The Hellfire Howl of the Third Stage (2)
When the six kin fall into discord, men begin to speak of filial piety and compassion—!
Geuk. Jin. Myeol. Ryu.
Asura’s Great Destruction Calamity Formation was said to consist of four stages in all. Of those four, the Asura of the Eight Heavenly Guardians had permitted me only as far as the second—Jin. The greatest purpose for which he had transmitted the art at all was to counter the cumulative backlash of Heaven and Earth Great Shift, and for that purpose alone he had urged me never to go beyond the second stage. Anything past that, he said, was not a martial path allowed to an ordinary human body.
Setting all of that aside, he had also sworn I would never need to use it. I feared death that much. That fear was one of the root things that made me who I was; it was the very engine that had kept me alive until now. Up to this moment I had lived with my own survival as the absolute first priority.
And now I stood ready to die here.
Third stage. The body screams as black thunder and brilliant lightning-flame devour it from within.
“Asura’s Great Destruction Calamity—Myeol!”
A deep, resonant boom rolled through my bones. With the incantation of the third stage, a brilliance of lightning-flame I had never seen before erupted from every pore, tangled with black thunder. My entire body was screaming. Lightning-flame was never a kindly phenomenon. It was the sparks that fly when mismatched gears are forced to turn until they wear themselves to nothing—flesh being chewed, overloaded, ground down. That fire and the black thunder wrestled like rival dragons, spraying sparks across my skin, then surged upward in a single storm that clawed at the sky. The aura was infinitely alien and yet somehow familiar.
“You bastard! What kind of sorcery are you—”
I hurled myself at Gang Chisang with everything I had. My shoulder smashed into his solar plexus.
“Keuk?!”
His eyes flew wide. He seized my limbs and tried to shove me away; I planted my feet and held as his legs drove backward, trying to force me off. Muscle fibers tore. The black thunder howled as if it meant to rip the world apart.
Mumyeong’s voice cut through my skull.
“There is only one scenario in which we can still win!”
Unless my eyes were lying, the things locked around the wrists of Jeomchang’s Guardian, Gang Chisang, were cold-fragrance stone shackles. As long as those remained, the current Guardian of Jeomchang could not unleash his full power.
“Same as the duel with Gwak Ido of Jongnam. Before he shows his true strength—before the real fight even begins—you must pour out everything and drive him back!”
Mumyeong was practically vomiting blood with the urgency of it.
“Uaaaaah!”
Right now, this very instant, I had to empty every last reserve I possessed. The moment those shackles came off I would not even be able to stand as his opponent. But the reverse was also true: while they still held, a thread of hope still existed.
“Kkeuaaaaah!!!”
“Uuuugh!”
Gang Chisang snatched both of my hands. I locked mine around his. Metal screamed against metal as we shoved with everything we had. Every vessel in my eyes burst; beyond the crimson glare that poured from them, afterimages of pure blood began to stream outward in ribbons. I spat blood and roared.
“Kkeuaaaah! Pl—please!”
I was being pushed back. A foul smile carved itself across Gang Chisang’s face. Veins stood out like ropes; my whole body shuddered. I knew better than anyone how absurd this was. A Guardian was said to hold three-tenths of an entire sect’s strength. Even in shackles, a worm like me had no right to win. I was rational. I never relied on coincidence. Reality was too viciously cold for that. The endings people wished for lived only in the tales of idle storytellers.
Even so, I could not give up.
“Please!!”
From the shattered ruins of the village, everyone watched, trembling. A soft cry rose from the rubble; the landlady and the old man crawled free, coughing.
“Ah… my son.”
The old man’s hands shook as he clenched them. I could not yield here. The entire meaning of my existence would be denied. I could lose for a lifetime. I could die for a lifetime. But now—right now—I had to win.
The black thunder and lightning-flame boiling inside me answered my emotion and detonated. Through lips slick with blood I forced out the verse.
When the jianghu falls into chaos, heroes are born.
Black blood poured from my mouth as I screamed the final, ultimate stage of Asura’s Great Destruction Calamity Formation.
Vessels rupture. Black thunder, lightning-flame, and the true essence of the entire body ignite into blood-thunder that pierces the heavens.
“Ryu!!!!”
Flesh burst. Violent black thunder and lightning-flame rained down; every last drop of true essence in my body burned with them until blood-colored thunder joined the storm and climbed as if to spear the sky. It was a tempest of lightning. Using Baekryeon-pal-ya-jong I tore free of his grip and dove straight into his arms—straight into the killing arc of the executioner’s blade. Ultra-close combat began.
Gang Chisang’s neck cords stood out as he bellowed, “I’ll kill you!”
The Guardian’s fists became a storm. Fist-winds that would kill on a single clean hit howled from every direction. I clenched my teeth. A colossal storm of black blood-thunder wrapped my body. Under the extreme state of Ryu, Baekryeon-pal-ya-jong reached its absolute limit.
“You dodge my fists?!”
Gang Chisang’s eyes bulged in disbelief. I drove my knee, sheathed in black thunder, into the wrist that was regripping the blade. The executioner’s blade spun from the Guardian’s hand and clanged against the earth.
“I dropped my weapon?”
His pupils dilated as though the world had turned upside down. I seized the iron muzzle covering his face, leapt, and smashed my knee into his features. Blood sprayed; he bit down hard. His returning fist caught my ribs. Bone cracked and I was driven into the ground, but at the last instant I shoved off with both hands and bounced free. The instant I left the spot, his kick scythed through the air where I had been. I planted a fist in the exposed side of his ribs, then cracked him across the cheek. A massive fist buried itself in my face. My nose broke; my lips split. His hand tangled in my hair and another punch slammed home. Hair tore free; my head snapped back as if my neck would snap with it. I locked both hands on the muzzle, fixed my body against the force trying to fling me away, and drove my forehead into his face.
The huge body reeled.
Somehow—at least get him out of the village!
I meant to drive this reaper of death toward the outskirts no matter the cost. Even if my body shattered, even if my lifespan was cut in half, I no longer cared. I threw everything. I burned the very reason for my existence. Flesh and blood flew in a savage melee, and little by little Gang Chisang began to give ground.
“I-impossible. Even if I am wearing shackles…!”
His eyes changed as though he were witnessing something that could not exist. My fist, wrapped in black thunder mixed with blood, crashed into his cheek. His balance collapsed. He tumbled. I pursued, pouring every strike I had into him.
“You dog-born bastard!!!”
Gang Chisang lost his composure and counterattacked while spitting blood. Far away, amid the ruins of collapsed buildings, the ground itself shook as though two war-gods had collided. We tangled. He swung; I took the blow and bounced, then drove off the earth and latched on again. Every bone in my body was breaking. Still I clung.
Blood Sect’s Hyeol-yeong-mu-hwan-sin-sul. Kongtong’s Hwan-yeong-dae-sin-bo. Shaolin’s Vajra Demon Subduing Fist. Shaolin’s Jincheon Three Demon Fists. White Lotus Demon Sect’s Baekryeon-pal-ya-jong. I gathered every art I could still force out. Every bare-handed technique I had drilled for hundreds of days alone, never seeing a ray of sunlight, smashing rocks until my fists bled—I poured them all out. Everything I had trained while swallowing tears of blood and misery. I poured my life itself. I shoved him. We began to move toward the village outskirts. Walls shattered. Earth split. We rolled and rose and smashed again. Even through the savage exchange, the bare flesh of Jeomchang’s Guardian showed not a single scratch. Whether that was the legendary protective aura or something near diamond-body, I could not tell. Ordinary steel could not wound him. To pierce that skin I would need either formed sword-force—sword-aura itself—or at minimum an edge equal to the Chiljong-heukjusa-gap on my left hand. I had neither. Against him, therefore, only two paths remained: a single decisive strike of superior martial power, or pure, relentless impact.
His hand clamped around my ankle. He whirled my body like a flail. Buildings collapsed. Floors exploded. Walls burst. My teeth clacked together; flesh sprayed. The blood-red sunset was swallowed by a rain of debris that cast everything into shadow. I was flung through furniture, through tree trunks, until a final wall gave way and I slammed into another structure. Weapons cascaded down on top of me. A smithy at the outermost edge of the village, I guessed. I snatched up swords—two across my back, one in my hands. Both hands locked on the hilt. Dark-crimson lightning and flame coiled up my body. Exposed to the final stage of the Formation, power dozens of times greater than normal made the very air shudder. Black blood welled from all seven orifices. The black blood that kept rising past my lips was more than I could swallow.
What climbed my body was a crimson serpent. Power flashed along the blade I held in both hands.
“That is…”
Gang Chisang’s eyes narrowed. My body shot forward like a mad thing. He reached to snatch me; the movements of Baekryeon-pal-ya-jong turned me into a swirl of shadows that slipped past his fingers. I occupied his back like a ghost. At the same instant scarlet light exploded from both of my eyes and the secret sword of the Moyong Family detonated with every ounce of strength I had left.
Twin dragons of azure force spiral forth as the blade shatters the heavens.
A roar as if heaven and earth themselves were quaking; the sword exploded and dozens of blue dragons poured down upon Jeomchang’s Guardian. Blood vessels began to burst across his body.
“How dare you—how dare a mere insect wound a Guardian…!”
His wretched scream tore the air. Earth overturned; soil fountained. The sword shattered. Both of us were hurled far apart. I clung on with bloody tenacity. Shards of metal raked my body to ribbons. Without pause I drew the second sword. Gang Chisang’s eyes flooded with horror.
“Don’t tell me—again?!”
Consecutive strike. Black thunder and a tide of blood spiral into twin dragons once more.
The twin-dragon whirlwind, sheathed in black thunder and a colossal spray of blood, hammered him without pause. His body began to tear. Steel-hard skin split; blood fountained. His whole frame was being shredded. I drew the third sword from my back. My hands were already hanging in tatters. Soaked in blood I drove it into Jeomchang’s Guardian with every remaining scrap of strength. For the first time I felt the sensation—not the endless ringing of steel on steel, but the clean, wet sound of flesh being pierced.
“Keuk!”
Gang Chisang stared in disbelief at the sword buried in his own abdomen. Crimson light detonated from my eyes.
A crimson serpent explodes along the blade and rips heaven and earth asunder.
Gang Chisang’s raw scream rang out. A massive shockwave scoured every direction. Black blood streaming from me, I was flung far by the blast and tumbled like a rag. The operation of Asura’s Great Destruction Calamity Formation ceased; every scrap of internal energy in my body collapsed. My skin was scorched black. Dust filled my vision. The shattered sword fell with a dull clatter.
“Hah… hah…”
Even my true essence was completely spent. I steadied my violently trembling body and forced my gaze toward the enemy. Jeomchang’s Guardian, Gang Chisang, lay with the upper half of his torso ripped to ribbons. Inside the gaping wounds the flesh was half-rotted; maggots and flies seethed. Yet he still gasped as though dying, and he rose.
“Uhaha… uhahaha!!”
He was laughing. He still would not die.
“I truly thought I was finished for a moment. Me—Gang Chisang—who survived even the Orthodox-Demonic War! You filthy dog-born whelp!”
I glared at him while my body shook. He twisted his mouth into a sneer.
“To think the day would come when I thank the cursed arts the Blood Sect forced into me—the arts that will not let me die even when I should!”
He staggered upright. Flies and maggots writhed in his putrid core.
“To think a Guardian who abandoned the human path could be driven this far by the likes of you.”
He stretched out a hand; the rusted executioner’s blade that had been embedded far away flew through the air and settled into his grip. With a heavy metallic clank the shackles that had bound both wrists fell completely free and crashed to the ground with a thunderous report. No great change followed—only the faint, slow knitting of his shredded flesh.
Gang Chisang bit his lip and muttered through a groan, “Even with every shackle released, the body recovers only at a crawl… I truly grew careless. I nearly met an unexpected end in a place I never imagined.”
I could not answer. Only ragged breath left me. He looked down at me and gave a foul smile.
“I will acknowledge you. After I entered the demonic path, you are the first in all the jianghu who made me feel the resolve of death. As repayment for an experience no other Guardian has ever given me—”
His face contorted.
“—I will split your trunk in a single stroke!”
His hand blurred. The massive blade came screaming toward me. I tried to struggle to the last, but with the Formation extinguished my body was impossibly heavy. The rust-eaten edge filled my vision, about to cleave my skull—
A colossal shower of sparks. The blade rebounded.
“What?”
Gang Chisang’s eyes went round. What had stopped the executioner’s blade was a pure white sword-edge driven into the ground before me—a long, handle-less blade of white steel, edge alone.
“Wait. That… I’ve seen that somewhere—”
Recognition struck him and he screamed.
“That is—!”
After that, everything happened in an instant. A rain of white steel fell. Jeomchang’s Guardian scrambled to evade, but it was far too late. Both legs were skewered; his limbs were pinned to the earth. His arms stretched desperately for the fallen weapon—only to be pierced and bound as well. A single silver arrow of force slammed down in front of me with a roar.
“Hah… hah…”
The shoulders of the woman who had stepped between us heaved. It had been the same the first time she saved me at the temple gates. For someone of her realm even to show a faint disorder of breath told me how desperately she must have run. An internal energy I had never sensed from her before swirled around her body. She flicked her fingers. Countless blades embedded in the ground rose as one and returned to her. Seven sword-edges floated soundlessly behind her back.
Mumyeong’s voice was pure shock.
“Sword Control Art… and seven blades at once?!”
Eun Seollyeong drew the blade that had been planted before me as though it were a staff and gripped it.
“Forgive the delay.”
I stared up through dried blood, gasping. Against the blood-red sunset that looked like the edge of death itself, a woman stood before me. The Guardian of the Mount Hua Sect looked down at me and spoke in a voice of pure silver.
“I have come, Pilbu-yeo.”