Wail-Blow floated, casting an eye down at the two fleeing figures below. “How much of this did you plan out?” His voice held no judgement; he was genuinely curious.

His companion chuckled. Junk Dog the Immense did not float; he stood on the cloud as if it was solid earth, reinforcing it through a technique Wail-Blow could not comprehend. “Almost none of it. I am not a grand strategist.” His omnipresent smile made him seem soft, disarming, to the point Wail-Blow might not notice him in a crowd if his size were any less ridiculous. “I simply saw which way the winds were blowing, and… Nudged, a little.”

Wail-Blow made a skeptical sound. The two watched Stinger-Tail the younger go from being dragged to bounding ahead of her companion, energy seeming to return to her body with each passing second.

“But you did nudge things. Why?”

They continued to watch the surface, for long enough that when Junk Dog answered it was almost a non sequitur. “A warrior cannot live without struggle. Even a hardy wild beast, if raised long enough as a pet, will lose its hunger.”

“Hmm. You have hopes for the woman, then?”

Again, he took his time answering. “I’m sure she will become a fine beast, but that was obvious from the moment she could hold a blade. No, I find the man much more interesting.”

Wail-Blow’s eyebrows climbed high. “Really? I don’t see it.” Though he couldn’t sense the man’s consumption from so far away, he could see him fighting the predators of Horrible Swamp. He was mediocre – below average, even. If there were secrets here, they were beyond his sight.

Junk Dog simply continued smiling. “Everything is one thing.”

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Lu’s room was empty, which was unusual. For the past week, the man had been seemingly glued to his vanity, only exiting for quick trips to the nearby town, or to spar and socialise at Bull’s insistence. Otherwise, he was studying like his life depended on it – and when Bull snuck a peek at the titles kept locked in his drawer, he knew that was exactly the case.

That realisation had made his teeth clench, but he had schooled his features and let the evening play out as normal. A Heart Demon was a deeply personal matter; there was little that he could do to help, and in fact mentioning it might exacerbate the problem.

So from then on he simply resolved to offer support in the best way he could, making sure Lu wasn’t deviating from himself too harshly. He checked to make sure the man was eating – something of a logistical problem, as the mortal village was the nearest source of food – and that he wasn’t getting too far into his own head.

But this was the first time he had come to Lu’s room to find him absent. So he leaned against the wall, and patiently waited. Lu seemed to be doing well, all things considered.

And as for himself… That one mission payed over a year’s worth of spirit stones – assuming I go fully into seclusion, which I won’t. So closer to three, more if I do a few missions on the side. He was basically set; just alternating cultivation, physical training, and spellwork would see him through to the core realms, guaranteed. His Path was clear; all that was left was to walk it.

Something entered the range of his spiritual sense, and he looked over to see his friend straining to carry a bag the size of his torso. He quirked a brow. “Have a craving for rice, do you?”

Lu, red-faced, shuffled in front of his door before answering. “It was- hah- on sale!”

His brow remained firmly quirked. “And so you carried it all the way back to the sect?” Shouldn’t his stipend for the months he was away have come in? He should have more than enough to have ready-made meals delivered. “Did you not think to borrow a wheelbarrow?”

Lu opened his mouth, then closed it. “It’s… Training. Yes, I was training my muscles.” His face was red from more than just exertion.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Bull shook his head while Lu unlocked his door. “Lu, you don’t even own a stove.” For all the man’s many vices, gluttony was not something anyone could accuse him of.

“Bull, I’m not a peasant. I have fire arts to heat things.”

“Lu, you don’t own any bowls. Or cutlery.”

The man waved him off. “Details! I remember cooking food when I was a child; obviously, it’s not difficult! I’ll work it out easily!” He hefted the bag – Bull was impressed, he must actually have gained a bit of muscle – and carried it into his room. “And I’m sure I know a spell that could hold water – in fact, I can think of several.”

Bull snorted, then pushed himself away from the wall. I’d better observe him, make sure he doesn’t burn all his fancy furniture. Also, this was going to be hilarious, he could feel it. I’ll let him mess around a bit, before reminding him that I have a kitchen.

----------------------------------------

He was moving. A strange force pressed against the walls of his pupa, squeezing just hard enough to lift it, and him, through a tunnel of dark stone. He could just barely see, through the thin translucent membrane, a bumpy shape walking on long legs behind him.

The shape carried him through uncountable tunnels, past a huge doorway, and down a corridor where the rock ran and dripped like hot wax. Into a room, where four more shapes stood.

He dropped, the impact sending unpleasant pressure through his body. He felt fear, but only a little; even through the membrane, he could smell these shapes were kin to him. They stood around him in a circle, moving little.

Hours passed. Gradually, he awakened fully from the half-conscious torpor of his pupation. New strength flooded his limbs, and instinct drove him to move. He pressed up against the top of his pupa, and sharp nails broke through into the open air. He kept tearing, until the hole was wide enough to fit his head, and stretched out to stand for the first time as a man.

[You are well?] He flinched, looking at each of the shapes around him. With his mind fully awake, and without the membrane in the way, things were clearer; the things surrounding him were men, though they looked strange.

I know what that means. The thought was foreign, but comforting; he had never thought in words before, not truly, but instinct guided him to answer. He breathed, then coughed, dislodging mucus from his lungs. “I… I am…”

Another breath, ragged, his lungs fresh and not yet accustomed to their purpose. “I am alive.”

His answer seemed to excite the men. He felt things brush at his mind, like cold and hot fingers. Then, a small voice, almost like his own.

[it is]

[functional]

He scratched at his ear. The voice came with emotions. Some of them it knew from when it was smaller, but some of them were new and complicated.

[tell me your name]

His face scrunched up. Did he have a name? He felt like he should, but he didn’t know it. Maybe he was supposed to make one up? The men looked at him expectantly, and he could feel the voice’s soundless anticipation.

“Name.” One of the men leaned forward, dark pits with pinpricks of light where eyes should be. “Name is…” What was his name? “My name is… Bal.” Too short. “Balam. I am Balam.”

[very good]

[greetings]

[balam]

[and goodbye]

And then the voice became loud, louder than anything he had ever heard. Balam screamed as he felt the voice press in, squeezing him. He tried to run, but the men raised appendages and pushed him to the centre of their circle. He was left suspended in the air, choking as blood oozed out from his face holes.

“Aaah! Bad!” He tried to fight, instinctually flaring the energy inside him. His body filled with strength, and he pushed against the force keeping him away from his captors. But there were five of them, and they were older, stronger; he flung sparks of energy, but they were blocked by invisible walls. He dug his toes into the stone and pushed, but the men only faltered for a moment before lifting him in the air again.

He continued to scream as the voice poured itself into him. “Kill you! Kill you! Eat your guts!” His vision went dark as he was pushed further into himself. Slowly, over the course of minutes, his struggles weakened. There was less and less room in his head, and more room for the voice.

Until, finally, Balam disappeared. He twitched as the men gently set him on the ground, the sensation of physical contact less familiar than he thought it would be.

[Grandmaster?]

He raised his head, blinking blood from his eyes. “Hmm. No, that name no longer suits me.” He licked his teeth and swallowed, the bright taste of fresh blood playing over his tongue.

[I suppose that you will return to Gestalted One, then?]

That had been his name, back when he had still had flesh. After he had become the grandmaster, but before he had become the Grandmaster. A smile stretched his face, hesitantly, the muscles subtly different from what he remembered. “No. I am a different man now.”

In his core, his stomach glowed with energy. No, two stomachs; one wrapped around the other, the inner one containing a jewel of condensed power. He raised a hand, and with the snap of his fingers a small ball of fire appeared. Then he repeated the gesture, summoning tiny balls of water, electricity, stone, and metal, each floating around his body. He went further, and more esoteric substances joined the miniature system. “Very good.”

His inner stomach digested the outer one, feeding power into the crystal. Then the outer stomach digested the inner one, drawing power back out where he could use it. I am no longer Gestalted One. I am an iteration of that being, a successor, a refinement. Words from another came to him, even more fitting. A cultivation.

“You may call me Two Worlds Gestalt.”