Crimson Fang's Bite

The tension in the arena remained thick as the next fighters stepped forward. Whispers rippled through the crowd as two figures faced each other—the contrast between them as striking as the last match.

On the left stood Yan Zhu, heir to the Crimson Fang Clan, one of the elite families under the Heavenly Demon Sect. With long crimson hair tied back and narrow, predatory eyes, he exuded a ruthless confidence. His crimson robe, embroidered with the image of a blood-red fang, clung to his lithe frame. Around him, the air seemed to shimmer with faint traces of heat—a sign of his clan's infamous Bloodfire Technique.

Opposite him stood Wu Sheng, a towering youth from the Ironwood Clan, one of the stronger second-rate clans. His broad shoulders and solid frame made him look like an immovable mountain. Deep scars crisscrossed his arms—a testament to years of harsh training. His qi radiated like an ancient tree—steady, resilient, and enduring.

Elder Bai's sharp voice rang out again.

"Begin!"

Wu Sheng wasted no time. He stomped his foot, and the ground cracked beneath him. His fists glowed with a heavy brown qi as he charged forward, each step making the arena tremble.

"Ironwood Fist: Mountain Shatter!"

His punch came like an avalanche—massive, unstoppable, and brutal.

But Yan Zhu didn't flinch.

With a flick of his wrist, crimson flames ignited across his hands, twisting like hungry serpents. His lips curled into a cold smile.

"You think brute force will save you?"

In a blur, Yan Zhu sidestepped the blow. His palm, wreathed in red fire, shot forward—aiming directly at Wu Sheng's ribs.

"Bloodfire Art: Burning Fang!"

CRACK!

The impact sent Wu Sheng skidding back, smoke rising from the charred imprint on his side. A snarl tore from his lips, but he stayed on his feet.

Jian Mu, watching from the sidelines, narrowed his eyes. Yan Zhu was fast—too fast for someone wielding flame-based qi. And that flame… it burned deeper than it should.

"That's not just fire," Zhao Lin muttered nearby. "It's blood essence."

Jian Mu's heart tightened. The Bloodfire Art—a technique where the user burns their own blood to increase power. Ruthless. Dangerous. Deadly.

Wu Sheng wiped blood from his mouth. His eyes burned with resolve. "I'm not done yet."

He slammed his fists together. A wave of earthy qi surged around him as his skin darkened—becoming rough and bark-like.

"Ironwood Body!"

His defenses skyrocketed. With a roar, he launched himself at Yan Zhu again. His movements were slower—but every strike carried bone-crushing force.

BOOM!

The arena shook as fist and flame collided, sending sparks and debris flying. Yan Zhu's flames scorched Wu Sheng's skin, but the Ironwood Body held.

"You can't burn me down," Wu Sheng growled. "I'll break every bone in your body!"

Yan Zhu only laughed—a chilling, joyless sound. "You don't understand, do you?"

He raised his right hand, and the crimson flame grew darker—turning from red to a deep, blood-soaked black. His aura twisted, sharp and oppressive.

"I wasn't trying before."

A crimson sigil flared behind him—a jagged fang dripping with blood. The temperature around him soared.

"Bloodfire Art: Crimson Reaver!"

Yan Zhu thrust both hands forward, unleashing a torrent of blackened flames. It surged toward Wu Sheng like a tidal wave, scorching the air itself.

Wu Sheng's eyes widened. He crossed his arms and braced himself, qi surging to its peak. "Ironwood Fortress!"

A massive wooden barrier erupted from the ground around him—an unyielding wall of qi-infused defense.

For a moment, it seemed like he would hold.

But the Bloodfire burned too hot.

CRACK—BOOM!

The fortress shattered. Wu Sheng was hurled backward, crashing against the arena's edge. His skin, once like bark, was now blistered and raw.

He coughed blood but still tried to rise.

Yan Zhu stalked toward him, eyes gleaming with bloodlust. "Stay down, peasant."

Wu Sheng glared up, defiance flickering in his gaze. "I won't—"

He never finished.

In a blur, Yan Zhu appeared behind him. A thin line of crimson light traced across Wu Sheng's shoulder.

"Bloodfang Slash."

Blood sprayed. Wu Sheng collapsed face-first, unmoving.

The arena fell into silence.

Instructor Mei stepped forward, her tone as cold as the air was hot. "Winner—Yan Zhu."

The crowd murmured, some in awe, others in horror.

Jian Mu felt his blood boil. These main clan heirs—they didn't just want to win. They wanted to crush anyone beneath them.

As Yan Zhu walked off the platform, his gaze briefly met Jian Mu's.

And in that moment, Jian Mu knew—

Soon, their paths would cross.

And when they did…

He wouldn't hold back.

End of Chapter 17