Chapter 311: Chapter 311

Damien hissed through clenched teeth as his fingers clamped down on the wound.

Blood seeped through his grip, thick and fast. His shoulder throbbed with each beat of his heart, the pain sharpening into clarity.

It hadn’t just grazed him.

’Something’s hunting me.’

He forced himself to move—pivoting, scanning, every muscle tight and ready to coil. But there was nothing.

No predator lunging from the shadows.

Another strike—same side.

The edge cut deeper this time, cleaving into the muscle just below the original wound. Updates are released by novel※fire.net

Damien staggered, nearly dropping to one knee.

Not a flicker in the air, not a shimmer of mana displacement. His body—his enhanced, refined body—had no warning.

No twitch. No tension. Just pain.

But this time, Damien moved.

He launched himself sideways just as the air sliced past—missing his throat by inches.

A line of heat traced through the air where the attack had landed a heartbeat ago.

Breath ragged, he pushed off the ground, landing in a low crouch.

’Stay in the open and I die.’

But there was no cover.

Nothing but miles of ruins flattened by time and neglect, and the shadows of pylons that stretched like broken fingers toward the ceiling-sky.

He turned his gaze—desperate, calculating.

No signs. No shelter. No guides.

And then his mind snapped back—

It hadn’t just appeared.

It had drawn something out.

The voices. The whispers. The attacks.

Everything had started the moment its gaze fell and passed.

He looked toward the direction it had gone—its lumbering form still barely visible in the unnatural distance, the horizon warping around its passage.

He spun, gaze shifting to the opposite direction. Total open ground. Just as dangerous, maybe more.

At least the thing hadn’t come from the colossus’ path.

His shoulder pulsed. Blood still streamed. He didn’t have much time.

’Either I follow the thing that broke reality—’

Or run blind into a field where something unseen is already toying with him.

Another whisper brushed his thoughts.

He grit his teeth, muscles tightening under strain, and then—

Kael’s voice again. Distant. Cool. Too calm.

"The word... Hollowing. That’s how it was translated."

He remembered the tone Kael used—quiet, deliberate. Not dramatic. Heavy. Like the word itself carried weight in meanings it couldn’t fully translate.

His gaze swept across the terrain. Crushed pylons. Flattened stonework. Entire sections of ruin pressed so deep into the earth it was like the gods themselves had stepped on them.

The ground wasn’t worn by time.

It was scarred by something colossal.

’Is that what Hollowing means...?’

He looked toward the fading silhouette of the colossus.

Like it was draining the land just by passing over it. Leaving only residue. Echoes.

’That thing... is it the Hollowing?’

He barely had time to finish the thought.

Another flash—this time from the right.

Pain seared across his ribs, the edge of the attack raking his side with surgical precision.

He snarled, twisting mid-step to avoid the follow-up—except there wasn’t one.

Just that same damn emptiness.

No form. No blur. No shadow.

’It’s not attacking from one angle...’

He turned again, scanning.

’It’s everywhere. Or worse... nowhere.’

He narrowed his eyes, chest rising and falling with controlled urgency.

’Can’t rely on my senses. Can’t rely on timing.’

His hand pressed against the wound on his side, hot blood spilling through his fingers.

In an instant, Damien lunged forward—body low, wounded side tightened, blood trailing behind him like a thread unraveling.

His feet struck the cracked earth hard and fast, every stride a push against gravity and whatever thing was toying with him in the unseen folds of air.

He sprinted toward the direction the colossus had gone—toward the only presence large enough to feel real in this fractured realm.

Another whisper in his mind—

"...kalth’ren sai..."

He flinched mid-run. Just a twitch. Barely noticeable.

A new strike, this time from above—angled through the air like it knew where his foot would land before he did.

The blade—whatever it was—scraped along his back, not deep but fast, enough to stagger him, enough to pull a hiss from his throat.

’It’s targeting movement...’

That should’ve helped.

Because it wasn’t tracking sound.

It was tracking intent.

And Damien was bleeding resolve with every breath.

"...shai’lor thae..."

Another voice. Higher this time. Urgent. Like someone yelling at him through a wall underwater.

He clenched his jaw, forced his breathing into rhythm. In. Out. Step. Push. Launch.

The terrain blurred past him—flat stone, broken pylons, shattered lines of runes that glowed faintly as he passed.

Every second, another whisper:

His knees buckled slightly.

He caught himself mid-fall, rolled, came up running.

Another cut. This one at the thigh. Deep. Hot.

He roared through gritted teeth but didn’t break stride.

’Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.’

The colossus was gone now, but its trail—its wake—still shimmered ahead. Like the air hadn’t healed from its presence. A scar in the sky.

And Damien sprinted toward it.

Whispers screaming inside his skull.

Every step dragging him closer to whatever waited on the other side of that hollow path.

He didn’t know how long he’d been running.

Time didn’t pass here—not the way it should. The sky didn’t change. The air didn’t shift. Only the cuts on his body marked the seconds.

And there were a lot of them.

Shallow lines. Deep gashes. A dozen slices, maybe more, crisscrossed his arms, legs, back. Each strike had come from nowhere. Each pain had come without warning.

He’d stopped flinching.

The body adapted. Pain dulled. Blood still flowed, sure, but his muscles moved with it—past it.

That was another story.

The whispers hadn’t stopped.

If anything, they’d gotten clearer.

Voices. Many. Some cold. Some coaxing.

Now they were starting to make sense.

That was the terrifying part.

He stumbled for a breath. Not because of a wound. Because of a sentence.

He understood one of them.

But it was enough to twist the pit of his stomach into knots.

’That’s not possible.’

He’d never learned this language. Not even Kael could decode half the ancient structure buried in this place.

"...you bleed well, little heir..."

The voice didn’t shout. It smiled.

Damien’s feet skidded across loose stone as he almost lost his balance. He caught himself against a half-crushed glyph-stone and pressed forward again.

Only the same humming emptiness, the flat terrain, the trail left by the colossus—fading now, but still real. Still there.

He had to change something. Anything.

’Senses...’ he thought, pulse pounding in his skull.

Couldn’t smell, feel, or even sense it with mana or instinct.

’There’s no input. No data. No pattern.’

His blood kept dripping.

The air felt heavier now—not from exhaustion, but from knowing too much.

This time, the voice was his own.

He knew what this was.

The voices were adapting. Evolving.

Using his thoughts. Using his voice.

No blade to swing. No cover to hide behind. No enemy to strike.

Just a world that watched.

And a language that whispered truth inside his lies.