm.
But the accountant simply couldn't keep his trap shut. This eggless mongrel with his high pitch... Should have kicked him out the day he lost his pride.
“Our share of the mine to the south got occupied by abnormally powerful bandits, the servant quarters have been razed to the ground and our insignia’s burning atop a trunk as we speak.
Our contracts with the Merchant Alliance got suspended because of quarterly revisions and the flow of money is-” “Cut it.” My life’s hard work has gone up in smoke. Any more of this, and I might as well kill everyone in this room with my own two hands.
Was it… worth it? The question hit like lightning, temporarily freezing any other consideration in my head. Right at this bleak moment as I questioned most decisions I made in my turbulent life, the last official member of high management barged in through the front door.
Looks like a cock that escaped the butcher and is racing back to his harem now swimming in soup. Dishevelled, sweaty, eyes red and lips pressed into a thin line...
Maybe he has it worse than me? I couldn't help but chuckle coldly at the newcomer. This might as well save my day. If that's still possible.
Though his position as Patriarch gave Fallafell high status, there was no comparison possible between me and him. Of two different worlds we are.
He's of the lowly, dirty realm. I'm from lofty heights... heheheh. The fool hasn't understood how this world is run. And he never will, this I promise.
Soon, guards came running after him, angrily roaring and threatening with their weapons. They know what's best for them. Smarter than he is, for sure. Some intended such over the top action as open flattery to me, master of their fates.
Others just hated the upright asshole to the bone while the pitiful rest simply went with the flow. How ironic. I couldn't await Fallafell's downfall. Just... what was that ominous feeling rising in my chest? The situation's got me...
If I didn't know any better, I'd presume that the discoloured air around the bastard's head is a product of his cultivation realm influencing reality. It might've been so if the bastard wasn't an idiot.
The clown gave up his time in favour of micromanaging my clan. Not even the elders do such stupid things. Fallafell, though, had willingly become a weak pimp, so there was no way he could fight me now. Ridiculous, this thought of mine. I'm forever superior.
I merely chuckled seeing his fury as he came closer. Yet before long, my grin freezes. What was supposed to become a show of flattery ended on a bad note. The first idiot guard had his bones crushed with... ease? Hell no. Cannot be!
The spooked rest did a U-turn and scrambled back, lining up along the wall in utter fright. Useless bunch. And this is what's left of the Balen's manpower? What a waste of space and resources!!
Was this still the same peace-loving Patriarch I knew of? It didn't matter. “Fallafell, you insolent arsehole–––is this how you treat the clan in times of need?” Feeling a vein burst, my anger levels shot through the roof.
“Right back at you, motherfucker. Who the frigging cocksucker do you think you are? I’m the Patriarch here, I decide on the game rules–––I manage all people here!” “You!?”
For a moment there, I cannot believe the pimp talking back to me, the noblest existence in this clan. The next, fury flooded my mind for good. That does it. Now even an insect cusses at me without fear nor respect!
“Is it about your useless daughter? So... tell me what about that wrench is worth shedding a tear over? Rejoice, since at the very least she serves our brave warriors in the afterlife to repay the clan. That's all the use there is to her anyway.”
“…you really are as cruel as I thought you’d be. Your sister had faith in you regardless–––but what now? You godless monster. Puny shit. Heretic!!” “Pei, why mention that whore? Useless both of them, I suppose.
One married a random bastard she fancied on a whim, the other wasted countless resources. Know what? I allowed her to poison the clan’s air since she was the best shackle to hold you in place. After I made sure she's toothless and remains so. ”
There was no emotion in my bland tone as I ridiculed what Patriarch Fallafell held most dear in his life. I just knew how to best get under his skin. And seeing his impotent face glow in realisation, it couldn't be happier. It wasn't enough, though.
“Having you act as a Patriarch while I had all the time needed to further my cultivation, why thank you. Now I'm taking back loaned power.” Fallafell shuddered at the sheer cruelty of the truth as I chuckled happily.
He opened his mouth to retort in anger only to see each and every person in this room look at him with unkind eyes. The fool pissed everyone off. What a righteous prick. He's no longer needed since resorting to banditry or so isn't right up his alley, is it?
This was both my best and worst day. While thinking about how I could increase his rage and pain alike, water droplets landed on my nose. Really now, the Balen have leaky roofs? I couldn't help but grumble in annoyance.
“So this it is, huh.” He looks as broken as he should have been. What a nice expression. “Long working hours, struggle with the other forces, endless negotiations with the Prefecture City, haggling with the Merchant Guild... essentially, it's me who guarantees the clan is fed.
My paycheck? Icy stares that not even a stray dog would receive. Let me guess, my loving wife–––your sister–––had to die due to your petty fear and it was also you who destroyed my baby daughter's potential as well as took her life.”
Nothing beats seeing a righteous prick crumble under the weight of reality. The point about his daughter... did it take so long for him to understand the meaning of my words?
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Aww... will he start crying? Cursing maybe? Or– “If that’s how things are, I shall take back what is rightfully mine. Your very lives fattened by my innumerable efforts.”
...I didn't like the detached tone in his icy voice. Not one bit. Each word felt like being on the receiving end of chilly daggers. That was no rambling of a broken man, it sounded like a verdict! How dare he...!
“Now, really? Fool, you’re weaker than even Fifth Elder! What gives you the balls to annoy the Patriarch?” Second Elder couldn't help but butt in, laughing maliciously.
The man had a reason–––more so than others! Fallafell did restrain him in everything he engaged in. Be it friends, gambling, prostitutes, slave trade... you name it. I wouldn't be surprised if Third started dancing on the spot.
“Well… the likes of you wanna put an end to me of all people? Foolish…” It happened all too fast. I could barely blink and Third still had that ridiculous gloating smile on his face when shit hit the fan.
Fallafell took three steps forward, which propelled him across half the room in no time. Clutching his hands in the air, he somehow grasped Third's throat, each finger a phyton, constricting and stifling all protests.
“You hog all the glory as the first client. And the beginning must always be spectacular, no?” Fallafell licked his lips and Third wilted like a flower in late autumn. But that obviously wasn’t enough to satisfy his rage.
His other free hand grasped at empty air and a scythe nuzzled up to him out of nowhere. What the...?! I couldn't believe it, could barely think straight. Soulbound???!!! My shriek still hollered across my mind as Fallafell gave in to madness.
Slash! An arm fell and blood spurted out like crazy. Only now did my instincts come banging on me, threatening to consume all and any thought I had. As for Third? Who'd ever care in this situation?!
Danger was so palpable all of a sudden, I promptly raced towards the door–––yet it was too late! I only managed to take three steps before another water droplet fell on my shoulder, magically rooting me to the spot.
Slash! Another leisure slash fell on the bleeding fountainhead, opening another exit for black water to flow freely. From the mangled mess, the ink flowed upwards towards the ceiling, festering there like rot and then came raining down, hindering everyone from moving an inch.
There was no bloody display, for all of that precious commodity disappeared to Devil knows where. If only my mouth wasn't sealed too... “Now, now. Don’t despair just yet. We have all the time to attune the orchestra.”
As if to remind others he hadn't forgotten about their presence, Fallafell's hazy gaze swept over the surroundings, freezing them. He first frowned, then clawed out his own eyes and let them float around as much as they pleased. Or more? What. The. Fuck?
I couldn't believe it. What have I awakened from its deep slumber, which detestable monstrosity from hell itself?! “There aren’t many of us nowadays.”
He continued, eerily grinning as yellow blood dipped down the empty sockets. “But enough to better tread carefully in this world lest you stumble upon what shouldn’t be discovered nor inquired about.”
Fallafell–––or rather that fucker hiding behind the name–––finally took his hand from Third. As if on cue, the elder spooked everyone, me included, as he started laughing gleefully like a madman the moment his mouth was freed.
Soon, another slash came and claimed his left leg, “hehe-haha-haha!” His laughter turned only more clamorous as the tears he wept, drivel and snot dripped down his unnaturally bloated face.
Spookily enough, the man didn’t fall to the ground, nor did he seem to weaken due to excessive blood loss or whatever precious commodity it was that filled his vessels.
He continued to remain afloat, merrily laughing on his own as he lost yet another limb. With each slash, I could feel part of my sanity crumble away.
Of all the options I had access to, nothing could save me. The sole thought only made me descend deeper into despair itself as he continued to ramble on.
“A work of art–––just what my wife loved. I really learned how to tune melodies to my liking. She loved music sooooo~ much” The fucking reincarnator stroked his beard as if happily reminiscing over the past, making goosebumps explode all over my body.
Slowly, fear turned to perplexity, then bottomless rage. I wanted to cuss, to give that piece of shit the thrashing of a lifetime... Fucker's strong, isn't he? Then why not tell me properly? Why keep it a secret and live life as an uneducated wanderer if he's this mighty?
Forget one fucking bitch, I wouldn't mind if he takes my cousins too or whatever woman catches his fancy–––the whole city if it must be.
More than anything, I–––the man who sought the martial peak throughout my life–––was livid because I suddenly understood. Not the reason for his disinterest in cultivation, no. But the reason he looked down on us all as much as we did on him.
“Merry Candles is what I call them, but today I wish to dub my creation Funerary Vigils. It’s just right and proper for my wife and daughter to hear a perpetual concert from the Commoner Netherworld.
It’s just too cold and lonely down there, with no games, no jokes, a total lack of cultivators and hardly any visitors. Not to mention the long, uneventful wait for reincarnation, barely functioning canalisation and warmongering lowlifes that have nowhere else to go.
No sweets either. No cake, no coffee. Don't even get a government-issued body. Occasionally some reincarnate, but most simply wait as they have no connections to the admins. That lousy government is incompetent and lazy.
Which reminds me,” totally oblivious to the receding flesh on his right arm, revealing the jaded skeleton below, he bobbed his head in one direction so he could check on the guards lining up along the wall.
This one whole dastardly fucking big misunderstanding!! Fury turned to acceptance of the inevitable. A moment later, and I saw him shake his head, crestfallen, “a nice choir is asking too much, I know. But this is way too much on the lacking side.”
As I questioned my life decisions like never before, Fallafell snapped his fingers and a torrent of ink-coloured water poured down from above, melting two-thirds of the pleading exhibition.
“Funny eyes they make makes for even funnier candles!” He laughed gleefully. Returning his full attention to the rest, the reincarnator dedicated much sadistic effort at first turning us into aesthetically pleasing candles, then position us so the dispersed lot of survivors hovered in rows of half-circles around him.
Now we can sing properly! How happy I was!! My life is about to be fulfilled, my desires realised. I'm becoming part of some truly godly powerhouse. “Oleee-bumbba-dummm~.” Why haven't I ever studied how to beautifully sing?! The blasphemy...
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Dark sludge covered the ruined scrag of a once magnificent, seven-story-tall estate. With sulfuric waterfalls the colour of inked flesh pouring down from the topmost floor into another stream from the floor below, what reached ground level was an ink-coloured pulp of shredded steamy flesh ready-made for the diabolic canteen.
Mostly levelled, the other buildings, with only some memorials poking out of the liquid and standing erect between the ruins as if bemoaning the sky for centuries to come. I shuddered as I cautiously floated forward.
The sheer immensity of power at work had warped reality to a certain degree, influenced the surroundings at an even deeper level and created something abstruse that couldn’t possibly exist on its own.
Here, no man less powerful than a reincarnator was to ever set foot inside again, not until centuries rekindled a speck of normalcy within this hellish landscape or someone really godlike intervened directly.
It certainly didn't help ease my worries that this forsaken place was essentially the residence of my neighbour next door. The neighbour I never knew was the same as me.
Looking around in this gory sea, I wondered if somebody had butchered a sea monster for sport. Nothing here looked anything but the rotting innards of a gargantuan beast put through the wringer. I soon discovered who seemed like the preparator. More likely, my eyes espied a man that'd freshly crawled out of hell.
“Greetings, senior.” Tugging at my veil due to nervosity, I hovered above the praise-singing sludge impossible to miss. It didn't take a genius to note the few similarities those things shared with a certain bunch of Balen idiots.
Glancing over to my fellow reincarnator, I had trouble ignoring the pair of glassy eyes surveying the space. Did he rip them out of his victims? Only after he turned slightly my way became it clear to me they were his own.
I barely managed to refrain from puking my last two meals out. Broke the rules, broke the treaty, borderline psychoses, fallen spirituality... can I return home in one piece, uhh?
I didn't approach further than absolutely necessary for proper greeting, but the man just stared at me with his hollow sockets, smiled wickedly, snapped his fingers and the shrieking sludge behind him filled with separated heads started humming an unexpectedly gentle tune.
Greet me please. Greet me and I'm outta here, leaving you to do whatever pleases you! C'mon... I had certain things to ascertain before I could give in to my urges, though.
The man's sole existence is bad news for me and the many plans I took great care of to properly scheme, but– If he doesn't open his mouth, it'd be only worse. I need answers, and yesterday!
I had relationships to foster, people to protect and defences to reinforce. I had no time to relocate elsewhere because of a random goddamn psycho gone bonkers in the middle of a city. I should've eradicated the Balen sooner, dammit.
“Five Petals…” I stopped momentarily in my tracks, almost falling down. The implication of him knowing me but me remaining oblivious to who he was slowly sickering in. We ain't far from the worst case. Shit.
With as much neutrality as I could muster, I asked, “who might you be, senior?” The man ignored my pathetic digging attempt as all he did was shakily besting an elementary set of light stretches.
He tilted his head at a certain angle, as if to get a new perspective on what lay beyond the closed door–––sole around intact far and wide–––then cast a fleeting glance at me that made my skin crawl.
The hollowed-out sockets were home to an ominous spark of fire that burned brighter by the second, channelling demonic qi, forbidden energy into his body nonstop.
Seeing my disturbed frown, he seemed to remember what was the source of a lot of pain, beckoned with his hand and stuffed a pair of eyes coming his way down his throat.
After that, he soundlessly muttered a name I couldn’t perceive at all just to proceed with passionately clapping his hands according to an odd rhythm. The ghastly heads changed their tune.
Before I could decide how to properly react, the doors sprung open and what lay behind came into plain view. Amidst a chorus of odd grunts and incomprehensible lines stirring my field of perception, I fell down. Hell grinned at me beyond that door.
Sinking knee-deep into the chirping sludge with a few screeching heads buried under me, I couldn't control the urge to vomit all over the place any longer, much to his displeasure.
“Don’t damage my Funerary Vigils,” the thing that had become something other than a simple reincarnator warned me before he dissipated on the spot, “they are meant to practice here until performance no longer sucks.”
Suffering from my troubled state of mind that made it really hard to properly control my meridians and the qi that flows through them, I hurried away as fast as I managed to do, airborne.
The further away from this ghastly place, the better. Doubly so for the fallen fighter, now a demonic creature. Five Petals… I’m Seven Petals now.
But... do I even know this man? I should remember, no? Suddenly, I opened my eyes wide. For the first time since my latest reincarnation, the experienced soul home to my force of will shivered.
I remembered him–––or who he was before. It wasn't bad news. It was worse! The worst!! He’s back… I have to warn the others. Thank the heavens, the Balens' suffered from nothing except incorrigible fools… did us a service well worth remembering.
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End of Intermission