The air at the entrance to the Umbral Ridge was thick, heavy with the metallic scent of old blood and the damp, earthy aroma of ancient vegetation. A choked cry broke the tension as the deacons, with shoves and impatient glares, herded the first wave of outer disciples through the invisible portal that marked the boundary of the hunting ground. What followed was chaos.
Lin Feng found himself engulfed by a tide of terrified bodies. Around him, screams of panic erupted, the clash of low-quality weapons against scales and fur, and the guttural roar of unseen beasts emerging from the undergrowth with terrifying speed. He saw a disciple, not much older than himself, being dragged into the darkness by something with too many legs and a phosphorescent glow in its eyes. Another stumbled and was trampled by his own companions in their desperate flight.
Pure terror threatened to paralyze him, but the sensation in his dantian, that throbbing emptiness where a storm of agony and a hint of power had once resided, anchored him to reality. This was not the same Lin Feng from three days ago. Desperation had sharpened his instincts. With an agility born of panic and a new, strange awareness of his surroundings—sounds seemed sharper, shadows more defined—he dodged a Tusked Boar that charged blindly, the beast's stench grazing his face. He slipped between a group of disciples clumsily trying to form a defense, knowing that staying with them was a death sentence.
He remembered his experiments in the ravine. He tried, with a thread of will, to call upon that chaotic energy, not for an attack, but as a probe, an extension of his senses. A stabbing pain shot through his arm, and for an instant, the world seemed to desaturate, the movements of beasts and disciples slowing almost imperceptibly. But the sensation was fleeting, and a wave of dizziness made him stumble. "Too unstable, too costly," he thought, gritting his teeth. "This wasn't a tool he could use lightly."
He delved deeper into the forest, seeking uneven terrain, gnarled trees, anything that might offer cover or an advantage. He knew his endurance was his only asset; he couldn't face any beast head-on. His goal was to survive, to find a hiding place, perhaps to get some low-level spirit herb if the most improbable luck smiled upon him.
It was then that he found it, or rather, it found him. A Shadow Wolf, as large as a calf, with fur as black as night and eyes that burned with a malevolent intelligence. It was alone, separated from its pack, but even so, it emanated an aura of danger that chilled Lin Feng's blood. The wolf had scented him, its muzzle twitching as it emerged from between some giant ferns.
Lin Feng didn't think. He ran.
The wolf pursued him with terrifying speed, its claws tearing at the earth where Lin Feng had been just seconds before. He slid under an exposed root, rolled down a small embankment, his heart hammering in his chest like a war drum. The wolf did not relent, its growl a promise of imminent death.
Desperate, Lin Feng found himself in a small clearing, with no apparent exit. The Shadow Wolf stopped at the entrance, savoring the moment, its fangs glinting in the filtered light. Lin Feng grabbed a gnarled, sharp branch, his only makeshift weapon. It was ridiculous. It was pathetic.
"If I'm going to die..." he gasped, planting himself with a determination born of pure annihilation, "...at least I'll leave my mark on you, damn beast."
He remembered the sensation of the branch disintegrating. He closed his eyes, ignoring the stabbing pain in his dantian, and poured every ounce of his will, his fear, his rage, into an attempt to summon that power of entropy. A strand of dark energy, thicker this time, flowed down his arm and into the branch.
The wolf leaped.
Lin Feng brandished the branch, not as a weapon, but as a conduit. The instant the wolf's jaw closed on the wood, the chaotic energy discharged. There was no explosion, but the wolf howled, a sharp sound filled with surprise and pain. The part of the branch it had bitten seemed to... wither strangely in its mouth, and one of its forelegs, which had brushed against the residual energy, seemed to lose strength for an instant, causing it to stumble.
It wasn't enough. The beast, enraged and only superficially wounded, recovered instantly. But that second of hesitation, that stumble, gave Lin Feng an opportunity. He threw himself to the side, narrowly dodging another bite that would have torn out his throat. He fell hard, his shoulder slamming against a hidden rock, a blinding pain shooting through his arm.
And then, out of nowhere, they appeared.
"Well, well, look what the trash found! He even managed to scratch it!" Zhang Fu's mocking voice echoed from the edge of the clearing. He, Li Wei, and Chen Hao had been watching, waiting for the opportune moment. They saw Lin Feng weakened, the wolf slightly disconcerted but still dangerous. A perfect opportunity.
"Looks like the trash is useful for something after all, Zhang-shixiong," Li Wei hissed. "He can tire them out for us."
"Finish off the worm and then we'll deal with the mutt, that way we get the core intact!" Chen Hao growled, his eyes gleaming with greed.
The Shadow Wolf, sensing new threats, turned its attention to the newcomers, but Zhang Fu was faster. With a cruel laugh, instead of attacking the beast, he launched a brutal kick to Lin Feng's side, sending him crashing against the base of a tree. "Distract the dog, scum, while the adults work!"
Lin Feng felt his ribs crack. The air left his lungs. The wolf, seeing its chance, pounced on him, ignoring the other three. Zhang Fu and his henchmen prepared to intervene only when the wolf was about to deliver the finishing blow, to steal the weakened prey.
It was the end. Trapped between a bloodthirsty beast and the betrayal of his sect "brothers." Darkness began to invade his vision. The pain was overwhelming. His promise to Lin Xiao… he was going to fail.
A primordial fury, deeper and vaster than anything he had ever felt, surged from the depths of his being. It wasn't just his rage; it was something older, something that resonated with the chaos that was now part of him. If he was going to die, he would drag this unjust world down with him!
"NO!" The cry was more an internal roar, a final defiance of fate. He poured everything he had left—his life, his soul, his desperation, the pain of his brother, the agony of his chaotic power—into a single, monumental eruption from his dantian.
The world turned white with pain. He felt as if something were tearing within him, as if a part of his very soul were being forcibly ripped away. A torrent of dark, viscous, throbbing energy erupted from his chest, not as an outward explosion, but like a spring, swirling before him in a shapeless, trembling mass.
Amidst the whirlwind of energy, the mass condensed. And then, with a soft, wet sound, a small globule of black, semi-translucent slime, no bigger than his two clenched fists, fell to the ground. It pulsed with a faint, deep purple light, almost invisible in the daylight.
Lin Feng felt a shocking wave of emptiness, a profound sense of loss in his core, as if a vital organ had been removed. Yet, at the same time, the raging pressure of the chaotic energy within him drastically diminished, as if a safety valve had been released. He was on the verge of unconsciousness, his vision failing.
The Shadow Wolf, momentarily blinded and bewildered by the sudden explosion of chaotic energy, took a step back, growling with uncertainty. Zhang Fu and his cronies stood dumbfounded, staring in disbelief at the strange manifestation.
The slime quivered on the ground. Then, slowly, it extended a trembling pseudopod toward Lin Feng's bloodied leg. It didn't attack. It… snuggled? It rubbed its gelatinous body against the wound, emitting an almost inaudible sound, a soft murmur or coo that vibrated directly in Lin Feng's mind, a sensation of curiosity and a strange… concern?
It was a surreal instant. Then, reality reasserted itself.
The Shadow Wolf, recovering from its surprise, lunged again, this time with redoubled fury, its open jaws aiming straight for Lin Feng's throat.
But the slime, which Lin Feng in a corner of his almost delirious mind nicknamed "Glob," reacted with surprising speed for a shapeless mass. It launched itself, interposing directly in the path of one of the wolf's foreclaws as it descended to disembowel Lin Feng.
There was no heroic block. Glob's viscous body simply absorbed much of the impact. It splattered, a portion of its dark mass scattering, but then, incredibly, it began to gather, to reform, though it seemed slightly smaller, fainter.
That act bought Lin Feng a second. A golden second.
Zhang Fu, recovered from his stupor and now even more furious at the interruption, yelled, "Useless trash and your disgusting pet! Just die already!" He lunged, his fist wrapped in a faint Qi light, aiming for Lin Feng's head.
With that precious second, with adrenaline pumping and a new, strange connection to the creature just born from him, Lin Feng acted on pure instinct. He couldn't win, but he could make them pay. Weakly, he channeled the last vestige of his chaotic energy, that sensation of entropy, into his outstretched hand.
Zhang Fu's fist met Lin Feng's open palm.
There was a dull impact. Lin Feng felt the bones in his hand crack. But Zhang Fu also cried out, this time in genuine surprise and a sharp, unnatural pain. The hand that had struck Lin Feng suddenly felt numb, a strange weakness spreading up his arm, and the thin layer of Qi covering it flickered and dissipated as if it had been corroded. The skin on his knuckles seemed to darken slightly, as if it had aged prematurely.
"What the hell…?" Zhang Fu gasped, recoiling instinctively.
The Shadow Wolf, still an imminent threat, was now strangely preoccupied with Glob, which had adhered to one of its paws and seemed to be… absorbing something? The beast tried to shake it off furiously, but the slime clung with surprising tenacity.
Taking advantage of the wolf's confusion and Zhang Fu's bewilderment, who was staring at his hand in horror, and with Li Wei and Chen Hao hesitating before the inexplicable, Lin Feng used his last reserves. He grabbed Glob, which adhered to his arm as if it were a natural extension of his body, and with a groan of pain and effort, he rolled, dragged himself, and finally collapsed into the dense undergrowth at the edge of a small ravine, disappearing from sight just as the Shadow Wolf managed to shake off the slime and Zhang Fu overcame his shock.
He collapsed on the other side, the world spinning around him. He was bleeding profusely, his bones broken, his energy depleted. But he was alive.
And he was not alone.
Glob slid from his arm and snuggled beside him, emitting that strange, soft coo. Then, it began to move towards a pool of blood forming beneath Lin Feng. With an almost delicate movement, it began to absorb the dark, clotted blood, and as it did, Lin Feng felt a minuscule, almost imperceptible, wave of warmth return to his body, and the sharp pain from his wounds seemed to lessen a fraction. The slime, in turn, regained some of the purple glow it had lost.
Lin Feng watched it, a mixture of exhaustion, amazement, and a nascent, strange tenderness forming in his shattered heart. "What… what are you, little one?" he whispered, his voice barely a thread of air. The slime simply vibrated in response, a sensation of familiarity and unconditional loyalty transmitting itself through their newborn bond.
He heard a roar in the distance, closer than he would like. The trial was far from over. His sect "brothers" would want him dead more than ever now. He was injured, at the end of his strength.
But he looked at the small dark globule beside him, which was now curiously exploring a blade of grass shimmering with a faint spiritual light, before engulfing it and pulsing with satisfaction.
A crooked, painful yet genuine smile touched Lin Feng's lips.
"Well, little one," he thought, feeling a strange calm settle over his terror. "Looks like it's you and me against this hell."
He didn't know what the future held. He didn't know if they would survive the next hour. But for the first time in a long while, a genuine spark of something like hope, albeit a wild and dangerous hope, ignited in the abyss of his desperation. And that spark, fueled by the first beat of an impossible bond, felt like the sweetest of rewards.