The Tales of the Legendary Mimic : Momo

# **The Path of the Unchosen**

Beep* Beep*

【 Anomaly spotted....

Bling schrhnnng!!

Anomaly Identified

DETAILS: World Fissure[Time]

A part created due to unstable timeline. Appears to breach into another timeline of the same space.

ROUTE: Past

TIMEMARK: Era of Cultivation, Time of Great Sects and Sovereigns

TIME DC: FIRST world Century before counting

RANK CAP: SOVEREIGN - MONARCH

Note: A Sovereign is a level zero being who hasn't achieved equilibrium and fused his core after equality to become a Monarch. They tend to live as long as they cultivate under normal conditions, but most die within 1000 years regardless.】

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The system prompt came in as Max walked with the rest of the team, Him and Sarah, side by side.

The cohort emerged into a wilderness that defied mortal description—a lush, primordial forest where reality seemed to bend at its edges. The air hummed with spiritual essence, thick with the heady perfume of otherworldly blooms and rich, vital earth. Ancient trees, their trunks wider than village huts, stretched toward a sky that shifted between emerald and gold. Birds with feathers that gleamed like living gemstones darted between branches, their songs carrying hints of forgotten languages.

"This place feels... alive," Sarah murmured, her fingers unconsciously tracing the protective runes etched into her bracers. Her eyes widened as a flower nearby unfurled in response to her voice, releasing luminescent spores that danced around her face before dissipating.

"Too alive," Goruk grunted, moving with surprising grace for his bulk as he positioned himself protectively before the others. His massive frame tensed, hand hovering near the hilt of his runecarved blade, eyes constantly scanning the treeline for threats.

Max exchanged a knowing glance with IX-69, the synthetic's expression unchanging as always. "It's just fissure aura," Max said, his voice betraying none of the apprehension that tightened his chest. He had read of such places—where the boundaries between realms wore thin, where laws of nature became mere suggestions.

IX-69, his form a perfect marriage of ancient mysticism and forbidden technology, stepped forward. The runes etched into his metallic skin pulsed with eldritch light. "Be ready to move when the portal manifests. We will have moments, not minutes," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of centuries.

As they ventured deeper, the synthetic suddenly halted. His mechanical eye—a swirling vortex of quicksilver and sapphire energy—flared brilliantly as he channeled power. His fingers wove intricate patterns in the air, leaving trails of ghostly blue light that coalesced into arcane sigils. The ground beneath them shuddered in recognition, and the nearby lake—its waters unnaturally still until now—began to heave and ripple as though stirred by unseen hands.

"What's happening?" Tazan asked, his voice tight with tension, the markings on his skin brightening in response to the gathering power.

Before anyone could answer, the lake's surface split with a sound like the tearing of cosmic silk. The waters parted, rising like liquid walls on either side of a swirling vortex that pulsed with impossible colors. Through this window lay a vision of breathtaking majesty—a cultivation realm of extraordinary power.

Rolling hills cloaked in jade-green grass extended to the horizon, adorned with gleaming pagodas and training grounds that defied physical laws. Some floated among the clouds, others seemed to exist in multiple places simultaneously. Disciples in flowing robes that shimmered with protective enchantments practiced ancient techniques, their movements leaving phantasmal afterimages in the air. The very atmosphere was saturated with Qi so pure and potent that it manifested as visible motes of golden light.

"This... this is beyond incredible, so that's what a Fissure means?!”Max,whisperedmomentarily forgetting the weight of his broken bloodline, his soul resonating with something ancient within him. For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of genuine wonder.

As they stepped through the portal—its edges already beginning to flicker and destabilize—a figure descended from the amber sky. A monk, his simple robes belying the crushing pressure of his spiritual presence, sat cross-legged atop a massive celestial eagle. The creature's feathers gleamed like polished silver inlaid with constellations, and its eyes held the wisdom of ages.

"Welcome, seekers," the monk said, his voice simultaneously a whisper in their ears and a resonance in their souls. "I am Ren Hui, humble guide of the Ascending Cloud Sect. Follow, and I shall show you the first steps upon the eternal path."

The group exchanged glances before following Ren Hui deeper into this realm of myth made manifest. As they walked, the full splendor of the sect revealed itself in layers of increasing wonder.

Disciples sat in lotus position above pools of quicksilver, their bodies partly transparent as they refined their essences. Others engaged in combat that resembled elegant dances, their movements so swift they seemed to teleport, leaving only cascades of spiritual energy in their wake. Masters old beyond mortal reckoning floated among clouds, their beards trailing for yards as they exchanged insights through complex hand gestures and glowing symbols rather than spoken words.

"This place transcends anything in the ancient texts," Sarah said, her scholarly mind struggling to categorize the wonders surrounding them.

Ren Hui's lips curved in the faintest of smiles. "What you perceive is but the outer court—a garden where seedlings take root. The true glory and terror of the path lie beyond, where few dare to tread."

A sound like a massive bronze bell reverberated through the realm, causing ripples in the very fabric of reality. Ren Hui's expression shifted subtly as he received a message through a talisman that materialized before him, its paper surface covered in characters that shifted and moved like living things.

"I must leave you here," he announced. "An elder approaches to guide you further."

"We know our way," IX-69 interjected, his mechanical gaze fixed on a point in the distance. "And that old master is already here, watching from the shadows as he always does."

The synthetic's words prompted the group to look ahead, where an imposing structure dominated the landscape.

An Ebony Gate stood inviolate against the passage of eons, its surface a tapestry of intricate carvings that the eye could not follow to completion. Dragons chased phoenixes through cloudscapes that shifted subtly when not directly observed. The gate exuded an aura of such overwhelming antiquity that lesser beings would find themselves kneeling without conscious thought.

Beyond this monumental threshold rose a mountain that defied natural law. Its peak pierced the heavens, disappearing into realms beyond mortal sight. Reality itself bent around the mountain, as though the land paid homage to this sacred prominence.

And crowning this impossible peak stood the temple—the true heart of the sect.

The Temple of Disciples soared upward like a monument carved from time itself, its architecture a sublime fusion of a dozen ancient styles yet belonging to none. Massive stone walls were inscribed with symbols of power that pulsed with gentle luminescence—some recognizable as ancient protection wards, others so esoteric they predated written language itself.

As Max and his companions approached the temple gates, a delegation emerged to meet them. Robed figures advanced in perfect formation, led by an elder whose dark robes seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. His presence alone caused the air to grow heavy, as though gravity itself paid homage to his power.

As they continued forward, IX-69 was approached by a disciple who whispered something that made the synthetic pause. With a nod to his companions, IX-69 departed with the messenger, heading toward a secluded area where a figure sat in meditation beside a tranquil pond.

This was the Sovereign of the Water Tortoise, one of the sect's most enigmatic masters. He sat with his back to them, no shadow cast upon the water's surface despite the brilliant light overhead.

"I see you have come just as planned," the monk said without turning, his voice gentle yet carrying across the distance with perfect clarity.

"The Damascus appeared just as expected," IX-69 replied, looking toward the sky where a faint red dome could be seen shimmering at the edge of perception.

"It was already written since our meeting," the monk observed. "We wouldn't have met at all if this event wasn't going to occur."

The synthetic approached and settled on a stone seat that seemed to have formed spontaneously from the ground. The Water Tortoise Sovereign made a subtle gesture, and the pond's surface parted. He moved across the water, carried by a flat stone that glided like a living thing through the ripples.

IX-69 tapped the damp sand beside him, which formed itself into first a ring, then a curious bulb-shape that seemed almost sentient in its movements.

"I see your grounds have developed a spirit," the synthetic noted. "Much easier to control now than self-informing techniques."

"Indeed," the monk replied as the sand flattened into a table between them. "I've nurtured it with essence resources. Others call it wasteful, but this is my home." His sleeves waved, forming elegant tea vessels from the elements around them.

"So when are you telling him?" the monk asked, deftly manipulating a teapot that hovered through the air before settling between them.

"Soon. Though I hope he discovers the truth himself," the synthetic answered, arms folded.

The monk chuckled, his slitted eyes and long eyebrows dancing with amusement. "How do you expect a young man who hasn't even learned his chi to discover he possesses one of the rarest Physiques,an Original at that? Especially when the refining materials for such a body are now extinct."

"He won't die," IX-69 stated with certainty. "He has the Mimic."

"I see…the hunt has already Begun," the monk observed, sipping his tea before flinging the remainder onto the pond's surface, which rose like a viewing screen. "Let's watch his aptitude test."

***

Meanwhile, back at the temple courtyard, the newcomers faced their first critical assessment.

One by one, they approached the legendary Aptitude Stone—an ancient monolith covered in shifting runes that judged not just current power but future potential.

Goruk went first, pressing his scarred palm against the cold stone. The tablet responded immediately, emanating a vibrant blue light that formed intricate patterns resembling muscle fibers and battle formations. A respectable showing that marked him as one with exceptional physical potential.

Tazan stepped up next. When his fingers touched the stone, something unusual occurred. The light that emanated was a deep, pulsing crimson that flared violently before stabilizing into a pattern resembling flickering flames. The display was erratic, unpredictable—marking talent that defied conventional measurement.

Then came Max's turn.

He approached the stone with measured steps, aware of the dismissive glances. His palm pressed against the ancient surface. Unlike with the others, no immediate reaction followed. Seconds stretched into uncomfortable silence. Disciples began to chuckle.

Then, finally, the stone responded—a dull, grayish light flickered weakly, like the last desperate ember of a dying fire. Its pattern was fractured, incomplete.

"Low talent in both body and Qi cultivation," announced the recording monk. "Unsuitable for standard technique inheritance."

Max absorbed the verdict without visible reaction. His body had been broken since birth, his bloodline unstable—a jumble of conflicting inheritances that canceled each other out rather than synergizing.

Sarah was the last to approach. When her hand touched the stone, the gathered crowd leaned forward in anticipation.

Nothing happened.

No light, no pattern, no response of any kind.

"No aptitude detected," the recording monk stated flatly. "Unfit for cultivation training."

The gathered disciples no longer bothered to hide their derision.

"Not even fit to sweep the outer courts."

Sarah's fingers curled into fists, her knuckles whitening as rage and humiliation threatened to overwhelm her. Before she could act, Max gripped her shoulder. His gaze held no pity, only steady resolve.

The temple elder regarded them with eyes that had witnessed the rise and fall of dynasties. After contemplation, he spoke, his voice like stone grinding against stone.

"Those with insufficient aptitude cannot inherit our standard techniques. Such is our immutable law." His gaze settled on Max. "However, by decree of your father—whose blood price still binds us—you are granted a single opportunity denied to others. You may undertake the Origin Karma Test."

The announcement sent shockwaves through the gathered disciples. The Origin Karma Test was spoken of only in whispers, a trial so perilous that those who survived often wished they hadn't.

"Should you fail," the elder continued, "you will be cast out. Should you succeed..." A fractional pause. "Your fate may yet be written anew."

Max met the elder's gaze unflinchingly. "When do we begin?"

"Now," came the simple reply.

---

As preparations for Max's trial commenced, tensions between the newcomers and established disciples escalated rapidly.

Tazan soon found himself cornered by Ren Li, a disciple renowned for his mastery of the Piercing Cloud Spear technique.

"What's a wild dog like you doing in these sacred halls?" Ren Li taunted, spinning his spear with casual mastery.

The challenge was issued and accepted. Ren Li attacked with blinding speed, his spear a silver blur. To everyone's shock, Tazan dodged with impossible agility, countering with a punch that sent the disciple staggering backward.

Before the conflict could escalate further, a monk materialized between them. "Save your energy for the trials," he commanded. "The Glacier Pond awaits all initiates at sunset."

Meanwhile, Sarah faced challenges of a different nature. Isolated by the other disciples, she practiced basic forms alone each night after she got them from a friend she made earlier, Mia. Mia was the only one who didn't mock sarah instead even helped her out. This touched Sarah, determined to improve despite her apparent lack of aptitude.

On the third such night, she sensed a presence watching.

"Your form is incorrect," came a voice like silk sliding over steel. "Your foot placement invites imbalance."

From the darkness emerged Mistress Fei, master of the notorious Flower Shadow Technique—an art as beautiful as it was lethal.

"I know," Sarah replied, refusing to be intimidated. "But I will improve."

"The stone has judged you," Mistress Fei observed. "You have no aptitude for cultivation. Why persist?"

Sarah met her gaze unflinchingly. "The stone measures what is, not what could be. I refuse to accept its judgment as final."

Mistress Fei paused, her head tilting slightly. "Your body is weak. Your Qi is nonexistent. Yet your will..." A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Your will burns brighter than many I have trained for decades."

"I will learn. Whatever it takes."

The mistress's eyes narrowed in assessment. "Then perhaps I shall teach you something suited not for warriors who stand in the light, but for those who thrive where others fear to tread."

"You would accept me as your disciple?" Sarah asked, dropping her practice weapon in shock.

She stood transfixed, hardly daring to believe this unexpected turn of fate.

“I would teach you the Night !!” Flower chuckled.

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