Immortal Paladin

95 Shadow Song

Hei Yuan hovered in the air, his Essence Gathering cultivation allowing him to defy gravity with ease. Beside him, Hei Mu and Hei Ma stood atop their swords, the blades shimmering with the faint glow of their qi. From their vantage point above the Shadow Clan’s hidden island, the scene below was dire.

Thick, unnatural fog had long shrouded the land, but now it writhed as something darker devoured it. A black miasma, corrosive and writhing like living tendrils, seeped through the mist, creeping toward their people. The valley’s natural defenses were being consumed.

“This is bad,” Hei Ma said, his voice tense.

Hei Mu narrowed her eyes. “We should evacuate.”

“To where?” Hei Yuan asked flatly. He swept his gaze over the valley’s perimeter. Thousands of cultivators surrounded them, their presence like a wall of swords pressing ever closer. The Shadow Clan had less than a hundred fighters left, and even those were weary from constant battle.

Hei Ma suddenly yelped, his fingers twitching as though recalling something. “That miasma… I’ve read about it before. The old texts mention a way to manipulate it—using shadows.”

Hei Yuan frowned. Manipulating miasma with shadows? It was a dangerous notion, but one that made sense given their clan’s ancient techniques. He glanced at Hei Mu, who seemed lost in thought.

“The dragon,” she murmured.

Hei Yuan’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“The dragon sealed within the lake,” she clarified, her gaze meeting his. “Our ancestor locked it away centuries ago. If we free it—”

Hei Ma gasped audibly. “Without the Patriarch, we wouldn’t be able to control it!”

Silence fell over them.

Hei Mu turned her sharp gaze to Hei Yuan. “Where is the Patriarch?”

Hei Yuan didn’t answer immediately. He looked down at the island, then at the distant encroaching forces. His fingers curled slightly. The truth was, he didn’t know.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, voice barely audible against the howling wind.

Hei Yuan floated above the island, his robes billowing in the wind as his mind replayed his last conversation with the Patriarch. It had been nearly a month since he last stood before the clan’s highest authority, offering up the spirit stones that the outsider, Da Wei, had paid them.

”Use them wisely,” the Patriarch had said instead. His voice, always enigmatic, held an undertone of weariness that Hei Yuan had not yet deciphered.

Yet now, with the island besieged and their defenses crumbling, the Patriarch was nowhere to be found.

Hei Yuan exhaled, his golden eyes sweeping over Hei Mu and Hei Ma. “As the Elder of the Shadow Clan and the highest authority present, I will break the seal,” he declared solemnly. “Only those with the Abyss Sight can do this.”

Hei Mu nodded, her expression unreadable. Hei Ma, however, hesitated, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

“If there is no other choice,” Hei Ma finally said, his voice taut with tension, “then we can only support you.”

Hei Yuan gave him a rare, approving glance. “I need your support,” he admitted. “Protect me, while I remove the seal!” He said in his Qi Speech, sending the order to everyone.

At his command, the remaining Shadow Clan cultivators poured their strength into the island’s protective formation. The layers of spells, already strained, shimmered and thickened, reinforcing their veil of concealment. For now, the enemy would be delayed—but only for a moment longer.

Hei Yuan turned toward the shore, where the layers of enchantments covered the lake’s every surface. It was an ancient place, one that had not been disturbed for centuries.

As he descended, his fingers moved in precise gestures, tracing symbols in the air. Dark inscriptions manifested, orbiting around him in spirals of shifting shadow. The air pulsed with an eerie hum, the power of the Shadow Clan’s forbidden arts coming to life.

The black fog continued to consume the white mist around them. It devoured, twisted, hungered. Hei Yuan felt an ill premonition claw at the back of his mind. He dared not imagine what lay at the end of this path.

But he had no choice.

The Mirage Dragon had to be unleashed.

Hei Yuan pressed his palm to the surface of the lake. The water, still as a mirror, did not ripple—until the first whisper of his incantation passed his lips.

“By the will of the Abyss, I call upon the pact of old. Let shadow unbind, let illusion take form. I sever the chains, I release the beast.”

The ancient inscriptions that had lain dormant for centuries flared to life beneath the lake’s surface, glowing with a ghostly blue light. They coiled and twisted, unraveling the seal that their ancestor had once placed. The water trembled. The very air trembled.

A deep rumble resounded from beneath.

The sigils orbiting Hei Yuan accelerated, their energy crackling with unstable power. The lake, once calm, now roiled with dark currents as something immense began to stir.

The Mirage Dragon was waking.

Hei Yuan braced himself. This was only the beginning.

The lake’s surface fractured like shattered glass, jagged ripples distorting the reflections of the sky. The very air trembled as something immense stirred beneath. Then, with a roar that sent waves crashing against the island’s shores, the Mirage Dragon burst free.

It was a fearsome sight.

A serpentine body, longer than the tallest spire of the Shadow Clan’s stronghold, coiled through the air. Its scales shimmered between reality and illusion—one moment an abyssal black that drank in the light, the next a radiant silver like moonlit mist. Eyes of molten gold burned with ancient malice, and its mane, dark as midnight, flowed as if submerged in unseen currents. The creature’s every motion distorted space itself, a mirage given terrifying form.

The dragon inhaled deeply, its massive chest expanding as power flooded its lungs. Then, it spoke—its voice vast, echoing from the depths of time itself.

“He who dances in his sleep has finally awakened! Freed at last, this seat shall enact his vengeance upon the Shadow!”

The proclamation was a thunderclap to Hei Yuan’s ears. His breath caught in his throat. Vengeance?

The dragon’s golden gaze locked onto him, unreadable yet seething with an ancient grudge. Its jaws parted, revealing rows of fangs that shimmered with barely restrained power. This was no mere beast. It was a being of the Heart Path—the Eighth Realm. A step beyond mortals, one who could imprint their will upon the world itself.

Hei Yuan’s heart pounded. ‘We are doomed.’

Yet even as despair threatened to take hold, he steeled himself. He was the Elder of the Shadow Clan, and if his life was the price to pay, so be it.

Summoning every ounce of his cultivation, he raised his hands, shadows coiling like living serpents around his arms. He would pour his very life force into this spell—if nothing else, he would make the dragon bleed before it destroyed them.

But before he could unleash his power—

Darkness erupted from the lake.

Black tendrils of shadow surged upward, wrapping around the Mirage Dragon’s massive form, entwining like chains reforged. The beast thrashed, its scales shimmering in and out of existence as it fought against the unseen force.

“No! This cannot be!” the dragon roared, its vast body writhing as it was dragged downward.

Hei Yuan’s eyes widened. The mark. The seal placed upon the dragon long ago—the binding technique used to control it. Someone had activated it.

Then, he saw him.

A lone figure hovered above the battlefield, robes billowing in the wind, his face lined with age yet still exuding undeniable authority.

The Patriarch.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then, the Shadow Clan’s remaining cultivators erupted into cheers.

“The Patriarch has returned!”

“We are saved!”

Hei Yuan, however, did not celebrate. Something felt wrong. The way the dragon struggled, the way its fury was not wild but… betrayed. He had no proof, no evidence, only instinct screaming at him.

Then—

A whisper behind him.

“I am sorry, Elder.”

Hei Mu’s voice.

A sharp, searing pain exploded in his back. The world tilted as his body lurched forward. Hei Yuan barely registered the attack before the force of it sent him staggering.

He turned—

Hei Mu stood behind him, hammer in hand, her expression cold and unreadable.

Hei Ma’s shout cut through the chaos. “Why?!”

His face twisted in raw betrayal as he turned toward his wife, his hands trembling. The shock in his eyes made it clear—he had not known.

Hei Mu’s only response was silence.

Then she moved.

Her flying sword separated from her in a blur of silver, streaking toward Hei Ma like a viper striking its prey. The blade pierced his shoulder, driving him to the ground.

It happened too fast.

Hei Yuan tried to force his body to move, to retaliate, but the pain lanced through him, his limbs sluggish. His mind reeled.

Hei Mu slowly ascended into the air. The oppressive weight of her spiritual energy unfurled, pressing down upon the battlefield like the hand of a god.

Seventh Realm.

Bloodline Refinement.

As she hovered above them all, black and white wings unfurled from her back—ethereal yet solid, their colors shifting like yin and yang, the mark of one who had stepped beyond mere mortality.

A traitor had been among them all along.

Hei Mu gazed down at Hei Yuan with an emotionless expression—save for the glint of remorse buried within her cold, determined eyes.

“This could only end this way,” she murmured, almost to herself.

She bit her thumb, allowing dark blood to flow freely. Then, with deliberate slowness, she dragged her bloodied hand across the haft of her hammer.

A ripple of dark energy pulsed outward. The weapon warped and twisted, its heavy form elongating, its head thinning into a wicked crescent. In mere breaths, it had transformed into a giant scythe, its blade gleaming with a malevolent sheen.

Hei Yuan gritted his teeth and tried to stand, but his legs refused to obey. His body trembled from the force of the blow he had taken. Blood soaked the inside of his robes, and every breath sent fire through his ribs.

But he would not fall here.

Forcing his qi to flow, he willed himself upward, hovering into the air. His mind screamed at him to remain calm, to push away the whirlwind of emotions threatening to cloud his judgment.

He turned his gaze to her. “Why?” His voice was hoarse, but the single word carried the weight of his breaking composure.

Then, he looked beyond her, to the old man hovering above the battlefield.

The Patriarch. Their revered leader. The man who had guided the Shadow Clan for as long as Hei Yuan had lived.

A trembling breath left him. “Why?! Patriarch, why? Is this your will?!! I told you, didn’t I? I would die for you, so why?!”

The words barely escaped his lips, his voice shaking despite himself.

Hei Mu scoffed, her response immediate and unhesitating.

“This is the only way for the Shadow to thrive once more.”

The wind howled between them.

She lifted her scythe, and the air around her trembled with suppressed energy. Her gaze was cold, but within it lay a zeal that burned brighter than any flicker of doubt.

“The Black Monarch will perish,” she declared. “And the Eternal Undeath Cult shall rise once more to the peak of its prosperity.”

A chill ran down Hei Yuan’s spine.

The Eternal Undeath Cult—an ancient force long thought to be a fractured remnant of history. A name that should not have resurfaced. Yet, before him stood one of their own, declaring its rebirth with unwavering certainty.

His fingers curled into fists. If words were meaningless, then he would let the shadows speak for him.

Dark qi surged through his veins. He wove his hands through practiced motions, and the shadows around him quivered in answer, rising and shaping themselves into a hundred jagged points.

Hundred Shadow Spears.

A silent execution.

The spears were invisible to those who lacked the Abyss Sight. A technique honed over generations—unseen, unfelt, and utterly lethal.

Hei Mu had not moved.

“YOUR ARROGANCE KNOWS NO BOUNDS!”

Hei Yuan would end this before she could strike again.

Focusing his Abyss Sight to its utmost limit, he let his vision darken, draining the world of color until nothing remained but shadow and form. His eyes turned completely black—like the abyss itself.

The spears struck.

And then—

A pulse.

A single, effortless release of her qi.

The Hundred Shadow Spears disintegrated.

Hei Yuan froze, disbelief locking his breath in his throat.

That was… impossible.

Hei Mu’s gaze did not waver. Her scythe gleamed, and her wings unfurled further, casting a long shadow across the battlefield.

He had miscalculated.

This was not the same Hei Mu he once knew.

“The difference between the Seventh Realm and the Sixth Realm is that wide?

Hei Yuan stared in horror.

Hei Mu’s eyes—black as the abyss itself—gazed back at him.

Impossible. Abyss Sight was a rare gift, awakened only to those who had immersed themselves in the deepest teachings of the Shadow Clan and were lucky enough to perceive the fringes of the dimension hidden in the shadows. It was not something that could simply be… acquired, because they wanted to.

Yet there she stood, her gaze swallowing the light, the darkness within them even more profound than his own.

“How…?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Hei Mu’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “A gift,” she said. “From my master.”

A slow chill crept through Hei Yuan’s veins. “Your… master?”

Her smile widened. “The One True Death.”

The words were spoken with reverence, as if she had uttered the name of a divine being.

A deathly silence fell between them, broken only by the howling wind.

Hei Yuan turned to the Patriarch, desperation clawing at his chest. “Patriarch,” he called, his voice tight with urgency. “You must see reason! The clan—our people—”

Hei Mu scoffed. “It’s no use, Elder.” She waved a hand lazily, as if swatting away a pointless plea. “The Patriarch is already dead.”

A slow, dreadful realization settled in Hei Yuan’s bones.

She turned to him, her voice calm, unwavering. “Transformed by Death himself.”

His breath caught in his throat.

Undead.

The Patriarch—leader of the Shadow Clan, the pillar of their people—had been defiled, his soul stolen, his body remade into a puppet of this so-called master.

A sharp gasp broke the moment.

Hei Ma.

His expression twisted with rage as he staggered to his feet, blood still flowing from his shoulder wound. He yanked the sword from his flesh, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white.

“How dare you—” he roared.

His entire body tensed as he pushed off the ground, soaring into the air. His sword flashed in the light, trailing golden arcs of qi as he swung with all his fury.

Hei Mu met his rage with nothing but cold amusement.

“As my husband,” she said, “I would show you preferential treatment.” Her tone was almost fond. “I offer you a place at my side in the new Empire.”

“Never!” Hei Ma bellowed.

His blade descended.

But he was far too slow.

Hei Mu’s wings pulsed. In a blur, she was above him, her scythe arcing in a single, fluid motion.

A spray of crimson.

Hei Ma’s body froze in midair. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came.

A thin, black line appeared across his torso. Then—

He split in two.

But it did not end there.

A sickening force compressed his bisected form before his body even hit the ground. His limbs crumpled inward, bones snapping, flesh folding in on itself. His very existence was reduced—reshaped—into something unrecognizable.

By the time his body finally landed, it was not a corpse.

It was nothing more than a grotesque, pulped sphere of mangled flesh.

Unrecognizable.

A ball of meat.

“W-what? T-that’s your… husband…”

Hei Yuan’s body trembled, though whether from pain or sheer horror, he could not tell. His breath came in ragged gasps as he stared at Hei Mu, who now hovered above them with her black-and-white wings unfurled.

Blood still dripped from her scythe, the remnants of Hei Ma—her husband—reduced to an unrecognizable mass of flesh.

Yet she smiled.

A slow, almost delighted flush crept across her cheeks.

Then, she began to sing.

Her voice was sweet, sultry, filled with a terrible beauty that sent shivers down the spines of all who heard it.

“Rejoice! Rejoice! The chains are undone,

The night has come, the shadow won.

No more shall we kneel, no more shall we bow,

In death’s embrace, we rise here and now.”

“Cry not, my kin, for sorrow is naught,

The world is but dust, and life but a thought.

Let flesh be broken, let spirit be freed,

A song of the abyss, a hymn of the seed.”

Hei Yuan’s eyes widened in horror.

This was not just a song.

This was Shadow Song.

A forgotten bloodline power of their clan—one just as potent as Abyss Sight, if not more so. It was a power that turned voice into weapon, song into suffering.

The moment the first verse left Hei Mu’s lips, agony rippled through the battlefield.

Shadow Clan cultivators—his people—twisted and writhed as though unseen hands gripped their very souls. Their bodies convulsed, veins bulging as black qi surged through them uncontrollably. Some clawed at their ears, desperate to block out the sound. Others dropped their weapons, falling to their knees as blood trickled from their eyes, ears, and mouths.

At each word Hei Mu sang, the pain deepened.

“Surrender, surrender, let darkness devour,

The shadow’s embrace, the final hour.

Fear not the end, nor the breaking of bone,

For in silence eternal, we all are alone.”

Screams filled the air.

The sound of bones snapping, of qi running wild, of bodies collapsing—one after another.

Hei Yuan gritted his teeth, forcing his qi to surge through his body, shielding his mind from the song’s insidious influence. Even then, it felt as though something was clawing at his very core, trying to rip apart his sense of self.

He turned his gaze back to Hei Mu.

She was looking straight at him.

Her eyes gleamed with cruel amusement, and her voice—so sweet, so inviting—never faltered.

“Rejoice! Rejoice! The chains are undone,

The night has come, the shadow won…”

Hei Yuan clenched his fists.

“No more shall we kneel, no more shall we bow,

In death’s embrace, we rise here and now.”

Thus, the song that even shadows could hear killed one, two, three, and more…