“Brother, now you’ll have to follow me.” Bai Chunian pulled out his IOA alliance credentials from his belt, shook off the water, opened the page showing his name and photo, and held it in his mouth to show the Havana agent.
The alpha gritted his teeth into silence. Even a division chairman must obey Headquarters’ orders; as a member of the South American Special Operations Unit, he had no authority to disobey.
Lan Bo floated in the water, quietly watching Bai Chunian’s eyes. His gaze sparkled like a child proudly showing test scores without cheating.
Though he currently appeared as a nineteen-year-old human, the time spent growing from embryo to this stage was far shorter than the age listed on the alliance credentials. Even with accelerated physical and cognitive development via drugs and technology, any living being has a heart, and where there’s a heart, there are memories and emotions.
Lan Bo’s chest thumped strangely as he held his hand over it, recalling the electric rush through his body from staring at Bai Chunian moments before.
Bai Chunian swam over, grabbed his hand, and placed it against his lips, speaking sincerely yet apologetically. “Help me?”
Underwater, Lan Bo’s tail twisted into a furious knot. He lashed it and wrapped it around the alpha’s neck, biting his lip with sharp teeth. “Fine. But they don’t deserve it.”
Bai Chunian licked a bead of blood from his own lips and placed another communicator in Lan Bo’s palm.
“Director Yan, is this so important to you?” Lan Bo asked, tail tinged with red, eyes fixed on the alpha. “If we both fell into the water, who would you save first?”
In human dramas, such a serious question is a critical test of judgment, something Lan Bo instinctively understood as part of Chinese cultural context.
Bai Chunian suppressed a laugh. “You first.”
Lan Bo was slightly satisfied. “Why?”
Bai Chunian toyed with the fins between his slender fingers. “Because if I didn’t, you’d swim off on your own, and I wouldn’t have the chance to hold you.”
“Oh.” Lan Bo considered this logic, heart fluttering sluggishly.
A surging current approached. Both sensed the Kraken returning. Lan Bo twisted agilely underwater, transforming into a blue flash of lightning. As he broke the surface, he held a transparent hydrosteel quad rocket launcher.
The Kraken’s massive tentacle swung toward Bai Chunian. Lan Bo swiftly positioned himself in front, firing two high-explosive water bombs, knocking the tentacle away.
The Kraken’s body was enormous. Even as its tentacle flew off, its weight remained submerged. The impact stress from the high-explosive water bombs severed the tentacle completely. One writhing arm of the octopus was launched into the sky.
“Goon.” Lan Bo turned, aiming the quad launcher at Bai Chunian. Two high-explosive water bombs shot directly at him.
Though these bombs didn’t directly harm targets, the M2-enhanced explosive force propelled Bai Chunian through the air. Calculating the trajectory, he cleared the cargo ship safely and landed silently on the mast like a cat.
The two of them had developed an unspoken rhythm—perhaps from familiarity with each other’s bodies and combat styles—allowing them to coordinate flawlessly without verbal communication.
Meanwhile, the severed Kraken tentacle slowly regrew underwater, forming a new appendage indistinguishable from the original.
“IOA Headquarters Special Agent Bai Chunian assumes command.” He held the communicator to his lips. “All personnel, retreat south to Arian Island, prepare for landing operations. Command concluded.”
The moment he finished speaking, a distant, sharp cry sounded from Lan Bo’s throat. Black triangular dorsal fins appeared on the horizon, approaching in groups. The orca pod had been summoned back; the massive creatures lifted the agents tossed into the waves, dispersing them as they swam toward Arian Island, as Bai Chunian had instructed.
Beneath the Havana agent in the water, a massive black shape rose, lifting him above the surface. Its black-and-white, icy skin pressed against his thigh. He quickly grabbed the dorsal fin to steady himself. Riding a sea giant in such a way was an experience few could claim, and he couldn’t help exclaiming in awe.
Lan Bo swam a short distance ahead, guiding the orca pod away from Kraken’s attack zone.
Seeing that the merman could control the orcas but showed no hostility, the Havana agent’s animosity toward Lan Bo lessened. He asked, “You look French. Are you two on the same team?”
Lan Bo understood Spanish but silently translated, still failing to grasp the meaning.
“What is—on the same team?”
“A criminal duo,” the alpha snapped at the hostile agent, voice sharp.
Lan Bo glanced at the island ahead, murmuring, “No—same team, we’re a couple.”
The cargo ship sped forward under the orca pod’s push. When it was about ten meters from shore, several agents leapt from the deck, landing deftly on the beach. They secured ropes to pull the ship closer to the sand.
Bai Chunian, perched on the mast, looked back. Kraken followed, swimming swiftly below the surface, then suddenly vanished.
It was using its J1 differentiation ability, Flow Cloud—instantly altering its coloration to blend with the surrounding water, making it nearly impossible to pinpoint its location quickly.
“There are cable guns in the armory,” Bai Chunian said, holding the communicator. “Bring them down and spread out.”
The agents were professionally trained. Even with a temporary change in command, they adapted quickly. Facing a powerful experimental subject, solo attacks only caused unnecessary casualties; coordinated operations were compulsory.
The South Gate Division agents moved swiftly, bringing the cable grappling guns from the ship’s hold and firmly anchoring the steel cables to the rocks.
Bai Chunian whistled sharply. “Lan Bo, force him up.”
Lan Bo received the message, flipped into the water, and dove several dozen meters. Centered on him, he created a shimmering electric net, conducting high-voltage currents through the seawater toward Kraken. The stinging heat of the shocks forced Kraken to retreat. As it neared the shallower coastal waters, its massive head broke the surface.
“Strand him. Load the cable guns, aim at the tentacles. Agents one through eight, prepare for the assault.” Bai Chunian’s commands were concise and precise. The other agents could see that, despite appearing young, this alpha with Headquarters command was extremely experienced.
The Havana agent looked up at Bai Chunian, calm yet relaxed atop the mast. His black vest and work pants were soaked, clinging to well-defined muscles and a taut waist. Wet strands of hair stuck to his face, which he impatiently brushed behind his ear.
In essence, he was not much different from an ordinary teenage boy—just more capable. But recalling the rapid healing of the bullet holes on Bai Chunian’s body stirred both revulsion and fear deep in the agent’s heart.
Over the years working for the IOA South American Division, they had faced several experimental subjects, resulting in countless casualties. Ferocity, bloodlust, voracity, and immortality were the hallmarks of these subjects. Even the largest caliber bullets failed to harm them; beheaded or blown apart, they could rise again, severed limbs regenerating instantly. They were indestructible demons, ultimate weapons forged for war.
“Oh, right—you.” Bai Chunian lowered his gaze to address him.
The Havana agent came back to focus. “Bequin. My name is Bequin.”
“Good,” Bai Chunian said. “Draw the dagger. Stay focused. Give it to me.”
Bequin drew two tactical daggers from his belt and tossed one upward.
The sharp blade spun through the air, glinting in the sunlight. Bai Chunian caught it effortlessly.
With his bones reinforced, his skin’s hardness increased correspondingly. Certain steel-reinforced areas could become impervious to blades, though maintaining full-body reinforcement consumed massive energy. Typically, Bai Chunian only reinforced vital areas.
Lan Bo evaded Kraken’s tentacle strikes once more, reloading his transparent rocket launcher with four water bombs, firing them consecutively at Kraken.
The explosive impact hurled Kraken’s massive body onto the beach, stranding it like a collapsing mountain. The entire island seemed to tremble as seawater surged over tropical plants, then slowly receded.
Bai Chunian immediately ordered, “Fire the cable guns. Anchor the tentacles. Agents one through eight, assist in securing them to prevent escape.”
As the command ended, the cable guns fired in sequence, their barbed tips gripping Kraken’s thick tentacles. Eight agents tightly wrapped each cable around the slick limbs, immobilizing Kraken on the beach.
Since each tentacle could think independently and regenerate when severed, cutting all eight would have been futile. Mature-phase experimental subjects relied more on cognitive ability than sheer strength. Bai Chunian chose to temporarily disable Kraken’s thinking instead, significantly reducing its threat.
“Bequin,” Bai Chunian said over the communicator, “take the dagger up. Go for the eyes from behind.”
The Havana agent, a mantis alpha, scaled the giant octopus with powerful legs, positioning himself at the rectangular eyes. He raised his muscular arms and plunged the dagger deep into one eye.
Bai Chunian calculated the timing in his mind. As Bequin’s dagger pierced Kraken’s eye, he swung his left hand downward, sending the other dagger spinning into the second eye.
Kraken’s senses were momentarily obliterated.
“Bequin, cut into the eyes—destroy the brain first.”
“Understood,” Bequin replied in a low, steady voice.
He knew that even seasoned commanders needed to probe step by step when confronting an unknown experimental subject, yet Bai Chunian clearly had a fully deployed strategy in his mind. Every action he took wasn’t tentative; it was as if he were confidently dragging along an invisible progress bar.
A prodigiously talented commander—if he weren’t an experimental subject, he would probably be someone worth befriending.
Bequin, highly skilled with dual daggers, quickly located and destroyed Kraken’s brain. Immediately, the octopus’s massive body began to convulse violently.
Bai Chunian frowned and said through the communicator, “Everyone, retreat immediately. Maintain at least five meters distance from Kraken.”
Kraken’s skin shifted chaotically, forming dark blue rings that glowed with bright luminescence.
Kraken’s M2 differentiation ability, “Intraspecies Conversion,” allowed it to alter its biological traits to those of another member of its species. This time, it transformed from its “Blue Octopus” form into a “Blue-Ringed Octopus”—a highly venomous species capable of killing humans.
Bequin was still on Kraken’s body, which was now coated in sticky mucus, making it difficult to hold on.
Kraken thrashed violently, using all its strength to tear a tentacle bound with a steel cable. It pounded furiously, attempting to drag Bequin into its mouth.
Seeing this, Bai Chunian leapt from the mast, positioning himself between the tentacle and Bequin. He grabbed Bequin’s belt and tossed him away. Lan Bo sprang through the air, caught Bequin, and with his tail coiled around him, flung him safely onto the shore.
Bequin tumbled across the rocky beach, rolling in sand and gravel, then stood up. Seeing Bai Chunian nearly ensnared by a tentacle, he reached out to grab the appendage—but quickly had to let go as if scorched.
The enhanced, mutated venom had rapidly corroded Bai Chunian’s palm, burning through flesh down to bone. He gritted his teeth in pain, clutching his wrist, veins standing out on his forehead.
Lan Bo leapt from the water, grabbing Bai Chunian’s clothes and pulling him in. By the time they resurfaced, Bai Chunian’s hand had fully healed.
Bequin stared rigidly at the chaotic battle unfolding before him, slowly supporting his own arm.
Had Bai Chunian not intervened in time, much of Bequin’s arm might have been corroded by the venom—or perhaps his body would have slowly dissolved into a toxic puddle. He didn’t fear death, but dying like that would have been unbearably painful.
Do experimental subjects feel pain?
Bequin couldn’t help but wonder. Initially, he had lumped Bai Chunian and Kraken into the same category of monsters—but clearly, they were different. Their differences extended far beyond appearance.
Kraken was healing slowly as well. Soon, it tore free two more tentacles—one darting into the sea in pursuit of Lan Bo, the other thrashing around Bai Chunian, forcing him to dodge and expend energy.
Instinct drove Bequin to grab his daggers and rush toward Bai Chunian.
Humans with mantis-like glands were exceptionally skilled with bladed weapons, their forearm muscles well developed. As a tentacle neared Bai Chunian’s foot, two flashing blades cut it into three segments.
Bai Chunian seized the opportunity to escape Kraken’s attack radius.
Bequin landed across from him, dual daggers in hand.
Bai Chunian looked at him, signaling with a standard agent gesture: “Well done.”
He smiled warmly, and Bequin hesitated, wanting to respond.
But Bai Chunian’s attention had already returned to Kraken, constantly monitoring its movements and warning the agents closest to it: “It’s changing again. Find cover and reposition.”
Bai Chunian’s situational awareness was unlike anything Bequin had ever seen—it seemed as if everyone was under his control.
Bequin thought to himself how fortunate it was that Bai Chunian wasn’t an enemy. Shaking off his thoughts, he reminded himself this wasn’t the time for distractions.
Kraken’s body turned a vivid crimson as it once again activated M2 ability “Intraspecies Conversion.” This time, it transformed into a fire squid, equally venomous. Each transformation restored a large portion of Kraken’s vitality.
The rocks on the shore cracked under its thrashing. Eight tentacles regained freedom as Kraken shifted its massive bulk, retreating from the stranded beach back into the sea.
But Lan Bo had cut off its escape.
With its brain destroyed, Kraken could no longer plan tactics, blindly flailing its tentacles. Lan Bo, small and agile, weaved deftly through the tips of all eight tentacles. Suddenly, he leapt from the water as the sky darkened, clouds swirling ominously. Pressure dropped sharply; everyone onshore found it increasingly difficult to breathe.
Lightning crackled across Lan Bo’s body as he dived back into the water. A fully translucent devil ray leapt from the sea, its skeleton glowing white with arcs of electricity. A dark blue, mineral-like heart thumped in its frame.
Even Bai Chunian paused, captivated by the divine creature.
The devil ray hit the water, sending arcs of lightning outward. Kraken’s entire body was wrapped in electric energy, the scent of burning flesh filling the air.
The lightning suddenly ceased, though darkness still shrouded the sky.
After a brief calm, razor-sharp water spikes erupted across the surface, each several meters long and crackling with electricity. Thousands of spikes impaled Kraken’s body simultaneously, piercing all three of its hearts.
Kraken had already been driven to the brink. Its final, dying roar carried for thousands of meters.
The water spikes softened and slowly drained from Kraken’s battered body. Clouds parted, and sunlight filtered into the shallow waters.
An IOA-marked armed helicopter arrived at Arian Island—but by now, the battle was effectively over.
The pilot connected to the communicator, loudly asking Bai Chunian: “You just neutralized a mature-phase experimental subject?”
“No, no,” Bai Chunian replied with a faint smile, showing a mere centimeter between his fingers. “I only handled a small part.”
The helicopter crew busied themselves securing Kraken’s body into a transport crate to return it to the division base. Lan Bo surfaced, spitting out seawater, crawling onto the shallow beach and shaking his hair dry.
Bai Chunian squatted beside him, rubbing his head. “So you really are a little manta ray—flat, cute.”
“No one can challenge me in the Caribbean,” Lan Bo tilted his head, the tip of his tail curling, gesturing a mere millimeter. “Though humans played a tiny role.”
“Heh.”
A voice called from behind.
Bai Chunian turned to see Bequin, drenched and dusted with sand, awkwardly gripping his dual daggers not far away. The tan of his skin was marred with a scrape from the rocks.
“Your command was impressive,” Bequin said uneasily. “Just like a real commander.”
“I am a real one,” Bai Chunian said, standing with his hands in his pockets. “It was just a battle with zero casualties on our side—nothing noteworthy.”
“You’re… very forthright,” Bequin praised clumsily. Seeing Bai Chunian rise, he instinctively stepped back two paces, still cautious.
Bai Chunian noticed the tension in his stance. His smile faded slightly, and he licked his seawater-salted lips, answering softly, “No need to force yourself to come closer.”
As he spoke, his gaze shifted. The severed tentacle nerves of Kraken twitched violently, still imbued with venom. Bai Chunian instinctively reached forward to control it. He knew the poison was potent, but a momentary sting was far preferable to a human dying.
That was his thinking.
Suddenly, a cold sensation stabbed into his lower abdomen.
Bai Chunian slowly turned, meeting a pair of terrified eyes.
Bequin had removed his trembling hands from the daggers’ grips, plunging one deep into Bai Chunian’s abdomen, tearing open a wound.
“You lunged at me—what did you intend? Don’t underestimate human reflexes,” Bequin said, staring steadily, unconcerned with the act itself.
Gradually, however, his voice wavered. He backed up slowly, collapsing onto the rocky shore. He tried to convince himself he hadn’t done wrong, yet the reality was shocking—
Out of the corner of his eye, a tentacle fell near his ear. Bai Chunian’s hand covered his temple.
The twitching tentacle lost all vitality after Bai Chunian blocked it, collapsing onto the ground. The venom smeared onto Bai Chunian’s forearm, rapidly corroding flesh to bare bone.
Bequin gaped, speechless, sitting there, dazed.
The poison on Bai Chunian’s hand healed slower this time, as the dagger carried Kraken’s residue. The old wound tore slightly, causing mild infection.
He grasped the dagger with his exposed-bone left hand, slowly withdrawing it from his abdomen, and tossed it aside. His gaze darkened, staring deeply at Bequin.
Lan Bo, unprepared for such a sudden turn, leapt beside Bai Chunian, cradling him and pressing his hands over the wound near his ear.
Bequin felt immediate remorse. “I thought… he… he could heal, right?”
Lan Bo bared his sharp teeth, growling at him to stay back.
The communicator blinked—headquarters connecting. “Status update?”
Bai Chunian, panting, replied: “Phase Two and Phase Three missions complete. Awaiting instructions.”
Yan Yi detected the unusual tone and asked, “How’s your injury? I’ll send Dr. Zhong to meet you.”
“Hmph… it’s nothing…” Bai Chunian let out a faint, cold laugh. “Bitten by a possessive idiot. That’s all.”
Lan Bo laid Bai Chunian flat, licking the wound with his tongue to assess it. Fortunately, it was shallow; from experience, the infection wouldn’t worsen.
The soft, lapping sensation of Lan Bo’s tongue stung and thrilled at the same time. Bai Chunian closed his eyes, enduring the strange pleasure.
Lan Bo drew a fine, water-hardened steel thread from the sea and stitched Bai Chunian’s wound to stop the bleeding.
“It hurts—leave it be,” Bai Chunian said.
“This is the consequence of trusting someone. Remember that,” Lan Bo said darkly.
Confident Bai Chunian was not in serious danger, Lan Bo quickened the stitches. Bai Chunian’s ears twitched with pain unnoticed by him, flopping against his hair.
“A minor infection—just take some anti-inflammatory meds. Why the rush? You’ve hurt me far worse,” Bai Chunian said weakly, sucking in a breath.
“I save you, he kills you. That’s different.”
Bai Chunian managed a smile. “How do you save me?”
“I let you go, I stay.”
Lan Bo spoke slowly, “Merfolk are a lustful species, but I only sleep with one alpha.”
“Why me?”
“You have… purity and loyalty.”
“We’ve only been together six months. Half a year—is that enough?”
“One glance is enough. No need for six months.”
Lan Bo extended his arm, checking off the last line of the memo carved into his forearm: Love Bai Chunian passionately.
Such loyal souls were rare and fragile; missing one opportunity could mean losing them forever.
With the stitches done, Lan Bo severed the water thread, gently licking Bai Chunian’s ear.
The tingling sensation made Bai Chunian shiver, his groin reacting involuntarily. His ears retreated back into his hair.
“Does this make you feel loved?” Lan Bo asked, focused solely on him. “I’ve learned… how to groom fur.”
“Fucking…” Bai Chunian raised a hand over his eyes.
His body tensed, voice hoarse: “I’m serious—I’m hard, I’m fucking miserable, and if anyone dares bring a knife near me again…”
Though internally overwhelmed, he couldn’t articulate it immediately. He propped himself up and licked back at Lan Bo, tracing his eyelashes and temple.
His tongue was densely lined with tiny backward-facing barbs, and even the careful licks left spots tingling and reddened. Afterward, Lan Bo felt a pang of guilt for the pain he’d caused.
Medical personnel from the rescue helicopter rushed over to carry Bai Chunian away for treatment. Lan Bo didn’t intervene—he knew human medical technology far outstripped their own.
Once the helicopter departed, Lan Bo unfurled his long tail, coiling it around Bequin’s neck, and leapt backward into the sea, dragging the unprepared agent into the depths.
Bequin struggled against the tight coil, the suffocating pressure twisting his features.
Lan Bo loosened his grip only to coil around him again, playfully tormenting his weak prey. Slowly, cruelly, he murmured: “You’re so small and fragile. When you hurt us… you go all out, like laughable little insects. I won’t let you die easily—let the deep sea slowly crush you.”
The communicator in his hand lit up suddenly. Lan Bo frowned, pressing it to his ear.
Bai Chunian’s voice came through clearly: “Lan Bo, let them go.”
Lan Bo gritted his teeth, releasing Bequin, letting him float to the surface.
The sea roiled violently. Black clouds and fierce winds rose, tides engulfing the island. Agents who hadn’t evacuated were swallowed by the waves, rolling helplessly—only submerged in water could one truly feel the ocean’s wrath and the powerless surrender of life and death.
Lan Bo ignored Bai Chunian and connected to headquarters.
The chairman allowed the call and waited patiently.
Lan Bo’s low, threatening voice carried resentment:
“Not even Kraken should have hurt him—your stupidity caused his injury.”
“I didn’t raise him to be bullied by humans.”
“Your rank may surpass mine, but the land will never surpass the sea. Thunderstorms ashore, melting icebergs, endless tides—which do you prefer?”
“Heal him and return him to me.”
Yan Yi remained silent for a long while.
The communicator buzzed with static:
“Calm your anger, Your Majesty.”