Long himself stumbled, eyes wide in disbelief, staring at his own hand. Faint wisps of blue energy still crackled around his fingers, lighting the mist with an unearthly glow. He had done that. But how? That technique - it came without incantation, without conscious thought, as if reflex... or memory. A fragment of knowledge long buried, now surfacing in desperation.
The demonic beast thrashed on the ground, its blood sizzling where it hit the earth, its screech a cacophony of rage and pain. The wound at its neck glowed faintly with residual spiritual power, burning at its flesh. Long realized with a start that the technique had been powerful enough to grievously wound, but not instantly kill. Already the monstrous thing was struggling up again, its red eyes now twin infernos of pain-maddened fury. The spear of light had not fully severed its thick neck.
Long's momentary astonishment cost him. With unnatural resilience, the beast lunged once more, even as its lifeblood poured from the gaping hole in its throat. Long tried to throw himself back, but this time he was not quick enough. A massive claw caught him across the torso, sending him flying. He hit the ground hard, the air blasted from his lungs. White-hot pain ripped through his chest; he gasped, tasting coppery blood on his tongue. In the haze of pain, he realized the beast's claws had raked deep gouges across his chest. His vision blurred, dark edges creeping in. The world tilted.
No... not like this...
Through the ringing in his ears, Long heard a new sound: the furious snarl of the wolf cub. Despite its injuries, the little creature had leapt forward and latched onto the flank of the demonic beast, biting down with its tiny fangs. The contrast would have been almost comical if not so dire: a pup trying to fell a mountain. The beast roared, shaking its body violently. It easily threw the cub off, sending the small form tumbling across the dirt. But that brief distraction was enough.
Something primal surged up from the depths of Long's being. He would not let this end here. Not with failure, not with this cub dying because of him. From the core of his soul, a dam broke, releasing a torrent of raw power. It flooded his limbs, his mind, obliterating the haze of pain in an instant. Long's eyes snapped open, now burning with a strange light – a glint of something beyond human.
He moved faster than thought. One moment he was sprawled on the ground, the next he was in front of the demonic beast, interposing himself between the monster and the cub once more. Only now his stance was different – back straight, shoulders squared, an aura of fierce energy swirling around him. The beast reared back, perhaps sensing the sudden change, its torn throat gurgling. Long's blood-soaked hand lifted, and he found himself uttering words in an ancient tongue that his current self did not understand. The syllables spilled from his lips like dark honey, resonant and full of wrath.
Blue-white light blossomed along his arms, coalescing into the shape of a blade – a shimmering sword of pure Qi extending from his fist. With a cry that echoed with two voices – his own and something deeper, resonant like thunder – Long slashed upward. The ethereal blade cleaved through the demon's already weakened neck. For a heartbeat, the beast stood utterly still. Then its head toppled from its shoulders with a wet rip, thudding to the ground at Long's feet. A fountain of black ichor gushed from the stump of its neck, splattering the trees and rocks.
The massive corpse swayed and collapsed to the side with a heavy crash, rattling the earth. The severed head rolled once and came to rest against a root, its red eyes dimming to emptiness, jaws still twisted in a final snarl. Silence fell, broken only by Long's ragged breathing and the distant drip of viscous blood from the leaves.
Long swayed on his feet, the glowing sword in his hand flickering and dying out. The aura around him vanished, leaving only a mortal man standing in the aftermath of violence. The adrenaline and borrowed strength ebbed all at once. His legs buckled. He caught himself against a tree trunk, smearing it with his blood from the chest wounds. He coughed, and warm liquid bubbled on his lips. The pain that had vanished in the frenzy now came roaring back tenfold. Every wound burned. But even more than the physical agony was the cold wave of horror that washed over him as he realized what had just occurred.
That power… he had tapped into a force buried deep within, one he hadn't known he possessed – or rather, one he had tried to forget. It felt ancient, immense, and utterly alien in its fury. For those brief moments, he had not been fully himself. There was a memory clinging to that power – like a specter just out of sight. The words he spoke… he knew somehow they were an incantation in a language of his past, from a life when he was not simply Long, a wandering fragment of a soul, but something far more fearsome. The realization shook him to the core.
Long pressed a trembling hand against his chest, as though he could calm the wild pounding of his heart. What am I? he thought, fear curling cold fingers around his mind. He stared at his hands, now slick with both his blood and the beast's. They were shaking. Minutes ago, those hands had unleashed death with a mere gesture. The savagery of it all - the headless corpse of the demon steaming at his feet, the gore spattered across the clearing - turned his stomach. He fell to his knees and retched, though there was little in him to bring up, only bitter bile and dread.
For a long moment, Long simply knelt there, eyes closed, focusing on breathing. The mist gathered softly around him again, as though nothing had happened, muffling the scene in gentle grey. The danger had passed, but the quiet that returned was not peace - it was the eerie lull after a storm, when one checks if the world is still intact. He felt anything but intact. He was shattered, inside and out.