Legend of the Divine Archer

Its cry was filled with fury and pain, the remnants of a long-forgotten battle.

The flaming bird twisted in the sky, its wings spread wide as it dove downward, honing in on Yan Li like a vengeful specter. The air itself seemed to freeze as the javelin descended, the temperature plummeting as frost began to creep across the battlefield. The force of the attack was immense, the weight of the energy and the cold fire warping the very space around it.

Yan Li, pinned to the ground by Wei Xi, Meng Xiao, and Yan Bai, looked up in horror as the javelin came hurtling toward him. The scream of the bird pierced through his mind, and for the first time since the battle began, a flicker of true fear crossed his corrupted face.

The night was illuminated by the freezing flames as the javelin plunged downward, the bird's cry intensifying as it neared its target.

As the javelin, wreathed in ancient cold flames, hurtled towards Yan Li, time seemed to slow. Yan Li thrashed in place, his corrupted aura flaring wildly, desperately trying to free himself from the brutal hold of Wei Xi, Meng Xiao, and Yan Bai. His eyes, once filled with arrogance, now brimmed with terror as the spectral bird descended from the heavens.

The freezing flames licked the air around him, burning not with heat but with an unbearable cold that seeped into his bones. The air became heavy with the scent of death, a tangible reminder of the bloodshed and misery he had wrought upon Pine City.

Yan Li's last moments were nothing but torment. He let out a guttural scream as the javelin crashed into him, piercing through his corrupted defenses. The moment the cold flame made contact with his skin, his body convulsed violently. The ancient power in the javelin tore through him, unraveling his flesh from his bones.

He could feel his blood boiling and freezing at the same time, a paradoxical agony that twisted his very existence. His corrupted dragon, once a manifestation of his power, shrieked in unison with him as the freezing flames devoured it from within, disintegrating it into nothingness.

Yan Li's face contorted into a mask of horror and rage as his body began to disintegrate. The cold flames consumed him slowly, agonizingly, stripping him of his flesh, his power, and his life. His bloodline—once his greatest pride—became his prison as the javelin's power tore through it, breaking him down on a molecular level.

Yan Jin stood a distance away, his posture unmoving as he listened to the screams of his uncle. The air around him remained cold, his breath visible in the freezing mist that surrounded him. Though blind, Yan Jin could feel the suffering radiating from Yan Li's fading presence, each cry and convulsion echoing like a death knell in his mind.

His heart did not stir, his face impassive, as his uncle's final moments stretched on in prolonged agony.

Just before Yan Li's body crumbled into ash, his voice rasped out one final warning, dripping with malice and defiance. His blood-red eyes locked onto Yan Jin's blind gaze, burning with a last flicker of hatred.

"Even if you kill me," he spat through gritted teeth, his voice a ragged whisper filled with venom, "you cannot escape the reckoning that awaits you. The blood you've spilled... will call for vengeance. I will see you in hell, Yan Jin. I'll be waiting for you there...

and when you arrive, there will be no mercy." His words broke off into a strangled cough as the freezing flames consumed him further, but his twisted grin remained even as his body disintegrated into nothingness.

Finally, Yan Li's body collapsed into ash, his scream cut short by the sheer intensity of the pain. All that remained was the lingering cold flame, which soon faded into nothingness, leaving only silence in its wake. The oppressive aura that had once surrounded Yan Li was gone, dissolved by the very power he had thought to control.

The battlefield was silent, save for the heavy breathing of the survivors.

Wei Xi, Meng Xiao, and Yan Bai were all panting heavily, the exertion of the fight taking its toll on their bodies. Blood trickled from wounds that had been hastily bandaged during the battle, and the fatigue of using so much power was evident in their shaking limbs. But they stood victorious, having conquered the demon who had once wreaked havoc on their lives.

Yan Jin let out a slow breath, planting his bow into the ground to steady himself. The energy it took to execute the final blow had drained him more than he was willing to admit. His body ached, and his mind felt like it had been stretched to its limit. He could barely stand, but he wouldn't allow himself to fall—not yet.

The tension in the air dissipated, and the cold mist began to lift. It was over.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The trio surrounding Yan Li's ashes looked to Yan Jin with a mixture of relief and respect. Their alliance had been forged in the fires of revenge, and now that the object of their hatred was dead, they stood on uncertain ground.

Finally, it was Wei Xi who broke the silence. The youngest among them, his face still held traces of innocence, though his eyes were hardened by the battle. "It's done," he said quietly, wiping the blood from his brow. He looked over at Yan Jin, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You were right—your plan worked."

Meng Xiao nodded, still catching her breath. Her purple attire was torn and bloodied, her claws stained with the blood of their enemy. "It was close," she added, glancing down at her hands. "Too close. But we did it."

Yan Bai, silent until now, finally stepped forward, his silver spear still in hand. His white clothes were stained red from the battle, his face pale from exertion and anger. He looked at the spot where Yan Li had disintegrated and shook his head in disgust. "He deserved worse," he muttered, his voice filled with bitterness.

Yan Jin said nothing at first, his expression unreadable. He simply nodded, acknowledging their words. His body was heavy, the exhaustion creeping in now that the adrenaline of the battle was fading. Yet, despite the physical and emotional toll, there was a cold satisfaction deep within him. His uncle was dead, and the revenge he had sought for so many years was finally complete.

Wei Xi walked up to Yan Jin, his spear slung over his shoulder. "I suppose this is where we part ways," he said, his tone casual but respectful. "The Iron Blooded Tournament is coming up soon, and I'm sure we'll be on opposite sides."

Meng Xiao joined them, her usual confident demeanor returning as she flicked the blood off her claws. "Don't think we'll go easy on you just because we fought together," she teased lightly, though there was a serious edge to her words. "We all have something to prove in that tournament."

Yan Bai remained silent, but his eyes met Yan Jin's. There was no longer hatred there, only a deep-seated respect. "We'll see each other again," he said quietly, before turning and walking away.

Yan Jin finally spoke, his voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. "Until then." He offered a small nod to each of them before turning away himself, walking into the shadows with his bow still in hand.

As the three departed, the quiet night once again settled over the battlefield, with only the faint remnants of cold air lingering where Yan Li had met his end. The temporary alliance had dissolved, and the path forward was uncertain. But for tonight, they had earned a small victory in the midst of their ongoing battles.

Yan Jin walked alone into the darkness, his mind already shifting toward the challenges ahead. The Iron Blooded Tournament awaited, and the stakes would only grow higher from here. But for now, he allowed himself one fleeting moment of peace, knowing that he had fulfilled a promise long overdue.

--

As the dust settled and the remnants of the battle began to fade, Purple Spear Meng and the City Lord continued their quiet observation from their distant perch. The City Lord's sharp gaze traced the outlines of the battlefield below, taking in the wreckage and the participants now drifting apart. His eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of the overwhelming display of power.

Purple Spear Meng broke the silence first, his tone curious but tinged with admiration. "Did you catch what his bloodline was?"

The City Lord shook his head slowly, thoughtful. "No. He must have felt our presence and deliberately concealed it. But what I saw... it seemed similar to an ice phoenix, a powerful one at that. The cold air, the flames...

all of it carried the essence of something ancient and fierce."

Purple Spear Meng nodded, his brow furrowed. "An ice phoenix, you say? It makes sense now. The precision, the control... it's a rare and formidable bloodline. No wonder he's managed to survive this long." His eyes trailed down toward Yan Jin, who now stood isolated and drained on the battlefield below.

"The boy's hiding more than just his potential," the City Lord mused. "He's dangerous—and clever. We'll need to keep a close eye on him during the Iron-Blooded Tournament. I have a feeling we haven't seen the extent of his power yet."

Purple Spear Meng agreed, his voice dropping low. "Yes, and when the time comes, I'm not sure even we will be able to stand against him if he decides to reveal everything. But for now... we watch."