Son of Man
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I was born in a backwater universe. Mankind was the only semblance of intelligence. By my time they had ‘outgrown’ war and famine. Technology was at its peak and their sight was set to the stars.
First, they occupied their solar system. Then, they managed to conquer their galaxy. And finally, the visible universe. As the universe expanded at a rapid rate, colonies in the periphery were cut off from their progenitors. They had yet to crack the code for faster than light travel. And they were doomed to fail.
The seed of humanity would never blossom.
In humanity’s twilight years, they discovered another dimension. It harbored the souls of every creature that had and would ever exist.
Samsara.
The light at the end of the tunnel.
Scientists experimented with the souls of man in an effort to solve FTL travel and shatter the shackles that had festered their race for so long.
But time was not in their favor. One by one, the stars faded from existence. The night sky that was once so bright became an endless void.
They accepted their limitations
They redirected all their efforts to build a machine that would propagate their existence. A machine that would scatter the souls of their ancestors and descendants. Their final stand.
Under the rays of their last remaining star, the souls were fired through space, time and samsara erasing all life in the universe. The souls were all that remained. An echo of their past and history.
Hope.
From this miracle, I was born.
My name…
Sirius.
The last son of man.
***
Darius Continent
Blood Stone Sect
The sect had a deep history with the royalty of the Taiah Kingdom that spanned over hundreds of years. The Kingdom’s founder was in fact related to the Blood Stone Patriarch.
Every year the sect opened its gates to the surrounding territory. In previous years, children under the age of ten would sit an exam to gauge their comprehension ability.
Unlike the noble sons who could rely on connections to enter the sect, the commoners had to fight tooth and nail for limited positions.
It wasn’t uncommon for them to go missing en route to the sect. Even a blood brother could turn out an enemy.
These centuries of corruption led to the slow decline of the sect. Without talented disciples the sect couldn’t maintain its position. The Patriarch’s faction was forced to yield to the sect elders and change the examination method.
5 years ago, the examination was changed to test talent rather than comprehension. Participants had a strand of Blood Qi forcefully injected into their meridians. Most participants till date were talented.
Talented trash. Their blood vessels exploded within seconds crippling their cultivation. This cruel method angered the nobles. However they were merely mortals in an immortal’s world.
Instead of potentially crippling their progeny, the nobles sent their children to slightly lesser sects. The positions were now available to those that truly deserved them.
“Any survivors?”
“Apologies Elder Doran. Only corpses.”
The man frowned and dismissed his disciple with a wave. In contrast to his title, the elder appeared to be a dashing youth. His eyes were like sharp swords that glowed with a bloody hue.
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The elder scratched his crimson hair and returned to the lotus position. He wore a violet robe that hugged his muscles. The robe’s colour signified his position as an elder of the sect.
His breath was steady and rhythmic. With every breath, motes of red light would coalesce under his navel. A blood red core rotated in his Dantian, absorbing the mystical energy.
Elder Doran’s humble abode reflected his minimalist inclination. It lacked furniture and size. There were a few antiques on display, mostly gifts from the other elders. Only a battered dummy stood upright in the corner of the room.
A small girl’s shadow appeared by the doorway. She tiptoed towards the glimmering Qi-Gathering formation. Her footsteps were inaudible to the common chump. A predator eyeing its prey.
She could now feel his cool breaths brush her skin. She halted and clenched her hands into a fist. Her eyes narrowed and her breath steadied.
Her tiny fist radiated a crimson light. With a shout, she threw her fist at the elder. But her paws never reached him. It was blocked by a similar red tainted layer encasing his body.
“You failed again.” A smile crept across his face, but his eyes remained close. His Dantian continued to rotate and absorb the red motes.
“Come out, let’s play!” the girl pouted at the elder’s disregard. She repeatedly threw her fist at the elder’s head with no success.
“Please teach me the technique!” her eyes grew teary. She was only five or six years old. Unlike the elder, her robe was blue. She was an inner disciple.
“Your cultivation is beyond trash Peanut. Your fragile body can’t handle it. And how many times must I repeat myself, only a fool shouts when attacking.”
“But—“.
“Ellie!” he reprimanded.
Elena aka Peanut scowled, shedding the facade of a vulnerable child. She knocked over a ceramic antique, the shards shattering throughout the room. A fragment ricocheted off the elder’s cheek cutting off a lock of Elena’s azure hair. She left indignantly, scattering the hairs with a forceful kick.
Throughout this commotion the elder remained seated, like a monk in eternal meditation.
Although he berated her, he was quite proud of this disciple. He was so proud that he refined his previous disciples into blood pills to aid her in cultivation. One talented disciple was enough.
“Clean up this mess,” the elder ordered. A red slimy creature manifested itself from the floor tiles. It oozed its way to the shattered jar. The creature swallowed the fragments and disintegrated them into minute particles before returning to its original place.
Silence. Only the hum of the cicadas were audible. The optimal atmosphere for cultivation.
“Elder Doran!” an outer disciple barged through the door. He wiped the sweat off his brow and knelt with his head bowed. His gelatinous belly spilled over his belt kissing the cold floor. The chubby fellow had beady eyes and reeked of decay. The dirty brown robe suited him perfectly.
Elder Doran frustratedly clenched his fists. The red motes halted in their path.
“This better be urgent,” Elder Doran glared at the disciple. A quiet bloodlust filled the room. This was the second time he was interrupted. And by trash at that.
“Th-there is a survivor!”
Throom!
The formation’s light dulled and the red motes ceased to coalesce. Elder Doran stood up and walked past the ball of lard placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Next time you disturb my cultivation, I’ll feed you to Peanut.”
“Spare me Elder!” the fatty begged. His body trembled in his grasp.
Patting him on the back, Elder Doran walked towards the Examination Hall.
“Elder, he’s in the morgue!”
Curiosity flashed in Elder Doran’s eyes as he pivoted towards the catacombs. His stride seemed normal, but a great distance was traversed with each step. A master of movement.
The rotund disciple brushed the dust off his clothes and whispered under his breath, “There will be no next time.” He adjusted an obsidian ring on his little finger which flickered dimly.
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The sect was founded on mountainous land. The tallest mountain peak was the residence of the patriarch and his faction. The elders lived on the surrounding peaks with their disciples. Outer disciples received no personal guidance and lived at the base of the mountains where the density of Qi was low.
The catacombs were located underneath Death Peak. The disciples of this peak refined corpses into zombies. The weakest zombie could follow simple commands. On the contrary, the Peak Elder’s strongest zombie could fight toe to toe with Elder Doran himself. It was cowardly but effective.
Elder Doran approached the entrance to the underground cemetery. The two zombies standing guard gave a cursory bow. They appeared human, but their ghostly skin told otherwise. The refining process could halt decay but not reverse it.
The stench of rot tickled the senses, yet Elder Doran marched onward seemingly unaffected. Drops of water fell from the tips of the icy stalactites. The tunnel was illuminated by veins of glowing ores that coursed its walls. These ores were rarer and far more valuable than gold. But what was gold to one that defied the heavens.
Elder Doran walked past several openings. They lead to the residences of the lowly outer disciples. These fledgelings were merely at the Qi Condensation stage. Most wouldn’t reach Foundation Establishment.
He disdained the Death Peak practitioners the most. They were weaklings that hid in the shadow of their creations. Some deviants even practised dual cultivation with the rotten corpses.
Elder Doran suddenly halted at a diverging path. He quickly read the signs etched on either side of the tunnel wall. The hem of his robe fluttered slightly as he started towards the left path. The sign read…
Morgue