Fatherly Asura

Chapter One Hundred and Sixty - A Wind from Four Horizons

The first personal disciple stalked, and the second trailed at distance. Of Bingai’s words - their Master’s words - little was spoken. A nod between brothers, whispers and calls to duty.

Celebration, after all, lay in the domain of the aimless.

In small exchanges Fu’s greetings continued, a “Forgiveness,” for those of cold demeanour, and a “Might I intrude,” for those that warmed at his approach. The disparity between Sects, between Empire and creed, this proved inconsequential against the one shared fact.

These [Constellation Seeds] were peerless.

“The Jade Leaf Sect shares their welcome.”

“This humble Blue of [Imperial Realm 666] shares her welcome.”

“My [Dao] take priority, cripple. Leave we disciples of the [Cherry River Pilgrim].”

In the hall of hundreds, Fu marked less than twenty to possess the treasures his Cloud Gathering Division sought. But the musings on their nature came swiftly, if not without aid from his [Intermediary Wisdom].

“For all that is known, Gao Fu,” mused the Old One. “If [Foundation] holds rank, and [Core Formation] holds its four upon the [Primordial Constellation Gate], then might [True Lord Realm] not hold their own?”

“[True Lord Realm], unrevealed. Why show gales to a man knowing only a draft. Why show an ocean to those that sink in saucers?”

“Just so. Conjecture is no truth. Yet, what treasures are reaped from the [True Lord Grade]? No disciple has yet added one to their Path.”

Fu contemplated this.

A question for their absent Master.

Then his thoughts of duty lapsed, for rumbling overcame the [Trial]. Once more this tower spread its warning, sparking a flame in all who still lingered. The exodus thereafter was swift, for what more might be gained from waiting?

Those of visible uncertainty stalled across from a [Demonic] wall of the same. Trepidatious warriors each side of the doorway’s reach.

Weak.

Or so the sentiments of all souls hoped.

In the hours since Bingbai’s ascension, Fu had commanded his disciples to do the same. Some had, and some , in scattered order.

As he now did.

History repeated, not in the form of an [Asura], but of another. No, this [Demon’s] [Bloodline] was not of four-armed might as they; not the feminine charm of the [Rakshaka]; or the grotesque, natural form of the [Yakshi].

He that roared spittle-threwn challenge now was borne of the [Pishacha]. A brute of engorged, muscular form, three times the width of Fu’s shoulders and as many heads taller. If an unkind man, the word fiend might well have escaped his lips.

This history came by way of grunt, where gargantuan hands came to rest upon the [Pishacha’s] own hips. Soon followed by a raucous laugh. “You of Winter, of eight-armed beast and pincered friend. The Dao so calls me against you, what will you answer?”

Fu lowered his douli. “What might I answer, mighty [Demon]? Fools walk blindly, and the wise turn crisis into opportunity. If our [Dao] are to meet, what benefits would come?”

The meek remained here, spectating this talk. Disdain showed for the conversation between eternal foes.

“Cowards refrain from exposing their Dao. Ba-hah, not I. A Dao of Prideful Victory and its weight. Of my hammer. Crushing bone and pulverised flesh. This is your benefit, no? Hah, I see in you wind and gusting, a cold breeze is all I predict of you.”

Murmurs rose from this insult.

A high bow followed, silencing them. “The [Dao of Prideful Victory],” Fu nodded. “Gratitude, noble [Demon]- noble soul of the [Pishacha], if this is how you might be known. In fairness for your honesty, my [Dao] is of what you speak.”

“You have the way of it, foe,” he bellowed. “What matters is not the challenge, but of overcoming it! Never have I made dust of wind, and my blood seethes in anticipation.”

Shuidi has taken the [Demon’s] measure, fledgling as her experience was. His [Gu Core] was of higher equivalent to their own cultivation, and yet, the [Dao of Wayward Breezes] had grown impatient.

“An honor then,” said Fu, suggesting the [Demon] go first.

????

The golden spokes delivered [Spring], and his foe’s insight proved novel.

Atop the platform, against balustrade and the arena’s expanse, the [Demon’s] manifestation reached all. It held a weight akin to the [Dao of Pooling Rain], or that of his prior [Dao of Suffocation]. An area subjugated by [Profundity].

A [Dao Field].

Fu marvelled as gold flocked to each corner like a wash of [Intent], and his peripheral insight into the [Dao of Crushing] made known what transpired.

“Dao of Prideful Victory. The battered plate of anvils, that which shudders before the coming blow. My foot, first upon the battlefield. I name it thus, the density of coming weight. A first blow, created in Spring.”

Gold drew across all corners, morphing the floor into that of a forge’s implement. A metallic, battered surface that quashed the breath in Fu’s chest.

But where this differed was plain.

Before the [Dao] conjured singular. gust for his [Dao of Wayward Breezes], or one droplet had his [Dao of Pooling Rain] arrived - now the arena’s entirety possessed aspects of the [Pishacha’s] will.

Akin to a thousand blades against his one.

Hushi signalled with an arm, matching the subtle clack of Shuidi’s pincers.

With eyelids shut, he touched the flow of air. Light, and full of potential. Yet so too filled with the [Demon’s] power.

A trial. For when his will manifested it was against a turgid oil, and his [Dao of Wayward Breezes] faltered.

Fu inclined his head, teasing fingers through the air. Qi held no place in this contest of [Dao], thus did not spill forth in aid. Here he commanded his [Spirit], weaving [Insight] like threads across a sodden tapestry.

Strain burdened his temples, refreshed only by beading sweat.

His efforts touched roaming drafts, seeing there the pattern they danced. Small circuits about the arena that his twitching finger nudged.

[Senses] revealed the way.

These bandying threads.

“It is the turn of power shifted. Season undiluted. Mistaken as that which is born again. The snows of [Winter] carry on to [Spring], thawed to deliver its second face. [], in [Spring], the Unceasing Motion.”

Golden winds blew, lapping this [Demon’s] anvil.

His single ribbon brushed its kin, and Fu’s control followed suit.

The [Dao Field] rose, binding each breeze that touched upon its kin. Currents of change, all beholden to his will should he wish to touch them. Fu felt them in his mind’s eye, flowing as if an extension of flesh.

Such a contest of wills came not as weight against weight. The [Demon’s] own [Dao Field] was as such- his space of mountainous pressure. Yet the breeze was no battling force, merely tapering each morsel of weight through its myriad streams.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“A martial warrior of fleet foot. It reveals much, child of Winter,” roared the coming laugh.

[Summer’s] sigil flared above.

Queer then, was the manifestation. A clash of sound. Metal upon metal, as if jian met in this gust-filled space.

“No lesser foe would award you. The pitiful should not fall within your attention. If done, treat with the haft and no head as is rightly deserved. Brutality and Martial Spirit meet only when challenge spurs worthy competition,” declared the [Demon]. “In Summer’s longevity, I name the Eternal Stalemate of an equal counter!”

The mental pressure upon these combatants suddenly abated, though each [Dao Field] remained.

The [Dao of Prideful Victory] seemed Martial in origin. Supportive of a [Demon’s] slaughter.

Perhaps the [Demon] sought such.

A pensive moment as two Martial experts might find when blades met.

Shuidi clacked her pincers, impressing a suitable aspect.

Fu nodded. “Immorality reigns, and is this not [Summer]? The age unmoving, the land sustaining. When revealed of its abundance, when all facets peak; the pebble a mountain; the puddle an ocean; the lantern an inferno. All Paths might suffer divergence. So I name second the peril of Whimsy and Discovery. Scattered winds, for no singular breeze rules when myriad mysteries remain.”

His [Profundity] focused upon the intangible.

The winds scattered, as he named, and upon them came an oscillation of this [Demon’s] clashing metals. Sounds carried from near to far, and far to near. A vexation now his [Dao] was no longer center stage.

Laughter consumed the arena.

“What know you of my kin, Winter’s child? Gu’s beloved walk not with lightning upon palm or darkness at their shoulder. The spear advances, the jian thrusts. I see the memory of a sickled chain within your wrist, the deft strokes that severed that arm. Our breath is the Martial Path, twist not your Dao in the obvious patterns I have walked since birth.”

[Autumn’s] sigil rose.

“See one scar upon a nape. The warrior’s shame. Hate-steeped wounds. One mistake imperils the focus, an undedicated heart, beset and haunted. Forlorn memory or emotions to cloud judgement, it is the warrior’s folly! In [Autumn], the land knows the fallen. I name Remembrance as engraved in defeat. The brand that extinguishes neither in death nor weakness.”

BIle rose. Metallic in taste.

Fu felt his lip, seeing his fingertips stained crimson.

An echo thrust through his stomach. Further blood welled. Both hands slapped at the jian emerging from his gut, searching as he spluttered and collapsed among a root-wrapped [Reliquary].

A blink.

Serenity cloaked Fu’s mind, and all wounds were undone. Ashed away in fading embers of gold.

Still the melody of metal sang, now pitched and close. A battle to rage wherever he might turn, as clear as vengeful thoughts.

True remembrance.

Deep weariness had set itself within Fu’s bones, as it had hazed his vision. The mental toll of this contest would have it decided soon.

“A glimpse into your history, [Demon]. Gratitude,” smiled Fu. “I will repay it, if you allow me this indulgence.”

The [Pishacha] bore demonic expression. An exaggerated show as all before him had held. Here, arch. “Yes, yes. Deepen our tethers, inscribe words of this within my memory. As a final rite, I grant you my ear.”

Once more Fu’s hand cradled his gut. No jian protruding. “A breeze blows. My fate, its cousin. In struggle I secured my Path to that of absent drifts, of ribbons to ebb and draft into the farthest reaches of wayward corners. Alongside this, I would blow without direction, pitting only my will towards the goal I so sought.”

[Autumn’s] sigil hung above, dimming as fresh motes of [Profundity] wisped beneath it.

“A warrior of misfortune,” named the [Demon].

Fu smiled. “A wayward breeze. Shaped in a crucible of others’ makings. But this is not true of wind. The essence of wind is the essence of transformation and no such force is moulded, only parted before return. I see your Remembrance, foe, and spread gratitude. For through it I recall that no ribbon remains itself: singular and static. One gust will ever touch another, becoming that which it suits best.”

Infuriation had the [Pishacha] scoff. “Wax no further, child of Winter. This speech stirs nothing in me.”

“In [Autumn], a The shape of what comes before and arrives after.”

A madness became this [Demon’s] mouth, for the laughter spilled unceasing. He thrust his engorged arms wide, summarising the area.

The manifestation of

“Fool. This game is as a stranger to you,” he jovially roared, seeing the sigil above flare to [Winter]. “Remembrance fails against a Vestige, it is One word for the same meaning. I name the Hibernation, the seclusion of a thousand moons entrenched. In [Winter], the tempering against all that leaves scars.”

Here the gold suffused Fu’s foe. A glow to radiate from flesh and pore, magnifying the strength of his conjured [Dao]. Enough to shatter mountains or reduce oceans in a single stroke, for he called upon an aspect to counter the three ghosts’

Hushi nestled into his midden, and Shuidi re-shuffled to her partner’s hanfu.

[Ink] burned.

“A lamenting wind, a dust-rich gale, heat from peaks untouched by hands. An ocean’s spray, arc-touched gusts, the frigid breath from ice-capped lands. The wayward breeze need not bend, for it recalls the history of all it might be. I name you thus, [].”

The utterance shattered the arena’s weight, driving the [Demon] to a knee. Then, a heartbeat, and one hand held him from his platform’s floor. “Dishonorable trickery!” his breath escaped.

Fu’s [Dao] ascended, and with it the [Profundity] washed. An unformed strength- a richness to the air yet to be shaped.

So vast was this that even unformed it beat the [Demon] down.

“In [Winter], the cold that comes in certainty. A cruel wind, atop which rides a scream to remove heat from memory. The Glacial Wind.”

One such scream came, and all became ice.

????

[DAO ASCENDED]

[Dao of Wayward Breezes] - [Dao of Four Horizons] [Third Pool]

[Insight] +70, [Control] +70, [Senses] +50, [Push] +20

His peach followed.

[Insight] +40

Yaoguai did not lend his aid over the door’s threshold. No gifts were offered but that of a cursory glance from those that occupied this fresh lounge. But even these cultivators and [Demons] returned to reflection in moments.

A slight haste reflected in their motions.

Fu wished to mirror this, or to call a cessation of the [Trial] that he might test all he had accumulated during its span.

To ascend three [Dao Principles] was a feat he could not easily replicate. The contest here, the aspects one must adhere to… another recipient of his gratitude.

The doorway to ascension caught his eye.

But he shook.

In firm agreement with half of his partners, he crossed the lounge. Pipe in mouth, the scene was surveyed.

Kang Jae, the meek cultivator of the Western Clear Sky sat unharried, only shrinking at Fu’s approach. There aside him, however, was a concern to draw better attention. For in idle conversation sat Mridul, a broken daughter at his side.

“[Asura],” called Mridul.

In the hall’s thin population, it came loud. [Demons] of this same name snorted, perhaps justified in their outrage.

Was slaughter allowed within these [Trial’s] halls, surely visceral paste would be the carpet upon which he tread. So he went, extending his greeting. “Honourable Mridul. Master Kang,” he lowered. “The [Trial] proves trivial for you, I see. A pleasing sight.”

“Master Fu Gao,” nodded Kang Jae, fervently. “It is- yes, the [Trial] has allowed me through. Heaven’s pity, more so than… skill.” His head swept as a pendulum might. “The cultivator Zhu… he does not accompany you?”

“The plum-eyes? No, friend Kang. That brusque cousin of ours yet labours, I expect,” laughed Fu.

The timid cultivator brightened. “Oh, that is…”

“Fu Gao,” said Mridul, tasting this name. “A simplicity for the Fatherly [Asura], no? One might not choose their titles, for this is forged by the hearts that witness their actions.”

Cold anger washed through Shuidi.

“Mridul. If we are to speak on simplicity, then I know you not by your own title,” smiled Fu. “I am a man, as you are. More need not be said.”

Sands slowly sifted about the man’s unconscious daughter, some effort of [Life Qi] at work within the great [Spirit Whale’s] sands.

Heat crossed the glare between Mridul and Fu.

“If… if I interrupt-”

“” smiled Fu.

“ordered Mridul.

Kang Jae shivered.

With a puff from his pipe, Shuidi warped the mists. A circuit completed about the four, instilling a [Silence Array] to mask this meeting from prying ears.

“For your daughter to ascend this far as she is, Mridul. A wonder. Her [Dao] must be peerless for one so fresh upon the path of cultivation.”

The [Foundation Realm] youth barely stirred, her chest, rising in disharmonic breaths.

“My [Dao] carried her, Fu Gao. This [Trial] need not be taken alone. Wish it upon the tower, and the Emperor’s grace will allow you to take another,” Mridul replied.

“The Emperor’s grace?”

Mridul’s face hardened. “A better course would be to leave insult from injury, no? My mind has circled for many [Seasons] now, contemplating further the nature of these realms. That I might name [Imperial Realms] in truth, and you, [Mystic Realms] in another. No man sees all, Fu Gao, but I do not think myself blind.”

Softer words than Fu had expected. Never would he lower his guard, and yet he set his posture open. “Beliefs are your own, friend Mridul. Do I sit here to contest the truth of our Empires, or for another cause? To me, these subjects matter little.”

“Do serpents not blind as well as Empires?”

Shuidi impressed her dislike of Mridul’s knowledge, for their allegiance had not been revealed to him.

Kang Jae shuffled from Fu. “A serpent,” his eyes widened.

“A Cherry River commands awe in all that witness it. The noble Numbered of the [One Hundred and Eight]. One Sect of fists instills loyalty to palm and knuckle alike. It matters not the allegiance, only the strength of one’s belief. I say that no matter my creed, my ears are open to these words, Mridul.”

The Imperial smiled. “Words woven well. Were the moon and sun ever to meet, the peerless blue of Clear Skies and the nobility of orchid… I would have enjoyed your company, Fu Gao. Few treat with civility these days, no?”

“A folly of youth, perhaps,” Fu smiled, setting his attention on the daughter.

“Yashodhara, my daughter,” Mridul presented. “In blood, and no more. My Empire- My Emperor, these were the guiding lights for two hundred moons. My [Spring] dawn to seek and serve. I knew not of her birth.”

A rarity of disdain surfaced. Hushi’s [Spirit], now a turbulent thrum that the [Clouded Ghost Arts] barely contained.

Quivering words broke. “Master Mridul, I-”

“Peace and forgiveness, Kang Jae. I require your presence,” he continued. “Duty ensured my absence, for fifteen moons passed until our first meeting. The two hence… I am a stranger to my blood, and her actions as thus are no thing to be challenged. Yashodhara is my [Spring’s] dawn. Yet my mistakes have not shown it.”

Fu’s estimation of the man twisted. “In choice, did you neglect her? When offered, was duty taken first?”

Resignation crossed the Sun Demon’s face. “Need you ask?”

The boundary mists of Fu’s [Array] trembled as Kang Jae was caught shuffling against them, drawing both cultivator’s attention. “I…”

“Yes, it is an unfairness. Apologies, Master Kang,” Mirdul affected a grim smile. “But your involvement will aid my cruelty. Hear this, cultivator. Fu Gao is the architect of this [Trial], and the engineer of my realm’s downfall. An assassin of the Cloudy Serpent Sect. One whose head is sought by [Sixth Under Heaven] himself.”

Kang Jae paled. “Please, Master Sun Demon. Venerable… I- What bearing has this on me?” Then he rounded on Fu. “These secrets, Master- they-”

“On the [Dao], Kang Jae, you will swear. These very words I have spoken, you will share them if my daughter’s life is to end. You will share them upon your dying breath, and you shall share them if my life is to end by any means other than by my own hand. Do so ”

The [Trial] prevented injury, such was clear now. For the blade in Fu’s hand bounced clean from Kang Jae’s eye.

“I-”

Sand streamed from Mridul’s hand, and had means to circumvent this law. It entered all of Kang Jae’s orifices, be that eye or nostril, and birthed a scream so shrill the very [Array] nearly shattered.

“the Imperial ordered.

Fu converged his mists on Mridul, birthing naught but flaccid fumes. “Cease this. It is a trivial effort to imprison him.”

The lounge’s attention had fallen upon this scene, and many had risen to spectate further. Steps taken that had them converge.

“On the [Dao]-” rasped Kang Jae. “I swear it.”

All sands ceased, having the man crumple.

“To what end do you do this?” cut Fu.

“My Emperor tasked me with Fu Gao. To stall your rampant destruction. Here, in this [Spring]-less place, he knows not my actions. Pushes not my thoughts. Upon the [Trial’s] competition I will be cleansed and with it, Yashodhara’s future. If you seek to preserve anonymity then I will have you serve my atonement.”

The daughter stirred, her eyes rolling.

“In what way?” Fu asked, tightening the grip upon his fruitless blade.

“In the way only a father could,” Mridul snapped. “Now, bring me your smiling monk. Lest I spill these secrets myself.”