The tunnel didn't lead up. It spiraled down into the mountain's throat.
The air grew heavy, tasting of sulfur and ash. The cool mist of the bridge felt like a distant memory, replaced by a suffocating dry heat that cracked lips and withered lungs.
Yang Yi ran a hand along the wall. The rock was warm, vibrating with a low-frequency hum.
"It's an exhaust port."
The ice girl walked behind him. The frost on her robes had vanished, leaving the fabric damp and clinging to her skin. Her aura, usually sharp and brittle, wavered in the oppressive atmosphere.
"The array pumps waste heat from the sect's forges through here. It burns away impurities."
"And intruders." Yang Yi kept moving.
The tunnel narrowed. The ceiling dropped until they had to stoop. The red light of magma veins pulsing behind the rock walls cast long, distorted shadows.
Yang Yi's blood began to boil.
The Refined Beast Blood, dormant since the bridge, reacted to the ambient Yang energy. It surged in his veins, a feral heat matching the mountain's pulse. His vision swam with red vignettes. The wolf wanted to run. It wanted to tear.
He stumbled, catching himself on the wall.
Sizzle.
Smoke rose from his palm. He jerked his hand back. The rock was searing hot.
The girl stopped. She eyed his trembling hand.
"You consumed a beast core. Raw."
Yang Yi straightened. He forced the wolf down, locking the rage behind a wall of will. "Refined blood. There's a difference."
"Not in here. The heat excites foreign essence. You'll cook from the inside out before we reach the exit."
"Focus on your own problems. You're melting."
She glared at him, but she didn't argue. Sweat streamed down her pale face. Her ice affinity, a lethal weapon on the bridge, was a liability in the furnace. She was expending half her qi just to keep her internal temperature from spiking to lethal levels.
A sound echoed from the darkness ahead. A dry, rasping hiss.
Yang Yi drew his sword. The metal was hot to the touch.
"Something's here."
Shadows detached themselves from the walls. They weren't men. They were husks—scorched bones held together by hardened magma and resentment. Failed aspirants from decades past, animated by the mountain's necrotic waste energy.
Cinder Ghouls.
Three of them blocked the path. Their eye sockets burned with dying embers.
The lead ghoul opened its jaw. No sound came out, just a blast of superheated air.
It lunged.
Yang Yi moved. His body felt lighter, faster. The heat that threatened to kill him also supercharged the beast blood.
He ducked a claw swipe that would have taken his head off. He drove his sword into the ghoul's ribcage.
The blade stuck. The magma inside the creature cooled instantly around the steel, trapping it.
"Damn it."
The ghoul swung a heavy, rocky fist.
Yang Yi abandoned the sword. He rolled backward, dodging the blow.
"Freeze them!"
The girl stepped forward. She placed both hands on the ground. Veins of blue light struggled against the red glare of the tunnel.
"Glacial Spike."
Ice erupted from the floor. It was brittle, melting almost instantly, but it was enough. It impaled the lead ghoul, shattering the magma core in its chest. The creature crumbled into a pile of smoking rocks.
The other two ghouls shrieked. They bypassed Yang Yi, sensing the weakness of the ice user. They charged her.
She tried to summon a shield, but her qi sputtered. The heat was suffocating her connection to the cold.
Panic flashed in her eyes.
Yang Yi didn't think. The wolf instinct took the wheel.
He launched himself at the nearest ghoul. He didn't have a weapon. He became one.
He tackled the creature, slamming it into the wall. The heat of its body seared his clothes, burning his skin. He didn't feel it. He grabbed the ghoul's skull with both hands.
He roared—a sound that wasn't entirely human.
He twisted.
Bone and rock snapped. The ghoul went limp.
The final ghoul raised a claw to strike Yang Yi's exposed back.
A rapier tip exploded through its chest.
The girl stood behind it, panting, her hand shaking on the hilt of her blade. She withdrew the weapon, and the last monster fell.
Silence returned to the tunnel, broken only by the hiss of steam and their ragged breathing.
Yang Yi stood up. He retrieved his sword from the pile of rubble. The blade was blackened, the edge dull.
He looked at his hands. Blisters formed on his palms, healing visibly as the beast blood worked overtime.
The girl stared at him. She looked at the burns on his neck, then at his eyes. The pupils were dilated, feral vertical slits that slowly rounded back to normal.
"You aren't a cultivator. You're a monster in human skin."
Yang Yi sheathed the ruined sword. He leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to vomit up the excess energy.
"Monsters survive. Heroes die on the bridge."
He nodded toward the darkness ahead. A faint, natural light filtered through, promising an end to the tunnel.
"The exit. Let's go before the rest of the graveyard wakes up."
They moved faster now, driven by the fear of the heat.
They burst out of the tunnel mouth, gasping as cool, fresh air hit their lungs.
They weren't at the top.
They stood on a massive, circular arena carved into the mountain's peak. The final thousand steps weren't stairs.
The arena floor was polished white marble, stained with old, brown splashes. Bleachers rose on all sides, filled with the jeering crowd they had seen from the bottom.
In the center of the arena stood a gong.
And guarding the gong was a man.
He didn't wear the robes of a disciple. He wore the black and gold armor of the Sect Enforcement Hall. He sat on a wooden stool, peeling an apple with a knife that radiated cold, murderous intent.
He looked up as Yang Yi and the girl stumbled onto the marble.
"Two more rats from the sewer."
He took a bite of the apple.
"Welcome to the Third Trial. The Meat Grinder."
He pointed the knife at them.
"Defeat me. Or defeat each other. Only one passes the gate."
Yang Yi looked at the gate behind the enforcer. Then he looked at the girl.
She gripped her rapier, her knuckles white. She looked at Yang Yi. The alliance on the bridge and in the tunnel evaporated in the face of the ultimate rule.
Survival.
Yang Yi sighed. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the burns stretch and sting.
"I hate ultimatums."