"I admit, lesser, you've surprised me," the leader muttered.
His voice carried a low, venomous edge as he fixed Chen Mo with a stare cold enough to freeze blood.
"I wasn't expecting you to hold your own so well against me."
He paused, letting the words hang in the thin mountain air.
"But you will regret making an enemy of the Transcendents."
With deliberate slowness, he drew his sword.
He descended the rocky slope with measured confidence, stopping just outside Chen Mo's reach, close enough to taunt, far enough to feel safe.
A thin, predatory smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
The blade in his hand suddenly erupted.
Unlike the wild, chaotic Primordial flames that had burst from his subordinates in every direction, his burned with terrifying control.
A razor-thin layer, no more than a centimeter, clung to the steel like molten moonlight.
The fire did not roar; it hissed, disciplined and hungry.
Then came the Primordial light.
