douluo dalu: Dark Phoenix

The moon hung low in the sky, casting pale silver light over the sleeping village.

Ayanokoji sat cross-legged in his small, dimly lit room, eyes closed, breath slow and measured. The faint scent of wood and earth filled the space. The house was quiet, save for the distant chirping of crickets.

In the stillness, he reached inward.

The Dark Phoenix was there—always there—lurking in the depths of his soul like a slumbering beast. Its presence was oppressive, hot and heavy, yet alluring in its sheer destructive power.

He called to it, and the flames answered.

A black ember flickered to life in the center of his palm, dancing and shifting as though alive. The heat was intense, though it did not burn him. The dark fire felt… familiar. Almost comforting.

But he knew better than to trust comfort.

Power, when left unchecked, destroys the weak.

The thought came naturally to him. A lesson learned long ago—not from books, but from life. In the White Room, where failure meant isolation and pain, Ayanokoji had learned to control everything, including himself.

This power would be no different.

---

Three weeks had passed since the spirit awakening ceremony.

In that time, Ayanokoji had established a steady rhythm—one that allowed him to learn, grow stronger, and avoid drawing too much attention.

Mornings were for observation.

He helped with household chores, gathered firewood, and watched the villagers. Human behavior, he knew, followed predictable patterns. The children played, the adults worked, and the elderly whispered about the "golden-eyed boy" with twin spirits.

Fear had not dissipated.

But fear was an emotion Ayanokoji understood well. It was a tool, after all—one he had wielded in his previous life with cold precision. Here, though, he allowed it to linger, unnoticed but present, like a shadow.

Afternoons were for learning.

The village elder, though hesitant at first, had become his reluctant teacher.

In the elder's small home, surrounded by ancient scrolls and yellowed books, Ayanokoji absorbed knowledge about soul beasts, spirit rings, and the hierarchy of soul masters.

"Every soul master's journey begins with the first ring," the elder told him one day, stroking his long white beard thoughtfully. "A soul ring must be absorbed from a spirit beast. The stronger the beast, the more powerful the ring—but the risk is great. A body too weak to contain the energy… will shatter."

The warning was clear, but Ayanokoji filed it away without reaction.

Risk, after all, was not something he feared.

---

Nights were for cultivation.

When the village slept, Ayanokoji trained.

He learned quickly that the Dark Phoenix was a spirit of destruction and rebirth—its power both intoxicating and dangerous. The black flames responded to his will, eager and wild, yet constantly pushing against his control.

At first, the fire was small, a flickering ember in his palm. But as the nights passed, he pushed further, demanding more. The flames grew larger, hotter, swirling around him like a living storm.

There were moments when the fire threatened to consume him—when the heat became unbearable, and the edges of his vision darkened. But Ayanokoji never let go.

Control is everything.

And so, night after night, he wrestled with the Dark Phoenix, bending its destructive nature to his will.

---

The Spirit Eyes, however, were different.

Where the Dark Phoenix was chaos, the Spirit Eyes were order—calm, precise, and terrifyingly powerful.

When he activated them, the world shifted.

He could see energy—lines of soul power flowing through people, animals, and even plants. He could sense life force, measure its strength, and predict its movements.

It was as though the world had slowed, offering itself to him piece by piece.

In battle, such insight would be unstoppable.

But even more valuable than combat, Ayanokoji realized, was the ability to see truth—to perceive what others hid.

---

One evening, as he sat in meditation, he decided to test the limits of his Spirit Eyes.

Focusing inward, he summoned the golden energy, feeling the familiar heat behind his eyes. When he opened them, the room was alive with patterns of light.

He turned his gaze toward the village, and what he saw made him pause.

Beyond the houses, in the dense forest, something moved.

A soul beast.

Its energy was faint but unmistakable—a pulsing red aura, predatory and fierce.

Ayanokoji watched it for a long time, tracking its slow movements through the trees. It was not close enough to be a threat, but the realization settled over him like a cold fog.

The forest was not empty.

And if there was one soul beast, there would be more.

---

The next morning, as he helped gather firewood, Ayanokoji asked the elder a question.

"Are there spirit beasts near the village?"

The elder, startled, hesitated before answering.

"There are… but they rarely come close. Most are weak, harmless creatures. The stronger ones remain deep in the forest. Why do you ask?"

Ayanokoji met the elder's gaze, his golden eyes calm, unreadable.

"I was curious."

The elder frowned but said no more.

Ayanokoji, however, had learned all he needed.

The forest held danger. And where there was danger, there was opportunity.

---

The First Hunt.

That night, under the cover of darkness, Ayanokoji left the village.

The forest was alive with sounds—the rustling of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, the soft padding of unseen creatures.

He moved silently, his small form blending with the shadows, his Spirit Eyes guiding him.

After an hour, he found it.

A low-level spirit beast—a Moonlit Wolf. Its energy was faint compared to what he had sensed the night before, but it was still a predator.

The wolf, sensing him, growled—a low, warning sound.

Ayanokoji did not hesitate.

He summoned the Dark Phoenix, and black flames erupted around his hands. The wolf lunged, and he met it head-on, sidestepping with precision, the fire licking at its fur.

The beast yelped, its flank scorched, but Ayanokoji pressed forward, striking again and again, until the wolf collapsed, smoke rising from its body.

He stood over it, heart steady, gaze cold.

The hunt was over.

---

But there was no soul ring.

The elder had explained this—soul rings could only be absorbed after reaching Rank 10 soul power. Ayanokoji was not there yet.

Still, the experience had been valuable.

He had tested his power—and won.

As he walked back to the village, the night air cool against his skin, Ayanokoji understood something clearly:

The path of the soul master was one of strength.

But for him, it would be more than that.

It would be a path of control.

And in this new world, as in the old one, control was everything.