The Ye Clan estate glowed faintly under a moonless night, its cracked walls casting jagged shadows across the courtyard. The air hung heavy with the iron tang of beast blood, a grim reminder of the boars' slaughter, their carcasses dragged aside to rot. Ye Hua knelt by the fire, her hands steady as she boiled water over scavenged twigs, her gray eyes darting to the hill where the Iron Fang banners had flickered. Ye Qing stood guard at the gate, his spear a silent sentinel, his grizzled face etched with tension as he scanned the darkness. Ye Jun and Ye Mei huddled near the hall, clutching sticks like talismans, their small voices whispering fears. Ye Chen sat by the western wall, etching a ward into a flat stone, his twisted leg braced but his focus unyielding. Ye Ling paced the barricade, her dagger a restless spark, her braid swaying with each sharp turn.
Lin Feng perched atop the gatehouse, his silhouette a dark wraith against the starless sky. The boars' defeat had tempered the Ye Clan's will, a blade forged in chaos, but the hum from the hill signaled a deeper threat—Iron Fang's steel melded with something colder, older. His muddy-brown eyes pierced the mist, calm yet relentless. Inside, Zhan Tian's divine soul roared, the seal's fracture a molten abyss spilling golden qi into his veins. Each battle tore it wider—a storm shattering its prison, forging this frail shell into a weapon of retribution. He tilted his head, the hum vibrating through the earth, power surging within—not yet the god's wrath of old, but a tempest to crush the shadows.
Ye Ling vaulted up, her boots crunching on damp stone, her voice a low growl. "That hum," she said, dagger spinning. "Sect again?"
"More than sect," Lin Feng replied, sliding down. "Something's with them—dark."
Her eyes glinted, a mix of thrill and unease. "Beasts were bad enough. What now?"
"Worse," he said, meeting her fire with ice. "Get them ready."
The clan gathered in the courtyard, their movements a thread of iron laced with dread. Ye Qing planted his spear, Ye Chen pocketed his stone, and Ye Hua stood with the kids, her hands trembling but firm. Lin Feng faced them, his presence a steady flame in the dark.
"Iron Fang's back," he said, voice cutting the night. "Not alone—something colder rides with them. They want us gone. We don't break. We burn them."
Ye Qing's grip tightened, his voice rough. "Colder? What's that mean?"
"Death if we falter," Lin Feng said, eyes glinting. "Woods to slow them, walls to hold. I'll take the front."
Ye Chen's sharp gaze flicked up, probing. "You're always there. What's in you?"
"Enough," Lin Feng said, unyielding. "Move."
The clan surged into motion. Ye Ling darted to the woods, rigging snares with a hunter's haste—barbed twine stretched tight, stakes driven deep. Ye Chen carved wards along the walls, his strokes swift, the air buzzing with unseen power. Ye Qing and the kids piled logs into a jagged barricade, their small hands steady despite the hum. Lin Feng worked alone, etching a deeper array into the gate's keystone—a lattice of qi, raw and primal, pulsing with intent. The seal flared as he channeled power, pain spiking through his chest, but he pressed on—a net for the unseen.
The hum grew—a low, chilling drone that set teeth on edge. Shadows crested the hill—ten figures in Iron Fang gray, their armor glinting with silver runes, qi pulsing in disciplined waves. At their head stood a man, lean and tall, his face shrouded in a hood, his qi a cold void—Foundation Establishment, mid-stage, sharper than Huo Shan. Deng Wei, his enforcers whispered, his hands empty but his presence a blade. Beside him loomed a figure cloaked in black, its qi a dark mist—unreadable, ancient, not sect-born. Six enforcers flanked them, swords and spears gleaming, their auras Core Formation peaks.
Deng Wei halted before the woods, his voice a smooth venom. "I'm Deng Wei, Iron Fang's Shadow Hand. You've defied us too long, Ye filth. Surrender the wanderer, or I'll bury this ruin."
Ye Qing stepped forward, spear leveled, his voice a growl. "He's ours. Come take him."
Deng Wei's lips curled, a faint smirk. "Take him? I'll carve him from your corpses." He gestured, and the enforcers advanced, their steps a silent drumbeat. The cloaked figure lingered, its dark qi coiling like smoke.
Lin Feng stepped beyond the gate, alone. "Hold," he murmured to the clan, then moved forward. The enforcers hit the woods—Ye Ling's snares snapped, barbs piercing flesh, stakes tripping boots. Two fell, cursing, as her dagger flashed from the shadows, slashing a tendon before she vanished. Ye Chen's wards pulsed, slowing the others, their steps faltering. Ye Qing hurled a log, smashing a shoulder with a crack.
Deng Wei strode through, unhindered, his eyes locking on Lin Feng. "You're the pest," he said, qi flaring—a cold wave bending the air. "Let's end you." He lunged, hands blurring—claws of qi slashing for Lin Feng's throat.
Lin Feng shifted, the strike grazing his shoulder, tearing cloth. The seal erupted, golden qi flooding his veins—a wildfire breaking free. He darted in, fist a blur—qi hardening it to steel. Deng Wei blocked, his arm trembling under the blow, shock flickering in his gaze.
"No drifter," Deng Wei hissed, claws slashing again—faster, a storm of cold. Lin Feng wove through, palming a runed stone. He tossed it at Deng Wei's feet—the array flared, a cage of force gripping his legs. Deng Wei snarled, qi surging to shatter it, but Lin Feng struck his chest—a golden pulse cracking ribs.
The enforcers pressed the gate, blades hammering the barricade. Ye Ling darted out, her dagger clashing steel, blood streaking her arm as she drove one back. Ye Chen's sling cracked, a stone smashing a helm with a clang. Ye Qing roared, spearing a thigh, his spear bending under the strain. Ye Jun peeked from the hall, clutching a rock— "Now!" Lin Feng called. He hurled it, small but fierce, striking an enforcer's knee. The man stumbled, and Ye Ling finished him, her blade sinking deep.
Deng Wei broke free, claws slashing wide, qi a frigid storm. Lin Feng met it, the seal's golden tide roaring—pain searing his core as it split wider. He ducked, striking Deng Wei's arm—a sharp snap—and the enforcer reeled, his claw faltering. The cloaked figure stepped forward, its dark qi pulsing—a tendril lashing out, black and swift, aimed at Lin Feng's back.
He spun, catching it bare-handed—qi a shield against the icy sting. The seal screamed, golden light flaring bright, and he yanked, pulling the figure off-balance. It staggered, hood slipping—revealing a face pale as bone, eyes hollow, qi ancient and wrong. Lin Feng struck, a palm to its chest—a golden burst hurling it back into the mist.
Deng Wei roared, charging again, claws desperate. Lin Feng sidestepped, driving a fist into his jaw—a crack dropping him to his knees. "Weak," he said, voice a quiet blade. "Tell your sect I'm waiting."
Deng Wei spat blood, scrambling up, retreating with his enforcers. The cloaked figure vanished into the dark, its qi a lingering chill. The Ye Clan cheered—Ye Ling's fierce shout, Ye Qing's booming laugh, Ye Chen's stunned nod. Lin Feng turned, the golden qi fading, his hands bloodied but firm.
Ye Qing clapped his shoulder, grinning. "You're a damn avalanche, lad! Smashed 'em again!"
Ye Ling wiped her dagger, her eyes blazing. "That hooded freak didn't know what hit it. You're unreal!"
Ye Chen limped forward, his voice sharp. "You broke a mid-stage cultivator—and something else. What was that?"
Lin Feng shook blood from his hands, shrugging. "They underestimated us. That's their fall."
That night, the clan huddled in the hall, the fire crackling with looted wood. Ye Hua pressed a rag to Lin Feng's cuts, her voice soft. "You're our storm," she said, tears brimming. "We'd be dust without you."
"Storms rage," he said, letting her bind them. "We're rising higher."
Ye Ling sat close, her tone low. "You glowed—gold, like a star. Don't dodge."
He met her gaze, steady. "Fight with me. You'll see."
She smirked. "I'm hooked."
Later, alone by the gate, Lin Feng knelt, tracing the keystone's fading array. The seal's fracture burned—a golden maelstrom he could barely leash. Deng Wei's qi and the cloaked figure's dark spark had torn it wider—a mortal's steel and something ancient clashing with a god's essence. He guided the power, forging his frame—muscles tightening, pain a tempering flame.
Ye Chen joined him, his shadow faint. "That wasn't sect," he said, blunt. "That thing—what was it?"
Lin Feng rose, meeting his eyes. "Old. Dangerous. We'll face it."
Ye Chen's lips quirked—a spark of resolve. As silence fell, a low laugh echoed from the woods—not human, but cold, sharp, and close. Lin Feng's head snapped up—a shadow moved, too fast, its qi a dark veil spreading wide.