Bai Zhan's demon arm pulsed with sickly purple veins as he stepped forward, crushing the guard's skull underfoot. The stench of rotting flesh filled the cave.
"You," he hissed, black saliva dripping from his twisted grin. "You ruined everything."
Ling Tian barely dodged as the demon arm lashed out, claws raking stone where his head had been. Qing'er's sword flashed, but the blade screeched harmlessly off the armored scales.
Elder Mo's staff struck the ground. "Enough!"
A shockwave of golden qi sent Bai Zhan crashing into the wall. The old man stood between them, his frail body suddenly radiating power.
"Run, you fools!"
Ling Tian grabbed Qing'er's wrist as the cave collapsed behind them, their boots pounding through the twisting tunnel. The sounds of battle faded—but not the creeping dread.
A whisper of silk.
Walking out of the shadows,the Crimson Witch stood before them like a nightmare. Her vermilion robes pooled on the stone as she tilted her head, lips curving beneath the half-mask.
"Such fire," she mused, a lacquered nail tracing Ling Tian's jaw. "But fire needs kindling."
She snapped her fingers.
The vision struck like a hammer—Ling Mei, his sister, chained in darkness, a glowing collar searing into her throat.
"The Netherworld Pavilion's soul-seals cannot be broken," the Witch crooned. "But I can show you how to... transfer them."
Qing's sword was at her throat in an instant. "What do you want?"
The Witch laughing, turned into rose petals that swirled around Ling Tian.
"Everything."