Chapter 53 — The Strange Beast
劍問蒼天 · Page 5 of 6
This halo of light had, barely, forced the tentacle back a small distance. But Zhang Qingyue immediately felt that the power of the giant tentacle was simply too great—as though sensing that his resistance had suddenly strengthened, the crushing force redoubled, pressing inward with tenfold, a hundredfold momentum. Within moments, the magical halo of the Dark Iron Staff began to waver, unable to hold.
Zhang Qingyue was no fool; he knew full well that to go on this way was the road to death. Gritting his heart, he took a tremendous risk, clenched his teeth, and poured all his power into the staff. The Dark Iron Staff blazed instantly. Seizing this last chance, Zhang Qingyue gave a low roar and drove the staff like swift lightning into the tentacle that bound him.
There was a muffled thud—"pff"—and the entire Dark Iron Staff sank in, piercing through like a divine blade.
In the darkness, the only source of light—the Dark Iron Staff—was buried in that tentacle, and all around fell dark at once, without a glimmer. Feeling the breath of that darkness, sensing the boundless dead silence around him, Zhang Qingyue held his breath for a moment entire.
"Thud!"
A ray of light suddenly appeared. A great hole had been pierced through the tentacle by that radiance, letting the uncanny light of the Dark Iron Staff shine through.
"Thud!"
Another muffled sound, and on the other side of the tentacle, another ray of light burst forth!
Then—"thud, thud, thud!"—the sounds came without cease. Zhang Qingyue's mouth fell slightly open as he watched the giant tentacle that bound him being punctured like a sheet of thin paper, more and more rays of light shooting out from within, illuminating several chi of ground around him—and illuminating himself as well.
Soon Zhang Qingyue felt the tentacle binding him slacken and fall away. The Dark Iron Staff, too, burst out from within the tentacle and flew back into his hand. By its glow, Zhang Qingyue saw that the giant tentacle lay on the ground, covered in wounds, scorched and cracked everywhere—utterly unlike its former powerful, slippery self.
He had barely escaped the gates of hell, his soul still unsettled. And this monster before him was strange indeed: despite such grievous wounds, it made no sound at all, as though it felt no pain.
Zhang Qingyue had just caught his breath and was about to look for a way out when he heard, from the darkness ahead, another eerie shriek. A tremendous wind rushed at him like a mountain. As it drew near, Zhang Qingyue peered by the faint light—and nearly had his jaw drop in terror. Deep in the darkness, more giant tentacles were surging forth, and the black shadows danced wildly—who could say how many there were.
One such tentacle had nearly cost him his life; to face such a thing now—the outcome was all too easy to imagine. Without a second thought, Zhang Qingyue summoned the Dark Iron Staff and flew, turning to flee. But he had flown less than a zhang when—"bang!"—he and the staff crashed into a stone wall hard as iron.
The pain pierced to the bone; it was a heavy blow. He dimly felt something wet and slick on his face—blood, most likely—but at such a moment, who could care?
Yet now he was trapped in this pitch-black cave like a blind man. When the tentacle had dragged him in, he had been flung about so violently that he could not remember the way at all. So, like a headless fly, he rode the Dark Iron Staff and, almost entirely by instinct and the sound of the great wind, careened wildly through the cave, crashing into stone walls again and again—but any moment he could dodge was a moment gained.