Chapter 71: Greatness Of Shadows
The blinding sapphire illumination of the Lightning Ray Blood Worm turned the dark forest into a landscape of stark, violent contrasts.
The beam of concentrated plasma tore through the two meters of empty space separating the beast from its target, carrying enough raw, high voltage destruction to easily vaporize a man’s entire chest cavity, leaving Peaker with less than a microsecond to react as the blinding flash illuminated the dark forest.
In that single, fractured instant of survival, Peaker’s instincts as an Awakened tier cultivator saved his life.
He knew that trying to outrun a direct beam of lightning on foot was a mathematical impossibility.
He also knew that his Shadow Sword Blood Worm, while dense, was not physically broad enough to act as a shield against a widespread continuous displacement of plasma.
Instead of moving backward or attempting a traditional block, Peaker thrust his shadow blade directly downward into his own shadow stretching across the grass.
"Shadow Teleportation" he hissed, channelling a massive burst of his remaining dark Qi through the core of the worm.
The pitch black blade dissolved instantly into the ground, turning the two meter patch of earth beneath his boots into a pool of pure, liquid darkness.
Just as the blue lightning ray reached his position, Peaker’s physical form collapsed downward into the pool, his body seamlessly merging with the shadow element.
The lightning ray struck the exact spot where he had been standing a microsecond prior, completely missing his flesh.
The immense thermal energy of the beam caused the damp mud to instantly detonate, vaporizing the grass and sending a massive geyser of boiling dirt and scalding steam tearing into the low-hanging canopy.
Five meters to the left, beneath the dense canopy of an overgrown briar patch, a jagged silhouette rose elegantly from the forest floor.
Peaker materialized from the shadows, his face pale and his breath catching in his throat as the residual static electricity in the air caused his hair to stand on end.
His tunic was singed at the edges, and the sheer heat of the near miss left a dull, throbbing burn along his left forearm, but he was alive, and more importantly, he had successfully repositioned.
The Level Two Commandant’s black skinned head snapped toward the side, its yellow eyes widening slightly as it realized its ultimate projectile had struck nothing but empty earth.
The massive wolf was currently in a state of temporary vulnerability; unleashing a high density attack like the Lightning Ray required a massive expenditure of the nourishment inside its aperture, leaving its internal electrical currents temporarily depleted and its sleek, hairless skin dull.
Peaker did not give the beast a chance to recover its footing or recharge its core.
"My turn," Peaker muttered, his voice cold and devoid of the drunken warmth from the tent.
He raised his right hand, snapping his fingers with a sharp, resonant click.
The pool of liquid darkness he had left behind at the original impact site did not disappear; instead, it responded to his mental command, violently erupting upward like a collection of iron spikes.
The shadows twisted into four thick, undulating tendrils that whipped through the air, wrapping tightly around the Level Two Commandant’s muscular legs and binding it securely to the charred ground.
The wolf let out a sharp, panicked yelp, its razor sharp claws tearing fruitlessly at the conceptual shadow bindings as it tried to wrench itself free.
Threads of faint, unstable blue electricity flickered weakly beneath its skin, but the dark element Qi was actively suffocating its lightning path flow.
With his target immobilized, Peaker sprinted forward, his boots clearing the distance in a fraction of a second.
As he ran, the shadows around his right arm coalesced once more, reforming the jagged, pitch black edge of his shadow blade.
He did not aim for the throat or the heart, he was still adhering to his internal rule of avoiding a lethal escalation so close to a peaceful civilian settlement, but he knew he had to deliver a blow significant enough to permanently break the beast’s combat capability.
Reaching the pinned monster, Peaker executed a fluid, spinning crescent slash. The shadow blade cut through the air with a low, ominous vacuum hiss.
Splat!
The dark edge sliced cleanly through the thick flesh of the wolf’s right shoulder, severing the primary muscle groups and cutting deep enough to chip the bone beneath.
Simultaneously, Peaker channeled a concussive pulse of Qi through the flat of the blade, exploding it against the beast’s ribs.
The combined force of the physical cut and the spiritual impact shattered the wolf’s equilibrium, heavily damaging its skeletal structure.
The shadow tendrils holding the beast snapped as the spell reached its conclusion, and the massive Level Two Commandant was thrown sideways, crashing heavily into a thick cluster of wild sunflowers.
The beast let out a low, pathetic whine, its sleek black skin leaking a thick, dark crimson blood that stained the bright yellow petals beneath it.
It tried to lift its head, to glare at the human who had so thoroughly bested it, but its front leg collapsed under its own weight, the internal blue lightning completely snuffed out.
The four Level Three foot soldiers, still nursing their shallow tendon wounds near the tree line, watched their formidable Commandant get dismantled.
Realizing that this human cultivator was an absolute monster capable of wiping out their entire squad if he chose to stop holding back, the lesser wolves let out a series of submissive whimpers.
They dragged themselves forward, using their jaws to pull their injured leader backward into the deep, protective darkness of the forest, retreating entirely from the valley.
Peaker did not pursue them.
He stood perfectly still in the quiet clearing, his breath escaping his lips in heavy, ragged exhalations as he allowed his Shadow Sword Blood Worm to dissolve back into his aperture.
The dark energy receded, leaving his palm cold and trembling from the sheer exertion of the brief, high stakes encounter.
He wiped a streak of sweat and black dirt from his brow, his eyes scanning the quiet tree line to ensure no further reinforcements were lingering in the dark.
"Too close," he whispered to himself, his voice shaking slightly as the adrenaline began to drain from his system.
"If that thing had been a Level One, I’d be a pile of ash right now."
He checked his clothes, dusting off the loose pieces of charred wood and dried sunflower petals that had adhered to his tunic during the scuffle.
Once he was certain he wasn’t visibly bleeding, he turned away from the forest and began the short walk back to the village campsite, his boots dragging slightly against the soft earth as the collective weight of the past two days finally caught up to his muscles.
The cool evening air was shifting into a deep, quiet twilight by the time Peaker pushed aside the heavy canvas flap of the communal tent.
The inside of the structure was drastically different from the loud, boisterous atmosphere of the afternoon.
The small oil lamps hanging from the wooden support beams had burned low, casting a soft, amber glow across the interior.
Most of the villagers were still scattered across the fur blankets, snoring softly in various states of drunken slumber, completely oblivious to what had just taken place mere meters from their canvas walls.
But at the center of the space, sitting cross legged on a thick pile of wolf skins near the cold fire pit, was Evan.
He had just woken up.
His hair was messy, a few stray strands falling over his face, and his dark eyes carried the glazed, heavy look of someone who had been violently pulled from a deep, dreamless sleep.
He was sitting perfectly still, his back slightly hunched as he massaged his temples with his fingers, trying to clear the lingering ache of the heavy village ale from his mind.
His uniform was still slightly rumpled, and the inner pocket near his chest, where the immortal beast was currently hibernating in its caterpillar form, remained perfectly still.
Evan looked up as the canvas flap rustled, his eyes locking onto Peaker’s entering figure.
He didn’t say anything at first, but his sharp gaze immediately noticed the small, singed patches on Peaker’s collar and the faint smell of ozone and burnt hair that accompanied him into the tent.
"You look like shit," Evan said, his voice raspy and dry from sleep as he lowered his hands from his temples.
"I thought you just went out to take a piss. Did you pick a fight with a lightning storm?"
Peaker let out a dry, humorless chuckle, walking over to the opposite side of the fire pit and collapsing heavily onto an empty fur cushion.
He leaned his head back against a wooden crate, letting his eyes close for a brief moment as he allowed his muscles to fully relax.
"You have no idea," Peaker muttered, his voice tight with lingering exhaustion.
"A pack of Lightning Wolves was waiting right outside the tree line. Four foot soldiers and a Commandant. The damn thing tried to take my chest off with a Lightning Ray."
Evan’s expression sharpened instantly, the last remnants of his sleep induced grogginess vanishing from his face.
He glanced around the tent to ensure none of the sleeping villagers were showing signs of stirring before leaning forward, keeping his voice down to a low, intense whisper.
"Did you kill them? Is the pack going to track you back here?"
"No," Peaker replied, opening his eyes and shaking his head wearily.
"I kept my head. I just heavily damaged the Commandant’s shoulder. They ran back into the deep woods. They won’t come anyway... at least I don’t think so, they haven’t attacked the valley ever as per my knowledge."
Evan let out a slow, measured breath, nodding in approval.
"Good. The last thing we need right now is an entire beast horde descending on this valley while we’re trying to figure out our next move."
He reached to his side, picking up a clay pitcher that still contained a few splashes of clean, cool water, and tossed it across the fire pit.
Peaker caught it deftly with one hand, bringing the vessel to his lips and drinking deeply, the cool liquid soothing the dry, dry grit in his throat.
As Peaker drank, Evan sat back, his fingers unconsciously tracing the outline of the inner pocket of his coat.
The weight of the hidden immortal creature felt heavy against his ribs, a constant, silent reminder of the absolute absurdity of their current situation.
They were resting in a peaceful valley, carrying a mountain splitting entity in their clothes, while the entire region behind them was about to erupt into absolute chaos over the sudden disappearance of the Shu Clan’s supreme elders and leader.
"So," Peaker said, setting the empty clay pitcher down on the dirt floor and looking directly into Evan’s eyes.
"We’re alive. The wolves are gone. What do we do when the sun goes down?"
