"Oi," the wolf said lazily, a smirk curling on all three of his mouths as he rose to his paws. "Before I beat you into a pulp, let's get out of this cave. I don't want you complaining later that the space wasn't wide enough for you to move."
His tone was soaked in sarcasm, each syllable dragged out like honey being poured from a crooked spoon.
Elder Sun Jin chuckled, folding his arms behind his back again. His smile was small but genuine, hidden under the veil of age and flame. He was enjoying this.
The wolf's words were bold, even rude, but there was no venom in them. It was theater. A performance of arrogance with a touch of humor. But beneath the bravado, Sun Jin heard the message clearly—the lilies weren't here. Not a one. That earlier spiel about chewing one and using another to scent berries? Complete nonsense. The hippo still had two, and the last one… that would be with Bronze Kong.
Sun Jin gave a simple nod and turned, walking toward the exit of the cave.
The wolf followed, pawsteps soundless despite his enormous frame. His tail swayed side to side like a pendulum of doom, brushing softly against the damp walls as they moved together.
Side by side. A human and a beast. A dance of death before the music even began.
"Can you do me a favor?" Sun Jin asked without turning his head.
The wolf's left shoulder mouth snorted. "*A human asking me for a favor? That's new. And stupid. What is it?*"
Sun Jin didn't stop. "Don't attack my sect's disciples while we fight," he said flatly. "I don't care how this ends. Just don't involve them."
A long pause followed, only broken by the faint drip of water from the stalactites above.
Then the shoulder mouths burst into laughter.
"*What are we, insects?*"
"*You think we need to attack your little pups to win?*"
"*We wouldn't waste spit on them.*"
But then silence. They reached the end of the tunnel, and a golden light burst around them as the outside world reappeared. It wasn't just bright, it was radiant—a natural battlefield adorned with ancient moss, mist drifting through the spring valley like quiet ghosts.
The wolf emerged first.
He stood upright on his back legs, rising like a tower of primal power and savage elegance. Four meters of beast muscle and monstrous grace. His many eyes blinked slowly, one at a time. The sun caught the silver in his fur. His presence was suffocating.
He looked down at Elder Sun Jin, who stood calmly just a meter away.
"*The tricks you humans use,"* the wolf said slowly, voice now colder, his mouths unified into one for the first time, "*don't think we beasts do the same. We need no tricks to defeat you. Our spit is enough to evaporate your kind.*"
Was it true?
No. Beasts knew cunning too. They used it differently, perhaps, but many were smarter than the proudest of scholars. But what he meant wasn't about lies. It was a declaration. A creed. **Beasts fought with strength, not schemes.**
Sun Jin tilted his head slightly, his gaze rising to meet the beast's massive face.
"Never knew that beasts could speak so well," he said, smiling. "If given the chance."
The wolf gave a low rumble, something between a growl and a purr.
They walked forward again, now toward the spring that lay just a few dozen meters from the cave's entrance. Mist danced over its surface. The water glowed faintly—the residual essence of the lilies having saturated it over centuries.
Sun Jin and the wolf came to a halt, exactly one meter apart.
The perfect killing distance.
The cave behind them remained open, and the inner disciples still stood at its mouth—too afraid to move, too stubborn to retreat.
Then, from the shadows behind them, came the thunderous tromp of massive footsteps.
**Steel Jaw Hippo.**
He wasn't alone.
Behind him waddled two smaller hippos, their bulk only marginally less threatening. Their eyes were fixed on the humans. Their tusks dripped with spit. Their necks twitched with the promise of violence.
They didn't charge.
But they did glare.
It was the kind of glare that said, *"If not for what the wolf just said, we would've sucked your bones dry."*
The disciples shrank back instinctively.
But the wolf didn't look back.
Sun Jin didn't either.
They stood still, two predators in different skins, both born to kill, both now bound by something neither of them understood—**respect**.
Then the wind shifted. The sky above cracked with a peal of thunder. A single leaf fell from the tree behind the spring.
The wolf, four meters of lean but terrifying muscle, gazed downward with his eye half-lidded. His many shoulder-mouths curled in silent anticipation. Across him, Elder Sun Jin radiated concentrated martial intent, his flame-imbued robes flickering gently in the soft spring breeze. The surface of the water nearby barely moved, as though Nature itself was holding her breath.
A single leaf drifted lazily down.
A lizard froze on a tree trunk.
And on a thick, curved branch near the clearing, a squirrel with more courage than sense darted across to get to the other side. Its tiny claws struck dry bark.
CRACK.
The sound echoed like a signal through the meadow.
And both titans vanished.
No roar, no shout, no bluster. Just the dull boom of compressed air collapsing into the empty space where two monstrous forces had once stood.
A wind gusted outward, ruffling the leaves, flattening grass, sending ripples across the spring. The squirrel was flung straight into the air and vanished into the trees with a terrified squeak.
They collided in the center of the clearing, not with fists or fangs, but sheer presence. Invisible currents of pressure smashed into each other as spiritual force met raw bestial might.
Then Sun Jin moved.
His fists became blurs.
"Storm of Absurd Punches!"
His arms blurred into the air, forming afterimages that surrounded the wolf in a barrage. Each punch carried an aura of heavy force — spiritual might condensed into kinetic bursts that felt like getting slammed by a heavenly hammer the size of an elephant. They weren't mere martial strikes; they were absurd, as the name suggested. Each one aimed at the wolf's face, nose, eye, and jaws — the sensitive areas.
But the wolf… didn't just stand there.
He danced.
He bent his spine backward in impossible arcs, letting a punch slide past his snout by a breath. Then he snapped his head left, shoulder mouths grinning madly as Sun Jin's next blow swept past. His paws moved like lightning — one claw forward, another claw back, pivot, duck, lean, twist.
It was a dance.
A lethal ballet.
His tongue from one shoulder-mouth lolled out in mocking glee, even as Sun Jin threw more blows than should've been humanly possible. But each time — each time — the wolf moved just enough. Just enough to not get crushed by the aura of the absurd punches.
Until—
CRACK.
With the momentum still on his side, Sun Jin slid a foot forward mid-punch, and stomped down.
"Nail Step."
A tiny spark of spiritual light burst from his foot, and a translucent, glowing needle — more spirit than metal — shot through the air and nailed the wolf's front right claw to the dirt.
"Rrgh—!" The wolf grunted as the spiritual needle crackled with binding force. He tried to move his limb — and failed.
A hum of qi-bound suppression pulsed upward from the ground and trapped his claw in place like an iron vice. His eye narrowed, and one shoulder-mouth snarled. His body twisted, but the claw was pinned — he'd lost mobility.
"Cheeky," he muttered with amusement.
Now partially restrained, the wolf's dodging slowed. Sun Jin's punches grew fiercer, wilder, erratic. He didn't hold back — even if the wolf wasn't his enemy, he wouldn't insult him by going easy.
Each punch now swept past with a different rhythm — one curved high, another jabbed low, the next hooked and the next spun. The wolf couldn't fully dodge anymore.
Thwack!
A knuckle grazed his shoulder.
Whip!
A backfist left a shallow scratch across the jaw.
His ear flicked in irritation.
Still, the wolf didn't growl. He didn't roar. He just smiled wider, his tongues rolling with laughter as blood slowly welled on his fur.
"I see now," the wolf mused from his left shoulder-mouth, "You're the kind of guy who brings a dictionary to a fist fight. So many techniques. So little damage."
Sun Jin didn't flinch. Instead, he stepped back suddenly, making a sign with both hands.
Then, in a calm but resonant voice, he chanted:
"The Echo Behind the Bar."
At once, six fiery symbols flared around him, floating midair. They twisted and arced together like birds in formation, and spiraled toward the wolf, surrounding him in a dome-shaped configuration.
"Spiritual Technique," Sun Jin muttered, "Prison class. Level three."
The six symbols burst into flame and connected with bands of spiraling qi. In an instant, the wolf was engulfed inside a fiery prison — not one of bars or chains, but of sound and force.
Inside the dome, the wolf blinked once.
Then the noise began.
It started with a single whisper. A faint echo of the chant Sun Jin had just spoken.
"The Echo Behind the Bar…"
Then it repeated again.
"The Echo Behind the Bar…"
Then again — louder.
"The ECHO Behind the BAR…"
The words bounced inside the dome, over and over, each time growing in volume, intensity, and chaos. They twisted, warped, and layered over each other. It wasn't just sound anymore. It was spiritual noise. The kind that tore into your thoughts. Your inner world.
Each syllable cracked like thunder.
Each echo slammed against the walls and rebounded faster, colliding with others until the inside of the dome vibrated like the inside of a gong.
The wolf stood still.
But his many mouths were no longer laughing.
The spiritual sound waves began to affect him — his ears folded back, and his expression tightened. His inner spiritual world began to stir. Memories, images, emotions — all rose like foam in boiling water, unbidden, chaotic.
His blood surged. Qi flared. The grass outside the dome blackened from the pressure. Even the air shimmered.
From a distance, the inner disciples could only see the glowing dome and hear nothing — that was the trick of the technique. It locked sound inside, to become a weapon. Not even a scream could escape.
From the shadows, the hippo's wife whispered, "That technique… it's lethal. It drowns even Core Beasts in their own minds."
But Steel Jaw Hippo shook his head. "He won't fall. He's not like us. He has… will."
Back inside, the wolf's body trembled.
For the first time, he looked serious.
And slowly, slowly — he smiled.
A bloody grin.
The cage crackled, and the thick golden bars hummed with mounting pressure. The air was heavy with spiritual tension, as if the entire sect held its breath. But inside the prison, the young many-mouthed beast stood on all fours, blood still trickling from his sides, one eye swollen shut, fangs chipped—but his grin stretched wider with every beat of his chaotic, unruly heart.
And then, with no warning:
He roared.
No, they roared—all of his mouths, from his jagged flanks to his underbelly, even the twitching one under his left armpit, let out a primal, echoing scream. The sound wasn't just a shout—it was a declaration of war, of pain, of rebellion.
It bounced once off the bars—then again—and again—like a trapped animal gone mad.
Each echo struck the cage, then rebounded stronger, folding over itself until the entire formation trembled. Wolf's ears twitched—then flattened. He growled something guttural and focused, weaving his qi to form a tight barrier around his own ears. It flickered, like a water bubble under immense pressure. And still, he kept roaring.
The prison's seals groaned.
Elder Sun Jin, seated cross-legged just outside the formation, frowned. He poured more qi into the barrier, his hands forming ancient, jagged seals mid-air. The spiritual cage tightened with a deep hum, lines of light crawling up its sides.
Level 4.
Level 5.
And still the beast did not stop.
The qi in the air thinned as Sun Jin pushed more and more of his own into the prison. His fingers twitched. Sweat dotted his forehead. The bars grew thicker. The cage expanded, accommodating the rising spiritual storm within.
But inside…
Wolf's eyes gleamed. Blood leaked from his ear canals now—the sound within the cage had long surpassed the limits of his own self-made barrier. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. His throat burned like it had been fed molten iron. Still, he snarled, and poured more of himself into it.
Not just sound this time.
Qi.
Lightning qi.
A wild, untamed essence that he hadn't yet fully learned to control—but now, he forced it down his throat. Literally. Into his larynx.
A dumb idea.
His throat immediately felt like it was being struck by heavenly tribulation.
But it also worked.
The vibrating qi inside his vocal chambers suddenly reached a tipping point—BOOM.
A single thunderous bark erupted from his central mouth—so loud it split the air inside the cage and cracked a section of the golden bars. Cracks like spiderwebs.
Outside, Sun Jin's eyes widened. The old man's expression turned pale.
From the outside, all anyone could see was the wolf roaring. But inside, Elder Sun could feel it—a thunderstorm was building. Not from the sky, but from inside a goddamn wolf.
"What in the fuck is this thing," Sun Jin hissed, his spiritual perception desperately trying to analyze the structure of the qi inside the cage.
But there was no structure. It was chaos. Raw. Primal. And terrifyingly intelligent.
That realization hit him harder than the first crack. The beast wasn't just roaring—it was making a technique.
Humans made techniques. They used scrolls, spiritual theory, months of experimentation, soul comprehension, alchemy assistance, entire sects worth of feedback.
Beasts? Most couldn't form a sentence.
But this thing?
This many-mouthed, many-eyed freak was crafting something new. Something alive.
The bars shattered with a sound like a lightning bolt snapping through a forest of bronze. Thunder exploded across the sect, stunning the disciples watching from afar. Several fell to their knees, clutching their ears. Even a few elders turned grim.
And out of the golden mist of broken spiritual metal, the wolf emerged—ears bleeding, neck wobbling, yet grinning wide.
"All that effort for a glorified birdcage," he chuckled, voice raspy from the throat abuse. "Humans are weak. Heh."
His legs trembled, but his qi pulsed strong. He reared back, mouths opening again, but this time more controlled. Focused.
He exhaled sharply.
From his central throat, a rippling pulse of sound, laced with golden lightning qi, screamed forth. It wasn't just a roar now—it had form. It had shape. The sound twisted mid-air, compressing under his will into something small and squat—
A baby boar.
Sonic, flickering with arcs of lightning, the boar galloped on invisible legs and crashed toward Elder Sun Jin. The elder's expression tightened.
"Nurtured Armadillo!"
He slapped his palm onto the ground. A brown seal lit up, and a spirit construct erupted—a massive curled armadillo spirit wrapped around him, armored plates gleaming like polished stone. It curled into a tight ball just in time.
The sonic boar struck—and for a moment, the entire sect grounds rattled.
Wolf tilted his head, disappointed.
"Hm. Cute defense."
He took in a deep breath—or several, given how many mouths he had—and prepared again. This time, his larynx pulsed with lightning, and he compressed it again—but more slowly. He added a second stage.
As the new roar formed, he reached into the shoulders—literally—and opened two auxiliary mouths. Through them, he directed more of his lightning qi into the construct forming at his center.
This time, the sonic wave didn't just exit—it got trapped inside a sphere of concentrated thunder qi. The noise didn't escape.
And inside that sphere…
A boar took shape again—but not a baby.
A full-grown one.
With tusks as long as spears. With a glare full of hate. With hooves that trembled with compressed pressure.
He released it.
The qi sphere ruptured with a snap, and the sonic wave boar burst forward. It slammed into the armadillo shield again—except this time, the tusks pierced it. Sun Jin coughed up blood. He tried to stabilize—but the real attack was only just starting.
The golden qi layer that had sealed the sonic wave dispersed—intentionally. The roar inside spilled into the armadillo's core like a thousand shrieking banshees.
Sun Jin screamed.
Blood poured from his eyes, his nose, his ears. His defensive construct trembled and collapsed with a crack. He swallowed two recovery pills, qi surging around him in wild spirals, trying to patch his internal injuries.
But the wolf didn't wait.
Because the boar wasn't the main attack. It was the camouflage.
The real beast came right behind it.
The wolf burst through the smoke, claws coated with condensed thunder qi, legs soaked in blood, grinning.
His claws dug deep into Sun Jin's ribs.
They sank in.
And then, with a snarl and a heave—they came out the other side.
Gripping something round and pulsing.
Sun Jin froze. His spiritual threads went haywire.
Wolf raised the elder's own heart, blood dripping down his claws.
He leaned in close. His many mouths grinned in synchrony.
"Elder Sun," he hissed. "Looks like I won."
Then a chuckle.
"Didn't I say humans were weak? I take that back."
A pause. His many eyes all opened wide.
"You're worse than the word weak!"
Laughter erupted from every mouth. Unhinged. Delirious. Triumphant.
Even as blood streamed from his jaw, even as his vocal cords smoked from the effort—even as his ears still rang with the aftershock of his own attack—he laughed.
Because he had done it.
He had crafted a technique.
From nothing. With just pain, rage, imagination, and lightning. Something even most humans would never achieve in a lifetime.
His body shook. The insides of his throats were nearly shredded. If not for the strange mutations from his past—the beast flame's internal forging, the metallic roots, the mangoes that thickened his insides—he'd be dead. His regeneration, the sheer resilience of his body, the unholy toughness of his bloodline—they had saved him.
And still, he grinned.
He dropped Sun Jin to the ground with a wet thump, the heart still twitching in his grip.
But he didn't kill him. Not yet.
The elder wheezed on the ground, choking on blood, struggling to reach into his robe for another pill.
Wolf tilted his head, sat on his haunches, and licked some blood from his claws.
"Let's talk," he said softly.
His grin remained.
The Sect wasn't ready for what was coming next.