Volume One, Chapter Twenty-Seven: All Means Deployed

With a forceful grip, the black-and-white mask shattered instantly, dissolving into countless motes of light that shot into Quantu’s body. As he felt his own consciousness becoming ever purer, Quantu’s devout expression twisted into one of utter madness.

Within the Calamity Church, every disciple was issued a mask attuned to their current cultivation, and this mask was each Calamity believer’s trump card. By drawing on the power sealed within, the wearer could temporarily break through their limits and ascend to a higher realm. Among all the masks, the highest grade was the black-and-white mask Quantu wore, representing the pinnacle of the Wishful Realm. For those who had become Calamity Incarnates—beings equal to the Thrones in might—there were no more shortcuts to further power.

Mu Qing’s figure darted backward, as if she intended to widen the distance. This time, Quantu moved. Wreathed in white mist, his body flashed forward in pursuit. He had no intention of dragging this out; he still had no idea what secret healing methods Mu Qing concealed, and the old hidden wounds within him were starting to flare up. A swift, decisive battle was his only option.

Suddenly, Mu Qing twisted on her toes and reversed direction, driving a fist toward Quantu. She did not know his sudden intent in closing the gap, but if he wished for hand-to-hand combat, she welcomed it with open arms.

Her fist struck his chest, and the burst of force shattered the misty steps beneath their feet. This time, Quantu did not dodge or deflect; he took the blow head-on. A vortex of white mist formed at his chest, spinning madly around the black-gloved fist to absorb the impact. The mist behind him exploded outward, only to swirl back and coalesce in an instant, returning to its former state. The force redirected by the vortex carved a deep crater into the earth beneath him.

A downward kick sent Quantu and the swirling mist crashing into the ground. The mountainside, already blasted to its foundations, suffered another heavy blow as reddish-yellow bedrock crumbled to dust. Mu Qing shot downward in pursuit. With her psychic abilities sealed by black fire, close combat offered her a far greater advantage than aerial battle.

Steadying himself, Quantu conjured a white vortex to block Mu Qing’s assault. At once, massive hands of black mist lunged for her, only to be ripped and scattered apart.

“Dragon King’s Maw.” Quantu, watching Mu Qing wade through the surging black mist toward him, spoke three words.

White mist roiled and condensed into a dragon’s head, jaws yawning wide to swallow both the black tide and Mu Qing whole. The moment the black mist touched the white, it transformed into razor-sharp dragon teeth, snapping shut with the dragon’s head. The leading edge of the black mist, previously attacking Mu Qing, seemed to grow even more frenzied, determined to pin her in place at any cost—even if it meant dissipating altogether.

In her vision, the dragon’s maw drew closer and closer, but Mu Qing could not break free. With a final strike, she shattered the last tendril of black mist, but the gaping jaws were now upon her. She drew a slow breath, the friction of the air echoing like a beast’s roar. It was too late to run. Mu Qing pressed her fingers together, joining her palms, and with a heavy step that shattered the rocky ground, she shot straight into the dragon’s gaping mouth.

She chose to find survival in the heart of destruction.

The dragon’s jaws closed, plunging the world within into darkness as black blades of mist ground together mercilessly.

Braving the wounds that opened along her calves, arms, and back where the black mist’s fangs tore into her, Mu Qing pressed on until she reached the dragon’s throat.

Here, there were no more black mist fangs—only a suffocating, dense wall of white mist.

The walls of mist around her slowly closed in, grinding together like the millstones of heaven and earth, threatening to crush all life within. Behind her, the black mist’s blades pursued, cold and keen.

“Open for me...” With her palms pressed back-to-back, Mu Qing drove them into the closing walls of mist. Every muscle in her body strained, blood trickling from her furrowed nose. Her life force and spirit burned furiously in tandem. With a thunderous roar, she expelled all the air she had drawn in.

“Open!”

At the back of the dragon’s head, the mist churned violently, as if to snuff out all resistance—yet it was still torn asunder and scattered. The remnants of the white mist had not vanished, the shattered skull of the dragon head still lay behind the figure now emerging from within.

Mu Qing’s arms trembled uncontrollably; that strike had pushed her beyond her limits. She wiped the blood from her nose, crimson seeping from the wrists of her black gloves. Her fingers were badly abraded, flesh blurred, yet the strange material of the gloves remained unscathed, pristine as ever.

Her hands bled beneath the gloves, but for Mu Qing—who had endured the agony of black fire burning her flesh and soul—this was nothing. She flicked her arms, removed her gloves to drain the pooled blood, then put them back on. One step at a time, she walked toward Quantu, her expression growing ever more serene.

Watching her approach, Quantu’s smile grew wilder.

Beneath Mu Qing’s calm, he saw a blazing will to do battle. He craved destruction and to be destroyed, longed for slaughter and to be slaughtered. Though her eyes were hidden behind those bothersome sunglasses, the murderous intent rolling off her was palpable, surging toward him in waves.

“Come, my trial. Come and destroy me with your own hands, or be destroyed by me.” Quantu’s lips moved as he murmured, his gaze fixed on Mu Qing’s eyes, almost entranced. In her, he saw pure annihilation. Their end would be the demise of one or the other.

Since joining the Calamity Church, Quantu had been obsessed with such destruction. But ever since that time—when a hand had pierced his chest, leaving him alive by a stroke of luck—Quantu, once defeated in a trial decreed by the Supreme Will, had fallen into despair.

“To fade into nothingness is not our fate—our path is to meet destruction. Go east, Quantu. Perhaps what you seek lies there.”

When he found that twin lotus, still unbloomed, deep in the Qin Emperor Mountains, Quantu thought he had found what the High Pontiff spoke of. But now, he realized his mistake.

Here, now, Quantu had truly found the destruction he had always sought.

Eyes bloodshot, Quantu spread his arms wide to the sky and laughed in silence. Immense joy enveloped his soul, a deep satisfaction welling up from within. The High Pontiff had been right; all of this was indeed the arrangement of the Supreme Will.

Mu Qing quickened her pace, lowering her body as she charged once more. The black-and-white mist forming the Dragon King’s Maw had not yet returned to Quantu—this was her best chance to attack.

Summoning the last of his own black-and-white mist, Quantu ceased his laughter and charged at Mu Qing.

Fist met fist; the ground beneath them split open again. Purple blood trickled from the corners of Quantu’s mouth, but this time he paid it no heed. Having absorbed all the mask’s power, with his consciousness honed to its purest, Quantu locked the old wound at his chest shut. Slowly activating a secret art, he resolved to use every means at his disposal to utterly destroy the trial before him.

He swung his arm, palm empty—by the time it reached Mu Qing, a blade of black mist had formed, cleaving downward. Mu Qing met it with her left palm; the blade could not cut through her black glove and was shattered. But from the broken edge, another mist blade manifested, slashing her forearm before being dispelled by her right hand. A powerful kick swept at Mu Qing’s side, yet she endured it, launching a furious counterattack.

Though Quantu was not adept at close combat, he relied on his Wishful Realm’s peak physique to trade blows with Mu Qing in place. The black-and-white mist swelled; Mu Qing’s assault only grew fiercer, intent on ending the battle in one decisive flurry. The aura of deadly ferocity surged, splintering the rock beneath her feet. With each blow, she tore apart Quantu’s defenses, racing against the returning tide of mist behind her.

A punch struck Quantu’s abdomen, and a torrent of purple blood spurted from his lips, but Mu Qing sighed quietly—she had failed to kill him before the mist could return.

Dodging the oncoming mist, Mu Qing reappeared a short distance away.

“Thank you, my trial. I am truly grateful to you. Thus, I shall grant you annihilation of the highest order.” Quantu coughed up blood, reined in his smile, and his demeanor grew composed.

He had finished preparing his secret art.

With his index fingers crossed and pressed to his brow, Quantu parted his lips and uttered a single word.

“Ash.”