Part B – Testing the Phantom
The chamber still reeked of smoke and tension.
The phantom had faded, its towering shadow withdrawn into silence, but Gu Kuangren could feel it — not gone, not dormant, but waiting. It sat inside him like a second heart, heavy and immovable, pulsing in time with his blood. Every beat seemed to remind him that something new now belonged to him. Something vast. Something alive.
He could not sit still.
Kuangren rose to his full height, shoulders rolling, the Seven Kill Sword balanced easily in his hand. His crimson eyes glimmered in the dim light, restless, hungry. The chamber walls pressed too close; the stone seemed fragile. He needed space. He needed movement. He needed to know.
Without a word, he turned and pushed open the iron-banded door.
Zhu Zhuqing followed, silent as a shadow. She said nothing, though every instinct told her she should. She only trailed after him, her feline gait noiseless, her amber eyes never leaving his back.
The night air outside bit cool against their skin, carrying with it the metallic tang of blood that never left the Slaughter City. The streets were nearly empty at this hour, save for the occasional stagger of a drunk or the whisper of a knife in some alley far off.
Kuangren ignored them all. His steps were long, deliberate, his aura barely restrained. He moved through the streets like a storm cloud searching for lightning to strike.
They left the tighter alleys behind, reaching the barren expanse at the city's northern edge. Here, the ground was scarred stone and blackened earth, a place where challengers sometimes fought when they didn't wish the crowds to witness. No torches burned. Only the pale light of the twin moons spilled over the cracked ground.
It was perfect.
Kuangren stopped, planting the Seven Kill Sword point-down into the stone. He looked up at the sky for a long moment, the cold wind whipping strands of his black hair across his face.
"Come," he said at last, voice low. Not to her. Not to anyone around.
But to it.
At first, nothing stirred.
The phantom within him was quiet, coiled. He drew in a long breath, steadying himself, letting his awareness sink into his own body. The sword at his side. The blood in his veins. The core of his being, where martial power burned brightest.
And there — like a hidden chamber behind a wall — he touched it.
The moment he brushed it, it surged outward.
His chest tightened as if gripped by iron. His breath hitched. And then, in a burst, the phantom exploded out of him.
Zhu Zhuqing's claws flexed at once, the fur along her arms standing on end. She'd felt his aura before — sharp, cutting, like standing at the edge of a cliff during a storm. But this?
This was different.
The phantom body reared up behind him again, taller, clearer under the moonlight than it had been in the chamber. It had no face, yet its presence was unbearable — oppressive weight rolling across the clearing, bending the air until it felt heavy enough to crush.
And Kuangren… smiled.
He pulled the Seven Kill Sword free from the stone and slashed once into the open air. The blade whistled sharp, cutting the night.
But then he shifted his stance. He didn't use the sword. He let his hand drop, the blade hanging at his side. Instead, he moved forward barehanded, crimson eyes blazing.
The phantom behind him mirrored the motion.
When Kuangren clenched his fist, the giant clenched its fist. When he stepped, it stepped, each impact shaking dust loose from the cracked ground.
He thrust his hand forward — and the phantom's massive fist drove into the earth ahead.
The ground shuddered. Stone cracked and buckled, fissures spider-webbing outward from the impact. Dust and debris shot into the air in a choking cloud.
Kuangren's heart thundered with exhilaration.
"So that's how it is," he muttered, voice ragged with awe.
He tested it again, moving faster. A kick. A sweep. A strike.
Each one echoed through the phantom, magnified, monstrous. Each blow left scars in the stone ground, craters and fractures that spidered outward with every motion. The air howled under the force of invisible swings, as though his very presence was tearing it apart.
And all the while, his smile widened.
Not manic. Not yet.
But hungry.
Zhu Zhuqing could barely keep her eyes on him. Every strike shook through her body, rattling her bones. Her instincts screamed at her to run — far, fast, now — but her will chained her feet to the earth.
She watched. She had to watch.
She had never seen power like this. Not in any opponent. Not in any teacher. Not in any whispered story told by frightened disciples.
It wasn't just strength. It was the way he relished it. The way he accepted this monstrous thing as though it had been waiting for him all along.
It was as if his body and spirit had always been meant to house more than one soul.
"More," Kuangren growled, his voice echoing with something deeper, as if the phantom itself spoke through him. "Show me more!"
He charged forward, phantom shadowing his every step. He drove a fist into a boulder at the clearing's edge, stone exploding outward in shards that whistled past Zhu Zhuqing's face. He whirled, kicked, punched again, unleashing destruction with every motion.
But then —
His step faltered.
The phantom's arm jerked, misaligned with his own. Its chest heaved as if it were its own beast, struggling against his grip.
Kuangren froze, eyes narrowing, breath heavy.
"You… resist me?" he whispered.
The phantom swelled, looming taller, its shadow pressing down on him as though daring him to falter.
Zhu Zhuqing stepped forward without thinking. "Kuangren!"
His crimson gaze snapped to her, sharp enough to cut. For an instant, she thought he might strike her down just for breaking his focus. But her eyes did not waver.
"You can't let it control you," she said, voice steady despite the trembling in her chest. "It's yours. Make it yours."
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then Kuangren laughed — low, harsh, edged with something primal.
"You think I would do anything else?"
He clenched his fists, dragging the phantom back into alignment. It bucked against him, its massive limbs twitching, the ground cracking under the strain of their clash. His aura roared, colliding with itself, tearing the night in two.
And then — with a final growl — he forced it down.
The phantom shrank, compressed, dissolving back into his body. The oppressive weight lifted. The clearing fell silent save for the slow crumble of shattered stone.
Kuangren stood in the center of it, chest heaving, crimson eyes blazing.
Zhu Zhuqing let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her claws retracted slowly. She stepped closer, her voice quieter now.
"…You could lose yourself to that."
Kuangren turned to her, gaze burning. For a moment, she thought he might deny it, might brush her words aside as weakness.
But instead, he tilted his head back, staring at the moons overhead. His smile returned — faint, sharp.
"If I lose myself," he said softly, "then I will find myself again inside the storm. That is where I belong."
His crimson eyes dropped back to her, piercing, unflinching.
"And if this phantom thinks it can control me… it will learn that I am the one who devours."
The silence stretched long, the two of them alone in the broken clearing.
Zhu Zhuqing studied him — tall, terrible, aura still crackling faintly around him like lightning after a storm.
She shivered, not from cold.
He is no ordinary man, she thought. He is something else entirely.
And yet, she did not turn away.
Far above, the twin moons drifted on, pale and cold, their light falling over the shattered ground where Gu Kuangren had taken his first step into a new kind of power.
The phantom was his now.
But for how long?