"There are, in truth, Four Levels to Awakening. The level of the Adamantine is the first. Some call it Arhathood, others call it Sainthood or Saintship. It is the the most common form of Awakening. This is where one turns one's very physical body into a vessel for an Omniscient. Often Adamantines become Omniscient in their next rebirth. Saints are often Adamantines as well. Unfortuantely, it is one without Waking-Mind Meditation. It is pure perfected Ekstasis-Gnosis. But its Wisdom is incomplete. And worse, its Compassion (the Enlightenment-Thought) is lacking."

From the Broken World Manuscript

Sutasoma led Mijja down the vaunted halls of the commune's compound.

Let me describe the compound for a moment—

It was built deep into Selorong. This is both a protective feature and a measure of convenience. Convenience to let them be close to the amenities and necessities of urban living. A protective feature because living within Selorong puts you amidst such a storm of Ardor-signatures that it works as an inherent magick-scrambler. This is why Heaven-Interferences in Selorong are so rare. Because it was simply too difficult to look for the point of interference.

To find someone in Selorong you must be connected with the City Spirits. And Selorong only chooses a few Selorong Breath Workers at a time. These Selorong-Speakers are awarded the highest spiritual honors, for they can speak directly and manifest the powers of Selorong using their body as a vessel. As of now, there are only five Selorong-Speakers... and one of them was Sutasoma, the Ultramystic.

It was only due to Sutasoma being born chosen as a City Speaker that the Ultramystic was able to construct the Ultramystic Commune. They carved it out the corpse of a giant slain divine-body. A Divine was a High God, and this body fought in the Second World Revolution on the side of the Revolutionaries against the attempts of the United World Coalition to spike shatter heaven with thermonuclear bomb-javelins.

The Divine was 300 meters tall. Its corpse fell down to a sitting position. Its lower half—its legs and pelvis and feet—were turned into squatter's area. No bourgeois nor petty bourgeois wanted to deal with the consequences of a rotting god-corpse. The upper half became a haven for spirit society, turning its heart and its lungs and its muscles into nexuses of Ardor and Breath. King Spirits and Lord Spirits burgeoned from here, carving out their own metaphysical niche into the world of Selorong. Despite this, they still had to interface and deal with the material realities of Selorong and the material realities of the hegemony of capital. As all gods, demigods, and spirits have had to.

The head was contested territory for the longest time. To claim the cranium of a dead High God Corpse was the equivalent of a marine biologist being able to cleanly and safely explore whalefall. Hundred of ancient memories, Cultivations, and realities superimposed upon here. And the very Heart of a Sentient Being was somewhere in their Brow, where their Third Eye burgeoned, flowered, exploded.

For a Mystic, to bear the Mind of a High God as a Sanctum was to have a miniature Heaven. Not just in the sense that it was everything they could ever ask for and more. But also in the sense that they could turn it into their very own Omniscient-Field, their own Heaven where they could establish their own Sect, create their own Cultivation.

There was a Mystic War that happened here. The Luminant Umbral War. A veritable gang war between Selorong's wizards and mystics.

The Ultramystic won that with her vaunted THOUSAND SWORDS AGAINST HEAVEN Cultivation, along with her Blood-Connection to Selorong itself.

The Divine's body decayed, but it decayed in kalpas, not in years. And so, its face and mind was perfectly preserved. The Ultramystic plucked out its eyes, and hollowed out its skull, turned it into a courtyard and an apartment complex. A veritable commune, city-within-city. Its tongue was pulled out and turned into a mezzanine that jut out into the skyline. And from there the Angel Gate Pagoda was erected.

Within the cranium were rows and rows of rooms. They granted housing to those that needed it. It was their way of giving back to the community of Selorong. This was why, near the Divine Body, there were no homeless people. The rooms and hallways were kept spotlessly clean by janitors and cleaning spirits, who worked side by side to preserve the beauty of the Ultramystic's design. It of course helped that they were granted triple the working wages of a normal worker in Selorong. But the Ultramystic could only generate so much joss at a time, and thus why janitorial openings were rare.

"Assunta," said Sutasoma as they crossed by one of the women holding a magick lamp used as a vaccuum cleaner. "Nice to see you."

"And to you, Sutasoma." Assunta was immaculately dressed. A large azure coat over a long white sundress. Heavy combat boots and she had ear-pearls in, listening to the new music. "Who's this one?"

"Someone new. A Physicker-In-Training. She will be staying with us for a bit. She will be my disciple."

"Splendid," said Assunta, adjusting her glasses to look at Mijja. She was visibly middle-aged, but it did not show in her mien. "Have a good stay here, child. The community will take care of you well, but I would avoid the men if I were you."

Sutasoma sighed. "Some of the men are new, and they come from the patriarchical culture of Selorong. It will take some time before they acclimate to the culture here." It was clear on Sutasoma's face and voice that this was more than just a minor annoyance for her.

Was there any other culture than patriarchical culture? thought Mijja. The idea set her heart racing. Outwardly, she just nodded. "Noted. Thank you, Miss Assunta." She performed the Mouth Reverence. Assunta smiled and waved her away, telling her to stop from bowing.

---

"Here is your room."

The door swung open. "We had cleaner spirits clean it recently, so it should be mostly spotless. Don't touch the nodules in the insides of the cabinets—those are for warding off cockroaches and other pests. They're guarded by lizard spirits, so if you ever see any lizards, don't kill them. Unless... you're the type to be scared of lizards?"

Mijja shook her head and laughed. "Don't worry, I'm not. Thank you kindly, Master."

Sutasoma smiled. "Right. My disciple. I have some errands to do, so kindly settle in here. Ah, tarry a moment—have you clothings?"

Mijja blinked. She looked around and realized she had just traveled all the way to Selorong without any clothes or travel-necessities. Blinking, she said: "A-ah, it appears I don't."

"No problem. Tomorrow, we have some newly reinforced talisman robes for you to wear. Ah, but those are your uniforms, essentially. I will have to allow you to go out into Selorong's streets to buy yourself casual clothes."

"Okay," said Mijja. "I think... I can do that."

Sutasoma closed the door behind her. "Now, Disciple Mijja, I will be setting you on the path of the Ultramystic Sect. Your training will begin soon. But one thing you must know is that the set up here is almost like a University. For some other trainings, you might get lessons and practice from other Ultramystic masters. This will expand you, and strengthen you. Got it?"

Mijja nodded. She wondered how the Ultramystic Sect will help her medical magick. "Master, can I ask something?"

"Ask away," said Sutasoma, leaning back on the door.

"You said that your Cultivation is... Thousand Swords Against Heaven? Does this mean I will be cultivating my Sword Womb?"

Sutasoma tapped her chin, looked up at the ceiling. "I suppose it will be something that I must teach you when Raxri awakens as well. But in general, Thousand Swords Against Heaven is a new Cultivation that I and the commune have been developing. It is a Cultivation that becomes stronger as one member of the group becomes stronger. I suppose you can call it a... hm. A Communal Cultivation. It so happens that sharing one's Ardor strengthens each other instead of getting weaker or lessening."

"Truly?" Mijja tapped her finger. All she's known about Cultivation is that it was about strengthening a Womb of your choice, developing an Immortal or an Omniscient within one's Inner Body to strengthen one's Ardor in a way. She's never heard of Communal Cultivation—Dual Cultivation yes, but not Communal Cultivation. "Does this mean we will all share a single Cultivation?"

Sutasoma shook her head. "Nay. The way the Cultivation works is by strengthening one's own Womb—which will be connected to the greater Mandala of Thousand Swords Against Heaven—then one strengthens the whole. Everyone benefits from the Power you Cultivate. That is the foundation. Then, you Cultivate your own Cultivation on top of that. Nobody steals from your Cultivation, but rather, everyone benefits from the burgeoning of your Cultivation."

"Huh. How interesting." All her Cultivation was just medical. Physicking was a Cultivation on its own, one that not may could develop. The Physicking Cultivation cultivated the Medicine Garden Womb, the Inner Soul that greatly strengthened one's body and medical knowledge and magickal soul to be able to access the higher Healing Magicks that not everyone was able to do. There were lesser healing magicks that everyone could do—mixing the proper herbs, taking the proper pills and remedies. But it was only those with the Medicine Garden Womb that knew the proper rituals, mantras, and had the proper metaphysical configuration to summon the Contemplative Fires that could create these pills and elixirs and remedies.

And even then, her Medicine Garden Womb was weak!

"I am looking forward to expanding my Mind and Knowledge with the master," said Mijja, performing the Crown Reverence, to show utmost deference to her new master. Though she knew that Myu Fan was also still her Physicker Cultivation Master.

Sutasoma nodded, almost dismissively. "Get some rest. I'll be back in a bit. If you ever get hungry or need water, go downstairs from this room. You will find a cafeteria there. All the food is free."

---

Sutasoma walked down the halls of the dorm. Even as she walked toward a moment of ritual importance, of significant magickal sublimity, her mind was clear and direct. Such was the thoughts of a Great Adept, on the cusp of Adamantinehood. To control one's thoughts. To feel one's emotions as they pass by and then let them pass by, without having them manifest physically. Not all things require reaction.

Wearing still her heels and her talisman-inscribed dress and blouse fashion combination, she left the residential rooms and walked up to the main shrine of the cranium. It was placed right where the brain of the dead Divine would have been. The brain was replaced with a beautiful hanging corpse-chandelier, with the corpse being a corpse of the first Ultramystic, mummified and kept preserved through corpse-magicks.

The chamber was circular, with a lotus and a mandala inscribed in the middle. Around the chamber, eight statues of Omniscients stood erected, made of the eight colors of a true Vajra. There, in the middle, was the corpse of Akazha. It was positioned beautifully above a ritual furnace pot.

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The furnace pot was immaculately made—of glistening verdigris, with legs of dragon-lions and with intaglios of Omniscients, Benevolents, Violents, and Gods inscribed to its sides. A low burning fire kept it hot. That fire turned from orange into an iridescent magenta as its heat met the underside of the ritual furnace.

Suspended over the ritual furnace was Akazha's body. Her hands tied above her head, her feet tied closed and the rest of her body suspended. It had been stripped of all wrapping and clothing. Her body was yet perfectly preserved, her skin still supple. Even in life, she had a lanky form, and so it was even in death. Death hadn't touched her yet. It hadn't been 44 days left, the days needed for her to pass trhough the Interstitial, and be swallowed completely by Dak Emmara Senje's Maw.

Sutasoma was no fool. She knew that Akazha had become a true devotee of the King of Hell. That's why her Death Curse was so potent. It was interesting for Sutasoma to realize that no heavenly or chthonian being approached her about the fulfilling of her Death Curse.

Perhaps Akazha's piety to her master was too much, she thought. Sutasoma couldn't help but shed a tear. She knew for a fact that she would have done everything in her power to accomplish her Death Curse. It would've been as easy as snapping her fingers, knowing now what it was from Mijja.

Altai Gozon... She looked out the window. She knew exactly where Altai was. Or at least, where one of his apartments was. His current locatoin she did not know. Especially considering that as a businessman he no doubt flew skyships all about the Utter Islands.

Attendants crowded the room. Making sure that the ritual furnace pot was at the right heat. Making sure that the lotuslights were functioning and were not low on power. The majority of them were robed in a deep violet raiment—the clothes of the Unconquerable Maiden. That is to say, of Death. These were here devotees, those given their life to that Aspect of Reality to channel all the facets of Death. And, more importantly, study the cycles of Death and examine the very natures of it.

Sutasoma was one of them, once. In a distant past. Not anymore. Not after her own brush with The Maiden.

A young man approahced. Slender and tall. Broad-shouldered with a wide smile and round spectacles. Ruffled cloud-like hair, colored silver, paired with pitch black eyes. In his hands was a record-book—perhaps a ledger—and a pen. He wore a black suit and straight pants, with leathered boots and an azure squarecloth wrapped around their shoulders, like a fichu. Hanging from his waist is a blade-wand.

"Kancil," said Sutasoma, nodding to him.

Kancil performed the mouth reverence. "Ultramystic Sutasoma Dumorogmon," he said back. His voice was lilting, nasally, yet smooth. His high hooked nose and slender eyes made him look very attractive to most women. "We are finishing the preparations for the Ghost-Summoning Procedure."

Sutasoma nodded. "I am thankful for the help of the Selorongian Exorcist Association," she said, gesturing to the squarecloth. It was embroidered with black lotuses—the insignia of the Selorongian Exoricst Association.

Kancil shook his head, waved his hand. "Master, I am your student. This is the least I can do for you. I am gladdened by the study break as well, but I am pretty raring to go back to training."

"Ah, and so you must be," said Sutasoma, nodding. "Training returns by the next week, I would imagine. Once I've fixed the mess that has been made."

"I await eagerly," said Kancil, smiling, nodding. "Shall I walk you through what has been done?"

Sutasoma shook her head. "No need. I will just need to know if the ghost mandalas and the appropriate syllables have been incised upon the cloths?"

Kancil nodded. "Yes." He moved with a certain flowery grace that only accentuated his masculinity. He turned and gestured with a wide sweep at the ritual set up. "In the middle of the mandala are the Six Omniscient Families. In the north is the ritual furnace, and then to the south of the Five Families is a lotus for your position."

Sutasoma nodded. She had done this multiple times before. "Got it. Stand back and whatever happens, do not breach the mandala."

"Understood, master," said Kancil. "We've also prepared the five waters and the five lights for the offering."

"Good, that's all I will need, I'd imagine. Good work, Kancil."

Kancil performed the mouth reverence. Then, he backed off without turning away from Sutasoma.

Sutasoma stepped forward and removed her outer garments. She walked into the mandala with nothing but a black breast wrap—showcasing her wide pale shoulders and flat abodmen—as well as a black longskirt around her chest, and then harem pants under that. Her feet were covered in nothing but white bandage. She looked like a true martial artist. Her long bone-pale hair she tied up into a knot above her head, revealing the sharpness of her jawline, her collarbones, her shoulders.

She stepped into the mandala. As she did, the attendants and ritual acolytes arranged into a circle emanating from the initial mandala. A human mandala outside the physical mandala.

She chanted a single line. It was a hundred syllables long. By the end of the final syllable, the acolytes chanted it back. Like an echo. As the echo droned, Sutasoma took the waters and performed the offering mudras. Giving it to the Five Families of the Omniscients. As she gave the flower-perfumed waters and the sandalwood incenses and candles to the Omniscients, they transformed in her mind. They became their Primeval Forms—all arising from the primordial ocean of emptiness, of the Proto-Consciousness, of the final nirvana. All of them aspects of the nondual reality of Violence.

As she finished the fifth offering chant and hand sign series, the chanting chorus ended. Just in time for her to begin the next chant. This one was much more than a hundred syllables. The acolytes around her all had printed versions of the ritual readied in their hands, printed in long horizontal scrolls. Meanwhile Sutasoma performed the entire ritual out of memory. She had been practicing for a long time, and she had done this ritual already more than once, when her students were slain by the tyrannical forces of Reaction and Capital, the ultimate demiurgic coalition.

When she finished the second ritual, performing looping hand seals all the way, the chrous of acolytes repeated it. As they did, she performed her visualizations. She opened her eyes and her eyes were pits of Emptiness, the Void between subatomic particles. With a sigh, she took on the appearance of the Five Omniscient Families: Yellow Kitama Sanja, White Indaya, Green Paka Liwana, Blue Kroma Nagmi, and Red Metteyya. Each appearance possessed her in rapid movement as she rose to her feet from her sitting lotus position. The acolytes watching trembled. Almost fell to their faces in reverence.

When she rose to her feet she took on her own deity form. The transcendental form of the Ultramystic, or her Adamantine-Aspirant form—a beautiful woman with skin the color of black-gray, hair of fire, eyes of glistening starbursts. With a breath, she unlashed herself from the suggestion of gravity, and floated over the ritual furnace.

Her Adamantine hand reached out and touched the decaying corpse-flesh of Akazha. And then, she floated closer. Her lips touched Akazha's. Her tongue entered her mouth. A strand of Enlightenment-Essence shot through from Sutasoma's throat to the Devil Witch's.

And then her eyes sparked open.

Akazha's eyes were, in truth, nothing more than black pits at that moment. But she looked around as if she had awareness and true consciousness. And in fact it was true consciousness—a fragment of the Mindstream still lingering before the Withdrawn Awarenesses of each atom spread to something else within the universe and created a different thing.

Akazha blinked. "Master."

"Student," said Sutasoma after ripping her kiss away. "You have finished your Duty."

Black tears glistened from the voided pits of Akazha's corpse. "Thank you. I am so tired."

"As we are all. Do you remember the adage of truth? Do you remember the Holy Creed of Dak Emmara Senje and his Devotees?"

"Yes," said Akazha. She could not physically move her body anymore, but she could still react with her tone. "Death is nothing but Transformation."

"You have touched enlightenment, Akazha," said Sutasoma. "Your next rebirth will be exceedingly auspicious. Your next rebirth might be of Omniscience."

"I am sure of it," said Akazha. The edge to her voice finally back again, for the last time. "Where is...?"

"Raxri? Uttara? You have seemed to develop a fondness for the Heaven Dancer?"

"Slightly. When I saw them tumble out of the Vault of Souls, I was prepared to end myself. There was nothing left to do for me."

"Oh, my student..." Sutasoma seemed to be on the verge of crying. Have you ever seen a star weep?

"But," said Akazha. "Guiding Raxri Uttara became a new road for me. A new motive. A new reason for staying alive. I am glad that in the end, I gave my life for a reason I truly believed in."

"Who slew you?"

"High Chief Trasan," said Akazha. "And his cronies."

A mumble rippled across the mandala of acolytes.

Sutasoma only nodded. She was scared of this truth. Not because she was afraid of the powers of Trasan. Nay, but because of what she was capable of doing to Trasan, and the eventual consequence of that choice. If she would kill Trasan, that would be a giant affront to the Ocean Law. No every port city and every political power that answered to the Ocean Law would be chasing down after Sutasoma, ready to try and kill her despite her reputation as THE ultramystic.

She sighed. "Forgive me for not being able to help you," said Sutasoma.

"That was not your responsibility. It was mine. I was found wanting, despite the skill I have been able to accrue. I should have been smarter, better."

"No, you are too harsh on yourself. May kindness find you in the next life." Sutasoma went in and kissed her forehead. "My student. What is your Death Wish, as you have already given your Death Curse."

"My Death Curse is for my father to be slain," said Akazha. "I want Altai Gozon to be removed from power."

Another ripple of mumbles across the acolyte mandala, which at this point had finished their chanting of the long-mantra.

"It shall be done. But know that I cannot do it. It must be someone else."

Akazha said: "Yes. That is why my Death Wish is thus: take my student Raxri Uttara and strengthen them. Make them stronger than what they were before their amnesia. Make them kill my father. Then my vengeance will be complete."

Sutasoma's muttering was a wandering: "Raxri Uttara will be a seraph of vengeance."

"Only Raxri has the compassion cultivated to be able to perform a true vengeance with Enlightened Killing," said Akazha. "I have said it thus."

"Your isnight has grown, my student. I am proud of you."

"Thank you, master. I miss you dearly, and will miss you dearly in the next life."

"What ritual must we perform upon your form?"

"My Cultivation Womb and Ardor I have prepped for such a time as this. Melt me down into a Witch Elixir and feed me to my student. I shall live on through them."

Sutasoma nodded. This form of elixir distillation was a Left-Handed Path Practice. Other sects would balk at something like this, but to deal with death is to deal with life. And to interface with death as a material truth is dialectically more important than to treat it with feared reverence and live forever in reactionary metaphysics.

"Your will shall be done, Devil Witch."

"May the God-Cutting Light pierce through us all. Until all beings are free."

"Reach Violence, Akazha han Narakdag."

Sutasoma kissed Akazha one last time, drawing away the strings of Enlightenment-Essence from her body. Finally letting her Mindstream free and move into the next life. She floated back upon wingless wings as the furnace was activated by ritualists on both sides. The fires exploded to life, looking like three different fires superimposed upon each other. One was magenta, another was black, another was green. All colors that looked absolutely unnatural to the human gaze.

The substance within—soma, the milk of the gods—boiled and bubbled as Akazha's body was dropped into it. The second she did, the pure white of the milk turned into a beautiful jet black—no one had ever seen a black so black. It was so black that it absorbed all the light that would've reflected from it.

Sutasoma watched with a grim determination as the bubbling soma and the contemplation fires melted Akazha's body, including her Ardor, her Talisman Tattoos, and her Cultivation Womb, into a beautiful, jet black liquid, devouring all light.

A color fit for the Devil Witch, thought Sutasoma.

As the melting continued Sutasoma performed the hand seals to enchant the mixture, to turn it into something as offering for the Violents. Then, she chanted the mantra. The long mantra of purification, of offering, and of strengthening. Whoever would drink the elixir would be supercharged not just by the power of Akazha, but also by the strengthening mantras of Sutasoma.

The acolytes chanted along with the mantra. Not only would this strengthen the elixir even more, it would generate more merit for all sentient beings, allowing them to generate good fortune for all those that needed it in the Trichiliocosm.

The chanting came to a head, like a keening thunderhead finally releasing lighning. And as it did, the flames and turned pitch black. And a shadow in the shape of Kroma Nagmi, the Omniscient of Enlightened Killing and of Quantum Magick, arose from the cauldron.

Hm. Well, now I know what Magick Mandala to initiate Raxri into.

The silence that followed afterwards was so sharp. Everyone, especially the acolytes, felt as though the silence would decapitate them.

Behind the ritual furnace, the Omniscient Statue had been changed. Inexplicably. Transmuted from its original form as a shape of Airotsana the Primeval Awakened, into Kroma Nagmi, the Inhuman Expression of Enlightenment.

"I see."

Sutasoma floated back down. As she did, her Adamantine Form unfurled from her, unraveling like bandages. When her feet touched the ground she was in her human form once again. She walked forth, through the mandala, and to the center of it, where the ritual furnace pot's mouth was positioned over an adamantine flask.

Black liquid spilled from the spout. Dripping quickly into the adamantine flask. It flowed and flowed, and it did not look like tar. It looked like melted night.

When it was finished, with no more liquid to pour into the flask, Sutasoma bent down and took the adamantine flask. She turned around and offered a portion of the flask's liquid to one of the five Omniscient Families. As she did, she chanted the song of merit-offering, offering the merit of the ritual they had just performed to all sentient beings across the three billionfold worlds. She sang in Selorongian, but in truth the song that was meant was this, which she and the acolyte assembly sang three times:

"May the supreme and precious Enlightenment Essence

which has arisen from this practice,

flourish and burgeon across all the three billion universes.

May the precious view of Nothingness lead all sentient beings without exception,

into the Enlightened State of Violence."

After finishing, she sealed the flask shut.

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