The Ye Clan estate trembled beneath a dusk sky streaked with black and crimson, the air thick with the hum of qi and the bitter tang of betrayal carried on the wind. The courtyard flickered with tension, the fire spitting embers as Ye Hua clutched a mended tunic, her gray eyes wide with dread at the horizon where red-and-gold banners fluttered beneath a black flag pulsing with void-like qi. Ye Qing stood at the gate, his spear a steady anchor, his grizzled voice barking at Ye Jun and Ye Mei to pile logs higher. Ye Chen knelt by the barricade, etching a ward into a jagged stone, his twisted leg braced but his focus unyielding. Ye Ling prowled the western wall, her dagger a restless spark, her braid snapping with each sharp turn.
Lin Feng stood atop the gatehouse, his silhouette a dark blade against the fading light. Shen Ru's defeat had sharpened the Ye Clan's resolve, but the black flag—Tian Xu's mark—stirred a storm of old wounds, his sworn brother's betrayal now a tangible threat. 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 clash tore it wider—a tempest breaking its chains, forging this frail shell into a weapon of retribution. He tilted his head, the horn's echo vibrating through the earth, power surging within—not yet the god's might of old, but a storm to face his past.
Ye Ling vaulted up, her boots crunching on damp stone, her voice a low growl. "That flag," she said, dagger spinning. "Your brother?"
"His shadow," Lin Feng replied, descending. "With the Lin Clan. They're here for me."
Her grin flashed, fierce and wild. "Let's cut 'em down together."
"They'll cut deep," he said, meeting her fire with frost. "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 gathering dark.
"Lin Clan's back," he said, voice slicing the air. "With Tian Xu's dogs. They want me broken. We don't bend. We bury them."
Ye Qing's grip tightened, his voice rough. "Tian Xu? The one who sealed you?"
"His mark," 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. "They're hunting you. Why now?"
"Old scores," Lin Feng said, unyielding. "Move."
The clan surged 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 faint 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 fierce, pulsing with intent. The seal flared as he channeled power, pain spiking through his chest, but he pressed on—a trap for the proud.
The horn blared again—sharp, commanding. Shadows crested the hill—thirty warriors, a mix of Lin Clan red-and-gold and black-robed figures under Tian Xu's flag, their qi a chaotic storm—Core Formation peaks, some brushing Foundation's edge. At their head strode Lin Hao, his silk robes pristine, his sneer a blade of fury sharpened by humiliation. Beside him walked a man in black, his qi a cold void—Foundation Establishment, mid-stage, a step beyond Shen Ru. Wei Chen, his dark robes whispered, his staff pulsing with shadow qi. Twenty warriors flanked them, swords and spears gleaming, their auras a tight net of malice.
Lin Hao halted before the woods, his voice a whip of venom. "Trash! You think you can defy us? Tian Xu's grace ends here—I'll chain you myself!"
Ye Qing stepped forward, spear leveled, his voice a snarl. "He's ours. Come try."
Lin Hao's laugh was a harsh bark. "Try? I'll crush you!" He gestured to Wei Chen, who raised his staff—a shadow tendril coiling in the air. "Master Wei, break this filth."
Wei Chen's voice rasped, cold and hollow. "Zhan Tian's shadow ends tonight." His staff struck the ground, qi flaring—a dark wave rippling forth.
Lin Feng stepped beyond the gate, alone. "Hold," he murmured to the clan, then faced them. The warriors charged, a tide of steel and shadow. He flicked his wrist, scattering runed stones in a wide arc. The air shivered, and six 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—three more fell, blood staining the earth.
Lin Hao roared, charging with his guards, qi sparking—a mid-stage flicker. Wei Chen's staff lashed out, a shadow tendril aiming for Lin Feng's chest. 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 arm—qi hardening his fist to steel—a sharp snap sending him sprawling, silk tearing in the dirt.
Wei Chen's staff swung, shadow qi flaring—mid-stage Foundation power, a void-like storm. Lin Feng met it, the seal's golden tide roaring—pain a forge as it split wider. He dodged, catching the staff bare-handed—qi a shield against the dark sting—golden light flaring bright. He yanked, pulling Wei Chen forward, and kicked his shin—a crack dropping him to one knee. "Tian Xu's dog," he said, voice a quiet blade. "You bark loud."
The warriors pressed the gate, blades and shadows 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 Mei peeked from the hall, clutching a rock— "Now!" Lin Feng shouted. She hurled it, small but fierce, striking Wei Chen's hand as he rose. The staff slipped, and Ye Ling pounced, her dagger nicking his arm—a dark wisp bleeding out.
Wei Chen's qi surged—shadow coiling, a mid-stage storm. Lin Feng met it, the seal's golden tide breaking free—pain a crucible as it split fully open. He dodged, striking Wei Chen's chest—a golden pulse cracking ribs—and the man reeled, staff faltering. Lin Hao scrambled up, 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 dominoes.
The warriors faltered, half down, the rest retreating. Wei Chen staggered up, his voice a hiss. "Tian Xu sees you, Zhan Tian. This is just the start." He fled, dragging Lin Hao 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 avalanche, lad! Smashed 'em again!"
Ye Ling wiped her dagger, her eyes blazing. "Silk-boy's down—you're a beast!"
Ye Chen limped forward, his voice sharp. "That was Tian Xu's man. He knew you."
Lin Feng pressed a hand to his shoulder, shrugging. "He knows failure now."
That night, the clan huddled in the hall, the fire roaring with looted wood. Ye Hua bound Lin Feng's wound, her voice soft. "You're our storm," she said, tears brimming. "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. "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. Wei Chen's shadow qi had torn it wider—Tian Xu's echo 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. "He's coming," he said, blunt. "Tian Xu himself."
Lin Feng rose, meeting his eyes. "Let him. I'm ready."
Ye Chen's lips quirked—a spark of hunger. As silence fell, a low rumble shook the earth—not steel, but a primal roar. Lin Feng's head snapped up—a massive shape loomed in the woods, its qi a void-like pulse, flanked by black-robed figures chanting Tian Xu's name.