It'd seemed a simple thought. In practice, it had turned out a lot harder than that.

  Three more deaths. That was how much more time it had taken him to figure out his plan of action. It must've been at least 23 hours since the last time he'd died. He was once again face-down in the gully, feeling the itching weight of the filter in his chest and the reassuring weight of the knife in his hand.

  There were a few things he still didn't know. He didn't know when they'd been spotted, didn't know who the cultist actually was. He hadn't ever bothered trying to make it up the hill to the camp itself, knowing that he'd be cut down if he ever tried.

  He'd gotten better at telling the signal that 726 waited for. It wasn't a signal at all, really: he just waited until the very first ray of morning broke through the night.

  If nothing else, it finally made the name of the Red Dawn Sect make sense.

  A long swath of red cut through the horizon, and Wu Hao blinked, once. Then, at the exact same time as 726, he began to rise to his feet.

  "Wh -" 726 said, but Wu Hao shook his head.

  "We've been spotted. Don't get in my way."

  726 stared at him, some spark of fury blazing into existence, but Wu Hao ignored him.

  No time to think, now.

  If before he'd have described the filter cracking as a flood of pain, now he found it almost relieving. There was no more need to think, no more need to hesitate. There was a purity there, in resigning yourself to death.

  Then the pain started pouring in, as his meridians were forcibly flooded with more qi than they were able to handle. He knew now that he had three cycles of his qi. Less, depending on how much he wasted in techniques. Experience had taught him exactly how much he could use before he'd run out, but that was mainly useful to know what his shoddy control had cost him now.

  Wu Hao shoved one foot back, raising his knife just so as he did. Then he braced himself and blasted qi through his arms.

  "Rending Dagger Art," he growled, surpressing the lung-rattling cough that was already bubbling up. "Rippling Net."

  In the next breath, the cultist flickered into being again with an abrupt stop, the point of his knife slamming into Wu Hao's own. His hand was pushed back by the impact, the knifetip carving a long furrow into the rags over his chest, but then the other man's knife flicked back and Wu Hao threw his arm down, where he knew the next attack would come. Again, it slammed into him with an impact that felt like it would jar his bones loose.

  But he still blocked it. He watched the cultist's eyes carefully, staring into the glowing red and ignoring the overpowering, eye-watering scent of death that swirled around the cultist like a shroud. Any moment now, there would be a slight tightening of the right eye, and then -

  There!

  Their knives moved at the same time, Wu Hao's meeting the other man's just moments after it'd started on its third slash, leaving a thin crack to burrow out over Wu Hao's knife but blocking the other man's slash before it could start picking up real speed.

  Abruptly Wu Hao gave up on defense entirely, swinging his knife forward with a pulse of qi that felt like it'd explode his arms inside out. He caught the cultist on the backswing and on the back foot, knife piercing through the air even as the other man took a step back, just like he always did.

  "Rending Dagger Art," Wu Hao said, and exhaled. "Long Hook."

  His knife lashed out, the physical tip missing the cultist by inches, only to suddenly burst with power as the qi that he'd sent out arrived at its destination and lanced out, leaving a long but thin furrow into the cultist's robes that looked shallower than it was.

  Someone pounced. It'd been 723 before and it was 723 again now, his gangly arms slamming together as his bear hug found only air. The cultist was already gone, slipping away on a burst of speed granted by his movement technique.

  "What - " 726 said, but Wu Hao turned and sprinted forwards, qi burning through his legs giving him a speed he would otherwise only dream of, straight at the other boy.

  He skidded to a halt maybe ten steps away, shoved his hand into his sleeve, and roared, "Get down!"

  That same instant, the cultist reappeared out of a blurry shadow, exactly where he always reappeared, knife striking at 726's neck, already turning to stare at Wu Hao as if he'd seen a ghost.

  Wu Hao threw the stake, ripping it from his sleeve in his haste and pumping it with a bunch of qi. His lack of control made him force way too much in, though, and even as it spun into the air from his hand he could feel his qi begin to burn through the shoddy wood before he lost the connection.

  Gritting his teeth he ducked, shielding his face with one arm as he tried to keep watching with the other, and he hadn't ducked a moment too late: that same instant, the tent spike exploded, almost two full steps before he'd intended it to.

  It wasn't like the last explosion he'd caused. This was worse, every time, and it was far more unpredictable.

  Fragments of wood and steel shot forwards like arrows from a bow, in every direction at once. Sharp shards slammed into Wu Hao's flesh, burned through his rags, and tore strips of flesh from his body.

  He heard a few grunts of pain as the other deathsworn took their own share of the blows, 726 taking the brunt of the damage, but at the same time he saw the cultist stumble.

  The cultist stopped moving. Wu Hao shook his arm and did his best to ignore his injuries in order to get ready for another strike, but the cultist stared down at his right leg, where a thick shard that must have been part of the spike's tip had lodged to the inside of his thigh.

  The other man's eyes snapped to Wu Hao, who was gathering qi as quickly as he could to throw himself forward with another qi-infused jump, and then his eyes narrowed into slits.

  "You'll pay for that," the cultist seethed. His hand flicked down to the shard and took hold of it, before he tore it out of his body with a spray of blood and a grunt of pain.

  He raised his knife, meeting Wu Hao's charge head on and blocked him with surprising strength. The cultist grimaced, tried to take a step to the side to use that movement technique that made him such a bitch to fight.

  But then he stumbled. His eyes snapped down at the foot that'd betrayed him, but then Wu Hao was there, already lashing out with the first slash of the Twisting Edge. It slammed into the other man, tearing another long furrow into his robes, bisecting the red eye on his uniform and carving into him deep enough that blood flew from the wound.

  Black spots appeared at the edge of his vision, and he felt faint for a moment. Then he ignored it and sent another wave of his qi crashing forwards, splashing out of his arm and into the knife as he twisted on his feet and launched into the second movement of the Twisting Edge.

  This, though, was blocked, and Wu Hao grimaced.

  He'd cut too shallowly. The other man made him pay for his mistake, slashing out with furious energy, his knife carving at Wu Hao's flesh, too fast for Wu Hao to block. Spiralling, twisting cuts appeared on his arms, his legs, even once lancing past his face that he'd managed to dodge at the last instant to prevent losing an eye.

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  That was fine, though. Those were wounds he could still ignore.

  Wu Hao took another shallow slash to the side of his neck and closed the distance, throwing one arm that he'd raised earlier over the other man's shoulder and clenching for all that he was worth. He frantically poured more qi and held on, praying that he'd done it right this time.

  The cultist's knife speared down, aiming directly for Wu Hao's neck. It'd not just pierce through him; with the level of qi that was being burned on that attack, it'd decapitate him. It wouldn't be the first time. He retracted his arm as quickly as he could and retreated, but the cultist's other arm had gotten a grip on Wu Hao's rags and held him close enough that he wouldn't escape the stab.

  That was when Wu Hao's second tent spike exploded, behind the other man's back.

  Wu Hao could feel the impacts of the shards hitting the man's back, sounding almost like raindrops in a storm onto a steel roof. The explosion forced the other man to slam into Wu Hao, chest-to-chest, and Wu Hao poured qi into his feet and launched himself upward, the top of his head crunching into the cultist's chin.

  He could feel - hear - something breaking, the cultist's jaw giving way as several of his teeth shattered inside his mouth.

  The stab that'd been aiming for his neck landed instead as an arm slung powerlessly over his shoulder, unable to do more than twitch in pain for a few breaths as the cultist began to fall bonelessly to the ground.

  Then the man's eyes snapped open again and got a leg underneath him.

  "White Demon Art -" he roared, but Wu Hao was already swinging again. He could feel the knife in his hand tense and quiver with the qi he was forcing through it, feeling almost like a living thing, as the other man broke off his move in a desperate quick guard. It locked his knife against Wu Hao's, with it only inches away from tearing open that wound in the cultist's shoulder.

  They stood there, teeth gritted, and Wu Hao managed to push the tip just deep enough that it drew another thick droplet of blood before the other man overcharged his arm with qi and pushed Wu Hao so hard that he briefly flew.

  By the time that Wu Hao had landed, the cultist had already begun to move. He spoke again, and this time Wu Hao wasn't able to interrupt in time.

  "White Demon Art - Marrow Threading."

  Wu Hao threw himself backwards again, forcing so much qi through his feet that lances of pain ran through his feet. He stumbled, once, landing unsteadily and nearly crumbling as his legs refused to support him and throwing out an arm to try and stabilize himself.

  But it'd been a feint, and Wu Hao watched the cultist's eyes narrow, feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach as the other man shifted his grip on his knife and spoke again, repeating his earlier words.

  His knife rushed out in the first slash that'd lead to Wu Hao being eviscerated again, and he'd nearly decided that this attempt had been another failure when a shape burst out of nowhere and punched the cultist in the spine.

  It was 732 - bleeding from a gash on his forehead, panting, he had nonetheless apparently survived the initial assault that had massacred everyone else.

  The cultist's eyes lost their focus for just a moment and he snarled something inhuman, but then he turned while Wu Hao forced one of the last dregs of his qi through his feet yet again. Blood dripped from his legs as he threw himself into a sprint, knife pointed forwards.

  "Rending Dagger Art," he gasped, forcing the loop to click. "Long Hook."

  The spinning threads of his qi blazed into being from the tip of his knife at the same moment that the cultist's knife embedded itself deep into 732's heart. It slammed against the cultist's shoulder while the other man was still half-turned, with 732 holding onto the knife despite dying.

  But there Wu Hao's knife stopped. The other man had thrown up a desperate guard of pure qi, layered around his body to block Wu Hao's attack.

  Desperately, Wu Hao pumped all the qi he had left into that final slash, agony tunneling through his veins and the feeling of pure hellfire blazing through his head as he felt the toll from using that much qi. Power fizzled from the knife's edge, forming into long tendrils of uncontrolled force that swirled like a living thing. They touched at the cultist's skin, burning him like fire, and the other man flinched.

  In the middle of their struggle, Wu Hao's attention was drawn upwards, beyond the cultist's eyes and at 732. He'd sagged against the cultist, blood drawing away from his face as his heart stopped pumping. He looked Wu Hao directly in the eye, smiled, and let go, falling dead to the ground.

  Wu Hao screamed, for reasons even he himself couldn't explain.

  But the knife went through.

  It didn't cut smoothly. Assisted by Wu Hao's qi it tore through the cultist's body, crushing and cutting in equal measure as he forced it to crack open the qi barrier. The metal warped and twisted and cracked midway, exploding into splinters that burrowed through the cultist's body.

  The cultist's arm hit the floor. Moments later, so did he.

  A long silence hung over the gully before the cultist screamed, a raw sound of pain that didn't seem suited to a human throat. His other hand clutched at the ruin of his shoulder and he rolled around in a blind panic.

  Wu Hao picked up the broken handle of the cultist's knife and stumbled forward. Now that he'd expended every single drop of his qi, there was nothing holding him up. He couldn't think, head pounding so badly it felt like it would explode. His core had been wrung dry and almost torn in half, and his body was in utter tatters.

  With every muscle screaming for relief, he pushed himself forward. He took one step, feeling his legs buckle underneath him.

  Then he took another.

  Three steps remained between Wu Hao and the cultist, who was looking up at Wu Hao with fear in his eyes.

  "Master," the man babbled. "Master!"

  Wu Hao raised the broken knife handle. He forced numb fingers to close around the cool steel, then clenched his hand into a fist.

  Another step.

  "Master, please," the cultist said, trying to place his hand behind him and crawl away. More wetness stained the ground below him, and the cultist's hand lost its purchase on a pool of blood that had once belonged to 732.

  Another step. One step left, now.

  Wu Hao's legs failed him, the muscles frayed and tattered like old cloth. Every part of Wu Hao hurt, and as he staggered forward anyway, he landed on his knees, kneeling in front of the cultist.

  He didn't hear anything the man was saying. A prayer, maybe.

  "Monster," the cultist was stammering. A desperate smile lingered on his face, though tears spilled from his eyes. A brave front. "You can kill me now, but my Master will -"

  The knife fell, and then there was silence.