The Ghost King, battered and weary, was trapped on a tiny island in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by three menacing Spirit Beasts. Signs of life were fading from his eyes, and his once formidable appearance had been reduced to a sorry state.
For months, these relentless Spirit Beasts had pursued him, their efforts pushing him to exhaustion. He had used up all his treasures and depleted his reserves of restorative pills, and even the perfect body he had possessed after coming to this world was now betraying him. The Ghost King knew that he was nearing the end of his journey and faced an uncertain fate at the hands of these formidable adversaries.
Despite his battered state, the Ghost King's defiance burned brightly. With a trembling voice, he berated the three Spirit Beasts that encircled him, his anger fueling his words. "You guys must feel so good about yourselves, you dirty beasts. If it weren't for your master, you all would've died hundreds of years ago, and you fleabags dare to come at ME!?" He yelled, his voice echoing across the lonely island, challenging the very beings that threatened his life.
As soon as the words left his mouth, something emerged from the sea, its enormous form giving way to a more humanoid figure. The Ghost King watched in awe and trepidation. The creature's transformation was remarkable, from a towering 40-foot flood dragon to a tiny 5-foot woman.
She was clad in battle armor, each scale meticulously crafted from her body, inlaid with precious metals gleaming in the sunlight. Her long, flowing blond hair was tied in a neat bun, leaving only her bangs to flow about, and her piercing purple eyes radiated intelligence and power. It was clear that this being was no ordinary adversary.
The Ghost King swallowed hard, realizing that he was facing a formidable opponent unlike any he had encountered before.
"This is the end, Invader. While I was asked not to interfere in their battle, allowing these young ones to gain experience in confronting a superior adversary and learning teamwork, your intrusion into my domain and your imminent attempt at escaping now compels my intervention. Here, in my territory, Maximus' reach ends. These waters belong to me, and I shall not see an invader of Hell into my territory."
The Ghost King's heart sank as he heard the words of the formidable woman before him. Her commanding presence and the weight of her words left him with no doubt that he was doomed. Her words alone were enough to shake the walls of his aperture. She was an Ascendant!
Regret gnawed at him as he considered his decision to venture into this specific territory. However, in reality, he had no other option. The land was infested with overpowered spirit beasts now, and the Ghost Lands, as he had recently discovered, had always been under Freedom Incarnate's influence.
He had only been allowed to live on these lands because the man had been forced into closed-door seclusion following the battle against Slaughter. The kingdom he had so ardently fought to establish had crumbled overnight.
Despite his desperation, the Ghost King managed to stammer out a response. "I... I didn't know this was your territory. I meant no harm. Please, spare me. I'll return to Hell, I promise." He hoped that his plea for mercy would be met with compassion, but he couldn't ignore that he was at the mercy of this powerful being.
The dragon lady's eyes sparked with interest as she asked, "Oh? Is there still a portal to Hell within this planet? Is it nearby? My master would guarantee your safety should you directly show us the way to Hell."
The Ghost King's body tensed as he realized his mistake in mentioning a possible return to Hell. Thoughts raced through his mind. Is this Ascendant just... a disciple? Who could be the master of such a heaven-defying being?
In a last, desperate grasp at survival, he chose a path of no return. Channeling the remnants of his dark cultivation into his very core, he invoked a forbidden art, an ancient technique born from the whispers of Hell's Specter Division. It was a gambit that demanded the ultimate sacrifice – forsaking all he had cultivated, a desperate plunge into the abyss of death for a fleeting chance of escape.
An explosive power surge erupted from the Ghost King, a maelstrom of spectral fury that threatened to engulf the surrounding island. The air itself screamed with the anguish of a hundred thousand souls, a ghostly chorus resonating across the vast expanse of the ocean.
Yet, the Ascendant, a figure of unfathomable might, had foreseen this desperate act. In her infinite wisdom, she summoned the full might of her soul palace to shield these little spirit beasts. With a mere flick of her wrist, she unleashed a wave of Origin Energy, a pure and resounding force that shattered the Ghost King's deathly essence like glass under the hammer of the gods.
As the Ghost King's power dissolved into the void, his form began to fragment, his essence unraveling under the force of the Ascendant's attack. His eyes, wide with the realization of his impending doom, reflected a myriad of emotions - regret, disbelief, and the haunting recognition of his mortality.
The three spirit beasts, witnesses to this titanic struggle, recoiled in awe and terror. They had seen many battles, but none like this. Even their benefactor had never been so... Forceful. It had taken them months to chase the Ghost King down, and he had died in a mere flick of a wrist from an unknown cultivator.
The Ascendant, her visage calm and eyes deep with ancient knowledge, watched as the remnants of the Ghost King faded into the ether. This was not just a victory of strength but of foresight and understanding of the intricate tapestry of fate.
In the wake of the battle, the ocean calmed, and the wails of the ghosts receded into a haunting silence. The Ascendant turned her gaze to the horizon, her thoughts enigmatic and profound. This encounter was but a ripple in the vast ocean of her existence, a fleeting moment in her eternal journey through the realms of cultivation.
In the aftermath of the clash, something she hadn’t anticipated happened.
A solitary wisp of spirit fluttered in the distance, eluding the perception of all with an urgency born of desperation. This was the last vestige of the Ghost King's soul, a fragment enduring beyond the wheel of reincarnation. His escape was not mere chance but the result of a meticulously executed plan.
In the initial stage, the Ghost King shattered his aperture, an act akin to a star collapsing into a supernova. This desperate move was a key to unshackling his soul, allowing it to slip through the cracks of the physical realm.
Secondly, he catalyzed an explosion of the myriad souls he had ensnared over centuries – a sacrificial pyre that blazed with the agony of countless spirits, creating a tumultuous maelstrom to mask his fleeting, fragmented soul.
Lastly, he destroyed a treasure that had been imprinted directly on his soul by his master before he crossed over to this plane, causing his spectral form to be covered by a thick mist of the laws of reincarnation, weaving through the shadowy thresholds of reality.
In a fleeting moment, he shifted into Limbo, a transient haven, away from the Ascendant’s senses. Here, he expended all his accumulated soul power, or what others would call his soul stages, rendering himself as ephemeral as a fading echo and eventually being forced back into the realm of the living after traversing a surprisingly large distance.
The Ghost King's fleeting salvation in Limbo came at a grave cost. The laws of reincarnation carved onto his soul were expended to facilitate this transition. His presence in Limbo, a realm unyielding to souls bearing even a spark of life, was an anomaly that disturbed the delicate balance of the afterworld. Almost immediately, the laws of that spectral domain retaliated, rejecting his intrusion with force as silent as it was unrelenting.
Now, he was a mere shadow of his former self. Any endeavor to seize a mortal vessel was doomed from inception, akin to sowing a withered seed in barren earth.
The Ghost King, who had once reigned supreme over legions, was reduced to less than the essence of a common soul. He lingered on the brink of non-existence, a specter teetering on the edge of the void, forced to restart his cultivation. This path was not just arduous; it was a trek through the darkest abyss, starting from the absolute nadir of being.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Back on the shores of the tiny island, where the sea whispered ancient secrets, the majestic flood dragon turned her age-old gaze upon the trio of spirit beasts.
Her voice, resonating with the depth of the oceans, carried a warning laced with the gravity of eons. "Remind your master the gravity of trespassing into the territory of a council member. While our quest is to purge the hellspawn from this realm, prudence is the ally of the wise. Let him be forewarned that a second intrusion shall invoke my presence, Atlantic, at his doorstep, and perhaps the ancient turtle shall accompany me to visit."
Still reeling from the spectacle of the Ascendant's might, the spirit beasts nodded with a fervor born of fear and respect. They hastened to depart, keenly aware of the overwhelming power they had witnessed.
Atlantic's voice softened, tinged with a hint of regret. "Today, you have displayed courage worthy of legend in this fight. It is a sorrow that beings like yourselves are tethered to a master like Maximus. Should the winds of fate ever turn against him, remember the sanctuary of this island. A new destiny might await you here, free from the shackles of servitude and into the Wilds once more."
With these parting words, Atlantic allowed the spirit beasts to retreat, their spirits subdued, as she returned to her solemn vigil over her dominion. Gazing across the vast sea, she murmured to the wind, 'With Maximus back in action and the destruction of two of Slaughter's natal weapons, the drums of war have started to echo across this planet.'
The night air carried the scent of change, of a destiny being rewritten in the stars. Atlantic, the embodiment of the ocean's might and mystery, stood ready to face whatever future tides might bring. Her resolve was as unyielding as the deepest ocean trenches, her spirit as boundless as the endless sea.
With a sense of timeless purpose, Atlantic gracefully strode towards the embracing waves. As she merged with the water, her form shifted, returning to her proper, majestic, draconic form, a creature woven from the very essence of the sea. She seemed to become one with the ocean with each movement, her blue scales reflecting the moonlight like a tapestry of liquid stars.
Beneath the surface, she navigated through the depths, moving towards her palace nestled in the heart of the ocean. This underwater sanctum was not just a refuge but a nexus of ancient power, housing one of the rare portals to the Wilds, one of the adjacent realms to this newly assimilated universe. Here, the boundaries between worlds blurred, and the pulse of primal energies flowed with unbridled intensity.
Atlantic's mind was a whirlpool of thoughts centered on the imminent arrival of the hidden realm, a celestial phenomenon as rare as it was mystical. This event was not merely a moment in time but a cosmic confluence where the fabric of reality grew thin, allowing the hidden realm to disclose its arcane mysteries to those brave or foolhardy enough to venture within its confines.
Her thoughts turned to her disciples as she traversed the ocean's depths. With its seductive promise of forbidden knowledge and unimaginable power, the hidden realm served as a crucible that tested even the most formidable cultivators.
She pondered the fate of these young Sea Formation martial artists. The hidden realm offered rewards beyond measure, yet its trials were fraught with danger, a high-stakes gamble between life and the irresistible call of transcendence.
Should her disciples emerge from this ordeal alive, Atlantic had vowed to guide them to the Wilds, where they would receive instruction under her sect's elders. It was a pledge to offer them a future unbounded by the constraints of their current universe, a promise of growth and enlightenment beyond their wildest dreams.
***
Across from Tyler sat the hunter, whose rugged demeanor belied a certain depth of character, regardless of his apparent fear. He introduced himself as Jake, his voice carrying the timbre of one who had traversed many wild paths.
Clad in fresh attire given to him by Tyler, he seemed rejuvenated, a stark contrast to his earlier state. He was amazed by the power of the formation within this cave as it nullified most of Tyler's aura and allowed him to relax a bit more.
Tyler was intrigued by the subtle harmonies of the cave's formation and the materials that now composed its ceiling. Something about this formation resonated with his current predicament, a puzzle piece that might fit into the larger mosaic of his own inability to hide his cultivation.
Alas, there was more time in the future to inspect this formation and its potential use, so Tyler turned his attention to the mortal in front of him. "I assume this is much better for you, my cultivation being dispersed into the formation like this?"
Jake, whose eyes held a newfound respect mixed with relief, responded with a nod, his voice steady yet carrying an undertone of reverence. "Yes, Master Cultivator. The air feels lighter, and your presence, though still immensely powerful, no longer weighs upon me like a mountain. I am grateful for your consideration."
Tyler also nodded, ignoring that Jake refused to call him by his first name. "Great. First things first. You've been around these parts a few times now; why do you journey so far from your village in search of food? Is there a problem with your home?"
Jake's expression shifted, a hint of worry flitting across his features. He hesitated, then spoke, "Indeed, Master Cultivator. Our village, once bountiful, now faces a dire scarcity. I ventured further each time, risking the unknown to feed the village."
Tyler pondered the plight of Jake's village, recognizing an opportunity to aid and understand the delicate balance between the realms of cultivators and mortals. "Tell me more about your village," Tyler asked gently. "If I can help, I will gladly lend a hand."
Tyler, his demeanor the embodiment of tranquility, lent an ear to Jake's tale, all the while gently stroking Daredevil's head. The story unfolded like a scroll of misfortunes – over the past year, a blight had befallen their crops, rendering the fields barren, a silent testament to their despair. Once teeming with game, the forests now lay eerily silent, the larger beasts having vanished as if swallowed by the earth, leaving a radius of fifty kilometers devoid of sustenance.
The small game they managed to find, rabbits and foxes, were a meager offering to the hungry mouths of the fifty or so villagers. The path to the nearest city was fraught with perils, a journey too treacherous for them to embark upon without the aid of a cultivator.
Their lifeline, a merchant caravan that passed every four months, had mysteriously failed to appear for the last five, deepening the shadows of uncertainty and fear that loomed over them.
Most troubling of all was the absence of their village elder, who had ventured out three weeks prior in search of answers and aid yet had not returned. His departure had left a void, and with each passing day, the flicker of hope in the villagers' hearts dimmed a touch more.
Jake's story unfurled like a mournful melody, underscoring the fragile essence of mortal existence. The looming threat of famine cast a dark shadow over his village, its salvation hinging on the elder's return with essential aid. Tyler discovered his next "quest" within Jake's tragic narrative. He could always read and study formations at a later time.
With a solemn tone, Tyler expressed his grasp of the dire situation. "I understand the severity of your village's situation," he conveyed, his words resonating with a solemn commitment. "Though the roots of your village's misfortune remain unclear, the abruptness of it suggests an unnatural origin. I make no promises of swift resolution, but I swear I'll do my best."
Jake stood there, his heart a swirling storm of emotions. Amidst his astonishment, gratitude, and a fragile glimmer of hope, he marveled at the unexpected turn of fate.
He never imagined that this enigmatic cultivator, who seemed to exist in a realm far removed from his own humble existence, would extend such selfless assistance. Tyler's offer came without demands for the village's spirit grains, a share of their precious spirit herbs, or even a hint of material compensation.
In a world where every favor often bore a price, Tyler's gesture was like a rare and delicate bloom in an arid wasteland—a display of kindness that defied the usual calculations of profit and loss. It transcended the boundaries that separated cultivator from mortal, echoing a long-forgotten virtue amidst the ceaseless pursuit of power and advancement.
Finding strength in Tyler's unwavering assurance, Jake finally found his voice. "Your boundless generosity humbles us, Master Cultivator. Our village may be simple and unremarkable, but your kindness will be etched into our hearts. We may have little to offer, but know that you will forever be welcomed as a cherished friend and benevolent benefactor."
Tyler dismissed the man, his attention pivoting toward Daredevil. "Well then, little guy, what do you think was the lesson here?" Tyler paused briefly, his gaze fixed on the spirit beast's curious eyes. "Let me ask another question to you: Why did you intervene to save those young fire foxes from their own three-tailed kin?"
Tyler let his question echo in the silent space between them, a rhetorical query meant to stir deeper reflection in the cub who couldn’t actually answer back.
After allowing the unspoken answer to settle in the air, he elaborated. "The answer is rather straightforward, isn't it? You offered your aid because you could do so. You recognized that the young foxes needed assistance and provided it willingly. Even if those little foxes were to launch an attack on you, you would likely disregard their feeble attempts. There is no value in engaging with someone who cannot distinguish water from mud."
He paused, collecting his thoughts like a sage contemplating the mysteries of the Dao. "What I am trying to say is this: when you stand as the superior force, restraint becomes a virtue, a mark of true strength. This principle holds true unless faced with undeniable cruelty or evil. Take the slavers you saw a few weeks back; their strength was negligible in my eyes, but their actions crossed the line and thus warranted intervention."
Jake's fists clenched involuntarily, a storm of emotions brewing in his eyes again. The topic of slavers struck a nerve, awakening a well of memories and feelings. "Master Cultivator," he began, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and sorrow, "my sister... she was taken by slavers many years ago. We searched, but the trails went cold. The helplessness we felt... it still haunts me."
Tyler's eyes softened, empathy shining through as he comprehended the profound pain and loss that such circumstances could inflict. He had witnessed countless families mourn the loss of loved ones in war-torn regions, and the depth of suffering it caused was immeasurable. "I offer my deepest condolences for the suffering you and your family have endured," he expressed sincerely. "The scars left by such tragedies run deep."
After a thoughtful pause, Tyler pressed on, fully grasping the gravity of Jake's revelation. "Here's what we can do: I have rescued people from those slavers, and it’s possible your sister may be among them. Once we conclude our business here, you can guide me to your village, and Daredevil here can assist you in finding your way to the Dancing Winds Sect. Perhaps your sister has already found refuge there."
Overwhelmed by the weight of his emotions, Jake couldn't help but breakdown into tears. In this moment of vulnerability, Tyler offered Jake a comforting presence.
The minutes passed in silence, allowing Jake to release the pent-up emotions that had burdened him for years. Aware of the need for a subtle change in the atmosphere, Tyler broke the silence by tossing a storage bag to Daredevil. "Well then. Daredevil, why don't you fetch some provisions from the fridge and place them in this bag? It should relieve the village, at least for a little while. Perhaps it might even aid some of them in their cultivation."
A few minutes later, Daredevil returned with the storage bag in his mouth and presented it to Jake, who was unfamiliar with such a device. Despite his overwhelming gratitude, Jake remained speechless since his emotions had overwhelmed him earlier.
However, Tyler spoke before Jake could express his thanks. "Just promise to return the favor to someone one day and help out someone in need when you can."
Jake nodded.
"Good. Alright, let's get going; your clothes should be clean now. I have a village to investigate, and you have a sister to find!"