Warnings, Oh-Warnings

Zhao Feng stood in the silent chamber, his breath steady but his mind racing.

The golden ember within him still pulsed faintly, but its rhythm had changed. The clash with the mist figure had done something—awakened something deeper. He could feel it now, not just as a source of power, but as an anchor linking him to something vast, something unseen.

The true hunt begins.

The Black Herald's words echoed in his mind. Zhao Feng clenched his fists. He had no doubt now. Whatever force had marked him was watching, and this was only the beginning.

But he had no time for hesitation.

His gaze swept over the ruined chamber, searching for anything he might have missed. The pedestal where the ember had once rested was cracked, the inscriptions around it dulled as though the power within had been drained. But on the far wall, barely visible beneath layers of dust and time-worn stone, was an inscription.

Zhao Feng stepped closer.

The text was old, the script unfamiliar, but as he traced his fingers across the markings, a pulse of energy flickered beneath his touch.

Then—whispers.

Not sound, but something deeper. An imprint left behind, fragments of an ancient warning bleeding into his mind.

The abyss stirs. The marked shall be devoured.

A chill ran down his spine.

The words carried an oppressive weight, not just a warning, but a certainty. Those who carried this mark, those who bore this power—none had escaped.

Zhao Feng narrowed his eyes. He wasn't like those before him. He wouldn't be a passive participant in someone else's game.

He would fight.

Turning away from the inscription, he focused on his next step. He couldn't stay here. If the mist figure had found him, others would follow. And he still didn't fully understand the extent of his own power.

He needed to leave these ruins. And he needed to grow stronger.

But as he moved toward the exit, a faint disturbance in the air stopped him.

A presence. Watching.

Zhao Feng spun, Void Edge forming instinctively in his grasp.

A shadow stood at the chamber's entrance.

Not the mist figure. Not the Black Herald. Something else.

And unlike before, this presence didn't attack.

It simply waited.

Zhao Feng kept his stance firm, Void Edge pulsing in his grip. The shadow in the doorway did not move, did not speak. But its presence was undeniable—a pressure thick enough to feel like the air itself was pushing against him.

His instincts screamed at him to strike first. To cut down whatever stood before him before it had the chance to act.

But something stopped him.

The figure was humanoid, though its form wavered like ink dissolving in water. It wasn't attacking.

Not yet.

"Who are you?" Zhao Feng demanded, his voice steady despite the tension coiling through his muscles.

No response.

Then—movement.

The figure tilted its head slightly, as though examining him. And then, for the first time, it spoke.

"You should not be here."

The voice was wrong. It echoed, layering over itself like multiple whispers speaking in unison.

Zhao Feng's grip tightened. "You're the second person to tell me that in a single day."

The shadow didn't react to his words. "You bear the mark. It will bring ruin."

Zhao Feng narrowed his eyes. "So I've been told. What do you want?"

A pause. Then, finally, the figure stepped forward.

Zhao Feng moved instantly, his Void Edge slashing through the air in a precise arc—only for his blade to pass through the figure like it was cutting mist.

No resistance. No impact.

His pulse quickened. It wasn't an illusion—he could feel the weight of its presence, the energy it radiated. But it wasn't corporeal.

The shadow took another step, the rippling darkness of its form shifting like liquid. "It will consume you."

Zhao Feng forced himself to remain still. "I don't plan on dying so easily."

The figure stopped, just out of arm's reach. It studied him for a long moment before speaking again.

"Then prove it."

A sudden shift—the pressure exploded outward.

Zhao Feng barely had time to react before the chamber blurred around him.

The air cracked as a formless force slammed into his chest, sending him hurtling backward. He twisted mid-air, absorbing the impact as he landed in a crouch, his boots grinding against the stone.

The shadow was gone.

No—not gone. Everywhere.

It was moving too fast, warping through the space around him. One moment at the far end of the chamber, the next right at his side.

Zhao Feng lashed out again, but his Void Edge sliced through nothing.

A whisper, close to his ear. "Not enough."

Something lashed out from the darkness—a tendril of pure force, unseen but undeniably there.

Zhao Feng dodged, but the attack grazed his shoulder, sending a shockwave through his entire arm. It went numb.

His instincts roared. He was fighting something unlike anything he had faced before. It didn't move through space the way normal beings did.

It was shifting between places in a way he couldn't predict.

But he wasn't going to lose.

Gritting his teeth, Zhao Feng focused. His Void Edge vanished, and instead, he gathered the energy into his palm, compressing it. If normal slashes wouldn't work, he had to change his approach.

The air shuddered as another unseen strike came—this time from above.

Zhao Feng spun, thrusting his palm upward.

A sudden, violent detonation.

His compressed Void energy erupted, sending a ripple of raw force through the chamber. The sheer impact forced the shadow back, distorting its form for the first time.

Zhao Feng didn't hesitate. He pushed forward, capitalizing on the opening.

Another attack—a blast of spatial rupture, aimed directly at its core.

The chamber shook as the impact connected.

For the first time, the shadow staggered.

Zhao Feng exhaled sharply. He could hurt it. It wasn't invincible.

But then—laughter.

Low, hollow, amused.

The figure reformed almost instantly, its presence still as suffocating as before. "Better than the others," it murmured.

Zhao Feng's pulse quickened. "Others?"

The figure tilted its head again. "You are not the first to bear the mark."

Something about the way it said those words sent a chill down Zhao Feng's spine.

"And what happened to them?" he asked.

The shadow didn't answer.

Instead, it raised a hand.

A shift in the air—danger.

Zhao Feng reacted instantly, channeling his Qi to its limit.

The attack came as a wave—not a strike, but a pull.

Like gravity itself had shifted.

Zhao Feng's body lurched forward, dragged toward the figure against his will. He fought against it, planting his feet, but the force was overwhelming.

The shadow's voice was softer now, almost gentle. "You are already claimed."

And then, as suddenly as it had begun—the pull stopped.

The figure stepped back.

Zhao Feng stumbled slightly but caught himself, breathing hard. His entire body was still thrumming with tension, every muscle wound tight.

The shadow regarded him in silence. Then, with a final whisper, it spoke once more.

"This was your warning."

And then—it was gone.

Vanished, as though it had never been there.

Zhao Feng remained still, his mind racing. His heartbeat was too loud.

This wasn't just another enemy. This was something deeper. Older.

The mark wasn't just some lingering energy from the ember.

It was a claim. A link to something he still didn't understand.

And now, more than ever—he needed answers.

He exhaled slowly, forcing his body to relax. He had survived.

But the weight of those final words settled over him like a stormcloud.

A warning.

Which meant the real danger…

Hadn't even begun.

The chamber was silent again, but the air still hummed with the remnants of that overwhelming presence. Zhao Feng stood motionless, his breath slow and measured, his mind racing to process what had just transpired.

The shadow had left, but its final words echoed in his head.

"This was your warning."

His fingers flexed around the hilt of Void Edge, the residual numbness in his arm slowly fading. He had fought countless foes—warriors, assassins, and cultivators whose names would shake kingdoms—but this was different. The shadow had been testing him. Amused, even.

And it had let him live.

Zhao Feng hated that.

He had never been one to accept being at another's mercy.

Grinding his teeth, he surveyed the chamber. Whatever power had drawn him here was still active. He could feel it, a pulse in the stone, an undercurrent of something vast and unseen.

His gaze drifted back to the inscriptions on the walls.

Warnings. Records of a forgotten war.

The words etched into the ancient stone burned in his memory.

"We built the seals to contain the Hunger. It will return. It always does."

He exhaled sharply. The Hunger. Was that what the shadow had been referring to? Or something even worse?

His pulse quickened. He needed answers.

And standing around wouldn't give him any.

Shoving his exhaustion aside, Zhao Feng began moving again, following the trail of faint residual energy deeper into the ruins. The chamber ahead was narrow, the ceiling pressing lower, the walls covered in the same eerie runes.

With each step, the pressure in the air shifted.

A presence.

Not like before—this was different. Older. Still.

Zhao Feng slowed his pace, his instincts screaming at him to be ready.

And then—he saw it.

At the end of the corridor, bathed in the dim glow of the ancient inscriptions, a pedestal stood.

And resting upon it—

A shard of pure obsidian.

No. Not just obsidian. Something more.

The moment his eyes locked onto it, he felt an invisible force press against his mind.

Something buried. Something sealed.

His breath hitched.

This was not an ordinary artifact.

Void Edge pulsed in his hand, responding to whatever the shard was radiating. It wasn't just energy. It was consciousness.

Watching.

Waiting.

Testing him.

Zhao Feng stepped closer. He could feel his heartbeat aligning with the pulse within the shard. Each beat, each shift in energy—they matched.

A part of him whispered to stop. To turn back.

But he ignored it.

He had come this far.

Reaching out, his fingers brushed against the shard—

The world shattered.

A wave of darkness erupted from the pedestal, consuming everything.

Zhao Feng's vision blurred, his breath ripped from his lungs as his body was pulled into something vast—something endless.

Pain lanced through his skull.

He wasn't in the ruins anymore.

He was—

Somewhere else.

A void.

The air was thick, suffocating. The ground beneath him was not stone, not earth—but something deeper.

He wasn't alone.

Something loomed ahead.

A shape in the abyss.

Vast. Unfathomable.

Its presence pressed against his mind, and for the first time in years, Zhao Feng felt something close to fear.

And then—

A voice.

Not like the shadow's. Not layered, not amused.

This voice was ancient.

And it spoke with certainty.

"You have touched the edge of the abyss."

The darkness moved.

Zhao Feng tensed, his muscles coiling in preparation for an attack. But there was no strike, no sudden shift in power.

Only the voice.

"The seal has weakened. The Hunger stirs. You have little time."

His jaw tightened. "What are you?"

A pause.

Then, almost curious:

"You do not yet understand."

Zhao Feng's mind burned with a sudden influx of visions—fragments of memories that weren't his.

Cities consumed.

Skies blackened.

Figures falling, screaming, devoured by something unseen.

And through it all, a singular, undeniable presence.

The Hunger.

It wasn't a being.

It was a force.

An inevitability.

The darkness shifted again.

"Your kind always believes it can resist."

Zhao Feng clenched his fists. "You're wrong."

The voice gave no response.

Only silence.

Then, the world lurched again.

The void collapsed inward, pulling him back, dragging him out of whatever realm he had been forced into.

A single final whisper echoed in his mind—

"Survive, if you can."

—

His eyes snapped open.

He was back in the chamber.

His body was drenched in sweat, his breathing ragged. His hand was still outstretched, hovering just above the shard.

But something was different.

The air.

It was wrong.

The pressure had changed.

As though something had been released.

He forced himself to stand, his gaze locking onto the obsidian shard.

It was cracked.

Hairline fractures ran along its surface, faint wisps of black smoke seeping out.

A shiver ran down Zhao Feng's spine.

He had broken something.

Something that had been sealed for a reason.

A distant rumble echoed through the ruins.

Not from within the chamber.

From above.

The mountain was shifting.

Something was waking up.

And Zhao Feng had just set it free.

He exhaled sharply. No time to hesitate. No time to doubt.

He turned on his heel and sprinted for the exit.

But as he ran, one thought lingered in his mind.

"Survive, if you can."

For the first time in a long time—

Zhao Feng wasn't sure if he would.