Twinned Destinies: A Cultivation Progression Fantasy

She burst out onto the main road. She didn’t risk demonforming—she didn’t need to. She was still so fast she nearly kept pace with the stars as they fell. She tracked them until they vanished over the treeline. They peeked between the crisscrossing branches, winking at her, daring her.

She chased them up the trees, leaping branch to branch, keeping them in sight until they went over the city wall.

But they wouldn’t escape her that easy. She crouched, heaved in a breath, and kicked off a tree trunk so hard she felt it cave in beneath her feet, the bark shattering, spitting splinters. She made one long graceful arc, slipping soundless through the air. But treacherous moonlight gave her away. She heard shouts from the foot of the wall, felt little flares of qi streak past. Then she was over the wall, falling, rolling thrice head-over-heel, muddying her cloak on the mush of the riverbank. She broke straight into a run, sinking half a boot into the mud at each stride. She sucked in breath after breath of the night air; the coldness of it thrilled her. She bounded over the West river and vanished down the road.

The stars made landfall in the mountains. They split off in three clumps, the middle one the biggest, and though she couldn’t see them anymore their heat was still on her. She was so focused on tracking them she almost ran straight into the Guard.

It was the dust that alerted her to them first. It got in her eyes, tickled her nose. When she was done blinking it out she saw where it’d come from—the outlines of stallions farther up the road. And on them, men.

She approached from the trees. One advantage of humanform was how small she was. She was a full head taller than Mother and Sen, and slimmer too. When she was garbed in blacks and dark greens in a night this dead, eyes just slipped over her.

There were a huddle of men in Imperial Guard white, some in the act of dismounting. But her eyes were drawn to the smiling face at their midst.

Chen Qin.

She stared, disbelieving, but there was no mistaking him. He was right there, in striking distance.

He was on a mission and he’d still found time to get his hair done up. He smiled lazily as he spoke. “—the three sightings.” He said. “The first regiment, led by master Len, will go for the western cluster.” A swordsman nodded—hair done up in a bun. He wore a silver cloak, the cloak of the Emperor’s personal guard.

“The second regiment, led by Master Shu, will go east.”

“Yes, my prince,” said another silver-cloaked swordsman.

“The rest of you are with me. We’ll secure the northern batch.” Qin’s grin broadened. “First to set hands on a Shard wins ten golds! May the best man win.”

The huddle gave a drunken cheer. These weren’t nobles—she swore she’d seen some of these same faces in the Cult. They scattered, but she only had eyes for Chen. He laughed at something one of his soldiers said. He gave another a playful shove. He moved easily between them, slick as a snake. These was hardly a band of professionals, of fighting men. They seemed to her a gang of cruel boys. Was it a gang like this that’d come for Mei deep in the night, all those years ago?

The only one that gave her pause was the big bald brawny one who stuck to Chen’s side. He had an ax almost as big as himself strapped to his back, and she guessed he knew how to use it. The rest of them lurched and wobbled but there was something solid and sure about the way he moved, something that told her he knew how to move. Under that ax was a silver cloak. If this one was his bodyguard she could bet he was at least late Core.

But she bet she could down him if she tried.

And then… what?

Chen Qin had led the strike; he might as well have killed Mei with his own hands. He’d never answered for that crime. And if he wasn’t there Tingting would still be with her, and none of this would’ve happened, and Ruyi would still be happy. She’d told herself she was over Tingting but every time Ruyi thought about him kissing her, touching her, she felt a blinding rage, even now. He was such an awful rot on the world.

With boorish roars they set off through the trees.

Swallowing, she went after them.

She wasn’t sure what she was thinking. Her mouth was very dry. She had to remember why she was here—the Shards. That was it, the Shards! She had to beat them to it.

***

They didn’t notice her as she flitted overhead, not even the big axman. In a breath she’d left them behind. In three more she made it to the crash site. It had crushed down two huge trees. The ashes of their boughs lay in smoking heaps. The Shards were cradled in the blackened remains of their trunks. The roots, spared the brunt of the blast, stuck up like the gnarled spikes of an earthen crown. Dark patches of sooty air wound over the mess.

A massacre had already begun. Larval squirrels tearing at other squirrels. The blast radius stretched far—she saw a demon-boar driving its tusks into the flank of a howling Royal Stag, and when it pulled black two fountains of red gushed out. A red-eyed vulture joined in, screeching a dirge from Hell.

Her blood boiled hot. But she couldn’t join in, that wasn’t why she was here—and if she demonformed there was no turning back. Demonforming didn’t spare her clothes; her disguise would be lost. She had to get to the Shards.

The boar saw her coming but it wasn’t fast enough to stop her, not by far. She slipped by, through, under, a flitting shadow, a whisper of wind. She shucked off her sack and grabbed hold of the first Shard. It was as big as her forearm and scalding to the touch, even through gloves. She’d hardly gotten it down the sack when the boar came snarling at her. With a slash of one hand she took out its eyes. With the other she carved out its throat. The head went one way but its squat body was charging another; it fell twisting over itself and was still.

Then she set her bloody gloves to the second Shard-chunk. Down it went. She grabbed for the third, but her fingers went still.

The field was silent. The vulture, perched on a root, was eyeing her. The stag, limping, was eyeing her. The squirrels had forgotten their petty infighting. She was surrounded by hungry red eyes.

She snarled. She let out a hint of aura, just a hint.

They scattered. Tails vanished into the murk, frenzied wings took to air, cawing fright. She knelt there panting.

By the time she got the third down, she felt other eyes on her, creeping in through the forest. But she hadn’t finished bagging the Shards. By the time she tied up the rope, they were well past the treeline. She heard their footsteps, leather on grass, soft, a closing trap. The deadly whispers of metal slithering free of scabbards. The gleams of speartips. They found her. Chen Qin was there, a shadow drawing nearer.

Why did she feel so relieved?

He came striding up the middle. He stopped at the edge of the root-crown. “You’re not one of mine,” he said. He sounded amused.

She looked at him. He could only see her eyes through her mask, but something there made him step back. “Easy there!” he said, raising his hands. “Easy. What’s your name, boy? Do you work in these mountains?”

She didn’t trust herself to speak. She didn’t trust herself at all right now. He was so close, a bound away.

“Are you afraid?” Chen chuckled. “You needn’t be. My name is Chen Qin, of the Imperial Guard. Citizen—I’m afraid to say those gems you’re putting away are quite dangerous. Perhaps it’d be best if you let us have them.”

They came beside, behind, passing the edge of the crown. These were bad men, she told herself. The same kind of men who’d come for Mei, cruel men with black hearts. They were put in the world to hurt people.

“Well,” sighed Chen, shrugging. “I gave him a chance. Let it never be said Chen Qin is an unjust man. Do it.”

She heard the arc of the steel, turned on her heels, ducked it, stepped in deep, and ripped a haymaker so hard she felt the bony mask of his face shattering beneath her knuckles. A big ugly spearman came bearing down on her. When he jabbed his spear his whole body lurched. The spear-tip glowed blue-white.

This time she touched him on the chin, just a touch, and he dropped, eyes rolling back. It was so easy.

The next one fell as easy as the first.

She barely felt conscious; she flowed right through them. She encountered no resistance. Then there was just one, the axman. His ax blazed red, flush with Core Formation qi. He swung for her. She dodged, ripped him to the belly, felt her knuckles sink deep, felt the air driven out of him. He swung again and she stuck him in the same spot. Before he could wind up for a third shot she spun, slamming an elbow through his chin; he staggered a step or two, muscle memory. He was unconscious on his feet. He dropped like the rest of them.

Then there was only Chen. Electric qi cackled off the tip of the blade but she saw the way it trembled.

With a shrill cry, he lunged for her.

Then he was on the ground, cringing and wailing, clutching at the remnants of his nose. His sword was discarded, forgotten. She stood above him. He was right there.

“Wait, wait, wait!” cried Chen. “I’m more use to you alive. As a hostage! My Father-in-Law, he’s the Emperor, he’ll pay. Who do you serve—is it Marcus? Drusila? Octavius?”

She stepped closer and he gave a choked sob. Maybe it was from the pain—that nose would never look the same. “Please,” he said. “No, no, no! Please…”

He’d thought she was some poor mountain boy. He was ready to kill her for it. Just like he’d had Mei killed, just like he’d slaughtered so many in the Lower City. He was so weak, so pale, shivering, she had barely touched him and he’d broken—how could so much evil come from a creature this pathetic?

“Please,” he babbled. He couldn’t seem to stop. What was he begging for?

Then she looked at her bloodied gloves, bunched into fists, and she saw how it looked.

He thought she was going to kill him.

…was she?

Nobody would know. She’d be well justified; it’d be an act of justice. He had tried killing her first, hadn’t he? And If she let him go now it wasn’t just sparing him, it was condemning all he’d hurt later. Chen Qin was a mean little snake of a man. If that was how he treated Tingting in public… no. Ruyi had to. It was the right thing to do.

She realized she was panting. She realized how hot her blood was running, the way her fangs were starting to poke out her lips.

“You don’t have to do this!” screamed Chen.

No. No she didn’t. But she wanted to.

She froze.

“Heavens,” she croaked.

She was deluding herself.

She had known, maybe from the moment she’d set eyes on him, she’d wanted to hurt him.

That was why she’d followed him. That was why she’d let herself be caught—why she’d felt relieved when they came for her. She wanted all of this. She wanted him here. And now she was trying to convince herself she had to kill him, because she wanted to.

It scared her how bad she wanted to.

Was this who she was?

What was she doing, standing here, panting down at him, bloody-handed, like some kind of monster? What would Mother think if she saw her like this—Jin? Mei?

She didn’t want to kill him because it was the right thing to do. She wanted to kill him because he’d hurt her.

And yet…

“Prince!”

She snapped up. An arc of black light raced out of the forest, flaring with Nascent Aura. She rolled back to dodge it, landing on all fours. Another, bright blue, scythed overhead. She staggered back, snatched up her sack, and fled.