Re-birth: The Beginning after the End

Chapter 111 DARK ENERGY

Moonlight poured through the latticed windows of Mo Xing's bedroom, silver and cold, painting intricate shadows that slithered across the floor like spirits bound in an unholy dance. The air was heavy, thick with something unseen yet palpable, pressing against the walls like a silent observer.

Mo Xing sat unmoving, his posture disciplined, but within, a war raged. His eyes were closed, his breath measured, yet the tremor in his fingers betrayed the battle unfolding beneath his skin. Sweat slicked his brow, each bead trembling before rolling down his temple. His teeth dug into his lower lip, until the taste of iron bloomed against his tongue.

The darkness within him, the one he had caged for centuries with sheer will, stirred like a beast sniffing the air after a long slumber. It had been awakened—recognized—by the temporal distortions at the Void Temple.

It was not merely power; it was something deeper, older. Something even the heavens did not remember. And yet, it had remembered him.

It clawed at the edges of his mind, writhing like living ink beneath his skin, tendrils reaching, whispering, begging to be freed. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palm, but the shadows only coiled tighter around his soul, exultant.

A memory surfaced—Frozen Peak Realm, three hundred years ago.

It had been the first time the darkness had truly broken free. He had been cultivating in solitude when the first flickers of it bled through his control. A power he had never called upon, never wielded. It was not his usual darkness, sharp and disciplined. No—this was something else.

It had whispered to him in a language older than time, filling his veins with a rage that was not his own. His vision had blurred, his pulse a frantic drum, and then—

He had watched, as if from behind glass, as high-tier spirit beasts strayed too close. Their howls had filled the air for only a breath before the void devoured them whole. Their powerful bodies, resilient enough to challenge immortal cultivators, had collapsed into dust. Their spiritual cores had shattered like fragile porcelain.

The hunger had been insatiable. The destruction had been effortless.

And that was when Mian Mian had found him—standing amidst the ruins of what had once been living creatures, his breath ragged, his eyes void of recognition. He had not been afraid of the devastation around him. No, the true terror had been realizing how good it had felt.

That day, he had sworn—no matter the cost, this power would never be unleashed again.

But now, it was awake once more. And it would not be caged so easily.

A pulse of darkness rippled through his body, and the protective barrier around his room shuddered. Outside, Mo Tao's pacing increased, his anxiety so thick that Mo Xing could sense it even through the layers of shielding. His friend was probably sending their servants into hysterics, frantically preparing spiritual medicines as if sheer quantity could contain the abyss clawing at Mo Xing's core.

Then, there was Little Tempest.

"Master... those elixirs were for absolute emergencies. The side effects—"

"—are preferable to letting this power loose." His tone was final, though sweat still beaded on his skin.

Mian Mian hesitated a moment longer before vanishing into the shadows. When she returned, the black jade box sat before him, its surface cold as death itself.

Mo Xing wasted no time. With a steady hand—or perhaps the illusion of steadiness—he uncapped the box and retrieved not one, but two of the dark elixirs.

"Master!" Mian Mian's shadows recoiled in alarm. "One is already dangerous enough—"

But he had already swallowed both.

The moment the elixirs slid down his throat, his meridians ignited. Liquid fire tore through his body, an exorcism by force, a brutal re-chaining of the beast within.

The darkness screamed.

His fingers curled into the ground, the pain searing, but he welcomed it. Invited it.

For there was something worse than pain.

The thought of never seeing his little tempest again.

His breath came in short, ragged bursts, his body wracked with tremors. Yet his lips still curved into that familiar, reckless smile—the one that always made Mian Mian nervous.

"Sometimes," he murmured through clenched teeth, "the fastest path isn't the safest one."

The elixirs' power surged through him, forcing the ancient darkness back into its cage, though not without a fight.

"But then again," he exhaled, as the last vestiges of agony burned through him, "when have I ever chosen the safe path?"