Ren Lin ran.

  Not away from the horde—toward something only she could seem to see.

  The ground beneath her boots was warm and spongy, the air was filled with a metallic, thick, and earthy smell. Behind her the Scarlet Mother's rage bubbled up in wet, furious chirps that shook the air like distant thunder. Champions chased in a riot; claws tearing whatever part of the ground they touched.

  Feiyun Xing matched her stride, sword already drawn, face pale but eyes hard. The sister's whispers had quieted, but the hollow ache remained. He couldn’t afford to let it slow him.

  Wei Gu kept pace without effort, red robe fluttering like a banner. “Left!” he shouted. “Veer left—there's a ridge!”

  Ren Lin ignored him. Straight. Only straight.

  One champion lunged. Feiyun Xing spun, blade flashing. Head separated from neck in a spray of blood that hissed on the ground. Another took its place. Wei Gu flicked a finger; an invisible force punched through its chest. Mid-stride it hurled back to the other beasts, hitting a few.

  Her lungs burned, each inhale tasting of iron and rot. Ren Lin’s ankles hurt from all the traveling, but the plan’s final step waited ahead.

  The further they came, the more the beasts fell back.

  One by one they dropped off, heading back to their territory, until only a stubborn knot of champions remained filled with rage—five. Then four. Then three.

  Behind Ren Lin, the two men moved like executioners, slaughtering the remaining spawn.

  Ahead, the spongy ground gave way to cracked stone. A low ridge rose, and in its shadow yawned the mouth of a cave—narrow, black, exhaling faint cold air that tasted clean after the island’s rot. Frost rimed the entrance like pale lace. Ren Lin slowed at last, boots scraping on rock. She stopped just inside the threshold, shoulders heaving, spear planted like an anchor.

  Feiyun Xing caught up first, sword still drawn, scanning the darkness. “Ren Lin—what the hell was that?”

  Wei Gu arrived a heartbeat later. His red robe settled around him without a crease of strain. He studied her face, then the cave mouth, then her again. Something flickered in his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or the first quiet stir of suspicion.

  “Why straight?” he asked softly. “Why did you ignore my directions?”

  Ren Lin wiped sweat from her brow as she steadied her breath.

  “I got scared. The earth trembled from the sheer number of monsters chasing us. My whole view dimmed to only the path ahead. I just wanted to flee. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you in my moment of fear.” She lied without hesitation.

  Wei Gu regarded her for a long moment. Then he nodded once—small, measured. “Bold,” he said. “Still, it worked.”

  He stepped past her into the cave without another word.

  Ren Lin and Feiyun Xing exchanged a glance—his questioning, hers mirroring his. Then they moved along.

  The passage sloped gently downward. The air grew colder with each step, the spongy warmth of Kuang Dao replaced by dry, biting chill. A damp decaying smell infiltrated their noses.

  Ten paces in, Wei Gu stopped.

  Feiyun Xing’s stomach clenched.

  There, slumped against the far wall in a shallow alcove, lay a skeleton. Small, delicate bones still partially clothed in the tattered remnants of silk—white and gold embroidery faded to ash-gray, but unmistakable. A single ring gleamed on the bony finger of the right hand: identical to the one Wei Gu wore, same jade, same engravings, and the same red gem.

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  Wei Gu did not move.

  He simply stood, robe pooling around his boots, staring at the remains as though the cave had taken his entire past and slowly disintegrated it before his eyes.

  Ren Lin watched the scene unfold.

  Feiyun Xing drew in a sharp breath but said nothing.

  For a long time no one spoke.

  Then Wei Gu’s knees dropped beside the skeleton. Tears flooded his cheeks as he whispered through cries: “I found you...”

  He gripped the skeleton’s hand and curled into a ball.

  His throat felt as if it had been tied in a tight knot. Yet he still apologized over a thousand times. For more than 20 years he had searched for her. And now, his wife’s remains were in front of him.

  How many times had he wished to be insane? How much of a burden was it to be sane?

  His cries tore through the cave.

  Ren Lin and Feiyun Xing left him alone, they couldn’t stand such a sight. Letting him cry as much as he needed.

  They sat on a stone in silence, having a chat every now and then until the sky turned dark.

  The cave turned silent. Steps echoed through until Wei Gu stood before them. His eyes were red and his cheeks a bit wet. But his posture brimmed with anger.

  “I will return soon, you should build a shelter and head to sleep,” he said with a ghostly voice.

  “Where will you go?” Feiyun Xing asked.

  “Naturally to avenge my wife.”

  His red robe caught the wind, flickering like flames, but his steps were silent, deliberate. The calm before the storm. Twenty years of searching, of holding back tears, of clinging to sanity like a frayed thread—now it snapped.

  As the night grew darker he walked straight toward the colossal mountain of flesh and stone. The Scarlet Mother loomed ahead, her pale skin glowing with an inner luminescence, veins pulsing violet and crimson. Her breathing came in wet, labored heaves, each exhale sending mist curling across the clearing like venomous fog. The silhouettes of her children gathered at her base dozens or hundreds perhaps. Champions. Snacks. One born to defend the other to be devoured.

  He emerged from the bushes and trees. His radiance of essence made him an immediate threat. All their eyes were on him.

  Not one bit of effort to hide, he got closer, wiping tears from his face one last time.

  The first wave charged. Not beasts of simple form, but abominations twisted from the Mother's womb: mixtures of nightmare and nature, real and myth woven into killing machines. A lion's body with mantis claws on his back, its mane a nest of writhing snakes. Beside it loped a bull-scorpion hybrid, tusks curving like scimitars, tail ending in a scorpion's sting that dripped venom capable of melting stone. Further back, a boar-gorilla, its lower body nothing but two stumpy legs, upper torso swollen with massive arms.

  They came in a riot of roars, hisses, and unearthly shrieks. The ground trembled under their assault; the air thickened with the stench of rot and fury.

  Wei Gu did not flinch. His essence surged—not the subtle blasts from before, but torrents. From his palms emerged a huge invisible ball of energy, hitting the lion-mantis mid-leap. The creature exploded in a shower of scales and blood. The bull-scorpion charged next; Wei Gu sidestepped with impossible grace, his robe a red blur. He drove his fist into its flank—essence infusing the blow like a hammer from the heavens. Ribs shattered inward; the beast bellowed, sting whipping forward. Wei Gu caught the tail mid-strike, yanked, and twisted. The scorpion appendage tore free with a wet rip, venom spraying against the boar-gorilla dissolving its skin, muscles, and then bones.

  The boar-gorilla howled as its flesh sloughed away in steaming sheets, collapsing into a bubbling ruin. Wei Gu released the severed tail; it flinched once more before falling still.

  The horde faltered—only for a heartbeat. Then the Scarlet Mother answered.

  A deep, bubbling roar rolled from her mouth, shaking the clearing like an earthquake. Ordering the twisted amalgamations born in rage to charge: serpent-headed wolves with wings of stretched flesh, centipede-bees humming through the air, an alligator with a rat’s head and many more.

  Wei Gu lifted both hands. Essence coiling around him like living flames. His red robe shined brightly as if it embodied his rage.

  Then he stepped forward.

  The night became slaughter.

  Waves crashed against him. Essence blades—thin, invisible, sliced through everything, heads, tails, and wings in sprays of red. A serpent-wolf leaped; he caught its throat mid-air, crushed it, and hurled the corpse into the next rank like a battering ram. The alligator-rat swung its tail; he jumped, drove an elbow into its head—rupturing its organs in a wet pop with essence.

  Hours blurred. Centipede-bees dove; he swatted them mid-air, essence detonating its carapace in a wet burst of chitin and venom. Every champion fell within seconds.

  Near dawn, only she remained.

  Wei Gu climbed her trembling skin, boots sinking into warm flesh. Hidden creatures lunged at him; he silenced them with fingers of light.

  When he stood on top of her his whole massacre was on full display. The morning sun displayed all those corpses below him. Shining on the mother’s ugly skin.

  Her face was like a snail’s mixed with a human baby’s. Utterly disgusting.

  “This island took what made my life special. Today I will take what makes this island special!” He shouted from his lungs, as he was drenched in blood.

  With his last reserves of his essence raised his hand and performed a slow, mesmerizing chop downward.

  The snail-baby-like head split in two as her last wails escaped her slimy lips.

  Below the pinkish sky, below the clouds; dozens of corpses lay—or what remained of them.

  To Wei Gu, the clearing below was no massacre. It was a canvas painted with revenge.