Crown of the Starry Sky: Book 11 of Painting the Mists

by Patrick Laplante

  As for Starry Sky and Radiant Construction, the connection seemed remote at best. Yet with construction came expansion of a different kind. Construction would eventually threaten the rest of nature. What better example was there than on the Inkwell Plane? It used to be a home for demons, and now humans were here, destroying them. It was a battle. A competition. Building led to superiority and encroachment, and eventually, fighting. Even from star to star.

  It was a truth Cha Ming barely touched on, but it hurt him. In that joined concept, he saw great pain.

  They called her the Builder of Roads. The Star-Eye Ancestor had built a vast, interconnected network between the stars. She’d built it for her people to thrive. She’d built it for life. Oh, how naïve she’d been.

  Now, they called her Maker of War. The Warrior. Another half of the same coin. The best of intentions had led to conflict and pain, and it was reflected in her people. They were both builders and warriors. They wanted peace, but it came with war. An endless network of conflict across constellations and galaxies. It was no wonder that beneath her cheerful mask, he’d seen melancholy.

  Could he do better? Could he be different? Cha Ming didn’t know. It was difficult to predict what would happen from even the best of intentions. But that was a part of wisdom. That was part of being a Sage. He had to discover this for himself, and he hoped he did so before it was too late.

  It was then that Cha Ming realized that there was nothing more he could accomplish here. He was finished. He’d achieved what he could with his cultivation. He stepped out of the pillar of light, exhausted, and once out, he gazed across the cosmos. There, he saw a woman wielding a spear of darkness. She had been forged in starvation. Broken over many years. But now? Now the power of the Clockwork Ancestor flowed within her. Her every spear thrust was a song and every step a dance. The Clockwork Ancestor’s music guided her.

  Monkeys fell one after another under Serrendil’s blade. She was unmatched at her level. Captains that were meant for the war fell like flies, much to the rage of the Stargazer Chieftain. And when the last of the captains fell, she challenged elders. She bled. She laughed. There wasn’t much time remaining, he knew, for she would soon be at the end of her rope.

  Huxian stepped out of the pillar of light soon after. His body healed quickly, and his presence was stronger than ever. It was difficult to say how much time they’d spent within the starlight. What Cha Ming did know was that before, space-time warped around him, and now, it hugged him like a cloak.

  “You have reached the end of this road, and you embark on the next one,” the Star-Eye Ancestor said. “A new king is born. You have built yourself a road of starlight upon which to tread.”

  “Do we need to go back separately, or can we travel together?” Cha Ming asked.

  “I’m the Builder of Roads,” she said, sounding offended. “It is easy to build a path upon which both of you can travel.” She waved her staff. A road appeared, faint and dark, but a road nonetheless. It was a terrible road. One that couldn’t be traveled alone. It required man and demon to work together to pass through it. But it was the shortest road, and together, they could handle it.

  “Brother,” Cha Ming said, holding out his hand.

  “Brother,” Huxian said, taking it. “Let’s do this.”

  They hopped onto the road and ran back down to the world beneath them.

  Too weak, Serrendil thought as she picked herself up. She was bloody and exhausted. Today, she’d fought harder than she’d ever thought possible. With new life, new power, and a rhythm that only she could hear.

  After all this power, I’m still too weak, she thought as she clashed against an elder. He was an initial-investiture-realm demon who transformed the stage into the forested side of a rocky mountain. He wasn’t merely drawing from the power of the Tree of Life but modifying its terrain to better suit him. That was the power of an investiture-realm demon.

  Serrendil had no choice but to follow him into this nightmare, where the demonic qi around her felt traitorous and alien. It will never change, said the Spirit of the Clockwork Ancestor. You will always feel too weak at times when it matters most. I felt this way as well before… Her voice trailed off. Was that sadness she heard?

  Then all I can do is keep fighting, Serrendil said. One spear strike at a time. One victory or injury at a time. She spun, and her spear tore through the elder’s investiture. Where she cut, the land broke apart and the trees faded. The sheer incredulity of it allowed her to break through the unprepared elder’s defenses and cut through his armor, hacking off a limb, which grew back in a matter of seconds. She hadn’t hurt him all that much.

  She knew this wouldn’t work for long. She was only stalling. Moreover, she wasn’t a well-tempered blade but a sharp and brittle one. They could break her if they weren’t afraid to face her. Indeed, the elder shifted as her spear went for his throat. He disappeared, leaving behind only a pile of leaves that cut across her armorlike skin. He appeared behind her, prepared to do his worst. But she understood his rhythm in this fight. His tempo. His song. She cut upward but knew this was only a feint, which he used to appear beside her with a strange, twisting staff strike that curled around her body.

  So that’s all there is to it? Serrendil asked. Train to fight this way? Using your power and your memories? Keep fighting stronger and stronger opponents, and quest without end?

  Obviously not, the Clockwork Ancestor said. This is your path, child. You chose it. Take up the Dao or abandon the spear for all I care. But do not forget your roots. Every story has an origin. A starting point.

  I’m a bad choice, Serrendil said. She was choking out. Her body was doing its best to resist her prison of wood and vines, but this was an investiture-realm expert. She’d defeated one or two of them because they’d underestimated her, and she was used to fighting tough battles. I’ve made so many bad decisions. I worked for those who imprisoned children. Who tried to destroy our people. I’m garbage.

  “Give in,” her opponent said. “You won’t last much longer.”

  She knew it was true, but she would wait until the last second, buying all the time she could.

  You are not a bad choice, the Clockwork Ancestor said. You have suffered pain unlike any other. But most importantly, you have made big mistakes. Despite that, you strive to fix them.

  But what if I fail? Serrendil asked.

  Child, they call me Maker of Music, the Clockwork Ancestor said. I know better than anyone else how much sweat and how many tears go into making a masterpiece. How many failed attempts are required for the final product. I’d never make anything if I got hung up on the specifics. What matters more is the will to keep working at it, until eventually, you have the perfect piece.

  Thank you, Serrendil said.

  Do me proud, daughter, her ancestor said. The time has come. Concede and rest. You have done enough.

  Serrendil banished her spear, and the battle ended. Is it over? Is this another failure?

  Far from it, the Clockwork Ancestor said. We won our battle. Another is just beginning.

  Serrendil’s vision blurred. She couldn’t breathe. Whatever healing paste they put on her was doing its job. Three demons and two humans had fought and wounded half the opposing army. That much was enough to be proud of, regardless of how quickly they would recover.

  But that wasn’t the point, was it? The point had been to buy time. Time they’d gotten. A portal opened in the back of the room, and a fox demon and a man walked through it. The man’s clothes were tattered but regrowing. His eyes were gray. His crown was a pinprick of light in the darkness, a star to show them the way.

  Cha Ming had returned.

  Drums sounded across all of Stargazer City. Cha Ming could feel their vibrations and the anticipation in the air. The entire city was watching—not just the Star-Eye Clan, but all the monkey tribes and their affiliated clans residing in the city.

  Cha Ming and the chieftain were on opposite ends of the chalked-out circle. The t
ribe’s shamans were painting ceremonial glyphs on their skin, clothes, and in the chieftain’s case, his armor. He was an investiture-realm demon, after all. Investiture-realm demons congealed a significant portion of their power in armor just like initiation-realm demons did their weapons.

  “Surrender, human, and I will let you off with a heavy but fair beating,” the Stargazer Chieftain said. He stood taller than before. More imposing. “You have brought these ones of ink back to our clan, and for that, we owe you a favor.”

  “You need to stop the war,” Cha Ming said. He ignored his mounting dread as the Stargazer Chieftain unleashed his strength. He was an investiture-realm demon—of what realm, it didn’t matter. “It is madness to continue fighting.”

  “I will not do this,” said the Stargazer Chieftain. He summoned his redwood staff. The weapon was stronger than the Clear Sky Staff by many times. When it appeared, a pressure filled the room. A suffocating, hopeless pressure. In that moment, Cha Ming knew that head on, it was impossible to win.

  “Are you ready?” Sun Wukong asked them both.

  The chieftain pounded his staff in acknowledgment. Cha Ming forced himself to move and nod.

  “Begin!” Sun Wukong shouted.

  Cha Ming immediately activated everything he had. Thirty-Six Heavenly Transformations and Clockwork Boots of the Golden Dragon. He activated the Crown of the Starry Sky, channeling the power of the Sage. In addition to the many benefits it granted him, the presence of an earned crown supressed the Stargazer Chieftain so that he couldn’t bring his whole strength to bear. It also shielded him from the suppression of a powerful opponent, an overwhelming opponent he couldn’t hope to defeat. But he had to. Too many would die otherwise.

  Time flowed like a dream. He didn’t watch through his own perspective, but the perspective of the Sage. How else could he hope to fight an investiture-realm demon save through its guidance? The chieftain wasn’t just two or three sub-realms above Cha Ming—he was in an entirely different realm. Should he land a direct blow, Cha Ming wouldn’t survive it even with all his limit-breaking techniques active. A single staff strike would destroy his body and all his vitality stores. He could only fight, using his increased perception, speed, and reaction time to avoid death by bludgeoning.

  The chieftain was faster and stronger than Cha Ming. Cha Ming’s only mercy was that he saw things the chieftain did not. The chieftain’s crown was that of the Warrior, and he channeled the power of that specific constellation. Fortunately, the conduit was imperfect. He couldn’t draw on every devastating bit of power, and the faulty crown let a hint of its corrupting influence through, enraging the chieftain. Regardless of this fact, defending was like trying to stop an enormous flying ship mid-flight. Whenever he tried to redirect the chieftain’s staff, his bones broke and splintered, only for them to heal in a fraction of a second. It was a steady drain on his vitality reserves.

  I don’t stand a chance in wounding him, Cha Ming realized after the first few seconds. He’d nearly died several times to obtain that information. He tested weaknesses and gaps in the chieftain’s armor, but his skin was tougher than an iron tree’s bark. My only mercy is that he doesn’t seem to want to use his investiture. The chieftain was strong, but he was honorable. Perhaps that was the aspect of this battle that bothered Cha Ming most. The more he fought the chieftain, the more he understood him. The man genuinely wanted what was best for his people. Even if his actions were misguided, they were hardly selfish motivations.

  The staff will come, the Sage told him. Dodge to the left.

  He moved just in time to dodge a staff, but vines sprung out from the ground. Cha Ming summoned a Temple Sand Clone and had it defend the subterranean attack while he fled. He left behind a Clockwork Nightmare of blades. The maze moved, and though it didn’t cause much harm to the chieftain, it distracted him.

  I need to find a different kind of weakness, Cha Ming thought. Then his eyes glanced to the chieftain’s brow. That’s risky. The consequences could be disastrous for the Star-Eye Monkey Clan. More dangerous than a war they cannot win? A good point.

  Cha Ming retreated. He was not allowed to leave the large circle in which they fought, but he could go around in circles. He used Temple Sand Clones as body substitutes that were crushed a fraction of a second after they were summoned. And while his domain was weak compared to an investiture, he used it to constrain the elder. Demons weren’t good at countering laws, and snags and chains and pressure controlled the movements of his now-mountainous body.

  As he fought, Cha Ming channeled the power of the stars. Every dodge or parry was an extra data point on which he could make a plan of attack. The Sage was not the best at plans, but its intuition was unmatched.

  Sacrifice your arm, it told him finally. His investiture will cause heavy Dao scars, which will take time to heal. But it will buy you an opening.

  Cha Ming gritted his teeth and took the hit. The crowd gasped as the chieftain’s staff, which was now a meter-thick pillar, blew his left arm clean away, knocking the Clear Sky Staff out of his hands. The bleeding stopped almost immediately, but it was clear that Cha Ming was at a disadvantage. He didn’t bother trying to regenerate it. Doing so would require minutes and be very painful due to the level of wound inflicted.

  “You have fought well and with honor,” the Stargazer Chieftain said. “Give up your challenge. Join us in battle and all will be forgiven.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Cha Ming said.

  “Then you leave me no choice,” the chieftain said. His staff shrank down to normal size, and he readied himself to deal the final blow.

  Now! The chieftain used no subterfuge this time. He simply stepped forward and struck as hard and fast as he could, horizontally, the most difficult strike for Cha Ming to avoid. Cha Ming did not jump as he should have, or duck—he leapt forward. His golden boots shone with power, and the Clear Sky Staff materialized in his single arm. He ducked beneath the moving staff while diving at his exposed flanks and unleashed Words of Ruin as he moved, infusing the Concept of Fourfold Devastation.

  Simultaneously, three of his Temple Sand Clones appeared. They built themselves from self-assembling cores he’d thrown as he’d charged. They drew on the Tree of Life to grow in record time, all in blinds spots to the Star Gazer Chieftain.

  “What trickery is this?” the chieftain bellowed. This was his dominion, so he naturally felt the change in energy flows. He moved to destroy the Temple Sand Clones but bellowed in pain as the Words of Ruin struck his side, buying the clones time to act.

  Five poetic talismans appeared via Words of Creation, binding the chieftain in place. They caused his physical defenses to weaken, his energy to grow sluggish, and his movements to stall. They lowered his reaction speed and very temporarily impaired his regeneration. The chieftain, having experienced far too many surprises this evening, went on the defensive.

  The chieftain’s hesitation allowed one of Cha Ming’s clones to build an Ink-Splattered Cage, locking him in inky-black bars for a single second. He used brute force and his Warrior constellation to break it. He emerged just in time to get hit by Searing Sands of the Sacred Desert from one clone and Clockwork Nightmare from another. The chieftain roared as puny chunks of metal and searing sands sought chinks in his armor, biting into his flesh despite his physical defenses.

  But that was all a distraction in the end. Pound for pound, they were not equal. The Star-Eye Ancestor had known this, and Cha Ming now knew this too. But he didn’t have to defeat his opponent. Monkeys were crafty beings, and in his trials, he’d been shown exactly what he needed. He’d discovered the Stargazer Chieftain’s weakness, the single point from which everything would crumble.

  The Stargazer Chieftain emerged from the cloud of sand just in time to receive a purple pillar straight in the face. A Demon-Subduing Pillar. It struck the chieftain’s inherited crown full force. Had it been his own earned crown, such a blow wouldn’t have mattered. But this one? An imperfect relic ha
nded down from generation to generation? It cracked when the staff landed and began leaking out starlight.

  Cha Ming didn’t leave it at that, of course—he struck it with his Grandmist pillar. The cracks widened, and the crown shattered. The chieftain screamed as he was overwhelmed with the backlash of starlight in his body.

  “It’s over,” Cha Ming said. He dismissed Thirty-Six Heavenly Transformations and stopped channeling starlight through the Crown of the Starry Sky. It sat on his brow, inert but present for all to see. “I’ve won.”

  The chieftain was kneeling on the ground. He was bloody, but he was far from defeated.

  “I’m not done yet,” the chieftain said.

  “You have no crown,” Cha Ming said. “Yield.”

  “But—”

  “I said yield!” His voice was filled with the weight of the stars, and it forced the chieftain back down onto his single knee. He could only bow his head.

  “Finish it,” the demon who was once the Stargazer Chieftain said.

  “Are you a warrior or are you an infant?” Cha Ming asked. He was tired. He’d barely survived. But he knew what needed to be done. What needed to be said. “What use are you to your tribe when you’re dead?”

  The chieftain hesitated but shook his head. “Our tribe is finished,” he said with a haunted look. “You broke our crown, so we have no leader.” He raised his head expectantly. “Unless you are willing to lead us?”

  “No,” Cha Ming said, shaking his head. “I will help you, but I will not lead you. It is not the place of humans to lead demons.” Moreover, he was no king. He wasn’t meant to rule. He pondered their predicament, however, and wondered how he could help. Then something tickled the back of his mind. He looked behind the chieftain, where the others had gathered, and smiled. For in the back, ignored by all, were the inkborn. They had not participated in the battle, but they were important all the same.