Runes • Rifles • Reincarnation
78. Desperate Battle

Time seemed to slow for Jinshu as he surveyed the battlefield, his eyes catching glimpses of familiar faces amidst the chaos.

Wreathed in a raging inferno, Yanjiang’s mother, Huo, stood at the center of a fiery storm. Any Roc foolish enough to approach her burst into flames, their charred remains plummeting from the sky, filling the air with the sickly scent of roasted flesh.

Not far from her, Bing's mother, Xue, commanded an icy expanse of the mountain. With every graceful motion, spears of glimmering ice erupted from the ground, skewering two or three Rocs at a time. Their bodies froze mid-air, falling to the earth as grotesque, crystalline sculptures.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a towering, ten-meter-tall bipedal rabbit wielding an enormous replica of the Jade Rabbit's pestle. Yuetu’s mother, Tuzi. Jinshu had heard rumors of her possessing a near-perfect replica of an Immortal weapon, though he had always dismissed them as exaggeration. But now, watching her in action, he realized the truth. The pestle smashed through flocks of Rocs with terrifying precision, leaving nothing but a spray of blood and feathers in its wake. Not a single intact body remained from her devastating strikes.

All around, other Dragons fought valiantly, each unleashing their own unique fury upon the invading Rocs. Yet for every enemy they felled, three more seemed to take its place. The onslaught felt endless, an ocean of golden feathers threatening to drown the mountain in blood.

Though Jinshu scanned the battlefield, his mother was nowhere to be seen—a thought that gnawed at the edges of his mind. But there was no time for wandering thoughts; the fifty-plus enemies were nearly upon him just as he activated the final formations his waning Qi could manage.

With a burst of golden light, his form was replaced by that of a blue-skinned, black-armored deity wielding vajras crackling with lightning. The same battle avatar he had tested against his aunt just an hour earlier.

This time, six arms held six vajras, one in each hand, and a pair of radiant white wings sprouted from his back, granted by the flight formation he had etched earlier. The wings allowed him unmatched mobility, yet his Qi reserves were now utterly depleted. He was running on sheer willpower alone—a dangerous gamble, as he knew the moment this form dissipated, he would likely collapse. Every second had to count.

With a thunderous roar, he hurled the six bolts of lightning toward the incoming Rocs. The sky lit up as the bolts struck true, reducing many to ash and feathers. Yet for each that fell, another took its place, their numbers unending.

Jinshu beat his wings furiously, maneuvering through the flock with agility, though the sheer mass of enemies made it impossible to escape unscathed. His black armor bore claw marks that glinted in the sunlight, and golden blood seeped from cuts on his blue skin by the time he broke free from their encirclement.

A familiar roar tore through the chaos, drawing his gaze. Yanjiang was locked in combat with three Rocs, her fiery qi blazing as she fended them off. Jinshu made to help her, but before he could act, another wave of Rocs surrounded him, forcing his attention back to his own survival.

His returning vajras spun through the air, striking down most of the attackers, leaving some dead and others gravely injured. But then, as if commanded by a higher force, the encircling Rocs abruptly parted, creating a path for a massive figure descending from above.

A colossal Roc, radiating an overwhelming aura, settled before Jinshu. Its sheer size dwarfed his seven meter tall battle avatar, its wings alone stretched wide enough to encompass the whole flock of ten meter long Rocs behind its mighty form.

This was no ordinary foe—its power was far beyond the Master Realm, perhaps even at the Sage Realm—two realms beyond even the Master Ream.

“You’re a feisty little worm,” the Roc sneered, its voice deep and resonant.

The sheer force of its wingbeats sent gusts of wind rippling through the air, pushing Jinshu back and denting the black armor that protected his divine form.

Jinshu’s grip tightened on the vajras in his hands, his nerves raw and taut. He was fully aware of the insurmountable gap in power between them, yet there was no retreat. The enemy had come to his home, and he would stand his ground, no matter how futile it seemed.

Just as Jinshu prepared to launch his strongest attack at the colossal foe, the world was suddenly rocked by a violent explosion. The sheer force of it hurled the giant Roc back hundreds of meters, its massive wings flailing uselessly against the shockwave.

Jinshu, caught in the aftermath, was sent tumbling through the air, head over heels. As the shockwave rippled through the battlefield, he struggled to reorient himself and locate its source.

What he saw left him speechless.

In the sky, the diminutive form of his Aunt Zui stood against the impossibly large Golden Roc Clan Patriarch. Compared to Peng Niao’s towering, majestic form, she was barely a speck, yet it was unmistakable that the source of the earth-shattering shockwave radiated from her.

The massive Peng Niao was flung into a chaotic tumble, his imposing demeanor shattered as he flipped beak over talon, a far cry from the executioner-like figure who had loomed over the battlefield moments before.

The entire battlefield was thrown into chaos. Dragons and Rocs alike were tossed about like leaves in a storm, unable to resist the sheer force of the shockwaves. Screams, screeches, and roars of panic filled the air, but none could regain their footing until the tremors finally began to subside.

When the world stilled once more, only one figure remained in their original place: Long Zui. Hovering in the air, wine gourd in hand, she gazed down at the battlefield as if she hadn’t been at the center of such destruction.

Peng Niao clawed his way off the ground, shaking himself free of dust and feathers, and let out a deafening screech, his golden plumage ruffled with indignation. “Who are you?! How dare you assault the great me?!” His voice was thunderous, but it fell short of the overwhelming power Long Zui had just unleashed.

She looked down at him with a smirk, uncorking her gourd with a deliberate flourish. “The great you? Pfft! Narcissistic much?” She laughed, taking a long swig of her wine before wiping her lips. “This even greater me is the beautiful, powerful, gorgeous, sweet, intelligent Long Zui!”

Peng Niao gawked, his beak hanging open as though he couldn’t comprehend her words.

“What? Cat got your tongue, little birdie?” she teased with a mischievous grin, her laughter echoing through the battlefield.

“CAW!” Peng Niao screeched furiously, launching himself into the air to meet her.

As Jinshu watched the exchange, awe and amusement mixed with a newfound hope. The Rocs, startled by their Patriarch’s tumble, regrouped in the sky behind him, their formation trembling with hesitation.

Meanwhile, Jinshu noticed the surviving Dragons rallying over the Dragon Vein Mountains, a spark of determination reigniting in their eyes. He made his way toward them, his own resolve hardening. The battle wasn’t over, but with Aunt Zui here, they had a fighting chance.

Arriving over the mountain range, Jinshu immediately spotted Yanjiang’s bright red figure among the survivors. She had a long, bleeding gash down her side and looked worse for wear, but she was alive—and that was what mattered most.

Beside her, Aunt Huo worked deftly to seal her wound, her hands glowing faintly with fiery qi. Jinshu descended toward them, letting his battle avatar unravel in hopes of restoring even a sliver of his drained qi.

As the avatar dissolved, the toll on his body became clear. His knees buckled, and for a moment, his vision dimmed, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay upright. He couldn’t afford to collapse now.

“Aunt Huo,” he called out as he approached, his voice hoarse, “have you seen my mother? I’ve been searching everywhere for her, but I can’t find her in all this chaos.”

Aunt Huo turned at the sound of his voice, surprise flickering across her face. “Little Jinshu? Is that you?” she asked, her eyes scanning his battered form.

“Last I checked, I was still me,” he replied with a weak attempt at humor.

Her lips quirked into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“So,” he pressed, his tone growing more urgent, “what about my mother? Is she here? Or did she go with my father to the Jiao Clan?”

For a brief moment, Aunt Huo hesitated, a pained look flashing across her face. “Little Jinshu, about your mother—”

Before she could finish, a deafening explosion shook the air, cutting her off.

Their gazes snapped upward toward the ongoing aerial battle.

Long Zui hovered midair, surrounded by glowing formations, her expression calm despite the storm of violence around her. Opposite her, Peng Niao clawed desperately at the defensive runes, his massive form battering against the glowing barriers but failing to break through.

The shockwaves from their clash rippled across the battlefield, tearing through the air with a deafening roar. The force was so immense that the Rocs could not advance. Every attempt to fly toward the Dragon Vein Mountains ended with them being hurled back violently.