Poison God's Heritage Chapter 912: Instinct

The First Born let out a deafening scream, and Solarous itself seemed to quake.

This wail did not simply echo across the devastated landscape like a mere thunderclap; it burrowed through it. It seeped into the very stone, into the bone marrow, and into the subtle fractures within a cultivator's consciousness and their body's compliance.

Anything that still clung to life within Solarous, anything that had not already been annihilated by their mother's destructive fury—crushed, incinerated, consumed, or driven to utter madness—jolted awake as if an unseen claw had seized its skull and violently yanked.

Creatures erupted from their lairs, tunnels, and shattered dens in a frenzy of pure terror. Wings thrashed against skies choked with ash, and scales scraped across the broken earth. Even the usually resilient insects, those tenacious survivors, froze for a single, suspended moment before scattering as if a colossal boot had descended.

The cultivators suffered the most grievous impact. Their innate pride offered no defense when the sheer sonic force rendered all semblance of dignity obsolete.

Men and women, who moments before had stood tall, inhaling deeply and glaring defiantly skyward, collapsed like sodden paper. Their knees struck the debris, and their hands flew to their ears in a futile, belated attempt to block the sound. Blood didn't merely trickle; it hemorrhaged forth. First from their noses, then their ears, and finally from the corners of their eyes. A desperate few attempted to circulate their Qi in frantic patterns, trying to erect a shield around the fragile structures within their skulls. However, the wail was indifferent to their techniques, battering everything with the same relentless force, much like a tidal wave smashing against a city that deluded itself into believing its walls held significance.

"Tsk," the White Sun remarked, crossing his arms and exerting pressure on the world's fundamental laws several times, effectively muting the oncoming scream and preserving the cultivators. This intervention protected them not only from the sonic assault but also from the other predatory rakshasas who held no regard for their First Born's agony.

His action was not one of ostentatious display; it was decisive, akin to a powerful entity seizing the very throat of reality and compelling it to suppress its own cry.

The atmosphere grew heavy and dense. The fabric of space itself seemed to contract, as if unseen restraints had been drawn taut across existence. The wail did not disappear entirely but was significantly muffled, pushed behind a barrier of immense density and unyielding substance. The cultivators still shivered, still bled, and still coughed up a metallic taste of fear, but they ceased their mass collapse. Their physical forms were spared the gruesome fate of rupturing into bloody sacs upon the ground.

Furthermore, the immediate consequence of this shift in universal laws was that the opportunistic scavengers, the rakshasas lurking with predatory patience at the periphery, halted their stealthy advances. They had been poised, awaiting an opportunity born of weakness, anticipating the wail's softening of its intended victims into defenseless prey.

The White Sun's intercession did more than just dampen sound; it erected an inviolable boundary within the world's essence. Even monstrous beings spawned from a fractured Dao understood the gravity when a Sun declared something to be 'off-limits'.

My hands moved to meet each other once more.

"CRY FOR ME SOME MORE!" I roared, striking my palms together again. The Soulsteel Poison that had made contact with the First Born was now beyond my direct control.

The poison residing within the First Born, deep within torn flesh and violated tissues, had slipped from my grasp. It had become savage the instant it touched the First Born, transforming into something devoid of Qi and natural law. Yet, its destructive efficacy remained undiminished.

It was actively consuming, multiplying, and evolving.

But what exactly was it becoming?

That lingering essence was critically important. It existed as tenuous threads, fine motes, and smears of metallic venom that had blazed through the upper atmosphere like ash caught in a tempest. The majority was already being absorbed by the surrounding atmosphere, dissipated by friction and peculiar celestial pressures, scattering into nothingness. If I allowed this to occur, it would be equivalent to discarding a potent weapon for which I had paid dearly with my own blood, effort, and cognitive energy.

I am not one to squander resources.

Therefore, I pulled.

Not with gentleness, nor with finesse. It was the desperate act of a starving individual snatching sustenance away from a roaring fire before the wind could steal it. I drew it in, I compressed it, and my body responded to this immense demand in the only way it could: through sheer agony.

My nostrils burned. My throat felt abrasively raw. My lungs constricted so severely that each breath felt like inhaling air filtered through sharp needles.

I began to bleed anew.

The blood now spilling from my mouth and nose was no longer red but as black as tar. Still, I could not falter. This was our singular opportunity to purge this world, and even the realms beyond, of this persistent threat.

The process was not graceful; it was repulsive. Heavy. Viscous. The black fluid ran warm down my lips, congealing there rather than dripping like ordinary blood. Its taste was metallic, bitter, and evoked a sense of scorching. Each swallow drove that unpleasant sensation deeper.

My vision flickered at the periphery, a crude, instinctual attempt by my body to shield itself by shutting down. I forced my eyes open, driving my focus into the poison with the unyielding intensity of an iron spike. A prolonged blink, a moment's wavering of my intent, and the dissipated residue would be lost, rendering this critical moment utterly wasted.

I am willing to bear any cost for this liberation.

These words were not spoken with any theatrical flair; they embodied an unwavering determination to survive and a profound will to contend.

After all, are we not all engaged in a struggle in this existence?

My own struggle was what maintained the steadiness of my hands when a tremor began to manifest in my fingers.

"Shen Bao! You are exerting yourself far too much!" Yu Yu exclaimed, rushing to my side as she hastily searched through her holding bag.

Her voice struck me like a brutal tug on a fractured bone – far too close, laced with an overwhelming concern. Her hands were already frantically delving, searching with purpose. Vials clinked, talismans rustled, and cloth tore as she attempted to staunch the flow, tackling the problem as a healer would: a desperate patch job and a prayer.

"Stop, I’m losing focus!" I snapped, not intending the harshness, but my concentration was paramount; losing it now would spell greater disaster.

The words exited my mouth sharper than anticipated, grating against my own throat. The thinness of my patience and the precarious edge of my concentration were unmistakable in my tone.

Yu Yu recoiled, freezing mid-action.

Her surprised gaze met mine, a flicker of reaction that pained me, yet I could not afford to indulge her at this critical moment.

That momentary hesitation nearly cost us dearly. I felt the poison wobble precariously above, like a rope about to snap. Panic flared within my gut – hot, vile – but I ruthlessly suppressed it, forcing my wavering intent back into a cohesive shape.

At last, the residual poison yielded. It did not form a perfect orb, but rather a dense, roiling mass, dark and swirled with a metallic sheen that reflected the light unnaturally. The very atmosphere seemed to gnaw at its edges, stripping away wisps with a soft hiss, as if the sky itself abhorred its presence. A significant portion vanished, devoured by the world’s resistance, but enough remained for my intended purpose.

I opened my palms, fingers splayed, then curled them into claw-like shapes. This gesture was not mere theatrics; it was a schematic, dictating the poison’s needed transformation.

As my clawed hands converged, the condensed poison unraveled, flattening into a vast lattice that consumed a terrifying expanse of the sky. Strands of Soulsteel venom stretched taut like celestial cords, forming a mesh so wide it momentarily resembled a net cast to ensnare the moon itself.

That was precisely the design.

My aim wasn’t to halt the other two First Borns in the way one imagines stopping rampaging beasts. All I needed was to disrupt their momentum, to instill hesitation, to slow their descent enough that they wouldn't collide with the planet like celestial mountains.

Should they impact at full speed, Solarous wouldn’t merely suffer; it would shatter. The crust would fracture, the ground would buckle, and any remaining oceans would violently boil. Even without intent, their sheer mass would ensure annihilation.

Such destruction would inevitably unleash their progenitor upon the world.

The absolute worst-case scenario.

Don Ma arrived at my side, his right arm utterly obliterated.

He should not have been standing, let alone walking. His shattered arm dangled at an unnatural angle, bone threatening to breach the skin, his sleeve saturated with dark blood. The limb spasmed occasionally, a useless reflex, as if still clinging to phantom function.

He gazed upward, the expression of a man witnessing doom falter.

"He can’t use it again. For an Origin Cultivator… you are incredible," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

I offered no reply. I could not. My jaw was clenched so tightly it ached, my tongue feeling unnaturally thick. Any unnecessary utterance risked shattering my fragile focus.

The lattice expanded further, ascending to intercept the path of the descending behemoths.

"SPREAD!" My bellow reverberated, making my very brain feel as though it rattled within my skull. Yet, manipulating Qi demanded intent, and this raw vocalization was the sole means to convey it.

The command tore from my throat as if I were ripping it from my lungs with my fingernails. The net responded instantly, widening until it formed a stark barrier directly before the two descending First Borns—a visible, dreadful choice.

They could either plunge through it, accepting the poison, whatever its effect, whatever its meaning, whatever promised destruction echoed behind them.

Or they could decelerate, divert their course, and forfeit the critical advantage of their descent.

Behind them, the agonizing cries of their injured sibling, though muffled, served as the only potent lesson they could comprehend.

They possessed no understanding, no realization.

My trap was not sprung from their comprehension, but from their profound ignorance.

This colossal gamble I had undertaken had paid off.

The First Borns were impervious to paltry things like 'Fear.' Pain was a concept unknown to them. They originated from matter that defied the heavenly order, born from a fractured Dao. Concepts of pain or happiness, joy or sorrow, held no meaning. They had never known suffering since their inception.

Thousands of years passed.

They were forged for consumption and gluttony, never for endurance—apex predators without a hunter.

Consequently, when they heard the heart-wrenching shrieks emanating from their third sibling, something dormant within them stirred. It was a force far more potent than any emotion they could, or could not, feel.

Instinct.