Dorian sat cross-legged at the edge of the blackened Sinkhole. His eyes were shut. His breaths were steady. A cocktail of elixirs roiled within him, healing elixirs, qi elixirs, recovery elixirs—all to prime his body for a drawn-out battle. He sat there, digesting, waiting.

And then the horn sounded. A crass, grating groan on the air.

His eyes snapped open. His lips curved to a hard grin. At last.

The Javelin burst into being in a flash of smoke and Darkness, rearing above him like a hungry serpent, sunlight glinting off its cruel point. He stepped into its shadow and was gone.

An instant later he re-emerged atop a parapet on the Oasis Walls. Ignoring squawks from the Sticks-wielding soldiers about him, he looked due west.

It seemed, at first glance, as though the horizon were pulling inward: in the distance an endless wall of dark smoke raced toward the Oasis. But Dorian’s serpent-eyes pierced the veil; beyond the smoke were frothing hordes of Sandwolves. Behind them were hundreds of Earth-Realm Shamans riding Earth-Realm wyrms, spurring these pests to action. Beyond them, huge footsteps of some massive, unseen beasts shuddered the sands, echoing across the plains.

A few well-placed Techniques of his could wipe out half their fleet, Dorian surmised—at the cost of a big chunk of his qi. But he’d have to leave that to the Oasis’ own soldiers; he couldn’t afford distractions.

For far above these ground troops, riding the top of the storm, were the true threats. Through the smoke he made out the wings of dragons—some webbed, some scaled, all the size of a small mountain, all brimming with Sky-Realm qi. All wielding Laws that would threaten even him. There must’ve been thirty-odd dragons in total, and each, he sensed, was the equal of one of those Hellish apes which had nearly ended him in the Volcano. On their backs rode Sky-Realm Shamans with their own host of Laws and Techniques. These were the true elites of the Ugoc.

And they, too, were but mere distractions when set against the avatar which lay in wait…

Is this the plan, then? First wear me down with your lackeys, then swoop in to finish the job?

To either side of him Yama’s Chains flickered into existence. Swallowing up the shadows cast by the Oasis Walls, they stretched as far as the eye could see to either side of him, smoking with dark qi. Darkness Laws bound them down their length like deathly brambles.

Within him the Dark Star ran hot; the Fire Planet about it simmered, eager. His eyes flashed. A cute plan. But I suspect what's about to happen will come as a bit of a shock.

***

Zenith Realm

“You knew I was coming,” said Houyi flatly. His peasant’s robes fluttered softly in the ashen breeze. Behind him loomed the Tree of Eternity; it managed an aura of grandeur even as it burned.

“Yes,” said Jez. “I admit I’ve planned for the possibility.”

“As have I.” A cold proud smirk graced Houyi’s face. “I have watched you, young Jez. Ever since your first incursion upon the Middle Realms I have traced your progress. Your methods intrigue me. They are quite remarkable. You ought to be commended.”

Jez smiled. “Why, what a kind thing to say! I’m honored.” He shrugged. “In truth it’s not so special. There is one core problem plaguing this world: it is needlessly cutthroat. To grow bigger we must eat one another, slay one another, kill, steal, rape—how awful!” He sighed. “My powers are built on a simple philosophy. To radically oppose such a worldview. My powers are founded on connection. On love! On collaboration, not competition, you see.”

“I do.” Houyi cocked his head. “And this has vaulted you from the Earth to the Heavens in but a step.”

“The premise is quite elegant,” said Jez. He held out a hand. Atop it hovered one gold sphere of qi. “I am the first, the prime. Even if I recruit but two friends to the cause…” Two new spheres materialized above the first, tied to it by thin strings of qi. “And they recruit but two more…”

Four new spheres were fixed atop the two with four new lines, like a family tree. Jez’s smile grew wider. “The growth, you see, is exponential. We stand stronger together.”

He paused. His smile grew wan, a smidge melancholic. “And this is why I have already won, great Houyi.”

“Oh?” Houyi’s face was nothing like the impassive monolith it had been mere hours before. Now it was lit up with emotion. He snorted, eyes flashing; his lips were a mocking slant. “Have you, now?”

“Within me,” said Jez softly, “Lies the powers of one hundred thousand cultivators of the Lower Realms. Within me lies the powers of six thousand gods. Dozens of Godkings among them. Together we make The Infinity.”

He let his words sit heavy in the air. If they fazed Houyi at all it did not show on the Godkings face. “No one, not even one as great as you, can stand before our combined powers.”

Still Houyi was silent.

“And so I come to you with an offer. An offer I have made to dozens of Godkings before. An offer I humbly extend, now, to you.” Jez held out a hand. “Join me! We both seek to bring about a more just Multiverse. Our ends are the same, are they not? Join me, and it shall be done.”

His eyes glistened.

There stretched a long and terrible silence.

“Convince me, then,” said Houyi at last. “What of those black-hearted knaves who join you for power, and power only? You have welcomed more than a few into your fold. Is this just?”

“A fair concern. But those who come to the Infinity with black hearts shall not stay that way. That is its beauty. It is not like a religion; it is so much more!” Jez’s voice trembled with reverence. “To join the Infinity is to give of yourself fully to it. To make your qi our qi; to make your Laws ours. Not even your identity is exempt.”

He let out a happy breath. “To join the Infinity is to be reborn. It is to renounce the old ways, and to accept a new way of loving-kindness. They shall be as new limbs added to the main body. In time their black hearts shall be recast in gold.”

Houyi regarded him. “You truly believe this?” He sounded amused. “You think you can change the hearts of men. You think you can change the order of the Multiverse.”

“Of course! Most every creature can be made to love. But for those rare few who cannot… they shall be excised, as tumors, for the health of the whole.” Jez sighed once more. “A sad necessity. But you, of all creatures, ought to understand.”

“I excise those creatures who pose an existential threat to the Multiverse,” said Houyi. His eyes narrowed. “I am a gardener, removing weeds so that the rest of the flora may flourish. You are an arson. You preserve the few you approve of. You mean to set fire to the rest. This I can no longer tolerate.”

There was a hard edge to his voice. The only sound was the crackling of Hellfire rippling down the boughs of the Tree of Eternity.

“We both pursue a more just world,” continued Houyi. “But there must always be a balance between the ends and the methods we use to achieve tem. One injustice cannot dignify another.”

The air between them stilled, unnatural. “You intend to chop down the Tree of Eternity. That which upholds this plane.”

“Yes.”

“It would mean the end of Zenith,” said Houyi. “All of the Godkings here—severed from the rest of the Multiverse. Shunted to a place outside all Law, outside even Time and Space. Unreachable. Irretrievable. You would, in effect, be killing them. You would collapse an entire Upper Plane.”

Jez shrugged. “I don’t deny it.”

“Then I, Houyi, say you have lost all sense of balance.”

A bow appeared in one of Houyi’s hands, an arrow in the other. “And for that I shall render judgment.”

Slowly Jez shook his head, resigned. “I suspected as much.”

Houyi notched the arrow on the string, calmly, almost leisurely. His form was perfect, the placement pristine. He could’ve been readying a shot at a sitting duck—not one of the most powerful beings in the Multiverse. Still Jez made no move to dodge. Nor did he lift a finger to disrupt Houyi. They both knew it would’ve been useless.

Instead—“Why act now?” said Jez sadly. “Why is the life of a Godking of Zenith worth so much more than the thousands he has murdered to arrive here?”

He meant the question rhetorically. He was surprised Houyi answered.

“You think I act to preserve the plants,” said Houyi. The bow rose, arrow notched, until Jez was squarely in its sight. “I act to protect the garden.”

“Then we shall never come to a resolution.” Jez turned his gaze upward, forlorn. “I mean to upend the order of the Multiverse. You seek to preserve it. And now you aim to kill me for it.”

The drawing of the bow was Houyi’s only answer. Eerie how ordinary it all was, how deceptively simple! Like an innocent little brook a child might splash into, only to find it hid a thousand-li trench rife with seething currents.

Jez sighed, spreading his arms wide. “There is no use dodging, is there?” He said. “They say Houyi never misses. They say you peer deep into the past and future. They say you take into account the position of every particle for a thousand li—that you run ten thousand simulations of the shot, and only when each one strikes true does the arrow leave your fingertips!”

“They underestimate me,” said Houyi. His grin was wicked, fiery. In that instant he seemed almost indignant. “I am far more thorough than that.”

The bow was aimed, pulled, ready. “This arrow contains three-quarters of my being. Law and qi all placed in one vessel.”

He licked his lips. “I shall honor you with the most powerful arrow I have ever unleashed.”

Still Jez made no move to defend. He simply blinked. “You truly believe you can kill me? I, who holds within me the power of a thousand deities?”

Silence.

Then—

“You are young,” said Houyi. “And so I shall forgive your ignorance.”

The arrow trembled, and for an instant the whole of the Realm seemed to collapse to that spot, the point where it hung taut on the string. The air around it turned to mush, liquified, swirled around it like frothing waters around a whirlpool. The power leaking from that infinitesimal point exerted so much pressure that the very fabric of existence could not bear it. Form forgot itself. Atoms scattered to the void. Jez’s eyes widened.

It made sense. The careful gardener did not need to snip the weed by its stem; he pulled it up by its roots. This arrow did not seek to kill him. No being in the Multiverse had enough qi for that. Instead it would simply write him out of existence.

“Ah! I see,” he said. He stared at the arrowhead with a mix of awe and wonder, the way a child might stare at a sunset. “How utterly beautiful.”

Then the arrow left the string like the expression of an immutable law.