The night had teeth.
Lucien felt them grazing his skin as he moved through the gnarled forest, the wounds from Yue Xi's ritual still fresh, half-healed by chaotic energy. Each breath tasted of iron and wet leaves. His muscles ached, not from fatigue, but from expansion—his body adjusting to power it was never meant to hold.
The forest whispered.
He heard it behind him first: a slip of Qi, a faint displacement of air. Then the silence that followed. The kind of silence that hunted. Lucien's lips curved.
They'd found him.
He didn't break stride. Instead, he veered toward a hollow in the cliffside, letting the shadows eat him whole.
Moments later, five figures burst through the underbrush, clad in black robes embroidered with silver skulls—Nightbone Assassins, trained hounds of the Tribunal. Their blades glowed faintly green, dripping poison meant to paralyze both flesh and spirit.
"He's close," one hissed.
Lucien waited until they passed. Then he exhaled—and moved.
A flicker.
A scream.
By the time the last assassin turned, he was already alone. Blood dripped from a tree branch. Below it, Lucien crouched, hand wrapped around the final attacker's throat.
"Too slow," he murmured, and crushed the man's windpipe.
The corpse slumped. Lucien stood, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off raindrops. His aura flared—not as a beacon, but as a warning.
That's when she appeared.
She leaned against a crooked tree, arms crossed beneath her chest, watching him with eyes the color of fresh ink.
"Elegant," she said. "Even when drenched in filth."
Lucien turned, calm. "You've been following me."
"I prefer 'observing.'"
She stepped forward. Her robe—dark purple silk, slitted high to the thigh—shifted like smoke. Her aura was murky, rich with forbidden Qi. A ma cultivator. Dangerous. Beautiful. Possibly lethal.
"Name?"
She smiled. "Does it matter?"
Lucien didn't blink. "To the dead? No."
Her laughter was soft and feminine—yet threaded with something sharp. "You've just killed a squad of Nightbone. Tribunal hounds will be on you in hours. You'll need power. Rest. Protection."
"I'll manage."
"Will you?" She leaned closer. "The energy inside you is unstable. I can smell it. You're brimming with stolen Yin. You'll rupture before dawn."
Lucien said nothing.
She stepped into the moonlight, revealing a face both regal and vicious. "I am Mei Lin. Of the Crimson Lotus Sect. And I offer you this—"
She raised her hand. A jade token glowed between her fingers.
"Shelter. A chance to absorb your power in peace."
He tilted his head. "And what do you want in return?"
Her eyes gleamed. "A pact. One night. One rite. I give you stability, you give me… taste."
Lucien studied her. "Song tu."
"Not quite." She smiled slowly. "What I propose is… deeper."
They found an old shrine beneath the roots of an ancient tree. Candlelight flickered on the carved stone walls, illuminating symbols of an extinct bloodline cult. Mei Lin spread incense with a flick of her sleeve. The air turned heavy.
Lucien knelt across from her.
"The rite draws on intent," she said. "If you fear me, it will break you. If you dominate me, you might survive."
Lucien licked the blood from his lip. "I don't break."
She smiled and let her robe slide from her shoulders.
Their hands met in the center. Qi flared.
It began.
Their bodies joined not in passion, but in battle.
Mei Lin's energy struck like barbed silk, wrapping around his meridians, testing, seeking control. Lucien responded with furnace-born fire, driving into her with waves of scorching Yang.
She moaned—not from pleasure, but from the pressure of keeping up. Her body arched, glowing with clashing energies. Every thrust was a contest. Every gasp a dare.
Lucien pressed deeper, not just into her body, but her soulscape. There, he saw flickers—her past victims, the men who'd tried to conquer her and failed. They screamed in silence.
He didn't falter.
He devoured them.
Her walls cracked.
With a roar, Lucien grabbed her throat—not to choke, but to anchor. His other hand wrapped around her waist, dragging her against him. Flesh met flesh in punishing rhythm. The shrine pulsed.
She bit his shoulder, drawing blood, channeling a forbidden seal.
He welcomed it.
And turned it.
The seal shattered, reversing into her body like a spike of molten pleasure. Mei Lin cried out, legs locking around him. Her climax wasn't physical—it was spiritual. A fracture of soul.
Lucien drank it.
Power surged through him, wild and euphoric. The chaotic Yin inside him twisted, found harmony, and ignited. The Ninefold Furnace stabilized.
He opened his eyes.
Mei Lin lay beneath him, panting, eyes wide with disbelief—and awe.
"You…" she whispered. "You turned my trap into fuel."
Lucien kissed her throat.
"No," he murmured. "I turned you into mine."
Dawn came crimson.
Lucien stepped from the shrine reborn. Stronger. Clearer. More dangerous.
Behind him, Mei Lin sat in the lotus position, recovering—her lips curled in something close to worship.
The forest was still.
But far in the distance, horns sounded.
The Tribunal was coming.
Lucien smiled.
"Let them."