The perspective shifted abruptly, moving away from the Ling Xiao, soaring miles deep into the forbidding darkness of the Jungle's Core Region.
Here, the trees were ancient, their trunks so wide that ten men linking arms could not encircle them. The air was not merely humid; it was heavy with a chaotic, suffocating pressure that would crush the lungs of a mortal instantly.
Boom!
A shockwave decimated a grove of iron-wood trees, turning centuries-old timber into splinters in a fraction of a second.
In the center of this destruction, a middle-aged man hovered in mid-air. He wore robes of deep crimson, embroidered with patterns that looked disturbingly like weeping eyes. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his eyes were pitch black—no whites, no pupils, just an abyss. From his appearance and the destructive, black aura rolling off him, it was undeniable: He was a Demon.
Opposite him was a monstrosity that defied nature. It was a serpent, through it possessed four clawed legs and a single, massive horn upon its head. It roared, a sound that manipulated the sound waves to shatter rocks.
Watching from a high branch safely out of range were two young men. One had the same pale skin and black eyes as the middle-aged man—a Demon. The other materialized from the smoke into a young boy seated in the same branch-a Spirit.
"Look at that power," the young Demon laughed, wiping a streak of blood from his cheek. He held a flask made from a beast's skull. "Uncle Mo is not holding back today."
"The shockwaves alone started a Beast Tide in the lower regions," the Spirit noted, his voice echoing like it came from everywhere at once.
"The chaotic energy frightened the lower-tier trash."
"Who cares about the trash?" The young Demon took a swig from the flask. "Ah, the blood of a Tier-3 Shadow Leopard is tasty, but nothing beats the essence of a human cultivator. It's a pity we can't cross the border openly."
"Focus," the Spirit hissed. "Observe the fight. It is rare to see a Heaven Realm cultivator in action."
In the world of cultivation, the hierarchy of beasts was absolute, a mirror to the human realms. A Tier-1 Beast was equivalent to the Qi Refinement Stage; they were mindless, driven only by instinct. A Tier-2 Beast, like the Alpha Wolf, matched the Conscious Stage; they began to develop rudimentary intelligence. A Tier-3 Beast, often called a Beast King in the outer lands, rivaled the Earth Realm. They could dominate a region.
But the creature fighting the middle-aged man was a Tier-4 Beast—a Calamity level existence, equal to the Heaven Realm.
"Die," the middle-aged man, Mo Shan, whispered. He didn't shout. He didn't use a flashy technique. He simply extended his hand. The black aura around him condensed into a single, massive palm print that blotted out the crimson moon.
"Demon Art: Abyssal Crush."
The giant palm descended. The Tier-4 Serpent screamed—a sound of true terror—as the space around it solidified. It tried to coil and strike, but the pressure was absolute.
Splat!
With a sickening sound, the massive beast was flattened into the earth. The ground collapsed, forming a crater fifty meters deep. The beast's essence, a blood-red mist, floated up and was inhaled into Mo Shan's nose.
He exhaled, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Barely a snack."
"Uncle Mo!" The two young men flew down, landing at the edge of the crater.
"Did you secure the perimeter?" Mo Shan asked, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.
"Yes," the young Demon grinned, revealing slightly elongated canines.
"We killed everything within five miles. But Uncle... the shockwave pushed the tide towards the human city. Maybe we can hunt a few stray humans?"
"Humans," the Spirit spat the word like poison. "Deceitful, weak worms. I hate their scent."
"We are on a secret task," Mo Shan reprimanded them, his eyes narrowing. "The Elders sent us to retrieve the information of that thing, not to start a war with the Ling Dynasty. The Emperor of this continent is not someone to be trifled with."
They began to move, walking through the forest canopy, heading from the Core Region toward the Middle Region. Unknown to them, a young boy was currently fleeing for his life in their direction, driven deeper into the danger zone by the very tide they had created.
Ling Xiao stumbled over a root, falling hard onto the damp earth. His left shoulder screamed in agony, the broken bone grinding with every movement.
"I can't... I can't stop," he gasped.
He was deep in the Middle Region now. The trees here were twisted, their bark looking like stretched skin. The Beast Tide had thinned out, but that was not a good sign. It meant he had entered the territory of something the stampede feared to cross.
He leaned against a tree, clutching his Spirit-grade sword. The mysterious repulsion that had saved him from the wolves and boars was still active, but he felt weak. His vision was blurring.
Rustle.
Leaves parted. Three figures appeared, landing silently ten meters in front of him.
Ling Xiao froze. These were not beasts. They looked human, yet... wrong. The oppressive aura radiating from them was suffocating, far heavier than General Leo's. It was a darkness that made the air taste like ash.
"Oh? What do we have here?" The young Demon stepped forward, his pitch-black eyes widening in delight. "A human whelp. And he's injured."
The Spirit floated beside him, his form wavering. "He smells... surprisingly pure. Not like the other filth."
"Can I eat him, Uncle Mo?" The young Demon licked his lips, hunger burning in his gaze. "He looks tender."
Ling Xiao gripped his sword, though his hand shook uncontrollably. He tried to channel his Qi, but under the pressure of these three beings, his connection to his Dantian felt severed. He was an ant standing before dragons.
Mo Shan, the middle-aged man, glanced at Ling Xiao with utter indifference. To him, this boy was no more significant than a bug. "Make it quick. We cannot leave traces."
The young Demon grinned, raising his hand. Claws made of shadow extended from his fingertips. "Don't worry, little human. It will only hurt for a second." He lunged.
Ling Xiao couldn't move. He watched death approaching, his mind going blank.
Thump.
Suddenly, Mo Shan vanished and reappeared in front of the young Demon, grabbing his wrist. The force of the stop created a gust of wind that blew Ling Xiao's hair back.
"Uncle?" The young Demon looked confused.
Mo Shan ignored him. His pitch-black eyes were locked onto Ling Xiao. Or rather, they were locked onto the faint, dark energy leaking from Ling Xiao's broken shoulder—the same energy that had repelled the beasts earlier.
"That aura..." Mo Shan murmured, his indifference cracking for the first time.