Chapter 311: The Language of the Martial World (Patreon)

Chapter 311: The Language of the Martial World

It took about two hours for MuChen to figure out that Mercury did not give a fuck about being tortured.

“What in the heavens… We have cut off your legs seven times now. How do you keep growing them back? We’ve not even fed you any healing elixirs,” the cult leader said through gritted teeth, holding a burning sword.

Mercury found himself chained to some stupid stone slab in some stupid cave that he didn’t rightly care about. He frowned. The pain didn’t bother him- well, no, that was a lie. The pain bothered him, yes. It was like a persistent itch he couldn’t scratch. But more than anything else, he’d had a really rough day, and wanted some rest.

Torture, notably, was not rest. So he had to make it fun somehow.

“Oh, you know, that’s what a nutritious diet will do, cult leader,” Mercury replied flippantly. “If you ate your veggies, maybe your body cultivation wouldn’t be so frail. Perhaps your hair would be prettier, too.”

“My hair is perfect!” 

The cult leader stomped their foot, and Mercury was caught by an incinerating pillar of purple flame. It was hot, and if it had been real fire, it would have done absolutely nothing against him. Sadly, it wasn’t fire, not really. It was infernal flame, which meant it acted more like acid, and while Mercury had spent months building up his fire resistance recently, his acid resistance was weak.

So, his body melted away. It was an expression of frustration and anger. But Mercury was a little unbothered by it. Since his jaw had turned into sludge, he used <Distant Transmission> to reply.

‘See, I’m sensing some frustration,’ he mentally told the cult leader. ‘It feels like there’s a lot on your mind, you know?’

MuCheon, the heavenly demon, the blighted butcher, the sole survivor of the infernal testament, stood there, arguing with a mopaaw about their hair. They breathed in deeply, for a long moment, then out for another long moment. “Okay,” they said, “I see where this is going.”

“You do?” 

“I do. You are biding your time,” they spoke. Carefully, they inspected the shackles wrapped around Mercury. They had forged those themselves, from infernal iron, perfectly compatible with their refining technique, and created spiritual locks that they were confident had no equal under the heavens.

They kept the beast chained while the cult leader tortured it for information. Simple things like what its agenda was, what its goals with the cult were, and why it had tried to change it so fundamentally. And yet, everything the wretched creature talked about was all “human rights” and “sustainable workplace practices”!

What about teaching kids to kill each other was unsustainable? There were always more orphans!

At least at the cult they were mostly fed and housed. Mostly.

MuCheon shook their head. “And when you think you are strong enough, you will break out and seek to twist my organization further with your disgusting, righteous attitude. You pretentious, privileged scion. What sect put you up to this?”

For the first time, Mercury frowned. “Pretentious and privileged? Is that what I look like to you?” he asked after his mouth had just regrown, his head tilted, his purple eyes boring into those of the cult leader.

“What else could you possibly be? Have you ever known hunger? Have you known suffering?” they asked.

“You locked me in a cave and have spent hours chopping off my limbs,” Mercury noted drily.

“Suffering as a consequence of actions is different from inherent suffering.” It was a weak argument, and MuCheon knew as much. 

Shaking his head in disappointment, even as the physical restraints rattled, Mercury gave a sigh. “I am not a scion of any sects. I am not sent by the righteous faction to undermine you. In fact, the so-called righteous sects also disgust me, and I think I may need to pay them a visit soon.”

And there was that sensation again. MuCheon grit their teeth and weather the overwhelming sensation that the creature was speaking the <Truth>. Spirit beasts were strange beings with bizarre abilities, some form of charm wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. They needed to find out the truth. They needed to understand and remove this obstacle, then seek out vengeance-

The entrance to the cave suddenly exploded with insane heat. 

One moment to another, MuCheon went from breathing in air to activating techniques meant for surviving the pressure of the heavens. The world itself turned hostile against them, and they felt killing intent wash over them like the depths of the ocean.

A thin smile split their lips. This was more their speed.

Something stepped into the cave. MuCheon took a moment to make out that its form was almost humanoid, covered in draconic scale. A spirit beast in its hybridized form, they guessed. Within the creature, only a faint buzz of qi could be heard, equivalent to someone in the Reforging-Realm, perhaps on the cusp of Gilded.

Its cultivation was pitiful. And yet, a shiver ran down their spine. Their hair stood on end, and their blade was naturally pointed towards the new intruder. “Who are you?” the cult leader demanded.

Zyl stared at them. “Put down the toothpick,” he snarled, eyes lingering on Mercury. The mopaaw tried to raise a paw and wave, but only had the stump of a leg left, so the gesture ended up morbid rather than comforting. 

Frowning deeply, MuCheon circled a step to the side, presenting a thin profile to Zyl. Their blade raised higher, pointing at the dragon’s throat. “Identify yourself or die.”

The dragon looked thoroughly unimpressed. “Zylnareth,” he said. “This dork’s boyfriend.” He nodded towards Mercury without ever taking his eyes off the cult leader.

For their part, MuCheon tilted their head. Their thoughts advanced quickly. They’d known the beast came with a partner, and apparently, it was this beast. Two spirit beasts together could be dangerous, even to them, but the one in front of them was clearly far less advanced in cultivation than the one they had chained down.

Still, the cult leader could not shake off the feeling of danger that emanated from the humanoid monster in front of them. MuCheon remained wary, slowly circling. 

“What are you doing?” the draconic creature asked, tilting its head. Its slit pupils followed their steps languidly. MuCheon was rapidly thinking of tactics.

Then they remembered. Their eyes widened slightly. “You,” they whispered. “You’re the beast that the disciples of Honest Treachery took down together.” They almost shivered at the word. Together. What a disgusting way to fight. Cultivators were meant to reign supreme under the heavens, the only alliance one might consider would be dual cultivation. Otherwise, lonely was the path.

Zyl narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

MuCheon did not reply. Their grip on their sword simply tightened, and in the blink of an eye, they moved forward. Purple fire trailed along the elegant steel of the blade, carving through the air with a violent screech.

When the blade made contact, it was with Zyl’s waiting palm. It split his hand in two, then cut lengthwise down his arm for about three inches. Blood spilled. Bone cracked and snapped. Zyl stared at the wound, and the poisonous flames licked its insides.

Heat boiled from him like a fusion reactor. The temperature in the cave went from uncomfortable to abominable. MuCheon just stared at their weapon, with an expression that betrayed simple surprise at the fact that the cut failed. “What…?”

Zyl’s other hand came forward. Draconic claws wrapped around the cult leader’s head, inflicting a searing brand on their skin. The smell of cooked flesh filled the air, but was soon replaced with a cloud of dust as the cult leader’s face was smashed into the cave floor. 

Spitting blood, MuCheon laid in a crater, their breath knocked out of their lungs. Zyl quickly headed to Mercury’s side, his blood drip-dropping onto the ground. “You okay, Mer?”

The mopaaw, for his part, seemed entirely unbothered. “Don’t worry about me, Zyl. I’ll survive.” In fact, right now he was feeling rather happy. If a little bit of torture got a dashing hero to save him, Mercury was perfectly happy to do it occasionally, thank you very much. 

Grabbing onto the chains, Zyl tried to tear the physical ones apart. The metal yielded to his grip, deforming and screeching as the dragon twisted them out of shape. But they didn’t snap. Not quite then.

Eventually, they would have, sure. But before they could, there was a sinister cackle behind Zyl’s back. MuCheon rose, blood streaming down their face from cuts just above their brow. One of their arms looked twisted, their robes dirty and torn by the rocks. Despite their apparent resources, their clothing was entirely mundane.

A wide, bright smile split the cult leader’s face. “Ahhhhh, now you speak my language. Violence. Yes, I can deal with that,” they said with a snicker, purple flames licking up their blood. Infernal fire danced through the air like flower petals in the wind, faint embers filling the small cave, hissing when they touched the stone.

MuCheon stepped forward even as Zyl still grabbed the chains and stabbed him. The dragon turned halfway through the attack, so instead of going through his spine, the sword slid in between his ribs, exiting just above Mercury and spraying the mopaaw with Zyl’s blood.

The dragon grunted in pain, grabbing onto the blade, but before he could try to bend it, MuCheon withdrew, leaving a long cut on Zyl’s palm and fingers, weeping dark blood. Red and purple clashed as flame consumed flame, one after another, in a cycle.

Zyl stepped forward, slamming his fist into the cult leader, who barely parried in time, turning the hit into a glancing blow instead of the bone-shattering experience it would have otherwise been. Zyl’s fist slid downwards into the cultist’s shoulder, wrenching it out of its socket with a pop.

A moment later, MuCheon retaliated with a flurry of one-handed stabs, laughing all the while. Their evident cheer contrasted starkly against Zyl’s anger. Purple flames sprouted from the wounds, licking at Zyl’s scales, turning their pristine red into a motley grey. Like a disease, flakes of ash grew on Zyl’s skin, and Mercury watched his qi wilt away.

Despite the wounds, the dragon’s heartbeat still filled the chamber, rising in volume. Each pulse was like the roar of a leviathan, making the cave shake faintly. Zyl stepped forward in tune with his heart, as if dancing to its strings, and his blows came with such terrific violence that bits of the mountain exploded just from the blast of air that followed his movements.

When he stepped forward, the ground cracked. When he missed a punch, the resulting airwave dug a crater into the walls. Sonic booms rolled off him like thunderbolts, and the air itself began to burn away in the wake of two flames.

MuCheon fought with swift, cruel violence, and Zyl retaliated with overwhelming force. They both took wounds without paying them much mind, although MuCheon was certainly the more fragile among the two. And yet, the backstabbing cultists seemed to almost be winning. Zyl was losing blood, and the grey slowly spread through his scales.

Mercury watched for a terrifyingly long moment as the heat in the cave climbed. Rocks began to melt and bubble, the slab he laid on beginning to sag at the edges. The air turned sweltering, mirages of rising heat distorting his view of the fight. 

Both of the fighters moved like teleporting, brutal punches meeting merciless steel. Bones broke, flesh parted, blood splattered. Zyl landed a fist on the cultists face and nearly snapped his neck. MuCheon scored a cut on the dragon’s shoulder that would have bisected a normal man.

Taking the wounds, Zyl pressed ever onward, and the cult leader grinned more. “Yes! Give yourself to this base violence! This is what cultivation is about!”

Another cut scored against the dragon’s skin. Another broken rib as a fist impacted the cultist. MuCheon twisted with the force of the blow, spinning, lashing out as he was flung away, and his sword cut just the barest bit further than it should.

A whispered technique name, and Zyl’s throat opened up to a fountain of blood. The sword has passed half an inch into his neck, cutting a painful gasp. Staggering slightly, the dragon held the wound, frowning. His own blood spilled through his stiff fingers, grey motes clinging to them.

MuCheon rose from the crater, more blood pouring from them. Their hair was a mess, their robes were torn, bruises and blood covered them, and yet the demon was smiling. Cultists really were something else, Mercury thought. Taking a deep breath, he understood how Zyl usually felt.

“Yeah, it really does suck to see my boyfriend get hurt,” Mercury admitted. 

He doubted either of the two was going all-out. Zyl had not yet donned his crown, and MuCheon seemed far too happy to be taking this seriously. No, Mercury knew that this was a game for the cultist. It was about proving a point. And he was so, so very tired of being used to prove a point.

Sighing softly, Mercury accepted that things would hurt. He decided to do what he wanted to do, consequences be damned. “I was hoping to show you this at a better time, Zyl,” he said, drawing the attention of the dragon, who gave him a wide-eyed, half-feral look. His face had begun morphing into a snout. “But sadly, I won’t get to show off all cool. Sorry about that, Zyl.”

“What do you-”

The [Silver Crown of Understanding] appeared above Mercury’s head. He’d only had… what, half a day to recover from his last use of that abominable instrument? Probably less. But that was fine. He healed quickly. He healed faster than MuCheon tortured him.

Pain was so banal. He had discarded the need for it a long time ago. Pain was just pain. A warning that he was pushing himself in a world where he was defined by his lack of limits. That was his <Truth>. It came from <Limitlessness> and <Unchained>. These spiritual restraints, the chains binding him?

Mercury gazed upon them and unmade them entirely.

One breath passed and the metal that had held him tight dissolved into silver strings. But they didn’t disappear. Mercury dove deep into his mind.

Re’zil had him resonate with them, the dream-matter that the shackles had been made from reweaving itself into something different entirely. Mercury pulled one of his lightning javelins from his Inventory, wove the metal around it as barbed spikes, and rematerialized it.

MuCheon barely had the time to open their mouth before Mercury tossed  his newly made weapon, launching it with a combination of <Force of the Hecatoncheires>, <Throw> and his rijn. The cult leader dodged, but the weapon <Carved> through reality to hit them. When the cultists shifted, so did the javelin.

The impact impaled them through the shoulder, the barbs on the spear digging a deep hole. Then, the weapon embedded itself into the wall, pinning down the monstrous demon. Mercury turned to Zyl, tilted his head at the moment at the grey curse making its way through his body, then nodded.

“<Unravel>,” he commanded, and backed by the force of the <Medicine> Skill it had devoured, the curse degenerated within moments. Grey flakes of scale fell off of Zyl as though he was molting, replaced by pink, healthy flesh. 

Mercury’s engine, the <Grain of Infinity> thumped painfully in his chest, sending waves of agony throughout him. The power that burned through his veins threatened to turn his body to slag, and Mercury only held himself together with the power of his will. But he breathe din, then he breathed out.

<Rainfall> splashed down, and <Mercury> splashed outwards. The infernal flames disappeared in moments. Raindrops hissed faintly, dissipating the heat. 

Within ten seconds, the cave was restored to regular ambient temperatures. All that remained of the fight was craters, even the blood washed away. Zyl and MuCheon stood there, clean.

Dispelling his crown, Mercury wobbled. He was floating with his will, and plummeted a moment later - but Zyl caught him before he hit the ground. The dragon stared at his boyfriend with wide eyes, shocked at the development. “You… You have one, now, too?”

“Yeah,” Mercury said through a bloodied smile, his internal organs having turned into soup from the exertion. “Now we can match. Isn’t that so cute?”

MuCheon spat blood and laughed. “Disgusting,” they proclaimed. “All this talk of peace and this is what you do. You’re just like me, just a monster-”

“Bitch I don’t give a fuck what you say,” Mercury replied tiredly. 

“Huh?” 

The mopaaw closed his eyes instead of replying. Zyl smiled softly instead, still holding the wound on his chest. Despite everything, the backstabbing had not yet healed, and more blood dripped to the ground from it. But the dragon put on a brave, unbothered face.

Taking in a breath, he replied to the cult leader. “You have been deemed insignificant,” Zyl said. “Your value is in your anger and hatred. That is the very foundation of your actions. Cruelty built on the back of cruelty. You inflict it aimlessly, and that makes you pathetic.”

MuCheon’s eye twitched at that. “Pathetic?” they asked at a low whisper, grabbing onto the javelin impaling them to the wall, and pulling. The barbed hook dug into the back, sinking into the flesh with a squelch, drawing blood and fire. “No, no. You’re the pathetic ones. Thinking you’re better than me. Thinking you’re better than anyone…

“Under the heavens, all are made equal. I am a cultivator.” Their sword slammed into the wall, and they pushed forward, taking a step even as their flesh was broken and twisted. “Power is everything. You two? You’re too weak to dismiss me. You’re not good enough.”

Flames poured from their wounds in an endless torrent, fire twisting the air once more. Mercury hung in Zyl’s grip, feeling so very exhausted with this. The infernal flames climbed, enveloping MuCheon, wrapping around their face to form a faceless helmet. 

“<Infernal Flame Artes: Wrathbound>,” the cultists spoke, and the fire tore the javelin from their flesh. The lightning that had seared them was awash with purple embers, winding around their body like plates of steel armor. Killing intent poured off of them in heavy waves. 

“You’ll die today.” The words dripped from MuCheons tongue with venom and acid. “You’ll die for your arrogance, for the idea that you could change the world when I couldn’t, for being too weak to hold your ideals up. The heavens despise the weak.” Their sword grew, wreathed in violence and the smell of death.

Zyl tilted his head. His eyes were devoid of empathy for the cult leader. In his arm, Mercury had gone mostly limp, the mopaaw needing rest so very desperately. Zyl set him down on the ground very gently, then unbuttoned his suit.

His shirt was stored in his inventory, and so was his jacket. His gloves had long since been taken off, and his hair was a mess. Horns sprouted from his head, not yet taking the shape of a crown, but approaching it. His eyes shone with red, and his body warped to become more draconic.

MuCheon smiled at the display, the sinister mask twisting into a gleeful grin. Their voice was warped. “Finally, you stand before me as the monster you are.”

“No,” Zyl said. “I’m here to put a monster down.”

Their next blow split the entire cave.

The mountain cracked in half vertically, tons upon tons of stones experiencing a single swift fissure. Juno appeared from Mercury’s shadow, snatching up his limp form and darting away as the injured dragon fought. Fire and heat poured outwards as though a sun had appeared in the caves, and yet, it fell apart when touching the rot of the Infernal Flames.

MuCheon dashed through the fire. “The world is rotten,” they said, “so it will rot to death.” 

Faster than a blink, their blade crashed into Zyl’s claws, and the earth split once more, cratering. Rocks fell from the ceiling, threatening to bury the two, but they turned to lava and dust as decay clashed with heat. Zyl gritted his teeth, even as the numbness infected his arms again.

Mercury could have wiped it out in moments. Perhaps even redeemed MuCheon, but Zyl was nothing like that boyfriend of his. That ridiculous idiot that could see the good even in the worst of people, that managed to make horrible scum turn around on their ways, that could simply shift others to have them redeem themselves.

Zyl had none of that. All he had was violence and destruction. That’s what he was good at. That’s what he was built to do. Yes, perhaps MuCheon was right. Perhaps the world was rotten, to make someone like him. Someone who was made with the purpose of destruction.

He was a walking disaster. The bearer of the <Rose Crown of Desolation>. His horns spun upwards and twisted, their black turning paler. He grit his teeth. The heat rose. Zyl felt anger. He moved.

Infernal fire broke in his wake, and with a single punch, MuCheon’s purple armor crackled. The flames crawled like worms to seal up the damage, but black blood still leaked forth from within. MuCheon only laughed, though.

“Yes! Pahahaha, yes! Hurt me. Break me with your own hands. Cleanse the world of demonic filth, right!? If you’re righteous, then I have no right to live, anyway!” 

Was MuCheon bad enough to kill? Zyl found that a hard question to answer. The kids trained here did live longer than outside. And it was, largely, voluntary to join the harsher peaks. And yet, they were trained to be cruel to each other, and horrid things happened.

It wasn’t rightly his decision to make. When did a person stop being redeemable? Was this cult leader someone worthy of respect? He hadn’t seen anything worthy of respect yet. Zyl didn’t have the answers, but he had the option to fight.

His fist snapped against a sword of purple, and his body rotted at the impact. Writhing worms of decay dug through his flesh, and the agony was exquisite. Until now, it had turned his body numb, but no more. It was a vicious aging that turned his ruby scales grey.

Underneath his feet, the floor turned to lava, stone melting away. Zyl breathed in and out, the fetid, burning air hurting his lungs. He dug his heels in, and launched another punch. MuCheon deflected, and Zyl tore a hole clean through the mountain, dozens of meters of rock simply evaporating into nothing, their edges turned to dripping, glowing liquid.

A moment later, Zyl twisted out of the way of a slash that tore through the mountain, leaving a clean, fetid line of dust through it. The rocks rained upon them endlessly, the earth rumbling with each exchange. Zyl’s horns grew, <Desolation> growing every closer. MuCheon’s mask twisted into a demonic smile, their wrath feeding their power.

Breath by breath, step by step, the two of them measured their worth, their right to live against each other. Might made right in the martial world. Who lived and died was decided by strength alone. That was MuCheon’s doctrine.

If they were weak, they would gladly die. If they were strong, then their will was correct. 

Zyl couldn’t speak another language with them. All he could reply was to meet force with force. His crown of horns grew denser, and pale. His blows caused more damage, the mountain turning to shrapnel around them. Before five minutes passed, they were no longer in a cave at all, and instead stood upon a plain of scorched earth and basalt.

Violence clashed with violence. Brutality met brutality. Rot and fire, heat and death danced with each other in a battle that spilled outwards and upwards. The heavens and the earth shook as they witnessed the two of them fight.

Roaring, Zyl brought about another punch. Laughing, MuCheon met it with their sword. For a moment, the forces involved burnt away the very idea of colour from the world, casting the both of them in black and white, the ground they stood on smooth as a mirror.

Dust and ash rained on their hair, staining elegance with dirt. The stains touched their skin. MuCheon burnt, and Zyl rotted. There was no winning here, there was only annihilation. This, Zyl thought sadly, was the essence of <Desolation>. 

He looked at MuCheon. At the cult leader that had stolen his boyfriend away. Zyl gave it a long moment of thought, his heart thumping, his spark burning with the power of a star. And he had a single thought. “I will not leave my boyfriend alone on this world.”

<Desolation> was needed. It wreathed around his fist. MuCheon burned brighter. The two of them came together in one final clash, fire roaring, rushing, crashing inwards like two primal forces, a volcano against a tsunami.

And then, in the space of a breath, a child appeared between the two of them. Pali, peak master of Cannibalism, had a sad look on her face. 

Ah. Damn. 

<Desolation> disappeared. Zyl closed his eyes, digging his feet into the ground. Even if he were to die, he would not kill a child like that. “Sorry, Mercury,” he whispered, the heat around him dying down. “I guess that’s it for me.”

And the killing blow…

Never came.