A Sacred Path {1}

Through the whiteness of smoke ravens wheeled. Their calls raised a sharp theme over the calls of injured and kicking the bucket champions. The odor of singed tissue hung un moving in the fog.

On the third slope neglecting the fallen city of Panyon, Tan Sangu remained solitary. Spread around the witch the twisted remaining parts of consumed covering – greaves, breastplates, steerages and weapons – lay stored in heaps. An hour sooner there had been people wearing that shield, yet of them there was no sign. The quiet inside those vacant shells rang like a lament in Tan Sangu's head.

Her arms were crossed, tight against her chest. The burgundy shroud with its silver insignia betokening her order of the second Army's wizard unit presently dangled from her round shoulders stained and burned. Her oval, beefy face, generally strutting an appearance of cherubic humor, was carved with profound shadowed lines, leaving her cheeks limp and Panyon.

For every one of the scents and sounds encompassing Tan Sangu, she wound up paying attention to a more profound quietness. Here and there it came from the unfilled reinforcement encompassing her, a nonappearance that was in itself an allegation. Be that as it may, there was another wellspring of the quietness. The magic that had been released here today had been sufficient to shred the texture between the universes. Whatever stayed past, in the Warrens of Chaos, felt close enough to connect and contact.

She'd thought her feelings spent, spent by the dread she had recently experienced, yet as she watched the tight positions of an army of Black Shadow walking into the city an ice of disdain slipped over her hefty lidded eyes.

Partners. They're guaranteeing their hour of blood. Toward the finish of that hour there would be a score thousand less survivors among the residents of Panyon. The long savage history between the adjoining people groups was going to have the sizes of retaliation adjusted. By the blade. Shedunul's leniency, hasn't there been sufficient?

Twelve flames seethed unchecked through the city. The attack was finished, at last, following three difficult years. Yet, Tan Sangu realized that there was more to come. Something covered up, and paused, in the quiet. So she would stand by too. The passings of this day merited that much from her – all things considered, she had bombed in the wide range of various ways that made a difference.

On the plain underneath, the collections of Wuzhi fighters made the progress, a messed rug of dead. Appendages extended vertical to a great extent, ravens roosting on them like overlords. champions who had endure the butcher meandered in a shock among the bodies, looking for fallen friends. Tan Sangu's eyes followed them painfully.

'They're coming,' said a voice, twelve feet to one side. Gradually she turned. The wizard Huang Lao lay spread on the consumed defensive layer, the pate of his shaved skull mirroring the dull sky. An influx of witchcraft had obliterated him starting from the hips. Pink, mud-splashed insides surged free from his ribcage, webbed by drying liquids. A weak obscuration of magic uncovered his endeavors at remaining alive.

'Thought you were dead,' Tan Sangu mumbled.

'Felt fortunate today.'

'You don't look it.'

Huang Lao's snort delivered a gout of dim thick blood from beneath his heart. 'They're coming,' he said. 'See them yet?'

She swung her consideration regarding the slant, her Panyon eyes narrowing. Four heroes drew closer. 'Who right?'

The wizard didn't reply.

Tan Sangu confronted him again and tracked down his hard look fixed on her, plan in the manner in which a perishing individual accomplishes in those last minutes. 'Thought you'd take a wave through the gut, huh? All things considered, I guess that is one approach to get dispatched out of here.'

His answer shocked her. 'The extreme façade sick fits you, 'Sail. Continuously has.' He scowled and flickered quickly, fending off obscurity, she assumed. 'There's consistently the danger of knowing excessively. Be happy I saved you.' He grinned, divulging red-stained teeth. 'Think decent musings. The tissue blurs.'

She peered toward him consistently, marveling at his unexpected ... mankind. Perhaps biting the dust got rid of the typical games, the affectations of the living dance. Perhaps she simply wasn't ready to see the human man in Huang Lao at long last appearance itself. Tan Sangu prised her arms from the repulsive, throbbing embrace she had folded over herself, and murmured shakily. 'You're correct. It's not the ideal opportunity for façades, right? I never enjoyed you, Huang Lao, yet I'd never question your mental fortitude – I never will.' She examined him fundamentally, a piece of her dumbfounded that the loathsomeness of his injury didn't to such an extent as make her wince. 'I don't think even Heavenly Golden Dragon 's expressions are sufficient to save you, Huang Lao.'

Something crafty glimmered in his eyes and he woofed a tormented chuckle. 'Dear young lady,' he panted, 'your naivety never neglects to enchant me.'

'Obviously,' she snapped, stung at succumbing to his unexpected openness. 'One final joke on me, only just because.'

'You misconstrue—'

'It is safe to say that you are so sure? You're saying it isn't finished at this point. Your disdain of our High Lord is adequately wild to neglect you master of the hidden world's virus handle, is that it? Retaliation from past the grave?'

'You should know me at this point. I generally mastermind an indirect access.'

'You can't slither. How would you anticipate getting to it?'

The wizard licked his broke lips. 'Part of the arrangement,' he said delicately. 'The entryway comes to me.

Comes even presently.'

Anxiety looped around her internal parts. Behind her, Tan Sangu heard the mash of protective layer and the clatter of iron, the sound showing up like a virus wind. She went to see the four champions show up on the highest point. Three men, one lady, mud-spread and dark red streaked, their countenances practically bone-white. The witch discovered her eyes attracted to the lady, who waited like an unwanted untimely idea as the three men drew closer. The young lady was youthful, pretty as an icicle and looking as warm to the touch. Something incorrectly there. Cautious.

The man leading the pack – a sergeant by the force on his arm – came up to Tan Sangu. Set somewhere down in a lined, depleted face, his dull dark eyes looked through hers impartially. 'This one?' he asked, going to the tall, slender dark cleaned man who came up close to him.

This man shook his head. 'No, the one we need is around there,' he said. However he communicated in Wuzhi, his cruel complement was Seven Cities.