At the stroke of midnight, fifty miles north of Shepherd Valley, the towering black volcanic stone walls of Beast-Emperor Mo Fan’s Blood-Colosseum loomed beneath the twin moons like a crouched iron beast.
High up in the penthouse palace atop the Colosseum’s northern spire, Chosen One Mo Fan. A twenty-two-year-old cultivator wearing a blood-red silk robe draped with the pelts of rare silver foxes. Swirled a goblet of crimson spirit-wine as he glanced lazily at the floating blue screen of his [Blood-Slave Beast System]:
[Underground Kennel Status: 10,000 / 10,000 Spirit Cubs & Mother Beasts Locked in Sub-Level 3]
[Average Agony & Ferocity Index: 94.8% (Optimal for Tomorrow’s Live Blood-Evolution Broadcast)]
[Security Patrol: 50 Rank 6 Elite Beast-Masters + The Chained Rank 7 Three-Headed Flame-Lion King]
“Hmph, ninety-four-point-eight percent ferocity,” Mo Fan sneered to himself, setting his wine goblet down on his nightstand before yawning and climbing into his velvet bed. “By nine o’clock tomorrow morning, when three billion spectators across Worlds #6.
Moreover, #7 Tune in to the decennial tournament, those ten thousand starving cubs will tear each other apart in thirty minutes flat. The resulting blood-qi tide will push my cultivation straight into Rank 7 Mid!”
He didn’t have the faintest clue that three hundred feet directly beneath his bedroom, the rusted iron grate of the western underground drainage tunnel was lifting silently off its hinges. Greased with a drop of Auntie Qin’s sesame cooking oil so it wouldn’t make a single squeak!
