Waterstrider

Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Thirdmonth, 1634 PTS

Knowing I would have to trust that he was affected, I charged at Hidoro. My hand arced out with my sword, ready to slash as my formless strides took me towards him at high speed.

He stepped forward into my motion, genesis miasma flaring in his arms and legs as he dashed towards me, arm rising with great force. He moved to backhand my blade, clearly intending to break it. He didn’t even bother using his own sword, just his forearm.

I smirked. There were very few in all the universe, and the vast majority were either immortals or still on Canvas. There was no way the arm of a mere spirit refiner could snap a blade forged by Lady Domines herself. There was a reason this unnamed relic had been the heirloom of the Downpour Sect since its formation.

The blade’s motion slowed as it dug into his arm, tearing a gash into Hidoro. He stook a step back, shocked that the blade had been much stronger than he expected.

In stories, martial artists of high realms were depicted as near-invincible beings, their skin as tough or tougher than a starship’s hull. In reality, while they did grow somewhat more durable at each level, their skin did not change its material composition in any sense. There was a limit to how powerful the physical body could be. The real change between realms was in the quality and quantity of miasmic energies that the martial artist could channel, as well as the profoundness of the techniques they could use.

There was only so much that could be done within a mortal body. For there to be a qualitative change in such attributes, one had to transcend, rebuilding one’s very body from scratch. One had to achieve immortality.

Thus, though Hidoro was an entire realm higher, even he was able to be wounded by my blade when he misjudged its strength. He wrung his hand, annoyed, and finally held his sword towards me in a less careless stance.

He smiled, his eyes bearing a predatory stare.

“That is quite a nice stinger you have, insect. I appreciate you giving it to me like this.”

I chose not to respond to the barb, taking a step back to make some more space between us. Hidoro laughed at my motion. He was seeing right through my movement technique, able to discern precisely which direction I was taking.

With another flash of green miasma, Hidoro stood before me. His sword slashed out, and almost before I could react, it dug into my side. Only an instinctual dodge saved my life, turning the mortal wound into a deep gash to the side. It would likely need treatment, but would not hinder me too much in the fight for at least a few more minutes.

I tried to dodge back again, causing several gang members to sprint out of my way as I leapt up onto the table.

“So the insect knows how to hop? How cute!”

It seemed that Hidoro wished to recover from his embarrassment at the wound by mocking me further. In all honesty, I didn't mind the comparison to an insect. My very own water striding steps had been inspired by a glimpse the founder of the Downpour Sect had once taken of the movements of the beast which wandered the mud flats of my homeland. I had glimpsed it once myself. That great hunter had been an insect itself.

He kicked at the side of the table, and the great force emerging from his body caused it to topple. I was forced to tuck and roll on the ground. It took just a moment for me to roll back onto my feet, but I was met with the edge of his blade as I did so. I was forced to roll in an unsightly manner on the ground like a lame donkey to dodge his blade. He mocked me once more as I escaped him once again.

“I apologize. It seems that you were a dog, not an insect. I wouldn’t have imagined the famed Riverfiend to be so pathetic.”

As tough as fighting for my life against a spirit refiner was, the insults were the worst part. This was not, of course, because I couldn’t handle the blows to my pride, for I had always been the type to fight dirty. The issue was how his words might impact the gang’s opinion of me even if I managed to kill him.

It was clear to me that he was playing around, enjoying a drawn out conflict intended to humiliate me. This was the sole reason I remained alive. At the moment, I was honestly grateful for Hidoro’s casual cruelty.

I deflected his next strike, having to take a step back to avoid being bowled over.

Normally, a practitioner using genesis miasma would attack and defend in equal measure, using the force of their own attacks as well as those of their enemy. Given the vast difference in our ability however, Hidoro did not even bother to do so. He attacked with a flurry of sweeping blows, brushing off my attempts to defend and leaving a few more light wounds on me.

As the cascade of attacks continued, however, I realized that his swings were progressively less powerful, slower and easier to react to as time passed. I could see a bead of sweat form on his brow, his face appearing flushed, as if he had been drinking alcohol.

I smiled. Finally, the poison had begun to take effect.

“Tiring already?” I asked, taunting the other man.

He snarled as he charged me, still able to bat aside my sword, but not quite as forcefully.

“It’s a nice trick, coward. Poison arts?” He spat the words out at me, every syllable filled with intense vitriol.

Now it was my turn to laugh. A cruel smile graced my lips as our blades met once more. He was still far stronger, but my speed was starting to edge ahead of his own.

“What did you expect? You should have known I followed the unorthodox path. What was that you said before about hubris?”

I sneered at him as my second stance rained down upon him.

Previously, he would have been able to force my blows away with enough energy that I would have trouble transitioning the motion into another slash. Now, while he could still deflect each one with ease, I could see the tightening of his biceps and the sweat on his brow. He remained stronger than me, but the qualitative difference in our power was gone. I had a chance to win, and I would either succeed or die.

Hidoro gnashed his teeth, and I could see from the shifting of his miasma that he was actually compressing his genesis to receive its true power. He was finally taking me seriously.

I could feel the visceral sensation of my blood dripping out from my wounds, the sweat beading upon my brow, the heft of my blade in my hand as we slashed and parried one another in a dance of ceaseless motion. Experiences such as this one were, in truth, the only times that I really felt alive.

Hidoro took a rapid back-step, escaping from my ongoing barrage, panting. To the side, the more observant of the gang members was starting to realize that something was wrong, that he was no longer toying with me. He sneered at me, regaining his confidence now that he was able to recover his energy for a moment.

“Even with your cowardly tactics, I will slay you. I will tear up your corpse and cast it out of an airlock. Even Ceirra herself won’t wish to look upon you.”

I strode towards him, rapidly closing the distance between us once again. He cursed in a foul manner, his energies exploding towards me in a rush of force and motion.

Practitioners of each miasma fought in different ways, each one incomparably odd from certain perspectives. As genesis artists specialized in energy compression, fighting one felt sort of like kicking a rock around the street, if the rock were able to kick back. I continued pressing my advantage against Hidoro, using my advantage in speed to control the tempo of the fight. He would defend, parry, and deflect my attacks, storing and compressing his energy before he would all of a sudden explode back towards me in a rush which I had no choice but to dodge, for its power was such that I could certainly not defend against it physically.

He was being cautious, careful not to spend too much energy. While I myself also had a technique that granted me more strength and speed, the advantage of genesis practitioners was that they could utilize the attributes of their miasma to do so again and again, almost without drawbacks. What’s more, peerless talents such as Hidoro or that Hadal woman I had faced before were able to shift between their normal and strengthened movements in an instant. Meanwhile, I had to rely on the profound expressions of movement that allowed my actions to flow between one another and shift nature.

Personally, I preferred my own formless energies, even with the massive drawback that was the time limit threatening me. I trusted that the genius of the Downpour Sect’s Founder was superior to that of whoever Hidoro had obtained his arts from. Still, regardless of the quality of our martial arts themselves, I was at great risk of being killed by Hidoro’s blade.

I dodged his blade by a hair as it arced towards me once again. Weakened by the poison, I had noticed that he was no longer able to see through the intricacies of my movement technique. I slashed at him, my blade digging into his shoulder before being rebuffed as he strengthened himself once again.

He cursed, his swings beginning to grow wilder while his face became sweatier and more flushed. The poison was continuing to work its way through his system, and this was likely the weakest that he would get.

Given how slowly the poison had taken effect, I was concerned that he might have a constitution somewhat resistant to it. If so, I had no way of knowing when it might wear off. While I was doing well now, I had no chance against him at his full power, not if he took the fight seriously rather than playing around like before. It was best to end the fight here, even if I took some risk.

I dove into his range once again, shocking him with the action. He moved to take advantage of what must have seemed to be a slip, and I returned in kind. My blade aimed for the dantian in his heart, sliding under his arms. I ducked my head in an attempt to dampen the blow hurtling towards my face as I felt my sword dig deep into his flesh, piercing his heart.

There was a moment of jubilation as I felt my sword crush his vital organs, but that moment was brutally wrenched away by a pain so agonizing it compared to the sensation of wrenching one’s own soul in twain. Sanguine energies flooded my head and neck, emerging from a crack that Hidoro had torn in his final moments into my cerebral dantian.

Sanguine Energies and the Humanoid body: [When certain peoples such as martial artists are wounded sufficiently, sanguine miasma is sometimes detecting filling their body from the source of the wound. It often needs to be filtered out from the body's meridians, unless the practitioner is of a sanguine path. Sanguine paths themseves often involve training using this trait, heavily damaging the body in order to increase their ability to channel more miasma. This attribute is also considered the source of danger in practicing a sanguine path that led it to be denounced as unorthodox by Sunlit Hall, said to be under orders from the ascendant Ceirra herself. Korlove, non martial artist Seiyal and Jobu, are notably also capable of producing this sanguine miasma, but only when damaged by ablative miasmic energies. Despite being considered humanoid by some, Staiven and Telaretians do not bear such a trait. The nature of it is considered by many races one of the secrets of the world known only by the immortals and perhaps the Osine.]