He wired the last noise trap using a snapped cable, a hollow shard, and tension from the building's fractured frame. It wasn't elegant—but if anything heavier than a cat stepped on it, it'd scream like hell.
Lu Chen exhaled through his teeth.
The interior of the ruin felt slightly less suicidal now. Two exits. One visual blind. Crystalline wall for insulation. The place might hold.
Might.
The light dimmed again.
Not naturally. It blinked. Like a dying pulse.
[00:44:09 Remaining][Environmental Shift Detected | Phase 2 Initiated][Qi Saturation: Critical | Interference Field Building]
"Phase 2?" he echoed under his breath. "You haven't even told me what Phase 1 was."
The system flickered, then surged briefly—an unstable glow rippling across his interface.
And then, for a heartbeat, he heard something through it.
–ve... me... yo...–
Garbled. Distant. Like a voice trapped in static.Not AI. Not mechanical.Human.
It vanished as fast as it came.
Lu Chen froze. The stories always said isolation was the killer. But worse than being alone—Was thinking you weren't, when you actually were.
He shook off the thought. No time. No luxury for fear loops.
He turned his attention to the formation.
He had no talismans, no etched jade slips, no proper cultivation. But he had symbols. The ones he'd memorized from forum posts, half-translated scroll leaks, obscure scans.
He drew with shard-dust on flat metal.
Three lines. Circle. Anchor. Spiral flow. Reverse it. Split it.
A janky barrier formation, barely worth the name.
But he powered it with intent. And in this world, that was halfway to real.
The metal buzzed. The shard glowed faintly.
Formation Initialized: Improvised Grade | Effect: Minimal Defensive Feedback
He smiled grimly.
"Good enough."
Outside, the world was changing.
The colours bled wrong. Blues deepened into void, reds into something closer to hunger than hue. Shadows were moving now.
Not cast.
Alive.
They didn't walk. They drifted.
Shapes of former things, vaguely bipedal. Elongated. Twisted like their souls had been peeled sideways and left to rot.
They weren't there—not fully.
But they were watching.
The crystal around the ruin pulsed faintly, reacting. Resonating. Not in fear. In recognition.
That scared him more.
[00:37:22 Remaining]
[New Threat Detected | Class: Eidolon Type 1]
[Status: Hunting Pattern Detected | Proximity: Outer Perimeter]
He stared at the readout. "Type one?" he muttered. "How many types are there?"
His answer came in the form of a distant, bone-dragging scrape.
Then another.
Then breathing.
Not human.
Not animal.
Just wrong.
Lu Chen crouched behind the metal barricade he'd rigged. One hand hovered over his makeshift formation, the other gripping the longest shard like a dagger.
His brain ran simulations. Not for winning. Just for lasting.
He didn't need to kill anything.
He just needed to survive the countdown.
[00:34:56 Remaining]
Three and a half story arcs' worth of nightmare—compressed into thirty-four minutes.
He whispered to himself.
"Think like a reader. Act like a protagonist. Survive like a roach."
Outside, something clicked.
Not from a mouth. From joints that weren't meant to move.
Lu Chen felt the air pressure shift. The noise trap snapped, shrieked—and then went dead silent.
Nothing moved.
Even the shadows seemed to hold their breath.
Then—
They came.
The silence broke like glass underfoot.
A shape crossed the trap line, dissolving the shard's feedback with sheer presence. Not speed. Not stealth. Just inevitability.
Lu Chen didn't breathe.
Not even a twitch.
He watched.
The Eidolon stepped into view. It didn't glow. It didn't roar. It unfolded—like a memory of something that had once been human but forgot how bones were meant to bend.
Too tall. Too thin. Limbs like puppet joints sculpted from shadow and regret.
It turned its head—no eyes—and looked directly at him.
He didn't move.
Didn't even blink.
Please don't see me.
A line from one of the books echoed through his skull like a mantra:
"Spiritual-class entities hunt on intent before sight."
No intention. No hostility. No fear. Just observation.
The creature tilted its head. Not curious—more like listening to a voice he couldn't hear.
Then it moved on.
Slither-walked. Phased past a crumbling pillar. Gone like fog.
Lu Chen collapsed back onto the floor. Sweat poured from him like rain.
He should have been relieved.
But instead—
[Threat Level Increased | Eidolon Type 1: Observer Class Passed]
[New Pattern Detected: Eidolon Type 2 Approaching | Class: Engager]
His mouth went dry.
The stories were clear.
Observers passed. Engagers didn't.
And they always came second.
He scrambled. Improvised. Pulled cables tighter, slammed metal into place, and activated his makeshift formation with both hands this time—feeding it panic. Will. Desperation.
The metal ringed like a tuning fork.
Outside, the sound changed.
Faster. Heavier.
Not just limbs this time—weight.
The Engager didn't slither.
It ran.
Straight at him.
[00:29:12 Remaining]
His mind broke free from hesitation like a snapped chain.
No time for plans. Just instinct.
He dove to the side as the wall exploded inward—metal, crystal, and noise traps atomised by force. A massive figure surged through the dust, body twitching in violent stop-motion. Like it was skipping frames of reality.
The formation flared—slowed it. That was all.
But it was enough.
Lu Chen rolled, grabbed the humming shard, and jammed it into the wall behind him.
It cracked.
Released stored static charge—probably meant for circuitry. Definitely not combat.
It worked anyway.
The blast rocked the corridor. The Engager reeled—twitched in that stuttering, corrupted motion. Its limbs flickered between positions.
Then it screamed.
Not with a voice. With pressure.
Lu Chen's ears bled. His eyes blurred.
But he moved.
Tossed another charge—a capacitor from an old relay. Hit the floor and ran for the back exit.
Behind him, the formation failed. Metal warped. Energy died.
The Engager pushed through the feedback field like it was water.
But Lu Chen wasn't there anymore.
He was gone.
Down a slope. Into another ruin. Across broken glass and memory-flesh and decayed architecture of a world half-digitised.
No map. No plan.
Just instinct. Panic. And the timer.
[00:23:04 Remaining]
He collapsed inside what looked like a fallen transit pod. Cylindrical. Shattered but shielded.
Then he started laughing.
Breathless. Raw. Hysterical.
He'd done it.
He hadn't won.
But he'd survived.
At least for now.
He sank deeper into the shadows of the fallen transit pod, body trembling, heart thudding in his throat.
[00:22:41 Remaining]
Still ticking.
Still too long.
But now he wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse.
Because what if the timer wasn't counting down to danger?
What if it was counting down to release?
And worse—what if it never stopped?
He stared at the numbers, blinking against the blur in his eyes. His breath steamed against the curved glass. Cracks spiderwebbed through it like veins.
Was he supposed to keep running until the countdown ended?
Or would the ending never come?
His mind raced. This world—it didn't move in straight lines. Light bent. Buildings shifted when he wasn't looking. The Engager hadn't moved like anything natural. And the system? Vague. Fragmented. Like it didn't even understand itself anymore.
So what if the rules weren't real?
What if the timer was a lure? A leash?
The stories always said time limits meant danger. But what if that was just another trope? What if here—it was bait?
He pulled his knees in, breath slowing. Mind sharpening. Instinct had gotten him this far—but instinct said run, always run.
Now… a different thought crept in.
Should I stop?
Should I turn around?
Should I face what's chasing me?
Because what if this place wasn't testing his endurance?
What if it was testing his resolve?
That idea—it settled in his bones. Uncomfortable. Dangerous. But not wrong.
He exhaled and finally looked away from the timer.
Inside the shattered transit pod, Lu Chen slumped against the curved wall, trying to steady his breathing. Blood crusted in his nose. His ears rang.
But beneath the fear—beneath the noise—something pulsed.
A flicker in his peripheral.
The console.
Not external.
Not found.
Embedded.
He blinked, and the interface lit up in his vision—fractal blue overlays unfurling like ghost-thoughts across his eyes. It had been there since the beginning. Always humming at the edge of awareness, like a background process he'd never fully accessed.
The Celestial Net.
[Celestial Net Subsystem: Online]
User Status: Mortal Tier | Cultivation Core: Absent
Access Level: Fragmentary
Lu Chen stared at the interface. His fingers twitched—half-instinct, half-memory. He navigated menus with a flick of his wrist and a thought. The system lagged, glitched, but moved.
He wasn't a cultivator.
But he was something else.
A designer.
A reader.
A hacker.
He pulled every scrap of memory he had—about mortal techniques, defensive skills, ways to survive without Qi. His knowledge wasn't martial. It was meta.
From stories.
And now, those stories were schematics.
He rewrote code fragments in the skill editor, bypassed energy requirements by redefining triggers. He created feedback loops, injected disruptor logic.
He didn't wait for permission.
He made the skill.
[Custom Skill Created: Ghost Signal]
Tier: Mortal
Type: Tactical Disruption
Effect: Temporal-Sensory Masking (2.5s)
Energy Draw: Neural + Muscular Stress
Feedback Status: Incomplete but Stable
Then he synced it.
Pain flared through his spine as the circuit locked. His breath hitched—but he held.
"Good enough."
Next—the weapon.