Storm Surge (Part 4)

RUAN YANJUN

The air in my chamber was heavy with the stench of burning incense, an attempt to mask the acrid scent of blood and sweat clinging to my skin. Seated in a lotus position on the cold floor, I trembled, struggling to meditate, but the relentless pain refused to grant me even a moment of respite.

Deep within, my core roiled with violent energy, its darkness writhing and clawing at the walls of my soul, desperate to break free.

Descension.

The word echoed in my mind, a foreboding reminder of what lay ahead if I faltered even for a moment. For years, I had contained this ancient power, tamed it like a wild beast, but now it was slipping beyond my control.

A sharp knock startled me out of my thoughts.

"Master, are you there?" Huang Wen's voice filtered through the door, calm and dutiful.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing my voice to remain even. "What is it?"

"Word has come from Guidao Island. Priest Luo has made it safely to the Storm Surge Temple."

The tension in my chest eased slightly, though the inferno within me raged on. "Good," I replied, my tone cold and clipped. "Instruct the men to keep the island under watch and ensure no one gains access to it."

"As you wish, Master."

"You may leave."

"Yes, Master." His footsteps receded, and I was left in silence once more.

I stretched out my legs and rested my head against the wall, exhaling shakily. Relief clashed with the relentless pain coursing through me. Luo Fan was safe, at least for now.

His decision to join the Storm Surge Sect could only mean one thing. He had finally decided to embrace his two cores.

A faint smile tugged at my lips. It had taken every ounce of my manipulation to lead him down this path, yet he had resisted at every turn. He clung stubbornly to his light, refusing to acknowledge the dark core I had implanted inside him. In the end, his defiance left me with no choice. Trading him to Emperor Gao for a mere scrap of a scroll had been the final push.

I knew him too well—knew that he would protect his virtue at all costs. And if someone dared to take what was most precious to him, his dark core would awaken. Just as it had the night Jinjing was killed. His power had surged then, raw and unstoppable, allowing him to incapacitate a master cultivator with nothing but instinct. That was what I had been waiting for. That was what had to happen.

I never doubted that he would hate me for it. His hatred was inevitable, a fire I had stoked with my own hands. But if that hatred fueled his survival, if it drove him to find a way to master his affliction and one day seek vengeance against me, then it would be worth it.

Because, in the end, what mattered most was that he was alive.

And yet… the weight of his hatred settled deep within me, heavier than I had anticipated. The thought of of having him look at me with nothing but contempt sent an ache through my chest that even my demonic core could not rival. I had sacrificed everything to keep him alive, only to become the very thing he despised.

I closed my eyes, his face seared into my mind like an unshakable specter. The memory of his fragile form, his fierce determination, his quiet defiance—they haunted me.

"A-Fan," I whispered, my voice raw with emotions I had no right to feel. "You'll never forgive me, will you?"

The core inside me roared, a violent surge that dragged me back to reality. My body convulsed as the dark energy flared, threatening to consume me.

I coughed, tasting blood on my tongue. My vision blurred, the edges of the room darkening as if the abyss itself was reaching out to claim me.

No. I will not lose this battle.

With trembling hands, I reached under the bed and pulled out a small vial. The liquid inside shimmered faintly, its iridescent glow a cruel irony for what it was—a concoction born of destruction.

The White Vulture.

I had spent two grueling weeks with Han Bao perfecting it, modifying it to weaken my demonic core. It was a poison, yes, but it was also my last chance to delay the inevitable.

The vial felt heavy in my hand, not because of its weight but because of the decision it represented. Once I drank it, there would be no turning back. My body would suffer unspeakable pain, and the core would lash out in retaliation. But it was better than becoming the absolute demon that lurked at the edge of my soul.

I uncorked the vial and brought it to my lips. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat, a fire that spread through my veins like molten steel. My entire body seized, and I collapsed onto the floor, clutching my chest as the core reacted violently to the intruder.

Agony consumed me, a battle waging inside my very being. The White Vulture tore through my organs, shredding them with its destructive force, while the core fought back, pouring all its energy into resisting the invader. The pain was unbearable, but I welcomed it. It was proof that I still had control. Proof that I was still human.

Through the haze of pain, one thought anchored me.

My A-Fan.

If I succumbed to the core, if I descended into the abyss, I would lose the last shred of humanity he had unknowingly preserved in me.