The elder smiled.
The smile was faint, yet it seemed to chill the air by several degrees. He leaned against the wall, black blood still staining his fingertips, but his gaze was nailed to Chen Wuya like a blade.
The tremors underground had yet to cease. The star map spun chaotically, its blue glow flickering between bright and dim. The formation-core stone rolled to the old man's feet, a ghostly blue light seeping from its cracks and spreading like water.
Chen Wuya braced himself against the ground and tried to rise, but his limbs were weak, and the Misaligned Force in his meridians was still running wild. He had relied on his last shred of strength to send the elder flying just now. Now that his strength was spent, even breathing hurt.
The elder moved.
He sprang up, moving far too quickly for an injured man. His left hand snatched up the formation-core stone, and with a flick of his right hand, a black thread shot out from the crystal straight at Chen Wuya's throat.
The instant the black thread wrapped around his neck, Chen Wuya felt his breath cut off. It was neither rope nor force energy, but more like some living thing drawn from the earth itself—cold, slick, and tightening with every moment.
Mo Feng was gone, and Bai Zhi was gone too. He was alone, kneeling on the ground with both hands gripping the black thread, his knuckles white.
The old man stood beside the stone platform without moving. He knew that what lay between these two was no longer something an outsider could interfere with.
Chen Wuya did not struggle.
He closed his eyes. Rather than thinking of how to break free, he sank down along with that force. The black thread came from the formation-core