The darkness of the cellar became Zhang Bao's new world. Time lost meaning, measured only by the gnawing hunger in his gut and the cold of the earthen floor seeping into his bones. Yet, beneath his primal needs, a new obsession grew: understanding the ash within him.
The words of the old man, Xun, echoed constantly in his head. Ash-forged. Filthy. Unstable. Condense it.
He sat cross-legged in the darkest corner, trying to replicate the sensation he'd felt when the energy had mended his wound. He concentrated on the turbid swirl in his chest, forcing it to move, to shape it with his will. The result was always the same: a hard, alien resistance. The energy moved like heavy sludge, refusing to be shaped, wanting only to overflow and destroy. A few times, he nearly forced it out, and his fingertips emitted the putrid mist that left him nauseous and dizzy, a foul, metallic taste on his tongue. It wasn't power; it was a leak. A poison seeping out.
Frustration smoldered within him, hotter than the cold energy itself. He punched the earthen floor, his skin splitting, but the pain felt dulled, as if muffled by the layer of power he despised.
One afternoon, a low growl and the scrape of metal on stone shattered his silence. It came from above. From the world.
Cautiously, Zhang Bao approached the iron grate that served as a vent and his only source of light. He peered out.
A creature prowled among the rubble. It was a Gloom-Hound, a large dog distorted by the leaked offering energy. Its fur, once probably brown, was now a sickly grey and bald in patches, revealing unnaturally pulsating muscle beneath. Its eyes glowed with a dull red light, and from its perpetually open maw, black drool dripped, sizzling against the ground it touched. It was one of the byproducts of the ritual, a creature born from the same chaos that now haunted him.
The carcass of a rat, part of Zhang Bao's meager diet, lay not far away. The Gloom-Hound sniffed it, then devoured it in one quick snap of its jaws.
Then, its mutated nose sniffed the air. Its head turned slowly, and its red gaze fixed directly on the vent where Zhang Bao hid. It growled, deeper, hungrier. It had scented something more appealing than a dead rat. It had scented the ash.
With a powerful kick, it began to claw and bite at the rusty iron bars covering the hole.
Zhang Bao scrambled back, his heart pounding. This wasn't a city patrol he could avoid. This was a direct, primal, and hungry threat. Escape was not an option; this cellar was a trap.
The iron grate groaned, and one of the bars began to bend.
Panic flooded Zhang Bao. But beneath the panic, his frozen rage ignited. Even a beast wanted to devour him. Like rubbish.
The grate gave way with a metallic screech. The Gloom-Hound howled in triumph and leaped down, landing with a savage snarl in the cramped cellar. The stench of rot and vile energy filled the small space.
Zhang Bao retreated until his back hit the wall. There was no way out. The beast advanced, its black drool spattering the floor.
Panic. Then, cold acceptance.
He would not die here. Not like this.
He mustered all his will, not to shape, but to pull. He drew all the swirling ash-energy within him, forcing it to gather in his arm, into his hand. It felt like pumping frozen sludge through his veins, agonizingly slow. His hand trembled violently, and the skin on his arm grew pale and discolored, the black marble pattern spreading momentarily.
The Gloom-Hound lunged.
Zhang Bao screamed—a scream of rage and desperation—and threw his hand forward, not in a punch, but in a raw push of everything he had.
A burst of thick, grey mist, denser and darker than ever before, exploded from his palm. It was formless, uncontrolled, like smoke compacted by brute force.
It hit the Gloom-Hound square in the chest.
The effect was immediate and horrifying. The fur and skin where it struck instantly withered and blackened, as if centuries of decay happened in an instant. Its ribs audibly cracked. The creature howled, not a snarl of anger, but a pure, terrible scream of pain. It collapsed, thrashing on the floor, the affected part of its body continuing to rot and crumble like朽木 (rotted wood).
Zhang Bao staggered, dizzy and nauseous. His entire arm went numb, feeling heavy and foreign. He watched the creature die, the process slow and agonizing. His power had worked, but it was not a victory. It was a clumsy slaughter.
He stood there, panting, staring at his handiwork. His stomach turned. Was this what he wanted? The power to inflict suffering like this?
Suddenly, the sound of slow, deliberate clapping echoed from the broken vent above.
Zhang Bao's head snapped up, his guard instantly raised.
A man stood above, peering down. He wasn't wearing Order robes. His clothes were simple, practical, and slightly worn. His face was shadowed, but Zhang Bao could make out a thin smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"A messy shot," the man said, his voice raspy but holding a note of amusement. "But effective. Not many can take down a Gloom-Hound, even a small one, with one blow. Dirty, but potent."
"Who are you?" Zhang Bao growled, raising his still-numb hand, ready for another attack, though his body felt drained.
"Easy, youngster. I'm not with that Order." The man dropped down lightly, landing without a sound. He glanced around the cellar, then his eyes settled on Zhang Bao. His sharp gaze took in the marbled pattern on Zhang Bao's arm, then moved to the still-twitching corpse of the Gloom-Hound. "They call it Ash-forged, don't they? Trash power. The runoff of their slaughter."
"You know?" Zhang Bao asked, still wary.
"I know how they operate. And I know what happens to those accidentally contaminated by it." The man took a step closer, but not in a threatening way. His movements were like a hunter's, cautious and measured. "Most go mad. Or die. Their bodies break down from the inside. A few... endure. Like you."
He stopped a few paces from Zhang Bao. "They will be looking for you, you know. Your energy trail is like a beacon to those who can sense it. What you just did... it was like lighting a bonfire in the night."
Zhang Bao was silent. He knew the man spoke the truth. The sense of impending danger he'd felt before would surely return, stronger.
"So what?" Zhang Bao finally asked. "What do you want?"
The man smirked. "I'm curious to see if this ash can be forged into something more than a faulty killing tool. My name is Lao Jian. And you, youngster, are a very interesting accident."
Lao Jian glanced toward the broken grate. "We need to leave this place. They are already on their way. You want to live? You want revenge? Follow me. Or stay here, and gift yourself to the Order as their newest experiment."
He didn't wait for an answer. Lao Jian turned and began to climb out of the cellar.
Zhang Bao hesitated for a moment. His eyes moved from the beast's corpse, to his damaged arm, then to the retreating back of the strange man.
This could be a trap. But what was the alternative? Death or becoming a lab rat.
With a grunt, he followed, forcing his aching, exhausted body to move. He climbed out into the gloomy daylight, leaving his first hiding place behind.
His journey was still long. But now, he wasn't alone. He had a mysterious man who claimed he could forge the ash. And a purpose: to become more than just an accident.