Tongues of Flame shot out like chains from his palms. They latched onto the Vordor’s limbs in a flash, wrapping around its wings, biting into its tail. It screeched and bucked, trying to throw them off; it beat its wings with fervor, sending up clouds of sand. Its head whipped around, confusion stark in its eyes. Why wasn’t it lifting off?

The chains anchored it to the ground. They were so heavy that they made each flap of a wing a serious effort. Dorian raised an eyebrow as he kept winding them up, latching deeper onto the Vordor on all its limbs. The degree of control he had over them was fascinating. These were akin to extra limbs, and each moved like a serpent, strangling a part of the Vordor. Bringing it to the sands, head bowed.

A grounded Vordor was a sorry creature indeed. Twisted this far out of shape, it was in no position to offer strong resistance. Its muscles, so fearsome in flight, were now made into mere decorations. It literally had no space to stretch its wings. Still it screeched nonstop, but now the sounds grew tremulous. Its anger gave way to fear.

Dorian stepped closer, eyeing the trapped Vordor the way a boy studies his bug collection. In particular he eyed his new qi, taking note of the bloodline’s subtler changes. The Tongues were still fiery, sure, but tinted now; the flames were streaked with black, edged with it. The Technique, too, was slightly different now—it had gained a new appetite. Alongside the fire’s burn was a hissing, acidic bite which wasted away each limb.

It was so easy. Dorian took a moment to appreciate it all as the Vordor writhed. In the course of a mere few hours he’d gone from a scrappy, mid-level Origin fighter to this. He licked his lips. Finally, a worthy base. This, he could work with.

A curious thought struck Dorian. Cocking his head, he gave each Tongue an experimental tug.

The Vordor’s cry jumped up as each of the [Tongues] yanked sharply on each of its limbs. It was stretched hard in all directions. Dorian felt its its connective tissue groaning as he pulled; the Vordor’s torso bore a huge amount of tension. Once more he was struck by his sheer power over it. He felt again like a boy slowly pulling off the limbs off a writhing, screeching insect.

…Could he manage it? His fascination was turning morbid. He looked at the thing in a new light. Its meat was likely far better than any the Tribe could muster, and with Kaya in tow he might need some time to find and catch back up with the Tribe. Besides—he was already almost there. Things were snapping apart inside. Under those bunches of muscles key parts were coming undone. If he just gave it another few hard tugs—

Its screeches were turning ear-piercing. Grimacing, Dorian snaked another Tongue around its throat to shut it up. It couldn’t even writhe. Soon the tension on it was so high it could only spasm. As he kept it up, Dorian felt his qi reserves fast depleting; this stunt had him nearing a quarter burned, even with the new levels and qi density. It was time to end things in a stroke.

The Tongues had all burned through huge sections of each limb. Even the new one, wrapped double around the Vordor’s neck, ate away at it with vicious speed. Taking a breath, straining his qi, Dorian pulled with all his might.

Head. Wings. Legs. Tail. There was a grotesque tearing. Each came off at once in a violent triumph of gore. Blood gushed out in all directions as several tons’ worth of Spirit Beast turned from panicked animal to limp, dead meat. Dorian stepped back, narrowly avoiding a splattering of blood. He pressed his hands together as he dissipated the Tongues.

Dinner. Lovely.

He grinned, flexing his fingers. Finally, he had some power. How strong was he now? Rust took on a whole squad of [Vigor] Realm Vordors and trounced them all unscathed; an Ugoc Shaman could summon a fleet of them. He’d just torn one apart and drained half his qi doing it. Granted he suspected he could’ve killed the thing much easier, but still. He was getting a sense of his limits.

He let out a mad cackle, soaking in the heart-pounding sensation. He felt alive. The Vordor’s dismembered body rocked back and fourth, still dribbling blood, and it was glorious. He lashed it again with qi, sending it tumbling; it was a relief to let loose out here. After needing to consider the Tribe, Rust, Hu, Tuketu, and even Kaya’s eyes on him, he savored some respite. Sometimes you needed to be subtle. Other times you just needed to tear the limbs off a Vordor and laugh.

Then he turned around and saw Kaya’s very much not unconscious face staring at him. Her mouth hung wide open. She was stock-still. He froze.

She fainted.

***

“By now you should be used to surprises from me,” said Dorian, smiling weakly.

Kaya chewed on some overcooked Vordor meat slowly, gingerly, wincing with each bite. She definitely looked like she was still digesting things. Many things. She came out of her coma in a bout of shock. She seemed like she hadn’t recovered.

She’d woken up minutes ago and still seemed a little out of it. She could sit up, but even that small act sent shockwaves of pain down her body. Walking was a fantasy.

Now they sat around a makeshift campfire watching the sunset. Dorian had dug out an alcove in which to spend the night. He hadn’t an emergency tent—a silly oversight, now that he had a chance to think about it. One could never be prepared enough, but with an Interspatial Ring there was no excuse not to procure one. They’d have to make do.

To his side, Kaya hissed and doubled over. She was still ginger all over. It was a miracle she lived at all; some of her bones had been ground to dust. She’d need a stretcher—another thing he should’ve brought along. She’d have to make do with some stripped-down tarp.

When at last she opened her mouth, she seemed hollowed out. There wasn’t anger in her expression. She spoke with a hoarse voice that didn’t tremble.

“This tastes like shit.”

Dorian had been prepared for a lot of reactions. Admittedly, that hadn’t been one of them. He opened his mouth to fire off a quip, but by the look of her right now probably wasn’t the best time for it. Instead he settled on, “well… it is barely cooked Vordor meat. I almost set myself on fire trying to roast it—you can hardly expect a two-course meal from the Head Cook.”

They sat in silence. Kaya kept up her chewing. Taking her cue, he started on his own burnt Vordor steak as well, digging into it with his fingers. A scrap of dirty cloth was his plate.

“I’m surprised you haven’t picked up godly cooking skills in the past week too,” she said with a sardonic glance.

He pretended not to hear. “Hm?”

She tried on a cheeky, pained grin, grimaced at the effort, and returned to chewing. “Nothing.”

More silence.

“So…” She looked at him, swallowing the last of a chunk. “The Prime Bone. You went and absorbed it while I was out.”

“Yup.”

She gave him a once-over, looking at him funny. Besides the muscles, he was taller than her now; she looked like she was having some trouble with it. “…Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just, you were just, and now you’ve went and…I mean. I dunno what to say. You just tore apart that thing. With your qi. What?!” She made to scratch her head, winced at the movement. He held up a hand.

“Stop moving! You’ll only make it worse.”

“I know,” she scowled, then slowly grabbed for another chunk of meat. “ I’m just cranky. And confused. It’s a lot to swallow, alright?”

“Really?” He eyed the chunk. “Doesn’t seem like that big a portion to me.”

She treated him to a deadpan stare, which was good progress from from her blank stare.

“See, I was trying to soothe your shock with dumb humor,” he said helpfully.

“Ugh. I already regret jumping in front of that dragon for you.”

Groaning, she raised a hand to her temple. “Should’ve just let you—wait. Hold it.”

She frowned and pressed her fingers to her head in small circles, like she was trying to massage out the truth. “I jumped in front of a dragon. For you!”

“Yea…”

“You—you let me stranded in the middle of the desert!” Her voice was rising. She looked like a big realization was hitting her all at once. “Then you came back, didn’t explain a whit, and charged a dragon! What the hells were you thinking?!”

He hadn’t meant to charge the thing, but she hardly looked in the mood for technicalities. She looked pissed. The only thing stopping her from being more pissed than she already was was probably her physical condition. Time for wet-blanket mode.

He looked down, feigning a guilty look. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t—I—“ she spluttered. Her faec was reddening fast. “You coulda gotten me killed! Both of us killed!”

“I wasn’t thinking straight,” he whispered. He bowed his head lower and hunched his shoulders in to appear small, vulnerable. “I felt the Bone and… I dunno. I got really excited—“

He swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said again, voice trembling. A weak finish. He’d let it hang there; perhaps it’d soften her up.

He looked up. She’d barely softened at all. If anything she’d gotten more pissed. Drat.

“I’d beat your ass if I could move,” she snapped.

He looked down again, thinking hard, and slapped together a quick plan B.

His shoulders shook. His body trembled fast; he hunched over even farther. “I don’t want you to die,” he whispered. That, at least, was true.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not gonna die, idiot.”

When he looked up at her again, his face was palled. His lips quivered. He sniveled softly. He’d even managed to squeeze out some water for that on-the-verge-of-bawling look.

That did the trick. One look and something deep in Kaya melted. Her face was still stuck in a severe scowl, but she turned away with a sigh.

“Ugh. You know what? Forget it. Just—“ She said, massaging her temples harder. “I’d feel a lot better about this if I could hit something.”

He said nothing. Things were already in motion, he could tell. If he kept the silence there, she’d be the bigger person. She always was in their dynamic.

Sure enough, a minute later she breathed out slowly. “Whatever. Now’s not the time for this, anyways.” Sitting upright, she took a survey of their surroundings. “Saints, where are we? Where’s the tribe? We need to get back. Can we get back?”

Dorian looked up at the stars. He finished up his sniveling and wiped a hand across his eyes, drying them out. Interpersonal disaster averted! Mostly. At the least, the brunt of it had been shoved out the way.

“Well… M-Master Hu told me each Festival took place at a Sacred Land in the east,” he said, blinking fast. “He said to get there, we’d just have to follow the stars…”

She perked up. “What?”

“There.” He pointed out a constellation in the vague shape of a gauntlet off to the side of the white belt running across the sky.

Internally, he let himself take a breath. He ran his own assessment of things.

In each run, there were several critical points: points that, if hit perfectly, could massively boost a run. The first one was this Bloodline. Could the second be the Festival? It’d be a gathering of all the Tribes of the desert, a smorgasbord of cultures and wealth. It was the first time he’d have access to a wide array of arts, techniques, treasures, elixirs—people, even. The Rust Tribe was one runt of a Tribe with only one standard technique; it had little to offer in comparison. With his newfound Bloodline and the weight it carried, if he played his cards right he could make out with a killing. He looked to Kaya, who was grumpily swallowing the last of her meat, and grinned. Perhaps he could even boost some allies too.

More important, though, was what would come of the Festival. Hu had been hinting all week that key facets of the Tournament—sorry, the Oases’ secret project—would be decided at the gathering…

Sure, they were stuck in the middle-of-nowhere, with dwindling rations, nearly no supplies and with a crippled member in tow, but Dorian felt strangely optimistic.

Time Elapsed: 1 week, 4 days