The Roots of the Black Storm
Three days after the fire consumed the village of Yanlu, winds carrying the ashes of the dead swept through the Liangzhou forest, carrying with them the scent of burnt flesh and charred wood. The barren trees, stripped of their leaves by the distant flames, stood like ghosts with outstretched arms toward an unforgiving gray sky.
In a hidden cave beneath a frozen waterfall—far from the eyes of both men and beasts—Lang Xian knelt before the lifeless body of the child he had failed to save. His blood- and ash-stained hands trembled as he wrapped the small corpse in a black cloak adorned with the sigils of the nomadic Qiang tribe. The four wolves, bearing minor wounds from their escape, lay silently around him, their golden eyes tracking his every move as if they understood that something inside him had... broken.
-
Suddenly, a whisper emerged from the darkness—a soft, silk-like voice, yet burdened with centuries of sorrow:
"Why do you weep, my little wolf? Have you not learned that tears are for the weak?"
Lang Xian turned swiftly, his bone sword in hand, but all he saw was a long shadow flickering against the cave wall. The shadow twisted and shifted, taking the form of his mother—dead for ten years—yet her eyes were as lifeless as extinguished embers.
Lang Xian: (his voice hoarse, like the rustling of burnt autumn leaves)
"You... are not her."
The Shadow: (laughing with a mechanical chill that sent shivers down his spine)
"Correct. I am the voice of all you have killed... and all you will kill. I am the echo of your choices... I am Helaiyon."
Before he could respond, the cave wall cracked open, revealing a dark tunnel reeking of decay and ancient blood. The wolves howled in terror, but Lang Xian, driven by an unexplainable instinct, stepped forward, grabbing an oil lamp that barely flickered in the gloom.
-
After hours of navigating the underground labyrinth, he arrived at a massive circular chamber carved into the rock. The walls were adorned with carvings centuries old, depicting horrifying rituals—children being slaughtered, villages burned to the ground, bodies hanging from trees made of bone.
At the center of the chamber stood a black volcanic stone altar, upon which rested a statue of a six-armed woman, each hand clutching a severed human head. At the statue's feet lay a leather-bound scroll, inscribed in an ominous, blood-red script.
As Lang Xian read, his blood ran cold:
1. The Cult of Helaiyon was not a mere myth—it was a secret order that had shaped the fate of empires for centuries, sustaining itself through the sacrifice of "pure souls" (children from bloodlines of power).
2. His family's massacre was not a political conspiracy but a calculated act—the Lian bloodline was the last known vessel capable of awakening the goddess.
3. The masked knight was not just an assassin—he was the High Priest of the cult, a descendant of the Zhou family, which had ruled from the shadows since the Warring States era.
-
Upon returning to the cave, Lang Xian found an unexpected guest waiting—the masked knight, seated on a rock by the entrance, a goblet of crimson wine in his hand. The wolves had been chained with black iron shackles, which emitted an eerie hissing sound, as though enchanted.
The Masked Knight: (his voice distorted, like crashing waves)
"Welcome back, stray wolf… Do you enjoy riddles? Here's one for you: What is the thing that kills all who seek it, but grants life to those who flee from it?"
Lang Xian: (slowly drawing a dagger from his cloak)
"Vengeance."
The Knight: (chuckling like distant thunder)
"Wrong. The answer is truth. But you won't live long enough to understand it."
Before Lang Xian could react, the knight tossed the goblet to the ground, igniting a mysterious blue flame that formed a burning veil between them. By the time the fire died down, the knight had vanished—leaving behind a small wooden box.
Inside, Lang Xian found a silver pendant bearing the Lian family crest, stained with dried blood... his mother's pendant.
-
In the weeks that followed, Lang Xian abandoned his reckless thirst for revenge and transformed himself into something far more dangerous—a master of the black arts.
1. Deciphering the Scroll: He learned ancient spells that allowed him to control predatory beasts and even summon the spirits of the dead for brief moments.
2. Reforging the Wolves: Using hallucinogenic herbs from the scroll, he turned them into creatures that were part-wolf, part-mythical beast, their eyes glowing in the dark and their fangs sharp enough to pierce steel.
3. Building a Secret Army: By recruiting outcasts from nearby villages—thieves, escaped slaves, and lepers—he promised them limitless power in exchange for absolute loyalty.
-
On the night of the full moon, while performing a ritual to invoke Helaiyon's spirit, the scroll demanded a sacrifice—"an innocent soul bound to the wolf."
The white she-wolf, Bai, was the only one among them who had never tasted blood. As he bound her to the stone altar, she gazed at him with unwavering trust… as if she still saw the boy who had once cradled her in the cold.
Lang Xian: (his hands shaking over the ritual dagger)
"I can find another way… I—"
Helaiyon's Voice: (emerging from the scroll, like the rustling of a thousand wings)
"Weakness will destroy you… Will you not avenge your mother?"
As the blade plunged downward, Bai's final cry shattered what little remained of his humanity. Her silver blood spilled over the altar, and the ground split open—revealing a chasm leading to the demon realm.
-
By dawn, the transformation was complete. Lang Xian's once-gray eyes had turned black as coal, and a blood-red sigil of Helaiyon was etched into his forehead.
The remaining wolves—Hei, Qin, and Yun—had grown three times their original size, their bodies now bearing leathery wings like those of ancient dragons.
In the distance, the emperor's army approached the forest, led by General Liu Mao, a man who had once been a friend of Lang Xian's slain father. But the boy they sought no longer existed—only vengeance incarnate remained.
He ordered his wolves to strike the vanguard, while he slipped into the royal tents. Finding the general asleep, he whispered into his ear:
"Tell the emperor that Helaiyon is hungry… and that her wolves will feast on his throne, bone by bone."
-
As the army retreated in terror, Lang Xian returned to his cave. Before the newly built statue of Helaiyon—crafted from the bones of his enemies—he finally understood the cost:
His heart no longer beat; it had turned into a blackened stone.
His mother's shadow still appeared before him every night… but now, it remained eerily silent.
Even his wolves only dared approach him when commanded.
Yet in the darkest corner of the cave, where he had hidden his mother's pendant, something strange happened—it began to glow with a faint golden light… a light that did not come from fire or blood.