The void tore open with a sound like the sky being flayed alive, a scream that resonated in the marrow of Ling Tian's bones. The air itself seemed to recoil from the wound in reality, shimmering at the edges as if the world was a poorly painted scroll and something was scratching through the parchment from beneath.
Ling Tian barely had time to register the agony in his chest—where the fox's mummified paw had fused with his flesh in a grotesque symbiosis—before the laws of physics abandoned them. Gravity twisted sideways, sending him crashing into Qing'er as the once-solid ground beneath their feet dissolved into swirling darkness. Xiao Hei's delighted squeal cut through the chaos, her small hands gripping his collar with inhuman strength as they tumbled through the rift.
The transition was neither smooth nor instantaneous. For several heartbeats that stretched into eternity, Ling Tian existed in fragments—his consciousness scattered across dimensions. He was simultaneously:
A child watching his clan burn
A warrior standing over Elder Bai's corpse
A speck of dust floating between dying stars
Then—impact.
They landed on a surface that defied comprehension. It wasn't stone or earth, but something alive, pulsing beneath them in slow, rhythmic waves that matched the erratic pounding of Ling Tian's heart. The "ground" was the color of a week-old bruise, veined with luminescent gold that throbbed in time with the scar over his sternum. When he pressed his palm against it, the surface yielded slightly before pushing back, like the belly of some sleeping beast.
Qing'er rolled to her feet with the grace of a seasoned warrior, her sword already drawn and gleaming with an eerie blue light it had never possessed before. "Where in the nine hells—?"
The Crimson Witch materialized beside them in a swirl of dried rose petals and static electricity, her once-vibrant robes now tattered at the hem as if something had taken experimental bites out of the fabric. "The spaces between stars," she murmured, her gaze fixed on the non-horizon—or what passed for one in this nightmare. "Where the hungry things wait."
There was no sky. No sun. Only an endless expanse of swirling darkness that seemed to breathe, punctuated by crimson eyes that blinked in unsettling unison. The eyes weren't attached to anything—they simply existed, floating in the void like malevolent stars.
And then it spoke.
The Voice of the Void
The voice wasn't sound but vibration, rattling Ling Tian's teeth and making his bones hum discordantly. It came from everywhere and nowhere, the words forming directly inside his skull like worms burrowing through gray matter:
"Ling blood. Fox magic. You reek of desperation and dying stars."
The ground quivered in response, then rippled like disturbed water, then parted with the wet sound of a wound reopening. From the fissure rose a hand—if a hand could be carved from black nebulas and dying stars, its fingers too long by half, its joints bending in directions that made Ling Tian's eyes water. The nails were crescent moons turned to claws, each one dripping something that wasn't quite liquid and wasn't quite light.
Xiao Hei giggled, clapping her hands like a child at a puppet show. "Tianlang Xiu wants to play!"
The hand slammed down where they'd stood moments before. Where it struck, the ground withered, the gold veins turning gray and crumbling to dust. The air itself seemed to curdle around the impact point, reality unraveling at the edges.
First rule of the void: Touch nothing. Trust nothing. Breathe as little as possible.
The Witch yanked Ling Tian back by his collar as another hand erupted from the ground beside them, missing his ankle by a hair's breadth. "Its hunger unravels reality," she hissed, her breath unnaturally cold against his ear. "Every wound it deals isn't to flesh—but to memory itself."
As if to prove her point, Qing'er suddenly cried out—a gash appearing across her forearm though no blade had touched her. As the blood welled, black as the void around them, her grip on her sword faltered, her perfect stance slipping into something uncertain.
"I... can't remember my third sword form," she whispered, horror dawning in her eyes. The realization hit harder than any physical blow. "The Falling Petal Cut—it's just... gone."
Tianlang Xiu wasn't just attacking them—it was erasing the very building blocks of their existence, one memory at a time.
The Fox's Last Gift
The mummified paw embedded in Ling Tian's chest burned with sudden intensity, its golden veins flaring to life like circuits activating. Mo's voice—or some remnant of his consciousness—whispered through the pain:
"The Key was never a weapon. It's a bridge. And bridges go both ways."
Ling Tian didn't have time to question the cryptic message. Another void-hand burst from the ground, this one grazing his ankle as he barely dodged aside.
Agony.
Not physical pain, but existential—a yawning chasm where a memory should be.
His mother's face. Gone. Not forgotten, but unmade, as if she'd never existed at all. The loss gutted him more thoroughly than any blade.
The paw in his chest pulsed harder, as if in protest, its golden threads squirming beneath his skin.
"Qing'er!" Ling Tian roared, lunging toward her. He grabbed her wrist—the one still holding her sword—and slammed their joined hands against his chest, directly over the pulsating scar.
The moment her skin touched the embedded paw, light erupted.
Golden threads exploded from the wound, stitching through the air like celestial silk from some divine loom. Where they touched the void-hands, the darkness screamed, recoiling as if burned. The threads weren't random—they formed patterns, constellations, a map written in starlight and suffering.
The Witch's eyes widened, reflecting the golden web. "You're weaving a path," she breathed, something like awe coloring her usually sardonic tone.
Xiao Hei clapped her hands, dancing around them in a circle. "Gege's making a net! A net to catch the naughty star-eater!"
But it wasn't a net. Ling Tian realized with dawning horror that it was a pattern. The same constellations he'd seen swirling in Mo's eyes during their last moments together. A blueprint. A trap.
The Cost of Remembering
The more Ling Tian pushed the light outward, the more it cost.
His first kiss—gone, leaving only the phantom warmth of lips he could no longer picture.
The sound of his father's laughter—gone, replaced by static.
The taste of Auntie Pei's milk cakes—gone, his tongue remembering only bitterness.
With each sacrifice, Tianlang Xiu feasted, its form becoming clearer against the void—a serpent of collapsing stars, its segmented body stretching across the non-horizon, each scale a dying sun. Its maw opened, revealing teeth made of negative space, of nothingness given shape.
Qing'er's grip on his wrist tightened to the point of pain. "Stop! You're losing yourself!" Her voice cracked—an uncharacteristic show of emotion.
The Witch stepped forward, her obsidian dagger drawn. "Let me sever the connection before you unravel completely," she demanded, though her usual confidence was undercut by something almost like... fear?
Xiao Hei moved faster than any of them could react.
One moment the Witch was raising her dagger—the next, Xiao Hei's teeth were buried in her wrist, black blood welling around the child's unnaturally sharp incisors.
The Witch recoiled with a hiss, more surprised than pained. "You—"
"No interrupting!" Xiao Hei scolded, her voice deeper than it should be, layered with echoes. Black blood dripped from her chin as she grinned. "Gege's almost found it!"
Found what?
Then, through the golden web of light, Ling Tian saw.
Beneath Tianlang Xiu's writhing form, hidden in the void's underbelly like a tick buried in flesh, was a door.
Small. Unassuming. Wooden, with hinges of tarnished silver.
Carved into its surface were nine foxes dancing around a peach tree, the fruit on its branches shaped like human hearts.
Mo's voice whispered one last time, fainter than a dying breath:
"Home."
The Choice
The revelation struck like a physical blow:
To reach the door, he'd have to cross the void, sacrificing more memories with each step—possibly erasing himself completely.
But to retreat now would mean letting the void consume their world, leaving nothing but a hollow shell where reality once stood.
Ling Tian made his decision.
He pulled Qing'er closer, felt Xiao Hei's small hand grip his belt, and ran straight toward the waiting maw.