Mystic Eyes: My Eyes Steal the Laws of Cultivation Chapter 380 - 381

Kyrian’s gaze locked onto the Fire Spirit. His own eyes, still holding the essence of the Eyes of the Gray Flame, met the creature's fiery stare with unyielding resolve.

"Yes. Proceed with the implantation," Kyrian commanded.

The Spirit paused for several moments, its translucent form shimmering. The flames within seemed to be meticulously analyzing Kyrian, searching for any flicker of doubt, fear, or future regret. Finding none, it finally gave a slow nod.

"Very well," its voice resonated through the volcanic dome, echoing off the stone like a deep, solemn thunder. "Once we begin, there shall be no turning back."

Kyrian offered no verbal response. He simply walked to the center of the altar and assumed a cultivation posture, crossing his legs on the warm stone, hands resting on his knees, his back perfectly straight.

Below the bridge, the magma churned with a violent roar. Torrents of fire surged against the volcano’s walls, while ancient runes around Ming Hai’s funerary altar began to emit a deep crimson glow. The chamber’s temperature climbed relentlessly. Even with his Eyes of the Gray Flame active, Kyrian could feel the oppressive heat, each breath feeling like swallowing hot coals.

Then, the Spirit moved. It raised its enormous, translucent hand and placed it gently upon Kyrian's head. The hand, large enough to cover Kyrian’s entire skull like a fiery helmet, surprisingly did not burn. Its touch was remarkably tender, a stark contrast to the creature's immense power.

The instant their skin made contact, a controlled, deliberate wave of orange Qi surged outward from the Spirit. It enveloped Kyrian like a warm, liquid cloak, from his head to his toes. The Qi was warm, yet it did not scorch. Instead, it offered a profound, comforting warmth, akin to the gentle embrace of a distant sun.

Kyrian’s eyes widened slightly. It felt like emerging from a long freeze into warm waters. The deep exhaustion, the muscle aches from his recent battle, the lingering burns, and the internal chill within his bones all vanished instantaneously. His muscles relaxed, his breathing eased, and a heavy fog seemed to lift from his mind.

The Spirit’s Qi flowed around him, permeating every part of his being, preparing him for the procedure to come. "Do not resist," the Spirit advised calmly. "Accept the energy. Allow it to flow."

Kyrian closed his eyes and remained utterly still.

The Spirit then turned its attention to the coffin. For the first time since the tomb had been opened, its demeanor shifted to one of profound seriousness, not the casual gravity of routine, but the deep concern of an undertaking with potentially irreversible consequences. It slowly extended its hand towards the skeletal remains of Ming Hai within the black stone coffin.

The ancient skeleton lay motionless, preserved in its burial posture after centuries. However, its spine… that spine appeared unnervingly alive. It was a dark, crystalline red, unlike anything Kyrian had ever witnessed. Golden veins pulsed through each vertebra, resembling rivers of magma flowing within divine crystal.

The moment the Spirit touched the spine, a cataclysmic eruption of fiery Qi pulsed through the chamber. The altar's runes blazed with sudden, intense light, as if struck by an unseen inferno. The magma below raged, sending ten-meter-high waves crashing against the dome, scattering incandescent droplets like celestial sparks.

The spine began to levitate, detaching itself vertebra by vertebra from the corpse. There was no struggle, no resistance—neither blood nor flesh. It was as if the bone itself refused to remain connected to its lifeless vessel, as if it had awaited this singular moment for eight hundred years. Each vertebra separated from Ming Hai's skeleton and ascended towards the altar's center. The crimson glow intensified to an almost unbearable degree, like a fragment of the sun being ripped from a god's body.

The instant the spine was fully detached, Ming Hai's entire skeleton fractured. It wasn't a loud sound, merely a dry crackle, like a breaking twig. Kyrian’s eyes snapped open. Cracks spiderwebbed across every bone with astonishing speed—arms, ribs, skull, legs—everything. Within seconds, the skeleton, which had defied the ravages of time for centuries, began to disintegrate. Fingers turned to dust, followed by the arms, then the skull, and finally, the entire body collapsed into ruin.

The ashes meandered lazily through the air before Kyrian, momentarily aglow before fading into nothingness, as if the very being of Ming Hai was finally being expunged from existence, freed after an aeon of waiting.

Only the immense crystalline spine remained suspended above the altar.

The Heaven Bone.

The Spirit observed this in silent contemplation for several seconds.

Its incandescent gaze swept from one end of the spine to the other, akin to a final farewell to an ancient comrade.

Then, its attention returned to Kyrian.

"The commencement is now," the Spirit declared.

The spine drifted behind the Spirit, its movement imbued with a languid pace that starkly contrasted the violent energy pulsating from it.

The heat radiating outwards intensified manifold. Kyrian’s skin prickled, not with the superficial scorch from before, but a profound warmth that permeated his flesh and reached his very muscles.

Even shielded by the Spirit’s ochre aura, Kyrian’s skin began to char.

'This is merely the residual heat,' he mused internally.

'What will occur when it makes contact with my body?'

Following this, the Spirit gestured once more.

In that precise instant, Kyrian sensed a contact upon his back.

It was not a physical impingement. Rather, it was a sensation, as though an unseen force were applying pressure to his vertebrae from within, as if his own spine were striving for liberation.

His entire frame became rigid.

The surrounding orange Qi began to coalesce behind him, taking form.

A protracted shape. Curved. Articulated.

Kyrian’s eyes widened gradually.

A spinal column, meticulously crafted from Qi, materialized behind him, mirroring his own anatomy precisely, yet emanating the Spirit’s vibrant orange luminescence.

"Remain immobile," the Spirit commanded.

"Regardless of the sensations. Regardless of the torment that ensues. Do not stir."