Decisive Strike

Amidst the boundless desert sands, which shimmered like a golden sea, a towering, pitch black figure emerged. It resembled a shadow, slowly dissolving into the radiant ocean of light. In its grasp, a dark katana gleamed with an edge that defied comprehension. 

Al, positioned fifty feet opposite from it, felt his Stubborn Will reach exhaustion king ago.  While his Heat Will continued to surround him. The very air warped around him, creating a wavering distortion that obscured Al as perceived by the Immortal Spirit. 

Al's scimitar, forged from the fine metals, was red hot, a result of his Heat Will. Though his eye was no longer impaled by the serrated feather, its damage persisted, open wounds that refused to heal without the healing factor of his Stubborn Will. 

The Immortal Spirit surged forward, an inky torrent streaking across the blank canvas of the desert. Yet, Al's senses remained acute, tracking every nuance with unwavering focus. He moved with an explosive speed that rivaled his opponents.

"I can't go left that's what he's going to expect because of my eye. He's going to swing left hoping to cut through my blade and then me. I have to go right while evading his left swing." Al strategized in the fraction of a second, his determination fueling his lightning-quick response.

Devoid of formal swordsmanship training, Al had fostered an uncanny kinship with Midnight Abyss. His mind was filled by sword movements that resembled a demonic dance its very essence seemed to have infused with his being. One particular sequence had ingrained itself in his mind, poised for resurgence.

In the blink of an eye, the ethereal form of the Jackal-like Immortal Spirit surged towards Al. Just as he had foreseen, the strike arched towards his left. 

Unfazed, Al seized his blade with only his right hand. With a swift motion, he propelled his left hand backward, stretching both arms to their limit. In an elegant pirouette, he spun 180 degrees to the left, executing a graceful flip. 

The katana, hungry for contact, met Al's right foot, releasing a bloody spray. Meanwhile, his right hand harnessed the momentum, swinging his scorching scimitar in a diagonal arc that rent the Immortal Spirit from shoulder to hip.

From the initial confrontation to the final exchange, it unfolded in the space between breaths, a ballet of black and red. The outcome was decided, leaving Al with only a minor cut on his right foot. This time, not only his ring, but also his crimson leather bracelet absorbed the mist that once was the Immortal Spirit.

"I don't even think he remembered me," Al murmured, a trace of curiosity echoing in his voice. With purpose, he advanced towards the bird woman who struggled to flee, her hand drenched in a torrent of blood. Her gaze flicked back, witnessing the fall of her teacher, and terror radiated from her.

As Al closed the distance, determination etched across his features, the woman's cries turned frail, wisps of desperation escaping her lips. With only two right sided wings remaining, she made a feeble attempt to take flight, her movements clumsy and frantic, ending in a pitiful sprawl upon the ground.

Al observed her, crawling in tearful supplication, her voice trembling as she begged for mercy. "Please just let me go! I don't know what karma you had with my teacher, but I have nothing to do with it."

Al regarded her with a stoic composure, his expression unmoved by anything she said. Yet, in an unexpected surge of desperation, the bird woman unleashed a fierce strike, her intact clawed hand slicing through the air, conjuring a powerful shockwave aimed at Al.

Instinctively, Al dropped to the ground, making body compact and agile, he launched himself forward like a projectile, forearms shielding his face. It was a swift maneuver, akin to a needle slipping through cotton, allowing him to break through the attack unscathed. In an instant, he rolled onto his feet on the other side, poised for the chase.

The Dark Acolyte, driven by sheer terror, had resumed her frantic running. This time, she didn't even dare to glance back. Her singular focus was on escaping and putting as much distance as possible between herself and Al.

The desolation of the sand dunes stretched endlessly, offering no refuge. Reaching her, Al swiftly subdued the fleeing Dark Acolyte. He yanked her head back, driving it forcefully into the sand. The weight of his foot pressed against her, and he poised his blade at her throat.

"If you answer a few questions of mine, I might just let you go," Al offered, his voice measured. She scanned her surroundings, realizing there was no escape. Resigned, she averted her gaze refusing to listen.

"So, that's how it's going to be. I can make things excruciatingly painful," Al warned, seizing one of her remaining right wings and applying pressure, snapping it with a sickening crunch. The anguished cries of the Dark Acolyte reverberated through the vast expanse.

Seeing her agony, he approached her final intact wing, her tears mingling with the desert sand. Desperation painted her expression as she clutched his hand, pleading for mercy. "No more, please. I'll answer your questions. Just please, stop," she implored. Recognizing her cooperation, Al released his grip on her wing, but his sword remained poised.

Al locked his gaze onto the Dark Acolyte's eyes as he posed his questions. "Your kind has areas where they meet with Rakh-ahtan warriors and trade with them. What's the location of the nearest one? If you lie, I'll know," he stated with a steely resolve.

Her response was tinged with a resigned truth. "That's what you wanted to know? In the ancient ruins of the world. We are everywhere," she revealed.

Al lowered his blade momentarily, allowing her a fleeting sigh of relief. But before she could regain her composure and rise, he raised the weapon once more, catching her off guard. "Were not done! What do you know about enlightened beings, and have you ever heard the name Lapapatzi?" he inquired, his tone unwavering.

Upon hearing the name Lapapatzi, the Dark Acolyte's demeanor shifted, a trace of amusement in her expression. "This idiot is chasing the 'Emerald Flame,' he might as well be digging his own grave. Telling him the truth would just get him there sooner," she mused silently before answering Al's question.

"I've heard of her. An Enlightened is a Dark Acolyte who acquires a human body through the collection of human souls and secret ritual magics. Lapapatzi reached enlightenment almost two thousand of years ago due to the help of her master. Enlightenment is the goal of all Dark Acolytes," she disclosed.

Before she could say another word, Al swiftly decapitated her, causing her form to disintegrate into a mist that was greedily absorbed by both of his etheric shells.

"That is not a goal, that is a disease," Al whispered, the weight of the Dark Acolyte's words settling heavily upon him. Memories of Mark's transmogrification at the hands of a Dark Acolyte. The death of Agnethe, his own harrowing experiences with Lapapatzi flooded his mind.

His target was no more, the enemies killed. The task was accomplished. However, after hearing the Dark acolyte's words, he knew things were only beginning.

With measured steps, Al retraced his path to retrieve his longsword. Returning to the oasis in the unforgiving desert, he needed to recover and sat beneath the sheltering fronds of a palm tree. His gaze fixated on the sun's descent, a silent witness to the passing day.

Seated in contemplative meditation, he turned inward, channeling his breath in a methodical dance. His A.R.C. stirred, manifesting his Stubborn Will. In the quiet expanse of the desert.

As night surrendered to dawn, Al remained immersed in his cultivation, the desert's quietude broken only by the rhythmic cadence of his breath. By the time the sun graced the horizon, his Stubborn Will had worked its regenerative magic, stitching together the tapestry of his injuries. Simultaneously, his Heat Will rekindled its fervent vigor, infusing him with renewed vitality.

With purpose, Al rose and began his journey back.

Upon his return to the 23rd Supreme Seed, Elissa's disbelief flickered across her features. An Immortal Spirit, even in their disembodied form, still surpassed any being in the Mortal Chasm. She had hoped for Al's success, but a lingering doubt had persisted that he might not return alive. 

He explained to her how another Dark Acolyte within the Mental Domain of the Mortal Chasm had led him to the Immortal Spirit, and he had to fight both. Elissa realized that Al possessed a tenacity and resourcefulness beyond her initial estimation.

She agreed to give Al two hours of one of her days so he could ask her about any subject about cultivation. Afterwards they would move towards the next part of Elissa's plan.

Returning to his Housing unit inside the 23rd Supreme Seed. Al found solace in the lit room, it's ceiling stones glowed like miniature suns, casting an ethereal illumination. Seated cross-legged, he cradled a runestone etched with wavy characters—a gateway to the wisdom of countless individuals who had cultivated Heat Will.

With focused dedication, Al delved into the memories of how other cultivators with Heat Will had interacted with their Will, studying their methods, techniques, and insights.