The Ye Clan estate stood defiant beneath a midnight sky crackling with silver and black, the air thick with the rumble of thunderous qi and the fading heat of Jin Huo's retreat. The courtyard lay taut, the fire spitting embers as Ye Hua clutched a patched cloak, her gray eyes wide with dread at the hill where a white-robed figure loomed, his qi a crackling storm casting jagged shadows across the valley. Ye Qing gripped his spear at the gate, his grizzled face etched with weariness, his voice a hoarse growl as he urged Ye Jun and Ye Mei to huddle behind the barricade, their small figures trembling in the flickering light. Ye Chen knelt by the western wall, his ward-stone clutched tight, his twisted leg braced as the earth quaked faintly beneath the growing pressure. Ye Ling prowled the gatehouse, her dagger a restless gleam in the dark, her braid snapping like a whip with each tense stride, her breath sharp with anticipation.
Lin Feng stood before the gate, his silhouette a dark blade against the storm-lit void. Jin Huo's defeat had tempered the Ye Clan into a sharper weapon, but this white-robed figure—his qi a tempest of divine wrath—promised a reckoning beyond the flames of the Golden Core enforcers before him. His muddy-brown eyes locked on the hill, calm yet relentless, a quiet storm brewing within. Inside, Zhan Tian's divine soul surged, the seal fully shattered, golden qi a boundless tide coursing through his veins. Each battle had forged this once-frail shell into a vessel of divinity, its edges now gleaming with the fury of a god reborn. He tilted his head, the rumble vibrating through his bones, power thrumming within—nearing the Martial God's might of old, poised to defy the heavens' judgment yet again.
Ye Ling dropped beside him, her boots thudding on the packed earth, her voice a sharp whisper cutting through the wind. "White robes now," she said, dagger trembling slightly in her grip. "They don't quit, do they?"
"Crimson Order," Lin Feng replied, his tone cold as frost, stepping forward. "This one's their blade. He's here to end me."
Her grin flashed, fierce and jagged, a spark of wild defiance in her eyes. "Then we'll end him first. Together?"
"He'll face me alone," he said, meeting her fire with an unyielding chill. "Get them ready. This won't be quick."
The clan rallied in the courtyard, their movements a thread of iron woven through their exhaustion, each breath heavy with the weight of survival. Ye Qing planted his spear into the ground, its tip scarred from countless strikes, his stance rigid. Ye Chen pocketed his stone, his fingers stained with dust from carving wards into the night. Ye Hua stood with the kids, her hands shaking but her jaw set, a mother's quiet strength holding them close. Lin Feng turned to them, his presence a steady flame piercing the storm's shadow, his voice a blade that cut through the rising thunder.
"The Order's sent their best," he said, each word deliberate, resonating in the charged air. "A white-robed storm. He wants my head. We don't bow. We break him."
Ye Qing's grip tightened on his spear, his voice rough as gravel, strained from shouting over battles past. "Stronger than the gold one? Peak Golden Core?"
"Peak and more," Lin Feng said, his eyes glinting with a golden flicker, a promise of power unbound. "Woods to slow his dogs, walls to hold their fury. I'll take him head-on."
Ye Chen's sharp gaze sliced through the dim light, probing as always, his mind racing behind those keen eyes. "He's a storm incarnate. You're sure you can match him?"
"He's a storm," Lin Feng said, unyielding, his voice a quiet thunder of its own. "I'm a god. Move."
The clan surged into action, their weariness burned away by necessity. Ye Ling darted into the woods, her movements swift and silent, a hunter's grace as she checked snares—barbed twine stretched taut across shadowed paths, stakes driven deep into the trembling earth, each trap a promise of resistance. Ye Chen carved wards along the walls, his strokes frantic yet precise, the air buzzing with the faint hum of protective qi, a lattice of defiance against the coming tempest. Ye Qing and the kids piled logs into a jagged barricade, their small hands trembling but resolute, stacking higher as the rumble grew louder. Lin Feng worked alone, reinforcing the gate's keystone array—a lattice of golden qi, primal and fierce, pulsing with an intensity that lit the night. The unbound power flowed freely now, a river of divinity coursing through him, his frame a conduit for the god he once was—and would be again.
The rumble swelled—a deep, crackling roar that split the sky, lightning flashing in jagged arcs as the white-robed figure descended. His qi was a storm of thunder and light—Golden Core realm, peak-stage, teetering on the edge of Nascent Soul, a force of heavenly wrath distilled into mortal form. His face was chiseled, stern beneath a crown of white hair, his eyes glinting with cold divinity, a judgment given flesh. His voice thundered, resonant and absolute, shaking the leaves from the trees. "Zhan Tian, fallen god! I am Bai Lei of the Crimson Order. Your defiance mocks the heavens—your blood will cleanse it."
Ye Qing shouted back, his spear raised high, his voice cracking against the storm's fury. "He's ours, you bastard! Come take him if you dare!"
Bai Lei's lips curled into a faint, scornful smirk, his eyes narrowing with disdain. "Take? I'll obliterate." He thrust a hand forward, qi flaring—a bolt of white thunder roaring forth, splitting the earth in a jagged scar. Behind him charged twenty warriors in white-trimmed robes, their qi a disciplined tempest—Foundation Establishment peaks, some brushing Golden Core's edge, their spears and swords crackling with runes of lightning.
Lin Feng stepped beyond the gate, alone, his boots sinking into the scorched earth. "Hold," he murmured to the clan, his voice a low command that carried over the wind, then faced Bai Lei head-on. The warriors hit the woods—Ye Ling's snares snapped, barbs slashing robes, stakes tripping boots into the mud. Five stumbled, their curses drowned by the thunder, as her dagger flashed from the shadows, slicing a throat with a wet gurgle before she vanished back into the dark. Ye Chen's wards pulsed, a shimmering barrier slowing the rest, their steps faltering as sparks danced across their armor. Ye Qing hurled a log with a roar, smashing a shoulder with a sickening crack, the warrior sprawling into the dirt.
Bai Lei strode through the chaos, his white qi a storm of thunder—peak Golden Core power crackling with divine intent. He lunged, a spear of lightning forming in his hand, thrusting for Lin Feng's heart with a deafening boom. Lin Feng shifted, the strike grazing his chest, leaving a faint scorch, and countered—qi surging, golden light flooding his veins, a tide unbound by mortal limits. Pain was a forgotten echo; power was his essence now. He struck Bai Lei's arm—qi hardening his fist to steel—a sharp thud reverberating through the enforcer's frame, the lightning spear flickering. Bai Lei's smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of shock, and he swung again—faster, a barrage of thunderbolts raining down.
Lin Feng wove through the storm, his movements fluid as water, palming a runed stone from his sleeve. He tossed it at Bai Lei's feet—the array flared, a cage of golden force gripping his legs, roots of light binding him to the earth. Bai Lei snarled, his qi surging to shatter the trap, bolts of white lightning cracking the array, but Lin Feng struck his chest—a golden pulse slamming into him, cracking ribs with a sound like breaking stone. The white-robed figure staggered back, his lightning dimming for a heartbeat, his breath ragged.
The warriors pressed the gate, their spears and swords hammering the barricade, sparks flying as they clashed with Ye Chen's wards. Ye Ling darted out, her dagger a blur as she slashed a thigh, blood spraying across the mud as she ducked back into the shadows. Ye Chen's sling cracked through the air, a stone smashing a helm with a clang, the warrior crumpling. Ye Qing roared, thrusting his spear into a gut, the shaft bending under the strain as the foe fell with a gurgle. Ye Jun peeked from the hall, clutching a rock, his small face set with determination— "Now!" Lin Feng shouted, his voice cutting through the thunder. Ye Jun hurled it, small but fierce, striking Bai Lei's hand as he rose, the lightning spear faltering mid-strike. Ye Ling seized the moment, lunging from the dark, her dagger slashing his arm—a crimson line blooming against the white robes.
Bai Lei's qi erupted—peak Golden Core power surging, a white thunder storm that shook the heavens. "You dare defy divine will?" he bellowed, his hand sweeping—a bolt of lightning tearing the earth, aimed to obliterate. Lin Feng met it head-on, golden qi roaring—a boundless tide breaking free. He caught the bolt bare-handed—qi a shield against the searing charge—golden light blazing brighter than the storm. The power surged, unrestrained, a god's wrath unleashed, and he twisted, shattering the bolt into a shower of sparks that lit the night. He lunged, driving a fist into Bai Lei's jaw—a golden burst cracking bone, dropping him to his knees, blood streaming from his lips.
The warriors faltered, more than half fallen, their qi flickering like dying embers. Bai Lei staggered up, his voice a ragged growl, his eyes wild with fury. "The Crimson Order will erase you, Zhan Tian! The heavens will not forgive!" He thrust both hands forward, desperate, a massive thunderbolt roaring forth, splitting the sky. Lin Feng sidestepped, the bolt scorching the gate behind him, and struck Bai Lei's chest—a golden pulse hurling him back into his warriors, toppling them in a heap of white robes and broken resolve. "Forgive?" Lin Feng said, voice a quiet blade that cut through the storm. "I'll make them beg."
Bai Lei coughed blood, dragging himself up, his warriors retreating into the dark, their banners torn and trailing. The Ye Clan erupted—Ye Ling's wild cheer piercing the silence, Ye Qing's booming laugh shaking the walls, Ye Chen's stunned grin breaking through his usual reserve. Lin Feng turned, the golden qi settling into a faint glow, his chest scorched but his stance unwavering, a pillar against the fading thunder.
Ye Qing thumped his back, his grin wide and mud-streaked. "You're a damn god, lad! Smashed that storm flat!"
Ye Ling wiped her dagger on her sleeve, her eyes blazing with fierce pride. "He's running scared—you're beyond unreal!"
Ye Chen limped forward, his voice sharp but tinged with awe. "Peak Golden Core, nearly Nascent Soul. You broke him like a twig."
Lin Feng pressed a hand to his chest, the scorch mark stinging faintly, and shrugged. "He overestimated his thunder. That's his fall."
That night, the clan huddled in the hall, the fire roaring with scavenged wood, its warmth a stark contrast to the storm's chill. Ye Hua bound Lin Feng's scorched chest, her hands steady despite the tears brimming in her eyes, her voice a soft tremble. "You're our storm, our light," she said, her fingers lingering on the bandage. "We'd be nothing without you."
"Storms rise," he said, his tone calm as he let her tend him, a quiet strength in his words. "We're forging something greater."
Ye Ling sat close, her shoulder brushing his, her tone low and insistent. "You glowed—gold, brighter than lightning. Don't dodge it."
He met her gaze, steady and unyielding, a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. "Stay with me, Ling. You'll see it all."
She smirked, a spark of fire in her grin. "Always, you bastard."
Later, alone by the gate, Lin Feng knelt, tracing the keystone's golden array—now a permanent mark of his divine might. The seal was a memory, its fracture replaced by a boundless tide of golden qi, a river of power that surged with every breath. Bai Lei's thunder had clashed with his essence—a heavenly storm tempering a god's rebirth. He guided the power, forging his frame—senses razor-sharp, strength deepening, the Martial God within him stirring fully awake.
Ye Chen joined him, his shadow faint against the firelight, his voice blunt as ever. "They'll send more," he said, his eyes narrowing at the horizon. "Worse than him. Nascent Soul, maybe."
Lin Feng rose, meeting his gaze, his presence a quiet thunder of its own. "Let them come. I'll be ready."
Ye Chen's lips quirked—a rare spark of hunger in his sharp eyes. As silence settled, a low hum rose—not thunder, but a deep, resonant pulse, like the heartbeat of the earth itself. Lin Feng's head snapped up—a black-robed figure crested the hill, qi a void-like abyss, eyes glinting with an ancient, cold malice, flanked by a host of shadowed warriors, their Crimson Order banners bearing a crest he knew too well: the mark of the Heavenly Sovereign.