The Jester of Apocalypse

Chapter 52: Dance Battle

Chapter 52: Dance Battle

Ilkivir was getting anxious. The devil's influence was just about everywhere throughout the capital. Either there was something besides Neave spreading it, or Neave was constantly moving around without pause.

Ilkivir had decided to change his strategy and use a deductive approach instead. He had their group teleported to one of the outer edges of the capital. The demons sniffed around. Once they were done, they teleported again.

They repeated this several times.

Ilkivir had covered around ten percent of the capital’s edges within an hour. They didn’t just teleport to the closest teleporter but randomly chose different parts of the capital's boundaries to procedurally eliminate sections of the border where they couldn’t smell anything.

Slowly but surely, they isolated one edge of the capital where the influence seemed strongest.

Ilkivir planned to move to the middle of the capital and map the places where they encountered the influence. Afterward, they would entrust the Kurlore subordinate sects to look for clues of Neave’s location.

However, as they started moving toward the center, they encountered the most potent influence yet.

This brought them to a small, triangular plot where four people ran around constructing a sect.

A young woman, a young man, a tall adult, and a bald man ran around and worked on constructing a rather impressive building.

Ilkivir took a long hard look at the bald man and smiled.

Found you, Marven.

Then they walked to the nearest teleporter.

Ilkivir and the group of demons found themselves back in the headquarters of the Kurlore sect.

The group walked back to the underground entrance to the mystical realm. The demons took their armor off upon arriving there, and so did Ilkivir. He pulled a set of slimmer, red armor from his dimension ring.

Once he wore the armor, Ilkivir pulled a small black orb from the dimension ring. The demons lifted their hands, and thin black mist traveled toward the sphere.

The orb shone with an ominous glow, and Ilkivir slowly absorbed the energy. His veins bulged, and his skin darkened a little beneath the armor. He opened his eyes, and a deep color of blood replaced the serene green while the whites of his eyes turned a sickly shade of gray.

He walked back out and was escorted to a secret underground teleportation platform. Ilkivir stepped on it and grinned.

Worry not, master. Soon, I will be finished with my task.

***

Neave spent the last few hours doing nothing but flipping through books. He was a lot slower than he could be. Something was nagging him continuously as he scanned the pages.

He had missed his chance.

That vermin threw his power around to prey on those weaker than him. The deathmatch would have been a perfect chance to dispose of him before he could make the world worse.

In that young man’s eyes, Kolman or whatever his name was, Neave saw the same thing he saw in Hunter’s.

But it was different. Contextually, that was. Not only was this young man quite a bit older than Hunter, but he was also much more powerful. At some point, the actual age of a cultivator no longer mattered. Neave considered this point to be the beginning of the golden path.

There was an interesting excerpt in a book Neave had once read. The author claimed that adulthood began when one reached a threshold of power, not when one physically aged enough. It made sense. Power brought with it responsibility. And responsibility brought accountability.

And Neave… He would be the accountant.

Neave wanted to maintain his personas carefully. There was a reason why he was doing this shtick with the young master identity.

Humans, especially younger ones, were very impressionable. Those who were perceived as having power and influence were frequently imitated. He wanted to create the perfect young master and become a paragon of the younger generation.

And the actions he wanted the others to imitate were those he believed were most correct.

Murder wasn’t always a good thing, of course. But if everyone had the threat of death hanging above their head if they misbehaved, the number of lives that would be spared and the amount of good that this would result in were both astronomical—at least in Neave’s extremely biased opinion.

However, he recognized that he may have gotten a bit carried away with his power fantasy. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so rude to the girl.

Or perhaps he should have been ruder?

For now, he made his decisions around attempting to impress upon others that he was an incredible and astonishing young master that should be listened to and praised.

It wouldn’t be that hard to retroactively fix his mistakes later, right?

These things weighed on his mind while trying to memorize as many qi techniques as possible.

He could still occasionally hear others shit-talk him behind his back. It was evident that few believed that he was adequately reading the books.

He didn’t need them to believe it yet. In fact, the harder they disbelieve his actions, the more their opinion would flip once Neave demonstrated his power and skill.

He wasn’t done with even a tenth of the qi techniques that he wanted to attempt learning. While he rested his brain occasionally, he brainstormed ways to practice using the qi techniques inside the realm.

His blood may be a decent target for it.

It was a pretty charged substance, so he weighed that he could probably, perhaps, maybe use it as a practice tool.

If he didn’t, he would just have to use the black liquid, and it would be hard to tell whether the techniques had done anything to such an inert substance.

He also planned to stock up on life force and calories. This part would be essential to surviving longer.

He assumed that it would perhaps be possible to survive for as long as ten years if he approached it carefully and for as long as the demons didn’t interfere too much.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the young mistress approach him. She had beautiful orange hair and wore frilly pink robes. Her face was pretty and a little plump, and so was she. Judging by her life force, she was around seventeen.

And judging by her cultivation, she was a big shot. The third step of the golden path. A genuinely horrifying level of progress for someone so young. She was about as competent as the young man he had met recently.

She looked relaxed and casual as she approached him.

He contemplated what tone he should use to reject her.

Harsh?

Perhaps he should try to be a bit more polite?

His inner thoughts were interrupted as she stopped not too far before him.

“Hey yo! What’s up, junior!? I was wondering if you would be willing to spar with me a bit!”

Neave was caught off guard by how casual she was. There was most certainly nobody around that would dare criticize her for her tone except Neave.

“That’s quite the relaxed attitude you have while doing something dangerous, young mistress.”

“Bahahahaha! Wow, your ego is bigger than this library! I like it! You’ve got some spunk in you, kid! Perhaps you will make for a decent cultivator one day! So, whaddya say? How about a round with older sister here?”

Neave contemplated that one a bit. He wanted to make the big reveal of his power in the most dramatic way imaginable. Would beating her suffice? No, it would be too anti-climactic. He needed as large an audience for this as he could get.

A fight with that weakling whose name Neave had already forgotten would have been the perfect appetizer. He could have beaten him without batting an eye and without revealing the full extent of his power.

Fighting this woman was not going to be nearly as casual.

The moment when Neave revealed the heavenly young master needed to be perfect. And he also needed to get a lot stronger before he did it.

He wouldn’t want someone powerful to kidnap him and dissect his corpse.

So what do I do…?

He couldn’t see a way of escaping this without fumbling his plan. A refusal may work, but it also may paint him as a coward. Fighting her would be too consequential.

As he was contemplating what to do, Neave got a brilliant idea. He turned to her and spoke.

“May I first hear your name?”

“My name is Maecy Animante. What about you, junior?”

Neave could tell by the reaction of the others that she was someone at least as important as the young master he had met.

“My name is Deeze Falken. I apologize, but I must refuse your offer for a spar.”

She grinned teasingly and leaned in a bit.

“Oh? What happened, young master? You wouldn’t be chickening out?”

“Instead, I would like to propose an alternative competition.”

She giggled.

“A debate, perhaps?”

“I would like to propose a dance battle.”

Silence.

Then laughter.

Maecy laughed so hard that she fell on the ground and flapped her legs.

“Okay, you’re on! You better not chicken out now!”

Neave couldn’t help but smile a bit.

“Oh, don’t worry, young mistress. I am a man of my word.”

She smiled and raised an eyebrow, quickly getting back on her feet.

Very quickly, disciples from throughout the library gathered to watch. Neave and Maecy intentionally waited for a crowd to gather.

Maecy kept throwing jabs and teasing him, but Neave simply waited with his eyes closed.

Once enough people had gathered, they flipped a platinum coin to decide who went first. Neave chose tails, and the coin fell on heads. Maecy was going first.

Rather than starting her dance, she grinned and made an offer to Neave.

“So, if we’re doing this, how about we make it more exciting with a bet?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“A billion platinum coins.”

Everyone gaped. Neave smiled

“I would take the trade in a heartbeat, but I do not have enough money.”

“No problem then. If you lose, you can become my slave for the rest of your life. How does that sound?” She smiled mischievously.

Neave raised an eyebrow and grinned.

“You have a deal.”

She giggled.

“You’ve made a big mistake by underestimating me. I hope you know that.”

Maecy took a few steps forward and started dancing. Her moves were swift and exceptionally precise. Her dancing involved a lot of hip action and leg work. The result was a bouncy yet elegant shuffle. She finished her first move, her finger pointing at Neave.

“Your turn.”

Neave took a few steps forward as well and started dancing. To everyone’s surprise, he perfectly imitated her style. It looked silly on an otherwise serious young master, but he lit up the stage with his performance.

By every metric, Neave outdid Maecy. It wasn’t anything out of this world, but he was the better dancer.

Maecy felt a drop of sweat trickle down the side of her face as her smile grew stiff.

“Oh crap. Mom is gonna be angry.”

Neave finished his move with a clap, and Maecy continued.

She danced far more aggressively this time, throwing her arms out and incorporating backflips and spins. She even finished her move with an elegant qi technique, using the red glow for dramatic effect.

Neave once again imitated her style. He was playing a little dirty by shapeshifting to smoothen out his movements and even manipulating his hair to move ideally in sync with his moves.

He spun like a top and flipped through the air for his finisher, somehow managing to land perfectly without disturbing his robes or hair.

“Okay, what the f–” Maecy was bewildered.

Her next move she danced a rigid and slow dance, but a very complex one. She moved her torso every two beats and her legs every four. Her left hand moved once every three beats while her right hand carried most of the dance.

It was an awe-inspiring display of coordination, and it showed every minute of training she had poured into gaining mastery of her body.

Neave didn’t precisely imitate her style, but he did something even more insane. He moved every limb almost independently of one another and timed the beat so that he flowed from chaos to order, phasing from synchrony to anarchy every few seconds.

Every time his moves went out of sync, a feeling of discrepancy built up until order reigned supreme once more, shattering the vague sense of anxiety.

Maecy was getting quite desperate. She couldn’t believe that she got suckered into a dance battle against this creature. She considered herself a competent dancer, but everything he did was a step up from what she set up.

As Neave wrapped up his turn, she went all out this time.

She did flips, throws, jumps, and techniques; she wasn’t even dancing in a singular style but chaining all of the most impressive movements she could pull off.

She finished her turn with a flick-kick-spin-flip, chaining slightly different variations roughly a hundred times in a row in less than five seconds, kicking up a whirlwind.

When it was Neave’s turn, he didn’t move.

Maecy smiled and spoke.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re going to give up?”

Rather than respond, Neave took a step forward.

His next dance was neither fast nor was it impressive. He slowly spun and chained his movements one after another.

Maecy and the crowd were visibly disappointed but waited to see what he was doing.

Neave took a few steps and spun. However, in the middle of the spin, he flawlessly changed the direction he was spinning. Everyone blinked a few times at the strange phenomenon, unsure whether they had imagined it.

Neave then stepped forward once and flowed his movement toward the left. But he ended up walking right. After his limbs appeared in places where they definitely shouldn’t be several times, it was clear that he was doing something.

However, Maecy wasn’t impressed.

“You have some sort of movement spirit power, I get it, but that isn’t very impressive or a dance move in the first place.”

Neave ignored her.

Suddenly, something about his movements changed. He still danced in the same style, but from nowhere, imaginary opponents appeared. How he grabbed, blocked, parried, and dodged in slow motion painted the scene of a warrior masterfully manipulating the flow of battle.

Neave reached an arm out, shattering the smooth flow.

And starting a slaughter.

He grabbed one of the fighters by the neck and snapped it. He punched another right in the heart. The third had his eyes clawed out, his arm broken, and his spine shattered.

Nobody in the audience could look away.

Neave blended qi and life force in a perfect ratio. At first, all everyone could hear was a low thrumming noise. It snuck into the movements so seamlessly nobody could even tell when it appeared. A soft mist spread through the air around him.

A few disciples gasped as the mist shifted and moved, following these imaginary opponents.

Then electricity began crackling through the air.

Neave’s movements grew more aggressive, taking heads off and dismembering bodies as he dispatched the imaginary opponents one after another.

Then he took a step forward and appeared closer to Maecy.

The crowd's heartbeat sped up as one.

Something about that movement felt so intrinsically aggressive and violent that everyone winced, and Maecy almost threw her guard up in surprise. Then he did it again, once more appearing a little closer.

He walked forward almost casually as he kept up the scenario. Golden runes lit up, and he swung his arm at Maecy.

She would have dodged or retaliated, but the movement was so fast that she could barely perceive it.

Neave swung his arm in a downward strike and kicked up a gust of wind that threw books off the shelves. His hand paused, stretched out in front of Maecy. He merely looked as if he was offering her a handshake.

Sweat trickled down Maecy’s spine in a small stream, and she panted raggedly. Neave looked her in the eyes and smiled.

“You’re a great dancer. I am honored to have faced you as my opponent.”

She relaxed her tense shoulders and smiled back at him, disbelief seared into her expression.

“Yeah… Well… You kicked my ass pretty hard there.”

Neave giggled amicably.

“I know.”

***

The Deagon sect stood out as the most unusual among the most significant sects in the capital. They were a righteous sect, undisputed by most powers in the empire.

Yet, they themed their identity around death and darkness.

Skeletons of different monsters littered their courtyard, which looked like a desolate wasteland of darkness.

Members of the sect walked around wearing pitch-black, hooded robes and wielded weapons such as sickles on chains or scythes.

Those who wielded blades carried black executioner swords and nasty serrated daggers.

Their weaponry was objectively suboptimal, but they weren’t among the most extraordinary powers in the empire without reason. Few places in the realm were as secure as the settlements under their protection.

Their existence was like a scary bedtime story for anyone wishing to dabble in criminal activity.

Their qi techniques and spirit powers were optimized for two things—fear and pain.

The people referred to the Deagon sect as the reaper of the empire. For any demonic sect that overstepped its boundaries or bandit group that raided settlements, they were the ones who would be reaping their lives.

In the deepest part of their headquarters, a depressed-looking man with a massive scythe strapped on his back read a message off a black plate.

“The Onyx Scorpion sect is under attack?”

Who would be so foolish to raise their hand against someone suborned to the Deagon sect?

The man vanished into the shadows and slithered, making his way to the edge of the capital.

***

Ilkivir appeared at the teleportation platform nearest to the new sect being constructed by Marven. He wore his red armor, draped over with a brown cloak. Few people paid him any attention, and he took his time.

Eventually, he appeared right before the Falken sect.

He waited nearby as he scouted the area for any signs of Neave’s appearance.

***

In the main hall of the Onyx Scorpion sect, a man appeared seemingly out of nowhere as his body turned from shadow to flesh.

A few of the elders jumped in fright but quickly regained themselves. Everyone kneeled.

“Elder Xondir.”

“I’ve heard your plea. Have you heard any news about your sect master?”

“None, sir.”

“For now, I would like you all to…” Xondir paused.

***

Marven whirled and stared at the sky. Suddenly, a massive rift appeared in the air, not too far from their sect. It glowed with a deep violet glare and washed the entire world in purple.

Marven shook as he realized what he was looking at.

***

Ilkivir chuckled.

“I was just thinking whether I should create a distraction myself.”

***

The elders of the Onyx scorpion sect panicked as they rushed outside. Once they spotted the rift above, they pleaded to Xondir.

“Sir! Could this be an attack by our enemies?”

Xondir frowned.

“No, this is way worse. A mystical realm is about to open. Worst case scenario…” He looked over to the elders, distress plain on his expression.

“... Millions are going to die.”