Re-birth: The Beginning after the End - Chapter 111

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.

Her memory drifted to him, unbidden. The way she had looked at him—not with fear, but with wary curiosity, as if trying to unravel a mystery she wasn’t sure she wanted to understand. He had felt drawn to her for reasons he couldn’t explain, an odd sense of familiarity wrapped in a warmth he had never known. It was fleeting, fragile—but in that moment, it had been enough to anchor him, to remind him there was something beyond the abyss that called to him in a voice he couldn’t quite place.

A sharp whisper slithered through his mind. She would not look at you the same way if she knew the truth.

His jaw tightened. No. He would not give in.

“Master.”

The voice curled through the darkness like a thread of moonlight. Mian Mian emerged from the shadows, her presence carrying the weight of ancient wisdom and fresh concern.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, though his voice carried that honey-sweet danger. “Just need a moment to remind this power who exactly it’s trying to challenge.”

“Master,” Mian Mian’s voice darkened with warning, “the last time this happened, it took you ten years to suppress it. And now, after touching those distortions, your darkness is stronger. It’s fighting harder than before.”

“Are you suggesting,” Mo Xing exhaled, lips curving into the semblance of a smile despite the strain, “that I might need twenty years this time? How inconvenient. I have other plans.”

“Master,” Mian Mian’s form wavered, her concern deepening. “This isn’t the time for—”

“When is it ever not the time for a bit of dramatic flair?” he interrupted, his tone light, even as his body trembled with exertion. “Besides, I promised a certain little tempest I’d find her once I recovered. It would be quite rude to make her wait a decade, don’t you think?”

“Master, you can barely—”

A sudden wave of darkness lashed through the room. The floorboards groaned under the pressure. The barrier flickered. Even Mian Mian, who had lived in shadows her entire existence, shivered as the void pressed against her essence.

Mo Xing clenched his jaw. This could not continue.

“Mian Mian,” he finally ground out, each syllable weighted with reluctant acceptance. “Bring me the Dark Binding elixir. The one in the black jade box.”

Silence. Then, a flicker of hesitation.

“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?”