Amidst the Waves [Wuthering Waves]

Haah-Grr—Haah

Kyorin's breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as if it would burst. His mind, a whirlwind of chaos, felt as though it were being pulled in a thousand directions.

"ANGER,AGONY,HUNGER,THIRST."

"Fight… Absorb… Evolve."

A nauseating swirl of emotions and fragmented thoughts clawed at his consciousness, threatening to drag him into madness. Staggering forward, his body swayed precariously before he managed to steady himself against a nearby tree.

SLAM!

With a sudden, violent motion, he drove his fist into the trunk, the impact leaving a deep imprint in the bark. Drip-Drip. Warm crimson trickled down his knuckles, but he didn't care.

"…"

The sharp, physical pain was a fleeting relief from the storm raging within. "Fuck!" he snarled, his voice raw with frustration and anger.

The chaos wasn't just in his mind. Beneath the surface of his skin, a foreign presence—an amalgamation of bestial instincts—gnawed relentlessly at his sanity.

These lingering consciousnesses, remnants of the beasts whose blood he had consumed, whispered insidiously, urging him to let go, to surrender. Each whisper was a dagger to his already fragile sense of self.

"Fight…"

"Absorb…"

"Evolve…"

Kyorin gritted his teeth, his body trembling as he fought to maintain control. Despite being a rational man, his mind felt like it was slipping, frayed by the multitude of crises unravelling at once.

"My cultivation techniques…" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper."... they have stopped working." The revalation hit him with the force of a hammer, sinking deep into his core.

His fists clenched tightly, the knuckles whitening under the strain. It was as though the very foundation of his existence had crumbled. Every technique, every method he had relied on with unwavering confidence, was now rendered useless in this alien world.

He had known—somewhere in the recesses of his scattered thoughts—that this world operated differently. The rules, energy, and essence of life were unrecognisable. But to feel it so keenly now, when he was already on the brink, was a cruel blow.

His mind flashed with a bitter truth: this world did not acknowledge the cultivation paths he had mastered. The energies here were wild, volatile, and utterly incompatible with his knowledge.

"Haha…"

"Haha." A bitter laugh escaped his lips, hollow and joyless. "Figures," he muttered, shaking his head. "This place isn't going to make anything easy, is it?"

The chaotic essence surged again within him, mocking his futile attempts at control. His vision blurred momentarily, and for a split second, he felt his grip on reality slipping. Memories and instincts that weren't his own threatened to overwhelm him, pulling him into a tempest of alien emotions.

"Humph." He snorted, refusing to yield.

With a deep breath, he straightened his back, though his body still trembled from the effort. "I've survived worse than this," he growled, though the words carried a hollow ring.

He needed a solution, and fast. The chaos within him wasn't going to subside on its own, and his usual methods were useless. That left only one option: adapt.

"I think it's about time I use that," he muttered under his breath, his eyes flickering with a cold glint at the thought. Settling himself on the ground, cross-legged, a faint image of a serene female monk crossed his mind.

"To be saved by that person, is this Karma?" he mused briefly before refocusing.

There was one option left: The True Buddhist Arts.

The Art of Unbothered: Detachment.

As he invoked the haphazard method, his frail body began to twist and transform. His tendons thickened, bones grew denser, and his eyes narrowed into sharp, bestial slits. Though his height and outward appearance remained mostly unchanged, the changes rippled through his very being.

What Detachment meant was to create a delicate equilibrium—where neither Kyorin nor the beastly instincts would hold full dominance. It was a technique that relinquished direct control from any party, ensuring that his body could function without succumbing to madness.

He could feel the power coursing through his altered form, and for the first time, he perceived the chaos clearly—disconnected, uninfluenced, and unbothered. The lingering consciousnesses roared and fought for supremacy, but they found no purchase.

A sneer crept across Kyorin's face, a grotesque duality of expression. One half mocked with sinister delight—the lingering consciousness asserting its defiance—while the other half brimmed with confidence, Kyorin's resolute will unyielding.

Both sneered at each other. One, mocking the futility of resistance, the other, steadfast in its belief that they were locked in a standstill neither could break.

"Kyorin?"

The familiar voice broke through the tense silence, echoing in the air and slicing into his conflicted thoughts. His eyes trembled faintly at the sound, a brief flicker of humanity piercing through the chaotic storm within. But it lasted only a moment before his unbothered state reasserted itself.

Turning his gaze toward the voice, his eyes locked on the figure approaching. This time, however, one of his eyes began to bulge unnaturally, darkening with a predatory gleam. A storm stirred in his resting yet restless heart, and half of his face contorted with the primal hunger of a predator.

It was his mother.

She stood before him, her body battered and broken, marred by grievous wounds. Scars crisscrossed her flesh, the acrid scent of burnt skin lingering in the air. One of her eyes was gone, the hollow socket a stark testament to the brutality she had endured.

The sight made half of Kyorin's body tremble, his once steady composure shaken to its core.

'What happened?'

The question surged within the humane half of his mind, overwhelmed by a flood of confusion, disbelief and… Anger. He hadn't been aware—he couldn't have known—of the tragedy that had befallen the Yang Niu Village…

--

The peaceful village, steeped in its usual tranquillity, was suddenly overshadowed by a foreboding presence. Ominous clouds gathered in the sky, darkening the horizon. A chilling scream shattered the calm.

"Blood! Blood!" someone cried in sheer terror.

Hearts pounded as the villagers turned toward the source of the commotion. All eyes followed the direction of the scream—to the old, withered tree near the stream. What they saw froze them in place.

The stream, once a lifeline of pure, clear water, now ran thick and red, a grotesque torrent of blood. It stained the ground and seeped into the earth, turning the village's lifeblood into a nightmare.

From this crimson torrent, they emerged—the Tacet Discords.

Chaos erupted.

Dark, twisted forms clawed their way out of the blood-soaked stream. The TDs were beings of pure malevolence, their auras oppressive and their presence suffocating. They descended upon the village with ruthless intent, hunting indiscriminately.

Villagers screamed, scattering in a frenzy of panic. Some fled, while others stood frozen, paralyzed by fear. The once vibrant settlement was consumed by pandemonium.

The TDs tore through the village, reducing homes to rubble and spreading destruction like a plague. Rain began to fall, its droplets mingling with blood until it painted the ground in morbid red hues.

Despite the villagers' desperate attempts to resist, their efforts were futile. The Tacet Discords were relentless, their every movement an embodiment of chaos. Hope dwindled with each passing moment, extinguished under the weight of their merciless assault.

At the heart of the village, the withered tree stood like a grim sentinel. Its ancient, gnarled branches trembled, but not from the storm. Something stirred within it—a presence both primordial and formidable.

A loud crack reverberated through the air.

The tree split from within, a jagged fissure carving its way through the bark. The ancient wood, once brittle and dry, now seemed alive with an unsettling energy.

A mark appeared—a Tacet Mark.

Unlike the usual pale yellow glow, this mark radiated a haunting mix of grey, black, and white, its pulsating light eerily calm yet deeply unnerving. The fissures spread further, the tree groaning as if tearing itself apart, but it refused to collapse.

"The chaos has returned," an ethereal voice murmured from within, inaudible to mortal ears. The entity, bound within the tree for untold ages, stirred. Its attention drifted to the horizon, drawn toward a distant mountain where something extraordinary burned with intensity.

A deep, almost amused tone laced the entity's musings.

"The waves have withered, forming wuthering waves. O Immortal, is this your doing? Or perhaps your calling?"

The tree quivered, and the voice softened into a whisper, its focus shifting entirely toward the source of its intrigue.

"My, my... What a terrifying rage."

To be continued...