Several hours later, after the majority of the crowd dispersed, many grumbling about needing to buy new clothes, Olivia went back home with her parents while Nate stayed behind.
He also drastically changed from his previous looks. His messy black hair gained fiery streaks, his irises turned golden, and most obviously his body type changed entirely. From a slim muscular build standing at 5'11", he now looked like a bulky dense mass of muscle, shooting up to a solid 6'3". He looked like a mountain stuffed into human form.
The two best friends looked at each other for long moment before breaking into shit-eating grins.
"What the fuck did you do to me to make me look like prime Arnold?"
"You, my friend, have been granted…" Mark mimics a drumroll. "The Starforged Tyrant Physique! With dominion over matter, density, alongside an indomitable will. You are the most disciplined person I know, so, obviously this was perfect for you."
Nate proceeds to hit an archer pose and transitions into a vacuum pose and finally a most muscular crab pose. "Man, I look good." His face morphs into a mog and he puts one finger up to his lips.
Mark's palm finds his face and he releases a deep sigh, "Yes, I gave you the ability to one day manipulate fucking matter so you can pose like Mr. Universe and make the giga chad face."
They both began to break into laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. "Bro, it is completely on brand for you to call it Qi instead of Mana or some shit. You love your xianxias. You told fucking God that you wanna cultivate with Qi, you're cooked brother."
"Yep. You know me, bro. And wait till you start actually cultivating, you'll see that it's definitely more Qi than Mana." Mark trusts that Nate will know what he means and agree with him once he experiences it. They both had a deep love of progression fantasy as a whole genre, so, to actually experience it is a dream come true for the duo.
Nate perks up at that statement, "Speaking of, do we really have to learn biology to start cultivating?" He holds up the little informational packet Mark put together while everyone was unconscious.
"Yeah, Cultivation for Dummies gives a nice detailed guide on everything up to purifying the blood." Mark presents it like a salesman pitching snake oil. "I'll update the manual as I figure out more, but you should have enough material to work for a few days."
He continues, "For the marrow refinement, I want you, specifically, to try and do exactly as I did. I have a suspicion that the way I did it was unreasonably difficult, but the hard path tends to have benefits, so, I need you to verify that for me. I don't think many others are going to be able to do every session in one go."
Nate flips through the marrow refinement part and sees the section describing the unrelenting, horrific pain. Looking back up at Mark, "I have a hard time believing you did this for thirty straight minutes."
"It pains me that you don't believe in your best friend." Mark dramatically grabs his heart and looks away as if he experienced the ultimate betrayal.
"But, seriously. Don't underestimate how much that metamorphosis changes you, mentally. Nothing will be able to make me forget having my body unmade and rebuilt. Not even the marrow refinement can compare... you'll see." His face turns dead serious, with eyes that look like they've been through hell.
They both shudder, the memories flooding back in… It truly was an experience that was impossible to forget, it will always linger in the back of their mind, despite how much they may want to ignore it.
"Yeah… I guess it's more reasonable when you put it like that." Then Nate smiles, trying to shake off the weird mood that comes with remembering the unmaking of his body. "Uh, sure. I'll try. I won't guarantee anything, but from what you wrote, we have to assume that doing it all in one go isn't the only option."
Their discussion takes them all over the place, not only focusing on cultivation matters or the long term future, but also just shooting the shit about what they've been up to and hypotheticals that only best friends with time on their hands can come up with.
"Okay, but what if you were actually split apart, right down the middle, head to crotch, with the precision of an atom. Would you even die? Like, just a fraction of a nanometer cut. What even happens?"
Nate was floored at this question, "Wait. Actually what the fuck would happen? It's not like you'd actually separate right? It'd be like a few molecules that were broken. Maybe you'd lose some neurons, some blood cells, and so on, but you wouldn't actually split apart."
Mark had another brilliant idea at that very moment. "I'll ask God next time I see him."
"You can just see God? Like, talk to him whenever?" Nate's jaw went slack at the thought.
"What? No, no, no. I mean, maybe? Uh, I'm not really sure what his prerequisites are for coming to talk and answer questions. But when I do, I'll ask."
I should ask about how I can contact him, but I'd put money on him giving some cryptic answer like "I'll know when you need me" or some bullshit like that.
It was only when the sun peeked over the horizon that Nate realized he should head home and get a start on cultivation.
"Okay brother, love you man. I'll let you know when I unlock the DNA." He gives a two finger salute, "See you later."
"See ya, bro. Good luck."
…
When was the last time I ate? And why haven't I bought new clothes yet when basically none of them fit anymore? So many questions, so little room for answers…
Mark stares in a certain direction, and whispers, "Plot holes…."
The reader feels a certain sensation of being watched.
…
When the house finally quieted down, Mark retreated to his room to continue exploring the treasure trove that was his new body.
Alright, the marrow creates the blood, which feeds into the organs. And the muscles, brain, skin, and every other part of my body. But I'll do those later, for now, it's time to temper the organs.
Where does one start when deciding on the most proper organ to begin tempering? The lungs? As they deliver the oxygen that the blood delivers to the rest of the body. The heart? Which is the driver of the blood itself? Perhaps the stomach/intestines? They process the sustenance in which your cells depend on to produce ATP.
So many options, but there is one answer. You always start with the heart. Duh. Why? Because it's the most thematically apt for xianxia-esque cultivation.
Mark's next question became how to actually temper an organ.
He attempted to find a resonant frequency, with no results after an hour of attempts. Next, he tried to raise the frequency of the Qi to an extremely high Hz, but there was no reaction other than a slight headache from pushing.
How does one temper something? High stress, cool down, low stress, cool down, and finally one more low stress, and cooling. I can't exactly 'heat' up my heart, but I can find another way to stress it.
With that thought in mind, he begins to visualize his heart. The image becomes clear in his mind, his pulsing, beating heart. He can see it sending the vital liquid through his whole body. Every contraction and relaxation forcing that capillary action that drives his blood through the sixty thousand mile network in his body.
He begins to gather Qi. Steadily increasing the concentration as the volume of Qi grows denser and heavier around his core. If the heart was a cup and Qi was the water, it would already be spilling everywhere.
What if I drowned the entire room the cup is in?
The thought settles, and with it, a shift in approach.
Instead of forcing the Qi directly into the heart, Mark lets it pool around it. He visualizes the space enclosing the organ, the boundary containing it. The pericardium. The chamber around the heart rather than the heart alone.
Qi floods in, and with it, an immediate pressure envelopes his chest.
His heartbeat stutters once, twice, before slamming back into rhythm harder than before. Each contraction now feels thick and resistant, like the heart is beating through syrup instead of blood.
Pain blooms sharp and sudden. Mark clenches his jaw and holds the Qi in place. He approaches his limit fast, so, he begins to focus on just maintaining the density.
Too much and it leaks. Too little and this becomes pointless.
The Qi presses inward from all directions, compressing the space until the heart has no choice but to work against it. Each beat forces blood through narrowing pathways, and the strain radiates outward through his chest and into his spine.
The seconds stretch as he hears his heart pounding in his ears. The urge to let the Qi spill into the rest of his body becomes overwhelming. His instincts scream at him to disperse it, to relieve the pressure, to breathe.
He does not.
His vision dims at the edges. The pain sharpens into something deeper, his instincts start screaming that he's on the verge of causing real damage.
This is my limit. Mark releases the Qi as the pressure vanishes instantly, and his heart surges forward into the empty space, pounding hard enough that he gasps. He leans forward, hands braced against the mattress, sweat soaking through his shirt.
He does not circulate Qi back into the heart. He waits, letting his vital organ recover from this round of tempering. Hopefully I won't be like Goku and die from heart disease right after this.
The recovery is slow. The ache fades from sharp to dull, then to something almost pleasant, a deep warmth spreading through his chest. His heartbeat steadies, stronger than before, more confident in its rhythm.
That's one.
After several minutes, he gathers Qi again, but this time he stops well short of the previous density. The pressure returns, manageable but constant. His heart strains, adapts, and pushes back against the molasses.
This time he holds this state for much longer than before. When he releases it again, the recovery is faster. Mark prepares himself for one more go.
The third pass is even lighter than before. Less pressure but a much longer duration. The heart accepts it almost eagerly, adjusting its rhythm with minimal resistance.
Several hours later, the Qi finally disperses for the last time, Mark sits back and releases a turbid breath.
The pain receded like the tide, and in its place is a subtle, undeniable solidity. His heartbeat feels deeper, heavier, like it carries more authority with each pulse.
I can't fucking believe that worked. He presses a hand against his chest and smiles faintly. Now the problem is figuring out how not to kill myself doing the rest, shouldn't be too bad.