917 Black Tongues

A black arrow noiselessly flew through the darkness of the moonless night and disappeared into white snow without a trace. Then, another. Sunny tried to send as many arrows flying as he could before the swarm arrived.

In the end, he managed to draw his bow fourteen times.

Knowing that he would have to — and, hopefully, have time to — rescue Saint, he had chosen to wear the Mantle of the Underworld into the upcoming battle. The Dying Wish was already fused with it, but Sunny had not poured his essence into the Transcendent charm yet, not wishing to draw attention to himself.

For now, he was just a black silhouette on the dark backdrop of the night, almost unnoticeable if not for the pale radiance of the crimson aurora that swirled above, devouring the skies with its ghostly light.

Soon, the swarm descended into the valley.