> Death comes for all of us. Don’t you understand this? Even Gods. Even Immortals. These are all under the inevitable executioner’s blade of Daklaon, Great Time, who has manifested upon this very world as the Unconquerable Charnel Maiden, tutelary deity of charnel grounds, cemeteries, crypts, mausoleums, and all places of death. Of accidents, of executions, of genocides, of suicides. She is there, always kind, always understanding. Then, with her Subatomic Blade, she flenses away the Phenomenal Body, and tosses you into the Interstitial. The Unconquerable Maiden is Death. And none can conquer Death.

>

> From the Treatise on the Fifty Great Emanations by Sage Asaraka

Confusion lanced through Raxri. It manifested as a slightly crooked furrow of the Heaven Dancer's brow.

What was this, now? Something new, again? Raxri's hand fluttered to Puksa's handle. Their body still ached, more than usual. No confidence imbued them, considering the stamina they had left.

The two stood in the midst of that abandoned ghost village.

The center of the village held still that corpse upon the spire.

The man was a jade beauty: skin porcelain, face narrow and angular, sharp. Eyes sharp, angular, like a tiger. Cloudy, gray, hiding intention. Lithe of frame, muscles bundled and slithering near their bones. Scars and ink lined his neck, disappearing into their robes. His hair fell on both sides of his head, jet black. Facepaint clad around his eyes: dark ink, the cosmetics of a dancer.

His beauty was a sword's edge.

His lips were supple, soft, as if he never used them. They were up in a slight smirk.

This man is dangerous, thought Raxri, lowering their stance. All things beautiful are dangerous.

The man exhaled. Had he been holding his breath? "Interesting. A survivor?"

Raxri held their stoic gaze. "Who are you?"

"A specter, a ghost," said the man. "And you?"

No merit in revealing my identity, yet. What if they were one of my hunters? One of the 108 Glaives of Heaven? "A passerby, trying to commit a good deed."

"Mmh." The man shifted where he stood. "And what good deed would that be?"

Raxri stepped back, found their foot upon the first step of the stairs behind them. "Helping this village." Keep the answers short, contrite, brief. Sweet.

"Mmh. You wouldn't happen to be... well acquainted with the way of death, would you?"

"I'm no warlock, I'm no charnel wizard," replied Raxri. It was getting hard to keep their face placid.

"Ah, but you are a Cultivator, no? An erstwhile attainer of certain transcendent immortality through Will or Compassion or Devotion."

Raxri scowled.

The man's smile widened.

He continued his sword/wordplay. "So you are..." the man's voice lilted, slightly seductive. He took a step forward, and the clouds above shifted. Raxri felt the man's Will against their own: like how two flames would meet. Roughly of the same flame, yet the man's control of his Will seemed to be more refined. More consolidated.

When the man took another step forward, Raxri grit their teeth. Their Furnace... it is stronger than mine! He expresses his aura! An opressive force, like hurricane gale winds, pressed down upon Raxri from where they were. This warrior was a stage higher than them in Cultivation Rank, no doubt. We can tussle. But will I like what I have to give up to be able to match him?

The man spoke, as if reading Raxri's thoughts: "Ah, scared, are you?" The oppressive feeling became a blade, then a chill. It cut through Raxri, and gave them visions of impending death. The blacks of the world felt blacker, the whites of the world dulled into gray. There was no light, suddenly.

The man's third-eye hummed with a low light.

"It is okay," he said. "It is time to rest."

Raxri had to get on the offensive. "Leave," they replied. "I will not tell you twice." Raxri unsheathed Puksa and pointed it at him. No thought, no thought. Raxri silently muttered the Great Compassion Mantra. I have to survive. I have to get back to Kamiro.

Akazha waits for me.

"Let us see if your actions can back up your words, shall we?" The beautiful man grinned, and then dashed forward.

Scowling, Raxri met him as he flew overhead with their initiatory attack. Blade clashed against iron-hard fist. "Hm," said the man as he hovered overhead, mid-attack. "Quick reaction time."

Raxri set their Will ablaze. Concentrating, they let their head burn with the flow of their Will. In that state of battle concentration, all Raxri's options were laid before them once again.

The man arced to the ground, and then burst forward towards Raxri again with nothing but their iron-hard hands. Raxri performed Adamantine Lightning Strikes to both strike and counter the would-be assassin's flurry of blows.

Sparks flew. Steel clashed against hands. Strike, strike, parry, parry, parry. No attack between them passed their defenses. In the end, Raxri wielded Devastating Red Hand to push the martial artist away.

The martial artist used the same technique.

Their attacks clashed, and they both flew away from each other. Well-needed space opened in between them.

The man stretched their neck. "So you truly are a cultivator. Your will... It is cold, interestingly. Most Wills are hot. Conjecture: perhaps a Will Parasite or Will Blocker prevents your true strength from flowing."

Confusion lanced through Raxri again, which they quickly banished with indignation's mace. They said: "You know nothing. Leave and I will spare your life."

The man grinned widely, showing off white teeth. "Ha! You dare speak to me in such a way, when I am your superior? Truly new cultivators forget their etiquette! Would you speak in such a way to a god? Of course not! Why speak to your better in such a way?"

"I will cut you down where you stand nevertheless."

"Tell me your name," the man said, grin now turning into a defiant challenge. "So I might find out if you can."

Raxri shook their head. They did not move from their spot: for them, it felt like it was against compassionate principles to strike first. So they did not strike. They focused on waiting for the next attack.

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"Quietude has seize you, eh?" The man dashed forward. The next instant, he was before Raxri again, fist in front of Raxri's face.

Raxri was too slow now to block it.

"Big mistake," whispered the man, and their fist slammed against Raxri's cheek.

Raxri flew back, skimming across the ground, spinning in the air, tumbling to a stop and crashing into a nearby abandoned house. The house's roof and porch groaned, creaked, and then fell down. None upon Raxri, however.

Raxri winced when they came to. Their Will was still strong, of course. But now their face was horribly bruised. They had turned their head away at the last second, so only their left cheek would be bruised. All their cultivation must have made their bones stronger as well, for other than the throbbing ache, they felt no broken skull fragments or cheekbones. Or perhaps it was the work of the tattoos? A burgeoning latticework of magickal working?

Groaning, Raxri rose to their feet, pushing away the pieces of debris that fell upon them. They walked out of the rubble, Puksa at the ready, flashing, glinting in the light. They concentrated on their breathing, meditating upon the flowing winds rushing through them, carrying their Will to where they need to be.

"You are young, yet... your Will..." the jade beauty raised his hands again. "Who are you, truly? And what have you done with this here village?"

This one's strong. They matched me blow for blow with nothing but their fists. Their empty hand art proves to be powerful. I find no weaknesses I can exploit. And agh, fuck, my cheek fucking hurts.

Do I tell him the truth? Raxri was wracked with conflicting thoughts. How were they getting out of this one?

Sighing, Raxri chose to take a risk. They said: "I've come to this village to liberate it from the sorceries of Chief Dulumnan, who held the Mindstreams of Iri Village in thrall and kept them reanimated, arising every night. The Chief Dulumnan needed to be appeased," Raxri said. They shrugged: "I suppose everyone does, in the wake of the Invincible Blade Maiden's Devastation."

The man narrowed his eyes. "So, what be you... an Exorcist? A Pureblade, perhaps? A Shaman, a Priestess, a Ritualist?"

Raxri shook their head. "Just a cultivator, as you've said."

"A warrior that has managed to quell the Chief Dulumnan?"

Raxri nodded. "I've sent them into the Interstitial, where their karma will bring them to the next world." Raxri only bore a slight familiarity with the word Interstitial, but they deemed it fair to be said here, and so they did. I will have to ask Akazha what that is.

"Interesting. And as a Cultivator, you are not afraid of the certain karma such a thing incurs?"

Raxri's heart beat. They breathed to quell it. Silence their anxieties. "I will perform austerities and rituals later. All my doing is in service of the Law and of the people. Every poison can be turned into medicine. Every thing can be used as skillful means."

"Ah so you are of the Esoteric Vehicle," said the man, smiling. "Interesting. Killing beings will weigh you down, you know."

"I do not endeavor to kill, only to protect. Sometimes, certain actions must be done. Even if I shall walk a thousand years through blistering blue lotus hell, it will have been worth it if I have saved a hundred more."

"You must have come from the monastery upon Mount Jura," said the man. Raxri did not respond. "And yet your head is not shaved, which means you did not take the vows. How interesting. An upasaka?"

"Can I ask what you are doing here? I am not here to fight, you must know."

The man straightened. "I am Batan of the Violet Lotus, Errant Knife of Night. Cultivator of Devotion to the Unconquerable Maiden, Goddess of Death. Practitioner of the Razor Hand Way, Monkey Leaping Style, and Shadow Shrike Blade Art. Cross me at your own peril." Batan of the Violet Lotus took on a battle stance, both hands flat and bladed, feet in a stable stance, one foot stretched out to be able to push and pull at a moment's notice. "Now, it would be mighty rude of you not to announce yourself either."

Damn. What an entrance. Do all cultivators need resplendent names such as that?

Raxri took on their battle stance with Puksa. Blade on their opposite blade, ready to launch, always a chambered strike. ANNOUNCE YOURSELF. ANNOUNCE YOURSELF. "I am Raxri Uttara--" and from that Batan's face already turned into a confused scowl. Raxri pushed on. They must announce themself. "--Cultivator of the Infinite Law, dancing upon the Adamant Road. Practitioner of the Whorl Hand, Light Body Technique, and the Adamantine Sword. I commit all my cultivation to loving-kindness for the entirety of the Trichiliocosm. Until all beings are free."

"I have heard of you. Whispers among the Black World... that a certain Uttara walks again. A revenant in truth. A broken one. One who has been reduced to nigh nothingness and has lost all memory. You have an epithet, you know. They Who Danced Against The Heavens."

That title. Is that not the title that Silver Wind Witch Dog called me? Was it truly my epithet?

"But based on your performance here, you have done nothing exceptional," said Batan, shrugging. "I think I will kill you and take your Will. No doubt the strength I will attain will be significant."

"The Unconquerable Maiden... who is she?"

"Death Goddess," replied Batan. "Lady of Endings, Turner of Life's Wheel. She has all in her Maw, for she is Time. And time Ends All Things. Through her one realizes that all of reality is tremendous violence. Living is tremendous violence. Being kind is tremendous violence. Now, perish softly and kindly." Batan flicked his hand in a wide arc, and shadow spikes coagulated in mid air following that arc. With a whispered mantra, the spikes shot forward like bullets.

Scowling with effort, Raxri used their Light Body Technique to flitter and dodge out of the way, but the needles were too fast. Raxri was impaled from their left shoulder and down the length of their left arm, and even parts of their left thigh. They fell to the ground, tumbling. With concentration, Raxri managed to kick themselves into a stand. They tried to move their left arm and found that everytime they moved it, nigh unbearable pain shot up that arm.

Curses. Raxri pulled out the needles and they came out easily. Thankfully, they were no arrowheads that stayed embedded within the flesh. They tried to pull each needle out as fast as possible, but when Raxri looked up, Batan was already upon them.

A ten hit combination of fist blows, ending with a kick that knocked Raxri to the air.

Puksa was on the ground.

Batan leapt up and unleashed five more blows, with the last one a heel kick sending them crashing to the dirt ground. Raxri cried out, both in pain and in surprise.

The good news was that the needles were all out. The bad news was that Raxri's bones groaned, creaked. Adrenaline and Will running through them, Raxri rolled out of the way just as Batan summoned a lance of blackness through their bladed hand and sent it penetrating into the ground.

Kicking up, Raxri loosened themselves--now covered in blood, their own. They grasped Puksa, unleashed their own mantra and hand sign, and then sent five slashes of light flying towards Batan. "Heavenly Lightning Saber!" Raxri announced.

Batan saw it coming and immediately used their Monkey Leaping Style to leap and dodge and weave the slashes, which seemed to arc and move around to follow Batan's movements. The only way Batan could avoid the slashes were to let the slashes cut and dissipate into cover: he dove behind fallen rubble, the spire, and boulder.

When the last of the slashes were gone, Raxri was already upon him, eyes burning bright, tattoos glowing dimly.

They announced: "Adamant Lightning Strikes!" Raxri unleashed a 15-slash combo, each one filled with the strength of their Will. Batan put up a desparate defense, managing to block a good chunk of the attacks, but being struck by the majority of it.

"Maiden's Tits, you're quick!" They crouched down to avoid Raxri's last horizontal strike, twisted, and then kicked Raxri into the air. Raxri managed to turn around at the last second to mitigate the damage of the kick, but the force sent them into the air anyway. "Yet, witness!" Batan of the Violet Lotus performed five hand signs to focus their Will and summon esoteric energies, and then cried: "Shadow Shrike Blade: Thousand Screaming Razors!" He outstretched his last hand sign, pointer, middle and pinky fingers outstretched at Raxri, and a myriad of black needles coagulated behind him. By stretching his ring finger, he sent the summoned myriad needles toward Raxri in the air.

Quickly! What now...! Raxri followed their instincts. Even here, they focused all of their Will--which they felt quickly dwindling--to concentrate on using Heavenly Lightning Deflection on their live hand, and then unleashing Adamant Lightning Strikes with Puksa. With those two in tandem, Raxri deflected the myriad black needles, shattering them and sending them bouncing ineffectively.

"Annoying pest!" Batan of the Violet Lotus performed another hand sign and imbued his hands with violet Will. Then he leapt up using Monkey Leaping Style with the speed of a bullet, and sliced through Raxri.

Even using Heavenly Lightning Deflection, Raxri's right side was sliced through, ripping open a deep wound.

In mid-air, Batan spun, sending another heel kick straight into Raxri's back. Raxri shot down to the ground, slamming first into one of the hardwood rubble before bouncing and slamming into the earth.

Raxri found their limbs failing them. They tried to move. The pain was so unbearable it barely registered.

This is it. The end of Raxri Uttara, once again. Why must they keep facing enemies more powerful than them? Why cannot they meet someone of same power? Raxri lamented this sad state of affairs, but there was nothing to lament in the pure blackness of no-sense.

Batan landed on the ground swiftly but lightly. Spreading his hands, he said: "An expected outcome." He raised his hand across his chest and summoned another black feather needle from his fingertips, poised to throw with a backhand. "Now time marches on. Heaven shall move without you."

He threw the black needle.