Ascendant in the Shadows

The qi vortices within Liang's body roared to life. Extending two fingers like a sword, he channeled an immense surge of spiritual energy to his fingertips, striking the boy's cracked, desiccated forehead like a dried riverbed.

In an instant, a fierce wind howled through the room, a cacophony of cries and roars filled with endless rage and malice. A dense, roiling black mist spilled from the boy's mouth, writhing and undulating with malevolent intent.

Before the mist could escape through the door, Liang's left hand formed an intricate, twisted mudra, while his right hand reversed its grip on the carving knife and plunged it into the bed, pinning the mist in place.

As the dark mist let out a bone-chilling wail, Liang's eyes blazed with fury. He bellowed, "Demon-Slaying Technique of the Celestial Fiend!"

Qi surged from his vortices, coursing through his veins and bulging muscles, traveling down his arm to the knife. The stainless steel blade glowed with an eerie, ghastly green light that enveloped the mist, inexorably compressing and containing it.

This Celestial Fiend's Demon-Slaying Technique was said to be a forbidden art created by an ancient, malevolent spirit during the primordial age. It absorbed residual dark energies and corrupted qi from the land to strengthen the practitioner's body and soul. Once unleashed, the area within a ten-mile radius would become a wasteland devoid of life. Decades would pass before the land could recover.

This ruthless, merciless technique had its advantages. By harvesting lingering resentful energies from mass graves or ancient battlefields, one could achieve rapid growth in spiritual energy—a stark contrast to the slow and arduous progress of meditative cultivation.

Liang had stumbled upon this powerful yet sinister method during his past life, after defeating a demonic overlord. A pragmatic cultivator by nature, he saw no reason to adhere rigidly to orthodoxy. Especially before reaching the Foundation Establishment stage, where external qi manipulation was limited, the Celestial Fiend's Demon-Slaying Technique was an efficient solution for dealing with vengeful spirits.

The green glow scorched the spirit, filling the room with an acrid, burnt odor. The boy exhaled the last wisps of dark mist and collapsed into an exhausted slumber.

"Please, no! I beg you!"

A distorted, fear-laden voice echoed from within the black mist. Yet Liang's face remained impassive, devoid of pity. With cold precision, he continued extracting the yin energy from the spirit as if pulling strands of thread.

The mist visibly shrank, and the spirit's desperate pleas turned to venomous curses, spewing foul words laced with malice.

"I curse you, exorcist! You will descend into the deepest pits of hell, scalded by molten rock and burned by sulfur's flames. Screaming demons will tear at your flesh with iron claws and cast you into eternal darkness. Oh, I see your fate, exorcist—the gates of hell are already open for you!"

Liang raised an eyebrow, momentarily pausing his actions. "Exorcist? You mentioned others like me. Are there more of us?"

Since regaining the memories of his past life, Liang had encountered only one other extraordinary individual: Batman. The thought of others with supernatural abilities piqued his curiosity.

The spirit fell silent, fixing him with a cold, mocking gaze.

Liang rubbed his chin thoughtfully and turned to the trembling couple huddled in the corner. "Have you consulted any other exorcists before me?"

The man stammered, "Y-yes. Two weeks ago, a man claiming to be an exorcist came to our door. After examining Ben's condition, he said he needed a week to prepare the ritual. But he never returned."

"What did he look like?"

The man thought for a moment. "Short blonde hair, around his thirties, looked disheveled and worn."

"Oh, and he wore a tan trench coat," the woman added. "Judging by his accent, he sounded British. He didn't give us his name, but I caught a glimpse of his driver's license while he was looking for his lighter. It said John Constantine."

"Constantine..." Liang nodded, filing the name away for later. Turning back to the spirit, he asked, "Anything else to say? A final farewell to this world?"

"Spare me your platitudes. I'll be waiting for you in hell, exorcist."

"I figured as much."

Liang sidestepped a glob of black mist spat at him, formed another mudra, and coldly resumed the Demon-Slaying Technique.

Whirling winds filled the cramped bedroom as the last remnants of the spirit's qi were stripped away. The carving knife acted as a conduit, channeling the dark energy into Liang's arm.

The spirit didn't even have the chance to dissipate or descend into the afterlife. It was entirely consumed by the Celestial Fiend's Demon-Slaying Technique, its essence refined into pure, untainted spiritual energy within Liang's mindscape.

Liang let out a burp, exhaling a cloud of corrosive mist—a byproduct of the spirit's negative energy. "A spirit lingering after a fire for over a decade, and it barely yielded a hundred points of spiritual energy," he muttered.

For all their terrifying reputations, such spirits were mostly paper tigers, incapable of harming healthy, strong-willed individuals. Horror movies always featured vulnerable characters for a reason. Swap in an action hero like Schwarzenegger or Jason Statham, and the film would turn into a brawl instead of a scare-fest.

In America, where geomancy and feng shui were practically nonexistent and urbanization dominated, there were no natural environments to cultivate high-level malevolent spirits.

This fire spirit was the strongest he had encountered during his time as a freelance exorcist, and even its yield brought him only to 800 of the 1,000 points needed for Foundation Establishment.

"I doubt there's anything stronger in all of Gotham," Liang lamented, shaking his head. "This technique is powerful but unsustainable. To truly break through, I'll need slow, consistent effort."

The boy stirred, his eyes clear and bright once more. His golden hair regained its luster, and he called weakly for his parents.

The couple, overcome with joy, rushed to the bed, knocking over debris in their path. They embraced their son tightly, tears streaming freely down their faces.

Liang exhaled deeply, slid the carving knife back into his sleeve, and quietly exited the room.