A tremor ran through his fingertips, the point of light flickering as though with each breath. Chen Wuya's hand was still pressed to the wall, the bloodstains not yet dry. The Misaligned Practice Connects to Spirit system stirred strangely within his sea of consciousness—not an omen of danger, but a near-resonant shudder, as though some rhythm were quietly meshing with the chaotic frequency of the Misaligned Force inside him.
He did not move. He merely turned his head slowly, his gaze sweeping toward his back.
The group had reached the middle of the passage. The three descendants of the Guardians had fallen behind, their footsteps unnaturally uniform. With every step, the stone tiles beneath their feet sank by half a fraction, almost imperceptibly. The vibrations traveled through the ground into his palm, matching the frequency the system had just fed back exactly.
"They want to shut the door," he said quietly, his voice pressed low in his throat, barely stirring the strands of hair by Bai Zhi's ear.
Her breath caught. Her fingers tightened around her sword, but she did not turn around.
Without giving anything away, Chen Wuya used the motion to guide her half a step forward, while he himself dropped to the rear of the group. Mo Feng sensed that something was wrong and limped closer. "The air... doesn't feel right."
Before he could finish, the luminous pearls overhead suddenly went dark.
Darkness crashed down upon them. Then came two muffled booms as the stone walls on either side thundered inward, dust sifting down in streams. The ground shook, and several iron grilles burst from the earth, crisscrossing to seal off the paths before and behind them. The three of them were trapped firmly in the middle, with nowhere to retreat.
"Do it!" a low shout came