—crack—
The brittle bones of the horned rats snapped underfoot.
Footsteps echoed.
A mouth opened.
A yawn.
"…How long has it been?" Leia muttered, rubbing her eyes.
"About seven hours," Negi replied quietly.
A stomach growled.
"When do we eat?" Gio asked, glancing down as he walked. "Can someone else hold the lantern? My hands are getting numb."
"Shut the f**k up, gorilla," Leia snapped. "Can you be quiet for once?"
"Enough," Ren said calmly, raising a hand. "We hunt, then we eat. We're deep enough now—this is where beasts start appearing."
Sol froze.
"There—" Her voice trembled as she pointed into the abyss ahead.
Everyone stopped.
Weapons were readied. Breaths slowed.
Eyes narrowed.
In the darkness—
they saw movement.
Hundreds of tiny silhouettes.
Then—
a ripple.
A shudder rippled through the cave.
Then the darkness moved.
Bats.
A swarm burst from the abyss, wings shrieking as they flooded the tunnel—endless, suffocating, blotting out the lantern's light.
No one screamed.
The swarm didn't attack.
It passed through them.
Wind slammed into their bodies, dust and filth whipping into their faces. Everyone shut their eyes, arms raised too late.
The bats vanished down the tunnel behind them.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Because everyone knew what that meant.
Beasts didn't flee without reason.
Something far more dangerous was coming.
The lantern swayed back and forth.
It flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The cave plunged into darkness—
silent.
In that instant, when the light died for the third time—
something moved.
Not a sound.
Not a breath.
Just pressure.
The lantern flared back to life.
And there—
directly in front of Gio—
hung a massive silhouette.
Wings folded.
Horns curving forward.
Eyes reflecting the light like cold glass.
A Horned Gale Bat.
The lantern fell.
It shattered.
Darkness swallowed everything.
In the black, only Gio and the beast understood what was happening.
No one screamed—not out of caution,
but because their throats locked.
Ren's face drained of color.
Fear clawed at his thoughts, forcing his mind to move.
He snapped his fingers.
A spark bloomed.
Then fire.
Light tore through the darkness—
And revealed—
a gruesome figure.
A shockwave erupted, slamming straight into Gio's head.
The cave fell dreadfully silent.
No time to spare.
Ren struck.
Fire surged from his palm, condensing into a blazing sphere.
Heat licked his skin, scorching his clothes.
He hurled it forward.
In a blink—
the fireball stopped.
Inches from the Horned Gale Bat.
Its eyes shifted.
They locked onto the flames—
though its head never moved.
Hearts stilled.
The fireball hesitated.
Then—
the heat changed direction.
Ren's pupils shrank.
The fireball screamed backward—
twice as fast.
There was no space to flee.
Death filled the cave.
The fireball stopped—
just inches from Ren's pupil.
His mind froze.
His body did not.
He twisted sideways on instinct alone.
Not a clean escape.
Not a direct hit.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
Negi snapped, rage tearing through his fear.
Sol broke down, a sharp cry escaping her throat.
Leia stared in disbelief, her breath caught somewhere between panic and denial.
Gio—bloodied, shaking—forced himself upright, vision swimming as he struggled to understand what had just happened.
—
Elsewhere.
With Arin.
The circulating qi slowed.
Not weakened—
but compressed.
In the dim light,
a pair of eyes snapped open.
Arin retrieved the last piece of spirit meat and swallowed it whole.
He turned.
To check on the lesser serpents.
And saw it.
Arin froze.
His body tightened without command.
The first serpent convulsed.
Its coils jerked again and again—
not stopping,
not slowing—
as if something inside it was pulling the strings.
Its jaw stretched.
Too wide.
Scales split apart along its neck, peeling back as flesh strained beneath.
Arin tore his gaze away.
The second serpent lay still.
For a heartbeat, he thought it had survived.
—crack—
Its body folded inward with a wet sound.
The serpent twisted, jaws snapping—not outward,
but into itself.
The stone darkened beneath it.
Sounds followed.
Arin's breath hitched.
He looked away again.
The third serpent was staring at him.
Its eyes shuddered.
Then slid together.
Merging.
Becoming one.
A second later, that eye burst free—
still moving,
still rolling,
dragging veins behind it as it skittered across the stone.
The serpent's body spasmed violently.
And then—
it ruptured.
Warm fluid splattered across Arin's scales.
He did not move.
He could not.
Arin did not turn away.
He knew what would happen if he did.
The sounds would fill the gaps.
So he closed his eyes instead.
It didn't help.
Wet impacts echoed against stone.
Bone cracked.
Something gulped—slow, deliberate.
His mind supplied the rest.
Vivid.
Unwanted.
His breath came shallow. His coils tightened until they ached.
He wanted it to stop.
It didn't.
He opened his eyes.
If the horror was going to carve itself into him
—
he would face it whole.
When it finally ended, Arin felt… empty.
Shaken.
Raw.
And beneath it all—
a desperate need to not think.
He coiled inward.
Cultivation answered.
Not as hope.
But as silence.