Chapter 13: Hungry
Encroaching Prey
The forest whispered of trespassers.
Vorynxis did not move, did not stir, did not even breathe as he lay hidden within the depths of the cave. His body, still recovering from the slow and excruciating stabilization of his cultivation, remained motionless. But his senses stretched outward—beyond the stone walls, beyond the twisted trees, beyond the veil of darkness.
He felt them before he saw them.
A group of five rogue cultivators had set up camp too close.
Far too close.
The embers of their fire flickered at the entrance of the valley, barely a hundred meters away from where Vorynxis lay in silence. Their laughter was low, their voices hushed but sharp, their movements careless. They did not know.
They did not know they had just stepped into the mouth of a beast that had yet to finish digesting its last meal.
Vorynxis listened
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"These sect bastards are getting lazy." One of them, a burly man with a jagged scar down his cheek, tore into a roasted beast leg. "Can you believe it? We robbed that last group clean, and they didn't even track us."
"Too scared," another snorted. "The sects are full of cowards these days. All they do is bark orders and hoard resources."
A third voice, younger, wavered slightly. "Still, we shouldn't be this deep into the mountains. Something about this place feels… wrong."
The leader of the group scoffed. He was a man with an iron gauntlet covering his left arm, the dull steel engraved with crude runes. "Superstition. What, afraid of ghosts?"
The younger one didn't answer.
Because the truth was—the air did feel wrong.
The fire they had built flickered unnaturally, bending toward the cave as if something within it was pulling at the flames.
The shadows stretched too far, deeper than the light should have allowed.
And though the wind was still, the fire occasionally shuddered—as if breathing.
But none of them noticed.
None of them realized.
They had already stepped into something beyond their understanding.
And Vorynxis, lying still in the darkness, simply waited.
Waited for the moment they would finally understand.
Vorynxis did not attack immediately.
Why should he?
A predator does not rush a meal. A predator does not pounce the moment prey appears. No. A true predator watches. A true predator stalks.
And Vorynxis was not merely a predator.
He was the fire that turned bones to ash. He was the cold that hollowed out souls.
They were not worthy of his full power.
They were fuel.
So he let them relax.
Let them sit by their fire, let them believe they were safe, let them fall into the illusion that they were still in control.
The wind did not stir. The cave did not move. The night remained still.
And yet, unseen and unheard—something reached out.
The younger rogue cultivator shifted uncomfortably. "I'm going to check the perimeter."
He rose to his feet, stepping out of the circle of firelight.
His companions barely acknowledged him.
A mistake.
His footsteps crunched against the dirt. The sound of the fire faded behind him. The darkness grew thicker.
He stopped.
His breath hitched.
Something was wrong.
The camp should have been right behind him.
He turned.
The fire was gone.
The camp was gone.
The mountain, the trees, the stars—gone.
There was only black.
No.
Not black.
Something deeper.
Something emptier.
A cold breath brushed against his ear.
"Did you think you could leave?"
He didn't get the chance to scream.
His body snapped backward into the dark.
There was no sound.
No struggle.
No trace left behind.
Just silence.
And when the fire flickered again—he was never there to begin with.
Back at the camp, the remaining four did not notice immediately.
Not until the second man stood up. "Where's Wei?"
The leader frowned. "What do you mean?"
"He just left to check the perimeter."
The others turned.
But the forest was empty.
Not a single sign of movement.
The air, once thick with the scent of roasted meat, suddenly smelled wrong. The warmth of the fire felt hollow.
The shadows were too deep.
"Something's not right."
A low whisper drifted through the night.
But none of them spoke.
Something laughed.
Not from the forest.
Not from the shadows.
Their bodies tensed. The leader gritted his teeth, slamming his gauntlet against the ground. "Show yourself, coward!"
The forest did not respond.
And yet—something shifted.
The air thickened. The night darkened. The world itself tilted.
One of them—too slow to react—vanished.
No warning.
No sound.
One second he was standing, the next, his body was no longer in the world.
"WHAT THE HELL?!" The scarred bandit stumbled backward, eyes darting in every direction.
The leader snarled, eyes blazing with spiritual energy. "IT'S A TECHNIQUE! FOCUS YOUR SENSES!"
They activated their spiritual perception.
They saw nothing.
No enemy.
No presence.
Only empty, swallowing blackness.
The third one disappeared.
This time, there was sound.
A sharp inhale. A desperate gasp. A single heartbeat of absolute terror.
And then—silence.
Only the leader and the scarred bandit remained.
They stood back-to-back, weapons drawn, eyes darting in every direction.
They did not see the enemy.
But they felt him.
A weight pressed against the air. A presence too vast, too overwhelming, too alien to be called human.
Then—
Something whispered directly into their ears.
"Do you understand now?"
The fire died.
The world collapsed.
And the last two, hardened killers, battle-scarred and ruthless, finally understood fear.
Because it was not death that waited for them.
It was something far, far worse.
It was Vorynxis.
And he was hungry.