Silence crept in—thick enough that Yan Zhi could hear the slow, pounding drum of his own heartbeat.
The air still trembled with the remnants of the earlier explosion, yet no sound remained except his ragged breathing.
He knelt in the center of that shadowed realm, one knee pressed into the fractured ground, one hand bracing his weight.
The wounds that once bled freely had closed—not through the mercy of time, but under the shroud of a thin black mist rising from within his flesh.
The mist seeped into his wounds, knitting muscle and skin, leaving no scar behind… as if the injuries had never existed.
Lifting his gaze, he saw faint black lines beneath his skin, pulsing in the dim light spilling from cracks in the air itself.
The veins throbbed with a steady, potent rhythm—at times writhing like serpents beneath his flesh, coiling and sliding along his arms and neck.
So this… is the power of the second vein?
He closed his eyes, sinking deeper into his own consciousness.
There, in the vast and silent abyss within, a voice began to echo—not human, but ancient.
It was the sound of an era long buried, vibrating through the marrow of his bones.
"Vein of Devouring Shadows… the second path of the Shadow Sovereign. Power not born to endure… but to consume."
Visions flared before him—shadows swallowing light, devouring souls, draining strength with a single touch.
Yet among those visions came one that chilled his heart…
A shadow too hungry to control itself, one that turned inward, consuming its own master.
His eyes opened slowly, a faint tremor in his palm.
He understood—this was a double-edged blade.
The wind began to shift.
From the great gate ahead, the air drew inward, pulling every speck of dust and ash toward its seams.
Above, the clouds spiraled slowly into its pull.
From beyond the cracks of the gate came whispers—thin, almost inaudible, in a tongue older than his blood.
One word broke through clearly:
"Devour."
The shadow beneath his feet shivered… and smiled.
It was not his smile.
Yan Zhi exhaled, stepping forward.
With each step, the shadows coiled tighter around him, merging into his form, flowing like ink drawn back into the tip of a pen.
He halted before the gate, placing his palm upon its surface—cold as stone, yet thrumming with the pulse of something alive.
"Very well," he whispered. "Show me what you're hiding."
The gate quivered softly… and the chapter ended before it could open.
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