"That means… we all have to work together," Yurei said, his voice thoughtful beneath its usual stubborn edge, now sharpened by frustration and worry. "But the main priority will be the core pillars. Keep them safe, keep them awake."
Kuradome's gaze was like shards of ice in the dark. "We stay close to the snake. His presence is the trigger. The core pillars will likely resonate near him." He stated it as a cold fact, a tactical assessment he felt in his bones.
Língxi sighed, the air leaving his lungs feeling like it had solidified. His connection to icy elements kept him from freezing solid, but the cold was a deep, stone-like pressure in his chest. "But… he ran. He left us here between these three twisted paths with no guide." Annoyance flickered in his eyes, mostly directed inward. His forehead gem, a potential tool, lay dormant and glitched—useless when they needed clarity most.
"We search for him in groups," Sozai suggested, forcing confidence into his tone. It was a simple, solid plan. "When one of us finds him, we call the others."
Xio gave a sharp nod. "Right. Lànhuā, my uncles," he said, glancing at Língxi and Kage Ou, "we'll take the middle path." He pointed to the central corridor, which pulsed with a faint, ominous crimson glow.
Kuradome gave a light shake of his sleeve, dislodging an unseen, crawling sensation. "My son and his guard will go right. Follow me." His voice brooked no argument.
Kyoren nodded once, a soldier's confirmation. Yurei bowed faintly, the respect automatic even in chaos.
Suji's mind was a storm of worry. His brother—Wùji—was absent. He'd noticed his growing importance in their shared narrative. His experience could have been a anchor. The thought was a dull ache. "Then… Kansai and I will take the left," he said, his voice a mixture of resolve and quiet concern.
"Deal," Sozai said, the faintest ghost of his usual smirk trying to lift the heaviness. It was a brave, brittle thing.
They split, stepping into the three jaws of the darkness.
The cold wasn't just temperature; it was an invasive presence. It seeped into their bones with every step, a creeping numbness that promised oblivion if they stopped moving. Their breaths plumed in the stagnant air, the only sign of life in the swallowing gloom. They trembled, but they pressed on, knowing stillness was a quicker death.
Then—chaos.
From two different directions, a violent clash of energies erupted. To the left, violet lightning crackled, casting jagged, momentary shadows. To the right, a flash of bloody red light. The sounds followed: a discordant, defensive groan of guqin strings and a sharp, panicked cry that tore through the psychic whispers.
"INSECTS!!" Kirihito's voice, high with pure, unadulterated panic, echoed from somewhere ahead.
"DON'T PANIC, snake! You're feeding its energy, AGAIN!" Wùji's commanding shout followed, laced with strain.
Curses. Insect-type curses, drawn to fear and fracture, were here, making a terrible situation worse.
On the left path, Suji froze mid-step, his eyes wide. The violet lightning… his brother's signature. The pained sound underneath the command… "Brother is here too…?" he whispered, the relief instantaneous and drowned immediately by a sharper, protective concern. He didn't show it, but his stance shifted, ready to bolt.
Kansai dodged a stray, fading spark of lightning. "Then we follow where it came from, Suji-kunsun," he said, his usual hesitation burned away by urgency.
Suji nodded, and they broke into a run, charging toward the source of the storm.
On the middle path, Xio's heart hammered against his ribs. Kirihito's panic was a sound etched into his memory from a dozen fraught situations. It ignited a familiar, protective fire. He was about to sprint blindly when—
"Everyone! Get back together! We found a way!" Sozai's voice shouted from the right-hand path, sounding startlingly close, as if the walls between them were an illusion.
But the labyrinth had other ideas. Língxi and Kage Ou, trying to orient themselves in the swirling red fog, found the world shifting. Língxi took a cautious step back and felt not open air, but solid, cold stone where empty passage should be. His eyes widened. He turned slowly.
The wall was moving. Silently, inexorably, it was sliding forward, the ceiling descending to meet it. A slow, crushing death.
Kage Ou sensed the wrongness in Língxi's stillness. He reached out a hand toward where Língxi's back was facing—and his fingers met rough, advancing stone. His jaw tightened. "RUN!" he roared, the command ripping through the fog. "The walls are closing in!"
Panic, sharp and electric, replaced the dread. Footsteps, frantic and echoing, filled the corridors as they fled the crushing darkness. From the left path, the desperate, resonant sounds of a flute and a guqin fighting back—Suji and Kansai, using their spiritual powers not to attack, but to hold back the very architecture seeking to entomb them.
Língxi's mind raced. The riskiest path, the one under direct assault… it was often the closest to the breach, to the heart of the problem. It was a tactical gamble. He made to move toward the left, toward the sound of struggle.
"Kage—"
A strong hand closed around his arm, yanking him back. Kage Ou's face was a mask of rare, raw fear. "You have a death wish or something? You'll stay where we are!"
"Kage, it can work," Língxi insisted, trying to pull away.
"NO. Could you listen to me just once?!" Kage Ou's voice was fierce, possessive, fueled by a selfish, primal calculus: Let the whole world burn, as long as the few I care about make it out. It was the core of him, laid bare by terror.
Língxi huffed, struggling briefly, but was pulled firmly back toward Lànhuā.
"Father, don't leave alone," Lànhuā said, her voice soft but carrying the steel of a warning. "Or I'll follow you." The threat of her shared risk trapped him as surely as the walls.
Xio, meanwhile, was already surging ahead, following the fading echo of Kirihito's cry, leaving the debate behind.
On the right path, Sozai skidded to a halt, panting. His hand glowed with unstable lotus-green spiritual energy. The same realization Língxi had struck him: the path of greatest resistance was the direct route. He saw Yurei about to charge past and grabbed his arm.
Yurei whirled, breathless. "What? Why did you stop?"
Sozai looked at him—loyal, stubborn Yurei—and made a split-second decision. He couldn't lead him into the worst of it. Without a word, he let go, turned, and sprinted directly toward the source of the red light and the panicked cries, choosing the peril alone.
"SOZAI!" Yurei's shout was sharp, a lash of anger and fear. The world seemed to tilt. Cursing, he summoned a blast of silver spiritual energy, not in attack, but in pure, frustrated fury, striking the ground. Then he ran after him.
"Yurei, I did NOT order you to go there!" Kyoren's hissed command came from behind.
"I apologize, Ribbon Prince and Crown Ribbon!" Yurei called back, not slowing. "I have to follow him!" His disobedience hung in the air, unacceptable and utterly inevitable.
Kyoren's eyes flashed. With a growl of exasperation, he gave chase. He would drag the fool back by his scruff if he had to.
"Those youths…" Kuradome hissed, watching the chain reaction of disobedience unfold. His son, his guard, his charge—all charging into the maelstrom. A ripple of ancient power coursed through him. In a shimmer of dark light, his form expanded, shifting into his majestic three-tailed fox form, massive and primal. With a low rumble, he surged forward after them, a giant shadow in the fog, his senses straining to track the sounds of his reckless, beloved family over the cacophony of the collapsing labyrinth.
The hunt was now a desperate, converging scramble. Paths blurred, dangers multiplied, and the only compass points were the sounds of each other's struggles and the fragile, panicked voice of the heart they were all trying to save.