The Ye Clan estate trembled beneath a midday sky slashed with silver and gray, the air thick with the hum of gale-like qi and the fading echo of the Crimson Watcher's warning. The courtyard buzzed with tension, the fire spitting embers as Ye Hua patched a torn tunic, her gray eyes darting to the horizon where a silver-robed figure stood, his qi a shimmering storm casting sharp shadows. Ye Qing leaned on his spear at the gate, his grizzled face taut, his voice a growl as he urged Ye Jun and Ye Mei to stack logs higher. Ye Chen sat by the barricade, etching a ward into a jagged stone, his twisted leg braced but his focus unyielding. Ye Ling paced the western wall, her dagger a restless gleam, her braid snapping with each sharp stride.
Lin Feng stood atop the gatehouse, his silhouette a dark blade against the shimmering light. The Crimson Watcher's retreat had sharpened the Ye Clan's edge, but this silver-robed figure—flanked by warriors bearing the Crimson Order's mark—brought a storm fiercer than Tian Xu's void. His muddy-brown eyes pierced the distance, calm yet relentless. Inside, Zhan Tian's divine soul surged, the seal fully shattered, golden qi a boundless tide within his veins. Each battle had forged this frail shell into a weapon of divinity, now honed to a razor's edge. He tilted his head, the hum vibrating through the earth, power thrumming within—closer to the god's might of old, ready to face the heavens' wrath.
Ye Ling vaulted up, her boots crunching on damp stone, her voice a low snarl. "Silver robes," she said, dagger spinning. "More of them?"
"Crimson Order," Lin Feng replied, descending. "Stronger than the last. They're here to fight."
Her grin flashed, fierce and wild. "Good. Let's cut 'em down."
"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 fatigue. 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.
"The Order's here," he said, voice slicing the air. "Heaven's dogs. They want me crushed. We don't bend. We break them."
Ye Qing's grip tightened, his voice rough. "Stronger than Tian Xu?"
"Much," 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?"
"I'm their mistake," Lin Feng said, unyielding. "Move."
The clan sprang into action. Ye Ling darted to the woods, checking snares with a hunter's haste—barbed twine taut, stakes firm. 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 hum. Lin Feng worked alone, reinforcing the gate's keystone array—a lattice of qi, golden and fierce, pulsing with intent. The unleashed power flowed freely now, his frame a conduit for divinity.
The hum sharpened—a shrill, cutting drone that sliced the air. The silver-robed figure descended, his qi a gale-like storm—Golden Core realm, mid-stage, a step beyond the Crimson Watcher. His face was sharp, etched with cold disdain, silver hair streaming like a blade's edge. His voice rang out, crisp and commanding. "Zhan Tian, fallen god. I am Liang Feng of the Crimson Order. Your defiance ends now."
Ye Qing shouted back, spear raised, his voice a growl. "He's ours! Come take him!"
Liang Feng's lips curled, a faint sneer. "Take? I'll shatter." He raised a hand, qi flaring—a silver wind roaring forth. Behind him charged fifteen warriors in silver-trimmed robes, their qi a disciplined gale—Core Formation peaks, some brushing Foundation's edge, swords and spears gleaming with runes.
Lin Feng stepped beyond the gate, alone. "Hold," he murmured to the clan, then faced Liang Feng. The warriors hit the woods—Ye Ling's snares snapped, barbs slashing robes, 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.
Liang Feng sliced through, his silver qi a storm of blades—mid-stage Golden Core power tearing the air. He lunged, a sword of wind slashing for Lin Feng's chest. Lin Feng shifted, the strike grazing his side, and countered—qi surging, golden light flooding his veins, a tide unbound. Pain was a memory; power was his now. He struck Liang Feng's arm—qi hardening his fist to steel—a sharp thud rippling through the warrior's frame. Liang Feng's sneer faltered, shock flickering in his eyes, and he swung again—faster, a gale of silver.
Lin Feng wove through, palming a runed stone. He tossed it at Liang Feng's feet—the array flared, a cage of force gripping his legs. Liang Feng snarled, qi surging to shatter it, but Lin Feng struck his chest—a golden pulse cracking ribs. The silver-robed figure staggered, his wind blade dissipating into mist.
The warriors pressed the gate, swords and spears 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 Liang Feng's hand as he rose. The silver qi faltered, and Ye Ling pounced, her dagger slashing his arm—a crimson line blooming.
Liang Feng's qi surged—mid-stage Golden Core power flaring, a silver storm. "You dare defy the heavens?" he roared, his hand sweeping—a wind blade tearing the earth. Lin Feng met it, golden qi roaring—a boundless tide breaking free. He caught the blade bare-handed—qi a shield against the gale's sting—golden light blazing. The power surged, unrestrained, and he twisted, shattering the wind into shards. He lunged, driving a fist into Liang Feng's jaw—a golden burst dropping him to his knees, blood flecking his lips.
The warriors faltered, half down, their qi wavering. Liang Feng staggered up, his voice a hiss. "The Order will bury you, Zhan Tian!" He swung, desperate, a silver vortex slashing wide. Lin Feng sidestepped, striking his chest—a golden pulse hurling him back into his warriors, toppling them like pins. "Bury a god?" Lin Feng said, voice a quiet blade. "Try harder."
Liang Feng spat blood, retreating with his enforcers, their silver robes vanishing into the woods. 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 settling, his side bleeding but his stance firm.
Ye Qing thumped his back, grinning. "You're a damn titan, lad! Smashed him flat!"
Ye Ling wiped her dagger, her eyes blazing. "He's running—you're unreal!"
Ye Chen limped forward, his voice sharp. "Golden Core, mid-stage. You broke him."
Lin Feng pressed a hand to his side, shrugging. "He overestimated his wind. That's his fall."
That night, the clan huddled in the hall, the fire roaring with scavenged 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 endure," he said, letting her tend it. "We're rising higher."
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 golden array—now a mark of his unbound power. The seal was gone, its fracture a memory, replaced by a boundless tide of divine qi. Liang Feng's Golden Core qi had tested him—a heavenly blade clashing with a god's essence. He guided the power, forging his frame—senses sharpening, strength deepening, a god reborn.
Ye Chen joined him, his shadow faint. "They'll keep coming," he said, blunt. "Stronger each time."
Lin Feng rose, meeting his eyes. "Let them. I'll be stronger."
Ye Chen's lips quirked—a spark of resolve. As silence fell, a low rumble shook the earth—not wind, but fire and steel. Lin Feng's head snapped up—a golden-robed figure crested the hill, qi a blazing inferno, eyes glinting with divine fury, flanked by a dozen warriors, their Crimson Order banners snapping in the wind.