Kaelan spreads his wings wide, his cry tearing through the sky as mana surges in his veins.
His feathers blaze with a metallic glow, Ironstone Body hardening him like living steel.
He beats his wings in a frenzy, air screaming as hundreds of Wind Blades erupt in every direction, a storm of invisible knives shredding through the battlefield.
Qi refiners scream as the blades tear their robes, blood spraying, their defensive spells collapsing in the torrent. Martial artists fall from the sky one after another, wounds carved into their flesh.
Before they can recover, Kaelan's beak opens, fire swelling into a sphere. With a snap of his head, the Fire Ball launches like a blazing meteor, slamming into a disciple's shield and detonating with searing heat. The shield shatters, and the man is hurled from his eagle, plummeting to the earth in flames.
Kaelan's talons glow with red runes as he dives, Fire Claw igniting his strike. He rakes across a man's chest, fire exploding on impact, the disciple's scream drowned in the roar of burning flesh.
Again and again, he tears into them, Wind Blades cutting wide, Fire Balls hammering from afar, Fire Claws ripping through the close ones.
Ten minutes of carnage.
Not a single Qi refiner stands unscathed. Martial artists cough blood, writhing on their knees, too weak to fight back.
Only Zhu Mingjin endures, his flying sword flashing silver, each strike cutting through Kaelan's defences, the first layer of Ironstone Body cracking under the pressure.
Kaelan fixes him with a cold, predatory gaze. He slows, wings folding in, no longer wasting strength on the others.
"Finally," he manipulates wind and voices, flames curling at the edges, "a worthy one."
The two clash.
Kaelan holds back, fighting with only sixty per cent of his true strength, yet the air quakes with every exchange.
His Fire Claw burns bright against Zhu Mingjin's sword light, sparks raining across the dome.
His Fire Ball collides with the flying sword, both attacks exploding midair, shockwaves tearing through the sky.
His Wind Blades clash against sword arcs, scattering harmlessly in fragments of air.
The disciples watch in silence, battered and trembling, as the duel rages above them—two predators locked in a storm of steel and fire.
Zhu Mingjin tears the necklace from his neck, the sword-shaped locket trembling in his palm.
He feeds it with his qi, and the trinket erupts in golden light, stretching and reshaping until a gleaming sword hums in his grip.
Without hesitation, he leaps from his eagle, boots striking the earth, and charges, the golden blade dragging streaks of radiance behind it.
Kaelan folds his wings in, then snaps them out like curved swords of black steel, meeting the incoming slash with raw force.
The golden sword slices across his feathers, cutting through his hardened body with ease, and pain explodes across his form as blood spatters.
Again and again the golden arcs land, and though Kaelan blocks with wing and claw, his lack of sword skill betrays him, shallow cuts piling into deep ones, his metallic glow dimming.
Zhu Mingjin's expression is calm, his breathing steady, every strike clean and precise.
But Kaelan endures, eyes blazing, and with each clash, his movements sharpen.
The wild flailing of wings becomes angles.
The clumsy deflections become parries.
The desperate lunges become counterattacks.
The battlefield resounds with the ringing of steel against feathers, sparks leaping each time, and Kaelan's attacks begin to carry the weight of instinct turned into technique.
Zhu Mingjin's face tightens as the advantage slips, each cut landing slower, his certainty eroding as Kaelan grows before his eyes.
At last, Kaelan halts mid-strike, realisation flashing in his gaze—this fight will teach him no more.
He surges in, feathers scraping against the golden blade, and from point-blank range, his beak opens wide.
A Fire Ball erupts, detonating on Zhu Mingjin's chest and blasting him off his feet, body smashing into the earth with a thunderous crack.
Kaelan rises above, wings spread wide, his body burning with wounds, but his voice cold and commanding as he slashes the dome with Fire Claw, the fiery arc ripping through the energy net until it shatters like broken glass.
The sky opens, smoke and light swirling around him as he floats above the injured humans, his shadow blotting the ground.
"Now," his cry bellows, sharp and merciless, "if you want to live, throw down all your valuables."
The disciples exchange frightened glances, trembling hands moving to their belts and pouches.
Zhu Mingjin staggers to his knees, blood running down his chin, his sigh heavy as he lowers his treasures onto the ground—everything except the golden sword clenched tight in his grip.
Kaelan's eyes fix on him, sharp and unyielding. "You don't understand when I said all valuables."
Zhu Mingjin's fingers tighten on the hilt, his voice hoarse but firm. "This is the treasure of my sect. I cannot hand it to you."
Kaelan's gaze narrows, fire glimmering in his pupils. "Then I will kill you and take the sword."
His beak opens, spiritual light gathering within, heat warping the air as a Fire Ball swells at his throat.
A young disciple, his robes torn and bloodied, coughs and cries out, "Uncle, your life is more important."
Others, wounded and pale, echo him, their green cloud insignias marking them all as kin of the same sect.
Zhu Mingjin lowers his head, a storm passing across his face, then heaves a long, weary sigh. With a reluctant cry, he hurls the golden sword onto the heap of treasures.
The sound of it clattering against the other valuables hangs heavy in the silence.
Kaelan lets the Fire Ball die in his beak and sweeps his gaze across the group. "You all can leave."
They hesitate, suspicion warring with relief, then one by one they limp away, supporting each other, glancing back as though the crow demon might strike them down at any step.
Kaelan flicks his wings, and wind gathers, wrapping around the scattered treasures. The valuables rise and swirl together, carrying the golden sword among them, then drift into his waiting talons.
With a single beat of his wings, he vanishes into the night sky.
Later, Zhu Mingjin sits by a small fire with his niece, nephew, and Min Zhentao, their breaths laboured as they tend to wounds. The flames flicker across their worn faces, and the silence between them is broken by one of the disciples whispering, "Uncle, why did the demon not kill us?"
Others murmur the same, their confusion thick, even Min Zhentao staring expectantly at Zhu Mingjin.
It is known: when demons and humans clash, one side lives, the other dies. Yet the crow demon, after an overwhelming victory, let them walk away.
Zhu Mingjin stares into the fire, his brows furrowed, his voice low. "How do I know?"
Far away, Kaelan lands on a cliff edge, the cold wind sweeping past his wings. He lays the gathered items in a pile, and with a brush of mana, the golden sword lifts into his grip.
Turning it in his claws, he studies its gleam, the blade humming faintly as though resisting his touch, and for a moment, the corner of his beak curls in something close to amusement.
He does not spare humans out of kindness. He is not so benevolent as to let live those who sought his death. He let them go because he wanted their seniors to come, bringing with them treasures and knowledge worth seizing.
He is not afraid. They may succeed in destroying this body, but he can always escape and take another.
Around him, the crows gather once more, wings beating and throats cawing, circling the pile of treasure with greedy eyes.
Kaelan ignores them. His attention fixes on the golden sword, more precisely on the strange symbols etched along its blade.
He feels its power press against him, the certainty growing that this sword could pierce his Ironstone Body, that the symbols themselves are the reason.
Tracing them with his spirit, he senses their rhythm, a hidden language pulsing beneath the surface.
The more he studies, the more a realisation takes root. These symbols are not foreign—they echo the markings within a demon's body, though shaped and written in a different style, a human hand attempting to capture the same truth.