68
The mercenaries who had crawled and rolled through the hail of bullets still retained basic reflexes and immediately opened fire on Bai Chunian and Lan Bo.
Bai Chunian moved with fluid agility, weaving lightly between stray bullets to reach Lan Bo’s side.
Even after dodging most shots, some stray rounds still struck non-critical areas, grazing Bai Chunian’s arm and torso. Blood splattered, and Lan Bo wasn’t spared either—a bullet lodged in his chest, forcing him to curl his tail and distort the iron frame around him in pain.
After a burst of gunfire, smoke and gunpowder filled the air. The mercenaries relaxed, waiting for the stinging haze to clear before inspecting the two bodies.
When the smoke cleared, Bai Chunian stood in place, casually removing the bullets embedded in his body as the scorched flesh healed almost instantly.
Lan Bo used his claws to pull the bullet from his chest. A scratch grazed his cheek, but it healed along with the gunshot wound.
The mercenaries’ eyes widened in terror. Someone from a corner shouted in fear, “They’re experimental subjects!”
Anyone familiar with special experimental subjects knew that unlike normal humans, who might only gain one companion ability through differentiation and enhancement, these experimental subjects’ abilities depended on their glandular tolerance to drugs. Their bodies were far tougher than ordinary humans, with extremely fast regeneration—earning them the title of the most advanced human weapons.
This caused chaos. Some mercenaries fled on the spot, while others nervously continued firing, slowly retreating to escape. One mercenary picked up the communicator Libixi had dropped, trembling as he tried to enter a password to report the situation.
Bai Chunian’s black vest bore two bullet holes. He casually tossed the murky glass orb in his hand, catching it repeatedly, eyes scanning the remaining mercenaries.
He glanced at Lan Bo. Near the coast, a small amount of seawater condensed into hydro-steel in Lan Bo’s hands, forming a submachine gun. Bai Chunian licked the back of his newly regenerated left hand and asked, “Did you see that? They just blew up my hand.”
Lan Bo frowned, releasing the hydro-steel, which instantly reverted to invisible seawater and merged with an incoming current, reshaping into two transparent KS-23 shotguns in his palms.
Submachine guns fire rapidly with minimal spread, ideal for close-quarters duels. Shotguns, on the other hand, release hundreds of fragments per shot, with massive destructive radius.
Lan Bo’s cold blue eyes sparked electricity as he unleashed a hail of shotgun fire. Each transparent shell exploded, accompanied by screams and flying chunks of flesh.
Bai Chunian carried Lan Bo, stepping over the blood-soaked floor as they exited the factory. He pulled a skull-shaped lighter from his pocket, lit a cigarette, and tossed it into the oil storage outside the factory.
The explosion sent up thick smoke and flying debris, masking the signs of battle. The mercenary workers panicked, fleeing en masse like disturbed ants.
Amid the chaos, Bai Chunian carried Lan Bo out of the seafood factory.
Lan Bo examined the murky glass orb in his hand, observing the fiery explosion. “So powerful… M2 ability. Amazing.”
“Not that strong. Can only be used while touching the target, and I have to know their name. Works only on those below my level,” Bai Chunian replied.
The M2 differentiation ability of the White Lion gland, “Oblivion”: it can instantly compress a living being into a spherical amorphous state. Once the sphere is corrupted, the target disappears from everyone’s memory except Bai Chunian. People lose interest in searching for them entirely.
The tech department sent a contact request; Bai Chunian answered: “Phase two mission complete. Shall we extract?”
Han Xingqian replied from inside: “Once you return, come here for a sedative.”
Bai Chunian snorted. “I’m fine.”
Han Xingqian wasn’t convinced. “Our scans show extreme emotional fluctuations in your brain—you almost lost control.”
Bai Chunian touched his neck. “Oh? I was in pain. Maybe I’ll let you feel it next time—you’ll understand.”
“Don’t drive. You can’t. You’re in heat. Did you inject the suppressant? The higher the differentiation, the more painful the injection. And your glands have been drained…”
Originally, the glands appeared due to the Hurricane Virus, which triggered a pandemic infection wave. Suppressants counteract the reverse transcription process of the virus, restraining gland arousal. But this also weakens the glands, since they provide energy for abilities during activation.
“Already said I’m fine. Bye.” Bai Chunian impatiently ended the communication.
Back at the rundown factory where they’d left the car, Bai Chunian placed Lan Bo on the hood, hands braced on the car as he drew a shaky breath. “Let me rest a moment.”
His face was pale, legs weak, fatigue dragging him to the ground. He curled one leg up, burying his face in his arm, voice muffled, but one could tell he was forcing himself to stay calm.
“It’s fine. Just a little while. Side effect of the suppressant.”
A cool hand rested on his forehead, slick with sweat. Gentle calming pheromones seeped into his body.
Lan Bo wrapped his tail around the alpha, forming a small safe space, holding him close and lightly stroking his hair.
“Don’t be afraid,” Lan Bo murmured, pressing Bai Chunian’s head against his chest.
Bai Chunian nuzzled into him weakly. Tired, though not as exhausted as during lab training, the fatigue was reminiscent of returning to the breeding tank after a day’s regimen.
He had taken suppressants before, but moments like this always made him long for Lan Bo. In the breeding tank, he couldn’t help but cling tightly to him—often pushed away. At first, he’d thought the omega disliked him; later he realized it was just because merfolk got overheated. There was relief in that, but also disappointment.
Merfolk were rare for humans on land, treasured for their beauty and exoticism, often coveted by the wealthy and powerful.
Yet Bai Chunian didn’t feel fetishistic desire. What he felt was an odd, almost insane dependence. Sometimes, watching Lan Bo sleep in a tank, separated by glass, he wished Lan Bo were an ordinary omega, so he could hold him through the night, body to body. Even a fragile human would be safe in his arms; he had the power to provide peace.
“I don’t want calming pheromones. I want a kiss,” he said, eyelids reddened, voice low and strained—the alpha in heat, irritable and fragile.
“Good boy.” Lan Bo patted his head, continuing the release of pheromones. The soothing scent calmed the blood surging through Bai Chunian’s veins. He could feel the pain from the heat gradually ebb.
Frustrated, Bai Chunian raked his hair. “I’m not a child. I’m always like this—no past, no future. Why do you keep treating me like one?”
“Then what should I do?” Lan Bo asked.
Bai Chunian looked at him. “We’ve done this so many times. I thought I was your boyfriend. Sometimes you’re kind, sometimes cold. You get hurt on my behalf, but you also deliberately torment me. I can’t feel your love. What am I to you?”
Lan Bo was silent a moment, then gently stroked his head. “Jideio.”
Child pouch.
“Boliea.”
(Mine alone.)