Shaojin Mansion stood silent in the cold breeze of early spring. In a corner on the first floor, an arcade room suddenly erupted with a piercing alarm.
Crawler jolted awake from his hammock, hastily throwing on a loose outer layer before running barefoot to the computer.
He had written his own monitoring program to track the development of members within the organization. This kind of alarm was extremely rare—he had even selected a unique voice clip for it.
When that voice played, it meant one thing:
A member had entered the deterioration phase.
The alarm was so loud it woke Domino in the next room. Not long after, he pushed the door open, hugging a pillow, wearing a nightcap, still half-asleep. “What’s going on?”
Crawler stared at the data on the screen, his brows knitting tighter and tighter. “The pastry chef has entered deterioration. That shouldn’t be possible—he’s only a level-one mature subject. He should still be far from that stage. Could he have been artificially accelerated…? But he’s in prison—how would that even happen?”
“Deterioration? Someone actually deteriorated?” Domino snapped fully awake and hurried over, leaning on the back of Crawler’s chair to look at the screen.
“Didn’t you say the IOA task force left Aphid City a long time ago? Bai Chunian was arrested four months ago—it was probably because of this.”
“He definitely went there for Golden Threadworm. He probably planned to use the prison to remove the micro-bomb and tracker on him, and keep him safe from assassination until he could be released on bail.”
Crawler scrolled through the data. “If someone wanted to silence him, they’d only target Golden Threadworm. No point killing some useless, low-level bee. This must have been a mistake. If this isn’t contained and causes massive casualties in the prison, we could end up being jointly purged by those major organizations.”
“So what do we do?” Domino asked. “Can the Divine Envoy handle it? Should we send Black Panther to check it out?”
“Black Panther barely escaped from the warden. He’s not going to want to go back. The more we interfere, the worse it’ll look. We wait and observe.”
“How many AC accelerants does the lab even have left? That stuff is insanely expensive—there shouldn’t be much. Otherwise, it’s a huge threat to us too.” Domino shook his antennae. “This is terrifying.”
Crawler said, “Four months ago, Electric Phantom demonstrated A3-level abilities. With him there, there might still be hope.”
Domino frowned. “Even the weakest experimental subject becomes something else entirely after deterioration. An A3-level mature subject won’t be enough to deal with it.”
“…But the Curse Envoy is in there too. Do you think they might work together?”
“Hard to say… All we can do is hope. If the Divine Envoy can find a way to fix this, maybe there’s a chance. If not, we can’t stay here anymore. If footage leaks, they’ll have more than enough reason to unite and wipe us out.”
“…”
A soft knock came at the door. A beta doctor in a white coat stood outside.
Professor Lin Deng took one look at their expressions and already knew what had happened.
Crawler reassured him, “Professor, go get some rest. We’ll head over—if we take a private plane, we might still make it in time. In this situation, even if the international prison’s radar detects us, they won’t have the resources to deal with it. I need to get closer to collect data on the deteriorated pastry chef.”
Lin Deng gazed at the screen and said quietly, “If the Divine Envoy kills the pastry chef, bring him to me. I have something to tell him.”
Crawler frowned. “About what?”
Lin Deng shook his head. “Humans cannot kill a true deteriorated experimental subject. Ever since I was dismissed from the headquarters of Institute 109, control over specialized combat weapons has been lost. If the Divine Envoy can do it… he will become a hope.”
Dawn crept in faintly. The room was dim and silent.
Domino leaned back against the wall and sighed softly.
“My lifespan is so long… when will I finally stop having to hide like this?”
Out on the open sea, massive waves surged endlessly, the island trembling beneath the towering swells.
The international prison stood isolated—cut off on all sides. Even the nearest military reinforcements would take nearly three hours to arrive; fighter jet support would still need close to an hour.
Once, it had been an unbreakable fortress. Anyone who entered its iron walls would never see daylight again. No matter how arrogant or violent, they would be reduced to obedient submission.
Until the birth of the world’s first deteriorated experimental subject.
Now, those iron walls were sliced apart like tofu.
No one knew how long it would take for this news to reach the mainland—or whether the staff of Institute 109 would tremble in fear when they heard it, horrified by the monster they themselves had created.
Watching entire sections of the building melt into ruin within seconds, Du Mo finally snapped back to reality. He grabbed his communicator.
“Mo Chan, lead a team to construct isolation barriers around the ward building. Don’t let the experimental subject reach the prison blocks. Everyone else fall back to the outer perimeter and prepare to receive police reinforcements. Clear space for the International Police and IOA task force!”
Golden Threadworm, having entered the mature stage due to overfeeding, now had clearer memories—but his psychological trauma had worsened severely. His mind remained dazed and unstable. The chaos outside only triggered him further, his movements growing increasingly stiff.
“Stay behind me.” Lingdang Bird turned back, one arm extended protectively behind him like shielding a fledgling, the other holding a gun. Surrounded by armed police, he shielded Golden Threadworm as they retreated from the ward building.
The pastry chef’s flight path was unpredictable, his speed terrifyingly fast. With a piercing buzz, he shot straight toward Golden Threadworm—those razor-edged wings more than capable of severing his neck in an instant.
He was attacking indiscriminately.
“Take Golden Threadworm away! Lock him in solitary!” Lingdang Bird shoved Golden Threadworm into the arms of the armed police, then turned and fired several shots straight at the pastry chef’s head.
Bullet holes tore open across the pastry chef’s face—but like stones sinking into water, they created only brief ripples before healing completely.
A sharp pain struck Lingdang Bird’s chest. He thought he’d been hit by a stray bullet—but when he looked down, he saw his chest already corroding into multicolored syrup. Flesh dissolved to bone, and only then did the agony crash into his mind.
He fell onto his back, struggling to roll over. With trembling hands, he pulled out the handcuffs from his lower back, crawled a couple of steps toward the officers escorting Golden Threadworm, and with the last of his strength, threw them forward.
“Don’t… don’t let him escape…”
In just a few seconds, the rainbow syrup spread across his entire body. When Du Mo turned back, all that remained was a puddle of thick, sticky liquid—and a single handgun.
“Ling Que!” Du Mo froze. But there was no time to mourn. His voice trembled as he forced out orders, “Set up an electric barrier! Lock down all cell blocks—prevent any escape!”
Lan Bo coiled around Bai Chunian, slapping a gun into his palm. Looking at the devastation around them, he let out a mocking laugh. “So humans finally pay for their arrogance. Karma, is it?”
Bai Chunian squeezed his hand. “Creating something like this without even understanding your own limits—that’s not arrogance, that’s stupidity. Humans are a species that never knows their place.”
Bai Chunian glanced at him. “Can you handle it?”
Lan Bo didn’t answer directly. “Among all naturally evolved life on Earth, merfolk are the strongest.”
“Go test a few critical points.” Bai Chunian lifted Lan Bo and launched him upward, then turned and hardened his left hand, smashing a fire hydrant with a single punch.
A column of water shot skyward, immediately drawn toward Lan Bo. Under his control, it condensed into an M4-style rifle made of water-forged steel. The translucent weapon settled into his hands as he took aim midair at the giant bee.
The pastry chef moved at terrifying speed, wings vibrating at extreme frequency, capable of stopping and turning instantly in midair. Lan Bo, lacking true flight, relied on the force of the water jet and electromagnetic control to stay suspended.
“Lanxing—use vines to restrain him. Give Lu Yan the toxic vine armor. Lu Yan, get to the rooftop and target his gland inhibitor!” Bai Chunian ordered.
Over the past few days, vines had already spread throughout the island’s underground to smuggle items in for Bai Chunian. Now, under Bi Lanxing’s control, thick vines burst from the ground, cracking through concrete and growing into a dense, nightmarish forest.
Using his companion ability, Lu Yan shot to the rooftop at supersonic speed, submachine gun in hand, aiming at the back of the pastry chef’s neck.
The rapidly growing vines temporarily restricted the pastry chef’s flight path—but with a sudden shriek, his wings flared open. Their blade-like edges sliced through the vines in an instant, breaking free.
“Can’t hit him.” Lan Bo swapped out a water-forged magazine, aiming with one eye. “He’s too fast.”
Lu Yan’s rabbit ears shot upright in frustration. “Lanxing, your vines are way too flimsy! Stop him from moving—I can’t hit anything!”
They could barely even catch a glimpse of him through the scope, let alone land a shot.
Against a deteriorated experimental subject, ordinary sniper rounds were useless. Even if Xiao Xun could hit him, it wouldn’t deal any real damage.
Standing at the highest point, Lu Yan became the most obvious target. The pastry chef abruptly changed direction and charged toward him—at the same time activating his M2 ability, Honeyed Prism Flow, marking Lu Yan.
Corrosive honey nearly dripped onto him—but his entire body was wrapped in Bi Lanxing’s toxic vine armor. A vine lashed out just in time, yanking him off the rooftop.
Lu Yan rolled across the ground, clutching his chest, still shaken. “That was close… I almost died.”
Bi Lanxing kept his eyes locked on the pastry chef’s position, calm as ever. “You won’t. I’m watching.”
“Xiao Xun.” Bai Chunian glanced back. “Help.”
Greyhounds were visual hunting dogs. The gland abilities derived from that lineage were almost always related to tracking. His J1 ability—the Universal Instrument Panel—could precisely measure all kinds of variables, far surpassing ordinary J1 abilities in utility.
Xiao Xun gripped his sniper rifle, biting his lip.
Leaning inside the landed helicopter, Han Xingqian held a laptop and spoke softly into the comms, “You’re part of the IOA special training unit. You’re under IOA protection. If anyone causes trouble for you because of this, the task force will handle it.”
Lu Yan blinked, confused. “What are you guys talking about?”
“….” Xiao Xun didn’t hesitate any longer. Closing one eye, he used his J1 ability through the scope to lock onto the target. With cold precision, he fired a single shot.
The bullet struck the pastry chef squarely between the brows—even as he moved at high speed.
This time, although the wound healed, a square-shaped reticle appeared on his forehead, flickering with red light.
The glowing red marker was impossible to miss. Lan Bo saw it immediately. Raising his rifle, he aimed—and the weapon’s sight aligned perfectly with the red reticle. No matter how the pastry chef twisted or turned in flight, Lan Bo’s aim tracked him effortlessly.
He pulled the trigger.
Several translucent rounds followed the corrected trajectory, bursting into sprays of blood across the pastry chef’s head.
Wounds caused by water-forged steel healed far more slowly than those from ordinary bullets. The pastry chef let out a shrill, pained scream, thrashing wildly in the air.
Greyhound gland—M2 ability: Hunt Lock. A shared ability. Targets struck by Xiao Xun become marked—their position is shared with allies, and all nearby teammates’ shots are corrected by the Universal Instrument Panel, greatly increasing accuracy.
Lu Yan’s eyes went wide. “?? You’re M2?!”
Even Bi Lanxing looked surprised, casting Xiao Xun a stunned glance.
“Sorry,” Xiao Xun said without taking his eyes off the target. “I’ve been hiding it to stay alive.”
Lan Bo let out a whistle and shot Bai Chunian a sideways look. “You expect me to believe you just picked your team at random?”
Bai Chunian spread his hands. “Guess I just lucked into a treasure. Besides, didn’t we pick him up together? You’ve got a good eye.”
“Tch.” Lan Bo switched to a water-forged heavy machine gun, gripping it in both hands.
With Xiao Xun’s trajectory corrections perfectly synced to the pastry chef’s predicted flight path, the scattered bullets converged into a lethal stream, blasting toward him.
Forced back by the dense barrage ahead, the pastry chef had no choice but to retreat. At that moment, Lu Yan scaled the building again, locking onto the red reticle, adjusting slightly to the right, and firing several rapid shots—striking the gland inhibitor at the back of the pastry chef’s neck.
The inhibitor triggered its self-destruct system upon impact. A surge of extreme heat was released directly into the gland—
The micro-bomb detonated.
Blood burst from the gland. The pastry chef let out a heart-rending scream that pierced the clouds. His speed dropped sharply as he staggered erratically through the vines before finally collapsing onto a massive blossom.
Bai Chunian’s brows slowly knit together. “…That still didn’t kill him?”
For both humans and experimental subjects, destruction of the gland should mean death—or at the very least, total incapacitation. Yet the pastry chef, with half his gland blown apart, still struggled on with the remaining fragment.
The giant bee clung to the vines, arching its back, wings trembling as its wounds slowly regenerated.
“Fall back,” Bai Chunian ordered through the comms. “He’s charging up. Everyone retreat—Lanxing, put up the wall.”
Lan Bo dropped from the air, dispersing his heavy machine gun back into water as he retreated toward Bai Chunian.
Lu Yan leapt from the building and was caught midair by a blooming vine, which carried him safely back to the ground.
A shield wall of vines rose steadily from the earth as Lan Bo and Lu Yan withdrew behind it.
Suddenly, the giant bee took flight again.
A burst of scorching syrup erupted from its body—like magma exploding from a volcano—spraying in all directions.
Wherever the syrup landed, buildings melted into flowing color. The ground dissolved into soft, rainbow sludge, rushing downhill toward Lan Bo and Lu Yan.
“Lanxing—vine armor.” Seeing the danger, Bai Chunian vaulted over the vine wall, grabbed Lan Bo’s hand, and hurled him back inside. “Get in!”
Pitch-black toxic vine armor formed over Lan Bo, Bai Chunian, and Lu Yan in succession, protecting their vital areas.
The blazing syrup rained down from above. As it fell, Lan Bo didn’t retreat—he lunged forward instead, wrapping Bai Chunian tightly with his tail.
The burning syrup ate through the vine armor, hissing as it struck Lan Bo’s tail. Deep blue scales fell away.
Lan Bo gritted his teeth, enduring the pain, both hands bracing the back of Bai Chunian’s neck to shield his vital points. His pale, slender fingers were scorched by the molten liquid.
“Get inside. I’m fine.” Bai Chunian pressed down on his hand.
“An A3-level omega isn’t that fragile.” Lan Bo raised a hand, drawing water into form—a riot shield of water-forged steel appeared above them. Then, out of nowhere, he muttered, “So many little cat heads… spinning around me… all pink paw pads… I want to squish them…”
Bai Chunian’s legs had also been drenched in the invasive, corrosive syrup. His vision blurred, twisting into vivid, distorted colors. Suddenly, countless tiny blue fish seemed to swim before his eyes, brushing against his face in soft kisses.
The pastry chef’s companion ability—Gingerbread House: a weakening-type skill. Targets splashed by the syrup suffer reduced speed and stamina, lose the will to resist, and become immersed in sweet hallucinations.
“Han-ge… dispel it…” Bai Chunian murmured, holding his dizzy head. “And… get me a net… I need to catch fish…”
This was no longer a situation one person could handle.
“What do you need a net for?” Han Xingqian set down his laptop and jumped out of the helicopter. A spiraled horn grew from his forehead, glowing faintly.
A pair of snow-white wings slowly unfurled behind him. With a light push off the ground, he soared upward, a gust of wind following each beat of his wings, before landing gracefully atop the vine wall—hands tucked into the pockets of his white uniform.
“A3…” Xiao Xun stared, stunned. The others were no different. Winged A3 alpha types were incredibly rare—the most well-known example being Lu Shangjin’s peregrine falcon wings.
Pegasus gland—A3 ability: Sky Rider Wings. Removes negative effects from allies and dispels buffs from enemies.
Two glowing feathers descended, hovering above Bai Chunian and Lan Bo.
The dispel effect could stack up to three times on the same target. Each time it activated, a feather would appear. At three feathers, they could be detonated—either against an enemy or to absorb damage for an ally.
—
A plane circled near the island, observing the prison from afar.
Inside, Crawler and Domino stared at the live drone feed in shock.
“Damn—human A3, Pegasus gland. So it’s true that mutated glands have a higher chance of upgrading,” Crawler muttered.
Domino frowned. “No wonder he didn’t get reduced to glass beads when the Divine Envoy went berserk in M Port… Alright, think of a way to help them. Let’s earn some goodwill with IOA—this might be an organization worth betting on.”
“I’m thinking.”