The roaring of a wild animal carried all the way down to the camp.

  Few of the people bothered stirring; they knew the difference between the shout of a man and the roaring of a real animal. Most of them had killed both. But not all of them were so soaked in red that animals tearing each other apart didn’t make them lift their heads.

  Of course, the roar was Hao. He couldn’t help himself, his hand flying forward. It was the first time he punched anything but stone since he mastered Water Breaking Fist.

  His opponent, however, was not so easy; he was an experienced hunter. And not the type of hunter that caught normal animals. He hunted creatures many would call ‘monsters.’ Scholars would call the beasts an affront to nature; If such a class of people could see them, rarely would a scholar not be mortal. Those who stood in front of such beasts were Immortals forged by Sects for abundance and war. Forging themselves for betterment and prosperity.

  The middle-aged man, Hao’s opponent, stayed calm on the surface. One of his hands came up to protect himself. He planned to end this entire thing with that one punch to the neck, but Hao dodged it. The man’s reaction to the spiraling situation was late. To Hao, at least it was late.

  Hao’s fist burst past the hand, fingers brushing his knuckles. He got met halfway.

  The man didn’t let his other hand do nothing after the first miss; it recoiled for another hit, but Hao connected first despite being shorter than his older enemy. Hao was a little faster, but that was not the deciding factor in the exchange. Hao had a certain courage, or he had no need for courage; he was stepping forward on something primal that killed his fear. His caution was eaten by anger and ill-will.

  As the fist struck his head, Hao felt his knuckles sink into the flesh, touching bone. His head rattled, and he turned it back, finally closing his jaw, his teeth grinding. His tongue resting on the roof of his mouth.

  Seven Colored Steps sent his feet forward. The cold ground cracked under each step.

  Hao got closer; his left arm was sore from the ‘shoulder tap’ he got before the first hit got thrown, but that did not stop him from using that arm.

  His left arm disappeared outside of the Spirit Stones’ light as he formed a fist. It curved, coming back into the light beneath his opponent’s left arm, and it shot up. Hao could feel the watery brain inside the man’s head shaking. Then he felt his own bouncing twice as fast.

  It hit Hao like an arrow, sliding along his cheek, pulling the skin of his mouth along his teeth. The inside of his mouth lost its skin as it peeled between his canines and molars. Hao lost his sense of pain for a moment, his consciousness slipping on the fist that was digging into his jaw.

  Hao lifted his head back up, adjusting his wavy vision. His right hand shot up from his side to grab the arm that was forcing his head back. He held the arm tight once again. His fingernails dug in as he squeezed, his claws managing to get through skin and robe.

  “Ahhh, Freak!” The man screamed; the pinch that tore skin brought far more than any punch.

  Hao raised his leg for a kick, but before he got his knee fully bent, another big punch hit him on the side of the head.

  The man jumped back, pulling his arm free from Hao. he disappeared outside the spirit stones’ light, grunting and groaning. “Bastard, who do you think you are! Ah! My arm, you took a piece of my arm.”

  Hao went limp, his body falling forward and his fingers opening, releasing a mangled mess of skin, muscle, cloak, and robe falling from his right hand. His face hit the ground with a bounce. He was on the ground for a second, but his eyes shot open. Unable to breathe, he woke himself. Hands pushed down, he got to his knees. Hao opened his mouth, letting his tongue roll out, and a pool of blood poured forth from his face. With a single cough, a clotted, sticky red mess plopped on the ground. Hao closed his mouth and took a deep breath through his nose.

  “Rotten little beast! Don’t think you’ll die easily now. I should drag you to Young Master, but I think I have a lot to gain from dealing with you myself. If you like, I can beat you to death like that rude old librarian who protected that hag.”

  Hao got his feet under him. He stood tall, alone in the light of the Spirit Stone, feeling the eyes of the man staring at him. He had to open his mouth again, letting more blood drip out so he could speak. “What a lesson… It’s a good thing you woke me up.”

  Hao took a few steps back. I lost control of myself. What a stupid thing to do. He cooled down his head, running his mind around inside the Spirit-Holding bag. It kept him calm, the countless things he had collected on this journey so far. Including the medicine bottle he got from Senior Yi, that old man didn’t save me from the First Elder just so a blister would kill.

  The man was out there somewhere in the dark. Hao couldn’t find him, yet his voice reached him. “So you have learned your lesson; you learned too late. I’m going to crush your limb so you keep what you’ve learned in the next life.”

  Hao was continuing to back up. He didn’t stop until the source of the light was near his foot. The size of his shadow told him how close he was to the stone. Once his shadow was large enough, he waited for the man to step back into the light.

  The man did exactly that. Blood poured down his fingers. What remained of his white sleeve grew red, and the blue sleeve above it changed to a rusty color as well. “You are fairly strong, but you never had a chance; there is too much of a difference in our Cultivation. In our influence, our standing. I can list our differences for you as I break you down.”

  The man’s face was snarling, puckered red. Veins swam on his face, he was only getting angrier by the second. He looked nothing like the man Hao first approached, this was his genuine face, the face he wore when he got the chance.

  Hao’s face was not much better. His expression returned to its default emptiness, but he was not blind to any of the man’s words. Veins sprung on Hao’s face as well. But that seemed like a small deviation from his normal appearance compared to the swelling that bubbled out on either side of his head.

  “Don’t try to run.”

  Hao looked back. He squinted his eyes, scowling at the man walking over with triumph in his step. He had to let more blood run out of his mouth before he could speak. “And give up this chance? Fool.”

  Hao leaned over, touching the spirit stone as a torrent of insults and footsteps came from behind. He threw the light back into his mouth. Back in full control of himself. The world fell back into darkness.

  Hao felt like he had a breakthrough. His Cultivation had not increased, but he learned something about himself, about this world of Martial Arts, and how to approach it. Seven Colored Steps felt more complete, the second stage reaching perfection. He began going around his opponent, toning out his words. The words did not matter anymore. Every few steps, Hao opened his mouth, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The man fumbled around himself when the light was on him. He was busy between the flashes of light, his hands around his holding bag, presumably for a spirit stone or some sort of light source.

  For a moment, Hao saw a gap. The man let out a tirade of insults, loud enough to be heard a mile off. Hao wanted to stop his shouting. Even if he didn’t listen to the words, he could imagine them. It was too late to stop anyone from noticing, that was Hao’s fault, but he had already heard the thing’s mouth, calling for his Young Master all day. Still, the less attention gathered, the better.

  It just gave another reason for Hao to stop the man from speaking ill of him and anyone he knew.

  Hao was able to use the sound of his opponent until he got close, dashing forward with his hand out in front of him. The man, however, was quick to react. Hao used the light for just a moment to place his target.

  The two collided.

  Hao found a minor advantage in the sightless situation. Keeping his lips sealed, he found little comfort in fighting in the dark, but his enemy felt the discomfort far more. Hao once already fought in these conditions and was ready to do it once again if he had to, to win.

  Seven Colored Steps was even faster than before, more agile. Each step was graceful, silent, his entire body moving with each action starting from the ground.

  Hao didn’t hold back, but he kept his hand unfolded, launching a palm strike forward, aiming for his opponent’s neck. His body twisted as his hand made the air crack. His reach was extended by the strange movement, sacrificing his already injured shoulder. A fair trade, considering the strike that was coming at Hao, was also aiming for his neck. But Hao won the exchange. But felt the skin on his shoulder and back splitting.

  Two popping sounds rang out. The clang of a sword falling to the ground. Then a gasp of air, panting desperately. Hao listened to the sounds as he took the spirit stone from his mouth, bringing light to the situation.

  The man was on his knees, holding onto his neck, surviving despite his throat being partially crushed. If he fought the urge to breathe, he could stand and fight a while longer; the only distraction would be the pain. But the urge to breathe was more of a mental game than a physical one for a Late Reclamation Realm Cultivator. He squirmed and clawed at his neck, his head flailing.

  Hao felt his shoulder, blood pooling on the wound, dripping down his forearm. His robe split where the blade struck him, sliding along his back.

  “Vicious!” Hao shouted, now knowing the man was not reaching for a light in his spirit-holding bag before they clashed, but for a blade.

  Hao didn’t let down his guard, he watched the man closely as he stepped over the sword.

  The man’s breath was a labored squawk. His eyes bulged as he dug at his own neck. He almost got up to his feet, kicking the ground like he was trying to run away. He didn’t make it very far. Only getting an arm’s distance away from the beggar boy in front of him. If he wanted to get even more distance, he chose the wrong direction, his back hitting a tree.

  The tree didn’t stop his actions; he kept kicking his legs, trying so hard Hao almost wanted to cheer for him. Just a little bit hard, and he would pass right through the tree. His feet slammed the ground, pushing dirt into a pile like he really thought he could.

  Finally, he stopped after he got enough breath to cough. Blood was splashing out of his mouth onto his arms and clothing.

  Ahh~ah, if he just stopped trying to breathe, he’d be just fine. I haven’t tested how long I can hold my breath since the last time I was in the pond. Back then, it was ten minutes before I felt any sort of struggle.

  Hao got close, crouching down in front of him; the fear was obvious. Such a sudden change so quickly, Hao found it fascinating. He hunted animals for Sect points and likely murdered the person whose cloak now kept him warm in this cold. Yet, his face said, how is this happening? How is a killer surprised when he dies?

  Hao felt pity for a moment, the whimpering was like a wounded chicken. Then he remembered his Grandpa He’s hard attitude that hid his joy and eagerness to teach. His Grandma He’s tears, who sang with a voice of gold over his husband’s brutalized corpse.

  When Hao first met the old couple, they casually mentioned their passing of old age. But even the chance to die a natural death together was taken from them.

  Hao felt like he was floating off in the dark again. His jaw clenched down harder than before. The sound of a steel animal trap snapping shut, a vice shattering under its own weight.

  Hao let out one steady, long breath. Then he took more air back in. The smell of blood was rich, stimulating, and sickening. The man was sure to die in time. Even if he survived the suffocation of not being able to breathe, he was torturing his brain and body with shock.

  A few words being made by the man’s reddened lips were easy to spot. Please, mercy, help, and so on. It only furthered Hao’s anger and confusion.

  There was no helping him now. Just being in reclamation didn’t mean you surpassed mortality, even if the man’s attitude was that of an Immortal king. A person in reclamation was still mortal in every sense, just capable of extreme feats, like possibly going an hour without a breath.

  Hao grew tired of reading lips that spilled endless hypocrisy, taking the painting out. He took out more lights. The surrounding forest began glowing orange from the shine of the pure white spirit stones. The man’s eyes bulged further from the spirit stone and painting. His reaction gave Hao more reason to shout.

  “You were involved?” Hao already knew the answer.

  The man’s body betrayed any words he tried to mouth out, his legs kicking once again, faster. His labored breath got more rapid.

  Hao let out another long sigh, taking a deep breath, as he watched the panicked eyes dashing and his head shaking like a baby’s wooden rattle. Lips forming ‘sorry’, but the pattern of the word was losing its shape.

  “Why apologize to me? You didn’t do anything to me. Not really. Not directly.” Hao felt his head and face, blood was still clumping inside his mouth and on his shoulder. The strike he took on the side of the head was thrumming. But they would heal.

  Hao stood, grabbing the man’s arm and walking around the girth of the tree. “You should repent in front of him and ask for forgiveness. You can call him old He when you see him.”

  He froze still for a moment. Shocked by what he was about to do.

  He did it anyway.

  It was too late in Hao’s mind for kneeling to the Lord of Waters, a deity all mortals bowed to. For him or the man to beg for forgiveness in a Temple. Hao never loved the temple, not the way he was supposed to when training to be a monk. He was told many times after all, the deity his mother put her head on the ground too, ‘rejected his kind’, Islanders like Hao and his father.

  It was too late for Hao to bow to the Elders who had raised him, to admit his crimes. On the islands, life is worshiped. To take a life without the intent of using it to its fullest. “A person who takes a life is no longer welcomed on the Islands.”

  He looked around the tree, where all the bright light shone upon the drained face of the man. He was already unresponsive, trying to breathe, alive, but mentally gone.

  “Remember this shape, present yourself before him like this, and beg for forgiveness. Stay in the underworld, wait for his wife, and do the same, beg when you meet her.”

  Hao bent the arm in his hand like bow limbs. The sturdy bones resisted him, but in time, they shattered all the same. Hao did the same with the other arm, tying the two limbs like ropes. The tree was thin, but the skin still required a little stretching; He needed the hands to be cupped after all.

  There was an attempt to scream, but only an echoing whistle came out of his impacted throat.

  Hao did the same with the legs, easier to stretch, hard to break. He positioned the legs above the arms, flipping the man upside down.

  Hao stood, walking around the tree, seeing the man’s face and stomach grinding against the bark. Bound to the tree, he looked like he was bowing upside down, with his legs almost crossing.

  “Remember to bow your head, too. You wasted his life, but don’t worry, I won’t waste yours. You will feed this tree well and grow as part of it.”

  Hao took out a knife made for draining the blood of livestock, he poked it into the man’s neck. When the man faded, Hao sucked the moisture from the man’s body with the Drinking-Stone, creating a Vital Crystal and World Energy.

  When he was going back, leaving the man behind, he picked up the spirit stones he threw out. Once he got the last one, he collapsed on the ground, choking up the pleasant dinner he shared with his new friend Dong Lingli.