Moz Kara’s foe used a shorter single edged sword in a full sized sheath, an assassin’s weapon. The hated Rock Mountain Mollusk sect were not subtle about their desires to take from other cultivators, or their willingness to serve as mercenaries, and the blades they wore reflected this.

Their swords were two-handed and heavy, designed for cutting through armor. They were single edged, with a thick spine to deflect attacks. His Jian, on the other hand, was a thing of beauty. It only required one hand to wield and was considerably lighter. A master swordsman such as Moz could dance through the defenses of lesser cultivators with the graceful double edged blade.

He did not know why this man in black had chosen to insult them. They had him outnumbered four to one (four and a half if Moz counted their wounded friend). Unless the cultivator was some kind of sword genius, he would be quickly cut down. But still, there was something that made the graybeard cautious.

The man in black had introduced himself as General Eric Badi, a name he was familiar with. Rumor had it that the General was powerful enough to punch a hole in the side of a mountain. Moz had heard nothing about the General’s sword skills, so he tempered his rage and started with a probing attack.

Moz moved with a fluid grace acquired over decades of training. His jian flicked towards the man in black like a serpent’s tongue. He could see it about to bite into flesh. Then, at the very last second, his opponent brought their blade up to block.

He almost winced as his sword hit their heavier blade. The edge of Moz’s weapon chipped as it vibrated in his hand from the impact. Each time he struck it was the same result, another block that damaged his blade. The graybeard quickly realized what was happening. They were trying to break his weapon, intentionally sacrificing their blade to destroy his. Moz took a step back.

The man in black let out a snort of laughter. “Very good,” he said, “You are pretty fast, but I’m faster.”

Moz went on the defensive as the man in black attacked. The graybeard couldn’t understand how a blade that heavy could move so quickly. Each blow threatened to slice Moz in half as the man attacked without care for his own weapon. All he could do was attempt to deflect the man in black’s powerful strikes, trying not to wince as his blade continued to chip. He got in a few good slashes, but nothing that would stop the fight.

“You bastard!” Moz shouted as they separated, “This sword has been in my family for generations!”

The man in black laughed as he got back into a fighting stance. “Don’t get all bent out of shape, dude. It’s just a sword. Besides, it’s not like you’re going to have much use for it after today.”

Moz felt his blood run cold as he realized a very important detail about his opponent. The man in black was moving as if he were no longer wounded. The slashes on the General’s legs and arms did nothing to hinder him. In fact, they were beginning to close up as if they never existed.

“What manner of dark technique is this?” Moz demanded, pointing at the rapidly healing wound, “Are you some kind of demon?”

The man in black didn’t take his eyes off of Moz as he replied. His voice lowered to a whisper that only the graybeard could hear. “What if I was? What if my entire sect were demon worshipers?” he asked with a cruel smile curling at the corners of his lips.

“I would destroy you and your entire sect,” Moz said without hesitation.

“Good to know!” the man in black replied as he threw his sword.

Moz didn’t need to dodge the blade. It wasn’t aimed at him. Instead he watched with growing horror as the sword took on the oily black sheen of a dark technique. The wounded cultivator tried to block the blade coming towards him, but his missing arm made that impossible. There was a brief flicker of shock, followed by resignation, as the black sword plunged into the center of his chest.

“No!” screamed Moz as the dying man’s core detonated. The other three sect members had no time to react. One second they were trying to help their fellow disciple, the next they were shredded by the blast wave.

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The graybeard turned to face his enemy. He needed to get vengeance for his fellow disciples, but his legs weren’t working. Moz’s knees buckled as he fell forward, the knife in his back having severed his spinal column. Limp fingers dropped a sword that had been handed down from father to son for over a hundred years.

The man in black knelt down beside him, not bothering to retrieve the blade he had stuck in the graybeard’s back. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Moz Kara,” replied the dying cultivator, “My name is Moz… Kara…”

“If it’s any consolation, Moz,” the man in black said, “I’ve got a friend who is absolutely going to love wearing your skin.”

***

Zane decided against watching Groucho work. Instead he sat by the cooler and sold bottles of juice to the guards who came to investigate. Daisy wanted to consume what was left of the cultivators outside on the street (and all over the walls), but had settled for the killbot’s leftovers.

The rogue cultivator said as little as possible to the city guards who tried to interview him. Captain Cerdo showed up a little later and told his people to stop bothering Zane. The young man thanked him and went back inside.

As luck would have it, the explosion had covered up Groucho’s disarming of the first cultivator. That was lucky, because Zane didn’t feel like trying to make something up to explain why his juice machine ripped people’s arms off. Somehow he didn’t think that would go over well.

Groucho strolled into the kitchen a few hours later wearing his new Moz Kara suit. He gave a twirl. “What do you think?”

Zane looked at the flesh clad killbot. “I mean, you could probably pass for a person. But it’s probably going to start rotting soon, isn’t it?”

“What? No, of course it isn’t,” Groucho said, rubbing his fleshy outer covering to smooth out any wrinkles, “This is living tissue. It even heals from small cuts and bruises.”

“Oh, good for you,” Zane said, quickly getting bored with the novelty of his friend’s new look, “But put some clothes on, I don’t think the girls would like walking in on you all naked.”

“Why not?” Asked the killbot, “Technically I was more naked before. You could see my parts and everything.”

Zane wasn’t one for philosophical discussions. “Just put some clothes on,” he said, “And don’t leave the restaurant until I tell you to. I need to go find out if Moz has other friends in town first.”

Groucho turned and left in a huff, muttering something about how clothes were unnatural. The rogue cultivator stifled a laugh as he absentmindedly tossed Moz’s essence core in the air. Some people are so weird, he thought.

***

Pinky was completely unaware of the shenanigans going on in the restaurant. She had spent the last few hours trying to discreetly track down the General. The sun had nearly set by the time she found where he was staying. It was one of the nicer inns that catered to rich merchants and nobles. Nobody besides them could afford to stay there.

The kitsune thought that was interesting. Either the General was incredibly well off, or someone was paying for his accommodations. Pinky watched him exit the building, but didn’t follow. She was here to figure out which room was his, and hopefully find something she could poison. Following a powerful cultivator through the city streets at night was not part of the plan.

Pinky changed her appearance to something beautiful, but generic, with straight black hair. Her green robes were well made, but showed no obvious indications of what she did for a living. The kitsune didn’t bother wearing a mask, her whole being was a mask.

She walked up to the counter and held out a small leather money pouch. It was tied tightly and double knotted to prevent theft. “Hello, I have something I need to give to General Eric Badi,” she said with a bow.

The balding man behind the counter bowed back to her, “Of course, I would be more than happy to hold it for him.”

The kitsune frowned. “I would feel much better if I were able to give it to him personally. Would you please fetch him for me?”

“I would, but unfortunately he has gone out for a walk,” the balding man made apologetic noises, “But if you leave it with me, I can give it to him when he returns.”

Pinky shook her head. “Unfortunately I can’t do that. This is from a very important client, a very particular client. You might even know the one.”

The man’s face flushed. “Ah, I believe I do. Well, you are more than welcome to wait here for him. I can have one of the girls bring over some tea,” he said weakly.

The kitsune wasn’t sure who he thought she worked for, but evidently the man was terrified of them. Pinky decided to use that to her advantage. “How about this, you take me up to his room and I’ll watch you put it under his pillow. That way I know he will find it, and no sticky fingers will have to get cut off for stealing from the wrong person.”

“Yes! Of course,” the balding man said as he reached back and took a key from the wall, “That would be most agreeable. Follow me.”