Chapter 640 - Storm of the Abyss (XIII) (Patreon)

Light was flashing rapidly, over and over, in an almost hypnotic rhythm. Long Tian had to blink at the practically same interval, closing his eyes when the light would go away and opening them when it'd return, as it was the only way to resist the illusion. At the same time, he had to weather the storm of six or so cloaked figures assailing him from all sides, with swords, axes, and rapiers of energy aiming for his head, throat, and heart.

Sensing the change in the wind to his right, he closed his eyes as the light vanished and ducked, charging Qi into his heels and bounding just a few feet backwards to dodge the strike of the sword while retaliating with an upward slash of his own. The attack met another blade, the resulting clang of the weapons rattling his ears.

It wasn't just his sight--all sensations were skewed and played with. The sound traveled unevenly even if it was traveling from the exact same distance. Parts of the same sound would arrive at different points, creating a disharmony that made him feel nausea. He'd never experienced anything like it, not in the thousands of years that he had been alive.

At the same time, he had to clog up his nostrils with Qi as he knew very well that a thousand different scents were rippling outwards from every which way, each one more intoxicating than the last.

He opened his eyes in the rhythm, catching a glimpse of the rubble that the central auction hall had become. Most of the private booths above had been destroyed along with the ceiling, revealing the sky that wasn't quite... normal. There was another array there, one of far, far, far greater grade, that was causing the reality to warp around it. Every once in a while, it would ripple and leak, incapable of containing fully the weight of two near Imperial-level figures fighting, and though the leaks were small, they would immediately disrupt all battles underneath, on the ground, forcing everyone to put up a barrier of Qi to just barely survive.

The auction platform that had just moments ago, it felt, held the poignant reality of excitement was leveled with the ground underneath it, alongside the surrounding auditorium that was now housing destroyed pillars, tiles, stone-cast benches and chairs, and among all of them thousands of unmoving corpses. Some had died on the initial impact, incapable of withstanding it, though most had died in the minutes after as a result of fighting.

He closed his eyes again as the light vanished.

Springing to his feet, he spun in place and danced with the sword in his hand, deflecting two strikes though failing to detect the third. A flying dagger found its way into his side and spleen. He immediately ejected it and cauterized the wound with a burst of Qi, but the flash of pain had disrupted him. He didn't open his eyes at the precise point, and by the time he did, he had to close them practically immediately, having gained no valuable information.

Long Tian had never fought like this--he wasn't even executing high-level arts, and neither did any one of the people fighting alongside him, as they were fearful of accidentally hitting each other. They fought as they did when they were at the Foundation Establishment Realm--with stances and slow, methodical strikes, and with precise footwork. All the lessons that had slowly been carved out of him as he learned to fly and to conjure arrays of Sword Qi large enough to level a city were slowly returning, one by one, in the time of need.

Not quick enough, however, as he sustained another injury, pushing himself another foot back with a grunt. Mumbling under his breath, he opened his eyes and saw a cloaked figure emerge from his left flank and, knowing that he couldn't sustain this kind of a fight any longer, he momentarily threw caution to the wind, executing his movement art and appearing right behind the cloaked figure with a flurry of Sword Qi surging around him, his sword already in a downward motion.

As the movement was quite aggressive, most of the wounds that he had closed up forcibly had opened back up, forcing him to pop the last pill that he had been holding onto between the gaps of his teeth. Luckily, his downward slash tore through the cloaked figure with ease, creating a shower of blood and gore that splintered outward, soaking him. It was wet, yet not; as with all other sensations, it was plagued by uncomfortable changes.

Rather than blood soaking through his clothes, a sensation he'd experienced many of times before and knew deeply, it was more akin to someone tossing a bag of flour and then dousing him in water. Grimy, heavy, with empty patches of uneven distribution.

He had no time to ruminate on it, closing his eyes again and ducking to the side rather than back. He couldn't go much further back, as Yuhan'er was just there, maybe another forty feet behind him, and she was still recovering. That was their only hope--they fought not to win, but to endure long enough for her to recover and save them. And their numbers were slowly dwindling, he was certain. While he couldn't ascertain the exact number, they had definitely fallen below a hundred, as they were forced to close ranks more than three times now, constantly falling back.

Opening his eyes, he deflected a hazy bend of flames with a curved, arched trail behind it; it behaved more like an animal than an incorporeal energy, trouncing against the ground and almost 'limping' away rather than dissipating.

He struck back deftly, managing to wound one of the cloaked figures just enough to make them back off for a moment, buying a moment or reprieve. Inspecting his dantian and meridians, they were both a mess. He'd been running on pills for a while now, and the toxins were slowly beginning to pile up. Much more than this, he knew, and it would become irreversible.

On top of that, it seemed the air he was breathing itself was toxic--it was like an invisible fire within his lungs any time he'd take a deep breath, flaming out against him from within.

Just endure, he kept telling himself, over and over. He had faith in Yuhan'er. When she recovered, she would put a stop to all of it. She was the only one at the Nascent Soul Realm, best he could tell. While there were a few cloaked figures at the Nirvana Realm tangling up with Elders of the Holy Lands, that was it.

That had to be it.

"Fall back!" a voice finally broke through the mist and haze, and like a song of clarity, it woke him up. The strange, uncomfortable sensations dulled, and he finally experienced the world as it was meant to be experienced. Accompanying the voice, there was a massive cleave of the blade that split apart the remaining five figures he was fighting in a single, fell swoop.

It was perfectly aimed, despite him being surrounded by them. Only Yuhan'er could do that.

He glanced back and saw her standing, Stormcaller in her hand, pointing out as lightning crackled against the cold emerald steel.

She swung again, intending to sever the lives of the remaining cloaked figures when a burst of Earthen Qi erupted from the back--a cloaked figure emerged from the debris and rubble, stones dancing around its figure, a massive, palm-shaped compost of earth having slammed into Yuhan'er's attack, stalling it.

... he was wrong, Long Tian realized.

They were prepared for everything. Everything.

Which left just one question ringing inside his mind repeatedly: who the hell were these people, and where did they come from?!