Chapter 3
The forest around them breathed.
Bai Shen could feel it now—not through sound or sight, but through the shadows. Every tree, every stone, every flickering leaf held darkness. The deeper he went into the forest, the louder it became.
Mara walked a few paces ahead, her footfalls soundless, her senses sharp. She didn't speak unless necessary.
They'd been moving for hours since escaping Bloodroot. And not aimlessly—Mara had a destination in mind.
"There's a place ahead," she finally said. "A burial site. The Shadow Fist used it to mark territory in the old days. There might be something left behind."
Shen didn't ask why she knew that.
He'd stopped questioning how she seemed to know so much about a sect that was supposed to be erased from existence.
"I can feel it," he muttered, touching a nearby tree. His palm tingled. His shadow pulsed faintly beneath him.
"The Core is growing," Mara observed. "Too fast."
"It's always hungry."
"Then feed it the right way," she said sharply. "Not from rage. From focus. Shadows aren't beasts. They're blades. Learn to aim yours."
Shen gave a tight nod.
Then froze.
A whisper.
No—not the kind he heard in the cavern.
This one was alive.
He looked to the trees.
Too quiet.
Even the wind had stopped.
Mara's hand slipped to the dagger hidden at her thigh. Her gaze sharpened.
"They're here."
A soft ripple in the underbrush was all the warning they had.
Then—
Movement.
Figures burst from the tree line in every direction. Five. Maybe six. Robes dark blue, marked with the silver crest of the Bloodroot Inquisition—the clan's secret execution squad. Assassins trained to silence traitors.
The first attacker lunged at Mara.
She ducked beneath the blade and swept the legs out from under him with a low spin, stabbing her dagger up into his ribs as he fell.
Two more closed in on Shen.
He didn't run.
Didn't flinch.
His shadow rose to meet them.
He didn't remember speaking a word. He didn't need to.
The moment they entered his reach, the Core inside him surged.
"Soul Grip."
A skeletal hand exploded from beneath one assassin, wrapping around his leg and yanking him downward. The man screamed as he was pulled into the dirt like quicksand, shadows devouring his form.
The second hesitated.
Big mistake.
Shen stepped forward, and the shadow beneath his foot shot out like a whip. It lashed across the man's chest, slicing through armor, cloth, and flesh like wet paper.
The attacker dropped, gurgling blood.
Across the clearing, Mara faced off against two more.
Her movements were liquid—flowing from block to slash to dodge. But even she was struggling to keep up with their numbers.
"Mara!" Shen called out.
"I can handle them!" she snapped.
She could—but not without injuries.
That was enough.
Shen reached within, gripping the surge of power rising in his core. It burned—raw and untamed—but he forced it into shape.
He clenched his fist.
"Fear Mark."
A ripple of black energy spread across the clearing, invisible to most eyes.
But not to the mind.
The nearest enemy suddenly froze.
He dropped his weapon.
Started shaking.
His mouth opened, eyes wide as if seeing something no one else could.
He fell to his knees.
Then began screaming.
Mara slashed her dagger across the other man's neck before he could turn to look.
The illusion had bought enough time.
The clearing fell silent again.
Six assassins dead.
Shen panted, drops of sweat falling to the forest floor.
His shadow settled beneath him once more, pulsing slowly.
Mara didn't speak for a long moment.
Then she walked to one of the corpses and knelt beside it. She pulled a small tag from the assassin's neck.
It glowed with a faint blue light.
"A tracker," she muttered. "They knew your location exactly."
"How?"
She looked up at him. "Your awakening wasn't subtle, Shen. You choked the son of an Elder in front of half the sect. That kind of act echoes through more than rumors—it echoes through blood."
He clenched his fists.
"I'm done hiding."
"Good," she said. "Because they're not done hunting."
They buried the bodies under shadow—Mara showed him how to compress his Qi and create a veil that obscured even spirit sense detection.
But the fight had drawn attention.
By nightfall, Shen could feel more disturbances in the air. Eyes. Scouting birds overhead. Echoes of steps in the far distance.
"They won't stop until they've confirmed you're dead," Mara said.
"Then I'll give them what they want."
They reached the burial site the next evening.
It wasn't a graveyard—not exactly.
Just a clearing in the woods where ancient stone slabs jutted from the ground in crooked angles, each etched with glyphs long faded.
Shen stepped forward, drawn to one in particular.
A jagged pillar, cracked down the center.
He reached out—and the moment his fingers brushed it, darkness exploded across his vision.
A vision.
He stood in another time.
Night covered the land, and around him, dozens of warriors knelt in a circle—robed in black, heads bowed, chanting in tongues he didn't know but somehow understood.
In the center stood a man.
Eyes like twin voids.
Muscles wrapped in black chains.
He raised a hand—and from the sky, the stars blinked out one by one.
Until only shadow remained.
Shen stumbled back from the stone, breathing hard.
"What did you see?" Mara asked.
"Memories," he said. "From another life."
She nodded. "That means you're almost ready."
"For what?"
"To ascend."
That night, they trained.
Mara taught him how to compress his power into threads, how to sharpen the Soul Grip so it could crush bone instead of just restrain. She showed him how to use Veil Step—blinking from one shadow to another in short bursts.
He failed five times.
Slammed into trees. Tripped. Bled.
But he never stopped.
The Shadow Core fed on failure.
It turned pain into strength.
By dawn, he could shift ten paces in an instant.
He could summon two skeletal hands instead of one.
And his fear mark?
It didn't just cause hallucinations anymore.
It could paralyze.
But as he sat catching his breath, Mara stepped into view with something clenched in her hand.
A token.
Red and black. Carved with the symbol of Bloodroot's Elite Disciplinary Guard.
"They've sent someone stronger."
Shen stood slowly. "How much stronger?"
Mara's expression darkened.
"Captain-class."
The air shimmered.
A presence descended like a hammer.
From the trees, a figure emerged—tall, armored in crimson, eyes glowing like burning embers.
A voice, cold and clipped, echoed through the clearing.
"Bai Shen. Son of the traitor. You've lived long enough."
The man unsheathed his blade.
And the shadow beneath him didn't move.
Because it feared what Bai Shen had become.