The Third Cut - Chapter 40 preview (Patreon)

“Together!” Wu Ying snarled, rushing across the ground. He no longer utilized the adjusted Wind Steps, no longer borrowed the wind to do his bidding. He could not afford to battle for the greater control of the environment. Not and save his friend in time.

Already, the monster had lashed out. Wu Ying watched, wide-eyed as the staff, reinforced and enchanted bent under an open palm push that his friend caught directly. Fingers hooked, threatening to tear the staff away, only for Tou He to allow himself to be lifted and pulled forwards, flipping himself over the attacking sweep and planting his feet on the exposed face, double-kicking the monster. The attack tore his staff from the hand and sent him spiralling backwards, even as the explosive contact of the purifying flame washed outwards and scorched toughened hair, setting some of it on fire.

Already, more and more of the creature’s fur had caught fire, exposing coarse skin and burning away at glyphs carved and growing in its skin. Lightning rushed back and forth across open skin, as though the heavens themselves were attempting to punish the monster, even as pulses of necrotic, eldritch energy poured from the metal spikes.

Eyes widening, Wu Ying felt his spiritual sense coil aside as he passed by. He knew what that sense was. Knew what it entailed. No hesitation, he twisted in mid-air and stabbed outwards, his jian sinking through decaying metal like butter. The moment he made contact, he felt the corruptive energy rush up his jian, attempting to intrude upon his understanding of the blade, of his dao.

Sinking to one knee, Wu Ying clutched his uninjured arm that held the sword with his own injured one. Joined together, blood and fluids weeping from the cracked open wound of his other hand, he poured chi down the blade. Forcing down the energy, the corruptive dao.

Not enough, the five winds. Not enough, the mortal understanding of this world. And though this energy had echoes of the wind of hell, it was twisted and wrong, having wandered off the true path. He could not take this dao into his being, not and stay true. It would twist him, no matter the power it promised – and so much power it did promise – for it was not his path.

Could not be his path.

And yet, struggle as he might, he was losing. The only good news was that his attack had disrupted the monster’s own attacks on Tou He. Now, it was his friend who defended him. That little, Wu Ying could sense through his spiritual aura, though his concentration was on the encroaching energy that crept up his jian with each moment.

If it had been his arm…

No time for regrets or further thought. Head bent low, he poured energy and understanding down it, the innate stubbornness of a peasant who never knew where his next meal might arise. The arrogance that any cultivator had to have to believe they knew better than the very heavens itself, that they could grasp a portion of the Dao itself so well that they could ascent. The obstinance to keep moving forward, no matter the examples of failures, of deaths that littered the road around them.

He poured it all in, battling the encroaching corruption, each moment losing ground, cun* by cun. Energy drawn from his core directly, energy required to feed the burgeoning Nascent Immortal Soul within his own chest. The one that one day might take its place, if the journey to become a formless wind failed; exhausted itself. Moment by moment, he eked out his survival and lost ground.

***

“Cleanse through the liver meridian, flow through the large intestine and stomach meridians energy in the eight and eleventh part. Concentrate the winds through that, rather than fourth meridian.” Phuong Vy’s voice was urgent, demanding as jogged over to him. The ground had firmed, mud having faded away as the chi that had initially created it drained away, the water drawn into a sphere that had scattered across the ground.

“What?” Wu Ying said.

She repeated herself urgently, even as she flicked a dozen hastily scribbled talismans into the ground around Wu Ying’s sword. The air burnt and crisped, the cleansing formation triggering and cleansing the spreading energy that pulsed from the metal rod.

A slight moment of hesitation, before Wu Ying took her advice. He poured energy as she requested, noticing the shift in energy that that shrunk back. That flow of energy made the fire element of the winds more prominent, reduced the wood element. Made his wind that was a mixture of both hotter.

Instinct guided his next action, as he recalled the warm winds of the south. He guided energy based off that aspect through the meridians further, pulling cold chi from the north from his arm, pouring warmth from the south down the sword. It helped and a balance began to be formed.

Balance was not enough, for he could not extract his hand. Balance was not enough, for his companion battled for his life. Balance was important, but it was also stasis. It was equilibrium that threatened to tip into failure. It was the man on the cliff’s ledge, ready to tip into the air. Or a plant, freshly cut. Dead and no longer growing, but poised for the end.

Life, existence, was not about balance. It was about growth and change, about fall and failure and subsequent rise and success. It was about learning when one won or lost. A churning whirlwind of the future and uncertainty, of regret from the past and that ever present, ever passing moment of the current.

Five winds from the corners of the earth held back the ever encroaching power of corruption, the alien dimensional energy and Wu Ying found balance. It was not enough. But there was a sixth wind, one that he had followed on its behest down south, to find understanding of and to encompass.

Balanced between success and failure, the tiny thread of heavenly wind that he had understood tipped the scales. Enlightenment, the barest thread of understanding and beneficence from a realm that demanded obedience offered him success.

He grasped at it, bent to their demands and allowed himself to be the tool they required. He fell into the wind, no longer fighting their dictates, no longer sought to impose his own beliefs. Heaven had no time for disobedience, had no time for those who sought a place outside their hierarchy. Wu Ying was but a soldier, bound to their whims, fighting a celestial battle for the worlds below.

Cold. Heaven’s wind was cold. He knew it was not truly cold, and it was not the bone aching cold of the north, where the snow never left and greenery was but a memory. No, this was a chill of a disappointed parent, the cold of unfeeling rules and regulations applied to one and all without concern for circumstances. It was imposed order, that had created canals across the entirety of the south, linking cities together and reducing flood plains, such that farmers could survive turbulent rainy months. It was the logical progression of civilization, the building of roads linking cities together and the construction of walls to provide protection.

It was neither good nor bad, just like the true hell winds were neither weal nor woe. It was a factor of life, that saw the imposition of order and the perfection of civilization, that provided guidance and wisdom and judgment in equal order.

And it did not, could not, accept the corruption. Roaring through Wu Ying’s body, straining muscles and bones and skin aside, drawn from his understanding and now, offered a true channel, it came. Tearing through his body, ripping apart the energy that had tried to impose itself and entered the metal rod. The wind cultivator began to glow, white light emanating from his body even as a wind tore through the surroundings, pushing against the physician who had stood beside him so recently, casting her talismans.

Greenish yellow frosted over, turned white and sky blue, energy bled away and froze away. In the distance, Wu Ying could hear the scream of the ape, as the heavenly chi flooded the formation. Straining the energies coursing through the monster’s body, cracking it apart further. Pushing against the energies on both end. Detached as it was, the metal rod was still part of the same formation, linked in the same way.

A door went both ways. Where it had flooded Wu Ying’s before, now the Heavens invaded their realm. Sought the breach and began to impose their own demands upon it. And in so doing, put a strain upon the monster and the initial formation.

“Yes! This will work.” Crowing to the side, Phuong Vy flicked her hand sideways and cast it upwards. The large slip of paper flew into the sky, their words ripping free from the paper such that they hung above them all. Instructions in ink and yellow paper.

In the distance, Minh Trac eyes widened. Darting from instructions to the flags he held in his hand, before he grinned wide and began to shift around, yanking some flags out of the ground, slipping others into it as he sought to finish the adjusted formation.

“I have the north!” Yang Mu, returning at last, cried out. She dashed from corner to corner, gripping and tossing formation flags as she aided the formation master. Dinh Don was already there, hands plunged into the still hardening earth, roots reaching from the ground to impose themselves upon the monster, gripping tight and hampering its movement.

In the meantime, Tou He fought it, his flames wrapping around himself and the Colonel who had finally staggered over, exhausted and weaving on her feet; but still fighting. Together, they battled the distracted ape; holding it off.

All this, Wu Ying heard, sensed. Yet, it was unimportant. For in the grip of heavenly orders, in the midst of healing, he could not do anything but stand, hand gripping sword and sword hand, pouring the energy the heavens offered him.

One way or the other, the heavens would have their way. No matter what it cost him.


Footnote

* - Remember, traditional Chinese measurement