The transition from the dark tunnel to the caldera was a physical assault. The air here didn't just carry heat; it had mass. It sat in the lungs like hot silt. Lei Ze hit the ground in a low crouch, his boots skidding on a shelf of black, glass-slick obsidian.
The sky was a bruised charcoal, lit from below by the rhythmic, molten pulse of a volcano that occupied the center of the world. It groaned—a tectonic sound that vibrated through the soles of his feet.
He stood, wiping a smear of soot from his cheek. To the left, a jagged gorge swallowed the light, exhaling a thin, sulfurous mist. To the right, a path of scorched white stone hugged the cliffside.
Avoid the left. Jìng Xū's warning was a cold needle in his mind.
Lei Ze began to move. He leaped across fissures where the earth's blood bubbled orange and thick. The mountain coughed. Blazing rocks, the size of carriage wheels, whistled through the air. One shattered against a spire ten paces to his left, peppering his robes with grit. He didn't stop to look. He rolled under a descending shard, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
"Why the right?" he muttered, his voice a dry rasp. "What stays in the dark on the left?"
He rounded a bend and the roar of the magma died behind a wall of stone. Before him sat a temple.
It was an impossibility. Thousands of years of ash and tremor should have reduced it to gravel, yet the white stone was polished to a mirror finish. It didn't just reflect the light; it seemed to bleed a soft, sterile luminescence. No dust motes drifted in the air. No moss clung to the masonry.
He ascended the steps.
High above, a shadow detached itself from a fluted pillar. It was a segmented thing, the thickness of a tree trunk, moving with the sickening fluid grace of a hunter. It didn't make a sound. It slipped through the rafters as Lei Ze crossed the threshold.
The interior was a cathedral of silence. Murals of celestial lords watched him from the walls, their painted eyes devoid of mercy. Lei Ze walked the central aisle. Every nerve in his body was a live wire.
Skree.
The sound was thin, like a metal file on bone. Lei Ze spun, his hands coming up, fingers curled into claws. The hall was empty.
"Too quiet," he whispered.
A blur of motion crossed his periphery. Something massive. He focused on a single pillar, his breathing shallow, waiting for the air to shift.
It pounced.
The centipede was a nightmare of chitin and mandibles. It dropped from the vaulted ceiling, its razor-toothed maw open wide enough to take his head. Lei Ze dived, the wind of the creature's snap whistling past his ear. He rolled over the marble floor, coming up in a defensive stance.
The beast didn't rush. It coiled, its hundreds of legs clicking against the stone in a slow, rhythmic tap. It was intelligent. It was waiting for his pulse to climb.
Lei Ze didn't give it time. He slammed his heel into the floor, funneling a burst of golden Qi through the marble. The shockwave buckled the floorboards, tossing the centipede's front segments into the air.
He moved. He caught the creature mid-arc, driving a fist into its armored head.
The impact was a dull thud. Thick, emerald fluid sprayed against a white pillar. The centipede slammed into the stone, the masonry cracking, but it didn't die.
It ignited. The creature's movements became a blinding, erratic smear. It scuttled up the wall, its legs carving deep gouges into the murals. Lei Ze fired a series of white-hot energy blasts, but the beast flowed around them, its body rippling like a whip.
It hissed and spat.
A glob of green acid tore through the air. Lei Ze jerked his shoulder back. The liquid hit a nearby statue; the stone bubbled and dissolved into a foul-smelling sludge in seconds.
"Acid," he grunted, backing away.
The centipede was a shadow on the walls now. Lei Ze paused, closing his eyes, trying to sense the displacement of air.
The mistake cost him.
The creature hit him from behind like a falling house. He was driven into a partition wall, the stone giving way under the combined weight. They tumbled into a hidden sanctum, a space that felt like the heart of a frozen star.
In the center stood the Pagoda.
It was a nine-tiered monument of emerald jade, so deep it looked like solidified forest water. Gilded eaves of dark gold functioned as lightning rods, drawing a constant, humming stream of Yang energy from the ceiling. At the very apex, a sphere of white light—the Jade Sun—bathed the hall in a glare that made Lei Ze's eyes water.
The centipede roared, its mandibles clicking for a final strike. Lei Ze's hand closed around a jagged, broken wooden beam from the wreckage of the wall. As the beast lunged, he drove the splintered wood upward.
It pierced a yellow eye, sinking deep into the creature's brain. He yanked it out and drove it again into the throat.
The centipede thrashed, its legs scratching a frantic, meaningless pattern into the pristine floor, before it finally collapsed. The green blood pooled around Lei Ze's boots.
He stood, chest heaving, his gaze fixed on the monument. "How do you work?"
He walked toward it. The air thickened. It was a wall of purification energy that pushed against his chest, resisting his very existence. He forced his legs to move, his muscles screaming against the invisible pressure.
He reached out. His palm touched the cool jade.
The rejection was a physical blow.
A screech of high-pitched resonance tore through the hall. The white light of the Pagoda turned a violent, bruised red where it touched his skin. The Demon King's essence—the cold, dark seed in his marrow—reacted like salt in an open wound. The Pagoda sensed the rot. It didn't see a disciple; it saw an infection.
Lei Ze was hurled back ten feet, his hand smoking, the skin of his palm blistered.
"Not enough," he hissed, the heat in the back of his neck rising.
He stood up. He reached inward, past the red hunger of the demon and the distant calm of the Dao. He found the Golden Core—the part of him that was still the boy who promised Lán Tíng he would avenge her mother. He focused that single point of human intent, using it to bury the dark energy deep beneath his ribs.
He walked back. The pressure was worse now, the Pagoda's will trying to crush his lungs.
He slammed his hand against the jade again.
The light flared, blinding him. Red and white fought on the surface of his skin, a war of purification against corruption. The pain was a white-hot needle in his brain. He didn't pull away. He let the Pagoda's light bridge into his spiritual sea, even as it burned his meridians.
The Pagoda pulsed. Once. Twice.
The screeching died into a low, vibrating hum. The emerald jade began to glow with a soft, cautious warmth. The bond was a jagged, imperfect thing, but it held.
Lei Ze's knees buckled as the pressure vanished. He stayed on the floor, his hand still resting against the jade, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"I have it," he whispered.
But as he looked back toward the tunnel he had fallen through, he felt the resonance of something else. Something cold and heavy. Something that didn't belong in a temple of light.