Bio-engineered Dinosaur in the immortal world-Chapter 21: Predatory hunt

A sudden hum filled the clouds up ahead.

It started as a low vibration, like the distant rumbling of a storm. Then, a deep, resonating voice erupted across the entire forest, shaking leaves from trees and sending beasts scurrying into the underbrush.

"ALERT! ALERT! ALERT!

"UNAUTHORIZED DEMONIC CULTIVATORS HAVE BEEN DETECTED WITHIN THE TRIAL GROUNDS.

"IDENTIFIED INDIVIDUALS ARE AT PEAK MORTAL CULTIVATOR LEVELS. WARNING TO ALL PARTICIPATING DISCIPLES:

"IMMEDIATE EVASION IS REQUIRED."

The voice was monotonous, but it sounded like it was panicking.

It stretched endlessly, drilling into the mind of everyone who heard it.

It wasn't merely a warning.

It was a command.

A desperate and panicked order that shook the very air with each syllable.

The trees trembled.

The ground vibrated.

The wind howled, carrying the words far and wide.

"DO NOT ENGAGE!

"I REPEAT—DO NOT ENGAGE!

"REINFORCEMENTS WILL ARRIVE IN EXACTLY TWO DAYS.

"SURVIVAL TAKES PRIORITY.

"ALL DISCIPLES ARE INSTRUCTED TO EVADE IMMEDIATE CONFRONTATION AND MAKE SURE TO HIDE!"

Wei Long stayed perfectly still in his camouflaged form.

The announcement boomed above him, but his expression remained blank.

There was no shock in his eyes.

No panic.

No fear.

He simply listened.

"BE WARNED:

"THESE INDIVIDUALS MAY POSSESS UNSTABLE DEMONIC ARTEFACTS.

"REPEAT:

"THEY MAY POSSESS UNSTABLE DEMONIC ARTEFACTS.

"INTERACTING WITH THESE CULTIVATORS WILL RESULT IN INSTANT DISQUALIFICATION AND—POSSIBLE DEATH."

The voice continued for what felt like hours, detailing survival strategies, listing known demonic tactics, and emphasizing the absolute necessity of avoiding battle.

But Wei Long?

He wasn't worried.

He had no reason to be.

He had no master to obey.

No trial to pass.

And most importantly—he wasn't one of those weak, naive disciples who needed to run.

Still, he made sure to hide well in the foliage.

His golden eyes narrowed, watching the five demonic cultivators below.

A feeling of something missing suddenly causes his chest to tighten.

A strange sense of... forgetfulness.

Like something was missing.

Something important.

Something he should have remembered.

But what?

On the other hand, the five cultivators, who had been standing in tense silence, suddenly erupted into curses.

"Damn it! This changes everything!" one of them growled, his voice twisted with frustration.

"Reinforcements? Two days?! This wasn't in the plan!"

The woman with hollow eyes spat to the side.

"Calm down, fools. Panicking won't solve anything."

Her voice was cold, measured, but there was an undercurrent of unease. Even though she knew that this situation was bad.

The scarred man, their supposed leader, gritted his teeth.

"Tch. The second orb is missing. The formation is useless. If we don't act fast, we'll be the ones hunted down."

A younger cultivator stepped forward, his face pale with fear.

"We should leave. Now. Before those reinforcement dogs track us down."

"Leave?"

The scarred man's gaze hardened.

"You think we can just run? And return empty-handed?"

His voice was laced with fury.

"What do you think will happen when we get back to the sect without completing our mission? You think they'll just pat us on the head and let us live?"

Silence.

A cold, suffocating silence.

Then—

"Then what do we do?!" the youngest cultivator snapped, his desperation leaking through.

"We're stranded! The orb is gone! If we stay, we die! If we go back, we die! WHAT THE HELL ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO?!"

His voice echoed through the trees, filled with raw frustration.

The hollow-eyed woman sighed.

"The answer is simple."

They all turned to her.

Waiting.

She smiled.

A cold, cruel smile.

"We kill them..."

A beat of silence.

Then—

"Kill who?" the youngest one asked, his voice sounded hesitant.

The hollow-eyed woman tilted her head.

"Who else?"

She turned to the scarred man.

"We kill the disciples. Every single one of them."

The youngest cultivator flinched.

The scarred man stared at her for a long moment.

Then, he smirked.

"Heh. You're right."

His hungry gaze turned toward the depths of the forest.

"If we can't complete the formation, we ensure the job is done another way. We make sure those brats never return."

The youngest cultivator hesitated.

His fingers tensed around the handle of his weapon.

But—

He said nothing.

Because deep down, he knew—

There was no other choice.

Watching on the side, Wei Long narrowed his eyes.

Something felt off.

The moment these cultivators made their decision, they moved with eerie certainty.

Like they had planned for this possibility all along.

Then—

They reached into their pockets.

Wei Long watched closely.

Each one of them pulled out a small, dark pill.

A pill that reeked of something foul.

Something unnatural.

Something... corrupt.

Without hesitation, the cultivators fed the pills to the pig-like beasts.

The moment the pills touched their tongues, the creatures jerked violently.

Their muscles spasmed.

Their bodies convulsed.

Their eyes rolled back, and a deep, guttural snarl tore from their throats.

Then—

They began to change.

Their bodies trembled.

Twisted.

Expanded.

Dark veins bulge beneath their skin, spreading like cracks in glass.

Their tusks lengthened, warping into grotesque, jagged fangs.

Their eyes darkened, turning into soulless black voids.

A thick, oily mist began to ooze from their pores, spreading an aura of corruption that made the air itself sickening to breathe.

Wei Long's stomach churned.

This was not normal.

This was not natural.

This was something far worse.

The demonic cultivators watched with satisfaction.

The scarred man grinned.

"Good. This should do the trick."

He gestured forward.

"Go. Hunt down every disciple in the area. Leave no survivors."

The beasts snorted, their bodies now overflowing with demonic energy.

Their breath steamed, warping the air around them.

Their hooves dug deep into the earth, ready to charge forward.

Then—they stumbled.

Wei Long grinned.

The pigs—

They weren't moving properly.

Their legs shook.

Their bodies wavered.

They took one step forward—

And then another—

And then—

They collapsed.

All of them collapsed one by one—BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Soon a silence ensued.

The cultivators stood frozen, staring at the twitching, collapsing pigs.

The beasts were supposed to become stronger—not fall apart like rotting corpses.

Their muscles convulsed violently, dark veins bulging as their bodies jerked and spasmed.

The black mist around them twisted, no longer a sign of power.

"T-This... this isn't right."

The youngest cultivator's voice quivered, his face draining of color.

His fingers trembled as he pointed at the dying beasts.

"They were supposed to reach peak Mortal Beast level! How—how are they already dying?!"

The scarred man's expression darkened.

His eyes darted between the pigs and his own fingertips, which were beginning to tingle.

His throat felt... dry.

His stomach churned.

Something was wrong.

Very, very wrong.

The hollow-eyed woman suddenly cursed.

"We've been poisoned."

Her voice was sharp, like a dagger piercing through the tension.

She glared at the pigs, her pupils shrinking.

"It's not just them. It's us."

The youngest cultivator stumbled back, eyes wide with terror.

"Poison?! How?! We never even touched those damn pigs!"

The scarred man growled, rubbing his arms.

His breathing became heavier.

His vision blurred.

Then—

It clicked.

His teeth gritted.

"The mist... it's the damn mist."

The hollow-eyed woman's expression tightened.

She quickly reached into her robes, pulling out a small jade bottle filled with an emerald-green liquid.

"Antidotes. We still have them."

Her voice was clipped, controlled.

Even as panic swirled in her gut, she forced herself to move with precision.

She uncorked the vial—

FWIP!

A shadow flickered through the air.

Something whipped past them, too fast to see.

Then—

A tail.

A scaled, muscular tail.

It lashed out like a whip, striking the woman's wrist—

SMACK!

The jade bottle flew from her grasp, flipping through the air—

CRACK!

It shattered against a tree, spilling its precious liquid into the dirt.

Silence again.

"W-What—"

The woman's voice caught in her throat.

Her fingers twitched.

Her pupils shrunk to pinpricks.

Then, a sound.

A low, guttural growl.

A deep, primal rumble from the darkness beyond the trees.

Something moved.

Something big.

Something fast.

The youngest cultivator barely had time to scream before—

CHOMP!

A blur of fangs and scales lunged from the shadows—

CRUNCH!

It bit down.

Right into the skull of the closest cultivator.

Bone snapped.

Flesh tore.

Blood splattered.

The body jerked—

Then—

The beast dragged him away.

WHOOSH!

In an instant—

The cultivator was gone.

Disappearing into the trees, swallowed by the darkness of the ever-hungry forest.

Silence.

A thick, suffocating silence.

The remaining four stood in horrified stillness, their breaths shallow and quick.

Their minds raced.

What—

What just happened?!

What was that—

"Formation! NOW!" the scarred man barked.

His voice cut through the shock like a whip.

His hands flickered through complex symbols, and the others, though still shaking, followed immediately.

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WHOOOSH!

A barrier erupted around them, a shimmering, flickering dome of energy.

A defensive formation—

Something designed to keep beasts out.

Something designed to buy them time.

The cultivators stood back-to-back, weapons drawn, eyes scanning the darkness.

Their breaths were ragged.

Their bodies trembled.

They weren't just surrounded.

They were being hunted.

"Don't move."

The scarred man's voice was a low hiss.

His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword.

His knuckles whitened from the force.

The seconds dragged on.

One minute passed.

Then another.

Nothing happened.

Nothing moved.

A drop of sweat slid down the youngest cultivator's cheek.

His fingers twitched.

His lips parted—

"M-Maybe... maybe it left?"

The scarred man said nothing.

His grip on his sword tightened.

His instincts screamed NO.

Then—

One of them shuddered.

A sudden, sickening wave of dizziness crashed over him.

His vision blurred.

His chest tightened.

His stomach churned.

Something was wrong.

Then—

He fell.

His body collapsed, hitting the dirt with a dull THUD.

The others spun toward him in alarm.

Their voices overlapped.

"Hey! What's wrong?!"

"Get up! This isn't funny!"

"Shit, he's not moving—"

Then—

Another gasped.

His body swayed.

His hands clutched his stomach.

His lips parted—

"I-I can't..."

He fell.

One by one—

Their bodies dropped.

Their limbs twitched.

Their breathing grew shallow.

Their panicked whispers faded into nothing.

They never saw it coming.

Never realized—

That they were already dead men walking.

As the last cultivator's body hit the ground, silence filled the clearing once more.

Then—

A soft rustle.

A shift in the underbrush.

Leaves trembled as something moved through the shadows.

And then—

A figure emerged.

Wei Long.

His scaled body moved slowly, deliberate, with unhurried confidence.

His golden eyes gleamed, catching the faint moonlight.

His nostrils flared, drinking in the scent of blood and fear.

His powerful tail swished, lazily flicking through the grass.

And his jaws—

His predatory jaws—

Curled into a slow, knowing smirk.