Black clouds of putrid smoke blotted out the sky. Up in the heavens the only crack of light remaining d dimmed and soon would be sealed off for all time. Before him was a sheer mountain side and behind him a burning village. Twisted trails of putrid smoke threatened to constrict his lungs and asphyxiate him on the spot. It was better than the sweet taste of the plague still on his tongue.

Behind him the slow mechanized lungs of physician sounded like slow hell's bells. More Ian didn't dare to look back. The pistol pointing at his head was there whether he looked at not. Showing a sign that he was having second thoughts might convince the physician to put him out of his misery.

Time was against him, the physicians who came to help were against him, and even his dream had turned against him. At seventeen he didn't feel ready. The sheer cliff glared down at him with open malice. Across the ground old bones could be seen they were the honored dead of those who tried before him. If he'd been born to a different family, there might have been other options available. The More family wasn't known for being wealthy. Even when there were qi experts in the family, they weren't rich. The heavens didn't shine down on them and even the hells rejected them.

"Go cursed child begin the climb and may the heavens shine upon you." He hated that name and the way it made him feel. Every child born seventeen years ago on the day the heavens went quiet were known as cursed children.

The cliffside was a daunting foe. It had killed hundreds of villagers with indifference. Upon the mountain's peak rocs were said to prey upon the unworthy climbers. Falling from the cliff was quick and painless, dying by a sharp beak and talons wasn't. If he made it to the peak, he had to light his incense stick and wait. A qi expert would come and bring him to the Atlas Mountain sect. Or the mountain lions, cave bears, or worse demons would find him.

He chalked his hands and began his ascent. There were no ropes, a safety team, or a soft spot to land. Every hand hold could be his last. Unsure footing would be the end of him. Each handhold was a gamble. Ian imagined a snake on the next or a slime spitting green peacock chick could be on the next ledge.

As he climbed the pinhole of light through the smoke continued to shrink. What little sight he had was leaving him and he had to feel for each hand hold.

Ian stretched his fingers into another hold and felt something crawl over his hand. He jerked his hand. Something stung him on his left hand. He ground his teeth as he felt burning shoot up his hand. Shakily he inspected his hand. A large spider with a violet spot on its back still had its fangs in his knuckle. Violet back orb spider flashed through his mind. A rare spider that wasn't venomous to humans. It hurt like fire but not deadly.

Ian's heart hammered in his chest at his near death. The ground was too far below him and the trees were catching fire. The physicians wanted to burn the village to ash. If he hadn't volunteered to make the climb, they would have shot him.

He let the spider crawl back into its hole and continued his climb. Dry hot air rushed up while the cold mountain air plummeted. Between gusts he held onto the cliffside for dear life and climbed when he could. Nothing gave him rest anymore. Ian barely knew up from down in the dark. Only the soft orange flames below let him know he was still in the world.

If he fell there wouldn't be anything left of him. They covered it up and burned their whole village down. Ian was the oldest survivor. The rest were taken by the physicians.

Gun shots were going off below, the likely hood of them being trained was dropping. Ian had managed to bring his own incense stick. What were the odds the flint wasn't tampered with?

Above him the putrid black clouds began to fully swallow the light. Another whirlwind struck him. Ian's eyes shot open the wind wasn't letting up. He screamed and held on to the cliffside for dear life. Sweat and grim from his climb had worn away at his chalk. He was slipping.

The wind grew sharper and the last of his grip failed him. An orange bed of flames covered the base of the mountain. It swirled in a welcoming fashion. At least he'd die painlessly. Adrenaline shot through his system hard and he lost control.

When he decided to give in to the painless death the talons of a roc found him. His shoulder snapped like a twig while the other talon threatened to turn his guts into paste. Ian couldn't feel a thing tears fell from his eyes and he prayed it would all end soon. No one was left of his village. Why should he get to live if everyone else died?

He fell into the nest and couldn't feel his arm. The roc flew off leaving him in her nest. Was she saving him for later? He heard the cries of her hungry chicks. Well that was an answer.

One rammed into him before he could blink. It drove him to the edge of the nest using its body to hide him from its brother or sister. It stabbed into his lame arm with its beak. Ian screamed as the adrenaline finally failed him. There was no weapon. No he had one left.

He brought his fist down on the chick's head with all his might. It stumbled before squawking at him. Ian moved, gripped his hand around its head and pushed his thumb in. He leapt on the flailing bird. Pain and adrenaline fought for dominance in his body as his thumb searched for brain. Eventually, in the gooey mess he found it. A powerful kick from the other bird broke six of his ribs.

Ian coughed out a mouthful of blood and staggered to his feet. He sucked in a troubled breath. The bird was on him ready to finish the job. Ian stumbled away from the kick. The bird continued its charge to the other end of the nest.

With the last of his strength, he threw himself at the chick and forced it out of the nest. Even with a surprise attack the chick didn't fall easily. The monster's talons cut deep lines out of Ian's legs while it stumbled over the edge. Its beak ripped holes in his chest and arms before it was finally cast out. Ian didn't need to look at his wounds to know he probably wasn't going to survive.

Bleeding from multiple wounds, he made his way to his pack. He stacked a few feathers together careful not to bleed on them. Then he used what was left of his left arm to hold the flint while he struck it. When the momma roc came back, he would die anyway.

Repeatedly, he struck the flint through the pain. Sparks fell on the fluff from the chicks until he got a spark. The fire quickly caught, and he took out his incense stick. After lighting it, he wobbled over to the dead chick still in the nest and sat atop it. With his good arm he held up the incense stick while it burned.

Behind him the flames quickly caught on to the feather and shit covered nest. The flames rose higher while he bled out. When he felt his heart begin to slow down, he reached out.

Ian heard the soft voice of a woman. She sang for him a lullaby of eternity and he started to fall asleep. With his good hand he continued to reach out. The pain vanished and he felt whole again. When the fire caught up to him the spell broke and he screamed.