Chapter 45: Agony

Qian Ye’s entire right side was now completely numb, as if it had vanished from existence. It was a grave omen concerning bullet injuries—it indicated that a certain type of enhanced-origin bullet was used.

With great difficulty, he pulled his chest armor aside, looking downwards to see what appeared as a projectile wound near his right shoulder atop his chest. The area was highly swollen, closing up the opening left behind by the bullet. The tip wasn’t visible anymore. What shocked eyes were the black and blue tones creeping across the flesh, and the skin grew thin, almost translucent, beneath which streaks of deep darkness flowed like creatures possessed with a dreadful vitality that horrified anyone watching.

Upon laying eyes on the wound’s grotesquery, Qian Ye gave a bitter smile.

They were dealing with Black Titanium Annihilation bullets—one of the dark race’s foremost techniques designed for annihilating the elites of the Empire. They ranked among the top causes behind injuries and deaths among elite Imperial commanders.

During lesser duels, below the rank of Count where only extremely gifted marksmen possessed higher-tier weapon talents, individuals generally used origin-firearms rated no higher than Class Seven. At this level, the Black Titanium rounds were amongst the deadliest tools—surpassing Imperial White Silver Radiant Bullets somewhat in harming dawn-faction elites but approximating the effects of the secret alchemically-refined White Silver Radiant Bullet concocted by Clan Song.

For those lesser than Twelfth Grade Commanders absent of protective techniques and urgent treatment, one shot of it not only meant severe and permanent capability impairment or crippling injury, practically ensuring physical decay. The devastation it imposed could potentially scorch away a “Radiance Spiral”—the foundational ability harnessed by the Dawn elites themselves.

It came from her rifle indeed! Even before recognizing her form, he had seen the targeting reticle of a deadly rifle settle on Qian Ye’s forehead.

Qian Ye remained sat down with his back leaning against the damp cavern’s stone surface rather than rushing wound management. Instead, lifting his gaze to the ceiling, he idly plucked a glowing strange little herb from among the rocks nearby to be chewed absentmindedly between his gritted teeth. The herb’s juice was spicy-bitter, tinged with slight numbing qualities. It became evidently clear such plants, thriving oddly within this toxic chamber, bore venom—serious venom, in fact.

Nevertheless, he merely bit into it and remained motionless with eyes locked upwards, unmoving and mute.

Actually, not a thought stirred within him.

And he could not dare to contemplate. He prevented even a hint at an idea from entering his emotionally drained being. Not allowing thoughts should save the pain—but somehow, even voids filled unknowingly. It reached from somewhere within, deep and piercing.

What he did not wish to recollection, however, relentlessly rewound and replayed inside him as the closing images fought back: the demon lineage individual spotting Qian Ye using the supernatural power of its third eye then roaring “Attack her!” at Ye Ting before lunging forward with speed.

Nearly simultaneously upon its screech releasing into the air, Ye Ting’s high-caliber sniper rifle already erupted, the shot itself nearly impossible to dodge in close range. The additional momentary dazed Qian Ye had been in had been worse than reckless exposure.

Certainly—he owed his life for the umpteenth time to his battle instincts, his near-miraculous ability avoiding any critical organs. But even if he had managed the impossible, the shot was a “Black Titanium” warhead—lethal impact guaranteed wherever it struck.

This single shot pierced both armor and soul alike.

It seemed like yesterday—the night at the trading outpost, barkeeper—an aged spider demon, its eyes hinting at encouragement, smiling ever subtly in its own twisted amusement; her passionate flame; how burning she felt to his touch. All the warmth, fierce enough to scald anything else to ashes.

A multitude of cherished memories reduced now to something no more than dreams.

No… it did not transpire in slumber—it truly unfolded; reality made unreal as all dissolved in morning’s first kiss, vanishing in evanescent dews under the golden sun.

The bullet imbedded still inside now radiated fiery pain, waking up a wild dormant animal growled within him, a painful reminder: the reality felt by his soul and body existed absolutely.

Qian Ye eventually turned his thoughts towards the wound. Internally scanning himself, he found it precisely as forecast: fading golden-origin light struggled, fighting fiercely against Black Titanium’s deadly tide, the light weakening to mimic waning dusk.

While in this struggle Original Wings vibrated uneasily—releasing puffs of golden-infused crimson vital essence from every quiver, slowly making its way past the weakened “Golden Spiral.” Piercing into withering tissues and lifeless flesh, the crimson essence sprouted up, fragile amidst arid expanse as a single blade amidst vast desert sands—igniting dull aching into sensation again, across his lifeless half-body.

Clicking the blade against stone as he raised a dagger in hand, it found its purchase slicing deeply through gangrenous rot. Cross-cutting, another swipe, and with one careful forward push inward—the blade tip struck the embedded head solid metal. There was a soft ‘thump.’

In his unfeeling demeanor now, Qian Ye twisted his blade around, ruthlessly gouging bullet tip, surrounding muscle fibers, along with sections of bones as blood erupted and his fingers shook faintly despite the coldness surrounding him.

He allowed his trembling body to lean into the cool wall briefly, breathing heavily, retrieving the embedded metallic remnant, wrapped with shattered remains of himself. Even viewing from this proximity, discomforting pins-and-needles tingling prickled his skin and stung his eyes, like invisible fine particles bombarding at once.

A slow unsettling smile crept upon his face, as a finger-flick hurled the bullet across, deep inside cave-wall’s unknown recess, vanishing into the shadowed chasms. This token he neither desired for eyes upon it evermore. For inside his mind, this particular titanium bullet exceeded regular versions in content and power—clearly specially forged to exceed average.

Furthermore, luck stayed his ally—battle plating, residual defensive energy, and bodily structures held fast and absorbed enough force, halting penetration. What had lodged was partial, one-third only of its total load now infiltrating his system.

Surveying the wound once again in scrutiny, Qian Ye wielded the Hemobane blade in hand with ruthless efficiency, severing decayed meat by piece down until gleaming white skeletal surface exposed. Charcoal blackness dominated the chest wound, dead tissues plentiful. His blade danced, delicately scraping the bones clean of infected decay. Only when his efforts reached completion did he finally slump back, his forehead drenched in icy drops of sheer depletion and fatigue.

Letting his frame fall backward, nearly fully prone now. Every chest rise caused a wave in the pain symphony, torment renewing. But here in anguish’s cruel embrace—a strange comfort formed within.

The feeling of being scathed by burning flames had neither faded nor weakened—it now crawled out through every muscle and marrow like poison, feeding off his essence with malicious intent. Indeed, it was moving, slithering insidiously, consuming further.

No longer just a flesh wound—Black Titanium’s true danger lay in slow cellular infection. Only a trace entering the bloodstream might already ensure one’s inevitable decay-filled termination. This unique substance held total destructive qualities that erased all vitality present as it slithered toward unexplored body parts. Even mere nearby, casual exposure would drain humans of all inner potential if left without special sealing countermethods in place.

For elite warrior-tier humans, struggling might elongate life a week or longer—but ultimately futile, since no antidote existed capable of neutralizing this material. Furthermore, the Dawn-style inner energy possessed limited potency counteracting it. And once afflicted, internal tissue damage became irreversible upon infiltration.

Ultimately many warriors chose a single course—forcing one’s Radiant Core’s explosive reaction, attempting a temporary halt at the titanium’s advancement. Though such methods carried their own cost—an irreversible wound inflicted upon the self’s battle readiness just to survive.

History spoke grim truths in this; countless stories of Imperial elite warriors turning their blades into self-destruction as wounds proved unmanageable—fighting an un-ending spiral of decay. Choosing the swiftest path instead of the cruelly dragging march of body’s self-inflicted torment, watching every inch consumed by a rot from within.

Suddenly an ironic self-sneered laugh escaped Qian Ye’s own throat at this knowledge.

The Empire indeed had its equivalents—White Silver Radiant Bullets were an example. Even more potent versions were crafted secretly too. Though these remained rare, tightly controlled with both military elite command tiers and ancient noble Houses maintaining sole manufacturing rights; even glimpsing a single round could prove nearly miraculous under most situations.

He had seen such fates in action repeatedly—a number of darkness-aligned beings dying after being struck by such bullets mid-combat or shrieking under its flame. Some of these fates he himself delivered through his own rifle muzzle to such foes. All those creatures had been reduced to darkened burnt corpses; scorched to black husks without trace of life.

It’s ironic now—his destiny became that fire he once inflicted upon others.

What truly tore into this pain, though, was this bullet version—custom-designed Black Titanium. The shooter? One name carved within both blood and emotion within Qian Ye’s shattered heart.

It aimed at him. The designated impact point was between eyes! He couldn’t stop the thought—an unshockably haunting one—that a clean end might grant the mercy of death, no suffering endured.

“I’m so unrelenting after… all this still?” Qian Ye murmured, half sarcastic, remembering only instinct had dodged his deathblow by reflex.

Fetching a tobacco stick, he inserted one potent drop of combat stimulant inside, then igniting the cigarette took strong deep inhale even though its scent risked enemy attraction.

The familiarity of the fragrance returned thoughts to his Lampost Hamlet phase; when life every sunrise brought a brutal blood intoxicating challenge he endured—when the days passed drenched in toxic agony, and the future felt more desolate compared to recent years’ battles. Despite being beyond comprehension darker, his fighting spirit burned strong solely out of hope—faint but persistent, like a candle within a storm.

In silence, Qian Ye remained lost, puffing on the cigarette with quiet resolve until, as the tip faded to red-hot ember against skin, the last bit transformed to smoky grey remnants drifting into the air.

“Bang!” His sudden motion caught the nearby air with sound—a deliberate brutal collision as his skull collided hard back into stonewall. The impact, so forceful instantly dented, then fractured, deep craters spidering out from the force. The sheer strength left the wall’s integrity questionable.

Warm liquid trickled from the nape of his neck.

Yet amidst darkness, within his eye depths—the long-faded flames relit, fierce in their rekindlement. His cigarette held delicately in a trembling grasp, the last ember kissed his fingers in a final act of painful sensation that, like a stimulant, returned his clarity.

She might gone, true enough—but friendships endure. Loyal brothers as family. Somewhere far across lands perhaps awaited close blood-related ones. And surely within Eternal Night’s lands lingered many lives he must return for… they counted the day to his return as hope.

A sound then emerged from the chamber passage outside—a creature was approaching with clumsy footfalls broken only by heavy irregular breaths. A predator must have followed his blood or cigarette’s smell inside. A boar-sized land beast wandered cautiously in—sniffing along the path.

No moment later—the brute suddenly levitated into air as strong hands from nowhere seized. Weight hundreds of kgs in its thick form—held by pure might aloft. Qian Ye, his face twisted savagely and instinctively, lunged to tear through the beast’s throat, fangs biting hard and fast into it.

Delivering immediate violent death while blood flowed scalding into him in streams—a long unutilized, savage manner of nourishment. How long it now been… and this brutal revival of his ancestral blood reawakened primal violent inclinations.

But in an instant after that red river’s first taste entered his being—the internal tide began boiling hot.

A torrent gushed forth from the source of transformation, his own Blood Core surged forth an unbreakable force. His body transformed entirely into a furnace of boiling blood once again!

A golden fire’s essence, surging forth thread by thread with searing energy, rushed into the remotest body corners rapidly spreading. Black Titanium-induced burning faded fast, slowing spread drastically.

This Titanium was potent death for Dawn’s kind, yet lesser on Ever-Night beings’ constitution who evolved under similar taints—while Qian Ye’s Flamegold Blood ranked among elite Ever-Night warriors’ upper realms tier.

With that awakening, he became the very battleground in which blood power and black titanium fought ceaselessly, his very essence reclaiming dominance—slow and brutal consumption of his uninvited intruding metallic invaders now inevitable.