Chapter 111: Chapter 111

The Rival stood at a crossroads, both literally and figuratively. His cultivation pounded within his skull, demanding to be unleashed, to be let off the chain like the barking dog it was, and start the Immortality Ascension Trial. He could do that. Or he could wait another few thousand years, to further perfect his cultivation base. An idea that Solana seemed to hate with a burning passion.

“No need to wait! Start it now, student!” she chirped in his ear, fluttering around him. “You more than ready! Do not wait!”

The Rival scratched his chin, feeling the beard there he hadn’t shaved off. He didn’t understand why she was so insistent he advance, it wasn’t like he was dying of old age or anything. With the rituals he could cast, the abilities he could forge, the treasures he could create, he could easily live another few hundred thousand years if he so wanted. In fact, he was still, appearance wise, fairly young. Fae bodies were remarkably resilient like that; their passive energy collection was the clear work of an origin deity.

It was a wonder he hadn’t noticed it earlier, actually. Fae weren’t just the dominant race of the Four Realms. He doubted they would remain the most populous either, especially when a race like humanity started to appear. But they were the first race. The first Ancient Peoples, the kind that stories and myths were written about, with their technological marvels and advanced civilizations compared to the lesser beings. Older universes always had them. Sometimes they died out, despite being biologically superior, truly hand-crafted by the Origin Deity. Sometimes not. Sometimes they were the ones who inhabited paradise, having earned their spot there, the lower regions no longer needing their direct guidance and example to rise to eternity.

The Rival yawned and stretched, his spine popping in a dozen places as he looked out over the little world he was on. Ever since the Celestial Empress had set her eyes upon him, he’d been unable to move alone – well, he probably could have escaped the guards sicced upon him, but just hadn’t felt like it. The little ship he had commandeered bobbed gently in the wind, floating over the village below. Dozens of cultivators ringed the village, none of whom were below the fourth realm of cultivation, making a veritable wall around the inhabitants.

The village itself was filled with Arachaeon, the strange, highly aggressive race of beings who, he was told, were native to the Hidden Realm before being chased out. The Celestial Empress and the Mad Scientist both were trying to rehabilitate the more amenable tribes of the naturally aggressive race, and the Rival was interested in them. Though not for the same reasons.

The Arachaeon had the Shadow’s signature written all over them. He wanted to ask what Statera was thinking by letting the Shadow make a People, but he already knew the answer. She wanted to encourage growth and change, accept the Shadow as part of the world, blah, blah, blah. It was all very like her, and he hated that he could see it working. It was probably just a quirk of this universe. Yeah, there were some issues with it and mortals would be mortals, and there was probably going to be an emergence of sects of demonic cultivators soon, but that was still in line with what he knew of her philosophy.

“Stop stalling and getting distracted!” Solana protested, pecking him on the side of the head. He flinched and frowned at her, the little bird flitting about his head like an annoying fly. “Let us go somewhere to begin your ascension!”

“I am right where I want to be, Solana,” he chided, rolling his eyes and looking back down at the Arachaeon, leaning over the railing of his flying ship to observe. The guards beside him shifted nervously – and he understood why. They were crazy looking things, for sure. For one, their mandibles were razor sharp, with blade-like protrusions lining their arms and legs. Spikes lined their joints, a carapace-like armor coating their entire bodies that only became more difficult to get through the higher their cultivation. Even a Fae with a cultivation stage one level higher would struggle to get through that natural armor, making them inherently able to punch up.

The Rival liked them. He wanted to meet one. He also wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a Shadow’s race be generally accepted into the universe at large, despite the atrocities they’d committed. The Arachaeon were adapting to society, at least the ones who weren’t madly bloodlusted, through gently teaching from the Celestial Empire. They would never be the nice, kind people, or as varied as the Fae, but…they might actually have their place beyond being mere demons, stories told to children at night to keep them from misbehaving.

“SL, my friend, you are challenging everything I thought I’d known about the multiverse. Well, not everything. But certainly the nature of Origin Deities and their Shadows. Is Morgan really helping you?” he muttered, mostly to himself but knowing that Statera was listening. Predictably, she did not answer. She didn’t always answer him, for no other reason than because she probably didn’t think the question was worth answering. He recalled his time in the Hidden Realm, going over what the Shadow had said to him… “they do not need to remember.” Plus some other, similar stuff. Implying her lives before made her lesser?

Odd. Very odd. Most Shadows were antagonistic in some way, and while Morgan certainly was, it was still, somehow, positive?

Tsundere! That’s the word he was looking for. Morgan was a tsundere, or a yandere? Uh…where a person was actually in love, but acted aggressive or dangerous because of it…yeah. That.

“Quit worrying about things above your head! And the small things! Your mind is too scattered!” Solana shrieked, landing on his head and stomping her feet, the heat of her toes radiating through his skull. He flinched and waved her off of her head, much to her shrieking annoyance.

“But the little, minor things are where the hands of gods are usually found. Especially gods like Statera.” The Rival muttered, listening to the wind. Most the people here were great, but Statera didn’t control them. They all had the option to consult the Heavenly Dao that permeated the world, but could both choose to connect and choose to ignore it. No, Statera’s will ran through the world itself. In the breeze, in the qi, in the vibrating sounds. Her will was for all things to have a place, no matter what they were, from the lowest of amoeba to the Aracheon themselves. It all functioned in a stable balance, the universe churning, those who lived within it, like all mortals, believing their experiences to be the pinnacle of reality.

He let out a breath, his cultivation stilling. He had left it intentionally blank. Despite the karmic fires that burned him away. Despite everything, he had kept his qi unflavored of elemental or any other energy. He hadn’t even touched upon the Dao, let alone his own. At his level of experience, such a thing was trivial to him.

He wanted to feel this universe at its purest.

But he’d spend enough time as a mortal, he could admit. He’d only stalled this long because annoying Solana was amusing. It was time to see how he could watch the grass grow with immortal eyes. Plus, the Arachaeon might make a worthy audience!

A sound like a bell rang through the air, the ship he was on immediately surging skyward. Solana shrieked and squawked in glee, the other cultivators aboard shouting warnings as the Rival’s cultivation surged. He stepped up onto the railing, and felt Statera’s eyes turn to him, the full weight of the Heavenly Dao pressing down upon him, suppressing his ascension. It was not a malicious feeling, though he could tell how it might be considered as such.

It felt more like a “stay there, for your safety,” than “you defy my will!” He’d been in a few xianxia worlds where that had been the case. This was not that. It was funny how easily the two feelings could be mixed up.

Everything slowed to a crawl as he stepped off of the boat, the air rippling like water beneath his feet as he stalked forward, planks of clear glass appearing. Something touched his soul, and he looked inward.

It was a gentle thing, feeling his qi. Each step forward created a new plank. Each hesitation added another yard of railing. The Rival watched in horrified fascination as miles upon miles of bridge was built before him, his own qi fueling it, his own soul designing it. He raised an eyebrow at the sky, stuffing his hands in his pockets and slouching.

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“I’ve never seen an Immortality Bridge so large.” Solana breathed, flying overhead. The Rival smirked in a way he knew was infuriating – he’d designed it to be infuriating over eons, after all, and he’d known his bridge would be special. It always was.

“Watch me cross it faster than anyone else ever has. Easy peasy.” He drawled, taking a step forward.

The Rival frowned and looked down, finding himself standing perfectly still on the first plank. He stepped forward again. Except he didn’t. His frown deepened as he glared at his feet that refused to move, kneeling, placing a hand upon the clear bridge-plank to feel what it was doing.

Nothing. It was doing nothing. He furrowed his brows and tapped his chin, recalling everything he knew about the Immortality Bridge. All he’d heard was that the Karmic Bridge ran you through the gamut of emotions, chaining you in place with those. That would have been easy enough to deal with. The Physical Bridge chained you physically, testing will. The Qi Bridge…well, that one, the one he now tried, varied, but following the usual patterns, it was all about chains. Having to cross the bridge.

He stood and stepped forward again, forcing himself to move, for the space before him to bend to his will, this time advancing one, single plank. One plank of however many tens of thousands.

Not physically. His cultivation was fine, too. It was his soul that hurt. Strained it like he overextended a muscle, the connection between himself and that great, big, floating ball of energy outside the Four Realms twisting and writhing in agony. The Rival stumbled backwards, rebuffed from advancing for the first time in eons by something that was not his own will.

Worst of all, he felt it within himself. Flashes of emotion and feeling, his life not playing before his eyes, but reminding him of everything he was and everything he had been. It demanded he face it, demanded he acknowledge himself. If it were just that, he’d have been able to do so. He knew what he was, and was unashamed of it. Well, not unashamed, but he at least acknowledged himself. No, this made him face things he’d stuffed away since – well, since -

The hair on the back of his neck stood up, his breaths coming rapid and short, fists clenching at his side.

“Oh, Sylvia.” He breathed, touching his nose and feeling a dampness there. He wiped away the blood. “This is cruel, even for you.” This wasn’t just a bridge. It was all about advancing across it. But, to do so, he had to face himself. Every inch of himself, and that was a lot of fucking ground to cover. This was his bridge to cross. He had to make the choice.

It will kill every bit of you. All but an inch, and force you to advance. Solana’s words echoed in his ears, his heart hammering in his chest as he realized the weight of what lay before him.

He’d had trillions of years to avoid such a decision. Yet, Statera, in all her wisdom, had left him a path out. All he had to do was take one step back, and it would be over. No judgement. No shame. Just a simple acknowledgement that he wasn’t ready to cross this bridge yet. To her, this was what it meant to be Immortal. This was what it took to achieve immortality, for good or ill.

In another universe, he probably would have turned away. Written it off as not worth his time, rolled his eyes and let rituals and false ceremonies boost his power to the necessary level and his life to the needed length. But he couldn’t do that here, could he?

He smiled wryly, sensing the challenge. His pride wouldn’t allow him to back down. His ego wouldn’t allow him to fail, not in front of Statera mother-fudging Luotian. For the first time in a long, long time, he felt he might actually be grateful for that fact. The Rival breathed out a shaky breath, feeling Statera’s hand reach down to gently squeeze his arm, a quiet acknowledgement of his fear, and a reassurance that she was still here. That she would always be here, even when he thought he didn’t need her.

“Don’t watch this, please.” He whispered, surprised at how desperate his voice sounded. This was his burden to bear, and –

I am here. But I will let you walk alone.

He felt it. The gentle reassurance. The gentle pressure on his back, and the eyes that saw through him like he was made of fucking glass. Him, the eternal Rival, the oldest Monkey Wrench, someone so complex, yet feeling so transparent in front of a bridge of all things. It reminded him of one of their first sessions together, back on Earth. It had been a dark room. A quiet room. She had a glass of red wine in one hand, and the stench of cigarettes had filled the air.

He had talked to her. She had listened, even through all the outlandish stories, the things that must have sounded like the fever dream of a druggy, acknowledged them, and never outright dismissed them. She’d let him take himself apart piece by piece, not treating him as something broken, but as a real…thing, turning his own gaze inward, rather than dissecting him like a lab rat. He didn’t need to be fixed, because he wasn’t broken. And she had…she had…asked him a question that cut deeper than any blade. “You have worn so many faces. Which one is your own?”

And worst of all, her follow up. “You have been running in place all your life. When will you step forward?” He’d stopped talking to her for a year, after that.

That had been what had made him fall in love with her, he realized.

The Rival took another deep breath. This was for him alone, and no one else.

He couldn’t disappoint now, could he?

*** Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by NoveIＦire.net

Reika watched as the Rival crossed the threshold of the immortality bridge, his soul stepping through a little portal to arrive in her garden. She pretended not to notice, snipping leaves from a bush that was growing oddly, her daughter, Kei, hanging upside down in a tree above her, her bushy fox tails tickling her nose.

She pretended not to notice the redness around his eyes, the first hint of true emotion she’d ever seen the man make, not that blank, happy thing he’d had going on.

She pretended not to notice him take a moment to collect himself.

She pretended not to notice the shakiness of his voice as he spoke.

“I suppose that’s why the Mad Scientist chose to stay, huh?” he asked. Reika looked up and cocked her head to the side innocently as he dusted off his already immaculate clothes, opening her mouth once, and finding the words inadequate. He had changed.

The aura of an immortal radiated off of him, now, but it was gentle. Gentler than his previous cultivation base by far, and now with a depth that even she struggled to see through. But his physical appearance had changed as well. His hair was as black as the night. His Fae horns were gone completely. His eyes gleamed a brilliant emerald green, his body lithe and fit. His face was calm and gentle looking; quite fetching Reika had to admit, though she would never tell Mother that she found Her ex attractive.

He touched his face, and looked at his feet, where a pool of water lay perfectly still. Kei and Reika watched in silent anticipation as he studied his reflection, smiling wryly.

“Of all my faces, I chose this one.” He said softly, then snapped his attention up, to her, meeting her eyes with calm acceptance. “You must be Reika.” He said. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Solana.”

“Welcome to my garden. It’s not often an Immortal is found worthy enough to appear before me. Most of the time Keilan greets those who ascend. Sometimes Elvira, but she really wants to wait for the Immortals to reach the Heaven Realm. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Reika said, standing and dusting off the smock she wore, approaching the Rival with an extended hand. He regarded it with a blank expression, and, instead, stepped forward to wrap her in a tight hug.

Reika froze. He had a good inch of height on her, and smelled like lightning and fire.

“Come now, did you really think I’d greet the child of Statera with anything other than a hug?” he asked, pulling away and winking at her. She flushed and pulled out of his reach, only for him to immediately turn his attention to Kei, grinning like a madman. “And you! It is good to see you again! How have you been?!”

“Ever wonder why your spicy granola bars went missing mysteriously?” Kei asked innocently. The Rival gasped in mock horror.

“That was you?! Oh, you little jerk!” he cried, clutching a hand to his chest. “That you save me, then betray me so! This offense shall never be forgotten!” Kei giggled and swung back and forth on the tree. Reika cleared her throat, but the Rival seemed to ignore her, already marching over to Kei with exaggerated, stomping steps.

This was not how meeting the goddess of change was supposed to go! He was controlling the pace!

“What did you mean, by this must be why the Mad Scientist chose to stay?” She interjected, interrupting whatever the Rival was about to say next. The man stilled, and turned to look at her, his eyes growing…quiet, even if his expression stayed the same. He could not hide his feelings from her, not completely.

“The bridge.” He said softly. “It makes you look inward. Examine yourself. For people like us, the Monkey Wrenches, who live many, many lives, it is a delicious trap. It forces us to look inward at parts of ourselves long since hidden away – this one is especially thorough, and therefore a thousand times more dangerous. I doubt many Monkey Wrenches would be able to resist the lure of stability after feeling something . It’s not the only thing, but…it is the lid on the coffin, and the nails.” He said.

Reika fidgeted under his intense gaze, realizing, suddenly, that this being truly was older than even Mother. He may have even wielded more power than Her at some point.

“Is that you?” she asked, quietly. He was silent for a long, long moment, then shook his head sadly.

“No. I still have a duty to attend to.” He admitted.

“Yes. I am…the only one able to do it.” he admitted, and Reika was struck by the weight of his tone, the severity of his voice. He smiled softly. Reika clasped her hands before her, and came to a little decision.

“Would you like some tea?”