Puppet Mastery

Tom was literally bent out of shape. His spinal column had contorted into the form of a winding snake.

He fought to keep his breathing under control but the pain struck him in waves, a ceaseless barrage that threatened the sanctity of his mind.

Normally, when he was injured to such a degree he would simply pass out and wake up to find himself in a hospital. His miraculous recovery from his initial encounter with the combat puppet had only served to reinforce the notion that, if he could find sleep, he could escape any form of torment.

But the soul infusion pills were still at work. Their mysterious power was coalescing within his soul, distending his qi pathways and forcefully expanding his cultivation base. Although his skin still had its usual ruddy glow, the internal pressure in his dantian made it seem as if his whole body was on the brink of an implosion.

That was why he couldn't lose himself to sleep.

He gathered the meager shards of consciousness he had and tried to meditate. His efforts produced a rough circulation of qi. It sloshed around his spirit veins and eked out most of its essence through his spirit pores, leaving little for integration.

He choked on his own saliva for a moment, before opening his mouth to let loose the build up of foam. A part of his chest had popped out at an odd angle, as some of his ribs were displaced by the unnatural curvature of his spine.

He held on for what felt like an eternity, but was actually only a few minutes. He then gave up on his attempt at breaking through to the fourth level of qi condensation and forced what remained of the excess qi out of his system. The hurried expulsion ripped open the real blood vessels that lay under his skin, worsening his already difficult condition.

Tom's qi flow stabilized soon afterward. His manic heartbeat relented. As his consciousness faded, a red lotus bush bloomed over his restless figure, covering him in a leafy veil while its roots continued to dig into his flesh and resupply his famished veins.

In a few days his wounds were cured.

He opened his eyes, now fully awake, and tore through the bramble that had enshrined him.

A mischievous smile greeted his lips. He wandered through the pocket realm searching for what remained of the combat puppet.

He found the puppet's decapitated head sitting under the baby willow tree.

He froze and remained as still as a statue.

An hour passed under his watchful gaze. When he was satisfied that the puppet was devoid of life he allowed himself a sigh of relief and went to retrieve it for further examination.

Its eyes were now placid lines; its mouth, a comical crisscross. In addition to those changes on its painted facade, Tom could sense vibrations emanating from its core.

He was tempted to crush it right then and there but the thought of keeping a trophy made him giggle in delight.

He petted its bald scalp and adopted what he thought was an evil sounding voice. "How about I bury you in the ground? It's more than you deserve, but I'm feeling rather generous at the moment."

A familiar calling interrupted his musings.

He instinctively gave his assent and turned to gaze at the sky. A portal emerged between a swirl of clouds and granted Ah Wei passage into his pocket realm.

Tom made an awkward bow while holding onto the puppet's head just as Ah Wei landed next to the sapling. The gray-robed figure took note of Tom's nervousness. He kept himself a few paces apart from the tiny willow tree before giving Tom a formal address.

"You've done well." He stroked his beard for awhile and seemed to be choosing his words with great care. "The last time we met, I misspoke. At that time, the loss of my only son had weighed heavily on my heart. I hope that we can forge a new relationship of mutual benefit. That said, a month from now our clan initiates will undergo a test. It is a simple trial-by-fire that will measure their strength and resolve. Those that succeed will be formally accepted as fledgling clan members..."

He paused, and looked expectantly at Tom. Since there were no forthcoming questions, Ah Wei began to delve into the details of this new assignment. "You are presently in the third stage of qi condensation, so a series of one-on-one battles should suffice–"

"I refuse!"

Ah Wei's wilting eyebrows melded together into a look of concern. "And may I ask why you have made this choice?" He placed a leathery hand on Tom's shoulder and felt him tremble under this slight touch.

"T-the pain... I don't want to go through this kind of torture anymore..."

Ah Wei nodded in understanding. "I will give you that combat puppet. Have it fight in your stead. Limit its power to that of the third stage of qi condensation and grant it the skills you yourself possess. If you can manage this much, I will consider your duties fulfilled and give you the promised stipend of a single soul convergence pill per week."

Tom hid an appreciative smile and asked, "A-are you sure I don't have to fight them myself?"

In response, Ah Wei tapped the mustard seed bag strapped to his side. A white anemone floated out and hung in the air. He motioned to Tom, who cautiously drew close and allowed the old man to flip his hand over.

Ah Wei used the nail of his little finger to slit Tom's palm. A film of blood bubbled through his pasty skin.

Ah Wei placed the anemone in the shoal of the wound. The stem sucked up the trickle like a dry sponge. A moment later, the flower petals grew darker and took on a soft pink hue. The process continued until the petals were blood red.

"Tell me child, are you weary?"

Tom could sense his vitality slipping away. However, the drain on his spiritual essence was minuscule and did little to alter his mood.

"I'm fine."

The anemone soaked up more of his blood and only stopped when its petals were a deep reddish-purple. By then, Tom was visibly tired. Dark circles could be seen around the cleft of each eye, as if he hadn't slept in days.

Ah Wei plucked the burgundy flower and took the puppet head that was tucked into Tom's armpit. When the stem came into contact with what remained of the combat puppet, it drilled a hole into its exterior, rooting itself in its wooden pate.

From then on the anemone gradually withered. Its life force appeared to ebb into the puppet, whose frame sprouted from the neck to regrow its lost components.

The puppet eventually rose to its feet, having been completely restored to its former self. Its creepy expression reminded Tom of a smiley face smeared on by a child's finger paint.

"Why don't you try giving it a command?"

Tom acted on this suggestion by attempting to direct his thoughts towards it.

'Stand at attention!'

The combat puppet responded to his silent order by raising its hand to its forehead to give him a soldier's salute.

Tom was enthralled by the notion of having his own puppet and could do little to hide the joy reflected in his demeanor.

Ah Wei could read the enthusiasm written on his face. He let out a raspy laugh and conjured a portal by flicking his sleeve. "I trust that you will train it well. For if it is destroyed in battle, you will have to face every other opponent on your own."

Ah Wei disappeared into the portal. It faded into non-existence along with the words that resounded in Tom's ears.

Tom padded circles around the puppet.

Strangely, the puppet's height matched his own: a meter-seventy-five with rounded shoulders and ovular hips. Its wooden frame had an oily sheen but was not truly lacquered.

All in all, his keen inspection did not yield any new information. It did however, rekindle the flames of his curiosity.

He instructed the puppet to attack him in intervals, sometimes within and other times outside his physical reach. From these exertions he learned that its field of view had nothing to do with the eyes drawn on its face. Moreover, the rotation of its ball joints were not in anyway limited. Like an expert contortionist it could bend its body along any conceivable angle and strike in positions that would have caused him exquisite pain if he were to mimic such obtuse movements.

The next series of tests employed spiritual power. With Tom as its source, the combat puppet was able to fully realize the magical effects of the Five Petals Dance.

That was when he noticed that the landscape of his pocket realm would slowly heal itself. He was still reticent when it came to mutilating the features of his home, but felt it unwise to restrain himself during training.

The cloning skill also consumed qi. At present he could only summon three puppets and sustain them for roughly a quarter of an hour. Any more than that and there movements would be sluggish. When there were more than ten on the field, they would remain lifeless, numb to all his instructions.

His elemental power was also divided among the number of puppets that he controlled which further diminished their combat potential.

After a whole day of fooling around, where he even went so far as to have them perform acrobatic stunts for his own amusement, he laid back on the grass to contemplate a winning strategy for the upcoming trial.

It occurred to him that he shouldn't make the puppet too formidable. His greatest concern was the possibility of inadvertently causing someone's death. Having personally experienced the sheer relentless of a combat puppet he decided to throw out any idea that involved chasing his opponents down to their last breath.

"The matches will take place in an arena," he murmured. "Like an oldskul fighting game."

He pictured a square large enough to accommodate the sweeping kicks of the Five Petals Dance.

The rules he envisioned were just as simple: any challenger that is pushed out of bounds must immediately forfeit. Conversely, if the puppet is pushed out of bounds, then the challenger passes without question. He imagined that some disciples might be able to fly, so he included an invisible aerial boundary in his estimation.

As a principle founded on the boundary line, the challenger must not utilize outside help and can't have a partner fight in their stead. Needless to say, there would be no tag team matches.

Weapons, pills and any tool: animate or inanimate, would be entirely permissible. Animals or beasts would also be included in the definition of a 'tool'.

Although it was a bit old-fashioned, Tom was confident that this gladiatorial matchup would be well-received. And, other than the most foolhardy of individuals, no one would be in danger of losing their life.

He rolled to his feet and began practicing his initial moveset.

A week went by as he ceaselessly traded blows with his combat puppet. His tolerance for pain grew exponentially alongside his desire to challenge himself.

Tom had discovered early on that he good cue up a series of precise strikes, and although he knew what was coming, he still found joy in countering the techniques that he ginned up by himself.

In the second week of training he had designed complex attack sequences that included dazzling footwork and very obviously choreographed punches. Many of which were burrowed from classic arcade game fighters.

Had the puppet been able to speak, it would let out a loud grunt with each swing and yell ferociously before leaping into a flurry of kicks.

When the third week arrived he switched tactics. Rather than engage the puppet himself, he split it into two and watched the pair spar without end so that he could pick apart its techniques and trim away its inefficiencies.

The fourth week brought with it a renewed sense of urgency.

Tom gave up on his beloved yet convoluted action streaks in favor of simplicity. Depending on the challenger's stance, distance and the angle of attack, the puppet would randomly select a combo from several dozen alternatives. The chosen combo would be a moveset of two or three strikes that had followups when broken partway.

His preparations came to a halt when a subconscious request stole him from his work.

"Damn, I'm out of time." He sighed deeply and took a moment to collect himself.

While a seasoned fighting-game player would write off his attempt to build a seamless moveset as amateurish at best, he was fairly sure that the average clan initiate would be in awe of his work. After all, their martial techniques had no basis in real-world combat, where as his techniques were garnered from actual experience.

He allowed the visitor in and looked up into the air to see the vortex spinning. To his dismay, it was not Ah Wei that flew down to meet with him.

The towering figure wore a crimson robe held together by a loose white sash. His visage bore an uncanny resemblance to that of a gorilla. His beefy chest, misshapen skull and dark, deep set eyes only served to reinforce this image.

When the big man smiled, a row of broken teeth greeted him.

Somehow, Tom was able to resist the urge to flee and clasped hands as a sign of respect.

"My mother calls me bastard," he declared, "everyone else calls me Gou Ji."

Tom was far too nervous to laugh. His social anxiety had flared up, leaving him with a blank stare.

When Gou Ji lifted a meaty finger to caress the coarse stubble of his chin, Tom flinched.

"Can't you understand what I'm saying?"

Tom shook his head in the affirmative.

"Then are you mute or something?"

"Erm, I-I can talk."

Gou Ji waved his hand brusquely. "Good. Now that we're familiar with each other, I have a message for you. Be sure to unplug your ears." He coughed loudly to give his subsequent words more gravitas. "Daoist Fiddle, your presence is required in the Gray Gemel Clan's spring trial."

He abruptly lurched off the ground towards the portal. When he was midway through he glanced back and yelled, "What are you waiting for? Did you not hear what I just said!?"

"I-I'm sorry but... I can't fly."

Gou Ji swore under his breath and then levitated to where Tom stood. He wrapped his arms around Tom's legs and gently lifted him up into a princess carry.

Together, they left through the portal.