The brief and brutal confrontation with Zhang Fu and his lackeys had left Lin Feng with a bittersweet taste. On one hand, the grim satisfaction of having returned an infinitesimal part of the humiliation endured for years. On the other, the cold certainty that his "victory" had only added more fuel to the fire of their hatred and stupidity. Those types weren't known for their introspection or for learning from their mistakes; they were more like rabid dogs: if you hit them, they only came back angrier and with the intent to bite harder.
As he ventured back into the deceptive tranquility of the Umbral Mountains, Lin Feng couldn't help but touch his dantian. The dark energy within, that "thing" that had awakened, remained a painful enigma. During the fight, he had felt it stir, propelling him with an alien coldness and precision, sharpening his senses to an almost unnatural degree. It had allowed him to dodge blows that should have crushed him, and his clumsy counterattacks had carried an impact that defied his meager Qi Condensation level. But the price was high: each surge of that internal energy left him trembling, his meridians—or whatever channels that energy used as conduits—burning as if being torn apart and reforged anew.
'Power that consumes you while giving you the strength to survive…' he muttered to himself, an ironic smile curving his lips. 'What a generous offer from fate. Almost as generous as the sect's rations.'
He tried to resume his "hunt" for insignificant beasts, but his concentration failed him. The image of Zhang Fu's and Li Wei's contorted faces returned again and again, not with fear, but with a cold anticipation. He knew they wouldn't let it go. He had wounded their pride, and for people like them, a bully's pride was all they possessed.
He didn't have to wait long.
He had found a small clearing where some rare Moonlight Fungi grew—not particularly valuable, but better than Crystal Caterpillars—when the energy in his dantian vibrated with a sudden, sharp warning. His senses, already heightened, skyrocketed. The stench of stale sweat and the poorly contained anger of his "Senior Brothers" reached him before he could see them.
This time, it wasn't just Zhang Fu and Li Wei. Wang "the Wall" Xiong, who seemed to have recovered from his encounter with the tree, was with them. And to complete the picture, two more outer disciples, of equally robust builds and vacant expressions whom Lin Feng recognized as part of the clique of bullies that often followed Zhang Fu, closed off any possible escape route. Five against one. The situation had escalated considerably.
'Looks like my fan club has grown,' Lin Feng thought with a dark humor that didn't reach his eyes, now cold and calculating like those of a cornered wolf. He leaned on his shovel, which felt less like a tool and more like an extension of his desperate will to live.
"Feng!" Zhang Fu's voice was a growl of pure rage. His face was bruised where Lin Feng's fist had connected, and one of his eyes was swollen. Li Wei clutched his wrist, his expression a mask of pain and hatred. "So here you were, you slippery sewer rat. Did you think you could humiliate us and get away with it?"
"Senior Brother Zhang," Lin Feng replied, his voice surprisingly calm. "I was merely defending myself from unprovoked aggression. The sect's texts, however ancient and forgotten, still mention something about the right to self-defense, do they not? Or perhaps you skipped that part in your illustrious education."
"Shut your filthy mouth, trash!" yelled Wang the Wall, taking a step forward, his fists the size of small melons. "Today, we'll teach you the meaning of respect!"
"Respect is earned, Senior Brother Wang, not demanded with empty threats," Lin Feng retorted, his gaze sweeping over the group. "And from what I can see, you're a bit short on convincing arguments in that department."
The calculated provocation had its effect. Zhang Fu roared: "Enough talk! You won't escape today! Disciples, show this scum the price of arrogance!"
The five pounced on him. Lin Feng knew instantly that this time, cunning and fortunate "accidents" wouldn't be enough. This was a fight for survival in its rawest form.
The energy in his dantian churned violently, the stabbing pain now a liquid fire coursing through his veins. His body moved before his mind could fully process it. He dodged Wang the Wall's first blow with a contortion that would have dislocated a normal man's back. His shovel rose, not to strike, but to deflect a punch from one of the new bullies, using the attacker's momentum against him and sending him stumbling.
But there were too many. Li Wei, despite his injured wrist, lunged with a short dagger, aiming for his legs. Lin Feng leaped back, feeling the cold steel graze his robe. Zhang Fu caught him with a brutal kick to the side that sent him rolling across the ground, the air escaping his lungs in a painful hiss.
"Not so fast now, eh, trash!" Zhang Fu sneered, approaching with a sadistic smile.
Lin Feng rose with a groan, the taste of blood in his mouth. The energy in his dantian boiled, an incredible pressure building, threatening to tear him apart from within. The pain was so intense it nearly clouded his vision, but it also granted him a strange and terrifying clarity, an absolute focus on the present, on survival.
The fight was a desperate and brutal dance. Lin Feng used every ounce of his wit, every shred of that unnatural agility the chaotic energy granted him, every dirty trick he'd learned from years of being the underdog. He used his shovel as a shield, an extension of his reach, a tripwire. He dodged, rolled, and struck with a precision and force that shouldn't have been his, each impact sending waves of pain through his own body.
He took blows, many of them. He felt his bones creak, his skin tear. But he kept getting up, his eyes shining with a dark, feverish light that began to unnerve his attackers. He didn't scream in pain, didn't beg for mercy. He just fought, with the silent, terrifying tenacity of a cornered beast.
"Why… why won't he fall?" Li Wei panted, taking a step back, his face pale.
"He's a demon!" yelled one of the other bullies, fear beginning to replace their bloodlust.
Even Zhang Fu, despite his fury, felt a pang of doubt. Lin Feng was covered in wounds, his breathing a wheeze, but he was still there, standing, his gaze fixed on them with an intensity that promised mutual annihilation.
It was then that Lin Feng felt something break within him. Not a bone, not a muscle. Something much deeper. The energy in his dantian, that contained storm, reached a critical point. His promise to Lin Xiao, his hatred for his own weakness, his fury against the world's injustice—all of it merged with the primordial power seething within him.
A guttural, inhuman scream escaped his lips. And with it, an explosion.
It wasn't an explosion of Qi, nor of fire, nor of any known element. It was an eruption of pure, absolute darkness, a wave of tangible, viscous energy that burst from Lin Feng as if his body were the epicenter of a nascent black hole. The air around him grew heavy, oppressive, charged with the smell of ozone and primordial void.
The closest bullies were thrown back like rag dolls, their screams choked by the force of the wave. Zhang Fu, who was nearest, took the full brunt of the impact. He felt as if an invisible mountain had crushed him, his protective Qi shattering, his bones cracking. He landed several meters away, unconscious and bleeding from his mouth and nose.
Li Wei and the others, though farther away, were violently repelled, slamming against trees, pure terror now etched on their faces.
The dark energy swirled around Lin Feng, who was on his knees, gasping, his body trembling violently. He felt as if a vital part of his being, a portion of his soul and that chaotic energy, was being ripped from him, torn from his dantian in a birthing of indescribable agony.
And then, in front of him, at the epicenter of the swirling residual energy, the darkness began to condense, to take form. It was a trembling mass, the size of his clenched fist, a black so deep it seemed to absorb light, with faint, sickly violet flickers pulsing within it. It had no eyes, no mouth, no limbs. It was simply… a sentient drop of abyss.
Glob had been born.
Lin Feng stared at it, his mind on the verge of collapse. He felt a terrifying void in his dantian where that unbearable pressure had once been, but at the same time, a strange, instant, and deeply intimate connection with that small, trembling mass of darkness. They were… one.
The slime—for that was what it appeared to be, a creature of primordial ooze—vibrated and, with almost hesitant slowness, extended a tiny pseudopod and touched Lin Feng's bloodied hand. There was no pain. Only a sense of curiosity, of recognition, and a strange… calm?
Li Wei, who had struggled to his feet, watched the scene with a horror that surpassed anything he had ever felt before. "Demon!" he stammered, backing away. "It's a demonic spawn! He's sold his soul!"
He and the other surviving bullies, bruised, injured, and utterly terrified by what they had just witnessed, needed no further incentive. They turned and fled in terror, their cries of "Demon! Forbidden arts!" fading into the thicket of the forest. They no longer cared about the cores, nor their pride. They only wanted to escape that abomination and the trash that had spawned it.
Lin Feng was left alone, or almost alone, in the shattered clearing. He was at the limit of his strength, his body a map of pain, but a strange euphoria fought to break through the agony. He looked at the small dark mass at his feet, which now rubbed against his boot like a puppy seeking comfort.
"Well, spawn of the abyss..." he panted, a twisted, bloody smile curving his lips, "...it seems, after all, my shovel won't be the only thing accompanying me in this hell. Are you hungry? Because I suddenly have a voracious appetite to make some idiots pay."
Glob pulsed in response, and Lin Feng felt a surge of unconditional loyalty and a dark, shared anticipation. The Spirit Beast Trial had just become much more interesting. And much more dangerous.