A thin trail of blood decorated XueYa's chin, the ice ZhiCheng had conjured up had cut his flesh open like blades, drenching his dark robes in patches of blood. A few bruises were developing over his cheeks, lip busted open.
ZhiCheng was in no better shape, having equally gained cuts and bruises himself. Some of his pristine porcelain hair had scorched to ash, leaving shrivelled black streaks behind. His left eye was fast turning alarmingly purple after XueYa punched him in the eye socket. Whatever clothes he had donned to appear presentable were pooled around his feet, scorched until only a loincloth like contraption hung on his waist.
It was only until Tao stepped in, tearing the two off each other's throats that the waters calmed - to some extent.
The air still sizzled with tension, both men still willing to tear into each other's throats like wild animals. But Tao gently smacked ZhiCheng into a more diplomatic approach.
