Summer.

“You should be feeling honored!” a warrior called out from behind, a distinct accent only eastern men had in their dialect. Once you were to turn around, it would turn out to be none other than the man who loved power more than any lover himself: Xi Shao!

Adorning black, white, and red robes, the scarred tiger-man had a scarred lip that curled into a sardonic smile; an ill-implying, cynical smirk gravely slit across his face, his maw scarred and his crimson eyes accentuating the malevolence behind them, a blade at his side and wooden sandals draped in seawater and sand abaft his feet. This would do as practice.

“I’ll make you grovel beneath my feet!” Xi promised as an exclaim, still taking his sweet time as he walked toward his new live target. Xi would be slowly approaching, cracking his neck with a palm before continuing.