Dorian worked his way through the drooling crowd, wielding his tail as a wedge. Remarkably nifty thing—he’d had little use for it thus far since he hadn’t had much in the way of close combat. But in time, once he began tinkering on that skillset in earnest, maybe he’d pick up a Tail Technique.

For now, though— ‘GODKING HOUYI’S SOUL DESTROYING LIVER OBLITERATING NINETY-NINE HEAVENLY FISTS!’ was his prize. It was only 50 low-grade Spirit Stones, which was just about what your typical bottom-feeding monster of Hell might rob, murder, and loot their way to in a week’s time. A perfectly calibrated price, just high enough to be affordable for the poor, hopeful masses. And naturally Dorian too.

He got his hands on a copy with little trouble, and his grin only widened as he flipped through it. He’d seen some shit Techniques. This was a real steaming heap. So much flash! So little substance! It took some skill to engineer a Technique this aggressively awful.

As a punching Techinque.

Now as a flashbang, on the other hand… it was excellent. And it’d only get better when he put some tweaks in, and supercharged it with his qi.

By the time he left the sun was getting low. The Spirit Pavilion on the other side of the street called to him. It’d serve as a wonderful testing ground for his Techniques… tomorrow. Their little trio was regrouping to discuss strategy at sundown. Reluctantly he turned away and set off for the hotel.

On the way he noted a tunnel of smoke rising above Food Street. Screams and shouts—there seemed to be a fire. The Sky flipped to shadow, those thousand sentinel eyes glaring at some unseen enemy. Not my problem!

Back to the hotel he strolled, whistling cheerfully.

All in all, he was having a pretty good afternoon.

***

All in all, Sun was having a pretty good afternoon! The goods were scouted. The info was heisted. And all she’d given up for it was a fucked up tail—it was the one part that’d got stuck in the electric mesh, and now looked like one of those fuzzy things you use to scrape the insides of pipes.

She was pretty happy about it. Usually she got fucked up far worse by the end of one of her schemes.

She was practically humming as she bounced down the city’s center street. Visions of roast meats, browned to a gleaming gold crisp, swam before her eyes…

Was she hungry again? She frowned. This was getting out of hand! The stronger she got the hungrier she got. Now she was God, she had to be munching on something half her time awake! It was part of why she never really bothered with cultivating. She’d probably never spent more than two consecutive hours with her ass on a mat, no matter how hard Grandpa Sun tried to force her—

Her head whipped violently to the right, like a knee-jerk reflex.

She seemed to be looking down Food Street. “Eh?”

Then she realized what’d happened, like whiplash.

She’d smelled something utterly delectable. All warm and doughy…

Before she knew it she was walking toward food street it, as though tugged by an invisible string. Her mouth was watering up a pond. Was that bread?

It was! A few stalls down, great big gorgeous stalks of uncut bread sat in a glass display case. Crispy light brown, just a hint of its gooey insides leaking down the middle. Her brain was melting inside her skull.

It looked so good!

If she could have that—if she could sink her teeth into that big loaf—all would be right in the world. Suddenly she felt very confident in that. She had a loaf-sized hole in her heart. That bread would make her whole. She had to have it!

But… she patted her Interspatial Ring, and sighed. All of it. Gone.

She frowned.

She supposed she’d just have to steal it!

But this was a Merchant’s city. And there were guards posted at every corner of the market. And the bread was, very inconveniently, placed in a locked glass display case guarded by a very large minotaur.

Hmm. Hmmmmmm.

Sun began to think. She stared at the scene before her, soaking in every detail, every angle, ideas popping off like firecrackers in her brain. The curved slope of that rooftops—escape? Funnel for distraction—liquid? Oil? Plenty discarded oil lying about—stalls arranged in maze. Optimal path—climb on top, hop from stall-to-stall—swing off hanging drake tongues, topple kebabs, smash coals underneath for smokescreen? No, no, too far-fetched!…

Ten minutes passed before she had it.

It was nine steps in total. A lot of running, four bananas (as projectiles), six banana peels (as mines), countless knickknacks from the surrounding stands, that fat minotaur snacks-vendors standing over there with the half-broken horn—that horn was the key to all of this!—and a lot of grease. A lot, lot, LOT of grease, which she’d seen that orc dumping in a bin.

She saw it clear as a painting in her mind. All there, all worked out, and she knew—knew knew knew—it’d work. It was a double-edged thing, planning like this! Everything had to go just right. It was when she got caught with her trousers down, so to speak, that she got in trouble.

But who knew? Maybe not anymore! That Swamp had been a crash course in ass-pulling.

She licked her lips. The only thing stopping her now was that horrible pit of fear in her gut, like always.

But fear was an old, familiar foe. And she knew how to beat it down.

…

…

There was a time when she didn’t know. When it made her a prisoner in her own body.

Long ago, she’d spent a horrible night hiding in the Wukong conclave’s ancestral cave. Shivering, whimpering, listening as Grandpa’s Sun’s furious roars faded to dull croaks. As Uncle Yu’s curses turned to death throes, as the triplets—younger than her even and not half as talented, frightened out of their fur!—charged to their deaths, all in defense of the conclave. And where was she? Here, alone, clutching at her knees, feeling the cave’s damp sickly walls pressing down on her, like she was caught in one giant clenched fist, except there was no fist, only the air, the heavy damp dry air, so heavy it hurt to drag in a breath, except now the heaviness had gotten inside her, under her skin, wrapping around her heart and squeezing squeezing SQUEEZING—

She’d choked back a gasp. Blinked back tears.

(she was alone)

(all her Uncles and Aunties, brothers and sisters, Grandpa Sun broken against the rocks—)

(but what could she have done? she’d just have gotten herself killed! she wasn’t a fighter!)

(…she was a coward. like grandpa sun always all said she was. and cowards hid and whimpered and cried at how useless they were).

The next few hours, and the silence that filled them, were excruciating. She was still. So still she could’ve been dead. And then—hours, maybe days later—it was hunger that moved her again. Go figure. Hunger dragging her to her feet and out the mouth of the cave, looking down at grasses stained red, and the corpses that gave the paint. It was a silly thing, bodies leaking, somehow unreal… Grandpa Sun was leaking… His eyes were leaking…

She still had these very angry spikes when she thought about that night. Anger she didn’t think she had in her. And she was angry mostly at herself.

She’d remembered when she used to go up to Grandpa Sun, full of feelings. He had this way of reducing them to answers—mostly, ‘shut up, idiot child,’ and ‘stop crying, idiot child! What will the neighbors think?”

He had this magical way of making big things small like that.

So long, long ago, Sun took that night in the cave—a night so big her mind felt like it was cracking just trying to wrap around it—and made it small. A neat little life lesson. Something easy to grasp, a vow, cute and simple.

She’d be damned if she was letting fear stop her from living!

There. Wasn’t it all better?

…

…

Fear still lurked in her mind, reared up like vomit and seized her up when it got really bad. But only sometimes—most of the times she was fine.

“I will never let something as silly as fear stop me from living my life however I damn well please!” Sun declared.

It was an attitude you had to take in all things.

Even toward something as silly as a loaf of bread.

Especially something as silly as a loaf of bread. If you couldn't beat fear in the small things, how could you possibly beat it in the big things?

She went forth like a general venturing into battle.

That loaf was hers!

***

By the time Dorian got back to the safehouse Gerard was already there, calmly reading, legs crossed and teacup in hand. A plate of hot buns steamed on the tea table, ranged in a neat grid.

“I finished planting the bombs early,” Gerard said. “I had a pleasant time strolling the city in the meantime. Did you know that there is a small but vibrant conclave of refugees over the other Upper Realms, come to seek shelter in Ur? They’ve set up a number of cafés. Spectacular steamed buns. Would you like one, sir?”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

Then Gerard caught a whiff of him. He grimaced. “Sir…” The tone a parent might take with a naughty child—sad, with just a hint of disappointment. Dorian had heard it many a time.

“I’ve been mucking about in grime and oil all day. But I came out with these little nuggets!” he tossed his three manuals on the floor. “A day well spent, I’d say.”

“Technique manuals?”

“‘Techniques’ is… generous. But not to worry! Once I’m through with them—”

The door flew open. A demon burst in, streaming ash. Dorian was halfway to his feet before he saw it was Sun—head-to-toe in soot and so greasy she was slipping over her own two feet, a loaf of bread snatched between her teeth. She fell over, lunged for the door, fell over again, tried scrambling to her feet, fell over a third time, spat out her breadstick and yelled “CLOSE THE DOOR!”

Gerard slammed it shut.

“What’s wrong? Who’s chasing you?” he snapped.

“No-one! I think!” gasped Sun. “…I hope? I’m pretty sure. If the oilspills and the tarps worked out. And I think they did.”

“What did you do?”

“It's a long story. Had a jaunt in the market—”

Dorian recalled the screams, the shadow-realm eyes, the column of smoke on his way back. “That was you?”

“If you mean the explosions and the burning and stuff—yup! Err…We may need to change masks from now on….”

She winced. “On the bright side I did scout out all the Auction’s best treasures. Oh--and I also stole these!”

She tapped her Interspatial Ring. A set of blueprints fell out, unfurled.

Floor plans to the Royal Palace.