“Ryan!”

  I was on my feet before my mind had even caught up with my body, my eyes immediately pulled to where Death stood by my side, her scythe gripped firmly in her hands, flint-like eyes staring outside. “Someone’s coming.”

  Lines of light rolled over Isabella’s face, and I turned towards the shutter. On the path towards my family’s home, a torch-flame approached, the orange glare bouncing around the room. Behind me, I could hear my parents shift in discomfort, slowly beginning to wake. Outside, I could hear the weary bleating of the herd, and the harsh tones of whoever was approaching.

  And in the distance, I could hear shouts, screams, and a cry.

  Seconds later I burst out the door, the wood screeching in protests as the hinges shattered. In front of me, two men stood stock-still, the torch they held illuminating the clear surprise on their faces. Then, their senses caught up with them, and their mouths opened as if to give warning, their arms reaching for the shining steel of the blades at their waist-

  I crashed into the first, the point of my shoulder hammering into his chest with a bone-wrenching crunch before the rest of my body made contact and sent him flying ten feet back. His companion swore, stepping back even as I felt a miniscule trickle of qi begin cycling through his body, but it wasn’t enough to save him before the flat edge of my hand stabbed out at his windpipe. The qi instantly evaporated as he reached for his neck and choked, eyes bulging in panic; I didn’t hesitate to sweep his legs, sending him to the ground. I followed him down, cracking a fist into his temple and bouncing his skull against the gravel path.

  I exhaled, and stood back to my feet, inspecting the two men I’d handled. I took in their eclectic clothing, a mixture of fine silks and ragged leathers, the pitted blade with the jewel in its pommel that one wielded, and the bones woven into the hair of the one whose chest I had crushed. Bandits. And not just mortal ones.

  At a sound behind me, I turned to watch as my mom and dad rushed out the house, iron pan and heavy club held in their hands. They paused as they saw the bodies on the ground, but they kept their guard raised. “Are there more?” My mother muttered, eyes scanning the pasture.

  “There are.” I pointed towards the hill at the back of the pasture. “You both need to get out of sight. I’ll drag the bodies away, and get into the village.”

  My parents glanced towards each other, and my mom squeezed by dad’s hands tightly for a moment for hustling away. My dad took a moment longer, instead approaching me to rest a hand on my shoulder, searching my face for something before giving me a slow nod. “We’ll talk later. Stay safe.”

  I watched as he jogged to catch up with mom, waiting to make sure they both crested the hill before turning back to the village in the distance. Towards the centre, I could see an orange haze begin to rise over the low roofs, and a plume of smoke drift up from the square. I glanced over to Isabella, who stood over the bandits with a grimace on her face. Do you know what’s happened? Has anyone died?

  She scowled. “They killed the donkey. I hadn’t even realised something had attacked him at first, it had happened so fast.”

  Oh. Of course. An animal’s soul belongs to the cycle just as much as anyone else’s. The stray thought drifted across my mind, even as I tried to ignore the sick feeling rising in my stomach. Anyone else dead?

  “This one is gone,” she said grimly, her scythe gently swinging through the one whose skull I’d broken. I watched as the curve of steel ghosted through the body, leaving behind no trace of its passing except for the total stillness it left behind. “And that one is still alive.” Isabella gestured, and I glanced down at the other body at my feet. True to her words, the rattling inhale of the one with the broken ribs was only barely louder than a whisper, as if to avoid my notice.

  I didn’t give him the luxury. I strode on over to kneel down by his side, putting a hand over his mouth and another on his shoulder. Even as he gave up the act and tried to struggle, he didn’t move a single inch beneath my grip. “Bandit,” I named him, staring into his panicked eyes. “If you’d like to live, then answer me honestly. How many of you are there?”

  I slowly moved my hand to a firm position over the bandit’s neck, ready to push down if they dared shout. They didn’t even bother, just gritting their teeth. “F-forty of us. All c-cultivators.” A moment of bravery surfaced in the bandit’s gaze as his lips twisted into a foul defiance. “You won’t- you can’t kill us all. The B-bloody Woods Bandits won’t be made fools of! We have a martial expert with us, and Stag will break you in half!” He began to pull at my grip, head tilting backwards as if to shout-

  I ended it with a swift chop to the head, knocking the bastard out. I stood back up to my feet, staring down at the two bandits at my feet. Bandits were the scourge of the world, the plague of any little piece of civilisation that lived outside the dubious reach of a Sect or true city’s protection. Still, the world was large, and for so many people, they were only a distant worry, only ever a concern if you travelled far or lived in one of those towns that lived in the uncomfortable middle-ground between too poor and too rich.

  So why are they here? The Bloody Woods are on the far side of Shepherd’s Cross. We’re not a target of opportunity, we have nothing valuable, we’re as backwater as it gets. Why now? I hissed out another breath, trying my best to ignore the pounding in my head, and slowly unclenched my hands, leaning down to grab both the bandits by an arm and beginning to drag them around the back of our home. How are the villagers?

  “No deaths yet.” Death’s voice was ice cold as she followed behind me. “A fisherman tried to ambush one of the bandits and got caught before he could finish the job. He’s close.”

  Then I can’t wait. I could hear yet more cries in the distance, and the fires had grown brighter. Behind me, the sound of our flock echoed those cries as they were coaxed further away by my mom and dad. They’ll be okay. They can take care of themselves. I dropped the bodies unceremoniously against the wall, and began running towards the edge of our field, and to my village beyond.

  I turned my attention inward for a moment as I kept running, my spiritual senses brushing against my qi reserves. I’d used some qi in my rush to leave the house, but my soul still felt mostly full. Full doesn’t mean much, though. Three seconds. Three fucking seconds. I kept running, sharp breaths deepening as I felt my muscles begin to burn, forced to work as hard as they mortally could. I left the boundary of my family’s farm behind, the road into the village now rushing beneath my feet. Thirty eight bandits. Less than a second for ten. Gods, is it enough?

  “Ahead!” Isabella, keeping pace by my side, pointed out the buildings up front. I could see the small group of bandits, two with torches and another two kicking down doors to a small cottage. Griff’s house. I could even see him through the shattered door now, memories of a fat-cheeked boy scoured away by the sight of a muscled young man with red hair, teeth bared as he stabbed out with a harpoon at the bandits closing in.

  For a moment, our eyes met, and his mouth opened as he saw me.

  I hit the bandits like the Tzangtze, clotheslining the torchbearers at the very back; I felt the snap of a spine as one immediately tumbled to the ground, torch spilling out of their hands, and the other’s head cracked against the cobbles and tripped the bandit who’d been about to jump through the broken door. That one stumbled just enough for Griff to surge out of the doorframe with an assault of his own, the harpoon skewering the bandit right through the chest, a deep roar echoing out of the young fisherman’s throat.

  I ignored them all in favour of the last bandit who, to their credit, had already spun around to focus on me. Their eyes narrowed behind their wolfskull mask, hand drawing some scrimshaw knives from their belt to throw my way, the bone blades whistling through the air, some qi art controlling them to hone in on my chest.

  I let my qi flow forth down my arm and swiped my hand through the air, catching the knives by the sides and sending them down to splinter against the cobbled road. I dashed forward, grabbing the bandit’s wrist and driving my fist deep into his sternum, feeling bone break under my knuckles, and then again as the bandit tried to pull away, and then once more to drive the bandit down to the ground in an untidy pile, next to the two others. The last soon joined them, Griff’s catch simply being tossed on the pile with the harpoon still embedded in his chest.

  “Ryan.” Griff acknowledged me, turning to face me properly. I noticed some blood trickling down the side of his head, where the bandit must have slashed him. “These fuckers here for you?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know,” I admitted, flicking my fingers free of blood. “I’ll have to leave some alive to check.”

  Griff spat on the ground. “Don’t feel any pressure. Bandits get what they deserve. If Da were here…” He turned to eye the harpoon for a few moments. “You need any help?”

  “No.” The answer was out of my mouth before I could think. “Get you and your nan out of here. Help anyone else you find, get them into the woods. I’ll be sending more folks after you.”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Of course.” Griff accepted my words with a nod. “Give them hell, Ryan.”

  “Take care, Griff.” I waited to make sure the two of them were safe, watching as Griff grabbed his grandmother and led her out the house. The old crone peered at me with sharp eyes as she carefully stepped over the bodies on their doorstep, before giving me a sharp nod of her own.

  Soon enough, they’d both disappeared beyond the village, and I was left standing over the four bandits, one thought whirling. I can’t sustain this. Frustration pulled at my mind, even as I grabbed the wolf mask off of one and a fur pelt one had worn across the shoulder. Four of them and I’m already down a half-second. I need to change my approach. I turned to look at Isabella, who’d finished swinging a scythe through the last of the bandits. The fisherman you mentioned, where are they?

  Isabella pointed further in. “That way. Door’s open, two windows on the ground floor with glass panes.”

  Old Jack’s. I took a deep breath before sliding the mask on, feeling the warm bone press against my forehead and jaw. With the fur tossed across my shoulders and grabbing a knife from another to hold loosely in my hand, I strode forth down the street, embracing the appearance of a monster.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to put my acting to the test as I made my way out from the bottom cluster of buildings in town, navigating to the few houses that sat closer to the riverbank. Here, Old Jack’s house stood out like a sore thumb; glass panes bought at outrageous expense from a travelling merchant, which Old Jack bragged let him watch the rainy nights without needing to worry about water getting in. The panes were shattered now, glass pooled on the street next to a hunk of stone, its edge covered in blood.

  I hefted the stone in a hand as I walked in through the broken door, staring at the bandits that had surrounded Old Jack, their sick laughter grinding in my ears. The inside of the old fisherman’s house looked even worse than the outside, handmade furniture overturned and mounted plaques of impressive catches or notable bits of salvage pulled down to the ground in a pile. And, of course, Old Jack himself, pressed up against the brick of his fireplace, head held up only by the flat of one bandit’s blade.

  One of the bandits nursed a bloody gash on their head, their own chuckles occasionally interrupted as they gingerly touched the edges of the wound. Old Jack’s target. They turned towards me in surprise as I entered. “Oi, Ling, weren’t you with Ruxin’s lot?”

  Another’s head bobbed up to glance my way as they pulled the knife away from Old Jack’s face. “Oh, it’s Ling? Ling, check this guy out. Fucker has glass! Two whole fucking windows, like he’s some fancy noble. Bet he’s got some real coin hidden away. He’s bein’ reluctant though, you wanna work your magic on him?”

  “Sure,” I said, feeling my composure begin to break. “It’s already working. Just look at his face, eh?”

  The bandits as one turned back to peer at Old Jack. I looked too, at the wreck they’d left of Jack’s body, the bloody, jagged wounds covering the old fisherman’s arms and legs. His face was no better, bruised and left eye swollen over, and the other wide as he looked upon me.

  “...Ryan?” He mouthed in recognition.

  I can’t be careless. I’ve only got three seconds. I didn’t use any qi at all as I swung the rock in my hand to crash into the head of the first bandit, sending him falling like a stone, blood spilling. My instincts demanded me to follow through, to let loose of my soul and crash down like the Falls upon the rest, but I only clutched tighter onto the three seconds of glory I had left. I could only watch as the bandits in front of me swore and began to channel forth their own qi into their own techniques. I need to make this work without cultivation.

  “Burn, you bastard!” The first one burst forward with an aura of flames surrounding his body, roaring in anger. I tossed the knife to the side and brought my leg up to meet his chest, allowing his charge to drive his own ribs into the sharp point of my knee, wincing at the flames. Even as he collapsed to the ground as his own flames began to consume his form, I spun to meet the next advance, the other bandit’s muscles swelling up and tearing the skin as they tried to crush me beneath a gigantic fist. I dodged, letting the fist crash into the floor as I pushed past to the bandit who’d been kneeled by Old Jack; in response, that bandit simply melted like wax, their flesh shifting out of my way as they reformed back on their feet, a dagger-hand darting towards my neck.

  I stepped back, creating some space and bringing my arms up, my fists steady. “Maybe you should look at your own faces. No wonder you bandits never get out this far, you’d get ripped to shreds by a finger-fish.”

  The swollen bandit laughed mockingly as he ripped his hand from the floorboards in a shower of splinters. “Little village boy thinks he’s all that for hitting someone with a rock?” His laughter drifted into a low, heaving growl. “The only thing you’ll be fit for is bait when we’re done with you.”

  The melting bandit joined in with a panting laugh of his own, slowly stepping forward as his hands shifted shape into sharp spikes. “We’d be real poets, feeding the fishermen back to the fishes. Wouldn’t that be a good lesson for anyone feeling too big for their pond?”

  I said nothing as the two bandits began to approach. Instead, I watched as their qi poured forth into their respective techniques, the two of them maintaining the flow of energy as they postured and threatened. I could see how their qi sloshed about like water from a bucket, spilling over the sides as they tried to force it down into whatever art they had mustered, and how the qi dripped through their cultivation like a sieve, leaving them only a bare thimbleful of energy for the abominations of a technique they practiced. For the briefest of moments, I was reminded of the absolute travesty of a technique I had seen only a few days earlier, when a similar sort of bandit had crowed about his own pathetic abilities.

  I couldn’t find the same sort of humour now, not with the sick feeling of another realisation dawning on me. “Chin told you about this place, didn’t he?”

  “Oh, you know Chin?” The swollen bandit hummed. “So you must be this cultivator that he’s been looking for. What luck we’ve got that we found you here! The gods must be looking out for us.”

  “Chin wants your head bad, boy,” the other hissed. “And he told us the Seven Falls Sect is gonna pay us big money for it.”

  The confirmation that this was Chin’s fault just heightened my anger. Of course. A bandit like that wouldn’t just walk away and accept defeat. Whatever pride and ego he has wouldn’t allow it. A wave of shame quickly followed. And my own pride led him right back to my home. And he’s going to lead the Seven Falls Sect here as well. Did he see a bounty posted? Is some Core Disciple already here?

  In the midst of my mental turmoil, the bandits pounced. I barely brought up a hand in time to take the bone-shuddering impact of a massive fist against my fore-arm, letting the blow send me flying back just out of reach of a thrust from a razor-sharp point.

  “Get back here you-” I surged forward in retaliation, sending a palm strike to slap shut the bandit’s mouth, cutting him off mid-sentence. With my free hand, I grabbed the bandit by the elbow and ducked inside his guard, swinging his whole arm around and burying the spike right into his friend’s chest. Even as the swollen bandit deflated with a great cough of blood, I took the squirming spike in my hand and hip-checked the bastard, his scream not muffling the pop of his shoulder dislocating.

  The second their bodies had crumpled to the ground, I was by Old Jack’s side, ripping up his curtains to begin binding his wounds shut. “Jack, how are you feeling?”

  “So it was you!” The old man’s attempt at a laugh quickly turned into a coughing fit, spit and blood dripping from his mouth. “You’re a right menace now, lad. Showed ‘em for what. They after you?”

  “Unfortunately.” Doctor Lei’s sage advice echoed in my head, and my hands jumped from wound to wound with mechanical, unfeeling precision. “You’re going to be alright, Jack.”

  Another broken laugh. “Good bedside manner, lad. Howzit actually looking?”

  “Like shit.” Not even pain could stop that laugh. “But you’ll be fine. Do you have a crawlspace, some hidden room? I’m getting people to run, but you’re not fit for it. I’ll get back to you as soon as-”

  “Ryan!” My head darted around to Isabella, whose scythe was held above the burnt corpse of the first bandit. But even as it moved, I realised it wasn’t a corpse at all, and I spun around to bring my arms up in defense-

  Except the scorched, dying bandit didn’t attempt to attack at all, simply holding up a single, twisted antler. It crumbled to pieces in his grip, and his hand dropped to the floor right after. Through my spiritual senses, I watched as the splinters and shards of bone in the dead man’s hand screamed of blood and vengeance, lighting up a beacon in the night. Somewhere in the distance, men howled like wolves.

  I grabbed Jack under the shoulders, carefully dragging him out of sight of the door, leaning him up against the wall. “Stay here, keep your head down. Pretend you’re as dead as you look.”

  “Lad, you’re-” the old man shuddered, letting himself slowly slump back. “Alright, Ryan. Fuck those bastards up for me.”

  I gave him a thin smile and a nod, and stood back up to walk outside.

  Along the riverfront, with a bare few houses to my left and right, I watched as bandits began to arrive. Some were injured, the people of my home having fought back as best I could. Those same friends and family now bore wounds of their own, grievous and cruel, held in the tight grips of the bitter bandits who dragged them along. Mercifully, none looked quite as bad as Old Jack did, though terrifyingly there were so few of them.

  “Still no deaths from villagers,” Isabella said from my side, her own hand resting on my shoulder. “That talisman drew everyone here.”

  I let myself sigh in relief, as I recognised the hostages for what they were; fishermen with thick calluses and muscled arms, who’d fought for a chance for others to escape. Then I’ll consider that a blessing. I returned the stare of the bandits as I tried to think of what to do. What in the Hells do I say?

  “Ling, weren’t you- where the fuck is Hu?” One of them shouted out. “You found the fucker we’re looking for?”

  My breath felt hot and heavy from the inside of the wolf skull. I’ve got a chance. Gods, please let this be a good impression of Ling. I inhaled, preparing myself to lie my heart out once more.

  “You bleedin’ idiots, that ain’ Ling.”

  I didn’t get the chance. A fat hand pressed against the chest of the bandit who’d questioned me, pushing them back and stepping forward into their place. Dressed in worn robes with rips and tears amateurishly sewn up, Master Chin sneered at me, his crooked jaw leaving him permanently snarling. “Wha’ a fuckin’ pleasure, boy.”