Chapter 36 - Veil of Shadows

The thick fog curled like living snakes through the twisted groves surrounding Mount Hua's eastern frontier, where shadows moved with unnatural certainty and whispers wove a tapestry of dread. Abraham and Michael tread cautiously along the narrow forest paths, their senses razor-sharp beneath the veil of mist. The air clung heavy with the metallic tang of unseen poisons and the subtle scent of burnt incense—signatures of the Blood Cult's dark influence.Abraham's frame—lean yet steeled by trials, with sinewy muscles forged in the crucible of relentless training—moved with quiet grace. His eyes, dark and resolute, searched through the murk as the familiar hum of qi danced around him. His hands rested lightly on the hilt of his Plum Blossom Sword, fingers flexing in anticipation of the deadly dance that might soon unfold.Michael, by contrast, was a towering colossus wrapped in armor that shimmered like liquid night engraved with veins of burning crimson qi. His broad shoulders and hulking frame made him seem less like a man and more like a mountain come alive—unmovable, implacable, and filled with raw, white-hot fury. He moved with surprising agility, his heavy boots barely making a sound as he guarded the rear, eyes flickering with dark warning like twin embers.Suddenly, from the depths of the gloom, figures emerged—Blood Cult assassins, cloaked in crimson robes mottled with ancient runic tattoos that glowed faintly with poisonous light. Their expressions were amorphous behind the swirling mist, but their venom-bathed blades glistened with malevolence.Abraham slid into motion—the Plum Blossom Sword's delicate forms blossoming into lethal mandalas of tenacious qi. "Cascade Bloom," he breathed, feet whispering across moss while branches danced away. Blossoms of energy unfurled and converged, petals expanding to form ephemeral shields that snapped as poisoned daggers broke upon them. His sword struck with precision—silent, fluid arcs slicing through the approaching mass like a hummingbird's wing.From the right, an assassin surged forward, short and lithe, wiry muscles flexing in a ripple beneath patchwork robes. The cultist's face hidden by a sinister mask etched with scarlet skulls, lips curled in a cruel smile. With a fluid motion, he unleashed the "Shadow Veil," enveloping himself in swirling tendrils of qi that warped light, dissolving into near invisibility. His blow came as a whisper—sharp, sudden, designed to sever arteries and spirits alike.Abraham's senses flared beyond the visible. Years mastering the subtle energy of Plum Blossom forms had trained his mind to perceive the faintest distortions. His body reacted before thought—a swift step back, cascading petal wave swirling upward. The "Eclipse Descent" fired out, a radiant crescent cleaving shifting shadows, shattering the thief's concealment. The assassin's form flickered, exposed, but his grin remained unbroken.Michael moved, a glacier of rage, his fists raining crimson arcs of energy that smote the cultists with brutal finality. His gauntleted hands, cracked and calloused from countless battles, struck like the earth itself breaking, the air around him whistling with disruptive force. Blood-soaked soil churned beneath his steps as enemies broke and scattered like prey caught in a wildfire.The battle wove into a symphony of chaos and craft. Abraham's lithe body shifted with the grace of a blossoming flower in storm, weaving "Throne Ascendant"—golden dragons crafted of pure qi spiraling around him, forming indomitable barriers and launching serpent-like strikes. His face remained impassive, yet his piercing gaze cataloged every foe's weakness and every flicker of their deadly dance.The cultists were relentless, however, their venomous qi seeping into the earth and air, blurring boundaries between reality and nightmare. One towering assassin loomed—a monstrous figure whose blood manipulation stretched his sinews and warped his flesh with crimson runes. With a guttural roar, he unleashed a torrent of corrupted qi, crimson spirals smashing toward Abraham like crushing waves.Abraham countered with Violet Cloud Divine Skill, weaving qi renewal waves that burned corruption away while his sword's petals danced in radiant circles, dispersing the crimson storm into harmless sparks. He gritted his teeth as a shallow wound blossomed on his forearm, pain flashing hot, but his form never faltered. Every strike was a story—a fragile balance between discipline and raw power.Meanwhile, Michael's cold fury became a hurricane, surrounding himself with swirling crimson qi storms—a tempest of sheer force and unyielding dominance. His roars echoed, sending cultists toppling like rag dolls, but even such might had limits. The incessant tide of hostile energy weighed against his already battered body.At a critical moment, a cult poison blade deflected Michael's guard, scarring his armored shoulder, the qi burning like molten iron. Michael snarled, wiping blood from a split lip, but pressed the assault—his towering figure splintering foes with relentless blows.Abraham's internal voice whispered urgently as he parried a spear thrust near his face: This is more than a fight. It is a test of balance—between petals and poison, between calm and chaos. The Blood Cult's venom is a twisted mirror of my own power; a poison in the bloodline of Murim.Suddenly, amidst the swirling conflict, a shadow detached itself—a whispered threat moving like smoke. The cult's second-in-command emerged, slim and lithe, with eyes as cold and sharp as obsidian shards. She smiled cruelly, twirling a blood-red ribbon that shimmered in qi—a weapon as deadly as any blade, laced with curses that could unravel a cultivator's will.Abraham met her challenge, kicking into the lethal dance once more. The duel became a storm of petals and ribbons, qi clashing in waves that shimmered with every heartbeat. With precise steps and sharp turns, he unveiled secret Plum Blossom forms, folding petals into spirals that ensnared and struck with fierce beauty.Finally, as the cult unleashed a coordinated surge, Abraham and Michael converged—a tempest paired with grace. Their combined force slit through the enemy ranks as the elder disciples rallied, petals and qi blasting in synchronized fury.The battlefield stilled under the aftershock. Bodies and embers littered the earth, the cultists vanquished, but Abraham knew this was not the end—only a prelude to the greater firestorm ahead. Fire burned in the distance, and the reclaiming of Murim's soul was far from over.