The instant his palm wind struck the scales, the air seemed torn open by an invisible gash. Chen Wuya's hand forcibly halted three feet from the ferocious beast, but the Misaligned Force had already surged forward along its spiraling path. Upon touching those iron-black scales, it sank slightly—as if it had struck some swamp that was slowly solidifying.
He dropped to one knee, pressing his palm into a crack between the stones, his knuckles whitening from the recoil. The tremor coming through the ground was half a beat slower than expected; there was even a subtle Misalignment between the footsteps and the footprints.
"Something's wrong," he murmured.
Before his words had faded, the two descendants of the guardians suddenly stiffened. Blood seeped into their eye sockets, while thin streams wound down from their ears and noses. They stared at the massive shadow ahead, their pupils unfocused, as though something invisible had nailed them in place.
"Don't look into its eyes!" Chen Wuya abruptly looked up and slammed his right palm into the ground. Misaligned Force shook the air, erupting with a sharp, brief blast.
The two shuddered violently and staggered back. One caught himself on a broken stone pillar before he could fall to his knees; the other raised a hand to wipe away the blood, breathing hard.
Bai Zhi held her sword horizontally before her, angling its tip slightly away from directly facing those enormous ghostly green eyes. She said nothing, but the old wound on her shoulder tingled faintly, as if icy needles were crawling upward through her meridians. Mo Feng crouched on the ground, his palm pressed to the edge of a crack, his brow drawing tighter and tighter.
"Its footsteps... leave marks first, then make a sound," he said in a low voice. "It's not fast.