The Primal Blood Demonic Dragon
Chapter 65: Cht 65: Escape From Hell Hole - (ii)

Chapter 65: Cht 65: Escape From Hell Hole - (ii)

The sky was fractured by color and fury. Above the trees, high grounds trembled and groaned as if they too were in pain, their peaks shrouded in violent multicolour clouds stirred by elements energies. The battlefield stretched endlessly through the wilderness, beasts fought without restraint, ripping open the very elements of nature in their primal war.

Wind howled like a destructive monster mixed with many other elements. Lightning screamed down in jagged spears. Small ponds turned to steam under gouts of fire, froze from onslaught of frost and the earth itself cracked beneath thunderous paws. Trees that had stood for how many years were torn apart in seconds. The entire expanse reeked of ozone, burnt fur, and molten stone. Every heartbeat pulsed with danger.

And through this tempest of destruction, Gin ran invisible, untraceable, and yet life hanging on throat at times.

Gin moved like a whisper through the carnage, the air parting silently around him. His steps left no trace. The beasts could neither see nor sense him. His good fortune is those with spiritual sense isn’t at this side. His aura was sealed, hidden by the mysterious trait of void demon, a race few had encountered and even less have been recorded about.

But that came with a cost.

Gin could feel it, minute by minute, draining him. The wood energy that cloaked his presence was beautiful and precise, a gentle weave similar to nature. It mimicked the rhythm of forest winds, the rustle of leaves, the soft hush of mossy glades utterly undetectable. Giving extra security to his concealment. But it was draining his core energy at an alarming rate like a leech. It consumed him slowly but thoroughly.

He had estimate, one hour at most, before he would be fully drained. After that, he would be exposed. A whisper in a hurricane of monsters. (** A little joke from author - Like a nak*d person in a po*n video)

And only ten minutes had passed.

He darted between fractured cliffs, his breath controlled, pace measured. Overhead, two sky-serpents clashed, one trailing thunder, the other coiling with flames. Their impact unleashed a detonation that flattened a swath of wilderness. Gin hurled himself behind a fallen stone outcrop just as a plume of ash and molten bark swept past. The heat singed the stone, but Gin remained untouched.

Well, almost.

His arm stung, a tiny angry welt where embers had snuck through the dense air. A shallow wound, but enough to draw blood.

His active wood energy works like wonder. Verdant green light pulsed softly, tender as spring rain. The skin mended. The pain eased. His breath deepened. The wound vanished.

But he could feel it another portion of core energy gone.

The ability that masked him, the healing, the constant flow of wood elemental energy, it was all too much. But to stop meant pretty much out. He pressed on.

By the twentieth minute, the terrain had turned against him.

A canyon split the battlefield in two, the bottom a writhing pit of lightning snakes birthed from the clash of thunder beasts. Gin would have to cross a narrow, shattered bridge. More a thread of stone than a real path. The wind here screamed from the updrafts, clawing at everything like a starving beast.

He exhaled slowly and ran, light on his feet, invisible to sight and sense. The bridge cracked under his weight, but his control won again it.

Halfway across, a gale infused with slicing air-blades hit the ravine. Gin ducked by instinct. One blade passed inches from his skull, slicing a nearby boulder in half. The other clipped his thigh not deep, but sharp.

Again, the warmth of his blood. Again, the soft surge of green energy knitting the flesh. Again, the drain. He staggered for a breath. Regained balance.

His dark green robe fluttered in the wind, untouched.

Not a thread out of place. Showing its extraordinary-ness.

Thirty minutes in.

Gin had not stopped moving, not for a single heartbeat after blunder that one time. Beasts clashed in every direction. One lumbered past a colossus covered in crystalline scales, each step shaking the land like an earthquake. Gin had to dive into a hollow, his invisibility the only thing saving him as the beast paused, nostrils flaring.

A stray bolt of icy breath from another beast slammed into the hollow seconds after Gin rolled out. Frost crept across the earth in elegant, terrible silence. He skidded under it, his fingers numbing from proximity alone.

His knee caught on a frozen root—sharp. A thin line of red trickled down. His robe? Untouched.

He hissed quietly and pressed a palm to the wound. The healing took longer this time. The wood energy was beginning to struggle—like trying to summon spring in the dead of winter. He ground his teeth. Pushed on.

By the fortieth minute, Gin had reached the forested edges of the battlefield, but even here, it was no safe place. He could still presence those of above his league, even newly joined once.

The trees were ablaze with wild fire element, clinging unnaturally to bark and soil. Beasts of flame and shadow darted through the trees, chasing each other with hatred older than empires. Firestorms erupted spontaneously, entire copses exploding into cinders.

He weaved through the underbrush, jumping over fallen logs, sliding under burning branches. A fire snake uncoiled nearby and struck, straight through where Gin had been a second before.

A flick of flame kissed his cheek.

He gasped, fell, rolled. The bark beneath him was boiling. The flame tried to cling. He channeled his water element this time, raw and calm. And extinguished the fire. His skin was red, blistering slightly.

And then, healed this time with wood element.

The green glow flickered briefly, like a heartbeat.

Not even a burn on the robe. Perfect, like the first time he wore it.

Fifty minutes. He was almost out.

He reached the edge of the elementals-clashing forest, stepping into an open glade beyond the reach of the elemental carnage. Here, only a soft wind stirred, and the air was quiet, save for the distant rumbles of battling titans behind him.

He dared to slow down, just for a breath.

He looked down at his hands trembling.

His energy was nearly gone.

The green energy that cloaked him trembled like a leaf in a storm.

He walked forward and the ground erupted beside him.

A final ambush, not from a beast but a residual pocket of earth energy, flung aside during a prior clash and left to brew underground. It exploded like a mine. Shards of rock hurtled through the air. One came straight for his face.

Time slowed.

Gin’s eyes widened.

No time to dodge. No time to counter.

And yet—

A branch shot up from the ground, summoned by instinct.

His wood element answered him.

The rock shattered against the branch, harmless. The last of his core energy spent. The ability unraveled.

The invisibility lifted.

Gin stood visible at the edge of the battlefield, breathing hard, blood crusted on skin long healed, his face pale, but his expression steady.

"Damn! almost got me."

His robe still fluttered softly in the breeze just like anew.

He turned and looked back. The battlefield raged still, a storm without center or mercy.

’Is road clear from here?’

’Yes, master.’

Gin exhaled slowly, feeling the final flickers of wood energy retreat into his core like leaves falling after autumn’s end.

He pressed his hand to the fabric at his chest, the robe that had endured it all, and whispered:

"Still spotless, huh...?"

And then, with shaking legs, he walked toward where he came from where silence lingered, no beasts roared just like previously.

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To Be Continued.

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