Do not equate their savagery to lacking intelligence, to tactless motions and primal desire.

Though the latter is known as truth.

Devouring. Swallowing. Pilfering. Consuming.

Their [Arts] signify such.

[Demon Scars] are not travelled by the likes of humans, immortals of beast. None might say what stands beyond.

Yet we know the strength of their arm.

Their jaw.

Their steel.

It does not wont.

And we know not the scope of their lands, or their hierarchy aside from [Gu].

Champions, and experts given rise by how vast a void one might hold.

But none would seek to, and no merit can be held in understanding beyond what truth is abundant.

Our Qi is slain for their nourishment, and this affront will be ever challenged.

“On Gu,” - A Primer of the Western Demon Front

The [Demon’s] blade entered his arm like a ragged saw, shearing through bone a flesh alike, trumping his [Resilience] to sink in the earth below. Pain went in hand with this, searing, violating and intolerable.

He felt the metallic edge score between muscles, and yank.

Though this was of Fu’s making, for his arm was a meagre tithe to pay when hedged against all he might lose upon death.

What dregs of [Might] he could summoned rolled him from his skewer, blood-wet and sopping, bringing him to his belly some few strides away. He grunted in protest, flailing his solitary, functioning arm to grasp at the dust-riddled earth.

But he heard the zhanmadao slice down for his final rites.

[Dao of Wayward Breezes].

The wind stole him in his limited concentration. No drift across a thousand li, but a stutter to deliver him only ten paces distant. Here, he gasped in ragged draws, scrambling to his feet.

“Hushi,” broke his voice. “Hushi,” he repeated, maddened. “Why can- why are you faint in my mind’s eye?”

His Bond was limp, and their connection more so. A faint remnant of the link that touched his soul at all times. Time would not allow him to inspect his douli, nor the octopus within, yet his heart cried out to do so.

The Gu has done this. What a fool I am!

His [Demonic] foe huffed his disapproval ahead. His blade lowered, the menace of his face further soured. Words passed from it in no tongue that Fu could parse. Nonsensical, if song-like in cadence.

“Coward.” No doubt. “Fool.”

Fu readed his hook- cursing when he spied it at his foe’s feet. The absence of his weapon, the banishment of his Qi, the pain, the futility of him. Should he unearth a [Dao]? Flee, and in doing so sully the civility between [Demon] and man? What would await him?

Jeering. Rage. A pursuit by this blade-wielding monster?

No. His options were not so limited.

With a settling breath, he tore his sleeve free. It exposed the teal of his bicep, the [Ink] inscribed beneath a patchwork of blood and horribly aligned flesh. The gutting where a fillet of his muscle hung loose like the yawning mouth of a carp. He took an end of fabric in his mouth, securing the sleeve around it.

“Gratitude,” he managed. “Gratitude, [Demon].”

The beast of sure intelligence inclined his head. Then its, his, perhaps, words flowed once more. Fu’s heart waivered to hear them, and the act that followed. For his foe did not launch forth with execution in mind, but interred the tip of his zhanmadao into the earth. Taking a stride beyond it.

The notions I held- of nightmare and terror.

He dismissed his thoughts, these musings that came so readily when fatigue so prominently ruled his mind. Unsure as his step was, he approached the [Demon]. One arm raised, and his [Intent] ready to spill.

“Apologies, honourable foe. But…” Fu’s energy wilted as he spoke, but he resumed after a breath. “But I cannot fall here.”

The [Demon] charged, and Fu met him. He swerved by the first fist, the second, and sixth. A set of motions from the [Stifling Stream Revolutions], his body ill-prepared for leaping, inversion and the acrobatics of his [Wind Phantom Strides].

But he could not complete his set. Not with [Bone Refinement] incomplete. The bare vestiges of his Qi still wound into spirals, and oppressed his bones with an assailing force despite their wonting strength.

So Fu put effort into the slight of motion. Half-steps without blocking or striking, edging closer into the [Demon’s] furious guard. He felt the rush of knuckles burst by, the displaced air at his back, stinging his wound, threatening to topple his weakened state.

Until he loosed his will with a close-range flood of [Intent].

The [Demon’s] blows slowed to meet it, and grunted as it conjured its own. Opposing forces of immaterial power.

A great and terrible wave clashed against Fu’s. An enormity of strength, yet one that spoke of precision and diligence. He felt the effort this beast had exuded. Its focus, its sense of the martial path.

The… youth of it.

Some reminiscence of sect disciples. Shallow, and instructed. No tempered thing.

“I am glad,” Fu coughed. “That your life seemed free of difficulty.”

His [Intent] was unlike this, and gently enveloped the other. A pool of tranquil, resolute waters that suppressed his foe beneath it. The [Demon] cringed, drawing it into a half-stumble.

[Dao of Suffocation].

There came a rasping heave as his foe impacted the ground, hands at its fleshy throat. With no hook in his grip, Fu could but watch the torment of his [Dao] infused [Intent] squash the air from its lungs, feeling his mental energy drain by the second.

So he bolstered himself, and pained his way over to the nearby zhanmadao. Lifting it, to return it through its owner’s eye.

🀧

Hushi rose limply to his chest, in half, for he had little strength to leave the cradle of Fu’s folded lap. There was a lack of luster to his teal, and the fatigue of their Qi deprivation had taken a sheen from the octopus’ eye.

“We have extracted some benefits from this [Trial], Hushi, and we now know what it is we must face.” This reassurance would not have cheered him were he to hear it, but it was all his pain would allow him to think on.

One Hundred and Three. With the gains from the [Demon], and the cultivator he previously felled. Many li from the top position, but adequate.

The [Dao of Wayward Breezes] had delivered him back to safety after his bout, where he was greeted with a mixture of responses. Muttered chastisements at his actions, open chastisement at his actions, and rare congratulations. He ignored most, exchanging only the briefest of gratitudes to those with kind words.

When one’s arm hung loose, these were no chief among his concerns.

“You were not the first fool to think their Qi stronger,” commiserated Zhu, his own foray into the battlefield lasting only one match.

Fu only grunted, intent on cultivating to mend his injuries. As it was, he could not muster even the barest hint. Either to draw from his spatial ring or to stow the unwieldy zhanmadao he had carried with him. Now discarded by his side.

Zhu studied it with muted interest, and added his own claim to the pile. A black-steel qiang of sturdy design. “Tell me, Gao Fu. Because I don’t believe it was pride that activated your [Art]. You’ve no knowledge of [Demons].”

Again came Fu’s grunt, and instead he took Hushi gently to his arms. Their link, or his [Dantian], felt raw as they absorbed the ambient Qi. “The [Air Qi] here is not in abundance, even for a realm of [Core Formation Grade].”

“Nor is the [Light Qi] a pleasant feeling,” sighed Zhu. “We’d do well to focus on our martial [Prowess]. It is an opportunity, after all is said.”

The rate of Fu’s absorption was irksome, but enough to open his storage. While not flush with treasures, the range of mundane, [Foundation] equivalent items within had grown since his looting of the SIlkworm disciples, Sect contract targets and Mohini. Herbs of little value to be exchanged, and the like.

But eagerness to reduce his debt had traded most.

He drew out a common bundle of spirit grass, aligned with [Air]. A base amount of Qi was contained within, which he felt enter him as he swallowed it whole. Dry, and unpleasant, if necessary.

Zhu conjured a flask from his own, a clay, palm sized item. “Spirit wine of your [Affitnity]. A treat I’d saved for when you had become less of a bastard.”

“A bastard?” asked Fu, eyeing the flask. If it was poisoned, for any reason, it would be of benefit regardless. “Gratitude, Zhu.”

“A tight-lipped bastard, yes. When I’d cast aside all I was to be all I am now- it was not for mirthless conversation and mute companions.”

Fu pressed the wine to his lips, and exposed himself to a staggering quantity of Qi. The taste- summarily, sweet, yet from two mouthfuls his [Dantian] was already half filled. “Zhu, this is a treasure!”

“All wine is treasure, no? But I’d sooner cripple my cultivation than gift cheaply.” He drew his own flask, assumedly of [Light Qi]. “Now, you’re in my debt. Speak on [Demons] and why you’d so foolishly granted it Qi.”

A poison in different form.

“A mirthless conversation will follow,” Fu suggested.

On his lap, Hushi became flush with teal. A vitality returned to his flesh, indicating what profound effect the spirit wine was having. But, strangely, he ceased his Qi absorption and forced Fu towards Zhu.

Impressing his impatience.

You grow tired of loneliness, do you, brother?

The second impression came.

“I had laughed at the notion of [Demons],” Fu said in reply to Zhu’s scowl. “Fables. Or beings of a world I had thought myself distant from.”

“The Four Corners Prefecture is no distant world, lest you’d mean it’s far from the Empire’s true heart.” Zhu nigh drowned himself in several gulps, emptying his flask. “Listen well, as I’m no scholar.”

Fu urged Hushi to continue their cultivation, and nodded.

“If you’d seek a history, consult tomes. But I’ll share what I know. A [Demon] is an existence of [Gu], far separate to our [Qi]. The antithesis. An opposite to the concept we hold in our [Dantian]. Creation, life, it. Something for ponderers and Daoists to name.”

“It?”

“[Gu] is opposite. But if Qi is a material, then [Gu] is a not material. An absence. Where we’d take this life- the Qi, and gather, impart, store it for improvement, [Demons] do not. They reap it, expanding their [Gu Core] in the process.”

At the moment his [Half Cloud Step] was called upon, his [Dantian] had emptied. For their [Gu] to be so profound, Fu thought them a mighty foe.

“Then Qi is meaningless against a [Demon],” he surmised.

Zhu grimaced. “Unless faced with a higher realm cultivator. Their [Gu] is cultivated on the total of Qi they have nullified, but where we Bond to gain our [Dantian], their core is present from birth. [Body] and [Spirit] are their attributes, and I’d guess some path exists for [Gu] to flourish. But this is why the martial path is impressed with such importance. It’s the very reason the [Divine Spirit Beasts] granted our [Ink], no?”

“To aid in cultivation against the [Demons]?”

“[Spirit Beasts] are attuned existences of Qi when their realms increase. Nature incarnate, where humans tread the realm between. Tethered by fleshy mortality to barely grace such a state until immortality is reached. Suitable fodder, no?”

A rumble began.

The Heavens were no doubt displeased at Zhu’s speech, yet the source of the quaking earth was not of their making.

Bronze materialised at each end of the [Mystic Realm], taking the statuesque forms they had before. Although to the eye, humanity’s was larger. The trails from each pillar, he guessed, playing no small part.

What power it gathered manifested in the conjured spear it held. A corona of white primed in the wielder’s hand, and where a wrap of gold now held.

Fu’s wound grew deathly cold, or he grew acutely aware of it. Pain, after all, granted clarity that his eyes could not, and the intensity of shuddering earth was no kindness to his wound. “A mark,” he exclaimed. “You spoke of a mark.”

“A writ for execution, enforced by [Dao],” realised Zhu. Then, he roughly searched his companion. His hands exploring each inch of exposed skin. “Your rank, Fu.”

“One hundred and three.”

“My own is one hundred and one,” he said. “Then- ah, breathe. You’ve no bearing of it on you.”

“Nor you,” Fu replied.

In tandem, their heads went to the combat. The din had ceased in terms of clashing blades and victorious cries, returning to the stampede of some hours ago. [Demons] and cultivators alike blurred, or rushed, abandoning the central battlefield and a prominent, stationary figure.

A [Demon], of bulbous form and sunset-red skin. Crowned by a halo of golden characters to signify their end.

“There stands the [Demon’s] mark,” Fu whispered, a nail scraping against his raw-skinned finger.

“Fiend!” swore Zhu, and leapt a stride forward. “It means to drag our comrades with it.”

For a being of such portly scale, the marked [Demon] blurred towards their gully’s end at no modest speed. An [Art] or physical act that had him appear just beyond the line of massed cultivators within mere heartbeats. Its intent made clear through raucous laughter.

A tide of Qi steamed forth, dealt by the arrayed force of many an expert. Yet it sputtered. The bolts of [Poison Qi], the [Dark Qi], peals of flame, all. A miasma of colour was ended at the [Demon’s] skin, lashing only superficial wounds from each element that bypassed its force of [Gu].

However, the assault kept it at bay until the spear’s descent.

As it had before, the twinned constructs delivered their spears to devastating effect. Both crashed into the ground with a cataclysmic swell of light, and the resulting explosions reduced much of the [Mystic Realm] to naught but rubble.

Devastating earth, tree and body alike. For both sides had collateral casualties. To say nothing of the glaring craters where each had impacted. More than that, the skies above shifted allegiance, and a great number of the oscillating, glowing cords soon faded from sight.

“Our numbers were caught in the attack,” grimaced Fu, rising with a grunt to approach his companion. “See the pillars, Zhu.”

“Honorless bastards. They’ve shown their face here- early. The game is changed,” he said.

A triumphant roar swept across the battlefield, loud enough that Fu’s ears rung for several heartbeats after. “Our civility has ended then.”

“Not yet. It’d benefit the losing side to maintain this act for longer. With the increase to attributes afforded by each [Hegemon’s Pillar], the tide will shift unfavourably should we charge them as one.” Zhu sent Tanshuai up high, where she gained a better look of the battlefield. “Three of our number fell, forfeiting their claims.”

“The pillars did not shift to [Demonic] control?”

“A [Demon] did not slay them. The spear did,” said Zhu. “If we’re of fleeter step when next they appear, we might claim those caught by collateral.”

Fu nodded, knowing better than to suggest that the [Demons] would not try such a tactic again. “Ways through this exist. If we keep ahead of the statue’s attack. It is a question of balancing our moves against the [Demons] and withholding the ire of our comrades. Zhu,” he paused. “I would ask you a favour.”

“Name it.”

“My cultivation is lacking for this realm, and presents a danger when I…” Hushi impressed his disappointment at the trailing words. “My martial style is a cultivation manuscript.”

The man did not blink an eye. “At [Bone Refinement] no less. A bastard of fate then, alongside tight lips. My curiosity deepens. Though this doesn’t lessen your trouble. You seek my aid in concluding your cultivation?”

“Only that you might warn me if you are to fight once more,” he corrected. “Pillars are gained on another’s death- and greed may turn as swiftly as the tide of this fray. Would you do this?”

Zhu smiled cruelly. “In exchange for answers. Yes.”

He holds my secrets in too high a regard. Why? For exploitation? Already he has Mohini and Ding’s death over me, yet he would seek more.

Yet Fu had no choice. “Some,” he said. “Gratitude, Zhu.” He walked on before any more was said, creating a greater distance to the lines of cultivators at the gully’s edge. Here, he was careful as he removed several items from his storage, summoning them well from view so that none might spy his advantage.

If such vaunted experts would even care.

Mohini’s [Qi Condensation Pills], of a grade far higher than his base [Foundation Realm] need.

“Hushi,” he mumbled, setting one on the edge of his tongue, and a bamboo chalk between his teeth soon after.

I will be in your care.