Chapter 317: Slaughter in the Ring

Chapter 317: Chapter 317: Slaughter in the Ring

The second Earth Fang disciple stepped onto the arena floor.

His name was Varen Swift-Edge, a veteran of thirty-two sanctioned duels, a man who had faced beasts and bandits and lived to tell the tale.

He lasted four seconds.

Kai moved before Varen could raise his spear, a blur of black and crimson that closed the distance in less than a heartbeat.

Varen’s mouth opened to speak the words.

"I— I—"

The first syllable never left his lips.

Kai’s finger extended, a needle-thin streak of demonic fire lancing out and severing Varen’s vocal cords before the sound could form.

Varen’s hands flew to his throat, blood pouring between his fingers, his eyes wide with panic and pain.

Kai grabbed his head.

And twisted.

The crack echoed through the silent arena, loud and final.

Varen’s body crumpled, his neck bent at an impossible angle, his eyes still open, still staring at the sky.

The crowd didn’t cheer. They couldn’t.

They just watched, frozen, as Kai tossed the corpse aside like garbage.

The Earth Fang dugout erupted in chaos.

"Yield! We yield! All of us!" The captain’s voice cracked as he screamed at Grand Marshal Vane.

But Vane stood motionless, his arms crossed, his face unreadable.

"The match continues until one side is eliminated or the other side’s fighters refuse to enter."

The Earth Fang captain’s face went white, his hands trembling at his sides.

"Then we—"

His voice faltered, desperate. Grand Marshal Vane’s cold, unyielding tone cut through.

"Your third fighter is already in the ring."

The captain spun, his robes twisting, his eyes locking onto the blood-soaked arena.

Kai had moved again, appearing directly in front of the Earth Fang dugout’s entrance, his blood-drenched claws extended toward the third disciple.

The disciple tried to flee, tried to jump backward, tried to activate a defensive talisman.

Kai’s claws caught him mid-air.

The demonic grafts on Kai’s arms pulsed, the purple-red light intensifying as his claws tore through the disciple’s robes, through his flesh, through his bones.

The disciple’s body exploded in a shower of blood and viscera.

But the blood didn’t fall.

It hung in the air, suspended, before being drawn into Kai’s grafts like water into a sponge.

The demonic grafts pulsed, absorbing the blood mist, fueling Kai’s synthetic King Spirit Realm aura.

Kai’s eyes rolled back in his head for a moment, a shudder of pleasure running through his body.

"More," he whispered, his voice raw and hungry. "Give me more."

Up in the VIP box, Alistair Reventon sat in a plush velvet chair, a crystal goblet of wine in his hand.

Alistair Reventon took a slow, deliberate sip of the deep crimson wine, his cold, calculating eyes never leaving the blood-soaked arena floor where Kai was tearing through the Earth Fang disciples like a demon unleashed.

A satisfied, predatory smirk spread across his patrician features, the expression of a man watching a masterpiece unfold exactly as he had orchestrated.

He turned his head, the motion deliberate and slow, until his cold gaze met Selene Frostborn’s icy stare.

He raised his glass in a mocking toast, the gesture a silent, venomous declaration of victory.

Look at what I’ve created, the gesture said, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. Look at what your rejection has cost.

Selene’s hands trembled in her lap, her knuckles white, her frosty aura leaking out in uncontrolled bursts, freezing the air around her.

Her sword aura leaked out, uncontrolled, the temperature around her dropping so fast that her chair froze solid beneath her, ice crystals forming on the armrests.

Her teeth ground together, her jaw tight, her eyes burning with absolute fury.

The cold aura around her intensified, frost spreading across the stone floor beneath her feet in crystalline patterns.

She wanted to move. She wanted to leap from the box and end Kai’s miserable existence with a single, decisive stroke of her blade.

She wanted to kill.

But a warm hand settled over hers, stilling her trembling fingers.

Damon’s grip was gentle but firm, his golden eyes meeting hers with calm certainty.

"Let him dig his own grave."

Selene’s breath hitched.

"He’s already dead," Damon said, his voice low and steady. "He just doesn’t know it yet."

Selene’s hand relaxed under his.

She took a slow breath, the ice around her chair melting as she forced her aura back under control.

She nodded once.

And turned her gaze back to the arena.

Where Kai was already on the fourth Earth Fang disciple.

The disciple had tried to run, tried to circle around the edge of the arena, tried to buy time until the match ended.

Kai caught him in three strides.

The disciple’s legs were torn off first, the stumps spraying blood across the white marble floor.

He screamed as he fell, his hands reaching out, trying to crawl away.

Kai laughed.

A high-pitched, manic sound that echoed through the silent coliseum, bouncing off the walls, drilling into the ears of every spectator.

"Run," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Run, little mouse."

The disciple tried.

He dragged himself across the stone, leaving a trail of blood behind him, his fingers scraping against the marble.

Kai walked after him.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Each step a drumbeat of doom.

He let the fear build, savoring every moment.

The disciple reached the barrier, his hands slapping against the translucent wall, his voice a broken sob.

"Please. Please, I— I—!"

Kai’s hand closed around his ankle.

And pulled.

The disciple’s screams cut off as Kai’s foot came down on his head, the crunch echoing through the arena.

The fifth Earth Fang disciple tried to charge, tried to go down fighting.

Kai met him head-on.

His claws tore through the disciple’s sword, through his arm, through his chest, through his everything.

Blood sprayed across the white marble, painting it red.

Kai stood in the center of the carnage, his body drenched in gore, his demonic grafts pulsing with stolen energy.

He threw his head back and laughed.

A madman’s laugh.

A monster’s laugh.

And in the VIP box, Alistair Reventon took another sip of wine, his smile widening.

The abomination was performing perfectly.