Nighttime Fear

Chapter 9: The Fear of the Night

The last warm rays of the setting sun were completely devoured by the distant mountains, and the primordial night fell over the valley like a cold, tangible tide of ink—silent yet swift, swallowing everything in its path.

The peace and vitality of the day seemed nothing more than a fragile illusion. When darkness descended, this ancient land revealed its most primal and ferocious face.

Chen An sat at the entrance of the main house, the flickering orange glow of the hearth fire casting a reassuring warmth behind him.

Before him stood the courtyard gate, reinforced with wooden planks.

The door was tightly shut, but through the uneven gaps in the boards, he could clearly see the thick, impenetrable darkness outside.

Absolute silence did not last long.

The first roar came like a boulder crashing into a stagnant pond, shattering the lingering calm of dusk.

The sound came from far away—deep and thunderous, yet carrying a sharp, metallic tail that seemed to tear through stone. The ground beneath Chen An's feet trembled faintly.

It was unlike any beast he knew. It sounded more like some colossal creature unleashing its power... or locked in a life-or-death struggle.

That roar was like a signal.

Then, from every direction—near and far, high and low—a cacophony of indescribable, horrifying sounds erupted like a plague, instantly surrounding the small courtyard.

Close by, beyond the courtyard wall, came the grating rustle of bushes, accompanied by low, ground-hugging gurgles—as if more than one predator was stalking and confronting each other in the shadows.

The sharp scrape of claws against rock sent a chill racing down Chen An's spine, raising goosebumps all over his skin.

Further off in the forest, the cries of beasts and birds wove together into a chaotic, violent symphony.

There were long, mournful howls like wolves, but higher-pitched and more piercing. There were furious shrieks like apes, but mixed with the clang of metal striking stone.

And there was a low, continuous hum—like the buzzing of countless bees, but a hundred times heavier, pressing directly against the chest, making the heart race and the breath come short.

The sky was not quiet either.

Massive wingbeats swept low overhead, carrying gusts of foul wind, their shadows blotting out the sparse starlight for a moment.

Then came the sharp whistles of something cutting through the air from above, followed by the brief, dying cries of some creature.

After that, the sickening sounds of chewing and swallowing.

But it wasn't just sound.

Along with the roars and shrieks came waves of chaotic, brutal mental pressure—a spiritual oppression thick with the desire to kill. Like invisible shockwaves, they battered the edges of the courtyard.

Even inside the Safe Zone, Chen An could faintly feel that bone-deep chill and restlessness, as if countless malevolent eyes were fixed on this isolated little yard from the darkness.

His heart pounded uncontrollably. His hands were cold, gripping the firewood knife tightly.

Though logic told him he was absolutely safe, his primal instincts—fear of the dark and the unknown—still had him firmly in their grip.

He felt like he was sitting inside a transparent glass dome, while outside, a bloody hell of demons danced. The intense assault on his senses—what he couldn't see but could hear—was more nerve-wracking than any direct threat.

Suddenly, not far from the front gate, two ghostly green "lanterns" lit up in the darkness. Each was the size of a washbasin, floating at the height of a man's head, moving slowly.

What kind of creature had eyes like that?!

Chen An's breath caught in fear, and he instinctively shrank back. The pair of green eyes lingered outside the gate for a moment, seemingly drawn by the firelight inside the yard.

Then, a massive, hill-like silhouette emerged from the darkness. Heavy footsteps and labored breathing accompanied its slow advance toward the gate.

The ground began to tremble rhythmically.

A thick, nauseating stench of blood and musk wafted in on the wind. Even through the barrier, it made Chen An's stomach churn.

The giant beast stopped about ten meters from the gate.

Its green eyes stared fixedly at Chen An through the gaps in the door. Its throat rumbled with a threatening growl, like rolling thunder. It seemed both confused and agitated, its front claws scraping restlessly at the ground, leaving deep furrows.

Chen An didn't dare move. He stared back into those green eyes, cold sweat soaking his back.

He had no doubt—if not for the Safe Zone, this beast could swallow him and the entire courtyard in one bite.

The giant beast seemed to lose patience. It let out a deafening roar, reared up on its hind legs, and lunged at the gate with crushing force!

Just as Chen An braced for the gate to shatter, something changed!

The beast slammed into an invisible, intangible wall—unyielding and absolute. A dull, heavy thud echoed out. Its forward momentum stopped dead, and a gentle yet irresistible force flung its massive body backward. It stumbled several steps before regaining its balance.

The beast let out a roar mixed with pain and disbelief. Its green eyes burned with fury and confusion.

It refused to accept defeat. It charged again—ramming with its head, tearing with its claws, crushing with its body. But every attack dissolved in the air a few feet from the wall, not even stirring a ripple.

The invisible barrier was an absolute dividing line, sealing off the safety inside from the madness outside.

Finally, the beast exhausted its strength and patience. It let out one last, unwilling roar toward the gate, turned, and slunk back into the darkness. The heavy footsteps gradually faded.

Chen An let out a long breath, nearly collapsing from relief. This close encounter, though terrifying, gave him the most direct and profound confirmation of the Safe Zone's reliability.

But the night was far from over.

No sooner had the giant beast left than another threat arrived. A swarm of flying insects—bat-like in shape, but with Bone Wings and venomous stingers—swept in like a dark cloud. They emitted high-pitched shrieks and tried to invade through the holes in the roof.

But the moment they touched the invisible boundary beneath the broken tiles, it was as if they had struck a superheated furnace. They turned into wisps of smoke, leaving not even ash behind.

Then came an even stranger attack.

No physical form—only a series of soul-piercing wails and whispers. It sounded like countless vengeful spirits weeping and cursing outside the yard, trying to erode the minds of the Living beings inside with their psychic assault.

This force even caused the bonfire in the courtyard to flicker, and the air temperature plummeted.

Chen An felt dizzy and nauseous, as if he might vomit.

But soon, a gentle and vast power emanated from the small courtyard itself, like spring wind and rain, silently smoothing away all mental disturbances.

The bonfire steadied, the air warmed, and those wailing whispers melted away like snow under sunlight, vanishing without a trace.

That night, Chen An barely closed his eyes.

He witnessed all kinds of unimaginable attacks: physical collisions, venom sprays, mental erosion, and even eerie fluctuations that tried to warp space...

But no matter how terrifying the entity that came, or what means it employed, they were all without exception blocked by that seemingly thin yet indestructible invisible barrier.

The small courtyard was like a reef amidst raging waves—no matter how fierce the wind and rain, it stood unmoved.

When the eastern sky finally showed a faint hint of pale dawn, the terrifying sounds outside the courtyard receded like a retreating tide, fading into the distance.

The night of the Primordial World had ended.

Chen An, dragging his exhausted body, pushed open the courtyard gate. The morning light was faint, the valley still serene and beautiful, as if the night-long horror feast had been nothing but a nightmare.

Only the fresh, massive claw marks and pits on the ground outside the gate silently testified to the truth of it all.

He walked over to those marks, crouched down, and touched the cold earth with his fingers.

After the fear, an unprecedented sense of security and relief surged through him like warm spring water.

The Safe Zone was absolutely reliable.

He turned back, looking at the small courtyard that seemed ordinary and dilapidated in the morning light, his gaze filled with indescribable gratitude. This place was his only and final sanctuary in this terrifying Primordial World.

(Chapter 9 End)