“Namo Amitabha.” A voice came from behind Master Liaoran, just when he cleared up the pathways off the possessed guards. This voice was clear but cold, one could not tell if it was from a man or a woman, and with each syllable uttered. Each word was imbued with some kind of special power, enough to confuse or even paralyze any normal person.
Master Liaoran turned back with a frown on his face.
It was a person with long hair, a large frame but slender arms and legs. This person was in a loose buddhist robe, and had an extra arm protruding from under the left armpit. All of the fingers were slender as well, with black, long and sharp nails at their ends.
“Master Jiankong.” Master Liaoran bowed gently to the person: “It seemed your cultivation had all but reached a different level. ”
“You sound displeased.” The person smiled, combing their hair draping in front of their face: “Back in the days, you had wished me success in my endeavor, and told me you would look forward to the day to see me transcend who and what I was. And yet, you’ve shown me nothing but your disapproval. Are you contemptful about what you see, Master Liaoran? The monk who wields a blade? The Black Blade Vajra?”
“This monk had wished you transcend who and what you were, but not fall beneath them.” Master Liaoran sighed: “And this monk was looking forward to our meeting, yet not like this, not here, not under these circumstances. Certainly but surely, not when you are in this state.”
“What state, Master Liaoran? What state? One you disapprove of, or a state that’s simply different?” The person narrowed their eyes.
“A state of indulgence, dwelling and fell.” Master Liaora shook his head: “And now, your whole being is tainted, almost beyond cleansing or repair. Why did you choose to do this? This monk thought you knew better.”
“I DID and DO know better.” The person sighed and shook their head as well. Crimson light glowed in their pupils, and thin traces of dark tar seeped from every pore of their forearms and concentrated on their hands and fingernails, coating them with malicious curse and poison. “And yet, you remain almost the same as you were. Tell me, old monk, where’s your blade?”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“The blade had seen too much bloodshed, too many lives lost. It’s become a heavy symbol of sin for this monk.” Master Liaoran gently pulled his sleeves up: “And thus, it’s safely stored in this monk’s place of repentance and meditation. Namo Amitabha. Master Jiankong, do you wish to stop this monk, and the duty at this monk’s hand?”
“I’m afraid so. Master.” Master Jiankong chuckled: “For you are trespassing into my place of meditation and cultivation. The monk with a blade I know would not let trespassers leave without a beating. I guess I was more true to your philosophy than you are now.”
“Namo Amitabha.” Master Liaoran did not respond, only bowed gently.
“Namo Amitabha.” Master Jiankong bowed back.
A simple exchange of gestures, but one that would signal the end of their friendship dated decades back.
Master Jiankong moved first. A string of afterimages made of black smoke were left behind them. Two arms on their shoulders thrust forward, aiming right at Master Liaoran’s shoulders. The lower, slightly deformed additional right arm raised its middle and index fingers, jabbing at Master Liaoran’s lower waist like a sneaky dagger.
Master Liaoran waved his left hand across the air in front of him. The claws from his opponent’s both arms collided with his left forearm. While the opponent’s fingernails from the lower right arm rammed into Master Liaoran’s left knee.
“Boom!” Master Liaoran’s right hand was free and unguarded. A golden palm strike was unleashed, landing right at Master Jiankong’s chest.
Dark red blood spilled from Master Jiankong’s mouth and nostrils as the strike sent them in the air flying backwards. Their body almost tumbled on the ground, but with some last minute movements of the feet and legs, the landing was not completely graceless.
The golden palm print still burned on the pale gray flesh, making a sizzling sound and releasing light smoke in the air.
Master Jiankong roared, waving all three arms and each hand making a different hand seal. A screen of dark smoke formed behind him. A few moments passed, a face manifested on it. It was the face of a human-like creature. Horns above the temples, mouth wide open as if it was crying and laughing at the same time, and two fangs protruding from the upper jaw.
“Yakshas WERE demons, but they repented and are serving the righteous path.” Master Liaoran shook his head: “If you truly aspire to achieve greatness on this path of yours, you ought to see that as well.”
“Nonsense!” Master Jiankong swung all three arms forward, three concentrated streams of smoke shot from the Yaksha face’s eye sockets and mouth. Two bloodshot eyeballs and a forked tongue with three prongs were at the forefront of the three streams of smoke.
Master Liaoran grunted and cleared his throat. He crossed his arms gently before him and rocked his shoulders with a pulse of Qi. A ring of golden light exploded from him. The eyeballs and the tongue exploded the moment they made contact with the golden light, and the three streams of black smoke began burning short like three ignited fuses.
But before the flames on the streams of smoke could even reach the Yaksha face, Master Liaoran had already made it right in front of Master Jiankong with his fists glowing in golden. Two fists thrust at the shoulders of Master Jiankong.
The three-armed master tried to block the attacks with all of their arms. Thick black tar hardened around every inch of the arms, like a layer of armor.
The golden fists crashed into the claws and palms, like a speeding truck into a house of glass. The black shell crumbled and exploded, and the pale gray arms were thrown back at the three-armed master.