血脉战争：黑夜背后的灰色节奏

影舞：希望的黎明

Three Tang stood on the river under the moonlight, engulfed in tumultuous thoughts. The harrowing scenes from the evening haunt replayed in his mind, and phantom-like pain echoed where Carter's blade had struck. Despite the thwarting of the assault, an ominous mist still lingered within the walls of GHI, along the city streets, especially within Sanzo's soul.

Subsequently, laborers cleared the final debris and restored the infrastructure damaged by the failed extremist rebellion. Soon, everything would return to its former state, but scars rarely faded so neatly. Three Tang was acutely aware of this fact more than most.

His steadfast defense of Marianne had garnered awe and gratitude from many, but in others, it sowed darker seeds—ghostly expressions and furtive whispers now trailed in its wake. He felt their accusatory gazes like daggers piercing his back, rending his calm exterior. They had witnessed something beneath, something that appeared monstrous.

Despite Marianne's reassurances, suspicion and distrust within GHI continued to escalate. Former allies had transformed into strangers cloaked in uncertainty. Throughout, Three Tang remained an enigma—his proficiency in violence even unsettling those he had saved.

Since that bloody night, Marianne also seemed to have changed. Her smile no longer reached her perplexed eyes. An unease crept between them, an unspoken question swirling upon tense lips: how far would they go to defend hope? Could violence bring peace, or merely perpetuate a cycle of hatred?

These conundrums remain unanswered. Outside, the city slumbers, indifferent to the conflicts stirring at night. However, dawn will inevitably arrive, ushering in new threats with the ashen winds of change. Much like before, this is a continuation of Chapter Six after the previous section:

Sanzo retreated deeper within the stony confines of GHI. He moved through dim corridors like a ghost, now eerily familiar. Once these halls buzzed with shared purpose; now, they exuded a stifling silence.

Reports indicated that the Church of Light had regrouped, planning a new attack under more ruthless leadership. As tension heightened, accusations mounted in hushed tones under vigilant, watchful eyes.

Three Tang intensified his training, combating invisible adversaries in a private dojo until he was physically and mentally exhausted. Here, at least, he faced no judgment—only the pure, captivating song of battle. Amidst the raging storm outside, this maintained his tranquility.

Marianne attempted to reach out, her warm concern breaking through the gloom surrounding Three Tang. Yet, he evaded her comfort, consumed by loneliness and the demons it birthed. Guilt and sorrow festered into uglier things, desperately seeking release from suffocating walls.

Then one night, a tremor—like an earthquake warning—quaked the fortress's foundation. Three Tang sensed a familiar yet twisted darkness, best left undisturbed. Sneaking from his room, he resolved to face this new shadow alone, for now, it seemed the darkness might never see light again. In the depths of the library vault, Marianne sorted scrolls under lamplight. But her thoughts strayed far from ancient texts, repeatedly returning to the solitary man above.

She keenly sensed his pain and turmoil, their connection resonating at a deeper frequency. Marianne felt the shadow seep into his soul, distorting his thoughts and hardening his heart. What pained her was her inability to soothe these wounds as she had done before.

Now, suspicion shrouded everything, tarnishing their once unyielding trust. She had witnessed heroism but now lurked violence, simultaneously terrifying and intriguing. Marianne wondered—had this darkness always existed, brewing beneath the surface? Or was it an external toxin?