In the heart of the Zhen Wu Continent, where the sun bled crimson over jagged mountains, a palace of jade and obsidian rose like a monolith from the cliffs. Its spires clawed at the bruised sky, and the outer walls gleamed with rivers of carved spirit jade that pulsed faintly under the dusk light. Crimson banners fluttered from high balconies, embroidered with gold-thread sigils of ancient sects—half-forgotten, yet still revered.
Inside, the Grand Assembly Hall was circular, the floor paved with polished basalt etched with runic constellations. Spirit lamps floated in midair, glowing like captured stars, casting shifting shadows across stone pillars carved into dragons coiled mid-roar. The air tasted faintly of sandalwood and burned copper.
Cultivators stood in silent clusters, robes brushing the marble with hushed rustles, until Mo Liang stepped forward. His midnight-blue robe swayed gently as if stirred by unseen wind. A silver phoenix clasp glittered at his collarbone, and a ring of cracked obsidian circled his wrist.
"This year's competition will be unlike any before," he said, voice low but resonant. It echoed between the domed ceiling and the rows of fire-forged jade benches lining the walls. "Unlimited participants. No origin restrictions. And… it will be a life-and-death competition."
A hush followed. Somewhere outside the window lattice, a hawk shrieked into the fading light.
Han Rui, seated with arms folded beneath his long gray sleeves, raised a single silver brow. His seat was beneath a mural of crashing waves inked onto glazed porcelain. "That will certainly reduce the number of survivors."
"Good," Mo Liang said, eyes like steel behind smoke. "No more delays. Only the worthy rise."
A breeze stirred from an open slit high in the wall, rustling a hanging scroll that bore the phrase: Heaven does not favor the soft-hearted.
From a far alcove, Jing Xue stood motionless. Her long veil shimmered like woven moonlight. Even the shadows seemed wary of her.
"She will judge," Mo Liang said, gesturing briefly toward her. "Her eyes are sharper than swords."
Silence followed—tense, tight as a drawn bowstring.
Far below, in the furnace-blasted canyons beneath the scorched lava fields, the air shimmered with heat mirages. Jagged rocks jutted from the blackened soil like the bones of ancient beasts. A sulfurous wind scraped across the sand, rustling burnt grass patches clinging stubbornly to the edges.
Jian Dao sat with one knee up against a cracked obsidian outcrop. Beside him stood Huo Chuntian—his flame-streaked hair draped across a bare shoulder, glowing faintly under the smoldering sky. Behind them, a dried lava river curled like a dead serpent.
"You want to know what happened to Eldon Yeager?" Jian Dao said, the words nearly lost in the whisper of wind through hollow stone.
Huo Chuntian's eyes, like twin burning coals, flared. "If I ever find those bastards again, I'll cut off their limbs and toss them to the hounds. If Eldon had been in his prime… he would've crushed them into paste."
Mike, crouched nearby under a low arch of charred rock, blinked. A beetle with a gleaming carapace crawled lazily past his boot. He leaned toward Jian Dao and whispered, "Master… if they were friends, why'd you take his eye?"
Jian Dao squinted sideways, sunlight slicing across the scar on his jaw. "Weird question. Ask him yourself."
Mike glanced at Huo's bulky frame, noting the faint glow of runes burnt into his bracers. "No thanks. He looks like he eats children."
With a sigh, Jian Dao muttered, "Fine. I didn't know it was him. Long ago, we fought—me and Huo. Didn't realize until later. Eldon was our link. We were brothers once… then rivals. Don't ask more."
Mike shifted, brushing a scorched feather off his leg. "So… he took something. You took something. That's revenge, right?"
Huo Chuntian's laughter echoed against the canyon walls. "Ha! Kid's not wrong."
Then his eyes narrowed. The air trembled faintly, as if reacting to his mood.
"You—Mike, was it? How about you come with me… to the Death and Life Competition."
Mike straightened like he'd been struck. A small rock skittered down a nearby ledge.
"Wait, what?!"
Jian Dao stood, brushing dust from his sleeve. His hand briefly touched the curved blade strapped to his back. "No. He's not ready."
Huo Chuntian's smirk was wild, like flame dancing at the edge of a dry field. "Then tell me, old friend, what is he ready for?"
"Not for demon tournaments. Not to be possessed by you. Not yet," Jian Dao said, his voice like flint.
Mike's gaze flicked upward—above, the ashen sky boiled with lazy clouds, one shaped like a coiled serpent.
Huo growled. "Mock me again, Dao. That eagle beast—its strength saved me. More than you ever did."
Mike exhaled slowly, watching a small heat-spirit—a shimmering lizard of fire—skitter across a rock and vanish.
He leaned toward Jian Dao. "So… he's a spirit?"
"Once. Now he's merged with that beast. He's physical again. Dangerous."
Before Mike could process that, Huo loomed close, the air around him distorting slightly.
"What's your rank, brat?"
Mike stiffened. "Zhan Shi. One-star."
"Pffft." Huo clicked his tongue. "Low. But usable. What if I used your body as a vessel?"
Mike's eyes widened. He nearly tripped on a root poking from the cracked earth. "No way! I'm not becoming a puppet!"
Jian Dao stepped between them, wind pulling at the hem of his cloak. "Enough games, Huo. What's your real plan?"
Huo's grin was sharper now. "I'm offering power, not theft. Let the kid think. He agrees—I lend him strength. That's all."
A distant tremor shook the canyon floor. Somewhere far below, molten stone bubbled.
Mike swallowed. The air smelled like singed copper and scorched earth.
He looked toward the dying sun, hanging just above the canyon lip, painting the world in crimson and shadow. He knew it—choices made today would haunt every tomorrow.