Jiang Tian was running, swearing, and trying very hard not to die.

  Not necessarily in that order.

  He dodged around a screaming merchant, a crate of cabbages exploding behind him where a poorly aimed bolt of Qi had struck, and wondered how everything had gone wrong so quickly.

  The air behind him howled, a low, bone-deep vibration that made his teeth ache. Every few breaths, the world seemed to flicker – light bending, shadows snapping sideways as three titans traded blows somewhere behind the rows of crumbling buildings. The clash of their Qi was more pressure than sound, each reverberation making the cobbles shudder underfoot.

  “Li Xuan gave us one task!” Zhang ranted, deflecting a thrown dagger with the flat of his hand.

  “Why are you acting like this is my fault?” Jiang panted.

  “Because you intervened,” Zhang snapped, ducking under the same cart a heartbeat later. “Which you didn’t have to do.”

  “Oh, right,” Jiang said, half-laughing, half-gasping. “Next time someone tries to stab you in the back, I’ll just let them.”

  Zhang shot him a glare over his shoulder but didn’t argue – probably because another bolt of Qi shrieked overhead, close enough that Jiang felt the hair on his arms rise. It hit a nearby wall with a sound like thunder trapped in a bottle, turning half the alley into dust and noise and sending them both tumbling to the ground.

  Fortunately, the eight disciples chasing them didn’t fare any better. Individually, they weren’t that strong – the ones that had noticed Zhang’s sect robes and started this whole mess by demanding a duel hadn’t been too tough – but there were enough of them that fighting wasn’t a winning prospect.

  Not to mention the force of nature that was their Elder, who by the sounds of things was turning a significant portion of the city to rubble somewhere behind them.

  Zhang stumbled to his feet, turning just long enough to send a gout of flame vaguely in the direction of the pursuing disciples and yanked Jiang to his feet.

  “They’re closing in,” he hissed.

  “I noticed!” Jiang snapped. He flung a hand back, sending his own shadows snaking across the alley floor. They coiled up around the lead pursuer’s ankles, yanking his feet out from under him. The man hit the ground hard, swore, and rolled just in time to avoid a falling roof tile.

  “This way!” he yelled, ducking into another narrow side street, Zhang right behind him.

  The alleys here were tighter, the buildings leaning in overhead, plunging the passage into near darkness even in the middle of the day. It was Jiang’s element. He heard the frustrated shouts of their pursuers as they hesitated at the entrance, unsure of the path.

  “They’re trying to herd us into the open,” Jiang panted, glancing back. “We stick to the alleys.”

  Zhang just nodded, his face grim. Another shockwave rolled through the city, closer this time, and the ground beneath their feet shuddered. The fight between the Elder and the others was moving.

  They burst out into a small, cluttered marketplace, scattering startled vendors and sending chickens squawking in every direction. Three of the Ironwood disciples were waiting, having cut them off.

  Zhang sent a tight, focused blast of fire at two of them as Jiang lunged at the third. His target fell back with a startled shout, clearly unprepared for the sudden attack but bringing his sword up from instinct. Jiang managed to deflect it with his dagger, leaving both of their weapons out of position. If he had any real training, he might have taken the opportunity to draw his own sword. As it was, he simply crashed into the disciple in a full-body tackle, sending them both to the ground.

  Jiang rolled away before the man’s hand could close around his wrist, driving his dagger down in the same motion. The blade met flesh, and the disciple jerked before slumping. Jiang scrambled to his feet, not knowing if the man was dead or just unconscious, and not particularly caring either.

  A second attacker lunged at him, shouting something wordless and furious. Zhang cut him off with a burst of heat that somehow hit with physical force, sending the man sprawling.

  “Go!” Zhang shouted, already moving. “More coming!”

  Jiang didn’t argue. The sound of boots was everywhere now — too many to count, echoing through the maze of streets. He snatched his dagger free and sprinted after Zhang. Another pulse of Qi struck the street behind them, blowing apart a fruit stall. The scent of scorched wood and crushed oranges filled the air.

  They turned another corner and found two more disciples waiting. These ones were older, steadier, blades already drawn. Before Jiang could even decide whether to fight or run, there was a blast of Qi and Li Xuan slammed into the side of a building fifty paces ahead of them with the force of a thunderclap. The stone wall buckled inward, bricks exploding outward in a cloud of dust and debris. The inner disciple tumbled through the air, hit the street in front of them, rolled, and came up bleeding but alive.

  “Move!” he barked, the word barely audible over the noise of crumbling buildings.

  Behind him, the top half of the building sagged dangerously, one wall half-collapsed. Through the smoke, Jiang saw Elder Gui framed in the gap. The old man’s eyes were locked on Li Xuan. His hand rose, light coalescing into a spear of Qi, then hesitated for a split second before turning and hurling the attack at Mistress Bai as she lunged at his flank.

  Jiang turned, tracing the path the attack would have taken. Through the gaping hole Li Xuan had made in the wall, he could see the interior of a small apartment. A woman was huddled in the corner, shielding a crying child. His heart froze in his chest as he realised the consequences this fight could have for the mortals of the city. To them, it must have seemed like the world had decided to end for no good reason.

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  How would they react to know it was all over him?

  Li Xuan staggered to his feet, wincing. “You two—” He didn’t get to finish. A fresh wave of Ironwood disciples poured into the square from both ends.

  Jiang grabbed Zhang by the arm and yanked him toward the nearest side street, forcibly banishing the image of the cowering mother from his mind. “This way!”

  They ran again, weaving through the labyrinth of alleys. The air was thick with dust and the taste of Qi, every breath sharp and metallic. Jiang’s lungs burned. The city itself seemed to be collapsing around them – rooftops cracked, market stalls splintered, the sky flashing with stray bursts of power.

  “I hope you have a really good plan!” Zhang shouted over the chaos.

  I don’t even have a bad plan, Jiang wanted to answer, but didn’t. Just as he was about to shout something suitably sarcastic back, he suddenly realised the street ahead looked familiar – the slanted roofs, the narrow gutters, the faint smell of cooking oil. He realised where they were and felt his stomach tighten. Old Nan’s.

  For a moment, he slowed, torn. Bringing this chaos here was unthinkable. There were too many innocents – the street kids, Lin, Old Nan herself. But the disciples were closing in fast, and there was no other way out, and the faint chance that Old Nan would be able to do something was enough to keep him moving. Desperation tended to make the tough decisions seem almost easy.

  He clenched his jaw. “We’re nearly there,” he gritted out, starting down a cramped passage barely wide enough for one man. The shadows deepened. His Qi flared, stretching along the walls, feeling the space, guiding him through. Behind them came the heavy tread of pursuit.

  “Nearly where?” Zhang wheezed, narrowly twisting aside from a jet of water that punched through the stone wall beside him.

  “Old Nan’s.”

  “…is that supposed to mean anything to me?”

  Jiang’s retort was cut off by a sharp crack from overhead, followed by a more distant rumble as a building was destroyed. One heartbeat the alley in front of them was empty, the next, Elder Gui stood blocking the exit. Dust swirled around the old man’s boots as if afraid to touch him. His robes were lightly torn but there was no blood, and his eyes were shining with a savage excitement.

  Jiang skidded to a halt, Zhang crashing into his shoulder behind him. They froze. The gap between them and the elder was no more than ten paces – far too close.

  A blur of motion to his left, another to his right. Mistress Bai landed silently on the rooftop of a teahouse, while Li Xuan took his position on the opposite side, his drawn sword gleaming in the dust-choked air. Three points of a triangle, with him and Zhang trapped in the middle.

  The Ironwood disciples that had been chasing them quickly formed a loose barrier circling the tense standoff, notably keeping their distance from Mistress Bai and Li Xuan.

  Gui lifted a single hand. The air shimmered, Qi gathering, humming with restrained violence. “Well then,” he chuckled lightly. “That was invigorating. What now?”

  — — —

  Mistress Bai landed on the rooftop in a crouch, the cracked tiles grinding beneath her boots. Her lungs burned from the strain of maintaining her domain for so long, and her right arm still tingled faintly from where one of Gui’s earlier strikes had grazed her. She ignored both sensations. Appearance was everything. The moment she showed weakness, she was dead.

  Well. More dead, anyway.

  Li Xuan was already in position on the opposite roof, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by a grim, focused intensity, and she noticed his sword trembled faintly in his hand – not from fear, Bai suspected, but from the sheer effort of keeping himself standing.

  Below them, Elder Gui stood like a mountain in the centre of the alley, radiating an effortless, crushing pressure. She had known Elders were powerful, of course. But knowing it in the abstract and feeling it try to tear you apart were two vastly different things.

  She hadn’t quite been arrogant enough to assume she was the equal of a sect elder, of course, but quietly, in the privacy of her thoughts, she’d thought it would be at least somewhat even. That, with the right battlefield, or on a particularly good day with the right allies, she may even be able to defeat one.

  The worst part of it was that she rather suspected Gui hadn’t even been trying particularly hard. He had all but toyed with them, leading them on a chase through her city, shattering buildings with casual force, yet somehow managing to avoid any significant mortal casualties. He was playing with them and had seemed more amused than anything else at their efforts. While she and Li Xuan… she could feel the deep bruises forming beneath her skin, the strain in her meridians from pushing her Qi to its absolute limit just to keep him occupied.

  Her mind raced, calculating odds, searching for an escape. Surrender? Turn on Jiang Tian and Li Xuan both in exchange for safe passage out of the province? It would be a catastrophic blow to her cultivation, abandoning her domain, breaking the countless threads of Karma she had woven over decades. But it was better than dying here, crushed under the weight of a Sect Elder’s casual displeasure. Whatever face she lost, whatever networks she abandoned – she could rebuild them later. Better humiliated than dead. But she doubted the Ironwood Pavilion would allow her to simply walk away after opposing one of their elders.

  Even Li Xuan, for all his pride, was silent now. She felt a brief, vindictive flicker of satisfaction. He had dragged her into this mess; now he could share the consequences.

  She opened her mouth, ready to make the offer, to salvage what little she could from this disaster.

  Before she could speak, the plain wooden door behind Jiang Tian creaked open.

  An old woman hobbled out, leaning heavily on a gnarled cane. She was impossibly ancient, her face a roadmap of wrinkles, her eyes rheumy and clouded. She squinted at Jiang, then scowled, rapping her cane sharply on the cobblestones.

  “Boy!” she snapped, scowling at him. “What in the heavens do you think you’re doing, bringing this nonsense to my doorstep?”

  Everyone stared. The Ironwood disciples shifted uncertainly. Li Xuan blinked, thrown completely off balance. Even Elder Gui looked momentarily bemused, a flicker of amusement crossing his face at the sight of this frail, mortal woman berating the very prize they were fighting over.

  Jiang swallowed visibly. “I— sorry, Old Nan. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Hmph,” she grumbled, shuffling forward a step. “Troublemaking brat.” She surveyed the scene – the armed cultivators, the shattered buildings, the palpable killing intent in the air – with a look of profound irritation. “Well, I suppose this is what old bones like mine are good for these days. Cleaning up the messes you youngsters make. Feh,” She spat to the side. “I guess it has been a while since I’ve gotten any exercise.”

  Elder Gui took a step toward her, his expression softening into one of patronising condescension. “Old woman,” he began, his voice gentle but firm, clearly intending to move her aside. Bai would give him points for restraint, if nothing else. “This is cultivator business. It does not concer—”

  He stopped. Mid-step. Mid-word.

  The air in the alley went utterly, deathly still.

  The tiny, frail old woman looked up at him. And in that instant, Mistress Bai felt it.

  Not Qi. Not intent. Something else. Something vast, ancient, and terrifyingly powerful, uncoiling from within that withered frame like a sleeping dragon woken from a slumber of ages. It wasn’t the contained pressure of an Elder; it was the raw, unrestrained energy of a collapsing star. It dwarfed Gui. It dwarfed her. It dwarfed everything.

  Elder Gui’s face went white. The condescension, the anger, the greed – it all vanished, replaced by a stark, primal terror. His hand flew to the sword he hadn’t bothered to draw against either her or Li Xuan.

  He uttered a single, choked phrase, his voice barely a whisper.

  “Nascent Soul.”