Tala signaled them to stop twice more within ten minutes.
Each time, Sol stepped ahead alone, executing the sentries with the same cold, mechanical detachment… one time using a three-inch draw of the sapphire blade to cleanly decapitate a lookout through the mist, and another time using a simple, heavy palm-strike to shatter the chest of a prowling scout.
With every single kill, he utilized the silver liquid to violently pull their core souls into his chest.
The internal disturbance grew with every drop of essence he absorbed. The silver liquid was no longer stagnant; it was waking up, thrumming with a cold, hungry vibration that seemed to heighten his natural perception of the jungle around him.
He could vaguely feel the positions of distant, hidden outposts miles ahead, the spiritual pathways of the entire forest mapping themselves out in his mind through the silver energy's resonance.
