Chapter 75 — Divine Fury
A ripple of unrest spread across the academy field—
quiet at first, then sharpening.
“…God. It’s him.”
“He’s—he’s too handsome…”
“I heard he never talks to anyone…”
Whispers fluttered like loose sand in the wind.
Then—
BANG—!!
A window on the east wing of the fifth floor exploded outward.
A heartbeat later, the entire row detonated in sequence—
ka-CHAK—CHAK—CHAK—CHAK—!
as if a colossal fist had punched through the building from end to end.
Shards of glass rained through the morning fog,
each fragment catching a hard, cold gleam—
a storm of glittering razors.
The teaching building shuddered,
groaning like an ancient beast woken from its grave.
?
And then—
BOOOOM—!!!
A tidal wave of divine pressure crashed down from above.
The air thickened instantly.
Breaths froze mid-inhale.
Knees punched into the ground under the crushing weight.
Students gasped—strangled, shallow.
And there he was.
YiChen.
Stepping through the storm of falling glass,
black clothes snapping in the violent swell of his aura—
a dark god descending from a sky that dared not hold him.
In his arms—
Elena Lin.
The so-called “Crystal Maiden” who had cleamsed the hospital of black miasma only two nights ago.
But now—
She looked like a torn magnolia in winter wind.
Her damp hair clung to her cheekbones.
Her lashes quivered beneath half-dried tears.
Blood seeped from the wound at the back of her head,
soaking into YiChen’s fingers—
a dark, spreading bloom across his palm.
His Spirit Force shielded her with ferocious tenderness—
but nothing could hide the bruises,
the scrapes,
the trembling.
Behind him, the dragon emerged.
Shadowfang—fully manifested.
The obsidian serpent uncoiled through the air,
each scale burning with liquid starlight and incandescent wrath—
a storm forged of night and rage.
?
The field fell into absolute silence.
Then—
Students collapsed to their knees.
Not in reverence.
In primal terror.
A girl clamped her hands over her mouth,
stumbling backward as the blood drained from her face.
Two others crumpled entirely—
their skirts spreading into unmistakable, humiliating pools
under the merciless morning sun.
And YiChen—
did not look at them.
Not once.
He held Elena as though she were something fragile and irreplaceable—
something he had almost lost,
something that had torn a raw wound through his chest.
He walked the silent field,
one slow, steady step at a time—
each footfall a sentence passed.
Above him, Shadowfang’s golden eyes swept across the crowd.
And every person caught in that gaze felt something icy
crawl up the base of their spine—
a cold that moved with deliberate cruelty.
It was not a warning.
Not a threat.
It was the gaze of a predator.
A creature pronouncing:
You harmed what is his.
There will be no mercy.
————
City Hall · 9:30 a.m. · Secretary-General’s Office
Morning sunlight filtered through the half-open blinds,
laying fractured bars of gold across the wood-grained desk.
Leo Karanda had just set aside his second cup of black coffee
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and reached for the new budget draft when—
A sharp, urgent knock sliced the quiet in two.
“Enter.”
His young assistant rushed in, face pale,
a comm tablet quivering faintly between his fingers.
“Secretary-General—Radiance Preparatory submitted an emergency report.”
He swallowed hard.
“Captain Caelestis lost control on campus this morning.
He released high-tier divine pressure.
The entire teaching wing shook.”
Leo’s fingers halted above the page.
“…Reason?”
His tone didn’t rise—
but the room’s temperature seemed to drop a degree.
The assistant’s breath stuttered.
“Someone locked Elena Lin in a restroom.
She was found soaked, hypothermic—near-fatal.
According to witnesses—
Captain Caelestis responded with an overwhelming divine-pressure surge.”
A beat.
“No one present could move.”
Thud.
Leo placed his pen down with quiet precision,
closed his eyes,
and pressed two fingers to his brow—
a gesture that might have signaled exhaustion…
or calculation.
Five long seconds passed.
Then, softly, deliberately:
“He reached her immediately?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any collateral injuries?”
“None. His control was… surgical.”
Leo’s eyes opened.
Cold.
Clear.
Winter-sharp.
He rose, smoothing the cuff of his suit jacket.
“Notify the Education Bureau.
Full-scale internal inquiry.”
“All surveillance footage—from every corridor, every floor—
route it directly to my office.”
“Contact Principal Lin.
Tell him I will arrive within ten minutes.”
He stepped to the window.
Morning light climbed over the skyline, burnishing the glass towers—
but none of its warmth touched his expression.
In a voice barely above breath, he murmured:
“He’s finally fallen in love.”
A beat.
His gaze narrowed to a blade’s edge—
calculating the cost, the danger, the inevitability
of a god losing control.
“…which means we are one step away from catastrophe.”
—————
No. 112 Azure Radiance Street
The black sedan glided through the wrought-iron gates of the hilltop estate,
its tires whispering over the gravel like a breath drawn before dawn.
As the car ascended the mist-wreathed slope,
the residence emerged—
a quiet sculpture of glass, stone, and warm timber,
rising through morning fog like a lantern suspended in the clouds.
10:00 a.m.
The vehicle had scarcely halted
when the rear door opened with a muted click.
YiChen stepped out.
His head dipped slightly—
instinctively, protectively—
shielding what he held.
The girl in his arms still did not stir.
Her forehead radiated a faint, troubling heat.
Her breaths came shallow, fragile.
Cold, damp fabric clung to her skin—
the cruel imprint of what she had endured.
YiChen’s arms tightened around her.
She weighed almost nothing.
A small, fever-warm presence curled against his chest—
and when her cheek brushed his collarbone,
a tremor passed through her body,
as if she were a frightened creature seeking shelter in winter.
He spoke no word.
He simply lifted his gaze
to the doors waiting ahead.
Twin oak panels, tall and solemn,
their silver-white inlays circling polished brass handles.
Stone pathways framed by rose bushes heavy with dew,
their petals nodding gently as if greeting the pair.
Morning light caught on every detail—
soft, warm, and witnessing.
The doors opened soundlessly.
Bernard stood there, white-haired and immaculate,
bowing with flawless precision.
“Good morning, sir.”
His voice was steady as a metronome—
precise, respectful, unobtrusive.
The kind of presence that never cracked, never faltered.
“Welcome home.”
YiChen crossed the threshold.
The quiet echo of his first footstep
rolled through the high-ceilinged hall—
subtle, but absolute.
A declaration carved into the stillness:
She is safe now.
She is under my protection.
He carried Elena through the vaulted space
and down the sun-drenched east corridor.
At the far end, light poured through an arched window,
casting a golden halo across his shoulders—
and across the unconscious girl resting against him.
The master suite door stood open.
Fresh linens warmed the air.
A faint mist of herbal oils drifted from a small diffuser.
Every detail had been prepared with the careful grace
reserved only for the most important guest.
Everything was ready.
Everything was waiting.
YiChen lowered her onto the bed—
not simply gently,
but with a reverence that made the moment feel sacred.
When he brushed a damp strand of hair from her temple,
his touch was light enough to be mistaken for breath—
as though the smallest pressure
might shatter her back into the nightmare
he had ripped her away from.
Behind him, a maid spoke softly:
“Sir.
Shall we assist her with a change of clothes?”
A single nod—
silent, precise.
He turned to Bernard.
“Call a doctor.”
Only then—
after the order left his lips—
did he look back at Elena.
One last heartbeat.
One last stolen moment.
Her pale cheeks.
The faint tremor still etched between her brows.
The ghost of pain clinging to her expression.
A tight, quiet surge of rage and guilt twisted beneath his ribs.
Then YiChen turned
and walked out of the room.
————
He walked to a more distant room.
And the moment the bathroom door closed behind him—
YiChen’s knees buckled.
The room lay half buried beneath the earth—quiet, cavernous.
Veins of natural stone curved along the walls,
meeting panels of tempered glass that framed a skylight overhead.
Morning light filtered through mountain mist,
falling in pale, fractured bands across the floor.
His right shoulder throbbed.
The fabric there was still stiff with dried blood—her blood—
a dark stain that tugged whenever he moved.
A small, merciless reminder of how close he had come
to losing her entirely.
And inside his Spirit Meridians—
Faith Force backlash struck again.
Sharp.
Punishing.
Unrelenting.
A thousand red-hot needles drove outward from the core of his being,
each pulse shattering through his ribs,
each wave slicing through channels already bruised from overuse.
He turned the faucet—
all the way.
Cold water exploded over him,
pounding across his shoulders and spine,
a violent roar that drowned the ragged fracture of his breath.
Slash—
He forced open the Lao Gong point in his left palm.
A thick arc of black-crimson blood spilled down his wrist,
hitting the stone with a wet crack.
The poison tore through him like a serrated blade,
dragging agony across every meridian it touched.
“—ghh…!”
His voice broke into the towel clamped between his teeth.
Cold sweat slid from his temples,
mixing with red droplets that fell from his jaw
and spiraled down the drain in thin, dissolving streams.
This backlash—
worse than any before.
Sharper.
Heavier.
Punishing.
Punishing his hesitation.
Punishing the moment he hadn’t reached her.
Punishing the weakness he dared to feel.
Do not fall.
His fist dug into the stone until the skin split along his knuckles,
hand trembling under the rising steam.
She’s still burning with fever.
Still fighting to breathe.
You don’t get to break first.
Even if every bone cracks—
you stand.
Thirty unending minutes passed
before he forced his body upright again.
He braced one hand against the edge of the stone tub.
Water streamed from his hair in long, uneven trails,
each drop tinted a faint, diluted crimson
as it struck the tile.
The chaos in his meridians eased—
barely.
The poison remained, coiled deep like a dormant serpent.
Shadowfang’s voice rose across his Consciousness Sea—
a low, resonant thunder rolling through a storm-dark sky:
“You must purge the toxin twice a day.
Or it will kill you.”
YiChen leaned back against the chilled stone wall.
His eyes finally closed.
He did not answer.
This pain—
this hollowed, gnawing weight inside his veins—
was simply another battle.
One he had long grown used to fighting.
Alone.
