The Phoenix of the Slums

Waves crashed like thunder against the cliffside as Tianming stared down at the dark expanse below. The girl, Xiaoqing, stood beside him, clutching her arms tightly against the biting wind. The mouth of the tunnel to The Cradle was hidden by jagged rocks and swirling mist, barely wide enough for a small boat.

But Tianming could feel it—an ancient coldness leaking from within, like something buried for centuries was still breathing beneath the mountain.

They had stolen a dinghy from a wrecked patrol boat after escaping the explosion at the Hai Feng 9 site. The fire had covered their trail, but the enemy wouldn’t stay blind for long.

“You’re sure this is the only way in?” Tianming asked, adjusting the strap of his blade harness.

Xiaoqing nodded. “My brother once mapped part of it. It’s a sea cave, but only during low tide. Inside, there's an elevator shaft that drops into the lab. I’ve never seen it, but I remember him drawing it—he said it went deeper than anyone should go.”

Tianming narrowed his eyes. “Then we better move fast.”

The boat glided silently through the foam as the tide fell. The narrow channel opened to a yawning cavern, its walls slick with moss and time. Bioluminescent fungi painted the stone with faint blue light, and deep in the darkness, strange machinery hummed, almost inaudible.

They stepped out onto a stone landing, the air thick with the scent of chemicals and sea rot. Ahead stood a massive steel door, sealed with an outdated retinal scanner and keypad.

Tianming pulled a thin vial from his pocket—one of the remnants he’d taken from the dead scientist’s body back at the port. It contained a drop of blood. He held it against the scanner.

Nothing.

He cursed under his breath. Then he stepped back and studied the mechanism. “Cover your ears,” he told Xiaoqing.

He knelt, drew a palm-sized EMP chip from his belt, stuck it against the scanner, and pressed the trigger. The shockwave flared silently, and the scanner flickered out. With a groan, the steel door unlatched slightly.

The corridor beyond reeked of disinfectant and old copper. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, half flickering, as if the place had been forgotten for years. But the warmth in the walls told Tianming otherwise—someone had been here recently.

They descended a winding stairwell until they reached a glass chamber embedded with control panels. The walls around them displayed holographic diagrams—spines, skulls, vascular systems—human and inhuman alike. One of the rotating displays showed a creature curled like a fetus, translucent skin stretched over a glowing core.

Tianming tapped the console. Files opened.

PROJECT YANLUO: PHASE THREE

Primary Researcher: Dr. Inoue Yurei

Objective: Genetic restoration and weaponization of pre-Qing humanoid strain: “Ancestor Prototype: Type-O.”

Beneath the heading was a video thumbnail. Tianming hesitated, then played it.

The screen showed a surgical chamber. Doctors in hazmat suits surrounded a creature on a table. It was humanoid—two arms, two legs—but its skin pulsed like liquid quartz, and its eyes were pupil-less. It thrashed violently, tearing through restraints as the video descended into chaos. One by one, the doctors were flung across the room. The camera cracked—then the screen went black.

Tianming’s jaw clenched. “They were trying to breed something… divine. Or demonic.”

“They said it was their god,” Xiaoqing whispered. “But what kind of god needs to be chained?”

Tianming turned as the elevator behind them suddenly whirred to life.

Someone was coming down.

He pulled Xiaoqing behind a desk and readied his knives. The elevator doors slid open with a hiss—and two people stepped out.

One was a tall, scar-faced man in a white coat—his ID badge read Dr. Guan Wu. The other was cloaked in black robes, face obscured by a silver Oni mask.

Tianming recognized the voice the moment it spoke.

“You’ve come further than I expected,” said the masked figure. “Lu Qingshan taught you well.”

“Who are you?” Tianming growled.

The mask tilted. “I am the Keymaster. My role is not to fight. Only to witness your failure.”

Dr. Guan Wu walked over to the console and began typing rapidly. The glass chamber started to shift—the floor sliding apart to reveal a lowering platform.

Beneath it was a tank—massive and dark green, its contents swirling like sludge. A shape moved inside.

Tianming burst from cover and threw a knife. It struck the panel beside the doctor’s hand, sparks flying. He lunged next, tackling the man away from the controls.

The Keymaster merely stepped back and began chanting in an ancient dialect. The air trembled as the tank’s glass cracked—one fracture, then another.

Xiaoqing screamed. “He’s waking it!”

Tianming slammed his palm against one of the acupuncture points on his chest—the second seal of the Old Tong scroll. His heart surged. His speed doubled.

He leapt forward, knocking the doctor unconscious with a punch to the temple, and turned on the tank’s emergency seal protocol—just as the glass gave way.

The room shook as a claw emerged, black as oil and thrumming with heat. The Keymaster vanished in a plume of shadow, whispering as he left, “The Cradle has opened. And you’ve heard the first cry.”

Tianming grabbed Xiaoqing’s hand. “Run!”

They raced through the corridor as alarms blared and red lights flashed. Behind them, the lab groaned as if alive, walls bulging as something immense stirred within.

They barely made it to the boat when the mountain gave a rumble that split the ocean.

Tianming stared back. The Cradle had not been a place. It had been a womb. And now... something ancient had been born.