Chapter LXXXV: Scream

Midnight clung to the earth like a second skin.

Not the hour on the clock, but the kind that lingers after violence—quiet, suffocating, and slow. The kind that wraps around the bones of the world, pressing down with a hush that feels too deliberate. The stench of blood still lingered in the air, faint but undeniable, soaked deep into the soil and bark like a memory too stubborn to fade. No corpses remained. No screams. Only silence—and the kind of stillness that made it hard to believe anything had ever lived here at all.

Above it all, hidden in the hush of a crooked tree, Yanwei opened his eyes.

He hadn't been sleeping—just still. Like a blade waiting to be drawn. Like the air before a storm. He inhaled once, letting the remnants of slaughter pass through him, unbothered.

Then he moved.

Not with urgency, but with purpose. He shifted, crouched, and stepped off the branch. His descent was silent. Measured. Branch to branch, shadow to shadow, until his boots met the ground with barely a whisper.

He stood amid the fading echoes of carnage, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable.

This was no battlefield. Not anymore. Just a place where something had ended.

And maybe something else was about to begin.

He began to walk, slow and unhurried, boots brushing against dirt still steeped in the residue of battle.

His path was straight. Deliberate.

Toward her.

Yun.

She sat a short distance away, cross-legged on the scarred earth. Her posture was unnervingly serene, like she hadn't just treated a girl whose pride had been carved out. Like the blood in the air didn't belong to a life she could've ended herself. Her back was straight, hands resting on her knees, palms turned skyward.

Calm. Still. Unmoved.

Yanwei's gaze flickered past Yun, to the still form of Linglong, sprawled on the ground a few paces away. Her chest rose and fell, shallow, faint. She hadn't stirred since the conflict, her body still locked in that state between life and unconsciousness—fragile, vulnerable.

Linglong, a weapon unused, a tool left on the ground like discarded armor. She wasn't dead. Not yet. But she was far from useful in her current state.

Yanwei's lips curled into a slight, calculating smirk.

Yanwei's eyes lingered on Yun for a moment longer, studying the stillness in her posture, the way her breath matched the rhythm of the world's silence. Then, without a word, he turned. His movements were fluid, calculated—never rushed, but always purposeful.

He took one last glance at Linglong, still unconscious, her fate hanging on the edge of his thoughts.

And then, just like that, he was gone.

No words. No promises. No acknowledgment.

Just the quiet crunch of his footsteps fading into the distance, swallowed by the dark.

…

Yanwei's feet barely made a sound as he stepped into the dimly lit chamber, the atmosphere thick with ancient energy. The air hummed with an unsettling quiet, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the ceiling. His gaze scanned the surroundings, the stone walls coated in age-old moss, the silence oppressive. He stepped forward, his voice breaking the stillness with a cold edge.

"Is this where the treasure those sects really want to lay their hands on?"

He walked further, his sharp eyes gleaming in the darkness. The scent of dust and earth clung to the air as he ventured deeper into the chamber. And then, as if emerging from the very shadows themselves, a figure caught his attention.

It was tall, standing at the height of a man, slender but incredibly imposing. At first glance, it appeared almost human, yet something was off. Its skin had an eerie, translucent quality, almost as though it was faintly glowing, revealing the subtle architecture of its bones beneath the surface. The jawline was sharp and defined, almost too angular, while its eyes—or what should have been eyes—were deep hollows, empty and unsettling. They seemed to absorb the light, giving it an almost soulless appearance.

Its muscles were thin but looked taut, like a tightly wound spring, ready to unleash immense force. The creature stood still for a moment, its movements fluid and predatory as it observed him, its gaze lingering with an unspoken understanding. Its long, lithe limbs were slightly bent, poised to strike or leap, and its chest rose and fell with deep, steady breaths.

Yanwei stepped further into the chamber, his boots silent on the cool stone floor. His gaze sharpened as his eyes fell on the creature before him.

Looking at this creature again, he thought, his brow furrowing slightly. I've never seen anything like it. It was tall, slender, and eerily graceful, its movements fluid yet predatory. Its skin seemed almost translucent, faintly glowing, revealing the faint architecture of its bones beneath the surface. There was something unsettling about it—its hollow eyes that seemed to absorb all light, and the taut, spring-like muscles beneath its thin frame that hinted at immense physical strength.

Yanwei took a step forward, his voice cutting through the silence.

"Is this… a creation from the Golden Age?" He murmured, almost to himself. "A forgotten weapon, or perhaps a new breed altogether?"

He tilted his head, scrutinizing the creature's every move as it shifted, its long limbs coiling like a predator preparing to strike. New creature or race emerging? He couldn't place it. It didn't belong to any of the known categories of beasts or humans.

There was a raw power in its presence, something untapped, a strength that defied what should have been possible for something so lean. Its bones, though seemingly fragile, gave it an unnatural edge, granting it strength beyond what a mere human or beast could possess.

Yanwei's mind raced, considering the implications. If this was a new creation or race—one that had emerged recently—then the implications could be far-reaching. A creature like this could change the balance of power, shifting the scales of control over resources and treasure in ways no one would anticipate.

He eyed it with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "Fascinating," he murmured.

Yanwei took another step forward, his eyes locking onto the creature. But the instant their gazes met, the air seemed to thrum with tension. The creature's expression changed, a subtle shift that betrayed awareness. Its head jerked up, eyes narrowing as it locked onto him.

Then, without any warning, the creature released a piercing, shrill scream—a sound so intense, it felt like it cut through the very air. The noise wasn't just loud—it felt hot, like the air around it was charged with unbearable heat. It wasn't directed at him, not in anger, but more like a warning—a primal, guttural response to being watched.

Yanwei stood perfectly still, unfazed by the noise, but his brow furrowed in confusion. This was no ordinary creature. There was something deeply unsettling about the way it responded—like it was reacting to him in a way that no beast ever had before.

As the screech reverberated through the space, the creature's body stiffened, its eyes still locked on Yanwei, its form tense, ready to react at a moment's notice. But instead of attacking, the creature simply… waited, its expression more calculating than before.

….

The survivors in the distant corners of the secret realm froze, a collective shudder rippling through them as the shrill scream tore through the air. It wasn't just a sound—it was an experience. The moment it pierced the stillness, it felt like the very ground beneath them had trembled. The air grew heavier, thicker, pressing down on their chests as if something unseen had taken hold of the world itself.

The scream wasn't merely loud; it reached them, crawling beneath their skin, igniting a primal fear that they couldn't quite explain. It was as if the sound had not only shattered the quiet of the realm but also the very laws of nature that governed it.

For a brief moment, they could feel their hearts race, their breath shallow, as if their bodies had instinctively recognized the sound as something… unnatural. It was a warning—a proclamation of something ancient and powerful. It lingered in the air, even after it faded, leaving a tense, electric hum that vibrated through the bones.

It was the kind of scream that had no clear source, but its presence was undeniable. It crawled into their thoughts like a shadow, infecting their minds with a sense of dread they couldn't shake. Some felt their instincts push them to flee, others gripped their weapons tighter, but all of them felt it—something had changed. The atmosphere had shifted, and with it, the looming weight of danger felt closer than ever before.