The void collapsed.
There was no gentle transition, just a violent snap of energy that yanked Arthev backward, the sensation akin to being hooked by a fishing line and dragged through deep water. Shukaku's cackle faded into the static of his own mind, and then, silence.
Arthev gasped, his eyes flying open. The green luminescence in his irises flared once before dying down to his natural dark hue. He was back.
The grove was exactly as he left it, though the shadows seemed longer. The air hummed against his skin, a prickly static that spoke of his new reality. He flexed his hands. They felt lighter, faster. The Wood Release energy in his veins wasn't a trickle anymore; it was a river.
Rank 14.
"Well," he breathed, the sound loud in the quiet clearing. "That was a trip."
A few meters away, the Serpent Vine Drake remained a crumpled heap of scales and thorns. Its breathing was shallow, a wet rattle in its chest. It was alive, but barely.
"What, no souvenir?" Shukaku's voice scratched against the inside of Arthev's skull.
"Could've at least snagged a scale for me, Stunned Face. I like shiny things."
Arthev stood up, his joints popping satisfyingly. He adjusted the leather strap of his pouch, ignoring the phantom sensation of sand shifting in his gut.
"You live in my head, rent-free," Arthev muttered, turning his back on the drake. "I'm not carrying luggage for you."
"Cheapskate," Shukaku grumbled, the presence receding to the back of his mind like a dormant volcano.
Arthev turned his attention to the ruin. The shattered obsidian dome jutted from the earth like a broken tooth, ancient and foreboding. The vines strangling the structure pulsed with that same eerie rhythm he had felt before—thump, thump, thump. It was calling to him.
He activated the Sharingan for a split second just to check for traps. Seeing nothing but the flow of energy, he let the eyes fade and stepped into the maw of the ruin.
The temperature dropped instantly. The air inside was stale, tasting of copper and dust. It was a labyrinth of stone and root, the silence absolute save for the crunch of dried vines under his boots.
He walked for minutes, or maybe hours. The deeper he went, the louder the hum in his chest became. It wasn't just a sound; it was a magnetic pull, dragging him toward the center of the structure.
He turned a corner into a narrow corridor, and the pull spiked.
There.
Half-buried in the mud near a collapsed wall sat a lump of rock. It was ugly, rusted, and entirely unremarkable. But to Arthev's senses, it was screaming.
He crouched, brushing away the dirt with a kunai. It was oval, corroded, and ancient.
"What is this?" he whispered.
He reached out. The moment his skin grazed the surface, the object awoke.
A surge of green light exploded from his hand, feeding into the stone. The rock drank his energy and fired back a pulse of blinding blue light. The world twisted. The floor dropped out from under him.
Arthev didn't even have time to curse.
When his vision cleared, the ruin was gone. The smell of damp earth was replaced by the dry, sterile scent of stone.
He was in a chamber. Vast, windowless, and perfectly smooth. No doors. No exit. Just him and the rock, which was now humming softly in his hand.
"Nice trick, kid," Shukaku drawled, sounding impressed. "Where'd you zap us to? This place is deader than a dried-up oasis."
"No idea," Arthev said, scanning the walls. "But it looks like a one-way trip."
He pocketed the stone, his grip on his kunai tightening. "Stay sharp."
The floor trembled.
It wasn't an earthquake. It was a footstep.
From the shadows on the far side of the chamber, something moved. It didn't walk so much as flow, a towering, serpentine nightmare of bone and obsidian scales. It rose up, seven meters of silent death, its violet eyes locking onto Arthev with terrifying intelligence.
The pressure hit him like a physical blow. The air turned to lead.
Arthev's knees buckled, and he forced them straight with sheer will. His Sharingan flared to life, the three tomoe spinning frantically, trying to process the sheer density of the creature's soul power.
"Whoa," Shukaku's voice lost its playful edge. "That's no drake. What did you piss off this time?"
Arthev didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat was tight, his instincts screaming that he was outmatched.
"Not a drake," Arthev whispered, sweat beading on his forehead. "This is... something else entirely."
To be continued....