Chapter 74 - Family Spats and Taurus's Briefly Good Day (Patreon)

It's a late submission but I think you'll find it worthwhile. Absolute fucking hell, I am really glad I slept on this a bit. Gonna be discussing a posting schedule soon, because this chapter showed me what a difference a bit of rest can do.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first hit leaves a crater and makes her leg disappear. The second hit echoes back to her, a couple kilometers away.

Kaena staggers over to where Raika’s landed, their body hunched and their eyes bleeding even as that hyper-dense cloud of Qi around them slowly decompresses from protecting them. She notices that they’re still holding the bag, with all its papers and manipulated evidence, and she can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

It takes her that long to realize she hadn’t been breathing at all, and the sensation of her lungs re-inflating from getting the air knocked out of her is enough to make her aware of the pain again.

Shes left on the edge of a crater, a fifty foot wide cut dragged across it and going even deeper, like a sword the size of a building cut into some sort of missing meteorite. The scent of Qi is overwhelming as it enters her lungs, leaving her coughing harshly even as she feels things shifting inside of her that really shouldn’t be. She hadn’t even seen them move, hadn’t seen them do so much as blink before the first impact.

Already a dozen more ring out, each impact throwing up clouds of dirt and bits of tree and stone. She can only imagine what the village must be thinking, the sudden arrival of an earthquake or thunderstorm without warning from their Imperial guardians. Which reminds her, there are still members of the Imperial army on standby back at the village, all lower cultivation than the Researcher’s they’re escorting but armed with flight artifacts that might get them here in time to interfere.

Fuck it. Can’t control everything.

Her heartbeat is still slower, more painful than before, but she has enough additional structures there now that its still beating. That’s enough for what she needs. A forceful pulse, leaving her internal bleeding a bit worse in exchange for making the Qi she has left clash against itself. Again, the conflict of unformed Qi forced into an unhealthy, chaotic “formation” in her bloodstream causes Qi deviation, the pain of it bursting and multiplying, ringing like razors all throughout her. She doesn’t let the pain distract her, sending as much of the sensation as she can into her missing leg, watching as the flesh starts to bubble and grow. She forces part of her mind to keep up, directing the growing tissue into a form as much like her leg as she can, but it’ll take minutes, and she doesn’t have minutes to spare.

Kaena’s been annoying her for a couple seconds now, and she should probably focus in on that.

“What do we do now, oh genius?” they ask her, staring at her intently.

“You!” someone yells, and Raika can’t help but hold back a groan.

The scent of unripened peach and over-heavy cream washes against her in a wave that only adds to her dizziness. Kaena tries to help her up, but being more than a foot shorter and much lighter, can’t do too much. Still, the help is appreciated as she gets mostly upright, sitting up and kinda crouching against the lip of the crater she’s in.

“Yes, me,” she says, snorting hard to get their scent out of her nose.

“Liar!” two voices scream as one, almost identical, the twins stalking towards her.

Taran steps between her and them before she gets a chance to say anything, but while they do stop marching at her they don’t stop glaring.

“You lied,” they both snarl at once, speaking in tandem. “You lied! Master Zhoulong would never do what you’re claiming, much less with some useless little backwater like this! How dare you disparage him! We’ll-”

And then Kaena steps forward, and Raika experiences a moment of dissonance.

The scent of peaches and cream remains prevalent. There are notes in it, of unripened leaves, of thicker cream, of quicksilver and ripeness, but none are distinct enough to stand out as their own scents. Instead there is simply a cloud of one Qi, one will, and it is clearly not the twins who are in the ascendant.

“Enough,” Kaena says, and that word alone has both of them look at their elder in fear.

As the thunder of battle ripples around them, their little clearing is frozen in tableau.

And then Jun Vral, of all people, steps forward.

“Stand down, twins,” he says in a quiet voice.

They both snap their heads to look at him, their ire turned from her to their would-be ally in an instant.

“How dare you,” they both snarl. “Master Zhoulong has given you everything. You wouldn’t even be cultivating if not for him, much less capable of standing like the man you wish you were.” They narrow their eyes at him, stepping forward again. “But then, you always were his favorite. What better place to stand than at his feet? What better place to undercut him from, traitor? We shall hold this grudge against you until your beating hearts are-”

“Don’t,” Kaena says softly, and again that conjoined scent flexes, and they both shut up.

“You shouldn’t claim things beyond your grasp, young ones,” Kaean says to them. “And you certainly should not act so childish before your betters.”

Both younger, peach-scented cultivators sneer then. “Oh, and are you our better, Hao Kaena, Snake of the Garden? Are you to lecture us on loyalty now, with so many of your suitors behind you and ruined?”

Kaena says nothing, but both twins pale as their Qi begins to move.

Raika can’t really keep track of what’s happening between them. Judging by some of the looks all around and the hints of Qi anxiously let off by more than one of the people present, she doesn’t think many others can either.

Then one of the twins slips, one leg seemingly going numb as they grab onto their twin for support. They grab at each other, and for a moment, as they stare up at Kaena, Raika sees fear in their eyes.

“Well,” Kaena says, “while I can’t speak to loyalty, compared to your blind devotion, I can say that whichever of our teachers taught you manners back beneath the Tree has failed fantastically in their duties.”

Neither twin moves, like deer before a bright flame.

Slowly, Raika makes her way back to her feet. The left one is more than a little malformed at this point, but she’s pruning and fixing it enough to make it functional, and it’s enough to stand on. “Well,” she says, “now that that’s out of the way. Jun Vral.”

The serpentine cultivator turns to face her, and she bows to him.

“Thank you,” she says, mask back on but only keeping her face neutral this time. “Without your aid, I couldn’t have unveiled the plot spun into place here. Your wisdom and your willingness to trust me are all that has allowed us to act in this moment.”

It’s true. It’s also putting him in the spotlight in front of everyone here, anyone who could be asked about this, cutting off his retreat. Judging by how his heartbeats pick up a bit, he knows it too. Or maybe it’s gratitude. It’s hard to tell the nuances, what with his unique body condition.

He sighs, though, so that’s a good sign.

“Rise, honored sister,” he says calmly. “You’ve made shockingly fast strides against someone you identified as an enemy only days ago. Your word has been proven to hold weight, though we shall see if the death of Zhoulong fits the timeline you have created.”

She nods, rising from the bow. “More than fair, senior brother,” she says. “Though in truth, at this point, I feel my faith is best placed not in myself, but in the violence and foolishness of sect squabbles and hidden cruelties.”

She walks over to him, standing a bit closer than strictly necessary and making sure the twins are watching. “In the end,” she says to him, quietly; “there’s still a lot to do. But I did say I’d kill him, and I’m a woman of my word.”

Jun Vral raises an eyebrow at that, the movement distinct on his too-pale skin. “And how do you intend to follow through on that?” he asks. “As far as I can see, your plan so far has been to lead Honored Researcher Taurus, who surely has his own reasons and merits for this confrontation, into a fight he may not win. What, then, could possibly convince you that you are somehow in control here?”

Raika smiles.

“Who said anything about being in control?” she asks. “I’ve got patience and opportunity. All we need to do is find the right moment in the chaos.”

“We?” he asks.

“Yes,” she smiles. “We.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taurus can’t help himself but smile. Wide and vibrant and happy, and the more enraged Zhoulong gets, the more he smiles.

Three days. Three days with this absolute tail end of a screaming, incontinent pheasant. It’s a miracle he lasted as long as he did.

That’s not true, necessarily, he’s endured far worse, but he just can help but feel overjoyed in this moment. It was a good excuse. Clearly fabricated in a rush, and not by someone experienced with plotting, but that almost works in its favor, giving the unveiled “plot” something almost like a hint of authenticity that would be missed if everything lined up perfectly. There’s no doubt in his mind that Zhoulong absolutely did not support the corpse-smith, as they’ve been calling their most recent target for acquisition. But given his rumored proclivities, it wouldn’t surprise him that Zhoulong had tools similar to what would be needed for these sorts of procedures, and the fact that he is here, interfering where he shouldn’t be, is just another stone atop the burial mound.

Most of what he’d said had been insults, thrown out to make Zhoulong react, to make him throw the first blow. But the truth of the matter is simple; everyone knows what Zhoulong does. Everyone knows what he is, and everyone knows that he flouts the Division’s authority whenever it pleases him, so long as he can find a new toy to play with.

What amazes Taurus, really, is the fact that Raika found a way to use all of that so quickly.

She’s proving to be a good investment, even at the price he’s paid and the things he’s done. It might have taken months, maybe years to finish outmaneuvering Zhoulong properly. His interference with another Researcher’s projects, his flagrantly breaking quarantine between research groups, and his untoward interest in the corpse-smith are all useful tools Taurus had planned to use anyways, but to use them now? It’s not ideal. It pushes things forward far too quickly. Frankly, it’s reckless and a gamble, both on her part and now on his.

But by the gods, the hells, and everything in between, is it good to plant his fist in the smug bastard’s face.

Zhoulong reels back, a slight stagger in his step, but he refuses to slow, unleashing his Qi in another dizzying burst of attacks. His presence saturates the air with a chilly sensation, his own home-brewed cultivation technique far more intricate than Taurus’ and refined to a razors edge. He can feel his opponent cycling Qi, draining it freely from his Dantian, keeping little in reserve.

He fights like someone used to overpowering their opponents, with the razor-thin edge of his technique or the weight of his cultivation.

Taurus has seen much, much worse.

Keeping a tight grip on his own energies, he circulates exactly as much as he needs through his meridians, boosting his body enough to allow himself to dodge by only centimeters. The blasts of Qi cut open the world around them, Zhoulong’s strange manifestation of Sword techniques more than capable of cutting neat, sharp lines against trees and stone alike, but finding no purchase on the air where Taurus once stood.

He blocks the punch this time, Taurus’ fist crashing into his defenses even as he cycles harder, boosting his body with a heftier dose of Qi and using artful, precise movements to move from one form to the next. His eyes are focused and glaring at Taurus, but his stance is still impeccable, his bull-headed use of Qi juxtaposed against pristine movement and martial stances. Something from the Academies no doubt, prizing efficiency above impact or flair.

Taurus snorts.

He grabs Zhoulong’s arm midway through a punch and breaks it.

To his credit, Zhoulong doesn’t scream, doesn’t even seem to react to the pain, simply unleashing another of the incredibly fine, surgical applications of Sword technique at Taurus the moment he slows. Threads of Qi wrap around the limb as he watches, an incredibly detailed control of it resetting the bone and forcing the limb back into place, keeping tight to prevent bleeding.

They are beyond the point of dialogue here, but still, Taurus almost wishes he could pause the battle and congratulate his opponent on his masterful technique. The amount of fine control and Qi dexterity to do such a thing must have taken years of study, and Zhoulong is already using both arms again to launch further cuts against the world at him.

It’s a good technique. A fine technique, one difficult to heal from with how cleanly the altered Sword techniques seem to cut even Qi as they swing, disrupting Taurus’ sense more than once.

It is, however, only one technique. The other, then, would be the way he has puppeteered his own limb and kept it whole. Beyond that, Zhoulong uses barely any movement techniques besides some (admittedly efficient) boosting of his natural abilities through raw Qi usage, uses his aura and presence to muffle blows rather than a true defensive technique. He does not summon elementals, or craft impossible wounds, or skip through time or rip Taurus’ blood from his body with a gesture, or even use a Dao.

Taurus can’t help it. He sighs.

The sight makes Zhoulong’s eyes bulge, the next round of slashes intersped with kicks and punches that crack the earth, that rumble in the air around them. He throws a dozen blows, flowing through martial forms of precision and utility.

Taurus dodges it all. The joy of getting to fight Zhoulong, as much as it still rages with the imminence of defeat and the humiliation of his foe, dims a bit. Zhoulong is no warrior. He reeks of a scholar, through and through, of someone who has fallen into his pursuits and interests to the detriment of his own experience.

Taurus wonders for a moment, what he wouldn’t give to have a true battle again. A fight against someone worthy, on an open field, free of childish grudges or political tricks.

Such things are not to be, he knows. Not anymore. The reminder, as he casually blocks two blows and dodges another cut against the world, is stark and painful in this moment of joy.

Still, bittersweet joy is all he has nowadays. It’s good to enjoy it as much as he can, while he can.

For just a moment, Taurus lets go of some of his control.

Where before there were trees, now there is a field. The splinters of what stood here litter the ground and are blown away by a wind so sharp and cutting that immediately Zhoulong’s robes are turned to rags, his skin quickly reddening as a thousand minute cuts appear on him instantaneously. The grass moves in the wind around them, and all that can be heard is the sky and the rumbling beneath the earth.

Zhoulong goes to move, goes to say something or gasp or something, and finds that he cannot. Taurus steals the wind from his lungs, makes the air so heavy he cannot move, makes the weight of the earth and sky equivalent to the weight of the Mountain until his opponent finds himself crushed beneath it.

For just a moment, he allows the chains on his Qi to slip, and manifests his soul and his Domain.

Here, he is free. Here, he is mighty. Here, his Truths and cultivation and Dao are made manifest, and Zhoulong is lost amidst the depths of his very self, imposed upon the world.

Still, Zhoulong lives, as Taurus knew he would. Even were he to push himself and manifest a Domain more fully, to extend his aura out further or to allow more depth in his manifestation, he’s rusty. He’s let it lay fallow for too long, kept his growth contained for too long. He feels the thing inside him, that which is not yet true but somehow is, the beast that is the final act of his manifestation from soul into Soul, snort and look upon him in disgust. It snarls at him, though it is not of a form that allows for such. He ignores it. He chooses to ignore it, holding tight its cage, holding tight to the Qi left inside him, that it does not move through him or grow any further.

There is indulgence, and there is foolishness, and he has no desire to join Zhoulong in foolishness.

The lesser warrior falls, dripping blood, his own Qi raging wildly. For a moment, Taurus actually wonders if he is going to manifest a Domain of his own, but though much rages inside him, he knows he is beaten, and to use his Truths here might mean that they break or are lost. Rather than put all of himself into a fight he cannot win, Zhoulong simply gathers his own Qi tight, weaving it into more fine threads and forcing it into a sort of woven shell around him, already threadbare from the wind.

Taurus takes a breath. He feels the wind against him, the weight of the world on his shoulders and in his steps, the sound of the grass blowing in harsh breezes.

And then he closes his domain once more, reeling back his Qi and with it, the manifestation of who he is.

The trees are in ruins for hundreds of meters all around, the hills and stone of this mountainous terrain remade into a flat, grass-ridden plain where none but the lowest of plants have survived. Zhoulong crouches there among them, his head down, his body wracked with cuts and bruises from the weight of the world brought to bear against him.

“I-” he says, or tries to say. “I can’t- there’s nothing that- I didn’t- you. You dare to-”

“I dare,” Taurus rumbles, voice like rolling thunder. “You have long been a stain on the Division, Zhoulong. A few treatises on the benefits of Sword techniques in medical examinations were never going to keep you free of scrutiny forever, and I have a hundred and more things I can array against you.”

“I am not guilty of this,” Zhoulong snarls, shivering but turning to glare up at Taurus. “Whatever your animal mind might think of my methods, I am not guilty of this. I serve the empire, with every cut, with every word written, with every subject understood deeper than any of you might dare.”

“That is my favorite part,” Taurus says. “I don’t care.”

“Zhoulong,” he intones, “you are under arrest for treason against the empire and seditious manipulation with the intent to harm its citizenry unduly for personal pursuits. By the power vested in me by Grandmaster Erratha, the Division of Altered Cultivation, and the Empire’s own Law, I place you under confinement, awaiting trial.”

Zhoulong glares at him. Goes to say something, and thinks better of it.

Taurus wins.

And then the earth shifts, flowing like water beneath them both, and a red-clad blur emerges from beneath the ground and bites out Zhoulong’s throat.