The old Daoist priest stared at the young man before him, his face a mask of disbelief. He forced a sycophantic grin. "Young Master Jiang, your strength is truly a gift from the heavens. I am… deeply impressed."
"Cut the crap," Jiang Dao's voice was like ice. "What were you just doing?"
The old man's smile froze. "I was searching for the evil spirit, of course."
"Is that right?" Jiang Dao took a step closer, his sheer size eclipsing the torchlight. "Then why did you throw that powder at me?"
The priest, unnerved by the suffocating proximity, stumbled back. "What are you implying, sir? I was trying to protect you. After all I've done for your family, how can you possibly suspect me of—"
"I've always wondered what a real exorcist's methods looked like," Jiang Dao interrupted, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Tonight, you're going to show me."
"You—"
The old man never finished. Jiang Dao's hand moved in a blur, a palm strike as wide as a dinner plate slamming into the priest's chest. The point of impact glowed a venomous crimson, unleashing a shockwave that seemed to ripple the very air.
A wet, sickening crunch echoed in the courtyard.
"Aaargh!"
The priest shrieked, a fountain of blood spraying from his mouth as his body was launched through the air. He crashed in a heap against the far wall, a broken puppet. The clothes on his torso had simply vaporized, shredded by the raw power of the blow. His chest was a concave wreck, a horrifying crater of shattered bone and ruined flesh.
Jiang Dao walked toward him, his heavy footfalls the only sound in the sudden silence. His expression was cold, hard granite. Now that he knew martial arts could destroy these supernatural entities, a charlatan like this priest was not just useless—he was a liability.
And he had just tried to kill him. For that alone, he had to die.
"Damn you," the old man rasped, his voice a venomous hiss. He clawed his way back to his feet, swaying like a broken marionette. His tattered robes revealed a skeletal frame, skin stretched taut over bone with hardly any flesh between. Blood poured from his mouth and nose, and his eyes, wild beneath a mess of tangled hair, burned with pure hatred.
"No one has ever dared to hurt me," he snarled. "You little bastard. I will flay you alive."
To Jiang Dao's surprise, the man seemed almost unbothered by an injury that should have killed him instantly.
"Funny," Jiang Dao rumbled, cracking his knuckles as he advanced. "I was about to say the same thing to you."
The priest wiped a bloody smear from his lips and lunged, a desperate, feral screech tearing from his throat. Jiang Dao met the charge head-on, his own massive fist scything through the air.
The collision was apocalyptic, a boom that shook the flagstones, far more violent than Jiang Dao's clash with the spirit.
CRACK!
The sharp, clean sound of a bone snapping cut through the din. The old man cried out, his emaciated body pinwheeling through the air again. He slammed into the courtyard wall with such force that the entire structure gave way, burying him in a shower of stone and splintered wood.
Jiang Dao slid back three steps, the impact jarring him to the core. He rolled his wrist, his eyes electric. "Is that all you've got? Pathetic. Allow me to put you out of your misery."
"Cough... cough..." Buried in the rubble, the priest hacked up more blood. But this blood wasn't red. It was a thick, blackish ichor that smelled of rot and decay, the blood of something that was no longer truly alive.
A low, unhinged chuckle escaped his lips. "Heh… hehehe… remarkable. Truly remarkable. For a mere mortal to achieve such mastery of the physical arts… It's almost a shame." He pushed the debris off himself and rose, his gaze locking onto Jiang Dao. "Very well, Young Master. You want to see a real exorcist? I'll show you."
He slowly raised a withered hand.
FWOOSH.
A flame erupted in his palm. It was the size of a fist, a sickly, spectral green that seemed to suck the warmth from the air.
Without warning, he flung it. The ball of ghost-fire shot toward Jiang Dao like a cannonball.
A primal alarm screamed in Jiang Dao's mind. Every nerve ending was on fire. This was death. This was oblivion in a ball of green light.
He dodged back, snatching a heavy stone stool and hurling it into the flame's path. The moment the stool made contact, it didn't burn; it simply ceased to exist, vaporized into a puff of fine gray dust. The flame, however, shrank, now no bigger than an egg.
Thinking fast, Jiang Dao grabbed another stool and threw it, then another, and another.
Swish, swish, swish!
Each stone stool vanished into nothingness, and with each one, the ghost-fire dwindled, until finally, with a soft hiss, it winked out of existence.
The priest's face twisted in shock. He coughed up another gout of black blood and immediately turned to run. But Jiang Dao was already moving, grabbing the massive stone table and heaving it through the air as if it were a discus.
"Young Master, wait, we can talk—"
CRUNCH!
The priest's scream was cut short as the table crushed him, sending him flying out of the ruined courtyard and through the wall of the adjacent building.
Jiang Dao became a blur of motion, smashing through the remaining wall and appearing over the priest in an instant. He grabbed a fistful of the man's hair and slammed his head into the wall, again and again, dragging his broken body through the structure until they emerged on the other side in a cascade of splintered wood and crumbling plaster.
"Mercy, Young Master, mercy!" the priest sobbed, blood and terror streaming down his face.
Suddenly, shouts echoed from across the estate. Pang Lin and the other guards came running, weapons drawn. Jiang Dao's father, Jiang Dalong, was right behind them, his face pale with anxiety. They skidded to a halt, their eyes widening in horror at the scene.
"Young Master!" Pang Lin gasped.
"Dao'er…" his father whispered, stunned.
The man before them was barely recognizable as his son. He was a terrifying spectacle of muscle and rage, veins like thick cords coiling over his arms and torso. He held the old priest by the scalp, his fingers dug so deeply into the man's skull that blood flowed freely. With a grunt, he tore him from the wall's wreckage, holding him aloft as if he weighed nothing.
"Father. Master Pang. You're here," Jiang Dao said, turning his head. A grim smile touched his lips. "Just playing a few games with our friend, the Daoist Priest."
"Master Jiang, please, spare my life!" the old man shrieked, his voice a pathetic wail.
Jiang Dalong swallowed hard, his mind reeling. Is this really my son? What in God's name has happened to him?
"Father, take the men and go back," Jiang Dao ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I'll find you when I'm finished here."
"Yes, of course," his father stammered. "Be careful, Dao'er." He quickly ushered the stunned guards away, leaving the two alone in the ruins.
Jiang Dao turned his ice-cold gaze back to the man dangling from his fist. He tightened his grip, making the priest's skull creak. "Give me one good reason," he said, his voice a low, final threat, "why I shouldn't crush your head right now."
"I have one! I have one!" the priest screamed, his eyes wide with the certainty of his own imminent death. "I do!"