Bai Chunian held Jin Luerong with one hand, while turning to tend the attacked dessert chef. Unable to do both at once, he placed Jin Luerong safely in the janitor’s closet, gripping his shoulders. “The killer might not have left. Stay here and don’t move.”
He carefully twisted the suppressant on the back of Jin Luerong’s neck. These delicate devices were highly sensitive; any attempt to remove them would trigger an alarm to the prison guards.
After Bai Chunian adjusted it, the device’s red light flashed—alert triggered.
“Don’t come out.” He ensured Jin Luerong was settled, then dashed out, helping the dessert chef up and removing the syringe from his neck.
The chef writhed violently, clutching Bai Chunian’s collar like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. “M…my glands…they hurt…”
Bai Chunian picked up the syringe; the pink liquid was unmistakable—an AC promoter capable of instantly advancing an experimental subject’s growth stage.
“What happened?” He grabbed the chef, tucked him under his arm, and sprinted toward the injection room. From the medicine cabinet, he pulled out a blade, slicing under the chef’s gland to release some of the injected fluid through blood—a desperate, mostly futile attempt.
“I…was replacing…mosquito-repellent tablets…found the bed empty…went to check…suddenly someone covered my mouth…plunged this into me…” The chef’s pupils spread into the sclera. Eyes that had once only had hexagonal compound black irises gradually turned fully dark red, the entire eye becoming a compound structure.
Bai Chunian suspected the Red Throat assassin had misidentified Jin Luerong as the target.
AC promoters could force a developing subject to mature instantly or push a mature subject into a deterioration stage.
Even Bai Chunian had never seen a subject in deterioration—it was uncontrollable. Before deterioration, the institute would dispose of them in a sulfuric acid tank during the weak phase, fearing that heat-resistant abilities might foil cremation. Once in deterioration, a subject was considered “expired” and had to be destroyed.
The Red Throat had clearly gone to great lengths to silence Jin Luerong. If this injection had hit him, only two outcomes were possible: either Jin Luerong deteriorated and was killed by the guards, or he lost control and escaped. Both would bury the secrets they wanted hidden forever.
No one anticipated things would escalate like this.
As things stood, the chef’s deterioration was inevitable—only the timing differed. Once it began, it would be much harder to manage.
Bai Chunian pressed his hand to the suppressant on the chef’s neck. If he forcibly removed it, the micro-explosive inside would destroy the glands, killing him.
The chef clutched Bai Chunian’s collar, weakly climbing onto him, kneeling and pleading, “Don’t kill me… I don’t want to die… Please… you’re skilled, right? Save me… save me… I don’t want parole anymore… I’ll stay here cooking… I won’t go out again…”
Bai Chunian’s breathing grew heavy. His icy fingers hovered over the device, unable to act. Usually, he could kill without flinching, but this chef was different—a fragile Omega, desperate for parole, longing to live like a human under sunlight someday.
He hesitated for those dozen seconds—and in that brief window, the situation had already spiraled beyond control.
The pastry chef’s hand clamped onto his forearm. Wherever his skin touched the chef’s palm, it began to rot, dissolving into iridescent pus. The liquid dripped to the floor and transformed into candy, scattering and bouncing in tiny pieces.
The delayed, searing pain finally snapped Bai Chunian back to his senses. He wrenched himself free and staggered backward, clutching his arm, his back slamming hard into the wall. His forearm had been badly corroded, yet there was no blood—every inch of damaged flesh was coated in a layer of rainbow syrup, thick and sticky as it dripped down in slow, viscous strands.
“Ah… ah…” Bai Chunian gripped his upper arm tightly, his face twisted in agony as he threw his head back, gasping for breath. Even he could barely endure the pain of his flesh being burned and eaten away.
The pastry chef stared blankly at his own hands, now streaming with multicolored syrup, then looked at Bai Chunian in horror. “I’m sorry… it wasn’t me—I didn’t mean to hurt you… I don’t know why this is happening.”
Alarms blared throughout the entire building. Armed police assigned to guard the facility were already advancing in formation, riot shields raised as they pushed forward.
Du Mo stood at the stairwell entrance, under the harsh corridor lights, both hands gripping a pistol aimed straight at Bai Chunian. “Hands up! How did you get out?!”
Bai Chunian hissed through his teeth, sucking in cold air, then jerked his chin toward the pastry chef kneeling on the floor. “Don’t aim at me—aim at him… damn it. Too late. It won’t matter who you point it at now. Tell your men not to come any closer. Just surround him and keep him contained. Then call the International Police—have them bring grenade launchers and tranquilizer drones for backup.”
The situation was too chaotic. Du Mo didn’t know who to trust, so he ordered someone to report the prison riot to the warden first.
Lingdang Bird, who was in charge of the high-security inmates, arrived with another squad of armed police. Dressed in a prison guard’s uniform, he held his gun with both hands and blocked the opposite end of the corridor.
Golden Threadworm was under Lingdang Bird’s supervision. The moment the inhibitor at the back of his neck triggered an alarm, Lingdang Bird had been the first to respond.
“Good timing.” Bai Chunian, having barely steadied himself, dragged Golden Threadworm out of the janitor’s closet and shoved him toward Lingdang Bird. “Get him into solitary confinement—now. Don’t let him wander around here.”
He had no idea how many Red-throated Bird assassins there were, nor how many AC accelerants they had. If they doubled back for another strike, the guards wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Stay here and keep him contained. Wait for the police to arrive with equipment. Do not approach him.” Bai Chunian bit down on his shirt hem, tore off a strip of cloth, and wrapped it tightly around his wound.
Du Mo still didn’t lower his gun. “Where are you going?!”
Bai Chunian had already stripped off his prison uniform jacket, leaving only a black tank top. With a powerful kick, he shattered the ward’s window, then bent the iron bars with brute force. Grabbing the upper edge of the frame, he hauled himself up, muscles tensing as he pulled his entire body through.
Outside the building, snipers had already received their orders: the moment the wanted target was confirmed, they were to kill on sight. Bai Chunian climbed the outer wall under the sweep of searchlights, countless rifle barrels tracking his movements. But he moved with astonishing speed and agility, predicting their shots and evading them, before flipping into a window two floors above.
Every corridor on every floor was brightly lit. The alarms howled without pause.
Before coming in, Bai Chunian had already studied the internal layout of every structure in the prison. After entering, he had verified his analysis firsthand. Judging from the direction the shadow had fled earlier, he was certain the assassin had not escaped the building—the exterior was already completely surrounded.
That assassin had likely realized he’d killed the wrong target. If the Red-throated Bird had threatened his family to force him into killing Golden Threadworm, then he might very well be willing to trade his own life to finish the job.
Bai Chunian sharpened his hearing, filtering through the blaring alarms for the faint sounds of breathing and footsteps.
He moved slowly down the corridor, his steps utterly silent—like a lion stalking its prey.
A closed ward door ahead caught his attention. Slowly, he approached. From beneath the gap at the bottom, a thick pool of fresh, dark red blood began to seep out.
The instant Bai Chunian kicked the door open, the person inside fired. Five shots blasted through the door panel in rapid succession, bullets tearing toward him.
His reflexes were inhumanly fast—he dropped and rolled the moment he heard the trigger click—but bullets were faster still. The final round drove deep into his ribs.
But the gunfire also temporarily disrupted the assassin’s hearing. Bai Chunian slammed the door fully open, sending it crashing into the killer behind it and knocking him back several steps.
He lunged forward and grabbed him. The man was no weakling—built similarly to Bai Chunian, clearly well-trained, and still gripping a gun.
A prison guard’s corpse lay on the ground. The weapon had been taken from the guard’s holster.
“Stay out of this.” The assassin stared at him coldly, utterly resolute, as if already prepared to die.
“Wanting to protect your family isn’t wrong. But if you interfere with my mission, I can’t let you succeed.” Bai Chunian lowered his stance slightly, left hand guarding his jaw, right hand forward—this would be a fight without gland-enhanced abilities.
The opponent was an Australian dragonfly alpha, his innate ability being attack speed. His strikes were blindingly fast—and he had a gun on top of that.
Blood continued to flow from the bullet wound beneath Bai Chunian’s ribs. Against a speed-based opponent, he had little advantage.
After a brief exchange, the dragonfly smirked coldly. “Left-handed?”
He immediately shifted tactics, launching a fiercer assault toward Bai Chunian’s weaker right side. Bai Chunian’s right arm was still damaged from the corrosion, making defense difficult. A split-second delay—and the man’s fist slammed directly into the bullet wound in his ribs. A mouthful of hot blood surged up his throat.
If Lu Yan were here… that kid was even faster, and his close-combat style was far more unpredictable. Both he and Lan Bo acknowledged Lu Yan’s natural talent for melee combat.
Knowing he was at a disadvantage, Bai Chunian grabbed a broken piece of the door and rolled away with it. But the assassin had gone into a frenzy, tackling him relentlessly, pinning him down and pressing the gun barrel against his throat.
Bai Chunian locked onto the man’s wrist and the gun, straining to force the barrel away from his neck. Suddenly, he drove his elbow forward, striking the crook of the man’s arm—forcing him to waste a shot.
The bullet struck the tiled floor beside Bai Chunian’s face, shattering it—sharp ceramic fragments spraying up and slicing thin lines of blood across both their cheeks.
The magazine ran empty. The dragonfly alpha tossed the gun aside and moved in for close combat—but Bai Chunian didn’t give him the chance. Seizing his entire arm, he pivoted and executed a clean shoulder throw, hurling the dragonfly straight into the stairwell.
The dragonfly clung to him like a madman, and the two of them tumbled down the stairs together. The hydraulic door slammed shut behind them. Coming straight out of bright light into darkness, the human eye fell briefly blind—both of them were plunged into absolute blackness where not even a hand in front of the face could be seen.
The dragonfly had landed lower than Bai Chunian. The fall snapped him back to his senses. Instead of continuing the desperate struggle, he began feeling his way downward, trying to escape.
He weaved through the clutter in the stairwell, ducking and hiding, creating obstacles to slow Bai Chunian’s pursuit. But there was no sound behind him. Thinking he hadn’t been followed, he focused entirely on fleeing.
Then suddenly—something cold brushed across his neck.
It felt like a sharp blade had just skimmed past his carotid artery.
He reached up and touched it. Warm. Sticky. Blood.
Bai Chunian stood silently behind him, a bloodstained razor blade pinched between his fingers.
The instant they fell into the stairwell, he had shifted the bandage covering his left eye over to his right. His injured left eye had long since healed—the bandage had only been there to conceal a chip and avoid inspection.
The left eye, long deprived of light beneath the bandage, could adapt to darkness instantly. From the moment they entered the stairwell, Bai Chunian had tracked every movement of his prey.
The dragonfly quickly lost the ability to resist due to heavy blood loss, though he wouldn’t die immediately. Bai Chunian pressed a strip of cloth against his neck wound and dragged the half-dead body back to the previous floor.
In the corridor now filled with armed police and medical staff, under countless eyes, he hauled the assassin back by the collar, leaving a long trail of blood behind him.
He tossed the dragonfly to the officers. “Still alive. Patch him up—he can be interrogated.”
Du Mo, still shaken, stared blankly at Bai Chunian, whose body was covered in dried blood.
Sirens wailed outside. Four International Police helicopters arrived over the facility. Drones carrying specialized tranquilizers smashed through the windows and flew inside, locking onto the pastry chef—who lay unconscious on the ground—and preparing to fire.
Bai Chunian’s gaze stayed fixed on the pastry chef. The drone opened its chamber, ready to launch the tranquilizer—
Suddenly, the pastry chef arched his back. From behind him burst a pair of translucent bee wings.
Danger flashed through Bai Chunian’s mind. He lunged forward, snatched the tranquilizer dart from the drone’s chamber before it could fire, rolled, and drove it toward the back of the pastry chef’s neck.
The pastry chef jerked his head up. His face had completely taken on bee-like features. His body began manifesting traits of its original form—wings vibrating with a piercing, high-pitched buzz.
“Fall back—get away—now!” Bai Chunian reacted first.
Too late.
Several armed officers who had approached with handcuffs to restrain him melted instantly—rotting into pools of rainbow syrup.
Du Mo’s eyes went wide. He grabbed a net gun and fired—but before he could even pull the trigger, the pastry chef buzzed forward at terrifying speed.
“Are you insane? You think you can take him head-on?” Bai Chunian tackled Du Mo to the ground. The pastry chef streaked over their heads, his razor-sharp wings carving two deep gouges into the load-bearing wall. The ceiling began to collapse.
Du Mo snatched up his communicator and shouted hoarsely, “Evacuate the building! Leave it to the International Police!”
After deteriorating, the pastry chef had gained flight and an area-based infection ability—anyone entering a certain radius around him would immediately rot into syrup.
The International Police helicopters were equipped with grenade launchers specifically designed for handling experimental subjects. Soon, explosives filled the sky, blasting deep craters into the ground, sending debris and leaves flying everywhere.
The pastry chef moved at incredible speed. Wherever he went, structures began to rot—nearby buildings softened and collapsed like overripe fruit, streams of multicolored syrup pouring from the ruptured gaps.
Like a gigantic bee, he maneuvered through the air, engaging the helicopters. One helicopter was struck—its structure softened midair and it plummeted, the officers aboard dissolving into colored syrup along with it.
Everyone was stunned by the sheer destructive power he displayed. Bai Chunian was no exception—the strength of an experimental subject in its deterioration phase far exceeded his expectations.
“…There aren’t enough stationed officers… calling reinforcements from other countries will take too long…” Du Mo’s fingers trembled as he gripped the communicator, not even daring to press the button.
Bai Chunian removed the bandage from his eye and slid a tiny chip out from beneath his eyelid, pressing it against the code lock of the inhibitor at the back of his neck.
Three seconds later, the code was cracked. The inhibitor detached and fell away.
Du Mo’s eyes widened. His trembling hand raised a pistol, pressing it against the back of Bai Chunian’s neck. “What are you trying to do…?”
“International prisons aren’t qualified to handle experimental subjects. All this data will be sent back to IOA—your proposal will be rejected.” Bai Chunian pushed the gun aside. “I suggest you request emergency assistance from IOA. Immediately.”
The offshore police unit had already sent a distress signal to headquarters. The International Police had no choice but to request support from the PBB peacekeeping forces—who, in turn, would naturally call upon the IOA unit stationed closest to the prison.
A helicopter bearing the IOA Free Bird insignia rose above the facility.
Xiao Xun leaned casually against the aircraft, bracing a sniper rifle as he took aim with cold precision. Bi Lanxing’s vines erupted from the four corners of the open ground, trapping the pastry chef within a confined airspace inside the prison walls, tightening the encirclement.
Han Xingqian held a laptop, speaking calmly into the comms:
“Deteriorated pastry chef—J1 ability: ‘Buzzing Blade Wings.’ The edges of the wings possess chainsaw-like cutting power, allowing unobstructed high-speed flight.
“M2 ability: ‘Honeyed Prism Flow.’ Area-of-effect ability. Randomly marks ten targets for saccharification. Targets are not limited to living organisms. If the marked target’s level is lower than his, they will immediately rot into syrup and die. If equal, they can resist by consuming glandular energy—once depleted, they will rot completely. If higher, they will not be affected unless physical contact occurs—contact areas will undergo saccharification.”
Lan Bo landed with a deafening roar, a submachine gun in each hand. The impact sent a ripple of blue lightning crackling across the ground. He dropped down beside Bai Chunian and handed him a communicator.
Du Mo tightened his grip on his pistol. “You were prepared for this… lying in ambush nearby? Our radar didn’t even pick you up.”
“No,” Bai Chunian replied, his wounds visibly healing as the inhibitor came off. He flexed his wrist slightly, his expression grave. “I really didn’t expect things to turn out like this. This wasn’t part of my plan at all. I’ve never seen a deteriorated experimental subject before—I’m not confident I can subdue it. This is a disaster. The mission ends here.”