—Where Allegiances Twist and Shadows Strike
To stay safe, Shawn had taken refuge in Laozi Palace these past few days.
Every morning, he devoted an hour to meditation—sitting cross-legged, hands over his lower Dantian, focusing on vital acupoints while breathing deep and slow. In silence, he repeated the ten sacred formulas: Yan, Jin, Mi, Pi, Ji, Ba, Ya, Yin, Hua, Ding.
It was the foundational stage of Meta Kung Fu, as taught by Mr. Ranzi.
Though he'd only been at it for three days, he could feel his Thunder Core gradually syncing with his inner energy. The quiet alignment stirred a rare sense of peace—something he hadn't felt in a long while.
Mr. Ranzi had once said, "True power isn't something you force. It flows on its own, like water carving its way through stone."
But what if his power wasn't a gentle stream at all? What if it was a storm—untamed, violent, impossible to steer?
Then—
A sudden shift in the air pulled him out of his thoughts.
Shawn sprang to his feet, eyes sweeping the courtyard.
The morning calm was gone, replaced by a pressure so heavy it seemed the air itself had stirred to unrest.
He saw them.
Figures in black scaled the temple walls, landing in front of him with practiced ease.
At their center stood Dan—cold-eyed, a hint of amusement on his face. "We finally found you, Shawn," he said, voice like steel.
A bolt of dread clenched his chest.
These weren't street thugs.
The O.S.S. was here—again.
A hooded attacker lunged, blade flashing. Shawn twisted away just in time—the knife whistled past his ribs.
A sudden heat rose from his core. His fingers tingled, and faint sparks leapt between them—more instinct than choice.
But before he could react, a burst of energy erupted behind him.
Mr. Ranzi had arrived.
With a single fluid gesture, Ranzi released a wave of invisible force—sending attackers sprawling.
"Go!" he shouted. "You're not ready for this!"
Shawn hesitated—just for a second—then froze as more enemies emerged from the shadows, pouring into Laozi Palace.
Wyrm Guardians sprang from nearby halls. The air buzzed with power.
In seconds, Laozi Palace became a battlefield—steel clashed with energy, shouts echoed, and chaos erupted.
His body tensed on instinct.
This wasn't a raid—it was a calculated assault.
Mr. Ranzi stood firm. His hands moved in sharp, precise patterns as glowing symbols appeared and pulsed in the air.
Shawn recognized it—Meta Kung Fu.
"Shawn! Leave this to me—go, now!" Ranzi's voice cut through the chaos.
Shawn's fists tightened. Every part of him wanted to fight—but he knew he couldn't win this.
Just then, a young Taoist priest hurried to his side and whispered, "This way—there's a hidden path beneath the palace."
With no time to think, Shawn cast one last glance toward Ranzi, then turned and followed.
The passage twisted deep beneath Laozi Palace. Faint carvings lined the walls—ancient symbols half-faded, silent witnesses to long-forgotten times. The priest moved quickly through the dim corridor, his robes brushing stone.
"Where does this lead?" Shawn asked, breath short.
"To the outer mountains," the Taoist priest replied. "Mr. Ranzi knew they'd come. He prepared this way out."
Suddenly, a deep crash echoed behind them. The ground trembled. Dust rained from above.
"They're already in," the Taoist priest muttered, face tightening.
Shawn glanced back—dark shapes slid through cracks in the wall like smoke with intent. Not just following. Hunting.
The tunnel opened into a vast cavern. A narrow stone bridge stretched across a deep chasm, wind whistling through like a cry half-swallowed by time.
On the far side, a figure in blue robes stood motionless.
The Taoist priest froze. "You… You shouldn't be here."
The figure stepped forward, and recognition hit Shawn like a gut punch.
Quinn Blake. Secretary General of Kepra's Meta-Origin Sect.
"You're working with them?" Shawn said, voice low and sharp.
Quinn sighed. "You don't understand. This is bigger than you—or me."
Shawn's hands clenched. "You betrayed the Sect."
"No," Quinn replied calmly. "I'm trying to save it. And you."
Shawn took a cautious step back as Quinn raised one hand—not to attack, but almost as if feeling the air between them.
"I'm not your enemy, Shawn. You carry something powerful inside you. Dormant… but close."
Quinn's voice softened. "Let me guide it. You need control."
A subtle ripple stirred the air. Shawn felt a sudden pressure in his chest—heat, then tension. Like a storm front pressing inward.
Without warning, it ignited.
A bolt of sharp energy shot through his core, blazing outward. Sparks crackled across his fingertips. He gasped, knees buckling for a second.
Quinn stepped back, eyes wide. "…No. This isn't me."
Shawn looked up, breath uneven. "What did you do?"
Quinn didn't answer right away. He stared, stunned, spoke slowly, almost to himself. "I didn't awaken it. It was already alive."
A pulse ran through Shawn's limbs—foreign yet intimate. Raw, vibrant.
He steadied himself. This… was Meta-Kung Fu. He could feel the flow—not imposed from outside, but arising from within. Ranzi's lessons flickered in his mind: When the Core speaks, listen.
Shawn lifted his head slowly. Lightning danced across his knuckles.
Quinn's tone shifted—deeper now, more cautious. "So… it's begun already."
"What is it?" Shawn asked, voice steadier.
Quinn drew a breath. "The Thunder Core has chosen. And you… you're not just a conduit. You're the contingency."
"Then ,tell me what I am."
"I will. But not here." Quinn extended his hand. "Come with me. Before it's too late."
Shawn hesitated, then shook his head. "No."
Quinn's face hardened. You've made your choice."
With a sharp motion, a surge of shadow shot toward him.
Shawn didn't flinch. Lightning erupted, colliding with the darkness midair. Sparks and shadow exploded across the cavern, etching symbols in sudden light. Stone trembled beneath their feet.
But the real tremor was inside Shawn.
Something ancient had awakened—and it wasn't going back to sleep.
And it had only just begun.
He didn't know who to trust.
But one thing was certain.
There was no turning back.
Whatever lay ahead wasn't just danger—it was change.
And ready or not, he was already crossing the line.
And he was standing right at its center.