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The single step Wudi Egun took forward seemed to echo with unnatural weight in the sudden silence that had fallen over the battlefield. All eyes fixed on his unremarkable figure—the plump, ordinary-looking man who had, until this moment, been nothing more than a passive observer to the chaos around him.

Feng Juechen, his massive axe still raised and glowing with ominous red light, was the first to break the silence. His initial confusion quickly transformed into contemptuous amusement.

"What's this? The little mortal wants to play the hero?" He barked a harsh laugh that several of his men echoed nervously, their eyes darting between their leader and the strange newcomer. "Wait your turn, fatty. You'll get your chance to die soon enough."

One of the bandits who had been fighting Tong Xin took a threatening step toward Wudi Egun, his sword leveled at the alchemist's chest. "Go back to your cooking, mortal. This isn't a fight for your kind."

The dismissal was understandable from their perspective. To their spiritual senses, Wudi Egun registered as completely ordinary—no cultivation base, no special abilities, nothing that would mark him as a threat to even the weakest among them. He was, to all appearances, merely a helpless mortal who had somehow wandered into matters far beyond his capability to influence.

Even his own companions appeared concerned by his unexpected intervention. Liang Chen, still on one knee and bleeding from several wounds, shot a worried glance toward Li Meixia. 

His expression clearly communicated his thoughts: Why is your friend interfering? He'll get himself killed!

Liang Nian'er's delicate features showed open concern, while Tong Xin's perfect face betrayed a flicker of something that might have been pity. Driver Mo, ever vigilant, shifted his stance slightly, preparing to intervene if necessary to protect the seemingly vulnerable alchemist.

Only Li Meixia's reaction differed from the others. Though her expression remained composed, there was a subtle tension around her eyes—not fear for Wudi Egun's safety, but something closer to anticipation, as if she alone suspected that what was about to unfold might not match the bandits' expectations.

Wudi Egun acknowledged none of these reactions. His movements remained unhurried and precise as he reached into the black leather pouch at his waist—the same pouch from which he had previously produced his alchemical tools. What he withdrew this time, however, was something altogether different and far more ominous.

It was a skull, small enough to fit comfortably in his palm yet unmistakably not human. The bone was an unnatural shade of ivory that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the moonlight. Most distinctive were the fangs—elongated canines that protruded well beyond what any natural creature should possess, giving it the appearance of some vampiric entity from ancient legends.

He held the skull up for a moment, allowing all present to see it clearly, then simply released it. Instead of falling to the ground as natural law would dictate, the skull remained suspended in the air before him, hovering at approximately the height of his chest. It rotated slowly, as if examining each person in the clearing with its empty eye sockets.

The sight caused a ripple of unease to pass through both the bandits and Wudi Egun's companions. Even Feng Juechen's mocking smile faltered slightly as he stared at the unnatural object.

"What kind of trick is this?" he demanded, his voice carrying less conviction than before.

Wudi Egun finally spoke, his tone conversational despite the tension surrounding him.

 "You chose an unfortunate time to attack us," he remarked, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. "Had you come during daylight hours, I would have been at a significant disadvantage."

He glanced upward at the night sky, where stars glittered between patches of cloud and the moon cast its silver light across the battlefield. "But in darkness... this is my domain."

The statement, delivered without emphasis or dramatic flair, nevertheless sent a chill through those who heard it. There was something in his certainty—a calm assurance that required no boasting or threats to convey its weight.

The bandits exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier confidence visibly eroding. One of them, braver or perhaps more foolish than his companions, stepped forward with his weapon raised. "Enough talk! Whatever tricks you're playing won't save you!"

Wudi Egun did not acknowledge the threat. Instead, he reached once more into his pouch and withdrew a small knife—an ordinary-looking implement that might have been used for cutting herbs or preparing food. With deliberate movements, he drew the blade across his left palm, opening a thin line that immediately welled with blood.

Li Meixia's eyes narrowed at this action, her mind working rapidly behind her composed expression. 

Blood-based techniques were rare in conventional cultivation paths but featured prominently in certain darker methods. Her earlier suspicions about Wudi Egun's intended cultivation path—the Demon Mantra he had spoken of during their conversation in the garden—suddenly seemed far more significant.

Wudi Egun clenched his bleeding hand into a fist and held it above the hovering skull. Blood dripped slowly from between his fingers, each drop falling into the skull's open cranium where it disappeared without a trace, absorbed by some unseen force within the bone.

As the blood fed into the skull, a cold smile spread across Wudi Egun's face—an expression so at odds with his usual measured demeanor that it transformed his ordinary features into something altogether more sinister. 

This was not the polite mask he typically presented to the world but a glimpse of something that lurked beneath—calculating, merciless, and utterly without compassion.

He began to chant in a language none present had heard before—not the formal incantations of conventional cultivation techniques nor the structured formulas of alchemical procedures. The words seemed to slither through the air, each syllable leaving an almost physical sensation of wrongness in its wake.

"Night Spirit Summoning Mantra," Li Meixia whispered to herself, recognition dawning in her eyes. She had read of such techniques in forbidden texts kept in the Li Family's most restricted archives—methods that called upon entities that existed in the boundary between realms, neither fully of this world nor entirely separate from it.

As the chant continued, the atmosphere in the clearing began to change. The darkness between the trees seemed to deepen and thicken, no longer merely the absence of light but something with substance and purpose. 

The air grew heavy, pressing against the skin like cold, wet silk. Even the moonlight appeared to dim, as if reluctant to illuminate what was about to occur.

"What's happening?" one of the bandits cried, his voice high with the first edges of panic. "What is he doing?"

Feng Juechen, for all his brutish appearance, was experienced enough to recognize when a situation had turned against him.

 "Stop him!" he commanded, gesturing frantically toward Wudi Egun. "Kill him before he completes whatever spell he's casting!"

Several bandits rushed forward, weapons raised to strike down the chanting figure. Yet before they could reach him, the final words of the mantra fell from Wudi Egun's lips, and the world around them... changed.

Darkness swept across the clearing like a physical wave, extinguishing what remained of the moonlight and plunging everything into an unnatural blackness that seemed to devour light itself. For a moment, there was nothing but this absolute darkness and the sound of panicked breathing as both bandits and Wudi Egun's companions tried to comprehend what was happening.

Then, gradually, shapes began to form within the darkness—not illuminated by any light source but somehow visible nonetheless, as if the darkness itself had taken form and substance.

The bandits were the first to react, their voices rising in confusion and growing fear.

"What is this? I can't see!"

"Something's moving down there!"

"The ground—look at the ground!"

Beneath their feet, the earth appeared to liquefy, transforming into a roiling sea of shadows from which pale, emaciated hands began to emerge. These spectral appendages reached upward with grasping fingers, stretching toward the bandits with unmistakable hunger.

Above, the night sky tore open like a rotting curtain, revealing glimpses of a realm beyond—a place of twisted geometries and impossible colors where entities moved with a purpose that human minds were not equipped to comprehend. From these tears in reality, figures began to descend—some with the appearance of traditional demons from folklore, others so alien in form that the mind rebelled at attempting to categorize them.

"This isn't possible," Feng Juechen whispered, his earlier bravado completely evaporated as he stared at the horrors manifesting around him. "This can't be real."

But real or not, the entities continued to materialize. Ghostly apparitions drifted between the trees, their translucent forms revealing glimpses of the violent deaths that had transformed them into restless spirits. Demonic creatures crawled from fissures in the earth, their bodies a nightmarish amalgamation of insect, reptile, and human features. Wraith-like beings composed of shadow and malice flowed through the air like living smoke, their passage leaving trails of frost on whatever they touched.

The bandits' reaction was predictable—they attacked. 

Weapons swung through the air, techniques were unleashed, Qi was channeled into desperate defenses. 

But their efforts had no effect on the entities surrounding them. Blades passed harmlessly through ghostly forms, energy techniques dissipated without impact, and defensive barriers proved as substantial as morning mist against the encroaching horrors.

What happened next would haunt the dreams of all who witnessed it for years to come.

The spectral entities didn't just attack the bandits—they invaded them. Shadow-hands grasped weapons from terrified grips, turning the steel against their former wielders with terrible precision. Ghostly tendrils wrapped around throats and limbs, immobilizing their victims for what was to come. Demonic maws opened impossibly wide, revealing endless rows of needle-like teeth that descended toward exposed flesh.

The bandits' screams transformed from battle cries to desperate pleas for mercy.

"Please! Stop this!"

"We surrender! We'll leave!"

"Help us! Someone help!"

But their appeals fell on deaf ears. The entities continued their gruesome work with methodical efficiency. Flesh was torn from bone in bloody strips. Internal organs were extracted through wounds that opened like blooming flowers of gore. 

Skulls were split open, spilling their contents across the forest floor. Eyes were plucked from sockets with delicate precision, held aloft like trophies before being consumed by creatures that seemed composed entirely of hunger.

Through it all, Wudi Egun stood unmoved, his expression one of clinical detachment—like a scholar observing an experiment whose outcome he had already predicted with complete accuracy.

Yet for all the horror unfolding in the clearing, a strange discrepancy was becoming apparent to those who were not the targets of the attack.