The Beasts
1088 Words
A resonant call echoed across the sect grounds, slicing through the morning mist like a celestial blade. But this was no ordinary summons—it carried weight, vibrating through the Qi-infused air, sinking into the marrow of every disciple who heard it.
Those above the Eighteenth Level of Qi Refinement were ordered to assemble in the War Hall, where the Elders had gathered. Within its towering walls, masters sat in silent contemplation, their fingers weaving complex formation sigils over spiritual battle maps that pulsed with shifting energies.
The air was thick. Not just with tension, but with an unspoken dread that claws at the soul.
Daphne fastened the ties of her robes, her heartbeat a fierce drum against her ribs. This was no mere exercise. No training session. This was real.
She saw it in the steel-set jaws of her fellow disciples, in the way seasoned warriors gripped their weapons, knuckles white.
The time for lessons had ended. Now, they would fight.
The march began like the pounding of war drums, an organized chaos of spirit-beasts galloping, armored figures soaring through the sky on sword-flight, and whispered incantations humming in the wind.
They moved like one, cutting through twisted forest paths, across rivers reflecting the silver glow of the moon.
Then—smoke.
Burning wood.
And so smothered the sickly-sweet stench of roasted flesh.
The village there was burnt with the shambles of smoke, hissing ember shells that spiraled into the very gut of destruction, collapsing obsidian rooftops.
The smoke spun in curls to the sky as a signal of despair. And within the ruins, the shadows moved.
Fiends. Their eyes burned like molten embers, flickering in the night. Their twisted forms slithered through the wreckage, patient, waiting.
Then, the roar came.
A sound so deep, so primal, it shook the earth beneath their feet.
Even the veteran cultivators hesitated.
Whatever lurked beyond the flames was not simply a beast. It was something worse. No orders were needed.
The moment they arrived, the air ignited with battle.
Spiritual Qi crackled like a storm, swords unsheathing in a symphony of steel. Warcries resonated, shaking the foundations of the battlefield.
Daphne was already on the move, her celestial chains snapping free. Their links burned brightly with imbued energy. A palm thrust out, flames screaming to life, spiraling into an arc of fire.
The near dupe shrieked, its blackened scales seeping under relentless heat, metamorphosing into that distorted form now crashed on a heap of smoldering ruin. To her right, the training masters were wearing protective barriers, sealing screaming villagers against further invasion.
Healers raced about, hands shining with some sort of purifying qi and mending wounds faster than they were being inflicted. Above, winged beasts shrieked as they screeched through the smoke, talons flashing from the firelight.
Archers released rune-carved arrows, glowing and departing from their launching position clear-fire against the phantoms venturing on.
Daphne had barely taken another breath before another creature lunged.
She rolled beneath its claws, heat rising in her veins as she retaliated—flames surged forth, swallowing the beast whole.
It howled, collapsing into ash.
And yet—for every fiend that fell, another took its place.
They were relentless.
Daphne’s body ached.
Her Qi reserves were running dangerously low, her breathing heavy.
But she refused to fall.
She hadn’t trained endlessly, hadn’t endured countless hardships, only to falter now.
Then—a roar unlike the others.
A presence. A will.
This one was different.
The battlefield stilled for a moment, a brief pause in the chaos.
Daphne turned—her heartbeat like thunder in her ears. And there it stood.
A beast unlike the rest.
Larger. More lethal.
And in its gaze—not hunger. Not instinct.
Intelligence. Malice. It had been watching. Waiting.
And now—it had chosen her.
She gritted her teeth, cheeks taut, as she tightened her grip over the Celestial Chains.
Gleaming, the links flickered with a pulse of any remaining Qi she had left.
With an effortless flick of her wrist, she released the spear-like tip, slicing through the air.
The chain pierced its mark.
It screeched and twisted in agony as the energy burned through it.
Daphne yanked back, already shifting into her next attack. Then it hit her.
Not a claw.
Not a fang.
But a sensation.
A scent familiar. Unshakable.
It drifted in like a whisper in the wind.
Honey—golden and thick.
Coffee—strong, grounding.
A memory of quiet mornings, of half-lit sunlight, of smothered laughter behind soft pillows.
Her body hesitated.
A moment. A single moment.
And that was all it took.
Impact.
A beast slammed into her, pain lancing through her body as the breath was ripping from her lungs.
Her vision darkened.
Then — Nothing.
Daphne woke up gasping for air.
With every nerve ending screaming at her, pain settled into each fiber of her being.
The coffee and honey scent lingers in the air-how unfirmly familiar, but never too familiar to mask the discomfort from her wounds.
Her eyes opened to find herself in a carriage.
Dark wood.
Silken drapes trembling with motion.
The entire world felt as though it was fleeing.
And yet—there was warmth.
A touch.
A presence.
She swiveled her head— And her heart skipped a beat.
Next to her stood a magnificent man: a beauty so effortless that it felt almost unnatural. His hair was midnight black and flecked with silver.
Eyes—storm-wrought, shifting between steel and clouded gray.
And in the tempest of intensity, yet an underlying gentleness.
She struggled to form words. Her voice was hoarse, edged with pain.
"Where am I?"
The man’s gaze held hers, unreadable, yet calm.
"You are safe now."
His voice was low, steady, a whisper like the wind before a coming storm.
"We are traveling to a place where you can heal."
Confusion flickered in her chest; a quiet thread of hope tangled in uncertainty.
The battle—the flames, the beasts, the war.
She remembered.
And yet—now she was here.
With him.
"What happened?" she rasped.
A pause. Then—a knowing smile.
One that somehow made her feel safe.
"You fell. The battle wasn’t lost."
His words settled into her, heavy yet strangely soothing.
The carriage continued onward, carrying her into the unknown.
She let her eyes slip close, allowing the warmth of his hand to tether her to something real.
Because, for the first time in a long while— even in pain, she was not alone.
- Writer
