Wu Hao gasped, loudly. Heads swivelled to stare at him, but he ignored them all and doubled over.

  Hands on his knees, he simply tried to breathe while something hot flashed throughout his body. He could feel it work through his veins, cleansing his meridians. Sweat poured out from his forehead, suddenly and with an oily black sheen, and he wiped it off as quickly as it came, but there was more of it.

  He was so caught up that he heard footsteps approach, breaking away from the march that the rest were still doing.

  "I -" 726 began to say, until Wu Hao's fist slammed into his face and sent the words spiralling out into the mountain air, together with a few teeth.

  726 collapsed and Wu Hao glanced down at him once, righting himself to stand with a straight back. Then he squatted down again, ripping off 726's pin and several of his rags, which he used to wipe away the black sweat. He spat, and it came out black and disgusting, but at least it came out.

  The heat receded like it'd never been, leaving only a cool breeze whispering over the mountaintop that threatened to turn bone-chilling soon if he didn't get moving again.

  He glanced again at the message, dismissed it, and flexed his fingers a few times. So. Increased Talent, huh?

  That meant increased talent at handling qi, he figured. Internally he could feel it just a little better - as if before he'd been staring at it mentally through a thick fog, without even realizing. That fog hadn't lifted entirely, but he'd pushed it away slightly. His qi reacted more eagerly to his commands, more intuitively slotting into the quick practice loops he took it through.

  It didn't mean he had more of it, he just had better control of how to use it. By his estimation, he'd gone from three Void Rips to four, maybe five if he got the time to concentrate.

  "Right," he murmured. "That's good."

  He flexed his fingers again absently, rubbing his knuckles as they ached from punching 726, before realizing that the rest of the group had been waiting for him.

  "I'm Brother now," he said. He was becoming more used to that, little by little, but in all honesty he still didn't like it. After how eagerly they'd all sought his head, he wondered if the others did. Probably not, if they were able to like or dislike anything at all. "Go. 726 will come after, if he comes at all."

  "Yes, Brother!" they said, and the march resumed from there. Wu Hao went first, though he couldn't help but think that it was an ideal position to be stabbed in the back in. That thought was hard to shake.

  The rest of the day, he thought about how to resolve the problems he was having.

  He didn't see a way to win against all the other deathsworn. One was definitely doable - two, three were a maybe. His entire group? No. If Du Linglong did the utmost then she'd slaughter them, and even if she'd stopping holding back then he could definitely win by relying on her.

  But he didn't want to, and he didn't think she'd stop holding back unless he let a few of the porters be killed first, and in that case he saw no reason that she'd trust him.

  Another solution, then. If he could kill Uncle before he gave the command to kill Wu Hao, then the rest of the deathsworn would fall into confusion. They could be easily eliminated at that point, or maybe didn't have to be eliminated at all.

  That posed its own problems, though. They'd been commanded never to even think of hurting an Uncle, let alone Father. Wu Hao breathed in deeply, poking and prodding at the mental barriers that snapped closed around his mind whenever he tried to think of wielding his knife against Uncle.

  That was a too-physical description, but that was how it felt. The filter had been easy to snap, compared to this, because it had been designed to be able to be broken with a single command by the deathsworn, who weren't taught any qi control techniques.

  The mental blocks weren't made to be broken. They were made to be eternal, binding forever, chains so sturdy that they couldn't be broken or dislodged that were clamped directly into his mind. He couldn't stop himself from flinching back every time that he tried to even focus on them, and the thought of hurting an Uncle made him dizzy and inflicted a pounding pulsing headache that lasted long minutes.

  But he had to. He worked at them, trying to conquer his flinching and worrying at the wounds that the chains had left in his mind. That felt apt: it was like he was picking at a wound, tearing away the scabs that had grown over it like moss.

  He panted, coughed, felt sweat carve lines along his forehead and the back of his neck, but he wouldn't give up.

  The only moments where he spared his mind was while they were running, and he felt like dying the entire run. He wasn't first now, not even second or third, but he told himself that didn't matter.

  And yet the chains didn't budge. The chains seemed to have been forged into his mind like they'd always been there, like he'd been born that way.

  "Hide," Uncle commanded, and Wu Hao obeyed almost eagerly, glad to be able to focus on what actually mattered now that his deadline was approaching.

  With a great mental effort, he formed a spike made of focus, placed it against the chain, and tried to wrench it upwards. Even that much, he knew, was a metaphor, just a way of describing to himself in a way that wasn't actually accurate but allowed him to have a mental understanding, however flawed.

  Again, it didn't budge. His mental probe simply bounced off, like it had nothing there to grasp, like trying to wrench open a hole in the air.

  Wu Hao grit his teeth, trying to mentally circle around - was there anything else he could try? He didn't think so, but -

  726 next to him stirred, and Wu Hao's trance was broken. For a moment, disoriented, he thought that it would be another challenge, but then he realized that none of 726's focus was on him.

  Instead, he heard the soft, distant sounds of people approaching.

  It was that time again, then. He still hadn't shattered the chains.

  So be it. He'd just try regardless. The mental block prevented him from thinking several thoughts, and through not allowing him to think it would also prevent him from acting.

  All that meant, though, was that he needed to act without thinking. He was good at that, if nothing else.

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  He cleared his mind using - ironically - the same exercises that they'd learned during cultivation guidance. The trance that resulted was fragile and impossible to hold onto, but all he needed was a few seconds.

  As Ke Jiazhong was soaring across the clearing, Wu Hao raised himself up out of the branches. Heads snapped towards him, but not Uncle's. Wu Hao marshalled his qi to his feet, marvelling again at how easy it felt. He looped it tighter and tighter, the power concentrating into his feet until it felt like he might blow his own feet off.

  He unleashed it as Ke Jiazhong touched down, his blade already snapping forward in a perfect block that would ward off Wu Hao's attempt to stab him, but Wu Hao flashed past him in a charging step with his knife extended that sent him blasting forward, straight into where Uncle was readying himself to command Wu Hao.

  The knife bit into Uncle's side. He roared in pain and surprise, all the more so when Wu Hao forced his qi into a tight, quick loop that exploded into a revolving Long Hook that drilled into Uncle's flesh.

  Then everything went black as his mind felt like it exploded. The mental block activated, and what felt like chains turned out to be venomous serpents that tore into his brain.

  Blood splattered across Wu Hao's face. Everything his senses were telling him was muted, distant, like it was being reported to him from a great distance. It felt like two mountaintops away his eyes told him that blood was blocking his sight, that his mouth told him he tasted the thick sludge of Uncle's qi and the coppery taste of his blood. Even his own scream, shrill to his own ears, sounded far away.

  All of that paled in comparison to what he was feeling in his mind. The only times he'd ever felt pain like this was when Uncle Liu had paralyzed him, locked him away from control of his body, and stuck needles into his pain points. That had felt like fire running through his veins, breaking his mind; now it felt like his mind was melting, like he'd torn it in half like a piece of paper.

  He let go of the knife, uncaring that Uncle had already swelled with rage in his eyes, and clutched at his head.

  Wu Hao had made plans for what he'd do next. He'd try to fight Uncle, maybe work together with Ke Jiazhong or - preferably - Du Linglong, and they'd wind up winning eventually. It might have cost him a few lives, but he hadn't doubted that he'd be able to do it eventually. It wouldn't have been different from killing Xing Zhao.

  All of those plans had melted like snow in the sun. He held his hands around his head, feeling like he was trying to hold his head together with his bare hands, and screamed for what felt like forever, barely breathing. The pain was so all-consuming that he barely noticed when something huge slammed into his side and broke his ribs, sending him flying through the air like a puppet with its strings cut, cartwheeling without any control over his body. His scream cut off as he hit the ground, skidding, hands giving way to the merciless ground below and fingers shattering.

  The physical pain became more and more apparent as he lay there, trying to piece together a coherent thought through the endless barrages of hurt as his mind tore itself apart. It helped, a little bit.

  And still he hadn't been granted the bliss of unconsciousness.

  However long he'd lain there, he didn't know. Time passed in a haze of pain that seemed unending.

  Something immense formed into a shadow looming above his head. He could feel qi massing itself into a command, and by its stench and by the hate contained within he knew it had to be Uncle.

  Wu Hao might have balled his hands into fists. The torment burning through his skull was too heavy for him to be sure.

  "Wake up," Uncle commanded, and Wu Hao's eyes shuddered open in sheer surprise. The pain in his head spiked, but he couldn't close his eyes again. Uncle's commands still held sway over him, no matter how tattered his mind was, so he couldn't simply lapse into feeling nothing but pain again.

  Uncle stared down at him. He'd been hurt, Wu Hao could tell, but not as hurt as Wu Hao had expected him to be, considering he must have fought against Ke Jiazhong and Du Linglong. Cuts littered his sleeves and he favoured his left leg for whatever reason.

  Then he saw why. Ke Shuang - the prisoner - sat calmly on top his cage as if he couldn't feel the spikes and the metal thorns worked into its sides, watching them both with those all-black eyes. His hands were splattered with blood. Next to him lay a spear of pure black, a metal that Wu Hao couldn't have put a name to, a cloud of dark qi having formed over the spearhead so thick that Wu Hao couldn't actually see more than that fog.

  He was eating a peach with one hand. Next to him lay one of Du Linglong's hair ornaments. She was nowhere to be seen, but a few body parts lay around the clearing, and it was impossible to tell whose they might have been. Evidence of a true massacre littered the scene, blood having turned some of the leaves so red that the entire scene looked unnatural.

  Behind him, he'd smeared ashes all over the Diancang Sect emblem on the carriages, making the painted sun disappear behind an enormous black circle and staining the beams of sunlight black.

  Something thumped into Wu Hao's chest and his eyes snapped back above, to Uncle, who'd placed the tip of his mace onto Wu Hao's chest. He twisted his wrist slightly, qi flooding through the mace with its pungent scent, and then its weight increased.

  Just a little bit, but even that was enough to trap Wu Hao's lungs against his ribs and make his breath catch. His heart thumped and he wondered if Uncle could feel it pushing against his mace, and if that mattered.

  "Talk," Uncle said, looking him in the eyes. "Why rebel?"

  But Wu Hao didn't bother. Instead, he forced the qi throughout his system, trying to gather up the little attention he could spare, forging it into a spike that could -

  The mace shuddered and became even heavier.

  Something cracked in Wu Hao's ribs - the rest of his ribcage giving way beneath the weight of the mace as Uncle pumped more qi into it.

  Gurgling, he managed a final effort, raising his head slightly.

  "Kill me," he rasped. "See if you can make it stick this time."

  Uncle's eyebrows went wide with confusion and rage, and Wu Hao reached out. With all his remaining strength, he gave a single tap to the side of the mace that failed to shift it in the slightest, and then he laughed.

  "More weight," he said, gurgled another laugh, and died.