Death Cultivator 2 by eden Hudson (books to read in your 20s .TXT) 📗

medically induced coma, and two, because every time I closed my eyes, flashes from the massacre in the Heartchamber crashed around in my head. Contrails and Dragons dropping dead, Warcry on the executioner’s block, Rali’s intestines hanging out of his stomach.

Some of the lockdown I spent doing taiji and body conditioning, and I ate a ton to replenish the calories the Dragon script tattoo was burning through trying to heal the festering knife scars in my side. But mostly, I cultivated.

I hadn’t done much real cultivating since the day I’d found Hungry Ghost, but I was going to have to get better at it now that I didn’t have him to fall back on. There was no Miasma there—part of the reason my script tattoo had to resort to calories for healing—so I practiced taking in other Spirit types and converting them. I could see why no one did that unless they had to. The process took time and concentration, and it was exhausting. I usually finished a conversion session soaked in sweat.

Considering the way Warcry had acted during the audience with the Shogun, I’d assumed the ginger wasn’t interested in talking to me, but near the end of the second night, a message from him came in.

This ain’t over with the Bailiff just ’cause we’re going off-planet, grav. He might be here for life, but that don’t mean he can’t find a way to come after us. I still got most of three years to serve, and I’m busting out same as you lads. He’s just psycho enough to do the same.

I sat there staring at the message on the cracked screen of my Winchester for a long time. I wanted to believe that leaving the planet meant the Bailiff couldn’t get at us anymore, that we’d be out of his reach, but I knew Warcry was right.

Strangely, I wasn’t worried. Part of me wanted the Bailiff to come after us. When he did, I’d show him I wasn’t the same weak, stupid kid who’d been dropped on Van Diemann a couple months ago. Hungry Ghost might’ve been lying about a lot, but he’d been telling the truth about at least one thing—you couldn’t leave enemies alive. I got that now.

If the Bailiff comes after you guys, I’ll finish this, I replied.

Warcry didn’t get back to me after that.

The pockmarked knife scars in my side never stopped hurting. I froze out the nerves, but that only lasted so long. The Eight-Legged Dragon script tattoo burned a constant low red heat, trying to heal the spot, but it couldn’t repair the knotted tissue there.

Devil Corruption, Hungry Ghost whispered, but when I tried to get him to explain or tell me more, he just sent me thoughts of a coffin with a padlock on it and me holding the key.

But there was no way I was letting him out. I’d been relying on him and everybody else for too long anyway. I would find out more about Devil Corruption myself.

Ride off into the Night Sun

I WAS WORKING ON CONVERTING some Stone Spirit from the walls of my fancy cell when I felt Biggerstaff’s suppression clamp down on my sea. A minute later, he and the crowd of silent geishas showed up.

“Moving day,” Biggerstaff said, grinning. “Ready to break out of prison?”

“You’re awfully happy.” I grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat off my face and chest, then went back to the bed platform for my shirt. “Are you busting out with us?”

“Better,” the catfish said. He waved a hand at himself. “You’re looking at Van Diemann’s new Eight-Legged Dragon 3. As part of her power play, Miss Iye Skal let it slip to the Emperor that I recruited the most powerful Death cultivator since Khan Daichi.”

Even through the suppression, I felt Hungry Ghost twitch at the name.

I jerked my shirt on. “You better have paid her for it. No more b.s. hidden disclaimers like with Warcry’s contract.”

Biggerstaff chuckled that croaking catfish laugh.

“There’s still a lot of Technol ground left for her to cover, but don’t worry, she’ll get everything agreed upon. She’s well worth every credit. The Selkens are one race that knows instinctively how to keep exactly who they want in power.”

I stomped my boots on. “ELD 3 is a long way from Shogun. I wouldn’t really say you’re in power.”

It was a lame jab, but I was hung up on the fact that he was sending Kest back to spy some more.

Biggerstaff’s whiskers twitched, and he did something on his HUD.

My Winchester buzzed. He’d sent me a message so the geishas wouldn’t hear what he’d wanted to say.

The next time you see me, don’t be surprised if I am Shogun.

In the corner of the message was a three-second countdown. When it hit zero, the message disappeared. I checked the Trash, but there wasn’t any sign of it. Biggerstaff wasn’t dumb enough to leave a paper trail.

“Turn around and lace your fingers behind your back,” the catfish said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Once my hands were trapped inside that wire mesh cage, the geishas led us out of the room, escorting me through the halls like I was Hannibal Lecter. Instead of a straightjacket and a face mask, I got a muzzle on my Spirit and a cage on my hands.

“So, are you supposed to stay with me forever?” I asked Biggerstaff. “Make sure I never use Death Spirit unless it’s pointed at whoever the Dragons want dead?”

“Just until you’re safely loaded into the Shinotochi ship,” he said. “From there on out, you’re the Emperor’s problem.”

The geishas led us through a series of switchbacks following a steady upward pitch. Eventually, we passed through an ugly stone foyer and out a huge set of double doors onto a wide portico.

I squinted and blinked until my pupils adjusted to the day suns’ light. Through the stone columns, the view was nothing but grassy sand dunes, sharp rocks, and thundering surf surrounded by miles of ocean.

I’d never smelled seawater