The wind howled fiercely across the jagged obsidian cliffs of the Shadow Lands, its icy fingers stirring ash and bone in the desolate valley below. Black banners, tattered and worn, flapped like the torn wings of mythical creatures, snapping sharply against the oppressive silence that enveloped the landscape.
Perched high above this bleak scene, Fenglian sat astride the great beast, a formidable creature of legend and power. The Pixiu was a towering mountain of muscle and myth, its jade-scaled hide shimmering eerily in the pale moonlight. Its wings, folded tightly against its massive sides, resembled blades poised and ready to unfurl. Smoke curled languidly from its wide nostrils, and its ancient, unblinking eyes burned with a piercing golden light.
Behind Fenglian, the ground quaked under the relentless march of thousands—an army of demons, their forms cloaked in fire and shadow, their guttural snarls reverberating like the beat of war drums. Some wielded spears tipped with glistening bloodstone, while others carried the intangible weight of curses and shattered oaths. They were silent, breathless, a legion poised in ominous anticipation.
In Fenglian's grasp, a rune glowed with a fierce luminescence—bright and alive, pulsing with the rhythm of a heartbeat. Once thought destroyed, it had merely been hidden, biding its time.
Before him, the portal shimmered—a swirling vortex of blue and white, flickering like a gaping wound torn in the very fabric of the world. Mei-Ling had fled through a portal just like this one, bound by a vow. Now, Fenglian would follow her into the unknown.
Without uttering a word or showing a moment's hesitation, Fenglian lowered the rune. The portal widened eagerly, a maw of light and energy. The Pixiu roared mightily, its wings catching the ethereal glow of a dying star.
And together, they marched through the portal, the great beast leading the way. The army followed in their wake, a dark tide surging forward.
The hunt had begun.