Gravel was still falling, and the dust had yet to settle. Along the edges of that torn fissure, runes writhed like snakes, slowly gathering into new patterns. The residual energy of the light barrier had actually begun to skirt around the spot where they had struck before, as though it had gained awareness.
Chen Wuya stared at the three primary nodes, cold sweat seeping from his palm. That last blow had consumed more than half his true qi, and the searing pain from the Misaligned Force running in reverse spread through his meridians to his shoulder blades. He could not wait for it to fully reassemble.
"It's learning," he said quietly. "It learned to dodge."
Bai Zhi leaned against the stone wall, her sword tip braced against the ground. The cloth around her right shoulder was already soaked through with blood, which dripped from her knuckles to the floor. She raised her eyes to Chen Wuya. "Then don't give it time to think."
Mo Feng crouched on the ground, the edges of the bronze plate in his hand blackened and warped. The last trace of effectiveness in the moisture mechanism was fading away. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his voice hoarse. "I can hold up another seismic interference pulse, but only for five breaths."
"That's enough." Chen Wuya closed his eyes for an instant. The Misaligned Practice Connects to Spirit system trembled faintly within his sea of consciousness. He no longer tried to break through by force. Instead, he traced back the path of that last strike—the rhythm of the barrier absorbing attacks, the direction of its energy flow, the critical point at which the backlash erupted.
What it feared was not power, but the illusion of order amid chaos.
"In a moment, I'll stop