A Song For The Ages

The battlefield surged with renewed vigor.

Feiyin's music still echoed in the marrow of every soldier's bones, though the last note had long faded. It lived in their breath, in the quickness of their blades, in the steadiness of their shield arms, carried by the strength of his intent. Where once they had only endured, now they pushed back. Inch by inch, their line crept forward, blades flashing, formations tightening. The tide that had threatened to swallow them began to slow.

The Hive's shrieking lost its edge. Its movements grew staggered, uncertain. Their coordination faltered against the sudden wall of unwavering will.

Feiyin cut through another beast, his blade coated in rippling intent, black-coated steel singing with every strike. Chitin burst, ichor sprayed, and corpses fell around him in heaps. Soldiers to either side cheered as they advanced, finding rhythm in destruction.

And yet, even as momentum shifted, Feiyin's mind remained on the big picture. Between slashes, he turned his head, glancing toward the rear.

His breath caught. The evacuation...

Lines of civilians stretched back through the debris of the shattered city. The skyships hovered overhead, their beams hauling up group after group. But it was slow, too slow. Entire families still waited in clumps beneath burning towers, holding each other in the shadow of war. Medics and injured soldiers moved among them, trying to keep the process organized.

Feiyin cursed under his breath.

They had barely made a dent in the evacuation.

The Hive must have known. That was why they kept pressing. Not for victory on the field, but to buy time, to pin them down until reinforcements arrived, or to simply wear them thin enough that one final push would shatter their ranks.

Another scream snapped him back into the present. A soldier beside him fell with a gurgling cry, acid having burned through the side of his helm. Feiyin surged forward, cutting down the insectoid responsible in a flash, then turned to bark orders.

"Reform the wedge! Shift left, we've got a break forming!"

The soldiers obeyed without question. His presence steadied them. His blade, his commands, his intent, they formed the backbone of their will.

Another wave approached. Bigger. Thicker. The Hive was relentless.

Feiyin gritted his teeth.

They had no choice. They would hold. For the civilians. He could see such a situation happening even outside of this trial, so he would do his best now, so that he could be ready if, no, when it happened.

The air thickened again with heat and ichor.

And still, they fought.

But even with renewed morale and strength, reality proved merciless. The enemy did not stop. Wave after wave of insectoids surged forward, endless and unfeeling. For every creature they felled, two more took its place.

Soldiers who had just cheered beside Feiyin were now on the ground, their bodies broken, their blood mixing with ichor. Others cried out in pain, their limbs mangled, some blinded by acid, others unable to stand. The line still held, but just barely. The enemy's numbers were too great.

Feiyin's heart pounded not just from exertion, but from a growing sense of despair he could not afford to let show. He saw the fatigue on every face, the desperation. His music had lifted them, but resolve alone could not block a blade or deflect acid. Strength of spirit did not mend bones, at least, not yet.

He took a deep breath and reached into his pouch, pulling out bottles of recovery pills. With practiced efficiency, he flung them to the soldiers nearest the line. "Distribute these! Prioritize the wounded who can still fight!"

Then he stepped back again, ignoring the ache in his arms, the sting of blood along his shoulder. He summoned his guqin once more, settling into a firm posture atop a broken slab of stone.

This time, the music he played was different. He focused not only on bolstering his comrades, but suppressing the enemy. His fingers danced across the strings, weaving together pulses of hope and force, striking chords meant to pressure and weigh down the enemy.

The air around the Hive darkened. Their limbs moved slower, their coordination slipped even further. It was subtle, but it was there, hesitation, drag, the weight of fear that began to seep into them. His oscillation sense sharpened as he shaped the tone, pushing pressure into his intent.

Meanwhile, behind him, the soldiers once more found their rhythm. Their breathing matched the tempo. Their movements gained fluidity. And yet, Feiyin saw it all.

Even with his aid, they were tiring.

War was never glorious, his father was the first to tell him that. It was dirt, and blood, and the silence left behind when screams finally stopped.

Feiyin clenched his jaw. He couldn't let them fall. He had to find a way.

He strummed harder, letting his essence pour into the melody, crafting notes sharp as blades and heavy as stone.

They would hold. Somehow, they would hold.

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And they did.

For a full day and night, the battle raged without pause. The defenders, once 500 strong, had dwindled to barely 300. They fought without rest, their only reprieve found in the rare moments when Feiyin's pills replenished their strength and essence reserves. It was only due to their tempered bodies and cultivated strength that they had lasted so long. Any mortal force would have shattered in the first few hours under such unrelenting pressure.

Feiyin moved like a constant among the chaos, his saber flashing, body fluid with strength, his steps weaving between foes. Though his physical stamina held strong and his three dantians spun tirelessly to replenish his reserves, the toll weighed on him in other ways. He was beginning to feel the fatigue, not in body, but in mind. His intents, both musical and saber, required more than just qi to fuel properly. It demanded clarity, focus, will. To sustain such pure force of will for so long drained even him.

As the sun had previously set, the true horror of war unveiled itself. The city no longer burned, but its skeleton remained, smoldering ruins, flickering embers, and pillars of smoke twisting into the night. The earth beneath them was soaked in ichor and blood. The scent of acid, sweat, and death hung heavy.

The Hive did not sleep.

When night came, the battlefield changed.

Despite all their cultivation, all their enhancements, humans, especially those in the early stage of cultivation, still relied on their most familiar sense, sight. And under the cloak of night, that sense betrayed them. Visibility plummeted. Shadows stretched across the ruins like tendrils, obscuring movement and hiding threats. Feiyin could sense the shift in the rhythm of battle immediately. The enemy surged forward with renewed aggression.

The Hive did not falter in the dark. They hunted by sound and vibration, their movements seamless under the moonless sky. Where the defenders hesitated, the insectoids accelerated. It was during this long stretch of darkness that their greatest losses were suffered.

Feiyin fought on. His saber remained alight with intent, his footing precise. But even he could not block every assault. Soldiers to his left and right fell, their cries choked out in the smoke-thick air. The scent of blood, sweat, and acidic ichor soaked the ground, clinging to every breath.

The city behind them no longer burned, but the ruins glowed faintly with lingering embers. Pillars of smoke drifted lazily into the starless sky, while shadows danced in every broken alleyway.

Yet, it was within this crucible that Feiyin found clarity.

He had never been able to unleash his full strength before. The sect was a nest of serpents, always watching, always measuring. But here, in the desperate press of life and death, he held nothing back. His three dantians spun rapidly, flooding his body with essence qi. His sturdy meridians bore the load easily, channeling power into each limb, into every stroke of his saber.

And with each clash, he improved.

He discovered that his intent, saber and musical both, was most potent when fused into his strikes, not layered after. The essence qi laced with his will deepened the effect. His blade no longer merely cut. It cleaved through the enemy's momentum, staggered their resolve.

Helping to further synchronize his steps and saber with the oscillations he could sense, he found that combining them with his musical intent allowed him to develop a whole new combat style that was uniquely his. Amid the blood and chaos, it felt almost artistic, his strikes timed not only to maximize destruction but to offer support to his weary comrades. He moved with fluid grace, dancing through the ranks of enemies, his blade an extension of rhythm and will, guiding soldiers with the tempo of his intent and punishing the enemy in perfect cadence.

And still, the Hive came.

But now, even in exhaustion, even with eyes dulled and shoulders heavy, Feiyin was more than a defender.

If they were akin to a ceaseless tide, then he was the cliff they broke against.

And for every soldier who fought beside him, for every child still waiting beneath a half-collapsed tower, he would not stop.

Not yet.

The sky began to lighten, painting the horizon in hues of orange and violet. As the first rays of dawn broke across the ruined cityscape, a sudden silence swept over the battlefield.

The insectoids halted.

Feiyin froze, his saber halfway through a cut. Every Hive creature stood still, unmoving, as if caught in a moment suspended in time. The soldiers blinked, stunned. Some lowered their weapons, others looked about in confusion.

Feiyin turned his gaze upward.

And his breath caught.

A shadow filled the sky; no, it dwarfed it. It blotted out the heavens, eclipsing even the rising sun. Tentacles writhed slowly, snaking down through the thinning clouds from beyond the atmosphere, their ends thick as towers and still descending. The creature above them pulsed with unknowable power, its sheer presence a weight that slammed into Feiyin's chest like a mountain.

Dozens, hundreds, of eyes opened and closed across its surface. An impossible sight.

Feiyin's limbs locked. His body refused to move. It wasn't fear. It was submission. His instincts screamed to lie down and accept whatever fate this thing deemed fit.

Weapons clattered to the ground around him. Men fell to their knees, some sobbing, others too numb to react.

Feiyin's eyes remained locked on the being.

He couldn't blink. Couldn't breathe.

Then,

A memory surged from deep within his soul.

The Eight.

Their infinite presence. The way they stood watch over countless worlds. That moment, distant but vivid, reignited something within him. A defiance. A spark.

His saber intent surged. The will to cut through all suppression, all weight, flared inside him. Then came a keening noise, sharp and splitting, ringing inside his skull like a saber drawn from its sheath. That sound pierced the fog in his mind. And with it, he breathed again.

He gritted his teeth, forcing his body to move, inch by inch. His oscillation sense flared wildly. His essence surged. The pressure eased slightly. Then more.

His mind cleared.

He looked around. Soldiers had crumpled in despair. Their eyes wide with terror, their hands shaking.

And then,

A shockwave struck.

Dust exploded into the air. The force knocked Feiyin back a step, making him brace himself. He shielded his eyes, squinting upward.

A hole. A massive, gaping void the size of the retreating moon had opened in the center of the sky-dominating creature. Its core had been destroyed.

And from the heavens above, a voice rang out, deep and gruff, carrying calm power.

"Well done holding until now."

The pressure vanished.

The insectoids convulsed, then collapsed. All at once. Tens of Thousands of them.

Across the battlefield, weapons were raised, not in defense, but in awe. Shouts rang out, rising in chorus.

"Star Fist Saint!"

Feiyin's heart pounded as he recalled the name.

One of the Dynasty's Celestials.