Red Cap towered above us, sneering from the peak of a fifty-foot obsidian half-pipe. His sabaton blades sparked beneath him as he pivoted on the edge, perfectly balanced on that curved abyss.
"Look at your blank faces—MUAHAHAHA-HAAAA!" He spun once, scythe in hand, cloak flaring like molten leather behind him.
"You uncivilized Terran beasts know NOTHING of the martial path of skate! Not the rhythm, not the grit, not the glory! You've wandered into my little world, and you don't even know which end of the rail to bleed on!"
His voice echoed off the polished obsidian, crashing through the cavern like a war drum stitched with barbed wire and gongs.
Snake Man narrowed his eyes, "Lunar… what? This clown thinks gravity tricks are a martial path?"
Felicity tilted her head. "I think he's serious."
Red Cap sneered, "Oh, I'm dead serious! You're the ones who are lost. You call yourselves cultivators—but you walk in here without even an inheritance!?" He pointed the blade of his scythe toward me, then slowly swept it across the group. "No Domains bonded. No Ancient Wills riding your spine. No legacy echoing through your blood.
You're just... unclaimed mongrels."
His grin spread, crooked and jagged with sovereign arrogance. "Let me guess—still chasing trial tokens? Still scavenging techniques off scrolls like beggars licking temple floors?" Marla, still recovering, spat black ichor to the side. "And you're what, then? A Sovereign on skates?"
Red Cap bowed mockingly, "Correct. This entire pipe, this obsidian sanctuary?
You stand upon my little world—a fragment of Sovereign Red Cap's Domain, carved with ten thousand grinds and screams. Cemented in blood and style!" He struck the pipe's edge with his scythe. Sparks erupted—qi-glyphs igniting in lines down the half-pipe's curve. Faeluxe took a cautious half-step back.
Red Cap spun once more, "So here's your lesson, baby cultivators: Inheritance is power, and I inherited the best of all—My own madness!" Then, with a flourish, he raised his arms and clapped—once, twice—the impact like thunder in a pressure-sealed vault.
"COME FORTH—MY NOBLE HOCKEY PUNKS!"
The air trembled. Tunnels carved into the obsidian bowl flared to life, lined with flickering neon glyphs. And then—they came. They burst out on screaming wheels, hundreds of undead cultivators, faces hidden behind rusted goalie masks, their torsos wrapped in fused bone armor and torn stadium uniforms from some long-dead realm.
Each bore a chain-bone saw, revving with necrotic qi as they rode along the walls, the rails, and flipped through the air itself. They circled Red Cap like a macabre death parade, carving glowing trails behind them with every grind and wheel-snap.
Red Cap grinned
"Get ready for the face-off, Terrans. Skate or die." Wheels screamed.
Qi streamed behind them in blinding trails of violet, cyan, and sickly green. They launched into the air, spiraling, flipping—colliding into formation with brutal grace.
hundreds of hockey punk ghouls. They wore jagged armor, half made of welded hockey pads and corpse leather. Their faces were hidden behind rusted goalie masks, each painted with a twisted sigil of Red Cap's demonic moon cult. Scythe-shaped sticks rested on their backs.
"HIT SQUAD, READY FOR THE GRIND!!" one shrieked, bouncing his stick off the obsidian rail with a spark of red qi.
"TIME TO BREAK SOME BONES," hissed another, licking his bladed glove.
Felicity raised a brow. "...Is this a sport? Or a cult?"
Marla staggered upright, her golden slit-pupils narrowing, "Does it matter?"
Hammer head cracked his knuckles, "I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm in."
Faeluxe looked around, tracing the ramps, pipes, and rails.
"Style appears to matter more than power here."
Red Cap lifted his scythe overhead.
Lava arced behind him like a curtain of flame.
"SKATE OR DIE, TERRAN MEAT!!!" Red Cap dropped in from the top of the mega half-pipe, scythe spinning in a slow, taunting helicopter loop.
"Welcome to the first drop, Terrans. Let's see if you can even stand on my ground!"
Hockey Punks launched from the tunnels, the ramps, everywhere, forming loose pinwheel formations, skates sparking.
They shrieked like banshees, wielding bone-chainsaws that revved with necrotic qi. The obsidian arena echoed with screeches of wheels, screams of qi, and the rattle of bone-chain saws.
Then—I tried to move forward, but the obsidian resisted me. standard movement—was outlawed, and my footing only stabilized with momentum.
I stepped forward, eyes narrowing as my vestigium qi surged. "We're under the laws of his little world." I said. "If we want to move we have to use a movement skill."
"A mobility technique, like the serpent step mirages shuttle foot perhaps?" I said slowly.
Red Cap cackled, "Combat within Sovereign Rampage Zone requires mastery of a movement technique. Stand still, die still."
Felicity dashed across a bowl's curve, using qi bursts at each footfall to ''skate'' on her own animus, she used this improvised technique to slingshot herself into mid-air.
"You have to move with the curves—ride the flow!" I activated shuttle foot serpent step.
A breath of gold qi coiled into my soles like spring-loaded vipers.
Then—whoosh!
I glided on cushion of my own projected qi, adhering to Red-Caps Domain law.
There was no bounce. No sway. No sound. My back and shoulders remained eerily still, my robes barely fluttering.
I glided faster than any of the undead punks, body perfectly balanced—like I was sliding across ice on serpent tongues.
Felicity, watching from a reverse spiral grind, nearly lost her focus. "That's... that's just showing off."
Suddenly there was a voice that spoke out in Red Caps little world. "System Trigger: Shuttle Foot Serpent Step – Dual Style Flow Achieved +300 Style Points –Power Glide form qi efficiency Increased plus trajectory prediction gained."
I weaved between the hockey punks, sliding sideways to avoid a spinning chain blade, then glided backward up a ramp—without turning my torso.
The undead growled, confused by the motion.
The hockey punks decided to Close In on Hammerhead. They weren't stupid. They saw who wasn't moving. Hammerhead. Still at the base of a sloped pit, surrounded by crushed rail segments and bloodied obsidian.
No skates. No tricks. Just a slab of shark man with a saw blade and a death wish. Three Punks swarmed him, screaming. One tried to grapple from the side. Another went for a flying elbow drop from a loop above. Hammerhead caught the airborne punk by the leg mid-descent—and swung him like a club into the others.
WHAM! CRUNCH.
"This ain't 'hockey', boys. It's blood ball." I circled the upper bowl, gaining altitude and speed. The raptor feather flight essence and the cloud step feather sigil, helped me maintain glide precision flow on even the most insane verticals. From above, I called, "Hammerhead! Incoming!"
I flipped backward onto a rail and slide down it, as I launched a vorpal retrieve on a hockey punk's scythe—disarming it mid-grind. The disarmed Punk spiraled helplessly…
…straight into Hammerhead's upswinging right hook.
CRACK!
Hammerhead looked up at me, "That one yours or mine?"
"Lets Call it shared custody " I said.
Suddenly there was a Domain System Trigger: PARTY STYLE POINTS – 1100 / 1000
Style Threshold Reached – Crowd of Domain Wraith-Spectators materializing...
Red Cap's Domain now watched. Applause or qi echo's would now empower Red Cap. Across the walls and bowls, ghostly fans materialize—twisted, semi-transparent figures made of memory and madness. They scream and cheer, hurling spectral roses and bones onto the ramps.Faeluxe was panting "They're feeding him... the more we impress, the stronger he gets."
Red Cap, now mid-hover at the Spiral Core Pipe's apex, spun his scythe and absorbs the energy like lightning striking his blade. Red Cap, perched at the Apex of the glowing Spiral Core Pipe. His spectral fans howled and clapped, the sound like bone windchimes in a storm.
Red Cap arms were spread wide, scythe whirling, "KNEEL TO SENSEI ASH—KNEEL TO SENSEI!! MUAHAHAHA!!" The undead fans throw spectral jerseys, foam claws, and bone whistles. I halted at the rim of the Spiral Pipe, eyes narrowing. I said nothing. Then—I breathed.
I circulated tempest breath while guiding all of my golden vestigium qi into my palms. My fingers crackled with golden lightning qi fusing into muscle, nerve, thought.
Above my brow, a golden symbol burned into view:
Lightening cloud step evolution– "Sky-bound mind, earth-denying form."
I dashed rapidly in a zigzag pattern of four zips with each foot generating a cushion of qi, the pressure wave exploded from the mega pipe rim as I reappeared in a flickering storm of movement. Hundreds of afterimages burst out across the obsidian skatepark. They corkscrewed, slid, rebounded, flashing across rails and bowls, wrapped vertically along the pipe's interior. I became a kaleidoscope of myself, mirrored a hundredfold.
Red Cap, suddenly froze. His scythe dipped. Red Cap eyes went wide "...Whuh—"
Too slow. I emerged from an afterimage on Red Cap's right and slammed an open palm into his jaw. The Sovereign's massive head snapped sideways, spittle and blood arcing. A heartbeat later, I emerged from the Ash hailstorm appearing on the left—another Spirit Palm, another jaw-shattering blow.
Red Cap's metal teeth clack together like rock grinders. He reeled—spinning in mid-air—trying to locate the real Ash.
Then—quietly, calmly—I appeared behind him, face serene, palm raised. I leaned in—my voice soft, nearly reverent.
I whispered, "One Thousand Spirit Palm Strike."
I placed both palms flat against Red Cap's armored spine—and released everything. A burst of light detonated from my palms—not explosive, but internal. It ripped through Red Cap's qi network like a blazing echo chamber, replicating the strike a thousand times in a single breath. Internal qi feedback! Bone structure fracturing! Spirit Sea disruption! The sovereigns little world shuddered.
Red Cap let out a ragged, strangled wheeze—blood and wind escaping his lungs all at once. The spiral pipe cracked behind him. I landed lightly on a grind rail and glided backward, untouched. All around me, my afterimages dissolved, fading like mist touched by morning. Red Cap hit the ground with a crater-making slam, armor hissing, jaw broken in two directions, smoke curling from his back.
Even the spectral crowd went silent. Hammerhead whistled low. Felicity exhaled.
Snake Man blinked, "Did… he say a thousand?" Faeluxe bowed her head briefly, "He didn't need to say it, I felt every one of them."