Volume Two: Mortal World Chapter Forty-One: The Slaying of the Serpent

Night, on a storm-tossed sea.

A pair of enormous eyes, green as two clusters of ghostly flames, rose ever higher with the surging waves, until at last, a colossal form—towering dozens of feet—emerged above the water.

A blinding flash of lightning split the sky, casting the creature’s twisted, massive shadow onto the ground beneath a tree where, not far away, a young boy slept restlessly.

Ye Mingke lay curled in a ball, his brow furrowed even in slumber. The delicate lines of his face were twisted with fear, as if he were trapped in a nightmare of unspeakable horrors.

The giant shadow drifted and circled in the black waters, occasionally lifting its eyes to watch the boy sleeping by the shore, as though torn between dread and a strange, lingering attachment.

The thunder overhead grew more urgent, as if urging the shadow onward.

As if provoked, the creature lowered itself, gliding forward in time with the waves, inching up onto the shallows.

In the deluge and the flicker of lightning, a massive python, its body armored in black scales, thick as a grown man's embrace and stretching several stories long, slowly emerged from the water.

The black serpent flicked its crimson tongue silently as it wound its way across the beach, circling Ye Mingke—who was still trapped in his nightmare—several times beneath the tree.

Then it raised its head, and those enormous green eyes blazed in the rainy darkness, twin infernos of ghostlight, as if scrutinizing its prey.

The terror brought by the half-tree giant that appeared during the day still lingered in its mind, and the heavy scent of giants clinging to the boy made it yearn to flee. Yet the scent of this prey was so enticing—his burning body heat in the cold, stormy night was as vivid and dazzling as fire, awakening a deep hunger within the serpent.

Exhausted by days of emotional upheaval, Ye Mingke had fallen into a deep sleep. But as the great snake drew near, some primal sense jolted him. He struggled to awaken, but his body was paralyzed, as if pinned by a ghost; his eyelids, his hands and feet, all felt impossibly heavy.

Unseen, the serpent’s massive head hovered close, its tongue flickering above him.

“Wake up, wake up.”

The icy terror pressed in, finally shattering his paralysis. With a gasp, Ye Mingke’s eyes flew open.

But in that instant, the python lunged. Its gaping maw descended upon him, and he had only enough time to throw up his arms in defense.

The jaws were too vast. Half his body was swallowed in a single gulp, his hands barely bracing against the fangs before two more behind him sank deep into his back.

Thunder exploded overhead. In the rain-soaked night, the monstrous serpent reared up, dragging the boy through the air, blood blooming in the downpour as a piercing cry tore from Ye Mingke’s throat.

Veins bulged along his neck, his waist and abdomen arched in a desperate surge of strength. Gripping the fangs before him, and bracing with his back and knees, he wrenched himself free. Blood poured from his wounds.

In that desperate moment, the sword case on his back deflected the rear fangs, sparing him worse injury. Only the front fangs had pierced his flesh.

Wrenching himself loose, Ye Mingke pressed his knees and back against the serpent’s jaws, freeing one hand to snatch the dagger tied to his leg and drive it deep into the snake’s mouth.

The serpent thrashed in pain, flinging Ye Mingke away. He crashed into the muddy ground, his dagger flying from his grasp as he struggled to rise.

The black python’s tail crashed down, smashing him and sending both boy and mud flying. He slammed into a nearby tree with a sickening force.

A mouthful of blood sprayed from his lips, but Ye Mingke bounced up like a spring, dodging another sweeping strike from the snake’s tail.

He leapt, twisting in the air to land on the trunk of a tree, then pushed off with hands and feet to plunge into a patch of mud, just as the tree behind him was felled by the serpent’s tail.

Eyes squeezed shut, he rolled and scrambled through the mire. The serpent’s tail lashed after him with lightning speed, far outpacing him.

But he harbored no delusions that he could outrun the python’s strikes.

Rolling through another pit, he found a flash of steel in the mud and, spinning, faced the oncoming tail.

Steel clashed with scale. The tail struck him again, blood spurting from his mouth, but the dagger he’d found drove into the serpent’s flesh, drawing a spray of its own blood.

More perilously still, he’d angled the knife so it hooked fiercely into the snake’s body. Dragged through the mud by the wounded tail, Ye Mingke clung to the dagger, refusing to let go.

Unable to use its tail, the serpent turned, jaws gaping to strike.

As the tail slowed, Ye Mingke used the dagger to pull himself onto the python’s back, running up its undulating body toward its head.

Sensing the boy atop its body, the serpent’s strikes slowed, its movements hampered by the awkward angle.

A crazed smile flashed across Ye Mingke’s pallid face. This was exactly what he wanted.

In the deluge and the wild lightning, a pale, wild-eyed youth climbed the serpent’s back, howling as he leapt toward the gaping maw.

He soared past the lower jaw, past the cavernous mouth, toward those ghostly green eyes burning in the night.

But the serpent arched its neck, mouth snapping closed, razor fangs reaching for him once more.

Still not enough?

With a furious roar, Ye Mingke hurled his dagger at the serpent’s eye. The jaws snapped shut, engulfing his legs; he reached for the fangs as before, but this time lacked the strength to hold on—his body pierced through.

The dagger struck true, stabbing into the serpent’s eye. It shrieked in agony, flinging Ye Mingke away, his body smashing through several trees before tumbling to the mud.

Lying there, barely conscious, he felt the blood draining from his chest wound, sapping the last of his warmth.

You can’t die. Not yet. There are things undone.

He forced himself to breathe the rain-chilled air, fighting to rise.

Nearby, the serpent thrashed wildly in the mud, blinded and enraged, sending waves of dirty water flying.

Clutching a tree, Ye Mingke managed to stand, only to see the python calm at last. It wasn’t dead. Blood streamed from its ruined eye, the dagger’s hilt protruding, but the other eye glowed with pain, malice, and madness.

It did not retreat as a beast might, wounded unto death, but fixed him with a gaze of deep hatred, sliding toward him through the blood-soaked mud.

Is this really where it ends?

He raged inwardly, unwilling to accept death with so many lives and hopes resting on his shoulders.

But what else could he do? He had no weapon left, only his bare fists against the serpent’s armored scales.

A weapon?

Suddenly, he reached over his shoulder and drew the wooden sword strapped to his back.

But a wooden sword was still just wood, not steel—how could it cut through the python’s scales?

It must, even if it cannot!

As his hand closed on the wooden sword, his uncle’s calm, iron voice seemed to ring in his ears.

“The sword’s name is Relentless!”

“You must have resolve—regardless of yourself or your foe, in the instant you strike, never retreat, never yield. Even paper can cut through steel—if you are unwavering!”

If paper can cleave steel, why should a wooden sword not be able to cut a python?

He gripped the sword in his right hand, standing in the torrential rain, feeling as if the world had shrunk to just one serpent and one blade.

There was only this one resolve: to cut through.

“To have clarity—there is no absolute whole in all creation. Everything has a seam, everything can be split!”

His perception expanded, and for the first time, without closing his eyes, he saw the mysterious spirits—countless eyes watching the serpent from every angle.

Not only watching: the surface heat of the python, the fine patterns of its scales, the subtle rhythm of its breath—all flooded into his mind. In that instant, his thoughts elongated into infinity.

His prodigious mind, trained for years under Aunt Long, calculated at lightning speed, drawing on every lesson of the Celestial Calculus.

Focused wholly on his sword, Ye Mingke failed to notice his body temperature rising, rain evaporating into mist around him.

He saw only the serpent, his eyes burning ever brighter.

A flash of insight struck him.

He saw it!

He saw the seam in the python’s scales.

In truth, only a few heartbeats had passed. The raging, wounded python paid no heed to this suddenly upright human.

It closed in, found its angle, and lunged, jaws wide.

The wooden sword in Ye Mingke’s hand trembled, emitting a clear, ringing note. His brilliant eyes locked onto the onrushing maw. At the last instant, he raised his sword.

A blade of light flashed through the python’s vision, brighter even than the lightning overhead.

Thunder exploded across the sky.