Silas plunged into the icy lake, the frigid water biting into his skin like knives. Each stroke took him closer to the shimmering light at the bottom, and with every kick, the chill seeped deeper into his muscles. His breaths came in short, sharp bursts, but he pushed through the cold, his focus fixed on the task ahead.
Before reaching the light, Silas stopped to prepare. He pulled out animal pelts and sinew from his ring—Abraham's suggestion. Silas filled the makeshift skins with water, securing them with dried sinew alongside his canteens. Once done, he glanced back toward the shimmering glow. The closer he swam, the more the water seemed to change. It was unnaturally cold now, like a barrier guarding something unknown. When his fingers brushed against the veil, it felt alive, a strange energy buzzing against his skin.
"What the hell is this?" Silas muttered before pushing through.
The world shifted violently as he passed through the barrier. Snow and biting wind assaulted him instantly, the temperature plummeting further as he landed in three feet of snow with a muffled thud.
"What the…" Silas looked around, baffled. The landscape was a frozen wasteland, the ground blanketed in thick snow and the sky dark with overcast clouds. The wind howled relentlessly, cutting through him like a blade. Off in the distance, a dark tower loomed, the only visible feature in an otherwise featureless expanse.
Silas grumbled as he pulled his pants back on, cursing his lack of preparation. His cultivation kept him from freezing to death, but he still felt the cold biting at his exposed skin. The snow numbed his bare feet as he trudged forward toward the tower. It wasn't unbearable, but it was enough to be a constant irritation.
"Next time, pack better," Silas muttered under his breath as he began his march his bare feet trudging through the snow.
After about an hour of trudging through the snow, Silas came across a single set of faint tracks. He knelt, inspecting them closely. The prints were almost erased by the wind, but they were unmistakably human. Silas frowned. "Amelia?" he muttered. She would have entered the realm alone if she was here, while the trio he'd followed had gone in together. It was possible these were hers, though the age of the tracks made it difficult to tell.
As he examined the trail, movement in the snow caught his eye. His instincts screamed, and he threw himself to the side just as a massive tentacle burst from the ground where he'd been kneeling. The appendage was as thick as a grown man's leg, its surface slick and glistening with a faint sheen of moisture. The underside of the limb bristled with rows of spiked suckers, each one gleaming like small, serrated daggers. It whipped through the air with unsettling precision, retracting back into the snow after missing its target.
Two more tentacles erupted from the snow, each one six to eight feet long and moving with serpentine speed. Silas twisted, his staff spinning in a blur as he deflected one of the limbs, the impact sending a spray of snow into the air. The other tentacle narrowly missed him, whipping back into the ground with a wet thwack. A fourth limb lashed out from another angle, but Silas dodged it by vaulting over the snow with a twist of his staff.
"What the hell is this thing?" Silas growled, his breath steaming in the frigid air. He dodged another strike, the tentacles thrashing wildly as they sought him out. One came too close, and Silas brought his staff down hard, channeling his Dao of Force. The impact sent a sharp vibration through the wood, and the tentacle recoiled with a guttural screech. Purple blood splattered across the snow, staining it in dark streaks.
The beast beneath the snow roared, a deep, guttural sound that made the ground vibrate. More tentacles shot out, and Silas moved with purpose, his strikes calculated and brutal. He twisted his body with each motion, using the Dao of Momentum to redirect the force of the tentacles' strikes into his own attacks. His staff connected again and again, the creature's cries growing more frenzied with each blow.
Despite his efforts, the beast showed no signs of revealing itself. Silas's strikes hurt it, but not enough to force it out of hiding. As he dodged another tentacle, an idea formed in his mind. The next limb shot toward him, and instead of dodging, Silas planted his staff in the snow and vaulted into the air. The flexibility of the wood bent under his weight, propelling him upward.
At the peak of his leap, Silas channeled all his strength into his staff, infusing it with spiritual energy and the Dao of Force. He descended in a crushing arc, bringing the staff down with a deafening crack. The snow exploded beneath him as the staff struck something solid. The beast let out an earsplitting squeal, the snow around it turning dark with red blood.
Silas landed lightly, his eyes scanning the ground as the creature thrashed beneath the surface. He pressed his advantage, following the movement of the snow and slamming his staff down repeatedly. Each strike brought more purple blood to the surface, staining the pristine white landscape.
Finally, Silas spotted a main body shifting beneath the snow. It wasn't massive, perhaps the size of his own torso, but it was grotesque. Thick, writhing mini-tentacles—each the size of his arm—protruded from its leech-like form. Its larger limbs flailed wildly, retreating into the snow with jerky, panicked movements. Silas reached down, grasping the creature firmly with both hands, and pulled it from the ground.
The beast writhed in his grip, its wet, rubbery flesh coated in purple ichor. Silas stared at its grotesque features—a central leech-like mouth surrounded by jagged teeth, its single massive eye glaring at him with desperate hatred. Four massive tentacles hung limp at its sides, twitching faintly as blood poured from the wounds he had inflicted.
"Ugly bastard," Silas muttered. Without another word, he stored the beast in his ring of holding, the clearing growing silent once more as he stood amidst the bloodstained snow.
He turned back toward the faint track, his thoughts lingering on the distant tower. "Amelia better not be screwing me over," he muttered, his voice low and laced with irritation. Shaking his head, Silas resumed his trek through the snow, his staff resting lightly on his shoulder as he moved forward.