Rain fell in diamond threads, cutting rivers through Azure Sky City's garbage-clogged alleys. The city pulsed with life and danger: beggars bickered over scraps, disciples dashed for morning cultivation, and the scent of cheap oil fires lingered over it all. In Fatty Jin's cramped hovel, two boys huddled against the world.
Shen Zhen awoke to a new stiffness in his limbs, but also an unfamiliar energy, a sense of being both broken and renewed. His battered body was mending faster than reason should allow. The black mark on his hand—so ominous at first—now thrummed with a secret, burning urgency.
He stared at it in the gloom. Pulsing. Changing. The mark was more jagged today, tendrils of blackness crawling up his fingers and wrist. When he pressed his thumb into the center, warmth surged up his arm and pooled beneath his ribs.
He tested it—pinching himself, pushing bruises, prodding wounds. Each touch sent hot prickles of power squirming beneath the skin. Sometimes it soothed, sometimes it stung. Always, it whispered of hidden things.
Jin, wrapped in two torn blankets like an overstuffed dumpling, blinked awake. "Stop poking your hand and boil some water instead! If you explode, make sure you do it outside."
Shen Zhen gave a crooked grin. "Don't worry, Jin. If I explode, you'll just eat the remains."
"Is there meat on demon bones, though?" Jin muttered, rising to rummage for breakfast.
The rain outside carried city sounds—the shouting of hawkers, the distant clang of temple bells, booted footsteps. Today those footsteps were heavy, aggressive: the Azure Sky Sect patrols, hunting rumors after last night's violence.
Shen Zhen rose. Jin shoved a fistful of stale bread his way, then whispered, "Keep your hood up. Heard the city enforcers are offering three coppers a head for 'devil rats.' You show that face, we're both stew."
The humor faded as Shen Zhen stepped outside. He kept to the alley's edge, moving past collapsed doorways and flooded gutters, making his way to a ruined market square.
Ever since news spread of a "devil child" surviving a guards' onslaught, people watched Shen Zhen differently. Some with awe, others with hunger, most with fear. No one offered a challenge outright. Instead, the worst gangs eyed him warily, their leaders mumbling behind closed doors.
But today, as Shen Zhen hunted for food and answers, something else drew his attention.
It was a commotion on one side-street, a tangle of shouting and laughter. A scrawny beggar—barely twelve, face still innocent—was cornered by three beefy older boys wearing makeshift armor, their hands brandishing rusted blades stolen from a rubbish heap.
Shen Zhen stepped between the boys and their prey, eyes cold.
One thug snarled, "Move, cripple! This rat stole from the Iron Bones. If you take his side, you'll die first!"
Shen Zhen's black-marked fist clenched. "Try me."
The world slowed as fists began to fly. He let rage surge—protecting the weak always awakened something dangerous inside him. His motions were rough, almost animal, but there was a force in every block and punch—a golden heat behind every strike.
The first thug's arm broke in two places; the second crumpled with a kick to the stomach. Shen Zhen barely registered his wounds throbbing and sealing over mid-fight. The last boy tried to run, only for Fatty Jin (who'd followed, cheeks wobbling) to trip him expertly.
The crowd that gathered went silent.
"Devil…" someone whispered, awe-struck.
Shen Zhen ignored them, instead approaching the terrified boy. "What's your name?"
The ragged kid hiccupped, "Tie Hu."
"No one will touch you while I breathe," Shen Zhen said simply.
As Tie Hu and others gathered close, awe shining in their hardship-hardened eyes, Fatty Jin sidled up. "You're assembling a zoo! Next time bring a girl—better for morale."
Shen Zhen barked a laugh, startling himself with the sound. "If I did, she'd probably run off with you instead."
Jin puffed up his chest. "My hands are soft, my yams are hot, and my wit is dazzling. How can a girl resist?"
The crowd dispersed slowly, but not without reverence. The defeated thugs limped away.
Jin nudged Zhen slyly. "Word will spread. Heroes, gangs—whoever you want on your side, they'll come."
Shen Zhen shook his head but felt a pull of pride. Maybe this was how brotherhood began: not from glory or power, but from standing between the world and those it trampled.
By afternoon, Fatty Jin's hovel could barely contain the laughter and chatter. Tie Hu, the rescued boy, insisted on helping sweep and begged to stay. Two more ragged kids joined after dusk, drawn by tales of protection and hope.
As twilight smeared blue shadows over the city, a new figure appeared in the doorway—a girl, her face proud but hands trembling with hunger. She tossed her tangled hair and eyed Shen Zhen as if he were a puzzle she was determined to solve.
"Devil Emperor, right?" she said, voice clear. "They say you fight for those who can't. Prove it."
Fatty Jin squealed, "Zhen! The harem rumors have begun—protect your virtue!"
Laughter erupted. For the first time, Zhen blushed, embarrassed and bewildered by his sudden charm—and the way the girl's gaze lingered, interest mingling with challenge.
But he only nodded. "What's your name?"
She hesitated, then said, "Ling Yue."
"You want to fight—fight at my side. Not my feet."
She smiled, and for a heartbeat, Shen Zhen's heart beat stronger, pulsing alongside the black mark spidering up his arm.
That night, the shack rang with stories and schemes. Fatty Jin boasted of future days—"The Legion of Jade Wolves! You'll see, Zhen, we'll be more famous than sect elders!" The younger boys practiced basic punching, laughing at each other's mistakes. Ling Yue beat Tie Hu in a mock duel, then crowed that she'd train the boys properly or die trying.
Zhen experimented late into the night, tracing the black mark, willing it to obey. The power always danced just out of reach, responding strongest when anger or protectiveness burned hottest. He realized the mark was no mere ornament—it devoured pain, devoured fear, and in crisis, healed and hardened him.
But its hunger was wrong, wild—something that could as easily consume him as save him if he lost control. Thinking of men who mocked his parents, he shivered: the rage inside him, that "reverse scale," could make him a devil as much as a savior.
It would be a long, hard road.
But as rain faded and dawn crept in, Shen Zhen felt the stir of hope. For the first time, he was no longer starving, nor truly alone.
He had brothers. He had a cause. And beneath his skin, power was rising—biding its time for the world to come.