My Bad Karma

4.The Fake Ascension and the Dark Echoes

Freza Peina stood on the balcony of his new penthouse suite, watching the sunrise hit the spires of the Shining Sky Sect. He didn't feel the usual morning grogginess. In fact, he felt like he could bench-press a mountain. His skin was glowing, his pulse was steady, and his internal energy felt like a finely tuned engine idling at perfect RPM.

"Status check. Don't leave me hanging," Freza muttered, checking his reflection in the tinted glass.

"Karmic load is at an all-time low, Tuan Freza," the AI chirped from his earpiece. "Current level: Grand Master, Tier 1. You have successfully bypassed the standard 'Heavenly Tribulation' protocols by distributing the back-blast across the Subject: Jianhui and the Charity Buffer."

Freza grinned, adjusting the collar of his new, silk-lined duster. "So, I’m basically playing God on a discount? No lightning bolts to the face? No soul-shredding trials?"

"Exactly. The system registered the 'ascension' event, but since the friction was offloaded, you received 100% of the power-up with 0% of the wear and tear. Locally, you are being hailed as a 'Chosen of the Heavens.' The optics are, frankly, phenomenal."

"Phenomenal is an understatement," Freza said, stepping back inside. "I’m the guy who conquered the Tribulation without breaking a sweat. I’m a brand now, AI. And business is about to boom."

Down in the sect's main plaza, the hype was reaching a fever pitch. Everywhere you looked, disciples were huddled in groups, whispering about the "Miracle of Mount Gold" and the "Ascension of Master Freza."

"Did you see his aura?" one initiate whispered, his eyes wide. "It’s pure gold. No static, no darkness. They say he’s the first person in five centuries to hit Grand Master without a single scar."

"It’s the Charity Initiative," another replied, clutching a glowing enrollment token. "He’s helping us, so the Heavens are helping him. It’s like a circle of blessing, man. I’m moving my whole family’s karma into the buffer next week."

But as the cheers got louder, the shadows in the corners of the sect were getting darker.

In the medical ward, the air didn't smell like incense or healing herbs. It smelled like a locker room in a junkyard.

"Any change?" a senior healer asked, looking through the heavy iron door of a containment cell.

The younger healer shook his head, looking pale. "Master Ling from the Wind Sect just arrived. Same symptoms as Jianhui. Total spiritual rot. He was fine yesterday—hit a new Tier, felt 'lighter than air'—and then boom. He woke up screaming about teeth in his soul. He’s coughing up that same black oil."

"And the others?"

"Seven more this morning. All of them were 'early adopters' of Freza’s Charity program. All of them had 'breakthroughs' right before the collapse. It’s like their souls just... gave out under the weight of their own success."

The senior healer looked at the chart, then at the frantic crowds cheering for Freza in the distance. "Don't let this out. If the disciples think the 'Miracle' is a plague, we’ll have a riot on our hands. The Elders want this kept under wraps until we can talk to Freza."

Giyani wasn't cheering. She was buried so deep in the Forbidden Archive that she’d forgotten what sunlight looked like. Her desk was a graveyard of ancient scrolls, most of them written in a dialect that made her head throb.

"Leverage. Buffers. Distributed debt," she muttered, her eyes bloodshot. "He’s using financial terms because the universe is a bank. He’s not a cultivator; he’s a hedge fund manager with a sword."

She pulled a scroll made of literal human bone from the bottom of a stack. It was cold to the touch, and as she unrolled it, a faint, whispering sound filled the room. It wasn't a voice—it was a vibration, a low-frequency hum that made her teeth ache.

The Hell Bank... the interest is paid in blood... the principal is the soul...

Giyani shivered, but she didn't look away. The text described a time before the Great Sects, a time when "Karmic Debt" was traded like grain. There were legends of "Debt Architects" who could build empires by stealing the luck of a thousand peasants and dumping the "trash" into the void.

"But the void doesn't exist," Giyani realized, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Energy can't be destroyed. If he’s dumping the debt, he’s dumping it on someone. Jianhui wasn't an accident. He was the dump site."

Suddenly, the whispers in the scroll got louder. They weren't coming from the bone anymore—they were coming from the walls. From the floor. From the very air.

The Auditor is coming... the books must balance... who holds the bill?

"Who said that?" Giyani spun around, grabbing a heavy brass telescope as a makeshift club. The archive was empty. The rows of scrolls sat like silent gravestones.

"Arya? If this is a prank, I’m gonna kick your teeth in!"

No answer. Just that low, rhythmic thumping, like a giant heart beating beneath the mountain.

She turned back to her notes, but the ink was changing. The words she’d written were bleeding, stretching out into long, thin lines that looked like barcodes.

"The Hell Bank isn't a metaphor," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It’s a real place. And Freza just gave everyone in this sect a credit card with no limit."

Freza was halfway through a bottle of vintage plum wine when the door to his suite burst open. It was the Head Elder, looking like he’d just seen his own funeral.

"Freza! We have a problem!" the Elder barked, his usual composure gone. "Jianhui is... he’s not recovering. And now there are others. The 'Charity' disciples. They’re falling like flies, Freza. The healers say their meridians are clogged with something... unnatural."

Freza didn't even get up. He just swirled his glass, looking bored. "Elder, relax. It’s just 'Calibration Lag.' I told you, moving that much energy is bound to cause some friction. Their systems are just adjusting to the new, higher-performance tiers."

"This isn't friction! They’re coughing up ink! They’re screaming about whispers!" The Elder slammed his fist on the table. "You told us this was safe! You told us you were the 'Pahlawan'—the hero who was absorbing the load!"

Freza finally looked up. His eyes were cold, calculating, and completely devoid of empathy. "I am the hero, Elder. Look at the numbers. Productivity in the sect is up 300%. We have more Tier 4s than we’ve had in a century. The 'incidents' you’re talking about? That’s less than one percent of the total user base. It’s acceptable loss."

"Acceptable loss? Jianhui is the Patriarch’s son!"

"Then the Patriarch should’ve raised a son with better 'spiritual liquidity,'" Freza snapped, his voice turning sharp as a razor. "Listen to me, Elder. You want the power? You want to stay on top of the food chain? Then stop whining about the cost of doing business. I’m the only reason this sect isn't a smoking crater after the Mount Gold mishap. You owe me."

The Elder opened his mouth to argue, but the words died in his throat. He looked at Freza and didn't see a savior. He saw a monster in a silk coat.

"Get out, Elder," Freza said, turning his back. "I have a meeting with the Snow Sect. They want to 'invest' in the Charity Buffer. Don't let the door hit your reputation on the way out."

As the Elder stumbled out, the AI’s voice whispered in Freza’s ear. "Alert:subject Giyani is currently accessing Tier 5 Forbidden Lore. She is dangerously close to identifying the 'Interest Rate' of the current buffer."

Freza’s jaw tightened. "She’s a persistent little brat, isn't she?"

"Shall I initiate a 'Karmic Audit' on her account?"

"No," Freza said, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. "If she’s so interested in the Bank, let’s give her a job. Send her an invite to the 'Executive Floor.' Let’s see how she feels about the 'Hell Bank' when she’s the one holding the keys."

He walked over to the window, looking out at the sprawling world below. To everyone else, it was a world of mountains, rivers, and souls. To Freza Peina, it was just a giant spreadsheet waiting for its next entry.

"The Auditor is coming, huh?" Freza whispered, his breath fogging the glass. "Well, let 'em come. I’ve got enough 'Pahlawans' in my pocket to cover the bill for a thousand years."

Deep in the library, Giyani felt a cold wind whip through the room, despite the lack of windows. The scroll in her hand began to glow with a sickly, blue light.

A single word appeared in the center of the bone: OVERDUE.

"Oh no," Giyani breathed. "He didn't fix the debt. He just took out a bigger loan."

She grabbed her bag and started running. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew one thing: the party was over, and the universe was about to start collecting.