135. All That Power (V) (Patreon)

That night, Dorian climbed into his cot in a foul mood. Lots to deal with. Lots to think about. And he only had two weeks of prep time?! But all this was fodder for tomorrow. For now, sleep.

He’d put his body under an immense amount of stress. First there was the Tournament, then the breakthroughs, then the total qi depletion… his brain felt like it was about to leak out of his ears. Thinking felt like wading through mud. Even gods needed rest, to say nothing of mortals.

Sleep came for him slowly, fitfully.

His dreams were more fitful still.

Cultivators rarely dreamed of their own accords, especially as they grew stronger. Gods almost never did. To a god, a dream was always a sign. Something had disturbed Fate—or someone was sending a signal when all other means of contact failed them. To the high-level cultivator, were usually bad news indeed.

So when Dorian found himself staring at a void of crackling static, he groaned. What now?

An image, ghostly and shimmering, flickered in the air before him. Is that…Old Man Fate? Dorian frowned. It was! That bone face, the wispy, straggly white beard—but why were his eyes so wide? His mouth hung open, as though mid-shout?

“—Orian!” cried Fate. He sounded like he was shouting from very far away. “Listen —fully! You m—“

His voice cut off. In its place was a burst of high-pitched noise. “What is it?” said Dorian with a frown. “What’s happened?” Fate was a fool, but he was no idiot. Fate wouldn’t contact him like if something wasn’t up. This had to be serious.

And given Gerard’s message and Nijo’s threat—you could forgive a man for being a little on edge.

“—you to return! Now!” Fate shook his fist. “—need—fallen—retreat—“

The breaks were growing wider, his figure lighter, his voice farther and farther with each syllable. Now Dorian could hardly distinguish him amid the noise.

“Is it that Jez fellow?” snapped Dorian, frowning. Come on—give me something!

Alas, with one last incoherent cry Fate faded out, and Dorian was left in the dark once more.

Shite.

***

Dorian sat bolt upright, blinking starlight out of his eyes. Shit! He had to assume the worst.

The worst being that this Jez fellow was making far more progress than anyone—even Fate—had expected.

Could this blip on the multiversal map really devour the middle Realms? Or was this even worse? Of Fate’s contacts of the elite Godkings, Dorian ranked among the last he’d call. He knew Dorian’s nature. If he was reaching out now… was Jez on the verge of threatening the Upper Realms?

Dorian frowned. It hardly seemed conceivable! Not since Thurin the Conquerer millennia ago had he heard of such a thing. And Thurin’s factions were plagued by infighting—this was what happened when one empire tried to govern something as wide as the entirety of the Middle Realms. By the time he reached the doorsteps to the Upper Realms he was all but spent!

It was—if only logistically, if for nothing else—nigh impossible for Jez to really pull of something actually threatening.

…Right?

Dorian got to his feet. Whatever. If something that truly concerns me occurs, Gerard will find a way to notify me.

So Fate and company were having a tough time holding back Jez. And by Fate and company, Dorian assumed Fate and five other Godkings. Godkings were by their natures a very individual sort; they were empires unto themselves. Getting them to work together —especially under the direction of another—was a fantasy.

Come to think of it, even five might’ve been optimistic…

The Godkings might not be swayed individually. But if anything really threatened them as a collective?

Jez would find himself staring down dozens of the most powerful creatures ever to exist in the Multiverse. To conquer that great mass was something even Thurin dared not imagine.

Which was all to say that, all things considered, Dorian didn’t really need to worry.

He shrugged. Sorry, Fate! But I won’t be dragged into your petty disputes. You understand.

Besides. Even if, by some mad miracle, Jez did reach Zenith—

Dorian’s precautions made him maybe the most impregnable Godking in the Multiverse at present. The Unstuck Space was tied to the very core of the Zenith Realm itself! Forget the hordes of Godkings standing in Jez’s way. Forget the nightmare of managing a huge inter-universe Empire, and keeping all the factions within in line. On the basis of the Unstuck Space alone, Dorian wasn’t sure it was even possible to threaten him right now. Even Dorian wouldn’t know where to start.

He blinked. Nice! I seem to have talked myself into not giving a shit.

Humming, Dorian slipped into a sleek wyrmskin coat, pulled on some gloves, and made for the door.

Fate could deal with that nonsense on his own. Dorian had more pressing matters to attend to.

***

“Behold!” said General Bin Heilong, sweeping his arms out grandly. “The newly formed Stick Unit One. As of now, the most elite battle unit in the Azcan military!”

He turned to Dorian, his thin mouth pressed in a satisfied line. Not quite a smile, but by Bin’s standards this was ecstatic.

Before them, drilling in a training field of flat sand and stone dummy targets, was two dozen Heilong Soldiers. Each of them held a Stick. Each of them was mean, fit, and eager. Each of them was at least Peak Profound.

“Not bad,” mused Dorian. “If they’re to stand up to the Ugoc, they’ll need to be quite proficient with my Sticks.” And that’s only to stand up to the Ugoc’s basic forces! Their Sky Realm beasts I’ll have to deal with personally.

Dorian winced at the thought. It was absurd to even think about in his current state. But he had two weeks—and he was himself, after all! If anyone could pull this off, frankly it was him.

First things first, though, the footsoldiers. It’d make his life a hells of a lot easier if these soldiers could fend off—even drive back—the Ugoc ground troops.

“How far have hey come?”

“Hmph! Don’t you worry. On that front we are well covered indeed!” Bin cleared his throat.

“Attention!” roared Bin. The soldiers went stock-still. “A demonstration is in order! Show Io here the fruits of your training.”

“Aye!” boomed the soldiers as one.

“See that target?” Bin thrust a gnarly finger at a stone pillar in the distance. “Strike it with a Thunderbolt!”

“AYE!”

Dozens of thumbs hit dozens of buttons. A storm of lightning shattered the stillness of the air, crackling in a giant web of blistering yellow across the field. Dorian had to duck to avoid being struck. There was a screeching, a chorus of yelps, the smell of burning and smoke. And then a silence.

Half the soldiers were twitching on the ground. The sands of the training ground were streaked black all over, sizzling with flimsy wisps of smoke.

The stone target, meanwhile—not a spot on that craggy pillar! It might’ve been the only thing on the field left untouched.

“….”

Dorian looked over the scene once, end-to-end. Then he looked it over again, just to make sure he was seeing correctly.

… Oh, Saints. We’re all going to die, aren’t we?

Bin coughed. Dorian glanced at him, and nearly fell over. The general’s face was totally black with soot and singed hair. He blinked slowly, mouth half open.  “That… hm!” He coughed again. “Err. As you can see, we still have some ground to cover. But I assure you, we shall be more than ready when those bestial scum call on our doorstep!”

He thumped his chest. “In two moons’ time, they’ll be in fighting shape. I promise you that!”

“Two weeks.”

“Pardon?”

Dorian felt a little queasy. “I have it on very good authority that they shall be here in two weeks.”

“…Will they, now?” Bin wiped his face with a forearm. Under all that soot, he’d gone deathly pale. “Hm. Hm! That is rather… inconvenient.”

Dorian was already walking away wide-eyed, as though in a stupor.

“Halt! We’re not done here!” cried Bin. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Dorian glanced over his shoulder. “It has just occurred to me,” he said slowly, shaking a little, “That I’ll need to grow, ah, an order of magnitude or two stronger if we are to survive this thing…”

He paused.

“So I’m going—how should I put it?—fishing.”

***

Father Zacharias dropped a heavy tome on the table. “This is the Ten Thousand Holy Words of Jez. It is of critical importance you study them, for they form the foundation of our faith! Only with a deep understanding of each Word can you be truly ready to—“

“Nope.” Kaya yawned. “No reading. Get to the punching!”

“Ah, yes. A common reaction among new recruits.” Father Zacharias smiled patiently. “You shall soon learn, I fear, that in order to run you must first walk. Here, that means making reading a priority. Nay, a habit! For only by learning Jez’s teachings can you accept his powers in full.”

Kaya frowned. “Can’t read. Don’t know the letters.”

“Then I shall teach you.”

“Do you want me to beat you up?”

“…”

She yawned. “Fists. Now! Or I’m leaving.”

“Impudent girl!” sneered an acolyte nearby. “I was much like you when I first joined. Impatient. Hot-headed. Foolish. But soon I learned that—hrrngnggh!”

That last bit came when Kaya gave him a hearty kick to the nuts. He fell over, whimpering. She gave Zacharias a side-eyed look. “I’m getting bored! We doing this or not?”

The Father swallowed. “Very well,” he said. “To the training rooms, then—”

***

The training rooms floors were made of some tightly bound straw, the walls a deceptively firm gold foam. Strange bone pillars were scattered about, holding up a low ceiling.

Kaya had been here an hour and had gotten one punch in. All that fighting spirit, no way to let it out! She felt like her head was about to pop.   “She’s not a complete neophyte. She’s touched on Jez before,” said Zacharias, standing to the side. “Treat this as a review. I’d like her to ground her instincts in theory.”

“She’s in good hands, Father. I’ll do her right!” The trainer was dark-haired, handsome, tall, about her age, and far too handsy. “The first step to harnessing Jez’s power is to grasp for the truth within you.”

He smiled, patting her on the shoulder. “It’s somewhat obscure. Don’t sweat it if you don’t get it! Most don’t manage consistent summoning until a few moons in.”

Kaya frowned, batting the hand aside as it wandered a little too close to her back. “Grasp for the truth? What’s that s’posed to mean?”

Father Zacharias spoke up. “It means, simply, to be yourself. Most of us go through our lives unsure of who we truly are. We put up fronts. We delude ourselves. That is not the essence of Jez.”

He held up a hand. In an instant, his fingers were wreathed with silky threads of gold light. “Jez exhorts his followers to grasp for what makes them truly them! For only then can you reach the innermost space of your soul, and seize the fragment of Jez’s within you. Only then can you claim it for your own.”

“Huh,” said Kaya.

He snapped his fingers, and the light vanished. “For that is the mission of Jez. To liberate the masses! To let empower every spirit to live out its truth, no matter how small—“

“If you try to sneak in another book lesson, I’m gonna beat you up.”

“…” Zacharias coughed uncomfortably. “Why don’t you try it out?”

“And again. Don’t worry if you can’t manage a gold spark,” said pretty trainer boy, coming in closer. He’d gotten so close she could smell his fishy breath. “These things come slowly. It can take years of soul-searching to discover who you are. I, Shirou, am among Jez’s most talented young disciples—and even I— “

He held up a hand, and a weak goldlight flickered across his palm. “Even I haven’t managed to summon more than a palm’s width.” Kaya blinked at it. That’s it? I thought it’d be bigger.

“Indeed. It took a decade of hard practice to summon Jez across my whole body,” said Zacharias.

“You see, it isn’t enough simply to know who you are,” said the boy with a tinkling laugh. His other arm was creeping over her shoulder, again… “The hard part—the part most everyone never fully manages to do—is you have to accept it. Make it a part of you. Get so deeply in touch with it it becomes you...”

His hand was swooping down her lower back.

“Shirou…” said Father Zacharias, a note of warning in his voice. Even he was getting twitchy as the boy’s hand crept lower.

“Yeah, I don’t get it,” said Kaya, pouting. “Literally not a single word either of you just spouted made a lick of sense!”

“I’m sure it’ll come in time…” whispered Pretty Boy. “I’ll help you.” His hand went past her waist.

She pivoted. For an instant her leg lit up with a furious, blazing gold shine.

Zacharias gaped at it. Pretty boy gaped at it. Then she punted him in the nuts.

The boy’s eyes bulged, his mouth hanging slack. Then he made a long, whining hrngggggggggg sound, dropped, and curled up into a shivering, whimpering ball.

Kaya turned to Zacharias, grinning. “More!”