Chapter Two: Breath Beneath the Ruins
The deafening explosions gradually faded—not because the divine war had ended, but because the center of battle had shifted beyond the horizon, leaving a scarred wasteland and a deathly silence—a silence punctuated only by faint crackles of burning debris and the groans of the dying.
Elian coughed up the dust he had inhaled, struggling to push himself up from the scorching earth. Every bone in his body protested, and his ears still rang incessantly. He looked around in confusion. The cellar where he had hidden had long since vanished, replaced by a massive crater that spewed blistering blue smoke.
He had survived.
But why?
He suddenly remembered the divine corpse—the faint, dark-golden glow that had protected him. Panicked, he turned to search.
The colossal body still lay at the bottom of the pit, but something had changed. The strange aura around it was rapidly fading, like a candle flickering in the wind. Its massive form began to grow translucent, as if slowly dissipating from the world.
A surge of inexplicable panic gripped Elian. Whatever had been supporting him was disappearing. He crawled forward desperately.
As the glow weakened, the suffocating residual energy and the faint stench of corruption seeped back, stinging his skin and causing unbearable discomfort.
Then, the fragmented knowledge that had forcibly entered his mind resurfaced—not as a flood this time, but as a few clear fragments: instinctual guidance on how to breathe and direct the faint energy within his body.
[…Qi sinking… Dantian… Mind guarding… Primordial One…]
He did not understand the words, but the accompanying bodily sensations were unmistakably clear.
Instinct for survival overrode everything. He had no time to comprehend what it was. Following the most primitive guidance, he tried to imitate it.
He lay on the ground, forcing himself to ignore the pain and the surrounding danger, attempting to adjust his breathing. Not the short, panicked gasps from before, but a deeper, slower rhythm, carrying a strange, almost musical cadence.
Inhale… a subtle, almost imperceptible warmth peeled from the air, sinking along his breath into his lower abdomen…
Exhale… slowly releasing the filth and pain within…
One time, two times…
The process was awkward and arduous. He was frequently interrupted by aftershocks or sharp pain from his injuries. The so-called warmth was so faint it almost seemed imaginary.
But gradually, after an unknown span of time, at the end of a deep, focused inhale, a clear, unmistakable stream of warmth—thin as a strand of hair but undeniably real—finally coalesced deep in his lower abdomen and remained stable.
Almost immediately, the searing pain caused by the wild energies and corruption outside eased slightly! Though minor, to Elian—so acutely aware of every sensation—it was like tasting the first drop of water in a desert.
He snapped his eyes open, staring at his hands in disbelief.
What… what was this power? It was neither holy light nor abyssal energy. It came from… deep within his own body.
Then—
"Whoosh!"
A sharp sound pierced the air!
Elian's scalp tingled violently, and by instinct, he rolled to the side.
"Thunk!"
A metal bolt, faintly glowing with purple light, had embedded itself deep into the spot where he had been lying, its tip still trembling!
Elian's heart leapt to his throat as he turned to see where it had come from.
Three figures had appeared on the edge of the crater, looking down at him. They wore tattered leather armor, stained with blood and dirt, eyes shining with greed, cruelty, and the madness of survival on the edge of an apocalypse.
Vultures. After divine wars, there were always people like this—scavengers who dared not enter the main battle, prowling the edges of the battlefield to loot the dead, or even… attack survivors.
At their head was a burly man with a single eye, holding a crossbow still smoking from use. His remaining eye was fixed on the dissipating divine corpse at the pit's center—and on Elian, seemingly frail and defenseless beside it.
"Hey, look what we've found," the one-eyed man rasped, his voice rough and dripping with malice. "A kid who didn't quite die… and a… well, a 'big one' that looks valuable."
His two companions chuckled low and greedily, their gaze flicking between Elian and the corpse, sizing up their prospective prize.
Elian's body turned icy. The faint glimmer of hope he had just felt was instantly crushed by the looming threat. Unarmed and injured, he faced three people clearly bent on ill intent.
The tiny warmth he had just conjured stirred nervously in his lower abdomen, disturbed by his rising panic.
The one-eyed man raised the crossbow, cocking it once more. The cold steel bolt was aimed at Elian.
"Kid," he sneered, "thanks for guarding our… loot. Now, you can die."