Chapter 92: Enter the Beast

The first light of dawn bled slowly over Obsidian Peak, gilding the tips of pine trees and temple eaves in soft gold. Disciples rose from their quarters with reverence, beginning their daily meditations, unaware that among them, one had already risen with fury in his chest and poison in his soul.

Han Long stood atop a rocky ledge behind the outer training grounds, shirtless and soaked in sweat, his breaths coming hard and fast. His fists were bruised, knuckles bloodied against the jagged stone of a boulder he had struck a thousand times through the night. Around him, the air quivered faintly—residual waves of Qi, twisted and coarse, clung to the clearing like steam.

Kai Feng.

The name looped in his mind like a chant laced with venom. Every time Meng Yao laughed, every time she spoke with that soft sincerity, it was Kai who lingered behind her eyes. Not Han, who had shielded her through pain. Not Han, who brought her sight back.

What did she see in him?

Kai, with his calm words and cloud-gazing wisdom. Kai, the Sect Lord by fate, not by effort. Kai, who bore the admiration of elders and affection of disciples like the stars were hung solely for his sake.

Han struck the stone again, this time with the heel of his palm, and it cracked like thunder. A jagged line split through its core.

"Pathetic," he hissed to himself, chest heaving. "This weakness… ends now."

From beneath his robes, the jade pendant pulsed.

It spoke to Han, not with words but with feelings. Urges. Promises.

He clutched it tightly now, feeling its pulse quicken as his own heartbeat slowed. In its presence, he felt clarity. Direction.

Power.

The beast inside him stirred. A byproduct of his cultivation technique—formless, but real. He had always suppressed it with iron discipline. Now he fed it.

Let it grow.

Over the next week, Han isolated himself completely. He ignored sparring invitations from Kai. Even Yin Shuang's sharp concern was met with silence. He roamed the unpatrolled stretches of mountain paths, meditating beneath waterfalls until his skin numbed and his bones ached, seeking something, anything, that would push him forward.

His nights were spent in violent training, shattering trees, sprinting barefoot across thorn-strewn trails, testing new limits of pain and speed. His techniques were wild, animalistic. Feral.

And still the pendant pulsed.

He stopped speaking aloud. He stopped sleeping. His eyes grew distant and sharp.

One night, as thunder rolled across the ridges and lightning struck the horizon, the pendant pulsed more fiercely than ever before. It was a call—irresistible, primal.

The pendant had teleported Han into a cave again. This was unlike the earlier cave.

The air was thick with decay, but it did not repel him. It welcomed him. Glowing fungi cast pale light upon the walls, revealing murals of beasts and men in torment—screaming, merging, transcending.

He reached a vast chamber. The chamber pulsed around him like a heartbeat beneath the earth. Cold, oppressive. But the voice that followed was not cold.

It was vast.

It filled the cave without sound. It spoke not in words, but through gravity—through certainty.

"You have suffered."

Han gasped, clutching his chest as if to keep himself from unraveling. "Yes…"

"Cast aside. Strong, yet ignored. Loyal, yet unwanted. Loved, yet forgotten."

Each word carved deeper than the last.

"Yes," he breathed, trembling.

"You cry for justice. But is it justice you seek… or vengeance?"

Han's eyes snapped open. His voice came from deeper than his throat—it came from something older.

"I want power," he growled. "Enough that I will never be dismissed again. Enough that none will look down on me."

"Then tear free of your bindings. Stop begging for a place at their table. Burn the table. Build your own."

A tremor passed through his soul.

Meng Yao's face flickered before him, soft eyes, a warmth he no longer deserved. Then came Kai, unbothered, blessed by fate, standing where Han had once dreamed to stand.

His heart twisted not with grief, but resolve.

"I accept."

The moment the words left his mouth, the chamber ruptured in darkness.

It was not shadow. It was release.

Agony surged through him, but it was holy—sacred in its desecration. The beast within, once barely leashed, howled to the surface and found no more chains holding it back.

It flooded his limbs, tore through his meridians like wild lightning. His cultivation core shattered like porcelain—then reformed.

Wider. Wilder.

He screamed.

Not in pain. Not in terror.

In triumph.

In the center stood a colossal dragon pillar, spiraled with ancient carvings of dragons and coiled energy. Its surface shimmered faintly with a hidden power.

Han approached it warily.

The pendant spoke to him in a low, resonant whisper that echoed in his mind: "Rotate the pillar. Unlock the power sealed within."

He obeyed.

He reached out and pushed against the pillar. It shifted with a grinding groan, stone grinding against stone as ancient runes flared to life. The moment it rotated fully into position, a surge of burning energy burst from it, searing both of Han's arms.

Twin dragon-shaped tattoos scorched themselves into his skin, one wrapping down each arm like a living brand of fire.

He fell to his knees, clutching his arms, teeth clenched against the scream that threatened to escape.

The tattoos glowed, humming with energy that fused directly with his Qi core.

The pillar trembled, and the wall behind it split open, revealing a hidden training chamber—dark, vast, alive with a draconic presence. The walls pulsed with heat. A pedestal rose at the far end, bearing a scroll forged from dragonhide.

As Han stepped into the chamber, a sudden heat surged through his veins. The dragon tattoos inked across his arms shimmered to life, igniting with a crimson-gold luminescence that danced along his skin. Their glow spread outward, casting the dark chamber in an otherworldly radiance that pulsed with raw, ancient power.

The flames were not ordinary. They moved with purpose, curling like serpents across his shoulders and down his forearms, until they coalesced into the ghostly image of a great draconic silhouette behind him—wings unfurling, jaws parted in silent roar.

The voice of the pendant stirred again, deeper now, resonant with awe.

"The Dragon Cloak Technique… You have awakened it."

Han's breath caught. He could feel it—his meridians surged with energy that wasn't his own, something older, something primeval.

"The tattoos mark the trials you have endured. Wear them proudly, for few survive the forging of the Dragon Cloak." A pause. Then, with finality: "Your poison is gone. Burned away by dragonfire. Purged from your organs by the very essence of celestial flame."

Han's eyes widened as the truth settled in. The venom that once slithered through his blood like death itself… gone. Scorched away by this newfound strength.

He dropped to one knee, not from weakness, but from reverence.

The chamber no longer felt like stone and shadows. It was alive. The walls shimmered like molten scales. Time lost all meaning.

Day and night became meaningless. The chamber itself fed him illusions of enemies, tests of power. The dragon tattoos flared each time he activated the technique—surrounding his body in a cloak of spectral flame shaped like a winged dragon. His movements grew sharper, his blows heavier, and his body endured more than ever before.

But that was only the beginning.

To wield the Dragon Cloak fully was to balance the beast and the man within.

The pendant's voice spoke to him once again—not aloud, but within his soul:

"Give in to your instincts, Han. Satisfy your thirst for power. Do not waver. Morals are chains. Regret is weakness. You were born for more."

Han listened. And accepted.

The path he had once feared—the demonic path whispered of in righteous halls—was no longer a shadow to avoid.

It was a road he would walk proudly.

Then, he had been a student.

Now, he was the chosen one.

This power was not granted by technique or talent. It was earned through absolute power, through embracing what all cultivators feared.

Unfettered will.

Han did not fear what he was becoming.

He welcomed it.

And when he finally returned to the mortal world, the cave vanishing behind him like a broken dream, he knew something with utter certainty: he would achieve his goals.

No matter the cost.

The pendant pulsed with quiet heat against his chest, its whisper threading through his thoughts like silk and steel.

"Go forth and test your newly gained power. Fulfil your incomplete task!"