Rise of The Abandoned Husband

I lay helpless on the cold floor, my body paralyzed by the Ice Spirit Needle's effects. Each attempt to move sent sharp, biting pain through my meridians. The Frostfall Sanctum's technique had effectively sealed my acupoints, rendering me useless in the face of danger.

"Liam!" Clara cried, rushing to my side despite the peril.

The tallest assassin sneered. "Step away from him, girl. Our business with Knight can wait."

I struggled against the paralysis, trying to speak. "Run... Clara..."

My voice came out as barely a whisper. The three black-robed assassins circled us like vultures. Their Marquis-level auras pressed down, suffocating in their intensity.

"The mask," the leader repeated coldly. "Where is it?"

Clara positioned herself protectively in front of me. "I won't tell you anything!"

"Such loyalty," the second assassin mocked. "Misplaced, but admirable."

I focused every ounce of my remaining energy on breaking through the paralysis. Small sparks of golden light flickered beneath my skin as I attempted to circulate my qi through blocked channels. The effort was excruciating.

The leader's patience visibly thinned. "We've wasted enough time."

He moved with frightening speed, appearing before Clara in an instant. Before she could react, he struck her shoulder with his palm. The impact sent her flying across the room.

"Clara!" I shouted, my voice stronger now as rage fueled my resistance.

She hit the wall hard, sliding down with a pained gasp. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth.

"Last chance," the assassin warned. "The mask."

William Vance, Clara's father, burst into the room clutching a kitchen knife. His face was pale with fear, but determination blazed in his eyes.

"Get away from my daughter!" he shouted, charging at the nearest assassin.

The black-robed man turned lazily, regarding William with contempt. "Pathetic."

He didn't even bother using cultivation techniques. A simple backhand sent William sprawling, the knife clattering uselessly across the floor.

"Dad!" Clara screamed, struggling to her feet.

I felt something break within me—not physically, but spiritually. A barrier in my meridians cracked under the pressure of my desperate need to help. Energy flooded one of my arms, just enough to prop myself up.

"Leave them alone," I growled. "It's me you want."

The leader glanced at me with mild surprise. "Impressive recovery, Knight. But still futile."

He turned back to Clara, who was now helping her father stand. "The mask. Now."

"Don't," William whispered to Clara, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. "Whatever it is, it's not worth your life."

The third assassin sighed dramatically. "Perhaps a demonstration is needed."

He strode toward William and Clara. I pushed against the floor, willing my body to move. The paralysis still gripped me, but I managed to drag myself forward an inch, then another.

"Stop!" Clara cried out, stepping in front of her father again.

The assassin laughed. "Your protection means nothing."

He casually backhanded Clara, sending her tumbling aside. Then he grabbed William by the throat, lifting him off the ground.

"Where is the mask?" he demanded, squeezing William's neck.

William's face turned red, then purple as he gasped for air. His feet kicked helplessly above the floor.

"Please!" Clara sobbed. "Let him go! I'll tell you!"

The assassin maintained his grip but turned to Clara. "Speak quickly."

"It's hidden," she stammered through tears. "Under the floorboards in my room."

The leader nodded to the second assassin. "Check it."

As the man left to search Clara's room, the third continued to hold William aloft, watching him struggle for breath with cold detachment.

"That's enough," the leader commanded. "We need him conscious to verify the girl's claim."

Reluctantly, the assassin lowered William to the floor. William collapsed, coughing violently as he sucked in desperate breaths.

I had managed to drag myself halfway across the floor, my fingers clawing at the wooden planks. Every movement was agony, but Clara's terrified eyes gave me strength I didn't know I possessed.

"Found nothing," the second assassin reported, returning from Clara's room. "The girl lied."

The leader's expression darkened. "Unfortunate."

He gestured to the man holding William. "Make an example."

"No!" Clara and I shouted in unison.

The assassin drew a thin, frost-coated dagger from his belt. William's eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen.

"Clara," he gasped out. "Run!"

Instead, Clara lunged forward, trying to reach her father. The leader intercepted her easily, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her back.

"Watch," he commanded coldly. "This is the price of defiance."

I summoned every reserve of strength I had, focusing my energy into my meridians. The Ice Spirit Needle's effects were weakening, but not quickly enough.

"Stop!" I roared. "The mask isn't worth killing for!"

The assassin ignored me, placing the tip of his dagger against William's chest.

"Final chance," he told Clara. "Where is it?"

Clara sobbed, struggling against the leader's grip. "Please! I'll get it for you! Just don't hurt him!"

The assassin paused, looking to his leader for instructions.

"Very well," the leader decided. "But no tricks this time."

He released Clara, who immediately rushed to her father's side. The assassin with the dagger stepped back, but kept his weapon ready.

"Hurry," the leader commanded.

Clara helped her father sit up, whispering something in his ear. William shook his head frantically.

"No, Clara," he said loud enough for all to hear. "Don't give it to them. That thing is dangerous."

"Dad, please," Clara begged. "I can't let them hurt you."

William's eyes hardened with resolve. "Some things are more important than one life."

Before anyone could react, William lunged forward, grabbing the distracted assassin's wrist. The dagger clattered to the floor as they struggled.

"Clara, run!" William shouted. "NOW!"

For a split second, everyone froze in shock at the ordinary man's courage. Then the leader moved, reaching for Clara.

I channeled all my energy into one desperate push, managing to grab the leader's ankle. It wasn't much, but it threw off his balance just enough to give Clara a moment to back away.

The assassin fighting William snarled in annoyance. With a casual twist, he broke William's grip. Then, with terrible efficiency, he drove his fist through William's chest.

Time seemed to stop. Blood sprayed across the room. William's eyes widened in shock, then glazed over with pain. He looked at Clara one last time, his lips forming words no one could hear.

"DAD!" Clara's scream tore through the air like a physical force.

The assassin withdrew his bloody fist, letting William's body crumple to the floor. A spreading pool of crimson quickly surrounded him.

"Unfortunate," the leader said coldly. "But necessary."

Clara fell to her knees beside her father, hands hovering over the massive wound as if she could somehow push the life back into him. Tears streamed down her face.

"Dad?" she whispered. "Dad, please..."

William's eyes found hers one last time. His lips moved silently: "Love you."

Then he was gone.

Something broke in Clara's expression. The grief that contorted her features transformed into something else entirely—something primal and terrifying.

"You killed him," she whispered, her voice eerily calm.

The house began to tremble. At first, I thought it was my imagination, but then the windows rattled. Dust fell from the ceiling.

"What's happening?" the second assassin demanded.

Clara stood slowly, her head bowed. "You killed my father."

The trembling intensified. Cracks appeared in the walls. The assassins exchanged uneasy glances.

"The mask," the leader realized. "She's connected to it. Find it now!"

But it was too late. With a deafening crack, the floor beneath Clara split open. From the darkness below, something rose—a dark, flickering object that hovered in the air.

The mask.

It wasn't being carried or pulled by anything visible. It simply floated, as if alive, before Clara's tear-stained face.

"Clara, don't!" I shouted, finally managing to push myself to my knees.

She didn't seem to hear me. Her eyes were fixed on the mask as it drifted closer.

"Stop her!" the leader commanded.

The assassins moved forward, but they were too slow. The mask surged the final distance, attaching itself to Clara's face with a sound like a thunderclap.

The resulting shockwave knocked everyone back. I was thrown against the wall, the impact almost enough to make me black out.

When my vision cleared, I saw Clara floating several feet above the ground. Dark energy swirled around her, crackling with power that felt ancient and malevolent. Her hair whipped wildly around her head, no longer bound by gravity.

But it was her appearance that truly chilled me. With the mask fused to her face, she looked eerily similar to the masked woman I'd encountered at the Immortal Bane Sect—the same terrifying presence that had radiated death and vengeance.

"What have you done?" the leader whispered, real fear in his voice for the first time.

Clara—or whatever she had become—tilted her head. When she spoke, her voice echoed with multiple tones, as if many people were speaking through her.

"You took someone precious from me," she said, each word vibrating with murderous intent. "Now I will take everything from you."

The assassins drew their weapons, but I could see the uncertainty in their movements. They were afraid.

"The transformation is incomplete," the leader hissed to his companions. "Take her now, before she fully awakens!"

Despite their obvious terror, the black-robed men gritted their teeth and charged toward the floating figure that had once been Clara Vance.