Its fra was powerfully built, draped in sinewy muscles that rippled with each subtle movent. Its skin was dark, almost obsidian in shade, and matted with coarse, brown-grey hair that ran along its back and shoulders.
Its arms were particularly massive, long and thick like pillars of living steel, ending in claws capable of shredding tal. It walked with a hunched stance, but that did not make it any less nacing. Its head... a feral, unmistakable wolf’s head. Eyes glowing an eerie yellow, sharp fangs drenched in fresh blood, and a maw that moved with a hunger untouched by reason.
WEREWOLF!
Yes, a werewolf—but not the kind whispered in Earth’s myths.
This was the real thing. A lycan—an evolved predator from the world of Qi. It had gained humanoid form, the dream of all lower beast mutants of this world, and in doing so, had beco a being of carnage.
The beast was crouched over what could only be described as a mangled corpse, ferociously and ravenously tearing raw, bloodied flesh from bone. It tore into the at without rcy, snarling low as it chewed, the sound of crunching bones echoing in the silence of the forest. Blood splattered onto the roots below, soaking into the black soil like ink into parchnt.
It was enjoying the taste. The way its jaws moved, the deep sound it made... this was pure indulgence.
But then, suddenly, sothing changed.
A vortex appeared a few ters away, swirling violently. It radiated strange energy and was accompanied by a vacuum-like force that began sucking in the Qi around it.
Not just Earth’s soul energy—this very world’s Qi was being drawn toward the vortex.
The werewolf froze mid-bite. Its jaw slackened.
The bloody flesh slipped from its grip and fell to the ground with a wet splatter. It had lost all interest in the at.
With slow, deliberate steps, the beast moved toward the portal. Its nose twitched, nostrils flaring as it sniffed deeply at the air.
"This slls like... humans."
Its voice was a strange, deep, gravelly sound. Bestial and intelligent at once, spoken through a throat not made for speech. It crackled like a broken chain, echoing low through the trees.
Its yellow eyes glowed brighter in the dark. Bloodlust rolled off its fra in thick waves. It stared at the vortex with a look of dark fascination.
Despite the suction wind howling around it, the beast remained unmoved. Its thick, muscular legs stayed rooted firmly to the ground, resisting the pull with terrifying ease.
This wasn’t just any werewolf.
This one... was sothing greater.
Its intelligence was not to be underestimated.
These werewolves—called Lycans in the world of Cultivation—were terrifying. Unlike lesser beasts, they had evolved far beyond their origins. While most mutant beasts sought power through magic or Qi, Lycans developed their bodies to their limits. They were feral and relentless. Highly arrogant. Ruthless.
And dangerous.
Unlike Orcs who could wield weapons, Lycans were still beasts in mind. Despite having humanoid forms, they relied purely on their body—claws, teeth, brute strength. No weapons. Little techniques. Just raw, primal destruction.
This one... was over three hundred years old. It had already destroyed five worlds. And in its mind, this one would be no different.
The beast licked its bloodstained maw, its thick, flappy red tongue moving slowly over its lips as it spoke again with a snarl.
"Grrr... How long has it been since I tasted human blood?"
AWOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!
The werewolf howled into the night sky with excitent.
It was a sound of hunger.
A sound of coming death.
After its howl faded into the mist, the beast stared at the vortex again, the glint in its eyes turning cold.
"I will go inform my Lycan King. I have been gone for too long. I hope with this news... he won’t punish ."
And with that, the beast leaped.
It bent its massive hind legs, coiling its muscles like springs, and then exploded into the air like a missile shot from the earth.
Up and up—higher and higher—until its form vanished into the distant clouds, becoming a re dot, and then... gone. No Qi was used. It was pure physical strength.
Terrifying.
Back where it had stood, the rocky forest ground bore witness to its presence. A single massive pawprint was stamped several centiters deep into the hardened soil. In front of it, thick claw marks scratched across the rock.
It was a beast built for war. One that knew no fear.
One thing was certain.
That world may never recover from what is coming.
****
anwhile...
In Earth, a hidden location in the Outlands close to the outskirts of the Great Lun Empire...
Multiple people in robes could be seen
"Slash horizontally."
"Follow it up with an upward slash," the cold voice of a handso young man rang out.
The man had thick black hair tied into a ponytail and wore a robe adorned with blue and red stripes. In his left hand, a sword lay sheathed, its hilt ornate, yet untouched.
Before him stood thirty disciples, each one wielding a wooden training sword. They followed his commands with flawless obedience, their movents sharp and synchronized, as if performing a well-rehearsed dance. They slashed together in rhythm, a testant to hours—no, days—of tireless repetition.
The disciples’ faces were pale, their breathing heavy. Sweat drenched their robes and soaked into the training ground beneath their feet. Their exhausted expressions bore silent witness to the intensity of their training.
Suddenly, one of them faltered. The mistake was minor—almost imperceptible—but not to the sharp eyes of their instructor.
Behind the black-haired youth stood a white-haired elder. Despite his snow-colored hair, his face bore no wrinkles. One might have mistaken him for a youthful cultivator if not for the unmistakable aura of wisdom he exuded.
The elder watched the scene with a proud smile, occasionally nodding in silent approval of the young man’s teachings.
"You’re not doing that right," the black-haired man corrected calmly. "You’re putting too much strength into a single slash. It’s inefficient for prolonged combat, and it leaves you exposed when transitioning to a different technique."
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