Fire shrouded and roared.
The scene opens in blood and silence, broken only by the low groan of a dying Thousand Lotus disciple. His body slumped to the ground, a deep crimson slash gracing his chest, as five demonic disciples stood around him with wicked smirks. One of them licked the blood from his blade, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"What a waste of strength," he sneered, spitting to the side. "That one actually made me break a sweat."
"All that just to protect a lowly maid," another chuckled darkly, kicking the dead disciple's foot. "Do you think she was his woman?"
The others laughed, their gaze turning to the trembling girl on the ground. Her eyes were wide with terror, tears streaming down her face. Her top had been torn, exposing bruised skin, the remnants of what they had nearly done before the Thousand Lotus disciple intervened.
"What do you think, boys? Was she worth dying for?" the one with the bloodied blade mocked, taking a slow step toward her.
The maid couldn't move. Fear paralyzed her limbs. Her mouth trembled as she tried to scream, but no sound came out.
As the demonic cultivators stepped past the fallen disciple, a sudden jolt made one of them stumble. A bloodied hand had reached up, grasping his foot.
"What the—?" he shouted, looking down.
The Thousand Lotus disciple, still alive, coughed blood as he stared at the maid. His voice was hoarse, but firm. "Run..."
"Still breathing, huh?" growled the demon cultivator, grinding the disciple's face into the dirt with his foot. "You're one stubborn bastard."
"Run!" the disciple choked out again.
Two of the other demonic disciples grabbed the maid by the arms, holding her down. She screamed, thrashing weakly, but her strength was no match for theirs.
"Watch this, hero," the leader sneered, grabbing the disciple by the hair and yanking his head up. "Let's see if your sacrifice was worth it."
The maid sobbed, her cries echoing across the charred clearing as her torn clothes were tugged again. Her eyes shut tight.
Then—
Slash.
The sound was clean and sharp.
The three cultivators restraining her dropped, their heads hitting the ground before their bodies followed.
Blood sprayed across the dirt.
The remaining two demonic disciples froze.
Another slash as the other dropped dead. The one holding the Lotus disciple's hair let go, stepping back with wide eyes.
"What was that?!" he barked, scanning the smoke and shadows.
"Who's there?! Show yourself!"
The air grew thick. A wave of heat rolled through the battlefield. Fire curled along the ground like it lived, like it hunted.
"Come out, coward!" one shouted, raising his weapon. "You think you're brave, hiding in the smoke?!"
A laugh responded. Cold. Amused. Unrecognizable.
"Says the one who ganged up on a dying man and tried to defile a helpless woman," the voice replied. "If cowardice had a face, I'd say I'm looking at it."
The fire flared as if in agreement, its light dancing in a circle around the last demonic cultivator.
Out of the smoke stepped Aithur.
His blue eyes glowed unnaturally, his ragged clothes torn from battle, and in his hand, the sword gleamed — stained red with the blood of his enemies. The design of a crimson dragon and azure waves shimmered along the blade, glowing faintly with power.
The demonic cultivator took one look at him and scoffed. "Just a beggar with a shiny sword. This matter doesn't concern you."
Aithur tilted his head slightly, a smile playing on his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"You're right. It doesn't. But if you keep behaving like animals... sooner or later, it will."
The cultivator laughed, unsheathing twin daggers. "Big talk for someone wearing rags. Let's see if you bleed like the others!"
He charged, blades slicing the air.
Aithur didn't flinch. One clean swing.
The body split in two.
Silence.
The fire dimmed slightly as Aithur exhaled.
He turned toward the maid and the wounded Lotus disciple. The girl clung to the boy now, sobbing uncontrollably.
Aithur crouched beside them. "You did well," he said softly to the boy. "Protecting your sister until the end... that takes strength."
The boy coughed blood and managed a weak smile. The resemblance between them was obvious now. Twins.
The maid bowed low, her forehead touching the dirt. "Thank you... thank you..."
"Save it," Aithur said gently, standing. "It's not over. Not yet."
He walked to one of the fallen demonic disciples, tugging the cloak from his corpse and throwing it around himself. The flames around him parted like servants to a king.
As he turned away, the maid called out to him, voice trembling. "What's your name?!"
He paused. Didn't look back.
"No one. Its not worth remembering"
And with a flash of flames licking the wind behind him, he stepped into the inferno.
The fire roared.
Aithur smiled darkly.
"Where.. to.. Next?"