Kazaf: The upside down

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A Dangerous Path

The sun dipped below the horizon as Kazaf and his team ventured deeper into the wilderness outside the Elara Sect. The dense trees of the Ghostwood Forest loomed ahead, their twisted branches reaching skyward like skeletal fingers. Unlike any ordinary forest, the air here felt thick, almost unnatural, laced with a subtle pressure that weighed down on the chest.

"Something's not right," Rahim muttered, his sharp eyes scanning the darkening surroundings.

"Ghostwood is cursed," Dulla said grimly, adjusting the sword strapped to his back. "They say the trees here whisper to the dead."

Kazaf smirked. "Good thing I don't scare easily."

Asma, who had been walking silently beside him, finally spoke. "This isn't a joke, Kazaf. Many cultivators have disappeared here. Even powerful ones."

Her words carried an edge of warning, but Kazaf only nodded. "Then we just have to make sure we're not one of them."

With Suleiman's intelligence, their mission was clear—find Farhan, the man who once served Jalwa and betrayed him. He was said to have valuable information on Jalwa's fortress and the prison where Kazaf's father might be held. But first, they had to survive the forest.

The First Night

By nightfall, the group had set up a temporary camp. A small fire crackled in the center, casting flickering shadows on their faces. The Ghostwood was eerily quiet—no wind, no birds, no sounds of wildlife.

It was unnatural.

Harun poked at the fire with a stick. "I don't like this place. It's too… empty."

Samir lay on his back, staring up at the sky. "It's because this isn't a normal forest."

Dulla scoffed. "You're not gonna start talking about ghosts, are you?"

"Why not? The name isn't for nothing," Samir replied with a smirk. "Legend says this forest is home to wandering spirits—restless souls trapped between worlds."

"Enough," Kazaf said. "Scary stories won't help us."

Asma sat close to the fire, pulling her cloak around her shoulders. "Samir's not wrong. There are stories about cultivators who vanished here, never to be seen again. Some say they were consumed by the forest itself."

A sudden snap in the distance made them all tense.

Rahim was the first to react, his hand on his weapon. "Something's out there."

Kazaf stood, his senses heightened. "Stay ready."

The darkness beyond their campfire seemed to pulse with something unseen. They weren't alone.

The Phantom Wolves

A low, guttural growl echoed from the trees.

Then, out of the shadows, they came.

A pack of phantom wolves—creatures of mist and shadow, their glowing blue eyes burning like ghostly embers. Their bodies flickered between solid and ethereal, making them impossible to predict.

"They're not normal beasts!" Dulla yelled, drawing his sword.

One of the wolves lunged. Kazaf moved fast, meeting it mid-air with a strike of his blade. Instead of flesh and bone, his sword passed through it, as if cutting through smoke.

"They're illusions!" Harun shouted. "Physical attacks won't work!"

Kazaf cursed under his breath. "Then how do we fight them?"

"Use spirit energy!" Asma called out.

Without hesitation, Kazaf focused his energy, his body glowing with a faint golden aura. As another wolf lunged, he struck again—this time, his blade connected, and the creature let out a piercing howl before disintegrating into mist.

The others followed his lead, channeling their spirit energy into their weapons. The fight was intense—the wolves were fast, relentless, and seemingly endless. But one by one, the group cut them down.

Finally, as the last wolf vanished into the night, silence returned.

Breathing heavily, Rahim wiped his blade. "That was too close."

Kazaf exhaled. "Let's keep moving. We're being watched."

And he was right. In the shadows, someone—or something—was observing them.

A Mysterious Encounter

They pressed forward, following an old path deeper into the Ghostwood. Hours passed, and exhaustion weighed on them, but none dared to suggest stopping again.

Then, suddenly—

A figure emerged from the trees.

A tall, cloaked man, his face hidden beneath a hood. The moment he stepped into view, the air around them changed, heavy with an unseen force.

Kazaf gripped his sword. "Who are you?"

The man's voice was calm, yet filled with authority. "You seek Farhan."

Asma's breath caught. "You know him?"

The figure slowly removed his hood, revealing a scarred face and piercing silver eyes. "I am Farhan."

Silence.

Kazaf narrowed his eyes. "Prove it."

Farhan smirked. Without another word, he lifted a single finger—and the ground beneath them shook violently.

His power was undeniable.

Satisfied, Kazaf lowered his blade. "Then we need your help."

Farhan studied them, his gaze lingering on Alaca. "I know why you've come," he said slowly. "You wish to save your father, Kazaf. But I must warn you—Jalwa is more powerful than you realize."

Kazaf clenched his fists. "Then tell me what I need to know."

Farhan's expression hardened. "If you truly want to defeat Jalwa and rescue your father… then you must be prepared to walk the path of no return."

Silence fell upon them.

And in that moment, Kazaf knew—this was only the beginning.

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