The last thing Bu He remembered was the panicked cries of his friends as the world dissolved into a crimson-tinged darkness. The victory in the ashen fields, the weight of the three Volcanic Hearts—it all meant nothing against the roaring furnace that had ignited in his chest.
When the tournament's teleportation array activated, it did not deliver a triumphant team to the Grand Plaza. It delivered a catastrophe.
Jian Ming and a pale, exhausted Ci Ying supported Bu He's unconscious, convulsing body between them, while Lian Hua walked ahead, her face a mask of desperate concentration as she tried to use her own Leyna to soothe the violent energy radiating from him in waves. His skin was flushed a deep, unhealthy crimson, and dark, vaporous energy seeped from his pores.
The joyous cheers for another returning team died in the throats of the ten thousand spectators. A shocked silence fell over the massive arena. They had watched the Heretic Team achieve the impossible on the projection crystals, but this… this was the price. The monster had won its battle, but now it was devouring its host.
"Make way! Medical unit!" an elder shouted from the dais.
But before they could move, a figure shot through the crowd like a cannonball. Elder Bao, his face stripped of all its manic energy and replaced with grim, terrifying urgency, landed beside them.
"No one touches him!" he roared, his voice leaving no room for argument. He pushed aside a well-meaning Qi-based healer. "Your celestial energy is poison to him! Do you want him to explode?"
Bao knelt, placing a hand on Bu He's forehead. It was burning hot. He then pressed his ear to Bu He's chest and his face went white. The rhythmic beat of a heart was gone, replaced by the chaotic, thrumming roar of the Blood Core.
"Blood Core backlash," he growled, a deep fear in his eyes. "The foolish boy used his own spirit as kindling. The Core is trying to consume his consciousness to fuel its recovery." He looked up at his terrified disciples. "To the laboratory. Now! Run!"
They scrambled back to the familiar, chaotic safety of the lab, Bao sealing the heavy doors behind them. He laid Bu He on the central stone table. While his body was physically present, his mind was trapped in a far more dangerous arena.
Bu He stood on a plain of cracked, dry earth under a perpetually bleeding moon. Across from him stood the other Bu He—the shadow, the hunger. This time, the shadow was no longer just a reflection; it was more solid, its crimson eyes holding a terrifying, possessive intelligence.
The offer was seductive. The thought of never feeling weak again, of having the absolute power to shield Ci Ying, Jian Ming, and Lian Hua from all harm… it was a powerful lure. He felt his will beginning to fray.
But then, a different memory surfaced. A kind old woman sharing stale bread. A small child offering a wooden whistle. Usta Mo's voice, a calm anchor in the storm: 'Your humanity lies in the choices you make when that power threatens to consume you. Do not forget the boy who could laugh at his own misfortune. He is your anchor.'
In the lab, Bao was working frantically. "His spirit is fading! We have to anchor him, remind the Core that it is part of a whole, not the master of the vessel!"
He took a sharp, silver needle and drew a single drop of blood from a terrified but resolute Ci Ying. The blood sizzled, carrying her fiery essence. He did the same for Lian Hua, her blood humming with a gentle, perceptive energy, and for Jian Ming, whose blood felt calm and steady. He mixed the three drops into a swirling, greyish potion made from a crushed Moon Spirit Herb.
"A Concordance Potion," he explained, his hands moving with precision. "It won't heal him. But it might remind his blood of his pack. It might give his spirit a rope to hold onto."
He carefully poured the potion between Bu He's lips.
In the mental battlefield, as the shadow reached out to consume him, three new lights appeared around Bu He. One was a fierce, protective flame (Ci Ying). Another was a gentle, steady silver light (Lian Hua). The third was a calm, intricate web of calculating light (Jian Ming). They were the potion, the anchor, the rope.
The shadow hissed, recoiling from their combined light.
"No," *Bu He thought, finding his voice in the darkness. He looked at the auras of his friends, and then at his own two hands. "You are my weapon. But I am the one who wields it."
With a final, shuddering gasp, Bu He's eyes shot open. He was back in the lab, his friends looking down at him with tear-streaked, relieved faces. The burning fever was gone. The roaring in his chest had subsided to a dull, hungry ache.
He had survived.
He sat up slowly and caught his reflection in a polished beaker. The backlash had left its mark. A thick lock of his hair, just above his right temple, had turned stark, bone-white. A permanent scar from his internal war.
Bao placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You came back," he said, relief washing over his face. "But barely. The next time this happens, I am not sure a simple potion will be enough. We must get the ingredients for the Heart-Calming Jade Elixir. The tournament is no longer about glory, Bu He. It is a race for your very soul."
As if on cue, a formal announcement chime echoed through the tower, and a new notice was magically projected onto a slate on the lab wall. The results of the second round were finalized. Only four teams remained.
Their name, "The Heretic Team," was on the list.
And their opponent for the semi-final match:
"The Golden Vein Hall, led by Xue Feng."
Bu He looked at the name, his hand instinctively going to the new streak of white in his hair. The battle against the monster without was about to collide with the battle against the monster within.