The world narrowed to the space between Ling Tian and Xiao Yan—two figures standing amidst the wreckage of the Violet Thunder Sect's proudest arena. The once-polished stones now lay cracked and blackened, their protective formations shattered by the force of their clashing qi. The air itself trembled, thick with the scent of scorched metal and the ozone-tang of unleashed lightning.
Ling Tian's arms burned where Xiao Yan's azure flames had licked across his scales. The pain was different from anything he'd felt before—deeper, hungrier, as if the fire sought not just to burn his flesh but to erase him from existence.
Xiao Yan stood across from him, his usual composed demeanor stripped away. His fists crackled with that unnatural azure fire, his eyes no longer their usual dark brown but glowing with the same gold-tinged slit pupils Ling Tian saw in his own reflection.
"You're one of them," Ling Tian spat, wiping blood from his split lip. His voice came out rougher than he intended, the dragon's growl threading through his words.
Xiao Yan's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "And you're a thief who doesn't understand what he's stolen."
Then he moved.
The Dance of Fire and Claw
Xiao Yan's first strike was a blur—a closed-fist punch that never landed, instead releasing a whip of azure flame mid-swing. Ling Tian barely twisted aside, the fire searing past his cheek close enough to singe his hair. The heat was unbearable, worse than any forge, worse than the branding iron the elders had once pressed into his skin.
Ling Tian countered with a Dragon's Tail Sweep, his leg snapping out in a low arc aimed at Xiao Yan's knees. But Xiao Yan leapt, flipping backward with unnatural grace, and as he did, his foot lashed out, sending a crescent of azure fire screaming toward Ling Tian's chest.
Impact.
The fire struck like a physical blow, hurling Ling Tian back several paces. His robes smoldered, the fabric disintegrating where the flames had touched. Beneath, his golden scales had blackened at the edges, the skin underneath raw and weeping.
The crowd's screams were distant, muffled beneath the roar of blood in Ling Tian's ears. He could see Sect Master Mo standing now, his face pale, while Elder Wu clutched the railing of the elders' pavilion like a man watching his world unravel.
Xiao Yan didn't give him time to recover. He came at Ling Tian again, this time with a flurry of punches, each one releasing controlled bursts of azure fire. Ling Tian dodged, weaved, and when he couldn't, he blocked—his scaled forearms taking the brunt of the flames. The pain was excruciating, but the Dragon Art forced his body to endure, to adapt.
Then—an opening.
Xiao Yan overextended on a particularly vicious strike, his balance faltering for half a breath. Ling Tian seized it.
Nine-Heaven Dragon Art: Sky-Rending Claw.
His fingers twisted into talons, the scales along his arms flaring brighter as he slashed downward. Xiao Yan barely raised his arms in time, but the force of the blow sent him skidding back, his boots carving grooves into the stone.
For the first time, Xiao Yan bled.
A thin line of crimson split his cheek where Ling Tian's claws had grazed him. The blood wasn't entirely red—it shimmered with flecks of gold, just like Ling Tian's.
Xiao Yan touched his fingers to the wound, then stared at the blood in something like wonder. "So it's true," he murmured. "You really are a Ling."
The Murals Beneath
The next exchange of blows shattered the arena floor.
Ling Tian's Dragon's Roar Fist met Xiao Yan's Flame Emperor's Strike, and the resulting explosion of force tore apart the ancient stones beneath them. The ground gave way, sending both combatants tumbling into the subterranean chamber below.
Dust choked the air. Ling Tian coughed, pushing himself up onto his elbows. His vision swam, but as the debris settled, he realized where they'd fallen—a hidden chamber, its walls covered in intricate murals.
And the murals moved.
The painted figures—dragons, warriors, a great eclipse—shifted like living shadows, their stories playing out across the stone. One scene in particular caught Ling Tian's eye: nine dragons, their bodies bound in chains, their maws open in silent roars as a figure clad in violet robes drove a blade into the largest dragon's heart.
Xiao Yan staggered to his feet beside him, his azure flames flickering weakly. "You see it now, don't you?" he rasped. "What your clan really was."
Ling Tian's blood dripped onto the mural. Where it touched, the paint reacted, swirling like ink in water. The largest dragon's eyes—depicted as twin eclipses—glowed faintly.
Then the Fox's Paw in Ling Tian's chest burned.
A voice, ancient and slithering, echoed in his skull:
"Free me."
The Truth of the Ling Clan
Xiao Yan didn't attack again. Instead, he watched Ling Tian with an expression caught between pity and fury. "The Ling Clan weren't victims," he said. "They were jailers. They bound the Nine-Heaven Dragons into human bloodlines—stole their power to keep the Eclipse God imprisoned."
Ling Tian's breath came short. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Xiao Yan gestured to the mural. "Then why does your blood wake the seals?"
Before Ling Tian could respond, the chamber shuddered. Dust rained from the ceiling as, above them, the sound of screams and clashing steel erupted.
The Blood Saber Valley had chosen that moment to attack.
Xiao Yan's gaze snapped upward, then back to Ling Tian. "This isn't over," he growled. Then he moved, leaping through the broken arena floor and vanishing into the chaos above.
Ling Tian stood alone in the chamber, the mural's dragons watching him with painted eyes that seemed far too knowing.
The Fox's Paw pulsed again.
"Soon," whispered the voice.
Then the world exploded into violence.