Chương 87: Chapter 86: END OF BLOOD

CHAPTER 86 END OF BLOOD —∞— Taishou vanished back into the sky, leaving them with the corpse-fiend Zhaoyong. Jieyuan had a feeling he wasn't the only one who'd figured out the significance of his yellow eyes—of the link between eye color and the realm of the corpse-fiends—because nobody else made a move, either, as they all stared at Zhaoyong. Yuyan, Wanxin, and Meiyao looked particularly stricken, too. He wasn't sure, though, that they had considered all the implications. Rot, Jieyuan thought. Rot, rot, and rot.

Orangerealm was one thing; they had Orangerealm weapons, and several Orangesouls (or quasi-Orangesouls, in Meiyao's case) on their side. Yellowrealm? Yellowrealm was something else altogether. They had nothing that could so much as scratch a Yellowsoul. And even if Zhaoyong's reanimated corpse were just first-step, it'd still be several times faster than even Wanxin, who should only be a third-step Orangesoul. There was no bridging that sort of gap.

No strategy, no tactic, no trick that could overcome that sort of difference in power. Jieyuan gripped the Shifting Sisters tight; blood thumped between his ears louder and harder than when he'd actually been fighting. A dark, cloying feeling took hold of him, a deep unease that pressed into his bones. Despair. It wasn't an emotion Jieyuan was well acquainted with, but it sank its claws into him now, tearing through his heart without mercy. Jieyuan's whole body shook. We're rotten. Well and truly rotten.

Was this what your average redsoul felt like, Jieyuan wondered, when facing someone at a higher realm? The corpse-fiend's gaze dipped down to what remained of Yongyi's body. There was a flicker of emotion. The glowing red lines on his face pulsed. It looked back up, its yellow eyes taking them all in. Then it gave a wet, gurgling sigh and croaked, "I… am… sorry." Speech? Jieyuan latched onto that. Feiyuan's corpse-fiend had spoken, too. Had called out Yongyi's name.

Jieyuan wasn't sure whether its goal had been just to draw out Yongyi, or whether it had actually meant those words before whatever instructions Taishou had given overrode its will. One thing Jieyuan was sure of, though, was that the Orangerealm corpse-fiends had been significantly more alive—or at least more sentient —than the Redrealm ones. It wasn't just Feiyuan's speech; the Orangerealm corpse-fiends had shown expressions, even if dulled ones, whereas the Redrealm ones hadn't revealed even a hint of emotion.

If that pattern held, and Yellowrealm ones retained more of their rationality, then maybe Jieyuan could work something out here.

"Father," Yuyan said. Her voice trembled, thick with emotion. She acted smarter than her son, though, and didn't move away from her spot.

"Are you… Are you in there, Father?" Zhaoyong's corpse turned its yellow gaze to its eldest daughter. The unnatural, glowing red lines cutting his skin were stark against the more natural lines of age that marked his face." Yuyan," it gurgled; crimson blood dribbled down the corners of its old lips. Jieyuan noticed how its hands, unlike those of the earlier corpse-fiends, looked normal. No blood-red, clawed gauntlets over them.

Then again, being a Yellowrealm creature, Zhaoyong's bare body would be more than enough against them. It looked like it was about to say something else, its mouth opening again—but then it only coughed more blood, and a glazed look came over its eyes, all traces of emotion gone.

It vanished into a crimson blur. A sickening wet sound. An explosion of red where Yuyan had been. Everything cleared up the next instant: Zhaoyong, one arm outstretched, closed fist hovering above the bloodied stump of the neck of a headless body—still-standing—garbed in blue. Zhaoyong's face, on the other hand, was clean—except for the two thick streams of blood dripping down his eyes. It gurgled, wetly, " Daughter." Meiyao, Wanxin, and Junjie, probably acting on instinct more than anything else, all jumped away.

They all stared as Yuyan's headless corpse collapsed to the ground. Junjie, who had been standing right behind his wife, had his face drenched red in blood, with bigger gray and white clumps—bone and brain matter—clinging to his cheeks and hair. Zhaoyong's eyes glazed over again. Jieyuan's heart seized. We have to— Another red blur. Another wet, squishing sound. And again Zhaoyong reappeared, arm again outstretched.

The former chief elder of the Gleaming Stone Sect stood frozen in place, eyes still on Yuyan's corpse, even with his father-in-law's arm spearing through the center of his ribcage. Zhaoyong retrieved his arm, and Junjie collapsed to the ground. Jieyuan set both halves of his mind to thinking of options—of ways out of this situation. They could all run in different directions—but that'd only result in them being hunted down one by one, and even if one of them could escape…

Wanxin was one thing (as callous as Jieyuan felt to think it), but Jieyuan wouldn't accept an outcome in which he, Meiyao, and Daojue didn't all make it out. Come on, come on, come on. There was nothing that they could do against a Yellowrealm. But… What about Qingshi? Qingshi was fighting Taishou right now; that meant he could match a Yellowrealm, somehow. If Qingshi won his fight, he could deal with Zhaoyong afterwards. The corpse-fiend raised its head, blood tears still streaming down its yellow gemstone eyes.

It looked at its remaining daughter, Wanxin." Wanxin…" Jieyuan didn't trust Qingshi in the least, but he liked their odds better with Qingshi than with any other of the options available. Meaning that their best shot—their only shot, really—was delaying things here long enough for Qingshi to win. Assuming Qingshi wins, that is. It wasn't a plan. It was a wish, if you were being generous. But it was all he had.

Now, how do we delay this— Zhaoyong became a red shadow; Wanxin also blurred, becoming little more than a white shape, but Zhaoyong reached her faster. This time, there was no wet sound of exploding flesh; rather, the red blur… expanded? Then it all cleared up, and Jieyuan saw a very different scene: Zhaoyong stood in front of a sleek, blood-red mound. One of Zhaoyong's arms was extended, touching the red thing. The mound itself was narrow and oval, extending off the ground, its surface sleek and amorphous.

Almost like a cocoon. And with Wanxin nowhere in sight, Jieyuan had little doubt about what it contained. What Jieyuan had noticed earlier, about how the corpse-fiends were fighting lethally against Yuyan and Junjie but pulling their punches with him, Wanxin, Meiyao, and Daojue—the ones Taishou wanted alive: it seemed that still applied. Jieyuan didn't think twice. He snapped both the Shifting Sisters up, crossing the golden blades against his neck, scissor-like.

"Zhaoyong!" he shouted. The corpse-fiend looked over to him, as did Meiyao and Daojue. Meiyao hadn't stopped resonating with Xiaohu; this transformed state lent a certain feral quality to her expressions, and this time, it was no different. Her eyes were wide and wild, her face ashen: the expression of a frightened beast. She hadn't looked like this even when they met that Violetrealm beast in the Dome. Back then, though, she hadn't just watched what little remained of her family be killed off one by one.

Daojue was looking a little better; his violet eyes were narrowed, and he looked tense, but that was it. But the one that really mattered was Zhaoyong, and the corpse-fiend froze at the sight of him. Jieyuan also quickly noticed something important: the glowing red lines running across its skin had dimmed by a fair bit. Did using that cocoon to contain Wanxin use up its power in some way? That was perhaps the first piece of good news in a very long time.

"Go after any of us," Jieyuan said, "and I'm killing myself." He wasn't sure how much it could understand him, but anything to really drive home the point. Zhaoyong's bright yellow eyes peered at him unblinking. It had stopped crying those tears of blood, but there were still thick red tracks running down its face. This wasn't Jieyuan's first time holding his own life hostage. Since becoming a cultivator, he'd already used this strategy a few times, and it had always worked, though to varying extents.

The corpse-fiend's eyes were glazed again, entirely devoid of expression, as it cocked its head to the side. And as he took in that dead, dull gaze, Jieyuan could swear he caught some kind of alien intelligence lurking in its depths.

"And you can't have that, can you?" Jieyuan said.

"Taishou wants us—wants me— alive. So why don't you just stay there, and—" Zhaoyong stepped forward. Its eyes kept staring straight into Jieyuan's. Jieyuan stilled.

"Stop. Don't take—" The corpse-fiend took another step. Just the one. It tilted its head in the opposite direction. Almost thoughtful. Jieyuan just stared. Tensing. He, of course, didn't kill himself; that had never been in the plans. Rot. Don't tell me, it's calling— A grin split Zhaoyong's wizened features. A mouth full of pearly white teeth. They were all faintly red, stained with blood. Drops of blood pooled at the bottom of Zhaoyong's stretched lips and dripped to the crystal ground. — my bluff.

At the exact moment Zhaoyong surged forward, blurring—a red shape filling Jieyuan's vision—half of Jieyuan's mind reached inside himself, into the heart of gold and crimson and emerald that beat inside his chest. Focused on the three golden drops that sat inside it. And he burned them. Fatebloom Incarnation. Power roared inside Jieyuan, a wellspring of liquid rushing into his veins. A feeling of immense, overpowering strength flooded his limbs.

Clarity washed over his mind, all of his senses brought into perfect, impossible focus. His Lawsenses, previously unavailable, surged. And Huaxin, awake again, its presence like thunder in Jieyuan's mind, didn't even have to be prompted: DODGE-DROP-JUMP-BACKSTEP. The red blur reached Jieyuan just as the instant passed, and he internalized the vision. And then Jieyuan was moving; he threw himself to the side, avoiding a blurring swipe to his arms as Zhaoyong came again into focus beside him.

Too fast to properly track, Zhaoyong recovered and grabbed at him, but Jieyuan was already crouching under it; then, as he jumped back, avoiding another strike—this one aimed at his legs—Jieyuan split control over his body again. Letting the Twin handle the sequences, Jieyuan got back to thinking. As he back-stepped, Huaxin already followed up with another sequence. SIDESTEP-TWIST-TURN-CROUCH-JUMP. No gap between the sequences this time; Fatebloom Incarnation got rid of that issue.

And that power was in full force; that initial explosion of brilliance had stabilized: Veins of molten gold streaking his mantle. The Fatebloom Heart in his chest was blazing brighter than a sun. Immense strength and the control to match it in his grasp. As he twisted and turned, half of him acting out the sequences without thinking, the other half of him took quick stock of the situation. One thing was very clear: Zhaoyong was slower. Way slower. The corpse-fiend was still blurringly, stupidly fast.

It was right in front of him, but was still little better than a blur; Jieyuan could barely make out that sick, warped smile on the corpse-fiend's old face. But if it had been anywhere near full speed, Jieyuan wouldn't have stood a chance. Not even with Fatebloom Incarnation and Huaxin's sequences. The way the red lines dimmed after it sealed Wanxin, Jieyuan realized. Creating that blood cocoon really cost him. Even more than he could've hoped for, really.

It also helped that Zhaoyong, while significantly more human-like in the way he fought than the other corpse-fiends so far, was still nowhere near a proper martial artist's level. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. He could work with that. JUMP-BACKSTEP-DODGE-TURN! Jieyuan jumped back, avoiding a low, crouching strike aimed at his legs. As Zhaoyong surged up after him, he back-stepped again, avoiding that attack too.

The entire time, he was careful to keep the Shifting Sisters well out of Zhaoyong's way; the Yellowrealm could destroy them with a poke, and unlike with Jieyuan's body, it had no reason to go light on his weapons. If Jieyuan didn't need them for Twin Serpent Cognition, he'd have already put them away. His enhanced senses from Fatebloom Incarnation screamed at him, Zhaoyong emanating a roaring impression of BLOOD, with a dim, dull undercurrent of CRYSTAL, but that didn't tell Jieyuan anything he didn't already know.

Seven minutes, from his perspective. That was how long Fatebloom Incarnation lasted. Dealing with Zhaoyong wasn't an option; all he could do right now was stall things down here long enough for the fight in the sky between the Yellowsouls to end. And seven minutes was a lot of time. Yellowsouls would be perceiving time much faster; what was seven minutes to him would be much longer to them. It should be more than enough time for the fight above to wrap up. That was that, then. Still not quite a plan.

Still better than nothing. JUMP-SLAM-RETREAT-CHARGE-DODGE. The next sequence came right before he was about to wrap up the current one. It barely gave Jieyuan a second to prepare himself for what was about to happen. He jumped to the side just as another blur barreled into Zhaoyong. One green and white. Meiyao, bright green eyes feral, teeth bared in a snarl. She threw herself, shoulder-first, into Zhaoyong, slamming into the corpse-fiend.

Seeing that would have given Jieyuan shock—barreling into a higher-realm cultivator like that should've been a death sentence—if he hadn't already known it'd happen. If Zhaoyong had meant to kill her, Meiyao's body would've been utterly destroyed when she shoved into him; the impact, against a higher-realm being, would've been like throwing yourself into a grinder, if not worse. But Meiyao must've been betting on the fact that it couldn't kill her. And she'd bet correctly.

Zhaoyong didn't stumble; diminished or not, it was at Yellowrealm. But Meiyao's shove did give it just enough of a pause that she managed to pull back. The corpse-fiend lunged right after her, but Jieyuan was already charging in; like Meiyao, he slammed his body into Zhaoyong. The corpse-fiend pulled back mid-attack—he'd have killed Jieyuan otherwise, Jieyuan having aligned his chest perfectly with the swipe Zhaoyong had aimed at Meiyao's arms—and followed up immediately by clawing at his arms.

But Jieyuan was already pulling back, narrowly dodging the attack, waiting on the next sequence— Which didn't come. But neither did an attack. Instead, the corpse-fiend blurred into action. But it shot backwards, putting up distance between them. Standing halfway between them and the Gleamstone Maw now, surrounded by the headless and ruined corpses, Zhaoyong went completely still. Citrine eyes flicked, calculating, back and forth between Jieyuan and Meiyao. Meiyao came to a stop at Jieyuan's side.

She stared back right into the eyes of her surrogate grandfather's living corpse. She didn't so much as glance at Jieyuan, fully concentrated on the corpse-fiend, face stony. Her saber was gone; she must've stored it away before confronting Zhaoyong. What now? Jieyuan was eyeing Zhaoyong warily. He prodded Huaxin; it sent back a frantic jumble of impressions Jieyuan quickly parsed: UNCERTAINTY. Too many possibilities. Lack of clarity. Well, rot.

On the one hand, the longer this stand-off went on, the better; Jieyuan's current plans ended and began with stalling for as long as possible. But nothing good could come out of this too many possibilities business. Jieyuan didn't like that bit at all. Jieyuan also didn't have a handle yet on just what was going on in Zhaoyong's head. The corpse-fiend had cried, earlier, implying at least a hint of the old Zhaoyong remained. But that monstrous, bloodthirsty grin later?

It spoke of sentience, but one that decidedly wasn't Zhaoyong's. Was the crying before really an act, then? Or was there something else going on in the creature's twisted head? And can I exploit that in some way? Also, where's Daojue in all this? Zhaoyong still stood there, motionlessly staring, and Jieyuan allowed his gaze to flick, just for a moment, to the side. Scanning the clearing. And there was Daojue. Off to the side, right where he'd been when Taishou unleashed Zhaoyong upon them.

Right off, Jieyuan saw something was wrong: Daojue's eyes were closed. He was frowning, too. Actually frowning, his brow lined. Even more worrying, Gleaming End was nowhere in sight; Daojue was holding something in his hand. Something— Movement off to the center forced Jieyuan to focus back on Zhaoyong. The corpse-fiend hadn't approached. But what it did do was arguably worse. Zhaoyong was standing even further back now, right near the Gleaming Maw, and it was holding something. A headless, red-robed corpse.

Jieyuan wasn't sure which of the transformed Liangshibai it'd been, but there were subtle curves to it. A woman's body. Yellow eyes still fixed on Jieyuan and Meiyao, the corpse-fiend opened his mouth wide and bit down on the stump where the corpse's neck abruptly ended. The air around Zhaoyong turned slightly indistinct, a sign of a significant haste factor at play. The exposed, pale hands hanging out of the headless corpse-fiend's sleeves shook briefly, then turned thinner. Shriveling.

So did the neck stump Zhaoyong was biting into. The hints of curves Jieyuan had been able to see before disappeared. The red robes fell inwards, as if there was nothing sustaining them, no body under them. The glowing red veins on Zhaoyong's skin pulsed; they grew brighter and brighter by the second. And Jieyuan realized that he absolutely couldn't let this keep up. He shot forward, Meiyao right by his side.

They crossed the distance in a snap-second, reaching Zhaoyong—only for the corpse-fiend to blur into a streak of red, rushing past them, coming to a stop to the side, near the tree-line, farther from them than it had been before. The red lines on its skin still weren't as bright as they had originally been, before it had used the cocoon on Wanxin, but they'd recovered a fair bit. And Zhaoyong had another red-robed, headless corpse between his arms.

Yellow eyes still on Jieyuan and Meiyao, it bit down and drank from this new corpse, too. Jieyuan rushed after Zhaoyong again, even knowing it was pointless. And it indeed was; the corpse-fiend simply blurred again, too fast, stopping near the Gleamstone Maw again. Its mouth was still on the new corpse, which was already shriveling. The red lines on Zhaoyong's skin were brighter. No, no, no, NO!

Jieyuan could only stare as Zhaoyong discarded the now fully shriveled corpse, blurred into a red shadow, and came back into focus with yet another headless, red-robed corpse in his arms. He didn't rush after Zhaoyong again; the corpse-fiend had already been too fast to begin with, and would only be faster now. Meiyao also remained at Jieyuan's side. Huaxin, come on, buddy, give me something. Anything! But all he got from their bond was a dark, deep feeling of DESPAIR.

No sequences for him; Huaxin couldn't find a future where they managed to stop Zhaoyong. Jieyuan glanced up at the sky, but the sight he saw was the same as always: just bright, spiraling rainbow flashes of color clashing against deep, crimson streaks. Slowly, deliberately, Zhaoyong knelt and set down the corpse it'd been drinking from, before rising fully back up. The entire time, those gleaming, faceted yellow eyes stayed fixed on Jieyuan and Meiyao.

The glowing red lines veining its skin were just as bright as they had been when the corpse-fiend first arrived. Huaxin screamed through their bond, and red motion filled Jieyuan's vision. Impact. Red. Snapping sounds. Bones—broken. Snapped. All of it, in less than a second. Jieyuan blinked, dazed, staring up at the sky. It was as if there was a film over his eyes and ears and mind, clouding his vision and thoughts, distancing him from his own senses. He felt like a bystander in his own body.

A drowning, rushing sound in his ears, like there was a waterfall inside his head. One far, far away, though. He was on the ground, he vaguely realized. His back against the crystal floor. Searing agony shot from his arms and legs; way below a cultivator's threshold for pain, but still significant, implying considerable damage to the body. He blinked.

Fatebloom Incarnation lent him an otherworldly sense of his own body, and he could tell that his arms and legs had just been snapped clean—but also that they were healing fast. A spike of clarity stabbed through the daze, and Jieyuan blinked rapidly, taking back control over himself. Everything snapped into painful focus.

His arms and legs were already mending on their own, their recovery explosively sped up by Fatebloom Incarnation, but a helping of cunning from his rapidly returning awareness kept him from moving his limbs, pretending he still had no use of them. Huaxin was still blasting warnings through their bond. Jieyuan could also feel the egos of the Shifting Sisters, both still baying for blood but also filled with concern for him, desperate to return to his hands.

With his soulsenses, he could tell they were strewn on the floor, lying not too far away from him. Jieyuan craned his neck to the side and saw a head of white hair lying right beside him. Meiyao. On the floor, like he was. His gaze dipped down, and he saw red, darkening spots on the sleeves of her robes, near the elbow. Jieyuan's own arms had been snapped clean at the elbow, and he imagined the same must have happened to her. Except she didn't have his absurd regeneration.

Jieyuan could only see the side of her face, and her bright green eyes were feral as she glared fiercely up, teeth gritted in a snarl as she relied on her core to lift her upper body off the ground. Zhaoyong ignored her. Jieyuan couldn't see her legs from his position, but he imagined they'd likewise been snapped. That didn't stop her from trying to move. Xiaohu was standing protectively over Meiyao's body, hissing upward. Jieyuan craned his neck back and up.

He first caught the hem of crimson robes, and then the rest of it. Zhaoyong, standing over their downed bodies. For once, though, the corpse-fiend's yellow gaze wasn't on them, but rather to the side of the clearing. Jieyuan couldn't follow it without sitting up and revealing he was already mostly healed, but he didn't need to; he already knew what Zhaoyong was looking at. Daojue. Rot. He still wasn't sure what was going on with Daojue, but Zhaoyong would be going after him now. But what could Jieyuan do about it?

With how fast Zhaoyong was right now, there was nothing— Zhaoyong vanished. Jieyuan risked lifting himself a little to get a better look, expecting to already see Daojue broken, on the floor. But what he saw was Daojue still standing. One of his arms was raised outwards, as he'd just finished swinging it, and on Daojue's hand was what looked like a spear made of light. Its body was a pure, perfect white, color solidified. Not like chroma, though, because chroma didn't glow.

In front of Daojue was Zhaoyong, also standing. Or at least Zhaoyong's body. Because Zhaoyong's head was in the air, halfway to the ground, falling. Jieyuan stared, uncomprehending, as Zhaoyong's head fell wetly to the ground, the body joining it down there just a heartbeat later. Daojue remained standing, unmoving, still holding that spear out in front of him.

And as Jieyuan's gaze fell on the spear again, something strange happened: it didn't seem to shine that brightly, its glow a dim, subtle thing, but as his gaze lingered on it, he felt his eyes start to burn, watering. Prying his eyes off the spear, Jieyuan focused on Daojue again and noticed something else. Daojue's left arm, the one not holding his spear, hung limply to the side. Daojue also seemed to be standing on a single leg; his left leg, like his left arm, was limp.

Jieyuan could also see blood blooming on Daojue's sleeve, around the elbow, and also dripping down the metal of his greaves. Jieyuan put it all together. Zhaoyong must've attacked Daojue, snapped both his left arm and leg—but somehow, before it could snap the rest of his limbs, Daojue had cut its head off with his spear of light. His spear of light, which Jieyuan had never seen before. And which had to be a Yellowrealm weapon. Jieyuan understood what happened now, or at least he thought he did.

But the situation still didn't make sense to him. Where did that spear come from? Jieyuan focused on it again, ignoring the way his eyes burned. And as his gaze fell near the middle of it, where Daojue was gripping it, he noticed something: the area there wasn't light solidified. It was, instead, metal. Metal, and cylindrical. A cylinder. The one he bought at the auction, Jieyuan realized. That mysterious, higher-realm cylinder Daojue had spent a fortune on and refused to explain afterward.

Jieyuan had forgotten all about it, with all the things that had come later.

"That's… That's the cylinder." Jieyuan's gaze flicked to Meiyao; she was sitting up now, her arms hanging limply to her sides, her bright green eyes staring in disbelief at Daojue and the corpse-fiend at his feet. Thoughts about Daojue pushed aside, Jieyuan knelt beside Meiyao. He quickly took a bottle of regeneration augmenters out of his pouch, then pressed one of the pills to Meiyao's lips. She took it without a word. A radiant streak cutting through the air out of the corner of his eye.

A bright, sharp shattering sound. A deep tremor in the ground. Jieyuan whipped his head toward the opposite side of the clearing—and saw, near the trees, a deep crater on the gleamstone ground. Several feet deep, spiderweb cracks spreading out from it, extending as far as the Gleamstone Maw in the center of the clearing. And in the very middle of the crater, sunken into the gleamstone floor, a man wearing the tattered remains of white robes, loose shards of crystal clinging to his body.

A white blindfold over his face. Qingshi. Jieyuan took in the sight of Qingshi's downed form with a dead, empty sort of shock.

"Oh." But Jieyuan had barely focused on Qingshi before another took his attention: a crimson-robed man, appearing on Qingshi's side of the clearing, hovering a few feet in the air, right in front of the Gleamstone Maw. Another burst of blurring movement. And then Qingshi was in the air, too—except not on his own power. There was another Taishou behind him, holding him up by the neck. A clone, Jieyuan realized. Unless the first Taishou was the clone.

Or they were both clones; Jieyuan didn't know how many of those Taishou could make. Both Taishous looked distinctly unruffled, though. Unlike Qingshi. The man wasn't unconscious, though; he was being held up by the neck, but his body was straight, his face firmly oriented in Taishou's direction, the lines visible under and over the blindfold set and taut. Qingshi was also still firmly holding onto that mysterious long shard of gleamstone he'd used to destroy Taishou's first clone.

"I must say," the Taishou in the middle of the clearing said, "I find all my expectations defied." His voice was still smooth and silky, but there was an odd tone to it now. A tightness. Tension. That same Taishou looked away from Qingshi and slowly turned his head around, taking in the rest of the clearing. His gaze paused, briefly, on the red cocoon where Wanxin had been imprisoned, then on Jieyuan, kneeling beside Meiyao. It lingered for a few seconds on Jieyuan.

Jieyuan could feel those red eyes tracing the golden lines that still ran through his body and mantle, Fatebloom Incarnation having yet to end. Taishou looked thoughtful. Considering. But then the Yellowrealm moved on, his attention coming to rest on Daojue, who was still holding that white spear of light in front of him, balanced on one leg, Zhaoyong's headless corpse at his feet.

"Utterly and truly defied," Taishou stressed, dryly, unamused.

"And it appears my indulgence has cost me dearly. I still had need of my father-in-law, Daojue. You were not supposed to kill my little project. And that weapon you're holding—how curious. It seems Qingshi here isn't the only one wielding tools far beyond their station. But enough's enough." Taishou returned his attention to Qingshi.

"We shall start with—""No." And suddenly, off to the side, halfway between Qingshi and Taishou, a woman appeared, wearing the same crimson robes Taishou wore. A woman with eyes the same shade as Taishou's, blood-red, but patterned like gemstones.

"My blood," Taishou said, his head turning to the side, addressing his daughter.

"What are you—""I— I can't let you do this, Father," Yunzhu said. Her eyes were flicking rapidly between Taishou and Qingshi. Her expression was torn, anguished.

"Not… Not Qingshi." Taishou frowned.

"Yunzhu, darling, we've talked…" But then he paused. His blood-red eyes widened. His mouth remained open, mid-speech. His body stopped moving altogether, like he was frozen in place. The Taishou holding Qingshi up also locked up. Then it shimmered, before coming undone, its body dissolving into a stream of blood that splashed down onto the floor. Qingshi also dropped to the floor, but on his feet.

On the other side of the clearing, the blood cocoon that had been containing Wanxin also came undone, the solid blood turning liquid, revealing Wanxin standing there, blinking rapidly; the blood didn't cling to her, flowing down and spreading out on the gleamstone floor.

"I… I can't stop him for long," Yunzhu said. She was staring at her father now, her brow scrunched up, her hands balled into fists at her sides, her whole body shaking like she was making some monumental effort.

"Qingshi, you have to run—" Qingshi became a blur—only to reappear in the middle of the clearing. In the air. Right in front of the frozen Taishou. With the gleamstone shard in his hand, stabbing it through Taishou's chest. Just like Qingshi had done when he first appeared, when he'd destroyed that first Taishou clone. Except this time, it clearly wasn't a clone Qingshi had just stabbed.

"NO!" Yunzhu screamed. Taishou trembled, shook. His mouth closed. He stared at Qingshi, right in front of him, and down at the long shard of gleamstone stabbing into his body.

"You…" His expression was one of shock, but that wasn't all. He also seemed dazed. Confused. Gleamstone spread throughout Taishou's chest. Yunzhu blurred, reappearing on Qingshi's side, roughly pulling him back; Qingshi was jerked away, gleamstone shard still in his grip. But the spread of the gleamstone on Taishou's body didn't stop, and the Yellowrealm began to fall; but then Yunzhu was there, catching her father in her arms.

Qingshi just hung back in the air, long and bloodied gleamstone shard in hand as he silently faced the floating father and daughter. The spread of gleamstone on Taishou's body was now up his neck and down his arms, having already taken over most of his upper body. Yunzhu was crying now, crying and wailing, as she held onto her father's crystallizing body. Taishou slowly, weakly, raised an arm toward Yunzhu's face. Yunzhu softly drifted down, her father's body in her arms.

By the time her feet touched the ground, all that was left of Taishou's body was a statue of gleamstone, forever frozen with his hand caressing his daughter's face.