Chapter 36 — The Fiend
劍問蒼天 · Page 4 of 6
In the darkness countless beams of light shrieked past, as if in gloating, exultant laughter, and hurtled after the four where they had been scattered.
Zhang Qingyue, standing toward the front, was thrust from below by that great force, and his whole body flew helplessly forward. But after so many years of cultivation in the Canglan Sect, he was startled without being thrown into disorder. He brought the Dark Iron Staff, already in his hand, up before his chest, and the familiar chill of it coursed through his body. The staff gave off a faint dark-blue radiance in midair, and he leveled it at the several beams of light that came hard on his heels.
A moment later, one of them—a beam of dark red—rushed to the fore. Zhang Qingyue caught a reek of blood and nearly retched; he held his breath and drove the Dark Iron Staff, whose dark-blue light surged up to meet the dark-red beam. Strangely, beneath the staff's radiance, that dark-red light dimmed considerably.
Somewhere in the darkness, from an unknown place, came a low sound of startled doubt.
Just then, two more beams—one yellow, one gray—came rushing in as well and struck the Dark Iron Staff together. By their light Zhang Qingyue could now make out that the dark-red beam had been a small dark-red trident, heavily stained with blood; the yellow was a three-foot sword; and the gray was stranger still—a huge fang of some nameless beast!
Zhang Qingyue was still in midair, just regaining his balance, when these three enchanted weapons slammed into him. Though the Dark Iron Staff held them off in the air, the sheer force drove his whole body straight backward, beyond all control, and smashed him hard against the rock wall beside them—burying half of him in the stone, sending chips flying.
Stars burst before Zhang Qingyue's eyes; his back blazed with pain to the very marrow. But he knew this was the line between life and death. Gritting his teeth against the agony, he dropped to the ground—and saw the three deadly things wheel in the air and come savagely plunging down again.
In the darkness, where were the ones who controlled these weapons? There was no telling.
Zhang Qingyue parried left and right as best he could, gripped his mudra, and gave a sharp whistle. The Dark Iron Staff shot up into the air and clashed with the onrushing yellow flying sword and the beast fang; with a great crash they were all flung apart. He threw himself forward and rolled clear, and the other dark-red trident, hurtling after him, could not check its momentum—with a thunderous boom it struck the rock wall behind where he had stood, sending rubble flying and blasting a great hole in the stone.
By then the gray fang had swung back around and came smashing down from above, its cold-glinting tip standing out sharply in the dark. From the look of it, Zhang Qingyue needed no telling what would become of him if that uncanny weapon landed.
Zhang Qingyue clenched his teeth, slashed his hands through the air, and the Dark Iron Staff moved as his will commanded. A flash of blue light, and it appeared above his head to meet the fang. In midair there was only a low, muffled thud—and a crack appeared, stark and plain, upon the fang.
Far off, a cry rang out, full of anguish and astonishment.
But Zhang Qingyue had no time to savor that pitiful crumb of joy. The yellow flying sword came rushing at his face in an instant. He had no time to react; sweat stood on his brow. In that desperate moment he gave a great shout, his hands shook, and his whole body floated upward, merging into the dark-blue radiance of the Dark Iron Staff.
The yellow flying sword gave him not the slightest quarter. It banked in midair and came charging up again from below his feet. The fang above, the sword below—Zhang Qingyue's whole body trembled. He thought no more; he drew himself in and chanted a spell, and the Dark Iron Staff blazed with blue light, wrapping him round and round.