Poison God's Heritage

Chapter 809: The Hunt

In the dimly lit depths of the Dark Garden, far beneath the first level where light still clung faintly to the crystals that reflected it, the second level was a realm of complete and utter darkness. Here, no creature possessed the gift of sight.

Every beast that roamed these lands was born blind or without eyes entirely, relying solely on their heightened senses—keen ears or powerful Divine Sense—to navigate their treacherous surroundings. It was not a place where any ordinary cultivator could simply wander, for even the strongest could meet their end here without ever knowing how it happened.

The dark was not just a shroud, but a predator itself, hiding countless dangers within its inky folds.

Unlike the first level, this region was conspicuously void of the corrupted creatures that infested the upper lands. The deadly fungus that spawned the Walkers couldn't survive here, leaving the second level to flourish with far more dangerous and untainted beasts.

The absence of corruption allowed these creatures to grow in both power and ferocity, creating a nightmarish ecosystem where only the strongest survived. The air itself felt heavier, laden with an ancient, primal energy that seemed to pulse in sync with the heartbeats of the predators that called this place home.

Among these apex predators was the infamous Obsidian Prowler, a beast capable of bringing down a Sheng Huo with little effort and one that even Shen Bao's Dark Beast would be cautious of. It was said that no creature in the Dark Garden moved with the same ease and fearlessness as the Obsidian Prowler, for it had little to fear from anything or anyone.

With each silent step, it commanded the respect of all other beings, and they, in turn, slunk away into the shadows, terrified of drawing its lethal attention. It was the undisputed ruler of these lands, and other creatures tread carefully whenever its presence was near, for to encounter it was to invite death.

One such creature now stalked through the shadowy terrain, its every movement a study in deadly grace, and the emaciated figure of a woman—once beautiful but now drained of her vitality—hid within a rotting tree trunk. The battle against the golden-haired alien had cost her dearly, her once youthful appearance now withered as though she had aged a hundred years overnight.

Her once radiant skin now sagged, and her hands trembled with the effort of maintaining even the smallest amount of Qi. Desperately, she tried to use her Qi to restore some of her former beauty, to regain just a fraction of her lost power, but the more she exerted, the weaker she became.

Now, in this unforgiving land, she was nothing more than easy prey, a fragile shell of her former self, hiding from a predator she had no hope of escaping.

The Obsidian Prowler's powerful sense of smell allowed it to hunt without ever relying on Divine Sense. It caught the scent of weak prey nearby, and its predatory instincts flared to life, a primal hunger awakening in its belly. A guttural growl rumbled from its throat as it began to click, the sound reverberating through the dense air, using the echoes to map its surroundings.

The moment the echoes returned, the Prowler's focus zeroed in on the tree trunk where the Death Widow was hiding. There was no mercy in its crimson eyes, only the cold calculation of a predator who had found its next meal.

Without any attempt at stealth, the Prowler barreled forward, its whip-like tail smashing aside trees with brutal efficiency. The sound of splintering wood echoed through the stillness as anything that stood in its path was either sent flying or shattered into pieces. The sheer force behind each movement was a testament to its immense strength, and the ground trembled under its weight.

The creature finally stopped at the fallen trunk, placing one massive paw atop it. With a sickening ease, its second set of claws extended, gripping the trunk tightly as it tore through the rotting wood like it was paper, revealing the terrified woman within.

The Death Widow's eyes widened in terror, her breath catching in her throat as the beast loomed over her. The realization that she was too weak to escape this nightmare of a creature filled her with a cold, paralyzing dread. Her thoughts raced, but there was no escape, no last-minute salvation—only the inevitable end that awaited her in the jaws of this monster.

The Obsidian Prowler paused for a moment, assessing its prey. Its crimson eyes flickered with annoyance. The woman looked frail, almost too old and worn to be of any interest. The hunt had been too easy, too dull. There was no thrill, no challenge—just a tired, aging creature that had no fight left in her.

A snarl of frustration escaped the Prowler's mouth, black electric smoke seeping from the sides of its jaws as it growled in displeasure. Its muscles tensed, ready to end the pitiful creature's life, but before it could strike, a short-statured man appeared seemingly out of nowhere, swiftly placing his hands on the woman's side and leaping away with her in his arms.

For a moment, the Obsidian Prowler seemed to register what had happened, and then, almost humorously, its devilish grin widened. It had been denied its prey, and now the hunt was truly on.

With a low, menacing growl, the Prowler launched itself after them, its powerful legs propelling it forward with terrifying speed. The short man, carrying the woman in a princess carry, leaped from tree to tree, narrowly evading the beast. But the Prowler was relentless, each of its massive paws crashing into the ground with explosive force, sending debris flying with every step.

The ground quaked with each impact, as though even the earth itself feared the beast's fury. Its jaws snapped in the air, echoing like thunder, missing its target by mere inches as the short man pushed himself harder to evade the monster's ferocious onslaught.

The noise of the hunt, the crashing trees, and the Prowler's thundering roars echoed through the surrounding territory. The commotion drew the attention of other Obsidian Prowlers lurking nearby. These creatures were not known to hunt in packs, but when two or more appeared in the same area, it could only mean one of two things: either one would die, or a new Prowler would be born.