The Ye Clan estate stood defiant beneath a dawn sky slashed with gray and crimson, the air thick with the fading musk of the Abyssal Maw's corpse and a sharper chill—steel and shadow intertwined. The courtyard buzzed with unease, the fire crackling weakly as Ye Hua patched a torn tunic, her gray eyes darting to the hill where Iron Fang banners snapped alongside a cloaked figure's dark qi. Ye Qing gripped his spear at the gate, his grizzled face taut, his voice a growl as he urged Ye Jun and Ye Mei to stack more logs. Ye Chen knelt by the western wall, etching a ward into a cracked stone, his twisted leg braced but his focus unyielding. Ye Ling prowled the barricade, her dagger a restless gleam, her braid swinging with each tense stride.
Lin Feng stood atop the gatehouse, his silhouette a dark pillar against the blood-streaked light. The Maw's defeat had forged the Ye Clan into a sharper blade, but the Iron Fang's return—flanked by that whispering shadow—stirred a deeper dread. His muddy-brown eyes pierced the horizon, calm yet relentless. Inside, Zhan Tian's divine soul surged, the seal's fracture a molten chasm spilling golden qi into his veins. Each clash tore it wider—a storm breaking its chains, tempering this frail shell into a weapon of vengeance. He tilted his head, the hum vibrating through the earth, power coiling within—not yet the god's might of old, but a tempest to face the betrayer's echo.
Ye Ling vaulted up, her boots crunching on damp stone, her voice a low snarl. "Iron Fang again," she said, dagger spinning. "And that shadow—same as before?"
"Worse," Lin Feng replied, descending. "It knows me. They're linked."
Her grin flashed, fierce but tight. "Let's cut 'em both, then."
"They'll cut deeper," he said, meeting her fire with frost. "Get them ready."
The clan rallied in the courtyard, their movements a thread of iron through their fear. 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 rising storm.
"Iron Fang's here," he said, voice slicing the air. "With something darker—older. They want me. We don't bend. We break them."
Ye Qing's grip tightened, his voice rough. "Darker? Like that beast?"
"Worse," Lin Feng said, eyes glinting. "Woods to slow them, walls to hold. I'll take the front."
Ye Chen's sharp gaze cut through, probing. "It whispered your name. Why?"
"It's old hate," 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 thrumming 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, primal 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 bold.
The hum sharpened—boots and qi clashing like a war drum. Shadows crested the hill—twenty Iron Fang warriors in gray armor, their qi a disciplined storm—Core Formation peaks, some brushing Foundation's edge. At their head strode a woman, lean and cold, her qi a quiet furnace—Foundation Establishment, early-stage, sharper than Gao Jun. Shen Ru, her enforcers called her, her twin swords gleaming with faint runes. Beside her stood the cloaked figure, its dark qi a pulsing void, whispering "Zhan Tian" in a voice that chilled the soul.
Shen Ru halted before the woods, her voice a blade of ice. "I'm Shen Ru, Iron Fang's Blade Dancer. You've defied us too long, Ye filth. Surrender the wanderer, or I'll carve your ruin."
Ye Qing stepped forward, spear leveled, his voice a snarl. "He's ours. Come try."
Shen Ru's lips curled, a faint smirk. "Try? I'll dance through your corpses." She drew her swords, qi flaring—a twin storm of steel. The warriors charged, a tide of blades and power, the cloaked figure gliding behind, its whisper growing louder—"Zhan Tian, brother…"
Lin Feng stepped beyond the gate, alone. "Hold," he murmured to the clan, then moved forward. The warriors hit the woods—Ye Ling's snares snapped, barbs slashing armor, stakes tripping boots. Four stumbled, cursing, as her dagger flashed from the shadows, nicking a throat before she darted back. Ye Chen's wards pulsed, slowing the rest, their steps faltering. Ye Qing hurled a log, smashing a shoulder with a crack.
Shen Ru sliced through, her swords a blur—qi arcs tearing the air. Lin Feng ducked, one blade grazing his cloak, and lunged—qi surging, the seal's fracture splitting wide, golden light flooding his veins. Pain seared his core, but he struck her arm—qi hardening his fist to steel—a dull thud rippling through her frame. Shen Ru hissed, shock flickering in her eyes, and swung again—faster, a dance of death.
Lin Feng wove through, palming a runed stone. He tossed it at her feet—the array flared, a cage of force gripping her legs. Shen Ru snarled, qi surging to break free, but Lin Feng struck her chest—a golden pulse cracking ribs. Her swords faltered, dipping into the mud.
The warriors pressed the gate, blades hammering the barricade. Ye Ling darted out, her dagger slashing a thigh, 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 Shen Ru's hand as she rose. A sword slipped, and Ye Ling pounced, her dagger slashing her arm—a crimson line blooming.
The cloaked figure stepped forward, its dark qi flaring—a tendril lashing out, black and swift, whispering "Brother, you've fallen far." Lin Feng's blood chilled—*Tian Xu*—the voice a dagger from his past. He caught the tendril bare-handed—qi a shield against the icy burn—golden light flaring bright. The seal roared, its fracture breaking wider, and he yanked, pulling the figure forward. It staggered, hood slipping—a face pale as death, eyes hollow, a twisted echo of his sworn brother.
Shen Ru's qi surged—Foundation's early-stage flaring, a storm of blades. Lin Feng met it, the seal's golden tide breaking free—pain a forge as it split fully open. He dodged, striking her arm—a sharp snap—and she reeled, one sword falling. The cloaked figure hissed, "You'll kneel again, Zhan Tian," and lashed out—dark qi coiling, a void-like strike. Lin Feng sidestepped, driving a fist into its chest—a golden burst hurling it back into the woods.
Shen Ru roared, charging with her remaining blade, qi desperate. Lin Feng caught it bare-handed—qi a shield against the steel—golden light blazing. He twisted, snapping the blade, then drove a palm into her jaw—a crack dropping her to the dirt, out cold. The warriors faltered, half down, the rest retreating with the cloaked figure's hiss echoing—"Soon, brother…"
The Ye Clan erupted—Ye Ling's wild cheer, Ye Qing's booming laugh, Ye Chen's stunned nod. Lin Feng turned, the golden qi fading, his hands trembling but firm, breath ragged from the strain.
Ye Qing thumped his back, grinning. "You're a damn cyclone, lad! Smashed 'em again!"
Ye Ling wiped her dagger, her eyes blazing. "That shadow knew you—you're unreal!"
Ye Chen limped forward, his voice sharp. "It called you brother. What's that mean?"
Lin Feng flexed his hands, shrugging. "Old debts. They'll pay."
That night, the clan huddled in the hall, the fire roaring with looted wood. Ye Hua bound Lin Feng's grazed knuckles, her voice soft. "You're our storm," she said, tears brimming. "We'd be lost without you."
"Storms rise," he said, letting her tend them. "We're forging tougher."
Ye Ling sat close, her tone low. "You glowed—gold, bright as lightning. Don't dodge."
He met her gaze, steady. "Stay with me. You'll see."
She smirked. "Always."
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. Shen Ru's qi and the cloaked figure's dark echo had torn it wider—Tian Xu's betrayal 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. "That was him," he said, blunt. "Your brother."
Lin Feng rose, meeting his eyes. "A ghost of him. We'll face the real one."
Ye Chen's lips quirked—a spark of resolve. As silence fell, a distant horn blared—sharp, commanding. Lin Feng's head snapped up—red-and-gold banners flickered on the horizon, Lin Clan colors, but above them flew a black flag, its qi a void-like pulse, bearing Tian Xu's mark.