Jillian’s gun overheated from a rapid series of volleys. The pistol was hot to the touch and steam rose from the vents.

Her mind was panicked.

Dammit! What are these bubbles… energy shields?! They’ve barely invented the wheel!

She ignored the blinking warning lights and fired off a couple more shots, only to curse as the robed figures easily evaded them.

Their speed… they can dodge bullets… dammit… dammit dammit… Jack… Jack… dammit!

Jill felt fear, a deep dear of the unknown. Who were these people, what was their power? They had no electricity, no nano-technology, no ion batteries but they could shoot lasers from their fingers. No genetic manipulation, no enhanced bones or eyesight, but they could dodge bullets with the slightest of movements.

She tried to fire again, to keep the enemy back. Their sinister smiles reminding her constantly that the only reason she was alive is because they had an ulterior purpose. They wanted something from her… they saw her as a piece of meat for the market.

The enemy closed in.

Her morale broke. Fear took over. Her plans of orderly retreat were forgotten and she sprinted with reckless abandon!

But all she could do was try. Her steps were uneven, and her mind was shaken. She hadn’t even brooked the crest of the hill when the casual conversation of her three pursuers reached her ears.

“Hans, are you okay?”

It was the woman. Her name was Celine. A damn wench she was! Jill’s mind seethed with anger. Hans? Oh, right. The person whose calf she punctured.

“I’m fine, just toss me a healing pill,” the man’s gruff voice responded. His voice was melodiously enchanting as he continued, “Should’ve let Victor finish the guy off… wasted too much energy.”

Jill felt her heart clench. She heard a third voice. A deeper voice, calling out. It sent shivers up her spine. Each word was like a thunderclap in her ears, like electricity was flooding the air itself.

“Wind, wind, wind, rise!”

A gust of wind burst forth and Jillian shouted as she was tossed thirty feet in the air like a ragdoll, her escape ended. She struggled desperately. The vents of her pistol finally closed shut, it had returned to a useable temperature. She clutched her pistol, firing off a few rounds, but the wind knocked her about and she couldn’t get a clean shot off. She was like a little bird caught in a fierce updraft.

The man who summoned the wind looked at Celine.

As if sensing his thoughts, she nodded, “Her body is strong, she won’t die.”

The man smiled and softly called out, “Fall.”

A loud audible crack was heard as Jillian tried to break the fall with her hand. Eyes forward, she ignored the pain and tried to point the gun at one of her assailants. She let out a scream as a blue beam of light shot her pistol out of her hand and carved a blackened hole through her palm.

Jillian writhed on the ground.

Her left arm broken and her right hand useless. Her heart was filled with dread as she heard their footsteps approach and their light-hearted chatter. Her green eyes caught sight of Jack’s still corpse, her heart clenched. One of the men, Jill was pretty sure his name was Hans, reached out a hand to grab her. Jillian clenched her teeth and rolled away sharply. Her assailants shouted in surprise as she bounded to her feet using her core muscles alone and faced them defiantly.

“Hold still woman!” A man snarled as he reached for her.

Jillian whirled around and hooked a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. He raised his arms to block. She snorted. She was top in the academy at kick boxing and she had military grade enhancements done to her body. Her kicks were far from soft, they could dent a steel beam.

They connected.

Jillian felt her heart freeze. She was prepared for some sort of kickback, they had weird powers after all! But she at least expected him to be knocked clean off his feet. But the man didn’t even react, like her kick was the bite of a fly! She tried to slide her foot away, but the man grabbed her ankle. His fingers were like cold snakes coiling around her ;eg. She felt her ankle break as his iron-like fingers crunched through the bone. She gritted her teeth, holding back a violent scream. He kept going. She felt his fingers squeeze through her nerves. She almost passed out from the pain. Then he twisted his hand at a sharp angle.

There was an audible snap!

She felt dizzy and tried to hold back vomit. He snarled menacingly and let out a guttural laugh, he was far from finished. He slide his hand up to her knee and grabbed firmly then whipped her over his head like a ragdoll and smashed her into the ground.

She gasped. Winded. Bloodied. Bruised. And broken.

Then she saw a hand reach for her face. She blinked back tears. Dark tendrils of panic wrapped around her mind. Her heart beat erratically, she tried to pull away, but she had no strength. The hand roughly grabbed her by the chest, having no shyness on account of her gender. She could see the handsome man sneer lecherously as he held her up and inspected her like a piece of cattle. His conniving expression contrasting sharply with his almost beautiful features.

She mumbled, barely coherent.

The man shook her violently.

He spat in her face.

She twitched slightly as it landed, her strength almost completely gone.

The man mocked her, “What’s a matter girl, huh? That was quite the nasty injury you gave me with your contraption, come on, speak up!”

She tried again and got a sentence out, “What… what… what are you?”

The man slapped her, hard. Her head jerked back violently as he laughed.

“Speak up! I can’t hear you.” The man was clearly enjoying himself.

Jillian was soon lost to the dizziness; her consciousness was fading. But focus returned to her mind as she heard Celine, the woman, whisper.

“Witches.”

Jillian’s green eyes locked onto Celine. The woman in the red dress looked back at the astronaut and grinned, “Surely you’ve heard of witches girl? But your face says otherwise… can’t imagine what kind of backwater place you came from.”

Jill jolted as if physically struck, she didn’t know what to think anymore.

The witch smirked at her, “Boys, you have to break her spirit… don’t be gentle.”

Jillian opened her mouth to shout but couldn’t. She tried to struggle but a boot to her stomach stopped her movements, her body doubled over as she coughed. Blood spattered out, matching her fiery red hair. The man who was holding her pressed his face towards her, his intent clear on his face. He licked his lips. A snake-like tongue lapped all the way to his eye.

Jill couldn’t bear it anymore. She felt her mind slipping into insanity. She just wanted to go home. She wanted Jack back. If she could she would kill herself. She felt the slimy tongue scamper along her face.

She slipped her tongue forward to her teeth.

And prepared to bite.

Then, a warm liquid wash over her face.

Iron… She thought. It tastes like iron.

She opened her eyes; the sneering and sinister face wasn’t there anymore.

In its place was a man with greasy black hair, soft brown eyes and a scruffy face.

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

A tenderness washed over his face, he smiled at her, “Sleep.”

A heavy and warm hand gently patted her head. She felt her tension melt away and she breathed deep for the first time in awhile.

She felt peace.

She closed her eyes.

And slept

****

“VICTOR!” Celine let out a wailing scream as Victor’s head slid from his body and a fountain of blood burst forth. Her eyes were crazed. “How dare you?!”

Though her tone was hostile, she was frightened. He moved so fast. She had looked away just for a moment, to make an offhanded remark to Hans, and in that time, he had bolted in and sliced off Victor’s head with one sweeping motion. The interloper gently set down the red-haired astronaut on the grass. His back to her.

But Celine wasn’t foolish.

It looked like an opening, but it smelled like a trap. The guy was powerful enough to sneak around her — and she was Captain Grade! Plus, he didn’t use a Word of Power. No chant. No spell. No nothing. This means this was just his raw cultivation strength with no skills. It made her knees knock. She asked him again, trying to buy time and see if she had any useful potions or talismans in her storage pockets.

“How dare you…”

The man flicked his sword. The blood splattered off smoothly, like it had never been there in the first place. His eyes were dull and brown as he looked at her, his face devoid of emotion or expression. He answered.

“I dared.”

Celine felt her temper flare, “What’s your name wretch? So that when I carve out your organs and feast on your flesh I can savor every moment!”

The smell of cigar wafted in the air. A deep booming voice called out, “I see the cannibalistic tendencies of witches are universal.” A tall burly black man stepped onto the hill and snapped his fingers. He nodded to the greasy haired man in a black kimono, “Well done Da Shan.”

The interloper nodded.

“You think you can just ignore me?!” Celine hissed like a feral cat. Her only remaining ally, Hans, pulled close to her. His eyes focused, ready to cast a spell at any moment.

The Captain chewed on his cigar and laughed, “You’re hardly in the position to ignore me! Activate spell formations!”

BOOM!

CRACKLE!

Staffs burst forth in light and smoke. Like the smoke from a rocket launch a mist exploded from the staffs and wrapped around the crest of the hill. Ten figures stepped through the mist, moving behind the Captain, while another group stayed behind — holding up staffs and hands to maintain the spell formation.

Cindy, who was one of the ten, walked beside the Captain and levelled her spear at the two witches, her gaze playful and triumphant, “Hands up.”

Celine and Hans raised their hands slowly. Their faces seething with anger. Celine’s chest rose and fell as she panted heavily.

The Captain tossed his head lightly at Da Shan.

The latter nodded, picked up Jill and walked over to them, his broad back just inches from the snarling faces of the witches. So close that Celine could smell the dandruff and grease in his hair.

But he was unconcerned. Uncaring. And unafraid. His face flashed a look of tenderness. The change from neutrality to raw emotion startled the Captain and Cindy. Neither had seen emotion of any kind on his face. Ever.

A wave of jealousy rocked through Cindy. As Da Shan walked by, she whispered to him in a low voice, “Friend of yours.” Her heart clenching at the thought.

Da Shan’s warm face glazed over as he looked at her, “No.” He turned to the freckle-faced, red-haired astronaut again and brushed a lock of hair from her face. His voice was soft and tender, “But she looks like one.”

Unsure if she felt relief or irritation Cindy stiffly replied, “Oh.”

“Will you two love birds knock it off, we have hostile targets in front of us.” The Captain smacked them both on the shoulder, he looked startled that Da Shan didn’t move or react — while Cindy was almost bowled over. His strength was far from simple. But apparently Da Shan wasn’t the longest serving Deacon in the sect for no reason. The Captain had no time to dwell on Da Shan’s off behaviour though, the witches were cornered but not dead. Gruffly he whispered to Da Shan, “Put the girl down Da Shan, we got things to do.”

Da Shan didn’t respond. But he set Jillian down gently and looked as if he had to tear his gaze away from her as he focused on the two witches in front of them.

The Captain cracked his neck and strode up, “Cindy, Da Shan… on me. The rest…” He raised a muscular arm and clenched his fist, “Form up!”

“Aye sir!”

“Yes, sir.

“Sir.”

“Acknowledged.”

The remaining Cultivators formed a semi-circle behind the two witches, running to get in place as the Captain, Da Shan and Cindy walked slowly up.

It was a majestic scene. A wall of cloud as a backdrop and the crest of a grassy knoll as the foreground. Two witches, arms raised in surrender, being approached for interrogation by three of the School’s finest Deacons.

The Captain was a big man, with smooth dark skin. Confidence exuded his massive form. His knuckles were gnarled and weathered with age. He had no tools or weapons apart from his own body. He was a Martial Arts Cultivator, specializing in the fist. His pants were loose and baggy and his shirt one size too large for his muscular frame, the loose clothing allowing maximum movement. He gently tugged his black overcoat closer to his body, it shimmered with energy. The occasional yellow light rippled across the grey cotton fabric of his shirt. They were both enchanted. Capable of blocking a few spells and a knife wound or two. Items such as these were lifesavers. He flexed his fingers, like he was playing an invisible piano. Thick gold rings on each finger, studded with gems and carved with designs, were the only form of adornment on his otherwise simple outfit. Short-cropped curly hair, deep brown eyes and a square-set jaw made him the most imposing of the group.

Cindy’s steps were minced and careful. She was the pride of the School, one of best up-and-comers. She carried herself pridefully and confidently. Her spear was long, almost two meters in length. It’s shaft a heavy grey, made of metal. The spear head was polished, and it glittered as it caught the sun, red feathers at its base swayed in the breeze. Cindy’s eyes traced the shaft of the spear, following the lines and squiggles that coalesced into complex patterns. Her spear was also enchanted. It weighed half as much as it was supposed to. Her sandy hair bounced as she walked. The tan riding pants hugged her lines closely, in contrast with her ornate silk blouse. Bracelets, circlets and all manner of jewelry dangled on her wrists and around her neck, each as expensive as they looked, but all lifesaving items. Her blue eyes flitted to the casually sauntering from of Da Shan.

He lacked the rugged simplicity of the Captain.

His hair was greasy and longer, his eyes dull not deep. His muscles visible, but not defined. His facial features plain and average. His height was a little above average, just over six feet. He scratched some scruff on his chin.

He lacked the opulence and atmosphere of Cindy.

His black kimono was stained and spotted, its dark colour almost insufficient to disguise the wear and tear. The garment ran all the way down his arms and down to just above his ankles. He had brown leather sandals and white socks underneath. He had put away his katana when carrying Jillian but now it was out. It was naked and exposed. A simple sword. No sign of enchantment or extensive work. Just long cold steel and a black hilt. He held the sword in one hand and rested it upright on his shoulder as he walked.

But he walked unnaturally. There was no way to put a finger on it, but he walked with a weight and heaviness that seemed almost illusory, but at this moment, there was something different about him.

The witches shrank back at their approach, Celine’s eyes were rabid. She pulled her black robe tight, obscuring the long, lavish, red corset dress underneath. Then raised her hands again, letting the robe fall loose at the warning glance the Captain shot her.

“I love me a good inquisition in the morning.” The Captain spat loudly and chewed on the roll of tobacco in his mouth.

Celine and Hans shrank back, fear creeping into their expressions for the first time. Celine’s eyes darted about in panic, as if she had expected an entirely different outcome.

“Now then…” The Captain rubbed his hands with glee, “Why don’t you —”

“Captain.”

The black man turned his head sharply at the interruption, surprise evident on his face, “Got something to say? Huh?”

Da Shan ignored the prodding and Cindy rolled her eyes — as if to say “Men!”. Da Shan simply nodded and asked, “I’d like to ask a question.”

“If you’re going to ask her to undress that’s against the rules…”

Cindy kicked the Captain’s shins. He didn’t budge, his muscular body unphased by her attack.

“No… something else…” Da Shan’s gaze turned heavy, he looked at the Captain and then at Celine.

The Captain felt a sense of fear wash over him. He’d never been on a mission with Da Shan. Deacons went on a couple hundred missions a year; Da Shan typically went alone. No one really knew how he operated, just that he had one of the lowest Cultivation levels and that he had been a Deacon for a very long time. Though he regarded Da Shan as the lowest of the low, any Deacon who survived just their first year on the job was typically promoted. Though apparently unable to secure a promotion, he was still able to safeguard his life — that was worth something.

He decided it would be better to give Da Shan what he wanted, “Go ahead…”

Da Shan asked slowly, without pause, as if he expected to be granted permission to ask. His question elicited a smile from the witches, their fear gone and their arrogance on full display.

Da Shan’s tone was quiet and threatening, “Where’s James?”

Celine let out a sigh of relief. All the Cultivators felt their hackles stand.

She smiled, “And here I thought my people had failed in their mission… BREAK!”

Faster than anyone could react Celine stomped on the ground and the earth roared to life. The grass covered hill quivered and groaned, rippling with movement, throwing everyone except Da Shan off their feet. But her surprise attack couldn’t overpower the barrier. The mist reacted like a living beast and quelled the quaking of the earth with a loud crash! The rippling waves of dirt bounced off the cloudy shield and nullified each other.

In the confusion Celine and Hans and bounded over the trio and escaped to the other side of the barrier, putting a fair bit of distance between the Cultivators and themselves. The Captain got up slowly rubbing his back and Cindy let out a small groan of pain as she stood on her feet.

“Da Shan!” The Captain was irate, “Why didn’t you stop them? You were just looking at them like you’re watching a play?!”

“Something’s wrong.” Da Shan’s voice was low and heavy, it sent shivers up their spines.

Cindy was about to retort. But then bloodcurdling screams filled the air. Their barrier of mist wavered, as if weakening.

The Captain cursed, “The wizards are dying!”

One by one the glowing staffs were extinguished. The Cultivators on the inside couldn’t see what was happening, nor did they have time to react. It was all happening too fast. But the wails of men and women being eviscerated by black magic was unmistakeable.

“Prick me… GO!” The Captain shouted.

The Cultivators dashed forward.

One at the back let loose a hail of arrows.

Hans laughed and summoned a wall of earth to block the arrows. Celine slapped the slab of soil and it rippled out, shuffling the two witches around the battlefield. They couldn’t escape for long, but they didn’t need to escape for long.

The Cultivators closed in, but it wasn’t fast enough.

Da Shan stood stoically. The Captain cursed, and Cindy readied herself.

The mist vanished.

“Fall in!” The Captain shouted, and the Cultivators ceased their fruitless assault and made a circular formation around the trio.

Now they were the ones who were surrounded. A score of dead bodies were strewn around the top of the hill. The Cultivators and Wizards that were sustaining the spell formation had all died. Limbs splayed out. Blood dotting the earth. Jaws slack in disbelief and eyes wide in terror. They didn’t see the enemy coming. Somehow, they had snuck up on them and butchered them like animals for the slaughter.

More than thirty black robed witches surrounded the small group of cultivators. Casually stepping over blood and bone as they closed their formation. Thirty-two to thirteen. The odds were not in the Cultivator’s favour.

“Cap’n… this doesn’t look good…” Cindy spat for emphasis, her confidence gone.

“That really contributed to our plan, thanks a lot Cindy,” the Captain’s voice was so dry it would make a desert embarrassed.

Cindy rolled her eyes, she’d been doing that a lot today.

The stench of blood filled their nostrils and the light tinkling of Celine’s laughter grated their nerves.

With a gloating smile she asked one of the new arrivals, “So where is James?”

He looked around uncertainly as if not sure about responding publicly. He appeared to be just a young man. He tried to speak only managed to stutter out a few unintelligible sounds. He was too nervous.

Celine pursed her lips, “Oh bugger off and tell us.”

He swallowed and tried again. Eventually, words began to pour out, first a trickle than a flood, “We couldn’t kill him… he was too strong… we lost half our members. But we sealed him… he won’t be bothering us for awhile. He stole our sound… can’t… can barely speak… can’t think…”

“DAMMIT! WHAT THE ­—” Celine raised a hand in anger, but then her eyes widened in shock.

The man who had been speaking to her. The one who was nervous and uncertain. Had just been cleaved in two. Da Shan had sprinted across the distance, his movements so swift and sudden Celine couldn’t respond.

His sword had chopped fast. Faster than her eyes could track. All the witches were in shock, unmoving, frozen by his speed and grace.

He breathed deep, as if the exertion was almost too much for his body. He seemed to age visibly before them, a few white hairs dotted his black hair.

But he didn’t slow.

He whirled around, wielding his sword like a club. With a one-armed swing he decapitated another witch. The head sailed in the air as a feral snarl contorted his expression.

He was a wild beast unleashed.

The witches shouted and screamed and created some distance. Some casting walls of earth. Others summoning mist and rain.

But like a nimble monkey, he evaded them all, dancing through the flames.

Celine shouted orders over the chaos and a small group of five witches bolted after Da Shan and tried to engage him at close range. Somehow, the lowly Deacon was able to keep all five at bay. Celine kept an eye on Da Shan and started regrouping her men, recovering from Da Shan’s sneak attack.

Cindy was in total disbelief. To think the surly and unkempt Da Shan could be so ferocious. “Piss me…” She whispered.

The Captain roared, he knew a chance when he saw one, “You blokes flat-footed? CHARGE!”

The Cultivators charged forward taking advantage of the confusion, some let loose arrows that managed to puncture the chests of a few witches — catching them unawares. Soon the witches were able to regroup, their speech slow, their magic stifled. But they had superior numbers. The witches weren’t going to just lay down and die, they were some of the best the Coven had to offer. Before the first wave of Cultivators could reach them a torrent of spells pushed them back.

Water. Rock. Fire.

All three erupted in a cascade of black magic that overwhelmed their assault and put them on the defensive. Another coordinated wave of spells launched, catching the Cultivators on the back foot. Some ripped necklaces and touched rings. Blue, pink and grey bubbles of energy materialized mitigating the damage. Some seemed to teleport out of the way. Somehow, all had survived. They regrouped and tried to flank the side of the witches, using speed to outmanoeuver the spells. Back and forth they went. Locked in a stalemate. But the Cultivators were running out of talismans, bracelets and rings. Soon… soon they would make a mistake and if just one of them died…

The Captain made a beeline for Celine. If he could kill her, the battle would tilt in their favour, right now, she was managing to hold her soldiers together. Celine’s eyes seemed panicked as the Captain barrelled toward her, about to puncture a hole in her formation. But he was intercepted by Hans.

The Captain growled like a caged beast and threw a wild fist.

Hans leaned back evading the blow, just barely, almost slipping on a puddle of blood.

The Captain shouted, “Cindy, pincer attack!”

Cindy jumped from behind the hulking man, she’d been tailing him all along — waiting for his orders. She savagely thrust her long spear into the face of Hans.

The witch turned and dodged, then whirled around to meet the next attack but was dumbfounded when Cindy had simply sprinted passed him.

Then Hans raged.

She was going for the weaker witches; the pincer attack was never intended for him in the first place.

He tried to cast a spell, to throw her off balance, but before he could even form a word a massive black fist came barrelling at him — alight with blue fire.

Hans hurriedly summoned a barrier of light.

It shattered like glass.

Blood came from his mouth as he was punched so hard that he was lifted off the ground, sailing almost ten feet in the air.

The Captain smiled triumphantly and prepared to close in.

“Illuminate and burn!” Hans strained voice called out as he pointed a finger.

The Captain’s smile froze as a thin colonnade of blue light drilled through his skull and pierced into the ground behind him.

In mid-flight, while crumpling in pain from the Captain’s fist, Hans had managed to get off a deadly spell.

The Captain tottered over, a smile of victory still plastered on his dead face.

The Cultivators were filled with panic at the sight of the Captain’s death. It was too fast. It was too quick. Their morale almost broke. Two more were slaughtered. One by a massive stone, another by a ball of fire. The agitation and fear spread.

Hans smiled to himself at his handiwork. Grinning at his use of witchcraft and then doubled over, his face contorted while he vomited blood and bile. He had used too much energy today, that spell wasn’t an easy one to cast. And that punch wasn’t light. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed in a heap.

Cindy screamed, and tears flooded her eyes. She turned heel, her initial mission of a pincer attack forgotten and revenge the only thought on her mind. Her spear flung out, it’s tip booming ­ — as if it had broken the sound barrier — directed at the unconscious Hans. But then her cries of revenge stopped, and her eyes went wide in death.

“Illuminate and burn. Fire and light. Death to all.” Celine’s voice crooned out. Unlike Hans who used one finger. She clasped two hands together and opened her palms. A blast of energy almost a foot thick stampeded through Cindy’s body, leaving a blackened and gaping hole in her chest.

All her rings, bangles, bracelets and necklaces shattered. Their defense mechanisms had activated, but their power insufficient.

She dropped to her knees and let her spear fall to the ground. Her hands touched the cavity in her chest, shaking with disbelief.

“That’s not fair…” She whispered, her voice carrying across the carnage, reaching every ear.

“That’s just not fair…” She collapsed in a heap.

Her eyes open in death.

What followed was a massacre. The Cultivators saw their champions defeated. They lost all heart. Their blood flowed, staining the earth with defeat.

All that remained was one man.

Da Shan.

More than ten had fallen at his hands, but Celine had cast that powerful spell more than once — and seemed able to do it a few more times. It had kept him back unable to rescue his companions, he had killed the five witches Celine had put on him and a few stragglers. But it was not enough. His companions had fallen and about fifteen witches remained.

Da Shan gripped his katana. His face impassive.

Celine smiled. But inside she was churning. She had lost too many people today; the Coven had taken great damage. There would be repercussions for her mismanagement and the loss of high ranking members. Victor was dead. Hans was potentially dead, his body fried from using too much energy.

She raised her hand, preparing to order a barrage of spells. Then stopped as Da Shan’s sword clattered to the ground.

She quirked an eyebrow, “Surrendering? I would prefer that, perhaps we could negotiate —”

“It appears we are at an impasse,” Da Shan cut her off.

Celine laughed with incredulity, “Impasse? Please! Sure you may kill a few more of my people, but there’s no —”

“I offer you a chance to surrender, I will spare you at least, perhaps Chancellor McCarthy will forgive your crimes,” then his voice hardened, “But if you don’t, you disgusting cannibalistic wench, I will eviscerate you.”

Celine stopped laughing. She wasn’t afraid of this mangy cur. She sneered at him, “How about this, you cut off both your legs and I’ll consider keeping you as a pet?”

“Ah, negotiations have broken down again. What a shame.” Da Shan sighed, then spoke. His voice a soft whisper carrying on the wind.

“Ferrum, veni.”

*****

I am so tired.

Da Shan’s head was covered in grey hairs. His face was pale and had the beginnings of wrinkles. He looked in a mirror. He almost jumped back at his appearance. He took a bottle from his pocket and downed the contents. Soon his hair flushed black and a bit of rosiness returned to his cheeks. But the tiredness didn’t leave his bones.

The surly figure yawned again as he ambled down the hallway of a now empty school. Da Shan had just come back from a long and tedious mission. His black kimono was stained, bloodied and torn. His red Joe Boxer shorts peeked out at every step and his hair was tousled and battered. A couple sword wounds on his chest exposed his slightly hairy pectorals (his only slightly defined pectorals) to the open air. On his back was a large bloody sack, with three distinct bulges.

The mission was complete.

It was a long hard fight. Celine was powerful, but not powerful enough. James was alive too and had promised Da Shan he would take care of the woman… her name was Jillian. Jillian… He let the name roll around in his mind. The auburn hair. The freckles. The strawberry shaped head and the bewitching green eyes. He smiled tenderly, only for a moment. He could not afford to be distracted. He had plans. Big plans were in motion. It would soon be time to say goodbye to this dreary life of mediocrity and ridicule. He gently thumbed the small copper badge, pinned near his neck. The words Deacon – 1st Grade were engraved. He was the highest grade of the lowest rank in his School. Deacons were the unappreciated grunts, the student teachers who filled in for lectures, carried out dangerous research for wizards, participated in deadly training sessions, fought monsters — were eaten by monsters — you name it. Any sort of dangerous work where dismemberment and fatality rates were high, the Deacons were called.

Why go through with such a life? For the chance of promotion! That you had some hidden talent, that you weren’t as useless as you had been told you were. Cultivators, Wizards and Alchemists were typically highly trained professionals. Almost anyone could do some level of magery, mixing or martial arts. Anyone who could use a special power of any kind was technically “gifted”, but no one would call you gifted without some level of ability or notoriety. As always only those with talent (and money) could join the upper echelons of society. All sects had two systems. One to sort the youth into the geniuses and the not-so genius. But only a fool would think prodigious talent guaranteed success. So, an alternate, grueling path was left available for people to claw their way up. Talent and money helped, but without hard work it was all for naught. Da Shan’s situation was a little unique, but in general, Deacons were the bottom of their society (though of course still above the average rabble). Some gifted chose to go it alone, freelance. But that was dangerous, a lot of the schools were very distrustful of these vagabonds — often hunting them down. For many, being oppressed by society was still better than being exterminated by society.

Da Shan let a hand fall lovingly on the chiselled stone that lined the hallway. The Sect of Sagacity (the pretentious name being a bit of an inside joke) was one of the mightiest schools in all the world. It was one of the newer ones too, founded almost three hundred years ago.

Da Shan tugged the bag a bit, doing his best to not let blood leak out from the bottom into his clothes. But it was proving to be a little difficult.

He soon made his way up a flight of stairs. The dark wood creaking with his steps. His pace was measured and steady, unhurried and unrushed. He brushed passed a couple students, their green blazers and kilts reminding him of a youth he had left behind. Long behind. After walking down another hallway he reached a large oaken door. He turned and studied the door. Not looking particularly eager to enter. On the oaken door was a gold plaque that read: Chancellor McCarthy. Taking a moment to study the door — a door he had studied many times — he again appreciated that quote etched into the wood.

A student’s duty is to enrich the school by either doing well in all hiss classes or failing as many as he can! Top graduates enrich our future and failures enrich our wallets… retake classes as many times as you need!

A small grin tugged on Da Shan’s stony face. He never gave me credit for this joke. He took a deep breath and smiled. There is no good luck ritual that can make a meeting with extended family go well... it's always a roll of the dice.

He knocked on the door and then spoke in an even voice, “You wanted to see me Chancellor?”

The door opened on its own to reveal a room filled with shelves, books and papers everywhere. In the center of the room, in front of a massive window was a wooden desk. At the desk sat a man in a matching blue pinstriped suit with a blue tie and a white shirt. The man was scribbling on a paper while taking occasional glances at one of his many open books. He was a strong figure, over six feet tall, muscular and handsome. Shining blue eyes and brownish black hair that had been neatly combed and gelled in the latest style. Joseph McCarthy was a model Chancellor in every way, a bit of a paranoid man, but an amazing man — if you believed the propaganda.

“Da Shan… take a seat,” McCarthy gestured without looking up to one of the six chairs in the room.

“Thank you,” Da Shan bowed his head and sat down — setting down the bag on the ground, ignoring the frown the Chancellor shot him.

“You know,” McCarthy paused for a moment before continuing. He put down his quill pen and folded his glasses. He set them down. And looked up. Then, as if having a change of heart he put his glasses back on and bent down and resumed writing.

Da Shan was nonplussed.

McCarthy soon spoke, “In your 298 years of working here, this is the closest you’ve ever been to a promotion.”

“Huh?” Da Shan's puzzled voice was at contrast with his flat facial expression.

“That chair you’re sitting in, it’s reserved for the Council of Sagery, the elites that serve directly under me.” McCarthy’s face seemed normal, almost affable, but his tone was hostile.

“Ah, the six — fine cultivators they are!”

McCarthy's voice got colder. “Get up.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re not in the Council, are you?”

Da Shan scratched his beard, “No sir.”

"Are you a powerful cultivator?"

"In my own way," Da Shan’s finger dug into his nose.

"What about in my way?" A tinge of annoyance was in McCarthy's cold voice.

"Ah..."

"... Well?"

"I'm thinking."

The sound of McCarthy's scratching pen stopped. Then started again. His voice even and steady, McCarthy asked again, "Are you a powerful cultivator?"

Da Shan pursed his lips and scratched some stubble on his chin. He thought for a moment. He thought for another moment. The sound of McCarthy's scratching pen started turned to the sound of paper tearing. Da Shan spoke.

"No... No, I don't think I am."

“Then get up.”

Da Shan stood and shuffled awkwardly to the centre of the room, his face unreadable. McCarthy looked up at Da Shan, their eyes meeting for the first time. Da Shan's lifeless brown eyes contrasted with the sharpness of McCarthy's vigorous blue. McCarthy looked back down, in a quiet voice he said, “Sit on the floor where you belong.”

Da Shan sat on the floor, softly.

McCarthy kept writing. They waited in silence. After a couple minutes McCarthy stood up abruptly and turned around, facing the giant window. He walked up to it.

“Da Shan… you’ve been a friend of mine for almost six hundred years, haven’t you?” McCarthy spoke without facing Da Shan, looking out the window at some unseen fancy. Da Shan flinched at the change of tone and the reference to their long acquaintance. His dull brown eyes flashed briefly with cunning intelligence, but then glazed over.

He began slowly, his tone reserved, “I’m just a Deacon now sir.”

“Do you deny our friendship? Our mission?” McCarthy’s voice was growing hot.

“No sir… I don’t deny either.”

“We are brothers aren’t we?” The heat increased in McCarthy’s voice.

“Good friends sir.”

“We are brothers aren’t we?” McCarthy’s tone was firm.

Da Shan closed his eyes, “Yes sir.” Then opened his eyes.

McCarthy paused and drummed his fingers on his thigh and turned around, he studied Da Shan for a moment. His handsome face framed by the mid-afternoon sun at his back. He absently tugged at his pinstriped jacket sleeves and after a moment he asked, “Do you remember our days in the Blood Devil Sect?”

Da Shan’s back straightened, “As little as possible.” Came the curt response.

“They weren’t exactly good times, were they?” A dry laugh punctuated the statement.

Da Shan let a small grin creep into his face. “No, they weren’t sir.”

McCarthy smiled back, then looked thoughtful as if remembering something. His face lit up, “It was Elder Quan who was trying to kill you right?”

“Yes sir, he was a terrible master.”

“Must of felt good when we burned the place down.”

“Yes it did sir.”

McCarthy gave a light chuckle and Da Shan allowed himself a small smile. McCarthy continued, “After that we travelled the world, cultivating and gaining experience and decided to found this school after the war. We wanted to make a sect that was different from the Blood Devil Sect, both of us were Captain Grade at that time... everyone thought we were easy targets. The name pissed them off the most.”

“One of your better ideas,” Da Shan lightly replied.

“We had a challenge almost every week!”

“Remember how you took out that one Stone Cultivator?”

A mirthful grin wrapped McCarthy’s face, “The one with the massive nose?”

“He didn’t claim his nose was massive…”

McCarthy grinned, “It was the biggest thing on him when I was done with him.”

Da Shan leaned back on the floor and scratched his neck absently, nodding in agreement, then adding, “Good times.”

McCarthy looked up to the ceiling, nostalgia evident in his tone, “Indeed they were.”

Da Shan frowned, “They still are.”

“No they’re not… what happened to you?”

Da Shan looked up in shock at the heat in McCarthy's voice. Their eyes met again, but McCarthy didn't back down. Da Shan played dumb. “Beg your pardon?”

“We haven’t had a serious conversation in 298 years, do you know that?”

“Ah… you don’t say? It’s been that long? I wasn’t keeping track.”

“I have.”

“That’s nice.”

Da Shan’s sarcasm seemed to bounce off McCarthy as the Chancellor continued, “You asked me, on this very day 298 years ago, to make you a Deacon… right after we had founded this school. You told me you didn’t want to teach, you didn’t want to lead, you wanted to take a break.”

Da Shan's voice switched from sarcastic to pure indifference. “I seem to recall such an event.”

McCarthy took a step forward, “You said the break would last only a few years.”

“Did I?”

“You did.”

Da Shan helplessly shrugged, “Ah, well… I miscalculated.”

“You must be very bad at math.”

Da Shan casually waved a hand, “That’s why Melinda’s the Department Head of Mathematics.”

“Shut up.”

“If you insist,” Da Shan’s voice was almost snide.

“Da Shan… what the hell man?”

“What?”

“Why did you stop cultivating?”

Da Shan’s face shook, and his body trembled. Then, as quickly as the change had come, his face returned to neutrality as he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

McCarthy stepped forward again, he was almost right in Da Shan's face. Da Shan didn't back down. McCarthy ran his hands along Da Shan's shoulders, flicking off invisible dust. McCarthy glared at him, “Don’t play coy with me.”

“I’m not sir.”

McCarthy roared in anger. “You piece of crap! You and me… we were brothers. Yeah, I was better at cultivating than you and yeah I was stronger than you. But you haven’t advanced in the past 300 years! Instead, you’ve been taking dangerous missions every year to exchange them for this!” McCarthy turned and almost ran back to his desk and rummaged through a drawer. In a moment he pulled out a bottle and tossed it to his friend. The bottle impacted Da Shan's chest with such force he nearly stumbled over as it bounced off him and clattered to the floor. Da Shan steadied himself and picked up the bottle and read the label under McCarthy's severe gaze: Longevity Pills — For the Nearly Departed.

McCarthy’s shoulders heaved with anger and his face contorted with rage, “How long have you been eating this swill!”

“The past 300 years.” Da Shan’s face was still unreadable.

“School rules says I can’t spy on people’s purchases or possessions — so that we don’t have no Elder’s coveting the riches of students — but I thought to myself, ‘Hot damn! What would Da Shan have that I would actually want?’ So while you were gone I snuck into your room and searched through all your stuff.”

Da Shan’s eyes narrowed and his lifeless eyes glowed with a metallic sheen, “You did what?”

“Oh prick me! Put away your rage you elf-skin! What are you going to do huh? Attack me?! Bring it on!”

Da Shan didn't respond. He turned away and his eyes returned to lifelessness and his face returned to inscrutability.

McCarthy pressed his advantage, “Can you believe what I found?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

McCarthy didn’t ignore the sarcasm this time, in a flash he had leapt over the desk and lunged at Da Shan — grabbing him by the kimono and hoisting him to his feet. “You have nothing… no legendary treasures… nothing… after 600 years of cultivation you have nothing. No money either…” McCarthy dropped Da Shan who crumpled to the floor in a pile, his face frozen. “So I checked your purchases and found that you have been buying these pills… for the past 300 years… What the hell man? You don't have long left if you're already on the pills! Why aren't you advancing?! Let alone advancing, what are you now? Lieutenant Grade? Your power has gone down! What's wrong with you!”

“What tipped you off… to search my stuff.”

“Answer me!”

“Please… answer me first,” Da Shan’s expression had thawed, his eyes quivered and his face was warped with sorrow.

McCarthy, taken aback at the sudden display, answered quietly. “I saw a student… wearing her hairpin." At this point McCarthy stopped and his eyes glistened. He took a deep breath and continued, "The Amber Lotus. I almost beat the student to death… I thought she stole it from you. Had to pay her a lot in compensation. Here’s the pin.” McCarthy took out a small red butterfly pin and tossed it to Da Shan — who let it fall on the ground in front of him. McCarthy turned around and with sigh ran his hands through his hair and wiped the dampness from around his eyes. “I thought to myself, ‘There’s no way he’d sell this pin!’ I staked my reputation on that, and I lost. So. Answer. Me. Now.”

“My technique… the one the Sect Elder from the Blood Devil Sect gave me… it has a side effect.”

McCarthy’s eyes narrowed, his gaze scrutinizing his old friend. But he didn't interrupt.

“It eats away at my lifespan… in exchange for vigour I lose longevity.”

“So… your body gets more powerful from the vigour… but it ages you rapidly?”

Da Shan nodded heavily.

McCarthy paused, considered what Da Shan said, and stated slowly and carefully, “Alright… but not just cultivate a different technique?”

“I tried… I tried hundreds of techniques, but the cultivation method Elder Quan gave me… I don’t quite understand it… but it’s changed the structure of my body. I can’t cultivate anything else.”

“Then just advance in this damn technique you have! There must be a higher level!”

“Yeah… there is… you take longevity pills to increase your lifespan and keep cultivating. Unfortunately… my body’s ability is just too low. I consume longevity to use my power… I consume longevity to cultivate — and the vigour I get isn’t enough to break through to a higher level… so… I just stopped cultivating. I only use my power on missions and I take longevity pills when I get back,” Da Shan’s face was blank. He was already at peace with this fate.

After a few minutes, McCarthy’s cold voice cut in, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Ah…”

McCarthy waited.

Da Shan remained silent.

Minutes passed.

McCarthy asked again, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Da Shan’s face was innocent.

McCarthy felt the veins in his temples bulge, “About this cultivation situation of yours!”

“Ah…”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Answer me dammit!” McCarthy’s voice was quiet, but it bubbled with rage.

Da Shan’s face was blank, “Sorry, what was the question?”

“Anymore of this conversation will infect my brain!” McCarthy huffed with anger.

Da Shan spoke, his voice slow and careful, “Look… my friend… it’s my business.”

“It becomes my business when you sell my wife’s hairpin!”

“She’s my daughter!”

“THAT’S ALL WE HAVE LEFT OF HER!”

McCarthy’s shout knocked Da Shan back into the door, a trickle of blood streaked down his mouth as papers fluttered everywhere and books fell from the shelves. McCarthy strode up to his father-in-law, his face contorted with fury, “Why didn’t you sell it to me?”

“It’s my business!”

“Why… didn’t… you… tell… me!”

Da Shan looked nervous. McCarthy waited, the anger gone from his eyes. Taking that as a cue Da Shan began slowly and then picked up the pace, “I didn’t think I could go to you… what kind of father-in-law takes handouts from his son?”

McCarthy snorted, “Weren’t we like brothers?”

“I have my pride.”

“Your pride is worth your life and your daughter’s only keepsake?”

“It is.”

“Apparently your pride is worth so much that you didn’t even realize that’s not her pin.” McCarthy pulled another Amber Butterfly pin out, “This is her pin… you keep that fake. And get out of my sight.”

“Joseph, please, I —”

“Leave me now!”

“I just wanted to solve my own problems.”

“Foolish old man… you’ve created more.”

“Joseph please… yes I didn’t ask for help… but I have a plan!”

“With a mind like yours any damn plan you cook up can burn. You might as just die… you’re just a bug. A lowly and weak Deacon of a lowly and weak cultivation… that only get’s weaker. Don’t you dare tell anyone you founded this school! You want to cut off all ties with me? Fine! You get your wish!”

Da Shan hung his head.

But McCarthy's cold voice cut in, “I thought we were going to avenge them.”

Da Shan stiffened. “I am.”

“You’re barely stronger than a student and you want to avenge them? Rest easy old man… I’ll avenge both our wives.”

Da Shan clenched his fists with fury, “I’ll avenge my own wife and my own daughter, thank you.”

“Ha! You can’t even take a shout from me, and you think you can take them on? Get lost.”

“Joseph, I —”

“Get out… Elder of Mediocrity… go laze about as you do best. At least one mystery was solved… I always wondered why I never saw you cultivating. You couldn’t.”

Da Shan’s face returned to inscrutability and with a stiff bow, he turned around, picked up his bag and walked out. After the door had closed McCarthy waved a finger and an almost sentient wind swept through the office organizing everything. He sat down on his chair, put his glasses back on and proceeded to write again. After a few moments he stood in agitation and ripped his glasses from his head, hurling them on the floor with a clatter. He leaned forward with a pensive expression and said softly to himself, “What are you playing at old man… I don’t buy this crap.”