# Chapter 1 - The Fall
The koi drifted lazily through the lotus pond, their orange and white scales catching the afternoon sunlight like scattered coins. I tossed another handful of feed into the water and watched them surge forward in a graceful frenzy.
"Gentle, Jun," Mom laughed, her voice like wind chimes. "They're not going anywhere."
I was ten years old, paint still staining my fingernails from the morning spent helping Father inspect the factory's latest batch. My hands were already calloused from years of martial arts training under Master Li Ming, but they were still a child's hands—small, eager, innocent.
That innocence died four minutes later.
"Jun, get in the car. NOW!"
Father's voice shattered the peaceful afternoon like breaking glass. I looked up from the pond to see him sprinting toward us, fifty guards materializing from their hidden positions around our estate. Their usual calm had evaporated, replaced by the sharp, efficient movements of men who knew death was coming.
The armored Land Cruiser's engine roared to life.
"What's happening?" Mom's voice trembled as we dove into the bulletproof vehicle, her gentle laughter forgotten.
"The Claw." Father's whisper turned her face white.
Even at ten, that name carried weight. It lived in the spaces between Father's words during his late-night phone calls, in the way Master Li Ming pushed my training harder each month, in the reason our home had become a fortress.
Our family had grown rich manufacturing vanta black—the illegal kind, darker than anything the government labs could produce. That wealth had bought us power, influence, and safety.
It had also painted a target on our backs.
Our fifteen-car convoy screamed through the winding mountain roads toward the hidden factory in the Xishuangbanna rainforest. Behind us, orange flowers of flame bloomed against the sky—our home, our guards, our old life burning away like paper.
"Six of them," Father muttered into his radio, watching the destruction through the rear window. "Just six, and they've already—"
The helicopter pad materialized through the trees ahead. Safety. Escape. I felt my chest loosen for the first time since we'd left the pond.
Then the wind inside our sealed vehicle shifted.
Something moved past Mother—faster than sight, quieter than thought. Time crystallized into a single, impossible moment. Father's eyes went wide with recognition. His lips formed one word:
"*Fēngshàn.*"
Mother collapsed.
Blood seeped between her fingers as she pressed them to her throat, her eyes finding mine one last time. She tried to smile, tried to mouth something—maybe "I love you"—but only crimson bubbles escaped her lips.
"No, no, NO!" Ten guards threw themselves between us and whatever had killed her, and Father grabbed my arm with hands that had never shaken before—not even when facing down rival syndicates or government raids.
We ran. Behind us, our protectors' screams cut short one by one, each death marked by a wet sound and sudden silence.
Father dragged me behind a concrete barrier—fifty tons of reinforced steel and stone. His breath came in ragged gasps. "When I tell you to run," he whispered, "you run straight to the factory. Don't look back. Don't stop. Promise me."
But I couldn't promise. Because Master Li Ming had always said Father was the most gifted fighter he'd ever trained. If Father couldn't win...
The concrete barrier began to rise.
A mountain of a man lifted fifty tons like it weighed nothing, massive butcher knives glinting at his belt. Behind him stood five others, and I understood why Father's hands were shaking.
These weren't just killers. They were legends. Nightmares given flesh.
Their leader stepped forward, claws extending from his fingertips like liquid metal. "*Mo Lang,*" he announced himself. Demon Wolf. His smile revealed teeth filed to points.
"*Li Wei.*" The fortress who'd lifted our shelter. Mighty. Each muscle looked carved from stone.
"*Fēngshàn.*" Wind Fan. Mother's blood still painted her razor-sharp fans crimson. She moved like air given deadly purpose.
"*Jiànyä.*" Elegant Sword. Beautiful enough to be a model, graceful enough to dance through a battlefield.
"*Niúrén.*" Bull Blade. The giant, silent and patient as an avalanche.
"*Kěnshī.*" Resolute Lion. His eyes held the cold calculation of a predator who'd never known defeat.
The Claw's inner circle. Six assassins who'd toppled governments and dismantled criminal empires across three continents.
"Run," Father said.
But I couldn't move. Because Father was already in motion, his telescoping staff extending mid-strike, moving with the fluid grace Master Li Ming had taught us both. The weapon connected with Mo Lang's jaw with a satisfying crack—
Blood exploded from Father's back. Fēngshàn had moved again, appearing behind him like smoke. Her fan dripped.
What happened next wasn't a fight. It was an execution.
They passed him between them like a broken toy. Mo Lang's heel drove into his ribs with a sound like snapping branches. Niúrén's fist caved in his shoulder. Kěnshī's twin blades opened precise wounds that bled but didn't kill—not yet. Jiànyä's sword traced delicate patterns across his chest. Li Wei's crushing blow shattered something that made Father scream.
Each strike was calculated. Methodical. Designed to cause maximum pain while keeping him conscious.
Mo Lang saved the killing blow for himself. His claws punched through Father's chest and emerged holding something red and still beating.
Father's lips moved one final time: "Run."
Now I ran.
Terror gave my ten-year-old legs inhuman speed as I sprinted through the factory corridors. Behind me, kunai blades whistled past my head, embedding themselves in concrete walls. Niúrén and Jiànyä pursued me like wolves, their footsteps an approaching drumbeat of death.
I followed training that had become instinct—dodge left, roll right, keep moving. Master Li Ming's voice echoed in my memory: *"Speed is life, Jun. When you stop, you die."*
Niúrén landed in front of me with earthquake force. The impact launched me backward, kunai blades tearing free from my back in sprays of blood.
I flew through the air, already dying, and crashed into the heart of our operation—
Vanta black.
The experimental paint swallowed me whole. I sank into darkness deeper than the space between stars, feeling the world above me disappear as consciousness fled.
The explosion that followed shook the mountains.
When the flames finally died and rescue teams searched the rubble three days later, they found no trace of the Wei family's youngest son.
Jun was gone.
But something else was about to be born.