@occipitallobe Another omake for the omake throne.
AN: 3744 words. I think this may be the longest single omake I've ever written.
This one fought me all the way. I honestly wasn't sure whether to split it into two as in some ways it's almost a series of vignettes, but in the end I feel that the last part ties into the first just enough to justify making it a single story.
Any feedback people offer would be highly appreciated.
Wei Feng: Days in the life
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Wei Feng was the subject of no small amount of mockery by his peers. 40 years old and merely in the second heaven stage. Compared to someone like Amaranth Castellanos, who had ascended to the 9th heaven stage in a mere 20 years he was utterly without talent, which here they called receptiveness.
He knew that some members of the Golden Demon clan resented him. He was an outsider. He had come from a treasured ally, but he was still not of the clan. It was natural he would be viewed with suspicion. That the clan paid him well with resources, yet he had advanced so little had turned suspicion into outright dislike amongst some.
There were days when Wei Feng shared their dislike of himself. To be 40 years old and merely of the second heaven stage was a poor showing.
And yet, Wei Feng found it hard to truly regret. He had spent his years well. With the Golden Demons focused on raiding the blood cannibals he had joined the junior raiding parties.
Some would say his contributions had been minor; and it was true that no great songs would be sung of his deeds. To a nascent soul, who might annihilate a city of 50,000 out of sheer petulance, his deeds would be insignificant indeed.
But he had still saved lives. He had killed raiders and bandits. He had found villages that might be fed upon by some young and murderous cannibal and convinced them to move to safety. He had begged, he had cajoled and sometimes even bribed them. But he had gotten people out.
He had once run so low on items to bribe these foolish mortals with that he had literally given them the finely made clothes off his back. The look of hunger the battle blood cannibal disciple that had ambushed him that evening had nearly had him swear himself into the priesthood. That and the comments Hunger for sustenance and hunger for other things should not be mixed like that. The filed teeth hadn't helped either.
So, despite the disappointment his cultivation had turned out to be so far, Wei Feng tried to be content. And when that failed, he went out again. Seeking something to distract him. Sometimes it was seeking out the sparring fields. Sometimes it was helping a mortal village raise a new house. Sometimes it was seeking out Blood Cannibals to destroy.
Wei Feng had failed to find contentment quite often over the years and was glad for it.
Yet still the persistent issue nagged at him. Could he not do more, be more, if only his cultivation improved? But what of all those that he could already help that would go unaided as he withdrew into seclusion for months or year on end? At what point does the chance of saving more lives later eclipse the value of saving more lives now?
The paradox nagged at him.
-----
He poured over the notes on the Blood boiler cauldron art.
At its base form, the art was simply a body tempering cultivation method. All cultivators were naturally stronger, faster, and tougher than their mortal counterparts. Indeed, much of the purpose of the Qi condensation stage was to improve the body, purifying it to be a more capable vessel to channel the Qi of heaven and earth. Body cultivators took this a step beyond. Skin more durable than steel, bones near impossible to break, fists that could break swords. They honed and refined their bodies until their flesh was weapon every bit the equal or superior to the talismanic weapons wielded by other cultivators.
The blood boiler cauldron art was originally derived from the widely known principle that heating something can purify. From steam baths to the simple kettle, this truth is known across the world. However, it takes an unusual mind to take this principal to the length of immersing oneself in boiling liquid. After all, this is widely known as a particularly unpleasant method of execution.
The essential, righteous version of this method began with special formations that were inscribed on the cauldron to help guide the Qi into the cultivator's body in specific patterns. For Qi condensation cultivators, these formations are essential. Their most crucial function is to keep the cultivator alive and uncrippled. Almost no beginning Qi Condensation cultivator possesses the innate control of Qi to precisely guide it to stimulate and reinforce the body in the correct ways.
Certainly, no early Qi condensation cultivator could do so whilst enduring the horrific pain of being boiled alive.
The art's inventor had been of the firm opinion that pain and suffering were excellent teaching assistants.
As the art progressed, simple water quickly became insufficient to truly temper the body. Different base liquids and cauldron constructions were used. Reagents and beast cores were added to temper the body even further by focusing and intensifying Qi, passing it through the body to pressure out impurities, layering and purifying as the body was pushed towards an ideal.
Yet the Blood boiler cauldron art was no longer a righteous art. It had been stolen, reviewed, dissected, and rebuilt from the very ground by demonic cultivators of immense cunning. Then it had been stolen, reviewed, dissected, and rebuilt from the ground up by more depraved and equally cunning demonic cultivators.
The blood and bones of cultivators abounded with concentrated qi, already refined for the use of humans. A similar quantity would be many times as potent for a human as beast core. The body acted as a natural attractor of and filter to qi from the atmosphere. This could be used to improve the quantity and quality of the qi being used to refine the cultivator's body. In the desert, where atmospheric qi was thin, it allowed a great increase in the efficiency of cultivation, and a reduced need for spirt stones.
One of the most difficult parts for Wei Feng had been forcing himself not to merely to read past the ghastly musings of Boiling Village eater but understand and consider them, take them apart and re-examine them for any principle that might be applied to less odious methods of advancement than murdering helpless mortals. It was hard, sickening work yet he could not abandon it, for Wei Feng had found a few priceless insights buried in the horror.
One of the monster's earliest 'improvements' had essentially disabled the formation measures that kept the cultivator alive. The remains of the victims subjected to this gruesome death would have undergone many more changes than a living being could bear in such a short period, forming more useful materials for the Demonic cultivator's advancement.
Between bouts of vomiting and hard scrubbed baths to drive away the feelings of revulsion, Wei Feng had gradually figured out a method to slowly reduce the safety measures inherent in the base method, allowing each session to refine his body to a greater extent. At the cost of greater pain.
Wei Feng had not balked at the thought of greater pain at first. Perhaps he even welcomed it, seeing it as a way to help abrogate the sin of not burning the monstrous notes forever.
Such thoughts had not survived their first session of his refined method.
-----
He had, with bitter experience, set up the cauldron near a larger pool of water. He begun in the dead of night, after the heat of the desert sun had long faded, so the pool nearby might soothe his aching burns.
He wore a strange metal device on his face. It looked something like an open metal cage. Its morbid function to keep his jaw closed no matter what, for he did not trust his willpower to avoid screaming.
Holding his small qi in a rigid pattern which would allow him to slip into the liquid without risking it splashing and wasting the precious liquid, he leapt into the cauldron.
He held himself as his skin began to blister, before healing itself again. As white-hot agony raced through him as his nerves tried to shrivel and die. Held in his screams by his own will as the qi flooding his body nourished his nerves and forced them to continue their function.
He took a deep breath in through his nose. Then he dunked his head beneath the frothing water.
He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. His mouth is wired shut.
He wanted to scream, he wanted to scream, hewantedtoscream
hewantedtoscream hewantedtoscream hewantedtoscream hewantedtoscream toscream toscream screamscreamscream.
Air blasts from his nose in silent attempts to scream as he tumbles, spinning in weightless agony beneath the water. A foot touches something solid and he pushes.
He erupts into air.
He rolls.
He plunges into blessed cold. He does not emerge for a very long time.
He had lasted less than 10 seconds.
Worse, he knows that eventually he will have to open his mouth under the water. Eventually he will have to open his eyes.
It would be worth it eventually. It
would be worth it eventually. It
had to be worth it eventually, right?
----------------------
He didn't know the name of this place. It was just another village, in a long line of others he had visited.
The village was broken. Even from a distance it was obvious that things were wrong. Damaged and empty buildings with the scent of blood on the air.
Wei Feng allowed the horror he felt to show on his face. No matter how many times he saw it, the horror never truly dulled. It was important not to let himself become numb to it.
The village was not yet a slaughterhouse, but it soon would be.
Several buildings bore the tell-tale marks of spells. Doors, windows, and walls bore the marks of too durable fists or weapons. Many of the village's inhabitants had clearly not gone quietly, and the cultivators had not been shy about making their own entrances to the homes of holdouts.
Here and there were bloodstains of a size to indicate that the person who had made them was likely dead.
But there were no corpses. Not here. Blood Cannibals didn't like to be wasteful. The attack had clearly begun some time ago. They might not fear mortals, but it would still take time for low cultivators to corral them. He didn't bother considering that this might be the work of greater cultivators. Here and there were signs of failed resistance. That mortals could even attempt to resist spoke for itself.
Still, something was off. Too many houses lay broken entirely. A few fires looked more recent than others. A fight?
He shook his head. It didn't matter. He needed to find whoever remained. The village square was the most likely place. He reached into his bag and pulled out his soul filling rasp.
It was a great treasure given to him by the Golden Demon clan as thanks for his to efforts aid the mortal residents of the lands. With it he could file away at the outward signs of his cultivation, to seem merely a mortal to any qi condensation practitioner.
Useful for retreating or for hiding in plain sight. Few cultivators considered mortals threats. That could give him an advantage against the raiders. If he could surprise them, he was confident that he might kill even a third heaven stage cultivator.
------
Wei Feng crept forwards towards the square. One of the few advantages of being so low in the Qi condensation realm was that he did not have to slow his pace much to appear mortal. He was much stronger than a regular human, but not that much faster as of yet.
The scent of roasted flesh met his nose. Human. All too familiar to him from his experiences boiling himself in the blood cauldron.
Ahead of him he heard sobbing and crying. The loud wailing of children. But not the screams he was dreading and expecting. It was oddly quiet ahead. Worrying. How many had already been killed?
The square was littered with corpses. Many of them lay in pieces from where the blood cannibals had begun their feast. Part of the square was fenced off by formation flags, entrapping the remaining villagers. There were more of them still alive and whole than he had expected. Had he been wrong, and the attack was more recent than he thought?
In the centre of the square a great fire roared. Apparently, the cannibals did not like their food raw. Beside it a figure in the robes of the Blood Cannibal sect sat with their back to him. Wei Feng felt a spike of terror run through him.
Qi Condensation, fourth heaven stage!
He could run. Of course, he could run. With the rasp's magic he could crawl away with no-one the wiser.
All he would have to do was leave these people to die. Could he really do that?
But could he win?
Run, or fight? Fight, or run?
Wei Feng crept a little closer, using the remain wall of a mostly destroyed house for cover. Could he get close enough? He couldn't kill a fourth heaven stage cultivator outright. But if he could get close, perhaps he could cripple them badly enough to tip the fight in his favour.
The wall shifted abruptly, and Wei Feng flattened himself against it, freezing in place. Part of the top of the wall fell in. He waited, breathing shallowly. 'Do not look' he told himself. Peeking out of cover too early would get him caught. Wait. Have patience he counselled himself.
Finally, he dared to turn his head. There were the remains of a window next to him. He peeked through it. The cannibal hadn't moved. But he saw something else. In the corner of the collapsing house, there was another corpse. It was dressed in the robes of the Blood Cannibal sect. Had they turned on each other?
He looked again at the cannibal by the fire, reaching out with his meagre qi senses, concealed by the rasp within his robes. Did the qi feel unstable? Yes. A recent breakthrough?
He constructed a scenario in his head. The cannibals joined to raid the village. They succeeded and began their macabre harvest. One begins to breakthrough right there in the village. Sensing weakness, or perhaps fearing their newfound strength, the other (or others) turned on them. The newly risen cultivator had won, but at a cost. Their breakthrough was still unstable.
He had to take this chance, before they could stabilise themselves.
Slowly, slowly he wormed his way around the fallen house. He inched towards his target, low to the ground. He didn't dare move faster. A third or fourth heaven stage cultivator was almost twice as fast as him. If they reacted before he was in range, he would be done for.
40 meters. 30.
'Was that dark patch on their robes blood? Could they already be injured?' he thought.
20 meters.
'Right arm injury. Not crippling, not enough to win.' It was the wrong area to try and make it worse with his first attack. He needed to cripple them enough to prevent them bring their advantages to bear.
15.
He slipped his belt knife into his hand. It would be utterly useless against the cultivator's skin, but it was exactly the kind of thing an incredibly foolish mortal in his position might do. If he were spotted the addition to his disguise might buy him precious seconds. Even if he were detected, a truly arrogant cultivator might allow a mortal to try and fail to injure them to enjoy their despair.
10 meters.
He began to marshal his focus to strike. His technique had to be perfect. Where should he strike? The Dantian would be ideal. Rob them of their qi in a single strike.
No, he decided. It was too unreliable. He was not certain of his ability to strike it with it's only semi physical nature.
The thigh, he decided. A major artery runs through the thigh and it will cripple their mobility. Cultivators may be able to fight longer and with less blood than mortals, but at Qi condensation they could still die of blood loss.
5 meters.
He felt the strength of the water Qi. Many may think of water as still and placid, but Wei Feng knew the power and raging thunder of the rapids. The roar of the waves crashing down. The shock of the flood.
He readied himself for the attack. To strike with the power of a roar of a great Flood Dragon.
His outstretched hand forms a knife. Skin and bone, already like iron, shoot forward as if propelled by the weight of a great flood.
It meets a thigh as strong as an aged tree branch. Alone, his fingers would fail to find purchase, leaving a flesh wound at best. But the surging power of the flood guides and propels him. The Dragon's roar bites sharp and deeply. The cannibal, truly aware now tries to twist away from the blow. He fails, his own momentum tearing the wound wider even as Wei Feng dodges backward in swift retreat, dropping his useless knife to the ground.
Wei Feng has succeeded in striking a major blow. Perhaps even a fatal one. But first, he must live long enough to enjoy it.
His opponents snatches up a sword from the ground beside him. Long and so serrated that its edge would be near useless if it were used by mortal humans. The cannibal is not mortal.
He swings; far faster than a human, but Wei Feng is already past his range. He tries to surge back forward, keeping his opponent on the ground and is nearly disembowelled by a sudden reverse swing.
Too used to fighting cultivators of his own level, he had not thought that his opponent could so easily reverse the momentum of his sword.
Wei Feng's abrupt stop has kept his stomach intact, but his momentum is not fully halted. Even as he leans his torso back his feet still slide forwards across the ground. If he tries to retreat again so soon he will fall, or worse he will have to jump and leave himself completely vulnerable in the air.
Instead he barrels forwards, bending his torso forward. The sword comes whipping round again but this time he is ready. Gathering water qi again in fist and arm he punches upwards from underneath where he hopes the blade will be, aiming to hit the flat of the blade and direct the strike upwards and over his head, leaving the cannibal vulnerable.
It costs him. His opponent must see his ploy and turns the blade. Qi forged Metal meets qi hardened flesh and flesh gives first. The sword hits bone, but then the Flood Dragons' roar completes. The sword flies upward, taking with it a chunk of flesh but Wei Feng's other hand is free and the cannibal is wide open.
And suddenly his target is flying away from him. Wei Feng's hand catching only boot leather. He'd gotten his good leg under him and kicked off the ground.
The cannibal lands heavily, crashing through the wall of one of the more intact buildings on the edge of the square. Wei Feng tumbles and rolls back to his feet, bleeding off his own momentum and retreating.
He dares not approach again. Now that his opponent has gotten his legs under him the speed advantage of a fourth heaven stage cultivator will tell in close combat.
It is a stalemate. Wei Feng cannot retreat too far, lest he allow his opponent an opening to treat his wounds. One hand is injured, but with only one good leg the cannibal will not easily be able to close with Wei Feng. It is a stalemate that favours Wei Feng.
He sees the realisation dawn in his opponent's eyes too, and smiles. He smiles as he feels his opponent's cultivation waver, their wounds and situation telling against their not yet stabilised 4th stage breakthrough. He smiles until he feels something clamp around his foot.
His eyes flicker down. An arm disconnected from its former owner has grabbed onto him. His opponent hadn't lost control of their cultivation, they'd been casting a spell! They could control corpses. Corpses and corpse parts that littered the ground around him.
By the time he looks up he is almost too late to see his opponent's near silent charge. He kicks forward, dislodging the hand around his ankle and flinging it headlong into his opponent's face.
In the modicum of time it buys him he retreats desperately retreats, dodging grasping hands and dismembered body parts and flinging those he cannot avoid at his opponent.
Hands grasp at his robes. A corpse suddenly sticks out a leg to try and trip him up.
For minutes this macabre game of cat and mouse continues. But presently, Wei Feng begins to notice that his opponent's charges are slowing.
Dodge, hop, RUN, dodge, fling. Again, and again.
His opponent is panting now, trails of blood following him around the square.
Again, and again and again until finally, finally his opponent collapses. Their wavering qi gutters out.
Wei Feng stands, stock still and vigilant for almost 10 minutes before he dares to approach, wary of a trap.
There is none. His opponent is dead. He almost collapses out of relief.
Something releases in him. A tension untwist in him and he begins to laugh. Great laughing sobs pass his throat a relief and joy and terror.
He had survived! He had taken on a cultivator two stages above himself had survived. He felt elated and giddy as he made his way over to free the remain villagers from their prison.
Then a blackness of mood descends on him, as he looks over at his opponent's corpse. How old had that cannibal been to have reached the fourth heaven stage? The blood path was faster it was true, but how far behind was he? How much could he really do languishing in the mere second heaven stage of Qi condensation.
How many thousands of Blood Cannibals or Devil Bees were there in the upper reaches of the Qi condensation realm alone? How much of a difference could he make without more strength?
He would grow stronger. If he wanted to make a real difference; he had to.
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