Claddings of Light : Book 12 of Painting the Mists

by Patrick Laplante

  “Mmm,” Lily said. “I’ll mark that as five out of ten. Physical strength?”

  “Still unkillable,” Yama said uncertainly. “I think?”

  She pressed a button, and a nozzle appeared.

  “What’s this?” he asked, touching it with his bony finger, only to have it blast him with destructive plasma. “Right. Right. We designed this. Still unkillable.”

  “Memory seems to be six out of ten,” Lily said. “Have you been eating?”

  “Sometimes?” Yama said. He sat down at his desk. “I just don’t know what’s happening. Something’s tugging at the back of my mind.”

  “And when did it all begin?” Lily asked.

  “I’d say it was that time when I played board games with Evil Dave,” Yama said. “No wait, before that. When we intercepted the mayor at the records office. We took care of the problem, but I haven’t been able to shake a terrible feeling.”

  “Have you tried karmic tracing?” Lily asked gently, putting the clipboard down. He saw the tallied score and the underlined words on the page: worryingly stressed.

  “I have,” Yama said. “Couldn’t find anything. In fact, the Underworld has never run more smoothly. To be honest, I feel kind of useless.”

  “Useless how?” Lily asked.

  “Like… like I’m not needed,” Yama admitted. “I’ve never been one of those hands-on reapers. I’ve always been good at delegating and managing. It’s what’s kept me sane all these years, as opposed to those burnouts who do their jobs for a few aeons and realize immortality isn’t for them. But now?” He shook his head and sighed. “What’s the point, Lily?”

  “You always knew moments like this would come about,” Lily said. “We made plans for them, remember?”

  “I know,” Yama said. “It’s just so depressing. All I do is exercise every few years to keep up my joint mobility and read news and social media all day. And there’s really no point these days because there’s no upcoming election, and no one really ever knows what’s true and false to begin with. Now that my political debts are paid off…” He trailed off. “I’ve got nothing to do. Should I go on vacation?”

  “It’s definitely an option,” Lily said. “Though I advise against it, for now. As I’m sure you know, our special guest could reincarnate at any time. I thought you might want to personally involve yourself, given the recent grudge match between the Curse Sovereign and the Jade Emperor, and the fact that this would be a transitional reincarnation.”

  “Yes, of course,” Yama said. “You’re right, as always.” The last time he’d let his guard down, Heaven had ended up with a million years of uninterrupted favor. There would be literal hell to pay for all this, even if the rest of the universe didn’t know it. “What should I do, Lily? I feel like you do more work than I do, and that’s even considering the fact that you delegate most of it to your assistants.”

  “Delegating can be challenging,” she admitted. “What I like to do when I have too much time on my hands is to perform surprise inspections.”

  “Do you ever actually find anything?” Yama asked.

  “Not at all,” Lily said. “But I find it helps to show your face every once in a while. It keeps them honest. Besides, have you ever thought that they might be honored to receive a visit from the lord of the Underworld himself?”

  “Honored?” Yama asked. He stroked his chin. “Yes, I failed to consider their feelings. Morale is very important. In fact, how have I been so ignorant? So stupid!” He turned to Lily. “I want my schedule booked with surprise visits. Nothing official—no inspections. I want to tour every piece of this wonderful business, even if it takes me a thousand years.”

  “I’ll see it done,” Lily said, getting up promptly, ignoring the fact that she’d basically counseled him through a mental breakdown. “Shall I alert the dragon tamer? It’s been too long since you’ve taken any of them out for a ride, and they’ve been getting restless.”

  “Of course, of course!” Yama said. “My dearest pets. I’d forgotten all about them. In fact, I never had the time, but now that you’re taking care of all the menial work, I can finally see them. How wondrous it will be to fly the skies of Diyu on a giant skeletal dragon once more.”

  They strode out of the gym and into his office together, proceeding straight through into the reception hall. An assistant ran over to Lily, and they exchanged a few hushed whispers before running off to do her bidding.

  “I’ve already booked your first appointment,” Lily said. “The Bridge of Forgetfulness is undergoing structural inspections today, so the entire crew is on standby. It will be a good chance to mingle.”

  “Have takeout ordered on my dime,” Yama said. “Nothing but the best for employees of Diyu.” Then he hesitated. “Make that second best. Or second tier.” There was a running list of high-quality starred restaurants in Diyu. You could go through the first thousand names without any significant price changes.

  “It shall be done,” Lily said.

  As his assistant stalked off to organize travel and alert the necessary agencies, Yama stared out the window that overlooked the bright and sunny Diyu. How long had it been since he’d bothered to gaze upon it? How long had it been since giant reanimated dragons had graced its skies? He’d grown complacent, even sedentary. It was time to change that.

  There were still things he could do. He wasn’t restless because he was unneeded, but because he had even more to do than he’d ever realized. There was no such thing as things running too smoothly, was there? He’d have Lily look into it. For now, he had a job to do.

  He was Yama, lord of the Underworld, and this vast universe’s one and only reaper. His people needed him.

  Chapter 1: Pressure

  Deep in the Clear Sky World, a mountain shook. Rock and grit dug into Cha Ming’s skin as he ran from the epicenter of Sun Wukong’s staff strike. Dust filled the air, mixing with his tainted blood as his flesh regrew. His eyes saw nothing. His soul and domain sensed nothing either. As blind as he was, however, he could still feel the deep trough of an imprint where the Monkey King’s staff had landed.

  “You know, it’s not really sparring if all you do is hide,” Cha Ming called out. He waited for the inevitable reply. Sun Wukong was many things, but patient wasn’t one of them.

  “This is real life training, boy,” Sun Wukong said. “Besides, I’m not the only one hiding.” He might be right, but that wasn’t the point of their conversation.

  Cha Ming’s eyes glowed bright as he channeled starlight through the Crown of the Starry Sky. He used the supernatural intuition that came with his Sage’s Sight to guess multiple likely positions. Then, picking the most likely location, he shot through the dust cloud toward the unprepared Monkey King. The red-bearded man screamed in surprise, but by now, Cha Ming already knew it to be trickery. The clone he stabbed disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving behind only a single hair. Meanwhile, three more Sun Wukongs appeared behind Cha Ming and attacked with stone staves filled with raw vibrational energy.

  Time froze as white mists gathered together. Cha Ming used Words of Creation to make three temporary talismans. They weren’t durable ones that he could sell, but would instead dissipate in a single second. He activated them immediately, using them to form three small stone walls that blocked the Monkey King’s clones. Not enough in ordinary circumstances.

  These weren’t normal earth-wall talismans, however—they drew on the combined Concepts of Starry Sky, Radiant Construction, Inky Rain, and Sacred Sand. What started off as three small shields drew in ambient energy to expand into large flexible walls that blocked not only these three clones but the nine others who followed, wrapping around them in a makeshift prison. This left Cha Ming to deal with the real Monkey King, who’d appeared behind him. He held up his staff to block Sun Wukong’s heavier stone weapon, which sent him hurtling toward the ground.

  Cha Ming winced as he landed on his own two feet. His bones shattered from the impact, cutting deep into his flesh
before they automatically reknit his body and his strong blood vitality moved to heal him.

  “This is supposed to be training,” Cha Ming said. He pushed up off the ground, charging toward Sun Wukong.

  “This is training,” Sun Wukong said. He grew stronger. More corporeal. The air around him shimmered with spatial power, and Cha Ming realized his mistake. He was up in the air, defenseless, and the Monkey King’s stone pillar was crashing down on him once again. He cursed and activated Thirty-Six Heavenly Transformations. Two pairs of white wings sprouted from his back, boosting his cultivation by a sub-realm and a half, on top of the passive half-realm his wings usually gave him. His qi cultivation shot up from the late-grade-rune-carving realm to the half-step-rune-gathering realm. It wasn’t enough to close the gap, but it was enough for him to at least put up a fight.

  Space warped around Cha Ming as the shadow of two strange four-colored runes appeared above his head. They were placeholders, an amalgamation of his four fused concepts, Flowing Self-Assembly and Fourfold Devastation. They weren’t perfect runes, but they did come with a twenty-meter world projection. It flickered and warped as he urged the space around him to congeal while he simultaneously called upon the Crown of the Starry Sky and his Sage’s Sight to maneuver a spatial barrier into place, just in time to avoid the Monkey King’s own technique, Bands of Imprisoning Light.

  “Good, but sloppy,” Sun Wukong said as Cha Ming teleported to bring himself eye to eye with the Monkey King.

  “Flying is difficult for those who haven’t condensed legitimate runes,” Cha Ming said defensively.

  “Well, you’re going to have to practice,” Sun Wukong said. “There’re only four months left before your duel against Dripping Blade and Burning Lake. Do you think you’ll reach the rune-gathering realm, and do you think you’ll be able to avoid learning aerial combat?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Cha Ming said. The life-or-death battle he’d agreed to two months ago was quickly approaching. His friends might be safe, but he was acutely aware of the time he and Huxian had remaining to live, should he fail. “Let’s just do this.”

  It wasn’t the first time Cha Ming and the Monkey King had fought, so he was prepared when Sun Wukong suddenly glowed with a golden light. It wasn’t a world projection or domain, but something to do with soul force. After all, Sun Wukong wasn’t physically present here. His body had been destroyed long ago. Still, his Buddhist arts were no less frightening. He could match any investiture-realm demon or rune-gathering human any day of the week.

  A massive golden pagoda appeared overhead and slammed down atop Cha Ming’s world projection. It was a lot heavier than it looked, and the pressure made it difficult for him to move or breathe.

  I don’t need to fight him head on, he thought, letting the pressure ooze over him. It weakened him, but what he sacrificed in strength, he gained in mobility. Besides, it was difficult to truly bind the controller of a world projection. With but a thought, he flickered, teleporting through the space in his small bubble and bringing himself directly behind the Monkey King. He lashed out with his staff, but Sun Wukong was expecting this. The red-bearded man grinned as he sent out a handful of seeds. They became clay soldiers that grew to lifelike proportions and forced Cha Ming back. Once again, he was one step behind.

  Cha Ming responded by summoning ten Temple Sand Clones, miniature creations imbued with the Concept of Flowing Self-Assembly. They grew in the blink of an eye, just like the seeds, and met the soldiers head on. He created and threw ten mid-grade Welling-Strength Talismans, boosting the humanoid duplicates that fought the guardians of Buddhism. While not the most efficient use of qi for most, for Cha Ming, it was essential. These clones were qi constructs and would draw on his strength as they fought.

  “You going to let your minions do all the fighting?” Sun Wukong asked.

  “You know it,” Cha Ming said, not moving an inch. They stared at each other for a couple of seconds, assessing each other. Cha Ming did his best to camouflage his expression, but ultimately, hiding his intentions from Sun Wukong was too tall an order. The Monkey King flashed away, using soul-based teleportation just as an inky cage appeared above the both of them. It was much larger than usual, a full fifty meters wide.

  “Nice try,” Sun Wukong said with smirk.

  “You mean nice success?” Cha Ming asked innocently.

  “What—” Sun Wukong cut off as he finally noticed the Clear Sky Brush, which Cha Ming specifically wasn’t holding. It had gone off to do another job: summoning another army of Temple Sand Clones. These substandard replicas were not as strong as the original Cha Ming, but they did retain his Daoist abilities. This included a small world projection, which they activated in tandem, draining away all their power in a fraction of a second. They crumbled to dust as they shot a wave of force into Sun Wukong, knocking him back into the cage as it slammed down, trapping them together.

  “One monkey, baited and captured,” Cha Ming said with a flourish.

  “Are you sure you’re not biting off more than you can chew?” Sun Wukong said with a grin.

  “Let’s find out,” Cha Ming said, his expression turning serious.

  Sun Wukong’s figure blurred. Cha Ming cursed and activated Clockwork Boots of the Golden Dragon, further increasing the drain on his limited divine power pool. Unfortunately, he was still just a fledgling demigod, and maintaining both his divine abilities together was difficult. He could maintain one for five minutes under normal circumstances, and two for less than half that time.

  Cha Ming burned dragon metals and activated a poetic Flow Talisman and a poetic Energy Talisman. Their powers combined, making him just fast enough to avoid Sun Wukong’s six golden staff projections that tried their best to turn him into a living pin-cushion. Cha Ming did his best to avoid every single strike—he knew he wasn’t strong enough to withstand even a single blow from Sun Wukong—or any other mid-grade rune-gathering cultivator. It wouldn’t be any different when he fought the prefecture lords.

  It took everything he had to keep up, including the sixth sense granted to him by his Sage’s Sight. It was no longer a matter of physical positioning, because one moment, he could be jumping, the other, teleporting a short distance away and clashing head to head. There was an art to spatial combat that Cha Ming hadn’t yet grasped. He needed practice. He lacked time, however, and his opponents had centuries of experience.

  “You wouldn’t last ten seconds with those prefecture lords,” Sun Wukong spat, pushing off the ink-splattered prison and charging at Cha Ming. Their staves collided, and for a moment, they pushed back and forth as the balance of power shifted between them. Then Cha Ming fell leeward and began backing into his own prison’s walls.

  I need to do something drastic to win, Cha Ming thought. Three more talismans appeared—Shape, Matter, and Samsara. He used Shape and Matter to increase his offense and used Samsara, his wood-based talisman, to boost his stamina and divine energy reserves. He then took a step forward, and the ink in his cage seeped into his staff as he built up momentum.

  His domain tilted toward inky rain as he unleashed the phantom of a massive turtle. Raging Waves of the Inky Sea crashed into Sun Wukong, who held both hands forward and summoned the Bell of Six Desires. It rang with a deafening sound that shook Cha Ming’s soul. It might have done more, if not for the fact that Cha Ming had reached the middle-transcendent-soul realm, making his spiritual defenses more durable than most. He recovered almost instantly and took a second step.

  “Dissonant Sound of the Broken Symphony!” Cha Ming yelled as he arced his staff and struck diagonally. It let out a piercing howl as the air around him blared with all manner of instruments. Their noise countered the sound in Sun Wukong’s bell just in time for a large golden dragon to appear. Its scales fit together like gears, and its every motion was a work of art. It opened its mouth and screeched.

  Sun Wukong staggered, but Cha Ming didn’t let up. He took a third step, and this time, he unleashed Seari
ng Sands of the Sacred Desert. His staff twisted and bent as he struck, becoming the tail of a vicious serpent that swept up a sandstorm and sent it blasting toward the bell. It wore away at it even further, until it was little more than a shadow of its initial technique. Then the sand faded, revealing a still-unbroken bell.

  He took a fourth step, this time channeling wood. Dissonant Sound of the Broken Symphony had been a parting gift from the Clockwork Ancestor, and this newest technique had been gifted by the equally powerful Star-Eye Ancestor. He unleashed the fourth matching technique of the set: Hidden Might of the Verdant Crossroads. Green stars appeared all around them and struck from multiple directions simultaneously. The bell shattered, and Sun Wukong spat out golden blood from his spirit-wrought body.

  Cha Ming was exhausted, but he knew he was doomed if he didn’t exploit this opportunity. His staff glowed black as he imbued destruction qi and the Concept of Fourfold Devastation into it. A thin film of destruction qi covered his body. Just in time, because the Heaven Sealing Strings Sun Wukong had covertly sent out broke as they tried to entangle him, allowing his staff to shear through a Soul-Binding Pagoda.

  “First Word of Destruction: Ruin!” Cha Ming yelled.

  He struck downward with the Clear Sky Staff, and four waves of black destructive energy blew past Sun Wukong. His hair began to fall, and his soul-rendered flesh began to rot. Still, it wasn’t enough, Cha Ming knew, so he lunged at the wounded monkey with ordinary follow-up attacks.

  Sun Wukong summoned a pillar, and for a moment, it looked lacking. Then he opened his mouth and spoke. “First Word the Path: Purification.” The black miasma digging into his soul like maggots vanished, and his aura soared.

  Cha Ming’s destruction-laden staff clashed against the white-gold staff the Monkey King now held. It suppressed him and ate away at his protective barrier. Since he’d spent most of his qi, most of his divine energy, and his limit-breaking techniques had eaten most of everything away, he could only fall to the ground, his prison failing and his clones crumbling.