"You dare offend this young master!" a kick connects with smith's ribs. Easily shattering bone and shaking his organs painfully. Smith's body draws in on itself, like a fetus in the womb. Only like one being strangled by a umblical cord as his lungs feel like lead.
Blood leaks from his mouth and past his hidden smile, pooling to the ground as he spits out a few words of appeasement hoping to avoid his death "No great immortal please spare this lowly wretch."
One of the immortal's friends pipes up contempt obviously leaking out with each word "Young master of the ghostly chicken clan please ignore this disgusting offal and hurry on our way to the dragon challenge competition."
The pompous ball of lard turns around "Hmph be grateful turd eater this day the great heir of the ghost chicken clan spares you!" his body jiggles like gelatin as he walks away.
As they turn to leave a quiet laugh escapes smith's lips "AHAHAH what are you so proud of being a fried chicken vendor for-" The immortal cultivator doesn't even hear his insult as a random passerby violently kicks his mouth.
Not out of offense for the insult, but for a lowly mortal talking back to a higher realm. Smith's smile is wiped off his face.
It had been like this ever since he was born and left on the doorstep of some river hut. Left to die and scorned by everyone. The only reason he had survived until now was because the orthodoxia cults- err clans had a strict policy on child fatality.
His fellow orphans called him crazy, said to him there was no conspiracy from the immortals against mortals. But look at all this.
The immortal who had attacked him just a second ago had no relation to the ghostly fried chicken master (master of fat more like) the chubby bastard was even seen as a joke to all the immortals of the qudingual city. But a lowly mortal daring to offend, no just not allowed.
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But smith wasn't just going around offending these young masters for no reason. The kick that almost killed him just now. Coming from the chubby grease stained teen with the white chefs apron. It had kickstarted his core, provided just enough stimulation in the form of a pseudo spirit attack that his heart had awoken.
"Teh stupid sect heads, leaving me in the hall and thinking I wouldn't know why! It's obvious they thought I can't ascend so why bother!" Smith mutters to himself, hands gripping his blood stained robes. Heart pounding and leaping from his chest "Finally though... Finally!"
The sects and clans of qudingual city refused to ever teach him or even to help start his core. It was obvious to everyone his accursed mortal condition would stop that from ever paying off.
To breakthrough the mortal realm one had to separate their soul from the body. While not easy most skilled in the art of cultivation like himself managed it. But his body held a tight pull to his soul. It had never wavered for even a second. Mortals couldn't tell, but immortal masters saw not with their eyes alone. But also their innate souls.
All human connections to their soul wavered and wobbled. They moved like a ship in the ocean, adjusting in distance based on their emotions or physical condition. But smith's remained dead fast since forever. It was like a fish compared to a ship. One was never bothered by the waves and the other entirely relied upon them.
Now his core tingling with it's first sensation of the spirit energy and Qi of the world- barely moves an inch remaining steadfast in it's connection to his body. Smith sighs as he pushes himself from the ground, the stones abrasive and near painful on his tender boyish hands.
The cool winds slowly crest and ebb over him as he limps home, throbbing pain shooting from his chest.
"Had I not awakened from that kick I would definitely die within the hour and those bastards had the gull to say they were "saving" me TCH! CUNTS" Had a cultivator heard smith just now he would be put to death for the insult. But "I would rather die a free mortal than live as a chained immortal!" smith thinks to himself. An odd sensation from the thought driving itself into his mind. Gritting his teeth and squeezing his leg he continues his slow walk to his humble abode.
A trail of his own blood follows him.