Nuclear Fusion Cultivator

"Uck, he smells like a latrine; he's perfect." A high-pitched voice lashed at his mind like the cracking of the whip. Lex hadn't been asleep, but he couldn't call himself awake either. So he'd settled in a daze to continue waiting out the rest of his existence. "Say something smelly." The grating voice shrieked again.

Smelly, he supposed that was true after the accident and his loss. The smell had become a fact of life. Artus destroy his cultivation, his Dantian poured qi to nowhere. That had an interesting effect on his body. Black ooze poured from his pores constantly; they were the waste or his wasted cultivation. His power violently forced its way out from him, and a tar-like substance was the result.

What brought this little snob nose to him? Typically, his smell deterred even the most curious. But, this time, it brought his destruction.

As he gazed over the boy, a few facts came to mind. First, the rich green robes swirling with dragons and gold lining made the boy wealthy and powerful to the hidden Dragon Institute. Second, the boy's red hair was slicked back with an expensive grease; it smelled like cinnamon even though Lex's scent. Third, the boy carried himself like a monarch despite his young age. Fourth, Lex could guess his last name out of hand. Only one family could dress so pompously and strut around arrogantly in this city. This boy was the Weston heir. So, what did Lex do to earn his attention?

Lex didn't have to wait long; the boy took up a fighting stance, and the heat from barely controlled qi pulsated. "Hey, fight me smelly; I want to beat someone up. But, dad said, no one cares if you die." Lex glanced to the four guards behind the boy; two were in the bushes and two over his head on the roof. Lex knew he wasn't getting out of this. Today might be the day Lex died. But, unfortunately, he couldn't find a reason to care.

On shaky legs, he struggled to his feet; if he were going to die, he'd do it standing up. But, unfortunately, he only made it to a shitting position. "Alright, come at me," Lex said.

The boy quickly clapped his hands together and bowed. "My name is Jonah Weston of Fort Doral and heir of the Goth Duchy. On the third born son Duke Wyatt Weston. Stand and take my blows, or I'll have my men hold you up." Jonah said.

Lex groaned, and with a mighty snap, his knees locked up, and he even appeared to be standing. But, of course, even a gentle breeze could topple him. The red clay he'd used to soak up the leakage from his pores fell away. Like keeled pottery, when the pieces of red clay struck the ground, they shattered.

He didn't have much time left, unimaginable pain shot through him, and he felt himself grow even weaker. Finally, with his last remaining strength, he stood to his full height of 195 cm. A slight blue aura gathered around him, the last gasps of his decaying Dantian. Even as it pushed power into him, it destroyed him.

Jonah pointed at him, his eyes wide and as green as his robe. "You're a cultivator," Jonah yelled. He took a step back, and for a moment, Lex hoped this little fight would end here. Then, a smile spread across the boy's face. "That's even better. Maybe you'll survive more than one blow from my dragons' claw." The boy shouted and charged.

"Wait!" An elderly high-pitched voice called. Jonah froze as an older man appeared beside him. "Apprentice, you made a mistake. Do you know what you should have done?" The martial artist flipped open his peacock feathered fan and waved it in front of his face. His long gray hair was permed into an afro and bunched up. A Taoist hat struggled to contain it. Long gnarled fingernails curled up from his fingertips, giving him an air of mysticism that he wore like his violet robe. This man was high-ranking in the hidden Dragon Institute, and that made the boy even more critical.

The boy tapped his chin deep in thought, and then suddenly, his eyes flashed. "Should I have sent a weaker lackey to assist him first?" Jonah asked.

"I could guess, and in a different situation, you may need to use such a tactic, but in the future, this weakling is undeserving. I can barely sense his qi; he must've only just started cultivating, or he's untalented." The older man laughed, revealing buck teeth that nearly touched his bottom gums.

"Should I have researched his background and found a family member to take a hostage?" Jonah asked.

"Oh my apprentice, you are a student after own mine heart. Of course, you should take hostage before any fight you aren't sure about the outcome. This fight doesn't qualify; try again. I'll give you one more guess. Think simple, almost as simple as your opponent." The older man said.

The boy snapped his fingers. "Should I have my guards break his arms before the fight?" Jonah asked.

"Every time and the fingers too. But wrong, you always ask your opponent's name before any fight. Its common etiquette afforded to even this worthless bum. One must first give their name, titles, let it sink in, and then ask your opponent's name. Exposing their insignificance will show them how insignificant they are compared to you, even before the fight begins. Before you destroy their bodies, you must shatter their spirit." The master cheered.

A new look at the determination filled the boy's eyes. "Tell me your name, bum, so I may add to the list of foes I've beaten," Jonah said.

How did it get to this situation? Lex yawned and looked up to the roof. The guards were still waiting there, ready to pounce at a moment's notice. The only way he was getting out of this on a corpse cart.

He yawned again painfully since he began cultivating the most sleep he's gotten, maybe 15 to 20 minutes. That, combined with crippling pain, once made him angry, now he felt nothing. So after all that is happened, this was just another day, maybe even his last.

Even if the heat surrounding him healed him, there wasn't a thing he could do. So, he decided to play along. "My name is Lex; give it your best shot, squirt," Lex said and brought his hands up to the side of his head. Unfortunately, that was the most he could do.

The redhead turned to his master. "Master, what I do when they have bravado?" Jonah asked.

The older man brushed his beard and fanned himself. A cruel smile stretched across the older man's face. "Give them what to ask for, and a thousandfold for their disrespect and feed their body to the wild dogs." The master yelled, nearly foaming at the mouth.

Jonah charged, his fists burst into flames, and for a moment, a spark of worry fell into Lex's heart. This could be it. At least the kid wasn't yelling the name of his technique.

The punch slammed into Lex's chest; the second black ooze covered the boy's hand, he shrieked. Lex saw his chance and snatched it up. He allowed himself to fall back from the momentum and collapse on the ground.

All the guards rushed to the young master's side; they completely ignored him. Then, thinking quickly, he gathered a handful of red clay mixed with the black ooze and rubbed all over his chest where the boy hit him.

After wiping the boy's tears of the silken handkerchief, the old master spoke. "Young student, oh, this is my fault the technique I taught you was just too powerful. Minstrels will sing about your great deeds for eons to come. Everyone will know the name of the ducal heir Jonah Weston. You destroyed that man's body and soul; your guards will attest to it. He witnessed all his meridians shatter, and his cultivation crumble. The streets are now safer thanks to you." The older man crowed.

The boy sniffled into the handkerchief. "Can we still feed his body to the wild dog's master?"

"Of course, but you'll be much too busy for that we have a lot of work today, apprentice. Now that you blooded, I can teach you all sorts of new techniques." The older man said.

He wasn't terrified of wild dogs; his smell deterred even the most vicious of them. What he didn't expect them to do, was load him in on a corpse cart. Instead of taking him out of the city, he is taking underground to the hidden Dragon Institute.

When he arrived hours later, servants unloaded the bodies and began washing them. All of them were women who were headbands or wore their hair with long bangs. Strangely, they were all young none were older than ten and were washing corpses. So many wrinkled their noses, especially at him, they scrubbed him with solid soap and wrapped him in linen.

He arrived in a brightly lit room positioned on a bronze tablet. Books and notes lined the walls, along with blades of all kinds, some of them he recognized in some he didn't. He recognized them from rituals depicted in the Chronicle.

Had they taken him to a moratorium, it wasn't strange that there was one beneath the Hidden Dragon Institute, but why give such courtesy to a bum off the street. No, this didn't make any sense. I recognize some rituals. Many were unknown to him. The door opened, and he closed his eyes.

"What is that smell?" It was sad, but he had grown used to that. He'd wait until she left, and then what. Reaching Fort Doral had taken the last of his strength. He'd wanted to contact the hidden Dragon Institute to get help. Maybe, someone there could fix his condition. Now that he'd made it, he didn't have the strength to move further. He was stuck here on this table, unable to move.

He opened his eyes and glanced at her. She turned to him and lept back. "Are you a naturally rising undead?" He'd heard of such things in the wild. After great wars, those left behind often rose to fight forever. He didn't think that's what he was. The pain of living was too great.

"No, I was taken here by mistake. You seem rather excitable; what's your story?" Lex said.

Suddenly, a feeling of violation swept through him. Her eyes glowed a sickly green color. He felt the heat from them concentrated like two little bonfires. She was doing something, seeing something in him, and for a moment, he felt the slightest sliver of hope that he could be helped.

"What the hell are you? You're not breathing, your body is atrophied, but your heart keeps beating. There is a stab wound through your Dantian, and your qi is polluting your body. You should be dead. Cultivation requires breathing; you're doing it without it. Do you understand how shocking that is?" The woman said.

"The name's Lex, what yours," Lex said.

The woman looked him over; from head to toe, she scanned him. He felt as if she saw secrets hidden in his body held from himself and revealed to her. Some practitioners liked to experiment with other people. But, not a one, were known for their humanitarian efforts.

"Morgan Silver, I see what you're doing. You told me your name, so I'd see you as a person and establish a relationship. That means you want something, and I don't think you can get off the table on your own." Morgan said.

She had him. They both knew it, that didn't mean he had to make it easy for her. "Morgan silver, you must be from the quicksilver sect from the north. So what is an heiress from such a powerful sect in such a backwater like the hidden Dragon Institute? No, don't tell me, it has something to do with your long bangs, doesn't it. I can guess why you're covering your forehead, but why are you here?" Lex said.

The woman was fuming. Out of sight, he heard the flapping of wings more enormous than a falcon, and they beat faster than a fly. Maybe defusing the situation wasn't a bad idea, for once.

"Take it easy. Turnabout is fair play. You learned a lot about me with a glance, and I told you a lot about you with one. Are you doing all right because I'm just awesome laying here on this table? Don't you see, I can't move my Dantian is ruptured, I need help? So help me out here, and I'll owe you a favor." Lex said. It was the only play he had. He knew it, and she probably knew it better than him. Cracked wasn't the right word for his Dantian. Artus had nearly cut it in half. If she could help fix him, then it didn't matter what trouble she was in. He'd help her. But that would only work if she trusted him first.

Morgan rolled her eyes and huffed. "You're lucky I don't want to get my hands dirty strangling you. But you're less useful as a corpse to me than alive. I guess everyone knows I'm in trouble. You've already guessed that I'm a witch." Morgan said.

That didn't necessarily mean she trusted him. With the knives at her back, he doubted she needed to touch him to kill him. But, no, she had another problem, he could tell. There is an air of resignation about her.

"There are rules for witches here in the hidden Dragon Institute. We have to earn her way, either by crafting potions, biting souls to weapons, or raising the dead. My potions blue up, the weapons I forged are demonic, and corpses ignore my qi. I'm broke, penniless. Sometimes I have to hunt rats. Do you know what rat meat tastes like?" Morgan asked.

"No, I don't know how I can help you," Lex said. It was a stupid thing to say, but he wasn't a liar. He didn't think his life was worth giving her false hope.

The witch snorted. "Don't worry, and I have a plan. You're alive, and I think I can fix you. I can tell you are a fighter, or your Lisette surviving getting hit. The wound to your Dantian is too clean to have been a strike, and most wouldn't have survived being run through. In some places, it's already healed. That says a lot about you, or more precisely, your durability. I have a plan." Morgan said.

He heard the clinking of metal, the dragging of tables, and smelled potions. Something was happening. Was she going to try to fix him to repair or Artus had done? Or was she preparing to finish him only to raise him as mindless undead?

"Your qi is weird. It feels neutral. That should be possible; breathing techniques rely on a particular type of raja." Lex grumbled as she went on about raja. "Raja's emotional energy that flows from all life in our world. When gathered by breathing technique is refined into qi. But each breathing technique is different. They all use a different type of raja. You don't. You brutally gather it all up and squish together until you make qi. This makes you feel like the little bit of everything. That isn't too different from the undead; only they exhort all negative raja. I think you'd be confused with an undead if they don't look too hard." Morgan said.

Lex rolled his eyes. "That doesn't help if I can't move. You said I'm healing, but how long will that take?" She answered him by stabbing a needle in his chest. Just as his mouth open in a scream, she stabbed another. She glared at the two needles looking for something with her glowing green eyes. Then she nodded her head and continue stabbing.

They were nothing you. He'd been sapped off the chest, get down a hill into a fire, and endured months of the black ooze leaking from his pores. The needles are sharp. They stabbed deep, but he could take it. So he thought he held true until the 19th, then 20th, and the 21st. Every needle was more painful than the last, and not a single needle led up. She wasn't just jabbing him, every needle buried in deep, sometimes a couple centimeters or more. Many were thick. They dug deep and held firm in his body, stabbing into muscle and sometimes bone. He couldn't get off the table and run away, he can defend himself, and he knew this might be his only chance to heal even though it felt like she was destroying him further.

He felt it, only a trickle at first, but soon his qi flowed down the paths Morgan made. Even though the pain, he began to feel alive again. Was this what the dead felt like when they arose? He'd given up hope that he'd ever recover. When he sat down at the steps of the hidden Dragon Institute, he'd accepted his fate.

Everything had changed. Power flowed through his meridians. They soaked up his qi and spread through his muscle, bone, and ligaments. From his, Dantian flowed a great river through his body. Finally, Morgan opened the floodgates, the qi poured through, and a spark of hope ignited within him.

"Artus, I'm coming for you," Lex said.

She didn't stop until hundreds of needles covered his skin. Morgan stood up, walked over to her desk, and started reading a book. "Hey, what are you doing?" Lex said.

"I'm catching up on my reading. Those needles need 12 hours to sit. Or we'll have to do them all over again. Then I'll flip you over and do the other side. But don't worry, you only have to do this once in your life, and I think I got all of them in the front." Morgan said.