Eternal life begins with saving my clan

Chapter 95 : The return of the Blood Whisperer

An ordinary middle-aged man trudged through the rugged terrain of the Endless Mountain Range in the Western Barren Land, his face a blank canvas, devoid of any expression.

His eyes appeared vacant, as if his thoughts were far removed from the physical world.

Each step he took led him deeper into the heart of this vast expanse of mountains. The landscape loomed above him, an endless sea of massive peaks that stretched into the horizon.

These towering giants of stone and rock seemed to whisper secrets, their craggy faces weathered by eons of time.

As he journeyed on, the man finally came to a halt before one particular mountain. To the untrained eye, it appeared just like the others, imposing and majestic.

However, this mountain concealed secrets beyond imagination.

With an almost eerie calm, he approached the mountain's surface. Its sheer rock face seemed impenetrable, but he knew better.

He understood the art of concealment formations, the hidden language of the mountain, and the key to revealing its secrets.

A faint, almost invisible pattern marred the surface of the mountain. To the casual observer, it was nothing more than a trick of the light.

Yet, for the man, it was a code waiting to be deciphered. With deliberate precision, he traced the concealed symbols with his fingers, speaking to the mountain in a language known only to a select few.

As if the mountain itself recognized him, the concealed formations yielded.

The rock face shifted, revealing an entrance—a hidden tunnel that led deep into the heart of the mountain.

This was a passage known only to a handful of individuals, and it beckoned to him, a gateway to the unknown.

With unbroken composure, the man stepped into the tunnel, disappearing from view as the concealment formations sealed the entrance behind him.

As the middle-aged man ventured deeper into the heart of the mountain, the world around him transformed.

The air grew colder and more oppressive, and the faint echoes of his footsteps reverberated through the narrow passageway. It was as if he were descending into the very bowels of the earth itself.

Finally, he arrived in a cavern that was hidden from the world, the heart of the mountain's enigmatic secret.

At the center of the vast chamber stood a colossal statue of an ancient old man. The statue's visage bore the weight of millennia, etched in stone with a profound expression, its eyes seeming to hold the secrets of the universe.

Its immense presence dominated the chamber, casting long shadows that danced in the dim light.

The old man's form was seated in an imposing position, surrounded by thousands of coffins, each one sealed shut with an air of finality.

The coffins formed concentric circles around the statue, and their presence lent a sense of reverence to the cavern. The atmosphere was heavy with an eerie stillness, as though time itself had come to a halt.

The middle-aged man approached the giant statue without a second thought. He whispered incantations in an ancient, long-forgotten language, his voice laden with a weighty significance.

The words seemed to invoke a connection between him and the statue, as if the old man carved in stone were a guardian of sacred knowledge.

With a deliberate and unwavering hand, he withdrew a gleaming dagger from his robe.

It glistened in the dim light, a stark contrast to the shadows enveloping the chamber. Without hesitation, he pressed the dagger against his chest, its blade penetrating flesh and bone.

A torrent of crimson blood gushed forth like an open dam, painting his chest and hands with its dark offering.

The man did not flinch, did not show a hint of pain or regret. His gaze remained fixed on the ancient statue, and his whispered words persisted.

The man's determination remained unwavering as the ritual continued, and his lifeblood continued to flow from the self-inflicted wound in his chest.

With each heartbeat, more crimson fluid gushed forth, forming a dark pool at his feet. He was on the brink of losing consciousness, his vision blurring and the world around him spinning.

Yet, his whispered incantations persisted, even as his voice grew weaker and more ethereal.

His life force was ebbing, and his face was pallid, but his resolve did not waver. The eerie atmosphere in the chamber intensified as the crimson blood mixed with the ancient carvings on the ground.

Then, as if in response to the man's ultimate sacrifice, a phenomenon of otherworldly proportions unfolded.

Thousands of mysterious ancient texts began to materialize from the ground. They floated upward, their pages covered in his life essence.

As they ascended, they illuminated the air with an eerie and pulsating presence.

With a mystic intent, these ancient texts descended and found their place upon each of the thousands of coffins arranged around the statue.

The arrival of the texts infused the chamber with an otherworldly energy, and the atmosphere grew charged with anticipation.

Suddenly, one of the coffins shivered, and its lid began to slide open with a haunting creak.

The middle-aged man, struggling to maintain his consciousness, felt a glimmer of hope. Gathering the last remnants of his strength, he managed to pull himself to his feet.

He staggered toward the open coffin, each step feeling heavier than the last, as if he were weighed down by the very essence of his sacrifice.

With great effort, he entered the coffin, his eyes closed in submission to the enigmatic forces at play.

As his body lay within the confines of the coffin, the lid slowly began to slide closed. Darkness descended once more, enveloping the cavern and its secrets.

In the heart of the night, the full moon hung radiant in the heavens, casting its silvery glow over the Endless Mountain Range.

Its brilliance painted the rugged landscape with an ethereal light, revealing the majesty of the mountains that stretched as far as the eye could see.

But amidst the serene and tranquil landscape, an eerie transformation unfolded. In front of a particular mountain, a man emerged, shrouded in a dark, hooded robe.

His face concealed behind a grotesque mask that resembled a weeping child, its eyes hollow voids.

Moments later, a peculiar phenomenon took shape. One by one, a multitude of figures, each resembling the masked man, began to emerge from the shadows.

They materialized, as if summoned from the depths of the night, like a legion of sinister phantoms.

Standing in formation, their faces concealed by identical weeping child masks, they cast their gaze upward, their eyes locked onto the radiant moon.

The world fell into an eerie silence, save for the soft rustling of the wind through the mountain's craggy terrain.

Then, as if driven by a shared, otherworldly impulse, the masked figures raised their heads to the heavens.

Their eerie, childlike masks stared at the full moon, their vacant eyes contrasting with the celestial brilliance above.

In unison, they released a mournful howl that pierced the stillness of the night. The eerie cry was unlike any other, an uncanny blend of sorrow and lamentation, echoing through the mountain range.

It was a cry that seemed to emanate from tormented souls, a haunting chorus that hung in the air like an indelible curse.

As their collective howl reverberated through the Endless Mountain Range, it seemed as though the very night had been transformed, and the moon itself shivered in response to the sinister communion taking place below.

It was like they're telling the world, they're back.