Both men bled profusely from blade wounds. Anh Long's dragon suit was torn and flapping in several places where the blunt spear had found his flesh. Anh Ho looked like he had fallen into a giant paper shredder. Deep cuts gushed all over. If he won this he might still bleed to death. His arms, legs, and torso were painted scarlet, briefs soaked. Dirt stuck to his mouth where Anh Long had smashed it to the floor.
On the other side stood Loc. Besides having spoken, he was doing something else just as astonishing: showing emotion. His chiseled features were taut with fear. The Viet warrior watched anxiously as his father was wrestled into a submissive position. He stepped forward to stop it.
Anh Long sensed him. “Con Xoan!” Eldest Son, he said in a scolding tone. He grunted from an elbow str
