It felt strange, finally here, here again. Hao felt… Different from before, as he looked down on a person who would die. A deep, hollowed-out version of his voice whispered from the corner of his mind. At least give him a chance to fight back. Hao responded, No, we will have our battles in time. Many, if we leave this place alive.

  Hao was unsurprised by the voice. It was the second time it had appeared, during his early attempts to break through the Seventh Layer of Reclamation. It could do nothing but speak. He easily suppressed it before, and it hadn’t bothered him since. He could do it again. It had many things to say, but he already knew everything it wanted to say.

  The moment passed in an instant, and Hao was alone in his head again. His hands hovered over a man. The dark of the tent surrounded him except for the light that shone out from his mouth, obscured by the fog of his deliberately slow breaths.

  This would be the second person of the five, ten, or more that lurked around Mo Bangcai. They had taken what was his, and wanted to take even more. Their conflict was inevitable. Why wait until they saw him as a loose end to snipe? So many reasons flooded Hao’s head. At this point, to avenge was a foundation, and satisfaction was a sweet ripe berry atop the dinner plate.

  Bangcai and his group were the start. He wouldn’t feel safe until the First Elder was soil and mud beneath his feet.

  Hao swung a leg over the man and pressed his knee to his chest. With perfect timing, his hand pinched the man’s face. He stared down at the man, taking in his features. Thirties, no older, not forty, though, age still took a toll on those in reclamation. Slick bandages steamed with a warm red. No bandages on his face, all on his arms and legs, none on his torso, no. Hao dug his knee in harder. The softest part of the man’s neck sucked in as he searched for air.

  The man could last for a while, but not forever.

  Hao felt a little ashamed at having to kill a man in his sleep, though he knew he would have his recompense and battle before the morning sun came. He would spill blood in a less cowardly way. Then flee, as that was what he had to do, for no other reason than that. He would have loved to slay them all in their sleep without the world knowing of it. But, no matter how much he pretended, he was not a master assassin.

  Better even, if he could face them all, one against nine, in a grand battle. To walk in while they were eating dinner. One after one after another. But not everyone was a young fool like Hao or Mo Bangcai. The man under Hao’s hands lived at least twice as long as Hao’s young life. His experience was incomparable, whether it was hunting beasts or men. His strength was unknown.

  Hao was staring up as he fantasized, but the Dao or its axiom must have heard his thoughts. The man began to tremble. Blue eyes were open and bloodshot—the red streaks highlighting the azure color that almost all land dwellers had.

  The suction on his hand, the hollow in his throat right above his sternum, got deeper. That didn’t slow Hao down at all. Just made the man suffocate faster. Something akin to guilt welled in his chest as the already bulging eyes grew even larger. That sensation seemed only half real. It was trying to come through, but an eel wrapped and strangled it too.

  The tremble turned to a rumble as legs flailed. The man fought back, his head pushed against Hao’s hands until his nose cracked. Hao thought it broke. Previously long and pointed, now it lay flat. His chest, too, the man pushed up on the ground with his hands, and his torso rose a few inches.

  Hao knew the man would react. He didn’t expect any animal to lie down and die, not even most plants fought such a fate. Of course, he would fight if he got the chance. But it came so suddenly with a burst of violence. Without suffocating at first, Hao could have never known it was like this.

  The man’s feet continued and slammed on the ground. First, it was like he violently turned over in his sleep, but the redder the face, the swifter and more erratic his feet became.

  How much longer! Hao’s thoughts became inflamed, though he felt calm. Not as quiet as he wanted to be. But he knew he just had to stay steady. After about thirty seconds of the more violent movements, a voice broke the silence.

  “Would you stop that already?”

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  A voice that gave the impression of a young person made Hao’s ears warm. He closed his mouth. The Spirit Stone’s light, sealed behind his teeth and lips, plunged the tent into its normal darkness. Things remained that way for a moment. A long moment until the swing of the feel slowed, and the man beneath Hao lay himself down, slowly stiffening.

  The legs swung a few last times. They didn’t hit the ground like before, but drew circles in the air until they landed with a thud.

  “Shush, who is doing that?”

  Hao waited a couple more seconds until he knew it was done. It seemed too easy in a manner, heartlessly easy, hard in execution, that gave him more relief than he would have expected. Still, the man died while he stared at teeth lit by a white stone framed in the dark by unforgiving, unfamiliar eyes—Islander eyes. Now he was just a stone beneath his killer.

  The other one was awake now. Hao knew that his time to set up a perfect crime scene had passed; his inexperience shone through against the strength of the spirit to live. He smiled. The Spirit Stone brought light to the tent.

  “Teeth?” he nearly asked in a near shout. Freight took the next man’s face. His back straightened, and he tried to crawl away. He went for the exit. The exit that he would have to cross in front of the floating teeth and dark eyes to get to.

  Hao leapt over. He had to stop any noise. The morning was still young, the sun yet to touch the world, but the two of them, Hao and the man, in their struggle, made plenty of noise together.

  “IN!” The man got out, his voice became a puffy cloud in the night air, before his head impacted the canvas’s edge and the ground. His head spun to look back at Hao, a foolish mistake. His throat was hit by a second palm strike, which killed off any voice he had left.

  The flap, now opened, brought moonlight into the tent. The man made eye contact with Hao as they both slid out of the tent halfway. Breathlessly, the man looked over Hao’s face. Eyes like fish on a hook, they darted around, wavering between hope and nothingness. He breathed in hard, which squeaked into the night sky through his bent throat. His damned voice sounded like an alarm even without a word.

  Hao didn’t know what to do, but he didn’t freeze up. The only thought in mind was that he had to stop the man from creating any more commotion with his hands, feet, or mouth. Hao found it easier to stall. The man under the control of his fingers was no stronger than Hao when he was Sixth rank. Still, he was ten years older.

  Hao was now the Seventh layer, well fed and fully healed, without a single injury on his body. His opponent was more than well fed. Stolen rations, wines, and rest made his body soft. The bandages that wrapped him tore as he attempted to get away, with his legs kicking erratically and feet landing on Hao anywhere they could reach. One kick landed squarely on Hao’s chest. The impact pushed Hao back just enough for the man to crawl away, his back wiping frost and dew from the grass.

  They were full out of the tent before Hao got full control of him. With a big lunge, he got over the man’s defensive turtle-on-its-back style posture. His hand gripped the man’s robe near the right shoulder.

  The squeak from the man’s throat stopped, gaining some rasp to his shout, his voice was trying to break free of the pressure of the collapsed flesh. He was about to shout. Words would come clearly into the night, words of warning, more than what already sounded to those in the dark. There was little time to stop it.

  Hao felt a slight flash of panic as he saw the man’s tongue move. His left hand, which held the man’s robe, released; it shot up and grabbed his jaw, squeezing down on flesh and bone. Hao could help but grunt as he raised his right hand for a strike.

  The sound of firewood being dropped on the forest floor filled the camp. Hao’s palm struck the man’s neck. Force too much human neck, at least one in Reclamation. Noise seemed to echo. Blood splashed in two small bursts. The head didn’t sever, but the man bit his tongue, and the skin on his neck just above his sternum tore. With the red stream, a constant “nnn,” sound bubbled from the hole in his throat.

  Hao stared down at the man as he faded. The last struggles of his nerves were like the writhing of a slain snake. Legs still kicked, arms reached as if there was something to grab. He dropped the body, which he held by the face. His hand went to the holding bag, bound to the man’s hips by string after string. He ripped it free and stored it.

  I should have just taken out a knife, a blade, a blade. Hao looked at his hand, red as if he had painted an entire Temple. He wiped his hand on the ground. Hesitation didn’t creep in, nor did he shiver, but he didn’t want to see it. It wasn’t over, anyway.

  Hao could hear a shuffle, another tent cover was shaking, and a head appeared outside. He knew the old man would come out eventually; he said he would keep watch after helping Bangcai. But it was earlier than Hao thought. The noise he had made certainly hadn’t helped him in the situation.

  “Noisy… I said I would keep watch. Brother Lou should rest until sunrise. We can switch if you’re still keen.” A graying head of hair stretched tall as the tent flap slapped closed. His back faced Hao and the dead men, as moonlight breaking the branches of the tree lit the bloody scene. He turned slowly, his dark eyes brows knit.

  He must have seen the red splatter that glistened with silver light. The pace he turned at became sudden, and his reaction was an instant before he saw Hao. His hand drew a long blade. Three and a half feet long, silver and razor sharp, it made the air scream as it was drawn.

  Much like his blade, he let out a scream when his eyes landed on the already standing Hao. “Lord of…!” The rest of the words were unintelligible and loud. He focused on raising his blade instead. To block the red-smeared hand that Hao sent at him.