Absolute Suppression

Adequate food meant that unnecessary sacrifices could be avoided.

For the Catkin, what could possibly be more valuable than food?

Sensing a shift, Chen Feng released his grip on Fura, letting her collapse onto the ground. In the same breath, the space around them tore open, and a towering figure emerged from the rift.

The Dretch crawled out, grotesque and monstrous. Having feasted on several Bronze Realm fighters, its once dull, ashen blue arms now pulsed with a faint, unnatural warmth—signs of its rapid evolution.

Bronze Arms.

Its newfound power rendered its grip almost unbreakable. Even the Harbinger would stand no chance if caught in its grasp, doomed unless armed with the Epic Fang.

Terrifying.

Its arms, as if possessed by their own will, moved with eerie fluidity—clenching, unfurling, mimicking the gestures of human hands in a way that was both disturbingly familiar and deeply unsettling.

Chaos made flesh.

It wasn't just the hideous appearance that unnerved; it was the twisted mockery of human mannerisms that filled the air with an oppressive wrongness.

Fura, hardened by the horrors of the Abyss, had seen many Dretches before—but this one... this one was an abomination even by her standards. Its body, a shifting mass of mud-like flesh, was crowned with a cherubic, childlike face that seemed so horribly out of place.

Though she had conquered fear, unease still gnawed at her, primal and inescapable.

Sensing her gaze, the Dretch turned its head. The warmth it had shown to Chen Feng vanished, replaced by a primal hatred as its soulless eyes locked onto Fura.

Dependence and loathing.

Two extremes, housed within the same unnatural creature.

"fOoD… dELiciOUs… FoOD…" The Dretch's voice, once nothing but guttural rasping, now rang out with a soft, unsettling innocence.

It was evolving.

This twisted being, once simple and mindless, had begun to transform—its form was growing, as was its intelligence. Dretches were common in the Abyss, but none had ever learned from their consumption. None had ever spoken.

The Dretch had learned new words.

Its evolution had spiraled out of control. Even Chen Feng, who had nurtured and bound it, could not foresee what it might become if it ever reached the Gold Realm.

But there was no fear—the pact held firm. No matter what it became, the binding rules of the contract would never fail.

Chen Feng could create it, and with a single thought, he could destroy it.

"Hand me some things..." Chen Feng commanded in a low voice.

At the sound of his words, the Dretch immediately turned. Even as it drooled over the prospect of devouring Fura, nothing was more important to it than obeying Chen Feng.

Among all his summons, the Dretch was the most dependent on him.

Its body convulsed grotesquely, and from its belly, a sack of rice slowly emerged, followed by several other provisions. With trembling hands, its many arms offered the items to Chen Feng, some shaking with an almost childlike hesitation, as though fearing rejection.

Emotions.

It wasn't merely language—the Dretch had begun to show signs of emotion.

Its evolution was clearly tied to the lives it consumed. Every person it devoured left behind fragments of thought, feeling—some cruel, some shy, others tender. Humans were a complex mess of contradictions. A merciless killer could still be a loving father.

If one being could harbor such chaos within themselves, how much more fractured must it be for a creature carrying the souls of dozens?

Split personalities.

The Dretch housed over a hundred minds, each fragment warring for dominance within its twisted form.

Even Chen Feng, who held total control over the creature, could feel the dissonance growing. If it had not been his summon, he would have killed it immediately. Such an abomination should not exist.

Heresy made flesh.

Creatures like this were not meant to walk the world.

The Dretch shuddered again, its convulsions accompanied by the appearance of bread and water. Chen Feng had wisely stored emergency provisions within it, despite the abundance of supplies at the factory. It was a safeguard—one that had now proven invaluable.

Chen Feng tore open the sack of rice, letting the grains spill across the ground. He ripped a piece of bread, throwing it before Fura.

Though unfamiliar with rice, Fura recognized the bread immediately—the sweet, comforting scent was unmistakable. She knew… this was food. Real food.

How could such a thing exist in this wretched world?

The once proud and stubborn catwoman, who had not flinched even as Chen Feng transformed, now hesitated. Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard. In her eyes, a flicker of longing and fragile hope sparked.

The Abyss was a land of desolation. Crops couldn't be cultivated, and the Catkin survived by hunting worms, but the creatures were greasy, foul-smelling, and wretched even when cooked.

When hunger takes hold, nothing is off the table. Birds, beasts, insects, bark— even dirt. When desperation strikes, the line between food and filth blurs.

Yet, despite their primal instincts, the Catkin lived a fragile existence, teetering on the brink of survival. They dared not stray far from the meager safety of their homes, clinging to life one meal at a time, never certain if they would see another dawn.

Fura, undeniably a prodigy among her people—no, even within the Abyss—was still just a young girl. No matter how skilled she was, the weight of her clan's survival pressed heavily on her.

She had never encountered anything like this before. The sweet, tantalizing aroma of real food reached her senses, and she found herself at a loss for words. The sensation was overwhelming, a primal need clawing at her insides.

Just one bite.

The thought echoed through her mind. It had been so long since she'd eaten anything substantial. As a warrior, her duty was to ensure her people's survival. The food she brought back was always divided among the tribe, leaving her with barely enough to fill her palm.

For a warrior, it was insufficient to maintain her strength.

She couldn't afford to wander too far from home. The world outside was far too dangerous, and if enemies struck in her absence, it would spell disaster for her tribe.

Their land was barren, its resources depleted. Though safe for now, it was only a matter of time before they would be forced to move in search of sustenance—a journey fraught with peril.

Chen Feng saw the hunger flicker in Fura's eyes. Standing over her like a towering shadow, his voice dripped with temptation, "Do you want it? I can give you all this food."

Demon.

In that moment, Chen Feng truly embodied the essence of a demon, his words a poisonous whisper, laced with seduction. Even the fiercely defiant cat girl seemed to waver, her resistance faltering.

But she quickly regained her composure. Despite her hunger, her thoughts returned to her people, trapped in the Abyss. She had no idea where she was or who this man before her truly was. Lifting her head, her voice a soft, feline murmur, she replied, "Fura will not be corrupted by a demon. You… are the enemy, the enemy of my people."

A stubborn kitten.

Chen Feng crouched down, his expression darkening as a cruel smile tugged at his lips. "I summoned you from the Abyss. You're already my slave. If I wanted to kill you, it would take nothing more than a thought."

Spiritual Attack!

Before the words left his lips, Fura's body was assaulted by a sensation like thousands of insects crawling beneath her skin—numbness, pain, unbearable discomfort. She collapsed, cold sweat pouring from her as she gasped for breath.

But still, she refused to yield. She had witnessed the suffering of her people, their torment at the hands of demons. She would rather die than bow to one.

Pride. Defiance.

Like a lone flower blooming in the heart of winter, Fura stood unyielding, even as death hovered at her side. She would not forsake her people for the hollow promise of survival.

Protection.

That was the core of her strength.

But Chen Feng's next words struck deep, shattering the fragile shell of her resolve.

"Swear your loyalty to me. Serve me well, and I'll give you food—not just for you, but for your people in the Abyss. They're suffering, aren't they? When I ascend to the gold realm, I'll have better mastery over space itself. I can send them food—enough to sustain them all."

"Food?" Fura's eyes widened, disbelief etched on her face.

"You can sense it yourself—this world isn't like the Abyss. This is the human world. The air here is free from sulfur, and the land… fertile, abundant. It's far better than anything you've known. Help me rise to the Legend Realm, and I'll even bring your entire tribe here, to live on this earth."

Chen Feng wasn't lying. Once he reached the Legend Realm, his power would evolve. He would be able to open a rift between dimensions, summoning more than just creatures—he could tear open a portal to the Abyss. It wouldn't be a mere summoning; the monsters that poured through wouldn't follow his command. It would be a brief merging of worlds, unleashing chaos.

It would be his final, catastrophic card to play.

Chen Feng's expression hardened, the smile fading from his lips. "My patience is wearing thin. This is your last chance. Swear loyalty, and I will save your people. Refuse, and you will die, right here."

The proud are not easily swayed.

Fura was not like the Dark Elves, whose loyalty could be shaped through suffering. No, this Catwoman—a Master of the Fist—had an iron will, one that would break before bending. Insulting her pride would push her to the brink, to the point where even her martial abilities would wither beneath the weight of shame.

Absolute Suppression.

Chen Feng needed her complete, unwavering loyalty. Only then would she flourish, her martial skills sharpening to perfection.

"I…" Fura's chest heaved, her breaths ragged and shallow. A Pugilist Master, brought to her knees, her body trembling with the weight of her internal battle.

"Hm?"

Chen Feng's patience snapped, and with a sudden flash, a flaming sword materialized in his hand, its flames roaring with the promise of destruction.

"I-I, Fura…" The Catwoman's voice quivered, as though she were performing some ancient rite. Her body slowly bent forward in submission, her forehead nearly touching the ground.

"I… am willing to serve, Master."