At that moment, it was truly the only option.
Professor Zhong immediately authorized Han Xingqian, in the name of the Medical Association, to deliver the AC growth stimulator to the scene, taking full responsibility.
Han Xingqian loaded the syringe into a small carrying case and left the ward quickly, driving toward the location sent by Xiao Xun. He tried contacting Xiao Xun, but there was no response. Neither of them had the luxury to send messages under such circumstances.
Xiao Xun crouched atop a high wall, dozens of meters from the battlefield, sweat streaming down from the oppressive heat. Lan Bo was less than ten meters away, directly facing the Yeqi armored alpha.
Lan Bo’s rage made him cling to the fence, thrashing his scorched, fiery-red tail and snarling sharply at the opponent.
The alpha was not alone. Within minutes, ten Yeqi armored alphas had gathered, all sharing the same glands and high-heat ability. Even if only the leader had reached M2 differentiation, the group’s combined high-temperature toxic air exerted tremendous pressure on Lan Bo.
His once-smooth tail was shredded, scales littered the ground, shimmering faintly blue. Lan Bo’s hands, gripping the fence, were burned. There was no water nearby; he couldn’t cool down or recharge. He couldn’t use his symbiotic water-steel weapon either—his M2 ability required it to function.
Lan Bo lifted his gaze to the brightening clouds in the east. Time ticked away. His calculations showed that by sunrise, Bai Chunian would begin to succumb to infection.
He could have curled into a ball, activating his symbiotic protection to retreat safely. But the opponent seemed confident he wouldn’t back down, relentlessly releasing high heat, forcing Lan Bo closer, burning and torturing him repeatedly.
When the Yeqi alphas closed in again, Lan Bo did not flinch. He struck forward, his powerful tail whipping the fence, sparks leaping into the air. Blue electricity surged across the fence, connecting to the nearby high-voltage boxes. A massive web of high-voltage energy radiated from Lan Bo, instantly vaporizing the three alphas closest to him. The rest retreated, keeping a safe distance.
The leader hadn’t expected a disadvantaged merfolk to eliminate three opponents at once. Yet Lan Bo had been engulfed in scorching air, his skin blistering painfully. He groaned in pain, climbing the wall, licking the blisters on his hands.
Xiao Xun continuously monitored the battle with his J1 universal dashboard. In his mind, a data panel displayed all detectable information.
Lan Bo’s vital signs steadily declined but never fell below 60% safety:
- Stamina: 56%
- Gland energy: 65%
- Emotion: Joy 0%, Anger 92%, Sadness 8%, Greed 0%
During monitoring, Xiao Xun noticed an unusual reading he had never seen before—Food intake: 97%.
He quickly shifted focus to the Yeqi alphas, identifying the most fatigued among them, and relayed their position to Lan Bo.
With precise intelligence, Lan Bo pivoted and launched a swift, violent attack. One J1 Yeqi armored alpha immediately fell to his jaws; Lan Bo’s sharp teeth severed his neck effortlessly.
Lan Bo hauled the severed body up the wall, draping it over the edge. One hand pressed against its chest, blood splattering wildly across his lips. His cold sapphire eyes surveyed the remaining enemies with ruthless indifference.
The leader finally realized who had been feeding precise positional information. His gaze scanned every nearby hiding spot, locking onto Xiao Xun, camouflaged among the leaves on the wall.
Xiao Xun knew he had been exposed. But this was Lan Bo’s chance to break through. He didn’t move, instead calculating the next optimal attack location and relaying it to Lan Bo.
This brief hesitation put Xiao Xun in danger. The highly coordinated Yeqi alphas shifted targets instantly, focusing fire on him.
Xiao Xun moved swiftly, vaulting over the wall and predicting the trajectory of the searing toxic air. The attacks were so dense they formed a near-impenetrable web; even at his speed, he couldn’t avoid every strike.
Severe pain seared across his thighs and back. He supported his burned, peeling flesh and retreated from the previous position.
Out of the enemies’ line of sight, he stumbled forward, trembling, and fumbled for his phone to call Han Xingqian.
Suddenly, he slammed straight into someone’s chest.
A familiar white long medical coat—on the chest was a badge of the Alliance Medical Association, marked with the IOA red-cross emblem.
Han Xingqian held a silver briefcase in one hand and steadied him by the shoulder. A gentle, calming pheromone flowed into his gland, warm and soothing. When he noticed the torn clothing and burns on Xiao Xun, his brows drew together slightly.
“Take me there.”
Only then did Xiao Xun gradually calm down.
“Okay… but there are too many of them.”
Han Xingqian handed him a syringe from the briefcase.
“Inject this into him. Can you do it?”
Xiao Xun nodded.
Because Xiao Xun had opened a breach during the retreat, Lan Bo finally found an opportunity to strike. His claws flashed with cold light as they hooked viciously into the arteries of the corpse beneath him.
Blood that had not yet coagulated burst out in violent sprays.
Lan Bo used the moment to activate his companion ability—Water-Forged Steel.
The thick blood gradually took shape in his hands. A crimson Mini-14 marksman rifle, condensed entirely from blood, formed in his grip. Within the scarlet gun body, the currents of blood could still be seen flowing.
Bullets made of tainted blood fired in rapid succession. The marksman rifle demonstrated precise and excellent performance at mid-to-long range. Lan Bo abandoned close combat entirely, carrying the blood rifle as he climbed and moved between high-rise buildings.
Relying on corpses for blood to sustain the weapon would inevitably run out. Lan Bo squeezed the energy from his gland to gain greater speed, quickly occupying a high vantage point. He absorbed the last remaining blood from a corpse, shaping it into a 4× scope, then skillfully mounted it on the rifle.
Two shots—two headshots.
He immediately changed positions, preventing the enemy from locking onto him.
Every time he killed a target, more blood adhered to him, replenishing his ammunition.
As long as there was blood, his bullets were endless.
Suitable special-operations experimental subjects had vast amounts of combat data implanted into them during modification. They were born as weapons—combat was instinct.
Han Xingqian and Xiao Xun hurried back.
Xiao Xun clutched the syringe tightly, but when they arrived, so did the patrol officers.
Several police vehicles surrounded the scene. Armed officers jumped out of the cars, their rifles all aimed at Lan Bo, who was crouched on the ground tearing at corpses, completely out of his mind.
“Damn.” Han Xingqian’s heart tightened.
If it had been the Alliance Police, it wouldn’t have mattered. But these patrol officers belonged to the International Prison. If they saw an experimental subject slaughtering people in the street, things would become extremely troublesome.
Xiao Xun stood beside him and silently thought for a moment.
“The probability that someone is manipulating this incident behind the scenes is 97%.”
“I calculated the outcomes. If Lan Bo is injected with the AC stimulant, the probability that the situation turns favorable is 89%. If he is not injected, the probability is only 24%.”
Han Xingqian looked at the focused Greyhound Omega beside him with surprise.
Xiao Xun climbed onto a high wall with the injection gun.
Just before the patrol officers dragged Lan Bo—whose gland energy had been exhausted—onto the police vehicle, Xiao Xun fired the syringe through a gap in the moving crowd.
The spring-loaded needle struck the side of Lan Bo’s neck.
The medicine automatically injected into his artery before the needle detached.
Lan Bo, already covered in wounds and having exhausted all his strength, fell unconscious and was taken away by the patrol officers.
—
Inside a pure black Bentley parked along the roadside sat an Alpha and an Omega.
The hooded Omega leaned against the window, peering outside. His hood slipped down, revealing messy curls and two antennae sticking up between them. Watching the police car take Lan Bo away, he muttered softly,
“Huh… just as expected, he got set up. The International Prison really plays dirty. Experimental subjects that others can’t buy even with money—they just slap on a charge and take them away.”
The Alpha in the black trench coat remained silent. The sapphire ring on his index finger tapped lightly against the leather steering-wheel cover.
Domino’s antennae tapped gently against the glass as he kept chattering while leaning against the window.
“On the surface the target was the Divine Envoy, but in the end they wanted to take away the Lightning Phantom… This is a great opportunity. If we show goodwill to the Divine Envoy now, he’ll be grateful to us.”
The Alpha lit a cigarette and exhaled softly.
“The International Prison isn’t easy to negotiate with.”
“Of course. Leave it to me, sir.” The Omega swayed his antennae. “There’s a saying—adding flowers to brocade isn’t as good as delivering charcoal in the snow. Sometimes human language makes a lot of sense.”
—
When Lan Bo killed the last Yeqibu-armored Alpha, Bai Chunian’s body temperature immediately stopped rising.
The numbers on the monitoring instruments connected to his body slowly dropped. His physical indicators began returning to normal.
When the readings fell into the normal range, Bai Chunian’s tissues began to rebuild. Dead cells were rapidly replaced by newly generated ones, and his regenerative ability returned to normal.
Several professors from the Alliance Medical Association surrounding him finally let out long breaths of relief.
Bai Chunian was not only the backbone of the Alliance Special Agent Division, he was also the only living experimental subject the Medical Association could observe while studying experimental bodies. For scientists dedicated to changing the killing nature of experimental subjects, Bai Chunian’s value could not be measured in money. If anything happened to him, all of the Medical Association’s research on experimental subjects would collapse.
Cells burned inside his body were gradually replaced by new ones.
Bai Chunian struggled to move and slowly pushed himself upright, clutching his throbbing head.
“It’s… a trap…”
Ignoring his still-weak condition, he tore the wires off his body, staggered out of the ward, and limped downstairs toward the President’s Office.
His condition had not fully recovered yet. Leaning against the office door, he panted for a moment.
It was still too early—there were almost no people in the Alliance building, and the door was locked.
From the moment he realized he had been set up, he had already guessed the enemy’s goal.
They clearly knew that a Level-M2 Alpha could not possibly kill him, yet they had still gone to such lengths to do it.
That could only mean one thing.
He had never been the real target from the beginning.
Dizzy, he tried to contact the president, but before he could dial, Han Xingqian’s call came through first.
“Lan Bo was taken away by the patrol officers. He’s in the detention center now. They’re refusing us visitation and won’t disclose any information. They say he’ll be transferred to the International Prison for trial today. This completely violates procedure.”
“The arrest charge is that Lan Bo slaughtered civilians.”
“It’s hard to believe. Those Yeqibu-armored Alphas are actually being registered as civilians—and none of them were carrying weapons.”
“They’re in this together. Someone’s got their eyes on us.”
Bai Chunian could not help swearing.
He leaned back against the door, pressing a hand to his throbbing temple, and slowly slid down to sit on the floor. After a moment of silence, he forced himself to calm down and think.
The International Prison was heavily guarded and its trials were strict. Once someone was sent there, getting them out again was extremely difficult. Even if the president used his connections to retrieve Lan Bo, it would take at least half a month.
If Lan Bo were an ordinary human, that delay would not matter.
But experimental subjects were far too unpredictable. He could not take that risk.
The only possible solution now was to break Lan Bo out of the detention center and destroy the evidence by force. If they did that, the Alliance would have every right to refuse the International Prison’s groundless arrest.
Han Xingqian asked, “Your body hasn’t recovered yet. There are some strong officers guarding the detention center too. Are you going now?”
Bai Chunian pushed himself up with the wall and headed toward the elevator as quickly as he could.
“If we wait any longer, they’ll transfer him. I’m fine. Just a few officers.”
“I’ll help you get inside.”
“Mm.”
—
As he walked out of the Alliance building, he noticed a black Bentley parked around the corner.
Although his mind was still a little weak, his sharp observation had not dulled. He stared at the Bentley, straightened his back, and tried to make himself look more composed.
The car door slowly opened.
A hooded Omega jumped down.
The Omega removed the hood covering his face, revealing messy curly hair. Squinting, he waved at Bai Chunian.
“Hey. If you’re heading to the detention center, you can ride with us.”
Bai Chunian had an excellent memory—anyone he had met once, he would not forget. He recognized the Omega immediately. In the triangular hut, this had been the writer who left clues behind through notes.
His gaze shifted to the Alpha in the driver’s seat wearing a black trench coat.
Bai Chunian gave a faint amused snort and climbed into the passenger seat.
—
The detention center’s security level was clearly far below that of either the International Prison or the Alliance Prison.
Dressed in a uniform stripped from an unconscious officer, Bai Chunian lowered the brim of his cap and walked deep into the facility, toward a chamber containing an icy pool.
From within the dim pool room came the sound of chains scraping against each other.
Bai Chunian did not rush in recklessly. He slowly opened the door and stepped inside.
Chunks of ice floated in the water, meant to weaken the movement of whatever creature was inside. Around its neck was a thick iron chain, the other end fastened to a weathered stone pillar nearby.
A beautiful figure leaned against the edge of the pool.
Golden hair draped over his shoulders as he idly stirred the floating ice. Bubbles rose and transformed into glowing blue jellyfish, casting the prison pool in a ghostly light like a haunted shoreline.
Hearing footsteps approach, the merman in the water slowly turned around.
Sapphire-blue eyes gazed at him.
For a moment, Bai Chunian forgot what he had come here to do.
There was a new wound on the merman’s cheek that had not yet healed. The scales of his blue tail were damaged, burned flesh tinged red beneath them—yet the damage only added a fragile, fading beauty.
Lan Bo flicked his beautiful tail at him.
The blue tail, like cold flame, lifted from the dark water and tipped up Bai Chunian’s cap, revealing the Alpha’s handsome face, frozen in shock.
Lan Bo recognized him.
He turned and leaned on the edge of the pool. The wet tip of his tail lightly brushed Bai Chunian’s cheek, sliding slowly downward until it hooked the collar button of the officer’s uniform he wore.
Resting his chin in his hand, Lan Bo teased him lazily.
“Alpha, you look pretty young. How long have you been doing this job?”
His voice was deep and magnetic, dripping with seductive amusement.
It made one’s bones feel weak.