Night in Luoweida City was deeper and heavier than outside its walls.
Standing water flooded the streets, spreading a dark film over the broken paving stones. It reflected the moon overhead, hidden completely behind the clouds, leaving only a blurred halo that looked ready to shatter at any moment.
The wind had stopped, and so had the rain, but the damp smell of rotting wood and mud refused to disperse. It clung stickily to the skin like a film that could not be washed away.
Fuyila huddled inside an abandoned stone house, her back against the cold wall, her knees drawn to her chest, both hands clasped tightly around her shins. Her cloak's hood had slipped down, revealing long, snow-white hair that lay tangled across her shoulders. A few strands clung to her temples, wet with either sweat or rain.
Her breathing was rapid and restrained, her chest heaving as though she had just escaped a long pursuit. Every muscle in her body trembled, but she dared not make too much noise.
The stone house was dark. Its windows had been boarded shut, and only a few narrow gaps admitted faint moonlight, casting several pale strips across the floor.
The floor was hard-packed earth, solid underfoot and carrying a moldy smell. Broken odds and ends lay piled in a corner-a stool missing a leg, a clay pot with its bottom broken out, a few scraps of blackened cloth.
The original owner was clearly no longer here. Perhaps they had fled elsewhere, perhaps the storm had swept them away, or perhaps they had simply left this city that no longer held any hope.
Fuyila did not know, nor did she care.
All she knew was that she was safe here for now.
She quieted her breathing as much as she could and listened closely to the sounds outside. Wind, water, the occasional distant bark of a dog, and her own heartbeat-thump, thump, thump, thump, as fast as a pounding drum. She strained her ears, trying to pick out any suspicious sound among the jumble, anything that did not belong in these ruins.
Footsteps. Were there any? No. Voices. Were there any? No.
She closed her eyes, and the events of the past few days flashed through her mind like a film.
On the day the storm arrived, she had been hiding in a dry river ditch, curled beneath a fallen tree. Rain poured down, the wind cut like knives, and the sky was as dark as the end of the world. She had thought she would die there, swept away by the wind or drowned in the rain.
But she had not died. The storm lasted a long time, so long that she thought she had fallen asleep and woken up several times. Then, as suddenly as it had arrived, it stopped.
She climbed out of the ditch, soaked through and covered in mud, leaves and dead twigs tangled in her hair. She staggered along for a long time before finding an official road ruined by the flood. Following it brought her to the outskirts of this city.
Soldiers guarded the city gates. She went around them, climbed over a damaged section of the city wall, and slipped inside under cover of darkness.
She needed food. She had not eaten for two days. Her stomach was empty, as though an invisible hand kept kneading and squeezing it, the pain bringing her out in a cold sweat. Yet she still dared not enter the city's streets, go anywhere crowded, or appear anywhere someone might see her.
Because someone was pursuing her.
For as long as she could remember, someone had been pursuing her.
Fuyila reached inside her cloak and touched what she had hidden there. It was a warm, palm-sized stone that glowed faintly red. Its surface was smooth, like a pebble washed by seawater for countless years, but its color was wrong-not the gray or brown a stone should have been, but a rich, dark red like congealed blood.
The stone rested against her chest, pulsing faintly with her heartbeat, as though it were alive.
It was the only thing her mother had left her.
When her mother pressed it into her hand, her hands had been shaking and her eyes were red. Her lips moved several times before she managed to force out a sentence-"Hide it. Don't let anyone see it."
Then her mother turned and ran. She ran toward the approaching pursuers.
Fuyila never saw her mother again.
How long ago had that been? She could not remember. She remembered only that the sky had been very blue that day, and the sunlight dazzling. She had stood in the middle of a dirt road, clutching the warm stone, watching her mother's figure grow smaller and smaller until it became a blurry black dot and disappeared at the end of the road.
Only later did she understand that it was not simply "later." It was the dividing line of her life. Before it, she had a home, though that home had been like a splendid cage, full of rules and watchful eyes. Her mother would always hold her in her arms and whisper, "Just bear it a little longer. Just a little longer."
Afterward, she had nothing. Only a stone, a cloak, and pursuers behind her whom she could never shake off.
Fuyila took a deep breath and drove those images from her mind. Now was not the time to reminisce.
She had to leave. She could not stay here long. She had only shaken those people off temporarily, but sooner or later they would find a lead. Sooner or later they would catch up. She had to leave this city before dawn and keep going south, all the way to the sea, somewhere those pursuers could not find her.
As for what awaited her by the sea or where she would go, she did not know. She knew only that the last word her mother had said was "seaside."
Bracing herself against the wall, Fuyila struggled to stand. Her legs had gone numb from crouching too long, and her knees were weak. She stumbled, catching herself against the wall.
Just then-her ears twitched.
Not wind. Not water. Not a dog barking.
Footsteps. Very light, very steady, as though someone had deliberately quieted them without concealing them entirely. They were close, just outside the stone house, no more than ten paces away.
Fuyila's body instantly went rigid.
Her pupils suddenly contracted, and something awakened in her blood, like a snake lurking in an abyss abruptly raising its head. She could feel that familiar power spreading from her heart into her limbs, like warm spring water pouring into an icy riverbed, making her fingertips grow faintly hot.
Crimson horns quietly lit up amid her snow-white hair, as though kindled by flames within, giving off a dim red glow.
"Who's there?!"
Her voice was not loud, but it was as sharp as a blade, slicing through the deathly silence inside the stone house.
The footsteps outside stopped.
Silence lasted several breaths. Then a figure emerged from the shadows in the doorway. He did not approach from a distance, but stepped out of the shadows, as though that darkness itself were his coat and he had merely given his shoulders a slight shake to peel himself free of it.
Black construct armor covered him from head to toe, leaving no skin exposed. The close-fitting armor's contours were sleek and austere. Dark golden magical patterns flickered across its surface as though breathing. His head was encased in a fully sealed faceplate, without eyes, without a mouth, without any features a human should have.
Fuyila stared at the figure, every muscle drawn as taut as a fully pulled bowstring. Her fingers curled slightly, and red ripples began appearing in her palms, like ripples spreading across water, circle after circle, growing denser and brighter.
She could not see through this fellow.
It was not that she could not make out his appearance-there he was, in black armor and a faceplate, perfectly clear. But she could not see through him. She could not sense his presence or his emotions, or even whether he was alive. He stood there, yet seemed not to exist, like a moving shadow, a walking statue.
Had he come to pursue her? Had those people sent him?
Fuyila did not ask. She simply stared fixedly at the black figure, the red ripples in her palms growing brighter, ready to lunge at any moment.
Black Owl stood in the doorway, his sealed faceplate turning slightly as though he were studying the girl inside.
Through his avatar's senses, King Ghidorah took a clear look at the little thing huddled in the corner before him. She wore a dark cloak, its hood fallen back to reveal long, snow-white hair scattered untidily over her shoulders, making her small face look even paler. Her features were delicate but not frail, and her brow held a stubbornness and wariness that did not match her age. Most striking were the two horns on her head-crimson, slanting backward from her temples like the horns of some ancient creature, glowing a dim red in the faint light.
And then there were her eyes.
Red eyes, like two frozen flames, holding heat within their chill and fear within their wariness. She looked at him like a small animal backed into a corner, scared to death yet still baring its teeth and showing its claws, pretending to be strong.
King Ghidorah silently marked this down against Apekus. What happened to that "top-tier intelligent combat unit with exceptional concealment capabilities"? I hadn't even reached the door before she noticed me. This lousy avatar's concealment probably isn't even as good as a street performer's tricks.
Forget it.
"No need to get worked up, child," Black Owl said.
His voice, processed by the avatar, was gender-neutral, neither cold nor warm, without any obvious emotion, as flat as a glass of plain water. Controlling the avatar, King Ghidorah added the second half in his mind-If you leave out the "bad" part, I really am not a bad person. That's the truth. After all, he was King Ghidorah the King, a cosmic-level Titan of destruction. Whether he was bad did not matter. What mattered was that he genuinely had no intention of doing anything to this child.
He had no interest in bullying an eleven- or twelve-year-old girl.
Black Owl took a step forward.
Fuyila did not retreat. Not because she did not want to, but because the wall was right behind her. There was nowhere to go. She could only lower her body further, the red ripples in her palms spreading faster, like rings of ripples gathering power, ready to erupt at any moment.
Only then did King Ghidorah notice what was in her hands. Red ripples. From his angle, he could not quite make out what they were, but he could sense the energy fluctuations. Not particularly strong. By this world's standards, probably... Fourth Tier? Perhaps a little below, perhaps just there. He was not very familiar with this world's tier divisions yet and could only make a rough comparison with the energy levels of his battle against Apekus.
Fourth Tier counted as an expert in this little border city.
But in front of him...
King Ghidorah could not be bothered to pursue that thought.
"Are you a demon?"
Black Owl asked casually, as matter-of-factly as if he were asking, "Nice weather today, isn't it?"
Fuyila froze.
Demon.
The word was like a needle piercing a tender, never-healed wound deep in her memories.
She recalled her childhood, and those images surged up like a tide, drowning her reason.
"Aah-!"
A shrill scream burst from Fuyila's throat, like floodwaters held back too long finally breaking through a dam. Her eyes instantly turned blood-red-not the dark red from before, but a dazzling, frenzied scarlet like burning coals.
The crimson horns on her head abruptly blazed, as though ignited by flames within. Red light spread along their markings, bathing the entire stone house in an eerie, bloody glow.
She lunged at him.
She was incredibly fast, like an arrow loosed from a bow, stirring a sharp rush of wind. The ring of red ripples in her palm erupted at that instant, becoming a fist-sized mass of scarlet light that blasted toward Black Owl's face.
Smack!
Black Owl raised one arm, his movement unhurried, as though casually swatting away a fly.
Fuyila did not even see how he struck. She only felt an irresistible force slam into her shoulder, sending her flying as though she had been hit by a speeding carriage.
Her body flew backward uncontrollably and slammed heavily into the floor of the stone house. The impact left a small dent in the earthen floor, sending up dust that made her cough violently.
"Ugh..."
Gritting her teeth, Fuyila climbed off the ground. Her shoulder hurt as though it were about to shatter, but she could no longer worry about that. Her eyes grew even redder. It was not anger; something more primal, more instinctive had been triggered. Something in her blood was boiling, roaring, clamoring to break free.
Red ripples appeared in her palms again, deeper and brighter than before, like congealed blood reheated into flowing magma.
She lunged again.
Thud.
She flew back into the stone house again.
Fuyila rose a little more slowly than last time. Her knees trembled, her fingers trembled, even her breathing trembled. But she still stood up. The red ripples in her palms had not dissipated. Instead, they grew increasingly dense, like a flowing film of blood covering her hands, giving off scorching heat.
She lunged again.
Thud.
She flew back into the stone house again.
This time, she could not get up immediately.