Leaving the stone forest, Ye Chenyu found the path into the depths of South Mountain growing ever more obscure. The roots of ancient trees sprawled across the damp earth like blackened hands reaching to devour all. No sooner had he stepped into this new domain than a pungent, sickly-sweet stench assaulted his lungs—a mingling of rotting flesh and fermenting flowers—that pressed heavily against his chest.
The air was thick with clinging humidity. Each step sank into softer soil, releasing bubbling gasps from beneath the mire. The low grass had withered into black husks, oozing viscous sap that left angry red welts wherever it touched exposed skin.
Ye Chenyu halted. Ahead lay an endless swamp. The water was sheathed in an oily, bluish-black film, broken here and there by floating corpses of fish and scattered white bones, all reeking of decay. He knew he had entered the most perilous place yet.
Then—thoom.
A muffled resonance rippled through the air, like a war drum from antiquity pounding in his chest. His heart jolted; his breath quickened. The mist quivered and parted slightly, and from the dark water a colossal figure emerged.
It was a giant toad. Its back rose like a mound of stone, mottled with swollen warts that glistened wetly in the dim light. Each time its throat swelled, the very air trembled, the sound heavy enough to crush a man's heart. The swamp shuddered with its guttural calls; the floating fish corpses rolled over, their bellies splitting with rot, spilling pus into the water.
Ye Chenyu stiffened, stepping back—only to hear a slithering scrape behind him. From the weeds, a massive shadow slid forth. Scales of mottled black and green shimmered with damp malice. Its eyes burned red, like lanterns of blood, and its tongue flickered rapidly, each hiss releasing a poisonous stench that blackened and shriveled the marsh grass it touched, as though seared by fire.
Trapped between the two, Ye Chenyu felt the air itself press down on him, thickened with venom. Every breath seared his lungs; his vision wavered; his throat grew dry. Even his blood seemed to race unnaturally fast.
He dared not fight. A single sound, a single heavy breath, and he would be prey.
Bending low, Ye Chenyu tore a strip of cloth from his sleeve and bound it tight across his mouth and nose, dulling the poison. Slowly, he crouched and picked up a stone, casting it far into the depths of the swamp.
Plunk.
The splash rang loud in the suffocating mist. At once, the toad's bulbous eyes swiveled, and its massive body lunged toward the disturbance. Mud and water heaved, and its deep bellow shook Ye Chenyu's skull. Yet the movement also drew the serpent's gaze. Its blood-red eyes locked onto the toad, and with a violent lash of its body, its fangs pierced straight into the swollen throat.
Venom surged into flesh. The toad's sac bulged, convulsed, then burst with a wet detonation, spewing foul ichor. The swamp boiled as the two monsters tore into one another, teeth and claws rending flesh, blood and venom fusing into a stench so sharp it raised every hair on Ye Chenyu's skin.
He seized the chance. Hugging the swamp's edge, he crawled forward, every motion deliberate, every breath restrained. Mud swallowed his legs to the shin; each step demanded all his control to keep from splashing. His heart pounded against his ribs like a war drum of its own.
Behind him, the sounds of rending flesh and shattering bone grew louder—frog bellows clashing with serpentine hisses, echoing like a storm of beasts. He forced himself not to look back. Eyes fixed ahead, he clawed his way inch by inch toward the bank. His fingers found slick roots; he clung on until his nails split, blood mingling with mud.
At last, he hauled himself onto solid stone. He collapsed to his knees, gasping, chest burning as though torn open, throat aflame, vision swimming. But he knew—he had survived.
Behind him, the swamp still churned, its waters turned black with mingled venom and gore. The air stank of death and rot, the breath of an abyss that devoured all.
Ye Chenyu clenched his jaw and forced himself upright. The trials of South Mountain had only just begun. And this Poison Marsh—was but the first gate.