"So, I am the Demon."
Mo Long chuckled under his breath, reading the torn piece of paper in his hand. He sat atop a large boulder in the middle of a dense forest, the morning light barely piercing through the thick canopy above.
The paper contained a drawing—a ritual circle identical to the one he had seen when he first awakened inside this new body.
'This technique… summons a powerful demon—one filled with wrath and hatred.' He read the script again slowly. 'Wrath and hatred… yes, that makes sense.'
Mo Long leapt lightly down from the rock. Stretching his arms, he felt the subtle creak of muscle and bone.
'So, the Tao of the Black Heaven technique was meant to summon a vengeful demon, one overflowing with fury… to lend strength to the summoner's body. And that demon… is me.'
A wry smile tugged at his lips. He folded the paper neatly and tucked it into the small cloth pouch tied to his waist.
'Now, there's the matter of the Patriarch. He must've sensed something. I'll need to make him believe me—no matter what it takes.'
But that could wait. What mattered now was this body. He needed to test its limits—to prove it could withstand the weight of his will.
Mo Long inhaled deeply and slowly began to unfasten his robe.
His bare chest and abdomen were carved like stone, every line of muscle honed through hardship. A cool breeze swept through the forest, stirring his long black hair. It was as if even nature itself was testing him.
"All right," he muttered flatly. "Mo Long… let's see how strong this body truly is."
He lowered himself onto the ground, placing both palms firmly against the earth.
His legs straightened upward until his body formed a perfect vertical line.
Then—
He bent his right arm behind his back, balancing entirely on his left hand.
Slowly, his elbow bent, lowering his body until his nose almost brushed the dirt—then he pushed back up again.
He repeated the motion, each descent steady and controlled. The muscles in his shoulders and arms quivered, yet his face remained composed.
"Ninety-seven… ninety-eight… ninety-nine… one hundred!"
He exhaled sharply, finishing the last repetition.
Switching sides, he brought his right hand down and folded his left arm behind his back.
Again, he began the same motion. Sweat poured down his temples, dripping to the forest floor. His lean body gleamed in the light—veins visible beneath taut skin, every movement deliberate and powerful.
At the hundredth push, his strength gave way. He fell backward, lying on the ground, eyes tracing the swaying leaves above.
"Incredible…" he panted, a wide smile spreading across his face. 'This boy compensated for his lack of qi with sheer physical power.'
He sat up, still catching his breath. His gaze drifted toward a tall tree nearby.
With a single light leap, he grabbed onto a thick branch above his head.
His body rose swiftly—chin passing the branch before he lowered himself again, repeating the motion fluidly. His back, shoulders, and arms moved in perfect unison, like a machine forged from muscle and will.
After his hundredth pull-up, Mo Long dropped to the ground with a thud, landing right beside a massive wooden log as tall as his shoulders.
A flash of memory struck him—the old Mo Long, a frail, battered boy forcing himself to lift that same log day after day until his body collapsed.
"You actually lifted this thing?" he muttered in disbelief, shaking his head with a faint grin.
He bent down, gripped the heavy beam, and hoisted it onto his back as if carrying a sack of rice. Step by step, he trudged forward into the forest, deeper into the wilderness. The path sloped upward, and soon the incline turned steep.
Muscles tensed. Sweat poured.
"Damn it… Mo Long… you were a monster!" he gasped, half-laughing through his ragged breath as he pressed on.
At last, he reached the top of the hill—but he didn't stop. Instead, he pushed onward, running downhill at a half-sprint, his balance never faltering.
"HAAAH!"
With a roar, he hurled the log forward. It slammed into the ground with such force that the earth quaked beneath his feet.
Back before the great boulder, Mo Long fell onto the dirt, breathing hard. But instead of wincing in exhaustion, he let out a low chuckle.
"You did all that without qi?" he murmured, his voice amused, almost in awe. "Impossible… you really were a monster, kid."
The forest around him stirred as a gentle wind passed through the bamboo leaves. Their rustling filled the air like whispers of ghosts.
Slowly, his eyes grew distant.
The world around him began to fade—the birdsong vanished, the forest fell silent.
Darkness crept in, swallowing sound and light alike.
Then, before him, appeared the faint silhouette of the younger Mo Long—a boy scarred and bruised, standing still, eyes hollow yet defiant.
Facing him was the tall, composed figure of Guang Lian, his refined features serene and distant.
"You must have been truly desperate," Guang Lian said softly. A gentle smile crossed his lips, his gaze filled with quiet understanding.
The boy said nothing, but his eyes screamed of bitterness—of pain too deep for words.
Guang Lian reached out, resting a hand gently atop the child's head.
"I know that feeling," he said, his voice low, almost tender. "The world is cruel. I've felt that cruelty too. But don't worry… you've given me this body, and I'll make sure every wound of yours is repaid."
The boy's form shimmered, then slowly dissolved into the darkness, carried away by the stillness.
Suddenly—
"So this is where you're hiding?!"
A shout tore through the quiet. The sound of footsteps rustled through the underbrush—several of them, drawing closer fast.
Mo Long's eyes snapped open.
He was back in the forest.
From between the trees emerged six teenage boys, their faces twisted with smug amusement.
Mo Long rose to his feet, his expression calm, almost amused. His eyes gleamed with a predatory sharpness, and a faint smile touched his lips.
"Six of you…" he murmured. "Perfect. A good warm-up."
The six shadows fanned out from between the trees, laughter ringing harshly as they advanced. Their steps were loud and heavy, meant to intimidate.
At the front stood a round-faced boy with narrow, squinting eyes, his expression oozing arrogance.
"Well, look who we have here," sneered the round-faced boy, his tone dripping with mockery. "The loser who supposedly defeated Mo Fei, Mo Shou, and Mo Hu. Hahaha! Don't make me laugh—you must've attacked them while their guard was down!"
His laughter was echoed by the five others behind him, each face twisted with ridicule. None of them realized that the boy they were taunting was no longer the same weakling they once bullied.
"What's the matter, Long? Did you bribe old man Hu Dong to cover for you?" jeered a pale, thin youth holding a pair of short daggers. The others burst out laughing again.
"Face it, Long—you're talentless. You should just leave the clan before you embarrass yourself further," added a tall boy with a face full of pimples, spinning a long wooden staff arrogantly.
"You're crossing the line," Mo Long said quietly, his tone calm but the heat rising in his chest. "Even as children of this clan, you dare speak that way to the Patriarch's son?"
A short-haired boy with a short sword at his waist stepped forward until his face was only a hand's breadth from Mo Long's. "You should know, you're the one shaming your father's name."
The burly boy built like a bear and another youth with scars scattered across his face pulled him back, trying to calm him down.
Mo Long stood upright, his gaze cold and level. Then, a faint, chilling smile curved his lips.
"The ones who should be ashamed are you," he said softly. "Six against one. Cowards through and through. No wonder you'll always live under Mo Fei's shadow."
"You bastard! You think you'll get away with saying that?!" roared the fat boy, his round cheeks trembling with anger.
"Enough talking," Mo Long said, his voice dropping an octave lower, dangerous. "Come on, then. I'll let you taste what Mo Fei, Mo Shou, and Mo Hu felt."
The grin that followed was pure malice—his sharp eyes glinting like a wolf's as it gazed upon a flock of sheep.
His words struck them like a spark on dry oil.
"Kill him!" someone shouted.
The six lunged forward in near unison—blades, staves, and fists wrapped in black qi whistling through the air.
Mo Long moved like a shadow.
He ducked low just as two daggers slashed toward him, kicking up dirt and debris into his attacker's face. The thin youth stumbled back, eyes blinking furiously. In that brief opening, Mo Long swung a dry branch he'd picked up from the ground—
CRACK!
The sound of splintering wood mixed with a scream. The youth collapsed, clutching his broken jaw as the others froze momentarily in shock.
Mo Long wasted no time.
The burly youth roared, his Shadow Qi surging as he drove a massive fist forward. Mo Long sidestepped with the grace of a phantom—
The punch missed and slammed into a nearby tree. The impact split the bark and tore skin from the boy's knuckles. Before he could pull back, Mo Long's elbow shot upward—
THUD!
The blow connected with his chin, sending a spray of blood from his mouth as he crumpled.
A glint of steel flashed from behind. The short-haired boy's blade sliced toward Mo Long's ribs.
But Mo Long twisted low, sweeping his leg in a sharp arc. The attacker's feet were knocked from under him, the sword flying free.
"Blades in the hands of children," Mo Long said coldly, "are nothing but toys."
He kicked the fallen sword aside and turned just in time to face the tall youth swinging his long staff.
The air howled with the strike.
Mo Long raised his broken branch to block—
CRACK!
The branch shattered instantly, but the impact threw the tall boy off balance.
Mo Long seized the end of the staff, twisting sharply. The boy's own momentum carried him forward—
BAM!
He slammed into a tree trunk, the sound echoing through the forest.
The scar-faced youth charged in a frenzy, his hands slashing wildly like a cornered beast.
But the forest floor betrayed him—his foot caught on a thick root, halting his movement for a split second.
That was all Mo Long needed.
He drove his knee forward, burying it deep into the boy's gut.
THUD!
The impact lifted him off his feet. The youth doubled over, coughing violently before collapsing, curling up on the ground as spittle and blood dripped from his lips.
In the span of a few breaths, five of them were down—groaning, faces smeared with dirt and blood.
Only one remained.
The round-faced boy who had mocked him the loudest now stood trembling, his knees knocking together. Sweat drenched his pale skin, fear widening his squinted eyes.
"N-no way… you—you don't even have Shadow Qi!" he stammered, voice cracking.
Mo Long walked toward him slowly, each step deliberate, heavy with menace. His sharp gaze glimmered under the dim forest light, and his lips curved into a thin, merciless smile.
"I don't need Shadow Qi," he said quietly, "to crush a pack of cowards like you."
The boy stumbled backward, tripping over a fallen branch before collapsing onto the ground. His breath came in ragged gasps, eyes wide as Mo Long crouched down, their faces nearly level.
"Go," Mo Long whispered, his tone calm—too calm. "Tell Mo Fei, Mo Shou, and Mo Hu…"
His voice deepened, turning into a cold hiss that made the boy flinch.
"…that the demon they feared has returned."
The boy screamed, scrambling to his feet before bolting through the trees, his cries fading into the distance.
Silence returned.
Mo Long straightened, standing amidst five groaning bodies sprawled in the dirt. His breathing was steady, his expression unreadable—as if the brutal skirmish had been nothing more than a light exercise.
He brushed a hand through his hair, sweeping it back as the wind stirred through the forest.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Mo Long…" he murmured to himself, voice barely above a whisper. "You will never be looked down upon again."
The setting sun broke through the trees, casting streaks of gold over his sweat-streaked face—a fallen angel reborn, standing alone amid the wreckage of his enemies.