Driving Force

Catwoman.

Master of the Fist.

Two concepts that should never have intertwined. The catkin, barely scraping by in the merciless Abyss, living in the shadow of extinction, had long been stripped of their courage by the ever-present threats around them.

Yet here was a Pugilist Master—a title synonymous with courage and unshakable strength.

To achieve mastery in pugilism was no trivial feat. It required a warrior to relinquish all weapons and armor.

A true Pugilist believed that external tools were mere illusions. Instead of relying on shields or blades, they turned inward, fortifying their bodies.

Their body becomes an unbreakable shield.

Their fists forged into weapons.

Fearless. Indomitable.

Attaining such a level of mastery wasn't just about physical power; it demanded an unbreakable spirit.

These warriors honed their martial prowess through relentless resolve. Their will was their armor, and it allowed them to face even the most terrifying foes without flinching. Legends even claimed that those who reached this level could stand tall in the face of a Dragon's Aura.

Dragons!

Overlords of all realms!

No matter the dimension, legends of dragons were ubiquitous. Even in the Abyss, dragons ruled the plains and mountains. To a dragon, even the mightiest demon was a mere insect.

The presence of a dragon—its suffocating Aura—could cripple demon lords, reducing them to quivering husks. But a Master of the Fist? They stood unshaken, immune to such overwhelming terror.

Pugilists of this caliber were exceedingly rare. Even in the Abyss, encountering one was an anomaly.

And yet…

Before him stood a catwoman who had defied all expectations. Despite being of silver realm, she bore a spirit forged of adamantium.

It was like witnessing a lamb morph into a lion—a sight impossible to fathom!

Chen Feng's gaze lingered on the catgirl, suspicion filling his eyes. Though he had subdued her, the fire in her eyes still raged, wild and untamable, like a beast that refused to bow.

A blazing energy gathered above Chen Feng's head, and in an instant, fiery runes ignited across his skin. Two sharp, black horns burst forth from his temples.

Balrog Transformation.

Chen Feng's grip tightened around her neck, his voice low and commanding: "Do you submit?"

A Balrog!

A demon of the highest tier.

These beings were royalty among demons, born with overwhelming strength. Their chances of ascending to the rank of a legendary lord were far higher than those of other demons.

A high-ranking demon!

While dragons were creatures of legend, Balrogs were the executioners of the Abyss. In the Abyss, where these elite demons ruled, catkin were little more than beasts—treated as little more than playthings.

They crawled on all fours like animals, their minds shattered until they were nothing but obedient pets. And when their demon masters grew bored of them, they were discarded like broken toys, left to rot.

When catgirl witnessed Chen Feng's transformation, she froze. For a brief moment, her mind was paralyzed by the sight of the high-ranking demon in front of her, even if its form seemed different than usual. She knew this aura—it was unmistakable. The aura of a Balrog.

But her shock was fleeting. Her clarity returned quickly, and despite Chen Feng's grip around her throat, her face growing paler from the lack of air, she showed no fear. Her lips moved, and she whispered through clenched teeth, "Fura... does not fear... Fura... will protect her kin... Fura... will return to the goddess's embrace..."

Her voice was soft but unwavering, brimming with defiance even under the weight of certain death.

Chen Feng was surprised.

He understood her words!

This wasn't the telepathic link he had experienced with the Dark Elf; this was speech. Real words.

Could it be the effect of the Demonic Horns?

The Demonic Horns enhanced more than perception; it seemed they had gifted him the ability to understand and speak other languages as well.

Fura.

Her name was Fura.

In that brief exchange, Chen Feng had gathered some crucial information.

"Return to the goddess's embrace" Could the goddess she mentioned be Xia Ruisi?

In the Abyss, every creature worshiped its own dark deity. For the catkin, their devotion lay with the Goddess of Cats and Dance—Xia Ruisi.

Xia Ruisi was a deity as beautiful as she was fickle. Her voice was said to purr like a contented feline, a soft, intoxicating sound that lulled listeners into a sense of ease, as though they were being gently stroked by the softest velvet.

But beneath her enchanting exterior was a goddess of indulgence and whimsy, one few could truly understand. Like a cat, she was fiercely independent, following her every whim without regard for the consequences. Self-obsessed, vain, and hedonistic, she cared for little beyond her own pleasures.

She was often depicted as a voluptuous woman with the head of a sleek, predatory cat.

Her reputation was well-known across the Abyss. She delighted in toying with handsome men, engaging in playful, seductive games. But her interest was fleeting—once she grew bored, she would move on, leaving her admirers discarded and forgotten.

A goddess of irresponsibility.

Xia Ruisi had no true concern for her followers. Her teachings were simple: life is to be lived for pleasure. Hedonism reigned supreme in her doctrine. Her devout followers were catkin, bards, and those who sought to live for nothing but the thrill of indulgence. She often held wild feasts, where morality was discarded and primal urges took precedence.

And yet, the irony was almost too much to bear—here was Fura, a devout follower of this capricious goddess, who had risen to become a Pugilist Master, a warrior of discipline and strength. It was almost laughable.

Still, Fura had muttered other key words: "protect her people."

There are many forms of courage.

The courage to face death, the courage to follow desire, and the courage to protect something dear.

For Fura, it was the power of protection that had allowed her to achieve mastery in a discipline meant for warriors, despite her frail frame as a catkin.

Protection.

That was the root of her strength.

Chen Feng's mind raced, analyzing every detail. Within moments, he deduced Fura's driving force. To truly tame her, the key lay in understanding her devotion to her people.

The catkin.

Timid, often seen as prey, they were a race that had never found a place of safety in the Abyss. Resources were scarce, and the dangers ever-present. The elders of their kind often left their clans to conserve food, wandering into the wilds to meet certain death.

Once separated from their people, survival in the Abyss was nearly impossible.

But here, Chen Feng saw his opportunity.

Food.

It was always about survival, about protecting what mattered most. Fura's loyalty was tied to the survival of her clan.

And through that, Chen Feng could bend her will.