Chapter 238
Legend of the Masked Children (VIII)
Wan Lan took a deep breath, her foot rapping against the ground repeatedly as she tried to steel her nerves. She wasn't even quite certain why she was nervous, just that she was. Perhaps it was the expectations levied against her by Senior Brother Tao, asking her to face forty cultivators, all of whom were at least at the Peak of Foundation Establishment, and at least half were in the Spirit Manifestation Realm.
She wanted to argue against that lunacy but then heard that the kids would be facing relatively similar odds--if ever so slightly easier ones--and her pride wouldn't let her say no. But now that she was moments away from it... doubt crawled into her heart.
Was she strong enough?
What if she failed?
What if she died?
No.
She clasped her fingers into fists and took yet another deep breath, calming down. It didn't matter if she was strong enough--she had to be, no matter what. She had a lifetime of trying to fulfill the promise made to the Madame, and she would not fail at the first leg of the journey.
The world slowed down, and the colors began to fade; as she stood up, she felt a wind of Qi sweep past her as she stepped out further. Within moments, the ground beneath her turned to stone, and the world around became a hazy fog of gray.
On the opposite end, she saw forty cloaked and hooded figures appear, with an air of confusion about them.
... how did he orchestrate all of this?
Wan Lan had known for a long while now that Senior Brother Tao wasn't an ordinary kid--he was far more like Master Lu than any of them. Distantly aloof, vague, and seemingly capable of things that defy description.
He somehow managed to forge isolating pockets of space for all of them, where they'd fight individual battles before emerging to assist with the rest of the conflict. And he was younger than her.
She shoved him out of her head, as thinking about it was making her irrationally depressed; she was her own person, with her own potential, and comparing herself to someone as anomalous as that... it was fruitless.
Ignoring the questions tossed her way, she wrapped her fists into the swirling, twilight-colored tendrils of Qi and shot forward. As far back as she could remember, she always fought the exact same way: face forward, push onward, never stop. No matter what.
As she rushed toward them, an onslaught of arts came hurtling back toward her--but she didn't bother dodging any of them. Bladed arts bounced off her skin, the few elemental ones left singed marks that vanished in the blink of an eye, and the ones that tried to put her in a confused state...
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She threw her fist forward and unceremoniously killed a person at the peak of Foundation Establishment with it--the man's head exploded into a shower of blood, shattered bones, and brain matter, raining omnidirectionally.
Not stopping, she pressed onward as another one tried to shove a sword into her side--the blade stopped when it met her skin, causing her to twist to the side, grab it with her hand, and squeeze--the metal shattered into thousands of pieces, and the swordsman had just enough time for the look of horror to manifest in their gaze before she kicked out, ramming her heel into his throat and forward, snapping his neck and killing him instantly.
The onslaught continued--five cultivators lunged in unison, forcing her to spin in place, her twilight-shrouded arms extending like living whips. Each strike tore through flesh and bone, sending shattered and disfigured corpses tumbling like broken dolls. Their screams echoed loudly but for a short while, as blood arced in slow motion before splattering across the stone floor.
Two more figures ahead wove ice and flame into a jagged torrent of elemental energy. Wan Lan's eyes glowed in erroneous violet as she inhaled and unleashed a rolling pulse of Qi, forming a temporary, infinitely small sheen over her skin that allowed her to phase through the elements, jumping over at the two figures and slamming their heads together as though they were pieces of fruit.
She then immediately used Shadow Steps to appear back at her original location, executing a swift spinning kick that left three more dead.
A thousand phantoms appeared all of a sudden, though she could immediately tell the real from false, lunging at the shocked figure and easily killing them.
By now, she was entirely covered in blood and viscera, dour liquid dripping off her and painting a trail of her carnage.
She never stopped, her body repeatedly battered by dozens of attacks--some of which even managed to break skin. However, none of it manifested into much besides a sting of pain.
It was about four minutes into the cascading carnage that only six remained--seven with her included. They circled her cautiously at about forty yards of distance, seemingly eyeing her for a perfect attack; however, she recognized immediately that they were looking for a way out.
... but there was no way out. Not for them, anyway.
Spitting out a mouthful of blood and wiping her lips, she slammed her palms together so loudly that the sound forged a thin membrane of air traveling outwards; they jumped, startled, and she laughed--only for a moment before battering forward.
Her twilight eyes had turned into a darker shade, bordering maroon, and her lips had curled into a fanatical smile. She felt her blood pump through her veins as though she were alive at last, as though existing outside of this moment was an exercise in agony.
She did not belong anywhere else but on a battlefield--among the encroaching carnage. No, not among--but causing it.
One by one, they fell, and she finally came upon the last.
It was a woman--no, a girl, perhaps her own age, Wan Lan realized when she unmasked her. The girl whimpered on the floor, shaking and shivering as though naked in the biting cold of the winter; her eyes were filled with unwillingness, yet her lips never begged or pleaded. Perhaps it was pride, perhaps it was fear sealing her throat tightly, or perhaps yet it was some parasite that lived inside of her and disallowed her from surrendering, no matter what.
Regardless of which it was, Wan Lan didn't care--she crouched, lips all but tearing at their edges with how wide she was smiling, grabbed the top of the girl's head, and squeezed until the skull began to crack and blood began to spray.
The girl screamed at the last second, just as Wan Lan's fingers tore through the bone and dug into the brain, exploding it into a shower of red and white.
The body fell down limply and with a thud, unmoving.
It was over.
... no. She grinned further, nicking the corners of her lips as they bled.
It was only just beginning.
