The Third Cut - Chapter 39 preview

The wind saved Wu Ying. It threw him up high, high above the trees and into the realm of birds and dragons. Not that there were either – thankfully – for the mortal avian companions had fled in good wisdom and the dragons had yet to seek out the disturbance in the flow of chi. The cultivators below knew better than to attract the attention of those above*.

No, this was a mortal problem. A very obvious mortal problem, for what but a mortal could have chosen such inhumane action against another living creature. Or, at least, in such an inventive and civilized form of torture. For Wu Ying was no sheltered nobleman or effete cultivator that had never left the city. He had walked through the forests and hidden from creatures of great cruelty and playfulness. Seen great cats strike and exhaust mice and other smaller prey, watched boars savage birds and rabbits for no greater reason than savagery. Pulled corpses of mortal and cultivator alike from the webbing of massive, semi-sapient spiders that caught their prey.

Nature was cruel, and only a fool would think it not.

Below him, the corrupted ape reached the apex of its jump and thrust a hand upwards. Energy flooded out in a wide band, loosed upon Wu Ying as he sought to flee the release of energy. He failed, and was forced to control the winds around him to form a shield as he darted sideways, feeling the corruption burn aura and wind aside.

Energy drained from him swiftly, exhaustion graying out the edges of his own vision. He felt the corruption seep into his skin, his bones and he gritted his teeth, for its presence was like a blade taken to his skin, flaying it apart.

But pain was an old companion, and the monster found itself drawn down by the remorseless advance of gravity. Leaping for Wu Ying was a mistake as well, for in the air, it could not change its landing spot. And Bich Trang was waiting, her sphere of water interposed to accept the monster’s descent and keep it from the earth.

Submerging into the sphere with barely a ripple, the monster thrashed and attempted to swim itself free. Outside, hands held upwards, Bich Trang moved the sphere with the swimming corrupted ape, keeping it trapped in the center.

“Help me!” Bich Trang cried.

A moment later, a handful of folded satchets struck the sphere. They broke apart immediately within the water, dissolving as they came into contact with the water. Streaks of green and blue mixed within the water, muddying it and darkening the water even as the corruptive elements of the creature’s body poured red and black and eldritch green. The poisonous satchets began mixing with the chi within, turning even more vicious and eating into the monster’s flesh and the runes carved into its body, runes that had begun to peel away to protect it. No more.

Yet, as the water altered its form and function, it increased the strain upon Bich Trang herself. She began to sweat, blood leaking from her pores and her face as she struggled to contain the monster and the working itself. Her body began trembling as she fought onwards, though her hands were never anything but swift and certain.

Floating downwards, Wu Ying’s lips compressed. He had no attacks that could penetrate the sphere without disrupting the working. He had formation flags but none of those were workable here. He had neither the understanding or expertise to emplace a formation at speed, certainly not one that could harm the creature. And the few talismans that he did carry were not meant to deal with a Nascent Soul beast, nevermind one that was further empowered by elaborate rituals and enchanted spikes driven into its body.

Once again, Wu Ying felt a degree of helplessness. He had climbed so far, struggled and fought and trained to hone himself into a powerful cultivator. A man who wielded not just a rare element but who had the combined strength of soul and body cultivation at his fingertips and one who had grasped the Heart of the Sword.

He was no weakling.

And yet, here he was, helpless. Unable to change the fate of the one struggling below. Even as he watched, Tou He came striding up to Bich Trang, placing a hand in the center of her back. He began to flood her body with unaspected chi of his own, empowering her and drawing the burden of holding forth the sphere towards himself.

It was a technique the monk must have learnt while in the sect, a technique meant for those who worked with others. A technique that Wu Ying knew not of.

Cursing, whether himself, his friend or his fate, the wind cultivator looked aside. Searching for signs of the other battle. He found them, soon enough. And, to his surprise, Thien Gang returning. Even as Sao Choi, the bird cried and shook, tearing into its prey that still struggled weakly beneath its claw in a new, shattered clearing, the polearm wielding cultivator returned to the main battle.

Good. The women were returned.

Dinh Dong and Yang Mu continued their own fight, though the worm had grown sluggish. To his surprise, he noticed a dozen creatures made of ink and shadows that moved among the great worm, tearing into. A dozen creatures, a rat, a tiger, a pig, even an ink dragon tore into it. Fabled creatures from the calendar, released to do battle from a scroll carried from the sect.

No last minute aid coming fro that direction.

Another twitch, a surge of energy. Wu Ying’s head turned down, eyes widening as the sphere below changed in colour, darkening as blood – dark and twisted – flooded the sphere. It trembled, bulging like a cancerous pustule. At the same time, erupting from the sphere was a metal rod, spilling to the ground as the limb it had been connected to rotted and mutated that the embedded rod finally fell away.

“Grab that!” snarled Bich Trang.

Wu Ying gestured downwards, but for the wind to balk at his command. It refused to move towards the metal rod, leaving the wind cultivator forced to extend his chi in tendrils. Even so, accessing the wind and the energy of the world in this way was a struggle as he neared the piece.

“Hun dan…” Wu Ying snarled. He let himself drop then, knowing he would have ot take action directly.

At the same time, the sphere that had been bulging before exploded, showering the surroundings with poisonous, bloodied and corrupted water. Without thought, Wu Ying called forth a wind wall, sending the explosion away from him high above. Tou He did the same, his own fire aura triggering and sweeping outwards to create a cloud of steam when it struck his own expanding sphere of influence. Bich Trang reeled backwards as her control disappeared, blood fountaining from her mouth as she suffered the backlash and fell to the ground, as the fire cultivator dealt with the current threat.

However, the other cultivators were less fortunate. Phoung Vy staggered backward, crying in pain as she clutched her neck where a fast moving stream had scalded and torn open her skin. Blood poured from it and the paper she had protected instead of herself wavered, nearly falling to the ground.

Minh Trac, the formation master that was scurrying on the edges of the fight itself was similarly struck. He had been hiding himself under numerous enchanted materials, using the battle and the distraction offered by the others to begin layering a slaughter formation. However, the explosion tore through his meager defenses and sent him sprawling to the ground, tearing at his clothing to remove the poisonous water. Screaming in pain, he managed to strip himself and slip a bottle of pills into his mouth – whole – to help stem the damage.

Thankfully, the corrupted ape was not attacking. Having landed on its own feet, it was searching the ground with its demonic arm, seeking the twisted bar of metal through the mud and dirt. Its energy had grown chaotic, fluctuating and twisted, arcs of green energy and white lightning raced across its core, as the channel formed within its own body grew unstable with the loss.

No time to worry about the lightning, the sudden surge of heavenly chi all around, the twisted smell of rotten meat and new cut flowers that surrounded him now. No time to worry about the crash of blades in the distance or the scream of the dying Nascent Soul monsters. No time but to drop like a stooping bird, hands tucked close to him and pray that his still tenuous control of the wind held.

Wu Ying led the way with his weapon, striking the monster as he fell and turned. Yet, holding the wind as he neared was like gripping an oiled, living eel about to be submerged in a vat of heated cooking oil. The closer he grew, the greater the struggles. No time to launch a proper attack, to pour all his energy into a strike, not when he was holding onto the wind.

Instead, he could only sharpen the edge of his intent, allow the blade to do what it was made for. It cut, deep into the side of the monster, carving a long furrow along its torso, hardened fur like steel parting beneath the dao-inspired edge. A fountain of blood exploded forth, some of it striking Wu Ying as he passed along the legs.

Already curving upwards and rising, his intention to rise and fight the creature, harass it as he sought the metal spike; the wind cultivator was not expecting his control to fail utterly. Once the blood touched him, breaching his aura by the simple expedience of being next to him, the wind went chaotic, throwing him aside in a sudden gust.

He struck the muddy earth, a wave of soil, burnt grass and poisonous water washing ahead of him and into the folds of his clothing. Poison and corruption invaded his pores, seeking entrance even as the strength of his Body Cultivation and his dao battled it, forcing the pair out.

Disoriented and injured, muscles along one leg cramping as he struggled upright, Wu Ying sought to rejoin the battle. He was not the only one, as Tou He engaged the beast, his staff and aura concentrated upon the creature before him.

No more enchanted shielding of flesh and corruption shielded the monster. The twisted formation that had given it strength had been broken, and now the creature only had the strength of its arms and its twisted dao to wield against them.

It was more than enough.

Even on the defensive, the ex-monk could barely hold on as each blow sent the mud and water jumping and the sky roaring. Like a thousand drums played during the new year to scare away demons and hungry taotei, the clash of arms against staff rang through the surroundings and blew aside the few standing trees, leaving only the half-built formation that Minh Trac had been attempting to stand. With each blow, the ex-monk was driven a step back, even the Resolute Mountain unable to stand the attacks, feet skidding on muddy earth and bringing him ever closer to the insensanate Colonel.

A flicker of movement in the corner, Thien Gang having gathered as much speed as she could in her headlong rush over. She was battered and exhausted, reckless in her actions after being taken out of the initial battle so swiftly by the other monster. Her attack was without plan, led only by surging emotion and the intent to injure and rejoin battle.

Her guandao, swung down at the last moment was caught on upraised, corrupted arm. It dug in deep, shearing portions of twisted skin apart only for the injury to grow around the guandao. Surprise registered on her face as her attack came to an end. Still, experienced fighter that she was, the cultivator threw herself backwards, pulling on the weapon.

Only to find it embedded in regrown flesh.

Another brief moment of hesitation. This time a fatal one.

Arm pulled backwards, drawing cultivator towards itself. The other hand, moving in simultaneous and opposite direction thrust forwards. It emerged on the other side of her body, clawed fingers clutching her heart, tearing through enchanted armour with casual ease.

So died Thien Giang. So ended another cultivator.

And then, the monster turned to his friend.

Footnote
* May you be recognized by powerful people / attract the attention of the government’ – supposedly one of three Chinese curses (it’s more famous brethren is ‘May you live in interesting times’, which actually isn’t an actual Chinese curse. There’s no actual evidence of it being used in China, beyond some journals by Western diplomats in the early 20th century.