The Borderlands bled into mountains, jagged teeth rising against the horizon. For days the Brothers climbed through broken passes, where wind howled and vultures circled, where villages lay abandoned, burned, or worse marked with crimson sigils painted in blood.
It was Wu Zhen who first spoke the name. His voice was low, like a prayer.
"The Lotus Fortress."
They had heard whispers for weeks of a bastion where the Crimson Lotus Sect gathered its armies and wove their rituals. A stronghold not raised by kings or masons, but grown from corruption, as if the mountains themselves had bent to the sect's will.
And when at last the Brothers crested the ridge and beheld it, silence fell over them.
The fortress sprawled across a ravine like a cancer. Walls of black stone jutted from the cliffs, fused with veins of red crystal that pulsed faintly, as though the mountain itself had been bled. Towers loomed, carved not with banners but with lotus blossoms that seemed to writhe in the moonlight. Fires burned within the walls, not orange, but crimson, their smoke rising like serpents into the night sky.
Below, the fortress swarmed with life mercenaries, zealots, peasants in chains. Armies drilled in the courtyards, crimson rags tied around their arms. Beyond the walls, shrines glowed, braziers fed with blood and grain, their flames feeding into a single column of light that speared upward into the heavens.
Even the moon above seemed tainted, its pale face stained with streaks of red.
Chen Feng's breath caught. "This… this is not a fortress. It is a wound."
Li Heng's jaw tightened. "And wounds spread."
The Brothers withdrew into the shelter of a cave. There, by the light of a single flame, they spoke.
"To strike head-on is folly," Luo Yan said bluntly. "We are ten. They are thousands."
"Ten," Guo Tian growled, "has been enough before."
"This is different," Zhao Ming said, laying out a rough sketch on parchment. "See the light? The flames are being drawn into a central point here." He tapped the heart of the fortress. "Not merely symbolic. They are channeling energy. For what purpose, I cannot say. But if we strike that heart, the fortress itself may bleed."
"Then we must strike," Chen Feng said quickly, eyes blazing. "Every day we wait, their power grows. Every day, more are chained, more are bled. We cannot stand and watch."
Shen Kuan exhaled smoke from a reed pipe, his voice soft but sharp. "And if you die charging into a sea of spears, what then? Will vengeance keep breathing when you cannot?"
Chen Feng stiffened. His hand clenched around his sword, the fire humming faintly at his touch. "So we wait while they consume the world?"
"No," Wu Zhen interrupted, staff resting across his knees. His tone was calm, yet it silenced them all. "We strike wisely. The fortress is not a beast to be slain with one blow. It is a serpent. Cut the heart, and the coils loosen. But do not mistake zeal for strength, Chen Feng. The road of fire burns those who rush it."
Li Heng's gaze turned to Chen Feng. "Patience is a blade sharper than steel. Do you have the will to wield it?"
Chen Feng bit back his anger. He wanted to scream that patience would not bring his mother back, that waiting only fed the Lotus. But beneath Li Heng's eyes cold, unyielding as winter he swallowed his fury.
"I will wait," he said at last. His voice was tight, but steady. "But not forever."
That night, Chen Feng dreamed.
He stood once more before the black throne. Shadows coiled like smoke, and upon the throne sat the figure cloaked in darkness. The air itself shivered at its presence.
You walk nearer, the voice whispered, both cruel and soft. The fire bends to you. The fortress calls you by name. You are mine, little ember.
Chen Feng gripped his sword. "I am no one's."
A low laugh echoed, shaking the void. No one's? You bear my flame in your veins. Even now, you feel it the hunger, the thirst. Each shrine you burn, each enemy you slay, you feed the seed I planted. And soon… you will bloom.
Chen Feng's chest burned. The fire surged through his veins, and for a moment he saw himself wreathed in crimson light, his brothers at his feet, the world burning around him.
"No!" he shouted, forcing the vision away. "I will not become your monster!"
The throne's shadow leaned forward. You already are. And when the red moon rises full, you will not resist. The Crimson Sovereign shall rise through you.
Chen Feng woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat. The cave was dark, his brothers sleeping. Only Wu Zhen stirred, eyes opening as if he had been waiting.
"You saw him again," the monk said softly.
Chen Feng nodded, trembling. "He says I am… his vessel."
Wu Zhen's gaze was grave. "Perhaps you are. Or perhaps Heaven tests you. Remember this, child: fire consumes, but it also gives light. Which you choose is yours alone."
Chen Feng buried his face in his hands. His sword pulsed faintly beside him, like a heartbeat.
Dawn brought no peace.
The Brothers moved closer to the fortress, weaving through pine forests and broken cliffs. From a hidden ridge, they watched the fortress by day.
What they saw chilled them.
Prisoners were led to the shrines, their blood spilling into bowls that fed the flames. Chanting echoed, words not of men but of something older, darker. At the fortress's center, cloaked figures traced sigils into stone, their hands blackened with ash.
And among them, a figure stood apart tall, robed in crimson and gold, face hidden by a mask shaped like a lotus blossom. The very air bent around him, heat shimmering. Even from afar, his presence pressed upon them like a weight.
"That is no captain or zealot," Wu Zhen whispered. "That is a master of the Lotus. Perhaps one of their leaders."
Chen Feng's grip tightened on his sword. "Then he falls first."
"Not yet," Li Heng said sharply. "Strike too soon, and we die. We wait for weakness, for shadow, for the serpent's breath to falter. Then we cut."
Zhou Ke's eyes gleamed. "And when we do, I will be the knife."
As night fell again, the Brothers descended into the fortress's shadow. Their plan was simple, but perilous: infiltrate the outer shrines, sever the flow of fire, and strike at the heart before the alarm could rise.
The climb was brutal. The cliffs cut their hands, the wind howled, the stone bled heat from the fortress itself. But at last, they reached the walls and there, like phantoms, they began their descent into the beast's belly.
Chen Feng's heart thundered. The fortress loomed around them, its walls pulsing like veins, its towers breathing smoke. Every shadow seemed alive, every flame whispered his name.
The Lotus Fortress awaited.
And Chen Feng knew whether he walked out as himself, or as the monster in his dreams this night would decide more than his life.
The walls of the Lotus Fortress rose sheer above them, jagged and slick with crimson-veined stone. From a distance they had seemed lifeless, but up close Chen Feng saw the veins pulse faintly, like vessels carrying blood.
He forced his gaze away. The Brothers moved like shadows, scaling with ropes and hands hardened by years of calluses. Zhou Ke went first, slipping into the dark like smoke. Feng Wuyue followed, bow ready, eyes sharp as a hawk's.
Chen Feng climbed between Guo Tian and Luo Yan, his body aching but steady. Above, patrol torches flickered, voices muttering in harsh tones.
A whisper drifted down the line: Zhou Ke's signal. They dropped over the parapet one by one, silent as falling leaves.
The fortress yard spread below a maze of barracks, shrines, and forges. Soldiers slept in ranks, their armor stacked like bones. But here and there, zealots walked, muttering chants, their eyes glowing faintly in the red haze.
"They drink the flame," Wu Zhen murmured. "Their spirits are poisoned."
The Brothers slipped along shadowed alleys. Twice they froze as patrols passed. Once, a zealot turned his head sharply, eyes blazing crimson but Zhao Ming flicked a talisman, and the man's gaze glazed, turning away as if blind.
They pressed deeper. The air grew hotter. The pulse of the walls louder.
At last they reached the first shrine.
It stood in a courtyard ringed by statues of lotus blossoms, petals twisted, grotesque. The brazier at its heart blazed with crimson flame. Villagers gaunt, terrified shuffled forward with offerings of grain and flesh. Guards watched, spears ready.
Chen Feng's sword hummed at his side. The fire whispered. Feed me. Free them. Burn them.
His breath quickened. His hand twitched.
Luo Yan's hand caught his wrist, eyes sharp. "Not yet."
Chen Feng forced stillness. Together they waited as Zhou Ke vanished into shadow. A moment later, a guard staggered and fell soundless, throat cut. Another. Then another.
The Brothers moved. Li Heng's sword flashed, Luo Yan's blade followed, Guo Tian's hammer crushed. Within breaths, the shrine was silent but for the crackle of the flame.
The villagers stared, wide eyed. Some dropped to their knees. Others fled, vanishing into alleys.
Wu Zhen stepped forward, staff raised. "Go. Run far. Live free. The Lotus cannot hold all who flee."
The villagers scattered.
Chen Feng approached the brazier. Again the whispers rose. Again the sword trembled in his grip.
Yes… yes… feed me. Burn this wound from the world. You and I are one.
But this time, Chen Feng's mind was steadier. He saw his mother's face, her last words. Do not seek revenge. Find the truth. He saw his brothers, bloodied but unbroken, standing behind him.
He lifted the blade and plunged it into the flame.
The brazier screamed. Fire flared, then shattered, smoke exploding upward. The pulse of the fortress shuddered a heartbeat skipped.
The shrine was dead.
But the fortress was awake.
Alarms rang. Horns blared. Drums thundered.
From the barracks poured soldiers, mercenaries, zealots with fire in their veins. Their shouts rose like thunder.
"We've stirred the serpent," Luo Yan hissed.
"Then we cut to the heart!" Li Heng barked. "Move!"
The Brothers sprinted through alleys as the fortress erupted. Arrows whistled overhead, spears clashed, flames burned brighter. The shrines pulsed, feeding power toward the central tower.
They fought as they ran. Feng Wuyue loosed arrows into pursuers, Zhou Ke struck from shadows, Zhao Ming's talismans burst in fire and smoke. Guo Tian swung his hammer like a storm, scattering enemies with every blow.
Chen Feng's blade cut through soldier after soldier, the fire singing in his blood. He felt himself moving faster, striking harder too hard. The sword's whispers rose louder. Kill them all. More. More.
A zealot lunged, eyes blazing. Chen Feng's blade split him in two and for an instant, he felt the man's life feed into him, a rush of heat, of power.
He staggered, gasping. His hand shook.
"Chen Feng!" Luo Yan's voice snapped him back. "Hold yourself! The sword is not your master!"
Chen Feng grit his teeth, forcing the fire down. Not his master. Not yet.
At last they reached the inner sanctum.
A towering gate of black stone rose before them, carved with lotus blossoms that seemed to writhe. Beyond it, the column of crimson light speared the heavens. The heart of the fortress.
But the gate was guarded.
A dozen zealots stood in formation, their armor fused with veins of crystal, their eyes pits of fire. At their head stood the masked figure Chen Feng had seen before tall, robed in crimson and gold, the lotus mask gleaming in the firelight.
The Brothers halted, the air heavy with heat.
The masked figure raised a hand. The zealots did not move, but the air shuddered. Flames coiled into the man's palm, forming a lotus of living fire.
His voice was deep, resonant, inhuman.
"You come as gnats into the dragon's lair. You burn shrines, you scatter embers, and you think yourselves victorious. But you are fuel, nothing more. The Crimson Sovereign rises. And you boy."
His head turned, the mask fixing on Chen Feng.
"You are his vessel."
Chen Feng's breath caught. "I am no one's!" he shouted.
The masked figure's laugh echoed like breaking stone. "So you say now. But the flame in your veins answers only to him. You cannot deny it. When the moon is full, you will kneel."
The lotus of fire in his hand flared.
Li Heng's sword lifted. "Brothers. We cut the serpent's tongue first."
The zealots surged forward.
The zealots charged like a tide of fire. Their armor cracked and glowed as if molten veins ran beneath their skin, and their cries were not of men but of beasts.
Li Heng's voice cut the air: "Hold the line!"
The Brothers answered as one.
Guo Tian's hammer smashed the first zealot back into two others, bones breaking like reeds. Luo Yan met another with his blade, steel clashing in a storm of sparks. Zhao Ming's talismans flared, bursting into fire that seared through crystal veined armor.
Chen Feng's sword sang in his hand, the flame rising in rhythm with his pulse. He struck, faster than he had ever moved, his blade cutting crimson arcs that split zealot after zealot. Each strike fed the fire, each kill made it roar louder inside him.
Yes… yes… feed me. More blood. More flame. Burn them all.
Chen Feng gasped. His vision blurred red. For a heartbeat, the zealots' faces melted into that of his mother's killers, into the masked figure's sneer. Rage surged. His sword blazed with fire, brighter, hotter.
He struck and his blade carved not only flesh but stone, a wall splitting in molten ruin.
The zealots faltered, fear flickering in their fire glazed eyes.
But the masked master only raised his hand. The column of crimson light at the sanctum's heart pulsed and the zealots' wounds sealed, their bodies twitching, twisting, as if strings pulled them back upright.
Chen Feng staggered back. "Impossible…"
The masked figure's voice rang out: "The Lotus does not bleed as you do. We are eternal. You cut, we heal. You burn, we bloom. You are children striking at mountains."
His hand thrust forward. The lotus of fire burst into a torrent, crashing toward them.
"Scatter!" Li Heng roared.
The Brothers dove aside. Stone erupted, flame devoured. Heat washed over them, searing skin, burning cloth.
Wu Zhen stood tall amidst the blaze, staff raised, chanting. His voice cut through the roar, and the fire bent, split, crashing harmlessly into the walls. The old monk's face was grim, sweat streaming, but his voice did not falter.
"Go!" he thundered. "Strike the zealots! I will hold the serpent's breath!"
The Brothers charged again.
Zhou Ke darted from shadow to shadow, blades piercing throats. Feng Wuyue's arrows flew swift and sure, pinning zealots even as their wounds burned shut. Shen Kuan's smoke bombs burst, choking and scattering.
Still, the zealots pressed on, tireless, endless. For every one that fell, two rose again.
"Chen Feng!" Luo Yan shouted over the clash. "The fire! It binds them the column of light! Sever it!"
Chen Feng's eyes snapped to the tower's heart. The column of flame speared upward, pulsing with the rhythm of a heartbeat. The zealots' wounds closed in time with it.
His fire. Their fire. All one.
"I can do it," Chen Feng whispered. His sword burned in his hand, hungry.
Yes, the whisper purred. Strike the heart. Take it. Make it yours. Then you will command them, not fight them. Bow to me, and the world bows with you.
Chen Feng's knees shook. The fire was right there vast, endless. Power enough to shatter armies, to avenge his mother, to end the Lotus. All he had to do was take it.
But another voice cut through Wu Zhen's chant, steady, unyielding. His master's eyes in memory. His mother's last words. Do not seek revenge. Find the truth.
Chen Feng's teeth clenched. He roared, "I bow to no one!"
He lifted his sword and plunged it into the column of flame.
The world screamed.
Light exploded, fire lashing like serpents. The zealots shrieked, their bodies convulsing as the link was severed. Their wounds burst open, blood spraying. One by one they fell, lifeless at last.
The masked master staggered, the column flickering. His lotus of flame faltered. For the first time, his voice cracked.
"Impossible!"
Chen Feng's sword blazed brighter, white-hot now, not crimson. The whispers screamed in fury.
Fool! You reject me? You could be a god!
Chen Feng thrust deeper. The column shattered. The sanctum shook, stone splitting, fire exploding outward.
The zealots collapsed, dead. The fortress groaned, walls cracking.
The masked master reeled, clutching his chest. His mask turned toward Chen Feng, fury blazing. "You will regret this, boy. The Sovereign will not be denied. You are his, whether you fight or kneel."
Then, before they could strike him down, his body dissolved into flame, vanishing into the column's ashes.
The Brothers staggered from the sanctum as the fortress shook. Towers split, walls crumbled. Alarms still rang, soldiers still shouted, but the heart was broken. The Lotus Fortress bled.
They burst into the night air just as a tower collapsed behind them, flames spewing. The crimson light in the sky flickered, then dimmed.
For the first time since they had entered the Borderlands, the night sky showed the moon pale, not red.
The Brothers stood, battered, bloodied, but alive.
Chen Feng fell to his knees, gasping, his sword cooling in his grip. He looked at the blade no longer glowing, but quiet. For the first time since he had taken it, the whispers were silent.
Li Heng approached, laying a hand on his shoulder. His voice was low, but heavy. "You chose. And you chose well."
Chen Feng nodded weakly. But inside, he trembled. He had rejected the fire this time. But he knew the voice was not gone. It would return.
And when it did, he would have to choose again.
Wu Zhen lifted his staff, staring at the smoking ruin of the fortress. "This is only the beginning. The Lotus will not forget. The Sovereign's shadow grows."
The Brothers looked upon the ruin, their breaths harsh in the night air. They had struck a wound into the serpent. But serpents, when wounded, bite deepest.
And far away, in a place beyond sight, the shadow on the throne stirred and smiled.
The moon was little more than a pale shard behind the clouds when the Brothers reached the edge of the mountain range. The road ended at jagged cliffs, and before them the world opened to a vast basin lit by fire.
The fortress loomed there like a wound upon the land. Its walls were not stone alone but black iron veined with crimson ore, glowing faintly in the night. Towers rose in grotesque symmetry, each carved with the emblem of the lotus, petals dripping flame. Strange banners swayed despite the still air, marked with runes that pulsed in rhythm with the distant beat of drums.
Chen Feng shivered. It was not from the cold.
From the fortress's heart rose a column of fire, piercing the heavens, staining the clouds above a dull crimson. It was not natural flame. The air around it bent and warped, and Chen Feng could almost hear a whisper in its roar a thousand voices murmuring at once.
Guo Tian spat into the dirt. "Heaven curse them. That's no fortress. That's a furnace for souls."
Wu Zhen's gaze was solemn. "A shrine and a prison both. Look closely."
Chen Feng squinted. At the base of the fortress, the flames illuminated shapes cages, dozens, perhaps hundreds, each crammed with prisoners. Their rags fluttered in the heat, their faces pale ghosts in the firelight. Every now and then, a figure was dragged from a cage by armored zealots and carried toward the central tower. Their screams faded quickly inside.
Chen Feng's grip on his sword tightened. "We can't leave them."
Li Heng's voice was steady, yet grim. "If we strike blindly, we all die, and they with us. We will do this with steel, not fury." He pointed across the cliff face, where the mountain slope curved toward shadows. "There. A servant's pass. Old supply tunnels. We enter quiet, cut out the heart, and cripple their strength. Then we free who we can."
The Brothers nodded. None argued.
They moved like shadows along the cliff, their forms hidden beneath cloaks and silence. Shen Kuan scattered powders as they crept, herbs masking their scent and aura. Zhou Ke slipped ahead, blending into stone, returning with nods and whispered warnings of patrols.
Chen Feng felt the fire-sword thrum against his hip as if alive. It wanted the fortress. Each step closer, its whispers grew clearer.
So many flames, so many souls. Take them. Claim them. Why skulk like thieves? Walk through the gates, and the fire will bow to you.
Chen Feng gritted his teeth, forcing his breath steady. He tried to remember his mother's voice, the warmth of the valley, the oath of his brothers. But the whispers coiled around his heart like serpents.
At last, they reached the servant's pass: a jagged crack in the mountain wall, half-covered with weeds and rubble. Luo Yan's blade scraped the rocks aside, and the Brothers slipped into the darkness.
The tunnel smelled of iron and smoke. Chains lined the walls, old and rusted, but not empty. Bones lay scattered, shackled and forgotten. The deeper they went, the hotter the air grew. The glow of crimson seeped into the stone.
When they emerged, they were in the belly of the fortress.
The inner courtyard spread before them, ringed by towers. Soldiers in black-lacquered armor marched in drill, their steps echoing like war drums. Torches burned, though the column of fire cast more light than any flame should.
But worse were the zealots.
Dozens knelt around the central tower, their bodies bare but for ash-painted symbols. Their chests rose and fell in unison as they chanted, voices like gravel, feeding the column of fire with their breath. Their skin glowed faintly, as though veins of ember ran beneath it.
Chen Feng's stomach twisted. "They're burning themselves…"
Wu Zhen murmured, "They are fuel."
The Brothers moved along the shadows of the courtyard, ducking beneath stone arches, slipping past guards. Twice they froze as squads marched by, the zealots' chants drowning out all but the thundering of Chen Feng's own heart.
In one corner, a scream tore the air. Chen Feng's eyes snapped to a platform where prisoners were bound. Zealots surrounded them, knives of obsidian in hand. One plunged his blade into a prisoner's chest, and blood poured not onto the stone but into a carved channel glowing crimson, flowing toward the tower. The prisoner's body convulsed, and then stilled.
Chen Feng's legs moved before thought. Rage blazed in him, his hand already on his sword.
A firm grip caught his shoulder. Li Heng's voice, low and steel, whispered in his ear. "No. Not yet."
Chen Feng trembled, tears burning his eyes. But he stopped.
The Brothers pressed onward, toward the tower's base.
The sanctum doors loomed above them, black iron carved with lotus petals dripping flame. Zhou Ke slid forward, pressed his hand to the lock, and in moments the mechanism gave a faint click.
They slipped inside.
The sanctum was a vast chamber, its ceiling lost in darkness. At its heart rose the column of fire, roaring upward into the heavens through a jagged wound in the roof. Its light painted the walls with shifting shadows. Strange runes pulsed in the stone, beating in rhythm with the flames.
Around the column, zealots writhed in dance, their movements jerky, unnatural, as if puppets on strings. And at the far side stood the master.
He wore crimson robes that shimmered like flame, and a mask of black lacquer carved into the shape of a lotus. His presence pressed upon the room, heavy as smoke, his aura burning against their skin.
The Brothers drew steel.
"Children of oath," the masked master said, his voice a ripple of fire. "The Lotus has awaited you. And you" His gaze fell upon Chen Feng, lingering. "The vessel awakens. How fitting you come to me."
Chen Feng's blood froze.
Then the zealots turned, eyes blazing, and charged.
The chamber exploded into battle.
Guo Tian's hammer rose and fell, each blow shattering bone and sending zealots crashing. Luo Yan's blade danced in arcs of silver, deflecting claws and carving throats. Feng Wuyue's arrows flew, piercing zealot hearts, while Shen Kuan's smoke burst to blind their foes.
Zhao Ming flung talismans, each one bursting in fire and lightning, searing zealots where they stood. Zhou Ke struck from shadow, daggers flashing, every cut precise. Wu Zhen's staff cracked skulls, his chants bending flame aside.
Li Heng stood in the center, his blade steady, his voice calm, calling warnings, guiding the flow of the fight.
And Chen Feng
Chen Feng's sword erupted in flame as he struck, the fire rising with every heartbeat. He cut through zealot after zealot, his strikes faster, harder, until he was not sure if he was swinging or if the sword was moving him.
Yes. Yes. Burn them. Feed me.
His vision blurred red. Each zealot wore the mask of his mother's killers. Each cut, each scream, was revenge. His flame flared higher, brighter. Walls cracked beneath his strikes.
"Chen Feng!" Luo Yan's voice pierced the haze. "Control yourself!"
But Chen Feng could not stop. The fire filled him, whispered through him.
Then the masked master raised his hand. The column of flame surged. The zealots' wounds knit, flesh reweaving. Those cut in half rose again, stumbling forward, their eyes empty yet burning.
Chen Feng faltered. "They don't die…"
The master's laughter rolled like thunder. "You fight shadows with steel. They are bound to the flame, eternal. Sever the flame, or drown."
Li Heng's eyes locked on the column. "The heart!" he shouted. "Sever the column!"
Chen Feng stared. The column pulsed in time with the zealots. His sword trembled, fire leaping along its blade. The whispers screamed.
Take it. Do not sever. Claim it. Command them. You are flame incarnate. The world will kneel.
Chen Feng's knees buckled. His chest heaved. He saw his mother's face, her blood. He saw the brothers around him, fighting, bleeding.
"No…" he gasped. "I bow to no one!"
With a roar, he thrust his sword into the column.
The world split.
The flame screamed. Light burst, fire lashing like whips. Zealots convulsed, their bodies tearing apart as the link broke. Blood spattered stone. The chamber shook, runes cracking, walls splitting.
The masked master staggered, clutching his chest. His voice rang in fury. "Fool! You sever the gift that was meant for you! The Sovereign will not forgive. You are his vessel, whether you resist or kneel!"
Chen Feng forced his blade deeper, the fire now white hot, pure. The whispers shrieked in rage.
Then, with a thunderous crack, the column shattered. Flame exploded outward. The zealots collapsed lifeless, their bodies broken.
The master screamed and dissolved into fire, vanishing into the ashes.
The fortress groaned. Towers split, walls crumbled. The Brothers fled the sanctum as the roof collapsed behind them, the column of flame imploding. They burst into the courtyard, smoke and fire rising. Soldiers screamed as walls fell.
At last they reached the outer cliffs. Behind them, the fortress was ablaze, collapsing in ruin. The column was gone. The sky above, for the first time in months, was free of crimson.
The pale moon shone down.
The Brothers stood, battered, bloodied.
Chen Feng fell to his knees, gasping, his sword dull in his grip. The whispers were silent. For the first time, utterly silent.
Li Heng laid a hand on his shoulder. "You chose well."
Chen Feng nodded, though his chest trembled. He had rejected the fire. But he knew this was not victory. The master's words echoed still: You are his vessel.
Wu Zhen leaned on his staff, gazing at the smoking ruin. "This was only a shrine. The serpent still coils, far greater than we know. Tonight, we wounded it. But when a serpent bleeds, its bite is deadliest."
The Brothers turned away, the fire at their backs, the road before them uncertain.
And far beyond mortal sight, upon a throne of flame in a realm unseen, the Crimson Sovereign stirred.