This is an omake for
Good Seed, a quest with an excellent omake incentivization system that's currently on hiatus. However, I still wanted to finish some stuff I had for it, so here's this. My apologies in advance if you actually read it, it's, uh ... well.
Golden Grizzly 6: Training Montage
Eighty hundred fifty million years ago, a cataclysmic battle took place between the great sage Seven Tails Scorpion Hermit, who had wandered the whole of the Third Turtle Child and done many great deeds in the process, and an otherwise ordinary monkey, who happened to be in the realm of Spirit Severing and so was about as far from ordinary as a monkey could get. Scorpion Hermit was attempting, for reasons not entirely relevant to this story, to find a suitable target upon which to foist a particularly annoying and nearly indestructible talking egg that had begun following him around some centuries ago, and had determined the monkey to be the most suitable target of the spirit beasts in the region (the unfortunately-named Dastardly Flipper) which he had found himself in.
Scorpion Hermit made his way to the monkey's lair, which was an enormous tree five thousand
li high in the middle of a jungle that stretched for a similarly ludicrous expanse, and was filled with all manner of horrible poisonous creatures that attempted to ensnare the great sage in their traps and cripple him with their venoms. Somewhat fortunately, Scorpion Hermit had already been inoculated to the essence of the Lemon Belly Widow Goddess, a scorpion ally of his with venom of far greater potency than anything these measly crawlers could possibly secrete, and so he strode through the jungle unharmed. He stood before the monkey's enormous tree and called for it to come forth in the ancient manner of challenge that all monkeys know, and the ape clambered down from its favorite napping branch.
"Why do you disturb me, oh little shiny man?" Boomed the monkey. "I should floss my ass crack with you to clean out my fleas for interrupting my nap." It was quite serious, too - its fleas were many, and each was in Core Formation, their power great despite their diminutive size.
"Take this egg," replied Seven Tails Scorpion Hermit, and held out the ovum in question, which sprouted a mouth and eyes
that caused immense disquiet in the spirit to look upon once it realized that it was being observed. "It is an object of great wisdom, and tells the bearer things that only the wisest under Heaven can truly comprehend. I think it only fitting that it is the most cunning of all creatures in the Dastardly Flipper who bears it, rather than this lowly wanderer."
This was, of course, a blatant lie by Scorpion Hermit - the egg was merely incredibly annoying and nigh incapable of shutting up, a trait which had not only nearly cost Scorpion Hermit his life several times over during situations where stealth was necessary, but also made it near impossible for him to actually cultivate without the egg snapping him out of his trance with some inane observation or other.
So powerful was the egg's force of annoyance, in fact, that even mentioning it is cause enough for some of its rambles to carry through into the speaker's verbiage. I will now succumb to the word vomit I can feel arising within the tendons of my wrist, rather than have it spew out at some inconvenient time later. Please don't feel obligated to read whatever cursed text I write in the subsequent paragraph. In fact, I'd actively encourage that you don't, lest you oh god here it comes
The things that the cursed egg said as Scorpion Hermit held it out to the Spirit Severing monkey were as follows, all relayed within approximately two tenths of a second: "Boy howdy, look at what a big gorilla. I'm going to name you Chester! Chester the monkey. Or maybe you're more of a simian? Definitely an ape. Ooga booga! Hahaha, that's what monkeys say. Or rather apes, my apologies. Definitely apes that say that, not gorillas. I know that because I'm an egg, and eggs know all about marsupials! You're a marsupial, right? That's the one where you have blood come out of your nipples every so often, I think. Look, there's a lot of creatures out there, and I've gotta keep track of all of them, and they get mixed up every so often in my little eggy brain. Sue me, what are you gonna do. Look, point being, I'm an egg, you're a baboon, why don't we be friends? We're natural partners! I sit on that gargantuan forehead of yours and tell you what to do, and you do everything I say and also laugh at my jokes. Ooh, I should tell you a joke, that's a perfect way to warm up to a new friend! My mother (who is also an egg) always told me so, she told me when I was young, she told me, "Now egg, if you ever want to make a friend quick, you've gotta tell them a joke!" That's what she said, all right, and I've taken it to heart ever since. Now then, what joke should I tell ya? I can't use any jokes involving monkeys because you probably know all of those, and also I don't want to be slandered for inappropriate cultural appropriation, nothing worse than that for an egg. Hmm, maybe I should tell you the one about the mouse and the desert gopher. Or maybe the Hundred Gem Zucchini and the Foolish Lava Millipede? Ooh, ooh, no, I know the perfect one! Oh man, this joke is gonna be the most gut-bustiest joke of all time, you're gonna laugh so hard you'll break your own jaw and rip your heart out of your chest so you can feast on your own life's blood and rejoice in the exultant moment of pain! I mean, my jokes are the best jokes, everyone says so, they all tell me 'Egg, you're the best joke teller, please tell us another joke' and I go 'Hey, only if you give me a million spirit stones' and then they start laughing anyway and it turns out it was just another joke to them the whole time! I mean, can you even believe it? I tell jokes without even meaning to! That's like a whole other level of joke-itude! I really am just an over the top genius as far as humor, I really should be in charge of your life, I'm just too funny. Oh right, I never told you the actual joke, did I? Okay, here goes. Be prepared for the rest of your life to be an unending torrent of misery, a flat grey landscape of unceasing boredom and unfulfillment once I tell you this joke. The humor you experience is going to be so transcendental that nothing else you'll ever find could ever possibly compare, and you could taste the sweetest fulfillment of your every desire and find it nothing but bitter ashes in your mouth, heart, and soul compared to the joke I'm about to bestow upon you. Do you even realize how lucky you are? I could be telling this joke to anyone in the entirety of all the realms and yet I'm giving it to you, here, right now! Wow, what a moment. Really makes you think, huh? You'd better be ready to give me the entirety of yourself in eternal servitude once this is done, because honestly I really should remember to charge people for the privilege of my company but I never do, so you've got quite a payment backlog that I'm going to dump onto you to equal out the lacking contributions of all the other shmucks I've donated my heavenly presence to. Anyway, I've probably done enough delaying, time for the joke now! The joke to end all jokes. Prepare to be friended harder than you've ever been friended before! Ahem. Glack. Snort. I gotta say all these onomatopoeic words instead of actually clearing my throat because I don't actually have organs like you flesh bags or anything, but having a routine before you tell a joke is important, dammit, and mine is clearing my throat, no matter whether I actually have one or not. Alright, now that that's out of the way with, time for the joke. Are you ready? Get yourself settled down, sit nice and comfortably, alright? I wouldn't want you to have a stiff lower back or anything when you get up, why don't you fix that posture? A healthy back is a healthy mind, and only the healthiest of minds can fully comprehend what I've got to offer! Alright, now then, time for the joke. One, two, three. Why did the chicken cross the road? … Did you guess the answer? It's okay if you take a few guesses. Just don't tell me. Okay okay okay, I'll tell you. Ready? Okay. Why did the chicken cross the road? By taking one step at a time? Ahahahahaha! Do you get it? It's not even an answer to the question! The person telling the joke has forgotten what joke he's telling in the middle of telling it! Oh man, what a knee-slapper. I'd slap my knees if I had any to slap, that's for sure. Why don't you -"
Scorpion Hermit put the egg back into his pocket.
"Yeah, there's no way under all the heavens that I'm taking that cursed thing," the monkey said. "Whatever misbegotten creature spawned it is a horror of the worst sort, and should be punished excruciatingly for the crime of existing."
"Do you have any idea how much cultivation time I've lost because of this thing," Scorpion Hermit snapped, his facade of calmness falling away. "Anytime I try anything, even so much as a basic cycling of my qi, it pipes up with another inane ramble and breaks my concentration! You're a spirit beast, you don't even need to cultivate. You take it."
"No," replied the monkey, displaying a surprising amount of common sense.
Scorpion Hermit, in response, threw the egg at the monkey, the projectile quickly accelerating to the point that it ignited the very air around it, becoming a burning star that rocketed towards the great ape at speeds faster than even a Nascent Soul could possibly perceive. The monkey, thinking quickly, plucked a nearby Iron Paddle Leaf from its tree and batted the egg back towards Scorpion Hermit, rebounding the projectile in a dazzling arc.
Not to be outdone, Scorpion Hermit summoned up his trusty Threefold Contemplative Diamond Nexus Brigade Dazzling Shimmer Shield, a buckler formed of the coalesced thoughts of an elder he'd encountered earlier. Admittedly he hadn't actually had cause to use the thing for about seven hundred years, having amassed thousands of artifacts over the course of his journeys, but it had always been there for him. It was here for him now, as it deflected the accursed egg's trajectory, sending it screaming back towards the Spirit Severing monkey on a trail of broken air.
The two battled for seven consecutive years, trading one continuous volley the entire time, each coming up with more and more acrobatic maneuvers in their attempts to sling the egg at the other. At last, it was not the monkey's titanic strength or Scorpion Hermit's plethora of tricks that won the day, but simple good fortune. The egg, stressed to the breaking point by being battered back and forth thousands of times per second, finally, blessedly, was smashed into pieces and silenced forever. The ground above which it burst was showered with its essence, and it was immediately scoured to the bare rock, such was the potency of its corrosion.
"Huh," said Scorpion Hermit. "I have to admit, this wasn't how I pictured getting rid of the damn thing, but I won't complain about getting results. Nicely done."
The monkey, who may have been selfish and ornery but could appreciate a good bludgeoner, nodded back. "Your skill at catching all my rebounds was quite exemplary," it complimented Scorpion Hermit. "I had to press myself to come up with ways that I might foil your defense."
"I might say the same," the wandering cultivator replied. "You've got quite a strong serving arm, and to keep up a volley like that against someone as fast as I? Not bad."
"We should make this a thing, you and I," the monkey said. "It could be a new form of tournament, a way for creatures of all levels under the heavens to test their skills and might against each other without resorting to the baseless spilling of blood. All would be benefited by the presence of such a tournament - Monkey and the Scorpion Hermit's Bi-Millennial Paddle Slab Rotunda. What do you say?"
"I don't like that you put your name in front of mine," sneered Scorpion Hermit, and he killed the monkey instantaneously with the Heartsblood Ultimate Divine Venom Jian, a sword that called on powers greater than the heavens themselves, which may have never actually been mentioned before but that he'd had since he was a mortal and found it laying in a ditch on the side of a road.
Scorpion Hermit then went on to singlehandedly invent the game of Paddle Slab, and popularized it throughout all the Seas. He was remembered as the ultimate gamesmaster, and in his honor, tournaments that imitate his clash with the monkey are held to this very day, so that all may remember and be inspired by his shining example.
-<<<000>>>-
"Really, that's the story you're going with?" Juen scoffed. "As if anyone's ever going to believe that pile of horse shit."
Hua Ming frowned. "Is it really that far-fetched? Everything actually important happened so unbelievably long ago that no one actually knows jack or shit about whether it happened or not, not even Old Gold. I figured if I just go back far enough, I can just make some random series of events up and tweak them to my benefit, y'know?"
Juen smacked him. "Idiot, you can't just make up history to suit your own needs. This is an actual world we live in, Ming - people really live here, things actually happen. You've got to respect what it looks like or you'll be labeled as an untrustworthy braggart, and then we'll have invested all this effort in this idea for nothing."
Ming frowned, rubbing his cheek. "What effort? You and me came up with the idea of paddle ball a few nights ago while we were drunk and bored, and figured we could make some quick stones off of other drunk and bored legionnares if we held a competition with rules that we made up. It's not like we've spent months promoting it or anything, all we did was make an entry on the Contribution Board inviting anyone who wanted to come tonight."
Juen looked around the room they were in - a wide, low-ceiling basement that was housed under the Farting Cloud Horse tavern, made up of little more than bare stone and a leftover table the two of them had been able to scrounge from the innkeep. "Yeah, well, looks like it's a bust. We've been here for an hour and not a peep."
Thoom
Thoom
Thoom
Juen and Ming looked upwards uneasily as the room shook. Juen wiped a sudden sheen of sweat away from his bald head. "You put out a general invitation?" The thunderous impacts continued to sound out, growing closer to the door at the top of the stairs out of the basement.
"Y-yeah," Ming replied, glancing around the room for a weapon and finding none at hand. "Why do you ask?"
"This isn't like the time you placed a request for basic cycling advice and accidentally set it to alert the entirety of the Clan whenever they next accessed the Board, is it?"
Thoom
Ming suddenly became reluctant to meet Juen's eyes, and the other cultivator clenched his fists.
"Ming, if you did that on purpose I swear I'll - "
"Not the whole clan," Ming said, holding out his hands. "Just all the recruits of Foundation Building and lower! I didn't want to offend any of the Legates."
Thoom
Juen slapped him across the face and seized him by the lapels. "Ming, that's still over a million cultivators! You stupid bastard! Who knows who you've pissed off! Why under the heavens would you -"
"Look, I thought it'd be fun!"
"
Fun?! We've got who knows what up there about to come down here and rip us to shreds because your fucking ping interrupted their contemplation! You wasted months of their time with that, probably! Forget killing us, we'll be in debt for the rest of our lives!"
"I just wanted to -"
Thoom
The basement door burst open under the force of an arbitrarily high numbered boot, silencing their bickering. Fragments of wood rained down into the room, slowly clearing to reveal a man that looked more like a statue than a human. His energies flooded forth, revealing him to be a cultivator of the Tenth Heavenstage, far above either Juen or Ming. They both immediately knelt, left fist over their breasts. Juen made to speak - to apologize, to explain, anything - but the senior cultivator lifted a hand and both of them immediately clamped their lips shut. Their fate had come, best to meet it with dignity.
The cultivator thumped down the steps, regarding the both of them with steely-eyed intensity. "This was the invitation to paddle balls, yes?"
Ming cleared his throat. "Uh. Paddle ball, senior. It's a game I invented and thought the Clan might find … fun." He winced at how childishly naive that sounded. "I hope I haven't caused any offense."
The golden-skinned man shook his head ponderously. "Fun is my weakness. I must train it. Show me this ball paddling."
Juen and Ming side-eyed each other. They might just live through the night after all, it seemed.
Live they did, though a part of Juen ended up wishing that Ming had accidentally messaged a Core Formation elder and gotten them both crushed in an instant. The colossal cultivator's name was Grizzly - at least as far as could be told - and he put the both of them through a grueling circuit of paddleball, relentlessly playing against them for a small eternity without a pause. Food was brought down to them from the tavern at regular intervals, and they would play while they ate, cramming down food with one hand and batting the ball back and forth with the other.
It should be noted that Grizzly never actually gave either of them an order to stay, nor was he a member of their actual legion, so any order he did give wouldn't have been valid to begin with. However, neither of them wished to piss off the taciturn colossus, particularly since he was seven Heavenstages above them, and so they did everything he said without (outward) complaint. The two of them swiftly adapted to a shift-working schedule, one sleeping and cultivating while the other played, switching off every sixteen hours. Grizzly, oddly enough, took no breaks at all, instead serving and rebounding with the implacable tenacity of a machine. He didn't even sleep, though Juen and Ming were at a loss to explain how.
Their play, fumbling and clumsy at first, swiftly improved with the immense amount of practice they were receiving. Soon they were sending volleys dozens of rounds long back and forth at each other, the speed at which they hit the ball increasing until it strained the bounds of Juen and Ming's superhuman perception to react in time. Their breath heaved like bellows, and their muscles ached as though stung by a Million Years Testicle Pain Fire Ant. Grizzly merely nodded and had them eat more when they could no longer stand and their paddles fell from nerveless fingers. "Need to bulk," he commented, and that was that.
Three years from the day he had found them in the basement, Grizzly finally called a halt to their game after the ball had embedded itself too deeply in one of the walls to be readily reached. "Good game," he said. "Fun is good training when done right." He then fell forward onto his face, crushing the table beneath his belly. Juen and Ming rushed towards him, sure his extended period without sleep had done him in, only to hear a faint snore come from underneath the table's wreckage. Grizzly had begun his Post-Workout Recovery Nap technique, and would not wake for six months.
Juen and Ming refused to tell any of their fellow legionnaires where they'd been, letting all sorts of tales of how they'd been lost in a Secret Realm pile up rather than reveal the truth. Despite the monotonous, achy, and thoroughly depleting nature of their ordeal, they had to admit that it had actually yielded them some benefits - their forearm and shoulder muscles had been worked to such a great degree that the Apothekarion said they'd somehow developed a halfway decent variation of the Bullhorn Muscle technique without even meaning to, and their reflexes had sharpened enough that they had little trouble besting the trials their Centurion put forth on them, earning enough contribution points to advance three heavenstages - far more than they would have expected to attain otherwise. They'd also each gained about fifty pounds of weight, though the how of that was somewhat more inexplicable.
Some sort of incomplete technique, they were told.
You should go back to whoever taught you it and finish their tutelage.
The notion perturbed the both of them greatly, but on the other hand, if they were able to replicate their gains from such a trial … maybe it'd be worth it.
Maybe.
3718 words, including this author note. Good Seed may be dormant for the time being, but god damnit I'm gonna keep the meme going!
This was written as part of a weekly event I'm doing in my Discord server (link in signature) where I livestream myself writing once a week on Fridays at 6PM PST. Feel free to come join me and write alongside if you feel like it!
