Kill a creature and most of its worth is lost. Its soul vanishes. Its powers wink out. Its body is often broken, or—in the Taotie’s case—poisoned beyond salvage. But still the most potent remnants of a legendary God were not to be underestimated. As Dorian ate, Sun began to ramble.

“Hey! If we’re to be a team, we should get to know each other, shouldn’t we?” she said affably, slurping down some blood.

He stifled a groan. Do we?

“So here’s a little about me! I grew up an only child—“

At this point Dorian flipped a little switch in his brain. Her lips were moving. Her mouth was smiling. Sounds were coming out and yet they ceased to translate into any comprehensible meaning. A pleasant stream of syllables flowed in one ear and out the other; he smiled, nodding at about the right times, frowning at others. It was simple. He only needed to devote a little of his mind to mirroring the emotions on her face. The rest were focused on far more interesting things.

Namely how fast the Taotie’s qi was becoming his own.

[Level-up!]

[Star Realm: Dwarf]

63 -> 67 %

[Fire Planet: Meteor]

55% -> 58%

…

In this way nearly half a day went by.

[Level-up!]

[Star Realm: Dwarf]

98 -> 100%

[Level-up!]

[Star Realm: Dwarf -> Sun]

0%

For a few seconds Dorian’s skin glowed like the surface of—aptly—a star. Sun oooh’d. “What’s that?”

“A welcome breakthrough,” said Dorian with a grin. “I ought to be at least as strong as your typical God now—at least in qi. Soon in Law, too.”

“Very nice!” said Sun. “Anyways. Where were we, again?”

She looked at Dorian. He stared blankly at her. “…“

“I’m only kidding,” she said with a chuckle. “You didn’t hear a word I said that whole time, did you?”

Dorian opened his mouth, some breezy excuse springing to the tip of his tongue. Then closed it. Then sighed, throwing her a dry look. “Oh, why bother lying? Your Bloodline traits are a pain in the ass. Alas, I admit it.”

He suckled the meat off a bone. “Let’s keep things simple. You do the cloaking, I do the killing! It’s worked out pretty well once, hasn’t it? There’s no need to muddle it with…”

He waved the bone airily. “Personal matters. Keep it to yourself, eh?” Then he gave her a hearty pat on the head. It was, he found, a universal way to take the edge off things.

“Hmm. Okay.” She frowned. “But can I talk anyways, even if you aren’t listening?”

“…I suppose. Why?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s therapeutic.” She scrunched her brows. “Sometimes you talk simply to talk. I got out about three centuries’ worth of trauma in that time. There were some fascinating revelations hidden in there. It turns out I wasn’t an only child! Not at first, at least. I think I had like seven siblings—but the Stone Monkeys only keep one from each new generation. But they had this awful way of deciding which—“

A static buzzing took the place of her voice. She kept on going, seemingly oblivious.

Some time passed. He took a few Dark Star level-ups. But the most significant one was his Fire Planet.

…

[Level-up!]

[Fire Planet: Meteor]

[98% -> 100%]

[Level-up!]

[Fire Planet: Meteor -> Moon]

When he glanced now at his Planet it had become sphere-like and uniform red, glowing slightly, seething with understated power. No longer a streaking floundering mess of qi. This was something more mature.

In terms of qi my Planet and Star are about evenly matched in terms of qi quality. Of course my Dark Star has far more, though. His dragon’s breath would flow with fire so black it’d seem like ink—ink burning crimson at the edges.

Some more time passed. Finally Sun looked like she was winding down. She was sniffling a little. There were tears in her eyes.

“—and it was being forced to strangle my own sister that really turned me against this whole ‘power-for-power’s-sake’ thing. I mean—how does anyone enjoy living like that? Don’t you have—I dunno—a warm, beating heart? Don’t you feel, damn it?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s all for me. Thanks for pretending to listen.” Sun wiped her eyes. “Man! That was really helpful, actually. We’ve still got a few hours of digesting left—the food, that is. Why don’t you give it a go?”

“I’ll pass. I don’t have personal traumas.” He wrinkled his nose. “And if I did I’d hardly say them aloud.”

“Hm.” Sun squinted at him. “You’re lying.”

“I… am?” Now that was a surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Yup.”

“Huh. I suppose I do like the sound of my own voice.”

“Not the oversharing part. The ‘not having traumas’ part.”

“…Huh.” He blinked. “I suppose they could be so deeply repressed even I’m not aware of them. At least, not at a conscious level. Which is functionally the same as not having them, if you think about it.”

He shrugged. “Works out either way, doesn’t it?”

[Level-up!]

[Star Realm: Sun]

6% -> 7%.

The power-ups have started to slow. As expected. Demigod is only the doorstep to godhood. To get through God will take orders of magnitude more power. And Empyrean afterwards—Heavens!—that could take ages.

And if he wished to be a force worthy of challenging Jez he’d need to go far beyond that. He’d need to cement himself as one of the most powerful Godkings. A task that was daunting even for him. There was a reason his runs stopped at Godking. It would take vastly more effort, and time, to bridge the gap between his strongest Godking body and his brother than it would be to start over and cultivate all the way to Godking. In the Multiverse power came in many levels.

Sun was still talking, to his mild annoyance. “Um. I’m not sure that’s quite how it works.”

“What?” Dorian said with a frown. “Oh. You’re still caught up on the ‘get-to-know-each-other’ thing?” He sighed. “Very well. In short, I was a very normal prodigy. My brother was a very powerful super-prodigy. We both reached the Godking. He chose to strive for the peak. He’s been doing the same thing ever since. I got very bored and started over, and over, and over. That’s all there is to it.”

“Well that sounds positively boring. You’ve been here for millennia. Surely there’s some juicy stuff in there! Psychotic breakdowns? Broken hearts? I don’t know.”

“Not really. Nothing beyond the normal ebbs and flows of dozens of lives. All told, a rather standard elite god’s existence. You were the one that asked.” Dorian shrugged, slowly picking himself up. Happily he patted his belly. That’d been a good meal, it had to be said! His first truly proper one since he started this run, probably. Made mortal realm food seem like burnt gruel in comparison.

Sun still looked a little backed up. “I mean, think of it from a practical perspective! Teams work better when their members know each other, don’t they? I’ll be more motivated to save you if I know why you’re such a mean goober.”

“A what?” Dorian sighed. “You won’t let this go, will you? Very well. I’ll feed you this one crumb—then you shut up about this forever. Alright?” Sun nodded. “Go on!”

“Here’s a poorly kept secret. I’m far from unique among the ancient deities. Once you become very powerful for a very long time, you start losing your grip on the things that make you human. Time sands them away. You are young. You don’t understand, but you will. Your first century is glorious! Your second is a treat. Stretch past a millennium and all the days start to look the same. There are no new people, in truth—it’s always the same dozen kinds donning different faces.”

He paused. “Even empathy starts to go. You start to think—how long ago was it that I was truly weak? Fearful of true death? Too long. Empathy with the common mortal—even the common god—becomes like envisaging the life experience of an ant. So small, so mean, impossibly distant! You feel no guilt for treading over them, because why would you? Their souls pass on to new lives. New ants pop up to take their place. You still have feelings but they grow dull—like blades worn down to nubs. Time passes. So it goes. Time, life, love, these things all become impossibly weightless.”

“Makes sense. My grandpa Wukong was like that,” said Sun with a frown. “So that’s it, then? Everyone ends up a crusty asshole eventually?”

“Eh. Empathy is a muscle that atrophies fast. A vanishingly rare few keep up with it. Most Godkings don’t. Admittedly I am a fair bit… crustier, as you put it… than the norm. Which is why I do runs.” Dorian snorted. “Only the insane would do as I’ve done. No Godking wishes voluntarily reduce themself! They are all far too vain and proud for that. But I’m bored, you see, more bored than all of them. So I need smallness to make things big—lightness to make things weighty. Even a blade of grass seems big when you reduce yourself to the size of an ant. Little did I know I’d be stuck here. Ant-sized. Rather permanently. With you.”

He shivered. “Which… hm. Has made things startlingly real in a way I haven’t felt in a very, very long time. And not at all in a good way. So there, birth to present in sum. Happy?”

“Yeah, that was superb!” Sun threw him a grin and two thumbs-up. “Juicy as a Black Tortoise egg! Well done. So how about it? Cathartic, wasn’t it? Don’t reply—I can tell by the look on your face! You ought to share more sometime.”

“…Right.” Dorian rolled his eyes. He climbed to his feet. “I’m hungry. I’m about done digesting—“

[Level-up!]

[Fire Planet: Moon]

[2% -> 3%]

“Okay, now I’m done digesting. Let’s get moving.”

“But the meal’s just starting!” Sun said. “I had a whole six-course meal planned out. Roc eyes as an appetizer, fried Torchdragon omelettes as the main course—“

“It’ll take too long. You can bet Jez’s forces are already hunting us as we speak. I’ll wager we’ve got under a day before they’re here. Save it for a grand feast our next stop. If we make haste we can clear the final trek to the Swamp of the Damned in—oh—two hours?” He licked his fingers. “Its Dao Fruit are famous across the Multiverse for being some of the most potent Law treasures in existence. And I’m in the mood for dessert.”