Runes • Rifles • Reincarnation
80. Time Keeps On Slipping

Long Zui opened the door with a heavy heart—

She stepped into her palace's training room, pausing as a strange sense of déjà vu washed over her.

It was an unsettling feeling, as though she had been here before, in this exact moment. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, the memory eluded her. She lingered, waiting for Jinshu to appear as he usually did around this time, when her eyes flashed with a multicolored light—like two crystallized rainbows trapped within them.

"Something's wrong… I'm not supposed to be here," she muttered to herself. "I was somewhere else just a moment ago… but where?"

Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tapped her glowing eyes with a fingernail. A rune appeared beneath her touch, shimmering briefly before fading away.

Scenes played out in her mind—memories of things that hadn’t happened. Not yet, anyway. But they would, or at least they were supposed to.

A flock of Golden Rocs, numbering in the tens of thousands. Blood-soaked mountains. Dying dragons. A dead dragon. Someone important.

The images blurred, and she strained to focus. She couldn’t make out who it was, but deep in her soul, she knew someone precious to her had died.

“There are only a few I care about,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “So who is it? Jinshu? No, not him. Chanshi? Not her either. Jia... mei?”

Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, unnoticed as she wiped them away absently. "Was it her? Did Jiamei die? But how…?"

Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing brighter than before. With a thought, she extended her senses outward, quickly sweeping across the entire estate. She was searching for someone.

It didn’t take long to find him, though what she found left her breathless.

Jinshu was in his room, but he wasn’t his usual thirteen-year-old self. Instead, a grown man stood in his place—broad-shouldered, with the bearing of someone in his late twenties. Yet there was no mistaking him. It was Jinshu, older than he should have been.

"No..." she whispered, her voice trembling.

The grown Jinshu looked up, his piercing gaze locking onto her divine sense as if he could see straight through it. A fleeting smile crossed his face, bittersweet and full of sorrow. He mouthed two words: "I'm sorry."

Panic surged through Long Zui. She tried to activate a ripple to reach him, to intervene, but something in his room blocked her. She could only watch, helpless, as he carved bloody runes and intricate formations into his skin using his own claws.

She had never seen anyone perform such an act, yet in an instant, she understood. The knowledge came unbidden, as if her sealed eyes recognized the forbidden art. It was akin to the seal she had placed upon herself—runes etched into flesh, bound to one's very being.

Powerful. 

Archaic.

Her divine sense traced the glowing red runes, each etched with agonizing precision. Time was carved over his heart, a rune pulsing with terrifying power. Surrounding it were others: Strength, two runes flanking the first. One stood alone, while the other linked to a formation he continued to carve, with Time at its center.

Unable to look away, her divine sense swept to his back, where she saw a crudely carved, yet healed, formation. It was rough, imperfect, but unmistakable in its intent. Her breath hitched.

It was a formation to draw power from the future. A sacrilegious, desperate measure.

The truth hit her like a hammer—this was why he appeared older, why he seemed so worn. He had already activated the formation, perhaps in a timeline distant from her own. A timeline that matched the haunting visions in her mind.

Long Zui stepped through a ripple, appearing in front of his door. Her hands trembled as she reached out but stopped short. All she could do now was wait.

He was gone—or would be soon.

The Time rune. The one most taboo of all. Nothing could save his soul now. It was already unraveling, eroding under Heaven's judgment. The only thing keeping him intact was sheer willpower, and she could only imagine the agony that came with it. His soul was being torn apart, piece by piece, moment by moment.

Several torturous minutes passed before the door opened.

Jinshu stepped out, his face calm despite the heavy lines of age and suffering etched into it. Long Zui wanted to scream, to berate him, to slap him for being so foolish. But before a single word left her lips, he pulled her into a tight embrace.

"I’m sorry, Aunt Zui," he said, his voice deep, rough, and weary. "But I need to save my mom."

Tears streamed down her face as she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as though that could somehow keep him there.

"Stupid! You stupid, stupid boy!" she sobbed, her voice breaking. "You’ll die, you know that? You’ll die!"

"It’s fine," he murmured, his tone gentle, almost serene.

Her grief turned to fury. She pushed back just enough to meet his eyes, her own glowing with pain and desperation. "What do you mean, it’s fine? Your soul is being ripped apart, piece by piece, right now!"

"Yeah, it's painful," he said with a laugh, as if the agony tearing at his soul were nothing more than an inconvenience.

"You...! You! Argh!" Long Zui sputtered, her rage boiling over. Words failed her as she clenched her fists, trembling with frustration.

He chuckled softly, unfazed by her outburst. "Don't worry, this isn't the last time you'll see me… well, not me exactly." His gaze grew distant, his voice lowering. "Ah, I can't say more. I've already said too much. The Heaven’s don’t like their secrets revealed."

She opened her mouth to press him further, but his expression grew grim. "I don't have any time left. I have to go."

Before she could stop him, he broke their embrace, stepping back. He turned away, a ripple forming in the air before him. As the portal shimmered into existence, he glanced over his shoulder one last time.

"Oh, could you do me a favor?" he asked, his tone light, almost casual. "Go save Yanjiang. She won’t die without you, but… well, she’ll get hurt pretty badly."

Her heart wavered at the sudden shift. She nodded absently, her voice barely a whisper. "What about you?"

"Me?" He grinned, his eyes alight with a fierce, unrelenting determination. "I've got a Roc Clan to annihilate!"

With a carefree laugh that belied the torment he must have been enduring, Jinshu waved goodbye for the final time and stepped through the ripple.

***

Jinshu stepped out from the slipspace portal, high above the Dragon Vein Mountains. He paused, gazing down at the carefree dragons soaring through the skies, weaving between clouds and mountain peaks. A gentle smile touched his lips.

"Just a few hours and a lifetime ago, this entire range was washed red with the blood of my species," he murmured to himself. "Now, I'll bathe it with the blood of our enemies."

His eyes narrowed slightly as a thought struck him—he’d forgotten to tell his aunt something. Closing his eyes, he spread his senses outward, reaching across miles of terrain. Far away, on a distant peak, Aunt Zui stood over two fallen Rocs, her presence resolute. With a single thought, he sent her a message.

Aunt Zui, when they ask, tell them I’ll see them again. Don’t let them mourn me.

She glanced upward, her eyes glowed, narrowing as though searching for him, her lips parting to reply. But Jinshu severed the connection before she could respond. His focus returned to the horizon, where a glint of gold grew steadily larger.

A bolt-action rifle materialized in his hands, shimmering with the ethereal glow of a spirit weapon. It was a relic from his journey through the Spirit Realm in this life. Normally, his cultivation level would have reintegrated the weapon into his essence, but he had forced it back into existence using a forbidden technique. The effort shaved precious seconds from his remaining time, but he didn’t care.

"This will be the last time I get to use this," he murmured, running his fingers across the rifle’s well-worn surface. "Might as well make the most of it."

With a subtle motion, Jinshu traced a formation in the air beneath his feet, the runes forming with precision at the tip of his boot. A gentle tap of his heel activated it, anchoring him midair as he raised the rifle to his shoulder.

He took aim, tracking the golden blur hurtling toward him. The flock flew in tight formation, their arrogance palpable, but his target was at the rear—an unsuspecting Roc lagging slightly behind.

He pulled the trigger.

The Silence Formation beneath him absorbed the thunderous crack of the shot, leaving the air eerily still. Far in the distance, the Roc faltered mid-flight, its massive body plummeting silently toward the earth.

The rest of the flock pressed forward, oblivious to the death of their kin, their doom drawing closer with every wingbeat.

Jinshu continued firing, each silent shot precise and lethal. One by one, the Rocs plummeted from the sky, their golden feathers scattered like burning embers across the mountain range. In mere moments, tens of them lay lifeless, their massive bodies littering the path below.

It wasn’t until another Roc collapsed mid-flight that one of the survivors finally noticed the carnage. A shrill cry echoed through the sky, but by then, it was too late. They were already too close to turn back.

"Caw!"

The leading Roc—Peng Niao himself—screeched as he soared over the mountain range, his golden plumage shining arrogantly in the sunlight. The flock parted for him as he surged ahead, his voice booming with self-assured dominance.

"Dragon Clan! Today marks your end!" Peng Niao declared, his tone laced with contempt.

The carefree dragons below looked up, their revelry interrupted by the sudden shadow cast over the mountains. A sea of golden Rocs blotted out the sunlight, their immense forms filling the sky. Murmurs rippled through the crowd of dragons as they noticed something unusual.

A lone figure stood suspended in the air before the massive roc flock. A dragon in human form, his posture casual, as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Who is that?” a dragon whispered, squinting at the figure. “Why is he just standing there?”

“Does he think he owns the place?” another muttered, baffled.

Peng Niao’s eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on the audacious man. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice sharp with disdain. “Don’t tell me the Dragon Clan believes that one measly worm can stand against the majesty of the great Golden Roc Clan!”

The dragons below erupted into a chorus of roars, their fury ignited by Peng Niao’s insult. But just as they prepared to retaliate, the sky was filled with a blinding light.

Beams of radiance erupted around the lone dragon, encircling him in an awe-inspiring display of power. The horizon itself seemed to shimmer under the brilliance.

When the light faded moments later, a stunned silence fell over the mountain range.

Where there had been thousands of Rocs, their numbers vast enough to shroud the world in shadow, now only two figures remained.

The first was Peng Niao, his immense form alone in the sky, his golden feathers dulled by confusion and rage.

The second was the lone dragon, still in his human form, standing exactly where he had been before. Calm, unwavering, and utterly unscathed.

Peng Niao’s gaze darted frantically around the empty sky, searching for his flock. His arrogance faltered, replaced by confusion and growing dread.

“You! What trick is this?! Where are my clan members?” he demanded, his voice trembling with barely-contained rage.

“Dead,” Jinshu replied casually, as if discussing the weather. “Don’t worry. You’ll join them soon.”

“Don’t bullshit me!” Peng Niao roared, his disbelief echoing across the mountains.

Jinshu didn’t bother responding. Instead, his body began to shift, his transformation deliberate and unhurried. Horns emerged, curling and elongating with regal majesty. Silver scales, gleaming like molten metal under the sunlight, rippled across his skin, replacing the smooth fairness of his human form. His mane turned into a brilliant cascade of silver, framing his elongating neck as his body stretched into a massive, serpentine form.

Moments later, a silver dragon, hundreds of meters long, hovered above the Dragon Vein Mountains. His scales seemed to drink in the light, radiating an ethereal glow that left the dragons below in stunned silence.

Whispers broke out among the gathered dragons, their eyes wide with awe and confusion.

“How long is he? Is that… longer than the Patriarch?” one murmured.

“A dragon’s length reflects their strength,” another added, their voice hushed. “If he’s that massive…”

“Are you saying he’s stronger than the Patriarch?!” a voice hissed, incredulous.

“Maybe he’s one of our ancestors,” another speculated, their tone uncertain. “An elder who secluded themselves in cultivation?”

“Do we even have such an ancestor?”

Amidst the rising speculation, a young dragon spoke up, his voice hesitant but curious. “Didn’t his human form look like the Patriarch? He kind of looked like… the young lord Jinshu.”

The other dragons turned to him, their disbelief evident.

“That’s insane,” one said, scoffing. “Jinshu’s just a kid. How could he—”

The sharp screech of Peng Niao cut through their muttering, silencing them instantly.

“Just who are you?!” the Roc leader roared, his golden feathers bristling with fury and fear. His voice carried across the mountains, drawing the attention of every dragon below.

All eyes turned back to the sky, where the confrontation between the colossal silver dragon and the lone Roc was beginning to brew.

Jinshu ignored the frantic Roc screeching across from him, his gaze fixed elsewhere. His focus remained on the dragons emerging from the depths of the mountain range, their presence as commanding as the mountains themselves.

Soon, he saw the one he had been waiting for.

A magnificent deep-blue-scaled dragon, her form sleek and regal, glided out from the heart of the Dragon Vein Mountains. She was flanked by two others: a radiant white dragon whose scales shimmered like freshly fallen snow and a fiery red dragon whose presence burned as brightly as her qi.

It was the first time Jinshu had seen his mother’s dragon form since the day he hatched. A pang of longing stirred in his chest, but he had no time to dwell on it.

The agony in his soul had reached unbearable levels, each second a fresh needle tearing him apart. He could feel the fragile threads of his essence fraying. Time was running out.

And there was still a Roc to kill.

With a feral roar that echoed across the mountains, Jinshu surged forward. His claws gleamed, and his fangs dripped with a primal fury as he collided with Peng Niao.

Below, the dragons hovered, their eyes locked on the battle above. Jiamei, her blue form luminous under the fading sun, gazed silently at the coiling silver dragon locked in deadly combat with the massive Roc. A tear rolled down her cheek, shimmering like a broken pearl.

“My son…” she whispered, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the wind.

“What about your son?” Huo, the fiery red dragon beside her, asked curiously.

Jiamei shook her head, her expression unreadable. “I don’t know… I just found myself thinking of him suddenly.”

The three dragons fell silent, their attention drawn back to the chaotic battle in the sky. Above them, the silver dragon twisted and coiled around the Roc like a predator constricting its prey.

“Caw! Get off me!” Peng Niao screeched, his massive wings flailing as he twisted violently to shake off Jinshu’s unrelenting grip.

But Jinshu wouldn’t relent. He tightened his hold with brutal strength, his muscles rippling as he slowly squeezed the life from Peng Niao’s colossal form.

The Roc’s bones groaned and splintered under the immense pressure. Desperate to survive, Peng Niao burst into a flash of golden light, shrinking down to his human form in a final bid for freedom.

In his place appeared a hawk-nosed, sharp-featured man dressed in an opulent golden feathered robe.

Yet the transformation gained him no reprieve.

Jinshu lunged with savage speed, his jaws snapping shut around Peng Niao in an instant.

The Roc-turned-man thrashed wildly, his struggles punctuated by bright bursts of qi exploding within Jinshu’s mouth.

Peng Niao’s relentless attacks culminated in a powerful blast that shattered one of Jinshu’s fangs, forcing the dragon’s jaws open for a fleeting moment.

But the Roc’s freedom was short-lived.

Before Peng Niao could fully escape, Jinshu’s jaws clamped down again, this time piercing through his chest, legs, and one arm with ruthless precision. Blood sprayed across the sky as Peng Niao screamed, his voice laced with both hatred and pain.

“Argh!! Let me go, you damn worm!” he roared, his golden robe now tattered and blood-soaked.

Even impaled and broken, Peng Niao’s cultivation allowed him to cling stubbornly to life. But the glint in Jinshu’s molten silver eyes promised that it wouldn’t last for long.

With time slipping away, Jinshu ceased his toying. The pain in his soul clawed at him with unrelenting ferocity, reminding him that every breath brought him closer to oblivion. There was no room left for mercy.

His silver eyes softened briefly as he cast a final glance at his mother, her form luminous against the distant mountains. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to feel the weight of all he would leave behind.

Then, with resolute purpose, Jinshu turned his gaze to the broken form of Peng Niao.

A sphere of condensed, pure liquid qi began to take shape in Jinshu’s maw, its surface swirling like molten silver. The gathered dragons below instinctively recoiled at the sheer density of energy emanating from the orb, their hearts trembling with both awe and dread.

With a mighty snap of his head, Jinshu released the sphere.

The ball of qi struck Peng Niao with devastating force, carrying his shattered body hundreds of meters into the sky. Higher and higher it soared, the silver light carving a radiant path through the heavens.

And then it detonated.

The resulting explosion tore through the sky, its brilliance rivaling the midday sun. A deafening shockwave rippled across the Dragon Vein Mountains, shaking the earth and splitting the clouds in its wake.

The dragons below shielded their eyes, their scales shimmering as the light consumed their vision. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, frozen in the afterglow of Jinshu’s might.

When the light finally faded, silence reigned.

The sky above the mountains was empty, save for a massive, gaping hole in the clouds where the explosion had carved through. The sight was both haunting and breathtaking—a testament to the raw power they had just witnessed.

For the dragons gathered below, it was almost impossible to believe what they had seen. Whispers broke out among them, their voices wavering with disbelief and awe.

“Was that… real?”

“That power… was he truly one of us?”

Jiamei said nothing, her gaze fixed on the empty sky where her son had vanished. A single tear traced a path down her scaled cheek as she whispered into the silence, her voice trembling:

“My son…”

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