The Third Cut - Chapter 41 preview (Patreon)

“Hold on. Just hold on…” The words were urgent, sent through threads of spirit chi. Her words were a whisper on the wind, barely heard by the recipient for he was no longer a person alone but a conduit. A pathway for a higher power that poured their wrath and orders.

Caught between worlds, sword embedded in carved and corrupted iron rod that was gateway to another dimension, Wu Ying’s form wavered at the edges. Wisps of smoky wind floated away from his form, were drawn back by iron will before reforming as mortal flesh and blood. His skin dissolved and split, flesh and skin and bone disappearing and reforming as his mortal form was sublimated into his element to better carry the demands of those above.

The Seven Winds cultivation technique that Wu Ying studied was incomplete. Its creator had never managed to reach the Heavens himself, even with the understanding that he had wielded. And Wu Ying was but a poor student.

For he was missing enlightenment on the hell wind entirely, barely grasped the heavenly wind that overrode him now. He could not balance the demands of those above with the stubbornness of those below, and so was but a puppet. Rather than making the element part of him and thus subject to his commands, he was becoming the wind; a portion of the greater Dao itself.

What then, was the need for a human form in such cases? What need for human wants and needs? The seductive whisper of enlightenment and nature itself threatened to unmoor Wu Ying. Each moment, his ego and self was robbed of their edge, their true form. He could become the wind, and in so doing, achieve his ultimate goal.

Immortality.

Of sorts.

In becoming the wind, the man known as Wu Ying, farmer once before, mere peasant at one time, now cultivator, gatherer, swordmaster would have vanished. The wind had no need for past nor future, no necessity for mortal demands or goals. It blew and it changed the world, but it was also as immutable as the sun, as formless as water. By joining the wind, Wu Ying would end.

Wu Ying fought on, to hold onto himself, pitting his will against the heavens itself now.

In the meantime, a new formation was built; a new method to achieve victory was created. The ape raged and burnt, Wu Ying wavered and faded, and the formation was implanted. But formations took time to create, time to adjust.

A blow sunk Tou He half into the earth, his staff bending again. A deep cut from a dao, crossing one leg and travelling up the thigh, opening a wound near a metal rod. Lightning jumped, striking the blade, rushing upwards to shock the Colonel, its demands for purity indiscriminate. The cultivator struck the dirt and lay a distance away, lightning racing across her body and through her core.

Dinh Don was by their side, wielding two shorter machete-like blades now made not of metal but wood. He cut into the creature, the blades humming with infused dao understanding and his chi and where it struck, it parted scorched flesh and iron-tipped fur with equal ease. Blood flew through the air, poisonous and caustic and in their falling, left the ground smoking and tainted. An acrid, nauseating aroma arose from the earth and the rotting flesh and open wounds of the ape, choking the fighters if not for Tou He’s aura.

A shriek from above, a flicker of movement passing by all too fast. Blood blossomed in the air in its passing. Sao Choi acted now, its own opponent consumed, the creature wielding wind and compressed air against the ape but never seeking to touch it.

Beset on all sides, the ape was still acting. Blows were exchanged between opponents, cultivators and beast alike striving for victory even as lightning arced between all, fire burned and cleansed and gale winds swept the surroundings. In the distance, vegetation burned and was uprooted, the very earth scoured from the ground and bedrock found, the temple half-destroyed by attacks that were dodged or deflected.

A backhand blow was narrowly avoided, Dinh Don ducking the attack, a breeze ruffling his hair as he did so. Realization arrived too late for the scout, as the swinging backhand was but a set-up for the foot that followed. It caught him in the chest and lower body, throwing him away as bones cracked under the assault and his body catapulted out of the clearing.

“Nearly there. Just hold the monster!” Minh Trac cried.

He no longer tried to emplace the formation flags exactly, instead dodging from side to side to cast them into the ground. Dozens of them already sprouted across the clearing, an inner line forming a simple protective casing to protect the true formation on the outside as the battle continued.

Yang Mu on the other side mirrored his actions, though alterations in chi flow, the lay of the land and even the ambient magic required her to emplace formation flags in different places. Unlike Minh Trac who carried the formation flags in his hand, she only pulled them forth when required, wielding a fan in the other to deflect the occasional glob of earth that the monstrous ape managed to cast in her direction.

Most of those were intercepted by Phuong Vy as she floated in the sky in a circle of talismans. From one storage ring, a continual flow of yellow talisman papers appeared. Waving her hands, she orchestrated the movement of the talismans, intercepting attacks of opportunity the creature wielded and occasionally sweeping the monster back to the center of the formation in a flood of quick burning talisman papers.

All this, Wu Ying sensed and more.

He felt the billowing in the creature’s lungs, the thread of air as it breathed. He felt the shift of space and air as the group battled, the concussive effects of blows that threw up mud and leaves all around. He knew, if he could just grasp the edges of understanding of wind and air and space, he could wield it like a weapon.

Form gale strength winds to throw monster aside, create a spiral of wind that could lift it into the edges of the heavens, even bring a stillness to its lungs and choke it to death.

Wu Ying knew, if he could just grasp it, he could aid his friends.

And they needed it.

The last remaining cultivator, Tou He fought on. A mistimed dodge saw a leg break. Only stubbornness and a cultivator’s ability to control their bodies kept the broken bones of a leg together. A successful block saw the creature shift its aim as it rebounded, crushing fingers of one hand as it passed.

He fought with valiance, with courage and skill. With obstinate stubbornness of the unyielding mountain. But he was losing against the ape, even beset by lightning and heavenly chi, by talismans and gripping roots and rising water.

He fought on, alone.

And the formation masters, Yang Mu, Minh Trac, they would not finish in time.

Clarity returned to Wu Ying amidst the chaos and agony of existence as he glimpsed an upcoming future. His friend would slip, miss a block, be crushed.

Without any to stop it, the ape would ignore the talismans that were but a distraction, it would Wu Ying and scoop up the melted and burnt rod. Free his jian from it, return it to his body and finish the battle.

For all their efforts, for everything that they had done, the creature was still too strong.

They would lose.

And knowing that future, knowing that his friends would fail and fall, it was the simplest thing in the world to give in. To allow the heavens control. For his body to go from mortal to immortal; to breach the gap of formless wind.

It was the easiest thing in the world, no more difficult than changing ones mind and heart.

***

A sword clattered to the ground. A body disappeared. A woman screamed.

Wind swept around a burning flame, growing in strength and speed, swirled around and around in a cyclone as it approached the target. It caught the creature as it swung meaty hands, corrupted and alien limb leaving trails of eldritch greenish light behind.

If the formless could scream, it would have.

Instead, the wind sped up, slowing limbs, energy torn from the skies and borrowed from the flames. Debris caught in the storm tore at exposed limbs, wind filled with ice and shards of frost with an edge like a sword’s blade flensed skin and eyes and fur alike.

High above, corrupted skies and air was peeled apart as the cyclone grew ever wider, as the flames taken from dragonkin cultivator were poured into them, forming a cyclone of fire.

In so doing, it opened a gap such that the heavens could, finally, see without hindrance. A column of flame and wind that signaled those above and guided their actions.

Heavenly disapproval arrived.

It struck, tearing through cyclone and flame, through sentient wind to corrupted being. It struck without mercy, without hesitation, enforcing its dictates. Lightning, blue and white and yellow, brighter even than the heavenly disapproval of ascension. Burning away that which did not belong.

Once, twice, thrice.

Bolts of lightning the size of a tree trunk launched downwards, white light so bright that those mortal cultivators below could only shield themselves. It tore through it all, and a mortal-being taken immortal form was torn free from its mooring and cast aside, chastised for daring to be so forward. Nearby, another mortal whose flames had fed the cyclone was blasted away as well; collateral damage now that it was no longer needed.

Under heavenly assault, the corrupted ape roared defiance. Skin burnt and flames crisped bone; metal rods melting under the intense heat. The creature was driven to its knees and then collapsed, a charred corpse filled with metal attached to alien arm.

As suddenly as heavenly disapproval had arrived, it faded. Human chanellers no longer present, the clouds of corrupted chi rolled back, hiding those below. Silence descended on the surroundings, as stunned cultivators stared at the fallen body.

Silence so deep that the fall of leaves, the cracking of cooling sand and the slow, heavy beat of a heart reinforced by demonic dimensional energy could be heard. Stuttering, stopping, but slowly regaining strength.

Not done, not finished, not yet.

Even as the fighters lay on the ground, senseless.