The Ye Clan estate shimmered under a dawn streaked with crimson, the sky mirroring the banners that flickered on the horizon—Lin Clan red-and-gold, a tide of steel and scorn. The courtyard buzzed with tension, the fire spitting embers as Ye Hua stirred a pot of bitterroot broth, her gray eyes darting to the approaching threat. Ye Qing stood at the gate, his spear a steady anchor, his grizzled voice barking at Ye Jun and Ye Mei to stack logs higher. Ye Chen knelt by the western wall, etching a ward into a jagged stone, his twisted leg braced but his focus unyielding. Ye Ling prowled the barricade, her dagger a restless gleam, her braid snapping with each sharp turn.
Lin Feng perched atop the gatehouse, his silhouette a dark blade against the blood-red light. Xu Yin's retreat had left a chill in the air, but the Lin Clan's banners burned hotter—a past he'd buried, now clawing back. His muddy-brown eyes pierced the distance, calm yet relentless. Inside, Zhan Tian's divine soul surged, the seal's fracture a molten abyss spilling golden qi into his veins. Each fight tore it wider—a storm breaking its chains, forging this frail shell into a weapon of vengeance. He tilted his head, the rumble of boots vibrating through the earth, power coiling within—not yet the god's might of old, but a tempest to drown his foes.
Ye Ling vaulted up, her boots crunching on damp stone, her voice a low growl. "Lin Clan," she said, dagger spinning. "Your old trash?"
"My old cage," Lin Feng replied, descending. "They're here to chain me again."
Her grin flashed, fierce and wild. "Let's break 'em instead."
"They'll break themselves," he said, meeting her fire with ice. "Get them ready."
The clan rallied in the courtyard, their movements a thread of steel through their dread. Ye Qing planted his spear, Ye Chen pocketed his stone, and Ye Hua stood with the kids, her hands clenched tight. Lin Feng faced them, his presence a steady flame in the rising storm.
"Lin Clan's here," he said, voice cutting the air. "They want me back—broken. We don't bend. We bury them."
Ye Qing's grip tightened, his voice rough. "How many?"
"Enough to try," 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. "They're your kin. Why fight?"
"They're my chains," Lin Feng said, unyielding. "Move."
The clan sprang into action. Ye Ling darted to the woods, rigging snares with a hunter's haste—barbed twine stretched taut, stakes driven deep. Ye Chen carved wards along the walls, his strokes swift, the air humming with faint power. Ye Qing and the kids piled logs into a jagged barricade, their small hands steady despite the rumble. Lin Feng worked alone, etching a deeper array into the gate's keystone—a lattice of qi, raw and fierce, pulsing with intent. The seal flared as he channeled power, pain spiking through his chest, but he pressed on—a trap for the arrogant.
The rumble grew—boots and steel clashing like a war drum. Shadows crested the hill—twenty Lin Clan warriors in red-and-gold armor, their qi a disciplined ripple—Core Formation, low to mid-stage. At their head rode Lin Hao, his silk robes pristine, his sneer a blade of scorn sharpened by rage. Beside him strode a woman, tall and cold, her qi a faint storm—Core Formation peak, a step from Foundation. Lin Mei, his sister, her beauty a frost-edged weapon, a whip coiled at her hip.
Lin Hao reined in, his voice a whip of venom. "Trash! Thought you'd crawl free? The Ye rats won't hide you—I'll drag you back in chains!"
Ye Qing stepped forward, spear leveled, his voice a growl. "He's ours. Step here, and you'll bleed."
Lin Hao's laugh was a harsh bark. "Bleed? You're carrion!" He gestured to Lin Mei, who cracked her whip—a qi-laced snap splitting the air. "Sister, show this filth his place."
Lin Mei's eyes locked on Lin Feng, her voice ice. "You shamed us, worm. Divorce was mercy—now you'll beg for it."
Lin Feng stepped beyond the gate, alone. "Hold," he murmured to the clan, then faced them. "Mercy? You'll need it."
The warriors charged, a tide of steel and qi. Lin Feng flicked his wrist, scattering runed stones in a wide arc. The air shivered, and five stumbled, legs snared by wards, crashing into the mud with curses. Ye Ling's snares snapped in the woods, barbs slashing armor, stakes tripping boots—two more fell, blood staining the earth.
Lin Hao roared, charging with his guards, qi sparking—a mid-stage flicker. Lin Mei's whip lashed out, a qi-streaked arc aiming for Lin Feng's neck. He ducked, the strike grazing his shoulder, and lunged—qi surging, the seal's fracture splitting wide, golden light flooding his veins. Pain seared his core, but he struck Lin Hao's chest—a golden pulse sending him sprawling, silk tearing in the mud.
Lin Mei's whip coiled, striking again—faster, a storm of frost. Lin Feng caught it bare-handed—qi a shield against the sting—golden light flaring bright. He yanked, pulling her forward, and kicked her shin—a sharp crack dropping her to one knee. "Still weak," he said, voice a quiet taunt.
The warriors pressed the gate, blades hammering the barricade. Ye Ling darted out, her dagger slashing a throat, blood spraying as she ducked back. Ye Chen's sling cracked, a stone smashing a helm with a clang. Ye Qing roared, spearing a gut, his spear bending under the strain. Ye Jun peeked from the hall, clutching a rock— "Now!" Lin Feng shouted. He hurled it, small but fierce, striking Lin Hao's arm as he rose. The boy yelped, and Ye Ling pounced, her dagger nicking his thigh—a crimson line blooming.
Lin Mei staggered up, her whip flaring—peak qi surging, a blizzard of intent. Lin Feng met it, the seal's golden tide roaring—pain a forge as it split wider. He dodged, striking her arm—a snap—and she reeled, whip faltering. Lin Hao charged, fist swinging, qi desperate. Lin Feng sidestepped, driving a palm into his chest—a golden burst hurling him back into his guards, toppling them like pins.
The warriors faltered, half down, the rest retreating. Lin Hao scrambled up, face twisted with rage. "You're dead, Lin Feng! The clan—the sect—they'll crush you!" He fled, dragging Lin Mei with him, their banners trailing in the dust.
The Ye Clan erupted—Ye Ling's wild cheer, Ye Qing's booming laugh, Ye Chen's stunned grin. Lin Feng turned, the golden qi fading, his shoulder bleeding but his stance firm.
Ye Qing thumped his back, grinning. "You're a damn thunderbolt, lad! Sent 'em running again!"
Ye Ling wiped her dagger, her eyes blazing. "Silk-boy's crying home—you're a beast!"
Ye Chen limped forward, his voice sharp. "You broke them like twigs. That's no drifter."
Lin Feng pressed a hand to his shoulder, shrugging. "They overestimated themselves. That's their fall."
That night, the clan huddled in the hall, the fire crackling with looted wood. Ye Hua bound Lin Feng's wound, her voice soft. "You're our storm," she said, tears welling. "We'd be ash without you."
"Storms rise," he said, letting her tend it. "We're forging tougher."
Ye Ling sat close, her tone low. "You glowed—gold, bright as fire. Don't dodge."
He met her gaze, steady. "Grow with me. You'll see."
She smirked. "Count me in."
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. Lin Mei's peak qi had torn it wider—a mortal's fury clashing with a god's essence. He guided the power, forging his frame—muscles hardening, pain a tempering flame.
Ye Chen joined him, his shadow faint. "They'll keep coming," he said, blunt. "Lin Clan won't quit."
Lin Feng rose, meeting his eyes. "Let them. We'll break them all."
Ye Chen's lips quirked—a spark of hunger. As silence settled, a low hum rose—not shadow, but steel and qi, sharp and cold. Lin Feng's head snapped up—a gray figure crested the hill, Iron Fang banner snapping, flanked by a dozen shadows, their qi pulsing like a war drum.