Chapter 108

Dread of the Night

Breathing in... was fascinating.

Azariel breathed in yet again, his lips unknowingly curling up into a smile. How long has it been? Thousands of years, perhaps? Locked up in destitute coffins, feeding on nothing but ethereal Qi, bodies encased in suspended animation, awaiting the day of their return.

And that day came.

It has been just about a week since he opened his eyes, feeling the world around him churn like a boiling pot of water. Though it took him an entire day to adjust and slowly restructure his muscles so he could move, it didn't matter; just the fact that his feet touched wet, firm soil again, and that his fingers could trace across harsh bark of the trees, and that his lungs could expand fully with air--all those were more than enough of a motivation.

He wasn't alone in the belief, either; all his kin woke up with him, though they had lost two of the forty-four who were buried.

It was a day long-awaited, and one they thought they'd have to wait for even longer. Whatever the cause was, Azariel swore he'd kneel in gratitude towards it, whether it was a man or a God.

There were a lot of changes to the world from what he remembered, though those changes were expected; gone was the Silver City, buried under the sands of time. In its stead there was a forest, trees yielding to the azure sky above, expanding as far as the eye could see. It seemed all-encompassing, and for a brief few days he (as well as others) were under the belief that the nature had reclaimed the constructs of man, but chancing upon that which they loathed confirmed otherwise. If there were Spirits, there were men. The two were toxically bound to one another through an ancient covenant sealed with blood.

As before, the animals were unable to harm them--even if they were all far, far, far stronger than Azariel and his kin, it did not matter. They could only yield and accept their ultimate fate--become the feed.

As he had to use his cultivation base as an essential feed for all these years, he'd dropped all the way down to Qi Condensation Realm. With less than a week under his belt, he managed to climb to mid Foundation Establishment, ranking himself third of the group. Though he desired to stand on the top, he knew well enough that would never be the case; Noor Bai was the light bursting from the stitched skin of men, as in the past so in the present. They never had an equal among men, and they likely never would.

By some miracle, they'd already reached the Peak of Core Formation Realm, just a breath away from breaking though. Even if it was infuriating, it was also strangely calming. In this unknown world, there was a wall to shield and protect them.

"EVERYONE, CONVERGE AT THE BLOOD POOL IMMEDIATELY!!" the familiar voice tore through the camp, ripping apart Azariel's eardrums and forcing him to gnash his teeth. That arrogance, unyielding indifference to everything but themselves, and the resonant voice...

There was no man who would willingly neglect Noor Bai's order--most would sooner die than do so--and within just a few minutes, everyone converged at the Blood Pool. Except... it wasn't everyone.

With two having not survived the Eons, there ought to have been forty of them--and yet, there seemed to only be twenty-seven. Even in the unlikely scenario that there was one or two outside the voice's reach, and one or two more who decided to undergo their rebellious phase, it still wouldn't make up for the missing numbers.

Noor Bai stood at the front, their arms crossed, face and body covered as always--they used Qi to shore up their skin, turning it metallic-gray, and further layers of robes and clothes to hide who they were. Man, woman, young, old... nobody knew. Only one thing was certain: they were human, at the very least.

"This," they stepped to the side, revealing a sight behind them that had Azariel retch--most others, though, yelped and keeled over, tossing their insides out. "Is worrying."

"Is... is that Sister Nura?" somebody asked.

"Yes, it is. I have found her during my patrol, buried in an extremely shallow grave, her head cleanly sliced off."

"What?!"

"Who did it?!"

"How dare they?!"

"Silence!" everyone obeyed the order. "It has got me thinking--sans the unspeaking Spirits, there is not a soul in this world aware of our awakening. And, if there truly is an Ancient Immortal who would know, if they cared, they would not be doing this, but rather killing us all with a thought."

"..." Azariel's frown deepened as he suddenly felt his guts turn in on themselves. There was a sense of foreboding in Noor Bai's voice, and though their eyes were hidden as well, he could swear he sensed them looking his direction more than once.

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"Who, then? Who among the trees, beneath the sky, amidst the fanfare of life--who would want us gone? None! There are none! We are invisible, silent leaves aflutter in the woods!!" Azariel frowned further, feeling his heart quickening. That was the effect--the (raw or otherwise) charisma that they exuded. "But there is one--for our Feed is low, and for we are meek still, there are weak and strong." though Azariel wanted to turn heel and rip out of the crowd immediately, he felt himself unable, feet frozen to the ground. "Is that not right, Azariel?" all heads turned toward him, and he felt like suffocating beneath the weight of so many eyes.

"I, I didn't--"

"--did you not? All but one who are missing were meant to Feed before you," the group parted suddenly as the stalwart figure began walking. "Who else, Azariel? We all know your petty heart, your wretched desires, your questionable loyalty. Were it not for the grace of your Mother, would you really have been given this gift? On your own merit?" -- Azariel wanted to curse, yet couldn't even lift his head, sniveling almost beneath the invisible eyes. "Yet, you dare stand there and claim you did not. Who else? No one. Kneel." he did. "You are our kin, still--but the crime is one of blood, and flames of it everlasting. Tomorrow, at dawn, we shall offer your head to those you've felled. Let the grudges be thus settled."

It was unfair. Entirely, completely, unmistakably unfair.

And yet, it was all within expectations. Noor Bai loathed him, did so ever since Azariel's Mother gave him the Spirit Feed that was meant for Noor Bai. If it wasn't this, he knew, it would have been something else; he was unlikely to have a future here, but even less so a future out there.

Though, he didn't think it would come so soon--not the cold wrapping of the chains as those he called friends drove spikes through his bones and tangled his arms behind his back, dragging him to the platform. He felt magical energy erupt from within him and the gentle breeze lift him up, and he soon found himself eye-to-eye with the wolf they've hunted. The beast was silent, its gaze almost apathetic.

It was impossible to break a Spirit--they were all aloof, proud, and as cold as the coldest ice. Even if they were driven full of spikes, drained of all their blood, and tortured from full moon to another, they would never yield. Sometimes, Azariel envied that--envied such conviction, one that he was never able to construct for himself.

The wolf merely glanced at him for a moment before it closed its eyes, indifferent; could he blame the beast? While Azariel himself neither participated in the hunt nor fed just yet, were he given the opportunity he most certainly would have. That was how humans were meant to overcome their wretched flesh, their meek existence. If he'd drank, with his talents, he perhaps would have become too valuable to discard so coldly, all on the word of one person.

Deep inside of him, darkness festered, a certain, unspoken yearning--whoever was taking the lives of his kin... he wanted to meet them, and ask that they part Noor Bai's head from the neck.

"Hah," he snickered coldly to himself. Noor Bai was entirely right in the assessment--he felt petty, he felt wretched. But his Mother always warned him--humanity was selfish, uninterested in the conduct of man. He ought to become the same, only ever in want of good for himself. In the end, words rang hollow.

The night soon descended, and he noted some fifteen people walking around the edges of the camp, likely patrolling. They couldn't even be bothered to pretend--none, seemingly, believed he was the killer, and yet they discarded him so quickly he wondered why they even let him wake up and live for a full week.

Azariel was to close his eyes and bite his tongue; if there was one last defiance he could commit himself to, it was denying those bastards the joy of taking his life. He would do it for himself. However, before he could, a fading scream jolted his eyes open as he followed to the source--but there was only darkness.

Others, torches up, raced over but seemed to find nothing. Noor Bai, too, emerged from the hut and joined them, barking orders soon after as the shadows scattered.

There was another--and another right after, two in just a second or two.

This time around, Azariel caught it--well, he caught the sight of something. A flash of light, a fading flicker, a silhouette that immediately bled into darkness as though it was never there.

"WHO IS IT?!!" Noor Bai growled at the darkness, as though a voice would respond--to Azariel's shock, it did. It was a person's voice, oddly soft and melodic.

"Let the wolf go," the voice said. "And leave this place. Forever."

"Huh? Who the hell are you to give orders to me?! Hah, I see. That furred beast. Good. Good." Oh no, Azariel knew Noor Bai as well as he knew himself--if there was one thing they hated was having their pride challenged. It wasn't that they were unbending, but that they were arrogant beyond measure. He saw the figure immediately bolt toward the platform and felt the energy dissipate, both around him and the beast.

The two fell hard on the cold surface, with both yelping.

Noor Bai ignored him, not even glancing at him, taking the beast by the collar and dragging out against the dirt.

"Is this it, huh? Is this your goal? Ha ha, you bastard! I'll cut you both up and stir you into a stew and feed it to the first stray dog that I find!"

"..."

"What is it, huh? Why aren't you talking, you bastard? Come! You sniveling coward! Step out of the dark, if you dare!"

As though beckoned by the words, Azariel saw the figure emerge from the shadows and step into the light--it was a man, perhaps in his thirties or forties, wearing simple robes. His appearance was rather unkempt and wild, and he held a sword in his right hand. Nothing screamed 'deadly killer' about the figure, and yet Azariel felt his blood run cold when he looked into those eyes.

They were aglow, buzzing with the fading vapors of milky-white, transcendent.

Others, too, seemed revolted by the mere sight of those eyes, taking a step back, and Azariel saw something that he never saw in his life--he saw Noor Bai hesitate.

"Put the wolf down," the man spoke yet again. "Take your crap, and get the hell out of this place." Oh no...

"To hell with you!!" Azariel watched the mad cow squeeze his fingers into the wolf's neck but, oddly, no beast's yelping erupted. Rather, not even the cracking of the bones could be heard.

It all happened in a flash, a flash that could not be seen, understood, or comprehended.

Noor Bai's right arm was missing--from shoulder down--and was bleeding profusely. The wolf was no longer with him, but rather by the man's side who still stood at the same spot as before, except both his arms now held something. His right still clutched onto the blade which was now dripping blood, while his left... held a severed arm.

"Huh," the man mumbled to himself. "You guys... are really weak, eh?"