A deep red claw descended like a sledgehammer, aimed at his head. Shang dove to the side, wanting to circumvent the creature and attack from its exposed flank, but the other pincer blocked his retreat. The chaos scorpion was boxing him in, herding him into an alcove with its calculated attacks. He was quickly losing space to maneuver.
The monster was so close that he could see the tiny sensory hairs on its mandibles. With every flex of its mouth, the air filled with the scent of rotting flesh. It was enough to make him gag. He was near the corner of the cavern—walls surrounding him on three sides and the beast closing in. The heady, all-consuming fear returned with a vengeance. He shuffled back frantically, his eyes glued to the saliva dripping from the pair of chomping mandibles. In his haste, his heel caught on a jutting rock, sending him splaying to the ground on his back.
Rue sighed. I knew coming to this Midworld was a mistake. A shame. You know kid, I really had hope there for a second. Oh well, better try next time. Rue was resigned to his death, and he was right to be.
Death was glaring down at Shang. The beast was not an irrational fear but something truly deserving of it, something monstrous. Strangely, he felt his fear leak out of him at the thought. Looking up at the scorpion's cold, pebble-like eyes, Shang was comforted by the creature's grotesqueness. Here was horror in its most honest form. If death were to come, it should be monstrous. There was no pride, no betrayal, no cruelty. Images of a limp water-logged body flashed in his mind. This, at least, was a worthy way to die.
He dodged an errant blow and rolled to his feet. If this was the end, he would fight to his last breath. Shang’s right hand settled on the guard of his father’s sword and his left hand drew the blade from its scabbard in a single fluid motion.
His hands were slick with his own blood, but he held the weapon firm, gripping the braided handle with both hands. He held the blade in the second kata, arms pulled in to protect the sides of his body. The scorpion paid the weapon no mind. It continued its barrage of attacks, each blow throwing plumes of dust and rubble into the air. With his resolve set and his mind at peace, Shang felt lighter, the months of desperation and hate no longer stifling his soul. There was no need to mourn the past nor plan for the future. In the here and now, there was only him and the scorpion. Him and his enemy.
The energy of the world pulse bright in his vision. He could see the veins of qi wind its circuitous route through the air and stone. His whole life he’d been terrified of being buried under stone without air, wind, and sun. Afraid of being alone, trapped under an insurmountable weight. Cut off from the world. But stone was not some fixed unmoving monolith, it breathed life like the rest of the world.
A light breeze brushed his cheek, carrying away the putrid scent of decay. Shang sucked in a deep breath. The feeling was almost foreign. It’d been too long since he’d breathed comfortably. He could feel the qi flowing inside his body, faster and faster now, his channels expanding and contracting as the energy coursed through him. The energy left a faint sting as it pushed through his channels, leaving him alert and invigorated.
The dizziness from exhaustion and blood loss vanished. The tingling sensation of qi washed over him in waves, starting from the soles of his feet to the tips of his fingers, again and again. Like a heartbeat. He could feel the pulse of the world. More than that, he was a part of it.
The tingling left his body numb, separate from himself. He could no longer feel the coarse grip of his sword—no longer tell where his hand ended, and the sword began. Both were disconnected from him and both were part of him. The sword, an extension of his arm. At the thought, he could feel the qi transfer from his fingertips into the pommel and then the blade. The dirt around his feet shifted at a wandering breeze, whirling in a dust storm around him.
The scorpion pushed off its remaining limbs into the air as it pounced. As its massive frame descended, Shang stepped into the attack, pushing the sword along the side of the beast’s body in synchrony with the monster’s descent, using its momentum to bite deep into its hardened carapace. Foul-smelling ichor burst from the cut, drenching him from head to toe. The blade slid along its length without resistance, like a gust of wind through air. The scorpion fell in two halves, its articulated limbs twitching sporadically in its death throes.
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Shang breathed out slowly, letting the tension seep from his bones. The energy escaped him in a burst, leaving his limbs leaden and his fingers trembling. He wiped at his blood-soaked face in disgust. The black blood stung on contact with his open cuts. Since he had cuts all over his body, it felt like an army of fire ants were nesting on his skin. He sucked in air through his teeth as he tried to wipe off some of the viscous blood.
The stinging eventually dulled into a throbbing ache. He took note of his injuries. A few broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and several large gashes that would require stitching. He was a mess, but he was alive. He stared blankly at the corpse of the exalted beast—awestruck at the clean cut his sword made. The blade of his word was unmarred, without even a nick. This sword had never seen combat before, it was merely a performance piece, not a true weapon. The steel was light and untested. It should have shattered on impact with the chaos scorpion's hard exoskeleton.
Shang didn’t have long to marvel at his good fortune. The ground beneath his feet shook and his physical and spiritual vision was again blinded by pure white light. Another blast from the chimera. He did not wait for the light to dissipate before rushing toward the source of the explosion, trusting his memory to lead the way.
He skidded to a halt as he entered the large cavern. The fight had carved out huge chunks of the space, and the scent of ozone and burnt hair made his eyes water. Koyo was fighting the beast on the far side of the cavern. Something had changed about the fight. When he had left, Koyo and Bataa were barely holding their own. Now, she alone matched the chimera’s attacks blow for blow. Though Shang could barely track the movements, he could swear that she even had the creature on the back foot.
Each blow sent gusts of wind and debris buffeting the walls. Shang held his arms protectively over his head as he ran to the nearby bodies, sensing for life though their light-less forms gave him little hope. His heart fell as he made his rounds. Every Mortal Realm cultivator in the group was dead. Most appeared to have been scorched alive while others had missing appendages and heads.
Shang rushed to join the only remaining survivors. Nio and Bataa were huddled against the wall, both looking worse for wear. Bataa was back in human form. Blood covered him like a second skin. Beside him, Nio lay unconscious.
“My friend, I’m so happy to see you alive,” Bataa exclaimed. His words were breathy and lacked its usual rich baritone. His nose wrinkled at Shang's approach. “What happened to you? You smell like drake excrement.”
Shang shook his head. “Long story. I’m lucky to be alive.” Shang nearly tripped when he caught sight of the extent of Bataa’s injuries. He had been mangled. His left arm was missing below the elbow, and his knee was twisted at an impossible angle. The whole right side of his body was caved inwards, his ribs shattered, and the left side of his face had been ripped off, leaving a hole large enough to see through to his molars. Shang gulped down his rising bile, his eyes glued to the horrific injuries.
“Enough of that. I will be fine. I just need some time to recover. Preferably with a nice bottle of baijiu.” He shot Shang a wink, “Don’t tell my father I said that. He forbade me from ever drinking again after last time,” he chuckled. Shang mustered a weak smile. The man sure had a good sense of humor. “Besides, our work here is done. Sit here, Shang.” Bataa patted the ground beside him, and Shang bent down gingerly, favoring his broken ribs. “Look at that beauty.” Bataa gestured towards the ongoing battle. The battle was now a blur of shapes and colors. In the whirlwind, Shang could barely make out Koyo’s humanoid shape.
“To be honest, I can’t follow the battle. They’re too fast,” Shang admitted.
Bataa clasped his shoulder with his good hand. “All in due time my young friend. I trust that even as is, you can see something strange about the battle, eh?” Bataa asked. He focused on the fight, straining his senses.
When the motion stalled for a moment, he could finally make out some details. The chimera had lost its forepaw and tail yet it remained agile. Its movements looked almost rehearsed. Each action prompted an almost equal and immediate reaction from Koyo, like they had choreographed the battle beforehand. It reminded Shang of the performances he choreographed with his father. Each rebuff was too perfect, too well timed.
“It seems rehearsed,” Shang offered. The chimera roared in defiance as its attacks were immediately rebuffed. The sound sent chills down his spine.
Bataa clapped him on the back. “You are perceptive. In a way, it is. You are looking at a prime example of the Path of Violet Tears. It is the path exclusive to the Yong family. The path that won them dominion over the Eastern Continent.” Bataa paused meaningfully and leaned down in a conspiratorial whisper. “Yong-sa can see the future.”