Something was wrong. The man in the blue robes felt a prickle of instinct, a cold certainty that he had fatally misjudged the man in front of him. This Jiang Dao… he was a predator hiding in plain sight.
He didn't hesitate. Survival screamed at him to turn and flee. But in the space between one thought and the next, Jiang Dao was simply gone. An instant later, a crushing pressure, a shadow falling from a sunless sky, was upon him. The blue-robed man spun back around, pure panic flaring in his eyes as he threw his hands up to block.
It was useless. Jiang Dao's hand sliced through the air like a guillotine blade.
There was a sickening crunch, followed by a wet, tearing sound. A scream was choked off in the blue-robed man's throat as his arms dissolved into a mist of blood and bone. The force of the blow launched him backward, and he crumpled to the ground in a broken heap.
Jiang Dao looked down at the ruin of a man, his expression one of faint boredom. "Disappointing. I was hoping for a challenge."
Agony and terror warred on the man's face. Everyone was wrong about him, he thought through a haze of pain. This isn't a man. What is this power? Desperate, he called on his final trick, his body flickering, dissolving into the very air around him. He was a ghost, a whisper in the wind, already escaping.
But Jiang Dao's eyes, sharp as shards of glass, tracked the disturbance. He moved again, not as a man, but as a blur of force. He thrust his arm forward, a single, piercing strike. The air around his fist seemed to shimmer with intense, scorching heat as it punched through space and found its target.
Shhllkk.
A new, more terrible scream echoed as the invisible man was made brutally visible, impaled on Jiang Dao's arm. Blood, thick and dark, gushed from the wound. A venomous energy, potent and black, began to pour from Jiang Dao's hand into the man's system.
His face twisted. "The Tuoba family… they'll hunt you for this…"
A web of fiery energy flared from Jiang Dao's arm, enveloping the man. It constricted violently, the pressure immense, as if he were being crushed between invisible mountains.
CRACK.
His body imploded, vaporizing into a cloud of blood that was instantly incinerated by the flames. Nothing remained.
Jiang Dao casually shook the last drops of blood from his hand. "I've heard that one before." He adjusted the collar of his pristine white mink coat. With his smooth black hair and aristocratic features, he looked like a harmless, wealthy young man out for a stroll. He stepped back into his carriage.
"Let's go," he said, his voice calm.
Guo Dutian, his second-in-command, jolted to attention. "Move out!" he roared to the men. The crack of whips followed, and the convoy of powerful horses surged forward once more.
By the time they reached the ancient walls of Qingluo City, the sun was high in the sky. The thunder of their hooves sent merchants and pedestrians scattering. Even the city guards backed away, clearing a path for the procession. Nearly a hundred men in black robes, each bearing the crimson flame emblem of the Fierce Flame Gang, galloped through the streets, flanking a single, opulent carriage.
They vanished down a side street, leaving a stunned silence in their wake.
"Chief, who in the hell were they?" a young rookie guard asked, his eyes wide. "They act like they own the place more than the Emperor's generals."
The old watch captain sighed, his gaze distant. "That's because, around here, they do. That was the Fierce Flame Gang. And for a procession that grand, whoever is in that carriage… he's someone you don't ever want to meet."
At the Qingluo City branch of the Fierce Flame Gang, the local manager, Qi Rongfa, scrambled out to greet them, his face pale and slick with sweat. He and his men fell to their knees as Jiang Dao's tall, imposing figure emerged from the carriage.
This was the second time Qi Rongfa had seen the new leader. The first was when he'd watched Jiang Dao single-handedly dismantle the gang's entire old guard, crushing a rebellion with terrifying ease. The man looked elegant and refined, but Qi Rongfa knew that beneath the surface was a monster of prehistoric power. The memory alone was enough to make him tremble.
"You're the manager?" Jiang Dao's voice was placid as he strode into the main hall. "Follow me."
Inside, Jiang Dao took a seat and accepted a cup of tea. He blew gently on the surface before speaking. "Tell me exactly how Pan Fang died."
Qi Rongfa bowed low, not daring to meet his eyes. "It started about two weeks ago, sir. A rumor began spreading—that if you go to the old Yinshan Temple at midnight and make a blood offering, a wish will be granted."
He paused, swallowing hard. "Branch Leader Pan didn't think much of it at first. But then stories started cropping up. People claimed it worked. One man supposedly made half a million taels overnight. Another saw his failing business boom again. Pan thought it was getting suspicious and was about to report it to headquarters, but then… a few of our own men went."
"They performed the ritual," Qi Rongfa continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "But their wishes weren't granted. The next morning, they were found dead in their rooms, blood streaming from their eyes, noses, and ears. But the truly horrifying part, sir… when the coroner opened them up, he found that their bodies had been dead for over a week. Their insides were completely rotten."
A chill went through the room.
"What about the people whose wishes were granted?" Jiang Dao asked, his eyes narrowing.
"I investigated them, sir," Qi Rongfa said, his voice shaking. "Every single one of them also died within four or five days of their wish coming true. Horrible, violent deaths."
"And Pan Fang?"
"After our men died, Pan took a team to the temple to investigate. But he didn't just investigate. He went during the day and burned the entire temple to the ground. When he came back, he fell ill with a strange fever. For the next five nights, he would scream in his room, yelling, 'Kill! I'll kill you!' over and over. Other times, his men would see him through the window, kneeling and begging for mercy, as if someone else was in the room with him."
Qi Rongfa was visibly terrified now. "We brought in every doctor we could find. Nothing worked. It went on for five days. He became lucid only once, for a few moments at the very end. Then he coughed up blood, and he was gone."
A dangerous light glinted in Jiang Dao's eyes. Burning down the temple? Pan Fang had been bold, if foolish.
"Show me his room," Jiang Dao commanded.
The room was in a quiet, secluded courtyard. Qi Rongfa unlocked the heavy bronze lock and pushed the door open into the dim interior. The air was thick with the faint, cloying smell of old incense.
"You've been burning offerings?" Jiang Dao asked, his gaze sweeping the simple room.
"Yes, sir. Just a memorial. I swear, we haven't touched anything else."
The room was Spartan: a bed, a desk, a few chairs, and some antiques on a shelf. Nothing seemed out of place. Jiang Dao moved to the bed, a faint trace of cold, stagnant energy—yin—clinging to the frame. It was old, almost gone, like the last wisp of smoke from an extinguished candle. Finding no other clues, he straightened up.
"Take me to the Yinshan Temple."
They arrived as the last sliver of sun bled from the horizon, plunging the mountain forest into a deep, oppressive darkness. Torches held by the gang members cast a flickering, nervous light on the path ahead.
There, nestled in a thicket of overgrown weeds, was a small, gray-white temple. Its doors were shut, and red prayer banners, faded and tattered, hung limply in the still air.
Jiang Dao frowned. "You said Pan Fang burned it down. It looks fine."
"That's just it, sir," Qi Rongfa stammered, his face pale in the torchlight. "I saw it. We all saw it burn to ash. But the next day… it was just back. Exactly as it was."
It rebuilt itself?
Jiang Dao's interest was piqued. He walked up the stone path, his men close behind, and pushed open the heavy temple doors.
Inside, the air was stale with the smell of old wax and incense. A single, dilapidated statue of the Buddha sat in the main hall, surrounded by the stubs of countless recently burned candles. Other than the eerie stillness, it felt like any other abandoned shrine. He could sense no energy, no trace of the yin he'd felt in Pan Fang's room. It was completely inert.
"Someone was here last night," Jiang Dao observed, gesturing to the fresh candle wax. He turned to Qi Rongfa. "Tell me the ritual. Every detail."
"Yes, sir. The legend says you must come after midnight. You circle the statue with lit candles and place a small bowl before it. You drip your own blood into the bowl, then kneel, close your eyes, and pray for your wish. The most important rules are that you must not, under any circumstances, open your eyes, and it must be done after the stroke of midnight."
"All of you, wait outside," Jiang Dao commanded. "Let me know when it's time. I'm going to try this myself."
His men retreated, leaving him alone in the flickering darkness. He sat on a dusty meditation cushion and waited as the minutes ticked by. At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, a deep chill began to creep into the hall. The torch flames on the walls sputtered and dimmed, as if starved of air. An invisible, malevolent presence began to coalesce in the shadows.
Finally, Jiang Dao thought with a cold smile. You're showing yourself.
"Gang Leader, it is time," Guo Dutian called softly from the doorway.
Jiang Dao rose. He arranged the candles in a circle around the statue and lit them. He placed a small, discarded offering bowl before him, pricked his finger, and let a single, perfect drop of crimson blood fall into it.
"If you can truly grant wishes," he said to the empty air, his voice low and dangerous, "then my wish is for you to show me what you really are. Tonight."
He sat on the cushion—he would not kneel—and closed his eyes.
The world seemed to melt away. Time warped, stretching and slowing. He felt a strange sense of vertigo, as if he were drifting through a tunnel of distorted light and sound. He heard the cacophony of a busy market, the laughter of children, the solemn, ethereal chanting of monks—all at once, from a thousand different places.
He focused his will, shattering the illusion. But as soon as he did, a new sensation washed over him: an intense, bone-deep cold, as if he had been plunged into a tomb of ice.
He opened his eyes just a crack.
The world had changed. The candlelight was no longer yellow, but a sickening, bloody red that painted the walls in shades of slaughter. And the statue… it was no longer stone. It had become a grotesque, skinless effigy, its raw muscles twitching. A wide, mocking grin was carved into its face as it loomed over him. Blood, thick and glistening, dripped from its form, spattering on the floor just inches from his feet.
"What are you smiling at?" Jiang Dao asked, opening his eyes fully.
The creature's grin widened. A massive, blood-red hand descended, reaching to grab him.
Jiang Dao met its grin with a cruel one of his own. He didn't move to dodge. Instead, he simply threw a punch.
BOOM!
The sound was like shattering glass. The blood-red world fractured, and the stone statue in front of him exploded into a thousand pieces. The demon vanished. The candles returned to their normal, warm glow. The cold was gone.
His men burst into the room. "Gang Leader! What happened?"
Jiang Dao's brow was furrowed. The yin energy was gone again. Completely vanished. "Did you see it?" he asked.
"See what, sir?" Guo Dutian looked utterly confused. "We just saw you sitting there, muttering to yourself. Then you stood up and punched the statue."
"You didn't see anything else? The candlelight—what color was it?"
"It was normal, sir. Yellow."
Qi Rongfa looked horrified. "Gang Leader… did you open your eyes?"
Jiang Dao didn't answer. His mind was racing. He sat back down on the cushion. "Get out. And no matter what you hear or see, do not come back in."
His men withdrew, and silence fell once more. He sat perfectly still, waiting. And slowly, like ice forming on a winter pond, the chilling presence began to return.
Whispers slithered into his ears from all directions. Guttural laughter, mocking taunts, his own name spoken by a dozen rasping voices.
"Gang Leader Jiang… hehehe… gggaaaaaah…"
He opened his eyes.
The skinless demon was back, crouched on the rubble of the statue, its huge, bloodshot eyes fixed on him. It leaned closer, so close that a drop of its blood fell onto the back of Jiang Dao's hand. He calmly lifted his hand, inspecting the viscous, scarlet drop, and sniffed it. The metallic stench of slaughter filled his senses.
"What are you?" he asked again.
The creature's smile was a rictus of pure malice. "Me?" it rasped, its voice like grinding stones. "I'm the thing that's going to kill you."
It lunged, its mouth opening impossibly wide, revealing rows of needle-like fangs as it dove toward him.
"The thing that's going to kill me," Jiang Dao echoed, and then he, too, began to smile. But his was not a human smile. It stretched, tearing at the corners of his mouth, widening past his cheeks, past his ears, unhinging like a serpent's jaw. His own teeth elongated into a maw of terrifying, razor-sharp fangs.
He met the creature's lunge with his own. He was a blur of motion, a living furnace of incandescent rage. He slammed into the demon, and this time, there was no illusion to shatter.
There was only a wet, final crunch as reality itself seemed to break, and the creature was annihilated once and for all.