Yan Zhi's footsteps echoed faintly as he left the chamber of fractures. Each breath weighed heavy, as though the air itself resisted entering his lungs. The shadows along the walls moved with him—no longer chains, but loyal hounds awaiting command.
Before him stretched a corridor. The ceiling split with crimson fissures that pulsed like torn veins. From afar, a sound drifted—thick, viscous, not water but something darker, flowing through the stone.
At the corridor's end, he stopped. A vast chasm yawned open, its depths devouring sight. On the far side stood a gate—black, half-collapsed, its carvings glowing faintly like a heartbeat in the dark.
"Beyond it… lies your answer." The voice whispered again, almost gentle, almost guiding.
His fist clenched. This time, he didn't immediately reject it. Poisonous though the voice was, it spoke truth: the path forward allowed no choice but across the void.
His shadow stretched beneath his feet, weaving into a thin bridge. Each step groaned and splintered, yet endured.
One step. Two. Three.
From the abyss below, whispers rose—laughter, sobs, screams, all tangled together. Faces surfaced in the dark, reaching for his legs, pulling.
His hand trembled. But he remembered his own whisper: "A shadow is proof that you exist."
With a swift slash of his shadow blade, he tore the faces apart. Silence rushed back into the abyss.
Breathing hard, he pressed forward until he reached the far side.
The gate loomed. Its carvings shivered as if aware of him. Beyond the cracks seeped no light—only deeper shadow, heavier, more absolute.
Yan Zhi placed his hand upon it. The foreign voice chuckled softly.
"Good. One more step, and there is no return."
Closing his eyes, Yan Zhi murmured to himself:
"I've come too far to turn back."
The gate opened—and the shadow swallowed him whole.
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