Lin Cheng understood Lu Xiaoxiao’s anger, but he felt just as powerless.
Justice had arrived far too late. The seeds had been planted in these villagers a full month earlier. They needed only seven days to complete their assimilation, killing the host outright. The rest of the time simply converted the host into pure nourishment while mimicking their daily lives—an instinct, devoid of morality.
Part of Lin Cheng’s ability let him parse the origins of powers directly, which was why he grasped the truth only upon seeing the tree with his own eyes.
The sacrifice proceeded methodically. The black-robed man by the tree lit one cigarette after another. They tilted their heads back, watching as fruit began to swell slowly along the willow mother tree’s thickest branch, growing in tandem with the crowd below. All that remained was patient waiting.
“Little Qi, activate the tracking system. Tail those two.”
At Lin Cheng’s whisper, Little Qi—which had been crouched nearby—shed its tail. The appendage melted into liquid, twisted, and reformed into a small sparrow. It fluttered onto a branch and silently observed the pair.
Lin Cheng covered Lu Xiaoxiao’s eyes.
Warmth seeped into his palm—her tears.
The ritual dragged on for half an hour. When Lin Cheng finally withdrew his hand, it was over. A tear traced down from the corner of Lu Xiaoxiao’s eye. “How many?”
“Three hundred forty-two. I watched every single one. They’re all gone. Too late to save them.” There was an eerie calm in Lin Cheng’s voice, one Lu Xiaoxiao couldn’t fathom.
Over three hundred lives, and yet his tone was unnaturally serene.
The two men beneath the tree stared up at the vivid red fruit now hanging there. One plucked it free and slipped it into his storage ring. In that instant, the tree began to wither, crumbling into a lifeless stump. Their figures melted into the downpour, fading from Lin Cheng and Lu Xiaoxiao’s view.
Trailing discreetly behind them was the sparrow fashioned from Little Qi’s tail.
Lin Cheng took Lu Xiaoxiao’s hand and led her beneath the eaves. The village stood empty of life now. Her body shuddered without cease; she was drenched to the bone. Lin Cheng had no words of comfort.
He couldn’t even articulate his own emotions—let alone summon any rage. A single SS-rank catastrophe, and even without Si Ming present, the Alliance could have kept casualties under three hundred with proper control. Yet rogue groups like this left him utterly helpless.
Humanity had conquered the Abyss, only to fall to its own greed.
The Alliance could hardly be faulted, though. They fought tirelessly to preserve order amid the world’s chaos. They had simply arrived too late—and Nether River’s methods were unprecedented, utterly unforeseeable.
“Change into dry clothes. Little Qi, pull up the monitoring feed.”
At Lin Cheng’s order, Little Qi—sans tail—morphed into a liquid-crystal display. It showed the two escapees, now in town and behind the wheel of a car. The sparrow from its tail perched atop their vehicle.
Beneath the shelter of the eaves, Lu Xiaoxiao peeled off her sodden hoodie and pants, retrieving a crisp Alliance uniform from her storage ring. Lin Cheng studied the screen intently as the storm raged on unabated.
“Head back on your own from here.”
“Where are you going?” Lu Xiaoxiao’s gaze bored into his face. Lin Cheng replied softly, “This storm’s born of elemental turbulence—a sign that an SS-rank or higher space rift is easing open. I have to track them. That energy fruit will come into play tonight, though I haven’t a clue what they’re scheming… Leave it to me.”
Lu Xiaoxiao bowed her head, her voice a fragile whisper laced with pleading. “Can I come with you?”
“You…”
Lin Cheng eyed her pallid cheeks and exhausted eyes, biting back the words on the tip of his tongue—you’re too weak. He sighed in resignation. “Fine. If things get dicey, Little Qi switches to jetpack mode and carries you out.”
Lu Xiaoxiao had donned her Alliance combat uniform by then. Lin Cheng, thoroughly soaked, peeled off his clinging T-shirt and stowed it in his ear clip. The feed showed their car bound for a tourist site in C City—a mountain.
It was too soon to give chase. Lu Xiaoxiao fished out her phone to summon backup from the C City Alliance branch, but Lin Cheng caught her wrist and shook his head. “No reinforcements.”
She looked up, uncomprehending.
“This turbulence is complicated. More people just means more headaches—splitting my focus to keep them safe.”
“But alone…”
“Enough.”
Something in Lin Cheng’s tone held her spellbound. Lu Xiaoxiao quieted for a moment, then gave a small nod. They sat beneath the eaves, eyes on the feed. Half an hour later, as the black-robed pair abandoned their car and began the ascent, Lin Cheng rose. “Little Qi, motorcycle mode.”
Little Qi shimmered with blinding light. An instant later, a glossy black motorcycle stood before them. Lin Cheng swung onto it and glanced back. Lu Xiaoxiao climbed on behind.
“Hold tight. As tight as you can.”
Her arms locked around his waist. Lin Cheng murmured, “Extreme speed mode.”
The bike drew power not from fuel, but from an Abyss creature’s energy crystal core. Blazing exhaust flames erupted as hurricane winds battered them. Lin Cheng’s eyes streamed, but the infinite darkness ahead unfolded in slow motion, the relentless rain crawling by. He hadn’t exaggerated—Lu Xiaoxiao clung for dear life to avoid being hurled off.
Like a bolt of lightning in the tempest, the motorcycle vaulted high obstacles and touched down smooth as silk. Wind screamed past Lu Xiaoxiao’s ears, threatening to rupture her eardrums. She could only squeeze the man before her tighter; the gale devoured all other sound.
An hour’s drive for the car took Lin Cheng twelve minutes. At the mountain’s base, other vehicles dotted the lot. Thunder cracked ceaselessly atop the peak, heralding doomsday.
Lin Cheng and Lu Xiaoxiao dismounted. Little Qi reverted to tablet form. The screen showed twelve figures clustered by the Mountaintop Pavilion, arrayed before a hunched silhouette that cradled a wooden basin brimming with over a dozen red fruits. It stared into the roiling lightning as space warped before it, rain leaping in bizarre patterns.
Lin Cheng murmured to Lu Xiaoxiao, “I’ll head up first,” then bolted for the summit. She trailed him, but her pace faltered; soon, he vanished from sight.
Lin Cheng became the fourteenth soul atop the mountain.
Eyes snapped to him the moment he arrived. Among the thirteen, one face stood out—Green Hair, bespectacled.
Green Hair blinked in surprise, then grinned. “I’m not with them. Just here for the show—curious about the legendary creature’s true form.”
Lin Cheng’s gaze settled on the leader, a middle-aged man. Parsing his power unveiled the full picture.
Once an enigma on record, it was clear now: he summoned Abyss creatures.
The red fruits cradled in his grasp dissolved into motes of light that swirled about him amid his incantations. The ritual had quietly burned for a full day. These were the final offerings; even slaying the man now couldn’t halt it.
“What’s he calling up?” Lin Cheng asked Green Hair.
Green Hair edged closer. “【Black Ze】 from the Abyss. He aims to shed his flesh, merge with it—evolve into a superior Abyss being.”
“And you?” Green Hair shot back.
“To kill them.”
“Be my guest. I just want a peek at 【Black Ze】.”
No sooner had Lin Cheng spoken than the other eleven closed in. Even sans alchemy contact lenses, he clocked their levels—energy hovering around three thousand apiece, their ability mechanics imprinting on his mind.
Lin Cheng produced the space ring Lemon had given him. Ten colored bubble balls materialized in the air. He wreathed his fist in energy and lobbed them with pinpoint accuracy at each foe. On impact, they didn’t bounce—they liquefied, plastering to skin like wads of chewed gum.
“Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling…” Green Hair yanked off his necklace and dropped it. An energy ball promptly engulfed him. At the same moment, black-red blood threads coiled around Lin Cheng. His frame bulked up, flesh warping into the form of an Abyss hunter. Green Hair gaped through his alchemy glasses as the numbers on Lin Cheng rocketed from one hundred to nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine.
The threads fully sheathed him just as the eleven converged. Then Lin Cheng’s voice cut through to Green Hair.
“Art is an explosion.”
In the next heartbeat, the mountaintop blossomed into inferno.
