Piercing the Veil of War
The void erupted. Spiritual cannons roared, spewing torrents of condensed energy. Myriad cultivation ships, like metallic dragons, clashed in a dazzling, horrifying display of power. Long Hu stood beside Empress Xianxia on the flagship's command deck, the symphony of destruction a jarring cacophony in his ears, yet his senses were hyper-focused, attuned to the hidden discord beneath the chaos.
Xianxia was a whirlwind of controlled power. Her commands, sharp and resonant, cut through the din, directing the flagship with lethal precision. "Focus fire on their central arrays! Apprentice, pinpoint the largest concentrations of... despair."
Long Hu nodded, his eyes closed, his unique senses stretching across the battlefield. He could see it, even amidst the blinding flashes of spiritual attacks: invisible currents of profound misery, thickest around the enemy Dreadnoughts. They were not just fighting; they were actively suffering, their fear and desperation a palpable energy that pulsed like a secondary heartbeat within their ships.
"Right flank, Lord Commander's vessel!" Long Hu shouted, his voice hoarse, pointing to a massive Dreadnought currently unleashing a barrage of destructive spells. "The despair is a tangible siphon there! Target its power core, it's vulnerable due to extreme psychic strain!"
Xianxia's gaze sharpened, her finger tracing his invisible line on the tactical console. "Concentrated fire, First Squadron! Exploit the void-linkage point!" Her commands were devastatingly effective. The Imperial Dragon Fleet, guided by Long Hu's unseen insights, moved with uncanny precision, their attacks finding weaknesses where none should exist, shattering shields, and crippling engines with terrifying efficiency.
The Northern Dominion's forces, renowned for their disciplined formations, reeled in confusion. Their leaders, desperate to stem the tide, began resorting to increasingly reckless maneuvers, pushing their cultivators beyond their limits, generating more fear, more despair. Long Hu felt the resulting surge of negative essence, a sickening sweetness for the unseen enemy. The Devourers weren't just preying on existing suffering; they were being actively fueled by the conflict itself. Every blast, every lost life, every surge of terror on the enemy side, was a meal.
A massive spiritual cannonball, fired from a crippled Dominion ship, veered off course, heading straight for the flagship's command deck. Long Hu saw it coming, felt the despair concentrated within the projectile, a dark, explosive energy. He instinctively shoved Xianxia, pushing her behind a reinforced shield pillar, just as the projectile slammed into the very spot where she had been standing, detonating with a concussive blast that rattled the entire vessel.
"Apprentice!" Xianxia's voice was sharp, a rare spark of unadulterated anger in her eyes. She gripped his arm, pulling him fully behind the pillar, her gaze searching his face for injury. Her touch was firm, possessive, a silent acknowledgment of his quick, life-saving action.
"I'm fine, Your Majesty," Long Hu gasped, shaken but unhurt. His eyes met hers, and in that moment of shared danger, shared breathlessness, the world outside them seemed to fall away. There was no empress, no apprentice, no past betrayal. Only two souls, bound by a terrifying, cosmic war, reliant on each other's split-second decisions. The romantic tension, raw and undeniable, pulsed between them, as vibrant and dangerous as the battle itself.
As the flagship continued its relentless assault, Long Hu focused again. The enemy's Dreadnoughts were beginning to crack. He could see the despair within them, no longer a subtle siphon, but a torrent, threatening to overwhelm the ships from within. He realized then: the Devourers didn't just consume. They could cause self-destruction, turning the enemy's own forces into a bomb of suffering.
With a final, shattering barrage guided by Long Hu's pinpoint accuracy, the lead Dreadnought of the Northern Dominion shuddered, then imploded. Not with a conventional explosion of spiritual energy, but a silent, chilling implosion of sheer, concentrated despair. It vanished, leaving behind only a faint, bitter coldness in the void.
A profound victory for Xianxia's fleet, achieved with unnerving precision. But as the Dominion's remaining ships scattered in disarray, Long Hu felt a chilling sense of unease. They had won the battle, yes. But the enemy had also fed. Every imploding ship, every fleeing, terrified cultivator, was a fresh harvest for the invisible Void Devourers. The battle for realms was a double-edged sword, and the cost of victory might be far higher than any of them yet realized. The war had just shown its true, insidious face.