Chapter 5:Who Devours
The night stretched endlessly before him.
Vorynxis moved through the cavern's exit like a shadow slipping between worlds. The cold wind howled through the desolate cliffs, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant rot. His steps were soundless, his body adapting instinctively to the silence.
His cultivation was still incomplete. The embers of his power burned within him, but they were unstable—two opposing truths warring inside his very being.
He needed time. He needed resources.
But most of all… he needed to remain unseen.
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Somewhere out there, the sect still stood.
The very place that had executed him, erased him, wiped his existence from the minds of those who had once known his name. His fingers curled slightly at the thought, the raw ember of emotion flickering through his otherwise detached mind.
His death had not been justice.
It had been convenience.
A threat removed. A problem erased.
But had they truly erased him?
No.
His existence persisted. Twisted, reforged, but undeniably real.
He would not waste this second life dwelling on revenge.
No—revenge was too shallow.
The sect was merely a wall, a single barrier in a world of unseen forces. He would not waste himself against it. Not yet.
Not until he stood at a point where his fire could burn away something greater.
But before that… he needed to survive.
Vorynxis exhaled slowly, controlling the conflicting forces within him. His body was still weak, his cultivation fractured. His current power allowed him to do one thing well: erase his presence.
The Ice Ember refined his flames into something beyond destruction. It allowed him to seal his existence, smother his own presence. He did not leave footprints in the dirt. His breath did not fog in the cold air. His form was there—and yet not.
But he could not rely on that alone.
He needed energy.
The nearest source? The Wildlands.
Beyond the cultivated lands of the sects, there lay a vast, untamed wilderness where spirit beasts roamed freely. Some were mindless creatures driven by hunger and instinct. Others were ancient, powerful entities whose existence rivaled that of sect elders.
Spirit beasts were not just living creatures.
They were condensed manifestations of the world's energy, each carrying their own unique attributes and insights into cultivation. Consuming them—whether through flesh, soul, or essence—was a path many cultivators pursued.
For Vorynxis, it was an opportunity.
He had no sect, no master, no foundation to rely on anymore. But out there, in the Wildlands, there were creatures whose very existence could fuel his recovery.
He would take what he needed.
His journey into the wilderness was silent.
The forest canopy swallowed the moonlight, plunging the world into an abyss of shifting shadows. Twisted roots coiled like serpents beneath his feet, and the distant wails of night-beasts echoed through the trees.
Most cultivators feared this place.
They came in groups, armed with talismans and formation stones, cautious of what lurked beyond their sight.
Vorynxis walked alone.
His presence remained untraceable, his energy sealed beneath the layers of his Ice Ember's stillness. He moved between the trees like a ghost, his red eyes gleaming faintly as they adjusted to the dark.
Then, he felt it.
A presence.
Something was watching.
His instincts sharpened. The weight of unseen eyes pressed against him, thick with intent. He did not react—not outwardly. His steps remained slow, measured, as if he had noticed nothing at all.
But his mind raced.
A spirit beast. No… more than one.
They had already begun circling him, moving just outside the range of his direct perception. Their movements were patient, methodical. These were not mindless creatures acting on instinct.
They were hunters.
And he was prey.
Vorynxis exhaled softly.
"Let's see who devours who first."