Xiao kept running in the direction Yan had gone, heading straight for the anniversary event. As he glanced up at the sky, he noticed nightfall approaching.
"This is probably when the demon will appear," Xiao thought, staying alert and ready for an attack at any moment.
An unsettling feeling crept over him as he continued down the trail, but he pushed forward. Nearing the location, he slowed his steps considerably, making sure he wasn't walking into an ambush.
He scanned the ground for any signs of where Yan might have gone, the footprints, tracks, anything, but there was nothing. No clues. Xiao realized he had no choice but to keep moving; he was already in too deep.
When he finally reached the outskirts of the anniversary, it looked eerily familiar. The entire area was deserted, as if everyone had vanished. But this time, Xiao didn't retreat or take a detour. He proceeded cautiously, every sense heightened.
Xiao is aware that he could already be in the midst of a demonic ritual and gripped his sword firmly, ready for anything. Step by step, he moved forward, his eyes scanning every corner, every shadow, wary of a trap.
But no one was there. Only abandoned food and drinks scattered about, with clothes on the ground and no body in them. The scene unnerved him. Whatever was happening, it wasn't good.
Despite the rising tension, Xiao pressed on, heading toward the town square where the altar was located.
As he neared the center, memories of working here flashed through his mind. Confusion gnawed at him, had this all been planned by the demon, or was something else going on?
When Xiao reached the square's center, his blood ran cold. Sweat dripped down his face as his eyes locked onto the horrifying sight before him.
Blood was splattered everywhere. Pieces of clothing lay scattered, as though the people who wore them had simply vanished. His gaze shifted to the altar and that's when he saw it.
On top of the altar were several heads, some Xiao recognized, others he didn't. The first pedestal held the patriarch's head, the second held Fang's. The remaining heads belonged to festival-goers—people Xiao had seen just hours ago, now reduced to grisly remnants of a dark ritual.
A wave of shock and fury surged through him. His mind raced to make sense of the horror, but he couldn't afford to falter now.
Standing before the altar was a figure cloaked in black, radiating malice. Xiao knew without a doubt: this was the one responsible for everything.
Moving with slow, measured steps, Xiao tried not to give away his position as he prepared to strike. But before he could make much progress, the figure spoke.
"Hmm... who are you?" the dark figure said aloud.
"What happened to the people here?" Xiao asked instead, ready to flee at any moment.
The figure chuckled. "Hahaha. Those peasants, believing everything I said. And yet you think they're worthy of your help?"
Xiao's grip tightened on his sword, his qi gathering, ready to deflect any attack. "Those peasants you killed, they were going to help me."
"Help? Hehehe," the dark figure sneered, looking down. "What could those murderers have done?"
The figure's tone shifted, cold and threatening. "I know you're not involved with this village, so if you leave now, I won't have to kill you."
"I guess we'll have to fight," Xiao said, unafraid. He sensed there was more to the figure's story. "Just answer one question. Are you Zhao Ling?" Xiao asked slowly, trying to conceal his fear.
The dark figure sighed. "I didn't want to use this, not against an outsider," he muttered in a low voice, then placed his hand on the altar, which began to glow. As it did, power seemed to flow out of the bodies and toward the dark figure.
As the process unfolded, Xiao tried to reason with him. "What happened to the villagers? If you aren't going to answer my question, at least tell me that."
But the dark figure only laughed. "Those fools are all dead now, their essence absorbed into this altar for touching what they shouldn't have."
The glow of the altar intensified, and Xiao's instincts screamed at him to attack, but he held back. He still needed an answer to his question.
"Are you Zhao Ling?" Xiao asked again, louder, refusing to take no for an answer.
This time, instead of ignoring him, the dark figure pulled down his hood, revealing Yan's face. "Yes and no," Yan said, his voice unnerving. "I was Zhao Ling, but now... I am something more. I control Yan."
Xiao's breath caught. He was looking at someone who resembled Yan, but the demonic influence was unmistakable. The face was twisted, more monstrous than the last time he had seen it. Xiao now had more questions than answers, and his natural curiosity gnawed at him.
Yan smirked, preparing to attack. "You have three seconds to leave before I kill you."
Xiao's thoughts raced. 'If I want my questions answered, I'll have to defeat this 'fake' demon.'
He tightened his grip on his sword, raising it high, ready to strike at any moment.
But he didn't wait. As Yan gathered energy from the altar, Xiao rushed toward him, aiming for a vulnerable spot. He could feel the pull of the altar, the essence of the villagers trapped within it. Their essence was consumed, Xiao realized. 'Once the essence is gone, their bodies will follow.' Xiao thought as he seen something similar happen before.
Confusion tugged at his mind. Typically, demons consumed life force, not essence. 'Why would a demon use an essence-draining altar?' Another question flickered to life in his mind. 'Where did that altar come from?'
The more Xiao thought about it, the stranger it seemed. 'Why would the patriarch ask to prepare an essence-draining altar if it would ultimately claim his life as well?'
Even with these thoughts swirling in his mind, Xiao's focus remained sharp. He was closing in on Yan, determined to end this. The answers would come later but only if he survived.