The drums of the Serpent Hall began to beat before dawn, slow and heavy. Each strike echoed through the mountains like a serpent's heart.
Disciples woke in silence, their faces pale in the gray light. Some whispered prayers. Others sharpened blades or checked their poison flasks. For most, this day would be the pinnacle of their lives—or the end.
In the abandoned storehouse, Shen Lian sat cross-legged, still as stone. The mist crept through broken shutters, curling around him like pale fingers.
Inside his dantian, the black lotus pulsed. Four petals trembled, restless.
Lu Chen's smirk. The dagger-boy's fear. The wolf's hunger. Zhao Kun's rage.
They whispered louder today than ever.
Fight. Drink. Kill. Feed us.
Shen Lian breathed deeply. His body felt strong, sharper than it ever had. But his mind was a battlefield.
He had spent the night wrestling with himself, pushing the petals down, forcing them to obey. But even now, his hand trembled slightly, veins faintly black.
If he lost control in the arena, he might not just kill his opponent—he might devour them completely. And then the sect would have no choice but to brand him a demon and execute him.
Yet another thought gnawed at him, darker still.
What if I want to devour them?
He opened his eyes, gray irises glinting faintly with slit pupils. His lips curled into a faint smile. "No… not want. Need."
⸻
A Conversation with Su Rou
The door creaked. Su Rou stepped in quietly, clutching a flask of antidote. Her eyes searched him, tense, worried.
"They're all talking about you," she whispered. "They want your blood. Zhao Yunhai, Wei Jing, Jiang Fei… they've sworn to crush you."
Shen Lian's smile widened faintly. "Good."
Her brows furrowed. "Good? You'll be walking into their blades."
"Blades cut," Shen Lian said calmly. "But prey fears blades. Predators don't."
She stepped closer, voice trembling. "Shen Lian… promise me you'll hold back. Don't let it consume you."
His eyes locked onto hers. For a long time, he said nothing. Then he spoke softly: "And if I don't hold back… will you still call me Shen Lian?"
Her breath caught. She had no answer.
He rose, straightening his robe. The black silk clung to his lean frame, his shadow long and heavy in the morning mist.
"I don't need mercy," he said quietly. "Not from them. Not even from you."
⸻
The Gathering
By the time he reached the courtyard, the sect was already alive with tension. Disciples filled the stone terraces, elders sat beneath banners of black silk, and the pits hissed faintly below, serpents stirring at the scent of blood soon to come.
Zhao Yunhai stood proudly, venom qi coiling visibly around his fists. Wei Jing stood silent, her hands gloved, a faint green mist seeping from her sleeves. Jiang Fei twirled his serpent-bone spear lazily, a cruel smirk on his lips.
When Shen Lian stepped into the arena, every head turned. Murmurs rippled like waves.
"Demon."
"Monster."
"Devourer."
And above them all, Elder Mo Xuan smiled faintly, his eyes glimmering like a serpent waiting for the strike.
⸻
Cliffhanger
The drums thundered.
"The Poison Fang Tournament," Sect Master Hei Zong declared, his voice heavy, "begins now!"
The first match was called. Two disciples stepped forward. Their fight would not involve Shen Lian yet.
But as the clash of poison and qi filled the courtyard, Shen Lian stood silently, his lotus trembling inside him, the whispers roaring.
Soon.
He clenched his fists, his lips curling faintly.
"Let them come."