The air around the gate seemed to freeze.
No wind. No sound. Only a faint pulse—like a heartbeat—throbbed from the surface of the colossal obsidian doors, buried deep within the stone.
Yan Zhi stood still, palm pressed against its surface.
The cold that seeped into his hand was no mere chill of the flesh—it bit straight into the marrow, dragging his thoughts toward an abyss without end.
From the cracks between the doors, a black radiance seeped out.
Not light… but shadows so dense they shimmered with their own mournful glow.
Then the voice came again.
Clearer now. Closer.
It spoke as if whispering directly into his ear, yet its echo rolled through every corner of the space around him.
"Enter… Devourer."
Yan Zhi's pupils contracted.
His heart gave a single beat—and then everything slowed.
The dust suspended in the air froze.
The ripples of shadow beneath his feet turned still.
Something pulled him forward.
Not his body—but his soul.
His consciousness was drawn into the narrow gap between the two towering doors, slipping through layers upon layers of darkness.
In that darkness, he saw.
A boundless field stretched out before him, where pillars of shadow rose like ancient monoliths.
Between those pillars, faceless beings moved—forms of thick smoke, yet each bore eyes that should not exist, glowing a deep, blood-red hue.
And in the center of that vast plain…
It stood.
Neither man nor demon, but The Devourer.
Its form was vague, yet each breath it took sent tremors through the layers of shadow, and each gaze threatened to tear soul from flesh.
The entity inclined its head, as though weighing his worth.
When it spoke, it did so in a tongue that should have perished thousands of years ago—yet Yan Zhi understood every word.
"If you wish to pass through this gate… prove that you are worthy to devour."
The shadows around him began to churn, folding in on themselves, sealing the space.
One more step… and the battle would begin.
A battle not of flesh alone, but of the very soul.
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