“Stop yelling. They’re all asleep,” Jared said in a mild tone. He began to walk forward, each stride slow, measured, inevitable.
King Redstinger’s pupils pinched to needlepoints. His awareness brushed the perimeter and found every sentry’s aura sunk into a bottomless slumber, not slain, simply unreachable. Cold realization crawled beneath his carapace. When exactly had this stranger acted? And how had he, a High Immortal Seven, felt nothing at all?
“Y-You… Who are you?” His voice no longer sounded like a sovereign, only a frightened beast. Red energy roared over his skin as he lunged; the scarlet tail whipped forward like a poisoned spear at Jared Chance.
The strike moved faster than lightning, the stinger loaded with venom fierce enough to kill a Level Six High Immortal outright. Jared raised his right hand; two fingers slid together like closing chopsticks.
Crack! The sound popped sharp and clean. The deadly barb stopped between those fingers, absolutely still, unable to drive even a hair’s breadth farther.
“W-What?!” Shock ripped from the scorpion king’s throat. He yanked, but the tail refused to budge, gripped as if by celestial pliers.
Jared pressed ever so slightly.
Snap!
The armored point splintered under that tiny squeeze. The once-indestructible stinger lay in shards, crushed between two placid fingers.
“Argh!” The shriek tore through the tent cloth. The tail was a life-bound artifact, its shattering lashed pain straight into his spirit sea. Agony flared white behind his eyes, nearly buckling his knees.
Battle instincts overrode the agony; his free hand slapped toward the crimson gourd at his belt. That vessel housed Redstinger Venom Sand; once loosed, the toxic grains blanketed everything, rotting flesh beneath Level Seven in a breath.
Jared moved first, speed eclipsing thought. The instant the palm met the gourd, Jared materialized before the scorpion king, his left hand speared forward, two fingers driving for the king’s brow. King Redstinger tried to twist away, but the surrounding space clamped down like cooling glass; his limbs refused every command.
“No!” Despair flooded his voice.
A muted hiss marked finger meeting flesh. Chaos Shatterfinger burrowed through the glabella, gray light vanishing into the brain. The scorpion king stiffened, color drained from his eyes, aura collapsing like a gutted furnace. Then his body sagged and toppled, lifeless.
Jared didn’t spare the corpse a glance; one casual gesture drew the crimson gourd and the man’s storage ring into his palm. He turned to the two trembling vixen youths, voice gentle.
“Do not fear. I’m here to free you. Dress yourselves and come with me.”
The two fox girls blinked as though waking from a heavy fog. A startled breath left both of them, and their hands flew to smooth torn sleeves and tug loose collars back into place. When they straightened, wide amber eyes found Jared, and relief flooded their faces in a shy, grateful glow.
Jared turned toward the flap and lifted it. He tilted his head, signaling them forward, then stepped ahead so the lantern light framed a clear path. The sisters followed close, bare feet whispering across the rugs, until they slipped into the colder night air behind him.
Beyond the canvas, dozens of Redstinger Royal Guards sprawled across the packed earth, limbs tangled, helmets askew. Thunderous snores rattled from every throat, a rolling, comic storm that broke against the canyon walls. Not one guard stirred; Jared’s earlier Chaos Hypnotic Art held them in a dream deeper than wine or wounds.
Jared paused to survey the heap of armor and muscle. Fingers flexed once, then relaxed; a single flick could have ended every breathing chest before him. He let the thought pass. Dead men screamed louder than sleepers, and tonight he wanted silence, not charity.
A muted swirl of gray mist rose beneath Jared’s boots, swallowed the three figures, and stretched into a slender arc of light. The arc skimmed over tents, watchtowers, and canyon rim without stirring so much as a banner tassel, then vanished into the moonlit sky toward Skyfiend Gorge.
From the moment he entered Redstinger’s camp to the instant the gorge walls welcomed him back, less than an incense-stick’s burn had passed. Somewhere behind that silent flight, King Redstinger’s name had already joined the dead. His throne sat empty, his scorpion tail broken on a tent floor that would never feel his stride again. Yet the celestials massed beyond the gorge marched through their nightly drills, oblivious, banners still bright with his sigil. Not a single horn sounded to mark the loss.
***
Moonlight spilled across the gorge courtyard as Jared set down, the two fox girls stepping shakily beside him. King Ironhide’s massive frame froze mid-stride, Elder Hartcrest’s antlered head jerked forward, disbelief widening both sets of eyes.
“King Redstinger… Really dead?” King Ironhide’s rumbling voice broke the hush. He snatched the crimson scorpion token from Jared’s palm, rotating it between clawed fingertips as though the carved chitin might deny the truth. Each inspection ended the same: unmistakable seal, fresh owner.
“Dead. Body and soul both scattered.” Jared’s reply came level, neither cruel nor proud. The words carried no swell of triumph; they fell with the casual certainty of a man reporting finished chores.
Jared guided the shaken fox sisters toward Elder Hartcrest; a gentle nod sent the stag-elder bustling to find blankets and rest. Turning then, Jared leaned over the sand table where miniature ridges and camp markers traced the warfront.
A measured fingertip tapped the figurine marked Nightbat. “His speed and sonic craft favor the dark; we strike before dawn and deny him both.”
Excitement rattled King Ironhide’s plated shoulders; the great bear’s fur bristled as though charged by storm. “Brother Jared, your methods border on the uncanny! End the five traitor lords and we might yet break this siege!”
Elder Hartcrest’s ears tilted back, voice low. “Your swift victories will soon reach the Beast-Quelling Venerable. Should he march with the celestials, our walls may not hold.”
Steel glimmered behind Jared‘s calm gaze. “Let him come. Inside that ball he hides behind layers of stone and oath; out here his throat lies bare, and I have ways to sever it.”
Jared tracked the thinning night clouds, judging the hours left until first light. “No delay. I leave now. King Ironhide, gather an elite unit and watch for my flare. The moment Nightbat falls, drive at the enemy’s west wing and strip their stores.”
King Ironhide slammed a fist to his chest. “Understood!”
Gray brilliance wrapped Jared once more, and in a blink the streak shot beyond the gorge rim, swallowed by the moon-drenched dark.
***
Western Front, King Nightbat’s camp.
The Nightbat encampment crouched beneath the plateau like a wound that refused to close, every torch extinguished, every corridor soaked in damp shadow. Canvas had no place here; rows of tunnels bored through limestone, and countless bat soldiers hung inverted along the walls, wings cocooning their bodies. From time to time a thin pulse of ultrasound rippled through the darkness, testing for any breath that did not belong.
At the cavern’s core, a crimson pool steamed softly. King Nightbat floated within, arms spread, black wings half-submerged, skin drinking the simmering gore like nourishment. When he rose, he cut a gaunt silhouette, tall, bone-lean, clad in shadow-woven robes. Vast black wings unfurled behind him; scarlet pupils burned above fanged lips.
His cultivation fed on stolen lifeblood; each surge of power demanded another draught from the unwilling. Dozens of shriveled rebel bodies bobbed beside him, hollow eyes staring upward as though still pleading for release.
An unseen tremor brushed the cavern mouth. Nightbat’s eyes snapped open, pupils tightening to knife points while he pivoted toward the entrance. A wisp of power drifted in, older than the camp, older than the war, so faint it barely stirred the air, yet it prickled every instinct he owned. Unease coiled deep in his gut.
“Who?” The single word cut through the silence like a blade edged with suspicion. Nightbat’s wings snapped wide, membranes trembling, every muscle poised to launch or strike.
From the mouth of the tunnel a gray shape materialized, stepping out of darkness as though it were only another doorway: Jared.
“I came to kill you…” Jared’s tone remained almost gentle, a chill promise drifting on the damp air.
Recognition flashed, his scarlet pupils shrank to pinpricks, and a low hiss slipped between sharp teeth. The stories of a killer who felled the Divine Punishment Hall’s Five Venerables thundered through his thoughts; those tales matched the aura now filling the cave.
“It’s you!” The words burst out, half fear, half fury. Nightbat’s lips curled into a dark smile. “Bold, trespassing so deep in my nest. Since you arrived, you’ll never leave alive.”
Jaws yawning impossibly wide, he released a pulse of sound no ear could register. The vibration raced forward, invisible and instant, hunting its victim’s very soul. Nothing stirred in its wake, yet foes below seventh-grade upper immortal usually dropped mind-shattered before they could even scream.
Jared‘s brow tightened by the width of a hair. Behind that small gesture, a tide of chaotic force rolled out of his consciousness. It flattened itself into a gray shield that hung in mid-air like mist, opaque yet strangely calm.
The horrific sound wave slammed into the gray shield. For a heartbeat the surface rippled, then the vibration vanished like rainwater swallowed by sand.
