Wang Hu moved.

  There was no warning shout, no flourish. One moment he stood sneering, the next his foot slammed into the ground hard enough to crater the soil. His charge was brutal, direct—an avalanche given human shape. Earth Qi wrapped around his fist, compressing until the air screamed. Stone Fist. A technique refined for breaking bones, not trading blows.

  Fast.

  Too fast.

  Mingzhi’s pupils shrank. His body moved before his mind finished screaming.

  He twisted sideways, barely slipping past the first blow. Wang Hu’s stone fist tore through the space where Mingzhi’s chest had been, the shockwave alone ripping Mingzhi’s sleeve to shreds. The displaced air slammed into his ribs and sent him skidding backward.

  “So slow,” Wang Hu laughed. “Is this all the mud rat has?”

  Mingzhi didn’t answer. He couldn’t spare the breath.

  The second strike came lower, sweeping horizontally. Mingzhi dropped, rolling across the dirt as stone grazed his shoulder. Pain exploded down his arm—sharp, electric—but he forced his body up again, boots digging trenches as he retreated.

  "Difficulty rising," the Spirit said sharply. "His output is stable. Yours is not."

  "I noticed," Mingzhi muttered.

  Two dodges.

  The third attack was worse.

  Wang Hu adjusted mid-charge, planting one foot and pivoting with terrifying control. His elbow came down like a falling cliff, Earth Qi compressing until the stone casing screamed under its own density.

  Mingzhi tried to retreat—

  —and felt the air thicken.

  Gravity spiked. His steps dragged, like running through deep water.

  “Spirit!”

  “Pressure spike!” the Spirit snapped. “Move!”

  Mingzhi lunged forward instead of back, slipping inside Wang Hu’s reach by a hair. The elbow smashed into the ground behind him.

  BOOM.

  The earth erupted. Chunks of stone rained down like shrapnel. Mingzhi was thrown forward, tumbling across the forest floor, breath knocked clean out of his lungs.

  Three dodges.

  Each harder than the last.

  Behind Wang Hu, the lackeys had finally recovered from their surprise.

  "Boss! Break his legs first!" Zhou shouted.

  "Yeah! Don’t kill him too fast!" Li added, brandishing his blade.

  Their attention slipped—

  —and Rou moved.

  She didn’t rush blindly.

  The moment Wang Hu charged, the lackeys’ grip loosened—not because they were careless, but because Rou forced them to. Her Water Qi pulsed sharply, slick and cold, coating her arms. She twisted her wrist, snapping her sleeve free and slipping bonelessly from Li’s grasp, then stomped hard on Zhou’s instep. A flash of Water Qi followed—thin, precise. The fabric wrapped around Zhou’s forearm, yanking him forward just as Li lunged.

  Their collision was graceless.

  Zhou stumbled into Li, the blade scraping sparks off stone instead of flesh. Rou stepped in, planted a heel, and shoved Zhou backward into Li again.

  "Idiot!" Li hissed.

  She didn’t linger. She ripped free, ducked under a wild grab, and ran—not blindly, but toward Mingzhi.

  "Ming’er!" she shouted. "I’m free!"

  Mingzhi’s heart dropped.

  “Rou!” he shouted hoarsely. “Don’t come here! Run back to the Sect! You can’t help!”

  She didn’t slow, saw Wang Hu winding up again—felt the killing intent spike—and she made a decision.

  She moved to put herself between them.

  Wang Hu saw her.

  His grin widened.

  “Well, isn’t this perfect?” he sneered. “I kill two birds with one stone.”

  He didn’t change targets.

  Rou grit her teeth and accelerated, eyes sharp, calculating. She darted in—not toward Wang Hu’s center, but at an angle, trying to intercept.

  “Move!” Mingzhi yelled.

  Too late.

  Wang Hu’s stone fist came down, aimed straight through Rou’s path.

  She raised her arms, Water Qi surging instinctively to reinforce her body. She wasn’t trying to win—only to block. Only to buy a heartbeat.

  Something hot and vicious tore loose inside Mingzhi’s chest.

  “No!”

  He grabbed her collar and wrenched her backward with everything he had, spinning as he threw her toward the trees.

  “Run into the forest!” he shouted. “I’ll be right behind you! Trust me—they won’t dare follow us in too deep!”

  Rou flew, hit the ground, rolled—

  —and got up running.

  Wang Hu laughed.

  "You think a few trees scare me?" he roared. "You think beasts care who they eat?"

  His fist was already moving again.

  Too close.

  Too fast.

  "Mingzhi," the Spirit said, tension bleeding into its voice. "If you take that head-on, your left side will collapse. Shoulder dislocation minimum. Internal bleeding likely."

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  “I know,” Mingzhi hissed through clenched teeth.

  At the same time, he slammed his palm out. Earth Qi condensed violently.

  Not wide.

  Not tall.

  Just a slab—no bigger than Wang Hu’s fist.

  But dense.

  Dense enough that the air around it warped.

  The stone fist hit.

  CRACK.

  The impact detonated like a cannon. The condensed earth wall shattered instantly—but it did its job. The force redirected, sliding along the angled surface instead of crushing through Mingzhi’s chest.

  The recoil launched Mingzhi backward like a thrown stone.

  He flew.

  Blood sprayed from his mouth midair. His left shoulder twisted grotesquely, tearing free from its socket with a wet, sickening pop. Internal organs screamed as shock rippled through him.

  Mingzhi hit the ground hard, rolled, and skidded to a stop.

  He didn’t stop moving.

  He staggered up, grabbed Rou, and shoved her toward the trees.

  "Mingzhi!" the Spirit snapped. "Your injuries—"

  "Later."

  Each step was agony, but adrenaline drowned it out. He started running with Rou just as Wang Hu burst through the tree line behind them, roaring with rage. Rou ran beside him, tears streaking back from her eyes.

  “You’re bleeding!” she gasped.

  “I’m fine,” Mingzhi lied. “Concentrate on running.”

  They plunged deeper.

  The lackeys hesitated, glancing nervously at the darkening woods.

  “Boss!” Li screamed. “This is beast territory! We should stop!”

  “Shut up!” Wang Hu bellowed. “Keep up or die here!”

  The forest shifted.

  The trees thickened, trunks wider, bark dark and ridged like armor plates. Roots broke the ground like coiled serpents. The air grew heavy, pressing down on lungs and bones alike.

  Earth Qi.

  Dense. Ancient. Watchful.

  Mingzhi felt it like hands on his shoulders, dragging him down.

  He activated his Perfect Seed fully. Earth Qi flooded his meridians, stabilizing his footing—but the gap showed. Wang Hu was still closing.

  Rou glanced back, panic flashing across her face.

  “We’re heading toward the beasts!” she said. “Won’t they kill us before he catches up?”

  “If we time it right,” Mingzhi panted, “they’ll help us escape from him.”

  A roar split the forest.

  Deep. Vast. Ancient.

  The sound rolled through the trees like thunder through stone.

  The ground shuddered.

  The Spirit went still.

  "A very strong presence has noticed the disturbance. A high-tier Earth beast," the Spirit said grimly. “ Likely the primary predator of this region.”

  Mingzhi’s throat tightened. Tier Two.

  If it focused on him directly, he wouldn’t survive a single breath.

  Rou’s face went pale. “That aura—! It must be a Tier Two beast! Are you sure this will work?!”

  “Not sure,” Mingzhi admitted. “But it’s our only chance. Stay close. Follow my lead.”

  Behind them, Li and Zhou broke.

  “BOSS, IT’S THE BEAST!” Zhou shrieked. “RUN OR WE’RE DEAD!”

  They turned and fled, terror lending speed.

  “Cowards!” Wang Hu laughed—high, unhinged. “What are the odds? Probably some weak thing sniffing around! I’ll crush it too!”

  "And don’t think I don’t know your plan!" he shouted at Mingzhi. "You want me scared! You want me to turn back while you crawl home! I’m not stupid!"

  Mingzhi thought coldly, “Yes. You’re not that stupid. You’re even worse.”

  Another roar answered.

  This one came from the opposite side.

  Closer.

  Heavier.

  The earth trembled harder.

  “ Another one,” the Spirit said. “Second presence detected. Comparable strength. Two territorial apex predators.”

  Mingzhi felt the weight of them — vast, suffocating — but unfocused. Like mountains shifting miles away.

  Rou whispered shakily, “What bad luck…”

  After thinking for a bit, Mingzhi adjusted his path subtly, angling between the two converging auras.

  “Hm, two territorial beasts, one on the right, one on the left.” he murmured. “Our situation got better.”

  “How is it better? Instead of one beast that can kill us with a sneeze,” the Spirit said, “now there are two.”

  Wang Hu finally realized.

  That was the difference between Tier One and Tier Two.

  At this level, strength stopped mattering.

  His grin faltered. His breath hitched. He skidded to a halt, eyes darting as the forest shook around him.

  “…No.”

  Too late.

  From the right, something massive burst through the trees.

  Wang Hu turned to flee—

  —and the world ended.

  A colossal tail smashed into him from the side.

  Wang Hu raised his arms, Earth Qi flaring desperately, but it shattered like glass.

  His arm snapped. Ribs caved. Blood sprayed as he flew, unconscious, launched like a broken doll toward the edge of the woods.

  The beast roared triumphantly. As it was about to chase Wang Hu, another roar cut it off. It turned and lunged towards that direction.

  At Mingzhi’s side, the second beast also arrived.

  It snapped forward, swatting at Rou as one might brush aside an insect.

  She cried out, unleashed a surge of Water Qi, blasting a wave into its face, but it only managed to wash the rheum from its eyes— it barely slowed.

  Mingzhi moved on instinct.

  His palm slammed into the ground— pulling up a wide, thin earth wall—not dense, just tall enough to block vision. He grabbed Rou around the waist, planted one foot against the wall, and pushed.

  Everything he had.

  Qi. Strength. Will.

  A heartbeat late, and they would be paste.

  The force threw them clear. They hit the loam hard, landing on their stomachs.

  The beast tore through the wall like paper a heartbeat later—looked around, but found no trace of them.

  It roared in anger.

  Behind it, the other beast approached. It instantly forgot about the frustration and jumped onto the arriving opponent. They rolled out, wrestling towards the edge of the woods.

  On the other side of the forest, the lackeys hadn’t made it far. Li and Zhou didn’t run with dignity.

  They ran with their tails metaphorically tucked so far between their legs it was a wonder they didn’t trip over them.

  Branches lashed their faces. Roots snagged their feet. Neither dared look back. The forest had turned hostile — not because of enemies, but because something vast had awakened behind them.

  Their breaths came in broken gasps. Lungs burned. Legs screamed.

  “Don’t stop—!” Zhou wheezed, nearly pitching forward. “Don’t—don’t stop—!”

  A thunderous boom rolled through the woods.

  The sound wasn’t a roar.

  It was an impact — deep, concussive, like a mountain slamming into another mountain.

  Both of them stumbled.

  The ground lurched beneath their feet, as if the earth itself had flinched.

  Li skidded to a halt and turned, eyes wide. “W-what was that?”

  Zhou squinted through the trees. “Maybe… a tree fell?”

  “A tree doesn’t sound like that,” Li whispered, then screamed and threw himself behind a tree. “IT’S COMING!”

  Another impact shook the forest.

  Then something flew out of the darkness.

  It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t fast like an arrow.

  It was heavy — an object hurled by something that treated mountains like toys.

  They dove aside as a shadow tore through the space between them and smashed into the ground with a wet, cracking sound. Earth and leaves exploded outward. The impact carved a shallow crater.

  For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

  Then Li crept closer, peering into the pit. “Is… is that a rock?”

  Zhou leaned in. “No, idiot. Rocks don’t wear clothes.”

  They both froze.

  “…Boss?”

  Wang Hu lay in the crater like a discarded corpse. His body was twisted, armor shattered, Earth Qi flickering weakly around him. One arm bent wrong. Blood soaked into the soil beneath his ribs, warm steam rising in the cold, heavy air. His chest rose shallowly, each breath a gurgle.

  Li gagged. “He—he flew… that far?”

  Zhou swallowed hard. “That means… it hit him once.”

  Neither spoke the obvious truth aloud.

  If the beast had wanted him dead, Wang Hu wouldn’t be breathing.

  Panic surged.

  “We—we should run,” Li whispered. “He’s done. We’ll die if we stay.”

  Zhou’s face drained of color. “And if Wang Long finds out we abandoned his brother?”

  Li froze.

  The forest rumbled again.

  Closer.

  “…Treat him,” Zhou said hoarsely. “Now.”

  They worked with shaking hands — crushing pills, forcing them between Wang Hu’s teeth, pressing cloth against bleeding flesh. Earth Qi barely kept his organs from collapsing.

  Wang Hu jerked awake with a choked gasp.

  His eyes burned with fury. “WHERE—”

  “B-Boss!” Li blurted. “You’re alive!”

  Wang Hu tried to move. Pain slammed into him. His face twisted — first in rage.

  “That mud rat—” he snarled.

  Then memory caught up.

  The roar.

  The shadow.

  The moment where his strength meant nothing.

  Rage curdled into something smaller.

  Fear.

  “The… beasts…” he whispered.

  As if answering him, the forest exploded.

  Two titanic forms collided in the distance.

  One rose taller, its body encased in layered stone plates like natural armor, claws hooked and serrated, each step gouging the earth. The other was broader, lower, its tail thick as a siege beam, skin packed dense with compressed soil that gleamed like iron under moonlight.

  They struck without hesitation.

  A tail swept through a stand of ancient trees, pulverizing them into splinters. Claws ripped into stone armor, tearing free chunks of earth-flesh. The ground fractured. Boulders flipped. The forest screamed.

  “MOVE!” Zhou screamed.

  They hauled Wang Hu up and ran — not looking back, not caring where they went, driven only by the certainty that staying meant death.

  Behind them, the beasts fought like natural disasters.

  Stone met claw. Tail met plated hide. Each impact sent tremors rippling outward. Earth Qi surged wildly, tearing roots from the ground and collapsing ravines.

  Blood darkened the soil.

  One beast drove its claws deep into the other’s flank. The second answered with a tail strike that shattered ribs and flung stone fragments like shrapnel.

  With one final earth-shaking crash, both collapsed.

  The forest stilled.

  Dust drifted down through broken branches.

  Silence reclaimed the Titan’s Spine — so complete that, without the scarred land, one might believe nothing had happened at all.