by Aaron Oster
Motes of red light floated up in the air as the ax-kick landed, driving through the technique and forcing the fake Hermit’s own hands into his chest. The man’s eyes bulged as the force of the blow buckled his ribs, as well as the ground beneath him.
He stepped back, then spun, his hand flashing out and catching the fake Ferry by the face. With a shout, he drove her down, slamming the back of her head into the ground and shattering both the stone and her skull. Lightning-like Qi crackled across the fake Ferry’s body, even as she thrashed, trying to escape as he continued to exert downward pressure.
She was tough, her claws raking upward and slashing at his chest, leaving deep gouges in the hexagonal plating that had sprung up around him upon activating his Full-body technique. The Speed Strike was Roy’s ace, the most powerful technique he had at his disposal. Although his Power Shackle, the Full-area technique, could trap many more people at once and affect a much wider area, in terms of sheer, destructive force, his Full-body technique couldn’t be matched by anything else he had.
Roy’s arm flexed as he drove his weight downward, and with a scream, the increased strength lent to him by his technique finally won out. The fake Ferry’s head exploded with a sickening crunch, blood flying up to splatter across the shield covering his face.
He vanished in a flash of gold as the fake Aika and Hermit both tried to strike him from behind, appearing at Hermit’s back. Roy pulled both fists back, planting his feet, then drove them both into the center of his spine. A bubble of force expanded quickly with a massive boom, then Hermit’s body bent double the wrong way, blood spraying from dozens of wounds.
As the Hermit projection fell, his eyes wide and now effectively paralyzed, Roy’s stiffened fingers slammed into his back. With an almighty flex of his muscles, enhanced by the technique, Roy tore the false manifestation of his mentor in half.
As though in slow motion, he saw the glowing tip of Aika’s staff moving through the parted halves of Hermit’s body, trailing Light Qi and aimed straight at his eye. Roy growled, a deep, animal rage threatening to overtake him as he reached out and grabbed the staff with his bare hand. The Light Qi ripped at his shielding, tearing through it in seconds, but Roy ignored that, yanking on the staff and jerking the fake Aika forward.
With a yell, his hand flashed out, fingers forming into a blade as he punched straight through the fake Aika’s chest, destroying her heart. Roy tore his hand free, breathing hard as his technique died down, and along with it, went his bloodlust. He felt suddenly sick as he watched the corpse fall to the ground, her eyes wide in horror.
“Wow,” Geon said. “I mean, I was hoping you’d finally stop letting them beat you up, but that was brutal. I’m so proud.”
Roy staggered as he felt the pain come rushing back. His vision began to fuzz again, his legs wobbling and threatening to give out on him.
His Core, mostly depleted, pulsed then in an almost painful contraction that made him wince. Roy reached up, clutching at the area over his Core as it contracted again and then again. His body locked up, going rigid as the small bead of Chakra he’d managed to forge began to flow out while Roy felt more of that very same power flow in from the outside.
He vomited then, blood-tinged blue and gray liquid pouring from his mouth in a disgusting wave. Pain flared from the tips of his fingers and toes as his nails were torn off, the same color blood pouring from them. All of the cuts and bruises on his body began leaking as well, shoving out red, green, white, and black.
Roy couldn’t move as golden Chakra burned through his channels, making him feel as though his body were being melted from the inside. At the same time, Chakra from the outside settled onto his skin, seeping into the leaking cuts and bruises.
Roy wanted to scream. The agony was worse than anything he’d ever felt. The bloody cascade exiting his mouth prevented that though, and even when it finally stopped, leaving him covered in the gross stuff, his jaw remained locked in place, preventing him from making so much as a sound.
His skin prickled and tingled as the Chakra sank in and his cuts and bruises began to fade rapidly. From the inside, the Chakra had finally run through his channels and was now seeping into his internal organs. The Chakra from the outside sank past his skin now, bleeding into his muscles, nerves, and tendons.
The agony was horrific, as his organs were flooded with the foreign power. Blood began leaking from the corners of his eyes, nose, and ears as Power Chakra leaked into them. Roy’s vision flashed gold for several seconds before the power moved on, washing through the rest of his body.
Just when Roy was wondering if the pain would ever end, the Chakra finally stopped. Then, in a rush, it all pulled inward to his Core. Roy screamed, and this time, the sound came out. His Core expanded, pushing to the boundaries of what his body should be able to contain, then deepened. Pure, golden light settled near its very center, deeper and richer than ever before. It continued to condense there, doubling, tripling, then quadrupling in sheer capacity.
Finally, it settled down, allowing Roy to collapse to his knees, sweat pouring from his brow as he panted. The phantom feelings of pain continuously ran through him like miniature electric shocks.
His Core still sat in his center, but it now stretched the confines of his ribs to either side, reaching his collarbone at the highest point and nearly to his waist at the lowest. He still didn’t understand the physiological components of how the Cores functioned or how they interacted with his organs, but the massive size of the sphere now sitting inside him could not be denied.
Additionally, his capacity had skyrocketed. Roy gazed down, and through hazy eyes, he saw the Purple of his Belt being burned away, only to be replaced by a solid Red. As it reached the ends of the Belt, he expected to see a few Dans form there, but to his surprise, nothing at all happened.
“You seem surprised.”
Roy looked up with a start to see the Spirit of Power standing before him once more, with a small smile on her lips.
“Um, yeah, actually,” Roy said, leaning back on his knees to meet the Spirit’s eyes. “I was expecting to grow a bit more, what with how much power I had stored up upon entering the test.”
She reached out, poking him in his abdomen, right at the very center of where his Core now lay.
“In case you didn’t know this, Red-Belt Cores aren’t normally this large,” she said, her voice still oddly playful, like a child who was hiding a secret and doing a very bad job of it.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Roy asked, narrowing his eyes.
The Spirit giggled, hiding her mouth behind an upraised hand, but didn’t answer his question.
“Every Martial Artist runs up against their first serious wall here,” she said instead. “Getting past Base Red will be difficult, and most never manage it. But I have faith in your abilities to continue growing.”
She leaned forward then, and Roy was surprised when she placed a kiss on the center of his forehead. An electric tingle ran through him as the Spirit of his Path made contact, her lips feeling more like a shock to his system than anything else. She stepped back a moment later, two darker golden patches on her cheeks.
“I expect I’ll be seeing you again soon,” she said in a singsong voice. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
Then, she vanished, her body disappearing in a flash of light and leaving him to wonder what the hell that all had been about.
“That felt nice,” Geon said, his voice sounding oddly dreamy.
Roy jumped, having not heard the Core speak since his advancement.
“What?” Roy asked.
“That Spirit’s power was so amazing,” Geon said, his voice still dreamy. “So, so rich and full. Like the perfect blend of everything a Path is supposed to be…”
“You got all that from a kiss on my forehead?” Roy asked skeptically.
“Well, you humans never do get any of the nuance, but that’s fine. Your feeble mind cannot comprehend the depth and awesomeness that is the
Spirit of Power.”
Roy just sighed, getting slowly back to his feet. It was only then that he noticed that the platform he was on had floated back to the original — the one with the gate — and had stopped there, giving him a clear way out.
He looked down at himself, wincing at the state he was in, covered in blood, gore, and who knew what else. He couldn’t smell himself, thankfully, but had a distinct feeling that Aika wouldn’t be so lucky. For the first time ever, he sort of wished he were on a Water Path so he could clean himself up.
His eyes flicked to his hands, which looked remarkably better than they ever had before. His fingernails had grown back, only now, they seemed to contain an odd sheen, as though covered in a layer of something. He slid his fingers over them, but they didn’t feel any different.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the muscles in his wrist and forearm responding. He twisted the limb this way and that, trying to see if anything had changed. Any scarring he’d once had seemed to have vanished in that extremely painful advancement, but aside from that, he couldn’t really see any of the physical differences.
He closed his eyes then, feeling for his Core and noting how very empty it seemed. Aside from the dense sphere of glowing gold at its very center and the little Qi he’d had remaining after his multiple fights, his new Core, some eight times larger than his last, looked woefully empty.
“Are you just going to stand there all day looking at yourself, or are we going to leave?”
Geon rudely interrupted his self-examination, tempting Roy to punch himself, just to see if he could hurt the pest within. He had regained his original strength by taking his old Core into himself. Why did Geon need to remain? Why couldn’t his old Core have just overridden the annoying ex-Dungeon Core and given Roy the peace he’d been craving?
“Hey! I know you can hear me!” Geon said. “Even if your squishy human ears have issues, I know you’re awake enough to hear me. That is, unless your squishy human brain has finally melted…Roy, has your brain finally melted?”
“No, Geon,” Roy sighed. “My brain has not melted.”
Then, to prevent the Core from continuing along this line of conversation, Roy stepped forward, walking out of the test and back into the Dungeon, where Aika was waiting for him.
7
“We lost the Sandstone Spires to the east just a few hours ago,” Inu Pelata said, his tone bitter. “The central-most part of the Windblight is now in enemy hands, and our forces are being pushed back as we speak.”
“They’re already starting to threaten other borders,” Mizumi Tokei added. “We fear that if they keep pushing, they’ll start spilling into the surrounding lands.”
Herald Duncan sat in his thronelike chair in the main compound of Mountain Moore. He’d been hearing one bad report after the next over the last couple of weeks. Their victories had been few and far between, and now, the Sovereigns he’d forced to bend to his will were all giving him a load of bad news at once.
Representatives of all Seven clans, now firmly under his control, sat in lower seats around the room, each speaking in turn. His eyes flickered over the remaining Sovereigns gathered there. Besides Inu Pelata and Mizumi Tokei, Sora Ame, Itachi Ikari, and Kuren Nami were in attendance.
Sanshoo Kumo, the new leader of his clan, was not yet a Sovereign and therefore had not been invited to this briefing.
Additionally, others who’d joined him were busy with their own assignments while Hermit was off who knew where. Then again, Duncan mused it might be better if he weren’t here right now. Ikari, his sister, still seemed pretty sore about being forced to comply with their demands, and they couldn’t exactly afford to lose any Sovereigns.
“Do we have any good news?” Duncan asked as Kuren Nami opened her mouth to begin speaking.
Duncan looked around, but none of the Sovereigns spoke up. It seemed that there was only bad news all around.
“Can anyone tell me why we can’t seem to win a single significant victory between the Seven Great clans?” he asked, his voice containing more than a little exasperation.
“Because you’re keeping our hands tied,” Sora Ame, the highest-Dan Sovereign, said sourly.
She was a large woman, covered in dense muscle. An 8th Dan Gray-Belt sat around her waist, declaring her the strongest of the gathered five. Had it not been for the solid Black-Belt around his own waist, she probably wouldn’t have been so subdued, letting everyone — himself included — know what wastes of space they were before storming out in a rage. Now, she merely sat there, glowering at him.
“I’ve already explained why,” Duncan said, folding his arms. “If we engage our most powerful fighters in the middle of a battle, the enemy will send their Sovereigns to counter. We cannot risk losing our most powerful fighters.”
“Is that why you’re cowering in here while your men die out in the field?” Ikari snapped, her tone sharp and voice harsh.
Duncan stared at her evenly, seeing the challenge in the woman’s eyes.
“Do you believe yourself to be a more capable leader than I?” Duncan asked, his voice smooth and unbothered. “If so, you are free to challenge me for my position. Hell, you may all feel free to attack me at once. But I do have to warn you that one of you will lose an arm if you do. You’re too valuable for me to kill you outright, but crippling you shouldn’t hamper your ability to fight too much. So, what will it be?”
For a few tense moments, Ikari continued glaring at him. Then, with a huff, she stood from her seat and stomped out of the room, leaving inch-deep imprints in the solid stone of his floor that some poor soul would need to fix later.
This was followed a moment later by the splintering crack of the Sovereign walking through a wall, purposefully ignoring the door just a foot to her left. Duncan was tempted to rip her arm off just for that, but he stilled that impulse, knowing it would be an overreaction.
“You may go,” he said, waving dismissively to the other Sovereigns. “I’ll call you back when there’s more to report.”
The others rose, and one by one, gave him stiff bows before leaving the room. They thankfully used the door, the last to exit pulling it closed behind him. Duncan slumped in his seat, blowing out an agitated breath as they left. Nothing seemed to be going well at all…
The door behind his seat slid open, and a moment later, Marrie, his adoptive daughter, came striding into the room. Duncan turned, noting a new purple stripe on her Blue-Belt, the four slashes of Purple showing her quick advancement.
“What is it?” Duncan asked as Marrie came around to face him.
“How much longer are you going to keep me locked up in here?” she asked, her lips turning down in a frown.
“You’re fourteen,” Duncan said. “I’ll keep you locked up here until you’re either old enough to leave or strong enough to protect yourself.”
“And when will I be strong enough to protect myself?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
Duncan resisted the urge to let out a sigh. He missed the days when his adopted daughter had been too afraid of him to put up these kinds of arguments. Then again, the fact that she felt comfortable getting angry at him meant that she wasn’t afraid of being killed for disrespect, which could only be good as far as their relationship went. Still, that didn’t mean he was just going to roll over.
“When I say you are,” he said, meeting her glare evenly.
“You’re the worst!” she said, stomping her foot and whirling, dashing into the back room and slamming the door.
Thankfully, his room was strong enough to resist any damage from the Blue-Belt, so Marrie didn’t leave any lasting marks. Duncan slumped even more in his seat, rubbing at his temples.
He didn’t have a headache — that was pretty much impossible after his last advancement — but he had to wonder what in the world he’d been thinking when he’d elected to take over all seven clans.
His eyes snapped open as he felt the space at the corner of the room warping. Before his eyes
, a small bead of black fire formed, twisting and whirling into a miniature tornado, before resolving itself into the shape of Hermit, the man who’d helped him bring down the other clans.
“Where the hell have you been?” Duncan asked sourly.
“Speaking with another Scion,” Hermit said, grabbing one of the chairs and taking a seat.
This answer was not one he’d expected, and Duncan sat up straighter, his troubles momentarily forgotten.
“Which one?” he asked, wondering how he hadn’t felt their meeting himself.
Then again, he’d been far too preoccupied to pay attention to the goings-on outside his immediate vicinity.
“The Scion of Tales,” Hermit said, kicking his feet up on another chair.
“And?” Duncan asked.
“She said she’s willing to help us if push comes to shove,” Hermit said, delivering the first good news all day. “She’ll keep in contact, but right now, she’s off meeting with the other Scions to discuss what they want to do moving forward.”
“Do you think Furea and his horde pose a large enough threat for them all to become involved?” Duncan asked, hopeful that the other Scions would join in.
“I can’t say for sure,” Hermit replied, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling. “They wanted to meet us at the very least, but aside from her, I don’t know how the others will react.”
“Still,” Duncan said, “This puts us on even ground with the enemy Scions. Or at least it should.”
“I don’t know,” Hermit said. “One of them feels just a bit too strong, if you know what I mean.”
Duncan finally extended his perception, his senses flowing out over Mountain Moore and pushing into the Windblight. It took only a few more seconds for his presence to blanket the Burning Hills, where he felt the pillars of power representing the enemy Scions. One of them was indeed stronger than the others. Duncan became grim then, realizing that he did know what Hermit meant.