016 Let’s Play a Game

  "K-uhuk~"

  Zha Dong barely suppressed his yelp, his entire body shuddering from the pain. I could feel it—the struggle, the sheer desperation. His internal injuries were severe, the kind that would leave a lesser man paralyzed, and yet he dared not make a sound.

  Not even a groan.

  "SO… WILL YOU STAY DOWN?" I asked, my voice carrying the weight of his impending doom.

  "Y-yes…" he croaked out weakly.

  Good.

  I didn't even need to draw my Light Saber.

  With nothing but Telekinesis, I crushed his insides, my control so precise that I could feel his organs twist and contort under my will.

  This level of technique wasn’t something I pulled from thin air. It came from Old Fu Shi—a Perfect Immortal, the legendary 11th stage cultivator. His memories might not be truly mine, but they were close enough.

  And that made me a discounted Perfect Immortal.

  I lacked qi, but I had quintessence.

  A worthy substitute.

  Zha Dong’s body convulsed slightly as I adjusted my grip, carefully tightening the force around his shattered ribs. I could feel him resisting—his own demonic qi struggling to repair the damage I inflicted.

  Pathetic.

  "You thought you were untouchable, didn't you?" I said, watching as his fingers twitched against the dirt. "You thought you could do whatever you pleased, kill whoever you wanted, and no one would come for you."

  He didn't answer. He didn't dare.

  "You got cocky," I continued, my tone almost conversational. "And because of that, a mere farmer nearly sent you to the afterlife. You should be grateful. At least he let you run."

  I crouched beside him, lowering my voice to a whisper.

  "But me?"

  I grabbed his wrist and snapped it with a flick of my telekinesis.

  "I don't let rats run."

  Zha Dong screamed.

  "Let's play a game."

  I smiled down at the battered demonic cultivator, my voice light, almost playful.

  Zha Dong trembled, his body convulsing from the internal injuries I had inflicted. He couldn’t even let out a scream properly, his throat choking on pain and fear. Tears of blood streamed from his eyes, the weight of my telekinetic grip pressing down on his very soul.

  "This… FUUUUCK!" he finally roared, his body writhing in agony. His bones creaked under the pressure, his tendons strained, his very being teetering on the edge of collapse.

  The psychological torment must have been unbearable.

  Cultivators like him lived in a world of bloodshed and betrayal. A dog-eat-dog world, sure, but more than that—a realm where fate played cruel, twisted pranks on those who thought they had the upper hand.

  And right now, he was the punchline.

  "I’d rather die!"

  The moment the words left his mouth, a powerful surge of qi erupted from within him.

  Dark energy coiled around Zha Dong’s body like a living entity, pushing against the invisible force of my telekinesis. The oppressive grip I had on him wavered, the sheer strength of his qi forcing me to adjust my hold.

  As expected of a 4th-stage cultivator of the Spirit Mystery Realm. His qi was no longer a simple extension of his physical body—it carried attributes, unique qualities refined through his cultivation.

  The dark energy burned and corroded everything it touched, repelling my telekinetic force with raw, unrelenting power.

  I clicked my tongue.

  This was why demonic cultivators were so damn annoying.

  There were two incredible powers a cultivator obtained upon reaching the Spirit Mystery Realm.

  First was Spiritual Sense or Qi Sense—an extension of one's perception that allowed cultivators to detect and interact with qi at a supernatural level. It was the key to anticipating attacks, sensing threats, and expanding one's awareness beyond the limits of ordinary sight.

  The second was called Qi Mystery, the manifestation of elemental or unique attributive powers. Each cultivator developed a personal affinity, an extension of their own cultivation path.

  For Zha Dong, it was darkness, decay, bones, and endurance.

  A fitting set of powers for a dog like him.

  Still floating in the air, I gazed down at the struggling fool.

  "GRAAAAAH! BONE ARMOR! SKULL-PIERCING STAB!"

  His body erupted with dark qi as bone plates formed over his skin, covering him in a grotesque, jagged exoskeleton. His right arm elongated unnaturally, a hardened bone spike emerging from his wrist like a spear.

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  A martial spell, then a martial skill—used in quick succession.

  He was desperate.

  He screamed at the top of his lungs, a futile attempt to boost his courage as he lunged toward me.

  I barely paid him any mind.

  With a simple thought, I glided out of his path, moving effortlessly in the air. His strike missed completely, his bone spike stabbing nothing but empty sky.

  Pathetic.

  With a flick of my fingers, my telekinesis surged.

  Invisible strikes rained down upon him, each one carrying the weight of a war hammer. I didn’t need martial arts, not when I could replicate their power with pure mental force.

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  Telekinetic fists slammed into his blind spots—his ribs, his spine, the back of his head. He stumbled, his armor of bone cracking under the relentless assault.

  And yet…

  He was still standing.

  Tch.

  I clicked my tongue in mild disappointment.

  His bone armor was only moderately damaged. Even with quintessence-empowered telekinesis, my raw strength was about the same level as a 4th-stage cultivator. Maybe slightly better.

  A bummer.

  That meant, without additional power-ups, my telekinesis alone was just equal to a cultivator at Zha Dong’s level.

  The demonic cultivator looked pitiful now. His skin had gone pale from blood loss, his breath was ragged, and his eyes—those bloodshot, panicked eyes—darted around in desperate calculation.

  Ah.

  I could see it now. The source of his fear.

  It wasn’t just my power.

  It was what he thought I was.

  He believed he was fighting an 8th-stage cultivator.

  And that terror was eating him alive.

  "I see that you were someone strong to the weak, but weak to the strong. Pathetic."

  Zha Dong flinched.

  Truthfully, what he was suffering right now was purely psychological. I wasn’t even trying. I wasn’t at the 8th stage. I wasn’t at any stage. This was all telekinesis at work.

  But the bastard’s mind was eating itself alive.

  I could see it in his eyes—the terror, the disbelief, the regret. He thought he had kicked a sleeping dragon.

  Good.

  Then, right on cue, he dropped to his knees.

  "I was blind! Please, forgive me, Senior!" His forehead hit the dirt as he prostrated. "For even thinking of escape! It was not my intention to kill one of your own!"

  Hmmm… Yeah. Go on. Beg.

  As if that would do anything.

  Come to think of it, I had quite an excellent punching bag right in front of me. It would be a downer if I didn’t take advantage of this situation.

  Experimentation was the key to discovery, after all.

  "Let’s play a game," I said.

  "..."

  His silence was all the confirmation I needed.

  "Noon," I continued.

  Zha Dong raised his head, his expression twisted in confusion. "E-excuse me?"

  "Survive until high noon," I said simply. "Do so, and I will let you live."

  That was a promise.

  A flimsy one.

  But to someone drowning in fear, even a strand of false hope was something to cling to.

  And oh, how quickly that hope took root.

  His desperate eyes brightened, his will to live momentarily overshadowing his fear.

  That was right.

  You should do your best to survive.

  Do your job as my punching bag, just as I intended.

  I had so much inspiration to work with. My past life, old Fu Shi’s memories, countless battle techniques swirling in my mind. This was the perfect opportunity to hone myself.

  But first—

  "You won’t be needing your sword."

  With a flick of my wrist, I wrenched his weapon from his grip.

  "N-no!" Zha Dong reached out in vain as his lifeline was torn away.

  The weapon was wretched. Twisted with an evil aura. A demonic cultivator’s blade through and through.

  I looked at it with disgust.

  Snap.

  I split the blade in two with a mere thought, breaking it like a twig with my telekinesis.

  Huh.

  Looks like snapping swords is easier than snapping bones…

  Heh.

  The joke was on me.

  "Now, let's begin."

  Zha Dong’s breath hitched.

  With his sword broken, his means of escape was gone. No more flying. No more fleeing. No more getting away.

  Meanwhile, I?

  I could fly.

  I hovered in the air, looking down at him like a scientist observing a test subject. Which, well… wasn’t inaccurate.

  Time to experiment.

  I spun my telekinesis, shaping it in my mind.

  A bulldozer. A bullet fired from a gun. The force of a wrecking ball condensed into a single point.

  Then—

  BOOM!

  A spiraling force drilled through Zha Dong’s bone armor, shattering it into pieces.

  Or more accurately, a powerful impact.

  He coughed up blood.

  His eyes bulged in horror.

  I watched with detached interest as his qi flared, frantically repairing the damage.

  'Good. That means I can keep going.'

  I named that move Force Impact.

  Now, onto the next.

  I attacked again. Different angles, different speeds. Force Bullet—a telekinetic strike mimicking a gunshot, piercing through his defenses. Force Drill—a rotating, destructive motion meant to tear through armor. Every time he got too fast, Force Bullet clipped him. Every time he hardened his defenses, Force Drill burrowed through.

  It was fascinating.

  Every time I shattered his bone armor, he fixed it.

  Every time he fixed it, I shattered it again.

  He was an excellent punching bag. Durable, slow, and just fast enough to make hitting him fun.

  At some point, it was getting boring, but I worked through it.

  I refined my control over telekinesis, developing mundane skills. Force Punch, Force Wave, Force Whip, Force Slash—each variation testing the limits of my power.

  Then, for fun—

  I stretched out my hand.

  Zha Dong froze.

  A crushing force wrapped around his throat, lifting him off the ground. He clawed at his neck, his legs kicking uselessly in the air.

  Ah. The classic.

  Force Choke.

  Darth Vader would be proud.

  I tilted my head, watching him struggle. Intimidating, huh?

  Probably a good crowd-control skill.

  At this point, I was just bullying him.

  "Hang in there," I said flatly. "You can do it."

  Zha Dong’s bloodshot eyes stared at me in sheer despair.

  I smiled.

  The game had only just begun.

  And no, I had no excuse of my psychopathic behavior.

  I’m a game designer, we weren’t made to be sane.

  I lost track of time.

  Between the countless Force Bullets, Force Drills, Force Slashes, and Force Waves, I kept pushing my telekinesis further. Experimenting. Refining. Perfecting.

  Zha Dong was the perfect test subject. He had just enough durability to take a beating but not enough power to fight back. The ideal balance.

  By the time I realized it, the sun had reached its peak.

  "W-wait... wait… WAIT!"

  I paused mid-air, glancing down at him.

  He was barely standing. His limbs shook violently, his body a mess of bruises, cuts, and fractured bones. His once-pristine robes were drenched in sweat and blood. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his breathing came in ragged, uneven gasps.

  "What?" I asked.

  "I-I… i-it's alr...eady high noo...n…" He swallowed hard, barely able to speak. "T-the pro…mise? You. promised. The... game..."

  Ah. Right.

  That little deal.

  A grin tugged at my lips.

  "Sorry, I forgot."

  Ping! -5 quintessence.

  In a blink, I teleported behind him.

  His battered body stiffened, sensing my presence—too late.

  A radiant blade of light pierced through his chest, emerging from the front of his ribcage. His breath hitched. A shudder ran through his body.

  "Guh…"

  Ping! +100 quintessence.

  I twisted the blade slightly, watching as he shuddered.

  "Game over," I whispered, voice dripping with mockery.

  With a flick of my wrist, I yanked the Light Saber out.

  Zha Dong collapsed forward, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud. His qi flickered, sputtered, then vanished entirely.

  Dead.

  I looked at my hands.

  Even after all that, I still had plenty of energy left.

  I smirked.

  What a shame. I was just getting started.