The cannon barrels of the mechanical beasts were still humming, and the fading glow of the Blood Gold Thorns traced fragmented paths through the air. Chen Wuya stood where he was, his left arm hanging limp as waves of stabbing pain pulsed from the broken bone. He stared at the crack at the cauldron's mouth. Its ghostly glow was growing brighter and brighter, as though something were crawling up from the depths.
Bai Zhi caught her breath, her flexible sword held across her chest, her breathing slightly rushed. She glanced at Chen Wuya without speaking, but her feet shifted subtly forward, placing herself diagonally in front of him.
The crack suddenly widened.
A hand reached out.
Pale, slender, its knuckles sharply defined. The hand gripped the cauldron's rim and slowly pulled its owner out. He wore a blood-red robe beneath a black outer cloak, his chest bare. A winding pattern coiled across his skin, dark red and scorching hot, heaving like a living thing.
Chen Wuya's pupils constricted.
He had seen that pattern before. It was exactly the same as the one that had appeared when the elder mutated.
The Demonic Cult's leader had emerged in his true form.
He straightened, his gaze sweeping over the three of them before finally settling on Chen Wuya. The corner of his mouth curled up, his voice low. "You actually managed to hurt it."
"You and it are one?" Chen Wuya asked.
The cult leader did not answer. He raised a hand, palm downward, and a blast of air surged from the cauldron, sweeping up shattered stones from the ground. His feet rose half an inch off the floor as he floated in midair, his robes stirring despite the lack of wind.
Bai Zhi tightened her grip on her sword hilt, her arm