Tantra does not wake up peacefully

  Having your soul morphed is an untogether unsettling process, Tantra can feel every alteration, growing and mutating at a pace Tantra never thought possible. It’s not painful, nor pleasurable, that’s not how the soul interprets sensations, it’s just different. Her soul was once a placid thing, something she could feel if she truly focused, but was easily ignored.

  That is not the case anymore.

  It pulsates violently, each beat producing Qi that’s changed, more potent somehow and flavoured with the tang of iron.

  All these sudden changes, alongside the dream(?), is the excuse she’s going to use for screaming like a toddler and shooting up at a speed that Synthia surely doesn’t appreciate, considering Tantra just headbutt her face.

  “Good gods,” Synthia says nasally, “you absolute ape! You broke my nose.”

  Tantra, breathing hard, doesn’t pay any attention to that, how could she when she’s being overwhelmed with so much information? She can feel the entirety of her vasculature, like it were some forgotten limb that has only now awakened.

  Everything is so intimate, so precise, so much.

  She can feel her heart, can feel it stutter at the unwelcome intrusion into it’s chambers, screaming for her to remove it.

  Tantra, without thought, grabs the hand stuck to her chest.

  “Wai-”

  But it’s too late, a fountain of blood explodes from her chest as she drags out the three thin blades piercing her heart, then, almost instinctively, she pulls on a knowledge that she should not have and squeezes the holes shut while manually keeping her heart in rhythm. Tantra pulls a magnitude of Qi that surely isn’t advisable and forces the holes to regenerate.

  The air around her chest becomes a haze, like looking through the lens of a desert, and the wounds reconstruct. Tantra sits there, breathing hard with a severed hand in her grasp as she composes herself.

  “What the fuck,” Etra says, “are you insane?”

  Tantra gulps in sweet, delicious air, and turns her head to find herself surrounded by two concerned cultivators, an angry noblewoman, and a horrified Erick.

  “Hey guys,” Tantra says with a smile, looking around to find them surrounded by wine barrels below wooden floorboards. Kisrin’s sleeping against a wall alongside a flickering candle that illuminates the room with its soft glow, “this doesn’t look like the mansion, what’d I miss?”

  “‘What’d I miss’?!?” Etra repeats, “you can’t just pull a stunt like that and expect us to move on to pleasant conversation, why the fuck did you do that?”

  “It was annoying,” Tantra says with a straight face, “why are you all surrounding me?”

  “You started thrashing in your sleep,” Yorin says, “we were worried your heart was failing or something, are you okay?”

  “Soul feels a little weird, but otherwise I’m just peachy.”

  “What do you mean your soul feels weird?” Etra says incredulously, “none of the cultivators we fought were strong enough to have damaged your soul.”

  “That’s possible?” Erick says, turning pale.

  “Yeah,” Tantra answers, “but that’s not the reason why…I think I’ve got a dao.”

  All four heads snap to her with an intense focus.

  “What?”

  -

  “You talked to the dao,” Yorin says amazed, “that’s…that’s…great!”

  “Oh you can just say you’re jealous,” Etra says, “I know I am, why the fuck does the girl with soul that’s barely connected to her body keep getting all the good shit?”

  Tantra scratches the back of her head, “sorry?”

  “I was joking,” she deadpans.

  “At least something good came about from this mess,” Synthia sighs, clutching her nose, “congratulations I guess, do try not to break any poor maidens face the next time something so momentous happens,”

  Tantra chuckles, “sorry ‘bout that oh delicate maiden.”

  Synthia rolls her eyes but doesn’t comment.

  “So?” Tantra says, “what’s been going on while I’ve been sleeping?”

  “Well,” Yorin says, “Synthia’s got a bounty.”

  “What?”

  “Indeed,” Synthia nods, “which will make our survival a perilous prospect, even with your new dao. At least, if I am to accompany you.”

  “What does that mean?” Tantra probes.

  Synthia takes a deep breath.

  “I think it would be best if we part ways,” she says resolutely, “the whole city, peasants and cultivators, will be after my head, and I cannot compensate you for the risk, at least not while Doman has the family coffers in his grasp. Bringing me along is almost guaranteed to result in death.”

  The room is silent, varying levels of shock displayed on the cultivators faces.

  Except for Etra, she’s just looking at the noblewoman like she’s stupid.

  “Yeah, how ‘bout no,” Etra says succinctly, “that’s possibly the dumbest thing I’ve heard you say, and you're all up into politics.”

  “No?” Synthia says flabbergasted, “what part of this being a suicide mission do you not understand? You have no reason to continue your services, nor should you.”

  “Should is a funny word,” Etra says, “there’s a lot of things cultivators shouldn’t do. But we do it anyway, because we do what we fucking want. That’s the outcome of strength little noble, and we have plenty of it.”

  “They have more,”

  “So what? We’ll just plan around it, get you some rags or something so you look like a servant rather than a noble, that broken nose’ll even enhance the aesthetic.”

  “Why?” Synthia says, staring hard into Etra’s eyes, “our relationship has been purely transactional, and now I have nothing to give. Why risk yourselves when we’ve barely even talked.”

  “Because we want to,” Etra says simply, causing Synthia to scowl, “look miss high and mighty, you gave us mentors we couldn’t have even dreamed of back at the sect. All for the simple request of having Tantra as your scarecrow, sure it came with expectations once we reached purification, but those expectations are nothing compared to what was given.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “And we don’t want you to die,” Yorin adds, “I’m pretty sure all of us prefer you alive.”

  “Besides, my robes and scars are pretty distinct, so they’ll recognize me as your guard with or without you,” Tantra points out.

  “And you're cool!” Erick says enthusiastically.

  “...what they said,” Kisrin slurs.

  Everyone whips their head to face the man.

  “You’re awake?!?” Etra says.

  All she gets is a pained groan in response.

  “Alright,” Synthia says with a brittle smile, “but I do hope you genuinely have a plan and are not just being foolish.”

  “Well,” Etra says, “how does a trip to the slums sound?”

  -

  With circumstances being as they are, the mere act of waiting has become an arduous test to their nerves.

  They can’t really do much, not as they are. Everyone is either too injured, too recognizable, or too weak. Everyone except Yorin, he’s the only one who can travel the streets safely, for a given measure of safety. His robes and token still mark him as a member of the Serpent’s Fang, and last Tantra checked, they were the only disciples in Ralth. So, any arena enthusiast, whether fighter or spectator, would likely recognize his origin, and potentially trace him back here.

  Is it arrogance to assume she’s so famous that the possibility is even likely? To be fair, ‘kin-killer’ has become a rather well known title, much to her chagrin.

  So, at the end of the day, they have to take the risk to escape the city.

  They can’t stay in this cellar forever, the year of demons lasted, well, fourteen months but that’s close enough to a year. There is no way in any layer of the hells that the barkeep will keep them safe for that long, Tantra’s half certain he’s only allowing them to rest here because he hasn’t seen the posters.

  Which means they need to leave, and if they need to leave they need to do so quickly. There’s no telling when the streets will be drowning in carnage, and Tantra isn’t particularly keen on meeting a demon.

  Yorin’s already gone, left to find disguises for Tantra and Synthia.

  So they’re just waiting.

  Well, they aren’t just waiting, each of them (except Synthia) engaged in their weaving, even Kisrin surprisingly enough. She’s surprised he can focus on anything with how dented his skull is, and that’s the ultimate problem, isn’t it? Half of their number are too injured to fight, unless you count Erick, but she’s drilled into the boy that if they get into a fight that’s too much for them, that he runs.

  With their injuries, that’s looking like a likely proposition.

  This situation is all kinds of fucked.

  So, Tantra has decided, in her infinite wisdom, that brooding on the uncontrollable is a practice that’s hazardous to health, and her time would be better served contemplating other subjects.

  Like her dao,

  It’s changing her, her metaphysical organs are gradually going through a process of transformation alongside her soul. Her core and meridians vibrate slightly everytime her heart beats and oh how her heart beats. Tantra can control it manually, so she’s pushing it to the extreme because each beat of her heart coincides with a beat of her soul, and each beat of her soul produces more Qi.

  It’s…difficult, she feels so lightheaded and dizzy, but it is needed. If she pushes, like she’s doing right now, her Qi production soars. She’s been slowly growing her soul over the years as a consequence of just general cultivation, but she isn’t ready for the paths that directly intermingle with the soul so her progress has been slow.

  But this new synchronicity between heart and soul has created an avenue to circumvent her greatest weakness. It’s not a stellar amount, perhaps six to seven times her normal, where a normal cultivator with a similarly sized soul would produce almost thirty times more Qi. But if she maintains this she’ll have enough soul Qi to use in techniques, which would improve her chances in combat dramatically.

  Soul Qi is better than world Qi in every way, making anchored cultivators monsters, Tantra being able to keep up only due to the efficiency of her boosting technique. Her friends on the other hand, are simply skilled enough where those not far past anchoring can’t simply overwhelm them with Qi, years of training with renowned masters bearing fruit.

  So, Tantra can start pumping soul Qi into her heart, and with the morphing of said Qi it might provide a greater boost than even regular soul Qi. This, of course, is because the new concept building in her Qi coincides rather nicely with her technique. She still has to experiment to see which techniques are easier and which are harder, she’s hoping scales haven't changed much, she hasn’t gotten to use it in combat yet!

  But, most importantly, she can create techniques that are dao specific. She doesn’t know what the dao of the heart can accomplish beyond her boosting, but surely there must be something, dao’s are broad, no matter the concept.

  Unfortunate that she can’t afford to experiment, all things considered, but once they’re out of the city Tantra can experiment to her hearts delight.

  She just has to wait for Yorin.

  Hopefully he doesn’t do anything stupid.

  -

  Yorin is doing something stupid.

  “You dare?!?” bellows a child, “you stand in the way of the venerable Ran Hua of the Dreaming Lotus! Move aside and perhaps my justice will not extend to your pathetic form.”

  “Funny,” Yorin says, “you were about to murder a toddler, you call that justice? I don’t know what the dreaming shitstain teaches their young but it clearly isn’t anything resembling decency.”

  A little profane for the man, considering how the three in front of him tense, but can you blame him? This whole situation is stupid, just an indulgence by a child now that the rules have been thrown aside. A powertrip some might say, which is hilariously underserved considering Yorin can tell they aren’t even in purification.

  What with her using two guards who look quite intimidating as a shield.

  “That ingrate attacked me!” Ran Hua insists.

  “They bumped into you,” Yorin says, “there’s a large gap between that and proper violence.”

  Yorin can see the veins popping on her face, clearly she wasn’t given proper instruction on manners, or emotional control. That’s fine, it’s none of Yorin’s concern really, he cares little for the petulant rage of a child.

  What he does care for, however, is decency.

  His guandao is already manifested, ready for a fight should it get to that point, he hopes it doesn’t, but peace is an unlikely prospect, all things considered. Which is a shame, he liked how the peasantry didn’t fear him here, if only because he couldn’t kill them without consequence.

  Now Yorin will have to be the one to demonstrate consequence in place of the Sentinel.

  “Go,” he tells the father of the shaking toddler, “return to your homes, I won’t let them touch you.”

  The father nods, and goes to pick up the child, giving him a whispered ‘thank you’ before leaving into the obscurity of the crowd. The other child, the one dressed in pink robes to match her guards, seems to seethe at this development.

  “Your life is a forfeit knave!” She says, “state your name and affiliation before I have you cut down!”

  “Yorin,” Yorin says simply as he levels his guandao at the three, “of the Serpent’s Fang.”

  Both the guards manifest twin jians, each slightly longer than is standard, and take a step forward.

  Yorin keeps his guandao level.

  “Well ‘Yorin’,” Ran Hua says, “perhaps my father should visit this Serpent’s Fang hmmm? See the standards by which they hold their disciples, perhaps provide some advice.”

  “I don’t know who your father is,” Yorin says, “but I doubt he can take on a whole sect.”

  “You’d be wrong,” she says dismissively, “kill him.”

  Both the guards move at speeds that the mortals surrounding them can’t follow, but is so clear to Yorin he doesn’t even have to boost to parry. He brings up the butt of his weapon, infused with Qi, and strikes one of them in the temple, sending them sprawling.

  The other takes this opportunity to strike at his midsection, but Yorin’s already moved out of the way, taking a step back and cleaving the offending cultivator in half, sending blood and guts everywhere.

  There is silence as the one he struck to the floor stares at him eyes wide, both jians still distinctly pointed at him.

  “We don’t need to fight,” Yorin tells the man, “I don’t need to kill you, just de-manifest your swords and this can be over.”

  This has the opposite effect.

  The man's eyes harden and blades steady as he takes a few calming breaths then charges Yorin with more Qi than before.

  It’s still not nearly enough to escape his sight.

  Yorin brings down his guandao and splits the man's skull in half, he goes limp and falls to the floor. Ran Hua is staring at him, pale as the full moon.

  “You made me do this,” Yorin accuses, “this could have ended with no deaths, but you took whatever influence you had and got these two killed, do you feel proud of yourself?”

  “I-but-this,” Ran Hua struggles.

  “I do not care,” Yorin growls, “leave, hopefully this serves as a lesson to you, if nothing else.”

  ? Villainess, Fix The Damn Plot! ?

  by Su Lan Yi

  Su Lan Yi was this close to immortality—until a stray chicken ruined ONE THOUSAND YEARS of cultivation.

  supposedly-dead villainess, with her soul shattered across multiple worlds and an overly enthusiastic System demanding she "fix the plot."

  Her solution? Maximum chaos.

  Su Lan Yi brings villainous chaos to every world she enters.

  What Su Lan Yi doesn't know: this isn't about fixing plots at all.

  ?? CONTAINS: Shameless villainy, multiple worlds of chaos, and one woman's vendetta against all poultry-kind, plus the cutest familiar ever.

  Something is broken in these stories... and she's going to fix it—in the most gloriously villainous way possible.