~~~

One bloodied body hits the ground. One fist is raised high.

“Your Winner! Murong Bang!”

The announcer shouts his name at the top of his lungs. The entire stadium vibrates with energy from the crowd. There is not an ear in the city that can’t hear the people chanting Murong Bang’s name.

None of it matters.

Murong Bang goes through the motions of playing along with the crowd. Even he is not inconsiderate enough to ignore the feelings of those who enjoy a good bit of carnage.

However, that’s all it is. A play. A show.

The joy of those who bet their life savings on him. The humiliation of those who bet against him. Those who curse his name. Those who sing him praises. They’re all dull. All gray. Only blood has color. Only the thrill of the fight and the warmth of an enemy’s blood matter.

But blood goes cold too damn quickly.

It’s the damnedest thing. The biggest joke. A person can eat until he can fit no more in his stomach. However, the rush of killing one person fades just as quickly as the rush of killing one thousand.

So damned unfair.

The City Lord comes to talk to him later that day. He speaks of money and glory. Even sends women to his room. Murong Bang has seen his type plenty of times before.

“Just think of it,” the man tells him. There is nothing but money reflected in his eyes. “If you stay here, our Purple Arena will be known as the home of Murong Bang. People would come from all over to watch you.”

It’s not a bad offer. Staying in the Purple Arena. Being worshiped for fighting and killing.

Not bad for someone who started as a common bandit.

Who’d have thought? Kill enough people, and suddenly, everyone is lining up to see you. Turns out infamy is just as good as fame.

Ain’t that the funniest?

Still, Murong Bang does not intend to stay in the Purple Arena. His only thoughts are on how many people he should kill before leaving this city and whether he should kill the City Lord first or last.

Killing people who think they are safe is always good. They make the funniest faces.

“You live a surprisingly austere life. I expected the famous Murong Bang would indulge in the pleasures of the flesh a little more.”

There is a man in his room.

There is a man in his room holding the brown sack in which he keeps most of his possessions.

He’s the plainest man Murong Bang has ever seen.

Murong Bang has seen ugly bastards. Lots of ugly bastards. He has seen pretty bastards too. Broken their faces plenty of times. The man in front of him is neither. He’s just ordinary. He’s so ordinary that Murong Bang has a hard time getting angry at him. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t crushed his head like a grape already.

Yeah, that must be it.

“Who the hell are you?”

“My name is not important,” the bastard says.

“I don’t give a damn about your name!” Murong Bang growls. “I asked who the hell are you!”

The bastard looks at him but doesn’t look at him. It’s as if they’re not in the same room.

“Are you the Murong Bang that killed the White Tiger of Ivory City?”

The name makes Murong Bang grin.

“That sounds familiar.” Murong Bang scratches his ear and makes a show of thinking about it. “Ah, yes. I remember now. He was some annoying pretty boy who thought his shit smelled like roses because he had lived more than five hundred years. Legacy this. History that. Wouldn’t stop yapping. I just had to rip his tongue out.”

Among other things.

“Why are you asking?” Murong Bang shows his teeth. “Friend of yours?”

Murong Bang hopes the answer is yes. There is always something entertaining about killing those seeking revenge.

“I never had the pleasure of meeting the man,” the very ordinary bastard replies. “However, I was planning to. I heard the White Tiger was a formidable fighter.”

Murong Bang snorts. “He was okay.”

He had been more than okay. The White Tiger might have been a boring man, but he had also been a damn good fight. Best one he’d had in years. Compared to him, the Purple Arena had been a big disappointment.

“If he was, he wouldn’t be dead,” the bastard points out. He sits down next to Murong Bang. For some reason, this does not alarm him. “It’s a pity. I traveled all the way here to recruit him, but you have gone and killed him. That puts me in a difficult position.”

“Not my problem.”

“Oh, but it is,” the bastard tells him. “I’ll have you make up for the loss.”

Murong Bang burst into laughter.

“Oh, really?” Murong Bang puts an arm around the bastard’s shoulder and pulls him close. “And how exactly are you planning on doing that?”

“Did you know you can challenge the champion of the Purple Arena for the whole week after he wins the tournament?” The bastard asks him, not intimidated in the slightest. He looks out the window. “It’s a curious tradition. One can sit out the whole tournament yet still become champion that way. You could even say that’s how the real champion is decided. The tournament is merely a preview. The City Lord probably didn’t tell you that, did he?”

“That sneaky little rat,” Murong Bang says, impressed. “No wonder he wanted me to stay. And here I was thinking there was no point in doing that.”

“Good. I was hoping that telling you that would pique your interest. I will challenge you on the seventh day,” the bastard says.

“You?” Murong Bang laughs in the bastard’s face. “You think you can challenge me?”

“I think I could kill you right now.”

The smile on Murong Bang’s face falls off.

There is no fear on the bastard’s face. No hesitation. No doubt. No pride.

“Try not to lose until we meet again,” the bastard says. “It’d be disappointing if you did.”

The scales tip. Murong Bang finally gets angry. He reaches to grab the stranger by the throat.

The bastard is no longer at his side.

He is standing in front of him.

“Do you think I’ll let you get away with saying something like that to my face?!” Murong Bang growls as he stands up.

The ordinary man looks at him. Really looks at him. Finally acknowledging his existence.

“I think you cannot stop me from doing anything I want.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Murong Bang takes a swing at him.

The man is gone.

Murong Bang looks left and right, but no one is in the room with him. He tries to sense him but realizes he never once noticed the man’s Qi.

Murong Bang screams in frustration.

~~~

Murong Bang does not bother looking for the bastard. Somehow, he cannot bring himself to consider him important, especially not when so many people start challenging him after his victory in the Purple Arena.

Of course, half of those challenges are withdrawn by the end of the first day. The sight of Murong Bang viciously tearing apart his opponents is all they need to realize they stand no chance. He is nowhere near as tired by the tournament as many had assumed.

By the end of the third day, only ten braves are left.

All ten are killed by Murong Bang over the next four days.

It is not that they are weak. He would have found them an entertaining challenge a year or two ago, but his growth has gone too far. Killing them is enjoyable, but it is a joy that does not last. As he tosses aside the body of his last challenger, Murong Bang only feels… dull.

“Decently done, I suppose. I can see how you killed the White Tiger.”

That voice!

Murong Bang’s Qi rises. His teeth gnash against each other. His veins bulge. The cheers of the crowd are overwhelmed by the blood roaring in his ears. His eyes are fixed on that bastard!

“You!”

His voice, backed by the intensity of his Qi, reaches every corner of the city. Suddenly, Murong Bang realizes how unnatural it is that he just stopped thinking about the bastard in front of him.

“A damned mind technique!” Murong Bang roars, stomping on the ground hard enough to make the whole arena quake. “That’s what it is, isn’t it?”

The stranger raises his eyebrow.

“You noticed. Impressive. That makes me even more certain of my decision. You will join me in place of the White Tiger,” the bastard tells him. “Go to your room and gather your things. We leave at once.”

Murong Bang’s veins bulge over his skin. He is so angry his lips pull back in a demented smile.

“And if I say no?”

“I do not recall asking for your consent,” the bastard replies. “Although I can see why you’d think it was a factor, make no mistake. It isn’t.”

Murong Bang throws his head back and laughs. It is a haunting laughter overflowing with violence that strikes fear into the hearts of those at the arena.

The bastard is unmoved.

“I see. I see.” Murong Bang leans forward. His massive arms hang at his side. Bloodlust radiates from his every pore. “How about I shove your offer down your throat and pull it out of your asshole?”

The stranger blinks.

“I do not believe you are capable of that,” the stranger says.

Murong Bang’s grin grows.

“Let’s find out.”

A shockwave erupts as Murong Bang charges at the bastard with a mad grin on his face. Flames burst around him, turning the ground into glass. The people in the lower seats are incinerated in seconds. His hands are about to close around the bastard’s neck and snuff the life out of him. He can almost feel the man’s neck snapping under his might.

The sky is blue.

Murong Bang notices that because he is somehow on his back. His chest is in pain because his ribcage has shattered, and somehow, he is not healing.

His soul is damaged.

When was the last time someone managed to do that?

When was the last time someone managed to do that without him noticing it?

“Is that all?” The bastard asks him. “If it is, I fear I might have to revise my opinion of you.”

Murong Bang growls and gets back up.

His shoulder cracks.

Murong Bang gets up, and his teeth go flying.

Murong Bang gets up, and his knees break.

Murang Bang gets up, and his arm is broken.

Murong Bang gets up, and his lungs are punctured.

Murong Bang gets up, and his intestines are pulped.

Murong Bang gets up, and his stomach is pierced.

It is a one-sided massacre. A spectacle that repeats itself for over an hour in front of an increasingly queasy audience. Their cheers have long faded and been replaced by an uneasy silence. They want to run. They want to flee.

They cannot will their legs to move.

They cannot turn their heads.

They cannot close their eyes.

“N-not yet!” Murong Bang manages to say. It’s hard to speak. Blood keeps flowing from his mouth. It gets in the way of talking. “Not yet!”

“I realize I am the one who goaded you, but there is a limit,” the bastard says. He looks at him with an impassive face. There is not a single wound on him. “At this point, you’re just being stubborn.”

“Shut up!”

The bastard sighs and sits on his back.

“Let me tell you something,” the bastard says, ignoring Murong Bang’s struggles. “I told you before that your compliance was never a factor in this. You might think that it is because I am stronger than you. That’s not it, Murong Bang. Is it not your strength that makes you unworthy of choice.”

Murong Bang stops struggling. Stops moving. Stops breathing.

He can feel the bastard’s gaze on him, and it paralyzes him.

“You are a beast, Murong Bang,” the stranger says. “Choices are for people. A farmer does not ask the oxen if he wishes to plow his field. In the same way, there is no need for me to ask you to serve me. There is no need for you to think. You only need to walk on the path I have set for you. In fact, you are worse than the lowest of animals because there is no meaning in what you do. Your savagery. Your brutality. Your carnage. It is nothing but a childish tantrum. Serving me is the highest purpose an existence like you can aspire to.”

Murong Bang’s rage reaches new heights.

His Qi blazes. His muscles and bones break as he forces his body beyond his limits. To move. To stand up. To crush that bastard’s throat.

And once again, he is put down in the blink of an eye.

“You say I am a beast?!” Murong Bang shouts, gasping for air. He coughs, and blood flows from his mouth. “Fine! Even a beast knows its master by sight! And my eyes will never recognize you!”

“Oh?”

The stranger looks at him without malice.

“Is it that simple then?”

He rips out his eyes.

Murong Bang screams.

He rolls on the ground, holding his bloodied face. The pain has finally gone past the point he can withstand. Murong Bang can feel new eyes growing in his empty eye-sockets, and it makes him want to vomit.

“Ah, to be given new eyes by the Boss. How can a gift like that be wasted on an oaf like this? Boss, can you take out my eyes next?”

“Sister Deng, control yourself. You’ll reflect badly on the Boss if you keep saying things like that.”

Two new voices. Two new presences in the arena. A man and a woman. Murong Bang cannot see them. Even if he had eyes, he would be too tired to even lift his head.

“Nie Dan, Deng Duling,” the bastard says. “Is it done?”

“The City Lord and his accomplices are dead. Their money will fund our operations for a few months,” the male says. He pauses for a moment. Murong Bang can almost feel him glancing his way. “Boss, you know I’d never defy you, but do we really need someone like him? We have been watching him for two weeks now. That’s enough for us to know this man is nothing but an animal.”

“Even animals have their uses,” the bastard says. “He’s directionless, so I will give him direction.”

“Asshole,” Murong Bang manages to say. His new eyes are almost formed.

“You dare insult the Boss with your worthless lips,” the female snarls, kicking his broken ribs. “You who are not even worthy of hearing his voice? You dare?”

Murong Bang wants to tell the bitch where she can shove her opinions, but he’s in too much pain to do so. He feels the bastard kneel before him. Murong Bang blinks as his new eyes are finally formed.

Red.

Red like blood.

That is the first thing Murong Bang sees with his new eyes.

“You said your eyes would never recognize me. That’s why I have given you new eyes,” the bastard says. He looks completely different. “If these eyes still don’t recognize me, we can change them. If your knees refuse to kneel, I will give you new knees. If your tongue speaks of disloyalty, I will give you a new tongue. If your heart does not beat for me, I will give you a new heart.”

For the first time in his life, Murong Bang feels something like terror.

“Bit by bit. Piece by piece,” the monster says, holding Murong Bang’s head between his hands, making him unable to look away from his red gaze, drowning him in eyes like blood.

Real. Vibrant. Living.

How could he have ever mistaken him for ordinary?

“Until the person you were before meeting me no longer exists.”

For the first time in his life, Murong Bang feels something like worship.

~~~

“General Murong!”

Murong Bang blinks and rubs his eyes. Groggy, he looks to his left and frowns. He had fallen asleep.

“Bright Sword,” he says. “You woke me up.”

“I did,” Bright Sword says. “There are matters that require your attention.”

“I was having a good dream,” Murong Bang says. “That bitch Duling was there, so it could have been better, but it was still a good dream. One of my best.”

“I noticed. General Murong was smiling like a damsel on the night before her wedding.”

Bright Sword’s head goes flying.

“You think you’d know better,” Murong Bang says dryly. “Just because I let you talk more than most doesn’t mean I’ll let you get away with everything.”

“My apologies,” Bright Sword says after he regrows his head. He handles his first decapitation far better than he did.

The Black Dragon had kept to his word. Piece by piece, he tore out every part of him until nothing was left of the Murong Bang that existed before meeting him.

No one else was given that honor. Not even that bitch Duling, something he never let her forget.

“However, I thought you’d like to know Commander Qing Jin has been sighted one day away from Cloudburst City.”

Murong Bang smiles.

~~~