Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Impassable Chasm

With a turn of the hand, clouds gather; with another, rain descends!

Death was closing in from all directions, its chilling presence clawing at everyone’s hearts as if they were prey caught in a venomous serpent’s gaze. The colossal hand descending from the heavens sealed off all escape, a black hand of the Reaper itself, trapping every soul beneath its shadow.

In that instant, a suffocating despair took root in everyone’s hearts—the sense that there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

“Move—quickly!” Guan Qian shouted.

But no matter how fast they fled toward the periphery, none could escape the enormous hand’s grasp.

Thunder rumbled through the oppressive sky as the celestial hand loomed like Mount Tai above their heads, its dark, ominous shadow casting terror and panic over each soul.

“This is bad!” Guan Qian cursed inwardly. The hand was about to crash down, shattering everyone beneath it. In this desperate moment, with no other choice, Guan Qian flung out his arms, grabbed Tang Ruyan and Mo Han, and instantly teleported them several hundred meters away.

As for Fang He, still trapped beneath the shadow of the hand, he clung desperately to his bundle of gold, let out a hopeless scream, and in the next moment, the giant hand crashed down like a thunderbolt.

A deafening crash.

Fragments of rock and stone exploded in every direction, and a dense cloud of dust surged out, engulfing everything within a kilometer. The entire devastated area was quickly blanketed by a thick layer of dust.

Over ten minutes passed—

Coughs broke the silence, rough and desperate, mingled with a few curses, as the three survivors crawled up from the ground, covered in grime.

The heavy dust was finally beginning to settle, and in the dim visibility, a vast depression could be seen ahead—a mysterious, terrifying imprint on the earth.

“Fang He!” Guan Qian’s voice cut through the lingering dust, echoing into the distance.

In that critical moment, he could only save two people. Fang He, trailing behind, was beyond his reach; with no other option, he had to first bring Tang Ruyan and Mo Han to safety before attempting any rescue.

But the hand fell with such speed that, by the time Guan Qian teleported clear, it had already smashed down. Fang He’s chances of survival were nearly nonexistent—how could a frail human withstand such a crushing blow from the heavens?

Tang Ruyan covered her mouth, unable to finish her sentence. Her feelings about Fang He’s death were complicated. She had never felt any particular affection for him; at most, he was a classmate—a familiar stranger, nothing more. Yet now, his death stirred something within her, a vague, unnameable emotion.

Once, she had lived only for the Prophet, dismissing all other feelings as unnecessary. But in this strange world, she found, to her surprise, that human emotion had crept into her heart.

“He… he’s really gone?” Mo Han murmured, his voice tinged with sorrow.

The cold wind scattered the last of the dust. All was settled, and the world’s eerie, bone-chilling atmosphere returned.

Guan Qian searched the massive, hand-shaped depression for Fang He’s remains, but not a single trace could be found—not even a fragment.

He froze in shock.

“Guan Qian, did you find Fang He’s body?” Mo Han ran over, anxiety and unease written all over his face.

“Nothing, not a sign! This is truly strange…” Guan Qian frowned, his pale eyes scanning every inch of ground, searching for some clue.

“Hmm?” Mo Han was surprised by this answer, but also slightly hopeful. After all, if there was no body, it meant there was still a chance he had survived.

“Fang He is alive!” Tang Ruyan declared. With a simple divination, she had already predicted his fate with certainty.

“What?!” Mo Han hadn’t yet recovered from Fang He’s supposed death, and now stared wide-eyed at Tang Ruyan’s words.

“There’s no trace of his body. How is this possible?” Guan Qian searched the area again and again, finding nothing. If Fang He truly hadn’t died, as Tang Ruyan claimed, then why did not even a trace remain? It was as if he had simply vanished into thin air—a mystery that defied all logic.

“This is bad—the thing is back!” Mo Han looked up, his brows knitting together.

Once again, the leaden clouds above rolled and churned, forming another colossal hand. The oppressive force radiated death, threatening to descend once more.

“Damn it, will this ever end?” Guan Qian’s face turned grim. In this eerie sky, he sensed a terrifying presence manipulating events from the shadows.

The unknown filled them with dread.

“Run!” No sooner had Guan Qian spoken than he grabbed one companion in each hand and teleported into the Graveyard of Ten Thousand Souls. The icy wind howled past their ears like wailing ghosts, setting their nerves on edge.

The giant hand crashed down again, palm up, back down, scooping up hundreds of earth mounds like a monstrous excavator, hurling them at Guan Qian in a relentless assault.

The graveyard was riddled with wounds—hundreds of mounds leveled in an instant. On the damp ground, the wailing of spirits mingled with the swirling mist, forming a terrifying vortex, tearing at Guan Qian’s path forward.

Teleporting became a struggle; his speed was drastically reduced, as if caught in invisible shackles.

Behind them, the giant hand pursued. Ahead, the swirling vortex blocked their way. The three were trapped, hemmed in on all sides.

“Damn it, there’s nowhere left to run!” Guan Qian cursed, desperately searching for an escape.

Then, a bolt of lightning as vast as a dragon split the sky. The entire graveyard trembled violently—a disaster atop disaster, plunging them into dire peril.

“Guan Qian, leave me behind—take Tang Ruyan and go!” Mo Han knew that with one person carrying two, escape was nearly impossible, especially since his own weight was an added burden. Better that he die alone than all three perish, granting Guan Qian and Tang Ruyan a slim chance of survival.

“Mo Han, don’t talk nonsense! We live together or die together—I will never abandon you!” Guan Qian’s temper flared. He would never forsake a companion, no matter the odds.

“Guan Qian, listen—” Mo Han’s words were cut short as the ground beneath him suddenly split open, a slender fissure tearing through the earth with violent tremors, nearly causing him to fall.

A thunderous rumble.

The fissure widened instantly, revealing a bottomless chasm of death beneath their feet.

Now the entire graveyard was in chaos, devastation everywhere. The mounds collapsed en masse, the spectral mist and swirling fog expanded, engulfing the sky above. The giant hand continued to scoop and dig, its focus fixed on the three fugitives.

A scream echoed.

The giant hand, clutching tons of soil, crashed down. The three of them, swept by the force, plunged into the bottomless abyss, buried beneath earth and stone.

A deafening crash.

The hand pressed down, crushing everything. Rocks tumbled from the chasm’s edge, and inside, all fell silent—deathly still.

(Apologies for the recent delays—life has been busy. Thank you for your patience.)