Bi Lanxing closed his eyes and counted the seconds silently. In a life-or-death situation, every second felt like an eternity. Suddenly, a voice came over the communicator: “We’re coming up.” Bi Lanxing immediately opened his eyes, rolled over, and jumped from the helicopter. The fingers of his left hand stretched out into black vines, tightly wrapping around the helicopter’s rope ladder. They then grew backward until they secured Bi Lanxing himself at the very bottom of the ladder. With both hands now free, the vines on his hands grew like frenzied black ropes into the surging seawater.
The support team of agents below lifted Xiao Xun to the surface. Before they reached the water’s surface, the vines wrapped around Xiao Xun from a depth of nearly ten meters, binding him into an airtight ball of vines. Maintaining sufficient internal pressure, they violently yanked him upward. The helicopter flew toward the Medical Association’s emergency response team stationed onshore, During the flight, the vines slowly released the pressure, allowing Xiao Xun’s body time to acclimate to the pressure changes without delaying the critical window for treatment.
The doctors on shore took Xiao Xun from the vines, administered an antidote, and then opened a valve to flush his body. Two nurses stepped forward to strip off his wetsuit and equipment.
Xiao Xun’s skin flushed a pale red as he gasped for breath. The pain made him curl up involuntarily, but the nurses pulled him out and held him down.
“Luckily, we were in the ocean, so the hydrogen cyanide concentration wasn’t too high. Plus, we kept flushing him with water the whole way up, so he’ll be fine.”
“Run a blood test to check for cyanide poisoning.” ”
“Yes.”
Bi Lanxing crouched outside the makeshift medical tent they had set up, having now completely regained his composure. Although Xiao Xun had volunteered for the underwater sniper mission, Bi Lanxing had drawn up the mission plan. If anything were to happen to Xiao Xun, he wouldn’t have the face to return to headquarters and report, nor would he be able to explain himself to the two instructors in the unit.
He hadn’t known Xiao Xun for long—just the past year or so they’d spent together at the Aphid Island training base. Xiao Xun was taciturn and didn’t talk much; he rarely socialized with the other trainees. The others found him hard to get along with, but Lu Yan didn’t mind his aloofness.
Bi Lanxing had never felt anything special toward Xiao Xun; he simply saw him as a reliable teammate. Both he and Lu Yan were children of the IOA’s main family, legitimate heirs with impeccable backgrounds. Xiao Xun, however, came from the Lingti clan; his admission to the special training base was a special exception, secured through Bai Chunian’s personal endorsement. Those in the know kept their thoughts to themselves on the surface, but they would occasionally question Xiao Xun’s loyalty.
However, after today’s events, Bi Lanxing found himself feeling a greater sense of trust and admiration for him.
The electronic screen on his watch lit up, snapping Bi Lanxing back to reality. He realized it was Dr. Han calling him.
He answered the call, and Han Xingqian’s face appeared on the display.
“Did you send the data?” Dr. Han asked.
“Senior Duan Yang said he’s already sent it. I’m not sure if Brother Chu will be able to see it. I hope they’ll come across a receiving terminal where they’re trapped.”
“Alright. I’m still tied up at the PBB lab right now. I’ll get back to you once I’m done.”
“Mm.” After some hesitation, Bi Lanxing spoke cautiously, “Xiao Xiao… he came into contact with the chemical agent leaked from the target submarine while conducting underwater sniping. We don’t know the results yet.”
Han Xingqian’s usually calm and composed eyes suddenly narrowed. “Is it serious?”
“ “He said there was a 37% chance of death, but he went ahead with it anyway. It was my fault for not preparing thoroughly—I didn’t anticipate a leak. Thankfully, the emergency medical kit I prepared for Brother Chu and the others came in handy.”
“……” Han Xingqian closed his aching eyes. “If it’s just a leak, the chemical concentration shouldn’t be too high given the distance during the underwater sniping. Keep an eye on him for now, and let me know the blood test results later. That’s all.”
“Yes, I understand. You go ahead and focus on your work.”
Han Xingqian sat down on the floor, leaning against the corner of the wall outside the lab for a quick rest, his laptop resting directly on his lap. He closed the call interface and immediately sent out another contact request. This time, he was connecting to the IOA Headquarters Medical Association. It was already very late, and it took a long time before someone picked up.
Dr. Zhong’s gentle, affable face appeared on the screen. He was wearing pajamas and looked as though he’d been woken from a deep sleep. Dr. Zhong sat up from his computer and studied Han Xingqian on the other end of the call. Even his glasses couldn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes or the bloodshot whites of his eyes. “How many nights have you gone without sleep?”
Han Hang-hyun had no time for pleasantries and blurted out, “Professor, one of my trainees was exposed to a leaked In-infected agent from a submarine while underwater. I’m stuck here and can’t get back. Please take a look at him for me.”
Dr. Zhong glanced at the clock on the wall. “Where are we supposed to go now? That Lan Xing is quite thorough—when he came back with the lead to ask for help, he’d already brought an emergency response team with him. I’ve prepared the antidote for them to take along. Since it leaked in the ocean, the concentration probably isn’t high. You’re usually so level-headed—why are you acting so flustered this time?”
Han Xingqian opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if hesitating to speak: “I’m sorry, Professor. It’s so late—I really shouldn’t be bothering you.”
“It’s fine. It’s rare to see you so anxious; I actually find it quite amusing. So, what’s your relationship with that student?”
“He’s my student. He’s always done well and is very ambitious.”
“Just a student?”
“…Yes.”
Dr. Zhong propped her head in her hand, studying Han Xingqian’s expression, and gave a faint smile. “Alright, I’ll go take a look for you. You care so deeply for your student—worrying about them from a thousand miles away—it makes it seem like I’m neglecting my own students.”
Han Xingqian bowed his head slightly: “No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Alright, get back to work. Remember to catch up on some sleep. You’re a doctor; you know what you need to know, so I won’t nag you.” Dr. Zhong turned and called out softly toward the bed in the bedroom, “Pingtian, wake up. You need to take me out for a bit.”
After thanking Han Xingqian, Dr. Zhong closed his laptop, leaned wearily against the wall, closed his eyes to rest for a moment, and then plunged back into the lab.
No one could see what was happening inside the submarine. Bai Chunian and Lan Bo remained cut off from the outside world; their communicators had been tampered with and had long since lost their tracking capabilities. Even if the search team had pinpointed the submarine’s location, they couldn’t determine exactly where the two men were inside. They had to find an exit to have any chance of reuniting with the rescue team.
“Lan Bo, follow me.” Bai Chunian entered the code to unlock the dormitory door and pushed it open, leading Lan Bo inside.
They returned to the dining hall. It was identical to the one they had first encountered; all the furnishings remained in their proper places, and everything appeared normal.
Bai Chunian pricked up his ears. It seemed there were three sets of heartbeats in the room.
He yanked Lan Bo inside, kicked the door shut, and locked it. Standing behind the door was a figure in white.
Bai Chunian took two steps back and raised his hand to shield Lan Bo.
The figure appeared to be human, but he stood with his back to Bai Chunian and Lan Bo, facing the corner behind the door. His arms were fully bent, not hanging at his sides.
A living person.
“Are you a researcher here?” After confirming he was human, Bai Chunian took a good look at his attire: a white researcher’s uniform, plastic slippers, and no socks. He appeared to be a staff member who lived on-site.
The researcher said nothing and didn’t move.
Bai Chunian shoved his hands into his pockets and demanded, “Where did you come in from?”
They had passed through this room earlier, yet this man had only just appeared, indicating that this looping room must have an exit.
The man simply stood there, ignoring him. Bai Chunian signaled Lan Bo to force him to turn around.
Lan Bo had already broken free from the suppressor’s control and could respond promptly to any unexpected situation. Bai Chunian kept a close eye on the researcher’s movements, lest he suddenly lash out and injure Lan Bo.
Lan Bo grabbed the researcher by the back of his collar and forcibly turned him around. The moment the researcher turned his head, every nerve in Bai Chunian’s body tensed.
He had a rather large black mole on his right cheek and wore black-rimmed glasses—it was the Irishman who had died in the infirmary.
But this researcher was clearly still alive. He seemed utterly terrified, dared not move, and turned stiffly, holding a goat skull in his hands.
The skull was covered in blood, yet the droplets hung suspended in the air, not falling or staining the researcher’s hands or clothes.
“What is that?” Bai Chunian asked, frowning.
The researcher replied, trembling, “Satan the Devil. Everyone in the submarine laboratory has been killed. Save me—whoever you are, please save me.”
“It’s too late…” The goat-headed skull’s jaw twitched slightly, and a red glow flickered in its hollow eyes.
Gradually, a layer of skin began to regrow over the skeleton. Bones connected to the extending muscles, and the skeleton took on a physical form. The slender figure slipped from the researcher’s hands, A black cloak draped over the Omega who had materialized there. A young, pale face turned toward Bai Chunian; the lower eyelids glowed with a sickly purplish-red hue, and two curved goat horns sprouted from his disheveled hair.
“Lightning Ghost, Messenger of God, I’ve been waiting for you for a long time,” Satan said. “As you can see, that was what I looked like three years after my death.”
Bai Chunian curled one corner of his mouth. “Not bad. If you hadn’t said anything, I’d have thought it was a nine-yuan-ninety-nine-cent craft item with free shipping.”
Satan’s expression remained unchanged, still cold and melancholic. “Let’s make a deal. We have no reason to turn on each other.”
Bai Chunian grabbed Satan by the collar: “Then why all the trouble? Because of you, I’ve nearly driven my wife to her grave.”
“I saw the future—the moment humanity reaches its end. That vision set my blood boiling; I wanted to witness it firsthand. Unfortunately, my powers only work in enclosed spaces, so I let them experience the apocalypse early.”
Satan pulled a golden pocket watch from his chest, pressed the spring clasp, and revealed a small mirror inside. The mirror showed a small room piled high with the corpses of researchers; they all looked as if they’d died in the desert—their skin parched and shriveled, their bodies emaciated.
“……” Bai Chunian spread his hands. “I actually feel sorry for you. You’d be better off coming back to the IOA with me. But if you’re just going out there to cause trouble, then there’s nothing more to say. Lan Bo, take him out.”
Lan Bo broke free from the suppressor’s control. With his A3 differentiation level, completely overpowering an M2-level Goat Omega was effortless.
Satan hung the golden pocket watch from his fingertip. As it swayed, he spoke slowly, “Simulation replay.”
The numbers on the pocket watch rolled back one digit.
A blue suppressor appeared without warning at the back of Lan Bo’s neck. Its needle pierced deep into his cervical vertebrae, locking into the bone joints. Instantly, the electric glow on Lan Bo’s body faded. Lan Bo’s hand was just about to touch Satan’s neck when the pocket watch hanging from Satan’s fingertip rolled back another digit.
A stream of magma coiled around Lan Bo’s arm, searing him with its intense heat. Clutching his arm, Lan Bo fell headfirst to the ground, propping himself up painfully with his other hand.
Bai Chunian, startled, rolled forward and snatched Lan Bo from beneath Satan’s feet into his arms, then swiftly backed away. Lan Bo held his lava-covered hand as far from Bai Chunian as possible to avoid burning him.
“He can recreate what happened in the past on me.” Lan Bo gritted his teeth and endured the pain as he said, “Get out of the way. The suppressor can’t hold me down anymore.”
But Bai Chunian could also see it clearly—Lan Bo could forcibly rip the suppressor off his neck, tearing through skin and flesh if necessary. However, the toxins injected into his gland from the purification process required time to neutralize. Satan’s ability to simulate future outcomes was progressing faster than Lan Bo’s detoxification. In repeated confrontations like this, Lan Bo was the one at a disadvantage.
“It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt.” Bai Chunian lowered his head and kissed his forehead, pulling him away from Satan to buy time for Lan Bo to continue purifying himself, while doing everything he could to protect him from Satan’s attacks in the meantime.
They put some distance between themselves and Satan, and Satan temporarily stopped moving as well.
Bai Chunian stared at him. Satan stood beside a door equipped with a password lock and asked calmly, “You’ve already used up your number of incorrect attempts, haven’t you?”
Slowly, Satan raised his hand and pressed toward the keypad. Bai Chunian suddenly realized what he was about to do. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the bar and smashed it hard against the edge of the counter. The glass shattered. Bai Chunian flung the sharp bottle neck—still stained with the infectious In agent—toward Satan’s hand.
Satan clearly feared the In infection agent and immediately withdrew his hand from the keypad. However, the blue liquid that splashed out of the bottle scattered everywhere and began to rapidly volatilize.
The orange-yellow wallpaper slowly shifted into a pink hue. A researcher crouching in the corner suddenly clutched his mouth and nose tightly. Suffocation, infection fear, and survival instinct drove him into panic—he stumbled toward the door, stepped over broken glass, and without hesitation pressed his thumb onto the fingerprint scanner, escaping through the exit.
Satan said indifferently, “Oh, so you were the one who killed him. I didn’t predict that. But it doesn’t change anything. Goodbye, messenger of god.”
Just as Bai Chunian had already picked up a shard of glass and rushed forward to intercept Satan, Satan’s golden pocket watch ticked back one notch.
Bai Chunian suddenly found himself inexplicably back at the fingerprint lock, repeating the exact motion of using a bandaged finger wrapped in a bandage to scan the wrong fingerprint.