The flame flickers beneath the bronze cauldron, steady yet delicate, a thin strand of Qi guiding its heat. De-Reece's fingers hover just above the cauldron's rim, his mind teetering between anticipation and caution. The alchemic tools looted from the lab are sparse—crude chisels for carving formations, small jade bottles for holding pills, and spoons of varying spiritual metals—but they will have to suffice.
Unwrapping a bundle of dried herbs, he measures out a small portion of powder vaguely recognized from the alchemy tome—a basic ingredient for low-level health pills. Alongside it, he places a pinch of crushed crystal and a few drops of a dark liquid swirling with faint traces of Qi. It isn't a complex recipe, but it is a start.
The fire crackles beneath the cauldron, and with a slight pulse of Qi, De-Reece adjusts its intensity. A small bead of sweat traces his brow, not from the heat, but from the sheer focus required. His Qi control still feels clumsy, like trying to steer a wild horse through a narrow path.
As the mixture begins to simmer, he reaches out with a thread of Qi, attempting to guide the alchemic reaction. The ingredients tremble within the liquid, tendrils of steam curling into the air. For a moment, his breath steadies—he can feel the energy within the cauldron responding to his will.
Then it happens.
A sudden flare of Qi—too much, too fast. The fire roars higher, licking the sides of the cauldron. The mixture hisses violently before blackening, the acrid scent of burned herbs filling the cave. Cursing, De-Reece snatches the cauldron off the flame, his fingers stinging from the heat.
The creature in the corner flinches at the sudden noise, its violet eyes narrowing as if assessing the danger. De-Reece grits his teeth, the charred remnants of his first attempt a bitter reminder of his inexperience. The ingredients are stolen—it shouldn't matter if he wastes them. Yet, it does. Each burnt root, each spoiled crystal, feels like a blow to his pride.
He presses a palm against his thigh, steadying his thoughts. "Again," he mutters, voice low, a whisper meant more for himself than for the silent beast watching him.
The second attempt fares no better. His trembling hand falters while measuring the ingredients, his Qi slipping at the crucial moment of infusion. The flame, too strong, scorches the powder before it can dissolve, turning the mixture into bubbling black tar. A sharp pop rings out as the liquid seizes, a foul smoke curling upwards. His jaw tightens, the loss of more precious ingredients hitting him like a hollow thud to the chest.
Each failure gnaws at his pride. It feels like he is squandering his stolen fortune.
His third try feels more controlled. The fire remains steady, his Qi more restrained—until the liquid Qi extract drips too quickly. A single extra drop shatters the balance. The potion flares, a brief pulse of wild energy cracking through the mixture. It congeals instantly into a useless, brittle lump, crumbling to ash the moment he stirs it. Exhaling sharply, he fights the urge to hurl the cauldron against the cave wall.
Adjusting the flame once more, De-Reece keeps a tighter grip on his Qi, reigning in the wild surge that has cost him before. He measures the ingredients again, this time with absolute precision. The roots go in first, their essence seeping into the water. Then the powder, dissolving in delicate spirals. The liquid Qi extract comes last, dripping slowly, each drop rippling with faint energy. Minutes stretch into an hour, each second a careful balance between control and instinct. The mixture shifts colors—first a murky brown, then a faint amber. His Qi guides the process, wrapping around the ingredients like invisible strings, weaving them together.
Then, a soft glow.
The liquid thickens, and small orbs begin forming at the surface. De-Reece clenches his jaw, carefully coaxing the energy until the orbs solidify into crude, uneven pills. They aren't perfect—not even close—but they hold Qi, however faint. Health pills, low-level but functional.
After a brief respite, he moves on to his next task—a separate concoction, this time aimed at body refinement. Steeling himself, he recalls the delicate balance needed to merge the more volatile ingredients. The fire flickers with an almost predatory hunger, but he keeps his Qi steady, refusing to repeat past mistakes. Slowly, the essence of the herbs bleeds into the liquid, mingling with the powdered minerals. Each droplet of Qi extract falls like molten silver, the liquid darkening, then lightening again as the ingredients wrestle for dominance.
Time drags as he adjusts the flame, sweat beading at his temples, his Qi dancing on a razor's edge between control and chaos. Finally, the mixture thickens, and small green orbs begin to rise to the surface. His body tenses with the effort of maintaining perfect balance. One misstep, and it will all be for nothing.
At last, the pills form—pale green, their weak aura pulsing gently from within. They aren't masterpieces, but they are his. The result of struggle, patience, and raw determination.
De-Reece finally exhales, shoulders slumping. The creature tilts its head, stepping just a bit closer from its shadowed corner, nostrils flaring slightly at the scent of the freshly formed pills.
A low rumble escapes the creature's throat, its eyes locked onto the body-tempering pills. It steps closer again, muscles coiling beneath its sleek black fur lined with glowing blue Qi veins. There is a hunger in its gaze—not for food, but for the strength within the pills.
De-Reece's hand hovers over the pills. "These are mine," he says softly, but his voice lacks any harsh tone. The creature lets out a small, almost pleading growl, lowering itself slightly, a subtle gesture of submission.
With a sigh, he picks up one of the body-tempering pills, fingers tightening briefly before tossing it to the beast. "Just one," he mutters, watching as it snatches the pill mid-air, swallowing it whole. You're just like me—alone too, he thinks. Maybe your siblings are trying to find you, too. The blue Qi lines on its body pulse faintly brighter for a moment before dimming back to their usual glow.
His fingers hover over the remaining pills, and for the first time since the brutal fight at the lab, a small, cocky smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
Progress.
As the sun begins its slow ascent, streaking the forest in pale hues of dawn, De-Reece stands at the cave's mouth, a thin trail of vapor curling from his breath in the cool air. His muscles, though still bearing the strain of recent battles and cultivation breakthroughs, feel more solid—more responsive. There is a flicker of confidence in his chest, a small ember kindled by his hard-won progress.
His Phantom Shadow Steps training begins in calculated silence. Each movement is deliberate, his feet striking the ground with minimal noise. He steps—vanishes—reappears a few paces away, his form rippling like a wraith against the backdrop of morning mist. The first few attempts are shaky, his Qi surging too fast or too slow, disrupting the delicate rhythm of the technique. But De-Reece grits his teeth and tries again.
One step—flow the Qi through the meridians in his legs—starting from the soles of his feet, guiding the energy upward through his shins, threading carefully behind his knees. Another step, tightening the burst of Qi as it rushes toward his hips, pushing the energy into a controlled surge. Each pulse of Qi feels like a thread being tugged, a fine balance between strength and control. His movements smooth out, his form flickering more fluidly until his shadow blurs between points like smoke caught in the wind.
Then comes the creature.
The black-furred beast, its body threaded with glowing blue Qi veins, slinks from the underbrush, violet eyes alight with curiosity. Watching him intently, it suddenly bolts forward, moving with predatory grace.
De-Reece exhales sharply. Was it testing him?
De-Reece shifts into motion, meeting the beast's sudden movements with fluid precision. Phantom Shadow Steps blur his form as he zigzags through the dense forest, synchronizing his body with the pulse of his Qi. The creature is swift—far quicker than De-Reece—but with every reappearance ahead or to the side, a flicker of satisfaction ignites within. The gap is narrowing, even if only by inches.
As the beast propels itself toward a low-hanging branch, twisting midair to rake its claws against the bark of a nearby tree, De-Reece reacts. His form vanishes, only to reemerge behind the airborne creature, blade drawn in a seamless motion before restraint reins in instinct. A low, pleased growl reverberates through the air as the beast lands, acknowledging the refinement of his skill.
Aching limbs carry De-Reece back to the cave, exhaustion settling into his muscles, yet resolve remains unshaken. The sword finds its place beside him as he unpacks the alchemic ingredients taken from the fallen cultivators. The crude bronze cauldron, still marred by the faint scorch marks of past failures, stands as a silent challenge. No dwelling on mistakes. The only path is forward.
This time, fire control demands his full attention. Health pills had been a struggle, but progress had come through persistence. Now, a step higher—body-tempering pills.
With careful precision, De-Reece measures out the required herbs, steady fingers ensuring accuracy. A pulse of Qi ignites the fire beneath the cauldron, a soft orange glow reflecting in his determined gaze. The liquid inside ripples as each component enters—roots unravel into golden strands, powdered minerals dissolve like drifting smoke. One particular stalk, a rare pale-blue plant taken from the alchemists' lab, lingers atop the mixture before sinking, releasing a faint shimmer of Qi across the surface.
From the cave's entrance, the beast watches, nose twitching at the pungent blend of alchemic potency.
Gritting his teeth, De-Reece threads Qi through his meridians, guiding the volatile reaction within the cauldron. Adjustments to the flame's intensity follow instinct, small shifts meant to balance the delicate process. The liquid darkens, deepening into a rich jade hue. A single drop of liquid Qi extract falls into the mix, sending pulses of energy outward. Carefully, painstakingly, he coaxes the reaction toward stability.
Minutes bleed into an hour before the surface glows, and small orbs begin to rise. A steadying breath. The liquid thickens, congealing into small green pills, smoother, more refined than previous attempts. Each sphere carries a faint, swirling line—a subtle but undeniable pill line. The alchemic tome had spoken of these markings, signs of proper fusion and balance. The lowest tier, a mere whisper of mastery, yet a step closer to true refinement. The pills hum with steady Qi, stronger than any he has crafted before.
Cautiously, the beast approaches. Violet eyes lock onto the freshly formed pills, though there is something beyond mere hunger in its gaze—curiosity, perhaps even an unspoken understanding. Each inhale flares its nostrils as if dissecting the essence woven into the pills. A silent moment passes, then a soft, almost imploring growl rumbles in its throat.
De-Reece studies the creature, noting the intelligence reflected in its eyes, the way it shifts between him and the pills, seeking something more than mere sustenance. A strange flicker of recognition stirs within.
A sigh escapes. Calloused fingers pluck one of the green orbs from the batch, lingering just a moment before tossing it gently forward.
The beast snaps the pill mid-air, swallowing it whole. Instantly, blue Qi lines coursing beneath the sleek black fur brighten, pulsing like rivers of energy awakened beneath the skin. Brows furrow as De-Reece observes the reaction—too intense for a standard body-tempering pill. Something stirs within the creature's bloodline, something beyond his current understanding.
Curiosity drives his hands toward the alchemic tome. Pages turn in rapid succession, fingers trailing across ancient inscriptions. The section on high-level bloodline-improving pills offers glimpses into what might be at play, yet the techniques described are leagues beyond his current abilities. Ingredients of unfathomable rarity, Qi manipulation requiring absolute mastery—this knowledge is a distant summit.
Still, the seed of ambition is planted.
The following hours are consumed by trial and error, attempts at the complex formula ending in charred remnants or volatile reactions within the cauldron. The failures mount, each one a lesson carved into the back of his mind. Frustration threatens to weigh him down, but he shoves the tome aside and refocuses. Fundamentals must come first.
Steel calls to him next. Sword training sharpens his mind, emotions pouring into every strike. Each movement grows sharper, fluidity blending with unwavering precision. Yet, something is missing. The aggression of the Heavenly Demon Sword Style clashes against instinct. A conflict lingers beneath the surface, a silent battle between inherited ferocity and personal evolution.
Adjustments begin. The rigid style warps beneath his will, footwork infused with Phantom Shadow Steps. Strikes emerge from shifting angles, elusive yet brimming with intent. A new rhythm takes form—deceptive, domineering, deadly.
A pause.
A smirk.
Perhaps the Heavenly Demon had foreseen this struggle. Perhaps the path was never meant to be followed exactly but rewritten entirely.
As twilight deepens, the blade flows in his hands, the evolving technique solidifying in his mind. A whispered name escapes—Domineering Demon Swordplay.
Morning arrives draped in mist, the forest wrapped in hushed stillness. Stepping from the cave, De-Reece is met with the ever-present shadow at his heels. The creature remains close, violet eyes shifting between him and the waking wilderness, ever watchful.
Today demands refinement—alchemy and combat, both sharpened to a finer edge.
Sorting through the looted ingredients, careful hands separate stalks, powders, and minerals. The bronze cauldron, still bearing past scars, sits waiting.
A deep inhale.
Measured movements follow, each component added with precision. The creature crouches at the entrance, muscles coiled, its focus entirely on the brewing mixture.
A thin thread of Qi sparks beneath the cauldron. Flames rise, licking at the base in a controlled, patient burn. No reckless surges. No rushed reactions. The fire breathes, flickering steady as he guides the process. The path forward demands mastery, and mastery is built upon relentless refinement.
The liquid in the cauldron darkens, shifting from pale gold to deep jade, its surface bubbling as thin ribbons of Qi-infused steam coil into the air. Minutes stretch into an hour, yet De-Reece remains steady, unwavering in focus. When the first pill rises from the thickened mixture, his heart pounds. Perfectly round, smoother than before, and bearing the faint swirl of pill lines—still the lowest tier, yet undeniably a mark of progress.
Three pills emerge in total, each an improvement over his last batch. The black-furred beast steps closer, a low, expectant growl escaping as it eyes the newly formed pills. A quiet chuckle rumbles from De-Reece's chest before he flicks one in its direction. The creature snatches it mid-air, swallowing in one fluid motion. Instantly, the pulsing blue Qi lines along its fur flare brighter, more intense than before.
"Greedy thing," De-Reece mutters, though the amusement in his tone betrays any real reprimand.
With the body-tempering pills complete, his focus sharpens. Bloodline pills. The tome had spoken of their rarity and complexity—an undertaking far beyond his current level of mastery. But backing down is not an option.
Gathering the most potent ingredients from his collection, he layers crushed herbs and powdered cores into the cauldron. A pulse of Qi feeds the flame, coaxing it higher. This time, the reaction spirals out of control. The liquid within hisses violently, tension snapping as a sharp pop echoes through the cave. A plume of dark smoke rises from the cauldron's mouth.
Another failure.
Jaw clenched, De-Reece wipes sweat from his brow and begins again. This time, restraint dictates his movements—Qi fed in smaller increments, the flame's intensity measured with unrelenting precision.
Hours pass. The sun arcs high, then begins its descent. At last, the cauldron yields two small bloodline pills, their surfaces rough and uneven—imperfect, but successful.
The beast perks up instantly, slinking closer, its violet eyes locked onto the pills. Hunger flickers in its gaze—different from before. More than instinct, more than desire. Something deeper, something raw.
"No," De-Reece says, voice low, slipping both pills into his spatial bag. "Not yet."
A low growl of disappointment rumbles from the creature, but it does not press further.
With his alchemic work complete, attention shifts to the blade. The sword feels familiar now—no longer a tool, but an extension of self.
The first swings fall into the sharp, deliberate arcs of the Heavenly Demon Sword Style, each movement heavy with precision. Yet something within resists the rigid structure, the constraints of the form clashing against his instincts. De-Reece does not fight it. Instead, he begins to weave the shifting unpredictability of Phantom Shadow Steps into his strikes. Footwork dictates the flow of the blade, each step vanishing and reappearing at a new angle.
His form blurs, attacks striking from unexpected points. No longer a mere swordsman, no longer a phantom in motion—something in between. A fusion of brutal precision and elusive unpredictability, domineering yet fluid.
The black-furred beast watches. Then, as though caught in silent understanding, it mimics the movement—its body shifting with feral grace, stepping lightly as if testing the technique in its own way.
A smirk ghosts across De-Reece's lips. The Heavenly Demon's teachings had been a foundation, but never a cage. Perhaps that was the lesson all along—to forge his own path rather than walk the one laid before him.
As the sun sinks lower, the air cools, and the bond between man and beast grows—not through words, but through shared movement, mirrored instincts. Both learning. Both evolving.
And somewhere in the depths of the forest, something stirs.
A ripple of Qi brushes against De-Reece's senses, distant but undeniable. His breath steadies, but the tension lingers.
Training is not yet over. As the evening deepens, attention turns to formations.
Starting with mirage techniques, he weaves delicate patterns into the air, Qi threading through the intricate carvings. The surrounding space shimmers—illusions flickering into existence, distorting the world around him.
Next come offensive formations—etched circles on the cave floor, symbols inscribed in careful, deliberate strokes. Triggers meant to release Qi in precise bursts. Initial attempts sputter—some fail entirely, others unleash weak pulses of energy. But with each refinement, the flow becomes sharper, the execution cleaner. By nightfall, the formations pulse with lethal intent.
Finally, the concealment array.
Lines etched into stone, interwoven patterns of Qi designed to shroud the cave entrance. The process is long, meticulous. When at last the formation activates, the entrance fades from view, blending seamlessly into the surrounding rock. Only those attuned to Qi would sense its presence.
Tomorrow, training continues. And so does the search for answers.
Seated within the cave, De-Reece turns a body-tempering pill between his fingers. Perfectly round, its surface smooth, faint pill lines curling in delicate spirals—a sign of increasing quality. The alchemic tome had called them the lowest of their kind, but to him, they marked something else. Progress.
Gaze fixed on the pill, thoughts drift.
Every step forward sharpens his swordplay, deepens his Qi, refines his alchemy. But beyond that—beyond the ceaseless pursuit of power—there is something else. Civilization waits beyond the trees. Somewhere in the vast unknown, his brothers remain. The forest, for all its depth, cannot contain him forever.
Jaw tight, De-Reece swallows the pill.
Heat erupts within, meridians burning as medicinal power surges through his body. Muscles tighten, pulse thrums in his ears. A wave of energy pulses through his limbs, the sensation just shy of pain—but he welcomes it.
Each beat of his heart reforges his body, hardens his core, hones his Qi.
When the sensation settles, leaving only a residual warmth coiled in his chest, De-Reece exhales slowly, fists clenching at his sides.
The change is not drastic. But it is undeniable.
He is getting stronger.
And it is time.