Cultivators are not sane people. I once witnessed a boy, not more than twenty, cultivate something he called the Death of a Thousand Cuts. He built a gauntlet filled with blades and ran through it daily. Soaked himself in some medicinal bath and did it again the next day. He created an armor of scars that no arrow or blade could penetrate. I believe true genius goes hand in hand with insanity.

~Belenus the Sun God

His father’s broad back appeared within the black flames of his nightmares. Crow remembered when he first started training with his father, so this memory, while distorted, was his own. The man was larger than life and just as unfathomable as he remembered. The distortion was the shadow the man before him cast upon the land and people around him.

“Boy, when you strike, you are striking a point beyond your target. If you aim for the object itself, your strike will lose most of its power. You’ll see that target as a barrier you can’t surmount.”

“I know, papa, you told me a thousand times,” Crow’s little fist struck the straw dummy, his hand going through its weak body. The nightmare made the child version of himself look more sinister.

“What did you aim for?” Connall asked. The dark shadow of the man loomed over the dummy as he laughed at his angry son.

“I was aiming for that thing between your legs,” dream Crow said with a dangerous smirk, and Connall’s laughter melted away as he saw the little fist sticking out the other side of the dummy in a direct line to his manhood.

“You vicious little bastard,” Connall said, but there was no anger, only grudging respect. “It looks like this is one lesson I don’t need to worry about.” Unlike his memory, his father’s eyes glowed with black fire, and he had never uttered the next words out of his mouth. “When you strike beyond Gideon, do you know what you are aiming at?”

Sinister laughter echoed in Crow’s ears as his father’s last words startled him out of his fire-ridden dreams. The question reverberated in his soul, refusing to detach itself.

He slowly opened his eyes, feeling the cool air against his sweat-covered body. It was a common enough occurrence that he’d stopped wearing any clothes to bed except for his undergarments. The hardest part of waking up was to get his heart rate and breathing back under control, but it surprised him when a damp towel pressed against his forehead. A gentle gesture he hadn’t expected from a clumsy giant like Otto.

“Get worse. Brother hurt. Otto sad,” the big boy whispered.

Crow felt tears pooling in his eyes. It felt like it’d been years since he’d been cursed, and he never felt weaker spiritually. Otto was always there when he woke, hovering like a mother hen. More and more, Crow felt the pressure to say something or at least show he appreciated Otto’s care, but nothing came out. Sometimes he’d stutter some random nonsense, but it was hard to express all his frustration without hurting the big guy’s feelings. It was during his breathing and introspection training that he’d realized the big guy was always there, always by his side, even as a kid.

“Brothers?” Otto’s simple way of speaking was honest and pure, to where Crow felt like destroying anyone that said a harsh word towards him. It was unknown to him when he’d become equally protective of Otto. Seeing the question asked with genuine sincerity and without guile, Crow felt guilty. Otto had always followed him without ever asking a thing. With every success the giant had, he came to Crow seeking validation.

A sudden realization dawned on Crow, and he couldn’t recall if he’d ever acknowledged Otto as his brother and meant it. Many times he’d called Otto brother in the past, more to keep him quiet. It was shallow and without meaning. In recent years, that had shifted. Otto was more steadfast and reliable than his own clan members, and he had viewed the big guy as his actual brother.

“Brothers,” Crow replied with conviction. Otto’s big beast-like grin lit up the room. It shamed Crow that it took this long to acknowledge Otto.

“Brothers! No thank. Share. Share enemy. Share pain. Otto do this.”

Crow burst out into tears. The first time he’d really cried since the day his father yelled at him when he was four. A lot of frustration and rage seeped out of him, unburdened. Like bleeding a festering wound, it released a lot of the wrong inside. Otto said nothing, but Crow felt the cool, damp towel wiping his face.

“Come. No more sleeping tonight. Let’s go fight,” Crow said, and the giant’s face lit up in a big smile once more.

“Runt brother. Otto battle. Otto wins.”

Laughter tore through his pain-ravaged body, and they both quickly got dressed to go to the back courtyard. A few hours later, Song Xue found both of them lying on the ground, panting and laughing.

“Oh, is little bird slacking?” Song Xue’s daggers flashed in her hands, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

“Damn you, stop calling me that, or this daddy is going to spank you,” Crow grumbled, and in his tired mind, he slipped into the way he talked to Mara. It wasn’t until the words came out of his mouth that he felt the cold, stabbing sense of danger. Exhausted or not, he rolled over and flipped himself quickly, and he rose into a crouch.

Daggers flashed at him, and he moved again, slapping one wrist out of the way and sidestepping the thrust from her other hand.

“Vicious!” Crow hissed, but he grinned.

“Your instincts are good, but you move like an Elkan.” Song Xue had analyzed his weakness immediately, and then she capitalized on it as she danced around him. Every strike took all his focus to avoid, and he felt his grasp of Ghost Steps grew more profound. On a whim, he opened his Source slightly and channeled it to his movement ability. Stepping to her side covered a distance that shouldn’t be possible for a mortal. It harmed him a little, but the results were astounding. It was like he’d stepped through space and time and arrived beside her before he could blink.

Surprised, Song Xue dodged back so fast that it didn’t matter how quickly he struck. That attack failed because his timing was all off. He’d have to start his attack before stepping. That point of clarity caused his understanding of Ghost Steps to rise to another level.

“You are a monster,” she breathed, but she only looked more and more excited as they fought. Finally, she sheathed her weapons. Her heaving chest and glistening skin spoke more about her effort than any words. Crow’s sweat-drenched clothing stuck to his skin, and although he was already at a disadvantage fighting both them and Soul Burn, he didn’t complain. Song Xue hadn’t used her Source, except for where she had no choice. She also held back some of her power, Crow knew this, but he still felt good about what he’d achieved. “Let’s go before my sister kills us for being late.”

“Understood. Otto, see you later,” Crow waved at the big guy. “Us brothers will dominate the tower one day. Well… I’m the brother. You are my big sister.”

Otto grinned upon hearing the first part, but Crow was already long gone by the time the next part registered. He could hear Otto roar even after escaping far away, and he laughed uncontrollably.

“What was that about?” Song Xue asked after she caught up with him.

Crow looked over at her with curious eyes.

“Otto is not a simple person. Never underestimate him.” It was all he’d share about Otto, but Crow was convinced the large man would one day become a battle god.

Pushing open the door to the private lodge, Song Lin was standing there watching the both of them. She slowly put down the vestige in her hand and waved them towards the back courtyard. Crow silently groaned; he knew they were about to be punished for being late.

“Today, you get to open your first chakra.”