Fang Bong exhaled, chest heaving, blood dripping from his knuckles.
His sleeves were shredded, revealing bruises and gashes, but the fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed.
He looked back once at Elder Ruì.
"Fang Bong, stand down for now," she said, her tone brooking no argument.
He stepped back, his hands clenched.
Scar-Lip wiped a trickle of blood from his cracked lip, smirking. "So, you're the one in charge, huh? Thought you'd keep hiding behind brats and come out only when I'm exhausted."
Fang Ruì's robes rustled as she stepped forward, silent and precise.
She drew her sword, not flashy, just a slender curve of spiritual metal that shimmered faintly with condensed light.
Scar-Lip cracked his neck.
His aura flared, the early stages of Qi Transformation, raw and unrefined, but still dangerous.
Spiritual pressure thickened the air, sending dust and debris into swirls.
