San Qi's eyes fluttered open, dark pools reflecting the flickering candlelight. The truth settled within him like cold steel: everything he needed was already inside him.
His body—though battered and poisoned—was the perfect foundation. The poison coursing through his veins could become the catalyst. His muscles, weakened but intact, were raw materials waiting to be reforged. And as for innocence—he had that in abundance. No guilt, no stain of betrayal on his soul.
He was both the sacrifice and the savior.
With trembling hands, he traced the ancient symbols his grandfather had taught him, drawing them in the dust on the floor. His voice, barely above a whisper, began to chant the forbidden incantations.
The words tasted like ash and iron on his tongue, but he forced them out, syllable by syllable.
A cold shiver ran through his spine as the black wolf magic stirred within him, ancient and hungry.
His body ached as the poison reacted to the call—burning, twisting, reshaping. The pain was unbearable, but he gritted his teeth.
This was only the beginning.
San Qi's body convulsed as the ritual's dark magic took hold. The first step was agony—his bones began to split, each fracture sending sharp, splintering pain radiating through every limb. A sickening snap echoed in the silent chamber, like the cracking of ancient branches underfoot.
His skin stretched tight as muscles tore and reformed beneath the surface, fibers unraveling only to weave themselves anew—stronger, denser, yet burning like wildfire from within. His joints screamed in protest, grinding against one another as if being reshaped by invisible hands.
Breath caught in his throat, he collapsed to the floor, sweat streaming down his face in rivers of salt and fire.
The second step demanded sacrifice of the flesh—his veins blackened as venomous ichor seeped into his bloodstream, fusing with the poison already inside him. The venom's sting was relentless, coursing through his body in waves of nausea and torment.
His heart pounded wildly, each beat hammering like a ritual drum, driving the magic deeper, forcing his body to bend to its will.
With every excruciating moment, San Qi felt the boundaries of pain blur—his senses sharpening even as his body was torn apart and rebuilt.
The third step was the severing of old ties. Mental torment flared as the ritual demanded he relinquish memories tied to his weakness—fragments of his past shattered like glass, slipping away in agony but leaving space for something new to grow.
His mind burned with visions of betrayal, of loss, of the brother who stole everything, but San Qi clung tightly to one truth: this torment was the price of rebirth.
The final step was the awakening. As the last echoes of pain ebbed, a fierce heat blossomed deep within his core. His eyes snapped open—gleaming with an unnatural light, sharp and wild like the wolf that now ran beneath his skin.
Though broken and battered, San Qi had begun to transcend his flesh.