Maria and the Three Masters (Part Four)
Maria Turn 10 Fifteenth Omake
144 E.K. (Era Konstantinos)
The Dawn Fortress.
The students file in, one after another, in as close to good legionary order as they can manage. The Centurion's stone-faced frown makes it clear how far that is from acceptable. Still. They're young yet. Given time, they'll get it. So they sit at their desks and wait, faces calm and attentive. Most have the earliest hints of the bronze showing through – the warm, dusky skin of the clan evident even under the thick layer of mortality still clinging to each of them.
Except for one.
That one has learnt already to sit at the back of the class. Her uniform is a sight to behold – bedraggled and poorly worn, cleaned roughly and with little skill. Instead of that dusky warmth, her skin is a flat corpse-white. She's not ostracized, exactly; her classmates seem comfortable enough to have her around. But she's different, and even here, different can be awkward.
The Centurion waits for her to settle, and closes the door.
They start with meditation, and group cultivation, as they always do. Then begins the lecture.
"Today's topic is the Reflected Purities technique," he says without preamble. There's a hushed susurrus of whispered excitement at that. There always is. He lets what could be charitably called a smile run across his face. "Yes, yes. I know. Exciting. Now shut up. We have a great deal to do and little time to do it in. Who knows how it works?"
A forest of hands shoot up. He picks at random.
"Thrake?"
"Uses closed meridian circuits to push qi through our bone marrow, veins and arteries to stimulate the Blood of Bronze, then magnifies the result with reactive sub-techniques to express it to a much higher degree than normal."
"Correct. And why is that important?"
"Helps strengthen the Blood and increases the chance of high-level natural expression."
"Good. Now, with that said, why don't we use it all the time? Hand down, Thrake."
He eyes the second forest and smiles a little.
"Nike?"
"The Reflected Purities technique is complicated. Its results are very powerful, and it must be accessible to early heavenstage cultivators. Thus, it is impossible to use with techniques outside of formations and some spear forms."
"Good woman. It's a very nice beginner technique, but that's all it is."
The pale one has raised her hands. The Centurion points at her.
"Maria."
"Why?"
His lips thin.
"Weren't you listening?"
"Was, but… why? Thought techniques could be fixed. Changed."
The Centurion pauses. It's a reasonable question.
"They can, but it's rare to see the Reflected Purities used much beyond, at the latest, fifth heavenstage. By then, the Blood has either started manifesting itself, which is usually better and requires no qi, or it hasn't, and there's other styles and techniques that don't require as much work to pull off."
Maria nods. He glances around the room, and sees only eager faces. Best to capitalize on that.
"Start with the reactives. They're the hard part."
The next four hours are telling. It's not an easy technique, but then, nothing ever is this early in training. Most of them get it, and sit gleaming in skins of bright, shimmering bronze by the end of the class. Others are close; the meridians need tightening, usually, or the amplification isn't quite aligned.
There's only one who fails completely, and it's poor Pale Maria. By hour four, she's a frustrated, slouching mess, her lotus position looking more like a knot tied with a particularly lumpy piece of string. The Centurion tries not to single her out, but it's no good. The other students are starting to give her side-eyed glances, muttering to each other and smothering laughs.
"It's not an easy technique," growls the Centurion. They shut up. It doesn't matter. Maria's slouching even further, now. He gives in.
"Dismissed. Out, all of you. Formation practice tomorrow. Maria, stay back."
When they're gone, she finally untangles herself and flops into a chair. Her mood is written in every motion. The Centurion winces.
"Look. I realise this is frustrating," he says, reaching for something, anything, to help. "You must remember they have advantages you don't. Most of them are from clan families. They started practicing much earlier than you did."
She nods, not looking at him. He sighs.
"Not everyone has to be good at everything, Aspirant. Don't take it personally."
---
171 E.K.
Song Empire
Contested Territory
Shu Cangquiong sat back, spitting in bitter frustration as the divination array burnt itself out. The forth one in two hours, after months – literal months! – of preparation. Everything she'd ever learnt, she'd had to use, just to glimpse some ridiculous childhood memory that was
near the Dawn Fortress. Even
THAT had required careful timing, figuring out when Heaven's influence would be strongest, spending the Karma she'd managed to snatch from battlefield kills, and more rituals of obeisance than she'd ever had to do in her life. Her knees were aching wrecks, by the end of it. And still – STILL – the damn arrays kept breaking. How the fuck had they warded that place so strongly? What God had some ancient devil felated?
"Not going well?"
She glanced across. Lung Slice raised a polite eyebrow at her as he worked his way through a plate of his namesake. They'd come from a Flood Dragon he'd caught. Apparently that made them gamier.
"No," she growled. "It keeps showing me some… bloody… schoolday memory."
"And that isn't helpful?"
She liked Lung Slice. It wasn't his fault he was an idiot. She reminded herself of this, and tried not to snap at him for talking with his mouth full.
"No. I'm looking for a
weakness. Something I can exploit to put that bitch into the ground."
"Or my plate."
"I'm dissecting her first. When I'm done, you can have her."
Lung Slice nodded agreeably. "Of course. Getting away from dinner plans, what do you want to do?"
Shu Cangquiong sat back and considered. She should shepherd her resources, she knew that. Wait for a better moment. But she'd been playing it safe for a while now. Perhaps a change in tactics was what she needed.
"Attack," she said. "Heavy skirmishers, and a few scouts. Let's see if we can shake something loose."
---
"I hate this route."
"Really," said Maria, tone droll. Priscian nodded.
"Yes captain. I realise that might be news to you. I have, after all, only said it four hundred and thirty two times in your presence."
"I will admit, I don't listen to what you're saying very often."
"Probably for the best. But I thought, in this circumstance, I'd bring it up again, see if, perhaps, you thought it might be relevant."
"Thank you. Priscian?"
"Captain?"
"It's not. Shut up."
"Captain."
Draconis was subtly radiating disapproval. He didn't like it when she was informal with the squad. Well, screw it. She was in a good mood today. For all Priscian hated it, she enjoyed Wolf. It was one of the few not to have been completely deforested, and trees, even eleven years into the deployment, were still a novelty to her. Plus, you had to climb them to check the route properly. That was just
fun.
Chance of a fight?
The Red Place had a hopeful tone to its voice. She sympathized. It had been a while since any proper engagements.
Maybe.
So no.
Well-
Damn it.
She smiled, despite herself.
Come on. Maybe we'll get lucky?
And then, of course, they did. It started with an explosion.
Maria yanked her shield up and fell back into position for Hoplite, the squad surging in around her to lock their shields. The synch came almost without thinking, years of practice pulling their qi-construct into existence with precise, certain motions. It dropped into a defensive stance immediately as the second blast hit.
They'd gotten lucky first time around, in hindsight. Whoever was firing those off was not screwing around. The Hoplite's shield hadn't quite cracked, but she could feel the dent beaten into it. Another hit like that might split it. She scanned around, looking for the attacker. Path of the blast meant…
There.
I see 'em.
Six of the bastards. All Altar, by the look of it. Gao had been taking losses left and right, lately – they were getting rarer in the ranks. Still, the lack of variation didn't seem to be hurting them much. There were eight of the bastards, and big lads too – their bodies swollen with muscle and their skins shifting and twitching from Blood path techniques.
Robes-Freely-Given, growled the Red Place.
Defence-offence technique.
That the one where they grow tentacles?
With the victim's faces on them, yeah. Close fast, no grapples.
Fair. The big one in the middle, he's the ranged fighter, right?
The big one in question was glaring at the Hoplite. He rooted himself, leaned back, and inhaled. She watched wind and fire qi spiral down into his lungs.
I'd say so.
Start there then.
"Draconis, take lead," she muttered, and bolted forward out of formation. Her sergeant has stepped into her spot before she was even fully out of it, the Qi Projection shimmering briefly as her system came loose. Good to work with competent people.
The Alliance force was half a mile away – possibly a little further – and didn't look interested in closing. Not a bad strategy for fighting the clan; keep your distance, shoot a lot, and rely on speed for defence. Most Devils would be caught. But then, she wasn't most devils. Time to make that clear.
Her mind stilled, then roared as rage ran through it. The Red Place eagerly lunged forward, their thoughts unifying into that singular state of pure wrath that had come to characterize their new style. The weight of the heavy Bull-Dance Sleeves seemed to evaporate, nothing more now than her own skin and muscle.
She lunged. There was a few seconds of travelling, gone in a heartbeat. Then she was there, arms spread, hands clenched into fists, her mouth open and roaring as fire started to spark in thick, wavy curtains around her face and chest.
The big one's eyes widened. Something halfway between shock and fury sparked across his face. He twisted, trying to follow her, get off one good shot-
But he'd been too late moments before.
One steel-clad hand snapped out to wrap around his neck. There was a dull, meaty *squish* as she crushed it, watching it well up between her fingers. Another spark of horror – but he wasn't dead yet.
Turned.
Ripped the throat loose.
Flung it, underhanded, into the face of one of the other ones. She saw his skin starting to bubble like boiling water, something gaunt and human rising up from the depths of his body to press through.
Shooter's throat already starting to grow back. Fuck that. She cycled her qi and pushed it out in a wave. Fire burst into hungry life around her. Shrieks. Screams.
Weak.
Hands lash out. Crush skulls. Burn. Shooter's about to fire. Cute. Punch down, once, hard – stomach opens like wrapping paper coming off a present. Inside, wind and fire. Lean back. Watch it come pouring out.
Just so fucking weak.
She can't stop smiling, she realizes. She just can't.
The one behind her tries to close.
Fuck him. Elbow goes back. Head goes back. Turn into him as he's reeling backwards. Tear at him, tear tear tear tear tear.
BURN. Flames lick out white and blue. Pretty scorching fire making such pretty ashes.
No thoughts at all.
Heavy footsteps. Turn, grinning, laughing – the Hoplite.
Good boys. Good girls. So kind of them to be here.
And she pulled herself back. Felt like cold water running over her every inch, scouring her awake. She registered, at last, the dead. Six, by her count. She looked at Draconis as the squad broke out of the Hoplite already.
"You get one?"
"No."
He was looking at her strangely. She looked down.
"What? Something wrong?"
"Maria. You're panting."
"What?"
She blinked. Focused. He was right. Her cultivation should, by now, have calmed her breathing. So why—
When had she sat down?
She blinked.
She blinked.
She bli-
---
Thirty years as a healer had shaped Aesklepios, and not necessarily for the better. He'd started as a bright-eyed, fresh faced child of the clan, eager to save lives. Then he'd lived through two of the worst trials in recent memory. That had taken a lot of the shine off of life. He wouldn't have really called himself cynical, though, until he'd gotten to the Fearless Line.
There was very,
very little that ruined even the real and obvious moral good of healing quite as successfully as hearing a Righteous Path cultivator tell you why they were better than you.
"I understand," he said, for the fifth time, "that you would do it differently if the patient was a member of your sect, but I promise you, the Blood of Bronze-"
"SILENCE! I will not hear one more word of your heretical Blood of Bronze!" Dedicate Grizzly had come to cultivation late in life. This, Aesklepios was sure, was why she could shriek so horrifically and somehow have made it to the eighth Heavenstage without being killed. It would be too much like shanking your own grandmother. "The Bear Enslavement Sect has mastered the arts of hibernation and flesh realignment! THAT is the only way to treat a patient! *CERTAINLY* not hammering bones back into place with a sledgehammer!"
"The patient had manifested Tin Bones, they have to be quite forcibly corrected-"
"THIS IS HOW A DEMON TREATS THE WOUNDED! AS A TARGET FOR UNWARRANTED ATTACK!"
Aesklepios closed his eyes, and made himself count to ten.
"Dedicate. Flesh realignment is not going to work."
"Oh? And you know so very much, do you? Infinite is your wisdom?"
He made himself smile.
"In this circumstance, I do know quite a bit, yes. But I think I can explain it without too much difficulty. Flesh realignment normally requires flesh, yes?"
"Your foolishness is not amusing."
"Flesh made of meat?"
"And now you descend-"
"The patient is made at least partially of bronze, dedicate."
That stopped her. The satisfaction was extreme.
"What?"
"His flesh. It is composed of bronze. At least, fourteen percent of it is. Possibly more; he's a Callista. Your flesh realignment techniques would I'm sure work perfectly well on the rest, but the resulting hemorrhage would presumably still kill him given you would have disemboweled him."
"I- I-"
"The bones, too, in his case, are metallic. As I stated before, that one is tin. Attempting any techniques on them would, thankfully, cause no further injury. Niether, however, would it do much good. Because it would do absolutely
nothing. Are we beginning to understand each other?"
Dedicate Grizzly seemed to flutter for a moment, before drawing herself up like the pompous set of bagpipes she so clearly must have been in a previous life.
"I will not be spoken to in this manner! I expect an apology, Healer Kostamenthes, and I expect soon."
With that, she flounced away. As retreats went, he had to admit he'd seen worse.
The assistants, to a man kowtowing in total silence, looked up at him enquiringly.
"He's stable," said Aesklepios. "Keep him that way for half an hour to let regeneration begin. I'll straighten him out afterwards. Who's next?"
The eldest of the juniors rose, just enough to draw his attention.
"This humble one is happy to inform the honoured healer, blessed be his name and house-"
Aesklepios closed his eyes again. This time he made himself count to twenty. Why, he wondered, did other sects feel so honourbound, so obsessed to the point of mania, with having their juniors blow smoke up their arses? Respect and filial piety were all very well and good, but
Gods, he could be having a glass of Ghostspice right now.
"-honoured among men, raised up by the Gods and favoured by all that is just, that his next patient is the virtuous and praiseworthy Captain Maria, blessed be her name and-"
"Yes, fine, yes. Injury?"
The junior paused.
"The Captain's injury is unspecified. Some form of unusual reaction after battle ended, the details of which this humble one is not able to attain. I offer-"
"Stop. Please. Just stop.
Where is she?"
"…Tent number three?"
"Good."
He didn't so much leave as flee. Tent Three was on the other side of the fort's medical quarter, so at least that gave him an excuse. Gods, he missed the desert. He'd started fantasizing about aspirant healers giving him shit. At least they weren't afraid to have opinions.
The patient – Maria – was sitting up already by the time he got there, with the impatient look of a longterm cultivator and a career legionnaire. It translated to trouble every time he saw it.
"Lie down, Captain."
"I'm fine," she protested.
"Sure you are. Lie down."
"Sklep, come on, it was just-"
"Captain. You can lie down, or I can lie you down with the aid of a mallet and enough sleepweed to kill a scorpion. Pick one."
She glared. It was a good one – years of practice had gone into it, and the single eye concentrated the same amount of hostility into a *much* smaller space. But Aesklepios had been doing this since before she was born. In the end, the stone-faced, dead-eyed stare wore everyone down.
Two seconds. Three. With a grumble, she lay down. Victory.
"Now, what happened?"
"Nothing."
"Try again."
"Fucking – I don't know. Some Altars managed to get close enough to hit us. Didn't manage it. Squad went into formation, I closed in and handled them."
"All of them?"
"One got away."
"Okay. Go on."
"Then, after, I fell down."
He raised an eyebrow. She reddened.
"…You fell down."
"I- my sergeant, Draconis-"
"The only sane man in your whole damn squad, yes."
"Don't. Anyway, he said I was breathing weird, and I was, and then I kind of fell over."
Aesklepios felt his brain working as he considered that. It sounded like… but no. No, she was at the tenth heavenstage. That was ridiculous.
…Except she did use fire techniques, didn't she? In the Xin style. That low level stuff they taught outsiders sometimes. And she didn't hold still while she used it, either. Moved around a
lot, did Maria. He frowned.
"That martial art of yours," he said, slowly. "The fancy one."
"The Black Bull's Dance."
"Whatever. Lot of movement?"
"…It's a martial art, Sklep."
"Answer the question."
"Yes, there's a lot of movement. Running, jumping, tearing-"
"Tearing."
"Yeah. It's not subtle. What, everyone has to be a soft stylist now?"
"Lie back."
He knew, as he began his checkup, that he had to be wrong. She wasn't the first unorthodox cultivator he'd treated. That didn't happen past gods-damn fifth. It was ridiculous. He was thus deeply,
DEEPLY irritated to find that he was right.
Gods damnit. Gods damnit, how the hell had
THAT happened?
"…Typical," he muttered. Maria shot him a quizzical look. "Is this spite? Because I don't think I've pissed you off enough to justify this."
"Is what spite?"
"So no, then. Gods. Okay. You're a fucking idiot, and also congratulations. You overheated."
---
The new headquarters were, quite frankly, a dive. There was no other word for it – or at least none Shu Cangquiong felt comfortable using. It had apparently once been some sort of courthouse, but those days were clearly over. Still. She supposed there was a roof. And these chairs were proving exceptionally useful for her work.
Even if she didn't know why she was doing it.
"I really don't see why you can't just eat him," she said testily. "I thought you had an art for taking experiences."
"I do," he answered, calmly. "However, given *you* want the memories in question, I'd rather you took them directly from him. With all due respect, you can rather direct about these matters."
She was tempted to reply, but given she'd just shot the tenth syringe full of truth serum into the survivor of the attack, she decided not to bother. Context was, after all, important.
The Altar skirmisher was pale and shivering by now. His eyes had rolled almost completely back into his head. It was time.
"Listen," she said, her voice taking on the sing-song lilt that worked best in this situation. "I need you to think about what you saw. Be careful, now. Don't forget anything."
There was an awful noise coming from his throat. Some hybrid of a groan and a scream.
"Shhh, shh shh. It's alright. Just… think."
His eyelids shut. Beneath the lids, she watches his pupils flicker.
Time for a dive. She places her hand on the divination diagram she'd tattooed onto his skull… and the impressions come, thick and fast. The battle. The violence. The escape (and the second-hand pain from his wounds, stinging with each moment). And then…
Runrunrun
Gonenowgoneprettyfar
Almostsafe
Solookbacklookbackandsee-
(the drugs scorch his brain's pathways with each moment, but flow thick deep into the memory, pulling out details and sharpening them to mirror-clearness)
The captain blinks. Collapses. Eye isn't focusing. Skin is flushed. Breathing is wrong. The sergeant's face tightens in alarm.
She pulled her hand away, surprised, without bothering to disconnect properly. The technique spasmed inside his head, burning everything it touched, until the contents of his skull boiled out of his ears, mouth, nose, eyes. Lung-Slice wrinkled his nose in distaste.
"Seems a little excessive."
"Hush."
Shu put her hands to her temples, trying to make sense of what she'd seen.
"She's overheating," she said, slowly. Lung-Slice's brow furrowed.
"…How?"
"Because of the techniques. That has to be it. She's throwing around Xin fire techniques; those are just her own qi with the fire element emphasized. Flexible as all hell, and very effective, but it's going to be cooking her body. That's why the sorcerers use those handseals. On its own, she'd be fine, but the Black Bull's Dance isn't exactly easy on the body either, and that's before you factor in the movement."
"Which matters why?"
"More body-heat. Aerobic exercise. Put it all together, even
with her clan's charming little healing factor, eventually she'll cook herself from the inside out."
Lung-Slice, considering, sat back on his chair.
"…Now, that sounds like a weakness."
"Yes. Yes, it does."
Her mind was whirling with designs and plans. She needed the lab, right now.
"I'm all done with him, in any case. Enjoy your lunch."
---
Letha kicked open the dormitory door like it had personally offended her, and hit Maria with a glare so hot it almost burnt a hole through her.
"Why am I finding this out second-hand?"
"Finding out what?"
"Don't. Don't you dare."
Maria groaned.
"Because this whole thing is fuckin' stupid! I was
fine."
"You collapsed," snapped Letha. Maria blinked. Her friend hadn't lost her temper in the four decades Maria had known her. "In the
FIELD. That is not, by any definition, fine."
"Leeth-"
"If it was one of your squad, what would you say?"
Maria closed her eyes, winced. There was no comeback to that.
Letha visibly forced herself to breathe.
"Overheating is not an uncommon issue," she said, briskly. "Granted, at your level it's unusual, but we can at least start working out a solution."
"Who told you, anyway?"
"I work for Tactical, and I went to Alexandria Angelus's hen night.
Everybody told me. Now. The problem are your fire techniques, yes?"
"Gods, don't I get
any privacy?"
"We can therefore see about developing some low level heat-sinks-"
"It's not just the fuckin' fire techniques. The Bull Dance isn't helping."
Letha paused.
"Why?"
"Body heat. Something about wear and tear too. Fuck, I don't *know*, Letha. This is-"
"Hush."
Letha stared into the distance, thinking. Then, after a moment, she nodded sharply.
"Alright. We'll have to try something a little more drastic. How's your Reflected Purities?"
Maria felt her jaw set.
"Leeth."
"We'd have to hack it," mused her friend. "Alter the meridian flows. Then again, at your heavenstage you won't need it to reflect as strongly."
"Leeth."
"Honestly most of it's going to be countering the loss of speed-"
"LEETH."
Pause.
"Stop, now," growled Maria.
Poking her fucking nose where it isn't welcome, little fool, little BITCH-
She hadn't felt the Red Place like this for a long while. It must have been showing, too, because the anger drained out of Leetha quickly, and she took an uncertain step backwards.
"Realise," muttered Maria, "that you're trying to help. But stop."
"…I- you seem-"
"This. Was all. A fuss. Over nothing. Alright? The healer lost his shit because that's what healers do. As is, he's got me confined to bedrest for a day and a half. That's training time lost. Fuck, that's
cultivation time lost. Don't need you henpecking me."
"That wasn't what-"
"Just – would you ever go away? Please? Pissed off enough as it is."
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. She saw her friend withdraw behind a wall of courtesy.
"Of course, captain."
She bowed a little, and left.
---
This is the first half of the last part of this series. Needed to find a natural breakpoint for the next one to show time passing. Nike refers to the Nike family that
@DangerKitty 's old good seed, Ambrus, was from. Alexandria (who's hen night Letha went to) is
@Juugo 's Zeno Angelus's wife. Ghostspice, also known as Te Qui La, is a drink first mentioned by
@Mochinator in a Jin Muyi omake a while back - I figure it's been adopted as drink of choice by the Second Scorpions, especially considering it's one of the few alcoholic drinks in the desert that
@LordEdric 's Magnus Centenius didn't invent. Finally, Aesklepios got invented wholecloth after a conversation I had with
@Garlak on the Discord about Golden Devil healers. Anyway.
@TehChron @ReaderOfFate @Kaboomatic may I have a threadmark please?
