The sound of Su Mei's ribs snapping against the ancient oak was a dry, hollow crack that seemed to echo for an eternity in the sudden silence of the clearing.
Long Zhan stood over her, his chest heaving, his violet eyes no longer reflecting the light of the world, but rather the cold, abyssal hunger of a predator that had been pushed past the point of reason.
"Where is she?" he hissed again. The air around him was beginning to warp. The grass at his feet didn't just flatten; it turned to ash, scorched by the sheer intensity of the draconic energy radiating from his skin.
"I will ask you one last time, fox. Why can I not find her scent? What did you use to mask her?"
Su Mei lay crumpled against the roots, her white fur stained with dirt and the dark crimson of her own blood. She tried to laugh, but it came out as a wet, bubbling wheeze.
