TRAPPED BETWEEN THEM
last update2025-12-11 20:34:05

CHAPTER 005 

Then he heard voices loud, rough laughter that bounced off the walls.

“Davin and Rory are  back… early,” Kieran muttered, his stomach knotting.

“No time,” Kieran hissed.

He sprinted to the pen, gripping the metal bar tightly. The lock was simple. He didn’t even try to open it properly. He slid the bar into the hasp, twisted hard

Groooan snap.

The metal broke free.

He slipped into the pen.

The Stormcloud Lynx lay on its side in fresh straw. Its breathing was shallow, each exhale sparking with a faint, dying crackle of lightning. Up close, it was both breathtaking and heartbreaking. Its silver eyes usually bright and intelligent were cloudy with pain and sedation.

The Lynx saw him.

A low, weak growl rumbled in its chest. Not a threat more like the last flicker of a dying fire.

Kieran raised his hands slowly. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I swear.”

He took one small step closer.

“I… I can use your pain,” Kieran whispered. “I can give it meaning. I can give it a purpose.”

But the System needed the lynx to die first. He had to wait. And every passing second felt like a knife scraping across his nerves.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel outside the pen.

A key jangled in the lock.

“Oh no…” Kieran breathed, pressing himself deeper into the shadows.

“—let’s just get it over with. Nasty job,” Davin muttered.

“The pelt might still sell for a few spirit stones,” Rory answered.

The main gate creaked open. Two figures stepped inside, their lantern throwing long, shaky shadows across the enclosure.

Davin lifted a long metal needle filled with glowing green fluid. “Alright, big girl. Last trip.”

This was it. The moment the lynx died. The moment Kieran needed.

The System’s urgent voice flashed in his mind:

[Resource state shifting to ‘available’ in 3… 2…]

Davin leaned close to the lynx’s neck.

“Hold still,” he said gently.

1.

The needle plunged in.

The lynx’s huge body gave a soft, final shudder. The sparks in its fur went out. The silver in its eyes dimmed to nothing. A single tear slid down its cheek… then vanished into a thin curl of steam.

[Target expired. Salvageable.]

“Done,” Davin said. “Let’s grab the winch. She’s heavy as a boulder.”

“Yeah, come on,” Rory added as they turned toward the gate.

Their backs were facing him. Kieran’s moment had arrived.

He dropped to his knees beside the still-warm creature and pressed both hands against its flank.

“System now. Take everything! Salvage it all!”

[Initiating Full-Scale Salvage.

Target: Deceased Stormcloud Lynx (Corrupted Core).]

A rush unlike anything Kieran had ever felt exploded through him. It wasn’t a pull it was like the beast’s entire body was collapsing inward, a torrent of invisible energy rushing straight into his core. Cold, electric, wild… and full of grief.

In just three heartbeats, the massive 800-pound lynx was gone. No bones, no claws, no fur. Only a faint outline in the straw and the lingering smell of ozone and decay.

The blue System grid erupted with notifications:

[Salvage Complete!]

[Total Yield: 117 Units of Primordial Essence.]

[Warning: Essence contaminated with emotional residue (‘Primal Grief,’ ‘Betrayal’). Integration may have side effects.]

[Cumulative Essence: 127.2 / 1000.]

Power surged through Kieran like a tidal wave breaking through his shattered body. He doubled over, gasping, as the grief-tainted energy tore through his broken meridians. Pain and exhilaration collided he felt… real. Solid. Strong. For the first time since the pit.

“What the—what in the hell?!” he shouted, voice cracking.

The shout stopped abruptly. Davin stood at the gate, lantern raised, the empty winch cart behind him. His face was pale, eyes wide with fear and disbelief. The straw bed was completely empty.

“Rory! GET OVER HERE!”

Rory came running, panting. He froze, staring at the vacant pen. “Where… where is it? Did it just… get up?”

“It’s GONE!” Davin yelled, eyes darting wildly across the pen. Then they landed on Kieran, crouched low, shaking from the raw surge of power.

“You! Trash-rat! WHAT did you do?!”

Kieran rose slowly, feeling the jagged steel bar cool in his hand. “I didn’t do anything. It… it was just gone when I came to clean.”

“Liar!” Davin spat, storming forward. “You were in here! Some kind of demonic trick—” He reached for Kieran’s collar.

Instinct kicked in. The new Essence coursing through Kieran reacted. He didn’t think he moved. Sidestepping Davin’s grab, he moved faster than either of them expected. Not cultivation. Pure, Essence-fueled reflex.

Davin stumbled, off-balance. “You little—!”

“Davin, look!” Rory’s voice trembled. He pointed at the straw.

Where the lynx had lain, the once-clean bedding was now blackened and withered, scorched as if soaked in sorrow. And in the very center, a single object lay.

A small, smooth stone, dark as a storm cloud, with a jagged lightning-shaped crack down the middle. It pulsed with a faint, mournful light.

The lynx’s corrupted core. The System had taken everything else, leaving this condensed, potent remnant behind.

[Alert: Secondary resource detected: ‘Heart of the Storm’s Sorrow.’ Condensed Withering Flux and emotional residue. Extreme toxicity. Extreme salvage potential.]

Davin’s fear melted into greed. “A beast core! Condensed! A treasure!” He lunged for it.

Kieran was faster. He dove, fingers closing around the stone just before Davin’s boot slammed down. The core was ice-cold, thrumming with a sick, intense power.

Kieran’s eyes went wide. “This… this is mine.”

He rolled away, clutching the core to his chest, and scrambled to his feet. He planted himself between the two handlers and the broken rear door.

Davin’s face twisted with rage and greed. “Hand that over, you thief! That’s sect property! Stealing a core flogging at least, maybe death!”

Rory stepped in front of the main gate. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Kieran was trapped. Panting. One hand held a priceless, deadly treasure; the other gripped the jagged steel bar. The Essence in his gut boiled and churned wild, unstable, overwhelming. He had the power of a hundred spirit stones, but the skill of a crippled janitor.

Davin cracked his knuckles, a cruel grin spreading across his face. “Fine. Let’s do this the hard way. We’ll take the core from your broken body.”

The two men advanced.

Continue to read this book for free
Scan the code to download the app

Latest Chapter

  • The Roof and the Rain

    The Chatterbox Community Hall was less a hall and more a large, stubborn shack. The walls weren't straight, the roof leaked in three places, and the floor was a patchwork of salvaged planks that creaked in a unique, conversational way. It was, everyone agreed, perfect.It became the heart of the district's new sound. Not because it was quiet, but because it was a dedicated space for their particular kind of noisy work. The sound-map meetings moved inside. The weekly noise-swaps became concerts where a five-year-old's rhythmic spoon-banging was given the same respectful silence as Kael's intricate woodwind melodies.The Reedhold trade goods were displayed on a makeshift shelf jars of honey glowing in the window, the foghorn-song pot a centerpiece.The Council's "Great Civic Symphony" contest was forgotten, a bland memory next to the vibrant, ongoing noise of the Hall. The Harmony broadcasts continued, but now they sounded like they were coming from very far away, like polite music from

  • The Work of the Street

    The silence from below was a victory, but a quiet one. The Council’s Harmony music still played in the squares, but a seed of doubt had been planted. People who had heard the strange, glorious cacophony from Fen’s basement leaking into the street started to find the official music… boring.It was like eating only sugar. Sweet, but it left you hungry for something real.The “Acoustic Reconciliation Council” was not stupid. They stopped talking about unity and started talking about safety. Their new stage shows featured engineers explaining the “dangers of uncharted resonance” and doctors warning of “sonic fatigue” from too much discord.They offered free “sound-proofing” kits for apartments simple foam panels that also, incidentally, dampened the noise of your neighbor’s sound-map meetings.The battle was no longer over silence or song. It was over attention. And the street was losing.Elara, Corvus, and their ragged group saw the energy seeping away. Making a sound-map was hard work.

  • The Boy Who Listened

    The boy's name was Leo. The rule he proposed "Sometimes, you just have to listen" didn't solve everything. But it stuck. It became the last, faint line on every sound-map in the Chatterbox, a humble reminder scribbled in the corner.Leo took the rule seriously. While adults argued over decibel allowances and swap-meet schedules, Leo listened. He listened to the wind whistling through a cracked spire. He listened to the secret, tapping language of the steam pipes.He listened to the old instrument-maker, Kael, who told him stories of sounds that were lost the hum of a particular kind of glass, the song of a brass bell that rang in a key no one could replicate anymore."Most people listen for what they want to hear," Kael told him, sanding a piece of aromatic wood. "Or for what bothers them. You listen like a hunter. For the things hiding in between."What Leo was hunting, he didn't know. But he found something strange. In the deepest basement of his building, behind the coal chute that

  • The Messy Harmony

    The Cacophony of Dawn lasted a week. A glorious, exhausting, deafening week where the people of the City of Spires said everything they'd ever held back. Then, the headaches started. The fights over noise became constant. Someone's joyful drumming was another person's sleepless nightmare.The freedom to be loud was crashing headfirst into the need for rest, for thought, for peace.Elara and Corvus hadn't really gotten lost. They were found every day, by someone with a new problem. They were hiding in plain sight, in a small room above a reopened music shop in a district now called the Chatterbox.A young woman named Fen, with dark circles under her eyes, found them there. "You have to help," she said, her voice raw. "My neighbors, the Millers, they sing. All night. Revolutionary songs. They say it's their right. My baby can't sleep. My father is sick. I asked them to stop after midnight. They called me a 'Quietist,' a traitor to the new age. What do we do?"This was the new war. Not b

  • The Cacophony of Dawn

    The collapse of the crystalline Quiet did not bring immediate victory. It brought shockwaves. The amplified heartbeat from the Spires cut off mid-thump, leaving a deafening silence that was more terrifying than any noise.The sanitized hum of Elara's stolen song dissolved into static, then into nothing. For a long, breathless minute, the entire city existed in a pure, un-governed acoustic vacuum.Then, the void filled.It was not with a single sound, or even a unified chorus. It was a cacophony a glorious, terrifying, unstoppable tidal wave of every possible noise at once.Without the central dampening fields, without the structured broadcasts to provide a rhythmic baseline, every repressed sound in the City of Spires erupted. A decade's worth of unsung songs, un-shouted arguments, unmourned grief, and un-laughed laughter exploded into the air.Machinery, freed from noise-suppression protocols, shrieked and clattered. People, liberated from sonic curfew, poured into the streets, and t

  • The Contradiction

    The path to the Central Spire was a descent into a different kind of silence. Not the dead quiet of the old world, nor the vibrant hush of the ghost frequency network. This was the sterile, pressurized silence of a fortress preparing for war.The closer they got to the administrative heart of the city, the more the ambient noise of the adjusting metropolis faded, replaced by the sub-auditory thrum of powerful sonic dampeners and the occasional, clipped transmission of security patrols.Lin's route was a masterpiece of acoustic misdirection, taking them through the resonant "shadow" of a roaring wastewater cascade, through a tunnel that vibrated in sympathy with the distant, sanctioned hum from the Spires, masking their own signatures.The Weeping Coin was their compass, its temperature dropping to a warning chill whenever they neared an active suppressor field.They emerged at last into a cavernous, dimly lit space the foundation level of the Central Spire. It was a world of colossal,

More Chapter
Explore and read good novels for free
Free access to a vast number of good novels on MegaNovel app. Download the books you like and read anywhere & anytime.
Read books for free on the app
Scan code to read on App