Chapter 8 THE SCARY CRIPPLE

The arena thrummed with residual frost and the metallic tang of blood. Seokga lay sprawled on the cracked stone, his chest heaving in shallow, painful gasps. The Shadow Drain Venom from the previous encounter still lingered like a parasite in his veins, but the Spirit Realm blessing had fortified his foundation just enough. His body was a battlefield—bruised ribs screaming with every breath, frostbite numbing his limbs, yet deeper within, the Eclipse Sigil pulsed like a black heart, feeding on the pain and humiliation.

Pathetic mortal shell, he thought, his divine consciousness flickering. But this… this is fuel.

The crowd’s jeers washed over him like a tide. “Cripple’s luck ran out!” “Send him to the mines already!” Seraphine’s laughter rang sharp from the pavilion, while Varak’s face twisted in smug satisfaction. Kael, Draven, and Thorne watched with predatory glee, their serpent-veined eyes gleaming.

Wazuri stood motionless in the elite section, her amethyst eyes narrowing slightly. A flicker of intrigue crossed her ethereal features—something beyond mere pity for the underdog.

The referee raised a hand. “Victor of the second match: Frostveil Disciple! Seokga of the Crimson Fang Clan is—”

“Wait.” Seokga’s voice cut through, hoarse but steady. He pushed himself up on trembling arms, blood dripping from his lips. The faint spirit qi from the dungeon stirred, knitting minor wounds with agonizing slowness. “I’m not done.”

Laughter erupted anew, louder this time. Even the academy scouts shook their heads.

Kael stepped to the edge of the arena, his voice booming. “Let the trash continue his humiliation. It’ll make his exile sweeter.”

Seokga locked eyes with his stepbrother. The Eclipse Sigil flared faintly in response to the killing intent, a whisper of forbidden power teasing at his blocked meridians. Soon.

The next opponent was a mid-stage Body Tempering brute from an allied clan—broad-shouldered, wielding a massive spirit hammer that crackled with earth qi. “I’ll end this quickly, worm,” the brute growled, charging with ground-shaking steps.

Seokga dodged the first hammer swing by a hair’s breadth, the wind from the blow slicing his cheek. Pain fueled clarity. He remembered fragments from the Spirit Realm vision—Elara and Faeyn’s chant, the resonance technique. His fingers traced invisible patterns in the air, drawing on the seed Elara had given him.

Vein Resonance: First Echo.

A spark ignited. For the first time, qi flowed through one clogged meridian, thin and corrosive like shadowed flame. He countered with a palm strike infused with that dark essence. The brute’s hammer met it—and shattered.

The impact sent the larger man flying back, arm numb and qi disrupted. Seokga pressed forward, his movements sharper, borrowing divine instincts. A series of precise strikes targeted pressure points, each hit siphoning a trace of the opponent’s qi to feed his own.

The crowd fell silent as the brute collapsed, unconscious.

One win. Then another. Each victory chipped away at the mockery, but the toll mounted. By the fourth match, Seokga was on his last legs—vision blurring, the Sigil’s corruption whispering temptations of greater power at the cost of control.

Kael entered the arena for the semi-final bracket clash, cracking his knuckles. “Time to finish what we started in the dungeon, brother.”

The fight was brutal. Kael’s Crimson Serpent Strike lashed out like living whips, drawing blood with every graze. Seokga’s new foundation let him evade and counter, but he was outmatched in raw strength. A devastating coil wrapped his torso, squeezing the air from his lungs.

“Mother…” Seokga gasped, Elara’s face flashing in his mind—her paralysis, the concubine’s poison, the clan’s rot. The Sigil surged.

Black eclipse flames erupted from his core, shattering the qi bonds. Corruption flooded his veins, granting explosive power but burning his soul. He unleashed a palm strike infused with divine-demonic essence directly into Kael’s chest.

Kael flew back, coughing blood, his serpent aura flickering unsteadily. “What… are you?”

The arena exploded in uproar. The Eclipse Sigil had awakened—for the first time in this mortal life.

Seokga stood amid the chaos, eyes glowing with twilight fury. The corruption whispered: More. Take it all. But he reined it in, the price already etching shadows under his skin.

Varak rose from his seat, face pale with shock and rage. Seraphine’s mask cracked completely.

As medics rushed in, Wazuri approached the barrier, her voice low enough for only Seokga to hear. “Interesting… That power. It tastes of forbidden heavens. We should… talk, cripple.”

Her eyes held challenge and something deeper—curiosity laced with heat.

Seokga smirked through the pain. The harem’s first thread, perhaps. And his revenge? Only beginning.