The Opponent
The crowd buzzed as Shen Lian stepped onto the black stone platform. Across from him, his opponent strode forward: Han Wei, an inner disciple in late Venom Core Stage, known for his speed and ferocity.
Han Wei cracked his knuckles, venom qi crackling along his arms like coiled snakes. "They say you drain qi like a leech," he sneered. "Let's see if you can drain me before I tear you apart."
The crowd jeered and laughed, hungry for blood.
Above, Sect Master Hei Zong's face was unreadable. Elder Mo Xuan's lips curved faintly, his eyes never leaving Shen Lian.
⸻
The Opening
The drum boomed once.
Han Wei lunged forward instantly, faster than most eyes could follow, his fist glowing with coiling venom qi. Shen Lian twisted aside, the strike grazing his shoulder—but even that touch burned, venom searing into his flesh.
He staggered back, his veins blackening at the edges.
The crowd roared approval. "The devourer bleeds!"
Shen Lian's eyes narrowed. Inside him, the lotus pulsed. The petals whispered.
Take him. Drink him. Tear him open.
He clenched his jaw, forcing the hunger down. Not yet.
⸻
Clash of Venoms
Han Wei pressed the attack, his fists blurring in a storm of strikes, each one carrying venom qi sharp as blades. Shen Lian dodged, blocked, parried—but each movement cost him. A strike grazed his ribs, burning. Another clipped his thigh, searing through flesh.
Blood dripped from his lip. His chest heaved. His limbs trembled.
The whispers inside screamed louder. You'll die if you hold back. Take him now. Devour him.
Shen Lian's hand twitched. For an instant, black tendrils of qi coiled around his arm, hungry, writhing. The crowd gasped, some shouting "Demonic art!"
But Shen Lian snapped his hand shut, forcing them back. Not yet.
He fought on, each strike a battle against his opponent and against himself.
⸻
Turning Point
Han Wei smirked, certain of victory. He launched forward with his finishing strike: Serpent Fang Barrage, fists hammering like venomous fangs in a rainstorm.
The crowd surged to its feet. Even elders leaned forward.
Shen Lian staggered under the onslaught, his body screaming in pain. His lips parted, his eyes glowing faintly. For a heartbeat, it looked as if he would fall.
And then—he moved.
The details blurred, even to the watching crowd. A single strike, sudden and precise. A twist of qi that no one fully understood.
The next moment, Han Wei was on his knees, gasping, his face pale, his veins trembling black. His qi had been torn from him, leaving him half-empty.
Shen Lian stood above him, chest heaving, blood dripping from his chin, but his eyes steady, cold.
The crowd fell into stunned silence.
⸻
Victory
Han Wei collapsed, unconscious but alive.
"The winner," the elder announced reluctantly, "Shen Lian."
The courtyard erupted in whispers.
"How did he—?"
"I couldn't even see…"
"Demonic art. It has to be."
Some stared in awe. Others in fear.
Above, Sect Master Hei Zong scowled deeply. But Elder Mo Xuan's smile widened, his eyes glimmering.
Su Rou pressed her hand to her chest, trembling. He had won—but she had seen his hand shake, his veins darken, his eyes flicker with hunger.
She knew: victory was not control. He was closer to the edge than ever.
⸻
Cliffhanger
Shen Lian walked from the platform, blood soaking his sleeve, his body trembling. Inside him, the lotus pulsed, its petals roaring with laughter.
More. More. MORE.
He clenched his fists, his lips curling faintly.
"Patience," he whispered to the voices. "We're just beginning."
And as the drums thundered for the next match, every disciple in the Hall whispered his name in fear and curiosity.
Shen Lian, the devourer.
What was he?
How far could he go?
No one knew.
Not even Shen Lian himself.