Chapter 6
The forest no longer felt like a forest.
As Orion moved deeper, the trees seemed to curve away from him, bending at unnatural angles as if bowing or recoiling. The soil was soft—too soft. Every step sank slightly, as though the earth itself was breathing beneath him, rising and falling in slow, uneasy patterns.
He did not stop.
He could still feel the presence that had fled underground. It pulsed like a distant heartbeat, thudding in a slow rhythm that echoed through the roots and into the air. Each pulse felt like a warning. Or perhaps an invitation.
The air thickened as he traveled, the atmosphere heavy enough to make ordinary men collapse from pressure alone. Orion walked through it like passing through a morning fog.
Something shifted behind him.
He turned instinctively, blade half-raised.
A creature hung upside down from a tree branch—thin, elongated, almost skeletal. Its limbs stretched too far, bending in ways that should have broken bone. Its face was wrong—no eyes, no mouth, only a smooth surface like wet clay.
When it realized he noticed it, the creature scuttled backward along the branch like a frantic insect. But it didn't run. It stayed just far enough to watch him.
Orion sensed more.
In the branches.
Behind trunks.
Under roots.
The forest was watching him.
He kept walking. There was no reason to give attention to the weak.
But the further he walked, the bolder the watchers became. More and more creatures emerged—some slithering down trees, others crawling from holes, others hanging like lifeless dolls from vines. Some trembled when he looked at them; others twitched with excitement.
Yet none attacked.
Not yet.
The heartbeat underground grew stronger.
He passed through a narrow pathway formed by towering stone pillars—pillars that were not carved but grown. His fingers brushed one lightly. It pulsed like flesh.
These were not stones.
They were bones.
Something massive had died here. Or slept here.
The ground vibrated beneath him, but not with hostility—almost with… hunger.
Another watcher dropped from the trees, landing on all fours. This one had a mouth—but stretched too wide, filled with needle-like teeth. It opened its jaw silently, staring.
It waited.
They all waited.
Orion slowed.
The entire forest held its breath.
He raised one hand.
Instantly every creature flinched—some collapsing, others scrambling back, their bodies shaking in instinctive terror. The forest itself recoiled as if bracing for the sky to fall.
But he did not attack.
He simply pushed aside a curtain of vines and stepped into an open clearing.
Silence crashed down.
The clearing was circular, carved in the center of the living forest, as though the land itself had built a stage. The trees here were twisted, their trunks spiraling upward like frozen smoke. The soil was darker—nearly black. Thick veins of something like dried blood spider-webbed across the ground.
At the center lay a massive fissure.
Wide. Deep. Breathing.
Light did not enter the crack. Even the air bent strangely around it, warping like heat rising from stone.
The underground heartbeat emanated from within.
As Orion approached, a faint whisper rose from the fissure. Not a word—just sound, like wind passing through the throat of a buried giant.
The whisper grew louder.
The soil around him bulged.
One by one, shapes crawled out—but these were different from the earlier puppets. Their forms were sharper, more defined, their movements cleaner. They were not made of random materials.
They were made from the remains of real warriors.
Armor still clung to some. Shattered weapons were fused into their limbs. Their skulls were half-visible through dried flesh.
These were the fallen who died in this place.
And something below had repurposed them.
Dozens encircled him, forming a ring. Their empty sockets stared at him with patient expectation.
He sheathed his blade.
They still did not attack.
Curious.
Orion stepped toward the fissure, and every undead warrior knelt instantly—heads bowed to the ground, arms stretched forward as if offering themselves.
It was not respect.
It was fear.
The heartbeat below quickened.
A low hum spread across the clearing, making the cracked soil tremble and the black veins glow faintly.
A voice rose.
Not spoken aloud.
But directly into Orion's mind.
"…you… are not the one I consumed… who are you…"
Orion's eyes lowered slightly.
So the thing below could speak.
"A scavenger living in a corpse of a forgotten battlefield," he replied calmly. "Nothing more."
The ground he stood on quivered violently.
The voice hissed.
"…I devour all who trespass… you are not different…"
Orion took another step toward the fissure.
Instantly, the undead warriors trembled in terror. Several shattered themselves voluntarily—cracking their bones as if begging him not to take one more step.
He ignored them.
He peered into the darkness of the fissure.
Only endless black.
But beneath that blackness—something watched him. Something vast. Something old. A creature that had been feeding on fallen cultivators for centuries, growing fat on their lingering remnants.
A Sovereign-level beast, incomplete but dangerous.
So this was the true nature of this corrupted forest.
A devourer that had replaced soil with flesh and roots with veins.
The voice spoke again, louder, angrier.
"…turn back… or be swallowed…"
Orion tilted his head slightly.
"You think you can swallow me?"
The fissure pulsed violently.
"…all things are devoured… all things return to the soil…"
"Then let me show you," Orion said softly, "what stands above soil."
He opened one of his Domains.
Not fully.
Just pressure.
The clearing cracked. Trees snapped. The undead warriors collapsed into dust instantly.
The being underground shrieked.
The soil rose upward as if the ground itself was trying to flee.
Orion stepped to the very edge of the fissure.
He could feel the beast recoiling, withdrawing deep into its burrow.
"No," he murmured. "Come out."
The ground exploded.
A massive creature erupted upward—its body a mountain of fused bone, stone, and flesh. Hundreds of skulls formed its ribs. Veins wrapped around it like living chains. Its head was like a twisted stag skull with a dozen jaws overlapping one another.
It towered over the trees.
It roared—sound shaking the entire forest.
Orion didn't flinch.
The creature lunged.
Orion flicked his finger.
Ink streaked through the air like a black crescent and sliced half the creature's jaw clean off. It staggered backward, bellowing, blood-black essence pouring out like smoke.
The monster swiped a huge limb. Shadows thickened around its claws, moving faster than the eyes of ordinary cultivators could catch.
Orion stepped forward once.
The ground shattered.
He appeared in front of the monster's chest and drove his palm forward. Rivers and Mountains Domain surged. A tidal weight struck the beast, sending its massive frame crashing against the forest wall, flattening everything in its path.
Trees broke. Soil flew. The world quaked.
The creature tried to rise.
A stream of black bamboo shot upward, piercing its abdomen and pinning it to the earth.
It screamed in agony.
Orion raised his hand again.
The sky dimmed.
The beast froze—not from fear, but from instinctive terror of something primal.
Darkness pooled behind Orion.
His Domain responded to him.
A whisper of eternal night.
Not fully awakened yet.
Not fully understood.
But enough.
He clenched his hand.
The darkness snapped forward like a chain.
The creature's body convulsed violently—then unraveled.
Not cut.
Not crushed.
Not burned.
Unmade.
Its mass dissolved into drifting ash that scattered into the air, swallowed by the void-like energy before the wind could touch it.
Silence.
Only Orion remained standing in the center of the ruined clearing.
The fissure was empty.
The presence was gone.
The curse on the forest had lifted.
But Orion's frown deepened.
Because beneath the fading echoes of the creature's death, he sensed something else.
A gaze.
Not from the forest.
Not from the land.
From the sky.
The Domain lights again.
Watching.
Judging.
And somewhere far away…
A woman with covered eyes suddenly smiled.
As if she had just felt something awaken.