When panic filled his eyes, I destroyed the portal with a swipe of my serpent.
I snatched the key out of the air as it fell.
As it lay in my palm, the compass spun wildly. A dozen voices, a hundred, a thousand, chuckled in my ears.
“I’m not in the mood for games,” I muttered. “You could give me some help here.”
“Find the way,” the Empyrean Flame whispered with all its borrowed voices.
The compass swung a final time, then came to rest with its arrow pointing at a symbol on the rim. It had frozen in place, solid and immovable as if it had been forged in that position.
It wasn’t much of a hint.
But it was a start.
And that was enough.
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Looking for more awesome cultivation, and need it right this minute? Check out: Sages of the Underpass. Or keep reading to take a sneak peek.
In a world where everyone has power, Nikodemus Kowalczyk was always destined to be an underdog.
NIKO HAS LONG SINCE given up on his dreams of being a world class Battle Artist. Thanks to his damaged core and crazy family, he never stood a chance anyway. With money, fame, and untold power on the line, the corporations decide who wins. End of story.
But when a mysterious group, calling themselves the Sages of the Underpass, threaten to upend the entire system with their unorthodox training and cultivation methods, Nikko soon learns that what was once a handicap might be his greatest asset. The only thing standing in his way is a bitter, hard-hearted veteran, who would like nothing more than to see Niko stay in his place. Right at the bottom.
Rocky meets Dragon Ball Z in this underdog redemption story from Dragon Award Finalist Aaron Michael Ritchey. Sages of the Underpass is an epic blend of Urban Fantasy, Cultivation, and Magical MMA that captures the passion, the power, and the perseverance it takes to follow your dreams—no matter what kind of artist you are.
Chapter One: The Favor
IF IT HAD BEEN ANYONE else, at any other time, Nikodemus Kowalczyk would’ve said no. Niko didn’t fight anymore. Some dreams were better off dead.
His mother said it often—a dream is a wonderful, terrible, powerful thing. A dream didn’t care about you, a dream only wanted to live, and the result was often long hours, not a small amount of blood, and above all, disappointment. And that disappointment wasn’t simply from the dream not coming true, no, that would’ve been tolerable. The real heartbreak was when it all fell into place, and you got what you longed for, but it didn’t live up to the fantasy.
Niko’s mother knew that disappointment. So did his father. For them, the dream had become a trap that refused to let them go.
The hallway of the Mudflats Marriot had eye-biting carpet, a swirl of patterns that encouraged you to keep on walking to your next destination. In this case, it was either the bathrooms or convention Hall BB.
Niko had just come out of the men’s room. He thought, seriously, about retreating back into a stall and waiting Madison Dark out.
Maddy blocked his path. She wanted him in convention Hall BB for a very specific purpose. “Come on, Niko, I’m desperate. You don’t need to win. You just need to give the fans a semi-good fight.”
He wanted to say no. But for Maddy to ask him, it meant she had asked everyone else at MudCon, the local Battle Artist Convention she ran with the help of about a zillion volunteers working for free. Niko’s mother had another saying. You get what you pay for.
Maddy had strawberry blonde hair, a round face, and a definite strut—the same walk she’d had on their first day of high school, nine years ago. She wore shorts, sandals, and a MudCon 2020 T-shirt. She stood, arms open, because if she crossed them, Niko would dash around her and head for the front door.
“Let me guess,” Niko said. “Someone backed out at the last minute.”
“Allen did. He’s sick, or so he says. I’d like to believe him, but you know, I have my suspicions.” Maddy tried to sweeten the sour situation. “It’s only against Howling, and Stan is a relatively good guy. He won’t bring the heat. He gets that it’s an exhibition match. Please.”
Niko frowned at her. He hadn’t fought since the summer after they graduated from high school. That was five years ago. He’d lost, but that hadn’t been a big deal. The Pranad made it clear: A thousand losses are a teacher. A single victory is a pause.
No, he’d given up fighting for a dozen other better reasons.
He tried to get mad at her for asking.
She knew that fighting again would bring up
