Burning Starlight [Science-Fantasy Cultivation LitRPG] (Book 1 Complete!)

Maybe it was a pipe dream, thinking he could avoid drawing the attention of the entire undead horde, but Blake thought he had a chance. Unfortunately, the enemy wasn't playing fair. All it had taken was a single reflexive wave of his hand for Blake to draw the horde's attention.

It had felt like a cobweb. It wasn't even actually touching him; he just felt it with his aura and reacted, swatting the thread away. Only in the seconds that followed did he realize that the thread extended out past the range of his aura. Too long to be a normal cobweb, so what had he just touched?

There, at the edge of his aura's range, the thread reappeared. And then another. And they were moving toward him. That wasn't good at all.

The threads drifted at the edge of his awareness, a subtle pressure against his aura. Blake backed away, keeping his head on a swivel. He could barely make them out with his [Warden's Insight] active. They were just… there. A known unknown. He wasn't sure what to do about the things. They didn't seem to know his exact location, but they had an idea of his vicinity.

A crash of shattering plasteel from a storefront to his left answered the question of his immediate future. A brute, one of the ones with ossified mallets for fists, heaved its bulk through the opening. Its head, a lopsided mass of bone and cancerous flesh, swiveled toward him. There was no intelligence in its jaundiced eyes, only anger.

The brute charged, its heavy footfalls shaking the floor tiles. Blake sidestepped the initial, clumsy swing, the wind of its passage stirring the dust. He still didn't draw Verdict. Too much noise. Instead, mana flowed from his core, down his arm, and into Fang. The phantom blade flared to life, extending the combat knife into a meter-long energy cutlass. His [Battlewright] skill fed him the muscle memory, the slight shift in grip and balance required for the longer weapon.

He pivoted on his back foot as the brute lumbered past, bringing the glowing edge of the blade around in a flat, horizontal arc. He put his whole body into the swing, a single, decisive motion aimed at the creature's thick neck. The energy construct connected with a low hum, shearing through flesh without resistance. There was, unexpectedly, resistance at the spine, but Blake flared his mana and forced his way through. The brute's head tumbled from its shoulders, landing with a wet thud, while the body took two more staggering steps before collapsing in a heap.

In the second it took to follow through, his concentration on the strands had vanished, consumed by the mechanics of the kill.

That was the opening.

Something thin and sharp bit into the armor over his right calf. The bite hardened into crushing pressure, as if a vise had locked onto the muscle. Blake glanced down. A nearly invisible filament—alive with a faint internal glow after touching him—circled his leg. It tightened, coiling like a garrote.

There was nothing to be done. He severed the thread.

A shrill cry echoed up from the floor below, and within seconds, the air was filled with the sound of creatures hissing quietly. It didn't last long, but it came from every direction. It seemed like a pretty clear call and response, which was precisely the sort of thing Blake had considered among his worst-case scenarios. The creatures had a way to communicate, and if the cry from downstairs was any indication, they had centralized leadership.

Taking what little time he had, Blake focused hard on the thread still wrapped around his calf. He burned it into memory. Between [Quicksilver Mind] and [Warden's Insight], he intended to make sure he was aware of the threads wherever they showed up. He had to avoid getting tied up.

Looking up, [Warden's Insight] gave him good news and bad news. The good news was that he could absolutely make out the faint signature of the threads and highlight them on his HUD in order to avoid them. The bad news was that they were actually everywhere.

Distracted as he was, the unmistakable sensation of movement inside his aura was his only warning. Blake threw himself to the side, rolling over his shoulder as one of the brute's mallet-fists slammed into the floor where he'd just been standing. Tiles shattered, sending shards skittering across the ground. The headless body straightened, its thick arms held wide, turning slowly as if trying to pinpoint his location.

"Oh, fuck you," Blake said, getting quickly to his feet. The thing didn't react immediately to the sound, but it slowly turned to orient itself in his direction as Blake began to circle around it.

It didn't have a head, but it was definitely aware of him. He considered his own [Aura of Detection], Eland's expansive spiritual perception, and even Kitt's ability to perceive her surroundings despite her lack of physical sensory organs. There were precedents. The brute had some kind of supernatural senses, then. Nothing advanced, just something crude but effective like a shark sensing blood in the water.

It did seem unfair that beheading the damned thing didn't count as a kill, though.

He darted in, the phantom blade of Fang held tightly. The brute swung blindly, a sweeping blow that Blake easily ducked under. He drove the glowing cutlass toward the creature's chest, aiming for where he hoped its core would be. The blade met bone with a buzz of static. Sparks flew as the energy construct scraped against the ossified armor plating covering the brute's torso. Blake recalled that the thing's spine had resisted [Phantom Edge] before—it shouldn't have come as a surprise that the thing's dedicated armor would prove even more effective.

The brute spun, its movements a sudden and unexpected rush of motion, and Blake didn't quite manage to get out of its range. The brute swung both arms wide, testing for Blake's presence, and it was a backhand from the left that caught Blake in the ribs. The impact was a dull, heavy thud that stole his breath and sent him stumbling back. His armor absorbed most of the force, but pain still flared hot and sharp along his side. The headless thing wasn't precise, but it was brutally effective. Another, more deliberate swing demolished a nearby planter, showering the area with dirt and shattered ceramic.

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He couldn't get close enough to find a weak point without risking another hit like that. He needed a new angle. He backed away, circling the creature, his eyes searching for any gap in its bone-plated defense. The threads were still there, a web of silent threats he had to navigate while dealing with the immediate, headless problem. The situation was getting complicated. He needed to simplify it. And fast.

A sharp, grinding pain lanced through Blake's side as he drew a breath. Bruised ribs, at least. Maybe cracked. The headless brute righted itself, its massive form a silhouette against the mall's strange, artificial daylight. It took a hesitant step, then another, its mallet-fists dragging on the floor.

Blake wasn't sure how to hide from the creature, so he had to control the engagement. The creature's bone armor was too dense for a broad cut. Slashing was useless. He needed a rapier more than a saber.

Blake stopped. The brute was still trying to find him, turning its bulk with slow, sweeping movements. Blake considered his options. Sound was out, but it could still be sensing vibration somehow. Blake tapped his foot, a rhythmic beat against the tiles. Tap-tap-tap. Nothing. The creature remained unresponsive. It didn't feel the vibrations, or at least it didn't care about them.

That left energy. Blake didn't have anything in the way of energy emission attacks, but he was willing to experiment a bit. First, he pushed mana into his [Aura of Detection]—he didn't notice any change in the feedback from the aura, but the air around him started to hum with the gentle currents of his mana. He held it for a few seconds, ready to abandon the test and try something else, when the brute's movements stopped suddenly. Its headless form froze, then angled toward him, a low, guttural noise vibrating through its chest. Its fists lifted, ready to charge.

It reacted to his mana. That was it, then. He could use that.

He retreated, his boots crunching softly on debris. He poured even more power into the aura, hoping to lure the undead forward. The brute didn't take long to respond, pivoting toward him and charging forward in a straight, predictable line. Blake sidestepped, letting the creature thunder past him and slam stump-first into a thick support column. The entire structure groaned under the impact.

That was the opening.

As the brute staggered back, disoriented, Blake focused his will. Mana flowed into Fang, but instead of forming a wide cutlass, he compressed it. The meter-long blade of light narrowed, collapsing in on itself until it was no more than a glowing, needle-thin stiletto. The hum of the construct pitched higher, a sound of contained, focused power. His Battlewright skill adjusted his grip, turning his wrist just so, aligning his body for a fencer's thrust.

He lunged.

The brute was still trying to reorient itself, its arms flailing. Blake slipped under a clumsy swing, his body low to the ground. He drove the glowing spike of energy upward, aiming for the softer tissue in the creature's armpit.

There was resistance—a thick layer of cartilage and muscle—but the concentrated point of the phantom blade pierced it. He pushed deeper, channeling more mana, forcing the spike through sinew and into the thing's chest cavity.

Blake pushed deeper, channeling more mana, forcing the spike through sinew and into the thing's chest cavity. He felt the phantom blade pierce something solid and brittle inside. The brute stiffened, a tremor running through its massive frame. This was it. This was the opening.

He poured mana into the tip of Fang, initiating a [Kinetic Detonation]. The energy surged, a compressed wave of force ready to explode. The brittle object inside the brute's chest cracked, resisting the surge. The energy rippled, threatening to detonate prematurely, but Blake held it, shaping the force construct as it passed through his phantom blade. The pain in his side sharpened, a dull ache becoming a hot knife, but he ignored it.

The brute's body bucked, a silent, internal scream. The pressure built, pushing outward from the phantom blade. Then, with a muffled thud, the creature exploded from the inside. Not a spectacular, bloody mess, but a controlled, concussive burst that ripped the torso apart from the sternum down. The ossified armor plates shattered, scattering bone fragments and bits of black, necrotic flesh across the floor. The headless body spasmed, limbs flailing for a moment before it finally slumped to the ground, dead. This time, it stayed down.

Blake watched in morbid fascination as the threads descended onto the scattered remains of the headless brute. Like invisible puppeteers, they latched onto chunks of necrotic flesh, bone fragments, and viscera. The pieces lifted from the ground, hovering a few centimeters above the floor tiles before drifting toward the railing.

His bruised ribs protested as he straightened, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. The threads carried their grisly cargo over the edge, dropping down toward the center of the mall. Whatever was happening down there, it wasn't good.

"Waste not, want not, I guess," Blake muttered under his breath, moving cautiously toward the railing. He needed to see what was collecting these remains, what kind of central intelligence might be directing the threads.

He approached the edge, staying low, keeping his profile minimal. Just as he prepared to peer over, something struck the floor near his boot with a sharp ping. Ceramic tile exploded into white dust and fragments.

Blake dropped flat immediately, instincts taking over. A second projectile whistled overhead, embedding itself in a wall behind him.

"Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth. Two realizations hit him simultaneously, neither of them good.

First, at least one of these things had ranged weapons. Nothing in his initial recon had shown him that capability. The cutters had their blades, the brutes their hammer-like appendages, the weird husks with their flames. But proper ranged attacks? That was new.

Second, and worse, someone knew exactly where he was.

Blake rolled away from the railing, seeking cover behind a toppled kiosk. Another shot struck where he'd been lying, confirming his fears. He needed a plan, fast. The mall's lower level contained the sub-core he needed to reach, but the way down was exposed. Every stairwell, every escalator would put him in the open, an easy target for whatever was shooting at him. He briefly considered jumping, but he'd be dropping in entirely blind, and that wasn't much better.

"So much for stealth," Blake muttered, checking Verdict's load. If they already knew where he was, there was no point holding back on firepower. But first, he needed to locate the shooter.

He activated [Warden's Insight] again, focusing on the trajectory of the incoming fire. The shots had come from here on the second floor, somewhere to the east of his position. He'd narrow it down as they continued firing.

Blake drew Verdict, took a deep breath, and prepared to raise hell.