Chapter 31 : The Black Dragon Tattoo
After forming the fragile, tension-laced truce with Faela, Tian Heng wasted no time. He knew that gambling on the "Beating Heart"—the mysterious amber condenser within the purification unit—was his best chance at a swift breakthrough. Guided by Faela's cautious warnings and subtle hints, he began inspecting and carefully disassembling the internal panel covering the component. Lilith stayed close at his side, her dark aura alert, while Lyra and Faela watched from a cautious distance, eyes filled with wary anticipation.
The amber condenser pulsed with a faint, irregular light, its low-frequency hum charging the air with the sensation of unstable, restrained power. Tian Heng used one of his precision tools to examine the insulated cylinder's surface, trying to locate the damaged discharge circuit that the core had hinted at—or any alternative access port.
"Careful, human," Faela whispered from across the cavern, her violet eyes fixed on the amber glow with unease. "Some sleeping things are best left untouched…"
But it was too late.
The moment the tip of Tian Heng's metallic tool touched a particular point on the condenser's surface—a fine, hairline fracture—the amber light flared sharply. And from that crack, something burst forth at impossible speed. It wasn't light—it was like a thread of reddish-black shadow, moving with horrifying swiftness, darting directly into Tian Heng's hand holding the tool.
It was far too fast. Neither Lilith with her demonic reflexes, nor Faela with her mastery of shadow, nor Lyra's scout-trained instincts, not even Tian Heng himself—none of them had time to react.
Tian Heng felt a searing, burning pain in his hand, like molten iron piercing his skin. He glimpsed the dark thread vanish beneath his flesh, then surge through his arm like a foreign, predatory energy.
He staggered back, clutching his arm, a rare flicker of cold shock running through his usually analytical mind. It wasn't just pain—it was a sense of intrusion, of being forcibly fused with something alien, ancient… and hungry. His body trembled violently, and the transformation began—rapid, surreal—before his stunned companions.
First, his skin changed. Its pale human hue faded quickly, replaced by an unnatural, pristine white—like freshly carved marble or untouched snow. It was unnatural, yet strangely beautiful in a cold, unblemished way. His skin appeared smooth and flawless—except for the old wound at his side, now strikingly visible against the snowy backdrop.
Then came a muffled scream as immense pressure built behind his temples. Before their astonished eyes, two small, elegant horns emerged from his scalp near his hairline—black and gleaming like obsidian or miniature dragon scales, curving back subtly in a way that hinted at both power and eerie nobility.
The transformation did not stop there. His short black hair began changing from the roots, shifting to a pale silvery shade, like moonlight reflected on ice. It grew slightly longer, more tousled—less tame.
The most dramatic change was in his eyes. Their former human color vanished, replaced by a molten gold glow—like the eyes of a mythical dragon, deep and pulsing with ancient force.
The cold, disciplined aether aura he had cultivated with the Frozen Star Forging Style was swallowed or merged into something older, darker, more dominant. His presence now carried an overwhelming grandeur, a strange and crushing power.
As Tian Heng gasped, trying to process the flood of power, pain, and transformation, the alien energy began to manifest before him. With a faint, scraping sound like shifting scales, a long, slender black sword appeared in midair, settling silently into his right hand—the same hand that had been pierced by the parasite.
The sword was a terrifying masterpiece. Its blade was black as a moonless night, absorbing light, inscribed with strange, intricate runes glowing faintly red. Its hilt was forged in the shape of a coiled black dragon, its eyes glowing gold—matching the brilliance of Tian Heng's transformed gaze.
The moment the blade settled into his grasp, a wave of ancient power erupted from Tian Heng and the weapon—a wave so overwhelming it felt like a mountain crashing down, cold as the void between stars.
The impact of the aura hit the other three like a physical blow.
Lyra gasped and collapsed to her knees, her face pale with terror, bow slipping from her trembling hand. Faela, the proud shadow elf, trembled violently. She tried to resist, to remain upright—but the force was beyond her will or shadow magic. She was driven to her knees, violet eyes wide with shock, disbelief, and deep-rooted fear.
Even Lilith, the powerful, obsessive demoness, could not withstand it. Her knees touched the ground—but her expression was different. There was fear, yes—but also something reverent, something akin to holy dread, as she stared at her transformed master.
Tian Heng stood amidst the scene, gazing at his snow-white hand gripping the black sword, then at his kneeling companions. He could feel the alien, ancient strength coursing through him—a power that was not just aether, but something deeper, more primal. He was not entirely comfortable bearing this cursed blade forever. The moment the thought of concealment crossed his mind…
The sword responded.
It vanished—blade and draconic hilt—into motes of dark light that surged back into his right arm and disappeared. In that same instant, a complex black tattoo appeared on his pale skin, starting from the back of his right hand and coiling up his forearm, bicep, shoulder, and neck—forming the image of a long, spiraling black dragon. The dragon's eyes in the tattoo shimmered with the same golden brilliance as his own.
With the sword gone, the suffocating aura eased slightly, allowing the others to breathe again—though they remained frozen where they were, still stunned by the overwhelming power they had just witnessed.
Tian Heng flexed the fingers of his right hand, feeling the hidden power beneath the dragon tattoo. He had survived the attack of the strange parasite—but he was no longer the same. His form had changed—perhaps even his essence—and he now bore a mysterious power and a legendary weapon bound to his very being.
He looked toward the silent purification unit… then down at his stunned, kneeling companions.