A Man Like None Other (Jared Chance) novel Chapter 6051

"The… Ghost… Clan… is… calling…"

The words scraped out of him, shredded and foreign, as though spoken through broken glass.

"What?" The single word hammered against Jared's ribs.

Luther burst forward, his outline smearing into a black streak that knifed toward the forest’s heart.

The speed dwarfed anything he had ever shown.

"Wait!" Jared shot after him, worry and confusion tangling in his chest.

For roughly an hour they darted through the thickets, one ahead, one behind.

Gradually the gap closed as Luther’s pace faltered.

His legs wobbled.

At last he slumped against the trunk of a colossal tree, and the abyss in his eyes faded back to normal black and white.

"M-Mr. Jared…"

Luther’s voice shook.

"I can feel… our people’s aura… close—so close."

"Are you sure?" Jared caught him before he slipped.

Luther nodded hard, then pointed past the massive trunk.

"There… a passage leading down… many, many clansmen…"

Jared followed the direction.

At the tree’s base yawned a plain, three-foot-wide hole, black as ink, its bottom nowhere in sight.

Without Luther’s warning, Jared doubted he would have noticed the opening at all.

He steadied Luther against the gnarled root, gray torchlight flickering across the wound-spotted face.

"Can you make the descent in your condition?" Jared asked, his voice low and rough, more strain than sound.

Luther drew a shaky breath. "We have to go," he said, every syllable rasping. "Only the clan below can save me." The words fell between them like stones, final and irrevocable.

Teeth bared against the pain, he forced out, "My Ghost Clan source is breaking apart. If I don't reach nether aura within three days, death is certain."

Sweat beaded along his hairline, each drop proof of the clock grinding down.

Jared quit debating. He slipped an arm beneath Luther's knees, another behind the back, and rose.

Gray light unfurled around them, forming a humming shell. With one breath for courage he sprang into the black mouth of the hole.

At first the shaft pinched their shoulders, shale scraping armor. After sinking a few dozen feet, the passage suddenly widened, tilting downward in a natural ramp that drank their footsteps.

Pale moss clung to the walls, each patch pulsing a soft blue-green glow. The faint light slid over wet stone, enough to keep the path and the drop ahead from vanishing into total night.

Beast heads jutted from corners, and necklaces of bleached vertebrae swung over archways.

Figures drifted through the avenues, ghostly at this distance, shapes dissolving and reassembling behind swirls of nether mist. None were close enough for their features to register.

Softly, Jared murmured, "So this is… the Ghost Clan’s underground city?" The question escaped before he realized he had spoken, thin with wonder he refused to admit.

Luther’s whole frame shook. "Yes… the nether architecture is unmistakable. My people… they’re alive." Emotion cracked his voice, turning the final word into something halfway between a prayer and a sob.

The moment stretched just long enough for comfort—then the light shifted. Cold pressure rolled out of the shadows, a warning Jared felt in the roots of his teeth.

Black chains streaked from every side, sigils glowing along their links. They moved faster than arrows, whistling straight for the two men.

Instinct took the reins. The Dragonslayer Sword flashed into his hand; with a twisting step he met the nearest chain and hacked downward in a silver arc.

Steel rang. Sparks leapt, but the chain rebounded, untouched, the clang deeper than iron—more like tombstone against tombstone.

A jolt of recognition cut through the struggle. "Damn it—Nether Soulbinding Chains!" Jared gasped.

Luther’s alarm split the air; fear tightened every syllable.

Before another thought formed, the chains coiled around them, layering loop upon loop until metal pressed bone.

A glacial force seeped through the links and into his skin. The moment it touched his meridians, his chaotic force lurched, then stalled like a clogged river.

He tried to surge free; the only reward was tighter coils. Runes flared along the metal, their pale light hammering his power flat.

Luther fared worse. Already weak, he was bound from neck to ankles, breath cut to thin whistles no plea could ride.