27th of Season of Air, 57th year of the 32nd cycle

Newt spent most of his days in the mine cultivating his realm, erecting earth glyphs and digging trenches for lava to fill to create fire runes. He had soon discovered that Blackfist had arranged the runes into primitive spell formations, which enhanced the overall effect of each participating rune.

Newt doubted the development was an accident, and he was grateful for the former sect master’s attention to detail and knowledge of esoteric subjects. In the eight weeks since he had gone into seclusion, Newt had completed his ninth layer, and only the unformed tenth layer awaited cultivation.

He had a choice between reaching the peak outside Magmin’s secret realm, or heading in as he was. Entering later was the wiser choice, but Newt was young and suffered from the rashness of his age.

He closed his eyes and entered his realm, to resolve one last matter before advancing.

Newt did not know why, but he knew exactly where his final heart demon was. He returned to the place where the hall of the heart demon representing his uncle once stood. Like last time, the heart demon remained within its abode, but rather than sitting on a throne, it lay broken on the floor.

“You killed me,” the pale body wheezed with its final breath.

“Yes, I did. It was an accident. I am sorry. Will you forgive me?”

“Murderer!” the heart demon said with yet another final breath.

“Can we discuss this like adults?” Newt attempted to imitate Blackfist. “We didn’t toss your traitorous corpse for the dogs to eat and arranged a proper burial for you. Your wives and children are alive and we are taking care of them. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me for thinking you are actually able to defend yourself from a starved youth’s punch?”

“Murderer!” the body wheezed, and Newt covered his face with his hands in frustration, then ran his fingers through his hair.

“I guess we are not going to resolve this peacefully this time.” Newt raised his foot to stomp the heart demon to pieces, then hesitated.

“If you strike me down, I will grow stronger than you can imagine.”

Those words brought the foot down. Heart demons were malicious, they would never offer good advice without trying to distract the cultivator. While the statement was undoubtedly true, it served to conceal a greater peril.

“And leaving you here to advance with the realm would allow you to advance, too.” Newt decided he would stay in his third realm longer, probably years. He hoped he would learn to cope with his guilt as he matured.

With the deed done, Newt exited his realm, ate, slept, and then reached the tunnel hosting the twin ghostly suns. He looked around and confirmed nothing material existed in the air. The walls were no different than anywhere else, made of granite and covered in waste from digging spirit gems.

Why did I find this and not the great ancestor? Is it fate, chance, or heaven’s joke?

The youth wished to believe he was special, but a more rational part of his person assured him it was dumb luck that gave him his twin spirit roots. With unease, Newt clenched a family heirloom spear his teacher had given him and touched the lower orb. In a flash of fire, the dark tunnel disappeared, and Newt stood in the middle of a massive conflagration.

The world burned in all directions, and Newt could barely see a handful of feet in each direction as his skin stung. He activated Magmin Scales, and his discomfort disappeared, but the world remained the sea of red and orange.

What is burning? Newt squinted, trying to find the fuel which fed the fires, but found nothing. He cloaked himself in Granite Crust beneath his fiery scales and turned to double check his environment. To his left, the fire was a bit further away, making a passage which was nearly impossible to see in the fiery hell.

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Newt kept his eyes peeled, searching for Magmin, and less than a minute later, he heard a hiss.

“Where are they?” the voice was deeper than the last time Newt had met the serpent, and there was an odd tone to it which Newt failed to recognize, but it gave him the creeps nonetheless. “I have eliminated seven. The pterodactylus cannot reach me here, it fears flames, but because of my realm’s shape I cannot be certain I have eliminated all of them.”

Newt froze. His instincts told him that the muttering version of Magmin was not a friendly serpent willing to chat with him like it was the first time they met. Their second meeting would be as enemies.

“Where are they?” Magmin repeated identical words, assuring Newt something was wrong with the creature.

The hissing was closer than the last time, and Newt feared he would bump into the serpent, so he drew back and entered the wall of flames. Suddenly, Magmin Scales drew thrice as much spiritual energy, and Newt felt the energy drain away from his realm. The loss was acceptable, he could spend half an hour or more sitting inside the fire, but it was still a drain where previously the environment generously offered enough spiritual energy to perpetually fuel Newt’s unburdened defensive techniques.

Newt waited a handful of moments before a massive head appeared, slithering along the earthen path. Magmin had wanted to evolve wings, to fly, yet the creature which appeared before Newt had no hint of wings. Instead, it was a massive constrictor snake, four feet thick, and over forty feet in length.

Newt realized that instead of becoming a flying serpent, Magmin had evolved into a spirit beast titanoboa. The giant serpent flicked its tongue, turning left and right in search of heart demons before it crawled forward again.

A shrill scream came from the sky and Magmin erected itself, raising its head ten feet above the ground and staring at the sky.

“Come if you dare,” it hissed. “Come into my domain of fire you abominable creature!”

Even though Magmin hissed in the serpent language, Newt could feel its rancor. The lively snake which had reached the peak of the first realm and called itself a genius had become a vitriolic ball of hatred.

The pterodactylus, or whatever the creature had become, cawed a mocking laugh and kept circling above, taunting and driving Magmin mad. Finally, the snake bellowed, and the pterosaur left, snickering.

“I must find the others and eliminate them before I evolve. I won’t get any wings, but I can cultivate my realm so that the damn avian has to crawl down to meet me. I will slay it then, yes, yes.” Magmin hissed, and continued its frenzied search.

The danger passed, muttering the same words over and over. Newt left the fire and felt his spiritual energy recover a trickle at a time.

What do I do? Newt felt sorry for Magmin. He could see how his desire to fly had unbalanced the little fellow and turned it into a monster, but Magmin was long dead, it had evolved past the hurdle and one day grew strong enough to soar through the sky.

Unfortunately, Magmin’s psychotic state made cooperation impossible, and to leave the realm, Newt would have to slay the titanoboa. He looked around. Worse, Magmin’s realm was useless as far as cultivation forms went. The serpent had set everything ablaze, likely to reinforce its fire abilities.

At least the ground is still sloped. Newt looked uphill. He could not see the wood from the fires, but he knew where it would be. If he could lure Magmin and the evolved pterodactylus to the clearing near the crater, he could let them fight to the death and then finish off the winner.

The tactic was uninspired and unoriginal, since he had considered it nearly three seasons ago, but it should do the trick. Magmin confessed last time that the wounds inflicted by the pterodactylus would stick for a while.

Newt hesitated for a few moments more, wondering whether he could talk some sense into Magmin, whether the serpent would listen or attack him on sight, believing him a new heart demon. He hoped he could help, but the odds were stacked against him.

Newt bit his lip and discarded the distracting thoughts, climbing the volcano and keeping an ear out for an insane titanoboa’s mutterings.

What would have happened had we met during its real life? Would Magmin have become a winged serpent instead of a titanoboa if he advanced a realm without heart demons?

The topic tickled Newt’s imagination. What is the difference in advancing with or without heart demons? Somebody must have investigated the matter and noted their findings. But did the imperial libraries contain such information? On one hand, it seemed like basic information in the cultivation world, something everyone should know. On the other hand, interviewing credible sources and compiling accounts seemed like a lot of work to achieve something every cultivator knew was true, not having dinosaurs chasing you to dismember you, or disembodied voices screaming at you or accusing you made cultivation easier.

Deep in thought, Newt reached the edge of the flaming realm and walked straight into solid air. Newt bounced off an invisible wall and fell. The pull of spiritual energy increased again as he landed into the fire, but Newt swiftly got up and approached the invisible barrier.

He pressed his hands against it, but no matter how hard he pushed he could not pass through. Beyond the invisible wall stood Magmin’s first realm of flowing lava and black calcified pines. Newt swallowed a curse. He was stuck in Magmin’s second realm.