Tick-tock! Tick-tock! Tick-tock!
It was the sound of water falling.
He couldn't see where the water was or where it fell.
Before me lay a vast expanse of white, not the cave I remembered, but a snowfield.
The north wind howled, the snowfield stretched endlessly, and the path beneath his feet was barely visible. He walked forward in a daze.
There seemed to be something mixed in with the sound of the wind, but it was faint and indistinct. He listened carefully, and it sounded like someone was offering him a peach.
He frowned and continued forward along the obscure path. He looked behind him and saw only darkness; the sound of water droplets hitting the ground still lingered, as if it were coming from behind him.
But he left no footprints.
The wind picked up, whipping up the snow on the ground. The snowflakes flew all over his face like dust, and they were cold against his skin. He instinctively touched his chest, which was also cold there.
He continued walking in a daze. The sound of dripping water grew fainter, while the sound of the wind grew louder. Finally, he heard it clearly: "Escape! Escape! Escape!"
It was an old man's voice, and then he heard a child's voice, "Run! Run! Brother, run!"
elder brother?
He was puzzled?
As far as I can remember, he didn't have a younger brother!
"Run! Run!" This time it was a woman's voice. She seemed to have encountered something terrible; her shouts were filled with terror and haste. "Get out! Don't come back! Don't come back! Run!"
In an instant, the snowfield was turned upside down, the mountaintop became the foot of the mountain, and the foot of the mountain became the sky above his head. He found himself hanging upside down in the sky.
An ancient chant swept over him, and a force pushed him down. He fell from the clouds and was thrown high into the air, with people urging him to escape as he was being tossed about.
The wind chimes tinkled and jingled, as if beckoning someone's soul.
He closed his eyes, not even knowing why he was doing it. It was as if this way of escaping would make him stronger; it was more like an instinct ingrained in his very bones.
He saw it.
This is no snowfield; it's a living hell.
The old man, with a white beard and faint purple eyes, chanted a song. His forehead was adorned with strange patterns. He was surrounded by several other men with similar patterns, and he held a flag in his hand.
They murmured to themselves, chanting the same melody he had heard.
Many women and children, all prisoners, were kneeling around the priests. Further away were men in armor, sitting motionless with their eyes closed, as if asleep.
A crow flew through the clouds, bringing a gust of wind and waves. The crow feathers fell to the ground, but the men in armor did not wake up.
After an unknown amount of time, as the snow began to melt, the first man collapsed, followed by the second, and the third…
All the armored men had fallen. Crows cawed and perched on the treetops, their red eyes filled with a faint disdain. Sometime later, a crow landed on one of the men and began to eat his flesh.
Other crows followed one after another. Perhaps no one noticed, or perhaps someone did. Those crows that ate the meat were noticeably dazed for a moment, and then returned to normal.
All that remained on the ground were white bones. After the crows had eaten and drunk their fill, they returned to the treetops, their gaze fixed on the direction where the woman and children had been.
The women and children had tears on their faces. They seemed to be trying to collect the remains of their loved ones, but there was an impenetrable wall in front of them, preventing them from moving forward.
The crows stayed for three days before finally disappearing into the snowfield.
After an unknown amount of time, another sacrifice was held on the snowfield. However, before it even began, the tents in the camp caught fire one after another, as if something had broken. A man with horns on his head appeared.
This time, the main character in the chant was no longer the old man. He didn't know why, but he just wanted to find that old man. Thinking this, he realized that he could finally move.
When they found the old man, he had seven holes in his body, from which blood was gushing out. A young man was kneeling in front of the old man.
The young man had dull, lifeless eyes and was straining to hear where the old man was.
"You must escape! You must escape! You are our last hope."
"Are you injured?" The young man shuffled towards him. "Where are you?"
"Don't move!" the old man stopped him. "The Soul Clan in this world has mostly been wiped out. Now our clan should be the last to be cleansed. You must escape and find the ruins of that god before everyone else."
"god?"
"yes."
The old man touched the young man's forehead with his bloodied finger. The drop of blood quickly disappeared, as if it had seeped into his body, and the young man's eyes regained their luster.
He paused, as if unaccustomed to such light, and then shielded his eyes with his hand. "Ji A'lao, I'm afraid I'm not up to such a heavy responsibility."
“No, you have no eyes, so you are the most likely person to see that moment.” The old man’s eyes were resolute as he looked at the array diagram beneath him. “Your leg is healed, Di Ruo. You can go now. Remember your promise to me: don’t let the destruction of the Soul Clan be in vain.”
"Yes." The young man placed his hands on his shoulders and bowed to Ji A'lao, the most noble salute among the priests of the Soul Clan. "Di Ruo's life today is thanks to the offerings of the entire clan. If that day does not come, the mark of the Soul Clan will remain on Di Ruo for all eternity."
"Child." Ji A'lao spat out blood, knelt on the ground, his blood covering the array diagram.
Even under the light, he was still smiling. "Run! It'll be too late if you wait any longer."
Looking at the dark hole beneath him, Di Ruo gritted his teeth and jumped in.
After he left, the array diagram gradually dimmed, as if it had never appeared. Ji A'lao's aged face showed a trace of relief, and a tear slid down his cheek. "I used the lives of the entire clan to protect the weak of this lineage, but now I can't even protect the weak. I have no choice but to send them away to protect another even weaker one."
"Qi Yun, are you really the legendary god? Have they, no, and I, made a mistake in believing in him?"
The silent snowfield welcomed his distinguished guest, who was utterly uncivilized and killed any living person he encountered, regardless of who they were.
They found Jiarau at the very end; he was bleeding profusely. The demons ignored him and simply set fire to his tent.
On his deathbed, Ji'alao looked at the tent that was about to collapse and thought bitterly, "Qiyun, in fact, there is no god at all, right? There were no lucky ones in the calamity ten thousand years ago."
"You're wrong," a woman's voice suddenly rang out.
Ji A'lao saw the person he wanted to see appear in the firelight. It was the god that his Soul Clan worshipped, the god who had brought about their annihilation. "Why?"
"You should think about why I came to see you."
"Why...?"
"Only you are worthy of my acquaintance. If all those good-for-nothings were like you, how could the Soul Clan have been wiped out?"
“Hehehehe…” Ji A’lao seemed to have thought of something and nodded with difficulty. “God, is a great killing plan, a remnant soul, everyone’s delusion.”
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