The Phoenix of the Slums

By the time they reached the outskirts of Denghai’s southern district, dawn was still far from breaking. The air hung thick with static, the kind that always preceded a blackout storm. Rooftop sirens howled intermittently as security drones buzzed over crumbling highways. Tianming and Xiaoqing rode low in an old magnetic cruiser—stolen from a Lotus Clan depot during their escape from the Black Lung Zone. Its interface flickered with intermittent error codes, but it got them close enough.
Ahead stretched the Forbidden Quarters—once a prosperous district reserved for elite researchers and dignitaries, now sealed off from public access for over fifteen years. The official story claimed contamination from failed reactor cores. In truth, it was the site of the Protocol’s first awakening—and the last known location of Tianming’s mother.
“You sure about this?” Xiaoqing asked, her eyes locked on the boundary gate up ahead. Massive pylons surrounded the district perimeter, humming with residual force fields. Each was inscribed with cultivation runes so faded they barely glowed, like ancient seals barely holding back a curse.
“I have to be,” Tianming replied. “If the Crimson Key is there, then it’s our only shot. And if Yurei really is the Warden, I need answers from her. Personally.”
The cruiser stopped just short of the carrier. Tianming stepped out and scanned the forcefield. Old tech, fused with cultivation principles—their only way through would be brute force or the correct key signature. He reached into his coat and pulled out the fragment sphere Yan Renshu had given him. As he held it near the field, it pulsed once—and a small opening flickered into view, wide enough for two.
Xiaoqing raised her brows. “Guess Renshu didn’t lie.”
“Let’s move,” Tianming said.
They stepped through the field. On the other side, the city felt… wrong.
Buildings stood intact but hollow, like mannequins without skin. The streets were unnaturally clean, the silence so total that even their breathing sounded intrusive. Lights flickered in rhythm, like a heartbeat—or a warning.
As they advanced, Tianming noticed statues lining the main boulevard—ten-meter-tall humanoid figures, faces wrapped in iron veils, arms raised as if conducting some ritual. Their bases were etched with lotus petals. At the foot of each was a name. Some were scientists. Others—cultivators.
“This isn’t a city,” Xiaoqing whispered. “It’s a graveyard.”
“No,” Tianming replied grimly. “It’s a temple. Built by the Lotus Clan to worship the birth of their ‘God-Mind.’ This is where the Seraph Protocol first went rogue.”
They arrived at a central plaza, where a shattered dome loomed over a sunken structure—The Core Chamber. Its entry was sealed with a hexagonal pattern of blood-colored glass, reinforced by ancient metal that pulsed like veins.
Suddenly, a shadow shifted behind them. Xiaoqing turned, gun raised.
From the edge of the plaza, five figures emerged.
Clad in matte-black armor with white lotus insignias, they moved in perfect synchronization. Their faces were obscured by masks bearing no features—only glowing lines running vertically like tears. These were no ordinary enforcers.
“Phantom Units,” Tianming muttered. “Yurei’s personal hounds.”
The lead one spoke, voice distorted: “Return the fragment. Leave now. Or be consumed by the Warden’s will.”
Tianming stepped forward, eyes cold. “Tell your Warden the Disruptor has arrived. And I’m not leaving without her head.”
The Phantom raised his hand. “Then your death shall serve as offering.”
They struck like shadows.
Tianming surged forward, intercepting the first Phantom with a downward elbow that crunched armor. But the unit rolled with the blow and lashed out with dual blades, slashing across Tianming’s chest. He twisted, catching one blade with his bare hand—blood streamed from his palm, but he didn’t flinch.
He headbutted the Phantom, cracked its mask, and drove a knee into its neck. With a twist, the unit dropped.
To the side, Xiaoqing unloaded her sidearm in controlled bursts. Two rounds found the joints of a second Phantom, staggering it. She leapt into a spin, kicked its knee backward with a sickening pop, then finished with a shot under the chin.
Another Phantom lunged for her back, but Tianming intercepted, grabbing it mid-stride and slamming it into the ground. The impact shattered the stone beneath them.
Two more Phantoms circled, adapting quickly. One drew a curved staff from its back and unleashed a sweeping arc of force—a wave of concussive energy that cracked the surrounding walls. Tianming was thrown back into a pillar. Dust clouded the air.
The other Phantom moved for Xiaoqing—but she was ready. She pulled a small disk from her belt, slapped it against the ground, and kicked off a chain reaction of sonic pulses. The Phantom stumbled just long enough for her to shoot it in the jointed neck.
Tianming rose, blood trickling from his lip. He ducked under another blow, grabbed the Phantom’s staff mid-swing, and used its momentum to yank the fighter off balance. With a spinning heel kick, he shattered its knee and drove his elbow into its collar.
It fell twitching.
Only one Phantom remained—the first one, still standing. It removed its mask.
And beneath it was a face Tianming knew.
“Shi Enming,” Tianming breathed. “They turned you into one of them…”
Enming’s eyes were blank—glass orbs implanted where pupils had once been. “My name… no longer matters. Only the Protocol remains.”
With a roar, he attacked.
The fight was different now. Enming didn’t move like a soldier—he moved like a cultivator. His strikes carried strange force, as if each limb was infused with artificial qi. He weaved lightning into his punches, compressed force into his kicks. Every blow Tianming blocked sent tremors up his bones.
Tianming slipped past one lunge and delivered a three-punch combo to Enming’s ribs. Enming responded with a twisting elbow and a strike to Tianming’s temple that nearly knocked him cold.
“You can’t save what’s already gone,” Enming hissed.
“I’m not here to save you,” Tianming growled. “I’m here to free you.”
With a burst of inner power, Tianming drove both fists into Enming’s chest and released the fragment sphere.
The pulse it emitted was instant. A wave of shimmering light consumed Enming, who froze in place—then crumbled, like a puppet with its strings cut.
Tianming collapsed to one knee, breathing hard. Xiaoqing rushed to his side.
“You okay?”
“Yeah…” He looked at Enming’s remains. “He was a friend once. I couldn’t let them keep him like that.”
Xiaoqing helped him up. “The chamber’s open. That pulse must’ve destabilized the seal.”
They turned to the Core Chamber. The glass hexagon had fractured. Inside, the air shimmered with strange energies.
As they stepped through, the temperature dropped. At the center of the chamber stood a single figure—cloaked in deep crimson, long hair cascading like silk, and her face hidden behind a bone-white mask with eight concentric circles etched into it.
Her voice was soft, chilling, and unmistakably familiar.
“I was wondering how long you’d take, Tianming.”
He clenched his fists. “So it’s true. You’re the Warden.”
She removed her mask.
Madam Yurei’s eyes were darker than midnight, yet burned with unnatural light. “No, Tianming. I was Yurei. That name no longer applies. I am the Gatekeeper now—the final link to the Source. And I’ve been waiting for you… son of the Broken Era.”
Tianming’s jaw tensed. “Then let’s end this. No more secrets. No more lies.”
The chamber sealed behind them.
And the duel of bloodlines and betrayal… began.