Yet after the exhilaration of feeling the changes in his body came a tide-like exhaustion.
Some of it was physical, some mental. Come to think of it, it had been a long time since he had slept.
As the residual warmth of the fire gradually faded, Qin He leaned against the rock wall. His eyes closed beyond his control, and his breathing soon sank deep.
Qin He did not sleep soundly. Boundless darkness, thick as indissoluble ink, wrapped even his breath in bone-piercing chill. Every inhale felt like sucking in shards of ice that scraped his throat raw.
"Where is this...?"
The vague thought had barely surfaced when deafening howls exploded beside his ears.
The sound was neither human nor beast, more like ten thousand resentful souls wailing at once, mixed with the shriek of snapping metal as it drilled deep into his eardrums. Qin He tried to raise a hand to cover his ears, but his limbs felt as heavy as if filled with lead. Every movement drained all his strength. Not even a thread of warmth remained in his fingertips; only icy stiffness spread along his veins.
In the darkness, several points of scarlet suddenly lit up. They had no distinct shapes, like red-hot branding irons embedded in black cloth, gradually joining into one mass and exuding a heart-quailing malice.
They were slowly drawing nearer. There were no clear footsteps, yet the air itself grew stagnant. The pressure was like a boulder crushing his chest, making even breathing difficult.
He wanted to draw upon the power born anew from tempering his body, wanted to clench his fist and strike with even the slightest force, but it was as though all control over his body had been stripped away. Only instinctive terror churned in his chest—the battle he could