"To the unitiated in Collective Cultivation, it seems like the weakest of all Cultivations. But in truth it is a slumbering, slavering dragon. It begins weak, but it will eventually be the most powerful form of Cultivation in the Universes. Collective Action is the core basis of the Omniscients. Collective Compassion is the Core Teaching of those that have attained Supremely Perfect and Peerless Violence."

From the Broken World Manuscript

It was a gambit that Sutasoma was not sure would pay off, but it did.

Make no mistake. Most of Sutasoma's gambits paid off. She was known for such riskiness. But with the Five Triumphant Immortals—arguably the five most powerful Cultivators in this world system (at least, from those that began as mortals—her gambits risk factor shot up by 50%.

In her three hearts she felt her Seraph and her Ogre be incinerated off the face of the three worlds, but that is fine. Raxri is fine. She can create more hearts in the future, but she could not create a new Mindstream to be Cultivated for Violent-Consciousness.

She had used her other Ultimate Ability: Far Apportation, from the magick tradition of Astrologianism. It just so happened that Far Apportation either needed the Yellow Sun Gleam or the North Star Shimmer to be able to be used at all. She had been summoning the mantras and performing the mudras needed for the ritual while she fought. Even the blood she spilled she dedicated to the ritual's magick-components to launch them. Any other onlooker would marvel at her ability to fend of five immortals all on her own. True Cultivators would look at her and marvel at her ability to perform a Far Apportation Ritual while fighting.

She teleported behind the walls that she had made for her pagoda. Lining the walls were mantras and sacred syllables that erased the very concept of the Ultramystic's magick signature while she was within it. A magick scrambler of sorts, if you will. Within it, no one, not even High Gods and Demiurges, could sense your Ardor and Breath. No matter what Technick you harnessed, no matter what Magick you performed.

And so, Raxri and Sutasoma were safe. For now.

She fell to her knees on the paved stone pathway of the courtyard of her sanctuary. Avians wearing beautiful garments came huddling over. They cried out in worry and in confusion. No doubt these were the custodians and residents of this mansion.

Sutasoma looked up and said: "Ladies. Activate the Angel Gate. We must leave, with haste."

"O, Ultramystic! What has happened to you! Why are you..." The avians were all beautiful, and they all looked like Vibujja. Beautiful and slender women with thin eyes and thin noses, but with lower halves of birds and ducks and chickens. There were some that looked like full women, but their arms were wings and their hands talons. Were these all bidaree? Or was that a term saved for celestial musicians and singers?

Can one learn the ways of the bidaree?

"It's a long story Dareng Ui. But the Five Triumphant Immortals have found our dear Raxri's location here and have deemed it fit to attack today." She sighed. "Bring Raxri to a physicker, and soon. They will bleed out."

Another avian, a black-feathered woman with robes of heron feathers, said: "To where should we configure the portal, mother?"

"The Selorong Commune, Hanku Ki. Send a message too to the Physickers there. The White Mages. Perhaps..." she looked down upon the bleeding stump that was Raxri's arm. They had completely passed out. Blood spilled from their mouth. "Perhaps even a Prosthetician."

"At once, Limitless Mother." They bowed and set to work. The Ultramystic was glad: these avians were avians she had saved from a slave-trade between gods and a High Cultivator out in the End of the World. They were to be courtesans and slaves for a perverted man. But these were smart women, who studied in Universities and could handle powerful magotek.

As they walked away, another avian flew in. This one was another woman, more boyish than the others. She only had one wing, sprouting out right above her pelvis. She could not fly, so instead she ran. "Sutasoma! There is someone at the gates!"

Sutasoma scowled. Who could that be? There is no way that they have managed to triangulate my position. This is an impossible, veiled position. Only those with pure hearts can even find this place... But no, she should choose to trust the magick wards she had set up. She asked: "What do they look like, Juda Pralun?"

"A young lady. Bubbly cheeks. Round doe eyes. Looks half Selorongian half Amatsunese."

The other avians laughed and teased her. Juda grimaced and said: "N-No, I'm just particular about those kinds of things!"

"Of course you are," Sutasoma said. The other avians laughed again, giggling. Juda held back a laugh herself. She shook her head. "A-Anyway, she wears the white-black coat of a Physicker."

"Perhaps another seeker. Have you read her Cultivation Signature?"

Juda nodded. "She seems to be purehearted, at the very least. Someone whose Class Consciousness could be readily activated."

Sutasoma rose to her feet, sighing. She did not feel fatigued—not yet. She decided that she should get the most of her burgeoning energy. "Very well. Hanku, what is the estimated time it will take to activate the Angel Gate?"

"Around an incense stick, ma'am."

"30 minutes. Fine. I'll do the diplomacy. Hang tight."

---

Mijja's snooping led her to these doors. Two stone guardian lions sat on opposite sides of the round gates.

She had knocked just a few moments ago, but no one has answered. She can't hear any commotion going on within. She couldn't see anything over the gates other than the great sakura tree that had been set up there. What secrets do you hide...?

She had gone out with nothing but her prentice Physicker coat—the telltale white-and-black that wrapped around her tightly, fitting her short form. The coat flared out into a beautiful skirt that reached her ankles. From there, she wore high heels and silk socks that she pulled up to her knees.

There is nowhere else to go but here. She had performed a magick sensing ritual but could not find any noteworthy magick signatures—other than a sudden spike that had caused it to go haywire, pointing at a specific direction somewhere within the downtown area. But her magick-sense was not pointing in the direction of the large explosion, and so she decided to follow her baser, physical senses.

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She arrived here after asking some questions from the locals. Since she wore the clothes of a prentice-physicker, the people here treated her differently. More kindly. To those living below the poverty line across the Utter Islands, they knew that someone in the medical field was someone more or less suffering, and someone working to lift their family out of hardship.

They were all very nice to her. She made sure to ask questions from the local awkward boys and the bystander men lounging about drinking beer and playing chess. To really get all the answers she needed. She knew not to ask questions from the women, especially the middle-aged ones. The older ones were fine, the younger ones too. But not the overweight middle-aged ones that were mothers to multiple children. Due to their material conditions, they have developed spiteful attitude towards women, and have turned themselves into reinforcers of the very patriarchical systems that exploited them.

All of this Mijja knew. A stint at the Charnel Universities surrounded by Philosophy Majors who all fell in love with Masangwan Theory at one point in their life does that to you. It was a surgically precise incision into the reality of the Utter Islands, even as it crumbled all about her.

And so she stood. Before the gates. She did not know what to do after this, but she did know that where there is trouble, there tended to be the next step in whatever she needed to do.

The gates swung open just a peek. "Hello. Who is it?"

Hm. Very mundane for what I was expecting. No doubt... this is the Ultramystic's Sanctum? "Greetings. I am Mijja Tomoe Saoze, of the Clan Saoze. I am... in truth, I do not know why I am here. I heard a very large and very loud explosion burst from this point somewhere but I do not know where that explosion could have originated from."

"A-ah, yes. Well." Sutasoma stepped out of the gates and closed it behind her. Mijja fought the urge to kneel in front of her—such was her grandeur and splendor. So tall was she—180cm!—and beautiful, with her knife-ears and platinum hair and large round eyes accentuated by deep black eyeliner. "There is no explosion here, Mijja Tomoe Saoze."

"I see. You must be the Ultramystic of Wegr, Blacklight City."

"That I am. I've heard of you, Miss Mijja. From meetings with your mother."

"A-ah, yes. I've never seen you because I was sent to study in the Charnel Isles at a young age."

"Of course. And in the medical field too?"

Mijja nodded. Should I go for it? "While I have you, great one. Have you met someone named... Raxri Uttara?"

Ultramystic Sutasoma's face flickered for only an instant. Mijja did not notice it—how could she? How could anyone who has not Cultivated?—and she said "Yes. Why?"

"A-ah! Well..." And so Mijja explained her situation. Her predicament. And her goal. That she was sent by Myu Fan to protect Raxri Uttara, due to the final death wish of Akazha. And more.

Sutasoma nodded to all of it. Halfway through, she had closed her eyes and put her hand on her chin and thought deeply. At the end of the explanation, she said: "How willing are you to the prospect of becoming one of my Disciples?"

Mijja blinked. "Well... I would not be opposed to it. Especially if it meant I would be able to get my license at the end of it."

"Hm." Sutasoma looked up at the sky and asked: "Why do you want your license so much? What does it mean to you?"

"Why? Well..." she scratched her head. "My mother wanted it for me. And... it is one of the highest paying jobs in the Islands. I want to be free of Clan Saoze as soon as I can. Especially from my father."

"I see. A classic parental story," said Sutasoma. "Very well. Come, Mijja. I will make you my disciple and you will train alongside Raxri Uttara. Under the condition that you do everything in your power to fulfill the death wish of my late student Akazha."

This Akazha woman must be very important. Mijja nodded, choosing not to say what she thought out loud. Then she double-guessed herself, wondering if Sutasoma could read her thoughts. She decided that it didn't matter too much if she could. "I will."

"Heart reverence and bow."

"Oh, right. Of course." Ritual and all that. Mijja bowed in front of Sutasoma.

Sutasoma said: "I induct you into the ranks of the Ultramystic Sect, where you will cultivate the Thousand Swords Against Heaven Cultivation and cultivate the Limitless Violence Womb. Repeat after me: Until all the hells are empty."

"Until all the hells are empty."

"Until all beings are free."

"Until all beings are free."

"May my Waking-Mind flourish..."

"May my Waking-Mind flourish..."

"May all reach Violence."

"May all reach Violence." What a savage oath, thought Mijja. But perhaps there is another, deeper meaning to what all of that meant. Perhaps to find out, she needed to truly focus on Cultivating. Mijja could not lie to herself: she was extremely excited at this, at the prospect of cultivating a Limitless Violence Womb.

"Good. Now, come. Raxri Uttara is in a critical situation."

---

Mijja's knees almost buckled when she saw the bleeding mess that Raxri was. The custodians had done a superb job at creating a gauze and bandage that stemmed the blood from spilling. Mijja could also sense some healing magick had been done to it to slow the flow of blood. But any healing magick could only do so much to someone who was clearly faltering, dwindling and weakening. All healing magick could only heal what the body could only already heal. Greater healing magick than that required greater rituals, ultima rituals, and the use of somas and amritas.

"This is... Raxri...?"

Sutasoma nodded. "The custodians of the Wegr sanctum have done what they could. We... got into an altercation with a few Immortals, you see."

"Immortals?! From Heaven?!" Immortals were tales of Eld and Myth, from the time of heroes and monsters. Mijja could not fathom Immortals still existing, much less conducting tremendous violence upon the plane of mortals. What am I getting myself into...?

Sutasoma nodded. "From heaven," they said, reinforcing what Mijja thought. "From one of the many heavens, actually. And they are very annoying."

"Is the Ultramystic... an Immortal too?"

Sutasoma shook her head. "Immortals wait for the Coming of Yenjametteya, the Final Omniscient of this Kalpa, father of Mattatrun and Mitra. I work to liberate all beings. Two paths to Omniscience, two paths to Nothingness, two different streams into one River into one Sea."

That... did not answer much of my answer, but that is what I get for asking a High Sage, I suppose. Mijja sighed. "Do we bring them to a hospice?"

Sutasoma looked up. Dareng Ui opened the doors and nodded. "Yes, we do now. The Angel Gates are ready."

The chamber that had been locked this whole time housed a miniature Angel Gate— a powerful quantum-gate made of a mix of primeval technology and modern magotech. This one was powered by Merit—prayer drums spun at high speeds, spreading mantra chants etched onto its sides to create burgeoning Positive Karma to power the Angel Gate. Angel Gates needed large amounts of power for just one teleportation—therefore, they could not afford to keep them running every hour of every day. Instead, any time Sutasoma needed to apoprt to one of the other attuned Angel Gates, they needed to power it up with enough Merit.

The Angel Gates themselves seemed like they were made by giants a thousand years ago. It was triple the height of Sutasoma, made in the shape of a hexagon. Its rim was decorated and bright unalloyed gold, shaped and twisted into forms resembling the Omniscients, the Enlightened, Awoken, Wrathful Gods, Demiurges, Ialdabaoths, Archons, Ascendants, Immortals, Avians, Asuras, Devas, Brahmas, High Seraphs, High Cherubs, Arkangels, and even more.

The gate itself sat atop a platform that was similarly engraved and carved with images of heavenly wars, cosmic combat, and galactic strife. behind them, there was a giant statue of Daklaon, Great Time, holding the Angel Gate in place with his six hands and fierce scowling face. While the Angel Gate was made of burgeoning red-gold, the Daklaon statue—huger still than the Angel Gate—was made of pure black meteorite.

"Whoa. The pagoda holds this...?" Mijja shuddered as they walked in, and heard nothing but the sound of their footsteps. Something here. Something hallowed swallowed the sound of their footfalls. A maw swallowing up even music. "Who built this..."

"The hands of the workers," said Sutasoma. "The ones that work and cultivate in our communes. They built this and gained great Cultivation afterwards."

"What? They can do that? Why don't all workers just do that then?"

"All knowledge kept behind Sects and Masters," said Sutasoma. "All wealth and power hoarded by gods and capitalists. No difference between them, at this point. As an Omniscient has a Wheel-Turning King, so does a High God have a CEO."

Mijja shuddered again. What was she getting herself into?

The world might as well end here and now.

But she knew there was more to be done.

They climbed up the stairs to the front of the Angel Gate. Overwhelming cosmic power pulsed from it. She could feel it. Burning and burgeoning. This was the same feeling she would get in front of Pureflame.

Sutasoma carried the stabilizing form of Raxri. She nodded to the avian custodians. They pressed something upon the console.

"We go," said Sutasoma to Mijja. "Hold on tight."

Mijja nodded. Reached up and grasped the hem of Sutasoma's skirt.

Then, they walked in. Mijja's stomach lurched. And the world will never be the same.

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