But his breathing was too careful, intentionally evenly spaced. A muscle twitched in his hand, jerking his crooked pinkie once before going still again. His weight was distributed evenly, and his arms weren’t crossed. Instead of eyeing the bracelet, he was watching me, ready to switch on if I made a wrong move.
It only took me a second to realize why. The last time Warcry had seen me in full-on skeleton form, I’d been possessed by Hungry Ghost. He and Rali had had to fight me almost to the death while I tried to kill my stolen body from the inside out with Miasma. Not good times.
Warcry was standing by ready to go just in case there was a repeat of that fiasco. He could be friends or pretend to be friends with a Death cultivator, but he would never completely let his guard down around one. It was too dangerous.
The thought clashed inside my head, running up against annoyance and creeping pride that someone as strong and talented as Warcry was afraid of me. Fear was respect. It meant strength and power. Potency. It meant he knew that every life, no matter how strong they were, no matter how close they thought they were to me, was nothing but fuel for my fire, and I could harvest it whenever I was ready.
What the heck? Where did that come from? I froze, still a scythe-handle length away from them. Is that devil corruption or me?
I expected Hungry Ghost to chime in, but with all the extra Miasma, Jealous as the Grave had him locked up tight.
Valthorpe and Warcry were waiting, watching me. Now wasn’t the time for introspection. We had a mission to finish.
Remembering the poison from the pedestal, I triggered Corpse Fire. It would suck to get this far and then end up dead because I turned back to meat with some ancient poison still lacing my bones. Eerie turquoise flames ran across my skeleton as Corpse Fire burned off the spray.
When the last of it was gone, I let go of the scythe. The weapon tore back into my bones and covered my skeleton in a thin but heavy layer of reinforcement. My muscle and skin and clothes returned to normal in a blink.
The bracelet dropped out of the air where it’d been hanging on the handle. Valthorpe lunged forward and caught it, then panicked, his eyes going wide.
It didn’t try to chew his hand off. It was sitting on edge in his palm.
“Phew!” He grinned. “Good work, boys.”
The academic turned the bracelet over in his hands, careful to only touch it side-on with his fingertips and not to get those anywhere near the spikes.
A bug droned past the back of my head, big enough that I felt the wind from its wings. I swiped a hand at it, but the bug was already long gone. We hadn’t run into many bugs of the flying variety in the temple, but up here, a few clouds of gnats were hanging around the outer edges. They would probably get thicker as the breeze carried the smell of sweat and blood.
Valthorpe’s thick brow ridge lowered over his eyes, and he cocked his head a little like he was listening to something only he could hear.
“Heartblood Crown of Thorns?” Valthorpe mumbled. “Accepted masters are protected from the ravages of time, illness, and injury. Effectively immortal.” He grunted. “Too small for an actual crown, though. Mistranslation, maybe? Sort of early general concept of jewelry or adornment?” He scratched the top of his head with his free hand. “It doesn’t say how to be accepted.”
“Probably stick your hand in it,” I said.
Warcry smirked. “Give it a go, grav.”
“Hard pass.”
“You may be onto something, Death cultivator,” Valthorpe said. “Heartblood... Heartblood... That could be a reference to courage or the essence of a person. Or the barbs might be there to analyze your blood and determine whether you’re capable of mastering it before it accepts you.”
Dead Reckoning pinged. Thirteen life points had just entered the temple on the ground floor. I only recognized one of the flickering flames coming up the steps.
“Sanya-ketsu’s here,” I told them, “and it looks like she brought an entourage.”
“You’re sure it’s her?” Valthorpe checked the time on his HUD. “She made excellent time. Maybe her original message was delayed.”
“What’s a Ketsu need an entourage for?” Warcry asked.
“That’s what I was wondering.” I checked over the life points again. How much backup did you need to execute a Death cultivator for defying the Emperor’s order?
The overload of ancient Miasma and the hard, concentrated spirals at the center of my sea seemed to pulse in response.
More than that.
Temple of Doom
VALTHORPE SUGGESTED we head down and meet Sanya-ketsu on one of the less deadly floors. There were a lot of fire tiles and booby traps she and whoever she’d brought didn’t know about between us.
We ran into the Sown Dream cultivator and her team coming up the staircase from the second floor to the third. The stairwell there was only a few yards across, surrounded by load-bearing walls, and the only entry points were at the top and the bottom. A death trap if I needed it to be one.
They came up the stairs two across, leaving plenty of maneuvering room between themselves, with Sanya alone at the head of the pack. The bruiser behind her packed a lantern that gave off an electronic glow instead of firelight.
“Gentlemen,” Sanya said, her eyes sparkling above her surgical mask. “I have to say, this timing is perfect. I was already on my way here when I received word from Valthorpe that you’d almost finished with the ruins.” She winked at me. “I’m sure you can guess why, Death cultivator.”
“I’m not killing somebody’s mom,” I said, fists balling at my sides. “Especially not now. Were any of the targets Emperor Takeshi pointed me at actually guilty or was
