Cracks spider-webbed through the ice and shattered it, all in the span of less than a second, as the aged man of impossible physique stood upright, brushing Qi reinforced Ice off himself as casually as one might remove dust. His gaze locked onto Icemane and for the first time in three and a half centuries, the ancient cultivator felt a true chill of dread.

This wasn’t the mark.

This was one of them. This creature was an ancient Memetic Immortal. Among the ancient scars dotting the half-naked man’s chest were three crescents and a star, the legendary symbol of Three Moon Star Deity’s titular technique, the very technique said to have erased a true celestial star out of existence, when the last world was young. Which meant that this man was the…

“The first,” Icemane hushed, instinctively releasing a barrage of techniques.

[Worldfreeze]

[Howl of True Ice]

[Rage of the Winterking]

[Fangs of Woflgod]

[Worldbite]

Time itself froze to a near standstill the instant his Dao, Qi, and spiritual aura manifested the first technique. Only Icemane moved, his howl reverberated within that stopped world, freezing matter on a conceptual level. Rage of Winterking pulsed through his veins, pumping thunderous Qi of Frostcrowned himself through Icemane’s arteries, empowering his flesh past all reason. Fangs of a long dead God from an abandoned reality manifested in the mouths of all eight of his wolfserpents and in his own maw. Together, all nine sets of teeth turned hot-white as the last technique empowered them with the ability to tear chunks out of reality itself.

He’d heard myths of this being.

Not rumors, not stories, not legends, but myths near forgotten.

But even such myths could be slain. Even the primal Gods of the last world had been laid low by the cultivators, when they’d arrived. No being was invincible, no matter how mythical.

Unhindered by all this, the smile-lines on the man’s face deepened. His words reverberated deeply, defying time and space, “A little much to send against a fledgling Chad, don’t you think, Frostcrowned?”

Rage of Winterking resonated with the words, relaying the annoyance of the faraway Frostcrowned straight into Icemane’s veins.

Just as his nine maws closed in on the ancient Dao cultivator, the man lifted his arms above his head and thrust his hips forward.

His perfect eight-pack abs multiplied rapidly until the man’s abs were both infinitely wide and tall and countless in number, yet still somehow fit within his frame. Nine cobblestones of his abs disappeared in the Worldbite, leaving roughly an unlimited number of them behind.

The whitebearded man then lifted his hand high and slapped two of Icemane’s wolfsnakes out of existence. If not for [Worldfreeze] and his reaction speed, that slap may well have slammed into his skull, not that a single attack could have possibly killed him.

Icemane leapt backwards, crossing hundred yards in one step. His Qi overflowed into the tattered wolfsnake pelts, regenerating them in the span of a second. While a cautious man may have fled here, Icemane drew deep on his Qi and let his aura overflow as he tapped into Dao of that primordial God whose crown his teacher wore. Shadow of the Winterking flowed through him and filled him with nameless bestial techniques that once reigned supreme over armies of colossal beasts and early gods.

All nine of his maws released ground shattering lances of [True Ice], obscuring the man in a horizontal rain. Meanwhile, Icemane manipulated his Qi and aura around them, carving a two-mile radius barrier formation centered on the man.

The man, who walked towards him through the hail of death, wobbling from side to side with a wide gait, as if he could not move otherwise due to the size of his manhood. A great Dao empowered his being and the lances which did hit him merely shattered when they collided upon his flexed pecs.

“Refreshing,” said the man.

Icemane ceased the hail of lances, letting his Qi flow right into the barrier. Collapsed concrete blocks rippled. The skyline of Townberg waxed. With a final howl, Icemane contacted his brothers and sisters and master, just as the barrier replaced the world around them with a horizon spanning plain of ice trapped in an eternal blizzard.

“A soul world,” the man observed, nodding with hands on his hips. “Impressive, assuming you manage to keep me here.”

Icemane chuckled, recognizing the height of the challenge laid before him, but he was not yet done. He let his Qi and aura blaze as an inferno of ice as he dove deeper into his Dao than ever before, and dove soul first into Winterking’s shadow, embracing every aspect of the monster, welcoming every aspect of its whims and desires.

His bones popped, his hair thickened, and the man before him shrunk. Eight voices began to whisper beside the one inside Icemane’s head, eight voices of the beasts he’d slain, skinned, and fought beside for over two hundred years. Eight brothers calling him to join them. His own neck elongated, as Icemane embraced his Dao, transforming into a monster buried in a snaking mass of fur-armored heads as great and powerful as an ancient wyrm’s.

All eighteen of his eyes snapped to the man below. He only had to last long enough for the others to arrive, which wouldn’t be long given that time in his soul world passed at hundredth the speed of reality, but in this moment, he felt he had a chance to do so much more than stall for time. Icemane’s howls banished the blizzard and cracked the icy floor as he launched to crush the tiny Dao cultivator.

“That’s more like it.” The man smiled, racing towards him. With blurring movements, he slipped past the snakes, mounted the base of Icemane’s necks, and whispered, “[Down Blyat].”

Winterking within him went mad.

Within that sphere of partially iced time, two Daos used to dominance began a clash of wills, re-enacting one the oldest battles — man against beast.

***

Outside, Townberg went on, time passing without most being aware of the forces dueling at their doorstep.

A disgraced fox sprinted across a snowy field inhabited by an army of boars.

A gorilla ate banana.

Festivities within Townberg intensified with colorful Qi performances, round-the-clock music, art performances telling the history of the Humming Blade sect, and various ceremonial procedures that introduced the groom to his new home.

Most were unaware of the duel of giants.

But not all.

Amongst the reformed cultivators and their mortal allies, a secret message spread the First one’s warning. Bunkers were built and bug-out bags were compiled. Three days after the wedding. That was the timeline to either getting out, or making sure you could survive a chaos equal to a nuclear detonation.

Happyland had become a hive of activity. The basement was being turned into a bunker. Protective formations were stacked until every wall was a tapestry of glyphs and glowing lines. Food was stockpiled. Neighbors were told to evacuate. Trusted friends and willing allies were invited to come in.

Sergei Ivanov and Tibby drove in with a pickup truck loaded with rockets, machine guns, mines, ten sorts of hand-held war-crimes from the Cold War era, and two modern ones.

Three eager to help patients guided by a growing international team of online scientists performed experimentations on how to fuse demonic Qi with bullets, how to optimize Qi condensation to accelerate advancement, as well as how to turn traditional formations into something more akin to a modern programming language.

Shipments of modern titanium alloys reinforced by Qi arrived, providing raw materials for further reinforcing the Asylum’s reinforced-concrete walls.

Hundreds of squirrels gathered on the branches of a strangely masculine tree.

Nobody was certain what exactly was about to happen at the wedding, but everyone knew it was a do or die moment for the little resistance that had spawned and spread across Townberg.

None more so than the figurehead of the operation.

But even he underestimated what ancient cultivators were prepared to do to stop his rise.

***

Wedding day, 10:20. Grand Reception Hall.

Arms linked, me and Nelly entered the Grand Reception Hall. A hem of happy yellow silk trailed behind her. She’d borrowed the dress from a reformed cultivator near her size, going all out to, quote, ‘Make up for all the fancy parties I missed’.

I, meanwhile, wore Happyland slippers and pants. A shirt I deemed unnecessary, given it was only minus-21 Celsius hot outside.

Part of the reason for leaving my shirt home was, of course, the fact that any sect elder worth their rice could recognize my hyper-muscular appearance as suspicious. I wanted. No. I needed to make powerful enemies, and I needed them fast.

Wounds in my intestines had progressed to a point that I extracted my nutrients from through the nose, by snorting 200% pure protein powder obtained from crushing the few Chadnuts my squirrel bruh had managed to grow. With every step, I felt my organs sloshing around in ways that they shouldn’t.

I had four days at most to complete the Chadorgan stage, and only my Chadhood and stomach were finished.

Luckily, Kevin had provided me with the perfect cultivation opportunities.

Straining my eye-muscles, I took in the vast room of hanging tapestries, bird-sculptures, and Qi-lanterns, and immediately estimated candidates with maximum ‘Young Master’ potential. Fifteen candidates popped out immediately. I cross-referenced them against my mental spreadsheet of villainousness, underhandedness, and likelihood of being poison experts. Three were perfect matches.

But that alone wouldn’t be enough to maximize my Big Dick energy generation.

I drew a deep breath through my nose, absorbing every scent in the room, and made a Big Brain discovery.

“Nelly, could you get me a glass of water? I’m going to go un-cuck that man over there.”

“Sure. Pink or green water?”

“Pink.”

Thick crowds of finely garbed cultivators parted before me instinctively. I arrived at a small corner table with a rather goofy looking fella with a mousy demeanor, slightly unkempt hair, and an outfit of colorful jars that made him resemble a Christmas tree.

“Hello there friend,” I said, immediately sliding an arm around his shoulder to make myself comfortable.

He spasmed, startled. “Whu… Bu… Wha…”

“I’m Titan Maximus Chadman, head of the Gigachad sect and your sect’s mortal enemy, but nevermind about that. See those two over there?” I nudged his attention to the opposite side of the room.

In a shadow just outside a lantern’s light, a woman who wore a soul talisman that matched that of the mousy Christmas tree's was exchanging quick kisses with a slippery little charmer wearing several belts of poison vials. The shattering of the mousy man’s heart was projected onto his face.

“Che Ati, no… she would never… how… and with Li Ar, my best friend…”

“Better you know now.”

He sniffled, wiping tears on his oversized sleeve. “Thank you… I… It’s for the best. No wonder she kept on needing more money.”

“You’re welcome. Let me clear this up with them as well.” I patted his back and strode right over to the pair.

“Hello. Allow me to introduce myself, Titan Maximus Chadman, head of the Gigachad sect and your sect’s mortal enemy. I couldn’t help but notice that your husband was unaware of this and pointed your affair out to him.”

“No!” The woman’s gasp of horror alerted a few passerbys.

The slimy gentleman with long, slick hair and dainty features cocked a brow. “Haaah? You verily dare to interfere with the affairs of Li Ar, an inner discipline of Can Can Clan and son of…”

“Heyoo Titaaan~ Care for some mm-mm refreshing pink water straight out of a pitcher. The cups were kinda on the teensy side, so I brought the whole thing. Better too much than too little, right?”

“Absolutely, Nelly. Thank you.” I took a hearty glug from the urn-sized pitcher. It had a pink aftertaste.

I sighed contently, laid the pitcher next to the young master, and turned my back to the young master while chatting with Nelly about how cool one of the animated bird paintings looked. As expected, Li Ar took the opportunity to spike my drink and swore to end my life before the feast was over.

Just as he was about to be done with huffing, I turned around and took a long slow sip.

It tickled my tongue.

Smacking my lips, I replied, “Spicy.”

As expected, he changed his earlier promise of my demise to the end of today.

“Was it spicy? I thought it just tasted pink.” Nelly leaned to try to take a sip of my water.

I lifted it too high for her to reach. “Too spicy for you. The man poisoned it. I need this to reforge my liver and kidneys. Though, could you hold it for a moment, there are a few more stops I need to do before they begin the wedding procession…”

A certain Young Mistress of a gaseous inclined branch of Can Can Clan was almost outraged enough to drop her eyebrows, when I entered her conversation, and told her that it was weak to make fun of mortals, when many of them could be elevated higher than her if they only had the chance. She started to sprinkle poisonous incense sticks all around my path. Naturally, I sniffed them all right up with one inhale each, ensuring Nelly’s safety and making sure my lungs had enough stimuli to advance.

Can Can Clan kept on providing, planting another great find before me in the form of a Young Master focused on hideously moldy pickles. Mere suggestion of deodorant use was enough to earn his undying vengeance. The man began a relentless assault by slipping his Qi-disease infested pickles into my pockets when I wasn’t looking. My immune system was in overdrive, battling armies of cultivator bacteria found on those little morsels of nuclear waste.

By the time the ceremonial speeches gave way to the introduction of the happy couple on their separate bird-carried palanquins, I was feeling a little woozy. Further assassination attempts had injected a toxic waste dump’s equivalent of harmful stuff into my system. My insides were fighting for their lives, punching, kicking, and intimidating the invaders like good little Chads they were.

And they were making tremendous gains. Already I felt transformations beginning to take root, with my stomach growing into tiny little arms and my kidney gaining my abs and jaw-line.

The downside of my intense Chadorgan cultivation crunch was, as one might expect, the fact that none of my organs were used to having limbs and were constantly punching each other by accident.

An older cultivator sitting beside me and Nelly cleared her throat. “This one doesn’t wish to offend you, sir external cultivator, but is everything alright?”

Imprint of a tiny face appeared on my abs as if I was pregnant with a Chad-demon. My dumb-bastard of a liver tried to headbutt poison. Taste of blood coated my teeth as I smiled at the lady.

“All good. Thank you for asking.”

[Alpha Slap]

[Alpha Slap]

[Alpha Slap]

[Alpha Slap]

“Guh…” I twitched as my lungs began hammering the walls of my rib-cage with techniques. Only by channeling all my leftover Big Dick energy into my muscles was I able to withstand the barrage.

“This one doesn’t wish to insist on offering her opinion, if it’s unrequired, but… are you certain sir?”

“Oh don’t you worry, my man just needs some water.” Nelly butted in, giving me the pink poison jug.

Though her features betrayed the worry beneath, she was being a champ, standing with me as I walked the razor’s edge. I accepted the pitcher and gave her a kiss. “Thank you. This is just what I needed.”

Another glug sent my insides into a free-for-all brawl, where each of them believed the other to be the source of the poison. Sounds of their techniques echoed through my abs, giving rhythm to the words of the elder beside Kevin and Silent Feather.

My old friend glanced our way, his face beaming cool confidence and satisfaction, his lips wording a silent ‘thank you’.

I raised my pitcher to him, and replied silently, ‘Enjoy it my man. This day is all yours.’

While I would take advantage of the wedding, I would behave as civilly as possible. Ruining the big day of our friend would be such an un-Chad move that I’d probably die from sheer Big Dick energy starvation.

Tomorrow, I would make my real move against the elders.

Today was all for relaxation and cultivation.

Just as I had that thought, my pancreas used [Down Blyat] on my lungs, nearly folding me over.

***

Wedding day, 10:20. On the clouds above Icemane’s soul world.

Frostcrowned King stretched his Dao, ignoring the concept of distance as he took a step across the skies and the world and set his bare feet on the dark edges of a winter-storm. Seven thousand meters below, parts of the town appeared stretched, as if someone had pinched a piece of the dough and stretched edges to compensate for its disappearance. From the center of that pinch in reality, from the other side of a soul world, exuded the Dao of his first disciple and enemy.

Icemane had done well, but it was time to let him rest.

“Your debts are due,” said Frostcrowned King into the wind. Words empowered by his Dao whirled through space. Despite their bonds having long since eroded from friendship to bloody rivalry, the ancient Dao oaths still held fast, and forced the recipients to heed his call.

A breath of spring and summer washed over the cloud alongside a whirlwind of petals and leaves. From it emerged a tall woman with a skin of dark mahogany, a long gown of mossy hair, and blazing eyes of primordial-green. Muscles knotted her limbs like roots and a jungle of lifeforms crawled around her slender form, twirping, chirping, and hissing as part of a living dress.

Though she kept her massive Qi and spirit restrained, winter air began to warm around her, and a new species of floating vines evolved beneath her feet, immediately crawling all over the cloud they stood on.

“Frosty. It. Is. Such. A. Pleasure.” Her smile was, as always, bemused, but her voice was pure murder.

Frostcrowned grunted, nodding at his former friend.

Over the horizon, in a single unnaturally long step, a second beauty with icy pale skin arrived right beside them. Her platinum hair floated weightlessly and around her fluttered a fortress of robes and scarves of pale iridescent silks. Her eyes stared forward with an eerie featureless gleam of shifting pearly mass.

While her voice remained measured and graceful, when she spoke, Frostcrowned sensed annoyance through her Dao. “Frostcrowned King of Northwind Alliance. You call upon the Dao oath of Hiu Le, the Eternal Pearl, a hundred-thirty-first princess of the immortal Hiu dynasty. Speak your demand.”

“Hiu Le…” A pang of deep sorrow dyed the Primal Queen’s voice.

The princess did not so much as glance her way, continuing to stare at Frostcrowned King.

He nodded, grunting. “A Memetic Immortal of the Gigachad sect is trapped in the soul world beneath us. He believes only I and my disciplines have arrived to reinforce my first disciple, who’s currently working to distract him. Help me kill him and I’ll consider your debts paid.”

“You won’t even deign us with a hello anymore?” asked the Primal Queen.

Hiu Le nodded at him. “What of the settlement?”

Frostcrowned glanced at Townberg. It was currently inhabited by another lower priority target and lesser sects of no real consequence. “We cannot risk losing this opportunity. Level the city if you have to.”