With the rift seemingly wide open and in clear view, Victor took the lead and stepped into the rift; officially entering the domain of the worlds remaining true dragons. Once in the rift, victor noticed the massive towering stone gate that was said to be guarded by a dragon. Looking back, he awaited the entrance of his partners so they could either claim glory or meet their end. Though the latter wasn't actually an option for Doom himself.
As Victor ventured ahead, Karna followed suit, stepping into the Rift. His gaze was immediately drawn to the sight before him—the towering stone gate, an awe-inspiring testament to the ancient power it safeguarded. Now, they stood together, awaiting Magnus' arrival, ready to face the imminent challenge that lay ahead.
Bela arrives climbing the steep steps to the peak where the entrance to the Rift stood. She looked around to see if there any others seeking to challenge the beasts within, though there were no signs of life. She tried to walk forwards to join her master and his team in their quest but the entrance was closed. She found a nearby rock to sit down, casting back her hood to reveal her dark red skin and the horns that protruded from her skill.
"He couldn't wait for me to join him, he had to rush ahead to face lord knows what. If this place doesn't kill him, I might just do it myself!"
She spoke out loud, her frustration getting the better of her. She would simply have to wait and see what would unfold.
Bella felt the mind of her master falter as his body and his companions are ejected from the rift. Seeing the state that the trio were in, she walked over placing her hands on each of them, infusing them with Yang to heal the majority of their wounds. She started with her master then moved to Karna and then to Doom.
With his wounds healing, Magnus sat up turning to his companions.
"Well, it seems those orbs needed to be dealt with. But who in their right mind would ever walk into an orb of energy created by the enemy? Either way, 2 dragons slain. Thank you friends."
(Yoton: Taiyōnomegumi) - Yang Release: Touch of the Sun x3
Type: Supplementary
Rank: S-Rank
Range: Short
Chakra cost:70 per use
Damage points: N/A
Description: Through the infusion of Yang natured chakra into others, users can heal others to their original best physical form. It can be used to regrow missing body parts, heal wounds, purge poisons, etc. The target needs to be alive and the bigger the injury, the longer it takes to heal. The limits of the heal, however, are almost none as it can heal 150 damage per turn and can even heal the chakra system or other injuries that are otherwise not possible to be healed. The technique requires time and physical contact and as such isn't very suited to use in a battle when compared to regular Iryo Ninjutsu.
Note: Yang Release Specialists and Yin-Yang users are able to use on themselves.
Storyboard Elements
Contending with inner demons while ascending the mountain
The Ascent of Wei Wuxian - The first path: Doubt
The mountain’s base greeted Wei Wuxian with a deceptive gentleness. The trail here was broad and even, carved almost lovingly into the earth, lined with pines whose branches arched like a welcoming gate. Their needles glittered with dew in the morning light, each drop refracting the sun into shards of gold and silver. The air smelled sharp and resinous, carrying a clarity that seemed to promise renewal.
It was the kind of path where one could easily mistake the climb for a stroll. Birds sang among the branches, their voices bright, and the slope was not yet steep enough to tax his legs. It might have been a cultivated garden, a place of peace. Yet peace was far from his heart.
Wei Wuxian shifted the sword at his hip, the familiar weight both a comfort and a burden. The steel had been his constant companion, proof of his strength, the extension of his will. But it was also a ledger, every battle fought, every soul lost, every choice carved into history. With every step forward, the blade seemed heavier.
He told himself that this climb was a trial of body and spirit. Yet even before the true ascent began, shadows pressed on him. The mountain loomed overhead not just as stone but as a mirror, reflecting the darkest parts of his soul.
The forest closed in as he advanced. At first, the trunks stood apart, light streaming between them, but soon they grew closer, their branches weaving together like conspirators whispering secrets. The air cooled, thickening into a hushed gloom. Birdsong dwindled until only silence remained - silence, and something else.
A murmur.
At first faint, like wind teasing through needles. But as he listened, the sound grew clearer.
“Trickster.”
“Heretic.”
“Unworthy.”
Wei Wuxian froze. The words hung in the air, disembodied, yet all too familiar. They belonged to elders who had once dismissed him, to cultivators who had cursed his name, to brothers-in-arms who had turned away in suspicion. They belonged to people he had cared for, whose trust he had shattered, or who had shattered his in turn.
His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. Reflex told him to laugh, meet insult with charm, and parry judgment with careless bravado. And so he did: a chuckle, light as silk, the sound that had long served him as armour. But here it rang hollow, absorbed by the thick forest, bouncing back at him until it sounded almost mocking.
The whispers grew louder. More voices joined, layering upon one another until the air itself buzzed with accusation.
“Everything you touch ends in ruin.”
“You walked a crooked path and dragged others with you.”
“Your strength is only arrogance in disguise.”
The shadows lengthened across the trail. He pressed forward, yet the path seemed to circle endlessly, each turn leading only deeper into the thicket. The forest was not a place now but a presence, alive with scorn.
His breath grew shallow. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the chill. With every step, his feet felt heavier, as though the earth itself clung to his boots. It was not fatigue; he had endured far harsher climbs, but something else: the weight of his own memory.
Faces swam before him in the gloom. Friends who had laughed with him beneath lantern light, brothers-in-arms who had trusted his blade at their side. Faces that had turned, twisted by suspicion, eyes filled with accusation.
He had told himself for years that he could endure misunderstanding. That he needed no one’s approval to walk his path. That so long as he believed in his cause, he could stand alone against the world.
But here, in the whispering forest, those convictions wavered. Doubt seeped into his bones like cold rain.
What if they were right? The question lodged itself in his chest like a thorn. What if every step I have taken was only self-delusion? What if my strength is nothing more than the mask of a fool?
The whispers seemed to swell at the thought, feeding on it. Shadows coiled around his ankles like chains, tugging at him, urging him to stop. The trail itself blurred, was he climbing, or circling endlessly in place?
Wei Wuxian halted, chest heaving. His hand fell to his sword, fingers trembling at the hilt. His first instinct was to fight, to cut through the voices, to slash the shadows to ribbons. Yet even as the urge rose, another thought undercut it: what sword can cut doubt? How do you kill the echo of your own heart?
He closed his eyes. The darkness pressed harder, the whispers crowding close, yet he forced his breath into rhythm. In, out. In, out. The air filled his lungs, cool and sharp with pine, grounding him in the present. He focused on the thud of his heart, the warmth of his blood, the simple reality of being alive.
The voices wavered. Still there, still venomous, but less suffocating. He realised suddenly that they had no true power. They were not chains, not walls, only echoes, strengthened by the attention he gave them.
'If I cannot silence the noise' he thought, 'then I must learn to walk with it. Let it be the drumbeat of my steps, not their master.'
So he moved.
One step. The ground was solid beneath him.
Another. The shadows curled, but could not stop him.
A third. The whispers trailed behind, not gone, but diminished.
Step by step, he reclaimed the path.
The trees thinned. Shafts of light pierced the canopy, painting the mist in gold. The path widened into a small clearing where moss grew soft underfoot, and for the first time since entering the forest, Wei Wuxian felt space around him.
The whispers receded into memory, faint and distant. They had not vanished, he knew they never truly would, but they no longer strangled his heart. He drew a deep breath, chest expanding freely, and felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
He let his sword slip down to rest against his leg. Its weight was still there, but it was grounding rather than crushing. He bowed his head, and for the first time since beginning the climb, he allowed himself a genuine smile. Not the bright, careless grin he wore as a mask, but a smaller, truer curve of the lips.
The mountain had not erased his doubts. It had revealed them, demanded he face them. And in facing them, he had learned: doubt would always walk beside him. But it did not dictate his steps.
He turned his gaze upward. The trail ahead rose sharply, winding into rockier ground. A harsher test awaited. Yet he no longer feared the whispers. He had walked among them, heard their venom, and kept moving.
That was enough.
He straightened, adjusted his grip on the sword, and stepped once more onto the path. The clearing fell behind him, the forest’s voices fading into silence. Above, a hawk wheeled through the open sky, its cry piercing, free.
Storyboard Elements- Ascending the mountain
- Overcoming his wrath
The Ascent of Wei Wuxian - The Second Path: Anger
The forest of whispers faded behind him, and for a time Wei Wuxian thought the climb might ease. Yet the path ahead rose steep and merciless, carved into rock that jutted upward like broken spears. The pines gave way to bare stone, the ground fractured and uneven, and the wind cut sharp across his face as though the mountain itself meant to flay him.
His legs burned, his breath grew ragged, but these were familiar burdens. The true weight came from within. For as the shadows of doubt thinned, something else surfaced, darker and hotter: anger.
Not at others, not at whispers. But at himself.
Sparks of Frustration.
Each step dragged forth memories he had buried: the clash of blades, the cries of comrades, the iron stench of blood. He remembered the battles he had lost, not through cowardice, but through his own insufficiency.
There was the time his unit had been driven back, leaving allies surrounded. The image of their faces haunted him, eyes wide with desperation as he withdrew, knowing he could not reach them.
There was the duel he had trained for, only to be bested by an opponent he should have outmatched. The sting of that defeat still coiled in his chest, heavier than any scar.
And there were the countless moments of hesitation, when his choices had come a heartbeat too late.
Each memory struck like a hammer against iron, and anger flared at the anvil of his heart.
“I should have been stronger,” he growled under his breath, voice lost to the wind. “[Color=rgb(184,49,47)[i]I should have been faster. Better. Enough.[/i][/color]”
But he had not been. And others had paid the price.
The path bent sharply into a wide ledge, and the air thickened, heavy as smoke. The wind stilled. Silence deepened until he could hear the pound of his own heart.
Then the ground around him shifted.
Dust rose, but not of the mountain, of a battlefield. Illusions wrapped the world, vivid as memory. Shattered spears and broken blades jutted from the ground. Blood stained the soil, dark and congealed. Fallen soldiers lay scattered, their faces half-hidden in shadow but recognisable all the same: comrades, brothers-in-arms, men who had once followed his lead.
Wei Wuxian froze. His throat tightened. He knew this scene. He had replayed it in his mind too many times to count.
And there they were, phantoms of the fallen, rising one by one to face him.
“You left us,” one said, his voice low, hollow.
“You weren’t enough,” said another.
“You called yourself our blade, but when we needed you most, you broke.”
Their voices were calm, almost pitying, and that made them worse than accusations.
“No,” Wei Wuxian snapped, hand flying to his sword hilt. His anger surged, desperate to burn away the shame. “I fought until I bled! I gave everything I had!”
But the phantoms of ages past advanced, step by step, silent save for the weight of their stares.
His fury broke loose. With a cry, he drew his blade from its scabbard, the sound sharp as thunder. He swung at the nearest illusion, cutting through smoke and shadow, the shadow dispersed slightly, and almost seemed to scatter, yet the act brought no relief. Another phantom stepped forward to take its place, the same eyes, the same silent judgment.
He struck again. And again. Each swing split only mist, but his anger cared nothing for reason. Rage carried his arm, rage that he had been too slow, too weak, too lacking.
The battlefield dissolved with every blow, not the phantoms, but the mountain itself. Rocks split cleanly beneath his strikes, boulders sheared in two. However, the shadows, the illusions before him would not break, they encircled him as there voices resounded within Wei's mind, there was a brief pause before Wei channelled chakra into his sword, and finally slashed outwards across his body, spreading chakra around him and causing a large cyclone of expand outwards, the shadows swept away, the illusions were engulfed by the hurricane that spread outwards. Dust choked the air as stone crumbled and rolled down into the ravines. His fury scarred the land, his blade carving ruin into the very path he needed to ascend.
Type: Offensive
Rank: A
Range: Short - Mid
Chakra: 30
Damage: 60
Description: While focusing their chakra into their sword while still sheathed, the user performs a Battōjutsu strike. From this, the user unleashes a powerful shockwave that becomes a massive tornado surrounding their short range radius, repelling everything in the area.
Note: Can only be used by Samurai.
At last he paused, chest heaving, blade trembling in his grip. Around him lay devastation: shattered stone, gouged earth, the ledge cracked and dangerous beneath his feet. The illusions had gone, dissipated like smoke on the wind, but the damage remained.
Wei Wuxian dropped to one knee, panting, his free hand pressed against the fractured earth.
“What have I done?” he whispered. His voice was raw, hoarse from shouting.
He looked at his sword, at his shaking hands. His anger had not slain his failures; it had only deepened them. The mountain bore the scars of his fury, and so did he.
For a moment despair threatened to swallow him whole. The anger had not purged his pain, it had only revealed how deeply it still ruled him. He thought of all the lives lost, the victories that slipped away, the people who had trusted him only to be failed. He thought of how little his rage had changed any of it.
He hated himself for it. Hated his weakness, his shortcomings, his inability to be what was needed. The hate boiled in his gut like fire too large for its hearth.
But then, through the haze of fury and shame, another thought came, soft as a whisper.
'Fire destroys, but it also warms. It consumes, but it also protects. What if anger is not the enemy, but the weapon I have yet to wield correctly?'
This was the turning point
Wei Wuxian closed his eyes. His body trembled with exhaustion, his heart thundered, but he drew his breath slow and deep. The taste of dust lingered on his tongue, sharp and bitter, but he let it settle.
He remembered the times anger had sharpened him. The times fury at injustice had given him strength to stand when others faltered. The moments when rage had fuelled not destruction, but resilience.
He opened his eyes again. The battlefield was gone; the mountain remained. Scarred, broken in places, but still standing.
So was he.
He slid his sword back into its sheath. Its weight pressed against his hip, heavy, grounding. He laid his palm on the rough stone of the ledge and bowed his head.
“I was not enough,” he said aloud, the words bitter but honest. “And perhaps I never will be enough. But anger will not be my master. It will be my fire. My resolve.”
The wind rose again, carrying the dust away. The ledge cleared, and for the first time since entering this path, the sky opened above him. Clouds parted, sunlight spilling across the scarred earth, turning even the broken stones to gold.
Wei Wuxian rose. His anger did not vanish, he could feel it still, simmering like an ember in his chest, but it was no longer a wildfire devouring him. It was steady now, tempered, a heat he could draw on when the cold of despair threatened.
He turned his gaze upward, to the path that still stretched steeply into the heights. Fear awaited him there, he could sense it like a shadow at the summit.
But for now, he stepped forward, each motion deliberate, calm. His anger was not gone, but it no longer ruled him.
It burned within him, not to consume, but to carry him onward. The flames of resolve.
Storyboard ElementsAscending the mountain
Confronting Fear
The Ascent of Wei Wuxian - The Final Path: Fear
The path wound higher still, narrowing as it climbed into the clouds. The air grew thin, the wind sharper, until each breath was a struggle, each step a labour. Shadows pressed close despite the rising sun, and the silnce of the mountain deepened until Wei Wuxian felt he had stepped into another world entirely.
This was no longer the mountain of earth and stone. This was a mountain of the mind, his mind, and here he would face the trial that weighed heavier than doubt or anger: fear.
He knew it at once, for his chest tightened before he had taken three steps upon the path. His hands trembled, though the wind was no colder than before. His eyes darted to every crevice, every shifting shadow, as though some unseen threat lurked just beyond sight.
And perhaps it did.
Wei Wuxian swallowed, steadying his breath. 'If doubt questioned me, if anger consumed me, then fear will seek to break me.' He set his jaw, adjusted his grip on his sword, and pressed forward.
The first danger revealed itself at a sheer cliff where the path narrowed to nothing more than a ledge. Before him yawned a chasm so vast he could not see the bottom, only endless darkness swallowing the earth. A wooden bridge stretched across it, ancient and splintering, swaying with each gust of wind. Only one word came to Wei's head as he took in the sight before him. Abyss.
Fear clenched his gut at once. He had no fear of heights in life, but this was not mere height. This was the abyss, the fear of helplessness given form.
He stepped onto the bridge. The wood plank groaned beneath his weight, small pieces of rock fell from the cliffside crumbling and tumbling into the void. He fixed his gaze on the far side, refusing to look down. His breath came quick, shallow, and his hands slickened with sweat. An unusual feeling for him, yet this journey had been full of unique experiences.
Halfway across, the bridge shuddered. A fissure split beneath his feet with a jagged crack through the old and tired wood, and suddenly the wood collapsed.
Wei Wuxian leapt, boots slamming against the next intact section. Dust billowed, the gap widening behind him. The bridge was falling apart piece by piece, forcing him to sprint forward. Luckily this was not the usual wooden rope bridge, but a supposed sturdy bridge made out of wood, stone and rope. Thicker and stronger. Yet, time effects everything indiscriminantly. It flows on like a mighty stream, like an unending dream.
The void below beckoned with open arms. The fear of falling, of losing all control, threatened to seize him. But he gritted his teeth and pressed on, body moving with instinct born of years of training. Each leap landed just before another stone crumbled, each breath drawn in time with his racing heart.
At last, with a final desperate surge, his foot pressed into the stone and wood below him, his muscles contracted with great strength as the muscular filaments went into overdrive. He pressed off with explosive power and threw himself from the last section of bridge, landing hard upon solid ground. He rolled, dust rising around him, and came to his knees. Behind him, the bridge collapsed entirely, vanishing into the abyss.
He was breathing fast, chest aching, but he was alive. He had crossed the abyss. He had stared into helplessness, and he had leapt anyway.
The path continued, steeper now, until he reached a wide plateau enclosed by cliffs. Here the air turned heavy and electric, as though a storm brewed within stone.
The ground trembled. Then the cliffs cracked, splitting open to reveal glittering steel. Swords, spears, and arrows poured forth like a flood, cascading from the rock itself. An avalanche of weapons thundered down toward him, shrieking as they fell.
Wei Wuxian’s fear surged again. Not fear of falling this time, but of being overwhelmed. This was the fear that haunted every battle: that no matter how skilled, how swift, there would always be too many foes, too many blades, too much chaos. That he would be buried under the weight of numbers.
But fear or not, the weapons fell. He had no choice but to fight.
He drew his sword, its steel singing as it met the storm. He slashed a spear from the air, sidestepped an arrow, ducked beneath a crashing blade. The plateau shook with each impact, the ground cracking beneath the endless rain of steel. The sword shimmered, reflecting the rays of the sunlight as it intercepted the rain of weaponry.
His movements became a blur, instinct guiding each strike. He spun, deflected, cut, parried. every action a heartbeat from death. Yet the avalanche did not end. For every weapon he turned aside, three more descended.
Exhaustion clawed at his muscles, but he refused to yield. His mind screamed, 'You cannot win, you cannot stop them all, you will be buried!'
But another voice rose within him, quieter, steadier. 'You cannot stop them all. But you can endure. One breath. One strike. One step at a time.'
He grounded himself. His fear of defeat, of being swallowed by numbers, was a lie. He had survived before not by slaying all foes, but by refusing to fall.
So he fought on, not to conquer, but to last. His sword moved with calm precision now, not frantic fury. He sidestepped, redirected, flowed like water around the storm.
And slowly, impossibly, the storm waned. The weapons slowed, fewer and fewer until at last only silence remained. The cliffs sealed themselves, and the plateau lay littered with shattered steel.
Wei Wuxian stood at its centre, shoulders heaving, his blade nicked and dulled but unbroken. His heart still raced, but it beat steady. He had faced the fear of defeat, and he still stood. A trap of ancients passed, which had slain many, had been conquered on this day.
The path climbed again, jagged and narrow, until it reached a final ridge. There, the world darkened as clouds swallowed the sun, and a chill seeped through the air.
From the shadow of the rocks emerged a figure, not man, not beast, but both. Its form shifted like smoke, vast and looming, eyes glowing red as embers. Its body was a mass of claws and fangs, ever-changing, always monstrous.
Wei Wuxian’s breath caught. He knew at once what this was: death itself. The fear that lay beneath all others.
The beast roared, the sound rattling his bones, and it lunged.
Wei barely rolled aside, claws tearing into the earth where he had stood. He drew his sword from its sheath as he had done many times before, swiftly and graceful, and struck with his sword, but it passed through smoke. The beast re-formed behind him, jaws snapping shut inches from his face.
Terror surged. His body screamed to flee, to throw down his blade and run. But there was nowhere to run, not from death, not from fear.
So he fought.
He met the beast’s strikes with his own, dodging, weaving, striking where he could. Each blow passed through shadow, but he did not falter. Fear whispered, 'You cannot kill death. It will take you, as it takes all.'
But courage answered: 'If death comes, let it find me standing. If Buddha blocks, kill the buddha, if gods block, kill the gods.' this was a phrase Wei had grown up being told by the elders, and today he had glimpsed its meaning.
The battle raged across the ridge. Claws slashed, jaws snapped, sword rang against the impossible. Wei Wuxian’s arms ached, his legs shook, blood ran from shallow cuts, but still he stood. Still he fought.
At last, with a cry that shook the heavens, he drove his blade into the beast’s chest. For a heartbeat, it resisted, then shattered into smoke, dissolving into the air.
The ridge fell silent. The clouds parted.
Wei Wuxian dropped to one knee, gasping, his blade trembling in his grip. His fear still lingered, but it no longer ruled him. He had faced death, and though he could not conquer it, he had not yielded. Wei turned his head to look onwards.
The path rose only a little higher, and then, suddenly, it ended. Wei Wuxian climbed the last steps, his body aching, and emerged onto the peak.
The world opened around him. Clouds stretched below, a sea of white touched by sunlight. The sky above was vast, endless blue, the air so clear it felt like crystal. Mountains rolled away into the distance, their peaks gilded by dawn.
Here, there was no wind, no weight, no fear. Only stillness.
Wei Wuxian stood at the summit, his chest rising and falling, and for the first time in what felt like years, his mind was utterly quiet.
Doubt had been silenced. Anger had been tempered. Fear had been faced.
What remained was clarity. He sheathed his sword. Closed his eyes. Breathed deep. And in that breath, he was free.
Storyboard elementsBuilding a temple mansion - Foundation Clearing
Clearing the Foundation!
The peak where Wei Wuxian now stood had become his sanctuary. After the arduous climb and the storms of his own mind, he had reached clarity and silence. Yet clarity was not the end. It was only the beginning. A man cannot dwell forever in stillness. Even the quietest mountain is reshaped by time, and so too must he take the next step in shaping his path.
Looking out from the summit, he saw the plateau just below the peak, a flat shelf of land surrounded by pines and stone, kissed by morning sunlight. It seemed a place waiting to be claimed. He felt it at once: here was where his temple should stand. A hall not only of shelter, but of balance.
But the ground was far from ready. Boulders sat strewn across the plateau, jagged and immovable. Old trees twisted with gnarled roots clung stubbornly to the soil. Brush and wild grass tangled across every corner. The place was not yet a sanctuary; it was chaos.
Wei Wuxian exhaled, rolling his shoulders.
“Very well,” he murmured to the quiet air. “Then let us begin with earth and stone.”
His sword was not only for battle. Drawing it now, he moved with a measured rhythm, slicing through brush and tall grass. Each stroke was clean, precise, and the ground slowly opened beneath his feet. The work was not glorious, nor swift, but it was steady. And as he worked, he realised something: his heart was steady too. Where once his sword had been driven by rage or desperation, now it flowed with calm purpose. Cutting down brambles became a meditation, each arc of the blade a reminder that cultivation was not only fought against enemies, but also against disorder. This simple routine had turned into a light training routine, moving from sword form to sword form as he cleared away the obstacles.
Hours passed. Sweat rolled down his brow, soaking his robes. The brush was gone by the time the sun reached its zenith, leaving bare soil and stone. The trees, however, did not yield so easily. Their trunks were thick, their roots sunk deep into the plateau. They had stood for decades, perhaps centuries.
Wei Wuxian approached the first tree and rested a hand against its bark. “You have stood long,” he said softly, as though speaking to an elder. “But this place must change. I will move you with respect.”
He planted his feet firmly, curling his toes as if to grip the ground below him, gripped his sword tight, and struck at the roots in one swift motion. Wood splintered under steel, soil scattering with each blow. Yet the roots clung fiercely, refusing to release their grip on the earth. Wei could have made this easier using chakra but of course, it didn't feel right to do so, and this would be good training and practice for him.
A few days back frustration would threaten to rise, old anger, old impatience. But he remembered the mountain. Anger was no longer his master. He breathed, steadying his strikes, and with patience carved deeper until, with a final heave, the trunk groaned and toppled, the tree struck the earth with a boom, the roots of the trees alone were the size of a large mans torso, the falling of the tree caused a mighty boom. It crashed onto the earth with a thunderous echo, scattering birds into the sky. Wei Wuxian straightened, panting, then smiled faintly. One tree down. Many more to go.
By evening, his arms trembled with exhaustion. A dozen trees lay fallen, their roots dragged free, their trunks stacked neatly. His back ached, his hands blistered, but his spirit was light. As the sun set, painting the sky in crimson, he gazed at the cleared section of land and saw the first outline of what might be a foundation.
The next morning, the true test began.
If trees were stubborn, the boulders were immovable. Jagged slabs of granite, some taller than a man, littered the plateau. Some were half-buried, others fused into the soil. Wei Wuxian stood before the largest of them, a massive grey block, and pressed a palm to its cold surface. It did not shift in the slightest.
This was no task for his sword. It required strength, persistence, and wit.
Of course, with chakra, it wouldn't be a problem, but that was not the point of Wei's practice and training. Relying more on his physical body and its capabilities would improve his own foundation, much like he was trying to create a foundation for his temple mansion.
He wedged a fallen trunk beneath the stone, fashioning a crude lever. He pushed down with all his weight, muscles straining, veins standing out along his arms. The boulder groaned, shifted slightly, then slammed back into place. Again. Again. Sweat poured down his face, his breath ragged. But he would not yield. He had faced death upon the mountain; stone would not defeat him. Finally, with one last roar, he gripped tightly and he drove his weight into the lever. The boulder tilted, rolled, and tumbled aside, crashing down the slope with a thunderous boom.
Wei Wuxian dropped to one knee, gasping, his arms burning with fire. But a smile tugged at his lips. The stone had moved.
One by one, he repeated the process. Some stones yielded quickly, others fought him for hours. His body ached, his robes were torn, but the plateau slowly cleared. Where once chaos had reigned, now the ground stretched wide and open.
On the third night, as he rested beneath the stars, a storm rolled across the mountains. Thunder cracked, wind howled, and rain lashed against the earth. The soil he had cleared turned to mud, trenches forming where water carved channels into the plateau.
Wei Wuxian rose at once, rushing into the storm. He dug with his hands, carving drainage paths, redirecting water away from the cleared ground. Lightning flashed above him, rain blinded him, yet he pressed on.
Fear whispered in his chest, 'all your labour will be undone, the storm will wash it all away.'
But he shook his head. “No. This foundation is mine to protect.” Wei resolved himself shaking away the negative thoughts that once plagued him regularly.
Through the night he worked, soaked to the bone, until at last the storm passed. Dawn broke to reveal the plateau intact, the soil damp but firm, the ground unbroken. Wei Wuxian collapsed into the mud, laughing breathlessly. Even the storm could not take what he had begun.
When, at last, the ground lay bare, roots pulled, boulders shifted, and brush was cut, Wei Wuxian stood in the centre of the plateau and closed his eyes. Silence reigned, broken only by the whisper of wind through the pines.
Here, upon this cleared ground, he felt not just the readiness of earth, but the readiness of spirit. In making space for a temple, he had made space within himself. The clutter of anger, the weight of doubt, the suffocating grip of fear, all had been moved, cut, and carried away like brush and stone.
The plateau was not yet a home, but it was prepared. The foundation was laid, not in stone, but in determination.
He gazed upward at the endless, blue, and unbroken sky and whispered, “This place will be more than a hall of wood and tile. It will be a reflection of the heart.”
With that, Wei Wuxian sheathed his sword, gathered the fallen trunks for future use, which took great effort alone, and descended briefly to the forest’s edge, ready for the next task to collect and gather what was needed to build.
The plateau awaited, quiet and ready. So too did he.
Storyboard ElementsBuilding a Temple Mansion - Acquiring Resources
Gathering the Sacred Materials
The foundation was clear. Stones had been dragged away, roots torn out, and the earth beaten flat beneath Wei Wuxian’s hands. The mountain clearing now yawned open like a waiting canvas, silent and expectant. But no structure could rise without its bones: cedar for beams, stone for walls, iron for the nails that would hold everything together.
Supplies.
The word seemed simple, yet Wei Wuxian knew what it meant in truth, journeys into wilderness, danger, and toil. The temple mansion he dreamed of could not be conjured from air; it would demand sweat, strength, and sacrifice.
As dawn brushed the sky with pale fire and a glow that seemed otherworldly, he set out with his sword across his back and rope coiled at his side, a man ready to wrestle with both the mountain and himself.
His first destination lay eastward, where the forest of crimson pines spread like a sea of pillars. These ancient trees were prized for their strength and resin, said to ward away restless spirits. Wei Wuxian would need several beams, enough to span the temple’s width.
When he entered, the forest was hushed, its canopy glowing red beneath the rising sun. He paused, breathing in the heavy scent of sap, before pressing deeper among the trunks. That was when he heard the snapping of twigs and branches, soon followed by deep growls.
Wolves emerged from the shadows. Their figures were large, coming to stand about 5 feet tall and 6 feet long, their lean bodies bristling, their eyes fixed on him with the hunger of predators long unchallenged. For a heartbeat, Wei Wuxian considered detouring, not wanting to hurt the wildlife too much around these parts, but no. He could not afford to skirt danger every time it stood in his way, and the wolves had gone unchallenged long enough. This would make them think twice in the future.
With a calm precision, he loosened his sword.
The pack closed in. The first wolf lunged, teeth snapping for his arm. Wei Wuxian sidestepped with an effortless grace that transcended most, blade flashing in an arc of silver, moving across his body from left to right. The wolf fell with a yelp and blood sprayed out. The top half of the wolfs jaw and head now lay separated from its lower half. This was the catalyst, as if in response, the following wolves howled and surged forward, the clearing now filled with violence. Wei Wuxian's blade danced between trunks, striking, parrying, glinting in stray shafts of sunlight. His breath controlled, his muscles relaxed, and he moved with great control and precision.
When the last wolf limped away into the undergrowth, silence returned, thicker than before. Wei seemed it not necessary to kill the entire pack, merely injuring them with the flat of his blade would cause them to require time to heal and it would serve as a warning in the future. This way, It would also keep the ecological balance of the place.
Wei Wuxian turned away from his scene of battle and faced the large forest in its entirety, he lowered his blade and bowed toward the forest. “Forgive me. Your strength will not be wasted. You will live again as beams that hold a place of peace and teaching.”
Only then did he take out his axe and select the trees. His sword was not meant for the job; as effortless as it would be, it would be a disgrace to his blade. Each strike echoed like a drumbeat, purposeful and heavy. By dusk, logs lay bound together in rope, their fragrant resin clinging to his clothes. His hands blistered, his body aching slightly, but the pines’ strength was his now. He joined many of them together, utilising the ample amount of rope he had. He spent the next few hours trailing the large logs back towards the foundation until each log was neatly placed in a place for ease of use. By the time Wei had finished it was already dark, and the thunder and lightning above threatened cascade downwards. Still, it did not rain thankfully, Wei was able to get a good nights sleep this time.
Upon the rising dawn of the next day. Wei's next task led him down the mountain’s flank to a quarry of white stone once alive with hammers and chisels. Now, however, black smoke curled from its depths, and harsh laughter carried on the wind.
Wei Wuxian descended and saw it: a bandit stronghold. No doubt a place where rogue ninja and possibly ronin mixed in with regular brutes. Rough tents sprawled across the quarry floor, and enslaved villagers laboured under guard, chiselling stone blocks at spear-point. Where there should have been honest sweat, there was cruelty.
His jaw tightened. His right hand clenched into a fist while his left gripped his sword hilt ever tighter. He stepped forward. “Release them. This quarry belongs to no thief.”
Wei Wuxian's voice echoed through the quarry canyon, attracting the attention of the villagers below and the bandits that watched over them. The bandits' eyes narrowed, and they jeered, some rushing at him with blades raised. Steel met steel, however, as Wei blocked an incoming axe strike by half-drawing his blade. Wei's right knee rose with terrifying speed, and his leg snapped outwards, performing a front kick, knocking the axe-holding bandit backwards, while Wei re-sheathed his sword fully once again. This set off a chain of events. The bandits roared in anger as they abandoned their posts to come rushing at Wei. Right now, Wei did not appear to be too worried. While brutish, none of these bandits held what he would call refined skill. they relied on pure muscle, little chakra knowledge, and their numbers.
The quarry echoed with the clang of battle. Dust and sparks filled the air as Wei Wuxian moved among them like a phantom, swift and precise. His blade struck mercilessly as limbs were severed and bones were broken. The ground soon ran red as the bodies of bandits began to fall. He had spared some, merely crippling or knocking them out with his blade instead. Those bandits now lay upon the floor in agony, grieving the loss of their limbs, crippled forever. Only the divine art of Yang could truly help them now, but only the pinnacle of ninja and samurai could use that. Even Wei had no such skill just yet. Soon, his thoughts returned to reality as their leader emerged from one of the quarry caverns, a brute carrying a hammer meant to shatter boulders, which he dragged along the ground behind himself as he approached Wei. There was little exchange in vocal communication as the Bandit Chief's first swing cracked the earth where Wei Wuxian had stood. The shock rattled through the ground below, leaving a small but impressive crater. Wei's eyes widened, yet his heart and breathing remained focused and calm. That one blow was proof enough that the person before him was a Jounin-level rogue ninja. The hammer's swift movement was evidence that he seemed to excel in Bukijutsu, specifically hammer techniques.
Wei focused himself, his nerves taut, knowing that this particular battle would not be as easy as the previous bandits. His senses rose to a peak. Then, as if to set everything off, like a gunshot, the two's silhouettes seemed to flicker; upon blinking, a terrifying clang rang throughout the quarry where hammer head met against sword. The hammer head was heavy, and it was a surprise that the sword's blade was still intact. Luckily, Wei Wuxian's blade was well-made; he had also reinforced it with chakra, allowing its form to hold. Wei Wuxian jumped backwards, pulling his sword back in tandem, quickly sheathing it once again. Wei landed on the ground a small distance from the bandit chief, already in a sword-drawing stance. The Bandit Chief looked to charge his blade with a type of earth chakra, dashing in once again to slam it upon Wei's head. Wei, did not move. The villagers looked on in shock and fear, yet Wei stood firm. As the hammer was in mid motion, swinging down towards him, with a speed that exceeded before. Wei demonstrated his signature skill. Sword-drawing. Iaido and Battojutsu. Wei's hand moved seamlessly, pulling forth his blade now brimming with chakra, allowing it to glide effortlessly out of its sheath, like a flash, Wei's sword left its sheath and cut through the wood of the large sledgehammer-like weapon. The sudden change in weight for the Bandit Chief was staggering; his hands sped up and completely missed Wei Wuxian, while the hammer head flew off slightly further away. Upon hitting the ground, a large crater was created, following a large boom-like sound. At this point, Wei's eyes widened, realising that the hammer heads weight had been drastically increased. A jutsu he had, in fact, seen before. Still, he had no time to stay surprised; his opponent had already drawn the second hammer upon his back.
The duel rang across the quarry as time passed, hammer against sword, power against precision. Sparks burst like fireflies with each clash. Finally, with a deft strike, Wei Wuxian knocked the final hammer aside and drove his sword through the man, bringing him to his knees. The bandits that could still move broke, scattering into the wilds.
The quarry was silent once more, but not empty. Villagers, freed from their chains, stepped forward, gratitude shining in their weary eyes.
“This stone,” Wei Wuxian told them, “will build peace, not prisons.”
Together, they cut slabs of stone and loaded them onto carts abandoned by the bandits. With ropes slung over their shoulders, they hauled the blocks up the path, every step a reclaiming of what had been stolen, helping Wei Wuxian bring these materials back to the foundation he had cleared for his Temple Mansion. It would be a place of training, reflection, and enlightenment.
The sun was sinking low when they reached the nearby village. Smoke curled from hearths, and children peered shyly from doorways. News of the quarry’s liberation had flown faster than Wei Wuxian’s steps. When he entered the smithy, the blacksmith did not glare with suspicion as strangers often received. Instead, he looked up from his forge and nodded, his weathered face breaking into a smile. “You are the one who drove the bandits from the quarry,” he said. “We owe you a debt.”
Wei Wuxian bowed. “I need nails. Strong enough to bind timber to stone.” The smith grunted, then disappeared into the back. He returned with bundles of iron nails, their heads gleaming from the fire. “Take them. No coin needed. The stone you freed will build houses again, not serve as plunder.”
Wei Wuxian accepted them with both hands. “Then these nails will build more than a temple; they will build remembrance of your strength.”
The villagers offered food and water, insisting he rest, but Wei Wuxian only stayed long enough to bow his thanks and ensure the enslaved villagers returned safely. The supplies had to be returned before the mountain’s storms claimed the roads.
By dawn the next day, Wei Wuxian was back at the foundation clearing. Around him lay cedar logs stacked in neat rows, stone blocks cut and ready, and iron nails gleaming in bundles. He stood in the centre, breathing in the cool air, his muscles aching but his heart steady.
These were not just materials. Each carried a weight: the pines earned through hardship, the stone through courage, the nails through honour. Together they were more than wood and rock, they were proof that labour, pain, and struggle could shape something enduring.
As the wind swept across the mountain and rustled through the cedar, Wei Wuxian smiled faintly. The temple’s bones were here, waiting to be raised. The mountain had given its gifts. Now it was time to build.
Storyboard ElementsBuilding a temple mansion - Building the outer walls and frame
Building a temple mansion - Harmony in Simplicity
The morning air was crisp as the sun crept over the mountain’s edge, washing the clearing in soft gold. Dew still clung to the grass, and a fine mist drifted lazily through the valley below. Wei Wuxian stood barefoot upon the newly laid foundation of his future home, eyes closed, his breath steady. The hard work of clearing the land and securing the materials had been done; what now remained was to bring structure, to shape the formless into something enduring.
This stage was not about conquest or conflict. It was about balance. About simplicity.
Wei Wuxian inhaled deeply, the scent of fresh timber mingling with the distant fragrance of pine and stone. Around him were neatly arranged piles of bamboo poles, wooden beams, and slates of smooth, white stone and grey tile brought up from the quarry below. His hands brushed one of the beams, feeling the rough grain beneath his calloused fingers.
He smiled faintly. “Even the mightiest temple begins with a single frame.”
He began with the outer pillars, the bones of the structure. Eight in total, each representing the guiding principles he had learned in life: discipline, humility, courage, compassion, patience, honesty, diligence, and peace.
The first challenge came with the terrain. The ground, though mostly levelled, dipped slightly towards the western edge where the slope began its descent. If he placed the beams carelessly, the weight of the roof would eventually tilt the structure, leading to collapse. This could not be allowed to happen. This was meant to be something enduring, a place for people to come and go, to gain enlightenment, and to find peace. It must be capable of weathering hail and storm, and it must stand through the ages to come. Wei's resolve burned within his eyes.
Wei Wuxian crouched, pressing his palm flat to the cool soil. His eyes studied the incline. “Force cannot correct imbalance,” he murmured, recalling the words of his late master. “Only understanding can.”
He took up a flat stone and began sketching a rough design in the dirt, a method to counter the slope by embedding the western supports deeper into the ground. He measured the distance between each with a length of hemp rope, careful to maintain symmetry. Sweat gathered along his temples as the morning grew warmer, but he worked with patience rather than haste. When the first beam stood, secured firmly in its socket of stone and clay, he stepped back. The sight was unremarkable, just a single pillar against the sky, but to Wei Wuxian, it was the beginning of harmony. The first pillar was the foundation, the beginning of what was to come.
Each pillar thereafter rose slowly, measured by hand and eye. He moved with deliberate rhythm, dig, measure, align, brace. The sounds of his labour echoed softly across the clearing: the dull thud of the mallet, the whisper and whine of rope tightening, and the steady creak of wood settling and finding its place.
When the eighth pillar was set, he stood at the centre, wiping the sweat from his brow. A soft wind brushed past, stirring his robes. The skeletal outline of the house stood around him, open to the elements, but this would not be the end. The Skeletal foundational structure was set. The work to follow would be akin to adding the tendons and muscle to that frame. Strengthening it.
Building the roof would be more complicated. Each tile needed careful placement to ensure it would bear the weight of snow and wind without shifting. He climbed the temporary scaffolding he had erected, a web of bamboo and twine, and balanced himself carefully at the top. His visage atop the strong beams that stood would make many pause. The world stretched around him in, vast and serene, rolling mist in the valley, birds tracing silent arcs through the air, the faint glint of the quarry stones far below.
As he laid the first tile, he found his thoughts wandering. The climb up the mountain, the rage he had once fought against, the regrets that had clawed at his heart, all of it seemed distant now. But not forgotten.
He pressed the tile firmly into its groove and whispered, “Every piece laid right becomes a memory restored.”
Hours passed as he worked. The roof took form, a simple design, elegant in proportion. When one section dipped too low, he didn’t force it. Instead, he removed two tiles, shifted the support beam slightly, and tried again. Patience over power. Midway through, the wind rose suddenly, whipping his hair and robes. One of the unsecured beams below shuddered. Wei Wuxian gritted his teeth and braced his weight against the frame to steady it. The sudden powerful gust nearly threw him off balance.
For a moment, he considered binding the roof tighter with rope or hammering in iron fastenings. But then he stopped. That was not the way of harmony. Metal would only disrupt the natural flow between the wood and stone, and he only had so many iron nails to make use of. He instead fetched a roll of dried vine he had gathered earlier and braided it by hand. The texture was rough, but flexible. He used it to bind the cross beams together, allowing the structure to move slightly with the wind rather than against it. The creaking lessened, the tension eased.
He smiled faintly. “To yield is not to fall.”
By late afternoon, the frame and roof were set. Wei Wuxian descended from the scaffolding and stretched his arms, feeling the slight ache of hard work seep through his muscles. But his day was far from over. He turned his attention to the outer wall, a low, circular boundary made of stone and clay, meant not to guard but to define the home’s space. He walked the perimeter slowly, mapping the curve in his mind. The wall would not be uniform; instead, it would follow the natural lines of the land, embracing the terrain as it was rather than reshaping it. He believed that beauty arose from cooperation with nature, not its domination.
He mixed the clay by hand, kneading it together with straw for strength, and began stacking the stones. The white slabs of stone were large, impossible for the common man to lift alone, yet each piece was placed with quiet care by Wei Wuxian, whose strength exceeded the realm of normality. The rhythm of his work mirrored meditation, the scrape of rock, the slap of wet clay, the soft crunch as it settled. As he worked, a pair of mountain hares emerged from the brush, watching curiously. Wei Wuxian chuckled softly and set aside a few grains of rice for them. The animals edged closer, nibbling fearlessly.
It was in that moment, kneeling in the dirt, his hands caked with earth, surrounded by the living silence of the mountain, that Wei Wuxian felt an unexpected warmth bloom in his chest.
“This must be peace,” he whispered. “Not found in glory or battle, but in building something with your own hands.”
By the time the sun began its descent, the wall was complete, a simple ring of stone and clay enclosing the foundation and structure, marking the space as his own. It was unadorned, yet dignified. The way of Wuxia itself, strength in grace, mastery through simplicity.
Wei Wuxian stood outside the newly framed structure, gazing at it in silence as dusk painted the world in hues of amber and rose. The shadows of the beams stretched long across the ground, forming the pattern of the Bagua, the eight trigrams of balance and harmony. If one didn't know of this place they might mistake it for a Hyuuga's abode, however the principles of the eight trigrams belonged to everyone.
He hadn’t planned it that way. But perhaps the world had.
He fetched a small lantern from his pack and lit it, placing it within the centre of the frame. The golden glow spilled outward, illuminating the beams and the completed walls. It looked almost alive now, breathing softly in the mountain air.
He exhaled slowly, the tension of the day melting away. Every ache in his limbs was a testament to the work done, to the choices made with thought rather than force.
As the stars began to pierce the twilight sky, he sat upon a smooth rock near the edge of the clearing and gazed upward.
In the quiet, he spoke to himself, to the mountain, and to the ghosts of his past all at once.
“I have fought battles with sword and spirit. But this…” He gestured toward the humble structure. “…This is the first thing I’ve built to last.”
The wind carried the scent of pine and earth through the clearing. The lantern flickered, its flame dancing like a heartbeat.
Wei Wuxian smiled, his eyes calm.
The outer build was done. And though much remained, inner-walls to be built, rooms to be shaped, gardens to be grown, he felt, for the first time in a long while, at home.
Storyboard ElementsBuilding a temple mansion - Furnishing and Artistry
Art within stillness
The morning mist lingered low over the mountainside, soft and translucent like the breath of the heavens. The outer structure of Wei Wuxian’s new home stood silent in the dawn light, its wooden frame darkened slightly by dew, its stone wall faintly glistening. From a distance, it appeared modest, simple even, but as Wei approached, the quiet majesty of its symmetry revealed itself.
Today, the mountain was calm. The air did not stir, the trees barely whispered. Today was a day for creation, not endurance.
Wei Wuxian entered through the unfinished threshold, brushing his fingers lightly against the beams, feeling the damn and rough exterior. The scent of wood filled his lungs, cedar, pine, and bamboo resin. This was no longer a battlefield or a trial of survival; this was meditation made manifest through motion.
He closed his eyes for a moment and pictured what he wanted. The interior would not be ornate or grand; rather, it would embody clarity, an expression of harmony between form and function. It would be a sanctuary for the spirit.
Wei began by measuring out the inner chambers. Using a length of silk cord tied to a polished bamboo rod, he traced the boundaries of the rooms directly upon the wooden floorboards. The main hall would rest at the centre, an open space for meditation and rest. On the left, a smaller chamber would serve as a study; on the right, a simple sleeping room.
He knelt and inspected the foundation where the partitions would rise. The floor was uneven in some places, a result of natural rock beneath. Rather than forcing a flat line, he adapted the design to flow around the subtle ridges. “A wall should divide, yet not restrict,” he murmured, repeating one of the proverbs of his master.
He began to build.
The wooden frames were slender yet strong, carved from cedar. Each beam was joined using mortise and tenon, no nails, no iron, only precision and patience. Wei’s hands moved deliberately, testing every angle before securing it.
His robes brushed lightly against the planks as he worked, the fabric catching the pale morning light. Each stroke of the chisel, each tightening of the joint echoed softly, rhythmic and measured.
When one panel refused to sit properly, Wei did not curse or strike harder. Instead, he took a step back and observed it from several angles. His brows furrowed briefly, then relaxed as he realised the grain of the wood had slightly warped from the morning’s moisture. He smiled faintly. “So the mountain reminds me that even stillness shifts with time.”
He adjusted the frame, trimming only what was necessary, until the beam slid into place with a quiet click. The sound was deeply satisfying, like the final note of a melody resolving into peace.
By midday, the inner walls stood. They were not heavy or oppressive; thin slats of wood alternated with pale stone panels, allowing light to pass gently through. The structure breathed, alive and balanced.
After a short rest, Wei Wuxian gathered his carving tools: a small set of knives and chisels wrapped in cloth, each blade polished to gleaming sharpness. He sat cross-legged before one of the main support beams. The grain of the wood curved beautifully, like flowing water frozen in time. For a long moment, he did nothing but look.
He thought of the mountain, the storms, the struggles, the stillness that followed. He thought of the lessons learned: patience over pride, grace over rage, understanding over control. These, he decided, were what his carvings would represent.
His first stroke was gentle, tracing the natural flow of the wood rather than cutting against it. He began with simple patterns: swirling waves, the image of flowing clouds, and curling tendrils of wind. The motions of his hands were slow but sure, each movement guided by both precision and intuition. Wei was quite adept at using these carving tools, the years of dexterity gained from rigorous practice with the sword.
As the carvings deepened, the designs grew more intricate. Between the waves, he etched the faint outlines of cranes in flight, symbols of peace and transcendence. On the upper beam, he carved a phoenix rising from stylised flames, wings spread in eternal motion.
His breath synchronised with his strokes. Inhale, press, exhale, release. The act of carving became meditation.
Occasionally, when he stopped to stretch, he would step back and observe the emerging scene. The patterns were subtle, but alive. When sunlight filtered through the open roof and struck the wood, the carvings seemed to shimmer faintly, as if the wind itself moved within the grain.
He smiled softly to himself. “Beauty need not shout. Even silence has its voice.”
By afternoon, the interior beams of the main hall were covered in flowing motifs. Each design led naturally into the next, like verses of poetry connected by breath. Wei stood still admiring the work which took his focus. He had placed the same amount of dedication, seriousness, and care into each carving much like he would his own swordsmanship. The act of creation had quieted his mind entirely. No thought of failure, no echoes of anger, only the motion of blade and breath, and the whisper of the mountain air around him.
Next came the white stone. Smooth and luminous, it had been the quarry where the sun hit the cliffs in the late morning, making them gleam. Wei Wuxian had selected only the stones that felt balanced in the hand—neither too heavy nor too brittle.
He began to arrange them into the inner partitions and the floor borders. Each piece was fitted like a puzzle, their shapes complementing rather than competing. No cement, no mortar, only the careful interlocking of natural form. For decoration, he polished select stones to a soft sheen, engraving faint lines of calligraphy upon them. The inscriptions were short verses, drawn from the Taoist texts he had studied long ago:
“To be soft is to endure. To endure is to be strong.”
“When the mind is clear, the path is simple.”
“Harmony exists where nothing strives to dominate.”
He traced the words with his fingertips as he worked, letting their meaning settle into him anew.
At one point, as the sun shifted and a shaft of golden light fell across the hall, the engraved characters caught the light and reflected it faintly upon the opposite wall. It looked almost as if the words themselves were floating in the air, woven into the house’s spirit.
Wei Wuxian chuckled softly. “The mountain approves, perhaps.”
He continued through the day, polishing and setting stone after stone, until the entire inner ring was complete. The interplay between wood and stone created a rhythm, a visual harmony that mirrored the balance within him. His ideals were becoming reality, his efforts being rewarded.
By the time evening came, the house glowed with soft amber light. The beams, rich with carvings, cast delicate shadows across the white stone walls. The air smelled faintly of cedar and freshly worked earth. Wei Wuxian moved through the rooms silently, brushing his hands along the surfaces as if greeting each one. He hung no banners, no paintings, only simple wind chimes made from thin slivers of jade and bamboo, which he tied above each doorway.
When the mountain wind passed through, the chimes sang softly, a melody of serenity and life.
Finally, he prepared a pot of tea and sat upon the floor of the central hall. The floorboards were smooth and cool beneath him. As steam rose from the cup, he gazed at the carvings illuminated by the flickering lantern light. Each detail held meaning. The flowing clouds along the beam above his head reminded him of impermanence. The cranes upon the eastern support spoke of freedom. The phoenix upon the central post, of rebirth.
This was no longer just a house. It was a reflection of his spirit, captured in form.
He drank the tea slowly, its warmth seeping into his bones. Outside, the wind had begun to whisper again through the trees, carrying the scent of night blossoms. Somewhere distant, an owl called softly.
Wei Wuxian smiled faintly and spoke into the quiet.
“Anger fades, regret passes, but the will to create endures. What I’ve built today is not just shelter, it is a mirror. A reminder that even scarred hands can craft peace.”
He placed the empty cup beside him, lay back upon the polished floor, and stared upward at the intricate carvings above. The lantern light flickered across the phoenix’s wings, making them seem to move gently, as though alive.
The rhythm of his breath matched the rhythm of the chimes, the pulse of the world in tune with his own.
And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Wei Wuxian felt not the weight of the mountain, but its quiet embrace.
How long had it been since he awoke from that hell. What could men do against such destructive power. His chakra in itself was removed. What kind of creature had that power? What if that escaped? He and his team stood no chance. He needed allies and he needed them fast. What were the greatest powers right now? Probably the gods, but why trust them. They are the reason these hells exist.
There was the monks, but there had been no activity from them to stop the darkness.
There was humanity's last stand, Freehold. But, they seemed to be barely holding on.
He'd have to find better options. He knew just where to look.
The First Meditation in the Temple Mansion
In the early hours of the morning, dawns first light had graced the temple mansion in a glow of golden rays. Within its confines sat a long haired young man, incense had been lit letting off wisps of fragrant smoke into the temple hall. The young man named Wei Wuxian sat crossed legged, eyes closed, and his hands resting firmly on his lap, one cupping the other as both palms faced the sky. Wei took a deep breath, his chest elevated, his nostrils flared, and the incense fragrant aroma entered unimpeded. The meditation had begun.
The first cycle had begun, Wei breathed deeply filling his lungs completely. There was a slight pause has his lungs reached their apex, before he slowly breathed out in a controlled and relaxed manner. While this action might not seem complex nor anything special. True meditation was about circulating ones energy in tangent with the breath. As Wei Wuxian inhaled, his chakra did not remain still. It flowed along with him, following the path of his chakra circulatory system. A full breath inwards meant the chakra having reached half way round his circulation system, a full exhalation meant his chakra had completed one full rotation. This controlled and measured practice held many benefits, and was something taught to Wei Wuxian from a young age. This kind of meditation was beneficial in allowing one to smoothly and naturally galvanize ones chakra. The ninja of today seemed to all do this as well whether they knew it consciously or not, which Wei had always found amusing. It seemed to be a key part in becoming a ninja. Not that he was one. He had never ventured into the ninja arts, he had no desire too. For now he would continue with the sword.
Wei had already begun his 9th rotation, the speed at which his chakra moved had shown slight improvement. It was a rarity for someone of his level to make quick progress at this point. Each improvement would come with steady and measured practice, and cultivation. Unless he made a breakthrough in skill or acquired or created new techniques, his progress would continue to be painfully slow, as was the life of a cultivator.
The chakra steadily made its way through his meridians each cycle, passing through the Tenketsu which almost served as check points. The smoother he could circulate his chakra through his meridians and Tenketsu, the better. It was similar to how people when entering high degrees of focus entered a unique state of flow which was known as the zone. In this state, the body takes the best course of actions, it removes hesitation. It was the optimal state of performance. Meditation worked in the same way, by repetitive practice and leading his chakra consciously to take the optimum path it would eventually take this route unconsciously, a passive action.
Wei let out a final breath, opening his eyes, his 200th rotation had been completed and now the suns rays beamed higher in the sky, now thoroughly cloaking the temple in its light. Wei slowly stepped up from his cross legged position, ready to start the new day.
Satisfaction in simplicity
Wei had just finished his routine meditation; his mind was now entirely at ease, and his energy felt smooth. The sun's rays had moved higher into the sky and further round, now descending over the mountain and onto the complex unscrupulously. Wei shielded his face and furrowed his brow as he looked upwards briefly, shielding his face from the heavens light. He smiled briefly as part of his hair glowed with a faint gold hue from the descending rays. He allowed this moment of serene bliss.
Soon, Wei gripped his sword in his right hand, slowly, he drew his sword from its sheath, the sound of metal rubbing against wood could be heard. He looked forward with a face full of focus and resolve, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed. His left hand gripped the sword's hilt firmly along with his right, as he slowly flexed his shoulders, raising the sword above his head, his elbows relaxed and slightly bent. Once the sword reached its apex, Wei swung it down with tremendous speed and force, with a killing intent which flooded the mountain valley. The animals close by looked towards its source for a second, being born with innate keen senses they could feel the bloodthirsty killing intent, they looked for only a second before they scurried off seeking cover, hiding in their grottos and dens. This one swing of the sword split the air; only the sound of the air rushing towards and bending around the sword could be heard as the woods had grown silent. Upon the sword's trajectory finishing, the killing intent that once drowned the valley disappeared without a trace left behind. However, no movement of life was heard from the woodland forest, the animals knew by now, this was not over. Wei's arms rose above his head once again, seemingly slow yet not. Once again, the sword descended like lightning, striking, killing intent once again flooded the mountains.
For years, Wei had trained like this, every strike dealt in practice, seeping with intent as if he were fighting a mighty foe. Not one strike was relaxed or sloppy. This style of practice cultivated not only his body, but also his mind. It had only been an hour so far with vicious repetition, but Wei's sweat glistened in the sunlight as his body was now drenched. His breath slightly ragged as he exerted his energy and mind into every strike. While some saw this as tedious, Wei's mind would eventually enter a meditative state instead. He found peace and satisfaction in this mundane, yet torturous routine. While simple, few could focus their minds and put the same amount of intent into each strike during a simple training routine like he could. Wei was special in this regard alone.
Wei's focus was far beyond most, the ability to routinely repeat basic actions, exercises, and forms was shown only by few. These kinds of people would go on to achieve and do great things. The sound of Wei's sword had become nonexistent as his repetitive swings seemed to have permanently shifted and cut through the air, parting it on both sides. The path his sword took had become something of a void, removing the sound that once spread through the valley. The familiar sound of 'sword' cutting through 'air' would return only as Wei's form shifted into something else, taking a different path, but soon, once again, the sound would disappear.
Wei cycled through his forms as he continued, his position would adjust, his posture would change. He had started with a simple overhead downward slash, then changing to a diagonal downward slash, and then to an ascending upward slash. He repeated each form a thousand times before switching to the next. In this one practice session alone, Wei had cycled through close to 15 different forms. It was nowhere close to his arsenal of techniques. However, he did not have the time to go through them all in one session. Instead, every day he would do this, every day filled with different forms which would be practised rigidly. But, this style of practice had begun to unknowingly alter his energy ever so slightly, little to his own knowledge and currently unnoticeable to himself or anyone else, the cultivation of his killing intent in such a way, during practice like this, had caused him to unknowingly take a single step onto the demonic path of cultivation.
Storyboard ElementsExperiment with very advanced ninjutsu/concepts
Experimenting with natural energy
Today was a new day. The ambience of the valley and woodland surrounded the temple mansion, filling the area with life. The sky was clouded with a slight breeze in the air. Wei had been here in his new haven for several weeks now and had found peace here. His training had continued on a schedule and routine which seemed like meditation to him. Today, Wei was practicing his skills with the sword using a profound energy known as natural energy. Wei had learned to harness natural energy many years ago, however, he only found out that the Ninja and Samurai referred to this energy as natural energy recently. To Wei, it had just been something he and his clan had called world energy. At this moment Wei was practicing a core concept of the skills he had come to learn, one known as white blade flows. This technique involved drawing in natural energy and combining it with his chakra in his sword and it was one of his most valued skills. For the last hour Wei had been drenched in sweat as he swung the sword downwards in a straight line from top to bottom, channeling his chakra and drawing in natural energy as smoothly and quickly as he could. Each time the strike would get a little faster.
Wei had learned much of the world since leaving his adopted clan, and he had carried their teachings with him closely. He trained diligently and with purpose every day, and every improvement came from great hardship and practice. He couldn’t help but think more on the concept and profundities of natural energy, he had always used this energy but only ever through the sword. He had heard rumors and stories of people capable of using this energy within their own bodies, he had even fought alongside and against a few of them. Wei had passed natural energy through his own body before, however it was only ever as a medium and was never kept within him. As Wei thought more, his movements began to slow, his movements eventually came to a standstill for a moment as he sunk further into deep thought. His hands dropped to his sides as he gripped his sword tightly still. In his mind, he couldn’t help but think of what he could do if he managed to harness natural energy and utilise it from within instead of just using his sword as a container, a vessel, for the natural energy. Wei looked up slightly as his eyes filled with curiosity and eagerness.
Finding a peaceful place within his temple mansion, Wei slowly sat down cross legged in the courtyard where he had built himself a soothing koi pond and grass and flowers spread throughout the area. Wei cleared his mind, his hands cupped each other as they faced the sky in a meditative pose, his senses expanded outwards as he tried to feel the familiar energy which he had grown accustomed to using through his blade. For some reason Wei found it harder to sense like this rather than through his sword. It was strange, he couldn’t understand how he was so easily able to draw it into his blade but trying to draw it straight into his body was a struggle. He took a deep breath, his chest elevating as he drew his breath inwards, then depressing as he let his breath flow outwards. It was at this moment that he felt something familiar, it wasn’t much, it was like a spark. fleeting. He tried to remember the feeling of drawing in the energy into his blade, he imagined himself as the blade. It was this method where he seemed to have made a breakthrough.
Wei could finally, vaguely feel the energy around him and slowly.. ever so slowly did it flow inwards towards him. He was patient. He was sure with more practice this process would get faster but right now he couldn’t rush things. Natural energy was slowly but surely filling up his dantian, his energy centre where chakra gathered. The amount of natural energy increased more and more, The energy seemed to interact with his vital energy and spiritual energy, Wei struggled for a moment as it seemed the three different energies wouldn’t work together. However, remembering exactly how he would achieve this balance within his sword, he had found a balance within him. For a moment Wei was ecstatic, and then he made the mistake of moving in excitement. The feeling of the natural energy vanished, his ability to draw it ceased, and the process of balancing the energy within broke.
The natural energy within Wei began to run wild, it overwhelmed his physical and spiritual energy creating unbalance. Wei was still in his meditative pose, a pained and grave expression covered his face as sweat dripped down the side. He was doing his utmost at this moment to regain control. Wei didn’t take on the properties of any animals like some who lose control, this could be in direct relation to the fact he lacked a summoning contract. However, the surface of his skin began to take on a gray tinge, and it was spreading slowly. He tried to relax, taking a deep breath once again but his breath seemingly caught in his throat as the usual elasticity and movement of his chest seemed to feel stiff. A sign that the petrification had also begun to spread from his chest area, reducing its ability to elevate and depress like it would normally do when one breathes.
For the first time in a while, Wei felt true urgency and danger. The grey and stone-like texture, an obvious sign of petrification, was spreading faster. ‘I must do something, I can’t let it end like this. Now now. I have just begun to tap into this power, it was my own foolishness that I lost control!’ The energy within was still in chaos. The natural energy that was once his ally, now plagued his system. The petrification spread. First it was his legs, solid and now stuck in his cross-legged position. His torso was next, as his breathing became more pained and his ability to move further lessened. If only he could purge the natural energy within somehow, or move it elsewhere. It was at that moment that it clicked for Wei. He quickly tried to reach for his sword he had placed on the floor next to him. With his flexibility compromised it was hard to reach for. With a strained look on his face he reached further. His arm had now also started to petrify, his forehead and hair also showing signs. Finally he managed to touch the sword's hilt.
The Petrification had nearly completely overwhelmed and consumed Wei. His last bastion of hope was he had now reached his blade. His hands, brain, and eyes were still left unaffected currently. Wei wasted no more time, he channelled natural energy and chakra into his blade, the precedence for a Dokkodo technique he had long since mastered. He created Senjutsu within his blade, drawing in natural energy at a speed far faster than he had done within his own body. A sign of how he had long since mastered this use of it. This Senjutsu chakra flowed up into his body through his arm, through his system, carrying along the stray natural energy that was running rampant in his body already. The Senjutsu energy then surged and released through his pores, like a torrent, spreading out and around him. His body slowly began to de-petrify. What Wei had done was similar to releasing a Dam which overwhelmed the small river carrying it along. Finally, after a few moments, the petrification had been completely reversed.
Wei was panting for breath, the pupils in his eyes shook from both shock and awe, as he recalled the close encounter he just had. Natural energy was not something to be messed with blindly. However, Wei couldn’t forget the feeling he had, and the power that flowed through him briefly when he had succeeded in balancing that energy. This was only the beginning. This was a step in the right direction towards becoming that much stronger. The shaking in his eyes stopped, now replaced with a firm resolve. ‘I won’t make the same mistake. Within danger there is opportunity.’
Storyboard ElementsDefend your worldview and philosophy
A new guest
A new morning, one like any other had arrived. Its soft golden glow bathing the mountain and temple complex with its radiance. Wei Wuxian stood within the temple's confines, sword in hand. He had just finished his workout routine and sword practice, his body sleeked with a glisten of sweat. Wei had just begun to place his robes back on his upper body after drying off his sweat with a towel. During this time a new figure had begun ascending the mountain, with his speedy ascent, clouds seemed to follow. The once bright light of the sun had slowly begun to be consumed by the creeping cloud. Wei could feel it, the animals could feel it, even the mountain, which seemed to shudder as a thick killing intent converged upon the mountain. This pure killing intent seemed to eclipse Wei’s own. Like a child facing Mount Tai. This new guest had arrived just outside, now standing in front of the temple, looking at it curiously, looking at the embellishments that covered its surface. Wei opened the temple doors and stepped outside, now facing this new guest and facing the torrent of killing intent. This killing intent was not forced, nor was it intended. It was a byproduct of the sheer amount of foes, people, and threats this man had killed, seeping his aura into one of blood. As the two people now faced each other, the sky seemed to reflect their positions. On Wei’s side, the soft golden glow still shone down. While on the guests side, the clouds had brought a deep darkness to the mountain. The guest looked at Wei curiously, and then at the mountain complex. He sighed before letting out a small whisper like voice which strangely seemed to reach Wei’s ears with no problems. “What a disgusting place…”
Wei’s face twitched for a second upon hearing this newcomer’s comment, of course, he didn’t let it get to him. Wei took a breath before he spoke, a method to both calm himself. “I welcome this new friend to my mountain temple. My name is Wei Wuxian. Should you wish to find peace and clarity then I welcome you with open arms.” The guest looked back towards Wei as he finished his sentence, having previously been looking around the area curiously. "Peace?" “A fool's errand, why would someone who has already taken a step towards the demonic dao bother with something like peace. No matter.." The man shook his head as if to forget the comment. “My name is Fang Yuan. A cultivator who walks the demonic path. I had come to this place following the killing intent that seemed to spread from here. While a bit weak, it is rare to come across those on a similar path as my own, and what do I find? Some weakwilled pissant instead. Come! I will take you away from here and show you the true power of the demonic path”. Wei recoiled in disbelief. He was not some demonic cultivator, he followed the righteous path of the sword. Take him away? What could he possibly learn from someone like this? “I am afraid you have come for the wrong person. I do not cultivate the demonic path. I follow the righteous path of the sword, I seek peace and clarity. If you are not here for that, to fight against your own inner demons then you can leave. The demonic path is the wrong path.” The sun above seemed to shine brighter, as if Wei's words were the fuel for the sun that existed in the sky. As if the heaven's light approved of his words.
There was a brief silence in the air as the two seemed to face each other. The sun and clouds not only mirrored their positions, but also their beliefs. Fang Yuan frowned for a moment as he looked towards Wei. “The righteous path you say? Nothing but overbearing, self righteous fools. Your path is nothing but the position of the snobby, looking down on others who don’t follow your beliefs. Let me tell you. There is no incorrect path towards the grand dao. You say this place is for peace and clarity. I say it is a place to breed weakness. Only through trials of fire, and near death experiences does a cultivator's true power flourish and push them forwards.” Wei sunk into contemplation for a moment. There was some truth in his words. He had noticed it himself, he had struggled to make steps forward in improving his strength. “What you say makes some sense, however, the demonic path is bathed in cruelty and pleasure in murder. I hold no pleasure in killing those that I need to. I do not kill for pleasure. The demonic path goes against the will of the heavens. To go against the heavens is the demonic path. The righteous path is there to help others.” Fang Yuan sneered at Wei’s words. “Your words are just repeats of those old fools in your sect. These words do not hold any true experience. You follow guidelines and morality. But let me ask you. What makes a cultivator righteous? Intention or method? If a method saves lives but looks frightening, is it evil? Is orthodoxy just tradition or actual moral integrity? Is the righteous path truly righteous? The demonic path does not mean evil. The righteous path does not mean just. The demonic path values freedom, emotion, and self determination. The righteous path values order, obedience, and suppression of desire. Tell me.. Do you enjoy walking around feeling self important, imposing useless confines on yourself? And to speak of cruelty, to be kind to your enemies, is to be cruel to yourself. If you are not ruthless when the time is needed for it then you are simply allowing future problems for yourself!”
Wei grit his teeth, unable to refute some of the words Fang Yuan was saying. He had always been taught that the demonic path was one of evil, one that would cause people to lose themselves. It was getting harder to refute some of the things Fang Yuan was saying each time, but Wei was still of the righteous path, and he had gotten this far by following those principles. “What you say isn’t necessarily wrong. Those that walk the righteous path do have air of snobbiness to them as you would put it, however, it is also our duty to uphold morals and be an example for those below us who haven’t stepped onto any path yet. It is also true that the demonic path has no qualms about killing and this leads to several murders of innocents! It is the job of the righteous path to make sure people do not overstep the line separating humanity and evil.” Fang Yuan grit his teeth slightly, annoyed at the righteous drivel that Wei seemed to spout. It was up to the people to decide for themselves. “How typical of the righteous. Placing the blame on the demonic path as usual. You people of the righteous path are not without sin! There are those who have just as much ambition as a demonic cultivator, those of you who commit murder of what you call innocents just because you brand them as a demonic cultivator or those with impure intentions. I see there is no talking reason while you sit on the pedestal you have placed yourself on. This temple mansion of yours is just a way to make yourself feel better for your own shortcomings and a way to keep yourself in binds… Let me remove those binds for you.. lets see how good your righteous path is when given little choice.” The storm above seemed to coil and darken more, as if in response to Fang Yuan's anger, the clouds became black and stormy and a wind blew which seemed to be reminiscent of death.
Wei’s eyes widened, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew he had to be on guard against this person but he didn’t think he would so easily show hostility. “If you so much as attempt to do what I think you are, then I will show no mercy!” Wei shouted. Fang Yuan however just sneered, “Since when does the righteous path show any mercy towards a demonic cultivator anyways! The only difference when you kill is that you feel justification for it. But in reality there is no difference. We all kill to protect ourselves or others. We all seek to get stronger to protect those important to us! And there are murderers who kill just for fun on both sides! So be it. If you stand in my way then I will not care if you die. And if you do die then it just shows you were worthless from the start and a waste of my time!” As Fang Yuan said this his eyes began to change into a deep crimson red, bones seemed to shift within his body as a long radial bone extended from his right forearm into a makeshift dagger, the dagger still seemed to be coated in deep crimson blood. Wei recoiled for a moment seeing this but responded in kind. His right hand clenched the hilt of his sword, his stance shifted into one fit for Iaido techniques. He would not let this person take away what he spent countless hours building and pouring his beliefs into.
Storyboard ElementsFight an enemy much stronger than yourself [S-Rank]
Survival
It hadn’t been long, only mere moments had passed really, yet the situation had already developed to this point. Sweat dripped down the side of Wei’s face. He could clearly feel the tension in the air and the pressure that this person gave off was not something he had felt before, it was so much stronger and it held an unyielding will and palpable killing intent. Wei gripped hold of his sword's hilt, a slight, unconscious tremble going through his hand. He had already shifted his left leg backwards, bending his torso forwards slightly, ready to act at the drop of a pin.
Fang Yuan observed, letting out a small demonic chuckle. “Heh, Look at you! trembling! Is this what the righteous path breeds? Scared weeklings? While you have trained diligently, and been in a few fights.. how many of those were truly fights with your life on the line, how often have you brushed with death? Without these things you can not develop a defiant will or the wisdom needed to survive!” Fang Yuan, now with the bone dagger in hand, dashed forwards at a speed beyond what Wei expected, yet for him, it seemed so effortless. The bone dagger came close to Wei’s body before he could fully react to the situation. The result? Wei had acted, his blade extended from its sheath, metal grinding against the wood which contained the blade, preparing to strike as Fang Yuan closed the gap. Blood slowly dripped downwards, the result was that Wei’s blade was only half drawn, but it was colliding with the long, bony dagger. On Fang Yuan's side, however, his bone dagger collided with the moving blade from its sheath, yet the blade of Wei had only stopped the dagger from penetrating all the way through; the bone dagger still stabbed about an inch inwards into his abdomen. It was clear his fastest defence was not nearly fast enough. Despite the distance Fang Yuan had to cross, his dagger effortlessly made contact, and with a seemingly bored expression at that, his eyes stared into Wei's very soul, calm, unfeeling.
On Wei’s side, he looked downwards. His blade had halted, the bone dagger partially stabbing into his gut, the blood slowly dripped down onto the ground, a pool developing which reflected the two fighters visages in a world of crimson. ‘His speed! His strength! It’s on another level entirely!’ Wei had no choice; he couldn’t contend in strength, even now, the dagger was slowly moving in deeper, yet Fang Yuan didn’t appear strained at all, while Wei Wuxian was gritting his teeth putting everything he had into stopping the progress of the bone dagger. It was like Fang Yuan was controlling the exact amount of strength he needed to make the blade move slowly. A display of domination. Wei swiftly adjusted his stance and moved back quickly. The bone dagger left his body, blood spurting from its entrance point, causing Wei to give a pained look. However, before Wei could move back a substantial distance, a kick came from his right side, aimed towards his body. Wei could barely see it, and it was only as it was mere inches away that he noticed. He barely had time to move his left arm downwards a small bit, protecting his side slightly. The kick connected unhindered, a force travelled through Wei's body unlike any other, and sent him hurdling towards part of the mountain wall. Wei had protected his side slightly, yet in doing so, his arm experienced tremendous pain, and immediate swelling of the area around his elbow, both above and below, occurred. The pain was clear on his face as he stuck to the side of the wall, slowly, he fell to his knees, falling out of the indent that had been left in the mountain. Wei's palms hit the ground as he fell, barely supporting himself up, his blade lay slightly to his right hand side.
Fang Yuan looked over to Wei’s form falling out of the mountain indent that had been left and sneered. “Mere foundational techniques and yet you can’t even defend them properly. You are WEAK! The righteous path has made you soft! No.. This wasn’t the righteous paths doing, its your environment that has made you soft. This so-called peace and clarity you wanted to develop has dulled your fighting senses. Tch, a waste of time,” Fang Yuan looked away from Wei, turning his attention towards the mountain temple. His gaze was cold and unfeeling. Using his own nail, he sliced through a part of his hand, allowing his blood to drip and fall freely. He slowly raised his hand, which had the open wound, and aimed at the temple. The blood flowed outward like a stream from his wound, a large wave of blood developed and hurtled towards the temple, aiming to remove it from this very mountain. “This disgusting thing should be removed.” The waves coiled and rolled as they moved towards the temple. It was merely a metre away before the waves of blood seemed to shatter like glass, turning into a white energy which dissipated before his eyes. On the other side of him stood Wei, his sword held across himself, panting for breath. "Oh?" “Natural Energy? So you can do something then. Seems my intuition wasn’t wrong. But if it's only this much, then you still have no hope.” Fang Yuan's face darkened, turning colder.
Moments ago, Wei had just looked up after falling from the mountain wall. His breathing was painful, partly from the stab wound. However, as much as he wanted and needed to, Wei had no time to gather himself; looking over, Fang Yuan had started to gather a mass of blood to his surprise. Like lightning, ignoring his own injuries, Wei moved from his position, a body flicker which pained his entire body in its current state, reappeared before the waves of blood with his sword filled with natural energy. All that training to help improve his gathering speed for natural energy and its movements were not for nothing. His blade collided with the blood wave, the wave beginning to mould around him as he contended with the force, yet before it could, the natural energy in his blade had spread and attacked the weak points within the blood, forcing it to shatter like glass, and causing it to dissipate in white shards of energy. Wei's visage stood in place, blood pouring down from his body, a combination of smashing into the mountain wall and his stab wound. He had too many cuts, and abrasions at this point to fully know exactly where and how many places the blood left his body.
Fang Yuan gazed at Wei’s pitiful appearance. Yet he felt nothing, if anything, he felt annoyed that this person he had spent his time visiting was so ungrateful and had yet to understand the ways of the world. Strength and his cultivation aside, to him, Wei was but a frog in a well. Someone who was unable to see the bigger picture. Someone who couldn’t imagine the scale or the intricacies that existed within the demonic path and the righteous path. “How pitiful…” Fang Yuan urged his vertebrae to dislodge, slowly, up from his back and out through the skin of his neck did the vertebrae of his thoracic, lumbar, and sacrum spine appear. His posture was seemingly unaffected, as if a new spinal column had replaced the old in the process. The spine Fang Yuan now held within his hands resembled a spear; it was solid yet flexible, ideal for combat. Wei’s mouth hung agape as he watched the gruesome scene. He grit his teeth and prepared for combat, staring and observing. Fang Yuan's pupils seemed to glow a deep red. His eyes shifted to a slightly different shape, and a barely noticeable red pattern appeared around Fang Yuan’s eyes. However, the most noticeable thing of all was the protrusions pushing out of his back, his skin seeming to move in response to something beneath, similar to when Fang Yuan moved his bones. However, this time, two large pitch-dark wings, covered in what appeared to be red lines resembling veins and arteries, erupted from his back.
Wei quickly went to take the initiative, beginning the motion of a slash; however, before he could even truly begin his motion, Fang Yuan had disappeared from his position. A whisper appeared within Wei’s ears. “Pathetic…” Wei swivelled quickly, slashing out his sword behind him in tandem. The sound of his blade slicing through the air. However, once again, there was nothing; no one was there. Another whisper came, “You can’t protect anything”. This one seemed to come from above him. Wei looked upward and stabbed into the air, recoiling in pain in the process as his abdomen extended to accommodate the movement, only to find nothing once again. Confusion struck, he could not locate or track his foe, it seemed like his enemy was always one step ahead of him. It was at this time that Wei felt a ginormous force in the middle of his back and across his waist, which sent him flying once again away from the temple and into a cluster of pine trees, causing the trees to fall on top of him. Fang Yuan, on the other hand, had his spear held as if he had just struck something away, like batting away a fly.
The trees fell and Wei could feel the pressure of each tree crashing against him, however, these trees were too large, too heavy, and there were far too many. The trees had broken and splintered from his impact, some trees fell in full, crushing his bones, some had broken, stabbing into his body parts, and almost pinning him to the floor. Using what motions he could, Wei would struggle and slash out at the trees falling upon him, yet in his current state how could he possibly defend against them all. His head felt like it was splitting, his arm was barely able to move correctly, and his stab wound gushed more and more blood. Wei truly felt the throes of death upon him, it had been a long long time since he had felt such a feeling. "Is this all I amount to... Is this all I can do in the face of overwhelming force...". Wei felt himself in crisis and his philosophies at this moment came into question.
While seemingly long, this exchange took mere moments. From Fang Yuan’s point of view, things differed slightly after he had taken hold of his newly formed spear, and a quick exchange of eye contact between himself and Wei. He had placed Wei under a genjutsu. To Wei, it would appear as if Fang Yuan had undergone changes to his body; it looked like batwings exploded out of his back in a gruesome display and then proceeded to move at an insane speed that he couldn’t comprehend. However, in reality, Fang Yuan had not moved an inch. He walked towards Wei in a relaxed manner, maintaining the genjutsu the entire way; his pace was neither fast nor slow, it was steady and calm. Within moments, he was positioned behind Wei, galvanising his strength. Fang Yuan struck out with his spear in a swinging motion, slashing across his body like someone was drawing a sword, his slashing motion moving from inside to outside, slamming it against Wei’s back and sending him crashing into the nearby pine trees. In such a situation, where the genjutsu seemingly moulded beautifully between reality and illusion, Wei had no idea he had so easily been placed into one. He had always been resistant to Genjutsu and had many ways to notice if they were fake. However, all that was for naught right now as he lay seemingly unconscious under the tree’s, the genjutsu continued of course, a new one layering onto the old, one that didn’t need to be sustained, This new Genjutsu repeatedly showed him failing to protect his loved ones, repeatedly showed him the flaws of the righteous path and their viciousness. Finally, it showed him repeatedly being killed mercilessly by his own clan for protecting someone using a demonic path technique. Slowly, unconsciously, Wei’s viewpoints couldn’t help but shift.
Fang Yuan stood still, now ignoring Wei, not caring if he lived or died. “Hmph. Waste.” He instead turned to now look towards the temple that stood through the battle. Blood flooded from his palm once again, turning into roiling waves. with a force that could crush and swallow an entire city. “Time to get rid of this eyesore.”
Wei lay unconscious underneath the pile of pine trees, bleeding. Yet, a change had overcome him, and the bleeding had seemingly stopped, an unconscious will to survive, an unconscious shift in attitude.. an unconscious instinct controlling and willing his blood to stop.
Storyboard ElementsRecall recent events and renounce the ways of the righteous path [B Rank]
A new path
Night had come, the full moon bright in the sky as the stars surrounded it and expanded into the darkness of the void. The glow of the moon descended onto the mountain illuminating it in a soft glow. Slowly, Wei Wuxian opened his eyes, the moon and stars reflecting in his vision, his muscles twitched in habit trying to move before a sharp pain caused him to inhale sharply and immediately stop the process. ‘It seems I am still alive then.’ Wei thought. He lay there for a moment unmoving, recalling the battle that had taken place. For a moment, he grit his teeth in anger, before quickly letting it go and breaking into a sigh. It was too late for anger at this moment. The fact was he had lost. Lost miserably. Surviving through sheer luck. His philosophies and views had been broken down, and then so was his body. He could not refute Fang Yuan.
Wei tried to move once again, this time gritting his teeth trying to bear through the pain, but the weight of the pine trees pinned him thoroughly still. Tree branches still stabbed through parts of his body. ‘Sigh~ “A flower grown in a greenhouse cannot survive the winds and rain”’ at this moment Wei recalled the words of a few demonic cultivators and even a few elders of his righteous sect. However, it was only now that he truly felt how true these words were. Even the so-called trials he had gone through did not compare to this. The words of those demonic cultivators made more and more sense to him. What was worse, he could not stop recalling the images of his sect slaughtering him for possibly using demonic methods to save a life. He knew the visions were planted in him, yet he knew the truth these visions held.
Wei sighed once more. ‘It’s true. If I so desperately needed to save a life any method to do so should be used. Letting someone die just because it was not of the righteous path… is that truly righteous?’ Wei’s left arm reached over himself, grabbing hold of a thick branch that stabbed into his right shoulder, gripping hard and gritting through the pain, his left arm tensed and exerted all the strength he could muster, slowly, but surely, the branch began to move. Its rough surface grinding against the wound as it was pulled out millimetre by millimetre. If not for the blood providing some much needed lubrication Wei was not sure he would have been able to remove this branch, however that was not something he could think about right now. His strength began waning, however, he couldn’t stop, eventually, through sheer grit, Wei removed the thick branch. Using the last bit of his strength, Wei tossed the branch away, only moving a mere few feet, but away enough to no longer bother him. The pain however was intense as removing the branch seemed to send a flood of reactions through his sensory neurons, and the blood began to flow yet again.
At this time, Wei remembered the stab wound. This wound hadn’t gone too deep to affect his organs but far enough that it affected the muscle in the area and enough for there to be ample bleeding. Reaching down again with his left hand, he attempted to feel the wound, yet a seemingly large log was in the way, laying across his lower abdomen. He wasn’t completely sure if his safety had been secured because of this or not but he couldn’t think about that at this moment. His mind wandered again back to his debate with Fang Yuan. More and more he couldn’t help but agree with his statements. He didn’t fully know why but his own arguments back then felt childish and naive. He sneered at his own weakness and viewpoint. What good was it if he couldn’t do anything. What good was there in holding the moral high ground if it meant nothing in the end. Unconsciously Wei’s eye began to glow a crimson red colour.
‘These trees are a hindrance’ Wei thought. Yet he could not muster the physical strength at this time to remove them. His sword was too far away to reach, in fact, he couldn’t even remember exactly where it was. What good was his swordsmanship without a sword in his hand. The blood from his right shoulder flowed more and extended down onto his forearm. Wei closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering himself, he looked inwards, testing his chakra flow to see how functional his body was exactly. He was able to feel everything luckily, and while a bit slow, his chakra system seemed to still be functioning. Although it mattered not at this moment. His way of fighting was with a sword, all his known methods of chakra use were with a sword. Wei’s gaze extended into the stars, reflected a crimson eye once more. Coldness replaced warmth. His previous attitude was replaced with a carefree and uncaring one, his previous moral melting away. ‘Fine, you wanted me to step onto the demonic path, then I will do so. I will amass enough power to stand above this world. I will tear flesh from muscle, and muscle from bone, and I will do it slowly so you feel every ounce of pain.’
The more Wei spoke in his mind, the stronger the glow of his now crimson red eyes. Unknowingly, and almost by instinct alone, as he spoke within his mind, the blood from his shoulder flowed downwards, reaching his right hand. The blood didn’t stop there though, it extended further and further, recreating the length, and sharpness of a sword. Wei’s other wounds also began to seemingly bubble, almost like molten lava or boiling water. ‘I will make sure that Fang Yuan regrets the day he stepped on this mountain’. The blood extended further out of his wounds, like tendrils looking for a way out, they slowly stabbed into the wood of the pine and made their way through it. ‘Once I am done, I will refine your bones, and I will boil them down into a soup before sending it to your loved ones.’ The blood tendrils moved faster. ‘I will walk on the righteous path no longer and rid the world of your entire bloodline!’ The tendrils fully erupted. The blood exploded outwards, and at the same time Wei’s body moved, seemingly controlled by the blood within, ignoring his wounds and ignoring the pain that wracked his body. The sword also slashed outwards in a gruesome arc and the giant mound of pine trees exploded outwards into pieces. Wei stood underneath the moon and stars glow, crimson eyes glowed a menacing gleam in the night and blood tendrils extended from his form. The tendrils of blood swayed around him, and the sword of blood stayed by his side. Parts of pine tree rained downwards around him… This was Wei Wuxian’s first true step onto the demonic path.
